#Keegan cod

[boodarko]

maybe the chronically online man shouldn’t be the one driving the helo

[koenigsbleachedshirt]

How the CoD men would fuck you 🫵🏻

Including: König, Ghost, Keegan, Krueger, Nikto x reader (can be read as neutral)

Contains: dacryphilia, size kink, belly bulge, riding, bondage, sensory deprivation, impact play, face fucking, face-sitting, knife play, marking, blood play

(Nikto's is a bit on the extreme side, so be warned)

And don't call me out!!! I know my favorites show!!!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

König

is the type to make you ride him

guides you by your hips, slow and deep

if you're not riding him, he definitely loves taking you in missionary..... he loves seeing the bulge on your belly

loves leaving his handprints on your skin from gripping you so hard

definitely gets off on your height difference, loves manhandling the fuck out of you - expect to be thrown and bent without warning

Ghost

always so rough with you- he doesn't hide how much he wants you, he's unfiltered and unapologetic with what he does

will make you sit on his face, no matter how much you protest and whine about it... he WILL eat you out, no matter what - and he does it like a starved man

the type to fuck you in full nelson, or just crushing you under him mercilessly as he burrows his thick cock into you

definitely has a thing for pounding you senseless- has you drooling within MINUTES

will also definitely degrade the shit out of you- but in the "look at my cute little cocksleeve, takin' me so well." kinda way

Keegan

devil in disguise. This motherfucker will tie you up and have his way with you until you physically can't take it anymore

will tie your hands to the bed posts and go down on you until you beg for him to stop- he also definitely busted a load while you did

loves leaving hickeys on your thighs, tummy, and chest - only for him to admire

definitely praises the living daylights out of you to somewhat make up for the relentless teasing you suffer under him

ALSO,, he loves using toys on you. He will hold a vibrator on you or fuck it into you, watching your expressions as he does.... only to deny you your orgasm

Krueger

he's such a little shit..... he's the type to rough you up, get you naked, and then have you suck him off - he's not exactly the gentlest either, he WILL fuck your face, hands in your hair and all

he definitely gets off on seeing your tear-streaked face from when he shoved his cock down your throat a little too far and made you gag

other than that, he also loves to manhandle you around. His favorite positions are definitely doggy, reverse cowgirl, and missionary. He WILL leave his marks on you. Everywhere.

have i mentioned that he loves degrading you and making you cry? Because he will. And if it isn't from his cruel words, then it's definitely from his unforgiving, hard, deep thrusts. He doesn't go fast, no no no... he goes SO DAMN SLOW it's maddening.

also the type to make sure that when he cums, it's in his favorite, tight little hole ;)

Nikto

depending on his mood, he's either the sweetest or the meanest. No in-between. Either you'll cry because it's too much, or you'll cry because it's not enough.

the type to carve his initials into your skin, dip his fingers in your blood, and feed it to you, only to lean in and shove his greedy tongue into your mouth - eager to get a taste of you

he will fuck you either hard and fast, or deep and slow... and you won't get away. He will cage you in and make you take it.

the type to make you cum so many times you're a babbling, brainless mess- molded to the shape of him... or he will deny you so many times you cry and beg for it, but once he gives you what you want, don't expect him to stop until HE is satisfied

he WILL go down on you after he finished - wanting to taste what he made of you...

[schizo-bbgs]

Keegan ^(2)

[danyasblogsblog]

doin’ it rough with keegan russ

warnings : rough sex, slapping, degradation, crying, keegan kinda mocking reader, smut (obvi) idk what else but very smutty

GUYSGUYS im so sorry jm so awful at writing smut but i just HAD to write something for keegan because i swear hes so skfbaks

keegan’s calloused hands gripped your thighs as he lifted them on his shoulders, rutting into you like an animal. filthy groans escaped his mouth as you whined, your cunt clenching around him. a string of curses escaped your mouth as he snarled dirty words into your ear ‘you like it when i fuck you like this, hm?’. the sinful sound of skin slapping together, and the loud whimpers you let out every time he slammed into your ruined pussy bounced off the walls as he stared at your contorting face- which just drove his wanting to destroy you.

‘god, you’re such a slut for me, arent you?’ he growled, his hands holding onto your thighs so tightly you were sure you’d be covered in purple bruises afterwards. you whimpered as he fucked you so cruelly- as if he was trying to rearrange your guts. ‘answer me, dirty girl.’ you squealed at his words. ‘yesyesyesiam’

his animalistic thrusts got rougher, watching your boobs bounce as your hands gripped onto his arms, looking for some support. ‘you’re what, baby?’ ‘imaslutfor- fuck- imaslutforyoukeegan, please please please..’ even though your eyes were squeezed shut, you knew he was grinning like the cheshire cat. your mindless babbling went on as he slammed into you, making you drunk on his dick. his deep thrusts made you feel euphoric- his dick filling you up so well. tears rolled down your cheeks as you felt your climax approaching ‘crying for me, huh? you feel so good, you’re crying for me, slut?’ his words were so cruel, but you loved it. his hands repositioned to your hips, squeezing them as he grunted from your clenching cunt. you didn’t expect him to slap you when you didnt answer his question. the stinging left you with even more tears, and a whine left your lips as your mouth fell open from the callousness of his powerful thrusts. ‘answer me.’ ‘yesyesiam- fuckfuckfuck..’ you whimpered. ‘im so closeimso … fuck, keegan!!’

‘cum on my cock, baby, cmon’

[alkern]

my bebe girl oc with ghosts boys

[callsignmarz]

Texting the COD Men

POV : They’re jealous

MDNI | 18+ | NSFW

[forsworned]

I WANNA TAKE A RIDE ON YOUR DISCO STICK ft. SWITCH!KEEGAN

𓈒༑•̩̩͙ ⏤ 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗑 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁!𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗇, 𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑, 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝖽𝖺, 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗂𝖾, 𝗉𝗇𝗏

𓈒༑•̩̩͙ ⏤ 𝗌𝗒𝗉𝗇𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗌: 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗏𝗒 𝗀𝖿, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝖾𝗋

𓈒༑•̩̩͙ ⏤ 𝖺/𝗇: 𝗂 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗆𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗀𝗌

⤷ links: masterlist rules buy me a coffee!!

Whether it was on base, missions, or in the privacy of your quarters, you were always inappropriately groping at your quiet boy toy (with his prior permission obviously), but that doesn't stop him from shooting you an icy glare that sent you snickering. Truthfully, you palming at his dick over his trousers was enticing for him. He loved the perverse smile that graced your glossy lips when you skipped away after his cock immediately chubbed at your touch. Always casting aside the jabs from his teammates about the hickies that littered his neck and torso, and the scratch marks that etched into his back in long, jagged crimson streaks. Keegan didn't give a damn.

In fact, he proudly paraded you around, with fresh bite marks on his neck after you finished grinding down on cock just moments ago while your hands were pressed into neck as he begged for more. Keegan was so, so, so needy. So, need for you.

"Fu⏤ fuck, angel, I⏤ " He whimpered out underneath you, as you greedily bounce on his cock and your breasts caromed with every stroke. His thick brows scrunching together as his pretty, wintry hues rolled back in his skull and his jaw hung as strangled moans left those rosy lips of his. "I⏤think, I think gonna c⏤"

"Uh uh uh." You gently chided, halting your ministrations against his hips, depriving him of any pleasure. He let out a constricted whine at your display of authority that he found so sexy, but it only made him more yielding to your rule.

A soft exhale left his lips as he smiled up at you, eyes still closed, caressing your sides and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. The dom in him itching to come crawling out, and tossing you around like a ragdoll. Keegan was certainly allowing you to have a little too much fun in this domineering position, and your heart instantly jumped at the expression on his face as his eyes fluttered open. Dark, long lashes framing his steely, libidinous gaze.

His teeth hooking into his lip was a dead giveaway of him deciphering whether or not to flip you over and hammer into you to satiate his needs of absolutely pulverizing you. Nothing would satisfy him more than to do just that. Your haughty gaze challenging him to do what he was currently pondering, knowing damn well he outsized you and the thought alone was quickly decoded as he practically saw the submissiveness trickle into your eyes. As soon as you could even register it, Keegan had you flat on your back. The mattress warm and slightly damp was an indication of how much you were torturing him, but now it was his turn.

A small gasp escaped you when he held your wrists with his hefty hand. "Think you've had enough fun, princess." He declared, hovering over your quivering form and a deep chuckle bubbled from his chest as he slowly rolled his hips so deliciously against yours. The shattered breath that escaped you was so heavenly to him, lyrical even. The enmeshment of dirty words, incoherent profanities, whimpers and groans was a little symphony orchestrated by him. The blissful thrusts only made your pussy pulsate against his girthy cock, stretching you pliant as hell.

Though there was still a look of defiance scrambled into your features that were bunched up in the thrill of him taking control. "Oh, don't look at me like that." His honeyed voice, said between your lips glossed over with saliva as he gently pressed his free hand around your throat.

"Open your mouth." He prodded your mouth open with his thumb, ceasing his movements for a moment as you observed him spitting into your mouth. His saliva hit your tongue and you immediately swallowed it. An involuntary clench was enough to part his own lips to let a shameless whimper slip out. That sent him into euphoria as he drove all the way into you to the hilt, kissing your cervix so delightfully. The both of spiraling into a frenzy as you clasped your legs around his waist and his brows furrowed once more as the silky warm that enveloped his cock.

His tip nudging at your a-spot slowly, but deeply as your mouth hung open at the luscious sensation. The way your eyes never left his each and every time he pounded into as you puckered your walls around him, making him near his end. "Fuck, princess⏤gonna cum." He softly cried out between thrusts and you nodded, with starry eyes and lips laquered with his saliva.

"Keegan⏤" You choked out between sobs as his fingers tightened around your throat and you felt your orgasm start to build up in your lower belly. "I'm⏤"

"Cum for me." He let out a shaky breath, and you felt the warm, rushing sensation expanding through your system as your climax rippled through you. And he felt that. Every single twitch and pulse as you locked onto him and soon he felt that sweet, sweet, moment of carthasis washing over him. His dick throbbed uncontrollably, spilling his tepid, creamy arousal into you.

Your lips curling into a giddied smile as you both caught your breath, covering your eyes with your forearm. Keegan's intense gaze usually left you flustered after such an impassioned session. He licked his moistened lips and chuckled at your shy state, always finding it endearing as hell when your orgasm carried you away. "Let me see that pretty face." He murmured, moving your arm out of the way and you peeked an eye at him that sent him into fit of laughter.

And you whined as he embraced you, rolling you over so that you laid ontop of him. A gentle kiss to your hair as he pulled upward so he could nuzzle his nose against your soft cheeks. Another plush kiss to your skin and playfully groaned, pinching his nipple in return. He jolted at the sudden pang of pain.

"Oh, you wanna play dirty, huh?" His husky voice perked up and you knew what was coming. You attempted to escape his grasp but his stout fingers caged you as he began to tickle you.

"No! N-no! Keegan⏤!" You struggled to find words between breaths and laughter. His assault not stopping, your mirth like music to his ears. To him, there was nothing better than these silly little moments he shared with you.

𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗌 𝖻𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 ࣪ೀ ࣪ 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 © 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽

[parkersbliss]

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

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

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

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

SYMPATHOMIMETIC

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

Masterlist | Taglist | Requesting (open for cod!)

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

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

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

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

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

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

He found it annoying, really. 

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

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

Keegan’s concerns lay elsewhere than finding a partner. 

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

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

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

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

“You know what I miss?” You asked. 

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

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

“You got one in mind?” 

“Juno.” 

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

“Have you seen it?”

“Negative. Educate me.” 

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

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

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

So he resorted to the small things.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As stupid as the first time he saw you. 

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

“I love you,” he says.

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

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

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

“BP coming up! 98/72.” 

“I love you too.” 

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

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

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

“Now what?” 

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

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

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

“Will you marry me?” 

“Yes.” 

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

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

Keegan Taglist: @trxpslxt @galactict3a @engie115

[yawnderu]

Currently obsessed with dbf!Keegan... like just imagine the scary dog privileges that come with having this man around. He doesn't even wear the balaclava or eyeblack when he's out, but just his creepy ass 🔵🔵 eyes are enough to scare off anyone who even looks your way. Like okay, we see them son. You can blink now.

And don't even get me started on how annoying this man would be. Pulling your hair to annoy you, flipping you off, pushing you out of the way and looking over his shoulder with the most annoying shit-eating grin that makes you want to actually punch him dead in the windpipe. Not to mention he'd totally see you struggling to open a jar and go "allow me" just to tighten it up more.

Absolute nightmare driver. He may take you out everywhere, but no one is an atheist when Keegan is driving and you really want to tell him, but he always keeps his gun on him.💀

BUT despite all the banter, his protective instincts kick in super easily with you. Someone is mean mugging you? He's glaring back. Someone says anything mean to you? He'll deal with it. God help any man who tries to flirt with you or catcalls you. He teaches you how to defend yourself since he won't always be there to protect you, often deployed in missions. I can also see him teaching you how to shoot a gun, just in case you ever need to. He takes you to a random field and teaches you the basics, and once you're confident enough, maybe he even takes you hunting.

I can see the dad being a disabled veteran who served with Keegan(?) simply happy to have some help with you, knowing Keegan can take you places and do things he can't do anymore. Despite you being an adult, I'm a sucker for father-daughter fluff, so the dad has def cried in secret whenever you show him new things you learnt or show him pictures of places Keegan took you to. Of course, he's not excluded, always hosting dinners and BBQs in the house whenever Keegan is back, and trying to join both of you if possible.

Keegan is like an annoying older brother, the type of man who makes you believe murder should be legal, yet you still deeply care for. He doesn't keep any things on him that may be linked to your father or you in fears of him being a ghost putting you in danger, but he has a bunch of polaroids in a safe in his house, which he looks at whenever he's off base and feeling down.

Speaking of pictures, you totally forced him to get into a photo booth with you and he now keeps the fucking ugliest pictures ever, threatening to ask a ghost to hack into your account and post them whenever you're being too annoying.

IF things ever go further between both of you, you can count on this man to slonk your shit silly style like sloppy swag. This man has a lot of pent-up frustration, which he only takes out on you after making sure you're okay with it.

He's a bully. Stops thrusting when you're feeling good just to hear you whine, thrusting painfully slow until you're begging for more.

There's definitely guilt when it comes to being intimate with you, despite you being in your mid-20s, you're the daughter of his best friend. It feels wrong, so he makes up for it by treating you extra good. You got spoiled before, but now? Prepare for the most extra and expensive gifts you never even thought about. He earns good money, and has plenty of savings just in case. He's still annoying, though.

[2kiran]

keegan with a mask kink meeting masked!reader. when he finds out that you’re so strong too? god, he's rubbing his thighs together that do nothing to ease the ache. you don't interact with him that much, rarely meeting his eyes and he thinks he's sick for getting off to the thought of having to beg for your attention.

[konigsblog]

plugs

keegan russ x afab!fem!reader ...

warnings: female anatomy, female titles, plugs, praising, mentions of pregnancy, blowjob, cockwarming, cunnilingus, keegan is a munch!

kinktober masterlist (day 29)

Your back arched, panting and left breathless as he pulls away from your drooling cunt. Your hole aches, raw and throbbing from Keegan's rough pace. He chuckles lowly, pushing the diamond plug inside your hole to plug his potent cum inside you.

“Gotta make sure my cum stays inside, not a drop...” Keegan leans back, admiring the mess. He holds your thighs open; caked in cum and slick, wet and sticky while you look at him dizzily, your eyes halfway shut. He grunts at the sight, smacking his tip against your clit, leaning down to lap over it.

Your hole is full, stuffed with a plug, sucking and licking at your visible clit, making you shudder and sob and shake due to another orgasm pooling at your cunny. “Wanna see ya' swollen. With my babies.” he smiles at you, sucking at your clit harshly before manhandling you.

He stands up, your back against the mattress head tilted off so he can throat fuck you. He eases inside, gripping at your titties and groaning out when he pushes fully inside your mouth. Keegan's fingers toy with the plug, rubbing your clit while fucking and thrusting against your mouth sloppily. You cry, weep and whimper around him, especially when he rubs his wet thumb against your sensitive, greedy nub.

With your pussy full and wet, he smacks his broad hips against your mouth, his fat and girthy dick thrusted down your throat. “Wanna see ya' pregnant...” he gasps out when you tighten your lips around him, a visible outline of his cock in your throat. He groans, rubbing your clit and watching you tighten your thighs. Moaning around his shaft while the head of his girth smacks against the back of your throat, spurting thick and hot seed down your throat.

You pant when he looks away, pulling the plug from your cunny, his sticky seed oozing out and coating your thighs. It runs down to your asshole, milky white cum, sticky when he runs his fingertip against your glossy and slick slit.

He definitely made you clean off the plug while eating his cum out of you, his tongue curled inside.

[cod-imagines]

imagine #6

character: Keegan P. Russ words: 8059 cw: 18+, bit of angst, very mild sexual content (just a little) description: in which Keegan hides out on your family’s farm when a mission goes wrong. (requested anonymously, hope I did it justice!!) a/n: yee-haw I love farmer!Keegan lmfao I hope you guys like it!! this is set before the events of the cod: ghosts game btw!

Your routine never changed. There wasn’t room for variation anymore, not in this world — not here, beyond the Liberty Wall where the Federation watched everything. You got up with the sun, worked until it set, and tried not to be noticed. That was how you survived.

They said your family was spared for “provisions,” but you’d long since stopped pretending that was anything but a half-truth. The Federation let your family exist because you were useful — because your fields fed them, your cows gave milk, your hens laid eggs. And in return, they didn’t burn your land to ash like they did to the neighbours. As long as the soil stayed fertile, as long as the silence was kept, you were allowed to live. But that wasn’t freedom. It was barbed wire shaped into a leash.

You’d been young when it all fell apart — San Diego, your parents, the sky itself. The fire from above had blotted everything out, and by the time the smoke cleared, you were a teenage orphan on a half-burnt patch of land with two aging grandparents and nothing else. Ten years later, you were still there, grown now, hardened by it all. The sun was meaner, the wind sharper, and every shadow on the horizon made your chest go tight.

You stood among the chickens as they shuffled and clucked around your boots, their beady little eyes focused only on the corn you'd scattered. Stupid, greedy birds. But they were gold, in their own way — eggs for barter, meat for when things got bad, and the illusion of normalcy in a world that had long since turned to hell. You wiped your hands against your trousers, faded denim nearly threadbare at the knees, and turned back toward the house. The barn’s wide mouth yawned ahead of you, and your stomach growled as you passed through it, already thinking about the dinner you’d saved for yourself. One meal a day. That was the rule.

You didn’t make it far.

A pair of arms seized you from behind, fast and brutal. Hands clamped over your mouth and nose, cutting off your breath, dragging you backwards before the scream could even leave your throat. You kicked, thrashed, elbowed, but your attacker was stronger — taller, heavier, lean muscle packed into unforgiving armour. Your back slammed into the packed dirt, the scent of hay and oil thick around you as you were forced down behind a pile of straw bales. You twisted, but his weight pressed you flat, pinning you beneath him.

“Stop fighting me, kid—”

You bit his finger.

Hard.

He let out a sharp hiss, yanking his hand back before slamming you down again, his body pressing close to restrain yours. “Fuck,” he snarled. “Alright, alright — just stop! I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Your chest heaved, your pulse thundering in your ears. You froze, just long enough to get a better look at him. His face was half-concealed by a balaclava, a rough, dark thing marked with the faded white of a skull. His gear was military, American — though beat-up and dusted with travel, like he’d been crawling through hell just to get here. But it was his eyes that truly held you in place. Blue — so blue they almost looked unreal, stark and cold and furious. Watching everything.

“Don’t scream,” he said, voice rough, low. Not quite a command, but not a plea either.

You gave a small nod.

He hesitated, then peeled his gloved hand away from your mouth. You gasped in a sharp breath, the air thick with the scent of sweat and grain. Your throat felt raw already.

“You’re not Federation,” you rasped, eyes narrowing.

“No.” His voice was quieter now. “Definitely not.” A beat passed. “Are you?”

You scoffed, disbelief tightening your face. “Do I fucking look like Federation to you?”

“I’m just asking,” he said, raising one hand defensively, as if you were the unpredictable one here. “Calm down.”

The rage hit you all at once — hot, fast, blinding. You twisted your leg and kicked him square in the chest, hard enough to shove him off balance. He grunted, staggered back onto one knee.

“Fuck you,” you snapped, scrambling upright. “You don’t get to grab someone like that, asshole! Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? If anyone saw you — if a patrol even thinks someone’s here — my whole family’s dead.”

His head tilted, skull mask shifting with the motion. “Do that again,” he said, voice clipped, “and I’ll break your leg.”

But there was no fire behind it. Just exhaustion. And something else — something that sounded a hell of a lot like desperation, thinly buried beneath the steel. He didn’t reach for his gun. He didn’t move to stop you again. He just looked at you like he was weighing something in his mind — whether to keep speaking or vanish back into the dust.

“I need somewhere to lay low for a while,” he said, his voice rough with fatigue but steady. “I got separated from my unit a few miles back. Your farm was the first shelter I saw.”

The audacity of it struck you like a slap. For a moment, you could hardly process what he was asking — not because it was complicated, but because it was so unbelievably reckless. Outrage rose sharp and immediate in your chest. Who the hell did he think he was? Some stranger in combat gear, skulking through your barn like a ghost, grabbing you in the dark — and now he was asking for sanctuary like it was nothing? Like it wasn’t your family’s blood on the line?

“You do realize,” you said, slowly, the words raspy, “that if they catch you here, we’ll all be executed. My grandparents. Me. And you.”

It wasn’t a hypothetical. The Federation didn’t ask questions. They didn’t issue warnings or offer mercy. They came with fire and bullets and orders, and they left with corpses. You’d seen it before — neighbours who made the mistake of helping the wrong person, or even just saying the wrong thing. You’d helped dig the graves afterward.

But then — he moved. One gloved hand reached up, and in a single motion, he tugged his balaclava off and dropped it into the hay beside him.

You weren’t prepared for what you saw.

He was a little younger than you’d assumed — probably just over thirty, if that — with sharp, storm-cut features that should’ve belonged in a world untouched by war. High cheekbones, a strong jaw shadowed with stubble, a mouth set in a thin, pouty line. There was a deep, stubborn dimple in his chin, like a scar from childhood. And those eyes — still blue, still cutting — suddenly seemed far too human up close. Too beautiful. They caught you off guard in a way that had nothing to do with safety. Something pulled low in your stomach before you could even pretend to stop it.

“I’m asking you to trust me, kid,” he said, voice softer now. “Can you do that?”

You gritted your teeth. Manipulation. It had to be. A face like that didn’t just happen to look at you like that — not in a world like this. Not unless he wanted something. And maybe he did. Shelter. Safety. Food. You didn’t know. But what infuriated you the most was that it was working.

“You’ll have to speak to my grandfather,” you muttered. “I don’t call the shots here.”

He nodded once. “Fine. Take me to him.”

Of course your grandfather had said yes. Because that was the kind of man he was — old, wise, and generous to a fault. He’d looked the soldier up and down, taken in the dirt and the way his voice dipped with exhaustion, and simply nodded. No questions, no fuss. Just a quiet, “You’ll stay as long as you need to. Might as well eat too.”

Now, Keegan — he said that was his name, only once, like it didn’t matter — was seated at the dinner table, freshly changed into an old pair of your grandfather’s jeans and a soft, sun-bleached flannel. The shirt was a little too small for him, stretched tight across his chest and shoulders as he worked steadily through a plate of food meant for someone else. Meant for you.

You hadn’t said a word. Just watched from the corner of the kitchen, arms folded, mouth pressed thin. You hadn’t offered it to him, hadn’t made any grand gesture of sacrifice. But you’d let it happen. You’d stood by while your dinner was scraped into his bowl and you told yourself it was fine. You’d get used to the ache. You always did.

He spoke softly, now and then, responding to your grandfather’s occasional remarks or your grandmother’s quiet questions. Nothing personal. Nothing deep. He was careful not to give much away — always watching, always assessing — but polite. Cordial. It made you feel even more on edge.

When the dishes were cleared and your grandparents had retired for the night, you found yourself in the living room, dragging old blankets out of the chest by the hearth. The couch creaked under your touch as you layered one over the lumpy cushions, then another. You didn’t want to be hospitable. But your hands moved anyway, folding a pillow, adjusting the threadbare quilt. It felt mechanical. Performative. Like you were playing a role that had been handed to you long ago: the girl who obeyed, who made room, who didn’t ask for anything in return.

“I’ll sleep here,” you said without looking up, smoothing the blanket. “You can take my room upstairs.”

Keegan stood in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, arms crossed. You could feel his eyes on your back. You didn’t know if it was suspicion, or guilt, or something else entirely.

He didn’t thank you.

You didn’t expect him to.

⟡

The coughing didn’t stop. It had started faintly sometime before dawn, low and rasping, buried beneath the creaks of the old farmhouse, and by the time the sky turned the colour of pale ash, it had grown louder. Wet. Persistent. You heard it before your feet even touched the floor. It twisted low in your gut, a sound you recognized far too well, one that always carried the same dread-heavy question: Is this the one that ends him?

You padded down the hallway, socks catching against rough wood, and stepped into the kitchen that still smelled faintly of last night’s boiled potatoes. Keegan sat at the table, elbows resting on his knees, hunched forward like a man used to discomfort. His head tilted up slightly as you entered, eyes scanning you briefly before flicking back to the empty wall as if trying to make himself smaller. He didn’t speak. There was no food on the stove, no plates set, no hum of the kettle — just silence, thick and watchful, and the rhythmic hack of your grandfather’s lungs echoing faintly from the room upstairs.

Your grandmother came in moments later, her apron still tied from the night before, her hands trembling and dry at her sides. The way she looked at you — soft, resigned — told you everything before she even opened her mouth.

“He couldn’t get up,” she said, voice barely a whisper. “He’s burning up. Said it hit him in the night. You’ll need to tend to the fields today, sweetheart.”

You nodded stiffly, though a raw panic was beginning to thrum beneath your ribs. A cough like that could be anything — pneumonia, a cold — but none of those things ended well out here. There were no doctors. No antibiotics. No trips to town that didn’t come with a Federation checkpoint and the risk of being disappeared. And he was old. Too old to be fighting off something like this without help. You clenched your jaw to keep your voice steady.

“Okay,” you said.

You didn’t wait for Keegan’s reaction, didn’t look back to see if he was still watching. You shoved on your boots by the back door, pulling your coat over yesterday’s clothes, the fabric still stiff with dried sweat and dust. The barn smelled like cold diesel and sun-warmed hay, the morning light filtering in through the warped wooden slats in pale stripes. You moved automatically — feed first, then fence checks, then water line inspection — already running through the order of tasks in your head like a prayer. Like if you just focused hard enough, you could keep everything from falling apart.

You were halfway through setting the buckets when the barn door creaked behind you.

“You alright?” Keegan’s voice broke the quiet like a stone tossed into still water. You didn’t turn around.

“I’m busy,” you muttered.

He stepped inside anyway, heavy boots crunching on old hay. “I’m sorry about your grandfather.”

“Sure.”

“I mean it.”

You spun, fast and sharp, the tension crackling off you like static. “Look, I don’t need your pity, alright? I need the sun to stay up, the cows to not kick over the pails, and I need him to not die, so unless you’ve got something helpful to say—”

“I want to help.” He met your glare without flinching. “I know I’m not family. But I’m here too for now. Let me do something useful.”

You blinked, taken aback by the way he said it — flat, almost weary. No smugness. No charm. Just that gravel-edged voice and those winter-coloured eyes trying to make you understand something unspoken. It should have softened you. It didn’t.

“What, you think you can just roll in here with your guns and your uniform and suddenly you’re farmhand of the year?” You crossed your arms. “You think pulling security detail and running through training drills somehow qualifies you to mend a busted irrigation pipe or birth a breech calf?”

Keegan’s brow twitched, but his voice stayed even. “Didn’t say I was an expert. Said I’d help.”

“You don’t know how,” you snapped. “You don’t know the land, or the soil, or how the gates swell in the rain and need a hard shoulder to close them. You don’t know the difference between feed hay and bedding hay. You’re a soldier — not a farmer.”

“I’m a survivor,” he said, stepping closer now, the quiet heat of his presence suddenly tangible in the morning chill. “And survivors adapt. You don’t think I’ve had to fix a generator in the dark with a busted hand? Or shovel out latrines after someone dumped a septic tank in the wrong place? You think I’m too soft because I slept on your couch and ate your stew?”

You scoffed, but your arms dropped to your sides. “No. I think you’re used to shooting your problems.”

“And you’re used to ignoring anyone who offers to help you.”

That landed like a slap.

You stared at him, jaw clenched, fists curling at your sides. You wanted to scream, to shove him, to ask who the hell he thought he was, stepping into your barn, into your world, and pretending like he had any say in what happened next. But the words didn’t come. They sat bitter and heavy in your throat.

“You want to help?” you said finally, your voice low and shaking. “Fine.”

You turned and stormed out of the barn without checking if he was behind you. You didn’t need to. You could already hear his boots crunching in the gravel, steady and maddeningly sure.

⟡

By the time the sun hit its highest point in the sky, the heat was a weight pressed against your back. Sweat soaked the collar of your shirt, dust clung to your skin, and the ache in your arms had settled into something dull and constant. Even Keegan looked worn, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, dirt streaked along his forearms and across the side of his neck where he’d wiped his face. You hadn’t spoken for the last half hour — not since your fourth argument, this one about whether the fencing near the orchard should be patched from the inside or out. You’d called him a stubborn bastard; he’d called you a mule in boots. Neither of you had been wrong.

Eventually, you muttered that you needed a break, and he followed without comment.

You led him to the clearing nestled deep in the cornfield, a place carved out by your own hands over the years — small, shielded, quiet. The stalks surrounded you like walls, thick and golden, swaying gently with the breeze, their dry rustling voices swallowing up the sound of the outside world. Even the house felt far away here, unreachable. This was where you came when everything grew too loud. When you needed to scream or cry or just sit and remember how to breathe.

You tugged the frayed old blanket from where it was folded in the crook of the crate you kept hidden beneath the corn, shook the dust off, and dropped it down over the grass. It was faded, sun-bleached, a patch of something that once might’ve been blue. You sat cross-legged and tossed a few apricots into the center from the bag you'd carried — soft-skinned and warm from where they’d been tucked in your pocket.

Keegan dropped beside you, lowering himself with a tired grunt. His weight sank heavily into the blanket, close enough that you felt the shift, but not close enough to touch. He took an apricot without asking, wiped the fuzz on his jeans, and bit in.

For a while, that was all you did. Sit. Chew. Swallow. Watch the sky through the weaving blades of corn above. The silence was almost comforting.

“They asked us to evacuate,” you said eventually, voice quiet and raw at the edges. “A few months after everything went down. They came in trucks. Told us it wasn’t safe to be here anymore. Said anyone who stayed was choosing to be forgotten.” You looked down at your hands. Dirt under your nails. Small scratches on your knuckles. You flexed them. “But my grandparents have lived on this land since they were kids. Same farmhouse, same soil, same prayers every Sunday. They weren’t going anywhere. And I wasn’t about to leave them behind just because some guy in a uniform told me to.”

Keegan didn’t respond right away. He leaned back on his hands, tilted his face up toward the sun. The light caught in the strands of his dark hair, made the blue of his eyes seem even sharper when he finally glanced at you.

“I get that,” he said, low and even. “I was eighteen when I enlisted. Barely out of high school. Didn’t even wait for the ink on my diploma to dry. Just signed up. Thought I’d see the world. Serve. Do something that mattered.” He took another bite of the fruit, chewed slowly. “I was a Marine. Before ODIN. Before it all burned.”

You looked at him. He didn’t seem lifetimes older than you now, but there was something about the way he sat — bone-tired and wary, like every inch of him had been carved out by years he didn’t talk about.

“Did you ever think it’d turn out like this?” you asked softly.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t even blink. Just stared out at the stalks like he saw something else through them — ghosts of a world that had already crumbled.

You didn’t ask again.

Instead, you wiped your hands on your thighs, brushed crumbs of apricot from the corner of your mouth, and said, “Thanks. For earlier. I know I wasn’t easy to deal with.”

Keegan gave a short grunt that might’ve been a laugh. “Understatement of the century, kid.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled despite yourself. “Still. You didn’t have to help.”

“Yeah, well. I’m stuck here, remember? Figured I might as well make myself useful before you try to smother me in my sleep.”

You laughed, quiet and short, and then stretched out on the blanket, arms above your head, letting the sun bake into your skin. The air smelled like warm earth and drying leaves, sweetened faintly by the apricots. For a moment, everything felt almost normal.

Keegan shifted beside you, the blanket rustling under his weight.

“Has it always just been you?” he asked after a pause.

Your eyes opened lazily, squinting up at the sky. “What do you mean?”

He scratched his jaw, glanced sideways. “I mean… anyone else around? Someone you care about? You got somebody waitin’ on you out here, kid?”

The word kid landed different that time. Less condescending. Softer, somehow. You turned your head toward him, caught the flicker of curiosity in his expression — genuine, but guarded. Like he didn’t know if he had the right to ask, but couldn’t help himself anyway.

You didn’t answer right away.

You turned your face back up to the sky, lashes fluttering against the swell of sun. It was easier than looking at him—than facing the question for what it was. You let the heat settle on your skin and inhaled deeply, as if oxygen alone could soften the ache in your chest.

“I can’t even think about that,” you said finally, voice quiet but edged. “Romance. Love. Whatever it is you’re asking about. It doesn’t matter here. My grandparents need me. They’re old, and this land is the only thing they know. They’ve got no one else. If I leave—” You trailed off and shrugged, a sharp motion against the warm ground. “Then I’m just one more person who let them be forgotten.”

Keegan was quiet for a second too long, and you could feel the tension pull taut beside you, coiling like a live wire. When he spoke, it was with a roughness that hadn’t been there before.

“You gotta live your own life, kid,” he said, the word clipped, tired. “You can’t just keep putting yourself last forever. That’s not survival. That’s slow suicide.”

You frowned, sitting up now, brushing bits of hay off your arm. “And do what, exactly?” you snapped. “Where the fuck am I supposed to find someone? Where do you think people like me go to fall in love? The ration line?”

His gaze cut to you then, sharp, but not cruel. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You sure?” you asked, your voice getting tighter, thinner. “You come in here, sleep under my roof, eat our food, help out for half a day and suddenly you’re giving life advice?”

He let out a slow breath, like he was trying hard not to let the bite creep into his voice. “North of the Liberty Wall,” he said finally. “It’s not paradise, but it’s not this. There’s no patrols breathing down your neck. No risk of being shot for walking too far from your own damn porch. No curfews. No checkpoints. It’s still broken, sure, but there’s a kind of freedom there. People date. They laugh. They live.”

You flinched, only slightly, but it was enough. He saw it. And the silence that followed dragged heavy between you, thick as the summer air.

You shook your head, eyes fixed on the crumpled blanket beneath your hand. “There was a boy,” you murmured. “Years back. I was maybe nineteen, twenty. He used to help around the farm. He was kind. Brave. I thought—” You stopped yourself, then blew out a humorless laugh. “Well. I thought a lot of things. And then one day, he shows up in Federation gray. Patch on his arm. Said it was the only way to stay safe. Said it didn’t mean anything. That he’d protect us.”

You looked up, eyes cold and distant. “Two weeks later, he watched them burn the neighbouring field. Didn’t even blink.”

Keegan didn’t say anything for a moment. His brows were drawn tight, but he didn’t speak until the silence stretched too long to ignore.

“Not everyone’s like that, kid,” he said gently. “Some people still know where the line is. Some still fight for the right things.”

“Do they?” you asked. “Because I haven’t seen them.”

“I’m right here, aren’t I?”

You looked at him then, really looked. The way his shoulders sat stiff beneath the worn flannel, the way his fingers flexed against his thigh like he wasn’t used to being still this long. His face was serious, unreadable, but his voice stayed low.

“I could get you out.”

You blinked. “What?”

“When my unit comes for me,” he said, eyes holding yours, “and they will come for me — I could get you out. Not your grandparents — we can’t make it to the wall with them. But you. I could get you north. Somewhere safer. Somewhere you could start over.”

The words hit you like a slap. You sat up straighter, heart pounding with a mix of disbelief and fury.

“You think I’d leave them?” you asked, voice sharp now, loud in the little clearing. “You think I’d just run off and start a new life somewhere while they stay here and die in the dirt?”

“I didn’t say that—”

“You did. You fucking did. Think you can just throw a lifeline and make everything disappear.”

His jaw tightened. “Forget it.”

“No — go ahead. Tell me how grateful I should be, how lucky I am to be your little charity case.”

“I said forget it.” His voice cracked out like a gunshot, louder than you’d ever heard it. He pushed himself to his feet in one motion, tension bleeding from every line of his frame. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

You stared up at him, breathing hard, chest tight with something hot and cruel and unspoken.

He didn’t look at you as he turned to walk away. Just muttered under his breath, “Never mind, kid.”

His boot came down hard on the last apricot between you, crushing it into the blanket with a dull squish before he stalked off between the corn, vanishing into the rows without another word. You sat there alone, the sun heavy above you, and listened to the wind move through the stalks like a thousand whispers you didn’t want to hear.

⟡

A few days passed. The corn kept growing. The sky stayed blue. And against the odds, your grandfather began to mend.

It was a slow thing, the way his breath came easier, the coughs less chest-wracking. He could sit up by the third morning, grumble about the soup being too thin by the fourth. He still wasn’t out of bed, but you could see it — life returning in fits and starts, that same stubbornness you knew too well shining through the cracks in his frailty. Your grandmother wept once behind the shed, soft and private, her apron bunched against her mouth, but said nothing about it after.

And Keegan—

Keegan stayed.

He kept working. Fixing the fence you’d sworn couldn’t be salvaged. Feeding the livestock without needing to be told. Helping your grandmother carry buckets, lifting things with quiet precision. Still fought you on everything, though — still made you roll your eyes, still made you want to scream when he refused to back down about the proper way to fortify a trough or check for signs of rot. But he was there. Solid. Capable. And worst of all — he had planted something in you. Not quite a dream, not yet, but something just as dangerous: hope.

You hated him for that.

Because you caught yourself wondering, in the quiet hours, what the world looked like beyond the Wall. What your life might be if it wasn’t measured in chores and ration lines, in sacrifice. You wondered what your hands would feel like without blisters. What your name might sound like when it wasn’t only called in need, but in want.

And that made you sick. With guilt. With shame. Because you’d chosen this. You’d promised to stay. You were the one who didn’t run.

But still.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. Your grandparents had gone to bed hours ago, the farmhouse fallen into its usual hush, all the weight of the day settled into the floorboards. You lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, a threadbare blanket tangled around your legs. The porch light still burned beyond the front window — dim and golden, filtering through the curtains like a safety net. You hadn’t turned it off in years. Couldn’t. Something about total darkness always made your chest tighten.

You heard the stairs creak, slow and hesitant.

Then Keegan padded into the room barefoot, dressed in a soft, washed-thin T-shirt and a pair of faded flannel pajama pants that looked older than both of you. His hair was messy, sticking up at strange angles, and his expression was quieter than usual, as if the night had made him smaller somehow.

“Can’t sleep either?” you asked, sitting up and drawing your knees close.

He shook his head, rubbed the back of his neck. “Nah. Not really.”

You moved over instinctively, and he took the offered space beside you. The couch dipped under his weight, his thigh warm and close beside yours, and the quiet stretched between you like a thread pulled too tight.

“I owe you an apology,” he said eventually. “For before. For — all of it.”

You raised a brow. “You? Apologizing? Did you hit your head on a rake or something?”

He gave a dry huff of a laugh, shaking his head. “I’ve just been — on edge. Not knowing if my unit’s still coming. Not knowing if I’m making things worse by being here. I didn’t mean to take that out on you.”

You looked at him then, more closely. Even in the low light, you could see it — how the skin around his eyes was tight, how the shadows clung to him. Not just fatigue. Fear. Loneliness. The kind that settled in your bones when you’d gone too long without touch, without kindness, without someone looking at you and seeing you.

“I get it,” you murmured. “Doesn’t mean you weren’t an ass.”

“I’m always an ass,” he replied, voice a little softer. “But yeah. More than usual lately.”

You nudged him lightly with your shoulder, just a little tap, a half-hearted gesture meant to tease. But the way he tensed ever so slightly, the way his breath hitched for just a second — it told you everything. He wasn’t used to being touched. Not like that. Not without it meaning pain or orders or nothing at all.

Which was fucking rich, because you were starving too.

You tried to ignore how close he was. Tried to focus on the porch light, the faint rustle of trees beyond the window. But his warmth was radiating off him in waves, and every breath you took seemed to sync a little more with his.

You nudged him with your shoulder again, more out of habit than playfulness, trying to shake off the heaviness that clung to your conversation like dust in the air. He didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned closer, his knee now brushing yours where it hadn’t before. You should’ve shifted, should’ve drawn back, but the truth was — it felt nice. Familiar in a way that made you ache. Too many nights spent alone in that same spot on the couch, watching the porch light flicker against the glass while the rest of the world forgot you existed. And now here he was, warm and solid beside you, quiet for once.

Keegan glanced over, and his eyes lingered a moment longer than they should have. “You ever get tired of pretending you don’t want things?” he asked.

You blinked, not sure if you’d heard him right. “What the hell are you on about?”

He smiled, faint and crooked. “Means you act like you’ve got everything under control. Like you don’t want more than this — more than this damn farm, this life. But I see it, kid. I’ve seen it in your face every time you look past me when I talk about the Wall.”

You swallowed hard, throat dry. “It’s not about what I want. It’s about what I can live with.”

“And you can’t live with wanting something?”

You didn’t answer, and maybe that was answer enough. The silence stretched again, thicker now, more charged. The air between you felt heavy with everything neither of you was brave enough to say.

Keegan leaned back slightly, resting one arm along the back of the couch, his fingers just barely brushing your shoulder. “You know,” he murmured, eyes flicking down to your mouth, “I’ve been thinking about kissing you.”

The words made your pulse spike. They landed too suddenly, too softly, and for a moment you weren’t sure if you’d imagined them. You turned your head toward him, slow and unsure.

“What?”

“I said,” he repeated, voice low but unshaken, “I’ve been thinking about kissing you. For days now. Maybe since you bit my fucking finger back in the barn.”

You huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach your chest. Your throat was too tight. “You’ve got a real talent for choosing the worst possible time to open your mouth.”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes still locked to yours, his tone dipping even further, “but I’m saying it now because I want to. Because I’m tired, and you’re tired, and if this is all we get — this night, this moment — I’d rather not waste it.”

You stared at him, trying to be angry, trying to summon that same edge you always had around him. But it slipped away, like mist between your fingers, leaving something rawer in its place. Want. Need. The horrible, aching recognition of being seen when you’d spent so long convincing yourself you were invisible.

“You really wanna do this?” you asked, voice rough.

“Yeah,” he said. “I really do.”

You opened your mouth to reply, maybe to tell him to shut up, maybe to warn him that you’d regret it, maybe to say yes. But before you could decide, he was already moving — leaning in slow, as if to give you time to pull away. You didn’t. You couldn’t.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t cautious. There was no hesitation left in him. His mouth pressed to yours with a hunger that had clearly been building in the shadows of all your arguments, a collision of tension and heat and breath. His hand came up to cup the side of your face, his thumb rough against your cheek, and he kissed you like someone who hadn’t touched softness in years. Like someone who wasn’t sure if he ever would again.

You kissed him back just as hard.

Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer until there was nothing left between you but shared warmth and the scrape of breath. He tasted like salt and dust and something clean beneath it all, something warm. Your body leaned into his without thinking, your knees brushing, thighs flush, the whole couch groaning beneath the weight of it. His hand dropped to your waist, not demanding, just holding — like he needed the contact to stay tethered.

You broke for air, only barely, your foreheads pressed together. Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to. His hand was still at your jaw, thumb stroking the edge of your chin, and your own fingers clung to the fabric at his chest like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go.

You stayed like that for a long moment — forehead to forehead, your breath mingling, the only sound the soft creak of the couch as the house settled around you. His hand hadn’t moved from your jaw, but it loosened now, easing into something gentler, his thumb brushing across the edge of your cheek like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

But eventually, he did.

Keegan pulled back slowly, just far enough to look at you. His expression had shifted — less heat, more something else. Something careful. His eyes searched yours for a beat, and then he gave a faint exhale, almost like he was laughing at himself.

“You should get some sleep, kid,” he said, voice quieter now. Rough around the edges. “It’s late.”

You didn’t respond right away. Your hands were still fisted in the front of his shirt, and for a second, you thought about holding on a little longer. Just a little more warmth. Just a little more proof that someone saw you.

But you let him go.

He stood slowly, the couch groaning beneath the shift in weight. His silhouette moved through the dim gold of the porch light as he crossed the room, every step a soft thud against the wood floor. At the base of the stairs, he paused, one hand on the banister. You thought he might look back, say something more. Offer another fragment of comfort or tension or whatever the hell this thing between you had become.

But he didn’t.

He just disappeared up the stairs, leaving you behind in the silence.

You sat back, slowly, your fingers tingling where they’d held onto him, your mouth still warm with the memory of his. The blanket was half on the floor. The porch light burned steady.

⟡

The kitchen was warm and still, the porch light casting soft gold across the floorboards as you stood in your worn nightclothes, spooning cherry stems into your mug. You could hear the frogs outside, the low rustle of wind in the corn, that sleepy hum of the house settling into silence for the night. Everyone else was asleep. You were supposed to be, too.

But you couldn’t stop thinking. Couldn’t stop remembering.

The kettle hissed on the stove, its steam barely audible, and you watched it with glazed eyes. The cherry stems were from the last harvest, dried and kept in an old jam jar, their scent delicate and faintly sweet. You brewed them sometimes to calm your nerves. Headaches, your grandmother claimed. Nightmares, maybe. But tonight you weren’t sure anything could settle you. Not when you were still carrying the phantom weight of Keegan’s kiss on your lips, your hands, your goddamn spine. You hadn’t stopped replaying it since it happened the night before — how close he’d been, how his breath had caught when your fingers curled into his shirt, how he’d looked at you like he meant it.

And fuck, you’d wanted more. Not just the kiss, not just the heat of his mouth against yours. You’d wanted to ride him into the couch cushions and grind every ounce of control back into your body. You wanted to stop feeling like a ghost haunting her own life and instead take something. Someone. Him.

But he’d walked away. Left you curled on the couch with your heart thudding in your ears like it was trying to break free.

You reached for the kettle just as a hand clamped over your mouth.

It happened so fast your brain didn’t have time to catch up — just the weight of an arm around your chest and the thick press of a body behind you, yanking you back so hard your feet left the floor for half a second. Your mug slipped from your hand and shattered across the kitchen tile, the smell of tea mixing with adrenaline, with panic, with your own stifled scream caught beneath a stranger’s palm.

“Where is he?” the voice growled in your ear, low and sharp and unfamiliar. “Where’s Keegan Russ?”

You thrashed, trying to turn, elbowing wildly against the stranger’s chest, but he didn’t let go. He gave you a hard shake — sharp, jolting — and repeated himself, louder this time. “Where is he?”

The floor creaked.

Then more footsteps, heavier now, coming from the stairs behind you. Light burst from the hallway as your grandmother’s voice rang out, trembling and confused. “Who’s down here?”

Another creak. A shift of weight. And then—

“Ajax.”

The voice was low and unmistakably Keegan’s.

The grip on you vanished in an instant.

You stumbled forward, catching yourself on the counter, gasping for breath, head spinning. Behind you, the stranger backed off, hands up in a half-apology, his frame still blocking part of the kitchen doorway.

Keegan came into view fast, shirtless and barefoot, flannel pants slung low on his hips, his expression half panic, half fury. Behind him, your grandmother hovered near the wall, her hands trembling slightly at her sides.

The man who’d grabbed you straightened and grinned like it was nothing. “Shit, my bad,” he said, voice relaxed now. “Didn’t realize she was yours.”

Keegan didn’t look at you yet. He stepped forward, shoulders relaxing slightly, and walked straight into the stranger’s open arms. They embraced like brothers, with a quick, hard clap on the back, and then another.

“Thought you got yourself killed,” the man said. “You know how long we’ve been combing this fucking region?”

“Long enough,” Keegan replied, voice quieter now. “You scared the hell out of her.”

“She looked like she could handle herself.” The man glanced back at you, grinning like you were in on the joke. “Didn’t expect you to be hanging around in civilian clothes and sleeping with chickens.”

You didn’t say anything. Your chest was still heaving, your hands trembling slightly. You could hear your grandmother breathing fast beside the doorframe, trying to calm herself, trying to make sense of the armed man in her kitchen.

Keegan’s attention turned sharply toward her then, his voice softening. “It’s okay,” he said. “They’re my team. This is Ajax. They’re not here to hurt anyone.”

Another shadow moved through the door, this one broader. A wall of a man, easily over six feet, with a square jaw and quiet authority that filled the room before he even spoke.

“Captain Merrick,” Keegan said, acknowledging him with a nod. He stepped back from Ajax, then motioned to you and your grandmother. “This is the family that took me in. If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t be standing here.”

Captain Merrick stepped forward and offered a short, respectful nod. “We appreciate what you did,” he said, voice low but clear. “You didn’t have to, but you did. That means something.”

Keegan glanced back at his team, who were starting to crowd the entryway — more soldiers, all armed, all watching everything with sharp, tactical eyes. And then he looked at you, really looked. And his voice, when he spoke again, was softer than you’d ever heard it.

“She’s the one who saved my life.”

⟡

The realization that he was really leaving didn’t hit you like a sudden blow — it came in slow waves, creeping through your veins like cold water. Your fingers wouldn’t stop shaking. You’d pressed your palms together, tucked them under your arms, curled them into the fabric of your shirt, but it didn’t matter. The tremble was inside you now, deeper than bone, and it only grew worse every time you glanced at him. He looked too much like a soldier again, already halfway gone. Already belonging to something you couldn’t follow.

You didn’t say anything as you followed him up the stairs, your footsteps muffled by the old wood, shadows stretching across the walls like long fingers. His presence filled your bedroom again, but not like before — this time he moved with quiet purpose, his breath steady, his hands practiced. The gear you’d stashed beneath the floorboards now lay out in careful rows across your quilt: the worn fatigues, flak vest, the sidearm, the boots. You hadn’t touched it since the night you’d buried it there, just in case. Just in case the Federation came.

Keegan stripped out of his sleep clothes and began dressing in silence. You watched as the softness you’d seen glimpses of — the man who sat beside you in the dark, who kissed you like he meant it — slowly disappeared beneath layers of armour and camo. He tightened his vest, slotted his sidearm into place, adjusted the strap of his knife sheath. By the time he stepped into his boots, you weren’t looking at a person anymore. You were looking at a ghost, already halfway out the door.

You stood at the foot of the bed, arms wrapped around yourself. “So this is it,” you said, and even to your own ears, the words sounded small.

Keegan looked up, paused. His hands stilled over the last strap on his thigh. He didn’t ask you what you meant. He knew. The silence between you said everything. He walked toward you, slow, steady, until he was standing right in front of you again, reaching out to cup your face with both hands. His palms were warm, his thumbs rough from calluses but gentle as they brushed against your cheeks. You hadn’t realized tears had gathered in your eyes until that moment.

“It’s not too late,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with something heavier than he could hide. “You could come with us. With me.”

Your throat closed around the words. You blinked quickly, the tears refusing to fall, refusing to move. You wanted so badly to say yes. To grab your boots, your coat, throw yourself into one of those trucks and never look back. But you’d made a promise. And out here, promises still meant something. Especially when the people you made them to were old and tired and had already lost too much.

“You know I can’t,” you whispered, shaking your head slowly against his hands. “They need me, Keegan. My grandparents — they can’t do this alone. And I can’t — I won’t — abandon them.”

He closed his eyes. Just for a moment. When he opened them again, they were clear and quiet, but something in his jaw tightened, like he was biting down on the things he couldn’t say.

“You’re too good for your own good, kid,” he said softly, and there was no teasing in it this time. No edge. Just something close to grief. “That’s the problem with you.”

You almost laughed, but it came out as more of a broken exhale. You leaned into his touch for one final moment, pressing your cheek to his palm. Memorizing the shape of him. The warmth. The steadiness you wouldn’t have tomorrow.

Downstairs, Ajax’s voice cut through the stillness. “Clock’s ticking, Russ. You ready?”

Keegan didn’t move right away. Just dropped his hands from your face and gave you one last look before turning to grab his balaclava off the dresser.

You walked beside him down the stairs, neither of you speaking now. Outside, the world felt larger than it ever had — too many shadows, too much air, and none of it felt like yours anymore. There were armoured trucks parked just beyond the corn line, their black paint glinting under the moon. You counted four, though there were more figures than that in the field — men in gear, weapons slung across their backs, all moving with quiet, military precision.

Keegan stepped off the porch, his boots crunching against the gravel path. You followed him, your hand brushing against his once, briefly, and he didn’t pull away. Didn’t say anything until you reached the edge of the field where the tall corn began again, shivering gently in the wind.

He turned to you there. The moonlight caught in his eyes, made him look younger for a second — like the boy he might’ve been once, before the world cracked open.

He didn’t say goodbye.

Instead, he leaned down and kissed you.

His lips brushed your jaw first, then your cheek, slow and reverent, and finally found your mouth like it was the last thing he’d ever let himself have. His stubble scratched your skin, rough and real, and the kiss he gave you wasn’t frantic or hungry — it was honest. Warm. Full of everything he hadn’t said out loud. Full of everything you’d never forget.

When he pulled back, his breath was shallow. He rested his forehead against yours for a beat and whispered, “I’ll be back for you, kid.”

Then he stepped away and pulled the balaclava over his face, the white of the skull grinning back at you like a warning.

And without another word, he turned and walked into the field.

You watched him until the corn swallowed him whole. Until the trucks rumbled to life and slipped back into the dark, engines fading into nothing. Until the porch light behind you flickered once and then held steady again.

[ghouljams]

I'm seeing a lot of knight posting and no knight!ghost or knight!Keegan. Where my babies at?? I miss them.

Ghost is having a bit of a hard time adjusting to the idea that he's getting married (and the multiple assassination attempts from a desperate future father-in-law)

Keegan on the other hand, is enjoying the fact that his lady is a bit further from the crown. Still noble, still with that rigid moral code threatening to snap your spine in two, but so much softer, so much more pliant where he brushes his lips. Drags his fingers down your spine. Rests you on your knees and sweeps his knuckles over your cheek, content to have you sit and rest against his thigh like a docile little pup. You're quite pretty like that, relaxed, boneless in his hold. The fibers of you plucked free from their knitted knots, all that lovely structure that's turned you from threat to fabric unwound under his hands.

There's some guilt, of course, he has the same upstanding you do, the same titles and crests. They may look and sound different, but in the eyes of the throne you're the same, disposable nobles with a high enough standing to sit beside the Princess. Cast off at a moment's notice if you find yourselves too close to her highness. It's good he's here to help you keep your distance. He should marry you, should take the time to offer you his name when you're laying in bed with him, soft and sated. When his fingers trace down your spine, when they toy with your hair, he should whisper something deeper than the promise of pleasure. And he can't say why he doesn't.

Fear maybe. Your position hinges so heavily on the promise of perpetual maidenhood, you'd be so sad to leave your lady when she needs you, sad enough to deny his proposal he worries. Or perhaps fear that marriage is a step too close, that he won't be able to hide the worst parts of himself from you anymore, that the mask will finally come off and you'll be able to see the scars that dig into more than just his skin.

And where would that leave him?

Alone again, perhaps.

[blingblong55]

I Love Hot Ghosts -141

R/N being into Keegan isn't sitting right with Ghost. Today, they wore a shirt that said "I Love Hot Ghosts".

Soap: it's cute, adorable even that they crush on him

Ghost: what do they even see? look at him? all ugly and disgusting...fucking Americans

Gaz: I think its nice, they are finally showing interest in someone

Price: I hope they date

Soap: me too

Ghost: he walks weird, talks fucking weird...and don't get me started in that ugly haircut and why would R/N not wear that shirt around me? Isn't it obvious im the hottest ghost to exist?

Soap: you rejected them

Ghost: I was playing hard to get...plus it's how I flirt...they should know that

Gaz: oh look at that...Keegan gave them a flower

Ghost: I'm killing him..they are mine

That day, it took 13 men to keep Ghost away from Keegan...minus the 4 rookies he sent to the ER

[ll7esxs]

HEADCANONS

Keegan is in love with a friend but won't admit it.

I will make the friend as a teammate!

iym "won't admit it" like he wouldn't confess and stay like this forver without expressing then hell yeah whatchu talkin' abt

and lastly before i start writing i don't wanna no one typing "Keegan would never be this emotionally gahook!🤓🤓" well guess what everyone fall in love and slip into it like a damn failure ballerina

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

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

I'm staying with the mask...

Keegan is the kind of person who doesn’t easily give in to feelings—especially when it comes to anything that might distract him from his duty. It takes a long time for him to realize what he’s feeling, and even longer for him to even consider acknowledging it. Here's how it could play out:

How Many Years Till Keegan Realizes His Feelings?

Keegan’s realization about his feelings for you takes a few years, especially because he’s constantly suppressing it.

At first, he’s just focused on the mission, on the job. But over time, as you continue to be a steady part of his life—his teammate, his friend, and the person he trusts most—those feelings slowly sneak up on him. It’s something that builds gradually, like a storm he can’t ignore.

but it’s only after 2-3 years that he finally realizes what he’s been feeling.

In the early years, Keegan is too focused on survival, on getting the job done, to think too much about it. The team dynamic is important to him, but his view of relationships is still influenced by his sense of duty—no attachments.

Over time, though, the small moments between you, the way you laugh, how you handle stress, and the way he feels when he’s around you, start to make him realize that he feels something more than friendship.He doesn't recognize it as "love" right away, though.

At first, it’s just this pull—this desire to be near you, to protect you, to make sure you’re safe. It’s subtle but undeniable. By the time the realization fully hits him, it’s more of a feeling he’s tried to bury than something he’s consciously thought about.

1. The Signs Are There—But He Won’t Acknowledge Them

Keegan isn’t the type to openly flirt or be obvious about his feelings, but it’s the little things that give him away.

You get injured on a mission? He’s the first one there, eyes scanning over you, jaw clenched.

“It’s just a scratch,” you try to joke, but he doesn’t smile. Just hands you a med kit and mutters, “Be more careful.”

When you’re on base, he always sits next to you during briefings. Never says why. Just does.

If someone else makes a joke about you or gets too friendly, there’s a shift in him—subtle, but noticeable. His eyes linger, his body tenses. But he won’t say a damn thing.

2. The Self-Denial Runs Deep

Keegan doesn’t do emotions. At least, not openly. So when he starts feeling something for you, his first instinct is to push it down.

If you ever get too close—physically or emotionally—he subtly pulls back. Keeps things professional.

“You’re overthinking it,” he tells himself when his heart races after you brush against him.

If someone teases him about you? He just gives them a deadpan look and changes the subject.

Even when he knows he’s looking at you too long, when he knows he’s thinking about you too much—he convinces himself it’s nothing.

You’re a teammate. A friend. That’s it.

He started to think he is so stupid and hating this.

3. The Breaking Point

It takes something big to crack through his walls.

Maybe it’s a mission gone wrong—maybe you get separated, and for a few agonizing hours, he thinks he’s lost you.

When he finds you again, relief crashes into him like a punch to the gut. But instead of saying anything, he just grips your shoulder a little too tightly.

“Don’t do that again.” His voice is low, rough.

“I didn’t exactly plan on it, Keegan.” You’re trying to keep things light, but he’s not laughing.

That’s when you realize—he was scared.

Not because he cared actually, he is caring for everyone is his team, but the times when sees you or anyone else in the team get injured he may lost it inside.

since *cough* ajax'x death *cough*

And that? That’s not something Keegan lets himself feel.

3. The Tension in Silence

Keegan is sitting across from you, eyes trained on something—anything but you. The silence between you two is thick.

You try to break it. “So… what’s been on your mind lately?”

Keegan’s eyes flicker to you for a moment, before he shrugs, clearly unwilling to open up. “Nothing. Just… tired.”

He doesn’t look tired though. He looks distant.

There’s a pause, and you both continue to sit there in the quiet, and for a moment, it feels like he wants to say something—wants to talk—but he can’t.

"You sure?" you push, but when your eyes meet, Keegan’s gaze softens for just a split second before he pulls back.

“I’m good. worry about yourself.” typical he always talks like that.

But you know it’s more than that. And so does he.

4. The Small Acts of Thoughtfulness

After a particularly tough mission, everyone’s gathered around, sharing drinks and stories from the field. Keegan, ever the lone wolf, sits in the corner, keeping to himself from talking to the others.

But when you walk past him, you notice something: a fresh pack of bandages sitting on the table next to his gear, alongside some protein bars you hadn’t seen before.

“What’s all this?”

Keegan looks up from his seat, nonchalantly leaning back. “Nothing. Just thought you might need it.”

“Need what?”

“Bandages, snacks... whatever. You’re always running low on stuff after a mission.”

It’s a small gesture, but it doesn’t escape your notice. He’s paying attention to you. And somehow, it feels more significant than anything he’s said.

“Thanks.” You nod at him, unsure of what to say.

Keegan just gives a short, tight smile. “Yeah. No problem.”

But in that moment, you know it’s not just about the bandages. It’s about the care he doesn’t know how to express.

sorry i gave yall some boring missions-moments but guess what be prepared for base moments when the fun would happen

Base moments:

1. The Way He Always Ends Up Near You

Keegan doesn’t mean to always sit next to you. It just happens.

During mission briefings, in the mess hall, even just sitting around waiting for orders—somehow, he always gravitates toward you.

At first, it’s subconscious. But then one day, Merrick calls him out on it. “Didn’t know you two were attached at the hip.”

Keegan freezes mid-motion, his fork hovering over his plate. His response is as dry as ever. “I sit where there’s space.”

But the moment he realizes how obvious he’s being, he starts overcorrecting—purposefully sitting across the room, trying too hard not to make it look like he cares.

It doesn’t last long. Eventually, he gives up because avoiding you makes him more irritated than anything else.

2. Patch-Ups That Last Too Long

Being in the field means getting injured—a lot. And while Keegan prefers patching himself up, there are times when someone else has to do it.

After a particularly rough mission, you’re the one tending to a cut above his eyebrow. He sits still, jaw clenched, letting you clean the wound.

The problem? You’re too damn close. He can feel your breath, the warmth of your hands.

His brain tells him to pull away, but his body stays frozen. His heartbeat is a little too fast, and he swears the air feels heavier than it should.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he mutters.

You gave a confused look with a smile, not missing a beat. “Like what?”

He doesn’t answer. Just stares straight ahead, refusing to meet your eyes. The moment you’re done, he mutters a quick “Thanks” and bolts before he does something stupid.

3. The Jealousy He Pretends Not to Feel

There’s a new guy on base, and he’s been way too friendly with you. Keegan doesn’t react—outwardly.

But you notice the shift in him. The way his responses are a little more clipped. The way he suddenly has a lot to say whenever this guy is around, mostly in the form of sarcastic comments.

The moment that really gives him away?

One evening, you’re joking around with the new recruit, laughing at something stupid like yall being just some sillies. Keegan, who’s cleaning his rifle nearby, suddenly snaps the bolt back a little too aggressively.

It’s not subtle. Everyone notices. Merrick raises an eyebrow.

“Problem, Keegan?”

“No.” His voice is flat. “Just making sure my rifle’s working.”

He doesn’t talk to you for the rest of the night, and you know exactly why.

4. The Way He Watches Over You Without Realizing It

Keegan doesn’t hover. At least, he thinks he doesn’t.

But you start noticing how often he’s the first one to check on you after a mission. Even if he doesn’t say anything, even if he just passes by while you’re getting patched up, there’s always a moment where his eyes flicker over to you, assessing.

One night, after a particularly bad op, you find him sitting in the common area, pretending to clean his gear HELP WHY AM I MAKING HIM ONLY DOING THAT—but it’s clear he’s waiting for you to come back from the med bay.

“You could just ask if I’m okay, you know.”

He doesn’t look up. Just keeps working. “I know you’re fine.”

You shake your head with a small smile. “Then why are you still sitting here?”

He still doesn’t look up. “Gear needed cleaning.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Shut up.”

5. The Night He Almost Said Something

It’s late, and the base is quiet. You and Keegan are the last ones in the training area, neither of you wanting to sleep yet.

You’re sitting side by side, backs against the wall, exhaustion settling in after a long day.

“Ever think about what comes after this?” you ask, voice softer than usual.

He doesn’t answer right away.

When he does, his voice is lower than usual. “No point.”

“Why not?”

He hesitates. And for a split second, there’s something in his expression—something unreadable.

Then, he shifts, standing up abruptly. “Too much to do tomorrow.”

You watch as he walks away, and for the first time, you realize something.

He’s not avoiding the idea of the future.

He’s avoiding you in it.

The Almost-Kiss – Keegan’s Sudden Realization

The base was quiet, the hum of distant machinery and the occasional crackle of a radio the only sounds breaking the silence. You and Keegan sat side by side on a supply crate near the vehicle bay, the faint glow of the overhead light casting soft shadows across his sharp features.

It had started as another late-night conversation. The kind that happened when neither of you felt like sleeping, when exhaustion lingered but something unspoken kept you both awake.

You nudged his arm. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be a ghost, you suck at disappearing when I need peace and quiet.”

Keegan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah? Funny, ‘cause you keep showing up in all the places I go to be alone.”

You smirked. “Almost like you don’t mind the company.”

He didn’t deny it. Just glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his usual deadpan expression softening just a little.

There was a pause. A long, lingering moment where the air seemed different. He wasn’t looking away this time. And for some reason, neither were you.

Something about the quiet, the dim light, the sheer familiarity of sitting next to him made everything else fade. His face was close—closer than usual.

“You always do that,” he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

His eyes flickered downward for a second, barely noticeable, before he let out a slow exhale. “Make things... complicated.”

You tilted your head slightly, searching his face. His voice wasn’t irritated, wasn’t accusatory. If anything, he almost sounded... unsure. Like he wasn’t sure if he should be saying this at all.

You swallowed. “Is that what I do?”

Keegan’s fingers twitched where they rested against his knee. “Yeah.”

But he didn’t move away. He didn’t shift back into his usual guarded distance. If anything, he leaned in just a fraction—subtle, almost imperceptible.

And you mirrored him.

It wasn’t conscious. It wasn’t something either of you planned. It was just happening.

His breath was steady, controlled, but you could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his body tensed like he was warring with himself.

“Keegan…” you murmured.

His gaze dropped—to your lips, just for a second. His shoulders rose with a slow inhale, his hand flexing like he was fighting every instinct in his body.

The space between you was gone now, barely an inch left. Your nose almost brushed his, and he didn’t pull back.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

And for a moment, you thought he was going to close that last bit of distance.

But then—he stopped.

His entire body tensed, his breath hitching like he’d suddenly realized exactly what he was doing.

Like he’d been caught off guard by himself.

His eyes flickered with something—panic, hesitation, restraint—before he pulled away.

Not fast. Not dramatic. Just slow enough that it felt deliberate. Like he was forcing himself to retreat before he did something he couldn’t take back.

He cleared his throat, looking away. “I—” He shook his head. “Forget it.”

Your brows furrowed. “Forget what?”

He pushed off the crate, running a hand over his face, avoiding your gaze completely. “I gotta go.”

And just like that, he walked off, leaving you sitting there, your heart still racing, the warmth of his breath still lingering against your skin.

And wondering if he’d ever let himself stop running from whatever this was.

Keegan had already turned to leave, but you weren’t going to let him walk away again.

Not this time.

Before he could disappear into the dark hallways of the base, you reached out, grabbing his wrist. His body tensed immediately, like he expected you to let go, but you didn’t.

“Keegan.” Your voice was firm, unwavering.

He exhaled through his nose, not turning to face you. “Let it go.”

You scoffed. “That’s it? You’re just gonna walk off like nothing happened?”

Finally, he turned his head slightly, just enough for you to see his expression—calm, unreadable, but there was something underneath it. Something forced.

“Because nothing did,” he said flatly.

You let out a humorless laugh. “Right. So you just—what? Lean in like that for fun? Just a casual thing between teammates?”

His jaw tightened at that word. Teammates.

You stepped in front of him now, forcing him to actually look at you. His expression didn’t change. Not irritated, not angry—just cold.

“I don’t know what you think this is,” he said, voice steady, “but you need to stop.”

The sheer calmness in his tone pissed you off more than if he had just yelled at you.

“Stop what?” You folded your arms. “Want to spell it out for me? Since apparently, I’m the only one here acknowledging the fact that something’s changed.”

Keegan didn’t blink. “That’s exactly the problem.”

You stared at him, heartbeat loud in your ears. “What does that even mean?”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “We were fine before. You, me—this team. Things were simple.”

Simple. The word hit deeper than it should have.

You swallowed, voice quieter now. “And what? You’re afraid that if we cross some invisible line, everything falls apart?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Just stared at you, expression unreadable, but you could see the battle happening in his head.

Finally, he sighed. “I’m saying I don’t want to do this with you.”

It was calm. Unshaken. Almost like he was convincing himself more than you.

Your chest tightened, but you didn’t back down. “Liar.”

Keegan’s gaze darkened slightly, but his voice remained steady. “I don’t care what you think you saw back there. I wasn’t thinking. And I won’t make that mistake again.”

You let out a breath, something heavy settling in your chest. “That’s what this is to you? A mistake?”

His fingers curled into a loose fist at his side, but he gave you nothing. No reaction.

“Go back to how things were,” he finally said. “Because this? This isn’t happening not with this kind of damn half apocalypse world.”

It was final. A solid wall thrown between you, built up in seconds.

You stared at him, searching his face for any crack, any sign that he was feeling what you were. But Keegan was a master at locking everything away.

And yet…

There was something in his eyes. The way he looked at you, the way his shoulders were too tense, his jaw clenched a fraction too tight.

He was lying.

You knew it.

But you also knew that no matter what you said, he wasn’t going to admit it. Not now.

Not yet.

So you stepped back. Swallowed the lump in your throat. “You're a piece of shit keegan.”

Keegan didn’t say anything. Just gave you one last look before turning and walking away.

And this time, you let him.

But deep down, you both knew—this wasn’t over.

angst

[forsworned]

Something good can work ft. Keegan P. Russ

cw: noncon themes, pnv sex, afab reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Anytime..."