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dating on airplane mode. | part three.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader Fandom: attack on titan (modern au) Word Count: 5.5k 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 - slow burn, mentions of sex work, neighbors au, newly established relationship, the direct sequel to Press Four For More Options Credits: dividers by @/saradika-graphics

part two. / part four. | masterlist

“You boned.”

“Annie!”

Eight o’clock in the morning and you’re already under attack.

Not a 'hello' or 'how are you' — just a crude accusation spoken very loudly in a very busy coffee shop.

You manage to salvage your coffee order before you can knock over the cup from shock, though the abruptness of Annie Leonhart’s proclamation sloshes some of the steaming liquid onto the table between you.

Annie doesn’t flinch when she answers.

“I see it in your stupid, beautiful face.”

“Can I please sit before you — I’m sorry, stupid and beautiful?”

“You are both. Don’t change the subject.”

“You haven’t even let me—”

“I need every detail told to me in ways that would jeopardize our relationship with HR.”

Annie slides her sunglasses up to her hairline.

“Not that Shadis likes me to begin with.”

(Maybe you should have called out sick today.)

Drawing in a slow inhale through your nose, you give your colleague and friend a pointed look — as if somehow taking the ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ approach has ever worked on a woman like Annie.

“You almost made me drop my coffee,” you state instead.

“So you’re not denying it,” Annie catches, leaning halfway over the circular table. Her blue eyes sparkle with anticipation. “You met someone, and you did the do.”

“I did meet someone,” you confirm as you lean forward as well, matching her energy, “but no, we did not do the do. What are we in, high school?”

“Apparently,” Annie states with a growing grimace, unimpressed by your resolve. “Boring.”

Rolling your eyes, you pluck a sugar from the table to add to your piping-hot beverage.

“Fine, then you don’t get to hear about my boyfriend at all.”

Annie’s smug smirk drops to the floor.

Bingo.

You knew, out of anything you could have said, the b-word would trip up her war path.

Yet when you expect shock to follow, you’re treated instead with… worry?

(Well, that wasn’t the reaction you were expecting with the new relationship bomb drop.)

“Look me in the eye right now,” she demands, tone taking a serious curveball.

“I’ve only been looking at you this whole time, Annie.”

“Okay, well, keep staring at me.”

Annie takes a pause before quietly asking:

“I’m only going to say this once, because if I say it again I might throw up and have a stroke.”

“That’s… dramatic, but okay.”

“I care about you,” she starts with utmost sincerity.

Something uncomfortable bubbles in your belly, like the positive honesty feels weird — it is weird, coming from Annie, but still.

“I care about you a lot, okay? And I need you to know, because I care, that you really do not need to go back to whatever ridiculously stupid—”

“What?”

“—miscommunications he put you through. I know he has great hair and we’re surrounded by receding hairlines at the office so a full head makes it even more appealing, but—”

Oh.

Oh, no.

Without thinking, you dart your hand over the table and speak as fast as humanly possible.

“Ididn’tgobacktoPorco!”

When Annie finally closes her mouth, you exhale and repeat with emphasis.

“I did not go back to Porco.”

The tension in her face dissolves. “You didn’t?”

“Jesus, no, why the hell would I go back to Porco?”

“Because you said boyfriend, and it feels pretty sudden, so I just—”

“I said I met someone, Annie, not that I went back to someone.”

“It could have meant the same thing!”

Flopping back into your chair with a groan, you shake your head and bring the coffee cup to your lips.

As you blow against the hot beverage, Annie seems to settle. Regroup. Assess.

“Okay, so it’s not Porco.”

“God, no. I’m pretty sure he’s still pleasantly happy with Pieck.”

“I don’t care what he’s happy with. Fuck that guy. So then it’s—”

A flicker of recognition passes over her face.

“—the eggplant guy?”

If only Levi could hear your work best friend describe him as the eggplant guy, given your text exchange before you ditched the bar last night. You’re not sure if you’d ever never live it down.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “The eggplant emoji guy.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. Holy shit.”

Annie, dazed and dazzled by this newfound information, sips slowly on her six-shot heart attack of a hot coffee.

You still wait to take a sip of yours, forever the cautious one, and let the edge of the coffee lid hover a breath away from your lips.

Is it okay to tell your friends about this?

You didn’t ask.

Hell, you haven’t had much of a conversation about what any of this means yet other than the fact that this relationship is exclusive and not as fragile as you’ve been conditioned to believe.

(Somehow Levi has already dissuaded an anxiety it took other men months to try — and significantly fail — at quelling.)

“Where’d you meet him?” Annie asks, breaking through the start of the cobweb doubts and mysteries can often so easily spin. “At the bar last night?”

“Sort of?”

Her eyes narrow. “What do you mean, sort of?”

“Like…”

You trail off, trying to figure out the appropriate way to explain yourself.

“We technically met at the bar last night, for the first time?”

“Wait, so he’s a guy from a dating app?” Annie asks with a slight crack of confusion in her voice, sipping more of her coffee. “But I thought you got rid of those dating apps before the—”

She abruptly coughs, putting her drink down on the table in order to cover her mouth.

Ah.

There it is.

You knew you weren’t going to need to explain the situation very far with Annie.

A natural-born detective, she puts two and two together before you have a chance to tease the miracle (mistake?) she’s conjured on a fateful napkin at a very shitty holiday party.

For a minute she stares at you, dumbfounded for what may very well be the first time in her life.

Her hand continues to cover her mouth. A tiny brown droplet bounces from her chin, dripping onto the wooden surface below.

Despite yourself, you feign nonchalance and finally take a sip of your coffee.

The warning sting causes you to wince and reluctantly sit the cup back down on the table.

Yep. Bad idea. Still too hot.

“...it’s the Scout Services hotline guy?”

Annie’s voice barely registers past a whisper.

Awe sweeps her expression—

Like she’s proud?

“Yeah,” you finally confess as if this coffee shop is a church ready to absolve your incoming sins. “The Scout Services hotline guy.”

Wooden legs creak as she scoots her chair closer.

Annie leans over the table with eager eyes and a mouth that’s catching flies.

“Did you stay over at his place last night?”

“No,” you concede, but you can’t help but add, “but I did see him twenty minutes ago.”

. — —

There’s a difference between watching Levi work out from afar when you’re supposed to pretend you give two shits about the 90’s movie they’re playing on repeat between the morning news and music videos —

— and watching Levi work out from afar when Levi is very aware that you cannot take your eyes off of him.

After you locked the door to your apartment last night, getting ready for bed felt like a dream.

Grabbing water from the refrigerator felt like an adventure.

Shimmying out of your day clothes to an oversized t-shirt and sleep pants somehow felt exciting.

Like your world, once in sepia, had burst into technicolor.

For hours, a tingle lingered on your lips with the evidence of his boldness.

The ceiling was a makeshift projector, replaying the scene of him grabbing your face and pressing your into the wall of his apartment.

And, technically speaking, his bedroom would be right in this room, too.

Six floors up.

He’d been lying right above you, six floors up, for weeks, and you never knew.

By the time you finally found the relaxation to fall asleep, your alarm clock buzzed with the shrill urgency to start a brand new day.

Truth be told, you didn’t care if you were tired.

Hell, even with bloodshot eyes and a dry mouth, you weren’t sure if you could actually be tired today.

Not when you had to pepper on some concealer and grab your best workout clothes to sprint a beeline to the gym.

(Something must be in the water if the gym could harbor this much excitement without seething sarcasm; the power of hyperactive horniness.)

Like clockwork, Levi was there — same workout bench, organizing the same class of free weights, but looking… lighter.

Maybe a little less serious.

Yet when the front door to the gym chimed with your entrance, his chin lifted instantly.

Searching eyes floated around, aimless with a flash of hope, until they eventually landed on you.

Something warm flickered across his face before he nodded once, a silent greeting.

Water bottle in hand, you raised your free hand to wave back before disappearing to put your stuff away.

By the time you left the locker room, Levi already began bicep curls in front of the mirror.

(Showoff.)

Slowly approaching the bench, you could feel the butterflies threaten to take over your entire body.

The way he so easily maneuvered you to that wall, the feeling of his lips on yours—

“Surprised you’re here so early,” Levi stated, bursting your dream bubble. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Bad news: the baritone in his voice was far worse in the morning.

(As if you needed any other reason to be distracted.)

“Something like that,” you confessed, unable to keep the smile from pursing your lips. “Are you always here this early?”

“Sort of.”

Levi paused to glance back at the weights he’s sectioned off at his bench before gesturing back to you.

“Actually wanted to catch you before you had work.”

You couldn’t stop the surprise even if you tried. “Oh?”

Right.

Because he knew what time you go to work.

Thanks to your motor mouth, he knew a lot of things about you.

Some would argue they’re things that no one else should.

It’s a little incredible that you could even look him in the eye after everything that had gone down between two telephones and a credit card.

Levi turned to set his free weights down on the bench below. He wiped his palms off on his hips and pivoted towards you.

For a minute you both waited there, saying nothing yet everything at the same time.

Silence usually freaked you out.

Not now.

Being in his presence was surprisingly perfect enough.

“Just wanted to wish you a good day at work, see if you slept alright, those sort of things."

"Oh," you lamely state again, trying your best not to break out into a giddy smile. "Well, I... appreciate the well wishes, and they're right back at you. Did you sleep alright?"

"Not exactly, but it wasn't a hinderance," he admits before jutting his chin at your body. "I like this on you."

"This what?"

"Your outfit."

Somehow his drive-by compliment had the power to wipe your memory of the outfit you chose between the time you left your apartment and now.

Your chin dropped to stare down at your clothes with a growing bashfulness.

“You do?”

Levi nodded once. “The color suits you.”

His words are so genuine that you couldn’t possibly come up with anything suave back.

Thank you? Too bland.

I think I look like shit? Lacking confidence was not a good look.

Instead you shrugged as nonchalant as possible and spoke—

“Well, you — you know, you look really good in white, so.”

You had to bite the tip of your tongue not to outright grimace.

Smooth. Real smooth.

But not wrong — Levi was wearing a clingy white tank top and a pair of black basketball shorts. White was definitely in his color. It made the silver dog tags around his neck stand out louder.

"I meant it — the white looks great with your black hair, and I just — please shut me up before I keep rambling about colors."

The corner of Levi’s lip curled upward briefly before he ducked his chin with a huff that almost sounded like a laugh.

As his head shook — in disbelief or modesty of his own, you couldn’t tell — his black hair swayed over his eyes.

“I could listen to you talk all day, you know that."

His tone was noticeably warmer now.

"But the attention to color is noted and appreciated."

Levi inhaled, taking a pause, before gesturing to the machines you’re usually situated at.

“Guess you don’t have much time before your shift?”

“Not really,” you confessed.

If it wasn’t for the fact that you promised Annie you’d meet her for coffee, then maybe you would have stayed a little longer. Talked all day, maybe, just to see if he was telling the truth.

“Well, I won’t keep you.”

Please do, you wanted to say.

Instead you nodded, pressing your lips together tightly.

You weren’t sure if public displays of affection are on the table, so you gave a short, awkward parting wave.

Levi belatedly waved back, as if confused by the gesture.

“Have a good day at work,” he added before you turn.

As you made your way to the treadmill and assumed position, you noticed the way his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors watches your every move.

Eventually Levi turned to his set of free weights and began his typical routine — bicep curls, tricep extensions, back flies —

But every so often—

A glimpse.

After every set, a small but meaningful glimpse in the mirror found its way to you.

And shamelessly, for the first time in your life, you stared right back.

He watched as you departed for the showers and followed your departure through the exit.

. — —

“Holy shit. ”

“Yeah.”

To say you were giddy is an understatement.

Even now as you recount the brief meeting with your very-new, barely-a-day-old boyfriend, a flood of warmth unlike anything you’ve ever experienced washes over you.

“The insane odds that he’s been hot and sweaty at the same gym as you the entire time.”

Annie shakes her head, blowing her blonde side bang out of her face.

“I should’ve joined that stupid place when you asked.”

“Right? Shame on you,” you joke, attempting another sip of your coffee.

It’s still hot, but it doesn’t threaten to sear off your taste buds.

“Are his arms huge?” You shake your head, and Annie outright whines. “Oh, fuck, he’s lean?”

“He’s strong, I can tell you that.”

Pride.

Your tone is drenched in pure, unabashed pride.

(Because you are — proud, really, of the man you’ve managed to somehow charm into dating you despite the nagging feeling that he’s eons out of your league.)

As you dart your tongue between your lips to catch the remaining coffee, you watch as a dreamy Annie slowly but surely sinks back down into her chair.

Her brow pinches together, face scrunched in deep thought.

Then it smooths, though her one eye narrows to a squint.

“So then how does… everything work?” she eventually asks.

Annie reeks of skepticism, causing you to sit up taller in your chair.

“What do you mean?”

“Have you thought about it?”

“About what, Annie?”

“Y’know, the whole hotline thing.”

Right.

The hotline thing.

The part you haven’t quite processed yet.

Because at the end of the day, there is one very important truth:

Levi is an adult hotline operator.

Not only were you a former client as of a few days ago, but you are not naive enough to partake in the delusion that you were his only client.

Dozens, if not hundreds, of people called in nightly to get a fix.

There are only so many operators available nightly.

It wouldn’t be crazy to believe he has regulars.

Hell, he has the voice and the skill to possess an entire fanbase.

“Are you okay with that?” Annie adds as if she can hear your inner turmoil brewing within.

Her tone reflects no judgement, for you or for him.

It’s an honest question.

“I… have not gotten that far,” you are slow to start, choosing honesty as your best policy, before shaking your head. “I mean, yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yeah. I’m okay with that. I think I’m okay with that. I mean, I’m not stupid: a job like that is going to take a lot of… time and communication, but it’s a job just like anything else.”

“Like acting?” she supplies, and the haze is a little bit clearer.

“It’s technically a type of voice acting, right?” you agree, gesturing broadly with your hand. “And that’s certainly how this whole thing might have started out between us, but that’s not what it is now.”

You may not be sure of many things in this world, but you’re pretty certain about that.

“It’s going to be a learning curve,” you continue, “but it isn’t like I’d ever ask him to quit his job over dating me.”

Annie nods and leans in to pick up her coffee, sipping slowly to gather her thoughts.

After a beat, she pulls the coffee cup away and speaks.

“You’re looking at this a lot more realistically than a lot of people would be, but I know that’s just how you are. A lot of people would be leery of that sort of occupation, so that’s why I asked. Not saying you have any reason to be concerned, it is a job, but boundaries and figuring out how to separate it from your former calls is… something to talk about.”

“And we will,” you reassure her earnestly. “Nothing about last night felt forced, if that makes sense. He’s… attentive? Intuitive? And he wants to talk things out. Do things right. Go slow.”

A grimace curls on Annie’s lip.

“Go slow? What are we, in medieval times?”

“Annie.”

“I’m kidding,” she concedes, “sort of.”

With a pause, she shifts in her chair and gestures with her hand at you.

“Look, after all of Porco’s bullshit and the way the two of you ended in such a wishy-washy way, it’s nice to hear about a man that actually wants to communicate and go slow.”

“You really mean that?”

“Absolutely not, I’d die if the guy I was seeing went slow,” she replies, shaking her head wildly. “But we are two totally different people when it comes to romance. You love that whole wining and dining and waiting for the right moment shit, and I… do not.”

“Clearly.”

“And that’s why we gel so well.”

A genuine smile grows on her mouth.

“But, seriously,” Annie continues. “I’m happy about anything that makes you happy. It might be unconventional, but aren’t most great things?”

She isn’t wrong.

Some of the greatest love stories ever told faced copious amounts of adversity and challenges.

Maybe dating Levi Ackerman will be one of the wildest adventures of your life, but you’ve fallen far too deep now to claw yourself out.

You want to see where this goes.

Where it could lead.

(To hell with conventional.)

As she lifts her coffee towards you, you catch Annie’s drift and lift your own.

The paper cups tap together in an early-morning ‘cheers’ of solidarity.

“And who knows?”

Annie smirks in devilish contemplation.

“Maybe he can tell me if my Bert’s actually tall, lanky, and breedable.”

“Annie!”

. — —

The day goes fast because everyone in your office is hungover.

Eren Yeager mourns the 80% tip he left for the bartender.

People ask where you went last night, but Annie — forever the wingwoman — tells them to mind their business, voice a hair too loud for their sensitive ears.

By the time you say your goodbyes at your desk, successfully avoiding your ex-boyfriend for yet another day in the office, the sun has already begun to set.

You beeline straight home with a gurgling stomach and a skip to your step.

When you get off of the elevator and make it to your front door, you notice a tiny green sticky note hanging right under the rounded peep hole.

In all capital letters, jagged and purposeful:

------------- DINNER, MINE, 8?

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Did Levi leave this on your door?

Is he seriously inviting you over tonight for dinner?

Ripping your phone from your pants pocket, you quickly look for Levi’s phone number.

Although you’re fairly — if not completely — certain it’s him, you don’t want to presume it was a note left on the wrong door.

[ME:] Hey, quick question. Did you leave a note at my door?

Within seconds, a reply flashes in your notifications.

[LEVI:] Did it fall off?

[ME:] No, but there wasn’t a signature on the note

Three gray dots dance as he types.

[LEVI:] Shit, I didn’t leave my initials?

[ME:] Nope

[LEVI:] Well that’s embarrassing.

Unable to keep yourself from grinning, you unlock your front door and waltz into your apartment.

You lock it once more and kick off your shoes, padding across the floor towards your bedroom.

[ME:] lmao it isn’t embarrassing, but I accept

[LEVI:] Great. See you at 8.

You’re about to toss the phone on your bed to freshen up, but it buzzes again.

[LEVI:] Do you enjoy pasta?

[ME:] Love it

[LEVI:] Good.

After a few seconds pass, you’re certain that’s the end of the conversation.

It takes ten minutes to hastily wash your face, fix your clothes, and fuss over your appearance in the mirror to finally give up and accept this is as good as it’s getting on such short notice.

(Why does nothing sit right when it actually matters?)

Confidence may be forced and fleeting, but you do your damnedest to hold your head up high when you enter the elevator and press on the button to illuminate Levi’s floor.

You can do this.

You can have a casual, very-last-minute dinner date.

Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding…

Ding.

The elevator doors open, and you make your way to the door you’d stumbled out of the night before.

Your knuckles rapt at the wood before you can chicken out, waiting for a response.

Muffled shuffling can be heard on the other side of the door before it flies open.

Levi Ackerman stands before you in a black apron tied around his neck and hips, obscuring the creme-colored Henley hugging his torso.

His emerald-green oven mitt sits idly against the edge of the door, creating a barrier between his apartment and the hallway.

“Hey,” he greets, and your heart melts.

“Hey.”

“Thanks for coming by. Hope you’re hungry.”

“Starved, actually.”

Something glows in the corner.

When your attention is ensnared by it, your eyes can’t help but widen.

On his small two-person dining table sits a tall candle burning on a cheap golden pillar.

There aren’t any other decorations or place mats. It’s just that sole candle, two folded napkins, and a set of silverware for each.

“My shitty friends told me it would be… appropriate to light a candle, when a date is coming over,” he explains slowly and all-too seriously. “I don’t typically light candles when I’m eating food.”

When he turns to glare at the barren romantics on his table, you note that the tips of Levi’s ears burn pink.

(As if you could be any more endeared.)

By the looks of the candle wax dripping down, it had been sitting there for a while.

“Candles are good,” you promise, toeing your shoes off at his front door. “I like candles.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I have like a million of them in my apartment.”

Levi can’t help but snort. “I have only this one that I picked up on my way home today.”

He steps out of the way to let you in and trudges back to the stove where several pots steam to a simmer.

Picking up the handle with the oven mitt, Levi carefully fills two circular plates full of seasoned spaghetti with a blush sauce and some basil drizzled on top.

Taking a seat by the candlelit table, you watch as he carefully picks up both plates and walks across the kitchenette towards you. He places both down simultaneously, serious in his delivery, before removing the mitt and apron to join you.

“How was work?” he casually continues once he sits.

“Same old boring stuff,” you confide, picking up your fork. “Do you cook often?”

“I do, yeah,” he confesses, mirroring your movements with his utensil. “Nothing elaborate, but it gets the job done. Do you?”

You scrunch your nose.

“When I’m not being lazy, sure. Instant ramen is my best friend, which is kind of a little sad. I want to start cooking more, but the drive doesn’t exactly hit me beyond, like, maybe once or twice a week. Leftovers are a godsend.”

There you go again.

As if rambling on the phone wasn’t enough, you can’t help but still do it in person.

The longer you talk, the more your brain screams at you to stop, but it’s that slight oversharing that always seems to sneak itself in.

An imperceptible smile graces his face.

“Guess you’ll have to visit more during the week, then, so you go home with proper meals.”

The idea makes your heart flutter.

“Guess I do.”

Both of you grow silent as you eat the (unbelievably) delicious meal he’s conjured.

You can’t get over how good a simple plate of spaghetti can be, but you imagine it’s whatever he’s done with the sauce that pushes it over the edge.

After an exhausting day of office work, you try your damnedest not to scarf it all down.

Then you open your big damn mouth, not even thinking:

“Do you have work later?”

Because that’s what normal people ask, right?

About occupations, about schedules — it’s reciprocal to ask him about his job, but the metal of his fork scrapes across the plate as his hand completely stills.

Levi’s attention rises back to you, fleeting apprehension in his gaze.

“I’m supposed to,” he cryptically replies.

“Supposed to?”

A hush falls over the intimate crowd.

Your brows knit as you attempt to decipher what isn’t being said.

Levi remains still, doing the same in return from the other end of the table, before slowly answering.

“If… you don’t want me to clock in, then I understand.”

When your eyes widen with the implications, he shakes his head and sets down the fork.

“I mean to discuss this with you before we go further anyway.”

That festering self doubt from the night before begins to creep up the veins of your hands, towards your hammering heart.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Levi huffs. “I understand my occupation isn’t conventional. Most people wouldn’t put up with the—”

“Put up with?”

You blurt, accidentally disrupting the beginning of his speech.

Setting down your own fork, you rest your hands in your lap as you put on your brave pants and take a leap of faith.

“Levi, I’m not asking you to quit your job over me.”

His head turns a fraction of an inch, eyes narrowed.

“It’s like acting, right?” you continue, returning to the conversation you had earlier with Annie. “It isn’t… real. I mean, not really. You put on a character and it—”

“Let me just stop you for a second. Please.”

Levi sits up taller, softening his tone despite the firm interruption.

“I meant what I said to you last night. You’re the only person I have ever crossed that line for, and our connection is something that will never happen again. I want this to work, so I’ll be as transparent as you need me to be so you never feel as if my job is anything but what you said — acting. Yes, it is a character. And no, Levi on the hotline is…”

He sighs heavily, as if this is a heavy burden he’s carried.

“That Levi is not this Levi sitting across from you.”

“I know.”

You find a moment of bravery to not only interject, but reach across the table to grab the hand resting its surface.

Levi momentarily tenses at the touch before overturning his hand, curling his fingers around the edge of your palm to your wrist.

“I need you to know that I’m fine with being your cheerleader,” you promise, “and I’m not saying that just to… I don’t know, trick you someday down the line.”

Levi’s expression softens.

“You’re allowed to change your mind about me, though.”

“I know,” you repeat with a hint of amusement. “I’m not kept captive on the sixteenth floor. I very much want to be here, with you, eating dinner. Maybe a couple of times a week if you’re not too busy.”

“Never too busy, no,” he replies, softly running his fingertips along the inside of your wrist in a soothing manner. “My door’s wide open for whenever you want to spend time here.”

You burst into a grin. “Just not during your work hours.”

You can’t believe it.

Levi opens his mouth to respond, but a pinkish hue sprinkles across his cheeks and spreads up and under his black fringe to his ears.

You made him blush?

“You… I mean, maybe one day you could,” he nearly sputters. “I don’t recommend it — not because it’s too explicit, but it — Sorry, you caught me off guard with that.”

To say it feels empowering to throw confident, dominant Levi off of his axis is an understatement.

You can’t help but abandon your food and lean your elbow on the table.

Leaning against it, you glance down at your joined hands and purse your lips to avoid smiling.

Ideas.

Very bad ideas swirl like a surprise storm in your mind.

With this newfound shift in dynamics, of testing the waters of what this is in comparison to what you previous had, you can’t help but open your mouth and ask one very pointed question:

“Do you need a warm up?”

Levi’s brows knit as he stares you down, studying the forced neutrality on your face.

“A… warm up?”

You’re not sure what you’re saying right now.

Your lips move, sure, and you hear your voice, but your brain is about three words behind.

“Just saying, since you’re working tonight. Like how Broadway performers do a vocal warm up before they go out on stage, if you needed—”

“You want me to warm up for my job for the night... by telling you how to get off?”

Yeah, that’s exactly what you’re proposing in this momentary lapse of judgement.

"In my own apartment," he clarifies, "right in front of me."

Levi isn’t even actually trying and all the heat shoots straight between your legs.

Maintaining eye contact, you can’t help but swallow.

"I guess that's kind of moving too fast, huh?"

“A little," he confesses, but there’s an element of breathlessness to his voice.

Is it a stupid idea? Maybe.

One could argue jumping into a relationship with the guy you were having hotline sex with for a week is also a stupid idea.

You never claimed to be a smart woman.

"And I know you want to take things slow, but..."

As you trail off, recognition passes across the dark-haired man's face.

Then — an almost playfulness in his tone, if you really listen closely.

"...but I’ve already heard you come at least twenty times in twenty different ways over the phone before I even got to ask you out," Levi finishes for you, "so I think it’s safe to assume we make our own rules.”

Unconventional.

What your best friend called this relationship skitters across your mind; a reminder that no matter how by the book you do this, it’ll still be a little off-kilter.

(And you realize you like that.)

“And how about a twenty-first?” you ask.

"I wouldn't say no," he blurts, then explains. "I... want to go slow, yeah, but I can't lie and say I don't miss hearing you."

You can't stop your brows from flying up.

"You miss hearing me—"

"Yeah."

The room feels ten degrees hotter, and it isn't the candle's fault.

Levi's throat bobs as he heavily swallows.

“Are you positive about this?”

Are you?

Your attention is unwavering when you respond. “Only if you want to, too.”

Expression still neutral, Levi contemplates.

His eyes drop blatantly to your lips, lingering, before they return to your face. And, with barely a whisper—

“I need to hear you say yes or no. Explicit consent. You know me.”

Anticipation floods your veins.

You nod, then for good measure, “I do. Yes.”

“And you know you can stop at any time.”

“Yes.”

“Because I’m still taking you out on that damn date.”

“I don’t doubt you, Levi.”

Levi inhales, slow and steady, through his nose at the sound of his name on your lips.

“...color?”

Something about hearing the stoplight measures vibrate in his very throat makes you more than ready to throw caution to the wind.

“Green.”

A hand raises as Levi’s hand runs across your cheek.

His thumb glides along your lower lip, right to left, before settling at its center.

Testing the give — the submission — the pad of his thumb tugs your lip down.

It’s met with no resistance.

“Then take a seat on my bed.”

Author's Note:

The AO3 author curse hit me, but guess who is back!

I appreciate all of the comments on AO3 and the messages here in my absence with this story. The enthusiasm (and re-reads oh my gosh, I could send you all little treats for the re-read messages!) has seriously been my north star for the last four months. We are, in fact, getting spicy as hell next chapter.

Thank you for any reblogs, replies, etc. Every comment gives this writer wings.

#feedback.#fic: dating on airplane mode

302 notes · View notes

amywritesthings · 12 days ago

Text

thank you!! and thank you for reblogging xo

dating on airplane mode. | part three.

( Read on AO3 )

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - slow burn, mentions of sex work, neighbors au, newly established relationship, the direct sequel to Press Four For More Options Credits: dividers by @/saradika-graphics

part two. / part four. | masterlist

“You boned.”

“Annie!”

Eight o’clock in the morning and you’re already under attack.

Not a 'hello' or 'how are you' — just a crude accusation spoken very loudly in a very busy coffee shop.

Annie doesn’t flinch when she answers.

“I see it in your stupid, beautiful face.”

“Can I please sit before you — I’m sorry, stupid and beautiful?”

“You are both. Don’t change the subject.”

“You haven’t even let me—”

“I need every detail told to me in ways that would jeopardize our relationship with HR.”

Annie slides her sunglasses up to her hairline.

“Not that Shadis likes me to begin with.”

(Maybe you should have called out sick today.)

“You almost made me drop my coffee,” you state instead.

“So you’re not denying it,” Annie catches, leaning halfway over the circular table. Her blue eyes sparkle with anticipation. “You met someone, and you did the do.”

“I did meet someone,” you confirm as you lean forward as well, matching her energy, “but no, we did not do the do. What are we in, high school?”

“Apparently,” Annie states with a growing grimace, unimpressed by your resolve. “Boring.”

Rolling your eyes, you pluck a sugar from the table to add to your piping-hot beverage.

“Fine, then you don’t get to hear about my boyfriend at all.”

Annie’s smug smirk drops to the floor.

Bingo.

You knew, out of anything you could have said, the b-word would trip up her war path.

Yet when you expect shock to follow, you’re treated instead with… worry?

(Well, that wasn’t the reaction you were expecting with the new relationship bomb drop.)

“Look me in the eye right now,” she demands, tone taking a serious curveball.

“I’ve only been looking at you this whole time, Annie.”

“Okay, well, keep staring at me.”

Annie takes a pause before quietly asking:

“I’m only going to say this once, because if I say it again I might throw up and have a stroke.”

“That’s… dramatic, but okay.”

“I care about you,” she starts with utmost sincerity.

Something uncomfortable bubbles in your belly, like the positive honesty feels weird — it is weird, coming from Annie, but still.

“I care about you a lot, okay? And I need you to know, because I care, that you really do not need to go back to whatever ridiculously stupid—”

“What?”

“—miscommunications he put you through. I know he has great hair and we’re surrounded by receding hairlines at the office so a full head makes it even more appealing, but—”

Oh.

Oh, no.

Without thinking, you dart your hand over the table and speak as fast as humanly possible.

“Ididn’tgobacktoPorco!”

When Annie finally closes her mouth, you exhale and repeat with emphasis.

“I did not go back to Porco.”

The tension in her face dissolves. “You didn’t?”

“Jesus, no, why the hell would I go back to Porco?”

“Because you said boyfriend, and it feels pretty sudden, so I just—”

“I said I met someone, Annie, not that I went back to someone.”

“It could have meant the same thing!”

Flopping back into your chair with a groan, you shake your head and bring the coffee cup to your lips.

As you blow against the hot beverage, Annie seems to settle. Regroup. Assess.

“Okay, so it’s not Porco.”

“God, no. I’m pretty sure he’s still pleasantly happy with Pieck.”

“I don’t care what he’s happy with. Fuck that guy. So then it’s—”

A flicker of recognition passes over her face.

“—the eggplant guy?”

If only Levi could hear your work best friend describe him as the eggplant guy, given your text exchange before you ditched the bar last night. You’re not sure if you’d ever never live it down.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “The eggplant emoji guy.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. Holy shit.”

Annie, dazed and dazzled by this newfound information, sips slowly on her six-shot heart attack of a hot coffee.

You still wait to take a sip of yours, forever the cautious one, and let the edge of the coffee lid hover a breath away from your lips.

Is it okay to tell your friends about this?

You didn’t ask.

Hell, you haven’t had much of a conversation about what any of this means yet other than the fact that this relationship is exclusive and not as fragile as you’ve been conditioned to believe.

(Somehow Levi has already dissuaded an anxiety it took other men months to try — and significantly fail — at quelling.)

“Where’d you meet him?” Annie asks, breaking through the start of the cobweb doubts and mysteries can often so easily spin. “At the bar last night?”

“Sort of?”

Her eyes narrow. “What do you mean, sort of?”

“Like…”

You trail off, trying to figure out the appropriate way to explain yourself.

“We technically met at the bar last night, for the first time?”

“Wait, so he’s a guy from a dating app?” Annie asks with a slight crack of confusion in her voice, sipping more of her coffee. “But I thought you got rid of those dating apps before the—”

She abruptly coughs, putting her drink down on the table in order to cover her mouth.

Ah.

There it is.

You knew you weren’t going to need to explain the situation very far with Annie.

A natural-born detective, she puts two and two together before you have a chance to tease the miracle (mistake?) she’s conjured on a fateful napkin at a very shitty holiday party.

For a minute she stares at you, dumbfounded for what may very well be the first time in her life.

Her hand continues to cover her mouth. A tiny brown droplet bounces from her chin, dripping onto the wooden surface below.

Despite yourself, you feign nonchalance and finally take a sip of your coffee.

The warning sting causes you to wince and reluctantly sit the cup back down on the table.

Yep. Bad idea. Still too hot.

“...it’s the Scout Services hotline guy?”

Annie’s voice barely registers past a whisper.

Awe sweeps her expression—

Like she’s proud?

“Yeah,” you finally confess as if this coffee shop is a church ready to absolve your incoming sins. “The Scout Services hotline guy.”

Wooden legs creak as she scoots her chair closer.

Annie leans over the table with eager eyes and a mouth that’s catching flies.

“Did you stay over at his place last night?”

“No,” you concede, but you can’t help but add, “but I did see him twenty minutes ago.”

. — —

— and watching Levi work out from afar when Levi is very aware that you cannot take your eyes off of him.

After you locked the door to your apartment last night, getting ready for bed felt like a dream.

Grabbing water from the refrigerator felt like an adventure.

Shimmying out of your day clothes to an oversized t-shirt and sleep pants somehow felt exciting.

Like your world, once in sepia, had burst into technicolor.

For hours, a tingle lingered on your lips with the evidence of his boldness.

The ceiling was a makeshift projector, replaying the scene of him grabbing your face and pressing your into the wall of his apartment.

And, technically speaking, his bedroom would be right in this room, too.

Six floors up.

He’d been lying right above you, six floors up, for weeks, and you never knew.

By the time you finally found the relaxation to fall asleep, your alarm clock buzzed with the shrill urgency to start a brand new day.

Truth be told, you didn’t care if you were tired.

Hell, even with bloodshot eyes and a dry mouth, you weren’t sure if you could actually be tired today.

Not when you had to pepper on some concealer and grab your best workout clothes to sprint a beeline to the gym.

(Something must be in the water if the gym could harbor this much excitement without seething sarcasm; the power of hyperactive horniness.)

Like clockwork, Levi was there — same workout bench, organizing the same class of free weights, but looking… lighter.

Maybe a little less serious.

Yet when the front door to the gym chimed with your entrance, his chin lifted instantly.

Searching eyes floated around, aimless with a flash of hope, until they eventually landed on you.

Something warm flickered across his face before he nodded once, a silent greeting.

Water bottle in hand, you raised your free hand to wave back before disappearing to put your stuff away.

By the time you left the locker room, Levi already began bicep curls in front of the mirror.

(Showoff.)

Slowly approaching the bench, you could feel the butterflies threaten to take over your entire body.

The way he so easily maneuvered you to that wall, the feeling of his lips on yours—

“Surprised you’re here so early,” Levi stated, bursting your dream bubble. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Bad news: the baritone in his voice was far worse in the morning.

(As if you needed any other reason to be distracted.)

“Something like that,” you confessed, unable to keep the smile from pursing your lips. “Are you always here this early?”

“Sort of.”

Levi paused to glance back at the weights he’s sectioned off at his bench before gesturing back to you.

“Actually wanted to catch you before you had work.”

You couldn’t stop the surprise even if you tried. “Oh?”

Right.

Because he knew what time you go to work.

Thanks to your motor mouth, he knew a lot of things about you.

Some would argue they’re things that no one else should.

It’s a little incredible that you could even look him in the eye after everything that had gone down between two telephones and a credit card.

Levi turned to set his free weights down on the bench below. He wiped his palms off on his hips and pivoted towards you.

For a minute you both waited there, saying nothing yet everything at the same time.

Silence usually freaked you out.

Not now.

Being in his presence was surprisingly perfect enough.

“Just wanted to wish you a good day at work, see if you slept alright, those sort of things."

"Oh," you lamely state again, trying your best not to break out into a giddy smile. "Well, I... appreciate the well wishes, and they're right back at you. Did you sleep alright?"

"Not exactly, but it wasn't a hinderance," he admits before jutting his chin at your body. "I like this on you."

"This what?"

"Your outfit."

Somehow his drive-by compliment had the power to wipe your memory of the outfit you chose between the time you left your apartment and now.

Your chin dropped to stare down at your clothes with a growing bashfulness.

“You do?”

Levi nodded once. “The color suits you.”

His words are so genuine that you couldn’t possibly come up with anything suave back.

Thank you? Too bland.

I think I look like shit? Lacking confidence was not a good look.

Instead you shrugged as nonchalant as possible and spoke—

“Well, you — you know, you look really good in white, so.”

You had to bite the tip of your tongue not to outright grimace.

Smooth. Real smooth.

But not wrong — Levi was wearing a clingy white tank top and a pair of black basketball shorts. White was definitely in his color. It made the silver dog tags around his neck stand out louder.

"I meant it — the white looks great with your black hair, and I just — please shut me up before I keep rambling about colors."

The corner of Levi’s lip curled upward briefly before he ducked his chin with a huff that almost sounded like a laugh.

As his head shook — in disbelief or modesty of his own, you couldn’t tell — his black hair swayed over his eyes.

“I could listen to you talk all day, you know that."

His tone was noticeably warmer now.

"But the attention to color is noted and appreciated."

Levi inhaled, taking a pause, before gesturing to the machines you’re usually situated at.

“Guess you don’t have much time before your shift?”

“Not really,” you confessed.

If it wasn’t for the fact that you promised Annie you’d meet her for coffee, then maybe you would have stayed a little longer. Talked all day, maybe, just to see if he was telling the truth.

“Well, I won’t keep you.”

Please do, you wanted to say.

Instead you nodded, pressing your lips together tightly.

You weren’t sure if public displays of affection are on the table, so you gave a short, awkward parting wave.

Levi belatedly waved back, as if confused by the gesture.

“Have a good day at work,” he added before you turn.

As you made your way to the treadmill and assumed position, you noticed the way his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors watches your every move.

Eventually Levi turned to his set of free weights and began his typical routine — bicep curls, tricep extensions, back flies —

But every so often—

A glimpse.

After every set, a small but meaningful glimpse in the mirror found its way to you.

And shamelessly, for the first time in your life, you stared right back.

He watched as you departed for the showers and followed your departure through the exit.

. — —

“Holy shit. ”

“Yeah.”

To say you were giddy is an understatement.

Even now as you recount the brief meeting with your very-new, barely-a-day-old boyfriend, a flood of warmth unlike anything you’ve ever experienced washes over you.

“The insane odds that he’s been hot and sweaty at the same gym as you the entire time.”

Annie shakes her head, blowing her blonde side bang out of her face.

“I should’ve joined that stupid place when you asked.”

“Right? Shame on you,” you joke, attempting another sip of your coffee.

It’s still hot, but it doesn’t threaten to sear off your taste buds.

“Are his arms huge?” You shake your head, and Annie outright whines. “Oh, fuck, he’s lean?”

“He’s strong, I can tell you that.”

Pride.

Your tone is drenched in pure, unabashed pride.

(Because you are — proud, really, of the man you’ve managed to somehow charm into dating you despite the nagging feeling that he’s eons out of your league.)

As you dart your tongue between your lips to catch the remaining coffee, you watch as a dreamy Annie slowly but surely sinks back down into her chair.

Her brow pinches together, face scrunched in deep thought.

Then it smooths, though her one eye narrows to a squint.

“So then how does… everything work?” she eventually asks.

Annie reeks of skepticism, causing you to sit up taller in your chair.

“What do you mean?”

“Have you thought about it?”

“About what, Annie?”

“Y’know, the whole hotline thing.”

Right.

The hotline thing.

The part you haven’t quite processed yet.

Because at the end of the day, there is one very important truth:

Levi is an adult hotline operator.

Not only were you a former client as of a few days ago, but you are not naive enough to partake in the delusion that you were his only client.

Dozens, if not hundreds, of people called in nightly to get a fix.

There are only so many operators available nightly.

It wouldn’t be crazy to believe he has regulars.

Hell, he has the voice and the skill to possess an entire fanbase.

“Are you okay with that?” Annie adds as if she can hear your inner turmoil brewing within.

Her tone reflects no judgement, for you or for him.

It’s an honest question.

“I… have not gotten that far,” you are slow to start, choosing honesty as your best policy, before shaking your head. “I mean, yes.”

“Yes?”

“Like acting?” she supplies, and the haze is a little bit clearer.

You may not be sure of many things in this world, but you’re pretty certain about that.

“It’s going to be a learning curve,” you continue, “but it isn’t like I’d ever ask him to quit his job over dating me.”

Annie nods and leans in to pick up her coffee, sipping slowly to gather her thoughts.

After a beat, she pulls the coffee cup away and speaks.

A grimace curls on Annie’s lip.

“Go slow? What are we, in medieval times?”

“Annie.”

“I’m kidding,” she concedes, “sort of.”

With a pause, she shifts in her chair and gestures with her hand at you.

“Look, after all of Porco’s bullshit and the way the two of you ended in such a wishy-washy way, it’s nice to hear about a man that actually wants to communicate and go slow.”

“You really mean that?”

“Clearly.”

“And that’s why we gel so well.”

A genuine smile grows on her mouth.

“But, seriously,” Annie continues. “I’m happy about anything that makes you happy. It might be unconventional, but aren’t most great things?”

She isn’t wrong.

Some of the greatest love stories ever told faced copious amounts of adversity and challenges.

Maybe dating Levi Ackerman will be one of the wildest adventures of your life, but you’ve fallen far too deep now to claw yourself out.

You want to see where this goes.

Where it could lead.

(To hell with conventional.)

As she lifts her coffee towards you, you catch Annie’s drift and lift your own.

The paper cups tap together in an early-morning ‘cheers’ of solidarity.

“And who knows?”

Annie smirks in devilish contemplation.

“Maybe he can tell me if my Bert’s actually tall, lanky, and breedable.”

“Annie!”

. — —

The day goes fast because everyone in your office is hungover.

Eren Yeager mourns the 80% tip he left for the bartender.

People ask where you went last night, but Annie — forever the wingwoman — tells them to mind their business, voice a hair too loud for their sensitive ears.

By the time you say your goodbyes at your desk, successfully avoiding your ex-boyfriend for yet another day in the office, the sun has already begun to set.

You beeline straight home with a gurgling stomach and a skip to your step.

When you get off of the elevator and make it to your front door, you notice a tiny green sticky note hanging right under the rounded peep hole.

In all capital letters, jagged and purposeful:

------------- DINNER, MINE, 8?

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Did Levi leave this on your door?

Is he seriously inviting you over tonight for dinner?

Ripping your phone from your pants pocket, you quickly look for Levi’s phone number.

Although you’re fairly — if not completely — certain it’s him, you don’t want to presume it was a note left on the wrong door.

[ME:] Hey, quick question. Did you leave a note at my door?

Within seconds, a reply flashes in your notifications.

[LEVI:] Did it fall off?

[ME:] No, but there wasn’t a signature on the note

Three gray dots dance as he types.

[LEVI:] Shit, I didn’t leave my initials?

[ME:] Nope

[LEVI:] Well that’s embarrassing.

Unable to keep yourself from grinning, you unlock your front door and waltz into your apartment.

You lock it once more and kick off your shoes, padding across the floor towards your bedroom.

[ME:] lmao it isn’t embarrassing, but I accept

[LEVI:] Great. See you at 8.

You’re about to toss the phone on your bed to freshen up, but it buzzes again.

[LEVI:] Do you enjoy pasta?

[ME:] Love it

[LEVI:] Good.

After a few seconds pass, you’re certain that’s the end of the conversation.

It takes ten minutes to hastily wash your face, fix your clothes, and fuss over your appearance in the mirror to finally give up and accept this is as good as it’s getting on such short notice.

(Why does nothing sit right when it actually matters?)

Confidence may be forced and fleeting, but you do your damnedest to hold your head up high when you enter the elevator and press on the button to illuminate Levi’s floor.

You can do this.

You can have a casual, very-last-minute dinner date.

Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding…

Ding.

The elevator doors open, and you make your way to the door you’d stumbled out of the night before.

Your knuckles rapt at the wood before you can chicken out, waiting for a response.

Muffled shuffling can be heard on the other side of the door before it flies open.

Levi Ackerman stands before you in a black apron tied around his neck and hips, obscuring the creme-colored Henley hugging his torso.

His emerald-green oven mitt sits idly against the edge of the door, creating a barrier between his apartment and the hallway.

“Hey,” he greets, and your heart melts.

“Hey.”

“Thanks for coming by. Hope you’re hungry.”

“Starved, actually.”

Something glows in the corner.

When your attention is ensnared by it, your eyes can’t help but widen.

On his small two-person dining table sits a tall candle burning on a cheap golden pillar.

There aren’t any other decorations or place mats. It’s just that sole candle, two folded napkins, and a set of silverware for each.

When he turns to glare at the barren romantics on his table, you note that the tips of Levi’s ears burn pink.

(As if you could be any more endeared.)

By the looks of the candle wax dripping down, it had been sitting there for a while.

“Candles are good,” you promise, toeing your shoes off at his front door. “I like candles.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I have like a million of them in my apartment.”

Levi can’t help but snort. “I have only this one that I picked up on my way home today.”

He steps out of the way to let you in and trudges back to the stove where several pots steam to a simmer.

Picking up the handle with the oven mitt, Levi carefully fills two circular plates full of seasoned spaghetti with a blush sauce and some basil drizzled on top.

“How was work?” he casually continues once he sits.

“Same old boring stuff,” you confide, picking up your fork. “Do you cook often?”

“I do, yeah,” he confesses, mirroring your movements with his utensil. “Nothing elaborate, but it gets the job done. Do you?”

You scrunch your nose.

There you go again.

As if rambling on the phone wasn’t enough, you can’t help but still do it in person.

The longer you talk, the more your brain screams at you to stop, but it’s that slight oversharing that always seems to sneak itself in.

An imperceptible smile graces his face.

“Guess you’ll have to visit more during the week, then, so you go home with proper meals.”

The idea makes your heart flutter.

“Guess I do.”

Both of you grow silent as you eat the (unbelievably) delicious meal he’s conjured.

You can’t get over how good a simple plate of spaghetti can be, but you imagine it’s whatever he’s done with the sauce that pushes it over the edge.

After an exhausting day of office work, you try your damnedest not to scarf it all down.

Then you open your big damn mouth, not even thinking:

“Do you have work later?”

Because that’s what normal people ask, right?

About occupations, about schedules — it’s reciprocal to ask him about his job, but the metal of his fork scrapes across the plate as his hand completely stills.

Levi’s attention rises back to you, fleeting apprehension in his gaze.

“I’m supposed to,” he cryptically replies.

“Supposed to?”

A hush falls over the intimate crowd.

Your brows knit as you attempt to decipher what isn’t being said.

Levi remains still, doing the same in return from the other end of the table, before slowly answering.

“If… you don’t want me to clock in, then I understand.”

When your eyes widen with the implications, he shakes his head and sets down the fork.

“I mean to discuss this with you before we go further anyway.”

That festering self doubt from the night before begins to creep up the veins of your hands, towards your hammering heart.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Levi huffs. “I understand my occupation isn’t conventional. Most people wouldn’t put up with the—”

“Put up with?”

You blurt, accidentally disrupting the beginning of his speech.

Setting down your own fork, you rest your hands in your lap as you put on your brave pants and take a leap of faith.

“Levi, I’m not asking you to quit your job over me.”

His head turns a fraction of an inch, eyes narrowed.

“It’s like acting, right?” you continue, returning to the conversation you had earlier with Annie. “It isn’t… real. I mean, not really. You put on a character and it—”

“Let me just stop you for a second. Please.”

Levi sits up taller, softening his tone despite the firm interruption.

He sighs heavily, as if this is a heavy burden he’s carried.

“That Levi is not this Levi sitting across from you.”

“I know.”

You find a moment of bravery to not only interject, but reach across the table to grab the hand resting its surface.

Levi momentarily tenses at the touch before overturning his hand, curling his fingers around the edge of your palm to your wrist.

“I need you to know that I’m fine with being your cheerleader,” you promise, “and I’m not saying that just to… I don’t know, trick you someday down the line.”

Levi’s expression softens.

“You’re allowed to change your mind about me, though.”

“Never too busy, no,” he replies, softly running his fingertips along the inside of your wrist in a soothing manner. “My door’s wide open for whenever you want to spend time here.”

You burst into a grin. “Just not during your work hours.”

You can’t believe it.

Levi opens his mouth to respond, but a pinkish hue sprinkles across his cheeks and spreads up and under his black fringe to his ears.

You made him blush?

“You… I mean, maybe one day you could,” he nearly sputters. “I don’t recommend it — not because it’s too explicit, but it — Sorry, you caught me off guard with that.”

To say it feels empowering to throw confident, dominant Levi off of his axis is an understatement.

You can’t help but abandon your food and lean your elbow on the table.

Leaning against it, you glance down at your joined hands and purse your lips to avoid smiling.

Ideas.

Very bad ideas swirl like a surprise storm in your mind.

With this newfound shift in dynamics, of testing the waters of what this is in comparison to what you previous had, you can’t help but open your mouth and ask one very pointed question:

“Do you need a warm up?”

Levi’s brows knit as he stares you down, studying the forced neutrality on your face.

“A… warm up?”

You’re not sure what you’re saying right now.

Your lips move, sure, and you hear your voice, but your brain is about three words behind.

“Just saying, since you’re working tonight. Like how Broadway performers do a vocal warm up before they go out on stage, if you needed—”

“You want me to warm up for my job for the night... by telling you how to get off?”

Yeah, that’s exactly what you’re proposing in this momentary lapse of judgement.

"In my own apartment," he clarifies, "right in front of me."

Levi isn’t even actually trying and all the heat shoots straight between your legs.

Maintaining eye contact, you can’t help but swallow.

"I guess that's kind of moving too fast, huh?"

“A little," he confesses, but there’s an element of breathlessness to his voice.

Is it a stupid idea? Maybe.

One could argue jumping into a relationship with the guy you were having hotline sex with for a week is also a stupid idea.

You never claimed to be a smart woman.

"And I know you want to take things slow, but..."

As you trail off, recognition passes across the dark-haired man's face.

Then — an almost playfulness in his tone, if you really listen closely.

Unconventional.

What your best friend called this relationship skitters across your mind; a reminder that no matter how by the book you do this, it’ll still be a little off-kilter.

(And you realize you like that.)

“And how about a twenty-first?” you ask.

"I wouldn't say no," he blurts, then explains. "I... want to go slow, yeah, but I can't lie and say I don't miss hearing you."

You can't stop your brows from flying up.

"You miss hearing me—"

"Yeah."

The room feels ten degrees hotter, and it isn't the candle's fault.

Levi's throat bobs as he heavily swallows.

“Are you positive about this?”

Are you?

Your attention is unwavering when you respond. “Only if you want to, too.”

Expression still neutral, Levi contemplates.

His eyes drop blatantly to your lips, lingering, before they return to your face. And, with barely a whisper—

“I need to hear you say yes or no. Explicit consent. You know me.”

Anticipation floods your veins.

You nod, then for good measure, “I do. Yes.”

“And you know you can stop at any time.”

“Yes.”

“Because I’m still taking you out on that damn date.”

“I don’t doubt you, Levi.”

Levi inhales, slow and steady, through his nose at the sound of his name on your lips.

“...color?”

Something about hearing the stoplight measures vibrate in his very throat makes you more than ready to throw caution to the wind.

“Green.”

A hand raises as Levi’s hand runs across your cheek.

His thumb glides along your lower lip, right to left, before settling at its center.

Testing the give — the submission — the pad of his thumb tugs your lip down.

It’s met with no resistance.

“Then take a seat on my bed.”

Author's Note:

The AO3 author curse hit me, but guess who is back!

Thank you for any reblogs, replies, etc. Every comment gives this writer wings.

#feedback.#fic: dating on airplane mode

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amywritesthings · 13 days ago

Text

hehe he is!!!

i'm so happy you liked it 🥰🥰 and i know -- that honestly was my favorite image to write out because him in those clothes / apron / mitts? love of my life right there.

and you all deserved this man from day one!!

dating on airplane mode. | part three.

( Read on AO3 )

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - slow burn, mentions of sex work, neighbors au, newly established relationship, the direct sequel to Press Four For More Options Credits: dividers by @/saradika-graphics

part two. / part four. | masterlist

“You boned.”

“Annie!”

Eight o’clock in the morning and you’re already under attack.

Not a 'hello' or 'how are you' — just a crude accusation spoken very loudly in a very busy coffee shop.

Annie doesn’t flinch when she answers.

“I see it in your stupid, beautiful face.”

“Can I please sit before you — I’m sorry, stupid and beautiful?”

“You are both. Don’t change the subject.”

“You haven’t even let me—”

“I need every detail told to me in ways that would jeopardize our relationship with HR.”

Annie slides her sunglasses up to her hairline.

“Not that Shadis likes me to begin with.”

(Maybe you should have called out sick today.)

“You almost made me drop my coffee,” you state instead.

“So you’re not denying it,” Annie catches, leaning halfway over the circular table. Her blue eyes sparkle with anticipation. “You met someone, and you did the do.”

“I did meet someone,” you confirm as you lean forward as well, matching her energy, “but no, we did not do the do. What are we in, high school?”

“Apparently,” Annie states with a growing grimace, unimpressed by your resolve. “Boring.”

Rolling your eyes, you pluck a sugar from the table to add to your piping-hot beverage.

“Fine, then you don’t get to hear about my boyfriend at all.”

Annie’s smug smirk drops to the floor.

Bingo.

You knew, out of anything you could have said, the b-word would trip up her war path.

Yet when you expect shock to follow, you’re treated instead with… worry?

(Well, that wasn’t the reaction you were expecting with the new relationship bomb drop.)

“Look me in the eye right now,” she demands, tone taking a serious curveball.

“I’ve only been looking at you this whole time, Annie.”

“Okay, well, keep staring at me.”

Annie takes a pause before quietly asking:

“I’m only going to say this once, because if I say it again I might throw up and have a stroke.”

“That’s… dramatic, but okay.”

“I care about you,” she starts with utmost sincerity.

Something uncomfortable bubbles in your belly, like the positive honesty feels weird — it is weird, coming from Annie, but still.

“I care about you a lot, okay? And I need you to know, because I care, that you really do not need to go back to whatever ridiculously stupid—”

“What?”

“—miscommunications he put you through. I know he has great hair and we’re surrounded by receding hairlines at the office so a full head makes it even more appealing, but—”

Oh.

Oh, no.

Without thinking, you dart your hand over the table and speak as fast as humanly possible.

“Ididn’tgobacktoPorco!”

When Annie finally closes her mouth, you exhale and repeat with emphasis.

“I did not go back to Porco.”

The tension in her face dissolves. “You didn’t?”

“Jesus, no, why the hell would I go back to Porco?”

“Because you said boyfriend, and it feels pretty sudden, so I just—”

“I said I met someone, Annie, not that I went back to someone.”

“It could have meant the same thing!”

Flopping back into your chair with a groan, you shake your head and bring the coffee cup to your lips.

As you blow against the hot beverage, Annie seems to settle. Regroup. Assess.

“Okay, so it’s not Porco.”

“God, no. I’m pretty sure he’s still pleasantly happy with Pieck.”

“I don’t care what he’s happy with. Fuck that guy. So then it’s—”

A flicker of recognition passes over her face.

“—the eggplant guy?”

If only Levi could hear your work best friend describe him as the eggplant guy, given your text exchange before you ditched the bar last night. You’re not sure if you’d ever never live it down.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “The eggplant emoji guy.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. Holy shit.”

Annie, dazed and dazzled by this newfound information, sips slowly on her six-shot heart attack of a hot coffee.

You still wait to take a sip of yours, forever the cautious one, and let the edge of the coffee lid hover a breath away from your lips.

Is it okay to tell your friends about this?

You didn’t ask.

Hell, you haven’t had much of a conversation about what any of this means yet other than the fact that this relationship is exclusive and not as fragile as you’ve been conditioned to believe.

(Somehow Levi has already dissuaded an anxiety it took other men months to try — and significantly fail — at quelling.)

“Where’d you meet him?” Annie asks, breaking through the start of the cobweb doubts and mysteries can often so easily spin. “At the bar last night?”

“Sort of?”

Her eyes narrow. “What do you mean, sort of?”

“Like…”

You trail off, trying to figure out the appropriate way to explain yourself.

“We technically met at the bar last night, for the first time?”

“Wait, so he’s a guy from a dating app?” Annie asks with a slight crack of confusion in her voice, sipping more of her coffee. “But I thought you got rid of those dating apps before the—”

She abruptly coughs, putting her drink down on the table in order to cover her mouth.

Ah.

There it is.

You knew you weren’t going to need to explain the situation very far with Annie.

A natural-born detective, she puts two and two together before you have a chance to tease the miracle (mistake?) she’s conjured on a fateful napkin at a very shitty holiday party.

For a minute she stares at you, dumbfounded for what may very well be the first time in her life.

Her hand continues to cover her mouth. A tiny brown droplet bounces from her chin, dripping onto the wooden surface below.

Despite yourself, you feign nonchalance and finally take a sip of your coffee.

The warning sting causes you to wince and reluctantly sit the cup back down on the table.

Yep. Bad idea. Still too hot.

“...it’s the Scout Services hotline guy?”

Annie’s voice barely registers past a whisper.

Awe sweeps her expression—

Like she’s proud?

“Yeah,” you finally confess as if this coffee shop is a church ready to absolve your incoming sins. “The Scout Services hotline guy.”

Wooden legs creak as she scoots her chair closer.

Annie leans over the table with eager eyes and a mouth that’s catching flies.

“Did you stay over at his place last night?”

“No,” you concede, but you can’t help but add, “but I did see him twenty minutes ago.”

. — —

— and watching Levi work out from afar when Levi is very aware that you cannot take your eyes off of him.

After you locked the door to your apartment last night, getting ready for bed felt like a dream.

Grabbing water from the refrigerator felt like an adventure.

Shimmying out of your day clothes to an oversized t-shirt and sleep pants somehow felt exciting.

Like your world, once in sepia, had burst into technicolor.

For hours, a tingle lingered on your lips with the evidence of his boldness.

The ceiling was a makeshift projector, replaying the scene of him grabbing your face and pressing your into the wall of his apartment.

And, technically speaking, his bedroom would be right in this room, too.

Six floors up.

He’d been lying right above you, six floors up, for weeks, and you never knew.

By the time you finally found the relaxation to fall asleep, your alarm clock buzzed with the shrill urgency to start a brand new day.

Truth be told, you didn’t care if you were tired.

Hell, even with bloodshot eyes and a dry mouth, you weren’t sure if you could actually be tired today.

Not when you had to pepper on some concealer and grab your best workout clothes to sprint a beeline to the gym.

(Something must be in the water if the gym could harbor this much excitement without seething sarcasm; the power of hyperactive horniness.)

Like clockwork, Levi was there — same workout bench, organizing the same class of free weights, but looking… lighter.

Maybe a little less serious.

Yet when the front door to the gym chimed with your entrance, his chin lifted instantly.

Searching eyes floated around, aimless with a flash of hope, until they eventually landed on you.

Something warm flickered across his face before he nodded once, a silent greeting.

Water bottle in hand, you raised your free hand to wave back before disappearing to put your stuff away.

By the time you left the locker room, Levi already began bicep curls in front of the mirror.

(Showoff.)

Slowly approaching the bench, you could feel the butterflies threaten to take over your entire body.

The way he so easily maneuvered you to that wall, the feeling of his lips on yours—

“Surprised you’re here so early,” Levi stated, bursting your dream bubble. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Bad news: the baritone in his voice was far worse in the morning.

(As if you needed any other reason to be distracted.)

“Something like that,” you confessed, unable to keep the smile from pursing your lips. “Are you always here this early?”

“Sort of.”

Levi paused to glance back at the weights he’s sectioned off at his bench before gesturing back to you.

“Actually wanted to catch you before you had work.”

You couldn’t stop the surprise even if you tried. “Oh?”

Right.

Because he knew what time you go to work.

Thanks to your motor mouth, he knew a lot of things about you.

Some would argue they’re things that no one else should.

It’s a little incredible that you could even look him in the eye after everything that had gone down between two telephones and a credit card.

Levi turned to set his free weights down on the bench below. He wiped his palms off on his hips and pivoted towards you.

For a minute you both waited there, saying nothing yet everything at the same time.

Silence usually freaked you out.

Not now.

Being in his presence was surprisingly perfect enough.

“Just wanted to wish you a good day at work, see if you slept alright, those sort of things."

"Oh," you lamely state again, trying your best not to break out into a giddy smile. "Well, I... appreciate the well wishes, and they're right back at you. Did you sleep alright?"

"Not exactly, but it wasn't a hinderance," he admits before jutting his chin at your body. "I like this on you."

"This what?"

"Your outfit."

Somehow his drive-by compliment had the power to wipe your memory of the outfit you chose between the time you left your apartment and now.

Your chin dropped to stare down at your clothes with a growing bashfulness.

“You do?”

Levi nodded once. “The color suits you.”

His words are so genuine that you couldn’t possibly come up with anything suave back.

Thank you? Too bland.

I think I look like shit? Lacking confidence was not a good look.

Instead you shrugged as nonchalant as possible and spoke—

“Well, you — you know, you look really good in white, so.”

You had to bite the tip of your tongue not to outright grimace.

Smooth. Real smooth.

But not wrong — Levi was wearing a clingy white tank top and a pair of black basketball shorts. White was definitely in his color. It made the silver dog tags around his neck stand out louder.

"I meant it — the white looks great with your black hair, and I just — please shut me up before I keep rambling about colors."

The corner of Levi’s lip curled upward briefly before he ducked his chin with a huff that almost sounded like a laugh.

As his head shook — in disbelief or modesty of his own, you couldn’t tell — his black hair swayed over his eyes.

“I could listen to you talk all day, you know that."

His tone was noticeably warmer now.

"But the attention to color is noted and appreciated."

Levi inhaled, taking a pause, before gesturing to the machines you’re usually situated at.

“Guess you don’t have much time before your shift?”

“Not really,” you confessed.

If it wasn’t for the fact that you promised Annie you’d meet her for coffee, then maybe you would have stayed a little longer. Talked all day, maybe, just to see if he was telling the truth.

“Well, I won’t keep you.”

Please do, you wanted to say.

Instead you nodded, pressing your lips together tightly.

You weren’t sure if public displays of affection are on the table, so you gave a short, awkward parting wave.

Levi belatedly waved back, as if confused by the gesture.

“Have a good day at work,” he added before you turn.

As you made your way to the treadmill and assumed position, you noticed the way his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors watches your every move.

Eventually Levi turned to his set of free weights and began his typical routine — bicep curls, tricep extensions, back flies —

But every so often—

A glimpse.

After every set, a small but meaningful glimpse in the mirror found its way to you.

And shamelessly, for the first time in your life, you stared right back.

He watched as you departed for the showers and followed your departure through the exit.

. — —

“Holy shit. ”

“Yeah.”

To say you were giddy is an understatement.

Even now as you recount the brief meeting with your very-new, barely-a-day-old boyfriend, a flood of warmth unlike anything you’ve ever experienced washes over you.

“The insane odds that he’s been hot and sweaty at the same gym as you the entire time.”

Annie shakes her head, blowing her blonde side bang out of her face.

“I should’ve joined that stupid place when you asked.”

“Right? Shame on you,” you joke, attempting another sip of your coffee.

It’s still hot, but it doesn’t threaten to sear off your taste buds.

“Are his arms huge?” You shake your head, and Annie outright whines. “Oh, fuck, he’s lean?”

“He’s strong, I can tell you that.”

Pride.

Your tone is drenched in pure, unabashed pride.

(Because you are — proud, really, of the man you’ve managed to somehow charm into dating you despite the nagging feeling that he’s eons out of your league.)

As you dart your tongue between your lips to catch the remaining coffee, you watch as a dreamy Annie slowly but surely sinks back down into her chair.

Her brow pinches together, face scrunched in deep thought.

Then it smooths, though her one eye narrows to a squint.

“So then how does… everything work?” she eventually asks.

Annie reeks of skepticism, causing you to sit up taller in your chair.

“What do you mean?”

“Have you thought about it?”

“About what, Annie?”

“Y’know, the whole hotline thing.”

Right.

The hotline thing.

The part you haven’t quite processed yet.

Because at the end of the day, there is one very important truth:

Levi is an adult hotline operator.

Not only were you a former client as of a few days ago, but you are not naive enough to partake in the delusion that you were his only client.

Dozens, if not hundreds, of people called in nightly to get a fix.

There are only so many operators available nightly.

It wouldn’t be crazy to believe he has regulars.

Hell, he has the voice and the skill to possess an entire fanbase.

“Are you okay with that?” Annie adds as if she can hear your inner turmoil brewing within.

Her tone reflects no judgement, for you or for him.

It’s an honest question.

“I… have not gotten that far,” you are slow to start, choosing honesty as your best policy, before shaking your head. “I mean, yes.”

“Yes?”

“Like acting?” she supplies, and the haze is a little bit clearer.

You may not be sure of many things in this world, but you’re pretty certain about that.

“It’s going to be a learning curve,” you continue, “but it isn’t like I’d ever ask him to quit his job over dating me.”

Annie nods and leans in to pick up her coffee, sipping slowly to gather her thoughts.

After a beat, she pulls the coffee cup away and speaks.

A grimace curls on Annie’s lip.

“Go slow? What are we, in medieval times?”

“Annie.”

“I’m kidding,” she concedes, “sort of.”

With a pause, she shifts in her chair and gestures with her hand at you.

“Look, after all of Porco’s bullshit and the way the two of you ended in such a wishy-washy way, it’s nice to hear about a man that actually wants to communicate and go slow.”

“You really mean that?”

“Clearly.”

“And that’s why we gel so well.”

A genuine smile grows on her mouth.

“But, seriously,” Annie continues. “I’m happy about anything that makes you happy. It might be unconventional, but aren’t most great things?”

She isn’t wrong.

Some of the greatest love stories ever told faced copious amounts of adversity and challenges.

Maybe dating Levi Ackerman will be one of the wildest adventures of your life, but you’ve fallen far too deep now to claw yourself out.

You want to see where this goes.

Where it could lead.

(To hell with conventional.)

As she lifts her coffee towards you, you catch Annie’s drift and lift your own.

The paper cups tap together in an early-morning ‘cheers’ of solidarity.

“And who knows?”

Annie smirks in devilish contemplation.

“Maybe he can tell me if my Bert’s actually tall, lanky, and breedable.”

“Annie!”

. — —

The day goes fast because everyone in your office is hungover.

Eren Yeager mourns the 80% tip he left for the bartender.

People ask where you went last night, but Annie — forever the wingwoman — tells them to mind their business, voice a hair too loud for their sensitive ears.

By the time you say your goodbyes at your desk, successfully avoiding your ex-boyfriend for yet another day in the office, the sun has already begun to set.

You beeline straight home with a gurgling stomach and a skip to your step.

When you get off of the elevator and make it to your front door, you notice a tiny green sticky note hanging right under the rounded peep hole.

In all capital letters, jagged and purposeful:

------------- DINNER, MINE, 8?

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Did Levi leave this on your door?

Is he seriously inviting you over tonight for dinner?

Ripping your phone from your pants pocket, you quickly look for Levi’s phone number.

Although you’re fairly — if not completely — certain it’s him, you don’t want to presume it was a note left on the wrong door.

[ME:] Hey, quick question. Did you leave a note at my door?

Within seconds, a reply flashes in your notifications.

[LEVI:] Did it fall off?

[ME:] No, but there wasn’t a signature on the note

Three gray dots dance as he types.

[LEVI:] Shit, I didn’t leave my initials?

[ME:] Nope

[LEVI:] Well that’s embarrassing.

Unable to keep yourself from grinning, you unlock your front door and waltz into your apartment.

You lock it once more and kick off your shoes, padding across the floor towards your bedroom.

[ME:] lmao it isn’t embarrassing, but I accept

[LEVI:] Great. See you at 8.

You’re about to toss the phone on your bed to freshen up, but it buzzes again.

[LEVI:] Do you enjoy pasta?

[ME:] Love it

[LEVI:] Good.

After a few seconds pass, you’re certain that’s the end of the conversation.

It takes ten minutes to hastily wash your face, fix your clothes, and fuss over your appearance in the mirror to finally give up and accept this is as good as it’s getting on such short notice.

(Why does nothing sit right when it actually matters?)

Confidence may be forced and fleeting, but you do your damnedest to hold your head up high when you enter the elevator and press on the button to illuminate Levi’s floor.

You can do this.

You can have a casual, very-last-minute dinner date.

Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding…

Ding.

The elevator doors open, and you make your way to the door you’d stumbled out of the night before.

Your knuckles rapt at the wood before you can chicken out, waiting for a response.

Muffled shuffling can be heard on the other side of the door before it flies open.

Levi Ackerman stands before you in a black apron tied around his neck and hips, obscuring the creme-colored Henley hugging his torso.

His emerald-green oven mitt sits idly against the edge of the door, creating a barrier between his apartment and the hallway.

“Hey,” he greets, and your heart melts.

“Hey.”

“Thanks for coming by. Hope you’re hungry.”

“Starved, actually.”

Something glows in the corner.

When your attention is ensnared by it, your eyes can’t help but widen.

On his small two-person dining table sits a tall candle burning on a cheap golden pillar.

There aren’t any other decorations or place mats. It’s just that sole candle, two folded napkins, and a set of silverware for each.

When he turns to glare at the barren romantics on his table, you note that the tips of Levi’s ears burn pink.

(As if you could be any more endeared.)

By the looks of the candle wax dripping down, it had been sitting there for a while.

“Candles are good,” you promise, toeing your shoes off at his front door. “I like candles.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I have like a million of them in my apartment.”

Levi can’t help but snort. “I have only this one that I picked up on my way home today.”

He steps out of the way to let you in and trudges back to the stove where several pots steam to a simmer.

Picking up the handle with the oven mitt, Levi carefully fills two circular plates full of seasoned spaghetti with a blush sauce and some basil drizzled on top.

“How was work?” he casually continues once he sits.

“Same old boring stuff,” you confide, picking up your fork. “Do you cook often?”

“I do, yeah,” he confesses, mirroring your movements with his utensil. “Nothing elaborate, but it gets the job done. Do you?”

You scrunch your nose.

There you go again.

As if rambling on the phone wasn’t enough, you can’t help but still do it in person.

The longer you talk, the more your brain screams at you to stop, but it’s that slight oversharing that always seems to sneak itself in.

An imperceptible smile graces his face.

“Guess you’ll have to visit more during the week, then, so you go home with proper meals.”

The idea makes your heart flutter.

“Guess I do.”

Both of you grow silent as you eat the (unbelievably) delicious meal he’s conjured.

You can’t get over how good a simple plate of spaghetti can be, but you imagine it’s whatever he’s done with the sauce that pushes it over the edge.

After an exhausting day of office work, you try your damnedest not to scarf it all down.

Then you open your big damn mouth, not even thinking:

“Do you have work later?”

Because that’s what normal people ask, right?

About occupations, about schedules — it’s reciprocal to ask him about his job, but the metal of his fork scrapes across the plate as his hand completely stills.

Levi’s attention rises back to you, fleeting apprehension in his gaze.

“I’m supposed to,” he cryptically replies.

“Supposed to?”

A hush falls over the intimate crowd.

Your brows knit as you attempt to decipher what isn’t being said.

Levi remains still, doing the same in return from the other end of the table, before slowly answering.

“If… you don’t want me to clock in, then I understand.”

When your eyes widen with the implications, he shakes his head and sets down the fork.

“I mean to discuss this with you before we go further anyway.”

That festering self doubt from the night before begins to creep up the veins of your hands, towards your hammering heart.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Levi huffs. “I understand my occupation isn’t conventional. Most people wouldn’t put up with the—”

“Put up with?”

You blurt, accidentally disrupting the beginning of his speech.

Setting down your own fork, you rest your hands in your lap as you put on your brave pants and take a leap of faith.

“Levi, I’m not asking you to quit your job over me.”

His head turns a fraction of an inch, eyes narrowed.

“It’s like acting, right?” you continue, returning to the conversation you had earlier with Annie. “It isn’t… real. I mean, not really. You put on a character and it—”

“Let me just stop you for a second. Please.”

Levi sits up taller, softening his tone despite the firm interruption.

He sighs heavily, as if this is a heavy burden he’s carried.

“That Levi is not this Levi sitting across from you.”

“I know.”

You find a moment of bravery to not only interject, but reach across the table to grab the hand resting its surface.

Levi momentarily tenses at the touch before overturning his hand, curling his fingers around the edge of your palm to your wrist.

“I need you to know that I’m fine with being your cheerleader,” you promise, “and I’m not saying that just to… I don’t know, trick you someday down the line.”

Levi’s expression softens.

“You’re allowed to change your mind about me, though.”

“Never too busy, no,” he replies, softly running his fingertips along the inside of your wrist in a soothing manner. “My door’s wide open for whenever you want to spend time here.”

You burst into a grin. “Just not during your work hours.”

You can’t believe it.

Levi opens his mouth to respond, but a pinkish hue sprinkles across his cheeks and spreads up and under his black fringe to his ears.

You made him blush?

“You… I mean, maybe one day you could,” he nearly sputters. “I don’t recommend it — not because it’s too explicit, but it — Sorry, you caught me off guard with that.”

To say it feels empowering to throw confident, dominant Levi off of his axis is an understatement.

You can’t help but abandon your food and lean your elbow on the table.

Leaning against it, you glance down at your joined hands and purse your lips to avoid smiling.

Ideas.

Very bad ideas swirl like a surprise storm in your mind.

With this newfound shift in dynamics, of testing the waters of what this is in comparison to what you previous had, you can’t help but open your mouth and ask one very pointed question:

“Do you need a warm up?”

Levi’s brows knit as he stares you down, studying the forced neutrality on your face.

“A… warm up?”

You’re not sure what you’re saying right now.

Your lips move, sure, and you hear your voice, but your brain is about three words behind.

“Just saying, since you’re working tonight. Like how Broadway performers do a vocal warm up before they go out on stage, if you needed—”

“You want me to warm up for my job for the night... by telling you how to get off?”

Yeah, that’s exactly what you’re proposing in this momentary lapse of judgement.

"In my own apartment," he clarifies, "right in front of me."

Levi isn’t even actually trying and all the heat shoots straight between your legs.

Maintaining eye contact, you can’t help but swallow.

"I guess that's kind of moving too fast, huh?"

“A little," he confesses, but there’s an element of breathlessness to his voice.

Is it a stupid idea? Maybe.

One could argue jumping into a relationship with the guy you were having hotline sex with for a week is also a stupid idea.

You never claimed to be a smart woman.

"And I know you want to take things slow, but..."

As you trail off, recognition passes across the dark-haired man's face.

Then — an almost playfulness in his tone, if you really listen closely.

Unconventional.

What your best friend called this relationship skitters across your mind; a reminder that no matter how by the book you do this, it’ll still be a little off-kilter.

(And you realize you like that.)

“And how about a twenty-first?” you ask.

"I wouldn't say no," he blurts, then explains. "I... want to go slow, yeah, but I can't lie and say I don't miss hearing you."

You can't stop your brows from flying up.

"You miss hearing me—"

"Yeah."

The room feels ten degrees hotter, and it isn't the candle's fault.

Levi's throat bobs as he heavily swallows.

“Are you positive about this?”

Are you?

Your attention is unwavering when you respond. “Only if you want to, too.”

Expression still neutral, Levi contemplates.

His eyes drop blatantly to your lips, lingering, before they return to your face. And, with barely a whisper—

“I need to hear you say yes or no. Explicit consent. You know me.”

Anticipation floods your veins.

You nod, then for good measure, “I do. Yes.”

“And you know you can stop at any time.”

“Yes.”

“Because I’m still taking you out on that damn date.”

“I don’t doubt you, Levi.”

Levi inhales, slow and steady, through his nose at the sound of his name on your lips.

“...color?”

Something about hearing the stoplight measures vibrate in his very throat makes you more than ready to throw caution to the wind.

“Green.”

A hand raises as Levi’s hand runs across your cheek.

His thumb glides along your lower lip, right to left, before settling at its center.

Testing the give — the submission — the pad of his thumb tugs your lip down.

It’s met with no resistance.

“Then take a seat on my bed.”

Author's Note:

The AO3 author curse hit me, but guess who is back!

Thank you for any reblogs, replies, etc. Every comment gives this writer wings.

#feedback.#fic: dating on airplane mode

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