#audhd reader

You teach elementary kids. You love it but there are days when the volume control button is broken and they just can’t not be loud.

It overwhelms you every time.

On your way home at a stop light, you text Simon , “I’m overstimulated. On my way home. Love you.”

He hugs your text and replies, “Love you too.😘 “

You two have been dating long enough that Simon has learned when you’re overstimulated from talking:

You don’t like being alone

You don’t want anyone talking to you

You want to die in cuddles, preferably him laying on top of you until you suffocate in the safety of him, but he prefers to hold you to him tightly which seems to work just as well

You also need a specific super soft blanket and an old, specific stuffie that has helped you long before he showed up in your life

You needed a minimum of an hour laying down before you could talk

The first time you told him. You two were going to have dinner after work and you just couldn’t even think of the idea of going into public with other people without wanting to rip your skin off. You told Simon that. He seemed to gently and sincerely agree to cancel. You made sure to explain what you do to cope and settle down sans the cuddling and not wanting to be alone—not wanting to make him feel obligated to do anything—because you were using a weighted blanket and would play instrumental music to help not feel alone

Not that you honestly explained that.

Simon, since you two started dating, is ever the observant person, you found out. In a matter of a couple of months, he can read you like a book better than you know yourself.

What you didn’t expect the first time you told him was for him to be waiting at your door when you get home.

Turning off your car, you look at him with your brow furrowed as you step out with your backpack in tow. “What are you doing here?”

You could see through his mask into his eyes he was smiling, just a small crinkle around his eyes. He stayed standing until you came upon your porch. He leaned down and quietly informed, “Takin’ care ov ya.”

You sighed heavily and looked up at him with a look, you knew he understood as irritation.

“Me pre’y dove,” he cooed quietly, knowing how much you preened at those words. Your lips twitched. “I jus’ gonna sit on t’couch and ‘ave a brew.“ He took your backpack and keys, opening the front door and pushing open. “Ya gonna do as ya say. I jus’ gonna check on ya eve-reh while t’make sure yer not wanhin’.”

You sighed in relief with a small smile on your lips. He did understand. “Thank you,” you quietly reply. He gives a single nod and enters after you, closing and locking the front door. He sets your keys gently on the small table by your front door and your backpack next to it.

You’ve taken off your shoes haphazardly by the door and your cardigan. You throw it across the couch arm before heading towards your room. Simon takes off his shoes, storing them where you like and do the same to yours, and hangs both his jacket and your cardigan. He goes into the kitchen to start making tea with your electric kettle—the one that barely makes any noise.

He carefully opens the cabinet he knows you keep tea in. He didn’t know you’d bought the tea he likes his favorite brand of Earl Grey. He deeply grins behind the mask and pulls it out. He opens the box and inhales the tea. He takes out two mugs, settles a bag in each, and waits for the kettle to finish before pouring.

He walks to your room, your door partially open to find you toeing your socks. He can tell by your movements just how tired and overstimulated you are. It makes his chest hurt. He wants to console you but you didn’t say that was ok yet.

When you stopped and were looking down at the bed without moving for longer than usual, he came in and slowly placed his hands on your clothed hips sliding up your clothed sides, a feeling you’ve mentioned numerous times you enjoy with his big hands. When you lifted your arms, he began to unbutton your dress shirt. He pulls off your top, leaving you in your undershirt. He returns to your waist, tapping your slacks. You nod and he comes around, making sure not to touch more than necessary to unbutton and unzip. You wiggle slightly and let them fall to the floor.

He loves watching you do that—your little wiggle. He does not know why but it makes him smirk every time when you do. He backs up, letting you step out of your pants. You push blankets out of the way and crawl into your king sized nest—Simon likes to call your bed of pillows, blankets, and stuffies.

He watches you look through your blankets for that specific super soft blanket and the one weighted stuffie you’ve had for years. You settle your head on your pillow, turn away from your partially opened blinds, and bring the blanket over your shoulder as you hold your stuffie in one arm. He can see you begin to physically relax.

He goes to your window and closes the blinds. Before walking out, he can hear you whisper, “Thank you.” He pauses at your words before closing your door.

“Simon,” you quietly call. He stops and silently looks at you. “Don’t close it all the way. Wanna hear you,” you explain. He doesn’t question, just gives a single nod, and leaves your door open three to four inches. He is happy that his coming made you feel better. He, then, makes sure you can hear his footsteps and movement in the kitchen. You smile to yourself, close your eyes, and work to quiet your brain so you can rest.

About thirty minutes later, he slowly opens your bedroom door enough to pop his head in only to find you still on your side and unmoved, softly snoring. He finds this strange. You move quite a bit when you’re in bed alone, including starfish, sleep diagonally, or due to your short stature, sleep lengthwise on your king size bed. He found the latter endearing. He also knows you’ve told him numerous times you sleep better when he’s over and you cuddle all night. He sleeps better too. He catalogues this behavior, watching for a pattern, and leaves you sleeping longer.

Coming back another thirty minutes later, you’ve only changed sides l you’re sleeping on. Simon does not like this one bit. He quietly enters your room, comes around the other side—his side as you now call it, and slowly lays down before reaching out to wrap his arm around you to pull you against him.

The first time he did this in the middle of the night, unable to sleep, and didn’t want to wake you. He just pulled you to him while waking you a little and you didn’t mind when you felt him at your back with his big arm around you. You hummed happily before turning over to nuzzle into his naked chest.

This time, you give a displeased grunt, turn into him and nuzzle, inhale deeply, before sliding your arm under his to wrap your arm around him as much as you can. He can feel you melt against him and return to sleep a minute or two later. He knew he should have followed his instincts.

You two lay there for an hour. Simon enjoys holding you against him and watches you sleep. You twitch, facial expressions changing once in a while and murmur in your sleep. Sometimes, he can understand you and finds it amusing.

He looks at his watch, minding the time. He wants to make sure you eat and not just sleep all night to wake up starving. He lays with you another thirty minutes before slowly unwrapping from you. You whimper, lightly wake, and your arm moves slightly. He finds your weighted blanket and lays it on you. He knows it isn’t the same but he’s gonna see what he can make for you that’s easy to eat with your fingers.

He has learned that your stomach is easily upset and your sensory issues worsen for touch and taste. You hate it but you have easy stuff you can eat, like rice, green bananas, apples, cheddar cheese, and pretzels.

Simon get down a tray that separates everything and decides to cut up apples and sliced cheese into smaller squares. He adds pretzels too. He makes sure to triple the amount so you both can eat. He then gets out some bread, a pan, and butter to make grilled cheese how you showed him. He looks around for that cooking weight you use to squash the sandwich as it cooks. When he finds it, he gets working.

Slowly you wake up, not as warm as you were, and feel yucky still. You look at your nightstand and see your phone plugged into your charger. That’s when you remember Simon is here. A small radiant smile touches your lips and illuminates your eyes at the little things he does for you. You inhale deeply and smell a bunch of dairy, like butter and cheese. You throw the blankets off and slowly make your way to the side of bed.

Walking out of the bedroom, you follow your nose quickly to the kitchen to find Simon making several grilled cheese sandwiches for you both. You scoot a chair out, drawing his attention, as you sit down and watch him. He gives a single nod before returning to his task. You’re happy he is making food for both of you and not just you. He did that in the beginning but you changed that quickly. You notice he is slowly plating two plates as he cooks. “I’ll wait for you,” you inform. He grunts in acknowledgment.

It’s just two minutes before he’s done and turns everything off before coming over to set your plate in front of you and the other next to you. He pulls a chair up next to you before digging in. You watch him a few moments before looking at your plate as you try to find what your stomach will handle. You start to smell each item finding apples being the only thing that even smells remotely edible.

Simon had grown used to you doing this. There are days where solid food and you don’t cooperate, usually stress- or anxiety-induced. Sometimes it’s your stomach and sometimes it’s your throat. Your body is weird, in your opinion, and your mental health doesn’t help.

Picking up an apple, you take a bite and eat with your mouth closed. Glancing at Simon, you lean against his arm. “Thank you,” you quietly express. He leans over the top of your head and kisses into your hair. “Alrigh’, luv.” He returns to his sandwiches and apples as you finish the two apples he cut up for you. You stay leaned against his arm as he eats and periodically steals one slice to eat.

The first time you did this, Simon ignored it until you did it again. He tilted his head and gave you, what you call, the stink eye—one part of bitch face—since he has his mask on. You giggled at his look and did it again. Well, tried to. That man has serious reflexes. He caught your wrist and silently wiggled a finger at you. “Er arr, ask, petal,” he reminded.

“Where’s the fun in that, big man?” You teased. He snorted and let go of your wrist, letting you eat the apple slice. From then on, he’d always made sure there was a little extra on his plate or bowl when he snacked. He knew you’d be a menace about it.

Once he was done eating, he looked down at you seeing you begin to doze against him. He reached over with his other hand and cupped the side of your face. “C’mon, duck. Up.”

He could see you put your lips and sleepily whine. You slowly sat up and yawned. Looking up at him, your sleepy eyes fluttered open and looked at him. “Stay?” You questioned.

“Madferit,” he confirms, his eyes crinkle.

Smiling, you get up and go to take your plate but Simon stops you. “Nah, pet. I go’ it.” You nod, walking around him. Stopping to place a kiss on his covered cheek. “Love you.” You head to your room, hearing Simon scoot back and begin to clean up. “Join me when you’re done, please.”

Simon can hear the tiredness in your voice. He’s thankful it’s the weekend. “Yeah,” he calls out before putting food away and washing the dishes.

When Simon walks into your room, he finds you standing there staring at your bed. He looks at the bed, trying to figure out what’s bothering you. You glance back and wave your hand at the mess of blankets . “Can ya stack the blankets?” He isn’t sure what you mean. “Lay t’sleep?” He queries. You nod. He walks around you and begins to lay each blanket across the bed in the order which you prefer to sleep in. You smile.

Deciding to change, you walk over to your drawers and pull out a long sleeve shirt to sleep in. You pull off your undershirt and panties, throwing them at the hamper before pulling that on. You two came to an understanding that you sleeping without underwear meant sex is on the table.

You want it but not really sure what you want to do besides have an orgasm or two. Simon quirks a brow behind you at the lack of underwear.

Once he is done, he undresses to his boxer briefs. He walks out to the living room, having gotten his sleep bag that he always has with him, and bringing his bag in with him. You grin, scooting into bed.

This is what you needed: cuddles and skin contact with him. Maybe, you’ll do more later.

Simon “Ghost” Riley X Reader Subscribers:

Two hours.

That's how long you've been waiting at the restaurant for a blind date you're supposed to be on and they haven't shown up. And your autism is backfiring on you because this is a major change. It was already nerve-wracking getting the courage to go on a blind date, but for them to not even show up? That's just asking for anxiety.

You haven't even ordered anything yet; it'd be impolite to order before they got there, but you can feel your stomach begging for food.

All this six months after your break-up with your ex-girlfriend, when you finally managed to get the courage to get back out into the dating scene. But third time's the charm post-breakup, right?

"Just another half an hour," you think, glancing around the restaurant. "They're just running very late, right?"

You've been telling yourself that for the past two hours. Maybe they just need reminding?

You check the DMs you sent; no response. The last message you sent was an hour ago and the last message they sent was two hours ago; they said they'd be there later. You decide to type one in to send.

"Hey, where are you? It's getting really late."

You click send.

Wait, what?

MESSAGE COULD NOT BE DELIVERED.

You decide to check the website to see what that means. Anxiety is pinballing around your stomach until you find it; it means the account was banned or they blocked you. You click on their profile; the account is still there.

It's official; you've been blocked.

At that moment, you feel the crack form in your heart and the tears forming in your eyes. You pushed through discomfort to pluck your eyebrows, wear contacts, get your nails done, do your hair up nicely, wear a form-fitting dress, AND put on makeup; all for you to get stood up...

It's the third time in a row too. Your heart sinks.

"What am I doing wrong?" you think, trying to hold back your tears. "Am I not pretty enough? Am I too weird? What's the problem?"

"Miss, are you going to order anything?"

You tense up as you hear the waiter ask you again for the seventh time tonight. You sigh.

"I....I don't think I'm gonna. I'm sorry for wasting your time. I think I'll just go."

You decide to leave a tip--$20 sounds about right--and head out of the restaurant. You hear the sky rumble and droplets on your head. Great. A thunderstorm. At least the walk to the parking lot isn't too lo--

Wait, where the hell is your car?!

You could've sworn that you parked it here. Where did it go? Did it get stolen?

The sky rumbles again.

It doesn't matter. You need to get home, so you try to flag down a taxi, but no dice. And now it's practically pouring and none of your friends are picking up to take you home. And why do you still have your ex's number?

"I can't believe I forgot to block her," you sigh.

You decide to take care of that when you get home, which is a thirty minute drive....and a sixty minute walk.

Great.

Just great.

By the time you get home, your legs are blaring with pain and you feel like you're going to freeze from the cold rain gushing down on you. You can barely make it up the steps to your top floor apartment. Almost immediately, you head to your bathroom and swipe up the makeup wipes, still trying not to cry even as you wipe it all off get the contact lenses out. The glasses are much more comfortable, but they don't alleviate your broken heart. Even a warm shower doesn't help.

As soon as you're finished, you're wrought with exhaustion; all you want is to go to sleep. But as you pass through your living room, you get a strange feeling, one that's telling you that you're not alone.

But that makes no sense. You live alone, so who coul--?

"Surprise, m'lady."

The voice is low and soft, and familiar. Whirling around you find one of the last people you expected to see; your ex-girlfriend, Rio Vidal.

"H-how did you--?!" you stammer.

"Door was unlocked," she shrugs. "But that's not the issue; you look like you've been through the wringer, sweetheart. Let me take care of you."

"I don't nee--"

"Yes, you do," Rio insists. "I know how you are when it comes to self-care and it's abysmal, so I'm going to be taking care of you, whether you like it or not."

In one swift motion, Rio sweeps you up into a bridal carry and takes you to your bedroom.

"This is it?" she asks. "What do they think you are? A peasant?"

She sets you down on the bed and uses her magic, transforming your bedroom into something more akin to a princess' bedroom and then your PJs into something more akin to a princess' nightgown, soft and white, draping down to just above your ankles.

"Rio--" you begin as she shuts the door.

"Shhh," she shushes gently. "Don't you worry; I'll take care of everything. You just stay there and look pretty."

Rio pulls the blankets up to your chest before using her magic to conjure up a feast of your favorites. The smell wafts to your nose, and you're caught in its enchantment. Of course your stomach definitely doesn't object and you go to grab a fork.

"Ah-ah-ah," Rio scolds with a playful smirk. "Princesses shouldn't have to do the work meant for servants."

She sits down on the bed next to you and snatches up the silverware before digging into one of the dishes and feeding you.

"You're so beautiful, like the cosmos full of shimmering stars," she sighs with a tone that's a mixture of affection and obsession. "Anyone with common sense would be euphoric if they got to date you."

You try to hold back a wince as you remember why you returned to your apartment looking like shit to begin with.

"You are an angel, so full of sweetness and light," she continues, her tone becoming gentle and soothing. "You deserve to be with someone who appreciates how unique you are, who sees you as one-of-a-kind, who treats you like a princess, their princess."

She leans in and whispers.

"My princess."

Hearing this, the hair on the back of your neck stands on edge. You try to escape, but why isn't Rio trying to go after you? You go to the door and open it, your stomach flipping at what you see.

You're not in your apartment anymore; no, instead you see a long, elegant hallway, the walls a regal dark blue, like something from a castle....Rio's castle.

"You like it?"

You jump upon hearing Rio's voice purr in your ear. She uses your shock as an opportunity to lead you back to the bed, clearing off the food with her magic.

"Why are you so stunned?" she chuckles. "I should think seeing how luxurious your new home is would help you forget about the car and the date. Both are....rather out of commission anyhow."

You freeze upon hearing this; no, surely Rio wouldn't go THAT far?

"You're why I've been gettin--?!"

"Those mortals would never treat you like the princess you are. I did you a favor."

In an instant, Rio pins you to the bed. As you look up at her, you see that all-too-familiar look in her eyes; obsessive affection.

"You really didn't think you'd escape me that easily, did you?" she chuckles. "Every mortal has to face Death eventually, after all."

Rio moves off of you and onto the bed. She pulls you to her, your back against her chest and her arms around you tightly before conjuring up a blanket around the two of you.

"Except, for you, it won't be for being guided to the afterlife."

She moves close to your ear, her breath hot and smelling of peppermint as she whispers, causing shivers to run through you....