Can I Just Say, That Your Work Is Literally So Canon. Like You Write The Characters So Realistically

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

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

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

characters: logan walker, Hesh walker, Elias walker, Keegan russ, Thomas merrick, Kick

X teammate reader! [requested]

i had fun writing this

notes: harash or being mean to the reader, me saying daddy to elias because i am misbehaved

Logan walker:

Bro doesn't like anyone here he is just sticking to his daddy and hesh, well i mean as a social he doesn't like them or not caring about them.

but the reason he would not like you is because you are reckless and logan is all about discipline and precision.

He started knowing that when you charge into a room without checking corners and dude really got annoyed.

it got nearly killed for both of you but logan managed to save your live and his, Then he gave you that look screams "get a job".

Logan is a calculated, quiet soldier who thrives on efficiency. If you’re impulsive, sloppy, or too loud, it would frustrate him. He might see you as someone who doesn’t respect the seriousness of the mission.

but honestly he just got away from you only sitting next to hesh like everyday you will find him there

he is a silent judger Logan’s not one to vocalize his dislike openly. Instead, he’d give you subtle signs—cold stares, no nod of acknowledgment when you’re around.

You’d feel like an outsider just because of how much he doesn’t engage. His silence would sting more than words.

I don't think he would be mean to you with words and beinf harash but at the base If you sit at the same table during downtime, Logan gets up and moves somewhere else without saying a word in case you wanna talk to him and he doesn't want to.

The only "conversation" you might get from him is a blank stare when you ask for help with your gear.

Hesh walker:

Oh man he is the opposite from logan he will be open with his comments on you

the reason is because you don't take his order seriously or challenging him like i see him like this

he is a lieutenant how dare you not listening to him but listening to merrick's orders.

Hesh is loyal to his family and the team, and he expects everyone to respect the chain of command.

If you question leadership, brush off directives, or act like a know-it-all, Hesh would get heated fast.

maybe you have this audacity to argue with your teammates about a job or a patrol, it wasn't your time for a patrol so you got mad and start arguing " I don't understand i did this 4 time already in the same damn location!"

which lead hesh to snap “We don’t have time for your ego! Do your job, or I’ll find someone who will.” calm down bby

he wouldn't hold back his frustration but he would mask it with sarcasm

"look who finally decided to show up! Did you actually bring ammo this time, or should I do your job too?" bitch

He’d complain about you to the others when you’re not around, but it would always come back to you somehow.

Hesh throws constant jabs at your performance.“Wow, you actually hit something this time. Let me guess, blind luck?”

at the base he finds every opportunity to one up you If you’re telling a story about a killstreak, he’ll interrupt with, “Pfft, that’s nothing. Last week, I cleared a whole building solo.”

bro wanna just let out his frustration 😭

Elias walker: (Ok help i didn't find a gif)

he would not like you no he is not that emotional type man.

the reason is your lack discipline or don’t meet his expectations.

he want someone to be trusted in the team and he doesn't find this in you maybe you got nervous or something but he doesn't really care.

As a leader, Elias demands excellence. If you’re not pulling your weight, making mistakes under pressure, or putting the team at risk, Elias would start seeing you as a liability.

You botch an important mission step, forcing the squad to improvise. Afterward, Elias says, “You need to decide if you want to be part of this team. Because right now, I don’t see it.”

he is giving the disappointed dad vibe As the squad leader, Elias would make his disappointment known without outright hostility.

“You’re not giving me much to work with here. This team relies on everyone pulling their weight.” whatever you say daddy

He’d put you on blast in front of the others but in a way that feels more like a father scolding their kid.

He’d constantly put you on remedial tasks or double-check everything you do. You’d feel like you’re being babysat.

I see elias is harash in his training i mean look at hesh and logan they didn't become this skillful that easy it was elias wild training.

So Elias doesn’t hesitate to use you as bait just to toughen you up.“You’re fast, right? Go flush them out, and we’ll cover you.” then leaving you scrambling for survival.

Elias constantly gives you extra drills to "improve."“You’re staying behind. Practice clearing that room until you can do it without screwing up. The rest of us have real work to do.”

Even if you complete the drills, he finds something wrong with your execution.

Keegan russ:

He won't show it too but he will mask it with sarcasm too especiall with his short comments that made you wanna tackle him to the ground and fight him

the reason: You’re not dependable, or you’re too emotional.Keegan values professionalism esp in the ghosts team and doesn’t tolerate people who let emotions cloud their judgment.

If you hesitate under fire, panic, or fail to stay focused, Keegan would see you as a weak link.

you blowed the cover with a noise you made accidentally he doesn't yell he would just go with “Next time, stay quiet. Or don’t come at all.” coldly.

Keegan is the cold, no-nonsense type, so he’d probably flat-out ignore you.

If you mess up, you’d get that icy glare that says “You’re lucky I don’t deal with you right here.”

He’d keep his interactions with you strictly professional and minimal, using only hand signals or one-word commands.

he is all about manipulatescretly like If you’re in danger, he’d hesitate just long enough to make you sweat before helping he just want you to know you're dealing with danger.

polishes his weapons near you but doesn’t say a word. If you ask him a question, you get a curt, dismissive response.“What ammo works best with the MK14?”

“The kind that hits the target. Try it sometime.”

“We need to breach on three. the walkers—you’re with me. y/n, just hang back and don’t get in the way.” BITCH??😭😭

Thomas merrick:

You haven’t earned his respect Merrick is a seasoned veteran who respects competence and loyalty above all. If you’re new, inexperienced, or overconfident.

Merrick might see you as someone who needs to prove themselves first—and he won’t go easy on you.

You try to take the lead during a mission, and it goes south. Merrick pulls you aside afterward:“You want to lead? Earn it. Until then, know your place.”

Merrick is a no-BS guy. If he doesn’t like you, he’ll tell you to your face.“You’re a liability. If you want to stay on this team, you’d better step up, or you’re out.”

Merrick would constantly test you, setting you up for challenges to prove yourself, but his standards would be brutally high.

He’d always keep an eye on you, but not out of trust—more to make sure you don’t screw things up.

Merrick makes his disdain clear during mission briefings.“Stick to the basics, y/n. Don’t overthink it, and for God’s sake, don’t try to be a hero.”

If you lag behind, he turns around, arms crossed, and barks, “Move your ass, or I’ll leave you to catch up!”

Merrick has zero patience for your questions.“Why didn’t you clear the room faster earlier?” you stood up facing him

“Because you didn’t do your damn job. Next question.”

He doesn’t sugarcoat anything and frequently suggests you’re not Ghost material.

Kick:

You don’t adapt quickly or fail to learn from mistakes. Kick is efficient and prefers to stay out of drama.

If you repeatedly make the same mistakes, don’t take advice, or need constant hand-holding, Kick would lose patience with you.

he would start thinking how the hell you're in this team.

You forget to secure your gear before a mission, slowing down the squad. Kick shakes his head and mutters “Do I have to double-check everything you do?”

he is quite Reluctantly Helpful One, Kick is more on the reserved side, so he wouldn’t waste time expressing dislike.

He’d just do what needs to be done but with zero enthusiasm when it comes to working with you.

If you’re in trouble, you’d probably hear him mutter, “Of course, it’s you again.” But begrudgingly, he’d come through—just enough to keep you alive without making it feel like he cares.

Kick rarely speaks but makes his feelings known in other ways. For example, if you’re pinned down and yelling for cover fire, Kick shoots in the opposite direction first—just to make you sweat.

If you accidentally throw a grenade too close, Kick shakes his head and mutters, “Unbelievable.”

Kick avoids you but makes his annoyance clear when forced to interact.“Fix your weapon yourself. What are you gonna do in the field, call for me to hold your hand?” please do

If you’re paired with him during training, he sighs heavily every time you mess up.

once you tried to be kind with him finding a hard disc drive for his computer so he can plug it.

"hey kick check this out i found this" you said as you throw it to him expecting him to catch it which he did looking at it checking it out "thought you could be use of it"

he start checking it raising one eyebrow "maybe i will use it." he said looking at you blankly and you smiled simply at him.

"..."

"..."

"just kidding" he said putting it in his pocket which made your eyebrows hit each other in confusion.

"I don't like you" he said simply as he turned around to walk leaving you there mouth slightly opened from shock.

. ˚◞♡ Hesh Walker ⃗ *ೃ༄

. ˚◞♡ Logan Walker ⃗ *ೃ༄

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

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

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.

If merrick had mistaken who is the elias's ghost mask for merrick: oh man for who?...i think it is for hesh cuase he is the oldest!

hand it to hesh

elias in his grave cause he is biased for logan:

Bored so wanna describe cod ghosts characters stans! IN MY OPINION AND VISION!

Logan walker stans:

Funny asf.

Post brain rot memes (hmu logan stans😔).

Probably relate to Logan’s quiet yet loyal nature a little too much.

Defend logan, like they will argue with anyone who disrespect logan.

Yapp and speak what is in their mind even if means fighting society.

"I can fix him"

Sucker for brotherhood The Hesh & Logan sibling dynamic is their favorite thing ever.

Hesh walker stans:

Golden Retriever Boyfriend Seekers, They love an extroverted, funny, protective guy.

Either have big brother or wanna a big brother like hesh

Biggest delulu minders (after keegan stans ofc)

Talkactive

They love to banter and never shut up.

They love the strong sibling bond between him and Logan, and will defend it with their life.

Some of em Will argue he’s the better Walker brother.

"He doesn't deserve this"

Some of em think elias not caring abt him

Keegan russ stans:

A cold, careless man barely speak they're obsessed.

“He’s So Babygirl” A grown ass man.

Love Keegan for his mask, quiet voice, and intimidating aura, but also think he’s secretly soft.

Love that Keegan is a stealth expert and probably smells like gunpowder and pine.

Hear his voice lines at 3 AM.

Put him in mw2 timeline what im playing lol

They would let Keegan ruin their life, no hesitation.

Think he is a green card.

Elias walker stans:

DILF Appreciators– You know why they’re here (and it’s not just because he’s a good leader).

No shame in loving a rugged, experienced leader with dad energy.

Admire Elias for being a great father, a skilled soldier, and a natural leader.

Yeah yeah they will defend anyone says otherwise.

Surprisingly they have no problems with rorke.

Want a whole game or DLC about young Elias and early Ghosts.

Love the fact that he raised two men to be ghosts.

Gabriel rorke stans:

The villians lovers ofc.

I Never understood them tbh

Half of them think elias is already wrong let go of him and half of them liking the fact that he is a vendetta character

Not even sorry about him kidanpped logan.

Also half of them like elias.

Love his accent, and the way he talk.

Think he deserves better.

Thomas merrick:

Love Merrick because he gives off strict but protective vibes.

Enjoys characters who take charge and don’t tolerate nonsense.

50% because of his voice.

They love leadership roles and high respect characters.

Less unhinged, but still down bad.

Kick stans:

There aren’t many of them

Love Kick because he’s tactical, no-nonsense, and cool under pressure.

Loves Underrated Characters – Enjoys the fact that Kick is in the background but still awesome.

Organized people idk.

The "Why Does No One Talk About Him?" Crew – They feel personally responsible for making sure Kick gets love.

“The main guys are cool, but this guy? Criminally underrated.”

Probably Read the Campaign Novelization – Just to find extra Kick content.

Ajax stans:

They are less than kick stans

Still mad that Ajax didn’t get enough screen time.

Love the characters who deserved more but got done dirty.

Have read or written fics where Ajax survives and thrives.

They are also keegan stans?

Riley stans:

The goats.

period.

"What do you mean im such ungrateful person and don't like anything?"

Literally me:

I should be working on WIPs, but I made a couple memes instead.

small collection of photos of my fav duo ❤️

I’m still very sleepy so I’m ranking how I think Ghosts Characters would cuddle

Elias: 5/10. He’s kind of like Woods (pt 1)—good at short hugs/hair ruffles, but doesn’t really cuddle.

Hesh: 12/10. D1 CUDDLER. THIS MAN’S TALENT FOR HUGS NEEDS TO BE STUDIED.

Logan: 7/10. More like his dad when it comes to giving affection, but he’s happy to cuddle if someone asks (especially after a mission).

Merrick: 9/10. Bro is like a furnace, and he has a knack for knowing when someone needs a hug.

Ajax: 10/10. Just kinda snatches you whenever he wants cuddles, but the vibes are always elite, and he shares blankets

Keegan: 3/10. This man does not SLEEP. He doesn’t have time to cuddle. Whenever you get him to lay down though, it’s 10/10.

Kick: 4/10. He plays block blast on his phone and rage quits, but he’s very warm and sweet to you.

Rorke: 2/10. He plots vengeance aloud the entire time.

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😔