random writer who doesn't write

i'm emy (she/her ౨ৎ · 20s) ☁️ still figuring out how tumblr works so please be patient with me ahaha!

i'm a writer! i write (instead of sleeping) for various fandoms, and i post whenever i can, which isn't always often because uni is relentless and exams exist unfortunately. but i'll try my best and post as much as i can! i also happen to be a non-native english speaker doing her best—so feedback and corrections are always, always welcome! i'm always trying to get better so if you spot something off in my writing please tell me! ♡

ALSO this account's theme might change every other week, i'm very indecisive about aesthetics and i will not apologize for it ahah </3

a few things about me: ♡ reading is my everything!! i read it all, fantasy, classics, thrillers… if it has pages i'll probably love it <3 ♡ i'm a gamer! CoD, visual novels, cozy games, anything that'll get its claws in my heart ♡ can't live without music (arctic monkeys, the smiths, the neighbourhood)

so glad you're here. thanks for reading and make yourself at home!

⸺ ft. Lane (BBD) , reader

⋆˚꩜｡ summary . Lane has a new favorite hobby. Unfortunately, it's you. (and you don’t mind this as much as you should) ౨ৎ wc . + 1.5k!

⋆˙⟡ tags . mature — mdni, reader-insert, second person pov, gn!reader, no explicit content, workplace romance, he's annoying on purpose and that's the whole plot, flirting disguised as antagonizing, idiots to lovers, soft ending, big bad dogs fanfic, + lane meme at the end because why not

₊˚⊹♡ cw . mature — mdni, lane, lane, lane again, lane being an insufferable menace (affectionate), mild sexism (called out!!), workplace setting, mild sexual tension, no explicit content, light physical contact, he's down bad and refuses to admit it, some french sprinkled in because i’m french, lane est un emmerdeur de première mais c’est pour ça qu’on l’aime <33

✧ a/n! . aaand here it is! a fic based on Lane, a character from the visual novel Big Bad Dogs made by the very talented @where-spar0w-barks ! go check her stuff out, she does an amazing job on her VN and she deserves all the support in the world! posted this in honor of the release date of Shift 3 at the end of June, which means GO PLAY THE VN RIGHT NOW >:))) OMG AND ALSO i have another bbd fic in my drafts ;))) ONE DAY I’LL GIVE IT TO YOU GUYS DON’T WORRY! (and yes I absolutely have other cod fics for you dww) happy reading and hope you enjoy ♡

Lane loves riling you up.

Started as an obsession, became an addiction.

Not that it hadn't been before. But now? Now Lane threw himself into antagonizing you with the kind of methodical dedication he usually reserved for doing absolutely nothing productive during his shift.

Because he'd seen behind the curtain. He'd made you laugh during the shitty date he’d pulled in the stock room, the two of you bantering and flirting. You'd called him out on every bit of the sexist bullshit he'd said, you'd reciprocated the banter, matched him blow for blow. Which meant that somewhere, buried under all the irritation and exhaustion, you didn't actually hate this.

Didn't hate him.

And for Lane, that was dangerous knowledge. So, it became a routine. An absolutely ridiculous routine, and he knew how stupid it was, but really, he couldn’t help it.

Not when the way you reacted was so endearing to him.

Monday night, he decided he’d grant you the effort of working the cash register, the only one in the store, with the busted scanner that you had to angle just right, and he spent twenty minutes pretending he couldn't figure it out, asking you for help with that infuriating smirk.

You’d given him the most judgmental side-eye he’d ever received in his entire life before shoving him aside and scanning the items for the poor customer who’d been standing at the counter for God knows how long.

Perfect.

Tuesday, he critiqued your stock rotation while following you around the store and through the aisles with his hands in his pockets, just enough to be annoying. Pointed out a "shelving inconsistency" that wasn't actually inconsistent at all, just a different approach than his. And when you’d finally decided to snap back at him, he slipped into the stock room and blocked the door from inside with his full weight for five solid minutes, just so you couldn’t enter.

You’d told him he was a ‘territorial manchild with the emotional intelligence of a rock’.

Lane had been grinning for hours afterward.

Wednesday, he got to that damn stock room first. Drank one Redbull, then two, then three, just enough to increase his chances of having a heart attack. Or at least question his cardiovascular future. Then he'd stood there, and instead of throwing the empty cans in the trash like a normal human being, he'd stacked them into a neat little tower right in front of the door, dead center, perfectly positioned for you to walk straight into them. Which you did, and the crash was magnificent.

You glared daggers at him from across the room.

"Problem?" he'd asked innocently.

"You're a menace," you’d hissed back.

God, yes.

By Thursday, you were staring at him, deadpan, as he reorganized all the facing you’d done by yourself. Because of course that idiot, who’d never once dragged his ass over to help you during a shift, had decided to suddenly, very diligently, do his part of the job, with the sole purpose of doing it wrong and watching you twitch.

"That's the third time today," you muttered, watching Lane deliberately rearrange the chocolate shelf in a way that was already pissing you off. "You moved that stuff three times in one shift."

"You keep putting it back wrong, babe," Lane said, completely shameless.

"There is no wrong. You're just being an asshole."

"You wound my heart."

Your jaw tightened, and you weren’t sure if it was because he was actually getting to you, or because you were trying very hard to hide the amused smile pulling at the corner of your lips. "You know what's gonna happen, right? I’m gonna snap. Like, actually snap. Worse than last time. Remember the slap?"

Lane paused, considering this. You? Slapping him?

"Looking forward to it," he said finally.

"You're sick."

"Probably."

Friday night, Lane found you at the counter, meticulously refilling the display rack closest to the register, the one with the small packets of candy and chewing gums. He grabbed the stool right next to you, even though there were plenty of other places to be, and started "helping" restock the shelf beside you.

Close enough that your arms occasionally bumped.

Close enough to be annoying.

"You're in my space, Lane," you said without looking up.

"Plenty of room for both of us here, doll," he replied easily.

"There is an entire store."

"I like it here. Better company."

You finally looked at him, and there it was—that fire starting to blaze in your eyes. "You're doing this on purpose."

"Doing what?" Pure innocence.

"This." You gestured between Lane and yourself. "All of it. The register, the empty cans, and now—" You waved again, this time at the minimal space between you two. "—this."

Lane set down the packet he was holding, turning to face you fully. That familiar smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"You could always make me stop," he said, voice dropping just slightly lower. "Tell me to back off. Complain to RJ. Hell, slap me again if you want."

Please slap him again. He’d beg on all fours. Hell, he’d bark. He’d bark like a dog.

You stared at him for a long moment, jaw working like you were physically restraining yourself from saying something, before you finally muttered: "You're impossible," and turned back to the display rack.

But you didn't move away, and Lane counted that as a win.

“... You’re gonna invite me?”

“Yeah.”

“On a date?”

“Yeah.”

You paused in your movements, mop stilling on the tiles, and slowly looked up to stare at Lane, scanning every inch of his face, looking for the tell. A smirk, a glint, some sign that he was messing with you. His expression was unreadable. Arms crossed, leaning against the counter, watching you with half-lidded eyes.

It was around 5 a.m., both of you were tired, bored, and you’d been busy mopping the sticky floor when Lane had decided to open his mouth and hit you with his plan. Well, you didn’t believe him. Or maybe you didn’t want to acknowledge the warm feeling that had settled in your fluttery stomach the moment he’d said ‘I wanna take you out on a date.’

Especially when the last date he’d pulled had been the one in the stock room, playing truth or dare while drinking cheap energy drinks and flirting like teenagers. Plus, you hadn't admitted to yourself yet that you'd loved that night. That it had followed you home, replayed in the dark behind your eyes every morning since when you were too tired to keep your guard up.

“With what money?” you finally asked.

“The money that I make while working.”

“You don’t work, Lane. I’m the one doing the damn job here.”

“I still get paid for it. Probably a few more bucks than you do. Y’know, wage gap and all that.”

There it was. Again. Clearly, that man didn’t listen to you. His words landed small and sharp, and your expression flattened. Not into anger, exactly, but into the particular kind of tired disappointment that came from someone almost being better, and then choosing not to be.

Your fingers loosened around the mop handle, and it dropped, the wood cracking against the counter, sound echoing in the empty store. You turned on your heels to walk away from him—only for Lane’s hand to close around your wrist.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” His voice dropped, tone now low and intimate. “Let me make it up to you.”

You didn’t turn around.

He tugged, gently, just enough to angle you back towards him, and you opposed no resistance, although you were still pouting. His thumb found the inside of your wrist and started moving in slow circles against your skin. Pleasant and soft.

“Please, baby?”

He was infuriating. You looked away, out at the empty aisles, the hum of the fridges, the buzz of the fluorescent lights. And still, you could feel the smile you were trying to hold back.

“If you wanna make it up to me so bad,” you finally said quietly, “you can start working on that shitty sexist attitude of yours.”

“I am working on it.”

“Hardly.”

“So it’s a yes on the date?”

Il est exaspérant.

But this time, you didn’t hold back the amused smile on your lips—slow, reluctant. You looked down at where his thumb was, still tracing patient circles against your pulse point, and it made something flutter in your lower belly. The knot in your throat loosened.

It was nice, you thought, despite everything. To be wanted like this. Not quietly, not a secret. To be wanted loudly, badly, and with all the subtlety of a man who’d spent the entire week teasing you and antagonizing you on purpose.

It was nice to know that someone was eager.

Even if that someone was Lane.

And to be honest, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“... Promise you’ll behave from now on?”

His thumb never stopped the slow circles against your skin, and this time, he completely tugged you against him. Cradled the back of your head with his free hand, letting your forehead rest against him as he propped his chin at the top of your head.

“I’ll try my best, angel.”

⸺ ft. L.T. SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY , reader

⋆˚꩜｡ summary . you weren’t careful enough, and the past that follows you wages war on you. ౨ৎ wc . + 1.4k!

⋆˙⟡ tags . mature — mdni, reader-insert, second person pov, gn!reader, no romance, angst, captivity, interrogation, found as leverage, you are not the target but you pay the price anyway

₊˚⊹♡ cw . mature — mdni, interrogation, waterboarding, referenced vomiting, parental abandonment, father complex, unwanted child, existential guilt, childhood trauma, being used as a pawn

✧ a/n! . i don’t have much time to write, but i still wanted to post something! this’ll probably change from my first fic ahah i just really wanted to try and write something dark and angsty! happy reading and hope you enjoy ♡

You can’t breathe properly.

The fabric bag that covers your face is soaking wet after buckets and buckets of freezing water have been thrown at your face, giving you that constant feeling of suffocating, even drowning. Every time you make a move—or at least try to—the chair you’ve been tied to makes a screeching noise that echoes in the room. The smell surrounding you is a mix of mold, mustiness, and urine, but you also smell something metallic, coppery... And you’re almost certain it’s blood.

You’ve been careful. Really. You’d gotten your own place as soon as you became an adult, and every time you walked outside of your own flat, you usually dressed in the most basic way possible, most of the time with a hoodie that would allow you to hide your face if needed to. You always took the small streets, the dark alleys where you were sure no one would go by, always preferring the empty places instead of the crowded ones. You have nothing to be guilty for, although you live in fear.

You lived in hiding, for you were nothing but the child of a man whose idiocy had led to the ruin of your life.

Sadly, you don’t choose your parents.

And the moment you walked in that street, late at night, only to get grabbed from behind with a wet fabric against your nose and mouth, you knew, in a way, that this was the beginning of the end.

“Still not talkin’, eh?”

A new wave of icy water hits your face through the thick fabric, and you swallow the bile that’s currently rising up your esophagus. Once again, you try to breathe through your nose, only for droplets of water to get into your nostrils. You hiccup, terrified, and the fabric sticking to your skin, against your mouth and against your nose, makes it hard for you to breathe, that gaping fear of suffocating etching more and more in your mind.

You open your mouth to finally try and talk, even cry, but the only noise that comes out of your throat is a strangled cough. Yet you try your best to control your breathing, lips parted and taking shaky gasps, only for the water running down your face to fill your mouth. You don’t want to throw up on yourself again; it’s too humiliating. Especially not in front of those strangers. Those men.

“She sayin’ somethin’? Take it off.”

Suddenly, the fabric bag is being lifted from your face, in such a violent gesture that your head bucks on the side, following the movement of the bag, and you hiss in pain. Your eyelashes slightly flutter, and for the second time since you’ve gotten here, you take in your surroundings.

The man who, you’re pretty sure, took the bag off your face is leaving, clutching onto the soaked fabric. The only metallic door in the room scratches on the ground and finally slams behind him, and the noise echoes so loud in the room it makes you flinch. The same cold room, walls and floor and ceiling made out of stones, with moisture in the corners. Only one window, the weak light of the sun shyly filtering through. But the state of the room isn’t your current preoccupation right now.

There’s another man in front of you.

Huge. A behemoth of a man. At least 6’3”, and if he already seemed muscular enough by the look of his broad shoulders, his tactical vest and plate carrier only seem to make him look bigger. The man is massive, and you know damn well you wouldn’t stand a chance if you ever managed to get yourself free.

You look him up and down, multiple times, like you’re assessing him, assessing his height, his weight, the handgun tucked in his belt. And when you look up at him—your gaze lands on the skull.

His eyes are dark. Dark, but not like the eyes of an angry person. Death looms into his eyes, a ravenous hunger that seems to gnaw at him from within. He is hungry. Not necessarily hungry for blood, or violence, but hungry for a vengeance that consumes him. It’s clear as day, for eyes are the windows of the soul, and his soul seems to be tainted in an endless, mourning grief.

Les yeux sont les meurtrières de l’âme.

“Gonna make me repeat m’self, or what?”

Only now does his voice occur to you. It’s low, calm, but barely contained. It’s raspy and rough, brassy and yet still sharp.

“Are you affiliated with Vladimir Makarov?”

As if by reflex, the mention of this name, at once so familiar and yet so foreign, sounds empty. Where did it go wrong?

You navigate through memories, memories that are as foggy as clear. You remember a disjointed childhood, angry screams and insults thrown between adults. You were too much; maybe an unplanned event that had somehow made its way into their lives.

You remember a suitcase hastily done, a long flight late at night that had made you cry, frightened. The feeling of being a burden, something unwanted, like a ball and chain attached to their legs, before one got freed of it and the other one had to carry it with him.

You remember jumping in the cold snow of the Russian winter.

You remember a man grabbing you by the waist and raising you up in the air, and you were laughing, and come to think of it, maybe he was, but his face had been scribbled on with a black wax pencil, the kind you used to draw with when you were little, before you proudly handed him the drawing.

The tears are blurring your vision, your breathing’s ragged. Yet your lips part for you to speak.

“Dad…?”

That feeling, you’d understood it a long time ago. Being young, yet sentient, because adults couldn’t comprehend the fact that kids weren’t stupid. They noticed, knew, understood, remembered. Conscious of the sensations of seeing, hearing, feeling. Knowing that you hadn’t been planned, and unwanted, that one night regarded as just being able to blow off some steam had ended in the prémices of your own life.

“Fuck’s sake. You’re Makarov’s fuckin’ kid?”

Knowing that you mere existence was the burden of so many people, yet you had been put onto this Earth with no choice but to accept it.

Your eyelashes flutter, and tears run down your face. You sob quietly for a few seconds, or maybe minutes. You only calm down when you remember that there’s no one here to help you, or take pity of you. Even though crying helps you release some of the anger you’ve built up in your chest, making your heart lighter, the man in front of you is still waiting for an answer. And so you give him one.

“… I wasn’t wanted.” He scoffs, and you add, your gaze moving to the window: “Usually, when you're involved in illegal activities, you don't make children.”

“Fuck are you doing here then?”

He crouches down to be on your level, waiting for an answer. It’s humiliating, and you feel ashamed. He chuckles again, mocking, and tears prickle at your eyes again. It hurts. Having somebody else mocking you for not having the answers for the one, simple question you’ve been harming your brain with your entire life.

“Should’ve thought ‘bout wearin’ a fuckin’ condom, how ‘bout tha’?”

You nod through a new wave of tears, because of course you agree with him. You never asked to be born, never asked for your parents to be your parents. Guilt wraps itself around you, the resentment towards careless parents envelop its hands around your throat and you choke.

The idea of being a failure, always have, always will, had settled in your stomach a while ago, like a heavy rock that wouldn’t leave you alone, no matter how hard you tried. But you have a gaping hole in your chest, one that begs for someone, anyone, to look at you and just care. To listen to whatever it is you have to say.

“H-He abandoned me after a while—”

“Didn’t ask. Shut ya gob.”

He groans as he stands up again, and he looks down at you. When you slightly raise your head to look at him, you meet his gaze, and it’s not upset anymore. Now, there’s a surge of victory in his eyes now, as if he knew he had the upper hand now. As if he knew he’d already won.

“Gonna have a problem, you an’ me.”

Your eyes close. To pay the price of a life you hadn’t chosen to live was to be tortured alive.

“See, ya dad killed a good friend o’ mine.”

Your heart stops in your chest, and your head tilts to the side. For the sheer misfortune of having been born, you had to pay for the acts and crimes of a man who had abandoned you.

“Think you’d be a perfect leverage for ‘im to show ‘is ugly mutt, dont’cha think?”

“He doesn’t care about me.”

Something shifts in his expression. It's nothing, gone before you can name it. A tension around the eyes, maybe, you can’t really tell.

"Yeah." He straightens up, rolls his neck. "We'll see 'bout that."

You don't argue. You've spent your whole life arguing against that particular hope and losing, and you don't have the energy left to do it again, not here, not soaking wet and tied to a chair in a room that smells like rot and rust.

Maybe he's right. Maybe your dad will come.

⸺ COD – ft. L.T. DAVID 'HESH' WALKER × sergeant!reader

⋆˚꩜｡ summary . you stole Riley from Hesh, and he comes back to take what’s his… sorta. ౨ৎ wc . + 8.8k!

⋆˙⟡ tags . mature — mdni, +18 ! , reader-insert, second person pov, afab!reader, enemies to lovers, forbidden attraction, rank dynamics ( lt. × sergeant ), power imbalance, banter that is basically foreplay, idiots who'd rather fight than admit they're down bad, they hated each other and then they didn't, soft ending because i said so

₊˚⊹♡ cw . mature — mdni, +18 ! , explicit sexual content, smut, penetrative sex, oral sex (cunnilingus, blowjob), fingering, multiple positions (missionary, doggy style, cowgirl), hair pulling, dirty talk, mild degradation, light biting/scratching, dry humping, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, consensual sex, rank/power dynamics (lt. × sergeant), mild profanity, fraternization, these tags are not in chronological order ahh i'm sorry!

✧ a/n! . hi guys! here's pt. 2 of the unresolved tension fic <3 sorry for posting it a bit late, i just wanted to proofread it one last time and then tumblr decided to bully me bc i had some problems with the formatting part </3 this was my first time writing smut and although i am pretty proud of the way it turned out I'm still terrified of sharing it with you guys, so like always feebacks are much appreciated! ps : while pt. 1 was written with a gn!reader in mind, pt. 2 features an afab!reader due to the nature of the explicit content. sorry for the inconsistency! i don't know what else to say so happy reading, and hope you enjoy! ♡ edit: i noticed some small typos/mistakes a few hours after the initial publication; these have been corrected! Sorry for the inconvenience, and I hope they didn't prevent you from enjoying the fic <3

"Alright, listen up," Elias began as he straightened to his full height. "Last briefing before we go. Chopper’s leaving in a few hours. We've got movement on the Federation supply line outside Caracas—"

The first word that came to your mind when you thought about the briefing room was… cramped. Concrete walls, fluorescent lighting, a projector humming from the ceiling, and a long table covered with coffee rings and pen or knife marks from bored soldiers who apparently had better things to do than pay attention.

God, how you hated this room.

Maybe it was because of the surgical-bright lighting that gave you the most vicious headache every time you walked out of here, almost burning into your eyes. Maybe it was because of the shitty acoustics, the way every sound bounced off the concrete.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was because you were sitting directly across from Hesh’s designated seat, facing him—and usually, most briefings involved the two of you glancing at each other with barely concealed dismay and kicking each other’s legs under the table, where no one else could see.

In your humble opinion, he deserved every single kick you’d given him.

"Federation supply convoy," Elias continued. "Fourteen hundred hours tomorrow. Intel suggests they're moving something big. Could be weapons, equipment, maybe even command personnel… We’re not sure yet, which is why this mission is reconnaissance. So do not engage."

He tapped the tablet on the table, and the projector cast a topographical map across the blank wall in front of you.

"Hesh, you're team lead. Keegan, Merrick, Ajax, you're with him. The rest of you—" his eyes swept over the rest of the team, landing briefly on you, "—will be coordinating from base. Communications, drone surveillance, extraction timing. Questions?"

You shook your head. And just for a quick second, your eyes flickered to Hesh.

Several days had passed since your last altercation, though there wasn’t a day that went by without the two of you finding something to fight about. And his words had been echoing in your head ever since he’d stormed out of that room.

"Don't start something you're not prepared to finish, Sergeant." "Because I will take my sweet goddamn time with you."

Of course, Logan’s words should have been the ones rattling around in your skull. But… Logan was Logan. You were used to hearing his comments by now, especially the unhinged ones directed at his brother and you.

No, what had truly bothered you that day was what Hesh had whispered before leaving. Because Logan could say whatever the hell he wanted, but hearing Hesh say something like that? Meant he knew what was going on. If the looks you two had been exchanging for months weren’t proof enough, what he’d said had confirmed it, plain and simple.

…

You hated thinking about this. Just rewinding it in your mind was enough to make your cheeks heat up, your stomach flutter, and you needed to think about something else.

The solution was right under the table.

So, you shifted a little in your seat, extended your leg, and—

Bam!

Hesh flinched, and his head snapped up to you, jaw clenching immediately. C’mon, you hadn’t even kicked that hard. And he gave you such a dark look that you had to turn your head away to hide the huge shit-eating grin that was slowly spreading across your face, biting your bottom lip to suppress the urge to burst out laughing.

Maybe the answer to all your problems was kicking men. Specifically, your Lieutenant.

"… Problem, David?" Elias asked the moment he caught his son’s gaze fixed on you.

You had to wipe the smile off your lips before looking back towards them, and you immediately met Hesh’s gaze again. Fuck. He hadn’t stopped looking at you, and you caught that familiar glint in his eyes again. The same from just a few days ago, right before he’d stormed out of the rec room. Your smirk slightly faltered, and you looked somewhere else, literally anywhere else, as he shifted in his seat. Yet you could still feel his gaze on you, and from the corner of your eye, you saw him slowly drag his tongue across his lower lip.

"Actually, sir," Hesh finally replied, eyes still on you and his tone carrying that particular edge that everyone in the room had learned to brace for when something was about to start between you two, "I have a concern about the support team configuration."

Logan's pen stopped spinning, and a huge smirk slowly appeared on his lips as he straightened up in his seat, like a man who’d just realized the entertainment was free and things were about to get much more interesting. You should’ve kicked him instead.

Elias raised an eyebrow at his eldest’s comment. He knew his son, and a small part of him probably already knew where this was going, but still, he kept his expression neutral and offered a measured: "… Go ahead, Lieutenant."

"With all due respect to my Sergeant’s capabilities," Hesh continued, and you noticed the mocking edge in his voice covered by false politeness, "coordinating drone surveillance requires a certain level of finesse. You know, attention to detail. The ability to follow orders without…" he briefly glanced at his dad before his eyes cut straight back to yours, "… questioning every single directive."

Your jaw dropped, and you were ready to throw back the classiest insult you could find in your vocabulary before you were stopped by a low chuckle. You glanced to your right, only to see Keegan’s shoulders shaking slightly. Meanwhile, Merrick closed his eyes as if praying for patience. But you? Oh, you did not have the patience, nor the temperament, to let that slide.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" You snapped, standing up from your chair. "I've run drone ops on six separate missions, Walker. Successfully—"

"Successfully enough," Hesh corrected as he leaned forward in his chair. "There's a difference between adequate performance and—"

"Oh my God, are you still on that Santa Monica thing?" You groaned in annoyance before you dropped back into your chair, dragging a hand across your face.

"I'm on the 'let's not get the team killed because our drone operator has an authority problem' thing, Sergeant."

"Well excuse me, Mr. 'I-failed-to-reload-my-gun-three-times-during-that-exact-fucking-mission."

"I reloaded just fine, Sergeant. Trigger discipline's not something you need to worry about on my end."

"Oh, wanna talk about actual trigger discipline? Maybe try and train those fingers a bit more. Put some time in on the range, and we’ll see how your—"

"Sergeant," Elias's voice cut through.

Which you didn’t particularly mind. Honestly, you had nothing to complain about; Elias had always been straight with you. He appreciated you as a soldier, respected your work, and you knew it. Aside from his sons, you were probably one of his most valued soldiers. Which sadly didn't make you immune to being set straight when you needed it.

"My fingers work just fine, Sergeant," Hesh said, and suddenly his voice had dropped, quieter, which somehow felt worse than when he was being openly irritating. It felt intimate. "And if you’ve got complaints about my technique, maybe you need a demonstration."

You barely registered his words under the noise of your own frustration and anger, already throwing your head back with a groan, eyes fixed on the ceiling, fists clenched at your sides in obvious frustration.

"Fuck me," you muttered with exhausted annoyance as you threw an arm over your eyes, blocking your vision from the smug asshole in front of you.

And Hesh? Well.

Let's just say that Hesh had run out of luck on that one.

The room had already erupted, and every single one of your colleagues around the table had started laughing, used to your antics by now. Logan was wheezing. The noise level had spiked, which was probably why Hesh thought, for a millisecond, that what he said next would be swallowed up by it.

He thought no one would hear him, so…

"Oh, I will."

The room went dead silent. Logan made a choking sound, and the laughter died. His eyes were the size of dinner plates. Elias’ eyes widened just like his son’s, lips parting slightly as if he was going to say something, but looking way too exhausted at the same time to actually say anything.

You froze.

‘I will.’

Two words. Those two stupid words he'd hissed to you just days ago, just for you to hear. 'Make me.' 'Don't worry. I will.'

You kept your arm where it was, over your face, for just a few seconds longer. You hoped it would hide the flustered expression on your face… In vain. Once again, you felt your cheeks heating up (and damn your body for making you blush so easily) and after you got your expression under control as best you could, you dropped your arm, immediately looking at him.

Hesh was smirking.

Fucking smirking, like he’d just won something.

The embarrassment you felt quickly turned to anger, heat crawling up to the back of your neck, and you were on your feet again, this time so fast you almost knocked the chair over in your movements. Oh, he’d upset you alright.

"Fucking say that again," you breathed, chest heaving up and down.

"You heard me just fine."

"You’re— I—"

Hesh hummed, low and unbothered, and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. Chin slightly tilted up to look at you, as if he was waiting for you to finish your sentence, as if his gaze was saying ‘go on. finish the sentence. i dare you.’

"Are you fucking serious?" Was the only thing you managed to blurt out, because what else could you even answer to that right now? When your own Lieutenant was looking at you like that, in front of your entire unit?

Logan finally found his voice, broken and wheezing, and instead of offering you the support you’d have much appreciated, he snickered: "Jesus fuck, David—"

"Enough."

The word came out quiet from Elias. He never needed to raise his voice; knew how to command respect without the need to yell.

He stood there, eyes closed, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Finally, after a few seconds of silence only filled by your teammates’ amused laughs, his eyes opened. He stared at his eldest with an expression of exhaustion that only seemed to appear when he had to separate you two from fighting.

Then he looked at you. Then back at Hesh. Then at the ceiling again.

"I don't get paid enough for this," you finally heard him muttering, so quiet it was almost inaudible. You hid a small, amused smile at his words.

His gaze returned to his son first.

"Lieutenant." His voice was flat. "One more stunt like that in my briefing room, and I will pull you from mission lead and replace you with Keegan. Are we clear?"

"We're clear, sir," Hesh said. "Won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't. And wipe that look off your face."

"Yessir." The smirk was gone now, and replaced by something… let’s say appropriately composed.

Elias turned to you. The exhaustion in his expression hadn't shifted an inch. And for some reason, you hated disappointing him.

"Sergeant. Watch your language. And the next time your Lieutenant says something that gets under your skin, you swallow it and you deal with it after the briefing. Not during. Are we understood?"

"But he—"

"Are. We. Understood."

Not a question.

"…Yessir," you said quietly

His gaze moved between the two of you one final time before he straightened.

"Dismissed. Get your kit squared away. I want everyone on the flight line and ready to move in two hours. Anyone who's late answers to me."

Just dismissed. No lecture, no risk of getting court-martialed.

Damn, you were lucky.

The mission had lasted 48 hours. Reconnaissance was clean, there had been no contact, no casualties, extract went perfectly smooth. It had been a good op, and Hesh had managed to keep his mind and his focus on the objective and on his team.

… Mostly.

The problem was the chopper ride home.

Because the moment the tension of the mission had finally been lifted off his shoulders and there was nothing left to focus other than the chopper’s rotors, his mind had gone exactly where he’d been refusing to let it go for months.

Back to the rec room, and the briefing room. Back to the flush that had crept up the back of your neck, and the heat burning in your eyes. God, those eyes of yours blazing with fury and anger.

Burning with arousal and desire and crave and need.

He'd replayed it more times than he'd ever admit.

Your arms tightened around Riley, and you let out a quiet hum of contentment.

From the very first day you’d arrived on base, Riley had practically fallen in love with you. He was always happy to see you: ears perking up, tail wagging more and more every time he spotted you across the base. Unlike his caretaker, who apparently couldn't spend five minutes in your presence without one of you starting something.

At night, Riley usually slept with Hesh. Sometimes, he’d wander to Logan’s room, or Elias’. But what Hesh didn’t know was that whenever he shipped out, leaving for a mission, Riley had discreetly gotten into the habit of following you back to your quarters and just… Staying. Sleeping with you.

Which led to this very moment: the two of you were stretched out on your bed, Riley tucked against your chest like he was something precious (and, to your eyes, he was) and your face buried in the fur along his back. His eyes were closed, completely unbothered and living his best life. Trusting you.

It could have been a very peaceful evening.

Could have.

But it wasn’t, because someone had just burst into your room without knocking, and you already knew exactly who it was before you’d even opened your eyes. You’d learned to recognise his steps, the pace of them, the way he walked.

Yet another evening of a man interrupting your peace.

The room was completely silent apart from Hesh’s slightly ragged breath, and you could feel his gaze on you. After a good four seconds of both Riley and you feeling another’s presence in your room, you two slowly opened your eyes, and Riley’s tail began to wag.

Your Lieutenant had gone very still in the doorway, taking in the scene in front of him. There you were, cuddled up with his dog, Riley tucked against you, you spooning the dog and hugging him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When Riley recognized his caretaker, his tail started wagging faster, thumping lightly against your leg… but he didn’t make a single move to join his favorite human. He didn’t scramble off the bed, didn’t go to Hesh. He just wagged while looking at him, all warm and settled against you.

"… This is very impolite of you, Lieutenant." You finally spoke, and your voice was unhurried, almost mocking, muffled against Riley’s fur. You hadn’t moved either. "Very… unprofessional. You should’ve knocked. I could’ve been doing anything in here, you know."

"What the fuck are you doing with my dog, Sergeant?"

Not a question.

"Look who’s using bad language now."

You finally lifted your face from Riley’s fur, taking a good look at your Lieutenant, and you couldn’t hold back the smirk spreading on your lips when you noticed his jaw tightening.

"Logan told me," he declared, finally pushing off the doorframe and stepping into your room, uninvited. You immediately straightened up a little, brows furrowing.

"Right. You can get o—"

"He told me that whenever I was on a mission, Riley had gotten into the habit of coming to sleep with you, and... Fuck, I had no idea." A beat. His eyes finally travelled down from your face to his dog, and his gaze softened at the view, a tender smile slowly appearing on his lips. "You traitor, getting cozy with the enemy… Trading loyalties, huh?"

"Your dog loves me, what can I say."

"I highly doubt that, Sergeant."

"He knows what’s good for him."

Hesh’s eyes flickered from his dog back to you, and there it was. Again. That familiar heat slowly building in his eyes, and a smirk slowly spreading across his lips.

"Riley, boy. Time to go."

Hesh crouched down to be at his dog’s level, and apparently it was enough to convince Riley to leave the warmth of you and jump off the bed. Hesh welcomed him in his arms with caresses, quickly petting his head. But even as the dog walked past him, Hesh’s gaze stayed on you.

And he looked at you with an intensity you’d never witnessed before.

Your heart started thumping harder in your chest, and you gulped, that familiar heat spreading on your face and neck again. It felt like this goddamn sexual tension had just gone through the roof.

Only this time, it was just the two of you alone. In your room. None of your colleagues here.

Okay, maybe you felt a bit nervous this time. So nervous you could feel a fluttering sensation in your stomach.

Slowly, Hesh stood up, and his gaze didn’t leave you. You thought it’d be the end of it when he finally detached his gaze from you to open the door, gently nudging Riley outside with a tender hand on his side—

But he closed the door behind Riley, and turned his head towards you again.

Oh.

Oh no.

You were on your feet before you even had the time to think about it, taking a few steps towards him without getting too close, meeting his gaze with a guarded expression on your face. He fully turned towards you before he took one step towards you, looking down at you.

"… Having fun there, Sergeant?"

His voice dropped and it was low, confident, his gaze piercing through you. Only now did you realise how tall he actually was. Tall enough that he was towering over you, his eyes detailing every single part of your face, his lips curved in a small smirk.

"I have no idea what you’re on about."

"Pretty sure you do."

He took another step forward, and you took one back.

"Let’s see. All the fighting, the bickering… That day you jumped at me." He tsked. "The language you use. The insubordination. The attitude… And now you’re stealing my dog? You know what you’re doing there, Sergeant."

His right hand moved to smooth the fabric at his left wrist, looking down at it, and you took advantage of the fact that he wasn't looking at you to let your gaze wander from his eyes to his lips, then to his viridian eyes again. You wondered for a split second if he was as tense as you were.

"You’re one to talk," you replied, voice strained. "You pick fights as much as I do. I’m not the only one to blame here."

He chuckled, still fidgeting with his sleeve without even meeting your gaze. "Admit it, you love it when we fight."

Your breath hitched in your throat, and you managed to swallow before you could choke on your own saliva (which would have been real humbling). Because this was it. There was no denying it now.

There go the consequences of your actions.

Your actions being teasing your Lieutenant and thinking you could get away with it.

And yet, you felt a sudden surge of bravery that pushed you to reply:

"Say that again. And look me in the eyes this time."

His grin only grew wider at your words, and he let go of his sleeve, straightening up, before his gaze landed right on yours. It was clear as day now: his half-lidded eyes were heavy with want, dark with hunger. This thing between you had been building for months and worn down to something… Raw. There was no pretending anymore—not from that look.

"I’m not gonna repeat myself, Sergeant. You know damn well what’s going on right now."

"Do I?"

"Yes. So stop pretending you don’t want this as much as I do."

There it was.

"I… I don’t."

"Liar."

"… You’re infuriating."

"And you’re turned on."

You shook your head, finally breaking the eye contact, and took another step back. Because yes, you wanted this. Of course you did. Of course you were turned on. But a small, lucid part of you kept resisting, and harassing your brain with one, simple question: is it worth it?

You both knew the rules. Fraternisation. In your unit, improper relationships between military members of different ranks and positions were prohibited. And you’d earned your place as a Ghost. You’d fought hard, poured all your sweat and blood into getting Elias to notice and recruit you.

And now that you were here? You couldn’t risk it.

"But I already warned you, didn’t I?" he finally said as he took another step towards you.

"Hesh—"

"Told you I’d make you fix your attitude, Sergeant."

"Hesh, we can’t—"

"Told you I’d take my sweet, goddamn time with you."

Fuck, when had he gotten that close again? So close that only a few inches were separating you now, and you were almost sure you could feel the heat emanating from his body, his warm breath on your skin.

So you said the only thing that you knew would piss him off.

"… I hate you."

"Yeah?" His voice came out a bit rougher, chest heaving up and down slightly faster than before, tension getting thicker and thicker. "That’s a fat fucking lie."

But his eyes dropped to your lips for just a fraction of a second before snapping back up, and you both felt the shift in the air, anger completely gone and replaced by something else entirely. Something that you wanted bad, so bad, but you couldn’t push yourself to acknowledge it.

"You know what? You want to act like nothing's been going on between us? Fine. But don't pretend you haven't noticed the way we look at each other. You don’t wanna talk about how we eyefuck each other? C’mon, Sergeant." He paused, and his voice got lower, head tilted as he stared at you, while you avoided his gaze. "Every argument, every time you looked at me like you wanted to kill me… We both know that’s not all it was. There’s been something there since day one, and you’re acting like you don’t feel it."

His eyes met yours again.

"Tell me you don't feel it too," he challenged, his voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me this is all one-sided and I'll back off right now."

You stared at each other for a few seconds, breath short, body warm—

And you lips crashed onto each other’s.

"There she is," Hesh muttered against your lips, and you could hear, feel the smile on his lips.

It happened so fast you barely registered your own movements: one second you were facing each other, throwing furious words at each other, and the next his hands were fisting in your shirt, pulling you against him, mouth crashing into yours like he'd been starving for it.

And to be honest, you knew he had been.

It wasn't gentle. It was hungry. It was desperate and messy and feral.

His hands came up to your jaw, fingers across your cheeks, and he tilted your head back with barely restrained intensity. Your teeth clashed together the first time, but somehow, that sharp collision that should've hurt didn't. Because this whole thing felt so damn good.

Never, in your life, had you thought you’d kiss your Lieutenant, but his lips were on you right now, demanding and moving against yours with this hunger that made your head spin. You had to wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself, feeling your knees buckle slightly under the tension.

And oh, weren’t you bold. So bold that you swiped your tongue across his lower lip, and he chuckled against you before letting you in without hesitation. It was wet, hot, and the moment he groaned low in his throat, you felt the sound vibrating against your mouth and send electricity through your entire body.

And fuck, it was messy and primal, but you didn't pull back. Didn't want to pull back. To hell with those fraternisation rules.

You felt the warmth of his hands leave your cheeks the moment he moved them, only for him to put his left hand over your hip, gripping hard, before he moved it to your waist and pulled you even closer. And the way he kissed you—God. Like he was trying to devour you, like every second you’d spent bickering and fighting had been nothing but foreplay.

Another shudder ran through your body when you felt one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair and angling your head so he could deepen the kiss. The other stayed at your waist, and the simple feeling of his hand there was enough to make you drunk on it. On him.

"We shouldn’t," you breathed against his lips.

"We really shouldn’t," he confirmed before he was on you again.

And just when you thought the kiss couldn’t get more heated than it already was, you started stumbling in your room, bumping into your nightstand, your desk, before he finally pinned you against the door. His lips left yours and started travelling to your jaw, made their way to your neck, where he started leaving a trail of open-mouth kisses there. You let your head fall back, and if it hadn’t been for his hand in your hair, you would’ve knocked it against your door, lips parted as you tilted your head to the side to give him better access.

Hesh pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead pressed against yours, both of you panting in the sudden stillness.

"Still hate me?" he rasped, and his voice sounded almost wrecked. Right before you even had time to answer him, his hands got to the back of your thighs, and he grabbed you. You gasped in surprise, wrapping your legs loose around his hips instinctively, and you couldn’t help but let out a small giggle.

"Maybe," you replied playfully, but your laugh was immediately cut by a gasp when he answered your words with a roll of his hips right against you.

Fuuuck.

"That's what I thought," he muttered, rolling his hips against yours once again, pinning you more firmly against your door, and you truly hoped from the bottom of your heart that no one would hear you through it.

You felt him burying his face in the crook of your neck as he rolled his hips against you again, and this time, you let out a shaky, almost inaudible moan. Your Lieutenant was hard against you, and he was dry-humping you.

"Feel that?" he whispered, his face inches from yours. "Feel what you do to me? Every. Single. Day. Driving me out of my goddamn mind..."

One of his hands that was holding your thighs left your leg to go grab your jaw instead, and he forced you to look at him. Your cheeks were burning with shame at that point, but fuck if you didn’t like it.

"You sure you want to keep pretending you hate me, Sergeant?" Another deliberate roll of his hips that made his intentions crystal clear.

The "hatefuck project" that Logan had joked about, and that you’d thought about far too many times, was suddenly becoming very, very real. And what scared you the most was that you weren’t sure if you had to keep the word ‘hate’ in it… Or take it out entirely.

"So here's what's gonna happen," Hesh continued, his thumb now making surprising gentle brushes against your jaw. "You're either gonna tell me to stop. Right now. And we won’t mention it ever again, to anyone, this’ll stay between us, and we’ll forget about it. Or…"

The "or" hung between you two. His breathing was harsh, and he stared at you with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

"Choose, Sergeant."

"F-Fuck you," you replied with a grin on your lips, because even though it was crystal clear you wanted him more than anything right now, you weren’t going to bruise your pride and ego by telling him that out loud.

"Oh, I’ll fuck you alright."

His mouth crashed against yours again, and it was angry and rough and desperate, months of pent-up tension finally exploding. His hand tightened on your jaw as he kissed you like he was trying to win an argument, and in a way, maybe he was. You still hated each other, after all. Right?

"Ah! Be careful, you fucking idiot," you suddenly gasped as you moved away the moment his teeth nibbled on your bottom lip, his own lips curled up in a smile. Pain mixing with pleasure in a way that made your head spin.

He pulled back to look at you with wild eyes, and your lips parted at the sight. "Careful?" he scoffed against your lips, pulling back just enough to look at you with wild, dark eyes. "You want careful? Wrong fucking guy, sweetheart."

But even as he said this, his hand on your jaw cupped your cheek, thumb gently brushing your bottom lip like to soothe it gently.

You’d made your choice.

"B-Bed," you managed.

That was all the permission Hesh needed.

He crossed your room in quick strides, before he dropped you on the mattress. You gulped and leaned your back against the headboard, watching as he kneeled onto the bed, settling right on top of you.

This was everything you’d been building to, wasn’t it? Every argument, every heated exchange, every moment of tension finally turning into this.

For just a few seconds, you two paused, simply looking at each other as you tried to catch your breath, but then—

"… Your fucking shoes are on my bed, Walker. Take them off—"

"This you way of asking me to get naked?"

"I’m asking you to take your dirty ass shoes off my clean sheets!"

"Damn. Who knew you were hiding such a perverted mind?"

Because of course even in such a situation, you two were still bickering.

In just a few seconds, he’d kicked his shoes and socks off, and you watched with a barely contained appreciative grin as he took off his shirt. His eyes met yours, and a smirk formed on his lips.

"Like what you see, Sergeant?"

"How could I not?" You replied as his hands now busied themselves with the hem of your shirt.

"Took you long enough to admit it."

You didn’t hold back an eye-roll, because this man always wanted to have the last word with you. He audibly groaned when he took it off you and realised that you hadn’t even bothered with a bra, and soon, your clothes were quickly discarded, dropping on the ground, before he tilted your head back to kiss you again.

"Fucking beautiful," he whispered as his lips started making their way from your lips to your jaw, to your neck again, then down to your sternum. "Knew you looked fucking perfect under that damn uniform."

"You—" You hissed when his lips wrapped around your nipple, his fingers playing with the other one. "You’ve been—ah—watching me, Lieutenant?"

Hesh gave your breast a soft but firm suck, tongue flickering over the hardened bud before shifting for the other one, giving it the same amount of attention.

"I mean… I have eyes. Plus, who wouldn’t? You look so damn good."

And you didn’t care anymore. Really, you couldn’t care less about the noise you made. You weren’t going to hold back, not now, not when your own Lieutenant was making you feel this good.

"So sensitive," he whispered as he gave each of your nipples one last kiss, chuckling before he pressed one to your sternum, then another, moving lower with deliberate slowness.

His hands gripped your hips, anchoring you as your squirmed. His mouth continued its descent. He glanced up at you for a split second through his lashes, eyes dark with want, like to make sure you were okay with all of this.

And you pushed his head down between your thighs.

Hesh immediately pressed a kiss to your hip bone, teeth scraping lightly on your skin on purpose, before he settled himself between your thighs. He pressed open-mouthed kisses there, right on each of your inner thighs, before he nipped at your skin, leaving marks like reminders that he'd been here.

"Fuck," he muttered as he let out a small breath, spreading your thighs wider as his hands gripped your hips, "For somebody who hates me, you sure are wet for me."

"Shut up—and stop staring at it!"

"Let a man appreciate the view, will you?" He smiled and his gaze flickered back to your face, observing with amusement your expression—what you assumed was a mix of shame, arousal and embarrassment—before he looked down at your pussy, on full display for him.

His hands left your hips to part your folds gently, running a thumb back and forth over your wet slit, and he finally settled his hands back onto your hips. "So fucking pretty."

Before you even had the time to reply, his mouth was on you. And he didn’t tease. Didn't play coy. Didn’t ease into it. He dove in like a man starving, like he'd been waiting months for this exact moment.

Your eyes rolled back, and for the first time since you’d first met him, it wasn’t with annoyance, but with actual pleasure. He groaned against you, like this was the best meal he’d ever eaten, and one hand left your hip to join his mouth. He pressed his finger into you with an intensity that had your hands flying to reach his head, moaning in pleasure.

"God, you taste—fucking perfect." he breathed out between movements, his eyes flicking up to meet yours for just a second before his focus snapped back down. "Keep moaning like that, sweetheart."

His tongue circled, his lips sealed around your clit, sucking gently before increasing pressure, his finger curling slowly, working you open while his mouth never stopped devouring you. His free hand that had previously been on your hip moved to stay on your lower belly, and he started applying a bit of pressure, while he added a second finger to stretch you gradually.

That man was patient in a way he had never been with you before.

Your hands were on his head, and in the midst of all this pleasure, you found yourself whining in frustration at the realisation that his buzzcut had made his hair too short for you to get a hold of.

"Fuck, I wish I could grab your hair…"

"Yeah?" His head rose slightly, and when he looked at you, you noticed his lips and chin glistening with a mix of his saliva and your arousal. "Can grow it out for you, baby."

"Shut up and go back to doing your job," you muttered as you pressed his head down again, and he answered by spitting on your cunt, watching it dribble down before he started lapping at you again, filthy sounds of his slurps only adding to your pleasure.

And you couldn’t help the moans that kept cascading out of your lips. They’d started quiet, just small, shy whimpers, because you were too scared of even the slightest risk of other people hearing you. And then, you’d just told yourself ‘fuck it’, already too far gone to hold your moans back. He didn’t seem to mind, either; if anything, he smiled or chuckled whenever you let out a loud moan.

"That's it, keep those pretty moans comin'," he murmured against you, voice muffled and words vibrating through you. "Fuck, you sound so pretty—"

He picked up the pace, his fingers thrusting in a steady rhythm while his mouth worked on you; tongue flicking, then sucking hard on your clit when he felt you getting close. He could feel her clenching more and more around him, and he a low laugh escaped him.

Didn’t need to say anything because you knew. You were clenching around his fingers, hips squirming more and more, and the noises you made became gradually louder as he kept working you without stopping, keeping the same steady pace.

"Hesh, Hesh, I’m gonna—"

Your orgasm hit like a train, and you arched your back under the pleasure, thighs closing around him as he kept going, without stopping, dragging your orgasm as long as he could. "Fuck! O-Oh, God—"

When he finally stopped overstimulating your clit, he gave it one small, soft kiss, gently pulling his fingers out, before he straightened up. He sat back on his heels, clearly satisfied with his work, and you felt his gaze dragging slowly all over you. He licked his lips while trying his best to catch his breath, grinning and obviously very pleased with himself.

Unable to meet his gaze, you immediately closed your eyes. Your legs were slightly shaking, your walls still fluttering, and your breath short.

"Gonna admit that you want me?" he asked as one hand caressed one of your calves with a gentleness that surprised you.

"I’d rather die. It’ll go straight to your head if I did," you answered with a lazy smile, clearly still a bit foggy after your orgasm.

There was a small silence, and his hand on your calf stilled. Your smile slowly faltered when you noticed his lack of response. You straightened up, eyes opening. Shit, had you gotten too far?

But he was grinning.

"I think it’s time to finally find better uses for that mouth of yours."

His hand came back to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he looked straight into your eyes, but before he could even guide towards him—

You took him in your mouth.

"Oh, fuck—"

Hesh's head fell back, his entire body going rigid as you swallowed him. His hand tightened in your hair, not quite pulling, but just gripping. Still kneeling on his heels, legs spread, his hips jerked at a particular suck of your lips around his tip, before you took him fully again. Tasted salty, but not unpleasant, and only pushed you to keep going.

From the corner of your eyes, you saw his free hand gripping the sheets beside him, knuckles white with tension. Your eyes crinkled with satisfaction, and you decided to finally make eye-contact with him.

Your gaze met his pretty viridian eyes, and you started bobbing your head back and forth, trying your best to maintain the eye contact despite the shyness that pooled in your stomach.

"Fuck, look at you, taking me like that…" he groaned. "So fucking pretty with your mouth full of my cock."

It felt like his eyes were burning your skin, because you could feel him tracking down to where you were working him. And God, even the sounds were enough to make you embarrassed. The wet slide of your mouth, your breathing through your nose, the small whimpers you made…

You took him out of your mouth, and started teasing him with provocative licks on the underside of his cock. The tip of your tongue slowly ran over his frenulum, along the ridge, still maintaining eye contact. And then your plump lips wrapped around the tip, gently sucking as the tip of your tongue moved in small circles—

Apparently it was too much for him.

Hesh pulled you up quickly, breath now clearly ragged, obvious desperation in his movements. His hand cradled the back of your head as he guided your mouth back to his. And you kissed him hard, tasting yourself on his tongue. The simple intimacy of it sent a shiver down your spine.

"Not yet," he finally said with barely restrained want and need, breathing heavily. "I'm not finishing like that."

And before you could even reply to him, he was manhandling you onto your back in one smooth motion, one hand flat over your sternum, before he leaned to the side and grabbed his jeans from the floor.

For just a split second, you thought this would already be over, but—

He fished a condom out of his pocket.

"Wait, how did you—"

Hesh let out a low laugh, amused by your reaction, as he slowly tore the wrapper open. "Grabbed one from my room after Logan told me you had Riley. Then I came to yours and…" His eyes dragged all over your form slowly, from your legs to your face. "Well. Look where we’re at now."

"You have a box of condoms in your room?" You asked as he rolled the condom over his length with one hand, the other resting on your knee, making soothing circles with his thumb.

"Opened the box for the first time tonight, if that’s what you’re asking."

"Humbling."

"Nah. Means I’ve been waiting for you, Sergeant."

You’d never felt warmer than right now, cheeks burning and lips slightly parted in surprise as Hesh positioned you on your back and settled between your legs. His forearm stayed right next to your head, and his right hand found your hip.

Unconsciously, you’d been waiting for him. And he’d done the same—well, except he’d actually come prepared. You knew this would’ve happened one day or another.

He didn't waste another second.

He grabbed himself and guided himself in, burying himself inside you in one smooth, deliberate thrust that knocked the air straight out of both your lungs. And you were so wet he slid in easily, smoothly, yet you hadn’t anticipated the stretch.

"Fuck!" You hissed as you wrapped your arms around his neck, jaw clenching.

"You alright?" He asked, gaze zeroing in on your face, checking for any expression of discomfort.

"Yeah, just… Yeah. Don’t— Don’t fucking look at me like that."

He didn’t even bother hiding the smug smile on his lips, ego clearly stroked.

"Want me to be gentle, Sergeant?"

"If you go gentle on me I swear to God I’ll actually kill you, Walker—"

He answered with one sharp thrust, and your back arched.

He didn't go slow. His pace from the start was rough and demanding. Every thrust was deliberate and deep, like he had a point to prove to you, because months of restraint had snapped, and none of you could hold back anymore.

His lips landed on yours again, and you kissed him back like your whole life depended on it. And it damn well felt like it.

"I told you I'd fuck you, didn't I," he managed between thrusts. Not cocky, not teasing, just… Raw need. "So go on, Sergeant. Tell me how much you hate me now that I’m fucking you on my cock."

You only answered with a lewd moan, voice breaking on every thrust of his hips. Your arms tightened around his neck, like he was your anchor, you finally managed to reply:

"I hate you, and I hate how cocky and smug you are, a-and I hate that shit-eating grin on your lips every time you make fun of me—"

"Good," Hesh snarled, that exact shit-eating grin spreading across his face even now. "Because I've been thinking about this for months. Thinking about shutting you up just like this. Every time you looked at me with that fire in your eyes—"

"Don’t you dare say it, Walker," you articulated through moans.

"—I was thinking about bending you over—" A thrust.

"Shut up."

"—or going down on you." Another thrust. "Anything."

You threw your head back with an obscene moan, eyes rolling back, only for the hand that was on your hip to come grab your jaw.

"Keep looking at me," he said, breathless. "Don’t you fucking dare look away."

"I hate you," you replied, and you'd never been such a bad liar in your life a you were being right now. "I fucking hate you—"

"Liar."

You felt his cock twitch inside you at your words, and a whimper escaped your lips as you clenched down on him. His forehead pressed against yours, breathing harsh against your skin, every muscle in his body coiled tight as he kept pounding into you, faster, harder, rougher.

Your hands moved from his neck, and your back arched at a particular thrust that made you gasp hard. You planted your nails into the skin of his back, and you scratched. Hard. Apparently not enough to hurt him, because he openly moaned at the feeling.

"You hate me?" he snarled against your ear, his pace getting faster. "Good. Hate me. Scratch me, bite me, fucking ruin me—"

His hand slid up to fist in your hair, pulling your head back against your pillow as his pace momentarily slowed, each movement dragging torturously slow as he slowly caught his breath, breathing in your scent in the crook of your neck.

And then you just had the wonderful idea of acting like a brat.

"C'mon, that's all you got? You're not very good at this," you taunted him with a smile, the both of you sweaty and breathless. Knowing every single of those words was just a bunch of lies.

Troublemaker.

"Oh, you want to play like that, Sergeant?" he growled, and suddenly he pulled out completely, making you gasp at the loss, before flipping you over and pressing you face-down into the mattress. "You want to run that mouth? Fine."

His hand fisted in your hair from behind, pulling your head back as he kicked your legs wider apart with his knee.

He slammed back into you with enough force to rock the entire bed back into the wall, setting a pace that was somehow even more brutal than before. One hand kept your hair fisted tight, controlling the angle, while the other gripped your hip hard. Probably enough to bruise, at that point.

"Not very good at this?" he snarled against your ear, his chest pressed against your back, completely caging you against the mattress. "You're a liar. Your body's telling me everything I need to know."

The new angle was deeper, harder. Every thrust punctuated his words, relentless and demanding, proving exactly how much of a lie your taunt had been. And now you were sure the whole base had heard the bed slamming in the wall.

"Say it again," he challenged, his voice dark and rough. "Lie again. I dare you."

He pulled your head back, and you looked up at him, completely cock-drunk, but you gave him the prettiest smile as your eyes rolled back the moment he gave you one rough thrust at that one devastating angle.

"Can't talk now?" he taunted back, that cocky edge in his voice even though he was just as wrecked. "That's what I thought."

Yup.

Couldn't talk. Couldn't even get a single word out. Maybe it was the pace, or maybe you were just too out of your mind. But fuck, the idiot had gotten you good.

"I'm gonna—" you managed to say.

"Yeah you are," Hesh growled against your ear, his pace somehow becoming irregular. "Tell me you fucking hate me while I make you come on my cock—"

You moved at the last second. You pushed him to pull back, hooked your legs under his and managed to roll him onto his back, and in one smooth motion, you were on top of him. The one in control now.

"What? Too stupid to think about this outcome, huh, Walker?"

Hesh’s head hit the pillow, but before he could react you were on him, straddling him, taking control. Still breathless, his hands immediately gripped your hips as you impaled yourself on him again, the both of you tensing up at the feeling.

"Think you can finish what you started?" His voice was rough, and he couldn’t even bring himself to thrust his hips up to meet your movements. "Go on, Sergeant. Ride me like you hate me."

You settled your hands on his torso, legs spread across each side of his hips, and you started undulating your hips, back arched. When you managed to find your rhythm, becoming more confident, your hands left his torso to run in your hair.

His hands settled on your hips, holding, following the rhythm you’d set for yourself, and a low, broken groan tore out of his chest.

"Just like that, baby, keep riding me—"

Your gaze met his and, once again, you decided to hold it. Standing above him, your hands buried in your own hair, lips parted and spine arching in a way that pushed your chest forward, moving your hips in a mesmerising rhythm. And the way he looked at you, like a fucking goddess from his point of view, the roll of your hips, all that was enough to send a boost of ego straight to your head.

One of his hands left your hips to shove between your legs, and the moment he started stroking your pebbled clit in slow circles, your own rhythm began to falter.

"Oh, fuck—"

You whined before dropping onto his torso. You were close, and you could tell he was too, but the overstimulation and the growing ache in your muscles made it near impossible for you to keep riding him in a steady rhythm.

You pressed your forehead to his, arms getting a hold of his shoulders, and it was enough for him to understand the message. Planted his feet into the mattress and started snapping his hips, taking over and chasing the finish line for the both of you, finishing what you’d started.

"Tell me you hate me," you whispered. "Tell me. I need to hear you say it."

"I—" The word came out rough. "I don't—" Another thrust, desperate now, chasing the edge. "I can't—" His voice cracked, and it sounded just as broken as yours. "I can't hate you. I tried. I fucking tried—"

"M-Me neither— Fuck, David!"

Your second release crashed through you harder than the first, your whole body trembling with it, nails dragging down his chest and arms as you shook against him. You came with his name on your lips, repeating it over and over again like it was the only word you had left.

And he followed you, his control shattering. His hands gripped your hips hard, pulling you down as he thrust up one last time, and everything went white-hot. The release hit him like a freight train, every muscle locking up as months of tension finally, finally found its outlet. A low groan tore from his throat that he couldn't have stopped if he tried.

…

Neither of you moved for a long moment. You were still on top of him, forehead dropped to his shoulder, both of you breathless into the silence.

And honestly, you’d expected him to move first. To say something stupid and cocky, like throwing in a ‘this was a mistake’, or to reach for his shirt and pants, to make this easier by just leaving before it could get weird.

Instead, one of his hands came to rest on your back. Just… resting there, warm, and his thumb started moving slowly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to do that, brushing your skin softly.

“You’re still here,” you finally observed, voice quiet.

“Not planning on moving any time soon,” he replied, like it was obvious. He turned his head to yours and planted a small kiss on your temple. “Your hair’s a mess.”

“Your fault.”

“Yeah.”

“Gonna pull out?”

Hesh wrapped both of his arms around you and shifted, and the sudden emptiness made you hiss. Once he’d thrown the condom in the trash under your desk, he’d come back to lay with you. And now your head was on his chest, his arms wrapped around you.

You were quiet for a second. Then, because you were you and he was him and apparently some things never changed, you decided to throw in a joyful:

"You're still an asshole.”

"And you're still a pain in mine." His arm tightened around you, almost imperceptibly. "Doesn't seem to be going anywhere."

You let out a small giggle, to which he answered with a kiss to the top of your head. A comfortable silence settled over the room before you broke it:

“… I can’t believe your brother was right. He literally called this months ago. With the whole pent-up sexual tension stuff. And the hatef—”

“Don’t talk about my brother,” Hesh groaned. “It’s ruining the afterglow.”

You traced invisible patterns on his skin, and after a small silence, you added: “You kicked Riley from my room to get laid. You’re a horrible person.”

"Worth it."

no actually I won’t let you know EXCEPT for the fact that it’s longer than pt. 1 and it’ll probably be out on Saturday evening/night (UTC+2!!)

⸺ COD – ft. L.T. DAVID 'HESH' WALKER × sergeant!reader

⋆˚꩜｡ summary . maybe there's more to this tension between a Lieutenant and his Sergeant than either of them is willing to admit. ౨ৎ wc . + 2.3k!

⋆˙⟡ tags . mature — mdni, +18 ! , reader-insert, second person pov, gn!reader, enemies to lovers, forbidden attraction, rank dynamics ( lt. × sergeant ), power imbalance, mutual pining, unresolved tension, banter, idiots who’d rather eyefuck each other than communicate, also they're emotionally constipated, one shot but i might write a part two?? idk aaa

₊˚⊹♡ cw . mature — mdni, +18 ! , implied sexual content, sexual tension, rank & power dynamics ( lt. × sergeant ), probably military inaccuracies, suggestive language & teasing, mild profanity, insubordination, honestly banter that is basically foreplay at that point

✧ a/n! . this one has been living rent-free in my head for weeks, and i really wanted to share it with you guys!! also AHHH first fic ever posted kinda nervous, it sat in my drafts for so long and i proofread it so many times and still i feel like this isn't enough, it's my first time ever posting as i said and im TERRIFIED, so feedback is deeply appreciated! please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction, Hesh wouldn't actually act like that but I thought it would be funny to write him not being able to figure out his own feelings! your headcanons are valid too, this is just a fun little version of him i wrote! tagging @dberrypie as promised, happy reading and hope you enjoy♡

He hated you. Good thing you hated him back.

Or at least that's what you'd decided to believe.

It was a strange feeling, really.

Logan had qualified it as "pent-up sexual tension," once. You were in the room when he’d uttered those unhinged words. Hesh had laughed it off, naturally; a dry, sharp laugh that said you’re insane, little brother. He’d also punched him in the shoulder. Not that hard, but still. Except the idea had remained stuck in your head the moment you'd heard Logan.

Because it wasn't that. It couldn't be that. All you felt for Hesh, and all he felt for you, was just... irritation. Pure, unfiltered irritation that made your whole body stiffen every single time he walked into a room. And when he did so, you had, in fact, gotten into the habit of giving him the nastiest side-eye ever known to humankind, with that perpetual scowl on your face. Every time you met his gaze. Like his mere existence was just enough to personally offend you.

Oh, you.

The Ghosts’ newest addition. You arrived on base just a few months ago. You followed orders to the letter, which led to make him look like the reckless one in front of his dad, whenever he proposed a plan that was too risky, or made a dangerous decision. The worst part? You were good. Damn good. Of course. Elias wouldn't have recruited you otherwise, wouldn't have brought you into the Ghosts if you hadn't earned it ten times over.

Hesh knew that. Respected it, even. He had to, in a way, because he was your Lieutenant. That rank defined dominance, authority, and responsibility. Lieutenant David ‘Hesh’ Walker had also probably been born with a rifle in his hands and an opinion about how you were holding yours. Still, you respected him. You'd never say it out loud, obviously. You'd take that to your grave. But you respected him.

And both of you couldn't help it. Really, you'd tried. From day one, you two had known it wasn't going to be easy. You didn't share the same opinions—or maybe you did, but that was somehow worse, because every time one of you said something, the other just had to contradict it on principle. Actually, you couldn't recall a single conversation with Hesh that hadn't ended in an argument… outside of missions, where professionalism won by default and you both had the good sense to put your feelings aside. Which was, come to think of it, the weirdest part: on the field, you worked together perfectly. Seamless and instinctive, like you'd been fighting side by side for years. ‘A match made in heaven’, Elias had called it once. However, the moment you set foot back on base? You two always reverted back to old habits. It had been that way since the very first day.

But it seemed like neither of you could bear the thought of being polite to each other. No, you needed to bicker. Or, worse than bicker, actually fight, every single day. Insults were thrown at each other, mocking words meant to piss the other off. You even recall a time when you'd jumped at him, only to be caught just in time by Kick and Logan, Hesh watching as you were dragged away with that infuriating shit-eating grin on his lips.

And hell if you didn't hate how much that grin had taken root in your mind.

"You're doing it wrong."

Speak of the devil. You didn't need to turn around to know who it was. And Logan that fucking traitor who was supposedly reviewing some mission parameters on his tablet, snickered. Because apparently he already knew where this was going.

You kept your eyes on the rifle in your hands. Tried your best to keep your breathing even—cause fuck, you were a Ghost, you had discipline! Even if you could already tell this wasn’t going to end well.

"The barrel assembly," Hesh continued, knowing damn well he’d already gotten your full attention even though you weren’t showing it, and you heard the soft thud of a boot against the floor as he pushed off the doorframe. "You're supposed to—"

"Pretty sure I know how to fieldstrip an M4, Lieutenant." The emphasis on his rank landed exactly the way you intended it: like both an acknowledgment of his rank, and a carefully, thinly veiled ’fuck you’ at the same time.

And you saw, from the corner of your eyes, his stupid smirk widening.

"Just making sure, Sergeant. Wouldn't want our newest Ghost to forget the basics."

Now, Hesh had always been the serious one. Your Lieutenant always kept his head down, and never let personal feelings get in the way of his job. He knew better than to pick fights over ridiculous things. Elias had raised his sons that way, disciplined and measured. The Walkers didn't get distracted and didn't let things get under their skin. So, Hesh didn't rise to petty bait when he had a mission to run and a unit to keep alive. He was a professional, composed Lieutenant.

And then there was you.

David had never been particularly good at leaving well enough alone when it came to you. Because no matter what he said, no matter how well he could shrug off his colleagues’ comments, he knew they were right. Logan was right. This was nothing more than pent-up sexual tension between a Lieutenant and his Sergeant. Wrong. Forbidden. Prohibited. And the worst thing? You knew what this was, too. And Hesh knew it. You were both aware of it, but you thought that perhaps not talking about it would make this whole feeling disappear.

But God, did you make it difficult.

…

You paused in your movements.

Then, slowly, you put your rifle down next to you, right where you were sitting on the bench, before slowly standing up and turning to face him. But he didn't falter; if anything, he watched you with that quiet smirk and those half-lidded eyes that had been getting under your skin for months.

"What the fuck," you muttered through gritted teeth, closing the distance between you, "is your problem, Walker?"

You knew better than to swear at your superior. But right now? You were way past politeness. Behind you, very quietly, Logan muttered a small, amused ‘oh, shit’ that you both ignored.

His smile deepened, became sharper. He didn't even step back when you approached, not even an inch. No, he just stood there, and he watched you close the distance between the both of you with that fire burning in your eyes that he'd become unfortunately, irritatingly familiar with over the past few months.

"My problem, Sergeant?" He tilted his head slightly, voice dropping to a tone that dripped with smugness, just enough to remind you (and everyone else in the room) exactly who held rank here. Sadly, not you. "My problem is insubordination. Lack of respect for the chain of command." His eyes glittered with a mix of amusement and challenge. "And the language you just used with a superior officer."

Ajax coughed... No, actually, might've been a laugh. But right now, neither of you could bring yourselves to care. Your Lieutenant still didn’t look away from you. Unimpressed.

"See, here's the thing," Hesh continued as he took one step forward, deliberate, and close enough now that you guessed he could probably see the exact shade of fury in your expression, close enough to be unprofessional without quite crossing that line. "You've got this attitude…”

His eyes didn't waver, not even for a second, and he continued. “You earned your place. Great. So did everyone else in this unit. That doesn't make you exempt from being corrected.”

He gestured vaguely toward your Ghost insignia. Your pride and joy.

"So you're here now. You’re a Ghost. Part of the team. And part of being on this team means not biting the head off your Lieutenant every time he offers constructive feedback on your weapon maintenance."

The sarcasm and the tension were so thick it felt like you could cut it with a knife. And you scoffed, because who the hell did that guy think he was?

On paper, it looked bad. In any other unit, on any other base, this would've looked like harassment or persecution. A Lieutenant singling out his Sergeant, picking at his subordinate, circling his lower-ranking officer like something to be worn down? In any other unit, it would've already been flagged. Someone would've done something. But, honestly? Anyone here with eyes could see that you weren't a victim of anything, except maybe your own stubbornness.

You gave as good as you got. Every single time.

Once again, Ajax’s voice drifted in from the adjoining room, this time questioning: "You two done measuring dicks, or should we reschedule the briefing?" To which Hesh broke eye contact with you, just long enough to call back: "Give us a minute, Ajax."

Then those viridian eyes were back on you, assessing and carrying everything that words couldn’t say. If ranks weren’t part of this, he would’ve already taken his sweet time with you. And you knew it. You could literally read it in his gaze, there was no mistaking it. "So. You wanna try that again, Sergeant? With a little more... respect for my rank this time?"

Your eyes were burning with fury. Hell, even your cheeks at this point; you could feel them heating up more and more just by seeing that glint in his eyes. It was hunger, shameless hunger, that showed in his gaze. And he didn't bother to hide it. It was written all over his face, crystal clear: I want to bend you over that counter over there and I don't care that I shouldn't. And the worst part was that your eyes were saying the exact same thing right back at him.

Like he was already thinking about it. Like he knew you were too.

And God help you, you were.

The worst part wasn't the wanting. It was the knowing. That he knew. That you knew he knew. Somewhere beneath your ranks and your uniforms and every rule that stood between the two of you, you had already had an entire conversation without saying a single word. There was no need; your eyes said everything that words couldn’t.

"You're always picking fights with me," you said, tone faltering, jaw tight, brows furrowed. Hoping that speaking again, addressing another subject than the one that really needed to be discussed, would help disarm the tension. You opened your mouth to add something else, but—

'—I'm telling you, it's pent-up sexual tension! And you know how you release pent-up sexual tension? By hate f—'

… Fucking Logan.

You watched Hesh's head whip around so fast you could've sworn you heard his neck crack. "Logan—"

"I'm just saying!" Logan continued, and he had the audacity to look completely innocent, tablet still in his hands like a damn ipad kid like he'd been commenting on the weather… and not his brother’s alleged sexual frustrations. "You think we don't see it? News flash, big brother. You two are either gonna kill each other or—"

"Finish that sentence and I'm putting you on latrine duty for a month," Hesh snapped. The threat landed as a joke, more as brotherly banter than a real disciplinary threat. But you’d noticed the slight, almost inaudible crack in his voice. His own brother's comment had managed to throw him off.

From the other room, Kick's dry voice floated through: "He's not wrong, though."

Not. Helping.

"Kick—"

"Look, I'm staying out of it!" Kick called back, laughter evident in his tone. "Just making an observation. A tactical assessment, if you will."

Hesh looked like he wanted to put his fist through a wall… or rather, through his teammates' faces. His jaw was clenched so tight you swore you could see his pulse point, and those green eyes that had been filled with amusement and cockiness thirty seconds ago were now blazing, just like yours, with what seemed to be embarrassment, anger, frustration.

He turned back to you. And for just a second, his gaze dropped. Not to your face. Lower.

Then snapped back up so fast you might've imagined it.

"This conversation is over," he finally bit out, voice rough and strained. "Both of you—" he jabbed a finger in his teammates’ direction, precisely Logan’s, "—can shut the fuck up. And you—"

His attention fixed back on you, and you saw the effort he was making. How clenched his jaw was. Like he was trying to regain control of the situation, to re-establish the rank, the professionalism, everything Logan had demolished with one single dumb comment.

"—fix your attitude, Sergeant. That's an order."

Your chin lifted, and you held his gaze for just a second too long before you finally replied:

"Make me."

The silence that followed was the loudest thing in the room, and for the first time, you couldn’t bring yourself to decipher the unreadable glint in his eyes. Finally, his lips parted.

"Don't worry. I will."

Then, he shouldered past you, hard enough to knock you back a half-step, and that's when his mouth dropped to your ear, low and private so that it was just for you to hear. You and no one else.

"Don't start something you're not prepared to finish, Sergeant." A half-beat. Then, rougher, quieter, just for you: "Because I will take my sweet goddamn time with you."

When he slightly pushed back, you swore there was a smile at the corner of his lips.

And then, he was just… gone.

To everyone else in that room, he'd just stormed off after losing an argument. Nothing to see here.

But you’d heard it.

Only you were standing there with your pulse somewhere in your throat, gaze lost in the void in front of you, heat crawling up the back of your neck, staring at the door he'd just walked through, your mind replaying that knowing smirk on his lips.

Busted.