Gang How I Wish To Finish These Requests And Write Bo So Bad

I wish i could hibernate like a bear.

fav cod ghosts character GO

DAVID "HOUSEWIFE" WALKER XD

If i see david "hesh" walker:

tired.

HEADCANONS

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

I will make the friend as a teammate!

iym "won't admit it" like he wouldn't confess and stay like this forver without expressing then hell yeah whatchu talkin' abt

and lastly before i start writing i don't wanna no one typing "Keegan would never be this emotionally gahook!🤓🤓" well guess what everyone fall in love and slip into it like a damn failure ballerina

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

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

I'm staying with the mask...

Keegan is the kind of person who doesn’t easily give in to feelings—especially when it comes to anything that might distract him from his duty. It takes a long time for him to realize what he’s feeling, and even longer for him to even consider acknowledging it. Here's how it could play out:

How Many Years Till Keegan Realizes His Feelings?

Keegan’s realization about his feelings for you takes a few years, especially because he’s constantly suppressing it.

At first, he’s just focused on the mission, on the job. But over time, as you continue to be a steady part of his life—his teammate, his friend, and the person he trusts most—those feelings slowly sneak up on him. It’s something that builds gradually, like a storm he can’t ignore.

but it’s only after 2-3 years that he finally realizes what he’s been feeling.

In the early years, Keegan is too focused on survival, on getting the job done, to think too much about it. The team dynamic is important to him, but his view of relationships is still influenced by his sense of duty—no attachments.

Over time, though, the small moments between you, the way you laugh, how you handle stress, and the way he feels when he’s around you, start to make him realize that he feels something more than friendship.He doesn't recognize it as "love" right away, though.

At first, it’s just this pull—this desire to be near you, to protect you, to make sure you’re safe. It’s subtle but undeniable. By the time the realization fully hits him, it’s more of a feeling he’s tried to bury than something he’s consciously thought about.

1. The Signs Are There—But He Won’t Acknowledge Them

Keegan isn’t the type to openly flirt or be obvious about his feelings, but it’s the little things that give him away.

You get injured on a mission? He’s the first one there, eyes scanning over you, jaw clenched.

“It’s just a scratch,” you try to joke, but he doesn’t smile. Just hands you a med kit and mutters, “Be more careful.”

When you’re on base, he always sits next to you during briefings. Never says why. Just does.

If someone else makes a joke about you or gets too friendly, there’s a shift in him—subtle, but noticeable. His eyes linger, his body tenses. But he won’t say a damn thing.

2. The Self-Denial Runs Deep

Keegan doesn’t do emotions. At least, not openly. So when he starts feeling something for you, his first instinct is to push it down.

If you ever get too close—physically or emotionally—he subtly pulls back. Keeps things professional.

“You’re overthinking it,” he tells himself when his heart races after you brush against him.

If someone teases him about you? He just gives them a deadpan look and changes the subject.

Even when he knows he’s looking at you too long, when he knows he’s thinking about you too much—he convinces himself it’s nothing.

You’re a teammate. A friend. That’s it.

He started to think he is so stupid and hating this.

3. The Breaking Point

It takes something big to crack through his walls.

Maybe it’s a mission gone wrong—maybe you get separated, and for a few agonizing hours, he thinks he’s lost you.

When he finds you again, relief crashes into him like a punch to the gut. But instead of saying anything, he just grips your shoulder a little too tightly.

“Don’t do that again.” His voice is low, rough.

“I didn’t exactly plan on it, Keegan.” You’re trying to keep things light, but he’s not laughing.

That’s when you realize—he was scared.

Not because he cared actually, he is caring for everyone is his team, but the times when sees you or anyone else in the team get injured he may lost it inside.

since *cough* ajax'x death *cough*

And that? That’s not something Keegan lets himself feel.

3. The Tension in Silence

Keegan is sitting across from you, eyes trained on something—anything but you. The silence between you two is thick.

You try to break it. “So… what’s been on your mind lately?”

Keegan’s eyes flicker to you for a moment, before he shrugs, clearly unwilling to open up. “Nothing. Just… tired.”

He doesn’t look tired though. He looks distant.

There’s a pause, and you both continue to sit there in the quiet, and for a moment, it feels like he wants to say something—wants to talk—but he can’t.

"You sure?" you push, but when your eyes meet, Keegan’s gaze softens for just a split second before he pulls back.

“I’m good. worry about yourself.” typical he always talks like that.

But you know it’s more than that. And so does he.

4. The Small Acts of Thoughtfulness

After a particularly tough mission, everyone’s gathered around, sharing drinks and stories from the field. Keegan, ever the lone wolf, sits in the corner, keeping to himself from talking to the others.

But when you walk past him, you notice something: a fresh pack of bandages sitting on the table next to his gear, alongside some protein bars you hadn’t seen before.

“What’s all this?”

Keegan looks up from his seat, nonchalantly leaning back. “Nothing. Just thought you might need it.”

“Need what?”

“Bandages, snacks... whatever. You’re always running low on stuff after a mission.”

It’s a small gesture, but it doesn’t escape your notice. He’s paying attention to you. And somehow, it feels more significant than anything he’s said.

“Thanks.” You nod at him, unsure of what to say.

Keegan just gives a short, tight smile. “Yeah. No problem.”

But in that moment, you know it’s not just about the bandages. It’s about the care he doesn’t know how to express.

sorry i gave yall some boring missions-moments but guess what be prepared for base moments when the fun would happen

Base moments:

1. The Way He Always Ends Up Near You

Keegan doesn’t mean to always sit next to you. It just happens.

During mission briefings, in the mess hall, even just sitting around waiting for orders—somehow, he always gravitates toward you.

At first, it’s subconscious. But then one day, Merrick calls him out on it. “Didn’t know you two were attached at the hip.”

Keegan freezes mid-motion, his fork hovering over his plate. His response is as dry as ever. “I sit where there’s space.”

But the moment he realizes how obvious he’s being, he starts overcorrecting—purposefully sitting across the room, trying too hard not to make it look like he cares.

It doesn’t last long. Eventually, he gives up because avoiding you makes him more irritated than anything else.

2. Patch-Ups That Last Too Long

Being in the field means getting injured—a lot. And while Keegan prefers patching himself up, there are times when someone else has to do it.

After a particularly rough mission, you’re the one tending to a cut above his eyebrow. He sits still, jaw clenched, letting you clean the wound.

The problem? You’re too damn close. He can feel your breath, the warmth of your hands.

His brain tells him to pull away, but his body stays frozen. His heartbeat is a little too fast, and he swears the air feels heavier than it should.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he mutters.

You gave a confused look with a smile, not missing a beat. “Like what?”

He doesn’t answer. Just stares straight ahead, refusing to meet your eyes. The moment you’re done, he mutters a quick “Thanks” and bolts before he does something stupid.

3. The Jealousy He Pretends Not to Feel

There’s a new guy on base, and he’s been way too friendly with you. Keegan doesn’t react—outwardly.

But you notice the shift in him. The way his responses are a little more clipped. The way he suddenly has a lot to say whenever this guy is around, mostly in the form of sarcastic comments.

The moment that really gives him away?

One evening, you’re joking around with the new recruit, laughing at something stupid like yall being just some sillies. Keegan, who’s cleaning his rifle nearby, suddenly snaps the bolt back a little too aggressively.

It’s not subtle. Everyone notices. Merrick raises an eyebrow.

“Problem, Keegan?”

“No.” His voice is flat. “Just making sure my rifle’s working.”

He doesn’t talk to you for the rest of the night, and you know exactly why.

4. The Way He Watches Over You Without Realizing It

Keegan doesn’t hover. At least, he thinks he doesn’t.

But you start noticing how often he’s the first one to check on you after a mission. Even if he doesn’t say anything, even if he just passes by while you’re getting patched up, there’s always a moment where his eyes flicker over to you, assessing.

One night, after a particularly bad op, you find him sitting in the common area, pretending to clean his gear HELP WHY AM I MAKING HIM ONLY DOING THAT—but it’s clear he’s waiting for you to come back from the med bay.

“You could just ask if I’m okay, you know.”

He doesn’t look up. Just keeps working. “I know you’re fine.”

You shake your head with a small smile. “Then why are you still sitting here?”

He still doesn’t look up. “Gear needed cleaning.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Shut up.”

5. The Night He Almost Said Something

It’s late, and the base is quiet. You and Keegan are the last ones in the training area, neither of you wanting to sleep yet.

You’re sitting side by side, backs against the wall, exhaustion settling in after a long day.

“Ever think about what comes after this?” you ask, voice softer than usual.

He doesn’t answer right away.

When he does, his voice is lower than usual. “No point.”

“Why not?”

He hesitates. And for a split second, there’s something in his expression—something unreadable.

Then, he shifts, standing up abruptly. “Too much to do tomorrow.”

You watch as he walks away, and for the first time, you realize something.

He’s not avoiding the idea of the future.

He’s avoiding you in it.

The Almost-Kiss – Keegan’s Sudden Realization

The base was quiet, the hum of distant machinery and the occasional crackle of a radio the only sounds breaking the silence. You and Keegan sat side by side on a supply crate near the vehicle bay, the faint glow of the overhead light casting soft shadows across his sharp features.

It had started as another late-night conversation. The kind that happened when neither of you felt like sleeping, when exhaustion lingered but something unspoken kept you both awake.

You nudged his arm. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be a ghost, you suck at disappearing when I need peace and quiet.”

Keegan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah? Funny, ‘cause you keep showing up in all the places I go to be alone.”

You smirked. “Almost like you don’t mind the company.”

He didn’t deny it. Just glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his usual deadpan expression softening just a little.

There was a pause. A long, lingering moment where the air seemed different. He wasn’t looking away this time. And for some reason, neither were you.

Something about the quiet, the dim light, the sheer familiarity of sitting next to him made everything else fade. His face was close—closer than usual.

“You always do that,” he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

His eyes flickered downward for a second, barely noticeable, before he let out a slow exhale. “Make things... complicated.”

You tilted your head slightly, searching his face. His voice wasn’t irritated, wasn’t accusatory. If anything, he almost sounded... unsure. Like he wasn’t sure if he should be saying this at all.

You swallowed. “Is that what I do?”

Keegan’s fingers twitched where they rested against his knee. “Yeah.”

But he didn’t move away. He didn’t shift back into his usual guarded distance. If anything, he leaned in just a fraction—subtle, almost imperceptible.

And you mirrored him.

It wasn’t conscious. It wasn’t something either of you planned. It was just happening.

His breath was steady, controlled, but you could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his body tensed like he was warring with himself.

“Keegan…” you murmured.

His gaze dropped—to your lips, just for a second. His shoulders rose with a slow inhale, his hand flexing like he was fighting every instinct in his body.

The space between you was gone now, barely an inch left. Your nose almost brushed his, and he didn’t pull back.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

And for a moment, you thought he was going to close that last bit of distance.

But then—he stopped.

His entire body tensed, his breath hitching like he’d suddenly realized exactly what he was doing.

Like he’d been caught off guard by himself.

His eyes flickered with something—panic, hesitation, restraint—before he pulled away.

Not fast. Not dramatic. Just slow enough that it felt deliberate. Like he was forcing himself to retreat before he did something he couldn’t take back.

He cleared his throat, looking away. “I—” He shook his head. “Forget it.”

Your brows furrowed. “Forget what?”

He pushed off the crate, running a hand over his face, avoiding your gaze completely. “I gotta go.”

And just like that, he walked off, leaving you sitting there, your heart still racing, the warmth of his breath still lingering against your skin.

And wondering if he’d ever let himself stop running from whatever this was.

Keegan had already turned to leave, but you weren’t going to let him walk away again.

Not this time.

Before he could disappear into the dark hallways of the base, you reached out, grabbing his wrist. His body tensed immediately, like he expected you to let go, but you didn’t.

“Keegan.” Your voice was firm, unwavering.

He exhaled through his nose, not turning to face you. “Let it go.”

You scoffed. “That’s it? You’re just gonna walk off like nothing happened?”

Finally, he turned his head slightly, just enough for you to see his expression—calm, unreadable, but there was something underneath it. Something forced.

“Because nothing did,” he said flatly.

You let out a humorless laugh. “Right. So you just—what? Lean in like that for fun? Just a casual thing between teammates?”

His jaw tightened at that word. Teammates.

You stepped in front of him now, forcing him to actually look at you. His expression didn’t change. Not irritated, not angry—just cold.

“I don’t know what you think this is,” he said, voice steady, “but you need to stop.”

The sheer calmness in his tone pissed you off more than if he had just yelled at you.

“Stop what?” You folded your arms. “Want to spell it out for me? Since apparently, I’m the only one here acknowledging the fact that something’s changed.”

Keegan didn’t blink. “That’s exactly the problem.”

You stared at him, heartbeat loud in your ears. “What does that even mean?”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “We were fine before. You, me—this team. Things were simple.”

Simple. The word hit deeper than it should have.

You swallowed, voice quieter now. “And what? You’re afraid that if we cross some invisible line, everything falls apart?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Just stared at you, expression unreadable, but you could see the battle happening in his head.

Finally, he sighed. “I’m saying I don’t want to do this with you.”

It was calm. Unshaken. Almost like he was convincing himself more than you.

Your chest tightened, but you didn’t back down. “Liar.”

Keegan’s gaze darkened slightly, but his voice remained steady. “I don’t care what you think you saw back there. I wasn’t thinking. And I won’t make that mistake again.”

You let out a breath, something heavy settling in your chest. “That’s what this is to you? A mistake?”

His fingers curled into a loose fist at his side, but he gave you nothing. No reaction.

“Go back to how things were,” he finally said. “Because this? This isn’t happening not with this kind of damn half apocalypse world.”

It was final. A solid wall thrown between you, built up in seconds.

You stared at him, searching his face for any crack, any sign that he was feeling what you were. But Keegan was a master at locking everything away.

And yet…

There was something in his eyes. The way he looked at you, the way his shoulders were too tense, his jaw clenched a fraction too tight.

He was lying.

You knew it.

But you also knew that no matter what you said, he wasn’t going to admit it. Not now.

Not yet.

So you stepped back. Swallowed the lump in your throat. “You're a piece of shit keegan.”

Keegan didn’t say anything. Just gave you one last look before turning and walking away.

And this time, you let him.

But deep down, you both knew—this wasn’t over.

angst

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!

Aha pt2

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😔

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

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

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.”

Reblogged.

I'm just so fucking in love with this game

Also, please do not bother me about Posting the fics or hcs you requested, because as you all know, these things scatter the ideas of writers, especially distinguished ones like me.😍

Doing the "relationship alphabet" series with cod ghosts characters (all of them!!) and starting with logan walker!

also it is SFW! and maybe light NSFW

I have so many Requests HOLY MOTHER!! thank you guys for sending me requests and trusting me with yalls ideas😔🙏🏻

I might take so many times! because i have studying but i have so many already in my drafts, so yeah! will post whenever i want to!