Keegan had just come back from a rough mission that lasted a little over a week. He’s exhausted and deprived of your touch. Sitting in bed, you’re snuggled in the crook of his arm, his forearm resting on your lap. You’re clutching a handful of gel pens while coloring his sleeve of tattoos in. He glances down at your work and smiles

“Pink, hm?” He murmurs in his gravelly voice. Despite having a multitude of colors, you’ve stuck to a bright neon pink pen for the duration of your tattooing

You nod, not looking up from your work. Pink really suits him