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mandomaterial · 11 months

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Hello, would you be able to write something that’s Miguel x autistic reader?

I’ve seen so much diversity when it comes to diversity when it comes to looks of readers but nothing regarding neurodiversity

I’m not the expert on this- i just wrote about a couple things I do myself and i hope you like it! :3

Miguel dating an autistic reader

You were always a little different from others, but that didn’t bother you, you rather thought it made you special. And your boyfriend thought so too, he found you adorable! You’d known since you were a teen that you were on the spectrum, but fortunately this didn’t affect your life too much. It just made you move a little more or it gave you a little trouble with communicating sometimes. But that was al okay, you found what helps you and everyone important to you understands and doesn’t have a care in the world about you being a little different. Right now, you were just at home with your lovely boyfriend Miguel, it was just a lazy Saturday and the two of you were lounging on the couch watching some dumb comedy show. You were snuggled up to his side, leaning your head on his shoulder and moulding your body to his. He had his arm wrapped around you and kissed the top of your head ever so often.

The show you were watching was about a bunch of people with funny laughs that were invited to the stage. The crowd was just going crazy and everyone was laughing, you pressed your lips shut trying not to explode in laughter as well but it was futile, your giggles came spilling out and you started laughing whole heartedly, your hands started shaking and waving a little, something you did when ever you were almost dying of laughter, wich happened quite often with Miguel, so he couldn’t help but let a large innocent smile wash over him. He loved seeing you giggle and laugh and he found it truly endearing when your little hands started shaking, he’s very glad that you didn’t even think about hiding the little things you do in front o f him any more. At the start of your relationship he noticed that you gripped and held onto your fingers whenever you were laughing and he wondered what that was about but he didn’t ask. Whenever you went out on dates he also noticed that you tended to walk on your toes a bit, at first he thought it was to make you look taller, to lessen the height difference or something but now that you’ve moved in with him he knows better, he knows that its just your way of walking. There was just a little problem. He researched toe walking and he found that it puts a strain on your lower back and knees, and he couldn’t bear the thought of your young body in pain and he had a talk with you.

Miguel mentioned it and convinced you to go see a doctor about it and you revealed that you didn’t like the feeling of your shoes touching your heels and that it was just weird walking differently. Of course Miguel accompanied you to the doctor and in the end, you got special insoles made for your shoes and they really helped. They were moulded to your feet and made your shoes comfortable. Another thing was that you almost religiously hated socks, you told him that it was fine during the day when you had your shoes on but as soon you stepped into the apartment you had the urge to just rip them off, so you did. Miguel didn’t mind one bit and it was quite amusing sometimes when he found your little colourful socks laying a round the entrance. He always picked them up and never reprimanded you about it. The only thing that posed a slight problem again was that in the winter moths the tiled floors of the kitchen and bathroom were very cold and he knew that if you stood on them for too long with your bare feet that you’d catch a cold. So he started placing a little basket filled with slippers near the kitchen and bathroom. Whenever he saw you n there or you wanted to help him cook he’d grab a pair and gently said “Feet please” and you almost automatically raised one foot at a time for him to flip them on. At some times, it really touched you, that he cared so much. He took time out of his day to do little things for you and it made your heart melt. You really really loved him and you hoped to stay with him forever.

Miguel researched a lot about autistic people and the most common traits, he learned that most of the people who were on the spectrum had a special interest and for the longest time he tried figuring yours out without asking you. It wasn’t very obvious but soon enough it revealed itself, you really liked making things! It didn’t even matter what, you tried almost everything from sewing to solving puzzles to crocheting and to pottery. Your things always turned out just the way you wanted and it fills you with glee. There were a couple dresses that you made in your side of the closet and little flowerpots on the windowsills. You had lots of keychains and bracelets but to his surprise you barely wore them and when he asked why, you just told him that you don’t like the feeling of anything on your wrists that moves, for example , you shouldn’t be able to take it off or else you’ll fiddle with it and loose or break it. If you wear any type of jewelry it has to be sung, you told him about your gold bracelet that you wore, it was a matching one with your favourite cousin and it fit tightly around your wrist. It wasn’t stretchy so you couldn’t force it over your palm without opening the clasp. You also told him that hair ties were also fine because they stuck in place when you moved your hands, perfectly melded around your slender wrist.

To say that Miguel was surprised was an understatement, he never thought about it like that, how did you notice all of that? He asked how you felt about rings and you almost gladly replied, talking him that you’ve never found a perfect ring before, they’re all either to tight or too loose, if they’re to tight you struggle with taking them off and it stresses you to no end, making your fingers red, well up a bit and making it even worse, your heart starts pounding and you’ll cry if you can’t get it off. The other scenario was that they just slid off your finger and you had to keep them clenched in order not to loose them in five seconds. It made your joints hurt and made you worried about loosing it, it was just as horrible as being too tight. Miguel agreed with you, all your points were valid after all. After that talk he made sure to only buy you jewelry that he was sure you’d love and that wouldn’t bother you.

One time the wo of you were cooking in the kitchen, with him at the store and you at the chopping board, he noticed out of the corner of his eye, that whenever he did bigger movements that you’d copy them. He turned around to grab something, you’d turn a round and grab something similar. He’d reach over his head to one of the cupboards you do the same. And this didn’t just happen in the kitchen. When the two of you talked for longer periods of time he noticed that you’d copy his hands as he told you a story or something. At first he was a little surprised but the more you did it, the more he got used to it and now? Now he finds it adorable, you’re almost like a cute, little puppy!

Sometimes the things you did changed or completely disappeared. He learned not to mention anything and just go with the flow. He loved you regardless of any antics you had our your little routines you followed. He loved you and nothing would change that. You were one lucky girl and you knew of everything he did for you and you were ever so grateful.

#Miguel #Miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel x y/n #miguel spiderman #miguel x you #miguel o’hara #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader fluff #Miguel O’hara x autistic reader #x autistic reader #x neurodivergent reader #neurodivergent #x reader #x you #Miguel O’hara x reader

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satorusluver · 6 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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bluemari23 · 5 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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sharkboywrites · 1 year

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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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soapskneebrace · 6 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 · 6 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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disenchantingwrites · 1 year

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Sirius Black dating Reader W/ Sensory Issues

Sirius Black x Neurodivergent! GN!Reader

A/N: getting the Sirius one up, let me know what other characters I should do (if you’d like me to do Peter as well, seeing as I’ve done the other three now). I feel like I didn’t do Sirius proper justice, and my characterisation of him isn’t too accurate :( sorry in advance if it isn’t, I might come back and revise it later if people also think so.

---- ---- ---- ----

Not going to lie, Sirius is definitely blissfully unaware that you’re sensitive to things.

He’s probably seeing you squint at the sun like a blind person, just thinking that you haven’t been outside much.

definitely tries to encourage you to eat your food, not forcing, because he definitely doesn't press when you tell him you can’t, but he does it because he wants to make sure you’re well fed and healthy.

There are so many things he just passes off as little quirks of yours, like you rubbing your hands over one particularly soft blanket on his bed almost obsessively, or how you always have to have a certain spoon to stir your drinks.

It’s only you having a sensory overload that he realises it wasn’t just some little things to you.

He finds you pressing your hands against your ears, and your head between your knees after you’d run from the great hall during one of the holiday feasts.

He tries to coax you out of it, to talk to him, but nothing seems to work and he’s getting frustrated with himself for not being able to help you. So he just sits in front of you and waits for you.

It’s not easy, but when you finally seem to calm down and raise your head, he practically jumps on you, until you push him off and shake your head, flexing your fingers as you rub them over your favourite and most sensory-friendly item of clothing.

You tell him all about your issues when you feel comfortable enough, explaining it to him, answering the countless questions he has. By the time you think you’re finished, Sirius is kicking himself for not noticing sooner.

“It’s not you’re fault, Sirius...” “I should have know! What kind of boyfriend am I for not– I made you eat those– So that’s why you love my blanket?”

He just seems to have a million more questions about it, wanting to make it up to you by knowing everything — and I mean everything — about how he can help you.

he realises that he never thought anything was wrong because he grew up with Regulus, who has sensory issues, too, and then hung out with Remus all the time once he got to Hogwarts.

He’s so concerned about making sure he gets you things that won’t upset you, because he keeps thinking back to the moment he found you distressed, and he doesn't want to see you like that ever again. In the end he pretty much just asks you if you’d be okay with certain gifts.

“At this point, you should just forget even trying to surprise me Sirius.” “Well... yeah... but, you’re okay if I get you that scarf from the other day, right?”

He’d spoil you endlessly if he could, just wanting you to be happy (and wanting to make sure you forgive him, seriously, he holds onto it for life)

At the end of the day, Sirius claims he’s still learning, and he might make a mistake, but he picks up on what’s good and what’s bad pretty quickly. He’s super prepared to help if you need it.

Literally will not let the boys prank you because he’s afraid you could become overwhelmed, and he’s convinced you won't forgive him (but you totally would and practically beg his friends to prank you at least once to prove you can handle it)

#x reader #disenchanting writing #gender neutral reader #marauders #marauders era #marauders imagine #sirius black x you #sirius black imagine #sirius black #sirius x reader #sirius black x reader #neurodivergent reader #x neurodivergent reader #the marauders #the marauders era #marauders headcanon #sirius black headcanon #marauders x reader #marauders fluff

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illdowhatiwantthanks · 3 months

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Take Me Out to the Ball Game

Casey Novak x autistic fem!reader Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI. Graphic sex, oral, fingering, language, homophobia, homophobic slurs. Word count: 2,443 "Onions and relish!?" you observed, watching Casey scoop condiments onto a ballpark hot dog. Your face screwed up. "Gross."

"I've got highbrow taste," Casey retorted, glancing at yours. "And you shouldn't talk. Ketchup and mustard? Are you five?"

"It's a classic," you argued, both pushing your way through the crowded line of Yankees fans waiting for their own ballpark snacks.

You returned to your seats, up in the nosebleeds along with a scattering of other die-hard baseball fans, the humming of a summertime crowd and the buzzing of the lights wrapping around you like a blanket. You heard the crack of a bat, and both you and Casey froze, watching the field.

"Yes!" you yelled, pumping your fist in the air as your team–the Cardinals–drove in another run. "Fuckin' Redbirds!"

Normally, you'd be a lot more self-conscious about drawing attention to yourself in a crowd like this–almost exclusively Yankees fans, including your girlfriend. When the Yankees weren't playing the Cardinals, you wore some of Casey's Yankees gear and cheered them on with her. But the Cardinals? They'd been your family's team for generations. You'd grown up on Pujols and Molina and Wainwright, and you were nothing if not loyal. But in this crowd, you stood out amongst the black-and-white like a red thumb. Casey had looked embarrassed, and you'd worried for a moment that she really was bothered by your vocal support of the away team.

"Am I embarrassing you?" you'd asked.

"Yes."

"In a bad way?"

Casey looked at you and smiled at your serious expression. "No, honey. Like, embarrassing but it's endearing. Does that make sense?"

You thought about it for a moment. "I think so. You would tell me if I was bad embarrassing?"

"I would," she confirmed, patting your hand.

It was one of your favorite things about Casey that she was so patient when you misread or didn't understand social cues. She never made fun of you. She always explained, and she always reassured you when you were afraid you'd done something wrong.

But this time it was definitely Casey who had done something wrong. You watched her shove a bite of hot dog into her mouth, beautifully messy, as always when she wasn't at work.

"Your whole mouth is gonna taste like pickles for the rest of the night," you muttered, taking a bite of your own hot dog.

She looked at you, smirking. "And why are you so concerned about my mouth, huh?"

You blushed. "No reason..."

"Mmhm." She took another bite, smug, then grasped your chin, pulling you to her for a kiss. Her lips were salty with sweat, and she smelled like the ballpark dust and the leather of her glove. She was intoxicating, but then you always felt lightheaded when Casey kissed you. Something about the stadium lights and the summer heat just made you that much more dazed.

"That's fuckin' hot," you heard someone say behind you. You shrank and glanced back, Casey's hand squeezing yours protectively. Two men, unshaven, with beers to go with their beer bellies, leered at you from the row behind.

"Nobody asked you, asshole," Casey shot back, flipping him off. You avoided eye contact with them, trying to make yourself smaller. Having grown up in the south, you'd been in enough unsafe situations because of your sexuality that your go-to defense was to ignore and hide. Casey's was not. She was tall and strong, and she'd grown up with absolute confidence in who and what she was.

Your nostrils flared in disgust as one of the men licked his lips, raking his eyes up and down Casey's body.

"What's a hot piece like you doing with a dyke? You oughta let a real man take you for a spin."

Casey stood and pushed him–hard. The man reeled, sloshing his beer all over his front. "You better shut your fucking mouth or I'll shut it for you," she growled.

The man's arm shot out, grabbing Casey by the back of her head. He dug his fingers into her hair to pull her closer. "That's okay, honey," he said. "I like 'em feisty."

Any fear you had dissipated into white hot anger as you watched, as if in slow motion. You, however, were not stuck in slow motion. Without thinking, you lunged forward, grabbed the man's wrist, and wrenched it back until he squealed. You shoved Casey behind you.

"Get your fucking hands off her!" you spat, puffing yourself up as you stood between him and your girlfriend. Which, considering your diminutive height, probably didn't do a whole lot to deter him.

Your teeth clenched and your whole body buzzed with rage. It took a lot to make you angry, but you were spitting angry now. All you knew was that no one–no one–was going touch Casey on your watch.

The man laughed, knocking your cap off your head with a swipe of his finger. "And what are you gonna do about it, Tiny Tim? Or should I say Tiny Tina?"

Without warning and, for once, without considering the consequences, you slammed your first into his groin as hard as you could which, considering you played softball, was pretty damn hard. It was a perk of your height that you were at the optimal angle to punch someone in the dick.

The man doubled over, coughing, and spilled the rest of his beer. "Fuckin' dykes," he muttered. He motioned to his friend, cupping his balls, and they sidled off. Probably looking for another section to harass women in.

You let out a shaky breath and turned to face Casey, your heart beating rapidly as the adrenaline faded and the nerves returned.

"Are you okay?" you asked, frantically looking her over, placing a gentle hand at the back of her head where the man had grabbed her.

You hardly noticed Casey watching you, biting her lip. You were too concerned with making sure she was safe and unharmed. As you rambled, checking her hands and neck and hair and face for any signs of hurt, Casey stared.

Finally, she interrupted you. "Y/N."

You stopped and made yourself meet her eyes.

"I think we should go." She looked at you pointedly.

You face fell. "Oh, love. I'm so sorry. We can go home if it'll make you feel better."

"No, that's not why."

A look of confusion crossed your face.

"We should go home because we have things to do."

You furrowed your eyebrows. "I don't understand what you're saying, Casey."

She stepped closer, placing your hat back on your head and her arms on your shoulders. Her expression was self-satisfied as she leaned in, so close you could feel her breath, and whispered into your ear.

"Y/N," she breathed. "I need to do things. To you. Now."

"Oh," you said, the realization hitting you. "Oh my god. Okay."

You started gathering your things, then stopped and glanced at her. "From this? Really?"

"Y/N," she said, cheeks already flushed. "Don't make me wait. I'm gonna have a hard enough time making it home."

You tried to hide the mixture of shock and excitement on your face as you left the stadium, walking by the now abandoned concession stands and into the quiet parking lot.

"What's the alternative?" you asked her as you climbed into the driver's seat.

"What?"

"To making it home. You said you were gonna have a hard time making it home. But, like, where else would we–"

You were cut off by Casey's lips on yours, her breath hot and desperate as she grabbed your collar. She slid her tongue into your mouth, her teeth clacking against yours as she surged toward you, pushing for more.

When you separated, you both breathed heavily. Casey's face was flushed with lust. "If it were up to me," she said, leaning back in the seat. "I would've fucked you in the ballpark bathroom. I'd take you right here in the car. But I know that's not your style, so for the love of god..." Her eyes bored into you. "Drive."

Usually a slow driver, you made it back to Casey's apartment in record time. And, true to her word, Casey did have a hard time making it to the apartment, stopping at every chance she got–stoplights, outside the car door, in the elevator, the hallway–to kiss your neck, your mouth, undoing buttons of your Cardinals jersey as you went. Her hands slipped inside your shirt whenever you stopped for so much as a second.

When she finally got you into her bedroom, she was ravenous, tugging your clothes off and tossing them to the side with a singular focus. Her eyes were glazed and her face red as she struggled with your bra clasps.

"Fucking hell," she muttered, her fingers fumbling.

"Jesus, Casey," you said, reaching back to do them for her. "Calm down."

She groaned, letting her eyes rove over your now nude body, pushing you gently but forcefully on your back. She pecked you on the lips, then took your bottom lip between her teeth. You gasped, filled with both pain and pleasure. When she let you go, she was grinning.

"I'm gonna make you feel so..." She kissed your neck. "Fucking." Your collarbone. "Good." She lowered herself over you and pressed her mouth into yours, breathing you in, letting her tongue roam freely.

You moaned, arching your back. "Don't hold back on me now," she growled, leaving bite marks down your neck and across your chest. Usually quiet, you gave yourself permission to make some noise. After all, it drove Casey crazy.

"Fuck, Casey," you whined as she swirled her tongue across your nipples, first one and then the other, her hands pressing just above your hips. You writhed into her, squirming for more, your center already sopping wet.

"Tell me what you want," Casey said, trailing her tongue from your chest down to your stomach.

You struggled against her hands, pressing you into the bed. "Come on," you complained, nearly begging.

"Tell me," Casey said again, more forcefully, her fingers grazing over your clit.

You saw stars. "Fuck me."

Casey chuckled, her low voice vibrating against your already swollen clit. "That's my girl."

You gasped as she sucked your clit between her lips, swishing her tongue back and forth, back and forth. Her arms pinned your thighs in place, holding your writhing body tight. You heaved and moaned as you pushed Casey's head into your center. Her hair was soft and damp with sweat under your fingers, and you felt desperate for her as you chased your high.

She waited until you were nearly bursting, your breath hitching and your back arched against her, then pulled quickly away, wiping her mouth.

You gasped frantically. "What the fuck, Casey!?"

"Shh," she commanded, crawling back up your body and grabbing your chin. She straddled your hips, her own soaked center resting over yours.

"Casey, please," you begged, your eyes fluttering shut, the need of her flooding you.

"Don't close your eyes, honey. Look at me."

You huffed but opened your eyes, staring defiantly into hers, green and hungry and lustful.

She held your face still with one hand, then crept back down your body with the other. You let out a moan, squirming.

"Now arch your back for me," she said, the heel of her palm pressing hard into your clit.

Your body nearly exploded with the sensation, and you thrust into her with everything you had. You grabbed at Casey, pulling her into you, elated to know that she was using you, too, unable to put off her own pleasure any longer.

Your breath came faster and faster, your body jerking into Casey as Casey thrust toward you. You watched each other, both on the brink of losing control. Casey moaned, shutting her eyes briefly before squeezing your chin and staring at you.

"Now," she said.

And that one word was all it took. Your body shook against Casey's, your hips riding into her again and again, desperate for the friction as you moaned. She did the same, her nails digging into the skin at the top of your throat as she rode out her own orgasm. It felt like the two of you were hurtling across space, starbursts and supernovas and whole galaxies flashing inside you as you held onto one another. You quivered against her as the fireworks dissipated, spent and sweaty and heaving.

Casey grinned and planted kisses across your collarbone, counting. "One. Two. Three..."

You laughed and groaned. "Casey," you protested.

She'd discovered early on that, if she timed it right, she could make you come indefinitely. The only thing that stopped her was you getting overstimulated.

"Twenty-two," she finished and, once again, pressed the heel of her hand into your clit, harder and harder until she had you ready again, your hands grasping the bedsheets.

Your orgasm washed over you again, like a wave this time, pouring over you from head to toe.

Casey started in again, this time with her lips at the back of your knees. "One. Two..."

By the fifth round, you were nearly delirious, and Casey was salivating.

"Casey," you groaned, your body still pressing into her hand, almost against your will. "It's too much."

"Come on, sweetheart," she said, kissing you roughly. "Give me one more."

She continued grinding her hand into you, meshing her lips with yours, her tongue roving. Your breath caught and you moaned into her mouth, your orgasm taking you over one final, quaking time.

Casey cradled your head in the crook of her arm as you continued to shake, finally letting you relax.

"Thank you," she whispered, peppering your face with kisses.

You scrunched your nose. "For what? Letting you beat your record?"

"Well, that, too." She chuckled, deep and throaty, then brushed your sweaty bangs out of your face. "For protecting me. From that asshole."

You turned to her and tucked her hair behind her ear, running your thumb across her eyebrow.

"I would die before I let someone hurt you." Your voice was so quiet that, had anyone else been in the room, even they wouldn't have been able to hear. But you did. And Casey did.

She looked at you for a moment, then leaned down and kissed your forehead, hard and purposeful.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you, too."

You lost yourself in her arms for a bit as she ran a hand absentmindedly through your hair.

"We should go to more baseball games," Casey mused after a while.

You laughed. "Only if there's no relish involved."

"Deal."

#casey novak #casey novak x reader #casey novak one shot #casey novak drabble #casey novak smut #law and order svu #svu #neurodivergent #autistic #casey novak x autistic reader #x autistic reader #casey novak fanfic

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chronicially-parker · 3 months

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me again :3

I've thought of another prompt ! spencer reid x gn!reader, as always :3 !

(idk how original it might be,,, but I thought I might as well just request it anyway)

so imagine BAU!reader running late for work and in their haste they've put on one of Spencer Reid's cardigan (maybe reader is also a cardigan wearer and didn't notice until they get to work maybe it takes them a second to remember/realize)

but the BAU notice (especially Reid) (that man is a blushing mess seeing his SO in *HIS* cardigan in front of the *BAU* /hj /lh) (bc the cardigan is a larger size than what reader would wear,, but it is Reid's size)

and so this is how the BAU realized they are dating :3

Thank you for reading and considering my ask !

yes yes yes!!! this is AMAZING!! i had so much fun writing this!! ♡

authors note: hi! this has been sitting in my drafts for far too long, so sorry if it isnt too good! i tried my best ❤️

you woke up to a call from your lovely boyfriend, spencer reid.

"hey baby, are you on your way to work yet?" spencer whispered softly through your phone

you had picked up a call from your boyfriend of 2 years at what you thought was early in the morning but had turned out to be nearly the time you were expected to arrive to work at the bau

"what-? ah shit!" you gasp, coming to the realisation that you had somehow slept through your alarms

"i'll take that as a no then," he chuckles "I'll see you soon, love you!"

"love you too!" you yell into the phone as you jump out of bed, sprinting to your closet grabbing the first things you see

"morning! sorry im late hotch!" you pant as you rush through the doors of the BAU to everyone staring at you, their eyes fixated on your current attire.

"ok i get im like really late but whats up with the staring guys?" you wheeze through breaths in a desperate attempt to regain your energy from running through the entire bau building

"loving the cardigan pretty girl" morgan snickers

thats when you noticed it, the purple cardigan you had draped over your shoulders in your desperate attempt to get out the door this morning

"oh my gosh! r/n is that spencers cardigan!!" your lovely friend penelope squealed, drawing the attention of just about everyone in a 50 ft radius

"everything ok?" spencer asks, coffee in hand after hearing penelopes excited squeals

"anything you want to tell us reid?" emily chuckles, eyeing the poor boy

"my girlfriends wearing my cardigan?"

THIS SPENCER YESYESYES

#autistic!reader #neurodivergent #adhd writer #autistic writer #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid fluff #adhd #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid scenario

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ghxstmxchine · 3 months

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hobie would be so good with an autistic partner, especially one that gets overwhelmed in loud spaces :((

he's a musician after all, he probably has ear plugs tucked away somewhere in his pockets. but being around you has made it so that he makes sure he has them more often, especially at any of his shows if you come along

speaking of shows he's such a sweetie and def loves playing at places where there's spots he knows you can get some space in, making sure you won't get overwhelmed in the pit. and he's always glancing over at you, smiling a bit harder when he sees you actually enjoying yourself

this is kinda self indulgent (i get super touchy when overwhelmed to cope) but hobie is so unbothered when you play with his hands, toy with his spiked bracelets or even nervously run your hands over his vest. he doesn't care about having to stick his hand out while talking to someone just so you can hold it :( he understands and would never be bothered. it keeps him calm knowing your sticking close to him.

and there's something intimate about how he talks to you, voice low and soft as he leans in to ask if you're okay, playing it subtle so you don't feel embarrassed. his hand ghosts against your elbow, motioning you close as he lets you stick by his side all night.

he doesn't mind, not when it's for you

#half inspired by a miserable night at a party #other half inspired by my roommate calling hobie “neurodivergent friendly”#atsv x reader #across the spiderverse #atsv #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #gn reader #spiderpunk

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ghostlyfleur · 8 months

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steve’s girls gets giddy about him all the time— smiley, giggling and covering her cheeks, getting flustered, bouncing on her feet, starts stimming ‘cause oh my gods her stevie is perfect. and he’s hers!!!!!

#fairy writes #steve harrington (harmo’s version)#daydreamin’#boyfriend!steve harrington #steve harrington #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x sunshine!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve x reader #steve x you #steve harrington concept #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #shy!reader #neurodivergent!reader #steve harrington thoughts

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ytsunodabrainrotbaybee · 11 months

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Violet!

-> Violet! by Waterparks

Oscar Piastri x an accident prone neurodivergent reader

Essentially the three-ish times that Oscar starts fussing over you, and the one time he got it right.

Groceries, unloading groceries.

Picking up a case of bottled water was enough to have Oscar hovering. Asking if you needed him to take it from you, as he tucked a carton of milk under his arm.

Not that he didn’t try taking the water first. You shoo’d him away from the trunk of your car before he had a chance.

“You really don’t know how this works,” you stated.

“I know that last time you dislocated something it was after you got your finger stuck in a mop bucket,” he opened your apartment door for you to walk in and drop the case of water onto your counter.

“And I had no idea because you don’t express pain.”

You rolled your eyes as he took the couple of steps towards you he needed to be able to rest his hands on your waist. You stared up at his eyes, watching him blink as he stared down at you. He watched your eyes shift from one of his to the other.

“What’re you thinking about?” He asked.

You didn’t answer, just wishing he could read your mind. Though some days it felt like he could, he could never understand the simple phrases that circled your mind when you couldn’t dream to force them out.

“I love you too,” he said, resting his forehead against yours for a moment before turning to start putting your things away.

~~~~

Oscar didn’t hover 24/7.

That would be unrealistic.

it was just when he got back to you after weeks, sometimes months, on the road for work.

He’d wake you up as early as he made it back and hide himself in your apartment until he felt like a normal person again. You’d go on with your life like you had been until he pulled himself up and out of your room like a bear from hibernation.

With an insatiable thirst from well over 24 hours of sleep to combat the jet lag, he started the day watching you cook breakfast.

Not a measuring cup to be seen, you’d drift from one spot in the kitchen to another with the steady destruction of a tornado. Always producing the best waffles and coffee and parfait he’d ever have. Always better than the last, despite your unwavering commitment to your recipe.

You’d reach for your favorite kitchen knife, and he’d make his way over. Your fingers held onto the fruit you cut in an unsettling fashion. He’d offer to cut the fruit for you every once in a while.

Too much of a deviation in your routine. So he settled for watching close as you shifted your hands uncomfortably to account for the knife and it’s ever shrinking victim.

~~~~

In theory, race weekends should be a sensory nightmare.

People rushed around you, stood in the garage next to some mechanics you were probably introduced to more than once. The adrenaline radiating from everyone around you, the yelling back and forth as the countdown to lights out drug on.

Weekends in the garage were the best.

you watched intently the way people dodged each other, racing back and forth to get any loose ends tied up.

As time went on, Oscar and Lando began making their own appearances in the garage as well. The former being sure to make eye contact whenever he could, seeking out a quick shaka to say “right on” and let him know you’re fine.

At that point your headphones hung around your neck. You sat in the busy noise, listening and watching with an intense focus that by the end of the event would make you more tired than anything. It’s fine. It’s more than fine.

You could always sleep better after days in the garage anyways.

~~~~

The end of the day could be a bit harder

Oscar would take extra care after race days, especially when you’ve spent the whole weekend in the garage. He’d tell you to quit overextending yourself, you’d tell him you want to see him drive.

Your head drifted downwards as you stared up over your sunglasses frames. Your AirPods tucked under your headphones blasting a playlist of the day. Both tale-tale signs of being checked out.

Oscar sat himself next to you as soon as his time in the media pen was done. He reached for your hand, which you offered without a second thought. He squeezed twice, his own signal to you asking if you’re ready.

You nodded and the two of you stood. Maybe a little quick, as you stumbled into his side. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders as the two of you made your way out and to wherever he had his car parked.

He chattered on to you about the race, and whatever drama it was that happened between Carlos and Pierre during the post race interviews. You nodded along, asking questions that would take him into a different area of whatever he could be excited about.

The path the two of you walked was pavement, for the most part it was very even. Not even a rock out of place. Staring down into the pavement as you walked and listened was an experience. The grey concrete shined in the sun overhead.

You let Oscar pull you to the side, away from the edge of the sidewalk. Your foot nearly slipping into the grass beside it, had your boyfriend not urged you away.

“wow I could almost feel that one,” you looked back to the edge of the sidewalk you had been walking on.

Oscar only laughed, squeezing your shoulder as the two of you continued your walk, “that’s what I’m here for, hm?”

#oscar piastri #op81 #oscar piastri x reader #f1 x reader #oscar piastri x you #I am now a McLaren girlie #thank you #yes I am procrastinating why do you ask?#Am I projecting? Absolutely #neurodivergent reader #maybe a touch of the tism baby

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