#david walker cod

I did write up a breeding kink hesh but its very ddne. https://www.tumblr.com/keegansdarling/795037801574006785/your-writing-is-so-beautiful-definitely-showing?source=share

But here's something less ... noncon-y

It starts at the farmer’s market.

You’re chatting about honey or candles or something sweet, and Hesh is nodding along, smiling softly at you. The sun hits your cheek and your hair sways in the breeze and he looks like he’s listening.

He isn’t.

He’s watching the pregnant woman to your right rubbing her belly.

Then it happens again at the coffee truck. A dad bouncing a baby on his knee, the baby shrieking happily, the father laughing. Hesh stares for a second too long.

You don’t notice the way he swallows hard. The way his eyes drop to your stomach. The way his breathing changes.

And then at the parking lot, a couple shoving a stroller into their trunk. The woman says something about getting a deal on it and the man kisses her stomach.

That’s when something in Hesh breaks.

Not cracks. Breaks.

His hand finds the small of your back and he gently pushes you toward the car like he’s guiding a hostage out of a danger zone.

“David? Everything okay?”

“Get in the car.” His voice is rough.

You blink but obey. He shuts your door harder than usual and rounds the driver’s side, getting in with a shaky exhale.

He doesn’t start the engine.

He just grabs your jaw with one hand and kisses you hard enough to steal your breath. His tongue is in your mouth, needy, urgent, desperate.

When he pulls back, his forehead stays pressed to yours.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me today.”

Your breath hitches. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You breathed.”

He slides his hand up your shirt instantly, palm grabbing your breast with no hesitation.

“And then I saw three pregnant women. And a baby. And a stroller. And all I could think about was you like that instead.”

His thumb rolls over your nipple and your whole body jerks.

“David…”

He shuts his eyes like he’s in pain. “I swear to God, sweetheart, I’m trying to be respectful, but if we don’t get home right now, I am going to fuck you in this goddamn parking lot.”

He starts the car.

Fast. Too fast.

His left hand stays on the wheel.

His right slides right back under your shirt, cupping your breast again, kneading it slow and hungry. He pinches your nipple and moans as if you are the one touching him.

“Look at you,” he pants. “Soft. Warm. Perfect. These are going to look insane when you’re pregnant.”

Your thighs clamp together involuntarily.

He sees it and groans low.

“You getting wet already? Just from me talking about knocking you up?”

He drags his fingers down and slips under the band of your bra, thumbing your nipple in tight circles.

You gasp. “David, you’re driving.”

“Barely.” His hips shift in the seat. “I can’t think straight. All day I’ve been seeing it. Imagining it. You swollen with my baby. Your belly round. Your thighs thicker. Your tits full. I almost lost it next to the honey stand.”

He squeezes your breast again, harder this time. Your breath comes out as a broken whine.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, staring straight ahead while he abuses your nipple. “You’re going to be such a beautiful pregnant woman.”

You bite your lip. “Keep talking.”

He lets out a sound that is almost a growl.

“You want me to put a baby in you? Right now? You want me to breed you until you’re dripping with my cum?”

Your breath trembles. “Yes. Please.”

He shoves his hand fully inside your bra, grabbing your whole breast like he owns it. (He does)

“Good girl.”

You almost cum from those two words.

He pulls into the driveway too fast, brakes too hard, throws the car in park so aggressively the console shakes.

His hand never leaves your breast.

He turns his head, eyes black with want.

“Inside. Now.”

You barely open your door before he is on you from behind, his hand still up your shirt, still squeezing, still pinching your nipple like he’s winding you up.

He walks you backward into the house, kicks the door shut, pushes you against it, mouth plastered to your throat.

His mouth drags down your throat, hungry and open and hot, his breath shaking against your skin. He lifts you by your hips and turns you toward the hallway like he can’t decide whether to carry you or devour you.

You barely take two steps before he grabs your waistband and yanks your pants and panties down in one harsh pull. You gasp as cool air hits your skin.

He drops to his knees behind you.

He doesn’t even pause.

He spreads you open with both thumbs, staring straight at your pussy like he’s finally looking at the thing that’s been haunting him all day.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “This is mine.”

You whimper, leaning your hands on the wall as his thumbs glide through your folds.

“You’re already soaked.”

His voice breaks.

“From the car? From me talking about putting a baby in you?”

You feel his breath against your clit and your knees buckle.

He groans low, desperate. “I knew it. I fucking knew it.”

His fingers slide through your slick again, slow and reverent, until they’re glistening. He holds his hand up to the light like he’s examining treasure.

“Look at this.”

He coats his fingers again, thicker this time. “Perfect. You’re perfect. You’re ready for me.”

He pushes one finger inside you, then immediately adds a second, your wetness pulling him in with zero resistance. You moan, pushing back helplessly.

He curls them.

Your head snaps back. “David.”

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let me stretch you. Let me get you ready for my cock.”

He pumps his fingers deeper, his palm slapping against your clit every thrust.

“You’re going to take everything. You’re going to let me fill you until it’s dripping out.”

Your legs shake.

He crooks his fingers just right and you cry out.

“Oh my God.”

He smiles against your thigh, breath hot. “There she is.”

He pulls his fingers out slowly, watching the slick stretch between you.

Then he stands.

You hear him unzip. Hear the wet sound of him stroking himself with the slick he stole from your body.

He groans. Loud.

“Fuck. You feel so good on my hand already. I can’t wait to have you wrapped around me.”

He is staring down at his cock like he’s about to lose his sanity over it. Your wetness shines in the thick strokes he’s dragging along the length, his jaw tight, his breath uneven.

He lines himself up with one hand, the other gripping your hip so hard you know you’ll bruise.

“You ready?” His voice is wrecked. “Because I’m not going to be gentle.”

“Yes. Please.”

He pushes in.

All the way.

One deep, brutal thrust that forces a broken moan out of both of you.

Your hands slap the wall.

His head drops to your shoulder, his breath shuddering as he tries to control himself.

“Holy shit,” he gasps. “You’re warm. You’re so warm. I can feel everything.”

He pulls out halfway and slams back in, harder this time. You cry out, your body shaking.

He picks up a rhythm that’s more like an animal than a man.

Hard. Deep. Endless.

His hips clap against your thighs, each thrust louder than the last.

“David. Oh God.”

He kisses your shoulder, your neck, anywhere he can reach as he pounds into you.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I can’t slow down. You feel too fuckin good.”

You can barely speak. “Don’t stop.”

He growls. Actually growls. “I’m not stopping until you’re full of me.”

Your orgasm comes fast and violent, your body clenching around him, squeezing him tight. He shouts your name against your skin, his rhythm falling apart as your pussy milks him.

And then he breaks.

He slams into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt.

His entire body trembles.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Baby, I’m cumming. I’m cumming inside you.”

His hips grind into yours as thick, hot pulses flood you, one after another, so much that you feel it spill around him.

He keeps gasping, keeps pushing deeper, like he’s trying to make sure not one drop escapes.

“I can’t. I can’t stop.” He’s shaking. “You’re taking all of it. All of it.”

He thrusts shallowly, still cumming, still groaning into your neck.

When he finally stills, he stays inside you, breathing hard, hips glued to yours as if pulling out will kill him.

Then he kisses your shoulder, softer than anything he’s said tonight.

If you’re still accepting prompts: would you be willing to write something dead dove with Hesh? (Maybe with some breeding kink maybe?)

I wanted to spin this in a way that was more than just dubcon dead dove breeding. Hesh is a broken man. He's alone, and he's seen so much death and destruction. But he's got you…

Warning this is very very dead dove. Dubcon, breeding, noncon.

The quiet din of the safehouse was suffocating. No Elias. No Logan. Just silence and the weight of it pressing down on Hesh’s shoulders until his hands shook. You tried to comfort him, but he didn’t want comfort. He wanted permanence. This was the first mission since Logan had been taken. Merrick had hesitated, unwilling to throw the last surviving Walker into the field so soon, but Hesh refused to hear no. He twisted Merrick’s arm with quiet desperation, insisting he was fine, that he could shoulder the weight. “Let me prove I’m still worth something.”

And how could Merrick deny him? In the end, he relented, on one condition: you went with him.

The op went sideways. Forcing Hesh and you to find refuge in some shitty shack on the edge of a bombed out town.

In Hesh’s mind, he was already losing again. already bracing for the moment you’d be taken from him too. The thought of being left completely alone gnawed at him until reason slipped away. You tried to console him, swore you were fine, but it was like speaking to a man underwater. He wasn’t hearing you. He wasn’t even there.

Then his hands were on you, shoving you back into the couch, his mouth crashing down on yours with a desperation that burned as much of anger as it did need.

For a heartbeat, he kissed you like a drowning man clawing for air. but then it broke, cracked down the middle. He pulled back just enough for you to see the wildness in his eyes. “You’ll leave too,” he muttered, half-growl, half-sob. “Don’t lie. You’ll find some reason, or fate will give you one. Everyone dies.”

“Hesh-”

“Mom died when I was a kid. Not her fault, but she’s gone. Dad bled out right in front of me. Logan-” His breath hitched, fury chasing grief. “Dragged away while I watched. And you? You’re the next ghost in line, aren’t you? That’s how it works. I hold on, and it slips right through my fingers.”

You cupped his face, but he shook his head hard, like he could rattle the thought loose. “Don’t you get it? No matter what you say, I know you’ll go. Maybe you’ll walk out, maybe you’ll die, maybe you’ll just stop looking at me the same. but you’ll leave. One way or another.”

Your chest ached at the conviction in his voice, at how deep the wound had burrowed. He clutched you harder, thumbs digging into your sides, as if pressure alone could fuse you to him. “I can’t-” his voice broke, raw and jagged. “I can’t survive it again. Not you.”

“Don’t you fucking leave me too,” he growled, voice ragged, teeth scraping your neck. “Everyone leaves. Dad. Logan. Not you. No…you’re mine. You’ll stay because I’ll make sure of it.”

You pushed at his chest, murmuring his name, but he only pressed harder, pinning you down with his body. His breath was hot, wild, more a snarl than a kiss.

“I’m gonna fuck a baby into you,” he hissed, words spilling like a vow and a threat all at once. “Round you out, keep you swollen with me. Then you can’t go anywhere. You’ll carry me inside you, carry us inside you. A family that won’t leave.”

“Hesh… David,” you tried to call his name to ground him, drag him back to reality, you pulled against his grip just enough to make him meet your eyes. “I’m not leaving.”

For a beat, he faltered, chest heaving. Then he pressed his forehead to yours, voice ragged. “Then let me prove it. Let me keep you here.”

The kiss that followed wasn’t gentle, it was pleading, frantic, desperate. His hands mapped your body like a man afraid it would vanish. When you arched up into him, answering the need with your own, it broke something loose in him. His breath hitched, his control slipped.

“Tell me,” he begged, mouth against your ear. “Tell me you want this. I need to hear it.”

“I want you,” you said, firm “but please we shouldn't have a child with our line of work-”

“I can’t let it stop,” he blurted, interrupting your reasoning, voice thin and raw. His hands tightened at your waist until you could feel the prick of his fingernails. “Not again. Not like this. My bloodline. someone has to keep it. If I don’t hold on to something of us, then what the fuck do I even have left?” he paused and stood up, undoing his pants stroking himself in his hand. “This has to happen whether you like it or not”

There was a dangerous glitter in his eyes now, grief folding into a need that smelled of panic and superstition. “I need you to carry on what we are. I need to-” He swallowed and the sentence fell apart. He laughed, a little crazed. “I need to make sure there’s more of me. More of us.”

Only then did he start to move his hand again. fevered, insistent. every thrust driven by grief so raw it shook through his body. You clung to him, the unwilling anchor he didn’t realize he still had.

“No! David, no!” you cried, voice breaking as you tried to scramble free. But his hands were faster. He caught you, forcing you back down into the couch cushions with a brutal kind of finality.

The glint of his knife was sudden, sharp in the dim light. He seized the hem of your pants and sliced straight through the seam, the blade parting fabric like it was nothing. In one rough jerk he tore them down to your boots, the sound of rending cloth loud in the silence. Another cut split them clean through, and then his hands were on your calves, dragging you back beneath him.

Your protests dissolved into a gasp as he shoved inside, pace rough from the start, grief driving him as much as lust. His hands moved from your legs and clamped hard around your wrists, his body rocking into you with a furious rhythm.

I’ll fill you until you can’t take it anymore. Until you’re dripping me down your thighs and begging me not to stop. You’ll take it. You'll take all of me, because I need this. I need you.”

His eyes were glassy, fevered, half-crazed with grief, half-possessed by the need to stake his claim.

“You’ll look so good carrying my kid,” he groaned, hips slamming harder, pace brutal. “Tits heavy, belly round- fuck, you won’t even be able to run. You’ll be stuck right here, my little cumdump, full of me. Forever mine.”

The words broke apart into curses and guttural moans as he pressed you deeper into the cushions, one hand clamped to your hip, locking you in place while he drove into you like a man trying to bury his grief inside your body.

You twisted beneath him, nails raking at his shoulders, begging, pleading, protesting voice breaking against his mouth. “Hesh! stop, please! it’s too much, I can’t-” you begged through sobs. “I dont want this!”

But he didn’t stop. He growled against your protests, his rhythm brutal, his grip unyielding. “Yes, you do. You’ll take it. You’ll take all of me,” he rasped, grinding harder, chasing oblivion like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

Your resistance faltered under the weight of him, every thrust shaking through your bones until your words fractured into gasps, the fight in your limbs giving way to trembling. He swallowed the sound of your surrender in another ragged kiss, hips slamming into you like a vow.

When he came, it was with a raw, animal sound, burying himself to the hilt and grinding against you, making sure every drop spilled deep inside. He stayed there, trembling, forehead pressed to yours.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, broken and possessive. “I'll rebuild the Walker bloodline myself! With you!”

He didn’t pull out. Couldn’t. His cock was still throbbing inside you, hot and thick, and the way your body clamped down around him made his head spin. His forehead pressed against yours, but his words were anything but soft.

He rasped, breath ragged, eyes blown wide and feverish. “My woman. My future. The Walker name isn’t dead, not while I’ve got you. I’ll put it back into this world, one child at a time, until there’s no doubt we survived.”

He shifted his hips, grinding deeper, making sure you felt the sticky flood of him leaking down your walls. His hand tightened at your hip, forcing you to stay still as he rutted into you with lazy, claiming thrusts.

“You feel that?” His voice cracked between a growl and a plea. “That’s the start. My blood in you. My family. You’ll carry it. carry me. And when your belly swells, when everyone sees you round with my kid, there’ll be no question who you belong to.”

Your breath hitched, half-protest, half-moan, but his palm slid from your hip to your stomach, pressing flat as though he could will the life into existence right there.

“Gonna breed you again and again,” he muttered, words spilling fast, fevered. “Until you’re dripping me every night. Until you’re too fucking full to move. You won’t run. You won’t fight. You’ll stay because you’ll have me inside you. Our children. A family that won’t leave me.”

He moved again, rougher now despite the oversensitivity in his own body, chasing another release like a man starving. His teeth grazed your jaw, then your ear, words hot and filthy against your skin.

HE JUST SHOVES HESH ????? Like thats your SON.DUDE.

This acc made me so upset on his behalf. Wtf.

He is so slick with it. You think he's better than his brother but you forget that Logan has to get it from somewhere. It's just that Hush puts on the act of being older, more mature, more settled into his retirement. Your big bear of a partner, who hardly seems to care for more than being sweet on you and taking care of the ranch, who thinks offering you his seat is flirting and buying you drinks is just what a gentleman should do. Who you text about wanting a new dress and he tells you, "anything you want mama, on me."

Like GOD he is so bad. He is so fucking mean playing innocent when you march your ass down to the ranch because this is an in person conversation. "Oh that must be autocorrect" must it be??? Must it be Hesh?? And when you get a little worked up because you will not be gaslit he finally relents with a smile and tells you, "I'm sorry mama, thought you'd like to hear it from your future husband." Huh???? Your what?? "Can call me daddy if you want, be fatherin' your children."

-maus🐭

He twists you into a dip so quick you can't catch yourself. You scramble to grab hold of his shoulders, the powerful flex of his biceps, anything to keep yourself from falling. You might yelp against his lips, give an indignant, "Hesh!" that makes his shoulders shake with silent laughter. He pulls away from kissing you to bury his face against his neck, muffling the boisterous laughter that bubbles out of him. He always feels younger when he's like this, the weight of the world doesn't rest quite so heavily on his shoulders when he holds you so tightly against his chest.

You do your best to hang onto him, to figure out where your feet should plant, before he hauls you back up to standing. "'M sorry darlin'," He tells you, still smiling against your skin, "just fun flusterin' you." You smack his shoulder, half admonishing, mostly just to keep touching him.

Spare Warmth Rating: G tags: Hesh x reader, established relationship, snowed in(sort of), Hesh being handy, domestic fluff Summary: You and Hesh take a trip up north to enjoy the ice and snow, everything is perfect. Except that your rental is a little... colder than you expected.

Hesh like Ghost is going back to school post military career! Although unlike Ghost he wasn't discharged, his father died and he didn't renew his contract so he could look after Logan. Since his brother was in college Hesh decided he'd go too. He didn't go in with any plan except to cause Logan grief, but life always has other ideas.

Hesh falls in love with you the first time he sees you. You're sitting pretty with a notebook in one of his required English classes reading from a heavy compendium. It's so cliche, but the longer he watches you the less he thinks you're enjoying the reading. You scrunch up your face and he picks up his crap to go sit next to you. Which is the start of his love affair with literature. Hesh really didn't see the big deal until he met you, but the way you talk about it made him take a second look. You recommend books to him and he isn't sure if he likes them because they're good or because they're yours. He strikes me as a historic fiction but also a Romantics lover. Something like Journal of a Plague Year, but also The Tenant of Wildfeld Hall.

Of course there's this fear you have that he's only chosen this major because of you, but Hesh is adamant that you only showed him how much he loved it. He's not a math guy, he doesn't want to think about foreign policy and politics anymore, and sciences just make him think about his time in the army. Every chemistry lecture gives him flashbacks to demolitions, every bio slide reminds him of mutilated corpses and casualties of war. He likes Literature, he likes the escapism of it. He likes sitting in the library with you in his lap as you both read. He likes proof reading your papers and debating symbolism. He likes the analysis of it all, likes that he can't be right or wrong.