#hesh walker x fem reader

[blingblong55]

Smooth- David 'Hesh' Walker NSFW

Based on a request:

Hello!! Do you think you could write some smut for Hesh, gn!reader, pretty please? <3 you have all artistic freedom

F!Reader, smut, MDNI, 18+, face sitting, unprotected!sex, oral!sex, rough!sex, after care, fluff?

A/N: I love it when I get artistic freedom :) and like last one, we are going straight to the smut part

Your moans muffled by the cock in your mouth, his tongue teasing the sensitive skin of your wet cunt. His hands keeping your down, slapping your ass once in a while so you would clench around his tongue. He loves the taste and feeling when you get sensitive. Your drool making his tip and cum become more messy. You were drunk on his cum, barely being able to create a coherent sentence.

His balls in your hands and you licked and gave them the special treatment he needed. Your skirt pass your hips, the image in the mirror anytime you looked at it was more than pleasing. "H-hesh!" you whimper, unable to take this much pleasure. Your ass littered with his handprint, all red and stinging at each contact his calloused hand gave.

Your thighs shaking but also warming his face. Once he had cum inside your mouth enough times, he slaps your ass once more and makes your get on your knees. Tongue sticking out waiting for him to stroke himself in front of you. He places a small clip on the cock ring and a then on your necks collar. To keep his dick warm as he answered some emails and read mission files.

Your couldn't take his cock out of your mouth, the proximity of the cock ring and your collar making it impossible. You gag and choke multiple time, his cum leaking from your mouth after you couldn't swallow fast enough. Anytime he would be close to cumming, he would slap your face and spit in his hand and then slap you again.

The aftercare was the best part though, after he had unclipped you from that position, his arms wrapped around you as he carried you to bed. A warm and damped cloth cleaning your body, you would whimper when he would get to sensitive areas of your soft and smooth skin. He would kiss the reddened parts of your body, "You did so good for me, R/N." His lips meeting your thighs then stomach.

He handed you a bottle of water, and covered you in the softest blanket you two owned. He kisses your cheeks and caresses them, "I love you, my beautiful girl." More kisses on your cheek and forehead. His embrace so warm and in now way had a trace of the man that made you scream his name minutes before. You snuggle into his hold, such tranquility that he brought you after a much needed time.

A/N: brings me joy to say I'm excited my dear anon asked for him

[ll7esxs]

Can I just say, that your work is literally so canon. Like you write the characters so realistically and so IN character. It’s downright beautiful, as far as I’m concerned your word is law 💕

May I request, how the Ghost team would react to confessing their love to teammate!reader while completely blackout drunk??

Like, they’ve fallen madly in love with reader, like I’m talking soulmate-once-in-a-lifetime-love things. But they’ve never acted upon it, always trying to repress their feelings for reader

But after a long mission, they all go to a bar, get drunk, and climb onto a table, stage, roof, anything, and just scream out their undying love reader. Or they get injured and the morphine makes them confess their love for reader. Either way, they wake up the next day, hungover af, and find out what they did by a teammate showing them a video of what they did

How will they react? How will they act while love-struck but in denial?? What will they do after seeing the video???

(If it’s too complicated or too much for you, then feel free to ignore this, have a nice day 😚❤️)

OMG ANON THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THESE KIND WORDS!!! THEY MEANT A LOT TO ME!!!

Anon this is so cheesy for me Idk why haha but still whatever this fandom want🙏🏻🤎.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

Drunk (overreacted) confessions from them

characters: Logan walker, Hesh walker, Keegan p. russ, Kick.

X fem! Reader!

Notes: mention of alcohol!

Logan walker:

Logan isn’t usually a drinker, but after a long mission, he lets himself indulge. Unfortunately, tonight? Yeah, he overdid it.

At first, he’s just sitting quietly at the bar, drink in hand, looking at you like he always does—like you put the stars in the damn sky.

But then, something in his brain snaps. And before anyone can stop him, Logan climbs onto the bar counter, his movements surprisingly smooth despite the alcohol.

You groan, already bracing for whatever drunken nonsense is about to come out of his mouth. Logan isn’t a loud guy. He’s the quiet, brooding type—the one who watches from the shadows, sharp-eyed and calculating. But tonight? Thanks to way too much whiskey, he’s a whole different person.

The entire bar goes quiet as heads turn toward him. The team looks half-amused, half-horrified. Keegan mutters something under his breath, Hesh already has his face in his hands, and Kick? Kick’s just smirking slightly with kind of shocked expression, waiting to see how bad this gets.

You, however, are just trying to decide if you should drag him down now or let him embarrass himself first.

Logan sways slightly but holds his ground, looking down at you like you’re the only thing in the entire room that matters. His glass wobbles in his grip as he points right at you, eyes unfocused but filled with a ridiculous amount of passion.

“This—THIS RIGHT HERE,” he announces, voice thick with emotion, “is the most incredible, badass, beautiful human being I have EVER seen.”

Oh god.

You cover your face with your hands as laughter and whistles erupt from the bar. Someone claps. Someone else calls out, "Damn right!" and Logan, absolutely thriving off the attention, continues.

“You don’t even understand how lucky I am,” he slurs, placing a dramatic hand over his chest. “This woman—this goddess—she puts up with my brooding ass every single day. And she STILL looks at me like I’m worth a damn.” He pauses for a second, brows furrowing like he just had the deepest thought of his life. Then, suddenly, he grins. “That’s LOVE, people.”

You peek through your fingers, only to find him staring directly at you again, swaying slightly but still standing tall. Then, in the most theatrical, overly dramatic display possible

“AND I WOULD DIE FOR HER.”

The bar erupts.

Kick is howling with laughter, Keegan actually smirks, and Hesh is trying—and failing—To not acknowledge this is his brother standing. Someone in the back yells, “Kiss ‘her already!” and Logan, still very much riding the high of his drunk declaration

----------------------------------------

The morning after was hell.

Logan woke up with his head pounding, an insistent throb that seemed to match the rhythm of his heartbeat. He groaned, eyes squinting against the harsh light streaming through the window, as if the entire universe was conspiring to make him feel worse. His mouth tasted like ash, and his stomach churned in protest.

He shifted, slowly peeling himself off the bed, when he heard a familiar voice.

"Morning, lo," you said, holding up your phone in front of his face.

Logan’s eyes widened slightly, blinking away the remnants of sleep. And then, he saw it: the video.

No.

He immediately knew what it was. The alcohol-induced confession from last night. The one that had him spilling his heart out in front of the entire bar.

"Fuck, no..." he mumbled, his body going rigid as he pulled the blanket over his face, sinking into the pillows, trying to block out whatever embarrassment was coming his way. He wasn’t sure which was worse: the hangover or the thought of reliving his drunken declaration.

But you weren’t having it. You sat on the edge of the bed, a mischievous smile playing on your lips, as you pressed "Play" on the video.

Logan’s groan was audible as the playback began.

The video started with him standing on the bar, arms outstretched like some drunken Shakespearean actor, whiskey sloshing in his glass. You could hear the crowd cheering, the clinking of glasses, and then Logan’s voice—loud, completely unfiltered.

“THIS—THIS RIGHT HERE is the most incredible, badass, beautiful human being I have EVER seen."

Logan’s eyes widened as the words hit him like a freight train. His face instantly buried deeper into his hands, and he let out a long, suffering groan.

The video continued, his drunken confession echoing in the room. “I WOULD DIE FOR HER.”

By now, Logan had curled into a ball, attempting to disappear completely under the blanket, but you were relentless, laughing softly.

“You might want to see the best part, Logan. You know, the part where you said you’d die for me?”

Logan’s muffled voice came out from under the covers, full of defeat. “Fucking… why you doing this. I never should’ve had that last drink.”

You kept the phone at a safe distance, just long enough for him to hear the entire confession.

When it ended, you put the phone down on the bedside table, the silence in the room hanging thick and heavy. Logan didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

You watched him for a moment before leaning over, placing a hand gently on his strong shoulder. "Logan..."

He finally emerged from under the blanket, face red and eyes wide with embarrassment. "I can’t believe I—" He cut himself off, looking like he wanted to sink into the bed and never come out again. “God, please tell me no one recorded that."

You gave him a playful look. "Oh, don’t worry. It was just the whole bar... and maybe a couple of the regulars."

Logan groaned again, his face buried back into the pillow, but this time, a small, sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "This is it. I’m done. I’m staying in this room until everyone forgets about last night."

You chuckled, rubbing his strong back. “Well, you did say you loved me. It was a pretty sweet confession, even if you were drunk.”

Logan let out a breath, sounding both defeated and affectionate at once. "Yeah, but not like that..." He peeked up at you, his eyes softer than before. “I meant it, though. Every damn word.”

You smiled down at him, a little teasing, but your heart warmed. "I know you did, Logan. I know you did."

And in that moment, even with the hangover, the embarrassment, and the ridiculous video, everything else faded into the background. Because despite his blunders, despite everything, Logan’s feelings were real. And maybe, just maybe, that made the whole thing worth it.

Hesh walker:

Hesh is a messy drunk. He gets cocky at first, then way too sentimental.

So after a few rounds of tequila shots, He was looking at you now smiling softly when you holding a cup give a confused look with a smile, he looked cute in your opinion.

He struggled so bad with his words due to his drunk statement.

And when you couldn't understand him telling him "Careful, david. that sounds like a confession"

He groaned annoyed at you then he sat in front of you on the counter bar shocked you when he hold your face for a seconds to look at him and FOCUS ON HIM.

He stared at you with a mix of admiration and... something else. You felt his gaze before you saw it, the intensity of it like a spotlight on you.

And then, without any warning, Hesh slammed his drink down on the bar and pointed a finger at you.

"Y/N! I—I LOVED YOU SINCE FOREVER AGO. YOU’RE SO PRETTY AND FUNNY AND YOU KICK ASS AND I WANNA KISS YOU SO BAD."

You blinked, trying to process what was happening. Your heart skipped a beat, your mind going blank for a moment. The entire bar went silent for a split second, all eyes turning toward him. You could practically hear the crickets.

"David are you fucking for real right now?"

Logan, of course, wasn’t fazed in the slightest. He simply took a slow sip from his own drink, his eyes lazily flicking over to you with an unreadable expression. and yeah he succeeded in making himself a stranger just like the other fellas at the bar.

"…Dude," Logan muttered under his breath, not even bothering to give Hesh a side-eye.

But you? You were staring at Hesh, wide-eyed, completely stunned by his sudden confession. You didn’t know how to respond—what do you even say to that? Was this some kind of drunken ramble? Or was he being serious?

Hesh, however, wasn’t done. He leaned forward on the bar, ignoring the stares of the others in the room, fully committed to whatever the hell he was saying.

"I don’t care if anyone’s listenin’! I just—" He gestured wildly, a bit too animated for someone who had been drinking, "I just need you to know. You make everything better. You’re—everything. And I just wanna kiss you, Y/N, I—FUCK IT!"

You were completely overwhelmed, your face turning beet red. You felt so shy, suddenly unable to look him in the eye as his words washed over you. You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Your heart was racing, and the only thing you could manage to do was give a nervous, sheepish smile.

“Yeah, david... I’m just gonna go,” you muttered, suddenly feeling very much out of your element. You didn’t even wait for a response before turning to leave the bar, your mind spinning in circles.

But as you started to walk away, you heard Hesh’s voice from behind you, almost like a whine.

“What? Where’re you goin’?! Come on, don’t leave me hangin' like that!”

You quickened your pace, trying to hide the blush on your face, but you couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up. There was something so undeniably Hesh about the way he threw himself into everything, no shame, no hesitation.

Logan didn’t even glance your way as you left. He was too busy finishing his drink, probably already onto the next thing in his head. But as you made your way out of the bar, you couldn’t help but think about what Hesh said.

It was loud, it was unexpected, but in a weird way, it was also kinda sweet.

And for now, that’s enough.

---------------------------------------

The sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting a hazy glow over the room. Hesh lay there, still tangled in the sheets, groaning softly as his hand rubbed his temple. His head throbbed—he knew exactly what had happened last night. The alcohol, the words he couldn’t take back, the confession that had spilled out of him like an unstoppable flood.

“Why do I feel like I made an ass of myself last night?” he muttered, staring out the window as if the morning sun could offer him some sort of redemption.

You, standing at the door, couldn’t help but smirk. You'd been waiting for this moment, the moment Hesh would finally confront his drunken rambling. "You did, David. You really did," you said, your voice light but with just enough teasing to make him stiffen.

He turned around, wide-eyed, like he’d just seen a ghost. “Oh, nah…” he mumbled, running his hand over his face as if the words he’d spoken the night before were some sort of fever dream.

But it was too late. You pulled up the video on your phone and hit Play.

Immediately, his own voice echoed through the room, the confession he had made without a second thought. “I LOVE YOU SINCE FOREVER AGO. YOU’RE SO PRETTY AND FUNNY AND YOU KICK ASS AND I WANNA KISS YOU SO BAD.”

Hesh’s face turned redder than a tomato, and he buried his face in hands, his eyes closed as if he could somehow will the video—and the whole embarrassing memory—out of existence. But it kept playing, louder and louder.

When it ended, you could see the sheer defeat on his face. He was completely silent for a long moment. And then, with an exhale that was equal parts frustrated and resigned, he turned toward you, clearly ready to face the consequences.

"So that’s not me," he said flatly, as if to make some sort of last-ditch attempt at saving face.

You raised an eyebrow, trying hard to keep the amusement from spilling over. You could tell he was desperately hoping you’d let him off the hook, maybe pretend it never happened. But you just shook your head slowly, the smile still playing on your lips.

“No, David,” you said, trying to hold back a chuckle. “That was definitely you.”

You let the silence stretch for a moment, the weight of his embarrassment hanging between you two. His eyes were searching you, desperate for some reassurance, the fear of rejection clear in the way his posture softened. He was terrified that you'd hate him for the drunken mess he'd made of himself. But you weren’t going to make this easy on him.

"So..." you leaned in slightly, voice a little teasing. "When are you gonna kiss me?"

And just like that, the air shifted. Hesh’s entire system seemed to freeze. His eyes widened, his mouth slightly parted in confusion, like the real shock had just hit him. The cogs in his brain struggled to work as he stared at you, caught completely off guard.

Hesh.exe has stopped working.

You couldn’t help it. You chuckled at the look on his face. His hands flew up to his hair, messing it up even more, trying to formulate a response, but no words came out. His usual smooth, confident self was nowhere to be found. He was just a big, lovable mess of flustered nerves.

“Y/N stop it for real...” he stammered, trying to find something to say, his voice cracking under the pressure.

You raised your eyebrows, enjoying this moment just a little too much. “I mean… you did say you wanted to kiss me. Pretty badly, actually.”

Hesh groaned, dropping his body back into the couch, completely defeated. "I’m never drinking again."

You laughed again, shaking your head. "We both know that’s a lie, David."

But you didn’t let the moment linger in the awkward tension. Slowly, you walked over to his side of the couch, bending down to meet his gaze. "You’re lucky I think it’s cute, you know?"

He looked up at you, a small, sheepish smile finally tugging at his lips. “Yeah, I know. sorry for the embarrassment i brought to ya."

“You’re lucky I’m not going to hold it against you. But seriously… when’s that kiss coming?” [chat sorry i asked a lot but eh yknow its hesh]

Hesh’s smile grew, more confident now that the storm had passed. “You’re gonna make me work for it, aren’t you?”

You grinned, shaking your head. “You kinda deserve to.”

Keegan p. russ:

Keegan doesn’t get wasted often.

But when he does? It’s bad.

Tonight is one of those nights.

And instead of yelling his confession like the others, he just—stares at you. Like, straight-up, glassy-eyed, utterly in love staring.

Merrick nudged him with his elbow. “You good, Keegan?”

Keegan didn’t even bother to look at him. Instead, he just sighed, resting his elbow on the table holding his drink, his eyes staring at the table like he was lost in thought.

“No,” he muttered, voice low, like the weight of the world was pressing on him. “Fuck it, I’m not.”

You raised an eyebrow, hearing the frustration in his tone. It wasn’t like Keegan to let anything show, especially not in front of the team. “Why’s that?” you asked, curiosity getting the best of you.

Keegan barely spared you a glance. He waved a hand lazily in your direction, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “’Cause of you.”

You blinked, totally thrown off by the sudden and completely unexpected response. “Me?”

He nodded, his expression serious, almost unsettlingly so. It was like a switch had flipped, and the usual cool, collected Keegan had become something… different. “Mhm. You’re so goddamn perfect, it pisses me off.”

Your heart skipped a beat. What was happening? Keegan—cold, aloof Keegan—was looking at you with a kind of intensity that made you feel small, vulnerable. His gaze didn’t soften, didn’t break. It was like he was studying you, trying to figure you out in a way that made your stomach twist.

You couldn’t quite process the words he was saying. It was like a bomb had just dropped, and now everything was in slow motion. His tone was so calm, so detached, but his eyes—God, his eyes—were burning with something you couldn’t name.

And it scared you.

“…What?” You said it more to yourself than to him, your voice faltering slightly. You were completely thrown off. Keegan never acted like this. He was the cool, stoic guy in the corner, the one who didn’t let anything shake him. But right now, the way he was looking at you—confessing like this, with that cold, sharp edge—was unnerving. And yet, strangely… alluring.

He didn’t respond right away, just kept his gaze locked on you like he was daring you to understand, to process the weight of his words. His lips barely twitched at the corners, the faintest trace of a smirk threatening to break through.

The room felt smaller suddenly. Merrick’s voice was muffled, the noise of the team faded away as your focus stayed completely on Keegan. You were frozen in place, unsure how to react, unsure of how to deal with this new side of him.

He didn’t give you much of a chance to recover, though. His coldness was like a wall, but the words he spoke were undeniable, carrying the truth of them in a way that made your chest tighten.

And in that moment, you realized—Keegan wasn’t just being cold. He was being honest. And it wasn’t something you were ready for. Not from him. Not like this.

---------------------------------------

The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting a dull glow on Keegan's room. His head felt heavy, the weight of last night's events still pressing on his chest. He could barely remember what exactly had happened, but the fragments that were coming back to him were enough to make him cringe. Every word, every look, every confession—it was all there. And it was all his fault.

Keegan groaned, running a hand through his messy black hair. His blue eyes, usually sharp and calculated, were tired and heavy from the lack of sleep and the frustration that lingered from his own actions. He could still hear the echo of his words, the way he’d made that stupid confession to you, the way you had looked at him like you’d never seen him before. He hated it.

As if the universe decided to torture him just a bit more, there was a knock at his door. Keegan froze, hoping against hope that it was one of the guys. Anyone but you.

"Fucking hell," he muttered under his breath, not even bothering to mask his irritation. He stood up, rubbed his eyes, and reluctantly made his way to the door. He wasn’t ready to face you—not after what he’d said.

He opened the door, his tired, lazy blue eyes locking onto you. He sighed, turning his head away slightly, hoping you didn’t notice the tension in his face.

"Shit," he muttered again, though this time it was more to himself. "Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?"

You raised an eyebrow, unfazed by his coldness. Of course, he wasn’t exactly thrilled to see you. Not after what happened. But you weren’t going to let him brush it off that easily.

You crossed your arms, standing your ground. "You know we need to talk, right?"

Keegan sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair again, looking frustrated. "Not now. We’ll talk later, alright?"

But you weren't having any of it. You knew Keegan's cold, distant attitude. He always pushed things off, avoided confrontation. But you weren’t going to let him get away with it this time. You weren’t going to let him just pretend it never happened.

"No, Keegan," you said firmly, your voice softer but still determined. "You will talk about it now. We-oh sorry no, You need to settle this."

Keegan let out a long, exasperated breath, his shoulders slumping as he stepped back, motioning for you to come inside. The look in his eyes was a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. He didn’t want to admit it. Hell, he didn’t even want to face it. But the more he tried to push it away, the more the weight of his actions pressed on him.

"You don't get it," he muttered quietly, his voice losing the sharp edge it usually carried. "I don’t do this..." He shook his head, clearly frustrated with himself. "I don't say things like that."

You stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. Keegan didn’t even look at you, his gaze focused on the floor. His walls were coming down, slowly but surely, and he hated it. He hated how vulnerable he was feeling, how human he felt in this moment. It was rare for him to let anyone see this side of him—the side that didn’t have everything under control.

"You didn’t mean it, right?" you said softly, almost as if you were trying to reassure him. But there was a challenge in your voice. "Or did you?"

Keegan’s eyes lifted to you hands on his hips muscle, and for a moment, you saw something in them—a softness, something he didn’t usually show. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. The silence stretched, but then, quietly, he admitted, "I meant it."

It was barely a whisper, but it was enough.

The confession, the vulnerability—he couldn’t hide it anymore.

You stepped closer, your gaze steady but warm. "Keegan..." you said, soft but full of understanding. "You don’t have to be scared of saying it."

His eyes flickered to yours, and for a moment, you saw the wall he’d built around himself crack just a little. The harsh, cold Keegan you knew was still there, but this was him—really him. And in that quiet moment, he finally softened with a scoff, just enough for you to see it.

“Fuck it, I’m not scared,” he replied scoffing at you, his voice rough, but there was a hint of something different in it now. Something real.

And that was all you needed to hear.

You reached out, placing a hand on his chest, him breathing out looking at your hand. "Good. never thought you would get the balls to admit it russ"

He didn’t say anything in response, but the weight that had been pressing on him seemed to ease. The tension in his shoulders relaxed. He may have been a man of few words, but in that moment, the silence between you both spoke louder than anything else.

And for the first time, Keegan didn’t mind it.

Kick:

Kick holds his liquor well. Or at least, he thinks he does.

And he did too much when he gave in.

He is a honest person when he is soer just imagine him when he is drunk.

You were sitting hearing the chit chats, getting in with them.

When you felt someone pulled a chair next to you, it was kick.

You smiled kindly to him then returning back to the conversation turning your head.

He leaned in slightly, his voice low but steady. “I got a secret, Y/N.” He took a long sip of his drink, the way he swallowed hard indicating he was probably trying to brace himself for whatever was coming.

You turning your attention to him smiling, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s that?”

Kick tapped your shoulder with every word he spoke, his gaze locked on yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. “I. Am. In. Love. With. You.”

Your breath caught in your throat. For a second, everything around you seemed to freeze. The bar noise faded into the background, and all you could focus on was Kick. His smile was lazy, like he was saying something casual, but there was something in his eyes that told you this was anything but.

"Like, really in love," he continued, his voice almost playful but with an edge of sincerity that made your chest tighten. "Like, wanna spend the rest of my life with you kinda love. Ain’t that crazy?"

The entire team, unbeknownst to him, was watching from the sidelines, eyes flicking between you and him. You could feel the weight of their gaze, but it was nothing compared to the storm brewing in your chest. Your mind was racing, trying to process what Kick had just said. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol, the sudden intensity of his words, or the fact that you weren’t expecting any of it—but there you were, completely stunned.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out at first. All you could do was stare at him, your mind blank.

Then, after a beat, you finally managed to find your voice, though it was quieter than usual. “Let me think about it,” you said, your tone more measured, but there was a hint of playfulness in it too.

Without giving him another chance to respond, you stood up and walked away, heading for the exit of the bar. You could feel his eyes on you the entire time, the weight of his confession still lingering in the air.

You left him there, grinning like an idiot god he was so proud of you playing with feelings like thus, but also... kind of hoping he'd do exactly what he always did: chase you.

And for once, you didn't mind that he would.

-------------------------------------------

The morning light filtered in through the blinds, casting a soft glow over the room. Kick was sprawled on the couch, his head pounding, the aftermath of a night he could barely remember. His eyes slowly fluttered open, the familiar weight of a hangover making everything feel ten times worse.

He groaned and turned his head, trying to adjust to the light, only to find you sitting across the room, looking way too awake for someone who’d been drinking with him the night before. You smiled playfully, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. "How things, kick."

He blinked at you, confused for a second. His brain was still foggy from the alcohol, trying to piece together what had happened last night. The words he’d spoken to you—those declarations, the confession—felt like distant echoes in his mind. But as you reached for your phone, the reality of the situation hit him like a ton of bricks.

You pressed play. to the voice recorder file you have saved.

A sharp, rough voice—the unmistakable tone of Kick—filtered through the speakers. "I. Am. In. Love. With. You." It was followed by the sound of his words growing more passionate, more real, more raw. "Like, really in love. Like, wanna spend the rest of my life with you kinda love."

Kick froze. His face drained of color as the realization of his drunken confession sunk in. Oh shit. He had said all that. And now, you were playing it back to him like it was nothing.

There was a heavy silence between you both as his head throbbed, and all he could do was stare at you. His mind raced, heart pounding with a mix of embarrassment and anxiety.

Finally, he sighed, rubbing his forehead with his hand. "Shit, Y/N. Sorry I made the first confession this ridiculous," he muttered, looking down at the floor as if it could swallow him up. He had always prided himself on being cool, collected, but now, faced with the fallout of his own words, that image was completely shattered.

You didn’t respond immediately, letting him stew in his own regret for a moment. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, until you finally spoke up.

"I don’t mind it at all..." you said, offering a gentle, reassuring smile. "It wasn’t that bad."

Kick looked up at you, disbelief in his eyes. Was that your reaction? He’d expected you to laugh or make some snide comment. But instead, you were... calm. Maybe even understanding. And it made him feel a little less like a fool.

He leaned back, trying to steady his breathing. "I don’t want to make a joke out of this, Y/N," he said, his voice quieter now, but there was a level of sincerity in it that was rare for Kick. "I respect you too much for that."

There was a moment where his amber eyes softened, his usual cocky demeanor slipping away. His shoulders sagged, as if he was finally letting his guard down. "Look... I said all that last night, and I meant it. But maybe I said it wrong... or, I dunno, too loudly. But it was the truth."

You could see it—the shift. Kick wasn’t just the guy who liked to joke around, to keep things light. In that moment, he was real with you. And you could tell he was waiting, hoping for an answer, no matter how scared he was of what it might be.

You watched him carefully, your mind processing his words. You could feel the weight of the confession, his vulnerability. He wasn’t just trying to win you over with jokes anymore. He was being honest, and he was asking for something that took guts.

And just like that, you knew how you felt. You weren’t about to make him wait any longer. You smiled softly, a look of understanding and affection in your eyes.

"I think you were just too drunk to say it any other way," you said, your voice light but genuine, teasing just enough to break the tension.

Kick blinked at you, clearly relieved that you weren’t going to make this awkward for him. He let out a small, amused laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, maybe. But now that I’m sober... I meant every damn word."

There was no more joking, no more avoiding the truth. This time, you could see the real Kick, the one who wasn’t afraid to admit when he felt something. And it was all out in the open now. You didn’t need him to say anything else. You knew the answer to his question.

"I think..." you paused, eyes meeting his. "I think you’re not as bad as you make yourself out to be."

He laughed again, this time with a little more warmth. "Well, guess that’s something, huh?"

And in that moment, Kick felt like maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

[theotheronedotorg]

Mama Walker!Reader AU

• Elias and Mama dance in the living room, listening to slow songs and just being so close that both of their hair seem to blend, not knowing where one ended and the other began. David and Logan watched from the hallway, little heads peeking around the corner as they watched their parents sway slowly and gently to Can't Help Falling In Love by Haley Reinhart.

One of the earliest memories the two Walker brothers can remember of their parents would have to be the time they watched the two from behind the hallway wall, little heads peeking out from the corner as their parents swayed from side to side. Their mother's head rested against Elias's shoulder, his head resting against hers.

Elias's right hand was clasped with hers as her free one was wrapped gently against his nape. His other hand pressed against her lower back, keeping the two together.

The furniture was pushed back against the walls of the living room, the shuffling of their socks against the carpet barely audible as the music continued to play from the record player that sat on the nightstand towards the corner of the room.

Both David and Logan were young at the time, around 5 and 7, but they could tell their parents loved each other dearly. From their closeness to their swaying movements and their sweet kisses placed on skin and lips here and there, it was hard to pretend a kind of love like that.

• Both boys knew they wanted a love like that. A love that would take infinite to wear off.

• They do end up getting that.

• But anyways-

• Water balloon fights. It's something the family has always done during summer, and it was never planned.

Elias liked to see his wife smile. It was one of his most treasured memories after her passing, and it was something he dreamed about when she was still alive and he was off on deployment.

One time, when Mama was attending to the gardens at one of the houses they were staying in (the Walkers tended to move a lot because of Elias being in the military). She was wearing a lovely white summer dress that day that went down to her knees with cherries printed on it. She loved cherries. It was one of many fruits that didn't make her taste buds act up. She had food sensitivity, mainly to the point she couldn't get much food because her body would reject it before she could even swallow it.

Anyways, that day, she sat on her knees, her gardening gloves on and her sun hat sitting on her head with the string tied below her chin to keep it from blowing away. Not that it would. No winds blew at all that day. It was like Mother Nature wanted it to be hot.

She could hear David's laughter from the front of the house. Loud and boyish, just how he was supposed to be. He was a kid. He could be as loud as he wanted. What struck her as odd was Elias's lack of voice. Where was he? She didn't have to question for long.

As she dusted off her gloves, a force that was meant to catch her off guard, nothing else, struck her in the back and made her jerk forward. Coldness seeped into her skin, and she could feel the back of her dress stick to her body as she leaped up and screeched.

The answer to her yells? Laughter.

She quickly turned and saw her husband and 2-year-old son smiling brightly from the side of the white house they were staying in. In David's small hands was a water balloon that seemed the size of his small head, and Elias looked as if he was about to throw another to his wife.

"Elias Walker! You throw another one of those, and!-" Her threat was cut off by a balloon hitting her chest and splashing cold water onto her dress and skin, soaking her face and getting her hair in the process. She let out another yelp and flashed her husband a warning glare, to which he picked up the small blonde and booked it to the front of the house, his wife following after him with a wide smile and a plan of action in her mind.

--

There were nights when Mama would lie awake, unable to fall asleep because of the constant changes in her life. Her childhood was a constant battle against life because of the state she grew up in, and now the family she had was always moving because of Elias being affiliated with the military.

That wasn't the reason for her being awake that night, though. That night, she was awake and fully aware. Aware of what? She didn't even know. Elias was beside her, having been back from deployment for 2 days now. Maybe that was what was keeping her up. The thought of Elias going off to war or something of the sort scared the living crap out of her.

Sometimes, when he was gone, she'd get such bad nightmares about dying when away that she couldn't handle the thought of raising the little one in her belly alone. Others, she had dreams where she'd lose the baby, and in turn, lose Elias.

Of course, nothing would keep Elias from leaving her. Not that she'd know that, but she'd certainly learn it once she'd take her dying breath. But that wouldn't happen until another few years.

Mama blinked from her hazy state as the brunette's arm, muscular and a type of weighted blanket for her, shifted. His hand which was originally resting on her 6-month pregnant belly (21 weeks), slid up her torso and gently squeezed her right breast. They seemed to get bigger by the week.

"I can hear you thinking," Elias mumbled and shifted his hand back down to her belly and moved so he was pressing against her side. His voice was slurred from sleep, and raspy from how much yelling he's been doing nowadays.

"I didn't mean to wake you." She responded to him, moving her hand over his and squeezing it gently.

"You didn't." He responded, "Little rascal woke me up with his kicks." Elias shifted and propped himself up on his elbow, his gentle brown eyes looking down at his wife in soft admiration. "Why are you awake?"

Mama eyed the male for what seemed like minutes. Her own eyes, which seemed more green than their usual color because of the moon's light coming from the window, stared into his. She couldn't explain anything that was going on in her mind. The thoughts she was having and the dreams she was experiencing. She knew he'd listen and reassure her that he'd never leave and that everything was fine, but she just couldn't find a way to explain anything.

"I," she started, blinking slightly, "I don't know how to explain it." Her gaze moved back to the ceiling, tracing the popcorn's, before she looked back to him. "I can't stop having this feeling that something's going to happen, and my dreams are not making them any better."

Elias hummed a gentle reply and laid back down, curling around his wife and helping her move to her side so she could rest more comfortably. His arm moved back around her waist, his hand resting on her swollen stomach.

"What kind of dreams are they?" He questioned lightly as he nuzzled his face back into her neck and placed a soothing kiss on her shoulder. He felt his wife shake her head gently, a telltale sign that she didn't want to speak on them at the moment, so he nodded and hummed gently. "Well, you know I love you. You know I won't ever leave you, even if someone was forcing me to. I'd just crawl back and continue to kiss the earth you walk on."

Mama let out a soft chuckled exhale and intertwined her fingers with his own that rested against her stomach.

"And you know that no matter what, I'll always come back to you. I love you," he spoke so gently, speaking her name like it was a prayer, "I love you so much."

Mama tilted her head down, her eyes soft as she could feel tears fill them at his words. He's know what to say since she's got pregnant. Then again, he's always been good with his words. It's why most of the women back in their hometown called him such a ladies man. He was so sweet, and she was so lucky to have caught his eye.

I wonder if our child will be like you, Elias. She thought to herself, feeling his chest moving against her back in gentle brushes of his breathing patterns, lolling her to sleep.

Taglist: @brokenpieces-72 @rerejunebug

Tell me if you like it! I'd like any ideas that people can throw at me! My inbox is open!

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hi Hal!

Congratulations on finishing all the requests (there were so many good ones!!) and thank you for opening them up again!! I’m excited to see what you have in store for us with all your other projects, bestie!!! 😊😊

I was unsure of who to request at first because there are so many good ones but then I saw Hesh’s name and an idea hit me.

If you’re ok with it, could you possibly write one for Hesh where the reader is part of the Ghosts has been taken/captured by the Federation and after some time, they get intel on where she is so they go out to rescue her and she and Hesh are reunited? I don’t know if you want it to be a pre-established relationship or one where they both admit their feelings after they get her back, so I’m leaving it up to you. But I need a little rescue/reunion fic to fill the void in my heart that the ending of Ghosts made.

As always, feel free to change it up as you see fit and do whatever you want. I just think that Hesh deserves more love and I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing Riley again (aka: the best dog in the world)!!

Thank you and remember to take care of yourself and I appreciate you and your work!! 💕💕 Love you, bestie!!!!

Lengths Of Love

PAIRING: David 'Hesh' Walker x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You'd loved Hesh for as long as you can remember, and you'd pulled him out of trouble for even longer, but you'd never had the courage to tell him how you feel. Until you do. Until you're being dragged away from his broken body.

WORDCOUNT: 10.7k

WARNINGS: Major spoilers for CoD: Ghosts, heavy angst, blood, guts, descriptions of wounds, canon-typical violence, weapons and firearms, death, torture involving: drugs/hallucinogens, physical violence, mental stress, talks of PTSD, anxiety, paranoia, rescue fic, best friends to lovers plot, wounds that would 100% kill you that you live from (plot armor fr), etc.

A/N: Bestie, I don't know what you put into your prompts, lmao, but I always end up writing so much for you!! Thanks so much for sending something in <3<3

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The beginning of the end started with good intentions and one statement. 

“You hear this? It’s Rorke. He’s here. They’re evacuating on the train system below.” Hesh’s green eyes darted to you and Logan, his painted face a collection of rage and surety. The three of you were, in an instant, in agreement of revenge—there was no question as to what had to be done. Merrick couldn’t stop you, not on this. 

Rorke had made one of the most dangerous decisions of his life, and that was underestimating the Walker boys and their partner in sinful crime. 

“Harp,” you look away from the body of the warhead as it enters the atmosphere, locking onto Hesh’s hard eyes; the ones that had grown steadily colder since the death of his father, Elias. But it wasn’t just him—the patriarch had been close to you as well. The knowledge of his passing, witnessing it as the rope restraints seared into your flesh, had lit an all-consuming fire in your gut.

Like hounds, the scent of blood had hit the air. 

“Let’s get the bastard. Now or never,” you ease out, and Logan darts his gaze down to you from behind his balaclava. 

“Damn right,” Hesh barks, nodding firmly to you.

Anyone would have missed the way your gaze lingered on him as he darted off and began rushing down the stairs from the control room, Logan ever quick at his heels. But they wouldn’t have missed the way your breath pushed out a soft sigh as your eyes kept locked on the back of Hesh’s head as you followed after. 

You’d been childhood friends since practically infancy, a neighbor to the Walkers. It was natural that Hesh would grow to be the object of your daydreams ever since grade school; a constant and digging knife into your heart when he’d repeatedly pick other girls over you.

But such was life. 

All that mattered now was bringing down Rorke, silly love could wait.

“Merrick,” Hesh yelled down his line, the world outside this building rampant with open war. “The missile’s away and we’ve got a lead on Rorke, we’re going after him!” 

The white double doors meet the three of you as you all rush to them, and the panicked man’s voice flashes down the line immediately. 

“Negative Hesh! You three get back here and return to the rally point. We’ll track him down together.”

You call, “Isn’t an option, Merrick. We can’t let this one go.” 

You and Hesh ram your shoulders into the doors, Logan darting through first with his weapon drawn down the hallway. The brunette’s and your shoulders brush in a jostling of gear—pulling the back as your eyes lock. Cold light seeps from overhead, metal under your feet clanking in-key.

You look away before Hesh agrees and levels with the Ghost over the line to push your point. “Sorry, Merrick. Your mission is complete…ours isn’t.”

Federation heads pop up from behind makeshift barriers of barrels and other stacked items and as you all enter and clear rooms, alarms blare with the ferocity of fighting lions. Hesh keeps by your side, offering you openings that you greedily take as another soldier falls with a stiff twitch of your finger on the trigger. 

Darting behind cover, the man slams to the space beside you, calling over above the noise and the whizz of bullets.

“How long till impact?!” You shove a new clip into your FAD, brushing sweat and blood from your cheeks, smearing patches of your own paint. 

Glancing at the watch on your wrist, you hear Logan pushing the line. You dart out of cover to help—locking onto hostiles and backing up the younger brother with quick feet.

“Eight minutes, Hesh! You got a plan that doesn’t leave me with scorched hair?” He finds it in himself to laugh, clocking a soldier to your left and riddling him with bullets. 

“We need to get to that train, Harp. Don’t worry—I’ll kiss the burns away for you.” He rushes past and sends a smirk over his shoulder. You’re left stunned for a second, wishing that the teasing tilt to the older brother’s words was more than that. You blink, and the feeling is forced away.

Later.

“Keep pushing, Logan,” Hesh moves on. You all sprint down descending ramps, farther and farther underground with every step; adrenaline building to a breakneck level like weight slowly being added over and over to a chest. “We need to get to Rorke!” 

You didn’t want to tell him, but, while revenge was on your plate as well, this was a very reckless idea.

As you grab for a grenade from your belt and jerk on the pin, you chuck it down the way and call out a warning to the boys, who, like a well-oiled machine, dart and wait for it to detonate. Bodies fly, bloody splashes of torn limbs, and three Ghosts materialize from the smoke with masked and painted faces; eyes like fire and veins boiling. 

“Fire team suppressed in 3-1,” Hesh shouts through the line as you slide your knife into a man’s eye, his goggles breaking in a shattering of glass. “Advancing to loading bay!” 

There’s a large elevator ahead for transporting crates, and all of you jog inside as the gate creaks shut.

Merrick’s stiff voice replies, “Roger that.”

Silently, you click into the channel and mutter out as a moment of relative peace coats your body like a blanket, even if for a few small seconds. 

“I’ll keep ‘em safe,” a small twitch of your lips, “Commander.”

A deep and unimpressed voice wafts into your ear with a large sigh. “Know you will—just remember to keep yourself safe in the process, Kid…Don’t do anything stupid.”

You shift your gaze to Hash and find green already staring at you. Blinking, the man quickly darts his vision away and after a moment you turn your face back down to the connection and huff through a burning epidermis.

“Haven't you heard?” The elevator shows the train as it descends down, and you call to the boys, ‘six minutes’, with a firm voice. 

“Stupid seems to follow us three everywhere.”

Hesh points as the figures of more soldiers walk around below. “There’s Rorke’s train, straight ahead!” Sure enough, the worm of black and gray metal extends to your eyes across the large room

“He’ll be on there soon. Logan, take left.” You order and the brown-eyed man nods from beside you, shouldering his rifle and checking the clip. “Hesh?” 

“Taking right—you got Point, Doll.” He stares at you, licking his lips. “Clear the way?” You tilt your head at him as the elevator jumps to a stop, the barrier sliding away. It pains you to look away.

There were so many things you had to tell him. Too many things. 

“Always.” Shiting your face forward, you take a breath and take notice of points of cover, scoping the room in three seconds flat. Screeching wheels and alarms ingrain your eardrums. “On me.” 

As you head out first, fire the first bullet, the two peel off in opposite directions, Hesh only sliding up beside you and uttering into your ear.

“Be safe.” 

That comment makes you want to be anything but, if only he’d whisper into your ear like that again. 

Clearing the room, you can’t get your mind off the fact that this crush was overtaking nearly every part of your life—years of quiet agony and staying your tongue in fear of losing what great friendship you had. 

The stock set into your shoulder recoils with another burst of fire, Federation soldiers scream in pain, but you barely register over the shadows in the sides of your vision. 

“Damnit, Hesh,” you growl, bullet grazing your shoulder as you grunt and slip behind a concrete divider. 

“What’s that?” Your eyes widen comedically. Shit…had you forgotten to close the line? 

“Eh,” you clear your throat, grimacing at the small sparks of pain in your shoulder. “N-nothing.” 

There’s a bout of silence and then a panting voice, rough and growing more serious. “You alright over there, Harp?” You can’t even respond before Hesh quickly continues. “I’m comin’ to you. Stay there.”

You violently shake your head, although he can’t see it.

“Hesh, I’m fine! Keep right and clear that hallway.” 

There’s a deep grunt. “Fine, but if I see one scratch I’m makin’ Riley chase you down the Base when we get back.”

If we get back.

You roll your eyes with a growing smile, steeling yourself and slamming your weapon to the top of the divider before locking onto your targets. “Please, we both know he loves me too much for that.”

“Most I’ll have to do is put a treat in your pocket, Sweetheart.” His sly smirk is heard easily, and you swallow tense-like and breathe shakily. That low drawl in his tone left you more distracted than you could ever get used to. “Hell,” There’s a struggle over the line before the shink of a knife meeting flesh. A breathless chuckle that leaves your gut swirling. “Maybe I’ll just chase you down myself.”

Logan coughs over the line and you have to click off before you scream. Your face flares up until your ears ring and you have to duck behind your cover again before you get metal right to the forehead. 

Behind the barrier, you glare at the floor.

When did general teasing get so hard for you? Jokes and jabs carrying weight—since when? Sure you’d liked—more liked loved—Hesh since before all of this, but you’d carried on well enough. 

“Fucking hell,” you grumble, shaking your head to clear it and rushing. 

The brothers pop through the side hallways to flank the enemy, taking out the one or two hostiles that were still breathing after you level your barrel with the last standing head; firing with a burst of gunpowder.

“Train’s leaving, let's go!” Hesh screams, waving an arm quickly at you, walking backwards on quick feet. “Harp, C’mon!” 

You chuff, hopping the divider and sprinting as the metal object speeds up—there’s a moment where you fear you might miss it, Hesh and Logan both forced to hop on even in your absence.

“Harp!” Green eyes flash, one hand on the railing and the other extended out. 

“On it!” Snapping, you slam your palm into his and feel his strong fingers curl to clutch you. Logan grabs your collar and helps; the both of them easily yanking you over just as the wall of the tunnel engulfs you all in illuminated shadow.

Back meeting the train’s body, you pant and chuckle as Logan shakes his head, amused, and pats your shoulder. You wink at him jokingly. 

“Good save there, Walker Number Two.”

Hesh grabs the side of your neck, looking you over as he leans back with a breathless chuckle at the title for his brother. He blinks quickly at your shoulder, eye narrowing before he reaches out and looks at the blood on your gear.

“You mind telling me what this is, Doll?” You make a nose in the back of your throat as the smell of his musk hits your nostrils; the deadly concoction of his scent and his digging gaze.

Stuttering, you huff. “Eh…bullet graze?”

You’re leveled with thin lips, but Logan grabs his brother by the upper arm and peels him off you, motioning to his radio as the train gains even more speed. Wind whips past your face as Hesh clears his throat, quickly avoiding your eyes. 

The man’s splotchy paint shows his red skin under the darker pigment. 

“Merrick, we’re on the train,” he speaks, shifting past you without another look. “We’re going after Rorke.”

“Solid Copy.” You watch the brunette walk away and hold your breath, though you don’t know why—heart beating not just because of adrenaline. 

Embarrassment breeding in your stomach, you ignore Logan’s knowing stare and push off the wall, rubbing at your bleeding shoulder with a stiff hand. 

—

You break a man’s neck against the wall, hand on the back of his head before you slam it into the hard metal. There’s a crunch of bone and a broken rattle before the broadcasted feed from the screen on the train’s panel spits out a message in panicked Spanish to the already deceased men.

“Evacuation protocol C is in effect. All personnel secure cargo and supplies—”

Hesh interrupts ahead of you as you let the body drop, scowling at the heavy sound of its dead weight. At his angry voice, you perk and tune in.

“Tell Rorke we’re comin’ for him.” There’s a quick shove from the other end of the feed, the previous man disappearing as the individual that takes his place makes your eyes go to slits. A great growl like a wolf echoes from your heart and seeps from between your clenched teeth. 

Rorke’s scarred face appears with a smirk and a cocky voice.

“Why don’t you just tell me yourself?” You look at your boys, more concerned for them as you watch firsthand the trauma the death of their father brought them. 

Logan holds his weapon tighter, fixing his grip. Hesh is a bit more direct. He leans closer to the screen, bearing his teeth like a dog and snarling with rage and hatred.

“You’re done, Rorke.” All of a sudden he peels back a fast fist and sends it careening into the screen—making a shattering of glass and a hard thud emanate deep into your bones. 

Blinking quickly, you tense as it happens, not expecting that. But as soon as you try to make sense of it, the brunette is already banking off to the side door, calling a sharp, “Let’s finish this!”

He grabs the side of the train car and wrenches on the handle, grunting and pushing with all of his might.

“Hesh,” you try to reason, stepping in now before things get too hot. “We need to think of a plan before you rush into things. This could get us in a heap of shit that we might not be able to get out of.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear you, and you spare a glance with Logan for help. But he, too, has already joined his brother with a swish of gear on the handle. With one great push, the door opens to the outside brightness, making your face turn away for a moment. 

Along the far expanse of open sand dunes outside; mountains flanking the bridge this train flies across, you get the perfect view of a warhead meeting the ground in an explosion of fire and death. It bursts far across the valley, and you cover your eyes as the sharp ball of light burns your retinas. 

The shockwave hits moments later, and Hesh says easily as the train shakes and squeals like a metal pig, “Looks like Icarus got control of the rods!” The boys step out onto the platform along the train, and you have no option but to follow. “All that’s left is Rorke, let's go!”

“Hesh,” you try again, hissing out his name, and you’re graced with a quick glance.

“Harp,” he comments, “what is it? We can’t wait any longer—”

“What we can’t do is go in blind!” You shout above the wind, legs stanced to help you stay up. Green eyes twitch with confusion, perhaps even a little hurt. 

“Blind? What are you talking about, we push forward and take what’s owed.” You know how much this means to him—to Logan—but there was a point where pride and stubbornness outweighed sense. This was dangerous, especially for Hesh. 

You were always the one to keep him level; keep him from becoming too much like his dad. 

You’d promised that old bastard you’d look after his boys, albeit in a teasing sense, but to you, it had been a stark vow on your soul. Logan was a brother to you, and Hesh…Hesh would always be more, but that only made your love for them both grow. 

“You keep those two from getting in their heads, you hear? They mean well, but there’s no one I trust more than you to level them out, Harp. I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your folks would be too.” Elias had said that, and when he died you bottled it up and used so much force that coal had turned to diamond. 

You would keep Logan and Hesh safe. Safe, and level, and not hard-headed. 

For as much as you secretly loved your brunette, he sure was stubborn as all hell.

“If you want out, Harp,” Hesh calls to you, gritting his teeth. “Just wait back in the train car. This is something we can’t put off like everything else—this ends now; today. I’m not letting Dad’s killer survive.”

“Son of a bitch, that’s not what I’m saying!” You’re quickly losing your standing. Logan jogs ahead to scout, time ticking. “Hesh, you know that I loved Elias as much as you two did—not one is denying that this needs to happen. I'm with you. But this is too damn dangerous! We can’t rush into this without a plan of attack; of exfil! Do you even know how we’re going to get off of this thing?!” 

Hesh had been isolating the few days he had on the U.S.S Liberator, keeping to his room. The man idolized his father and put him on a pedestal of gold even when he was a teenager. He’d even pushed away from you, which all together was unheard of. Logan had nearly had an aneurism when you’d come back to the cafeteria and shook your head in disappointment after trying to get him to open his door. 

The two of you told each other everything. Always. That was just…how it was.

But the man that Hesh had donned the skin of was not the man you loved.

Hesh glares at you, eyes going alight with anger. 

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t be holding me back.” He turns and runs after Logan, leaving you behind in the open air as the train banks left and right with the sway of the bridge. 

Staring. Barely breathing. Mouth parted and eyes wide. 

When the man is at the end of the current train car, having to jump a small distance to the next, he pauses. His back is tight, and under him, his feet shuffle. 

There’s a moment you hope he’ll turn around and come back, take you into one of his hugs, and squeeze the life out of you. It wouldn’t be such a cruel way to die, you think, to be held in his arms. 

But the next moment you see the back of his head shake, and he jumps over to the next section, not even giving you a second glance.

You don’t want to admit how long you waited there, your mind jumbled and confused. 

Don’t take it personally, you try to tell yourself, sucking down a breath before slowly walking forward. He’s hurt. Grieving. He didn’t mean it.

Rationality was a tool of the level-headed, and you were anything but that nowadays.

Over the line Hesh’s voice makes you flinch as you slowly follow after, train car after train car.

“Rorke must be at the front of the train!” You step over dead bodies and lend merciful bullets to the ones still writhing, boots coated in crimson. Following a trail of wreckage with stiff lungs. 

Stay out of his way? Fine, you could do that.

You stayed back from the head-to-head fighting, laying covering fire and keeping off the comms—whenever Hesh managed to look back at you, you simply moved on to the next hostile. 

Eventually, you all ended up on the rooftops, the boys far ahead and yourself blank-faced at the rear. Logan was acting more concerned than Hesh was, glancing at you constantly in confused worry. But it was very much short-lived.

“Incoming!” The right side of the railcar bursts with fire, and you gasp before grappling for the opposite side of the train, keeping you there before the swaying beast leveled out. “Helos. Take cover and take out the gunners!”

You scoff, quickly making your way behind a connector joint to lean your back against it and catch your breath. Two helicopters fly alongside the train, Logan already firing at one, and Hesh…your eyes narrow with annoyance. Hesh was already running ahead of the pack, his low grunts and growls over the line giving way to his impatience. 

You click your jaw and try to remind yourself that this is the same man who held you close during movie nights and carried you to bed when you fell asleep. Made you waffles when your boyfriend in eighth grade broke up with you on Valentine’s Day.

Stitched your wounds before he gave them a teasing ‘kiss better’ and looked up at you through dark lashes. 

You wildly shake your head to force yourself back to the present.

The gunners are harder to hit not only based on wind and distance alone, but on the erratic movements of the pilots. It’s several clips before you down the second Helo, and Logan’s follows immediately after as they both collide and ram into the mountainside.

You both share a glance and rush after the misguided brunette. 

At the end of the train, only the engine remains. 

“Clear!” Hesh relays, jumping down from the roof of the railcar and hurriedly walking to the white door, leaning against the wall. “We’re at the last car, Logan. Rorke’s pinned, he knows we’re comin’.”

You gaze down from the top as Logan follows, silent and brooding. Your hands along your FAD tighten under your gloves. You don’t even look at the man. 

“Merrick, do you copy?”

“Copy, Hesh.”

“We’re moving in on Rorke.” You slide him a look, seeing him glaring those pretty greens into the ground. “If you hear the word “Checkmate”, you will fire on our position! Confirm?” Your eyes snap with horror, heart lurching.

Surely, you hadn’t heard that right.

Merrick’s voice echoes your frozen confusion. “Say again, repeat your last.”

You jump down and stagger for a moment, barking out a harsh, “What the fuck are you doing?” Inside of your chest, your heart rampages like it never had before. “That’s suicide!”

He was going to kill everyone to bring down Rorke, and you get no answer beyond a clenched jaw and a quick side-eye.

“You heard me, Merrick, on “Checkmate”, hit this train!” The connection is cut and Logan gets into position to shoulder the door open, you watch, stuttering. 

Hesh levels with his brother, “We can’t take any chances, Logan. Even if we fail, Rorke dies.” Panic builds, and you’re taking quick steps forward.

You keep those two from getting in their heads, you hear?

You have to stop them, you have to drag them away—but even you know that deep down the only thing that will stop these two is a bullet. 

Eyes snapping back and forth, you only get close enough to try and snatch at Hesh’s arm right as he finishes a countdown of three; at the end, Logan kicks down the engine room door with a violent connection of his boot.

Even with the drop on the three guards inside, it doesn't stop the bullet from ripping through your lower side, preoccupied and distracted yet again. You yell loudly, balking back into the door frame and hunching over as blood spurts out of you. Hesh’s head whips your way immediately, jaw going slack and a soul-deep hysteria takes over.

So now he pays attention.

“Shit, Harp!” So little time. 

Logan can’t take care of the last remaining Fed soldier by himself, and in a large act of self-sabotage, that very soldier just happened to have a missile launcher. 

The entire left engine explodes—the train jerks; everyone is sent in a back-and-forth motion, first hitting off the last train car before being sent right back through the engine room entirely. A transference of force gives you whiplash as your head bounces off the door frame. 

The world goes blurry, body hitting and slamming through layers of glass and pain before the control room is suddenly where you end up, using the body of a stunned guard as a cushion. 

There’s a second of muffled gunfire, struggling and yelling—and then it all comes back into focus like a sniper’s scope being correctly sighted. You gargle an expletive and shove the guard under you back down despite the searing heat in your side and head; struggling to unsheathe your combat knife as the world tilts. 

Hands push at your cheeks, grip at your neck futilely, but when you get the blade out and struggle the hands down once more, you hammer the point into his throat with a thump of your boot pressing for purchase on the floor. 

The man spasming, you push off of him and slam to the ground, coughing in great lung-shattering segments.

“You can’t win, Rorke!” Hesh’s voice brings you back from the swirling, and you hear your blood patter to the metal floor like rain.

“Shit,” you mutter, gasping for air. 

Gazing up you see Rorke holding Logan in a chokehold, free hand pointing a gun at Hesh. Your eyes bulged, trying to push onto your knees and reach for your weapon as you saw Hesh continually looking away from the target and worriedly watching you. His hands at his sides are loose, but when you lock eyes with him, they clench and shake. 

“It’s over—” He tries, but the loud gunshot bounces off the train’s enclosed space. You’re yelling before you can think, darting forward and leveling your gun right to Rorke’s head as Hesh’s form collapses to the ground.

Standing on unsteady feet, you pant and stumble, but the devil’s brown eyes hold you captive. Rorke smirks as you guard Hesh behind you. 

“Well, well, well, seems the girl’s just as promising as you, eh, Logan? She’s the other one who slipped her binds in Las Vegas.” He laughs. “Look at me, I’m surrounded by young talent.” 

“I don’t exactly care if you are or aren’t,” you growl, shuffling to keep Hesh even farther behind you as you instrumentally cough again. Your legs are wobbling. “Just that you put my fucking friend down.”

“You willing to die for him?” Rorke looks demented, with his scar and his intimidating build. Whatever torture he had been through to make him like this—a Ghost killer—it had worked perfectly. There was no coming back from this. He whistles lowly. “That’s some loyalty you have there.”

His mind was dead to all else.

You don’t hesitate in an answer, even as the man behind you grabs your leg, trying to move you with a wheezing breath.

“H-Harp,” his spine moves in a cough. “Don’t…please.”

“Always.” Interest alights in those dark, tiny eyes. Logan tries to give you messages with his gaze, but you ignore him. Ironic. “That’s not something I’ll break on. Unlike you.”

“Shit, Kid,” there’s a grand laugh, “now that’s heartless…but good,” Rorke glances at Hesh, raising a brow and chuckling. “I’ll love to see the look in his eyes when I—”

“Checkmate!”

“Checkmate confirmed.” You look down at Hesh and see him watching you, his gaze open and bare. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, but all you can do is watch. 

There’s no time to think.

“I love you,” you confess in a fleeting moment of bare nothingness, blurting it out. “I’ve loved you.”

Hesh’s body entirely halts, jaw slowly slackening in horror; something shifts behind his eyes but before he can open his mouth, a rageful bark bullies the smooth tone of his throat back.

“What did you do?!” Your form is bodied into the controls behind you, colliding as you snarl and are forced to recover. With a snap of your finger, you fire a shot into Rorke’s foot. 

He yells and whips his wrist back, slamming the butt of his gun into your temple. 

As the bridge ahead of the train explodes, Hesh drags himself to cover your body, muttering into your flesh words you cannot name as the darkness sets in.

“It’s over,” Hesh speaks grimly to Rorke, turning to look at him silently as he presses your head into his chest, sharing a nod and thin-lipped look with Logan still stuck in his arm. “It’s over.”

“Shit, Son…” The train gets thrown and broken in a wave of utter destruction and rebirth; and through it all, Hesh never lets go—not even when the water below comes up to meet you.

—

The beach’s sand is coarse, and it sticks to your gear with a fervent hold. To your skin, the paint, and blood, for the moment washed away as hands dragged you from the water, small puffs of breath and whimpers greeting you. 

“C’mon, Sweetheart.” Hesh. And he sounded frantic. “C’mon, open…open your eyes, dammit. Please, you just told me the best thing you possibly could. Please.” 

Water slips off your neck, and as you’re weakly lying back, propped against a rock, hands slip to your cheeks, moving the skin as a barely conscious body tries to make you wake up. 

A forehead hits against your shoulder, a deep groan of pain emanating from the man who grips at your gear.

“No, no, c’mon,” Hesh can barely keep himself sitting up, bloody and broken. Logan had to drag him from the water not seconds prior, and in turn, Hesh had grabbed what little strength was left and helped him get you. “Logan!” Green darts to brown, and the older brother pleads in a broken voice, “Help me!”

You bend your head forward and cough up blood and water, shoving Hesh away from you so you can collapse on your side and expel your stomach.

“Harp,” the man quickly mutters, dragging himself over and grabbing your shoulder to keep your face out of the sand. “Fuck, okay—it’s okay I’ve got you.”

“You,” your voice cuts out, and you shake as you gasp and sputter, “A-are a fucking idiot!” 

Hesh chuckles, and you feel his head hit off your arm, his struggling breath. “God, I know. I know, Sweetheart.” 

Logan crawls over to you, pushing you back against the rock and grappling for his medical pouch as Hesh patches into the comms. You grunt and look down at the younger brother, head swirling in colors and ears pounding with your pulse. 

“Merrick, do you copy? Merrick, come in.”

“Hesh! Hesh, is that you?” You weakly smirk at the shock and relief from the tone, letting your head tilt back as Logan hurriedly packs your gunshot wound with gauze. You wince and stare at the sky—blood infectiously tinging the sand below you. 

Hesh tries to help too, but you and the man are in far worse shape than Logan. The older brother’s shoulder leans into yours heavily, and you shift your eyes to the side as they flutter.

You haven't forgotten what you told him, what you confessed, but right now pushing back the black in the sides of your vision was more important.

And Rorke. What had happened to Rorke?

“Yeah,” Hesh watches you, face screwed with concern. “Yeah, I’m with Harp and Logan. We’re…we’re alive. Rough shape, but alive.”

“And Rorke?” You hold your breath.

“Dead.” Logan ties off a quick tourniquet and your spine tightens in agony, hissing out as your nerves spike with electricity. The brown-eyed man spares you a sorry glance but you shake your head in dismissal. “He’s dead.” 

Out in the water, the enemy warships are firing off missiles inland, some smoking and others already sinking. Merrick gives you the news as Hesh brings a hand up to your chin, tilting your head his way. You go willingly, skin on fire from the scrape of his gloves. 

Logan moves back, having done what he can, before he collapses back into the sand, panting with an arm over his stomach. His older brother’s forehead bumps into yours, eyes stuck. 

“Copy that. The Federation is in full retreat—the rest of the payload is inbound to finish the…”

Whatever else Merrick relays is lost and Hesh’s lips splay over yours, his nose letting out a long breath and body sagging, dead-weight. Cheeks hot and mind running, you let instinct take over and reciprocate, quick fingers pulling at his vest straps.

“Since when?” He asks, breathless when he moves back an inch. 

“After you introduced me to your first girlfriend, Cassie Albrook,” you smile, eyes crinkling. “Seventh grade. The one with the black hair? God, I was so jealous.” 

Hesh chuckles deeply, body jerking as he kisses you again, pulling back and holding your cheek in his hand. His eyes are wide and open.

“You mean to tell me, I could have been kissin’ you all the way back since seventh grade?” Your face moves with pure love, flesh going soft—even the pain diminishes somewhat. 

Merrick’s voice still gruffly moves down the line, and the last bits of his sentence are heard. 

“...Sit tight, Recon’s comin’ for ya.” Everything was looking up. 

Missiles slam into the Federation ships out in the water, the sudden burst of liquid and fire making Hesh briefly cover you with his side to protect you from the shockwave. When you turn to look, nothing but sinking metal remains. 

“I’m sorry,” Hesh tells you, and you don’t have the energy to pull away from his neck as you let your head rest—the thumping of your brain and the calming shadow of his form giving way to believe you had a concussion. 

“Hm,” you hum, letting him continue. His voice echoed in his breast.

“I…I’ve been an ass these past few days, weeks, I shouldn’t have said what I did—wanted to take it back as soon as I turned away from you.” You close your eyes and sigh long, sarcastic even now. 

“You owe me dinner and a movie, then I’ll see if I can forgive you.” Hesh chuckles, nose pressing down into your scalp. He kisses you there as water falls from his chin.

“Sounds like a plan, Doll.” The man lets himself rest, curled around you and waiting for the recon team as the sand and the water move. “I love you too…just so you know. Long time.”

Your failing mind lets off a scoff. But a happy one.

When you wake again, not remembering when you’d fallen asleep, it is to the sound of screaming. 

“Logan!” You jolt up and have to place a hand on your head to stop the pounding. Hesh is struggling to move, fighting to get to his younger brother who you turn as quickly as you’re able to face. “Logan!”

Your face voids of blood. 

Rorke is dragging the other man away, pushing him to the ground as Logan tries to fight like a dog on his back, with only one arm working properly. Growling, you try to stand—body falling and sliding right back down as Rorke kicks Logan’s combat blade from his hand, walking over to you and Hesh. 

He stands and pants, limping from your shot to his foot and a hand across his abdomen in obvious pain.

“Look what you did,” Rorke motions behind him to the still-falling missiles being disposed of from space into the ocean; atop the wreckage of what Rorke had been a part of. Falling to your side, you leave behind a raging Hesh who attempts to move and get to Rorke while you go to Logan. The devil wheezes and points from you to the boys, forcing a grunt of approval. “You’re good.”

Hesh is shoved back by a ruthless boot into the rock, and you snarl, coming over to Logan and his very broken arm as he weakly writhes on the ground. You place your body over his and bare your teeth as if a beast. 

“Rorke!” You bark. “It’s over! It’s done. Everything you’ve built is dead and recon is on its way for us…you’re finished.”

“Nothin’s finished, no,” Hesh tries to lunge again as Rorke’s body stumbles closer to you but falls into ragged coughs and stays on his side in utter agony. 

“Stay away from them!” The man you’d just confessed to hisses, hand grasping futilely at the sand. Green eyes run back and forth from you to Logan, desperate and breaking by the second. “Rorke! You son of a bitch!”

“Nothin’s ever finished.” Grabbing you by the scruff of your neck, you’re being tossed off Logan and thrown to the side in a cloud of sand, body screaming at you as you yell out loudly. 

Rorke bends a knee to look Logan in the eyes, shaking his head.

“You’d of been a hell of a Ghost.” Yelling, you wrench at the combat knife in your vest, set your feet, and tackle Rorke off of the Walker boy with a feral curse on your breath. 

“Get the fuck off of—” Your leg twists with a defining crack as you’re grappled and thrown off, only able to slice a nice long cut down his jaw and at the beginning of the man’s throat. 

Screaming you hear briefly Hesh’s rageful bellow, his calling of your name in high keens of helplessness. Promises of revenge and justice. 

Breath breaking as tears line the back of your eyes, Rorke comes over you and pins your dominant hand to the ground—you look up and grimace, trying to make your body function. 

Move!

Rorke laughs, great shoulders shaking with glee. He’s fucking demented as he continues his sentence from before your fruitless attack. 

“...But that’s not gonna happen, is it?” The man smiles and you struggle as Logan and Hesh rapidly try to assist. 

“Harp!”

“There ain’t gonna be any Ghosts.” Rorke’s eyes shift to Hesh, and you follow with a sense of dread and horror. The man’s mind had been made up when he turned back around, disregarding Logan entirely in favor of you and your ‘unbreakable’ loyalty. 

The joy it would bring him to destroy you and set you loose after such. Set you loose on Hesh. 

He leans in close to you, so you can feel his breath and his conviction. 

“We’re gonna destroy ‘em together.” 

“Harp!” You’re shoved back, knife grasped and ripped from your hand as your broken leg is grabbed and pressure is applied. 

You scream again, arms carding across the dunes as Rorke begins dragging you backward like a child holding onto a stuffed toy. Blown green eyes meet yours, Hesh reaching out and screaming at the top of his lungs for you. 

But he can’t move.

“Harp!” 

And you can’t feel your fingers. 

“I love you,” you whisper, perhaps for the last time and he sees your lips move. Hesh screams and slams his hand into the ground, Logan stumbling to his knees but immediately dropping back with a small cry. 

And Rorke chuckles.

—

You don’t know where he took you, but you do know the jungle floor is cold and wet, and the mud under your fingernails makes you feel gross. 

What you do know is that the earthen walls of the pit you are in are pointless to try to climb—the top is slatted with a covering of long sticks with wide square openings. You know it’s going to rain by the smell in your bloodied nostrils. 

You know that your leg is broken, your bullet wound is festering through the tourniquet, and your concussion is making you sleepy. 

In your head, you count these ‘knowns’ and sprinkle them like seeds as you stare blankly at the sky far above. Everything aches; hurts. When you breathe, it comes in and out with a wheeze. 

You know that Hesh loves you, and perhaps that’s the only fact you care about. Wherever he is, you’re glad he can’t see you like this. 

Rain patters against your head, the storm clouds finally rolling through. Leaves can be heard shuffling on their branches. You breathe in and out, rising and settling your lungs slowly. 

You can’t break—not like Rorke. 

No matter what he did to you, you can’t betray the Ghosts. Logan. Hesh.

Elias’s words echo as you curl into a tiny ball, shivering and whimpering as your wounds move and pull. 

...I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your folks would be too.

You know this game. Torture. They’ll pump you full of hallucinogens, starve you, beat you within an inch of your life; and through that you cannot give in.

But it’s easier said than done.

In the middle of the night, the top of the pit is pushed away and there are the voices of multiple people that dance above the rain storm. They jump down and in the state you are, there’s nothing you can do to stop them from hooking their arms under yours and hauling you up, limp and motionless. 

The words are in Spanish, and you still can make out some over the commotion and the way your hearing dips in and out. 

“Where do we inject….”

“...neck, I believe…arm could work too…”

“...nasty…was it? I heard…mix of drugs…Who knows?”

Your head is harshly yanked back, and the sharp pinch of a needle digs into your neck, the action making your good leg kick out in panic but there’s little you can do. 

A flood of thick fluid enters your veins and like sap seeping out of a tree some drops exit the wound and mix with the rain weighing down your clothes. They’d taken your gear, only your undershirt and cargo pants still clothing you. 

When they’re done, they let you drop back to the floor, where you flop and smash your face into the mud with a weak drag of your cheek along the sludge. With calls from above, a rope is tossed down and they all ascend. The top is clattered back over moments later. 

Laying still and groaning, teeth clenched, already you feel ten times more strange than before. 

“Ah,” you grasp at your head, which was bursting to begin with, as it gains a looseness to it—the mud below you shimmered with puddles, the chill got colder, and your clothes felt grating against your skin. “Not good. N-not good.” 

You pull at your shirt collar, coughing as your eyes bulge; your heart breaks itself as it immediately can be felt hammering into your ribcage far more sensitive than you’d ever experienced. It felt like your chest was going to rip open. 

Panicked sounds emanate from the back of your throat, fingers digging into your scalp as the drugs carry their venom through your blood. 

Your wounds blazed.

You start screaming, babbling for nothing, and pulling at your flesh, but the overhead striking of lightning leaves the desperation mute to all but the trees.

—

Hesh stares at you from the corner of the pit, but his eyes are not green. You watch, silent, barely moving, from where you curl into a tiny heap of bloodied flesh. You’d torn at your skin for days; time looped together with more injections and no food. Water you got from the sky.

They had offered soup, but you knew better even as you dug harsh lines into your neck. There were just more drugs in the broth. 

But Hesh. Hesh.

He wasn’t right—didn’t stand like him, or breathe like him; there was something off about his smirk as he watched you gaze at him in an addled stupor.

“Feelin’ good over there, Kid?” Not Hesh. Not. Hesh.

You’re panting, your body sweating profusely in the humidity and so, so hungry.

Not Hesh takes a step forward and his image tilts like the turning of a page with Rorke taking his place, but as soon as it happens it flips back on itself to your Love.

“N-not right,” you hurriedly whisper.

Not Hesh puts a hand to his ear, kneeling down in front of you. “What was that, now?” A long chuckle. His voice is…is…deeper. Your eyebrows flinch up and down. “Who do you see, Sweetheart?”

“Hesh,” you whimper out. “Hesh, what are you talking about? What’s going on? I…I feel like I’m…I’m twisted inside out.”

“Hesh, huh?” The man looks to the side, smiling. “Well, that’s better than I expected. This’ll be fun.”

“W-what—” A fist connects with your face and you get catapulted into the wall. Before anything else, your stomach is kicked, making your call of alarm get forced out as a gasp as your clotted bullet wound reopens in a great tear. A large hand grips you hard by the chin, snapping it forward to stare into those wrong eyes but the familiar face of Hesh. 

What was he doing to you?

“H…Hesh,” you can’t even stutter out his name before you break down into coughs and gagging; tears rolling down your cheeks, and blood and mud everywhere.

“Yeah, that’s right. You just keep lookin’ at me.” You dry heave and push at his hands, fingernails digging into his skin to create crescent moons. “Keep lookin’ at Hesh.”

—

It’s three months of the same, and you can’t go on anymore.

You lay in a near comatose state on the ground, flesh completely covered in mud and open wounds—maggots eat at your dead skin, wriggling deeper. Not having the heart to pick them out, or even move the few non-broken fingers you have, you lay in blank agony. Pain so deep you can’t scream or make a single noise. It would make it worse; it is making it worse. 

Breathing is becoming a chore.

“Is today going to be the day?! God, I sure hope so.” Hesh looks down from over the edge, fiddling with another syringe of drugs. “Enough blood down there to make a fuckin’ painting out of. Shit…You lasted longer than I thought, Kid.” You don’t look at him. At his dark, wrong, eyes. 

“I’m nearly impressed.” There’s a low chuckle and the crackling of branches. 

You close your eyes and try to think of a single kiss and green eyes, but the rest of the image is tainted to you. Your mind can’t call it forward without the corruption of the puppet ahead of you, this shifting specter of mist and smoke.

Memories that used to bring you comfort call to fear and spine-curling hurt. 

This couldn’t be Hesh, you told yourself for the millionth time, but…who else could it be? Your body was too broken to try and work through the hallucinations, to think or rationalize.

There’s a thump of boots and a grunt. Someone coming closer as birds speak far above. Singing. It's the first you can recall another living creature being this close to the smell of infected decay.

 “Now, now, let’s see that neck of yours.” You’re seized and pushed onto your back, head lulling and eyes fluttering. Hesh’s image shifts and bends into another, one you should be able to name but can’t quite recall. It’s hard to focus. “Just one more, and we can fix this. Together. No more Ghosts, huh? We’ll make it right.”

Birds songs. Birds and flying shadows. Rapid wing beats like an eagle or the pound of paws on the ground. 

There is an un-godly snarl and a call of rage. 

“Rorke!” The dark-eyed Hesh snaps his head away, his needle stilling in his grip only inches from your flesh. He’s grappled and ripped away, thrown up and slammed down into a full-body jerk of pure strength not a second later with a cry of shock. “Get the fuck off of her!” 

Shadows roll and wrestle, feral yowls like that of beasts bounce off your impaired hearing, mud stuck in your ears. You think your vision cuts out for a moment because the next there’s a different man gripping your shoulders, slightly shaking you back awake.

Blue eyes like the ocean. Your brow barely twitches in confusion. 

Keegan? 

“C’mon, that’s it. Right here.” A light is taken and directed right into your eye in the fading light. “You’re doin’ great, Harp. Just keep lookin’ at me.” 

The light passes over your blood-coated eyes and barely diolates. Keegan’s lips under his balaclava thin to an alarming degree. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, looking down at you before he darts his vision over to Hesh, the actual Hesh, who’s locked limbs with the former Ghost; fists to guts and primal anger. 

In his haste to get to you, Hesh had damned himself—he’d left no opening for any of the others to get a clean shot at Rorke. But no one could blame him, even if it was reckless; incredibly stupid. 

The man had been on your trail nearly every day since you’d been taken. Barely sleeping, eating little. A man possessed. 

The Ghosts had been half convinced something had taken over his image and scooped out his personality.

“Merrick,” Keegan patches into the secure line, looking back down at you. “Positive ID on HVT, three klicks West. Hesh has engaged—we found Harp.” 

There’s an instantaneous response, worried breath. “Solid copy…how’s she doing?”

“We need MedEvac immediately. She won’t last another night.” There’s a curse on the other end, a loud and quick call to the rest of his squad. 

“Copy! I’ll call it in!” Keegan tries to stabilize you as Hesh and Rorke rip each other to shreds, and Hesh, who had the upper hand in the beginning, is quickly losing it.

“Awe, look who tracked ‘er down!” Rorke snatches at Hesh’s collar and lays two jabs to his ribs—there’s a definitive crack as the younger man shouts in pain. “Young love! So fucking pointless.” 

“I’m going to rip you into pieces,” Hesh bares his teeth, eyes wild and unrestrained. For a moment Rorke looks taken aback by the utter conviction in his green gaze. “And make you choke on your own damn teeth! You hear me?!” 

Ripping away with a tear of fabric, Hesh bends low and tackles the former Ghost to the ground, splaying him out on his back before his fist is snapped back and brought down; again and again and again. 

“Hesh!” Keegan shouts, pressing deeply into your wounds and trying to give you fluids with one hand. “This fucking kid.” The Sergeant gives up, shaking his head. 

Trust had to be given, and Keegan knew that at this moment he had to trust Hesh to hold his own. He needed to keep you conscious. 

“Easy, Harp.” You can feel the cracks in your dry throat as the water seeps past them, and you cough up droplets before the blue-eyed Sergeant tilts your head and helps you. “Easy, Sweetheart.” 

Keegan doesn’t even want to look at your body as the brutal sounds of a fist on bone continue, clothes scuffling and gargled breaths—the savagery and barbarous remnants of mental and physical torture too much even for him. 

“Christ,” he hisses. 

You gulp down water slowly and let it fill your stomach like a brick. 

Hesh reduces Rorke’s face to a mess of flesh and busted bone, sweating and not even stopping as his knuckles split under his gloves or his fingers dislocated from their sockets. His eyes burn, his face goes red—he looks insane. 

He looks like a spirit of utter revenge. 

Only when Logan and Merrick drag him off the spasming body does he stop, but not after he tries like hell to fight out of that hold as well. Whipping around, he attempts to land a punch on Merrick before Logan is forced to put him in a restraint hold. 

Hesh’s cheek meets the mud, face being sunk into it as his right arm is twisted so far behind his back it nearly breaks. The older brother growls, free arm and legs moving—back sliding. 

“David!” Merrick barks at him, face pulled in a sneer, enraged at the man’s lack of sense. “Shut this shit down. Look at her, dammit!” Logan gets bucked off, but the youngest Walker boy has enough sense to wrestle him back down and grab onto his chin; forcing those green eyes to lock on you and Keegan. 

The second he sees you, he entirely freezes.

Merrick sighs out harshly, jogging over to you and already checking in with the MedEvac that Kick’s flying in. There would be no resistance—all the other hostiles were dead. 

“Jesus Christ,” the Commander breathes, kneeling by you instantly and studying your body. 

Hesh’s reaction is slower, but the spread of vile tears burns the back of his eyes. Logan lets him go at seeing this, standing and holding out a hand, but the brunette stays on the ground a moment longer; utterly still. 

Hesh’s mouth opens and closes. 

All at once he’s rushing over and limping up at your side as Merrick grabs more medical supplies from his packs to help you. 

“Oh my God,” Hesh breathes, and Keegan sends him a glance. You’d drank all of the water. “Harp, hey, you’re going to be okay—it’s gonna be alright, you hear? I’m right here, Logan and I are gonna get you home. Back to California, okay? Riley’s waitin’ for you, Doll.”

You flinch at that voice, and Merrick looks sharply at the blue-eyed Sergeant. Their eyes lock, holding for a long moment. Logan’s brows tighten in confusion. 

The brunette seems not to notice it at all, hands finding your cheek before Merrick can give him a warning. Your eyes slowly shift to him before they peel back with fear.

Hesh’s vision goes glossy, clenching his jaw. “Shit, what did he do to you—”

“Hesh!” 

You yell and yerk back, shoving the man off of you with a fear-filled sob. 

“No!” Keegan and Merrick grapple to keep you down, not wanting to aggravate your wounds as Hesh falls to his ass, hands slapping behind him before he hisses and brings them back up. He blinks quickly in confusion and panic.

Logan rushes over and hides him from your view, beginning to understand what was going on. 

“No!” You call again, Keegan having to hold your head into his chest to hide you away. Merrick yells down his comms to hurry the Helo up, and that he doesn’t care about anything else. “No,” your voice gargles off as you sob into Keegan. “Please, no more.”

“Shh,” the Sergeant mutters, looking over his shoulder at a pale and shaking Hesh. “Nothin’s going to happen to you. Not anymore.” 

“Harp,” Hesh whispers, jaw slackened. “I…I don’t…”

“Hallucinogens,” Merrick says grimly, watching you shake and wail. Logan has to look away, his fists clenching. “Who knows what she’s seen. Reckon it wasn’t anything good.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear anything besides your cries. Whenever you gasp Hesh tenses as if he wants to run to you—comfort you the best way he knows how. 

Hallucinogens? He thinks and feels tears dribble down his cheeks as he blinks, rubbing at his jaw and shakily placing a hand over the back of his neck. Logan puts a heavy grip on his shoulder, weighing them down even more.

—

Rorke’s death should have been a time of celebration—of honoring the fallen. Elias Walker, Ajax, and countless others. The Federation was nothing more than broken factions now. Dust to the wind. 

But no one can celebrate when they’re trying to fix one of their own.

You were being kept in the secure medical ward under twenty-four-hour surveillance and around-the-clock care; only Keegan was allowed in, seeing as you were the closest to him outside of Logan and Hesh and had no adverse effects to his presence. 

Merrick had said he didn’t want to risk Logan going in, as it might worsen things. Hesh was taking it hard. 

He just got you back, how was this right? How was it fair that you’d had to go through that right when it was supposed to be over and done with? The man got sick over it, thinking about what Rorke had done to…break your mind like he had. 

Two months. 

Two months of nightmares plaguing him, of your eyes when you looked at him. If Hesh had just been stronger, then that bastard would never have dragged you away on that beach. He resulted in working out more, running laps around Fort Santa Monica with Riley at three in the morning—he grew bags under his eyes. He grew quiet. 

When all of his broken ribs and fingers healed, the artificial wounds, he was offered awards for taking down Rorke; even a summon by the President. 

He’d denied all of them. 

If a medal was going to get you better faster, he’d have taken them in an instant. But he wasn’t that stupid. Hesh was withering, and everyone saw it. He loved you more than anything—more than fame or recognition. The man lay awake at night fearing that you were too cold or uncomfortable in the far-off ward, he was paranoid about your safety. 

More often than not, the nurses found him and Riley fitfully sleeping outside of your door on the hard ground, arm used as a pillow. They didn’t have the heart to move him.

In the last two weeks before the third month of your isolation and evaluations, in his nighttime routine, Hesh finds your door open. 

He stares at it now with a blank expression, fatigue once burning his eyes all gone for a deep and pounding panic. With a hand gesture, Riley halts and sits, and, sensing his handler’s mood, lets his ears go straight up in attention. 

Hesh reaches for the gun in the back of his pants, peeling it out slowly and taking a nearly silent step forward. Ready, his ears strain for a sound…but there is none. 

His free hand reaches for the door, the short sleeves of his gray sleep-shirt bunching. A moment later, he lightly taps the barrier farther out before entering the room with the gun drawn.

He said he wouldn’t get distracted, but it would be a lie to say his eyes didn’t immediately go to you. 

You were there, asleep, curled up on the far recliner chair instead of the bed. Head lulled to the side and knees kept close to your chest. But it was the scars that broke Hesh.

They were large and long—on your face and arms; legs. All moving and stretching like a child’s drawing up your sleep shorts and shirt, disappearing only to reappear somewhere else. Healed over but still fresh.

Hesh drops the gun and turns his body slightly away, staring at the side wall before he takes an unsteady breath. He re-hides his weapon and turns to leave, not seeing anyone else.

Maybe Keegan had forgotten to close the door…he’d have to chew him out for that. Already a dull point of anger was making his jaw clench at the sly older man.

“Bastard,” Hesh mutters.

Before he can exit and close the door softly behind him, he hears a broken squeak of alarm. He halts as you stare heavily into his back—awoken by the sound of nearly silent feet. In a steady motion, the man’s hands are by his sides, open and visibly holding nothing. 

“I was just leaving,” Hesh whispers, not looking at you. His heart hammers. “I’m sorry, I thought someone else was in here—the door was open, okay?” 

Your hands twitch, body still and breath held tight.

“Hesh?” He flinches, eyes closed tight. 

Don’t look at her. Don’t turn around. Leave.

“Are you really…him?” You ask silently, eyes darting nervously around the room and quickly waking up fully. 

It’s a moment before he answers you. 

“Yeah,” he forces out, voice tiny and sad. “Yeah, it’s me, Doll. Just David Walker.” 

Your throat bobs with a thin swallow. Treatment was still ongoing, but it’s not every day you wake up to find the man who you had nightmares about standing in your room. 

Breathe, you have to remind yourself. It was the drugs. Not Hesh. Never Hesh. Rorke.

But you were still scared. 

“I…I need to see your eyes,” you say. 

Hesh turns carefully, staring hard at the floor. His heart lurches, hands going clammy. 

What if she has a setback? He asks himself. What if I mess this up…Shit, Hesh, you couldn’t have minded your own business?

Oh, but he never could when it came to you. 

“Then look at me, Sweetheart.” The man breathes slowly, darting his eyes up to your face. “They only belong to you.”

But your gaze can’t slip to his sockets, only able to glare fearfully into his neck. But this Hesh felt different, more like the one you grew up with—those memories still coming back but tainted; you need to see green, but it was hurting you to think that you might not.

“I’m scared,” you admit, shakily. The man’s thighs tense, but he stops himself before he can go and take you into his arms. That wouldn’t help. “I’m…I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“I’m real. I swear to you, Harp, I’m real. I’m right here and I’ll wait for you as long as it takes. Even if it’s years, I will always be right here.” He pleads, hands still at his sides and going nowhere if you don’t tell him to. It’s like a floodgate opens, months of internal pain and heartbreak spilling out. You needed to know this, even if he never got to see you again. 

“I have loved you since I saw you get jealous over Cassie Albrook in seventh grade and tried to hide it because you thought she made me happy—she could never make me happy, Harp. That was you. That was always and will always be you. I…I can’t breathe when you’re not near me, I don’t know how to act right when you’re hurt. Seeing you hurting is…is…” Hesh’s voice breaks and he falls silent. 

“Please, if you need to look into my eyes, I’m beggin’ you, Sweetheart, please, do it. Even if it’s only one glance.” Your breath is stuck in your throat, tears welling and sliding down your cheeks. 

In your skull your brain pounds, bordering on hysteria and an urge to flee. There was so little that you trusted anymore. Keegan, yes—the nurses and doctors? You had no choice there. 

You knew that the Hesh you’d seen in the pit was Rorke, Keegan had explained it all to you after the drugs had been pumped from your system; you understood that part. But it didn’t make the sickening confusion any better.

Symptoms of severe PTSD, paranoia, anxiety—you’d seen the charts when the nurses thought you weren’t looking at them. 

You still wouldn’t let anyone with a needle anywhere close to you, had to be put under for it. 

But you’d been so lonely here. A simple kiss seared into your mind before the horror set in, a stain of a smile on your lips. A chest vibrating with a content purr. 

Hesh. You want your Hesh back. 

Taking a stuttering breath, your eyes dart upwards. You push through your misty gaze and lock on a color that can only be described as a grassy field of verdant growth. Great open plains of viridescent being—showing you a world bathed in tender belonging. 

Home. 

You sob and rush from the chair on legs that still hurt even now, meeting Hesh in the middle as he takes a step forward and wraps his arms around you. You’re covered and kept in a hold so tight it’s like he’ll never let you go, heart pounding and his face loose with shock.

But he says nothing beyond a loud shuttered exhale of relief, pressing you to his chest and burying his face into your scalp, breathing you in; taking you down like a sinner in church until all that remains is you. Your fingers digging into his shirt, your face in his neck, how you call his name as if calling a ghost back from the dead.

“Oh, my Girl.” Hesh chuckles through the tears in his eyes. “My Girl. I missed you so much, you won’t even believe it.” 

You push yourself into him tighter. 

Riley, at some point, had come to stand in the doorway, his dark beady eyes seeing only the colors in gray, brown, yellow, and blue, though that never truly mattered. Color was only half of the picture. 

And the rest of the image in front of him was seeped with the pigment of love. 

The dog’s tongue lulls from the side of his mouth, and in the air behind him, his tail moves back and forth into a soft arch.

TAGS:

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[cerberiasworld]

【Hesh/Reader】焚尽伊甸

⚠️：Y/N不是个人（字面意义上）

智慧要救你脱离淫妇，就是那油嘴滑舌的外女。

她离弃幼年的配偶，忘了　神的盟约。

她的家陷入死地，她的路便向阴间。

凡到她那里去的，不得转回，也得不着生命的路。

——《旧约·箴言（2：16-19）》

地上有很多弹壳，阳光透过烟尘让这些金属发出微弱的光。你跪在地上，黑色羽毛的翅膀垂落在身侧，那些弹壳被你捡起来放在裙子上。在这空无一人的废墟上，那些悲鸣的灵魂在看着你，他们刚刚脱离了自己在凡间的容器，还不知道发生了什么。你把每一个弹壳都拿在手里仔细擦干净，然后对着太阳去看它们反射的光。这里的弹壳太多了，你很快就攒了一小把，你拎着裙摆把它们兜起来，准备继续向前走。

“如果我是你，我不会对它们放在衣服上的。”突如其来的声音吓了你一跳，弹壳纷纷落到地上。你转过身，看见一个士兵打扮的人，他正好奇地看着你，也不知道在那棵烧焦的树底下站了多久，一只德牧坐在他的旁边，狗狗和他的主人一样冷静而且好奇。这个士兵上下打量你，最后视线落在了你的身后，“那是……翅膀吗？”

他站得很放松，但手没有离开他的枪。你摇了摇尾巴：“你是谁？”

这个士兵的视线被你的尾巴短暂地吸引走了一会儿，然后又把目光放在你的脸上：“这并不重要，亲爱的。重要的是这里很危险，而你，你不该在这里。”他停顿了一会儿，又看向你身后的羽翼，“它们不是道具吗？”

你看了看自己的翅膀，把其中一个抬了起来，黑色的羽毛反射出来漂亮的虹光，他的视线跟着你的翅膀移动，眼中说不清楚是震惊还是别的什么，但他的面色依旧平静。你有些骄傲地转了一个圈，向他展示自己的翅膀：“你们凡人没有这个，对吧？”

一阵干笑从他的喉咙里流了出来，他挑着眉看你是怎么展示自己的羽毛，就像在看一只小鸟：“没有，sweetheart。凡人没有翅膀，除非穿上道具或者特效……但我想你的应该不是道具。”他一边说着，一边靠近你。他的指尖微颤，他感觉到自己的指肚有些痒痒的：“你是……天使吗？”

“天使？”你轻笑出来，“和那个差了远了。”

士兵也笑了出声，他见你抬起手臂，就也伸出手拉你从地上起来。他的手套很粗糙，而且他很用力，战争让他忘记了一部分温柔，他的掌心在你的肌肤上留下了一些痕迹，不过很快就消褪了：“那你是什么，sweetheart？”

“这并不重要，亲爱的。”你学着他刚才的语气，借他的力量站了起来“重要的是这里很危险，而你，你不该在这里。反正你也没有告诉我你是谁，不是吗？”

士兵慢慢放开你的手臂，你真的很柔软，他已经记不清自己上一次触摸到这么柔软的东西是在什么时候了。他看你的尾巴摇来摇去，意识到你是在逗弄他，这让他的心情莫名变得很好，老天，上一次他这么和人聊天是在什么时候来着？而且你看起来似乎是无害的，虽然你有奇怪的翅膀和尾巴……

“说得有道理。”他自己都没意识到自己的嘴角一直在勾着，“你可以叫我Hesh。”

你点点头，看向他身后：“那这个小家伙呢？”

“Riley，他是个好孩子。”他拍了拍德牧的头，声音中带着骄傲。“那你呢？”

你摇了摇尾巴，笑着看着他。

“所以，你不打算告诉我这个秘密，对吗？”Hesh露出来了有些懊恼的表情，但却依旧笑着。“那你为什么在这里？这里很危险。”

“为什么危险？我又不是一个人在这里。”

“真的？还有谁这么傻，往这片废土上跑？”

你看向空旷的四周，那些灵魂们在哭泣，在看着你。它们不敢靠近你，就伸手抓住Hesh的制服，述说着自己的痛苦和遗憾。Hesh看不见它们，他只能看见你在环顾四周，时而望向大地，时而看向天空。他有些怀疑你的精神状态了，毕竟这里看起来什么都没有：“我来这里，是为了那些走丢的灵魂。”

Hesh并没有理解你在说什么，就下意识地选择了沉默。你叹了口气，笑着说了句“别在意”，转身在这片焚烧过后的土地上行走。他惊奇地发现你的双脚赤裸，仿佛感觉不到地表滚烫的温度和坚硬的石块。他和Riley跟在你的身后，在这片枯萎的大地上前进，他也说不上来自己为什么会下意识地走在你的身后，他感觉自己好像回到了幼年时期跟在父母身后的时候，这感觉他已多年未曾再有，你娇小的身影在他的眼里逐渐变大、变大，好像跟着你就可以抵达——

“你可以在这里休息。”

你的声音让他从神游中回神，他发现你们正在一栋摇摇欲坠的楼房前，虽然残破，但可以遮风避雨。他想问你你是怎么找到这里的，但是他看到你蹲下来给Riley嗅闻你的手，他就把问题咽了回去。

房子里有一些食物，还有水。Hesh本想招呼你来一起休息，但他见你摇头。他此时才意识到一切的不对劲，不仅因为你的翅膀和尾巴，还因为你的肌肤柔软无瑕，双唇水润丰满，一点都不像是在这片废土上长期行走的样子。他终于开始感到害怕，但是你只是坐在床边，用尾巴逗弄Riley，他不禁再一次询问自己，你究竟是什么，你到底从哪里来。

你们在接下来的时间里没有说话。太阳终于落山了，周围连虫鸣都听不见，月亮、月亮去了哪里？他见你的眼睛在黑暗中闪着光，莫名觉得好像没有月亮也没什么大不了。

你看Hesh想要在地上休息，就用尾巴缠住了他的手腕，他不解地看你，在你拽着他要往床上带的时候意识到了这是一个邀请。但他是否该接受这个邀请？你看起来那么娇小、那么脆弱、那么……诱人。他看着你的眼睛，想到了月亮、生日蛋糕上的烛火、手术台上的无影灯。

“你是什么？”他忍不住再次询问。但已经知道答案不再重要，重要的是在此时此刻他要进入你。他想到了自己的弟弟，想到了自己的父亲，想到了每一次任务，每一次抚摸Riley的感觉。两者的结合本该是一方填补另一方，但此刻他只感觉到满溢。他感觉到他是残破的，而你，你是完整的。

你并不是那根缺失的肋骨。

当他释放出来后，他终于获得了许久未曾拥有的平静。他听见你在唱歌，一首奇怪的语言的歌，虽然他听不懂那里面的歌词，却能听出来安抚的意味。

　　然后他闭上眼，他听见玻璃在震颤、窗框抖动，爆炸声携带着的冲击波让本就不结实的房间里又掉落了不少碎水泥和尘土，惹得人想咳嗽。Hesh听见了有人在呼喊，痛苦又绝望地呼喊，还闻到了刺鼻的血腥味。他抬起头，看见了你。你赤裸的脚趾被泥土和血染成了黑色，火光透过灰尘从你的身上流下，他看着你的眼睛，想到了水晶，想到了旷野的走兽和豺狼，他听见野山羊与伴偶对叫；夜间的怪物在你眼中栖身，于你瞳孔深处醒来。

　　Hesh从梦中醒来，感觉到身下的织物之间一片冰凉湿黏。窗外阳光灿烂，他眨眨眼睛，听见知更鸟在鸣叫。

[pear1escence]

Hello! I read your “being keegan’s girlfriend would entail…” and was wondering if you could do one for David/Hesh Walker? My manz doesn’t get enough love

If not that’s totally okay! Thanks for reading!

Being Keegan’s girlfriend would entail…

Being David Walker’s girlfriend would entail…

David ‘Hesh’ Walker x fem!Reader (that’s my last name too actually wink wink)

Explicit - 18+

⭒ He’s got a lot of room in his heart for tenderness.

⭒ The pain he feels from having lost his father hasn’t gone away, but it doesn’t plague him like it used to. (Listen, we’ve got Logan safe and sound in this universe our man doesn’t need any more problems)

⭒ What he needs from a lover is patience. The violence he’s experienced, it’s made him rougher around the edges. (Tougher? Rougher? Pls help) He just needs a lil time to soften up to you, I think Hesh would be the sweetest man f’you, such a loving and considerate boyfriend.

⭒ Hesh cherishes the intimate, sweet moments of a relationship. Holding you in his arms in the early hours of the morning, listening to your little puffs of breath, the calmness in your face as you sleep.

⭒ He’s so gentle with you. If it’s his thumb stroking over your cheek in soothing motions, or the palm of his hand running along the soft skin of your back. Treats you so well.

⭒ Chemtrails over the Country Clubs by Lana Del Rey reminds me of him. ‘Tulsa Jesus Freak’ and ‘Let Me Love You Like A Woman’ are Hesh songs to me. Very domestic and intimate.

⭒ I think of him as a socially confident person, a man who carries himself with confidence, falls into conversation easily. He’s charming he’s got rizz basically, you don’t have to search for long to find the reasons you fell for him.

⭒ I mean…pretty green eyes, tall, arms like his? I’d eat him up.

⭒ He’d date someone shy, I think. I think he’d find your shyness endearing, amusing even.

⭒ He loves taking you out for dinner, partly because he loves the sight of you all dressed up for him. He strikes me as someone with he a classic taste, likes romantic makeup styles, dresses that hug your curves and lacy lingerie.

⭒ His softness carries over into the bedroom, of course. I can’t imagine him being degrading or enjoying anything too rough, honestly. He can’t resist teasing you a bit though, a little meanness is all fun. He likes you submissive though, and he can be stern sometimes. Who’s complaining anyways let’s be honest with ourselves😓

⭒ He’s gonna be groping you mercilessly. Loves soft thighs, a nice pair of tiddies, anything soft. He’s big on foreplay, loves to finger you while praising you. Luvs to praise.

⭒ He WILL suck on your nipples. Probably groaning about how much he loves your body while doing so.

⭒ Wouldn’t actually choke you, but he’ll wrap a hand around your neck nd apply pressure gently, he likes seeing his hand ‘round your neck + you find it grounding, even comforting.

⭒ Makes you look him in the eyes while his hand is in your panties, “Does that feel good, baby? Yeah?” Nd you best believe he’s stopping if he doesn’t get an answer.

⭒ Very into eye contact while he’s fucking you. Again with the “You like that, pretty girl?” While gripping your jaw nd making you look at him, groaning out a “Good girl” once you answer him.

⭒ This just turned into sex headcannons bruh😞

⭒ Loves blowjobs. Also lowkey wants you to lick/suck on his balls but he’s a bit embarrassed to ask, you’ll figure out he enjoys it from his reactions anyways. Also pretty hairy, but not as much of a bear man as Keegan is.

⭒ He sends you pics of him in his combat uniform while he’s out on deployment. He’ll certainly appreciate pics of you in return, a mirror selfie of you in some nice lingerie would drive him crazy. Loves a nice photo of you in his boxers too.

⭒ I think he’d be very shy about reciprocating those kinds of images, but he’d send you over some mildly suggestive ones. He’d be very confused if you ask for a nut vid. (That sounds so fucking dumb, nut vid??)

Me?? Writing for someone other that Keegan??? No but this was fun, I’ve been wanting to write for Hesh for a while. Hope you enjoyed!! I think this is my first request ever tihi

[lizzy019]

𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝐵𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓂𝑒, 𝑀𝒶𝓂𝒶.

David “Hesh” Walker x Fem!Reader [Reader is engaged with David]

cw -> slightest breeding kink, fluffy otherwise, some sad stuff to start

Word Count -> 1.4K

Ovulating for David, the manliest man <3

Home alone, 12 at night, and only the sounds of rain and cars were keeping you awake. How pitiful it must’ve looked to see a woman crying just because she’s lonely.

The burn in your heart and the ache in your head made you cry hard, what if David didn’t come home like he promised? You’d told him so many times over, “Don’t promise me things you’re not certain you can keep.”

Sniffing quietly in the empty room asides yourself, you find solace in wearing his shirt and resting on his side of the bed. Months have gone by without him, and you were worried another soldier would come to visit instead of David with a belonging of his like an arm or his helmet.

You’d spent hours crying, and eventually you’d fallen asleep from all the fears nagging and clawing at your already exhausted mind.

Everything dulled to silence and darkness once your mind shut off in exhaustion.

All while David and Riley tip-toed into the shared condo of yours to greet you as usual. Oblivious to the fact that you were sleeping, Riley sniffed his way to your bedroom door, rattled it open and bolted to your mattress only to jump and shower you in licks.

Upon the moist feeling and kicks being shoved to your body, you inevitably wake up and realize that it’s Riley who’s licking all your skincare off.

This has you wake up almost instantly, hands rubbing Riley’s back in greeting as you chuckled softly. 

“Stop bombarding me in kisses, Riley. I’m tired.. Where’s David?” You ask the pup drowsily, watching as he runs off to retrieve his owner.

You waited only a few minutes before the thudding of David’s work boots alerted you of his closeness. You were giddy.

And as soon as you could’ve thought it, he was shooing Riley to bed in front of your bedroom’s door as handsome as ever. Regardless of the dirt and grime collected on his clothes and skin.

Maybe it was the way his eyes fell on you, or maybe it was how he looked so handsome as he chucked his duffel bag to the side and took the softest steps forward to greet you.

There he was.

In all his great glory.

You didn’t hesitate to jump up from your seat on the bed and rush into his arms, your own holding his body so tightly you were sure his head would pop off like a champagne cork.

David’s muscular arms were clasped to your body as well, holding you just as tight as he almost shivered out a heavy breath. He was home, with you and his pup safely.

The urge to have you here and now after so many months away was clawing at him, he wanted to get you both bare bodied, to collide skin to skin and to make the love you both missed for so much time.

But David waited for you to escape the hug, smiling down at you when you finally did. 

His lips mashed against yours instantly, shoving you onto the bed behind you as his hands were quick to slide off your pajama pants and his own uniform’s pants.

“Missed you mama, missed you so much..” He murmured between kisses and breaths, pulling away only for a moment for you to take off your top and for him to take off his.

Soon, it was just how he liked it. Skin on skin collisions.

Your hands tangled in his chest hair, smiling at the cute brown curls before your hands came back to pull him in for a kiss again. More tongue action was added however.

Light moans were escaping you both, his fingers working your clit like you had all those nights he wasn’t with you. You were moaning just as you were when you thought of him.

You prepared yourself for his arrival to your entrance, moving to fix your position to grab a condom for him.

The urge to have you raw, put his baby into your fertile womb and grow a child together immediately took over, any sense of want for protection dissipate.

“Mama.. mama, I don’t want a condom. Please?” David asked so politely, hands shaking as they came to meet your waist.

You hesitated for a moment, really? He wanted to feel you raw for once? This new information gave you a small smile, putting the condom back in the bedside table’s droor before you nodded happily.

“Sure, baby. But if you get me pregnant, this damn baby’s yours.” You smiled, getting into the usual missionary position and teasingly wiggling your hips.

“That’s the point, mama. Wanna have a baby.” He smiled at your sweet hip wiggle, giving his cock a soft stroke before pressing up against your entrance.

The feeling of his tip just pressing in was congenial, almost heavenly before he fully thrusted his length deep into your achy core. Like a sword in a pedestal, he sheathed his weapon into your safety.

Moans reached new highs when the flat of his thumb came to massage at your clit, hands grasping his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself. Walls clenching around him had him whining out too.

It was almost mind numbing how much pleasure you were receiving, even more than just physically. It was amazing knowing he was home and craving you as much as you did him.

Ecstasy was climbing up, lines of sweat building at your hairline as the room got warmer from all the movement. Regardless, the amount of pleasure being given to you was incredible.

“David- David, I’m gonna cum!” You cried out, legs moving to wrap around his hips as he smashed his mouth against yours.

Fingers moving to rub his overgrown military cut, you felt the cord in your stomach tightening and tightening. You were close, and you knew he could feel it. His lips pulled away for a second to capture your neck’s skin.

“Can feel it mama, you gonna bust?” He asked, smirking against your skin as he sped up a bit.

The gentlemanly part of him was forcing himself to hold on for you to release first, but he was close to letting go too.

“Come on, come on mama, I gotchu, you’re almost there.” His words were soft, hands finding anywhere to touch you to satisfy his urges.

His praising words had you almost edging, hands seizing his biceps as you held them tighter than your pussy could clench onto his cock.

Before you knew it, he placed one last kiss to your neck before you finished in totality just like he urged you to. Body tensing as release and pleasure swooped your body up to cloud nine, walls clenching sporadically before everything finally eased down.

Soon after, the warmth of David’s release filled you as well before he flopped on top of you to rest temporarily.

“...Wanna have a baby with me, mama?” He asked pleasantly, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he gently pressed a kiss to your forehead in praise.

You couldn't help but smile as he said it, that pretty, toothy and happy grin coming across your lips had David’s heart doing spins.

“Yeah, I’d like a mini-us running around with Riley.” You smiled, gently scratching his scalp.

After your lovely reunion and the quick shower you two took to clean off the residue, you both were now in the comfort of your bed while David began explaining everything that he could tell you about on his mission.

“It was a bit nerve-wracking, that mission, I mean. Running from straight death itself and losing some good soldiers.. I mean, I see it often, but it doesn't get easier.” He vented very softly, moving to lay on his side and chuck an arm around you.

“But I’m home with my lovely fiancée, I think it was worth it. I just feel bad that my fellow deceased teammates’ families, friends and partners won’t ever see them again like how I come home and see you, yeah?”

The words were understandable, his concern was laudable, but his pain didn't stop there and you knew that.

To shut him up temporarily, you flipped onto your side as well and pressed the softest and sweetest kiss to his lips before rubbing the muscle of his neck.

“You’ve made it home, David. Reward yourself with some sleep, mh?” You smiled, hugging him close before whispering a “goodnight” and closing your eyes.

David looked at your peaceful expression and nodded, kissing the crown of your head before letting himself drift off too.

“G’night, mama.”

[moonphaseswrites]

Hello

I wonder if the reader fainted in the kitchen because of anemia, how would Logan react to that? (I fainted today 😭😭😭)

Logan X fem/reader

LOGAN?? logan walker?! oh i love this man. i swear hed be as good as keegan or price as a lover.<3 well, before he got kidnapped by rorke, at least.

also i am sorry its taken so long to get this out ): i get distracted easily and forget drafts. i do appreciate the ask, though! thank you for asking nicely and clarifying fem!reader. tell me your thoughts on how i did this, i dont know too much about having anemia nor being anemic.

being more along the observant type, especially after so many missions gone wrong and the 'survival training' he and david hesh suffered through as young kids after their mother passed, this man will jump at EVERY little out of the place sound when things are supposed to be safe or secure.

he cares way too much, always on edge.

so when theres a sudden thump after he knew you had been in the kitchen? oh you better believe hes not even bothering to ask questions as he jolts up and goes straight into it. he never seems to verbally ask out loud, even if its just something falling over. if its a branch outside thumping along the window for the third time, he would still check just to make sure.

scurrying from wherever he was in your shared home to see what happened, growing obviously anxious after not hearing any kind of noise of clarity after the thump. going up to your side when he arrived with a concerned look, and carefully grabbing you off of the ground after a moment.

this man would BRIDAL CARRY YOU.

one arm underneath your legs while the other is under your back. pressing your side against his chest, being weary of his grip so that you couldnt fall.

its the least he could do for you since he wasnt there when it happened. he shouldve known better with your condition.

he knew by now that you were anemic.

despite the fact you could easily care for yourself, it was his job as your boyfriend to make sure you never over worked yourself when at home. his job to make sure that you were safely taken care of when he was around.

affectionately carrying you to the bed, making sure not to move too quickly so you wouldnt get dizzy during this hazy state. laying you down before making sure youre not bruised or otherwise injured, any kitchen accident could easily end with you wounded by knives or other sharp objects.

pressing a soft kiss to your forehead once he makes sure youre safe and sound. an act of comfort towards his favorite girl. to his darling.

although, when you finally open your eyes and are able to properly comprehend this situation, hes questioning you. bringing up the important things.

asking if youve taken any medication, eaten any food, or drank any water today. giving a stern look if youve confirmed his suspicions of not taking proper care of yourself until now.

reluctantly sighing as he grabs your hand, giving your knuckles a small kiss. "i love you, silly girl..." hed whisper, making sure you knew he wasnt upset with you for collapsing. it was his fault for not being there to notice the signs. slowly moving away to collecting the right things for you to dygest, even any medication you ve been lacking.

he loves you, truly he does, thats why he puts your safety first. trying to make sure you have plenty of iron supplements around, and typically making sure you get enough in your diet whenever hes home. softly glaring over at you whenever you start to ignore your body and almost gain a concussion.

[agentmarvel]

Hiiii! Could I please request 🖤 for Keegan with “marriage of convenience!” Thank you!!! <3

i had a lot of fun with this one! thank you for sending one, nonnie!🖤

keegan russ x fem!reader

cw: obsessive!keegan

mdni - 18+; minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

Hesh doesn’t ask favors lightly, so when he asked Keegan for a solid, he was happy to oblige. He didn’t get much in terms of specifics from the elder Walker brother, just that a really sweet thing needed some help, and Kee was the man for the job.

Marriage wasn’t quite what he had in mind when he agreed. He understood that you needed insurance, but there had to be a better way to find it. It’s quite a commitment, even if it’s hollow, and his conspicuous absences would definitely be glaring. You know nothing about him and vice versa. Would you hinder him from getting his dick wet under the guise of emotional trauma from infidelity? The military would rule in your favor in a divorce, especially if you weren’t fucking someone else. Would you whine and nag about the length of his mission? Would he bitch and moan about the way you decorate or your cooking when he’s home? There are too many variables. Enough that he almost considers turning Hesh down.

But then he met you, and all those thoughts went out the window.

Keegan isn’t one for love at first sight, but the second you walk into that coffee shop, he’s hooked on you. He takes his time memorizing every detail of your gorgeous face, each curve of your body in that pretty dress, the cadence of your voice, the sound of your cute giggles. Your little habits don’t go unnoticed; the way you cover your mouth when you eat, the way your nose scrunches when you’re talking about something that you think is gross (Keegan notes that you don’t like tomatoes, that precious little scrunch deepening as your mouth turns downward in disgust).

You seem to be equally taken with him, listening with rapt attention as he answers all your questions. When he walks you back to your car, you loop your hand through his arm. He must look startled, because you immediately retract and apologize. No, no, that’s not what he meant! He was just surprised that you felt the same. To comfort you, he casually slips an arm around your waist, settling on your hip to pull you closer.

It all goes quickly. Within a week, he finds himself at the courthouse, signing a marriage license with his free hand tucked into yours. Days later, he’s in the base admin office, adding you as his next of kin and beneficiary and adding you to his insurance policy. Over the weekend, he moves you into his off-base home. All standard to make the marriage look real, he tells you, no one will question it.

No one will question if your marriage is real because it is. No longer is this simply “doing Hesh a favor”. No, you’re his wife now. You’re his. His to hold, to kiss, to absolutely ruin, to love. And Keegan does love you. Everything about you. You’ll warm up to it pretty soon. While you’re still a little skittish about how real this has become overnight, hiding from his affection and trying to remind him this isn't real, he knows you’ll come around. Before long, he’ll be coming home to your bright smile, smothering him in kisses. You’ll be begging him for a baby when he fucks you stupid after not getting to touch you for weeks or months at a time to keep you company while he’s away. He can’t wait to come home to your big, round belly, swollen with his child, bouncing a chubby little baby on your hip while you prepare for another. You’ll be such a good wife and mother; you just have to come around to the idea.

pick your prompt here!💌

[mockerycrow]

CROW’S 4K CELEBRATION GUIDELINES

I truly cannot express my gratitude for all of your love and support over the last couple of months. I never imagined I would hit even 1k, and now I’m at 4k?? holy. fuckin. shit. I love you all!!!

NO LONGER ACCEPTING 4K REQUESTS <3

-> GUIDELINES BELOW THE CUT <-

RULES

PROPER REQUEST FORMAT: “character x gender!reader w/ “insert prompt here” + an AU if you would like :-)

One character per request (unless it’s character x reader x character! (i.e ghost x fem!reader w/ “i can’t do it anymore.”)

Specify the gender you would like. plain “character x reader” will result in gender neutral.

AU’s are allowed.

See my general request rules.

please be patient!! i will get these out asap.

not all of these will be full fledged 3k+ word fics!!

characters that I will be writing for this celebration (all call of duty); ghost, gaz, soap, price (including reboot and og), roach, könig, alex keller, farah karim, kate laswell, alejandro vargas, rodolfo parra, russell adler, frank woods, alex mason, jason hudson, david mason, gideon, jack mitchell, keegan russ, logan + hesh walker.

PROMPTS

fluff prompts #1

fluff prompts #2

angst prompts #1

angst prompts #2

smut prompts #1

smut prompts #2

-> 4K Celebration Posts Masterlist

[hello-summ3r]

Find Me In The Ruins Of Our Past 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪

David "Hesh" Walker x fem!Reader

Part 1.

Story description:

Years after ODIN struck, the damages left by the catastrophe remained in numerous parts of North America, including San Diego. Accounts of survivors up until now were rare, extremely rare. However, it was not lucky. It would be better off if you were dead in times like this. You had survived up until now with other survivors like you, but that lasted until you were found and attacked by a federation recon group. Everyone either died or were separated, but you escaped. Now, you venture the forests injured and alone... but are you really alone in this dark, miserable world?

!TW! : injury detail, gore, strong language, rapid changings of pace, war topics, sensitive topics, post-traumatic states, slowburn?, sex?, barely proof-read, 1am writing session

Story under the cut.

Find Me In The Ruins Of Our Past 𓆩ᥫ᭡

~~~

Alone. Dark. Dangerous.

Surrounding her, the army of soldiers that stood with authority on the grounds of what once was her home. A wasteland now, owned by the sickening taunts of crows that only could remind her of a fallen memory out of reach.

The helpless, innocent bird teeming with life that visited her days in the mornings at the cracks of dawn, before disappearing into the field of trees lining the flowery path just outside the window. The gentle music that it sung, echoing softly off the tranquil, vibrant leaves that hugged the notes like a blanket, sweetly danced to her ears. However, it was now replaced with the fiery orchestra of choking croaks that reverberated around the ash-covered barks, ripped apart from the bare, naked trees, enveloping her, swallowing her whole.

Her feet had grown accustomed to the rough terrain of the ground. The skin had become calloused and become rough as she tread along the natural surfaces. The daggers of bushes and twigs pierced at her like tiny swords, dragging away strips of her epidermis as she stumbled onto the pathways where they laid. Her breath was always ragged and labored, and even in the coldest nights, not a puff of condensation after each strained exhale was present. She was cold as snow and like a forgotten statue of ice. Not one bit of her was relaxed, but locked and tense like chains had been dragged across her muscles, restricting them into place.

Her lips were cracked and dry, giving her the metallic taste of iron each time she ran her tongue across, the taste that never went away no matter how many times you tried to swallow it down. Below her sunken eyes were dark clouds, the thunderous vapors that hung high, but low. Out of reach, but low enough for you to believe you could reach it. They painted her face like war paint, the kind you would see soldiers roughly apply before shooting for their deaths.

It was difficult out there, where you wouldn't possibly distinguish a winding branch from the ugly picture of an outstretched, armed hand. Or, where the cumulonimbus clouds hoarded the vast canvas of the sky, splashing it with darkness and gloom. The atmosphere still reeked of the overpowering stench of blood and death from months to years ago. The fallen bodies of soldiers had already been washed away into the sea of crushed leaves and mud. Their flesh had separated from bone and both melted with the earth, becoming one. The bones were left scattered, leaving a truly gruesome sight, but her only concern was navigating her way through the unevenness of the littered land. most importantly, was to not destroy any much more of whats left of the precious flesh of hers that could tear away like the plump, sweet meat of a peach - the kind that would happily be pecked away at by ravenous and famished birds when they get the opportunity.

She bent down by a low-hanging tree just across from a streaming river, hastily sitting on the damp grass from the rainfall a couple days back. She let out a deep exhale, her throat cracking as the air tickled the sore rings of muscle. Sluggishly, she closed her eyes, stretching one of her legs out in front of her as she attempted to get some rest underneath the tree. The air was thick and smelled of precipitation. For the first time in what seemed like forever, the sun shone through the gaps of leaves, and the dense layer of ash from years ago subsided enough for some sunlight to come through.

"Fuck..." she grumbled to herself as she rested a hand on her temple.

Rest was almost impossible for her. The pain was too much to be ignored for some measly couple hours of 'sleep'. she grumbled before opening her eyes again, meeting the dreadful atmosphere around her. The forest was silent, so deafeningly silent in that moment that she almost wished the crows flew back to taunt her. Her head turned a few times, then a few times more, as she gazed for any sort of life she can use to distract her with - but there was nothing. not even the hover-flies were there to shiver around the ground.

Suddenly, she heard a faint whistle from the grass behind the tree she leaned up against, but it wasn't the quietness of a bird, but it also wasn't the footsteps of a lone deer. it was different to the life she has heard before wandering around the landscape.

then, a snap.

Her eyes shot open, her fatigue draining away almost immediately. Startling her, a loud bark ripped through the dense air, and it broke her from the quietness she had been surrounded by for the past 3 years, counting. The next thing she saw was the vicious beast panting before her, gazing into her eyes ferociously as it bared its fangs. It stepped closer, and closer, the warning evident in its glossy, green eyes. It was like it knew how helpless she was in this situation, and it fed off of it. The canine snarled, shaking as it approached her more.

Her muscles froze in place, except for her fingers, which clawed at the ground, gripping it. The tips had turned white from the sheer amount of force in her grasp, and so was her skin as it fell paler each second, each heartbeat that she knew may as well be her last. Beads of sweat raced down her face eagerly, a complete contrast to her body, which was like a corpse with rigor mortis. Tense and stiff. The wash of fight or flight locked in her mind, capturing her in a chokehold. One that could mean she stays under that tree ripped to death by the deadly beast. She could only imagine the scene. Her trachea teared from her throat after the animal sinks its fangs into her rings of muscle.

With another step, it pounces. It leaps like a thousand leopards chasing a herd of gazelles. The nightmarish bark of the german shepherd pierced into her eardrum as it reached forward with its snout. This was it. It was over for her. Could be to die an agonizing death in exchange for much-needed rest be so much to ask for?

Her arms instinctively reached up, shielding her face. She expected the bite, the moment its teeth gnaws at her tender muscles. The screams that could only be voiced existed in her head, but it was broken by a call far away. It wasn't a bark, but a man. She could decipher the words, but most were muffled as she recovered from the fact she had been hyperventilating the whole time. Slowly, she uncovered her face, peering in the direction.

"Riley! Stay!" he shouted across the plain, waving his arm at the dog.

She slowly blinked her eyes at the small interaction, dropping her head back against the bark of the tree. Fatigued, she exhaled shallowly as her vision became blurry, small opaque dots blinking in and out occasionally like condensation on a glass. Soon enough, the sounds around her began to dim, and so did her reality as her limbs dropped to the floor and relaxed. All tension dissipated from her body as she sunk into the crook of the tree, and she slipped into the darkness of unconsciousness under the sheltering branches above.

[ll7esxs]

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

Use the phone + Text you!

Characters: Logan walker, hesh walker, keegan russ, kick, merrick.

X GN! reader!

notes: idk it's safe.

Logan walker:

Not big on texting—he's more of a "call if it's important" guy.

He doesn't even remember how he got the phone.

Old but reliable Samsung Galaxy S21 (won’t upgrade unless it literally dies).

Phone case? Just raw-dogging that phone like a menace. The screen is cracked as hell, but Fix it everytime.

The lock screen of his phone: A stock wallpaper of mountains because he never bothered to change it.

He put it On vibrate 24/7. If it makes a sound, he's confused.

But ofc he feels it when you call or smth.

Battery is always at 5-10% even though he don't use it so much but the battery gone low by itself😔.

He forgets to charge it and just borrows Hesh’s charger.

One-hand texter—his replies are short because he hates typing.

Probably doesn’t have social media? He would have whatsapp, messages and instagram! you told him to make but he just leave it and never enter the app💀

But has Google Maps and a weather app for no reason.

If he texts you, it's short but meaningful:

"You good?" His way of saying he cares

"Will Be home soon." Which could mean in 3 hours or 3 weeks

Will shock you, because you were kinda hesitated to send him a meme, so when you did send him a meme, he'll react with either "😂" or "?" depending on if he gets it.

This shocked you asf cuz you didn't know he understand memes.

This gave you butterflies.

Doesn’t use emojis, barely types full sentences.

You: "Did you eat?"

Logan: "Yeah. You?"

You: "What did you eat?"

Logan: "Food."

You: "Curse you i just asked."

Logan: "Y/n I have been eating for my entire life why i wouldn't now?"

Takes accidental blurry pics of stuff he finds interesting (like a cool sunset or a random stray dog).

You get unintentional thirst traps of him sweaty after training.

If you compliment him Logan: "Didn’t mean to send that."

You: "Sure you didn’t. 👀"

You sent him cupcake remixes songs.

If you call, he picks up but doesn’t talk much—just listens to your voice."Mhm. Yeah. Miss you too." (He smiles but doesn’t say much)

He shrugs when you asked him if he will come back "Yeah, of course! Where i would go anywhere else?"

Hesh walker:

IPhone 12 Pro Max (YEAH FIGHT ME FIGHT ME👺) – Upgraded because he needed better battery life for all his texting.

Clear case with a germa shepherd on the back. Super protective case because he’s broken too many phones.

Homescreen: A Ghosts team Logo

Lockscreen: A picture of Riley sleeping ("He looks majestic.")

Ringtone: Something dumb like "Danger Zone" or an old classic rock song.

Sends way too many gifs and voice messages If he is lazy.

Has a million notifications but replies to you instantly.

Somehow has 100 unread messages from people he doesn't acknowledge them but they know him since he is kind of famousin the field but replies to yours instantly.

Camera roll? 90% nature pic and riley, 10% squad pics, and a secret album of cute pics of you (you don't even know abt it he is like so cool abt it too).

The most normal texter in the squad. Fast responses, actually uses punctuation.

Sends dumb jokes, random pictures, and voice notes of him teasing you.

"Dad just gave the longest speech ever, send help."

[Pic of Riley napping] "He stole my seat. Again."

Uses his phone for music, probably has a playlist of classic rock and hype songs.

Definitely texts you mid-work if he’s stuck waiting for something "Low-key bored. What are you doing?"

Yes he uses social media, especially whatsapp, insta and massenger!

Has a lot of messages from other people He doesn't even know.

You’re his favorite person to text.

"You won’t believe what I fuckin' just did—Dude I tripped over Riley’s toy and tried to act like it didn’t happen in front of logan."

"Mission sucked. But thinking about you made it better."

Sends selfies, pics of Riley, and random squad candids.

[Sends a pic of himself in gear] "Your man looks good today, huh?"

You acted like cupcake's remixes😍🙏🏻.

[Sends a pic of Logan asleep on the couch] "Took this at my own risk."

If you don’t reply fast or didn't send him morning or evening messages he would go with: "Helloooo??? Where’s my daily appreciation text??"

Calls you before and after missions."Yo, just checking in. You good? Need anything?"

When he’s tired, his voice gets softer: "Wish I was home with you right now."

His phone charge getting like 85-70% but then logan ruined his charger since he use it so much but hesh never complain abt it.

Keegan p russ:

Google Pixel 8 Pro Minimalist, good for low-light pics (probably why he picked it).

Black matte case, no design. Practical, sleek, untraceable vibes.

Homescreen: Dark-themed clockLockscreen: A night sky "It’s calming."

Ringtone: Default Pixel tone, but it’s always on silent.

Turns off read receipts and disables typing indicators.

Only 5 apps installed: Messaging, maps, camera, notes, and WhatApp.

Camera roll? Basically empty except for surveillance photos and one random blurry pic of you.

Doesn’t use his phone unless necessary when you call so much. Half the time, it’s either dead or on silent.

Dryest texter ever."Ok."

"See you."

But once he shocked you with a message showing he cares through text, i mean he is like logan save his emotions in real life!.

He really cares about you, you get slightly longer texts:

"Stay inside tonight. Got a bad feeling."

"Be safe." Sent at 3AM, no explanation.

If you call him, he might answer, but expect a "What’s up?" and then silence while he waits for you to talk.

Responds hours later but it’s never on purpose. Just forgets.

You: "You alive??"

Keegan: "Yeah." 6 hours later

You: "That’s all I get?"

Keegan: "Been busy."

Never takes pictures but if he does, they’re surprisingly nice candid shots of you when you’re not looking.

"Thought you’d like this." (It’s a picture of the night sky because he knows you love it)

If you send him a selfie, he just replies (after hours) "Pretty."

THEN ASAP SAVES THE PIC.

Phone Calls: Rare but deep."You don’t have to talk, just stay on the line with me."

He say this if he got a brooding feelings inside.

If he’s on a dangerous mission, he’ll call you before it and just say: "Don’t worry about me. Just wanted to hear your voice." yeah he was desperate.

Thomas merrick:

Huawei Y9 bye.

Black leather case—very executive and no-nonsense.

Homescreen: A Ghosts insignia

Lockscreen: A motivational quote like "Discipline is freedom." (please yall tell me you see the vision)

Ringtone: Loudest default ringtone that woke up the whole base (so he never misses a call cuz he use it for job!).

Prefers calls over texts. If you text him something long, he’ll just call, Doesn't do small talk over text but prefers actual phone calls when he has time.

Very formal texter—uses punctuation and full sentences.

Camera roll? Mostly mission photos, but has one saved picture of you (doesn’t talk about it).

Barely touches his phone. Work comes first.

If he texts, it’s super direct and practical.

"Landed. Safe."

"You need anything?"

If you text him something dumb, he’ll just leave you on read.

Might check his phone once in a while but never during briefings.

You’ll never catch him scrolling through social media. Ever.

Straight to the point, but sometimes softens up for you cuz once you notice he never eat like usual so you remind him.

You: "Don’t forget to eat."

Merrick: "I won’t."

You: "I know you’re lying."

Merrick: "Fine. I’ll eat. Happy?" he didn't lol.

Doesn’t take pictures unless you ask. If you ask for a selfie, he would be confused and stuff cuz here never did take a selfie telling you he will come back anyway.

But when he come to your house, he takes pictures of you, not himself.

Like i said her prefer phone calls especially when he is free.

His voice is calm and steady, but you can tell he relaxes when he hears you.

"You alright?" His way of saying he cares

If you’re upset and wanna yapp, he stays on the phone until you calm down. No rushed words—just listens.

Barely on his phone unless he’s checking mission reports. If you text, expect a reply in 2-5 business hours.

Kick:

What if i told yall he's got the money to buy iphone 15 pro max😔?you wouldn't believe me.

GUYS GUYS GUYS!, I know yall would come to me saying "GIRL WHO BUY IPHONE 15 HE'S BROKE IN THIS HALF APOCALYPSE WORLD"

Guys think abt it's 2027 there could be IPHONE 17!! SO kick broke ass bought IPHONE15!!

The only reason he chose it because he think ios is the safest program

fully jailbroken (probably has custom security software on it).

Some shockproof tactical case "Gotta be prepared." (for what😭)

Homescreen: A digital clock widget with a custom UI.

Lockscreen: A sci-fi looking interface with data widgets yes he was excited abt his phone that he organized it.

Ringtone: Custom-made—probably a futuristic beeping sound made the gang looking around smoothly thinking they got into space or smth.

Has two phones—one for work (Some random old galaxy) and one personal for you and other contact (the iphone)

"Yall don't deserve to be talked by this masterpiece".

He has all the social medias, talking with people he knows! but not that active.

The tech-savvy one. Probably has all the best apps and knows how to use them.

Can type ridiculously fast. His texts are fast and efficient but lowkey sarcastic.

Camera roll? Mostly encrypted files, but has a high-quality photo of you looking cool.

50% memes, 30% gym pics, 20% pictures of you.

Texts fast but types like a hacker—always looks like he’s in a rush.

"KICK STOP COMING ONLINE THEN OFFLINE THEN DO IT ALL OVER AGAIN!!" that's because he answer you but then disapper then answer you again like he leave the app so many times.

"ETA 5 min. U good?"

"Saw this and thought of u [sends a random gadget or meme]"

You know memes like a lot, but him, he send you stuff that u will never unserstand it.

The guy who helps fix everyone else's phones when they break them.

Lowkey a gamer. Might send you a "Wanna play something later?" text when he actually has time off and bored.

types in perfect grammar but all lowercase because he’s too lazy.

You: "What are you up to?"

Kick: "fixing some encrypted comms. you?"

You: "Being good ig."

Kick: "confirmed. always lookin' good"

Takes the best photos of you. Angles? Lighting? Perfect.

You: "Why do your shots look so good??"

Kick: "Not my shots cuz you're fint shyt"

Sends gym selfies like "Should I flex more? Nah, already flexing too much."

Again...cupcake remix.

"Don't have to say this, But be careful out there, okay?❤️"

Super chill over the phone. Probably calls you when he’s working on tech stuff just to have company.

"Talk to me while I work. Keeps me focused."

"There is no way..."

"way."

[theotheronedotorg]

Mama Walker!Reader AU

Logan could remember a time when his mom was dressed up. His mom used to dress up a lot before she got sick. She loved to. He had asked her once why she liked dressing up, and she had given him her truth.

"I like too," Mama spoke, her voice calm and steady as she stroked the small mascara brush upwards against her lashes. She shimmied it from side to side against the small hairs to make them look fuller and thicker. Her hair was currently in long curls, styled nicely down her back. It looked as if she had gone to a hairstylist. It was convenient, considering she was one.

A little 5-year-old Logan tilted his head as he watched her, his brown eyes staring into her own that reflected through the vanity mirror. He blinked slightly, watching as she screwed the brush back into the bottle and put it back into its proper place. She looked at herself, backing up a bit and turning from side to side to look at the dark blue one-piece she had on. The pants fell to her ankles and were flowy as the straps that made up the covering for her chest were crossed and tied behind her back. The white and yellow daffodils painted on the summer-light fabric added a touch to her charming self. The white beach heels she had on made her two inches taller, with the straps buckled around her ankles. She was still shorter than the boys' father by a noticeable amount.

Mama has always been shorter than most. Not short enough to be considered a midget, but shorter than average.

She fixed her hair a bit, running her hands through it to even out the curls and make them look fluffier before she turned to Logan and smiled, her lips spreading to showcase those beautiful pearly whites she'd always been so proud of. Logan himself was always so proud of it, too. He's taken more of her genes, and it was clear that he had. He had her hair, her chameleon eyes, her skin, her freckle placements, and her teeth. He was so proud of her smile because he had the same one. Even though he wasn't the same gender as her, he was the same as she was.

"You look so beautiful, Mama," Logan uttered, his voice weak and squeaky from misuse. He wasn't one to talk. He got that from his Mama. She wasn't one to talk either, but she's been doing more of it lately because of her kids and husband. Even so, Logan wasn't one to talk much. He got that from his Mama, but he'd talk around her whenever he felt like it. He'd talk around her a lot more than he did around his brother and father.

Mama smiled softly at his voice. He still sounded so precious to her, which he'd always would even when he'd grown up. David as well. Those two were the lights of her life.

"How do I look?" He asked as he stood up, his white button-up was tucked into black dress pants, and a black jacket was pulled on over. He wasn't wearing any shoes, Mama had always said it was proper manners to not wear any inside the house. The only exception was if the shoes were brand new and hadn't been worn outside yet, which is why she was wearing her heels. His little feet were covered by white socks.

Mama moved over to him and kneeled so she was at eye level with him. Her fingers moved to slide the unfastened button on his shirt through it's matching whole and gently straightened his shirt out from any wrinkles. "Perfect." She whispered softly and leaned over to press a soft kiss to his cheek, causing the little 5-year-old to break out into a happy smile and wrap his arms around the back of her neck in a hug.

Taglist: @brokenpieces-72 @rerejunebug

This wasn't a request. I wanted to write something,,

I also wanted to see if I could go out of the bulletin. I'm also sorry that this is short, I couldn't think of anything else to write,,

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Im so happy your write for Hesh!!! Could I request Hesh and reader who was training to be a ballerina before ODIN and became a nurse because she wanting to help others? I love writing so much!!!!

Dancing With Scalpels

PAIRING: David 'Hesh' Walker x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: It's strange, maybe you'll have to thank Hesh's dog for breaking his ankle - otherwise, you'd have never met him.

WORDCOUNT: 2.2k

WARNINGS: Broken bone, mentions of death, but mostly fluff

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You hum as you organize your desk, taking up papers in your hands and sliding them under the metal holder of your clipboard with a clack of material. The medical ward was slow today, and while that was a good thing, it left you with little to do besides paperwork and re-cleaning your space. 

Glancing over your own handwriting as you carefully place the clipboard back down on your desk, you sigh and stretch your arms above your head. You listen to your bones crack before dropping them, eyes sliding around until they finally land on the picture, which sits on the tabletop like a silent reminder. 

It’s been about five years since ODIN struck, since the world shifted and broke, but you still find it in yourself to look back on the past with fondness. The images of your troupe, all dressed up in flowy finery and posing in your pointe shoes, were a deep comfort to you. 

Most of them were dead you knew, yet in that image, they still lived and breathed—had the sway of their feet and the grace of their arms to display to an awaiting crowd. Their smiles had never faded. As you stare at that picture, bodies trapped in time, you hear the stomp of booted feet coming in from your open door; ears perking and attention zapped away. 

The soft smile on your lips disappears, a sheen of professionalism coming back like a curtain over a stage. You blink and latch onto the shadow of a man who limps slowly into the view of the opening. He’s about to pass by, a large grimace on his stubbled face, before you call to him.

“Sir?” Your feet take you out from the desk, quickly skirting around the chair before you’re about three feet from the tall individual. “Are you alright?”

The man is in his late twenties, burly and strong with wide shoulders and the tapered waist of an athletic build. He’s wearing recon gear atop a gray jacket, staps and guards interlocked like the fingers of lovers while he struggles to properly place his left foot on the floor. 

Wisps of brown hair stick out from under a black beanie. It looks like he’d stopped at the armory first, coming here after dropping off his weapons. 

The stranger’s green eyes blink at you, the tightness of hidden pain stuck in the lines near his pulled lips. His strong jaw works, pulling a nonchalant smile that looks more like a poorly done wince. 

“Hey,” he clears his throat and has his hands clenched at his side. “Sorry about barging in, there any nurses available right now?” 

“You’re looking at one,” you tilt your head to motion inside of your room, hand coming up to rest on the wooden frame of the door. “Do you need help walking?” 

“Nah,” a wiry chuckle, gloved hand waving in dismissal. “I got here alright, I think a few more steps won't—” 

His limp foot catches on his good one as he turns, and with a panicked widening of his gaze, the brunette stumbles as a sharp noise of alarm echoes. Your eyes widen. Before he can slam his face into the ground and create more problems, you dash forward and loop your arms around his waist, his gear digging into your scrubs. You grunt and take the full weight of him for a moment before the injured man snaps out a hand to the doorframe and quickly struggles back to his feet. 

You stare and watch his cheeks go red, his eyes darting away with an embarrassed chuckle. 

“Ah…sorry about that, Sweetheart.” You huff and cross your arms. 

“Quite the show for ‘I think I’ll be just fine.’” A flash of a smirk goes across his square jaw.

“Well, maybe your beauty just made me lightheaded.” At your unimpressed stare, he shakes his head and questions, “That bad?”

“Very,” you joke, smiling and rolling your eyes. “C’mon, let’s get you looked at before you end up breaking your nose, Soldier.” 

“Sounds like a plan, Ma’am.” You hook an arm around his waist and let him lean on you, his limb resting along the span of your shoulders and his injured leg weakly trying to help you along. Halfway to the examination table, he grunts out, “Name’s Hesh by the way—don’t think we’ve met before.”

You smile and say your name. “Transferred in from Dallas two weeks ago. Was told you needed more nurses here after a Federation attack near the Wall.”

“Then you were told correct, thanks for stepping up.” He’s set down with a huff and a grimace, his eyes swimming with annoyance at his leg. “Damn thing.” 

You turn and wash your hands in the sink, slipping on sterile gloves as Hesh undoes his laces. 

“Sorry for droppin’ in like this, I tried to play it off but I think it’s broken.” You look over your shoulder and tense—the pale skin of his ankle was a deep black and blue, and the foot was somewhat twisted to the side. 

“Well, shit,” you curse and Hesh blinks up at you sheepishly, sending a stiff smile. “It’s good you came by when you did. What happened?”

The man’s hand goes to run over the back of his neck. He seems highly embarrassed about something.

“Ah, well,” he plays off a small twitch of his lips, “Riley, my K-9, he, uh…he managed to dart after a hostile before I could see him. Shoved me right to my ass and down a ravine in the process, actually.” 

You have to put your wrist to your mouth to stifle a giggle, kneeling down to gently grab onto the affected limb. 

Hesh takes in a tiny breath as you gently move the appendage, grumbling through a strained smile. “That funny, Doll?”

“Well,” you easily detail, “all I’ll say is that I’m sure it was something to see firsthand.”

“Tell that to Logan, my brother wouldn’t shut his mouth about it all while draggin’ me back. You try listenin’ to him while you’re half passed out—that was even worse than the pain.” You hum, chuckling.

This Hesh character was quite the casual talker, conversation with him came easily. You touch the skin of his ankle and quietly apologize when he hisses, noticing the swelling of flesh and sighing. Moving it from side to side and asking him if he’d broken his ankle before.

He answered in an affirmative—playing football in high school.

“Sorry to say this, but you’re right, Hesh, definitely broken. I don’t need to see an X-ray to know that.” He groans lowly. “Let’s get this all sorted and get you out of here, hm?” 

There’s a long sigh. 

“...Yes, Ma’am.”

Over the course of hours, you take various X-rays and scans, looking for the point of most contention and finding it in the form of a break in the lower tibia; it was clean, luckily for him. No bone shards or anything of that sort.

“I’m beggin’ to know if I need surgery, Sweetheart.” Green eyes lock with yours as you push him back into your office, the wheelchair squeaking under him. You smile gently at a few other nurses who pass—they nod back with a teasing smile at the man below you. “I’m on the edge of my seat, here.”

“I’m not the doctor, Hesh,” you chuckle, tilting your head. “I legally can’t tell you that.”

“Legally?” His brow raises. “C’mon, the world fell apart—there’s no Risk Management anymore.”

“Are you sure Riley didn’t intentionally push you over the edge of that ravine?” Your eyes narrow, a joke in your eye. 

A slow smile grows on Hesh’s lips. “That hurt, Ma’am.” 

You scoff and shake your head, wheeling him into the previous room and leaving him to go to the paperwork on your desk. Grabbing it, you open your top drawer and deposit it away for another time. Gliding up beside you, Hesh sighs and glances around as you tidy up. 

His eyes find the framed picture on your desk. 

“Whoa,” the brunette utters, locking onto your form in the middle of the group. You blink and look to the side, noticing his staring. Face going hot, you raise a brow in question. “That you?” 

Hesh wheels slightly closer, leaning forward but respectfully not touching any of your things. You restrain a wide smile at his intrigue. 

“Why else would I have a framed picture of ballerinas on my desk, Hesh? Of course, it’s me.” You pick up the frame and tilt it his way, resting your hip on the side of your desk as he takes it gently, delicate with your belongings. “Two years before ODIN—we were in Europe for a competition.” 

“Shit,” he mutters, sliding you an awed glance. “You must be really good.”

“Was,” you laugh, shrugging. Hesh confusingly looks up while you explain the best you can. “It’s been so long, plus I gave it up when everything went down; went to get my qualifications to be a nurse and help out.” Hesh looks a bit sad at that, sneaking a glance back down at your bright smile in the picture. 

“Looked like you loved it,” he commented, handing the frame back after a moment of thought. “I’m sorry.” 

You’re slightly taken aback by the apology, oddly touched by his sudden seriousness about this. After a slow inhale, you hum. “It’s alright, Hesh. That’s just life—it’ll take us places even if we want to go or not. We just have to make the best of it.” 

“You’re happy, though, Sweetheart,” he asks, eyes not faltering, “right?” 

It’s not a feeling of uncertainty that makes you hesitate, it’s the way he asks you so genuinely; honest with his intentions. Rarely have you had people—soldier or civilian—come in here and speak to you like this. You stare with slightly-parted lips.

A bashful smile blooms on your lips. 

“When I’m helping patients like you, Hesh, yes. Yes, I’m happy.” The man stares a moment longer before he clears his throat and glances down, contact broken; a crimson sheen infects his face. 

“Good. That’s good.” Even if he’s not looking at you, a grin still twitches his lips; making your face go heated and warm with something else entirely. Hands stuttering over your frame, you put it down where it was and lick your lips, smiling at the tabletop. 

When the doctor comes in, you let Hesh speak and pipe in with anything you needed to include, the air suddenly tinged with something between you and the soldier that you can’t put words to. It’s so potent even the doctor sends you a raised brow on the walk out. You avert your eyes and itch at your cheek. 

“Least I’ll be able to get back out in the field quicker,” Hesh sighs, taking off his beanie for a moment before itching at the top of his head. “If I’d of had to go under, Logan would never let me hear the end of it.”

“You and your brother sound like you’re constantly nagging at each other,” you huff. 

“Shit, what else are we good for?” The both of you share a laugh, eyes crinkling. There’s a moment of intimate silence before Hesh splays his hands and speaks.

“I’m gettin’ a splint, then?” You internally curse yourself as Hesh’s lids narrow on you, head tilting with a deep smirk. The trance is broken.

“Until the swelling goes down,” your head nods, fingers motioning to his ankle. “Then a cast for twelve to sixteen weeks.” 

“Hm,” Hesh looks away and thins his lips, seriousness slipping back into his expression. 

Staring, you ask carefully, concerned, “Hesh?”

“No,” he shakes his head, the smirk coming back as if it never left, “No, it’s just that’s a long time to not be able to take you out, is all.”

Your face blanks, heart all but stopping in your chest. The man watches you closely, slowly slipping his beanie back on his head with an innocent smile.

“Too forward?”

“N-no,” you stutter, face heating to an alarming degree. “No, I think that one was just right.” 

Shaking your head quickly you brush down your top and listen to Hesh’s bright chuckles as you gather your bearings. It’s after you sigh and look back into those greens that you laugh and utter, “I think I’d be willing to wait.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your face can’t stop smiling at the teasing tilt to his words. “Now, I’d hate to make you sit around that long, Sweetheart.” “Hesh, I’m agreeing to go out on a date with you, take it or leave it,” you huff in exasperation, staring at him with a loose expression. 

His eyes lighten, the stain of happiness leaking through.

“You proud of yourself?” 

Hesh looks smug, but promptly states, “Didn’t think I’d get this far, if I’m bein’ honest.”

You press a hand to your mouth to stifle your loud laugh.

As promised, fifteen months later, there’s a knock on your office door—you stand and think nothing, opening the barrier only to find a large bouquet of flowers and the man holding them up to you. 

Your face softens and Hesh returns a warm hum of greeting. 

“Hope you’ll forgive me for bein’ late, Doll,” his eyes crinkle. “Was learnin’ how to dance. C’mon, I got some moves to show off—we’ll get you back in those pointe shoes in no time.”

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[krypticcafe]

❧ Customer Service Policy

aka The Rules

As much as we love our beloved customers, this cafe is a one-man crew and to make sure the place doesn't burn down and ruin things for everyone, we have our own rules and regulations regarding special orders along with some guidance for the lost.

Many thanks, ✎ Kryptid

❧ Before You Order:

I will do a max of 10 characters for headcanons or fics per request, but you may request more in another one. Depending on the request, I might take out characters or make a second part.

I specialize in masc, amab, dominant, and particularly gender neutral readers, but I'm open to all types.

Readers are automatically written gender-neutral unless requested otherwise.

I do character/reader and occasionally character/character fanfics.

Poly ships are more than welcome! Please state if it is poly, because I will assume you want them all separately.

I will not always accept requests. I write on my own schedule.

If you want a specific kind of reader, please directly state so, such as gender, assigned sex, and/or pronouns. For example,

May I have a transmasc reader with König?

Can I get Din Djarin smut with an amab reader with they/them pronouns?

Can you do Ghost x fem!reader?

I would love to request a könig/horangi/masc reader please!

Remember, it's better to be super specific than super vague for the best customer satisfaction.

✅️Will Write✅️

Polyamory/Open Relationships

Smut (certain kinks and within reason)

Mild Dub-con (depends heavily on request)

Platonic Relationships

Sibling/Related Readers

Child/Younger Reader

AUs

Comfort/Trauma Fics

Readers of all genders, backgrounds, etc

Dark/Psychological Fics (within reason)

Dead Dove (depending)

Half-Humans/Humanoids

Robots/Mechs

Light A/B/O

❌️Won't Write❌️

Explicit or Graphic Non-con/R*pe Smut

Dark/Psychological fics glorifying actions

B*astiality

P*dophilia

Inc*st

Certain Fetishes

Real People

Pregnancy

A/B/O Mpreg

❧ Flavors:

✎﹏Call of Duty

Simon "Ghost" Riley ('09 & '22)

John "Soap" MacTavish ('09 & '22)

Captain John Price ('09 & '22)

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick ('22)

König

Stray/Hound ('09 & '22)

Kim "Horangi" Hong-Jin

Gary "Roach" Sanderson

Farah Karim

Alex Keller

Alejandro Vargas

Rodolfo Parra

Sebastian Krueger

Nikto

Sobieslaw "Gromsko" Kościuszko

Keegan P. Russ

Logan Walker

David "Hesh" Walker

✎﹏Slashers/Dead By Daylight

Ghostface (films)

Danny Johnson/Jed Olsen/DBD!Ghostface

Jason Voorhees

Harry Warden

Michael Myers (films, DBD)

Pyramid Head (games, DBD)

Bubba Sawyer (films, DBD)

Thomas Hewitt

Brahms Heelshire

Trapper/Evan MacMillan

Anna/Huntress

Wraith/Philip Ojomo

Legion/Frank Morrison

Ji-Woon Hak/Trickster

Sally Smithson/Nurse

✎﹏Star Wars

Poe Dameron

The Mandalorian/Din Djarin

Cassian Andor

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Stormtroopers

✎﹏Marvel

Sam Wilson/Captain America/Falcon

Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

T'Challa/Black Panther

Peter Quill/Star-Lord

Gamora

Mantis

Nebula

Steven Grant/Marc Spector/Jake Lockley/Moon Knight

Matt Murdock/Daredevil

Wade Wilson/Deadpool

Eddie Brock/Venom

✎﹏Marble Hornets/Slenderverse

Masky/Tim Wright

Hoodie/Brian Thomas

Jane the Killer

Eyeless Jack

Kate the Chaser

Slenderman

all rights reserved © krypticcafe, all fanfiction belongs to me and should not be copied, edited, published, sold, or translated without permission. all characters belong to their respective fandoms and creators.

[pear1escence]

David ‘Hesh’ Walker x fem!Reader 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 18+ Smut - short and shitty❤️

Hesh totally has a thing for heels. Something about the height it gives you, the commanding ‘click clack’ of your steps, the natural energy of dominance you exude in a pair of glossy black red bottoms.

He won’t admit it to himself that he wants you to take control, not when the voice in the back of his head tells him that a man’s place in the bedroom is dominant, but that doesn’t stop his cock from growing hard in his dress pants when he watches you getting ready for a night out, painting your fingernails in a deep red colour to match your pedicure, those glossy black stilettos twisting back and forth with boredom, legs lazily stretched over the desk you sit by.

He wants nothing more than to push his face into the junction of your neck, inhale the musky, dark, sexy vanilla perfume you wear, rut his uncomfortably hard dick against your thigh and finish in his pants with your nails raking down his back. But he’d never admit that.

That he imagines your sharp stiletto heel tracing up his thigh, the sole of it pressing against his fabric-covered cock, that teasing smile on your painted lips. That he palms his dick through his pants imagining it’s you, barely giving his cock any attention and mocking his desperation for it. Pulling him closer with a hand wrapped around his tie, licking up his neck and nipping at his earlobe, unbuckling his belt to fish out his dick, the soft traces of your fingertips along his shaft not enough to make him cum, but enough to have him gritting his teeth, so so desperate for more.

He fucks his fist to the thought of your teasing laughter if he was ever to admit his desires to you, breath hitching in his throat as he pictures those perfectly manicured nails tracing along his cockshaft.

Hidden away in his barracks, jerking himself off to nothing but the thought of you, those pretty heels and the way they make you look. Only giving in to his hard-on because it was near painful, wanting to get it over with quickly both from the embarrassment that heats his face and his need to cum, thick brows knotted in pleasure, his head tipped back against the wall, the only noise being the wet faps of his hand around his cock and the breathy half-moans he lets slip. He comes all over his fist, face burning with embarrassment despite you being his, and so he swears to himself, although he knows he won’t stick to it, that he’ll forget this dirty fantasy, won’t entertain it anymore.