#Keegan Russ x medic reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ms-unfortunate24 · 9 months

Note

NO THOUGHTS JS KEEGAN X MEDIC! READER🙏🏽🙏🏽⁉️⁉️ -💋

Keegan x Medic Reader

(Reader by default will be Gender neutral unless specified by requestee. First request making me giggle🤭🤭)

Reader Inserts: Y/N= Your name, Y/L= Your last name, Y/CN= your code name, Y/H= your hair, Y/HC= your hair color, E/C= Eye color, H/S= Hair Style, N/N= Nickname.

You spun around in your chair, bored, and not able to focus on the paperwork you had to fill out for your last patient Logan Walker. Being a medic for the ghosts meant constant work, there were almost no breaks for you or the other medical staff. Each medic was assigned to their own team, and you just by the luck of the hat had Logan, Merrick, Hesh, Elias, Ajax, Keegan, and Kick. They’re oddly such a lively group, always making jokes, and asking questions even when they’re losing blood faster than a running faucet. Almost every member had visited you frequently… almost.

You shot up out of your seat in realization and searched your medical records on each member, “Keegan…. Keegan….Keegan P. Russ” you mumbled to yourself as you found his file, he had absolutely no visits to you and it’s been damn near three years. You had a file, it had his name, his basic information like height, weight, and medical history, but, no visits to you. You bit the inside of your cheek thinking long and hard about this. ‘Has he been going to a different medic? No, they would’ve reported it to me’ you thought sitting back down and spinning in your chair. ‘Maybe he’s a robot? He acts like one… a big, cold, dumb piece of metal-’ your seat was stopped by someone’s hand, and you looked up to see the legend himself. “Researching on me?” He quickly asked looking down at what you were holding in your hands, “Uhm, just a check on your file- Any reasoning for your visit?” You asked, your cheeks started to turn a certain shade as you realized he probably watched you spin the for a good minute.

He nods and gets up from the hunched position that he was in to peer in on you. You scooted your office chair back slightly and stood up, “Well then, Sargeant Russ, if you could please take a seat on the examination table,” you said motioning your hand towards the table, he limped over and sat on it, that was when you realized his right calf had a nasty gash in it, you looked at the floor and noticed a small trail of blood. “Uh?! Did you like not wanna tell me about that?!” You said rushing to grab a cloth and some disinfected spray. “I didn’t want to interrupt the spinning intermission,” he said as you sprayed the wound and dabbed the cloth on it to clean anything that could cause infection. “So what happened?” You asked looking up at the masked man, “I was jumping through a window, landed wrong, a chunk of glass got my calf and now I’m here,” He said looking away from you, but he avoided coming to you for three years and probably had far worse injuries…. He then looked over, his icy blue eyes looking at you, they were so dull it was like there was no soul there, usually when you were to look at someone with his eye color you could see more than you would with people who had darker eye colors. “You’re lost,” he said, you snapped out of the small trance and scanned his masked face in confusion. “What do you mean?” You titled your head slightly, “You’re just lost, and I’m still not bandaged up,” he said reaching his hand out to touch your arm, guiding you a bit closer to him. “Y/CN, I came to you for help, please don’t disappoint me,” he says as his face is only inches away, the smell of his mask’s paint, a bit of his sweat, dirt, and men’s cologne filled your senses.

Keegan’s POV:

I pulled them in by the arm, “Y/CN, I came to you for help, please don’t disappoint me,” I said as I looked them in their E/C eyes. I went three years avoiding them, I was scared of looking weak, but every time the team would come back from their office they would talk about how fun Y/CN was, how they would joke with them, scold them, how just by them visiting Y/CN their day would just get better. It finally got to me and I decided to stop taking things into my own hands and let a professional look at me, I mean there were so many times I fucked up a stitch… being this close to them made me realize how much I was missing out, they’re just so alluring, I admired their face for a hot minute before they cleared their throat that’s when I looked away. “I’ll be sure to finish you up and get you outta here as soon as possible then,” Y/CN said as they flashed a quick smile, They got up to go grab the medical supplies. I looked around their office, It was a standard office with F/C colored decorations all around, I saw a framed picture of them and a man who seemed to be from years before they joined.

Normal POV:

You came back with the supplies needed to care for Keegan’s gash, It wasn't too bad, just needed some bandages. You noticed his eyes wandering to a corner of your office, Turning your head to see what he was looking at you saw a picture of you and your friend from a resort vacation. “I'm attractive huh?” you said, Keegan snapped his head back so fast your heart dropped He didn't say anything either, he just looked at you. You shook off his reaction and got to bandaging him, You heard him wince a little and then looked up at him “I'm sorry are they on too tight?” He let out a breath and shook his head. “No, I am curious though, may I ask something?” Keegan says looking at you as you finish the bandaging process. “Sure, ask me anything!” you said, looking into his file and jotting down some notes. He shifted in his seat a bit before looking at you, “Are you free next week? Same time?” He asked, you looked up a bit confused by what he meant. “Well, I’d be in my office at this time, why?” You said, your attention was now fully on Keegan. “I’m going to be injured same time next week, so be ready for me,” Keegan says, he stands up and walks out of the room. That had to be the weirdest interaction you’ve ever had with someone but you did get what you asked for and that was a visit from Keegan…

Next day:

You were heading to your office around 06:00, your vision was quite blurred from yawning, you made it to your office door jumbling your keys and opening it. Before you stepped inside you accidentally kicked something, you looked down to see a gift bag, it was light blue with a navy blue stripe that crossed it diagonally. You picked the bag up and brought it inside your office, nobody had gotten you a gift at work before. You see the card attached to the outside of it and you open it. ‘Thanks for fixing me up yesterday, I’m sorry for never coming to you before. I asked for your schedule and saw that you were free on Saturday, maybe we could go get some coffee, my treat- Sargeant Russ’

My number-> XXX-XXX-XXXX

You smiled and then looked inside the bag, it was a book, the one you’d been telling everyone that you wanted to read. Once you took the book out there was something else in the bag, it was a cute duck plush. You laughed at it, trying to decide if the plush was cute or childish.

(Yeah lmk if we wanna see that date or not.)

#call of duty ghosts #keegan p russ #keegan x reader #call of duty #keegan russ #keegan russ x reader #Keegan Russ x medic reader #gender nuetral reader #x reader

130 notes · View notes

loving-azerath · 5 months

Text

Keegan Brain rot

lately this man has been in my head ALL THE FUCKING TIME. SO I am dumping my toxic Keegan brain rot here and I look I get it "why are you romanticizing toxic relationships?" But IM writing it and YOUR reading it so its very much a Girl what were YOU doing at Satan's brunch type thing okay? Okay.

This man is smooth as hell okay? He gets you with that deep fucking voice, and his fucking hot shit attitude. He is hot and he knows it. He walks like its heavy and it is. HE KNOWS IT. He got you so fucking downbad because for the first couple months you guys are literally so fucking in love in hurts. Both of you.

Yes TOXIC KEEGAN fucking loves you. He can't get enough. It's an obsession. Which is why when he sees that coworker talking to you he loses his mind a bit. Thought of anyone else having you? Quite literally breaks this man. You two fight, you break up. You are devastated. He's heart broken. How could he do that when all he was trying to do was keep you? Now though he can't get you out of his head.

He misses every fucking part of you and no matter who he fucks it never compares. So he ends up luring you back in with sweet words and toxic fuckin dick. He fucks you like he gets paid to do it. Hand on your throat in prone bone, fucking into you with almost body slams. Your fucking sounds fueled him because he missed them so fucking much.

He leaves hickies now, needing to mark you as his in hopes to keep other guys from getting too close. Which would have worked. If the guys that were approaching you were interested and not co workers or married friends. Didn't matter what you said to him. Though you aren't innocent in this either. Somewhere you learned that when he gets possessive, when he gets jealous...he fucks you so good that it replays in your head on repeat throughout the next month. When he starts the fights you fucking fight back. With words just as sharp.

It became a cycle before you knew it. Two years gone in it. Going two or three months happy and then one of you fucks it up. You only stay broken up for a month at a time. Its all he can bare. Longer if hes deployed but you bet as soon as he comes home from deployment hes at the bar he knows you like to go to. Tucking you away into a bathroom, caging you in against the sink of the single dirty stall. He knew what to say, and you wanted him so fucking bad. Even when you hated him a part of your body craved him. Craved him so fucking bad. You would pretend not to be interested, knowing it pisses him off. You were already soaked just from having him practically pinning you against the sink. Staring through your pretend uninterest. It would be a battle of who gave in and kissed first. He always lost. He would grab a fistfull of hair from the nape of your neck, pulling your head back enough to get a sweet little whimper from your lips before swallowing it with his own. Which would just give you more whimpers for him to swallow. His lips were always so hungry for you, to taste literally every part. Every inch of your neck and chest. Bruising hickies would litter any place he knew a man would look. When he was so hard he would hurt himself from his dick pressing hard against his zipper and seam of his jeans. He would finally unzip them, free his cock that twitched when freed. Twitched when he pressed it against you just to kiss you again, small grinds because he just needed the friction.

"Fuck..." He practically growl, "Do you have any fucking idea what you do to me doll?"

You would blink twice at him

"Piss you off?" You ask, to do what you may ask? Oh right piss him off because as I said you aren't innocent in this shit. It would work too. He would be fucking fuming. Hiking your dress up without removing his eyes from yours.

"Damn right you fuckin' piss me off." He grinds, his fingers finding your folds, this part always broke you. Every. Fucking. Time. Because his fingers were like magic. The warmth and friction bringing shuttering whimpers which as soon as he heard his cock pressed up against your stomach twitched again.

"You feel, so fuckin wet." He would whisper "I need you so fucking bad baby"

"Beg" You say, straightfaced. His eyebrow twitches in irritation. He should have seen this coming. Truthfully. It didn't matter if it was in a dirty bathroom. You would walk him like the dog he was. He sighs flexing a muscle in his jaw. Before slowly lowering to his knees. His eyes once again, never leaving yours.

"Please baby...I need you so bad" He says kissing your hips, messaging your thighs with your dress still in his hands, moving the fabric up and down your thighs with his movements.

"More"

"You" kiss "are" kiss "Everything" kiss "To me" His mouth hovering right over the one place he wanted to sink in the most. "Please, I don't have purpose when you hate me"

You scoff "Thought your purpose was to make me hate you?" You ask

"Only when we fight baby, I don't wanna right right now" He says smoothly planting another kiss around the one spot you both wanted his lips.

"Then make me forgive you" you say, a smirk crosses his lips before he devours you. Moaning vibrations into your core as soon as he tastes you.

"Fuck baby" He says against you, between laps that he doesn't break his eye contact for. "This is what I'm made for" He says, every lap, suck, flick, and moan is driving you crazy. Your whimpers during into panted mewls and whines.

"Kee..." you whine when you're close.

"I know baby, I know. It feels good. It always feels good. We feel good" He says, sucking on your clit while the high rises. "Let me taste how good I make you feel"

It was always so easy for him to make you cum this way. Your hands gripping the sink behind you as you struggle to keep your sounds under uncontrol. He always pulls away from your sweet core like it pains him to do so. Grabbing your hips and turning you a little too needily around to face yourself in the mirror.

"Fuck look at how good we look together like this baby. Keep watching, you'll see just how perfect we look together." He says, he looks down to guide himself into you and the familiar stretch breaks any resolve you had left.

The sounds your bodies make when they slap together echoed off the tile bathroom walls. Keegan had his hand over your mouth, letting your muffled moans feed his addiction and ego. You catch your reflection, your eyes and brows pulled into a fucked out pleasured expression. Your wetness was drinking down your own thighs and your legs were shaking.

His thrusts getting sloppier and his groans turning into whimpers that made you fucking melt every fucking time. He knew it.

"God you make a mess of me Angel. A fucking mess. All I am without you" he whimpers. "all i fuckin am"

he shoves himself so far inside you that the pressure is almost too painfil while you feel him pump his ropes inside of you. You were panting against his chest as he slowly removes his hand, then himself.

"Forgive me?" He asks as he zips himself up. You just silently nod, brain still fuzzy and feeling the mess he made inside of you leak out. It was filthy, but you loved it. He kisses your forehead. "Good girl, Let's go. I want round two but the ungodly things I'm going to do to you needs privacy"

and then the cycle fucking continues.

#i need it #pleasekillme #keegan smut #keegan p russ #cod keegan #keegan russ x reader #Poorly written smut #I need to be sedated #The way I need this man should be studied by a team of medical professionals

152 notes · View notes

shoukiko · 6 months

Text

Masterlists!! INTRO POST! :DD CoD Themed Discord Server Roleplay Bot Masterlist!

Writing

Call of Duty Modern Warfare | Ghosts

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick Headcanons

König x Chubby reader blurb

Small Graves x Reader fic

Why is it so heavy? (Incorrect quote)

Gary "Roach" Sanderson Headcanons

Hong-Jin "Horangi" Headcanons

Call of Duty: Ghosts Headcanons

TF2

TF2 Headcanons

TF2 Painting Nails Imagine

Stay tuned for more!!

33 notes · View notes

loveindefinitely · 6 months

Text

༊*·˚ NEW JOBS AND DEATH THREATS — cod x reader

CRAVE YOU — call of duty x reader CHAPTER ONE

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + alejandro vargas + rodolfo 'rudy' parra + könig + keegan p. russ

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, prison au, serial killer au, reverse harem, therapist/patient, medical inaccuracies, graphic violence, depictions of murder, everyone's unhinged, poly tf141, minor ships, threesomes, foursomes, gangbangs, this is not medical advice!!

series masterlist. read on ao3.

Life was hard. That was a fact.

Bills and groceries didn’t pay for themselves. That was also a fact.

Adding these two factors together, the final product will be a high-risk job in one of the highest-risk places on Earth. That’s… not a fact.

And yet, here you are, standing at the visitor entrance of Las Almas Prison, sporting a disgruntled grimace and a new pair of black slacks that you’d splurged on. They, at least, made your ass look good, although that was truly the least of your worries.

No. Your current list of worries looked something like this;

Getting Murdered

Getting Attacked

Vomiting Within The First Five Minutes Of Your New Job?

…Yeah. Something like that.

The early morning sun is blinding where it sits, just off to the side of the giant concrete building that was the main offices and Visitor Centre. The fact that you were standing in front of what was only a small part of the overall prison grounds was… alarming.

You were well aware that this was the largest prison in your country, housing the most lethal and awful of criminals. Some you’d seen either on the news, or heard of in passing conversations.

This was the real deal. And, somehow, you’d managed to find yourself being hired to work here. You. Work with serial killers. The worst of the worst.

With the stress on your bank account, and the endless struggle that was trying to find a stable career in the current job market, you simply had no other choice but to accept the offer. It paid extremely well, had great benefits, and your safety was… fairly considered.

The amount of NDAs, liability clauses and agreements, however?

Not the best at calming your nerves, to say the least.

The biting chill of the winter wind has you wrapping your arms around yourself, leather bag slung over your shoulder as you finally step through the automatic sliding door.

You’re not surprised to find that the chill only deepens inside the concrete walls of the building, with no heaters or air conditioning from what you can see. There is, however, bright white overhead lights that do nothing except aid the throbbing in the side of your head – probably due to the restless sleep you’d had the night before, anticipation and anxiety warring inside of your thoughts.

There’s an office in front of you as you step in, with only a few decades-old couches to your right, in front of a dingy TV that’s turned off. Saving their budget for more important things, you suppose.

The walls are a pale, grimy yellow, with sparse photos hung about, framing newspaper articles that are surely from the last century, and black and white pictures of the prison’s opening.

It’s an unsettling place, that much you’ve already gathered.

You haven’t even actually been inside the prison, you remind yourself, your stomach churning where it now lays at your feet.

Without a second thought, you continue with hurried steps to the front desk, where scratched plastic encases the sole woman inside, sitting behind a monitor. There’s a circle of holes that allow for sound to pass through, but other than that, there’s no way of entering from this room. With a quick study of your surroundings, you see a steel door to the left of where the desk sits, with a small square window covered in iron bars.

…Jesus christ.

“Can I help you?” The woman drawls, sliding her glasses further up her nose. Her voice is nasally, and the words come out in a slow drawl as she looks you up and down, unimpressed.

You give her your best smile, although even you can tell that it’s an uneasy one. “Yes! This is my first day, I think I’m supposed to be meeting Kate Laswell?” You ask, nerves betraying your voice with unsteady breaths.

The woman snaps her gum.

You stand there.

She blows it again.

You continue to stand there.

Her gaze is bored and completely void of any thought, before she nods slowly. “Laswell… I’ll call her.”

Really, you couldn’t be more shocked if you tried. What the fuck was happening? How could one lack so much… professionalism?

“Hi, Kate. Yes, it’s Jenny. I have a new hire who apparently wants to see you…” Her voice remains that unbearably slow, sloth-like delivery, before her eyes unhurriedly meet yours again. “What’s your name…?”

You give it to her, tone only the slightest bit impatient as you roll back on the heels of your feet. You can only hope that your black boots are appropriate; you’d figured that they were safe, closed-toe and still somewhat professional.

Time would tell. Jenny was giving you the impression that they were more than acceptable, because at least they got you to do your job in a timely manner.

Jenny says a few more words to who can only pray is Laswell on the other end of the phone, before she places it back in its holder.

“Laswell will be here any…” She pops her gum once more, and maybe, just maybe, you can understand the urge to murder. “Moment.”

You give her a tight, painful smile. “Thank you, Jenny.”

She doesn’t respond, and you decide to just stand back and wait. You certainly weren’t complaining – any more conversation with her would’ve ended with a severe lack of hair on your head.

A minute passes, before a buzz in the pocket of your slacks has your throat tightening.

Pulling out your phone, your next exhale comes out shaky as you read the text.

Charlie: get milk otw home used it all

No ‘good luck’. No… ounce of care for you, or the absolute stress that comes with a new job, let alone one like this.

When you’d told him about the offer, all he’d said was, “It might make you worth something for a change.” Didn’t even question, not for a minute, the risks that came with a job like this. He simply couldn’t give less of a fuck.

“Doctor?” The sound of a door opening, and the kind, almost motherly tone of the voice has you shoving your phone into your pocket once more as you turn to the source of the sound.

It’s a woman, her hair pulled back into a slick bun, one hand holding what seems to be a clipboard. Her other hand rests in the pocket of a white coat, not unlike one a scientist would be fashioning in a lab. Her smile is warm, the corner of her eyes crinkling as you direct a smile of your own her way.

“Kate Laswell?” You ask, extending your hand for her to shake. Taking her hand out of her pocket, she accepts it gracefully, nodding her head.

“The one and only,” she says, before gesturing to the steel door she’d entered through. “Now, today we’ll get you set up with a keycard, general rules, and I’ll have you meet two of your patients.”

You nod, following her as she swipes a card in a black reader, before the red light buzzes green, and she pulls the door open. Right behind her, you take an unstable deep breath as you take in the greyed, jagged walls, a complete contrast to the painted ones of the entrance room.

“We really are so glad to welcome you to our team,” she continues, her black work shoes clicking against the smooth concrete flooring. She doesn’t turn to you as she speaks, but her voice carries around the echoey hallway. “You’ll make a great addition. A necessary one, also. We’ve needed an innovative, young therapist for a while. Most of our… previous hires have held out-dated beliefs, and a lack of humanity for their clientele.”

That makes your brows furrow in confusion. “That’s… odd,” you murmur, before pausing your steps as Laswell stops, swiping her keycard, before entering another room.

As you step into the newly revealed space, your eyes go wide as you take it in.

It’s a wide, large space, with several floors. Metal staircases sit at either end of the vast space, allowing access to every floor. Guards sit at every level, some walking around the space where you and Laswell stand.

It’s a lot, all at once. You’d never even stepped foot into a prison – not before now.

“Most inmates are at the mess for breakfast,” Laswell supplies, turning to you with a neutral expression. She gestures for you to follow her back out of the space, and you do with hurried steps. “The ones you’ll be dealing with, however… they usually eat by themselves.”

You don’t decide to push that statement, not now, as you continue to follow her down the hallway.

“You won’t be seeing much of the prison,” she admits. “There’s heavily guarded spaces on the top floor for your sessions, both for your protection and for the safety of our staff and other low-risk inmates.”

You nod, humming a sound of affirmation as the two of you start heading up the cleaner steps at the end of the hallway. The staff staircase, you suppose.

“Today, you’ll be meeting two of our more… understanding ambers.”

You raise a brow. “Ambers? What does that mean?”

She turns her head over her shoulder, just enough to shoot you a knowing look. “Ambers are our highest-risk inmates. We house ten of them, and you’ll be dealing with eight as per your contract.”

Your stomach falls. You’d known, of course, that the risks were high when applying for this role. But… this was more than you’d imagined, in a way. Ambers. Huh.

Silence falls over the two of you as you make your way up the never-ending steps, no windows in sight. It’s unnerving, in a creepy, strange way. When you finally reach the top, you try and hide how out of breath you are from that small exertion.

Fucking christ.

Laswell, for her part, looks completely fine in an effortless way. You can’t eve find it in yourself to be envious. The feeling’s closer to admiration.

“Here’s the files on them both. You’ll be seeing Kyle Garrick first,” she hands you the clipboard she’d been carrying, and you accept it with only a slight tremble. She doesn’t comment on it, and you find yourself warming up to her already. “They’ll be restrained, and there is heavy security, so you needn’t worry about that side of things.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” you say earnestly, flipping through the files without reading much of anything, not yet.

She waves you off with a soft chuckle. “None of that. Kate’s more than fine,” she insists, and you give her a bright smile in return. Maybe this job wouldn’t be so bad – a boss like this was much better than a creepy middle-aged man any day of the week.

You don’t realise you’ve made it to a small room until she stops walking, scanning her keycard and pushing the door open, gesturing you in. “While you have your first two sessions, I’ll sort your keycard and the rest of the processes out. I wish you luck.”

With that, the door shuts behind you, and you’re alone in a small room.

It matches the rest of the hallways you’ve seen – grey concrete walls, grey concrete floors. The only furniture, however, is one metal table drilled into the floor in the centre, one chair on either side.

…It’s depressing. Not at all like you’d prefer, not for a fucking therapy session, but then again, you hadn’t met your clients yet.

Ambers. High-risk.

With a deep breath, you take a seat at the chair closest to you, finally reading through the top file on the clipboard.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick.

You skim over the height, weight, sex – immediately reading the comments made and his sentence.

Mass murderer. Motivated attacks.

Your eyes go wide, almost comically so, as you bite at your lip, folding one leg over the other as you continue to read.

Of course, you’d prepared, been made aware that you’d be dealing with murderers. But having it in black and white, right in front of you, is a whole other thing entirely.

Apparently, they were motivated attacks. Targets being large CEOs, specifically those with reported claims of misuse of power, and those against green laws. Anti-environment types.

The motive is… you’re aware killing is bad. You hadn’t spent years studying for a degree in Psychology to think otherwise. But it wasn’t as simple as some made it out to be. You’d done papers suggesting that certain motives implied healthier patterns, healthier outlets.

If you had to choose between him killing pregnant women, and CEOs with broken moral compasses?

It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out your answer.

You’re about to flip the page when there’s a knock on the door on the other side of the room, before it opens.

There’s two guards that walk in, before a man in an olive green jumpsuit follows, hands cuffed tightly together in front of him, head down. Another guard from behind shoves him in, too rough for your liking. You sit up straighter, eyes assessing as you take in the man in the jumpsuit.

He’s forced into the chair opposite you, before one of the guards grabs his cuffed wrists and chains them to a rig in the middle of the table. You’re grateful for the precautions, but there’s a part of you that feels guilty watching the manhandling of the seemingly calm man.

“Half an hour,” the most brutish guard of them all grits out, beer belly spilling out over his belted jeans. He jostles the chain attaching his wrists to the table unnecessarily, and your eyes narrow.

He goes to leave, along with another guard, but one stands to stay in position inside, beside the door.

Your brows furrow, and you speak up before you can stop yourself. “Sorry, sir, but my sessions will need confidentiality, as for the best results. I’m sure that I’ll be safe with his restraints.”

The guard stares you down, seemingly mulling your words over, before shrugging and leaving the room, door shutting behind him.

…Huh. Alright.

You find your posture relaxing, just slightly, which is odd, considering you’re now only a metre or two away from a convicted murderer.

His gaze is trained to the table, left foot tapping incessantly against the concrete floor.

“It’s nice to meet you, Gaz,” you say with a soft tone and a gentle smile. You figure that his nickname is the best bet, not wanting to stir up any possible traumas with his given name during your first session with the man. “I’ll be your new psychiatric evaluator.”

His eyes flick up, meeting yours, and he nods slowly, as if awaiting a punchline.

“Is it okay for me to call you Gaz?” You ask, tilting your head to the side and flipping to an empty page to take notes on. You’d need to grab a notebook from home, you decide.

He relaxes, only the smallest of movements, and he nods. “Gaz, yeah.”

Your smile widens at the small victory. Any step towards progress was a huge one, in your eyes. You’d be facing a lot of them in the coming days.

“Do you have any advice for this place?” You push, trying to form a bond of trust with the dark-haired man. “I’m gonna be honest, you’re my first patient, and I’ve only met Laswell and… Jenny?”

His mouth quirks at that, a dimple showing to the left of his mouth as he looks back up at you. “Jenny’s a character, ain’t she?”

You laugh, a genuine one, and nod. “She certainly is. You’ve met her?”

He shrugs, shoulders relaxing slightly. “Few times, yeah. She drives me up the fuckin’ wall.” His accent is only minimally apparent, but his voice is of a somewhat humorous tone.

Small victories.

“Well,” he exhales, settling into his chair a bit as he seems to ponder. “Do ya know who else you’re assigned to?”

You’d been sure to thoroughly go over your contract, and you were allowed to disclose your other patients between your others. They’d find out within the day, anyways, so there was no point in being discreet.

“It’s only you and a… John Price? Today. I’m sure I’ll find out the other six over the next few days,” you say, appreciating that he’s starting conversations. It’s more than you’d allowed yourself to hope for.

Gaz’s eyes light up, and even if you hadn’t been incessant in watching him, it’d be an obvious shift in emotions. “Price?”

You nod, quickly making a note on your clipboard, before folding your hands in your lap as you gesture for him to continue with a quick inclination of your head.

��He’s the best. Man’s a legend,” he enthuses. “Love ‘im.”

There’s… a hidden truth to that statement, that you make a mental note to unpack during a later session. Your smile is a natural one as you say, “He’s an amber, correct? Laswell told me I’d been assigned eight out of ten ambers… you’re one of them, right?”

Gaz seems to fold into himself, and you kick yourself for going back to square one. He answers, however.

“...Yeah. Only Ghost ‘nd Valeria are aggressive, though. We’re just… misunderstood,” he murmurs, and in the back of your brain, you find yourself believing his words.

“Thank you,” you smile, and he responds with a sharp one of his own. Maybe you’d covered more ground than you’d expected. “I think it’d been mentioned that I was only assigned men, due to the nature of the job, or something like that.”

Seeming to mull over your words, he starts to slowly nod. “Sounds ‘bout right. As long as you don’t get Graves, you’ll be alright. The others are… fuckin’ weird, but they’re good men. Mostly.”

That’s a lot of information at once, and quite frankly, it takes a moment for you to process.

“‘Good men’. What do you think it takes to be a good man?” You ask, curiosity laced into your tone. Getting to ask such questions of a convicted murderer, it’s a thrilling, exhilarating task.

His eyes don’t shift as he replies. “Good men do the acts others are too scared to do. They see the evil in the world, and rid of it with their own bare hands. You can be an ethical murderer, Doc.”

Those words, they’re – they’re authentic, and conviction aches in their structure.

You swallow around a dry mouth.

“You think you’re a good man?” You ask.

His smile would be seen as warm to any who weren’t aware of his acts, but to you – it’s chilling. Haunting in a way you’ve never experienced.

It remains as he answers.

“I think that I’m a man who people wish they had the bravery to be.”

a/n. okay so im really nervous about posting this, cause ITS EIGHT FUKCING LOVE INTERESTS and also im a humanities girl not a science one!! sociology all the way not psych!! so forgive me for all the inaccuracies and legality issues please. im just a girl. hopefully u guys will like this one? i mean, obsessed serial killers cod is smth i need so here we are. all comments and feedback mean so muchhh ty ily mwah mwah mwah

taglist comment/msg to be added. [nothing to see here.]

2K notes · View notes

daisies-daydreams · 5 months

Note

Can I request a oneshot where Keegan has a really bad migraine with a fever and the 141 gets a little jealous when Y/N who's a doctor takes care of him

Doctor's Orders (Keegan P. Russ x F!Doctor!Reader)

Pairing: Keegan P. Russ x F!Doctor!Reader Category: Fluff Warnings: Swearing, Depictions of Medical Examinations, Jealous!141, Implications of Violence, Different POVs Word Count: 1.3k+

A/N: Hello there! I'm so so sorry it's taken me this long to reply to your request, but I hope you enjoy it! 💖

You sighed as you stepped into your office, the welcoming sight of your Keurig drawing you towards your desk. It wasn’t the routine medical check-ups that got you…it was your patients. If you hadn’t taken the Hippocratic Oath, you’re pretty sure you would’ve strangled them. One after the other, they never failed to flash you a cheeky grin, throw a wink, or say some cheesy pick-up line.

You popped a new pod into the Keurig before sinking into your swivel chair. You rubbed your temples as you took a deep breath, the stress melting away as you felt the sunlight pour in through your window. A knock on the door suddenly stirred you from your thoughts.

"Duty calls," you muttered. You sat up straight and maneuvered a bit in your chair. “Come in,” you said. You raised a brow as the door creaked open before a familiar face appeared.

“Good to see you, Russ,” you smiled as you slid your hand around the handle of your warm mug. Keegan was one of your favorite patients. Despite being curt, he was always respectful towards you. You frowned when you saw his unusually rosy cheeks and a sheen of sweat covering his face.

“Russ, what’s wrong?” you asked as he sat in the chair across from you. The man’s dark eyes looked strained as he clenched his jaw.

“I’ve got a killer headache, doc,” Keegan mumbled. “Feel like I have a pretty crappy fever, too,” he added as he folded his hands together. You scanned him up and down. Usually you refuse to see patients outside of office hours…but since he’s not really being a bother…

You set your piping drink onto your desk before taking a forehead thermometer from one of your drawers. You saw his eyes soften as you stepped over, your white lab coat swaying a bit as you came near him.

“Let’s have a look-see,” you smiled gently. He nodded, only to grunt and squeeze his eyes shut. You turned on the thermometer before scanning his forehead. You frowned when you looked at the small screen.

“Well, your temperature is a bit higher than average,” you said. Keegan remained quiet as you pulled out a small flashlight. “I’m going to shine these in your eyes for just a moment,” you said. You examined his pupils, watching as they shrank in the light. “Hmm…doesn’t look like you have a concussion,” you thought aloud as you turned off the flashlight. “Are you experiencing any other symptoms? Shortness of breath? Sore throat?” you asked as you pushed the buds of your stethoscope into your ears. Keegan shook his head as you placed the diaphragm over his sternum. Your brows furrowed as the sound of his rapid heartbeat pounded in your ears.

“Your heart’s beating awfully fast,” you frowned. You noticed his cheeks darkened another shade of red as you slid the metal piece to another part of his chest. “Take one deep breath for me,” you said as you took a deep inhale. Keegan followed you, his lungs sounding just fine. You hummed before checking his back. You flushed a little at the feeling of his muscles flexing beneath your simple touch. You cleared your throat and quickly stepped back.

“I’ve had migraines before, but never one with a fever,” Keegan spoke up. You turned your head towards him and nodded.

“Are you prone to sinus infections?” you asked as you splayed a wooden depressor over his tongue. The man blinked before slowly nodding.

“‘Tis the season,” he said with a shrug. You chuckled a little before tossing the tool into the bin.

“Well Russ, if you start to feel worse, come back and see me. But for now, I want you to rest, drink lots of fluids, and take plenty of ibuprofen and some mucus relievers. You can find them over the counter,” you said. Your breath hitched as he suddenly stood up, his chest nearly brushing over yours.

“Thanks, doc,” he said, his voice dropping a few octaves as he gazed into your eyes. You nodded as you smoothed your hands over your lab coat.

“Of course,” you smiled with a nod. You walked him to the door, your brows arching as he paused in the threshold.

“You know, you’re really good to us, (L/N). I’m not sure how us idiots would survive without someone like you looking out for us,” he grinned. Your throat tightened as you squeezed your hands together.

“T-Thank you,” you mirrored his expression. Keegan gave a short nod, though you found it strange how quickly his demeanor shifted as he walked down the hall. You looked on before slowly closing your door.

----

Keegan rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. Of course his heart was beating rapidly: he was mere inches from the most beautiful woman on base. He whistled to himself as he walked out of the clinic and into the rec hall. He paused in the doorway when he saw the 141 crew staring daggers at him just as he entered.

“Is there something on my face?” Keegan asked.

“Nah,” Soap said as he crossed his arms and glanced away. The American man raised a brow.

“Come on, guys. This isn’t Mean Girls,” he grunted.

“Then why are you lying like Regina George?” Gaz huffed. Keegan’s eyes widened a little before he composed himself.

“People can still talk if they have a migraine, Garrick,” he said.

“Sure, but you’re acting awfully spry for someone who has a fever, too,” Ghost grunted. Keegan’s lips tightened into a straight line. The men around him wore the nastiest glares as he cleared his throat.

“I got better,” he said as he glanced behind his shoulder.

“God dammit, Russ. Playing the wounded gazelle gambit? Really?” Gaz groaned. Keegan simply shrugged.

“Hey, it worked,” he said. The three men’s eyes widened.

“What?” Soap asked. The American smirked.

“While the three of you were drooling over (Y/N), I took a more…subtle, approach,” he said. “Simple as that,” Keegan added.

“Let’s get him,” Ghost said as he cracked his knuckles. The Sergeant held up his hands.

“C’mon, gents, are we really going to resort to violence over our doctor?” he asked. The 141 silently stared at him as they slowly approached.

“I guess that answers my question,” he laughed before turning on his heel.

Epilogue

“What exactly did you do to get a black eye?” you asked with a worried expression. Keegan hissed as he placed an ice pack over his dark, swollen eye.

“You know me, always taking a joke too far,” the Sergeant shrugged. He glanced over at the door to see the 141 scowling at him.

“You poor thing. First you have a fever and a migraine, and now you’ve got a big bruise on your face,” you frowned. Keegan nodded slowly and winced as his eye throbbed.

“Just my luck, right?” he chuckled softly. You sighed.

“Seriously, I want you to go back to your quarters and get some good rest. Doctor’s orders,” you said as you pointed your pen at him before writing him a note.

“Yes ma’am,” Keegan grins softly as he takes the note between two of his fingers. You offer him a small smile as he slips off the examination table.

“Take care, Russ. And I better not see you for the rest of the day, okay?” you giggled. Keegan’s heart skipped a beat at your bubbly laugh.

“What if I saw you for drinks this Friday instead?” he asked. You paused as your cheeks flushed a little. You bit your bottom lip as you squeezed the cord of your stethoscope.

“Depends on where we go,” you said as you narrowed your eyes.

“Your choice,” Keegan replied. Your face lit up a little as you hummed.

“Alright, deal. But on one condition,” you said. Keegan’s eyes sparkled as he nodded.

“Sure. What’s on your mind, doc?” he asked as he straightened his posture.

“You have to promise to stop pretending to be sick just to come see me, alright?” you said with a wry grin. Keegan’s jaw dropped.

So much for being subtle.

----

Thank you for reading! ❤️

Taglist: @maybethatfanfictionwriter @depressesoespressorat @yuhhtricki999 @lavenderbabu @tayleighuh @thedevax @famouscattale @spktrgantenk @zombieblogx @mrswhitethornbelikov @galaxy-dusk @samanthashadowriley @theloneshadow24 @xxkay15xx @inspace1 @manlikemilesmyguy @ghostslynx @synamonthy @oharasfilipinawife @scaleniusrm @jotarossshark @acotarobbsessed @8xbygirl @blueapplesiren @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @lyrasdrawer @spiderrinn

Want to be a part of my taglist? Comment down below!

#keegan russ #keegan p russ #call of duty #cod #reader insert #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #call of duty x y/n #cod x female reader #cod x y/n #cod x you #keegan russ x reader #keegan russ x you #cod keegan #call of duty fluff #cod fluff #cod mw2 #mw3

343 notes · View notes

mrshesh · 10 months

Text

"a...worm?" - call of duty: ghosts x reader

overview: cod:ghosts men reacting to you asking if they'd still love you if you were a worm

pairing: call of duty: ghosts men x gender neutral reader, romantic

genre: fluff

a/n: this was requested by @simpforhotmaskedmen! thank you for requesting this, babe! and thank you for wanting me to include kick - i love that man a bit too much. i had a blast writing this. i will always love these worm requests.

x keegan russ

His eyes widen immediately. He isn’t confused - he’s merely amused at your ability to keep thinking of stupid scenarios.

He secretly finds it adorable. It just adds to your charm.

“Babe… what?”

“Would you still love me if I was a worm? It’s an easy question.”

“I mean, yeah.” He quickly says. He doesn’t put much thought into your fantasy life as a worm. All he knows is that he loves you regardless of what you are.

He would have a hard time in the beginning. He would find it freaky that you, his partner, are in a worm’s body.

But eventually, he’d adjust. He would keep you in his pocket, checking up on you constantly. “Are you hungry?” “Do you need anything?” “Are you hurt?” are only some of the questions he’d ask you daily. Would he receive an answer? No. Would he keep asking them? Absolutely.

“You need medication, babe.”

x kick

Kick’s initial reaction is just: “What? 😀”

“How do you even come up with these questions?” He would mostly just be confused.

“Would you, though?” “Yes, of course.”

Despite his bewilderment, he would realistically take superb care of you.

He would let you slither in his hands like a snake constantly. He would want to keep his eye on you to ensure your safety, but he would encourage you to be independent.

He would teach you how to survive individually in life-or-death situations - to further ensure your health. (He would research worm’s way of life for you 🙁💗.)

He would even go as far as to keep a leaf with him at all times in case you got hungry.

“How would I kiss you?” “On the tip of the body?” “I wouldn’t know if that’s your face or ass, though.”

x logan walker

A blank stare is all you get initially. Logan soon gives you a small smile, though. He thinks your question is cute as hell.

“Yes.” He’s as blunt and honest as always. He would love you a lot, even if you were a worm.

However, he would not know what to do.

He would not know how to take care of you. Sure, he’s smart, but he’s not a worm expert.

He would find himself locking you in his room before his missions, only to return to the room with leaves and dirt in hand because he would forget that you need to eat while he’s gone.

His knowledge would eventually evolve enough for him to keep you in a big dirt-filled container.

Logan has always been a quiet man. He doesn’t talk unless he needs to. But if you turned into a worm, he would go out of his way more often to remind you that he loves you.

I can see him petting you gently before he goes to sleep. ☹️

x david "hesh" walker

David has no shame in laughing at your question. A worm? Seriously?

He, like Keegan, would not give your question much thought. He just instantly knows that he would love you regardless.

“Yeah, babe! Of course, I would.” He chuckles. You never fail to amuse him.

He would be a little confused, but he’d have the spirit!

He would let you be outside during the day and bring you inside when it's time to sleep.

When you aren’t outside doing… worm things, he would keep you on his shoulder. And, my God, he wouldn’t shut up. David would talk to you as if you were a human to make you feel included and seen, in a way. (And because he loves talking to you.)

He would even stay with you outside to keep you company if you’d like! He would sit on the grass next to you, talking to you about anything and everything while you dug yourself into the dirt.

“Is it legal to get married to worms, or?”

x elias "scarecrow" walker

He immediately bursts out laughing. He loves how comfortable you are with him, to the point where you can ask him things like this.

“Yes, hun.” He snorts. “I would still adore you.”

Elias, unlike everyone else, would think about your life as a worm on a high-detail level. He would consider different possibilities and roadblocks along the way of your worm life. “It would be difficult, but that has never stopped me.”

He would be a great caretaker!

He would get a bit frustrated that you can’t verbally communicate, so he would teach you a made-up language between you. The language would consist of different physical moves you can do as a worm, and he would just use his words. (Yeah, he gets the easy part. 🙄)

Elias would keep you fed, clean, healthy, happy, and well-rested - he is a father of two very talented boys, after all! He knows how to take care of people (and worms).

“But, I’d prefer it if you stay like this, honey.”

x thomas merrick

“No.” “Really?” “...No.”

Thomas is a bitch. We all know this. But he has a soft spot for you - something he doesn’t have for anyone else. He will always love you, no matter what, but he will never admit that.

He wouldn’t be horrible at caring for you, but he certainly wouldn’t be good.

He would protect you with his life, though.

If you even receive as little as a dirty look from someone, he’s knocking their teeth out.

He would mostly keep you in his pocket. That way, Thomas can keep an eye on you.

He, like Keegan, would check up on you regularly because if you’re a worm, you need him to survive (or that’s what he thinks).

“Are you hungry?” He would ask, only to scoff to himself. “Who am I kidding? Of course, you are. But since you’re a fuckin’ worm, you can’t tell me, can you?” He would seem annoyed, but the truth is, he wouldn’t be.

But obviously, he does not want you to turn into a worm.

“For the love of God, get a hobby.”

490 notes · View notes

graysnetwork · 5 months

Text

Keegan P. Russ Masterlist

HEADCANNONS

– My head cannons on Keegan

– Nsfw head cannons for keegan

– Keegan in love

– First date (Medic!reader x Keegan)

–Jealous Keegan

–Arguements with Keegan

– Figuring out he’s in love

– When he’s sad

– On his wedding day

– Having a thick accent (Keegan and König)– First time with Keegan

– What i think Keegan looks like

FICS

– My Favorite (Medic!reader x Keegan Russ)

– Sweetheart (part 2^^^)

– Not mine (Reader x Keegan)

– Drunk Keegan

– Annoying (Enemies to lovers)

– Please you (smut)

– Drawing on his body

– First time with keegan

– Mornings (smut)

– After the storm

– Black Boxers (smut)

— Red (smut)

– Wear the hat Ride the cowboy (smut)

– "you're too beautiful to not admire"

– Back rubs

– NNN

– Pink throw blanket

– Mr. Nonchalant

#imagines #x reader stories #fluff #call of duty #oneshot #keegan p russ #keegan russ #call of duty keegan #cod keegan #keegan russ x reader

171 notes · View notes

southernbluebellereader · 1 year

Text

MASTERLIST

Who I write for: Call of Duty (Preferably MW2 and MW3); Star Trek (everything up to Enterprise + Strange New Worlds); Slashers (Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers); Jack Reacher (Alan Ritchson); SIX (coming soon)

REQUESTS: Closed | INBOX: Open | TAG LIST: Click Here | (*) = WIP

Last Update: December 29, 2023

{JACK REACHER}

| JACK REACHER (Alan Ritchson) |

General Headcanons

General Headcanons Part 2

X Fem! Southern Waitress

Peach Pie and Cream

{CALL OF DUTY}

| IMAGINES/HEADCANONS/REQUESTS |

Imagine Dancing with Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

Imagine Dancing with John Price, Ghost, and Soap

Do They Know How to Take a Bra Off? (COD 141 + Alejandro, Rudy, & König)

Routines (Taskforce 141 x Southern Hairdresser Reader (PLATONIC))

Routines Part 2 (Taskforce 141 x Southern Hairdresser Reader (PLATONIC))

Tenderheart Bear (141 x People Pleaser F! Field Medic (PLATONIC))

How would the 141 react to you getting your nails done? (COD MW2) (Task Force 141 - Semi-NSFW)

(18) Request: Imagine Ghost & König with an anal vibrator

Request: 141 x Reader w/ Psoriasis & Vitiligo (SFW & Platonic)

Request: Taskforce 141 x Reader with rumors of being a slut

(18+) Request: Kvinlig Demon (141 x F! Reader w/ Womb Tattoo)

| CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE |

Requests

(18+) NSFW Price x Younger S/O & he is wrapped around your finger ;)

(18+) NSFW Daddy Price x Wife (this a little *spicy*)

Family Day (x Wife Reader; y'all and the 141 go to Disney World as a family)

Personal Nurse (x Nurse F! Reader)

Leg Warmers (x Reader w/ misaligned knee caps)

*Price begging - collar - sub!Price

X Female Escort Reader

[PART 1] Don’t Look At Me Like That (FLUFF/LITTLE ANGST)

[PART 2] Excitement in Patience (18+ MATURE)

[PART 3] Cup of Coffee (Kinda of a prequel)

X Female Wife Reader

Gray Hairs (FLUFF)

X Young Reader with Facial Scars

[PART 1] Bruised Apple (Platonic, Angst, Facial Scars, Mention of Violence)

[PART 2] Apple Slices (DITTO [Mention of Violence & Trauma])

[PART 3] Apple Pie (Platonic, going on slightly romantic, Angst, Fluffity Fluff)

X MILF Single Mom

Forbidden (Fluff, Innuendos, Brief mention of violence)

| LIEUTENANT SIMON “GHOST” RILEY |

Requests

Drake (x AFAB Teammate w/ Tattoo; Simon seeing their tattoo for the first time)

Turquesa (x AFAB Latinx Nurse Reader)

Midnight Dining (x AFAB Civilian Reader (leather jacket Ghost))

Emergency Snack Run (x AFAB Gas Station Clerk)

Personal Mechanic (Mechanic Ghost x AFAB Reader)

X Female Southern Cook

[PART 1] Midnight Snack (FLUFF & PLATONIC)

[PART 2] Tomato, Tom-ah-to (FLUFF & PLATONIC)

[PART 3] Bag of Peas (FLUFF & PLATONIC)

[PART 4] Hash Browns (FLUFF & MOSTLY PLATONIC)

[PART 5] Prickly Pear (FLUFF & DEF NOT PLATONIC ANYMORE)

[PART 6] Peaches and Cream (FLUFF, ANGST, LOVEY DOVEY)

[PART 7] Chicken and Dumplings (VERY ANGST, A LITTLE VIOLENCE)

[PART 8] Hot Links (FLUFFITY FLUFF FLUFF LOVEY DOVEY)

X Female Reader

(18+) Hot For Teacher (Simon's S/O gets a teacher costume for Halloween)

Being Chosen…By A Baby (Single Mom Reader)

| COLONEL ALEJANDRO VARGAS |

X Female Wife Reader

Forehead Kisses (FLUFF)

Alejandro and His Big Ol' Forehead - One, Two, Three, Four

| SERGEANT KEEGAN P. RUSS (COD GHOSTS) |

Fun and Games (x F! reader) (PLATONIC) - His name is said in a funny accent

| SERGEANT KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK |

Requests

A little nosy, aren't we? (x F! Reader gets caught looking at his social media)

(18+) Car Shenanigans (x F! Reader giving head/getting fingered)

Post-Mission Angst (x AFAB Reader)

X Female Signaler/Radiowoman Reader

Guardian Angel (bubbling relationship)

| KÖNIG |

How he likes to show affection by holding you close (xGN Reader)

| COMMANDER PHILLIP GRAVES |

X Pregnant Wife Reader

First Time Husband (first-time pregnancy; little angst, fluff)

| SERGEANT LOGAN WALKER (COD GHOSTS) |

Requests

Headcanons (Both SFW and NSFW)

What would Logan be like as a Father? (fuffity fluff fluff)

Headcanons Part 2 (Both SFW and NSFW)

| SOBIESŁAW "GROMSKO" KOŚCIUSZKO |

General Headcanons (SFW and NSFW)

Supportive Soft Friend (SFW Fluff)

| KATE LASWELL |

x Wife Reader

My Wife (fluffity fluff fluff)

| ALEX KELLER |

x F! New Yorker Medic Reader

Polar Opposites (Golden Retriever Alex, Black Cat Reader; Fluff)

| SERGEANT JOHNNY "SOAP" MACTAVISH |

Requests

*Dilf! Johnny x Babysitter

x F! Reader

Calling Him "Stud"

{STAR TREK}

| IMAGINES/HEADCANONS |

Kirk, Spock, & Bones x Southern Reader (SFW)

Do They Know How to Take Bra Off? (Kirk, Bones, Spock, Scotty, Chekov)

| DOCTOR LEONARD “BONES” MCCOY |

X Female Nurse Practitioner

Medical Couple (FLUFF LOVEY DOVEY; TOS/REBOOT MOVIES)

| FIRST COMMANDER SPOCK |

Requests

Pop of Color (x F! Betazoid Quartermaster/Seamstress; STRANGE NEW WORLDS)

{SLASHERS}

| JASON VOORHEES |

X Female Camp Counselor

Instinct (stalking)

{SIX}

| JOE "BEAR" GRAVES |

Requests

Request: Joe Graves X Younger Wife/GF Headcanons

#master list #fan fiction master list #call of duty #Star Trek #slasher #slashers #Jason voorhees #Jason voorhees x reader #jack reacher #SIX #Joe bear graves #bear #Joe graves

958 notes · View notes

bryhoney · 1 month

Text

Recognisance pt. 1

This is literally my first post, please go easy on me lmao - the slowest of slow burns between AdoptedWalker!Reader x Keegan P. Russ. TW: Kidnapping and Torture. Set two years after the events of COD Ghosts.

On AO3! Semi-Regular updates :)

This has barely been proofed - so, sorry in advance!

Pt.2

"NO!"

It's a man's voice, you don't recognise it. He sounds panicked, his voice is ragged and hoarse. His scream grows louder and louder until it's a deafening ring and-

You jolt awake, crying out in pain. Every part of your body hurts and the ringing in your ears is agony.

Your chest feels tight as you try to orientate yourself, you're in a room you don't recognise. It's sparsely decorated and looks medical, it's not often used.

It takes you only a second to notice the three silhouettes that stand in the corner of the room, effectively blocking your only exit. You lurch into a sitting position, pushing yourself backwards in the bed.

Panic floods your system, you don't recognise any of them. You have to get up, get back to-?

Get back to who?

The man standing closest to your bed is older, with greying hair and lines around his eyes. He pushes himself of the wall and you take note of the sheer size of him. He's muscular and clearly disciplined. A threat.

Your eyes scan rapidly for any sort of weapon, something that could offer some vestige of protection. Nothing.

He raises his arms in mock surrender as he approaches, "How do you feel?" His voice is deep, gentle and entirely unfamiliar.

W--g. Wrong. Wrong.

Your voice wavers, "Stay back!" You're pushing yourself even further away from him as you frantically try to assess the best way to escape these men.

"Hey, hey" he continues, your breathing is rapid and shallow.

Where's ----? I am - ------ and I am ---. I have been ---------.

Your hand instinctively reaches to the top of your thigh, your fingers find only the thin medical gown you're wearing.

Where's my -----?

What are you looking for?

"Do you know where you are?" He asks, he's at the end of your bed now. You realise that you can't escape this situation in your current state, you try and level your breathing and maintain eye contact.

"No." You grit the words out, you hate the way your heart sinks.

The man nods, a ghost of a smile tugs at his lips.

Stop it. Stop it.

"Do you know who I am?" He continues, his voice still calm as he moves to sit at the foot of the bed. His movement spurs you into action, you carefully swing your legs off the bed, just in case.

"No" You answer again, your hands fisting the bedsheets as you focus on keeping your breathing level. What the fuck is happening.

"Control your breathing ----. You're --- ------- when --- -"

Whose voice was that?

"I don't-" your voice falters and cracks. If they didn't know you were scared before, they do now. Stupid.

"Stop giving them the advantage"

His eyes meet yours and he exhales deeply, "My name is Gabriel. You and I work together, you were part of the Federation. Do you know what the Federation is?" As he speaks you realise he is truly unarmed, dressed in civilian clothing. The other two men are in standardised uniform, armed to the teeth.

At his words, you almost sigh in relief. It's the first bit of information you recognise. The Federation sounds familiar. It's-? E--m-. What was the Federation?

"Yes, but- I...I thought the Federation where-? I'm not part of the Federation? My house was-?" You're stumbling through scattered memories, trying desperately to assign meaning to abstract thoughts. The more you try to pin something down, the quicker it escapes.

A sudden wave of nausea washes over you. The man in front of you will hurt you. What?

"Dad! Wait! I'm not as fast as ----" It's your voice. You're young.

Where's my Dad?

The man at the end of your bed reaches towards you, covering the hand that's clutching the sheets, "It'll come back to you in time, Sweetheart". You would have flinched if you hadn't locked up in fear. Your heart thundering in your chest.

"Why can't I remember", you feel a tear roll down your cheek. You're not sure if it's borne from frustration or fear.

Safe. You're safe. Calm down.

He tenses and stands abruptly, "You were taken from us, you-" he cuts himself off, "we will get the men that did this to you- I'm just sorry it took us so long to find you".

His back is turned to you, the men that stand guarding the door seem to stand further to attention under his gaze.

This man, Gabriel, is important. He said you were someone he worked with. Were you important too?

He came back for you. He said you were taken and he came back for you.

"I don't-" you feel overwhelmed, unable to breathe.

You were taken? Why? Who took you? When? What did they do? How did you get out? Are they coming back? Are-

You shake your head, as though you can physically dispel these thoughts.

Gabriel turns to you again, "you will remember us, and you will help us get revenge for what they did to us".

Your eyes snap to his, "Us?" You stop trying to hide your fear.

He returns to your bedside and clasps your hand before he repeats, "Us".

3 Weeks Later

The chair is still the same uncomfortable plastic one as last time. You fought every urge to make yet another complaint to the man opposite you. You'd asked him to replace it for you, he'd raised his eyebrow, made some notes and said nothing.

You can remember everything since you woke up in the hospital room, just not a lot before that. However, the nightmares and flashbacks of your time with the Ghosts were becoming more vivid and frequent with each week. Sam made more notes about that.

You'd see this man almost every day, his name was Sam and that was about all you knew about him. He was assessing you apparently, monitoring your progress before you could go back to work. He applauded your short-term memory progress in the most unenthused tone you'd ever heard.

He clearly didn't want to be here any more than you did.

He'd ask the same questions every time before delving into other recovery topics.

"What's your name" his voice was monotonous, uninterested.

You reeled off your first name easily, before meeting his unamused gaze and sighing, "I'm not sure". You slouched in your seat, eyes scanning each crack in the cold concrete walls that surrounded the two of you.

"----? st-----! Get ----!" A man's voice, deep, urgent.

You fidget in the seat, "Something with a W in it? I don't know". It's the first time since you regained consciousness that you heard one of the voices. You decide not to tell the man opposite you that fun tidbit of information, you're not crazy.

He looks momentarily surprised at the omission before resuming the blank facade and furiously jotting down notes.

You knew your first name but Gabriel made it clear he wanted you to recall as much information as possible before he told you anything else. He said it would set a good foundation and allow them to track your progress better. It sounded like bullshit to you at the time but you had agreed to it all the same.

"What's your mother's name?" he continues.

You wait for another voice, a scattered memory. Nothing.

"I don't know," your teeth hurt from clenching them, you have to wriggle your jaw to ease the tension.

"Any brothers or sisters?" he pushes his glasses further up his face. Dickhead.

You hear laughing. "Got---! Yo--- -- ---o-" your hands are skimming the top of water, throwing it suddenly as ----. You hear a laugh and then your own. The sun is blinding and you can't focus on anything. Ha--y. Yo--- -a---.

"I don't know, maybe?" your eyes are closed as you try to concentrate. The sudden onslaught of shattered, unclear memories hurt to try to piece together.

"How do you know Rorke?" It's a new question.

"We worked together," you reply almost instantly. It's the only question you can confidently answer. The only answer you've been told the answer to.

“Where's —-? You came back witho—--?! —---” This time, you recognise it’s your voice. You’re scared. You’re angry. You’re screaming.

You bring your palms up to rub your eyes at the screaming. A headache is taking root and your eyes sting in frustration.

"Who is Elias Walker?" Another new question, you don't like this.

There are no memories, except a heaviness that settles on your chest. You physically shift in the chair to accommodate the weight and hope he doesn't notice.

"I wish I knew," your head is still in your hands, your elbows resting on the table.

The name is a whisper. It should mean something.

"Are you alright to continue?" His voice is absent of any concern that should be present in that question. God, you hated him.

"Yes, just annoyed" you manage.

Annoyed with you, with my situation.

Why the Federation believes that this is the most effective way of getting back your memories is beyond you. You make little to no progress with piecing together your life. Your memories are still undecipherable and scattered.

You're escorted back to your room, which lies opposite Gabriel's. You're aware that everyone on the base calls him Rorke except for you. He introduced himself as Gabriel and so you're hesitant to deviate away from this name.

He spends most of his time in the control room, meticulously planning the Federation's next move.

You'd been around him long enough to know that his main objective was the annihilation of the group of men who'd captured you. A particularly tricky group of men known as the Ghosts. An elite task force that managed to use the Federation's own weapons against Rorke. They also had an unnerving ability to kill droves of Federation soldiers without being detected.

From the limited number of redacted reports you'd been allowed to read, the Ghosts had managed to infiltrate the Federation ranks an embarrassing number of times.

It was remarkable, there was only a handful of them and yet the threat they posed was severe and entirely warranted. By the time I was retrieved, only the most loyal remained as active members.

The Ghosts had taken everything.

Rorke had succeeded in killing two of them, a man named Ajax and their former leader, 'The Scarecrow'.

It had been the remaining men, that had ripped you apart over two years of continued torture.

Gabriel had told you that the Ghosts had targeted you to get to him, you didn't ask why. You had ignored the implications of that statement. He also said you had valuable information, so you left it at that.

"Damn ---, what the ---- you doing on this?" It was a deep voice, a new one. It was almost entirely intact. You could hear the smile in their voice. It wasn't Rorke, it wasn't anyone here. It was someone you knew before.

You exhaled deeply as you crossed over the threshold of your room, closing the door and sprawling face down across your bed, groaning. You had wanted to make some notes on the voices you heard. You didn't want to forget them, but you didn't want to share them with Sam.

Any rest that you could have had was ripped away from you by two sharp knocks to the door.

"Just me," Gabriel yelled before opening the door, not waiting for any invitation to do so. He smiled at you as you scrambled off the bed to a presentable, standing position.

"You alright?" You ask, despite your initial unease about Gabriel, he was the only one to reach out to you and make you feel comfortable at the base. He was the closest thing you had to a friend.

"Jus' checking in with you, how was this morning?" He keeps his distance, crossing the room before taking a seat at your desk chair, swivelling it to face you. You follow his lead and sit at the foot of your bed.

You laugh, feeling tension roll off you, "Same as always, delightful" he seems to smile in response but says nothing else for a moment.

Gabriel doesn't come to just check in with you, he wants something.

He moves closer to you, grabbing your shoulder heavily and squeezing. It feels so familiar and yet-?

It shouldn't be him.

What?

"I'm proud of you," he says, "I know what you went through wasn't easy". He looks sincere and you feel your throat tighten.

You shrug him off playfully, smiling, "Alright, alright, what are you actually here for?"

He laughs, sitting back in his seat, "We've got some leads, need you to get on them - might have something for once". He's relaxed, crossing his arms in front of him.

You're taken aback, you'd essentially been signed off indefinitely, "You think I'm ready to - y'know, come back?". You're so hopeful and you can hear it in your voice.

Finally. You could get back to doing something you were good at. Something that had made you important once.

He laughs and you both move to stand, his arm wrapping over your shoulders as he leads you towards the control centre, "never doubted you for a second".

You're smiling. Actually smiling.

It's nice having someone believe in you. Someone who can attest to what you used to be capable of. The rest of the soldiers here avoid you, keep their eyes low as you pass them in corridors. As though you were a higher rank than them. As though you really were important.

Who were you?

#keegan p russ #keegan russ x reader #logan walker #cod keegan #call of duty ghosts #what am i doing lol #i am sorry in advance #the slowest of slow burns #not proofread

77 notes · View notes

scarletevening · 5 months

Text

these r kinda bad bc i didn't really think, j rambled. not beta read. poll

medic! reader x simon 'ghost' riley

The military was the last place you expected to end up after med school. well, you weren't a soldier, at the very least, but being an on-field medic was not any better. Skill, something you were consistently congratulated for, was what had you transferred to a base in Great Britain. Ghost, a strange call sign, not the weirdest or funniest, but alluring. It was a name you became quite familiar with, wether it be fortunate or not is up for debate, behind the curtain of your med bay.

florist! reader x john 'soap' mactavish

Happy or not, the new apartment Johnny bought was more than a little bland. In desperation to not face the wrath of his very-eccentric mothers hand-made decoration, he took a stroll in the sub-urban downtown, passing each over-priced salon and until he reached your gorgeous corner shop. Delicate, intricate, beautiful, a single figure dancing between each brilliant array of flowers, beyond the labeled glass window. A bouquet was never ugly, especially if it was accompanied by you.

informant! reader x keegan p. russ

The noise of your fingers clicking against the keyboard was not helping with the utter stress Keegan was under. Even with the anxiety pumping in his blood, his cerulean eyes fascinated with the way you screens pop and ring with data. Leaning his weight on the back of your chair, silence between your mouths as he focused on your focus. You giggled, he jumped, you spun your chair, he barely caught himself as he stared at your overjoyed face, staring between your bright face and the uncodable numbers on your screen. You said something, not that he was particularly paying attention to anything but your smile. He hoped this mission wouldn't end.

reader x biker! kunigami rensuke

Hanging around in a bar, sipping on a cocktail that was far too sour, your face probably looking the same. Girls night turned into a search for a one night stand as you play with your hair, mixing your drink lazily. Someone bumped into your stool, you almost toppled over, eyes wide as you silently try to grab at the table, not wanting to fall. Of course, the table, although you were just leaning into it, slipped out of your hands, and you braced for the filthy floor. There was no contact, a large arm holding your waist as your bodies collided, orange eyes meeting yours, the rest of his face covered by a helmet. You may not have actually fell, but you fell.

84 notes · View notes

normsdaughter · 1 year

Text

my works ! (Avatar, COD, & OPLA)

published works as of last updated - Avatar: 2 / COD: 1 / OPLA: 0

I write for the avatar fandom (both 1 and 2, and future movies once they come out), COD (not many characters, i’m a fake fan ik 😔) and the live action One Piece series <3 I write x fem reader fics n drabbles of any listed male characters unless specified.

I can’t reply to comments becuz this isn’t my prim blog but if you ask to be tagged in a fic I will tag u <3

Request guidelines;

None (regarding topics)! I may not always agree to write for the request, but I’ll always respond to them, even if it takes a while. Requests/Suggestions always open

Topics I will/won’t write for;

I won’t write x reader fanfiction for any female characters as of last updated, but other than that I’ll write for anything. That includes dubcon, somno, etc (I will always include appropriate warnings)

AVATAR

Col. Miles Quaritch

Speak up, Love Ongoing series

pt. 1 pt. 2 etc

⤷ Recom!Reader is selectively mute, shy, n a scientist/medic.

Miles ‘Spider’ Soccoro

⤷ N/A

Jake Sully

⤷ N/A

Neteyam Te Suli Tsyeyk’itan

⤷ N/A

Lo’ak Te Suli Tsyeyk’itan

⤷ N/A

Tonowari

⤷ N/A

Ao’nung

Saccharine metkayina reader, ongoing series

🐚 ⭐️ 🐚

⤷ inspired by this tiktok

Tsu’tey Te Rangloa Ateyitan

⤷ N/A

Multiple Characters

⤷ N/A

Call Of Duty

König

⤷ N/A

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

⤷ Yearning. pt.1 pt.2

⤷ In which, user and Simon go for a walk and share a conversation outside. The conversation ends a little too flirtatiously for Simon to handle.

Kim ‘Horangi’ Hong-jin

⤷ N/A

John ‘Soap’ Mactavish

⤷ N/A

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

⤷ N/A

Cap. John Price

⤷ one WIP

Keegan P. Russ

⤷ N/A

ONE PIECE

Zoro

⤷ one WIP

Koby < - only fluff or platonic

⤷ N/A

Buggy

⤷ N/A

Usopp

⤷ N/A

TO BE CONTINUED.

Last updated; 12-11-23

185 notes · View notes

yawnderu · 5 months

Text

🌟BLOG NAVIGATION🌟

Masterlist | Requests Masterlist | Smut Masterlist | AO3

Requests: Closed.

Before you continue:

☆Minors are not welcome in this blog. Please, don't interact with me or my content unless you're 18+.

☆My blog will sometimes have dark kinks such as CNC and non-con. If that's not your thing or the topics trigger you, please don't interact with my content and keep scrolling.

☆Spammers are always welcome!

Request Guidelines:

—Please, be patient. I have a full-time job and hobbies besides writing. Answering requests may take a while depending on how much the request inspires me or gives me ideas. I may decline a request if I'm not comfortable writing it or it doesn't inspire me, please don't take it personal and feel free to request something else! I try my best to answer all the requests I get.

—I only write for fictional characters! Any requests with a VA or actor/actress will be instantly rejected and deleted.

: ̗̀➛ I will write:

Female reader, hardcore sex, fluff, hurt/comfort, pregnancy, DBF!, BBF!, parenthood, smut, gangbang, dark kinks such as CNC, Non-con, dub-con, somnophilia and more. Feel free to ask!<3

: ̗̀➛I won't write:

Cheating, pedophilia/controversially young, scat, puke, male/non-binary/trans reader, ships, character x character, zoophilia, eating disorders, medical conditions I'm unfamiliar with, age play, DDLG.

Characters I write for:

Nikto, Kim ''Horangi'' Hong-jin, Simon ''Ghost'' Riley, Kyle ''Gaz'' Garrick, König, John Price, Keegan P. Russ, Miguel O'Hara.

While in the future I'd like to write for more characters, I'm currently only writing for characters if I can do them justice.

Asks:

TMI is NOT a thing in this blog, I'm nosy. Feel free to tell me your stories no matter what they are, I absolutely love interacting with people and reading about you!

Porn links, confessions, memes, art, tiktoks, reels and others are welcome too!! My inbox is always open for everyone, it'll never be annoying. <3

Please stop sending me links to other creator's works while complaining about them or the things they write. It'll be deleted instantly, and I won't even talk about it— it's not my issue and I would never expose or complain about another creator on my blog.

PLEASE info dump in my inbox JHBEFHJBEFJBHF I love reading what you guys have to say and your interpretation of characters, OCs, fandoms, media, etc.

While my requests are closed at the moment, I'll absolutely write drabbles, imagines and headcanons based on things you send!

I'm always down for playing games!! I own MW2 and MW3, and I play Overwatch quite a lot as well. Send me your username if you'd like to play! <3

62 notes · View notes

loveindefinitely · 6 months

Text

༊*·˚ CRAVE YOU — task force 141 x reader

part one, part two, part three // read on ao3.

description. With no other options left, you resort to becoming a hired therapist for Las Almas Prison -- notorious for housing the country's most lethal killers. Between an abusive relationship that you're trying to scrape up the funds to escape from, and starting a new job, your life feels as if it's falling apart at the seams.

You could've never anticipated the events that follow after your first step onto the concrete flooring of Las Almas -- for better, or for worse.

characters. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + alejandro vargas + rodolfo 'rudy' parra + könig + keegan p. russ

taglist comment/msg to be added. [nothing to see here.]

833 notes · View notes

credince--writes · 1 year

Text

Deep In Those Woods (3)

Keegan P. Russ x Fem!Reader

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

AO3

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

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

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

He pushed off of the counter, turning but not allowing himself to have his back fully to you, before kind of meandering a few steps forward and staring out the window.

Your hand clenched around the countertop, at a loss for words before you spoke again.

“Are you hungry?”

His presence still loomed over you, even a few steps back as he glanced out of the window to stare at his clothes floating on the line outside.

You nearly choked on your words as you spoke, watching as his head snapped back over to you at the question. A flicker of confusion danced in his eyes as if in as much disbelief as you were that you'd ask him something like that after he held his hand to your throat.

He could kill you.

Your grip tightened on the countertop, holding it like an anchor- your grip on the wood was your lifeline in this situation.

It was like being stared down by a predator, the feeling of running screaming a bad idea because he'd follow- and probably win regardless of his injuries.

"You're injured." You spoke again, trying to clarify the confusion. "You haven't eaten much... I-" You stopped yourself, mentally kicking yourself as he hesitantly moved to the living room and eyeballed the pile of blankets he'd been sleeping in the past few nights.

He stayed silent.

"You're bleeding." You spoke again, staring at the small trickle of blood from an open scratch against his upper arm.

His head tilted as he glanced at the wound, cold blue eyes glancing back up to you in dismissal.

You took a step forward towards him, hand finally leaving the death grip it held on the countertop. You cautiously moved, grabbing hold of a cloth to wipe the blood from his arm and wound glue from the first aid kit scattered about from the first initial attempts of playing doctor.

His eyes followed your every movement and step, body tensing as you got closer.

Your hand reached out, fingers splayed out in an attempt to grab his arm. Your fingertips brushed against his warm skin and he flinched backward- as if the feeling of your touch on his skin burned.

"I'm not going to hurt you." You urged, hand reaching out again, this time without him flinching away as you blotted the trickle of blood away and sealed the wound with the glue.

Keegan stared, the searing pain in his injured leg screaming for him to let up- to sit, to rest. The feeling of your soft fingertips brushing against his arm instinctively made him pull back.

The idea of soft touches was unfamiliar to him-

he couldn't remember the last time that he felt something like that.

Even the medics back at the occasional base camp were limited on their gentleness, and intentional movements to get the bleeding to stop and to move on to the next injured soldier. No time to dwell on the comfort of the bleeding body in front of them unless they were truly dying.

Even then, supplies were limited.

“You’re hurt, but you’ll be ok. Don’t be scared, you’re safe.”

He nearly leaned into the touch of your soft fingers against his skin, bearing the sharp sting of the glue mending his flesh together if it meant you'd keep a hand on his arm.

His head was swimming, as if everything he processed was underwater. The light outside felt too bright, the sound of the door closing when you'd first entered too loud.

When he woke, in a strange home on the floor covered in blankets near a fire he sat in disbelief for a moment. Racking his brain trying to remember where he was- who he was with and why he hurt so bad.

The pain was a given- the ache of his bones and the creaking of his joints in his movements. But someone had patched him up- albeit poorly, it had still been done. He reached his hand up to rub against the glue holding the slit on his arm together, the glue failing as he picked at it and the cut popping open, a new trickle of blood running down his arm.

He blinked, feeling his eyes shut and open even being a strain to his already depleted energy.

He needed to get out, for all he knew this was hostile territory.

A trap.

But it seemed like he was alone, so he investigated as much as he could with the pounding in his head. Not finding much of substance, searching the walls for clues, only finding pictures of a family in differing scenarios scattered against the walls in old frames.

Keegan always needed to be on it- understand what was happening in the situation and to know when and where and how. He didn't know any of those things and it made his skin crawl, amplifying the pounding in his head as he searched for answers trying to avoid glancing at the sunshine in the windows.

The door closed.

Boots on the floor, light, and rustling of cloth.

“I’m back Keegan… Got eggs in tow as well.”

The soft voice he'd heard in his dreams.

“You have a fever.” She spoke again. “But it’s ok.”

Ok.

It’s ok.

He’s safe.

Keegan's mind chanted to him, his body automatically moving towards the sound, bare feet striding across the room in practiced silence. Deadly stealth perfected over the years, coming as second nature even in his injured state.

He was not safe.

He was in danger.

And the enemy was nearby.

He stood and stared, watching as you set the eggs down. As you turned to go prepare something and reached up into the cupboard to pull a glass down. He struck then, lunging forward and hands wrapping around your body. One around your waist and one around your neck, hand engulfing your throat as the mason jar shattered on impact onto the cabin floor.

You let out a surprised yelp mixed with a scratch, trying to turn to see who your assailant was, eyes narrowing down to the familiar rough hand of Keegan gripping onto your clothes and squeezing your throat.

His body screamed begging for his attention to the pain he felt, but the feeling of adrenaline welling up shooed the throbbing of the pain away from his mind as his chest heaved.

"Hey."

"Keegan, hey-"

"Let's sit you down alright?"

His body felt like lead as he leaned into you, head falling over your shoulder as his body began to give out, pushing forward.

You were screwing the cap onto the wound glue when he started teetering, his injured leg giving out and him nearly dead weighting directly on top of you as your arms reached up to help shimmy him back nearby the fire and back down onto his blankets.

He was dangerous and unpredictable.

And vulnerable.

He could've killed you and you wouldn't have known what hit you.

And here he lay, nearly unconscious once again as his eyes hazed over with the confusion and pain you'd been familiar with whenever his cold steel blue eyes opened.

But when his hand wrapped around you, you saw something entirely different.

The eyes of a predator.

The eyes of a ghost.

You sighed, moving him so he could sit up with his back resting against the couch. Scurrying off to make something for the two of you to eat while he was still semi-conscious.

You could kill him like this, and you wouldn't have to worry.

You didn't need another mouth to feed.

But you didn't want to be alone again.

But he was dangerous.

You paused, hand wrapping around the knife you were using. You could walk up behind him and slit his throat and he wouldn't be able to fight back, not like this.

The sound of Keegan groaning, his arm pushing himself up and shielding his eyes from the sunlight in the windows broke the trail of thought.

You weren't a killer.

You cooked and carried the food over to him and sat down, easing in next to his less-injured arm and setting your bowl of food down, and holding his in your lap.

"It's soup, again." You mused, trying to ease his nerves as he tensed at your presence. "I think you have a pretty bad concussion... I... Hold on." You set the bowl down and stood, walking over to the windows and pulling the curtains closed, and casting a shadow throughout the room.

"Sorry, I forgot you wouldn't like the light." You apologized, moving up to the silent man once again, kneeling this time next to him and lifting the bowl. Picking up the spoon and lifting the food to his lips.

Keegan stared, not knowing how to respond if not to scoff and slap the spoon away at the fact that you thought he was too weak to feed himself.

He'd argue, he really would.

But his arms were too weak to lift and smack the spoon.

So, he sat and ate the food you brought to his lips. Trying to not let embarrassment burn on his cheeks while thinking this tasted much, much better than MRE's.

#Call of Duty #Keegan P Russ x reader #Keegan Russ x Reader #Call of Duty Ghosts #Deep In Those Woods

284 notes · View notes

mlmxreader · 1 year

Text

The Price Of a Mile | Keegan P Russ x m!reader

anonymous asked: “Without you, I’d be lost” with Keegan. The male reader gets hurt severely and is barely alive and Keegan comes to the realization that he loves them. When the male reader wakes up from their coma Keegan confesses his feelings to them.

summary: Keegan will go to great lengths to ensure the safety and security of a single man.

tws: graphic death, swearing, mentions of comas, hospitalisation, graphic depictions of war, gun violence

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

The land had been gutted, once flat fields now had great sloping wounds in them that were slick and slippery thanks to heavy shelling.

Fractured remains of tall trees were no bigger than coffee tables; rifles half buried in mud and debris where soldiers had abandoned them in favour of running. Boxes of personal items and ammunition lay abandoned at the edges of the wounds, many of them broken and burned. When many of the wounds filled with water, wooden bridges no more than two feet wide were laid across them.

Other trees were snapped in half, some had completely collapsed, none of them had any life - no thick branches that children and animals could climb on, no bushy emerald coloured leaves that would turn golden and brown in the colder months.

Wildlife had fled a long time ago.

Fences of barbed wire were left tangled near the wounds, and the stench of toxic gas still clung to the very air that soldiers breathed.

Tensions amongst soldiers had risen, friends at each other’s throats as they became jaded and desperate, wanting to know what they were fighting for but knowing they wouldn’t like the answer. A shot, a single bullet, had changed everything - Keegan’s friend, the only person he tried to protect, was down. The wound was almost as bad as the ones that had been inflicted upon the land.

He was more than desperate, when he watched medics take you away, desperation only growing when news came that you were in a camo and being treated in Yser. He disobeyed his commands, refused orders, and fought his way to you as best as he could. He saw horrors along the way, things no one should ever see. He paid more than the price of a mile.

Men’s faces melting and burning from toxic gas that flooded fields. Men clinging to their stomachs as their innards were torn out by barbed wire and bayonets. Limbs torn from bodies by shelling. Men drowning in rubble and debris as scarred lands were given new fresh wounds. Day or night, it was all the same, soldiers falling one by one, father and son alike - lives erased by commands.

Streets stained by blood that would never wash off; no man should have ever had to see such things, or even know of their existence; Ghosts were told to have no fear and to fight forward for glory, but all Keegan could feel was a hammering anxiety in the pit of his stomach.

Would he perish like that, too? Would he even make it to Yser without dying? Or would he be forgotten in the blood and rubble as another wasted life?

He had to be smart about how he travelled, moving between lines and in amongst enemy and foe alike,

He had to become a dog of war just to get there, although he knew that he would later regret it, he knew that he would later wish he had not even tried. He had to kill, he had to fight, and if it was necessary, he would die just to see you again; just to know that you were safe.

He didn’t want to live forever, anyway, especially without you.

Where dead men were lying, he had to pass through, looking into eyeless sockets and wishing that at least if he was going to die, it wouldn’t be like that; nameless graves littered every inch of scarred lands, the last respects paid to wasted lives. These men were promised greatness and glory, he knew that, he knew that those were the lies that were told to new recruits - more than anyone else, Keegan knew that the sacrifice was pointless.

He needed to keep marching, needed to get to Yser before his time was up; he knew it should have been beaten out of him during training, but he was still so full of fear. Stepping on the dead as he continued the long march; bullets wearing his name at every turn, becoming the very thing he swore he would never be.

He should have just stayed back and did what he was told to do, but he knew he couldn’t.

Yser was so far away, but Keegan didn’t stop until he collapsed at the hospital steps, doctors and nurses rushing to his side thinking he was one of the many dead and dying who needed their help.

“(y/n)...” he breathed out, wheezing from the remains of toxic gas still clogged in his throat. “(y/n) (y/l/n)... need… see… him…”

He was dragged into the hospital, dragged even further to your bedside; you were awake, glaring at him as he sat lifelessly in the scratchy olive green chair.

“You shouldn’t have come.”

“Needed…” Keegan grumbled, coughing and spitting out some discoloured phlegm onto a tissue. He caught his breath, and tried again, “I needed to.”

“No, you didn’t,” you said quietly. “I was in a fucking coma, I might never have woke up.”

He shook his head. “I said I’d protect you, no matter what… it was my fault you got shot, I wasn’t there to take the bullet.”

The sounds of machine guns weren’t far off, a soft thundering sound that made the room shake, mortars would soon join the symphony, more scarring on the wounded lands, more lives wasted; soldiers resting in holes would be blown to pieces without even realising it. Roads and houses, nothing remained. Men were suffering, men were dying for no reason, no purpose. A war paid for in the blood of men who didn’t even want to be there, many of them too young to even understand that the propaganda forced down their throats was wrong.

Keegan sighed. “The war’s coming closer. I should stay.”

“Keegan-”

“I’m staying.”

“Fine,” you huffed. “But if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were in love with me.”

Keegan grumbled, looking away from you as he scratched at his jaw; he didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to admit it for fear that the war would take you away from him and he would be… he would be alone and lost. He wouldn’t know what to do if you weren’t there. He shifted in his seat, chewing at the inside of his lip as he made it a point to look anywhere but at you.

Orange smears of blood still ghosted the white walls of the room, remnants of patients previously treated, the doctors and nurses too busy with treating friend and foe in order to clean properly; screams still smeared on the blue floor tiles that would echo for generations to come. But then… in that dark blue bed with the yellow blanket, you were laid there, safe and sound after all.

He was worse off from the journey, having seen things that no one should ever have to see, but he could ignore all of that swimming in his head and drowning his thoughts when he looked at you; daring to smile a little when you met his gaze.

“I love you too, y’know,” you told him softly. “You fucking walked all the way here, didn’t you?”

He nodded.

“You’re an idiot,” you said sternly. “You could’ve gotten shot, stabbed, choked on gas, fucking blown up by shells.”

“I know.”

“You’re too loyal,” you chastised, although the smile on your face was too much for him to ignore as he leaned over, gently placing his hand on your chest. “Keegan?”

“You're right," he spoke so quietly, so softly, like he was almost ashamed of what was about to leave his mouth. "I… I am in love with you."

"You made that clear enough," you replied, "you didn't need to come all the way here, though. The war… you could've gotten yourself killed, or worse - captured."

He shrugged. It was worth it to him, at least. "Without you, I'd be lost."

He got up, excused himself as he headed outside for a cigarette; the smoking area was just a small patio, but it was near the hospital graves. The one closest to him, a star of David, had a dragon on a green and white background to show where the dead man had come from; the name John was written on it, and as Keegan looked at it, he frowned.

Rain pittered and pattered against his head, wetting his black hair, but he didn't want to think about how cold he would feel when he got back inside; he didn't want to look up at the dark grey skies and see how they lit up with balls of white and yellow where planes were shot down. He didn't want to think about the war, not really.

He knew that you were safe now, but that wasn't enough for him; he needed to stay with you until the end. Even if it meant dying together when a bomb struck the hospital, he had to stay put. He pulled his phone out, seeing the texts and calls from Hesh that he had missed, and shook his head before shoving it back in his pocket.

He would stay.

188 notes · View notes

konigbabe · 1 year

Text

little storm (part i; snow patrol)

Author: @konigbabe

Pairing: Keegan Russ x fem!OC

Word count: 3.9k

Tags/warnings: hurt/comfort; canon-typical violence; medical inaccuracies; military inaccuracies; violence; injuries; explicit language; keegan calls you 'kid'; eventual smut [in later parts]

Summary: Keegan thought saving her and getting both of them out of the enemy lines was nothing but an easy job; that was before her true character shows up—and before the plan goes crumbling down.

masterlist • faq • AO3

A/N: Even with the fem!character being OC, this could maybe be considered a reader fic as well as I won't be specifying anything about the OC [kali]; her characterization will stay very vague.

little storm: part ii • part iii [final]

The metallic taste lingers on her tongue as if a bad wine had been poured down her throat and left to fester. The sour, vinegar-like flavor is almost unbearable, yet it clings to her tastebuds, refusing to be forgotten.

The voices keep screaming: Everyone out! Find a parachute and jump! Stop wasting time! The same words repeat themselves, an incessant chant that grows in intensity with each throbbing beat of her headache. Get out, they urge her.

RPG!

Incoming!

Hand around her bicep, pushing her aside. Back colliding hard against the unforgiving metal side of the chopper, heavy thud, air leaving her lungs upon the impact. Then there’s the heat preceded by the bright light. People, men, soldiers grasping the ropes, her fingers tightly squeezing the bench.

The world keeps tilting and spinning. A simple slip of a hand and she starts sliding. Callsigns are soon replaced by names; too personal, only meaning one thing—deathbed. her name resonates nearby. Someone slips past her; a young soldier she’s met a few hours ago, wide eyes briefly meeting hers, arms reaching anywhere to hold before he falls.

Beeping reverberates through the metal, menacing red light flashing in regular intervals. Rough fingers enclose her wrist, tugging upwards with startling force. The material of the gloves is rough and unforgiving, scratching her delicate skin as someone keeps their firm grip on her.

Everything feels slow as the hand around her wrist lets go soon afterward, accompanied by a gruff voice commanding her to move. To take the jump.

Freefalling, her eyes fixate on the burning ball of fire above her, a gentle breeze kissing the exposed flesh of hers. The force of gravity pulls her downward, stealing the air from her lungs.

One last breath.

It all becomes blurry.

Numbness follows the utter chaos.

The chill of the night air wraps around her body like an icy embrace, the sky slowly darkening under the canopy of trees above. Before she can drift back into a peaceful slumber, a voice calls to her, and the calmness is quickly replaced by a dull ache that grows until it feels like a thousand needles pricking her chest, her back. Everywhere. A firm hand presses against her collarbones, intensifying the pain that radiates throughout her entire being.

A low, raspy croak leaves her lips as her eyes peel open to the world of confusion and ambiguity that surrounds her. A dark figure looms above her, crouching down just barely enough for her trembling hand to shoot out in a desperate attempt to grab it; but before her fingers can touch the silhouette, a cold grasp wraps around her wrist, halting her motion in its tracks.

It takes a moment for her eyes to focus on the person before her, and then the reality of the situation sets in. The rough fabric of his glove glides over her cheek. The sudden glare of the light is almost too much to bear, and then with a gentle smack, his palm connects with her cheek, awakening her sense.

A ringing echoes in her ears as she hears the murmurs of the people around her.

“What the fuck,” she utters, quiet and confused.

Eyes focused on the man before her, recognition hits her the moment his face turns back to her. The sergeant from the chopper. The one that wasn’t supposed to be there. Keegan, they called him. The Ghost, some mentioned.

“Can you walk, kid?”

His eyes, topaz blue and so clear that it seems like the ocean's depths are reflecting back at her, a hue that seems to have been plucked right from the clearest of summer skies; it takes her by surprise how close he actually is now that she’s fully conscious.

Clenching her hands tightly, she wiggles her toes. Feeling the tightness in her muscles, she pulls her knees up. With a deep breath, she sits up, and with a determined voice, she answers with a firm, "I think so."

Keegan's eyes survey her intently; quick examination, seems to pass as he stands up with his arm extended toward her.

Taking it, he supports her weight momentarily. The voices grow louder, torch lights shedding light all around. Foreign, that much can she deciphers; Spanish, she figures soon enough, listening to the shouting.

Look for potential survivors! Hostiles in the area! Bring them to the compound! They all blend together into one big mush but that one word sticks out—hostil; hostile. Enemy forces.

“We need to go,” Keegan's gruff voice interrupts the incoming voices. Securing the sniper file on his shoulder, he stands tall next to her. His shoulder slightly pushes against hers, sending her forward. Pain shoots up her whole body as if she’s just been punched in the stomach by a battering ram. Hand laying flat against the flimsy material of her torn jacket, the dull ache intensifies with the pressure.

The night air feels still and oppressive as if it is waiting for the next move.

One last glance at the unsuspecting soldiers and she follows in Keegan’s footsteps, unsure what to do next.

The frigid air bites at her uncovered digits, each icy bite sending a jolt of pain through her sensitive skin as she vigorously rubs them together in a feeble effort to warm up. The snow melts in her shoes, boots clearly not designed for cold weather. It reaches her knees almost. Hopping in Keegan’s footsteps, who is seemingly unfazed by the bitter cold, she feels like a rabbit scurrying to keep up.

“We need to find some shelter,” the sergeant speaks, back toward her. The broad expanse of his shoulders shields her from the front, providing relief from the frosty breeze coming his way.

Looking at her almost frost-bitten fingers, she tucks them back underneath the jacket as she mumbles, “No shit.”

Keegan’s head turns to the side, the darkness of his mask almost imperceptible against the snowflakes that seemed to dance in harmony with the skull pattern, the beanie protecting the rest of his head as only the black-painted eyes shine through, piercing through the night.

“What was that?”

“Yes, sir,” her voice grows more determined and resolute despite its quavering tremor; lips too numb from the cold, making it hard to form words.

“Keegan,” she thinks it’s only in her head as huh leaves her mouth in a cloud of vapor.

“Call me Keegan, forget the formalities,” he repeats.

Leaning against the tall, sturdy cedar tree, her skin is met with a harsh, rough texture. Pain spreads through her body like liquid, back burning as she lets the cool air soothe the lasting ache.

It takes her a few quick strides to catch up with Keegan, the sound of the snow crunching beneath her feet as she goes. Even though the coldness of the air prickles against her skin, Keegan strides forward with a confident gait, seemingly unaffected by the wintry chill.

“Where are we going anyway?” her curiousness seeps through her.

The soldier doesn’t respond; long strides distancing himself from her form before stopping by snow-covered bushes. A hiss escapes her lips as she steps on a jagged rock hidden beneath the icy layer of the ground, the pain jolting through her body and awakening the frozen cells of her soles.

Keegan's head snaps around, his gaze fixed in her direction, and even though his expression is indiscernible underneath the mask, she can feel the intensity of his eyes as they look through her.

“You sure you’re alright, kid?” his voice remains stern despite the almost touching question.

“Yeah,” is all she can muster; trying to push aside the throbbing pain in her leg. A few steps forward and she stands just a foot from him, eyes drawn to the sniper rifle slung across his shoulder.

“Good,” he nods, reaching for the thigh holster, “then have this.”

With that, a handgun appears in his gloved hand. Its black, sleek design both beautiful and ominous; the irony of such a breathtaking thing being able to take a life with a simple flick of a finger.

His arm remains extended, his eyes boring into hers; the dark, charcoal paint smeared by the melted snow.

“I don’t do shooting,” she declines his offer, hands by her sides.

He stays stoic for a moment as if processing her words, “her’re military.”

Nodding, hands moving to her pant pockets, she agrees with him, “yeah—but I’m recon.”

An audible sigh leaves his lips, mask stretching to accommodate the open-mouth movement. Keegan looks at her momentarily before securing the handgun back into its place.

“Why are you giving it to me now anyway,” she asks.

“There,” he crouches down, an audible crack follows as his knee bend, and nods somewhere in front of him where she can’t see, “we need shelter, there’s a snowstorm coming.”

“Didn’t pin you as a weatherman,” she mumbles.

Following in his footsteps, she takes his side; a small cottage-like structure stands multiple feet from her hidden figures. It’s small, looks barely the size of one room, light hardly making it through the miniature windows decorating the side facing her. A man masked in white camouflage and a black vest stands outside, a cigarette between his lips, rifle by his side.

“Is that a guardhouse?”

“Safehouse,” Keegan lies down, almost hidden beneath the bushes; the black material of his uniform gets slowly covered by the incoming snow. With his rifle in hand, he aims it through the scope as he scans the surroundings.

The man, guard, stands facing her direction; if it was daytime, he’d surely see her, black amongst the white, now cloaked in darkness. Keegan shifts, bringing a small, torch-like device out, and handing it to her.

A laser.

“With all due respect,” she starts, fingers wrapped around the device already, “what do you expect me to do? Go in blind and catch a bullet?”

The man looks at her momentarily, eyes dancing across her face, boring into hers for a second before he answers, nuisance evident in his voice, “didn’t you say you’re recon?”

A simple yeah leaves her lips in a wisp of smoke.

“Then go mark my targets,” he bites back, irritation seeking into his otherwise calm, stoic tone.

It’s almost impossible for her to feel the hard material of the laser with how frozen her fingers are. Putting the device into a pocket, she wiggles her arms, blood warming up the cold limbs slowly.

“What’re you doin’?” Keegan’s voice stops her movement for a second.

Stepping to follow the tree line, she look back at him, “warmin’ up a bit, I’m freezing.”

He looks at her in disbelief, “move your ass, kid.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t dressed appropriately for chopper take down and snow patrol, sarge—my boots are wetter than the Pacific Ocean, it’s creepin’ up my legs, can’t feel my fingers but she still wants me to go into a lion’s den alone, unarmed—”

“Do you ever shut up?” Keegan stops her, adjusting his leg to lie more comfortably as he looks at her.

“In certain circumstances; yes, I do,” she reassures the masked sniper, moving further along the tree line, blending in the shadows but still within his reach.

That’s when she hears him talk again, “you weren’t that talkative out there.”

Turning toward him one last time, she responds with “I was frozen,” before making her way toward the safe house. The guard is barely visible as snow begins to fall heavier than earlier, his camo doing its job perfectly in hiding the man from her naked eyes.

Taking a deep breath, the familiar feeling of adrenaline floods her veins, fingertips tingling with excitement as she nears the building, heartbeat picking up.

A small transom window decorates the side of the house. Slight light shines through the glass; shadows move inside as she nears it, carefully avoiding the outside guard. One hand at a time, fingers hooked over the frame, a pain-filled groan seeps through her clenched teeth—the stretch of skin feeling as if she is torn apart.

She could swear she’s heard a rip when her legs tangle in the air momentarily. Letting go, she lands softly, expertly on the soft snow. A shadow is cast on the edge of the safe house, the guard coming around. Swiftly moving to the wall, hand groping her side, a wet sticky texture clings to her exposed flesh.

Fuck—

The guard’s footstep echo near her; breath hitching, her form freezes.

Thud.

The white of his mask turns burgundy red. Chestnut hair sticking to his face, glassy eyes mirroring the same color stare at her. His empty body screams death, murder—Keegan.

She moves back, careful not to step on the body that lies in the way, taking his transmitter in the process as she makes her way toward another window, this time much lower, easier to access compared to the last one.

Single room, three men; big, burly, she’d call them intimidating in the past, now they don’t scare her that much (and it’s not because she has a sniper on her six). Lightly armed, rifles recklessly laying in the far corner of the room.

Turning to face the direction of Keegan, she points the laser at the ground and presses the button three times. The transmitter in her hand crackles, a stream of Spanish echoing through. her gaze shifts to the window as she sees one of the men talking through it, calling for his comrade.

Putting the transmitter on the ground, heart pounding in anticipation as she prepares herself.

Quick run toward the door, she hides behind the near wall the very same moment the handle starts going down. He steps out, the warm air colliding with the freezing cold outside, creating a mild mist behind his back. Slow deep breaths fill her lungs, she swears that if he decided to look just a little bit more to the right, his eyes would stare straight at her silhouette.

After searching the dark, eerie environment illuminated only by the faint light emanating from the building, he reaches for the transmitter—only to stop midway as he hears a faint crackling in the snow to his left. A confused What…? gets mumbled beneath the white mask.

Laser on, she aims it at the back of his head, careful not to raise suspicion among the guards, and turn it off when he reaches the end of the wall.

The moment his broad figure reaches the end of the front of the building, his back towards Keegan, he falls. Head first, she sees his back disappearing behind the safe house. Laser in her hand, she puts it on twice again and slams the opened door shut with tremendous force, the wood around the frame quivering from the impact.

Both guards exit the building right away. Backs toward her hidden figure, the laser flickers from one to another. Keegan doesn’t waste any more time; bodies drop on sight, vivid splashes of crimson red staining their white uniforms.

His figure looming from the shadows, he comes towards her position; strides confident, rifle loosely hanging on his shoulder, the sniper’s eyes scan the environment once more while she stands by the door, between the two bodies.

“Good shots,” she says, her voice a reverent murmur of admiration as she grips the lifeless body of the smallest soldier tightly. Keegan’s hands wrap around the other guy’s arms, dragging the body behind the safe house, a sinister trail of red left behind a stark contrast to the peaceful winter landscape around her.

The bodies pile up; the smell of death is pervasive, and she can almost taste the metallic tang of the spilled blood in the winter air.

Stepping into the safehouse, its warmth immediately welcomes her in its embrace. Slight relief washes over her, finally able to feel the blood circulating in her system.

“By the way,” Keegan steps inside, layers of white camo in his hands, “you should work more on your pull-ups. That was straight-up embarrassing, kid.”

The comforting scent of cedar permeates the room, a welcome respite from the actual situation she’s found herself in—even when knowing that this safehouse isn’t that safe for her; just a fleeting safety until the snowstorm passes.

He’s been quiet ever since their last conversation;

The crackling of wood fills the room as Keegan moves around, his movements lithe and graceful with her offering a small helping hand.

“Clothes off,” he commands.

“If you want to see me naked that much, you can just say it,” chuckling, she manages to silence the moan clawing at her throat as the adrenaline wears off—a dull ache returning to haunt her bruised flesh, stinging pain on her back.

Keegan notices.

Of course he does.

She has a feeling he’s known for some time but now he looks almost fed up with her escapades. Striding towards her with determination, he stands in front of her in a flash. Hands firmly on her jacket, he meets no resistance, unzipping the jacket and gripping her shirt, pulling the material up—her struggle useless against the mass of the muscle.

“It’s not internal,” she twists away from him, but with a firm grip, he holds her still. Gloves long gone, Keegan’s fingers trace the most visible bruising, and each touch sends jolts of pain through her entire body. She can feel the heat of his hands, and the cold of her skin; it's a strange sensation, one that feels both uncomfortable and oddly comforting.

The cuts don’t escape his attention either.

“You’re not a medic,” he disregards her attempts to reason, examining the drying blood.

“Neither an idiot, Keegan,” she basically growls back at him, snatching his hand off of her, “if it was internal, I’d already be on the ground, in pain…or dead.”

He glares at her, unwavering.

The shirt still bundled around her ribcage, he speaks again, “turn around.”

And she does just that without as much as a bite back.

It’s somehow consoling, the way he takes care of her; even if they’ve known each other for less than a day.

The warmth of his fingers returns to her skin, feathery touches kissing the painful flesh, following the curve of her spine—bottom to top, top to bottom, then along the sides.

It stings, sometimes. Light jabs, like needles, sending jolts through her skin.

“I think I fell on a rock or something solid,” her eyes follow the dancing flames of the small bonfire Keegan managed to set up to warm their bodies. Turning her head to the side, she can see his eyes glazing over her exposed, naked back; focused, concentrated as she feels his fingertips glaze over each cut deliberately.

The bonfire casts flickering shadows over his masked face, marigold flames blending with the topaz color like a sunset over the horizon.

“It’s from the tree branches you fell through. Looks worse than it is,” Keegan says in a low voice, his hand slowly moving away from her back, “still needs some cleaning though.”

Walking toward an old, rusty box hidden by the wall, the man turns his head to look at her, “take the shirt off.”

“Y’know,” she starts, fidgeting with the bloodied material between her fingers, “I don’t usually take my clothes off for someone whose face I’m yet to see.”

Keegan simply stands there, expressionless; a sigh leaves her lips, silent incoherent Whatever as she gives up with his staring, simply following the order given to her by the sergeant.

His hands move with cunning adroitness, slowly cleaning the cuts and scratches. The pain slowly ebbs away, replaced by the cool feel of water poured over the irritated skin; drying the wounds with her now ruined shirt, she sits on the table, his body at a perfect height to match hers, making it easy for him to help her; the tension of her muscles subduing away with each gentle touch.

“Where are the others,” she asks into the silence of the room, the outside snowstorm creating a white noise that encases the building like a cocoon, “The rest of my team?”

“KIA.”

Seems like history’s repeating itself.

Hissing at the sharp pain in her shoulder, she attempts to wriggle away—only for her escape to be halted by his hand on her shoulder; the length of his slender fingers lingering over her exposed collarbone, barely grazing the top of her bra; yet he doesn't seem to realize the intimate position of his hand placement and she doesn't attempt to do anything about it, finding it rather strangely comforting, despite the vulnerability that comes with it.

“Do you ever take the mask off?”

“No.”

“Not even in the shower?” she persists, lips curling into a teasing smile, “are you ugly underneath that? Nah—doubt that.”

“You talk too much,” he brushes her off, hand leaving her collarbone; and suddenly, the room feels too cool, chilly as she sits on the table, shirtless, with her back toward the Ghost; vulnerable. Turning around, knees bend over the edge, legs hanging loosely, she watches Keegan throwing the used material in the bonfire—no evidence of her presence to be ever found once they’re gone.

A realization hits her as she gazes upon the man, now clothed in the garments of hostiles, as his own now lies burned in the bonfire’s pit. “Are you okay?” she asks, tone laced with slight concern over her companion.

Keegan looks at her; a second passes and she could swear he looks slightly taken aback by the sincere question but soon enough, he nods with a simple “yeah”.

Weapons spread on the table before him, the same one she occupied an hour ago, her eyes follow the movement of his fingers; slender and punctilious—an almost poetic grace, carefully and precisely placing each piece in its rightful place. Like a master of his craft, Keegan quietly prepares the weaponry; the bonfire between them casting a nearly enigmatic aura onto his figure.

The soldier's cargo pants hang low on her hips, staying in place only with the help of the belt. It's a much more comfortable and warmer feeling than her old snow-soaked uniform and blood-stained uniform. The snowstorm has finally died down as well.

Tugging one gun in her thigh holster, she puts on the black thick vest, taking it off moments later.

It’s too big; made for a man.

“I don’t think that’ll help me blend in,” she mentions while going through the plan again — find a compound, get in, get a car, get out — Keegan thought of every detail as he’s told her the plan before; his sense of precision showing up as he spoke—slow and clear, ensuring both of them are on the same page.

The sergeant looks up at her drowning in the uniform, his stare lingers for a moment; then he goes back to finishing his handy work, preparing for the mission.

“Just wear it, they won’t question it.”

“I have boobs; I think they will notice I’m not a man,” she replies, a hint of defiance in her voice.

Her remarks don’t go unnoticed.

His eyes bore into hers, gaze unflattering before moving down, unbothered, right at her chest, deep in thought, “no, they won’t.”

Mouth hanging open in silent resentment, the Ghost goes to secure a thigh holster on himself firmly, putting a loaded handgun in.

“If you get shot I’m not saving you.”

[part ii]

#keegan russ #keegan russ x reader #keegan russ x you #codghosts #moni writes #konigbabe #cod #call of duty ghosts #keegan x kali #kali

222 notes · View notes