Annoying As Hell // Keegan x Y/N (mlm)

The first day, Keegan didn't leave at all. He kept you in his bed, bundled in his heavy blankets and wrapped up in him like some priceless treasure he wasn't willing to risk losing again.

You slept, woke up to his mouth on your skin—his hands, rough and steady, coaxing you to open your legs for him. He was patient when he needed to be, but by the time night rolled around again, you were so pliant, so desperate for him you whimpered at every lazy roll of his hips.

He made you come twice before he even considered fucking you properly. By then, you were trembling in his arms, barely able to whine when he finally pushed in deep, muttering filth against your ear.

"That's it, baby. Take it... Just like that... Good fuckin' boy."

You passed out afterward, drooling against his chest, leaving Keegan smirking to himself as he pulled the covers up higher.

_______

The second day, he had to report in for morning duties. 
He made it very, very clear before he left:

"Don't. Move." he growled, voice dark against your ear, after he'd pinned you under him one last time, grinding slow, lazy thrusts into your spent body.

You panted weakly beneath him, too sore to argue, nodding quickly. Satisfied, Keegan finally pulled out and helped you clean up, pressing kisses to your sore thighs and hips.

He dressed you loosely in one of his old shirts—long enough to cover most of you—and tucked you back into bed, like he was tucking away a prized possession.

"I'll be back in two hours." he muttered, pressing his forehead to yours. "If you're not in this fuckin' bed when I walk in, I'll make sure you can't even crawl for a month."

You shivered, half in fear, half in anticipation.

_______

When he returned, you were still there. Mostly because standing up still made your legs feel like jelly. 

Keegan came back with two coffee mugs in one hand and a small brown bag in the other. You blinked up at him from the bed, and he grunted approvingly, setting the mugs down and coming straight over to you.

His hands were on you instantly—checking you over, squeezing your thighs possessively, lifting your chin to press his lips to yours.

You melted into him, helplessly eager.

He fed you small bites of the breakfast sandwich he'd brought back, then sat beside you, sipping his coffee while idly stroking a hand up and down your thigh.

You dozed off again in the mid-morning sunlight, lulled to sleep by the steady sound of Keegan's heart beating under your ear.

________

By the third day, the rumors had started. 

Logan showed up once around noon, knocking lightly on Keegan's door.

"Yo, man." Logan called. "You alive in there?"

Keegan opened the door, bare-chested, wearing only loose sweatpants. Logan blinked. His eyes immediately darted past Keegan's shoulder—where you were very obviously tucked into the bed, barely peeking out from under the covers.

"... Oh." Logan said blankly, mouth twitching.

Keegan stared at him with a flat, unreadable look. 
Logan coughed, scratching the back of his neck.

"Right. Uh. Just... checking." He backed away slowly, then practically jogged back down the hall.

Keegan closed the door with a muttered, "Fucking idiot."

You heard the whole thing, snickering quietly into the pillow. Keegan turned back to you, giving you a slow, warning look. You smiled sweetly up at him, and he only growled under his breath before climbing back into bed with you.

"You're fuckin' mine." he muttered roughly against your skin, grabbing your face to kiss you again, teeth dragging over your bottom lip. "And if they don't like it—too fuckin' bad."

That night, he didn't even undress you fully. 
He just dragged your shorts down, flipped you onto your stomach, and slowly, methodically fucked you into the mattress, biting your shoulder when you moaned too loudly.

_________

The fourth day, you got brave. 

You managed to swing your legs off the bed, grabbing onto the wall for support. You were halfway to the door when it swung open—Keegan stepping inside, fresh from a short patrol shift, rifle slung over his back.

He froze.

You froze.

You smiled weakly.

Keegan set his rifle down very calmly, shut the door behind him, and stalked toward you. You backpedaled fast—but your legs gave out after two steps, and Keegan caught you easily.

"Really?" he growled lowly, voice full of disbelief and amusement. "You thought you'd get away?"

You whimpered as he hauled you up over his shoulder, carrying you back to the bed easily.

"You wanna act like a brat." he murmured darkly, tossing you onto the sheets. "Guess I gotta fuck the fight outta you again."

And he did. He spent hours taking you apart—mouth, fingers, cock—until you couldn't even whimper his name anymore. By the time he was done, you were shaking so badly he had to feed you water by hand.

_________

The fifth and sixth days blurred together. 

Keegan made sure you slept, ate, rested—but every time you so much as gave him a look, he'd crawl over you again, pinning you down and claiming you all over. Some mornings, he'd wake you up with slow, grinding thrusts, not even fully hard yet, just rousing you to life by rubbing against your ass, pressing lazy kisses to your spine.

Other times, he'd push two fingers into your mouth lazily, then replace them with his cock, fucking your throat slow and deep until tears welled up in your eyes and drooled down your chin.

He never pushed you too far—never hurt you—but he owned you, made sure you remembered exactly who you belonged to.

And you loved every fucking second.

________

The seventh day, Merrick himself came knocking. 

Keegan was dressing after a quick shower, leaving you bundled up in the bed again, sipping water. When he cracked the door open, Merrick stood there, arms crossed.

"Keegan." he said flatly.

"Sir." Keegan answered, face perfectly blank.

"You planning to return that soldier of yours anytime soon, or...?"

Keegan smirked, slow and dangerous. 

"Not yet."

Merrick stared at him for a long moment—then shook his head and walked away, muttering something about "kids these days."

Keegan shut the door and turned back to you.

"See?" he said, voice low and teasing. "Told you. Not leavin'."

He crawled back into bed, pulling you into his lap, kissing your neck until you were squirming weakly against him again. And even after a full week... You realized you could never, ever get enough of him.

Not when he touched you like this. Not when he looked at you like you were everything.

And fuck—

You were.