#finally got the time to maybe clean them up and send them off 💀

[delqcate]

-–— STEAMING MUGS : FLUFFTOBER DAY 4

first time writing for conrad 🫶 i don't have much to say but i just wanna mention i'll be busy this week and next week because i have lots of tests, but i'll probably still be able to post in time. also please don't be afraid to comment or send me any feedback for my writing, i appreciate all the reblogs and reblog comments too mwah | flufftober | navigation

summary: waves crashing, kettles hissing, and taylor swift. there's no better sound than these things. (this is such a bad summary💀)

warnings/cw: no y/n, belly's sister, maybe some canon breaking???

word count: 0.7 k

paring: conrad fisher x you

Laughter filled the air as you and Conrad started running towards the snowing beach, a sight you never got to see until he could finally start driving.

You and Conrad had been testing the waters lately, making sure the both of you wanted this before committing to anything. Ever since the events of last year went down, everyone's emotions were scattered, and both of you knew better than to jump into something serious at a time like that.

"I win!" He laughs breathlessly, placing his hands on his knees in a slightly bent position. He looks at you with that wide smile you adore.

"No fair! Your legs are longer!" You whine back, you've forgotten how tiring the trip from the beach house to the beach was at times, and it seemed even harder in the winter.

"Oh, shut up. C'mere." He takes your hand and pulls out his phone. He stands behind you and wraps an arm around you as he plants a kiss on your cheek, taking the photo. You look down at the photo, laughing softly. Both your cheeks were red from the cold and a smile that wouldn't wipe off.

An idea pops into your head and you take his phone, playing the perfect song for something that was a weird sight for you but oh, so, fucking beautiful. You look back at him with a cheeky smile and hand him the phone. "Still remember the dance for the debutante ball?"

He shakes his head, his smile forming into a grin. That night was one of the worst of his life, but also one of the best. "How could I forget? You stepped on my feet all the time during practice." He takes position with you as you shake your head, a wider smile on your face.

"That was not my fault, you couldn't stay away from me." You sigh as the both of you start to dance, the only thing that fills the air is the waves softly crashing and the slightly muffled music.

"As much as I loved that, it was fucking freezing." He slips his coat off, helping you take off yours before turning on the fireplace to help the both of you keep warm. You head over to your bag and pull out two packs of hot chocolate. The summer house was always cleaned out before everyone left, so there was little to no food at all in the pantry or fridge.

You set the water to a boil and as soon as it starts to hiss, you pour the water into the mugs, mixing it and watching as the water turns into a comforting mix of chocolate and marshmallows. Conrad comes over, wrapping his arms around your waist as his lips start to leave light kisses on your cheek. A laugh escapes your lips and you sigh, nothing felt better than this.

"Let's warm-up, you're freezing." He mumbles into your neck before slowly pulling away, taking the steaming mugs from the counter, and bringing them over to the living room. You take a seat on the floor and stare at the fireplace. "You sure this isn't just an excuse to cuddle?"

You press your legs against your chest and look over at him as he sits down beside you, shaking his head and taking a careful sip of his hot chocolate. "Nuh-uh. If I wanted to cuddle, you'd be willing to anyway." He smirks as you roll your eyes and lay on his shoulder.

"Mom would kill me if she found out I snuck out. Thankfully Belly promised to keep it a secret if I brought her a souvenir." He lets out a laugh and lays his head on yours, taking your hand and placing it on the warm mug. You watch as the steam escapes, the warmth of the mug and his hand, plus the fireplace is enough to keep you warm.

"I love you, you know that?" He mumbles out, not wanting to ruin the moment. You nod once and let his free hand cup your face, tilting your head to let your forehead meet his. "I mean it. Prettiest girl in all of Cousins. Actually, scratch that, the entire world." You let out a soft chuckle and lean in, both your lips meet and let the kiss escalate into something bigger.

#★ — ﹙daydreaming . . . 📜﹚ #★ — ﹙flufftober . . . 🍁﹚ #conrad fisher #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher fluff #tsitp conrad #conrad x reader

[velvetures]

*Peeks from a corner*

Merry Christmas!

Hi um...can I just say your comfort fluff fics have made me realize just how touche-starved I personally am. Made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

So, if I could be so bold as to ask for a fic with Soap or Gaz or Keegan with that same theme? Making sure they're taken care of, or make them feel safe enough to let their guard down for a bit?

Again, totally fine if you have other things to do, but it would really male my day if you did. Thank you and have a nice day!

- 💀

Fall Back

a/n: thank you for the request babes... I'm sorry Christmas is just now here in mid-fucking May :( I'm ashamed. Additionally, this is my first time writing for Keegan... and I'm still working out the specifics for my interpretation of his character and behavior. So this is a bit different from what I've written before. Hopefully you enjoy it. summary: Keegan's worn down to the bone. And you're there to help him. t/w's: none.

his eyes are almost identical to my husband's... why didn't I notice until now...

He only comes to you when things get too heavy to bear.

And not in the way a refrigerator empty of food, or a late rent payment would weigh on your mind. You’ve not seen the same things he has… and fuck, he’ll do anything to make sure you never do. The mere thought that any of the nightmares and constant PTSD triggers that make him jumpy could touch your conscious would send him into an entirely new mental warfare, impossible to win. No, he shows up when he needs it most. No matter what you might be doing, or how it could appear, he’s crawling on his belly with a broken look in his eyes. Pride bruised, strength dissolved, and voice rough with more pain than you thought he could ever survive.

You tried keeping the back door unlocked for him. Thinking he’d take it as a sign that your home is always welcome. It resulted in him forcing you to lock the doors and make him a key. That lasted a couple of months, and then he lost the key somewhere in Cuba. Something about a guy ripping his chain off his neck and subsequently the key to your door that he wore alongside his dog tags. He’d been quick to change all of your locks after that. And since then, he’s decided that crawling in through your bedroom window is the only way he’ll enter your house unless you’re formally inviting him in.

Maybe it’s the anti-social part of him that believes he can’t come and go as he pleases. Spending precious time sneaking into your little house instead of doing what he came for in the first place. Getting close to you. Sometimes he won’t wake you up. Just taking off his bloody-soaked gear and taking a quick wash in the shower before curling up to you in bed. Tucking you under him, and breathing in the soft smell of your soap and fresh sheets. Other times, you’ll stir away when you hear boots scuffing heavily against the floor. Hearing heavy breaths and his tac vest thumping to the floor. Witnessing what it’s like when a ghost finally runs out of hatred and cold-blooded determination.

“Are you hurt?” It’s almost always your first question. After so many missions, he’s almost always got something that needs looked at. And while you never thought that tying stitches or cleaning shallow stab wounds would be a common occurrence in your life, Keegan has made it so that your medical kit under your bathroom sink is always stocked and ready for emergency-room worthy injuries.

He’s not going to talk much, even if he’s in good shape. It’s not in his disposition. More like a shelter dog sent back too many times for growling or bearing his teeth. Wary of everything, yet so desperate for touch that he’s willing to show you exactly where a bullet grazed his thigh. About eight hours old and weeping blood, staining a pair of pants that you’ll spend time scrubbing out in the morning while doing laundry. But if you’re worried, he’s going to hide just how badly he’s hurting… if for nothing than your sake.

He’s already broken into your house again… and now bleeding all over the bathroom rug with pretty flowers you bought after the last time he made a mess in there. Constantly reminding himself it’s selfish to demand you care for him. To show up with a shitty fucking attitude and guilt you into licking his wounds when he can’t bear to do it himself, or admit to the medical staff on base that he needs it. You’re too kind for this kind of bullshit. Too sweet to run him off though. And it’s why he keeps crawling back. Greedy… hungry… insatiable… he’s always admonishing himself for just how little control he possesses when there’s an opportunity to leave you alone, or place himself right in the middle of your life again.

“Everyone come back alive?”

Keegan has a love hate relationship with that particular question. Debating on whether or not he likes that you worry for his teammates in such an honest way; or if he’s so jealous of your mind wandering to them, and what fucked-up things they do during missions that it’s almost unbearable to hear you ask it.

“Alive.” He breathes out steadily as you thread your stitching through his skin for an eighth time, tying another knot over his twitching and aching muscles.

You’re always asking questions about the missions. About what he had to do, if he got hurt, where they went… it’s innocent enough. You mean well. But he never can tell you much. Protective instinct and top secret red tape make much of the details not worth the risk of divulging. But he’s patient with you. Giving away small hints maybe by saying a few words in a native language, or talking about a particular landmark that might’ve been close enough that you can make a guess from there. At this point, you’ve learned at least a few words in: German, Russian, Thai, and multiple hispanic dialects. A smart woman, of course, but he’s always surprised when you connect his work to something you’ve seen on the news.

It’s like you’re always watching for him.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Maybe you do look out for him in more ways than one. Not bothering with the fact that you’d already completed your nightly routine, just to strip down and get a shower running. Rubbing out strained shoulders with soft hands, and gently thumbing out the thick knots in his lower back. It’s the only pressure he’s willing to accept in this state. Merely breathing just to live for more of your touch. Keegan can’t even bother with soap, and had it not been for you, he wouldn’t have at all. Feeling you scrub down every inch of him. Much more like a maid than… well… he still didn’t know what kind of label to put on this relationship.

There were too many variables and more questions than he could answer. Sure it was… transactional at times, but he’d be remiss to ignore all of the ways you occupied his thoughts when it wasn’t appropriate to. And you always do more than you’re supposed to. Just like now. Wrapping your arms around him for behind and kissing over his shoulder blades. Humming a soft tune and letting your fingertips trace over his stomach. Any man should be able to admit that he’s weak for it… but Keegan can’t readily do that.

Fighting his own heart pounding in his chest as you sway him back and forth. Wishing he could let this feeling go. Be a stronger man. Be a better ghost and lock himself away behind the gear and guns. Fuck. You’re so good at it though. Stripping him down to nothing, even when he thought there wasn’t anything else left. Soothing aches and kissing away pains he blocked out for so long that he felt like had disappeared. You are smarter than that. You know how his mind works whether he likes it or not. How willing he is to go from hell and back so many times that he’s unsure of what kind of being he truly is. Caught between worlds of warfare and the softer one where you always welcome him back, knowing that within a few days the gore will call him back for service.

“Sleep on the couch…” He mutters, standing with a towel slung around his hips and a bleary look in satin light-blue eyes. “Don’t wanna stain your sheets.”

He’d seen them upon arrival; crisp white and hundred-dollar softness he didn’t want to touch. Between the blood and feeling of getting spoiled to them, it wasn’t worth it to him. He’d done it before without much thought, but this time something was making him attempt responsibility.

“Then I’m coming with you, Russ.”

You’re smiling that damned smile he dreams about. That one where the gap between your front teeth shows and the dimpled skin on your cheeks shadows just enough to make him forget that you’re human. Angelic. Teasing… Gracefully not leaving him room for an argument. Simply turning around and headed towards the bedroom without another word as to if he’d be choosing to lay cramped on your couch. Hell, it’s four in the morning, and your mind is sharp enough to play with him just enough that he’s stalking back into the dark room and watching you crawl into the bed with an expectant, innocent look directed at him.

Keegan can’t help it.

He’s under the sheets and unceremoniously reaching for you without hesitation. Feeling his callouses catch on your skin and wincing when he hears his rough palms scratch at you. No matter how rough it feels, you’re still sliding closer. Careful of bruises and cuts, tucking yourself against him and using one arm to guide his head against your chest. Laying just above him. Incentivizing him to hug tightly to you and tuck his head under your chin. Allowing this unfeeling soldier to hide in the temporary shelter of your heartbeat.

You rub his head, and feel short, clipped, hair tickle your fingertips. Soft from a shampoo and condition after weeks away in sand that made the bathroom floor feel gritty. You’re almost always pressing kisses to his forehead and using your other hand to rub over his brow bone and bridge of his nose. Seeing in the nighttime shadow where his face paint has settled into wrinkles that you didn’t manage to wash off in the shower. Looking at long, black eyelashes that flutter a bit when you scratch up and down the back of his neck.

“You’re so pretty…” You always talk to him like this. Unable to keep from spouting praise that wells up after long periods of not knowing if he’s alive, let alone safe.

You’re not dumb. You know he’s dangerous. Maybe even a monster in some people’s eyes. But it’s a necessary evil, and it’s something you came to terms with easily. Because you didn’t just see him for the guns and direct orders. You got to witness moments like this where he’s nothing but a man in desperate need of humanity. Hungry for connection. Soft touches… and whether he liked it or not, the praises that you whisper against his pink-tipped ears.

“You’re the pretty one, dollie.” He grumbles back, squeezing your hip in a big hand.

It makes your face heat up just ask quickly when he pulls that one out. Almost always with a nickname up his sleeve that just makes it all that much more worth it. But being anything other than your own name to him… it’s a different kind of reward. One that has you smiling like a fool as you get sleepier. Nearly petting him to sleep, and hoping to god you can stay awake longer than he does just to prove you’re willing to. Maybe willing isn’t even strong enough…

Any way you think about it, there’s a sense of duty you hold much like his to a career as a ghost. Yours stemming from love so deep for this man that it’s painful watching him crawl to you as a last resort. Despising what or whoever made him feel like wanting a warm bed, and someone to look after him when he’s weak, is wrong. God it’s enough to make you angry. Looking down at a man who could make anyone tremble, and seeing him curled up against your chest like he’s clinging to a shred of comfort. If you thought picking up a gun alongside him would change things, you’re certain you’d have done it years ago. Right when all of this started and Keegan was much more proud. Unwilling to relent as easily as he does now.

But it took that long because there wasn’t another option.

He wouldn’t have allowed it if you were any different of a person, or hadn’t possessed the patience for him to let go like this. You’re positive no one knows that this is where he runs to when things get too hard. None of his team, and with no family to speak of, you’re left as his final resort, but the only one he trusts. Unlike Keegan who avoids his medal pinnings with sheer hatred, you wear your designation proudly. You’re always shining it… polishing it… looking for the first opportunity to show just how willing you are. Just for the chance to hold him. Anything to feel his breathing even out after weeks of holding it. Anything to clean him up. Put him back together.

All while silently praying that it’ll be the last time. Wishing he’d see that you aren’t a last resort, and that he can lay here as long as he wants without losing the worth he assigned to himself after becoming a ghost. Wondering when it’ll come to an end where he can come back and hang up the guns laying on your bedroom floor, forever. Patiently anticipating the day you can not have to wait until he’s asleep to say exactly how you feel.

“I love you, Keegan…”

comments & reblogs are always appreciated 🤎

#velvetures #velvetures writes #cod #anon <3 #velvetures answers #keegan #keegan p russ #cod keegan #keegan russ x reader #keegan x reader #keegan x you #💀 anon

[mostly-mercy-vore]

"Post op complications"

[Mercy x 💀/💀/💀/💀/💀]

Content Warning: Vore. Post Vore Weight Gain. Implied (already happened) post vore scat. BOOOONES.

Angela sat, one long lock of sweaty blonde hair over her eye. Her eyes half closed, panting, wheezing. .she was on the toilet. Her fat cake rolled over either sides of the seat and hung like saddle bags. Her fat gut, a mere little pillow under the heaving, monstrous milk white tits.

Mercy panted. She was manspreading, slumped against the back of the tank. The healer's breathing heavy. With a groan her ass farted a bit into the bowl signaling the end of her digestive misery. Panting, soaked in sweat, she mumbled to herself.

"Look...look..." she clapped two hands to her gut, and squeezed. All the plush dough like fat gushing between her fingers. "Look what your stupid family did to me!" She whined. Turning her face to glower at your bone white skull, empty sockets staring back at her.

"72 hours laying in bed digesting you all. PTO gone. Sixteen hours on ze toilet. Four trips to the bathroom. Five skulls FIVE FUCKING SKULLS!" Mercy almost choked and sobbed, her poor little butthole was so sore. She bit her lip and grabbed her fat hips "Look at what your sisters did to mein ass! How am I supposed to....these are going to shred my stretchiest pantyhose!" Mercy wobbled her fat hips sending a shake to her new bigger 82 inch ass.

The milf medic slapped her thighs. "Your papa destroyed these, zere is absolutely no way I am wearing those mom jeans you were so horny for now, need an all new wardrobe! And your mother!!!!"

Angela snatched up your polished skull and held it aloft in the palm of her left hand. Glaring at you as she heaved one fat, juicy tit as big as a kickball in the palm of her hand.

"Where am I supposed to get a bra to fit these massive mommy mikkers, hmm!?!" Angela Ziegler tipped her hand letting her big, sweaty, fifty pound tit to slap against the rest of her doughy belly.

Angela dropped her arms helplessly. They were pillowy and fat now, holding them up seemed like such an effort. Her fingers, holding your eye sockets like a bowling ball, relaxed. Your skull clatters to the floor and rolls away. Mercy doesn't care. Why would she give a fuck?

A dog doesn't care about dog food. The Nurse, didn't care about nurse food. Dumb. Young. Eager. Stupid little gutslut. Mercy had already gobbled you up and used you. Your bones were no more important to her than the fucking kleenex you used to clean your cum.

Mercy panted and sighed. Resting her hands on your final burial place: her fat little belly. Squeezing the chub there, she could tell it was you fattening up her new gut. You'd always been a pathetic little pervert for her chubby tummy. It only made sense you'd cling to her warm belly.

"Ugh. You said you were home alone." Mercy sighed, grunting and rocking her body, attempting to get into a standing position. Her legs were numb from hours on the toilet, making it difficult, but not impossible. "Your sister heard you screaming. What did you think was going to happen when I gobbled you up? Hmm? A nice pleasant bath? Maybe jerk off in mein gut and then I let you out? Zat is not how a pred's biology works!" She corrected her glasses as she scolded the gut she couldn't see, but knew was somewhere under those massive tits.

"So then your sisters start screaming for momma and papa, so I have to wrestle them to the ground and start gulping, and by the time your Papa got here I had to pin him to the wall with your sister's legs still hanging out my mouth and all ze DRAMA. I all zat whining about being crushed and not able to breathe under your sisters and the way you begged and sobbed as your mother was pushed ontop of your father and your sister smooshed what was left of you. You were all just dinner at zat point, who cares if you're a little squished?"

Mercy kicked your skull in frustration and you rolled into a dark corner of the bathroom.

Just as well. With her current size she couldn't bend over to pick it up again anyway.

"Hope you are happy." She turned to look at her thick as fuck, plump new curves. Putting a chunky hand into her big ass cheek. Her eyes bulged, her ass was fatter than she thought. "Stupid little prey sluts looking for a quick nut on ze internet. Don't you know I'm a hero? I can't be caught gulping down little perverts like you from online!"

Doctor Zeigler thumped her belly and pouted. So much fucking trouble. So much fat plumping her up.

Then she smiled. Remembering the way you struggled inside her. Getting wet just thinking about how good it felt to masturbate with a big prey filled gut.

"Still. I think you were always supposed to be Mercy food. Ja? You look so good on me." She pat her tummy. And held her head high, as she waddled to the door. Her massive belly, thunder thighs, fat ass and plump tits all bouncing and jiggling with each thundering step. The second floor of your home creaking under her new weight. Mercy grinned, the chub wasn't all bad. She pat her ass, and rubbed her belly. Wondering if anyone would even see her next victim through all that blubber. She kinda liked her rounder face, you know what? Maybe it wasn't so bad. For a moment she considered the doorway approaching her: she was wider, but also softer, she'd have to smoosh her way through a bit. But looking down at her curves they shouldn't be a problem. Heaving one boob then the other through the doorframe, her belly smooshed like a blob pushing it's way through. Beaming, she gave her fat tum a rub, and gave a short triumphant nod, and put one foot forward to head down the hall. To your parents' room perhaps? Mercy found herself hoping your mom had a vibratory somewhere because she suddenly felt much, much bet-

Squthunk.

Mercy nearly tripped and fell flat on her face, her hands caught the sides of the door to steady herself. Her stride halted mid step as something grabbed her about the hips.

Blinking stupidly. Mercy tried to move, her fat sloshed and wobbled as she tried to walk forward, only to rebound and bounce blobbily back into the door frame. Something digging into her waist. She was stuck? Mercy looked back at her fat hips waiting sadly on the inside of the bathroom door, her fat boobs and big belly hanging heavily in the hall. Her big, fat as fuck, massive jiggly, family meal fed booty was stuck in your bathroom doorway.

"Oh ze drama!" She pouted. Mercy frowned and blew a dangling blonde lock of hair out of her face and rolled her eyes. "It never ends!"