𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬◞﹒୧. Onyankopon was a bit foolish to introduce his cute autistic sister—you—to Connie. You were a literal princess who deserved all his care. The most beautiful girl ever in his eyes, and he had no shame breaking Ony's rules to make you his girlfriend. Ony thought he had managed to protect you from his criminal friend, but for years Connie had been secretly coming at night to make love to you. Like tonight.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬◞﹒୧ . 2.5k words, black!fem!reader, plus!size!reader, hyperfeminine nonverbal autistic reader, sign langage, hispanic!connie, plug!connie, fluffy smutty fic, established relationship, forbidden love, stoner!connie, tattooed!connie, pierced!connie, affectionate!connie, check ins, sensory seeking needs, hyposensitivity, ‘mami, baby, princesa’ pet names, feet kissing/toes sucking, fingering, cunnilingus, choking, vaginal penetration, missionary with legs on shoulders, kisses.
𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬◞﹒୧ . first mini connie fic, i wanted something cute!!!! i have a longer one in my wips, hehe… hope you will like this <3
The sounds of the game Detroit Become Human lulled Connie into a high. Even Eren's grunts when he made a choice that would negatively impact the story were like a sweet melody accompanying him as he floated, staring at the ceiling with glazed over eyes. Everything was perfect; he was so relaxed he wasn't thinking about the addicted clients he'd have to serve tomorrow, or how hard Ony would beat him if he knew how he was going to make his sister cum tonight.
He glanced down the stairs, alerted by your footsteps, as if you were divinely connected. His eyes followed you down with your tablet, wearing a pale pink leggings and vest set from I AM GIA. No one in your family knew, but Connie had bought it, and he felt hot just thinking you were wearing it on purpose because he was there. You looked like a pilates princess, and your vanilla scent filled the room as you approached your brother's group of friends, making Connie intoxicated, as always.
Everyone greeted you except Connie, who must play it cool as if his dick wasn't making regular in-and-out motions inside you at least four times a week. As if his heart wasn't beating, his body wasn't breathing for your beautiful, sparkling brown eyes.
You glanced at Connie, smiling shyly as if he were a stranger and not your boyfriend of several years. It was a shame your overprotective brother was in the room; you would have loved to get down on your knees to kiss the tattoos on his stomach and take his pierced dick in your mouth, turned on by his dark streetwear outfit, contrasting with your pink one. He looked like a bad boy, but the only bad guy here was Eren; Connie was a loverboy. He returned your small smile by discreetly patting the spot next to him. You sat down next to him, pleased because you thought he was looking at the drawings you were making on your tablet, but the truth was that Connie was staring at your thick thighs, which had tripled in size in your seated position. He remembered what it felt like to have them trembling around his head and adjusted his sweatpants so his erection wouldn't be noticeable. He took out his phone. You had to know.
“I want to be inside you.”
Concentrated in your digital art and oblivious to the tension, your stylus stopped drawing, your eyes rereading the message in confusion.
‘In a food, stabbing, or sexual way?’ You sent.
Connie giggled softly when he received the notification. You and your autistic brain that takes everything literally. Dirty talk was a pain in the ass with you.
“All three. Your beauty stabs me, I want to eat you up to have you inside me, and I want to fuck you.”
“That’s something Chikage from Hakuouki would have said.”
“Who is this nobody from another otome?”
“Speak of my husband with respect.”
“Your real future husband is right here, princesa,” he whispered in your ear. You shivered at the sensual intonation of his voice, as close as you were, your body overheating at the thought of tonight. You checked that no one was looking in your direction so you could sign “I hope so, but you know it’s not possible.”
Connie didn’t lose his sweet expression, still a playful glint in his eyes. He placed his hand on your thigh to grasp the soft flesh. “Ony will have to kill me with his own hands to prevent our future together. Even my spirit will haunt him. He can’t do anything to me.”
You quickly brushed his hand away, heat rising to your neck and burning your cheeks.
Your relationship consisted of three things: acting like goofy fools together, him playing the hero of forbidden romances, and him making love to you passionately and tenderly.
Being with Connie was like living a real rom-com, even though he was a drug dealer.
You were writing a new message. “I’m going to leave you, you make my head boil.”
He laughed softly. “Since when does my girl understand metaphors like that?”
You playfully punched him and signed “I’m not a walking autistic cliché.”
“Yes, you are. Look at what you sent me a few minutes ago.”
You ignored him and went back up to your room and once at the top of the stairs you gave him the finger and he just gave you his stupid smile with his red eyes because of the weed.
──────── 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭,
Connie walked into your room, immediately ripping off his hoodie and t-shirt and throwing them on the floor, revealing his fully tattooed chest and abdomen. Filled with designs you'd done, like the rose that started its stem on his hip and whose petals touched his ribs, the soft style of the tattoo contrasted with the harsh lines of the ink. But Connie loved it. It was like having you and him inside him, on him, for him.
'Heaven or Las Vegas' by Cocteau Twins played softly in your room as you sat at your vanity. The dream pop song made Connie, who was stoned out, drift even further into the psychedelic atmosphere. You detangled your hair with hair milk, separating it into four twists—two in the front on each side, two in the back—so it would be easier to manage tomorrow when you went to get your hair braided by your favorite braider, who didn't charge an entire month's salary for long knotless braids. Connie admired the goddess who was his girlfriend for a long time, licking his lips as he noticed you were wearing that Savage X Fenty pale rose nightgown, which was sheer, with a ribbon bow at the center of your chest.
“Mami, I missed you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around your neck and burying his face in your scalp, inhaling the scent of rosemary mint from your Mielle hair oil, castor oil, and shea butter from your Skala leave-in conditioner. He bought that one for you after seeing a TikTok about a Brazilian influencer with the same curl pattern as you recommending it.
With your hands manicured in a French manicure, you used sign language to communicate “We saw each other earlier,” with a roll of your eyes.
“I know, but I’m obsessed with my princess.” He kissed the back of your neck, his cuban accent adding charisma to his voice.
His desire, love, and passion for you, dripping from his voice, made you feel all giddy and fuzzy in your stomach. You smiled shyly at him in the mirror of your heart-shaped vanity.
“Don’t smile like that,” he said softly, almost desperately, his red eyes and dilated pupils even more affected by your little smile. “You’re so gorgeous in this.” He played with the thin straps of your nightgown. “But I’m sure you’re even prettier without them, aren’t you, baby?”
Shyly, you ignored his compliment and finished styling your hair before protecting it with your satin bonnet, the same color as your wardrobe, before getting up to hug Connie. Thinking he wanted to make love now, you led him toward the bed, but Connie spun you around.
Chuckling, you understood he wanted to dance and followed him, as the dream pop song stopped to make way for “Punch Drunk” by Sade. A wordless jazz track, purely instrumental, that made you feel like you were in an old jazz bar with your secret forbidden lover.
His hand on the small of your back, Connie made you dance, roaming around your room, laughing when you bumped into furniture because the space was small, kissing you when the saxophone was more intense than ever. He took advantage of the kisses to move his hands up and caress the voluptuous curves of your chubby body. Your fat ass, which he gripped even though you tried to push him away, the pudginess of your belly that he loved to feel under his fingers, and your ample breasts that rose and fell rapidly before him because of your barely concealed desire.
“Use your voice, what do you want?” he teased, knowing damn well you had nonverbal autism.
You glared at him and tried to push him away, but he threw you onto the bed.
“Aww, I’m such a bad boyfriend, I have to make amends for my crimes.”
He removed the rest of his clothes, keeping his black boxer briefs on for now. He stayed on his knees on the bed as you lay there, resting on your elbows.
You nodded at what he said and lifted your legs to place your French-manicured foot on the center of his collarbones. Connie smirked, knowing what you wanted.
He took your foot in his hands and kissed it all over, from heel to toe, appreciating the softness of your skin as you had just come from the shower where you had exfoliated. He wrapped his tongue around your toes, then sucked on them, his gray eyes fixed on you, a fire igniting from your core and spreading through your body.
You wanted this, you needed this. You gave him your other foot where he did the same, little shivers running through you at the movements of his tongue on your skin. Your breathing quickened as his lips moved up your leg, venturing under your nightgown. You couldn't see Connie because of your chubby belly, so you lay fully on your back, staring up at the ceiling. Not being able to speak or see him should have made your sex life difficult, but it was quite the opposite. Connie regularly checked for your consent and comfort; your nonverbal communication wasn't an issue. You tugged at his hair to let him know you liked what his tongue was doing, and you patted his shoulders to tell him to pause because the wave of overstimulation was near. As for the details—how fast or slow to use his tongue, which spot to lick—Connie paid close attention to your breathing and the way your thighs clenched around his head to gauge whether he was doing a good job.
“I’m gonna keep this on you,” he breathed, liking the lacy pink panties you were wearing. He pushed it to the side, his warm breath on your cunt, in need for attention.
The music switched to “Iceblink Punk” by Cocteau Twins, and the combination of the psychedelic sound and Connie’s tongue plunging into you was surreal. You felt like you were floating high in the sky.
Connie was truly gentle, slow, and calm when he was eating you out. Eating pussy was an art, and he was the Mozart and Shakespeare of the field. He took his time pleasuring you, smiling because even when you couldn’t speak; you didn’t fake your panting. The warm metal ball of his piercing kept rolling around your throbbing bud, just to feel your legs tremble, but his tongue explored every corner, collecting your arousal in his mouth. He was even disappointed you'd just showered, because it lacked flavor. He was a perverted loverboy like that, yeah.
Lapping through wet folds, he groaned every time he felt the pulse of your pussy in his mouth. His hands gripped your thick hips, making them grind against his face, to guide you, to show you it was okay to do that, because your autism sometimes made you a motionless robot during sex.
“You’re okay, baby?” he asked softly, reassured when you stroked his scalp to say yes.
After a comfortable rhythm of hip movements settled in, he removed his hands and sank his fingers inside you, all the while sucking your clit. A searing, burning sensation in your lower abdomen, almost setting your whole being ablaze, as you pulled at his short hair that had grown since his buzzcut to indicate to him that the combination was perfect.
When you reached your peak, there were no dramatic expressions or noises, just Connie nearly choking as you pushed your pelvic floor into his head and painfully squeezed your thighs around him.
“Still in a hyposensitivity mode?” he whispered, as he managed to pull away from your grip.
You nodded, catching your breath. Connie was always attentive to your autistic sensory needs, especially when you were in a sensory-seeking mode, or a mode where your sensitivity was low and you needed a lot of stimulation, like now.
He removed his underwear, nudging your entrance with his pierced tip as he laid down on you, putting all his weight on you. You were crushed by him, but it was perfect. To further satisfy your sensory needs, he wrapped his hand around your neck, squeezing comfortably. It was the perfect combination of pressure for you.
“No tits touching?”
You shook your head. Sometimes, you needed a lot of stimulation while simultaneously hating stimulation somewhere.
He leaned down to kiss your neck. “Okay, mami. Gonna take of you, now. Do you feel my piercing?”
He slid his pierced dick through the folds, still not entering for the moment. Your hands caressed his back, digging your nails into it to communicate that yes, you feel it, and you like it. He groaned, placing more passionate open-mouthed kisses on your skin. He pushed his hips, your warmth welcoming him like a king. He smiled against your skin hearing your usual gasp when his full size was inside you.
“Can’t handle these inches, huh?” he teased, sucking your earlobe. “You’re gonna take this dick anyway. Too bad for you, princesa.”
He leaned back to see your eyes widening every time he penetrated you. He moved his hips backward to let you breathe and pushed back in.
“Why is she wetter than usual?”
He looked at your slick cock, which covered his face with awe.
You pointed at his red eyes. His smile widened.
“Are you turned on by my stoner self? You’re so cute.” He kissed you, his tongue entwined with yours. You breathed softly into the kiss, overwhelmed by him, his dick, his affection.
He slipped his hands under your bent knees and placed them on his shoulders. The position you were in made it impossible for him to hide your belly rolls under your sheer nightgown. He looked terrifying with his low groan and his eyes dilated by weed and your beauty, staring at your curves as if he wanted to devour you whole. He wrapped his hand around your neck again, to your great pleasure. He increased the speed of his thrusts, panting above you, obsessed with the sight of your eyes rolling back when he touched a sensitive spot inside you.
A fever rose in your belly; you were embarrassed to come so quickly again, but every movement of Connie's was precise and deep, so he chuckled when he felt your legs clench his head once more.
He kissed your forehead.
“My baby is needy tonight.”
You nodded, cuddling him, pleading with your eyes to go even faster and harder.
He gladly spent the whole night taking care of you like he always does. Because that’s the thing about Connie: when his princess wants something, he’s going to give it to her. Even if his best friend, your brother, would kill him if he knew.
──────── ✃- - - - - - - - - - - you liked it ? please support fics you liked with a reblog or a comment ! writers never know how we impact you if you don't say anything <3 ── .✦
Self indulgent, I’m sorry. User’s special interest is marine life!
Simon comes home from a long day at work and finds you hunched over the coffee table, highlighting parts of a page in a book. He doesn’t question it, you’re always doing something after all.
He gives you a kiss on your temple and sits next to you.
“That book about whales?” He asks, already knowing he’s right.
“Mhm,” you reply. “Migration patterns.”
He hums, playing with your hair as he watches you continue to read.
You get up after carefully marking your page with an ocean themed bookmark. You lay down beside Simon.
“Can you squish me?”
Simon doesn’t hesitate to comply. He gets up, positions himself above you, then lays down on top of you.
He loves it. You love it. He’s not putting enough weight on you for it to be painful, just enough that you feel a secure amount of pressure.
“I miss you,” you say, staring up at him.
“Miss you too, dove,” he says back, pressing kisses around your face. “I think I’ll make some pasta for dinner.”
You nod. It was the third night of pasta so far, but he wasn’t tired of it. Simon knew that sometimes good ol’ buttered noodles were the best option.
Ditsy!Reader who can do no wrong in Bruce’s eyes, he lets you get away with things that you know damn well if it were anyone else they would’ve got a scolding.
Ditsy!Reader who seemed to be the only person in the family who could consistently stay positive.
“Morning daddy!” You exclaim loudly as you skip into the dining room.
“Hey, sweetheart” Bruce pulls you in a side hug and kisses the crown of your head as you giggle and make eye contact with Damian who sits at the table eating a piece of perfectly grilled toast with his classic scowl all over his face. Big mistake.
“Must you always wear such ridiculous, frivolous sleep attire, how do you even sleep in such a thing?” He was referring to your vintage babydoll nightgown, though his comment didn’t offend you. Why would you care what he thinks about what he has to say about your clothes when he’s the one who would wear skinny jeans if not for you and Dick’s interference?
“Damian. Be nice.” Your father knew you didn’t always catch onto those kinds of things — the compliments that were wrapped in disdain and faux kindness — you had a hard time seeing the deeper, hidden meaning to sentences, if they wanted to say something, just say it! There’s really no need to pretend to say something you don’t really mean. It left Brice feeling rather protective over you.
In reply to your father’s scolding your younger brother just scoffed and rolled his eyes.
“Ah! Miss (name), you’re finally awake! It seems I need some help in the kitchen, would you do the honour of making the pancake batter?” Alfred asks, already knowing the answer due to your fondness of doing literally anything that has to do with baking.
“It would be my pleasure!” You ran off to the kitchen immediately.
Ditsy!Reader who Damian always go to whenever he needs to talk about things that make him worry or stress, things that he would be too ashamed to admit to anyone else. Your optimism made him feel a little better about things he thought were hopeless.
Ditsy!Reader who teams up with Damian to convince Bruce to let you keep the random stay mongrel you guys found once whilst on patrol.
Ditsy!Reader who sits with Tim’s whilst he works on a case at the batcomputer and constantly asks questions completely unrelated to what you’re supposed to be doing — Tim’s started to ignore you whenever you ask, hoping you’d get the hint, you never did.
Ditsy!Reader whose bestest friend is your older brother, Dick. He will literally drop anything if he finds out you need him. You often have movies nights together and do all the girly things that teenage girls would usually do at a sleepover; watching movies, gossiping, face mask, painting nails, because he knows how much it upsets you sometimes that you don’t have many friends.
Ditsy!Reader who goes to Cass whenever she feels overwhelmed and doesn’t want to talk, you know understands and her presence if a safe haven for you.
Ditsy!Reader who was the only one Jason didn’t mind so much when he started to come back to the manor, he’d known you since you were born and you’re his baby sister, after all!
You were a peculiar child. That’s what everyone always told you, anyway. That’s what Tim and Damian said what they both first met you, and the fact that they mutually agreed it is saying a lot.
a/n: this was not proofread (I cringe so hard reading my own writing) so I apologise if I just made you read straight bullshit lmao
John most likely does not give a shit about what you're going on about unless it's something he finds interesting himself. That doesn't mean he isn't attentive, though. He's happy to listen to you stutter out random facts, asking questions now and then to show he isn't ignoring you. At the end of the day however, he isn't going to remember the specifics when you bring up the subject again in a few days.
Kyle listens intently, letting you talk for hours on end. He asks a few more questions than Price does, genuinely interested in hearing the answers. He'll make sure to bring up the topics you share in future conversations, fully indulging you in your interests of the week.
Simon comes across like he coudn't care less. He's completely silent, letting you talk at him but not really giving much back. All he offers in way of acknowledgement are a few grunts here and there. In actuality, he's 100% invested in whatever you're telling him about and he will be sending you at least three related Wikipedia pages later.
Now, with Johnny... it's really hard to infodump to him because he gets so excited. You and him are interrupting each other constantly. His enthusiasm matches yours no matter what the hyperfixation is, and he needs to hear everything you have to say about it immediately. He'll usually then chime in with his own interests when relevant (and even when they aren't, he just has to tell you anyway).
Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff x Autistic!Fem!Reader
Summary: After you spiral into thinking Wanda and Nat don’t want you anymore, Wanda and Nat find you in the middle of the night breaking down. Can they convince you that just because you think something, it doesn’t make it true?
Summary: The party guests have all arrived and your nerves are beginning to settle with Wanda & Nay by your side. So what happens when someone unexpected shows up uninvited?
Content Warnings: 18+, anxiety, overwhelm, subtle hints at sub/domme dynamics and polyamory relationships, signs of an abusive relationship
Word Count: 5.9k
Reading Time: 29 minutes
Author’s Note: I can not tell you how many damn tile I re-wrote this chapter. I wanted it to be perfect, but perfection is over rated, so I hope this is enough. Because this is my perfect.
Prologue of The Stones Will Remember
The stones will remember Spotify playlist
Halloween Dinner Party - Part One
The house was thick with noise.
You stood at the edge, a safe space next to the altar but close enough to Wanda and Nat to feel their presence. That if you needed them you, or they, could get to you in a heartbeat.
You needed them.
You always do.
And you couldn’t comprehend why.
Drinks being poured, laugher, chatter, glass clinking. All wrapped in the smell of Vanilla, Cinnamon and sandlewood.
It was perfect.
You held your own glass lightly in your hand, your thumb tracing the rim, eyes flicking up to Wanda every few seconds. The moment she caught you looking, a soft smile reached her eyes. Immediately your face turned away, cheeks turning a shade of pink that made Wanda chuckle and your heart beat faster.
Wanda turned back to her guests, some extra people had arrived whom you had not expected—but Wanda and Natasha both grounded you, reassured you and introduced you to each person.
One in particular was a blonde woman, almost white hair—Sue Storm.
You were in awe of her, not in the same way you were with Wanda and Nat—just something about her felt calm, despite her name—Ironic really.
You took a small a sip of your drink, feeling a little self conscious as you stayed in your corner—your eyes suddenly fixated on another woman, younger, closer to your age, but something about her was different—you weten’t sure what exactly, but there was something.
She was continually bouncing on her toes like an uncoiled spring, running up to everyone, with an excited high pitched tone to her voice, acting more as if she was a bunny or a five year old—you hadn’t quite worked out which—rather than the young woman she was.
“Fauna. Stop.” Sue grabbed the young woman by the arm, yanking her still, forcing her to pause her hyper movements, giving the older woman her best pout—like a scolded child who didn’t get her way.
“Fauna…” you whispered under your breath, her name was unusual, a little whimsical maybe, a little chaotic even, but she seemed sweet enough.
Her hair was dark, almost black, but not quite, with pale streaks running through thick strands. Like moonlight against the midnight sky. She was quite the picture in her black kitten outfit. Cute even. She’d arrived with Pepper Potts, your housing advisor—you weren’t entirely sure of their relationship, either they were very close friends, or—but you didn’t want to assume anything.
You laughed under your breath, assuming things, you were good at, especially when it came to your own life.
Fuck.
Your heart began to pound in your chest as you watched the way Nats hand met with Wanda’s lower back, the way she leaned in whispering something—something that made Wanda Maximoff blush and Natasha smirk, like she had just been given diamonds—yet here you were wishing for someone, you brain paused mid sentence, realising the truth, you were wishing for them to make you feel like that, to make you blush in a crowded room, all the while keeping the content of what was said between the three of you.
But then—before your brain could even lock on properly, or for too long to that feeling—you heard another voice, from the only other woman that was your age.
She was louder.
Not in the same way Fauna was.
She was confident.
Her hair was ethreal, pastel purple, put up in a long ponttail that reached the middle of her spine, a small flower crown similar to yours, but less flowers. She wore a small necklace the lay softly against her olive skin. It was silver. A celtic cross.
She didn’t move fom Rio’s side, not once.
If Rio told her to move, she followed…like she had rules she couldn’t break.
Something niggled in the back of your brain, something that you can never escape.
The cross she’s wearing.
You’d know the date of that from anywhere.
“Sixteenth Century Jacobite cross.” You muttered, a hand going to you stomach to hold your self steady—the butterflies you got when it came to anything history—almost as strong as the ones you got whenever you were in the pressence of Wanda and Nat, but not quite.
You didn’t even notice the look from Wanda—the head tilt, like you had just unearthed the Jacobites themselves.
Then…
CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.
The air shifts, like history pages in the wind, a flutter in your stomach, eyes unable to tear yourself away from the necklace.
CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.
Then, a hand on your arm, warm breath against your skin, the smell of vanilla “Hey Ladybug, you okay sweetheart?” Wanda’s honeyed voice almost making your knees buckle from the warmth of her words.
Fuck.
Wanda.
You swallowed thickly, eyes barely focusing on Wanda, the silver cross still having your attention, but you were scared if you looked at Wanda, she would see right through you.
“I- I’m fine,” you put your glass to your lips again, taking another large gulp, “who is that?” you whispered, nodding towards the girl with the cross, standing beside Rio.
“Ahh,” Wanda smiled, brushing a curled hair back behind your ear “that would be Betsy, she’s Agatha and Rios…well, she’s their friend.” Wanda hummed, she watched the intrigue settle into the creases in your forehead. “You know sweetheart, if the wind changes you’ll stay like that,” Wanda traced her finger across the lines in your forehead “relax for me.”
You felt your whole body begin to loose tension, shoulders unclenching, teeth un gritting, jaw loosening—Wanda’s thumb lingering on your temple for just a few seconds too long. Her smile curving softly as she watched the way you ran your thumb over the rim of your glass again, grounding yourself.
“Betsy? she seems…sweet…” your voice somewhere between loud and quite, an octave only Wanda heard.
“Come on,” her hand gripped your elbow, pulling you gently forward “let me introduce you.”
Wanda’s thumb stayed on the inside of your arm as she guided you towards the group—towards Betsy.
She stood her place beside Rio, who was wearing a dark green satin dress, the sleeves cut into spikes as well as the bottom of the dress which came to the middle of her thighs, and her skin was painted black and white—like—like a skeleton, which confused you. But she looked nice, smelling of earl grey tea and old books.
“Rio, Betsy.” Wanda hummed, her palm moving slowly to the middle of your back “this little fairy here, is Y/N.”
Betsy had eyes the shone like the ocen—sparkling blue—she stood beside Rio like she was made to be there. The corners of her lips quirked upon seeing you, her face softened, as she watched the way you stepped closer into Wanda’s pressence, you hadn’t even noticed yourself doing it.
“Hi Y/N,” She held out her hand, which you took—her grip was tight on your knuckles and she shook and pulled away. “so you’re Wanda and Nat’s girl then?”
The whole room went still.
Silent.
The air itself stopped breathing.
Wanda pauses mid breath, lips twitching like she might correct the woman but changed her mind, eyes firmly back to you.
Nat coughing across the room on her wine.
And you?
Your brain was short circuiting, trying to keep up with it self, attempting to restart as you looked wide eyes at the woman.
What did she mean by that?
You felt Wands’s thumb against your wrist, directly over your pulse—she could feel the way your whole heart was speeding up like a damn Duracell battery.
She’d know she was getting you flustered.
She’d know.
She’d know the parts of you that weren’t ready for her to know.
But maybe that would be okay.
Because it was Wanda.
Soft. Gentle. Kinda, Caring. Protective. Wanda.
You laughed softly, choking out a “What, umm, what do you mean?”
“Betsy. Remember what I told you? She’s not part of this, part of us, she’s not Wanda an Nats girl in that sense.” Rio smirked, looking towards you with a hidden meaning behind her dark irises.
What the hell did that mean?
“Rio.” Wanda’s voice dropped into a warning as the whole room seemed to be focussed in on you and this conversation, which you were hoping desperately to jump out off.
Rio shrugged, her lips turning into a not so subtle grin, sipping at her drink and keeping her eye on you—was there extra meaning behind what she said? Or was that you brain overthinking just a normal conversation?
But it wasn’t normal.
There was something there.
Something you couldn’t see. Yet.
“Oh right. Sorry Y/N.” Betsy tilted her head slightly, and you felt her watch you for a just a moment too long—she turned to Rio, whispering something in her ear.
You’re not sure why but you suddenly felt on edge.
Then, Wanda’s thumb which was still against you wrist began to move, slow rhythmic circles against your flushed skin, centring you to this moment, to her and nothing more.
“Mmm, yes I’m sure,” Rio hummed, then she gave you a curious look too. You wanted to tell them you weren’t a zoo animal, but you weren't brave enough, so you let them, and you took another step unconciously towards Wanda—if you got any closer you’d be melded into her skin, “honey , who did your makeup?” Rio asked suddenly.
Wanda’s arm rounded over your shoulders protectively.
“Vidal.” She muttered. Eyes narrowing, fingers gripping your shoulder as if tethering herself to you.
“Come on Maximoff, you know why I’m asking and who it was." Rio arched a brow in her direction, you saw the unspoken words settle between them, with a nod from Wanda.
“I did my makeup actually, my best friend Lizzy, she gave me a step by step guide, helped me to color match—”
You barely got the words out before feeling Wanda’s fingers tighten around your shoulder, probably turning white, her nostrils flaring, green eyes filled with rage.
“Told you.” Rio smirked liked she just won the lottery.
You don’t notice the head tilt from across the room.
The glass being set down.
The frown.
The jingle of a bell.
Natasha Romanoff was never one for sitting idly by, and as soon as she saw the tension shift, she made her way towards you, jaw clenched.
Her scent of cinnamon and pumpkin spice wrapping round you like armour, and her eyes darting from Wanda’s grip, to a death glare, to Rio’s grin, to Betsy’s curiosity and then to your confusion—and she just knew what this was about.
“Let’s see, something to do with Iris or Lizzy?” Nat asked.
Firm.
Controlled.
Already knowing.
Rio dips her glass, nodding, “ding, ding, ding.” her voice smooth and controlled.
“Rio.” Natasha’s voice dropped—but it wasn’t a warning it was something else, like a question maybe.
Rio stepped forward, not too close but close enough she was able to gently brush her thumb over your cheek.
Your eyes drifted up to Wanda—cheeks already pink from the attention—not Rios, Wanda and Nat’s. Their protectiveness of you, like you were already there’s in every way that mattered—except the one you wanted. “Eyes up here sweetheart.” Rio murmured.
“Rio, she’s not yours to play with. Stop.” Wanda clenched her jaw as the fire behind her eyes only became stronger.
“Oh don’t worry, I don’t want her, but,” Rio chuckled, keeping her eyes on you “would you mind if I changed your makeup a little? This is just too harsh for your beautiful face.”
Your head tilted up to Wanda.
Why you weren’t sure, maybe to make sure it was okay—not that you needed her permission—it was more approval.
Wanda smiled softly nodding her head.
Despite the conversation, she clearly trusted Rio on some level or another.
“Good.” Rio turned to Betsy. Finger under her chin, tilting. “Don’t move okay? I won’t be long.” Rio paused waiting for a response “answer me.”
“Okay…mama.” Betsy looked as if she was about to fall apart as the words left her mouth, only loud enough for Rio to hear.
“Good girl.” And Rio turned back to you, hand reaching for yours. “Come on. We won’t be long, I promise.” Rio reassured both Wanda and Nat, who didn’t take their eyes off you as you were guided away from them and towards the stairs.
Rio guided you up into the bathroom.
You could feel the anxiety in your chest rising—breathing, lungs inhaling and exhaling with every stupid step.
She sat you on top of the closed toilet seat, picked out the brushes, make-up supplies she needed.
Wanda downstairs was so close to cracking her glass with her bare hands.
“If she mentions it to bug, I’ll kill her.” Wanda gritted her teeth “we have a plan, if she—”
“Wands, even Rio isn’t stupid enough, but she may get the ball rolling before we’re ready, so let’s prepare for the, hmm?” Nat pressed a kiss into Wanda’s warming cheek, guiding her face back to her. “it’ll be okay my love. Just breathe.”
But even with Nat’s reassuring words, Wanda’s knuckles turned white.
A single drop of wine sliding over her finger like blood.
Nat cupped Wanda’s warm cheek against her palm “We’ll handle it if it happens, okay? I promise.”
Back upstairs, your feet were bouncing like tigger on the bathroom floor.
A brush hovering inches from your face, gripped between Rio’s fingers.
“So have they asked you to be their sub yet or are you not interested?” Rio brushed her thumb over your cheek, gentle, soft, until she looked satisfied.
“Uhh—” the air in your lungs stopped flowing, eyes wide, tilting your head in the same way Wanda does “Sub? What’s… what’s a sub?” Your whole body paused looking to Rio, completely perplexed as to what she was talking about. The only sub you knew was in bread form and you were certain that’s not what she meant.
Rio froze mid brush “Oh, I guess not,” and she carried on with sorting the rest of you makeup—just as you began fidgeting a little with the material of your dress, fingers moving over the hem, rubbing it between your thumb and finger to try and calm your racing thoughts.
“Wait, what’s a sub?” You pushed for an answer, which was unlike you, but something in you needed to know.
Rio just quirked an eyebrow at you. “That’s for them to tell you, and I’ve put my foot in it, now,” she placed the brush to the side, picking up another item “why don’t you tell me some fairy facts, Nat says you know quite a few.”
“I, I mean I do but,” there was a tremble to your voice, one which Rio noticed but didn’t mention “What if it’s too weird? Or umm, too much for you?” You felt the liquid on your palms, the sweat dripping down to your wrist.
Rio gently catches your chin with her fingers, applying a small amount of blush to your cheeks, just subtle “You’ll never be too much for the right people—your clearly important to Wanda and Nat, which means what you have to say is important, they wouldn’t keep you around—and they certainly wouldn’t have you meeting their friends from this particular circle if they weren’t planning on keeping you around for a long time to come.” Rio turns your head slightly to the side, and wipes of the lip stick “far too dark for you…”
“Well, umm, did you know some historians think ‘fairy encounters’ were used as socially acceptable explanations for trance states, seizures, or neurodivergent behavior. Which is… so stupid honestly.” You pasued expecting Rio to tell you it was a stupid fact that she didn’t want to hear about, but she was just listening, nodding and smiling as you pulled out a sparkly green lipgoss, one that she said didn’t wash you out.
“Pucker your lips for me,” Rio smiled as she slid the new gloss over your lips, then got you to press them together. “Tell me more?”
“Okay, well, did you know that in the Scottish witch trial records, some of those accused of witchcraft actually claimed that they learned magic from the fae, and that’s partly why fairy lore and witchcraft got so tangled together when it comes to their history...” Rio helped you stand back up, showing you a mirror where you saw your face and realised how much better you looked… you were more you, so why hadn’t Lizzy given you that? Why did she make you look so…you just didn’t understand it.
“That’s better. That’s the you they fell for…beautiful.” Rio packed everything away, make up and brushes all settled back inside Wanda’s bag, and then Rio took your hand again, as you continued to talk about the fairy facts as you walked down stairs.
You could hear Wanda and Nat laughing as you stepped down each step, talking fast about the fairies “The Fairies weren’t originally tiny, actually in early Celtic lore they are seen basically as like nature spirits or fallen gods of goddesses. Which I honestly love. Also, Fairy rings were thought to be portals or ritual spaces, so stepping into one on Samhain was really considered extra dangerous. Like, spiritually reckless.” You stopped speaking, a little breathless as you came back into view of everyone else again—completely missing the meaning behind Wandas’s words to her wife of panic “Nat, no! We can’t have that conversation NOW, she’s still too innocent to even know what a riding crop is”
“A riding crop?” You frown, stepping back up beside them, Rio having walked away and back with her wife and Betsy. Fauna was now back with Peggy and Angie, despite now looking a little red and rubbing her backside, even with Peggy telling her to stop every time she did.
“A riding crop? like for horses?” you asked so innocently, making Wanda smirk as she looked down into her swirling wine, and Nat wheezing into the pumpkin dip she had in her hand.
Nats shoulders shaking, whilst Wanda side eyed her telling her to control herself, as you stood yourself between them “No honey, but let’s table that topic, okay?”
“Okay.” You agreed, taking a cracker from the table and dipping into the pumpkin dip that Nat was holding.
With them you were never scared to be yourself, never anxious—well only a little, but not because they made you uncomfortable, but because your feelings were confusing. Every time you thought about it, you began to spiral, which didn’t help with the fact you saw them multiple times a week, but what else could you do? You wanted to spend time with them, you weren’t going to stop visiting them just because you were confused, that made no logical sense.
“Christopher.” Nats voice broke through your spiraling thoughts.
“What?” You practically jumped out of your skin at the name being mentioned, eyes wide and a burning face, and your breathing faster.
“Bug…hey…I was just saying you have a few…missed calls and messages from Christopher.” Nats eyes looked down to where you had dropped your phone on the table before Rio took you away.
“Did you—did you read them?” You felt a lump catch in your throat as you asked, hoping with everything inside that they had not.
“No, no, never.” Nat responded quickly, palm cupping your face “sweetheart, I’d never do that, not unless someone gives me premission, even with Wanda,” she looked towards her wife, both looking as if their anger for this man child was just about to boil over like hot lava “we don’t look at each others phone unless we tell each other we have to, okay?” Her fingers slowly tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ear, and Wanda pressed her hand to to your back.
Your eyes were brimming, and your voice cracked as you let the next set of words leave your mouth “He’s just…he’s mad I came here, and I told him he couldn’t come.”
Wanda’s knuckes were turning white around her glass, her hand on your back began to rub soothing circles, gentle, in comparison to her other hand.
Then there was Nat—her jaw tight, barely restraining her past.
Over the next hour you got to know everyone at the party. Peggy and Angie were a particularly unsal couple with the young girl Fauna, who you found out was also their partner.
Wanda and Nat couldn’t help but laugh at the way you screwed up your nose in confusion at how that worked, but you didn’t pry just yet.
You and Fauna got on really well, and having a love of witches and fairies and folklore made it so that you could talk all night long if everyone let you. Then there was Agatha and Rio, and their partner Betsy. Again you got on well with Betsy, although she did seem a little more skitish than you expected, but lovely all the same. Rio was someone you seemed to get along with, she listented to you…but something lingered in your mind, something she had said, about this is being who they fell for.
What did she even mean by that?
Your fingers seem to burn against the glass itself, you didn’t have alchol, you never did. Just appletiser, but even so, you watched the bubbles, eyes laser focused as they fizzed and popped in the liquid—Rios own words echoing, etching into your brain like they were made to stay—you didn’t even hear the click, click of the heels walk across the room, but the scent of vanilla caught your nose and you lifted your head just as you saw her soft smile reach your eyes, her fingers curling softly around your upper arm.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” she asked softly, taking a slow sip of her wine “food won’t be long, okay?”
“Mmmhh,” you barely covered up the whimper, and you were certain Wanda had heard with the twitch of her lips. You quickly looked back to Fauna and Besty, hoping for some kind of saving—but they didn’t know what was happening in your brain.
How could they save you from something they weren’t even aware off?
You however, where very aware of your pulse beating in your ear, you could feel it, your blood rushing, your palms sweating so much you had to keep changing hands with holding your glass, and Wanda never took her eyes off you which only made you blush harder.
Trying to refocus your brain away from Wanda’s gentle touch or her unenrving green eyes, or the feel of her breath on your skin or the way you never wanted her to leave your sight again, but you needed to move your brain along, so you tried to focus on the party itself—the chatter, the pouring of wine, the soft laughter from Wanda again, and Nat’s bell around her neck—the other people at the party seemed nice enough, Pepper Potts was there which felt a bit odd with her being your housing officer, but you hadn’t really spoken to her much other than when she had first arrived, then there was Lilia Calderu and Jenny Kale, you didn’t know much about them but Wanda looked a bit put out by there arrival.
They were late.
Wanda didn’t like lateness.
She never had.
But for some reason, with these two, there was something underlying, and when they started to laugh with Agatha and Rio, Wanda looked as if she was going to hex them.
“Dinner is served!” Nat announced, standing in the middle of living area, having already set up the dinner table, where there were names set, at each place setting.
But just as you stepped forward with Wanda, the chime from their front door made you pause—no you froze. Wanda and Nat both looked to each with confussion.
“Everyone’s here?” Nat asked, more as confirmation than a question, as everyone else stampeeded past her into the dining room.
But you stayed.
Something told you not to move, not to go forward and sit down, but to wait—to find out with them who was at the door. Wanda stayed with you. Hand on your back and instinctively pulling you closer, which you very much allowed—Nat though, walked forward with purpose, her bell jingling which if it wasn’t so serious would have been amusing.
Nat looked towards you both with a smile that breathed air into your lungs, she turned back, hand to handle and pulled, to be greeted by a man.
Tall.
Handsome.
But a smile than unerved her.
“Can I help you? This is a private dinner party.” Nat asked.
You couldn’t see who it was yet, Nat hadn’t opened the door wide enough, but you felt it, you sensed it, you could smell him. Your whole body tensed, your muscles turning to led—and Wanda felt it, she scraped your hair back from your face.
Then he spoke.
“Hi, is A Miss Y/LN here?” The mans voice wasn’t one you would expect from a guy in his 20’s. It was almost gruff, making hime sound like he was forty. But then he coughed to clear his throat and his voice went back to normal. “I’m Christopher you see—”
“Oh, you’re him are you? Have to say haven’t heard much about you.” Nat responded, foot by the door as your own heart thumped in your chest—what the fuck was he doing here? How dare he come and ruin the one night you’ve been looking forward to for a week.
You had done nothing but speak about this evening to him and you knew that’s what got under his skin, that you would rather spend tonight with not just people who weren’t him, but it was the fact that it was Wanda and Natasha, and a party that only had women there…you hadn’t entirely realised how misogionistic he was.
You had to swallow down any emotions that you felt bubbling to the surface, you couldn’t let Wanda or Nat see that he did get to you, that his words or even just his pressence hurt you—how was it that it took you until this moment to realise that if he loved you, like really loved you, in the ways that he said he did, he would’t have tracked you to their house—and you knew that was a conversation to be had.
“See we had plans,” Christopher shifted, unnerved by Nats cold voice wrapping around him like a snake, she had ended far worse men than him before having Sorbet. “She really should be spending this time with me, I am her boyfreind after all.”
Wanda stepped forward now, she had heard enough of this nonsense, her fingers brushing your arm and motioning for you to stay put. She reached the door, and stood as a united front with Nat, shielding you from this man. The one you call your boyfriend, not that you had mentioned him much since you came into their lives. “Christopher, I think you should leave. I won’t ask you nicely again.”
“I don’t think that’s your choice is it Ma’am.” He snivelled, saying it like he was the one that was in charge, the one that knew you better than them—no he just liked to control you.
His niceness was always what ended up with things getting bad later, the arguments, the control, the you saying sorry for things you hadn’t even done—but you said it to pacify him. It was easier. You sure as hell weren’t going to let Wanda, Nat and their friends get carried into the damn mess of your life.
Your fist clecneched at your side, before you forced yourself to move towards the door, stomach clenching as you pushed your fairy body between them, wings folding and opening as you moved in front of them. Vanilla and cinnamon mixing, lingering beside you. “It’s fine, I’ll talk to you, but I’m not leaving them.”
The look on Christopher told you he wasn’t happy, but he nodded, accepting your words in one way or another.
“Are you sure sweetheart?” Wanda asked, her fingers gently stroking your elbow, lighting up your nerves and pulling you in to them with every touch, further and deeper.
“I-,” you hesitated for just a moment “I’m sure, give me five minutes okay?” You breathed, but you knew there was no way in hell that they would leave you alone with him, not now that they had met him—and realised the situation was far worse than they had originally realised—and it was about to intensify.
“Ahh see, there’s a good girl.” Christopher smirked, his fingers quickly lacing into yours before you could pull away and tugged you forward, making you stumble just slightly. The absolute fire behind both Nat and Wanda’s eyes, you snapped your head round to them, almost shaking your whole body, to ensure they didn’t pounce—not that, that would have honestly been a bad idea.
You walk with Christopher down the end of the path, your not actually sure how your feet were moving—but by some miracle they were. You needed to let him have this conversation before he left, otherwise it would just be worse for you later. You knew that. You always knew. But they didn’t and you needed to keep it that way.
Wanda and Nat saw him for who he was, but you? You knew the ways he was with you wasn’t healthy, but you still didn’t think he was altogether bad—there was just…no connection. Sometimes you wondered if that was because of you? But there was more to it—more that others didn’t see and more than even you refused to acknowledge yourself.
Each step felt longer and heavier than the last, your breath slow as you felt his sticky hands clinging to yours. He was calm. Too calm. Normal breathing compared to your heavier breaths, coming in spurts.
“That’s far enough, thank you.” Nat called out, arms folded leaning against the door frame—she was not letting him take you any further than the gate. You would stay in her line of sight, so she could keep an eye on you both. At least this way you knew that he wouldn’t do his usual shit.
You fingers were in Christophers hand, but not like that of a loving couple. He was in control. His fingers gripped yours. Tight. His eyes darkened, lips curling upwards in a way that made you shiver, and not in a good way.
“I’m not leaving.” You mumble, all the confidence and fire you had just five minutes ago standing in a room of people who who made you feel good, that had disapated.
Christopher laughed “Oh, I know sweetheart, it’s okay.” His fingers touched your cheek, and you flinched. Subtle, but it was there. Enough for Nat to see it.
“Did you just see that?” Wanda frowned, her hand on the low of Natasha’s back, fingers tightening from seeing you so scared and not even being able to admit the truth to them.
“She flinched.” Nat’s jaw tightened, watching on, her hand reaching for Wanda’s to ground her. “This is the last time he ever gets to see her.”
“Nat, that’s not your choice.” Wanda leaned further into her wife’s body, feeling the tension—she felt it too, they wanted to protect you, they were fierce when it came to you, in way that they hadn’t been with any one else before.
You just didn’t realise how much.
Nat saw you. She saw every subtle movement, every flinch that you thought you had kept hidden.
But you hadn’t. Not from her. Never from her or them.
That woman was terrifying in her own way, but she never made you feel uneasy or on edge.
Not once.
Christophers touch wasn’t gentle in the way that Wanda’s was. His was harsh, threatening and always a warning to you.
Behave or you’ll regret it.
He. Fucking. Terrified. You.
“Okay?” You asked, head turning and glancing up to Nat and Wanda.
Nat was still cross armed, bell jingling everytime she moved, her face filled with pure anger about to snap. Wanda though, stood, back stright and head tilted with a small smile directed only for you to see.
“Yes, I knew you wouldn’t leave” Christopher leaned in, making it look to Wanda and Nat as if he was just kissing your cheek, like a loving boyfriend, his fingers moved down to your hips, squeezing tight, thumb pressing in on the bruise he knew was there from when you walked into the cuboard the other day, making you wince. “You will come to mine tommorrow. Do you understand me?”
No words left you mouth. Almost too scared to speak, incase it was wrong, or more frighteningly, incase it was right.
“Oh I know it’s hard sweetheart with people watching, especially with them, but come on, use your big girl words, I know you can do it.” Christopher smirked in that way that made you feel sick to your stomach, your heart was in your damn throat, and if his hand hand’t been on your elbow, yout knees would have buckled.
You swallowed hard, trying to find any part of you that had the strength to say some truth to him, even if it didn’t end particularlly well for you “We’re not going to last much longer if you don’t change Christopher, but fine. As you wish. I will be there.” You never liked confontation, you always struggled standing up for yourself, but here you were just doing that, even if it was with a shake to your voice.
“And when I text or call you, you answer me.” His grip tightened on your hip.
“No.” You murmured “I’m giving my phone to Nat, and she will hold onto it for the night. I’m not doing this tonight, and you can not hurt me in front of them.” your face was flushed with the pure panick from what you had just said, of standing your ground.
You took a deep breath, holding back the anger that would turn to tears behind your eyes, and just as you turned to walk away he grabbed your wrist, squeezing tight—your muscles tightened immediately, and he whispered something under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear. “They’ve changed you.”
“No, they just showed me who I was hiding…” Your eyes flicked down to where he was holding your wrist “I would let go before Nat snaps your arm in half though.” Just as your words left your mouth Nats bell was ringing as she walked towards you. Christopher quickly unclasped his fingers and left through the gate, not wanting to have an argument about you—not with them.
One thing for Christopher, he always knew when he would not win in a fight.
Your whole body unclenched as Nat reached your side, bell jingling, her fingers gripping your arm, no words, just a look as she held you still for a moment, and you nodded.
Warnings: sex mentioned but not explicit, fluff, caring rafe
Word count: 985
A/N: I don’t love this it didn’t turn out exactly how I wanted it to but oh well. Just to say, I’m actually autistic, so I wrote some of this from personal experience, but unfortunately I don’t have a super sweet rafe to take care of me </3.
⟡ When he first met you he didn't know much about autism. Sure, he'd heard of it, but probably viewed autistic people in a negative light; they were weird, they were different, they weren't like him. This all changes when you come into his life though, the sweetest and prettiest girl he's ever laid his eyes on, but also the quietest, the shyest. When you awkwardly tell him you're autistic, he makes it his mission to find out as much as he can about it. He wants to make sure you feel comfortable around him, he wants to be a place where you can come and be yourself.
⟡ Eye contact is definitely not the easiest thing for you, and especially around new people it makes you very uncomfortable. Originally, Rafe tried to get you to look him in the eyes when he was talking to you, thinking you were being rude by not making eye contact. When he realised you physically couldn't, he stopped immediately, letting you decide when and for how long you'd let your eyes dart up to meet his. He'd always try to suppress a smile whenever your eyes met his — he felt like he'd really achieved something, like you were trusting him more, getting more comfortable and confident around him.
⟡ You like it when he presses his full body weight on top of you; there's just something so comforting and soothing about it. It relaxes you, releases your stress and makes you feel so safe — you know he's got you and you're okay. You like it when he does it as he fucks you too, chest to chest, his body pressing yours into the mattress, sweat slicked skin sliding against each other, foreheads pressed together as you pant into each others mouths.
⟡ He notices how uncomfortable you get in most social situations. If you go out or he somehow manages to convince you to go to a party with him, he'll make sure to avoid unnecessary chat and distractions. If Topper tries to talk to him and he notices you're getting quieter next to him, retreating back into your shell, he'll brush him off with a "later, Top" and guide you away, taking you somewhere quieter and more secluded.
⟡ When you're in crowded spaces, he'll always have a hand on the small of your back or his fingers laced with yours, shielding you with his body from the sea of people surrounding you, making sure no one bumps into you. He'll guide you through the crowd, keeping you close to him, walking behind you with his chest close to your back, a constant presence that lets you know that he's got you.
⟡ He understands your need for routines. One morning he insisted that you skip a part of one of your routines so that you could go and do something else with him and that was it — you shut down, you were closed off, anxious and irritable for the rest of the day. You barely managed to get anything done, your whole day thrown off balance. When he tried to ask if you were okay or attempted to talk to you, you'd answer quietly or with a snappy one word response. After that day, he realised the importance of your routines, and now he absolutely prioritises them no matter what. Some days when you feel like you can't do anything, he'll gently encourage you to try and do some parts of them, having learnt all the things you do from spending so much time with you.
⟡ The first night Rafe spent with you, he noticed you had a teddy in your bed and you told him you needed it with you to sleep. At that point, he's still a little clueless, still a little insensitive, and he laughed at you, something which hurt you more than he could possibly imagine. He thought it was childish and silly, but after realising how important it was to you and how much you needed it, he was quick to apologise, literally begging for your forgiveness. Now he always makes sure you have it, helping you into bed and asking, "You got your teddy, sweetheart?" before he even thinks about getting under the covers.
⟡ He's learned lots of tips and tricks on how to help you if you're overstimulated. He carries around your earplugs wherever you go, making sure they're on hand if you ever need them. If things are too much, he's learnt all of your tells so you don't even have to say anything, he's already holding your hand and pulling you into a secluded area. If you're overwhelmed when you're at home, he'll pull you onto his lap, your head tucked into the crook of his neck as he quietly talks to you, getting you to follow his breathing, pressing gentle kisses to your skin.
⟡ He loves hearing you talk about your special interest. He thinks it's the cutest thing how excited and animated you get, your eyes lit up, a big smile on your face as you tell him all about it. Sometimes you get a little embarrassed and self conscious, forcing yourself to stop talking and apologising for being annoying — but that just won't do. He reassures you that he loves it, that he finds it really interesting, and while he listens to you talk he takes mental notes about certain things you mention. Seeing as money isn't an issue for him, he'll then go out and buy whatever it is he heard you talking about, giving it to you just to see the pure joy on your face, the way you throw your arms around his neck and pepper kisses all over his face, sweetly thanking him and telling him he really didn't have to. And it's true, he didn't have to, but he wanted to, and he wants to do anything that'll make his princess happy, no matter what.
Mommy!Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff x Chronically ill!autistic!fem!reader
Summary: Sometimes love looks like missteps and sometimes it looks like standing in the corner, shaking, without the language to explain why and sometimes it looks like being seen anyway.
Word Count: 1.9K
Warnings: Mommy!Wanda Maximoff, poly dynamics (reader dating Wanda, not Natasha), autistic!reader, chronically ill!reader, caregiver dynamics, autistic shutdown, sensory overload, nausea, gentle discipline, emotional vulnerability, hurt and comfort, domestic intimacy, established relationship, soft Natasha Romanoff
Authors note: I woke up at like six and couldn't sleep for an hour. I started thinking about this dynamic cause I tend to not feel well like this when I have to go to work, which sucks.
You felt the AC hitting thr back of your neck, sending goosebumps through your body. You hadn't had the best of days. It had started rough with bouts of nausea. You had to get up for work so you took a few different pills before getting ready and hoping they'd actually work today. You hadn't communicated properly to Wanda all day so when you finally came over to her place after work and she was still in her home office doing paperwork you became rather whiny since you were at your limit for talking which got you sent to the corner.
You're not sure if it's better or worse that she didn't make you face the corner as tears welled up in your eyes as you stood there just wanting her. No matter how hard you tried, words just weren't happening and whining was making it worse.
That is until Natasha walks through the door, you scowl a bit. You and Natasha bumped heads a lot and you weren't with her. Just Wanda. They'd opened up their marriage in hopes to find someone for the both of them and yet Natasha allowed this, allowing you to just be with her wife.
"Wands, why is she in the corner? She looks like a kicked puppy."
"She isn't communicating properly and so I sent her there." Wanda spoke without looking up. Natasha looked you over, really looked you over.
"Wands." Natasha spoke, a sturdier pitch to make Wanda look at her wife. "Look at her. I don't think she can right now."
Natasha waits until Wanda actually looks at you.
Really looks.
Your shoulders are up around your ears, fingers twisted into the hem of your shirt so tight your knuckles are pale. Your breathing is shallow, uneven, the kind that says you’re holding yourself together with thread and stubbornness. There’s a sheen of sweat at your hairline despite the AC blasting, your stomach audibly protesting as you swallow back another wave of nausea.
You don’t move. You don’t speak. You just… tremble. Wanda’s chest tightens immediately.
“…malyshka?” she murmurs, tone softening without her meaning to.
Natasha steps closer, crouching slightly so she’s at your eye level without invading your space. She keeps her hands behind her back open, non-threatening.
“Hey,” she says quietly. “You’re not in trouble right now. Okay?” Your lower lip wobbles. A sound tries to come out, something between a whine and a sob, but it dies in your throat. You shake your head, overwhelmed, eyes glassy. Natasha exhales through her nose and straightens, turning to Wanda. “She’s past words,” she says firmly. “This isn’t bratty. This is a shutdown.”
Wanda’s breath stutters. She’s out of her chair in an instant.
“Oh…oh no,” Wanda says, guilt flooding her voice as she crosses the room. “Malyshka, Mama didn’t realize… I’m sorry. I should’ve checked in. I should have felt it.”
You flinch slightly when she gets close, not because you don’t want her, but because everything feels like it’s too much. Wanda freezes immediately, hands hovering in the air.
“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay, Mama’s here. I won’t touch unless you want me to.”
Natasha watches the exchange carefully. There’s something in her gaze that softens, not jealousy, not resentment, but concern.
“She must have been nauseous all day,” Natasha says gently. “Look at her. She’s exhausted.” You’re surprised Natasha says it first. Eyes flicking to the red head and then back at Wanda.
Wanda nods rapidly, eyes shining. “Baby, can you give me anything? Color? Sound? Point?”
Your fingers twitch. Slowly, shakily, you lift one finger and point at Wanda. A soft, broken sound leaves her chest. As if she should have known immediately, as if she should have just looked up for a moment and noticed before Natasha walked in.
“Okay,” Wanda says immediately. “You want Mama.” She turns her head slightly. “Nat… can you turn the AC down a bit? It’s too cold for her.”
Natasha doesn’t hesitate. She adjusts the thermostat, then grabs the soft throw blanket off the couch and drapes it loosely over your shoulders—careful, gentle, like she’s handling something fragile and precious.
“There,” she murmurs. “Better.”
You sag a fraction under the weight of it, tears finally spilling over. Wanda closes the remaining distance and pulls you into her chest, slow and deliberate so you can pull away if you need to. You don’t. You cling, burying your face against her shirt, whining softly as the day crashes down on you all at once.
“I’ve got you,” Wanda croons, rocking you gently. “You’re safe. You don’t need words. Mama understands now.”
Natasha watches you melt into Wanda’s arms—and something shifts. She clears her throat quietly. “I’ll make some ginger tea. And maybe toast? Plain. Easy on the stomach.”
Wanda looks up, surprised… and grateful. “Thank you.”
Natasha meets her eyes, steady and sincere.
“She doesn’t have to be mine,” Natasha says softly. “To matter.” Then she glances at you—curled into Wanda like you belong there—and adds, quieter, “But… she does.”
You don’t respond. You can’t.
But when Natasha passes by again, mug warm in her hands, you don’t scowl this time.
You lean just a little closer into Wanda’s hold instead.
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
Wanda doesn’t rush you.
She keeps one arm firm around your back as she guides you down the hallway, the other hand rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades—grounding, steady. The bedroom lights are dimmed before you even notice her reaching for the switch. Soft. Safe.
“Okay, baby,” she murmurs. “We’re gonna get you comfy.”
She helps you sit on the edge of the bed and kneels in front of you to untie your shoes, sliding them off with care like even that might be too much stimulation. When she reaches for your hands, she waits—eyes on your face—until you nod faintly.
Your clothes come off slowly, replaced with your softest pajamas. The ones that are worn thin from washing, fabric smooth and familiar against your skin. Wanda presses a kiss to your knee as she pulls the pants up, reverent.
She grabs the trash can next; your trash can and sets it right beside the bed within easy reach. No comments. No judgment. Just preparedness.
“There,” she whispers. “Just in case.”
You sag with relief.
Wanda helps you lie back, propping pillows exactly how you like them without being asked. Then she slips in beside you, lifting the blanket so you can choose.
You hesitate for half a second before crawling toward her, instinct taking over.
You end up half on top of her, cheek pressed to her chest, your body angled left to keep the nausea from cresting too high. One leg thrown over her thigh, one arm tucked beneath her ribs. She adjusts instantly, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other resting warm and solid on your hip.
“Good,” she hums. “Mama’s got you.”
Your breathing evens out just a little.
You lift your hand weakly and point toward the TV.
Wanda reaches for the remote without shifting you at all. “Put on whatever you want, baby.”
You fumble with the buttons, movements clumsy and slow, until the screen fills with something familiar. Something you’ve watched so many times you know every line, every beat. The sound is low. Predictable. Safe.
The tension in your shoulders eases as the opening plays.
“That one?” Wanda asks softly.
You nod, face still buried against her.
“Good choice,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss into your hair. “You can just listen. Or watch. Or not do anything at all.”
Her thumb starts tracing lazy, repetitive lines along your side the exact same pattern every time. Your favorite. The nausea doesn’t disappear, but it dulls, pulled back into the background by warmth and familiarity and Wanda’s steady presence beneath you.
From the doorway, Natasha pauses.
She watches the way you’re draped over Wanda like gravity itself put you there. The way Wanda’s entire body is curved around you, protective and unyielding. Natasha doesn’t interrupt. She just quietly sets the mug of ginger tea on the nightstand, within reach, and leaves the door cracked.
Wanda notices. Her grip tightens just a fraction.
“You’re doing so good,” she whispers to you. “Just rest. Mama’s here all night.”
Your fingers curl into her shirt.
You slowly start to fall asleep on her after having some of the tea. Tea had never been your favorite, but the two women insisted it helped with things. You'd much rather have ginger ale though. The exhaustion of the day crept in slowly. As your breathing evened out of Wanda you heard the door open. Too exhausted to open your eyes. You knew it was Nat.
Natasha settles carefully, every movement measured so she doesn’t jostle you. The mattress dips just enough for you to register her warmth at your back, solid and grounding. She props herself on one elbow, eyes immediately flicking to you—your slackened grip on Wanda’s shirt, the slow rise and fall of your shoulders, the faint crease between your brows that hasn’t fully smoothed even in sleep.
“She crashed hard,” Natasha murmurs. “That’s good. She needs the rest.”
Wanda nods, fingers still tracing that same familiar pattern along your side. She doesn’t stop. She doesn’t even look away from you.
“I hate that I missed it,” Wanda whispers. “She was hurting all day and I…I corrected instead of cared.”
Natasha exhales softly and reaches out, resting her hand on Wanda’s forearm. Not stopping her. Just anchoring her.
“Wanda,” she says quietly, firmly. “You corrected behavior. You didn’t punish her. You didn;t put her over your desk and spank her or give her lines. The moment you saw it, you shifted. That matters.”
Wanda swallows. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”
“It never does,” Natasha replies. “When you love someone like this.” She glances down at you again, voice lowering. “She didn’t pull away from you. Even in shutdown. That tells you everything.”
Wanda’s eyes shine. She bends her head and presses a gentle kiss to your hair, lingering there.
“She chose me,” Wanda whispers, almost to herself.
“Yes,” Natasha agrees. “And she trusts you to learn.”
For a moment, the only sound is the low murmur of the TV and your steady breathing. You shift slightly in your sleep, nose nudging closer into Wanda’s chest with a soft, needy sound. Wanda stills completely, then relaxes again when you settle.
Natasha’s expression softens in a way few people ever get to see.
“She likes ginger ale better,” Wanda adds quietly, a hint of fondness slipping in. “Next time, we keep some cold in the fridge.”
Natasha huffs a small, breathy laugh. “She always makes a face with the tea and yeeet she still drinks it,” Natasha says. “Because you ask.”
Wanda nods. “Because she’s good.”
“Because she’s trying,” Natasha corrects gently. Natasha shifts closer, careful, until her shoulder brushes Wanda’s. She drapes the edge of the blanket over all three of you, tucking it in near your back when a faint shiver runs through you.
“You don’t have to be perfect,” Natasha says quietly. “You just have to keep showing up.”
Wanda’s hand tightens protectively at your hip. “I will. Always.”
Natasha rests her head back against the pillows, eyes never leaving you. And even half-asleep, even drifting under, your body knows the difference. You sigh softly, deeper this time, content, warm, held from both sides.
