#cod keegan

18+

Price loves to overstimulate you until you're in tears. Pussy sore and throbbing. His fingers deep inside you, massaging your insides until you cum again and again while your moaning and whining. He holds you down to get every last drop out.

Soap is an absolute pussy eater at heart. He'll dive down for breakfast, lunch and dinner. He especially loves it when you're freshly out of the gym or work and he smells how musky and sweaty you got. You get embarrassed but he tells you it adds "flavor."

Gaz likes to hold your hands, his fingers slotted between yours as he gently fucks you into the mattress. It makes it so much more intimate to him. And he whispers sweet words and encourages into your ear to send you over the edge.

Keegan loves making out with you the entire time. Teeth biting your lip and tongue, his own tongue deep in your mouth like he's trying to reach your throat. He likes to hold the back of your neck and control your angle to his liking.

Ghost loves to caress every inch of your body as if you're made of glass. Sliding up your sides to squeeze your breasts, then down to hold your hips and massage them, moving them to his rhythm.

“This wallpaper is so cute, we could live here” ME IN A NUTSHELL I have ADHD (I’m medicated for it) but when I’m off it this is me 😭

cw: slightly toxic dynamic, shameless smut, pussy pronouns (not personified pussy, thank you tojisteddy for teaching me that), possessive sex, implied age gap (reader mid-20s, Keegan mid-40s), sorta public sex, mirror sex, dumbification

Dilf!Keegan who's a munch. That man will not come away from that sweet little pussy of yours; he'll eat you until you're crying, until you're squirming and trying to push him away because you're just so sensitive. And he'll coo at you, pulling away, mouth covered in you, "Aw, I know, princess, Too much for you, isn't it?" His sympathy is all a fad because he'll grin and say, "I'm not fuckin' done eating," before dipping his head back between yours thighs and lapping at your clit like a thirsty mutt.

Dilf!Keegan who still makes a point to make sure you know that your pussy isn't yours. No, he'll reiterate it until he's blue in the face: she's mine; I'm the one who has her gushin', I'm the only one who knows how to please her. Not you and definitely no other man, you hear that, baby? And when you nod in response, too fucked out to give him a proper answer, he'll bark out a laugh, "That's fuckin' right, princess."

Dilf!Keegan who has no issue threatening other men. He sees someone talking to you when you're out for dinner?

He'll be running before he even has the opportunity to ask you a question. A waiter being too nice to you in the restaurant? He's got a hand on your wrist and is pulling you to the nearest bathroom and fucking you there and then. He'll have you in front of the mirror, salt-and pepper fringe hanging in his face as he thrusts into your cunt, hand wrapped around your throat, forcing you to look at yourself. "He couldn't make your little cunt cream round his cock, could he? No, he fuckin' couldn't; she needs me. My cock. No one else's. Fuuuuccckkk, that it's it, baby girl, cream all my thick fuckin' cock, fuck, you messy fuckin' girl"

And when you limp out of the bathroom afterwards, he grins to himself when the waiter can't even look you in the eye.

(jealous, emotional pregnant reader + dramatic overreactions + panicking Soap + protective Simon)

Summary:

When you bring cookies to base, a misunderstanding sends your pregnancy emotions into overdrive, dragging Soap into the chaos before Simon steps in to calm everything down.

___

You weren’t supposed to be at base today.

In fact, your husband — Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley — specifically told you, “Stay home and rest, love. No lifting, no sneaking in, and no climbing counters.”

So obviously, you showed up with a container of homemade cookies like an excited golden retriever.

You waddled down the hallway with determination and pregnancy anger simmering inside you because someone had taken the good Tupperware and you were convinced it was Soap.

When you reached the training room, you spotted Simon immediately.

Tall. Broad. Mask on. Very husband.

…but then you saw her.

A new female recruit, standing a bit too close, smiling at your man like she just discovered sunlight.

And worst of all—

Simon was showing her how to adjust her vest straps.

She touched his arm.

You stopped breathing.

Your pregnancy hormones stood up like angry little gremlins and screamed, BETRAYAL!

You whispered to yourself,

“Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t—”

Your eyes flooded instantly.

Simon didn’t even notice you yet.

The new recruit laughed at something he said.

You gasped loudly like the world ended.

Then you turned around and POWER-waddled away so quickly you almost slipped on your own emotional turmoil.

In your head:

I’m his wife. HIS WIFE. I made him cookies from scratch despite my swollen ankles and back pain and he’s out here BEING NICE?! HOW DARE HE.

You went looking for Soap because he was the only one emotionally prepared for your hormonal breakdowns at this point.

You spun around so fast you nearly frisbee-launched the cookies into the wall.

You speed-waddled down the hallway, dramatic sniffles growing into full emotional earthquakes.

That’s when Soap appeared from absolutely nowhere like he was summoned by your heartbreak.

“SOAP!” you wailed.

“Oh God, no—” he muttered, already standing up to run.

Too late.

You grabbed his sleeve with a surprisingly strong hormonal grip.

“Heyyyy bonnie lass! Look who’s— hey, what’s wrong?!”

You shoved the cookie tray into his arms like you’d been wounded in battle.

“She—she—she,” you hiccupped.

Soap blinked. “Which she?”

“THE SHE!” you wailed.

“The new recruit?”

Your lip wobbled. “YES.”

“What about her?”

“I don’t know! I just—I walked in and she was so… pretty.” Your lip trembled dangerously. “And I’m just… huge.”

Soap frowned. “You look brilliant. You’re glowing.”

“I look like a balloon,” you sobbed, handing him the cookie tray blindly. “And I made him these and now they’re ruined because I cried on them.”

“They’re fine,” Soap assured, absolutely lying.

You took a deep, shaky inhale — and then absolutely exploded:

“She touched his ARM. Soap. HIS ARM. SHE BRUSHED HIS MUSCLES. WITH HER FINGERS.”

Soap stared.

His soul left his body and came back.

“Oh shite,” he whispered, because he knew a hormonal meltdown when he saw one.

“She smiled at him,” you cried dramatically. “Like—like she was trying to give him her SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER.”

“We’re in the UK, lass.”

“I DON’T CARE WHAT WE HAVE HERE, SHE WAS FLIRTING.”

Soap guided you to sit on a crate before you collapsed dramatically onto the floor.

“Okay, okay, okay,” he soothed. “Let’s talk this through—”

“She’s pretty,” you whispered, devastation dripping from every word. “And I look like a warm, swollen croissant.”

Soap choked. “You look lovely.”

“I LOOK DELICIOUS AND PUFFY.”

“That’s not… bad?”

You sniffed so hard your whole body bounced.

“I brought him cookies and now I’m going to divorce him.”

“He would never let that happen.”

“I’LL DIVORCE HIM ANYWAY.”

Soap patted your shoulder, terrified. “Aye, okay, that’s fair.”

You cried harder.

⸻

Meanwhile — back in the hall

The new recruit touched Simon’s arm again.

He stepped back like she burned him.

“Sir, I was just—”

“Don’t touch.”

“Oh—uh—sorry—”

“Don’t stand so close.”

“O-okay— I just wanted t—”

“Don’t want.”

She opened her mouth again.

“Stop.”

She shut it.

⸻

Your meltdown was hitting its emotional peak.

“He’s probably smiling at her,” you sniffed.

“Ghost?” Soap blinked. “Smiling? At anyone? Except you? Lass be serious—”

Before he finished, a dark shadow filled the doorway.

You both turned.

Simon stood there, eyes locked on your teary face.

Not the cookies.

Not Soap.

You.

His whole body tensed.

Soap raised his hands.

“Aye, I want to make one thing VERY clear—I did NOTHING. I touched NOTHING. I looked at NO ONE. I am just a bystander.”

“What. Happened.”

Soap pointed at you, putting his hands up like, Not it.

“She’s emotional, Lt. Tread carefully.”

Simon walked toward you slowly, like you were a bomb with a half-cut wire.

He crouched down.

“Love… look at me.”

You did.

And immediately broke into ugly sobs.

Mini heart attack for him.

He cupped your face. “Who made you cry?”

“You—” you hiccupped.

Simon froze. “Me?! What did I do?!”

“You were with her.”

“Her?”

“The recruit,” you whispered tragically. “With the hair.”

Simon blinked once.

Then snorted.

Actually snorted.

You dramatically gasped. “YOU THINK IT’S FUNNY?”

“No,” he said immediately, eyes wide. “No—no, love, I don’t— I’m just— you’re— okay— listen—”

His brain short-circuited.

Soap backed away like it was a live grenade.

Simon tried again.

“Love… she came to ask a question. I told her to back up. She didn’t listen. I wasn’t talking to her. I was trying to escape.”

You sniffed. “She touched your arm.”

Simon’s jaw twitched. “I know. I didn’t like it.”

“Why didn’t you move away?!”

“I DID. SHE FOLLOWED. LIKE A DUCK.”

Soap wheezed.

“She’s so pretty,” you whispered.

“She’s not you.”

Your eyes instantly filled with tears again.

Simon panicked again.

“Oh for— love, no, please, don’t cry— I mean she’s not you because you’re mine— I mean I only look at you— I mean— Johnny help.”

Soap: “Nah, Lt. I want to see how this plays out.”

Simon glared at him.

Then turned back to you, voice softening to that low, warm tone that always melted you.

“You made cookies?”

You nodded miserably.

“For me?”

Nod.

“Love…” he breathed, chest aching. “C’mere.”

He lifted you like you weighed air, settling you against his chest.

You bawled harder.

He kissed your temple. “Stop crying or I’m gonna start.”

“I’m jealous,” you whispered.

“Aye.” He smirked softly. “I know.”

“Stupid hormones,” you muttered.

He kissed your head again. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, love.”

You pulled back, glaring weakly. “Don’t talk to girls.”

“Done.”

“Don’t look at them.”

“Done.”

“Don’t stand near them.”

“Aye.”

“Don’t breathe air they breathe.”

Soap: “That’s not physi—”

Simon: “Done.”

You sniffed.

“Okay.”

Simon stroked your hair gently.

“You’re my girl,” he murmured. “My only girl.”

“And the baby,” you whispered, rubbing your bump.

“And the baby,” he agreed.

“And Soap,” Soap added.

Both of you stared at him.

He backed up.

“Right, I’ll shut up.”

“You scared me,” you muttered into his chest.

“I scared you? You nearly gave me a heart attack. I thought you fell—or climbed something again.”

You sniffed.

“I only climbed ONE chair.”

“ONE IS TOO MANY.”

He cupped your face, thumb wiping a tear.

“You think I’d even look at someone else?” he said softly. “You’re my wife. My whole world.”

You melted instantly.

“And you brought me cookies.”

He smiled under the mask.

“So I clearly married a perfect woman.”

___

He held you closer, kissing your temple.

“You still jealous, love?”

You pushed your face deeper into his chest. “…Yes.”

He smiled. Actually smiled.

“Good. Means you care.”

You huffed. “It’s hormones.”

He smirked. “Whatever you say, love.”

“Let’s go home.”

You nodded, grabbing his arm possessively like he might get stolen.

“Good. Because I don’t like sharing.”

He chuckled.

“Aye. I noticed.”

And he carried your cookie container like it was a priceless treasure.

summary: just things you'll hear (and won't hear) while dating keegan warnings: sexual content a/n: i love me a quiet military man

dating keegan p. russ means knowing he's not a man of many words, lots of "mhmm"s and "oh, yeah?"s during conversations. he holds bold, silent eye contact as you talk out of your ass for hours, the light blue color in his eyes literally staring into your soul. he cocks his head to the side a bit when you start stammering under his gaze, and he smirks while leaning forward in his seat. your eyes distractedly widen at the way he crosses his large arms over the table, straining against the tight fabric of his shirt. "keep talking, baby, i'm listening..." he murmurs, but you don't ever doubt that.

dating keegan p. russ means getting sparse calls from him when he's away on deployment. "kee, is that you?" you whisper hopefully. "yeah, kid, it's me," comes his grainy reply. your shoulders tense at how tired he sounds. you don't realize you've fallen silent until he says, "c'mon, talk to me..." and you giggle a bit, causing him to smile on the other side of the phone. "i miss you," you tell him in that sweet tone he likes to hear. "mm, i know," he says gently. "tell me what you're wearing." you roll your eyes, teasing, "nothing" but he can hear the lie in your laughter. "yeah, yeah, stay out of trouble...just a little while longer," he tells you, and then he pauses. his voice sounds an octave lower when he whispers, "i love you, you know that?" you nod even though he can't see it. "i know, kee." he shakes his head. "gotta hear you say it back..." so you take a deep breath and smile as if he's right in front of you. "i love you, keegan."

dating keegan p. russ means having his noises all to yourself. he's not very vocal in group or social settings, but he's loud and shameless in your ear during sex, his sweaty body sliding against yours with dirty words you couldn't imagine him saying if you didn't know him any better. "ohh, fuck, just like that, yeah..." he groans, grabbing your hips to move them over his cock. you moan and clench around him, bouncing harder at the rough hand that slaps your ass before soothing over the reddened skin. "fuck," he grunts again, followed by a surge of heavy pants you feel in the crook of your neck. "oh, god, i'm gonna cum..." he rasps, his hands holding your waist with a bruising pressure as you squirm to the way his hips thrust up into you, rough and only sloppy when he's this close. "gonna cum in this tight, pretty pussy," he mutters, lifting his head to press your foreheads together, your lips parted and resting against each other, sharing the same breathy moans. "yeah..." he whispers to you, "that's it..." you gasp when his release spreads through your thighs like a bullet, and he kisses you to muffle his low, throaty groan, falling back on the bed with your writhing body covering his.

dating keegan p. russ means the only time he talks more than you is when you're going down on him. he fucks your smart mouth every time your attitude resurfaces, fisting your hair to push your head down on his cock, his vision dotting with stars as you clench and gag around him. his hips thrust into your mouth, and you feel him hit the back of the throat through a deep groan. "tired of you talkin' back to me," he scorns, "look at you, drooling around my cock—can't even take it, huh, kid?" he tilts his head down at you with mocking sympathy, his thrusts getting more relentless as you desperately try to keep up, licking your tongue along his length before swirling the bud. he throws his head back a bit at the sensitivity, baring the tight column of his throat to your hungry gaze. "fuck, there we go..." he breathes, his hand smoothing down your head, "thereeee we go...uh-huh...fuck..."

dating keegan p. russ means trying to act normal when you're out together, and his already low social battery has depleted, replaced by an impatience to get home and get you out of your skimpy little outfit. he's slick as he reaches under your skirt to squeeze your ass, playing with the thin string of your thong. you jolt, and he pulls you into his chest, leaning down to whisper, "better say your goodbyes early, yeah?" you whimper under your breath, feeling his fingers trace the curve of your ass forward, to the warm, wet heat between your thighs. "keegan..." you mutter cautiously, but he's silent, his stare loud and clear with what he wants.

dating keegan p. russ means craving to know what's going on inside that damn head of his. he keeps a lot of his thoughts to himself, and you see them weighing behind his gaze during your most intimate moments, lying together in bed with your hand caressing through his hair. he spaces out while you stare at him tenderly, whispering, "you okay?" his eyes flick toward you before they cast away again. he exhales deeply and wraps his arms around you, breathing you in as he presses his whole weight on you like a blanket. "yeah, baby, i'm okay." he kisses your temple and buries his face in your chest. "you know you can tell me anything, right?" you tell him quietly, lightly scratching the back of his head. he nods, because he does know that, but he often chooses not to. in the line of his work, he prefers to hide the ugliest truths, the horrors he doesn't want to stain your innocence with. he sees you trying to get through his walls, and you hear him breathe you in softly, inhaling the safest part of his life like you're his air.

Keegan P. Russ who doesn’t exactly ask you if you want to go on a date.

He just says something like, “Kid, you wanna go somewhere?” Leaning against the door frame of his bedroom, his wavy brunette hair a mess, standing already half dressed in a pair of black jeans, his six pack showing.

Saturday’s are usually lazy for the both of you, you’ll leave the cleaning for Sunday. But you shrug, sitting up from the comforters, it won’t hurt to go somewhere. Keegan nods, blue eyes glance at you, “ ‘Nd wear that olive green blouse, you know the one.”

Yeah you did, the one that he liked so much because it complimented you brown eyes so perfectly, a c neck that always made your breasts looked so perfect. He loved it. So of course, you wore it just this once, with a pair of embroidered blue jeans, curls in a half up half down, large gold hoops and a stack of necklaces around your neck. Couldn’t even get out the door without him leaving a hicky on your neck.

The first place you went to was a museum, one of his favorite spots. But they had a new interactive exhibit, the flowers are under your feet, and all around you. It was gorgeous, truly, going through the whole place. But Keegan’s eyes were all over you. Enjoying your reactions, he can’t help the smile that falls on his lips, even took a few pictures he’d make his lock screen.

Next stop, your favorite restaurant, not without making a pit stop at the little stationary store Keegan likes. He’ll casually browse for a few things, the stamps or stickers, nod over to the women he’s in a club with and wave your entertained fingers at the girls who’ve been whispering since you got in yhe store. It makes you blush but Keegan will only cozy up more to you, resting his chin on your shoulder till he finishes paying.

After dinner, you two end up at some concert of an up and coming band— they’re not half bad. You’re swaying to the music, nodding to the beat and Keegan is right behind you, his tattooed arms wrapped around your shoulders, kissing your temple. You both sing the last song of their set because strangely enough you do know it (Keegan’s been playing it around the house)

You manage to catch the last bus home, the few shopping bags in hand, but laughing from the rush of having to run to make it to the bus stop. It’s so mushy, right out of a rom-com. Keegan kisses you all over. Sweet kisses from your cheeks to your lips, ao soft, mind dazing—

“Did you enjoy our date baby?” He hums, lifting your chin in his fingers.

Your eyebrows cutely furrow, “Date?”

And he chuckles, nodding knowingly, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips, “Yeah baby, this was a date.”

You can’t even wrap your head around it because he captured your lips against his again. Kissing you slow. He does this to calm your heart, let your relax more.

But hes your loving and hot boyfriend, of course he makes your heart rate go zero to ten.