i’m sorry but i am a period sex truther‼️
simon wouldn’t even be phased just a “if it helps ya feel better why not” and you’re so giddy because you weren’t expecting him to be into it. in fact you were preparing yourself for him to brush you off and have to deal with the disappointment.
your boyfriend is so diligent laying down towels for you and suddenly you’re feeling shy at the thought of him seeing you like this. he’s seen you on your period of course and he’s seen you naked, but having him look at you with that hungry look in your eye during your time of the month feels a little daunting.
you’re broken out of your thoughts when simon runs his hands up your legs, caressing your thighs softly; his method of wordlessly soothing you and it works like a charm. you take a deep breath as you feel him line himself up with your entrance and you brace yourself for the familiar feeling of him filling you completely.
simon takes your hand and tangles your fingers together, he presses a kiss to the back of your hand and questions, “ya ready baby?” words fail you so you simply nod enthusiastically. in one fell swoop he pushes into the tight heat of you and you both moan in unison at the feeling. you feel more sensitive right now, your gummy walls clamping down on him with every thrust. it doesn’t take long before you feel your orgasm building, white hot heat simmering inside of you. your boyfriend has his head buried in the crook of your neck and is groaning loudly and whispering in your ear about how tight you are and how much he loves the feeling of your pussy gripping his cock.
“si- baby…oh my god. i’m-“
“i know love, ‘ve gotcha”
simon’s hand trails down and rubs fervently at your throbbing clit, the lewd wet sound of your blood and arousal fill your ears and you momentarily feel like you should be disgusted but can’t even bring yourself to be. in no time your back is arching, body bowing as you hurdle right over the edge.
your chest is heaving and you feel sort of cockdrunk that you barely even notice simon pulling out and cleaning you up. you must’ve dozed off because when you wake you’re being scooped up and settled into a hot, bubbly bath. before the blonde man can pull away you grab his face in your hands and kiss him passionately. he was so good to you, how did you manage to get so lucky?
“i’m the lucky one love” you hadn’t realize you said that out loud, but you’re not even embarrassed at your admission. simon deserved to know how much you adored him.
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The crooked, creaky door of the cluttered infirmary storage room pushes open and slams shut in the span of a second, just barely allowing someone to dart through. Nico jumps, banging his head on the shelf he’s hiding under, chomping full force on his lip to bite back a shout. The shadows, on lucky reflex, bend around him and shroud his face. The rest of him he tucks further into the forgotten corner between two filing cabinets, holding his breath.
Under the unflattering light of the single swinging lightbulb, Will looks dull.
A thin headband attempts to hold back his frizzy hair, although it does very little. Curls stick out oddly and many shorter hairs are plastered to his temples and the back of his neck. His skin is unusually lacklustre, even pale, except for the high flush around his cheekbones. The bruising under his eyes rivals Nico’s. He has been wearing the same scrubs for the last two days.
With one last look at the closed door, nothing but garbled voices filtering through the heavy wood, he slumps. He drops his face into his chapped and bleeding hands, heels pressed into his eyes, and holds them there for ten seconds, twenty. Slowly, with trembles so minute they are at first glance unnoticeable, his shoulders begin to shake. The long fingers flexed and tensed around his forehead curl tightly, and he twitches, whole body trembling, teeth sunk hard into his bottom lip to stop his chin from quivering.
It does not work.
The first sob is quiet. He catches it quickly, forcing it back down, breathing heavily through his nose and out his mouth to beat it back. The second follows quickly, though, and it’s harder to choke down. When his face crumples, his resolve goes with it, and his knees hit the floor, sharp crack swallowed by the stillness of the room. He curls forward until his nose nearly hits his knees, hands sliding through his hair and over his ears and settling finally clutching together in the dip of his chest, bouncing with every heave of his chest. It’s quiet, his crying, enough that every dropped tear can be heard as it hits the dusty floor. The only time his sobs are ever audible is when he opens his mouth, trying desperately to soak up enough air to catch himself, to carry himself through.
Mute horror holds Nico’s tongue hostage.
He’d escaped in here the second Will had been called away this morning, dragged for the umpteenth time to handle a crashing patient or a complicated hymn or to soothe someone’s nerves. For the past two days he’s been doing his best to monitor Nico and a handful of other front liners who’d exhausted themselves in battle, but his focus has been split and the infirmary has been crowded. Whenever he runs off to put out whatever fire had cropped up — sometimes literally — the whispers start, the glances, the skin crawling up Nico’s back. Nico can hardly tell anymore what’s the shadows and what’s the people around him, watching him out of the corners of their eyes like they’re waiting for him to bust out a scythe and a black hooded cloak and start reaping.
The storage room is supposed to be an escape. Out of the way and forgotten as it is, it is supposed to be the place he can hide for an hour, escape the heavy gaze of the rest of the camp, collect himself before braving it all again.
Clearly, though, he’s not the only one who thinks so.
There’s something disorienting about seeing Will Solace cry. In the few times Nico has spoken with him during his visits to camp, he’s been a barely-contained explosion of energy, whether talking Nico’s ear off with updates about people he barely knows and references he hardly understands or cussing him out for overextending himself. He’s used — as much as he can be to someone he’s only beginning to really get to know — to his wildly flailing hands and widely playful grin, his loud drawling voice, his painful, constant brightness.
His hands, now, clench until they’re bloodless, trembling. There is no hint of his wide smile or twinkling eyes, because his face is hidden by all the hair that his given up on the pretence of the hairband, and the only sound from him are his gasping breaths and swallowed-back sobs. Nico watches him because he cannot look away. He flinches because every cry, every rough, scraping inhale, sounds like shattering rock, like an iceberg breaking off a glacier.
A quiet beeping startles them both.
For a stretch of time Will is motionless. The beeping continues, steady and soft, bouncing off the cluttered shelves and fading before they echo. After the third round — and Nico counts, if anything for something to do besides watch the chafed skin on Will’s hands crack and bleed with every flex — he drags himself upright, nails drawing lines in the thick dust of the floorboards, and rests back on his heels. He breathes for a moment, shuddering, hands pressed flat to his face; in, beep, beep, beep; out, beep, beep, beep. None of his breaths are ever steady, but he wastes no more time, swiping under his eyes and pinching his cheeks to restore his face to some of its usual colour. He grips onto each board of the shelf to his right as he yanks himself upwards, hand over hand, until he’s stretched, finally, to stand, although there remains a slouch to his broad shoulders.
The beeping continues, emanating from the watch on his left hand, growing softer or louder as he trails his fingers over the shelves from one end to the other, from the first, the second, the third. He pauses finally on a collection of bottles, turning them carefully to read the labels, then tucks them each gently into his already bulging pockets until he is left with what he must carry between his fingers.
The shadows bend to cover Nico again as Will turns, unknowingly facing him, and pulls himself suddenly straight-backed, chin set high, shoulders squared. He smiles, wide, fractured, squinting his eyes deliberately. The beeping stops. He breathes, in, smile, out, nod, and turns, striding, back to the door, opening it with flourish and swiping the dust off his clothes.
“Found them! Sorry it took so long, I really had to look —”
The door swings shut behind him, cutting off the rest of his sentence.
Nico stares at it with bile churning in his too-empty stomach.
———
art by the incredible @clingonlikeclingwrap
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secondincommand!reader getting hurt shielding robb during battle.. rubbing my hands & feet together like a fly on the wall
word count: 1.4k.. how to say oopsie in 14 different languages
robb stark x f!secondincommand!reader
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜.・。.・゜✭・.
war was unpredictable. anything could happen, nothing was guaranteed — except one thing. war was bloody.
he hated every time you fought with him. robb knew why you did, of course. how can you command men you won’t even fight for? why should they listen to someone who’s afraid to get their hands dirty?
you weren’t budging on it. as queen in the north, you had to fight for the people who chose you to rule them, and for the lands they’d settle on/return to after the war. robb could barely focus when fighting, knowing you were out there, but he was king in the north. he had to stand strong & lead by example, so he did. & things went well enough.
until they didn’t.
robb always led the vanguard, constantly put wherever the fighting was thickest. you were usually commanding the archers, being better with a bow than you were with a sword. though skilled with both, you didn’t mind being with the archers, & theon sometimes joined you. robb felt a bit better having you away from where it was bloodiest, and you had to compromise somewhere.
the battle had gone as smoothly as battle could go so far, until you broke from the archers & took an arrow for robb.
luckily, the archer wasn’t a great shot, the arrow lodging in your upper thigh. but to robb, it didn’t matter where it settled — you were hurt.
the man who shot you was quickly cut down, & robb caught you from falling. his head swam, vision going fuzzy from the thought of you being hurt. he would’ve paused the whole goddamn war right then and there, if theon didnt wrap your arm around his shoulder and promise to get you to the medic tent.
he wanted to keep you with him, take you there himself, but theon argued-
“there’s still fighting to be done!”
& robb knew he was right. with a silent prayer to the old gods, he mounted once more, ignoring the pain in his chest as he drew his sword.
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
robb’s head was swimming, filled with thoughts of only you. as soon as the fighting was done, he set off to find you. nothing could stop him, & anyone who was in his way knew to get the fuck out of it. he spotted theon escorting you back to you & his shared tent, one of your arms slinked around his shoulders. you had a bandage wrapped around your upper thigh, spots of blood showing through the fabric as you hobbled as best you could.
he ran over, entering the tent just as theon was gently setting you down on one of the chairs inside.
“thanks, theon-“
“what in seven hells was that? hm?”
you & theon’s heads turned to look at him, both of you caught by surprise at his tone. you swallowed, looking at theon — a silent plea to leave before robb’s anger turned to him. he looked at you both, before turning & walking out.
“that was me-“
“almost getting killed?”
“protecting my king.”
robb just blinks, looking at you for a second. he can’t understand how you aren’t as utterly distraught as he felt in that moment, catching you in his arms as you fell.
“y’can’t just do that! just- take arrows whenever you feel like it!”
this is the first time robb has yelled at you. ever. you know he doesn’t mean it — or at least, that’s what you’re telling yourself, to keep the tears at bay.
“i would do it again.”
robb huffs out a laugh, turning around and looking at the floor, before looking at you once more.
“this is war, okay? i don’t have time to watch you while ‘m puttin’ a sword through a man’s belly!”
“then don’t?!”
“looks like i have to!” he says, motioning to the bandage on your thigh.
you sigh, “this is war, robb. people get hurt.”
he only shakes his head.
“gods- i shouldn’t have to watch over you like a child. y’should be better than that..” he says, turning & leaving you alone in the tent.
and for once, you’re glad robb leaves. the tears rolling down your cheeks wouldve embarrassed you if he saw.
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
you weren’t mad at him. by rights, you should be, & if you were, you knew nobody would blame you — but you weren’t.
you had prided yourself on being the person to fix everything. you were always the solution, not the problem. you hated the shame you felt, and even though you’d take the arrow for robb a hundred times more, you hated when he was mad at you.
still, you knew robb would come to you when he was ready. he rarely let his emotions get the best of him, & you knew how much stress he was under. you sat at the table, maps & books spread out in front of you. you were upset, and burying yourself in your work was a reasonable solution.
you stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, back aching from your hunched over form. you sighed, finally deciding to turn into the bed that’s been calling your name.
wandering hands & soft calls of your name woke you up.
you opened your eyes, brain still clouded with the fog of sleep. you woke up quickly, seeing robb’s form above you.
“robb?”
“hey, pretty.”
your brows furrowed, cheeks heating at his comment. “thought you were mad at me..”
he shook his head, gaze softening. “came to say ‘m sorry. can i?”
you nodded, tongue darting out to wet your lips. he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. his tongue swiped across your bottom lip, your own parting to give him access.
“‘m sorry.”
he mumbled against your lips, kissing you again. his lips trailing down your neck, mumbled apologies spilling from his lips between kisses.
your breathing gets heavier as he trails down, removing your nightgown & his own clothes.
“when i saw y’ take that arrow.. gods, doe..”
he’s gentle. he always is, but more so than ever before. he’s taking his time, full on cherishing you. it’s clear in the gentleness of his calloused, war stricken hands. the very same hands that had taken the lives of lannister soldiers earlier that day were now caressing you, softly roaming your body & sliding into the slick place between your thighs.
“wanted to stop the damn war right then, right there. hold you close, never let you go.”
he feels you clench on his fingers at his words. hot pleasure shoots up your spine, the throbbing pain in your thigh now reduced to a forgotten ache. he wants to do this for the rest of his life, he thinks. take off the crown, bed you all day long. give you so much pleasure you forget a time where anything ever went wrong, fill your brain with thoughts of only him, him, him. he makes a silent promise to do so, once you both return to winterfell. reward you for all the times you’ve saved his arse out here.
“y’couldve.. wouldn’t have- mm! complained..”
he chuckles at your words, tilting his head to the side.
“yeah? woulda liked that?” you nod. “yeah, i know.. i know it, pretty.”
it’s not long after, you’re gushing on his fingers. back arching as you coat your inner thighs & his hand with your arousal. robb presses kisses to your belly as you catch your breath, hands coming to intertwine with his curls as he trails up your torso. little-
“‘m sorry.” & “forgive me? please?”
‘s are muttered between kisses, and you don’t have the heart to tell him you forgave him hours ago — before he even came back. he aligns his cock with your entrance, slowly pushing in as he wraps his hand around yours.
“didn’t mean anythin’ i said. not a word. i was- seven hells… i was so afraid.”
you’re so full. tears brim your waterline at his words, his hands, his cock — just robb. he thrusts, in & out, movements making you shutter as you’re hyper aware of everything. every touch, every slow drag of his hips. goosebumps trail along your body as you bite back a shudder, feeling utterly oh so good.
you ask him to kiss you, & he’s compliant to your every need, pressing his lips to yours. he’d fulfill your every request, go to the ends of the earth if you asked him to. what teasing he may normally shower you with is out of the window now, savoring every moment he has with you, as if you could vanish at any given point in time. watching you take that arrow reminded him of that. that you could.
he hits the right spot, over and over again, making you see stars. it’s not long before your grip on his hand tightens, walls clamping down on his cock as you cum. he follows suit, cumming with a groan that reverberates deep in his chest.
he cleans you with a damp washcloth, making sure your stitches didn’t tear either. you’re both laying on your sides, you facing his chest as his hand traces up and down your spine. the silence is comfortable.
“you forgive me?”
“i forgave you hours ago.”
your laughter echoes into the night.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜.・。.・゜✭・.
@cdragons @ghostinvenus (just lmk anytime u wanna stop being tagged!)
guys i went a little ham w this but oh well. posting smut on tumblr is soooo scary okay bye
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