#psimon

༄page 25, from the section named “guard dog”

the turning of your head catches roy’s eye and he shoots you an easy smile.

“uh-oh.” roy smirks, and dick cocks his head at him like a confused puppy.

roy jerks his head, and dick’s eyes scan across the left wall of the room.

there you are, in a pair of soft but tailored jeans and a loose, almost see through shirt that falls over one shoulder. always dressed perfectly for the occasion, aren’t you?

dick reluctantly drags his gaze away from you to clock who’s leaning over you: simon jones. of course it is. you grace this shitty dive bar with your very presence and the vultures can’t help but circle.

dick rolls his eyes as roy chuckles under his breath. the bartender sets down the group of refills, and dick grabs his glass and the rootbeer (in a rather deceiving bottle) for you.

“you got it?” dick’s practically vibrating with restless energy, his eyes locked on where simon leans over you, crowds you, against the wall.

dude’s a douchebag (whose parents do pretty well) that’s got too much time on his hands.

more than enough time to spend hours at a hole-in-the-wall bar in hopes of seeing you.

dick knows he’s nursing a little crush on you, something fake, shallow. no doubt he’s leaning so far forward ‘cos he’s hoping for a look down your shirt.

he cannot STAND the way simon’s looking at you.

roy nods, motioning garth over to help from where he’s waiting for his turn.

“simon? simon jones, is that you, man?”

dick’s mega watt smile is on, sending a thrill (and a chill) up your spine.

except it’s not a smile. to the trained eye, it looks a lot more like a Doberman baring his teeth.

your own smile feels frozen as simon glances at you, the oddest expression on his face.

༄aaand that’s where the page cuts off! dick can be a bit..territorial, it seems!

thanks so so much for your ask, 25 is a great age to be!

xoxo

Fearsome