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ellephlox · 9 months

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Anchor

Summary: Matt helps you when you're overstimulated at a party.

Pairing: Matt x fem!reader on the autism spectrum

Warnings: Description of panic attack, overstimulation, brief and very indirect reference to sexual assault, profanity.

A/N: I apologize in advance if this doesn't fit with your experience of autism! I just used my own tendencies as inspiration to write this. Thank you so much for the request, anon!

Foggy warned you that his family could be... intense. Not just rambunctious, or extraverted, but more like a crowd of drunken mega-fans when their favorite team won the Super Bowl.

"So I get it if you don't want to come," he said, speaking through a mouthful of poutine. "No pressure at all. It's just a summer barbecue. But the only food there will be lasagna, just so you know."

"Why lasagna?" You sat across from him and Karen at a small, quiet diner after work, with Matt to your left. Sometimes you went to Josie's, purely because it was Matt and Foggy's favorite bar, but on busy days you'd go to this smaller eatery instead. Matt never made a big deal of it, and never said specifically to Karen and Foggy why he always suggested the quieter restaurant on the days when Josie's was brimming with patrons and music, but you knew why, and you'd told him a thousand times how grateful you were.

"Why lasagna?" Foggy repeated. "Uh, because July 29th is none other than the very important holiday, National Lasagna Day?"

"I have a feeling your definition of 'very important' differs ever so slightly from mine," you said. "Sorry. Haven't heard of it. So, you celebrate this because...?"

"Because my dad thought it would be funny and then it kinda stuck. So now it's an official Nelson Family Tradition."

"He's dragged me to some really weird traditions over the years," Matt said, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You liked the feeling of being in a cubby of his arms, and you subconsciously leaned in closer to him. There weren't many people you could lean into comfortably, but Matt was one of them. "Careful. Once you go to one, he invites you to all of them. I'm still recovering from the Hammock Olympics."

"What's—"

"Don't ask," Foggy cut in. "It's a long story. But think about it, okay? We'd love to have you."

You weren't keen on going to a lasagna party — or any party, for that matter — but you agreed. Foggy had been your friend for a long time, and you felt that you owned it to him; besides, as much as he claimed his family was rowdy, they couldn't be that unruly.

But nothing could have prepared you for the swarm of Nelsons that spilled out of the house and onto the lawn. They were everywhere: Dancing to music that pumped from a speaker with far too much bass that made you wince. Shooting hoops in the short driveway and bodily ramming into one another, sweat visible under their arms. Hovering over the drinks, pouring from the array of alcohol that was stacked on a folding table.

"How many family members does Foggy even have?" you asked, under your breath, as you slowed slightly. Matt was leisurely tapping his cane next to you, his hand loosely around your arm.

"Based on memory? A few dozen. But..." Matt's brow crinkled. "There's definitely more than five dozen heartbeats here right now."

"More than sixty? How are there so many Nelsons? How are they all even able to attend? Don't some of them have other obligations to go to?"

"If it gets really packed in there, and you want to leave, we can go anytime."

"It's okay. I'll be fine."

"Really, sweetheart." Matt tugged at your arm slightly. "Just showing up is a huge deal for Foggy. We can leave at anytime, and no one will judge us."

You smiled at him. "You're the coolest guy ever, you know that?"

Walking up the Nelsons' driveway, you hoped that you and Matt would just melt into the crowd, but instead Foggy caught a glimpse of you and waved wildly. Wonderful. You put a wide smile on your face, though, and waved back stiffly. Awkwardly. Maybe no more waving for me.

To distract yourself from the heat already rising in your face, you began to narrate to Matt. "Foggy's up ahead of us. Drinks are all on the left. Lemonade, I think, apple cider, vodka, wine. And... what looks like a cheese board? There's also a lot of chalk all over the driveway. Hop scotch, body outlines, and genitalia, I think."

"Hopefully the last isn't courtesy of Foggy."

"I don't think so. Foggy is—"

"Behind you, and delighted that you came," Foggy said, coming up from behind and hugging you. You stiffened, unprepared for the embrace, but he bounced back quickly, his face flushed with the heat of the day. "Happy National Lasagna Day! I'd recommend getting in there before the Twisted Teas are gone."

In the corner of your eye, you could see someone reaching over to turn up the volume on the music. The bass thumped out of the speakers with even more force, and simultaneously a baby started wailing only ten feet away from you. You tensed slightly, resisting the urge to simply turn around and walk away from this party. For Foggy. For Foggy, I'll stay here and enjoy myself as much as I can.

Matt must have sensed it, because his hand crept to yours and squeezed. "Drinks nearby?"

"Yeah, about five feet to your left," Foggy said. "I'll read you the options. Hey, Y/N — my mom wants to meet you." At your bewildered look, Foggy raised his hands. "I don't know why. I'm just the messenger. She's inside, in the kitchen right now, and all she said was she wants to talk to you once you get here."

"She wants to talk to me?" The prospect was alarming. So was the idea of leaving Matt's side in a swarm of people like this. But you had no choice, because Mrs. Nelson suddenly waved from the front door, as though she'd sensed your arrival, beckoning you inside.

"She's waving me in," you said, panicking slightly. "Foggy, are you sure she meant me?"

"Positive. Sorry. She's going to pry, but don't feel obligated to tell her your darkest secrets. I think she likes the idea of having a girl to chat with about Matt and me."

Dear God. Please let this not last long. You reluctantly parted from Matt, and made your way into the brightly lit, maximist-style interior of the Nelson home. Knick-knacks and assorted tchotchkes surrounded you as though you were in an antique shop.

"Y/N!" Mrs. Nelson appeared again, her face round like Foggy's. You started to extend a hand, but she went right in for a hug — so that's where Foggy gets it from — and squeezed you. Limply you stood there, awkwardly reaching to hug back with one arm.

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Nelson," you said. "Can I help with anything in the kitchen?"

"Don't be silly, that's not why I asked you in here. I want you to give me intel."

"Intel?"

"On Matthew! You're dating him, aren't you?"

"Oh — I—"

"We've known Matthew since he was a first year in law school," she went on, picking up a knife and chopping at a carrot with dextrous agility. "That boy doesn't ever settle down. But now he's met you, and I want details!"

"Um..." You averted your gaze. She hardly blinked at all, and it was unnerving. Instead you focused on the dripping faucet, and then the picture frames to your left. Foggy in college, Foggy with his siblings, a family portrait outside of Acadia National Park. You finally compromised and settled your gaze to the corner of her left eye. Close enough. "Well, we met about a year ago. Matt's always just understood me, and I guess we got along well with conversation, so here we are."

"You thinking of getting married?"

I barely know this woman, and she wants to know about my relationship. Your stomach was clenching at what you'd say, and it didn't help knowing that Matt was certainly listening to every word of the conversation. "I don't — I mean, I'm not really... I can't say. Not because I don't know, but because that's between me and Matt, mostly." Shit. Was that too harsh? You assumed it wasn't, because Mrs. Nelson went right on smiling.

The door slammed as someone else came in. You whirled around, hoping desperately it was Matt, but it was some unnamed relative who had the distinct Nelson features and a cigarette in his hand. He lit it, breathing in deeply, and exhaling smoke into the air.

"You know I don't like you smoking inside, Ben," Mrs. Nelson said, shooing at him.

"Sorry." Ben didn't stop smoking. You winced as the smell of cigarette smoke wafted up to you, and glanced at the closed window. That air Ben was exhaling — it was now in your lungs, and you could feel it tickling your throat. The more you thought about the fact that you were inhaling his air, the more restless you felt. The smoke curled through the air, and breezed against you as he sucked on the cigarette again. Surely it was now going to cling to your clothes for the rest of the day. You'd be able to smell it, you knew. And Matt would be able to smell it too, which would make it a hundred times worse because now you felt bad—

"Y/N?"

Your head snapped back to Mrs. Nelson. "Sorry?"

"I wondered if you'd like to hold the baby. She's fourteen weeks old today. I can ask Susan to bring her in for you."

That's the very last thing I want to do, actually.

You struggled for an answer, and finally landed on an excuse. "That's very kind of you to offer. But I think I've got to go back out," you said, jabbing a thumb over your shoulder and plastering a gracious look on your face. "I want to find Matt and... introduce him to someone."

Please don't ask who.

Fortunately, Mrs. Nelson didn't question you at all. "Oh, of course! I won't keep you."

Yes, please don't.

You hurried out of the kitchen, not realizing you were holding in a breath until you were in the mercifully clean, smoke-free air outside. The downside was that in the time you had been indoors, the sun had emerged from behind the clouds, and metamorphosed the already humid day into a blistering sauna.

You found Matt standing in the direct sunlight with some of Foggy's brothers. There was no shade to be found, and you mourned your decision to not put on sunscreen today as you joined his side and resisted the urge to hoist the back of your cardigan over your head like a parasol. The sweltering sunshine was so intense that you felt as though you could feel your skin burning second by second.

They all laughed — at what, you weren't sure — but it rang in your ears, nearly making you screw up your face. How was Matt handling this? Surely it was bothering him more than it bothered you. Yet he had a placid expression on his face, holding his cane loosely with one hand and sipping on a beer with the other.

"Last call for the cheese board," Foggy said suddenly. "And Mom says it'll be another two hours until supper, so grab some Swiss and Muenster now or forever hold your hunger."

Your stomach felt as though it were curdling. Two hours? It was already an hour past when you usually had lunch. Two more hours was frankly terrifying. And the only thing standing between you and the two-hours-out-lasagna was... cheese.

"Want to make our way over there, then?" you asked Matt, as casually as you could. There was no sense in letting him know you were stressed. He was having a good time, that much you could tell, and the last thing you wanted was for your discomfort to bring down his day.

Matt went with you to the table, and only when you were out of earshot of Foggy and his brothers did he speak. "Hey. You doing okay?"

"I've been better. I've been worse." There was no sense in trying to lie to him. "Let's just grab some cheese. I didn't realize lunch would be so late, or I would've had something at home."

But just before you reached the table, a girl of about eight or nine years ran in front of you, and dug both hands — both hands, two hands with chalk and dirty visibly staining them — into the platter of cheese, scooping out a handful for herself.

"Ella!" her mother snapped, a few feet away. "You've had enough. No more cheese."

The girl obeyed, tossing all the cheese slices back into the platter and running away cheerfully. You stood stock still, frozen in your spot.

Matt cocked his head slightly. "Still hungry for cheese?"

"Why?" you managed. "Why, why, why? Who just touches all the food then dumps it back in?" The cheese was too tainted now. Wistfully you looked at it, then at your watch. One hour, fifty-six minutes left. And that was if Mrs. Nelson served the lasagnas on time.

"I think that the Nelson household is your new nemesis," Matt said, pulling you in towards him. "Anything I can do?"

"No," you said, fighting to keep yourself optimistic. For Matt, for Foggy. "Thank you, though."

"We can imagine we're in a version of the Hunger Games. Except instead of bloodthirsty teens, we're surrounded by small talk and cigarette smoke."

"You knew?"

"Smelled it right away." Matt took your arm again as you made your way back to the circle of Nelson brothers. "And figured you were having the time of your life in there."

"Ha."

"If it makes you feel any better, all their stomachs have rumbled in the past half an hour," Matt said softly, nodding his head in the direction of Foggy's brothers. "You're not the only one who's disappointed that lunch is two hours out. And..." He shifted so that his right ear was facing Foggy. "It sounds like Foggy really, really needs to pee right now."

You let out a laugh. "Information I didn't need to have."

Matt only smiled as you both rejoined the circle.

You thought you'd make it until lunch. It was only two hours, you kept telling yourself, it wasn't long. Not much longer in the sun. Not much longer you'd have to stand there while Ben lit another cigarette nearby and the wind carried the smoke right into your face. Not much longer that the Nelsons would keep getting drunker and drunker and their laughs more raucous. And, certainly, it wouldn't be much longer that the music was blaring, pumping through your ears to rattle your very bones.

And then everyone grouped together, for one large family conversation, and you found yourself being jostled into the middle of a massive, warm crowd of Nelsons, shoulder-to-shoulder with people you'd never met before. The panic you had kept at bay so far began to swell like a tsunami under the surface of tranquil waters, thudding in your heart and moving up to your face. Too warm. The sun beat down, not a cloud in sight. All of the little kids were next to you now, singing and jumping up and down, and—

One of them sneezed, and with horror you felt droplets of mucus land on your right arm.

"I have to go," you gasped to Matt, slipping backwards out of the crowd and making a beeline for the house. Bathroom. You needed a bathroom.

But the final straw was the bathroom itself. Another speaker sat in the windowsill, projecting music loudly to the backyard, and it smelled like someone took a shit in there, making you gag and turn around—

Straight into Matt.

"Matt," you whispered. "I can't. I can't do this."

"Sweetheart—"

"It's too much. I've tried, but I can't, they're sneezing and laughing and dancing and I just can't do it anymore. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"What do you have to be sorry for?"

"Because I'm ruining your day!" You crossed into the hallway and sat on the bottom of the stairs, rubbing your hands over your face and hair, again and again, as though to get the sound off. Only then did you realize with horror that you hadn't yet washed your arm, so you leapt up to run to the sink. Matt followed you, nimbly stepping over the clutter that was strewn on the floor. "If you didn't have me at your side, being a leech, you'd still be out there, laughing with them and sipping a beer. And — and you've got the hearing of a fucking bat, but you're able to tolerate everything, while I just throw a tantrum like a two year old." You were near tears, the truth of your own statement ringing into the kitchen. Because it was ridiculous, wasn't it? Matt's hearing was incomprehensibly better than yours, and so was his sensitivity to the sun and the cigarette smoke, and yet it didn't seem to touch him at all.

He reached out, and you thought he was going to shut off the faucet, but instead he ran his hand under the water, took the soap, and began to rub at your arm slowly, up and down. You stood still, your own hands dripping, and allowed him to remove whatever snot might still be on your skin. Finally he lowered his fingers, and took a clean washcloth from the cupboard under the sink. Starting with the top of your arm he dried off every last bit of water, working his way downward.

"Last night, out in the suit, I came across a frat party," he said, finally drying off your hands and setting the cloth on the edge of the sink. "Over seventy people were there. And there were roofies being handed out, like hors d'oeuvres, so that the guys could take advantage of whoever they wanted. I went in, shut it down. Went into the bedrooms and stopped a couple of them in the act. But the whole time, they had this heavy metal music blasting, and the house was filled with the smell of weed. It was dusty in there, too. Every breath I drew in, I could taste it, and feel the grit of it."

You remained silent and let him do the talking. His voice was low, pleasant; a welcome distraction from the voices and radio outside.

"It set me off," he continued. "And even afterwards, I could still hear it ringing in my ears, and could still feel the layer of dust on my skin. You know what helped me to snap out of it?" He raised his hand and gently cupped your face. "You."

You vaguely remembered Matt crawling into bed with you the previous night, and pulling you in close, but as far as you remembered, you hadn't even said a word. "Me? But how—?"

"You're my anchor." Matt's hand dropped. "You. When everything is too loud, I listen to your steady inhales and exhales. Your heartbeat. When the scents are too much, all I have to do is breathe in your shampoo and detergent. Your skin, your hair, your body... it's the only thing that I want to always be with. You're always my anchor. And I know you're strong enough to do all this on your own, but if you ever need me to be, I'll be your anchor, too. Just say the word, and we can leave this party. We can stay in all weekend and do nothing but order in takeout and watch movies. We can drive twenty hours north and stay in a remote cottage for a week. And if you need a break from me, I'll take off until you're ready. I'll always be your anchor, always, if you want me to be."

You closed your eyes, your heartbeat slowing; it was as though someone had dialed down the music outside. Matt seemed to notice the relaxing of your posture, because he tilted his head against yours, and breathed, "That's my girl."

"Thank you," you whispered, wrapping your arms tentatively around him. "And I never want a break from you. Never you." At your motion, his own arms embraced you tightly, as though he'd been waiting for the indication that you wanted to hug.

"And something else," Matt said, after you pulled apart. Without looking he reached behind him towards the fruit basket and plucked out two bananas. "I'll pay Mrs. Nelson back for these."

You broke out in a smile and took one of the bananas. "Keep guard so no one walks in on us chowing down alone in here like two bizarre monkeys?"

He leaned against the counter next to you as you peeled the banana. "Always."

#daredevil #matt murdock #marvel #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #reader insert #mcu #reader #x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x autistic!reader #fluff #autistic!reader #autism #neurodivergent #neurodivergent!reader #overstimulation

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yn-ymn-yln · 1 year

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Misguided Emotions

Eddie Munson x Neurodivergent!Reader

Warning: Anxiety, emotions (always need a warning for that), slight emotional meltdown? kind of? description of sensory issues.

Word count: 1188

Summary: A new fixation leads to a misunderstanding between you and Eddie.

*I return from the dead to drop this in your laps and leave ✌️*

Eddie hadn’t meant to get angry. Meant even less to let his frustration reach the surface and ooze on to your tender excitement.

You had seen the perfect stuffy while shopping with Robin and Nancy. It was soft to the touch, with long floppy ears that you swore were made of pure silk and a squishy tummy that was brilliantly embroidered with the words “be mine”.

It truly had been love at first sight.

“I wish you had been there Teddie! It was so perfect!”

Through the haze of your infatuation, you had asked Eddie if he would take you back to buy it, claiming that you didn’t have the money now but you would pay him back. To your sheer horror he had said no, a rare occurrence in the five-month relationship the two of you had.

Of course, you had fought him tooth and nail, desperate with need to bring such a beautiful thing into the sacred space of your room. This cycle continued for a while, asking for- in your mind- something so simple, yet being denied.

Finally, after many failed attempts to sway your attention to something else, you reached the precipice of Eddie’s seemingly endless patience.

“Jesus Christ, Fine!” Storming from the living room Eddie returned with said stuffy in hand, distaste clearly splayed on his usually kind features. “Here.” He tossed the victim of your hyper-fixation at you. “Was trying to surprise you… but if I have to hear you ask for it one more time, I’ll rip my hair out.”

His words sat like stone in your stomach.

You had ruined his surprise. You couldn’t just let it go, you had to pester him until he had no choice but to give you what you wanted.

Suddenly you were six years old again, begging your mother for a toy only to be reprimanded for asking at all. You felt like a child.

The chill of guilt seeped into your bones, while shame burned behind your eyes. You always did this, took things far beyond the threshold of other people’s tolerance, so fixated that you were often blinded by their motives. Regret set in quickly, tensing your muscles and making your skin feel odd and too tight.

“I’m sorry Eddie.” You hadn’t been able to meet his eyes when the words had left you. Determined to stare at the empty space he had once occupied. A shuttered breath broke past your lips when a beat of silence passed.

“It’s fine Y/n. Just take it.” His irritated sigh is what shattered whatever had been sticking you together, a sob escaping from within you and catching the unwanted attention of your boyfriend. That sound alone had been enough to break Eddie’s heart but seeing your distressed stimming had him moving without much thought.

“Baby- It’s really okay, I promise I’m not mad.” He kneeled before you, hands rubbing the rough material of your jeans into your thighs, trying desperately to ground you.

“No thank you!” Your emotions became jumbled, thoughts disjointed as you tried to process the events that had happened. On instinct your hands covered your ears, body trying in vain to shut out any unnecessary sensory input. Tears flooded your cheeks as you watched Eddie’s face morph from worried to mortified. He could fix this. He had to fix this.

“Here baby, isn’t it pretty?” Attempting to soothe you, he lifted the object of your fixation to your line of sight. You felt bile rise in your throat at the gesture.

“NO THANK YOU! NO THANK YOU! NO THANK YOU!” You continued this mantra all the way to his room, where you closed and locked the door before Eddie could follow. As you paced the tattered rug your mind wandered back to stuffy you had left behind. Something that had once made you excited and joyful was now tainted with humiliation and dread. You knew you wouldn’t be able to look at it without remembering this moment, but the thought of returning it made you feel even worse. What if no one else bought it? Would it think you hadn’t loved it? Your spiraling was broken by a light knock on the door, Eddie’s voice penetrating the wooden obstacle.

“Sweet thing, I’m sorry, please just let me in?” Ignoring him, you continued to pace while rubbing the worn, pilled fabric of your well-loved hoodie between your thumb and forefinger. The continuous motion soothing you somewhat.

An hour passed before you opened the door in a moment of clarity and retreated to the comfort of Eddie’s bed. Cocooning yourself in the fluffiest blankets you stowed away and waiting for Eddie to come in. Although you had desensitized yourself to the situation, you still bared ill feelings towards your behavior. So, you hid the best you could without shutting Eddie out completely.

“Baby?” It was meek, almost whispered.

“Hmm?”

“Is it okay if I come in?” His uncertainty stung, but not enough to give more than a one-word reply.

“Yeah.” You heard more than felt the bed springs as they shifted under the added weight.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” No.

“Yes.” You let the quiet envelope the two of you while Eddie rhythmically rubbed your blanket covered side. “I didn’t mean to behave badly. I’m sorry.” Eddie felt his throat tighten at your confession. You hadn’t behaved badly. You were just excited and maybe a little manic but he’d take those over this.

“You didn’t do anything wrong Y/n/n. I shouldn’t have gotten upset, definitely shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on you.”

“I would have been mad too.” If the roles had been reversed you would have been, you know that. Yet here he is consoling you, though you were in the wrong.

Maybe you were both a little wrong.

Lifting the corner of your makeshift fortress, you glance at Eddie. To your surprise he’s already looking at you, eyes filled with regret and smile forlorn.

“I should have realized-” Your sentence is cut short by rough knuckles tracing the line of your jaw.

“Hey. This isn’t all on you, I could have made my intentions clearer, doesn’t matter now though, can’t change what happened but we can both do better next time yeah?” You nod, turning your head to connect your lips with his warm skin.

“I’m sorry.” The words still feel like an important step towards bridging the gap between anger and forgiveness, though Eddie hadn’t made them feel necessary.

“Me too… you forgive me?” You can’t fight the giggle that escapes.

“f’course, do you forgive me?” He looks offended, almost appalled that you would even ask.

“How could I not? Sweet thing like you? You got me wrapped around your finger.” The cheeky lightness that carries with his statement settles the left-over anxiety in your system. You knew the conversation wasn’t over, things would need to be talked through, solutions would need to be put in place, but for now? You were more than content to watch as your favorite boy picked up that perfect stuffy and decorated your face with delicate beaded nosed kisses.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #neurodivergent!reader #eddie munson x reader fluff

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writefightandflightclub · 8 months

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Santi +/x AuDHD!reader headcanons

(could be platonic or romantic - but written as not co-habiting)

Author’s note: maybe this is too niche, idk, but sometimes I like to think about the blorbos and how they’d interact with an AuDHD reader (because that’s me, so for obvious reasons). I headcanon that Santi is particularly compatible with a neurodivergent reader, maybe because I’m being self-indulgent… but also because why on earth would he not be? So here are a few poorly written / cobbled together thoughts which have been rattling around in my brain.

PLEASE NOTE: These are written in as general a way as I could manage (which may make it slightly less fulfilling, sorry, as it’s therefore lost specificity) but please note: since everyone who is AuDHD is so completely and vastly different, I couldn’t possibly have made this “fit” everyone’s experiences. Sorry if there are things you don’t relate to, but I tried to include a few more common experiences in there so hopefully there’s at least something.

Also! If you have any hcs of your own (for any Oscar/Pedro characters) PLEASE share them because I want more ND!reader content out there! 😀🧡 (Will also consider ND!reader requests if you have them, provided I think I can do it justice!)

Warnings: brief mention of panic attacks / anxiety (Santi). Geared towards ways that Santi helps reader out - that’s where my head was at, so it is what it is. Broadly neuro-affirming, I’m not putting anyone down for any traits ofc, even if they do cause challenges sometimes! Hope that makes sense!

Santi is so organised and tidy. He can make a plan and execute it with great attention to detail (have you seen that storage locker?!). If you struggle to stay organised and keep the house tidy etc., Santiago will have no issue helping you out, whether it’s coming up with a routine, creating a system, or simply doing a quick blitz anytime he’s over at your house. He finds it sorta therapeutic anyway, and you never feel like he’s doing it because he judges you or the condition of your place. It’s just wired into him to find order. Hell, sometimes if you lose something around the place you call him to see if HE can remember where he last saw it, and usually he can. That military routine never really left him, even all those years later, so he’s a great constant for modelling structure!

Santi will FaceTime you to body-double whatever chores you want to complete. For example; you have a Wednesday evening tradition to call each other while you each fold the laundry, or do whatever else you need to get done. You do get things done, and he makes you laugh the whole time too. He sticks to this routine as much as he can, no matter what else he has going on, or which country he is in. He loves this quality time with you, and to him it’s just a bonus that it helps you out.

Running late to meet him? He’s learned to bring a book and a flask of coffee along. He’ll wait, you’re worth it.

Sensitive to noise? Santi can’t relate fully, but he knows what it’s like for some sounds to instil negative effects. (See how this veteran is feeling around the fireworks at 4th July and you’ll get it.) He will respect your need for quiet when you need it. Besides, he’s slowed down a lot since his younger years and more and more enjoys the little things like curling up and reading a book. That said, if you want some stimulation and fancy hitting a dive bar with blasting music, or wanna dance in the kitchen, he can also be convinced. He has the range to accommodate all of your sensory preferences, your routines and your impulsive ideas, and he’ll gladly follow your flow.

He’s a magician at regulating you. This man is observant and can read people like nobody’s business, so he knows when you’re getting overstimulated or overwhelmed - often before anyone else does. When he sees it happen he’s happy to help you calm your nervous system however you need. Whether that’s a soft / firm hug, distracting you by talking to you in his soothing voice, working-out with you, letting you fidget with him - his hands, bracelets, whatever - or borrowing a texture of his, like playing with his soft curls.

Better believe this guy sends you texts throughout the day to check that you’ve eaten / drank water.

If you’re running late to an appointment and he’s free he will 100% drive you.

He loves to cook and always “accidentally” makes extra, so that you always have a stock of tasty “emergency” meals in your freezer for days when you don’t have the energy / functioning to cook.

Don’t wanna make the phone call? Santi will do it for you. Besides, he can charm the socks off of anyone so it’s probably best he deals with it anyway.

Santi is charming but he also has the ability to be straight down the line in his communication, especially with you as he trusts you so much. That means you rarely have to guess what he’s thinking or feeling about any particular thing. He lays it out for you and that’s super helpful. Of course, he can be closed off about his more complex, deeper emotions, but that’s something you seem to bring out of him - at least, in ways that no-one else has managed. You’ve had plenty of deep heart-to-hearts with the man and you know you can count on each other in a pinch, whether you need comfort or to vent about something you have going on.

Santi experiences panic attacks and anxiety and can relate to some of the ways you also struggle. He gets that people’s brains work in different ways and he’s far from judgemental about that. You’ve never once made him feel lesser when he’s been struggling and he will NEVER do that to you either.

Your sense of humour cracks him up no end.

He loves that you can be “blunt” / direct / a little “too honest”. He always knows where he stands with you, and for someone as (secretly) insecure as Santi that’s no small thing.

If you indicate you are burnt-out… he BELIEVES you. No questions asked - except for what you need, of course.

Forgotten something? Santi has started carrying spares. This man is nothing if not prepared, and now that simply extends to you. Whatever day-to-day items you carry (or often lose) he makes a mental note of the item and brand and buys multiple - for his place, his truck, wherever.

This man has social skills galore, so you can lean on him at parties, or in whatever situation if you’re feeling uncomfy or want a “way in” to a conversation. You can even leave him to do all the talking if you like, though of course he will enable you to have the floor if he can see that you want it. On the flip side, if you talk a lot, he is absolutely listening and rapt with whatever you are coming out with.

Don’t always look him in the eye? That’s okay. The man is so beautiful he’s used to people not being able to stare directly at him 😝 Besides, he finds you and your mannerisms completely charming.

He’s deadly, sure, but overall he’s actually quite a calm and not hugely reactive person - especially in a crisis. That can be so helpful in balancing you out on some occasions where you may react in a heightened way, or be emotional or worried / catastrophising about something. Despite his ability to skip town at the drop of a hat - before deciding to stick around - he does have the ability to be pretty steady and stable and sometimes that’s what you need.

He appreciates you and everything you do for him. He helps you out sometimes but you never feel “in his debt”. He is endlessly praising all of your amazing strengths and attributes (amidst some fond teasing ofc) and appreciates all that you are as well as all you do for him, and he couldn’t ask for a better person to have in his corner.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #AuDHD!reader #Santiago Garcia x reader #neurodivergent!reader

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chronicially-parker · 7 months

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hey lovelies

send in requests pleasee, ive been so bored recently and writing gives me something to do other than coursework i cant be bothered to complete ♡

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cutest-bunny-writings · 2 years

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Hi, Fluffies!👋

If you want or have time, please send some neurodivergency or disability fics asks. I've been wanting to write some more of them but I don't really know which ones to write.🥰

#send asks #send me asks #send writing asks #send writing prompts #disabled!reader #neurodivergent!reader #disabled!bts #neurodivergent!bts #asks are always appreciated #x reader #fic writing #reader insert #bts fic #bts fanfic

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manufacturedrainbows · 1 month

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My fellow fanfic authors, I'm begging on my hands and knees – and Ima hold your hand as I say this – you gotta respond to the readers that leave comments on your work.

I know social anxiety is the worst (trust, my autistic ass understands) but I promise you, nothing deters a reader from commenting more than seeing a comment section with no replies as you continue to post fanfics. Even if it's as simple as "thanks for reading!" or just some cute emojis, it'll show that you're actually engaging with your audience!

We work so hard on our writing, and those of us that post them online want it to be seen, right? Indulging in our little fandoms is how we build connections with people that feel the same way.

It might be hard or even scary, but I find the more you socialize with others (especially in a more controlled environment like a comment section), the easier it gets! 💕

#so go out there and respond to them comments!! you got this!! 🫶💖✨️#fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #writing #writing community #fandom #comments #fanfic readers #fanfic authors #social anxiety #autism #neurodivergent #rambles #my writing

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bluemari23 · 3 months

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soul glow | choi seungcheol

summary: you attended your first concert, waiting a long time to see your ult group perform. unable to recognize a soul bond taking place, you leave early, leaving seungcheol to scramble to find you.

pairing: choi seungcheol x neurodivergent reader

genre: soulmates, soul bonds, idol au, angst

warnings: a cinderella moment indeed, mentions of overstimulation,

word count: 1.4k

masterlist

an: couldn't help myself. I had a dream of this and needed to write it out.

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The concert was your first, and you wouldn’t question if it was also to be your last. You were overwhelmed to say the least. You could practically feel your skin crawl as the colored lights flashed throughout the stadium.

You had come with your best friend, wanting to see your ult group, Seventeen, while they were finally visiting a city even remotely close to you. You had both waited a long time for them to come, often writing your own prayers on social media with the hopes someone in management would see.

And now, you’re not sure how you feel.

“If you’re not feeling it, we can always leave early.” You friend yelled out to you over the music. You were in the front row of the bottom section, right behind the floor seats. You were to the side of the stage, but still had an amazing view of the boys as they performed.

You loved your friend, how understanding they were, but you just shook your head. You didn’t pay all this money for you to leave early, and because you were overstimulated. You hated feeling like a burden and you knew how much your friend was also looking forward to the concert. You both had been waiting to experience the right of passage for every carat at a concert, the ten thousand aju nices that would happen at the end.

To be fair, you might just be overstimulated by the lights surrounding the boys, particularly on your side of the stage. You couldn’t figure it out, given it was a bright golden glow and none of the colored lights going on in the stadium resembled that glow or even just the lights that lit up the stage.

You tried to make the best of your opportunity and sung along to your favorite song once it played. Shadow held a special place in your heart and you loved the timber of the groups individual voices as they sang, particularly Mingyu and Scoups as they gave their best selves to the performance.

Once the instrumental for To You began to play, Scoups tried his best to remember the choreo but he couldn’t help but to continue to move towards the left of the stage, something catching his eye as he turned to look at their fans.

He couldn’t help but to falter in his steps, thankfully no one caught his mistake as he was quick to sing his lines. The bright glow of gold held his attention, more like the woman who the glow centered around.

He could name numerous different soul bonds, from the Flower Halo to the more common Soul Mark, but never did he think he would be blessed with a Soul Glow as his bond. And never did he think he would find his soulmate during one of their concerts, where he can’t immediately move to greet his soulmate, bringing them into his embrace and holding them tight.

He had even more vigor as he continued on with the concert, knowing that his soulmate was watching him and his brothers perform. Something that everyone seemed to notice, especially his band members.

During one of the outfit changes, Joshua has come up to him and asked him if he was okay, and he couldn’t hold back.

“My soulbond activated. She’s here, Shua.” He admitted, causing Joshua’s eyes to widen in shock, and for the excited shouts of his other members who had not so subtly been eavesdropping on their elder members.

They all quickly dressed in their next set of clothes, and right before they had to go back on stage, Seungcheol has pointed you out to his fellow members and manager, who had been tasked to get a message across to his soulmate before the end of the concert, wanting to meet his soul glow.

Despite trying their best, his members kept moving to the left of the stage, trying to get a good look at who would be their new best friend by the end of the night. Yeah, they would give you and their leader your space, but they were determined to be your friends, seeing as you would be stuck with their leader forever.

This was something the crowd noticed as well, those on the floor moving to the left trying to get the boy’s attention and whatever way they could. It only happened for a couple of songs, but then the boys moved back to giving equal time to all sides of the stage.

It was weird, and something you and your friend both acknowledged.

“I wonder what happened?” You friend questioned aloud, causing you to hum your agreement.

“Maybe something caught their eye?” Was your own reply, thinking that to be the most likely answer.

Either way, the concert continued but not without difficulties. Mainly for you.

You had tried your hardest, but despite that, you couldn’t help but to feel as though you had overdone your tolerance, the biting pain of your nails digging into your palm a sad reminder.

Loud noises had always been a problem for you; the pain in your head and the itching under your skin that had your scratching marks into your arm was always a reminder. You don’t know why, but too much stimulation always caused somewhat of a shutdown for you, where you couldn’t speak and your mind didn’t seem to want to focus on anything in particular.

By the time the third Aju Nice had rolled around, you were past your limit and you friend could tell.

“Hey, you know what, it’s okay. I can see why so many people get tired after the first round. My feet are aching and my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.” Your dear friend helped you out of the aisle and towards the stairs that would lead out to the lobby of the stadium.

You tried to protest, but even those were weak as you followed behind your best friend. You were incredibly thankful for them and knew you would need to make up for leaving the concert early, even if they are adamant about leaving.

Vernon was the first to notice you leaving, following behind the woman who had been sitting to your right. He tried his best to signal to Seungcheol, but only managed to at the end of the third Aju Nice encore.

“She’s leaving, Cheol.” Vernon tried to be discrete, which thankfully he managed. His words caught the attention of the others, who had all huddled together near one corner of the stage, watching a couple of their fans in costume dance. They all watched the two women make their way to the stairs and out of the main stadium area.

Cheol panicked, sitting down at the edge of the stage and gesturing for his manager, making him aware of the dilemma. He could only watch as his manager had grabbed some of their security with him and started backstage, trying to catch up to you.

His heart was racing as he tried his best to focus and make sure the concert ended like every other one, doing his best for his fans. It was like he could feel you getting further away from him, could feel the distance festering in his soul.

As he sang the last encore, he had come up with a number of ideas, ways to track you down if you did manage to get away from him tonight.

Once the last note played and they started to leave the stage, Seungcheol walked until he was out of sight of his fans, the proceeded to run to his dressing room, where hopefully you would be waiting with his manager.

Disappointment and defeat coated his veins as he opened the door, the emptiness in his soul prominent as the room was empty from what he could only imagine would be your inevitable warmth.

“I’m sorry, Seungcheol, they were driving out of the parking lot by the time we managed to get into the lot. One of the security team did manage to get their license plate number so we have that written down.” His faithful manager spoke sincerely, not wanting to upset Seungcheol more than he probably already was.

Everyone was throwing out suggestions, some of the members even going to action as they tried to see if they could access ticket information from the stadium itself. Seungcheol remained quiet though, determination flowing through him as he followed along with Mingyu, calling their company and the stadium head to see what they could do.

One way or another, he would find his soul glow.

#choi seungcheol #choi seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #scoups x neurodivergent reader #scoups fluff #scoups soulmate #soulmates #soulmate au #soul bonds #svt scoups x reader #svt scoups #seventeen soulmate au #seventeen imagines #bluemari23

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satorusluver · 4 months

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Can you blame me for wanting to fuck L when they made him smart, rich, and an absolute freak of nature?

#i am neurodivergent what did you expect #for me to be normal about a weird little gremlin man? i don't think so #l lawliet #l lawliet smut #l lawliet x reader #l death note #death note x reader

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sharkboywrites · 11 months

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Wait, This Is a Date!?

Riddle, Idia, and Malleus with an autistic reader who didn't realize they were on a date

Male/gn reader, autistic reader, missed signals, Idia is implied to also be autistic

A/N: I've noticed that some people aren't very obvious when asking someone out or generally establishing their feelings. I actually realized that one of my ex-friends stopped being friends with me because I wasn't picking up on their signals, what's up with people lmao

One afternoon after you had finished all of your classes, your closest "friend" approached you looking rather nervous and asked you to accompany them later. Seeing this as just a request to hang out was friends, you accepted. When he suddenly thanks you for going on a date with him halfway through your activity your caught off guard.

"Wait, this is a date!?"

Riddle Rosehearts

Oh boy, be prepared to start apologizing because the once surprised look on his face at your sudden outburst melted to one of pure sadness. He was absolutely dejected

He took this as you rejecting him halfway through the date he put so much effort into

He even baked all the pastries for your little tea party date :(

He cleared his throat and straightened his posture. He put on a serious face despite clearly being on the verge of tears, and apologized for... making you uncomfortable? Wasting your time?

Well that wasn't what you wanted

In another quick outburst you cut him off and say that you didn't actually mean it in a negative way

You started doing the usual over-explaining hoping that he wouldn't get the wrong idea (more than he already had) and apologizing for not getting his signals

The relief he felt in that moment was something he doesn't think he can compare to anything else in his life

He actually started crying for the fact that "oh thank the sevens they're not rejecting me"

After he calmed down the two of you went back to your tea party date, although both of you aware aware that it was a date this time

bonus: Trey and Cater screaming internally after watching all of that from afar (They'd be there for Riddle's first date as emotional support you can't convince me otherwise)

Idia Shroud

Lord have mercy you're going to kill him

It took him so much to build up the courage Ortho blackmailing him to come over and play video games just for you to not know he was asking you on a date???

He played Stardew Valley with you what could be more romantic than that???

He kinda just sits there and stares at you

He's processing give him a minute

Literally the only response he gives you is just a "Uhh..yeah. Duh." (he's trying to not give away how disappointed he is)

And in you just respond with an "Oh."

Awkward level 100%

After sitting there for a few seconds rocking back and forth to make yourself a little more comfortable, you take a deep breath and lean your head on his shoulder

"Well I like this date."

He tries to hide his flustered face after that, but you can see the tips of his hair turn a soft pink in contrast to the usual blue

He really is bad at hiding his emotions

for the rest of the night the two of you keep playing video games together, and you eventually fall asleep on him, which he freaks out about but tries not to wake you up

Really just two autistics trying to figure out how to date and flirt

Malleus Draconia

So funny thing

He thought the two of you were a couple long before the two of you went on your "first date"

You know that thing on tiktok that's like "check with your autistic s/o that they know your dating because it turns out I've been dating someone for months and had no clue" Yeah that's the two of you

In his eyes it was established that the two of you had been dating. He probably confessed in his old poetic fae way of talking.

So he was just like "You are the sunrise to my day, the cool breeze on a summers day, the blood in my veins." and you were just like "Yep me and my good ol' pal Malleus. besties :)"

What do you mean friends don't give each other little trinkets they find pretty? What to you mean that's fae courting?

What do you mean friends aren't that affectionate? What do you mean friends don't hold hands, hug, and tell each other how much they appreciate them?

Honestly when you burst out with the question, he just laughs after a minute while you sit there flustered and confused

he has to sit you down and explain to you that you've both been dating for at least three months by this point. Lilia was even starting to ask him if he was going to ask you to marry him (he's impatient)

He does make sure that you're okay with this relationship and that you actually want to date him

After this you're relationship grows even stronger rather than growing weaker, he thinks it's endearing

He'll make sure to be more forward and literal with you from now on

if I'm being honest all three of them give me "autistic just not diagnosed yet" vibes. Ty for reading and have a nice day

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x-neurodivergent-reader · 10 months

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Adoration Equation (Loki x Autistic!Reader w/ Dyscalculia)

Anon’s request: “Could you possibly do 'Loki with a S/O who has dyscalculia?' (And also autism, if you're comfortable with including more than one?) Perhaps they're on a mission and split up from the others, only for the reader to find themselves in a situation where math is involved (Idk, maybe a keypad equation to open something?), and Loki had no idea about their dyscalculia until right then?”

Summary: You and Loki started dating recently, but as seeing you struggle with a seemingly simple part of a mission will show him, there are still some things about you that he doesn’t know.

A/N: I don't have dyscalculia myself (I did research it, but that's not the same as experiencing it), so please let me know if any of my descriptions of it aren’t accurate, so I can revise them. Apart from that, enjoy!

The reader here is gender-neutral.

Content warnings: Slight insecurity from the reader.

The hallways of the facility you were infiltrating were silent, save for the distant sounds of gunfire and crashing as your teammates fought through anyone who attacked them, to allow you and Loki the chance to get to the main office. The USB stick that would be used to hack into one of the computers and download classified information about the organisation’s plans, along with the ID card you swiped from a higher-up earlier, felt heavy in your pocket, as you stayed alert to avoid anything that could compromise your mission.

You and Loki found that you worked together quite well in the field. Your respective skills matched up nicely, he made sure to communicate clearly with you, and you were often on the same wavelength. It was no wonder that the two of you would be grouped together for this mission – nor, perhaps, that you had become a couple about a month previously.

Just as you were about to turn down the next corridor, Loki stopped you, gently guiding you behind him as he checked around the corner for any guards. His eyebrows creased after a moment, as he slowly walked further down the hall, tentatively giving you the gesture you had both agreed on to follow him.

Surprisingly, despite the door to your destination being in sight, there were no soldiers near it.

“The coast looks clear.” You murmured, just audible enough for your partner to hear you.

“But why…?” He inquired, seemingly listening out for anyone trying to sneak up on you both. “Why would they not guard somewhere so important?”

You looked around for any hidden cameras, and sure enough, you saw a few – one at each end of the hall, and another that seemed to be embedded in the office door. You lightly tapped Loki’s arm, and silently pointed them out to him.

“They might be planning an ambush.” You whispered.

Loki nodded in response, before summoning a small pellet of green magic, and throwing it at one of the cameras at the end of the hall. Before you could process it, he turned, shooting another at the camera in the door and, finally, at the side of the corridor you had arrived from.

A thick silence fell over you both, knowing that someone was bound to come for you now that the cameras had been destroyed. Sure enough, you both heard footsteps, soon followed by a small group of soldiers rounding the corner in front of you, weapons ready to attack.

Being the seasoned warrior he is, Loki immediately had a plan.

“I’ll take care of them,” he murmured to you, “you open the door.”

“Right.” You agreed, turning back to the direction you were heading in, while Loki dove into battle behind you.

Approaching the door, you took out the stolen card, and looked around for a machine on the wall with a slot to slide it through. Your eyes stopped when you saw what appeared to be exactly that, except it had something extra alongside the card slot.

It was a keypad. You hoped that, perhaps, there would be a code on the card that you could enter without too much trouble – but when you used the card as required, the screen on the device lit up with an equation, an extra security protocol that had to be solved to enter the room.

‘Shit…’ You thought, a sense of dread starting to rise within you, as your mind blocked out the sounds of the fight happening nearby. You realised that this was going to be much harder for you than you had expected, if not outright impossible.

Regardless, you read the calculation, hoping it would be simple enough that you could at least make an attempt at it, perhaps by counting on your fingers. You just hoped that you could get it done before Loki finished fighting…

"8 x 2 x 5 + 750 =”

…and, not knowing where to even start in comprehending this, your mind immediately drew a blank.

‘Shit!’ You thought again, your panic increasing with the knowledge that you were absolutely not going to be able to do this part of the mission.

You weren’t sure of what to do now, the pressure from not being able to act on the job making you feel on edge. Should you help Loki finish his fight? Would he be mad at you for not opening the door? Would he think less of you for not being able to? Why did nobody check to see that this was how it needed to be opened-?!

Your train of thought was interrupted when a hand reached in front of you, catching you off-guard and almost causing you to attack on instinct, until you realised that it was Loki, having already finished his fight. You chanced a brief glance at his face – he wasn’t looking at you, focused on reading the equation, but his brows were downturned, like he was either confused or annoyed by your lack of action. You deeply hoped it wasn’t the latter.

Loki entered the answer into the keypad almost immediately, and the door slid open, revealing the dimly-lit office. The one window in the back wall seemed to pour daylight over the desk with the computer you needed to use, immediately drawing your attention to it like a spotlight on a stage.

Your partner stepped aside, silently gesturing for you to enter the room first, so you could use the USB and finish the job. Avoiding his gaze, you practically speed walked into the room, still feeling self-conscious about what had just happened – you hoped the download wouldn’t take long enough for the subject to be brought up sooner, rather than later.

You pressed the button on the monitor that lit up the screen, and plugged the USB into the tower next to it, the device releasing a virus that automatically broke into the computer’s security details, and collected the necessary information for you.

“We’re in.” you told Loki, as he approached the desk. The adrenaline from the mission up to that point caught up to you, and you cautiously decided to slouch in the chair until the download was complete. “Tony said it should take about five minutes, if no one interrupts us.”

Loki nodded, giving a small hum of acknowledgement. You still didn’t have the courage to look at him yet, but were at least grateful that he wasn’t admonishing you. You were dealing with enough mixed feelings about the situation as is, particularly with regards to whether you should have told him about your dyscalculia before all of this. Especially since you were now in a relationship with him, you were starting to feel guilty about not bringing it up.

“Do you have trouble with maths, by any chance?” Loki’s voice broke through the silence. His tone of voice was neutral, giving little indication as to what he was feeling.

Your leg started to bounce as you stared at the screen, internally cursing the fact that this conversation was, indeed, happening already. You still couldn’t tell whether he was mad at you – you never were the best at telling how people were feeling, especially when they were this subtle – and that fact, combined with the previous issue with the keypad, made you start to feel slightly frustrated. You felt like you couldn’t figure anything out today.

“Yeah, I…” You spoke under your breath, leaning forward to further avoid Loki’s gaze. You rested your forearms on your legs, one of which still jiggled as a nervous stim. Given that there was no other explanation, and you could never successfully lie to your partner about this, you supposed you might as well tell the truth. “…my autism isn’t the only, uh… neurodivergence I have. I also have a learning disability called dyscalculia. It basically makes it a lot more difficult for me to understand maths and numbers than it would be for most people. It doesn't matter if it's equations, telling the time, reading maps... I’ve just never been able to really comprehend it.”

Loki stepped forward, and placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. His voice was quiet as he spoke. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You knew that he most likely felt guilty for unknowingly making you do something you weren’t able to, but the gentle tone in his voice made your stomach churn. You couldn’t help worrying that he was looking down on you, whether he meant to or not.

“I didn’t want you to think less of me for it.” You admitted. “I mean, look at how quickly you solved that keypad. It barely took you any effort! You’re one of the smartest people I know, and…” You finally looked up at your partner, seeing how his face softened at the implication, and you moved your hand to cover his, giving the same reassurance he offered you. “…I don’t necessarily think that I’m stupid for it, but I’m not always sure that other people will feel the same, especially since I joined a team full of people who can do maths so easily. I didn’t want you to think that I’m stupid, just because my brain works like this.”

You glanced back at the computer screen, seeing that the USB was close to finishing its download. You sat up against the chair, and let Loki’s hand move to hold yours.

“Darling,” he squeezed your hand, grounding you, “your dyscalculia doesn’t change how I feel about you. It would be preposterous for anyone to judge your intelligence based on a learning disability – you don’t need to be able to do everything to be worthy of respect.”

Loki looked at the computer screen, and with his gaze away from you, you took a moment to watch the way the monitor’s light emphasised the blue in his eyes. You wondered if he ever noticed that when there was no risk of eye contact, you couldn’t help admiring them, no matter how briefly.

“I love every part of you,” he continued, and your breath caught in your chest at what was his first explicit confession of love towards you, “and this is no exception. I simply wish I had known not to put you in that situation before. I’m sorry for causing you stress by doing so.”

“It’s okay.” You grinned up at him, your body relaxing at the knowledge that there was nothing to worry about. “We’ll know to have me be the one to kick their asses next time.”

Loki chuckled under his breath, looking back at you with that sweet, lovestruck smile, reserved only for you.

In front of you, the download window on the computer screen disappeared, signifying that it was complete. You stood up from the desk chair, pushing it backwards on its wheels while you disconnected the USB and stuffed it back into your pocket, and zipped it to ensure it wouldn't get lost.

You then turned to Loki, and gave him a quick yet heartful kiss on the lips. When you pulled away, he gave you that cheeky smirk that you adored so much.

“I love you, too.” You confessed sincerely, before you both made your way to the office doors, ready to face any threats that may wait on the other side together. “Now let’s finish this.”

#loki x reader #marvel loki x reader #loki imagine #loki imagines #loki x y/n #loki x you #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #mcu imagine #mcu imagines #mcu x reader #autistic!reader #dyscalculic!reader #neurodivergent!reader #only one request to go and I'll be free from marvel forever

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soapskneebrace · 5 months

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imprimatura

muses - part one - next

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x f!Reader Word Count: 2.8k Rating: Mature (mostly Soap being Soap) Warnings: please see this post for notes about this reader character Also on Ao3.

An artist meets her muse, and a solider meets his.

He arrives early as you’re setting up for your students, in jeans and a tight t-shirt, and the first thing that crosses your mind when you lay eyes on him is Jesus, he’s fit.

You are no stranger to bodies. Hundreds of them have cycled through your studio, all shapes and sizes and colors; you think you may know every dip, every roll, every hard angle and soft curve that a human body is capable of holding. The mystique of defined muscle has long lost its novelty. Bodies are bodies, and each holds the same value as the next when subject to brush and canvas. It never matters, you teach your students, what a body looks like in the modeling chair. It only matters if they can reproduce it accurately.

Even so, when a body like this walks in, you really can’t help but take notice.

Decadent muscle, fed and worked well, round and full with hydration. It’s impossible to miss, even through his clothes; each group delineated clearly, gracefully, as if sculpted rather than built, and alive with soft, subcutaneous movement. It’s indulgent to look at, the comfortable breadth of his shoulders and chest down to that slight taper of his waist and bulk of his thick thighs. It’s a physique no hard-bodied gym rat could hope to achieve merely with extra time at the racks—a physique that is easily, harmoniously attractive in its makeup of muscle and healthy fat.

The man is also mohawked and suntanned, and his mouth rests at an angle that suggests he often smiles—as if he knows that Michelangelo would have swooned at the sight of him. He comes into your classroom, saunters over to you, and stops precisely two paces away from you.

“Sergeant John MacTavish,” he says, offering his hand. “I understand you’re the instructor?”

He has gorgeous, vivid blue eyes (pthalo and cremnitz, with a touch of hamsa). You blink several times. Fit is still rattling around your skull, and begins knocking against sergeant at the same rolling frequency as his warm Scottish brogue. You realize his hand is still outstretched and quickly take it to shake.

“Yes!” you say. His palm is tough, callused, and not soft in the slightest, but very warm. “Nice to meet you, sergeant.”

He gives a grimace. “John’s fine. Or Soap.”

“Soap?”

“Nickname, y’know.”

Neither of you have released from the handshake. Soap’s grip is firm, the kind of firm that suggests he can squeeze much, much tighter if he needs to. And if the grip isn’t any indication, the broad forearms, dusted soft with dark brown hair, certainly are.

Black lines, a sword and helmet framed in laurels, catch your notice. The ink has the soft edges of having lain in the skin for a few years. You turn his arm to see it more fully. “Oh. Nice tattoo.”

He looks at the ink as if it is entirely new to him, and then gives an easy grin. “Thanks. I’ve got a few more too. Hope they aren’t hard to draw.”

When you loosen your grip on his hand, he releases you immediately. You still feel the squeeze in your bones even as you drop your hand to your side.

“So, then, Soap,” you say, “have you ever modeled before?”

He shakes his head, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his low-slung jeans. It tugs the waistband just a bit, revealing a sliver of warm, tan skin (raw sienna, flesh ochre, naples yellow). “Should have, honestly, with how much it pays.”

“It gets very boring, very fast,” you say. “What do you plan to wear for the breaks?”

“Was I supposed to bring that m’self?”

You are unable to suppress a laugh. “Yes, unfortunately.”

“Oh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck and going a little sheepish—as if expecting a reprimand. You suppose it’s a valid expectation to have, in his world. You aren’t terribly familiar with the military, but you do know it’s one hell of a stickler for rules.

You also can’t help but admire the appealing pull and stretch of his bicep and deltoid, the flex of his pectoral as he lowers his arm.

“Why don’t you wait here, and I’ll go see if I can find something for you?” you suggest kindly, letting him off the hook.

“Sorry,” he says, pretty blue eyes filled with genuine apology. “I’ll remember nex’ time. Thanks.”

The expression is so hangdog that you almost want to pat his head and noise at him reassuringly, like an actual dog. You press your lips together to hide a smile, and leave the studio.

When you get back from the models’ changing room, you find Soap with one hip against the counter where you’d been organizing your supplies, one knee loose and shoulders set at a relaxed angle. You want to laugh at his easy contrapposto. He’s going to be an excellent model. You can feel it.

It looks as if he’s moving around the sticks of vine charcoal with one outstretched finger; he pulls his hand guiltily away when you reenter the studio, crossing his arms over his chest as if to hide the evidence of his snooping. It makes his pectorals bunch and round out, gathers the thickness of his biceps up into chiseled, full definition.

You lift one brow at him as you walk over.

“Never could keep my hands to m’self,” he admits, still sheepish.

“It’s alright,” you allow, smiling back. “Do you draw?”

“Used to,” he says. He looks back at the charcoal. “No time, now.”

“Are you deployed often?” you ask, taking the opportunity to look at his face.

Beauty is cheap in art, but you notice it all the same—appreciate the strong brows, the hard angle of his jaw, the dark stubble of a beard you suspect he can’t keep shaved down, and the long scar that cuts through it across his chin. The light brown of his complexion is speckled with sun exposure, and there are the faintest of creases at the corners of his eyes, which you expect will deepen into genuine, gorgeous crow’s feet as he ages.

He’s not all rugged, though. There is a soft, thick curl to his lashes, which are as dark as strong coffee or expensive chocolate, and an equal decadence to the pink, plush little swell of his bottom lip—which, in the very middle, has the smallest of divots, as if he regularly spends time biting it.

They’re traits that are far too sweet to belong on an otherwise masculine face, and their effect is such that they turn an objectively average set of features into a shockingly attractive portrait—that suddenly has something fluttering, just a bit, in the roof of your stomach.

He looks at you, and catches your survey. You can see him realize you’d been watching, the knowledge of it blooming in ocean blue eyes like ink dropped onto linen.

“More often than no’,” he answers, showing teeth in a crooked, interested grin. And now he’s looking at you—attention flitting across your face, dropping down your body and jumping back up to meet your gaze. The creases deepen at the corners of his eyes.

The fluttering intensifies. The sudden role reversal has you feeling at once flustered and unmoored. You are never the subject of any perusal—always comfortably the observer.

“Well—” you try, and you’re embarrassed at the low tone of your voice. You clear your throat. “Well, let’s make use of the time we have you, then.”

His smile remains, cocksure and easy. “Let’s.”

He knows the effect he’s had.

“Anyway,” you say, blinking several times and proffering the sheet you’d retrieved, “none of the other models are your size, so I’m afraid this will have to do.”

He takes it in his hands, which are sun-dark and striking against the clean white linen. “So it’s a toga, then?” he asks.

“Whatever you like. Let’s go over the basics, and then you can undress.”

“Oh, already, aye? Y’move fast, hen,” he drawls, still grinning. “I like it.”

Heat rushes to your face, but you don’t feel embarrassed enough not to laugh. You busy yourself with tapping your charcoal sticks back in place, putting them back in an even row ascending in order of length, and saving yourself from having to look him in the eye. “Ha! We don’t do a lot of foreplay in this studio, I’m afraid.”

“No?” Soap hums, and he steps closer. He’s very warm, enough that you can feel it even with the space between you. You do have to look at him then. His eyes are half-lidded, lashes casting pretty shadows on his cheekbones as he gazes down at you. “That’s a shame. I’m right partial to it.”

Your brows lift, and you will your pulse to remain steady even as you inhale, catching a thread of—cologne? Aftershave? Just plain deodorant?—coming off of him. The scent caresses you, almost beckoning you to lean forward. You swear you can see the thrum of his heartbeat, there in the soft hollows by his Adam’s apple.

You blink. He is your model. “Well—I’ll try to set you up as best I can, anyway. Follow me, please.”

And you turn your back on him, because this is your workplace, and you are at work, and if you don’t get on with things you might do something stupid like actually flirt back.

Soap hadn’t been sure what to expect when he arrived at the art studio. He’s never been to one before, much less one housed in a university—which he has also never been to—and hell, he only ever took one art class in high school.

If pressed, he’d have imagined old brick walls covered in diagram posters, shelves of supplies in all colors, the smell of paint hanging permanently in the air. What he finds instead is modern, clean, and impersonal. Stage lights hang from fixtures in the ceiling, pointing at a platform in the back center of the room. A tight line of easels, all folded up, stand pressed into a far corner, next to a tower of stacked chairs, and waist-high cabinets line half the room against the bare, painted cinder block wall. The linoleum floor looks new.

None of this, however, has any opportunity to disappoint him. His final unmet expectation, standing across the room and organizing a tray of art supplies, is a very welcome surprise.

You’re bonnie. Like, every point on his wishlist bonnie. Christ, he must’ve done something really good lately, because he can’t imagine just lucking into this. There’s not a hard angle to you, all sweet and soft, but when you meet his gaze during introductions there’s a sharpness to you that skewers him through the chest. You are much smarter than him, he can tell immediately.

He’s always had a thing for smart women. Soft ones, too. And if that weren’t enough, you let him flirt shamelessly with you, while checking him out the whole time.

Steaming Jesus.

You direct him to get onto the platform and sit down, still clothed, in an armchair draped in another pristine white sheet. The stage lights are bright overhead, and they highlight free-floating wisps of your hair in gold.

“You want to ensure that you don’t rest your weight on only one or two points,” you explain. You have a nice voice. Steady, confident—this is your territory, your studio, and in it you are clearly the master. “The main danger is that your arms or legs might fall asleep, and you won’t realize it until you get up, in which case you’ll fall. We can’t touch you, so we can’t save you from that.”

“Y’canna touch me?” Soap repeats.

“Not without your explicit consent,” you say.

He smiles at you, the kind of smile he saves for bright nights at the pub over platoons of shot glasses. “I explicitly consent to you touching me.”

The corners of your mouth tug upward, just a bit, and you look away, clearly bashful. Something in Soap’s chest starts beating a drum. He knows already he’ll ask you to drinks after the class ends tonight.

“I doubt I’d be able to do much,” you say, “you’re a bit more substantial than the usual models.” Your eyes flick down his torso and back up.

“Guess I’ll have to follow your advice, then,” he says.

“You should,” you say, and he looks at your thigh shamelessly as you pat it—even beneath your jeans, he can see the ripple of the impact. “One of the worst-case scenarios is nerve damage.”

“So you have done this before!”

He can’t help it—Soap’s imagination runs wild. Titanic, draw-me-like-one-of-your-French-girls wild. It’s not exactly polite to imagine a teacher naked while she’s in the middle of giving him directions (and Jesus, what a concept, he might be half-mast already), but Soap has always found that people like it when he’s a little rude.

You drum your fingers. “I have.”

He finally hears the nerve damage part of your instruction. “How, uh—how bad can it get?”

The drumming stops. “For me? It just starts to twinge a bit if I sit on this side very long. So don’t rest your weight all on one hip, yeah?”

Concern assuaged that he had not ignored your genuine pain in order to objectify you, Soap grins. “Yeah.”

“Good,” you say. “Also—even if it doesn’t hurt, Soap, you can stop at any time, okay?”

That has him blinking. “Kinda defeats the purpose, doesnae?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter. This is your first time modeling. You don’t know how you’ll feel, sitting here with your clothes off and everyone looking at you. If you need to stop, I want you to stop. I’ll make sure you’re paid anyway, so don’t worry about that.”

You are…so serious about this. The line of your brows is furrowed, imploring, like a little discomfort on his part is a violation of the highest order.

“Sure,” he says, a little dumbstruck and mostly lying. He’d be a rubbish soldier if he tapped out of a little thing like sitting down, but it’s nice that you care.

You purse your lips, nod, and then move onto the task at hand, stepping back and then down off the platform. When you begin to survey him—gaze flitting up and down his body, more pensive than appreciative—he has to resist the urge to flex.

Instead he watches you as you look at him. He especially likes, he decides, the slope of your nose and the smart, serious press of your mouth. You could get him all turned around, he thinks, if you gave it half a try.

Your tits are also great, but that’s by the by.

“Try resting your elbow up a little higher, and twist at the hips a bit,” you instruct, and Soap obeys. “Hm. How would you feel about crossing your ankles?”

You continue like this—nudging him in directions he doesn’t think make all that much of a difference, standing in different positions around the room to check the angles. He half-wishes he could step out of his body and join you, curious as he is about what you’re seeing, what your students will see. He’s not sure he has any clear expectations for how the class will go, but if you’re any indication, it’ll be more fun than he expects.

“Not sure if I’ll remember how to get back into this,” he says, partly to be helpful and partly to get you to talk to him again.

“I’ll help you, don’t worry,” you say. “Okay, I think that’s a good one, you can move now—I’m going to start setting up, the students should be here any minute.”

He stands, and you turn away to collect your supplies, so Soap figures this means it’s time for him to strip. He pulls off his shirt and drapes it over the chair’s arm, unbuttons his pants and shoves them down to his knees.

“Soap!”

He freezes. Then he looks at you. You’re blushing again, deep and saturated, mouth parted in surprise and hand pressed to your chest. He does not miss the quick flick of your gaze down his body; he’s probably violated some rule or another of the studio, but he can’t help but grin.

You’re adorable.

“Gotta happen eventually, right?” he says.

You cover your face with your palm. “I was going to leave the room first!”

“First time someone’s wanted to run away when I’m takin’ my clothes off, I won’t lie—”

“You just come get me when you’re done!” you say hastily as you beeline for the door. “I’ll be right outside!”

Soap chuckles a little when you’re gone, the door slamming mortified behind you, and folds his clothes up behind the armchair he’ll be sitting in. You’re so cute. He can’t wait to sit naked for you for the next three hours.

And he’s definitely asking you out for drinks.

Author's Note: THE PROMISED FIC. I really hope y'all enjoy this one, I've been teasing it since March and I have so many plans. This fic has a special place in my heart because it's drawing heavily from my college days--my bachelor's degree is in fine arts, and I have a lot of fond memories of many hours in the studio both as a student and as a model.

I expect this series will also have a looser timeline than my Neighbors series, so I'm open to suggestion in terms of scene ideas! I already have plenty, but if I know my mutuals, y'all might have some good ones as well. No promises I'll write them, but you never know.

Thanks everyone for your patience, and I hope you'll look forward to where this fic goes!!

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dreamerinthemoonlight · 5 months

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Genshin Guys with an S/O Dealing with Sensory Overload (Wriothesley, Diluc, Alhaitham, Neuvillette)

Please note that this is all from my experience. Obviously not everyone is going to experience it like this. Basically this is me shamelessly self-inserting again. I mean, what's new?

I'm going to format this as kind of scenarios in bullet point form, rather than my usual

CW: hurt/comfort, neurodivergent reader

Wriothesly x gn!reader, Diluc x gn!reader, Alhaitham x gn!reader, Neuvillette x gn!reader

Requests and Ask Box is OPEN

Wriothesley

Sensory overload isn't really that uncommon around Wriothesly

And it's not because he's loud or anything, but the Fortress of Meropide isn't a quiet place. I imagine there's always a lot of little sounds even at night. Stuff like dripping pipes, hissing steam, little things

And even if you're not hanging out at Fortress, the city isn't even much quieter

Thankfully he's the perceptive, people-smart type so there's no way in hell sensory overload is getting past him

Tight fists, pinched eyebrows, flinching at loud noises, yeah, he ain't missin' that shit

When he notices you doing that he's quick to finish whatever conversation he's in and bringing you to a quieter location

He's either soundproofed his room or set aside some space in the fortress where you can be alone in the quiet. If you need music to avoid complete and total quiet he has some soft records for you to listen to

Diluc

Diluc has an easier time dealing with the sensory overload

When the day has left you worn out, overloaded, and on edge, wincing at even soft noises, you seek out Diluc

Of course, if you're helping/hanging out at the Angel's Share, chances are he's already at least noticed your reactions to the ambient chaos

If he can't get away from the bar, he hands you the keys to his room and tells you to go rest, that he'll be up when he's free

At the Winery, he's left instructions that even if he's not there, you should be brought to a quiet out of the way room (ehem, his room) and given whatever you need

In either location, as soon as he's free he's coming to make sure you're alright. He usually has something for your headache, knowing that you've probably got one

If you let him, he'll want to hold you, rubbing circles into your shoulder. But if you need space, he'll leave you be once

More than anything he's intent on making any of his spaces safe and comfortable for you

Alhaitham

Alhaitham is an asshole and doesn't people, but when it comes to sensory overload he's 100% sympathetic

I honestly wouldn't be surprised if it's something he deals with on the regular

It's also not something you can hide from him (in fact you might go to him because he's a quiet person who has no issues telling anyone who would bother you to go sit on it)

The first thing he does is kick whoever he's talking to out of the room. Unlike Wrio, he doesn't bother wrapping up the conversation, he just tells them to leave

If you're at his house, Kaveh gets told to find a different room to occupy and Kaveh actually listens (I mean, Kaveh is a nice guy who isn't going to be mean to you just to give his roommate the metaphorical middle finger. Really, neither of them are.)

Once he's gotten rid of any annoyances, he's handing over his headphones

He also helps darken the room your in (modifications Kaveh helped with--I feel like both of them are far more willing to accommodate you than each other, even if it means working together)

After that, he just leaves you alone. If you have a headache, he'll find something to help, but he just goes to read

If you're in a place where he can't just shoo people away and remove any offending sensations, he goes out of his way to comfort you (which took him forever to figure out how to do, but he likes you so it's worth the effort). Even if it's just lending you headphones while he takes you by the hand and leads you through the city

Neuvillette

Honestly, it takes Neuvie a while to get used to a S/O who is prone to Sensory Overload

He's not human and is very much accustomed to the chaos of the Opera Epiclese, Palais Mermonia, and Fontaine City in general

So when Sedene lets you in to Neuvie's office (he's left instructions that unless he's in a conversation you can't be privy to, you're just to be let in) and you're nearly in tears, he's very concerned

Anything he's doing is immediately set to the side so he can figure out what's wrong

When he figures out that your brain just can't process any more input without feeling like it's about to spontaneously combust, he's a little confused, but he focuses more on how to help you

First things first, he has you hydrate while he tells Sedene to not let anyone in unless it's an emergency and finishes up whatever he's doing. If you're not feeling well, he wants to be able to focus his attention on you

Then he takes you somewhere quieter and darker

Eventually, much like Diluc and Wrio, he sets aside a place for you to go. He makes sure you can keep it as dark and quiet as you want, while making sure any sensory things you gravitate to are easily accessed

On days where you decide to take a nap, it's not uncommon to see him wrapped around you, letting his naturally cool temperature soothe you

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callofdudes · 1 year

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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Autistic Reader headcanons.

A/N: I myself am not autistic but I do know a fair bit about it. So I figured I'd write headcanons before writing a fic just to dip my toes in and see if I can get it right.

I know that autism can present a bit differently for some things across different people. Please feel free to let me know if something in this list is not correct. ❤️

Ghost would be lying if he said he didn't give you extra special treatment apart from his other teammates. And it's well justified. Simon knows not to compare you to a child but he also knows that you need things the others don't.

Simon has picked up on subtle signs throughout the months working with you. How sometimes when things didn't go according to plan on base it would leave you more stressed out than it should have. Sometimes if your food wasn't what you had expected it to be, he'd notice how you'd react.

He eventually consulted your file before making any decisions. That's how he'd found out you are autistic.

Simon knew someone who was autistic, so he made sure to keep his eye close on you.

He noticed each little shift. How you would stim with your clothing or your hair, too embarrassed to carry a fidget toy around base. But that didn't matter to Simon. He made sure to take care of everything. He bought some fidget toys small enough to fit in his jacket and when in meetings or just sitting around, he'd pull a toy like magic from his pocket and hand it over.

You'd been incredibly grateful the first few times, and then it just became routine that Simon would carry around the toys for you and have one on hand whenever you needed.

He also noticed which ones you liked, and didn't like. Some you would hand back because they didn't feel right on your fingers. Others clicked and slid in a way you didn't quite like, and he kept a tab of that. He compared fidget toys you did like to similar ones and was very precise every time he got you a new one.

He made sure that in every environment he was nearby. How you'd react to the lights, different sounds. How you'd react when it got to loud and crowded or too quiet. What noises bugged you and what calmed you.

When on missions, Simon made sure to talk you through each step. He thought his voice would help you to face the unexpected. Telling you where to go and exactly what to do, ready to face any situation.

"Take a deep breath y/n, you're doing great. Two Shadows on your left, you can take them out from where you are without being spotted"

Your level of empathy and emotional awareness was also something he had to take into account. You could sensitive to anger. You could feel a great deal of empathy and almost take on the burden of It being your fault even if you had nothing to do with it. Because of this, Simon made sure that you were aware his anger was never on you.

"Simon? Did I do something wrong? You looked really upset when you looked at me earlier and I just thought that maybe-"

Simon places his hand on your shoulder. "No no, just had a rough morning. You did absolutely nothing wrong. Got it?"

Simon has also become much more aware of how he teases you. You were emotionally aware to the point that you very clearly understood Simon would joke about being hurt, or would make fun of you and it was all jokes. He understood that you understood how his emotions worked as well.

But there was the occasional time where Simon would pretend to be hurt by your words and you'd have genuine regret. It doesn't happen as often as he would have thought, but when it does, he's right there to reassure you he is completely fine.

Simon actually gets more upset than you do when people call you a child wrapped up in an adults body with a nice little bow on top. Of course you have your traits but Simon has seen your hobbies and interests. You're no super genius but you are more than a child. You just have a different trajectory point on life's train tracks. And Simon makes sure to remind anyone he doesn't think is being respectful of you as a person.

Nightmares can affect you more harshly because of your emotional investment with things and the people around you.

The first time Simon saw you become overstimulated he was a little scared he'll be honest. He panicked a little bit. But now he knows exactly what to do. At first he tried to comfort you, allowing you to be swallowed up in his embrace, he crushed you tightly in his arms and smoothed his hands over your muscles. It would sometimes take a while for you to come down from your high, but he was there for every moment.

When he becomes a bit better at knowing how to handle a situation when you get over stimulated the process is smoother. Simon will notice how you can completely shut down. Sometimes it's near a meltdown with tears flowing everywhere. And other times you just disconnect. You don't move, don't speak, completely distant. Simon approaches you gently and picks you up in his arms.

"This ok?" He whispers near your ear as to not startle you. You cling to him tightly, burying your head in his neck. "Alright, come on, you've had a long day."

He rubs your back and brings you to your room. If you're away from base he just finds a separate room that is quiet. Anywhere he can go to separate the noise and bustling energy from you. If you're in your room he'll lay you down and just get you to relax.

Tears flow down your cheeks, hands still clasping the material of Simon's hoodie. Simon gently rubs your collar and down over your shoulders. He presses on different parts of your arms until you relax. "Take a deep breath. Take a deep breath." Simon breathes in deeply, prompting you to mimick. He wipes the tears from your cheeks and fetches your heavier blanket from the end of the bed. "See? You're ok."

He grabs your fidget from your desk and place it in your hand, or sometimes he'll lean over you and allow you to play with his sweater.

He talks softly and calmly, he does know kinder and softer words of reassurance help.

Sometimes all you want to do is hug Simon under the warmth of your weighted blanket, his arms wrapped around you like mountains compressing you from all angles.

And sometimes Simon will shut the door, lay you on your back and lay the weighted blanket just above the bend in the bottom of your spine. If you want a fidget toy he'll get you one to distract your hands while he runs soothing motions along your muscles, feeling them relax and contract. He plays white Noise in the background for you, or he'll give you his phone so you can watch soap cutting videos or other visually satisfying things.

"How are you doing?" He whispers near your ear, thumbs rubbing over your stomach and up around your back to cup your shoulder blades. "Look at it." You flip the phone to show a satisfying paint video. "Oh, that's a cool one isn't it?" You nod and go back to watching it.

Wherever Simon got so good at doing massages, you would not change it for the world. You've expressed before how nice they feel and how they calm you down. And Simon continues to do them.

Simon always makes sure that when you're over stimulated you have something to do with your hands. Again, if you want to play with his hoodie he'll stay with you so you can. If you want to run your hands through his hair, he's become comfortable enough to allow it.

"What are you doing up there?" He asks with a smile. You hum, combing your fingers through the short hair of his nape and up into the longer locks. "Soft." You express the feeling over your fingertips. "Yeah? I did shower." "I like your hair."

The occasional times you go nonverbal and are unsure how to express your needs, Simon will pull out a few toys and just crawl up next to you. He holds out his hoodie strings and comb his fingers through your hair.

He lays next to you, holding up one of the fidget toys. You gently take it and allow your fingers to move over it. Simon stays, fingers moving to drift through your scalp. You abandon the toy quicker than he expected and reach for his hoodie. "Oh you want this?" He smiles and moves closer so you can play with the strings of his hoodie.

Simon knows that you are incredibly passionate about what makes you happy. He often bugs you that you never shut up, but he knows you love it. One time when you both couldn't sleep early on the morning, Simon made you both tea and sat silently while you went on for nearly four hours about the lore of your favorite game/movie/TV show. He'd add little key points and poke out certain details, which would lead you down a detailed side rant before coming back to wrap everything up. The conversations would ring you dry of information. Simon would be lying if he said he didn't like it when you info dumped on him.

It was one of your ways you expressed your love. Sharing these things that made you so incredibly happy and Simon wanted to be a part of that.

Simon is still learning, and honestly he's very happy to learn. Sometimes he gets things right and sometimes he doesn't. But he is always here to make sure you get the care and provision you need. Whether it's taking a step back or a step in.

#im neurodivergent myself so i have a decent understanding i think #of course this is only to spread love #simon ghost riley #call of duty headcanons #ghost x reader #call of duty #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley headcanons #autistic reader #cod headcanons #simon ghost riley headcanons #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #x reader #platonic x reader

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