cw: slightly toxic dynamic, shameless smut, pussy pronouns (not personified pussy, thank you tojisteddy for teaching me that), possessive sex, implied age gap (reader mid-20s, Keegan mid-40s), sorta public sex, mirror sex, dumbification
Dilf!Keegan who's a munch. That man will not come away from that sweet little pussy of yours; he'll eat you until you're crying, until you're squirming and trying to push him away because you're just so sensitive. And he'll coo at you, pulling away, mouth covered in you, "Aw, I know, princess, Too much for you, isn't it?" His sympathy is all a fad because he'll grin and say, "I'm not fuckin' done eating," before dipping his head back between yours thighs and lapping at your clit like a thirsty mutt.
Dilf!Keegan who still makes a point to make sure you know that your pussy isn't yours. No, he'll reiterate it until he's blue in the face: she's mine; I'm the one who has her gushin', I'm the only one who knows how to please her. Not you and definitely no other man, you hear that, baby? And when you nod in response, too fucked out to give him a proper answer, he'll bark out a laugh, "That's fuckin' right, princess."
Dilf!Keegan who has no issue threatening other men. He sees someone talking to you when you're out for dinner?
He'll be running before he even has the opportunity to ask you a question. A waiter being too nice to you in the restaurant? He's got a hand on your wrist and is pulling you to the nearest bathroom and fucking you there and then. He'll have you in front of the mirror, salt-and pepper fringe hanging in his face as he thrusts into your cunt, hand wrapped around your throat, forcing you to look at yourself. "He couldn't make your little cunt cream round his cock, could he? No, he fuckin' couldn't; she needs me. My cock. No one else's. Fuuuuccckkk, that it's it, baby girl, cream all my thick fuckin' cock, fuck, you messy fuckin' girl"
And when you limp out of the bathroom afterwards, he grins to himself when the waiter can't even look you in the eye.
''You're such a fucking asshole and—'' Your words are interrupted by a whiny moan when Keegan starts to thrust up, not letting you get distracted by anything despite your rant.
''Yeah? Keep going, baby. Ride this fucking cock.'' You do as he says, getting on your feet to be able to ride him harder and deeper, the tip of his cock hitting your spongy cervix every single time he goes all the way in. One of your hands is on his hard chest for support, while the other one is holding his jaw, keeping his mouth open to hear the downright lewd groans leaving his lips.
''And... annoying. Cocky. Arrogant—'' Each insult is punctuated by you dropping on his cock, walls tightening up even more when you feel him throbbing inside you.
''Horrible.'' You keep ranting about him despite how good he feels inside you, despite the way his fat cock has your lips gripping on him for dear life. He is all of those things and more, but the tension that has been building up to this day was impossible to ignore. You're impaling yourself down on his cock and he's letting you, mouth open slightly ajar and eyes rolling to the back of his head.
''Fuck— yeah?'' He finds the energy to speak despite the way you're destroying his cock, not even thrusting up anymore and simply letting you do all the work. His hand trails up your spine, grasping at the hair on the back of your neck and keeping your head in place, letting you ride his cock despite his rough hold.
His hand lets go only to slap your face, making you ride faster despite the stinging pain. What a fucking asshole. It doesn't take long for you to return the favor, hand coming up to slap the annoying smirk off of his face— and it works shortly, he looks shocked at getting slapped back, yet pure amusement is soon written all over his annoyingly handsome face, seeing it as a challenge.
You know you fucked up when his calloused hands grasp your waist, holding you in place before using his strength to switch positions, now on top of you. His cock thrusts even deeper like this, hitting your cervix over and over at an almost punishing pace.
''Acting like a fucking bitch all day—'' He groans out, words interrupted by the sharp hiss leaving his lips at the way your pussy tightens more around his cock. He looks down at your lips, leaning closer while managing to keep his brutal thrusts.
''Open that fucking mouth, baby.'' You obey, too fucked out to even think much about it. You're barely able to register the way he spits into your mouth before kissing you, tongues wrapping around the other in a disgusting mess of spit. His hand comes up to grope your tit, fingers squeezing and pulling on the nipple every few seconds as he kisses you, ignoring the way your mixed spit is dripping down the corners of your lips.
The air is heavy with the smell of sex and the sounds of your muffled moans, his grip on your body bruising, fingers digging into your skin as he fucks you with an almost animalistic hunger. He doesn't stop making out with you even when his thrusts become even more brutal, spilling into you with a final, deep thrust. His hot white cum filling you up only makes your body tense up, riding out your orgasms together before he collapses on top of you, his weight keeping you pinned to the bed.
''Get off of me, fatass.'' Your protests go ignored, the asshole only making himself even heavier on top of you even when you try your best to get him off.
Notes:I figured since I made one for the the 141 boys, ghosts boys also need one and just because how little fics there are of them
Keegan
Keegan can always be found having a hand on your plush thighs. He loves how squishy they are, how they giggle when you walk, but most of all how they look when you wear shorts. And it could be any kind of shorts, but looks forward to when you wear your favorite around the house super soft ones that slightly rise up when you bend over or
Squeezes them whenever you guys are cuddling. Says they’re much more comfortable than the pillow he has. And when he comes back from deployment? Keegan instantly falls asleep when he rests his head on them and has his arm wrapped around you, brings him instant comfort
Although he is mischievous, he tries to not bite them and cover them in hickeys, but something about his partner marked up drives him crazy
Keeps a few pictures of your legs draped over his on him at all times and has one set as his Lock Screen too
Hesh
Short circuits when he sees you sit down and sees how plump and juicy your thighs look. Can’t help himself but to look down at you. Although he does try to hold a conversation with you, his eyes linger else where
When I say this man grabs them, I mean he grabs them to the point you can see his fingerprints when he lets go. He doesn’t mean to, but when he’s so busy and consumed between your legs he forgets his strength which leaves him to end up kissing the areas he left a bruise
This man is such a tease it’s unreal. Hands will be placed on your thigh and ever so slowly will his hand inch up your leg
Play fights with Riley if he’s laying on your legs first. Although he would rather have both your legs, he settles for the one and allows Riley to stay
Logan
Loves and I mean loves your thighs. Doesn’t care what you think or say negatively about them, he loves them and will do everything he can to show that
Loves to see you wear leg garters. Also a huge fan of thigh highs.
Just kinda stops what he’s doing and stares when he sees you walking around the house in his shirt and underwear. How his shirt just stops at your mid thigh due to the sheer size of it on you
Likes to pull you on his lap and rests his hands on your legs, mindlessly squeezing them as his mind is occupied on the tv or listening to you as you ramble on about something. Has become a daily routine at this point
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.
keegan's the type of man to catch feelings and refuse to acknowledge them until it kills him. it would take years for him to open, to let himself want someone as much as he does. it'd be after something horrible happening, something so devastating that his control snaps, the thick hold on his restraint slipping; so much death encompasses them at all times, so many friends lost and buried, the realisation that he could lose someone who doesn't even know how much he can love, destroys him more than the mere thought of them slipping through his fingers. he'd grip hard, hold on possessively in an attempt to quell that fear, before it choked him. if it finally came to it, he wouldn't be rough, wouldn't be like a feral beast gnashing at the bars of its cage; he'd be gentle, reverent, his quietness shining through like the sign of what it is -- admiration. he'd worship, care for and provide whoever managed to worm their way so deep into what seemed like a steel heart, but you'd know. how much this man cares, how his aloofness isn't what it seems, and that he's willing to do everything it takes to protect the ones he loves; wreck havoc on anyone daring to hurt you.
keegan p. russ is a yearner. he watches from afar, always hiding away in the dark shadows, unnoticed unless he wants to be seen. he strikes fast, merciless, before disappearing into the pitch black once more. he'd keep to the corners still, gradually moving closer as time flows by, unwilling and incapable of staying away. he'd memorise everything, every single detail about you that he has at his disposal, commit your mere form to memory and hold it close in the dead of night. he needs patience, understanding and trust, something not freely available. but once he gets it, once he lets himself have it, he stands in your shadow instead.
Men who I think would have a higher level of empathy and refuse to try for another child with their wives after seeing her in so much pain when delivering their baby.
(Geto, Nanami, modulo! Yuuji and Megumi, Ijichi, Choso, Keegan, Hesh, Roach, Alex, Rudy, Tatsu, Armin, Reiner, Marco, Akaza, and Yoriichi)
*＊✿❀ ❀✿＊*
A/n: yes I'm working on the second part of the (the chosen) series, but my perfectionism and ADHD isn't helping me to finish the fic 😭
♡ Unresolved Tension — pt. 1 (or Logan was right, and we love him for it!)
⸺ COD – ft. L.T. DAVID 'HESH' WALKER × sergeant!reader
⋆˚꩜｡ summary . maybe there's more to this tension between a Lieutenant and his Sergeant than either of them is willing to admit.
౨ৎ wc . + 2.3k!
⋆˙⟡ tags . mature — mdni, +18 ! , reader-insert, second person pov, gn!reader, enemies to lovers, forbidden attraction, rank dynamics ( lt. × sergeant ), power imbalance, mutual pining, unresolved tension, banter, idiots who’d rather eyefuck each other than communicate, also they're emotionally constipated, one shot but i might write a part two?? idk aaa
₊˚⊹♡ cw . mature — mdni, +18 ! , implied sexual content, sexual tension, rank & power dynamics ( lt. × sergeant ), probably military inaccuracies, suggestive language & teasing, mild profanity, insubordination, honestly banter that is basically foreplay at that point
✧ a/n! . this one has been living rent-free in my head for weeks, and i really wanted to share it with you guys!! also AHHH first fic ever posted kinda nervous, it sat in my drafts for so long and i proofread it so many times and still i feel like this isn't enough, it's my first time ever posting as i said and im TERRIFIED, so feedback is deeply appreciated! please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction, Hesh wouldn't actually act like that but I thought it would be funny to write him not being able to figure out his own feelings! your headcanons are valid too, this is just a fun little version of him i wrote!
tagging @dberrypie as promised, happy reading and hope you enjoy♡
He hated you. Good thing you hated him back.
Or at least that's what you'd decided to believe.
It was a strange feeling, really.
Logan had qualified it as "pent-up sexual tension," once. You were in the room when he’d uttered those unhinged words. Hesh had laughed it off, naturally; a dry, sharp laugh that said you’re insane, little brother. He’d also punched him in the shoulder. Not that hard, but still. Except the idea had remained stuck in your head the moment you'd heard Logan.
Because it wasn't that. It couldn't be that. All you felt for Hesh, and all he felt for you, was just... irritation. Pure, unfiltered irritation that made your whole body stiffen every single time he walked into a room. And when he did so, you had, in fact, gotten into the habit of giving him the nastiest side-eye ever known to humankind, with that perpetual scowl on your face. Every time you met his gaze. Like his mere existence was just enough to personally offend you.
Oh, you.
The Ghosts’ newest addition. You arrived on base just a few months ago. You followed orders to the letter, which led to make him look like the reckless one in front of his dad, whenever he proposed a plan that was too risky, or made a dangerous decision. The worst part? You were good. Damn good. Of course. Elias wouldn't have recruited you otherwise, wouldn't have brought you into the Ghosts if you hadn't earned it ten times over.
Hesh knew that. Respected it, even. He had to, in a way, because he was your Lieutenant. That rank defined dominance, authority, and responsibility. Lieutenant David ‘Hesh’ Walker had also probably been born with a rifle in his hands and an opinion about how you were holding yours. Still, you respected him. You'd never say it out loud, obviously. You'd take that to your grave. But you respected him.
And both of you couldn't help it. Really, you'd tried. From day one, you two had known it wasn't going to be easy. You didn't share the same opinions—or maybe you did, but that was somehow worse, because every time one of you said something, the other just had to contradict it on principle. Actually, you couldn't recall a single conversation with Hesh that hadn't ended in an argument… outside of missions, where professionalism won by default and you both had the good sense to put your feelings aside. Which was, come to think of it, the weirdest part: on the field, you worked together perfectly. Seamless and instinctive, like you'd been fighting side by side for years. ‘A match made in heaven’, Elias had called it once. However, the moment you set foot back on base? You two always reverted back to old habits. It had been that way since the very first day.
But it seemed like neither of you could bear the thought of being polite to each other. No, you needed to bicker. Or, worse than bicker, actually fight, every single day. Insults were thrown at each other, mocking words meant to piss the other off. You even recall a time when you'd jumped at him, only to be caught just in time by Kick and Logan, Hesh watching as you were dragged away with that infuriating shit-eating grin on his lips.
And hell if you didn't hate how much that grin had taken root in your mind.
"You're doing it wrong."
Speak of the devil. You didn't need to turn around to know who it was. And Logan that fucking traitor who was supposedly reviewing some mission parameters on his tablet, snickered. Because apparently he already knew where this was going.
You kept your eyes on the rifle in your hands. Tried your best to keep your breathing even—cause fuck, you were a Ghost, you had discipline! Even if you could already tell this wasn’t going to end well.
"The barrel assembly," Hesh continued, knowing damn well he’d already gotten your full attention even though you weren’t showing it, and you heard the soft thud of a boot against the floor as he pushed off the doorframe. "You're supposed to—"
"Pretty sure I know how to fieldstrip an M4, Lieutenant." The emphasis on his rank landed exactly the way you intended it: like both an acknowledgment of his rank, and a carefully, thinly veiled ’fuck you’ at the same time.
And you saw, from the corner of your eyes, his stupid smirk widening.
"Just making sure, Sergeant. Wouldn't want our newest Ghost to forget the basics."
Now, Hesh had always been the serious one. Your Lieutenant always kept his head down, and never let personal feelings get in the way of his job. He knew better than to pick fights over ridiculous things. Elias had raised his sons that way, disciplined and measured. The Walkers didn't get distracted and didn't let things get under their skin. So, Hesh didn't rise to petty bait when he had a mission to run and a unit to keep alive. He was a professional, composed Lieutenant.
And then there was you.
David had never been particularly good at leaving well enough alone when it came to you. Because no matter what he said, no matter how well he could shrug off his colleagues’ comments, he knew they were right. Logan was right. This was nothing more than pent-up sexual tension between a Lieutenant and his Sergeant. Wrong. Forbidden. Prohibited. And the worst thing? You knew what this was, too. And Hesh knew it. You were both aware of it, but you thought that perhaps not talking about it would make this whole feeling disappear.
But God, did you make it difficult.
…
You paused in your movements.
Then, slowly, you put your rifle down next to you, right where you were sitting on the bench, before slowly standing up and turning to face him. But he didn't falter; if anything, he watched you with that quiet smirk and those half-lidded eyes that had been getting under your skin for months.
"What the fuck," you muttered through gritted teeth, closing the distance between you, "is your problem, Walker?"
You knew better than to swear at your superior. But right now? You were way past politeness. Behind you, very quietly, Logan muttered a small, amused ‘oh, shit’ that you both ignored.
His smile deepened, became sharper. He didn't even step back when you approached, not even an inch. No, he just stood there, and he watched you close the distance between the both of you with that fire burning in your eyes that he'd become unfortunately, irritatingly familiar with over the past few months.
"My problem, Sergeant?" He tilted his head slightly, voice dropping to a tone that dripped with smugness, just enough to remind you (and everyone else in the room) exactly who held rank here. Sadly, not you. "My problem is insubordination. Lack of respect for the chain of command." His eyes glittered with a mix of amusement and challenge. "And the language you just used with a superior officer."
Ajax coughed... No, actually, might've been a laugh. But right now, neither of you could bring yourselves to care. Your Lieutenant still didn’t look away from you. Unimpressed.
"See, here's the thing," Hesh continued as he took one step forward, deliberate, and close enough now that you guessed he could probably see the exact shade of fury in your expression, close enough to be unprofessional without quite crossing that line. "You've got this attitude…”
His eyes didn't waver, not even for a second, and he continued. “You earned your place. Great. So did everyone else in this unit. That doesn't make you exempt from being corrected.”
He gestured vaguely toward your Ghost insignia. Your pride and joy.
"So you're here now. You’re a Ghost. Part of the team. And part of being on this team means not biting the head off your Lieutenant every time he offers constructive feedback on your weapon maintenance."
The sarcasm and the tension were so thick it felt like you could cut it with a knife. And you scoffed, because who the hell did that guy think he was?
On paper, it looked bad. In any other unit, on any other base, this would've looked like harassment or persecution. A Lieutenant singling out his Sergeant, picking at his subordinate, circling his lower-ranking officer like something to be worn down? In any other unit, it would've already been flagged. Someone would've done something. But, honestly? Anyone here with eyes could see that you weren't a victim of anything, except maybe your own stubbornness.
You gave as good as you got. Every single time.
Once again, Ajax’s voice drifted in from the adjoining room, this time questioning: "You two done measuring dicks, or should we reschedule the briefing?" To which Hesh broke eye contact with you, just long enough to call back: "Give us a minute, Ajax."
Then those viridian eyes were back on you, assessing and carrying everything that words couldn’t say. If ranks weren’t part of this, he would’ve already taken his sweet time with you. And you knew it. You could literally read it in his gaze, there was no mistaking it. "So. You wanna try that again, Sergeant? With a little more... respect for my rank this time?"
Your eyes were burning with fury. Hell, even your cheeks at this point; you could feel them heating up more and more just by seeing that glint in his eyes. It was hunger, shameless hunger, that showed in his gaze. And he didn't bother to hide it. It was written all over his face, crystal clear: I want to bend you over that counter over there and I don't care that I shouldn't. And the worst part was that your eyes were saying the exact same thing right back at him.
Like he was already thinking about it. Like he knew you were too.
And God help you, you were.
The worst part wasn't the wanting. It was the knowing. That he knew. That you knew he knew. Somewhere beneath your ranks and your uniforms and every rule that stood between the two of you, you had already had an entire conversation without saying a single word. There was no need; your eyes said everything that words couldn’t.
"You're always picking fights with me," you said, tone faltering, jaw tight, brows furrowed. Hoping that speaking again, addressing another subject than the one that really needed to be discussed, would help disarm the tension. You opened your mouth to add something else, but—
'—I'm telling you, it's pent-up sexual tension! And you know how you release pent-up sexual tension? By hate f—'
… Fucking Logan.
You watched Hesh's head whip around so fast you could've sworn you heard his neck crack. "Logan—"
"I'm just saying!" Logan continued, and he had the audacity to look completely innocent, tablet still in his hands like a damn ipad kid like he'd been commenting on the weather… and not his brother’s alleged sexual frustrations. "You think we don't see it? News flash, big brother. You two are either gonna kill each other or—"
"Finish that sentence and I'm putting you on latrine duty for a month," Hesh snapped. The threat landed as a joke, more as brotherly banter than a real disciplinary threat. But you’d noticed the slight, almost inaudible crack in his voice. His own brother's comment had managed to throw him off.
From the other room, Kick's dry voice floated through: "He's not wrong, though."
Not. Helping.
"Kick—"
"Look, I'm staying out of it!" Kick called back, laughter evident in his tone. "Just making an observation. A tactical assessment, if you will."
Hesh looked like he wanted to put his fist through a wall… or rather, through his teammates' faces. His jaw was clenched so tight you swore you could see his pulse point, and those green eyes that had been filled with amusement and cockiness thirty seconds ago were now blazing, just like yours, with what seemed to be embarrassment, anger, frustration.
He turned back to you. And for just a second, his gaze dropped. Not to your face. Lower.
Then snapped back up so fast you might've imagined it.
"This conversation is over," he finally bit out, voice rough and strained. "Both of you—" he jabbed a finger in his teammates’ direction, precisely Logan’s, "—can shut the fuck up. And you—"
His attention fixed back on you, and you saw the effort he was making. How clenched his jaw was. Like he was trying to regain control of the situation, to re-establish the rank, the professionalism, everything Logan had demolished with one single dumb comment.
"—fix your attitude, Sergeant. That's an order."
Your chin lifted, and you held his gaze for just a second too long before you finally replied:
"Make me."
The silence that followed was the loudest thing in the room, and for the first time, you couldn’t bring yourself to decipher the unreadable glint in his eyes. Finally, his lips parted.
"Don't worry. I will."
Then, he shouldered past you, hard enough to knock you back a half-step, and that's when his mouth dropped to your ear, low and private so that it was just for you to hear. You and no one else.
"Don't start something you're not prepared to finish, Sergeant." A half-beat. Then, rougher, quieter, just for you: "Because I will take my sweet goddamn time with you."
When he slightly pushed back, you swore there was a smile at the corner of his lips.
And then, he was just… gone.
To everyone else in that room, he'd just stormed off after losing an argument. Nothing to see here.
But you’d heard it.
Only you were standing there with your pulse somewhere in your throat, gaze lost in the void in front of you, heat crawling up the back of your neck, staring at the door he'd just walked through, your mind replaying that knowing smirk on his lips.
COD Ghosts Characters Reacting to you Being a Brainwashed/A Spy - Teammate GN!Reader
(Bit of backstory, if you want to ignore, you can, but it gives a bit of context to my brain. So you got injured, and you're off the team for a few months recovering at ‘home’, in reality, you were brainwashed by the Federation within that time and brought back to be a spy within Task Force Stalker. Because who would think a trusted friend would ever betray them after coming back from an injury?
AKA Rorke's smart, you brainwashed, you spy. They find out.)
Note: Like all my prior work SFW, could be seen as either platonic or romantic.
–
Includes: Elias ‘Scarecrow’ Walker, David ‘Hesh’ Walker, Logan Walker, Keegan P. Russ, Thomas A. Merrick, and Kick
WARNING: You (character) dies in Elias's, maybe? Idk might be alive? so skip if you don't wanna get upset.
---
Elias ‘Scarecrow’ Walker:
Before Finding Out:
- Elias had noticed something was ‘off’ but couldn't put his finger on what, he ignored his instincts for once in his life because he knew you. He simply brushed off the fact that your gaze was staring into his soul, simply assuming you blamed him for your injury. You got injured on his call, he understood that and if you were blaming him for it, he’d give you time.
- Elias usually never ignores a gut feeling, but one thing he hadn't expected was you getting taken when you were recovering in your own home. He had been texting ‘you’ the whole time; in reality, Rorke had your phone while you were being brainwashed, acting as you to text your family, friends and comrades as if nothing was wrong.
- Elias let his guard down. He had been slowly relaxing the longer things went ‘right’. It was against all his training, all he's worked hard for, but you were you. He knew you for years, you were his comrade, he had trust in you, even if ‘you’ were not you.
After Finding Out:
- But he didn't expect you to be a spy for Rorke. It took a few days before he was able to find you in the act of stealing information off his computer. His personal computer is what irked him the most.
- He questioned you with a firm voice, eyes narrowed as things clicked into place for him. He's the first to pull a weapon, even with your back facing him, he took no chances anymore. Because you weren't familiar, you weren't ‘you’, you didn't give off your usual vibes, and he noticed. Of course, he did, he knew you well, even if he had brushed the subtle changes off for the few days you had been back.
- When you looked at him, that's when he knew you were done. You had the same look in your eyes that Rorke had, detached, almost smug for stealing his intel. Because in your mind, you were ‘right’ to do so, you didn't think you’d shoot him, in whatever fucked up memories the Federation had made you ‘remember’, you were like Rorke, cocky to know Elias ‘wouldn’t’ put you down, or maybe you already did your ‘duty’.
- He didn't fight you, he put you down swiftly. Maybe it was his way of giving mercy, or maybe he had regretted not putting Rorke out of his misery. It was the least he could do for you, the real you.
- He stayed by your side. Maybe it was humorous that he didn't let you fight back, or maybe you chose not to. He chose to sit by your side, offering no words. Just placing his weapon away from you, grieving quietly, you were still his comrade, someone he trusted with his own life. If your places had been switched, he hoped you would do the same for him. A swift, merciful death at the hand of someone who cares, not by an enemy's hand but an old friend's.
- He wouldn't want a repeat of Rorke, that's why he shot so quickly, he didn't inform anyone until morning, maybe he wanted one more night of everyone remembering you for who you had been before the Federation got to you, another regret to hold onto, the fact he acted so quickly without much thought, maybe ‘what ifs’ start creeping up on him overtime with his choice, what if he hadn't pulled the trigger, what if there had been a way to help you get back into bring you again, yet he tried not to let those thoughts get to him, simply reassuring himself it was for the ‘best’. Elias was aware that he had the habit of hesitating, he simply ensured he wouldn’t this time, even if it hurt him.
David ‘Hesh’ Walker:
Before Finding Out:
- He had a feeling, a gut feeling he usually trusted and relied on. Watching you walk the halls normally after your injury, so he opted to try casually checking up on you. Maybe he assumed that your injury was acting up, he didn't realize you were brainwashed since you were acting pretty ‘normal’.
- He paid for your lunch, tried to get you to laugh, even deployed Riley to trip Keegan (Keegan didn't enjoy this) just to try and coax a laugh out of you. When you only offered a fake laugh, he tried to question other people, assuming you were in pain due to your injury still, he brought you a snack, a heating pad or ice for it, tried to do whatever he would do for Logan, using his past experiences to try and make it all ‘better’.
After Finding Out:
- He couldn't do it. He has never known someone to be brainwashed before; he wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger. For Rorke? It would have been easy, he had no personal ties but with you? The gun in his hand has never been heavier. He simply couldn't do it.
- He's never felt stupider for not noticing, much like Elias, he subconsciously knew something was off, yet he was deep in denial, he knew for a ‘fact’ you had been home, you just had a rough recovery from your injuries, that's all, he tries to make an excuse, tries to come up with one for you.
- He understood now how his dad felt about Rorke, why Elias always had that look on his face whenever facing him, you were ‘His Rorke’. Even with the threat you currently were, even with the shot he was fully capable of taking, you managed to get away because of his hesitation.
- He blames himself constantly, now stuck in his own cycle of guilt and mixed feelings. He knew logically you were a threat he should have taken out when he had known for a fact, yet he couldn't do it. He couldn't do the job he was raised to do: protect and serve. Due to him letting you get away, the Federation now has another Ghost in their hands.
Logan Walker:
Before Finding Out:
- He dropped off little gifts at your door when you were injured, whenever he got a rare day to himself, he never saw you at your place, but the gifts were always gone by the time he came back, so he assumed you enjoyed them. (Rorke enjoyed all the gifts in front of you while you were going through it, sorry)
- When you came back to base, he noticed you were less yourself, yet chose not to say anything about it because he simply thought you took your injury harshly, you had been out of work for months, it would be a normal reaction to just grit your teeth and slowly get back into the swing of missions and team dynamics again, he thought so anyway.
- He'd follow you around. He didn't even realize he was foiling your plan on infiltrating the team; you had to work simply to get away from him to report back to Rorke. This was his way of ensuring you were okay, and well… it sucked to be a spy if a guy wouldn't leave you alone, like he's by your side 24/7 the first few days you returned to base (the same way he follows Hesh around), he watches. Quietly, picking up on odd behaviours, noting them, and pointing them out to Hesh quietly.
After Finding Out:
- To be completely honest? He isn't surprised about it, he had a nagging feeling something had been wrong with you, he just hadn't been able to figure out what. He's hurt, yes, confused slightly, yet unlike Hesh, he doesn't hesitate, and unlike Elias, he doesn't act to swiftly and do something he'd regret.
- He disarms you and ensures your safety, yet also ensures you couldn't get back to the Federation when he catches you in the act of doing something you would never normally do. He has reason, and he’d find proof after when no one was in danger, his comrades or you.
- Logan acts quickly, quietly, and efficiently. Prying those around him for answers, trying to find some sort of ‘cure’ or way to help you. He silently sticks up for you despite the fact you're brainwashed, no, he wouldn't allow those around him to hurt you in the slightest, yet he also couldn't allow you to hurt those around him or anyone for that matter.
Keegan P. Russ:
Before Finding Out:
- He doesn't notice at first, but his body does. He's on alert, and for the life of him, he couldn't understand why. You were acting like yourself, using your usual humour, yet it also felt like you were mocking him, even if it wasn't said out loud.
- You two have been comrades for years and subconsciously have engraved habits on the field, he makes a face while trying to figure out why you suddenly didn't have his back the way you used to, he’d start snarky arguments with you over it, assuming you were out of practice, or you needed more time to recover if your head wasn't in the game.
- Your relationship took a big hit. In the few days you were back at base, he couldn't grasp why you were so much the same yet ‘different’. You had been at your place, and he had visited you at your place within the first few weeks after you got your injuries a few times, and you had been fine there. What he didn't know was that after he stopped showing up was exactly when Rorke found you. It was easier to deal with an injured ghost all alone rather than one surrounded by comrades. It was strategic on Rorke's end. When all the Ghosts were focused on his next imaginary move, he played the right piece unpredictably and went where they least expected him, you.
After Finding Out:
- He felt pretty shitty that he didn't figure it out sooner, that he hadn't seen it, he was trained, he had years of experience, so why did he let his guard down with you when he knew exactly what happened to Rorke. He's angry, you were taken in your own home, why did he even stop visiting you? If he hadn't, would he have found out sooner? Why had he been so focused on Rorke's next move in front of them? The clues that had been given were false, a fake lead and in putting all his attention onto those leads, he hadn't looked behind himself at you.
- It was a foolish mistake to assume you would have been safe. His mind starts reeling as he looks for information leaks, records, trying to find the exact date you were officially last seen before showing up again, how long did the Federation have you? And what else did he not know.
- He'd catch you in the act, no matter how subtle you were. A op gone bad had led to it, learning you had been the one feeding Rorke information, it stung even if he didn't let it show. He gave you two warnings, two warnings he wouldn't offer anyone else,
if you attack, the two of you battle, lethal force if necessary. He wouldn't risk himself or those around him yet if it's just you and him battling? He attempts to disarm you, he doesn't fight as hard as he normally would because you already knew his every move, and he knew yours. This battle would probably end in a bloody draw or you both slipping away from one another.
If you just ‘give up’, his voice is utterly gentle taking a easy win where he could actually help you was a win in his book, he’d take you into custody, you’d be cared for, he’d attempt to give you time to regroup, process all that happened, yet you also aren't allowed to leave HQ until they figure out a safe solution to the brainwashing.
Thomas A. Merrick:
Before Finding Out:
- Merrick treats his injured comrades very well despite his usual gruff, he tries to encourage you to ease back into the swing of things around HQ and missions. He actually encourages you to take one more mission off before fully returning to the field, despite knowing you were cleared. He wants to ensure you're all good, physically and mentally, before any type of mission.
- He didn't really notice the slight difference in you. He assumes it's just nerves from not being on the field or at work for a few months and attempts to help you with any task given. He asks Elias about it, asking if you were ready, even if you were medically cleared, he's slightly concerned.
After Finding Out:
- He knocks you unconscious swiftly when it's revealed, not dealing with Rorke 2.0. You're monologuing like Rorke does (As if purposely mimicking him), not paying much attention to Merrick, cause you're too busy making everyone else feel like shit, too busy planning your getaway while talking to notice him behind, he slams his rifle into the back of your head. Nice enough to catch you when you fall though! (If that doesn't knock you out, he does it again, brutal ass, but he's got too much to do than to let you get away and have another headache form about the Federation)
- After his brutal assault, he doesn't let anyone else have their turn, strictly enforces you into the infirmary, but you're still a prisoner due to your state. Until they figure out something concrete about your condition and how to get you back to being you, you're kinda stuck there.
- If you act out, even if you don't register his words, he threatens to knock your ass out again every time you cause problems. (He doesn't do it again unless necessary. He cares for you, even if he did use brute force, it saves him from you going back to the Federation in this state, and multiple possible headaches from you and Rorke together.)
Kick:
Before Finding Out:
- Kick tries to sweet-talk his way into your good books, he assumes you're upset at him when you return all ‘down’. He semi-blames himself for your injury, and you being ‘upset’ at him makes him a little worse. He tries to play off your ‘anger’ as a joke like he usually would, yet when you don't react the way he used to, is exactly when he figures something was up. Because who wouldn't laugh at his jokes?
- He tries to figure out what was wrong, did he not apologize soon enough? Were you not in a joking mood? He tries to semi-coax an answer with a sheepish smile, yet it drops when he doesn't get much of a reaction.
- He doesn't take it seriously until you mess up during a field mission, that's when he's watching more closely. He keeps up his usual jokes, yet his eyes never stray from you too long, asks to borrow your phone, and gets frustrated when he finds nothing. He just keeps trying to pry for information, getting nowhere over a few days.
After Finding Out;
- Kick has a hard time believing it, you? Federation soldier. Absurd. He treats it like a cruel joke when he's the first to figure it out. Yet he informs Elias, informs his comrades, because he couldn't believe it. He needed them to be on his side, that this is absurd, you'd never be a Federation soldier. He didn't even know you were brainwashed.
- Subtlety tries to press for answers, he assumes they paid you or something, or maybe they used a life to bargain with you, you wouldn't betray them, him, for something small, so it had to be pretty big of a deal.
- They don't figure out you're brainwashed until your capture. Kick’s the one who did the interrogation. He had pressed Elias to let him do it, let him face you, let him press for answers.
- He didn't get any, other than a blank face staring into his own. That's when he knew you were brainwashed. When you completely shut down after your mission was ‘done’.
- He tries his best to help you. In slight defeat, he tries to suggest a lighter punishment, not even a punishment. In your state, you needed help, and he’d press or vouch for you to get it.
Riley; (Dog mention?)
- He knew something was off about you the moment you re-entered HQ maybe it was your smell, or the fact that you were attempting to act like your past self, yet it wasn't natural.
- He’d bark more, whine at Hesh while pawing your way, trying to alert his handler of something being off. He knew something was off, yet he was indeed a dog and couldn't communicate it.
- He doesn't right out attack you, but he's also hesitant to act the way he used to around you. No longer happy barking at you, or sitting by your side whenever possible, he's suddenly on guard, watching you closely like he was aware you were now an enemy.
Note: Guess who's back? Back again. Hopefully with more semi-canon headcannons this time. And yeah, I know it's been a year, my bad. I should probably replay the games, and I have no idea if this is good, nor do I know if anyone still wants these headcanons lol, haven't done any of these in forever. Feel free to let me know if I'm missing something! But glad to be home.
