#bottom keegan p russ

[2kiran]

“SAY IT” ♱ KINKTOBER

PAIRING: Keegan P. Russ x Reader Reader is a male. Bottom Keegan. TEASER CW: SMUT, r is described to be stronger, morally grey reader (?), mask + daddy kink

The vile, lackluster whispers amongst soldiers resound throughout the otherwise silent base, reserved for the nauseatingly attention-gaining thomp thomp thomp of your boots against polished ground.

There you were—the rumored magnet of mischief and death, the man who can’t offer clemency, the soldier—everything Keegan shouldn’t want.

But by the ancient words of Gods, he craves you like a man of riches desiring more than he can handle.

You’re far, far higher in rank than he is. A seasoned tank-more-than-man. You’re someone who’s experienced the worst aspects of hell; yet, you took advantage and made it reform you into something terrifyingly better.

He doesn’t quite get you for it.

No one really does.

All that Keegan comprehends is that he wants you, no matter the promise of consequences.

He thinks it’s the way your mask accentuates that near soulless look within your captivating eyes. Think it’s how, with one flick of your wrist, you send other soldiers down to the ground and to the infirmary. Thinks it’s how your stoic presence sends a pulse between his thighs, giving him an urge to beg for anything you’re willing to provide him.

He thinks he’ll have you.

As long as you’ll let him.

-

Keegan can’t remember how it got to this.

He’s avoiding your gaze. Avoiding you.

One leg of his is hooked over your hip while both of his hands claw for purchase at your broad shoulders. His mask clings to his skin that’s wrapped in a light sheen of sweat, causing it to be more difficult for him to properly breathe. Your cock pounds his sensitive spot with every thrust repeatedly, your tip grazing against the deepest parts of his body, and shit, he wants to cum.

“Daddy,” Keegan whimpers, the slick push and give has him clamp down hotly around you, “I’m close. Hnghhnm, fuck, please.”

You grunted in response, hands locked onto the fat of his thighs. “Look at me.” You demand, delivering a deliberate, taunting roll of your hips against his already bruised ones.

He obeys—and the sight undeniably makes you twitch inside of him. His eyes are glossy with tears he’s adamant on holding back, his eyebrows twitching together, and he’s desperately trying to feign a glare.

Damn that stupid mask of yours.

You seem more distant with the materialized barrier, only indulging in him to satiate a neglected need. That thought has Keegan whining, the knot situated deep in his belly tightening to the point of humiliatingly snapping without your permission.

You lean down, your obscured face against his neck, breathing his scent in. “Call me that again.” You demand, your voice rough and dripping with restrained need.

He whimpers—tightens once around you, his hole wetly sucking you inside—before he gives in.

“Please,” he tests his raw voice, finding the word in his wrecked brain, “please, daddy, need you to make me c—”

Your cock throbs at the sound of the name coming from his mouth. You drag your cock out of his entrance as he speaks, holding back a breath as you slide back in him again with one rough thrust.

“—ah, fuck! Yeah, like that, nmng—”

You know this won’t be the last time.

[lucifermonsii]

Bot!Demon!Keegan X Dom!Male!Reader

Cw: degrading, blowjob, creampie, mentions of dick, cock, length, member, over stimulation, whimpering, cum

The wet sounds of skin slapping against skin fills the room with every thrusts of his hips pounds harshly into Keegan's ass as it jiggles from the movement.

Moans and whimpers leaves his leaves as tears rolls down his cheeks from over stimulation, begging for M/N to stop as spurts of cum shoots out of his dick as M/N continues to pound into him with each powerful thrusts making the tip of his large cock hit the males bundle of nerves. Keegan's gummy walls hugging M/N's fat cock as it stretches him out so nicely.

Broken whimpers escapes his soft red lips as he bites down on it, clearly tired and worn out from the previous rounds that accoured. M/N grips onto one of the males ones as he lifts his head up, face no longer buried into the sheets.

His back against M/N's chest as beads of sweat runs down their bodies, his breathing heavy as his hot breath hits Keegan's neck. Making him shudder from the feeling, M/N wraps one of his arms around his chest to keep the smaller male stable. Thrusting into him once more before filling him up with his white seed with a sigh, stuffing him full of his hot fluids as his body goes limp.

Back leaned against M/N's flushed chest as the back of his head rests against his shoulder. He chuckles upon seeing the being exhausted as he limps on him, grabbing onto his hips lovingly before placing a kiss on the side of his neck.

"We're not done yet you slut."

He says as he pulls out of Keegan before shoving a butt plug into him to prevent the leaking of his cum out of him. A tired whine escapes his lips as his forearm covers his tired eyes, pretty wet lips parted as his chest heaves up and down.

"I- I can't anymore- fuck!"

He whimpers when M/N shifts him into another position as if he were a mere ragdoll, Keegan's lips brushes against M/N's red tip. Half lidded eyes stare up at him as it looks at him tiredly. Tongue touching the base of his cock as he licks the cum off of M/N's dick to clean it.

A chuckle escapes his lips as he watches Keegan do so, patting the demon on his head as his hand trails down to his cheek. Caressing it sweetly with his thumb, he takes his cock into his mouth as he hollows his cheeks. M/N groaning as Keegan gags on his huge cock when the tip hits the back of his throat, his hand gripping onto the rest that hasn't yet entered. The warm wet feeling around his length makes his sigh, hand going to the nape of Keegan's neck when he finally took all of him in.

Slowly moving to the back of his head up and down as his tongue swirls around the base of his member while low groans and grunt leaves his lips.

It was going to be a long night.

[keesdarlin]

[ MDNI, 18+ ]

⋆ / a thought ; cw! bottom keegan, anal, fingering, edging(?)

taking keegan apart with your fingers. it takes so long for you to convince him to bottom at all let alone put anything inside of him. when he finally agrees and you have it all figured out and planned, it's a whole event. you block out a whole evening to take care of him. he's tense and it takes you a hell of a lot of effort to get him to calm down enough to slip the first finger in. when you finally do, he looks confused. the feeling is new and foreign and almost uncomfortable. but your movements get him panting and huffy quicker than he expected.

once you feel like he's ready, finally relaxing and just experiencing it, you ask if he wants another finger. he bites his lip, trying to keep his nod from seeming too eager. he's not really, he would argue if you asked later. just curious. tries to hide his reactions, but you pick up on all of it. the way his breath hitches when you slip a second finger in, his quiet hum when you twist them just a little as you pull them almost all the way out. before he can fully process how he got there, you have him whimpering and keening on three of your fingers, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach as he whines for you to move your hand faster.

[tokillamockingbird427]

https://www.tumblr.com/c-bassmeow/186461690333/lmaoo?source=share

Keegan problem

And it's Logan saying it to him

He also says it knowing damn well HE wants Keegan /J

[samithemunchkin]

Oh noooo my hand slipped. Full version here

Also I'm open to suggestions who/what to do to Keegan

[forsworned]

Something good can work ft. Keegan P. Russ

cw: noncon themes, pnv sex, afab reader

There is a strange feeling that twists in your stomach as you approach Keegan's room. The door is left ajar, and you push it open, allowing yourself in to find him sitting on the edge of his bed, cleaning his gun. His balaclava is off and laid out on his nightstand, worn and distressed from use. He glances up at you for a moment; his rifle is completely disassembled, and he's taken the liberty to maintain his equipment.

"Hey, kid." His voice sends a frisson up your spine. You freeze in place, eyeing his physique. His navy loose-fitted tee lightly outlines his toned body, and his tactical pants are tight and baggy in all the right places as he manspreads. Bore brush in hand, his taut fingers, stained black with carbon residue, work meticulously to clean out the chamber.

He looks up at you again, noticing your unchanged form and expression. "What's on your mind, kid?" He sets down the bristle and grabs a microfiber towel to clean his hands.

Your eyes flicker to meet his wintry hues, and the lump in your throat starts to dissolve. "Can I ask you something?"

He notices the change in your usual demeanor and nods. "’Course."

You step closer to him, and he watches you intently. Your gaze is intense, as if you're staring into his soul. The words that fall from your mouth make his heart drop.

"Would you fuck me if I asked you to?"

The military prepared Keegan for many things, but this was not one of them. A beautiful woman, his teammate, asking if he would fuck her? No, the Marine Corps did not train him for such circumstances.

He only observes as you close the space between you two. You place your hand gently on his sturdy shoulder, sliding it to cup his face.

"It's not exactly appropriate," he murmurs, but he doesn't shy away from your touch. It stirs feelings he suppressed when you first joined years ago.

His hand finds its way to your hip as you straddle him, pressing against his growing erection. "But?"

You inch closer, pushing your chest against his, hovering over his pale pink lips. Keegan can hear the blood pumping straight to his dick, silently transfixed on your next move.

"Uh huh," you brush your lips against his mouth, and his hand fists at the fabric of your pants.

"[Name]..." he breathes out, letting his head hit the headboard to create some space between you, but your fingers make quick work of his belt, swiftly unzipping it with ease.

He doesn't exactly protest, merely squirms under your touch as you play with his exposed happy trail.

"I think you'll like it," you swallow thickly with anticipation. The situation is wrong, but he can't find it in himself to stop you. The way your hand feels as it slips under the waistband of his briefs is tantalizing. The pleasant tingly feeling of blood surging to his dick at your euphoric touches, the way you thumb over the precum creaming out of his tip, makes his thick brows scrunch in pleasure.

You take a moment to lower your lips to the swollen, red tip, lapping up his arousal. A strangled huff escapes him, and your lashes flutter as you peer up at him, laying your tongue flat on his shaft before standing up to undo your own trousers and letting them fall to the ground.

His Adam's apple oscillates as he fixates on the sway of your hips when you approach him and take your place on his lap once again. His glacial eyes, now darkened, fall on your glistening pussy, which is mere millimeters away from his cock. He no longer hesitates when he reaches out to touch your sopping folds.

"Yeah, you definitely don't need any prep..."

You suck in your bottom lip but push away his hand. "I'm ready enough," you state, hovering over him and wanting nothing more than to let him sink into you.

You lean over the edge of the bed and retrieve the condom from your side pocket. Keegan slightly narrows his eyes at you. "Christ, you were that ready?"

"Always." You tear the condom foil with your teeth before rolling it onto his dick. He bucks his hips at your touch. You grin down at him, relishing in how pliant he is for you. Licking your lips, you align yourself with him, and his eyes alternate between looking at your pretty face and your pretty pussy.

"Fuck, your pussy is..." His voice melts into a moan as he throws his head back, bottoming out into you. You dig your nails into his tanned flesh.

"So what?" You demand an answer from him as you relentlessly rock your hips against him. The real feeling is unmatched, your imagination could never conjure up the sight of his mouth hanging open and his death grip on your hips as you grind on him. The exhilarating feeling of dominating your CO is unparalleled.

"So—fuck, [name]." He shudders, involuntarily bucking his hips as he thrusts into you. It’s nothing but primal instinct at this point as you both drive into each other, using one another for the gratification that has been bubbling in your lower bellies—a fire that has been burning for too long.

"...so pretty." He chokes out, but before he can say another word, he feels his orgasm approaching. "Gonna—cum."

"Me too." You cry out, bouncing on his dick. He didn't even need to rub your clit to make you climax because the girth and length of his dick were hitting your A-spot so deliciously, so perfectly. You reach your peak, and soon you feel a wave of pleasure overcome you. Your pulsating walls push Keegan over the edge, and he rides the tides of rapture alongside you.

Your spine arches involuntarily as you both cling to one another, gyrating your hips until your fulfillment reaches its peak. A shaky breath escapes his lips as you lift yourself off him, not bothering to remove the condom filled with his cum. You reach for your trousers and underwear, slipping them back on with ease, and tidy yourself in his full-length mirror.

As you turn to him, you notice he hasn't moved a single inch. He's lying there, chest heaving, as he eyes you up and down. You pad over to him, place a tender kiss on his forehead, and smile. "Thanks, Keegs."

With that, you happily tread out of his door, closing it behind you and ensuring you hear the click before you leave. He listens for the sound of your footsteps as they fade until he hears nothing but the buzz of the AC. To say he’s bewildered is an understatement.

He lets out a labored breath, running a hand through his short-cropped hair.

"Anytime..."

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

i'm begging you for some Keegan angst🙏🏼 like perhaps he and his s/o get split up during an ambush; their s/o goes MIA and when they're finally found, they're badly injured,,, something like that. maybe some fluff/comfort at the end

happy holidays!🎊

Laughing Poets

Pairing: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader

Synopsis: It was poetic the way the bullet ripped through your flesh – the spray of blood that exploded from you with high velocity. How will Keegan react when he realizes that he has to leave you behind?

Word Count: 10.8k

Warning: Angst, fluff, blood & gore, torture, Keegan calls you 'Kid' a lot, happy ending

A/N: This was supposed to be done about two days ago but I decided I hated it so I re-wrote the last half (might have switched a few things around). Enjoy, Anon, and thanks for the request. Also, not quite sure on the exact characterization of Keegan yet but I'm getting there. Slowly.

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

It was poetic the way the bullet ripped through your flesh – the spray of blood that exploded from you with high velocity; so much so that it splattered the far wall of the decrepit house. At that moment, as you felt all the air being expelled from your lungs in a shuttering gasp, you could see poets from the long-gone Romantic Era scratching at thin paper with an ink-stained quill, laughing. Their charcoal-stained fingers would twitch as they write out your life with a furrowed brow, bathed in candlelight, and would smile as they slashed their signature at the bottom.

Would the poem of your life end so quickly?

Your head slams to the ground, white light erupting from behind your eyes as you try and suck back enough air just enough to be able to scream in agony. Molten heat is tearing you apart, peeling back nerves; breaking bone, and slashing past muscle with an inexhaustible surety. Dropping the modified AX-50 from your grip, the black and grey metal slams to the ground with a defining clatter as your ears ring with lightning. In the back of your mind, you hear the glass of its Thermal Duel Power Scope shatter into a million tiny pieces.

Shit, you had just gotten that from Kick a week ago. 

It was strange – the repercussions of your actions were happening all around you, but it felt like it was a world away as realization set in. You’d gotten shot? How? You got shot?! 

You wished your pitiful existence was worthy of a poem, truth be told; that it was worth more than the crimson that leaks from your left shoulder to the old, cracked, wooden ground. But that was never the case. 

Your body writhes and you wail out, head jerking back and forth in a primal display. 

You had chosen this life, whether by your own need for revenge or the sense of duty…you knew not. And now you would pay for it. 

Nobody knew you were hit, because you hadn’t told anyone through the comms, but there was also the fact that you were never meant to be this far out anyways. Merrick had fucking warned you this would happen if you stalked off on your own again, but as always, you had chosen the stubborn route. When you had seen this run-down shack of a house with a perfect vantage point, it made that predatory part of your brain sing with a need to hike to it – nestled right in between an outcropping of trees and overgrown vines atop a hill. With the threat of Federation soldiers in the war-torn town below, it was a God-send. You controlled it. You were master here.

Like a bird, Keegan would tell you, striding past, you just can’t resist a good perch, can you, Kid? 

The thing is, your Ghost Team shouldn't know you’re injured out here, but soon enough as you frantically try and grasp at your decimated shoulder with burning tears in your eyes and a gaping mouth, a stiff voice wavers through the static of your radio. The blood pools from you like an overturned ink well and your face pulls back in a desperate snarl.

The sound of gunfire was still raging hundreds of miles down into the remains of what was once the outskirts of San Diego but is now known as No Man’s Land. 

“Kid,” Keegan’s voice plays along your ears, but you’re too busy trying to force yourself up, blood hacked up from your mouth as you let out a strangled, no, “Where’d your scope go? Ajax needs cover fire two clicks to the west. Eyes up. No time for foolin’ around.”

Your skin is peeled back, and your flesh is infected with bits of your shirt and padded vest fabric inside the wound itself – like bugs crawling all over. You don’t want to think about the exit wound. The bullet had come from another sniper farther in the city, and, you knew, you were lucky you had survived the shot at all just on that fact alone. In your case, when you pulled the trigger, you rarely missed a killing blow. 

That was probably why Elias Walker had approached you in the first place – your kill count for Federation soldiers was off the charts, even with how young you were. Not quite a Ghost in full, but something in the middle; nearly there but not quite. You had to earn the mask first. Ajax liked to call you Greenhorn, but Merrick was more prone to Rookie. Kick was rarely out of his lab, so he didn’t call you much of anything. But Keegan…

��Blue Jay?” Keegan’s voice once more wafts out into the burning air, “Sitrep. Now.” 

“Keegan, push forward,” Merrick cuts through the channel and his heavy tone fills the house just as you begin to drag yourself across the floor. The echoes of the gun battle reverberate over the hills, “They’re boxing us in! Move, move, move!”  

You collapse against an overturned and broken coffee table with shaking limbs and tear-stained cheeks, struggling to find a good enough hold to press down on the wound as crimson leaks from between your fingers. A lung-shuttering gasp exits the flesh of your lips right before a burning makes itself known in the back of your throat. Not able to stop yourself, bile is forced all the way from your stomach, making a trail up your esophagus and finally pooling in your mouth. Gagging, you reel forward onto one hand and release the contents of Keegan’s ration bar from lunch back into the earth, watching the liquid concoction pool onto the ground that has grass whisps sneaking in from between the floorboards. Seeing that, and barking out another wail as long ropes of crimson drip down from your limp arm, you throw up once more. Everything is on fire. 

“When…when Ajax said getting shot felt like your skin was being flayed,” You groan, head starting to feel light-headed, “I thought he was just joking.” 

The sound of your agony-drowned voice brought a sense of urgency into your rapidly fading psyche. 

“Apply pressure,” Merrick’s imaginary voice in your head makes you straighten your spine – like he was a little angel on your shoulder hitting you with a newspaper. You call-back the memory of the Ghost as he was going over medical procedures a month back, “If your hand slips, you die, and I'm not carrying your limp body back to the Fort like a fucken’ sack of potatoes. No one can respond better than yourself in this type of high-risk situation, you understand? Panic is not an option in No Man's Land and if you think it is, you have no right being here...Make a tourniquet; tie it off, and wait for backup. Here, Rookie, practice on Keegan.” 

Doing the best you can with only one functioning arm, your fingers twitch as you card them clumsily over the pouches on your chest. Finding the velcro of your medical bag, you whine as you rip it open, flesh so sensitive that even the rough fabric of your own property is grating to feel. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you tell yourself, you most likely would have already passed out.

Ripping out the roll of medical gauze and praying you had enough, your shaking hand travels to your right shoulder, not even noticing the hurried conversations and screaming orders over the comms. 

Make a tourniquet, You think to yourself, grunting out into the air when you have to move your arm into position. The entire limb was stained red, liquid dripping off your nonresponsive fingers to the floor. What if you never regained the function of your arm again? Your thoughts were running. What if you could never shoot your rifle all because you felt the need to go too far on your own? To prove yourself?

The thoughts scared you more than you liked to admit. This life was everything to you – pushing back against the Federation, who had taken so much from you, and being alongside the Ghosts. It was what you had worked so hard for. 

Then fight for it, You don’t know why Keegan’s smooth voice comes to you at that moment, but as you pull the gauze so tight around your open wound you scream and see stars; nearly keeling over as well, it brings forward a steely determination, Don’t expect everything on a silver platter, Kid. But then again, you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t already know that.

“Fucking hell,” Face contorted with unmatched distress, you suck down breaths and let the gauze soak up your life; blood in deep puddles already seeping through, “I need to move – t-tell the others…”

“Blue Jay’s not responding,” Keegan speaks over the static of the comms channel, “I’m doubling back.” 

Your functioning hand latches onto the radio, weak fingers slipping for a moment as your body sways forward. Struggling, you stumble to your feet and steady yourself on the termite-eaten wall near the window. You peak out and try to spot the enemy sniper with wheezing breath and a sweat-flooded forehead. 

Pressing down on the radio to speak, you’re appalled by how hard the simple act was. 

Am I dying? 

“Don’t Keegan – in order to break the line you’ll need everyone to be there,” You have to blink away the blurriness of your eyes, “I’m spotting twelve tangos near the storage facility. Merrick, I’d suggest taking a left and circling the flank.”

Merrick responds, “Good eyes, Rookie. Ajax, on my six!”

Your vision swirls, forcing you to suck in a sharp breath and splay your legs shoulder length apart so you don’t fall forwards. You pointedly avoid look at your wound.

“You want to explain why you weren’t responding?” Keegan’s voice is stern, hiding an edge somewhere in its tone that you choose not to acknowledge, “This isn’t a game!” On a far-off building, you spy a glint, making your attention snap to it like a cat and a mouse—sniper scope. 

There’s that Bastard, Your fingers twitch with hatred, glossy and tear-clogged eyes narrowing. If you had the ability to shoot right now…

A bullet nearly takes your head off, splintering the frame of the window before lodging into the floor.

“Shit!” You yell, reeling back; forgetting for a moment you were on the open channel.

“Greenhorn, what’s going on over there?” Ajax finally graces the line, “You doing something stupid again?” You don’t know why you hesitate…why you’re so cautious to reveal to them that–

“That’s it,” Keegan snarls, “I’m going to your position.”

You shake your head, your mind so jostled that you don’t say anything for a moment until you realize that no one can see you.

“I took a bullet to my right shoulder.” You concede, voice low with self-hatred, “Clean through, nothing to worry about, just won’t be able to cover anyone…C-can’t feel my arm.” 

The line goes dark for a moment, and as you listen to your own ragged breathing that leaves you more hunched over the longer you stand up, it suddenly explodes. A cold shiver travels down your spine; sweat drips from your nose. Your eyelashes flutter.

“What the hell do you mean you got hit!?”

“Son of a Bitch, Rookie, give us your position, now. We’re pulling back.”

“No!” You yell, growling, and shaking your head, “This is a key location to taking back San Diego – there are vantage points, cover, hell, even weapons caches left over from before the war in one of the military bases. We need to secure this town. I’m fine!” But they weren’t listening, even if everything you were saying made sense. 

They can’t ruin the operation over one person, You told yourself, heart pumping a mile-a-minute, No one I’ve worked with has ever done that before and the Ghosts sure as Hell shouldn’t be the first. These guys were Special Operations before ODIN destroyed half the US – they know better.

But you were forgetting one critical detail. The Ghosts aren’t just any other team; they care about their own perhaps even more than the missions they get sent on. 

But I’m not one of them, You grunt to yourself, letting your eyes close and knocking your head back into the wall behind you. The fact makes you want to cry, but you’re forced to acknowledge the sore spot later. 

God, your arm felt like it was being burned to a crisp. You grunt and grit your teeth as another wave goes through you.

“How long ago did you get hit!?” Keegan barks and the sound of shouting from below your perch momentarily increases.

“I..” You try and think. How long had it been? More than seven minutes couldn’t have passed. 

“Answer me!” 

“F-fuck, I don’t know! Four-five minutes ago!” Yelling makes your head throb, a deep booming that echoes like a drum in your consciousness. 

The door to the house squeaks as it opens. 

Eyes snapping to the wall that separates the living room from the foyer, your voice cuts out immediately. Keegan was fast – lethally fast – but the town below your perch was at least a few miles, this was because your AX-50 was specialized at long-distance shots. It would be no good in the heat of an ongoing ground battle. I mean, hell, it only held seven shots; even with the modifications you had added on by yourself. 

The person who had opened the door wasn’t a Ghost.

And that meant they were your enemy.

Doing the best you can to move stealthily, you unclip the combat knife from your belt and listen with bated breath as you slink over to the doorway. You hate the way your hand shakes as it holds the hilt but revel in the fact that your left arm is numb enough to not cause you to bellow out. Holding your breath, you lean against the barrier on your good shoulder and bring the blade up near your chin. 

There are hesitant footsteps that shake the fragile frame of the building, and you feel the reverberations travel up your feet and make your skin shiver. Goosebumps form along your arms. 

Creeeek, crack-clack

The floorboards squeal like a stuck pig, the old boards splintering off as an unseen assailant’s feet cautiously move through the house. The sound of heavy breathing comes closer, nearing the doorway to the room you say stone-still in. 

Your radio flares to life.

“Rookie–” It only takes a moment, but Merrick’s voice is the signature at the end of your poem; whatever you would have heard from the man was lost. 

A Federation soldier dressed in camo and grasping a shotgun rampages around the corner. 

—

Keegan knows he’s too late when he sees the run-down visage of the shack with its front door open.

I taught her never to leave the doors behind her ajar. 

The Ghost had been training you for months – taking you somewhat under his wing, albeit reluctantly. Elias was clear when he gathered everyone together, train her to be like us. And they had all done just that, Keegan more harshly than anyone, but that wasn’t to say you were untalented. 

The stoic Ghost had yet to see a more talented sniper than himself, but you came in as a close second. You were the perfect asset, able to stay back when everyone else went in. You were the cover, the master behind the curtain that clears a path with a pull of a trigger. The Ghosts owed many missed nicks and scrapes to you and your calls. So when Keegan had heard you stop answering over the comms; not responding to Ajax’s hurried quips…

Keegan’s heart hammers as he ascends the front steps overgrown with weeds and wildflowers, the Honey Badger Assault Rifle held white-knuckled in his grip. As if on autopilot, the man switches the safety off and enters, face behind the fabric of his balaclava. The contorted visage of the white paint over the front created quite the nightmare and paired with the black eyepaint Keegan could only be compared to a beast. 

The slight clinking of the rope hook tied to his waist and the metallic bit and bobs in his vest was the only sounds he made, the years upon years of perfection ingrained into the way he breathed; the press of his feet to the floor. Keegan would only allow someone to hear him if he wanted them to, even if he was the size of a boar.

His cerulean eyes flicker down the hallway, but nothing moved beside the stale wind – smelling only dirt and…

Blood, Keegan’s nose twitches, eyes narrowing. The man tries to ignore the way his heart picks up pace.  

Had he really grown so attached to you that he would forsake his teammates to come and check on your situation? Perhaps the stupidest thing he could do to himself was begin to enjoy your presence. But that didn’t change the fact that you were his responsibility, and in the back of his mind there was a nagging concern. 

He had grown to care for you, and that was unexceptable.  

Keegan enters the living room with his rifle held ahead of him, scanning the room for tangos before he lowers it. Empty. 

And then he sees the remnants of a struggle. Head going back and forth the Ghost follows a trail of gore along the floor, an explosion of crimson over the wall behind him, and feels his chest rumble in a growl over the image of a broken AX-50. His breath stills.

The metal was dented, and the scope shattered, leaving glass over the ground like marbles. Keegan felt a dangerous heat enter his blood, eyes flashing; a specific type of rage growing in his gut and twisting his intestines. 

“Where are you, Kid?” He mutters, fingers flexing over the trigger of his weapon. Where did you go? His throat tightens, lips thin. Merrick’s voice comes over the radio with a hard edge.

“Keegan, sitrep. How’s our girl doing? Evac is on its way and we’re pulling back. Getn’ pretty hot over here.” Keegan takes a moment before rushing over to your signature weapon, letting his own fall against his chest and bounce off his vest. Grasping the gun you worshiped by the blue strap, his eyes go along its long body, spying the custom modifications and intricate detailing over the stock. Tiny Blue Jays are scratched and covered in crimson; the colors faded.

You had painted it yourself when Keegan had taken a liking to referring to you by the callsign, and he had never really had the chance to look at it until now. Staring at it for a moment longer, his thumb lightly swipes away a droplet of blood, letting one of the birds once more be visible. Keegan swings the rifle over his back and feels the heaviness of it – the weight of the customizations and the top-grade material. This was your pride and joy along his back, moving with every flex of his shoulders with the barrel hitting the back of his knee. 

He carried it was a sort of reverence; a delicateness that was never connected to his name.

She’d never leave this behind without a fight. 

Keegan’s tense fingers go to his radio, eyebrows pulling in and eyes emotionless. But the stubble shake of his hand makes him want to punch someone. Whoever had done this to you would pay.

“Blue Jay’s gone.” He states, monotone, “House is empty with signs of a struggle.” 

The man turns back to the doorway, glass crunching under his feet, and walks back out into the hallway. 

“What do you mean ‘gone,’ man?” Ajax butts in, and over the comms the sound of bullets hitting metal creates a ringing sound, “She’ll bleed out!” 

“Move!” Merrick’s voice sizzles out as a grenade goes off, and the line cuts for a moment as Keegan nonchalantly comments, 

“All good?” 

“We’re taking heavy fire. Without the girl’s backup, we can’t stay here – Ajax and I are heading to the Evac point and’ll draw their attention into the woods. Find that damn kid, Sergeant.” 

“On it, Sir.” Keegan releases the device on his vest and turns his hidden head. He sweeps the rest of the shack with a heavy weight on his shoulders, taking notice of a constant trail of blood throughout the hallway. With every moment passing the weight of the situation settles in his gut.

“C’mon Kid,” He whispers, voice gruff, until he finally goes to the busted-down back door and finds the body. 

It was laying face down in a bed of wild grass, a thin breeze moving its shirt sleeves. A shotgun lays a few feet from the corpse, surrounded by old rubble and a small downed treetrunk; it was still smoking, dark metal caressed by dirt. Keegan rushes over, taking in the motionless branches of the forest and the knife still lodged in the Federation soldier’s head. 

Tapping the man with his foot, the Ghost goes to grab the blade by the hilt and rip it out. Hearing the shink of metal separating from flesh and feeling the spray of blood over his tactical glove. 

Just as he feared, the knife belonged to him. His body coils.  

Keegan had given it to you after you lost your own on the last mission, the black blade a perfect match to the one currently sitting on his waist. He had wanted it back, but you had teased and asked what if I needed it in the future with a raised eyebrow and body leaning into Ajax who sat next to you. Begrudgingly, Keegan had deadpanned and said he expected you to return it after you found a replacement. But you had just smiled at him, lips pulling back into a bright display and wrinkled eyes. Your face had glowed in the daylight, shadows disappearing and the heavy bags everyone was sporting under their eyes vanishing on yours. Keegan had felt his chest hitch, even if outwardly he remained as stoic as always, and that was it.

The man had dropped the conversation and had never asked for the blade back. In fact, something had swirled in Keegan’s gut the next time he saw his knife strapped to your waist, the band holding the hilt tight against you and bunching your shirt up. It was pathetic, Keegan admitted when he had frozen at the sight at the time, legs jerking, but seeing something of his own on your body had made his heart go wild; eyes so obviously boring into you that your cheeks had gained a sheen of embarrassment that day. Keegan had stalked away, unable to admit to himself that something was going in inside of him that he had no control over.

That was the point of no return, he realized. The overturned inkwell onto the thin parchment. 

You were the poet and him the words in your head, using him without a clue. 

“Fuck,” He growls, gripping the knife so tightly it digs into his gloves and hurts the flesh inside. His head turns to the forest, burning eyes roving for any sign of you even as a strike of pride filters through him. Injured and disoriented, you had taken down a man two times your size with only his knife and your wits. Now that really got his blood pumping.

Besides a thin trail of blood drops over the grass, leading far into the tree line, you had all but disappeared. Keegan’s heart was pounding, ready to run in after you.

She couldn’t have gotten far, especially not with a wound like she described. I’ll catch up. I have to.

“Keegan we need you at the Evac point, ASAP!” Ajax screams, voice strained, “Else we’re going to be coming home in body bags, man!” 

“I don’t have Blue Jay yet–”

“There’s no time,” Merrick yells out, and Keegan hears the whizz of bullets from over the line, “Federation soldiers are storming us – get here now! Or you’re getting left behind. That’s an order, Sergeant!” 

She won’t survive, Keegan tells himself, forcing down the mucus in his throat, not by herself. 

Ghosts don’t leave their own behind. Merrick undoubtedly planned to return when the heat was off them; send a recon force to the area to look for signs of life. Keegan clenched his fists, eyes dead as they stare off into the trees and expansive foliage. This area was notorious for its high cliffs and steep dropoffs – one wrong move and everything was over in an instant. The earthquakes were worse. Ever since ODIN was fired the tremors had been constant. 

The odds weren’t in your favor even without adding in a possibly fatal wound.

Keegan takes a step forward, inching closer to the treeline unconsciously with firm feet. 

“Keegan – do you trust her!?” 

“What?” Merrick’s loud comment had shaken Keegan, making him freeze; eyes wide. He was only one step into the wild, perhaps only one step closer to finding you. Did he trust you? What kind of question was that? The woman who always fooled around with Ajax, pushed Marrick’s buttons to a point the man had begun to respect you? Blue Jay, who always made a point to bring Keegan into conversations and try to get him to smile at her – carrying herself with elegant confidence? 

Did he trust you? How does one even describe trust? After everything that’s happened, could he place his trust in someone else other than his Ghost brothers? Keegan’s jaw clenches, head looking back and forth before slowly going to sneak a peak at the body behind him. His chest tightened. 

He already had an answer, but found that he couldn’t say it aloud. 

Apparently, the moment of silence gave his friends what they needed.

“Then get your ass back here! The sooner we have a chance to regroup we’re comin’ back and gettin’ her. Rookie knows what she’s doing…we’ve given her every lesson we could. It’s up to her for a while.”

“Trust in her, Keegan” Ajax chimes, “Just as she trusts you.”

Keegan turns his back to the forest, hearing every step of his feet over the ground as they carry him away from you. 

“Copy.”

The words are firm, but the ink of them bleeds.

—

You wake up chained to the ceiling, shoes gone, and socked feet dangling over the floor. Blood from a new gash on your head trails over your right eye and leaves the already flickering movement of your eyelashes more constant as the liquid dribbles to your tense jaw in a steady flow.

It had happened so fast – far faster than your already addled mind could have comprehended. A group of Federation soldiers had been camping out in the woods and had sent only one of their men into the shack you had deemed too far out of the way for any up-close confrontation; the rest had stayed and waited. The minute your back was too close to the tree line after you had lodged Keegan’s blade into the lone man’s skull, they had grabbed you. 

Apparently, they dragged me back into town, too, You growled to yourself, how could I be so dumb?! 

The only upside of this situation was that in order to question you they had to keep you alive long enough to get you to speak. Already the heavy padding over your numb left shoulder calls to you like a siren song; the dichotomy of the position you were in almost made you laugh. The Federation soldiers had you hooked up to the ceiling like a butchered pig but took the time to dress your wound so you wouldn’t bleed out. 

You wiggle your fingers, the lack of circulation already leaving the top half of your body tingly. Next, your feet. In the back of your mind, you wonder if you’ve been drugged, because the words from your head seem to spill from your lips unprompted and the pain of your situation is dull; muted.

“Hell,” Your voice is loud, tone slurred, and rough. Oh yeah, definitely high off something, “If you wanted to tie me up you could have just asked me!” 

Opening your eyes as full as you can, you look around weakly and lock onto rusted metal walls and a set of large warehouse doors. 

“You brought me to the warehouse? How stupid could you be?” You say aloud, twisting your neck around before the clinking of chains stops you, “Isn’t this near the old logging company? This is close to the edge of the town! If I wanted to escape I’d be gone in five seconds.”

Your drugged snickering echoes off the walls, bouncing back at you mockingly. Soon enough footsteps sound off from beyond the closed door, many, many feet marching down an unseen hallway. You smile, thinking, finally, and hear the blood from your head drip to the floor every other second. The warehouse door slides open with a shriek and your vision blinks out, black momentary shrouding you before it filters back. 

Three men enter the room, all dressed in the black and gray camo of the Federation – straps and combat vest so similar to your Ghosts that in your state you confuse the two. They even wore black balaclavas and the one in the middle is a similar build to your Sergeant, tall, and built like a damn bear.

“Keegan?” You whisper, head tilting to rest on your strained arms as your eyebrows pull in before sparks of pain fly. Was that…you have to shake your head, skull suddenly burning. No. There’s a thin moment of clarity before that haze re-settles. 

This isn’t right. That is not my Keegan. Not my Ghosts.

The middle man leads the other two at his sides, nodding his head behind him and the door begins to close; the others peel off and go to guard the entrance, leaving you and the man to have a conversation semi-alone. 

He stops a few feet from you, eyes a deep brown and boring into your body. Your lips pull back.

“There are more simple ways to question someone besides stringing them up, man.” Your sentence cracks halfway through, but you don’t notice. 

The man just stares, tilting his head to the side. After a moment of eye contact, he speaks.

“You are not a Ghost.” His voice is accented – Spanish is most likely his first language.

“Yeah, trust me,” You groan, head once more pulsing. Your feet shimmy over the ground, toes lightly brushing the concrete, “No one’s more fucked up about that than I am. I train my ass off–” 

A sold punch is landed to your gut, tossing your body back as the chains above you squeal. The air is expelled from your lungs in a series of deep coughs, lungs rattling as spittle flies from your lips, you feel your organs shake inside of you. It takes a few moments for you to catch your breath and dispel the sledgehammer blow, but already the man is talking when the bulk of your panting has barely slowed.

“You are going to tell me a way into Fort Santa Monica,” He pulls a knife from his waistband and takes a step forward, putting the blade directly on your right side. Your clothes crease where the tip presses and needle-like sparks fly from your flesh, “Or I will have to ring the answer from you like water in a rag.”

With a pounding heart, your mouth runs unprompted, “Ghosts don’t break, asshat. And I may not be one of them, but I certainly know that I won’t let my boys down.” 

What the hell did they give you? Keegan had warned you to never say too much when captured. Don’t make ‘em angry unless you want a reminder of the power they have at that moment. But it wasn’t like you could help it anymore–

The blade sinks through hot flesh, and inside the warehouse, a high-pitched scream flows outside; scattering birds and beasts alike. 

This continues for three long days. 

—

Keegan was stone-still as Elias bend over the meeting table, a map of the town and surrounding forest where you had gone missing spread out. Everyone was silent, and Keegan has to shuffle his feet to reduce the tension in his thighs and shoulders; his hands tighten over his chest. Ajax is the first to speak over the tense air as Merrick repeatedly itches at the skin of his bald scalp from where he stands behind a chair.

“We have to move,” The Ghost growls, and when no one responds Ajax hits a closed fist to the table, “soon, Elias.”

The slam echoes over the room, bouncing off the walls.

“Ajax,” The man in question shakes his head, “What we need to do is think this through. Form a proper plan and carry it out with more intel.” 

Elias pulls back to his full height but Keegan’s eyes stay locked on the map, flicking mutely over the marks and topography. 

It’s been three days, He tells himself, She’s probably dead by now. The files already have her labeled as MIA.

Under his balaclava, his jaw clenches in feral denial. Why did the thought of that fact make him want to go out and search for you himself, regardless of Elias’s sound logic? You couldn’t be dead. Missing was better than that – missing meant he could find you.

Perhaps it was the same emotion that had given him a sinking feeling when, two days ago, the entire Ghost Team had gone back out to the forest under the cover of darkness to search for you. All Keegan had found was the footsteps of multiple Federation soldiers and signs of one of them dragging something heavy behind his back. 

It was obvious what had happened, and as he had slowly turned his head down to the town lit up by spotlights, the only thing that had stopped him from tracking you down was Elias’s heavy hand on his shoulder. Keegan’s eyes were lit with a dangerous light, glinting with the promise of revenge. 

He wanted you back – he would get you back – regardless of the consequences. No one messed with you and lived, whether that meant the revenge was carried out by your own hand or by his doesn’t matter. That town would be purged. Keegan would see to it. 

The Federation had made it personal. 

“She’s getting tortured!” Ajax yells, insight voicing what everyone already knew, “Greenhorn would rush in if it was one of us out there instead of her!” 

“Then it’s a good thing we’re here, isn’t it?” Elias runs a hand down his face, army shirt and cargo pants noticeably wrinkled. No one had slept while they waited for more recent intelligence on the number of tangos in the town, “We can’t be rash. They’ll know we're comin’ for her if we mess this up.”

“Elias,” Merrick finally speaks up, placing his large hands on the chair’s back and leaning into it, “You know we all trust you to make the call…but I have to agree with Ajax on this. We’re practically leaving the Kid behind if we wait any longer.” The stocky Ghost scratches at his beard, “You know what they’ll do to her.”

The older man has a soft spot for you, Keegan realized with a roll of his head and a crack of his neck. All of them had a soft spot. Waiting here was like keeping a group of trained attack dogs from a target – most of all Keegan. Patience was supposed to be his ally, and he had taught you just the same, so how had it left him so stupendously?

Elias grunts, crossing his arms. He looks over to the only person who had thus far been silent and brooding in the corner. A dark cloud was heavy over the Ghost’s head, anyone could see it. A man at the edge of an already fraying rope of sanity. 

“Keegan?” Elias asks, gruffly, already knowing the man’s emotions and thoughts, “Do you have anything to add?”

Normally Keegan was one who would wait for a sure answer, but in this instance, the next words he said rocketed out of him before he could fully think over the gravity of what they meant. Always the cautious one, the times he wanted to rush in blind could be counted on one hand and on less than five fingers…but that was before you. Before the hours the two of you spent together training, building trust, and protecting each other in the field with knife and bullet. 

All that mattered was getting you back to him. And the words wrote themselves, curved, under the gentle influence of an ink quill. 

“I’m bringing my girl home.” 

A moment of silence tightens over his throat; the stoic man’s feet move from under him as his eyes slightly widen. If he had the ability his face would have blossomed with a blush, but even so, the embarrassment was visible to those who had known him the longest. 

Shit, he hadn’t meant for it to sound like that.

Keegan dares to look back at Elias, only to find the leader smirking, a knowing glimmer in his eyes that leaves him freezing like a mouse under the gaze of an owl. 

“Well, then, let’s go get your girl back.”

Ajax snickers and him and Merrick spare glances, amused, nearly saying about time.

—

Your body lightly swings, blood in a pool below your feet and rippling as another drop enters the flood. Your nose is broken; bleeding, just like your ribs. Cuts litter your skin, clothes are ripped and shredded and swarmed with crimson both dried and new. Your combat vest had been ripped off, the rough material thrown somewhere behind you by enraged fingers and ripped apart for any indication of a blueprint of your Fort or useful intel.

The Federation soldiers had left you alone with your thoughts not five minutes ago and to your credit, you have not broken. Not even after everything – the hits, stabs, and beatings that left you sobbing and biting back pleas. Throughout all of it, Keegan’s voice stuck with you; you had drowned in good memories in the small moments you were able to breathe without being slugged in the chest. 

The way Keegan would send you soft glances when he thought you weren't looking and how the blank-faced man kept your skills sharp as a way to make sure you were safe. His rare smiles; comforting interactions when you were up late practicing with your rifle. A weak smile filters over your bloody and bruised face, eyes blinking closed as the air is expelled from your lungs in a deep sigh. 

“You’re going to get a sore neck if you keep doing this, Little Blue,” The words startled you, eyes widening from where one looks through the scope of your AX-50. Your head jerks back, finger immediately dropping from the trigger you were just about to pull. 

“What the actual fuck, Keegan!?” Hair whips around you as your body turns, facing the man leaning against the doorway as a nightly breeze rustles through the outside firing range, “Has no one told you not to sneak up on the person with the gun?”

“I was the one that told you that, Kid.” He raises a brow, strong jawline on display for the moon. 

It was rare that the man took off his balaclava when in your presence, and you took a moment to stare from your position on the ground; your heart jerks against the concrete before you shove the feeling in it’s tissue down. 

Keegan’s presence made the heat on the back of your neck increase, hands getting clammy over the metal of your gun. You flex them in what you hope looks simply like a resetting method.

“Well, then you’re not good at taking your own advice...” You grumble, huffing and fixing your posture, looking back out over the field and the white target over six hundred feet away, “And my neck is perfectly fine, thank you.”

“It won’t be if you keep getting up and creeping out here every night. I thought I wore you out today?” The memory of getting thrown to the ground more times than you could count during a sparring match made your muscles remember to ache, “Or do I need to ramp up the difficulty? You almost pinned Ajax today.” You suppress a wince and send a quick glance over to the Ghost, who pushes off the wall and sighs, stalking over to you. 

“If you think you need to,” Licking your lips, you feel his heavy shadow over your form. You replace your cheek to the stock of your rifle, once more seeking to line up the shot as quickly as possible, “And you did ware me out.” Muttering, you feel yourself get lost in the wave of the sensation of purpose – superiority singing in your veins. 

This rifle was your quill, and with it, you signed the signature of death on the poems of others’ lives. 

This was your calling, and not a moment later, not feeling the reverent eyes on the side of your face as Keegan stills his breath, you pull the trigger. It lands just a millimeter from the center of the target. Your jaw tightens and you tell yourself, ‘not good enough’ with a narrowing of your eyes. 

The action wasn’t missed. 

“You’re at this every night, Kid,” Keegan stands by your left thigh, his eyes digging into you, “Don’t pretend like I haven’t noticed.” 

You pull back, shame coursing through your veins. You had tried to be stubble, but were you really that bad? 

But of course you were, your cheeks head, you lived in the Ghosts’ barracks. They all knew you were sneaking off at night to practice. Your lips thinned at that realization; you really had a lot to learn.

“Blue Jay,” Keegan prods, the authority of his rank now leaking into his tone; it has you straightening unconsciously, “Answer me.”

“...I just need to be better,” You mutter under your breath, going to line up another shot. 

A hand on the scope jostles the view, making you pause and tense. Your breath stills in your chest, feeling body heat beginning to leak into your shivering form. 

No words are spoken in that silent minute, but you know enough about your Sergeant to tell when he wants you to stop doing something. Keegan’s silence was a mystery that you had only just started to unravel for yourself. Your hands loosen enough for him to take the rifle from your grasp, bringing it up into his grip delicately. 

Shuffling up to your knees, you place one hand on your thigh as the other goes to rub at your eyes, feeling the fatigue leak out onto your fingers. 

“You’re not going to get better if you keep forcing your eyes open,” Keegan mutters, and his form knees down next to you. The rifle was placed on the ground a few feet away. A warm hand lays on your shoulder and you stifle a hitch in your breath managing to inhale the scent of gunpowder and fresh-cut grass; hickory wood. You have to blink away the sleep that settles on your eyelids. 

How was he so warm?

“How do you know that?” You grunt out, itching your eyebrow. You don’t register right away, but a deep chuckle settles warmly on your chest as the man at your side releases it.  Reverberations like a purr make you sigh slowly.

“You’re good, Little Blue,” Keegan’s hand goes to your chin, and your cheeks heat as he directs your gaze to his gently, thump and first finger firm. His eyes flicker over your face, taking in every line and imperfection before settling on the black and blue bags that have lived on you for weeks. In turn, you study him – the strong jaw line, usually hard eyes leaning towards soft and caring. You liked when he looked like that; more than anything, you liked when he looked at you like that, “don’t reduce your skill to anything less than what it is. Practice is good, Kid,” Keegan lowers his voice, and your eyes stay locked, “But I can’t watch you ruin yourself.” 

Your heart stutters, and your body becomes soft under his touch.

“...but I don’t want to let anyone down.” Eyebrows turning in, Keegan pauses a second at your comment, fingers on your chin tightening for a moment before it begins to travel. 

Heart pounding, his touch leaves electricity behind with every scrape of his callouses and healed scars. His eyes stay trapped on yours, watching every minute emotion and movement from you and your hands shock-still in your lap. 

“Let ‘em down?” Keegan huffs, the breath ruffling your hair, and his hand settles over your cheek. He continues as his large thumb goes to pet the skin of your undereye, leading your eyes to flicker shut as he mutters your name, “Not a damn chance. You’re a natural, Kid. Hell, you get some proper sleep for once and maybe one day you’ll be as good as me.” 

Even with your eyes closed, you couldn’t help the smile that bloomed over your face, feeling his eyes softly fall over your visage.

“Promise?” 

You missed the small twitch of Keegan’s lips, “...I promise.” 

Shaking yourself out of the memory, your body plays dead as the warehouse door once more opens. A plan had formed, taking root and digging into the small tissue of your brain. 

“Why isn’t she moving?” The voice of the Middle Man was enough to make your body tense, toes twitching. No one seemed to notice before you once more went slack, “Get her eyes open!” 

Twin pairs of feet slam to the floor, coming closer; soon hands are slamming into your ribs, shaking you back and forth. The bones in your chest move strangely, disconnected from where they were supposed to be. But you hold back your screams, a thin, lip-bitten whine stuck in your mouth. 

Your body whines to a stop when the blows halt. 

“I said get her eyes open!” Words are yelled in Spanish, and if you were in the right state you would have been able to translate them. 

Merrick made sure you were fluent in multiple languages and was one hell of a rough linguistics teacher. Every day you had kept a count of how many swear words he let loose. The undefeated record was fifty-five in one session. 

“Let her fall, then! She can’t be dead.” The last half is muttered, followed by a tapping of fingers over palms. Your ears twitch at the sound of receding steps, fast feet, and then the sound of a pulley system and rattling chains. 

Your body drops, slamming to the floor, and head bouncing off the concrete like a ball. You don’t have to play dead at that moment, because you’re sure that you passed out, a crack resounding in the bone of your skull and shaking your brain. The chains around your numb arms loosen, leaving your bloodied wrists burning as the air hits them. 

Staying still, your body lays sideways, but small trails of water dribble out from your tear ducts. 

Just a little longer, You try and tell yourself as circulation comes back to your arms. Shadows dance behind your vision, people moving by you and circling like wolves. Your limbs want to writhe back and forth, help make the needle-like stippling in your nerves go away if only for a millisecond. It was a battle of will. Move or don’t. Be a Ghost, or be helpless.

Well, when you put it like that…

A hand grabs your shoulder just as you clock the two others standing behind you, waiting silently for any signs of life. The gloved hand moves to the pulse point on your neck, heavy fingers digging into the sensitive flesh. One breath. Two.

And then you jerk up and headbutt one of the soldiers right in the nose. Pushing back the black dots that nearly swallow you whole your hands rip out of the lost chains and throw your body at the man. Grabbing his shoulders, curses and sharp barks fly out over the air, and just before the bullets from their guns rip through you, your broken figure twists to shove the man in front of you. 

Shots make your ears ring, but the spray of blood comes from the Federation soldier you used as a human shield, screams playing in your head like a symphony. Quicker than a switch, you grab the pistol strapped to the now dead man’s waist, and the minute the body ahead of you stumbles and hits the floor, you fire. 

The twin soldiers drop like flies, and the recoil of the gun leaves your weak hand flying back. Clattering to the floor, the weapon stays stationary as you pant and gasp down deep breaths. Blood stains the floor as well as the chains still on the cracked ground, and the vile substance flows from the three men that release death rattles. 

Your shattered mind thinks of a snake’s hiss before the sound divulges into a deep gurgling as you stare with blank eyes. Their forms twitch and jerk, brain dying or already dead.

But there was a spark of pride in you that stayed as your hands slap to the floor, pushing your body up with muffled wails and gritted teeth. You shimmy up to your feet and grab the gun on the way up, looking around as you stumble before righting your shaky legs. 

Looking around dumbly your limp arm pulses, and your mind runs so fast the festering wound on your head feels like cigarettes are being put out on it. 

Someone had to have heard those shots, You reason, and gasp as you walk forward. Your bones don’t feel right. They aren’t supposed to move like that – like they were just floating inside of you not attached to anything. 

Blinking rapidly, your vision blurs as the first shouts spring up from outside. 

Gotta move, Limping heavily you go as fast as you’re able to the warehouse doors, pushing on the metal as sweat falls down your nose.

Your body aches, muscles constantly tightening and then loosening within seconds of each other. It was getting increasingly harder to push back the need to scream in agony as the adrenaline in you seemed to disappear. Taking to breathing out of your mouth to help out your broken nose, you nearly fall onto your face as you shimmy out into the dirt perimeter surrounding the building. 

First, you see the town. Your eyes widen, focus suddenly less on yourself as you take in a sheen of smoke rising up. The raging shouts hadn’t been coming from Federation men rushing to the warehouse – in fact, they were rushing past it. People zip from the corner of your eyes into the treeline, abandoning the houses and buildings with screams of, fantasmas, fresh in the burning air.

Ghosts.

“They came back for me?” Rough and broken, your voice makes you flinch when you finally hear it. Your vocal cords were damaged. 

And they torched the whole fucking place! The gun is like iron in your grasp, heavy and cold. Or maybe it was your hands that were the cold ones? You couldn’t tell, but as you lean back into the metal of the warehouse exterior you smirk, blood breaking out from your chapped lips.

Vision once more peeling out, you drop the pistol and slide down, mind floating far above your form and doing jumping-jacks in the clouds. You don’t know how long you’re slumped like that, neck compressed against your chest as your lungs fight for air, but the next thing you remember is panicked shouting.

“--Found her! Warehouse! Blue Jay, open your eyes!” Your eyebrows furrow as strong hands grip you tight, manhandling your body to the ground so you’re laying on your back, “Open your damn eyes, Kid!”

There’s a sound of frantic breathing before the tearing of velcro. Pressure is put on your shoulder. 

“Ah!” You scream, bearing your teeth and raging at the sensation of firm hands and an unrelenting weight.

“That’s right,” The smooth voice says, “Keep responding, keep making noise for me.”

“Kee?” You ask, only able to half-open your eyes and call out his nickname that you had never actually used aloud before. If possible, the weight is ramped up ten-fold, and you have to wonder if the Ghost is putting a knee up on you to try and stop the bleeding. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Keegan grunts, and his body comes into view as your eyes clear, though one is more muddled than the other; like a body of water filled with mud. Afternoon light shines off the man’s combat vest and back attire, his signature balaclava looking like it had been messed with and run over with rough hands. His black face paint is patchy and in places streaked. Keegan looked tired, you numbly realized as a chill made you shiver, “Look at me.” 

You were. 

His eyes snap to meet yours, and you’re taken aback by the creases around them; the wrinkles straining his forehead and nose bridge. The color is darker as well, no longer a calm and blank blue but a fiery shade, burning and boiling water. They flash when they already see you looking at him, and his high-hackled shoulders minutely lower as they soften to give you that look that you love. You pray only you’re privy to that look because it makes your shaking hands heat up.

“You have reall–really pretty eyes,” You whisper, voice cutting out, “You know that?”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” He says, eyes flickering away and scanning your body. Behind the fabric you see his lips pull back in a soundless snarl, “But If you think they’re so pretty you’ll have to trouble keepin’ yours locked on ‘em, right?”

You can’t laugh, so the small exhalation from your mouth will have to do. Your eyelids flicker.

“Hey,” Keegan’s hand goes to your cheek, jostling your head so hard you groan, “The hell did I just tell you, Blue?”

“...Hurts,” You whimper, tears gathering as your lips twitch. 

You can only do so much to push back the inevitable, and every breath feels like someone’s shoving your chest into a table saw. 

Keegan moves one hand from your shoulder and sets it on your cheek, tilting your head to the side, “I know it hurts, Blue, but you gotta keep lookn’ at me, okay? You’re doing good.” 

It was the softest you had ever heard him speak. His finger brushes your undereye and makes your eyelashes flutter open.

“There she is,” He grunts, and with a start, you see he’s pushed up his face covering, the fabric a bundle on top of his head. Your face heats at his handsome visage, roaming his lips and cheekbones, “there’s my girl.”

“I didn’t know if you were going to,” Fluid pools in the back of your mouth, and you cough before you can continue, sprinkles of phlegm and blood spraying Keegan’s attire. He doesn’t seem to care, “come back for me,” Uttering the words weakly, you feel yourself speak as if separate from your own body, a willing participant watching just beyond the way of sight. 

Keegan’s eyes narrow, face pulling closer unconsciously as if he were trying to shield you with his body from the gunfire far off behind him. Across the field, familiar voices had started to ring out.

“Why the hell would you think that? What kind of dumbass made you–” He stops when your eyes sneak away in shame, numb lips pulling down as tears make your sclera red. A pause ensues before a deep sigh falls from his lips; Keegan taps his thumb on your cheek until you look back at him. His face is tense, but a blatant surety is in his tone, “I would never leave you behind. If you had trouble figuring all that out until now, then you don’t anymore. Got it?” 

“Copy, Sarge,” Your eyebrows soften, body going slack and loose. Keegan’s hand is so warm, “You know...I really would have liked to go out on a date with you.” 

Eyes going out of focus, your head lulls before Keegan can rip you back to the present with his deep words just as the ground reverberates under you. They say the sense of hearing is the last to go, and that rings true, because the last thing you remember is Keegan’s voice yelling your name so gutturally that you almost miss Merrick’s voice. 

“Blue! Shit, Elias, we need Med Evac down here, now! She’s down!”

—

The Med Ward was just how you remembered it, but the man sitting in the chair near the window was new. You were no stranger to the alcoholic scent of the rooms, the blinding overhead lights, and the coarse bed sheets. Around your body, the tight bindings restricted you from sitting up and walking, so for upwards of ten minutes you had stared at Keegan’s figure. 

He was sleeping, in nothing more than a black T-shirt and cargo pants. His head was tilted to the side and his arms crossed over his chest; legs out and crossed at the ankles as his combat boots rest on the tile. You should wake him up. You should, but you haven’t and probably won't. Keegan’s dark hair is glowing in an early morning light, making it glow amber and cover him like a halo. 

The pillow under your head is hard, uncomfortable, and stinks of bleach, but instead of worrying about it, your mind was running over what you had said before you passed out.

“You know...I really would have liked to go out on a date with you.”

Fuck me, Cheeks heating, your eyes flicker down his body, catching his veiny arms and watching his chest steadily rise and fall. Had you really said that? 

Your head begins to hurt, and not only from the tight bindings and the gauze pad around it. 

“You’re staring, Little Blue.” Gasping, your eyes widen in their sockets at the sleep-dipped tone. 

Keegan’s eyes slide open fluidly as if he were never asleep in the first place. His head moves to right itself and stare directly at you, blinking slowly. Locking gazes, you freeze as your jaw goes slack – it was a good thing you were on pain meds because otherwise, your ribs would be aching at the way your breath halted. Stuttering, you let the room lapse into silence as he watches you. Keegan’s lips flicker into a smirk. 

Standing he stalks over to you and drags the chair behind him. Getting about a foot or two away, he stops and flips the chair forward carefully before sitting down once more. Keegan leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees as you watch. 

“...You feeln’ alright? Need me to get the nurse?” He has black and blue under his eyes, colored iris’ strained. Keegan was a man of few words – his actions always spoke louder; like how he let you keep his knife, or told you to go to bed when you were up late shooting. 

At that moment the cold Ghost’s hand went to your arm, lightly brushing over the bandages and pauses to see if you register any pain. When he doesn’t see any discomfort, he settles his grip and runs his fingers over your skin. 

You blink. 

“I’m good.” The words come out breathlessly, and where his touch continues to rove, sparks light under the skin.

Keegan’s soft sigh enters the cold air, and his gaze flickers to the floor for a moment. His jaw clenches, like there was something in his head that refused to come out of his lips. The man’s scream still haunted you – how he yelled your name so raw and vulnerable. You had never heard something like that from him, not even when he had to have you stitch him up one time during a mission.

I’m never letting you anywhere a needle again, He had said with his face flushed of color. You really were bad at sutures. 

Smiling to yourself, you lift your hand with every bit of cotton sticking to your brain and shimmy it out of his delicate grip. Not wanting to hurt you he pulls back and looks with wide eyes at what you were doing. 

“Kid, I don’t–” His comment is halted when your fingers graze his cheek, just the tiniest hint of stubble making your fingers itch perfectly. Freezing like a bird, Keegan’s sights are set on you, confusion bleeding into this expression as his lips pull into a line. 

This was stepping a line you hadn’t crossed before, but you didn’t really care all that much. 

Caressing his jaw, your hand cradles his face. To your surprise, Keegan leaned into you, tension leaving and body going slack like putty in your grip; a second later, his hand comes and encompasses your own, molten heat radiating into your bloodstream. Your heart skips a beat when his eyelashes flutter closed. 

“Tired?” You ask, slightly amused.

“No,” Keegan grumbles, face blank, and you flinch as a laugh barks from your lips. Not a good idea. Weaving his fingers so he can grip your hand more tightly, he peels you from his face and opens his eyes. 

Watching you and clocking your emotions, he lays your hand to his lips and lays a gentle kiss, lips moving over your skin as he places another right after. You’re surprised you don’t catch on fire – especially with that look on his face.

How could a man so cold be as gentle as he was with you?

“You worried the boys,” He says when he pulls back but still holds your hand close, “Ajax nearly strangled Elias to get him to hurry up and go after you.” 

Smirking, you hum, “And you? Were you worried, Kee?” Teasing with the nickname, you watch as a small smile forms over his face, eyes lingering so beautifully on your visage.

“No,” You raise a brow at the bare answer, but he wasn’t done, “I was damn near terrified.” Licking your lips, you watch him track the motion, and he rises and leans closer to you, “What gave you the right to make me feel like that, Kid,” His breath fans over your cheeks, and your eyes flutter when his nose caresses your own. You can feel his eyes bore into you, unrelenting as they look over every pore and mark. 

Keegan’s lips whisper over yours. 

Yes, Your mind sings at the contact, and a small whimper falls into the air. 

“...Who gave you the right to make me want to be yours?” All but growling the words out, his lips descend onto yours, firm but still gentle. He would never hurt you, even if he wanted to feel you against him. You were injured, and that reality never failed to leave his head.

So for now, he would kiss you as if you were the most delicate of glass; worship your skin and bestow on it everything he couldn’t say. 

As you both move together, his hands come up and grab at your jaw as your own travel to rest on his chest that looms over your own, mapping out the dip of his muscles and the way he shivers when your nails rake into the fabric of his shirt. 

This was what you had wanted, to feel him move over you and flex as your fingers go to grip at his hair. 

Pulling back, the man pants in breath with you, lips were swollen. It was quite the sight, and you swore you felt your pupils dilate just by staring at him. Keegan hums deep in his chest and then places his forehead gently to your own – careful of the bandages and, most likely, stitches that live under there.

“I lost your knife,” You whisper out, and almost cringe at the needy tone of your voice. Were you really this infatuated with the man? …You already knew the answer to that question.

“Don’t worry about it,” Keegan grunts, and keeps the knowledge of the fact that the blade was already paced back in your room by his own hands to himself, “I’ll make sure you pay for it when you’re well enough to be discharged. Can’t have my Blue Jay leaving weapons behind, now can we?”

It’s safe to say you prayed for a speedy recovery, just like how poets of days long past wished for a gentle rain or mist-filled morning – if only to have something to quietly worship. 

[2kiran]

hiii hihihi 🫶🏽 got two things

first off, your blog was like my whole reason. honestly. idek how to put it, your writing is immaculate and if i’m gonna be completely honest i joined tumblr cuz of you lol, i don’t think that there’s like any better top male reader blog than yours icl. ‘preciate your writings a lot 🩶

second, if you can i do have a request; harddom!m!reader is asleep but wakes up to sub!keegan weakly bouncing on and cockwarming the reader, with some overstim + a lottt of orgasm denial, so much that keegan passes out and they both fall back asleep together. oh yeah, and the amount of times he’s denied orgasm we carve tallies into him (knife kink omfffhg). pretty much it !

may i also be ⛓️‍💥 anon?

2knote. hello?? thank you so much. I’m very honored, you’re wayy too kind for this. and yeah, absolutely. ⌖ RATED XPLICIT 18+

Awakening to a familiar heat, snug and slick, it has blood rush south of your body and thicken your cock with veritable, unadulterated desire—Wait, what?

You jolt, the action met with a breathless whimper and calloused palms land on your chest. The veil of tranquil slumber lifted, rapidly clearing the murk which had formed in your brain. Your eyes snap wide open, a ragged gasp tearing itself from your throat.

“What the—” You inhale, gaze adjusting to the darkness and soon trailing to the area in between Keegan’s thighs. His hips never paused, lacking strength in his grinds that are too weak to be proper bounces, to be anything. “—fuck are you doing?”

The male in question, Keegan, shamefully mewled upon registering the scratchy rumble of your hoarse voice. He clenched, pornography-worthy in how he’s so fucking tight, and he knows it. He takes advantage of the sweet, promising grip of his hole to greedily take all of you in for his own pleasure.

“I’m sorry,” Keegan whines, rolling forward, your tip nudging his prostate. “Ngh, I n-need you, I–”

He’s interrupted by his own moan, husky and wanton. He breathes out, slowly, his hole peppering kisses along the bulging veins of your cock in abrupt, wet squeezes. His thighs tremble from having to keep himself upright, legs aching as he raises his ass to ride you, only for you to bottom out when his knees buckle.

“Stop.”

He stiffens, his puzzled brain glueing the missing scraps of his intellect together as he fumbled to submit. Keegan’s pupils dilated, pinkish hue dusting his cheeks pretty, and he anticipated with bated breath. His mouth fell agape, senses consumed by the primal function to take what you offer him.

The sensitive head of his cock sobbed with lust, the entire length glistening with arousal. “You’re not cumming ‘till I say you can,” you announce with a hum, shifting to reach for the knife by the nightstand. It was originally intended for precaution, though it wasn’t necessary when you’re entirely protected by the man drunk off your dick.

But with the newfound alternative, it’s used more than it should be. “You got it?”

Keegan had the urge to cry out in frustration. He’s been so good for you, so patient. You should—no, you have to give him what he wants. He doesn’t have an ounce of true brattiness left in him to tell you that, his response a simple nod.

His eyes catch onto the swift movement of you twisting the handle in your grip, the known material like daily clothing now. “Answer.”

He gasps in surprise, goosebumps lapping feverishly at his skin. The warning is immediate, a press of the side of the blade against his bare thigh, the steel freezing and sinister. “Y-yes.”

Yes, but, a train of thoughts driven by desperation begins to rule his mind, I’m so fucking close. I need you to fuck me, not this. Damn it. Outwardly, his eyebrows are drawn together in an angered line.

You hum a light tune, Keegan’s expressions—ones of filthy nature—are comprehensible notes you can play even if you aren’t a musician. Unceremoniously, the knife is angled to the inner side of his thigh and you plunge it in without further consideration. It eagerly breaks skin, his leg jerks and he yelps in surprise, causing the weapon to draw a blood-dotted slash.

“Ahhng- fuck! Wh..what?” Keegan cries out, the pain a suffocating bandage that seizes his form within a death-guaranteed clutch. It hurts, overriding the separator of agony and rapture. You thrust into him, effectively quieting him down to a gasp. “Shut up and fuck yourself on me, yeah?”

His bottom lip quivers, his hands cautiously roam your build until they curl around the framing of your shoulders. God, the emotions stirring in his marathon-beating heart makes it all too easy for him to obey, to have him move his hips like a mutt.

Keegan leans forward, and you tilt your head off the side to offer him access. He takes it, nuzzling his cheek against your neck. The puff of breath he releases is shaky, wobbly as though he was willing himself not to cry.

Mustering up the vitality, he rises until his entrance is swallowing the very tip of your dick. Something heated crimps in the depths of his guts, twisting in compressed knots that threaten to unwind.

It intensifies as he flings himself down, dragging out a raspy moan of “Hmmng-!” with letters of your name added in-between pathetic grunts. He greedily takes in your length, his sudden clenching earns him a long groan. “C’mon... do it. Ride my cock, Kee.”

That was a threat. He whimpers, his head swinging side to side, “I’m, I’m gonna cum. Please, fuck.”

Whick!

Beside the new wound, you swing the knife along the pure skin. The cut is deeper, and he nearly screams.

Thick, red fluid oozes out, gruesome beads sticking to the steel. Pre-cum drips from Keegan’s slit, his hips grinding forward to maintain the contact, the friction burning away the discomfort. “What did I tell you?” You wrench a hand into his hair, yanking him back. Your teeth descend into a particularly sensitive area on his throat, sucking in an angry marking.

His hole reacts to your borderline aggressiveness in rhythmical spasms, ones that tell you he’ll tip over the edge. It wasn’t his fault he was close to bursting any second. You’re too mean, never allotting him the time that’ll grant him recovery.

And he has too many blood that he’ll let you waste.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

“Hagh... nnmm...”

There’s a feeble ringing in Keegan’s head, the deprivation of flowing life pumping inside of him drowning out anything ever-rational. Your own legs were tainted with a rather disgusting combination.

Harsh lines were indented into the strong layer of his inner thigh, sticky fluid pooling beneath him. A barrier of haze was trapped in his brain, resulting in him losing track of the amount of cuts you’ve inflicted on him.

Has it been four? Six? Perhaps nine?

A mortified wave sweeps across his features. He feels like a cheap, good-for-two-dollars whore.

Yet it feels so fucking good. The risk, the hefty lust blanketing the both of you—all of it. Your release steadily leaked out, a creamy sheen surrounding the base of your length.

A weak moan is what he’s only able to free when the blade sinks into him again, inches dividing the weapon from his core. He’s aching to the point he’s past pleasure, tears streaming down his cheeks as he falls limp against you.

Keegan has been wrapped around your thick cock for longer than he ever has, and he hasn’t cum once - until your rough hand coils to squeeze his shaft, wrist working up and down into slow, calculated strokes that rush him to completion. “Fu-uck, thank you, nfghh shit, t-thank you.” He groans, long and almost a desperate growl. Arousal zaps up his muscled, scarred back lightning-quick.

Hot, blinding white clasps its iron-grip on his wet dick, pearly strands finally, finally shooting out and his rim clenches down tight around you. But you don’t relent. Not yet.

You tug and tug and tug him through his high, forcing him to choke on a split whimper. “Too...” he exhales, torn between rocking into your palm or shoving himself away, “t-too, hfmm, much.”

It aches. His body tightens, tension hinged at his joints and locks until he’s aching. This time, he doesn’t anticipate it when it arrives. He quakes violently against your form, eyes rolling back into his skull, soft sobs echoing throughout the space separating the two of you. “Take it. You can handle this much, can’t you?”

He whines, the sound weak in volume. Your palm is continuously coated with slickness, smearing the wetness each time your stroke reaches the narrow entrance, pressing on it firm enough to reward yourself with his almost-pained grunt. Keegan squirms, attempting to worm his way free from your intoxicating grasp.

God, fuck, his dick is so sore from your torture. Darkness dots the corners of his eyes, his vision beginning to swim. The sensation of your hand clenching around his length fades, disappearing into the void of his blank-state mind. He faintly senses himself twitching, cum splattering on his thighs and on you. With one last exhausted whimper, dreamless fog consumes him entirely.

You set aside the knife, the item in your hand replaced by a towel. Your thumb circles mindless patterns on his nape, rocking him to sleep. Wiping him off, he stirs slightly.

“Hmmm?” He mutters, consciousness slipping into him again.

“Go back to sleep.” You shush, cleaning yourself up before you toss the dirtied rag away and gently lay him next to you.

Keegan nods, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulls you close to him. A tired, gentle smile rests on his lips before he whispers; “G’night.”

[lucifermonsii]

Keegan x Male Reader

Demon Keegan

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Smut

Sick Keegan

[cmncisspnandmore]

Brothers Best Friend: Keegan P Russ X F!Reader

Pairings: Keegan P Russ X Reader.

Warnings: Best friends brother, swearing, Fade to black, Age Gap

AN: Here is it, a little one shot of Keegan Russ. I will admit im not a fan of the world setting for Ghosts, so a lot of his fics will probably be set in modern day. But heres my first try at writing Keegan.

The house was mostly quiet, save for the wind blowing harshly against the windows. The glass rattled as you sat perched up on the kitchen island. Your half brother, Brandon, was 11 years older than you. He was a Marine, and spent a lot of time away from home. Oftentimes you were alone, having the house to yourself. You pulled the top off the cookies and cream ice cream container, and dug in with the spoon. The cold creamy treat coating your tongue, as you close your eyes savoring the flavors.

“Ice cream? It's midnight,” a deep voice rumbled, startling you from your sugary dessert. 

“Fucking hell, you scared me Keegan,” You grumble as you put the spoon back into the container. “And yes, it's the perfect midnight snack.” 

Keegan steps out of the doorway that leads to the basement, the light from above the stove illuminating him as. His black hair was messy and unkempt, but in a way that looked intentional. His icy blue eyes trailing over the container of ice cream in your hand. 4

“Care to share?” He asks, stepping closer to you, coming to stand between your spread thighs. His large hand grabbing the spoon from your fingers. He lifts the silver spoon to his lips, his pink tongue darting out to taste the sugary snack.

“I guess I have no choice,” you roll your eyes, your heart fluttering wildly in your chest.

Keegan was your brother's best friend, he served alongside him in the Marines. Currently Keegan was between deployments and your brother had offered him a place to stay, insisting that it was pointless for Keegan to find an apartment to rent when he was shipping out in a few months. 

“Brandon is asleep, he fell asleep like 10 minutes into the movie,” he sighs as he sticks the spoon back into the container.

“He’s lame like that, he used to insist on doing movie nights with me when I first moved in and within the first 10 minutes he would be snoring,”You roll your eyes, setting the container of ice cream down on the counter next to you.

Keegan doesn't move from his spot in front of you, his hands resting on the counter on either side of your thighs. Even sitting on the counter, he was still taller than you, your eyes level with his chin. His blue eyes roaming over your face as he looked down at you. A small devilish smirk on your lips as you looked up at him. 

“Y/n…” Keegan warns.

“Keegan…” You whisper, as he leans down his face inches from yours.

“We shouldn't…” He whispers his breath fanning across your face as you tip your chin up slightly. 

“I’ve heard that before,” you whisper, your lips ghosting over his own.

“Last time was a mistake…. It shouldn’t have happened,” His voice strained, but he leaned in a little, each word causing his lips to brush over yours. 

“How could something so good be wrong?” You question, as your lips finally touch his. His lips are soft against yours and for a moment you're afraid he won't kiss you back. Maybe he really regretted the last time. But after a second his resolve seems to crumble as his hands grab your waist and he hauls you to the edge of the counter.

Your hands slide up his chest, your fingers fisting the front of his shirt as he groans softly. His tongue sweeping out to glide along your bottom lip, you grant him access. His tongue exploring your mouth, your tongue tangling with his. A soft moan slipping past your lips as his hands slide from your waist to tap your thighs. You wrap your legs around his hips as he slides his hands back up your thighs and under your ass. He lifts you off the counter, and supports you with his hands, as he kisses you roughly. 

“Shh sweet girl, you don't want your brother to hear you,” Keegan whispers against your lips as he walks up the stairs with you in his arms. He tosses you onto  your bed and crawls over you, his arms caging you in.

“You better be quiet, the last thing i want is for your brother to find me fucking his little sisters stupid. Can you stay quiet for me, Baby?” Keegan whispers in your ear as he nips at the shell of your ear. 

You manage a small nod but that doesnt satisfy Keegan, and he nips harshly at your neck. “Words pretty, I need your words,” He mumbles against your skin.

“Yes, fuck,” you gasp as his tongue licks a long stripe down your neck to the collar of your shirt. 

“Good girl.” 

[sweetiecutie]

Hello, luv. You wanted to write something for Keegan, right? What about sucking him off? Like, how would he be while getting head?👀

Pairing: Keegan P Russ x fem! Reader!

Warnings: NSFW, smut, oral, facials

His throbbing length lays heavy on your tongue as Keegan holds your head with both his hands, moving his hips slowly to bury his cock deeper into the welcoming warmth of your throat. Your velvety walls clench around the needy shaft, pretty doe eyes gazing up through layer of long eyelashes up at the man above you as your tongue swivels around his sensitive cockhead, softly suckling on it, making Keegan’s blue eyes roll right back into his skull.

And this my will be cocky about it - well, before you turn him into a pleasure-drunk slut, at least - running his dirty mouth while you suck him off, not a single iota of shame in his words.

- You love sucking this cock, yeah? Are you this desperate? God, you really know what you’re doing, fuck-

The way you hollow your cheeks drives him mad. Oh, how he wants to just flip you over onto your stomach and fuck you senseless - until you’re a bubbling mindless mess in his hands, so cockhungty and drunk on pure pleasure. But Keegan restrains himself, letting out shallow grunts and cussing under his breath as your mouth works wonders on him, turning him into a putty goo in your hands.

Oh, imagine all the pretty sounds Keegan lets out as your precious mouth makes him feel oh so good. He’s biting on his bottom lip, throwing his head back; his hips bucking forward with no actual intention of doing so, making you gag oh so pretty. The way your free hand comes to cup his heavy balls, massaging them ever so slightly - he’s moment afar from cumming.

And the prettiest work of art is not Mona Lisa or the Birth of Venus - it’s actually your beautiful face covered in Keegan’s pearly cum, your eyes sparkling mischievously while gazing up at him, pupils so dilated they cover most of your irises. And the way your pink tongue darts out afterwards to lick up a few drops of his cum right above your upper lip is more than enough to make Keegan rock-hard again, twitching in your soft hands, ready to take whatever that is you want to give him<3

[salstray]

Keegan P. Russ x fem!Reader - Guardian Angel 3rd person pov warnings: blood, bullet wounds, swearing, guns 1k words~

---

part 2 = part 3

---

“Keegan! Keegan! God damn it, respond! Where are you?!” 

Merrick’s voice was laying in his lap, calling out from the ear piece that had been knocked from Keegan’s head when the Fed sniper had slammed his elbow into the Ghost’s temple. That same sniper was now laying in a mangled, bloody heap at the bottom of the cliff he’d once been scouting from, but the pistol he’d used to punch a hole right through Keegan’s stomach was laying only a foot away from the sole of his boot. Probably still warm from the discharge. 

Keegan groaned, blinking a few times, slow and sluggish as he focused all his energy on pressing his glove to his leaking wound. 

He needed to use his other hand to press the radio. To make contact. Tell his team where he was and what his status was so they could, at the very least, get his corpse somewhere they could bury him. But everything was thick and syrupy. Coated in molasses and hard to push through. 

Already lost too much blood, he thought to himself. 

“Keegan!” Merrick’s voice was laced with desperation. Fraying at the edges, cracking as he called to him, over and over, begging for something, anything that would tip them off to his position. That would give them a hint as to where he’d ended up. Had he made it to the house? Had he taken out the sniper? Was he still alive?

They wouldn’t get their answers. Not from him and not from the bullet that had torn right through his intestines. 

Keegan’s eyes fluttered and he sucked in a deep breath as he tried to tug them open again. 

Focus. What do you see?

Greenery. Ferns and underbrush. The house the sniper had set up in had been some sort of isolated vacation home on the side of the mountain. More taken by time than the crash of ODIN to the earth. Simply abandoned. There was a moldy, dirty sofa to the right of the room. Sitting in front of an overturned coffee table. Brown with rainwater and animal activity. There was a perfect set of paw prints that he could track on the arm-rest. Probably a fox or something that had found its way through one of the many shattered windows, looking to take a few berries from the blooming bush that half hung down through the collapsed ceiling. 

His head rolled to the side, his cheek resting against his left shoulder as his breath slowly pushed free from his lungs. Keegan couldn’t feel most of his limbs at this point, but he didn’t let up the pressure on his wound, even if it wouldn’t do anything but delay the inevitable. 

The wall on this side of the house had also fallen in. Either by a storm, human interference, or something else, he didn’t know. Insulation flapped in the wind, softly patting the drywall that was steadily crumbling away to dust with time. Beyond the wall was a cliff. The one Keegan had full body shoved the sniper off of. A small smile twitched its way onto his cheeks under the mask at the memory of the scream. Then the echoing crack and the answering silence. 

At least I’ll see you in hell, bastard.

Finally, his eyes closed. It was supposed to be a blink, but… opening them again felt like it would take more energy then he had left… so they didn’t. 

“Answer me, Russ! That’s a fucking order!”

Sorry, Merrick.

“Keegan!”

End of the line.

“Keegan!”

“Keegan?” 

A new hand pressed against his. Warm. Soft. Somehow he could tell, even through the gloves and the icy feel of blood loss. 

“Still with me?” 

That wasn’t Merrick. His voice was rough. Commanding and sharp. This one was… quiet. Feminine. It wasn’t coming from his fallen earpiece, either. It was right in front of him. Clear as day. 

“I got you, Sergeant. Don’t worry. You’ll be okay, I promise.” 

He still couldn’t open his eyes. His body was heavy. Heavy in a way he’d never felt before. It wasn’t the pull of exhaustion. He was used to that, knew how to fight it off better than anyone. This was the drag of death. 

And yet... he was still alive.

The warmth that pushed through his glove bled through his whole arm. From the tips of his fingers up to his shoulder, then deeper, into his chest and his lungs. Then down into his wound. He didn’t feel the bullet push its way out of his body, but the quiet clink of it hitting the wood between his thighs made him flinch.

“Easy,” the new voice called again. Another hand appeared, cupping his cheek, warm and welcoming, the thumb brushing against the edge of the mask under his eyes, which he still couldn’t seem to open. “Almost done.” 

Almost done with what…?

Finally, Keegan’s eyes popped open. Wide and wild, shifting across the room, from right to left and back again, searching for the source of the voice. The hands, the warmth. But the room was empty. 

It was just him. The pistol. And Merrick’s voice from his lap, agonized and drenched in defeat..

“God, damn it…” 

Keegan’s right hand pulled away from his stomach, towards his rifle, which had fallen off his lap when he’d slid to the ground with his back to the wall, bleeding like a stuck pig. The other went to the earpiece and he wedged it back in place under the fabric of his mask before pushing at the button on his radio.

“Sniper’s down,” Keegan said simply. 

“Keegan?! What the hell, what happened to you?!” 

The Ghost’s hand fell away from his radio, down to his abdomen, where he’d been bleeding from minutes ago. But there was no blood to be found, now. Just a single hole torn right through his jacket, his hoodie, and his shirt, exposing a smooth spot of skin on his stomach, right under the line of his vest. 

There wasn’t even a scar. 

“Got held up. Heading back your way.” 

He’d figure out the details later. Think about the voice, the hands, the wound later. For now, he’d continue on, haunting Federation territory like he was supposed to with his fellow Ghosts, the quiet thought of Guess I got a Guardian Angel or something... in his mind.

[percy-puppy]

Headcanon: Dick Piercings

About: CoD Men || Gaz, König, Keegan, Soap

A/N: Bestie and I talked about the CoD men and if any of them have a piercing in their special area. It ended with me researching for an hour and coming to these conclusions. @mothymunson caused it with this! ↓

TW: 18+ Blog/Post | MDNI, Piercings (duh.), DICK DIAGRAMS (plural), Me thirsting, talk about dicks/masochism/lil sex talk focused on vagina owners since I wrote this to self-indulge.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Gerrick

Ampallang Piercing.

✿ It's pretty subtle compared to the others, but still some bling (his piercing is made from gold), and I think it suits Gaz's personality, too. Also, it doesn't just feel good for you, cause many men report increased sexual pleasure with this piercing. He definitely got it for this reason.

Keegan P. Russ

Reverse Prince Albert.

✿ “Just the tip,” has such a nice drag with that piercing. He also has a tongue piercing. He isn't even half in, and he doesn't need to, tbh. That piercing is the g-spot magic wand.

König

Prince Albert. (classic)

✿ This had me drooling, and I didn't even know what got me so hard at first, but here is why: It's quite a thick ring and just gives bull vibes, which matches him wholeheartedly. He is a massive man and cannonically couldn't be a sniper because of it. He was later assigned as an insertion specialist and served as a battering ram. So, he is a breeding bull — breeding kink, size kink, mating press… It’s once again a piercing both sides get increased pleasure from.

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish

TOP: 3 Top Ladders. Dydoe/King’s Crown. (Pierced through the ridge vertically at the penis's head base.)

BOTTOM: 3 Bottom Ladders. Hafada/Scrotal. (He is pierced there 1x (ring piercing). It sits right in the middle. During doggy, it smacks your clit.)

✿ Listen… he likes some pain, he is a little nuts—the chaotic middle-child energy just manifested like that. He has multiple dick piercings. He enjoys the modification of his cock, and getting them was fun for him, too. He definitely makes jokes that sound like condom sale slogans, like, “✨Ribbed for her Pleasure✨”. He got them for your pleasure, but he gets off on getting you off, so it's a double-win.

[kaisntbreathing]

★ Information page★

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Hello, I'm Kai I'm a writer and this blog was made for all my Hazbin Hotel, SBG, and Stranger Things enjoyers which are the main fandoms I write for on here but I do write for others.

I'm currently hyperfixated on a few characters *cough* Adam *cough* Lucifer *cough* Vox *cough* Eddie *cough* *cough* Aiden Clark *cough* anyways enjoy.

─────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹─────

[Guide]

→ REQUESTING RULES

→ MY BOUNDARIES

→ WHAT I DO/DONT WRITE

→ LIST OF FANDOMS

→ "TO DO LIST"

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★ Requesting rules ★

→ PLEASE BE KIND.

→ DON'T REQUEST EXTREMELY DARK TOPICS, OR ANYTHING THAT MAYBE TOO TRIGGERING OR OFFENSIVE.

→ DON'T ASK ME ANY PERSONAL QUESTIONS I WILL NOT ANSWER THEM.

→ I DON'T WRITE OC X CANON OR CANON X CANON .

→ PLEASE ADD PRONOUNS FOR THE READER IF YOU DONT I'LL AUTOMATICALLY USE GENDER NEUTRAL PRONOUNS.

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★ My boundaries ★

→ AGAIN PLEASE DON'T ASK ME ANY PERSONAL QUESTIONS I WILL NOT ANSWER THEM AND I WILL NOT BE DOING A FACE REVEAL

→ PLEASE BE RESPECTFUL OF EVERYONE

→ I DON'T FEEL COMFORTABLE WRITING CERTAIN TOPICS SO IF YOU REQUEST SOMETHING AND I DON'T ANSWER IT IT'S EITHER BECAUSE I DIDN'T SEE IT OR BECAUSE I DON'T FEEL COMFORTABLE WRITING IT

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★ What I write ★

(List of fandoms at the bottom of the list)

→ I DO WRITE NSFW (NOT SAFE FOR WORK) BUT NOTHING TOO EXTREME

→ XREADER (You) SCENARIOS, ONE SHOTS, AND HEADCANONS

→ I LOVE WRITTING BOTH ANGST AND FLUFF AND SOMETIMES SOME SMUT

─────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹─────

★ What I don't write ★

→ I REFUSE TO WRITE ANYTHING TO DO WITH INCEST, SUICIDE, VORE, FETISHES (UNREASONABLE ONES), PEDOPHILIA, RAPE, OR EXTREMELY DARK TOPICS

→ I WILL NOT WRITE NSFW FOR ANY CANONICALLY UNDERAGED CHARACTERS EVEN IF THEYRE AGED UP I WILL NOT WRITE THAT

→ I WON'T WRITE ANY OC X CANON OR CANON X CANON UNLESS I'M INTERESTED IN IT, BUT I DEFINITELY WON'T WRITE OC X CANON

─────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹─────

★ List of Fandoms & Characters ★

→ HAZBIN HOTEL

✦ ADAM

✦ ALASTOR

✦ ANGEL DUST

✦ CHARLIE

✦ LUCIFER

✦ LUTE

✦ LILITH

✦ HUSK

✦ NIFFTY

✦ VALENTINO

✦ VOX

✦ VELVETTE

✦ VAGGIE

→ STRANGER THINGS

✦ Eddie Munson

✦ Billy Hargrove

✦ Steve Harrington

✦ Johnathan Byers

✦ Jim Hopper

✦ Nancy Wheeler

→ HELLUVA BOSS

✦ BLITZØ

✦ MOXXIE

✦ MILLY

✦ LOONA

✦ STOLAS

✦ FIZZAROLLI

✦ ASMODEUS

→ OBEY ME

✦ LUCIFER

✦ MAMMON

✦ LEVIATHAN

✦ SATAN

✦ ASMODEUS

✦ BEELZEBUB

✦ BELPHEGOR

✦ DAIVOLO

✦ BARBATOS

✦ LUKE (PLATONIC)

✦ SIMON

✦ SOLOMON

✦ THIRTEEN

DIGITAL CIRCUS

✦ JAX

✦ RAGATHA

✦ POMNI

✦ CAINE

✦ ZOOBLE

✦ KINGER

→ CODMW3

✦ SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY

✦ JOHN PRICE

✦ JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH

✦ KYLE 'GAZ' GARRICK

✦ KONIG

✦ ROACH SANDERSON

✦ ALEJANDRO VARGAS

✦ ROMANOV MAKAROV

✦ KEEGAN .P. RUSS

✦ KATE LASWELL

→ DEMON SLAYER

✦ TANJIRO KAMADO

✦ NEZUKO KAMADO

✦ ZENISTU AGATSUMA

✦ INOSUKE HASHIBIRA

✦ RENGOKU KYOJURO

✦ UZUI TENGAN

✦ SENEMI SHINAGIZAWA

✦ GIYU TOMIOKA

✦ SHINOBU KOCHO

✦ MISTURI KANROJI

✦ GIYOMEI HIJIMA

✦ OBANI IGURO

✦ MUZAN KIBUSTUJI

✦ AKAZA

✦ DOUMA

✦ KOKOSHIBO

✦ GYUTARO

✦ DAKI

✦ RUI

✦ TAMAYO

✦ YUSHIRO

→ MY HERO ACADEMIA

→ FNAF SB / SAMS

✦ SUNRISE

✦ Moondrop

✦ Montgomery Gator

✦ Eclipse

✦ Bloodmoon

✦ Lunar

✦ Gemini

✦ Earth

✦ Solar

✦ Freddy

✦ Roxanne

✦ Chica

→ CREEPYPASTA

✦ eyeless jack

✦ Ben drowned

✦ Ticci toby

✦ Jeff the killer

✦ Masky

✦ Hoodie

✦ Clockwork

✦ Jane the killer

✦ slenderman

✦ splendorman

✦ Laughing jack

─────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹─────

School bus graveyard

Aiden Clark

Taylor

Ben

Ashlyn

Tyler

Logan

★ To-Do List ★

[✓= done]

[Italics= Unfinished]

[Bold = In progress]

۪۫❁ཻུ۪۪┊ THANK YOU FOR VISITING MY PAGE AND I HOPE YOU ALL STAY SAFE AND HYDRATED.

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꒰⚘݄꒱₊_______________

[credince--writes]

Deep In Those Woods: Chapter 5

Keegan P. Russ x Fem!Reader

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

AO3

You find a strange man in the woods, no doubt running from the federation. He seems, well, in simple terms beat to shit. May your act of kindness not go unpunished.

A/N:

I'm BACCCCCKCKKKKKKK BABY. More Keegan content and I'm so sorry it's taken so long but it was a FUCKING STRUGGLE to pivot from the Keegan is a glorified injured vegetable so time skip to him being a bruised fruit! Thank you all for reading!

Tags:

@dindjarinsmeshla @tessxq @ladyvlolypop @tiny-kasper @konigsleftkidney @mykneeshurt @katsufairies

Days pass, and his condition improves. The bruises on his body begin to fade into dark purples and sickly yellows as the flesh tries to cope with the trauma and heal.

Pulling the clothes off the line and finally dressing the near-naked man who'd been camping out on your couch and floor for nearly two weeks.

When he'd needed to finally wash the one set of clothes he'd shown up in, you'd given him a few sets of your brother's clothing.

What were you doing?

Taking care of some stranger when your brother was out there- God knows where, maybe in danger.

Maybe he was dead-

You didn't want to think that.

He'd- much to your dismay- had begun wandering around the house. Almost like a misbehaving puppy, any time you would let the man out of your sight he would be somewhere he wasn't supposed to. Wandering around outside of the house, milling around as if he didn't truly believe he was alive.

Much of your time was dedicated to catching up on chores, tending to the garden, and making sure that your animals were alright. The never-ending list of maintenance to make sure that you would be alright- ensuring that you'd be able to survive.

It was getting hotter, even now, earlier in the day- before the sun rose high enough to signal it being noon, sweat beaded on your forehead. Humidity be damned, the bright blue sky with little puffy white clouds dotting the sky and the bright, burning sun warmed the surrounding land.

"Where is my radio?"

Keegan's voice startles you, nearly jumping out of your skin ten feet into the air. You'd never heard his footsteps approaching, you didn't know that even if you were listening for them you'd be able to. You were wrist deep in a garden bed pulling out weeds from between your plants, the little green shoots sprouting up and around into dainty little green ladders reaching for sunlight.

"Fuck!" Little bits of the soil fly up into the air as your hands reach up on instinct from the scare. "What? What do you want?" The anxiety shines clear through your voice, desperately looking at the quiet man for an explanation.

He'd been doing this shit to you for days.

Hiding behind in the shadows, popping out and asking you for something small, minuscule, irrelevant.

And scare the shit out of you in the process.

You didn't have his fucking radio.

Did you?

You'd have to look.

You sigh in defeat, brushing off any remnants of dirt from your hands and washing them off in a bucket next to you.

"If I help you look, will you stop asking about it?" You ask.

He nods in response.

With a grumble, you get up off of your knees and leave your task in the garden forgotten. Trailing back into the house with the man in tow- hitting the door and making a break to grab the items you'd pulled off of him in his gear.

He still hovered behind you, watching intently as you dragged the bag out and started searching through it. Pulling out his vest, then various knives, empty magazines...

Then your hands wrapped around the dinged and damaged black plastic.

"Here?" You pulled it out, the antenna snapped off, hesitantly handing the broken radio to him and leaning back onto your hands and sitting flat on your bottom. "It's broken."

Keegan grasps the radio, looking at you and without even speaking, saying 'I can tell'. He smacks the radio a few times against his hand, letting out of huff of disapproval before turning and walking into the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" You stand, following him into the kitchen as he opens a drawer and pulls out a fork, turning it onto the radio and starting to pop off little plastic pieces until the guts of the little machine were exposed to his eyes. "You know, I could grab you a screwdriver- you don't need to use my forks."

"It worked, didn't it?" He asks, taking a step over and wincing as he bends to the side.

He'd never admit it, but he was still hurt.

He'd bare through it, if it was up to him.

"You need to sit." You gasped out, reaching for his arm. Your hand wrapped around his bicep in an attempt to get his attention back on you while you tried to lead him to a chair. His body stiffened underneath your touch as your fingers grasped onto the muscle of his arm.

"I'm fine." He replied bluntly, turning back to the radio. Widening his stance but making no move to remove your hand.

You faltered for a moment, hesitantly releasing your hand- the feeling of warmth from both of your skin touching dissipating into the air around you. Moving back and sitting down in the chair you'd originally tried to get Keegan to sit down in, you watched.

Watched as he messed with the radio, inspecting the electronics for things you couldn't see- things you didn't understand.

"Do you think you can fix it?" You ask, curling up into the chair, pulling your legs up to you, and crossing them. Resting your arm on the counter and intently watching as he once again took your fork to poke and prod at the internals.

"More than likely." He replied, a calm, quiet tone as he leaned more of his body weight into the counter.

You were sure it was because his ribs were bothering him.

He'd never admit it.

But, they were.

Any time you had tried to question the man in the last few days- once he'd become considerably more lucid- on why he had been out in your neck of the woods. Where he would've been injured- you hadn't come into contact with any Federation, well, ever.

You didn't tell him that part.

For all he knew, you had them fertilizing the orchard.

But any attempt you had made had quickly been spun around and shot down. Pivoting into new conversation or him picking apart your questions until you no longer wanted to be around him.

"Why were you out here?" You questioned him, hand gripped onto the counter as you held a knife in your other hand. Half an onion behind you- staring up at the ceiling furiously blinking to get the tears out of your eyes.

"That's classified, princess." The slight drawl of his voice, the southern twang in his words as he threw in the princess just to get on your nerves.

He'd gone through a few other nicknames-

Sweetheart, Angel.

But he knew that Princess struck a nerve in you. The sassy bastard tactically threw it into a sentence whenever he wanted you to lose your footing.

"Classified?" You'd asked, groaning. "Give me a break, I drag you out of a creek, nurse you back to health the least you could do is tell me why you were out here."

"If I told you I'd have to kill you." He replied, a smug grin curling up on the edges of his lips.

"And all I'd have to do is hit you in the ribs." You bit back.

"Oh, come on. That's fighting a little dirty don't you think?" He tilted his head in question. His large hands opened and pressed against his chest before hissing and wincing.

Your head snaps over at the sound of his pain. "Are you alright?" You ask, concern laced into not only your words but your features.

"Don't worry about me Princess, I'm just a little tender."

You hadn't really thought about what would happen if the radio started working again- he wasn't exactly in the best shape to be heading back off the mountain to presumably around the same place he'd been injured in the first place.

"Are you trying to talk to your team?" You asked, breaking the silence between the two of you.

Keegan looks at you for a moment, as if debating on releasing the smallest bit of information.

And he nods, once.

Yes.

"Are they here too?" You question, picking at a stray thread at the end of your t-shirt. Anxiously trying to navigate the conversation- keeping him responding while feeding you little crumbs of information.

"No. I came here alone."

You hum in acknowledgment. Resting your elbow against the counter, your chin into your hand, watching him glare at the broken electronic.

"Dosen't seem very smart to come out here by yourself." You reply, finally standing and grabbing your bottle of water and taking a sip. Pointing out what you felt to be a major flaw in his logic.

He was just one man.

"Could say the same about you." He replied, setting the radio down on the table and turning to look at you.

Your posture stiffened, grip tightening on the bottle.

"I wasn't always alone."

Keegan's face was stoic- but for a moment, for a fraction of a second, she could see something flicker in his eyes. As if he were asking for more- to know.

To care.

"My-" You falter for a moment. "My brother, he left... Four months? Maybe Five- I don't even know how long he has been gone- before I found you. He went to go investigate something weird a few miles away from here"

You take in a shaky breath.

"He never came back..." You look out the window, watching a chicken scratch at the earth and peck. "I know he can handle himself- but he's never been gone this long. And he told me to not come looking if he didn't come back- we all know what would happen if I was found."

Keegan listened, intently. And he understood, even with the disgust rising in the back of his throat at the thought.

"What was he investigating?" He asked.

"There are these... erm." You pause. "Fires- on the four mountains. They are other settlements, other farmers, and even maybe a town now on one of them. The smoke from the fires means either something is really, really wrong, or they had made contact with the government- that people were here to protect and save some of us." Your grasp your arm anxiously, rubbing at the skin. "So he went to investigate- but didn't come back."

He nodded, steel blue eyes fixed to your own.

"I just..." You trailed off.

"Want to make sure he's ok?" Keegan finished.

"Yea." You nodded. "Or at least have some closure. Sometimes just knowing- as much as it'd hurt. To know he is dead, would be better than to wait- to expect."

"I'll help you." His voice was soft- quiet. As if his words came out just above a whisper.

"Why?" You questioned.

“Keegan, you’re safe alright?”

He was silent, glancing around the cabin as if he hadn’t really looked at it before. “You took me in?”

“Y… Yea?” You questioned, wondering if it was the wrong thing to say. “You were hurt…”

“Why are you helping me?” The question left, the exhale of his words and the dissipation of them into the silent room-filling little cracks in the walls with a deep voice you’d only heard of in the books you kept by your bedside.

 “You were hurt, and you needed help.” You explained carefully, eyes focused on his hand still locked onto your arm.

Keegan stared, mouth opening and trying to speak but nothing coming out- his mind rushing a million miles a minute.

"Because you owe me?" You teased.

He releases a breath. "Yea, Princess. Because I owe you."

[2kiran]

18+ BOTTOM KEEGAN R.

“Ah- I’m so sorry, doll...” Keegan huffs, his muscled arms littered with old and new scars wrapped around your neck. He buries his face into the crook of your neck to muffle the sound of his groans, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin but never fully penetrating.

You had gotten into a bad argument. He fucked up his previous mission by accidentally getting himself caught by the enemy. It would’ve ended with him bleeding out if you hadn’t arrived in time to save him.

It began with you giving him the scolding of his life which provoked him into talking back, leading to a nasty back-and-forth yelling.

Then somewhere in between the exchanged berating, he ripped off both of your pants and fisted your dick to full hardness. Now, he reduced himself to a cock-drunk state, his stretched hole clenching and unclenching around you as an additional apology. “So fuckin’ s-sorry, so—ngh, I’m sorry, baby.”

Keegan grinds his hips, rolling forward until he’s sucking you in completely. His knees are bruised, numb and tingly and forgotten. You grab onto his waist, using it as leverage when you unceremoniously thrust upwards. “Shut up, Russ.” You grunt, your tip hitting the sweet spot that has him releasing a high-pitched cry, his neglected length twitching from the sudden jolt of stimulation.

“I said I was—hnngmh—sorry!” He stumbles over his words, caught on the borderline of a whine. His brows crease in frustration, adjusting his position to bounce on your fat cock that’s filling him in all the right ways properly. One of your hands grip his jaw, forcing him to tilt his head to meet your piercing gaze. “And I said to shut up. You never follow orders, do you?”

He whimpers, red blooming on his cheeks. That was the cause of all of this; his inability to obey. He’s looming over you, his rim clinging to the head of your cock before abruptly sinking down, gasping at the sensation. Keegan wants to be the best man he can be for you, so he doesn’t protest when his legs strain as he desperately attempts to fuck himself dumb without begging for your assistance.