I Have A Nuvaring In Rn. I Swear This Bitch Better Work Or Imma Rip Out My Uterus Then Im Mailing It

I have a nuvaring in rn. I swear this bitch better work or Imma rip out my uterus then Im mailing it to my doctor.

I, also, can kinda feel it in there. It’s an odd ass feeling.

Into the Fire

TF141 x f!reader

Part 6

Series Masterlist

TW: MDNI 18+, violence, injury description, blood, horror elements, character death, p in v, rough sex

AN: this is it, the last part of my mini epic and I am so happy you’ve all stuck with me with this. It’s great to see how many people enjoy my version of Gaz! And it’s been great to write for the rest of the characters as well. Now enjoy 🖤⚔️🛡️

Cold dread settles into the pit of your stomach at the guard’s words, and talk of boats appearing in the harbour as if by magic. Squires hurry in carrying weapons and armour, Price and Simon give orders and begin to direct the defensive forces. A hand grips your arm and you turn to see Laswell pulling you from your seat.

“Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe,” she says firmly, her expression grim. With a final glance at Kyle, who gives you and Laswell a brief nod, you let her escort you from the room. Already you can hear distant yelling echoing through the halls, screams of fear and pain, the clashing of steel on steel as the fight enters the castle.

“Keep with me,” Laswell says, trying to reassure you and distract you as you wind your way through the twisting halls.

You come to an abrupt halt as Laswell freezes, peering around her you see Valeria standing there, blood smeared on the short arming sword in her hand and on her clothes.

“I just killed one of the enemy,” she announces before either of you can question her. “Come, it’s safe this way,” she says, gesturing for you and Laswell to follow her.

“Where were you?” Laswell asks firmly, not moving and slowly edging you behind her. As you shift, you see her pulling a dagger from a belt sheath hidden at the small of her back. Frustration flicks quickly across Valeria’s features, darkening her eyes further as the Steward refuses to take the bait.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m here now,” she shrugs, and you notice the tightening of her grip on her sword. “Graves wants her, now give her to me.” She lunges forward, sword raised to stab into Laswell’s guts. Laswell reacts with incredible speed, hand lashing out and knocking the other woman’s wrist away as though she knew it was coming. She shoves you harshly to the side, bouncing you from the wall and sending you crashing to the ground with an undignified grunt. The two women grapple, Laswell slightly hindered by her skirts but still managing to overpower the smaller woman.

You clamber to you feet just as Valeria is struck with the pommel of Laswell’s dagger, knocking her out cold.

“Are you okay?” you ask, beginning to move towards her but something stops you dead in your tracks.

A wave of cold nausea makes you stagger, almost doubling over as it feels as though all the warmth in the air is sucked out by something. An unspeakable feeling of dread prickles your skin, and you want to curl up and hide, but something in your chest pushes back, a tiny spark of heat, that forces you to turn your head and look back down the corridor. It’s as though the torches shrink back, too afraid to burn as the dark figure steps around the corner.

“It’s Graves…” you hear Laswell whisper, the name too apt for the creature. He walks towards you, stepping over Valeria’s unconscious form and ignoring Laswell. Her eyes go wide as he ignores her, and she takes her chance to lunge with her blade at him as he moves past. A tendril of pure darkness and shadow slithers from beneath his cloak and cracks out like a whip, sending her reeling backwards into the wall with tremendous force, and she crumples to the ground. The tendrils grow in size and number, climbing the walls around him and spreading like twisted vines everywhere except where the torches burn on the walls.

“There you are darlin’, I’ve been looking for you,” he purrs, grinning to show those rows of inhumanly sharp teeth. His skin is the pallor of the undead, pulled tight over the bones beneath. You get the impression he was once handsome, but now he looks as he is, a shadow of a human. “You’ve got a little passenger in there, haven’t you?” He continues as he walks closer. “I can’t let you walk around with that.”

Simon’s words surface in your mind: run. You turn and sprint away from Graves, hearing his frustrated snarl as you do, and you try not to imagine the sight of him chasing behind you. In your terrified state you go the only way you know by heart from where you are, which is right towards the healer’s work rooms. If you’re lucky you can get there and bolt the door before he reaches you, that’s the only plan you have. Shouts and screams echo around you as you run, fighting guards and knights spilling through archways and doors.

Something screams in your head that the enemies are different, they move in a staggering walk, helmets covering their faces. One nearly knocks you over, tugging its axe from the skull of a downed guard and turns to you at the last moment. Its helmet has been lost and a rotted, eyeless face turns to you.

They’re dead already… an army of risen corpses at the command of The Shadow, Graves. You rush past the inhuman warrior, your speed redoubled in a bid to get away from that as well as the creature chasing you.

You make it to the healer’s rooms and throw open the door desperately before plunging inside. Graves is close behind you, his dead eyes meeting yours as you push the heavy door closed, but his shadows pin the door open as he approaches. Although it's futile you push against the door but there is no hope to close it.

You smash into the table, thrown back by the force of Graves ramming into the door, and you slide across the surface taking everything on the surface with you. Glassware shatters beneath you, cutting into your hands and knees as you land painfully. The brazier tumbles in a shower of sparks and burning coals, rolling across the flagstone floor, coming to rest against your skin. You blink, looking down at the still burning black lump, and then at a smash bottle of alcohol that still holds some of the volatile liquid.

“C’mon darlin’, let’s get this over with,” you hear Graves taunting you as he moves around the table.

You lift the coal in your hand, the skin hot but not burning, refusing to blister and blacken as it should. The liquid in your mouth irritates your nose, eyes watering and streaming from the burn of neat alcohol.

“What the..?” No…!” he shouts, thrusting a wall of darkness between you as you blow as hard as your lungs will let you. The spray ignites on the coal in your hand and a spray of fire blossoms from your lips, shredding the shadows and coating Graves. You keep blowing until your mouth and lungs are empty, but something shifts and lets go, leaving you in that same conflagration and ensnares the lich.

He screams and howls, twisting and writhing as the living flames devour him. A storm of fire fills the room, your clothes and hair whipping in a frenzy around you as you stand up, but only the undead creature burns. Slowly, in a daze, you step backwards, moving away from the lich as he curls in on himself, smoking and bubbling tendrils of shadow falling limp and twitching to the ground as they burn, and you edge towards the door. Wrenching your eyes from the horror you turn to the door and find Kyle, bloodied and stained, staring at you in disbelief.

“You still alive?” Kyle asks, eyebrows raised in concern. He holds out his hand, and you step through the flames on trembling legs until you grasp it, letting him pull you out of the fire yet again. He smells of coppery blood and sweat as you bury your face against his chest, ignoring the hardness of his chainmail against your skin, and focusing on the tightness of his arms around you as he pulls you tight against him.

The flames die down, leaving a congealed black mess on the floor by the hearth, but everything else is unburnt. As you glance over you swear you see something shining flutter away and up the flue.

“Come with me, let’s get you out of here,” he mutters into your hair and leads you away towards the main courtyard.

The main doors of the keep stand open, wounded and dying guards lie where they fell, and the crumpled corpses of Grave’s risen army are scattered between them. It seems Shepherd put his trust in the lich’s dead army and brought few living combatants with him, and now the Baron kneels on the ground before Price, blood leaking from a blow to his ribs. You see the other Simon and MacTavish behind him, coated in blood and gore, Farah and Alex nearby just as stained and bruised from battle.

As you near them, you hear Price and Shepherd speaking, the tip of Price’s sword pressed against the bald man’s throat.

“I am not going to beg for my life, not from you or anybody else,” the Baron wheezes, hand clutching at the gushing wound in his side, leaking through his fingers and onto the floor.

“Wouldn't do you any good,” Price replies. His eyes narrow slightly and he pushes his full weight behind the hilt of his weapon, sliding it into Shepherd’s neck with a crunching of cartilage. There’s a wet, strangled sound and you turn away until you hear the heavy thud of the man falling to the ground dead.

“It’s not over,” Price grunts. “Where’s Graves?”

“Dead, well, completely dead,” Kyle answers. “She disintegrated him.”

Farah catches your eye and nods at you, a small satisfied smile on her face.

“Then we owe you our thanks, healer,” Price says, wiping his blade on Shepherd’s cloak before sheathing it as his hip. aswell emerges from the keep looking pale and dazed, helped by Alejandro. Beside them, Rudy drags a bound Valeria, spitting curses and threats, her head still bleeding.

“I’m sorry, it was Valeria who opened the gates,” Alejandro snarls, ignoring the woman’s poisoned words. “She’s yours to do with as you see fit.”

“She goes to the cells, I’ll deal with her later,” Price sighs, shaking his head and he glares at Valeria. She struggles against Rudy’s grip, but you suspect it is for a show of defiance rather than any real intention to try and escape. If she broke free now, anyone in the immediate vicinity would gladly slice her in two.

The clean up is exhausting, so many dead, so many wounded. The rotting corpses left by Graves and Shepherd are carted away and burned, their ashes scattered into the sea to be swept away by Alejandro and his crew. The charred remains of The Shadow and likewise disposed of, the oily mark left on the floor scrubbed and scrubbed until it fades away from sight. Price has Shepherd’s remains removed by the priests and taken to be embalmed for his kin to retrieve, if they wish to do so. You work day and night, caring for those that can be saved.

Laswell makes a full recovery and her wife takes care of her.

It feels like days until you finally sit down and rest, body aching and mind about ready to unravel completely having not slept in a bed while tending to your patients. You make it back to your own chambers, feet dragging on the floor as you shuffle through the door and slump at the table. After rubbing your hands over your face you notice the bowl of apples before you, a smile creeping to your lips as you admire the shining red fruit.

“You’re not going to start throwing those again?” Kyle asks from the doorway, and you pick one up.

“I don’t think I have the energy to do it, even if I wanted to,” you smile over your shoulder at him. He shuts the door and walks over to you, gently taking your hand and pulling you up to stand with him, and carefully taking the apple from your hand and placing it on the table. You smirk as he does so.

“You’ve not had time to talk so I kept out of the way, but I wanted to say how proud I am of you. You saved a lot of people by taking on Graves like that,” he tells you, his face sombre.

“So you saved my life, and I was in your debt,” you say, tapping your chin thoughtfully. “But now I’ve saved lots of lives, so does that mean you owe me a debt now?” you grin despite your fatigue. His expression softens, and he smiles, pulling you against him by gripping the softness of your hips.

“I suppose that’s right,” he agrees. “So, I’m yours to do with you please.” His eyes linger on your lips for a moment, and arousal ignites in your tired body.

“I think, I think I’d like my knight to take me to bed,” you reply, and you see his pupils flare at your possessive choice of words.

“I am yours, but you are still mine,” he whispers, leaning down so his lips brush softly against your cheek.

“I think I can live with that,” you sigh, letting your eyes flutter closed as he presses a kiss to your neck. He does as you ask, with great care he guides you to your bed, slowly undressing the pair of you until you lie on the soft, clean sheets and he lies beside you. One rough hand glides over the swell of your stomach and cups one of your breasts, while he leans over and kisses your lips, kneading the plump mound and catching your nipple between his finger and thumb.

His kisses become more demanding, his hand roaming across your skin, caressing and squeezing whatever he can touch, and your heart pounds in response. Your tiredness ebbs away, replaced with a desperate need for closeness, to feel alive and most importantly, for him.

“Kyle, you need to fuck me,” you rasp out hoarsely, and him smirks, his cock already hard and leaving a wet trail as it rubs against your thigh.

“Do I?” he grins, voice low and deep, and you feel his chest rumble against you. “I’d better do as My Lady says.” Without preamble his shift between your thighs, spreading them wider than necessary so he can admire your glistening pussy. Watching your face and drinking in your expression, he sinks himself slowly into your aching heat, the stretch making your arch beneath him.

“Is that what you needed?” he groans, voice laced with gravel as you tighten around his length.

“Fuck, yes,” you trill back at him, clutching at his biceps as he holds himself above you. He draws back and fills you again, and again, each slap of skin against skin pulling a reedy moan from you. Your fingers curl and you nail dig at his skin, and your legs wrap around his lithe hips, urging him deeper inside.

“You want more?” he hisses into your ear, cradling your head between his forearms. You burble an incoherent agreement, and he tenses his arms against your shoulders before pounding into you mercilessly. It’s nearly impossible to breath as he pins you below him, fucking you with all his strength, and your pussy makes lewd, wet noises. You pull him harder with your legs, muscles tightening and your orgasm building much quicker than you’d anticipated. Every thrust pushes you closer to the edge as every nerve sparks with pleasure, and your mind goes blank, registering only the feeling of being completely surrounded and filled by Kyle.

The tension crests, the pleasure peaks, and you wail as you come, clenching around his cock enough to make him moan and his hips stutter. Your gasp in greedy lungfuls of air, sweating blossoming on your skin and his, and he slows the motion of his hips to a lazy rolling. Once the waves ebb, his places a gentle kiss to your lips.

“Hmmm… that’s one,” he grins, dark eyes sparkling down at you.

“What d’you mean?” you whimper, aftershocks catching at you still as he grinds into you.

“I mean,” he mumbles against your lips, “we’ve only just started.”

—————————————————————

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I’m absolutely feral at the thought of being filled by John Price. Just imagine him plowing into you whispering about how he is going to fill you and getting you pregnant so you’re a mama and he’s a daddy. He holds you in a press and angles you up further so his cum won’t leak out of you.

He’d call you a good girl as you cum around his cock. You will be called such a good mama/mommy. He thinks about you getting round and your tits getting heavy with milk for your little ones. 💖🥺

(Slightly inspired by @chamomiletealeaf I absolutely adore you.🥺🥺💖💖

I’m super picky about beer so there’s a limited amount of beer that I like. I mostly like Whiskey, Vodka, etc.. (I personally prefer moonshine).😂

If you’re LGBT reblog and tag with your opinion on beer.

“why’re you bein’ so snappy today, sweetheart?”

genuine concern laces simon’s voice as the mattress dips beneath you with his added weight, but it’s still not enough to knock you from your bratty state. sat at the head of your bed with your knees bent together in front of you, arms crossed over your chest, a pouty look on your face that hasn’t changed since you woke up that morning.

his hand slips up your calf and his other follows suit on your other leg not long after, and you’re still ignoring him. maneuvering themselves to the backs of your knees, making you huff out a frustrated sigh.

“still not gonna talk to me?” he frowns, calloused fingers abandoning your knee-socks and making their way up your bare thighs. his skin is cold, freezing against yours, and your breathing hitches when the rough pads creep upward past the end of your skirt.

you shake your head, refusing to meet his eyes and unrelenting with your behavior, and he’s forced to keep prodding; continue pushing forward, see how long you can keep up the facade until you’ll be whining and writhing and rightly fixed under him.

his digits graze your upper thighs, trickling inward to where you’ve always been the most sensitive, and he tugs at the lacy material of your panties — twice, before pulling them tight against you.

a small whine unexpectedly falls from your lips.

and, oh, he’s got you.

“my poor baby…” he coos. the second his hands emerge from beneath your skirt, your eyes snap open, surprised he’d tease you in such a mean way. his large palms move back to encase your knees; gradually guiding them to part, gentle as you go so pliant for him.

“just a troublesome, little thing, aren’t ya?”

your grumpy pout turns to a sad, desperate one, and he hums in sympathy. he knows you don’t mean to be like this.

he reaches forward again, this time his knuckles finally making contact with the soaked center of your panties, and you gasp aloud. his touch is still light though it’s enough to make you deprived.

“y’need me to help ya rub one out, hm? is that it?”

and finally- finally, you give in to simon. nodding your head, eyes all watery when a tear falls to your puffy cheek, and murmuring soft pleas that entirely contradict the you from a mere minute ago.

he grins proudly; no matter how difficult you may be at times, he’ll always break through it. pull his sweetheart from whatever depths of ill-behavior she fell into, reset that little brain for the better.

“it’s alright, dovie, i’ve got ya. just let me take care of you.”

his hand dips between your skin and the fabric of your panties, careful as he inches closer to your heat, and you give him full reign.

because that’s what he’s there for; to take care of you, of course.

It was bad, you didn't stop crying, you began to struggle to breathe, your vision fading and they had to call an ambulance. John stayed back with Simon, making Gaz ride with you in the ambulance, but you were delirious, gasping out Simon's name again and again.

John sat Simon down, "We're gonna get Makarov."

"Won't make it peaceful." Simon said gruffly.

"You have her to look after, can she really handle you being deployed again?" John looks at Simon intently. "I'll have Laswell set something up, but Simon-" He looks solemn. "-Laswell, all Laswell said is that she is hanging on by a thread. A fucking thread."

On solo missions, Johnny would be your company when Simon was deployed, he was fiercely loyal to Simon, therefore to you too. But now he's dead, and that bubble of hope, that it wouldn't be any of them, popped. Reality breaking you.

Simon rubbed his face, taking off his balaclava, "I love her, so much."

----

At the hospital, you were sedated and coming to wasn't fun, you were so groggy, so exhausted.

"Hey." Your eyes turned to the side to see Kyle.

"Kyle?" Your voice coughed out. He nodded, leaning forward.

"You had a panic attack, you stopped breathing." Your eyes are glassy, head achy, you nod slightly. "Should I call Simon?" Your heart rate spikes.

"Yes." You gasp out, all you can think is 'is he alive?' and your chest tightens.

----

When Simon comes in with John by his side, you gasp out in relief. "Simon."

"I'm here," He sits next to you, brushing hair out of your face, stroking your face. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"It's nothing compared to what you've been through Si." It grates him, it's technically true, but that's not fair to compare your issues to his.

"So? What, you gonna not tell me? Your heart nearly gave out? What, leave me to come back and find you dead? That it?" He hisses. It's the most talkative he's been, his eyes squint in anger. "I fucking love you."

Kyle and John leave the room.

"Sorry." You murmur out. Simon shakes his head.

"We'll sort something out until Makarov's dead." He presses his lips to yours.

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