KINKTOBER 6TH — breathplay/choking
subtly convincing your boyfriend, keegan, to dress up as ghostface.
cw — breathplay
halloween was quickly approaching. the leaves were turning orange and yellow, and the air began to chill. horror movies were the thing to watch late at night, but there was one thing in particular you were looking forward to.
the masks. every year on Halloween, you enjoyed watching the movies with the masked antagonist, typically those of homicidal tendencies. it turned you on.
you and keegan had been dating for months, but this little mask kink secret was still that, a secret.
but with the upcoming horror season, you'd started to drop hints.
planning halloween costumes, casually mentioning some options that would force keegan to wear a mask. he didn't catch into that, specifically because you sprinkled in some normal ones too.
going to halloween stores together in search of said costumes, lingering in the section where the walls were lined with masks of different styles. pointing out 'how cool' they looked and how scary he'd be if he wore a mask like them (he has a habit of scaring you around corners)
the nail in the coffin, if he didn't already raise a brow at your insistence, was watching scream. it was late at night, cuddled on the couch with a bucket of popcorn. arms laced together as you watched the scary movie.
well, only one of you were paying attention. keegan was too busy watching the way you squirmed whenever ghostface appeared on screen, or the way your thighs tensed.
his suspicion was sneaking before, now it was a full on sprint. he had been putting the hints together, knowing you would never outwardly say what you wanted.
you were a hint too shy for that, but luckily he was observant when it came to you. which is why he's been hiding a ghostface mask in the closet for a time like this.
you had just gotten off work, tired and aching to be in bed with keegan after a long day. except when you entered your house, he wasn't there.
it wasn't unlike keegan, his work called for odd hours, and you just accepted it. so you kicked off your shoes, hung up your bag and resigned yourself to spending the night alone. you'd cook dinner, set some aside for keegan, and get ready for bed.
so you did just that, cooking a simple meal in the kitchen. however, not long after, your phone rang. vibrating against the counter, the screen lit. you didn't recognize the number, but then again, keegan calls from random phones all the time.
you figured it was just another one of those times and picked up without a second thought.
"do you like scary movies?"
a thrill shot through you, lingering as warmth in your pussy. god, you could feel the material of your panties already dampening as you recognized keegan's voice on the other line. he finally got the hint.
you open your mouth to respond, "what's the point? they're all the—"
your words were knocked from your lungs when a gloved hand wraps around the front of your neck, a firm and tight grasp. just in your peripheral, you can see the long, white mask that belongs to ghostface, and behind that, you know, is keegan. recognizing him only by his cologne, and because of the phone call.
his breathing's heavy over your ear, not uttering another word as he drags you over the counter, bending you over the hard surface. it's cold through the material of your shirt, but that won't be a problem as keegan makes quick work of removing it.
your nipples hardened further at the contact, letting out a soft gasp that barely made it past your lips. you don't think you've ever been as turned on as you are now. bent over the kitchen counter by ghostface, who was actually your boyfriend, with his hands skimming over every inch of your body as if he couldn't get enough.
your hips, your thighs, your waist, your back, your hair. everywhere that was accessible to him, he touched, and your cunt was no exception. gloved fingers sliding through your arousal, dampening the fabric that sent shivers down your spine. the friction over your sensitive clit drew a moan past your lips, circling and lingering the swollen bud while his other hand found your neck.
the feeling of his fingers around your throat is invigorating, thrilling. the loss of control as you rely on him to make your choices for you. to feel or not to feel, to breath or not to breath.
he's removed one glove by now, gathering slick to coat his skin before slipping a finger inside your cunt without resistance. your velvety walls clenched around him, as if trying to suck him in further.
"fuckin' greedy..." he grunted through the mask, head cocked to the side as he watched the way your entrance stretched after adding another finger, disappearing into the warmth of your pussy.
he started smooth and gentle, easing his fingers deeper into that one spot only he could reach, curling in a way that made your back arch and hips squirm. squeezing your neck whenever you go too loud, the skin of your face reddening with lack of oxygen.
it made you dizzy, the power he had over you and the trust you had to exhibit to know that he wouldn't take it too far.
because he dances the line well when he wraps both hands around your neck, cock pounding into your cunt from behind. skin slapping echoes off the kitchen walls as his hips connect with your rear.
your breaths are struggled, fingers clawing at his hips for reprieve you don't dare beg for because you want more.
"this what you needed? to be fucked stupid while I wear a scary mask?" he taunted, enjoying the way your pussy fluttered around him at his condescending tone. he's learning even more about you.
bullying his bulbous cock in and out of your sopping pussy, listening to the lewd squelch and the squeaky moans that barely manage past your lips. he loves seeing you like this, even more so now that he's deciphered this little secret about you.
he loved the way your eyes rolled back, the way your spongy walls clenched around him like a vice whenever you got close to your release. he was so hard, cock red and aching, leaking pre into your cunt that he'd fill with every drop of his release.
squeezing your throat tighter to push you just over the edge, crumpling under his hands with a broken cry, squeezing him hard enough that he's half worried his dick will snap off before filling you up with his relief.
FWB!Keegan who you slept with one night after getting drunk at a wedding
FWB!Keegan who had no problem with continuing the friendship and the sex
FWB!Keegan who always knew you better than anyone else and knows your sensitive spots now too.
FWB!Keegan who lets you bother him at any time of the day just for sex.
Oh, and it’s sex. No quickies, fucks, or cockwarming. Intimate sex.
FWB!Keegan who knows you so well know that he makes fun of you because you can never ride him for too long because you get tired
FWB!Keegan who bets you $100 if you can make him cum, but you have to ride him.
You who accepts the challenge because you’re sure you can do it and can prove him wrong, so you can get the money so you can buy yourself a sweet treat.
FWB!Keegan who says “y’got this?” with the biggest smirk as he lays back and guides himself into you. His voice is condescending and it makes you want to prove him wrong even more.
“mhm” you nod. “I’m getting that Benjamin” you say confidently and start moving. Rocking your hips against his and riding his thick cock.
“Careful, you’ll get tired” Keegan warns when you go faster, his hands are behind his head as he watches you. He knows your tells, your hips have already stuttered a few times and he knows there’s more to come.
“Will not” you huffed and bounced harder and faster in spite of him. Just to prove him wrong. He was so losing those $100.
“mhm…” he hummed, his hands resting on your waist now that you’ve laid on his chest. your head nuzzled on the slope of his neck. “how you doin baby?” Keegan says, rubbing your back. Your thighs are burning, so tired that you’ve resorted to small hums and whines instead of back talking and making jabs at Keegan.
“Tired” you whispered, panting softly as you take a break and let your legs rest. “i can tell,” he smiled to himself.
“need me to finish your job?” he asks, smirking at your hum and the gentle squeeze around his cock. He started moving, in and out, he starts slow trying to ease you back into your earlier pace.
“Y’did good, baby, so good” he whispers, kissing your head. Smiling as he feels you reach your climax and listens to your moans.
“my pretty girl…” he mumbles as he spills his load in you.
content warnings ♱ smut, gn!afab!reader, degrading praise (reader is lovingly called whore and slut), body worship, choking, nipple play (m receiving), keegan likes to tease in a condescending(?) way, oral (r receiving), pet names (angel, baby, pretty), dumbification if you squint, lotsa dirty talk, hickeys (on keegan). unproofed.
ᝰ 5,565 words
ⓘ requests / ask box info ◡̈
It’s a quiet Saturday afternoon for both you and your boyfriend Keegan. Neither of you have plans nor do you want to make any, so you’re spending the better part of your day lounging in bed together. He's watching anime on the television screen across your bed while you scroll through your social media on a lower volume. Both of your legs are tangled together; your cheek is pressed against his bare chest, one arm wrapped around his back. Meanwhile, he has his own arm secure around you, bicep acting as support for your neck while his hand rests on your hip. Since you’re only wearing your panties and one of his shirts, he likes to take advantage of it and gently caress your exposed skin.
Deciding to let your eyes take a break from the screen, you lock your phone and set it aside so you can focus on cuddling Keegan. One of the things that you appreciate the most about having an introverted boyfriend is that you don’t need to worry about awkward attempts to make conversation. You're able to be comfortable in the silence and simply be.
You let your gaze drop from the big screen ahead to the view of his abs. You notice that he’s going to the gym with his friends more often, and his diet’s altered to include more lean meat and protein. He tends to hide his figure with baggy clothes and oversized shirts but when it’s just the two of you, he waltzes around the apartment in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. Sometimes, he’ll throw on a hoodie and a pair of socks, but that’s for the harsh winters.
You backtrack the events of the day so far, thinking of the shower that you both took together in the morning after he came back from his morning run. When scrubbing his back, you remember putting in a tad bit more effort to get a thorough job done. The scenes rewind in your mind like cuts of a short film. His back is, without a doubt, more defined now, muscles rolling with every slight movement. His chest is firmer too, but it doesn’t compromise how pillow-like it is when you use it to rest your head. And his arms . . . oh yeah, they’re a lot beefier now. When you compare your boyfriend’s build to Hesh’s, the difference is clear as day.
He hasn’t always been this thick, though. You pick your phone back up and scroll back to find photos of your boyfriend nine months ago. He did have a lean and cut figure back then.
So maybe that explains the nagging urge to bite him lately.
Well, who could blame you? Your boyfriend is built like a club bouncer now. A really, really hot club bouncer. One that you’d gladly bounce on his di–
“Something on your mind, baby?” His husky voice pulls you out of your reverie. You hum in response, hoping he’ll let it be but you know he’ll pester you if he’s convinced something is up. Your eyes follow the movement of his free hand as he grabs the remote and pauses the show. There's no way you could miss the flex in his arm and the veins that make themselves prominent when he presses down on the button. “Are you sure?”
“Very, I promise.” You look up to reassure him with a sweet smile. You take the opportunity for your free hand to gently pat his chest and goddamn, he’s firm. You try not to react but it’s obvious that your efforts are in vain when he chuckles.
“Really? Because the way your eyes went big when you just did that tells me otherwise.” Keegan shifts your positions so that you’re both sitting upright and facing each other. You pout and look at him but the exposure of his body leads your eyes to glaze all over his broad physique brazenly. “Ah . . . is that what this is about?”
“Hm?” You play coy, forcing your gaze back up to him as you look at him through your lashes, batting them pretty just the way it drives him crazy. It's so easy to toy with your boyfriend like this. His pupils dilate and he sucks in a quick breath, Adam's apple bobbing nervously in his throat as he watches you carefully.
“God,” he exhales slowly and carefully. He calls out your name—firm and resolute—with an eyebrow cocked upward. “You’re giving me those eyes . . . fuck. Tell me what you want to do. Now.” He runs one hand down his face in a feeble attempt to calm himself down, eyes fluttering close as he takes in another deep breath before looking back at you, waiting for you to answer him. He keeps his hands to himself, refusing to touch you until you give him the green light.
There are so many things you want to do to him; so many things you want him to do to you. Even in his lust, he looks at you like you put the twinkling stars in the night sky with your very own hands, and god, you kinda wanna sit on his face for it.
It's a risky statement to make but it’s a risk you’re willing to take. You know that he’s going to jump your bones the second you give him the green light.
“I wanna bite you while you fuck my brains out.”
Keegan doesn’t waste any time—just as you had predicted. He crawls towards you on the bed and once you’re within his reach, he wraps one strong arm around your waist to pull you onto his lap. You're surprised by the sheer strength that he possesses, evident in the soft gasp and the slightly disoriented look when you realise you’re not where you once were.
“You're doing this on purpose,” you chastise him with a small pout.
“What am I doing on purpose?” Keegan feigns innocence with a mischievous grin, mocking your tone and pout. He pushes away the messy locks of hair that have fallen on your face while the other holds you in place. Your eyes trail from his well-manicured hand to his bicep flexing and relaxing with every movement. He takes your chin between his curved index finger and thumb and redirects your gaze so it’s on him. “Hey. Eyes on me, pretty.” His voice is low and demanding, a twinkle of mischief in his dark eyes as the corner of his lips curls upwards into a smirk.
A hot rush of lust flows straight to your core and cheeks from the sudden action.
He uses the hold he has on your chin as leverage to bring your face closer to him until your lips meet halfway. Sweet, chaste kisses turn into hot, desperate ones within mere heartbeats. He keeps chasing after you every time you pull away for breath, the grip around you firm as he holds you in place. He doesn’t shy away from contact, no. His hand moves from your chin to cradle the base of your scalp, guiding your head so there’s no accidental bumping while the other slides underneath one of his old shirts that you’re wearing.
The second you’re both pulling away for fresh air, there’s tension and a vague competitiveness that circles the both of you. He glances at you with half-lidded eyes, provoking you with a cheeky smirk and a raise of his eyebrows. This motherfucker. You're suddenly overcome with a compelling urge to mark him up with hickeys and scratch lines.
So you act on your desires.
You mirror what he likes to do to you: your left hand gently grabs his jaw and turns his face away so you have more access to his neck, lips finding the right spots for you to sink your teeth in and suckle on the flesh until you get him to groan for you. You rock your clothed core against his hardening erection, swathing your tongue against a fresh hickey.
You’re rewarded with a deep, throaty groan that rings in your head and sends another rush of blood to your cunt.
“Shit, baby,” he exhales slowly in a feeble attempt to keep his composure as you continue your quest.
“Gotta let everyone know you belong to me, handsome.” Your lips ghost over his ear, whispering words of innocent sin in a low voice to hear another grunt of pleasure from him. Satisfied with the reactions he’s giving you, you resume devoting your attention to marking up his neck and chest.
“You're gonna drive me crazy.” There's a desperation in his voice where you know he wants to take over. You're not sure what’s taken over him but decides to let you play first.
You form a trail of open-mouthed kisses all over his broad chest and collarbones, eyelids fluttering against his hot skin until you enclose your lips around one nipple.
“Oh, shit–!” Keegan’s hips buck up into yours from the sudden sensation of your tongue swirling around the pert bud. His wanton reaction stirs one from you, but you bite back the moan that threatens to spill.
The ache in your core is beginning to become unbearable and you wonder just how much self-control he’s exercising. His hands on your hips eagerly push your heat down against his erection, weakly humping you like a teenage boy experiencing his first sexual encounter.
When you lean back to marvel at your work, you’re greeted with a sight that consumes you with unbridled lust and makes your whole body run hot.
He’s so pretty with his face flushed, flowers of rouge and plum on his neck, collarbones, and chest, glistening with a thin layer of sweat. He’s panting softly, lips swollen from being bitten and sucked on thanks to you, and for a brief moment, the golden late noon sun that peeks through your covered blinds envelopes him in an ethereal glow.
Your nails gently rake down his sculpted biceps as you ascend back up, following your trail of hickeys until you find your faces mere inches from each other once again.
“Hey, you,” he exhales before giving you a soft, chaste kiss. “Had fun?” You giggle, nodding as you cup his face to properly kiss him this time.
Even when he’s desperate for air, his lips trap yours in a feverish lock as if you’ll disappear if he doesn’t. His hips buck upwards into yours every other heartbeat. Dexterous hands dance along your body, toying with the fabric that keeps your exposed skin from him. He’s starting to get restless for some proper action—a constant habitual reaction that you’ve noticed from him every time you’re about to get frisky.
He starts to grab and knead possessively at your love handles. That's when you know: it’s his turn to undress you.
Keegan grabs a fistful of your shirt hem and pulls it over your head before tossing it over his shoulder into a forgotten corner. One hand is on your waist, the other ghosting his fingertips down your spine so your back gently arches into him. He nibbles on your bottom lip and presses your throbbing core against his erection.
The action elicits a soft gasp of surprise from you. He takes the opportunity to slide his tongue past your lips while fondling your right breast, pinching and rolling his thumb over your hardened nipple. He begins his own trail of open-mouthed kisses from your jawline down to your chest just so he can hear your pretty moans.
You don’t even realise that he had been slowly making you lean down until your back hits the mattress. He suddenly stops and your mind is reeling to hazily explore the one thousand and one reasons he might have paused.
Before you can even think to ask if everything is okay, Keegan slides your panties to the side and latches his lips onto your clit.
Shockwaves spread through your body and your hands immediately fly to his hair, thighs clenching around him when he suckles on the sensitive nub.
“Keegan!” You whine in defeat, eyes fluttering shut with your head thrown back. He only hums in response and the vibrations send another wave of electricity up your spine.
He languidly laps at your juices, his gaze constantly flitting between your face and your core. He eats you out like he’s been given a lavish meal by the gods. He toys with your clit—suckling, flicking, rolling at the nub just to watch your face contort and scrunch up in equal parts pleasure and frustration of not getting what you want. A wide grin appears on his face when your eyes meet and you whine his name in a long drag.
Keegan’s tongue starts to dance along your lower lips, collecting your juices on the wet muscle before he thrusts it deep into your core. You moan from the relief of having something shoved inside of you, walls clenching tightly around him which pulls a throaty grunt from your boyfriend.
The lewd, wet sounds of slurping and sucking fill your shared bedroom. You feel your cheeks and neck burn from how embarrassing and erotic it is but you’re too occupied with how good it feels to have his tongue stretch you out. Your high is creeping upon you slowly and before you can push his head deeper so you can ride his face, he pulls away to wrap his lips around your neglected bud.
“Tastes so fucking sweet,” he groans around your clit. Long, dexterous fingers dig into the pillowy flesh of your thighs as he pins you down, not allowing a single movement from you. “Could eat you out all day, baby.” Your frustration picks away at you, tears welling in your eyes, walls clenching desperately around nothing. A needy whine is pulled from your throat before you can even stop yourself.
Keegan hums and looks back up at you, raising an eyebrow upward smugly. You’re glaring down at him, body burning with need and lust, while he continues to flick his pointed tongue against your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your body starts to twitch from how sensitive you are, fingers digging deep into his fluffy brown locks but he’s not done playing with you yet.
“Need something, pretty?” There’s a gentle slur in his words, pretty pink lips stained with your pearlescent arousal as he rises to his feet. You don’t even know when he discarded his clothes but he’s naked with his cock throbbing against his stomach. He wraps his fingers around his duo-toned erection, spreading beads of precum on himself. “C’mon baby, use your words for me.”
The mattress dips where he parts your thighs with an authoritative bump of his knee, climbing over you like a predator surveying its prey. He leans forward, free hand gently grabbing your jaw while the other lazily pumps himself. he cocks an eyebrow upward as he grinds his bare cock against your sopping folds, letting his heavy tip catch against your clit just to watch you whimper and tremble from the sensation.
“Want your cock in me now, Keegan,” you whine desperately. He's second-guessing himself and you can see it in the way his features soften a little in concern. He will always get you to cum at least twice before he penetrates and this is the first time he will be forgoing it. But you—you’re desperate. Your juices are dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets and you’re beyond sure that he’ll be able to slip right in.
“Are you sure, angel?” Keegan’s thumb runs over your bottom lip. When presented with the opportunity, you take it into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it? His eyes darken, lids drooping halfway and brows furrowing just the slightest. “You’re gonna be the death of me. Use your words, pretty.”
He’s caught in a trance-like state as he watches you suck on his thumb. You know he’s tempted to pull his thumb away to replace it with his ring and middle fingers just to see how deep you can take him in. Since he denied you of your pleasure, you’ll deny him of this.
You release his thumb from your lips with a soft, wet pop before gazing up at him through your lashes.
“I need you to fuck me now, Keegan. I need you.”
Like a switch had been flipped, he cusses under his breath and looks down to guide his cockhead to your entrance. Without a hint of a warning, he bullies his cock into your warm, awaiting cunt.
“Fuuuuck.” He groans when you wrap your legs around him, heels digging into his lower back to encourage him to push deeper. Meanwhile, your head is thrown back, eyes rolling back as he sinks further into you, walls tightening around him like a voice. Keegan grabs your jaw once again to force your gaze onto him. “Look at me when you’re taking my fat cock, baby.”
You force your eyes open with a shaky breath, doing exactly as you’re told as you pant hotly. He continues burying himself into you until he bottoms out and his eyes bore into you when your face contorts in pure pleasure of feeling the euphoric stretch of your walls to accommodate his heavy girth.
“Fuck, how are you always so fucking tight?” He’s the first to break eye contact, lids squeezing shut as he lets you get used to his size. His head falls forward and he takes the opportunity to plant sweet kisses all over your face and cheeks. You know better than anyone that it’s his way of distracting himself while you get used to his size before he starts to fuck you. It’s not like you haven’t fucked in a long time—he’s just big enough for you to struggle even when you’re at least two orgasms down.
“M-Move,” you barely whisper.
With your consent, he rolls his hips forward to test the waters and he’s rewarded with a needy whine paired with your walls squeezing around him.
Keegan’s right hand plants firmly on your hip while the other gently grabs your jaw to give him more access to your neck. There's no warning when he starts ploughing into you, cockhead burying itself deep into your cunt with every upward snap of his hips. Pleasure spreads through your body in constant waves as he sets a brutal pace, fucking you with reckless abandon. His name rips through your throat in tandem with the sounds of skin smacking against skin bouncing off the thin walls.
“Such a desperate little whore.” His lips latch onto your neck as he continues driving his heavy cockhead deep against all of the good spots. “Always so fucking tight for me.” He sighs almost wistfully. The hand that was on your jaw moves to wrap around your throat, fingers pressing down on the right spots to restrict your airflow.
You’re already so sensitive, sparks igniting all over your body, but he angles his hips higher so his tip is aggressively bullying the exact spot that has you seeing stars. Your feeble hands wrap around his wrist as he leers over you with a domineering grin.
The sight of him so consumed with lust has your heart racing from how handsome yet hedonistic he looks. His icy blue eyes are blown with a dark eagerness, strands of dark locks sticking to his temples as beads of sweat form trails down his hairline. His lips are pink and swollen from being kissed so lovingly whilst his neck and collarbones are littered with hickeys done in your name. He looks so sinful. It's an intoxicating view that sends your head into a tailspin and another hot burst straight to your core.
“You look so pretty when you’re so fucked out, angel,” he hissed through his teeth. “So cockhungry you can’t even speak? All you needed was my cock and you’ll be satisfied, ain’t that right?”
Before you can argue with him, Keegan pulls his cock out from you and slaps the tip against your neglected clit. You whine from the sudden emptiness when he pulls away from you, desperate for his hands on your body.
“Key . . .” Your complaint comes in the form of a weak whisper that he only chuckles quietly in response. “I wanna feel you, Keegan.”
“Patience is a virtue, pretty.” There's a gentle lilt in his voice and through your glossy vision you can see the grin. He's having fun taking his own sweet time with you while you crave for his touch. As punishing as it is, part of you is quivering with anticipation for what comes next.
Keegan sinks down onto his knees until he’s face to face with your lower lips. He brings his left hand down to your dripping core, middle and index fingers spreading your pussy lips apart. He huffs in amusement as he watches your hole clench desperately around him. In embarrassment, you try to close your thighs to hide from him but he’s quicker and far stronger. One strong grip of warning and you submit in a heartbeat.
“Such a gorgeous cunt . . . probably waiting for more of my cock, hm?” He asks without really asking, gaze flitting up to yours and he’s chuckling once again when you nod desperately.
He rises to his feet, casually patting his hand against your pussy and making it a point for the heel of his palm to put pressure against your throbbing clit.
“Keegan . . .”
“Shh, we’ll get there, baby. Patience.”
He pulls you up into a sitting position with ease before he takes his own space on his side of the bed. His back is against the headboard, pillows supporting him as he sits back and strokes his aching cock. you stare at him through your wet lashes, bottom lip tucked between your teeth.
“Pretty baby wants my cock, right?” You nod eagerly. “Show me how badly you want it, then.”
You want to glare and huff and puff and throw a tantrum but his stern gaze penetrates right through you. you pout in a feeble attempt to get him to at least pull you onto his thick lap again but he doesn’t budge.
“You're so mean.” You complain with a grumble. with trembling thighs and arms you crawl over to him anyway. You don’t think you look too hot or sexy but Keegan watches your every move like he’s going to eat you up the second you’re in his grasp. He maintains eye contact as he cleans up the hand that he used to touch himself, flat tongue licking and swirling around his dexterous digits.
God, he looks so fucking hot.
You don’t know what he’s going to do next but you’re going to take advantage of getting up close so you can sink your teeth into his shoulders and your nails into his biceps.
“Oh, I'm mean for giving you a chance to prove how much your slutty pussy wants my fat cock?” His words are so vulgar and it sends a hot rush straight to your core. When you straddle him, cockhead ghosting over your pussy lips, he gently takes your chin between his thumb and curled index finger to guide your eyes onto him. “Why are you so quiet? Cat got your tongue, doll?”
“No.” You huff in defence. Keegan chuckles in amusement when you plant both your hands on his shoulders and turn your face away slightly. When you’ve steadied yourself successfully, take the base of his cock and line him up with your entrance.
As much as you would love to worship his body as he did to you, you’re far too impatient and too desperate to chase after your high. He’s been teasing you relentlessly and you’re going to get what you’ve been craving for.
You sink yourself down onto his cock, taking deep breaths while your walls flutter restlessly around his girth. his hands fly to your waist and guide you until you’re buried to the hilt. The tip is snugly kissing your g-spot when you’re seated properly, thighs burning from the effort after being relentlessly toyed with. Your head drops and a soft moan of his name comes from your throat, forehead resting against his shoulder.
“Shit,” he curses under his breath. The grip he has on your waist moves to your ass, kneading the pillowy flesh and littering kisses all over your temple and exposed shoulder. “You okay, pretty? I know my cock is too big for your greedy cunt but you take it like a good slut anyway, don’t you?” Your whimpers and weak nods in response to his lead words made his cock twitch inside of you, sending chills up your spine.
It drives you insane the way he can be so sweet and gentle while calling you such mean and obscene names. and you hate the way it makes your walls clench like a vice around him.
“Yeah? I knew you liked being called a good slut.” Keegan’s fingers dig into you, biceps bulging as he effortlessly lifts you up and down his cock at a slow and steady pace. Every time he sinks you down, he makes it a point to snap his hips upwards to meet you halfway. “Such a cockhungry angel. What would everyone say if they saw you drooling all over my cock, huh?”
You mewl weakly in response, biting down on his shoulder to suppress your moans while your nails dig into his biceps.
“Fuck, you really like getting called such dirty names, don’t you?” He bullies his cockhead right where it makes you see stars in your vision just so he can hear your sweet cries for mercy. You feel a little lightheaded from the pleasure coursing through your veins with every gentle yet hard thrust into you, blissfully taking his cock as he wants you to. “You’re so fucking dirty, baby. Whose cock does this pussy belong to?”
You want to say his name, to say that it’s him, but you’re too drunk on the feeling of him deep inside your walls to think of anything coherent.
“Already dumb on my cock? I've barely begun, babe.”
While he’s still inside of you, Keegan secures your legs around his waist before he pushes you onto your back, changing your positions once more. The air gets knocked out of your lungs at the sudden switch, meekly whimpering his name when he checks on you. When he’s sure you’re okay, he gives you a sweet kiss on your forehead.
You don’t even realise that he has your knees hooked on his shoulders, his own digging into the mattress on either side of you. Before you can process what is happening, you’re left gasping for air once again when he starts pounding into you with reckless abandon.
“Keegan!” A broken cry of his name rips through your throat when he snakes one hand down to roll your clit in figure eights. Between his cock ruining your walls and the added stimulation to your throbbing clit, there’s nothing but sweet release and pleasure that fills your mind. “K-Keegan, fuck, ‘s too– fuck!”
“Too what, baby? Is it too much? Is my fat cock too much for you, baby?” He growls into your ear yet places a sloppy, tender kiss on your jawline. “You were just begging to get fucked like a whore and now—shit—and now my angel’s complaining it’s too much?” He punctuates the last three words with a thrust harder and tougher than the last, sending your head into a tailspin as your jaw drops to let a weak, soundless mewl escape.
His words sink into your skin, touch electrifying as he patiently helps you reach your high.
“It’s– fuck, Keegan!” You weep pathetically with your walls clenching around him like a vice. you bite down on your lower lip as tears spring from your eyes due to the overstimulation of him relentlessly hitting your G-spot again and again while toying with your throbbing clit. The familiar knot starts to form and build up in your stomach, your body burning up with a feverish lust that only he can take care of. “I’m close, fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, please!”
“My baby’s close?” He echoes. Beads of sweat drip down his chin and mix with yours on your body. You didn’t think he could get any rougher but he proves you otherwise with his incessant rolling and tapping on your throbbing bud. he leans back to allow his free hand to play with your tits—kneading, pinching and rolling at your sensitive nipples with calloused fingers. “Go on, baby. Make a mess all over my cock before I fill you up, can you do that for me?”
All of the simultaneous stimulations are sending your body into overdrive. You can’t focus on one thing at all; everything is too much all at once and the knot in your stomach is tightening dangerously. Every shove and drag of his cock within your walls leave you gasping for hair, sucking him back in desperately when he withdraws himself. The sound of wet skin slapping against skin fills your ears, your moans bouncing off the walls in tandem with Keegan snapping his hips against yours. Your eyes fly open—when did they shut?—to look at your boyfriend whose dark eyes burn with a feral desire to make you come undone.
“What's wrong, baby? Need me to talk you through your orgasm?” As if your body doesn’t feel hot enough already, your cheeks burn and you weakly manage a nod. He grins, clearly proud that he has this effect on you. “C'mon baby, I know you want my cum to fill you up. Don’t you? I know you can do it for me, I'm close too. Make a mess all over my fat cock and show me who this tight cunt belongs to.”
His words are all that it takes to bring you your sweet release. His name bounces off the walls of your shared room as your orgasm hits you in a dangerous wave, pussy clamping down on him and forming milky white rings around his cock. Keegan doesn’t stop pounding recklessly into you nor does he stop toying with your clit, switching between tapping and rolling the bud as he helps you ride out your high while he chases after his own.
“So good, you’re so fucking good for me,” he groans. The wet squelching sounds get more lewd with every drag of his cock through your fluttering walls. You shouldn’t feel embarrassed about it but for some reason you are. Your boyfriend doesn’t give you enough time to think about it as his thrusts get sloppier and he starts to lose his rhythm. “Fuck, you’re so pretty when you cry for me. Your cunt’s so fucking good, so tight f’me, fuck! I’m gonna cum, you gonna let me fill your needy pussy up, angel?”
“Yes, fuck, yes!” Both of your hands reach out to cup his face to direct his gaze onto you. “Need you to fill me up, Keegan. Wanna be dripping full of your cum. Cum for me, baby.” Your words act as the catalyst to helping him come undone.
His hips stutter against yours, face scrunching up and eyes fluttering shut as your name comes in a long, whiny drag from his throat. His cock twitches once, twice, before you’re filled with his hot seed. The sensation makes your shoulders tense up slightly, quietly moaning at the warmth.
Keegan, while still buried deep inside of you, carefully manoeuvres himself so you’re both lying down on the bed. He makes an effort to pull you close into his chest and let him be your mattress to avoid hurting you. Both of you are panting heavily, lightheaded from the dizzying pleasure as the after-sex buzz crawls underneath your skin.
“You feeling okay, pretty?” He's the first to check in on you, turning his head to the side. He reaches his hand out to push locks of your hair that are stuck to your face. In his peripheral vision, he catches the bite marks and faint scratches that adorn his bicep and he laughs through his nose. “Jesus Christ, babe. Sure did a number on me this time, huh?”
His words are swirling in your head and you grin lazily while looking up at him.
“You should look at yourself in the mirror next, handsome.” He cracks another smile at the slight slur in your speech, obviously worn from the spontaneous session.
Keegan lovingly leans into you to press a kiss to your forehead, lips lingering as if he’s letting the affection pour from his soul and into yours.
“I love you.” He confesses in a soft whisper—a confession meant only for you to hear. “Let’s take a ten-minute break before I set up the bath so we can clean up, yeah?” His hand rests at your waist, thumb massaging circles and mindless shapes into the soft flesh.
“I love you too, Keegan.” You whisper back. “We can do that.” Although your body is still buzzing from the aftermath of what might just be one of your most satisfying orgasms in the past couple of days, you’re stubborn enough to want to take care of him too. In the safety of his arms, you allow yourself to succumb to the exhaustion as your eyelids slowly fall shut.
You've been operating as external assistance to 141, in the midst of a large mission, they've hired multiple Kortac agents as support. That included you as a sniper, and your massive colonel Konig. Now you had always had your suspicions that maybe he had a bit of a crush on you, given the small gestures such as sharing his lunch or carrying you in after a long mission. But unbeknownst to you, it was not a little crush...
More like your panties that went missing in the laundry, ended up around his cock, fisting it as he fantasised about all the things he could do to you. But you payed no mind to it and just dismissed your lost clothing as having been eaten by the washing machine.
It was around 10pm, it had been a long day and you were heading to the kitchen to get some water and stock up on snacks for the night. In your large oversized t shirt and mini shorts you prayed that no one would be here at this time. How unfortunate that your colonel was there making a brew,
" Want some tea mausi ? ", of course his little nickname for you was calling you small, but then again who wasn't small compared to him. Apart from that you considered that it would be relaxing to have some tea before bed.
" Sure, thanks ", as he poured your cup of tea, you turned to the cupboards behind him and tried to reach your favourite snacks, that someone had put on the top shelf for god knows what reason. As you tried to reach it a few times, Koing noticed your struggle. Now standing with his stomach flush against your back and your ass pressed up against him, he leaned in toward the cupboard and retrieved your snacks for you without a word.
" Drink your tea mauschen ", with that you took the cup into your hands, heading over to the sofa placed in the living room connected. He took his cup and followed suit, as you settled, waited for the tea to cool and had a few sips, you began to notice yourself almost drifting to sleep. With that you decided it was time to turn in for the night, until you realised that you couldn't walk or cordinate your movements, until you felt Konig sweep you off your feet and start carrying you down the hall, and with that you blacked out.
Konig knew that after that day of training everyone would be out exhausted, and so no one would be wondering the halls to interrupt his plans. He had waited, he'd been patient for you to catch the hints, but now he needed more, fantasies too vivid to remain strictly in his head. He had to fuck you, his cock was near enough leaking every night thinking of you. So as he opened his door to his barracks, he set you down on the bed and got right to work. He knew the sedative he put in your tea would only last around 10 minutes, which was the perfect amount of time, because he wanted you awake, aware of everything he was doing to you.
He started by undressing you, gently caressing your innocent, vulnerable form, then tying your hands firmly together above your head, and then to the bed frame. By now you were starting to stir awake, and he couldn't risk you making any unnecessary noise, so he used a piece of torn fabric, putting it in your mouth and tying behind your head as a gag. Now that all his preparations were made, he could have his fun. He traced your body down from your neck to your already leaking cunt, his rough fingers circling your clit, then moving down towards your hole. The way you were wet made him question if you wanted this all along. Now moving his index finger to enter you, slowly, your tight pussy gripped against him.
Then he heard your subtle whimpers, and you began to move, now awake, gagged and tied up in your imposing colonels bed. He continued to move his finger in and out slowly until he was knuckle deep. Then he parted your legs allowing himself to lean over, face to face,
" What did you expect teasing me in those shorts, huh ? ", overwhelmed by your total powerlessness, tears began streaming as you started hyperventilating. In an effort to soothe you, Koing wiped your tears, reassuring you, that you wanted this in the first place. How this was all your fault that he'd gotten so pent up. And now it was your job to let him relieve all of that, using you as his little set of holes.
He began fingering you again, continuing to open you up, until he could slip a second in, with this, you could feel the stinging strench from his girthy finger, making you cry a little harder. Little did you know every tear, every sign of resistance or struggle, was making Koing rock hard, as he reveled in your vulnerability, how he fully had control, and all you could do was sit pretty and take it like a good girl. After he'd been. able to comfortably slip two fingers in, he began undoing his belt, taking his shirt off, until his leaking tip was pressed against your slit. Teasing it up and down, as you tried to pull away, he forced your legs open and towered above you in a mating press, so you couldn't escape,
" Mausi, you have no idea how long I've wanted this ", as if he was waiting for a reply he remembered that he had gagged you, and so he reached behind your head and undid it, to which you still looked at him with dismay, refusing to speak. Konig didn't like this one bit, and so with that he lined his cock up with your hole and pushed the tip in, earning a string of curses and whimpers from you. With this his ego only grew, confirming his belief that you wanted this. Slowly pushing his sizeable length further and further inside you, until as its hilt. Just when you thought the sting of being stretched out was over, he pulled out and slammed back into you, undoubtably reaching your cervix. At this point you didn't know if you'd be able to take it much longer,
" Fuck, Konig please, just slow down, fuck ", with that his hand gripped around your throat and he moved his mouth to whisper in your ear,
" What was that Schone, beg a little louder for me, yeah ", with the way he was repeatedly pounding into you, you were left with no choice other than to beg for his mercy,
" Konig please, its too much, I cant take it ", but he continued fucking you like a rag doll
" Please Koing please, fuck please ", hearing you beg like that, completely helpless almost made him cum right there, but instead he decided to go a bit easier on you, slowing his pace down a bit, taking the time to gently grope your body, eventually moving down towards massaging your clit, circling it as he still thrusted in and out of your stretched and struggling hole. The combination of it all, his sheer size, the overstimulation, had you about to orgasm, and Koing knew this, so he continued. As you struggled against your restraints, body twitching and trying to pull away from him in a futile attempt, you ended up cuming around his cock, making you so tight, Konig was struggling to continue fucking you. But after a few minutes you had subsided almost exhausted. Konig took this opportunity to flip you onto your stomach, hands still tied to his bed frame, face down ass up. Positioning himself he entered you again, with a few hard thrusts he had you screaming into the mattress, as he brutally forced himself deeper inside of you. After a while your vision began to fade, as the pain, but also the pleasure became overwhelming, as you felt yourself drifting, you suddenly felt something warm shoot deep inside you, as Konig pressed his cock flush against your ass, balls resting against your clit, his cum filled you to the brim, his cock still stuffed inside you to stop any from escaping.
With that you passed out, the next morning you found yourself in your bed and started questioning whether it was all a dream. However that all faded when you felt something inside you, almost like a plug of some sort. reaching down you pulled the plug out of your pussy, and warm sticky white liquid poured out you, and thats when you knew, this was about to become a daily occurrence, and that you were now your colonels little cumslut...
character: Keegan P. Russ
words: 8059
cw: 18+, bit of angst, very mild sexual content (just a little)
description: in which Keegan hides out on your family’s farm when a mission goes wrong. (requested anonymously, hope I did it justice!!)
a/n: yee-haw I love farmer!Keegan lmfao I hope you guys like it!! this is set before the events of the cod: ghosts game btw!
Your routine never changed. There wasn’t room for variation anymore, not in this world — not here, beyond the Liberty Wall where the Federation watched everything. You got up with the sun, worked until it set, and tried not to be noticed. That was how you survived.
They said your family was spared for “provisions,” but you’d long since stopped pretending that was anything but a half-truth. The Federation let your family exist because you were useful — because your fields fed them, your cows gave milk, your hens laid eggs. And in return, they didn’t burn your land to ash like they did to the neighbours. As long as the soil stayed fertile, as long as the silence was kept, you were allowed to live. But that wasn’t freedom. It was barbed wire shaped into a leash.
You’d been young when it all fell apart — San Diego, your parents, the sky itself. The fire from above had blotted everything out, and by the time the smoke cleared, you were a teenage orphan on a half-burnt patch of land with two aging grandparents and nothing else. Ten years later, you were still there, grown now, hardened by it all. The sun was meaner, the wind sharper, and every shadow on the horizon made your chest go tight.
You stood among the chickens as they shuffled and clucked around your boots, their beady little eyes focused only on the corn you'd scattered. Stupid, greedy birds. But they were gold, in their own way — eggs for barter, meat for when things got bad, and the illusion of normalcy in a world that had long since turned to hell. You wiped your hands against your trousers, faded denim nearly threadbare at the knees, and turned back toward the house. The barn’s wide mouth yawned ahead of you, and your stomach growled as you passed through it, already thinking about the dinner you’d saved for yourself. One meal a day. That was the rule.
You didn’t make it far.
A pair of arms seized you from behind, fast and brutal. Hands clamped over your mouth and nose, cutting off your breath, dragging you backwards before the scream could even leave your throat. You kicked, thrashed, elbowed, but your attacker was stronger — taller, heavier, lean muscle packed into unforgiving armour. Your back slammed into the packed dirt, the scent of hay and oil thick around you as you were forced down behind a pile of straw bales. You twisted, but his weight pressed you flat, pinning you beneath him.
“Stop fighting me, kid—”
You bit his finger.
Hard.
He let out a sharp hiss, yanking his hand back before slamming you down again, his body pressing close to restrain yours. “Fuck,” he snarled. “Alright, alright — just stop! I’m not gonna hurt you.”
Your chest heaved, your pulse thundering in your ears. You froze, just long enough to get a better look at him. His face was half-concealed by a balaclava, a rough, dark thing marked with the faded white of a skull. His gear was military, American — though beat-up and dusted with travel, like he’d been crawling through hell just to get here. But it was his eyes that truly held you in place. Blue — so blue they almost looked unreal, stark and cold and furious. Watching everything.
“Don’t scream,” he said, voice rough, low. Not quite a command, but not a plea either.
You gave a small nod.
He hesitated, then peeled his gloved hand away from your mouth. You gasped in a sharp breath, the air thick with the scent of sweat and grain. Your throat felt raw already.
“You’re not Federation,” you rasped, eyes narrowing.
“No.” His voice was quieter now. “Definitely not.” A beat passed. “Are you?”
You scoffed, disbelief tightening your face. “Do I fucking look like Federation to you?”
“I’m just asking,” he said, raising one hand defensively, as if you were the unpredictable one here. “Calm down.”
The rage hit you all at once — hot, fast, blinding. You twisted your leg and kicked him square in the chest, hard enough to shove him off balance. He grunted, staggered back onto one knee.
“Fuck you,” you snapped, scrambling upright. “You don’t get to grab someone like that, asshole! Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? If anyone saw you — if a patrol even thinks someone’s here — my whole family’s dead.”
His head tilted, skull mask shifting with the motion. “Do that again,” he said, voice clipped, “and I’ll break your leg.”
But there was no fire behind it. Just exhaustion. And something else — something that sounded a hell of a lot like desperation, thinly buried beneath the steel. He didn’t reach for his gun. He didn’t move to stop you again. He just looked at you like he was weighing something in his mind — whether to keep speaking or vanish back into the dust.
“I need somewhere to lay low for a while,” he said, his voice rough with fatigue but steady. “I got separated from my unit a few miles back. Your farm was the first shelter I saw.”
The audacity of it struck you like a slap. For a moment, you could hardly process what he was asking — not because it was complicated, but because it was so unbelievably reckless. Outrage rose sharp and immediate in your chest. Who the hell did he think he was? Some stranger in combat gear, skulking through your barn like a ghost, grabbing you in the dark — and now he was asking for sanctuary like it was nothing? Like it wasn’t your family’s blood on the line?
“You do realize,” you said, slowly, the words raspy, “that if they catch you here, we’ll all be executed. My grandparents. Me. And you.”
It wasn’t a hypothetical. The Federation didn’t ask questions. They didn’t issue warnings or offer mercy. They came with fire and bullets and orders, and they left with corpses. You’d seen it before — neighbours who made the mistake of helping the wrong person, or even just saying the wrong thing. You’d helped dig the graves afterward.
But then — he moved. One gloved hand reached up, and in a single motion, he tugged his balaclava off and dropped it into the hay beside him.
You weren’t prepared for what you saw.
He was a little younger than you’d assumed — probably just over thirty, if that — with sharp, storm-cut features that should’ve belonged in a world untouched by war. High cheekbones, a strong jaw shadowed with stubble, a mouth set in a thin, pouty line. There was a deep, stubborn dimple in his chin, like a scar from childhood. And those eyes — still blue, still cutting — suddenly seemed far too human up close. Too beautiful. They caught you off guard in a way that had nothing to do with safety. Something pulled low in your stomach before you could even pretend to stop it.
“I’m asking you to trust me, kid,” he said, voice softer now. “Can you do that?”
You gritted your teeth. Manipulation. It had to be. A face like that didn’t just happen to look at you like that — not in a world like this. Not unless he wanted something. And maybe he did. Shelter. Safety. Food. You didn’t know. But what infuriated you the most was that it was working.
“You’ll have to speak to my grandfather,” you muttered. “I don’t call the shots here.”
He nodded once. “Fine. Take me to him.”
Of course your grandfather had said yes. Because that was the kind of man he was — old, wise, and generous to a fault. He’d looked the soldier up and down, taken in the dirt and the way his voice dipped with exhaustion, and simply nodded. No questions, no fuss. Just a quiet, “You’ll stay as long as you need to. Might as well eat too.”
Now, Keegan — he said that was his name, only once, like it didn’t matter — was seated at the dinner table, freshly changed into an old pair of your grandfather’s jeans and a soft, sun-bleached flannel. The shirt was a little too small for him, stretched tight across his chest and shoulders as he worked steadily through a plate of food meant for someone else. Meant for you.
You hadn’t said a word. Just watched from the corner of the kitchen, arms folded, mouth pressed thin. You hadn’t offered it to him, hadn’t made any grand gesture of sacrifice. But you’d let it happen. You’d stood by while your dinner was scraped into his bowl and you told yourself it was fine. You’d get used to the ache. You always did.
He spoke softly, now and then, responding to your grandfather’s occasional remarks or your grandmother’s quiet questions. Nothing personal. Nothing deep. He was careful not to give much away — always watching, always assessing — but polite. Cordial. It made you feel even more on edge.
When the dishes were cleared and your grandparents had retired for the night, you found yourself in the living room, dragging old blankets out of the chest by the hearth. The couch creaked under your touch as you layered one over the lumpy cushions, then another. You didn’t want to be hospitable. But your hands moved anyway, folding a pillow, adjusting the threadbare quilt. It felt mechanical. Performative. Like you were playing a role that had been handed to you long ago: the girl who obeyed, who made room, who didn’t ask for anything in return.
“I’ll sleep here,” you said without looking up, smoothing the blanket. “You can take my room upstairs.”
Keegan stood in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, arms crossed. You could feel his eyes on your back. You didn’t know if it was suspicion, or guilt, or something else entirely.
He didn’t thank you.
You didn’t expect him to.
⟡
The coughing didn’t stop. It had started faintly sometime before dawn, low and rasping, buried beneath the creaks of the old farmhouse, and by the time the sky turned the colour of pale ash, it had grown louder. Wet. Persistent. You heard it before your feet even touched the floor. It twisted low in your gut, a sound you recognized far too well, one that always carried the same dread-heavy question: Is this the one that ends him?
You padded down the hallway, socks catching against rough wood, and stepped into the kitchen that still smelled faintly of last night’s boiled potatoes. Keegan sat at the table, elbows resting on his knees, hunched forward like a man used to discomfort. His head tilted up slightly as you entered, eyes scanning you briefly before flicking back to the empty wall as if trying to make himself smaller. He didn’t speak. There was no food on the stove, no plates set, no hum of the kettle — just silence, thick and watchful, and the rhythmic hack of your grandfather’s lungs echoing faintly from the room upstairs.
Your grandmother came in moments later, her apron still tied from the night before, her hands trembling and dry at her sides. The way she looked at you — soft, resigned — told you everything before she even opened her mouth.
“He couldn’t get up,” she said, voice barely a whisper. “He’s burning up. Said it hit him in the night. You’ll need to tend to the fields today, sweetheart.”
You nodded stiffly, though a raw panic was beginning to thrum beneath your ribs. A cough like that could be anything — pneumonia, a cold — but none of those things ended well out here. There were no doctors. No antibiotics. No trips to town that didn’t come with a Federation checkpoint and the risk of being disappeared. And he was old. Too old to be fighting off something like this without help. You clenched your jaw to keep your voice steady.
“Okay,” you said.
You didn’t wait for Keegan’s reaction, didn’t look back to see if he was still watching. You shoved on your boots by the back door, pulling your coat over yesterday’s clothes, the fabric still stiff with dried sweat and dust. The barn smelled like cold diesel and sun-warmed hay, the morning light filtering in through the warped wooden slats in pale stripes. You moved automatically — feed first, then fence checks, then water line inspection — already running through the order of tasks in your head like a prayer. Like if you just focused hard enough, you could keep everything from falling apart.
You were halfway through setting the buckets when the barn door creaked behind you.
“You alright?” Keegan’s voice broke the quiet like a stone tossed into still water. You didn’t turn around.
“I’m busy,” you muttered.
He stepped inside anyway, heavy boots crunching on old hay. “I’m sorry about your grandfather.”
“Sure.”
“I mean it.”
You spun, fast and sharp, the tension crackling off you like static. “Look, I don’t need your pity, alright? I need the sun to stay up, the cows to not kick over the pails, and I need him to not die, so unless you’ve got something helpful to say—”
“I want to help.” He met your glare without flinching. “I know I’m not family. But I’m here too for now. Let me do something useful.”
You blinked, taken aback by the way he said it — flat, almost weary. No smugness. No charm. Just that gravel-edged voice and those winter-coloured eyes trying to make you understand something unspoken. It should have softened you. It didn’t.
“What, you think you can just roll in here with your guns and your uniform and suddenly you’re farmhand of the year?” You crossed your arms. “You think pulling security detail and running through training drills somehow qualifies you to mend a busted irrigation pipe or birth a breech calf?”
Keegan’s brow twitched, but his voice stayed even. “Didn’t say I was an expert. Said I’d help.”
“You don’t know how,” you snapped. “You don’t know the land, or the soil, or how the gates swell in the rain and need a hard shoulder to close them. You don’t know the difference between feed hay and bedding hay. You’re a soldier — not a farmer.”
“I’m a survivor,” he said, stepping closer now, the quiet heat of his presence suddenly tangible in the morning chill. “And survivors adapt. You don’t think I’ve had to fix a generator in the dark with a busted hand? Or shovel out latrines after someone dumped a septic tank in the wrong place? You think I’m too soft because I slept on your couch and ate your stew?”
You scoffed, but your arms dropped to your sides. “No. I think you’re used to shooting your problems.”
“And you’re used to ignoring anyone who offers to help you.”
That landed like a slap.
You stared at him, jaw clenched, fists curling at your sides. You wanted to scream, to shove him, to ask who the hell he thought he was, stepping into your barn, into your world, and pretending like he had any say in what happened next. But the words didn’t come. They sat bitter and heavy in your throat.
“You want to help?” you said finally, your voice low and shaking. “Fine.”
You turned and stormed out of the barn without checking if he was behind you. You didn’t need to. You could already hear his boots crunching in the gravel, steady and maddeningly sure.
⟡
By the time the sun hit its highest point in the sky, the heat was a weight pressed against your back. Sweat soaked the collar of your shirt, dust clung to your skin, and the ache in your arms had settled into something dull and constant. Even Keegan looked worn, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, dirt streaked along his forearms and across the side of his neck where he’d wiped his face. You hadn’t spoken for the last half hour — not since your fourth argument, this one about whether the fencing near the orchard should be patched from the inside or out. You’d called him a stubborn bastard; he’d called you a mule in boots. Neither of you had been wrong.
Eventually, you muttered that you needed a break, and he followed without comment.
You led him to the clearing nestled deep in the cornfield, a place carved out by your own hands over the years — small, shielded, quiet. The stalks surrounded you like walls, thick and golden, swaying gently with the breeze, their dry rustling voices swallowing up the sound of the outside world. Even the house felt far away here, unreachable. This was where you came when everything grew too loud. When you needed to scream or cry or just sit and remember how to breathe.
You tugged the frayed old blanket from where it was folded in the crook of the crate you kept hidden beneath the corn, shook the dust off, and dropped it down over the grass. It was faded, sun-bleached, a patch of something that once might’ve been blue. You sat cross-legged and tossed a few apricots into the center from the bag you'd carried — soft-skinned and warm from where they’d been tucked in your pocket.
Keegan dropped beside you, lowering himself with a tired grunt. His weight sank heavily into the blanket, close enough that you felt the shift, but not close enough to touch. He took an apricot without asking, wiped the fuzz on his jeans, and bit in.
For a while, that was all you did. Sit. Chew. Swallow. Watch the sky through the weaving blades of corn above. The silence was almost comforting.
“They asked us to evacuate,” you said eventually, voice quiet and raw at the edges. “A few months after everything went down. They came in trucks. Told us it wasn’t safe to be here anymore. Said anyone who stayed was choosing to be forgotten.” You looked down at your hands. Dirt under your nails. Small scratches on your knuckles. You flexed them. “But my grandparents have lived on this land since they were kids. Same farmhouse, same soil, same prayers every Sunday. They weren’t going anywhere. And I wasn’t about to leave them behind just because some guy in a uniform told me to.”
Keegan didn’t respond right away. He leaned back on his hands, tilted his face up toward the sun. The light caught in the strands of his dark hair, made the blue of his eyes seem even sharper when he finally glanced at you.
“I get that,” he said, low and even. “I was eighteen when I enlisted. Barely out of high school. Didn’t even wait for the ink on my diploma to dry. Just signed up. Thought I’d see the world. Serve. Do something that mattered.” He took another bite of the fruit, chewed slowly. “I was a Marine. Before ODIN. Before it all burned.”
You looked at him. He didn’t seem lifetimes older than you now, but there was something about the way he sat — bone-tired and wary, like every inch of him had been carved out by years he didn’t talk about.
“Did you ever think it’d turn out like this?” you asked softly.
He didn’t answer. Didn’t even blink. Just stared out at the stalks like he saw something else through them — ghosts of a world that had already crumbled.
You didn’t ask again.
Instead, you wiped your hands on your thighs, brushed crumbs of apricot from the corner of your mouth, and said, “Thanks. For earlier. I know I wasn’t easy to deal with.”
Keegan gave a short grunt that might’ve been a laugh. “Understatement of the century, kid.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled despite yourself. “Still. You didn’t have to help.”
“Yeah, well. I’m stuck here, remember? Figured I might as well make myself useful before you try to smother me in my sleep.”
You laughed, quiet and short, and then stretched out on the blanket, arms above your head, letting the sun bake into your skin. The air smelled like warm earth and drying leaves, sweetened faintly by the apricots. For a moment, everything felt almost normal.
Keegan shifted beside you, the blanket rustling under his weight.
“Has it always just been you?” he asked after a pause.
Your eyes opened lazily, squinting up at the sky. “What do you mean?”
He scratched his jaw, glanced sideways. “I mean… anyone else around? Someone you care about? You got somebody waitin’ on you out here, kid?”
The word kid landed different that time. Less condescending. Softer, somehow. You turned your head toward him, caught the flicker of curiosity in his expression — genuine, but guarded. Like he didn’t know if he had the right to ask, but couldn’t help himself anyway.
You didn’t answer right away.
You turned your face back up to the sky, lashes fluttering against the swell of sun. It was easier than looking at him — than facing the question for what it was. You let the heat settle on your skin and inhaled deeply, as if oxygen alone could soften the ache in your chest.
“I can’t even think about that,” you said finally, voice quiet but edged. “Romance. Love. Whatever it is you’re asking about. It doesn’t matter here. My grandparents need me. They’re old, and this land is the only thing they know. They’ve got no one else. If I leave—” You trailed off and shrugged, a sharp motion against the warm ground. “Then I’m just one more person who let them be forgotten.”
Keegan was quiet for a second too long, and you could feel the tension pull taut beside you, coiling like a live wire. When he spoke, it was with a roughness that hadn’t been there before.
“You gotta live your own life, kid,” he said, the word clipped, tired. “You can’t just keep putting yourself last forever. That’s not survival. That’s slow suicide.”
You frowned, sitting up now, brushing bits of hay off your arm. “And do what, exactly?” you snapped. “Where the fuck am I supposed to find someone? Where do you think people like me go to fall in love? The ration line?”
His gaze cut to you then, sharp, but not cruel. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You sure?” you asked, your voice getting tighter, thinner. “You come in here, sleep under my roof, eat our food, help out for half a day and suddenly you’re giving life advice?”
He let out a slow breath, like he was trying hard not to let the bite creep into his voice. “North of the Liberty Wall,” he said finally. “It’s not paradise, but it’s not this. There’s no patrols breathing down your neck. No risk of being shot for walking too far from your own damn porch. No curfews. No checkpoints. It’s still broken, sure, but there’s a kind of freedom there. People date. They laugh. They live.”
You flinched, only slightly, but it was enough. He saw it. And the silence that followed dragged heavy between you, thick as the summer air.
You shook your head, eyes fixed on the crumpled blanket beneath your hand. “There was a boy,” you murmured. “Years back. I was maybe nineteen, twenty. He used to help around the farm. He was kind. Brave. I thought—” You stopped yourself, then blew out a humorless laugh. “Well. I thought a lot of things. And then one day, he shows up in Federation gray. Patch on his arm. Said it was the only way to stay safe. Said it didn’t mean anything. That he’d protect us.”
You looked up, eyes cold and distant. “Two weeks later, he watched them burn the neighbouring field. Didn’t even blink.”
Keegan didn’t say anything for a moment. His brows were drawn tight, but he didn’t speak until the silence stretched too long to ignore.
“Not everyone’s like that, kid,” he said gently. “Some people still know where the line is. Some still fight for the right things.”
“Do they?” you asked. “Because I haven’t seen them.”
“I’m right here, aren’t I?”
You looked at him then, really looked. The way his shoulders sat stiff beneath the worn flannel, the way his fingers flexed against his thigh like he wasn’t used to being still this long. His face was serious, unreadable, but his voice stayed low.
“I could get you out.”
You blinked. “What?”
“When my unit comes for me,” he said, eyes holding yours, “and they will come for me — I could get you out. Not your grandparents — we can’t make it to the wall with them. But you. I could get you north. Somewhere safer. Somewhere you could start over.”
The words hit you like a slap. You sat up straighter, heart pounding with a mix of disbelief and fury.
“You think I’d leave them?” you asked, voice sharp now, loud in the little clearing. “You think I’d just run off and start a new life somewhere while they stay here and die in the dirt?”
“I didn’t say that—”
“You did. You fucking did. Think you can just throw a lifeline and make everything disappear.”
His jaw tightened. “Forget it.”
“No — go ahead. Tell me how grateful I should be, how lucky I am to be your little charity case.”
“I said forget it.” His voice cracked out like a gunshot, louder than you’d ever heard it. He pushed himself to his feet in one motion, tension bleeding from every line of his frame. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
You stared up at him, breathing hard, chest tight with something hot and cruel and unspoken.
He didn’t look at you as he turned to walk away. Just muttered under his breath, “Never mind, kid.”
His boot came down hard on the last apricot between you, crushing it into the blanket with a dull squish before he stalked off between the corn, vanishing into the rows without another word. You sat there alone, the sun heavy above you, and listened to the wind move through the stalks like a thousand whispers you didn’t want to hear.
⟡
A few days passed. The corn kept growing. The sky stayed blue. And against the odds, your grandfather began to mend.
It was a slow thing, the way his breath came easier, the coughs less chest-wracking. He could sit up by the third morning, grumble about the soup being too thin by the fourth. He still wasn’t out of bed, but you could see it — life returning in fits and starts, that same stubbornness you knew too well shining through the cracks in his frailty. Your grandmother wept once behind the shed, soft and private, her apron bunched against her mouth, but said nothing about it after.
And Keegan—
Keegan stayed.
He kept working. Fixing the fence you’d sworn couldn’t be salvaged. Feeding the livestock without needing to be told. Helping your grandmother carry buckets, lifting things with quiet precision. Still fought you on everything, though — still made you roll your eyes, still made you want to scream when he refused to back down about the proper way to fortify a trough or check for signs of rot. But he was there. Solid. Capable. And worst of all — he had planted something in you. Not quite a dream, not yet, but something just as dangerous: hope.
You hated him for that.
Because you caught yourself wondering, in the quiet hours, what the world looked like beyond the Wall. What your life might be if it wasn’t measured in chores and ration lines, in sacrifice. You wondered what your hands would feel like without blisters. What your name might sound like when it wasn’t only called in need, but in want.
And that made you sick. With guilt. With shame. Because you’d chosen this. You’d promised to stay. You were the one who didn’t run.
But still.
That night, you couldn’t sleep. Your grandparents had gone to bed hours ago, the farmhouse fallen into its usual hush, all the weight of the day settled into the floorboards. You lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, a threadbare blanket tangled around your legs. The porch light still burned beyond the front window — dim and golden, filtering through the curtains like a safety net. You hadn’t turned it off in years. Couldn’t. Something about total darkness always made your chest tighten.
You heard the stairs creak, slow and hesitant.
Then Keegan padded into the room barefoot, dressed in a soft, washed-thin T-shirt and a pair of faded flannel pajama pants that looked older than both of you. His hair was messy, sticking up at strange angles, and his expression was quieter than usual, as if the night had made him smaller somehow.
“Can’t sleep either?” you asked, sitting up and drawing your knees close.
He shook his head, rubbed the back of his neck. “Nah. Not really.”
You moved over instinctively, and he took the offered space beside you. The couch dipped under his weight, his thigh warm and close beside yours, and the quiet stretched between you like a thread pulled too tight.
“I owe you an apology,” he said eventually. “For before. For — all of it.”
You raised a brow. “You? Apologizing? Did you hit your head on a rake or something?”
He gave a dry huff of a laugh, shaking his head. “I’ve just been — on edge. Not knowing if my unit’s still coming. Not knowing if I’m making things worse by being here. I didn’t mean to take that out on you.”
You looked at him then, more closely. Even in the low light, you could see it — how the skin around his eyes was tight, how the shadows clung to him. Not just fatigue. Fear. Loneliness. The kind that settled in your bones when you’d gone too long without touch, without kindness, without someone looking at you and seeing you.
“I get it,” you murmured. “Doesn’t mean you weren’t an ass.”
“I’m always an ass,” he replied, voice a little softer. “But yeah. More than usual lately.”
You nudged him lightly with your shoulder, just a little tap, a half-hearted gesture meant to tease. But the way he tensed ever so slightly, the way his breath hitched for just a second — it told you everything. He wasn’t used to being touched. Not like that. Not without it meaning pain or orders or nothing at all.
Which was fucking rich, because you were starving too.
You tried to ignore how close he was. Tried to focus on the porch light, the faint rustle of trees beyond the window. But his warmth was radiating off him in waves, and every breath you took seemed to sync a little more with his.
You nudged him with your shoulder again, more out of habit than playfulness, trying to shake off the heaviness that clung to your conversation like dust in the air. He didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned closer, his knee now brushing yours where it hadn’t before. You should’ve shifted, should’ve drawn back, but the truth was — it felt nice. Familiar in a way that made you ache. Too many nights spent alone in that same spot on the couch, watching the porch light flicker against the glass while the rest of the world forgot you existed. And now here he was, warm and solid beside you, quiet for once.
Keegan glanced over, and his eyes lingered a moment longer than they should have. “You ever get tired of pretending you don’t want things?” he asked.
You blinked, not sure if you’d heard him right. “What the hell are you on about?”
He smiled, faint and crooked. “Means you act like you’ve got everything under control. Like you don’t want more than this — more than this damn farm, this life. But I see it, kid. I’ve seen it in your face every time you look past me when I talk about the Wall.”
You swallowed hard, throat dry. “It’s not about what I want. It’s about what I can live with.”
“And you can’t live with wanting something?”
You didn’t answer, and maybe that was answer enough. The silence stretched again, thicker now, more charged. The air between you felt heavy with everything neither of you was brave enough to say.
Keegan leaned back slightly, resting one arm along the back of the couch, his fingers just barely brushing your shoulder. “You know,” he murmured, eyes flicking down to your mouth, “I’ve been thinking about kissing you.”
The words made your pulse spike. They landed too suddenly, too softly, and for a moment you weren’t sure if you’d imagined them. You turned your head toward him, slow and unsure.
“What?”
“I said,” he repeated, voice low but unshaken, “I’ve been thinking about kissing you. For days now. Maybe since you bit my fucking finger back in the barn.”
You huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach your chest. Your throat was too tight. “You’ve got a real talent for choosing the worst possible time to open your mouth.”
“Yeah,” he said, eyes still locked to yours, his tone dipping even further, “but I’m saying it now because I want to. Because I’m tired, and you’re tired, and if this is all we get — this night, this moment — I’d rather not waste it.”
You stared at him, trying to be angry, trying to summon that same edge you always had around him. But it slipped away, like mist between your fingers, leaving something rawer in its place. Want. Need. The horrible, aching recognition of being seen when you’d spent so long convincing yourself you were invisible.
“You really wanna do this?” you asked, voice rough.
“Yeah,” he said. “I really do.”
You opened your mouth to reply, maybe to tell him to shut up, maybe to warn him that you’d regret it, maybe to say yes. But before you could decide, he was already moving — leaning in slow, as if to give you time to pull away. You didn’t. You couldn’t.
And then he kissed you.
It wasn’t cautious. There was no hesitation left in him. His mouth pressed to yours with a hunger that had clearly been building in the shadows of all your arguments, a collision of tension and heat and breath. His hand came up to cup the side of your face, his thumb rough against your cheek, and he kissed you like someone who hadn’t touched softness in years. Like someone who wasn’t sure if he ever would again.
You kissed him back just as hard.
Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer until there was nothing left between you but shared warmth and the scrape of breath. He tasted like salt and dust and something clean beneath it all, something warm. Your body leaned into his without thinking, your knees brushing, thighs flush, the whole couch groaning beneath the weight of it. His hand dropped to your waist, not demanding, just holding — like he needed the contact to stay tethered.
You broke for air, only barely, your foreheads pressed together. Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to. His hand was still at your jaw, thumb stroking the edge of your chin, and your own fingers clung to the fabric at his chest like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go.
You stayed like that for a long moment — forehead to forehead, your breath mingling, the only sound the soft creak of the couch as the house settled around you. His hand hadn’t moved from your jaw, but it loosened now, easing into something gentler, his thumb brushing across the edge of your cheek like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.
But eventually, he did.
Keegan pulled back slowly, just far enough to look at you. His expression had shifted — less heat, more something else. Something careful. His eyes searched yours for a beat, and then he gave a faint exhale, almost like he was laughing at himself.
“You should get some sleep, kid,” he said, voice quieter now. Rough around the edges. “It’s late.”
You didn’t respond right away. Your hands were still fisted in the front of his shirt, and for a second, you thought about holding on a little longer. Just a little more warmth. Just a little more proof that someone saw you.
But you let him go.
He stood slowly, the couch groaning beneath the shift in weight. His silhouette moved through the dim gold of the porch light as he crossed the room, every step a soft thud against the wood floor. At the base of the stairs, he paused, one hand on the banister. You thought he might look back, say something more. Offer another fragment of comfort or tension or whatever the hell this thing between you had become.
But he didn’t.
He just disappeared up the stairs, leaving you behind in the silence.
You sat back, slowly, your fingers tingling where they’d held onto him, your mouth still warm with the memory of his. The blanket was half on the floor. The porch light burned steady.
⟡
The kitchen was warm and still, the porch light casting soft gold across the floorboards as you stood in your worn nightclothes, spooning cherry stems into your mug. You could hear the frogs outside, the low rustle of wind in the corn, that sleepy hum of the house settling into silence for the night. Everyone else was asleep. You were supposed to be, too.
But you couldn’t stop thinking. Couldn’t stop remembering.
The kettle hissed on the stove, its steam barely audible, and you watched it with glazed eyes. The cherry stems were from the last harvest, dried and kept in an old jam jar, their scent delicate and faintly sweet. You brewed them sometimes to calm your nerves. Headaches, your grandmother claimed. Nightmares, maybe. But tonight you weren’t sure anything could settle you. Not when you were still carrying the phantom weight of Keegan’s kiss on your lips, your hands, your goddamn spine. You hadn’t stopped replaying it since it happened the night before — how close he’d been, how his breath had caught when your fingers curled into his shirt, how he’d looked at you like he meant it.
And fuck, you’d wanted more. Not just the kiss, not just the heat of his mouth against yours. You’d wanted to ride him into the couch cushions and grind every ounce of control back into your body. You wanted to stop feeling like a ghost haunting her own life and instead take something. Someone. Him.
But he’d walked away. Left you curled on the couch with your heart thudding in your ears like it was trying to break free.
You reached for the kettle just as a hand clamped over your mouth.
It happened so fast your brain didn’t have time to catch up — just the weight of an arm around your chest and the thick press of a body behind you, yanking you back so hard your feet left the floor for half a second. Your mug slipped from your hand and shattered across the kitchen tile, the smell of tea mixing with adrenaline, with panic, with your own stifled scream caught beneath a stranger’s palm.
“Where is he?” the voice growled in your ear, low and sharp and unfamiliar. “Where’s Keegan Russ?”
You thrashed, trying to turn, elbowing wildly against the stranger’s chest, but he didn’t let go. He gave you a hard shake — sharp, jolting — and repeated himself, louder this time. “Where is he?”
The floor creaked.
Then more footsteps, heavier now, coming from the stairs behind you. Light burst from the hallway as your grandmother’s voice rang out, trembling and confused. “Who’s down here?”
Another creak. A shift of weight. And then—
“Ajax.”
The voice was low and unmistakably Keegan’s.
The grip on you vanished in an instant.
You stumbled forward, catching yourself on the counter, gasping for breath, head spinning. Behind you, the stranger backed off, hands up in a half-apology, his frame still blocking part of the kitchen doorway.
Keegan came into view fast, shirtless and barefoot, flannel pants slung low on his hips, his expression half panic, half fury. Behind him, your grandmother hovered near the wall, her hands trembling slightly at her sides.
The man who’d grabbed you straightened and grinned like it was nothing. “Shit, my bad,” he said, voice relaxed now. “Didn’t realize she was yours.”
Keegan didn’t look at you yet. He stepped forward, shoulders relaxing slightly, and walked straight into the stranger’s open arms. They embraced like brothers, with a quick, hard clap on the back, and then another.
“Thought you got yourself killed,” the man said. “You know how long we’ve been combing this fucking region?”
“Long enough,” Keegan replied, voice quieter now. “You scared the hell out of her.”
“She looked like she could handle herself.” The man glanced back at you, grinning like you were in on the joke. “Didn’t expect you to be hanging around in civilian clothes and sleeping with chickens.”
You didn’t say anything. Your chest was still heaving, your hands trembling slightly. You could hear your grandmother breathing fast beside the doorframe, trying to calm herself, trying to make sense of the armed man in her kitchen.
Keegan’s attention turned sharply toward her then, his voice softening. “It’s okay,” he said. “They’re my team. This is Ajax. They’re not here to hurt anyone.”
Another shadow moved through the door, this one broader. A wall of a man, easily over six feet, with a square jaw and quiet authority that filled the room before he even spoke.
“Captain Merrick,” Keegan said, acknowledging him with a nod. He stepped back from Ajax, then motioned to you and your grandmother. “This is the family that took me in. If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t be standing here.”
Captain Merrick stepped forward and offered a short, respectful nod. “We appreciate what you did,” he said, voice low but clear. “You didn’t have to, but you did. That means something.”
Keegan glanced back at his team, who were starting to crowd the entryway — more soldiers, all armed, all watching everything with sharp, tactical eyes. And then he looked at you, really looked. And his voice, when he spoke again, was softer than you’d ever heard it.
“She’s the one who saved my life.”
⟡
The realization that he was really leaving didn’t hit you like a sudden blow — it came in slow waves, creeping through your veins like cold water. Your fingers wouldn’t stop shaking. You’d pressed your palms together, tucked them under your arms, curled them into the fabric of your shirt, but it didn’t matter. The tremble was inside you now, deeper than bone, and it only grew worse every time you glanced at him. He looked too much like a soldier again, already halfway gone. Already belonging to something you couldn’t follow.
You didn’t say anything as you followed him up the stairs, your footsteps muffled by the old wood, shadows stretching across the walls like long fingers. His presence filled your bedroom again, but not like before — this time he moved with quiet purpose, his breath steady, his hands practiced. The gear you’d stashed beneath the floorboards now lay out in careful rows across your quilt: the worn fatigues, flak vest, the sidearm, the boots. You hadn’t touched it since the night you’d buried it there, just in case. Just in case the Federation came.
Keegan stripped out of his sleep clothes and began dressing in silence. You watched as the softness you’d seen glimpses of — the man who sat beside you in the dark, who kissed you like he meant it — slowly disappeared beneath layers of armour and camo. He tightened his vest, slotted his sidearm into place, adjusted the strap of his knife sheath. By the time he stepped into his boots, you weren’t looking at a person anymore. You were looking at a ghost, already halfway out the door.
You stood at the foot of the bed, arms wrapped around yourself. “So this is it,” you said, and even to your own ears, the words sounded small.
Keegan looked up, paused. His hands stilled over the last strap on his thigh. He didn’t ask you what you meant. He knew. The silence between you said everything. He walked toward you, slow, steady, until he was standing right in front of you again, reaching out to cup your face with both hands. His palms were warm, his thumbs rough from calluses but gentle as they brushed against your cheeks. You hadn’t realized tears had gathered in your eyes until that moment.
“It’s not too late,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with something heavier than he could hide. “You could come with us. With me.”
Your throat closed around the words. You blinked quickly, the tears refusing to fall, refusing to move. You wanted so badly to say yes. To grab your boots, your coat, throw yourself into one of those trucks and never look back. But you’d made a promise. And out here, promises still meant something. Especially when the people you made them to were old and tired and had already lost too much.
“You know I can’t,” you whispered, shaking your head slowly against his hands. “They need me, Keegan. My grandparents — they can’t do this alone. And I can’t — I won’t — abandon them.”
He closed his eyes. Just for a moment. When he opened them again, they were clear and quiet, but something in his jaw tightened, like he was biting down on the things he couldn’t say.
“You’re too good for your own good, kid,” he said softly, and there was no teasing in it this time. No edge. Just something close to grief. “That’s the problem with you.”
You almost laughed, but it came out as more of a broken exhale. You leaned into his touch for one final moment, pressing your cheek to his palm. Memorizing the shape of him. The warmth. The steadiness you wouldn’t have tomorrow.
Downstairs, Ajax’s voice cut through the stillness. “Clock’s ticking, Russ. You ready?”
Keegan didn’t move right away. Just dropped his hands from your face and gave you one last look before turning to grab his balaclava off the dresser.
You walked beside him down the stairs, neither of you speaking now. Outside, the world felt larger than it ever had — too many shadows, too much air, and none of it felt like yours anymore. There were armoured trucks parked just beyond the corn line, their black paint glinting under the moon. You counted four, though there were more figures than that in the field — men in gear, weapons slung across their backs, all moving with quiet, military precision.
Keegan stepped off the porch, his boots crunching against the gravel path. You followed him, your hand brushing against his once, briefly, and he didn’t pull away. Didn’t say anything until you reached the edge of the field where the tall corn began again, shivering gently in the wind.
He turned to you there. The moonlight caught in his eyes, made him look younger for a second — like the boy he might’ve been once, before the world cracked open.
He didn’t say goodbye.
Instead, he leaned down and kissed you.
His lips brushed your jaw first, then your cheek, slow and reverent, and finally found your mouth like it was the last thing he’d ever let himself have. His stubble scratched your skin, rough and real, and the kiss he gave you wasn’t frantic or hungry — it was honest. Warm. Full of everything he hadn’t said out loud. Full of everything you’d never forget.
When he pulled back, his breath was shallow. He rested his forehead against yours for a beat and whispered, “I’ll be back for you, kid.”
Then he stepped away and pulled the balaclava over his face, the white of the skull grinning back at you like a warning.
And without another word, he turned and walked into the field.
You watched him until the corn swallowed him whole. Until the trucks rumbled to life and slipped back into the dark, engines fading into nothing. Until the porch light behind you flickered once and then held steady again.
