#bleeeeh

Simon who’s realized the world has pretty much left him behind, and all he can do post retirement is sit in his flat and watch mind numbing television or work out to the point of exhaustion in the gym. He doesn’t have social media, doesn’t even have more than ten apps on his phone (thanks Soap). The only computer he’s touched in the last decade is the desktop on base that he used to complete reports and other administrative things, or the banged up laptop they used to bring on missions.

So, he starts going to the library. He sets up at a table and reads books until his eyes bleed, pouring over decades of history because he pretty much refuses to live in the present.

That’s where he meets you. Or sees you, he guesses, since he doesn’t really talk much. You’re always asking him if he needs help or needs you to find him anything. You smell like vanilla icing, ripe strawberries and his mouth waters every time you appear at his side.

Sometimes you even sit down across from him with your lunch, scooping granola and yogurt out of a glass bowl, licking it clean by the time you get to the bottom.

“Hi.” You chirp, smiling. It stretches your face a bit, plumps your cheeks and adds a sparkle to your eyes. He grunts, but it doesn’t deter you. “What is it today?” You lean over, glancing at his spread of books and laminated papers. “Axis powers?” He stares at you. Watches your mouth and tongue work the spoon. He doesn’t answer, and you sigh. “You know, we never talk but you never tell me to go away so…” You trail off like you’re hopeful he’ll say something reassuring. He doesn’t, but you take it on the chin, and smile anyway. “Alright well, see you later then.”

He doesn’t know what’d he tell you, what he would say, how he would explain he’s bad and dirty and would drag you down to the pits of hell. Doesn’t tell you he can’t talk to you because then he’d have to keep you, and he’s not sure how to do that without snuffing the flame out, the one that he sees in your smile, the bounce in the balls if your feet. Doesn’t want to tell you he’d have to lock you away and he knows you’d be miserable.

He doesn’t say anything.

The following Monday, he catches sight of you in the children’s library. You’re sitting on the floor with a toddler, turning the big, bright pages, pointing and gesturing to the little boy’s delight. You look so… happy. So content.

Tectonic plates in his brain shift, and a new reality is born.

How can he keep you and keep you happy?

Easy. He’ll just fuck a baby into you.

He’s rough with it. Bends you over one of the desks tucked in the back after closing, shoves your dress up over your ass and kicks your legs apart. You struggle and cry, trying to bite, to scratch, screaming when he fits the head of his cock against your hole.

“Fuck shortcake,” he groans as he works his way inside, forcing you to take him inch by inch as tears stream down your face. “You’ve got such a good little cunt f’me huh?”

“N-n-no,” you wheeze, short of breath, and he kisses your cheek.

“Don’t worry,” he slides all the way home, shivers snaking up your spine when you clench, trying to take more, greedy for it even though you’re trying to fight. “It’s all gonna be okay.”

“Stop- please,” you rock your hips, but it buries his cock deeper. He grips your neck, pulls back and then slams into you, covering your scream with his palm. He licks your tears and you look at him in the mirror, desperation and horror welling in your eyes.