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amywritesthings · 34 minutes

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erwin's always 4 steps ahead and could see the neon sign well before levi even spoke SLKDJFKLSDF i really appreciate these lovely tags!! i'm so happy you like the sequel so far.

dating on airplane mode. | part one.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 3.9k Summary: So you're dating your neighbor who also happens to be a sex hotline dom named Levi Ackerman. Stranger things have happened, right?

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - alternate universe (modern), slow burn, eventual smut, sex work, neighbors au, newly established relationship, dual pov, the direct sequel to Press Four For More Options Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics submitted for @levievent 's #levimonth24 / day 22: neighbors

part two. | masterlist

“I'm seeing someone.”

Tea goes flying — metaphorically and physically.

When he confessed a new (and very unexpected) development in his (borderline nonexistent) dating life, Levi hadn’t anticipated Hange Zoe turning directly towards Erwin Smith to unleash a devastating spit-take attack to the face.

It’s a direct hit.

Erwin heroically takes the brunt of the damage, so at least his furniture is spared.

(Levi didn’t need to spend the rest of the afternoon scrubbing down the already scrubbed-down living room.)

Hange’s shout is shrill, the realization hitting them like a full-throttle freight train.

“You’re what?”

“He said he’s seeing someone,” Erwin answers in monotone before Levi can even try.

The tall blonde extends a hand to leisurely grab the napkin cradling the bottom of his tea saucer. In true Erwin fashion, he doesn’t even blink at Hange’s dramatics — or their consequences unto him.

He raises the napkin to blot the side of his face sprinkled with a mixture of freshly-brewed lavender tea and Hange’s saliva.

(Then again, Hange could abruptly bang pots and pans in the middle of the night and Erwin would merely call it a minor inconvenience to his sleep routine.)

“No, no, I heard what he said,” Hange recovers with a crack to their voice, “but I can’t tell if he’s messing with us.”

“I’m not,” Levi flatly states.

“Okay, but how do we know?”

“Hange—”

Except it’s Erwin intercepting once more. “Because he would never pretend to have a significant other when one of his closest friends happens to be you.”

Hange squints, pushing their glasses up the bridge of their nose.

“Why? ‘Cause I joked that I’d stalk him the next time he finally found a date? That was one time, Erwin.”

Erwin rolls his neck to the right, offering Hange a pair of thick, disbelieving eyebrows.

“Technically speaking, Zoe, you threatened to stalk either of us if you caught even a sniff that we could be in the midst of a romantic pursuit. Plus, we’re well aware of the disguise kit collecting dust in the trunk of Moblit’s car.”

An instant shit-eating grin passes across their lips.

“Ha. Fair.”

If Levi’s eyeballs could roll any further into the back of his skull, they’d get stuck.

“However,” Erwin adds, those bold blue eyes flickering back towards Levi, “it doesn’t explain why we were in the dark until now. At the very least, we should hope you would feel safe enough to confide in us about someone you are serious about dating.”

Yeah.

Out of his two friends sitting across from him, Levi figured Erwin would be the most suspicious of the surprise announcement.

Now that it’s been a few days since That Fateful Night, he doesn’t feel as self-conscious to confess his new reality.

It was as good of a time as any to rip the proverbial band-aid off.

(Besides, it was only a matter of mistakes before his friends learned the truth for themselves.)

Hange, Erwin, Moblit — they’re his only remaining connections tying him to this city. The others from his gym days have all found offers in other towns, returned to their old homes—

Moved on.

Meeting Erwin Smith in boot camp changed the trajectory of his life, for better or worse.

Levi had known the man longer than he knew anyone else — but only by a few days and some change, considering he was destined (Hange’s words, not his) to meet the hyper scientist and their subdued partner, Moblit, in the army as well.

Then, as if attached to the hip, all four of them agreed to work at Erwin’s gym.

When that fell through, Erwin found the Scout Services Hotline.

— —

The announcement came to him one summer evening with a printed job description and a six pack of beer.

Levi assumed Erwin’s confession on taking a sex hotline job had been one weird, shitty joke.

Picturing stoic, pragmatic Erwin Smith telling people how to fuck themselves in their bedrooms late at night for the almighty dollar felt obscene.

Hell, it was obscene.

Levi didn’t want to consider his oldest friend in such a compromising position, but there it was laid before him without shame or fear of judgment.

Becoming a part-time sex worker for Erwin was as noncommittal as taking up a fleeting niche interest — like exotic bird watching or crocheting sweaters for fucking cats.

“At the gym, we improved upon people’s lives,” Erwin had told him while sipping his beer, staring out to the city sightline from Levi’s balcony. “Who has the authority to say this job isn’t doing something similar to those who may be lonely?”

“You would make yapping on a damn sex hotline prophetic,” Levi scoffed in return. “Selling some shitty porn script a dozen times a night sounds like the closest you could get to Hell.”

“I disagree,” Erwin argued without heat. “When I interviewed, they stated every employee is given the ability to do as they please. To show their strengths and make it their own.”

“Bullshit.”

“It isn’t.”

Erwin rested the beer bottle on the knee of his trousers.

“Flexible work hours give me the ability to find another place the gym can call home. The pay would certainly cover any initial costs after several years.”

“Several years?”

Levi frowned, sitting up straighter in his chair.

“Erwin… c’mon. Just take a second to listen to yourself.”

“I’m only offering a chance for you to do the same. You may not be fond of people, Levi, but you’re loyal to a stubborn fault.”

Erwin gave him a sidelong glance.

“I know you won’t put in applications to go to any other gym.”

“Tch.”

A dismissive sound was all he could muster at the time.

He always hated how Erwin could open the cavity of his chest and put his damn bleeding heart on display.

“Who says I haven’t been window shopping to pass the damn unemployment time?”

“I wish you would,” Erwin replied with a heavy sigh. “Your skills are better when in use, not lying waste with the rest of us.”

“Hange and Moblit’re doing just fine.”

Hange, a self-proclaimed babbler, returned to Paradis University to make headway on some fascinating research projects side by side with Moblit.

It was where they belonged, really.

“Fine, then lying waste with me.”

After a beat, Erwin slid his hand across the space between their chairs and held out a slip of paper.

"Look it over. Really sit down and think about what you did for our fighters and see where I’m coming from. You have a knack for leading. Of making people believe in themselves at their lowest."

He made it a point to stop. Stare.

Levi bit his tongue, meeting his friend's stern gaze.

"Conventional or not, you would still be helping people. Even if it’s a job for a month, at least you’ll be putting a hell of a lot of money in your pocket. It's better than waiting for my signal to move on.”

— —

The bastard was always great at a rousing speech.

That night was the night Levi plugged in the damn website and read the job description.

By morning, he had submitted his application for a part-time hotline employee that included an .mp3 file auditioning his voice.

Erwin must have told his boss that he had a life-long friend possibly interested in the position, because by that night?

Levi Ackerman had a job.

A night turned into a month.

A month turned into six.

Six to a year.

Suddenly denying begging, pleading people from their chased orgasms became as second nature as completing an Excel sheet.

Yet nothing else changed.

Levi still kept to himself.

Considering the friend group worked odd hours — Erwin with his own clientele, Moblit working towards his Masters, and Hange testing the scientific project of the week at the same university when unsupervised — it was easy to.

Wake up. Work out. Eat. Run errands. Clock in for work. Clock out. Eat. Sleep.

Repeat.

Routine.

Hell, a lot of his life worked like a well-oiled machine until you showed up.

Now his world is slightly spinning off-axis, and he knows:

Without talking to his friends about his (uncharacteristically selfish and) impulsive decision, everything could very well go up in flames.

(Because when it comes to sticking matters of the heart and Levi Ackerman in one room, the former never walks out.)

After a pregnant pause in this three-way stand-off, Hange leans in, pressing both hands onto the tops of their thighs.

“So when you say you’re seeing someone, you mean like… romantically?”

“As opposed to what?” Levi flatly asks.

“Well, seeing someone could mean anything, especially for you,” Hange reasons. Levi’s eyes narrow when Erwin gives that short huff of air through his nose like he’s stifling a laugh. “You could be seeing someone about finally fixing your dryer.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m just saying, romantically isn’t the first idea that comes to mind!”

“I have to agree with Zoe,” Erwin finally states, shifting his blue eyes to Levi’s. “You never mentioned that you had met someone in our group chat, and you haven’t made any changes in your schedule that suggest otherwise.”

Levi can’t help but scoff.

“Oh, so now you’re following Hange’s goddamn Google calendar?”

That fucking calendar.

The ‘we’re so busy but we can’t lose touch just because the gym went under’ calendar hastily made at two in the morning and sent with a declaration of war if no one accepted the invite.

All four of them did.

(Then again, Moblit didn’t have much of a choice.)

“I check on occasion,” is Erwin’s short rebuttal, before sitting up straighter. “But the former argument stands: you didn’t tell us that you were dabbling in the dating scene.”

“Wouldn’t really call it dabbling, Erwin,” Levi huffs, picking up his tea cup by clawing the rim of the ceramic. “Shit just kind of happened.”

“Uh-uh,” Hange interrupts. “We’re not playing coy right now, Levi. I want details: name, height—”

“Occupation,” Erwin agrees.

“Where they’re from.”

“If they have siblings.”

“Do they live near here?”

“If they’re allergic to cats.”

An involuntary grimace passes over Levi’s face.

“Ooh! We also need to know if they like tennis,” Hange adds excitedly. “Don’t trust someone who likes tennis, spectator or player. They’re always too put together with an underlying layer of batshit crazy.”

Erwin halts mid-sip of his tea.

“...I like tennis.”

Hange’s thumb and middle finger sharply snap. “Exactly.”

Enough.

Levi hastily pushes his black fringe out of his eyes with his free hand. “I— No, Jesus, can we stop speculating about her?”

“Why?” Erwin challenges.

“Because I told you what you needed to know,” Levi challenges without tripping over his words. “And I’d prefer to keep the rest of myself.”

“Ah, her.”

When he turns his attention to Hange, there’s a wicked glimmer in their eye.

Well, fuck him.

Too much has already been said.

Hange whistles low.

“So how recently was this fair maiden introduced into thy friend’s life?”

“Don’t start talking like a freak, Four Eyes,” he warns them while they suppress a cackle between pressed lips. “And — fuck, fine. If no one is going to let it go—”

“We aren’t.”'

Erwin interrupts, making it two against one.

With a set glare at his blonde friend, the smaller man sinks further into his chair and sighs with reluctant resolve.

“I… met her a few days ago. It...”

Trailing off, he sets his tea cup down to rub at his temples with one hand.

This is going to bring on a headache.

He really doesn’t need it on a work night.

“You’re both going to have an opinion on the how, and trust me, so do I.”

Hange’s face screws up in confusion, but he sees it out of the corner of his eye.

Erwin grows still. Contemplative.

Yeah, he knew this was going to go terribly.

“Huh?” Hange whips their ponytail back and forth to look between both men, smacking themself on the sides of their face. “Why wouldn’t we approve of how? Is it one of the old fighters?”

Levi scoffs, dropping to sit back in his chair. “I’d rather choke.”

“Then I’m not following. You don’t even talk to cashiers at the grocery store.”

“When did she call the hotline?” Erwin asks, cutting straight through the bush instead of beating around it.

His stare is almost indiscernible. Stern.

(Protective.)

The lightbulb clicks. Hange finally settles their attention on him.

“Whoa — wait, she’s a…”

“Former client,” Levi confesses after Hange trails off. “Emphasis on the former part.”

The room grows silent.

Levi doesn’t have the capacity to see Hange’s true reaction, because he’s keeping eye contact with Erwin.

Their own telepathic argument bounces back and forth like that very proverbial tennis ball Hange had so teasingly laid down.

The ethics of it all;

The logistics of what it could mean for the future;

The gravity of this choice and knowing its weight is crushing him.

Erwin’s gaze softens a fraction.

Levi’s shoulders relax, if only a little.

“And how did that opportunity come to pass?” the taller blonde finally asks, but it isn’t as harsh as Levi anticipated.

Hell, it’s curious.

Willing — to not judge; to hear him out.

“Accidentally stumbled into her at the bar down the street,” Levi confesses.

Stumbled is an understatement.

— —

“So then — what does this mean?”

He doesn’t know.

God, he has no fucking clue.

Just like he had no fucking clue you’d be at this bar tonight; that you not only lived in the area, but in the same goddamn building just a few floors south.

You were meant to be a fluke thing.

A moment of weakness.

An anomaly he could solve like every other problem in his life, one he could reason to death and move on from once you realized that this hotline is a slippery slope to financial debt.

At the end of the day, it wasn’t meant to be real.

The calls, the laughter, the exchange of stories felt real, but that’s the selling point.

Imagining idealism.

He could send as many discounted invoices as he could to management to ease the cost of your calls, but there was only so much he could do from his position.

Still—

That being said, he wanted this.

For the first time in a long time, he wanted something.

Ever since Erwin’s gym went under and the staff were forced to find something else in the interim, Levi Ackerman turned off his emotions. His passion.

Money was tight.

Bills were bills.

But there are worse things to do than apply to a remote-working sex hotline with the promise of flexible hours, medical insurance, and the opportunity to get away from people for a while.

Maybe he hadn’t realized he was simply going through the motions of buying a morning tea at the coffee shop down the street.

Maybe he hadn’t noticed that his drive to push himself to the brink of exhaustion at the gym all but disappeared.

Maybe he existed to simply exist.

Then you called.

Petra had pinged him to let him know that there was someone looking for a deep voice — not surprising — with a tendency to overtalk and overthink.

Easy.

Those types always cave the second you call them a pet name or sprinkle a little praise.

Yet you burst into his life like a damn firework to the face and he’s never recovered since.

Being nervous is a staple on these calls. He’s heard every justification in the book just as he’s witnessed people use the hotline like they’re robots.

You wanted to talk.

Petra doesn’t send people to him if they want to talk.

(Did she know, somehow, that he needed this?)

Conspiracies aside, the last two weeks became some of the best of his life.

Now you knew his face, and he knew yours.

And Christ, you were beautiful.

Your voice was one thing — like a soothing balm to his insomnia — but your face nearly took him right the hell out.

Even in the mirror backsplash of the bar, he couldn’t stop staring. Didn’t want to, not when he finally saw what he wanted right in the palm of his hand.

So he was honest.

Honest about his life, his job, his black hole of an existence — maybe to scare you away so you’d choose better than a guy like him.

That he was the first to break the rules.

That he was sorry, because you weren’t looking for more baggage after a shit breakup with a shithead of a guy.

You didn’t care.

So he decided to rip a page out of his goddamn advice book:

Be selfish.

“Well, if you don’t get too wasted with your friends tonight—”

Autopilot.

Everything is on autopilot when he picks up that damn pen and starts to scribble on a napkin, allowing his nervous system to suckerpunch his logic right out the damn window.

“—and you end up going to the gym tomorrow—”

Bail.

Bail, bail, bail, before you make a damn fool of yourself, Levi Ackerman.

He doesn’t.

He straightens his spine, folds the napkin, and reaches for your hand.

The heat of it almost makes his stomach clench.

If he were bolder, then maybe he’d steal you away from your friends. Keep asking questions to make you talk more. Watch as your eyes light up about your favorite things—

He can’t. Won’t.

You’re with your friends. He’s already taken enough time away from them for you.

“—give me a call.”

Maybe he’s chickenshit for running, but at least there’s a part of him brave enough to leave him his personal cell number in the palm of your hand.

Before you can say anything, he drops some money on the counter to pay for both drinks and a tip and leaves to walk home.

To contemplate.

(Assuming you likely won’t call. He wouldn’t blame you.)

The night air leaves a sobering sting on his cheeks as he steps outside.

It’s considerably quieter than the cramped space of the bar, but cabs bustle in the street.

His pocket vibrates not once but twice.

(So not a text.)

Fishing his phone out, Levi squints at the ‘Unknown Caller’ ID staring up at him.

He swipes right to accept said call, pressing the phone to his ear.

“Hello, Levi Ackerman speaking.”

“Hi, Levi. It’s formerly Scarlet.”

His heart falls out of his ass.

Whipping back around to the tinted windows of the bar, Levi can’t help but look for that now-familiar face.

You’re blocked by an endless sea of conversations and bodies, but he still searches.

“My schedule just opened up,” you tell him from the other side of the line, your voice airy like you hold a secret. “I know it’s a little late for some coffee, but — are you free for some tea now?”

Shit.

Maybe he should be giving the headset for the hotline over to you.

“Depends,” Levi exhales. “Any shop worth a damn is closed at this hour.”

“Shit, you’re right.”

He liked it when you cursed.

Hell, he liked it when you weren’t afraid to be yourself around him the most.

“There’s a pop-up shop about six floors above yours,” Levi reasons with a shrug he assumes you can’t see; autopilot, “if you don’t mind walking a neighbor home.”

— —

“You said that?”

Hange, now at the brink of teetering off of their chair, gawks.

Levi blinks twice, realizing he’s given more of the story than he wanted to.

That they know it’s serious — dead fucking serious for him, actually — and that you’re his neighbor.

Yeah, he didn’t believe it either until you said yes.

“What?” Levi asks. “Something wrong?”

“No, that was just fucking smooth, dude,” Hange whistles low, impressed. “Pop-a-button-and-open-a-window kinda smooth. Holy shit.” They thumb towards Erwin. “You teach him to talk like that!?”

“Self-taught, I’m afraid,” Erwin hums. “Can’t take the credit.”

Hange flops back into their chair unceremoniously. “Jeeeez.”

“Six floors down, then?”

There’s a rare tint of pride in Erwin’s tone, like there’s a joke somewhere in that question he isn’t saying.

Levi immediately narrows his eyes.

“Yeah. She’s been my fuckin’ neighbor all this time, if you can believe that.”

He sure as hell can’t. The fact that you’re six floors away — have been — has kept him up at night.

He could run down there right now and show you off to his friends.

He could leave you home-cooked meals if you’re running behind at your office job.

He could do a lot of things, but—

“Is she requesting you to end your time at Scout Services?” Erwin asks, interrupting his trailing thoughts.

Levi’s stormy eyes meet a contemplative, oceanic stare.

“...no.”

A beat passes.

Despite his trepidation, he explains himself.

“She’s not asking me to quit it. Says she gets it, a job’s a job, but I don’t know how true that’ll be in the long run.”

“And you believe her?”

He knows Erwin’s skepticism isn’t unfounded, but it sets a fire in his belly.

Questioning you, the newfound gravity keeping him grounded on planet earth.

(You're just a stranger to him, too, at the end of the day, but you don't feel like one. Not really.)

“I can’t expect anyone to stay neutral about what the fuck it is we do, Erwin," he reasons diplomatically. "I can say everything on my mind and put it on paper, but I’m sure the doubt will still creep in. Everything’s too new to tell. It won’t be easy, but it…”

He sighs, running his hand once more through his straight-and-narrow black hair.

“I just need you two dumbasses to keep me in check. I can’t—”

Hange frowns, and he hates the sympathetic tone they take when they say his name.

“Levi—”

“Four Eyes,” Levi interrupts stronger yet weaker in resolve, effectively shutting down their protest, “I can’t fuck this up. So don’t let me.”

The air grows thick, like winding vines corrupting the foundation of a tree.

Levi glances between the two of them, nostrils flaring with unspoken difficulty.

Erwin is the first to nod. Wordlessly, but he does.

Hange sighs with conclusion not a second after and nods, too.

“Am I at least allowed to ask one thing?” they chirp, holding out one slender finger to the sky. “Just one teeny, tiny thing — yes or no.”

A part of him really wants to say no.

A part of him really wants to say this conversation is over before he gives them anymore concrete information about you as he navigates these uncharted waters of being a not-so-normal boyfriend to a very-normal-ass person.

He fights.

Fails.

“...fine,” he grumbles. “The fuck’s the question?”

Hange perks up, all too smug.

“Did the pop-up shop six floors up line work?”

The memory blossoms in the back of his skull.

His body warms as if trapped under an electric blanket, heat setting cranked a little too high.

Instinctively his eyes flicker to the front door of his apartment.

Like you’ll burst in at any moment with your work bags and stress and the hope that he’ll have the same soothing balm you’ve gifted him, hands at the ready to fix your problems for you.

He hasn’t wanted much.

He’s never wanted much, but—

Shit, if he doesn’t want to be good to you.

“...something like that.”

Author's Note:

AHHHH HI EVERYONE! WE'RE AT IT AGAIN WITH MODERN!LEVI SHENANIGANS! How are we feeling to be back?

I seriously cannot believe we're here. I've never done a sequel before, but the demand was overwhelming and I couldn't help but agree: we could do with learning what happens after the final call.

And we will, in this seven (maybe more?) part series. I had to actually break up part one because it got way too large of a chapter, so I promise we'll be picking up right where we left off in P4 -- like, quite literally That Fateful Night in part two.

#tysm for the reblog too!!!#feedback.#fic: dating in airplane mode

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amywritesthings · 1 hour

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it's friday! old navy had my favorite powersoft shorts back in stock just in time for my trip to orlando! i have zero plans this weekend! life is the bubbles!

#so long as work isn't the worst today things are looking up!!

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amywritesthings · 2 hours

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this hug with sylus is everything. this hug builds more sylus x mc than we’ve had in 2 months. can you imagine him hugging you like this? i’m having a hard time breathing

#THIS MAN IS ALL MY TROPES IN OOOONE #lnds sylus #lnds spoilers #love and deepspace

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amywritesthings · 23 hours

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i need them so badly oh my god look at them

#LOOK AT MY SONSSSS #they'd be like $60 together #i looove my getogojo look ups and my god #they're so cute i may die

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amywritesthings · 2 days

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me: yay all my work events are done! this is awesome! ceo: actually the event went so well yesterday i'd like to do an office tour with several events in the next 3 months and you have to start working on it asap also i have no clue what i want lol ill text ya bye me:

#out of pure frustration and rage #i am going to write some fic later i swear #just to get my own bitchiness out bc i've already gotten passive aggressive with my boss #who tried to blame calendar invites issues on me and my colleague vs yknow #poor fucking last minute planning and zoom

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amywritesthings · 2 days

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this tag is legit me anytime march speaks

(but also tysm for the reblog!!)

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: march/farmer (fields of mistria) Word Count: 2.5k Summary: It's your first Halloween in Mistria, and you're excited for the costume party at the inn. One small problem: you accidentally match your costume with the worst possible person.

Tag: halloween, mild language, enemies to something, everyone ships you with march except march, friday night at the inn, unresolved romantic tension Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

HALLOWEEN AT THE INN.

Maybe the Kiki costume is too on the nose.

While you’re technically the new farmer of the town, tending your crops has recently begun to feel like a secondary job to the impromptu delivery service you’ve tripped into.

Not that you mind — if Hayden leaves a communal bulletin stating he needs an egg, then you’re more than happy to pop by and deliver.

(Though… doesn’t he technically own a ranch? Why would he need more eggs?)

Whatever.

Not your problem, just your solution.

Tonight marks your first-ever costume party at the inn.

While it’s been a town tradition for years, perhaps even decades, you find Hemlock stating that this year simply feels different.

Lighter, maybe. More exciting.

(Because the town needs a little excitement that isn’t privy towards an earthquake.)

You stand in front of your elongated mirror tucked against your bookshelves, tugging at the purple-blue skirt skimming your thighs.

It isn’t difficult to guess what you’re dressed as: between the massive bright bow wrapped around your head like a headband, the flats, the smock dress, and the stuffed black cat tucked under your arm, you should hope your friends know what you’re dressed as.

Kiki, the delivery service girl from the Studio Ghibli movie of similar title.

With one last huff of anxiety, you turn for the front door and trudge through your dilapidated (see: work in progress) farm to make your way towards the heart of town.

Josephine has already decked out the front with strings of paper bats and pumpkins lining the doors to the inn. The gentle glow of recently-carved pumpkins framing said doors with the bails of hay you donated to tonight’s event brings a nostalgic warmth to your heart.

You can’t remember the last time you went to a Halloween event, much less a costume party.

As your hand reaches for the door, you’re met with a sudden burst of wind.

The door flies open towards you, revealing a button-nosed Dell peering up from her perch. Whiskers streak her rosy cheeks, the black cat ears a stark contrast to her cropped blonde hair.

“You’re here!” she chirps excitedly, beaming up at you.

“Hey, Dell,” you greet politely, opening the door for her.

It appears the rascals of Mistria are following in tow — as they tend to do all over town in a troop — all equal parts dressed up as various animals.

Maple has a small painted bunny nose with tall ears in her hair.

In true Luc fashion, a spider body with fuzzy arms attached to his appendages. He doesn’t look the least bit comfortable, but he’s clearly excited to be an arachnid nonetheless.

“Are you Kiki this year?” Dell inquires.

Luc fixes his glasses with his many arms before perking up at your added props. “Whoa, and you have Jiji with you!”

Dell gets this look on her face, as if knowing something you don't know, but you think nothing of it at the time.

“Celine is back by the kitchen with Adaline and Orlic,” Maple suggests as if assuming you’re looking for the eldest sister.

Celine had been one of your first friends in town, so it’s no surprise to you that one would anticipate you would gravitate right towards them.

However, hearing Orlic’s name in the mix makes your stomach flip-flop, because—

. — —

Well, let’s get it out of the way early.

For the record, you love to spend your time at the blacksmith shop.

For the past month you’ve been hard at work in the mines, exploring the ins and outs of such a mysterious place, so naturally you’ve come to the shop to forge your tools and weapons.

And you’ve gotten good at offering a helping hand when it comes to blacksmithing.

Like, really good.

So good that Orlic has even set up a little spot for you to consolidate and work.

—only issue is that it’s right next to March’s bench.

March.

The bane of your existence, if you ever had one.

The naysayer that wants you gone from this damn town.

The only person in town who seems to have a big problem with you being here.

You wish you understood why — it isn’t like you did anything wrong to him.

You show up to the shop with an ever-revolving door of gifts from the mines.

Slowly but surely, you’ve learned what each brother likes. Olric is easy to please: he’s happy to take any stone you find, hoping one day to find a gem in the rough.

March, however…

He couldn’t care less that you show up after a long day’s work, dirtied and exhausted, holding out a piece of copper ore like a proverbial olive branch.

(Tch, he clicks with his tongue like clockwork, I could do better.)

Still, you persist.

Because deep down, you don’t think March actually hates you.

Orlic has said it time and time again — his brother can be tough to get used to, but that’s because he doesn’t have many friends. A loner at heart; March would rather sit in solace and march (no pun intended) to the beat of his own drum.

He likes you in his own way!

If it wasn’t for one of the first nights at the inn, then you wouldn’t believe it.

You distinctly remember walking in with Adeline after accomplishing a renovation of a bridge (to nowhere, you’d like to preface, but a job’s a job) when a voice jumped out from the fray of baseline chatter.

“Yo, farmer!”

Slurred, maybe, but after so much time at the blacksmith shop, you know it well.

However there’s little bite to March as he stands from his bar stool, face flushed with a flourishing pink as he sips from his mug.

He makes it a point to poke his head over his brother’s to see your face, and he…

Smiles.

Not in mockery.

Not in hatred.

A real, bonafide, drunk-as-a-skunk smile.

“Come here,” he hiccups, sloshing some beer as he tries to beckon you closer. “C’mere—”

You don’t think March remembers, but he talked to you.

For three hours straight, actually, about nothing in particular.

Your farm.

Your week.

Your future plans.

Chin dropped to his propped-up fist, his eyes are hazy, but he listens. Intently. Like he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say.

At first it was jarring, especially since Orlic hopped up to give you his seat and never returned, but after twenty or so minutes it was… nice.

The next morning you were strangers.

Six straight days of snappy remarks, but without as much bite.

By the time Friday rolled around again, you found him in the same position — drinking, happily enjoying a communal game, while waving to you periodically to get your attention while you’re busy spending time discussing the week with Celine and Reina.

You want to ask Orlic.

Hell, you want to ask anyone to make sure you’re not imagining the once-a-week friendliness.

But you don’t.

You just endure six whole days until the next Friday rolls around.

. — —

As the kids shuffle out of the inn to get some air, you walk into the festively-decorated venue looking for a drink.

Reina had said something about themed finger-foods and drinks, both mocktail and cocktail, that she was beyond proud of.

There’s a circle near the tail end of the bar where Celine, Reina, Orlic, and Ryis all chat. Ryis has gone traditional cowboy, while Reina and Celine match in regency ball gowns, presumably a period-piece costume. Orlic is standing in an inflatable dinosaur costume, so you can only make out the visor of his eyes in the blow-up ensemble.

And when their eyes land on you, they stop talking completely.

At first it feels normal, albeit intimidating, but you wave and walk over anyway.

(Why has Ryis’ jaw dropped to the floor? And why is he excusing himself with a little laugh?)

“Hey, guys!” you greet as cheerily as you can, and Celine gives a look to Reina.

…huh.

The same kind of look Dell had on her face, like there’s something unspoken being passed around by your appearance.

“Oh — hello,” Celine replies in her musical voice, curtseying in character. “Lovely costume!”

“Yeah, it looks amazing on you,” Reina adds, but she keeps looking around.

You feel like there’s something you’re missing.

Staring down the cat and broomstick in your arms, you open your mouth to compliment them in return, but—

“So that’s why March didn’t want to match with me!”

Orlic pipes up, his dinosaur suit squishing and swishing around as he holds his arms out.

“I would have never guessed you’d plan a costume together,” pipes up Celine, shoulders deflating as if glad someone brought up the elephant in the room.

Except you can’t see said elephant — it’s still invisible.

“I… sorry,” you start, fixing your bow. “I don’t really know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t have to be coy, Kiki,” Reina teases with a wave of her hand. “I think it’s cute!”

“But what’s cute?” you urge. “I feel like there’s something—”

“Hey, nerds, I got us the stupid punch. You could’ve told me the ladle was for baby hands. Took me like five minutes to make four drinks.”

At the sound of a gruff, annoyed voice, you turn—

Oh.

Oh, no.

March stares back at you through black-rimmed glasses with equal horror, sloshing one of the drinks he’s delicately balancing in his hands in a diamond.

His hair’s a little flatter than usual, but the fluff fights the frizz of the heated inn. On his body is a striped red and white t-shirt, along with some light blue denim jeans rolled up at the ankles.

The costume is just as distinct as yours.

Tombo.

“The hell are you wearing?” he blurts directly at you, and you hear a high-pitched giggle of excitement behind you come from Celine.

“I… a costume,” you lamely reply.

March scowls. “Yeah, genius, I know that it's a costume 'cus you never wear bows.”

“Yes, I do?”

“Not as big as that one!” he snaps. “They’re always smaller or, like… two, on either side of your— Whatever! But why that costume?”

“Thanks for the drinks, little bro!” Orlic happily states, waddling around you in order to gingerly pick up his punch. “We’re gonna go see how the mummy-wrapping game is going.”

March's eyes shoot wide in confusion.

“Huh?”

“Yeah,” Reina adds, taking two drinks for her and Celine, before giving one back. “Actually, I’m totally hydrated. Our lovely Kiki might need a drink. You two have fun.”

“Huh?!”

March’s head whips side to side so fast that you expect the glasses to fly off of the bridge of his nose.

You stand with your plushie cat and broom, blindsided by the matching outfits.

Oh, god — it clicks.

They think the two of you secretly conspired together to do a couples costume.

That’s not good.

“Why’d everyone leave?” March grumbles. “It took a lot of damn effort not to spill those drinks.”

When you say nothing, he reluctantly returns his attention to you and holds out a drink.

“For the record, I planned to be Tombo before you even got to town, Farmer Girl.”

“I put together whatever I had in my suitcase,” you confess, taking the drink from his hand.

“Sure you didn’t sneak a peek of my costume hangin’ up when you were at the shop?” he accuses, squinting while he sips on his alcoholic punch.

“No, March,” you groan, dropping your head back. “Trust me, I don’t want to be matching with you, either.”

In true March fashion, he contradicts himself without missing a beat.

“Why the hell not?”

“Why?”

“Yeah, what’s so bad about matching me?”

“Because people will think—”

“So?”

“So?” you repeat, slightly higher pitched. “Uh, hello, it’s your worst nightmare?”

“Nah, dressing up as a t-rex is my worst nightmare,” he corrects, like everyone knows this vital piece of information about him. “Orlic was pretty hell bent on getting us to match this year, but I wasn’t sweating my ass off in a damn blow-up suit.”

“And accidentally matching with me is significantly less than that?”

March pauses, marinating on the words, before growing silent to sip more of his drink.

Exasperated, you throw your hands up and switch plushie Jiji from one arm to the other.

“Well, I’ll go home and change. Maybe I have a black shirt and jeans.”

Surely you have to have something basic in your arsenal, even if you were really excited for this costume. But the implication is rearing its ugly head into a territory you’re not sure you went to venture into.

Friendship with the one guy who hates your guts, or worse.

Yet his voice rumbles against the lip of his cup. “What’s a black shirt and pants combo gonna be for a costume?”

“I don’t know, a cat?”

“But Dell’s already a cat.”

“Then a raven! I don’t know.”

March snorts, shaking his head. He uses his free hand to push his fake glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“That’s dumb. Just keep being Kiki.”

The huff out your mouth is laced with disbelief. “And what, have you be my Tombo?”

You don’t mean the words to come out as harshly as they do, but the options to rectify this awkward situation are limited.

It’s either he changes, you change, or—

Well, or you match with your sworn enemy of the town.

Both of you stand shoulder to shoulder, watching the rest of the party rage on.

For what feels like hours, neither of you speak.

A few people greet the two of you, but beyond your initial friend group, no one else seems surprised to see the two of you in a common duo costume.

“I like your bow, by the way.”

The words are so quiet that you almost think you caught wind of a ghost.

Turning your head, the sight before you is one you’ve grown accustomed to: March’s cheeks are flushed, sprinkled with an embarrassed pink.

He side-eyes you, studying the bow before flickering his attention to your face.

You sip your drink, trying your best to look neutral.

“I… think you look nice with glasses.”

That pink turns into crimson, and he buries his head into his chest like he wants to curl into himself to hide the fact that your compliment affects him so deeply.

“...thanks.”

With a curt nod, you bring the cup back to your lips, only to realize it’s only left with ice.

Huh. You didn’t think you drank it all down.

In your peripheral you see it, but it doesn’t register until something warm lands on your hand —

March’s fingers overlap yours, gently nudging the cup out of your grip and into his.

“You're empty,” he mumbles. “I’ll get you some more.”

Before you can protest, he turns on a heel and rushes back to the punch cauldron. The blush goes so far as to creep up the nape of his neck and into his dyed-red hair.

You watch him disappear, your stomach flip-flopping with anxiety and…

Butterflies?

Weird. That’s new.

(But that’s how it goes on Friday night at the inn.)

author's note:

I wrote this in about an hour because I have been dying to try my hand at an FoM fic, and since I'm in a very Halloween-y mood, I figured I could write a little cute heart event for March!

If you got this far, thank you so much for reading! What other costumes do you think March would be cute in? Let me know in the comments! (And thank you for any reblogs, likes, etc.)

#feedback.#fic: halloween at the inn

125 notes · View notes

amywritesthings · 2 days

Text

this combined with your tags just made me 🥰🥰🥰

and also listen -- if i were the MC, and he said that, i would also be sitting there like 'whoa we have shops in our apartment complex?' because I would not have understood the pick-up line at all, so you are so valid.

dating on airplane mode. | part one.

( Read on AO3 )

part two. | masterlist

“I'm seeing someone.”

Tea goes flying — metaphorically and physically.

It’s a direct hit.

Erwin heroically takes the brunt of the damage, so at least his furniture is spared.

(Levi didn’t need to spend the rest of the afternoon scrubbing down the already scrubbed-down living room.)

Hange’s shout is shrill, the realization hitting them like a full-throttle freight train.

“You’re what?”

“He said he’s seeing someone,” Erwin answers in monotone before Levi can even try.

He raises the napkin to blot the side of his face sprinkled with a mixture of freshly-brewed lavender tea and Hange’s saliva.

(Then again, Hange could abruptly bang pots and pans in the middle of the night and Erwin would merely call it a minor inconvenience to his sleep routine.)

“No, no, I heard what he said,” Hange recovers with a crack to their voice, “but I can’t tell if he’s messing with us.”

“I’m not,” Levi flatly states.

“Okay, but how do we know?”

“Hange—”

Except it’s Erwin intercepting once more. “Because he would never pretend to have a significant other when one of his closest friends happens to be you.”

Hange squints, pushing their glasses up the bridge of their nose.

“Why? ‘Cause I joked that I’d stalk him the next time he finally found a date? That was one time, Erwin.”

Erwin rolls his neck to the right, offering Hange a pair of thick, disbelieving eyebrows.

An instant shit-eating grin passes across their lips.

“Ha. Fair.”

If Levi’s eyeballs could roll any further into the back of his skull, they’d get stuck.

Yeah.

Out of his two friends sitting across from him, Levi figured Erwin would be the most suspicious of the surprise announcement.

Now that it’s been a few days since That Fateful Night, he doesn’t feel as self-conscious to confess his new reality.

It was as good of a time as any to rip the proverbial band-aid off.

(Besides, it was only a matter of mistakes before his friends learned the truth for themselves.)

Hange, Erwin, Moblit — they’re his only remaining connections tying him to this city. The others from his gym days have all found offers in other towns, returned to their old homes—

Moved on.

Meeting Erwin Smith in boot camp changed the trajectory of his life, for better or worse.

Then, as if attached to the hip, all four of them agreed to work at Erwin’s gym.

When that fell through, Erwin found the Scout Services Hotline.

— —

The announcement came to him one summer evening with a printed job description and a six pack of beer.

Levi assumed Erwin’s confession on taking a sex hotline job had been one weird, shitty joke.

Picturing stoic, pragmatic Erwin Smith telling people how to fuck themselves in their bedrooms late at night for the almighty dollar felt obscene.

Hell, it was obscene.

Levi didn’t want to consider his oldest friend in such a compromising position, but there it was laid before him without shame or fear of judgment.

Becoming a part-time sex worker for Erwin was as noncommittal as taking up a fleeting niche interest — like exotic bird watching or crocheting sweaters for fucking cats.

“You would make yapping on a damn sex hotline prophetic,” Levi scoffed in return. “Selling some shitty porn script a dozen times a night sounds like the closest you could get to Hell.”

“I disagree,” Erwin argued without heat. “When I interviewed, they stated every employee is given the ability to do as they please. To show their strengths and make it their own.”

“Bullshit.”

“It isn’t.”

Erwin rested the beer bottle on the knee of his trousers.

“Flexible work hours give me the ability to find another place the gym can call home. The pay would certainly cover any initial costs after several years.”

“Several years?”

Levi frowned, sitting up straighter in his chair.

“Erwin… c’mon. Just take a second to listen to yourself.”

“I’m only offering a chance for you to do the same. You may not be fond of people, Levi, but you’re loyal to a stubborn fault.”

Erwin gave him a sidelong glance.

“I know you won’t put in applications to go to any other gym.”

“Tch.”

A dismissive sound was all he could muster at the time.

He always hated how Erwin could open the cavity of his chest and put his damn bleeding heart on display.

“Who says I haven’t been window shopping to pass the damn unemployment time?”

“I wish you would,” Erwin replied with a heavy sigh. “Your skills are better when in use, not lying waste with the rest of us.”

“Hange and Moblit’re doing just fine.”

Hange, a self-proclaimed babbler, returned to Paradis University to make headway on some fascinating research projects side by side with Moblit.

It was where they belonged, really.

“Fine, then lying waste with me.”

After a beat, Erwin slid his hand across the space between their chairs and held out a slip of paper.

"Look it over. Really sit down and think about what you did for our fighters and see where I’m coming from. You have a knack for leading. Of making people believe in themselves at their lowest."

He made it a point to stop. Stare.

Levi bit his tongue, meeting his friend's stern gaze.

— —

The bastard was always great at a rousing speech.

That night was the night Levi plugged in the damn website and read the job description.

By morning, he had submitted his application for a part-time hotline employee that included an .mp3 file auditioning his voice.

Erwin must have told his boss that he had a life-long friend possibly interested in the position, because by that night?

Levi Ackerman had a job.

A night turned into a month.

A month turned into six.

Six to a year.

Suddenly denying begging, pleading people from their chased orgasms became as second nature as completing an Excel sheet.

Yet nothing else changed.

Levi still kept to himself.

Wake up. Work out. Eat. Run errands. Clock in for work. Clock out. Eat. Sleep.

Repeat.

Routine.

Hell, a lot of his life worked like a well-oiled machine until you showed up.

Now his world is slightly spinning off-axis, and he knows:

Without talking to his friends about his (uncharacteristically selfish and) impulsive decision, everything could very well go up in flames.

(Because when it comes to sticking matters of the heart and Levi Ackerman in one room, the former never walks out.)

After a pregnant pause in this three-way stand-off, Hange leans in, pressing both hands onto the tops of their thighs.

“So when you say you’re seeing someone, you mean like… romantically?”

“As opposed to what?” Levi flatly asks.

“Seriously?”

“I’m just saying, romantically isn’t the first idea that comes to mind!”

Levi can’t help but scoff.

“Oh, so now you’re following Hange’s goddamn Google calendar?”

That fucking calendar.

The ‘we’re so busy but we can’t lose touch just because the gym went under’ calendar hastily made at two in the morning and sent with a declaration of war if no one accepted the invite.

All four of them did.

(Then again, Moblit didn’t have much of a choice.)

“I check on occasion,” is Erwin’s short rebuttal, before sitting up straighter. “But the former argument stands: you didn’t tell us that you were dabbling in the dating scene.”

“Wouldn’t really call it dabbling, Erwin,” Levi huffs, picking up his tea cup by clawing the rim of the ceramic. “Shit just kind of happened.”

“Uh-uh,” Hange interrupts. “We’re not playing coy right now, Levi. I want details: name, height—”

“Occupation,” Erwin agrees.

“Where they’re from.”

“If they have siblings.”

“Do they live near here?”

“If they’re allergic to cats.”

An involuntary grimace passes over Levi’s face.

Erwin halts mid-sip of his tea.

“...I like tennis.”

Hange’s thumb and middle finger sharply snap. “Exactly.”

Enough.

Levi hastily pushes his black fringe out of his eyes with his free hand. “I— No, Jesus, can we stop speculating about her?”

“Why?” Erwin challenges.

“Because I told you what you needed to know,” Levi challenges without tripping over his words. “And I’d prefer to keep the rest of myself.”

“Ah, her.”

When he turns his attention to Hange, there’s a wicked glimmer in their eye.

Well, fuck him.

Too much has already been said.

Hange whistles low.

“So how recently was this fair maiden introduced into thy friend’s life?”

“Don’t start talking like a freak, Four Eyes,” he warns them while they suppress a cackle between pressed lips. “And — fuck, fine. If no one is going to let it go—”

“We aren’t.”'

Erwin interrupts, making it two against one.

With a set glare at his blonde friend, the smaller man sinks further into his chair and sighs with reluctant resolve.

“I… met her a few days ago. It...”

Trailing off, he sets his tea cup down to rub at his temples with one hand.

This is going to bring on a headache.

He really doesn’t need it on a work night.

“You’re both going to have an opinion on the how, and trust me, so do I.”

Hange’s face screws up in confusion, but he sees it out of the corner of his eye.

Erwin grows still. Contemplative.

Yeah, he knew this was going to go terribly.

“Huh?” Hange whips their ponytail back and forth to look between both men, smacking themself on the sides of their face. “Why wouldn’t we approve of how? Is it one of the old fighters?”

Levi scoffs, dropping to sit back in his chair. “I’d rather choke.”

“Then I’m not following. You don’t even talk to cashiers at the grocery store.”

“When did she call the hotline?” Erwin asks, cutting straight through the bush instead of beating around it.

His stare is almost indiscernible. Stern.

(Protective.)

The lightbulb clicks. Hange finally settles their attention on him.

“Whoa — wait, she’s a…”

“Former client,” Levi confesses after Hange trails off. “Emphasis on the former part.”

The room grows silent.

Levi doesn’t have the capacity to see Hange’s true reaction, because he’s keeping eye contact with Erwin.

Their own telepathic argument bounces back and forth like that very proverbial tennis ball Hange had so teasingly laid down.

The ethics of it all;

The logistics of what it could mean for the future;

The gravity of this choice and knowing its weight is crushing him.

Erwin’s gaze softens a fraction.

Levi’s shoulders relax, if only a little.

“And how did that opportunity come to pass?” the taller blonde finally asks, but it isn’t as harsh as Levi anticipated.

Hell, it’s curious.

Willing — to not judge; to hear him out.

“Accidentally stumbled into her at the bar down the street,” Levi confesses.

Stumbled is an understatement.

— —

“So then — what does this mean?”

He doesn’t know.

God, he has no fucking clue.

Just like he had no fucking clue you’d be at this bar tonight; that you not only lived in the area, but in the same goddamn building just a few floors south.

You were meant to be a fluke thing.

A moment of weakness.

An anomaly he could solve like every other problem in his life, one he could reason to death and move on from once you realized that this hotline is a slippery slope to financial debt.

At the end of the day, it wasn’t meant to be real.

The calls, the laughter, the exchange of stories felt real, but that’s the selling point.

Imagining idealism.

He could send as many discounted invoices as he could to management to ease the cost of your calls, but there was only so much he could do from his position.

Still—

That being said, he wanted this.

For the first time in a long time, he wanted something.

Ever since Erwin’s gym went under and the staff were forced to find something else in the interim, Levi Ackerman turned off his emotions. His passion.

Money was tight.

Bills were bills.

But there are worse things to do than apply to a remote-working sex hotline with the promise of flexible hours, medical insurance, and the opportunity to get away from people for a while.

Maybe he hadn’t realized he was simply going through the motions of buying a morning tea at the coffee shop down the street.

Maybe he hadn’t noticed that his drive to push himself to the brink of exhaustion at the gym all but disappeared.

Maybe he existed to simply exist.

Then you called.

Petra had pinged him to let him know that there was someone looking for a deep voice — not surprising — with a tendency to overtalk and overthink.

Easy.

Those types always cave the second you call them a pet name or sprinkle a little praise.

Yet you burst into his life like a damn firework to the face and he’s never recovered since.

Being nervous is a staple on these calls. He’s heard every justification in the book just as he’s witnessed people use the hotline like they’re robots.

You wanted to talk.

Petra doesn’t send people to him if they want to talk.

(Did she know, somehow, that he needed this?)

Conspiracies aside, the last two weeks became some of the best of his life.

Now you knew his face, and he knew yours.

And Christ, you were beautiful.

Your voice was one thing — like a soothing balm to his insomnia — but your face nearly took him right the hell out.

Even in the mirror backsplash of the bar, he couldn’t stop staring. Didn’t want to, not when he finally saw what he wanted right in the palm of his hand.

So he was honest.

Honest about his life, his job, his black hole of an existence — maybe to scare you away so you’d choose better than a guy like him.

That he was the first to break the rules.

That he was sorry, because you weren’t looking for more baggage after a shit breakup with a shithead of a guy.

You didn’t care.

So he decided to rip a page out of his goddamn advice book:

Be selfish.

“Well, if you don’t get too wasted with your friends tonight—”

Autopilot.

Everything is on autopilot when he picks up that damn pen and starts to scribble on a napkin, allowing his nervous system to suckerpunch his logic right out the damn window.

“—and you end up going to the gym tomorrow—”

Bail.

Bail, bail, bail, before you make a damn fool of yourself, Levi Ackerman.

He doesn’t.

He straightens his spine, folds the napkin, and reaches for your hand.

The heat of it almost makes his stomach clench.

If he were bolder, then maybe he’d steal you away from your friends. Keep asking questions to make you talk more. Watch as your eyes light up about your favorite things—

He can’t. Won’t.

You’re with your friends. He’s already taken enough time away from them for you.

“—give me a call.”

Maybe he’s chickenshit for running, but at least there’s a part of him brave enough to leave him his personal cell number in the palm of your hand.

Before you can say anything, he drops some money on the counter to pay for both drinks and a tip and leaves to walk home.

To contemplate.

(Assuming you likely won’t call. He wouldn’t blame you.)

The night air leaves a sobering sting on his cheeks as he steps outside.

It’s considerably quieter than the cramped space of the bar, but cabs bustle in the street.

His pocket vibrates not once but twice.

(So not a text.)

Fishing his phone out, Levi squints at the ‘Unknown Caller’ ID staring up at him.

He swipes right to accept said call, pressing the phone to his ear.

“Hello, Levi Ackerman speaking.”

“Hi, Levi. It’s formerly Scarlet.”

His heart falls out of his ass.

Whipping back around to the tinted windows of the bar, Levi can’t help but look for that now-familiar face.

You’re blocked by an endless sea of conversations and bodies, but he still searches.

Shit.

Maybe he should be giving the headset for the hotline over to you.

“Depends,” Levi exhales. “Any shop worth a damn is closed at this hour.”

“Shit, you’re right.”

He liked it when you cursed.

Hell, he liked it when you weren’t afraid to be yourself around him the most.

“There’s a pop-up shop about six floors above yours,” Levi reasons with a shrug he assumes you can’t see; autopilot, “if you don’t mind walking a neighbor home.”

— —

“You said that?”

Hange, now at the brink of teetering off of their chair, gawks.

Levi blinks twice, realizing he’s given more of the story than he wanted to.

That they know it’s serious — dead fucking serious for him, actually — and that you’re his neighbor.

Yeah, he didn’t believe it either until you said yes.

“What?” Levi asks. “Something wrong?”

“Self-taught, I’m afraid,” Erwin hums. “Can’t take the credit.”

Hange flops back into their chair unceremoniously. “Jeeeez.”

“Six floors down, then?”

There’s a rare tint of pride in Erwin’s tone, like there’s a joke somewhere in that question he isn’t saying.

Levi immediately narrows his eyes.

“Yeah. She’s been my fuckin’ neighbor all this time, if you can believe that.”

He sure as hell can’t. The fact that you’re six floors away — have been — has kept him up at night.

He could run down there right now and show you off to his friends.

He could leave you home-cooked meals if you’re running behind at your office job.

He could do a lot of things, but—

“Is she requesting you to end your time at Scout Services?” Erwin asks, interrupting his trailing thoughts.

Levi’s stormy eyes meet a contemplative, oceanic stare.

“...no.”

A beat passes.

Despite his trepidation, he explains himself.

“She’s not asking me to quit it. Says she gets it, a job’s a job, but I don’t know how true that’ll be in the long run.”

“And you believe her?”

He knows Erwin’s skepticism isn’t unfounded, but it sets a fire in his belly.

Questioning you, the newfound gravity keeping him grounded on planet earth.

(You're just a stranger to him, too, at the end of the day, but you don't feel like one. Not really.)

He sighs, running his hand once more through his straight-and-narrow black hair.

“I just need you two dumbasses to keep me in check. I can’t—”

Hange frowns, and he hates the sympathetic tone they take when they say his name.

“Levi—”

“Four Eyes,” Levi interrupts stronger yet weaker in resolve, effectively shutting down their protest, “I can’t fuck this up. So don’t let me.”

The air grows thick, like winding vines corrupting the foundation of a tree.

Levi glances between the two of them, nostrils flaring with unspoken difficulty.

Erwin is the first to nod. Wordlessly, but he does.

Hange sighs with conclusion not a second after and nods, too.

“Am I at least allowed to ask one thing?” they chirp, holding out one slender finger to the sky. “Just one teeny, tiny thing — yes or no.”

A part of him really wants to say no.

He fights.

Fails.

“...fine,” he grumbles. “The fuck’s the question?”

Hange perks up, all too smug.

“Did the pop-up shop six floors up line work?”

The memory blossoms in the back of his skull.

His body warms as if trapped under an electric blanket, heat setting cranked a little too high.

Instinctively his eyes flicker to the front door of his apartment.

Like you’ll burst in at any moment with your work bags and stress and the hope that he’ll have the same soothing balm you’ve gifted him, hands at the ready to fix your problems for you.

He hasn’t wanted much.

He’s never wanted much, but—

Shit, if he doesn’t want to be good to you.

“...something like that.”

Author's Note:

AHHHH HI EVERYONE! WE'RE AT IT AGAIN WITH MODERN!LEVI SHENANIGANS! How are we feeling to be back?

I seriously cannot believe we're here. I've never done a sequel before, but the demand was overwhelming and I couldn't help but agree: we could do with learning what happens after the final call.

#mwuah mwuah you are the best #tysm for the reblog!!#feedback.#fic: dating on airplane mode

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