U Know What Makes Me Lowkey Sad? When Someone Says ‘i Know It Seems Silly’ Before Talking About

Ma'am ur so real for this.

me and my boyfriend, David.

guys, guys- i have a- guys i have- guys i have a- guys- have a problem- guys-

Finishing all the reqs so i can get asks and requests about mw og characters (tf141, delta force and army rangers)

Cod ww2 and cod bo😔🙏🏻

literally died while making these

✦ 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 ✦

ᯓ★ Logan walker

𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙚! 𝙓 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧!

zombie apocalypse

How they act when they don't like you....and why?

From romance to ruff

The first "I love you" in the relationship

Nurse for tha day

wedding and normal life with him

When logan start seeing hesh as another parental figure

Him as a dad

Telling elias he is dating

Use the phone/text you

Relationship Alphabet

Drunk confessions

Breaking up with him

Logan X any gender teammate reader

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

ᯓ★ David "hesh" walker

Zombie apocalypse

Brush of brave

How they act when they don't like you....and why?

The first "I love you" in the relationship

Ashes of yesterday

Knight! hesh!

Him as a dad

Call him by his real name

Telling elias he is dating

Use the phone/text you

Relationship alphabet

Drunk confessions

Breaking up with him

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

ᯓ★ Elias walker

How they act when they don't like you....and why?

Elias as a father figure

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

ᯓ★ Keegan p. russ

Zombie apocalypse

How they act when they don't like you....and why?

The first "I love you" in the relationship

Him as a dad

Keegan is in love with a friend but won't admit it

Use the phone/text you

Keegan has migraines

Relationship alphabet

Drunk confessions

Breaking up with him

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

ᯓ★ Thomas A. merrick

How they act when they don't like you....and why?

Him as a dad

Use the phone/text you

Breaking up with him

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

ᯓ★ Kick

Kick the twitch streamer

Zombie apocalypse

𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙚! 𝙓 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧!

How they act when they don't like you....and why?

The first "I love you" in the relationship

Knight! kick!

Him as a dad

Call him by his name

Use the phone/text you

Relationship alphabet

Drunk confessions

Breaking up with him

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

ᯓ★ Gabriel rorke

nothing there

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

ᯓ★ Alex V. "Ajax" Johnson

nothing there

Gang doesn't know I fw this ost

🫵

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.

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

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

Brush of brave

Hesh "david" walker X fem!reader! [requested!]

summary: You help your boyfriend, Hesh Walker, apply his ghost face paint before his mission, His soft smile warms your heart, thankful for your quiet support. In these moments, the world outside feels a little less intense, with only the two of you.

note: fluff

The morning was wrapped in an almost unsettling stillness, the kind that only exists in the quiet depths of 4 a.m. The air felt heavy with the weight of unsaid words and fleeting moments. You lay on your bed, eyes half-open, tracing the edges of shadows that danced across the ceiling of your dimly lit room. The faint golden glow from the bathroom spilled out into the hallway, like a quiet reminder of reality intruding upon your cocoon of comfort.

Your gaze lingered on that light, knowing it wasn’t just an empty room. It was him—Hesh. You could hear the faint shuffle of his movements, the metallic clink of his belt, the sound of water running briefly, all part of the rhythm of his early morning ritual. He was heading back to base. Two months of stolen time together had evaporated, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand, and now, here you were, at the end of it.

Your chest tightened, an ache you couldn't ignore. It wasn’t fair how quickly those days had flown.

You let out a soft tut, barely audible, as you swung your legs over the side of the bed, the coolness of the floor against your feet grounding you for a fleeting moment. Your chest felt heavy, the ache of goodbye already gnawing at the edges of your resolve. Staying in bed, pretending to sleep, would only make it worse. If you didn’t say goodbye now, the regret would linger longer than the silence.

Quietly, you padded over to the bathroom door, the soft glow of light spilling over your features as you stopped just short of the threshold. There he was, Hesh, standing at the mirror, razor in hand, the sharp rasp of it cutting through the stillness as he worked on the other side of his face. He looked so calm, so methodical—an effortless confidence in the way he moved, even in these small, mundane moments.

For a moment, you just stood there, watching. The way his jaw tensed slightly as the blade glided over his skin, the faint shadow of a grin lingering at the corners of his mouth, as if he already knew you were there. And then, as though sensing the weight of your gaze, he glanced at you. His eyes met yours briefly before shifting back to the mirror, his shoulders rising and falling in a comfortable shrug.

“Sorry, babe,” he said, his voice low and warm, tinged with sleep and familiarity. “Didn’t mean to wake you up with the lights.”

It wasn’t the lights that woke you, but you didn’t correct him. You just stood there, taking him in, the ache in your chest softening for just a second as you realized how much you’d miss even this—the quiet, unassuming moments that made everything feel like home.

“Okay... I’m sad,” you admitted softly, the words slipping out with a simplicity that belied the heaviness in your heart. You stepped into the bathroom, drawn to him like a moth to the light, your arms folding loosely across your chest. Hesh paused mid-motion, his razor hovering just above the sink, as a knowing smile tugged at his lips.

“Being greedy, are you?” he teased, that familiar hint of arrogance lacing his voice. His words held no malice, only the playful pride he carried so effortlessly. “Should’ve spent more time with me.”

You rolled your eyes but said nothing. You were used to the way he spoke, like every moment spent with him was a privilege you were lucky to claim. And maybe it was. It was infuriating and endearing all at once, a balance only he could manage.

Your gaze flicked to his reflection in the mirror, catching the faint stubble he had left untouched. “Your hair’s growing...” you remarked, your tone a mix of teasing and warning. “Don’t you dare do something to it.”

That made him chuckle, the sound deep and rich like a ripple of warmth cutting through the cool morning air. His dripping voice, as you liked to think of it, had that velvety quality that always left you both annoyed and utterly charmed.

He turned his attention back to the counter, The familiar black-and-white paint sat nearby, and you watched as he began preparing it with practiced ease. The ghost mask, a part of him as much as his smile, stood silently between you, its empty eyes staring back like a reminder of what was coming.

You leaned against the doorframe, watching him work. The way his hands moved—steady, confident, and unhurried—was mesmerizing. You hated how much you loved these moments, hated how fleeting they always felt. But you stayed anyway, soaking it in, because for now, he was still here. And for now, that was enough.

Hesh glanced at the paintings for a moment, then at the black-and-white paint pots resting neatly on the counter. He dipped his finger into one, smudging a streak of white across his palm as if testing its consistency. Then, without looking up, his voice rolled out, smooth and sure of itself.

“You know,” he started, the edge of his mouth quirking into a faint smirk as he glanced at you through the mirror, “I’ve been thinking…” His tone carried that familiar weight of ego, teasing but not overbearing, as if he already knew what your answer would be. “You should do it.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Do what?”

He turned then, leaning casually against the counter, his arms folding over his chest. “Paint my face. For the mask.” His gaze was steady, soft in a way that caught you off guard, even as his words carried that trademark Hesh pride. “I mean, you’re always going on about how good you are with details. Might as well prove it.”

You stared at him, unsured to be flattered. He had a way of doing that—threading arrogance with a strange kind of tenderness that always left you guessing. “Oh, so now I’m your artist?” you shot back, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckled, low and rich, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Why not? I trust you not to mess it up,” he said, and then after a beat, his voice softened. “Besides… it’d feel good knowing you put something of yourself into it. Something I can carry with me.”

The shift in his tone caught you off guard. It wasn’t just an offer—it was a quiet, unspoken connection. A way of bringing you with him, even when he couldn’t be here. And just like that, his arrogance melted into something warmer, something that made your chest ache in the best way.

You couldn’t help but smile, a small curve of your lips that betrayed the bittersweet feeling lingering in your chest. You stepped closer to him, the warmth of his presence drawing you in. Hesh leaned back slightly, resting his hands on the edge of the sink, watching you with that easy confidence that always made him seem larger than life. His smile wasn’t forced or calculated—no, it was real, genuine. But there was no mistaking the pride that radiated from him. He was the kind of man who wore leadership like a second skin, born to carry the weight of it.

“I don’t even remember the details of your mask,” you teased, letting your fingers hover near the paints laid out on the counter. Your words carried a playful jab, though your gaze lingered on him, cataloging every inch of his face as if to disprove your own claim. The strength in his jaw, the faint lines near his mouth from all the smirks he wore like a badge, the way his dark eyes softened just enough when they met yours. You couldn’t help but notice the details now, even if you tried not to.

Hesh’s grin widened slightly, that self-assured look of his making an appearance. “Then I guess you’ve got some work to do,” he said, his voice low, dipping into that teasing, velvety tone that always got under your skin in the worst—and best—ways. “Just don’t get distracted, hm?.” he said propping a peck on your temple.

reached for the black paint anyway, dipping your fingers in hesitantly. The cool, slick texture made you wince, and you held up your hand with mock horror. “Ah, I’m gonna dirt myself,” you muttered, glancing up at him.

Hesh chuckled, that deep, effortless sound that always seemed to ground you. “Takes a little mess to make something worth keeping,” he said, his gaze unwavering, the faintest glint of warmth hidden beneath his usual pride.

You shook your head, biting back a smile, but as you reached for his face, you felt the strange, comforting weight of his trust. For all his pride and ego, in this moment, he was letting you leave your mark—literally and figuratively. And that, more than anything, was enough to make you steady your hand and begin.

Hesh glanced at his reflection in the mirror again, turning his head slightly to admire your work. The black and white patterns of the ghost mask were sharp and clean, perfectly crafted, but his attention quickly shifted back to you. He turned fully now, leaning one shoulder against the counter, his arms crossing over his chest as he gazed at you.

“You’ve got some talent, you know that?” he said, his tone carrying that faint teasing lilt. “You might’ve just made me look even better.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at his arrogance, but the warmth in his gaze kept your irritation at bay. “Oh, please. The mask is doing all the work,” you shot back, wiping your paint-streaked hands on the towel nearby. “I’m just the artist. The rest is up to you.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you like he was committing every detail of your face to memory—the curve of your lips, the way your hair fell slightly out of place, the gentle crease of your brow as you avoided his intense gaze.

“You know,” he started, his voice soft now, deeper, “I don’t say this often, but... I’m gonna miss this. You. More than I probably should.”

That caught you off guard. You blinked, looking up at him, your chest tightening at the vulnerability in his tone. “You don’t have to say it like that,” you whispered. “Like you’re not coming back!”

His expression softened even further, and he took a small step closer, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered, brushing lightly against your cheek. “I’ll come back. I always do,” he murmured, his voice steady, reassuring. “But that doesn’t mean it’s easy to leave.”

You felt your throat tighten, emotions threatening to spill over. But before you could say anything, he leaned in, closing the small distance between you. His movements were slow, deliberate, giving you the chance to pull away if you wanted to. You didn’t.

His lips met yours gently, softly at first, like he was testing the waters. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you there with a tender firmness, and you couldn’t help but melt into him. The kiss deepened, unhurried but filled with all the emotions neither of you could put into words—the longing, the sadness, the love.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed for a moment before he opened them to look at you again. “That’s for when I’m gone,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “So you don’t forget.”

You smiled through the ache in your chest, your hand brushing against his jaw where the paint hadn’t touched. “As if I ever could.”