I Need Him Biblically

I need him biblically

there's so many different forms of love everywhere and it's so nice to witness and participate in them. i love love :D

Brick by Brick

You have his favourite tea on hand. You ask him what he'd like for dinner this weekend. One time you opened the door for him within seconds of buzzing, like you'd been as eager for his visit as he was.  And maybe most devastating of all: you routinely start making too much food for even Simon to finish. 

tags: 🔞construction worker simon/neighbour reader, unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), size kink, brief mention of simon's childhood abuse

part 1 | part 2

After that things shift, just a little. You still sit with Simon while he works, handing him tools he teaches you the names of; still try to convince him to get pay for his work around the house. 

But you have his favourite tea on hand. You ask him what he'd like for dinner this weekend. One time you opened the door for him within seconds of buzzing, like you'd been as eager for his visit as he was. 

And maybe most devastating of all: you routinely start making too much food for even Simon to finish. 

“Thought you might want some leftovers for lunch,” you tell him, holding out two tupperware boxes. “If you're working those long hours you have to eat right, you know?” 

When Simon opens them at home, just before tucking them away in his work bag for tomorrow, his chest clenches. It's not just leftovers. There's dried beef jerky, a pack of crackers that go well with coffee, and a fist-sized chunk of banana bread. And— 

A little note. 

His heart hammers against his chest when he unfolds it. It's nearly dark out, crickets chirping soft and low somewhere beneath the window. The only sound in his kitchen is the ticking of a clock. 

Good luck today! Don't work too hard :)  

“Christ,” he mumbles, fingers tracing over the ink. Pretty. Like you. Like every fucking thing you do. 

Summer is nearing its end, and Simon is running out of excuses. Part of him feels proud to see the house shape up to the best it can be, but over the months the boxes have nearly all disappeared. He knows—has helped you unpack God knows how many books. Helped you put together a new bookcase, even. 

But if he's no longer useful, what's keeping you from closing your door on him? Dread rises sharp and fast in Simon's throat when he thinks about a dark, cold home waiting for him as his only company. He passes your door on the way home, more often than not sees your silhouette against the warm light of your window. Illuminating the hard dirty edges of him.  

You've started feeding him, this big mean watchdog, and he might choke on his leash if you stop now. 

“Hello, what is that?”   

Simon sharply yanks his lunch away from Johnny's grabby paws.  

“None f’your business.” 

“Is that bloody banana bread? You've got to be fuckin’ me.” 

“That's homemade,” Kyle says unhelpfully from just behind Simon's shoulder. 

“Piss off,” Simon grumbles. 

Johnny does not, of course, piss off. Instead he grins, cheeky and wide. “Didn't know y’had a bird, Simon.” 

“Fuck,” Kyle groans. “Is that roast beef? That smells so good. Where'd you get this?” 

Johnny snorts. “More like who's he blackmailin'.” 

Simon glowers at Johnny, then says through a mouthful, “My girl.” 

If there'd been any hope of them dropping it, it's gone now. Simon realises his mistake as soon the words leave his mouth and Kyle and Johnny light up.  

They're incessant. Dog him at every opportunity—who is she? What's her name? What's she look like? Show us a photo, Simon, dinnae be so selfish. 

Simon suffers it for a week until he slams his gloves on Price's table and threatens someone's going to end up in the cement mixer by the end of the day if he doesn't do something about it. 

They quiet down after that, though they can't help but ask after you every now and then—even Price, who despite his congratulatory shoulder clap admits he wishes he had a sweet thing of his own. 

And the lunches keep going. As do the notes, every one of which Simon keeps carefully tucked away in a box at home. He didn't find one last night, and he suppresses the wave of disappointment. Maybe you forgot. Maybe you were just tired, and maybe he's grown too comfortable with your casual affection. 

So when a little piece of paper that was stuck to the bottom of the lid flutters onto the ground the next day Simon is unprepared. The two seconds of surprise cost him—Johnny dives after it like a hawk and scoops it before it's barely touched the concrete. 

“You little shit—” 

Simon's at him immediately, and Johnny, delighted by what he thinks is a funny fucking little game, twists and dodges while fumbling the note open with one hand. 

“Looking forward to dinner tonight. Be safe today,” Johnny reads before Simon snatches it from him with a hard shove to his head. “Aww, Simon, you lucky shite. C’mon, give us one o’ those cookies, aye? If you're goin’ home to a candle lit dinner.” 

“Get your own cookies,” Simon huffs, and curls one arm around his tupperware protectively while he eats. 

Looking forward.   

So is he. 

- 

“Simon!” 

Simon whips his head around and catches you stepping out of your car with a wave. You've arrived home just after him today, and his breath catches in his throat when he sees your dress flutter prettily around your legs. 

You're dressed up all nice today—must've been at university, then. Simon doesn't know which he likes better: the shorts you wear at home or the glimpse of cleavage he gets when you wear a nice work blouse. 

His dick throbs when he holds his own hand up in greeting, hanging back just to get those few extra seconds with you.  

He's not sure why today is especially bad. Probably doesn't help that every time he jacks off in the shower you're the one he thinks of, imaging your pretty lips wrapped around his cock. It's hard to resist the indulgence after a long hard day of sweating and laying brick, then coming home and only getting to look, not touch. He doesn't want to stain you with his filth, but what's he supposed to do? He wants you. 

And his desire has sat festering in the confines of his rib cage for months. It curls his hands in tight fists so he doesn't reach for you by accident the way he does in his dreams, keeps him from leaning in to taste your lips to see if they're as sweet as your cobbler pies. 

“Alright?” he asks when you get closer. You feel off, distant, and when you nod it feels like it's more for his sake than for the truth of it. 

“Yeah. Um.” You adjust the strap of the bag on your shoulder, shifting on your feet. “I wanted to let you know I can't do dinner tomorrow. I'm, um, I have a date, so...” 

The spin of the world stutters for a second.  

Simon sucks in a quiet breath. “That so.” 

“Yeah.” You look up at him with a sad little smile. Not the kind of face you'd expect from someone who just scored a date, but Simon is too wrapped up in his misery to notice. “How was your day?” 

Normal. Unsuspecting. Good, even, until you told him some twat is taking you out to dinner.  

“Fine,” he hears himself say. Adds, “Watchin’ a match tonight.”  

An excuse—an out for both of you. You won't have to feel obligated to ask him if he'd like to come ‘round for a meal, and he won't have to pretend he doesn't feel like throwing up. 

“Go Manchester,” you reply with a smile. 

Just like Simon, they don't score. 

- 

He waits up for you. It's pathetic, really—that of all things this is what gets him to dig around for a pack of smokes. Been mostly clean ever since you moved in next to him, his half-hearted attempts to quit finally mounting up to something with real resolve. 

He doesn't want to taste nicotine when he eats your meals. 

Even threw out his lighter. Which means when he finds a crushed, dust-caked pack with only one cigarette in it behind his couch he has to light it with a match and shaky hands. 

It tastes awful. But it's familiar, and sometimes he craves the burn even when he sees his dad putting out his own cigs on Simon's legs behind his eyelids. 

The evening grows colder around him, late summer skies tinted with dark purples and blues. It's quiet in the neighbourhood. He's the only one out this late—everyone else has retreated to the comfort of their homes, ready to turn in for the night. 

It should feel peaceful, but all Simon feels is anxious and on edge. Not even the smoke calms his nerves. 

Should he back off, leave you to the happiness you deserve? Throw everything away in one last shot, ask to take you out like he's wanted to forever? 

Words are no good, but he's tried so desperately to show you that he'd do just about anything if you asked. To let you know that underneath his gruff silences he doesn't bite the hand that feeds him and that he'd rip anyone else to shreds for raising a finger against you. 

Simon's head lifts when his ears pick up the rumbling of a car. Is it...? 

It is. 

Lamplight flashes over the cobbled street, and then the rumble of the engine turns off with a click. 

You're alone—thank God. Simon doesn't know what he would've done if you'd taken your date home. 

You look worn out, and not the happy kind after a successful lay. Just tired—to the point where you almost don't notice him and jump when you do. You take a startled step back from his hulking silhouette leaning against the stone little fence curling around all the houses along the street you share, before pausing and asking in a soft voice: 

“Simon?” 

And because he's a masochist he asks, “Y’have fun?” 

He expects a yes. At best a non-committal shrug—at worst an enthusiastic smile. But you look down at your shoes, chew your lip, and say, “No.” A breath. “No. It was awful. He was a twat, and he tried to feel me up under the table, and he's been hounding me at university for months, and I got so sick of it I just said yes but now I'm going to have to email HR and ugh—!”  

Your voice breaks on the last sentence and you sniffle, turning your face away from Simon so you can give it a quick wipe with the back of your hand. 

He's up on his feet in an instant, trying to take slow breaths so he doesn't act on the overwhelming urge to hunt down the wankstain and crush his fingers so he can never fucking touch you again. Your dog bites without warning or remorse, and everything in him wants to show your sad excuse of a date just how sharp his teeth are. 

But he can't. You're hurting, and that's more important than breaking some bloke's nose. 

And so Simon tries for softness as much as he's capable of it, large scarred hand hesitantly landing on your shoulder. It's all the coaxing you need to lean into his touch, and when Simon shifts a little closer your head falls on his shoulder. He burns with a different kind of fire. 

“Sorry,” you sniffle. “I'm okay, I really am, it was just such a—such a—” 

“S’alright,” Simon rasps. He pets your hair and strokes your back with a clumsy touch, unsure of how far he should, can, is allowed to go. “Y’should've called me. Would've come t’pick you up, maybe sock him a new one.”  

He'd do more than that if you'd let him. He'd take you home and made sure the only time you cried was when he worked his fat cock inside you. 

Christ, he's going to hell. 

“I didn't want to bother you,” you say in a small voice. 

“Sweetheart. You're never botherin’ me.” You let out a shaky sigh, and Simon tucks your head under his chin a little more securely. “Woulda made sure y’got home safe.” 

It's quiet, then, save for the sound of a car driving away somewhere down the road. Simon doesn't say anything else. He doesn't want to break the spell that you're under. You feel so soft in his arms, his sweet bird, finally come home to where you belong. 

“I kept wishing it was you.” Your voice is so soft he almost doesn't catch it, but before he can process it you pull yourself out of his embrace, cursing under your breath. “Sorry. Sorry—forget I said that. I'm... I'm gonna go home.” 

Simon's hand shoots out and grabs your wrist. You stare at him with big wet eyes that has the pit of his stomach swoop low. 

“Y’wish it was me?” 

His voice is low and rough, strained with want. 

Your cheeks burn and you avert your eyes, though you don't pull your hand away. “Sorry. Ignore me, I'm just...” 

“I'll take you,” Simon says a little too quickly. “Anywhere you wanna go. Dinner. Movies.” He pauses, trying to remember what people do for fun. “The library.” 

There. You hiccup a little laugh, finally, and the beginnings of a smile tug at your mouth. 

“The library?” 

Simon smiles a little, too. “Anywhere you want,” he repeats. Even the fucking library. 

Your gaze drops to your hands, and you carefully turn your palm against his. “I think I'd like that.” 

Simon swallows and lets his fingers intertwine with yours. “Yeah?” 

“I don't really care where we go, though. If it's with you.” 

Jesus bloody Christ. 

“Okay,” Simon says, voice tight. “Alright. We'll—we'll figure it out. We'll go somewhere.” A breeze hits you as he says it, and you shiver. “...Right now let's just get you home.” 

You nod, the fatigue overtaking your features again. Simon walks you all the way to your door, squints against the night sensor he installed himself. 

You hover in the doorway before opening your mouth, closing it, then take a small step forward to rise on your toes. Simon's heartbeat kicks up under your hand where you steady yourself on his chest, and then he feels your lips press against his cheek. It's his bad one, the one with the nasty scar from a bar fight long ago. 

“Thanks,” you say softly. 

“Yeah,” he manages, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. “’Course.” 

The door closes with a soft click.  

- 

When you mention wanting to hike out on a trail nearby Simon, true to his word, makes it happen. It's not so bloody hot anymore and it's nice, hearing the birds chirp overhead. Nice to exist in a world where everything is washed in shades of mottled green, hearing the dirt crunch under his feet.  

It relaxes him. Makes his muscles untense. You promised him a picnic at the end of the trail, and to Simon's delight he succeeds in coaxing you to feed him bites of your homemade sandwiches in the midst of tall grass and meadow flowers. 

When you get home, sweat and sun lingering on your skin, Simon has full intentions of dropping you off at your doorstep and wishing you a good night. Maybe get another kiss if he's lucky. 

And he does—but you linger, soft lips hovering over his cheek. His fingers curl and uncurl against his sides, waiting and wondering. 

“Please kiss me?” you breathe on his skin, and that's all it takes. 

He surprises himself with the intensity of it, but fucking hell, he's wanted you for so long. His shoulders hunch, neck bent low, and he slots his mouth over yours. Your little fingers grab at his shirt for balance, and he pushes you against your doorframe. Every time he pulls away you make a small noise of protest and chase his lips, and though Simon hasn't had a drop of alcohol today he feels well on his way to hammered. 

“Do you want to—please come inside—?” 

Simon groans and rests his forehead against yours. Fuck. “I want to—want t’do this right,” he rasps. 

You exhale with a shaky breath. Your cheeks are flushed, eyes glittering like stars. Simon's stomach lurches at seeing you want him. “Right, um. Of course. I just—I've thought about... about you. For a—a really long timmf—” 

Simon groans into your mouth. He cups your cheeks, one hand sliding to hold you at the back of your neck. A sweat breaks out along his spine when he imagines you at night, in your bedroom, fucking yourself with your little fingers. Whimpering his name... 

“Yeah? Y’want me to take you to bed, sweetheart?” he murmurs, and you shiver. 

The two of you barely make it past the door until Simon is stealing the breath from your lungs again. He's wanted this for so long it's a little hard to stop, even if it's to break apart for air. Miraculously you seem to want it as much as he does, seem as desperate for his touch as he is for yours. 

When has anyone wanted him this bad? When has he ever felt like he'd die on the spot if he didn't get inside you right the fuck now? 

He doesn't need to ask you where the bedroom is. This place has felt his touch almost as much as yours, has shaped up into a cosy little home that is part of him, too. Like he wants to be part of you. 

Simon simply scoops you up and carries you straight to bed, forgetting to be gentle when he deposits on the mattress. His head is buzzing, his heart is thundering, and he needs you now.  

Fortunately you don't seem to mind much. Your hands immediately fly to his belt, tug at the metal impatiently, then fumble with his zipper with trembling hands. Simon pulls your top over your head, throws it somewhere on the floor without a care followed by his own. 

“Lie back,” he husks, and makes quick work of your trousers. Pauses just for a second to take in the growing wet patch of your panties. 

“Simon,” you whine softly. 

He drops to his knees and slides his large hands over your thighs, transfixed. He smooths over the goosebumps on your legs, presses a kiss to your knee. 

“Want me t’take these off?” he rasps, snapping the band of your panties. You lift your hips in silent assent. Simon helps you shimmy off your underwear and suppresses a moan when a string of sticky arousal clings to the fabric—then follows it right to the source. 

You gasp when he kisses your folds before gently spreading them with big warm fingers. “Sweet little cunt,” Simon mutters, and then he goes to town. 

He starts with slow, wet licks, feeling out what you like and what's too much. He keeps it light for a while just to feel you squirm and to hear your breathing turn ragged, then backs off just when your knees start trembling. He smiles when you whimper his name with a desperate little “please". 

“Such good manners.” His breath washes over your clit, and your hips try to twitch away from him. “Proper sweetheart, yeah?” 

It's great fun, playing with you, but his cock is throbbing painfully and he's leaking everywhere, and he very much intends for you to end the night feeling so blissed out you let him sleep next to you. 

So Simon hoists you closer, hooks your thighs over his shoulder, and sucks on your clit until you're sobbing his name. He holds your hips down by splaying one big hand over your stomach because you're a sensitive little thing, bucking away from him when he's not nearly done with you yet.  

It's cute, seeing you lose yourself to the pleasure. It's also really fucking hot. Simon slowly pushes one finger in you and groans when you clench around him. 

“Simon,” you whimper. “Oh, please, please—” 

Such a good girl, begging without him telling you to. Simon crooks his finger, and your next breath is a stutter of moans before your whole body tenses and you cum on his tongue. 

Simon hums approvingly, keeping his motions slow and steady so you ride it out all the way. When you whine and wriggle away from him he lets up, wiping at your slick covering his chin. 

Best meal you've cooked him by far. 

“Oh,” you sigh. “That was... Give me—give me a minute...” 

Simon chuckles and rises from his knees to crawl over you and steal a kiss. “Feelin’ good, princess?” 

“Princess—” you let out a breathless laugh, but even in the low light of your nightstand lamp Simon sees the colour rise in your cheeks. Liked that, did you? You blink up at him, a sweet satisfied smile on your lips. “Mhm. So good. Come here?” 

Your hands trail over his sides, stroke over the light hair trailing down his stomach. Simon shudders when your knuckles brush over his cock and he shucks off his trousers further to give you better access. 

When you wrap your hand around him he drops his head into the crook of your shoulder and moans. The twitch of his hips is involuntary, too desperate to chase his pleasure to stay put. 

“Next time,” you whisper while pulling him forward, spreading your legs wider to fit around his hips, “I want to feel you in my mouth.” 

“Jesus,” he groans. It takes everything in him to not just slide in. “We need a condom?” 

“I'm clean,” you murmur against his jaw. “On birth control. If you want we can—” 

“Fuck yeah I do,” Simon says, and you laugh. Soft eyes when your hands slide over his shoulders, brush through the short hair on his neck. Simon watches your face while he lines himself up without blinking, and he's rewarded with the flutter of your eyelashes, the parting of your soft lips. 

Your brows scrunch together at the first few inches, and he kisses you sweetly to make you relax. Simon knows he's not small, and he groans when you clench around him. 

“Good girl,” he whispers against your hair. “Good girl. Just like that, yeah? Takin’ it real well. Just like that.” 

He slides in a little deeper. You shiver and mewl and beg him for more, and he gives it to you. Anything you want.  

“Simon,” you whimper. “Feels so—oh, you feel so good. More, please, please—?” 

Simon brushes the hair from your forehead, keeping his thrusts long and slow and making sure to kiss your cervix each time, just because your breath stutters so prettily every time he does. 

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck, you're so—such a tight little cunt. Couldn't wait any longer, could you? Jus’ had to have me?” 

You nod immediately and empathically, eyes glassy with arousal. You try to answer him, but the only thing you manage are airy moans that sound like his name. 

That's alright. Don't need to talk. He knows what you want to say; he feels the same. Simon catches you in a messy kiss while lacing his fingers with yours. Yours. Mine.  

He shoves his free hand between your two bodies and finds your clit, circling it until he's found the right rhythm that has tears gathering in your eyes. He could live on that for the rest of his life, of hearing you mindlessly stuttering his name while your body tenses up and your head drops back and those pretty lips part in a choked moan— 

“Christ,” Simon grits through his teeth, sweat dampening his brow. Your cunt flutters around him, soft little flower in full bloom that, with another thrust or two, has him falling apart as well. 

Both of you moan at the feeling of his cum spurting hot and thick in your waiting womb. Simon rocks against you slowly to make sure you get every last drop—birth control or not. 

He kisses you on the comedown. You melt into his touch, butter and honey, running your fingers through his hair until Simon shifts you around so you're curled up against him. 

In another minute he'll get up and get you a washcloth before tucking you in and kissing your bare shoulders. He'll wrap himself around you before sleep takes you, make sure that he's the last thing you see and hear and touch. 

For now he lets himself bask in the present. In having a sweet little bird clinging to him for comfort and giving him more than he could ever ask for in return. 

Simon doesn't think you quite realise what you've gotten yourself into, in giving this big ugly watchdog your affection. He's not a king or a prince; not even a knight, not like the ones you read so much about. Simon wouldn't exactly call himself chivalrous or genteel. 

But he's just as devoted and twice as vicious. He'll belong to you, and you to him, and from the moment he saw you he was oath-bound. 

He'll have to steal a ring or two to measure which size is right. It'll take some work to knock down the walls between your two houses, but he'll ask the lads for help. Simon knows you'll win them over right away if you cook dinner or bake them something sweet. 

And maybe in time he'll have to try his own hand at baking. He always did want to put a bun in the oven, and Simon just knows that if you're the one to do it with him— 

It'll come out perfect. 

she’s with me. 

synopsis: love and deepspace boys’ reaction when someone tries to flirt with you. 

wc: 3.5k (approx 800-900 per chara)

character/s: zayne, rafayel, xavier, sylus 

warning/s: men being creeps (dude, she's just not into you.)

note/s: i apologize in advance if this isn’t entirely lore accurate or ooc, i’ve just started playing and am only at chapter 5 (if you’re in the asian server, let’s be friends!!) 

zayne: 

zayne was running late. you sighed as you looked at zayne’s text message. it contained an apology about the unexpected traffic and how he would be a few minutes later than the agreed upon time. 

knowing that the situation was out of his control, you text him back a reassurance and took a picture of the menu, asking him what he’d like so you could order it before he arrives. 

“are you ready to order, miss?” the waiter asks and you put the menu down and give him a polite smile. 

“not yet, i’m still waiting for someone.” you could see a spark twinkle in the waiter’s eyes. you didn’t like it. it felt as if he were hoping for something that you were not willing to give. 

every now and then, the waiter would ask if you would like to order and time and time again, you make it clear that you were waiting for someone. the waiter would constantly look over at your table, taking notes of the minutes and coming back with subtle hints of his infatuations. 

first, it was a refill on the untouched napkins with the first folded one conveniently having his number. 

second, it was accidentally spilling water over your table even though there were no obstacles that hindered his footing. 

third, and hopefully the last, he managed to insert himself while explaining the menu as a pick-up line–which almost made you lose your appetite. 

you felt uncomfortable.  

“would you like me to inform you of tonight’s specials? it’s a rare wagyu steak with a side of me—” “oh, you’ll just be wasting your time. i think it’s better for you to tell me when my date arrives. we wouldn’t want you wasting your breath now, would we?” you jest, trying to subtly tell the waiter to leave you alone but it was either he was very persistent or very dense as he keeps ghosting over your table even after leaving. 

you try to push any assumption away, telling yourself that it was part of his job to be attentive but was it still professional attentiveness when he wouldn’t stop staring at you? 

your phone vibrated on the table and before you could take a look. the waiter comes back to your table, more confidently this time. as if he was about to claim a prize. 

“miss, i’m off for the next half hour, how about i keep you company while you wait for your ‘date’.” you didn’t like how he put air quotes on the word date and the sarcastic lilt in his voice as he speaks to you. 

“i told you, i am expecting someone and i do not appreciate you being unprofessional when i have explicitly told you i’m waiting for my date.” 

“by the looks of it, he probably stood you up. no man would keep a pretty girl like you waiting.”

you were evidently pissed, your face held an unimpressed stare but before you could answer back, a familiar deep voice caught both of your attention. 

“while i do appreciate your sentiment for keeping my girlfriend company, i don’t think that’s necessary.” the sight of zayne made your lips quirk up into a small smile, the waiter, with his back turned, only offered a snort of arrogance. 

“yeah, some boyfriend you are keeping a lady like her wa—” the waiter stops in his tracks as he turns around and sees zayne’s tall, lean physique looking at him with the same unimpressed look you were sporting. the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. 

the waiter feels like he’s being watched under a microscope due to how the two of you were looking at him as if he were some kind of gum under your –most likely– expensive shoes. 

zayne spares him a glance no longer than a second before he turns to you. 

“i apologize for being late, darling. work took longer than usual and the traffic was unexpected.” he explains and takes a seat in front of you. you smiled and shook your head. 

“was the surgery a success?” you asked and zayne nods before you gave a hum of acknowledgement. 

the waiter then realizes who just sat across from you. he was on the news for being the best cardiac surgeon in the akso hospital. he knew he was no match for him– not that he was an option in the first place. 

 you turned over to the waiter who looked like he was regretting every decision he’s ever made with his life. 

“would you mind getting another menu? my date and i would like to order at the same time.” you asked, the waiter nods stiffly before turning around and walking away. 

the additional menu was brought over to the table by a different waiter, but neither you and zayne questioned it as you enjoyed your date night. 

rafayel: 

stinkfish: wruuu :((  stinkfish: i’ll sneak out this exhibition talk to come to u this is so boring :((  stinkfish: i don’t wanna explain to the people why i painted this and that. they won’t listen the way you do stinkfish: tell me where u are pretty pleaseee :(( 

you snort as you see the myriad of texts rafayel was sending you. you sent him a picture of the aisle you were in with no context before turning your phone off, you looked at the painting in great detail. smiling softly as you remembered how excited rafayel was when he was rambling about the vision he had and how he couldn’t wait to paint it. and now, after a few days, his vision came to life and you were in front of it, admiring the details and thoughts that went behind the painting. 

“you know…” you hear a foreign voice say from beside you, your thoughts get cut off as you look at the stranger with a curious glance. 

“i thought you were the prettiest painting until you started moving.” you blinked, not exactly knowing how to respond to the cheesy pick up line but you only offered him a polite smile as you nod and move away. 

the man did not take the hint. 

“so, what brought you here?” he asked and you showed him the brochure of rafayel’s exhibition with an obvious look.

“so am i! wow, we have a lot of things in common.” you were fighting the urge to roll your eyes because as much as friendly goes, the man knows that you’re obviously not interested, but he isn’t going to give up. 

the two of you stopped by in front of rafayel’s biggest painting yet. the glimmering shade of red that contrasted with the painted sand captivated you. you tilt your head to the side, smiling at how the painted blue ocean seemed as if it were glittering under the lights of the exhibition. 

“do you like that painting.” right. he’s still there. you don’t bother facing him as you nod. the stranger huffs. 

“there’s nothing good about this painting. it’s just the ocean. if you were to ask me, i’d say it’s mediocre at best.” 

‘i didn’t ask.’ you wanted to say but you kept your mouth shut, not bothering to reply to the stranger no matter how much he insulted your boyfriend’s works. your hand clenches the brochure tightly as you move on to the next painting, hoping the man gets off your tail because you were so close to flag down a security guard and report him but it’s fine. you can handle it. 

silence is the best weapon after all. 

“— and i think the blue could use a deeper shade because it doesn’t look right, the blablablablabla” you tuned out the stranger’s yapping, not really acknowledging nor caring about whatever comes out of his mouth. 

“you know… the exhibition is about to end and i think we have a connection.” brother eugh. this time, you couldn’t help the cringe that overtook your features as you grimaced at his forwardness. 

the stranger clicked his tongue, a smirk playing on his face. “still playing hard to get, huh?” he takes a step closer to you. “i like that about a girl.” your grimace only deepens as you look at him as if he was the most disgusting being on earth. 

“too bad, that’s my little conch shell you’re talking to.” you turn your head to the side, your grimace turning into a smile as you see rafayel behind you. 

“hey miss bodyguard. you weren’t at the picture you took.” rafayel pouts, you shook your head slightly. “you were taking too long, i wanted to see your exhibition already.” you finally talked for the first time and in the corner of your eye, you could see the stranger deflate when he realizes that he was your boyfriend and you were not in fact playing hard to get nor interested in him. 

“i had to escape thomas, he kept telling me that new buyers were coming and he kept going on and on and on– so i escaped and here i am.” he beams, his arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you closer. 

“you’re prettier than anything in this exhibit.” he says loud enough for the stranger to hear and the stranger almost throws a tantrum when he sees you bury your face in rafayel’s chest due to flusteredness. 

rafayel cradles your head to his chest in a gentle way, but the look he gave to the stranger was nowhere near. 

his brow raises. “why are you still here?” as if the man’s trance snapped, he blubbered out apologies before he ran out the exhibition, knowing the embarrassment would probably haunt him for years. you pull away with a sigh. “thought he’d never leave me alone. i almost thought you’d met your match because he kept talking.”

“are you trying to say i talk too much.” 

“...”

“hey!” 

xavier: 

xav<33: I’m sleepy. U and Ur friend enjoy yourselves though. Good night my little star.

you huff as you read your boyfriend’s text. he could’ve at least remembered tara’s name. you think to yourself before you send him a good night sticker. he responds back with one back and a heart, causing a smile to etch on your face. 

“hoho.” tara smirked evilly. “is the boyfie dropping by?” she teases and you huffed. “i wish. knowing xav, he probably sent me that emoji while asleep.” you said before pocketing your phone. 

“pfft, more fun for us then!” tara beams as she pulls you in the nightclub that she planned. 

the strobe lights were blinding as the dance floor lit up with different shades of blues and purples. the people around were dancing as if nothing else mattered and there was no tomorrow. 

“whoah.” tara breathes out, eyes filled with amazement. “there are a lot more people than i thought there would be.” she turns to you with a smile on her face. “stay close to me, okay? wouldn’t want your boyfriend getting worried!” you smiled and nodded as you let her lead you to the dance floor. 

the dance floor wasn’t quite as packed as it was a few minutes ago, seeing as some people left to get more drinks, hoping to get more buzzed. 

maybe it was an impulsive decision on tara’s end, or maybe it was her fear of missing out as she yells over the music. 

“i’ll be back in a second, i’ll go grab us drinks!” and before you could yell back that you’ll stay on the sidelines while waiting, she was already gone. 

thinking that tara would look for you and see you on the sides eventually, you stood and observed the people around you. the atmosphere was nice. the club wasn’t stuffy, the music was loud but not uncomfortably so and the people seemed to be having a great time. 

“you here by yourself?” you remain unfazed as your eyes flit to the sides, seeing a man who looked like he was buzzed. his breath reeked of alcohol and his body was slurring to the side. you smile dismissively before you shake your head and point towards the dancefloor with a vague finger. 

“my friend is getting me drinks.” tara hurry up. 

“ah? really? i don’t see them.” he takes one step closer and you instinctively take a step away from him. “she’s about to head here.” you explained. the stranger grins and you could feel a cold sweat on your back. 

“how about you give me a dance before i let you over to your little friend? maybe she could join if you’d like.” disgusting. absolutely disgusting. 

you wanted to kick the man where the sun doesn’t shine and maybe, just maybe, neutralize him with the same neutralizer you use with unstable wanderers. the thoughts of what you could do in the situation filled up your mind that you didn’t notice his grimy hand reaching for your wrist. 

“would you mind not touching my girlfriend?” you look up to the voice. pleasantly surprised to see your boyfriend holding onto the man’s wrist with a glare on his face. 

“hah! as if! back off, chump, i saw her first.” the man cackles, xavier remains unfazed as he tightens his grip on the man’s wrist every time he struggles– which was a lot that you had to stop xavier once you hear the cracking of bones. 

xavier abides to your gentle touch before he pushes the man before letting go, causing him to lose his balance and slide against the nightclub wall as he whimpers pitifully at the pain on his wrist. 

xavier spares him no glance as he places a hand on the small of your back and escorts you outside the nightclub. 

“(y/n)!” you hear tara wail as she runs to you, hugging you tightly. “oh my god, i’m so sorry! i couldn’t find you anywhere and you weren’t responding to my messages and–” “tara, it’s okay.” you reassured her, tara looks at you with a doubtful expression, obviously still feeling guilt before she turns to xavier. “thank god you got here so fast! i really wouldn’t know what to do! ack! i’m really, really sorry.” she apologizes, xavier gives her a nod. 

“it’s alright. i’ve neutralized the threat—” “threat?!” “what he means—” you hold tara’s hands with a smile on your face. “he managed to find me before anything bad happened, right, xav?” your smile screamed out just agree and thankfully, your dense boyfriend caught onto it as he nods his head in agreement. “right.” 

“it’s getting late and i don’t think we can continue the night, how about we reschedule this?” you asked tara and she gives you a determined nod before the two of you parted ways. 

once you waved the taxi that tara was in goodbye, you turned to xav. 

“how did she manage to wake you?” “i wasn’t asleep. i was waiting for you to message me to pick you up.” he explains before he yawns. “you owe me so much cuddles for making me teleport.” 

you scoffed, knowing that your night will be spent with you as his personal bolster. but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

sylus: 

“last chance to back out, kitten. i must warn you that i may not be able to have my eyes on you once we get inside.” sylus says as the two of you stood outside the banquet doors. you were donned in a fitted blood red dress, your makeup was done just right and you were the embodiment of elegance. 

“are you scared that i’ll be swept on my feet by someone else if you look away?” you teased. sylus chuckles, the rich baritone of his voice reverberating against the quiet hall. 

“my kitten, i am in no way insecure about you falling for another man’s trap. i am merely concerned for the poor fellows who will fall for your beauty, not knowing you’re mine.” his deep voice practically purrs by your ear as his nose traces the outline of the side of your head. his musky cologne invades your nostrils causing you to shiver slightly. you scoffed, pushing his head away before you wrapped your perfectly manicured hand on his bicep.

the banquet was regal. that was the only term you could think of as you stepped in with sylus by your side. your heels click in pace with his large steps as all the clamor quieted down, all eyes were on you and sylus. 

almost immediately, the elite walked towards him, trying their best to get the onychinus’ boss’ attention. you immediately let go of his arm, not wanting any attention to be on you. although, if that were truly the case, you shouldn’t have had walked in with him but it was his demands. you had no choice but to abide. 

you shouldn’t even be here in the first place! you did not agree to being sylus’ arm accessory, it wasn’t part of your deal but with the wave of his black card, you find yourself observing the people who desperately tried to gain his attention.

you can see the women blinking their lashes, trying to get sylus to even glance at them but you paid them no mind, knowing that sylus only has his eyes on you. unfortunately, not at the moment, as you slipped from his gaze and walked over towards the bar. 

you sat by the corner, by yourself as you observed the elite and how they interacted with each other. you can see how the ladies immediately roll their eyes once their conversation partner turns their backs, or how the men would look pointedly at their henchmen when information about their rival partnerships were leaked out of intoxication. 

a cold drink slides down the bar and hits your arm, you jolt slightly at the sudden change in temperature before you turn to take a look at the bartender who offered you a charming smile. 

“i did not order this.” you say, pushing the drink back, the bartender shakes his head. “it’s on the house.” 

you tilt your head in confusion, your body unconsciously shifting towards the bar as you engaged in conversation. 

“i can’t have a pretty lady sitting on my bar and not have her drink, right?” you blinked before your eyes darted towards the drink, a blank expression on your face before the bartender chuckled. he took the glass away from you, dumping its contents out before preparing you a new one.

“the first one wasn’t spiked. but maybe that just wasn’t your cup of tea.” he explains before asking for your preferred drink and went into making it immediately, making sure your eyes were on him. the bartender smiles as he presents you with the drink. 

“open a tab fo–” “it’s on the house.” “excuse me?” the bartender smirks, elbows on the bar as he gestures towards the drink. 

“pretty ladies drink for free.” he winks and you almost want to look back at sylus and see if his eyes were indeed on you, but you weren’t about to take advantage of some stranger’s generosity even if he was obviously flirting with you. 

“no, i insist. open a tab for–” “i insist it’s on the hous–” “sylus.” the bartender looks at you amusedly before he huffs out a laugh. “sylus, huh? haven’t heard that name for a tab in the past twenty minutes.” he smirks. 

“lady, you’re the fifth person to ask for a tab to be opened after sylus’ name.” you fight the urge to roll your eyes. “before this gets embarrassing for you, i suggest you take the free drink and maybe i can have your contact?” he winks. 

“sylus may not look at you but i will.” the bartender obviously did not see you and sylus walk in together. 

“while i do appreciate the generosity for buying my kitten a drink.” you barely bat an eye as you hear sylus’ booming voice interrupt your conversation, one of sylus’ big hands run down the slit of your dress, fingers slipping into your thigh garter as he pulls out his black card. 

“i am very capable of providing for what’s mine.” he says as he places the black card down. “you heard the lady, open a tab under my name.”  

the bartender was now distraught, obviously intimidated by sylus’ presence as he takes the card and immediately turns his back, making your drinks with shaky hands.

“scared i’d get swept away?” you repeat your words from before, a smirk forming on your lips. sylus places his hand on your cheek, his thumb playing near your lips. 

“what can i say? you look absolutely ethereal, sweetie. i wouldn’t put it past them to attempt and steal what’s mine.” 

note/s: first ever l&ds work we cheer !