#reader is autistic

Simon held wifey tightly (per her request) as they watched Nemo on her bedroom TV. One of his strong hands played with her hair while the other worked at keeping her securely attached to him.

Once the movie ended, wifey yawned and gave a big stretch.

“Did you like the movie?” She asked, looking at Simon with her big doe eyes.

“Could watch paint dry and I’d enjoy it if I was watchin’ with you,” he responded. She stared at him.

“You don’t have to leave,” she said quietly, picking at her fingers. “If you don’t want to, of course.”

Simon smiled.

“Askin’ me to stay the night, dove?” He asked. When she nodded, he did too. “I’d love to.”

She smiled at him, wringing her hands. “Awesome!”

Then she skittered off to the bathroom. “Come on, Si!”

Simon was quickly made aware of how particular wifey is about her night time routine.

Turning the thermostat down to a frigid temperature, turning a white noise machine and music on, being under multiple weighted blankets. But Simon was happy to help.

At first, Simon had assumed she wanted to have sex with him, since she asked him to stay the night.

Instead, he was wrapped around her under two weighted blankets and surrounded by stuffed fish while a quiet aquarium video played on the tv. The room was bathed in a soft blueish-purple light.

“Goodnight, Si,” wifey said, her voice muffled slightly against his bare chest.

He was at the gym with Johnny when you appeared in front of him. "Are you single?" He glances over at Johnny, ready to see the Scott bag another baddie, when you scoff. "Not him, you. Look at me." He doesn't know why but he obeys.

"You. Are you single?" He nods once, and you take his phone from his hand and add your contact. "Meet me at Main Street Sandwiches for lunch tomorrow, noon. Our first date." And without another word, not even your name, you walked away back to your weights.

When he gets to the sandwich shop, you're already at the front counter chatting with the owner. "Why would you change it? The original recipe was better."

"We changed the salt we use, Y/N, there's no way you noticed that." Your eyes narrow at the man, and you cross your arms.

"It's Himalayan pink salt, not celery salt. I can tell." The man's face falters, clearly defeated, and he perks up when he sees Simon, hoping the huge hunk of a man would save him from your scolding.

When you turn to face him, you smile wide, eyes lighting up. "Oh, you came! I wasn't sure you'd actually come." You hum happily, reaching out and taking his hand. "He shouldn't have changed the salt, I'm trying to get him to change it back."

The deli owner looks at Simon with wide pleading eyes, begging him to be on his side, not yours.

Part one - Part two

Please let me know if yall like these!

When wifey and Simon first started dating, he didn’t quite understand why she was so … strange, at times.

Like insisting on only having date nights at 6pm exactly till 9pm. Or always wearing black and white while out on the town and the same hoodie when having a night in.

About a month into dating, Simon finally asked the big question.

“Why d’you do that?” He asked, gesturing toward her outfit. A black and white striped shirt and a black pair of pants.

“Do what?” She asked.

“Black and white, every time we go out.”

“Just have to,” she said. “I did it on our first date, now I do it every time.”

And he left it at that. If Simon’s girl was a bit strange, so what! He loved her all the same.

Their first sleepover, wifey brought a box with her. One of those big plastic tubs used for storage.

Simon helped her carry it in, like any good man would.

“What’s in there?” He asked as he sat it on the sofa. “Got a bomb, lovie?”

She laughed. “No! It’s my blankets.”

Simon opened the tub and it had two weighted blankets inside, one black and one pink.

“The black one is 40lbs,” wifey said. “That’s why I needed you to carry it.”

When they got situated in bed, wifey under the 50lbs of blankets she’d brought with her, Simon sighed and cuddled her close to his chest.

“You sleep with those every night?” He asked, gently playing with her hair. “Even if it’s hot?”

“My thermostat is always on 63,” she replied. “My body doesn’t regulate temperature well. Cause of the autism.”

He nodded. “Alright,” he hummed.

“I can put them on the floor if it bothers you,” she offered.

He loves how everything is always in the exact same place, how it’s almost never loud of bright in his house.

But, even with all of the sensory precautions, wifey still gets overstimulated sometimes.

And sometimes, those moments of overstimulation turn into a meltdown.

Wifey is sobbing in the kitchen, smacking her palms against her head over and over as Simon tries to console her without physical touch. Shes been like this for nearly half an hour, occasionally murmuring about how everything was just way too much sometimes and how she hated dishes so much.

“Dove, you have to breathe,” he reminds her, keeping his voice calm. “I know it’s not your favorite thing to do right now, but you have to.”

She takes a few shuddered breaths, tugging at her hair firmly.

“Can I touch you?” He asks, soft and calm. Simon had gotten quite good at this over the years. “I won’t hurt you, you know that. My smart girl.”

She nods after a moment, her hands still holding onto the roots of her hair.

Simon crowds her space, wrapping his arms tight around her. “Simon’s got you,” he hums. “Right here, Holdin’ you nice and tight.” He squeezes her a bit tighter.

And eventually, her breathing evens out. Simon keeps holding on, one of his hands working at untangling her fingers from her hair.

“Tha’s it, baby,” he coos. “Just let me hold those hands, hm?”

And she does let him, allowing her hands to be taken into his as he pulls back from the hug.

“Tea or juice, dove?” He asks, gently wiping tears from her flushed cheeks.

“Juice,” she sniffles. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

Simon shakes his head and presses a kiss to her nose. “Never an issue.”

He pours her a cup of juice and puts it in her hands.

“Wanna talk about it?” He asks.

"Absolutely not."

Simon has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from chuckling in your face, taking a slow, deep breath. You glance up at his face, raising an eyebrow, blinking once before realization dawns on you.

"Oh, that's supposed to be sexy. Sorry, I hate eye contact." You say honestly, placing a kiss on Simon's lips and leaning back on the bed. "Maybe we can use a blindfold." You offer and Simon's grin gets wider.

"Shit, where did Y/N go this time?" Simon grumbles as he comes back to the cart, Kyle and Johnny looking around for you than back at each other.

"I thought you were watching them!" Johnny accused as he shoves Kyle's shoulder.

"I thought you were." Kyle huffs, shaking his head as he starts walking towards the end of the aisle.

"Ah, Kyle, don't go anywhere!" John calls out, arm wrapped firmly around your waist while you held a rotisserie chicken in your hands. "I found them in the deli."

"We needed chicken." You shrug, setting the chicken into the cart. Price takes your wrist, and the balloon he bought at the front counter, tying it to you. "Hey, what's this for?"

"We can't stop you from wandering off, but we can find you easier with this." He huffs, kissing your forehead. You pout a little at that, but not even five minutes later, Kyle uses it to find you in the bread aisle.

Once you reach a certain point, you just can't talk, tapping Simon's shoulder and then your mouth. "Voice shutting off, love?" He signs to you, making you smile briefly.

He takes his sunglasses off the top of his head and grabs your headphones from his jacket pocket. You take the sunglasses, but hesitate for a moment with the headphones. He gives your cheek a soft pinch, sliding the headphones over your ears.

"You don't need anyone's permission. I understand you. That's what matters." He signs to you, kissing your nose lovingly. You smile again, taking his hands and squeezing them tight.

But it wasn't until you moved in with him that he noticed your flamingo stand.

Doing the dishes, brushing your teeth, folding laundry, watering the garden, any activity that required you to stand in one place for a long time? You were standing on one leg, your other foot hooked around your ankle as you did your task.

Sometimes, you would sway where you stood, but he got used to seeing your flamingo stance throughout the day.

"You must have really strong ankles." Simon notes absently as he watches you do your skin care one evening. You glance at him curiously, and he nods to your one-legged stand.

"Oh, that. Uh, I've never thought about that." You shrug, smiling at him before leaning over to give him a careful kiss. You didn't want to mess up your face mask.

"What's that for?"