Cod Ghosts - Blog Posts

IS JOY ILLEGAL IN THIS FANDOM??

Now I'm wondering, sure, they got Ajax's body back to bury, did they get Elias's too? They were in enemy territory, after all.

He caused a tsunami btw

literally died while making these

Gang doesn't know I fw this ost

me after reading this

When the Smoke Clears

Hesh's thoughts aftermath after Logan gets taken

Horror.

I didn't know how to feel after Elias was killed in front of me with a bullet to his brains. I had watched the way the blood pooled around him, the same blood that was pumping through my veins, through Logan's veins.

Actually...

How was I supposed to react when he told Logan that he was proud of him as his last words? Why not me? Why not us? I had always tried to be a better person by taking care of Logan, I loved him dearly as a brother. I was there for him when dad wasn't.

So why was he given all the credit? What did I miss through the years to not even get a single word of appreciation?

How come the mask was given to him instead? Was I not worthy to inherit it?

Did I not resemble dad enough to even be considered to be given it?

Was I lacking something? Did I try too hard?

I didn't know.

All I knew was that I wanted Logan back. Even if I did envy him a little bit after Elias's death. Sure, I was angry at Rorke for killing him - but I was even angrier that dad never told me that he was proud of me, that he actually cared for me, to tell me that he was glad that I held my ground and gave support even when the world was crumbling around us, Odin.

That I had taken care of Logan when he wasn't there to do it himself. That I had taken the responsibility even if I didn't have to, there was no need to yet I did. My brother looked up more to me than Elias.

So why?

What did I get in return?

Nothing.

Just death.

Just the sight of dad dying and Logan getting taken away from me.

I failed.

I failed to protect both of them.

I failed to be a good soldier.

But most importantly, I failed to he a good big brother.

How could I have been so careless?

How could I have been so sure that Rorke was gone? Dead? How?

I should have known better that Rorke could come crawling back immediately for revenge. I knew how he was, we all knew, so why? Why couldn't I have been more cautious to prevent this?

Why couldn't I have been stronger to go after him?

Why did my body lock up?

Why?

All of these were questions I didn't know the answer to. No matter how much I tried to think, to figure, to solve, I couldn't come across a conclusion.

Besides one.

I wasn't worthy enough to be any of the things I was.

Logan was, he was ruthless, silent. There was a reason why Rorke took him instead of me. He reminded him of Elias - of himself. That same silent courage Logan showed, and I didn't.

I tried, I really did. But I failed.

Was all of my effort for nothing?

So far, it's being proven that way.

No matter how much me and the team are trying, we can't find Logan's location. His last known location was more than half a year ago, who knows where he could be now.

Who even knows if he's still alive or not.

What if he had already been turned into a Fed and was being trained to hunt the rest of the Ghosts down right now?

I don't want to think of it like this, but the dreaded possibility is starting to become a true fact as the days pass.

I don't want to lose Logan, my baby brother. I just can't.

I have already lost dad, and I can't lose Logan, too. Hell, even mom isn't with us anymore. She would have known what to tell me, what to do.

But she isn't here anymore either.

It's just me.

I would have to step up to bat, to be the lone player, and score the point.

To be the one who gets a headshot.

A bullseye.

I've prayed to God, even though my belief in him had been teetering on the edge of completely dissolving. But after everything that happened, I found myself clasping my hands together, on my knees, and mumbling the prayers mom had taught me. After all these years, I still remembered them by heart.

I've prayed for forgiveness, for Logan's health and well-being, that he's still alive, still fighting, still being stubborn to not turn into a Fed.

I don't know what else to do besides pray. I know it's a desprete action, but who else can I go to for help? There's no one here for me.

No one.

God, Logan, please be alive.

I miss you.

We all miss you.

Dont worry, we're all coming for you. We're searching, planning.

And when we do find you, God will, I will fucking kill that motherfucker Rorke and burn the Federation bastards down to the ground. For dad. For all of us Ghosts.

For you.

u will be missed lo

Forsaken

Logans POV from the Pit

One - The beginning, or the aftermath?

Just when he thought that everything was alright, that everything was over and done with, that they had got their revenge and justice for all those people that had died, for Ajax - it all crumbled down in one minute

Rorke.

How the fuck did he survive?

He remembered Hesh had smashed his skull with a fire extinguisher, he himself had shot him straight in the chest with a twisting speeding bullet, and Rorke was drowned in water almost an instance after the glass broke. How could he survive?

Maybe this is why Rorke was such a dangerous Ghost. Keyword, was. He was no longer a Ghost, he had lost that title a long time ago when he had betrayed the squad. Elias had told him.

But why did he come back even if he did survive all that? Why was he so intent on taking him? Why not his brother? Why not both of them? Shouldn't Rorke have just run back to whatever hole he came out from and went back into hiding and recover from that hit? So why? Why did he take him with him despite everything?

Did he really remind Rorke that much of Elias?

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────

Two - The Silent Mind

He abruptly coughed dryly as the thoughts in his mind swirled around, lying on his side, choking for those few seconds as he gasped for air.

Eventually, the coughing fit of a storm calmed down - not without leaving tears in his eyes, that is.

He was dehydrated. Thirsty and starving. Weak and frail. His throat felt like it was burning, an irritating tightness being felt as the reflex to cough kept attacking him over and over again like raining bullets. Like a thorn was lodged in his throat, and he couldn't get it out, an endless cycle.

He weakly shifted his head from the side-laying position to look up, eyes bleary. All he could see was that same old metal wire barrier between him and the outside world. It was dark outside, the dark looming trees blocking out any sort of excess moonlight as they silently wavered in the breeze, the scent of all sorts of vegetation and dark mushy wet soil wafting down to him.

It was quiet, too quiet.

Too peaceful. Like the calm after a storm. Expect, he was in the storm still.

He would have used this time to take a moment to collect his thoughts and maybe even get some rest - if only it weren't for the fact that pipes were all up his ass, to clense his bowels, and the dirt ground was crawling with insects. He couldn't lay down even a second without hearing the sounds of those fucking teeny tiny legs scittering and scattering around. It grossed him out, even if those things couldn't exactly hurt him. His limbs were tied, keeping him in place with no way to move around into a better position to avoid the bugs on the ground. Zero proper blood circulation, so he felt tense and tight in place.

He was literally kissing the filt on the floor, even if it was just the side of his face. It smelled like shit, like grime. He really wished he didn't have the sense to smell right now. Didn't it smell worse because one of the Fed's took a piss on him?

Well—not on him, more like near where he was placed. He couldn't remember exactly, though. His mind was fogged up.

He knew this wasn't even the beginning of what he would have to go through. All he knew was that his brother and the entire Ghost Team were coming to save him. They wouldn't leave him behind, now would they? He was sure that they were currently trying to track down his location. Maybe they had already found it and were making a plan to attack - though that was probably a stretch.

He reminded himself to relax, to not get too hopeful or excited. It had only been a couple of months, right? He wasn't too sure as to how much time had passed, but he knew it had a long time judging by the amount of weight and muscle mass he had lost. He knew his hands would be all shaky if he was told to hold a rilfe, hell, even the same pistol he used to shoot Rorke would have the same result.

If he was given a mirror, he knew that he wouldn't even be recognizable...would his brother even recognize him after all this? Would he have changed that much?

He tried not to think about the bad parts too intently. He knew the team was working on his case, after all...

No Ghost ever got left behind.

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────

Three - Denial and Acceptance

Hesh?

Is...is that you?

He couldn't believe it

After so long, he had finally been found

Finally. Finally he would be given freedom and be reunited with the only family he had left. He would tell them all about what the Feds had done to him and they'll all help burn the place down, first was getting him to safety

He waited in the hole patiently, his heart pounding in anticipation. He waited, his body language tense and trembling in faint happiness. He knew he had heard his brother's voice, he swore he also heard that same rumble of Keegan's voice in line with Hesh's.

So, where were they?

His head was spinning as his back slumped against the dirt wall after waiting in place for 10 minutes. Did they lose his trail? Did they retreat? Did they get caught? What happened? There was no way they would leave him here.

No.

No, they weren't like that

Had he been dreaming about them?

No, it couldn't be. It felt too vivid, their voices, to be fake. He hadn't lost his sanity that much, right? Right. There was no way...

...then why would the voices suddenly disappear when he paid attention to them and expected something to happen?

He started to repeat the names of all the Ghosts to himself, mumbling silently from his bloody and cracked lips as his hands clasped together in almost a last attempt of desperation - as if he was praying. The memories of everyone he had flooding his mind like a tidal wave, the more notable memories featuring him and Hesh in the past, before they got into any of this, this whole mess. They had wanted to become something, not immediate soliders. But when Hesh joined, thanks to their dad, he also found himself joining, wanting to follow his brother...

If only he knew that he would be ending up here. And probably end up losing his brother, too. He had already lost his dad due to this job. Who else did he have to lose? Hell, even Ajax was dead. So, who was next? Him?

No.

They wouldn't kill him. He knew Rorke wanted him to himself. That man himself said he wasn't going to let him be a Ghost, ever.

Truly, he wanted to die. To kill himself to end all of this. But he didn't. His brother kept him alive. The idea that survival and freedom were still on the plate for him kept him alive. Even if it was slowly starting to slip away from his fingertips.

Qestion was, how long could he maintain this for before Rorke ripped his mind apart from the very stem and took a look inside to see what he could tweak and eliminate.

Could Rorke really make him forget who he was? He didn't want to believe it. But he knew what the Fed's were capable of. If someone like Rorke lost his way, there was no doubt that someone like him would have the same fate.

Question was how long his stubbornness could keep him going. Question was how long he could resist the Federation's advances. Question was how long he could hold on to his identity.

Hopefully, the name "Logan Walker" wouldn't become a former.

Hopefully, it wouldn't become a lost identity.

If merrick had mistaken who is the elias's ghost mask for merrick: oh man for who?...i think it is for hesh cuase he is the oldest!

hand it to hesh

elias in his grave cause he is biased for logan:

my new pfp, pls don't take em (literally post it)

he is driving like the brakes are optional

Keegan hand the keys over

YO WATCH OUT WATCH OUT

😔💔

The way this game ended with us giving expectations to what would happen to logan is suffocating

there might be differing opinions as to who the most tortured cod character is but i think logan walker is a pretty strong contender. he lost his mother when he was a child, lost his home at 15, went to war, was unable to save his father and had to watch him get murdered in front of his eyes. he was kidnapped by the man who killed his dad and probably went through horrors beyond human comprehension at the hands of the federation and is forced to fight his old teammates, his own brother, maybe even believing they abandoned him. and we never even found out what happened to him in the end. logan walker has never known peace, he's such a tragic and tortured character, and i love him so much.

again hmu, walker😔

WEEEE

Ladies and gentlemen let's appreciate these mfs beauty

quickly before someone see us

please ma'am take care of my keed he is autistic

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

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

When logan start seeing hesh as another parental figure

Idea: @tokillamockingbird427

Logan never really said it out loud. He never had to.

what if rorke didn't kidnapped logan even after elias death (me literally put a gif when rorke dragged logan)

But in the quiet moments, in the spaces between warzones and exhaustion, it was there—buried in the way he followed just half a step behind Hesh, in the way his eyes flicked toward his brother for silent reassurance, in the way he trusted him without hesitation, without question.

It wasn’t something he ever thought about. Not consciously, anyway. But then, their father was gone. Elias Walker—dead.

And suddenly, there was this gap in Logan’s world, a hollow ache where guidance used to be, where security once stood.

And Hesh—Hesh filled it. Not because he had to, not because anyone asked him to, but because he just did

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Moments That Made Logan Realize

1. The First Time He Caught Hesh Watching Over Him

It was after a mission gone wrong, their bodies sore, exhaustion pressing down on them.

Logan had drifted off, too tired to move, but something made him stir in the middle of the night.

He blinked blearily, adjusting to the dim light of the safe house—only to see Hesh, sitting awake, rifle across his lap, gaze fixed on the door. Standing guard with riley laying in front of him sleepy.

At first, Logan thought it was nothing. Just instinct, just training.

But then he noticed the way Hesh’s fingers curled against his knee, the way his jaw was locked tight like he was forcing himself to stay awake.

Because he needed to make sure Logan was safe.

Logan didn’t say anything. He just turned over, swallowed the lump in his throat, and let himself fall back asleep—because for the first time in a long time, he could.

2. The Night Logan Almost Broke, and Hesh Held Him Together

They didn’t talk about him. About their dad.

But some nights, it was too much.

Logan wasn’t much for words, wasn’t great at explaining the weight pressing against his ribs.

But Hesh noticed. He always noticed.

One night, when Logan thought he was alone, he let himself feel it—that overwhelming, suffocating loss.

He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms, chest rising and falling too fast, too uneven.

And then—Hesh was just there. No questions, no prying. Just a firm, steady hand on his shoulder.

A quiet, grounding voice: “Hey. I got you.”

Logan let out a shaky breath, nodding once. He didn’t need to say anything.

Because Hesh already understood.

3. When Hesh Took Responsibility Like It Was His Birthright

Hesh started doing things he never used to—small things, barely noticeable unless you were really paying attention.

He made sure Logan ate but not telling him in a pleading way like a mom.

He double-checked Logan’s gear before missions, subtly making adjustments, tightening straps, checking ammo.

And when Logan got hurt? When blood stained his uniform and pain clouded his vision?

Hesh’s voice was the one calling out orders, pushing through the chaos.

“Stay with me, Lo. You’re gonna be fine.”

And somehow, somehow, Logan believed him.

4. Hesh – More Than Just a Brother

Hesh had always looked out for him, but after Elias was gone, something changed.

He didn’t just see himself as Logan’s brother—he became something more. A protector. A leader.

Late one night, when Logan couldn’t sleep, he found Hesh outside, sitting against one of the Humvees, staring at the stars.

Logan sat next to him without a word.

After a long silence, Hesh finally muttered, “I don’t know if I’m doing this right.”

Logan looked at him. “What?”

“Taking care of you.” Hesh exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Dad knew what to say. What to do. I just— I don’t know.”

Logan swallowed, something heavy settling in his chest. “You don’t have to be him.”

Hesh let out a small, humorless chuckle. “Feels like I do.”

Logan nudged him. “You’re already doing more than enough.”

Hesh didn’t say anything. But after a moment, he reached over and ruffled Logan’s hair, just like when they were kids.

but logan didn't like it giving him a look "dude what the fuck?" asking him with hesh just chuckling with his dripping voice, Walking back to the room leaving logan outside wondering.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Childhood moments

1. The Time Hesh Punched a Kid for Messing with Logan

Logan was maybe six, Hesh eight. They were at the park, kicking a ball around when some older kid decided to shove Logan to the ground (obv there is no reason cuz i wanna make logan the main character and everyone wanna mess with him lol)

“Stay down, loser.” the kid said.

Logan, small but stubborn, pushed himself up, dirt on his hands, eyes flicking to Hesh before he could react.

And Hesh? Hesh was already moving.

One second, the kid was smirking. The next? He was on the ground.

Hesh stood over him, fists clenched. "Touch my brother again, and I’ll bury ya in the sandbox."

Logan’s eyes went wide. "DAD SAID WE CAN’T FIGHT."

Hesh glanced at him, still fuming. "Yeah, well, Dad’s not here right now."

Of course, Elias did find out.

That night, they sat on the couch, waiting for their discussion with elias since the parents of the kid complained to him about what happened.

Elias apologized to them and comfort them that will never happen again.

Elias sighed, rubbing his face. “Hesh, you can’t just go around punching people.”

"But he shoved Logan!"

Elias looked at Logan, then back at Hesh. “…Did you win?”

Hesh grinned. "Obviously."

Elias sighed again, shaking his head. “Just—next time, use your words, son.”

"What if words don’t work?" oh my god him and his unstoppable questions.

Elias gave him a look. "Then throw the second punch harder than the first."

2. The Night Hesh Snuck into Logan’s Room After a Bad Storm

Logan always pretended storms didn’t bother him. Even when the thunder shook the house, even when lightning flashed against the walls.

He wanted to be tough, like Hesh.

But one night, when a particularly bad storm rolled in, Logan lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying not to flinch at every rumble.

Then—his door creaked open.

Hesh, dragging his blanket behind him, plopped onto the floor next to Logan’s bed without a word.

Logan frowned. “What are you doing?”

Hesh shrugged. “Storm’s loud.”

Logan didn’t call him out on it, just rolled over so he wasn’t facing the window.

A few minutes passed before Hesh nudged him. “You awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Think Dad’s scared of storms?”

Logan snorted. “No.”

“Yeah. Me neither.”

The next time the thunder cracked, Logan didn’t flinch. Because Hesh was already there.

3. The Fishing Trip That Turned into a Disaster

Elias had this idea to take them fishing. “It’ll be fun,” he said. “A good experience,” he promised.

Spoiler: it was a mess.

Hesh, overconfident as ever, insisted he could bait his own hook—then immediately got tangled in the line.

Logan, trying to help, somehow managed to knock their entire tackle box into the water.

Elias, holding onto the last shred of his patience, just rubbed his temples. “I swear to God, you two are worse than a pair of puppies.”

They did eventually catch a fish—but Hesh freaked out when it started flopping in the boat.

"DAD IT'S ALIVE?!"

Logan, not helpful at all: "GRAB IT!"

Hesh: "WITH WHAT HANDS, LOGAN?!"

Elias, laughing so hard he could barely breathe, finally grabbed it himself and tossed it back. "Remind me never to take you two hunting."

4. The Time Logan Got Lost, and Hesh Found Him First

They were at a fair when Logan wandered off. One second, Hesh was buying a drink, the next—Logan was just gone.

Panic set in fast. Hesh, barely ten years old, felt something cold and tight squeeze his chest.

Elias was already asking around, staying calm, focused. But Hesh? He ran.

He pushed past crowds, calling Logan’s name, heart hammering in his chest.

And then—

He found him. Sitting on a bench, small hands gripping the edge, looking so lost.

Hesh sprinted up, skidding to a stop. “Logan!”

Logan looked up, relief flooding his face right before Hesh pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Don’t do that again, dumbass.” His voice was shaking. “I thought—” He didn’t finish.

Logan just nodded, burying his face in Hesh’s shoulder. (bro tf you shouldnt have gone😭)

When Elias finally caught up, he let out a breath. “You okay?”

Hesh nodded. “Yeah. I got him.”

The Moment It All Came Crashing Down

One night, it slipped out. Not in a moment of sentimentality, not in some grand confession—just a quiet realization spoken into the dark.

They were sitting side by side after a long, brutal mission. Hesh had a fresh cut on his temple, Logan was nursing a bruised rib, and neither of them had spoken in a while.

But then Logan, exhausted, let the words slip.

“You’re all I got.”

It was quiet, barely above a whisper, but Hesh heard it.

He turned to Logan, brow furrowing, but Logan didn’t look at him. Just kept his eyes on the horizon, like he hadn’t just admitted something that hurt just to say.

Hesh exhaled, rubbing his face before resting a hand on Logan’s shoulder.

“Nah,” he murmured, voice softer than usual. “We got each other.”

And somehow, that made it feel a little less heavy.

AHHH i cannot get Logan out of my brain!! Would love to see your take on Logan and f!readers wedding day! Maybe what the first few years of “normal life” would be? a child maybe? do they own a farm with. bunch of animals? i’m curious on what you’d think!

Hell yeah ma'am.

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

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

How would an after-marriage life be with logan

X fem!reader!

Notes: nothing just my little boy logan

💐 Wedding Day:

The sun sets low over a quiet, secluded outdoor venue, the sky painted in soft oranges and pinks. It’s a small ceremony—intimate, private—just family and close friends.

No grand spectacle, just the kind of love that doesn’t need an audience to be real.

Logan isn’t a man who gets nervous. He’s been through firefights, ambushes, war zones. But standing in front of a mirror, adjusting his tie? This might be the most terrifying thing he’s ever done.

Merrick claps him on the back. “Relax, Walker. She’s not running anywhere.”

“Yeah,” kick smirks, “but you might if you don’t stop fidgeting.”

Logan rolls his eyes but tightens his grip on the ring box anyway.

The only moment of pure calm comes when Elias walks in. He doesn’t say much—he doesn’t have to. Just a firm hand on Logan’s shoulder and a simple:

“Your mother would’ve loved this.” 😔😔😔 anyways

The venue is small, intimate, peaceful. A clearing surrounded by trees, where the golden hour sun filters through the branches. There’s no over-the-top décor, no extravagant flourishes—just a love that’s strong enough on its own.

He stands tall, hands clasped in front of him, but you can see the tension in his jaw.

Then he sees you. And for a moment, everything else blurs.

His grip loosens.

His heartbeat slows.

Everything makes sense.

how would he not when you're wearing this dress that is giving the final bride who would ever wear something like that🥺🥺 im sorry

He’s already halfway smiling, eyes locked on you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

exchanging vows, Logan’s never been good with words, but when it’s time for vows, he doesn’t stumble. He doesn’t overthink. He just speaks.

“I never thought I’d get a life outside of war. I didn’t think I deserved one.”

“But then there was you.”

“You gave me a reason to want more. To believe that after everything, I could still have something good. Someone good.”

“You were my peace when I didn’t know what that felt like. And now, you’re my forever.”

His voice is steady, but his hands tremble when he slides the ring onto your finger. Not out of fear—but because this is real.

When you say your vows, Logan holds onto every word. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t shift in place. Just soaks in every syllable, like he’s memorizing the way forever sounds.

When it’s time to kiss the bride, he doesn’t hesitate. It’s deep, slow, the kind of kiss that says everything words can’t.

And when the reception rolls around? It’s warm, loud, full of life.

Logan isn’t much of a dancer, but he pulls you onto the floor anyway, hands firm around your waist. He’s stiff at first, but with every laugh you give him, every whispered “You’re doing great,” he relaxes.

Eventually, he relaxes, hands settling on your waist, forehead resting against yours.“This isn’t so bad,” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth twitching up.

“Told you.”

By the end of the song, he’s completely lost in you.

and elias dance like that cause he is so biased for logan, and then he dies before hesh's wedding cause he is just like that.

ok bye sorry

And just like that, Logan Walker—a man who never thought he’d have a future—steps into the first day of forever.

what?yall thought i would write a wedding night scene? stupid little muffins thinking i would turn my blog from SFW to NSFW

Getting into the real life:

At first, normal feels… strange. Logan spent so much of his life fighting that waking up without a mission feels unnatural.

The first few months are filled with small adjustments, moments where he has to remind himself that this—this quiet, peaceful life—is real.

Logan wakes up before you almost every day. It’s a habit he can’t shake.

But instead of rushing into action, he just… stays there. Lying beside you, listening to your steady breathing, memorizing the way your fingers curl slightly in your sleep.

Eventually, you stir, and he greets you with a low, lazy, “Morning.”

Some mornings, he makes coffee. Others, he just pulls you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck, as if making up for all the mornings he never got to have.

Logan never really learned how to cook. MREs and quick, no-effort meals were his go-to. But now? He wants to try.

One morning, you wake up to the smell of burnt toast and slightly questionable scrambled eggs.

Logan, standing there, arms crossed, looking down at the mess.“…It’s not that bad.”

“Babe, it’s black.”

He just shrugs, still stubborn. “It’s… crispy.”

Despite the failure, he keeps trying. And eventually, he starts getting good at it—to the point where Sunday mornings mean Logan making pancakes from scratch and grumbling when you try to help.

Logan still takes time to adjust. At first, he doesn’t leave much of a mark on the place—no decorations, no personal touches.

Until one day, you catch him putting up a picture of the two of you.You pause, smiling. “Making it feel like home?”

He glances at you, then back at the photo, and nods. “Yeah… I think so.” he is not awkward but that is his personality always a simple man talking.

at night, when the lights are low and the world is quiet, he opens up.

Some nights, you lie in bed tracing old scars, pressing soft kisses to them.He doesn’t flinch anymore. He just exhales, melting into your touch.

Other nights, you both just exist together. No words, no pressure—just the feeling of his steady heartbeat under your cheek.

One afternoon, while lying on the couch, you casually say, “We should get a dog.”

Logan raises a brow. “You want a dog?”

“You had Riley. You were basically a dog dad already.”

The next day, he surprises you by taking you to a shelter. And suddenly? You have a rescue dog curled up in your home, fast asleep against Logan’s leg.

Logan whispering “I love you” when he thinks you’re asleep.

im not gonna talk abt pregnancy and stuff cuz i am already planning for another post for all cod characters so!

me at 4 AM wondering if i wanna eat Or I am missing a game that is about to be twelve years old without any second part or sequel

he did nothing but gave me happiness with his presence (Wtf)

oh yeah call of duty ghosts, kinda mess with this game (let it consume my mind and inner thoughts to the point it has slightly destroyed my mental health)

call of duty ghosts but with my oc explaining the lore pt1

my imaginations before i go to bed:

Hide your wife the alpha is here🗣️🗣️

Logan in da pit

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

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

Ashes of Yesterday

18-19 hesh walker X fem!reader! [my idea]

summary: A once cozy and intimate evening with Hesh, filled with quiet affection and whispered promises, soon transformed into something darker, a love shadowed by impending ruin. The looming presence of ODIN disrupted everything, turning your shared moment into a fleeting memory of what could have been. In the aftermath, uncertainty reigns—was Hesh still alive, still breathing, or had the chaos swallowed him whole, leaving behind only echoes of a love now distant and unresolved?

notes: SFW, then slight NSFW

2017 JULY 10TH

The golden sun hung low in the sky, bleeding its last light across the horizon where the sea and sky met in a seamless embrace. Waves rolled in gently, their white foamy edges kissing the shore before retreating, leaving behind darkened patches of damp sand that clumped together before crumbling away. The scent of salt and the distant call of seagulls filled the air, mingling with the soft whispers of the evening breeze. You stood there, feet sinking ever so slightly into the cool, wet earth, your eyes fixed on the endless stretch of water that shimmered under the sun’s dying glow.

You were waiting.

The thought was almost enough to make your heart race, though you steadied it with a slow breath. Of course, it was him—you were waiting for your boyfriend. Hesh. Or David. You had always preferred that name, something about the way it rolled off your tongue, the way it carried a sense of quiet strength. You whispered it under your breath, testing how it sounded against the hush of the waves.

The sun’s reflection danced on the water, stretching out like golden veins against a shield of deepening blue. It was mesmerizing—the way the light clashed and intertwined with the restless sea, fighting to hold on just a little longer before the inevitable descent into night. Just like time, just like memories. Just like the feeling building up inside you as you stood there, waiting for him.

It was already 11 a.m.

A sigh slipped past your lips as you glanced at your phone, your patience wearing thin. You hated how he sometimes showed up late on dates, how time seemed to be nothing more than a suggestion to him. But then again… whatever that handsome face was doing, you could never stay mad for long.

Because David—yes, David—wasn't like the others. He wasn’t like the teenage boys who stumbled through their words or the young men who tried too hard to impress. He carried himself differently, with a quiet confidence that made your heart race. His strong, well-built frame, the kind that spoke of strength without arrogance. That voice—deep, rich, dripping with a natural charm that sent a thrill down your spine every time he spoke. Oh, and those lips. God, you could kiss him forever, drown in the warmth of his embrace, lose yourself in the way he made you feel…

A sudden sound shattered your thoughts.

The sharp crunch of footsteps against the sand. Steady, deliberate, familiar.

You turned instinctively, already knowing. The weight of his presence, the way he walked, the way even the smallest sounds seemed to carry meaning when he was near—you could recognize him anywhere.

And there he was.

David.

“David, you fuck—” The words shot out before you could stop them, frustration bubbling up as you turned to face him, ready to argue about his horrible sense of time.

But before you could go on, his arm was already around your waist, pulling you in with that effortless strength of his. And just like that, the fire in your chest wavered. He was smiling, that lazy, charming smile that had a way of making you forget why you were mad in the first place. His eyes drank you in like a man starved, like he had been counting the seconds until he could see you again.

“Miss me?” His voice was a low murmur, teasing, smooth as ever.

You placed your hands on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms. A part of you wanted to melt into him, but you weren’t going to let him off that easily.

“I would keep missing you by not going out with you anymore. Is that what you want?” You arched a brow, your tone sharp, but he only sighed, his smile never faltering.

Shaking his head at your words, he met your gaze, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your waist. “Babe, you know how busy I get.” yup with daddy training.

There it was. The excuse. One you had heard before, one you understood but still hated.

The city hums softly around you as the cool air whispers past. But none of it touches you—not the chill, not the restless rhythm of the world—because his arms are wrapped securely around you, holding you close as you walk together. His dark grey jacket is thick and slick, carrying the scent of crisp air and something undeniably him. The fabric brushes against your cheek as you lean into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath.

His dark green pants rustle slightly with each step, a quiet rhythm against the pavement. The sound blends with his voice—low, rich, and endlessly smooth, like raindrops sliding down glass. It drips into your ears, every word soaked in something warm, something familiar. "How was your day?" he asks, his voice melting into the cool morning.

You sigh, your own voice slipping easily into the space he’s made for you. "It was fine," you murmur, though the way you relax against him says more than words ever could.

He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest, vibrating against your skin. "Just fine?" There's something playful in his tone, something that makes the corner of your lips tug upward despite yourself.

The world feels distant, blurred behind the warmth of him, behind the quiet intimacy of a simple walk. And in this moment, wrapped in the sound of his voice and the steady warmth of his embrace, the rest of the night ceases to matter.

"I literally just started the day with you, david."

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

small roadside diner, the kind that seems frozen in time. Neon lights buzz overhead, casting a soft pink and blue glow onto the pavement, their reflection shimmering in puddles left by a recent drizzle. Through the wide windows, the warm glow of the interior spills out, painting the time with something that feels familiar, something that feels like home.

Inside, the scent of sizzling burgers and fresh coffee lingers in the air, mixing with the distant hum of an old-school jukebox that crackles with a song from decades past. Red leather booths line the walls, their surfaces softened by years of late-night conversations and quiet moments shared over plates of fries and milkshakes. The clink of plates, the low murmur of conversations—it all feels like background noise to the only thing that really matters: him.

Before you even have a chance to glance at the menu, he orders—your usual. Not in a way that makes you feel small, but in a way that makes you feel known. Like he’s memorized the details of you without even trying, like he’s paid attention in all the little moments when no one else did.

"You always take forever to decide anyway,and end up with the same thing" he says with a smirk, his voice dripping with that effortless warmth, that teasing edge that makes you roll your eyes but smile anyway.

He doesn’t sit across from you. No, he slides into the booth right beside you, close enough that the heat of his body seeps through his jacket, through your sweater, through the space that barely exists between you. His thigh presses against yours under the table, solid, grounding. One arm stretches along the back of the booth, not quite touching you, but close enough that you feel the weight of him there. A quiet claim.

You reach over without hesitation, plucking a few golden fries from his plate and popping them into your mouth. The salty warmth melts on your tongue as you give him a defiant look, eyes gleaming with challenge. "Oh, really? Then gimme your fries."

He doesn’t protest—just watches you with that unreadable expression, shaking his head as he raises his hands in surrender. "I mean..." he drawls, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, "they were there before we got here."

Your chewing slows. The flavor in your mouth suddenly seems questionable. You blink at him, processing his words, and his eyes flicker with amusement as he leans back against the booth, watching your reaction unfold.

"Bon appétit, babe," he adds smoothly, voice thick with mock innocence.

Your stomach drops. Your eyes widen. Wait... what?!

He doesn’t break character, just sits there, arms stretched along the back of the booth, looking effortlessly smug as you freeze mid-chew. The betrayal. The horror. Are these—were these—leftover fries?!

You stare at him, your entire existence now hinging on whether he’s serious or just messing with you. And that’s when you see it—the slightest twitch at the corner of his lips, the glimmer of laughter barely contained behind his cool expression.

You grab a napkin, ready to spit them out if necessary. "You’re kidding, right?"

He finally breaks, a low chuckle escaping as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Relax, princess. They’re fresh, took some before ya."

You shove his arm, groaning as he laughs, the sound deep and unbothered. You should’ve known better. He always does this—always keeps you on your toes, always finds a way to turn the moment into something his.

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

You can’t help the incredulous laugh that escapes your lips as you glance at David, eyebrows raised. "Oh my god, David. You must be tipsy or something. Why would you wanna order a milkshake with two straws? That’s just too cheesy!" You almost can’t believe your own words—yet here you are, staring at him as he casually sits back in his booth, the grin never leaving his face.

David chuckles softly, adjusting his position like he's already won. He stretches his arms out lazily, his casual demeanor only making him seem more dangerous in his charm. His eyes glint with mischief as he leans forward, elbows on the table.

"Come on, babe. It’s romantic," he says, voice dripping with that playful confidence that makes you both roll your eyes and want to punch him at the same time.

You stare at him, your lips parted in disbelief. Romantic? You feel your face scrunch in a mix of amusement and disbelief. The sheer cheesiness of it hits you all at once—yet, there’s a spark of something else, something you can’t quite place. "Oh, wow..." You shrug dramatically, trying to feign disinterest, but the way your lips curl upward betrays you.

David leans back, watching you with the same unshakable grin, as if he knows you’re secretly enjoying his ridiculousness. He knows he’s won, and the corners of his mouth twitch like he’s savoring the moment.

The waitress arrives a moment later, balancing the absurdity on her tray—a milkshake in a glass, topped with whipped cream and a cherry, two straws sticking out from either side. You look at it, then back at David, who meets your gaze with exaggerated sweetness.

"See? It’s just like the movies," he says, his voice a little too syrupy for comfort.

You roll your eyes, but deep down, you can’t help the warmth that spreads across your chest. Maybe it is cheesy, but it’s him. And you can’t deny that, despite yourself, there’s something a little romantic about this absurd moment.

"Fine," you sigh, grabbing one of the straws, and you watch his face light up as he grabs the other. He’s always so effortlessly him, and no matter how cheesy he gets, you kind of love it.

The laughter never stops, rippling through the both of you as you try to sip from the milkshake at the same time. It’s absurd, ridiculous, but you can’t seem to stop, even as you both end up laughing harder with every awkward slurp. David’s totally watching you out of the corner of his eye, trying to act all cool and nonchalant, but you can see the mischief dancing in his gaze. His lips curl with a grin every time you pull the straw from your mouth at the same time, as if he's savoring every goofy second of it.

You can feel him in your peripheral vision, that silent, confident he knew this would be fun vibe radiating off him, like he’s having the time of his life with this stupidly romantic moment. But the second his eyes meet yours, that playful glint falters. For a second, he hesitates, and you catch it—a flicker of something else. It’s almost as if the whole scene becomes suddenly too intimate for him, too real.

He pulls away with a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as if this whole thing was a little too much even for him. "This is so stupid," he mutters, but you can tell he’s loving every second of it—loving you.

You, on the other hand, are struggling to keep it together, your face turning pink as you hold the milkshake up to your lips, trying desperately to control your laughter. "David, stop! I’m gonna choke on it!" you manage to say between fits of giggles, though the words sound barely coherent because of the laughter bubbling up inside you.

He’s not making it any better. Each time you say something, he lets out another chuckle, the sound rich and warm, just enough to make you nearly lose it all over again. The look in his eyes softens as he watches you try to compose yourself, that lovestruck gaze creeping up on him despite his attempt to stay cool.

And there it is—that soft, unmistakable look on his face when he pulls back from the milkshake. It’s almost too much—he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in this little corner of the world, and all that teasing, all that laughter fades away into something much deeper. Something warm. Something real.

God, you love him, you think, and in that split second, you can see he feels the same way, too.

You pull away from the milkshake, nearly spilling it, as your laughter bubbles over. "Stop it!!" you gasp between giggles, swatting at him playfully. The sound of his deep, wholesome laughter fills the diner, the kind that makes everything around you seem a little brighter, a little warmer. The moment stretches between the two of you like a beautiful, shared secret, and he turns his head away to stifle another chuckle, but you can still hear it—soft, full of love, the kind of laughter that makes your heart skip a beat. He just loves the way your eyes shine when you’re happy, loves seeing you this carefree.

Finally, the milkshake sits forgotten between you as you both catch your breath, the laughter dying down to a soft hum that lingers in the air, like a melody that won’t fade. You both smile at each other, the playful tension slowly melting away into something quieter, something more intimate.

And then it’s back to the streets again, your hands casually brushing against each other as you walk side by side. The time feels like it’s made just for you two—your feet moving in sync, It’s almost magical, the way everything feels so effortlessly right.

You both stop at a nearby ice cream cart, and he orders two cones—one chocolate, one vanilla. You lick at yours, slowly, savoring each bite. But before you can finish, he’s already done with his. Of course. Typical. He looks down at you with that mischievous smile of his, his eyes bright under the streetlights.

"You gonna finish that?" he asks, a playful edge to his voice, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. But before you can even answer, you’re standing between his legs, your back resting against his chest as you keep eating, your ice cream melting slowly in the warmth of the light.

His arms slip around you, settling comfortably at your waist, pulling you closer. He leans against the brick wall, his chest solid and steady behind you, and for a moment, just feeling. The world feels distant, muted, like it’s all happening in slow motion around you.

You tilt your head back just slightly, meeting his gaze with that same teasing smile, and in that moment, everything is perfect. He holds you, not tightly, but enough to remind you that he’s there, that he’s yours, and this simple, silly time is the kind of memory that will last forever.

You finish your ice cream, the sweetness lingering on your lips, but it’s the warmth of his arms around you that makes your heart feel full—like you’ve found exactly where you’re meant to be.

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

The date lingers like the final notes of a favorite song, the world around you quieting as the air grows colder, the warmth between the two of you still burning strong. You feel the weight of the moment, the way everything—every laugh, every glance, every touch—has led to this. But deep down, you both know it’s time to wrap up. And even though neither of you wants to face it, the inevitable is here.

He pulls his phone from his pocket, glancing at the screen, his expression shifting just slightly. You know what’s coming before it even happens. "Hate saying goodbye," he mutters, his voice tinged with reluctant fondness as his thumb hovers over the call button. His eyes meet yours, the unspoken words hanging between you two. You both know the date is winding down, but neither of you is quite ready to let go.

his phone buzzed with a call from Elias, his campfire plans waiting. Of course, you think, feeling a twinge of disappointment in your chest. He takes the call, his voice low but laced with that same playful edge he always has.

"I should probably head back… but I don’t want to," he says, his words drifting into the cool air between you two, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone else. The sincerity in his voice is enough to make your heart ache, a quiet longing tugging at you.

You turn toward him, giving him a little pout, and holding his arm like you don’t want to let go. "Seriously, just a few more minutes!" You’re pleading now, though you know it won’t make much difference. You’re asking for the impossible, but you can’t help it. You want more of this moment, more of him.

He chuckles softly, looking down at you with that same mixture of affection and reluctant amusement. "I don’t wanna go, ya know?" he admits, his voice softer now, like he’s wishing he could stretch the moment out forever too. "But the old man’s gonna lose it if I don’t show up for the campfire."

You can hear the quiet laughter in his voice, but there’s a flicker of something else—something real, something that tells you he feels it too. That feeling of not wanting to leave, not wanting this night, this connection to slip away. You both know the clock is ticking, and no matter how much you wish for more time, it’s slipping through your fingers.

As he reach up to your place, the step slows to a stop, the time now settled around you both like a soft blanket, almost too perfect to end. He glances over at you, his lips curling up into that familiar, lazy smile of his.

"Best damn date I’ve ever had." He says it like it's a simple fact, like there's no debate, and for a moment, you're not sure whether he’s talking about the milkshakes or the laughter, or maybe just you. It doesn’t matter. You feel the warmth of the moment settle between you, just as real and as easy as breathing.

You reach for the door handle, but before you can even make a move, he leans in, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. The sudden proximity, the softness of his touch, makes your heart skip. You freeze, your breath catching as he leans in, his lips brushing yours, slow and lingering—like he's savoring the moment, like he's trying to make sure it doesn’t slip away. You could stay like this forever, the world outside fading, everything narrowing down to just this—a kiss between two people who don’t want the night to end.

As his lips met yours, you could feel the intensity behind the kiss—a rush of warmth that made everything around you fade into the background. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, a quiet expression of concentration flickering across his face as if he was trying to savor every second, trying to make the moment last as long as possible. But there was something more behind it, something raw. It was clear: he didn’t just want this kiss, he wanted more. The way his body leaned into you, his lips pressed against yours with an almost desperate slowness, told you everything you needed to know.

Your breath hitched as his lips moved with a deep, unhurried tenderness, and you could feel the intensity building between you both. But before you even had a chance to process it, he pulled away just enough to look at you, eyes dark with something that felt like both hesitation and longing. And without another word, he leaned in again, this time kissing you more deeply, more urgently. His lips met yours with a heat that sent a rush of fire through your veins, and you found yourself pulling him closer, instinctively, your hands reaching up to wrap around the back of his neck, drawing him in.

His arm slid around your waist, lifting you just slightly off the ground, pulling you even closer. The movement was effortless for him, like he knew exactly how to hold you, how to make you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. The kiss deepened, both of you lost in it, in the warmth and the pressure that seemed to build with every passing second.

And then, in the midst of it all, you both heard it. A loud whistle that traveled from one of the nearby houses—a neighbor who must’ve been watching. The sound of it, light and amused, almost seemed to break the bubble of heat surrounding you both, but it only made you both smile against each others lips, knowing you didn’t care who was watching, because this moment—this heated, tangled mess of emotions—was yours and his alone.

He pulled away just enough to glance at you, his breath ragged, both of you caught in the aftershock of what you’d just shared. And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the neighbor’s teasing, not the time, not even the fact that the night had to end. You were right here, with him, wrapped up in something that felt both too big to fully understand and too perfect to let go of.

When he pulls away, it's with just enough space for him to look into your eyes, his voice a whisper, soft and teasing, just enough to make you smile. "Don’t get yourself too emotional to miss me, sweetheart," he says, the words wrapped in that familiar playful edge, a wink accompanying them.

You laugh softly, shaking your head, the lingering warmth of his kiss still dancing on your lips. "You’re such a tease," you reply, a smile tugging at your own lips.

He chuckles, his eyes crinkling with amusement, the teasing smile never leaving. There’s a moment of silence between you, but it’s comfortable, easy, like you both know this isn’t quite over—not yet.

With one last wink, he pulls back just a little, his fingers brushing over yours before he finally lets go. You watch him, standing there just a moment longer, like he’s reluctant to leave but knows he has to. And even as he walks off, part of you knows this goodbye is just a brief pause, a chapter that’s far from finished.

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

me writing this fic to heal myself because i am like this rn with the problems are happening to me

"quickly you gotta save one!!"

them kids

U2

hesh walker

me:

"I can change him" Why?did he shit himself?

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

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

Nurse for the Day

Logan walker X fem!reader! [requested!]

summary: Taking care of your sick bf logan, and staying by his side.

notes: SFW, sorry if this short I tried my best

Here he was, trapped in the prison of his own sheets, each breath a delicate negotiation through clogged passages. The flu had settled into his bones like an unwanted houseguest, making itself far too comfortable. His nose, betrayed him with every labored inhale, forcing him to breathe through his mouth in shallow, unsatisfying gasps.

The ceiling had become his unwilling companion, its blank canvas collecting the shadows of his boredom. Four hours? Five? Time had lost all meaning in this fevered state. His throat felt like he'd swallowed broken glass, each attempt to swallow sending sharp reminders of his condition. Even the simple act of sipping water had become an exercise in courage.

The worst part wasn't the physical discomfort—though God knew that was bad enough—but the maddening stillness. The world continued its chaotic dance outside his window while he lay here, a reluctant monk in a monastery of misery.

You slipped into the room, wet cloth in hand, a silent angel in the afternoon light. His face lit up at the sight of you, even through the haze of his fever—though honestly, it was hard to tell if that was love or delirium at this point.

"Babe, I think I'm dying," he said, his voice rough as sandpaper. His eyes were barely open, heavy-lidded and glassy, but still tracking your movement like you were his last hope for salvation.

You just shrugged, going about your careful ministrations. When you reached for his wrist to check his pulse, he seized the moment—and your hand—with all the dramatic flair of a man on his deathbed.

"Yeah, babe, hold my hand before I go"

"Logan, you're not going to die," you sighed, but there was no real exasperation in it. Just the fond weariness of someone who'd signed up for this particular brand of drama when they fell in love.

His fingers intertwined with yours, clammy but determined. A weak smile played across his fever-flushed face. "Of course you know I'm not going to die," he murmured, squeezing your hand. "You're an angel."

The words came out soft and sincere, stripped of his earlier theatrics. Even sick as a dog, he had these moments—these little glimpses of the heart beneath the humor that made you fall in love with him in the first place. You pressed the cool cloth to his forehead, hiding your smile as he leaned into your touch like it was the only medicine he needed.

"Don't let me kiss you here, or you'll get me fever," you warned him, a soft smile playing on your lips as you tended to him. He looked so vulnerable there, wrapped in blankets, his usually bright eyes clouded with fever. The warning came naturally—protecting him was second nature, but protecting yourself from him? That was new.

He watched you through half-closed eyes, and even in his miserable state, the love in his gaze was unmistakable. If anyone had to be sick, he was glad it was him. The thought of you going through this—of you being the one burning up with fever—made his already aching chest tighten further. No, better him than you, gorgeous. Always better him than you.

"You should be out having some fun," he murmured, eyes finally drifting shut as you adjusted the cool cloth on his forehead. His voice was rough, scratchy, but the concern in it was clear as day. Here he was, feeling like death warmed over, and still worrying about you wasting your time.

"And let you suffer alone? No chance." The words came out firm, brooking no argument. You weren't going anywhere, and both of you knew it. Some people might call it stubborn, but this was love in its purest form—staying when it's inconvenient, when it's messy, when someone's used up three boxes of tissues and can't stop complaining about their throat.

His lips quirked up slightly at your response, even as he sank deeper into his pillow. Even sick, he was beautiful to you—fever-flushed cheeks and all. Maybe he looked like a mess, but he was your mess, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

The fever clung to him like a second skin, heat radiating from his body in waves. You pressed the cool, damp cloth against his forehead, feeling the way his skin burned beneath it. His hair was damp with sweat, strands sticking messily to his forehead. Absentmindedly, your fingers combed through them, a quiet attempt at comfort.

His breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling with effort, each inhale shaky, each exhale laced with exhaustion. The dim light in the room cast soft shadows over him, highlighting the hollowness in his cheeks, the way fever had stolen the usual sharpness from his expression.

"Better?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter him completely.

His lips curled into a weak smile, though his eyes remained shut. For a moment, it seemed as though he might actually drift into the sleep his body so desperately needed. But then, with a raspy chuckle, he muttered, "Nah. Kill me, please."

You couldn't help but laugh softly, shaking your head. Even sick, he couldn’t resist the dramatics. You brushed a few more damp strands away from his face, watching as his expression relaxed slightly under your touch.

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

After a week of battling fever and exhaustion, Logan finally felt like himself again. The weight of sickness had lifted, leaving behind a sense of newfound freedom—no more aching muscles, no more suffocating warmth, no more restless, fevered dreams. He stretched his limbs as if testing them, relishing the absence of pain.

Wandering into the room, he found you at your desk, quietly organizing scattered papers and trinkets. The soft sound of shuffling filled the space, your focus entirely on the task at hand. A small smile tugged at his lips as he watched you, something warm and unspoken settling in his chest.

Without a word, he stepped forward, slipping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him. His chin came to rest on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he peered over to see what you were doing. You stilled for a moment but didn’t push him away, allowing his presence to settle against you like something familiar, something missed.

"You’re the best, you know that?" he murmured, voice still slightly rough from the remnants of his illness.

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "I kept you alive, at least."

He chuckled, his grip tightening just slightly. "Exactly, angel." Logan turned his head slightly, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against the curve of your shoulder.

“And by the way,” you added, tilting your head slightly as his arms remained snug around your waist, “you’re only better because of the medication—not because of me.”

Logan hummed in fake consideration, lips grazing your cheek in lazy, repeated pecks. “Mmm, debatable,” he murmured.

You rolled your eyes, though a smirk played at your lips. “Oh, please. You barely took them. I had to bribe, threaten, and practically beg you.”

He groaned, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “They taste like absolute shit.”

You scoffed, pulling back just enough to glance at him. “Either you take them, or I put them into you myself.” Your voice carried a teasing warning, but the glint in your eyes said you meant business.

Logan lifted his head, eyes flickering with mischief. “Kinda into that,” he muttered with a smirk.

Before you could react, he grabbed your arms and spun you effortlessly, flipping you around until you were pressed against him, face to face. Your breath hitched as he grinned, mischief painted all over his expression.

Without another word, Logan leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss, you leaned into him, his grip on your arms tightened, pulling you closer. The kiss deepened, warm and consuming, and you forgot all about the teasing, the frustrations over the medicine, the playful banter that had filled the room moments before. It was just the two of you—lost in the softness of the moment, the world outside slipping away.

His lips moved against yours with a quiet urgency, as though making up for lost time, a week of illness and silence melting into something sweeter. You responded in kind, your hand reaching up to tangle in his hair, the touch so familiar, yet still full of that spark that made your heart race.

When the kiss finally broke, you both lingered close, breaths mingling, foreheads resting together as the room fell into a peaceful silence.

“Guess the meds worked after all,” you whispered with a smile, your voice still a little breathless.

Logan chuckled, his nose brushing against yours in that way he always did when he was being affectionate, but still trying to keep things light. “Yeah, well, I'd be a gooner if it weren't you"

You laughed softly, and he pulled you back into a tighter hold, All that matter is that your sweet boy is alright and breathing.

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

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

The first "I love you" in the relationship [requested]

characters: Logan walker, Hesh walker, Keegan russ, kick

notes: SFW content, kinda chessy for me since i love angst more than this shit but whatever man whatever this fandom wants

Logan walker:

yeah you are the first who is going to say it don't argue with me.

Logan struggles with words and would never rush into saying it.

tbh i think logan has never had partners in his life :(, he kept training not knowing anything about love.

sometimes i think hesh is the one who couraged him to date and elias too, telling him that he has been more than 30 years serving for this country and even though.

elias controlled and balanced the love and working with his mother.

It happens A late-night moment at home, when he’s quiet but seems lost in thought.

I think when you have been dating for months? like more than 8 months.

You’re curled up against Logan, watching, but he’s barely paying attention. His mind is elsewhere—probably thinking about a mission he can’t talk about.

You run your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp gently. He sighs closing his eyes, leaning into your touch and getting out of the blurred world he was in.

"I love you, you know that?" you said lifting your head up to look at him.

Logan freezes,oh boy even his body tensing slightly against you, you can feel that already.

Logan’s eyes widen slightly, like he wasn’t expecting it—even though he’s felt it for a while.

He takes a deep breath, trying to find the right words but failing.

Instead of answering right away, he gently pulls you into his arms, holding you tighter than usual. After a short pause, he finally murmurs, “…I love you too.” which made you smile into his arm, you were proud of that to let this sweet boy speak of his feeling.

Later, he shows it rather than says it—staying close, kissing you, covering you in blanket when he thinks you're asleep, and making sure you’re always safe.

because words aren’t enough, but he hopes you can feel it.

Hesh walker:

he will say it first, But he blurts it out impulsively.

hesh is the one with partners but i see he had 3 or 2? and they weren't that serious they didn't reach that level with him.

but since he is a grown ass man (28) he found you

going out with him for classic dates.

It happenes in a playful moments while teasing each other.

in the kitchen, you kept arguing playfully talking back to him gahly! he thinks to himself how did i get with a woman like this.

"god you're impossible...I love you" he said with a soft shrug hands on his hips looking down smiling.

he said it without thinking, The moment he realizes what he just said, he freezes, eyebrows raising slightly like "Well… guess that’s out now."

and you had butterflies and bugs in your stomach like hello? did this handsome just tell me that??

"oh my god david?!" you said with a happy chuckle, heart already out of your chest "you just said this!!".

you wanted to step closer to him, He watches your reaction closely, trying to act all cool and confident but is secretly panicking inside.

you shaking your head while holding his face, which lead him to hold both your arms. "I love you too!"

his grin turns soft, and he pulls you in for a tight hug, whispering, "Good. ‘Cause I’m not going anywhere."

totally forgetting about the baking yall been making out. (wtf did i just type)

Keegan russ:

bro why is it so hard to write keegan, like this man is a hella mystery.

you are the one who said it sorry, cuz Keegan is way too guarded to say it first.

why i think he thought about his job first before you like he hates it if you are involved with someone like him, what if something danger happened to you because of him?he is way too cautious.

but because of those damn eyes of yours the weakest thing he will do is keeping you with him.

how did it happenes? late night walking, this man adores these times secretly especially after he has been with ya.

i think he ended up with a talk active partner? but no that much, he is just a listener and a talker sometimes.

you like it when he talks, his creative words and the sarcasm he is using making you say unbelievable about him.

He had insisted on walking you home—not out of obligation, but because it was simply in his nature.

When you reached your doorstep, you turned, your fingers curling around the doorknob. The soft glow of the porch light cast sharp shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his jaw, the glint of something unreadable in his eyes. (lord have mercy i got too much in details)

“Well, kid," his deep voice rumbled through the quiet, rough yet familiar, "guess I’ll see you around.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips, warmth flickering in your chest at the easy finality in his tone. He turned, hands tucked into his pockets, ready to disappear into the night like he always did. (bro is batman but he never tell you that)

“Keegan?” The name left your lips before you could think twice, barely above a whisper, but it was enough to make him stop.

His shoulders stiffened for the briefest moment before he turned back to you, his lightened gaze steady.

You didn’t wait any longer—you just walked up to him, arms wrapping around his neck. His eyes met yours, and God, it was so hard to be honest while looking into them. It seemed just as hard for him.

He was stunned, motionless, but his gaze remained stoic, unreadable.

“I love you,” you murmured, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He took a moment, then let out a stiff chuckle. “Must be the champain messing with your little head.”

“Shut up. I said it… I love you.” The second time, your voice was firmer. That’s when his eyes softened, a rare smile tugging at his lips—your first time seeing him like this. Gentle.

For a long time, he doesn’t speak. The silence stretches, heavy—almost unbearable.

Then, finally, he whispers—so quiet you almost miss it.

His fingers close over yours, grip tightening as if grounding himself in the moment.

He exhales, then presses a lingering kiss to your knuckles, the warmth of it seeping into your skin.

“…I love you too.”

Then he went to the shadows of the streets and after that time, you never see him again...

im joking bye.

Kick:

Kick is always aware—sharp, cautious, both in his military work and personal life. Nothing slips past him.

He never talks about his partner. He’s a ghost, a skillful one. Never caught, never seen unless he wants to be. Have you seen the kill list? He’s needed, and yet the feds can’t find him.

He doesn’t have trust issues, not exactly—but he’s careful. Always watching, always a step ahead. Especially when it comes to his relationships.

He even hesitated to date you, afraid you’d get hurt because of his work—afraid that if anything happened, he’d never forgive himself. Not even in death.

But he went for it anyway. Because he knew how to protect you. He kept you far from enemies, tracked every possible threat—all without you even knowing. He was secretive like that.

Man fuck the enemies he thought, he is in his 30s and we live one time why don't just have a partner in ur life?.

Not even the gang knew he had a partner. Only Merrick, who one day casually let it slip in front of him—like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

So he said it it just slips out casually not knowing the effect he will do on ya.

He said it during a random completely unromantic moment.

He doesn’t even realize what he said until your eyes widen. "Oh, damn. Did I just say that?"

You shrugged, still shocked. “Uhm… yeah, you did!” You shook your head, trying to process it.

He tried to play it off, acting like it was no big deal. “Well, yeah, of course I love you. Have you seen yourself?”

You couldn’t find the words. Your eyes softened as you looked at him, still stunned, heart pounding in your chest.

But when he saw you getting emotional, the act dropped. He smiled—small, genuine—and muttered, “Alright… yeah. I love you. For real.”

And later, he proved it. Small, silent acts of devotion—fixing things for you without being asked, making sure your coffee was just right, staying up just to watch you sleep peacefully.

Aha.