#cod keegan

[2kiran]

゛ KEEGAN P RUSS ⸝⸝ “damn, kid, who taught you that?”

synopsis. a man who's too starved of attention and a man who's low on patience. you two make a great pair, in spite of the prominent presence of your denial. | word count. 0,9k // 978 ◞

caution. bratty keegan. top male reader. mentioned spanking. gun play. degradation kink. dumbification. rough anal sex. no use of protection (wrap it before you tap it). namecalling (whore, slut).

3KVENT NAVI ﹑ MAIN MASTERLIST

keegan russ who's the epitome of need. he'll shamelessly yearn for your presence, grabby hands clinging onto your shoulder to feign friendliness with the gesture. he grips harsher than necessary, stepping a little bit too close. it's normal; unordinary out of sight, until his clothed cock purposely brushes against your thigh and you decide that act alone is your final straw.

his face nuzzling the pillow within his arms, muffling the high-pitched whimpers that fleed his quivering lips. “please- haah.. don' be a tease.” keegan russ who lazily pushes himself back into your face when your harsh hand relents it's assault on his ass, now replaced with your mellow and wet tongue tracing the red prints.

spittle dribbles down your chin, gathering on his lower cheek. it stung, tears prickling keegan russ' lashes. the angry head of his cock spat out pre, weeping at the feeling of the pink muscle lapping at him. you were right there, his muscles contracting around nothing as he felt your breath hit his hole. if only he knew how to make you move closer.

“or what?” cold and deadly. something so familiar trailing down and down until it heavily rested against the base of his dick.

he's internally panicking, heart skipping beats until his hips gently rock, pursuing that sensation. keegan russ' mouth is lost and locked on his face. “you're fuckin' pathetic. are you not ashamed? a man like you gets so wet from a gun.”

he loves when you use that tone on him. he tilts his head enough, eyes peeking above his shoulder and he nearly cums on polished wood when his stare lands on your kneeling form. your teeth grazes him, tickles his flesh, injecting into his skin and you're suddenly a drug that's inscribed into his being. engraved into that distant heart of his, pounding with life solely for you.

“that's your doin'.” keegan russ states, matter-of-factly. he lets out a drawled whine when you pull away, saliva sticking to him and it's concerning how he doesn't feel an ounce of disgust. the sight has you itching to snap an image of his ass matching the crimson on his flushed face. “did i say you could speak, whore?”

you rise to your feet, fingers wrapping themselves in his strands and tugging him closer to you. he's like an obedient dog, well trained to know the signal, locking his lips onto yours. an intimate tangle, shoving your tongue into his awaiting mouth and swallowing down his surprised moan.

pressing your straining cock against his sensitive backside, it's as if you're sucking the air out of his lungs. he's the first to free himself from the kiss, panting harshly to recover.

“you - hnnn - asked me a question, and 'm not ashamed. i want it, want you.” he's murmuring through dreamy breaths, hips gently rolling to wordlessly convince you to finally fuck him.

the muzzle of your gun coaxes out a bone-chilling pattern up his length, rubbing along the underside of his tip. your jaw tenses, clenches, attempting not to lose your temper and give in immediately. his teasing undeniably worked on you, the memory of that daring look he passed you too tempting for you to rid of.

the hard structures built in his mouth dug into the silk case of the pillow, drool seeping and smearing across the material. his groans barely dulled, sobbing freely to eradicate the blur in his vision. keegan russ reduced to a stupefied slut, bent to your will as he's teetering both on the edge and your last nerve.

“is that th - the best you can do?” he gasps, clenching around you.

you grind inside of him, cock caressing his prostate with slow, smooth motions. drawing out, rim taut around the thickness. “shut it.” your hips slam forward, jolting the man and it has pain striking his abdomen when the edge of the desk jabs him.

the pistol sits neatly within your hold, pointed to the back of his head. it sends an abrupt shiver to his spine, the sense of death overwhelming him. “shit, you're so tight. what, you don't want me to pull out that badly?” he doesn't get to answer. you don't let him.

keegan russ who almost shrieks when your other hand grabs his hip, the bruising grip failing to genuinely hurt as you force him to fuck himself on your dick. “hnnngh! it's—” he interrupts himself with a loud gasping-moan, muzzle pressing on him harder.

“not your fault? just look at yourself.” you guide him, hole clinging onto you desperately, as if he's keeping you in - begging you to stay inside of him. he's never felt so full, unable to form rational sentences that would defend his current state. “all dumb 'cause of my cock. can't believe it took a few touches to get you like this.”

the pace quickens, body numbing from the force. you wrap an arm around his middle, yanking him upwards. the weapon against his temple, reminding him of it's presence, a weak whimper falling in between the pleasure-blinding moments. “what a slut you are.”

your leaky tip repeatedly rammed his sweet spot, his walls carrying the shape of your size. keegan russ cries out, hands reaching your forearm to ground himself to reality. a zip of ecstasy runs through him and up to cut his train of thoughts. brain idly sensing how your finger was centimeters away from the trigger.

his dick twitches, pearly, thick ropes spurting from his neglected slit. he would've doubled over if it wasn't for your strong hold keeping him in place, lowering the gun and kissing his cheek whilst he comes down from his high.

keegan russ groans out, the sound mixing with a half-whine. he was needy, and you lacked the copious amount required of patience to tolerate it. he had to have more. “why'd you stop?”

[cherie-doll]

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: Missing You While They’re Away

✧˚ Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Alejandro, Phillip Graves, Keegan, König, Horangi

༉‧₊˚. (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

“Just one soft kiss is enough to move my heart. There was a time when our affection was deep, and reminiscing has made me realize how much I miss you.”

Ghost

This feeling is quite strange to him

He thought his heart would be at ease when you’ve said your goodbyes

Although he’s tried dismissing this feeling every day by reminding himself he’ll see you again

But he finds himself missing you; your touch, your comfort, your smell

A habit of his is hooking a leg over your body while in bed, that first morning he wakes up feeling empty because you’re not there

Your touch is like fire to his body that he seeks to warm his lonely nights

He yearns for it so much he cannot live without it

He would truly burn for you

Soap

Starts writing love letters to you like how Napoleon wrote for Josephine

He wakes up with you on his mind, his senses in a turmoil

Replaying the last evening and your intoxicating body scent that gives him such tranquility

Probably writes your name out a hundred times, drawling little hearts around it

If he finds a flower he’ll press it between the pages he sends you

When you send him something small of yours in return, insignificant to anyone else but an amulet to him

He wears it around his neck

Fiddling with it between his fingers

He’s prob the type to get one of those 18th century lover’s eye jewelry because to him it means having a clandestine declaration of your love

Gaz

That feeling that cannot be put into words

The feeling of walking on clouds that you have planted in his heart

He misses it so much

Your whisper with your soft smile

When he’s sitting alone he wishes he’d have you there next to him

Looking down at his hand, it feels empty, he knows exactly where your fingers intertwine with his

Your touch is so familiar to him that it feels unusual not to feel you

The words he longs to say, your name he wants to call out, the cherished place you have for him in your heart

He swears that when you reunite he’ll wrap his arms around your waist, pressing long and relentless kisses whilst murmuring “i missed you”

Alejandro

Man thinks about how he pressed lazy, slow kisses all over you, taking his sweet time memorizing your body

It’s the last thing he did right before he left

He asked for a kiss from you too before leaving, a real kiss

“Don’t be shy cariño”

He makes sure that you’ll miss him just as much as he’ll be missing you

The night before, he played slow, romantic music as he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing down your back hoping that through his lips you would feel his heart that beats wildly for you

Now whenever the song plays both you and him have that sweet memory, soothing his mind but awakening his heart

Phillip Graves

He believes that being away from one another every once in a while is beneficial

While it is truly a vivid and pleasant sensation; being enamored, so ardently in love, being everything when together and nothing at all when apart

His mind revolves around you

Anything can serve as a reminder of your fond love

A gentle wind caressing his face is like your embracement

Amid the bustling, glimpses of your smile flash through his mind, a whisper of your voice in his crowded memories

Even if he can’t hold your form; in the night sky enfolded in his closed eyes remains a trace of thoughts that are meant only for you

In this world, only you and him exist and it becomes yours in a swirling glass

Parting his lips from the brim of the glass to savor the wine makes the second drink all the more delightful

Keegan

Groaning in frustration because he can’t bury his face into your neck first thing in the morning to inhale your scent as he’s used to, you’re like a fragrance so refined

Before leaving, he took your pillowcase and a sample of your preferred perfume

He sprays it all over himself before going to sleep so he may be drenched in your aroma

If he can’t be with you in that moment, he can only hope he’ll dream of you

He’s constantly placing candy that melts on his tongue, substituting your addictive taste

He’s come to memorize your body, scent, taste, and voice through his senses

Being deprived of just one of those things is torture to him

König

You don’t know how afraid he is of something happening to you while he’s gone, or something preventing him from ever seeing you again

Your existence alone is like a dream to him

Déjà vu of some perfect gaze

Risks are scary, yet it makes his heart flutter

Late at night, his fingertips trace his lips where you’d place loving kisses

He feels how empty is laps if when you’re not sitting on it

When he closes his eyes he remembers how you cup his face in your hands and dote on him

It wasn’t until that night that he felt more lost than ever before

Horangi

To him, it was enough knowing you were his reason to go on

That lively dynamic that is created when two universes collide

It filled his void with renewed purpose, and that in itself is enough to spur the other on

That spark that ignites when you brush skin against skin, he craves it so deeply

A hunger that stirs from his loins

How your lips feel like velvet grazing his skin, your tongue dripping with honey

The intoxicating expressions of affection he wishes to give and receive

He secures these thoughts in the back of his mind, knowing he’ll act upon them when he’s with you again

[codslut]

[runrabid]

[mrs-russ]

wanna write smth abt kick and keegan n them fighting over you

is that even acceptable

(what am i kidding this is tumblr)

[fallenneziah]

Ugh, sorry, more little blurbs while I try to write something cohesive.

Ghost who makes you call him sir in bed when he slaps you across the face, hiking one of your legs up to your stomach, fucking you on your side. "So good, little slut, so precious." He growls. Telling you to beg him louder, tell him how much you fucking like it when you take his cock deep inside your slutty hole. "Take that cock! Fuckin' take it, beg for it until I see those sweet tears."

Vs.

Simon who breathes you on, practically humps you, hands holding your stomach and smoothing over you arched hips off the bed. "Love... fuck, you're so good... like heaven around me-" Telling you how good you're being for him without him even having to ask you. "Taking it so deep, so fuckin' deep in that cock, all for me. All for me baby..." Driving his cock deep inside you, kissing your ear and telling you just have good you sound when you take it deep.

Keegan who handcuffs you to the bed, watching you moan and bounce with your wrists bound to the headboard. His hand firm in your messy hair, watching you cry as he ruthlessly bullies his thick cock deep inside you. "Look at you, all messed up just for me..." His pelvis slamming between your thighs with each heartbeat. "Fuckin' moan for me baby! Scream my name! Oh that's it! That's it get louder!"

Vs.

Keegan who handcuffs your wrists in front of you, giving him free will go tug on them. Leaning down to kiss your mouth open, tugging the cuffs lightly to push you down on his cock. "Fuck... Fuck baby you're gonna drive me crazy like that." He purrs against your lips, rolling his eyes and fucking his hips into you. "All up on my cock like that. Oh baby you make me want it-" Hearing you whimper into his mouth and kiss him back, feeling you taking his cock, it's all he needs.

König who loves to make your little back arch. Telling you to bend more or he'd break you. Firm hands on either side of your hips as he watches his cock slide deeply in and out of you. "Such a little thing I get the pleasure of breaking. Such a good little thing for me!" Telling you if you keep acting like such a slut he'll fill you up deep with it. "Quiet maus, I don't want the neighbors to hear what a filthy thing you are!"

Vs.

König who pants softly, hands on your hips bouncing you along his thick cock. Watching your stomach bulge slightly or your hole stretch, the tip of his cock pressing into the wall of your body. Watching your eyes flutter and you moan and moan around him. "I love you, I love you precious little thing..." Eyelids fluttering when he sees you crumble under your shaking thighs and the weight of your orgasm. "Oh so good liebling... Fuck, so so good.."

[bejeweledblondie]

When I tell you I was pissing my pants laughing at this.

“This wallpaper is so cute, we could live here” ME IN A NUTSHELL I have ADHD (I’m medicated for it) but when I’m off it this is me 😭

[emperorpalpatittay]

You really think she’s your girl. My brother in Christ she’s up in here every night twirling her hair and kicking her feet to the raunchiest “x reader” COD smut on the planet.

[yawnderu]

''You're such a fucking asshole and—'' Your words are interrupted by a whiny moan when Keegan starts to thrust up, not letting you get distracted by anything despite your rant.

''Yeah? Keep going, baby. Ride this fucking cock.'' You do as he says, getting on your feet to be able to ride him harder and deeper, the tip of his cock hitting your spongy cervix every single time he goes all the way in. One of your hands is on his hard chest for support, while the other one is holding his jaw, keeping his mouth open to hear the downright lewd groans leaving his lips.

''And... annoying. Cocky. Arrogant—'' Each insult is punctuated by you dropping on his cock, walls tightening up even more when you feel him throbbing inside you.

''Horrible.'' You keep ranting about him despite how good he feels inside you, despite the way his fat cock has your lips gripping on him for dear life. He is all of those things and more, but the tension that has been building up to this day was impossible to ignore. You're impaling yourself down on his cock and he's letting you, mouth open slightly ajar and eyes rolling to the back of his head.

''Fuck— yeah?'' He finds the energy to speak despite the way you're destroying his cock, not even thrusting up anymore and simply letting you do all the work. His hand trails up your spine, grasping at the hair on the back of your neck and keeping your head in place, letting you ride his cock despite his rough hold.

His hand lets go only to slap your face, making you ride faster despite the stinging pain. What a fucking asshole. It doesn't take long for you to return the favor, hand coming up to slap the annoying smirk off of his face— and it works shortly, he looks shocked at getting slapped back, yet pure amusement is soon written all over his annoyingly handsome face, seeing it as a challenge.

You know you fucked up when his calloused hands grasp your waist, holding you in place before using his strength to switch positions, now on top of you. His cock thrusts even deeper like this, hitting your cervix over and over at an almost punishing pace.

''Acting like a fucking bitch all day—'' He groans out, words interrupted by the sharp hiss leaving his lips at the way your pussy tightens more around his cock. He looks down at your lips, leaning closer while managing to keep his brutal thrusts.

''Open that fucking mouth, baby.'' You obey, too fucked out to even think much about it. You're barely able to register the way he spits into your mouth before kissing you, tongues wrapping around the other in a disgusting mess of spit. His hand comes up to grope your tit, fingers squeezing and pulling on the nipple every few seconds as he kisses you, ignoring the way your mixed spit is dripping down the corners of your lips.

The air is heavy with the smell of sex and the sounds of your muffled moans, his grip on your body bruising, fingers digging into your skin as he fucks you with an almost animalistic hunger. He doesn't stop making out with you even when his thrusts become even more brutal, spilling into you with a final, deep thrust. His hot white cum filling you up only makes your body tense up, riding out your orgasms together before he collapses on top of you, his weight keeping you pinned to the bed.

''Get off of me, fatass.'' Your protests go ignored, the asshole only making himself even heavier on top of you even when you try your best to get him off.

[prettybean]

WHAT THEY WOULD SAY DURING SEX (COD +18)

* I have a soft spot for Keegan, im sorry

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE

Ghost

“I know it's big”

“arch your back, just like that”

“Did you want this? Say it"

“Stick out your tongue or I won't give you anything”

“Such a whore, now you don't act like a brat in front of everyone anymore, huh?”

“Are you listening? open your fucking legs"

“Good girl, let everyone hear how much you love having my cock inside”

“An angel who wants to be fucked by me, how pathetic”

Soap

“Where’s my innocent girl?”

“Show me how much you want it”

“Fuck, you're so cute when you struggle to stay still”

"Use your words"

“Get on your fucking knees”

“You’re sucking it so good, baby, can you take it down your throat?"

“Do you want me to cum here? You want it? Do you want me to fill that pretty mouth?”

“You're all dirty, come here”

Price

“Look at you, always trying to flirt with the higher ranking ones”

“Lie down on my desk”

“You're so wet, did you need a spanking to make you behave?”

“Cum. Now."

“You're still so needy, even though I just fucked you”

“Look how much you came, you wet my uniform”

“Call me sir or I will have to punish you again”

“I fuck you harder, so you will show me some respect”

Gaz

“You belong to me, am I clear?”

“You acted like a brat, now you pay the consequences”

“You’re so pretty you are when you moan for me”

"I love you so much"

“You can give me another one, pretty girl”

“Be good for me, cum on my cock”

“Do you like it, sugar?”

“Don't lie, your wet pussy is begging for mercy”

Alejandro

“I knew you would be good while I was at work”

“Did you touch yourself?”

“You're so cute, keep begging me”

“This pussy is so good, mi amor”

“That’s it, legs around my face, just like that”

“Fuck, I had no idea you were so sensitive”

“Do you like my tongue?”

“Don't look at me like that or I won't stop eating your pussy”

Graves

“Keep riding me, don't you dare stop”

“Do you feel it? Do you feel how good my cock fills you?”

“You like being on top of me, don’t you?”

“I just said a word and you're already bouncing on my cock”

"What did you say? I can't understand with all those moans"

“Good, just like that”

“I told you not to tease me in front of Shadows”

“I know you were just being a brat because you want to get fucked.”

König

"Do not run away"

“God, you're so small I could break you”

"It's big? huh?”

“You can't even take my cock properly, look at you”

“Don't cry, I only put on the tip”

“You're so tight, I might go crazy”

“Stop moving, you have to take it all”

“I don't give a fuck if it doesn't fit, take my cock like a good whore”

* He tends to switch to speaking only in German when he loses control

Keegan

“My eyes are up here”

“You do what I say, if I want you to cum, you cum, whore”

“I noticed how you looked at those recruits, you wanted their dicks too, huh?“

“What's the matter, are you shy now?”

“Do you like being fucked like a whore? This is what you deserve."

"You do not talk anymore? You won't get anything if you don't tell me what you want."

“This is my girl, always greedy for my cum”

"You want to come? Then start counting”

—

pt 2

[yooo-lets-go]

I beg of you, I need more of your COD Ghosts content!! I love your art so much. (And I’d love to see your take on what you think Logan looks like)

Keegan did, in fact, fuck his brother 😔

[socialbatteryranout]

I know for A FACT the COD men are absolutely thick girl friendly. You CAN’T convince me these beefy men will ever turn down a pair of thick thighs. They one hundred percent enjoy a curvy grown woman.

[codslut]

Y'all out here imagining dating, marrying, and just spicy or fluffy scenarios with Keegan and Ghost as if y'all would live long enough for any of that with the way them mfs drive.

The only scenario you're gonna be imagining is at the funeral home when your ass bites the dust:

[callsignmarz]

Texting the COD Men

POV : They’re jealous

MDNI | 18+ | NSFW

[yupstep]

He has such a yummy voice 😤 I imagine he has that edgy fboy style but is actually a sweetheart.

Also I copy pasted his mask pattern from the wiki page :’D I didn’t feel like drawing that thing 4 times.

I was almost snowed in at work today so I did a doodle page of Keegan for fun. I got Gaz and Soap lined up too

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Ahhhh I've been waiting for your requests to open, I've been following you since your first Price fic and never had an idea to request until like 2 weeks ago 😫 so, I've been thinking, what about being in a relationship with Keegan but getting separated when ODIN hits the earth and not meeting again until about 5 years later? 👀 Love your writing, hope you have a great day 🩵 :)

For The Weak And Weary

PAIRING: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: When ODIN struck you had thought he had died, sky alight with fire. It had taken years to accept it, much less live with it. But after Dallas falls, would you get a glimpse of your Lover's phantom again?

WORDCOUNT: 6.2k

WARNINGS: Angst, depressive thoughts, PTSD insinuations, gore, wounds, blood, death, canon-typical violence, (1) suggestive joke, alcohol, hallucinations, fluffy reunion, tears, verbal arguments, etc.

A/N: Just because I'm a sucker for sticking to the game timeline I made it ten years, lol. Enjoy, Anon! Very fun prompt.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You could never make sense of what Keegan went through in 2005 during Operation Sand Viper. It would be pointless to try and wrap your head around it from what little you knew. All that mattered was that when he came back on leave, something in his eyes was…damaged. Hell, he’d only been sixteen—the both of you had known each other since you were kids, you knew when something was wrong.

And this was entirely new to you.

He smiled less and snapped more; got spooked when you dropped something in his family's kitchen like a grenade had gone off. Maybe, you reasoned, he thought one actually had. 

But through it all, you could still see how much he cared about you. When you were old enough you’d both moved into a nice place in the suburbs and started a relationship—a life shared between the two of you. 

You knew he loved you from the way he’d grip you close at night and breathe into your scalp. How when you were sick from the take-out dinner he’d brought home, Keegan would hold back your hair and rub circles into your spine as you threw up. He never shied away from telling you how beautiful you were; prided himself on it. Keegan loved to show you off.

But there were times back then when you wondered if the same Keegan that had been so fulfilled to join Ghosts had died, and, in fact, a phantom was instead puppeting his skin. He was so quiet now.

If you’d known that the world was going to end on July 10th, 2017, you’d have never let him walk out that door angry. You would have grabbed his hand and pressed your lips to his, whispered affirmations into his flesh and sobbed at the cruelty of it all.

“I can’t keep pretending that you’re okay!” You yell, tears in your eyes, at the man standing tense in the kitchen doorway. Blank blue eyes stare lifelessly. “Keegan—this is killing you.” 

It was early morning by then, and the neighborhood was quiet. The house that the both of you had moved into years ago was littered with the remnants of a happy home. Pictures on the walls, dishes in the sink, and freshly baked bread on the counter. All you’d tried to do was give Keegan a hug, slipping your hands around his waist when you’d entered. 

He’d balked back, jerking to the side and nearly elbowed you in the gut before he saw your wide eyes and stopped himself. The way he’d looked at you…how could eyes be so dead?

“You need to talk to someone,” you put your foot down, shaking your head. “I-I don’t know a therapist or…or someone who can get you proper help because I can’t keep acting like I can live like this.” 

Every mission, every time he went away, it always got worse. 

Keegan’s eyes get sharp, hands at his sides clenching. He speaks in a low growl. “I don’t need to talk to a shrink, alright? I’m fine, you just startled me.”

“Bullshit,” your mouth hisses, glaring. “You thought you were back in ‘05.”

The man points at you, strong jaw clenching, “Don’t.”

“Keegan,” you plead, “please, I love you! I don’t care about this, I just want you to be alright. To be able to live your life—”

“What you want is to try and change me!” The black-haired man barks. Your eyes blink in shock. Keegan rarely yelled. “I already told you I was fine, why don’t you get off my back all the time?” His eyes flash, pupils going to slits as his hands shake at his sides. Why did he look scared? Your breath stills, lips slightly open, with tears dripping to the tile. “Fuck, it’s like I can’t come home without you pesterin’ me ‘bout something!” 

A stiff silence falls.

“Kee—” He snaps a hand to his mouth and rubs at his stubble, suddenly unable to look at you.

“...Forget it.” It’s low and shaky how he says it, eyes wide, before he darts into the foyer and slips into his boots. You listen to the sounds of panicked shuffling before the man wrenches open the front door and slams it shut behind him. One of the picture frames falls and hits the ground with a shattering of glass.

You flinch and tense, taking down a terse breath and sniffling tightly. Trying to get your lungs to work properly, your feet take you over to the picture as they feel weak and uneven; a stuttering mess of steps before you bend down. Your fingers bleed as they shift the glass away, taking out the image of you and Keegan on your hike through the mountains. 

Smiling faces mock you, and you break at the bright and open affection Keegan wears as he looks down at you—eyebrows curved up and smirk like a knife to the chest. 

You loved him so much it hurt to breathe when he was away. 

He had needed time, you knew, but what you didn’t know was that time wouldn’t be available. Around noon the world had opened into a ball of fire and death. 27 million dead. Los Angeles, San Diego, Phoenix, Houston, and Miami…all gone…at least, that was what everyone in Dallas was telling you. 

When Keegan had been away taking a walk to calm himself, you’d been home alone. The earth caved, the ground shook; houses burst like balloons. By the time you’d crawled from the rubble of your home, all you had was the picture and the clothes on your back. People were screaming—you were screaming. But you knew that you couldn’t stay here if you wanted to survive. 

And then you’d made it to Dallas by sheer luck and the few tricks Keegan had taught you; had thought that he had died in that first strike by the Federation. You carried that guilt and self-hatred for not holding your tongue for a few more hours. 

So much could have been different in these ten years. Better. You never got over him for even a second. 

But the reality was that you couldn’t think about all of that now, because if you didn’t focus on holding your breath you would be dead in the next three seconds. 

Your hand is anchored to the body of your sniper rifle, finger hovering over the trigger as you hide behind the outcropping of rubble in the decimated cityscape; the air is hot and humid despite the weight of the night. It sticks to your skin in a sheen of violent sweat. Yet it’s still not as potent as the blood. 

Teeth gritted, you hold back whimpers as Federation soldiers stalk the grounds, scores of them—legions. An entire army that had breached the walls and executed everyone insight, soldiers, civilians, if it once moved it didn’t anymore. The burning in your shoulder was agonizing, head smashing itself back to the rubble in an attempt to stifle your own ragged need to scream into the night as layers had peeled back to allow a bullet to pass through. 

In the ten years you’d been here, you’d taken up the mantle of quite the sharpshooter; pulling on Keegan’s lessons when he was on leave and wanted to bring you to the firing range. You had even picked a rifle similar to the one back in your destroyed home—held in a plastic case and treated like royalty by your long-deceased lover. It wasn’t the same, but the jet-black Lynx made you steady like the picture in your breast pocket did. 

A reminder of what was lost and why you had picked the knock-off up in the first place.

Footsteps get closer as the sweep of a flashlight cards above your skull, if possible you go even more still, lips pulled in and heart rampaging. There were barked orders and yelling, but no more screaming. 

How long had you been unconscious after taking that shot to the shoulder? Fear was breeding with horror—was…was everyone dead?

Spanish is loudly called not five feet away, and the flashlight leaves as your breath does. You let off a quiet gasp and suck down air greedily. Eyes flashing from one shadow to another, you look for any opportunity to slip away from the city. In the wind, you could smell fire, and taste it on your tongue as you licked your lips. 

All around you can see the limp shadows of bodies and the apartments, large skyscrapers were on fire deep in their frames. The city was entirely lost.

How the federation got into the walls you would never know, though there was concern about the enemy soldiers rounding up civilians outside the walls and executing them. Maybe one cracked before the bullet entered their skull.

You bite hard into your lip to force back your pain. Trying to shoot a rifle would be useless at this point, you might as well have lost the limb. Slinging the gun’s strap over your head, you look back and forth along your visible perimeter, checking for hostiles as you unsheathe your combat knife and cradle your limp arm to your chest. 

If only Keegan could see you now.

Rounds of gunfire make the air burn with urgency, and you take the time to peek out behind as sweat makes a trail down your dirty face, dripping off of your chin as you breathe like a wheezing dog. Your wound needed tending, and you had the med pack on your vest with the supplies, but you can’t do it here.

Where’s safe? If Dallas has fallen…is there anywhere that’s still standing? A location hits your brain as your gaze darts from one abandoned street to another. You take a deep breath and whine as you force your legs to stand and move quickly, feet shifting as quietly as you’re able to make them. 

“Fort Santa Monica.” Now a stronghold, you’d heard US soldiers here talking about the large presence of military power out in California—numbers so great they rivaled those that had lived in Dallas. 

You stumble over a spasming body and slam your uninjured shoulder into the bulk of the building’s wall, groaning loudly like a wounded boar. 

“Fuck!” If you made it out of the city, that would be where you would have to go; to warn them of what was coming. The Federation had found a way inside the Dallas wall, and that meant if they had enough tenacity, they could do it to them too. 

Everything would be done if another city fell.  

Holding your knife tighter, you push off the wall and grit your teeth harder, mind running on that edge of hysteria and forced calm. It’s in these moments where you have to pull on old memories to keep you going—even if they end up hurting more than the open wounds you carry. 

Keegan had his bad moments, but you always got through them together. Years and years of knowing each other inside and out; memorizing bodies and thoughts like they were second nature. He would want you to keep fighting, tell you to get your ass in gear and go…and you would never let him down. 

You owed him that much even if some days you wanted more than anything to join him. 

Blade in hand, you hear muttered speech from up the alleyway and pause, feet splayed but still swaying as you come to a slow stop. Your ears ring at garbled sentences, foreign words spilling into one another. 

Panting, you listen closely, limbs vibrating. More gunfire echoes over the air, screams and death that get ingrained into your head like a brand into sizzling flesh. Skyscrapers burned and buildings fell with great earthquake booms. Everything is under a sheen of distance.

Get out of the city. Get to Fort Santa Monica.

“Kill who I have to,” you slur out, itching at your neck as you leave a trail of blood behind you. A single pair of footsteps walk quickly forward near your corner and you hold your breath, bringing up your knife as pain pounds in your arm. 

Deep blue eyes sit in the back of your mind, counting you down as they always did.

Keep your arm steady for me, Doll, a phantom tells you. Breathe...

When the first shadow of a Fed soldier graces your eyes, you strike. 

—

It’s roughly nineteen days from Dallas to Santa Monica, and that was if you kept up at a steady walking pace. If the crude sling you’d fashioned from bandages found in your med pack was any indicator, it would be double that. 

On the first day, you had hiked half-dead over the destroyed landscape of what remained of the USA, licking your wounds and counting your losses. You’d had your pick of abandoned houses, taking a red brick one just because it looked nice and you were about to pass out from blood loss. The only reason you’d made it this far was that the bullet had thankfully passed right through you, making sure that if you moved too suddenly no more damage was being done internally. You packed it with a sterile rag.

Sitting in the home, pictures gathering dust on the fireplace mantle, you tipped back a bottle of whisky you’d found in one of the bedrooms, grimacing at the sting. It was better to be drunk for what you were about to do. 

Heating up your combat knife in the fire you had started in the hearth, you watched the metal grow an eye-flinching white as you stared off into nothingness. 

“You remember when you showed me that scar, Keegan?” You always talked to him. Others had given you shit for it, but they knew the purpose. If you didn’t talk to someone, even a ghost, you would give up. 

The guilt was eating you alive, and it would overtake you eventually. Hadn’t in ten years, but it would…you knew it, everyone did. 

Keegan was everything, and nothing looked the same when you lost him.

“The one on your thigh?” Pulling the knife back, you turn to the leaking flesh of your shoulder, gushing blood as black desecrates the sides of your eyes. You’d taken off your vest and shirt. If you tried hard enough you could imagine Keegan standing in the corner, watching. Always watching. “You said you had to dig a bullet out and cauterize the wound—when I asked you said you barely felt it over all the adrenaline.”

The ghost tilts its head, eyes sad and lips pulling taunt. Your lungs take in a shaky inhale and your hand quivers; only you feel how your eyes burn with unshed tears. 

“I never thought about it before,” right as you growl and shove the knife into your skin, you bark out in fear, “But I think you were fucking lying!” 

On day two, you knew you had to avoid the remains of Fort Worth, so you decided to increase your distance and cut that landmark out entirely—too many remnants of Federation. They were everywhere now, and you needed to keep low; get out of Texas. You scavenged properties and took stock. 

Four magazines for your Lynx, a pouch with five protein bars, one bottle of water attached to your belt, and your knife. Normally you’d have a pistol at your thigh, but you’d used it up in the firefight back home. When you’d woken back up, it had been gone.

And, of course, you had the picture. You kissed Keegan’s face and placed it back in your breast pocket, caressing the material softly before clearing your throat and addressing the obvious. 

With what you had getting to California was a pipe dream. 

You’d been on the radio all day, clicking through channels and pleading for anyone alive to reach out. Nothing. Static. 

I’m the only one left. The thought was intoxicating, pounding in your skull like your hangover. Everyone is dead. 

While you had become somewhat of a loner in the last ten years, especially with the few months you’d been by yourself in the beginning, Dallas had given you a chance to build bonds again. Ten years, and in an instant it was all wiped out. 

It rang a devastating bell.

Somehow, you had cheated death where so many others had failed—not only in Texas, but back with ODIN too. You had survived, but somehow Keegan hadn’t. 

Keegan, the one who never spoke about ‘05 and jerked awake from nightmares years later because of it. Keegan, who wanted nothing more than to stay at your side when he was home and keep you on his chest when watching movies. Keegan, the love of your life.

The only love of your life. 

“I really wish you were here,” you mutter, grimacing as your arm gets jostled as you stumble over a piece of rusted metal in the empty street. “Who gave you the right to go away before me, huh? We were supposed to grow old together, Russ. You promised me that.” 

Garbage gets blown over the road when a hot breeze shifts the air, bringing the scent of dirt and the noise of rustling trees. Nature has reclaimed the towns and suburbs—great patches of ivy and long grass that rise to your hips. But the silence was a curse.

The only thing keeping you going is the thought of delivering your warning to Santa Monica, from there…

Your lips thinned. What even was there left? How many times could you go from one place to another, starting over with stories of your past and having to brush the pitying looks off as you fake a smile? 

Shaking your head, you recall memories from the better days as the light gets low in the sky. 

“You’re doin’ too much, Sweet Thing,” Keegan mutters, and you turn from the stove top with a bright smile to face him. 

He had just gotten out of the shower, towel ruffling through his dark hair as he stands in the kitchen entrance and watches you cook for him. The shirt hangs off of his wide shoulders, and gray sweatpants are loose over his formed hips—his strong brow line raises in a casual expression. 

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it,” you tease, hearing his low chuckles as you turn back to your pan. “You look good, y’know.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Keegan grunts, smirking, and his feet pad over to you, tossing the towel to the counter as his presence looms over your back. Large hands grab onto your hips and a nose burrows into your hair; inhaling deeply before gradually melting to the curve of your spine. 

You smile and hum, pushing back so you can rest on his chest. A chin sets itself on your head, deep massaging fingers making you pur as they bunch your sleep shorts.

It was late—nearly two in the morning. Keegan had only gotten home a short while ago, but sleep wasn’t going to stop you from spoiling him. A wine bottle was on the island counter, two glasses, and the food was nearly done from what you could scrounge up on short notice.

“...Good to be back,” the man grumbles into you, kissing your head and slowly sweeping his arms around your waist as you sighed softly at the contact. 

Your face gains heat. 

“Well, I’d sure hope so, or else this would be awkward.” You huff to hide the bright smile in your voice. But like a moth to flame, you hear, as well as feel, Keegan chuckle against your spine. His grip squeezes you for a moment. 

“How was it when I was away?” He asks as you move around the contents in the pan, nose brushing your neck as his lips travel to kiss behind your ear. He breathes against the flesh as his low rasp makes you shiver. “Any trouble?”

“Negative, Sergeant,” you raise a brow and smirk over your shoulder at him, seeing his blues spark as he gazes hard into your eyes. A faint twitch to his lips is what you get before his hand captures your cheek; anchoring your face as he descends to connect his mouth to yours.

He sighs into it, arm still around your waist—tight as if you were a pillow. 

“Keep talkin’ like that and we won’t have to wait long for dessert, will we?” 

Days three through seven were uneventful beyond the constant agony of your arm and tired legs, but on day eight amid a waterless walk in the sweltering heat was when the hallucinations began. 

Keegan walks beside you, his footsteps mirroring your own as sweat pools down your forehead and drips off your nose. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you—he just walks, looking exactly like he did the day he died. 

At first, you’d flinched back and blinked wildly at the sight, panting, but then he’d disappeared and your heart had shattered. It worried you with what you were seeing, but it was also a strange comfort to be able to ramble to…something, even if it wasn’t real. Hungry and with a dry tongue, you were on the verge of calling it quits.

So on day eleven, without a wild animal in sight to give you a proper food source and all the water having to be purified, you started talking to him while licking the inside wrapper of your last protein bar. 

“But I never understood why you hated sleeping in shirts,” you licked your lips to get the remnants of granola off of your flesh, pushing away the greasy sheen from your cheeks. Your arm was burning up—every heartbeat was felt as it moved the skin around red and infected flesh up and down. Puss was leaking out from the crude stitches you had made of embroidery thread from that first house you’d found. 

“And you always kept the room freezing.” Continuing, you drop the wrapper to the ground and then take the meat of your fingers and get what little flavor you can off of them, grunting through realization. “That was a ploy to have me use you for heat, wasn’t it? Jesus.” 

The man in the corner of your vision smirks, tilting his head and chuckling from where he leans against a tree trunk. 

“Yeah, that’s right. Knew it.” Glaring at nothing, you stand from your overturned stump and nearly fall right back over, stomach yelling at you as your vision swirls. 

You dig a hand into your hair and grip at the strands, pulling and groaning. “...God.” 

Keegan comes over and stands above you, your eyes staring down at his feet as you get light-headed. You focus on his shoelaces, counting the Xs and taking down shaky breaths. When you blink like a cat with dirt on its face, the shoes are gone entirely and you stand back up to your full height.

“...Keegan?” You ask after a moment, the words disappearing into the trees, but no one’s around. 

Your sight goes to your wound and your jaw tightens, moments of clarity slipping in as a knife would into your consciousness before the curtain settles once more. 

You bend over and vomit what little nutrients you had, spending day twelve sleeping through a fit of nightmares and fever-induced delirium.

Nothing about the remainder of the time you can recall to memory—bits and pieces always flash through on long nights, but they’re only walking montages. Dragging feet, looking at your hand as if it was a foreign object as you turned it back and forth; everything in a sheen of sickness. Days and days and days. Little food. Less water. 

More than one-thousand miles.

But somehow, the Wall peels out in front of you as you crash through the foliage, your body giving out and collapsing down a large decline. Bouncing and getting jostled by rocks, you come to a stop without the strength to get back up, staring blankly ahead as your head connects with concrete. Your mouth is open in broken inhales, pain not even registering. 

Shouts echo, the pound of rapid feet. 

Green eyes meet yours, a youthful face with a beanie and stubble. He’s saying something to you, glancing over your gear and your obvious near-death situation—his hand jostles the side of your face. But your eyes shift behind him gradually, attention falling to someone more important. 

Before you finally let yourself rest, you stare at the smiling face of your steadfast phantom.

—

The doctors and nurses at Fort Santa Monica were nice, if a bit secretive about the entire operation. Seeing as you weren’t an official soldier, no dog tags or patches—no name in the database—everyone was a bit hesitant to tell you anything. 

Until you said you were from Dallas, of course. 

But no one was eager to rush you in your state, even if the information was dire. You had been hooked up to an IV and bedridden for a week straight; talking to nothing on account of the dehydration and electrolyte imbalances. Some days you spend unconscious. 

But what really pissed you off when you got back into it, was the fact that they had taken your Lynx and your gear—your picture.

You’d almost grappled onto the first nurse you’d seen when you’d woken without it. It was a beacon, your prized possession of damaged corners and taped tears. Water damage that may or may not have been from sobbing fits in the first five years. 

In fact, that was the entire reason you had snuck out so late in the first place. 

Stalking down the hallway in the white shirt and camo pants that had been given to you on the fifth morning you had woken up here, you pad along with no shoes, only plain gray socks. You limp with bandaged flesh all along your healing shoulder and your feet. 

The doctor had explained that you’d entirely skinned the bottoms and your heels were a mess of blisters and open wounds. 

“Take my property,” you grumble under your breath, shuffling along and rubbing at the back of your neck. “What gives them the right?” 

You weren’t going to stop until you found it. 

Reading the name tags on the walls, you silently wonder where they would have taken your stuff as you slip out of the medical ward, listening to the buzzing of the lights and frowning. As you’re limping along the next hallway, a man suddenly turns the corner on nearly silent feet. 

“Woah!” You halt immediately, heart jumping in your chest. A hand catches your shoulder before you run headlong into him. 

Green eyes lock with your own, wide and blinking quickly. Brows furrow and you’re quickly looked over before a slow, teasing remark enters the air, you listen with a growing heat on your neck.

“Y’know, I could have sworn you were supposed to be in bed, Ma’am. I miss something here?” The man who had found you. 

“Wouldn’t know,” you say blandly, blinking up at him and taking a careful step back. This brunette had a casual air to him—still in his gear despite the time. He folds his arms and tilts his head at you, smirking. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

You begin to walk forward, slipping past him and hoping you won’t get snitched on. Except it seems you’ll be having a shadow, as not a few seconds later a smooth chuckle meets your ears and the man walks beside you. 

“I think I’ll be taggin’ along if you don’t mind. Security and all.” He turns to face you, sticking out his opposite hand. “Hesh.”

“That supposed to be some kind of nickname, Kid?” You raise a stiff brow but participate in the handshake nonetheless. His grip is firm but not hard. 

Hesh blinks at you, eyes swimming with amusement before he shrugs in a boyish way and shakes his head with a laugh. “Hell, you remind me of someone, Ma’am.” A moment passes in silence as you study the area. The man huffs, “Where exactly are we off to?” 

“Wonderland,” your lips grumble, tired and wanting to sleep but not until you find your picture. Hesh sighs but you can still hear the hilarity inside of it. 

“Alright then…don’t know if you’re going to be finding a shrinking potion anytime soon, though. We’re in low stock.”

“Very funny,” your eyes send a dry look, but you relent when he prods you with his eyes, taking a corner. “I’m looking for my vest.” Hesh blinks at you in curiosity, letting you elaborate as you motion to your upper shoulder. “My pouch has some of my personal belongings. I don’t like being away from it.” 

“Oh,” the brunette nods a few times, his beanie jerking along. “Yeah, that’s no problem.” A hand is waved and you stare in confusion as he pivots. “C’mon, I’ll get you there.” 

Your eyes burn into his back before you immediately speed after. 

“Why so eager to help?” Hesh smirks at your question. 

“As I see it, if you went over nineteen days of hard hiking just to get to us, you should at least be able to keep your stuff on you, Ma’am.” Your lips flicker in a smile. 

“You’d be the first.” You tell him your name and miss the slight emotion it provokes in his eyes, head lightly pulling to the side but ultimately saying nothing. Hesh shrugs with a grunt, leading you to a meeting room on the opposite side of the building. 

Yelling is on the other side.

“Elias, how long has this been kept from me?!” The voice makes your head perk, evoking something inside of your chest. Hesh seems taken aback too, holding up a hand to you for momentary silence—not that you had to be told. 

“Keegan, I can’t have that happen. She needs to recover and you being there could jeopardize that. We need what she knows about Dallas.” Your body stills to a near-frozen state, and it’s comedic how your entire face falls to a blank slate. Wait a second.

…Keegan?

“She belongs with me—I thought she fucking died and she’s been here for who knows how long?! Why wasn’t I informed?” Rampaging feet suddenly sound off, going to the door at break-neck speed.

“Son, that’s not a good idea. This is what I was worried would happen if you found out.”

“I didn’t exactly ask, did I? As far as I’m concerned, nothing else matters besides getting back to my Girl,” the bark is ferocious and violent, more of an animal’s than a man’s. “Now where the hell did you put her before I tear this damn fort apart and—” You shove at the door before Hesh can grab you, throwing it open and letting it hit the opposite wall with a great boom of wood. 

Your wild eyes instantaneously lock into sharp blues, pulse pounding in your ears. It’s like all the air is taken from your lungs in a great punch. 

Oh, he’s so similar to how you remembered him to be ten years ago. 

Keegan stands only a few feet away, turned in your direction with his eyes so wide and small you might faint. There’s black face paint in his sockets, making the cerulean all the more bright and shocking to the senses. He’s still tall, still built, if only a bit more rugged than when ODIN struck—there are lines on his forehead and his scars are more faded. Small differences in the way he holds himself like the difference between a rabbit and a hare. Keegan’s black locks are shorter now, but still…his.

Lips part in silent shock, an entire halt of your nervous system. 

The entire universe holds its tongue as you two stare at each other; walls and rooms blur into a mess of matter and reality—this couldn’t be real. 

Keegan’s feet shift for a moment as if to steady himself as his fingers twitch. In his hand, he holds your picture, his body covered in gear and weapons. He blinks as you tell yourself he’s a phantom, simply that same ghost come back to haunt you as tears sting the backs of your eyes. But then he speaks, and it’s the same voice you had slowly lost the ability to remember in year three. 

“...Sweetheart?”

His ghost never spoke. His ghost could not imitate the phonics of his speech or the rhythm of his throat. His ghost could not make you recall the memories you’d long since boxed up.

You jerk forward just as he does, bodies colliding into a feral grip of flesh and fabric, hands latching and faces burying. Sobs rip from you as Keegan’s shaky breath echoes right next to your ear—his chest hitching and arms snatching your waist and lifting you up as easily as he always had. He holds you up without any thought of putting you down, legging your legs dangle as Elias slowly exits the room and corrals a highly confused Hesh with him.

The door shuts, but neither of you notices. 

“Keegan—” Your voice is high with emotion, hardly believing what you're seeing—what you’re touching. “Oh, my God.” 

He had been alive all this time? Ten whole years and you’d thought he was dead. But by the way he was barely letting you breathe from in his iron clutch, you imagined Keegan had thought the same about you. It was…incomprehensible. 

“Shh,” he whispers, his shushes cracking and flinching between broken gasps of your name. “Shh.” He sets you down on the floor only to have his firm hands travel to your cheeks, turning your head to each side in a desperate need to understand if you were really there.

Keegan’s eyes are wet, but no tears let themselves fall quite yet. 

“I’m so sorry!” You hiccup and the man kisses your cheeks—your browline and nose. Every piece of you he can as you both stay so intimate you might melt into one another. “I thought you were gone, I-I should have stayed and looked for you, I didn’t—”

“You’re alive?” Keegan’s hands rub across your body, gripping and tugging you closer and closer. “My Girl’s alive?” 

His tears drip to your face as he hovers above you, and you both shake with the weight of years. 

“Me?” Your chuckle through sobs—you want to scream and wail at the same time. Blue eyes flutter and ragged breaths puff on your forehead. “What about you, you asshole?” 

Keegan shakes his head, and you stare deeply into him, hands coming up to cup his cheeks as he sags forward. He had stubble now, spreading out to grate your flesh. 

The man forces a weak huff. 

“Christ,” is all he mutters before he presses his lips to yours in a kiss so unyielding you expect to have your air stolen. Ten years to feel him kissing you again—to feel his warm flesh under your hands and his heart rampage into you. 

You’d do it all over if it still amounted to this.

Your body shivers and you reciprocate with just as much fervor; this emotion of relief is so overwhelming and all-consuming that it makes your head light. You suck down quick breaths between the sensation of your lips meeting, Keegan doing the same. 

Unconsciousness was better than letting him leave again, your lover sharing that sentiment as chests slid against one another. Soft hair slips through your fingers as you grip Keegan’s hair, cascading through locks as he groans into your lips and tries to hide his tears from you. 

He pulls away and immensely shoves his head into your neck. 

“You’re here,” he whispers quickly. A hand quivers at the back of your head as your tears wet his gear. “You’re right here. You came back to me, didn’t you, Doll?” 

You cry, “I’m here, Keegan.” The man sobs when he hears you say his name, his knees giving out as you both fall to the floor and not letting the other move beyond the caress of skin and lips.

“I missed you,” Keegan gasps, “so much. Don’t you understand? I was nothing without you. You took it all from me, everything. Every damn thing.” 

You press kisses to his neck and racing pulse, healing him inside and out without even realizing it; it was only fair, he was doing the same back to you. 

The picture lays long forgotten on the floor.

“Never let me go,” your voice forces out, as he rocks you back and forth like a child. “Never again, Keegan. Please, I love you too much to go through that again.”

“Never,” he immediately promises, pulling back and kissing your lips again—neither can stop themselves from this. Blues eyes blink quickly, cataloging your face and every little blemish he’d have to relearn and study; to find the story behind. Keegan had never been happier. He felt like he might break from it. “Over my dead body, I’m never lettin’ you out of my sight. You’re stuck with me.”

You laugh genuinely for the first time in ten years and say you’d like nothing better as he pulls you back in and plants his mouth to yours in reverent worship. His arms trapping you to him as yours do just the same.

Not to leave again anytime soon. 

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