•. just a dumb blog.•

Dana Evans

When you casually mention being autistic in conversation, Dana immediately interrupts you.

"Wait, wait, wait. You never said anything about bein' autistic."

"Dana...just last night I literally went nonverbal for an hour while watching aquarium videos in your bed."

"I don't know kid, I thought that was just a millenial thing."

"I'm...I'm not even a millennial."

Since then, whenever you spend the night at Dana's, you notice that the lights of her bedroom have been dimmed and her kitchen is always stocked with your safe foods.

One day, Dana shows up to work adorning a God awful t-shirt reading "I love my beautiful cute amazing funny unique autistic partner" complete with Clipart of a kitten wearing an autistic flag sweater. It takes about 3 minutes before you ask Robby if you can please take the day off before you die from embarrassment.

Cassie McKay

You're a little hesitant to talk to Cassie about being autistic because you're not quite sure how she'll react.

To your utter delight, she immediately does everything within her power to make things more accessible for you whenever you're around.

During lulls in her shift, Cassie asks Mel for advice and resources on how she can support you.

Cassie definitely misinterprets what you mean when you say you're sensitive to touch, always gently holding you as though you're about to break.

"Cassie i said I was autistic, not made of glass"

"I just don't want to make you uncomfortable. I know how touch can be overwhelming."

"I'd actually prefer if you just squeezed me like a lemon right now."

Now that you've given her the go ahead, Cassie acts as your personal weighted blanket whenever you need to unwind at the end of the day.

Cassie loves talking to you about your special interests, willing to sit and listen to you ramble for nearly an hour about something she doesn't quite understand but is overjoyed to be included in.

Trinity Santos

Trinity notices that you never really laugh at her nicknames and jokes about you. Of course, she thinks the issue must be that she isn't being funny enough, so she doubles down and tries twice as hard to make you giggle.

It isn't until the day that one of her jokes results in you looking at her with tears in your eyes that she realizes she fucked up.

"Do you not like me?" You ask her after about the fifth time today that she's called you a weirdo.

Trinity's heart immediately sinks to her stomach when she realizes that what she thought was flirting was actually her accidentally bullying you.

Since then, you've had a heart to heart with her about how being autistic means you can be hyper-sensitive. Now, wherever she makes a joke that might come off as a little too mean, she takes the time to reassure you and ask if what she said was okay.

This being said, if anyone else even comes close to making fun of you, she is ready to verbally and physically tear their throat out as soon as you leave the room.

"Babe I don't get why you had to yell at Dennis like that, you call me a weirdo all the time"

"That's because you're my weirdo."

Trinity loves to buy you little gifts that remind her of you. Whether it's a plush of your special interest, your favorite snacks, or a stim toy, you'll always find something sitting for you in your locker by the time your shift starts.

‐-------------------

They had been through a lot as a couple—it was truly a journey they were proud to talk about in public. The way they could understand each other with just a glance or a light touch of their hands was enough to know how the other was feeling.

She, too, had a special knack for knowing when a situation was too much for you—a brightly lit room, a noisy crowd, clothes that were too rough—and she made it her mission to create a little haven of comfort and love inside your apartment.

So when you started talking seriously about starting a family, Samira was the first to jump in, volunteering to carry the baby.

“We know how overwhelming this can be and how tedious pregnancy and postpartum are,” she had said as they were curled up on the living room sofa, not really paying attention to the show playing in the background. “I won’t make you go through that stress when I can do it myself,” she emphasized, tightening her embrace to pull you close to her side.

Despite everything, you couldn’t stop thinking about how difficult it would also be for your beloved girlfriend, even though deep down you knew it was just a small excuse to mention that you wanted to carry her child.

The few times you visited her mother and her new boyfriend, he had insisted on showing you, for three hours straight, all the photos of little Samira in every possible situation—including the embarrassing ones.

You couldn’t stop daydreaming about holding a mini version of your girlfriend in your arms, with her beautiful eyes hidden behind thick black lashes; your heart ached just thinking about it.

Despite this, neither of you had much time to think about who would be the surrogate mother due to the multiple appointments and waiting lists at every possible clinic in Pittsburgh; that didn’t change much over the course of a few weeks.

But today, just today, you felt there was no turning back. You were getting ready for the first part of this terrifying journey. You were sitting on the edge of the bed you still shared, wrapped in the soft bathrobe they’d gotten so it wouldn’t scratch your skin. You just watched Samira getting ready in front of the mirror, not really knowing how to bring up the subject.

Despite your efforts to seem as normal as possible, Samira noticed your strange behavior as she watched you through the mirror.

“Is something wrong, honey?” she asked, sitting down next to you on the bed and planting tender kisses on your temple.

You turned to look into her eyes—those eyes you’d dreamed of seeing on the face of your unborn baby—and you couldn’t bear the thought of missing this chance.

“Samira, what would you say if I told you I want to carry the baby?” you said, lowering your gaze to your hands, still slightly damp, your face flushing with uncertainty and a hint of restrained excitement.

You lifted your gaze slightly to look at your girlfriend’s face at her lack of response, only to find the most radiant expression you had ever seen on her. She leaned in, tucking a few strands of damp hair behind your ears and giving you a long kiss on the forehead

“Sweetheart, that would be the most beautiful thing I could ever ask for.” She then covered your face with little kisses before pulling away to let you get ready. You sat there for a few seconds before starting to get dressed, a silly smile on your face.

You couldn’t wait for this.

The reception area of the office was quiet; the secretary was energetically typing in the information Samira was dictating to her while you sat on one of the plush sofas, reading a small brochure without much interest. Samira returned, sat down next to you, gently took your hand, and rested her head on your shoulder.

“Are you absolutely sure?” she asked again, making you laugh and causing you to snuggle up against her. You nodded vigorously, glancing up slightly every time a door in the hallway opened.

“Okay, okay, they said we’d be going in in five minutes.” You both let out a relieved sigh, knowing that from there on out, things would be an emotional roller coaster.

It had all been strange, as if you’d been in a little bubble during the first few months of the process. It was relatively easy compared to other couples, and in less than two months of treatment, the test had come back positive. The excitement hit both of you like a truck—you hadn’t even anticipated everything that came with it.

From one moment to the next, everything exploded—literally.

First came the nausea. You’d banished yourself from the kitchen during lunchtime because the smells made you sick, though of course, your girlfriend tried to cook things with neutral flavors and aromas you used to tolerate to avoid that sickening feeling in your stomach—despite your growing appetite. Despite her efforts, this didn’t save you from morning sickness.

You used to wake up very early just to stagger a little to the bathroom and end up throwing up everything you’d eaten the day before; even if you hadn’t eaten anything, she’d sit by your side, rubbing your back and holding your hair until the wave of nausea subsided.

She barely had the patience to stay by your side while you sobbed over how awful it was to be forced to vomit.

A small respite during the first two months was seeing the first images of your baby; you both cried a lot in the car.

By the fifth month, you found yourself lying down on any available surface more often than helping Samira with the nursery and the baby’s preparations; your back ached just from existing, and you couldn’t stand being on your feet for long stretches. on top of that, the growth and pain in your breasts were bothersome; regardless of your size, pregnancy had made them much more sensitive and heavy, though to be fair, Samira didn’t give you time to complain because she had already bought maternity bras to keep everything in place and always brought you a chair so you could sit near her while they prepared the baby’s room.

Although everything had been controlled and managed, there was something inevitable: the delivery came earlier than expected, long before you could have prepared yourself for everything it entailed. That little corner of your own world had exploded in an instant— the fluorescent lights of the hospital, the beeping of machines, the collective murmur of other patients outside—you ended up sobbing next to Samira, trying to block out all the noise in your head.

Time seemed to fade from your mind; you tried to focus solely on Samira’s voice whispering instructions in your ear during the C-section. You felt sweat running down your body and swore that at any moment you would fall apart piece by piece on that stretcher.

In the end, what brought you back to the world of the living was a small, sharp, and loud cry. You immediately opened your eyes, focusing right away on the tiny creature they were bringing to your chest. You sobbed chokingly as you looked at the little one and then at Samira—your precious angel had finally arrived and was already with you.

You spent a few nights in the hospital making sure that both you and your newborn son were doing well; it had been a difficult delivery, but after a few nights in the incubator, he was ready to come home with you.

Your family and friends were over the moon with the little one and showered both of you with countless gifts and attention; despite all the affection, the only thing you wanted was to be together, as a family.

Samira took care of both of you with incredible dedication; even on the days she was on shift, she managed to make sure you were both okay. At the end of a long day, the three of you would lie down together on the sofa, sharing warmth with each other and admiring the little being you had brought into the world together.

Even after everything—the sleepless nights, the crying, the discomfort, and the pain—you didn’t regret it, not when you had the two most important people in the world in your arms.

Steve rubs firm, warm circles on the spot between your shoulder blades that feels like it was ripped apart in your sleep. How did he know?

“Okay, let’s go,” you groan, trying to sit up.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Steve laughs, pulling you back down in bed.

“Patrol, Steven!” You giggle.

“I switched with Bucky,”

“What? Why would you do that?”

“Love,” Steve starts gently, “You were tossin’ and turnin’ all night. I could hear your joints clickin’ and popping,”

“It’s fine,” you groan.

“We’re having a slow morning,” Steve says firmly.

“But-”

Steve interrupts you with his lips.

“Slow,” he mumbles against your lips, kissing you leisurely.

You melt into the kissing, allowing him to slowly explore your lips before pulling away.

Steve slowly sits you up, giving your body time to adjust before moving from behind you. He moves onto his knees at the side of the bed, gently pulling you so your aching legs hang off the bed.

You wince as he starts slowly stretching out one of your legs, holding the kneecap firmly in place as he does so to prevent dislocation.

“That hurt?” He asks.

“It’s sore,” you admit.

“You did too much walking yesterday,” he grumbles, moving to massaging the sore muscles.

“Less than half of what you did!” you huff. Steve looks at you with a wry look.

“Which of us is a super soldier and which of us has a connective tissue disease?”

“Slander!” You say with mock outrage, leaning back on your hands.

Steve moves onto the other leg, following the same steps of rotating between stretching and massaging.

He takes his time rolling your compression socks on before. He pulls out your orthotic knee braces, strapping them on for you before gently gripping your feet.

“How are your ankles today, sweetheart?” He asks.

You open your mouth to lie, but your face scrunches up as he slowly flexes your foot. Steve hums, picking up your AFOs and strapping them on.

“You’re no fun,” you whine as he zips your orthotic shoes on.

“Keeping your joints in place is very fun,” Steve chuckles, kissing your cheek, “Now, what kinda day is it? Crutches or walker? Or wheelchair?”

“Walker,”

“Don’t move,” Steve orders, getting up and moving into the bathroom.

Steve returns pushing your walker with a stack of clothes on the seat.

“Ummm, that’s actually for you, old man,” you joke.

“Hey, careful who you’re calling old!” Steve laughs.

“Yeah, I think it was actually your joints you heard popping all night. I hear it happens with old age,”

Steve presses you back on the bed, careful of your joints as he hovers over you.

“I’d spank you ass for that if you weren’t already hurting,” he purrs, voice dripping with amusement.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you smirk.

“Oh, what am I gonna do with you?” Steve laughs as he sits you up.

Steve hands you the stack of clothes and watches as you tug off your sleep shirt and start dressing. His eyes are amused, slightly heated, but mostly observant.

“Hopefully something involving food,”

You pull the skirt on as much as you can sitting down. Steve leans down, slipping his hands under your ass before slowly standing you up. He uses his grip on your ass to support your weight as your head spins, your nails digging into his arms.

“Take your time,” he whispers in your ears, “I’m enjoying your ass in my hands,”

“Steve!” You laugh, moving to tug the skirt up over his hands.

“Yeah, I think I’ll just hold this all day. Make sure it doesn’t go anywhere,”

“You perv,”

“Your perv,” He corrects, slowly loosening his grip so more weight is eased onto your legs. You burrow your face into his neck, biting your lips as your knees shake under you weight.

“Let me know if you’re gonna pass out on me, darlin’,”

“Nah, I’ve got better things to do today. But I’ll let you know if I get bored later and wanna have a medical episode,”

You brace one hand on his shoulder, using the other to grab your walker. Steve takes a step back as you get your balance with the walker, taking slow steps with its support. Pain shoots through your shoulders as you rely on the walker for more support.

Steve walks carefully behind you as you walk to the kitchen. Wanda is sitting at the table, Natasha on the couch.

“You see this?” You call, “This old man is stalking me! He won’t leave me alone! He’s making me take care of myself,”

“Terrible, want me to beat him up?” Natasha asks.

“Always,” you smile.

“Hey!” Steve gasps, “I thought we were friends!"

“I don’t know, Steve, I think we’d all take you down for your girl,” Wanda responds jokingly.

“Told you,” you stick your tongue out at him. You grumble as Steve makes you sit down as he makes breakfast.

“Here you go, love,” Steve smiles, kissing the top of your head as he sets a plate and a small cup of meds down in front of you.

“Thank you,”

You swallow the meds down with a sip of water. The two of you stay mostly silent as you eat your breakfast, making small talk with Natasha and Wanda occasionally.

Your eyes keep straying back to Steve, fighting a smile. He’s so caring, so gentle with your body and your heart. So perfect.

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The lights in the apartment feel like physical needles against your eyes. You don't even bother taking off your clothes. You simply collapse onto the duvet, your limbs feeling like lead weights.

Seventeen hours.

You aren’t just tired.

You’re vibrating pure exhaustion.

Jack is there. He’s already softened his movements, sensing the fog that usually blankets you after a long shift.

"Hey," he murmurs, his voice low. He sits on the edge of the mattress, the dip in the bed making you roll slightly toward him. "How was it? Do you need water? Food?"

You don’t move. You don't even open your eyes. And the ceiling fan feels like a white sound.

"Jack," you croak out.

"Yeah, doll?"

"Just... lay on me."

There’s a brief silence. "You want me to... what?"

"Lay on top of me," you mutter gesturing vaguely at your body. "All of you. Your whole weight."

He chuckles but he doesn't argue. Jack knows you well enough to know when you've reached the point of sensory overload where only something physical can pull you back down to earth.

He moves carefully, hovering over you for a second before slowly lowering himself. He’s careful to distribute his weight, but you huff out a breath of protest. "No, handsome. Don't do polite weight. Just lay down."

He finally settles, his heavy frame covering yours. The effect is instantaneous. The pressure of him acts like a weighted blanket, twitching nerves in your legs and pinning your racing thoughts to the bed. It’s a heavy safety. You can feel the thrum of his heart against your chest and the warmth of his body through his shirt.

The dissociation starts to bleed away, replaced by the physical reality of him. You’re no longer floating somewhere; you’re right here, in your bedroom, being held into the mattress by the person you love most.

"Better?" he whispers, his breath warm against your ear.

"Mhm," you sigh, your muscles finally turning to liquid under him. "Don't move."

"Okay," he says. "I'm not going anywhere."

The crushing pressure of him is exactly what you needed, a physical feeling to keep you from drifting away into the memory of monitors and hospital's lights.

As the silence of the room settles, Jack begins to shift just a fraction, his lips finding your clavicle and neck. The kisses are soft and slow. Each one feels like a small reminder that the shift is over and you can relax now.

He works his way up toward your jaw, his stubble grazing your skin in a way that would usually be ticklish but right now just feels like a tether. You feel tension finally drain out of your body, your eyelids growing too heavy to keep even halfway open.

The world is narrowing down to the rhythmic thud of his heart against your body and the soft and repetitive press of his lips.

"Jack," you mumble, your voice thick with the first real wave of sleep.

"I know," he whispers, pressing one more lingering kiss just below your ear, feeling your breath become heavy. Gently, he hooked his arms under your form. "Come here, honey," he whispers.

He rolls onto his back, bringing you with him so you’re draped over his chest. He settles you between his arms, your head tucked perfectly into the hollow of his shoulder. The change in position doesn't wake you.

He begins a slow stroke down your back, his hand moving from your shoulder blades to your waist and back again. It’s a hypnotic motion that mutes the last of the hospital noise in your brain.

"Thank you... for this." You don't hear his answer, but you feel the way he settles even deeper against you, his arms wrapping around your sides to pull you closer into him. Before he can even tuck the blanket over both of your shoulders, you’ve drifted off.

"I love you," he mumbles, his chin resting on the top of your head.

The last thing you feel is him holding you tight against his body as the rest of the world finally fades.

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