loitering around his store, staring up at him with those pathetic wide eyes, nervous as a doe- he should’ve known the little thing was nothing but a little thieving cunt.
“P-Please- wasn’t stealing-“ You’re squeaking like a mouse by the time he gets to you, and you have the audacity to go start crying when his greasy, gloved left hand finds your (easily breakable) neck.
He thinks about dragging you out by your hair, but ultimately decides that grabbing the little vermin by its neck and picking it up to drag it along is the better choice.
"I j-just- I needed somewhere to stay- I'm sorry-"
You're pathetic, really. All buried in a sweater that clearly isn't yours, pants slipping down your legs with your hands unable to decide between holding the loose denim fabric up and prying his paw off your neck.
"You're a fucking rat is what you are. How'd you get in?"
"I-I just- p-please- don't call the cops-"
Oh you're so pathetic. Shaking in his grasp, half trying to pry his hand off, other half apologizing for attempting the former.
Still, you yelp like a puppy and cry when he uses the grasp he has on your neck to rattle you proper and growl his question into your ear once more.
"S-Snuck past t-the guy with the- t-the hair-" You gesticulate towards the middle of your head, as if showing a mohawk- "w-while he was uhm, preoccupied."
Simon grunts because of course Johnny's seemingly constant need to be somehow productive and useful leads to him abandoning the things he's supposed to be doing constantly because he just- forgets, or more so, decides that keeping guard is the same as being lazy.
He could hurt you. The shop, the one soap and him share, is in a more rural part of town; hidden away from those snobby hipsters he despises, but in a safe enough part of town that, on sunny days when he's working outside, the neighborhoods kids will run all over and through the shop and the cracked concrete yard in front.
Right now, however, the situation is the following; you're a little rat he caught hiding in one of the cars currently in the shop, he has you by the neck in his fenced off 'car cemetery' and absolutely no one would be able to see what he'd do to you with how you're both hidden away in between the cars.
He knows what little skittish things like you think of big mean brutes like him, that he'll pin you to the nearest car, kick your legs apart and take and push and fuck whatever you have between your legs.
Truth is, he could do that, but he gets enough birds who try to be brave and approach him at whatever bar or pub he'd choose for that evening, and he much prefers those over a little rat such as yourself.
He settles for tossing you onto the ground and making sure you feel small when he scrutinizes you.
Does that helpless look get you any favours? From the state of you, he knows you need them. Probably live on nothing but favours and thievery.
"W-Will you call- call police....?"
A beat too long, there's nothing. Then-
"Y-You want me gone....?"
That makes him snort a laugh. What exactly could've made you think he wouldn't? With a few steps, he advances on you, slight limp, gargantuan man and the speed at which you cover your head to protect it against potential blows is worrying.
"M' not gonna beat you, though you bloody well deserve it." He snarls and you slowly ease up.
He opens up part of the fence to the back of the yard, before approaching you and reaching into all of your pockets, much to your chagrin since you squirm like a little worm. A few crumpled notes is all he finds. After taking those because that's the least you owe him after trying to steal from him, he slaps your bum twice, signaling you to get out.
"Y-You- there isn't any s-shelter nearby-"
"You took my money for the fare-"
"You tried to stay the night in my shop for free. 'S my compensation for not beating you black and blue."
He expects tears and disbelief- from the state you're in, you're definitely a runaway, he just can't pinpoint from where. You look too old to be a teenage runaway, but he could be wrong. Maybe you're a little leech that's been profiting too much off of her parents who's been kicked out?
But while you give him tears, you don't give him disbelief. Seems you're somewhat used to men who don't care for you.
"P-Please- let me stay t-the night-" You're desperate, that much is obvious.
Before he can chase you off, you offer-
"I'll s-suck... Suck you off."
"You offer that to every man, huh? If you don't immediately gain his favour, you just offer to suck his cock f' a bit?"
Simon advances on you, and when you flinch, he huffs, eyes narrow and he's about to chase you off the same way a junkyard dog would, when-
"I c-cannot be out there- he'll find me." You insist, looking up at him as if to search for pity. You will not find it.
"Does not sound like a me problem, does it?"
You're chewing up your lip now, plump and swollen, he assumes for the same reason that your eyes are swollen and red.
"Y-You can- please, if I can stay here, you can-"
In shame, you lift up your shirt, looking away as to not see his face.
"Y-You can touch my b-breasts-"
He let's out a deep belly laugh that immediately makes you clam up and drop your shirt.
"Those are cute, but not the first pair of tits I've seen."
"P-Please-" You start crying again and he huffs.
"In one of the cars out here. And for one night, got it?" You look overjoyed, thanking him repeatedly as he leads you to a irreparably damaged VW-Bus that's vintage at this point. The leather on the benches in the back is cracked and torn, but you don't seem too upset.
As he gets you settled, he takes your wrists, making you freeze up and start panicking when he uses some zipties to tie your wrists.
"H-Huh-?" He grunts at your frightened expression.
"Can't have you stealing anything, yeah?" Simon hums, as if pleased at your fear, before standing up to his full height, or at least trying before the ceiling stops him.
He looks positively terrifying like that, huge body seeming to block out the light, and the fear in your veins makes your heart nearly explode as he unbuckles his belt.
"Alright." He huffs, and the sight of his fat cock makes you dizzy.
