A/N: This may be continued, if anyone's interested. The story is very silly, and the majority of 'plot' is just making friends, "look-we-are-alive-sort-of-AU-thing". It trails the development of several relationships (AruAni, Springles, Rivetra (mostly pre-developed), Jeankasa, Mobuhan (pre-developed). I'm sort of nervous about it, as it is the first time I'm writing many of these characters. I am not familiar with their characterisation, so please have patience and forgive me if it falls OOC. For those that still care to read, thank you for your consideration.

I would like to add as well, the story contains an OC: Lilia. (Levi and Petra's daughter). I wanted to write Rivetra children, and although she is not the focus point, she does make appearances. Simply because some are very against OCs in fanfiction, I wanted to mention it at the start. Again, thank you for reading this far and I hope the story isn't too awful. I may continue to post this, if any are interested.

Help Wanted.

He raises his gaze from the roughly torn newspaper clipping in his fingers. Sandy eyes drift lazily over the clean, sleek bakery with its large, glass windows and the engraved, wooden sign; complete with a logo that looks more militant than related to baked goods: Two wings crossed starkly over a patch-shaped emblem. To the right, it reads: Cookies by Corporal. He looks down to the ad again, checking that this is really the place; a military themed bakery? Fucking weird. His eyes glance lazily over the wrinkled, newspaper ad: Help Wanted. Paid. No shitty brats. Haaaah? No shitty brats? Just what kind of ad is this? If his parents weren't cutting him off from Mama's wallet, he wouldn't be here in the first place. A job; work, wasn't exactly what he wanted, but without one, he wouldn't really be capable of enjoying the last semesters of his high school experience.

He steps into the place, slipping the folded ad back into his pocket, glancing about somewhat idly; one of his hands in his pockets, the other one flipping out his phone to check the time—ah, he's like 10 minutes late. Shit. Well, if he gets the job- this place couldn't be so bad, right? Just baking? No heavy labor or anything of the sort. Should be a piece of cake, hah. Literally.

A small-statured man, dressed in a full suit with a cravat, sharp eyes, oven mitts and ruffled apron enters the room, taking a seat behind the counter atop a tall stool.

"Kirschtein, I presume?"

Jean's more than slightly surprised by the manner in which the other speaks to him, having the strongest desire to laugh at the man's appearance; his threatening gaze paired with his dapper attire aside from his ruffle-edged apron and the white cloth tied over his silky black locks to protect him… from getting flour in his hair maybe? Heh. This guy was a strange one. Boastful words pour from his mouth, somewhat smugly tilting his head up as he responds.

"Heh. That's me."

"You're fucking late, shithead."

"Levi!"

A woman enters the room through the same doorway the aproned man just did minutes ago, a scolding look painted over her face; her brow crinkled and mouth open as she bickers with him. The male responds with an inquisitive rolling sound from his throat, speaking flatly.

"Hnnn? It's fucking true, Petra. 12 minutes."

"I don't care, Levi! That's not the way to approach this!"

He quirks a brow, snaking an arm around her waist so as to pull her against him as he sits, looking up to her with sharp eyes; his face otherwise deadpan.

"Then what is, Petra?"

She giggles lightly, leaning over to caress either side of his face in her hands, pulling his face to her own, nuzzling him with esmiko kisses before she flirtatiously does the same with searing lips, her eyes aglow.

"Hnnnn?" He teasingly inquires; that same inquisitive, rolling sound pouring from his throat as she separates their locked lips.

"Oh, Captain—" Her voice is playful and somewhat cooing as she speaks to the love of her life—cutting herself off prematurely as she turns to Jean, smiling genuinely, honey fringe playing at her brow; also covered by a simple white cloth and ruffled apron.

"A-Ah! Please excuse that… Kirschtein, was it? What's your first name?"

"E—Eh, Jean." He's more than slightly perplexed by what's just taken place before him.

The curve of her lips widens, copper eyes thinning in greeting. "Well, Jean. I'm Petra, and this is Levi. We own this bakery. What do you know about baking?"

"Eh- Nothing. But I make a mean omurice."

Levi scoffs and Petra shoots him a warning look; her honey eyes alive with firey daggers. "That's all right. We didn't either when we first started.

"I said Shitty Brats need not apply."

"Levi!" She sighs out aggravatedly. "Please ignore him for the moment, Jean. His apron's on too tight today."

"Hnnn? Would you rather I removed it, Petra?"

Her freckle-spiced cheeks paint a deep shade of pink as warmth fills her porcelain face. "Le-Levi…" She somewhat anxiously slips a few copper locks behind one ear. "How did you find out about the position, Jean?" She smiles rather genuinely though there's a nervous hint of 'I'll kill you, Levi' hidden behind that closed-eyed gesture with curled, pink lips.

"Well, uh.." He sort of hesitantly whips out the folded paper. "I saw the ad—and a friend of mine, Marco Bodt, works here."

Her eyes light up at his mention of Marco; such a sweet kid. "All right, you're hired."

"What?" An angered response flicks off Levi's tongue sharply, like daggers.

The copper-haired woman turns to face him. "Levi. We need the help. With university classes starting next week, we won't be able to be in as often; Hange and Moblit will return to work. One of us will need to be home to get Lilia from the bus stop after school. Plus, Jean's friends with Marco; I'm sure he's a responsible kid."

"Hnnn. I'll drive her to school. No fucking way she's riding that bloody, filthy bus."

She smiles softly, touching his shoulder lightly. "Fine, Levi. I didn't expect any differently, but that doesn't change the fact that we really do need the help."

"Yes. I fucking know—Shitty Four Eyes and Berner are returning to work. Tch."

She turns to face Jean, amber locks playing at her shoulders as she offers him a smile. "So? When can you start?"

He stares her down, dumbfounded; head quirked, brow upturned in confusion, sandy orbs completely lost, his mouth agape. What the fuck just transpired? "Haaaaah?" One moment, his boss-to-be looked as if he could murder him, the next—he had the job? Eh, whatever, it'll be easy enough work right?

. . . .

Wrong.