#cw walker

Which “Walker” Character Are You? 鸞

𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 - 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚒

⸝⸝ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲

Being friends since childhood, their fates felt interwoven.

From stolen sunrises and first kisses to whispered promises beneath the Texas sky, there wasn't a version of the future where they weren't together. But after tragedy changes the world overnight, one impossible decision tears them apart.

As years pass and life takes them down different roads, old wounds refuse to stay buried. Some loves fade with time.

Theirs never did. ⸝⸝

Pairing: Cordell Walker x fem!reader

WC: 1.9K

CW: angst, death of parent, military deployment, brief descriptions of war/deployment, unhealthy/toxic relationship, implied abuse, mention of reader pregnancy I will create content warnings for each part.

A/n: based on this request. This wasn't supposed to be so angsty! I've been on a big Zach Bryan kick lately. I promise there's a happy ending. 𖹭

Your plan was to stay with your aunt for a few weeks. She had a small ranch in southwestern Oklahoma. Flat. Rural. Cattle and tumbleweeds. Your uncle had passed away unexpectedly, leaving her with more work that she was getting too old to do.

It was a relief to be out of Texas. You had convinced yourself that you had left all your problems at the state line. Anytime your mind drifted back to the Walker ranch—to the last conversation you had with Cordell—you found something that needed to be done around the ranch. By the time you crawled into bed each night, you were too exhausted to lose sleep.

It was the mornings, when the sunlight set the eastern sky ablaze with every shade of red imaginable, that brought you back to the overlook. The warmth and safety you felt in his arms was gone. Somewhere in military barracks, or already on a cargo plane bound for the Middle East. Replaced now by the chill on the wind, near constant and relentless, that seemed to blow through everything it touched. Including you.

Up before dawn every day, Cordell was awake to see the same light show in South Carolina. Basic training was carving him into a killing machine, ready to be shipped to Afghanistan in a matter of weeks.

He trusted that you were safe. Back at your dorm, or maybe even at the ranch. That Liam had given you the letter he wrote and that you knew how much he loved you. And that he wished he’d told you years ago. He was going to serve his country, just like his dad—and his dad’s dad—and come back in one piece. Physically and mentally. He wouldn’t end up like your father, and you’d be proud of him.

There were no heroes in Afghanistan. Just terrified boys playing war, sent into an angry hornets’ nest. Always at a disadvantage between poor intel and inhospitable conditions, he could never let his guard down.

Thousands of miles away, he’d still think of you. It felt like the sun never rose in the mountains. Like it only rose with you.

Mail came sporadically. Given the hostility of the region, it wasn’t always possible to get anything beyond meager supplies to the troops. Still, his pulse quickened at the prospect of receiving anything from you. Without an address, he had nowhere to send a letter, but he wrote them anyway. He’d give them to you when he got back. And if he didn’t make it back, like some of his friends wouldn’t, the letters would still find their way back to the States.

When his year was up, he was finally heading home. He’d pictured you waiting at the airport when he returned from deployment. He didn’t let the disappointment show when he scanned the faces of his friends and family.

Geri, Hoyt, and Emily were all there to greet him. Everything seemed so normal. People driving down the road without worrying about IEDs. Parents letting their kids play outside without fear of enemy snipers. Everything was fine. He was fine. If he had changed, it was for the best.

When they were finally alone, Cordell approached his brother on the front porch.

“Did you give it to her?”

Liam sighed and shook his head. He couldn’t find the words to let him down.

He finally admitted that he hadn’t seen you. Nobody had. There were rumors you’d gone to Oklahoma. Maybe California. Either way, you were gone.

It was two years before you came home. You’d kept in touch with your mother and heard that Cordell had made it home safely. You released a breath you’d been holding for two years.

“Him and that pretty little dark-haired girl are goin’ steady now.” Your mother drawled. “Emily, I think?”

It didn’t surprise you in the least. She was sweet and beautiful, with an effortless charm that drew people to her. You were happy for him—for both of them.

When your mother called you home after your father passed away, you came for her. Not to celebrate the life of the man who had tortured you both for years. It was a small military funeral. Your mother was given a folded flag to place on the fireplace mantle.

You were surprised to see Abby and Bonham join you at the cemetery to pay their respects. Seeing him in his military uniform reminded you that he had served with your father.

“We’re so sorry for your loss.”

Abby’s tone was pained and sympathetic. She gave your arm a gentle squeeze, careful not to pull you into a hug.

You thanked them and quickly scanned the area, looking to see if they had come alone. Abby must have noticed the look.

“I’m sure you heard about him and Emily.” She seemed to test your expression, nervous about stirring up old hurt.

“Abby, it’s not the place—“ Bonham gently interjected.

She nodded knowingly and apologized, but continued anyway.

“—I know he’d love to see you.”

“That’s great—I really need to focus on helping my mom out now. Thanks for coming, though.”

You turned and walked away quickly, feeling tears sting your eyes. Attributing them to the obvious loss of your father.

Moving back to Austin full-time wasn’t easy. You stayed in the city, worlds away from the slow pace of ranch life. Life was good—great, even. You had a small group of close friends, some old, some new. You were close with your mom for the first time in your life now that your father was gone. You even started dating a nice guy named Luke.

Your mom called you one day after you got home from work.

“Hey honey—you got some mail here…looks like Cordell and Emily are gettin’ married in the spring. Got your invite here if you want to pick it up. I’m sure he’d love it if you came—“

“—No, mama.” You regretted how sharp your voice sounded. “Abby probably sent it, maybe Em. I-I’m not going. I’ll send them a toaster or something.”

You were happy. He was happy. You were in a committed relationship, and it would be weird to go to his wedding. Not that you had ever been exclusive with Cordell. You had loved him. More than just as a friend. You never worked up the courage to tell him, but you assumed that deep down he knew.

It was a beautiful wedding, and he was truly happy. He had a career as a Texas Ranger, a lovely wife, and a solid group of friends. He was branded a war hero. Life was busy, then it got busier when Emily got pregnant. Even busier when she got pregnant again.

He still thought of you whenever there was an exceptionally vibrant sunrise. Every morning before work, he went running. Usually on the ranch near the overlook. Sometimes he’d pause and watch the colors spread across the horizon, thinking back to growing up. You’d talk all night, your head resting on his shoulder, until the blanket of stars faded beneath the rising sun. 

A small part of him felt like your story had been left unwritten. He didn’t regret the life he’d built with Emily and their two beautiful children. He just wondered sometimes how things might have been different if he hadn’t joined the military. 

Even after all those years, he missed you. It felt like you had taken a piece of him with you when you left that night. A piece he wasn’t ever able to give to Emily.

Without a healthy relationship to compare it to, you missed the warning signs. Isolation came naturally—it was normal to want to spend all your free time with your partner. All of it. Your friends gently poked at the issue but didn’t want to pry. They took whatever time they could get with you, even if it meant Luke tagging along.

He’d rage sometimes, but it was rarely directed at you. When it was—if you had an attitude, or looked at another man for too long—he’d always apologize. Showering you with love and affection while promising to work on it.

Most of the time, things were good. You were ecstatic to discover that you were expecting, even if it was unplanned. Luke seemed happy in his own way. He proposed because it was the right thing to do. You said yes for the same reason.

It was a small courthouse wedding. There were still people in his family who would judge a child born out of wedlock. You reminded yourself that this was the South. The Bible Belt. You’d have a proper wedding someday.

Your worlds collided again after five years at a farmers market on the outskirts of town. You’d ventured out of the city and into the golden ranchlands in search of local produce. You were about six months pregnant at that point, and Luke had become clingy. That was just an endearing way of saying he was becoming increasingly controlling.

You were eyeing some tomatoes you needed for dinner that night—Luke was off talking to some buddies of his—when you heard your name over the hum of the market. The voice registered immediately.

Your hair was longer and, aside from your swollen belly, you looked exactly the same. He picked you out of the crowd instantly.

“Cordell…”

He noticed your eyes flick around nervously and the way you clutched the basket in your hands. His head tilted slightly at the fact that you called him by his full name. You were, after all, the first person to call him Cordi. It had come naturally after your first summer playing together when you were eight years old. Abby thought it was so cute that the nickname stuck.

Being as affectionate and outgoing as he was, he instinctively reached for a hug, causing you to recoil. He apologized and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, forgetting that it had been half a decade since he’d last seen you.

“Y’alright? I looked everywhere for you—I heard about your dad…” He was rambling, struggling to collect his thoughts. “I really missed you.”

“You too…it’s just—“ you trailed off while scanning the crowd, finally settling on Luke. “—not a great time.”

Luke watched the exchange from a distance before finally joining you and snaking an arm around your waist. Cordell watched as your spine straightened and your shoulders tightened inward under his touch. 

He looked almost insignificant beside Cordell’s tall, imposing frame. His glare still sent a chill down Cordell’s spine.

“Everything okay? You look stressed. The doctor told us—“

“Yes, everything is fine.” You snapped unintentionally, regret settling in your stomach immediately. “This is an old friend of mine, Cordell Walker. We grew up together.” You didn’t make the mistake of not introducing your husband.

Emily approached with a warm smile on her face, instantly putting you at ease. You readily gave her an awkward side hug while she balanced a baby on one hip and kept a toddler close at her side.

Luke’s tense expression softened slightly at the sight of Cordell’s wife and children. His grip stayed tight on your waist. Cordell noticed the way the fabric of your T-shirt stretched taut beneath his fingers.

“It was nice seeing you guys. We gotta get going, though.” A weak smile tugged at your lips before you turned to leave.

“I saw it too, Cordi.”

Emily spoke only after you were out of earshot. She rubbed his back while gazing up at him. His eyes remained fixed on you as you disappeared into the crowd, wondering when—or if—he’d ever see you again.

Hope you enjoyed!

⁀➴ Part iii

𝚆𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:

𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 - 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚒

⸝⸝ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲

Being friends since childhood, their fates felt interwoven.

From stolen sunrises and first kisses to whispered promises beneath the Texas sky, there wasn't a version of the future where they weren't together. But after tragedy changes the world overnight, one impossible decision tears them apart.

As years pass and life takes them down different roads, old wounds refuse to stay buried. Some loves fade with time.

Theirs never did. ⸝⸝

Pairing: Cordell Walker x fem!reader

WC: 2.1K

CW: angst, reader comes from a toxic/unsafe family (physical & verbal abuse, alcoholism, war PTSD), mentions of 9/11 attacks (no description), underage drinking (mentioned), virginity loss implied ("first time"). I will create content warnings for each part.

A/n: based on this request. This wasn't supposed to be so angsty! I promise there's a happy ending. 𖹭

“How did that saying go? The one about sunsets?”

“I’m not sure it applies to the middle of Texas—”

“Something about a red sky at night?”

“—sailor’s delight. Red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning.”

“Doesn’t mention anything about orange.”

“Pretty sure orange is just a shade of red, Cordi.”

Settled in a nest of blankets in the bed of his old Ford, he pulled you into his lap. He studied your sun-kissed features—the freckles that only bloomed in the summertime, your kiss-swollen lips, and the loose strands of hair haloing your face. All of them glowed beneath the orange and yellow hues painting the Texas sky. You blushed and rested your head against his shoulder while he gently stroked your back.

You’d visited this overlook together for years growing up. It sat in a secluded corner of his family’s property—far enough away to avoid detection, close enough that you could easily sneak off together and return before you were missed.

Your family lived on a plot of land adjacent to his, but it wasn’t a functioning ranch. Yours wasn’t even a functioning family.

It was a well-known fact in the county that your father was plagued by demons. He had lied about his age to enlist at seventeen and join his friends in Vietnam. Some could argue he never truly came back from the war.

Most nights, he lost himself in the bottle, making it easy to sneak out and spend the night with Cordell. More than once, when your dad was having a “bad night,” Cordell would make you a spot in the hayloft where you could rest safely. Just until your old man drank his way through the battle in his mind.

You’d leave before sunrise so you didn’t risk being found by one of the ranch hands or his dad. Getting brought home would be worse than your father finding out you were gone.

You pulled back and your pulse quickened when you realized how light it was getting. It was August, so the sun rose early enough to enjoy the sunrise, but it was getting later than you liked. Your watch told you it was almost seven.

“Anyway, I should probably get home before my ass is a shade of purple.” You quipped, but he didn’t laugh. “Are you gonna drive me, or am I gonna have to hoof it?”

He just stared at you with those sad, puppy-dog eyes, and you knew what was coming. You crawled out of his lap and reached for your cowboy boots, starting the awkward process of pulling them on.

“I don’t wanna take you back there. If we talk to my daddy, I’m sure—”

You groaned and jumped off the bed of the truck.

“No. Same as I’ve said every other time, Cordi. Sometimes doing the right thing makes everything worse.” You carded your fingers through your hair, dread building in your gut. “In two years, I’ll be eighteen and I’ll be out of here.”

Two years sounded like an interminable sentence of slamming doors and silent dinners.

“Now are you driving me back or am I walkin’?”

The overlook—really just a glorified hill that a pickup truck could drive up easily—had been the stage for most of your greatest hits with Cordell.

The first time you held hands was when you were ten years old. You’d been out exploring an old creek bed, looking for crawdads and fascinating rocks, later than you should have. It was getting dark—and without any streetlights in the backcountry, dark meant pitch black.

Though you’d never admit it, you still needed a nightlight to sleep because you were terrified of the dark.

As soon as he’d seen your bottom lip quiver, he gave you his hand and walked you home. He stood outside while he listened to your dad hollering about you coming home late with one of the Walker boys.

It’s where you had your first kiss when you were twelve. Really, you just wanted to know if you were any good at it.

You weren’t.

Neither of you were, but you told your girlfriends about it and they told everyone.

Both of you dated other people in high school but never drifted far from each other. You’d still show up at the ranch with teary eyes after a bad night at home, or after a fight with your boyfriend. If he wasn’t there, his mom would tell you as much with a sympathetic look on her face while you smiled and rubbed at your eyes, chirping, “It’s fine,” over your shoulder as you stepped off the porch.

Everyone in the Walker family knew what life was like at home. They knew how fragile the situation was and that acting out of impulse could be catastrophic.

It didn’t keep them from trying to rope you into their close-knit family—asking you to stay for dinner, inviting you to holiday gatherings—most of which you found an excuse to avoid. Your father might take it as an insult, and that would be bad.

Cordell was the only safe person in your life, and you didn’t want to risk losing him.

You imagined your first time would have been with him, too.

It wasn’t.

But you found yourself sneaking into his window that night with tear-stained cheeks. You were seventeen and had been dating the guy for a year. Even with some stolen beer to soften the edges, it was painful and awkward.

Naturally, you ran to the only safe person in your life.

Crawling through his window and curling up next to him while you quietly sobbed against his chest.

When you turned eighteen, it felt like your life was finally beginning. You were starting an arts program at a college in Austin and staying with Cordell on the weekends.

Then the whole world changed on live television.

You knew the country was at war on 9/11.

Classes were cancelled for the rest of the week, so you hurried home to the Walker ranch.

You enjoyed having more time together, but an uneasy tension settled between you. Cordell spent as much time as he could with you. He seemed unusually clingy, and you knew him well enough to know he was hiding something.

The sky was a blend of yellows and reds that faded into dusty blue overhead. Both of you were perched on the tailgate. Your feet still dangled slightly over the edge while his were crossed at the ankles in front of him. You remembered when his growth spurt hit the summer he turned fifteen. It seemed like he grew a foot overnight. To your pitiful amusement, he spent a month hitting his head on almost everything.

With the sun down, the warm air wasn’t as oppressive. The wind snaked through the scrub brush and felt slightly cooler now that summer was ending.

“Cordi…”

His hazel eyes settled on you, the swirling colors highlighted by the fading light.

“I uh—I joined up today.” His throat was tight, and his voice was barely audible above the chorus of cicadas. He returned his gaze to the horizon, unable to watch the inevitable fallout from his words.

“What?”

Your blood went ice cold and your stomach turned to lead. Hopping off the tailgate, your eyes stayed trained on him as you waited for the punchline.

He’d never leave you.

Not like this.

“How could you do this?”

You barely heard your name over the pounding of your heart in your ears and your panicked sobs. He tried to stop you from pacing, but you yanked your elbow out of his hand.

Benefits. Money. Serving his country. Family legacy.

All the logical reasons a man joins the military.

“I thought you’d be proud of me—”

“You saw what they did to him! The hell he put my family through!”

Your father was broken by a war the country never should have been a part of. Now Cordell was risking the future you had dreamt about to fight in another useless foreign war.

Even if he came back alive, he could come back as a shell of a man who tortured his family for years because going was “the right thing to do.”

“Baby, please don’t cry.” He forced you close to him, both arms wrapped tightly around you. You managed to press your hands against his chest, your nails biting through his shirt as you tried to pull yourself free.

You felt bile, fueled by fear and rage, burning your throat. Words you didn’t mean boiled to the surface.

“You need to let me go—now.”

Your face was a mess of tears, stray hairs clinging to your skin as you turned and headed toward the house. His voice faded behind you, muffled by distance and the sounds of the night. The faint moonlight lit your way until you found the distant lights of the ranch to guide you.

You never looked back as you walked away from everything you thought you had.

His parents did their best to get you to stay, at least for the night.

“You shouldn’t drive in this condition, darlin’.”

Drawers opening and closing muffled most of your replies. You stuffed your few belongings into your backpack, probably forgetting things you could easily replace, while wiping away tears that clouded your vision.

“He’s got Emily and Geri… he’s got his family—he’ll be fine.”

“He’s doing this for his country.” Bonham’s voice boomed while Abby tried to calm him.

You stopped briefly and turned toward him.

“Yeah? Is that what you said to convince my dad to join up?”

Silence.

“Thank you guys… for everything. Really.”

You brushed past them and heard the screen door slam behind you. Once, then again, softer as it bounced from the momentum.

Tossing your bag into the backseat of your little hatchback, Cordell’s voice came from behind you with one final plea.

“Please don’t go.”

“I won’t lose you like that, Cordi. So I have to lose you this way.”

He watched through teary eyes as your taillights faded down the driveway.

Heading back to campus was out of the question at that point. As badly as you missed your mother’s quiet warmth and familiar Southern drawl, you couldn’t go home. The inevitable fight that would ensue would surely end with the cops being called.

Instead, you paid for a cheap motel room out by the highway.

Against his better judgment, Cordell knocked on your parents’ door the next morning. He figured your father would be sober—that assumption was wrong now that you had moved out. He didn’t have a reason to sober up anymore. Your mother was apologetic, but she had her own wildfire to tend to at home.

Cordell took a moment to study the remnants of a man driven to madness by war. He sat in an old recliner, nursing a bottle of cheap whiskey at nine in the morning. He looked too old and frail to be dangerous to anyone, but the venom he could spit was every bit as lethal as his rifle. It seeped into a wound, painless at first, before slowly rotting everything inside. It festered long after the wound itself had healed.

He realized then how badly he needed to find you before he left. So he could tell you himself that he'd never end up like that.

He was being sent to basic training soon. With no reliable means of communication overseas, he needed to find you before he left.

The only phone number he had for you was your dorm room, and nobody was answering. It wasn't surprising, considering the college had closed for the week following the terrorist attacks. He waited in the parking lot outside your dorm for hours. He asked a few students who had stayed on campus if they had seen you, but none of them recognized you.

He checked hotels. Motels. Hospitals, as Bonham suggested. Friends from school. Your ex-boyfriend. Nobody had seen or heard from you. There were too many places to look in a state that size, and eventually time ran out.

On Monday, he was sent to basic training, not knowing where you were or if you'd be there when he got home. He left a letter with Liam to give you if you ever came home, filled with all the things he never got to say.

You had gone to Oklahoma to stay with your aunt—the only other family member you still kept in touch with. After sending an email to your professors telling them you were taking the semester off, you grabbed what you could from your dorm room and drove north.

⁀➴ Part ii

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in any of my Walker or SPN work ❤️

guys. GUYS.

When I saw this- my jaw unhinged.

I literally ADOREEEE her character in CW Walker!!! Holy-freaking-moly.

To say I'm happy is an understatement right now.

Also- I AM NOT BRAGGING I SWEAR- I am just so so happy and I love sharing these things with ya'll!! <333

But anyways, THIS MADE MY DAY AND I HAVENT EVEN STARTED MY DAY YET!!! EEEEE

𓆩𓆪𝓶𝔂 𝔀𝓪𝔂𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓭 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵𝓼: 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @ashwinchester67

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @cantchooseafav

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @avyofthemegacoven

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @haychester

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @saltcirclesigil

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @piercetheviih

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @raewritesfiction

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @sssunfjower

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @oversaturatedsunrise

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @malfunctioning-froog

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @zyahthestickmanguy

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @igorafvckassbowlcut

and Kale appreciation post~ I just thought he looked a little silly and majestic in this photo from his story lmfao

𓆩𓆪𝓶𝔂 𝔀𝓪𝔂𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓭 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵𝓼: 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @ashwinchester67

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @cantchooseafav

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @avyofthemegacoven

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @haychester

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @saltcirclesigil

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @piercetheviih

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @raewritesfiction

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @sssunfjower

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @oversaturatedsunrise

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @malfunctioning-froog

MAY OR MAY NOT BE SQUEALING WITH LITERAL JOY RIGHT NOW- I LOVE KEEGAN SO MUCH! *cough* gotta- play it cool- ya...I'm cooool..^^

𓆩𓆪𝓶𝔂 𝔀𝓪𝔂𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓭 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵𝓼: 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @ashwinchester67

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ @cantchooseafav

(comment this emoji, 💚, if you want to be added to my general tag-list!!)

Its not the best show in the world, but it's not terrible either. Certainly gotta give them credit for taking a beloved old cop show that takes place in Texas and attempting to tackle issues like immigration, police brutality and corruption with the point of view being that it is a systemic problem rather than a bad apple problem.

Of course, the stories are pretty shallow and the solutions overly simplistic, and the themes are not woven into the show with a deft hand so it definitely comes off as a little preachy rather than thought provoking, but I do understand its supposed to be a heartwarming, family drama that stays mostly on the lighthearted side, for all that it started with the main character's wife dying.