Logan Walker - Blog Posts

No one could ever make me dislike Logan Walker from cod ghosts. He’s my little princess Pookie bear and I love him no matter what😘

Look at that little cutie pie🤭

Watcher 1-1

Part TEN!!

Warnings!: The 141 will be criminally stupid, fumblers, all of them. Death (canon-typical), Violence (canon-typical), loss of limb (I will cover the symptoms as well as possible, but any and all corrections are welcome) They do get kissy, but no smut (that I'm writing, but it's very much implied).

Before you can tear Soap's throat out, you see your fucking savior appear.

Sarah.

Her tanned, sun-darkened skin is exactly what you've been missing, the neatly-done braids that you remember helping her put in sway as she walks toward you.

"Captain."

You call out flatly. She smiles, knowing damn well you're calming at the sight of her.

The dog at her side (technically, Hesh's dog, Riley) gives a soft noise of greeting before lightly pulling at his leash, requesting to be let go but knowing better. Well-trained, like you would expect from Hesh. He does good work.

You assume your place by Sarah's side as Riley trots over to Hesh's legs, sitting by his booted foot.

"Right, let's handle this properly, yes?"

Her voice is polite but firm as she looks at the other team, not even a little fondness residing in her dark eyes as she gazes at Price, on even ground with the Brit in a way you never were.

In a way you would never need to be, with her. With your team at your back.

"This is Hesh, my lieutenant, Newton, my second lieutenant, and Newton's sergeant, Keegan. Hesh handles Logan. If you have questions, address them to me."

You know Price is looking at you. You know all four of them are, in part. But you also don't care nearly enough to react to it with anything other than a slight scowl.

You don't offer much attention as Price introduces his men, but you do pause for the last one.

"This is Roach. He don't talk much, but he's good people."

The stupid little antennae bob when he waves excitedly, before making a gesture that you know.

He waves, and swipes his hands up from the bottom of his ribs, before presenting both to your team in a 'thumbs up' gesture

How are you, in British Sign Language.

"I'm good, Roach. I don't talk much either."

Your voice is accompanied by some of your old BSL–a bit rusty, no doubt, and a little muddied, because you've been using ASL as much as you can, to squeak by in the US–reaffirming to the masked man before you that you might be a little off, but he's got some company.

Roach jumps a little, before flapping his hands excitedly while trying to stay in place.

You hate to admit it, but it's kind of endearing to you. Reminds you of the way Keegan bounces up and down when he gets excited, or how Hesh fiddles with any little piece of string you give him.

Roach could be... he had potential.

You'd look into him more, in your free time.

He'll be interesting.

First chapter | Previous chapter | Next chapter

Shorter chapter today, but it's more of a set-up for later shit, so get ready for the fecal matter to hit the fan, lovelies <3. Thank you for all the support today, it's been amazingly overwhelming to see :D

Watcher 1-1

Part Nine

Warnings!: The 141 will be criminally stupid, fumblers, all of them. Death (canon-typical), Violence (canon-typical), loss of limb (I will cover the symptoms as well as possible, but any and all corrections are welcome) They do get kissy, but no smut (that I'm writing, but it's very much implied).

There is something special about the barracks room you share with a man named Keegan Russ.

It doesn't lie in the construction, nor in the beds or how they're both unfortunately twin-size with terrible mattresses. It is so special to you because it is the very first space you've peacefully shared with someone you can comfortably admit to trusting.

Sure, temporarily, you're shared a room with Soap. Shortly before the... incident, you'd spent a good chunk of your time with Gaz. Still, you never quite felt like it was yours as much as it was his.

Back then, it had been something purely sensical. Of course the room didn't feel like it was yours, you've been here less than six months. Looking back, that feeling stung a good dose more.

It was a lucky night, in that neither you nor Keegan had suffered a nightmare. That just meant the thing to wake you was his alarm, blaring directly in your ear because Keegan always stole the part of the bed closest to the wall. You always let him have it.

The first thing you do is tiredly grab the bottle of lotion from the small nightstand, and sit yourself on the bed's edge, dispensing just enough into the warped, burned flesh of your palm.

If someone told you four years ago that you'd have to moisturize your stump first thing in the morning because it got dry overnight, you would have given them a really weird look.

Still, it's that motion that draws your favorite American to wakefulness. Every last time.

"Mhhngh, wh- oh."

Most of the time, Keegan just watches you get yourself ready. He'll pass you the compression "sock" that covers the stump that used to be your leg, gently kiss at your neck as you slip on your leg.

He used to talk more, but the quiet is good, too. It's simpler, and you struggle to speak in the mornings. Some complication or other, you're not sure. Smoke inhalation, you remember someone bringing up, in the early days.

Still, you can feel him shift behind you as you grab your prosthetic, and you feel two thick arms wrapping around your waist as he gently pecks your cheek, feels up on one of the few non-marred parts of your body.

"Hello to you too, Keegan."

The chuckle he gives you is worth the strain to your throat, and you can feel his cheeks rounding with a smile against the column of your throat.

There's a grateful hum that quickly turns into a soft grumble of annoyance as you rise on foot and fake limb, the younger still shrouded with blankets and drowsy. You've become accustomed to this.

"Already?"

"Yup."

Keegan groans again, but catches your hand in his own when you offer it, and hauls himself out of bed, rubbing the sleepy crust from the corners of his eyes and reaching to his clothes for the day.

"Thanks, Newton."

Your call sign drives a snort from you, and Keegan smiles when he hears it, though he doesn't react further, and a comfortable silence–broken on occasion by the soft rustling of clothes–settles between these sacred walls.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Of course, there are many parts to a morning, Keegan is not the only person you see anymore.

No, you do have people you... tolerate, now.

Maybe tolerate sounds rude. You do like Hesh and Logan, but in the mornings the younger really does test you.

At the very least, Keegan is the one who receives the brunt of that energy, as Hesh passes you the coffee.

"Real sweet, David, thank you."

The way the corners of his lips twitch up is enough to make you smile, too, and lean forward enough to press a little peck to his cheek.

It's always good to make sure everyone's in order before travel. You learned that from Sarah, and she'd hate to see you not living up to that.

Granted, she'll only be on the other side of the pond for another few hours, at the very most.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Maybe the only person you can admit to missing from your old task force is Nikolai.

The big Russian is someone you were only granted the honor of meeting once or twice, but he'd also never been a person that's entirely defied everything you were supposed to know about them.

Your last text from Nikolai isn't a scalding "fuck you". No, that's Soap. Bitch.

The slightly angered reverie is broken by Logan, with a strong, slightly knobby hand on your shoulder. Just a short tap, to bring you back into it.

You'll give him the credit, he knows how to handle people. Sometimes even Keegan misses a slip that's quiet like that.

"I'm here, kid."

He offers a lopsided smile at the curt response, goading you into giving him just a little more, Newton, c'mon. You humor him, this time.

"Thank you, Sergeant Walker, I commend your work for this team's morale."

You can't believe you ever used to confuse the brothers, when you watch Logan beam and puff his chest up a little at the lightest praise. Youngest child, to the very end of the line.

His mother must have been a hell of a woman, if Hesh was right about Logan being just like she used to be.

That tender thought must make you smile just a bit too wide, because he leans forward, and taps you on your nose.

"Told you I would get you to smile by the end of my first year."

"That-" He's pulling you into his traps, you almost said it didn't count. Why in god's name does Logan do to make everyone horse around like school-kids? No rational team would take this seriously "Fine, you win, Walker. Enjoy it."

He does, right up until the copper starts to land. This time, on British soil.

Your thanks are met with a phrase you can't quite parse, but you give the pilot a firm nod anyway.

Today's been good to you, even if the change in pressure has caused the phantom pain to spike. You take a moment longer to savor it before the second shoe drops.

Keegan's right there behind you, one more time, pressing his masked face into your neck so you know precisely who it is.

"You know we'll all have you, right?"

You take a second to take a breath, hand settled on the door of the helicopter, still hesitating just a little.

"Affirmative."

The second thing he says comes in a whisper, intended for only your ears, from your very favorite nurse. Your person.

"They like you just like I do. Everyone's got you, and I love you."

Those words used to make you cry. This time, they make you nod, and push the door open.

"Good choice of words, Russ. We can discuss that later."

There will be no discussion that happens later. It will be much closer to an act of fraternization, and you both know this. You know he knows this because Keegan's bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.

Still, your foot hits the floor, narrowly followed the running blade, and you give the men before you a deeply unimpressed look.

"Hello, Task Force 141."

Is it a purposeful disrespect to not greet your former captain by his name? They can't prove that.

Still, unless you've forgotten to count, there's one more soldier than there used to be.

"...And company. I didn't think you'd find new... backup so soon."

You hide nothing. Not as you look at who must undoubtedly be your replacement. Masculine-presenting, masked and he's... glued two little wires to his helmet.

What a fucking joke. They almost did you a favor by transferring you out, really.

"Firecracker?-"

Johnny is cut off firmly by you before he can finish, a tone that almost borders on reprimand.

"My callsign is Newton, MacTavish. I don't use anything unapproved."

First chapter | Previous chapter | Next chapter

Watcher 1-1 Masterlist

Synopsis: You used to be a star member of the Task Force 141. Good things never seem to last, and change paves over your old friendships. Now, the only issue is that those old friendships are staring at you across the table, with anger in their eyes.

Status: Incomplete, fully plotted

Cluster One: Early Days

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Cluster Two: Tumbling Gracelessly

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Cluster Three: Time, and the things it just so happens to do to good people

Part Nine

Part Ten

ೃ Random cod ghosts hc༄༊·˚

Warning: emotional numbness, implied depression, Angst. Character: Hesh walker Song rec: Mice On Venus

○ Hesh Walker no longer looks in the mirror the way he once did.

○ It’s not melodrama. It’s just a quiet, unspoken truth. Since the day his father’s heart gave out and Logan vanished like dust on the wind, something hollowed out inside him. Not shattered — not broken in any obvious way — just emptied. A soft erasure, like someone had scraped out all the color from within him with the edge of a dull blade.

○ He doesn’t know what he's supposed to feel. Anger? Maybe. Sadness? Probably. Mourning? Grief? Words like those seem too clean, too neat. Emotions are supposed to arrive with names, faces, pulses — but what he feels doesn’t. It just sits there, shapeless and heavy, like fog that never lifts.

○ So he doesn’t say much. He doesn’t cry. Doesn’t rage. He does what he knows how to do: he keeps quiet and keeps working. The way a lieutenant should. The way he always has.

○ But the team notice.

○ They see the dark, sharp lines etched under his eyes — not just from sleepless nights, but from something deeper, something lodged in the bones. They see the tension in his jaw, the way he stands a little too still, as if movement might shake something loose inside him that he’s not ready to face.

○ Yet he remains what he’s always been: a born leader. Natural. Unyielding. Even when hollow, Hesh Walker is still the man others follow without question — the kind of man who doesn’t need to shout to be heard.

hi guys! just a heads up: i'm going to delete dual mind, single heart and completely rewrite it with more creativity, better development, and more chapters!✨ i’ve thought of new scenes and ways to expand it, so i’m really excited to start fresh.

i’ll be deleting the old version in a few days, so if you’re interested in reading it before it’s gone, there are just 3 chapters up right now! feel free to check them out before i take them down :)

Dual Minds, Single Heart / pt1

Dual Minds, Single Heart / pt2

Dual Minds, Single Heart / pt3

thank you so much for the support so far! 🫶🏻

this is how cod ghosts 2 is going to start.

ladies and gentlemen the only reason why we don't have more unmasked logan (or logan himself lol) is because they feared his powers. thx.

✧˖* Kick call of duty ghosts gifs°࿐

Merrick: "Kick, you'll handle perimeter and security. Nothing and no one gets through."

Kick: "And no one gets out either."

©️Scenes from ASP3RITY on youtube.

✧ Title: Logan Friends to lovers. [requested]

✧ Characters: Teammate! any! g! Reader X Logan walker.

✧ Summary: That’s a soft burn with sharp edges type of love. A quiet storm. The man doesn’t talk much, but when he loves, it’s with his whole chest—even if he doesn’t know how to say it out loud yet.

✧ Warnings: Nothing, SFW content.

Boy, how he wishes he could just voice his thoughts to you—say everything he feels without hesitation.

Logan’s a composed man, always keeping his emotions in check, keeping his look calm and unreadable.

But inside? He’s emotional. Deeply. He just buries it well, finding any excuse to brush the thoughts off, to pretend they don’t exist—because feeling too much is dangerous for someone like him.

He's the type to notice first, but not acknowledge it.

It starts with awareness.

How you always adjust your gear with purpose.

How your voice sounds over comms.

How you move through a room like you own the space but never demand attention.

Logan notices. Always. And it quietly messes him up.

"Don't be reckless," he tells you before a solo op. You shrug it off. He doesn't.He doesn't say he's scared. He just hands you a fresh mag without a word.

He doesn't talk about it. He just... starts doing more.

And let’s just say… you don't mind his company :)

He’s not clingy, never the type to hover or be constantly in your space—but he wants to be around you. Whether it’s casual chit-chat or just sitting in silence, your presence calms him.

If you’re talkative or social? Hooray, you’re his favorite kind of chaos—because honestly, he’s terrible at starting conversations. But he’ll listen to every word like it matters.

One time, he straight-up asked if he could clean your rifles or do your job for a bit—just to help, just to feel closer to what matters to you.

He always sits across from you at meal time, no matter who else is around. That’s your seat in his world.

And honestly hesh never noticed.

Once, during a casual conversation, you said, “Yes, well, Logan walker here is my teammate”

Logan’s lips parted slightly, eyes dropping to the floor. Teammates? I thought we are… dating. :(

The doubt started creeping in again. Especially when he saw you around the others—talking, working, joking like you always did. And with Kick? Yeah, that stung more than he’d ever admit.

He hated how bitter it made him feel. He isn’t the jealous type—He just wishes he make you laugh like this since he know he is damn well boring man or whatever you think about him.

But after you shared a laugh with a teammate and walked off alone with Logan again talking about the thing they talked about, something reckless slipped out.

Logan let out a dry laugh, brushing it off like nothing. “Yeah… can you imagine? He’s taken? Kinda Ridiculous.”

But beneath the sarcasm, it stung—because that wasn’t about them at all. That was about him.

It’s not a grand moment. It’s not a near-death confession. It’s a normal day where you two are laughing over something dumb someone did.

And Logan looks at you — really looks — and realizes: You’re the peace in the storm. The thing he never thought he deserved.

He doesn’t kiss you. He doesn’t confess.

He just… takes a breath.

"If I ever lose this, I don't know who I'd be anymore."

Logan is the type to keep things bottled. He doesn’t say much, but he watches. And he notices everything about you — the way you move during recon, how precise your movements are in the field, the way you handle weapons without wasting time. He admires it quietly.

"You didn’t miss a single shot today," he says one night, his tone unreadable. You raise a brow. "You counting now?" He shrugs. "Only yours."

It doesn’t feel flirty. It feels... like respect. Like interest he doesn’t know how to verbalize yet.

❖ How He Acts After He Knows

Logan’s not awkward, but he’s more… careful. Intentional. His protective nature turns up a notch, but subtly—he won’t smother.

More present when you’re talking, eyes calm and unreadable.

Always behind you in formation, but close enough that if something happens, he’s the first one there.

Noticing your habits, your tells, and memorizing the way you speak when you're tired, stressed, happy.

After realizing his feelings for you, Logan will become even more attuned to your actions and words.

He watches how you work, your posture, your mannerisms. There’s a slight shift in how he looks at you — not just out of respect, but with a level of curiosity he tries to bury.

His focus becomes sharper when you’re around, but he makes sure not to let it slip.

If you’re cleaning your weapon or checking your gear, Logan might catch himself staring a little too long, noticing the precise way you work.

He’ll look away quickly, trying to force his attention elsewhere. He’ll brush it off as nothing, but the truth is, his mind can’t help but wander.

Logan, after realizing his feelings, would likely become even more reserved with you, at least at first.

His calm, stoic demeanor will become more pronounced because he doesn’t want to make any mistake or seem vulnerable.

The last thing he wants is for his emotions to interfere with his professional behavior, so he keeps his distance, not in a cold way, but just in a "I need to stay focused" sort of way.

During a debrief or mission prep, he might address you the same way he addresses everyone else, but he might catch himself pausing for just a fraction of a second longer when you speak.

He’ll have that fleeting moment of wanting to say something — something personal — but he’ll stay silent, pushing those feelings aside to focus on the task at hand.

Despite his attempt at emotional distance, Logan’s care will show through in small, subtle ways.

It’ll be a glance when you’re stressed, a hand just a little too close to yours when passing gear, or a silent offering of something (like an extra water bottle or ration bar) that he knows you’ll need. (also wtf im writing)

After a long day of training or a mission, Logan might say something like, "I left a spare water bottle in your pack." It’s not much, but it’s a small, quiet gesture that shows he’s thinking of you without saying anything.

Another time, if you’re struggling with something, Logan might be there, ready to assist, but he won’t press. He’ll let you handle things your way, but if you need help, he’s right there.

Logan’s feelings for you cause him to question whether he has the luxury to indulge in them.

He's a man of duty, and being in a relationship might distract him from what he needs to do — his mission, his team, the bigger picture. This internal conflict creates moments of tension within himself.

During downtime, Logan might be sitting alone, looking out at the horizon or up at the stars, his mind caught in thought. He's thinking about you, but he's also thinking about the mission, his brother, his father, the team, his responsibilities.

There’s a sense of frustration when he doesn’t know how to balance his feelings and his role.

He might even mutter to himself, “I don’t have time for this.” But deep down, he knows he does, he just doesn’t know how to make space for it yet.

Confession

The air outside was cool, a crisp reminder that despite the tension of war, time still moved in subtle rhythms. You and Logan were on the outskirts of the base, sitting in the shadow of a makeshift barricade. The rest of the team had gone to bed or was deep in other tasks, leaving you two alone, as usual.

You had finished checking your tasks, doing the usual post-mission routine. Logan, who had been quietly focused on his own task, adjusted the strap on his rifle before leaning back, looking out into the endless horizon.

He’d been distant lately, more than usual. You could feel the shift, the weight in the air between you. You both knew something had changed, but neither of you had said a word about it — until now.

"Everything alright?" you asked, voice calm but laced with sweetness. You weren't sure if it was the mission weighing on him or something else, but you could tell he was in his head more than usual.

Logan looked over at you, his eyes briefly meeting yours. There was something in them, something you hadn’t seen before — vulnerability, maybe. Or maybe it was just the way he hadn’t really looked at you like that in a while. He sighed, just enough to show a crack in his usual composed demeanor. He sat up, his hand running through his hair.

"I don't know," he admitted quietly looking down, voice low. "Maybe I’ve been… too caught up in the mission, in everything else, and I've let things... slip." He turned his head to you looking at you, you made a slight frown expression in confusion and smiling "Or maybe I just thought if I didn’t acknowledge it, it’d go away."

You can't hide the amusement when logan spoke like this for the first time with you you smiled "What are you talking about?" The underlying tension, the glances exchanged, the silence after mission debriefs. He was talking about you — about how his feelings for you had grown, and how he had tried to ignore them, thinking that focusing on the mission was enough.

"Logan, if this is about..." you started, but he shook his head, cutting you off before you could finish.

"No. It’s not about that," he said, his tone firm, but his voice was shaking slightly. "It’s about... everything. I’ve been focused on this shit, on surviving, on doing what I have to do. And maybe that’s why I’ve been avoiding this — avoiding you."

He paused for a moment, looking at you, as though weighing whether or not to say more. You could see him struggling internally, his usual calm demeanor fighting against the storm of emotions he was trying so hard to keep buried.

"I’m not good at this," Logan admitted, a self-deprecating chuckle slipping past his lips. "Talking about...Emotions. It’s not who I am. I never expected to feel anything more than just... duty. But you’ve made that harder than I thought." His words were careful, but there was an undeniable truth to them.

You didn’t say anything at first, letting him continue.

"I’ve tried to ignore it," Logan continued, his voice growing softer now, as if he was finally allowing himself to be vulnerable with you. "Tried to push it down, make it go away. But that’s not how it works, is it?" His gaze locked onto yours again. "I can’t pretend anymore. The way I feel... about you."

The silence hung between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was as if everything had led up to this moment — all the tension, all the looks, all the times he had held back. Now, there were no more barriers.

"I think about you all the time," Logan admitted, his voice steady but quiet. "I can’t focus when you're around because all I can think about is what this is, what we could be. But I’ve been too damn coward to acknowledge it."

His words lingered in the air for a moment, and despite the vulnerability in them, there was still something in Logan's demeanor that remained composed, measured, like he was afraid of the consequences of saying too much.

He exhaled slowly, his chest rising and falling as if he was trying to steady himself. He leaned forward, his eyes dropping for a second, his hand subconsciously reaching for the strap of his rifle, then pulling it back, as if physically trying to distract himself.

"But I don’t want to pretend anymore," Logan said, this time with more conviction. His voice was softer now, more intimate. "I... I want this, I want you. I don’t want to be the guy who just runs from this anymore, thinking it’s just a distraction." He paused again, eyes still on the ground. "I’m not asking for anything. I’m just telling you how I feel."

The sincerity in his words was almost overwhelming, especially given how tightly Logan usually kept his emotions in check. He was calm, always calm — but right now, there was a softness to him that made you realize just how much he’d been holding back.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just watched him, letting the words settle. Your heart was racing. You’d known for a while that the tension between you was real, but hearing him admit it, hearing him say it so plainly… it hit you hard.

Finally, you spoke, your voice quieter now, but filled with emotion. “Logan oh my god...what kept you away from saying this!?.”

Logan didn’t move, didn’t react right away. He just stood there, waiting. The briefest flash of uncertainty passed over his face, but it quickly faded as you stepped forward, closing the space between you.

And in that moment, everything fell away — the tension, the doubts, the barriers Logan had built so high. He didn’t hesitate. His hand found the back of yours, pulling you in, and the kiss was slow, hesitant at first, as if both of you were testing the waters. But soon, it deepened, the weight of the moment settling between you both, the relief of finally letting it happen.

When you pulled away, you both just looked at each other, breathless, knowing that this was the start of something real. Something that, no matter how complicated or dangerous the world around you was, was worth fighting for.

Logan’s voice, now quiet, but full of warmth, broke the silence. “I don’t know what’s ahead... but I know I want to face it with you.”

And for the first time in a long while, Logan allowed himself to feel at peace.

Since i made so many updates in the server i should announce on them here.

Cod Ghost server

Hey! It seems like a lot of people still don’t know about our Call of Duty: Ghosts Discord server and keep asking around—even though it’s already pinned in my post! and i have already written in my bio about it.

So, just to clarify—we have a SFW Discord server that’s a safe space for minors. We share art, memes, chat, and just have fun together!

When you join, you’ll need to stay in the verification room for a bit. We’ll just ask about your Tumblr account to make sure you’re not someone we’ve banned before.

So, what are you waiting for? Here is the invite!

no idea how to color the dog tho

So hey your hcs are good written and i like them!, Although I really think it is too much if every boo crew character has a healthy breakup...

How anon expected cod ghosts to react when their s/o tells them they wanna break up with them:

I wonder what the reaction of the boys from COD Ghosts would be if their partner decided to break up with them because s/o no longer wants to maintain a relationship with a man who is rarely home and s/o feels abandoned (plus the boys rarely answer messages)

(*My English is not good, I used Google Translate okay 😔✌️✌️*)

✧ 𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄: Breaking up with them... ✧ 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌: Call of Duty Ghosts. ✧ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: Logan walker, Hesh walker, Keegan russ, Thomas merrick, kick. ✧ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: x GN!reader . ✧ 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: angst, comfort. ✧ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Ansgt, Breaking up, emotional experience. ✧ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: GIRLIE YOU DONT FALL FOR THEM WORDS🚩🚩.

Logan walker:

He doesn’t fight it at first. He listens—really listens, eyes locked on yours even if everything in him wants to look away.

When you finally speak, your voice low but firm, it hits like a quiet storm: “I waited, Logan. I waited a long damn time. But you don’t come back anymore… not really. And I don’t want to feel like a ghost in my own relationship.”

His face stays still, unreadable, just like always—but his hands? They tremble, just slightly. The only sign that you’ve cracked something open inside him.

And for once, he has no comeback. No defense. Just silence—and the sound of something unspoken breaking quietly between you.

“I never meant to make you feel alone.”

His voice barely rises above a whisper.

Logan is a man who compartmentalizes to survive—he’s good at pushing pain down so it doesn’t leak out at the worst times. But he doesn’t know how to fight for something he already failed to protect.

He nods once. Eyes drop. Says nothing.

And when you leave, he just sits there, still in his gear, on the edge of the bed, staring at the door like he might will you back through it.

Later, Logan would write you a message. Not to beg, not to change your mind—just to say:

“You deserved more than my silence. I’m sorry.”

He stares at your last message for hours, eyes tracing each word like they might rearrange into something softer if he just keeps looking.

If you left a letter, he reads it five times—maybe more. Then folds it with precision, storing it in the same place he keeps old mission reports. Because to him, this? This heartbreak was a mission that failed.

He expected this, in some way. A quiet part of him always knew it was coming—like an inevitable storm on the horizon he refused to brace for.

His healing won’t be fast. He’ll keep doing the job, keep moving, keep being Logan.

But the quiet moments will be the worst—when the world finally slows down, and there’s nothing left but his own silence and that low ache in his chest. Brooding. Regret. And the echo of a love he couldn’t hold onto.

Hesh walker:

Hesh tries to reason with you—softly, gently. He wants to fix it, patch things up, hold onto what’s slipping through his fingers. But in the end… he respects you. He always has.

Hesh wears his heart on his sleeve, unfiltered and warm. So when you finally say it—that it’s not working, that you feel forgotten, that the fire’s gone dim—he goes quiet.

The golden retriever in him aches to make it right. But then he really looks at you—eyes tired, heart heavy.

“Damn…” he mutters, voice rough and low. “I thought I was doin’ right by protectin’ the world… didn’t realize I was losin’ mine.”

He doesn’t beg. Doesn’t try to trap you with promises he knows he can’t keep. Instead, he rubs a hand over his face, exhaling a rough breath, as if trying to clear the weight in his chest.

He looks at you, that flicker of respect in his eyes, even through the hurt.

“You always had that brave heart. Gotta respect that.”

His voice is steady, but there’s a quiet ache behind it. It’s not anger. It’s not regret. It’s just... acceptance.

"David... you are a perfect guy... but I guess these circumstances won't get there with you."

He nodded once, looking down, the weight of your words sinking into him.

You couldn’t help it—you leaned in just a little, hesitant, unsure.

Then, with a sigh, he met your gaze, a quiet frustration in his eyes. “Jesus, Y/N…”

Before you could say anything more, he pulled you in with one arm, a little firmer than you expected, wrapping it around your waist. You felt the warmth of his embrace, and then a soft peck at the top of your head—a gesture filled with unspoken emotion.

When you finally left, you turned to give him one last look. His smile was simple, but there was something in it—something that spoke of understanding, of finality.

It would take him weeks to heal, maybe longer. But there was an undeniable strength in his acceptance. Deep down, he knew you deserved better than the world he could give.

Keegan russ:

Doesn’t believe you at first.

"I can't do this anymore, Keegan. You're never home. I’m starting to forget what it feels like to miss you… because I’ve already accepted you’re not coming back."

When you say it, his response is flat, emotion barely rising in his voice: “You’re serious?”

You nod. You explain. Every word feels heavier than the last, and he doesn’t interrupt. He just watches you, like you’re walking away with something he forgot he could lose.

He doesn’t fight you on it—not verbally, at least. But there’s something in the way he stands, the tightness around his jaw.

And then, just when you think it’s over, he drops one final dagger: “Guess it was never gonna work. Should’ve seen that coming.”

It’s not that he doesn’t care—it’s that he cares too damn much. He’s pissed at himself. Pissed for letting it get to this point, for letting you feel like this with him. He knows he could’ve done better. And that’s what cuts the deepest.

If Keegan is with you, it means he adores you—taking you on dates, sharing quiet moments, doing everything to make you feel valued, loved.

He never thought this day would come.

That’s all he says at first, his voice flat, like he can’t quite process it.

You press him, asking if he has anything to add. He shrugs once, his gaze distant. “Not gonna chain you to someone who doesn’t show up.”

Later that night, when he's alone, he stares at the photo you took of him—your arm around his arm.

He tucks it into his gear, carefully, as if it’s a part of him that he can’t let go of. Even if you’re no longer in his life, that photo stays with him. And for years, it will.

“Hope you find someone who answers his phone more than once a month.”

He mutters it to himself, his voice rough, barely a whisper, like he’s trying to convince himself that it doesn’t hurt.

Yeah, Keegan would heal fast. Probably within a week. He’d push it all aside, bury it deep. He was good at that—at moving on, at leaving the weight of emotions behind.

But if something—anything—reminded him of you? He’d zone out for a moment, eyes distant, mind replaying that time, those moments, like they were never really gone. And just for a second, the weight of it all would hit him again.

Thomas merrick:

When you bring it up to Merrick, you expect resistance—maybe a speech full of excuses, or a list of reasons why he did what he did.

But instead, he just looks at you with tired, almost kind eyes, like he’s already been through it all before.

“I thought I was protecting you. By keeping you out of this life.”

You shake your head, your voice firm but soft: “That’s not the kind of protection I wanted. I didn’t want a soldier—I wanted you. Home. Present.”

Merrick doesn’t argue. He doesn’t try to explain or justify. He simply nods once, the weight of your words settling between you.

“I guess I failed you either way.” His voice is quiet, resigned—like he knew this moment was coming, but never knew how to avoid it.

He nods, his hand outstretched—offering it without hesitation. You take it, feeling the weight of the moment as he speaks, his voice steady but softer than usual.

“If that’s what your heart's tellin’ you, I ain't gonna fight it.”

You look at him, but he doesn’t let you linger on the uncertainty, adding with a quiet conviction, “But don’t you dare think I didn’t love you just 'cause I was gone'.”

That one hits deep, the raw honesty of it stinging more than you expected.

“You ever need anything... you know where I am.”

After you leave, he sits alone, whiskey glass in hand, the dim light casting shadows across his face. He stays upright, calm, like he’s been through this a thousand times—but the glass stays full for hours, untouched. A quiet reminder that some things aren’t as easy to swallow.

He’ll keep commanding, keep his job done straight—no distractions, no slip-ups. His focus sharp as ever.

But like Keegan, if something—anything—reminds him of you, he’ll just let out a quiet sigh, push the thought away, and move on. There’s no time to dwell.

What an old man, he thinks to himself, to experience these teenager feelings. He’s been through too much to let it pull him down.

But there’s one thing he holds onto, and it gives him some peace: He’s proud of the man he became. Proud that he was the one who stood up, who admitted his mistakes, and told you he was wrong. It wasn’t easy, but it was the right thing to do.

Kick:

He jokes at first, trying to brush it off with humor, his usual defense mechanism. But something shifts inside him as the words leave your mouth.

When you say, “I don’t feel like we’re in a relationship anymore,” he raises a brow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Babe, don’t say that. You're just mad ‘cause I forgot to reply to your message last week.”

But when you don’t laugh—when your eyes are watery but firm, holding a quiet strength that cuts through him—he sobers fast.

He leans in, voice low, almost hesitant, like he’s hoping it’s all just a misunderstanding. “You’re not serious. Right?”

When you don’t back down, when you meet his gaze with nothing but truth, he mutters under his breath, “Damn… you are.” And just like that, he knows it’s real.

He paces, his boots hitting the floor with heavy steps. He rubs his hands over his face, trying to steady himself, to think of something—anything—that could fix this. He tries to make you laugh, throwing out half-hearted jokes in an effort to ease the tension.

But when he realizes nothing he says is going to change the way you feel—when the weight of it all finally hits—he stops.

“So, what? I don’t get to be in your corner anymore? Just like that?” His voice cracks slightly, a mix of frustration and disbelief.

He watches you, waiting for any sign that this is just a bad dream, but when he finally sees that you truly mean it, his heart sinks.

After a long silence, you break it, your voice sharp but tired: “Kick, say something. You’re just keep looking.”

He exhales, the heaviness in his chest settling. “You ain’t wrong. Can’t lie and say I’ve been much of a boyfriend. Ain’t had the time to be.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze softening as he looks at you, quieter now. “Never wanted you to feel second place, darlin’. That’s on me.”

There’s nothing left to say. No excuses. Just the truth. And it’s a bitter one.

As you leave, the final hug between you both feels heavier than anything that came before. The silence stretches, but even then, he can’t stop himself from saying something, his voice softer than usual—almost like a whisper of regret.

“You deserve someone who can make a home, not just stories.”

He’s accepted it now. At first, he thought you just didn’t understand the weight of his job—the danger, the uncertainty. But now, sitting in the quiet aftermath, he realizes the truth: No partner would willingly live with someone who disappears for over a month at a time.

After you’re gone, he falls into his own kind of silence. Alone. Depressed. It’s the kind of loneliness he’s used to, but now, it feels emptier.

He never talks or gushes about you like what he used to do before.

He deletes your contact from his phone. It’s the logical step, the clean break, or so he tells himself.

But your photos? They stay. He can’t bring himself to delete them all, not yet. He looks at them sometimes, the ones where you’re laughing, the ones where you’re close, just before everything changed.

And in the silence, he lets the memories linger.

. ˚◞♡ Hesh Walker ⃗ *ೃ༄

. ˚◞♡ Logan Walker ⃗ *ೃ༄

My home

Homecoming

Playing cod ghosts but i can't cry.

playing struck down mission and cry Doesn't count because ajax died.

playing sin city mission and cry Doesn't count because elias died and told logan everything is going to be okay before he dies.

playing all or nothing mission and cry Doesn't count because in the begining hesh talked about elias, and also doesn't count again because hesh saw the mask is given to logan and tried to play it off.

playing the ghost killer mission and cry Doesn't count because the ending is shit asf.

Crying at the end of the game Doesn't count because a pit scene showed up and logan is there.

When they bring up hesh walker and i didnt glaze On him at the slightest thing, like him being so wronged-treated, how he deserves better, how he needs a break from everything:

Can I just say, that your work is literally so canon. Like you write the characters so realistically and so IN character. It’s downright beautiful, as far as I’m concerned your word is law 💕

May I request, how the Ghost team would react to confessing their love to teammate!reader while completely blackout drunk??

Like, they’ve fallen madly in love with reader, like I’m talking soulmate-once-in-a-lifetime-love things. But they’ve never acted upon it, always trying to repress their feelings for reader

But after a long mission, they all go to a bar, get drunk, and climb onto a table, stage, roof, anything, and just scream out their undying love reader. Or they get injured and the morphine makes them confess their love for reader. Either way, they wake up the next day, hungover af, and find out what they did by a teammate showing them a video of what they did

How will they react? How will they act while love-struck but in denial?? What will they do after seeing the video???

(If it’s too complicated or too much for you, then feel free to ignore this, have a nice day 😚❤️)

OMG ANON THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THESE KIND WORDS!!! THEY MEANT A LOT TO ME!!!

Anon this is so cheesy for me Idk why haha but still whatever this fandom want🙏🏻🤎.

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

Drunk (overreacted) confessions from them

characters: Logan walker, Hesh walker, Keegan p. russ, Kick.

X fem! Reader!

Notes: mention of alcohol!

Logan walker:

Logan isn’t usually a drinker, but after a long mission, he lets himself indulge. Unfortunately, tonight? Yeah, he overdid it.

At first, he’s just sitting quietly at the bar, drink in hand, looking at you like he always does—like you put the stars in the damn sky.

But then, something in his brain snaps. And before anyone can stop him, Logan climbs onto the bar counter, his movements surprisingly smooth despite the alcohol.

You groan, already bracing for whatever drunken nonsense is about to come out of his mouth. Logan isn’t a loud guy. He’s the quiet, brooding type—the one who watches from the shadows, sharp-eyed and calculating. But tonight? Thanks to way too much whiskey, he’s a whole different person.

The entire bar goes quiet as heads turn toward him. The team looks half-amused, half-horrified. Keegan mutters something under his breath, Hesh already has his face in his hands, and Kick? Kick’s just smirking slightly with kind of shocked expression, waiting to see how bad this gets.

You, however, are just trying to decide if you should drag him down now or let him embarrass himself first.

Logan sways slightly but holds his ground, looking down at you like you’re the only thing in the entire room that matters. His glass wobbles in his grip as he points right at you, eyes unfocused but filled with a ridiculous amount of passion.

“This—THIS RIGHT HERE,” he announces, voice thick with emotion, “is the most incredible, badass, beautiful human being I have EVER seen.”

Oh god.

You cover your face with your hands as laughter and whistles erupt from the bar. Someone claps. Someone else calls out, "Damn right!" and Logan, absolutely thriving off the attention, continues.

“You don’t even understand how lucky I am,” he slurs, placing a dramatic hand over his chest. “This woman—this goddess—she puts up with my brooding ass every single day. And she STILL looks at me like I’m worth a damn.” He pauses for a second, brows furrowing like he just had the deepest thought of his life. Then, suddenly, he grins. “That’s LOVE, people.”

You peek through your fingers, only to find him staring directly at you again, swaying slightly but still standing tall. Then, in the most theatrical, overly dramatic display possible

“AND I WOULD DIE FOR HER.”

The bar erupts.

Kick is howling with laughter, Keegan actually smirks, and Hesh is trying—and failing—To not acknowledge this is his brother standing. Someone in the back yells, “Kiss ‘her already!” and Logan, still very much riding the high of his drunk declaration

----------------------------------------

The morning after was hell.

Logan woke up with his head pounding, an insistent throb that seemed to match the rhythm of his heartbeat. He groaned, eyes squinting against the harsh light streaming through the window, as if the entire universe was conspiring to make him feel worse. His mouth tasted like ash, and his stomach churned in protest.

He shifted, slowly peeling himself off the bed, when he heard a familiar voice.

"Morning, lo," you said, holding up your phone in front of his face.

Logan’s eyes widened slightly, blinking away the remnants of sleep. And then, he saw it: the video.

No.

He immediately knew what it was. The alcohol-induced confession from last night. The one that had him spilling his heart out in front of the entire bar.

"Fuck, no..." he mumbled, his body going rigid as he pulled the blanket over his face, sinking into the pillows, trying to block out whatever embarrassment was coming his way. He wasn’t sure which was worse: the hangover or the thought of reliving his drunken declaration.

But you weren’t having it. You sat on the edge of the bed, a mischievous smile playing on your lips, as you pressed "Play" on the video.

Logan’s groan was audible as the playback began.

The video started with him standing on the bar, arms outstretched like some drunken Shakespearean actor, whiskey sloshing in his glass. You could hear the crowd cheering, the clinking of glasses, and then Logan’s voice—loud, completely unfiltered.

“THIS—THIS RIGHT HERE is the most incredible, badass, beautiful human being I have EVER seen."

Logan’s eyes widened as the words hit him like a freight train. His face instantly buried deeper into his hands, and he let out a long, suffering groan.

The video continued, his drunken confession echoing in the room. “I WOULD DIE FOR HER.”

By now, Logan had curled into a ball, attempting to disappear completely under the blanket, but you were relentless, laughing softly.

“You might want to see the best part, Logan. You know, the part where you said you’d die for me?”

Logan’s muffled voice came out from under the covers, full of defeat. “Fucking… why you doing this. I never should’ve had that last drink.”

You kept the phone at a safe distance, just long enough for him to hear the entire confession.

When it ended, you put the phone down on the bedside table, the silence in the room hanging thick and heavy. Logan didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

You watched him for a moment before leaning over, placing a hand gently on his strong shoulder. "Logan..."

He finally emerged from under the blanket, face red and eyes wide with embarrassment. "I can’t believe I—" He cut himself off, looking like he wanted to sink into the bed and never come out again. “God, please tell me no one recorded that."

You gave him a playful look. "Oh, don’t worry. It was just the whole bar... and maybe a couple of the regulars."

Logan groaned again, his face buried back into the pillow, but this time, a small, sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "This is it. I’m done. I’m staying in this room until everyone forgets about last night."

You chuckled, rubbing his strong back. “Well, you did say you loved me. It was a pretty sweet confession, even if you were drunk.”

Logan let out a breath, sounding both defeated and affectionate at once. "Yeah, but not like that..." He peeked up at you, his eyes softer than before. “I meant it, though. Every damn word.”

You smiled down at him, a little teasing, but your heart warmed. "I know you did, Logan. I know you did."

And in that moment, even with the hangover, the embarrassment, and the ridiculous video, everything else faded into the background. Because despite his blunders, despite everything, Logan’s feelings were real. And maybe, just maybe, that made the whole thing worth it.

Hesh walker:

Hesh is a messy drunk. He gets cocky at first, then way too sentimental.

So after a few rounds of tequila shots, He was looking at you now smiling softly when you holding a cup give a confused look with a smile, he looked cute in your opinion.

He struggled so bad with his words due to his drunk statement.

And when you couldn't understand him telling him "Careful, david. that sounds like a confession"

He groaned annoyed at you then he sat in front of you on the counter bar shocked you when he hold your face for a seconds to look at him and FOCUS ON HIM.

He stared at you with a mix of admiration and... something else. You felt his gaze before you saw it, the intensity of it like a spotlight on you.

And then, without any warning, Hesh slammed his drink down on the bar and pointed a finger at you.

"Y/N! I—I LOVED YOU SINCE FOREVER AGO. YOU’RE SO PRETTY AND FUNNY AND YOU KICK ASS AND I WANNA KISS YOU SO BAD."

You blinked, trying to process what was happening. Your heart skipped a beat, your mind going blank for a moment. The entire bar went silent for a split second, all eyes turning toward him. You could practically hear the crickets.

"David are you fucking for real right now?"

Logan, of course, wasn’t fazed in the slightest. He simply took a slow sip from his own drink, his eyes lazily flicking over to you with an unreadable expression. and yeah he succeeded in making himself a stranger just like the other fellas at the bar.

"…Dude," Logan muttered under his breath, not even bothering to give Hesh a side-eye.

But you? You were staring at Hesh, wide-eyed, completely stunned by his sudden confession. You didn’t know how to respond—what do you even say to that? Was this some kind of drunken ramble? Or was he being serious?

Hesh, however, wasn’t done. He leaned forward on the bar, ignoring the stares of the others in the room, fully committed to whatever the hell he was saying.

"I don’t care if anyone’s listenin’! I just—" He gestured wildly, a bit too animated for someone who had been drinking, "I just need you to know. You make everything better. You’re—everything. And I just wanna kiss you, Y/N, I—FUCK IT!"

You were completely overwhelmed, your face turning beet red. You felt so shy, suddenly unable to look him in the eye as his words washed over you. You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Your heart was racing, and the only thing you could manage to do was give a nervous, sheepish smile.

“Yeah, david... I’m just gonna go,” you muttered, suddenly feeling very much out of your element. You didn’t even wait for a response before turning to leave the bar, your mind spinning in circles.

But as you started to walk away, you heard Hesh’s voice from behind you, almost like a whine.

“What? Where’re you goin’?! Come on, don’t leave me hangin' like that!”

You quickened your pace, trying to hide the blush on your face, but you couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up. There was something so undeniably Hesh about the way he threw himself into everything, no shame, no hesitation.

Logan didn’t even glance your way as you left. He was too busy finishing his drink, probably already onto the next thing in his head. But as you made your way out of the bar, you couldn’t help but think about what Hesh said.

It was loud, it was unexpected, but in a weird way, it was also kinda sweet.

And for now, that’s enough.

---------------------------------------

The sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting a hazy glow over the room. Hesh lay there, still tangled in the sheets, groaning softly as his hand rubbed his temple. His head throbbed—he knew exactly what had happened last night. The alcohol, the words he couldn’t take back, the confession that had spilled out of him like an unstoppable flood.

“Why do I feel like I made an ass of myself last night?” he muttered, staring out the window as if the morning sun could offer him some sort of redemption.

You, standing at the door, couldn’t help but smirk. You'd been waiting for this moment, the moment Hesh would finally confront his drunken rambling. "You did, David. You really did," you said, your voice light but with just enough teasing to make him stiffen.

He turned around, wide-eyed, like he’d just seen a ghost. “Oh, nah…” he mumbled, running his hand over his face as if the words he’d spoken the night before were some sort of fever dream.

But it was too late. You pulled up the video on your phone and hit Play.

Immediately, his own voice echoed through the room, the confession he had made without a second thought. “I LOVE YOU SINCE FOREVER AGO. YOU’RE SO PRETTY AND FUNNY AND YOU KICK ASS AND I WANNA KISS YOU SO BAD.”

Hesh’s face turned redder than a tomato, and he buried his face in hands, his eyes closed as if he could somehow will the video—and the whole embarrassing memory—out of existence. But it kept playing, louder and louder.

When it ended, you could see the sheer defeat on his face. He was completely silent for a long moment. And then, with an exhale that was equal parts frustrated and resigned, he turned toward you, clearly ready to face the consequences.

"So that’s not me," he said flatly, as if to make some sort of last-ditch attempt at saving face.

You raised an eyebrow, trying hard to keep the amusement from spilling over. You could tell he was desperately hoping you’d let him off the hook, maybe pretend it never happened. But you just shook your head slowly, the smile still playing on your lips.

“No, David,” you said, trying to hold back a chuckle. “That was definitely you.”

You let the silence stretch for a moment, the weight of his embarrassment hanging between you two. His eyes were searching you, desperate for some reassurance, the fear of rejection clear in the way his posture softened. He was terrified that you'd hate him for the drunken mess he'd made of himself. But you weren’t going to make this easy on him.

"So..." you leaned in slightly, voice a little teasing. "When are you gonna kiss me?"

And just like that, the air shifted. Hesh’s entire system seemed to freeze. His eyes widened, his mouth slightly parted in confusion, like the real shock had just hit him. The cogs in his brain struggled to work as he stared at you, caught completely off guard.

Hesh.exe has stopped working.

You couldn’t help it. You chuckled at the look on his face. His hands flew up to his hair, messing it up even more, trying to formulate a response, but no words came out. His usual smooth, confident self was nowhere to be found. He was just a big, lovable mess of flustered nerves.

“Y/N stop it for real...” he stammered, trying to find something to say, his voice cracking under the pressure.

You raised your eyebrows, enjoying this moment just a little too much. “I mean… you did say you wanted to kiss me. Pretty badly, actually.”

Hesh groaned, dropping his body back into the couch, completely defeated. "I’m never drinking again."

You laughed again, shaking your head. "We both know that’s a lie, David."

But you didn’t let the moment linger in the awkward tension. Slowly, you walked over to his side of the couch, bending down to meet his gaze. "You’re lucky I think it’s cute, you know?"

He looked up at you, a small, sheepish smile finally tugging at his lips. “Yeah, I know. sorry for the embarrassment i brought to ya."

“You’re lucky I’m not going to hold it against you. But seriously… when’s that kiss coming?” [chat sorry i asked a lot but eh yknow its hesh]

Hesh’s smile grew, more confident now that the storm had passed. “You’re gonna make me work for it, aren’t you?”

You grinned, shaking your head. “You kinda deserve to.”

Keegan p. russ:

Keegan doesn’t get wasted often.

But when he does? It’s bad.

Tonight is one of those nights.

And instead of yelling his confession like the others, he just—stares at you. Like, straight-up, glassy-eyed, utterly in love staring.

Merrick nudged him with his elbow. “You good, Keegan?”

Keegan didn’t even bother to look at him. Instead, he just sighed, resting his elbow on the table holding his drink, his eyes staring at the table like he was lost in thought.

“No,” he muttered, voice low, like the weight of the world was pressing on him. “Fuck it, I’m not.”

You raised an eyebrow, hearing the frustration in his tone. It wasn’t like Keegan to let anything show, especially not in front of the team. “Why’s that?” you asked, curiosity getting the best of you.

Keegan barely spared you a glance. He waved a hand lazily in your direction, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “’Cause of you.”

You blinked, totally thrown off by the sudden and completely unexpected response. “Me?”

He nodded, his expression serious, almost unsettlingly so. It was like a switch had flipped, and the usual cool, collected Keegan had become something… different. “Mhm. You’re so goddamn perfect, it pisses me off.”

Your heart skipped a beat. What was happening? Keegan—cold, aloof Keegan—was looking at you with a kind of intensity that made you feel small, vulnerable. His gaze didn’t soften, didn’t break. It was like he was studying you, trying to figure you out in a way that made your stomach twist.

You couldn’t quite process the words he was saying. It was like a bomb had just dropped, and now everything was in slow motion. His tone was so calm, so detached, but his eyes—God, his eyes—were burning with something you couldn’t name.

And it scared you.

“…What?” You said it more to yourself than to him, your voice faltering slightly. You were completely thrown off. Keegan never acted like this. He was the cool, stoic guy in the corner, the one who didn’t let anything shake him. But right now, the way he was looking at you—confessing like this, with that cold, sharp edge—was unnerving. And yet, strangely… alluring.

He didn’t respond right away, just kept his gaze locked on you like he was daring you to understand, to process the weight of his words. His lips barely twitched at the corners, the faintest trace of a smirk threatening to break through.

The room felt smaller suddenly. Merrick’s voice was muffled, the noise of the team faded away as your focus stayed completely on Keegan. You were frozen in place, unsure how to react, unsure of how to deal with this new side of him.

He didn’t give you much of a chance to recover, though. His coldness was like a wall, but the words he spoke were undeniable, carrying the truth of them in a way that made your chest tighten.

And in that moment, you realized—Keegan wasn’t just being cold. He was being honest. And it wasn’t something you were ready for. Not from him. Not like this.

---------------------------------------

The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting a dull glow on Keegan's room. His head felt heavy, the weight of last night's events still pressing on his chest. He could barely remember what exactly had happened, but the fragments that were coming back to him were enough to make him cringe. Every word, every look, every confession—it was all there. And it was all his fault.

Keegan groaned, running a hand through his messy black hair. His blue eyes, usually sharp and calculated, were tired and heavy from the lack of sleep and the frustration that lingered from his own actions. He could still hear the echo of his words, the way he’d made that stupid confession to you, the way you had looked at him like you’d never seen him before. He hated it.

As if the universe decided to torture him just a bit more, there was a knock at his door. Keegan froze, hoping against hope that it was one of the guys. Anyone but you.

"Fucking hell," he muttered under his breath, not even bothering to mask his irritation. He stood up, rubbed his eyes, and reluctantly made his way to the door. He wasn’t ready to face you—not after what he’d said.

He opened the door, his tired, lazy blue eyes locking onto you. He sighed, turning his head away slightly, hoping you didn’t notice the tension in his face.

"Shit," he muttered again, though this time it was more to himself. "Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?"

You raised an eyebrow, unfazed by his coldness. Of course, he wasn’t exactly thrilled to see you. Not after what happened. But you weren’t going to let him brush it off that easily.

You crossed your arms, standing your ground. "You know we need to talk, right?"

Keegan sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair again, looking frustrated. "Not now. We’ll talk later, alright?"

But you weren't having any of it. You knew Keegan's cold, distant attitude. He always pushed things off, avoided confrontation. But you weren’t going to let him get away with it this time. You weren’t going to let him just pretend it never happened.

"No, Keegan," you said firmly, your voice softer but still determined. "You will talk about it now. We-oh sorry no, You need to settle this."

Keegan let out a long, exasperated breath, his shoulders slumping as he stepped back, motioning for you to come inside. The look in his eyes was a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. He didn’t want to admit it. Hell, he didn’t even want to face it. But the more he tried to push it away, the more the weight of his actions pressed on him.

"You don't get it," he muttered quietly, his voice losing the sharp edge it usually carried. "I don’t do this..." He shook his head, clearly frustrated with himself. "I don't say things like that."

You stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. Keegan didn’t even look at you, his gaze focused on the floor. His walls were coming down, slowly but surely, and he hated it. He hated how vulnerable he was feeling, how human he felt in this moment. It was rare for him to let anyone see this side of him—the side that didn’t have everything under control.

"You didn’t mean it, right?" you said softly, almost as if you were trying to reassure him. But there was a challenge in your voice. "Or did you?"

Keegan’s eyes lifted to you hands on his hips muscle, and for a moment, you saw something in them—a softness, something he didn’t usually show. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. The silence stretched, but then, quietly, he admitted, "I meant it."

It was barely a whisper, but it was enough.

The confession, the vulnerability—he couldn’t hide it anymore.

You stepped closer, your gaze steady but warm. "Keegan..." you said, soft but full of understanding. "You don’t have to be scared of saying it."

His eyes flickered to yours, and for a moment, you saw the wall he’d built around himself crack just a little. The harsh, cold Keegan you knew was still there, but this was him—really him. And in that quiet moment, he finally softened with a scoff, just enough for you to see it.

“Fuck it, I’m not scared,” he replied scoffing at you, his voice rough, but there was a hint of something different in it now. Something real.

And that was all you needed to hear.

You reached out, placing a hand on his chest, him breathing out looking at your hand. "Good. never thought you would get the balls to admit it russ"

He didn’t say anything in response, but the weight that had been pressing on him seemed to ease. The tension in his shoulders relaxed. He may have been a man of few words, but in that moment, the silence between you both spoke louder than anything else.

And for the first time, Keegan didn’t mind it.

Kick:

Kick holds his liquor well. Or at least, he thinks he does.

And he did too much when he gave in.

He is a honest person when he is soer just imagine him when he is drunk.

You were sitting hearing the chit chats, getting in with them.

When you felt someone pulled a chair next to you, it was kick.

You smiled kindly to him then returning back to the conversation turning your head.

He leaned in slightly, his voice low but steady. “I got a secret, Y/N.” He took a long sip of his drink, the way he swallowed hard indicating he was probably trying to brace himself for whatever was coming.

You turning your attention to him smiling, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s that?”

Kick tapped your shoulder with every word he spoke, his gaze locked on yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. “I. Am. In. Love. With. You.”

Your breath caught in your throat. For a second, everything around you seemed to freeze. The bar noise faded into the background, and all you could focus on was Kick. His smile was lazy, like he was saying something casual, but there was something in his eyes that told you this was anything but.

"Like, really in love," he continued, his voice almost playful but with an edge of sincerity that made your chest tighten. "Like, wanna spend the rest of my life with you kinda love. Ain’t that crazy?"

The entire team, unbeknownst to him, was watching from the sidelines, eyes flicking between you and him. You could feel the weight of their gaze, but it was nothing compared to the storm brewing in your chest. Your mind was racing, trying to process what Kick had just said. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol, the sudden intensity of his words, or the fact that you weren’t expecting any of it—but there you were, completely stunned.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out at first. All you could do was stare at him, your mind blank.

Then, after a beat, you finally managed to find your voice, though it was quieter than usual. “Let me think about it,” you said, your tone more measured, but there was a hint of playfulness in it too.

Without giving him another chance to respond, you stood up and walked away, heading for the exit of the bar. You could feel his eyes on you the entire time, the weight of his confession still lingering in the air.

You left him there, grinning like an idiot god he was so proud of you playing with feelings like thus, but also... kind of hoping he'd do exactly what he always did: chase you.

And for once, you didn't mind that he would.

-------------------------------------------

The morning light filtered in through the blinds, casting a soft glow over the room. Kick was sprawled on the couch, his head pounding, the aftermath of a night he could barely remember. His eyes slowly fluttered open, the familiar weight of a hangover making everything feel ten times worse.

He groaned and turned his head, trying to adjust to the light, only to find you sitting across the room, looking way too awake for someone who’d been drinking with him the night before. You smiled playfully, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. "How things, kick."

He blinked at you, confused for a second. His brain was still foggy from the alcohol, trying to piece together what had happened last night. The words he’d spoken to you—those declarations, the confession—felt like distant echoes in his mind. But as you reached for your phone, the reality of the situation hit him like a ton of bricks.

You pressed play. to the voice recorder file you have saved.

A sharp, rough voice—the unmistakable tone of Kick—filtered through the speakers. "I. Am. In. Love. With. You." It was followed by the sound of his words growing more passionate, more real, more raw. "Like, really in love. Like, wanna spend the rest of my life with you kinda love."

Kick froze. His face drained of color as the realization of his drunken confession sunk in. Oh shit. He had said all that. And now, you were playing it back to him like it was nothing.

There was a heavy silence between you both as his head throbbed, and all he could do was stare at you. His mind raced, heart pounding with a mix of embarrassment and anxiety.

Finally, he sighed, rubbing his forehead with his hand. "Shit, Y/N. Sorry I made the first confession this ridiculous," he muttered, looking down at the floor as if it could swallow him up. He had always prided himself on being cool, collected, but now, faced with the fallout of his own words, that image was completely shattered.

You didn’t respond immediately, letting him stew in his own regret for a moment. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, until you finally spoke up.

"I don’t mind it at all..." you said, offering a gentle, reassuring smile. "It wasn’t that bad."

Kick looked up at you, disbelief in his eyes. Was that your reaction? He’d expected you to laugh or make some snide comment. But instead, you were... calm. Maybe even understanding. And it made him feel a little less like a fool.

He leaned back, trying to steady his breathing. "I don’t want to make a joke out of this, Y/N," he said, his voice quieter now, but there was a level of sincerity in it that was rare for Kick. "I respect you too much for that."

There was a moment where his amber eyes softened, his usual cocky demeanor slipping away. His shoulders sagged, as if he was finally letting his guard down. "Look... I said all that last night, and I meant it. But maybe I said it wrong... or, I dunno, too loudly. But it was the truth."

You could see it—the shift. Kick wasn’t just the guy who liked to joke around, to keep things light. In that moment, he was real with you. And you could tell he was waiting, hoping for an answer, no matter how scared he was of what it might be.

You watched him carefully, your mind processing his words. You could feel the weight of the confession, his vulnerability. He wasn’t just trying to win you over with jokes anymore. He was being honest, and he was asking for something that took guts.

And just like that, you knew how you felt. You weren’t about to make him wait any longer. You smiled softly, a look of understanding and affection in your eyes.

"I think you were just too drunk to say it any other way," you said, your voice light but genuine, teasing just enough to break the tension.

Kick blinked at you, clearly relieved that you weren’t going to make this awkward for him. He let out a small, amused laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, maybe. But now that I’m sober... I meant every damn word."

There was no more joking, no more avoiding the truth. This time, you could see the real Kick, the one who wasn’t afraid to admit when he felt something. And it was all out in the open now. You didn’t need him to say anything else. You knew the answer to his question.

"I think..." you paused, eyes meeting his. "I think you’re not as bad as you make yourself out to be."

He laughed again, this time with a little more warmth. "Well, guess that’s something, huh?"

And in that moment, Kick felt like maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

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

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

✧ Title: The last command

Special thanks to @frenchfriesandhawtguys about the idea to the end of the oneshot!! <3

✧ Characters: G!N! Reader, Hesh walker, Logan walker, Riley,

✧ Summary: You were the one who found Riley—a helpless pup, lost and trembling. You raised him, trained him, gave him a name. Through battles and quiet nights, he was your shadow, your only constant. He knew you like no other, and you, him. But everything ends, and fate never spares even the deepest bonds…

✧ Warnings: Mention of death.

✧ Word Count: 3,986 words.

The world had unraveled, torn apart at the seams.

The ODIN strike had not simply reduced cities to rubble—it had rewritten the very landscape, turning once-thriving metropolises into smoldering graveyards. Ash clung to the air like a ghost that refused to leave, settling into the jagged ruins of homes, buildings, and streets now stripped of their purpose. Civilization had fractured, splintering into desperate clusters of survivors, each one grasping at the edges of a world that no longer existed.

You were not a soldier. Not yet. Just a lone figure in the wreckage, trying to outlast the end of everything.

The forest had become your refuge. Here, the air was still, untouched in some places, yet carrying an eerie stillness in others. Towering trees cast skeletal shadows over the ground, their branches whispering secrets to the wind. And always, there was the scent of smoke—distant but ever-present—a quiet testament to the devastation that loomed just beyond the tree line.

The rest stop was a ghost of what it once was.

Cracked pavement split apart by stubborn weeds, the remains of burned-out cars sitting like rusted tombstones, their hollowed frames whispering stories of those who never made it out. The air was thick with the scent of old smoke and decay, the kind of stillness that made your skin crawl.

You moved carefully, each step deliberate. Silence was survival. A misplaced footstep, a careless sound—it could bring someone, or worse, something.

Then, you heard it.

A faint whimper.

It was soft, almost swallowed by the wind, but unmistakable. Your fingers tightened around the rusted metal pipe in your grip, your only weapon, its weight familiar yet useless against the unknown.

Heart pounding, you followed the sound, stepping over shattered glass, weaving between skeletal remains of vehicles. The whimper came again, fragile, almost pleading.

And then you saw him.

The pup was barely more than skin and bones, a fragile thing caught between the wreckage of a world that had forgotten him. His fur, once thick and proud, was now matted with dirt and dust. His ribs pressed against his skin, a silent testament to how long he had been fighting—how long he had been losing.

His wide, wary eyes met yours, flickering between fear and something else. Hope, maybe. But he didn’t trust it yet.

You crouched slowly, careful not to startle him, your voice soft against the quiet.

“Hey, buddy... it’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

He flinched but didn’t run. He couldn’t.

Reaching into your pack, you pulled out the last strip of jerky you had scavenged earlier. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. You tossed it gently onto the cracked pavement between you. The pup sniffed the air, hesitated, then, with a weak shuffle of paws, crept forward and took it.

The moment his small jaws closed around the food, something in your chest tightened.

He was alone. Just like you.

From the moment he took that first bite, Riley became a shadow at your side.

The first night, he barely slept. Every snap of a branch, every distant echo of destruction sent a tremor through his small frame. He would lift his head, ears twitching, eyes wide and searching. You found yourself murmuring reassurances in the dark, your hand resting over his frail body, offering what little warmth and comfort you could.

The forest became home. Together, you picked your way through the wreckage of a lost world—fallen trees, broken highways, the hollow husks of abandoned gas stations. Scavenging was a way of life now, and Riley learned fast. He stayed close, his sharp eyes watching your every move. When you signaled, he listened. When you stopped, he froze.

Days bled into nights, and Riley grew. His ribs became less pronounced, his legs steadier, his steps more confident. He was no longer the frightened pup trembling beneath the wreckage. He moved with purpose now, following your every step, learning your cues. He knew when to be silent, when to alert you with a quiet growl, when to run.

He was more than just a companion now.

He was family.

---------------------------------

The sky burned with the colors of a dying day—deep orange fading into crimson, casting long shadows over the broken world. The distant skyline stood jagged against the horizon, its skeletal remains silhouetted by the last light. What had once been towering monuments of civilization were now crumbling reminders of what was lost.

You sat beside the small fire, its flickering glow offering the only warmth in the cool evening air. Riley lay beside you, his head resting on your lap, eyes half-closed but still listening, always listening. His breathing was slow, steady, the rise and fall of his chest a quiet reassurance that, for now, you were both safe.

You exhaled, watching the flames dance, then glanced back at the ruins in the distance. The world had fallen apart, but here, in this moment, there was something left to hold onto.

“We’re gonna get through this, buddy.”

Riley’s tail thumped once against the dirt—a silent promise.

And in that moment, you knew—whatever came next, however dark the road ahead became, you wouldn’t walk it alone.

---------------------------------

You hadn’t realized naming a dog would be such a challenge.

There you were, perched on a fallen log near your makeshift camp, Riley—well, the pup—sitting in front of you, his wide, eager eyes fixed on you, ears perked. He tilted his small head slightly, as if waiting for a command, or maybe for you to finally settle on a name.

His fur was looking healthier now, the days of rest and the food you’d managed to find filling him out a bit. He was starting to trust you more, the tentative steps he’d once taken now replaced with more confident movements. But despite everything, he still had that look in his eyes, the one that said you’re still the one in charge.

"Alright, buddy… we gotta give you a name," you murmured, rolling a small stick between your hands. Riley’s tail thumped once on the dirt as if agreeing.

You tried a few out loud, each one punctuated by a hopeful glance at his reaction.

"Max?"

Nothing.

"Scout?"

A slow blink.

"Ace?"

A lazy yawn, like he couldn’t be bothered.

You huffed, exasperated, and stared at him with a raised brow. "You gotta help me out here, pal."

Riley tilted his head again, as though he was genuinely considering your words. But after a moment, he simply licked his paw and gave you that look—the one that said, You’re the one with the ideas, human.

You sighed. Naming him was going to take some time.

Then, out of nowhere, a memory surfaced—a distant echo from a time when the world still made sense.

It was from an old movie, the kind you used to watch on lazy afternoons before everything changed. There was This dog named Riley. The dog had saved his friends countless times, charging into danger without hesitation.

"Riley."

The pup’s ears perked instantly, his eyes locking on yours, curiosity sparking in them. His tail gave a tentative wag.

"Riley?" you tried again, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

This time, he let out a tiny, almost uncertain ruff—a sound so small, yet somehow, it felt like the weight of the world had shifted. His first bark since you’d found him.

You couldn’t help but laugh, a rare, genuine sound that felt good in your chest. You reached out, your hand finding his ears, ruffling them gently. "Alright, Riley it is. Hope you like it, 'cause it’s sticking."

From that moment forward, Riley wasn’t just a stray dog in a broken world. He was yours. And you were his.

----------------------------------

A few weeks had passed, and Riley had grown into his name—stronger, sharper, more confident. He stuck to your side like a shadow, his trust in you solidified by every meal shared, every long night spent keeping watch over each other.

It was during a routine scavenging trip to an abandoned military outpost that you found it—an old, dented dog tag machine, half-buried beneath layers of dust and rust. Most of the base had been stripped clean, but this? This was something special.

You grinned, glancing down at Riley, who sat attentively beside you, his ears perked.

"Looks like it’s time to make it official, huh?"

The machine groaned to life after some trial and error, its gears grinding stubbornly. You fed in a blank tag, punched in the letters carefully, and waited as it clanked and stamped the metal.

When you pulled the tag free, you held it up to the dim light filtering through the cracks in the ceiling.

RILEY LOYAL TO THE END

You let out a low whistle, nodding in approval before threading the tag onto a spare chain. Kneeling, you gently fastened it around Riley’s neck, the metal cool against his fur.

“There you are.”

Riley shook his head, adjusting to the weight, then looked up at you with those bright, intelligent eyes. His tail thumped against the dusty floor, and then, for the first time since you found him, he let out a full, happy bark.

That was the moment you saw it—not just gratitude, not just trust.

Pure joy.

One afternoon, while resting near the crumbling remains of an old gas station, an idea struck you. Riley had grown sharper, faster—he had a knack for moving quietly when he wanted to. So, why not test it?

"Alright, riley," you said, stretching out on the cracked pavement. "We’re gonna play a game. If you can sneak up on me, you win."

Riley tilted his head, ears twitching as if considering the challenge.

You turned around, pretending to be unaware, staring off into the distance like you weren’t listening.

For a few moments, nothing. Just the wind rattling the rusted-out signs and the occasional creak of an abandoned car settling into the dirt. Then—so faint it was almost imperceptible—soft paw steps, the tiniest crunch of gravel shifting under careful weight.

You tensed, a grin tugging at your lips. He’s good.

But before you could react—

WHAM.

Riley pounced onto your back, sending you sprawling forward with an excited bark.

“Damn it—Riley!” you burst out, laughing as you hit the ground. He scrambled over you, tail wagging like crazy, tongue lolling out in sheer triumph.

You rolled onto your back, breathless, grinning up at him. "Fine, fine! You win!"

Riley let out another happy bark before flopping onto your chest, victorious.

----------------------------------

The tunnel was your only chance.

Above, the world had become a graveyard—charred buildings, shattered roads, the sky thick with the lingering ghosts of fire and death. The air reeked of ruin, the scent of the ODIN Strike’s wrath still clinging to everything like a curse. And now, the Feds were closing in.

You pressed your back against the cold concrete, every muscle tight, one hand gripping Riley’s collar. He was still small—still young—but he was smart. You had to believe in that. You had to believe in him.

"Riley," you whispered, your breath unsteady, barely audible over the distant hum of approaching boots. "You have to listen to me, okay?"

He looked up at you, ears twitching, his wide, trusting eyes searching yours. His tail—usually wagging, usually full of life—hung low. He could feel it, the weight of your fear, the edge of your desperation pressing into the space between you.

The tunnel’s exit loomed ahead, blocked by thick metal bars—rusted, unyielding. But near the bottom, just barely visible in the dim light, was a gap. Small. Too small for you. But just big enough for Riley.

You swallowed hard, nudging him forward. "Through there, boy. Go."

He hesitated. Whimpered. His paws barely moved.

Because he knew.

If he left, he might not see you again.

"Riley, please!" you begged, your voice barely more than a breath.

The sound of boots crunching over shattered concrete sent ice through your veins. They were close. Too close.

Desperation clawed at your chest as you reached down, running a trembling hand over Riley’s fur one last time. His body was tense, his wide eyes pleading with you, but there was no time. No choice.

You pushed him forward.

"Go."

He whined, resisting, his paws digging into the dirt. But you didn’t let up. With one last shove, he squeezed through the opening, his tail the last thing you saw before he slipped to the other side.

"Good boy," you whispered, your voice breaking.

Riley turned, ears perked, golden eyes locked onto yours. He waited, tail twitching. Waiting for you to follow.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you grabbed the nearest thing—an old, rusted metal sheet—and shoved it over the hole. The sharp screech of metal against stone made your skin crawl as you forced it into place, sealing the gap, locking him out.

Riley barked, panicked. Scratched at the barrier.

You pressed your hand against the cold metal, eyes squeezing shut.

"I’m sorry, buddy," you choked out.

Then, the shouting started.

Flashlight beams cut through the darkness, bouncing off the tunnel walls like hungry eyes searching, closing in.

The Feds.

They had found you.

But you didn’t turn. You didn’t listen. You didn’t care.

All that mattered was on the other side of that rusted metal barrier.

You pressed your forehead against the cold surface, your breath coming in quick, shaky gasps. “Riley, you gotta go!”

A sharp whine. Scraping paws. The sound of his nails against metal, desperate, refusing to leave. His ears flattened, his body low. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand.

Tears burned hot, but you held them back. You had to stay steady. For him.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your chest tight, your throat raw.

And then, with everything you had left, you gave the only command that mattered now.

“RILEY, RUN!”

For a moment, there was nothing. Just silence. Just pain.

Then—a hesitant shuffle. A broken whimper. And finally… footsteps retreating into the darkness.

He was gone.

And you let him go.

A single gunshot rang out, sharp and brutal, shattering the fragile silence that had settled between you and Riley.

The bark that followed was filled with fear—a terrified yelp that sent a raw, jagged pain through your chest.

You didn’t dare turn around.

Riley hesitated, just for a moment. You could almost feel the tug-of-war in his small frame—the pull of loyalty to you and the primal instinct to flee. But then, it happened.

Instinct took over.

You heard him move. His paws, frantic but determined, pounding against the tunnel floor, growing fainter with each passing second. He was gone. He was safe.

And you—you—you were left behind.

A cold chill wrapped itself around your spine, but you barely felt it. Your knees hit the ground with a dull thud, and you slumped forward, your hands pressing into the cracked, gritty surface beneath you. The weight of it all—everything—pressed down on your chest, suffocating you. You had done what needed to be done. He was safe.

The sound of boots crunching over debris drew closer. Their shadows moved across the tunnel walls, a harsh reminder of how little time you had left.

A voice. Harsh. Commanding.

And then, without warning, another gunshot.

This time, it wasn’t distant. It wasn’t a warning. It was meant for you.

The world blurred as the bullet hit its mark—pain exploded in your side, white-hot and consuming. The world tilted, your breath coming in shallow gasps, your vision tunneling. The echoes of the Feds’ movements seemed to stretch endlessly, like the whole world had slowed down, as if time was offering you a moment of clarity before everything fell apart.

You fell.

Your body hit the ground with a sickening thud, your limbs stiffening as blood seeped from the wound, dark and thick. Your breath came slower, weaker, the pulse of life fading with each passing second.

But through it all, one thing remained—the thought of Riley.

You were going to die, but he was free.

And somehow, that was enough.

The last thing you felt was the cold concrete pressing into your cheek as darkness overtook you, swallowing everything—until there was nothing left.

--------------------------------------

The world was quieter now. Not peaceful—never peaceful—but quieter. The aftermath of the Odin Strike had left behind a broken world, a barren wasteland of ruins and forgotten memories. The land was scarred, roads cracked and decayed, cities swallowed by ash and dust. And somewhere in that bleak emptiness, a lone German Shepherd sat beneath a crumbling highway overpass, staring at nothing.

His fur, once proud and sleek, was now darker than the debris that surrounded him—matted, tangled with dried mud and remnants of days spent surviving. His paws, once small and fragile, had grown into powerful things—calloused and worn, built for running, fighting, surviving in this new, unforgiving world.

But despite his strength, despite the muscles beneath his fur and the fire in his eyes, he looked small. He looked lost.

Hesh was the first to see him.

"Logan." The older brother’s voice was a low murmur, his gaze locked on the dog as he stepped carefully over the cracked pavement, eyes narrowed in thought. Logan barely had time to react before Hesh started walking ahead, rifle steady at his side. Logan followed, his steps silent, a practiced hand ready to grip his weapon at a moment’s notice. They had seen stray dogs before—feral, hungry, desperate for survival. But something about this one made them stop.

Maybe it was the way he sat so still, shoulders slumped, head bowed as if the weight of the world had crushed him down into the dirt. Maybe it was the faint, haunting glint in his eyes—something empty, something lost, like the dog had seen too much to ever trust again. Or maybe it was the dog tags hanging loosely from his collar, swinging in the wind, half-buried beneath the grime.

Hesh crouched down, lowering his rifle, his movements slow and deliberate. The dog’s ears twitched at the sound of his approach, but he didn’t snarl, didn’t growl, didn’t back away. He just… stared.

Logan stood back, rifle in hand, his eyes on the dog as Hesh extended his hand toward the collar. The dog made no move to resist—he was too tired, too broken. Hesh’s fingers brushed over the dog’s tags, gently wiping away the dirt to reveal the engraved letters.

The name struck him immediately.

RILEY

The second line made him pause, a soft exhale escaping his lips as his fingers traced the engraved words.

LOYAL TO THE END

"Riley."

The name hung in the air, a weight too heavy for the desolate world around them.

Logan blinked, his mind racing. Riley? That wasn’t a stray dog’s name. That wasn’t the kind of name you gave to something forgotten or abandoned. That was a name meant for someone who mattered, someone cherished. A name that had been given with care, with love, with meaning.

Hesh exhaled, his breath a quiet puff in the silence. His thumb traced the worn edges of the dog tags, rough against his skin. The metal was scratched, dented—scuffed with the wear and tear of time, but still legible. The kind of damage that came with a life lived, not a life discarded.

Someone had loved this dog once. Someone had named him. Someone had cared.

And yet, here he was—alone. Lost in the ruins.

And that look in his eyes? It wasn’t just exhaustion.

It was grief.

Hesh’s could not help but a pang of sympathy gnawing at him. He didn’t know what had happened to Riley, what had brought him to this broken place, but he could see it in the dog’s posture. The slump of his shoulders. The way he sat still, like he was waiting for something—someone—that might never come.

Something twisted inside Hesh’s chest, a silent ache that didn’t belong in a world like this.

Carefully, cautiously, Hesh reached out, his hand hovering for just a moment before it landed on Riley’s head. The dog stiffened at first, body rigid under the touch, but didn’t pull away. His ears twitched, the only sign that he was aware of the warmth that spread from Hesh’s palm, the unfamiliar but not unkind gesture.

"You're Riley, huh?" Hesh murmured, his voice softer now, quieter.

Riley blinked up at him, but didn’t wag his tail. Didn’t show any sign of comfort, but didn’t show fear either. His gaze, distant and unreadable, met Hesh’s for a long moment before shifting back to the ruins—those ruins that had stolen everything.

"What happened to you, boy?" Hesh whispered, fingers running lightly over the dog’s collar. It was old, but sturdy, built to last. The leather was weathered, but well-kept. Someone had taken care of this dog once. Someone had made sure he was protected.

Hesh let out a slow breath, shaking his head as he watched Riley. The world felt heavy around them, as if it was bearing down on them all. He had seen it before—animals discarded, forgotten, left behind in the wake of chaos. But this one… this one was different.

"Someone left him," Hesh muttered, his voice low, as if he was speaking to himself more than Logan.

"Or he lost them." Logan’s voice was steady, quieter than usual, his eyes never leaving the dog.

Riley’s response was a soft, pitiful whine. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t desperate. It was just… aching. The kind of sound that resonated deep in your bones, a sound that said the dog was feeling everything the world had taken from him. Everything he had endured.

Hesh stared at Riley for a long moment, his mouth slightly parted. The air between them hung thick, filled with the weight of everything unsaid.

Finally, he let out a sigh, a long exhale that seemed to release all the tension he hadn’t realized he was holding. He straightened up, his fingers brushing against Riley’s fur one last time. “You’re not alone, boy.”

Hesh nodded, giving the dog a firm pat on the head before standing. "C’mon, bud. You comin’ with us"

Riley didn’t move at first. His eyes flickered between the two men, uncertain, still unsure whether to trust, still wary of the world that had brought him to this place. The pain in his eyes was raw, but there was something else there now—a flicker of hope, a spark of something long buried.

For the first time, Riley moved.

He lifted his head, his gaze locking with Hesh’s for just a moment. Then, without warning, he glanced at Logan, the young man who had stood back, silent but understanding. And as he looked between them, something in his posture shifted—his shoulders relaxed just a fraction, the tension easing.

Slowly, tentatively, Riley’s tail gave a hesitant wag.

It wasn’t much. It wasn’t a joyful greeting or a sign of excitement. But it was enough. It was enough to let them know that, for the first time in a long while, the dog was willing to trust again. He wasn’t just a stray anymore. He wasn’t just a creature wandering the ruins. He was Riley—and for whatever reason, these two strangers weren’t strangers anymore.

They saw him.

Hesh and Logan exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. No more words were needed. They had all been through too much to waste time with them.

Hesh extended his hand again, this time offering it not just to Riley but to the bond that was beginning to form—between them, the dog, the broken world around them.

Riley took a step forward. Then another. And as his tail wagged just a little more freely, they all took their first steps toward something new, something uncertain, but something together.

In the silence that followed, it wasn’t just the ruins that felt a little less broken. The world, the future—everything felt a little more hopeful.

Remember

Call of Duty: Ghosts always felt... off. Not just in the graphics, the textures, or whatever technical flaw caught your eyes—it was deeper than that. It was in the way the game was put together, the way scenes unfolded without care, like the developers were just going through the motions.

Take that infamous kick scene. The driving sequence. The way he wasn’t even there when he clearly should have been. And then there’s Hesh—his own father, Elias wearing the ghost mask, speaks to him in his natural voice, says, "That is really admirable of you," and yet Hesh doesn’t recognize him until he takes off the mask. Really? That’s how that moment plays out?

And then there’s Rorke. Somehow, impossibly, he appears out of nowhere, defying all logic and any sense of realism. Sure, you can bring a character back from the dead, but not like that. Not in a way that feels rushed, forced, as if the writers just needed him there and didn’t care how it happened.

That’s what Ghosts was—a game that could have been great but felt like it was thrown together in a hurry. A story that had moments of potential but was buried under careless execution. And you can’t tell me otherwise.

For me, I never really went deep into Call of Duty: Ghosts looking for hidden secrets—things like mask paintings or small details—because honestly, it felt like they were just thrown in for fun, without much care. It never seemed like the devs put real meaning behind them.

But even with all its flaws, Ghosts will always be the best Call of Duty story game in my eyes. There’s just something about it—it carved out a place in my heart, and no other COD has really done that since. I can only hope it makes a return in 2027, but at the same time... I’m scared.

Scared that Activision will ruin the beauty of it. That they’ll strip away what made the characters special. Or worse—just erase them completely, the same way they did with Roach, the Army Rangers (ramirez, foley and dunn), and Delta Force (sandman, frost, truck and grinch). What, were they too cool for you, Activision?

Whatever. No matter what happens, Ghosts will always stand out to me.

New theme chat im back to the dark alpha era...

👍🏻.

So I hc the Walker brothers and Keegan kinda acting like brothers. And the rest of the team annoyed with their once in a while bickering.

Elias is holding his breath every time he hears “dad” from his boys or “Elias” from Keegan.

You are goddamn right.

In "the hunted" mission when logan reached both of elias and keegan keegan just went "Kid's good elias" I really went like AUGHH.

Keegan actually cared for em all not to say he cared like this much or being soft too much if i must say? its like keegan is praising about the way elias trained them, he likes that how it worked perfectly.

He said smth in a mission with how elias training is now showing and how he did a great job (sorry i cant remember what keegan said but its in the mission to track ramos)

For me i dont rlly think keegan got a liking/care to hesh, cause hesh has this leader personality! both of hesh and logan are professional but i always think keegan prefers logan, so he is just not that along with hesh.

To these cod ghosts editors esp the ones who make sad edits. HAHA😂😂 good for you i hate this game actually so nothing affected me lol😂😂

i say in my mind while sobbing aggressively in my hands

shhh let bro sleep.

Cod Ghost server

Hey! It seems like a lot of people still don’t know about our Call of Duty: Ghosts Discord server and keep asking around—even though it’s already pinned in my post! and i have already written in my bio about it.

So, just to clarify—we have a SFW Discord server that’s a safe space for minors. We share art, memes, chat, and just have fun together!

When you join, you’ll need to stay in the verification room for a bit. We’ll just ask about your Tumblr account to make sure you’re not someone we’ve banned before.

So, what are you waiting for? Here is the invite!

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

Relationship Alphabet series with Cod ghosts!

Logan walker

✧ Pairing: Romantic. ✧ Genre: Fluff.

✧ Warnings: Light NSFW, and mention of NSFW content MDNI

A – Affection

Logan isn’t the most outwardly affectionate person, but when he loves, he loves hard. His touches are subtle but deeply meaningful—hand on your lower back as you walk, fingers grazing yours before he holds your hand, a quick squeeze on your thigh when you sit next to him.

His favorite form of affection? Forehead touches. It’s his way of grounding himself, closing his eyes for a second, and just feeling you there. After a long mission, expect him to just press his forehead to yours and sigh, finally allowing himself to relax.

Light NSFW: Logan’s brand of affection can turn intense fast. It starts with lazy kisses, slow and teasing, before his hands move—gripping your waist, pulling you closer, letting you feel just how much he missed you. He loves dragging his lips down your jaw, murmuring "Mine." against your skin.

B – Boundaries

Logan has firm boundaries, but it’s mostly because of his lifestyle. He’s trained himself to keep emotions in check during missions, and he doesn’t always talk about the things he’s been through.

However, he respects boundaries just as much as he sets them. If you need space, he gives it without question. He might not always know the right words to comfort you, but he’s always there. Sitting beside you in silence, a steady presence.

Light NSFW: While Logan is pretty private, he does have one rule—when he’s in the moment, it’s just the two of you. He hates distractions, hates anything pulling his focus away from you. If you try to tease him with a playful comment while he’s all over you? His grip tightens. "Eyes on me, sweetheart."

C – Communication

Logan isn’t a talker, but he listens better than anyone. He picks up on your emotions before you even say a word, adjusting himself accordingly—if you’re stressed, he’s pulling you into his arms; if you’re mad, he’s giving you space before asking "Wanna talk about it?"

That being said, getting Logan to talk about his own feelings is like pulling teeth. He’d rather show you than say it. When he does open up, it’s usually at night, in the dark, when it’s just the two of you and there’s no pressure.

Light NSFW: Logan doesn’t talk much during intimate moments, but when he does? It’s deep, raspy, and straight to the point. He’s all about action, letting his hands and lips speak for him—but every once in a while, you’ll get a low, "You feel so damn good, baby." whispered against your skin.

D – Devotion

Logan is unshakably devoted. Once you have him, you have him. There’s no half-measures—he’s all in, fiercely protective, always looking out for you even when you don’t realize it.

If you ever doubt his feelings, just look at his actions. He’s the guy who remembers the little things—how you like your coffee, your favorite songs, the exact way you like to be held when you’re upset.

Light NSFW: His devotion carries over into the bedroom. Logan isn’t selfish—he’s focused on you, taking his time, memorizing every reaction. He takes pride in knowing exactly what makes you shudder under his touch, whispering, "Let me take care of you."

E – Empathy

Logan might be quiet, but he feels things deeply. He understands pain, loss, and the weight of things left unsaid. It’s why he’s so gentle with you, even if he’s rough with the rest of the world.

He can tell when you’re holding back emotions, and while he won’t push, he’ll make sure you know he’s there. If you’re upset, he won’t flood you with questions—he’ll just sit beside you, wrap an arm around you, and let you lean into him.

Light NSFW: Logan is in tune with your body. He’s perceptive, catching every little hitch in your breath, every tremble. He watches, listens, adjusts—making sure you’re enjoying every second. And if you’re feeling particularly vulnerable? He’ll slow down, pressing his forehead to yours and murmuring, "I got you, baby."

F – Forgiveness

Logan doesn’t hold grudges, but he doesn’t forget either. If you hurt him, he needs time. He won’t lash out, but he’ll go quiet, processing everything internally.

That being said, he doesn’t stay mad forever. He knows nobody’s perfect, and as long as you’re honest with him, he’ll always work things out. He’s not the type to bring up old arguments—once he forgives, it’s done.

Light NSFW: If you’ve had an argument but made up, Logan’s version of making up is intense. He doesn’t say much—he just pulls you in, kisses you like he’s making up for lost time, and reminds you exactly how much you mean to him without a single word.

G – Growth

Logan isn’t the same man he was before he met you. He’s spent so much of his life as a soldier—his purpose was always about the mission, never about himself. But with you? He’s learned how to live, not just survive.

It takes him a while to open up, to let himself be vulnerable, but he does it because of you. You push him in all the right ways, and he silently thanks you for it every day.

Light NSFW: Logan used to think intimacy was just about physical connection, but he’s learned there’s so much more to it. He grows with you—learning what you like, adjusting, making sure that every time feels better than the last. "Tell me what you need, baby." he murmurs, fingers tracing slow patterns on your skin.

H – Honesty

Logan is a terrible liar. He doesn’t sugarcoat things, doesn’t play games—if he says something, he means it. If he doesn’t like something, he won’t pretend otherwise.

But when it comes to emotions? That’s different. He struggles to express them, to admit when he’s feeling off. He’s still learning that it’s okay to talk about the things weighing on his mind—but with you, he’s trying.

Light NSFW: Logan is honest about what he wants. He’s not one for flowery words or elaborate speeches, but when he looks at you with half gazed eyes and says, "Need you right now." you know he means it.

I – Intimacy

For Logan, intimacy isn’t just about physical closeness—it’s about trust. He shows his love in quiet ways: resting his head in your lap after a long day, tracing slow circles on your skin as you lay beside him, whispering your name in the dead of night.

There’s something sacred about being close to you, something grounding. It’s the only time he can truly let his guard down.

Light NSFW: Logan doesn’t rush intimacy. He takes his time, savoring every reaction, every whispered breath. He watches you more than anything, memorizing the way your body moves under his touch. Intimacy with Logan isn’t just physical—it’s a promise.

J – Joy

Happiness sneaks up on Logan when he’s with you. It’s in the little things—the way you laugh at his deadpan jokes, the way you reach for his hand absentmindedly, the way your presence makes the world feel a little less heavy.

His joy is quiet but deep. It’s in the rare moments where he smiles, where he presses a kiss to your forehead and mutters, "Didn’t think I could have this."

Light NSFW: Logan’s joy in intimacy comes from you—watching your reactions, feeling your body relax under him, knowing that he’s the reason for your pleasure. He finds an almost smug satisfaction in pulling soft gasps from your lips, murmuring, "That’s it, baby. Let go."

K – Kindness

Logan isn’t overly affectionate, but his kindness speaks through his actions. He doesn’t always say "I love you," but you can see it in the way he makes sure you eat, the way he tucks a blanket around you when you fall asleep, the way he holds your hand just a little tighter when he feels like something’s wrong.

He’s gentle with you in a way he isn’t with anyone else. The world has hardened him, but with you? He softens—just a little.

Light NSFW: Even when he’s rough, there’s a tenderness in the way Logan touches you. He never takes more than you’re willing to give, never pushes too far. His kindness carries into every intimate moment—checking in, making sure you feel safe, whispering reassurance between kisses.

L – Love

Logan loves deeply, completely, permanently. He doesn’t fall easily, but when he does, it’s all or nothing.

His love is loyalty—standing by your side through everything. His love is trust—letting you see parts of him no one else gets to. His love is forever—even if he doesn’t always say the words, you know.

Light NSFW: Love with Logan is slow, deliberate, consuming. He doesn’t just want you—he wants every part of you, every sigh, every whispered moan, every ounce of trust. "Be mine, please..." he murmurs against your lips, not as a demand, but as a promise.

M – Memories

Logan holds onto memories like old photographs—silent, but deeply treasured. He’s not the type to talk much about the past, but he remembers everything.

The first time you made him laugh so hard he had to look away. The way your eyes lit up when he gave you something small but meaningful. The moment he realized he was in love with you, staring at you when you weren’t looking, thinking, God, I’m in trouble.

Light NSFW: Some of his favorite memories? The way you whispered his name in the dark, breathless and wanting. The look in your eyes when he had you pinned beneath him. The way you fell asleep tangled in him, completely trusting. Those memories replay in his mind more than he’d ever admit.

N – Nurturing

Logan might not be overly affectionate, but he takes care of you in ways you don’t always notice. He makes sure you eat, gets you water without you asking, pulls you against him when he feels you shiver.

If you’re sick or hurt, he’s silently hovering—doesn’t fuss, doesn’t baby you, but he’s right there. Holding your hand, rubbing slow circles into your back, making sure you feel safe.

Light NSFW: Nurturing carries over into intimacy—Logan takes his time, always attuned to what you need. If you’re stressed, he makes it slow and comforting. If you’re aching for him, he meets you where you are. He reads you like a book, and he’s always willing to give.

O – Openness

It takes Logan a long time to open up. Not because he doesn’t trust you, but because he’s spent his whole life keeping things locked away.

But the more he loves you, the more he tries. He won’t always have the words, but he’ll show you in the way he grips your hand just a little tighter, in the way he pulls you close at night, in the way he whispers a quiet "Don’t go anywhere, okay?" when he’s half-asleep.

Light NSFW: Openness is harder for him here—he's used to staying in control. But when he lets go, when he trusts you completely? It’s different. He tells you what he wants, tells you how good you make him feel. And if you ever whisper something soft and intimate in return, he’ll never forget it.

P – Patience

Logan is patient, but in a quiet way. He doesn’t rush things, doesn’t push—you take your time with him, and he lets you.

If you’re upset, he doesn’t demand answers. He waits. If you’re struggling, he doesn’t offer empty words—he shows you he’s there, steady and unwavering.

Light NSFW: His patience extends into intimacy—he takes his time, savoring every little reaction, every sound you make. He’s in no hurry. He’ll tease, pull back, make you beg if he wants to—because Logan knows that waiting makes everything that much better.

Q – Quality time

Logan isn’t big on grand gestures—his love is in the small moments. Sitting on the couch in silence, driving in comfortable quiet, watching you sleep just because he likes the way you breathe next to him.

He prefers one-on-one time over anything else. No distractions, just you and him. That’s when he feels most at peace.

Light NSFW: Logan likes to take his time. Quality time in intimacy means making every second count—pulling you onto his lap, tracing slow patterns on your back, watching you with darkened eyes. He’s not the type to rush—he wants to enjoy every single second of you.

R – Respect

Logan respects everything about you—your choices, your independence, your emotions. He might be protective, but he never tries to control you. If you say no to something, he listens.

If someone else disrespects you? That’s a different story. Logan doesn’t yell, doesn’t make a scene—but there’s something dangerous in the way his jaw tightens, in the way he stands just a little taller.

Light NSFW: Respect carries over into the bedroom. He doesn’t assume, doesn’t take—he asks, listens, watches. Your pleasure matters just as much as his, and he never crosses a line. "Tell me if you want me to stop." he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your skin.

S – Support

Logan isn’t great with words, but his support is unwavering. If you have a goal, he’s right there—helping, encouraging, believing in you more than you believe in yourself.

If you ever break down, he doesn’t panic—he just holds you. No forced words, no pressure—just quiet, solid support.

Light NSFW: Support, for him, is about giving. He’s focused on you, making sure you feel wanted, cherished, taken care of. He watches your every reaction, adjusting, always making sure you’re taken care of first.

T – Trust

Logan doesn’t trust easily—but when he does, it’s forever. He doesn’t just let anyone in, doesn’t just rely on people, but with you? He does. He trusts you with his fears, his love, his life. He might not say it out loud, but he proves it every single day. Light NSFW: Trust in intimacy means complete surrender. Letting you see every inch of him, letting you touch him in ways no one else has. And if he ever whispers, "I trust you." in the middle of everything—you know just how much it means.

U – Understanding

Logan might be quiet, but he’s deeply observant. He picks up on the little things—your moods, your small habits, the things you don’t say out loud.

He understands when you need space, when you need comfort, when you just need to sit in silence together. If you’re struggling, he won’t push—but he’ll be there.

If you ever argue, he doesn’t get defensive or angry—he listens. He might not be the best with words, but he’ll try to see things from your side. "I get it," he’ll say, voice low but sincere. "I’ll do better." And he means it.

Light NSFW: Logan understands your needs without you having to say much. He watches, he listens, he feels. He knows when to take things slow, when to be rough, when to hold back. If something doesn’t feel right, he stops immediately—because at the end of the day, your comfort matters most.

V – Vulnerability

Logan doesn’t let people in easily. He’s spent too long keeping things bottled up, carrying burdens on his own.

But with you? It’s different.

You see the parts of him no one else does—the quiet fears, the sleepless nights, the weight he carries. He won’t cry in front of most people, but with you, he might. And if he does, he trusts you enough to let it happen.

"I don’t… talk about this stuff," he mutters one night, staring at the ceiling, your fingers tracing slow circles on his chest. "But I want you to know."

Light NSFW: Vulnerability in intimacy means trusting you completely. Letting his guard down, letting you see him undone. He’s used to being in control, but when he trusts you enough to surrender—to let you take the lead, to let himself be soft—that’s when you know how deep his love runs.

W – Warmth

Logan isn’t openly affectionate in public, but when it’s just the two of you? God, he’s warm.

He’s a silent protector—pulling you against him without a word, tucking you beneath his chin, resting a hand on your back whenever he walks past. He’s not one for grand romantic gestures, but the way he holds you, the way he breathes a little easier when you’re close—that’s love.

If you ever shiver, he’s already pulling you into his jacket. If you’re sad, he presses a slow kiss to the top of your head, lingering, silent, but solid.

Light NSFW: His warmth in intimacy is overwhelming. He’s all-consuming, pressing into you, heat radiating from his skin. Even after everything, he doesn’t let you go right away—he stays close, fingers lazily tracing your back, murmuring soft, unspoken affections against your skin.

X – XO (hugs & kisses)

Logan’s kisses are slow, deep, meaningful. He doesn’t rush them, doesn’t take them for granted. If he kisses you, he means it.

He loves forehead kisses—a silent I’m here. He kisses your knuckles without thinking, absentminded and affectionate. He pulls you close by your waist, pressing his lips against your temple after a long day.

Hugs? He holds you like he’ll never let go. Strong arms wrapped around you, solid and steady. He buries his face in your neck sometimes, just breathing you in. And if he’s been away for too long? He’ll pull you into him, grip tight, heartbeat steadying against yours.

Light NSFW: His kisses become desperate when he’s craving you. Rough, deep, needy. He kisses like he’s starving for you, like he can’t get close enough. And when he finally pulls away, lips slightly swollen, eyes dark? God help you.

Y – Yearning

Logan isn’t dramatic about his feelings, but God, does he miss you when you’re not around.

He won’t say it outright, but it’s in the way he keeps checking his phone, the way his fingers twitch when you’re not there to hold them. The way he breathes just a little deeper when he finally sees you again.

He doesn’t send long texts, but he’ll send things like: "You okay?" "Miss you." "Be home soon."

And when he finally is home? The first thing he does is find you.

Light NSFW: The longer he’s away, the more desperate he is when he returns. He doesn’t even bother with words—he just grabs you, pulls you in, takes what he’s been missing. There’s a hunger in him, a need that only you can satisfy.

Z – Zeal

Logan’s love isn’t loud or flashy—but it’s fierce.

He loves fully, deeply, endlessly. When he’s with you, there’s no hesitation—he’s all in. He shows his love in every little action, in every glance, in every quiet, steady presence.

If someone ever tries to hurt you? God help them. Logan doesn’t lose his temper often, but when it comes to you? He doesn’t hold back.

And when he tells you he loves you? It’s forever.

Light NSFW: His passion in intimacy is undeniable. He wants you, adores you, worships you. He doesn’t just go through the motions—he’s dedicated to you, body and soul. Every touch, every kiss, every breath—it’s all for you.

Because Logan Walker? He doesn’t love halfway.

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

Me with those keegan stans who know the cod ghosts game very well, know every cod ghosts character and respect them and never put him in mw2 timeline.

Male teammate reader realizing that he is seeing elias as a father figure😔

When elias of course was caring but he saw that beneath his stoic personality

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

Elias as a Stern but Caring Father Figure X Male Teammate Reader

Notes: getting shot, mention of the hollow feelings!

Elias Walker isn’t a man who gives out praise easily. He’s disciplined, tough, and expects nothing less than the best from his soldiers. But under that hardened exterior is a leader who truly looks out for his men, even if it means showing it in his own quiet, firm way.

Breaking Up a Fight

The tension in the squadroom was thick. You and another Ghost had been angry—something about conflicting orders, a missed extraction point, and heated words escalating into a full-blown argument. By the time Elias stepped in, you had your fists clenched, jaw tight, and were about to throw a punch.

Elias’ voice cut through the room like a gunshot.

"Enough! both of you!"

The entire squad went silent. Elias didn’t yell—he never needed to. His tone alone held weight, commanding immediate respect. He stepped between them, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made it clear he wasn’t playing around.

"You feel like fighting? You take it to the ring. But I better not catch my soldiers throwing punches like a couple of undisciplined rookies. Understood?"

“Tell me what happened.”

It was an order. But Elias wasn’t just here to discipline—he wanted to understand.

After you finished explaining, Elias studied you with that sharp, unreadable gaze. The other soldier just stared, silent, waiting. But Elias cut through the tension with a firm voice.

"You're frustrated. Good. That means you care. But losing your temper? That’s how you lose respect. Next time, think before you act like a meniac."

His words landed like a weight in the air—heavy, undeniable. Then, without another glance, he turned and left.

The soldier beside you muttered a curse and stalked off, but you stood frozen. Something inside you shifted, a flicker in your chest, like an ember catching flame.

Noticing Exhaustion

After days of relentless training, grueling missions, and barely any sleep, you were running on fumes. your movements were slower, your focus slightly off—things only a trained eye would notice. But Elias saw it.

During a weapons check, you fumbled with your rifle, dropping the magazine with a sharp clatter. The room went silent. cursed under your breath, bending down to grab it, but before you could, a pair of boots stopped right in front of you.

Elias.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just stared down at you, arms on his hips. The weight of that silence was almost worse than being yelled at.

"How many hours of sleep have you had?"

You hesitated. "Enough, sir."

Elias arched an eyebrow. "That so? Because last I checked, ‘enough’ doesn’t leave you this sloppy." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I’m not running my people into the ground. You’re no good to me half-dead, so you’re taking the next twelve hours to get some damn rest. That’s an order."

You opened your mouth to protest "Sir" Elias cut you off. "Say one more word, and I’ll make it twenty-four. Now go."

It wasn’t kindness. It wasn’t pity. It was an order—one laced with a concern he’d never admit out loud.

The Realization:

It wasn’t an immediate thing—realizing that Elias was more than just a commanding person.

You had been under his leadership for years, and it had always been about discipline, orders, and the mission.

But somewhere along the way, those orders started sounding less like a commander barking at a subordinate and more like a father looking after his own.

It was in the way Elias noticed the little things—when you were exhausted, when you were unfocused, when you were pushing yourself too damn hard.

You had spent so long looking for approval, for recognition, and for a while, you thought Elias was just another hardass CO who expected perfection.

But Elias wasn’t just tough—he cared. Not in a soft way, not in a way that he would ever admit outright, but in the only way a hardened soldier knew how.

It wasn’t something you liked to admit—not even to yourself.

You never thought much about family. Not really. Life had been about survival, about moving forward, about being a soldier first and a person second. But sometimes… sometimes, that hollow feeling crept in when you least expected it.

Like now.

You sat a few feet away, absently cleaning your rifle, when you saw them—Elias and his sons, Logan and Hesh, talking like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You weren’t eavesdropping. Not really. But you couldn’t help listening.

"You two are getting sloppy," Elias muttered, arms crossed. "Hesh, your stance was too open. Logan, you hesitated at the last second."

The words were sharp, but there was something else beneath them—something steady, something certain. A father speaking to his sons, knowing they would listen and believed in them.

"C’mon, Dad, we still completed the drill," Hesh chuckled, a small, barely-there grin on his face.

Elias let out a short huff of laughter. "Barely."

Logan and Hesh kept talking, their words easy, their smiles unguarded. Elias listened, shaking his head but smiling all the same.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, pretending to focus on your rifle, but your fingers tightened around the weapon.

It was normal. Family banter. Criticism softened by familiarity. A father’s voice carrying weight but never pressing too hard.

It was natural.

And you felt like a stranger watching through a window.

You told yourself it was stupid.

You were part of the team. You had earned your place. Elias respected you. The others had your back.

But no matter how many times you drilled that into your skull, there were moments that made you feel like an outsider.

Like the way Hesh could roll his eyes when Elias reminded them that they only had each other—and still, Elias would stop, give him a look, half stern, half concerned, before offering a small, knowing smile. You had cursed Hesh and logan under your breath more than once, thinking how damn lucky they were to have a father like Elias.

Like the way Logan barely had to speak, yet Elias always understood him anyway.

And maybe that was what made the hollow feeling worse.

Because Elias was the closest thing you’d ever had to a father.

But he wasn’t even related to you.

Not Just Another Soldier

The mission was supposed to be clean—get in, secure intel, get out. But things went to hell fast. The enemy had been waiting, ambush set, gunfire tearing through the air before anyone had time to react properly.

You had been holding his ground, covering Keegan’s six when the pain hit. A sharp, burning agony ripping through your torso.

You barely had time to register the shot before You were on the ground.

“Y/N DOWN!”

Everything blurred. you could hear shouting, but it was distant—like you were sinking underwater. The weight of your gear suddenly felt suffocating.

And then—hands. Strong, steady, familiar hands pressing against your wound.

"Stay with me!" Elias’ voice sliced through the noise, commanding, but there was something buried beneath it—something raw. Something you’d never expected to hear from him.

Panic.

Elias Walker didn’t panic. Not in the field. Not in the face of death. Not ever.

Yet, his grip was relentless, pressing down on the wound with such force it almost felt like he was trying to hold you together. His hands, usually steady as stone, now trembled slightly, but his eyes never left yours.

"Merrick, Keegan—covering fire, now! We need an evac, ASAP!" His orders rang out, sharp and urgent, Now his gaze was fixed, locking onto you as though he could will you to stay conscious.

Around you, the world exploded in action—Merrick and Keegan firing, pushing the enemy back, their movements fluid and practiced. But Elias? He didn’t move. He stayed there, kneeling beside you, a sentinel, refusing to leave your side.

You tried to breathe, but it came out as a wet, broken gasp. The air burned, the pain almost too much to bear.

Shit.

It was bad.

Real bad.

You were fading fast, the edges of your vision slipping into darkness. Everything felt distant, like you were no longer fully part of the world around you.

Your fingers twitched weakly, reaching for Elias’ sleeve—not out of desperation, not out of fear. Just to hold on. To ground yourself in something.

Elias glanced down at you, his jaw tight, a muscle ticking beneath his skin. "Don’t you dare give up, son."

And just like that, the words spilled out.

"I see you as a father, Elias."

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t some grand confession. It was just the truth—simple and undeniable. The truth you’d buried under years of discipline, of pushing forward, of convincing yourself it didn’t matter.

But it did.

And now, as blood pooled beneath you, as Elias held you together, keeping you tethered to life—those words broke free, and you couldn’t hold them back any longer.

Elias froze.

Elias’ grip on you tightened, his usually unreadable face cracking just slightly, betraying a flicker of something unspoken.

You coughed, the taste of iron thick on your tongue, but you kept going—because if you were going to die here, at least Elias would know.

"I never had one." Your voice was weak, barely audible over the chaos around you. "But you—you were the closest thing I ever had."

Elias’ throat worked, his chest rising with a breath he didn’t release, like he wanted to say something, anything—but nothing came out. His hands stayed firm, steady, holding you like you were the only thing left in the world.

For a moment, you thought you saw something in his eyes—something raw, something real, something that wasn’t meant to be there. But then—

Everything faded.

Darkness swallowed you whole.

Congratulations you are alive

The first thing you noticed was the silence.

No gunfire. No shouting. Just the soft, rhythmic beep of a heart monitor cutting through the still air. The faint, sterile scent of antiseptic clung to the room. Your body ached, a dull throb that reminded you of one undeniable truth:

You were alive.

With a groan, you forced your eyes open. The bright lights overhead pierced your senses, making you flinch. Your limbs felt heavy, leaden. But then, as you turned your head just enough, you saw him.

Elias.

He sat across the room, his posture rigid, arms crossed, his gaze locked on you the instant you moved.

Not just your CO. Not just your commander.

But your father figure.

A weak, dry chuckle escaped you. "Didn’t think I’d wake up."

Elias shook his head, his face still set in that familiar, unyielding sternness—but his eyes were different. There was something raw in them, something unguarded. "Neither did I."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken meaning.

You licked your dry lips, the words escaping in a rasp. "Where are the others?"

Elias leaned back slightly, his arms still crossed, his gaze unwavering. "Merrick and Keegan are handling the debrief. Hesh and Logan are outside." His voice softened, just enough for you to catch. "They've been here since we got you out."

You blinked slowly, letting the weight of his words settle into you like a stone sinking into water.

They had stayed.

Elias had stayed.

A tight, painful lump formed in your throat. You swallowed, the motion feeling like shards of glass scraping against your insides. "Did I... actually say that shit out loud?" You said bringing the topic and what you have said.

The question hung in the air, thick with embarrassment, with uncertainty. But Elias didn’t look away, his expression unreadable, as if your confession hadn’t shattered anything between you—just left it exposed, raw.

Elias gave a slow, measured nod.

You groaned, dragging a shaky hand over your face. "Damn. Thought I was just thinking it."

Elias exhaled sharply, not quite a laugh, but something close—something that spoke of years of unspoken tension, of moments like these.

A beat of silence stretched between you, the kind that felt heavy, pregnant with something unspoken. Then, finally—

"You weren't wrong."

You turned your head slightly, your eyes locking with Elias’.

"What?"

The word slipped out before you could stop it, the confusion in your voice thick, unsure. What did he mean? What was he saying?

Elias’ gaze was unwavering, steady, like the ground beneath you was about to shift. "I’m not good at saying crab like this, but—you weren’t wrong. About how I see you."

Your breath caught for just a moment, the words landing in your chest like a punch.

Elias leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. "You’re not just another soldier to me. Haven’t been for a long time."

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking deep into you, heavier than any bullet wound, deeper than any pain you’d ever known.

And for the first time in what felt like forever—

That hollow feeling, the one that had always lingered at the edges of your mind, wasn’t there anymore. It was gone.

You let out a slow breath, still groggy from whatever meds were coursing through your veins. Your body ached like hell, every movement a reminder of how fragile you were in this moment, but your mind felt sharper now. You were awake, alive, and painfully aware of what had just been said.

And it felt unreal.

Elias Walker, the man who had trained you like a machine, who had pushed you harder than anyone ever had, who had made sure you never slacked—wasn’t just admitting it, he was outright saying it. He saw you as something more than just another soldier.

But you couldn’t trust that. Not right now.

You shifted slightly, wincing at the dull pain that stabbed through your side. “Sir, you don’t have to say that.” Your voice came out rough, quiet, the kind of sound that only comes from the edge of exhaustion. “I just got shot—I get it. People say shit when they think someone’s dying—”

“Shut up.”

The command was sharp, cutting through your words like a blade. Elias' gaze locked onto yours, unwavering, and for the first time, you saw the weight of something real in his eyes.

You blinked, your gaze shifting to Elias, whose expression remained as unyielding as ever. His arms were crossed, posture firm, but the sharpness in his voice was impossible to ignore.

"I don’t say things just to say them." His gaze held yours, unwavering, like a soldier scanning the battlefield. "I’m not the type to sit here and sympathize just because you're lying in a hospital bed."

"If I want to say something, I say it."

You felt your throat tighten, the words settling heavy in your chest.

You knew Elias wasn't the kind of man to waste words. Everything he said had weight, had meaning.

So why did this feel so heavy?

Elias sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, before looking at you again, his expression unreadable. "You think I’d go easy on you now, just because you took a bullet? I Have seen worse than your situation."

You let out a weak, dry chuckle. "Kinda hoped so."

Elias huffed, the corners of his mouth twitching into something like a smirk. "Not a damn chance."

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, not tense. It was simply there—a quiet space filled with the weight of things that had been said, things that had been left unsaid.

You swallowed, shifting slightly in the bed, feeling the pull of pain in your side. Hesitation tugged at your words, but you pushed it down. “So you mean it?”

Elias didn’t hesitate. His response was steady, sure, like a command. “Yeah.”

“I do.”

You let your head fall back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. Processing.

For so long, you’d thought you were alone in this. That the way you felt—the way you wanted to see Elias as more than just your commander—was something you’d buried deep inside, thinking it was one-sided.

But now?

Now, Elias had made it clear.

You weren’t just another soldier.

And maybe—just maybe—you never had been.