Call me whatever you want name-wise, I don't mind - I could care less about what pronouns you use for me - Pan - Hufflepuff - ENFP -
- About my Blog -
Hi everyone! I really wanted there to be an account that works on characters who have little to no other fics about them. That being said, I've never written fanfiction before so I'll probably be shit lol.
What inspired me to create this page was honestly because of the lack of WLW and MLM as well as few specific characters that don't have any fics about them.
That's it, thank you so much to the people who have read this far and please bear with me.
Hey everyone! Sorry for such a late upload, I have gotten a new job recently and have been very busy :/
Second of all IT HAS A CONTENT WARNING? Idk whether to be grateful because of the heavy themes being censored for people who are not comfortable, or proud. Like me?? My shitty writing has a content warning?? Anyways, go check it out here. Please read the warnings and A/N. Thank you!!
perhaps Simon Bellamy comforting ftm!reader on his period 😋
Small | Simon Bellamy x ftm!Reader
Summary: Your thoughts get a bit too loud and you can’t figure out why until blood stains your legs.
Warnings: Periods, cursing, blood, strong gender dysmorphia, mentions of girly childhood, deadname, etc. there are many of themes like these that might be triggering, please do not read if you are not comfortable.
Words: 2.7k
A/N: Anon said comfort and all I heard was angst lol. This will not be accurate for everyone and I apologize for that, I tried not to make it too personalized but pretty much failed. If at any point there is something that I get wrong, please tell me. Although I am pretty androgynous and am comfortable in any gender role, I am pretty nervous about saying something that could be inaccurate, offensive, or misrepresenting any group of people, especially minorities.
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You sent Simon a text yesterday. Simple. Short. And silently pleading.
You felt off today. Maybe you ate something bad, maybe you are just feeling weird. Either way, you need someone. Hopefully that someone turns out to be your boyfriend.
“Can I come over?”
You stared at the text for a minute before three little typing dots appeared at the bottom left of the screen, right above the keyboard you were just typing on. The dots disappeared and appeared again, making you want to curl up into a ball and claw your skin off.
Were you being too forward? Too pushy? What if something important happened? What if something bad happened? What if he doesn't know how to tell you he doesn't want to see you?
Before your head could keep spiraling, a text appeared on your screen, and a sound ringed out into the air to signify that he responded.
“Of course, do you want to sleep over? I have some of your night clothes here.”
His considerateness made heat bloom in your chest, and a small smile appeared on your face unconsciously. He wanted you to stay over. He wanted to spend more time with you.
Just two weeks ago, you had said the three little magic words to him. You opened your heart and showed him the contents. At the time, you were a little mortified. You were in bed cuddling, sleeping gently pushing down your eyelids when the words slipped from your lips.
You had barely registered them, half your mind already in the relaxing land of fantasy. Simon's eyes grew wide, his breath hitching. Safe to say his reaction woke you up to what you had just said. But the embarrassment was worth it. Because you got to hear him say those magic little words back.
“Yeah, that sounds good, love.”
“See you soon.”
No pet names coming from his side. Just a simple see you soon. He wants to see you but doesn't show affection. You wonder what's wrong. Have you done something?
He literally just offered for you to stay over, a bigger gesture than you had originally offered.
You're overthinking.
You've been doing that a lot recently.
You packed a small bag. Toiletries, charger, snacks, that sorta thing, nothing significant.
That night with him couldn't have gone better. It was filled with laughs and kisses. You talked for hours about everything and nothing all at once until your throats felt dry. When you both got tired, his voice got deeper, sending butterflies fluttering around your stomach.
You laid in bed facing each other, quiet mumbles filling the small space between your bodies. He was warm. And he smelled like he took a shower, his soap, the cologne he bought because he thought you’d like it, and something inexplicably him making impending sleep come all too soon.
You dreamt of him. Of a perfect day. Going to the movies, a theater with just the two of you. You were whispering and kissing through the whole thing, not focusing on most of the plot. You both get confused at the twist in the end, little giggles filling the quiet theater. Then the two of you have lunch, his hand grazing your arm and his eyes gazing into yours as he tells you he loves you.
Then you would go to the park and feed the ducks in the pond breadcrumbs. The water reflects the blue sky, the same color as his eyes. Big lush green trees stand tall to obscure the bright sun, giving you a shade to sit in. Flowers decorate the lush green grass, the sweet smell filling the air as birds chirp overhead.
He would help take pieces off of the bread, his soft fingers grazing yours. The touches are savored no matter how fleeting they are. He tosses the breadcrumbs just a little too forceful, the ducks having to chase after them, but the two of you laugh it off anyway.
The night ends with him going back to yours, he would try to kiss you and leave like a gentleman, but the night continues in the bedroom, full gentle whispers and tender touches.
Rustling and the tapping of tennis shoes break through your dream, the perfect day interrupted right as it gets to the best part. You stretch, feeling for his side of the bed, only to feel his plush pillow and cold sheets.
“Sorry to wake you. I’m going out for a run, love. Go back to sleep.” His voice whispered across the still silence.
You open your eyes a crack, turning to see his beautiful blue eyes already gazing at you, admiration in his gaze. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
And somehow, you believe him. So, you feel safe enough to snuggle back into the bed, eyes closing, sleep already threatening to take you back under. The faint feeling of lips pressing a kiss to your temple is the last thing you feel.
That is what brings us to now. The second time you wake up isn't as pleasant as the first. A throbbing pain persists at the bottom of your abdomen, a matching ache in your back, shooting bolts down your legs.
You are both too hot and too cold, body not knowing whether to shiver or sweat. But most importantly, you feel dirty. Moist. Like you wet yourself.
Did you pee?
Shit.
You shoot up, adrenaline shooting up your veins in an instant, throwing the covers off to run to the bathroom, already having an inkling on what it could be. Slamming the door behind you, your sleep pants easily fall to the ground as you undress to sit on the toilet.
A quick look at your underwear answers the question. Blood. Dark red and brown staining the color of the gray fabric. Somehow the knowledge that you got your period only intensifies the cramps, goosebumps prickling on your thighs and arms.
“Shit shit shit. Fuck!” The words come out of your mouth in panic, stubborn tears threatening to come to the surface before you push them down, taking an unsteady breath.
You groan. Suddenly, a thought dawns on you. What if you bled through? Stained his sheets? What are you going to do? You would rather kill yourself than have Simon know that you STAINED HIS FUCKING SHEETS WITH YOUR PERIOD BLOOD.
Simon knew you were trans. He knew you had periods. And you have been around him once while on it at the community center. He was as understanding as always, a real sweetheart. THAT DOES NOT MEAN YOU WANT TO GIVE HIM A BIG RED SURPRISE.
You bring your pajama pants into your hands, frantically checking the crotch of it, the fabric crinkling under your scrambling. Blood is on the fucking crotch. You turn it over to the outside and to your surprise (and delight) the blood did not seep through.
What are you going to do? Toilet paper will not fix this. You’ll have to grab your overnight bag. In the main room of his flat.
You wipe yourself down as best you can, red streaks decorating your skin, and wad some toilet paper up before pulling up your pants and waddling out of the bathroom. You cringe as some of the now cold and drying liquid makes contact with your skin.
You have never snatched that bag so fast in your life. You waddle-run back to the bathroom, trying to keep your thighs from rubbing against each other too badly and making even more of the red substance smear against your skin.
The bathroom is big like the rest of the apartment. Modern. White lights illuminate the space, a big mirror with a big counter and sink. He has both a big shower and a bath. You have no idea how future Simon obtained this flat to leave him.
Your steps echo on tile as you strip out of your clothes and turn the shower handle, water spraying out of the shower head. You immediately turn it to the max, immediately regretting it because it’s too hot, having to swiftly step out of the spray and reach over to lower it a little before you get cooked alive.
Red runs down the drain, staining the water pink.
You clean up, cramps subsiding under the warm stream. You sit down, knees up to your chest.
You hate this. You hate having to deal with this every month. It’s times like this where you wish you had a dick. You feel like a girl. Like how you did when you were a kid and were forced to wear skirts.
How everyone would call you by your deadname and how your cupcakes for your birthday were pink. You feel like you're back when people would call you a “princess”.
For a lot of people, that would make them light up with joy. You want to claw your eyes out. A heavy, cold, unmoving weight settles in your chest.
Tears gathering at your lash line make your bottom lip tremble, and your brows come together as you swallow them down. Even so, the evidence of them leaves a mark on you. The weight on your chest presses down all the more, and breathing has to have effort for it not to be uneven.
And when you dress and use your “feminine hygiene product”, being reminded that you weren't born how you were supposed to be, you feel.. Well..
You feel small.
You avoid looking in the mirror. You know that if you do, your brain will zero in on any and all evidence that you look wrong. How your figure looks too “girly” and feminine, even with all your efforts to look more like how you feel.
In your daily life, it wasn’t a big deal. Who cared that you were born a female and ended up a guy? Because you knew you were a guy. And so did everyone else. So it didn't really matter.
But today was different.
Today, you feel like even the simplest thing could throw you into such a state of sadness. Of defeat. Of feeling like there's something wrong with you. That the person you knew you were didn't reflect the person in the mirror. Your fingers tremble as you toy with the hem of your shirt, the fabric shaking in your grasp.
You sit down on Simon's bed with a knot in your throat. And just as you thought nothing could make matters worse, you were proven wrong. Your pains came back twice as bad as they were when you woke up.
You were nauseous and dizzy and too hot yet too cold. You felt sick. Sick because of this and sick at yourself. You breathe heavily, the air trembling at the end of your exhale.
The pain was just a reminder that you weren't born how you should've been. That you should have been born with XY chromosomes instead of XX. That in middle school you didn't feel off. That you never had to figure out why you were just.. different.
It was a reminder that you were born wrong.
An hour goes by. But it slows and crawls as you watch the seconds tick by. The hour felt like eternity. The pain jabs at you, shooting down your legs. You curl up into a ball, not knowing if the pain is better or worse. You brought painkillers, but no heating pad or anything more useful. And painkillers barely do anything anyway.
Your brain is so jumbled up, you barely register the sound of Simon coming inside. His breath is a bit labored but at the sight of you looking like a Roly Poly, his eyebrows screw up and he jogs over.
“Love? What is it? What's wrong? Are you hurt?”
The questions come from his plush lips frantically, his hand graces your back and although the pain is still there, you swear his presence just makes everything better.
“Sorry” Is the only word that you manage to say, breathing out a heavy sigh.
“For what? What happened?”
You sigh, closing your eyes. “It's just.. Ugh. I got my period.”
Sure, Simon had been super caring when you were on your period before in the community service building. But in his house? In his bed? What if he kicked you out because he was worried you’d stain everything? What if he thought it was gross? Oh lord, what if he could smell it? You think you’d actually rather stab yourself.
But his voice holds no judgement. “Oh. What- what do you need?”
“Hm?”
“Do you need anything? Tea? Painkillers? Menstrual.. Products? I could get a heating pad.”
You could marry him right now.
He can see the discolored skin under your eyes, the exhaustion in your gaze. The glaze over your eyes shows the frustration, the way it looks like you could fall apart at any moment. The breath you take in is uneven and heavy. You’re struggling, and he can tell. Your fingers tremble as they clench his blanket in your hand.
“I’m okay.”
He nods and quietly takes a few steps away from the bed, sliding off his shoes and putting up his jacket. He changes into a t-shirt and sweatpants, you watch as he slides the soft fabric over his bare skin and the muscles he's grown over the time he's been working out and striving to be stronger.
Simon's feet pad against the concrete as he walks over to the other side of the bed, lifting up the covers without disturbing your side, and sliding under. His side is cold, but he settles himself comfortably.
“What are you..?”
He cuddles in close to you and throws an arm over your waist, careful not to disturb your position as his chest touches your backside. “..Is this okay?”
“... Yeah.”
The word is whispered, like if you said it any louder, you would crumble. You clear your throat, trying not to fall into the space that tells you being like this makes you imperfect and broken.
“Are you okay, love?”
His words fan your skin, warmth blooming over your shoulder. His cologne fills your nose, comforting and soothing your senses. You take a deep breath in.
You so badly want to say yes. You don't want him worrying about this, thinking about how this affects you. Thinking about how hopeless you feel, about the hate of yourself burrowing in your chest.
“It’ll be okay. I know you feel..” He paused, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath.
He licks his lips, releasing the air from his lungs. It tickles your shoulder.
“I know I can’t make it better. And I know nothing I say will fix it.. Just know I love you.”
You release a breath you didn't know you were holding. “I love you too.” It comes out as a whisper. Your eyebrows furrow, the skin there creasing, and your shoulders sag, something between relief and sadness filling your senses.
“Fuck.” You bring a hand up to your face before sighing and letting it rest on the cool sheets in front of you, the sheets crinkling and shifting to make room.
Maybe every once in a while the feeling creeps back in and chills your veins, settles in the pit of your stomach, and stews there until your breath grows fragile. Maybe you feel as if something is wrong with you, as if you are small and the world is so pressing.
But as his touch rests on your stomach, and heat blooms there, and he makes sure you get kisses and water and as much love as he has ever been able to give, you know it will be okay.
No, he can't fix it. None of his words will make this better. Nothing can help you from feeling so helpless. But he will always be there. With open arms and sympathetic eyes. With reassurances and care.
Warnings: Heavy dysphoria, talk about childhood, talk about feeling like a girl, etc., periods
Summary: Reader is on his period
A/N: If anyone is in any way triggered by these topics, please go read something else. I have some other works that do not include these things. Thank you for supporting me, but mental health comes first.
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Red runs down the drain, staining the water pink.
You clean up, cramps subsiding under the warm stream. You sit down, knees up to your chest.
You hate this. You hate having to deal with this every month. It’s times like this where you wish you had a dick. You feel like a girl.
Like how you did when you were a kid and were forced to wear skirts. How everyone would call you by your deadname and how your cupcakes for your birthday were pink. You feel like you're back when people would call you a “princess” and assumed you liked unicorns or pony’s.
For a lot of people, that would make them light up with joy. You want to claw your eyes out. A weight settles in your chest. And when you dress and use your “feminine hygiene product”, you feel.. Well..
could i request Simon x male reader where he (reader) is one of the main characters and his power is sensing people emotions and being able to change them and he can feel Simon’s attraction to him and so reader gets cocky bc he is also attracted to Simon and then reader asks Simon is he wants to go on a date and its a really cute time?
Sorry if too many (or too little) details.
You mentioned wanting to write Simon x male!reader and this idea’s been in my head for a bit, thank you for considering this and i really love your stories (esp the Alisha Daniels one, it was really cute)
Emotions | Simon Bellamy x Male Reader
Summary: You make Simon feel wanted.
Warnings: Everything in misfits, self doubt, horrible British slang, my bad attempt at flirting, lightly proof read.
Words: 3165
A/N: Thank you guys so much for requesting! i feel like I spent way too much time focusing on Simons inner thoughts for this one but whatever, I'm open to making a part two showing off their date or something like that. I hope you guys enjoy, I will start writing the next request right now!
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You see, normally you wouldn't be so forward. When you all first met, there was no outward flirting or knowing glances sent his way. But after the big storm, you started to feel others' emotions. And if you tried just a little, you could even alter them.
You could feel Nathan wanting to be funny and the dull hurt buried deep down when no one laughed. You could feel Alisha and Curtis’s sexual feelings towards one another, and how they became a smidge insecure when the other didn't catch their eye.
You could even sense Kelly's confusion, or today, her embarrassment and anxiety, as a baby pink hat was added to her wardrobe, a sign of her hair starting to fall out. You tried to ease their worries, but with so many at once, there was only so much you could do.
But Simon's emotions were what you really paid attention to. Usually, he felt anxious, embarrassed, lonely, or even happy if he was included.
He was like a puppy in that way. Basically wagging his tail when someone would smile at him and treat him like a friend, but would have sad eyes when he was ignored, neglected, or reprimanded.
It was always nice when he was happy. But that emotion was always fleeting, wasn't it?
You tried to make that happiness last just a bit longer than it once did. Through your powers or actions, you vowed to prevent him from always feeling so sad.
Whenever he saw or talked to you, he got nervous in a different way. You could feel every little bit of his infatuation, giddiness, and butterflies as his cheeks flushed a crimson you wished to see every day.
The good thing about knowing this is you liked him too. Jesus, he was the cutest guy you’ve seen. His nervous, nerdy, reserved demeanor was more than endearing.
And with the information that you liked him and he liked you back, the flirting started.
You were all sitting on the roof.
A gentle wind blew through the air, contrasting with the usual uncomfortable warm or contrasting freezing cold of the community service building. It smelled stale but better than the stuffy inside of the building, as you're forced to stare at the surrounding gray concrete of the floor and the view of the city's tall, imposing buildings in the distance.
In favor of relaxation, chairs, tables, and a couch litter the roof. You all had to haul them up there tediously, but the comfort and temptation of unwinding and tranquility were too strong.
You talk in leisurely, carefree, joyful voices as you discuss how you're going to get away with your unsaid crimes, a secret limited to the people surrounding you. The wind creates a soft rustle as Simon speaks up, a confident and excited glint in his eyes.
“We should all go out for a drink, ya know, to celebrate.” He stands from his seat, his voice a little faster than usual but still carrying its normal stiff tone. He waves his hands a little, a spark in his eyes as his lips tug upwards at the corners.
“It’s like an ironic fuck you to the probation worker. We’re all out having a good time, you're buried under the foundations of an environmental monitoring station.”
He pants a little, his breathing a little tense as he looks around at everyone, waiting for their approval, but most of all, hoping, wishing, seeking the comfort of having a good time with your friends. Desiring the feeling of being wanted.
Because if they agree, that means they're actually friends. That talking and laughing and having fun aren't confined to the walls of this building, and instead, those moments actually mean something. He craves companionship and hopes for you all to smile and happily say yes, for you to go out for a drink.
The last time he went for a drink, he wasn't even supposed to be invited. He was made to feel unwanted and embarrassed. After leaving, he went home, lonely and alone and shameful. He buried his head in his hands, wanting nothing more than for the Earth to swallow him whole and for him not to come back. Oh, how he wished that this would be different.
But instead, the conversation fizzled out, the smiles dying, and the spark in his eyes along with it. He looks around, his eyes searching for any type of reassurance or willingness. For any sign that any of you actually like him. He could already feel the all-too-familiar ball forming at the back of his throat; he could practically feel the rejection in the air.
He didn't expect love or admiration. He didn't want to be treated like they had to say yes. He just wanted to be included. He wanted to be wanted.
His eyes found yours.
Your eyes held a warmth he wasn't expecting. Yes, you were nice to him. But the others were too- sometimes. If they had no interest, why would you?
And yet, your face took on a look of quiet reassurance, grounding him and somehow making him feel calmer, less caring about the reactions of the others.
You glanced around and felt the unwillingness. The hesitation and feeling bad for him- not enough to actually go, but enough to want to let him down easily. Apathetic. Disinterested. Awkward.
And so, you made him feel just a little less crushed.
Just as Alisha goes to open her mouth, already pushing up from the bottom of her chair, the scratchy fabric brushing against her palms, you beat her to a response.
“I’d have a drink with you any day of the week, pretty boy.” A smirk stretches across your face as Simon's eyes dart to you, his ears turning pink before the hue runs across his face and over his neck.
Everyone whips their heads over in disbelief, almost thinking they imagined the comment. Nathan was the first to speak on it.
“Pretty boy? Him?” He points over in Simon's direction but keeps his stare on you, his eyebrows drawing together and his smile lines creasing his cheeks as his mouth takes on a deep frown.
“Who else would I be talking about? Look at him, fuckin’ handsome as shit” Everyone's mouths are either slightly agape or their jaws are dropped. Curtis sits up on his chair. “Holy shit.” Kelly's eyes dart from you to Simon, her brain processing this like an old computer crashing.
“So, how about that drink?” You stand, the lazy smirk still plastered on your face as Simon takes a second to answer. “Uh, y-yes. Yeah.” As you walk over to him, you direct your next question towards the others. “Anyone else coming?”
They try to shake out of their stunned states. An overlapping of words is all the answers you get.
“Uh, I’ve gotta do.. laundry.” “Nah, I’ve got.. Stuff.” “Yeah.. I mean, no.” “No, I've got a date with a.. Yeah, I got nothin’” Nathan's voice is definitely a little more recognizable as he fails to make a joke out of the situation. Although you know for a fact there will be many jokes and teases to come in the future, that's the least of your worries.
Simon turns as you walk right past, walking a little fast for a second to catch up. In the distance, you hear them malfunctioning. “Was he takin’ the piss?” You ignore them, instead focusing your attention on Simon.
Your hand comes up to rest in the middle of his shoulder blades, the warmth of his skin seeping through the fabric of his orange jumpsuit.
Although your arm is not quite around him, he blushes nonetheless, his breathing more constrained if that was possible. As you lead him into the building, a smile grows on his face as he gains the confidence to say something back.
“I- I.. think you're handsome too.”
From then on, the comments never really rolled to a stop. Teasing looks are sent his way, making his emotions go haywire, a cocky look gracing your face every time.
The flirting gets more frequent if anything. They all groan as Nathan tries to insult the two of you, only getting insults thrown his way in return. Kelly gags, saying your thoughts are beyond sappy and “adorable in a way that makes her want to off herself”.
Eventually, they try to ignore the comments. But half the time, Simon has a reaction like it's the first time you've ever flirted with him before. All bashful and stunned and exhilarated.
Every look and touch leaves the poor man in shambles, his skin practically burning from its temperature, flushed beyond belief. His blue eyes stand out more that way, and you make sure to let him know that, spurring on another cycle of his flusteredness.
Other times he tries to stay strong, no expression crossing his face, his usual pale skin barely changing color. But you know. You feel the way his heart swells. How he feels beyond happy and loving.
Since this arrangement started, he has stuttered more and is maybe a little more conscious of himself. Not in a bad way either. Before, he would always feel like he was doing something wrong, like someone could look through him to see something imperfect. Something to be stared at and laughed at. He felt as if everyone was silently judging, silently automatically labeling him the "weird kid”. It made him feel like he was back in high school again.
But it was different with you. Every time his eyes search for yours and he sees your admiring gaze already on him, warmth blooms in his chest, and that's more than he can ask for.
When you both went out for a drink, it wasn't an official date. You both wished it was but it was more about getting to know each other better and surface-level personal life drama than anything romantic.
That night Simon lay awake, his heart still beating rapidly, his ears still ringing with your laugh, the sight of your smile still burned into his eyes.
That night Simon learned what it felt like to be loved. To be listened to as if everything that came out of his mouth mattered. To be looked at with such intrigue and affection that he felt as if he was the most important person in the world.
And if you used your powers just a little to make him feel those emotions more intensely, what's the harm?
He quickly became addicted to the feeling. To you. To your personality and looks and who you are. He wanted to know everything, the good and the bad, the boring and the interesting. He couldn't care if you told him about your favorite type of shortbread for ten minutes because it was you who was telling him.
Simon had never felt so wanted.
It felt like he belonged.
So he yearned for you to ask him out. He craved the idea of being able to call you his boyfriend. He fantasized about being able to kiss you and hold you and love you.
He was the happiest he’d ever felt. He looked forward to community service. And now that he had your number, you texted back and forth constantly. Every second of every day was spent thinking of you. And you were just the same.
And still, he yearned for more.
He looked at you with wide, hopeful, love-filled eyes. Every time you saw them your heart stopped pumping for just a beat, the oxygen in your lungs vanishing, leaving you sucking in a breath.
There was a mutual understanding between the two of you. You know he liked you, and he definitely knew you liked him. Maybe in another universe, that would have been enough. To be with each other and each other alone.
But it wasn't. You both knew it, your eyes filled with desire, unspoken words in your lungs.
You could feel every emotion he had. Every spike of anxiety or timid, unconfident feeling that flowed through that pretty brain of his.
But he would search for you wordlessly. And every time his eyes found yours, those emotions ebbed away, replaced by infatuated, smitten smiles.
You know that clique of butterflies in the stomach? Yeah, Simon felt those every day he had to put that dreaded orange jumpsuit on. And you knew it.
He knew you knew too. So he would try to hide, either by being bashful or simply tensing and looking anywhere else, even when his gaze would drift to you subconsciously just seconds later.
All of this accumulated to that significant day.
The stench of drying paint and even drier concrete and dirt filled your nose, poorly covered by stale cleaning products. The fluorescent lights unfortunately drowned everything in an unflattering white.
You could just barely hear the buzzing of the half-empty vending machine. Every blink and shift of your clothing somehow both echoed through the halls and was suffocated in them.
You could still faintly taste the Coke Simon got you almost an hour ago from the aforementioned vending machine. You wonder if he also tasted like Coke.
You were stapling flyers onto bulletin boards. Well, that was not really accurate. You were prying the old flyers off and putting new ones on, resulting in tiny scrapes damaging the little spiral of your fingerprints.
No, that didn't sound quite right either. Oh, the rest of the group was sitting down and lounging about as you and Simon were the only ones actually doing the work. This made it take three times as long and even more scrapes appear on your finger pads and knuckles. Yeah, that sounds better.
It was annoying. Alisha and Curtis probably jerked themselves off twenty minutes ago and Nathan was making crude jokes as Kelly was chuckling and rolling her eyes at him.
Those little inconveniences were a tad distracting. But not as much as the boy next to you. You took a hopefully silent deep breath and built up the courage.
“What are your plans this weekend?”
He shrugged, not noticing your intentions. “Nothin’ much.” Your heart squeezed at the information, knowing he didn't have anyone to spend the weekend with. And hopefully, you will fix that fact.
“What if we made dinner plans?” You looked away from your task as you looked at his side profile. His strong nose, the way his long eyelashes flutter as he blinks.
“I don't know if the others would want to.” You sigh. You haven't gone out to eat since the day you first called him “pretty boy”, but you didn't realize how oblivious he would be.
“I don't care about the others.” “If they're coming, you should.” His tone was unaware, unknowing, a little confused.
“Simon.” You grab his shoulders, turning him to face you. The cute little crease from his downturned eyebrows ceased as his eyes widened a fraction.
“I could give less of a shit about them. Let me put this in simple terms for your pretty little head.”
His mouth opened for a second before it closed again, a gulp running down his throat, doing little to fix the sudden dryness.
“I want to go out with you. For dinner. And not as mates, as your date.”
His mouth opened again, no sound coming from it as he continued to stare at you for far longer than he should've, almost like a statue. You're surprised he hasn't started drooling from his mouth being open for so long.
But even so, you can feel the stunned, exhilarated, starstruck, happy feeling beating through his chest.
You lightly shake him, your hands still on his stiff shoulders.
“So, what do you say?”
“I- I ye-” He clears his throat. “Yes.” The expression on his face morphs into a gleeful one, the sparkles in his eyes shining brighter, his cheeks tugging up with the spread of his smile.
He still couldn't believe what was happening when he walked up to your door. He wanted to be with you, yes. But his brain had never prepared for it to actually happen. And so he stood at your door, bringing flowers because he didn't know if he was supposed to or not, and everyone in TV shows did. His hand cups in front of his face, checking his breath for the fifteenth time, and straightens his denim jacket.
Just as his hand shoots out to knock softly on the wood of your front door, it opens, revealing you on the other side.
You just got done cleaning your flat, wanting everything to be to his liking. “I- I brought these for you.” He holds out the bouquet, holding his breath for your reaction, hoping it's not weird and you can't tell he spent 34 minutes in front of the flower area, debating on which ones to buy.
“Wow, you're quite the charmer. Flattery will get you everywhere, Simon. Thank you.” You grab the flowers, still wrapped in the cellophane, smelling bright and summery.
You let him in and he takes in the atmosphere, the warm lights making the space feel homey, The couch looks comfy and he can imagine himself staying on it with you forever.
He then realizes that this is your home. A part of your brain, and it somehow feels all the more intimate. You willingly let him into your home, your safe place.
The smell of dinner wafts into the air. It makes his stomach rumble and he can't tell if you bought or made it, but doesn't ask for fear it comes off rude. He hasn't realized how nervous he is.
“Calm down, baby. Tables over here.” As you lead him deeper into your house, butterflies flurrying in his stomach, he breathes out a breath and wills himself to relax. You glance back at him, taking in the way his jacket sits on his shoulders, the way the shirt complements his eyes.
Even though you know he undoubtedly likes you, you can't help but feel a little nervous. Still, you push that nervousness back as he becomes bashful. Your hand tightens around the bouquet slightly, the plastic crinkling under your hold.
You can smell them without even having to put your nose back up to them. They’re fresh, like a meadow. A little sweet, but soft. Delicate.
You can feel how unsure of himself he is. How anxious. As you feel every emotion coursing through him, you can't help but want to make it a little better.
You reach over, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, swiping your thumb back and forth over the warm fabric. “It's okay, handsome, no need to be nervous.”
His heart speeds up at the touch, but as he looks into your eyes, he finds himself believing in your words. As his blue eyes gaze into yours, the warm lighting encompassing you in a hug, he knows. It’s going to be okay.
Warnings: Everything in misfits, feelings of self doubt and similar things (im sorry but my bb is insecure), not proof read or edited
A/N: thank you to the person who requested this, this is the one with emotions and stuff, such a cute concept! this fic is no where near done but I just freshly wrote this part a few minutes ago and I really like it so imma share it with the class
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A gentle wind blew through the air, contrasting with the usual uncomfortable warm or contrasting freezing cold of the community service building. It smelled stale but better than the stuffy inside of the building, as you're forced to stare at the surrounding gray concrete of the floor and the view of the distant city's tall, imposing buildings. In favor of relaxation, chairs, tables, and a couch litter the roof. You all had to haul them up there tediously, but the comfort and temptation of unwinding and tranquility were too strong.
You talk in leisure, carefree, joyful voices as you discuss how you're going to get away with your unsaid crimes, a secret limited to the people surrounding you. The wind creates a soft rustle as Simon speaks up, a confident and excited glint in his eyes.
“We should all go out for a drink, ya know, to celebrate.” He stands from his seat, his voice a little faster than usual but still carrying its usual stiff tone. He waves his hands a little, a spark in his eyes.
“It’s like an ironic fuck you to the probation worker. We’re all out having a good time, you're buried under the foundations of an environmental monitoring station.”
He pants a little, his breathing a little tense as he looks around at everyone, waiting for their approval, but most of all, hoping, wishing, seeking the comfort of having a good time with you all. Desiring the feeling of being wanted.
Because if they agree, that means they're actually friends. That talking and laughing and having fun aren't confined to the walls of this building, and instead, those moments actually mean something. He craves companionship and hopes for you all to smile and say yes, for you to go out for a drink.
The last time he went for a drink, he wasn't even supposed to be invited. He was made to feel unwanted and embarrassed. After leaving, he went home, lonely and alone and shameful. He buried his head in his hands, wanting nothing more than for the Earth to swallow him whole and for him not to come back. Oh, how he wished that this would be different.
But instead, the conversation fizzled out, the smiles dying, and the spark in his eyes along with it. He looks around, his eyes searching for any type of reassurance or willingness. For any sign that any of you actually like him. He could already feel the all-too-familiar ball forming at the back of his throat; he could practically feel the rejection in the air.
