#call of duty: ghosts

[2kiran]

“SAY IT” ♱ KINKTOBER

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t quite get you for it.

No one really does.

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

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

He thinks he’ll have you.

As long as you’ll let him.

-

Keegan can’t remember how it got to this.

He’s avoiding your gaze. Avoiding you.

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

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

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

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

Damn that stupid mask of yours.

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

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

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

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

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

“—ah, fuck! Yeah, like that, nmng—”

You know this won’t be the last time.

[obioxide]

Come eat lobster with a monster

[ecneir]

David "Hesh" Walker

[temeyes]

i dreamt of keegan the other day, posing like this (i've haven't played ghosts yet lol!!!!)

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hello! May I request a reader x Keegan drabble where the reader is an artist in secret?

Sure, they roam the wake of no mans land in a ravaging war, but in the moments they are not on missions they capture the scenery around them. Wether it be on rooftops, surrounding woods or abandoned shelters, the reader revels in the few moments of silence they have before another bombardment of bloodshed is thrown their way to remember places or things around them before they eventually move again

How would Keegan react, let alone if he caught reader sketching him?

Thank you for your time, have a good day :D

—Paint The Dawn; Paint My Eyes

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [In the midst of war and death, there's little time for pleasure. All you had was a ripped-up sketchbook to call your own, its contents littered with the rough face of your comrade.] ❞

The camp is quiet, and you are tired. 

Looking out along the wreckage of this wasted world, there seems to be no end to the broken valleys or the craters of rock—this desolation remains as if an angry God had thrown a tantrum, and smashed the earth to bits. Trees grew sideways, wreckage that could be bits of houses or even remnants of bone breed in the little spaces under moss and bush; where the rest died, nature took back what was hers. Thus, the cycle continued.

What breathes, dies, and with that firm and undisputable reality, you find beauty in moments like these. 

You blink down at what still breathes of the patchwork lungs of No Man’s Land, pencil in your hand still for but a moment of red-eyed concentration. The deer was down in the dip below the Ghosts’ quiet camp for the steadily growing night—white where it should be a tawny-blonde shade. Barely breathing, you watch with half of its albino form sketched out in short bursts of graphite on your sun-bleached possession. 

A sketchbook, old, and worn to the very binding of its pages, and yet to you a more prized possession had never been held in your grip. 

So focused on the deer and its white shadow; its lithe body as it grazes along the forest floor amidst a soft rustling of leaves, you don’t notice the man behind you—a man supposed to be sleeping. 

It’s a minute of looking at your awe-filled face before Keegan clears his throat, speaking in a low grumble. “Not every day you see that, huh?”

You startle back so quickly that your pencil slips out of your hand, bouncing off your thighs before clattering to the flat rock that serves as your lookout platform. A clink of metal on stone is all it takes, the pencil falling down into the lower land and striking through greenery as you gasp and snap your eyes away. The flighty heart of the deer all at once sparked in a puff of air from its nostrils and a flair of a raised tail. 

It disappears into the bushes and its white flash is seen until the thick foliage swallows it again. You look back just in time to grace your eyes with one last glimpse. 

A deep disappointment blooms and you level out a sigh as Keegan clicks his tongue, guiltily rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.

“Shit, Sweetheart,” he hums, “didn’t mean to…” Keegan tapers off with a low groan. “I’ll, uh, get you a new pencil when we’re back, yeah?” 

You stare at the forest a moment longer before huffing out and shifting—you turn and glance at the Sergeant before grumbling out, “You have a nasty habit of sneaking up on people, Russ. I don’t like it when it’s me.”

Blue eyes meet yours, his body still in gear and armed just like yours. Even sleeping, Ghosts bore the fangs of the living. Keegan’s face is down a mask, though, so you’re privy to see his built jaw and strong features in the moonlight. Black hair like a void. 

He sighs. 

“Again, didn’t mean to. Thought you knew I was there.” Your eyes roll, but a small smirk snaps your lip.

“Of course you did.” Huffing and shaking his head, the man comes to lean against your rock. 

“What ya workin’ on anyways? Seen you scribblin’ in that thing every chance you get. Got curious enough tonight to ask when I saw you up during Ajax’s watch.” He blinks at you, swirling with curiosity and dim intrigue. “You take over for him?”

You smile, shrugging. “Maybe.” Keegan stares and raises a dark brow as your form leans closer, presenting your object of patience and smudged graphite. “You gonna wake him up?”

The man takes the object and studies your half-finished work with an acute eye, taking in the lines and erased bits that indent the paper. He tilts his head at it and a moment later he grunts an answer, lost in thought. 

“Depends.” Blue meets your vision in a slow sweep. “You tired?”

Face burning, you clear your throat and begin to stutter a negative before the worst moment of your life takes place. 

Keegan grabs one page of your sketchbook and starts flipping. Heart lurching and eyes wrenching open to the size of dinner plates, your hand snatches at the old cover—but not before the damage is done.

The dead-gazed Sergeant locks onto a perfect image of his own sleeping body from hours earlier. Drawn face soft and calm in the gray of blended material that you’d had to use your finger to achieve, and limbs loose; he almost seemed to come off the page in an intensive display of detail. 

Keegan pauses and feels his jaw slightly slacken, eyes going that bit wider before his brows lift in shocked pleasure. Your hand latches onto the top of your book and rips it from the man’s grasp easily.

“Did anyone ever tell you it’s rude to go through people’s things?!” Your heart is racing, palms going clammy. At your chest, you hold your belonging with a tight scoff of embarrassment.

Keegan’s lids move up and down three times in quick succession before he replies. A tease is so deep in his words you cringe with a burning face.

“Anyone tell you it’s rude to watch people sleep, Sweetheart?” Glaring, you have to look away. 

It wasn’t exactly common knowledge to others that you liked the gruff man, but if anyone took one look into your sketchbook they’d know the truth. Pages were dedicated to finding the perfect slant of his eyes—that structure of his jaw and his broken-one-to-many-times nose. 

His lips and how his skin looked when he smirked. 

Shame tightens your face and you stare hard at the trees a few feet away; the sleeping forms of your comrades. Until a smooth chuckle leaves you breathless. 

A puff of air spreads over your cheek but you don’t dare turn your head. 

Keegan whispers to you slowly, that gravel in his tone and his lips brushing against your ear as he leans closer to you—arms crossed in front of him.

“If you wanted me to pose there, Doll, all you had to do was ask me. No use watchin’ from a distance…I’ll give you the full tour.” 

He walks off back to his mat of leaves and grass and you’re left gaping and choking on your own thoughts; honied vision dripping shock.

Keegan calls easily over his shoulder as if his comment hadn’t made your pulse pound, “I’m waking up Ajax—go back to bed. Scenery’ll be the same come morning.” 

You breathe in his sly quip, “trust me.”

TAGS:

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

[lovefromlaura]

Where I'm gonna be for New Year

[lxvvie]

A relationship with Keegan would consist of the following:

Keegan wondering how the hell he managed to get you to be with him. This was after the relationship was made official.

Keegan absolutely having a pet name for you. You just don't know it. Yet. And it's mushy as hell, too.

Him being a lot more touchy-feely with you in the comfort of your own abode than in public.

To piggyback off that last point, people will never know it but he'd feel absolutely touched-starved when he's away from you, especially for long periods of time.

Realizing Keegan is more sentimental than you thought. There are moments where he feels tongue-tied and can't exactly voice how he feels so the next best thing is to text them to you. Randomly. Throughout the day. Feels good, huh?

Witnessing the spectacle that is Drunk Keegan profess his love and be all over you. Or Keegan staring into your soul and telling you he loves you. Or Keegan going to hold you but completely missing the mark and keeling over.

Getting him to try new things with you, whatever they may be. He's so adorable when he's bumbling along.

Dressing up as Keegan for Halloween once and he doesn't know if he should be impressed that you got it right or mortified... that you got it right lmao. Does he really act and sound like that?

Going to fairs and amusement parks for the express purpose of using Keegan to win stuffed animals.

Getting him hip to your skincare regimen, made especially so because his line of work can be hard on the skin and double-cleansing gets all the dirt out, okay?

Keegan practically bear-hugging you as soon as he gets home. Loves to bury his face into the crook of your neck, too, because your scent is comforting to him.

Never finding out what the P stands for so you make a game out of changing the name every time. The latest one is Penelope.

Booping his nose randomly. Just 'cause. And because he scrunches it up so cutely when you do so.

Loving the way he melts into you when you hug him from behind.

[theotheronedotorg]

Mama Walker!Reader AU

• Elias and Mama dance in the living room, listening to slow songs and just being so close that both of their hair seem to blend, not knowing where one ended and the other began. David and Logan watched from the hallway, little heads peeking around the corner as they watched their parents sway slowly and gently to Can't Help Falling In Love by Haley Reinhart.

One of the earliest memories the two Walker brothers can remember of their parents would have to be the time they watched the two from behind the hallway wall, little heads peeking out from the corner as their parents swayed from side to side. Their mother's head rested against Elias's shoulder, his head resting against hers.

Elias's right hand was clasped with hers as her free one was wrapped gently against his nape. His other hand pressed against her lower back, keeping the two together.

The furniture was pushed back against the walls of the living room, the shuffling of their socks against the carpet barely audible as the music continued to play from the record player that sat on the nightstand towards the corner of the room.

Both David and Logan were young at the time, around 5 and 7, but they could tell their parents loved each other dearly. From their closeness to their swaying movements and their sweet kisses placed on skin and lips here and there, it was hard to pretend a kind of love like that.

• Both boys knew they wanted a love like that. A love that would take infinite to wear off.

• They do end up getting that.

• But anyways-

• Water balloon fights. It's something the family has always done during summer, and it was never planned.

Elias liked to see his wife smile. It was one of his most treasured memories after her passing, and it was something he dreamed about when she was still alive and he was off on deployment.

One time, when Mama was attending to the gardens at one of the houses they were staying in (the Walkers tended to move a lot because of Elias being in the military). She was wearing a lovely white summer dress that day that went down to her knees with cherries printed on it. She loved cherries. It was one of many fruits that didn't make her taste buds act up. She had food sensitivity, mainly to the point she couldn't get much food because her body would reject it before she could even swallow it.

Anyways, that day, she sat on her knees, her gardening gloves on and her sun hat sitting on her head with the string tied below her chin to keep it from blowing away. Not that it would. No winds blew at all that day. It was like Mother Nature wanted it to be hot.

She could hear David's laughter from the front of the house. Loud and boyish, just how he was supposed to be. He was a kid. He could be as loud as he wanted. What struck her as odd was Elias's lack of voice. Where was he? She didn't have to question for long.

As she dusted off her gloves, a force that was meant to catch her off guard, nothing else, struck her in the back and made her jerk forward. Coldness seeped into her skin, and she could feel the back of her dress stick to her body as she leaped up and screeched.

The answer to her yells? Laughter.

She quickly turned and saw her husband and 2-year-old son smiling brightly from the side of the white house they were staying in. In David's small hands was a water balloon that seemed the size of his small head, and Elias looked as if he was about to throw another to his wife.

"Elias Walker! You throw another one of those, and!-" Her threat was cut off by a balloon hitting her chest and splashing cold water onto her dress and skin, soaking her face and getting her hair in the process. She let out another yelp and flashed her husband a warning glare, to which he picked up the small blonde and booked it to the front of the house, his wife following after him with a wide smile and a plan of action in her mind.

--

There were nights when Mama would lie awake, unable to fall asleep because of the constant changes in her life. Her childhood was a constant battle against life because of the state she grew up in, and now the family she had was always moving because of Elias being affiliated with the military.

That wasn't the reason for her being awake that night, though. That night, she was awake and fully aware. Aware of what? She didn't even know. Elias was beside her, having been back from deployment for 2 days now. Maybe that was what was keeping her up. The thought of Elias going off to war or something of the sort scared the living crap out of her.

Sometimes, when he was gone, she'd get such bad nightmares about dying when away that she couldn't handle the thought of raising the little one in her belly alone. Others, she had dreams where she'd lose the baby, and in turn, lose Elias.

Of course, nothing would keep Elias from leaving her. Not that she'd know that, but she'd certainly learn it once she'd take her dying breath. But that wouldn't happen until another few years.

Mama blinked from her hazy state as the brunette's arm, muscular and a type of weighted blanket for her, shifted. His hand which was originally resting on her 6-month pregnant belly (21 weeks), slid up her torso and gently squeezed her right breast. They seemed to get bigger by the week.

"I can hear you thinking," Elias mumbled and shifted his hand back down to her belly and moved so he was pressing against her side. His voice was slurred from sleep, and raspy from how much yelling he's been doing nowadays.

"I didn't mean to wake you." She responded to him, moving her hand over his and squeezing it gently.

"You didn't." He responded, "Little rascal woke me up with his kicks." Elias shifted and propped himself up on his elbow, his gentle brown eyes looking down at his wife in soft admiration. "Why are you awake?"

Mama eyed the male for what seemed like minutes. Her own eyes, which seemed more green than their usual color because of the moon's light coming from the window, stared into his. She couldn't explain anything that was going on in her mind. The thoughts she was having and the dreams she was experiencing. She knew he'd listen and reassure her that he'd never leave and that everything was fine, but she just couldn't find a way to explain anything.

"I," she started, blinking slightly, "I don't know how to explain it." Her gaze moved back to the ceiling, tracing the popcorn's, before she looked back to him. "I can't stop having this feeling that something's going to happen, and my dreams are not making them any better."

Elias hummed a gentle reply and laid back down, curling around his wife and helping her move to her side so she could rest more comfortably. His arm moved back around her waist, his hand resting on her swollen stomach.

"What kind of dreams are they?" He questioned lightly as he nuzzled his face back into her neck and placed a soothing kiss on her shoulder. He felt his wife shake her head gently, a telltale sign that she didn't want to speak on them at the moment, so he nodded and hummed gently. "Well, you know I love you. You know I won't ever leave you, even if someone was forcing me to. I'd just crawl back and continue to kiss the earth you walk on."

Mama let out a soft chuckled exhale and intertwined her fingers with his own that rested against her stomach.

"And you know that no matter what, I'll always come back to you. I love you," he spoke so gently, speaking her name like it was a prayer, "I love you so much."

Mama tilted her head down, her eyes soft as she could feel tears fill them at his words. He's know what to say since she's got pregnant. Then again, he's always been good with his words. It's why most of the women back in their hometown called him such a ladies man. He was so sweet, and she was so lucky to have caught his eye.

I wonder if our child will be like you, Elias. She thought to herself, feeling his chest moving against her back in gentle brushes of his breathing patterns, lolling her to sleep.

Taglist: @brokenpieces-72 @rerejunebug

Tell me if you like it! I'd like any ideas that people can throw at me! My inbox is open!

[salstray]

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

---

part 2 = part 3

---

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

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

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

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

Already lost too much blood, he thought to himself. 

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

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

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

Focus. What do you see?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sorry, Merrick.

“Keegan!”

End of the line.

“Keegan!”

“Keegan?” 

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

“Still with me?” 

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

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

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

And yet... he was still alive.

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

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

Almost done with what…?

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

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

“God, damn it…” 

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

“Sniper’s down,” Keegan said simply. 

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

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

There wasn’t even a scar. 

“Got held up. Heading back your way.” 

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

[mausinly]

something is PURRING

[billiousserpent]

This picture of Keegs got me weak in my knees so I had to IDBSOSBSB

Seeth can't help but just 🤏🤏

[2kiran]

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

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

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

3KVENT NAVI ﹑ MAIN MASTERLIST

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[obioxide]

something something Twitter something something I forgot I had tumblr anyways

[ecneir]

"You look lost."

[ncthandrake]

CALL OF DUTY: GHOSTS ▶ 2/?

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

AHHHH CONGRATS ON 5k!!! Ok ok, hear me out on this request because I think it might make a good little fic. I can’t decide between Hesh or Price for this one but I got a general idea: stoned Hesh or Price. You know those videos of husbands waking up from surgery and not recognizing their wife right away but knowing they’re the most beautiful person in the world (something like this: https://youtu.be/kV8KyeApBJY). Well maybe it’s something like he got hurt from a mission (hurt enough to require drugs/anesthesia for the plot) but is recovering back at base and imagine their wife is their medic and she’s trying to update his team on how he’s recovering and you just got a stoned Hesh or Price completely hopped up on drugs following his injury, just fawning over her and he just goes bananas when she “reveals” they’re married. The team got a kick out of it

—Keep The Sheets Warm, My Love Is Coming Home

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [If this wasn't enough to prove that you were the only person for Hesh, you didn't know what did.] ❞

You walked around the room, tidying up what you could if only for the simple fact that it could distract you from the unconscious body in the bed. Realistically as a medic, you knew he would be fine—he was in the best hands possible—but Hesh had a track record for being unpredictable. 

He’d gotten into some trouble out in No Man’s Land again. Broken arm and ribs; a bullet through his thigh. He was so pumped full of medication and anesthetics from surgery that you doubted that he would be waking up soon.

But then again, Hesh was always surprising you. It was one of the reasons you’d married him, after all. Never a dull day.

Elias’s voice calls from the doorway. 

“You’re going to fall over at this rate,” you blink quickly, turning with an extra blanket in hand to spread around your husband’s comatose state. 

Your father-in-law has his arms crossed, and Logan slinks his way through the doorway with an arm looping your shoulders, a head pushed into your scalp silently. You sigh deeply, tension that you hadn’t realized was on your face lessening.

“Only if he keeps me from seeing those greens of his.” 

Logan huffs a laugh, squeezing you as his father grunts—the stern man’s eyes softening in a way they only would for you and his boys.

“He’d be more worried about you than himself if you did. Put my mind at ease, okay?” Your eyes roll but you nod with a small smile. You don’t argue with his point in the slightest. 

So, that was how you ended up here, in a seat by Hesh’s hospital bed—your hand in his and your head nodding back and forth with fatigue. Elias and Logan are casually playing a game of chess from across the room when David’s eyes flutter; his mouth releasing a low groan.

Your lids snap back, spine straightening, but before you can get a word out, your husband is pulling his hand from yours. His green eyes are loopy, pupils blown wide. 

He mutters something under his breath, lips grimacing and face pulling in at the sight of you. 

“Hesh?” The two men stand as you check his vitals, heart hammering until there’s nothing out of the ordinary and you can sit back down with a sigh and a relieved smile. “Take it easy, alright? You got out of surgery a little while ago—everyone’s here for you—”

“W…Where’s my wife?” His words slur, jaw loose as he rotates it; the unbroken arm with an IV chord stuck in it raises as jerky digits rub at his eyes. You’re left at a loss, blinking slowly in confusion before sharing looks with your in-laws. “No offense, Miss, you’re pretty and all, but…shit, why’s everything spinning?”

A hand covers your mouth, heated embarrassment lighting inside of your veins. 

“Hesh, Sweetheart,” your arm reaches to the brunette, trying to grab his wrist that he weakly moves away. 

“Stay away from me,” he grunts, head limply lulling on its pillow. “Thought I told you to keep it to yourself. My Wife’ll rip,” Hesh’s voice fizzles, a loud yawn peeling his bandaged face back, “you to pieces.” A pause. You hear Logan trying to hide his loud laughter behind his lips. “Did…the doctor send you?”

Your body turns to Elias, face beaming and expression exasperated. 

“Now that he’s awake will you get the other three? It’ll be easier to give the news to all of you at once.”

“Already commed ‘em,” the man states, watching his eldest with a raised brow and a slow smirk. “Least we know he’s a loose cannon on anesthesia.” 

Merrick, Keegan, and Ajax all file in, and as you continue to watch over a loopy Hesh, his small noises and babbling continue even when you give the breakdown of the patient sheet. You stand just shy of brushing the bed’s lower frame. You won’t lie and say it isn’t hilarious.

“He needs to keep out of the field for at least two and a half months, boys, and I’m not joking about that, alright?”

Your husband’s slow voice slashes through your speech, and the rest of the Ghosts snicker, sharing knowing looks as Hesh tries to lift the hand currently wrapped to his chest to keep it still. “You’re a real beautiful lady, Doll, y’know that? I’m sorry you like me so much, but I love my wife, you hear? Please don’t be angry with me.”

“Hesh, Darling,” you walk closer and bend down carefully. He blinked owlishly at you, finger coming up to poke at your cheek. Your hand grabs his as you hear Ajax make a quick remark to Keegan about the man being ‘totally whipped even when he’s high.’ 

“David, hey,” your voice prompts him to smile, perhaps now only realizing the familiarity of it. “I’m going to tell you something, hm?”

“Okay,” he watches, petting your neck with his thumb. 

“I am your wife.” The man’s eyes widen comedically as everyone shares a long laugh with one another. 

“No way,” Hesh breathes after a moment, awe-stricken. “Really?”

“Really.” There’s a moment of silence, and then the heart monitor begins to pick up its pace to a fast pound. Your face goes hot with love, and you bend your head forward in a long and honest laugh into his shoulder. 

Green eyes shift to the men, and Hesh beams, cheeks red and heart racing as he slurs out, “This is my wife?!”

It was safe to say they were never going to let him forget about this.