you’re followin’ him around the house like a little duckling in heart-print pajama shorts, pink fuzzy socks, and a tank top that says ‘daddy’s girl’ in glitter letters.
he’s tryin’ to clean his guns on the coffee table. hasn’t looked up once.
“simonnn…” you whine, ploppin’ down beside him.
“what now.” flat. not a question. a warning.
“i just… i missed you…” you blink up at him, resting your chin on your hand. “also… if a plane crashes on the border of two countries… where do they bury the survivors?”
“what the fuck did you just say?”
you smile real pretty. “y’know! like… which country do they bury ‘em in?”
he just stares. dead silent.
you blink. “did i say something dumb?”
“they’re survivors, love. they don’t fuckin’ bury ‘em.”
he sighs so hard it rattles the windows. tosses his rag onto the table.
“m’gonna lose my fuckin’ mind, swear to god.”
“simon…” you whimper, crawling into his lap. “don’t be mad…”
he leans back, big hands gripping your hips. jaw tight. eyes dark.
“what am i gonna do with you, huh? my soft little wife. can’t even figure out where a fuckin’ plane goes when it crashes.”
“was just askin’…”
“dumb girl.” he squeezes your hips hard. “head full of sparkles n’ nothin’ else.”
you whimper again, softly, nuzzling into his neck. “but i’m your wifey…”
“fuckin’ right you are.” he grabs your ass and pulls you down onto his cock, already hard beneath his sweats. “mine. my stupid little wifey who follows me ‘round like a lost fuckin’ puppy.”
“’m not stupid…”
“you are.” he kisses the corner of your mouth. “but that’s alright. i like you like this. soft. dumb. needy.”
he pulls your tank top down, lets your tits spill out. sucks a bruise into your skin.
“c’mon, then,” he mutters. “ride me. use that dumb brain for somethin’ useful.”
you bounce in his lap, messy and breathy, moanin’ into his mouth. he holds you like a toy—hands bruising, voice gruff.
“look at you,” he groans. “fuckin’ brainless, ain’t ya? all sloppy on my cock.”
“simon—simon, m’your wifey—”
“you’re my fuckin’ problem is what you are.”
you cum all over him with a high, shivery cry, babbling nonsense. he doesn’t stop. not even after.
“you ask me one more stupid question,” he pants, “and i’ll bend you over the fuckin’ oven.”
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