#cod ghosts hesh

[ramslum]

ghosts shenanigans

[codisms]

#7

character: David “Hesh” Walker words: 9420 cw: 18+, smut, sexual content description: AU in which you move back to San Diego after years of being away and your crush on Hesh comes back tenfold. a/n: the fact that Hesh is canonically born in 1999 and so am I?? also Hesh reminds me strongly of my boyfriend ngl this was extra fun to write ;)))

The last time you saw David Walker, you were eighteen and invincible.

Or at least, it had felt that way — sunlight in your eyes, the wind tangling your hair as you leaned out the open window of his car, a second-hand Chevy his father had gifted him after graduation. The air had smelled of sun-warmed asphalt and honeysuckle from the neighborhood hedges, the radio murmuring something soft and distant — Eagle-Eye Cherry, maybe. Logan had been up front, long legs sprawled out and arm draped across the window like he hadn’t a care in the world. You’d been in the backseat, ankles crossed, your bare knees sunburned and stinging slightly, laughing at something Hesh had said. Somewhere along the line, he had told you not to call him David anymore — only my teachers call me that, come on — and with a roll of your eyes and a grin you’d since grown out of, you’d started calling him Hesh. It had stuck, the way summer freckles and childhood promises did. You were a part of their lives, and they were a part of yours. Simple. Easy. Like the seasons turning over and over without you needing to ask why.

You had promised, as so many do at eighteen, that you’d never forget them. Not Hesh, not Logan, not the way their house always smelled like cedar and motor oil or the way you used to sneak sips of beer in the backyard under the string lights, hearts racing from the thrill of being young and unseen. And in a way, you hadn’t forgotten — not really. But when college came calling, you’d packed your bags and gone east without looking back. Then came internships, job offers, long commutes, and bigger cities with empty skies. The years passed, quiet as dust settling on the corners of a room you no longer stepped into. You hadn’t come back. Not once. You told yourself it wasn’t personal. You were busy. Life had moved on.

But deep down, you knew they were excuses. Flimsy ones, even.

Now, standing in the center of your old bedroom, those excuses felt heavier. Like sediment built up over time. Nothing in the room had changed, not really. Your dad hadn’t touched a thing — same faded green comforter, same scuffed desk with initials carved into the side, same corkboard hung above it with memories pinned like evidence. Your reflection in the mirror didn’t quite match the girl who used to live here. Your hair was different. Your shoulders carried something they didn’t used to. You looked — older, maybe. Tired in places you couldn’t quite name.

Above your desk, a collage of sunlit ghosts greeted you. One photo showed you and Hesh at Linda Vista Park, skateboards propped at your ankles, your arm brushing his without meaning to, his smile bright enough to turn your stomach. Another, more chaotic, caught both Walker brothers lifting you onto their shoulders, your limbs flailing as the camera caught all three of you laughing — genuine, unposed, untouched by time. And then there was the last one: just you, lying in the grass of their backyard, your cheeks flushed, eyes closed, the smile on your lips soft and secretive, like you were dreaming of something you weren’t ready to admit.

You stared at that one the longest. Because the truth was, you didn’t recognize yourself anymore — not in the photos, not in the girl who had once been brave enough to dream of something more than friendship when it came to Hesh Walker. You’d buried that version of yourself somewhere along the way, beneath obligations and good intentions and the endless forward march of time.

And now, somehow, you were here again — home, of all places — getting ready for dinner like no time had passed. The Walkers were coming over. Hesh was coming over. You smoothed your hands down your shirt for the fourth or fifth time, restless, trying to anchor yourself in the moment while your thoughts drifted to the past. Your dad had insisted on the dinner. Said it was long overdue. That Elias and the boys had asked after you more than once, that everything they knew about your life these days came from second-hand stories he told over beers in the garage, or those occasional texts you sent that barely scratched the surface. “It’d be good for them to see you,” he’d said. “They missed you.”

You hadn’t had the heart to argue.

Downstairs, the front door opened with a creak you recognized from childhood, followed by the unmistakable echo of laughter and heavy boots against the hardwood. Voices rose up through the stairwell, low and warm, like thunder rolling in soft over familiar hills. You paused at the top step, heart tripping, breath cinched tight in your chest. You didn’t even have to strain to hear him — Elias. That voice hadn’t changed a bit. Steady, calm, a grounding kind of thing. The kind you trusted even before you understood why. It made sense, really. He and your father had gone through hell together, side by side in places you never dared ask too much about. They were the kind of friends forged in fire, in far-off deserts and forests thick with danger. That bond had always loomed quietly in your childhood, sturdy and unshakeable.

And then — there it was. A second voice, then a third. Younger. Laughing. The same cadence, deeper now. Hesh. Logan. It knocked something loose in you, something fragile and old and still warm. For a moment, your mind flared with memory — your legs swinging off the edge of their back porch, bare knees scraped raw from summer mischief, BB guns balanced over fence posts, tin cans dented from poor aim and poorer bets. You’d grown up in their orbit. The three of you, always a unit. Hesh especially — David, back then, but he hated when you called him that. Said it made him sound like a substitute teacher.

“[Name]!” your father’s voice bellowed from below, cutting through your spiraling thoughts. “They’re here!”

Of course they are. You already knew it. You’d felt it in your bones before the front door even opened. Still, your fingers trembled slightly on the banister as you made your way down the stairs, trying not to let your nerves show. Every step was slower than the last, like your legs didn’t trust you to carry the weight of what this meant. As you rounded the landing and met their eyes, the world tipped just a little.

“There she is,” your dad announced proudly, one hand sweeping out toward you as if unveiling a secret. “Isn’t she something? My baby girl, all grown up.”

You wished he hadn’t said that — wished he hadn’t drawn attention to how much you’d changed, because now they were looking. And you could feel it. Elias, standing tall and solid in the doorway, smiled first — kind, weathered, the sort of man who had never needed many words to say exactly what he meant. Logan beside him, posture easy, cocky little grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. And then — Hesh.

Your breath hitched so sharply it almost hurt.

Gone was the lanky teenage boy you remembered. In his place stood a man, lean and broad-shouldered, eyes sharp beneath the weight of a few more years and a face that had grown into all its lines. His jaw had squared out, rough with scruff, and those eyes — those stupidly pretty green eyes — hadn’t lost their shine. If anything, they were deeper now. He looked like the kind of man who could carry the weight of a house on his back and not break stride.

And just like that, it was all over for you.

You went to Elias first, because it was easier. Because your heart wouldn’t stop thudding, and if you met Hesh’s gaze too soon, you feared you might never look away. Elias wrapped you in a hug, one arm slung around your shoulders like old times, solid and grounding.

“Good to see you again, kid,” he said with a chuckle. “Your old man’s been bragging about you out his ass.”

You laughed, awkward, soft, grateful for the familiar cadence of his voice. “That bad, huh?”

He nodded with mock severity. “He’s unbearable.”

He was older now, of course, lines etched deeper into the corners of his eyes, a touch more silver at his temples. But his strength hadn’t faded. His presence still filled a room. Looking at him, you understood all over again how the boys had turned out the way they had.

Logan was next, and he didn’t wait for formalities. He stepped right up and pulled you into a hug before you had time to think. Taller than you remembered — how had that happened? — but still Logan, still easygoing, still that sparkle in his eye that said he was holding back some smartass comment just for your benefit.

“Still shorter than me, I see,” he murmured against your ear, his voice full of mischief.

You pulled back, rolling your eyes. “You wish.”

He grinned, shrugging. “I know.”

You couldn’t help it — you laughed, really laughed, and it felt like something old and sweet rising back to the surface. God, you’d missed him. You’d missed all of them.

And then, of course there was still Hesh.

It took you a second — no, longer than that — to remember how to breathe when his eyes met yours.

The noise around you dulled, your pulse rising until it felt like it lived in your throat, pressing against the base of your tongue. He didn’t say anything right away — he didn’t need to. That smile was already there, the one you knew too well, the one you used to wait for like a secret reward. Crooked and easy, nothing forced about it, all warmth and none of the hard edges that life eventually carved into people. He opened his arms without hesitation, inviting, like no time had passed at all between now and the last time you’d seen him. He hadn’t changed that part of himself. Still confident. Still open. Still the safest place you had ever known.

“C’mere,” he murmured, voice low and so achingly familiar that it carved through you like sunlight through fog.

And you went. You didn’t even hesitate, despite everything you were feeling — despite how aware you were of the heat blooming under your skin, of the way your hands twitched slightly before settling against his shoulders. He pulled you in like he meant it, arms folding around your waist with just enough strength to make you forget where you were. He was warm. He smelled like fresh pine and the faint bite of smoke and something clean beneath it all. You could feel your heartbeat thundering against your ribs, and for a second you were convinced he could feel it too. His chest against yours, the air between you far too close, and God, how were you supposed to come back from this?

“Can’t believe you’re here,” he said softly near your ear, barely audible beneath the voices around you. Your fingers clenched slightly in the fabric of his shirt. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, that grin of his still lingering, tugging at the corner of his mouth like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to be playful or something quieter. “Glad you’re home, [Name]. Really.”

You tried to smile but it felt like your lungs were too full. “Glad to be.”

The moment didn’t last — your father’s voice called on the way out to the backyard, a sharp, teasing complaint about steak turning to charcoal. You stepped back, needing the space, needing to move. Something in your chest ached, but you kept it in check, forced your limbs to keep moving.

You slipped into the rhythm of hosting, thankful for the distraction. The door to the backyard creaked open, letting in the golden spill of late-afternoon sunlight, and the air outside was thick with the scent of grilled meat and freshly cut grass. Your father stood by the grill, tongs in one hand, beer in the other, looking pleased as hell about the whole thing. Elias hovered beside him, laughing at something, his voice low and steady. It felt like stepping into the past — only everything had gotten sharper in the years you’d been gone.

You played your part. Beer bottles handed out, napkins tucked under arms, water glasses refilled, extra chairs dragged out onto the patio from the garage. You didn’t even realize you were watching Hesh until you caught yourself staring — until you noticed how easily he moved through the space, how naturally he opened the cooler for a drink, how he knew exactly where your dad kept the bottle opener. And Logan too — barefoot already, drink in hand, acting like he lived here. It hit you then, unexpectedly hard, that they had been here. That this hadn’t stopped just because you’d left. They’d visited, checked in, sat in your chair at the dinner table, probably listened to your dad’s stories and helped him fix that busted porch step you’d been meaning to get around to.

You were the only one out of place now.

“So,” Hesh said beside you, setting down a bowl of corn on the table you were arranging, his voice pulling you back. “What’s the verdict? Are you back for good or just taking a break?”

You blinked, surprised for a second, then gave him a soft, lopsided smile. “Something in between,” you said, glancing at him. “Needed a reset. Life out there got — loud. Thought maybe some quiet would help.”

Hesh didn’t look away. “Quiet’s good. We’ve got plenty of that here. You know, if you decide to stick around longer.”

His tone was casual, like it didn’t matter either way — but you could feel it. The unspoken question under the words. The thing neither of you were brave enough to ask directly.

You nodded, gently smoothing the tablecloth with your hands just to have something to do. “We’ll see.”

Before anything more could be said, Elias called him over — something about the heat on the grill flaring up again — and Hesh gave you a quick, two-fingered salute and headed across the deck with a grin. You watched him go, heart rattling in its cage.

The kitchen felt cooler when you stepped back inside, a relief from the heat clinging to your skin. Logan was already there, sleeves rolled up, rummaging through the fridge with the same lack of boundaries he’d always had.

“Where the hell is the pasta salad?” he muttered to himself, then perked up when he saw you. “Ah, there’s my favorite hostess. You’re doing great, by the way. Feels like a five-star joint out there.”

You raised a brow and leaned against the counter. “You mean I’m doing all the work.”

“Hey, I’m bringing this salad out like a true gentleman,” he said, holding it up with exaggerated care.

You rolled your eyes. “Wow. Heroic.”

Logan laughed, cracking open the lid and grabbing a spoon from the drawer. “No, but seriously. This is good. All of it. You being here. Your dad’s been in a better mood, even my old man’s been cracking more jokes than usual. And Hesh—” He trailed off slightly, glancing toward the open window that looked out onto the patio. His voice softened. “Hesh’s been lighter since he found out you were coming back.”

You looked at him, the question in your chest rising unspoken.

Logan met your gaze and shrugged, casual on the outside but unmistakably sincere. “He didn’t say it outright. You know how he is. But I could tell. He’s been different. In a good way.”

You said nothing at first, just turned back toward the counter and gently stirred the potato salad, mind racing. Something about the way Logan said it — offhand, but not really — lodged itself under your skin. You could still feel the echo of Hesh’s arms around you, the way his voice dipped when he said your name.

Logan didn’t say anything right away, but you could feel the smirk forming on his face from where he leaned against the fridge. It radiated like heat. You tried to ignore it — focused instead on helping him dig the pasta salad out of the cooler, peeling off the lid with slow, tender care — but the second he shifted his weight and cleared his throat with a little too much theatrical innocence, you knew it was coming.

“So,” he began, dragging the word out, savoring it like a piece of gum he didn’t want to throw away. “You and my brother.”

You didn’t look at him. “Don’t.”

“What?” he said, holding up both hands in mock surrender, but the grin had already spread across his face. “I didn’t say anything. You’re the one sounding guilty.”

You finally turned to face him, brow raised. “Seriously, Logan.”

“Seriously,” he echoed, placing a hand over his heart with mock sincerity. “I’m just saying, it’s kind of adorable. Like one of those long-lost high school love stories. You’re back in town, he’s still single, there’s beer on the table and fireflies in the yard — it’s practically fate.”

You swatted him lightly with a dish towel, which only made him laugh. “Oh my God, shut up.”

He ducked out of reach, cracking a beer with a grin. “Okay, okay. I’ll shut up. But for real — when are we catching up? Just you and me. I got stories to tell.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “Good ones or ones that’ll make me regret ever knowing you?”

He sipped his drink, shrugged. “Bit of both.”

You shook your head, unable to stop the smile from tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Sounds about right.”

⟡

After dinner, the sky deepened into that soft, dusky blue that always meant summer was settling in for the night. Crickets started up somewhere along the fence line, the occasional bark of a dog floating from another yard over. The smell of grilled meat still clung to the air, mingling with the sweet perfume of blooming jasmine and citronella candles flickering low on the patio table. Your father and Elias had already migrated to the living room, where the familiar drone of the Padres game crackled from the television, their laughter low and full-bellied as they settled in for the night with fresh beers in hand.

Hesh reappeared at your side just as you were gathering plates from the table. He nudged you gently with his elbow.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft enough that it felt like it was meant only for you. “You up for a walk?”

You blinked at him for a second, caught off guard by the question, but nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Logan appeared before you could even ask. “Already grabbed my shoes,” he said, tugging them on as he stepped down from the patio. “Like I’d miss this.”

You followed the two of them out into the street, the warm pavement still radiating heat beneath your sneakers. The neighborhood had fallen quiet, most houses dark now, porches empty, blinds drawn. The three of you walked down the middle of the street like you used to — shoulder to shoulder, silhouettes cutting down familiar blocks like shadows returned to their source. Hesh walked beside you, close enough that his arm brushed yours now and then.

Without a word, Hesh pulled a joint from the pocket of his flannel, stuck it between his lips, and lit it with a flick of his lighter. The tiny flame bloomed against the night, casting his face in brief gold before it disappeared again. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled toward the stars, the smoke curling up into the dark like a quiet spell.

He offered it to Logan first, who took it with a knowing look, puffing once and passing it along without missing a step.

“You still smoke?” Hesh asked as you accepted it.

“Sometimes,” you said, watching the tip glow as you inhaled. The warmth spread through your chest like a memory. “Depends on who I’m with.”

He chuckled, that same lazy sound that had once echoed across fields behind your house when you were all younger, wilder, laughing at nothing until your stomach hurt. The three of you passed it back and forth, slipping easily into that old rhythm. Stories started pouring out — half-remembered dares, broken fences, the infamous incident with a bottle rocket and someone’s garden gnome. Logan did impressions of your high school principal. Hesh recounted a camping trip gone wrong with a raccoon and a bag of beef jerky. You doubled over laughing more than once, the smoke blurring the edges of the night, making everything feel slow and soft and suspended.

Somewhere between the second joint and a retelling of Logan’s failed attempt at skateboarding down your old driveway, Hesh turned to you again.

“So,” he started, drawing the word out just like his brother had earlier, but with less teasing, more curiosity. “You seeing anyone? Back east or whatever?”

You glanced at him, then at Logan, who was watching you with a very obvious smirk and raised brows.

“Wow,” you said, laughing. “You guys are really trying to grill me tonight.”

“We’re just curious,” Logan said, all innocence.

You shook your head, the second joint burning warm between your fingers. “No. Nobody serious. Nobody worth bringing up.”

“Good,” Hesh said simply, his tone unreadable. He reached out and slipped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently into his side as you walked. “Just checking.”

You let yourself settle into the space beside him, his arm draped comfortably over you, fingers resting against your shoulder like they’d always belonged there. He smelled like cedar and campfire smoke and something distinctly him, and you didn’t try to hide the way you leaned just a little closer.

The park appeared at the end of the block, tucked between quiet houses and a row of overgrown hedges. The playground was dark, empty, and half-lit by a flickering streetlight at the edge of the grass. It looked almost exactly the same — worn monkey bars, a plastic slide sun-bleached and faded, the swings creaking slightly in the breeze like they were moving of their own accord.

You stepped off the sidewalk without thinking and made a beeline for the monkey bars. Your body moved without asking, muscle memory kicking in as you hoisted yourself up with both arms and swung your legs up like you’d done a thousand times before. You climbed until you were perched at the top, legs dangling, the metal cool against the backs of your thighs. The whole neighborhood stretched out in shades of indigo and silver beneath the moonlight.

“Still got it,” you called down smugly.

Logan was right behind you, pulling himself up in one clean motion, climbing after you with ease. “You’re not the only one with core strength,” he muttered, mock competitive, settling a few bars away.

Hesh came last, slower but more focused, the sleeves of his shirt rolled to his elbows as he gripped the metal rungs, the veins in his forearms flexing under the strain. He climbed like it was nothing, just to prove he could.

You rolled your eyes and laughed, tipping your head back toward the stars. “God. Boys.”

Both of them grinned, breathing slightly heavier now, and for a moment — just a moment — you felt like you were floating somewhere between past and present. Caught in a night that felt like it had waited for you to come home.

Logan sprawled across the top of the monkey bars like he owned the night, one leg slung lazily over a rung. The breeze carried the faint scent of weed and dust, cooling the sweat at your temples. From your perch, you could see the neighborhood stretching out in quiet darkness — familiar rooftops silhouetted against the sky, the hum of streetlights, the occasional flicker of a distant porch lamp. You felt wrapped in it all, like the past had pulled a chair up to the table and asked to stay the night.

“Man,” Logan said suddenly, tapping his lip with his thumb. “You remember Casey?”

You paused, brows furrowing slightly. The name didn’t register at first.

Hesh’s groan filled in the blank for you. “Dude,” he muttered, not even looking up. “Don’t.”

Logan ignored him, already grinning like he’d found an old wound and couldn’t resist pressing on it. “Wait, you have to tell [Name] about Casey,” he said, turning to you now. “Hesh’s girlfriend back in college. Blonde, always wore those yoga pants and had that weird obsession with essential oils?”

You blinked once, then looked toward Hesh, curiosity piqued. He didn’t meet your gaze. He just stared off into the dark like maybe if he focused hard enough, he could teleport somewhere else.

“She hated when we smoked,” Logan continued, chuckling to himself. “Like, full-on meltdown if she so much as smelled it on our clothes. Remember that time she tried to throw out your stash?”

“Logan,” Hesh warned again, this time with a little more edge in his voice. “Seriously.”

“Relax, I’m not dragging her,” Logan said, raising his hands in mock surrender, though his smirk betrayed him. “I’m dragging you. You put up with so much crap, man. All that nagging, and the lectures, and the guilt-tripping about your diet. You couldn't even eat carne asada fries in peace without her giving you the look.”

You let out a quiet laugh, trying to mask the tightness that had crept into your chest. Jealousy was an ugly thing, and you knew it wasn’t fair — this was old history, long buried — but you couldn’t help it. The thought of Hesh with someone else, someone who knew him in those years you’d missed, stirred something sharp inside you. And at the same time, that familiar relief slipped in beside it — because it was over. He wasn’t tethered to anyone. Neither were you.

Still, you couldn’t resist. “She your college sweetheart or something?” you asked, voice a little too casual, like you weren’t secretly hoping the answer would disappoint you.

Hesh let out a breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “No,” he said simply. “Just a girl I dated for a while. It wasn’t anything serious. Not really.”

Logan snorted. “Serious enough that she tried to make you give up beer.”

“She was opinionated,” Hesh allowed, then turned his gaze toward you. His expression was gentler now, the edge from earlier gone. “We were just in different places. I think we both knew it. It ran its course.”

You nodded slowly, letting the silence stretch between you for a beat before asking, “Where’d you go to school?”

“USD,” he replied. “University of San Diego.”

That caught you off guard. Your brows lifted, and you tilted your head toward him. “Really? You stayed that close?”

“Yeah,” he said with a small shrug. “Thought about going farther. Even got into a couple schools up north. But it didn’t feel right. I didn’t want to be too far from home. You know. Just in case.”

The words sat heavy in your chest. He’d stayed. Rooted himself close, within reach of everything you had left behind without looking back. You didn’t even know how to respond at first, your throat tight with guilt that had been quietly building since the day you returned. You shifted on the bars, the metal cool beneath your palms, grounding.

“I didn’t mean to disappear,” you said after a moment, your voice low. “I didn’t plan to vanish after graduation. It just happened. Life got loud. I got busy. One year turned into more. It wasn’t personal.”

Hesh looked at you for a long moment, and you could see the flicker of something behind his eyes — recognition, maybe. Or understanding.

“It’s alright,” he said, his voice quieter now, slower. “I get it. Things change. People move on.”

“But I didn’t mean to move away from you,” you said, and there it was — bare and honest, even if it made you wince. “I just — I got caught up in everything. And before I knew it, it felt too late to come back.”

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Well, you’re here now.”

That was all he said. But it was enough to make you look down, to swallow hard past the ache forming at the back of your throat.

Eventually, Logan hopped off the bars with a grunt, stretching his arms over his head. “Alright,” he said, voice breaking the quiet. “All that beer earlier caught up to me. I’m gonna head back before I end up pissing in someone’s hydrangeas.”

You laughed, the sound a little too loud, too grateful for the interruption. “Charming, Logan. Really.”

He just winked and sauntered off ahead, shoes scraping against the pavement as he went. You and Hesh lingered behind, walking side by side beneath the trees. The night had thickened around you, cooler now, the sky darker than before. Streetlamps hummed overhead, casting patches of pale yellow on the sidewalk as you meandered back toward the house. Conversation turned softer, quieter — bits of nothing, memories and fragments of high school stories, the way your town had changed and stayed the same all at once.

By the time you reached your front yard, Logan had already disappeared inside. The screen door clattered behind him, leaving you and Hesh alone on the porch beneath the soft glow of the porch light. It buzzed faintly above your heads, casting a warm halo over the weathered wood planks, the railing chipped and familiar beneath your fingers.

You turned to say goodnight, but Hesh was already looking at you.

There was something different in his expression now — something quieter, unguarded. His eyes flicked down, then back up again, and he stepped a little closer, just enough to close the distance but not enough to make it uncomfortable.

“You looked really pretty tonight,” he said softly, voice rough with something you couldn’t name. “Just thought I should say that.”

Your breath caught. You tried to thank him, to make a joke maybe, but the words didn’t come. Instead, you felt the warmth bloom under your skin, your heart thudding in your chest like it was trying to reach for something it didn’t know how to hold.

He lifted a hand, almost without thinking, and gently brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek. His knuckles skimmed your skin — just barely — and then he stopped. Paused. His hand hovered there, so close it made you shiver, but he didn’t touch you again. He let it fall back to his side, his mouth twitching like he was about to say something, but thought better of it.

And then the moment passed.

“See you inside,” he said, voice quieter now.

He turned and disappeared through the threshold, the screen door creaking behind him. You stood frozen on the porch, the wood creaking faintly beneath your weight, arms wrapped around yourself as though you could trap the warmth of him in your chest before it faded.

⟡

A few nights after that moment on the porch — after Hesh had looked at you too long, and you’d stayed outside too late, pretending the air hadn’t shifted — he texted. Just one message: Burgers? I’ll drive. No context, no emoji. Typical. But it was after ten, the house was quiet, and the thought of staying in your room again, lying on that old bed surrounded by memories you hadn’t asked to keep, felt unbearable. So, you went.

You pulled on the hoodie you used to steal from your dad’s closet back in high school — oversized, frayed at the cuffs — and padded barefoot down the hallway. Outside, the night was warm and still, the sky an indigo blur overhead. Hesh’s familiar truck idled at the curb, headlights low, engine humming soft against the quiet. When you climbed into the passenger seat, the door creaked like it always had. He glanced over at you, one hand draped over the steering wheel, the other resting casually on the console.

“You hungry?” he asked, eyes flicking toward you with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Got us the usual.”

You leaned back in your seat, pulled your sleeves over your hands. “Good. I’m starving.”

That seemed to satisfy him. He pulled out of the neighborhood with a turn so familiar it made your stomach ache. The windows were cracked, letting in the scent of warm asphalt and eucalyptus. Streetlights passed in a slow rhythm, painting the dashboard gold, then shadow, then gold again. The town blurred past your window in softened outlines — the gas station where you bought slushies, the closed-up diner with the flickering sign, the corner store that still hadn’t changed its awning. He didn’t say where you were going, but you knew. You felt it in the turn of the wheel. In the way he sped up just before the road curved inland toward the cliffs.

“Lover’s Lane?” you asked, feigning innocence, though your voice gave you away.

He glanced at you, already grinning. “It’s a classic. Why mess with tradition?”

You raised a brow. “You realize Logan’s gonna think this is a booty call.”

“Logan’s probably passed out with a bag of chips on his chest and Die Hard 2 playing in the background.”

You laughed, and it was loud in the stillness of the cab. His smile widened like he’d been waiting for that sound. But underneath it, that familiar tension curled in your stomach — one you hadn’t felt in years, one that made you feel sixteen again, reckless and tongue-tied. You and Hesh had spent hours here before, up on this ridge with greasy burgers and soda cans, throwing fries at each other and trading music recommendations. It had always been casual. Never romantic. Never anything like this.

But this time was different. Not just because the hour was later, or because you were older and slower to laugh. It was in the way he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, how the air between you had gone thick with something unnamed. It was in the way your heart tripped a little when he pulled into the familiar overlook, headlights sweeping briefly over the edge before he turned them off and parked in the hush of the dark.

Below, the ocean roared somewhere out of sight, black and infinite. Above, the stars burned low and quiet. The whole world felt tucked away, like a secret.

He handed you a burger, already unwrapping his, the scent filling the truck cab like memory. “Tell me this place doesn’t still slap,” he said through a mouthful, leaning back against the door like he was settling in for something more than just a late-night meal.

You popped a fry into your mouth, smirking. “You sound like Logan.”

“Rude.”

“Accurate.”

He laughed, biting again into his burger. “Alright. That’s fair.”

The two of you ate in comfortable silence for a while, broken only by the rustle of paper, the hiss of crickets outside, and the occasional satisfied sigh. He handed you his pickles, like always — still hated them, and still remembered that you didn’t.

It felt easy. Almost. Like slipping on an old jacket and finding something in the pocket you didn’t know you’d missed.

“So,” you said as you tossed your wrapper into the bag with a crinkle. “Casey.”

He groaned immediately. “Fuck’s sake.”

You grinned. “What? Poor baby. She had you eating kale chips and drinking oat milk? Terrible.”

“She did not,” he said, though it sounded more like a protest than a defense. “Okay, once. But only because she insisted.”

“Logan also said she made you give up carne asada fries?”

He threw his head back against the headrest with a groan. “That was a dark chapter of my life.”

“Oh, I bet.”

“She had opinions, alright? Strong ones.”

You tilted your head, watching him. “Did you love her?”

The question lingered in the air like smoke. He didn’t answer right away. Just finished the last bite of his burger, wiped his hands on a napkin, and stared out the windshield into the dark.

“No,” he said finally. “I cared about her. I tried. But it always felt like — I don’t know. Like she was a placeholder.”

You turned toward him more fully, heart skittering. “For who?”

He looked over at you then, really looked — eyes searching your face, jaw tight, something unreadable flickering behind his expression. He didn’t smile this time.

“Who do you think?”

The air felt like it stopped moving. You didn’t blink.

“You don’t get to do that,” you said, voice low. “Not with me. You either say it out loud, or you don’t say anything at all. I’m not guessing.”

Hesh didn’t flinch. Just nodded once, slow. Like he’d known you were going to call him out.

“I had the fattest crush on you back in high school,” he said, finally. “And I mean — bad. When we’d smoke under the bleachers, when you’d talk shit and drop three-pointers at lunch, when you’d hang with me and Logan like it was nothing. I kept telling myself you were just one of the guys, but then — that night?”

He didn’t have to explain which night. You remembered it. The one where the three of you ditched prom, ended up on the beach with a cooler full of stolen drinks and a shitty Bluetooth speaker, barefoot and drunk and chasing the sunrise like it owed you something.

“You were laughing,” he said, softer now. “Hair everywhere, sand all over your legs. You looked at me and smiled like you weren’t even thinking about it, and I swear to God, it wrecked me. You were the prettiest thing I’d ever seen.”

You felt your throat tighten.

“And you still are,” he added. “That hasn’t changed.”

Neither of you said anything for a long time. The truck was silent. The world was too. You heard the ocean, steady and far away, like it was waiting.

Something cracked open in your chest. Not a flood, not a collapse — just a quiet shift. Like something inside you had turned toward him, after all these years, and finally stopped looking away. You looked at him for a long moment, your heart thudding, chest tight with all the things that could have been — back then, and maybe even now. The words slipped out before you could soften them. “You should’ve told me, Hesh.”

He glanced at you, brow creased, expression unreadable in the dark.

“Back then,” you went on, voice quiet but firm. “If I’d known — maybe I’d have come home more often. Maybe I wouldn’t have spent so much time trying to forget this place. If I’d known there was someone waiting.”

He didn’t respond at first. Just let the silence stretch, his jaw shifting as he looked out toward the edge of the overlook. The moonlight cut a line across his cheekbone, faint and silver.

“There was always someone waiting,” he said finally, voice low and rough. “You just didn’t see it.”

That made your stomach twist, not because it hurt, but because it was too honest. Too real. You wanted to crawl back in time and knock on your younger self’s skull — tell her to stop being so scared, so sure that everyone else would forget her the moment she left.

You sighed, trying to push the air back into your lungs, then leaned over and nudged his shoulder with yours. “Well,” you said lightly, trying to pull the conversation back from the edge, “maybe if I’d known, I could’ve saved you from Casey. Think of all the quinoa you could’ve avoided.”

That earned a half-laugh from him, but he rolled his eyes. “Hey, don’t knock quinoa. It made me regular for the first time in months.”

You groaned. “That’s gross.”

He smirked. “I’m just saying. And say what you want about Casey, but she did have a few talents.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Please don’t—”

“I mean,” he went on, grin widening, “she was a pain in the ass, but girl could ride.”

“Oh my God,” you said, doubling over with laughter. “Stop. Stop talking. I take it back — I would’ve let you rot with her.”

He laughed too, full and unguarded, knocking his head lightly against the headrest. “You asked!”

“No, I absolutely did not ask for that visual. Jesus Christ, Hesh.”

The two of you couldn’t stop laughing for a moment, too many years of buildup, too much unspoken tension finally venting in the only way it could. But the thing was — you felt it. The moment he said it, the second the conversation turned that sharp corner toward something more physical, everything inside the truck shifted. You felt it in the way the air thickened between you, how his voice dropped just a little lower. How the space between you, once filled with wrappers and banter, now felt too small.

You looked over at him — and you saw him. Not just the Hesh who’d known you since you were in diapers. Not just the guy who used to flick bottle caps at your forehead and throw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. No. You saw the man he’d become. The heat in his eyes. The line of his jaw, the cut of his biceps under that worn flannel sleeve. He wasn’t just your friend anymore, and maybe he hadn’t been for a while.

He was a man sitting beside you in the dark, a man who liked you — who wanted you, if the tension in the air was anything to go by. And fuck, how could you blame him? Your skin was humming, your whole body keyed up with something you weren’t sure you could name, only that it made you want to slide into his lap and see how long he could keep talking if you kissed him just once.

You didn’t even notice you’d zoned out until you heard him snap his fingers near your face.

“Yo,” Hesh said, peering at you. “Where’d you go just now?”

Your eyes snapped back to his, wide and startled — and you knew he saw it. Knew, by the slow way his smile curved, that he felt it too.

You unbuckled your seatbelt with a sharp snap, and for a moment, neither of you moved. He just watched you — eyes heavy-lidded, pupils wide in the low light — and you could feel it, the air stretching thin between your bodies. You didn’t hesitate. You slid one knee onto the console, the leather warm against your shin, and climbed into his lap. You didn’t ask. You didn’t explain. You just moved, slow and sure, as if your body had already decided where it needed to go before your mind caught up.

His seat groaned beneath the sudden shift, and Hesh grunted softly as he leaned back, palms instinctively catching your waist. His hands settled there, firm and warm, thumbs brushing the skin just beneath your shirt, and he didn’t push you off — just let you straddle him, your right thigh brushing the door and his ribs. Your legs were bare, your shorts hiked high, and the feel of denim under you — thick and strained — sent a pulse straight through your gut.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked, but his voice was different now — lower, huskier, like the words had to drag themselves out past his teeth.

You smiled, slow and quiet. You could feel him beneath you, hard already, pressing up against the heat between your legs like a question you hadn’t answered yet. You rolled your hips just enough to make him groan, a quiet, broken sound that made your stomach clench.

You leaned in, lips brushing his throat, the faint stubble catching against your mouth as you kissed down the slope of his neck. He tasted like sweat and salt and something that had always belonged to summer. He inhaled sharply when your tongue flicked against the curve just below his jaw, and you felt the way his hands twitched at your hips — like he meant to pull you off but couldn’t quite remember why.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “We should slow the fuck down—”

But your mouth was already trailing lower, teeth grazing his pulse, and your hand slid up into his hair, tightening just enough to tilt his head back for you. His throat arched beautifully, and you kissed a hot, open line down to his collarbone, sucking there until you tasted skin, until he was shifting under you like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Friends, right?” you whispered, lips pressed to the hollow of his throat. “Friends who used to want each other.”

Hesh breathed your name like a warning — low, guttural, but with no fight in it.

You rocked against him once, slow and purposeful, and he groaned again. This one wasn’t polite. It came from deep in his chest, ragged and raw. You felt it everywhere. The weight of him, the pressure, the heat curling up your spine like smoke. Your voice was still quiet, still playful, but your eyes locked on his.

“How many times have you jerked off thinking about me, Hesh?” you asked, not blinking.

His whole body jerked beneath yours, head tipping back against the seat, jaw clenched like he was trying to rein himself in. But the tremble in his breath gave him away.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, voice rough, barely hanging on.

You didn’t wait for him to say anything else. You didn’t need to. The heat between you had already turned molten, coiling up from where your bodies met and burning through every inch of space that had ever dared to exist between you.

You shifted in his lap, the seat reclining just far enough to hold the weight of you. His hands were everywhere — gripping your waist, sliding down to your thighs, fingertips leaving trails of pressure that made you dizzy. His chest rose against yours, unsteady, and his breath was loud in the small cab of the truck, fogging the windows with each exhale.

You rocked against him, slow at first. Testing. Letting the friction build between you like the hum of a song you used to know. Hesh groaned — head tipped back, eyes closed, teeth sinking into his lower lip like he was trying not to lose himself too quickly. You could feel him straining against his jeans beneath you, and it only made your movements slower, more purposeful, until he cursed under his breath and gripped your hips tighter, guiding you where he needed you most.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse.

You kissed him — really kissed him this time. No teasing, no hesitation. Just your mouth on his, hot and open, tongues tangling, breath shared. You felt it in your teeth, in the tips of your fingers, in the place between your thighs where your body ached to close the distance.

Your hand slid down, working at his belt, both of you fumbling, half-laughing through the desperation. You felt the zipper lower beneath your fingers, felt the heat of him through the fabric, and when he finally helped you push everything down far enough, it was like a dam breaking.

You sank onto him slow — too slow — and he gripped the edge of the seat like he was holding himself together. You exhaled into his neck, shuddering, your nails digging into his shoulders as your hips rolled once, then again, and his hands found your ass, holding you there like he couldn’t stand to let you move too far away.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t soft either. It was messy and real and aching with the weight of years that could have been, should have been. Hesh’s mouth was on your neck, your shoulder, anywhere he could reach, and yours was in his hair, at his jaw, whispering his name every time your hips ground down harder, deeper.

“Look at me,” he said, voice cracked and low, one hand sliding up to your jaw. “Please. I want to see you.” His thumb traced along your skin as he said it, holding you there. Not roughly. Not sweetly either. Just with purpose, with heat.

So, you did. You opened your eyes, met his, and it nearly knocked the breath out of you — how hungry he looked, how hard he was fighting to keep it together. His hands gripped your hips tight, pulling you flush down against him again, and this time he didn’t hide the sound that came out of him. You felt it everywhere — in your thighs, your stomach, in the tight stretch between your legs where he filled you completely, deeper now with the way you were riding him, slow and unrelenting.

You rolled your hips again, pressing your knees tighter around his sides, grinding down on him so he couldn’t move without you. His head fell back against the seat, mouth parted, breathing hard. You leaned into the curve of his throat again, kissed it open-mouthed, biting lightly just under his jaw, and his hands jerked at your waist like he was losing control of himself inch by inch.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You feel so fucking good. I forgot — I didn’t think — fuck—”

You cut him off by lifting your hips and sinking back down hard, slow, making him feel every inch of you dragging along him. His hips bucked up instinctively, driving into you from below, and the angle made you gasp, your nails biting into his shoulders through his shirt.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, voice raw against his ear. “Oh fuck, Hesh, don’t—”

His hand slipped under your hoodie, grabbing at your ass as he fucked up into you again, rougher now. Each thrust jolted through your body — tight, sharp, wet heat building with every movement, every slap of your bodies meeting. You couldn’t stay quiet anymore. Your moans fell out of you fast and breathless, not delicate, not shy. You were past pretending.

“You thought about this, didn’t you?” he whispered, grabbing a fistful of your hair to keep your head back, so you had to look at him, had to see what you were doing to him. “You thought about me fucking you like this?”

“Yeah,” you gasped, barely getting the word out as you rocked down harder again. “So many fucking times.”

You were soaked now — could feel the slick drag every time he pushed deeper, could hear the wet sounds of it filling the truck, your thighs shaking around him. He shifted one hand between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles that made your whole body jolt forward against his chest.

“Hesh—fuck—” You clenched down on him as he hit just right, and his groan turned into something nearly desperate.

“That’s it, baby,” he panted, his hand working between you as he kept thrusting up into your body, relentless now. “I wanna feel it. Right here.”

You kissed him — messy and wet and uncoordinated — tongues clashing, teeth catching, breath swallowed down into each other like it was the only thing keeping you alive. Your hands gripped his shoulders, your body jerking forward as your orgasm slammed into you — hot and sharp and too much all at once.

You cried out against his mouth, legs trembling, your cunt fluttering around him as he groaned into your neck, thrusting once, twice more before he let go too. His whole body jerked beneath you, thick and hot as he spilled inside you, his grip bruising on your hips as he held you down to take all of it.

There was only the sound of the ocean below and the windows fogged with everything you’d just done, the space around you thick with the weight of it — of years, of tension, of something broken open and finally seen. You were straddling him, his hands still gripping your thighs like he didn’t quite believe you were real. Sweat clung to your skin, cooling where your bodies had been pressed too close, and for a long moment, neither of you said anything. It was just the sound of your heart slowing down, his thumb brushing absentmindedly across your hip, the truck rocking faintly in the breeze that slipped in through the cracked window.

And then Hesh, in true Hesh fashion, opened his mouth.

“Well,” he drawled, voice gravelly and half-breathless, “you might be almost as good as Casey.”

You leaned back so fast it made the leather creak, your brows shooting up in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

He gave you that shit-eating grin, smug and entirely unapologetic, even as his chest rose and fell beneath you. “I mean, I’m just saying — if we’re ranking things—”

“You are so lucky I’m half-naked right now, because that?” You slapped his chest with a soft thud. “That warrants me killing you later.”

“Oh, come on,” he laughed, catching your wrist loosely, clearly pleased with himself. “You know I’m joking.”

You narrowed your eyes, but there was no heat behind it. “Uh-huh. Say one more word about your ex and see what happens.”

“I’m just saying,” he teased, voice lower now, the humor still lingering at the edge of something else, “she never did it in the car. So maybe you’re tied.”

You groaned and climbed off of him, your legs unsteady, still trembling just enough to make it awkward as you fumbled for the burger bag. “You are disgusting. This is why no one takes you seriously.”

Hesh laughed again as he zipped his jeans up, eyes following you as you pulled a few crumpled napkins free and tried to clean yourself up with as much dignity as one could muster post-car-sex. “You didn’t seem too bothered a minute ago.”

You tossed a napkin at his head. “Shut up.”

He caught it midair, grinning lazily. “You want me to take you home?”

You paused for a second, thumb still brushing idly against your inner thigh, thinking about your empty bedroom and the quiet house waiting for you. Then you looked at him — shirt halfway undone, hair sticking up in places from your fingers, lips still pink and a little swollen from where you’d kissed him too hard.

“No,” you said, soft but sure. “Take me to your place.”

That stopped his grin cold, just for a beat. His gaze sharpened, his jaw working like he was trying not to look too eager about it. “Yeah,” he said finally, nodding as he reached for the keys. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s go.”

⟡

The morning was already warm when you woke, sunlight sliding across the hardwood floors in slats, dust motes hanging lazily in the air like they had nowhere else to be. You rolled out of Hesh’s bed slowly, legs sore in the best way, your body still humming from every way he’d touched you through the night. The sheets were tangled behind you, the room a comfortable mess, like the two of you had fallen asleep mid-thought, mid-laugh, mid-something.

You didn’t bother changing. Just grabbed one of his old shirts off the floor — navy, faded, soft from years of washing — and pulled it over your head, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs as you padded downstairs barefoot. The sound of voices drifted up from the kitchen, low and familiar: Elias’s rumble and Logan’s sharper, brighter tone cutting in and out. The smell of bacon, coffee, and something sweet greeted you like a second welcome.

You stepped into the kitchen and paused in the doorway.

Elias was standing at the stove, ladling out oatmeal into a bowl, his back half-turned. Logan was already at the table, chewing lazily on a piece of bacon, feet kicked up on the empty chair beside him. He glanced up at the sound of your footsteps.

And then he smirked.

“Well, well, well,” Logan said around the last bit of bacon, voice just loud enough to carry.

Elias turned then — just enough to see you standing there, silent in Hesh’s shirt, bare-legged, hair mussed, clearly not just someone stopping by for breakfast. His hand froze midair, spoon still halfway to the bowl.

The silence was immediate. Heavy. It stretched out just long enough to make your cheeks flush, but you held your ground, moving quietly to sit down at the table without a word.

Logan snorted and reached over to clap a hand on his father’s shoulder.

“Pay up, Dad.”

[joliejoles]

he

[wjehfshs]

Hesh NSFW hcs bc I’m obsessed with him rn

I’d say he’s a switch/can go either way

But when he’s domming he’s very vanilla, soft and sweet

Normally he goes at the pace you like, presses kisses to your face the whole time and just holds you close to him

He’s big on praise

“So good for me love”

Although he does like spreading his cum on you

If you don’t want him to cum inside hell do it all over your stomach, he can’t help but smear it around

Even if he does cum inside he hooks some on his finger and smears it on your lips/mouth

Only time he’s not like that is when he’s stressed

Specifically after a hard mission or he’s had a hard time lately

He isn’t mean or intentionally rough but his thrusts gets frantic, have no rhythm, and they’re a lot harder than normal

But still the entire time he’s praising you and his touches are still so soft

“That’s it, yeah. So so fuckin’ pretty likes this”

I wouldn’t say he’s a moaner but more of a sigher

When subbing he’s a whiner

Likes when you peg him/do anal with him

Also likes when you ride him and take control

Overstimulate this man and he’s yours

If you are overstimulating him he’s finding any part of you to grip onto

Gasping and whining as he screws his eyes shut

Trying to pull his hips away from you but if you actually stop he’s trying to pull you back

“Oh fuck. Baby it’s too much. Too muc- what? No no don’t stop please come back, come back” he whines as he reaches out for you

Also likes when you degrade him, honestly

He also likes it when you’re a little rough

Anyways that’s it, idk how I’m supposed to end these things. I wanna see him pregnant tbh

[bloodyquillink-blog]

David “Hesh” Walker

David “Hesh” Walker x mermaid!Reader Imagine (drabble written Jan 15, 2024)

David “Hesh” Walker x Reader, White at Your Wedding Headcanon (completed July 9, 2024)

[ramslum]

The Walkers.

[codisms]

#11

character: David “Hesh” Walker  words: 8116  cw: 18+, drinking, smoking, weed use, light sexual content (sorta smut but not really)  description: AU in which you’re Logan’s best friend but you’re crushing hard on his older brother.  a/n: a lovely anon requested something for Hesh and I will use any excuse to write for him :))) 

Meeting Logan Walker was, without exaggeration, both the best and worst thing that had ever happened to you. 

The best — because he was exactly what you hadn’t even known you were searching for. A best friend, sure, but more than that. A constant. A safe place. Moving across the country to San Diego for university had been a lonely kind of upheaval. The city was bright and loud and sprawling in all the ways your old life hadn’t been, and it had taken you years to feel even remotely rooted. And then, in your final year, a fluke of course scheduling dropped Logan into your lap. Some upper-year elective you’d registered for on a whim — just to fill the gap — and suddenly you were sitting beside a boy who made the whole world tilt a little differently. 

You clicked immediately. No awkward phase, no second-guessing. Just laughter — real, belly-aching, eye-watering laughter — right from day one. He was razor-sharp, quick with a joke, always ready with some dry comment under his breath that turned even the most boring lectures into something worth showing up for. But it wasn’t just that. There was a warmth to him, a gentleness, that caught you off guard. A way of seeing you when you didn’t say much, of reaching out before you had to ask. 

In a year full of exams you were convinced you’d flunk, of late-night breakdowns and messy almost-relationships that left you gutted and hollow, Logan stayed steady. Always with a Red Bull and a dumb grin, always picking up your calls at 2am without asking why. He didn’t flinch when you were at your worst. He cracked a joke, handed you tissues, reminded you — quietly, always quietly — that you could do this. You weren’t sure how you would’ve survived that year without him. He became a fixture in your life. Unshakable. Golden. 

But it was also the worst thing. Because Logan had an older brother. And his older brother was really fucking hot. 

David Walker — Hesh, as everyone called him — was the original blueprint. Where Logan was easygoing and irreverent, Hesh was sharp-edged charm and sun-kissed confidence. You’d caught onto it early, that Logan’s dry wit, his music taste, even the brand of cheap beer he insisted on drinking, all traced back to his brother. Logan would never say it aloud, but the resemblance in tone and manner was too strong to ignore. Hesh was the kind of man who could fill a room without trying. Not loud — no, never that. Just present. Unmistakably so. 

And you were so hopelessly, absurdly, silently drawn to him it made your teeth ache. 

Of course, you never said anything. God, no. That would’ve been a betrayal; whether real or just imagined, it didn’t matter. You weren’t oblivious. Logan was your best friend, and even if the two of you had never so much as flirted, never crossed the threshold into anything charged or intimate, the bond between you was still sacred. Precious. Just looking at his brother — thinking about his brother — felt like trespassing on something you weren’t meant to touch. You’d seen enough films to know how stories like that ended. Messy. Torn. With someone walking away. And you couldn’t afford to lose Logan. Not when he knew your secrets. Not when he was the only person who’d ever made this foreign city feel like home. 

So, you buried it. Or at least, you tried to. Told yourself it didn’t matter. That it was just boredom, some temporary glitch in your emotional programming. That you were lonely. Tired. Vulnerable. That Hesh being impossibly attractive didn’t mean anything. 

But then the weekends would come, and with them, the gravity of that house — the Walkers’ place, nestled in a peaceful, tree-lined San Diego suburb where the air smelled like citrus and cut grass and the pool sparkled under a soft sun like something out of a dream. You’d pack a bag, climb into Logan’s beat-up car, and by the time you stepped through their front door, every boundary you’d ever drawn in your head would begin to blur. It happened every damn time. And you always let it. 

Hesh had a way of slipping into your life without warning, like smoke under a doorframe. He didn’t ask permission; he didn’t have to. He was just there, folding into your dynamic with Logan like he’d always belonged, like the trio of you had been a unit forever. He’d offer to drive the two of you in his own truck, blasting half-forgotten 2000s hip-hop tracks or obscure punk songs you’d never heard before but would fall in love with anyway, just because they were his favourites. He’d pick up takeout, remembering everything you liked to eat, pass you a beer before you even asked, show up with a freshly rolled joint between his fingers and a look on his face that made your breath catch. He was generous in a way that didn’t feel performative. Casual. Natural. Like he liked doing things for you. Like watching you react to him was part of the pleasure. 

And still, Logan never flinched. Never noticed the way your voice squeaked when Hesh was in the room. Never clocked the way your eyes lingered a second too long when his brother leaned against the counter, forearms dusted with flour from making late-night pizza from scratch just because, head tilted as he teased you. If he had, he never said a word. 

But you noticed. You noticed everything. 

Like the way Hesh never simply handed you the joints you smoked. No, he made a whole goddamn ritual out of it. He’d hold it up — two fingers, loose and casual — lips twitching with the hint of a smile, and wait. Wait for you to meet his eyes, for you to shift a little closer, for your lips to part. He’d guide it to your mouth slowly, thumb brushing your chin, and linger there just long enough to make your pulse flutter. And when you exhaled — smoke curling from your lips in slow, trembling ribbons — he’d let out this low, knowing laugh, then shift back like he hadn’t just stolen your breath. 

It drove you insane. 

He should’ve felt like an older brother. That was the script you were meant to follow. Hesh was Logan’s sibling. Off-limits. Family by extension. But nothing about him fit that mould. Not the way he looked at you, slow and curious, like he was working out a puzzle with his eyes. Not the way his arm brushed yours in the kitchen — bare skin on bare skin, that faint heat always pulsing outwardly. Not the way he’d call you angel in that velvet So-Cal drawl, not playful so much as suggestive, like he was savouring the taste of the word on his tongue. 

And then there were the times — few and far between but burned into your memory — when he got close. The way he’d reach around you to grab a glass from the cupboard, his chest pressed to your back, breath fanning against the shell of your ear as if he had no idea what that did to you. The way he’d sit too close on the couch, knees brushing, fingers idly playing with the strings of your hoodie as you tried to focus on the movie. The way he’d watch you when he thought you weren’t looking — green eyes darkening, thoughtful, lingering on your lips. 

You knew what you were feeling wasn’t innocent in the slightest. 

You were infatuated. No, more than that. You were tangled up in him, in the scent of his skin — pine, salt, something faintly metallic from his work — and in the way he laughed when you said something sarcastic, low and rumbly, like he was genuinely delighted by you. You were hooked on every brush of contact, every shared smoke, every glance that lasted too long. You were losing sleep over him. 

And there wasn’t a single thing you could do about it. 

⟡ 

It was the first weekend after graduation, and instead of packing your life into boxes and driving north to whatever waited back home, you’d stayed. There’d been no big, dramatic decision about it. San Diego wasn’t finished with you yet. The city was just now starting to feel a little bit more like a place you might belong in, and besides, Logan had insisted. Practically dragged your suitcases out of your hands, said the guest room was yours for the summer. Said Elias was fine with it, already signed off on the idea before you’d even asked. You hadn’t even had time to argue. Not that you would’ve. Not when the thought of leaving made your throat tighten. 

So, you stayed. And for now, you were in the Walkers’ garage, sunk low into a sun-bleached folding chair that creaked every time you shifted your weight. Your bare legs were sticky against the vinyl, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to your skin as the afternoon dragged its heels. The garage door was wide open, golden light spilling across the concrete floor and out onto the driveway. Beyond that, the neighbourhood was still, hot and green, palm trees swaying lazily like they had nothing better to do. The air smelled like cut grass, engine oil, and weed. 

Hesh was crouched beside Logan’s piece-of-shit Civic, sleeves bunched around his biceps, black T-shirt clinging damply to his back. He was wrist-deep in the guts of the front wheel, muttering something to himself as he pried at the brake pads, forearms slick with sweat and streaked with grease. You couldn’t help watching him — tracking the shift of muscle under skin, the flex of his jaw as he leaned forward. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, and the stubble creeping along his cheekbones caught the light, making your stomach twist a little. There was something rougher about him today, more worn-in, like the heat had stripped away whatever polish he usually wore. He was hot. Stupidly so. And he didn’t even seem to notice. 

Logan, in contrast, was sitting cross-legged on a spare tire, a smug little smirk on his face as he ground up flower with practiced hands. The rolling tray sat not in his lap, but yours, balanced across your thighs as he hunched over it, elbows digging into your knees. You were his workstation, apparently. The loose shake of weed clung to your skin, sweet and earthy, and every time he shifted the tray or tapped it, your whole body tensed, not entirely sure if it was from the ticklish motion or the knowledge that Hesh could see everything from where he was. 

You weren’t dressed for anyone. Just a tank top and shorts, skin still warm from the shower you’d taken an hour ago. But with the sun pouring in and Logan so close and Hesh right there, it felt more exposing than it should’ve. You crossed your ankles, then uncrossed them, then bounced your foot without noticing, restless in the heat. 

Logan gave your thigh a firm smack, his palm landing with a sharp clap. “Stop moving your legs,” he muttered, the tray wobbling as he tried to pinch the paper shut. “Can’t roll when you’re twitching like that.” 

You blinked, startled. “Sorry,” you mumbled, freezing in place as his fingers worked swiftly. You hadn’t realised how fidgety you’d gotten. Hadn’t realised, either, how quiet the garage had become, the only sounds left being the low scrape of tools and the flick of Logan’s lighter. 

You glanced over at Hesh again — just once, just to check — and caught the flicker of his eyes lifting towards you. His gaze swept up your legs, lingered, then slid back down to the car like nothing had happened. 

The air inside the garage clung to your skin like oil, heavy and slow. The heat pressed in from every direction, humid and humming, the late-afternoon sun dimming into golden sheets that lit the dust motes like sparks. Somewhere down the block, a neighbour’s lawnmower whined half-heartedly, the sound fading in and out beneath the louder thrum of cicadas, the creak of metal, the occasional clatter of tools on concrete. Still, none of it quite cut through the coil of tension wound tight in your stomach. Not with Hesh so close, his arms working beneath the wheel well of Logan’s car, swearing low as sweat tracked down the curve of his throat and disappeared beneath his collar. 

“Logan,” Hesh called, voice echoing slightly off the garage walls, “put some fucking music on before I start tweaking.” 

Logan barely lifted his head. He was hunched over on the tire, joint paper stuck to his lip as he ran his tongue across the seam, slow and precise, like he was savouring it. “You do it,” he muttered, thumb smoothing the edge with practiced ease. 

Hesh yanked his hand out from under the car, flipping it upright to show off the black smears of grease and grime that coated his fingers all the way to the knuckle. “Yeah? Wanna come suck the fucking oil off my fingers while you’re at it?” 

You laughed — couldn’t help it — and tried to cover your grin as you pushed out of the chair, the metal groaning under your weight. “I’ll do it,” you said, brushing your palms on the back of your shorts as you crossed to the cluttered shelf where the Bluetooth speaker sat between an old socket wrench set and a half-empty bottle of Gatorade. Your phone connected with a familiar chime, the screen lighting up under your thumb as you scrolled through your music. You hesitated for a second, then tapped a track you knew he liked — a song that screamed late '90s sunshine. 

The opening riff of “Semi-Charmed Life” exploded from the speaker like a jolt, brash and unapologetically upbeat. Logan groaned theatrically, flopping his head back. 

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Hesh called from behind the wheel well, the smile obvious in his voice. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.” 

“Thought you’d appreciate it,” you said, easing back into your seat as the lyrics kicked in, cheeky, rough-edged, hot in a way that stuck to your spine. The weed smell thickened in the air as Logan finished rolling and sparked the joint, the flame licking at the paper until the tip glowed molten red. He took a few slow drags, eyes half-lidded, holding the smoke in his lungs like it was sex itself before letting it leak out through parted lips. 

“Jesus,” Hesh muttered, wiping his brow with the back of his wrist. He crouched back on his heels and shook his head. “Puff, puff, pass, dumbass. You ever gonna learn?” 

Logan made a face but handed it off to you. “You want it so bad, come and get it.” 

You plucked it from his fingers before Hesh could. The joint was still warm from Logan’s mouth, the filter damp. You didn’t care. You brought it to your lips, inhaled deep, the sweetness of the strain blooming in your chest before you exhaled slowly, letting the smoke drift in lazy spirals toward the ceiling. It made everything blur at the edges — your limbs, your thoughts, the shape of the sunlight falling across Hesh’s shoulders. You hit it again. Then once more, greedily. Everything was slipping into soft focus, but him? Hesh was still in crystal clarity. 

He was standing now, just a few feet away, sweat trickling down the side of his head, the smudge of engine oil staining the inside of one leg. He nodded toward the joint, then gave you a slow tilt of his head. 

“C’mon,” he said. “Help a guy out.” 

You blinked. “But your hands are gross.” 

“Exactly,” he replied, and the grin he gave you wasn’t innocent. Not even close. “You know how this works.” 

Of course you did. 

You stood, your heart tapping a slow, thudding rhythm behind your ribs as you stepped toward him. The music played on, the lyrics skating under your skin with a wicked pulse: 

Those little red panties, they pass the test… 

The joint trembled just slightly between your fingers as you lifted it, brought it up to his mouth. His head dipped to meet you halfway, the scruff of his cheek grazing your wrist as he leaned in and closed his lips around the filter. 

Slides up around the belly, face down on the mattress… 

Hesh held your gaze as he inhaled, slow and deep, the cherry flaring hot. You felt it all — his breath, the faint heat of his tongue behind the paper, the whisper of his lips as they brushed your knuckles. He didn’t move right away. Just stayed there, so close your skin prickled, so close your stomach twisted with longing. 

Then, he exhaled the smoke straight into your face. 

The effect was immediate. Your eyes stung, your chest hitched, your pulse jolted. You coughed once, hand rising instinctively to your mouth, and then you laughed, breathy and embarrassed, a little shaky. The haze clung to your hair, your lashes, your throat. You breathed it in like perfume. 

Hesh grinned. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, voice thick, before crouching down again, just like that, like nothing had happened. 

Like he hadn’t just set your entire nervous system on fire. 

Logan’s voice tore through the mellow stretch of the afternoon like a fork dragged across a plate. Nasal, impatient, endearingly whiny in that way only he could get away with. “I’m starving,” he groaned, letting his head fall forward like the weight of his hunger was some great affliction. “Like, fuck me — I’m going to pass out. Or die.” 

Hesh didn’t even glance his way. Still half-submerged in his work, he kept wrenching away at whatever rusted, stubborn piece of machinery had his attention. “Then go get pizza,” he shot back, voice echoing slightly off the concrete floor. 

Logan made a wounded, theatrical sound deep in his throat — one part drama, two parts laziness. “We could just order in,” he offered, drawing the words out like they were sweeter when stretched. 

“Or,” Hesh replied, the wrench slipping against metal with a sharp, hollow ping, “you could walk your ass to Rocco’s. It’s fifteen minutes, maybe less if you haul ass.” 

The Bluetooth speaker hummed in the background, still low and insistent, a pulse of music threading through the heat like a second heartbeat. The track shifted and “Two Princes” by Spin Doctors kicked in, all jangly guitars and sun-drunk momentum. The air shimmered in the open garage; the moment pulsed golden. 

Logan groaned again, dragging himself upright with the weight of a martyr. “Wanna come, [Name]?” he asked. 

You didn’t even hide your smirk. “In this heat?” you asked, leaning back in your chair until it creaked beneath you, one bare leg thrown lazily over the other. Your eyes flicked toward the open garage door, where the sun baked the blacktop into something near-glowing. “Not a chance.” 

Logan pressed a hand to his chest like you’d shot him. “You’re soft,” he accused, with mock horror. “You’ve gone soft on me.” 

“Hey,” Hesh chimed in. “You heard the lady. Besides, I’m the one fixing your brakes, so get on with it.” 

Logan paused for just a moment — long enough to glare at no one in particular — then muttered something that sounded suspiciously like traitors, patted his back pockets to check for his wallet, and headed toward out the driveway on foot. 

The silence rolled in after he left. Just you, the speaker humming, the scent of weed still curling like incense, and Hesh working beside you in the shadows of the car. 

After a moment, he slid out from underneath it, back flat to the ground, arms streaked black to the elbow. He looked up at the ceiling for a second, sweat beading along his brow before he gave a slow shake of his head and murmured, “Little shit,” as if the insult held more fondness than frustration. “Always trying to worm his way out of everything.” 

You were already reaching for the tray Logan had left behind, stretching languidly, your tank top shifting against the curve of your back. “Must be tough being the big brother.” 

“You have no idea,” Hesh said, sitting up and pushing his hair back with the inside of his wrist. The move pulled his shirt tight across his chest, damp in places where it clung to him, the fabric darkened with sweat and grease. He nodded toward the tray in your lap. “Roll another?” 

You hesitated, fingers hovering above the grinder. “I’m not good at it,” you admitted, glancing down at the scattered green and torn paper tips. “I’ve watched Logan do it a hundred times, but still.” 

“He learned from me,” Hesh said, mouth tugging up at one corner. “Which means you’ve technically been watching me this whole time.” 

You gave him a look, half-teasing, half-defensive — but your hand moved anyway. Reaching for the grinder. Tapping it open. You began the process slowly, the sharp scent of flower rising from the crushed leaves as you rolled them back and forth between your fingertips, watching the pile grow in the shallow tray. The paper felt dry and delicate in your hands. You licked the edge carefully, just the way you’d seen him do it — slow and even, tongue dragging across the seam with a sensual precision that wasn’t lost on you, even now. You hoped Hesh noticed. 

It wasn’t perfect. A little loose near the filter, a touch off-centre. But it held. 

Hesh didn’t say anything right away. Just watched you. His eyes a little heavy-lidded. His mouth tilted with something you couldn’t quite place. 

“You’ve been taking notes,” he said after a long beat, his voice low and amused. “That’s cute.” 

You didn’t reply. But your gaze met his and held there, and it said enough. 

He pushed to his feet, brushing the palms of his hands on the thighs of his shorts. The sound of him heading into the house echoed in the hollow quiet, screen door creaking open, then slapping shut behind him. You stayed where you were, still holding the joint, your pulse slow and heavy in your throat, your thighs tacky against the chair. The heat was unbearable now. You couldn’t tell if it was the sun or something else, something internal, something gnawing slow and deep in your belly. 

Hesh returned not long after, stepping barefoot onto the concrete again. His arms were still a mess — smeared black up to the elbow — but his hands were cleaner now, damp still, scrubbed pink. Not pristine, but usable. Clean enough to touch. Clean enough to smoke with you. 

He lowered himself onto the same spare tire Logan had vacated not long ago, legs sprawled, elbows propped on his knees. The sun caught the edge of his jaw, the new stubble dark, coarse, textured like sandpaper. He didn’t say anything for a second. Just looked at you, then down at the joint still cradled between your fingers. 

“Here. Pass.” 

Hesh reached out, his fingers brushing over yours, his touch faint but searing all the same. He plucked the joint from your hand with the ease of someone who never had to ask twice, never rushed anything that didn’t need to be rushed. There was no hurry in the way he moved, only the slow, intuitive rhythm of a man who lived comfortably in his skin. He brought the paper to his mouth, lips parting just slightly as he tucked it into place, the flame from his lighter flaring gold and hungry for half a second before it kissed the tip. The ember bloomed red, pulsing like a heartbeat between his fingers as he drew the smoke deep into his chest. 

Then he leaned back, letting the weight of his body settle into the curve of the spare tire like gravity had finally claimed him. One arm slung across his knee, the other holding the joint loosely, he closed his eyes, lashes feathering down against flushed skin. And then it came — that sound. Not quite a sigh, not quite a groan. Something deeper. A low, rough moan dragged from the back of his throat, warm and unguarded, the kind of noise that uncoiled slowly through the air and found its way straight between your legs. His lips parted, and the smoke flowed from him in a sinuous stream, curling into the thick afternoon heat. 

When he opened his eyes, they found you instantly. 

He extended the joint, holding it out again — not to hand over, but for you to take from him, like you always did, his fingers steady, the paper still burning softly. 

You leaned in without hesitation, your lips brushing the edge of his knuckles as you wrapped them around the joint. You inhaled, long and slow, your chest tightening, lungs stretching wide. When you exhaled, it was quieter than before, more careful, like the act of breathing next to him was something far too intimate in itself.  

“You looking for a place this summer?” he asked finally, his voice rough with smoke and something quieter beneath it. 

You blinked, trying to find your voice. “That’s the plan,” you murmured. “Something not too far from campus, I guess.” 

He nodded, thumb flicking ash onto the concrete beside him. “Dad wouldn’t care if you stayed longer,” he said. “You know that, right?” He glanced up at you again. “Logan’d be happy.” 

The words settled somewhere beneath your ribs. You tilted your head, eyes tracing the long column of his throat, the way it moved when he swallowed. “Why haven’t you moved out?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could think twice. 

A faint smile curled the corner of his mouth. “I did,” he said, pausing to take another drag. “After high school. Went to college, had my own place out near El Cajon for a bit, but I hated it. Hated being away from my everyone.” He looked away for a second. “Family’s everything, you know?” 

You nodded before you even realised you were doing it. You did know. You knew what it felt like to miss people so badly your chest ached. What it meant to crave that kind of closeness even in silence. “I get it,” you said, quiet but sure. “I hate being away from your family too.” 

That made him smile. “Yeah,” he said. “You fit right in.” 

The music shifted again, the speaker humming the opening notes of “Californication”. Hesh took another puff, the ember pulsing against his fingers as he stared at it for a moment, gaze gone distant. The sun picked out the gold in his stubble, the shadows under his eyes. 

“Hey,” you said, barely above the music, “you alright?” 

He blinked, pulled out of whatever thought had taken him. His eyes met yours again, that small half-smile returning. “Yeah,” he said, but it was softer now, almost dreamy. “Yeah, I just — I wanna try something.” 

Before you could ask, he brought the joint to his lips once more and took a long, purposeful inhale, dragging the smoke deep into himself, filling his lungs until his chest swelled. Then his other hand lifted — slow and steady — as he reached for you. 

His fingers slid behind your neck, warm and rough, the calloused pads of his hand pressing against the sensitive skin at your nape. He didn’t even pull. Just guided. Thumb grazing the curve of your spine as he tilted your mouth toward his, your pulse thudding in your ears as his breath mingled with yours. 

Then he kissed you. 

It wasn’t sweet or shy. It was smoke and heat and hunger all wrapped into one quiet, staggering moment. His lips were soft but firm, parted just enough to let the smoke slip into you, and you opened for him, instinctive and aching. The exhale hit your lungs like silk. Like heat blooming from the inside out. You breathed him in — his weed, his sweat, his skin, his mouth — until there was nothing in the world but the weight of his palm and the press of his lips and the dark hum building low in your belly. 

Hesh's hand tightened slightly at the base of your skull. Grounding. Like he wanted to make sure you didn’t float too far away. 

The kiss didn’t last long, but it felt like it had cracked something open. When he pulled back, his breath was shallow, lips barely brushing yours, eyes hooded. 

“You alright?” he asked, voice ruined, like gravel left out in the sun too long. 

You nodded, mouth still parted, lungs still full of him. 

Hesh grinned. 

That same crooked, careless grin he always wore when he was playing coy — when he knew he had the upper hand and didn’t feel the need to prove it. He didn’t say a word. Just dropped the half-finished joint to the concrete and crushed it under the arch of his bare foot, grinding out the embers until there was nothing left but ash. No afterword. No smirked joke. No breathy, teasing comment about what had just happened. 

You stayed frozen for a beat, still tasting him. Still full of him. Your lips buzzed faintly from the way he’d pulled you in — how easily it had happened, how impossible it was to figure out what it had meant. Was it impulsive? Casual? Something he’d done a dozen times before with other girls on a haze-heavy afternoon? Or had it been as electric for him as it had been for you? 

He didn’t give you a chance to ask. 

He crouched again beside the Civic, grease-streaked arms disappearing under the chassis like nothing had changed. Like your pulse wasn’t hammering against your ribs. 

Slowly, you stood. 

Your limbs felt loose, almost disconnected — part weed, part adrenaline, part confusion that was setting in thick and heavy like the late-day heat. You crossed the garage, the concrete cool beneath your bare feet despite the sun. You were trying to play it normal, trying to stay steady, but your thoughts were moving too fast to hold in one place. You had no idea what came next. Whether there was a next. 

You moved to the side of Logan’s car and leaned back against it, letting the warmth of the sun-soaked metal press into your thighs as you watched him work. He hadn’t looked at you again. Not once. His fingers tightened around the wrench, arms flexing with the motion as he worked something loose, the weight of silence settling thick between you. You didn’t know if it was supposed to mean nothing. Or everything. 

Eventually, he glanced up. 

That grin was still there, tugging at the corners of his mouth like he was holding in a laugh. Like you were funny. Like the way you were hovering beside him, waiting for something, anything, was something he expected. 

You swallowed. Tried to speak casually, like your heart wasn’t sitting in your throat. “What was that for?” 

Hesh paused. Not long — just enough to let it sit. 

Then he rolled his shoulders, wiped his hands on a rag, and shrugged. “What was what?” 

It was infuriating. And yet not surprising. Not from him. 

You scoffed under your breath, not even bothering to hide the smile that was already curling its way across your mouth. The weed made it impossible not to smile — your muscles soft and unwilling to fight the rush of heat in your chest. You looked away, pretending to watch the shimmering street outside, even though the only thing you could feel was him. The echo of his mouth. The firm hold of his hand at your nape. The taste of his breath, the way he’d exhaled into you like it was a promise or a challenge or something in between. 

You said nothing else. 

And neither did he. 

⟡ 

The living room was dark except for the flickering glow of the television, which painted shadows in sharp relief across the terracotta floor tiles and arched stucco walls. The room, like the rest of the Walker house, was far too large, all burnt ochre and cream, rustic wood and wrought iron. A pair of tall, arched windows stood behind the couch, their heavy curtains drawn for the night, but you could still hear the faint murmur of crickets from outside, the occasional rustle of breeze against the lemon trees in the courtyard. 

With Elias still gone on his fishing trip, the house had taken on a looser energy — a little less structured, a little more lived-in. There were empty beer bottles on the kitchen counter, pizza boxes stacked on the island, a pair of sandals abandoned near the door. No one had bothered to tidy, and it made everything feel easier, more intimate. 

You were curled up on the couch, legs stretched out, ankles crossed, your bare thighs grazing the edge of a folded throw blanket. Hesh sat beside you, his thigh a warm line of heat pressed up against yours. The couch was huge, deep-seated and soft, with oversized pillows and a view of the wall-mounted TV that dominated the far end of the room. But despite all that space, Hesh was sitting close. Too close. 

Logan sat on the floor just ahead, cross-legged between the couch and the massive carved coffee table, fully immersed in the movie he’d insisted on, some grainy ‘90s slasher flick with bad lighting and an even worse script. He was already three beers deep and narrating the movie under his breath, trying to mask how on edge he actually was. It was bravado, plain and simple. But you could see it in the way his shoulders hunched, the way he kept glancing toward the windows like something might be waiting behind the curtains. 

“Bet you five bucks she trips on the rug,” Logan muttered, eyes glued to the screen as a half-naked girl stumbled down a hallway, breathless and doomed. 

Hesh shifted beside you, stretching casually, lazily. His elbow nudged over the back of the couch before his hand came to rest against your shoulder, fingertips grazing the top of your arm. His palm was warm, solid, the weight of it unspoken. 

You rolled your eyes, but it was mostly for show. A smile twitched at your mouth, no matter how hard you tried to flatten it. You turned your face away from him, tucking it half into your shoulder so he wouldn’t catch the way your cheeks were warming. 

Hesh, for his part, didn’t react. Didn’t look at you. Just kept his eyes on the screen, mouth tugging slightly at one corner like he was savouring the secret of it. His hand remained exactly where it was, not squeezing, not moving, just there. Intimate. Heavy. And hidden in plain sight. 

Logan snorted as the girl finally fell. “There it is. Called it.” 

You gave a noncommittal hum and tried to focus on the movie, but you could feel Hesh’s fingers flex slightly against your skin, the soft pressure there, like a thumbprint being slowly pressed into warm wax. Your heart beat louder than it should. You crossed your legs at the ankles again, re-anchoring yourself. The weed you’d smoked earlier made everything feel just slightly off balance — not in a bad way, but enough that you were hyper-aware of every breath, every sound, every movement. 

“She’s gonna go in the basement,” Logan said with a scoff, shaking his head. “Who goes into a creepy-ass basement alone? Like, at night? While bleeding?” 

“You write the movie next time, smartass,” Hesh said, deadpan. 

That made you laugh. Hesh turned his head slightly, just enough to catch your profile, the way your lip curled. He didn’t say anything, but the look lingered. 

Then the music on screen cut out — that sharp, pre-jump scare silence that was too loud not to mean something. You leaned forward slightly, anticipating it, but when the scare hit, sudden and stupidly loud, you gasped, the sound catching in your throat as your body jolted back. 

“Shit,” you hissed, one hand clutching your knee. 

Logan turned immediately. “Oh my God, was that you?” His eyes lit up, smug and satisfied. 

You groaned. “Shut up.” 

Hesh barked a laugh beside you, hand tightening on your arm for a second, warm and firm and there. “Tough girl, huh?” he teased. “Thought you were the fearless one.” 

“Fuck both of you,” you muttered, trying to suppress your smile, but it was too late. 

Logan was still grinning. “Finally! It’s always me getting scared. That felt good. That was karma.” 

You buried your face in your hands for a second, letting the warmth of your embarrassment burn off in your chest. But even through your fingers, you could feel Hesh’s gaze, the weight of it as palpable as the heat still radiating off his body. His arm hadn’t moved. His fingers still rested against your skin, casual to anyone else, but you knew better. 

Logan didn’t notice a thing. Not the closeness. Not the undercurrent. He was too busy revelling in your flinch, replaying it aloud like he’d caught it on camera. 

And that was fine. 

You were still riding the aftershock of that scare, still breathing too fast, still acutely aware of how much fire lived between your ribs when Hesh leaned in, the weight of his chest pressing subtly into your side like a whispered promise. His arm stayed heavy across your shoulders, but there was nothing innocent about the way his body angled into yours, about the way his mouth found your ear like it belonged there. 

“You’re such a pussy,” he murmured, voice dipped in lazy amusement, soft and low, not loud enough for Logan to hear, not meant for anyone but you. 

The words might’ve been harsh coming from someone else, but from Hesh, they landed differently. He wasn’t mocking. He wasn’t cruel. He said it like a challenge, like a tease, like a spark tossed into dry grass. And the way he'd said it made your thighs press together. You felt the heat crawl up your face before you could stop it. 

You opened your mouth — maybe to fire something back, maybe just to tell him to shut up — but the words didn’t make it out. They evaporated the moment he shifted closer and pressed his mouth to the side of your neck. 

The contact was soft. So soft it didn’t feel real at first, just the warm brush of lips against your skin, barely there. You held still, every inch of your body pulled taut, strung with anticipation. His mouth drifted lower, found the hollow just beneath your jaw, and lingered. The kiss was slow, open-mouthed, impossibly tender. Your eyelids fluttered. You felt your pulse spike under his lips, your body reacting to the gentle weight of him like it had been waiting for this. 

The room dissolved. The sounds of the horror movie faded into background noise — screams, wet footsteps, frantic dialogue — but they didn’t reach you. All you could hear was the soft sound of Hesh's breathing, the faint drag of stubble against your throat as he moved lower, his lips mapping the curve of your neck, taking his time. When he sucked, you gasped again. His teeth grazed your skin, followed by a kiss that felt more like a seal. A mark. He was leaving something behind on purpose. 

Logan didn’t notice. 

“Dumb bitch is gonna open the closet,” he muttered from the floor in front of you, shaking his head. “Every fucking time.” 

You forced a breath. Forced a sound that might’ve passed for agreement. But your voice was thin, warped by the need crawling up your spine. You couldn’t look down. Couldn’t look at Hesh’s face either, which you knew would be smug. You could feel his smirk in the way he kissed you. Could feel the weight of his satisfaction pressed up against your hip. 

Then he pulled back, just for a moment, and reached for the throw blanket draped over the side of the couch. He tugged it over both your laps in one smooth movement, the fabric pooling softly around your legs like it belonged there. Like nothing out of the ordinary was happening. 

But everything had shifted. 

His arm slid from your shoulders down to your waist, lower still, fingers grazing your side, your ribs, until his hand found the underside of your breast. It was slow, but greedy. His palm cupped you through the thin cotton of your tank top, the shape of his hand fitting perfectly like he had always meant to hold them. His thumb brushed across your nipple once, the friction sending a jolt straight to your core. Then again. And again. He moved with intention, circling over the fabric until the flesh underneath tightened, hardened, ached to be uncovered. 

You couldn’t breathe properly. 

Your body was already reacting, nipples peaking beneath the soft barrier of your shirt, your thighs tense, clenched. He leaned in again, kissed the side of your neck just as your breath hitched. His stubble scraped lightly against your skin, rough enough to awaken every nerve it touched. It made you shiver. You tried to suppress it, but it rolled down your spine like a wave, exposing you. The hand on your breast squeezed lightly, then returned to its slow, purposeful rhythm — the drag of his thumb, the press of his palm. 

And then his other hand moved. 

Under the blanket, his fingers found the bare skin of your thigh. He didn’t hesitate; just slid higher until his knuckles brushed the inside, just above your knee. You could feel him assessing the space, the shape of your legs beneath the blanket, as though he were mapping the way in. When his hand eased further up, you inhaled sharply through your nose. 

There was no room to escape. And you didn’t want to. 

Hesh's fingertips grazed the inside of your thigh, then paused, resting there like a question. Not yet touching you where you needed him most, but close enough that your whole body pulsed with the threat of it. Your underwear was already damp. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, spreading outward with every beat of your heart. Your breathing was shallow. Your chest rose and fell beneath his hand. You were slipping under, fast, and he knew it. 

Then, Logan shifted. 

It was subtle, just a lazy stretch, a roll of his shoulders, the familiar sound of his spine cracking as he leaned forward to grab another beer from the low coffee table. But the moment shattered all the same. Hesh’s hand vanished from between your thighs as if it had never been there. One second, you were burning under the heat of his palm, breath stuck in your throat, heart thundering at the risk of it all — and the next, the entire weight of him lifted. His mouth slipped from your neck, his arm from your waist, his thigh no longer brushing against yours. Like smoke through a screen door, he was gone, retreating into casual distance as though nothing had happened. 

But your body didn’t get the message. 

You sat frozen beneath the thin throw blanket, skin still aching, chest tight with unsatisfied hunger. Every nerve felt raw, exposed. Your nipples still strained against the soft cotton of your tank top, tingling from the attention they'd been denied. Between your legs, you were slick and clenched, your thighs pressed together in a vain attempt to quell the throbbing pulse he’d left behind. You stared blankly at the TV, some gory third act unfolding on the screen, and you didn’t see a second of it. You were lost in the absence, trapped in the echo of his touch, the phantom feel of his fingers teasing the inside of your leg, the memory of his lips along your neck. Your body was spiralling, your mind no better, wired and restless and stretched tight enough to snap. 

The movie ended in a blur of screaming violins and final girl theatrics. The credits rolled. 

Logan groaned, dragging himself off the floor with a yawn that cracked his jaw. “God, I need a shower,” he muttered, arms stretching above his head, shirt lifting just enough to flash a stripe of stomach. He turned back, blinking blearily at you. “You gonna shower before bed?” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, praying your voice wouldn’t betray how breathless you still were. “I already did,” you said, too fast, too high. 

“Fine by me.” And with that, he was gone, heavy footsteps creaking up the stairs, the bathroom door shutting behind him with a faint click that felt like a gun going off. 

Silence fell like a curtain. 

You turned your head, slowly, like your body didn’t trust itself to move too quickly. Hesh sat at the opposite end of the couch, pretending to be interested in the end credits, but his shoulders were a touch too relaxed. Too smug. That same teasing smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. 

You smacked his arm. Hard. 

“What the fuck was that?” you hissed, the whisper hoarse and furious. Not just with him. With yourself. With your own wrecked restraint. “Seriously, Hesh — what the fuck?” 

He lifted his hands in mock defence, eyebrows raised, rubbing where you'd hit him. “Ow. Jesus, [Name]. I thought you were into it.” 

“I was,” you snapped, voice sharp with frustration. “But Logan could’ve seen. You were feeling me up right beside him! Are you insane?” 

Hesh's grin stretched wider, all self-satisfied and infuriating. “You think Logan doesn’t know?” he said, voice pitched low and smug, like he was letting you in on a secret you should’ve figured out months ago. “You’ve been looking at me like you want to ride me since the first weekend you stayed over.” 

You stared at him, mouth parted, momentarily speechless. 

“You’re such a little shit.” 

“You’re not denying it.” 

You shoved him again, but there was laughter now from both of you, real, electric, cutting through the tension like the first strike of a storm. Hesh caught your wrist before you could pull away, his fingers sliding down until they tangled with yours, and then he tugged. Just hard enough to pull you closer, and then again, until you lost your balance and ended up sprawled back on the couch, legs sliding to either side of his hips, his body hovering over yours like it had always belonged there. 

“How long have you known?” you asked, voice rough with want, with disbelief, with everything you hadn’t said before. 

“Since I first met you,” he murmured, eyes dropping to your mouth. “I’m not slow, angel. I know what you want.” 

The words landed low in your stomach, heat blooming outward in a wave that had you curling your fingers in the front of his shirt, needing to feel something real. “Then why wait so long?” 

His cockiness faded just a touch, replaced with something quieter, more careful. “Logan got to you first,” he said, mouth brushing the curve of your cheek. “Wasn’t about to swoop in if I thought he liked you.” 

You stilled. “And does he?” 

Hesh shook his head, no hesitation. “Nope,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “All mine for the taking, sweetheart.” 

Your breath caught again, and the part of you that had been aching since the moment you met wanted nothing more than to grab him by the collar and crash your mouth against his. To finish what he started. To drag him upstairs and leave bite marks across his chest and scream into his shoulder while you came apart on him. 

But you weren’t going to make it that easy. 

You sat up slowly, pushing him off with a light shove. He let you go, slumping back on the cushions with a groan. 

“Well now,” you said, “who says I still want you?” 

Hesh threw his head back in exaggerated anguish. “Don’t do that.” 

You stood, stretching your arms above your head like you weren’t still throbbing from his touch, and headed for the stairs. 

“You gonna make me work for it?” he called out, voice rough and playful behind you. 

You looked over your shoulder, grin sharp and wicked. “Fuck yeah. I’ve gone through the motions. Now it’s your turn.” 

He groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Fucking tease.” 

You laughed, light and breathless. “Goodnight, Hesh.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, rolling his eyes, his gaze catching yours. “Just wait until morning, sweetheart.” 

The soft creak of the steps under your feet was your only answer as you disappeared into the dark, already counting down the hours until then.

[ramslum]

walkers go to epcot! (i don’t. know why i made this.)