#keegan x oc
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stargazing-sapphire2 · 2 months ago
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For What I Have Become
Based on @raresvtm's angst prompts - "I don't know how to open up. I've built too many walls around myself".
Dedicated to my darling mutual @thatonesillyducko. Here's hoping you enjoy!
Jemíma Ámbar del Mar Hernández - @thatonesillyducko
Henry and Beth Ashford - Me
Keegan, the Ghosts - Activision
Title taken from "Take Me Back To Eden" by Sleep Token
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****************
It all happened in the blink of an eye.
He barely processed as mortar fire struck the building he had been safely perched in, hidden from the enemy's eye. Or so he thought.
His feet were no longer touching ground, and he was soon falling amongst the collapsing debris, only being able to muster a pained cry as he fell, shrapnel slicing through his gear and into his flesh, as well as the heat from the blast began to singe at him.
Keegan landed hard, a sharp gasp ripping itself from his chest, before several pounds of debris began falling onto him. He barely managed to roll out of the way, as larger chunks would have no doubt crushed him to death. But he was still struck, and his knees buckled as he went forward, faceplanting into the dusty earth with a pained grunt.
Something hard collided to the back of his head, and his vision blacked out.
So this is how I die, he thought bitterly. He did not know whether to laugh or yell.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe, with a heavy weight pressing down on his back.
After everything I've been through, dying by suffocation. Just my fucking luck.
He opened his eyes, squinting as he attempted to adjust his vision in the darkness. A harsh cough escaped him, wincing as dust was flung into his face and he instinctively closed his eyes again.
There was a faint crackling noise in his ear, although static was the only thing audible.
"-Keegan-!"
Was that Henry?
"-Can....hear me...!"
A wheeze escaped his throat.
"Hope you like...digging me out, old man," he managed to grunt out, heaving a heavy groan as he felt debris continue to exert pressure against his back.
I can't breathe.
He was going to die.
Not here...not like this...
There was silence around him, before his ears perked when he thought he heard something.
Comin' for me, Death? Well, here I am.
A harsh light broke through the cracks, as the debris was slowly being removed. He opened his eyes, squinting harshly as he attempted to adjust his vision.
"He's here!"
He did not recognize the voice, in his haze. Black spots began dotting his vision, and a weak breath escaped him.
The last thing he saw were the silhouettes of people, before he gave way to unconsciousness.
~*~
Fear was an emotion Jemíma rarely experienced.
It was only when they had pulled Keegan out of there, and seeing him in that state, heartbeat faint and unconscious...she had been shaken to her core.
Sure, there were times the man often got under her skin, but in the end, he was a fellow Ghost and her comrade, someone she had come to consider a friend. That would apply to the rest of the team, had they been in a similar situation.
It had been 36 hours since then, and while they were told Keegan would pull through (Tough bastard, that he was), she could not shake the feeling of worry.
"Keep pacing like that, and you'll dig yourself a ditch."
Jemíma came to an abrupt halt. She had not been realizing that she had been pacing outside the infirmary, and she turned to the owner of the voice, none other than Beth.
The younger woman stood a few feet from her, watching her silently. Although the eldest Ashford twin's expression was stoic, she could see the hint of concern and sympathy in her eyes.
This irked Jemíma somewhat.
I don't need anyone feeling sorry for me; I'm not the one whose hurt.
Her stomach dropped at the thought, and she glanced over her shoulder back at the infirmary.
Please, please be all right...
"You should go see him," Beth piped up, as if she read her thoughts.
Jemíma paused, narrowing her eyes as she looked back at her.
"...What?" She questioned
"I said," Beth reiterated. "Go in there and see him. You're getting yourself worked up, so maybe seeing him should calm you down."
Jemíma scowled at her.
You little shit, she thought.
"...You keep this between us, understand?" She huffed out, glaring at Beth.
The younger woman snickered, and Jemíma resisted the urge to leap over and strangle her.
Sometimes she wondered how she managed to put up with her.
"My lips are sealed, but it's not me who'll be gossiping," Beth responded, shrugging as she stuffed her hands in her pockets.
Jemíma huffed, rolling her eyes.
For a moment, she hesitated, before she turned on her heel and entered the infirmary, pushing aside the tent flaps.
Her eyes laid on where Keegan laid, and her heart sank.
He had been stripped of his gear, so they could dress and wrap the injuries he sustained; an IV was hooked into his bicep, steadily pumping fluids into his body.
But above all else, his face looked peaceful, less tense and hardened as he slept.
Jemíma chewed her lip, slowly making her way towards the cot. She stood there at his side, contemplating on what she should do.
Should she wait there, until one of the medics kicked her out? Or wait until Keegan woke up, so she knew she was at least still kicking.
"Didn't...expect to see you here.."
Her eyes snapped over when she heard him speak, his voice raspy from a lack of use. His eyes opened, piercing blue meeting her dark eyes.
Jemíma's heart skipped a beat.
"Someone had to keep you company," she quipped back, holding one hand against her hip as she leaned against the frame of the cot.
He raised a brow.
"Oh, yeah?"
She felt her face heat up, and she glanced away, rubbing the back of her neck.
"...Yeah," she said softly.
There was a heavy silence in the air, and for a moment, Jemíma was beginning to regret coming in here.
While they seemed to both vehemently deny having anything in common, there was no doubt that the struggle to open up to one another was there in that very moment.
It was much easier to hide behind the mask, than it was to let others see your true self in its raw, vulnerable form.
For once, Jemíma felt lost, clueless on what to do.
She took a deep breath.
"I, uh...should probably leave," she spoke up, straightening her posture as she turned to exit.
"Jemíma, wait."
She froze as she heard Keegan speak. She did not look at him, only she stood still, waiting for him to say what he wanted.
There was an uncomfortable silence around them, as Keegan contemplated on what to say. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily through his nostrils.
"Stay...please."
Jemíma immediately glanced back at him, surprise set on her face as he said this.
He wants me to stay? I never thought...
No, she will not screw this up.
She turned around fully, awkwardly pushing a few strands of hair out of her face. A soft smile formed on her face, warmth engulfing her chest.
"Of course," she whispered.
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r0ttenb0gb0dy · 1 month ago
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mmmfgghhgshshn got my ass kicked at work (not really im just physically worn out) but i NEEDED to draw this for my mental health . this is entirely indulgent for myself and @simonrriley eheh per his request !! i contemplated drawing teen them like this but i thought it'd be even funnier if they were their entire adult selves 💀🩷
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corviisquire · 2 months ago
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Keegan and my CoD OC Astrid :,)
im cringe but free im cringe but free im cringe but fre-
I’ll make more detailed sketches of them later….
snippets of their playlist undercut :b
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mykneeshurt · 2 years ago
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Loose Cannon - Keegan x F!OC
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That’s me in the gif 😮‍💨 there’s not enough Keegan smut. At all. First of many I’m afraid. Smut ahead. 18+ plz. Just horny thoughts of him.
For @sashadiurnal my fellow Keegan stan and @iamnotyourmusebitch who gave the idea about Reaper licking the blade. Which lives in my head rent free.
‘Reaper you’ll be pairing up with Keegan for this mission. Federation soldiers have been seen in that area, I want em gone.’ Merrick didn’t even look up from his papers before Keegan piped up. ‘She’s a loose cannon, sir. Where’s Logan?’ You giggled behind him, playing with the tip of your blade as it pushed into the pad of your finger.
‘Don’t worry Russ, I’ll look after you.’ Keegan glanced at you in the corner of his eye, his icy cold stare burnt through you. ‘You two are my best, so get it done. Dismissed.’ You jumped up, giddy with excitement. Keegan turned to look at you, ‘don’t fuck this up.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it sir.’
You found yourselves in an old mall, fending off the Federation left, right and centre. There were more than Merrick originally thought. Keegan offered you cover from the top of the escalators as you made your way through some abandoned shops.
You managed to sneak up behind one of the Federation who was trying to take a shot at Keegan. You drove the blade into his neck. It sliced through his skin like butter, smooth and clean. ‘Wrap it up, Reaper. Need to fall back, too many of em.’ Keegan’s voice chimed through your earpiece. Crouching behind an old counter you giggled a reply ‘aw Keegan, Im just getting warmed up.’
You circled round the counter to your next victim, taking out his knees he fell backwards. You slid over his hips straddling him, driving your blade into his carotid artery. ‘Shhhhh’ you cooed as you withdrew the blade, driving it in again, and again. ‘Reaper! Now!’ He barked through the radio.
Rolling your eyes you pulled the blade out slowly, ‘it’s been fun’ you whispered to the Federation solider beneath you.
Raising up to your feet you scanned the area, Keegan’s fire had their attention for now. You scurried back to the escalators taking two steps at a time. As you approached the top you saw a stray Federation solider taking shots at Keegan. You threw one of the blades which hit him in the back of his neck. He stumbled to the floor but not before you launched yourself at him, landing on his back. Stabbing him multiple times, to make sure.
Keegan looked down at you as you withdrew the blade and ran it along your tongue. You looked up and met his icy blue eyes, his breath hitched in his throat. Blade still resting on your tongue you smiled up at him, your tongue piercing coming into view. Biting your lip you slid the blade back into its holster.
Stifling a laugh at your shocked Sergeant you ran towards him grabbing his wrist ‘come on!’ The two of you ran through the empty aisles of the mall, the Federation hot on your tails. Bullets skimmed past you as you desperately tried to find somewhere to hide. ‘Over there!’ You pulled Keegan towards an old cleaning cupboard. ‘Get in’ you ordered.
You both fell into the cupboard, gasping for breath. Keegan pulled you close to him, wrapping his hand over your mouth to muffle your breathing. ‘Shhhh’ he growled into your ear, his breath tickling the sensitive skin on your neck. Your breaths fell in sync with each other as the soldiers ran past the cupboard. Instinctively you took a step back, closing the already minute gap between you both. Your ass bucked into him, causing him to hiss through gritted teeth.
He felt you grin into his gloved hand, ‘don’t’ he warned. You rolled your hips into him, causing him to grip your face tighter. Muffled noises could be heard outside, only fuelling you further. You rolled your hips again, this time moaning into his hand. You felt his cock growing beneath you, ‘fuck’ he breathed into his mask.
As the muffled noises of the Federation all but faded into the distance Keegan spun you round, slamming you into the wall. Your back hit the surface with a dull thud. ‘Fuck are you playin at?’ He growled, his face mere inches away from yours. ‘Merely going after what I want’ you smiled, staring up at him through your lashes. ‘And I always get what I want.’
‘And what is it you want?’ His lips were dangerously close to yours. His breath skimmed the sensitive skin of your mouth.
‘You.’
As soon as the word fell from your mouth his lips were on yours. Pulling him closer by his tactical vest he groaned into your mouth. The kiss was dizzying, you swiped your tongue against his bottom lip. Obliging he inhaled your kiss, tongues fighting for dominance against one another. He weaved his hand into your hair, gripping at the root.
You pulled him closer still, your hand feverishly grasping at the back of his neck. You broke the kiss first, desperately trying to catch your breath. ‘Touch me’ you gasped. He wasted no time in popping open your trousers, slipping in a hand to feel your underwear already soaking. He moaned in disbelief against your lips, teasing you once again with the lack of contact. Pushing your underwear to the side his finger skimmed your slit. Gathering your arousal.
He brought his finger to your lips, where you eagerly sucked your juices off him. You moaned as you took his finger into your mouth, the vibrations permeating through him. As he withdrew his finger he placed his lips back on yours, the kiss was firm, hungry. He pushed his finger into you, before adding another, the palm of his hand massaging your swollen clit.
Swallowing your moans he curled his fingers, picking up the pace. Breaking the kiss you arched yourself into him, eyes closed, panting. He burning himself in your neck, whispering praises into your skin. He felt you beginning to clench, nearing your release.
‘Fuck me Keegan, please’ you panted. He smiled into your neck ‘as you wish.’ He quickly pulled out, making you feel empty. ‘Face the wall’ he ordered, his voice heavy with desire. Turning round he pulled your trousers down and kicked your ankles out as far as he could. There you were spread in front of him, your cunt glistening, all for him.
Undoing his own trousers he pumped his cock in his hand as the sight of you. He lined himself up and coated the top of his cock with your arousal. You hissed at the contact, he felt big. Slowly he pushed into you, the stretch taking you by surprise. Both of you letting out breath filled moans.
He started of slow, methodical, feeling every inch of your cunt around him. You felt so good. He’d thought about this moment too many times than he’d care to admit. ‘Yes yes yes yes’ you moaned into your hand. He gripped onto your hips steadying himself, as he picked up the pace. He watched as your ass rippled with every thrust, the sound of your wet cunt filled the cupboard.
He snaked an arm around your hip, resting his fingers on your clit. Applying just enough pressure for the pleasure to grow. You arched your back, a flurry of nonsensical phrases leaving you. ‘Fuck, good girl’ he praised ‘that’s it.’ Wrapping his hand in your plait he pulled you onto him, your back arched even further, changing the depth.
He placed his hand around your throat and jaw forcing you to look at him. You met him with a filthy grin, eyes blown out with pleasure and need. ‘Cum in me Keegan, please’ you begged. He let out a moan of disbelief, how were you real? His finger still working your clit you felt the tension rising. ‘Fuck don’t stop’ you whimpered. As the coil snapped he muffled your noises with his hand, smothering your face. The lack of oxygen only increased the intensity of your orgasm.
Coming down from your high he pushed you back against the wall, his thrusts becoming harder. ‘Goddamn’ he moaned, struggling to find breath. As he came he gripped your hips, placing his forehead on your back. He slurred words of adoration against your shirt.
Pulling out he watched as his cum fell from your abused cunt. He inserted a finger, pushing it back into you. You moaned from the overstimulation, your eyes rolling. He helped you rearrange yourself before kissing you again.
‘You can thank me later’ you winked.
‘For what?’ He asked doing up his trousers. ‘Saving your ass earlier, I’ll show you how much of a loose cannon I really am’ you smiled, before skipping out of the cupboard.
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sadnsxft · 1 year ago
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Keegan says nothing for a while, unsure of what Isaac means.
He lied to them? About what? Was Isaac really some kind of traitor? Was this about something completely different. Did he lie to all the Ghosts or just to Keegan?
Isaac is looking at the ground when he finally speaks again. “When I told you all that my only goal is to take down the Federation, that wasn’t true. There is something else.”
“Isaac…” Keegan doesn’t want to believe it. Just when he was starting to become okay with opening up to Isaac. Just when he decided to actually TRY for him.
“Taking down the Federation has always been my priority, but the reason I transferred under Elias’ command was because this division had the broadest military database in the country, and I needed access to it to find someone.”
“Who”
“My little brother”
-
And so Isaac tells Keegan about his brother Arthur. How despite their mother’s insistence on university, Arthur enlisted just like his big brother did a few years ago. Wanted to be just like him in every way. And Arthur excelled in training, was a model soldier, and was set to be stationed with Isaac for a while in a few months. Isaac was so proud of him.
Arthur and his squad were about to ship out of Boston when the city was hit by ODIN.
Isaac couldn’t get ahold of his mother or anyone in the city on base to see if Arthur was alive or not. He spent months looking for him, even deserted his former commander because he was so desperate for ANYTHING. But there wasn’t anything to find. Not even a record of death. Isaac spent years bouncing from operation to operation, using his skills to help take down the Federation but also to find any information on what happened to his little brother.
Once he landed in with Elias and the Ghosts though, something changed. He started to care about people again. He wasn’t consumed with desperation for a scrap of intel on one Arthur Hill.
He found joy in the dynamic between the Walker boys. He felt proud when Elias told him he did a good job. He felt like the safest he could ever be was on a team with Keegan.
Isaac tells Keegan all of this and by the end it’s him who is crying and being comforted by someone.
Keegan holds Isaac close as Isaac just keeps repeating “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I lied to you, please don’t hate me, don’t send me away.”
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not letting you leave us anytime soon.” Keegan’s voice rumbles in Isaacs ear.
Once his tears have mostly stopped, Keegan gently cups Isaacs face and pulls it up to look at him.
“You didn’t have to do this alone. We would have helped you look for him.” Keegan says
Isaac sniffles “I know that now. I haven’t had…anyone for so long. I don’t think I knew how to ask for help.”
“You have us now. More than that, you have me.”
“Keegan.”
“I mean it Isaac. I’m done pretending that I don’t care about you. I’ll be by your side for as long as you’ll have me there.”
Isaac let’s put a weak chuckle. “Don’t give me that kinda power, I might want to keep you there forever.
“Then that’s how long I’ll be there.”
((I ran out of steam near the end but I think that’s it))
you did amazing. omg i dont even- where do i even begin...
RAHHHHHH okay first of all the isaac backstory?? SCRUMPTIOUS love the angst, love the lore
BUT THE "something changed. he started to care about people again" AHHHHHHH can you hear my screaming??? stop right there!!! THAT TROPE THAT STORY PATH IS SO.. AHHH ITS SO GOOD
((im so sorry i have no brain power to actually give you decent feedback besides "AHHH" and "RAHHHH" just know its positive))
okay but the "you have us now." and "im done pretending i dont care about you" BITCH IM KICKIN MY FEET IM CHEESIN IM SMILIN IM GIGGLING CAUSE THEM THEM THEM THEM I LOVE THEM>>
AND THOSE LAST TWO LINES??? "then that's how long i'll be there" PLEASE PLEASE I WANT WHAT THEY HAVE.
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yawnderu · 11 months ago
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''You're such a fucking asshole and—'' Your words are interrupted by a whiny moan when Keegan starts to thrust up, not letting you get distracted by anything despite your rant.
''Yeah? Keep going, baby. Ride this fucking cock.'' You do as he says, getting on your feet to be able to ride him harder and deeper, the tip of his cock hitting your spongy cervix every single time he goes all the way in. One of your hands is on his hard chest for support, while the other one is holding his jaw, keeping his mouth open to hear the downright lewd groans leaving his lips.
''And... annoying. Cocky. Arrogant—'' Each insult is punctuated by you dropping on his cock, walls tightening up even more when you feel him throbbing inside you.
''Horrible.'' You keep ranting about him despite how good he feels inside you, despite the way his fat cock has your lips gripping on him for dear life. He is all of those things and more, but the tension that has been building up to this day was impossible to ignore. You're impaling yourself down on his cock and he's letting you, mouth open slightly ajar and eyes rolling to the back of his head.
''Fuck— yeah?'' He finds the energy to speak despite the way you're destroying his cock, not even thrusting up anymore and simply letting you do all the work. His hand trails up your spine, grasping at the hair on the back of your neck and keeping your head in place, letting you ride his cock despite his rough hold.
His hand lets go only to slap your face, making you ride faster despite the stinging pain. What a fucking asshole. It doesn't take long for you to return the favor, hand coming up to slap the annoying smirk off of his face— and it works shortly, he looks shocked at getting slapped back, yet pure amusement is soon written all over his annoyingly handsome face, seeing it as a challenge.
You know you fucked up when his calloused hands grasp your waist, holding you in place before using his strength to switch positions, now on top of you. His cock thrusts even deeper like this, hitting your cervix over and over at an almost punishing pace.
''Acting like a fucking bitch all day—'' He groans out, words interrupted by the sharp hiss leaving his lips at the way your pussy tightens more around his cock. He looks down at your lips, leaning closer while managing to keep his brutal thrusts.
''Open that fucking mouth, baby.'' You obey, too fucked out to even think much about it. You're barely able to register the way he spits into your mouth before kissing you, tongues wrapping around the other in a disgusting mess of spit. His hand comes up to grope your tit, fingers squeezing and pulling on the nipple every few seconds as he kisses you, ignoring the way your mixed spit is dripping down the corners of your lips.
The air is heavy with the smell of sex and the sounds of your muffled moans, his grip on your body bruising, fingers digging into your skin as he fucks you with an almost animalistic hunger. He doesn't stop making out with you even when his thrusts become even more brutal, spilling into you with a final, deep thrust. His hot white cum filling you up only makes your body tense up, riding out your orgasms together before he collapses on top of you, his weight keeping you pinned to the bed.
''Get off of me, fatass.'' Your protests go ignored, the asshole only making himself even heavier on top of you even when you try your best to get him off.
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alkern · 7 months ago
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my bebe girl oc with ghosts boys
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havanhi-xx · 29 days ago
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Keegan!
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hunterbunter3000 · 2 years ago
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SWEETHEART HAS A WOMB TATTOO????!!!!
YUUPPPPP
Womb tattoos are my everything. I want one EXTREMELY badly, so Sweetheart has one LOL
I got an example that show yall what I'm talking about!
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I'm in love.
Tw: talk about scars (under the cut)
Omfg Soap was so shocked when he saw it. (He was the first one to see it) and he's been in love with it ever since. Like-- it's an obsession LOL
He bugs her about it CONSTANTLY
Soap: You sure I can't see it?
Soap: Maybe I'll finish my task if I could take a peek at ye tattoo, eh?
Soap, panicking: Is your tattoo okay?
Sweetheart: Suds, I got shot.
Soap: Yeah but is the tattoo okay?
Soap, laying on her lap: Y'know if I got a lil' peek at your tattoo, my crops would be watered.
Sweetheart: WOULD YOU S T O P WITH MY TATTOO
Soap, whining: I WANNA SEE IT AGAAIINNNN
Sweetheart: NO ONCE WAS ENOUGH
Soap's outbursts about Sweet's tattoo has been making everyone SO CURIOUS like what tattoo are you talking about
So she sighs and shows them, pulls up her shirt and they see THAT PICTURE
AND THEY SEE THAT PICTUUUREE
Babes, Roach and Horangi pass out. HA
Ghost and Price were so bug eyed omg
Krueger broke his glass- like it SHATTERED in his hand
Rudy and König got nosebleeds and Alex turned so red he looked like he exploded
Gaz and Alejandro are no where to be found (they just left and took a breather) and Soap is fucking TAKING PICTURES
Price: You have a womb tattoo.
Sweetheart: Yup.
Price: A Succubus. Womb tattoo.
Sweetheart, smirking: Honestly surprised y'know about that, Cap.
Price, turning red: I--
Ghost: Is that the only one you have?
Sweetheart: Nah, I have more
Soap: WAIT YOU HAVE MORE
Sweetheart: YES I HAVE MORE-- But you aren't gonna see 'em. All of them cover alot of scars I have. Especially this one.
Her hand goes over the womb tattoo and Soap now notices the long horizontal scar that lays on her brown skin. It's a lighter color, and you can see the small hump of new skin.
They all saw the far away look in her eyes, and made themselves a goal to appreciate her body HEHEH (and try to see the rest but that's a side mission)
And now they're all obsessed with that tattoo- I WOULDN'T BLAME THEM
So when König sleeps on Sweetheart, he would peek under her shirt and just stare at it with heart eyes until he feels a slap on his head and sees Sweets frown at him
And then she would grit out "put my damn shirt back down and go to sleep" like a mom telling you to back that candy LOL and he would whine and be all sad like a PUPPY
And Krueger-- so disrespectful 😒
Krueger would feel her hips and then lift up her shirt and just stare at it while Sweetheart would yell at him. He would chuckle and sigh "You know you don't have to hide yourself from me. Meine kleine Göttin, you're perfect inside and out." He lays her down on his bed and his thumbs caress the tattoo. Her breath hitches, "Krueger--" He hums, pulling up his hood to his nose, showing off his pink scarred lips. "My words aren't getting through you." He bends down and kisses the middle of the heart. Sweetheart flinches from the soft feeling, especially from such a low area. Krueger has a job to do, and he's gonna do it right. "So how about I show you instead?"
Uhm- 🧍‍♀️yeah LMAOO
The others just stare and sneak in some touches alot. Like passing by her, especially Ghost omg he would shimmy behind her, rasping out " 'cuse me" and his hands would slide to the middle of her womb and caress it-- and then he would leave 🧍‍♀️BITCH--
Rudy would subconsciously rest his hands there. Like if she's cooking, he would come behind her and ask questions, not knowing that his hands found their way to the tattoo 💀 OMG he would become so damn red when Sweetheart points it out. He doesn't mean to do it, it just HAPPENS (he's so cute tho)
Roach would wait. Like- he would wait until she's comfortable showing it to him. Since he knows she has a soft spot for him, it won't be that long 💅✨️ And she would pat his head while rubbing his face into the tattoo 💀
Horangi and Alex would ask about it more than wanting to see it. (I mean ofc they want to see it-- it's fucking hot) Alex would have sad eyes, listening on how she got the scar and try to cover it, and Horangi would trace the tattoo while Alex would trace the scar. Ugh they make me weak
Gaz would be too flustered to even ASK about it-- if he saw her shirt ride up he would immediately look away and clear his throat (he would have to go to the bathroom LOL)
Price would just stare at it, fantasies going wild 💀
Soap, OBVIOUSLY, would still be obsessed with it. Ugh he would gush about it and ask questions while tickling Sweetheart
Soap, smug: When d'ya get it done, eh? Hm?
Sweetheart, getting tickled: HEHEHEH I-- ACK- I GOT IT DONE AT MY H-HOME TOWN
Soap, grinning and still tickling her: Oohhh, and where are your others? Tell me tell me
Sweetheart: SOAP YOU-- FILTHY BITCH IM NOT- AHHAHAHA IM NOT TELLING YOU
Soap: You will soon, Bonnie!
And she would just show it to Graves. Like legit, he just asked him if he wants to see something and then shows him the tattoo. And she's so MEAN- telling him that no one would believe him that he saw it, and would just walk away while he's still processing what he just saw
OMG AND KEEGAN
He's so-- I love him too GOD he honestly saw it accidentally, he saw all of them accidentally 💀 he walked in on her while she was changing and he wanted to die. They were both freaking out, Keegan apologizing every second and Sweetheart saying it's okay while frantically getting dressed and trying not to fall (his favorite is her sleeves and the womb) no one knows this happened
Keegan, still flustered: We bring this to our Graves.
Sweetheart: Agreed.
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bouncybongfairy · 7 months ago
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Simon Says
Ghost!Keegan!Soap x Fem Reader Smut
Summary: After coming back from the bar and continuing the last mission's success at the safe house. Price comes out, complaining about the noise, so you guys move it to your room. A foul game of Simon Says takes place.
Word Count: 1.0k+
Ref Account: @kaionyx
TW: Group Smut & Facial, Male Receiving Head, Rough Smut.
Not Proof Read
<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3
It was late and Ghost, Soap, Keegan and yourself were hanging out in the living room of the safe house. The current mission you were working on just wrapped up and everyone was celebrating with drinks and laughter; a rare sight within task force 141. Everyone else had gone to bed after coming home from the bar. They had their fill of fun but you guys were just getting started. Pouring shots of cheap vodka and smoking while listening to music. Price came out, complaining about the smell and noise, moving to your room to avoid any more confrontations. You were nervous to have all three of them in your room. They were looking around at all your stuff, posters, stuffed animals, and of course the stereo. You connected your phone and started playing BabyMetal, Keegan picked up a picture from your desk.
“Is this you?” he asked, holding a picture of you in freshman year of college. It was you and a good friend, you grew up in Jersey which meant Snooki pretty much was your fashion icon all of college. 
“Is that a joint?” Ghost asked, laughing at your duck lips and hair extensions.
“Yeah it was quite the era. Look, I was crying because my sister and I got into a huge fight over who’s turn it was for the Juicy Couture bag. You can see where my spray tan ran down my neck” you laugh reminiscing on simpler times.  
Ghost was sitting on your office chair, legs spread and leaning over to reach the cigarette you were sharing. Keegan and Soap were lounge on your bed; you were curled up on a beanie bag. You couldn’t remember who suggested it but you guys started playing drinking games. Things like fuck the dealer and flip cup. You were getting pretty tipsy, giggling randomly and your body warming up. The boys were having a conversation among themselves while you lined up the shot glasses and grabbed the bottle. 
“Are you sure you can handle another drink?” Soap asked.
“Are you asking me or yourself?” you asked, handing the liquor out. 
After some more small talk, you excused yourself to change. Normally your pajamas are pretty revealing so you wear a sweatshirt and cotton shorts. Long socks because it was always freezing in your room. Once you started getting dressed you noticed how drunk you actually were. Tripping slightly while trying to get your shorts on Coming out and watching as all their eyes fall onto you. Clearly looking you up and down, at first you wanted to be like ‘oh my god don’t look at me like that’ but also you did so… why lie? You sat back on the bean bag as Keegan began to speak. 
“We should play another game,” he said. 
“What about Simon Says?” Ghost says. 
“Isn’t that your name?” you drunkenly giggle. 
“Yeah, so just know when I say something you have to take it seriously,” he said.
After that comment that vibe in the room felt different after that. All of them went from sitting back and lounging to sitting forwards. Soap and Ghost were sitting on the bed, Keegan was on the office chair. You beanbag was on the floor so they were all looking down on you.
“Simon says: sit on my lap,” he says, leaning back slightly like he was making room. All their breathing became harder, you rolled your eyes at the reaction. 
“What is this middle school? Out of all the things you could have asked?” you laugh, walking over and sitting on his thighs without hesitation. Making the point that it wasn’t a very daunting task. 
“Okay hot shot, Simon says: to read smut out loud,” Soap said, crossing his arms. 
“I don’t read-'' you started but was interrupted. 
“Yes you do,”  they all said in unison, “you need to invest in a privacy screen,” Keegan said, you could tell all three of them were smirking under their masks. 
“Fine.” you grab your phone and look through your tumblr. 
If they wanted to show, you were going to go full out. Finding a Captain America smut about hooking up in the barracks. It was obvious that they were wanting you to be flustered and flushed but it was doing the opposite. They were blushing and squirming around like there was no way to get comfortable. As you continued to read, Simon was getting hard. This was throwing you off your game a bit, now beginning to stumble over your words. Ghost noticed this and leaned back in his chair more, allowing him to press his member against your ass. 
You started rocking your hips every now and then. Enjoying hearing his almost silent groans and growls. His hands were starting to wander, running up and down your thighs. You looked over at the other guys and they were practically drooling. Looking at you like a can of beer they waited all day to crack open. Soap got up first and Keegan followed, your heart began to race. He slowly approached you and cupped your face in his hands. Rubbing your cheeks with his calloused thumbs. Keegan was on the side of him, brushing the hair out of your face. 
“Such a pretty little thing right?” Soap asked Keegan. This made you shiver, goosebumps prickled along your skin. Your phone dropping to the floor, Ghost kicked it away. 
“Fuck yeah, just begging to be ruined,” he said, grabbing your shirt and pulling it off your body. Leaving your chest completely exposed. Keegan reached down and pinched one of your nipples, pulling and twisting. You gasp and try leaning back but Ghost isn't letting you go anywhere. 
“Where do you think you’re running off to?” Ghost asked, grabbing your elbows. 
Soap grabbed the other and Ghost held you in place as they groped and played with your chest. The more you squirmed the harder Ghost became, pre-cum starting to bleed through his pants. Your face was flushed and sweat was beading on your forehead. Keegan used his other hand and parted your lips with his thumb. Eventually pushing it into your mouth; pressing your tongue down and feeling around your mouth. You wrapped your lips around his thumb looking up and shifting your eyes between the two of them. Pulling his thumb out and spreading your saliva all over your lips. Ghost stood you up slightly so he could free his dick that was straining against his pants. Pulling your shorts to the side and lining you up with his tip; grabbing your hips guiding you down on his member. He groaned and let his chin fall on top of your head. Your eyes rolled back and a loud gasp fell from your lips. Moaning and panting while you got used to how big he was. 
“Why do you get her?” Keegan asked. 
“Use her mouth i’m fucking busy,” he growled, trying his best not to buck into you. 
The fact that he was talking about you like an objection shouldn’t have made your stomach flip the way it did. Soap and Keegan pulled their dicks out and began stroking themselves. Looking down, admiring your body, you started bouncing. The wet squelching sounds every time you sink down on his length. Your eyebrows furrowed and mouth hanging open, not caring about the droll falling from your bottom lip. Keegan grabbed two fistfuls of your hair and brought your lips to his cock. Taking his tip into your mouth and flicking your tongue on his head. He moaned and started pushing himself further into your mouth. Soap rested his length on your cheek, insinuating he wanted in on the fun. You grabbed his shaft and started jerking him off. Ghost was getting less gentle with you, starting to pound into you with more aggression. His nails were digging into the skin on your hip, tightening around him when his head kissed your cervix. Whimpering around Keegan cock, spit and pre-cum running down your torso. In so much pleasure, you were neglecting Soap. Especially as you began cumming around his cock, your walls pulsating around his member as you nearly screamed in pleasure. 
“Fuck dude, my turn,” Soap said, pushing Keegan to where he was just standing.  
After being touched-starved for so long, he showed no mercy on your throat. Fucking into your mouth at an animalistic pace. Causing you to gag around his length, mascara stained tears running down your face. Keegan was enjoying the sight, watching your bounce on Ghost while having your throat obliterated. Like a personal porn star made just for them. Ghost was getting close to his orgasm, trying hard to hold himself back. Biting onto your shoulder, to muffle the sounds and delay his climax. Soap came early, cum was spilling out the sides of your mouth, only adding to the wet fucking noise that already filled the room. Ghost began cumming, shooting thick ropes deep into your stomach. Holding you down as hard as he could, rocking your hips as you milked him. Keegan came on your face, cumming on one of your lashes. Forcing you to keep it closed, which hummored the two of them. You lean back against Ghost’s chest, practically dead from how fucked out you were. You don't remember much the next morning, but thought it was nice of them to clean you up and tuck you into bed. The walk of shame to the bathroom while having a hangover and cum dripping down your thigh wasn’t how you wanted to start your morning but oh well.             
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mango-parfait · 2 months ago
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Colored the Sketches of my current brainrot with little context
Yes, they did not get along at first but not in a ‘I hate you, you hate me’ kinda deal. I know Lou smokes a lot btw, I’m trying to get her to quit
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r0ttenb0gb0dy · 2 months ago
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jack ‘canary’ skalbek — full backstory
this is incredibly self indulgent, but i wanted to get it out of my chest, i guess. it's raw and silly at times but i love it all the same and i hope you do too. ive never posted my writing on tumblr so i really hope it does ok out here heh.
18+ for swearing, canon COD violence, no explicit sex but alluding to further acts, just generally not for minors ! adult topics and characters individual trauma discussed within .
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There’s something to be said about the haze of being a teenager in California in the early aughts. The warm, all-over feeling of the sun beating down on tanned, freckled skin. Bruised knees, busted knuckles. Spending every day in a lake or a river, god forbid the chlorine riddled soup of a swimming pool, making the most out of what time is had.
Jack Skalbek was, by all accounts, an average teenager, who did average teenage things. Smoking pot behind the bleachers when he should be in class, watching his marginally more athletic friends throw themselves at gym class like it actually mattered. Football, soccer — whatever it was, he could usually find Keegan and Alex there.
Keegan, a year his senior, and Alex a year older, the closest things he could call his friends. They’d spent much of their childhood daydreams running around town together, iPod plugged into a speaker on the back of one of their bikes, blasting some obnoxiously emo music that all of them indulged in. 2004 lends itself to that aspect, dyed hair and painted nails, one too many chains hanging off of Jack’s wallet.
Alex would never speak of it, but he could see it in little glimpses. Catch the fleeting hand-holds and hushed laughter, that look.
There was no way they weren't feeling something.
They just didn't know what to call it.
Sitting on the roof of Jack’s parent’s house, having climbed up through an access point that certainly wasn't meant to be used by 16 year olds, Keegan and Jack lingered. Long past Alex’s curfew, his need to return home leaves them in each other's presence.
“You decide anything about college yet?” Keegan asked, watching Jack fumble with his lighter in an attempt to light the cigarette between his lips. They tasted awful, and he didn't even like the nicotine buzz, but the ‘deep breathing' exercise was relaxing.
“No — I mean, I still have a year.” Jack huffed, sighing with satisfaction as he got it to light. The burn in his throat was comforting, but his attention was more focused on Keegan. “Did you?”
“Yeah.” Keegan murmured, his voice low and quiet. “I, uh, I was talkin’ to a recruiter downtown the other day.”
“Oh? Is that why you blew off our mall date?”
“It wasn't a date, but yes.” Keegan chuckled, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie down over his hands. Worn from use, he slipped his thumbs through holes in the cuffs, the heather gray fabric fraying at the edges. He felt like he was doing the same thing, some days.
“So, like, what sport? Did you get picked up for football?”
“No, I mean, like — a Marine recruiter.”
“Oh! Yeah, I got that letter too — you actually went and talked to those guys?” Jack snickered, but Keegan was infinitely more serious about it. He had really gone and discussed a future in the military? What future was there in something like that? Brutish violence and bloodshed, all for some rich man’s greed — proxy wars.
“I mean, yeah. Alex came with me. They said I’d be a prime candidate. I’m taking the test soon to see where I place, but they said my grades were high enough that —”
“Slow down.” Jack turned to face the other boy entirely, the warm glow of the setting sun painting him somewhere between coral pink and tangerine. His eyes, though, were still an icy blue. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “You joined?”
“Enlisted.” The dark haired boy shrugged, fixing his gaze on Jack’s. “It’s no big deal, Jackie.”
“It’s a really big deal.”
“It’s not — it's the same as if you told me you were gonna go to art school in New York City.”
“Art school doesn't get me killed.” Jack said softly, almost embarrassed that his qualm with the entire thing was the idea of his person Keegan dying. His cheeks were flushed red, all heated up and uncomfortable. He averted his gaze, but Keegan's hand on his cheek returned him to reality.
“Is that what bothers you about it?”
“It's dangerous, Keegan. Y-You could get shot, or lose a leg, or —”
“I can live without a leg.”
“You're not funny.” Jack groaned, pushing Keegan's hand away only to feel it in his hair this time, fingers laced in-between his long grey-blonde hair. It grounded him, making his thoughts clear up and focus down to just one, very clear idea. “I don't want you to go. I-I thought you had to be 18 to enlist.”
“If I pass all the tests, they’ll make an exception. It’s still a couple months out, I’ll be 18 by the time I get out on deployment.” Keegan said whilst gently brushing through Jack’s hair, a bit tangled from being wet earlier that day, knotted with pool water. “This is somewhere I can make a difference.”
“But why does it have to be you?” Jack replied, having long forgotten his cigarette by now. It was mostly ash, all balanced perfectly at the end. One little twitch of his hand and it all fell off, leaving half an inch of smokable length behind. It didn't matter anymore, though.
“Because if I don't, and I just assume someone else will, nothing’ll ever change.”
“How poetic.” Jack mumbled, closing his eyes as Keegan’s hand drew forward, back to his jaw. Soft, gentle, well intentioned. Better than anyone that Jack could ever pray to fill the gap Keegan would surely leave behind with. It made his heart ache knowing that these nights were fleeting, slipping through his fingers already and Keegan hadn't even passed his exams yet. “Promise that you’ll come back from wherever they send you?”
Keegan bit back the words that came to mind first, acknowledging that he couldn't promise to come back. Men and women die all of the time overseas, and he could likely become one of the many that don’t come home outside of a casket. He looked down at Jack, those soft brown eyes enamored with him, and knew he had to make that impossible promise.
“I’ll come back to you.”
It happened quickly. His exams came up fast and he passed them with flying colors, eviscerating the physical testing all the same. Even with the sword of Damocles above their heads, they continued to share hurried kisses and late nights, begging for a few minutes more from the universe. Fighting the timer with every movement. Pressured by the impending doom, Jack started applying to colleges — it was a year too soon, but if Keegan could weasel his way into the Marine Corps at 17 then he could finesse his way into some pretentious art school.
Flashes in his memory now, images of his acceptance letter and Keegan’s coming just days apart, his call to action a far greater anomaly. He and Alex would be leaving for the opposite side of the country in a matter of weeks, ensuring Jack felt helpless. His best friends, whisked away to die in the middle of the desert.
The night before Keegan needed to be at the airport, to be sworn in and shipped off, he didn't spend a second longer at home than he needed to. He was at Jack’s house the second he finished packing, duffel bags discarded at the front door. Mrs. Skalbek would surely move them and re-fold the messy clothes, probably even press his uniform nicely for the next day — she knew it, too, the way that her boy was enraptured by the Russ kid.
She didn't mind, even if Keegan’s parents did. He was leaving, now, she could at least provide them with a safe home for one more evening.
Keegan half expected Jack to break down in tears, begging for him to change his mind or something, but he didn't. He opened the window of his room instead, letting the salt air in, a gentle breeze cooling the room down. Christmas lights strung from the ceiling the only real illumination save for the fading sunset, casting a pinkish glow over everything. On his desk, a closed sketchbook with about a million drawings of Keegan and Alex, though there was a distinct pattern of a particular set of blue eyes repeating every few pages. Then there was Jack laying on his bed, swallowed whole by the comforter, his sad and tired eyes fixed on Keegan in the doorway.
They skipped the “awkward” part fairly quickly.
No hello or how are you, just straight and to the point. Wrapped up in each other’s arms above the sheets, bodies warm and hazy at the edges, blurring the lines between a tangle of limbs. Jack didn't say a word as he closed his eyes and breathed in the achingly familiar scent of the gold standard of a boy he’d grown to love.
“Don’t get hung up on me, alright?” Keegan asked, sleep laced between his words.
“What’d’you mean?”
“Like…go and do whatever you’re gonna do in LA. Don’t worry about me. I can handle my own.”
“Respectfully, shut the fuck up. I’ll be worried about you until you’re home.”
“M’not gonna change your mind, am I?”
“No.” Jack replied, pulling Keegan in closer. It was much too hot for proximity like this, but neither seemed to care.
“At least make some good memories so we have somethin’ to talk about when I come back.”
Jack hummed in reply and drifted off to sleep against his will, waking up without another body in his bed. In a panic he sat up, making his head spin, but he realized Keegan was just getting dressed. He hadn't left yet. The uniform he wore looked foreign on his frame, a little too big on him, but he looked happy enough in it. Keegan looked up when Jack startled awake, a slight frown on his face.
“Wanted to slip out without wakin' you.”
“You didn't say goodbye.”
“That was the point, Jackie.” Keegan chuckled as he sat on the edge of the bed, lacing his boots up with unpracticed hands. “I didn't wanna make you have to go through a goodbye.”
He was right. Goodbye sounded awful. It took Jack a moment of contemplation before he settled on an alternative, his half asleep brain convincing him it was a great idea.
“I love you.” Jack spoke softly, though confident in those three words. They'd remained an unspoken law thus far, only now being brought into the fabric of reality. They made Keegan stop in his tracks for a split second.
“I love you, too, Jackie.” He replied, his voice a solemn tone. After he finished tying his boots he turned and placed a kiss on Jack’s forehead, rustling his hair up one more time for good measure. “I’ll text you when I get to base. Be safe.”
‘made it 2 base. no phone 4 a few months. alex says hi. xx keegs.’
Jack loved and hated those text updates every single time he received one. They were few and far in-between, but they meant the world. It was all he really had left of Keegan. The following summer, after nearly a year of no real contact, Jack finally got a phone call. He was moving into his dorm at UCLA when his phone started blaring Keegan’s ringtone, setting his mind on high alert. Jack fumbled his phone open, pressing the green answer button as soon as his fingers stopped shaking enough to do so.
“Keegan?”
“Jackie.”
He’s alive.
“Oh, it’s so good to hear your voice. Holy shit.” Jack laughed, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes from the sheer emotional weight. He could hear idle chatter in the background, Alex’s voice included, carrying on about something he didn't quite understand. “How has it been?”
“Listen, I don't have a lot of time. We’re gonna be leaving for Tel Aviv, soon.” Keegan sounded all too serious, some of that warmth and wonder gone from his voice. It’d dropped an octave, too. “S’been good, Jackie. I just wanted to call and talk to you before we hit dirt.”
“Tel Aviv?” Jackie mumbled. “You’re in the middle of the war?”
“Fuckin’ neck deep in it.” Keegan replied quietly. “You made it to LA, right?”
“Didn't know you still got my texts.”
“Of course I do. I just — I don't have time to reply, some days. I don't have a good excuse, either. Just want to make sure you know I meant it, back then. Miss you like hell.”
“S’that your girl?” Someone’s voice called from a distance, earning a huff out of Keegan. “Is she hot?”
“Shut your fuckin’ trap!” He barked back. “Sorry, Jackie. Listen, I — I gotta bounce, I don't know how long we’ll be out here. Be safe for me, okay?”
“I — yeah, of course, K.” Jack stuttered, running a hand back through his hair in a self-soothing manner. Though Keegan hadn't said the words, Jack wanted to make sure that the point got across that he understood. “I love you, too.”
Click.
Radio silence did not begin to describe what followed that phone call. Jack pushed down his anxiety for a long, long while, ignoring all of the news outlets claiming that a civilian hospital in Tel-Aviv had been assaulted and defended by U.S. Marines. That there had been countless casualties, that those men would be honored posthumously with medals and awards. He didn't read a single article out of fear that he would see Keegan Russ or Alex Johnson in the list of names.
College flew by. The war raged on. He didn't hear from Keegan, his family, no one. Even when his mother called, he blew her off, fearing that she was calling to break the news of his untimely death in the Middle East. Birthday after birthday, year after year, and he had not even begun to fill the space in his chest with something real. Uppers and downers, party culture — it was his way of smothering the pain temporarily, far better than anything his psychologist offered him in way of coping.
Deep breathing exercises and journaling didn't bring Keegan back.
Nothing did.
Not drinking, not partying, not kissing strangers in bars — nothing.
The world continued to strife while Jack continued to linger in 2004, the better part of him remaining on the rooftop of his mom’s house. He especially noticed his inability to change with the rest of the world as ‘The Federation of the Americas’ rose to power. News of their rampage spread like wildfire until they, themselves had spread closer and closer to the U.S. Even when their leader was assinated, it didn't stop them.
Tensions were high, tides ebbing and flowing with every passing day, until 2017.
Jack Skalbek had settled into his life in Los Angeles. He had a house that he rented with a few roommates, a cat, a rather nice car — nothing was too awful those days. He could go outside on his porch and rip a bong like his life depended on it, seeing stars in broad daylight, and —
Wait.
Those aren't stars. It’s broad daylight.
Jack blinked a couple of times as he raised his hand over his eyes, shielding out the harsh glow of the sun. There were small pieces of something hurtling towards the earth, like shooting stars, and as they drew closer he knew they weren't small. They were large, flaming chunks of a spacecraft or something — that was the only logical explanation.
People were running. Something was rumbling.
Impact.
The earth split in two, directly through Los Angeles, and all Jack could do was run. He ran like he never had before, stumbling through the literally broken streets with little regard for anything else. His cat, Molly, leapt out into the street (he never quite stopped thanking God for that) and he scooped her up, hauling ass as fast as he could.
He never really stopped running.
Molly learned to stay at his side, mewling as they traversed what remained of Los Angeles for a while, eventually forced up North by the Federation’s invasion. Before he knew it, Jack had found company with a military squad, having been on base whenever ODIN hit. They stuck together in the aftermath, and when they found Jack essentially camping in the wilderness, they picked him up. At least then, he was “camping” with a group of heavily armed, skilled soldiers.
It didn't last long, the ideation that he could just tag along. Before he knew it, Lieutenant Ames had shoved a rifle into his hands.
“You're too tall to be a sniper and too lanky to be close quarters, so you’re gonna scout. Think you can manage that, Skalbek?” Ames asked, watching Jack inspect the rifle. He’d never used a gun before, or held one, but he supposed that now was as good a time as any to learn how. It would likely be the only difference between him living and dying, so it felt important.
A distant memory these days, although a sweet one, Keegan would have been proud of him. He had passable marksmanship, steady artist hands coming in handy for such a task. His lungs were a weakness, but it wasn't exactly commonplace to come upon large quantities of smokable substances in their travels. Stretching a pack of cigarettes became a habit, until he was barely smoking them at all. Once he could hold his breath long enough to get a few shots off, he was good enough.
That was all that mattered. He could protect himself in the wild.
Jack spent years with the same crew of men, calling them brothers. He never grew too close, never squinted to see Keegan’s face in theirs — he didn't think of those blue eyes often those days. It was hard to dream of good things in such a bad place, like a war-torn America, in desperate need of saving.
Jack just prayed that Keegan was alright, wherever he may be, whatever he may be doing. He had to have survived the initial attack in Tel Aviv.
The soldiers would gossip about a team of men that came from Santa Monica, made up of the survivors from Tel Aviv — fifteen men out of sixty that came out on top when up against five hundred Federation attackers. Ghosts, they were called, a supernatural force that somehow overcame the odds.
He believed that men had survived, but he didn't believe that they were so mythical. Though, after so many years of dissidence, some will cling to those little miracles out of desperation.
Hope was a very dangerous thing for anyone to have, let alone some random man from Northern California that barely survived Los Angeles' implosion, but he had it. Even if he would never admit such a thing aloud for fear of it being taken away. Jack spent most of his time from 2017 until 2022 doing the best he could to hold himself together, and eventually in the winter of that year, it came crashing down.
He woke up to gunshots. Loud, quick, violent. Close. Jack startled awake and reached for his rifle, but before he could even aim he felt a firm thunk on the side of his head. Everything hurts, his head ringing until he falls unconscious, and everything goes painfully black.
Jack had never been knocked unconscious before, but he learned quickly that the wake-up was infinitely worse than the go-down. Nothing was worse than realizing he was chained up, though. His hands were cuffed above his head, the distinct taste of copper rich on his tongue as his eyes fluttered.
“Fuck…” Jack breathed, the sound of his lungs almost wet. He’d surely aspirated his own blood, but he couldn't be certain he wasn't waterboarded by the way his lungs felt liquidy. “Hello?”
Mistake.
A Federation soldier joined him in that cell within seconds, and he learned to keep his mouth shut from then on. It went on for a week straight, the torture, getting beat senseless day in and out by Feds just for fun. They’d laugh, dump alcohol on his gaping wounds, break bones like it was a game. One of them took a bat to his knee on the last day of that first week, and he was sure that he would die in that cell.
Cold. Alone. Bloody.
Months went by. Long, arduous. Sometimes he wouldn't see another human being for several days, and then he would be forced to take a beating alongside another of the soldiers from his company. He wasn't sure when he started referring to himself as one of them, as a soldier, but the Feds saw him that way too.
Corporal Skalbek. The punching bag.
Six. Long. Months.
He was happy that he was still alive on occasion, but most days were spent half-conscious and starving for breath. He couldn't even scream anymore. His throat was so terribly dry he was certain that it was only wet from his blood, coating every gulp with the distinct taste of it. If he coughed, it’d sputter out and paint his pale flesh with an array of sanguine specks, blending with the other stains from the physical abuse. Bruises littered his body, alongside gashes and lacerations, marks from where ligatures had dug into his skin.
The handcuffs were always the worst, a little too rusty and worn, sure to give him tetanus if he survived this ordeal. But, in some sort of optimistic turn, he wasn't sure he would survive it.
If Jack closed his eyes, he could almost hear Marines charging the camp, barking orders over gunfire. That, however, was a fantasy, just like the idea of going home was. Well, at least back to the U.S.. LA wasn't home anymore, and he didn't rightly have a place to live since the soldiers he ran with were always moving, but he would be happy to live in an abandoned motel for the rest of his days at this rate.
Fantasies of a better life left him feeling warm and fuzzy inside despite the exhaustion gripping his every emotion. He was sure, now, that he was starting to see things that weren't really there. Disturbed cognitive functioning is a symptom of mental deterioration, and with the way his mind was creating custom imagery of Marines coming to save him he had to be close to death at this rate. The deafening sound of gunfire traveled closer down the hallway, echoing off the walls alongside the repetitive drum-beat of bootfalls.
“Clear every room — I want every last one of these boys to survive.” A voice shouted, followed by a few affirmative replies of some kind. Jack perked up, straining the cuffs holding his hands up, aggravating the painful friction wounds. A fresh stream of blood ran down his forearms, warm and wet.
It took a few minutes for him to actually believe that someone was here to rescue him from this hell, but once he did he started fighting his restraints. Trying desperately to make the chains jingle but failing at that as well. The pain in his wrists was too much to simply push through it, and he truthfully couldn't feel the lower half of his body anymore. He tried to push himself up on his knees but they were in pure agony.
It wasn't fair.
They’d never hear him.
When they came to the door of his cell, a pair of eyes appeared in the barred enclosure, glancing the room over. He opened his mouth to speak, to beg for mercy, but once more nothing came out. Jack fought his restraints once again and the eyes lit up. Next thing he knew, the door was wide open and he was sure that this was all some vivid hallucination before his death.
The man looked to be a grim reaper, or a twisted angel of mercy. His eyes were nearly white, they were so blue and he knew right then and there that it was him.
He couldn’t mistake those eyes.
“Hey — look’a’me. You’re gonna be jus’ fine.” The man’s voice was low and gravelly, husky in every sense of the word. He went to whimper his excitement but, well…it came out as a coughing fit, blood coating his dry lips once again. Did he not recognize Jack? Has so much changed? Did he not look like himself anymore? “Don't push yourself.”
Jack huffed and sat patiently as the man, who’s last name was too blurry to read and he knew it anyway, broke the cuffs off his wrists with bolt cutters. It hurt, but it reminded him that this was actually happening and that he was alive still. Air still filled his lungs at a quickened pace, he could still feel the warmth of another person’s flesh on his. The man had gloves on, but there was life in his touch — gripping Jack’s fragile and broken body.
“Can you walk?” He asks. Jack shakes his head rapidly and the man doesn't reply, picking the semi-emaciated other up without hesitation. When they enter the hallway, Jack can see the blurry outlines of other men populating the space, both his soldier friends and Marines. “Merrick! Got the last one — he’s not doing too hot.”
“Exfil’s outside — he’s still breathing?’ ‘Merrick’ called back, a fuzzy figure in the distance.
“Barely. Pulse is thready.” The man holding him barked back to Merrick, leaving Jack wondering if he would die anyways, regardless of being saved. It was getting hard to stay awake now that he knew he wasn't going to be stuck in captivity any longer, his eyelids fighting sleep. He knew he was safe. “Hey — stay awake. Eyes on me.”
Jack suddenly felt his eyes open wide again, fixing on the man holding him. He felt like a teenager all over again, looking up through tired eyes on that last day before he lost his best friends to a war he was now fighting, too.
“There we go…eyes on me. Just a few more minutes.” Focusing on that voice wasn't hard. It had gotten deeper, but it was as familiar as breathing.
It was just a few more, in truth. Jack found himself seated in the back of a Humvee, bleeding all over the fabric interior. His body begged for sleep but his blue-eyed angel kept nudging him awake, occasionally pinching his arm to make sure he felt something enough to keep him awake.
“Stop it. You fall asleep, you die.” He huffed in frustration as Jack dozed off again.
“Don't be such a prick, Keegan. He’s a prisoner of war.” Merrick called from the front passenger seat, gazing back at Jack and his mangled body. A mess of limbs and blood, but with the widest smile he could possibly muster. It was him. In the flesh, breathing right in front of him, holding his hand. “You’re gonna be alright, kid.”
Oh, he would be just fine.
Upon arriving in Fort Santa Monica, he was allowed to rest. Anesthetic sleep was never truly restful, as it was artificial, but it was enough for him to walk in a more lucid state. His vision wasn't blurry, his head was no longer pounding, and he didn't taste blood.
A much better day in Jack’s book by a hundred miles.
He rolled onto his side and overlooked the small med-bay, the typical hustle and bustle of a hospital environment carrying on beyond the curtain. It smelled sterile there, but it was welcome in comparison to the scent of rust and rot. The flat white surface of the curtain was disrupted by a hand, followed by the presence of Keegan fucking Russ.
“Didn't think you'd be awake so soon.” He sort of darts his gaze away from Jack, embarrassed that he’d come to sit with a man that he’d presumed to be unconscious. The trouble, though, really came when Jack went to reply. No noise came out. His throat was sore, but it likely only felt that way because morphine was smothering any real pain he would normally be feeling. He touched at his throat anxiously, fingertips dancing across bandages wrapped around the entirety of his neck. “I can do most of the talking, s’alright. I’d like to know who I’m talking to, though. You know sign language or something?”
Jack rolled his eyes. It definitely made sense for him, a person with functional vocal chords and ears six months ago, to have learned sign language. Keegan chuckled at the display of attitude, not a clue in his mind still that he was who he was.
“Stop me when I say the right letter. A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J—”
Jack tapped Keegan’s hand. A flash of recognition crossed his face before he continued.
“Okay, J. A—”
Another tap.
“J-A…A, B, C—”
Tap.
“Jack?” Keegan spoke softly. “You — sorry, you kinda look like someone I know. His name was Jack, too. When LA went, he went, too.”
Huh? How had he even heard something like that? How was he so certain that Jack was dead?
“Nevermind. I’m, uh, Sergeant, First Class. Keegan Russ. You in pain or anything, Jack? I’m sure I could get them to sneak you a little extra morphine or something. Maybe a cigarette? Not that you should smoke with your throat torn open, I guess…”
Jack stared up at him. If there was any uncertainty, it was resolved immediately.
“What’s that fuckin’ look for?”
Jack went to speak and he literally squeaked in place of words. God damnit.
“Exactly. Go on, get some sleep. I’ll be around with a better way for you to talk, later.” Keegan said as he left, pulling the curtain shut once again. Instead of throwing a fit because Keegan didn't recognize him, Jack opted for sleep, coiling up on his side as the morphine lulled him into a sense of security, the warmth putting him out like a light.
A man of his word as he always had been, Keegan returned after Jack got some much-needed sleep, food, and water. He looked somewhat disappointed though, taking a seat across from Jack’s bed.
“Does a pen and paper work? I really thought I’d have a more innovative solution to the, uh, no-talking thing but…” Keegan said sheepishly as he snatched the medical clipboard from the side table of Jack’s bed, flipping to a blank sheet of paper before handing it to Jack alongside a pen.
‘It’s fine.’ Jack wrote, turning it to face Keegan. ‘My wrists hurt, though.’
“I figured — Doc said you got some pretty deep lacs. I’ll keep it brief. Your last name?”
‘Skalbek.’
“No it isn't.” Keegan’s expression dropped. “Don't fuck around. Who the fuck told you that?”
Jack furrowed his brow and turned the clipboard around, scribbling out a response as fast as he could before Keegan reasonably flipped out. ‘Do I not look the same?’
“You're not Jackie.”
‘How can I prove it?’
“You can't. Fucking…that's a sick prank, you know that? Whoever the hell told you his name is gettin' gutted.” Keegan stood up and turned to leave, only serving to frustrate Jack more. How did he not recognize him? It would seem that while he was excited to see Keegan again, Keegan was…upset? He licked his lips, dry and cracked as they were, and did the only thing he figured would work.
He whistled.
He whistled the tune to Drowning Lessons by My Chemical Romance. It was cheesy and fucking stupid, but he knew for a fact that Keegan knew it because they’d bought the CD together. They didn’t rip it off of Limewire or Napster, no, they bought the actual disc.
They would listen to that song on repeat, Jack never quite shutting up about the bridge and the melodies of Gerard Way’s gang vocals, and Keegan always said it was easily the best song on the record. He knew that they were never really together, and they never had a song, but if they did it would be that. He whistled until Keegan’s expression softened up, and he pulled his mask up over his head.
Same oceanic blue eyes, same slightly crooked nose, a few more scars. Still Keegan.
“I searched the wreckage at that address he — you sent me.”
Now, it was Jack’s turn for rightful emotional revelations. Keegan still got his texts in 2017? He only texted out of habit, out of a desire to vent every once in a while to nobody, even knowing that Keegan was dead. Being convinced that he was, at least.
“I found a body, I…”
‘Housemate. I had three.’ Jack wrote, urgent this time.
“He was so-so burnt that I…I thought the worst, I guess, I —” Keegan stuttered, his eyes never quite leaving Jack. The gap between them was much too far all of a sudden. “I need a minute.”
‘Take your time.’ Jack wrote back, but Keegan was gone before he could even turn the paper around. He sighed and leaned back into the pillows, closing his eyes once again. He would never know, but Keegan practically bolted outside because he didn't want to crack in front of anyone, let alone Jack. The dark haired man locked himself in a broom closet and covered his mouth with his gloved hand, chest heaving with pure emotion as he panicked. His entire world view was shattered by that one living, breathing man out there.
Keegan Russ was not a man that broke down often. He fought back the urge to feel anything about this for two decades, to let his emotions get the best of him, but there was little he could do to stop it now. Jack was alive, a miracle in it of itself, but he was right there in front of Keegan. Busted and bruised, shattered bones and a scruffy face, but it was Jack.
He always regretted not getting a hold of him once they survived Tel Aviv, but there was little he could do about his mistakes now. They had already been done. Truthfully at the time it didn't seem like such a terrible thing, Keegan always had the hope that he would make it to UCLA to see Jack when the war ended, but it never did. Then, he looked forward to seeing him again when he moved to the outskirts of the city, but when ODIN struck LA…
In his mind, Jack had died. He had already mourned him and their brief respite of time together. The grief was simply something he grew around, letting it become a piece of his past that he could lovingly look back upon. Smile, knowing he gave Jack the best version of himself, untainted by war and violence.
Now what was he?
A killer, hardened by years of killing Federation soldiers indiscriminately, unable to look himself in the mirror on the bad days. The last thing that they never see coming. A ghost.
Jack didn't deserve that.
After all of that time, of burying his first and only semblance of love in the backyard outside next to who he used to be, he was sitting right there. If he opened up the door right in front of himself, he was right out there.
He moved his hand from his mouth once he was sure his breathing had regulated down to normal, taking a couple of shaky and unsure breaths before feeling satisfied. The last thing he needed was for their medic to appear out of nowhere and start prodding Jack again, only to see Keegan visibly shaken by seemingly nothing.
It wasn't Jack's fault that everything panned out the way it did, and if it was anyone’s fault it would be Keegan’s. He left, not the other way around. In fact, his squad was responsible for Tel Aviv, which sparked the following energy crisis, inevitably landing them where they are today. Here. In Santa Monica, perhaps the last safe place close to No Man’s Land.
There were two options.
He could, reasonably, walk away and let the medical staff deal with Jack. This could end right here and now, send him on his way with the survivors of the squad he was found with. Keegan would never have to see him again, never have to let him see this mangled version of himself that he had become.
Alternatively, he could walk back out there and sit back down, and start from the top. A do-over. Pretend that the last twenty or so years weren't so long, own up to his fuckups, and make a new starting point here and now. It would be infinitely more difficult, but Keegan also knew that it was indubitably the right thing to do.
With a few more seconds of silence to think about what he was about to choose, he stood up from the pile of boxes he’d been sitting on in the closet, and then went right back to Jack’s side.
“Sorry.” Keegan said quietly as he re-opened and shut the curtain again, sort of standing at the end of the bed rather than sitting in the chair he had previously been in. He was too full of anxious energy to sit down, having to actively think about not tapping his boot on the tile floor. “I just — you have to understand why this is weird for me.”
‘I thought the same when you unchained me.’ Jack wrote, earning a little sad-puppy look from Keegan. It was much harder to see Jack all beaten up and bruised knowing that it was, in fact, Jack.
“You don't look the same, for the record. I don't know who this badass, battle-worn version of Jackie is.”
‘Me neither.’ Jack shrugged.
“He seems like an alright guy.” Keegan said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’ll have to tell me about him whenever you can talk again, huh?”
‘How about you tell me about this Sergeant Russ guy?’
“Very funny. You need some sleep, y’look like shit, Jack.”
‘Come on. You’d have, like, pretty good bedtime stories.’
Keegan couldn't help it, he laughed at that one, a wide smile on his face. Still the same little spark of attitude that he always had, just with a few more years of bite to them.
“Fine — what’d’you wanna know?”
‘Tel Aviv.’
“Not right now. How about…basic training?”
‘Fine.’
It became a ritual, almost. Every single night without fail, Keegan would return to his side with something he stole from the mess hall and a new story, carrying the conversation enough for the two of them. Beforehand, he had been the quiet one, but Jack had involuntarily taken that role. He told him tales of Task Force: STALKER and the Ghosts. Their adventures through the entirety of the war, how many lives they saved — shit, he even got to hang out with Alex, too, on occasion. Well, Ajax, now.
It also became ritualistic that every single night, without fail, he'd wake up in a cold sweat.
He could only manage to gasp for breath, clutching at his throat as he set the attached heart monitors off time and time again. The ringing noise it made was most insensitive to someone having a panic attack, but it at least actually alerted the medic to his state. Grim, his name was, as in reaper.
It was no comfort to have a medic named after death itself at first, but he learned rather early on that Grim was a saint. He’d show up, mute the monitors and administer anti-anxiety medication, which was in short supply, but useful all the same.
Jack wasn’t terribly embarrassed about it either, he’d survived something traumatic and deserved to feel any way about it that he wanted to, until Keegan witnessed one of those late-night panic attacks. He'd fallen asleep in the chair beside Jack’s bed after a late night of one-sided conversation, barely awakened by the quickened breathing of the man in the bed beside him. Jack had never had panic attacks as a teenager, but the heavy breathing and scared eyes were a dead giveaway. Grim had learned to leave the monitor’s sound off, so it wasn't blaring, but Jack was still gasping for breath. His hands were clasped over his chest, eyes screwed shut as he tried to get his heart to slow down.
He looked over when he saw Keegan jolt awake, his eyes flicking anxiously up and down the other man as his cheeks flushed red. Fully embarrassed of the way the trauma affected him so deeply. It meant he was damaged goods. Discardable for something more favorable, less troubled.
“Y’alright? Should I get Grim?” Keegan asks, genuine concern laced into his words. He was so soft spoken it was almost scary, gruff texture never leaving even at a low volume.
“No.” Jack squeaked out, wincing at the pain. It sounded painful, too, a fragile pitch that wavered for the brief second it was spoken. His hand rubbed at the front of his throat, hoping to smother the pain out.
“Easy, Jackie.” Keegan replied, his brow knit in worry.
“M’fine.” Jack hacked, that wet feeling in his lungs returning in a phantasmal way.
“You're not. Take a deep breath. You’re safe. I’m here.” It was so very grounding, hearing those words spoken aloud. He was safe. He was alive. He was no longer cuffed to a wall in some dank basement.
He was with Keegan again.
Jack heaved a few more anxious breaths out, hand grasping at his chest for purchase until Keegan grabbed it, stopping him from scratching at the bandages constricting his breathing, a bit of a frown hidden beneath his mask. At first, Jack struggled, but he gave in after a few short moments of Keegan’s firm, gloved grasp on his twitching fingers.
“Thanks—” His voice comes out timid in both tone and volume.
“Stop trying to talk. You’re just gonna make it hurt worse.”
“Fuck —” Cough. “— off.”
“Just tryin’ t’help.” Keegan murmured, giving Jack’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You've been having night terrors like that a lot?”
Jack went to reply but bit his tongue, squeezing his hand instead.
“Yes?” squeeze. “Okay — hey, I can work with that. Do you want me to stay?”
Jack didn't reply. He just held Keegan's hand tighter, not letting go for a long, long time.
It was unconventional, this method of communication, but it got the point across. One for yes, two for no became the gold standard, especially when he was able to leave the med-bay and explore a bit. Fort Santa Monica was in no state of beauty, sure, but from what he could see it was a haven. There were refugee camps surrounding the military installments, packed tight with families and off-duty soldiers alike, lining the sandbag ridden streets. It was engineered to be impossible to take, the perfect place to shack up just outside of No Man’s Land.
Jack stood outside once he was cleared to walk again, leaning on a railing that overlooked the dismantled city. He was in a great deal of pain most days, but he’d rather grit his teeth and bare it over scarfing down painkillers. A brace and a dream, he could get just about anything accomplished these days.
“Elias said he wants to talk to you.” Keegan’s voice came as a shock, giving Jack the slightest bit of a scare. He turned on his heels to look up at the other man, brow knit in confusion. “Don't know why, don't ask. C’mon.”
What the hell could STALKER’s Lieutenant even want with him? The Ghosts weren’t exactly arms wide open to anyone in particular. They were brothers forged in blood and dirt, and he certainly was not present during Operation Sand Viper. So, short of kicking him out of the encampment, he had no idea what thee Elias Walker could possibly want.
Nothing bad, surprisingly.
“You must be Jackie Skalbek — pleasure. Elias Walker.” A firm handshake from the older man, setting Jack back a few notches. He felt awkward and terribly small next to such a force of power. Keegan had told him so many stories by now that he was certain Elias was inhuman purely based on skill and drive to do more, do better. Jack nodded a reply and Keegan stood quietly by, waiting for his presence to be necessitated.
“So…you’re the infamous Jack.” Elias smiled. “Keegan didn't shut up about you in…what was it, ‘06?”
“Embarrassing.” Keegan huffed, averting his gaze.
“I gotta say, son, your squad sung some high praises of you. Keegan, too. You’ve got a lotta reputation preceding you.” His squad? The soldiers he’d been shacked up with. They were saying he’d done well? His marksmanship was nothing to scoff at, sure, he had steady hands — but make him a soldier it did not. “I know you’re still taking it easy for now, but…we need warm bodies. Desperately. I’m sure Sergeant Russ filled you in on our work, the things that STALKER is responsible for?”
“Only the good parts, I promise.” Keegan said jokingly, earning a bit of a glare from Elias.
“Point is, if you’re up to the challenge, I could use the hands around here. You’re no Marine, but I betcha I can make one out of you yet.” Elias had a sort of warm smile, a confidence that exuded from every word he spoke, that almost made Jack feel like he could do it. How could he fit into the very rigid spot here, though? The lifestyle was hard and rigorous, made for men with years of experience in the field, not…him. “What's that look for?”
“I —” Jack squeaked. Squeaked! In front of Elias Fucking Walker. Frustrated with his own inability to produce a sound that wasn't equivalent to a hamster, he turned to Keegan. Now, they hadn't tried lip reading, but there wasn't exactly a better way to deal with this.
“He’s — slow the fuck down, Jackie, Jesus — he doesn't think he’s cut out for it.” Keegan roughly translated the quick talking, focused on the irregular way Jack formed certain words, the way he most definitely still had a slight lisp based on the way his tongue caught his front teeth sometimes. His fully grown voice was probably lovely if he could choke out more than two words at a time.
“I have it on pretty good authority that before the Federation got their paws on you, you were the best sniper among that squad of army veterans.”
“That was before the Federation.” Keegan translated once again, a slight sadness to the way he spoke the words. It didn't feel good knowing that he’d taken such a confidence blow from being held hostage — it made sense, though. Nobody comes out of that sort of ordeal without a few loose marbles. “He doesn't want to get someone killed because of his inexperience.”
“I understand that, but you've got a certain…quality. It’s that resilience, Jack. That’s what being a Ghost is.”
It resonated deep in his chest, the way that he spoke of what comprised a Ghost. Surviving against all odds. Coming back from ungodly nightmares and asking the world if that was all it had. Having the guts and courage to do what just be done. When Alex and Keegan enlisted, he knew they had more willpower than he ever would, and he wondered how Elias could possibly see that quality in him.
Scrawny, terrified, shaking, Jack Skalbek.
That was no Ghost. He was no soldier.
“I’m not who you think I am.” Keegan spoke his words once more, shaking his head just a little. “I did what I had to do to survive out there, but that's it.”.
“You can live, not just survive. I just need you to have a little faith in yourself, huh? Those boys you ran with sure have it. There’s a lotta folks out there that can't fight for themselves, that’s why we’re here — you can make that difference for folks. It’s up to you, though, I won't force it. I just know a Ghost when I see one, and I have a real good feeling that you’d be at home with us.”
Home. Home wasn't a place anymore, was it? Not since his home got blasted off the face of the earth by ODIN, not since his family and housemates got —
Then, there was us. The Ghosts. His closest friends from growing up.
Men that he’d spent weeks hearing stories of, the legend of brothers in arms coated in blood and sand, walking corpses. He was not made to do that, let alone the minimal work he’d put in during his travels. Jack realized he was just looking at Elias with shock and awe still, shaking his head to get his thoughts right.
Jack knew that if he took this opportunity, he’d be roped into this war for good. Moreso than if he only stuck around for Keegan’s company. There wouldn't be a way out of it, not that there was now, but he would cement his future if he trained to take up work with STALKER. He swallowed his fear, the anxiety welling in his stomach, and extended a hand to Elias.
“Good.” Elias shook his hand, taking it as the ‘yes’ answer that it was. “Once you're cleared for duty, we'll see how well you do.”
“Y-Yessir.” Jack managed to speak, a slight terror in his eyes that paired well with the confidence that came from actually forcing words out.
This, of course, meant that he was now privileged enough to meet the rest of the Ghosts. He’d met them in passing, trailing around behind Keegan most days like a lost dog, but now they were becoming acquainted. They were few in number compared to normal squads and battalions, but they were a force to be reckoned with.
Ajax was more than thrilled to see Jack again, having a much more overwhelmingly positive reaction to his presence than Keegan had. Saying that ‘I knew you weren’t dead because you’re too stubborn to die.’ It almost felt like the before again, memories flickering back to life in the back of his mind. Synapses that hadn't fired in decades.
Kick was the friendliest by far. He sat down with Jack before any proper training and got him kitted out, thrusting a marksman rifle into his hands before he even had the chance to protest. Boasting American made quality, a magazine that would make Vogue blush, and a scope with dual magnification. The matter of his tactical gear would come later, but Kick was more than satisfied to ramble about the specs of his firearms whilst Jack listened intently. He promised him custom gear and maybe even a mask, one day, but he needed more time.
Torch, Grim — they were well acquainted enough from his time in the medical bay under Grim’s watch, Torch often spending his days down there as well for an extra set of hands. He worked in demolitions, but that didn't mean he didn't have surgically delicate hands to assist when Grim couldn't get to something himself. He was actually the one to remove Jack’s stitches — a painfully long process that was almost, but not quite, as bad as his bones getting shattered in the first place. Grim would occasionally cheer ‘you’re doing great!’ and Jack couldn't be sure if he meant him or Torch.
Merrick, though, he was the tough one to crack. Cold, harsh — but effective. He was a decorated officer, completing the SEAL training at 17 years old with flying colors. Sure, Keegan and Ajax had become Marines at the same age, but that wasn't the same as being a Navy SEAL. It was overachievement to the highest degree, except he wasn't showing off — he was just that good. Jack felt small and insignificant in the presence of a man like him, who could outsmart entire battalions of Feds without much forethought.
He was out of his league, and Merrick knew it from the moment they met.
Sitting in the arsenal, having been gifted his uniform by Kick, but too terrified to put it on, Jack just held it. It was dark gray in color, camouflage and flat black as well, though the vest and accompanying guards were all matte black. They’d given him the standard patches that matched everyone else’s, a STALKER insignia set, but his name was the most jarring one to observe.
Skalbek. Corporal Skalbek.
He wasn't even enlisted — how could he be classified as a Corporal? The soldiers called him one, sure, but it was mostly in a teasing way. Jack thumbed over the embroidery and took a deep breath, deciding it would be better to just get dressed and have an existential crisis later. He had to tape and brace his knee in order to walk for long periods, but he’d grown used to the limp in his gait by now that it didn't bother him much anymore. The return of his voice, though, did bother him.
Even as he strapped his gear into place and laced his boots, every little huff or grunt of exertion felt foreign in his mouth. He didn't know what he was supposed to say for himself, truthfully, so he wasn't comfortable with using his voice. It was impossible to even fathom an explanation for how he ended up here, for what he went through in that cell — so he just didn't.
Instinct always takes over, though.
“You all set, blondie?” Keegan asked, leaning in the doorway of the arsenal. He could see Jack all geared up, but it felt right to ask.
“Yeah. All set.” Jack spoke, unaware that he'd even done so at first. Keegan knew better than to overreact, though, it would likely scare him off. Take that pretty voice away. If he wanted to talk, he could, and Keegan wouldn't apply pressure in any way.
“Good, good…lemme see.” Keegan said as Jack turned to face him, sort of standing awkwardly with his arms down at his sides. He looked lost. Uncomfortable in all of th buckles and straps, like the gear was suffocating the life out of him. “You look suicidal.”
“I’m —” Jack stopped himself, a bit shocked in his expression.
“You were doing great.” Keegan huffed in response, mildly disappointed. “The uniform looks good, though, Jackie.”
Jack rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, watching Keegan draw in closer across the room. He picked up the other man’s marksman rifle, inspecting it for a moment before handing it back to Jack.
“Needs some dirt on it — lucky for you, we’re just doing recon. Nothing crazy, just gettin’ your boots wet out in the field.” Keegan watched Jack take the rifle back, clicking the carry strap around his neck into place, carefully snapping the scope cover on for travel. He looked nervous, like a kid on his first day of school, only with much more weighing on his chest. It made sense. He hadn’t been sure of himself the entire time Elias was giving him a golden opportunity, so it made sense that confidence wasn't leaking out of his every movement. “Stand up straight, act like you know what you're doing until you do. Merrick prefers his name or his title, not sir, if you decide to talk to him.”
Jack nodded, letting a shaky breath out. He held up a thumbs up, hand trembling ever so slightly, pathetically. Keegan reached out and steadied it.
“You’ll be fine. I’ll be with you.”
Jack turned his hand and held his pinky out, raising a brow. Without much hesitation, just the normal amount from a tough guy, Keegan did the same and interlocked them. He leaned in instinctively and pressed where his mouth would be under the mask to Jack’s knuckles. It was a thing from years ago, something they did to “seal” a promise. Jack was surprised that he remembered, but not upset by any means.
It wasn't a terribly long drive to the recon point. It felt that way because of the deathly silence in the SUV, save for Merrick giving the mission brief. Kick sat in the passenger seat beside their Captain, humming to himself as they flew down the dirt roads, jostling over every bump. Jack kept his eyes on the floor until they arrived at the infil, at which point he and Keegan exited the vehicle. It was fairly heavily wooded, the area well covered and higher than the place they were doing recon on, making it ideal for a sniper’s nest. Jack had a natural sense for that sort of thing, carefully and quietly slinking around the woods before coming to a tall, heavily branched tree. He looked it up and down, sizing it up, then looked at Keegan. He was all searching for a nest, a ways away into the brush.
“You take up high, I’ll go down low?” Keegan asked into the comms for confirmation as he found a comfortable place to get vantage from, half expecting a vocal response from Jack and half expecting a snap or something in reply.
Whistle.
“That works.” Keegan chuckled to himself as he pulled his rifle off his back and nestled into the dirt, mounting the tripod on a hard surface so that he could get a stable view. Meanwhile, Jack climbed up into the large redwood. He struggled at first because of his knee, but eventually he powered through and hoisted himself into straddling a large limb. “Are you in position?”
Whistle.
“Heard that. Merrick, we’re locked. Watchin’ exits.”
“Roger — the place should be empty, but you know how that goes. We’ll clean and clear, then raid for supplies.” Merrick replied, voice a low crackle over the comms, before silence fell over the area. Jack relaxed back against the trunk of the tree as he racked a round in his rifle, sliding the bolt into place as he looked down the scope. It was peaceful, almost, quiet. The idle rustle of birds in the trees and the quiet thrum of the earth breezing past, only occasionally interrupted by the crackle of activity over the radio.
Jack hummed quietly, the soft rumble of his voice in his throat only truly comfortable in a muffled manner, barely making any sound at all. He felt his finger gently sliding over the trigger, not quite squeezing just yet — there was next to no movement ahead, save for Merrick and Kick as they navigated the empty warehouse.
They spent a long while going through the place room by room, combing it through, picking up any usable supplies. Sterile equipment, alcohol, first aid kit materials — all sorts of things. It had been vacant for quite a while, clearly, despite old Federation flags flying above. They’d yet to reoccupy it after their removal, meaning everything inside was up to date and ripe for the taking.
Jack’s gaze traveled around outside, flickering from the warehouse to the dirt road leading up to it, watching a car start to close in. Federation flags. His eyes went wide and he stuttered to speak, nothing quite coming out. Damn anxiety reaching up from the depths of his stomach to choke him out internally, clawing his vocal chords into submission.
Three, rapid fire whistles. High pitched and quiet all at once, ringing out through the comms.
“Movement?” Keegan asked quickly.
One.
“Got it. Watch your backs, boys. How many?” Keegan called.
Five.
“Five tangoes, on their way to your position.”
“He didn't say anything, Keegan. Are you sure you're not hearin’ things?” Kick asked, almost a laugh to his voice when he spoke.
“I’m sure.” Keegan asserted, glancing over through the blur of leaves and trees blocking his view of Jack. He had to be right. A couple of seconds pass and he can see the vehicle for himself, five Federation soldiers climbing out slowly. Stalking their prey. Merrick and Kick. Jack wasn’t scared, though, knowing very well that he only had one shot before they were aware of him.
He let out all of the breath he had been holding in from his lungs, took a deep breath and released it slowly, feeling the unsteadiness slip out of reach.
Bang.
Two down. One shot.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Jack gave a long, drawn out whistle of satisfaction as he took a new breath in.
“All clear.” Keegan exhaled. “Nice fuckin’ shots, Jackie.”
Pride washed over him all at once. The warm, fuzzy feeling of success seeped into his bones and made him blush all over, a hot feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“We're on our way out now to confirm kills. Meet us down here?” Merrick asked.
“Rog.” Keegan replied, leaving Jack to watch the doors in anticipation. Before he knew it, Keegan had made his way over, looking up at Jack perched in the tree. He rocked back on his heels slightly, taken aback by the way Jack had curled himself up onto a tree limb, nearly wrapped around it as he aimed down sight. His cheek was pressed up against his rifle, keeping him nice and steady.. “Look like a bird up there, y'know that, Jackie?”
Jack sat up straight, a bit surprised. He hadn't been listening at all to his surroundings, sort of zoned out as he watched down his scope. A bird? He prayed that didn’t stick.
“The whistling works. Got my attention real fuckin’ quick.” Keegan extended a hand to Jack, helping him climb down from the tree unceremoniously. He replied with a playful whistle, a smile crossing his expression briefly. After collecting his first 5 confirmed kills as a Ghost, they returned to base in the same car they came in. Quiet, at first, but Merrick broke the silence midway back to HQ.
“Quiet type, huh, Skalbek?” Merrick asked, glancing back in the rear view mirror.
“Leave him be.” Keegan asserted. His voice always seemed to be quiet and soft spoken, but he had a bite to it that showed he meant business. If anything good happened to Keegan while he was gone, it was that voice.
“Didn't mean anything by it. You did great out there, Jack.” Merrick defended himself.
Silently, Jack thumbed over the pristine Federation tags before stuffing them into the pocket on his vest. He didn't like the idea of keeping trophies, but those tags were proof that he could actually do some good here.
It took a long time for him to truly feel that way.
Like, the first time he got to see his own dormitory. It wasn’t anything crazy, just a room with four walls and a bed right down the hallway from the showers, but it was his room with four walls and a bed. Dark, cozy sheets on the mattress, a warm light overhead — his name on the door. Jack actually sort of felt important for once in his life, and he began to understand the draw and appeal of military life. There was one tiny problem with the lone dorm, though.
Even at UCLA, he dormed with someone else. His first apartment had a roommate, and the same man moved with him into their home in Los Angeles with a handful of friends. He had no siblings as a child, but Keegan and Alex were at his house so frequently he may as well have at that point. Being alone did not come easily to Jack.
“Hey — came to drop off your tags.” Keegan knocked at the door, a little whistle coming from inside telling him to enter. When he threw the door open he saw Jack sitting on his bed, legs crossed, just sort of looking lost once again. A recurring theme for the blonde. “Need some decor in here, seriously. It’s abysmal.”
Jack just sort of shrugged, catching his tags mid-air when Keegan threw them, the jingling making him flinch slightly. They had, of course, his name on them. Blood type, affiliation, spot for a call sign if one ever stuck to him. He thumbed over the engraving before undoing the clasp and snapping it back into place around his neck, stuffing it beneath his shirt. It was ice cold, but the metal would warm and warp to him eventually. Become like a second skin, something he couldn't go anywhere without.
“I had something else, too, but — s’up to you if you want it or not. Could always make your own.” Keegan added as he came a bit further into the room, taking a seat on the edge of the bed beside Jack. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a piece of black fabric, neatly folded into a little square. When unfolded, Jack could see it was a mask, his very own. It looked similar in pattern to Keegan’s, but noticably neater and cleaner in texture and facial features — across the mouth were two black strips in an X. Maybe a little bit on the nose, but he couldn't complain.
“It’s not great compared to what you could probably do — don't know if you’re still into the whole art thing these days.”
Jack shook his head, turning the mask over a couple of times in his hands before he went to put it on. The fabric was thick, making him uncomfortable at first, but once it was in place he could breathe easily. He looked over at Keegan as if to ask how he looked, the scrunched up wrinkles around the other’s eyes telling him everything he needed to know.
“Little Ghost.” Keegan hummed, ruffling up Jack’s hair in a playful manner. “You’re one of us now, as far as I’m concerned.”
Wide eyes like saucers, just looking up at Keegan with awe, wondering how they'd managed this. Circling back to sitting in Jack’s room, though this time it was less than cozy. Even without the Christmas lights casting a warm glow over everything, though, Keegan was more sure than he ever had been that everything was worth it to end up here.
That summer, July was hot in Santa Monica. The sun bathed the city with regularity, not even letting up in the evening. Though, there seemed to be a brief respite in between months of hardship.
After a particularly good bout of missions, Jack even getting some more confidence in himself (and a call sign, while he was at it) they decided to have a small leisure break. Time for themselves, to breathe in without the threat of being dispatched on a mission looming overhead. Something that many of them hadn't had a chance to do in a long, long while. There often wasn't much remaining time for recreational drinking, but Keegan couldn't lie, there was something about Jack in the doorway of his dorm with two cans of beer that made his heart skip a couple of beats.
Sure, they’d stolen liquor as teenagers and gotten wasted on Jack’s roof. His mom always made sure that they were safe and well looked after when they made those foolish errors, giving them plenty of room to make mistakes and not feel stupid about it.
They had kind of missed out on sharing 21st birthdays, though. Keegan's was a year sooner than Jack’s, so they would've had to wait anyways, but they’d inadvertently waited over a decade. The crack of the pop-taps couldn't come soon enough, and neither could the ensuing burn of alcohol. It was liquid comfort, burning the whole way down and settling in the stomach, leaving every sensation tinged a hazy shade of amber.
Kick, in his endless curiosity, had obtained a camcorder at some rate. They had access to new technology, high quality drones and cameras, and yet he was obsessing over the film grain and scan lines of the older camera. It was probably as old as him, the brand name long scratched off from time and use, but he still boasted it’s American made durability. Pointing it at Jack after a couple of drinks, giggling to himself as he zoomed it in and out.
“Alright, alright — this one’s Jack. We’re still — heh — getting used to him, but this kid?” Kick turned the camera to himself for dramatic effect. “Sharpshooter. I think he could shoot the pimento out of a fucking olive from a hundred meters out.”
“He said that’s pushing it.” Keegan answered for Jack, having taken up that role nicely. They weren't quite at the point of telepathy, but beating ASL into his head was starting to work. Jack picked up usage of it back in college, so a refresher was needed before he could actually use it, but the main problem was teaching it to Keegan. He was impatient and short tempered, but he could learn it for the other's sake.
“Maybe! Maybe it's not! Only way to find out is to try, Jack.” Kick snickered as he turned the camera around again, watching through the viewfinder as Ajax joined Keegan and Jack on the balcony. The sunset over Santa Monica Pier was beautiful, even now, with a fort plopped overtop of it. Ajax took his spot between the two others, throwing his arms around them with a smile.
“Good to have the gang back together.” Ajax hummed, pulling Jack in a bit closer, spilling a little bit of his drink in the process. “Fucking missed you, kid, seriously. You have no idea what it was like dealing with Grumpy over here for 15 years without you.”
“I’m not grumpy.” Keegan huffed. “I’m apathetic.”
“Whatever you say.” Ajax laughed, snatching Keegan’s drink from his hand before disappearing back inside with Kick hot on his heels. It was a mostly empty can anyways, so he wasn't terribly disappointed. Still, he wanted to obtain just one more for the end of the night, grabbing one for Jack as well. Turns out, both of them grew up with quite the tolerance for the stuff despite having exactly zero when they were younger. Keegan’s resilience could be attributed to body mass, but Jack’s was built entirely on whiskey lullabies.
The years of travel were hard on him, a once soft and fearful creature of a boy, now…a man.
Keegan took a moment in the doorway to look at him, really look at him. Wearing sweat-shorts and that blasted knee brace, scars drawing up and down the length of his left leg. His sweatshirt, an increasingly well used and loved camouflage tarp of cloth, swallowing up his lanky frame with ease. Those pretty brown eyes, watching the sun dip beneath the horizon, casting tangerine and coral hues all over him.
It was straight out of a movie, or a memory, he couldn't tell.
What’re you staring at? Jack signed, catching Keegan a bit off guard. He bit at his bottom lip beneath his mask and unhooked one side of it to take a drink from the fresh can.
“You. Just…taking it all in.”
Take your time. I’m here now.
“Got no idea how good it feels to know that you're still kickin’ dirt up, Jackie, I…” Keegan stuttered a bit, an uncommon occurrence for him. He didn't feel that sort of nervousness often, hadn't since he left for basic. Scratch that. He hadn't felt genuinely nervous since Tel Aviv, calling Jack from the back of that plane, hands trembling in fear. This wasn't anything like that, though, this was the butterflies sort of nervousness. Somehow, infinitely more terrifying than getting shot at. “I want to make it up to you, somehow.”
What?
“The last…what, 15 years?”
We're older now. You know that. Can't go back and change what already happened. Jack shrugged, not quite grasping that Keegan meant it. He wanted to repair what damage had been done to whatever extent he could, even if things were vastly different, even if they were entirely different people now.
Whether Jack knew it or not, he still had the combination to Keegan's pad-lock chest, the chasm labeled hollow to keep anything good out. It didn't matter how they got here, what mattered was now Keegan has a shot at actually apologizing. Making right what he had once done wrong. He would regret not reaching out sooner until the day he was dead, but he could do better this time around. This is not the kind of opportunity he could squander.
No way in hell.
“I know. But…I can be the person now that I couldn't be then.” Keegan came closer until he was leaning up against the railing, too, overlooking the pier. If he looked up at the stars long enough, he could almost imagine the floating space trash left behind from ODIN, what didn't enter the atmosphere swirling and churning above their heads. “I’m not saying we pick up where we left off in ‘07, I’m just asking that you hear me out.”
Okay. I’ll bite.
“Plain and simple. We know what happened in-between then and now, but we can just…ignore it.” Keegan inched closer as he spoke, until he was shoulder to shoulder with the shorter man. The cold drink in his hand was all he had to steady himself, shocking his system into continuing to speak. “You know I loved you then and I still do.”
Jack swallowed. Loud. The can in his hand crinkled slightly under the pressure he was holding it with, his mouth dry. He still loved him? He? Stone cold, violence wrought, Keegan fucking Russ still loved him?
He, who hid at Jack’s house from his parents, always thanking Mrs. Skalbek for the place to stay, always denying how often he was there. Hiding the fleeting kisses, never lingering long enough to leave a mark on soft flesh. Lying to himself and his father, always forcing himself into the image of what he thought a man to be, never showing much softness at all.
Only to Jack, only back then, only behind closed doors.
This was a massive, groundbreaking departure from whomever that was back then. It took their semi-permanent separation for Keegan to admit that he loved Jack the first time, it only took a few months this go around. The promise of staying, rather than leaving or coming back, was much more emotionally grounding.
“Was that too much?” Keegan asked after a moment. He seemed on edge about Jack’s reaction, gaze flickering anywhere but on those soft brown eyes, eating him alive.
No. It's just been a long time.
“You probably moved on, like, a few months after I last called, huh?”
Never. Jack sighed softly in reply. There was emotion in the movement of his hands, his eyes portraying all of that sadness well. It was never really over.
Just five words, but those five words carried an unspeakable weight. Keegan stared for only a few seconds, going to speak when Jack continued.
Everything came back to you one way or another. My thesis for my degree was a portfolio full of you. I still texted you every time I needed to talk even if you didn't answer, I needed you. My mom called me every few months and I was so scared that she would tell me you were dead that I just didn't pick up. Everything I did up until the fucking world ended was about you, no matter how fast I ran.
It all spilled out so fast that Jack couldn't even be impressed with himself. His hands stuttered every once in a while on more complex words. The words themselves shocked Keegan, too, but that was secondary. He felt wholly guilty for ever letting himself get so close to Jack back then, because his own feverish dreams of doing something with his life just meant he did that to Jack. Got him hooked and ran, watching it spiral out of hand until he was sure he lost Jack forever. The red string tying them together threatened to be severed by the universe with every knot and fray in its threads.
But it never broke. It never fell lifeless.
He would've thought that Jack married, maybe even squeaked out a kid or two, joined the PTA. Cut his hair short and finally start making art for a living, take his kids to soccer practice — not wake up in the middle of the night missing his highschool boyfriend.
Boyfriend.
Were they ever even that much?
Are you gonna say something or what, K? Jack added, breaking Keegan out of the cyclical nightmare of thoughts in his mind.
“I just didn't…know you felt that way about it.”
You had everything to lose by loving me, and you did it anyway. How could I ever move on from that? He wasn't speaking, but he was feeling every emotion from every word. Jack’s eyes were all welled with tears, a soft gasp escaping with every mouthed syllable. Threatening to spill out, but not quite making a sound.
Keegan knew what Jack meant. He would’ve been kicked out if his father ever caught wind of what Keegan was doing with ‘the no-good Skalbek boy’ down the street. If not for Jack’s mom, they would’ve never gotten as far as they did back then. Even then, it wasn't far. He would’ve been spitting teeth from that fight, if he ever found out, probably dead.
He’d unknowingly shown Jack that someone could love him enough to die for him, and as a consequence he never really learned how to be loved any less.
“You still feel that way?” Keegan asked after a moment of silence, a bit of his inhibition slipping away. Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps it was just an old spark flickering back into life.
Always.
“Can I start trying to make up for that lost time, then?”
“Please.” Jack replied out loud, gaze averted out of embarrassment. That didn't last long, though, not with that spark beginning to rage into flames. Nothing could've kept Keegan’s hands off of him, his drink thrust into Jack’s hand so that he could pick him up a little bit easier. Hoisting him up onto the railing of the balcony for balance, strong arms laced around Jack holding him steady. The railing creaked, the drop was far, but neither of them seemed to give a damn.
Hot. Heavy. Hurried, whiplash kisses, hands in hair and lips on teeth. It was not gentle, it was not pretty, it was feverish and raw. Keegan could've made him bleed with sharp canines on his bared neck and he would’ve been quite alright with it.
Even when Kick threw the door open, trailed by Ajax with the camcorder, he couldn't have guessed what was going on outside until he saw it. Under the haze of one flickering light that never quite stays on long enough to catch a clear glimpse, but the camera picking up their meshed bodies nonetheless.
“Get a room, you two! Sheesh!” Ajax laughed, but impressively enough, neither seemed to care.
“Mmmhmm…Can’t hear you.” Keegan murmured against Jack’s lips, earning a snicker from the blonde in his arms, still faithfully holding both of their drinks.
“Talk about making up for lost time.” Ajax joked. Kick all too certain he would get chewed out by Keegan if he drunkenly giggled too, he stayed quiet. As quickly as they came they dipped back inside with Ajax pumping his fist, proclaiming that he always knew.
“This alright, Jack?” Keegan asked, breathless as he took a moment to cool off. Still holding the other man, just leaving some space between them for now. Foolishly, Jack dropped the cans so he could sign, a blush dusting his cheeks as the half-drank liquid spattered on the ground beneath them.
Haven’t been this alright since I don't know when.
“Can't lie to you, I never — you were — ugh, fuckin’ sounds pathetic…” Keegan sucked a breath in shakily and buried his face in the crook of Jack's neck, faint scent of cologne and body wash still attached to him. “Never let anyone get close after you. No-one.”
Touch-starved did not begin to cover it.
He didn't hug, he didn't do physical contact, skin-to-skin was a foreign thing. Jack was probably the last person who touched him with bare hands and he didn't convulse. Ajax was an exception to that rule, but it wasn't like they were snuggling. Pats on the back, pull-ups onto a ledge — those weren't intimate like this. He didn't get intimate.
Jack felt sort of dirty knowing he'd gone and tried to bury the feeling of needing someone he couldn't have in the arms of others, never succeeding, whereas Keegan had done the opposite. Instead of voicing that he only ran his hands through Keegan’s short, scruffy hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
“You think it’s pathetic, don't you?” Keegan sighed, nuzzling into the other man with wandering butterfly kisses, lips ghosting over his main artery.
Two whistles for no.
“Hah! Sure thing, Jackie, sure…” He laughed. “Remind me to never ask you that sorta thing again, ‘cause even your whistles sound sarcastic.”
They weren't, but Jack would let him live in his little bubble. Moments like this were never long enough, and thankfully they got to spend the rest of the night catching up on the important things, previously undiscussed stories of Jack’s life in SoCal. It was good to know that they at least had a chance before things began to kick up once again.
For some reason, things didn't.
It was a pure, mostly calm stalemate.
Sure, they still got sent on patrols. They often made ventures to the No Man’s Land border, overlooking the minefields and traps, wondering what could possibly shift the tides. Piece by piece, some bizarre force of nature allowed them to rebuild what used to be between them.
Some nights that meant they’d climb atop the roof with Keegan's iPod, still functional despite a cracked screen and barely functional UI, and let the world melt away. If only for one night at a time they could pretend to be real people, living some sort of domestic existence in a place far from the halted war. Perhaps, in that distant timeline, they wouldn't even have survived a relationship in their teen years without the hardship they’d suffered.
As far as either was concerned, it made them stronger.
Forced them to learn what it meant to live without the other one. Of course, this meant that they knew how dull and awful life could be when it was empty, and they'd fight a hell of a lot harder to stay now that they'd been threatened with separation once.
Jack was a silent killer, Keegan a mouth full of vicious mockeries. Ghosts. Wisps in the wind. Dead already, living a better afterlife on the other side of the apocalypse. Nothing the Federation could throw their way would hold any weight, of this they were certain.
Until they did, of course.
No good thing lasts forever.
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spacejamsdj · 6 months ago
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Reblog if you can absolutely destroy these 2 at roblox
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stargirlstabber · 4 months ago
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sadnsxft · 1 year ago
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Little bit of angst for my KeeganxOC that I’m willing to share: my OC Isaac didn’t join with the operation run by Elias until right before the start of the campaign. So a little side not I added to the story is that, as the story of GHOSTS plays out and they keep getting duped by Rourke who always seems one step ahead, Elias, Merrick and the rest of the Ghosts are suspicious that Isaac might be a traitor because of his sudden appearance in the fight against the Federation (and also because of some other things about him and his past that would take too long to explain lol)
Keegan never suspected Isaac to be a traitor or a mole or anything so he’s angry at the others for insinuating that Isaac is the enemy but he also trusts his team with his life so he is torn between wanting to trust Isaac but also intrinsically trusting his team. Keegan deals with a lot of inner turmoil, trying to figure out if his feelings for Isaac are clouding his judgement or if they are all just missing something and Isaac’s supposed involvement is just a coincidence.
In the meantime, Isaac has no idea that the others suspect him to be a traitor, however he is not surprised to find out when they eventually confront him. Isaac has been scorned by his previous teams and commanding officers before this, in addition to just not having anyone he could trust in his life since the Federation attack 10 years ago. Granted Isaac did have ulterior/secondary motives for helping the Ghosts but he never betrayed them to Rourke or the Federation.
(Sorry for the mini novel lol)
NEVER APOLOGIZE FOR YOUR CREATIVITY!! i LOVE me a good long read anyways
first off let me just thank you for sharing, this is fuckin dope! second, OMGG I LOVE LOVE LOVE A good suspected traitor trope. i havent found many cod fics with this trope (SURPRISINGLY!! tbh i might just not have looked enough) but when you get them DAMN DO YOU GET THEM
i can imagine the angst the slowburn the heart aching feelings especially when keegan is just spiraling wondering if he should trust his heart or his team. AND POOR ISAAC. bro doesnt even know theyre falsely suspecting him. and i know you said hes not surprised by the team confronting him but you just KNOW theres that underlying feelings of "well... fuck" and not being able to trust anyone and not having anyone trust you no matter what you do.
UGH THE ANGST POTENTIAL IS SO GOOD
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yawnderu · 11 months ago
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"Please." You beg, needy kisses planted all over his face as he gropes you, one hand firmly kneading the fat of your ass while the other one is holding your neck gently, making sure you don't try to give him more neck kisses. He's already painfully hard, he doesn't need you making it even worse— not when he's having so much fun teasing you.
"I'll think about it." You can see the smugness painted all over his face, not allowing you to touch yourself yet refusing to fuck you even when you're all needy and willing for him, ovulation almost driving you crazy. His rough hand slips into your pajama shorts, squeezing the bare skin of your ass. You cling closer to him, eyes closing and fingers squeezing his strong arms.
"You're so fucking rude." Your desperation is cute, his smirk growing wider as he lets go of your neck and allows you to hide your face on the crook of his neck, planting open-mouthed kisses.
"If you don't fuck me, I'll find someone else who will." The empty promise gets his attention, dark eyebrow raising in mild annoyance despite the way he tries to keep showing you he's unaffected by your words. He knows you won't— but what if you actually try doing that? His ego bruises a little, grabbing your wrist and guiding your hand to cup his painfully hard cock, almost groaning at the feeling when you start to rub him through his sweatpants.
"Think someone else has a fucking cock this big?" He presses your hand closer to his clothed dick, helping you rub him up and down faster. Your lips crash against his to shut him up, ovulation throwing all shame out of the window as your hands explore each other's bodies.
You hesitantly break away from the kiss, already pulling his sweatpants down and hooking them under his balls, getting to action so fast that he can barely register. You're between his open legs, licking teasing stripes up and down his shaft, feeling him throb underneath your flat tongue.
"Fuck." His hand goes to the back of your head, guiding your open mouth to the tip of his cock, head throwing back when he feels you latch onto the tip. It's too much— his tip was leaking from the moment he saw how needy you were for him, yet you're making things so much worse for him now. Your tongue runs circles over his sensitive tip, tasting and spreading the salty precum all over before you start taking him in, sucking in your cheeks to make him feel even better.
His hands move your hair away from your face before cupping your cheeks and starting to thrust up into your needy throat. You relax your muscles as much as possible, feeling him hit the back of your throat as your nose makes contact with the his dark, curly pubes.
"Attagirl." He praises lowly once you take him all the way inside your throat, starting to fuck into you faster and faster, the wet sounds of your throat and saliva driving him closer to the edge even when you just started. He can't help it— you look too fucking pretty with your makeup all messed up, spit dripping down your chin and with his thick cock all the way down your throat.
Half-lidded eyes look down at you as he holds the back of your head, pushing his cock as deep as possible into your throat before shooting ropes of salty cum, the sounds of your gag reflex being triggered and the coughs you try to let out even when his cock is buried into you simply make it hotter for him, only letting go once you slap his thigh softly. He gently pulls out of you, breaths coming in ragged as he tries to recover, feeling your tongue lapping at his softening cock and cleaning him up before pulling his sweatpants back up.
"Come here." He encourages you once he's able to breathe normally, letting out a content sigh once you're cuddling him up and laying your head on his chest. His arms wrap around you and he plants gentle kisses on your forehead, baby blue eyes looking down at you with nothing short of raw adoration.
"Give me a few and I'll be ready to fuck you." He promises in a whisper, one of his rough hands sneaking into your pajama shorts, a deep chuckle escaping his lips when you instantly open your legs for him.
"So fucking wet." He sounds amused as his fingers make contact with your folds, teasing the entrance before rubbing small circles on your puffy clit. Lovely girl you are, making him cum first even when you were this wet the whole time.
His free hand cradles your head, angling it up so he can plant his lips on yours and muffling your whiny moan as his thick fingers begin to enter your cunt, giving you time to ease up to his touch.
His tongue wraps around yours, pushing your head closer to his to be able to kiss you as deep as possible as his fingers curl into your cunt, thumb rubbing your clit in gentle circles. He pushes his fingers in and out of your cunt, spreading the wetness all over and going back inside, fingering you faster until you can't contain your moans anymore.
You break away from the kiss, face hiding on the crook of his neck and taking in his smell, hand coming up to grasp his strong forearm as he fingers you deeper and faster. It doesn't take long before your orgasm hits, whiny moans leaving your lips as your hips involuntarily thrust up, making him go deeper as you ride out your orgasm.
He pulls his fingers out of you slowly, guiding them to his lips to lick off the mess you made, tasting you. The corners of his lips tug up into a smirk as he sees your slightly embarrassed expression, playfully pushing your head out of the way.
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