Curate, connect, and discover
Cod Ghosts - Blog Posts
I'm a good person now😍😍!
Plus new me won't write weird stuff😊
The ghosts playing among us based from a meme
Hesh: "It's Keegan."
Keegan: "No."
Logan: "Why is kick and my name red?"
Hesh voted 3 remaining
Keegan voted 2 remaining
Logan voted 1 remaining
Kick: "BITCH"
The Result of voting:
Hesh: No one
Logan: No one
Kick: Hesh, keegan, Logan
Keegan: No one
Kick was An Impostor
---------------------------------------------
Logan: "I want to go through the vent like kick did"
Hesh: "What?"
Kick: "How about we skip?"
----------------------------------------------
Keegan: "The impostor is skilled pretty good to do this."
Logan: "Thx."
Linkin park is so logan. bye.
Take care of ur keeds
It is impossible to a fandom be this broke
literally cod ghosts fandom:
Last scene they are fighting over a digital art.
꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶
꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶
them as dads [requested!]
this has been like 2 months in my drafts💀
characters: Logan walker, David hesh walker, Keegan p. russ, Thomas A. merrick, Kick
notes: fluffy asf, you decide what is the gender of the baby, k/n refers to "kid name"
summary: They’ve survived war, impossible odds, and the weight of their pasts. But nothing could have prepared them for fatherhood.
They’ve faced life-or-death missions, impossible odds, and the weight of war. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared them for this moment, no this is not a new level this is a new life for them.
ok but before we start you gotta choose your baby a boy or a girl!😍
Logan walker:
Before the baby was born, he was nervous. Didn’t think he’d be a good dad. But the second he held them? Game over.
The first time he holds your newborn, he just stares for a long time, completely still. He’s never been one to show big emotions, but his eyes say everything—pure love, He was afraid to lift them up a bit to his lips and peck their forehead :(
He gets up for late-night feedings without a word. One night, you wake up and find him in the rocking chair, gently swaying with the baby on his chest, "You can put them back in the crib, babe." you said Resting your hand on his shoulder which he shrugged with a smile "They’re fine here." (Translation: I don’t want to move them.)
Whenever the baby grabs his finger in their tiny hands, he just stares at them in awe, as if he still can’t believe they’re real.
The baby loves the sound of his heartbeat. Anytime they’re fussy, he just lays them on his chest, and boom—instant calm.
He may not be the most expressive, but if he ever catches you and the baby sleeping together, he just watches for a moment, quietly smiling to himself, thinking how he got here.
His kid starts crying, and Logan, despite being tired, doesn't hesitate. He picks them up carefully, rocking them slowly back and forth.
“Hey, it’s okay. Dad’s here…”
There’s something about holding his baby that makes the world feel quieter. It's the kind of calm Logan has rarely experienced in his life.
Feeding Time: Logan’s the type to make sure everything is perfect when it’s time for a meal. He’s the dad who prepares the food and is very particular about making sure the spoon isn’t too hot.
Logan’s Thought “I’m not sure if I’m doing this right. Why does this seem so complicated?”
You’re both sitting on the couch, and Logan is holding the baby bottle with one hand, awkwardly trying to get your little one to latch on. He’s focused, quiet, but there’s a softness in his eyes.
Logan: “You’re safe. Everything’s good. Just eat, little one.”
You smile softly from the side, watching as Logan’s usual stoic expression softens when the baby starts drinking. His hands are careful, his movements slow and gentle.
Smilingsoftly to you “I never thought I’d be doing this.”
You laugh quietly. “You’re doing great.”
with a small smirk “Yeah, well, I’ve got a lot to learn.”
Teaching to Talk:
You and Logan are sitting on the floor with the baby in front of you both. They’re about six months old, staring at your lips as you encourage them to say their first words.
Logan has a faint smile on his face as he watches the baby’s little hands reach for your lips.
With patient “Say ‘mama.’ Can you say ‘mama’?”The baby coos and gurgles, but no words.
Logan watches, nodding in agreement.
Then the gentle tone of logan “Come on, kid. You can do it. Say ‘dada.’” The baby makes a tiny noise, which could almost be construed as ‘dada.’ Logan looks over at you, grinning.
“Dada. That’s my boy/girl.” him saying proudly.
“It’s hard to believe they’re growing up this fast.”
The baby is starting to take their first steps, and you and Logan are ready for it. He watches intently, waiting to catch them if they stumble.
You with excited tone “Come on, sweetie! You’ve got this.”
Logan gently sets the baby on their feet, keeping a steady hand just in case. The baby takes a shaky step, then another. Logan grins.
Logan encouraging his little one “Good job, kiddo. Keep going. Just like that.”
You’re both so proud, and Logan’s eyes soften with that familiar protectiveness.
He muttered quietly to you “They’re already making progress. It feels like just yesterday they were in my arms so small.”
He’s not a man of many words, but his actions speak louder than anything.
You catch him lying on the couch, your toddler sprawled across his chest, both of them fast asleep. He stirs a little when you take a picture but doesn’t wake up.
He loves watching you and your child interact. There’s a quiet fondness in his eyes whenever he sees you both laughing together.
Logan isn’t the loud, over-the-top dad—he’s the one who’s always there. Present, patient, protective in ways that don’t always need words.
When his toddler wakes up crying at night, Logan doesn’t rush—he just picks them up, rubs their back, and hums softly until they calm down.
Has a habit of resting his chin on top of his kid’s head when he hugs them. It’s a subtle, grounding thing for him.
His toddler steals his mask and waddles around in it, dragging his vest behind them.
“Look, Daddy! I’m you!”
Logan just smirks, ruffles their hair, and mutters, “Not yet, kid.”
The quiet but super protective dad.
Probably the "cool" parent who lets his kids stay up a little longer if they beg enough.
If his kid gets scared at night, he doesn’t say much—just picks them up and lets them sleep on his chest.
David "hesh" walker:
He was already excited. that's it.
The first time he holds the baby, he grins so hard it looks like his face might break. "hey Look at them!" He said with his warm, dripping tone looking at them PROUDLY, "Who ever thought..."
He insists on “introducing” the baby to everything in the house, Hesh, holding the baby up like Simba“And this... is the couch. You’re gonna spit up on it a lot.” You lost your heart already at this sight "Oh my god david not like this!!"
Hesh is the kind of dad who’ll talk to his baby like they’re already understanding him, often teasing them in a playful way.
That's why his baby start talking early and understanding cuz hesh is talking to them like normal human.
He talks to them as if they understand every word. “You’re a good kid. I promise, I’ll be here when you need me.”
Sometimes, when the baby cries and you’re exhausted, he gets in with his smile a proud one, acting like a hero who will solve problems—“Don’t worry, I got this.” while holding your shoulder, then proceeds to rock them while pacing around the room, yep. he needs your help.
Whenever the baby falls asleep in his arms, he refuses to move. “I don’t care if my arm falls off, I’m not waking them up!.”
He can't help but wondering if he do what elias used to do with him and logan from raising and taking care of.
Feeding Time: Hesh has absolutely no chill when it comes to feeding. He tries to get the baby to eat everything, like he was crushing the cookies and put them in a spoon like a cereal because why not.
You’re both in the kitchen, and Hesh is trying to feed the baby their first solid food. He’s a little nervous but tries to hide it.
“C’mon, little one, let’s get some food in you. You gotta grow big and strong like your old man.”
The baby makes a funny face, unsure of the new taste, but Hesh is laughing.
“Yeah, I know. It’s a bit weird at first, but you’ll get used to it.”
You stand beside him, holding the baby’s bib in place.
“I think you’re doing just fine.”
“Better than I expected, that’s for sure.”
Teaching to Talk: When the baby starts saying their first words, Hesh loves it. Every new word is a reason for a celebration.
You and Hesh are sitting on the floor, the baby in front of you both. Hesh is trying to get the baby to say their first word, clearly determined to be “dada.”
Hesh being the cheerleader “Say ‘dada,’ come on, you can do it.”
The baby babbles, but no word comes out. Hesh smiles, patient.
“It’ll come, don’t worry. First word’s gotta be ‘dada.’”
You chuckled at him “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
Hesh with a faint smile “Alright, we’ll see who they say first.”
You and Hesh are in the living room, baby on the floor, trying to get them to walk. Hesh gently places his hands under the baby’s arms and lifts them to their feet.
The baby stumbles but starts taking a few shaky steps toward you. Hesh watches in awe.
And he was so damn proud about it“That’s my kid. You got it.”
“They’re definitely taking after you.”Hesh smiles and chuckles softly.
“Let’s hope they don’t end up as clumsy as me.” way to go hesh...
Hesh is the “fun dad”—the one who hypes up his kid like they’re a superstar.
Every little thing they do? He’s cheering for them so softly and warming it's like he showed the most deserved man to be a dad. "hey look at that throw! that's my kid!"
Discipline? Struggles with it because he hates seeing his kid upset, but he’s firm when needed.
If his kid ever has a bad day, he immediately finds a way to cheer them up—ice cream, movie night, or just roughhousing in the backyard.
Protective? Absolutely. If anyone messes with his kid? That Walker temper shows real fast.
He tries to teach his kid how to trash talk during a game.
“Okay, k/n, say this—‘Nice try, better luck next time!’”
Later, his toddler absolutely DESTROYS another kid in a game and yells, “YOU SUCK, GET BETTER!”
“NONONO—THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT.”
Then he keeps tricking the baby not to say any bad words in front of you
The fun and affectionate dad
He’s the dad who calls out, “Where’s my little champ?!” when he comes home, just to hear the sound of tiny feet running toward him.
Keegan p. russ:
u i a io ui ii io (srry just preparing)
The moment he holds the baby, he freezes. He’s seen combat, survived impossible missions—but this tiny, fragile little human? Terrifying.
How do I even do this? He’s more comfortable with missions, with strategy—but a tiny human?
He holds the baby awkwardly at first, but once they latch onto his finger, he feels an overwhelming rush of emotion.
He’s super careful with them, holding them like they’re made of glass. “Are you sure I’m doing this right?”
The first time they grab his finger, his breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t say anything, but later, you find him staring at his hand, like he’s still processing it.
When he thinks no one’s watching, he talks to them in the softest voice. “You got your mom’s nose, huh? Lucky you.”
You catch him pacing the room at 3 AM, whispering to the baby while rocking them. “You really don’t need to cry this much, y’know?” In the most soothing way ever.
The first time your kid falls asleep on his lap, he doesn’t move for two hours. You find him just sitting there, hand resting gently on their back.
Feeding Time: Keegan is super chill about feeding, but he’s the first one to notice when the baby is definitely not eating, he once decided to let you asleep and takes the responsibility to feed the baby.
“Did you feed them yet?” you entering the kitchen to find keegan has already finished
Him sitting on a chait arms on his chest eyes closed“Yeah, but they just threw it on the floor. Like I said, it’s not my problem.” yep it is not his problem to clean the floor.
He’ll sit down, grab the baby’s hand gently, and show them how to hold the spoon properly, though he’s secretly a little proud of how fast they’re learning.
He grins at the baby “Yeah, you’re gonna be a pro at this in no time. Just don’t use the floor as your plate, alright?”
Teaching to Talk: Keegan doesn’t push the baby too hard, but he’s got his moments when he tries to teach them.
You and Keegan are sitting on the floor with the baby, encouraging them to say their first words. Keegan keeps repeating "dada," trying to get them to say it.
“C’mon, say ‘dada.’ You can do it.”
The baby coos, but no word yet. Keegan patiently tries again.
“Say ‘dada,’ kid. It’s easy.”
You watch him with a soft smile, noticing how calm he is with the baby.
The baby’s trying to stand, and Keegan’s holding their hands, guiding them. He’s firm but gentle, watching every little move.
“Alright, you got this. Just take a step.”
The baby stumbles, but Keegan catches them immediately. He grins, a little proud of the first attempt.
“Hey, no rush. You’ll get it. Just take your time.”
You catch him later in the corner of the room, quietly cheering them on as they take their first steps towards him. “That’s my kid.” lifting them up and giving them a soft kiss on the cheek
Keegan never thought he’d be a dad. The idea terrified him.
But the first time he holds his baby? That’s it. He’s gone. They’re his entire world.
Tries to be the “cool, quiet” dad, but his kid completely shatters that image. They tug on his sleeves, climb on him, and drag him into their little adventures.
Affection? He’s not the best with words, but he shows love through actions—fixing broken toys, remembering small details, being the first one awake to comfort them after a nightmare.
Yeah like this man won't sleep the minute the kis sleeps no, He will wait like 2 or 3 hours like in case they wake up or something.
Discipline? His kid rarely misbehaves because Keegan’s quiet disappointment is worse than any punishment.
Secretly loves it when his kid falls asleep on him. Won’t move for hours if it means they stay comfortable.
“Daddy, can you braid my hair?” (if the kid is a girl)
“I don’t know how.”
Cue Keegan watching hair-braiding tutorials at 2 AM.
When your kid is scared, he doesn’t baby them but reassures them calmly. “Nothing’s gonna get you. I’m right here.” It always works.
If his kid is climbing something? Keegan is already behind them, hands out, ready to catch them.
If they look sad? He just hands them their favorite snack or cookies that you told not to eat after dinner he just want the kid to pass this.
Teaches them how to be quiet but dangerous.“Dad, I snuck up on you!”
Keegan, who knew they were there the whole time watching TV “Yeah. Sure you did.”
Awkward with affection. But his kid doesn’t care—they just climb into his lap, hug him, and refuse to let go.He sighs like he’s annoyed, but he’s not. Not even a little.
If His kid is too much like him, like being quite and never says anything
"Talk to me, kid."
"I'm fine, dad."
"...Damn it." turn his head, thinking this is a curse for his kid to be so silent about his problems like him.
Thomas A. merrick:
The second he holds them, he just exhales slowly, and you can tell he’s completely smitten.
Quietly devoted, strong, and calm. Merrick is the kind of dad who can be serious and focused but always has a gentle, protective side when it comes to his baby.
He’s a man of action, but when the baby is placed in his arms, it’s the one thing that makes him stop and reflect.
the baby gets fussy, he hums—deep, soothing tones that somehow work like magic.He’s super patient with late-night wake-ups. If you’re exhausted, he tells you, “Go back to sleep. I got ‘em.” when he’s holding them, he just looks at you and shakes his head with a smile. “We made a good one.”
Loves doing skin-to-skin contact, just resting the baby on his chest while he leans back on the couch. They always fall asleep that way.
Merrick wakes up early, always making sure to prepare the baby’s things before he go to work. He’s very organized, almost too much at times. But he’ll never complain about the work—it’s just part of his commitment to his family.
Lowkey has a soft spot for baby giggles. The second they start laughing, he’s doing whatever it takes to keep them going.
Feeding Time: Merrick’s the dad who always has a backup plan for everything, and feeding is no different. He’ll get the baby to try new foods—anything to expand their palate.
“Come on, just one bite. You’re gonna love it.”
“I don’t think they’ll like that.”
“Watch me. They just don’t know it yet.”
The baby eats the food with minimal protest.
You impressed raising your both hands in kind of giving up: “Okay, maybe you were right.”
Smirking “I know what I’m doing baby.”
Teaching to Talk:
He might not be the most talkative when it comes to baby talk, but there’s something about him holding his baby that feels solid, reassuring. Merrick is very methodical when teaching the baby to speak. He’s patient and will repeat words several times.
Repeating “dada” in a quiet, patient voice. He’s not one for a lot of baby talk, but he’s genuinely trying to help the baby learn.
“Say ‘dada.’ You can do it.”
The baby responds with some babbling, but no words yet.
“That’s alright. You’ll get it.”
Merrick is super strong, so when he holds the baby, it’s like the safest place in the world. You’ll sometimes catch him gently swaying as if he’s thinking, even though the baby is happily asleep in his arms.
If your child gets hurt, he goes into full military medic mode. “It’s just a scratch, but we’re gonna clean it up properly. Hold still.”
The type to instinctively catch his kid if they trip—even if he’s across the room
“How did you do that?”
shrugs “Reflex.”
Merrick was born to be a dad. Calm, wise, Tough and just has his life together.
The most prepared father ever. Has the diaper bag fully stocked, extra blankets on hand, and somehow already knows how to swaddle perfectly.
Secretly super soft when it comes to you. He gives your child little forehead kisses, but when you tease him about it, he just grumbles, “Don’t start.”
The ultimate “dad mode” parent—commands respect but is also super caring.
Would absolutely destroy anyone who hurts his child, no hesitation.
His presence alone is comforting—his kid always runs to him.
Encouraging but firm. Pushes his kid to be their best, but never pressures them.
The type of dad who teaches them life skills early—how to tie knots, how to fix things, how to navigate. (ofc he won't force them)
Biggest cheerleader. If his kid ever doubts themselves, Merrick reminds them exactly what they’re capable of.
His kid tries to get away with swearing.
Merrick just stares at them not in a scary way or something“You wanna try that again kiddo?”
Instant regret. “Uh… fudge?”
“That’s what I thought.”
once when he tried to leave for his work when he gave the baby a kiss on his head then walking to the door, but that stopped when the baby start fussing about him slightly disappear behind the door.
merrick not wasting any time closing the door and getting back to the place "nevermind I will retire".
His kid is fascinated by his war stories, but he makes sure they know the difference between reality and fiction.
He lets them make mistakes, but he’s always there to guide them back.
Merrick is the dad that everyone wishes they had (yeah im running out of ideas).
Kick:
It happened before mirrage like 3 or 4 being lovely partners and no one even had the thought about it
but it happened XD
Acts like he’s totally cool about being a dad, but the second he holds the baby, he’s done for. You find him staring at them, just completely fascinated, You shrugged, find him staring at them, just completely Lost.“You okay?” he didn't even lift his head to look at you “They’re just... really small.”
When the baby gets a little older, Kick’s all in with the physical play. He’s the dad who will “pretend” to be a superhero and will throw them up in the air (safe and sound, of course!) just to hear them giggle.
"OH MY GOD KICK??" ofc you had heart attack.
“Don’t worry, they’re in safe hands. Daddy’s got them.” him smirking at you while the baby is almost done from giggling.
He’s so hands-on, so engaged, that you have to remind him to give the baby some space to crawl on their own.
Feeding Time: Kick acts like it’s no big deal, but he’s definitely the one to crack jokes to get the baby to eat.
You sighing but trying to keep the smile on your face for tricking the baby into eating “Come on, just eat your veggies.”
Kick holding up a spoon to them“Oh, you don’t like broccoli? Shocking kiddo.”
Baby looking at the broccoli turning his face away not wanting to eat
“Wait, how did I know that was coming?”
“Oh my god kick you're not helping!”
Teaching to Talk: Kick is so sarcastic about it. The first time the baby says a word, he acts like it’s the most monumental thing in the world.
Kick is trying to teach the baby to say “dada” first, but his approach is playful and silly.
“C’mon, kiddo, say ‘dada.’ I’m right here.”
The baby giggles at his antics, but no word just yet.
“You’ll be saying it in no time. You can’t resist this face.” Kick said as he point at his face with his two index fingers.
Baby saying “no” for the first time “No!”
Kick deadpan“Well, that’s just rude.”
When the baby’s old enough to squirm and wiggle, Kick just watches in amusement.
You looking at how your kiddo has grown up “I don’t think they want to sit still.”
Kick shaking his head with a chuckle“It’s a phase. But if I try to hold them still, they’ll just squirm out of my grip and think it’s hilarious.”
"yeah sounds like you" giving him a wink, which led him to give you a half gazed eyes
The chill but sarcastic dad.
Has an “if it ain’t life-threatening, you’ll be fine” parenting style.
The definition of unbothered but somehow always has things under control.
He has this natural Dad Reflex. One time, your kid spills something, and without looking up, he just reaches over and catches the cup mid-air.
you catch him adjusting your kid’s blanket at night, read stories and he gets into them so much. especially when he gets to a plot part "christ??" Him eyes widened at the kids stories
You and Kick argue playfully about who’s the favorite parent.
“They like me more.”
“No shot. I’m the fun one.”
Your child chooses the dog instead.
You find him napping on the couch, your kid curled up beside him, using his arm as a pillow.
He doesn’t even wake up—just shifts slightly to pull them closer.
Changes diapers with zero complaints, but absolutely roasts the baby while doing it.
“Man, how did something this tiny make this much of a mess?”
When the baby cries, he picks them up, holds them against his chest, and just walks around the house, murmuring “Shh, Daddy's got you.”
He acts chill about it, but if someone else in the family gathering or a party is holding the baby for too long, he’s suddenly right there. “Yeah, okay, hand ‘em back now.”
He loves laying the baby on his chest and pretending to be asleep just so they fall asleep too.
The laid-back dad who somehow always knows what’s going on.
His kid thinks they’re being sneaky? Nope. Kick already knows.
“Nice try, kid. I did the same thing when I was your age.” ahh dad type
Kick is unbothered. His kid is climbing the furniture? He waits to see if they’ll figure it out themselves before stepping in. (but ofc he will be some kind close to them).
The “cool” dad who lets his kid do fun stuff, but only if they do it right.
“Wanna learn how to fight? Cool. But you’re learning proper form first.”
His kid tries to trick him with a fake injury.
Kick just stares at them with a smile. "Nice acting. You want an Oscar for that?"
“Ugh, fine, I’m not hurt.”
“Yeah, thought so.”
His kid tries to trick him into letting them stay up late.
A lot of "Nice try" words
"Mom just told me I could!"
Kick, without looking up "Nice try she’s asleep."
Somehow always knows when they’re lying."Did you break this?"
"No?"
"Alright..." he said with a smile "well guess I will get back to the records of my secret cameras"
"OKAY OKAY I DID THIS"
Requests
I have like a lot of fics and hcs requests and i finished them? but there requests that i didn't work on cuz yall weren't so detailed abt it! like you need to explain the story, telling me the gender of the reader? be clear because i can't write whatever i wanna!
HII can you write riley X reader!💋😏😍🙏🏻
WHAT THE HELL??, sure.
[that request was like weeks ago HELPPPP I CANT BELIEVE I WROTE THIS]
No time to explain...
[Years Ago – The Act of Kindness]
It was a cold, lonely evening when you found him.
A small, weak, starving German Shepherd shivering under a streetlight, looking like a tragic protagonist in a war movie. His ribs poked out. His eyes, glassy and desperate. You froze. The wind howled around you. The world slowed.
You couldn’t just walk away. You wouldn’t.
With trembling hands, you reached into your bag and pulled out your last sandwich—your favorite sandwich. You hesitated. Did you really have to give him the whole thing?
But one look at that little face, and you knew.
"Take it, buddy," you whispered, voice breaking like this was the emotional climax of a Hollywood film. "Live."
The pup devoured it in seconds, his little tail wagging weakly. Then he was gone.
You never saw him again.
Until tonight.
The battlefield burned around you. Gunfire echoed. Everything was chaos. You were cornered, breathing hard, blood dripping down your temple. This was it. The end.
Then—
SCREEEEECH.
A black SUV came barreling down the dirt road, kicking up dust, headlights blinding. The door swung open before the car even stopped.
You shielded your eyes from the dust, coughing. Who the hell was driving like this?
Then, you heard the voice.
"NO TIME TO EXPLAIN. GET IN THE CAR."
Your blood ran cold. That voice. It was deep. Commanding. Heroic.
You turned slowly.
And there, sitting in the driver’s seat… was a German Shepherd.
A combat vest. Tactical headset. Dog goggles reflecting the flames of battle. Paws gripping the wheel.
It was Riley.
Your knees buckled.
"NO. WAY."
Riley snarled.
"GET IN, SOLDIER."
Your body moved before your brain could process. You dove into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut as Riley floored it, tires screeching.
You stared at him. Mouth open. Shaking.
"...Riley. YOU’RE A DOG. HOW ARE YOU DRIVING?"
His dog goggles glinted in the streetlights as he took a sharp turn, dodging an explosion WITHOUT EVEN BLINKING.
"I SAID NO TIME TO EXPLAIN."
You gripped the dashboard, mind unraveling.
"...CAN YOU TALK? HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN ABLE TO TALK?"
Riley sighed, ears twitching. "Listen, I didn’t WANT you to find out like this. But fate has a way of catching up."
"FATE?! YOU’RE A DOG."
"AND YOU'RE SCREAMING IN MY CAR."
"...IT’S NOT EVEN YOUR CAR, YOU’RE A DOG."
"IT IS NOW."
You blinked in disbelief as Riley casually switched lanes with his PAW.
"I was trained for this," he muttered. "Ever since you fed me that sandwich, I knew... I owed you."
Your soul left your body.
"Riley. Please. You're literally a dog."
He just nodded, eyes locked on the road.
"I know."
You sat in the passenger seat, completely paralyzed. Every bone in your body refused to move as your brain fought to accept the impossible truth.
Riley, a literal dog, was driving an SUV at 110 mph like he had a mortgage and child support to pay.
Your mouth hung open. Your breath came out in shallow, broken gasps. You could still hear the echoes of gunfire in the distance, but nothing—NOTHING—could compare to the sheer psychological damage happening in your mind right now.
Riley, paws gripping the wheel, squinted at the road like a seasoned war veteran. The silence in the car was deafening.
Then, in the most casual, human-like voice you’ve ever heard…
"So, what’s up?"
You blinked. Your entire nervous system crashed like a Windows XP error.
“…Excuse me?”
Riley sighed, tilting his head slightly. "I asked what's up. You seem tense."
You stared at him. Stared at the wheel. Stared at his fluffy paws effortlessly steering. Then back at him.
Your hands clenched into fists. You inhaled sharply.
"UH. YOU KNOW. I WAS JUST ABOUT TO DIE, AND THEN YOU SHOWED UP DRIVING A WHOLE ASS CAR AND TALKING, SO YEAH, I'D SAY I'M A BIT ‘TENSE’ RIGHT NOW."
Riley side-eyed you through his dog goggles and clicked his tongue.
"Yeah, I gathered that, fucking idiot. Why don’t you tell me something I don’t know?"
You sat there. Dumbfounded.
Your brain searched for a response. There was none. Nothing. Just a void of pure confusion.
And then, as if this entire situation wasn’t unhinged enough, Riley took a deep breath, exhaled dramatically, and went:
"Alright, let's talk about the team."
He flexed his paws on the steering wheel like he was about to deliver the monologue of the century.
"Hesh," he started, shaking his head. "Poor bastard. Tries so hard. Always acting like he's got it together, like he's the leader, but you and I both know that kid is two bad days away from a full emotional breakdown."
You blinked. "...Damn."
"Logan," Riley continued, taking a casual turn WITH HIS PAW. "Bro doesn’t speak. Not that he can’t—he just won’t. Dead silent. Stone cold. But if you’ve ever seen him when he thinks no one's watching? Yeah. That man has absolutely cried in his room at 3 AM while listening to Linkin Park. I know it. I feel it in my soul."
You stared at him, unable to process how a DOG was delivering the most accurate character analysis you've ever heard.
Riley continued, eyes still on the road, like this was a podcast.
"Merrick." A deep sigh. "Man’s been through too much. You look into his eyes, and it’s just PTSD and caffeine. He won’t say it, but I know he wakes up in a cold sweat at least twice a week. He's got ‘haunted past’ written all over him. The dude deserves a nap."
Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.
"Keegan." Riley let out a single, dry chuckle. "That guy? If brooding and trauma had a baby, it would be him. Man tries so hard to be intimidating, but let’s be real—he’s like a raccoon in a human body. He’ll disappear for 14 hours and come back like nothing happened. Probably sleeps in a vent somewhere. I respect it."
You couldn't BREATHE.
Riley wasn’t even looking at you anymore—he was just talking, like this was a TED Talk.
"Kick." Riley let out a low whistle. "Dude’s the most normal out of all of us, which is concerning. Like, why are you well-adjusted? What’s your secret? Are you hiding something? I keep an eye on him, just in case."
At this point, you were fully gripping your seatbelt like your life depended on it.
Then Riley’s voice dropped into something heavy. Emotional.
"...Elias."
A long pause.
A deep breath.
"...Good man. A leader. A father. A loss we’ll never recover from."
You actually felt a lump in your throat. What the hell was this? A eulogy?
You were about to say something, but then—
"Rorke, though? Absolute waste of human existence."
Your head snapped towards Riley so fast, you almost broke your neck.
"Oh—oh my god."
Riley continued, voice full of venom. "Rorke out here looking like a rejected Fast & Furious villain, but ain't fast or furious—just bald."
You choked.
"Looks like an evil stepdad who forces you to call him by his first name."
Tears. Actual tears formed in your eyes.
"I—Riley, please—"
"Man is bald as hell but wears a durag like it's gonna bring his hairline back."
You were GASPING FOR AIR.
Riley simply exhaled through his nose like he had just dropped wisdom upon the world.
You sat there, completely emotionally destroyed, as the SUV finally rolled up to your house.
Riley parked perfectly (because of course he did), put the car in park, and turned to you.
For the first time, he took off his goggles, locking eyes with you. His stare was intense. Soul-piercing.
"Remember this day."
Then, as if none of this ever happened, Riley opened the door with his paw, stepped out, and disappeared into the night.
Leaving you to question everything you had ever known.
"I JUST...."
"We are ghosts bitch."
[FADE TO BLACK.]
🎶 Dramatic music swells. 🎶
[CREDITS ROLL.]
DIRECTED BY: Riley. WRITTEN BY: Riley. PRODUCED BY: Riley. STARRING: Riley.
Old post ig😔 plz hesh walker come into my life, I will cook for you like Gordon Ramsay himself trained me and ofc less yelling (i would never), and I’ll serve you food like it’s royalty’s banquet. But that’s just the start, my man. I’ll also be folding your laundry, cleaning the house, and bringing you snacks while you on the couch not moving a single CM, I’ll support your hobbies, give you back rubs after a long day, and make sure your favorite shirt is always wrinkle-free.
THE ONLY MAN THAT I WOULD DO THIS TO, IS HESH WALKER
David "Hesh" walker, save me David "Hesh" walker... Save me David "Hesh" walker
Logan went from elite soldier to kidnapped orphan real quick.
vine boom sound
Elias spent years training his sons to be ghosts, just to get turned into one
How i wann be me and my moots yapping endlessly (we are mutuals just by following each other but not spirit)
General hc on why cod ghosts are the best characters in cod universe!
Warning: infinity auras you might get blind, also a lot of when words
When Logan looks into the mirror, He finds no reflection of him because there is only one logan in this world!.
When Rorke does push-ups, he is actually pushing the ground down!.
When elias visits your house, you will become the guest.
Kick wears sunglasses so he protects the sun from his eyes.
When keegan was born he named his parents.
When Keegan downloads an app, The app actually agrees to his terms and reading his privacy policy.
When graham bell invented the first telephone, he found 13 missed calls from Kick.
Hesh speaks, the words thank him for using them.
Merrick Coughs, the viruses get sick.
In school Teachers raise their hand when they wanna talk to logan.
As a kid Keegan plays hide and seek, the darkness hides from him.
Rorke jumps into the ocean, the fish start drowning.
Merrick stares at the sun, the sun puts on sunscreen.
Hesh takes a shower, the water gets wet.
Logan ties his shoes, the laces thank him for the privilege.
Rorke goes to sleep, nightmares get scared.
Elias plays chess, the king sacrifices himself.
Keegan takes a selfie, the camera apologizes for not being worthy.
Kick enters a room, the walls step aside out of respect.
Logan makes a wish, the shooting star thanks him for the opportunity.
Keegan whispers, thunder takes notes.
Rorke claps, earthquakes happen in another country.
Kick runs, the wind tries to keep up.
Merrick blinks, time pauses out of respect.
Elias gives directions, Google Maps listens.
Hesh plays a game, the controller follows his commands before he even presses a button.
Keegan sleeps, his dreams ask for permission to appear.
Rorke walks into a bank, the vault opens by itself.
Kick flexes, mirrors gain muscle.
Logan breathes, the atmosphere takes a deep inhale.
Merrick looks at a clock, it resets to his time zone.
Logan drops his phone, the ground apologizes.
Rorke walks into the jungle, the predators play dead.
Keegan plays poker, the deck shuffles itself in his favor.
Kick takes a nap, time slows down to let him rest.
Hesh watches TV, the villians act good out of respect.
Riley chases his tail, the universe spins backward.
Rorke snaps his fingers, gravity takes a break.
Keegan sharpens his knife, the blade gets scared.
Kick stands still, the Earth rotates around him.
Logan looks at the stars, they shine brighter to impress him.
Riley growls, nightmares wake up screaming.
Riley digs a hole, archaeologists discover a lost civilization.
Keegan puts on a mask, the mask feels protected.
Logan opens a book, the words read for him instead.
Rorke steps on a crack, the Earth apologizes and fixes itself.
Kick makes a call, the phone already knows what he wants to say.
Merrick loads a gun, the bullets get scared and try to run away.
They said everytime Elias tells a bedtime story to hesh and logan, the monsters under the bed fall asleep first.
Keegan walks through the fog, the mist clears a path for him.
Rorke throws a rock into the ocean, the tides change out of fear.
Kick blinks, camera shutters try to keep up.
Hesh whistles, birds stop to listen and take notes.
Merrick wears a watch, time tries to impress him by running faster.
Riley howls, werewolves Hide under their beds.
"Dad am i adopted😊?"
"Why the fuck would i choose you son😏"
No PDF,USB or FBI analysis required chat🤓👆🏻! look at them!!
I'm just so fucking in love with this game
Ajax: Alrighty man, I didn't actually dodge your knife but see when i get to these motherfuckers and show them.
Keegan in front of ajax's grave died due to federation soldier's knife
Keegan: And you still fucking missed.
Y/N: Keegan you can literally take the mask off, Nobody gives a fuck to your face.
Keegan: Well that's why i'm keeping the mask. nobody gives a fuck.
Y/N: Oh ok I give a fuck to your fac-....
Keegan:
Pookie look
Hash Browns taking a selfie
OMG
hcs idea
cod ghosts use the phone+text you
I was in the bus and this handsome was sitting in front of me, I sneezed and he chuckled saying "bless you!", I told him plz bless me and gimme your number😔
Me if I were elias
꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶
꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶
Sir kick.
Knigh! kick! X Queen! F!reader
notes: slight nsfw? I know this rlly can't happen or the moments been kinda illogical but come on chat this century has become extinct, Let's have fun.
Words: 3,583
also not using thou, art etc... idrk abt them chat
For years, you have been bound in chains of duty, shackled to a marriage not of love but of power. A union sealed in ink and coldly witnessed by courtiers who care not for the heart that beats beneath brocade and gold. You were promised to a man who holds dominion over kingdoms, yet none over your affections.
The king—your husband—is a fortress of ice, impenetrable and unyielding. His gaze, when it does fall upon you, is one of obligation, not devotion. His hands, ever steady in matters of state, have never trembled with longing for you. And so, the years have passed in a silent war, your heart waging battles he will never deign to notice.
One evening, beneath the weight of candlelight and crushed velvet, you dare to speak.
"Is there anything within these walls that you do love, Your Majesty?"
He does not look up from his documents. His quill moves, steady and unhurried.
"Do you expect a sentimental answer, my queen?"
"I expect a truth, if you still recall how to speak one."
At that, he pauses. The fire crackles, filling the space between you. When he finally meets your gaze, his expression is unreadable, a mask carved from stone.
"My duty is to the realm. Love is a luxury I was never granted."
"No," you say, voice sharper than the jeweled dagger at your hip. "Love is a luxury you never desired."
He does not deny it.
And so, your restlessness grows, a storm stirring beneath silken gowns and polished smiles. One day, the storm will break. And when it does, the king will be forced to see what he has long ignored—whether it be your wrath, your departure… or your betrayal.
---------------------------
Then, Sir Kick steps into the picture.
You sense him before you see him—the shift in the air, the low murmur of courtiers parting as he strides through the chamber. When your gaze finally finds him, he is already watching. He stands at the far side of the royal court, his armor gleaming beneath the chandelier’s golden glow, every inch of him a warrior among men who speak only in parchment and coin. His presence commands attention, but it is the way his eyes sweep over the room—then settle upon you—that sends a spark racing up your spine.
That gaze… it is dangerous. Familiar.
You have felt it before, lingering when it ought not to, igniting something within you that has long been smothered beneath duty and decorum. Unlike your husband, Sir Kick is a man of action, a man who does not waste breath on empty speeches or politics spun from dust. His wit is as quick as his sword, his charm sharper still.
And most of all, he does not fawn over your crown.
No, he does not see a queen, a figurehead draped in velvet and restraint. He sees a woman. And that—above all—is what makes him dangerous.
Kick tilts his head slightly, a silent challenge in his expression. He knows precisely what he is doing.
And worse still?
So do you.
You already know that tonight, it is happening.
The thought lingers at the edges of your mind, winding through your veins like a slow-burning flame. There is no hesitation, no wavering. The moment has been inching closer with every stolen glance, every unspoken word exchanged across the great hall, every quiet yearning left to fester in the dark.
And tonight, the dark will no longer be empty.
The court is still alive with laughter and politics, the air thick with the scent of wine and candle smoke. The king, ever dutiful, is engrossed in matters of state, his back to you as he bends over parchment, sealing his attention to anything but you.
It is almost too easy.
You rise from your seat with practiced grace, your departure barely noticed amid the swirl of conversation and music. Your footsteps are quiet, measured, as you weave through corridors draped in shadow, the weight of your gown trailing like whispers against the stone floor.
Then, the signal—small, deliberate, undeniable.
Your fingers brush the edge of your collar as you pass through the archway, a movement so subtle that only a man accustomed to watching you closely would notice.
And Sir Kick does.
No words are needed. The silent command is clear.
The small chamber at the far end of the castle—the one hidden away from prying eyes, where the last bell will toll, and where, at long last, this night will unfold exactly as you have both willed it to.
And as you disappear into the shadows, you know he will follow.
The door closes behind him with a quiet click, sealing you both away from the world beyond these walls. The moment Sir Kick steps into the dim glow of candlelight, his smirk unfurls—slow, knowing, edged with danger. He removes his helmet with a practiced ease, shaking loose the mess of black hair that falls over sharp, amber eyes. Those eyes flicker as they settle on you, brimming with that same reckless, playful confidence you have come to recognize.
And yet, beneath the bravado, there is something else. Something unspoken.
He takes a step forward. Then another.
His movements are unhurried, deliberate, until the space between you is little more than a breath. Close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the steel and leather of his armor mingling with the faint trace of something unmistakably him.
Kick does not waste time.
"It seems your king has left you quite lonely," he murmurs, voice low, teasing—but not entirely mocking. No, he is far too perceptive for that. He knows what this is. What this could be.
Your spine remains straight, chin lifted with the pride of a woman who was never meant to be ignored. The soft breeze tugs at the silk of your gown, brushing against your skin like a ghost of a touch.
"Mind your discipline, Sir Kick," you reply coolly. "He is your king, too."
Your words are firm, but the fire in your chest betrays you—burning, roaring to life after years of being buried beneath duty and cold indifference. And Kick… Kick sees it.
He always has.
A slow, knowing smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "Ah, but a crown does not make a man worthy." His voice is quieter now, his gaze tracing over you with an intensity that sends a shiver through you. "Nor does it make a woman any less deserving of being seen."
And in that moment, as the distance between you teeters on the edge of something irreversible, you realize—he is not asking permission.
He is waiting to see if you will grant it.
"Do you think you’re the first knight to think such things?" Your voice is steady, unwavering, yet threaded with something hotter, something undeniable. Your gaze narrows just slightly—not in warning, but in challenge.
Sir Kick does not falter. He only smiles, slow and deliberate, before a laugh escapes him—low, rich, tinged with arrogance. The sound curls around you like smoke.
"I am not like the others," he muses, tilting his head as if amused by the very idea. "They are noblemen draped in steel, men who wear titles as if they are armor. Nothing more."
He takes a step closer, his presence pressing into yours, the warmth of him cutting through the cool night air.
"But—" he leans in just enough that you can feel his breath against your skin, his voice dipping into something hushed, something edged with certainty— "we are not here for just talk, Your Majesty."
Your pulse does not betray you, but he knows. He always knows.
The air between you is charged, a thin thread pulled too tight, waiting—daring—to snap.
And this time, you are the one who must decide.
With a single step forward, Kick closes the distance, his presence wrapping around you like a silent vow. His gloved hand settles lightly against your back, his touch barely more than a whisper against the delicate fabric of your gown. And yet, it is enough. A shiver dances down your spine, betraying you in ways words never could.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
His charm is effortless, woven into the very way he moves—every shift, every glance brimming with an unshakable confidence that sets him apart from the lifeless courtiers who whisper empty praises in your ear. He does not hesitate. He does not ask.
He simply takes.
And for once, you welcome it.
Because this—this is what you have longed for. The spark. The fire. The undeniable sense of being seen, not as a queen bound by duty, but as a woman aching to be touched, to be wanted.
Kick’s fingers press just slightly, guiding you closer—not enough to overstep, but enough to remind you of the choice that lingers between you. A choice you are more than ready to make.
Without another word, Kick closes the space between you, his lips descending in a deliberate, slow motion. The first brush of his mouth against yours is light—teasing, almost as if he's savoring the moment, testing the boundaries. The faint pressure lingers, a quiet invitation, but it does not take long for you to pull him closer.
The yearning inside you surges, a wave that has been building for years, drowning out all the hesitation and restraint. You need this. You want this.
With a boldness that surprises even you, your lips part and meet his in a kiss that is anything but tentative. It is deep, hungry, and without reservation. The pressure between you builds, both urgent and reckless, as if your souls are calling to each other—demanding, aching for something only this moment can fulfill.
Kick’s hands move swiftly, finding the curve of your waist, his fingers grasping the soft fabric of your gown. He pulls you against him with such intensity, your body flush against his. The cool bite of his armor against your skin contrasts with the scorching heat that radiates from his chest, the firm press of muscle beneath the metal.
For a brief second, he pulls away just enough to breathe, his gaze locking with yours. His eyes search yours, intense and focused, measuring the weight of this moment—this choice.
A silent question lingers in the air. Will you go further? Will you let this consume you both?
But you know. Neither of you will pull back now.
"You're not shy, Your Majesty," he breathes, the words slipping from his lips with a hint of amusement. A smirk dances across his face, pulling at the corner of his mouth as his eyes study you—devouring the fire in your gaze.
You meet his stare without flinching, unwavering in the heat of the moment. "Shyness was never an option, Sir Kick," you reply, your voice steady, a trace of something darker in your tone. "I have nothing to lose."
His smirk deepens, but there’s a flicker of something more—recognition, perhaps, or admiration.
You’ve made your choice. And it is clear, to both of you, that nothing will stand in the way of what comes next.
As Kick’s hand slides down to your waist, pulling you further into the heat of the kiss, time seems to slow. You melt into him, the world around you fading, leaving only the intoxicating feeling of him against you. But then, without warning, there’s the unmistakable creak of a door opening—a soft, hesitant shuffle of footsteps.
A breath catches in your throat.
The man freezes in the doorway, his wide eyes taking in the scene before him. His hands twitch instinctively toward his weapon, unsure whether to flee or to sound the alarm. He’s seen enough to understand the situation unfolding before him, but uncertainty hangs in the air.
But Kick—ever the confident knight—doesn’t flinch. Not even a twitch.
You, on the other hand, gasp against his lips, trying to pull away, startled by the intrusion.
Kick does not yield. He does not break the kiss, instead drawing you closer still, his lips lingering on yours for just a moment longer—slow, deliberate, as if to make sure every ounce of the moment is savored before he pulls away.
When he does finally pull back, his eyes do not seek you. They turn, effortlessly locking onto the crew member standing frozen in the doorway. His gaze is cool, amused even, as if this were nothing more than an amusing interruption, rather than an undeniable breach of decorum.
Kick remains close, his body still pressed against yours, the heat of him never fading. His voice, deep and laced with that characteristic playfulness, cuts through the tension in the air. “Ah, a late-night wanderer, is it? I must admit, I don’t recall sending for company.”
The crew member’s face goes a shade lighter, his eyes darting nervously between you and Kick, unsure where to settle his gaze. He can’t seem to tear his attention away from the knight who stands so confidently, every inch of him exuding power and daring.
“My… my apologies, milady, Sir Kick. I did not intend to... interrupt.” The words stumble from his mouth, his voice quivering slightly under the weight of the situation.
Kick’s smirk widens, and he steps closer to the man, completely unbothered by the interruption. His tone shifts, deepening with a subtle threat wrapped in amusement. “Interrupt, you say? How unfortunate.” His gaze never leaves the crew member’s face, studying him like a predator eyeing its prey.
The tension in the air is thick, suffocating, and for a moment, it seems as if the world has gone still, the only sound the beating of your own heart.
“Now,” Kick continues, his voice low and dangerous, “tell me, good man, does this situation call for... the death of a loyal subject, or shall we let you return to your duties?”
The crew member’s breath catches in his throat. His hands tremble slightly, torn between fear and the bewildering absurdity of Kick’s words. He knows—he knows well enough that, despite the knight’s playful tone, this is not a question one would answer lightly.
The room hangs suspended between two worlds: one of royal consequence, the other of recklessness and daring.
The crew member stiffens, his body rigid with nerves as he scans the room. His eyes flicker to you, searching for a sign—an indication of whether he should flee or stay, whether he will be met with mercy or wrath.
Kick, still standing close, keeps that infuriating smirk on his lips. His voice drops lower, tinged now with mocking amusement. “Do you need to be reminded of your place, or is it clear enough for you to depart without further need of... persuasion?”
The words hang heavy in the air, each syllable dripping with the promise of consequence, but there’s something else beneath it—a dark playfulness, as if this is all a game to him, one in which the crew member is an unwilling pawn.
The poor man shifts uneasily, his feet planted but clearly uncomfortable. He stands frozen, caught in the middle of a situation he was never meant to witness. The awkwardness is palpable, and you can almost feel his pulse quickening. He tries desperately to hold onto his composure, but it’s slipping.
He is a man who knows well enough the power of royalty—but what does he know of knights who mock it so boldly? What does he know of the dark games played beneath the surface of titles and crowns?
Kick watches him with those dangerous eyes, waiting for the crew member to make his choice. Every breath in the room seems drawn tight, as if the next move will send the entire situation spiraling out of control.
For a brief, tense moment, you stand still, caught between the weight of the situation and the undeniable pull of the power that Kick exudes. His presence looms like a storm—unfazed, teasing, his every word a sharp note, his smirk never wavering. But beneath it all, you know this could go one of two ways: You could end this charade, banish the crew member and regain control—or you could allow Kick to toy with him, a choice that might reveal more than either of you are prepared to handle.
With a deliberate breath, you step forward, breaking the stillness. Your voice rings out, calm and measured, but beneath it lies the unspoken weight of royalty. “There is no need for dramatics, good sir. You may leave now, and I trust you shall say nothing of this to anyone.”
The command is clear. Your words leave no room for debate, no space for disobedience. The crew member nods quickly, clearly grateful for the queen’s composed, regal demeanor.
But before he can take his leave, Kick’s voice slithers through the air, full of mischief, his tone laced with a dangerous undertone that threatens to undo any calm you’ve offered. “You heard her, good man,” he says, still leaning casually against the space between you and the crew member, his eyes alight with an unmistakable gleam. “Leave now, and we won’t need to have a longer conversation about your future... unless, of course, you find the idea of becoming a knight’s plaything more to your liking.”
The implication hangs heavy between them, a challenge wrapped in a jest that leaves the poor crew member trembling in his boots. His eyes flick nervously between you and Kick, his grip tightening on the doorframe as if it were the only thing keeping him anchored.
The door clicks closed with a soft thud behind the retreating crew member, leaving you and Kick in the dim light of the chamber.
You turn to face him, arms crossed, an eyebrow arched in mock disapproval, but there’s the slightest curve of a smile on your lips—one that speaks of both amusement and challenge. “You’re insufferable. We are in the royal chambers, Kick, not some tavern. Have a bit of decorum.”
Kick’s smirk has only grown, his gaze never leaving you as he steps closer. His grin widens, and the mischief in his eyes dances like flames on the edge of a storm. “Ah, but where’s the fun in that, my lady?” he says, his voice smooth, laced with the promise of trouble. “I did not expect such... eagerness from you. I must admit, your taste for the forbidden is... intoxicating.”
His words hang in the air, just as the space between you and him shrinks. Every syllable a challenge, every inch of him a magnet pulling you in. He knows. You know. There’s something about this dangerous edge, the way he pushes, the way you can’t help but lean into it.
You hold his gaze, the playful tone in your voice not quite hiding the heat that flickers beneath it. “And what if I told you, Sir Kick, that the only thing more intoxicating than that is the danger of making it real?”
The air between you thickens, becoming something both dangerous and thrilling. You’ve found what you’ve longed for in Kick—the passion, the confidence, the very thing that’s been absent from your life for far too long. In his presence, you are no longer just the queen, the dutiful wife; you are a woman who has reclaimed something for herself.
Without a word, you step forward, your movements deliberate and fluid. With a swift, commanding gesture, your hands reach for the iron of his armor, and in one smooth motion, it falls to the ground with a soft clink, the weight of it no longer between you.
Kick exhales slowly, his chest rising and falling beneath the remaining layers of his attire. He looks down at the discarded armor, a side smile tugging at his lips, a quiet acknowledgment of your boldness. His eyes lift to meet yours, and there’s something in his gaze—a flicker of both surprise and admiration. He isn’t used to being unseated so easily, but something about you is different.
“I do believe you’re starting to make your intentions clear, my lady,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with an unmistakable edge of excitement. He doesn't move yet, still lingering in the moment, as if savoring the shift that has happened between you.
You gasp softly, caught off guard, and a surprised laugh escapes you. You've never experienced anything quite like this—this bold, fearless display of power. In an instant, Kick’s strong hands are at your waist, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. With a swift, confident motion, he throws you onto the bed, the soft thud of your landing muted by the lavish fabric, but the effect is undeniable.
You steady yourself on your hands, bracing against the softness of the sheets as your eyes meet his, a mixture of shock and anticipation flooding your chest. you saw him. taking his shirt off, His build is evident—solid, controlled, each movement a reflection of the strength he carries with him, and yet, there’s something gentler in the way he looks at you now.
Kick, for all his cocky bravado, is never careless. He’s always mindful, always aware of the power dynamics at play. He's careful not to make any overt move that might call attention, even now, as his eyes scan you with a mixture of hunger and respect. But here, in the hidden corners of the castle, in the quiet shadows of the royal garden where the walls can't listen, you and Kick have carved out a dangerous, intoxicating space just for yourselves.
You sit up, looking at him, the weight of the moment sinking in. “One day, this will be over, won’t it?” you ask, your voice quiet, carrying with it an understanding that only the two of you share in this fleeting space of freedom.
Kick’s grin widens as he steps closer, the playful edge still lingering in his gaze. “Perhaps,” he says, his voice thick with promise. “But tonight, Your Majesty, let’s enjoy the here and now.”
Kick leans down, his breath brushing against your skin as he moves closer, his hands steady and sure as he guides you back onto the bed. The kiss comes swiftly, claiming you with a fire that burns away any hesitation. In that instant, the world outside the room disappears. The soft pressure of his lips is a promise, a stark contrast to the cold neglect you’ve known for years.
You fall back against the bed, your heart racing as his kiss deepens. You’ve never known anything like this—never felt so desired, so alive. The emotions that surge through you now are a sharp contrast to the emptiness that’s haunted you for so long. Deprived of tenderness, of passion, of connection—what did you endure all of this for? To live beside a king who could never see you, never understand you, only the crown you wear? A man who’s a bastard to treat you this way.
But Kick—Kick has filled the emptiness in your heart. Where there was cold distance, there is now warmth. Where there was neglect, there is now care. His touch, his kiss, they have filled every vacant corner of your soul with a fire you never thought you’d feel again.
And in that moment, with the world outside forgotten, you are free.
*sigh* okay imma let out my cursed pics from the studio
The walker training
None of my business but imma getting my nose in it, I've always thought that elias forced hesh and logan for training and etc i mean sure it is nasty how training is, but then i remember when hesh said
"Dad always said we could quit at any time, and go grab some fast food, and pig out in front of the TV all night."
But help why i think elias said it in a way that would let them think as losers if they stopped training and lived a normal life😭😭
The urge to write about Sir David Walker burns like an unshakable fire.
Knight! hesh!
MDNI
A knight of unwavering loyalty, he carries himself with the noble grace of a natural-born leader. Time after time, as he removes his iron helmet, the details of his face come into sharper focus. His pale skin contrasts strikingly with the deep green of his eyes, and as the strands of his jet-black hair fall free, they frame his features with an almost effortless elegance. Each glimpse of him without the armor only reveals more of the man beneath—the warrior, the leader, the legend.
Each time he kneels before the king, one hand pressed firmly over his heart, it is as if he is making an unspoken vow—one of unwavering sacrifice, of blood and sweat pledged to whatever land he stands upon. His voice, low and steady, carries the weight of his devotion, each word dripping with formal reverence and gratitude. There is no hesitation, no faltering; only the ironclad promise of a knight who lives and breathes duty.
But then, with a voice like silk, you summon him to the king’s chambers. He approaches with the grace of a knight, but the moment his eyes meet yours, his entire demeanor shifts. His green eyes, once steady and fierce, now lower in respect, his body instinctively dropping to one knee before you, his hand over his heart in silent oath.
“Your grace,” he says, his voice unwavering yet soft, as if to show no weakness.
You lead him forward, your steps deliberate. He follows—trusting, obedient—until the door shuts behind him with a cold, final click.
He freezes.
His eyes flicker to the door, then back to you, realization dawning in his chest like a heavy weight. This isn’t the king’s room. This is yours.
A rush of fear surges through him, and for a fleeting moment, he is lost—unsure, afraid of what might unfold. He tries to mask it, standing tall, shoulders stiff, as if the knight within him could withstand whatever shadow looms in this room. But the tremor in his breath betrays him.
“Your grace,” he murmurs again, more softly now, his voice cracking with the first hint of doubt, “there must be a mistake. This...is not the majesy's chamber.”
He had endured countless wars, his body marked with scars from swords and battles fought. But this—this was something he had never prepared for. The weight of his loyalty, the trust he had sworn to the king, was a code he would never break. And yet, here, in this room with you, the line between duty and desire blurred.
He could feel the tension coiling in his chest, a knot of fear and respect warring within him. He knew what you wanted. He knew what you were offering. But this was not a challenge he had ever faced before. Behind the king’s back, it felt like treason. His loyalty was a chain, binding him to honor, to the trust that had been placed in him. And yet, in the face of your advances, that chain felt suffocating.
“Your grace, please...” His voice cracked slightly, but he quickly masked it, forcing himself back into formality. His hands trembled, but they remained at his sides, trying not to betray the turmoil in his heart. “This is... beyond my duty. This is a step I cannot take.”
You were so close now. He could feel the heat of your presence, the whisper of your breath against his skin. And then, it happened. You kissed his cheek—soft, gentle pecks—tracing his jawline with delicate affection. His body stiffened at the touch. His breath caught in his throat, his mind screaming to pull away, to step back. But respect, honor, duty—they all held him in place, even as his heart raced.
“I... I cannot,” he whispered, his voice strained, desperate to remain the knight he had always been. His eyes closed for a moment, trying to block out the overwhelming presence of your proximity. “Please, my lady... I cannot touch you. Not like this. It would dishonor my place, the king’s trust... my oath.”
Even as he said it, the struggle was evident in the tension of his muscles, the way his jaw clenched. He didn’t want to hurt you, but the lines of loyalty and respect were drawn too firmly for him to ignore. Yet his body, betraying him in its every moment of restraint, could not help but tremble at the closeness, at the kiss that lingered too long, too near.
You could see the hesitation in his eyes, the strain in his every movement. His honor, his oath—it was all he had, all he was. But you could feel the weight of your desires, pulling you closer to him, drawing you into this forbidden game.
“Don’t fight it, David,” you whispered softly, your breath warm against his ear. You reached out, brushing a lock of his black hair away, letting your fingers linger against his skin. “I know you want this. I know you feel it too.”
His body trembled, his every instinct screaming for him to pull away, to retreat. But you were relentless, your hands tracing his jawline, your fingertips grazing the steel of his armor, so close—so close to touching the man beneath. His breath hitched, and the words that escaped his lips were nothing more than a breathless murmur.
“Please... my lady...” His voice was low, almost desperate, but his eyes never left the floor. “This is... I cannot—”
You cut him off, your hand now gently resting against his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “You think I don't see the way your body betrays you?” you purred, inching closer until your lips were almost on his. “I know what you want. I know how this feels for you.”
He flinched, a quick, sharp movement, as though your touch burned him, and yet there was a part of him—no matter how much he fought it—that wanted to stay. Wanted to let go of the chains of duty and fall into the heat of the moment with you. But this... this wasn’t him. This wasn’t how he had been trained. He was a knight—loyal, honorable, untouched by such temptations.
“I cannot...” His words faltered again, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Not like this. I’m sworn... I am sworn to the king. To my vows.”
“You think I don’t know that?” You smirked, your voice dripping with both amusement and longing. Your hands slid across his chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles beneath the fabric. “But I also know what you truly crave, David. You don't need to be a knight for this... not with me.”
His body recoiled, every muscle taut with resistance, but his mind was fighting a battle he had never known. The voice inside him screamed to pull away, to hold onto his duty, but there was something else—a new, unfamiliar ache that surged within him every time your fingers brushed his skin, every time you closed the distance between you.
“Please,” he whispered, his voice a raw plea as he struggled to back away, to put space between you. But the room was too small, the door locked. There was no escape. No way out. And as he looked into your eyes, he knew he was fighting a losing battle.
“You think you can just walk away from this?” you whispered, your hand sliding from his chest to his neck, fingers gently curling around his jaw as you tilted his head up. His body trembled beneath your touch, but still, he couldn’t find the strength to stop you. His green eyes darted to yours, full of uncertainty, a silent plea for mercy. He didn’t know how to say no—not to you, not to the heat building between you both.
“Let me show you, David,” you murmured, your lips ghosting over his as you leaned in closer, your hands tugging at his armor, loosening it just enough to feel the warmth of his skin against yours. “Let me show you that surrender isn’t weakness... it’s freedom.”
His breath was ragged, the knight’s resolve breaking piece by piece, and yet, in the back of his mind, the training, the vows, screamed at him to resist. But his body—his body told a different story. He had never been in a situation like this. He didn’t know how to pull away anymore. The lines had blurred, the honor he had spent years protecting now felt like a distant echo, drowned out by the weight of your touch and the unspoken promise in your eyes.
Then, it happened.
As if your touch was the spark to a flame that had been smoldering too long, you closed the space between you, your lips finally meeting his in a kiss that was both gentle and forceful, tentative yet inevitable. For a moment, Hesh was frozen, his body rigid, fighting every instinct he had ever known. His mind screamed to pull away, to hold onto the duty that had defined him for so long.
But your lips were soft, persistent, and he couldn't deny the pull. His heart raced in a chaotic rhythm that mirrored the storm of emotions inside him. He wanted to resist, but with each press of your lips against his, a part of him crumbled. His hands twitched, unsure whether to push you away or pull you closer. The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, and he felt the weight of it—every hesitation, every unspoken word.
And then, something inside him gave.
His hands, once clenched tight, finally reached for you, trembling at first, then firmer, as though the walls of his resolve were falling. He could taste the hesitation in the kiss, the battle between loyalty and desire, but it was too much—too overwhelming. His lips parted, and he kissed you back, not as a knight, but as a man. A man who had never known this kind of hunger, this kind of need.
The kiss was more than just a meeting of lips; it was a crossing of boundaries, a surrender to something neither of you could fully control. His body reacted instinctively, pulling you closer, his hands finding their way to your waist, his breath shallow against your skin as he fought to regain his composure.
But it was too late. The moment had taken root, and nothing in the world could undo it. He had crossed the line, and there was no going back.
how i feel after writing this
this shit rocks actually because im ovulating