Three (Not So) Little Words

Three (Not So) Little Words

includes: erwin, y/n

warnings: the phat L-word, mentions of death

length: 1,190 words

summary: Sometimes those three little words aren't so little.

A/N: I don't know how this idea got in my head. Literally, all a stranger did was hold a door open for me and say, "After you" with a smile. Anyways- tagging @sunshinedragonofthewest If you'd also like to be tagged, just let me know.

In your Cadet years, his affection was the least subtle.

When you could never properly adjust the leather belts of your uniform, he'd always give you a look before chuckling under his breath.

"Come here, let me fix it for you," he'd say. Erwin would always, always, wait for you to nod until he touched the leather straps. Stubbornly, you would always avoid looking at him while he helped you.

During a class, when you'd forgotten your mathematics book, he didn't hesitate to set his on your desk. You, wanting to thrive independently, placed it back on his almost instantly. Erwin playfully glared at you before giving it back. He caught your wrist gently when you tried to place it on his desk again.

"Just borrow mine. We both know you need it more than I do," he'd whispered in a teasing tone. The book remained in your hands after that.

After a couple of years and a countless amount of 'this reminded me of you's from Erwin, you both were off on your first expedition out of the walls.

The fond gestures stopped when he came back with blood splattered on his skin and clothes. It didn't belong to him, and it didn't belong to a titan.

Erwin was promoted to Squad Leader soon after, his passion and dedication to the cause allowing him to soar through the ranks. Soar higher and higher- and right into your heart.

The next time he gave you a taste of his old adoration was in the middle of a chilling winter. Your sleeping quarters hardly had any insulation, and the low-budget blankets on stiff mattresses could only do so much. Most people slept in the same bed for warmth. You refused to do such a thing with any of those soldiers.

The floorboards creaked from the cold and from your weight as you made your way to Erwin's quarters. You were going to file a complaint- there was no way he expected anyone to sleep in those conditions.

An upset knock later, he opened the door, and you completely forgot why you'd gone there in the first place when you saw him.

Erwin had circles darker than the night sky under his eyes as he blinked at you, seeming to just be waking up. Before you could apologize, he spoke gently.

"It's cold, isn't it?"

Dumbly, you nodded, and he gave a worn smile. He let you inside, let you get comfortable in his bed. As it turns out, the Squad Leader's blanket is made from the same material as yours.

Erwin didn't join you. Instead, he tried to get comfortable in the small chair that sat behind his desk.

"You aren't actually sleeping there... Right?"

"Don't worry about me." The hum he gave you warm your bones faster than anything in the world could, but his words upset you.

"But I am worried about you."

Erwin blinked as you sat up in his bed, and watched as you shuffled to the edge.

You gave him all the room he would ever need, and he still shifted close. Erwin quietly asked if he could hold you. You didn't answer at first. Yet the moment you felt him try to move far away, your arms grabbed onto his bicep.

"Yeah... 'Course you can," you'd whispered, the words burning your tongue as they left. Erwin's pools of blue nearly drowned you before he closed his eyes.

"Thank you."

The first time Erwin actually said the L-word, it scared you.

Now the Commander, Erwin Smith's heart was hardened after years and years of horrifying battles. Or so it seemed.

He'd nearly lost you outside of the walls, lost you to the titans. You risked your life to save someone- Erwin couldn't see who- from the 15 meter that charged from the side. Erwin yelled orders, you cried out, and they didn't make it.

You were beyond angry. Outraged at what he had ordered you to do on the battlefield. How were you supposed to leave them? You could've saved them! You should've saved them.

Now you were standing in his office after refusing to sit down. He didn't like your arms being crossed over your chest, but he hated the look on your face more. Erwin didn't want you to be angry at him, but he didn't have a choice.

"Listen-" he started, but you'd cut him off.

"Like how I did when you allowed my comrade to die?" you'd snapped. Erwin clenched his jaw.

"Our comrade," he corrected, placing his hands on his desk.

"I could've helped them," you growled.

"You put yourself in danger-"

"We all do! All of the Scouts know what they signed up for so why didn't you let me do that?" You were raising your voice at him, too angry to notice that he didn't reprimand you for it.

"Because I-"

"What? Because you thought they were nothing more than a pawn in your games? Because-" Erwin slammed his hands on his desk, the loud bang! shutting you up.

"Because I love you!" He yelled, his eyes set aflame. "I can lose one of my soldiers, I can lose myself, but I can't lose you!"

The silence that followed was deafening.

The anger you felt before was nothing compared to the emotions that overwhelmed you now.

Erwin sunk into his seat, holding his head in his hands. "I know... I know you signed up for the Scouts, and not for my possessiveness. And I know that it isn't fair to hold you back. It isn't fair to feel this way but I... I j-just-"

Your hand softly stroking his made the man crumble into a state of vulnerability.

After that day, Erwin said the L-word to you as often as he could.

He said it in a gravelly voice early in the morning. His hand brushed the hair from your face before giving you a gentle kiss.

He said it as an apology quite often when he worked too late. He would feel like melting every time you accepted it with open arms.

He said it as a greeting when you stepped into his office. The blush that spread like wildfire over your face made him chuckle.

He said it as a thank you when you gave him a massage after a long day. You then found out that he has ticklish collarbones.

He said it over your shoulder when you'd looked in the mirror for a little too long. His lips caressed your cheek while he spent the next hour listing everything he cherished about you.

Now, he said it in a letter. A letter so elegantly written with obsidian ink etched onto crisp white paper. He said it in the most Erwin way possible. He said it after forbidding you to go on the same expedition as him.

After the letter, he could never say it again. After the expedition, he could never be again.

For the first time, you said those three words. You screamed it and you cried and you begged, hoping that he could hear you. Hear you, and say I love you back.

blood stains and butterflies

includes: Soap, Ghost warnings: PTSD, panic attack, vomiting, gore length: 4,000 some words summary: Ghost isn't all too happy that Christmas showed up months early. A/N: uh... Boo. I'm alive! Anyways, new obsession time. Also, ik tumblr goes crazy with bots but where did they all swarm me from?? Enjoy though, and please give me feedback.

Ghost stumbles, nearly slipping in the pummeling rain. His gloved hand hardly catches traction on the slick side of their stupid fucking safe house that's spat up 30 miles past bum fuck nowhere.

The sky is as dark as the field that surrounds him, clouds hiding the moon away like it's something shameful.

I'm shameful, Ghost's brain spits as he gasps as quietly as he can. He can feel his throat closing up tight- too tight- tighter than anything he can handle.

Oh sure, because waterboarding and gasoline is nothing compared to stupid, god awful-

"Creepin' Jesus, L.t.-"

Ghost hardly has the wherewithal to yank his mask just over the bridge of his crooked, fucked up nose before he's spilling what little bit of lunch he ate before they were sent on this lousy mission.

"Ghost, what's goin' oan? Ye alright?"

Shut up. Shut the hell up. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

He's dry heaving so much that something is stinging somewhere deep behind his eyes.

A hand, steady yet uncertain, touches his shoulder and Ghost feels flames licking at his skin, even through the ever persistent rain storm.

"Don't fucking touch me," he seethes, baring his teeth like a rabid animal, feet clumsily scrambling further away, leaving his arms to weakly try to compensate. The last thing he needs is to bust his ass on his own throw up.

Soap jerks his hand away like he is the one being burned. The rain is so loud, but not even shelling could drown out the sound of Soap's breath catching in his throat.

"I'm fine," Ghost rasps, sounding impossibly fragile even to his own ringing ears. "Go back inside before you get yourself sick, Soap."

"Sick like ye?"

Ghost is gagging on bile before he can spit fire back. Instead, he spits up the last of his pathetic lunch.

"I said I'm fine. They're just-" Christ, he's shaking so hard he might slip again- "fucking Christmas lights. Nothing's wrong with me."

If Ghost would stop being a little bitch for a second, he'd see the way Soap's eyebrows furrow in genuine confusion with a single blink.

"This is aboot th' holiday decor?" Soap asks desperately. Ghost can hear a puddle splash as Soap inches closer.

Ghost would rather be buried alive again than admit that he is having a breakdown over some lights speckled with blood. Hell, he'd rather gulp down gasoline than speak anything ever again.

Ghost screws his eyes shut in hopes of- of what? Hiding? He's such a shameless coward.

"L.t. please. What's goin' oan? I don't understand- what's wrong with th' lights?"

The door was kicked open, windows smashed in, and they were dead long before he jerked his car in park.

He wanted- needed- them to be alive so badly, so desperately, he skimmed over the fact that more of Joseph's brains were on the wall than in his skull for fuck's sake-

He's retching again, but tears are making his vision too blurry to see what he's hurling onto the muddied clump of grass beneath his feet. Rain, actually. The rain is making his vision blurry.

"Come back inside 'fore ye hurt yerself more. Please, Ghost." There is a noticeable hesitation and Ghost hopes Soap will just go back inside and leave him in shambles.

Soap doesn't go anywhere, but Ghost crumbles anyway from what he says.

"Ye're scarin' me…"

"You're scaring me! Tommy, stop it! Please- please stop!"

Tommy sneered behind the cracked skull mask, and Simon felt his lower bunk dip with his brother's weight. The pillow under his head was snatched from him.

"Don't ever beg anyone for anything, Simon. Hasn't dad taught you that?" The sneer bled into a sickening grin. "Here, let's practice."

His pillow was shoved over his face before he could even choke out the word 'no'.

Ghost loses his footing and falls to his knees, hands weakly grasping for any leverage on the side of the safe house. There isn't any. His left knee digs into the mud as he stumbles.

Soap, the persistent, heaven-sent bastard, is by his side before Ghost slips any further.

"I don't-" Soap hovers by Ghost like a lost dog, buzzing with confusion and concern. "A'll take it doon, Lt. A'll get rid of it all."

Ghost vaguely hears Soap's footsteps trailing off, the pummeling of the rain and the rushing in his ears nearly drowning it out. But then Soap stops and the footsteps rush back his way. Ghost shudders in the rain, in his thoughts, fingers weakly dragging against the dirt as he presses his back against the side of the shelter. Soap is so quiet that Ghost can almost pretend he isn't there.

But, fuck, he is. Standing right there, thinking God knows what, and Ghost's mask is still above his scarred, vomit-laced mouth-

Ghost drags his soaked sleeve over his mouth and chin so rough he feels a strap jerk against a scar. He grits his teeth and bares it and yanks his mask back over the rest of his face.

"Give me yer knives."

Ghost startles- fucking jumps out of his skin. He thought Soap was gone. Scratch that- he hoped Soap was gone.

Ghost slaps together the meanest glare he can muster. He's pathetic like this; a mess in the mud, his own vomit washing away in the rain next to him, being waterboarded by his mask.

Soap doesn't even flinch. Hell, he reaches his hand out, expectant.

"Ye might…" Soap takes a breath, his fingers curling into his palm just a little. "I don't want to come back oot 'ere to find that ye did something stupid to yerself."

"You think-" Ghost has to take a short breath, his voice shredded and raw and so god damn fragile. "You think that I'm-"

"I don't know what t' think," Soap rushes, sounding as desperate as Ghost hates to feel. "Just promise me ye won't."

Ghost screws his eyes shut, wondering if a promise like this only counts for the moment, or if he has to keep it for the rest of his miserable life.

"Am beggin' ye, Ghost."

"Did you beg them, Tommy? Did you?" Simon heard himself say as he stared at his brother's limp body dangling in a bloody mess of Christmas lights from the rafters. Fitting it was, that he suffocated. "Or did not have the chance to?"

"Simon-"

"Don't you- Don't fucking call me that," Ghost rasps.

Soap opens his mouth, desperate as a drowned man gasping for air, but Ghost beats him to it.

"I won't, fuck. I'm not bloody insane." Although he sure as hell felt that way.

Soap's jaw tightens, teeth clenching against each other as he draws his hand back. He is still hesitant to leave Ghost alone; alone with his thoughts and feelings. And knives.

"I won't," Ghost breathes quietly, Adam's apple bobbing as he gathers what little pieces of him were left. "I wouldn't, Soap."

Soap nods, gaze lingering as he turns his body away towards the shelter. "A'll kill ye, if ye do."

Ghost chuckles, heartless and hurt and so pitifully wrapped in his head. What a perfect way to go, that would be. That's the only way he can see himself dying, being taken out by Soap. Ghost wonders how he would do it.

Soap hasn't moved.

"I promise, Johnny."

That seems to do the trick because seconds later, Soap is taking off through the rain and heading inside the house.

Ghost is, blessedly, devastatingly, alone. But he's left with his thoughts. And they begin to wander before he beats them down.

The whole fucking shelter is done up with Christmas decorations, and it makes him wonder how many layers of dust are on every light and ornament. It makes him wonder what happened to the people who strung them up.

He doesn't wonder, however, how the blood splatters got there.

It's not even near the holiday season, either, which really pisses him off because it's just his luck. He thought he'd be safe from his holiday horrors, months away from Christmas. Of course the world slams a curveball right in his face and spits on him while he's down.

He doesn't notice that his hands are gripping at the top of his mask. They would be tugging on his hair, but he's a spineless, faceless coward. No wonder everyone thought Tom was the better brother. They were fucking right to, weren't they?

Christ, they're all he can see. Tom, hanging from the rafters by the Christmas tree lights, his throat a mangled mess. Beth, a crumpled mop of blinding white ribs and heavy dark blood, her Santa hat mostly red and somewhere underneath what was left of her. His mom, stabbed in the neck, blood soaking into her newest ugly sweater she was so proud of. Joseph's head and reindeer antlers headband was blown off with a bullet, his blood and brains and matter covering the various paint splotches on the wall where Tom and Beth couldn't decide on a new color.

Joseph's toy airplane kicked to the side, forgotten white wings stained with pieces of the boy.

He wanted to be a pilot when he grew up, Joseph did. He used to make Simon hold him above his head so he could stick his little arms out real far like they were wings on a plane. Simon would carry him all around the house; pretended to be the panicked control tower, telling pilot Joseph that he couldn't use the runway- the hallway- because there were fallen trees- a broom and a mop- blocking his path. Pilot Joseph was always a quick thinker, and he would land his plane further down the way, on an empty back road- the couch. And Simon would toss his beaming nephew on the ratty old brown couch and listen to his giggles as he shouted, "Again, Uncle Simon! Again!"

God, the pure joy on the kids face whenever Simon bought him that little toy plane for Christmas one year was burning at the back of his brain. Fucks sake, all Simon could afford at the time was a little figurine. It wasn't remote controlled, no doors could open- hell, the propeller couldn't even spin. But Joseph loved it more than anything in the world.

The sound of glass shattering behind the shelter has Ghost choking on his breath.

Simon would've killed to have been deaf when he took Tom down from the rafters. Glass shattered, body thumped, glass shattered, glass shattered, glass-

Bile scorches the back of his throat as his memory supplies the imagine of blood splattered Christmas ornaments. He tumbles forwards onto his hands and knees, frantically tugging his mask above his lips again. One hand claws at the dirt, the other, supported by his elbow in the mud, holding the bottom part of his mask out of the way as he retches and dry heaves until he swears he could be spitting up blood.

Ghost curls in on himself and falls to his side, a deflated, crumpled heap of shame.

It's all his fault. It is. If he had gotten there sooner, if he had seen it all coming, if he had never gotten compromised, if he had never joined the fucking military- none of it would have happend. It's his fault, all his fault.

"My fault," he heaves, blurry eyes boring into where the dark, starless sky seamlessly bleeds into the black, rocky mud. He's drowning in the stifling nothingness.

Tom could be coming home from work, kissing Beth hello, playing 'pilot' with Joseph. But he's not. He's a rotted corpse six-feet under the dirt. That's how Simon should be. It's his fault that it didn't turn out that way. His fault, all his fault.

"I'm sorry," he breaks, shaking his head, bringing his muddy glove to his face, pressing the heel of his palm into his forehead. The other half hides, burying into the ground, like he could dig his own grave like this.

Joseph would've been in high school by now, driving and going to meet friends. But he's not. He's stuck in a wooden box next to his parents. That's how Simon should be. It's his fault-

"Please-"

"Ghost?"

Ghost's eye snap open, body tense and frozen. He vaguely notices that he's hyperventilating. Christ alive, he's breathing so fast but he can't get any air. He can't breathe, no matter how hard he tries. He might as well be buried alive again-

"…-ost, look at me. I need ye to look at me Lt."

Ghost's blood shot eyes snap in Soap's direction- when was he sat up against the shack's wall?- and his breath hitches somewhere deep in his throat before he feels his heart pitter faster. It's trying to break out of his ribcage, slamming into his cracking bones, threatening to bleed openly into Soap's hands. Soap has such nice hands. He'd hate to soil them.

"Where are we reit now?' Soap asks, carefully crouching in front of him, both hands resting open palm facing up on his knees.

Ghost feels his eyebrows furrow at that one. Has Soap forgotten? Your location seems like an awfully important thing to know.

"Ghost, I need ye to tell me where we are," Soap insists, the tendons in his neck pulled so taunt. Ghost worries. He worries that Soap will hurt his neck, straining how he is.

"Manchester?" he murmurs so low that he can feel how his vocal cords vibrate with it. Soap's neck pulls over his Adam's apple as it bobs rough. Ghost wonders what it would take to snap the stretched tendons there. Ghost thinks he'll kill anything that dares to graze them.

"Nae. Nae, Ghost. Look around. Look around ye an' then tell me where we are."

Ghost's eyes carefully draw away from Soap's vulnerable, tense throat, and move to meet his gaze. Soap is scared, he realizes slowly, the thought dawning on him as slow as the sun rises. Ghost furrows his eyebrows, a frown tugs his lips down at the side. Hesitantly, his eyes drift to the trees surrounding him. He can hardly pick up anything distinctive through the rain, but he feels his eyes widen.

"We're at a safe house. But- but then I-"

"That's reit, Ghost. We're on a mission waitin' for exfil. Do ye remember what our mission was?" Soap speaks like a kindergarten teacher. One who wears long, gray skirts and a yellow button-up blouse, has the thinnest heels on her black shoes, and always has her hair done up in a relaxed bun. Ghost vaguely remembers hating his kindergarten classes; he could never focus. Ghost thinks he would hang on every word if Soap was his teacher. "Stay with me, Ghost," Mr. Soap snaps his fingers once or twice, the sound dancing away through the rain.

"Gather intel on the terrorists' bio-weapons… Destroy the sample. Get out with no one the wiser." Ghost holds his breath for praise, for Soap to tell him he's right. Tell him thats he's not a fuck up, not weak or stupid or not masculine enough. To tell him that maybe, he deserved everything that happened to him

"Yeah, that's right. There ye go, Ghost." Soap's lips twist into a pitiful, beautiful thin-lipped smile. "Thought I lost ye for good there, L.T."

"Never," Ghost rasps before he can shut his big fat mouth.

Soaps lips quirk up more at that, and Ghost has half the mind to get on his knees and ask for repentance. Acceptance, even.

"Are ye alright to come inside?" Soap asks carefully, words treading carefully like Ghost was a minefield.

Sometimes he feels that way, if he were ever honest with himself. He feels like a wired ticking time bomb, bound to explode at the smallest of missteps.

Well, Soap just happens to be a demolition expert, doesn't he?

"Ghost? Did ye hear me?"

Ghost feels himself blink, and when he opens his eyes, he can only look at Soap's lips.

It's unfair, really, how it all slams into him at once, after everything.

He thinks about it. He thinks about it so vividly that he can almost feeling his rough lips against Soap's, feel his clean shaven jaw rub against Soap's stubble.

He takes a shuddering breath when the thought of betrayal and blood and Christmas lights flood his mind.

He doesn't deserve that. He doesn't deserve Soap's lips or stubble or- hell- his being. He isn't good enough.

Besides, it'll only get Soap killed faster. More brutal. They'd make Ghost watch, too. He couldn't shoulder that.

Ghost startles slightly when Soap's gloved hand waves in front of his eyes once or twice.

"Don't get in yer heid. Stay with me, L.T."

Ghost feels his lips tremble. Soap always knows his tells.

" 'm sorry, Johnny," Simon murmurs, blinking against the shine in Soap's eyes.

Soap softens at that, concerned frown morphing into a lopsided grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"No need to apologize, Ghost. Ain't yer fault," Soap hums.

Ghost grunts at that, and if it was in acceptance or disagreement, Soap could only hope to flip a coin.

Soap takes off one of his gloves, his pale skin free from the inky, filthy glove. He holds this hand out like an offering, palm up and fingers outstretched, inches away from Ghost's chest.

"Ready to dry off, L.T? I mean, we could keep showerin' out here if ye want to, but…" Soap trails off, eyes following the dark, angry clouds moving in from the west.

Soap has the bluest eyes. Like Scorpion grasses. Those invasive beautiful bastards spread like wildfire in his mother's dingy little garden one year and she could never get rid of them. Hell, she made the whole damn garden full of Scorpion grass.

Ghost leans his head closer- ever so minutely- to get a closer look at Soap's eyes.

Yeah. Soap's exactly like Scorpion grass.

He's certainly invasive. Ghost didn't want him at first, but he kept coming back. Over and over and over again. And, well, Ghost certainly can't stand to get rid of him now. Soap calms his jumpy fucking nerves too, just like the flowers. He smoothes out Ghost's worries like it's as easy as spreading melted butter on toast.

Forget-me-nots.

That's right- they're also called forget-me-nots.

Ghost couldn't forget Soap for anything. He'd know him anywhere, anywhere at all. On earth, in hell, somewhere in the gray in between. Ghost could be blind and deaf, yet still know Soap if the man was near him.

Scorpion grass might just be his favorite flower if he allows himself that much.

"…Ghost? Ye alright?"

Ghost blinks, ripping his gaze away from the vast ocean he almost drowned in. With another, deliberate, blink, he realizes Soap is blushing. Pink dusts over his cheeks, his eyes struggling to hold their place on Ghost.

"Somethin' on my face?" Soap chuckles, the sound high and tense.

Ghost swallows, breath catching in his throat so suddenly his mouth dries up. He tugs his mask all the way down again, and fixes it firmly in place.

None of it matters anyway. Not a single bit of it. Not the way Soap looks at him like he's the most important thing in the room, not the way his face heats up when Soap punches his shoulder before they load out on a mission, and definitely not the way his heart pitter-patters oh-so quickly when Soap smiles at him when he says a stupid, corny joke.

None of that matters because the Scorpion grass in his dead mother's garden flopped over and went to hell when Ghost tried to care for them after she was gone, and so will Soap.

"Get out of yer head, Ghost."

Ghost flinches his head back, the sternness in Soap's tone sending him reeling.

"I'm was not-"

"Ye were. Ye had that 1,000-yard-stare glossed over yer eyes," Soap squints at him.

"I always have that stare, Soap. It's part of the fucking job," Ghost bites back.

"Sure, but when ye're out of it, it looks different."

"It does not-"

"Yes, it bloody does!" Soap sneers, the genuine anger in his face catching Ghost off guard. Ghost watches Soap as he sucks in a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his jaw, before swallowing behind the perfect columns in his neck. "It does. And I am sick and tired of losin' ye to yerself."

Ghost looks at him, really looks at him for any sign of- hell, he doesn't fucking know anymore. Resentment, maybe? Soap has every right to hate him.

Soap sighs, running his ungloved hand through his hair. His shoulders seem so weighted. Ghost wants to hold it all for him; carry everything even if the weight of it all breaks his bones twice over.

"Let's get inside, L.T." Soap reaches out his hand again, stronger this time and no longer shaking. "Before the rain makes ye more sick. We're both soaked to the bone and the fuckin' shack doesn't have any heating. Nothing 'sides a little fireplace. Hope ye don't mind strippin' down to yer tighty-whities near me."

It kills Ghost. It kills him that Soap doesn't speak a word of Ghost's several outbursts and breakdowns that have happened in the span of… of- Christ above, what time is it? How long has he been smothered in his head over Christmas lights?

Ghost takes a weary breath before he fully gets 'lost in his head' again.

The look of relief that breaks across Soap's face when Ghost strongly grasps his hand is enough to make the man's knees weak.

"Can't wait to see your Hello Kitty briefs again, Johnny," Ghost deadpans as Soap pulls them both to their feet. He knows Soap sees the way he sways with the rain, the way he uses the wall for support- Ghost can see it in his eyes. He's thankful, graciously thankful, when Soap doesn't mention it.

"That was one bloody time. Was Gaz's fault anyway," Soap grumbles, still holding Ghost's hand in his as he leads them inside.

As Ghost tentatively steps into the safehouse again, he realizes that Soap is a saint. Even though he's technically a mass murder, his sins are washed away with the simple act of rearranging a small shack.

Everything remotely Christmas themed is out of sight. No ornaments, no tree, no stockings, no snowmen, no Santas, no paper snowflakes- and not one single Christmas light. Ghost feels his face warm up a stupid amount as he tracks his eyes over the firepit.

The blood is gone.

Soap cleaned the fucking blood.

Ghost whips his head around, and in a rare moment- one of many so far tonight- his mouth is open without a sound coming out.

He wants to say something, really he does, but what can he say when Soap is busying himself with acting as if nothing has changed. As if this is the first time they've walked into the dump.

As if he isn't making a vile, almost forgotten feeling crescendo up in the empty void behind Ghost's sternum.

"Let's raid the place, yeah?" Soap says, looking over the layout. "There's the kitchen, living room, and bedroom. Though, that's fucking generous to call it that, eh?"

Soap is right; the living room and kitchen combined couldn't be more than 12 feet across and 10 feet wide. The bedroom is more of a closet with a pile of blankets against the wall. But, still, the kitchen has cabinets and the living room has a fireplace… that hopefully works.

"You search the kitchen, I'll see if the pit is functional," Ghost murmurs, ignoring how the words grate against his raw throat. Away from the rain, the chill of his soaked clothes is settling on his skin. He's ready to get warm and sleep away the pounding in his head.

"Copy that, L.T." Soap beams, sparing one brief glance before turning on his heels to ramble through the cabinets.

"And Johnny?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

Johnny gives a lopsided smile that makes his eyes shine. "Of course, Simon."

can i get 33 and 42 sorry if your request isn’t open anymore^ - ^

33. "What's wrong?" 42. "Would you just hold still?"

includes: levi, y/n

warnings: levi insults you (but he doesn't honestly mean it), probably inaccurate injury treatment (I am not a doctor-)

length: 3,110 words

summary: No one else seemed to notice; not his squad, not Hange, not even the Commander. But you did. You saw the way he avoided putting pressure on his ankle, the way his habits were quick to change. You weren't going to let the man torture himself any longer, come loose-spoken slanders or half-hearted struggles. And who knows? You might discover very interesting details about your elusive Captian.

A/N: I had a few ideas on where to take this, so I hope you like the one I chose. And yes! My requests are very much open! You can make your own request here for angst and here for fluff.

It had started with small hints, ones you hardly picked up on.

Levi had begun to clean the horse stables rather than train with his ODM gear. Even though you were concerned, you figured Humanity's Strongest Soldier wasn't exactly lacking in vertical maneuvering skill. Besides, everyone knew of the fondness Levi had for his horse.

But then he started leaving the mess hall last, too. He made sure every person was gone before slipping into a side hallway. It didn't matter if he was done eating before everyone else, or if he was even eating at all. You forced yourself to believe it was to reprimand whoever left the largest mess.

Yet the brightest red flag was when he stopped his nightly surveillance walks around the perimeter. Or so, that's what he called them.

On any other given night, Levi could be found circling the grounds. His head would be tilted up to view the starry sky, accentuating his sharp jawline. He'd tense and still at every nightly sound, mentally determining if there was a threat of any kind. (Not that you were watching him often enough to know every fine detail, of course.) You even once saw him startle when a bird suddenly flew from a nearby bush. It never happened again, but you had found it adorable.

So knowing that Levi was locked away in the library when he should be marveling at the full moon? It bothered you. A lot. Which is the exact reason you mustered up every bit of your courage to walk into the same room as him.

Cold eyes snapped up to the now opened door, and something foreign clouded his features. He looked back towards his book before you could decipher what the expression on his face was.

The air surrounding him felt stressed. Anxious, even.

You, stubborn as ever, pressed on into the small room, stalking right over to where he sat. Levi simply scoffed, closing his book and placing it face down.

"What do you want, Cadet?" he tsked, cutting features nearly intimidating you enough to leave.

"Captain, with all due respect, I want to know what's wrong."

His eyes narrowed, and you saw something from under the table move. You just now realized that his leg was previously resting on the flat part of another chair.

"Excuse me?" Levi held a dangerous tone. He wanted to scare you away, frighten you enough to stop questioning him. He was almost successful.

You took a deep breath, eyes drifting towards the book he was reading. Levi was quick to shield the description with his hand and forearm.

"You haven't been yourself recently," you started. Your gaze slowly navigated back to Levi's face, only to find a scowl tainting his lips.

"You don't know enough about me to understand-"

"You've stopped your hand-to-hand combat training, your gear training, and you've even stopped sitting in the treetops." He didn't like how you'd cut him off, but you weren't finished. "You don't leave the mess hall quickly anymore. You're now almost always the first one there, which is strange because you usually bring your food all the way to your office. You've even stopped your nightly walks, and you love those."

Your little rant left him closing his mouth from a forgotten attempt to speak. After a moment of collecting his thoughts, he simply said, "I don't go on walks. I make sure there are no outside threats because everyone else is too busy fiddling with the sticks up their asses to do it themselves."

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from giggling at his wording or mentioning the bird. You wanted to keep that incident to yourself.

"And I don't appreciate you stalking me," Levi added, his hand clenching and unclenching. You chose to ignore the false accusation to return your focus on the book. And you watched as Levi forced his hand to relax.

"What are you reading?"

"None of your damn business." The answer came as soon as the question left your lips.

The defiance in your eyes made him tilt his head to the side as you tenaciously pulled out a chair to sit down.

"I don't remember asking you to join me," Levi sneered, though oddly, it lacked his usual bite.

"I don't remember you giving my questions a proper answer," you said matter-of-factly.

The flicker of shock in his eyes was well worth the mini-heart attack you suffered right after the words left your lips. You also chose to believe you imagined the ghost of a smirk on his mouth.

You pressed on before he could talk you into leaving, "I want to know what you're reading, at the very least."

Levi leaned back in his chair, the book's description still covered. "I'm not required to tell you anything. This isn't an interrogation, Cadet."

"Would you answer my questions even if it was?" you scoffed, settling your hands down in your lap.

Levi gave a puff of air through his nose that could almost pass for a chuckle. "No, I wouldn't. You're as intimidating as a fly."

You grit your teeth together, balling your hands up. "Well, maybe I'm not trying to be intimidating! Maybe, just maybe, I'm simply concerned for you. Maybe you're scaring me because you love the moon and have stopped seeing it!" You weren't yelling, but you weren't exactly whispering either. "Maybe I just want to help someone I care about."

Levi held his breath and glanced away towards the open window before swallowing thickly. "That's a lot of 'maybes'," he murmured.

Nothing else was said. You worried about what he'd do because you backtalked him, but you were foolish enough not to care. Though, Levi now seemed absorbed in whatever was outside, fingertips tracing over the back of the book.

After another stressful heartbeat, he pushed the book in front of you, not saying a word. You blinked widened eyes at him and glanced at the book before looking back at him. Sure, you came here to help, but you really didn't expect him to let you.

"Thank you, Captain," you breathed, picking up the book and flipping it over.

Fixing Your Foot & Ankle Pain.

Levi could've laughed at the look on your face, and he watched you read over the title once more. "Great, can I have my book back now, officer?" he asked, dangerously close to sounding smug.

"Not yet." You ignored the sigh he gave. "Why didn't you just let me see it before? Is something wrong with your foot?"

He chewed the inside of his lip before offering a simple answer, "no."

"Then let me see."

"What?"

"I said let me see your foot, Captain. If you are hurt, then I can't have you pushing yourself. You'll make it worse," you said pointedly, pushing the book across the table from you.

"'I can't?'" he quoted. "Don't you mean the 'Corps can't'?"

You didn't answer him in favor of standing up and moving to the foot that was once resting on another chair.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he warned, stiffly moving his leg away from you.

"I'm just checking. It shouldn't be an issue because you're fine, right?"

Levi clenched his jaw, cracking a couple of his knuckles. He didn't pull away from you, nor did he hit you, which is a huge plus.

That is until you tried to get his boot off.

"Oi, don't take it off-"

"Then how am I supposed to look at it? I don't have X-Ray vision," you snapped, waiting for him to settle before you started taking it off again.

"This is stupid," he grumbled, looking up at the ceiling with his arms crossed.

"Yeah, it is stupid that I had to track you down to help you," you bitterly argued, neatly placing his boot aside. You then carefully rolled up his pants leg and took off his sock. Your eyes widened as you stared at how swollen Levi's ankle was. "Levi- are you serious? This is terrible!"

His withering scowl burned down at you, eyes narrowed and deadly at the use of his first name. You didn't seem to notice what you had called him, too worried over his ankle.

"Why didn't you tell me the truth when I had asked?" You didn't even know where to begin with this man.

"I did. My foot is fine."

"Fine? Your ankle is more inflated than the capital mens' egos, sir."

Your joke defanged the bite in his eyes but, despite how funny Levi found it, his only reaction was a huff. "Yeah, my ankle is puffed up. Not my foot, genius."

You glared at him coldly before you stood up, placing your hands on your hips. "Alright," you started, "stay here while I go get the splint and some ice."

"I don't need it."

"You have a second-degree sprain, Captain. You should've iced it as soon as you could. But you didn't. So, now I'm going to take care of you since you can't be bothered to care for yourself," you scolded.

Well then. Excuse me, Levi sarcastically thought, watching you leave after another demand for him not to go anywhere.

While you were gone, he decided to ignore your orders and put the book away. He swallowed a grunt when he sat down again, glancing at the door in case you were there.

As the minutes ticked by, he huffed like an impatient child, his nails scratching and toying with the wood of the table. When you had finally came back, he halfheartedly greeted you with a groan.

"You took too long. Did you take a shit?" Levi grumbled bluntly, leaning his head back as he looked at you.

He nearly grinned as the items you took your precious time to grab poured out of your arms just before you answered. You picked up a few rogue bandages, and Levi glanced away when you looked up.

"If clumsiness was a currency, you'd be as rich as the king," Levi scoffed.

"And if being secretive little gnome was a job, you'd be the CEO of the company," you fired back as you placed the medical things on the table. He tsked, muttering something you didn't quite understand before sitting up in his seat.

"I thought all you needed was some ice and a splint. Why the hell did you grab an entire hospital's supply?"

"Well, Captain, who knows what else you didn't tell anyone about. For all I know, you have fractured ribs, too. Maybe a few fresh gashes that you hardly cleaned up." You gave him such a persistent look that he couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," he huffed, carefully tracking you as you rounded the table to tend his ankle.

"That's another thing I've noticed! You don't sleep, and when you do, it's not even in your-" you cut yourself off. The look that crossed your face reminded Levi of the expression Erwin has whenever a cadet asks something stupid. "Where's the book?'

"Why? Can't help me without it?" he challenged.

"It's not that, it's just..." You trailed off, not saying anything for a second or two. "Did you put it up? I specifically told you not to move."

"And I specifically ignored you," he shot back, watching your nose flare when you huffed.

"You know what? Fine. Just be quiet and give me your ankle." Levi was caught off guard by the growl in your voice.

He scowled but didn't speak a word as you started treating his ankle.

It was quiet. Despite the untouched hostility in the air, it was almost peaceful. Until Levi ruined it. Again.

"How do you know I don't sleep in my bed? Are you smelling my blankets while I'm out of them?"

Your shoulders sagged with how heavy your sigh was.

"No, I don't sneak into the guys' sleeping quarters to roll in your sheets, Captain." The thought would be nice to indulge on later, though. "I just know that you often fall asleep at your desk. That's bad for your bones structure, sir. You'll cramp more often, disfigure your stature, develop an asymmetric-"

"And you, Cadet? How's your sleep cycle, huh?" he cut you off, seeing the newfound tightness in your jaw. "Scolding me while you're struggling to stay conscious at the eating tables. Seems real hypocritical, doesn't it?"

You didn't respond. You couldn't; he was right. The bastard typically was.

"I'm done treating your ankle," you began softly, each of your fingers messaging your palms. "You have to stay off of it, sir. If you keep pushing yourself, you'll end up not being able to walk."

There was a pause in the air, your breath hanging like abandoned ODM gear. Levi picked up on the temporarily unspoken words, so he tapped his middle finger on the table and waited.

"As strange as this sounds..."

That's not a good way to start a sentence, Levi thought.

"I need you to take off your shirt. Sir."

Levi dismissed what you have just boldly said to his face with a light scoff. After your silence lingered for a beat too long, Levi shifted his jaw. "You're serious?"

"I just need to check your upper body for damage," you added gently.

Levi tsked, "I don't fucking see why."

Before you could argue any further, he was already tugging off the long-sleeved grey shirt. You cleared your throat and glanced at the surrounding bookshelves, suddenly absorbed with the task of finding the book Levi had put away.

With a thick swallow, you looked back at him, avoiding his eyes like a plague. He watched your brows furrow as you looked closer.

"What's this from?" you asked, letting your thumb trace underneath a fresh slice in between his ribs. He jerked away from you with a snarl, and you glared at him.

"A branch from the last mission caught me," he grumbled, eyeing your hand that was now hovering over his skin.

"Let me guess, you didn't say anything to anyone?"

"Look at you using that empty head of yours."

You rubbed the bridge of your nose with your offhand before grabbing everything you needed; cleansing alcohol, tweezers, a cotton ball, and smaller bandages. For whatever reason, Levi was more defensive about you tending to his ribs than his ankle.

"Oi, I'm fine. You've done plenty, now get lost," he sneered, fingers twitching as you held the cotton ball with the tweezers and soaked it in alcohol.

"Captin, let me just do this and you can move on to stargazing, okay?" you asked halfheartedly. You didn't get a response other than vulgarities.

You started cleaning his previously hidden injury. Well, trying to, at the very least.

"Would you just hold still?" you snapped. He kept jerking and twisting away for your healing hands. "This is taking longer than it should because of you."

You pressed under the wound and in between his ribs to test how tender it was. Levi made a noise so out of place that both of you had paused.

Did he just..?

You looked up at him, holding your breath. He wouldn't look at you, eyes burning holes into the library door.

"Sir, are you-"

"No."

You were probably out of line for doing so, but you pressed around his ribs again in hopes of proving your suspicions. And it turns out you were right.

Levi strangled out a laugh that was clearly meant to be held in. It sounded like heaven on earth. Deep and smooth as butter as you continued to torture his ribs. A smile slowly blossomed on your face.

It didn't last long, Levi swatting your hands away so he could catch his breath, now defending the spot with his life.

"You damned brat," he panted, eyeing you from the corner of his eye.

"I didn't think you could be ticklish," you grinned wickedly as you grabbed the bandages. "That is... Incredible," you snickered to yourself, unwrapping the length that you needed. You tapped his wrist that was blocking his ribs with your middle and index finger, looking at him expectantly.

"If you even try to do that again, I will wrap those bandages around your throat," he threatened. It didn't really sound like he'd carry it out, but you weren't about to test your luck.

You watched as his entire torso tensed, and you as gently as possible wrapped up his cut. Levi relaxed only when you sat back on your heels and began to put everything away.

It was quiet once again, and you felt Levi watch you as you cleaned up your mess. Only once everything was scooped into your arms, you stepped away from him.

Hesitation hung in the air as you both thought of what you should say. You cleared your throat with a grin before walking towards the bookshelves. "Want any reading material while we wait, Captain?" you asked, looking for your own book.

"Wait for what?" he asked skeptically.

"Until the time comes for me to change your bandages," you hummed. You were too busy reading the back of the book you'd picked up for yourself to see how Levi shook his head.

"Fucking hell," he sighed, getting comfortable as he looked out the window. "I don't need a book, Cadet. Sit down already."

You stopped, blinking to yourself as you replayed what he just said in your head. He just invited you to join him. You smiled at the thought, grabbing a book that caught your attention. You practically floated to the seat across from Levi and made yourself at home.

You two stayed like this for a while- Levi being enthralled with the moon, and you caught up in your book. You were too busy reading to notice how he'd look at you now and then.

The time to change his bandages came and went without either of you moving. It was almost, dare you to say, domestic. It wasn't until Levi heard small snores that he carefully stood up.

He looked down at your sleeping face, something uncomfortably sweet bubbling in his chest before he fixed your hair. He stared at you for a minute, just watching the way your chest rose and fell as you breathed.

"Damned brat," he mumbled quietly. Nimble fingers gently peeled the book from you, and he limped as he put it where you got it from. Levi sighed softly, glancing longingly at the window sill. He internally debated on a few things before returning to the table.

Though this time, he sat next to your sleeping frame.

Thanks for the tag!!

not me having a total of 590 songs- n e wayz

1. Line Without a Hook by Ricky Montgomery

2. Baby Hotline by Jack Stauber

3. Talk to Me by Cavetown

4. Lavender by Penelope Scott

5. Sunday Best by Surfaces

6. Ain't Shit by Doja Cat

7. Bang Bang Bang Bang by Sohodolls

8. Searching by Z by Z

9. KILLSHOT by Eminem

10. Fergalicious by Fergie

Tagging: Anyone who wants to do it!

rules: we’re snooping in your playlist. put your entire music library on shuffle and list the first 10 songs and then choose 10 victims.

tagged by @amethystsoda 💖

ivy by Taylor Swift

Why we build the wall from Hadestown

Lazarus by David Bowie

I’m not okay (I Promise) by My Chemical Romance

Liability by Lorde

Laisse Tomber Les Filles by No Small Children

Extraordinary Girl/Letterbomb by Green Day

Bailo mientras cocino by Vacación

Green, green rocky road by Oscar Isaac

Pynk by Janelle Monae

Well that was all over the place

Tagging @dongiovannaswife @giogio-gucci-gangstar @mynameseri @saturnmitsuya

If I ask nicely can I have a beta reader who's god-like at grammar 🕴

I'm going to cry 💔

I was working on a huge one-shot. I'm talking over 800 words, bros. And I was stupid enough to not put it in Google Docs first BEFORE slapping it into Tumblr drafts. So what happens?? TUMBLR GLITCHES OUT OF NO WHERE AND ALL MY WORK IS GONE. THAT'S WHAT HAPPENS.

So, kindly excuse me while I go scream into a pillow 😃