simon grunts, his chest heaving as he palms at his chub, tracing the twitching muscle of his cock and letting out a hiss at the muted pleasure that razes through him. he shivers at the heated look you give him, your pretty eyes awash with desire, scalding as it trails down the lines of his bulk until it settles on his flesh.
“ah,” you whisper and simon nearly moans at the awe in your voice.
“s’right, baby,” he says, feeling the way he pulses underneath his low-hanging sweats. “s’all f’r you.”
there is a whine that drags itself from the base of your throat, so primal in the way it scratches your vocal cords, and simon has to fist his cock to stop himself from rutting against his palm.
“i can’t,” you whine, pouting, your eyes still trained on his groin. “‘m gonna be late for work.”
“please,” he croaks out, breathless himself. “how about jus’ the tip, love? jus’ give daddy a taste of you ‘round me, yeah?”
simon knows it is playing dirty to pull this card on you—to exploit your one weakness—but simon’s guilt is tucked underneath his stretching need, the desire bloating as it leaks past his rationality, leaving him with thinning restraints.
your sharp inhale is all the answer he needs.
he bites the inside of his cheek to tamp down the smirk dancing to the corners of his lips.
“okay,” you reply, tentative and quiet. “but just the tip, you promise?”
“swear,” simon murmurs.
like a goddamn liar.
he relishes in the squeals dripping from your parted lips, only for them to be muffled into your pillow.
he’s got you on your knees, your front all but pressed flat on the bed, your arms having lost the energy to keep yourself up as simon fucks you from the back. he’s got fistfuls of your ass, using them as sweet, sweet leverage as he manhandles your body back to his cock.
“so good f’r daddy, sweet’art,” he rumbles, his voice so deep it even sounds foreign to him. “so, so fuckin’ good, love.”
he punctuates his words with hard thrusts; drawing his cock out slowly, deliberately torturous so he can watch the way your hole grips at his cock, not wanting to let him go, before punching it back in. he doesn’t stop and keeps pushing his cock past the gummy press of your walls until his hips are pressed flush to the fat of your ass.
then, he repeats the process—sharp snaps of his hips leaving you twitching, and simon watches with a crazed giddiness as your hands uselessly scratch at the sheets as though that could tether you.
he bends forward, his bulk covering your trembling body. “such a cute darlin’ for me, lovie.” he ruts his cock along a particular sweet spot. “say ‘thank you’ to daddy?”
he hears a warbled reply from where your head is pressed to your pillow.
“hmm? wha’s ‘at?”
simon cups a hand on your forehead and carefully pulls, tipping your head up just enough that he can hear you.
he hears a hiccuped sob, then, “than’ you, daddy.”
simon giggles and presses a kiss on the back of your head. “what a good doll y’are.”
something about that makes your body tremble, spasming in his hold, and simon watches with awe as your toes curl, before he has to let go of you at the sudden tightening of your walls. his eyes go white, his ears ringing with a sharp static.
he feels so, so overwhelmed at the expanding euphoria that washes over him, lapping at the synapses from the back of his skull to the cavity of his ribs.
“you came,” simon mutters in awe, his voice passing through his teeth like a gritted hiss. “christ, lovie-”
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im still high on dadbod simon so uhm thinking about someone at a bar hitting on you because they don’t know that the old man you’re out with is not a guardian nor a friend, but is your goddamn date. and while it doesn’t send simon down a spiral of insecurities, he still starts hovering even closer. he’s always pulling you to his lap, doesn’t matter who the company is. his friends quickly get used to the sight—how could they not? you’re a darling, and you look the prettiest dolled up on simon’s hold.
and when he’s fucking you, when he’s got you bearing all his weight while he fucks you on your knees, he uses the incident as dirty talk.
“remember ‘im, love?” simon croons, his voice almost drowned by the resonating sounds of skin slapping against skin. “he thought i’m not y’r daddy. thought y’re too good f’me.”
you keen underneath him, your body toppling to the mattress when your arms fall limp. simon easily follows, adjusting so that the jut of his gut sits atop your ass, and it should be a crime how this position wedges him even further in because he’s pressing against tender places, his cockhead nudging at something that almost makes it feel like he’s hitting the back of your throat.
“shh,” simon rumbles. “daddy’s got you, sweet’art. daddy’s got you.”
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