introduction
makenna. she/her. fourteen. bunnies. infp. music addict. piano. victoria’s secret angel makeup. stockholm style. gold jewelry. autistic and adhd. folklmore era. strawberries. chris girl. sanrio. floral anything. glossier balm dotcom. madison beer. advocate for mental health and neurodiversity. stimming. the outsiders. wicked. theater. team kendrick. fruit bars. skirts. sturniolo triplets. rainy mornings. 10 things i hate about you. brandy melville. autumn. local coffee shops. roses. and kindness.
Dally x fem reader with autism hcs (or one shot or whatever u want)
Like idk just someone who is rly hyper fixated on certain stuff and like… other autism things…
Ik it was VERY different in the 60s but I just need my man to comfort me😝😔💔
Ofc this is only if your comfortable writing this 💯
an: Thank you for the request! I'm going to do headcanons so that I can cover more stuff, but let me know if y'all want a fic! This is unrealistic. In the 60s, child with autism were automatically institutionalized. That's actually so crazy and sad. For the purposes of this- that isn't the case.
W: insensitivity, swearing, not proof read
At first, he doesn't understand
Like if a sound or lights are overstimulating you, he will tell you to calm down
But once you start dating- he makes sure everyone understands
Music too loud? He's telling them to turn it down
Someone's humming bothering you? He's telling them to shut the fuck up
He does not play.
He does not want you to have a meltdown
The first time you had a meltdown, he was scared and stressed out of his mind
He did not know what to do and he felt so helpless
Like he'll try to hold you and talk to you and is pretty much just repeating: "It's okay," "Calm down," and "What's wrong?"
After the first time, you told him ways that he can help, so now he's prepared and actually calming when that happens
I totally see him as the listener type, he likes silence too, but he will listen to you talk about your hyperfixation forever
If he sees anything associated with your hyperfixation- he's stealing it
You're obsessed with a certain band and he sees a cassette? In his pocket
You're hyper fixated on an animal and he sees a little figurine? Snatched
You might scold him about it while fighting back a smile, but he won't stop. He knows it makes you happy
He'll stop using the r word and will throw hands with anyone he hears using it!
For some reason thinks that you can't have weed? Like he thinks that it will fuck with your brain extra? Idk don't ask me
He likes staring at you, he thinks you're beautiful after all, but I don't see him as a big fan of eye contact either. So, he's totally chill if you can't do eye contact
Dallas isn't big on routines, but if you need a routine, he'll follow
You want to see him at specific times on specific days? Actually, he forgot 😬
Yeah... but he's sorry. Like really really sorry. He only messes up a few more times
If you ever live together, sometimes he's a bit annoyed that you won't sleep in with him, but he gets used to it
He gets so used to your routines without even realizing it
He picks up every little habit you have without noticing too😭
If you're a picky eater, he will be making fun of you, I'm sorry
He's still an asshole
This mf will eat ANYTHING, so he's a bit surprised by that very limited amount of things you'll eat
When Dallas is comfortable with someone, he's touchy
If you're not down with that, he's a bit taken back
He'll respect you when you tell him to stop ofc
But he will ask to touch you all the time
But he's too embarrassed to ask straight up, so he'll hover his hand over you while pretty much giving you puppy dog eyes
"🥺🫳"
Again, he does like quietness, so he's more than happy to just sit in silence with you if you're overstimulated
If someone ever complains about you stimming or fidgeting, he will get mad
He will take offense and he will tell this person off
Dallas thinks it's adorable when you stim when excited or happy
When you swim when you're stressed or anxious, it stresses him out tho
If the smell of smoke ever is overstimulating you when he's smoking, he'll feel so bad
At first, he wouldn't feel bad, and might even blow smoke into your face, but once he actually starts to understand autism and how you are, he feels bad
He'll put it out or go outside right away
an: I hate mosquitoes, but I love you guys!
Bonus: pictures I found on pintrest while trying to find stuff for the pics at top
omfg I am MAD for the life is unfair fics, I need more!! No pressure tho <33
────۶ৎ hanging on
or... dallas finding you way too close to too late.
warnings : suicidal idealization, active suicide stopped, sh mentions.
ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: my new coping mechanism for when im feeling bad is write extremely angsty hurt comfort.
♱ *ೃ.⋆
They all loved you. You knew that. But love doesn’t fill a bathroom cabinet with the shampoo made for girls with wavy hair. It doesn’t buy pads when Darry forgets again, and you’re too embarrassed to remind him. It doesn’t swap out hand-me-down jeans that hang off your hips, or stop the way your skin itches from using your brothers’ 3-in-1 soap that burns your scalp.
It’s not their fault. Not really. Darry’s killing himself trying to keep food on the table. Soda’s working a double today. Pony’s buried in his books. You’re proud of them. You love them.
But God, you’re so tired.
You're so tired of looking like a ghost in your own skin. Tired of feeling disgusting and patchwork and forgotten. You miss your mom’s perfume. Her lipstick. Her warm hands brushing out your tangles.
All you've got now is silence.
And rope.
Dallas Winston had left his jacket at the Curtis place the night before. He’d swung by late —smoking and bitching about some fight— then passed out on the couch with a lit cigarette and no shirt.
You hadn’t smiled much, but you still tucked a blanket over him when he dozed. Still turned his cigarette out. Still watched him with that soft look in your eyes he pretended not to notice.
He loved that look. He loved you.
But he never said it. Not once. Not out loud.
It was still early when he came —sun barely going down. Nobody’d be home yet. Pony was at the library, Soda already at the station, and Darry was probably working construction by now.
He figured he’d sneak in and grab his jacket before you were back.
The house was still. Quiet.
Too quiet.
He stepped inside, muttering something about how the place always smelled like old toast and grease. His boots hit the floorboards softly. The couch was empty.
Then he looked up.
And stopped breathing.
There you were.
In the living room.
On a chair.
Rope tied around your neck.
Eyes wide. Face pale. Bare feet shaking as you tried to steel yourself for the jump.
And Dally? He couldn’t fucking move.
His heart stopped. Then thundered.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
“Baby,” he finally said, voice cracking.
You gasped — not in fear, not in surprise — but like he’d interrupted something sacred.
Like this moment had been meant to be yours alone. And he felt like the worst piece of shit alive for seeing it.
“Hey,” he said softly, stepping forward an inch. Just one. “Hey, no, no, sweetheart. Don’t—don’t move.”
You flinched. Your knees wobbled on the chair.
He froze instantly. “Okay. Okay. I’m not movin’. Look. Look at me.”
Your eyes met his. Raw. Broken. Terrified.
“Jesus Christ, baby…” he whispered, eyes shining. “What are you doin’ up there, huh? What the hell are you doin’?”
“you werent supposed to see,” you said faintly.
“I know. I know, honey. I’m sorry. I’m real sorry. But you gotta listen to me now, okay? You gotta listen.”
Dallas Winston had never spoken this way before. Not to anyone. didn’t know how. He wasn’t gentle. Wasn’t soft.
But here you were, shaking and still, just one wrong breath from slipping into death — and suddenly he had to learn.
He swallowed hard. Kept his voice low. Sweet. Like talking to a baby deer.
“Can you tell me what’s hurtin’ you so bad, sweetheart? Huh?”
You didn’t answer. Your hands were trembling.
“Is it Darry?” he guessed. “Soda? Pony? School?”
You looked away.
“No?” He tried again. “Is it you? Is it your head doin’ this to you?”
Tears welled in your eyes.
“That’s okay,” he said, nodding. “That’s okay, baby. That don’t make you broken. That don’t make you wrong.”
“I’m disgusting,” you whispered. “I wear boys’ clothes. I smell like bar soap. My hair’s greasy. My skin’s ugly. I’m always so tired, Dally.”
He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.
You kept going. “Nobody buys me anything. I haven’t had a real bra in a year. I use my brothers’ shampoo and their clothes and their shoes. I don’t have anything that makes me feel like me. Like a girl. Like a person.”
He could barely breathe.
“I feel like garbage. And then I cut myself. And then I feel worse. And then I think about dying. And then I think about how I don’t deserve to feel this way ‘cause the boys have it harder, and I’m just— I’m just—”
“You’re suffocatin’,” he whispered. “Baby, you’re suffocatin’ and there ain’t nuthin’ wrong with that, kay?”
You sobbed once —a sharp, terrible sound.
And he knew he had to move. Now.
“Can I step closer?” he asked. “Just one step. Please.”
You hesitated. But nodded.
He stepped closer, slow and silent.
“Look at me, doll. Please.”
You did. Your lip was bleeding from where you’d bitten it too hard.
“I love you,” he said, and meant it with every broken piece of his heart. “You hear me? I ain’t good at sayin’ it, but I do. You’re my baby. You’re everybody’s baby. You’re the best part of my fuckin’ day.”
Tears streamed down your cheeks.
“You come down, I swear —I swear on my goddamn life— I’ll get you your own shampoo. I’ll get you a brush. Lip gloss. Perfume. Whatever the hell you want. I’ll shoplift every aisle of the goddamn store if that’s what it takes.”
You gave a tiny, broken laugh through your tears.
He took another slow step. “I’ll sit with you every night. Brush your hair. Paint your nails. We’ll talk about nothin’. Or everything. You don’t gotta carry this by yourself no more.”
“I didn’t want to hurt anybody.”
“You would’ve destroyed me,” he said, voice cracking. “You jump, baby, I don’t make it either. You think I can breathe in a world without you? You think I’d want to?”
Your knees buckled slightly.
“I got you,” he said. “I got you. Just—just hand me the rope, okay? Or step down. I’ll catch you. I’ll always catch you.”
You wavered.
The sob that came next shook your whole body.
And then —slowly, like the dawn breaking over a nightmare— you untied the rope.
You fell forward.
Dallas caught you in a heartbeat.
You crashed into his chest like a wave. Your knees hit the floor, your arms wrapped tight around his neck, and you screamed.
It was the sound of grief. Of rage. Of everything that had built up and never had a place to go.
And Dally? He didn’t flinch.
He just held you. Buried his face in your shoulder. Rocked you back and forth like you were something precious. Because you were.
sorry chat i went to the psych ward, i really don't care about not telling people on here because it drives me insane when mental health is a "hush hush" type shit, but oh well! your girl is back and relativity better!!
its okay to hurt when you loose a loved stuffed animal. its okay to hurt when your plushie gets a stain, or a tear. theres nothing wrong with you, your emotions are valid. they never stopped loving you. you are even more wonderful for caring so much about something so small. please be gentle with yourself.
pony is a BITER. motherfucker starts losin a fight n decides. you know what. yeah. n BITES. n I'm not talkin enough to leave a mark n call it a day. I'm talkin that kid has left SCARS on (almost) every last member of the gang.
