Your nostrils flare. You can't rebuke him, but you find it hard to believe Levi is paying enough attention to what is playing to know it's been twenty minutes. But then you lose even your thoughts as a third finger slithers under the crotch of your wet shorts and dips inside you with ease.

You squeeze your eyes shut. "Mm."

The fingers closed on your mouth loosely spread. "What was that segment about?"

"U-Uh, I don't—"

His thumb taps your swollen and neglected clit. You about sob. "I don't know," you babble.

You lean your temple against his, gripping his bicep. It's his fault that you're squirming like this, how you can't help but shiver and tense up when he gives the slightest inclination he's going to finger-fuck you faster.

"You know how to ride my fingers, but not how to listen?"

He pumps them quickly for an explosive moment, making you writhe in his lap. Only to whine pitifully when he slows again to a crawl. He kisses your jaw sweetly.

"I'm—"

He clamps his hand over your lips again. "I know you're close. Why do you think I'm teasing you like this?"

The implications of that could either be torturous or amazing, if he feels like taking pity on you.

Well, if his idea is to edge you until the documentary ends, you decide to change his mind in advance.

Subtly, gruelingly, you grind your ass down on his lap. He warned you about that earlier, but it's a risk you're willing to make at this point.

His teeth hook on your tender neck, and whichever out of many marks he's left in the past "twenty minutes".

"Fuck," he huffs. "You're impossible. You know that?"

"Mhm."

“Mhm?” His lidded eyes take in the state of you with a cool look.

“Mm…”

With a forced huff for being inconvenienced, he kisses you.

He's always so in-control. Shifting you into his lap proper, right where he wants you without disturbing the blanket, and in doing nothing but inhaling sharply as you bring his heavy cock out of his sweatpants. His gasp is like a volt of electricity against your neck.

"How long have you been this hard, baby?" you giggle secretively.

With a hand on your cheek, he brings your lips together. "How long have you been dripping all over my fingers?"

Your eyes flutter closed as the heavy girth of him slides through your lips. For a moment, your mutual teasing evaporates all together. Levi grips your hip, smearing your wetness, as if all of his true desperation is concentrated to his hand.

"Please," you whisper to his sweaty temple as his hips rock forward.

His cool silver eyes gaze into you knowingly. "We could fuck for the rest of the runtime and you would've retained none of it."

"I love Google almost as much as you fucking me."

He scoffs, offset by a soft gasp as his tip presses into your rim, and slides in. "Idiot... I can't tell if that's a low bar or not."

"Mm... I love you more than anything?"

Your eyes meet, barely lidded as your insides flutter and part around him, until you rest comfortably in his lap.

"Decent save."

The narrator is reiterating something about the potency of liquid nitrogen now. You'd laugh if you were listening to it, and not Levi's soft, stuttered moan as he thrusts hungrily into you. The documentary won't have your attention back for the rest of the night.

Needless to say, conversations are shallow and minimal. He’s quit curling up for his nap with you on your days off and cleans or hides, like he used to.

Sometimes, he’s out of the house when you come home for your lunch break. The love notes, marked by a smiley face or heart haven’t stopped, but he’s noticed the tone change, the guard the anxious letters hold up. In the last week he’s begun procrastinating to read them after his afternoon nap. He’s been on edge, and so, relegating himself to his routine spot on the couch is just impossible when he can’t get comfortable.

Instead, like the dark thoughts, he’s begun sitting in the back of your closet behind the clothes like he used to do before you met, mostly as a child, his tail resting protectively around his legs. He annoys himself. He doesn’t know what he’s hiding from.

When you get home from work, you barely meet him with a kiss, and then it’s to your office to work some more.

Levi’s willing to and enjoys cooking dinner for you both. It’s just been unnerving and strange since you stopped popping your head in to help like you usually do.

He’s gotten snappy in the last day or two as a result, without any of his consent. He doesn’t know what to do with what he’s feeling, and he definitely doesn’t understand why you’re changing around him, so it’s just there. Confusion, and worry, and growing resentment.

If something was wrong, you tell him. Why won’t you tell him?

He didn’t follow you yesterday when you got out of bed for work. You must know he’s pretending to be asleep when you do.

Today is your day off, and yet, he wakes up when you wakes up, and the sun has barely risen.

Then he hears retching.

He pops his head up, ears pressed down and back, and paces to the bathroom after you. True, you’ve been avoiding him, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to help.

Your head is raised when he gets to the doorway, clutching your stomach. Your eyes lock.

For once, he doesn’t know how to talk to you.

“You’re sick.” He walks closer.

"No… It's okay—”

You're interrupted by another gag, forcing you over the bowl again. In the background, you manage to pick up on him dropping down behind you. A blessing—he scoops up your hair, pinning it away from anywhere near your face.

“Don’t be stupid. Let me hold your hair back, at least.” 

You don't have the energy to turn him away anymore even if, by some stretch of the imagination, you wanted to.

When the nausea is finished torturing you, you rest on your heels and slap the handle to flush it away. At least that’s over with.

He helps you to your feet, a damp cloth in hand to wipe the sweat from your forehead and temples, then your mouth.

His ears are pointed back the whole time, but you know it isn't the task itself that's making him unhappy. Even when you've been so fucking unfair to him, he isn't anything other than loyal and doting. You want to cry.

His eyes grow a little wider when he notices, and then pauses. "…What…”

"Levi..." you whimper, hanging your head. “I think I'm pregnant.”

Silence. Tense, thick silence you couldn’t hope to cut with the sharpest knife. His only reaction is a stammer in breath.

You shake your head, unsure what for. “No… I know I am. I took two tests, I just didn’t tell you because—because… It scared the shit out of me. I was trying to figure out how to tell you. I’m sorry.”

You raise your head. He stares blankly for one more moment, his lips part, and then he’s crushing you in a hug.

“Levi—” you hug him back.

“Pregnant…” he mutters on bated breath. He rests his head on your shoulder. You relax like the anxiety has been knocked out of you. You notice his tail twitching in restrained excitement.

“You idiot—Why would you need to be scared with me here? You don’t have anything to worry about now.”

You nod in quick, rapid motions. You’re really crying now, you’re so relieved, so grateful, so happy.

“Ugh.”

Levi squirms under him as Erwin dots kisses down his spine. He's not willing to escape and expose himself to the cold. Not that he actually minds it when Erwin is feeling this playful, even if it's at the asscrack of dawn.

“Did you know where you have bruises are supposedly where someone beat the hell out of you earlier that morning?”

Instinct jabs at Levi that an attack is coming. He ignores it.

Erwin slows to an abrupt stop, and then snaps into action. He bears down more and kisses every spot on his neck, shoulders, arms—anywhere he can feasibly reach.

He gawks as a strangled giggle wells up in his throat—no!

Erwin is so massive there's only one feasible way to get some sort of advantage without using his full strength. His biggest weakness is close combat after all.

Levi begins to thrash, throwing his arm back at an awkward angle and jabbing at Erwin’s side until he lifts himself up enough for him to shove himself back, sending them both toppling onto their backs.

Erwin squawks in surprise as they land bouncing in a ridiculous display at the foot of the bed. He's starting to laugh now, though. In fact he locks his ankles around Levi’s shins, pinning him in place as their arms fight to restrain the other’s.

Surely Levi will win a game of play-wrestling—it's not even his first time doing so, even though the whole affair comes off as an oxymoron in his mind. He has more strength.

Erwin is Erwin, though, and wins by slapping his hand down and tickling under Levi's ribs.

“You shit!” Levi tosses his head away from Erwin's teeth and groans to bury a disturbingly girlish giggle. “Fuck you."

“A win is a win.”

Levi arches his back and manages to get his free arm underneath him. He sneaks this by making it appear that it's trapped.

“A win is a win,” he mocks, and takes a handful of Erwin’s crotch.

He practically coughs in surprise, giving Levi the opening to tear himself free.

It's weird, since this isn't even real fighting, but he never feels this light and powerful.

He spins around, planning to leap again when the full force of Erwin’s weight comes crashing down on top of him, planting him firmly on his back. He's not out of breath, but Erwin's chest doesn't make it easy to breathe. No matter how he thrashes his limbs, Erwin is simply too heavy.

Erwin laughs gleefully, floating around the top of his head. “I didn't intend for things to go this far. But I actually managed to pin you down.”

It sounds like he’s underwater. “Yeah, all you had to do was crush me.”

"What was that?" he teases.

Levi internally rolls his eyes. It’s not so bad being crushed by his massive pecs, but he’s not about to admit that.

Levi continues to beat on his back, defiantly at first, but then growing slower and much weaker.

“Hng. I can’t remember... Everything’s getting dark."

“Levi, you can’t joke about that!”

“I can’t joke, you idiot,” he croaks. “I’m dead.”

“No!” he laughs, a thick and boisterous laugh that Levi loves. He raises himself up a little, and dots kisses all over his face.

“Agh.” Levi tries to dodge from this onslaught and fails spectacularly. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m resuscitating you. It seems like it worked,” he beams.

Levi scoffs, and turns his head away as Erwin traces his pronounced jaw with his lips. Added by the pressure of Erwin’s navel against his crotch, he’s feeling less playful by the moment and more impatient for something else.

“I love seeing your smile.”

Groaning, Levi throws his arm over his mouth.

“You can’t hide. Your eyes crinkle when you smile.”

Levi hides his eyes then, but he's still smiling. “You’re so annoying,” he chuckles softly. His voice cracks. He’s not used to laughing.

“I’ll change your mind.”

“Hm?”

Erwin tongues the defined divots of his collarbones as he rocks forward gently, giving his cock friction finally. Levi truly melts as his teeth make an appearance, nipping at the sensitive skin.

“Mm,” he moans under his breath, squirming his legs apart as Erwin develops more of a a rhythm. Levi sinks his fingers into his hair, turning his head to give him more space. “Smiling gets you this hot and bothered?”

“Yes,” he answers pointedly.

Levi snorts at the absurdity, but he’s unable to fake annoyance for long as Erwin’s lips begin following down his chest.

Her head shoots up, causing her to sit back on her knees. She didn’t even know it was him!

“Captain—I just slipped. I’ve gotten a new personal best!—So—really, I’m fine. I just need to walk this off.”

“Do a handstand, and maybe I’d believe you. You’re injured, Petra,” he states tonelessly. “If we were really out killing Titans, you’d be in a stomach by now.”

She bristles. “I was—”

“You were reckless, one. Two, your excuses are pathetic. Now, walk it off.” He motioned with his head. “Get to the san.”

Reckless.

But she wasn’t the only one. He sensed it as soon as he finished talking. Petra is way too strong to show it, but she was hurt in more ways than her injuries by his words.

They spewed from him without a search of a better way to express his worry, not enough time to look through his anger and see that he was actually confused and upset that she’d make such a mistake. The look of her oddly-bent arm. Maybe he’s seen too many broken bodies. Maybe because it’s Petra.

Training went on for the remainder of the day. Soldiers get a few scrapes, or have slip-ups weekly at least, but that’s unheard-of for Levi’s squad.

It’s not an injury to his ego. It’s Petra. She pushed herself too damn hard. Why?

Frustration and imaginings of what he should’ve said boiled inside him, and so he wasn’t done training before the sun was sinking below the horizon. He barely noticed until Nanaba appeared in the yard to wave him back.

“By the way, Petra left the san a bit ago. She shouldn’t be out of commission for more than a few days.”

A debrief shouldn’t have made him bristle so much. Maybe it was foolish to imagine he could tire himself out too much to think. He’s always thinking, always too much in his head.

A bit of relief met him though. Her arm wasn’t broken, it’s just that her shoulder was dislocated on top of a bit of heatstroke and minor bumps and bruises. Nothing some generic pain medication couldn’t solve.

Except it’s not solved.

He has a shower about it, clinical in-and-out like usual, and though it’s good to be clean, it’s hard to look at himself in the mirror. He runs a towel through his dripping hair as he wonders, yet again, what to do. Nothing isn’t the right approach for this, not taking into account the way she looked at him, like he tore down her whole world. Even if they weren’t together, she looks up to him.

All that’s left on the official docket is dinner in the mess hall. Part of him wants to skip it, but, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to bring Petra dinner as a peace offering on top of scones he had been saving for his squad after the nearing expedition. It’s an investment more than anything. He would sooner make himself sick than waste food, making it another goal to make it back alive for.

He wraps two for her in thin cling-wrap, and heads downstairs.

The problem now presents itself, conveniently enough, next to the big double doors that feed into the mess hall. A few soldiers file in and out—most are probably eating by now.

But evidently not Petra and Miche stood outside, talking. She’s not in uniform. Miche is unmistakable by height alone compared to her, and Levi would spot her by her hair in any crowd. By the way he’s gesturing, he’s giving gentle suggestions that are going in one ear and out the other.

He’s not too near when she raises her head and sees him. What is worse, feeling confused, or feeling resigned? Well, she looks like both.

Miche follows her gaze, and gives a wave. Levi is looking at her when he returns it, though. With a motion of his head, he turns back. The steady scrape of dirt behind lets him know she’s following.

When he gets up the steps and to the doors, he holds one open as she steps inside, much like a kicked puppy.

“Levi,” she acknowledges quietly. Her arm is pinned across her chest in a sling, impossible to hide, but it seems she’s making efforts to.

He sighs silently. “Come on.”

He gives her hair a fleeting pat as they approach the stairway. The walk is crammed in with tense silence.

He lets her into his office, where she idles awkwardly before he goes to the adjoining door as well, to his personal quarters. This is one of those times where he reminds himself to find time to take Petra up on her suggestions to decorate a little. All he uses them for is baking and sleeping, and only one of those things is very relevant.

He stops in the kitchen, and awkwardly holds up the scones.

She blinks. “Why?”

He pulls out a chair. “You know why.”

She deserves more than that. Don’t be so useless.

Apparently that’s asking too much, because everything he should and wants to say gets crossed in his mind, stuck in his dry throat.

I want to protect you. Those words should be simple. They aren’t.

Petra takes them from his hands gratefully, a little slower than necessary, testing what he’ll do? His fingers brush hers, and then they’re gone.

“Th-Thank you.”

She sits, placing them down on the table. Just when he’s putting the right reassurances together, her expression contorts to grimace.

She’s about to cry. She’s sitting there with her arm in a sling, banged up, and he’s making her cry.

“I know I messed up today. But… I succeeded, and you just… I just want to protect you!” she squeaks out, fighting fiercely not to sob. “Why. Why can’t I be g-good enough to?”

“Is… that what earlier was about?” He thinks he understands even less than before. “I don’t need to be. You don’t need to wear yourself out—you’re perfectly capable as you are.”

“I don’t care,” she says, glaring sharply at the floor. “Aren’t we a team…? Don’t we take care of each other?”

She’s not referring only to their squad when she says that.

At first, he thought she was naive. Maybe she is just a bit, but that’s far from what matters. She wants to look after him, and he… He’s been selfish.

He kneels down in front of her, taking her hand, placed upon her knee, and matches her soft gaze, made glassy by tears.

“Don’t cry, because you’re right.”

“Maybe it is pointless, but…”

“It’s not pointless,” he argues. “How do you give a shit about someone and not want to protect them?”

She relaxes a little, which allows him to do the same.

“You’re…” He stares at their intertwined fingers as he finds the words. “You do a fine job at doing the same. I am… proud about back there. But you can’t protect someone without protecting yourself. I don’t want to see you take a fall like that again with me as the reason.”

She nods, and then seems to realize something. “Wait, you are? Proud?”

“And it wouldn’t be a bad thing if you surpassed me, either.”

She laughs at that. “Yeah, right. But still… thank you.”

She puts her arms—arm, around him. He returns it with enough strength for the both of them.

Levi pushes off the doorway, and shuts it on his way over to them.

Them, resigned to their fate, scoots to make room so he can make a place at the table to sit down.

He begins picking out the supplies he needs: gauze, tape, and disinfectant solution. It's not complicated, but he knows what it is to see it as a chore.

"Alright," he murmurs. "Come here."

"Fine fine," they titter.

They sit next to him, angled a little so he has easy access to the injury. Though it'd be easier, they balance their weight not on the table, but above his knee.

He doesn't point it out. Doesn't want to. Everyone's been busy reeling and planning for the expedition to seal Wall Maria once and for all. He'd be lying if he said he was just wandering the halls and decided to show up.

Their eyes meet as he places his hands on Hange's waist, and hooks his fingers under the hems to get it off, a little slower than necessary. With the knowledge that their arm is sore—though they won't show it—he braces their bare bicep as he peels the stretchy material off and over their head. He folds it neatly before resting it beside him.

They're binding their chest. Knowing Hange, it's practically guaranteed they haven't taken a break in a while. And them knowing Levi, they've got the bandages halfway unraveled before he joins them. Their fingers brush more than once. Hange's are warm.

That done, their heavy breasts spill out from the material. They try to mask their relief as always, but they're easy to read.

He rolls the bandages up with efficient neatness, intentionally ignoring their nudity despite the tension between them growing palpable. He's not finished yet.

The wound sits just underneath their pronounced collarbones, where their sun-kissed skin is a touch more pale. His palm lays not on their shoulder, but the space between their breasts to brace them as he peels off the old tape, along with the gauze.

Not too bad. The black squiggle of stitches is surrounding by a mild pink, it's healing, and not radiating any heat indicative of infection.

Their gazes again meet. There's a gleam to Hange's brown eyes that make it hard to break. "Not bad."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Nope," he lies, just to be coy.

"Mhm... It's okay. I see how much you care."

He worries the inside of his cheek with his teeth as he spreads the gel and tapes the gauze. Their touch is creeping up his inner thigh, but no closer, warming up desire deep in his core.

He puts the supplies away. Just as the kit clicks shut, for the first time he can't swallow a small huff as their hand locks on his belt buckle. They both know he's hard.

It's when he's finished up and pretending to inspect his work for mistakes that Hange leans in, their lips brushing up against his neck. He brings his hand up, carding his fingers through their hair, pushing them to kiss his neck properly. His eyes flutter. It really has been a while since they've found the time to be alone like this, and it shows in the both of them's barely restrained advances.

His other hand slides up their waist and closes on their breast, half-stroking their hard nipple, half-simply appreciating its weight and warmth.

It feels like they come to an agreement without speaking a word, ending in Levi pulling them closer. The sound of his belt buckle clinking is loud, and his whine as their teeth scrape his neck.

"Hange," he whispers on bated breath.

"Levi."

That's the breaking point. They drag him forward by his hair and crashes their lips together, immediately parting for their tongue to lap hungrily into his mouth. He groans.

That's not enough for long, and Hange throws their arms around him, bringing them both falling backwards onto the couch. They moan down his throat as his weight comes crashing down.

They barely manage to separate for the second it takes for him to tear his shirt over his head, or the shift apart to get Hange's fucking pants off.

They toss them away, while Levi's already kissing his way down their body with just enough pressure to tease, but with none of the patience he's usually capable of maintaining. Not with the way Hange's pulling his hair, guiding his head down.

He skips their thighs entirely, instead hoisting their legs over his shoulders so he can practically taste the heat from their wet pussy, their swollen clit peeking from between their lips.

He groans, and goes down to taste them for himself.