20s | any pronouns | If you’re looking for sparsely written, mediocre at best, truly heinous smut- you’ve arrived at the right location, join me friend. 18+ only!
Well... It’s been a long time since I openly posted anything featuring my favorite pairing. To be honest, I’ve been under a lot of stress lately. There was a time when I felt terrible about my preferences and was too self-conscious to show them in my art or anywhere else. But things seem to be looking up-and I’ve finally managed to do it? I’m happy. I hope to return to the days when this wasn’t considered something shameful. hope you enjoy these drawings as much as do rn :)
Okaaaaay but Royal!Price who’s married to Reader for like two years and the entire time the court is breathing down your neck because you haven’t produced an heir yet.
And ofc somehow this becomes entirely your fault bc nobody questions Price or considers that the problem might not be you because he’s the king, he’s healthy, he’s strong, he’s already proven himself in every other way that matters to these people, so obviously it must be his wife who’s defective.
And you spend two years being poked and prodded by royal physicians and forced to drink disgusting tonic things and tracking your cycles and praying at shrines and enduring every older noblewoman at court giving you unsolicited advice while rumors about the “barren Queen” spread through the palace.
And Price doesn’t exactly stop them. Maybe in the beginning he tells you not to listen, tells you there’s still time, but as the months pass he starts treating your inability to conceive like a personal failure.
And ofc there’s this one woman at court who makes your life like absolute hell over it. Daughter of some powerful duke or neighboring kingdom or whatever, beautiful and fertile looking and exactly the sort of woman everyone whispers Price should have married in the first place.
She makes little comment about children whenever you’re nearby, brings babies into conversation just to watch you go quiet, maybe even starts getting increasingly bold because Price is starting to favor her. And you know they’re sleeping together long before he admits it. You just don’t have any power to do anything about it.
Then Price divorces you.
And he’s not quietly about it either and that’s the part that really destroys you because he could’ve found a dozen political reasons to dissolve the marriage, could’ve protected whatever dignity you had left and let you save face but instead he specifically cites your failure to provide an heir as the reason for the divorce. Has it entered into the official decree that the marriage produced no issue and that you’re presumed barren, basically stamping it into history that you failed in the single duty expected of a queen.
And to add insult to injury he marries the woman who spent the last two years tormenting you, who becomes Queen, and suddenly all those rumors about how she’d always been better suited for him become accepted fact.
Meanwhile you’re just… there. The discarded Queen. Technically still noble, technically still wealthy enough, but socially ruined because who is going to marry the woman the King publicly declared barren?
Except Simon, Price’s knight who’s his own kind of social outcast cause he’s scarred, disfigured, and everyone assumes will never marry anyway because nobody has ever exactly been lining up to become Lady Riley to a monster, you know.
So when Simon asks for your hand, you say yes. Maybe Price even allows it because he thinks there’s something almost amusing about it. His unwanted wife and his disfigured knight. Two things the court has decided are damaged being tucked neatly away together.
Except Simon doesn’t treat you like you’re damaged. And then the absolute fucking scandal when, before the end of the year, you start appearing in court with a very obviously rounding stomach.
At first everyone tries to pretend they don’t notice because surely not. Surely the former Queen who spent two years unable to conceive isn’t pregnant within months of marrying Ser Simon Riley.
Except you are and it isn’t even ambiguous after a while. You’re glowing with health, Simon is hovering around you like some enormous armored guard dog, the physicians confirm the pregnancy is progressing perfectly, and suddenly all those old whispers start changing direction because Price’s new Queen still isn’t pregnant even after and entire year.
Meanwhile you give birth to this enormous fat healthy Riley baby and suddenly the court has to reckon with the fact that maybe their discarded barren Queen was never barren at all.
Which means maybe the King publicly humiliated and divorced his wife, destroyed her reputation, married his mistress, and announced to the entire kingdom that she was incapable of giving him an heir-
when the problem had been him the entire fucking time.
need to walk in on my knight jerking off with my token of favour. handkerchief wrapped around his dick, wet spot visible through the fabric, hand in his mouth to keep from yelping at the feeling. knights when they are obsessed w me and totallyyy pathetic about it.
He tried once- some lean bird with sharp hips and delicate wrist bones that looked like they’d snap if he squeezed too hard. She was pretty in the way fragile things are: all long lines and hollow shadows. When he gripped her waist, his thick fingers overlapped easily, too easily, and the thought hit him like ice water: he could crush her if he forgot himself for even a second. When he buried himself deep, she gasped sharp and tight, her whole body tensing like it hurt more than it pleased, fighting to take the stretch of him. Every thrust felt like walking a razor’s edge, one wrong move from snapping her in half.
It left him cold. Detached. Fucking her was like handling fragile ordnance- too much awareness, too much restraint. Her flesh bruised too easily, blooming purple under his grip like overripe fruit splitting open in the summer heat if you squeezed just right. Her thighs shook from strain instead of pleasure, barely able to wrap around his waist without trembling.
There was no soft give when he pressed his full weight down, no warm overflow of flesh to sink into. Just sharp bone digging back at him, quiet winces she tried to hide behind bitten lips, and moans that sounded more like endurance than ecstasy. She didn’t beg for harder. She just took it, eyes squeezed shut, surviving him.
And Simon Riley had spent too many years surviving on endurance already. He didn't want a body that reminded him of fragility every time he fucked it, one that made him feel like a brute, something dangerous that needed to be leashed. (Something that made him feel like his father.)
The first time he sank his fingers into your soft, overflowing hips, something deep in his chest unclenched like a rusted lock finally giving way. No brittle bones under his palms. No fear that one rough thrust would bruise or break you. Just warm, yielding flesh that took every brutal snap of his hips Cushion. Give. A body that could handle his full weight.
He loved the way your belly pressed soft and warm against him when he folded you in half, how your thick thighs tembled and squeezed around his waist. He liked burying his face between them, smothered in heat and softness while they shook and soaked his face.
You could take him, cock pounding so deep it punched the breath from your lungs and still look up at him with heavy lidded eyes and moan "Harder, Simon, please."
He’d never say it out loud. Never explain the way your body made the constant roar in his head go quiet. But the truth was brutally simple:
Delicate things broke under his hands.
Soft, heavy, generous bodies didn't.
And Simon Riley was a man who needed something- someone- that could survive him.
etc etc etc guy best friend agrees to be your sperm donor and now he's furiously masturbating in your bathroom, knowing that this cup of cum is soon going to be inside you
if you ask John Price to get rid of a spider for you, he'll squash it under the toe of his boot. if you tell him that wasn't necessary, he'll shrug and reply that there are much worse things happening in the world, darling.
if you scream for Kyle Garrick because there's a fucking spider in the bathroom, he'll grab a tissue and use it to gently pick the spider up without squeezing it between his fingers, then release it onto the windowsill before guiding it outside. later, he'll calmly explain that you can't yell like that over a spider, otherwise he'll lose a few years off his life.
if you ask Simon Riley to help you out because there's a huge spider at the foot of the bed, he'll kneel in front of it and offer it his fingers. he'll let it crawl over his hand before showing it to you, chuckling at the way you're flattening yourself against the wall to get away from him. afterwards, he'll release the poor thing onto the balcony, wishing it safe travels.
if you tell John MacTavish there's a spider hanging from the ceiling, he'll ask you to remove it. he can deal with literally anything else, hen, but not that foockin' eight-legged monster.
Re your repost of Ghost from yesterday: I knowwww his ass looks so good when he’s fucking 🤤 lil peek of his balls from behind
My GOD it's the main reason why you've installed a full length mirror at the foot of the bed.
You tell him it's so he can see your ass as you ride him, but the truth is that you like to watch his ass clench each time he thrusts forward into you. Turning your head above your shoulder when he's hitting you from behind only so you can see his balls slap against your clit, his thighs growing tighter and muscles defined as he bends at the knees to hit it just right—
my GOD I wanna eat him out until he's shooting blanks
“come on dove, wan’ another one from you,” simon pants from above you. your skin is liquid lava the way the satin sheets under you stick to your back, clinging onto to curve of your ass for dear life.
your legs are smushed together, huddled over one shoulder as the hulking 250 pound man grinds his hips into yours while standing upright. his fingers press tightly into your thighs, you’re sure you’ll have bruises come morning. there’s a mixture of his cum & yours pooling down the line of your ass, two loads from him and you… you’re sure you’re nearing your fourth. or is it fifth?
the sight of you under him is utterly beautiful.
flailed out under him, hair tousled in every way, your eyes locked onto his, jaw slightly ajar with the prettiest, filthiest sounds coming out of you - completely submitting to take everything he’s giving you. oh, he’s sure if any other man had a glimpse of this, you’d be their wet dream for months.
he wraps his arms around your calves, hugging your legs to his chest to keep you in place as his other hand nuzzle in between the plush of your thighs. it’s a tight squeeze for sure and it’s reminiscent of the grip your cunt has around his cock sans the pulsating. his thumb finds your pearl with ease, not that it was hiding from him in the first place; your body prickles up, opening herself up to him as if you have no choice, like he owns you.
your clit is swollen, throbbing - in pain? pleasure? at this point, your senses are singed beyond comprehension, all you can feel the the second heartbeat down there that seems to share the same pace as simon’s thrusts. and she’s still eager for his attention.
you look so delectable like this. brows furrowed together and tears brimming your eyes, pooling at your bottom lashes - the fallen ones melting into your cheeks. all from your pleasure, of course! that’s all he ever wants to bring to you, even if it means it comes with burning pain biting at your ass cheeks. he’s disgusting with the way he leans down with a sigh of content, licking the side of your face, collecting the salt teardrops on his tongue. you catch the way his eyes roll to the back of his head with a groan and as if on command, your cunt pulsates around him like she’s responding to him. a language only he can speak, you’re sure of, because your pussy is never as responsive to you as she is to him.
“she’s talkin’ t’me, dirty little thing she is,” simon murmurs against your cheek, a huff of air escapes him that sounds akin to a chuckle. it should be illegal, he thinks, how enamored you have him.
“she’s hugging you too.” you whine out as the head of his cock brushes slight against the spongey sweet spot hidden in your cunt. the bliss that shoots through you is evident in the way you cry out, writhing under him. and the way he’s speaking in tongues to her, not to you.
his rough fingers fondle your clit so gently. she’s sensitive, she told him so. and he’ll listen to her before listening to the words that come out of your mouth, in this moment at least. your pussy holds him captive the way an animal of the night is tied to the moon.
“simon!” you yelp as his thrusts turn sharper. his pelvic bone nudges his wrist to twiddle with your bundle of nerves a bit rougher than you were expecting and he chuckles as the feeling of your cunt trying to suck him in deeper. if he went any deeper, his tip of his cock would be tickling the back of your throat. though, you probably wouldn’t be able to feel it with the building pressure in your lower stomach. “please.”
“please what, baby?” simon fully expects you to beg to make you come again. so good, so pretty for him.
“need you to fill me up again.” you whine pathetically, his own hips faltering as he grunts in response.
“mmmh, i can’t baby, but you can.” he shakes his head, still pressed against your skin. he’s sure you’ve already milked him from what he’s worth. the big, burly man is taken aback when your soft hands slide up to cup the side of his face to pull his hot skin from yours, so you can look at him. his pretty brown eyes almost water at the sight of you.
“please? for me?” your voice coaxes him and he can feel his balls tighten once more. you see the look on his face and even through your pants, you jut your bottom lip out into a pout. “but i want you to, i need you to.” the way you can still manage to bat your eyelashes at him. “please, please, please.” and as the words stumble past your lips, he’s picturing you on your knees, beady eyes looking up at him (just as they are now).
simon riley has never been someone who couldn’t deliver, especially when it came to his woman. so who was he to start now?
his chapped lips brush against your cheekbone, a not-so kiss to your cheek before he pulls away, straightening out his back once more, adjusting your hips upward. he yanks his pillow and slides it under you, to keep you there — no, he doesn’t care that your cum is spilling out onto it.
tears freefall from your eyes quicker than they’re spilling from your sweet cunnie.
“si, haah, please,” you sob as you reach out to grab the arm hugging your legs to his chest. he loosens his grip and your legs slip from his shoulders, to tuck around his waist, allowing him to lean forward again. his forehead is pressed to yours and you swear you can feel a tiny gust of air from his eyelashes as he blinks at you. the only time he’s not looking at you is the split second he takes to blink to keep his eyes from drying out.
the adjustment has his tip ramming into your g-spot and he feels the floodgates open, your slick coating him. he hears it even.
plap plap plap.
please, please si. haah! feels so good, doesn’t it? you can come again, i know you can.
your walls are spasming around him, egging on your encouraging words. it’s like you and your pussy were ganging up on him and neither of you would relent until you got what you wanted. you want this bad and so does she. simon doesn’t even feel the build up, it hits him like a fucking freight train.
he’s cumming so hard, he’s swears he catches a glimpse of heaven. and of course, you’re there. holding the gates open, naked body with translucent wings behind you. you hold your hand out to him, inviting him in as you sing the word of the gospel. a hymn of him… hymn…him…his name… simon’s name.
he hears you calling- mewling his name as he comes too. fuck, had he blacked out??
he hasn’t even realized that he’s fucking you and himself into overstimulation, hasn’t even realized you were cumming. his eyes are clamped shut as he shakes intensely, head falling slack against your shoulder.
“simon?” you’re cooing in his ear, your hand gripping his bicep. he flinches at the touch, a sharp inhale at his throat and he’s sure he’s never felt like this. his hips have completely stilled in you. he pulls back just slightly and he feels the sensation of sensitivity shoot up his spine, it’s almost painful.
simon lets out a choked noise, a whimper, leave his throat as he pulls his head from your shoulder. a few beads of sweat flicking at the sheet beneath you. only when he looks at you does he realize his vision is blurry. through his sensitivity, he allows you to reach up to wipe his sweat from his eyes… only the sweat continues to form.
he’s crying.
“fuck, baby, are you okay?” you’re panicking as you swipe at the tears gathering at his cheeks. ironic, how you were the one crying and now he is.
he’s still panting as he nods his head, his hands gripping yours as he stills them on his cheeks, having them curl around his face as he turns his head to pepper kisses into your palm.
“m’okay lovie,” simon huffs as he leans down to kiss you. when he goes to pull away, his lungs still fighting to retrieve air, you can’t help but follow him to nip at his lips. he lightly laughs, unable to contain his grin. “fucken ‘ell, yer a right minx.”
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