#cod keegan russ

[parkersbliss]

Wait! I have a request! Would thou spare a mere mortal a moment?? 😭🤚

So like, it’s canon that Keegan is quiet and reserved. And it’s very likely that Keegan has never had a proper romantic relationship, considering he was 16 during Operation Sand Viper. Which means he joined the military when he was like 14-15 something (I kinda hc that he came from a rough home, so he joined the army to get away from it, very similar to Simon “Ghost” Riley). Not to mention that their world is borderline apocalyptic after the ODIN strikes

We all know that, so! How would Keegan act if he fell in love with teammate!reader?? Like would he realize it immediately? Would it take a while for him to realize that this warm buzzing feeling is love? How would he act? What he be like when in love? And how would he act when he realizes that he actually is in love?

I shall spare you the rest of my life, anon. THIS is all I want for keegan. my baby with a knife :') hopefully you like it!! and yes all your ideas are canon idc

SYMPATHOMIMETIC

PAIRING: Keegan Russ x F!teammate!Reader WARNINGS: mentions of blood, angsty but happy ending!! sad keegan backstory A/N: not sure how this is both fluff and angst guys but I love him

Masterlist | Taglist | Requesting (open for cod!)

Keegan considered himself to be an intelligent guy. He felt like the years he’d spent being hardened in the military, learning lessons the public wouldn’t give him an advantage. A different perspective on life and the decisions you make. He also just happened to think very highly of himself. He wouldn’t brag about himself. He just had self-confidence. 

Keegan knew he was good at his job. He took pride in that. 

So why was it then when you came around, his brain fell out of his skull? 

His shots were a little slower, his aim off by a few millimeters and sweat dripping from his brow. 

It was only you. His teammate, comrade, brother in war, co-worker even. Yet somehow, you had a sympathomimetic effect on him. 

His heart beat faster, pupils dilated, and skin flushed from the peripheral vasodilation of his arteries. He was glad he was dressed head to toe, with only his eyes peeking out from the rough fabric of his mask. That way, you didn’t see what a fool you made of him. 

He found it annoying, really. 

He never intended to fall in love, but he wasn’t opposed to the idea either. It was a concept that had existed in his mind,but something he never truly sought after. 

Then again, how could he when most of his life was in the Marines, and then half the population was wiped off the country? 

Keegan’s concerns lay elsewhere than finding a partner. 

When you joined the team, it became more… relevant to him. Again, there was no active pursuit of you. He spent most of his time shoving down the warm, buzzing feeling. Missions required precision, and he always delivered.

He wasn’t rude at all. In fact, you would say that Keegan was your favorite Ghost member. (You wouldn’t actually say it so you don’t offend the Walker brothers.) To you, he was the best companion to have when the world was falling apart. You can see the familiar glint of his scope on the building across from you. It’s unmoving, a steady gleam in your sight. 

“Any activity?” His voice crackles through your earpiece. 

“Negative,” You said with a sigh, eyes focused on the floors of the building ahead of you. He doesn’t say anything else. You know he won’t. That was Keegan. He was just quiet. A conversation with him required your prompting first. You don't mind. 

“You know what I miss?” You asked. 

He hums back in response, the hint of a questioning tone at the end of the tone. 

“The movies. The temporary escape from this shit reality.” 

“You got one in mind?” 

“Juno.” 

There’s a scoff. “Juno?” Keegan repeats, that light teasing tone you know means he’s smiling. 

“Have you seen it?”

“Negative. Educate me.” 

He wasn’t a flirt. Not really. He spends a few months getting to know you. What you like, what you don’t, your beliefs, your dreams. He does it unknowingly. Keegan was genuinely interested in everything about you. 

When you invited him into a conversation, he’d find a way to make it about you. Then, when he found himself in an old Blockbuster store, searching for a movie called Juno, it hit him. 

Keegan was in love with you. That was a fact. He would search old record stores for your favorite artist on vinyl, department stores for a sweater you’d love, and an old carnival for the biggest stuffed toy. All to see the smile on your face because he knew your real dream was beyond his powers. You wanted the world back to normal. A piece of chalk in your hand, drawing flowers on your parent's driveway in the middle of summer. A life that was never coming back to either of you. 

So he resorted to the small things.  

Then there was the constant fretting over you on missions. The hand on your waist as his cerulean eyes chased your body for any sign of damage. They’d trace back up to meet yours as you grabbed his arm, assuring him you were okay. 

Keegan knew it was obvious he was in love. If any consolation from Hesh or Merrick was enough. They would howl with laughter, claiming he might as well tattoo his love for you on his forehead. 

To which he replied, “You still wouldn’t see it.”

Truthfully, Keegan didn’t care about it being “obvious.” The only thing he cared about was you. A smile on your face, the warmth of your body, the chime of your laughter at something he said. 

So yeah, it was obvious he was in love. How could he not be? You were proof that maybe when everything is said and done, there was a future with the sun beating down on his back as he mowed the lawn. A cliche dream, but his, nonetheless. 

He’d finally tell you that when your hand didn’t grip his to tell him you were okay. Instead, it was soaked in bright red blood as you coughed more up.

He felt like a kid again, growing up in a home where he couldn’t do anything to help his parents. When he was forced to watch the love seep out of them. The fighting, screaming, missed baseball practices, and award shows. The neglect forced his older brother to leave him only in a broken house. 

Everything was falling apart, and he didn’t know what to do.

“Establish bilateral ACs, hang a liter of fluids…” The medics shout, scrambling over one another as Keegan stands there stupidly. 

As stupid as the first time he saw you. 

You reach for him, eyes wide and scared. And in a second, he’s there. He’s gripping your hand, barely registering the medic’s order to not disturb the IV. 

“I love you,” he says.

He watches the way your lips turn up, eyes crinkling. “Am I dreaming?” 

“No. I love you,” He repeats a little more forcefully. 

That damn smile, a spark still in your eyes as the monitor stops beeping. 

“BP coming up! 98/72.” 

“I love you too.” 

When you finally recover, Keegan’s sitting next to you in the med bay. He’s stripped of his mask, his uniform. He’snothing more than the boy who joined the military at 16. 

“Did we win?” You asked, turning to look at him. 

He brushes the tangled hair out of your face. “We won.” 

“Now what?” 

Keegan grins, grabbing something from his pocket. It blinks at you, twinkling under the fluorescent lights of the hospital room. 

“Do I even need to ask?” He teases lightly. 

You laugh, extending a hand to him as he slips the ring on. “You already know the answer.” 

“Will you marry me?” 

“Yes.” 

Your daughter tells you all the time his proposal was cheesy. Keegan just smiles, ruffling her hair as she pretends to drive the John Deere down the expanding green of your lawn. 

Read more, HERE. Never wanna miss a fic? Join HERE.

Keegan Taglist: @trxpslxt @galactict3a @engie115

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

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

For The Weak And Weary

PAIRING: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader

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

WORDCOUNT: 6.2k

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

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

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

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

And this was entirely new to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A stiff silence falls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only Keegan could see you now.

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

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

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

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

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

Everything would be done if another city fell.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It rang a devastating bell.

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

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

The only love of your life. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your face gains heat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More than one-thousand miles.

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

Shouts echo, the pound of rapid feet. 

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

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

—

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

Until you said you were from Dallas, of course. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yelling is on the other side.

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

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

…Keegan?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Sweetheart?”

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

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

The door shuts, but neither of you notices. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man forces a weak huff. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The picture lays long forgotten on the floor.

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

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

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

Not to leave again anytime soon. 

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[mykneeshurt]

Sorry

Keegan Russ x F!reader

Warnings - minors DNI, 18+, explicit smut, angst

———

‘Are you FUCKING joking?’ You screamed as you threw your very expensive vase at the wall. Keegan ducked, his cat like reflexes once again barely managing to save him. ‘You’re such a fucking liar! Fuck you!’ You stormed over to him, pushing him in his broad chest. Pure unfiltered rage pumped through your veins as you stared at the man before you.

The man who told you he loved you.

The man who made you feel safe.

The man who you allowed yourself to love.

‘I’m sorry’ he whispered, eyes glazed, the steel blue of his irises contrasted with the blood shot white of his eyes. ‘You’re sorry?! You’re fucking sorry?! Keegan you lied to me for six months. I fucking fell for you and this whole time you were using me to spy on my father. I don’t think sorry quite cuts it. Do you?’ Your voice was venomous.

‘I didn’t mean for this to happen.’ You pushed him again. ‘What? Letting it get this far? Or falling for me in the first place?’ Every limb, every fibre of you was shaking. Your mouth was dry, your eyes hurt from crying, your heart shattered into jagged shards of glass.

‘I … uh’ he stuttered.

‘I … I …’ you mocked ‘fuck you Keegan. Get out.’ As you turned to walk away he grabbed your wrist, instantly you spun round, the palm of your hand making perfect contact with his cheek. ‘Don’t touch me. We’re done.’

‘No’ he muttered as he stood defiantly in your living room. ‘Fuck you mean no? Keegan, I don’t want to see you ever again. I never ever thought you’d hurt me. But here we are.’ Your voice was low, almost a whisper. Turning again he gripped your wrist, ‘please don’t make me go.’

Tears pricked your eyes, your tired swollen eyes. You sighed, still allowing him to keep a hold of you. Your lungs felt so tight, they strained to breathe. Your bottom lip quivered as you sighed into the empty living room. The living room where you had your first kiss, where you would play fight, where he held you when your father had a fall.

Yet it was all a lie.

‘Keegan … I can’t … please let me go’ murmured, voice straining from the emotion. ‘I can’t. I can’t let you go. You’re all I think about. You’re all I want. I’ve tasted you and I don’t want anyone else. I want this. I want you. I want us.’ There was a soft thud behind you. Turning round you saw him on his knees, brows furrowed, lips pressed together.

‘Get up Keegan’ you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. ‘I’ll beg if you want me to’ he said, eyes never faltering from yours.

‘I don’t want that. I want you to go.’ He slowly rose to his feet, still holding your wrist. He closed in on you, the warmth from his body permeated your tired bones. Even feeling so angry at him his presence still soothed you, still offered you safety. You hated your body for betraying you.

Looking up at him through tear stained lashes your heart ached, your stomach twisted and turned. An unwavering abyss of emotion coursed through your body. His face was contorted, twisted with pain. He raised a hand to your cheek, using his thumb to wipe away your tears. You leant into his touch, these hands had killed people, but to you they were your sanctuary.

‘Keegan’ you whispered, your rage now confusion. He lowered his lips to yours, hovering above them, ‘I’m sorry.’ Your lip quivered at his words, you believed him, reluctantly, but it didn’t absolve him from his lies. He gently pressed his lips to yours, now cradling your face with both hands. You sank into the kiss, your mind and heart fighting against one another.

Your hands found his waist, pulling him closer. Your mind screamed at you to stop, that you would regret it. But your heart told you to keep going, that you loved each other, that you needed to feel something other than rage.

That you need him.

Lifting his shirt slightly you grazed your hands along his skin, his soft, scar littered skin. He deepened the kiss, his tongue slowly worked with yours causing you to moan softly. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach, your head fuzzy.

Wrapping his arms around your waist he picked you up, walking you slowly to the sofa. His footsteps seemed to echo in the now silent apartment. Sitting down he kept you straddling his hips, his hands rubbing your back under your t-shirt. You placed your hands on his shoulders, his broad firm shoulders. Instinctively you rolled your hips, feeling his hard cock beneath his jeans.

He groaned into your lips, using his hands he pushed your hips down urging you to grind on him. Breaking the kiss you threw your head back as he kissed and nipped at your neck, ‘fuck I need you’ he whispered.

‘I fucking hate you’ you retorted, still grinding on him, your panties now soaking with arousal.

‘Liar. You want me.’

‘No, I wanna fuckin punch you.’

‘Stop lying’ he moaned as he pulled off your t-shirt and bra. He gently kissed your collar bone before holding your chin, forcing you to look at him. The silence between you was deafening, both trying to read each others faces.

Reigniting the kiss you pulled at his shirt, removing it he threw it behind him as he placed you on your back. He made fast work of your jeans before sliding a finger against your core. ‘Oh fuck’ he whimpered as he bit his lip. ‘Take em off’ you ordered arching your back.

Pulling them off he then made fast work of his own. You pulled him back into a kiss, this time it was desperate, sloppy. Lining himself up he pushed into you, ‘fuck’ you moaned breathlessly. As he began to move you wrapped your legs around him holding him against you. He buried his face in your neck, ‘feels so good baby’ he whispered.

Staining your skin with kisses your bodies moved together, each thrust of his cock filled you as his tip grazed that spot. You could feel his muscles tense with each movement, how each one rippled beneath his skin as he fucked you. Sweat began to gather between your bodies, your arousal dripping from your stretched out cunt.

‘Harder’ you panted, ‘harder … fuck.’ He upped his pace, slamming his cock into you, his pubic bone hitting your clit. He leant back onto his knees, holding you in place by your thighs. His fingers gripping onto you with a bruising force. You watched as he jaw fell slack, biting his lips as he hissed at the sight before him. You dropped a hand to your clit, your orgasm not coming fast enough.

‘That’s it’ he praised ‘look so good sweetheart, fuck.’ Burying your face in your arm you whimpered and moaned. ‘Don’t stop Keegan, oh god!’ Placing his forearms next to your head he dropped down, kissing your neck. ‘So fuckin beautiful’ he muttered, ‘you look so beautiful taking my cock.’ Eyes shut you smiled as you licked your lips, he always knew how to praise you.

‘M close’ you managed to say in between your moans. ‘Keep goin baby, lemme feel you.’ He cupped your jaw as he caressed his thumb over your bottom lip, urging you to lose your self. With one final strum against your clit you lost yourself. Your body seized as your cunt pulsated around him, his eyes glistened as he watched you. An expression of awe written over his features.

‘Eyes on me’ he ordered, doing as you were told you focused on him. Gripping your hips he upped his rhythm, chasing his own release. ‘Gonna fill you, gonna fill this pussy, fuuuck’ he moaned. Biting your lip you played with your breasts, tweaking your nipples, teasing him.

With a final thrust he threw his head back, releasing inside you. Hot ropes of cum lined your walls, his cock pulsated inside you as he rode out his high. He still slowly moved inside you, pushing and pulling, overstimulating you both. Torturing your aching bodies.

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, ‘can I stay?’ His voice hopeful. Cupping his face you kissed him deeply. ‘Yes. We’ll talk properly tomorrow.’

———

Taglist (y’all showed interest on my Keegan post) - @horsdutemps @lundenloves @sarcanti @averythang @tiredmetalenthusiast @kosmokenny

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 2: SPY RINGS AND MOLEHILLS

synopsis: you find a mole, and are all-too-happy to show off your skills to keegan and kick.

word count: 1.9k

ships: Keegan Russ/Reader, Ghosts team & Reader

notes: sorry for long gap between chapters (>A<) also warning for canon-typical violence this chapter

WHY DOES EVIL WEAR A FACE SO FAMILIAR? MASTERLIST

You and Logan stand, side-by-side, behind Rorke as he paces, his hands clasped behind his back as he looks at the ground. 

Before him is Fuerza de Asalto Resol – Strike Force Resol. (Resol doesn’t have a direct translation into English, but it more or less describes the glare of the sun off a reflective surface. And that’s what you and Logan and the rest of this strike force are – reflections of Ghosts. Twisted and sick reflections that hate what they’re reflecting, but reflections nonetheless.)

And it’s all of Fuerza de Asalto Resol. All the way from the top lieutenant to the most inconsequential info jockey.

“I have been made aware of a threat,” Rorke starts, still pacing. “Someone in here has been forking over information to America.”

Your eyes rake over the people that are supposed to be on your side. Everyone has a tell – whether it’s that they’re nervous, lying, or anything else. Body language tells you what the lips don’t.

You reach out and brush your finger against Logan’s glove. His hand twitches, then he moves the back of his hand against yours with more purpose to let you know he’s listening. You grab his hand and extend his forefinger, using it to point at a no-name corporal whose eyes are flitting across Rorke’s face. He doesn’t portray any nervousness otherwise, but you can tell. You’ve been trained to tell. 

Logan takes his hand away from yours and knocks his knuckles against yours lightly in acknowledgement. He’s seeing things from your eyes, and he understands it completely. 

You continue to stand side-by-side with Logan for the remainder of Rorke’s spiel, more like intimidating guard dogs than terriers you are – the ones that hunt down mole burrows. Though you both could still be mastiffs. It was just a matter of context and urgency. 

When Rorke eventually finishes, Fuerza de Asalto Resol starts to file out of the room. You wait by the doorframe and catch the corporal’s wrist just as he’s about to leave.

“We need to talk,” you say.

He swallows, his eyes flitting between you and Logan. Another tell of nervousness. He nods.

What a weak excuse for a dog.

Keegan rocks in his wheely chair, picking at his nails and flicking out the muck from underneath them. The room is quiet aside from the whiny squeak of the chair and the taps of Kick’s fingers against his keyboard. 

There’s nothing to do. Keegan had pushed for an expedition out to The Divide when the Ghosts had gotten wind of you and Logan going out there, but was shut down many times over. Alas – he’s just a sergeant. And as much as he had insisted, he was still just a sergeant.

So Keegan’s stuck here with Kick, in some out-of-the-way briefing room, playing with his hands –

There’s a sudden sound, and Kick jolts and hits the underside of his desk with his knee. Keegan’s head snaps up.

The screen of Kick’s laptop flickers, and an image slowly fades in. It’s… a live feed of some sort. 

Firstly, you look… different from when Keegan saw you last. Obviously he had seen you after you had become a victim of proselytization, but never this close, not with this amount of detail. You’re dicking around with the camera, trying to get it to focus or something like that. Keegan can’t rightly bring himself to care at this moment.

All he really cares about is how you’ve changed. How a scar carves into your hairline, leaving a thick line of raised skin in its wake. How your lower lip is permanently split at one of the corners, dragging one side of your mouth into a fake frown. How one of your eyelids droops lower than the other because of some physical trauma Keegan probably can’t even bring himself to imagine being inflicted upon you. 

(And how Keegan wishes, more than anything, that he was there to kiss the scars away. No, he couldn’t kiss away the mental trauma or the physical reminders that it occurred, but he… Can you forgive him for just wanting – needing – an excuse to kiss a lover? His lover? (Ex-lover.))

Keegan’s line of thought is broken when you suddenly smile, wide and crooked. It’s not the soft, loving smile he’s used to: it’s something crazed and twisted. 

You prop up the camera on something that provides a wide-shot view of the room you’re in – a table or chair, maybe. You adjust the camera, still with that smile, and step back. 

A man, in an undershirt and compression shorts, is tied to a chair, his arms bound behind him and his legs tied to the legs of the chair. His eyes are wide with fear and his breath is labored.

“We found your friend, Kick,” you say. You take the back of the chair and shake it, jerking the man around. “Rats tend to turn up when you lay out glue traps.”

“What the fuck?” Kick snaps. 

But it doesn’t really seem like you can hear Kick, nor do you really care to. You circle behind the man and prop your chin on his shoulder. 

“That’s the thing with us Americans, isn’t it?” Your eyes flick to the camera lens, then away. “We take. We take and take and you’ve seduced a man of the Federation with your appetite.”

You inhale deeply, slowly, and dig your fingernails into the bound man’s arms, causing him to grunt and grit his teeth. You continue, your eyes flitting about the room. “There’s this story from the Bible. Something�� something about Christ finding one of his temples polluted by money-changers and beasts. But… did he ask them to leave? Did he cry? Did he just walk away?” 

Your eyes find the camera again. “No. He drove them out. He…” You exhale heavily and tighten your grip on the man’s arms. “He found them. And he made his temple peaceful again.”

Keegan can only watch as the man groans and small trickles of blood start to run down his arms. The screen makes it seem so far away, but he can swear he can smell the sweat that beads your brow, almost taste the blood you’re spilling.

“Are you watching?” You spit. “I want you to watch as we cut your communications. We found your rat in San Jose de las Lajas… just south of Havana. He was so close to home. So close to America. I wonder how many others are out there? Or just in Cuba alone.”

Your hand flies to the man’s throat, your bloody fingernails digging into his skin. You grit out, “I said, “I wonder how many others are out there?””

“No sé!” The man says. “I don’t know!”

“I find that hard to believe,” you hiss into his ear. “A spy ring doesn’t just consist of one spy. At least do your country one last service and tell us where they are – who they are.”

“But I don’t know!” The man insists. His face twists as he tries to strain and get his neck out of your talon-like grip. “I really don’t.”

You sigh, exaggerated and condescending. “Tell me, corporal. Do you enjoy killing?”

The man shakes his head the best he can with your hand almost crushing his throat. 

“Do you think I enjoy killing?”

Again, the same.

“You’re right,” you say. “But, when done with a purpose, killing is a chore, just like any other. Don’t you agree?”

“S-sí,” the man stutters out. “A chore, yes.”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I just…” The hand that was still on his arm drops to his belly. You drag your fingernails over his shirt, surely digging into the skin underneath. Your nails leave a smear of blood in their wake. “Because it’s just a chore. Right?”

“But I’m not!” The man insists. “I’m not a spy! I swear, on my mother, on my daughter.”

“Those are some fairly innocent women to swear your loyalty on,” you say. Your eyes find the camera.

Don’t do it, Keegan thinks to himself, as if trying to project his thoughts to you. (You used to be able to read him so well.) Don’t fucking do it.

You bring out a small mobile phone and walk off screen. The man’s eyes follow you, his breathing still sort-of quick and panicked. 

Keegan and Kick exchange a glance. Neither can bring themselves to speak – to tell the other what they think you’re going to do. 

You come back a few minutes later, the phone cradled to your ear. (Keegan exhales heavily when he sees that you don’t have the actual child.) You mumble Spanish into the receiver, then hold the phone to the man’s ear. “Josefina wants to talk to her papí.”

The man stiffens and leans into the phone’s speaker. “No… no. Por favor, Josefina… por favor, cálmate. Estoy bien. Papí está bien. No escuches a la persona mala. Josefina, por favor…”

Keegan can just barely hear a voice on the other end of the line. It’s high-pitched and quick and very obviously panicked. He can pick up snippets – “Papí,” “por favor,” and sniffling sobs.

“Fucking child.” You swipe the phone away from the man’s ear and shout Spanish down the line before hanging up and throwing it onto whatever’s propping the camera up.

When you turn back to the man, it’s with a backhand across his face. He reels, his face screwed up in pain and his teeth gritted. He doesn’t give much of a reaction besides that.

And it’s like that sets off a switch within you. You grunt and bring your hand across his face again, forehand this time. People fall when pushed by your hand – so why isn’t he falling?

At least, that’s what Keegan thinks you’re thinking as you beat the shit out of this man. Your hand is made into a fist and your fist is made into a weapon. And that weapon was quickly turning bloody and bruised. The only sound is you and the man grunting and the sound your fist makes on impact.

After a few minutes, you pull away, cradling your hand, huffing and panting. The man is infinitely worse. His nose is broken in several places, there’s a gash beneath his eye, and his bottom lip is swollen and bleeding.

You circle behind the man and prop your chin on his shoulder again. That twisted smile returns to your face. “Your rat is resilient, Kick. I’ll give him that.”

Your hands go down to his arms and rub over the crescent-shaped scabs forming there. The man winces. 

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” you say, your voice a hissing whisper. “I will find your trained dogs. And I will kill them.”

You round the man and pick up the camera, quickly cutting the connection. Kick’s screen goes static, then his laptop crashes and restarts. 

He turns to Keegan. “What the fuck was that?”

Keegan’s still staring at the screen. You were so close. It’s like he could’ve reached out and touched you if he tried hard enough. 

But that’s not you. That’s just someone who looks like you – someone wearing your skin and speaking with your voice. He has to tell himself over and over that you’re not you. You’re not you. You’re not you. You’re not –

Kick grabs Keegan’s arm. His head snaps to look at Kick. “You okay?”

Keegan inhales sharply and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just… shaken up, is all.”

But he’s not fine. That much is fucking obvious. You’re not you.

[ink-n-shadow]

Still having bodyguard!Simon thoughts so just HEAR ME OUT-

Rockstar!reader has a song debuting with a popular male artist, so she has to do press with him. Interviews, red carpet appearances, a live performance, etc. It’s driving Simon crazy to see another man with his arm around her waist, holding her close, being face-to-face with her on stage - but he has to remain professional. Simon won’t crack, no matter how bad reader wants him to. Until one day, rockstar!reader is doing a slightly-spicy promo photoshoot with her male artist counterpart for the cover of their new single, and Simon’s self-control finally snaps.

It’s giving sexy, tense, angsty, flirty, juicy, dramatic L O L

I LOVE THE THOUGHTS YOU HAVE so lemme indulge in them more. what if i made it fellow rockstar!keegan o_O

ANYTHING BUT ROUTINE

𝜗𝜚 the one where bodyguard!ghost finally snaps...because of rockstar!keegan

𝜗𝜚 pairing: bodyguard!Simon "Ghost" Riley x rockstar!fem!reader, brief rockstar!keegan x rockstar!fem!reader (link to all works in this au) 𝜗𝜚 cw: mean!ghost, jealous/possessive!ghost, fighting with ghost, unedited (i'm sorry)

It was supposed to be a routine pick-up. Ghost was going to walk in, wait for you to pack up from the meeting you'd just been in with your producer about an upcoming single, and take you back to your apartment. That was supposed to be it.

But as soon as he walked in, seeing you on the leather couch of your producer's office with some burly guy's arm around your shoulders, he knew it was going to be anything but routine.

"Hey Ghost." You chirped as soon as you noticed him walking through the door, crossing your leg over your knee and sinking a bit deeper into the leather couch. "I didn't think you'd here until—"

Ghost's eyes narrowed, lingering on the way the guy looked so comfortable with you against his body. Too comfortable. He couldn't help the way his teeth ground down as his jaw tensed. "You said 2:30, dove. It's 2:30 now, yeah?"

Your eyes flitted down to the watch strapped to your wrist, letting out a grumbled curse and you nodded. "Guess it is, huh?" You giggled as you glanced over at the guy, pushing your hand against his chest as you sat up straight. "Sorry, this is Ghost by the way. He's my—"

The guy met Ghost's steeled gaze, his lips turning upward in an almost challenge smirk as he spoke. "Your infamous bodyguard, huh? Gotta say, the mask looks much more intimidating in person." The guy reached his hand out for a formal handshake. "Keegan, by the way."

Ghost didn't move to shake Keegan's hand, instead offering him the barest nod he could muster before moving his eyes back to you. "We've gotta go. You're on a tight schedule."

"Oh c'mon, Ghost. Not like I haven't been late before." You groaned as you leaned back against the leather couch, sulking a bit under his hard gaze. "You don't even wanna hear the first demo track?"

Oh, this was the artist you were collaborating with. Ghost remembered you rambling on about Keegan, talking about how big of a deal it was that a star of his caliber was wanting to collaborate with a lesser-known artist like you. It was a dream come true for you—but for Ghost, it was his worst fucking nightmare.

Instead of indulging in your offer, Ghost moved wordlessly to scoop your purse up from the floor, holding the straps in a vice grip in his palm as he strode back toward the door. "Now, dove."

Keegan snorted a bit as he watched you get up, an apologetic smile on your face as you went to pick up your phone from the coffee table. "He always this cold? Don't know how you put up with it. If my bodyguard talked to me like that, I'd have 'em on the street before they could finish talking."

"Trust me—this is Ghost being nice." You leaned down to give Keegan a quick hug, arms looping around his neck and one of his falling around your waist. "Thanks for handling the mixing and stuff—let me know when you get the demo done?" The hair on the back of your neck prickled, knowing that Ghost was probably staring daggers at you.

"Course, babe. Shouldn't take me and my team that long, so keep your phone on you, yeah?" Keegan pulled away and gave your waist a gentle pat, gesturing to the door. "Better go before he drags you outta here."

You smiled apologetically once more, giving Keegan one last nod before you turned towards the door. The scowl on your face was heavy, eyes flitting angrily to meet Ghost's as you brushed past him and out of the door he was holding open for you.

You were storming halfway down the hallway when Ghost caught up with you easily. "What's got you steamin', dove? The fuck did I do?"

Spinning around on the heel of your sneaker, you turned to face Ghost, hands pushing against his chest rather weakly as you let out an annoyed scoff. "Are you kidding me, Ghost? You just completely embarrassed me in there—in front of Keegan for fuck's sake! You gotta be an asshole to every fucking guy I interact with?"

Ghost took the weak shove and barely moved, lips twitching under the fabric of his mask before he swallowed down the smirk that itched to be on his lips. He liked when you were angry.

"Don't know what you're talkin' about. You seemed pretty cozy with 'em when I got there—surely he won't hold it against you." Ghost's words sounded bitter, like they left a bad taste in his mouth and he was desperate to spit them off of his tongue. "It's not my fault you have an interview in an hour—blame your fuckin' manager for scheduling things when you'd rather be foolin' around with some rockstar."

You stood there, mouth agape and eyes narrowed as your fists balled angrily at your sides. "Is that what this is about? You're fucking jealous of Keegan or something? This is a new low—even for you, Ghost." You rolled your eyes as you continued storming down the hall, giving Ghost no choice but to follow behind you.

There was a tense silence as you made your way to the car waiting outside. You didn't even let Ghost open the back passenger door for you as you normally would, instead opting to throw it open yourself and crawl inside to the seat farthest away. Ghost didn't speak until the car began moving, the privacy partition raised up and leaving you two practically alone.

"It's not jealousy. My job is to protect you, and if that means from some guy ogling you with his arm around you, then so fuckin' be it." Ghost stated matter-of-factly, his voice cold and bitter as he stared out of the window next to him.

You snorted out an angry laugh, shaking your head as you glowered over at him from across the backseat. "Right—'cuz Keegan is so dangerous that I need you to come rescue me. Seriously, Ghost. Just fuck off 'till you figure your shit out, alright?"

The topic didn't come up between you two again for a week or two—but it was still palpable. You two hardly spoke to one another, hardly wanted to breathe the same air as the other. But he was your bodyguard, and you were his charge. You had to be around one another.

It only came up when Ghost and you were once again in the backseat of your car, heading to a photoshoot to shoot the cover of your upcoming single with Keegan. You were still sitting on opposite ends of the backseat, your elbow perched on the door's armrest and your chin digging into the palm of your hand.

"He's gonna be there." You said coldly, flicking your gaze over to Ghost sitting silently beside you. "So don't embarrass me again."

He didn't breathe a word, just giving you a bitter scoff before nodding curtly.

Ghost didn't even look at you until you made it to the photoshoot location, watching from the shadows behind the camera as you came out from the dressing room with Keegan. You two were laughing about something together, and Ghost immediately clocked the hand you rested on Keegan's forearm as you walked.

You were dressed in a flowing white gown, hair done up and pinned in ringlet curls around your face. Your usual dark sultry makeup was replaced by something softer, the apples of your cheeks a rosy pink and your usual red lipstick replaced by a peachy gloss. You looked ethereal, and Ghost couldn't help the way his eyes ravished your look.

Keegan was the opposite, dressed in an all-black three piece suit with cold silver jewelry and chains adorning his skin. His dark brown hair was slick with pomade and pushed up away from his icy eyes, the usual stud punched through his lip replaced by a sleek silver ring.

"You know how much I hate these photoshoots?" Keegan told you as he let the photographer put him in the position they needed, knees spread and back straight as he sat on an all-black throne.

You laughed softly as you nodded in agreement, following the photographer's instructions and settling yourself on one of Keegan's strong thighs. "You and me both. At least you look cool—I look like a fuckin' church girl right now."

Your eyes flicked up to meet Ghost's in the very back of the room, cheeks tinging even more pink as you noticed the way he was looking at you. It wasn't angry like it had been for a week now—it was hungry, like you were the prey and him the predator. It made knots tie themselves in your gut.

The feeling of Keegan's hand splaying across your stomach brought you back into the moment, letting out a shuddering breath as you shifted yourself into place. "You alright, kid? Spacing off even before the camera starts clicking."

"Sorry—just...got in my own head a bit." It wasn't a complete lie, but Keegan didn't have to know what had pushed you inside of yourself, didn't have to know that the way Ghost was staring at you like a man starved was the reason you were spacing out.

The photoshoot went on smoothly, the photographer snapping a few photos and maneuvering the pose ever so slightly. With each click of the camera, the photographer placed Keegan's hand higher and higher with each shot, the final pose eventually becoming Keegan's tattooed fingers splayed out on my throat.

Keegan was ever the gentleman he was, making sure you were comfortable and okay with the way things were going. All the while, Ghost remained a haunting figure both in the back of the room and the back of your head. No matter where you looked, your eyes always seemed to magnetize back to him.

You didn’t see Ghost again until you were back in the dressing room of the photography studio, makeup wipe in hand and scrubbing off the pretty makeup. You heard the door open and close behind you, but you didn’t turn around. “If you’re in here to say something snarky about today, save it, Ghost.” You mumbled softly, focusing on wiping the remaining gloss from your lips.

Ghost remained silent, his boots clacking against the linoleum floors as he stalked towards you. His arm stretched out, taking the makeup wipe from your hand and discarding it as he turned you to face him. This time, however, your eyes locked on the way his balaclava was pushed up under his nose to reveal only his lips, pink and puffed out as his tongue ran over them. You could see a glint of metal punched into the muscle of his tongue.

“Y’wanna know somethin’, dove?” Ghost’s voice was a gravelly whisper, rumbling deep inside of his chest as he held your body between his and the vanity you were standing in front of. “You were right. Maybe I was a little jealous—hell, still am, if m'being honest.”

You were breathless, eyes wide and lashes fluttering as your brain scrambled to catch up to the words coming from his mouth. You were too busy staring directly at his mouth, the closet you’ve gotten to ever seeing Ghost’s real appearance, your heart thundering in your chest as the sound of blood rushing filled your ears. “Why?” Your question was almost inaudible, the heavy breathing coming from both of your nostrils almost drowning it out entirely.

Ghost hummed softly, leaning down ever so slowly and making the bunched up fabric under his nose brush against yours. “Maybe I don’t like seein’ you with another guy. Y’know how much I wanted to fucking drag you off of that asshole’s lap today? To pull his hand off of your stomach, your chest, your throat? To rip him to fuckin’ pieces?”

Your chest heaved with ragged breaths, body fighting to keep itself from melting into a puddle on the floor below. You couldn’t help but grip onto the collar of Ghost’s shirt, eyes fluttering closed as his words washed over you like a tidal wave. “Ghost…”

“Tell me to stop.” Ghost hissed in your ear, his gloved hands moving from your shoulders and down your arms before finally landing with an almost bruising grip on your waist. The white fabric of your flowing gown bunched between his fingers. “You know how wrong this is? How much trouble I would be in for this? You’re my client. I shouldn’t want you this fuckin’ badly, dove.”

Your body squirmed in Ghost’s grasp, skin eager to feel him pressed up against you and snarling words into your ear. It was maddening in the best way possible. You couldn’t stop yourself. “Don’t stop, Ghost.” It was breathy and needy as it fell from your lips, but the groan it pulled from Ghost’s chest made it that much more powerful.

“Fuckin’ hell—you’re going to be the death of me, dove.”

©️ ink-n-shadow 2024

do not copy, plagiarize, steal, borrow, or repost any of my work without my expressed permission

[coqvttes]

Hiiii! Congratulations!!! For the picnic event could I request Fairy Cakes for Keegan Russ and either reading together or people watching, which ever one you like!!! Thank you!!!! 🩵🥰🫶🏻

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 hey, thank you for ur rq! yess, ofc u can, darlin! time for some fluffy keegannnn i hope u like it! :) xx

sfw : gn!reader, fluff.

"keegan! you're not paying attention!" his gaze snaps back down on you upon hearing your complaint, and a cheeky smile adorns his features.

you look up at him from your place as you lay on his lap, legs lying flat on the grass as the sun peeks through the leaves of the big oak tree that keegan leans against.

"sorry, babe, i'm listening," he says, tucking the strand of hair that was bothering you behind your ear. you roll your eyes and continue reading the passage from the novel in your hands.

after a few minutes, you look up at keegan again; his attention is focused entirely on something else.

"keegan! you're doing it again, why won't you pay attention to me?" you swat his shoulder playfully, and he chuckles, leaning down to kiss your forehead as if to apologize.

"what were you looking at?" 

he points to a young couple about ten meters away from you, sitting on a picnic blanket, laughing and enjoying the summer breeze just as you two are.

"first date? or you think they're a couple?"

"hmm... i think it's their first date, he wouldn't be dressed so nicely if they're already a thing." he chuckles, and his grip on your hand tightens when he sees the smile on your face as you observe the people around you.

"what about...them?" 

he looks over to where you point, and he grins fondly upon seeing an old couple sharing some wine and a sandwich as they sit on an old wooden bench by the pond.

"that's us in 40 years," a rosy blush spreads across your cheeks as you giggle at his words. your hands, letting go of the book to cup his cheek above you.

"i love that!"

 keegan smiles as he gazes down at you, and he realizes that he lives for moments like this.

moments when he can let his guard down. moments when he can laugh and smile with you. moments when he can feel nothing but love. love for you.

[aoioozora]

Keegan: [putting on trousers] Logan: [bursts through the door] Keegan Package Russ! Keegan:

[bxdbvnni]

Can i request a smut with Keegan talking dirty to the reader? 💚💚

Thank you for the request. :3

Pairings: Keegan P. Russ x GN reader

Tags: Smut, NSFW, cussing, edging, semi-public sex, pinning, aftercare, dirty talk

Do not repost my story elsewhere, thank you!

!! Minors DNI !!

Keegan had you pinned on your stomach on top of his desk. Both of your clothes were laying forgotten somewhere while he relentlessly pounded into you from behind. Your moans could probably be heard across the hallway for anyone that passed by, but Keegan couldn't care less.

You cover your mouth in an attempt to mute yourself from further embarrassment. "Don't." Keegan pulls your arm behind your back as he slams into your sweet spot, making you moan even louder.

"That's right, scream my name." he pants. "Fuck."

You hit your forehead down on the desk while groaning and mewling his name. "Please..." you beg for everything and nothing at the same time.

Keegan speeds up his pounding and you can feel your nerves tighten in a delicious coil and your breathing speed up aswell. Just when you're about to reach your climax, Keegan pulls out which makes you whine in protest. "No! Please-"

Keegan didn't normally talk that much during duty, but whenever you two were alone, you were truly blessed with hearing his gorgeous fucking voice as he spoke to you.

He grabs you and turns you around so that you lay on your back while he wraps your legs around his hips. "Fuck. Look at you, sweetheart. You're so flushed and gorgeous for me. Just for me. Yeah?" Keegan says as he teases your hole with the tip of his cock.

"Mmm! Yes, yes, yes... Just for you." you bite your lower lip.

"You want this? Want my rock-hard dick in your tight lil hole?" he stare at you with a sultry gaze as he slaps his dick on your hole.

You nod rapidly and grab at his arm and attempt to move yourself closer to his dick.

Keegan chuckles lowly. "What's that? Can't hear you, love. I need you to use your pretty lil mouth."

"Tell me exactly what you want from me." he purrs.

You look up at Keegan with a doe look. "Please, Keegan. Fuck me, now."

Keegan chuckles amused. "Direct to the point." he slowly slips the tip of his cock inside you. "Mm... I'll give just what you want, sweet lil thing." he murmurs softly.

"Brace yourself, love." he slams into you which earns you a loud moan. Keegan licks his lower lip and grabs your hands to keep them above your head while he fucks you earnestly now.

"Fuckfuckfuck-" you whisper almost as a prayer. "Please don't stop-"

"Don't plan on it... Gonna fuck you 'til you cream on my dick-" he gives your neck a few pecks before continuing, "And then I'll cum and fill you up inside."

"What'dya say to that, sweetheart?" he grunts as he slams into you. you only nod as your brain has turned into mush at hearing his beautiful voice and promise. "Fucking say it, love." he almost growls.

"Yes-" you pant. "Yes, yes-" you say as you are about to cum on him. "Keegan!" you shout while your greedy walls clench all around Keegan's cock.

"Cum on me." Keegan grunts.

"Fucking." SLAM. "CUM" SLAM. "ON" SLAM. "ME." SLAM. he growls.

Your voice almost turns hoarse as you moan out loud while tightening your legs around Keegan's hips as you cum around him. Keegan releases inside of you soon after with a sensitive and small giggle almost. "Fuck... You're incredible." he pants and leans down to kiss your lips tenderly.

Your mind was completely gone as you lay there with Keegan on top of you for a moment while you both catch your breaths.

"You alright, kid?" he releases your wrists and strokes your cheek gently.

"I'm..." you pant. "Great. Very good." you say as you give Keegan a completely fuck-faced smile which earns you a chuckle from him.

"I'm glad.. Let me help." he kisses your cheek and cleans you up with his shirt and then helps you put your clothes on. He takes the liberty to carry you back to his quarters.

[eulalized]

washing the dishes with keegan always proves to you how annoying he can get—however you look at it and try to deny it, you like it. “you have to stop doing that.”

taking the washed plate from your offering hands, he says, “stop doing what?” there are a few squeaks as he wipes down the droplets of water on the ceramic with a clean cloth.

“that.” you grasp a plate from the rickety pile of soapy dishes, the bubbles running down the sink and into the drain as you wash off the dish soap. passing it to him, you glance at him from the corner of your eye as he takes it after a beat. “looking at me.”

he lets out a quick, sharp exhale that comes across as a snort, out of wry disbelief or pure ludicrousness—or just something he’d find funny, that usually is the case with keegan. “am i not allowed to look at you?” he says with a smile beneath his mask that you can tell from his eyes is snarky enough that you want to hose it away. you convince yourself not to while grabbing a bowl from the pile of soapy dishes and run it over water.

“no.” your answer sounds incomplete. with how your hands stop moving to swipe the bubbles away—letting the water flow down your hands and the bowl, thinking as you still try to find the right words, you murmur, “i mean…”

“come on,” he says, setting the current plate in his hands down gently atop the counter and reaching for the bowl in yours. “tell me,” he urges you.

you blink, waking up from the train of thought while watching him take the ceramic from your palms. you turn your head to watch him wipe down the washed bowl, the rag warbling softly. he catches a brief glimpse of your face—soon before looking back down to focus on drying the residual droplets of water. “you look at me, and you smile.”

he takes a moment, drying and shining the surface of the already clean bowl. the kitchen remains silent, aside from the hushed running water and the rag squeaking here and there. you blink, looking at him and studying his eyes, the ones focused on the ceramic. keegan looks at you from the top of his eyelashes, his neck craned downwards faintly, and you see they’re genuine. he sets down the dish on the countertop, without missing another second to add a small smile—you like to remember it and memorize the look in his eyes sometimes—he says:

“i like looking at you.”

you watch him for a second, wondering to yourself if he means what he says, you stifle a smile as you turn your head back to the sink. holding a handful of utensils and running it over water, you watch the bubbles calmly flow down the drain. he adds, the mischief clear in his voice, “even when you coerce me to help you put away the dishes.”

this time you don’t fight the smile. “it’s not coercion,” you retort, the smile wanting to grow bigger into a grin or a laugh, or something keegan would soon notice. “i didn’t coerce you, you wanted to help.” you glance at him for a split second before giving the utensils to him. “you’re so lame,” you mutter under your breath, wryly smiling to prevent yourself from bursting into laughter.

“you‘re calling me lame for helping you? wow, immature.”

“whatever…” you turn off the tap water with a smile, peering over your shoulder to watch him finish up on drying the last of the utensils, the last of the dishes.

he eyes you while smiling beneath his mask, impervious to your ‘words of flattery,’ he’d call it. “i’ll still help do the dishes with you, you know. always.” his words are comforting, soothing to hear—keegan always seems to know what to say to get you to smile.

[fleepkeep]

[parkersbliss]

Hi hi!! i love ur writing it’s so comforting like a cup of cocoa! I had this random idea where the reader is like “man i want kisses” referring to the chocolate and keegan’s in the vicinity and is like “Yeah? C’mere” and theyre not rly together but theyre rly close friends who secretly have a thing for each other but they’re both oblivious and keegan just likes throwing teases👉👈

oh my god I love you??? and yes, yes, yes!!! I LOVE MY HUSBAND RAHHH

IF TOMORROW NEVER COMES

PAIRING: KEEGAN RUSS x F!Reader WARNINGS: none, just a bit angsty, passive suicidal thoughts if you squint?? A/N: not sure how this is both fluff and angst guys but I love him

Masterlist | Taglist | Requesting (open for cod!)

Keegan was, in all honesty, a simple kind of guy. There was little to be known about him and little to be revealed. He was quiet and stoic, but not in a rude way. In fact, you’re sure you’ve never met someone as kind and thoughtful as him. The words he didn’t speak were revealed in his actions. So, if he didn’t say that he thought highly of you, it was obvious in the little nods he gave you during missions. If he didn’t say he cared for you, you could tell by the way he always checked over his shoulder for you. And if he never said I love you, it was certainly questionable by the hand at the small of your back or the lingering looks from across the room. 

Yes, Keegan was a simple kind of guy, but your relationship was not. 

Then again, wouldn’t it be kind of selfish to be concerned about minuscule things like that when you were literally living in a war zone? That’s what you told yourself when his arm slung around you on the couch. It was resting on the sofa, barely touching you, not even pulling you closer but a silent nudge of possessiveness. 

A relationship with Keegan didn’t matter if America was blown up. Again. 

You turn the slightest bit to get a good look at him as he chats idly with Merrick about something. He’s a good friend. 

That’s all. 

They’re talking about food or lack of it — the special things that is. When ODIN struck and destroyed the West Coast, it didn’t leave room for disagreement. There were no family-owned restaurants, local coffee shops, or candy corner stores anymore. People were too busy fighting for their lives or relocating themselves to the East. Not that you ate very well being part of a task force. You ate some MREs when in the field and whatever scraps they had back on base. 

“All this food talk is making me hungry,” Merrick said, pushing himself off the couch. “Y’all want anything?”

“You mean the various dehydrated and freeze-dried things in the pantry?” You asked, referencing the conversation they were just having. 

Merrick laughs. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Then pass.”

He walks into the kitchen, leaving you and Keegan on the couch. 

He shifts to face you. “What do you miss most?”

You sigh, thinking back to all the flavors and sensations of good food. The twinge of pineapple lingering in your mouth, the deep umami of a good Japanese soup, the delicate sweetness of a French pastry. ODIN made you yearn deeply for things you had previously overlooked. It wasn’t just food. It was family, friendships, driving down the California coast, and late-night ball games. All of it is irreplaceably gone. Then there was Keegan, who took away all that yearning, that desire from decades ago, and molded it into some long-lasting nostalgia. With him, the only thing you cared for was him against you. A hand on your back, a lingering of lips on your forehead. Forget the food, the people, the things that made human life alive. Keegan did that just fine for you. “I miss a lot of things,” You finally said. 

He nods, fingers drumming against the leather of the sofa. “I miss Chicago deep-dish pizza.”

“That’s really specific.” 

“Yeah,” He agrees. “Well, I grew up there — the suburbs.” He’s got this look in his eyes and you can practically see the memories replaying in his mind. His lip twitches upward slightly, a smile. “It was like a Friday night staple after school. Cruise on over, grab a slice or a whole pie.” 

“I’ve never had it,” You admitted with a shy smile. “Like real authentic deep dish.” 

“Really?” Keegan asked. 

“Yeah. There wasn’t much around me, growing up like restaurants. And it was too much of a hassle to drive into the city for it.” 

His fingers brush your shoulder, tentatively before jerking back. “If we ever make it to the East Coast or something, I’ll find somewhere to take you.” 

“And if I don’t like it?” 

“You will.” 

You go to respond but then Merrick is yelling from the kitchen, asking where the salt is. You push off the couch, feet padding across the tile. “Here,” You said, opening up a cabinet and handing him the shaker. 

He has an embarrassed look on his face, probably just having overlooked it. “Thanks.” 

“No problem.” In the corner of your eye, you see it. A familiar brown container of Hershey’s cocoa powder. God, what would you do for chocolate again? Your mind spins with familiar memories that were a lifetime ago now. 

Your family celebrating a birthday with a chocolate cake. Layers of frosting greeted with a soft, pliant, cake that was the perfect blend of cocoa. 

The warm mug of hot cocoa, steaming in your hands as you continue to drink it anyway as your sibling giggles. 

Past Valentine’s Day accompanied by heart boxes of exotic chocolate. The boy didn’t last, but the chocolate did.

The stocking above the fireplace was filled with Hershey's kisses an hour before gifts took place so they wouldn’t melt. A family tradition you had forgotten about. Mind lost to war, torment, and other memories that you didn’t want to hold. 

You turn to see Keegan on the couch, an answer to his previous question finally forming in your head. “Kisses,” You blurted. “I want kisses.” 

Keegan’s brows shoot up. His head tilts, soft black hair falling over his forehead. Were you asking him to help? He wasn’t mad about that, really. Honestly, his heart had probably jumped up 10 beats, his pacemaker cells firing a little faster. He didn’t know what that meant, didn’t want to. He was comfortable with how things were, how you were. Always the girl to cover his six, always the person he’d want to. Perhaps the only person he really trusted. Was it years of friendships or something more that caused that? He wasn’t sure and he didn’t care to go investigating the answer. 

Keegan was simple. He liked your smile, he liked the giggles that would spill from your lips, the way your eyes sparkled and burned with a fire no one could extinguish. He did things that would cause those small instances to happen. So ifgiving you kisses would produce a smile, a giggle, well why not? 

“Okay,” he said slowly. “C’mere then.” 

You don’t. You stand there, lips parted as you try to process his words. There’s a stillness in the room, more prominent than when you were holding a sniper in your hand. Something that’s warning you to back off and yet urging you to step closer. 

Your feet move themselves, eventually, carrying you to the spot next to Keegan. Familiar irises of topaz search yours, a hand on the couch perching on your shoulder. The heat radiates off of it, converting itself into a blossoming warmth in your cheeks. 

He’s not moving forward, you’re not moving back. 

Friends. 

What bullshit that’s always been. 

“The chocolate,” you whispered. “I meant the chocolate.” 

His hand inches closer to your face. “Oh, yeah?” He’s being an asshole, cocky, watching the way your breathing stutters. “We don’t have such luxuries anymore.” 

“I know,” you breathed. 

“Don’t really have much else to offer,” He said, hand coming to your cheek as he swipes across it. 

He’s not talking about chocolate or food. You know what this is truly about. There wasn’t much left for either of you to offer each other. There was no promise to stay together in a war-wrecked world, no guarantee you could wake up the next day, no rings to signify a marriage. 

No chocolate kisses on Valentine’s Day, or expensive vacations for anniversaries. 

All you had was each other. 

“It’s enough,” You assure him, grabbing his other hand. “I don’t need anything else.” 

He inches closer. “And if tomorrow never comes?” 

Tomorrow could be damned if it meant one moment with Keegan. None of it mattered if you had him. If his hand held yours, his lips tasted you, his warmth against your chest. 

You didn’t need tomorrow. 

“All I need is today.” 

His lips solace, safety, refuge on yours. He’s exactly how you imagined he would be. A surge of electricity rushing through you, a spark of life, a reason to keep going. Your other hand grabs his head, pushing him closer. There’s no questioning tomorrow as long as he stays right here. You didn’t need to question anything when your mind was consumed only by Keegan, and his body slotted against your, hands everywhere and nowhere. He’s feverish, kissing you like there is no tomorrow. 

Because, truthfully, there might not be. 

So consider his lips a promise, that if there wasn’t tomorrow, he loved you today. 

Read more, HERE. Never wanna miss a fic? Join HERE.

Keegan Taglist: @trxpslxt

[spectrefyt]

Worshipper!AU? God!AU? Not sure what to call it, but the boys simp once again. Just to a more extreme degree this time around

Also, I present a shitpost doodle since there's never enough of them on this profile

[mykneeshurt]

Watching law and order and who do I see?!

KEEGAN BABYYYYY. Look at those baby blues.

[nevadancitizen]

WHY DOES EVIL WEAR A FACE SO FAMILIAR? MASTERLIST

synopsis: You and Logan were captured by the Federation on that godforsaken beach years ago. Under Rorke's guidance, you have grown to hate everyone you used to love -- including Keegan Russ, the man you once called yours. Rorke has finally cleared you and Logan for field work once you both repeatedly expressed clear contempt for America, along with all her citizens and soldiers. And, god willing, you will burn the crumbling ruins of the United States together, hand-in-hand.

ships: Keegan Russ/Reader, Logan Walker & Reader

tags: Action/Adventure, Action & Romance, Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gender-neutral Reader, One-Sided Attraction, Enemies to Lovers, Lovers to enemies to lovers

small note: this fic includes spanish (obviously). i only have limited knowledge of mexican spanish, but i know that there are regional variants all over south america. please be patient and feel free to correct me if something's wrong :)!

note, continued: also, the reader in this fic is gender neutral. please do not refer to them with feminine or masculine pronouns. instead, please address them by they/them pronouns. this fic is all-inclusive and not meant to alienate anyone -- it's meant to be written so that everyone can read, no matter their personal pronouns!

PROLOGUE/TEASER

CH. 1: The Petrichor of Dust-Storms

CH. 2: Spy Rings and Molehills

CH. 3: <currently being written...>

[emperor-palpaminty]

Pages

I downloaded TikTok and saw this one and had to write something for Keegan. Hehe. My inbox is open for COD requests!

There is kissing and cussing in this one so if ya don't like it leave byeeeee. GN readerx keegan. Also it makes more sense that someone in the military would have an e-reader instead of a bunch of heavy books so congrats, you are the proud owner of a book tablet now

When war was not filled with blood or adventures, war dragged. Slow. It was as if Ares himself was lazily strolling with a too-heavy war hammer, yawning.

Not that you minded, necessarily. It gave you time to actually delve into your books. Your e-reader had been an absolute life saver- on long days in the field it would help you take breaks and get some literature in, and it was way lighter than ink-and-paper books. Plus, you didn't have to go into the library to get books that you had on hold.

Unfortunately, some books in the library would all line up to where their holds would finish at the same time and wind up on your e-reader. This usually meant marathon reading sessions at odd times, or at least times where you wouldn't have normally read. Between water breaks while working out, you would speed read through the latest fantasy novel. At the mess, you skimmed the pulp romance your mom had recommended to you. When the computer lab was down, you would examine some half-interesting autobiography or scientific breakdown. And all of it was at the palms of your hands in an instant.

You enjoyed reading.

This love did not go unnoticed- the Ghosts would often chuckle or pester you because you hated being interrupted. Sometimes you would get questions of what you were reading, maybe commenting that their spouses or parents or so-and-so from such-and-such company had mentioned something about that book.

Especially, this did not go unnoticed by Keegan. Not only did he notice it, but it annoyed him. Not the fact you read, or were quiet, or drawn into some fantastical world- he enjoyed that. Watching how your eyes were drawn down on your book, how your fingers would find their way to rest on your mouth or fidget on the table, those were all bonuses. He enjoyed the occasional book himself. However, what annoyed him was....

"Kid."

Nothing. Keegan exhaled, crossing his arms. You were hard to pull out of your little world of books and words. Cute? Yes. Frustrating?

"Hey. Kid."

You gasped and shifted forward, staring at the words, muttering something off towards him. Your lips moved, pressing out a brief oh, wow as you turned the page on your e-reader. They pursed, and they looked soft. Distracted. Kissable.

Absolutely frustrating.

Keegan shoved his gaze from your mouth and reached down, taking your cheeks. "Damn it, kid." He turned your head towards him, leaning down, eye level. "You get sucked in real easy. Cause all kinds of problems that way."

You blinked, hazy as you settled back into reality. The black gloves were rough on your cheeks, almost pressing your lips into a pout, and those blue eyes were close. You sucked in a breath. With it came his smell- musk, wood, something masculine. "Sorry."

Keegan didn't move. Topaz irises skimmed your face, dropping to the lips, watching as you licked them, nervously, your own eyes avoiding him. "Sorry?"

"For getting distracted. I don't get too much time to read, and all my books came off hold at the same time..." Your voice trailed off, and your thumb flicked down, turning off the e-reader. "I wanted to read as much as possible before we went out to the field again." You were vaugely aware that his eyes were still plastered on your face and studying you. Those eyes- they stopped you and haunted you and made you freeze, but kick-started your every nerve.

Behind the mask, Keegan sighed. "I get that. Means a lot to you." His grip loosened on your face but the hand did not drop away. He thumbed over your face, the touch hesitating just at the color of your mouth. Were your eyes playing tricks on you, or did his gaze soften? "Promise." His voice was gentler now. "I'll make it up to you."

Your head tilted, watching what you could see of his face. Heat built up under your skin. It wouldn't have surprised you if he could have felt how warm you were under the leather gloves. "Uh-huh." Was all your very intelligent and very smart brain could muster.

Keegan's free hand grabbed the bottom of his mask and he yanked it up. You barely had time to catch the dark stubble and the surprisingly full lips before he leaned down and pressed his mouth to yours.

His hold on your cheeks were not demanding. It was loose enough to where you could have pulled away, left.

But you didn't. How could you? He huffed, the breath warm from his nose as he turned his head into you, and you swore that you heard a soft groan as you leaned up, your grip on your e-reader loosening and finding its way into his shirt, a fist crumpling against it. A gloved hand moved to the back of your neck, supporting you as you leaned your head back. He pulled back just enough to mutter sweet thing against you before going back in for more. Surprisingly, what stubble he had was soft, you realized as you ran your fingers over his jaw. Your fingers clasped the cotton shirt tighter, his body pressing your back against the corner of the table.

You didn't even hear the door down the hall open. Keegan pressed away, yanking the mask back down and stepping back. You blinked, hands frozen in the air where he had been, eyes locked on his own and looking for answers in them.

"Later," Was all he said, and he turned and left as Ghosts began to enter the mess. You turned back to your reading, quickly, but found that the words weren't as distracting as they were before Keegan had kissed you.

[konigbabe]

little storm (part iii; set me ablaze)

final part

Author: @konigbabe

Pairing: Keegan Russ x (vague and not described) fem!OC

Word count: 3.8k

Tags/warnings: no y/n; explicit language; keegan calls OC 'kid'; canon compliant; pre-canon; smut; p-in-v sex; kissing; vaginal fingering; cunnilingus; slight dom!Keegan; soft(er) sex; female gendered anatomy; 3rd POV

Summary: Months pass after their latest meeting; yet here she stands, in his room, way past midnight...

A/N: It's been months since I last wrote any piece of creative writing so excuse the possible slight change in tone. I tried to keep it together as much as I could.

masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3

little storm: part i • part ii

A part of her is paralyzed, afraid to make a move; afraid that if she does, she'll break the spell, that he'll retreat back behind his walls and the moment will be lost.

Desire bursting through her veins like liquid fire, all she wants to do is tear off that damn mask – see his face, see the full expression as pleasure takes over him. Yet the mask stays on.

There is an air of impropriety in the way her fingers trace the fresh wounds adorning the delicate skin over her knuckles. A gentle tap echoes through the stillness of the night as she stands before the wooden door, uncertain of what awaits her on the other side. A part of her yearns for him to answer, while another is hesitant, wavering in indecision.

Time had slipped by like a thief in the night since she last saw him.

She’d never admit it but she misses the feel of his presence. The annoyed tone of his voice, the watchful eyes of his that never seemed to miss. They shared a part of their past. Not a significant one, neither one that’d change their lives; but it still made her heart warm to find out that she might be the first person outside his team that saved the Keegan Russ. At least these words were said to her multiple times to her by her colleague after they found out what happened.

The door swings open with ease, revealing a shadowy figure with a mask obscuring his features. Keegan stands still, broad shoulders blocking the view into his room.

Words pool in her mouth, caught by her teeth when attempted to spill. Biting the kindness away, she can’t help but chuckle.

“Damn…you really never take the mask off, huh?” she slips past Keegan’s frame, arm brushing against the hard surface of his chest as she uninvitedly enters the room, “even when you’re alone—“

Her eyes dart around the bedroom. The room is spotless, an oddity in this dim, sulky space. It's too quiet, even the sound of her own breathing feels like an intrusion. The full moon casts a grey hue on everything, making it feel like time has frozen in this room. It matches his demeanor perfectly, she thinks to herself.

“—you’re here.”

Keegan’s voice breaks the silence as he turns around to face her. His eyes, sharp and penetrating, scan her every move as she approaches his bed, noticing the sheets neatly arranged. Her usually confident steps falter in his presence. Usually very secure and confident enough to get by, something about being here, in Keegan’s room, feels intimate.

“What you want, kid?” he meets her steps in the middle of the room.

“I just realized I never got to thank you; for saving me,” her eyes follow him, taking in the way the black military shirt hugs his upper body, vaguely outlining the defined muscles underneath, “twice actually.”

“‘s that all?” he asks.

She looks up at him, trying to read his stoic expression. The sharp and penetrating gaze seem to bore into her very soul. She can't help but wonder what he's thinking, what he sees when he looks at her.

She takes another deep breath, steeling herself to ask the question that's been plaguing her mind since the day she heard. The cuts on her knuckles throb under the bright light, a stark reminder of the past few weeks.

"Why’d you get me into Ghosts?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes flicker to her knuckles, then back up to meet her gaze. There's a moment of hesitation before he speaks, and she can see the flicker of something in his eyes.

"You're good, kid," he finally answers, his voice measured and calm. "It’d be a waste of potential if you left."

She raises an eyebrow at his answer, surprised by its simplicity. "That all?" she asks, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Keegan nods, and she can't help but feel a little disappointed. She’d expected something more profound, some hidden meaning behind his actions.

"And here I was," she says, trying to lighten the mood a little, "thinking that I grew on you." She offers him a small smile, hoping to ease the tension between them.

Above Keegan’s tall frame, the analog clock clicks as it strikes way past midnight, yanking her back to reality. The late hour dawns on her as she realizes they have a lot of work to do the next day.

“Well,” she transfers her weight from one leg to another, stopping herself from clapping, “I better get goin’. We have a lot of work tomorrow–or today, should I say.”

She makes her way towards the door, still slightly ajar.

For a moment, Keegan doesn't respond, his silence stretching on as she grips the door handle. But then he speaks, his voice low and gravelly. It makes her stop in her tracks, her back towards him.

“You’re reckless, impulsive, and a pain in my ass,” he remarks, making her pivot to face him, “but you’ve got potential, kid. And that’s something I don’t come across very often.”

His words jolt her, heat creeping across her cheeks. She’s not used to hearing praise from Keegan, especially not when it’s mixed with insults.

"So yeah," he continues, his tone softer now, "maybe you've grown on me a little bit."

She turns back to face him, a small mischievous smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Well, I’ll take that.”

As Keegan closes the distance between them, his long strides are quiet but purposeful. The floorboards creak softly beneath his weight, the sound echoing off the walls of the dimly lit room. His eyes are fixed on her, unblinking and intense, as he steps up before her.

She can feel his heat emanating from his body, warming her as he moves in closer.

"But don't let it go to your head," he murmurs, "I'll still kick you out if you mess up."

Her heart thuds against her ribs as she faces him, her eyes meeting his. There's something different in his gaze now, something that sends a thrill through her. It's as if he's seeing her for the first time, really seeing her, and she can't help but feel a little dizzy.

“But you’re not my captain,” she teases, her eyes flickering down to his torso. Her fingers twitch with a desire to touch him.

“I still outrank you,” he retorts.

“Oh, c’mon,” she exhales theatrically, “you’ve been a lieutenant for a couple of weeks.”

Silence descends on the room, thick and electric with tension. She breaks the stillness with a soft inquiry.

“How's your side?” she asks softly, reaching out to touch his hip.

“It's fine,” he replies. “I've had worse.”

It’s at this moment, her arm barely moving in order to touch his side, that she realizes just how close the man before her actually stands. It emits questions in her head – did he move closer on purpose? Or was it the same string that pulled her towards him all those months ago? That made her run through bullets to get him to safety…

Out of reality, as if she’s watching her own body move on its own, her hand reaches for his mask. Slow. Calculated and careful. As if she’s reaching to grab a piece of delicate glass, afraid it might shatter at any moment.

Her fingers brush against the rough surface of the mask, feeling the contours of it, tracing the edges.

Keegan feels her hand on his mask and for a moment, he hesitates.

Her heart races in her chest as she begins to lift it off his face. The pace tantalizing, she offers him an escape route. Enough time to pull away. To stop her.

Yet the man stands still. Frozen in his own body, he allows the woman to do as she pleases. Vulnerable as the moment might seem, she might not be aware of the fact that he carefully calculates his timing.

Only to grab her wrist when she uncovers his mouth. It’s enough; enough for him to trace her jawline, watch her eyes widen, the moon illuminating her features. Him casting a shadow over her form, trapped between his battle-worn body and the wooden door that seem to survive many airstrikes.

A part of her is paralyzed, afraid to make a move; afraid that if she does, she'll break the spell, that he'll retreat back behind his walls and the moment will be lost.

But then he moves, his hand coming up to cover hers, and it's as if a dam has burst inside her. She leans into him, her lips meeting his in a slow, steady kiss gradually increasing in hunger and neediness. She longs to feel his skin, his body. To touch his soul. To let him light that fire within her bones.

Breaking away, Keegan's eyes flutter open at a leisurely pace, fixated on hers. His expression exudes an aura of tranquillity and satisfaction as if he's at long last discovered what he's been yearning for.

He reaches up to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing her jawline as he leans in for another kiss. This one is slower, more exploratory as if he's trying to savor every moment of it. His movements are deliberate and controlled, like a man who knows what he wants and how to get it.

Keegan's hand slides from her cheek to the back of her head, tangling in her hair as he pulls her closer to him. For her, it's a kiss that tells her that she's not alone, that he's not just her lieutenant, but her ally, her partner, her friend, and maybe something more.

The day-old stubble scratches the delicate skin on her clavicles as his fingers unzip her jacket, undoing the single button at the top of her shirt to reveal more of her softness. Her content moans only fuel the hunger bubbling deep within Keegan’s insides. Hands grasping her hips, she feels like she’s flying as he picks her up.

Her legs cling to his lean frame, like vines entwining a sturdy tree. Gazing into his topaz-blue eyes, illuminated by the moonlight peeking over his shoulder. She only catches a glimpse of his rugged features before he claims her lips once more. The taste of him, the roughness of his stubble, all enveloping her senses.

Keegan’s walls are slowly crumbling down around her as she grasps the back of his neck. Partially covered in his mask, her fingers slip beneath the scratchy material, nails scratching against his scalp. A content hum assures her of her actions.

He lowers her body down onto the bed, his touch like a feather as he pins her war-ravaged body underneath him. She hears the distorted creak of the mattress as their weight meets in unison. Keegan's name slips from her lips in a breathy sigh, as she feels his warm hand glide underneath her shirt, flattening against her tummy. With his body inching closer to her belt, he halts and pauses, hovering just above her skin. A single question hangs in the air between them.

Locking eyes with her, he softly whispers, "Are you sure?"

Without a word, she nods in response, her hand gripping his shoulder tightly as she surrenders to his touch and allows him to undress her. It doesn’t take long until she’s half-naked underneath the masked man; content with his wandering eyes, roaming hands. Lips tracing the contours of her legs – ankles, knees; then indeed thighs, hips.

Keegan takes his time. Hands gripping under her knees, heels digging into his shoulder blades, she feels his lips trace the apex of her thighs. So close to where she wants him the most, a desperate groan makes its way out of her throat. Shamelessly bucking her hips into his mouth, she momentarily swears to hear Keegan chuckle.

Looking down, the man’s eyes are already looking at her face and she can swear that he’s smirking; unable to see the lower, exposed part of his face. Keegan doesn’t waste much time after she lets out another desperate plea, swiftly and with expertise taking off the last barrier between him and her innermost parts, she lays completely vulnerable before him.

The moment his lips brush against her core, his touch sends a current of electricity throughout her body and she feels herself falling into the abyss. Too much time had elapsed since someone had caressed her with such sensuality, and Keegan's deliberate movements brought her back to life.

Bursting with hidden energy, her sounds grow louder the more his tongue delves inside her. Tasting her. Lapping at her like a man dying of thirst; she completely overtakes his mind as he watches the woman before his eyes twist in pleasure. Rapture coursing through her veins like molten magma, all she wants to do is tear off that damn mask – see his face, see the full expression as pleasure takes over him.

Yet the mask stays on.

She feels like she’s been thrown into boiling water; drowning in the feeling of Keegan’s tongue, fingers curling deep inside her. His hands heating the skin of her chest, feeling her hardened nipples underneath the remaining pieces of clothes none of them bothered to discard.

The symphony of her cries when she finally reaches her peak is music to Keegan’s ears, fueling his ardor as he savors everything of hers with unmatched hunger. Unwavering in his passion, if anything, it only grows more fervent as he loses himself in the intoxicating taste.

Something snaps.

Inside Keegan; something breaks.

The cage holding his inner, primal side of his; it escapes.

Keegan's fingers are like a vice around her thighs, an unexpected surprise that has her muscles tense momentarily. His grip only grows tighter as he easily flips her onto her stomach. Her skin aches from the sudden change of position and she feels his lips lightly brush against the back of her thighs. A gasp spills from her throat as Keegan's teeth dig into her plump flesh, a fire of sensations burning in its wake.

Shameful; that’s how she believes that she should feel.

Shameless; that’s how she truly feels.

She can feel his tongue trace the globe of her ass, moving upwards until he reaches her lower back. Blatantly digging her knees into the mattress, her body moves into override. All sense of rational thought fades away as her instincts kick in, driving her movements to a cardinal level. Her body moves with a life of its own, responding to the sensations coursing through her veins.

The desire coursing through her makes even Keegan’s smallest acts seem as if her whole existence depended on him. The way his voice rasps when he whispers into her ear; feeling his hand knead the skin of her ass.

“You never told me your name,” his teeth mark her shoulder.

That’s when she feels the side of his face brush against hers, a sudden rush of realization washes over her — he’d taken off the mask.

She answers with a name as sweet and gentle as the lilac flowers she'd pick on summer days, as beautiful as the melody of her father's song that used to echo through the kitchen walls, yet still as false as the family she was born into.

His hand clutches the back of her neck, pinning her in place and trapping her in the moment of wild passion, caging in any curiosity or doubt. She unsuccessfully tries to twist around and see him, but instead finds herself pressing further into the lone pillow adorning his bed.

When his fingers scorch her oversensitive folds, each stroke seeking out pleasure spots within; it makes her forget it all. Her hands fist the bed linen, almost tearing it from the mattress.

“Fuck me already,” her impatience grows as he toys with her more. Unbothered by her writhing body. By the way she desperately tries to back into him; to feel him inside. The fabric of his shirt still brushing against her bare back as Keegan stills, hearing her raring demand.

“Manners,” he challenges. He tortures her with his fingers; two of them completely buried, it's enough to bring her back when she would have felt right at home sinking into an infinite loop of pleasure, "I'll keep going until you ask nicely."

“Keegan,” his name tumbles from her lips now more as a plea than as a word, “please," she surrenders willingly, craving for more.

It’s then that she can hear the buckle of his own belt. Feeling its part slide over her bare ass as Keegan works his pants down; not fully, just enough to free his aching cock. It doesn’t really matter to him at this moment, whether he’s fully naked or not. He only wants one thing; and that one thing is laying beneath him. Bare. Vulnerable. Willing and oh so desperate for him.

Fisting his own cock, he can feel his heart pumping; hard fast thuds against his ribcage. All while his other hand grips the pillow right next to her head. A guttural moan escapes his lips as her legs move wider, inviting him in.

His name a sonnet, a mixture of moans and mewls fills the darkened room. The spongy head of his cock teases her entrance, collecting her wetness. Occasionally dipping inside just enough to feel her opening up to him.

He wants to hear her beg once more.

Determined to do it; “Fuck,” is all he’s capable of saying when her walls enclose his tip before he withdraws again. Teeth grazing the same spot on her shoulder, sure to leave a mark after he’s done with her, he continues to repeat the action – just the tip; in and out, drawing sweet cries out of her.

His name becomes a safe haven when mixed with her moans; her writhing body, ass pushed against his hips, thighs enclosing around his.

Gripping the metal headboard, her words fuel his starvation. Tongue tracing the slight teeth marks on her soft flesh, hand flicking over her aching nub, its the simple, sweet little word, the plea, that does it for him–

–”please”.

His pace is slow; teasing. Tempted to thrust all the way as for his it’s been way too long since he felt the exquisite squeeze around his cock, he continues the leisurely tempo. His fingers, circling around her clit, follow the rhythm.

It’s calculated; as everything Keegan does. Steady, quick thrust in. Punishingly slow thrust out. His desire to savor her, to savor the feeling overtaking her very own primal needs. Yet, she’s content. Chest pushed into the hard mattress, the feeling of springs pushing back against her; hand grasping the headboard, feeling its cold surface against her heated skin.

Keegan's rough breath tickles the skin on her neck as his face nuzzles against it, his lips occasionally brushing against her flesh. Her fingers delve into his hair, surprised by its length and texture. Soft and fluffy, with curls that she can feel around his temples. But even with her grip on his hair, she still can't quite see him – he remains a mystery to her.

Even now, deep within her walls, feeling the head of his cock kiss her cervix, Keegan Russ still remains as puzzling as the depths of the sea, unfathomable and enigmatic.

Her hand grips the back of his neck, pushing him forward; lips connecting in a crushing kiss, she can feel the muscles in her neck strain as she desperately sucks on his lower lip. Pulling away with a groan, his hands grip her waist; a single tug forces her lower body to move back on her knees. Breasts firmly pressed into the mattress, arms stretched forward, his name escapes her lips as his thrusts grow impatient. Hard and relentless, hands grasping the skin on her lower body, anywhere he can reach and squeeze.

The pillow muffles her cries of passion for only a moment; until Keegan moans out her name, hand sneaking around her clavicles, to grip the side of her neck just enough to bring her up to him. Back to his chest, the fabric of his shirt scratching her exposed skin, his breath fanning over her ear.

Eyes closed, lost in pleasure and pain, she thrusts backwards, meeting Keegan halfway. Hands gripping his forearm, she can feel the tension building.

Her vision is filled with shimmering pinpricks of light, as though her entire being were consumed by a starry night. Keegan's body moulds to hers, holding her tight in his firm embrace as she reaches the peak of ecstasy. His voice rasps out her name like a prayer, and he clings desperately to her neck, burying his face against her skin.

Breathing heavily, he clings to her as if his life depends on it. His fingers dig into her back, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. She can feel the heat radiating off his body, and his ragged breaths tickle her skin. He's holding her so tightly that it's almost painful; she swears can sense the fear and desperation in his touch. Despite the intensity of the moment, she can't help but feel a sense of comfort in his embrace, knowing that he needs her just as much as she needs him.

It’s not long after that he stirs before getting up, watching as she lets her spent body fall onto his very own bed, face towards his window; she watches as the moon shines over the top of the nearby building while listening to the rustling next to her before a towel lands next to her head.

Turning to face him, a sense of disappointment washes over her as she sees Keegan with his mask back on. Fully dressed, in stark contrast to her completely naked body laying on his bed, illuminated by the night sky. A picture he surely will remember for a long time.

She stares at him, intensely analyzing his stoic expression while her body still pulsates with his own cum leaking out of her cunt.

“You good?” she breathes, breaking the silence between them.

He hesitates before answering. "Yeah, I'm fine, kid. Just...trying to process everything."

A slight grin pulls at the corner of her lips.

“You shouldn’t call me kid now, Keegan,” getting up, she walks towards him, still completely naked, feeling the cold breeze wash over her glistening skin, “makes you look like a paedophile.”

Now it’s his turn to laugh softly, “you’re right.”

“Think I can use your shower,” she asks, “I’m quite sticky if you get me.”

Arms crossed, he nods towards the door next to his bed. She can feel the tension emanating from him and decides to break the silence, "y’know, for someone who just had sex with me, you're awfully distant."

“It’s not like that,” he huffs as she makes her way towards the bathroom door.

"Ah, I see. So, I guess that means no cuddling?" she says playfully, hoping to lighten the mood.

She can see his eyes quint beneath the mask; a small smile surely to decorate his face. But even now, she can still see the walls he's built around himself. "I don't cuddle.”

She shrugs it off, "Suit yourself," and enters the bathroom, leaving him alone in the room. The sound of the shower soon engulfs the space. Keegan stands there for a moment, lost in thought, before finally making his way towards the door. He takes one last glance at the bathroom door, his mind racing with conflicting emotions, before turning to leave.