#autistic!reader

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.

“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.

It took some time for you to breathe again.

Everyone had already sat at the table, food dished up, the smell of rosemary and thyme coating the air—you saw the food, your eyes widened with hunger, creamy chicken pasta for most people, but Fauna had something different, it was salmon, new potaoes with rosemary, thyme and garlic, with broccoli stems. 

That was your favourite meal, one Wanda made you countless times. It was a meal that felt like home.

Then you saw the three empty chairs all beside each other, directly opposite Agatha, Rio and Betsy.

Shit.

Right in the middle too

On the side of Agatha and Rio, there also sat Peggy, and Angie—on the other side, where the empty chairs sat, Pepper positioned herself happily next to Fauna, and on the other side of the empty seats, was Lila and Jen. 

It was warm. 

Your face was flushed.

The chatter was loud.

But right now, loud was okay. You could deal with loud.

“Sweetheart?” Wanda’s fingers gently twisted in yours “sit in the middle of us okay? I’ll plate up your food.” A breath. “Now, do you want a drink?” Her soft voice was the calm after the storm, the smell of grass after rain, and after what he said, what his words meant—Wanda’s touch was the very thing that grounded you.

You nodded in response, “Appletiser.” Your tired eyes looked up quickly “if it’s no trouble, of course.” Your words tumbled out from between your lips like that of a loosely coiled spring.

Wanda pressed one hand to your lower back, pushing, her other hand tightly in yours—pushing you gently forward.

When Wanda’s fingers left your hand, you could feel the air curl around them, there was an emptiness you hadn’t expected. It felt like a yearning for her touch, for her breath, for her. It wasn’t just a want anymore. It was a need. 

Yet you still couldn’t fully admit the truth to yourself.

You were in love with both Wanda and Nat.

You stepped forward, pulse thumping against your throat, fairy wings still intact, seating yourself down on a particularly unusual comfy kitchen chair, one that was made of oak, flat, not lumpy like the old ones they had.

Your gaze stayed in the kitchen, watching Wanda and Nat move together like a poem from the 18th Century.

Beautiful, Unique, and never a step out of time.

Nat poured your drink, the bubbles drifting through the liquid, afraid that if you looked up, she’d catch the longing written all over your face. Your eyes lingered on her hand—beautiful, soft—you wanted them wrapped around you like a soft blanket that would always keep you safe. She was watching you, nd you weren’t sure if she had always been looking or if she’d only just begun, but the smile on her lips, the kindess in her face made the heat flush right your cheeks—in front of everyone.

Was it actually warm in this room? Or was it just from the attention of two very specific and attractive women?

Natasha walked over, now with three drinks in hand, your appletiser, the only person at the table not drinking alcohol and for the first time in your life, not one person questioned it, or tried to force you to drink something you didn’t want to.

It was a weird feeling.

Of safety.

Contentment.

And family. 

The people that you chose and who have chosen you.

She also carried two glasses of wine, one for herself, one for Wanda. 

Natasha set them down carefully on the table, the clicking of the glass echoing against the wood sliding your glass towards you, the other two in front of the free place settings, but her eyes never left yours for a a single second—it was almost intense. That feeling you still couldn’t admit to yourself, not fully. This was more than friendship, more than care and more than just new friends. 

You knew the truth—in reality, this was love. You were just too fearful to admit the fact of the situation and your feelings, especially whilst you were still with Christopher.

The was a whole other complication—one of which you did not know how you’d find your way out of this side of the century.

Your brain was spinning, until Nat’s hand covered yours on the table “Breathe, your safe detka.” She had noticed your chest moving faster, and your eyes glazed over, zoning out from the speed of your racing thoughts—her ouch, her voice, her scent bought you back to reality.

Detka? You frowned at the word. 

But some how you did exactly what she said, you let out a small breath which you could tell made her happy with the smile that stretched into her cheeks. Nat stood back up, turning herself towards the kitchen to collect her own plate on the side.

Wanda began walking towards the table, two plates in her hand one, balanced like a professional waitress on her wrist and between her finger and thumb. On one, was salmon, which you assumed was for yourself, the other was the chicken pasta. Wanda placed the salmon in front of you, the smell of lemon and garlic wafting up your nostrils and you swore you were about to have a foodgasm right there and then.

Wanda set her own plate down on her place setting followed closely by Nat doing the same with her own food. 

The two of them slid into their seats on either side of you. A gentle grin forming on both of their faces, the flush in your cheeks brightning up the whole room.

Like rudolph’s nose.

“Eat, Ladybug, can’t have you evaporating on us, now can we?” Wanda pressed your fork into your hand, your fingers gripped the cold metal, turning your knuckles white and Wanda’s thumb stroked over your fingers.

It was a reminder for you to relax. 

To breathe. 

That you were safe. 

Wanda could always see how nervous you were, your face red—burning, your fingers holding tight to the edge of the table or your own knee, which was usually bouncing to a rhythm faster than could be played. 

Tonight was no different. 

You always struggled eating in front of others, but somehow here, with them on either side of you—for the first time, you weren’t actually fearful…you weren’t even really thinking about it.

The salmon melted on your tongue, as you took your first bite, the beautiful taste of the lemon and dill combined with the garlic was perfect. This was a five star restaurant delicacy. Nothing was ver powering, or weirdly textured. Every ingredient balanced the other out flawlessly. 

The best thing of all though, no one watched you as you ate, they all focussed on their own food, drinks and conversation. You sighed happily, in heaven as you looked around at these people you barely knew, but whom made you feel more at home than your own fault ever had—finally you relaxed into the evening at hand.

“So,” Rio began, looking towards Wanda—but the playful smile crossing her lips was directed at you “Agatha tells me you have set of books coming into the shop?” 

“Mmmm, that’s right, we had a request for them a few months ago, and I figured I would get more on the topic anyway. I do teach the subject after all.” Wanda twirled her pasta around her fork with such precision, and perfection, before slipping the fork between her wet lips.

You were almost at the end of your salmon, when your ears perked up at the sound of conversation about books. 

You had a love for books, to fall into a world that you could escape to, to make friends with those characters, it gave you such an exhilaration of excitement, you truly could not put words on how safe books made you feel.

How they always gave you a longing for something you didn’t know you wanted or needed, until your eyes graced words on the pages of the books.

“What books?” you ask shly, cheeks blanching as you found yourself asking the question in the middle of the already going on conversation.

Wanda heard you as clear as the blue sky on a hot summers day. She turned to you, slipping her hand on to your knee causing a quiet squeak to escape from the back of your throat, attempting to swallowed down your embarassment.

Did anyone hear that mouse like squeak? 

You knew the chances of both Wanda and Nat having heard were certain, they never missed a single thing when it came to you—and you were pretty sure Agatha, Rio and possibly Betsy heard the noise as well.

Fuck.

Shit.

Jesus H Roosevelt Christ. 

This was not your day.

If only the ground would swallow you whole right about now, if only a black fucking hole would open up in the middle of the dinning table, and pull you right in, then you’d never have to think about the embarrassing squeak ever again.

“Well, sweetheart, did you ever hear about the witches of Orkney?” a soft half smile graced Wanda’s lips, pausing before taking a large bite of her pasta.

You nodded, eyes wide, listening closely, intrigued, needing to know every intricate detail of this conversation. 

Four months ago you had requested book on a very specific woman from the Orkney Islands, a woman who was executed as a witch in Scotland. Your own ancestor. The book it self was based on very real events but there was also a lot of folklore tied into it. That was of intrigue to you, seeing them both overlap in the book—you’d requested it from the Scarlet Witch cafe, from Agatha herself, so you were a bit confused, actually a lot confused as to why Rio was asking Wanda about it. 

It made zero sense.

Your eyes lingered on Rio, as she took conversation with your—with Wanda, eyebrows furrowing with you attempting to make sense of it—

“OH MY GOD!” You squealed making everyone jump out of their skin as the realisation hit you like a freight train in the night.

Everyone was now staring at you. All eyes watching the shy squeaky girl sitting between the most intimidating women you knew.

Luckily you didn’t seem to notice their eyes on you, because all you could focus on was Wanda, and the shocker of a fact that she was the woman you had spoken about with Agatha. “YOU OWN THE SCARLET WITCH CAFÉ?!” You voice came out in a high pitched ring.

Wanda chuckled behind her wine, holding the glass against her lips, her fingers still on your knee and she squeezed gently. Nat on the other hand was very much being entertained by this discussion and your excitement, like she was watching a rom-com.

“Ah, so the secret is out, my sweet curious Bug.” The corners of wanda’s lips curved upwards, like this was the best thing she had witnessed all damn week.

“You didn’t know?” Betsy perked up, her eyes shinning with intrest.

Although who wouldn’t be at least a little bit curious at you finding out what seemed to be the biggest piece of information going this side of Atlantic.

You began blushing furiously, cheeks burning hot—flushing red, matching the color of Nats wine. Your hands shot up coving your face, trying to hide the utter shambles you were causing yourself and your embarrassment for not knowing the truth until now. You mumbled through your fingers “you could have told me!”

Wanda licked her lips a little, tracing her tongue along the wetness, tilting her head in your direction “but then I’d have missed this utterly adorable reaction, my little darling.”

God how were you even going to survive this night. Not when you had Wanda talking to you like you were her favourite person in the entire world, subtly teasing you for how adorable both she and Nat found you—your heart clung to them both like a raft to water—you honestly don’t know how you lived a single day without them in your life.

But you did.

That was survival.

This was living.

You found happiness, an emotion, a feeling, you’d never really experienced in the entirety of you life, yet here you were sat between them both and your stomach was in a continuous stretch of somersaults in the pit of your stomach when either them so much as breathed in your direction. 

Nats hand slipped onto your other knee, your breath caught like a fire in the back of your throat as her fingers pressed in gently, warmth flooding through every part of your body.

You swore to whatever god, goddess or fucking diety that was listening, if anything else like this happened tonight, you would combust into glitter. You were barely holding it together as it was, and now they both had their hands on your knees, whilst your face was close to the colour of a red hot chilli pepper.

You could feel the continuing flush in your cheeks, spiking hot, travelling down to your neck as you finished of the last of the salmon, followed by a gulp of your appletiser in an attempt to distract yourself from the two hands wrapped around both your knees. Your pulse heavy in your throat, your grip tight around the fork.

Breathe.

Just fucking breathe Y/N.

Everyone around the table had subtle smirks painted on their lips, despite most of them going back to individual conversations—all except Pepper, Agatha, Rio and Betsy who all had their eyes on you.

That did not help how flustered you were right now and how much worse it was going to become if they kept staring at you like this—like this was a show and you were the main attraction.

Wanda leaned towards you. Her own cheeks pink from the alcohol now in her system, her breath warm against the side of your cheek as her finger traced gently over the edge of your ear, eliciting a soft giggle from your throat. “breathe for me darling, don't want to face plant the potatoes.”

Nat couldn’t help the chortle that escaped her mouth and nose at the same time, spluttering on her drink, but quickly swallowing down the liquid. “My god,” she said breathlessly “leave the poor girl alone Wands, you’ll break her.” Nat snickered, trying to hold a full laugh down as she twirled another piece of pasta around her fork—which in comparison to Wanda who was eating like the Queen of England, shovelled it in her mouth like she’d not eaten all week.

The feeling in your very soul was that of need, of desperation, of desire—even when you pretended otherwise—that this was what everyone felt for the friends sisters. 

God. 

Even you knew trying to convince yourself of that was completely diabolical.

It was an ache that you had for them both, the kind that say in your ribs, never letting you breathe, to allow air into your lungs. But feeling like this for both of them? Was that even a possibility? Could it really happen?

No.

Bug stop it.

You’re delusional if you think a single thing could happen, or if you thought they even felt the tiniest bit the same for you as you did for them.

Besides, they were married—to each other, where would you even fit in? 

You couldn’t let your brain go there—couldn’t, wouldn't, shouldn’t. Especially not whilst you were still in a realationship. Okay, so may Christopher was utterly horrific and a fucking man child, but he still…wanted you. 

That had to be enough for now.

So you spoke to Wanda about the book shop, finding out about why she started it in the first place considering she’s already a university lecturer. You asked her and Nat about thee joint class they host at the University. The most popular class there is, which in it self intrigued you.

Speaking also to Fauna and Betsy, with them both being the only ones your age in this particular circle, unlike your usual struggles of getting to know people your own age, they were easy to talk to. Kind, and interested in you as you were in them.

For the first time ever, there was no worries or anxiety.

It was exactly how it should be.

You could breathe and enjoy your time with other people—special people that made your heart sing.

Angie was about to make her leave but before she did, she bought over the pudding. Your eyes widened at what was placed in the middle of the table. Apple and Rhubarb crumble with oat cream. One of your absoloute favourites, and Wanda and Nat had—

“You…you remembered?” Your heart stopped, gaze flickering to Wanda, lump in your throat as you tried not let your stupid fucking emotions cascade you like a storm out at sea.

Wanda laughed, “of course sweet girl,” her fingers came up to your cheek “little lady bug, we meant it, nothing is too much for us, not when it comes to you.”

God.

It was as if the air had been swept right out from under you, gasping for your final breath in the middle of a desert, crawling to the last drop of water, especially in that whisper-soft voice that made your knees buckle.

Thank fuck you were already seated.

Was she trying to make you flutter into an actual fairy mess? 

Because it was working.

You were a puddle, a fairy puddle.

“Here,” Nat slid a napkin towards you “don’t cry into the crumble detka, we know you don't like soggy food.”

You shook your head, laughing in the back of your throat picking up your spoon and digging in to your food. 

Taking a small breath again as you ate, and then Rio began to ask you about your degree, and then a question came from Betsy that made the whole room freeze.

It was like watching a dear in headlights when the words fell from between her lips and landed with a thud on the table in front of her.

Then everyone laughed.

You weren’t sure which was more confusing.

“So…Y/N, dom or sub?” Betsy asked as she shovelled her food into her mouth, as if it was going out of fashion.

You really didn't see a problem with the question, but that was because you didn’t completely understand it. 

Your face puzzled, slipping the spoon between your lips, trying to understand the question at hand.

You felt Wanda’s hand on your knee freeze, her thumb had been tracing small circles until Betsy spoke—and the way Nat looked towards you with a devilish smirk, she was genuinely curious, inquisitive, like she wasn’t sure what your answer would be, but she certainly was intrigued—like she was collecting data for how they would proceed with you.

“I- I’m not a fan of subway, so dominos I guess, I’m even fussy with my pizza to be honest, so—” you stopped when you saw the smirks, and sniggers around the table, and your heart began to beat in the pit of your stomach from the sheer panic that you’d said something utterly stupid.

Utterly wrong.

Utterly…pathetic and idiotic.

Betsy laughed.

Rio and Agatha smirked.

Nat ran her fingers across your knuckles, in a slow, gentle motion, that made every nerve in your body light up like electricity sparking.

Wanda just smiled softly, gazing at you as if you had hung the moon and the stars themselves, as was Nat, it was a little unnerving…not uncomfortable, just, you felt a shift in how they were around you from all previous times you’d spent with them. Something had changed heavily between you and the two of them. It was stronger, like the connection was growing, like flowers that bloom in spring.

“DOMINOS! SHE SAID DOMINIOS!” Betsy wheezed, hitting her palm on the table, making the cutlery clatter from the sudden thump “next she’ll say BDSM stands for Burgers, Dips, Snacks and Milkshakes.” 

Fuck.

You felt so dumb, especially as that is probably what you would have said if she’d of asked you. But now you were wondering what BDSM really did stand for. 

Maybe something to ask Wanda and Nat later, if it wasn’t answered in this conversation.

You saw Nat give Rio a look, like a nod that something wasn’t quite as okay as she would like it to be, but you weren’t entirely sure. Your heart was still exploding—sitting between your two favorite people who you wouldn’t admit that they cared for you as more than a friend.

You couldn’t see it.

You were oblivious, especially when something was staring you blank point in the face.

“BURGERS! AND! AND! MILKSHAKES!” Betsy couldn’t breathe from laughing so hard, and then—she hit her first on the table from laughing so hard making the table shake much harder than before—which made you unexpectedly flinch.

Rio moved quickly. Her fingers suddenly around Betsy’s jaw, forcing eye contact, not caring who was watching as long as she had her full, undivided attention “Sweetheart. That. Is. Enough.” Her fingers pressed in just a little, waiting until Betsy nodded before removing her fingers from the girls face “good girl.”

Your brows furrowed watching the scene unfold.

What on earth had you just witnessed? And why was your answer so comedic to her?

“Nat?” You whisper, leaning closer towards her body, your lips at the side of her head and your hand cupping her ear “what’s a domme?”

Nat spluttered, choking on her wine, gulping for air before staring daggers in Betsy’s direction. Like what the fuck was she playing at? Now they had to have this conversation with you, and so much sooner than she and Wanda could have ever expected. 

“Later sweet girl, later.” Nats voice, soft, calm, and steady as she began to clear the table, collecting the dishes and turning the conversation to Peggy Carter and Fauna. “Peggy? You and Fauna staying?” 

“But—” you tried, but Wanda’s fingers squeezed around your knee, and you immediately stopped trying to get them to explain, you would honestly do anything she told you to in the moment. “we’ll talk to you about it later bug, I promise.”

You were finally led away from table, taken in hand by Rio through to the living room. Her fingers gently clasping your palm, whilst Wanda and Nat cleared the table and tidied up th kitchen. 

Usually they would have waited till after everyone had gone, but you were sure they were going to take this time to discuss you and some of the conversations that had happened and would need to happen. 

You followed Rio, not wanting to leave Wanda and Nat, but with some insistance, with Wanda telling you they’d be quick, and to trust Rio, you allowed yourself to be taken you away by the woman with face paint, that made her look like death—well a skeleton.

You sat yourself on the soft couch next to her and Lila Calderu—an older woman, a bit cooky but otherwise harmless, palms sweating from the nerves of sitting with new people without Wanda or Nat beside you—it was unnerving and a little anxiety inducing.

But something just felt—off. You couldn’t really put your finger on it.

They were kind.

You were naive.

That was the problem in most spaces for you—this was no different.

And you couldn't never really understand the difference between when someone genuinely wanted to be your friend and when they were being manipulative assholes. You never had been able to see the truth of that in people.

“Well, well, well, so you’re the famous Bug we’ve heard so much about?” Lila smiled, on the surface it was innocent enough, but something felt like it lay behind her eyes that you couldn’t see. She tucked a loose strand of your hair behind you ear. 

Was she just being friendly? Perhaps? Or maybe she had an agenda that you weren’t quite sure of.

Ontheotherhand, maybe you were just over reacting, through your own personal history, people hadn’t shown you honesty when it came to their intentions. At this point, you were just used to expecting the worst.

“It’s Y/N if you don’t mind.” You didn’t really feel comfortable with strangers calling you Bug. It had become something that only Wanda and Nat had taken to calling you. But still telling other people they couldn’t? That was scary. Putting in boundaries? Even scarier. 

Your voice cracked as you said the words. You weren’t exactly sure where you got the nerve, but no way were you going to let someone you hadn’t even had a conversation with yet, call you ladybug—not until you knew her better and knew she wasn’t going to be trouble. You automatically shifted closer to Rio , she felt the nearest safe person right now.

“Oh? Do I not get the privilege of that name? and for such a pretty little thing like you?” she shifted closer.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know you.” You muttered “no offence, just I know Wanda, Nat, Agatha, Rio and I have gotten to know Betsy, but…look it’s nothing against you, it’s just, I’m not comfortable with you yet,” you paused taking a awkward sip of your drink, eyes darting towards the kitchen hoping Wanda and Nat wouldn’t be much longer, because you were certain that you would crumble before they appeared.

“hmm, maybe not, but,” Lila touched the fabric of your sweater pulling at the sleeve “pretty, sweet little thing aren’t you,” Lila chuckled—then from across the room, you noticed Jen, the way her lips curved upwards into a mischievous smile that made you uneasy, her dark red nails matching that of her wine and lips.

“So adorably innocent.” Jen quirked an eyebrow, taking another sip of her wine, and now, something told you that Wanda and Nat didn’t just dislike them for being late, maybe it was something more than what you could see or understand.

“Lila. Stop. This isn’t the time or place for your games.” Unlike the Rio that had spoken to your warmly, her voice came through like a crack in the glass. 

“It’s just a bit of fun, what’s the big deal. She’s not even theirs.” Lila growled. Leaning back against the sofa in a huff.

None of you heard the heels that walked in from the kitchen.

Sharp, deliberate, echoing across wood.

You stiffened, eyes shut, trying to pretend this wasn’t happening.

Lila’s hand came up to your cheek, your body went still as she pinched your cheek “no harm in it, is there sweetie pie?”

Suddenly, you smelt the vanilla that was Wanda’s perfume, her hand snapped around Lila’s wrist in such determined hatred—something you had never seen from her before. “Hands. Off.” Wanda’s fingers squeezed tighter around her wrist “You do not fucking touch without consent. You know that, this has always been the rule, and you’re in mine and Nat’s home, and she,” Wanda kept her eyes locked on Lila “is off limits.” 

The air in the room began to crackle from her anger, her possessiveness, her protectiveness over you.

“Wands…” Nats voice came through with an echo, concern for her wife as Wanda did not move. Her green eyes crackling with fury “WANDA!” Nat finally snapped, pulling Wanda away with her words.

“Lila. Time to go. And you Jen.” Nat stood in the corner, arms folded, tea towel draped over her shoulder, watching with careful eyes.

You were their priority. Your comfort. Your safety. The was the most important thing right now.

“Oh don't be a spoiled sport—” Jen tried to lighten the mood but it fell on deaf ears.

Silence.

You were sat practically on top of Rio at this point, Wanda stood full body in front of you in a protective stance. 

Nat scowled at Jen, daring her to say another word or for Lila to do or say something else—you weren’t sure if she’d done it intentionally or not. 

But right now that didn’t matter.

Not to you.

Not to Rio.

And certainly not to Wanda and Nat.

“She’s drunk. You both are. Now go home.”

Agatha found herself on her feet “it’s okay, I’ve got it. I’ll take these two idiots home.” She leaned in, kissing Rio gently on the lips and grabbed her goat. “Come on dumb and dumber. My car. Now.”

Lila and Jen were both dragged out the house like misbehaving school children, growling about how it was just a joke and people shouldn’t take it so seriously and Agatha snapping as the door closed “will you two shut up and get in the damn car.”

Once you all heard the door shut with a click, you found yourself letting out a breath you hadn’t even realised you were holding tight in your lungs.

Wanda turned to you, unclenching both her jaw and fists. 

Slowly her lungs expanded, she bent her knees, crouching down in front of you, one hand sliding on top of your bouncing knee, the other hand gently slipping under your chin and pulling your gaze towards her. “I’m sorry sweetheart, I should have asked them to leave when they first arrived, they, we, they always push too far, and I’m sorry. You did so good. Myself and Nat are so fucking proud of you."

“We really are.” Nat agreed, stepping closer to the two of you “We’re so very proud of you ladybug!” Her cat bell still jingling like a cat about to make her entrance.

“I,” the words were on the tip of her your tongue, squirming and ready to tumble out, but being held back back by a rope to your lungs

The sweat on your skin, covered both your hands and behind your knees, your stomach was continuously pulling, twisting into knots like you were dangling of the verge of the cliff with the rope on its last thread about to snap, “I’ve never seen you angry before. That was…fire.” And you meant it. 

There was a rage bubbling like lava beneath Wanda. 

Her feelings towards Lila and Jen. 

Her eyes glowing green with a kind of magic you had not seen before, you were certain that she would destroy the world before anyone even looked at you or touched you like that again. 

The way Wanda had reacted, grabbing Lila’s wrist so firmly, it wasn’t something that had scared you, quite the opposite. It had intrigued you as to why, or how she could be so protective over… you. 

You weren't special. You were just you.

Wanda couldn’t help but laugh, her hands cupping your warm cheeks “Of course my fire burns for you sweetheart, you are a very special girl.” 

And your breath caught, the moment she said it.

Was there really more to her feelings than you had ever realised? 

Did Nat feel the same?

The beat of your heart was pulsing in your ears. Things were coming together, linking, words being said, and you beginning to understand what they really meant. But still, you weren’t ready to acknowledge or take it on board, not fully, not yet.

But very, very soon.

Wanda nodded, her thumb stroking your cheek before taking your glass to refill it.

Nat followed needing to talk to her wife about what had just happened, out of ear shot of you.

“Wanda?” Nat gripped Wanda’s elbow as she poured the new bottle of appletiser “what was that?”

“What?” Wanda grit her teeth, knuckles whitening around the glass.

“Detka.” Nat turned her wife to face her as soon as she’d finished pouring the bubbly liquid, her fingers wrapping over her wifes wrists, and throwing the tea towel to the side “Not only did you almost take Lila’s wrist out it’s socket, but you almost,” Nat checked over her shoulder to ensure the door was still shut and know one, especially you, could not hear what she was about to say. In a hushed toned, Nat continued “you almost, your magic Wanda, you almost lost control of it.”

“I know Nat!” Wanda snapped, slamming the class down of the table, her voice trembling, realising, knowing how much she came close to loosing control of her magic, for the first time in years.

A knock sounded, interrupting their conversation and Rio’s head poked round “Sorry to interrupt.”

“You’re fine.” Wanda said, masking her frustration “everything okay?”

“Y/N has fallen asleep, she’s curled up on the couch, and we weren’t sure if we should wake her up.”

“No, don’t wake her.” Nat smiled, “but you and the rest get off now, we’ve got out bug.”

Nat hadn’t even realised she’d said it.

Rio quirked an eyebrow in her direction, before nodding and leaving.

“Our bug, huh?” Wanda grinned, like they were both finally admitting the truth about how they felt for you.

You were fast asleep on the couch, wings still on, cardigan removed and on the floor. Your head on the pillows that Rio had put there to ensure you didn’t get a creak in your neck.

Wanda and Nat came back through, eyes falling on you the second the stepped into the living room. Wanda pressed her hand to her chest, clutching her invisible pearls.

“Nat…” Wanda said just under her breath so as to not to wake you from your sleeping slumber. She knelt down at the side of the couch near your head, and Nat followed in unison. 

“She’s sucking her thumb.” Nat whispered.

“God she’s adorable.”

“She’s too precious.”

The two of them continued to watch, seeing you so peaceful did something to her—if you thought she was protective before, you had seen nothing yet. 

Wanda ran her fingers across your cheek, whilst Nat pressed her hand against your calf, her thumb gently stroking, and Wanda moved her fingers from your cheek, to slowly tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“Let’s get her up to bed.” Nat stood, pressing a hand onto Wanda’s shoulder, “the bed in her room is all made up anyway.”

Tag list: @mouseratface @lizziescutiepie @fxckmiup @eatingouturmomrn @natashasmuse @tardis05 @libbyofc @rur-rue03 @sapphicpuppyy @cloudskami @truthindreams @mindofwesley @toe19 @nanou4204 @wandanat01 @jackiefromgreenland @silverstarr13 @purpleguywithahat @somedumbbitches

You go sit down at the table. Once Jason is done making breakfast he brings you your breakfast on your favorite plate with your favorite fork. It's exactly how you like it. You quietly thank him before you start eating. Jason observes you for a while before he starts eating his breakfast.

“Are you ok?” Jason asks, eyebrows knit together.

You nod looking down at your food.

“Darling, look at me.” He says softly.

You reluctantly look up at him.

“I’m sorry I rejected your hug. I didn't want you to burn yourself. The hot oil was splattering out of the pan. I should have told you that. I can give you a hug now if you would like.” Once you give him a small nod he makes his way to your side of the table. He wraps his arms around you and places kisses to your hair. “Good morning my love.” He mutters into your hair.

After breakfast you pick up the plates and prepare to wash them when Jason stops you.

“I'll do it.”

“Why? I'm trying to help.”

“I don't need you to help. Just chill. Go sit down.” He insists walking away with the plates. 

“I- ok.” You shuffle over to the couch.

Jason cleans up then goes to your shared room to get ready for the day. He has to go grocery shopping today. Eventually he comes back out dressed.

“Are you going to the store?” You ask quietly. 

“Yeah, I'll be back soon. Text me if you need anything.” He pets your hair as he passes the couch.

Once you're alone you curl into the corner of the couch and start to over think. Jason seems off today. Are you bothering him? Is he mad at you? What did you do wrong? Maybe he's just getting tired of you. You're too needy anyway. Of course he's tired of you. 

You remember you are out of your favorite snack and they're not in the list. You pull out your phone to text Jason but hesitate. You don't want to bother him. It already seems like you did something wrong. It's ok. You can go a week without snacks. It's fine. You don't want to inconvenience Jason any further. You put your phone down and start picking. First you pick at the pilled up fuzz on your blanket. Then the loose threads on your hoodie. And when that doesn't work you move to your skin. You start picking at the skin on your fingers. When one finger starts bleeding you curl it into your black hoodie to stop the blood and move on to the next one. Once the bleeding is too much you decide it's time for band-aids. You stand up and head to the bathroom. Reaching for your band-aids you realize that you're probably undeserving of the cute happy band-aids. Instead you reach for the plain ones Jason usually uses and wrap one around each of your bleeding fingers.

You go back to the couch and curl in on yourself. You sit in the silence of your apartment, the side of your face resting against the couch. You wait.

The jingle of keys wakes you from your silent spiral. As Jason opens the door you go to stand but decide not to get in his way.

“Can I help?” You murmur.

“No. I'm ok. You stay there.”

“Ok. Let me know when you're done. I'm thirsty but I don't want to get in your way.” Your voice is small and hesitant.

Jason freezes. “Are you ok?”

“Mhm”

“C'mere.” Jason instructs.

You hesitantly get up and move over to him.

“What's wrong?” Jason's eyebrows knit together with a small frown. He has his hands on your shoulders.

“Nothing. I just don't want to get in your way.”

Gently Jason runs his hands down your arms to find your hands. He freezes when he feels the bandages. His heart sinks when he looks down at your hands. “Baby, did you hurt yourself again?”

Suddenly the groceries on the counter were very interesting. You pull out of his gentle grasp to rifle through the bags.

“Baby.” He says firmly. When you ignore him he spins you around. Manhandling you (gently) so you are facing him. “Hey.” He snaps. “Look at me.” He sounds angry. At least to you.

You flinch and stumble back covering your ears. You bump into the counter knocking a mug, sending it shattering on the floor. You let out a loud whimper at the sound.

“Shit!” Jason quickly scoops you up so you don't step on the shards. He cradles you to his chest.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” You quietly sob into his chest. “I didn't mean to. I'm sorry.” Your trembling fingers curl into his shirt. “Please don't. Please-” Your voice is so small and so shaky it breaks Jason's heart.

Jason gently shushes you. He knows your past. He knows what someone you loved used to do to you when you made mistakes. He would never ever do that to you. You are his world, he loves you so much, he would risk his life for yours. “Baby.” He murmurs. “Sweetheart, I would never ever hurt you. I need you to breathe. Deep breaths. The mug is replaceable. That was not your fault. Breath. You're ok. No one will hurt you.”

“Please. Please don't be tired of me. Please! I'll do better! I’m sorry! Please don't hurt me.” The last part is quiet. So so broken Jason can hardly hear it. You're chest is tight, the air burns and the tears are hot on your cheeks.

Jason sets you in the counter and when you turn away from him he circles it to look at you. His boots crunch the broken ceramic on the floor. He kneels down so he's lower than you. Trying to make his large body as small as possible. Gently placing his hand on your knee he looks up at you with worried eyes. “Baby doll, I understand if you don't want to look at me but will you listen? Please?” Jason waits a moment to know you're listening. “I promise you on my whole being that I will never hurt you. I'm not like him. I will never be like him. I love you. I love you so much. I will never leave you. Or get tired of you.”

Whish glassy eyes you peak down at him. His face is full of genuine, worried love. You sit there for what feels like minutes just looking at each other before you give him a small nod.

Jason lets out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. “What do you need right now?”

You open your mouth to respond but hesitate to speak. Jason looks up at you patiently. “Hugs.”

With a soft chuckle and a small smile Jason stands up and wraps his arms around you. Cradling the back of your head as you bury yourself into him. “I'm so sorry I scared you.” He whispers into the top of your head. “...did something happen to make that reaction so bad?”

“I- … I had a bad dream that you started acting like… him… a-and you got tired of me… And then when I woke up this morning you started rejecting me… and it felt like you were avoiding me. And I… I got scared that maybe it was true… It was dumb. I'm sorry.”

Jason's heart shatters at the thought of treating you like that. His hug tightens. “God I'm so sorry. And please don't apologize. It's not your fault. I should have communicated with you better. I noticed that you weren't feeling good this morning, that's why I didn't want your help. I didn't want you to push yourself. God sweetheart I will never ever ever get tired of you. You're it for me, endgame, love of my life. I would give up being Red Hood for you if you asked.”

“Don't do that you murmur back.”

“I will if you said.”

There's a long beat. Your breath has finally evened out, Jason's thumb is rubbing soft circles on your knee. “Are you ok now?” You give him a small nod and he stands up, knees cracking. “Ok I'm gonna clean this up. Stay here until I'm done ok? I don't want you hurting yourself more. Also I'm getting you your fun band-aids. You deserve them.”