#autistic simon riley

[cherryatombomb]

soap who has a tendency to just ramble, like super long-winded rambles where he gets distracted, and he can get kinda loud as he does so will stop and apologise awkwardly when he realises nobody's paying attention x ghost who usually gets overestimulated when someone talks that much but has been listening intently the whole time and looks so confused when soap stops to apologise. just prompts him to continue bc he's been listening the whole time and genuinely seems interested

[popcaki]

Wanted to repost the Ghost art I did in 2022 because I still really like how they turned out.

+ bonus König sketch I did

[unspecifiedfigure]

there’s a space in my heart and it’s just your shape 🍻🚬

[shadow0-1]

First meet

[gazspookiebear]

Mmm, thinking about Ghost going on a date with reader after not having been in a proper relationship in years

He was never one for hookups, and he could never keep long-term relationships. Most lasted about a month at most before he backed out.

Fast forward to now, he's been invited out by you. He figures it'll be like most other dates, a quick dinner at a noisy restaurant before he gets overwhelmed and leaves.

To his surprise, it isn't. You kept his comfort in mind and suggested a walk by the bay instead.

When he walks beside you in silence, you don't seem to take offense. In fact, you don't seem to mind at all. You fill in his silence with easy conversation, keeping it focused on you and not trying to pry into his personal life.

You don't hesitate when he responds with one word answers, instead taking the opportunity to discuss an interest of your own. By the time it's long past dark out, you offer to take him home, apologizing for not acknowledging the time sooner. He didn't want to stop listening to your voice

When he declines your offer, you smile. You tell him to stay safe, to rest well, and to text you when he gets home.

At his apartment, he can't stop thinking about you. About how polite and kind you were. About how you actually cared about his feelings, how you weren't off put by him.

He glances at his phone.

You receive a text at 1 in the morning. A simple 'Back safe.'

[starsofang]

simon riley x autistic!reader requested by anon! <3 tw: none!

When a certain John Price had recruited you under his own jurisdiction, you were cautious yet excited to be joining a new task force. It was an opportunity you simply couldn’t pass up, and you’d be insane to say no. Price had promised you would fill in the gap that seemed to be missing from their team, and for the most part, he was absolutely correct.

Gaz and Johnny were the most welcoming in the beginning. Price was more the serious type with an occasional bad joke here and then, but all in all, everybody approved of you and had your back so long as you had theirs.

None of them seemed to mind when you’d have days where you’d be talkative on one, and quiet the next. They’d listen to your passionate ramblings on specific topics, or they’d allow you to sit in comfortable silence if they knew you needed it.

There was one person in particular who didn’t seem quite fond of you, and that would be Ghost – or Simon, as Johnny called him on occasion. It wasn’t that he didn’t seem to like you, no. He just seemed distant, purposefully keeping you at an arm’s length and only acknowledging you when necessary.

Johnny had told you not to worry about it, that he’d come around eventually. Simon was impartial to new people and it took him a while to open up.

You did notice, though, that Simon was someone who stared. One too many times, you’d catch those brooding eyes boring into you, as if trying to puzzle you together and figure out where the pieces fit. It would always cause a bit of anxiety to well in you when you’d find his eyes across the room, already locked in on you, and you would find yourself avoiding his stare as soon as you felt it.

It wasn’t until a particular mission had gone bad that you completely shut down. In the presence of your new task force, you had successfully masked yourself as much as possible. But now, when Johnny had nearly been killed, all due to an error in your own judgment, that mask was slipping off and you needed time to let it crumble on your own.

You thought that was all you needed – time. But time proved fruitless as you spent the next few days on lockdown, avoiding all conversation and interaction. Your eyes would stray to the ground, or you’d find yourself staring blankly at the walls of the mess hall with your nails picking at the skin around them from beneath the table.

You didn’t think anybody noticed. After all, everybody was on edge and decompressing from the failed mission, and they didn’t have the focus to see your mind eating you up.

Simon did, though.

He’d seen all the signs, from the way you picked at your nails, to the way you’d consistently tuck your hair behind your ear, even if it was already tucked, and to the way you’d tap your foot along the ground in a repetitive motion, leg bouncing wildly underneath the table during breakfast or debriefs.

At first, none of it made sense to him. He thought it was simple signs of anxiety, and for that, he truly thought that if one bad massion made you close up this much, you wouldn’t last long enough to see a second one. But when he returned to his quarters and searched up all of your stims that he’d taken mental notes of over the course of the week, things clicked.

He didn’t know much about autism. To his embarrassment, you were the first person with autism that he’d actively been around on a daily basis. Everything he’d seen made complete sense, and that last puzzle piece he was trying so hard to fit seemed to fall right into place.

Simon took it upon himself to educate himself. He, too, had his own struggles that not many people had an understanding of, and now that he knew what made sense, he didn’t want you to continue hiding yourself away for the sake of the rest of the team.

It started off small.

When Simon would notice you picking at your fingernails, he’d place a large hand over yours to stop you without sparing a glance in your direction. If he wasn’t there to stop you, he’d silently wrap your fingers up in cute bandages he purchased himself, because he noticed you liked them more than the typical brown ones.

If he noticed you zone out and lose a piece of yourself, where your eyes would find the walls and focus in on them as if they were the most interesting thing in the world, he’d gently grab your shoulder with means to snap you out of it and remind you that he was there with you.

At first, you were surprised when Simon began showing you these subtle signs of companionship. He hadn’t shown any interest in you up until this point, but as time went on, you found yourself actively seeking out that safe space that Simon was slowly building for you.

You crawled your way out of that hole you found yourself in and began returning to normalcy; except now, you didn’t feel you had to mask all the time.

When you returned to your rambling moments, your hand would subconsciously find its way to Simon’s, grasping and fiddling with his fingers while you spoke. He’d never pull his hand away, and instead, he’d sit there quietly with his full attention on you, eyes soft and affectionate from beneath his mask.

Often times, when he’d head to the mess hall to grab a snack or a drink for himself, he began to bring you something back as well – cookies, chips, you name it. If he knew you liked it, he’d snag a couple of whatever it was and place it in front of you without a word (and would absolutely ignore Johnny’s childish whines of how he never did that for him).

This back and forth between the two of you didn’t go unnoticed, and when Gaz nudged Johnny when the three of them sat in the debrief room together, claiming that Simon had a crush, he didn’t blatantly deny it.

Simon wasn’t sure what it was he felt for you. He wanted to see you happy, that he knew for sure, but when Gaz and Johnny continued to feed into their teasing remarks, he was beginning to think that, okay, yeah, maybe he had a bit of a crush.

It took him months to even proclaim this confession to you. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, or god forbid you didn’t feel the same way, didn’t want you to close up on him like you had with others before. Being your safe space was something he took pride in, and for a man who had no knowledge months ago on how to approach you in a way that showed he understood, he didn’t want to ruin that.

That wasn’t at all what happened, though. When he had the gall to tell you, you were practically bursting at the seams. Hands moving wildly, feet causing you to bounce with excitement as you eagerly confessed your own feelings for him. He was scared your lips were crack open from how widely you were smiling and babbling on about your affection.

And when he had the chance to kiss you? He did it with so much tenderness, keeping it as gentle as possible, hands only cupping your cheeks when you told him it was okay.

You had never met someone who was so passionate about you, that they’d learn everything about you. He knew your quirks, your hyperfixations, your interests, your stims. He knew more about you than he did himself at this point.

To have somebody cherish you in such a way that they’d go that far for you, even when they themselves aren’t partial to getting attached to people, it was all Simon ever hoped to make you feel, and it was all you ever wanted to feel understood and accepted.

Simon would happily assure you of that any day.

—

thank u for this idea anon!! i really hope it lived up to your standards, i tried to make it as accurate as possible while trying not to make the stims too specific and detailed since i know many people have different ones and that autism is not linear! <3 please enjoy fluffy simon because he’s my favorite

[ghcstao3]

despite what simon might claim, he is completely oblivious to flirting.

the signals often just fly over his head. he’ll nod and hum along to some story being recited to him in low voices and purring tones like it’s nothing more than friendly conversation. he’ll casually and unthinkingly shrug off any flirty touches, say thank you to compliments and move on. everyone thinks he’s just letting them down gently, or playing hard to get, but the reality is just that simon never registers anything subtle and implied as flirting.

it’s the same when an attractive bartender shoots him a wink and a charming smile, sliding him his bourbon and saying it’s on the house. confused, simon merely returns a polite smile and offers his debit card, thinking the scotsman behind the counter is only making a joke.

but then the bartender is pausing, staring at simon with his head cocked not unlike a puppy, bemused. he doesn’t take the card, and that frustrates simon, just a little.

“it’s on the house,” the bartender repeats, less flirtatious though no less interested.

simon frowns. “why?”

the bartender laughs. “because it is. i’m trying to flirt with you.”

simon’s eyes widen at that. he feels his face grow warmer the longer he processes the words, unable to respond with anything more than a short, pathetic, “oh.”

“aye, oh,” the bartender teases. then his smile falters. “unless that’s your way of turning me down.”

distractedly, simon shakes his head, heart pounding loud in his ears, louder than the music. puzzlement has shifted to disbelief, simon unable to comprehend how this handsome scotsman could ever be interested in him. and yet.

“then it’s still on the house,” says the bartender, nodding to the drink. “my name’s john, by the way. and my shift ends in twenty.”

then, quickly, watching the slight pinch of simon’s brows, john adds, “i’m letting you know so you can meet me outside, if you’d be interested.”

simon nods, slowly, because upon reflection—yeah, he would be interested.

simon just about melts on the spot when john grins at him again and says can’t wait.

[vic-draws-sometimes]

Like Real People Do

[mactavishenjoyer]

Ghost:"touch me and I'll fucking stab you."

Soap:"you could just say you are over stimulated like a normal person."

[eiraeths]

[random construction going on]

ghost: [making drill noises back at the drill]

soap: the industrial revolution and its consequences

soap: why are you actually good at that

ghost: [drill noises intensify]

[cherryatombomb]

Heaven to touch

John "Soap" MacTavish x Simon "Ghost" Riley

also on ao3!! no warnings, just hurt/comfort + fluff :] with some nice autistic! ghost bc im unstoppable

---

There were some days when Simon felt like his brain was actively working against him, just to fuck with him every now and again. He supposed it was in character – he was a guy who enjoyed his fucking with others, so why not try it with himself? Still, it did not inspire the same kind of amusement as it did with others. No, today his brain decided it was time to remind him of his past. It had all started in the morning, after a night of lack of sleep after a particularly fucked up nightmare, because what better way was there to start his day?

At 4:30 sharp, his alarm went off, though he was already just laid in bed, waiting for it. Johnny was at his side, as usual, curled around him like he was trying to merge them into one being, as he’d found himself unable to decipher which limbs were his own, and which limbs were the others. As usual when he woke up, the other scoffed and tightened around him, but he eventually wiggled his way out and got ready.

Through the corridors of the base he went, though this time, the corridors seemed all-consuming, somehow. A large man like himself, he already took up more space than needed, but today it felt more.

Fuck, it made his skin feel like it was itching, crawling all over, but he shrugged it off, focused on heading out and going out on his morning run. The cool air was nice against his skin, made him feel more human, but the run itself all went wrong.

Clearly, it had rained last night, and there was so much mud. It made it impossible to go on his normal route, mud making parts of the path inaccessible, so his normally thought-out routine was now changing all over, for some reason.

That itching feeling on his skin increased tenfold.

It was fine. Once he finished his run, he had a smoke to try and soothe his nerves, before going to the kitchen. A cup of tea, that would settle his nerves, and all would be well, right?

Nah. The fucking box was empty. Still left there, in the cupboard, like it was taunting him. Price must have finished it off, which would be fine normally, except now, another part of his schedule was thrown off.

Was it normal to feel truly angry about such a thing?

Well, he had no idea, but he was far from a normal person, so he didn’t let himself linger on the question much. Anger making his stomach twist, he grabbed the box and shoved it in the bin, so nobody else felt the same way as him.

As he was about to turn away, perhaps go to the shooting range to blow off some steam, a door was accidentally slammed open, and in stumbled Gaz and Johnny, deep in conversation already, loud in spite of how early it was. The sound of the door slamming was like a gunshot in Ghost’s mind, like back in Las Almas when Johnny had been shot in the shoulder, and then the conversation sounded like nothing more than static. He couldn’t discern a word.

Irritation turned, briefly, into anxiety, but he held his head high and stormed off. His footsteps were borderline silent, as usual, but there was something clearly off about his gait. Everything was wrong, today, and he wanted to tear his fucking skin off if that stupid itching continued. Seriously, he didn’t understand what it meant. Though he rubbed at his arms, it did nothing.

The lieutenant took in a steeling breath and settled for returning to his room, for now, to get some paperwork done. Whilst he was a decently reckless man, he knew that it probably wasn’t best for him to go shooting in this state, whatever this state even was.

Perhaps he was too optimistic, somehow, even for his usual pessimism, because, of course, today was the day of nothing going right. He sat in his chair, cracked his knuckles, grabbed a pen, and began to write. Nothing. An agitated huff escaped him, and he scribbled at the paper with the pen, trying to get it to start working – he could see in the sides that it still had ink in it, so why wasn’t it working?

Of course, because it just had to continue the horrors of today, the fucking pen spilled ink all over his paperwork. Why wouldn’t it? Why not? Trust Simon to see the negatives in everything, and yet somehow be unable to miss the obvious way to ruin his mood further.

His fists clenched uselessly, so tightly his nails dug into his palm, and the pen creaked in his grip like it was about to break. Good, he huffed to himself, taking some more steadying breaths before throwing the pen to his nearby bin. At least he had one thing going for him – his aim was impeccable, as usual. That anger faded only slightly when he heard it drop into the bin, but that itching feeling still hadn’t left him.

Simon had to do something about it, but it took him some minutes just sitting there to figure it out. His knees bounced up and down, hands clenching and unclenching, like the subtle sting in his palms would help him come to an answer first.

Then, as was his usual solution when it came to these things, a name popped to mind. Soap.

The two had been in whatever you would call it for a few months now, sparked after Graves was defeated. Any other could call it a relationship, partners, boyfriends, or whatever, but Simon didn’t do well with labels. Johnny was the guy he kissed, and shared his bed with, and trusted on a deeper level than any other. That’s all that mattered to him.

Honestly, he was working entirely on autopilot when he headed back to the kitchen, slightly disappointed when he saw that Johnny had left at some point, and only Price and Gaz remained. They nodded to him when they saw his presence, but he wasn’t there for conversation.

“Where’s Johnny?” He asked, voice low, that irritation of the day catching up to him without him even meaning to. Judging by the look that the duo shared, he looked positively like he was about to go and find the man just to murder him, but he allowed them to think that. It was easier that way.

“Went to his room to finish some paperwork,” Gaz spoke, hands raising in a mock surrender, which made Price nudge him with his elbow as if to chide him.

Simon only nodded at his words, spinning around and heading back where he came, to where the rooms were on base. The lieutenant might have been caught up in his own overwhelmed state, but he didn’t miss the mutterings of Price and Garrick as he left, wondering what the fuck Johnny did, and whether he’d return alive.

At least he knew they’d have privacy for a while, as an angry Ghost wasn’t one you often tried to intervene with.

His stride was swift, long steps, and though it only took about two minutes to reach the rooms, it felt like an eternity. He was so caught up in himself he didn’t even knock on the door, just opened it, so fast it slammed against the other wall and made him cringe. Shit, he didn’t mean to seem so aggressive, and the noise agitated him further, he just wanted to see Johnny as fast as he could.

The man in question startled, looking over, then his eyes softened when he spotted Simon. No matter how murderous he seemed, he wasn’t frightened of him, standing up to greet him.

That wasn’t what Simon wanted, though, and he quickly stepped over after shutting the door, plotting his movements as he did so. The chair was pushed back slightly, to give a little bit more space between it and the desk, and then he gently nudged Johnny back into his seat.

His head cocked to the side just so, figuring out if this was the position he wanted, and he settled for it being correct. Before he finished the final step of his plan, he kicked his shoes off, and then it commenced.

With the grace of a man who had been a trained killer most of his life, he folded himself into Johnny’s lap. His head settled on his shoulder, knees pulled up to press against the back of the chair, and he curved over the other man in a way that was probably painful, but it didn’t even register.

There was an all-consuming urge to be entirely surrounded by Johnny, and who was he to ignore it?

“Christ, Simon, you doing okay?” The Scot asked, surprise clear in his tone, and he gave an affirming hum in response. “Get back to work, Sergeant,” it was almost playful, the response, finding himself already soothed by the presence, that itching feeling in his skin beginning to dissipate bit by bit, instead replaced by the warmth of MacTavish.

“That can’t be comfortable for your back,” Johnny muttered, noting the way it curved to be able to sit on his lap, making up for the height difference. When he received no response, he let out a soft, huffed laugh, and returned to his work, because what else could he do?

Simon felt like he was on cloud nine. Every single stray from his usual routine was made worthwhile as he reveled in the feeling of being held. One arm had looped around his waist, whilst the other of Johnny’s was complying with his demand, he could hear the pen begin to scratch against the paper once more.

The final piece of the puzzle was achieved by burying his head into Soap’s neck, breathing in the familiar scent, before breathing out a contented sigh. The stresses dissipated from his body all in one, his own arms looping around the other’s back, holding him even closer, and he could genuinely feel the tension leave his body.

Fuck, it was perfect.

Everything left his brain, no thoughts in his mind, only the scratching of the pen against paper, and the occasional way Johnny shifted underneath him, or lightly rubbed his back. If Simon were to die right here, held in the other’s arms, he’d die a fucking happy man.

Once Simon was certain that the feeling of his skin crawling was gone, he lifted his head just slightly, tugged his mask off, and threw it lazily to the floor, before tucking himself right back in.

The gesture wasn’t lost on Johnny, as he could feel the arm around him grow tighter, as if more protective, and he felt like he was truly melting. Whilst everybody in the 141 had seen his face, he still consistently wore the mask, only taking it off either when on his own, or in rare circumstances around Johnny. It was like an extension of himself, a protective layer that helped him feel more human on days when it was too much. The slight pressure of it, too, was fucking delightful, most days, not providing too much sensory input, but just enough.

Now, though? The day had gone off to a horrible start, but he was so content here. It wasn’t always smooth sailing with Johnny, some days, Simon felt like every touch burned him. There were days when he and Soap couldn’t share the same bed, as the close contact of it all made him feel like he was two steps away from an anxiety attack. But for whatever reason, this was perfect. The best amount of pressure, being able to feel the other’s chest rise and fall underneath him soothed him beyond measure, and the familiar smell of him made it that much better.

When he let out a contented hum, he felt Johnny shift his head slightly, and press a kiss to his shoulder, mumbling out to him, “I’ve got you, Riley,” and really, saying things like that should be illegal. Here he was, effectively disrupting the other man’s day and inconveniencing him, and he had the gall to be so sweet?

It caused the same reaction he had to cute animals – he wanted to squeeze them, in a way that was almost painful. Cuteness aggression, he’d heard it described as.

Yeah, that seemed about right.

For about half an hour, Simon didn’t even make an attempt to move, and he let his mind go thoughtless, just loving the moment, focusing on the small sounds of his breathing, and the rustle of paper and scratch of the pen.

Finally, he began to feel more like a human once more, though he strayed for a few minutes longer to ensure that the feeling of his skin crawling wouldn’t return, before he finally began to push himself to a stand.

Johnny looked at him, inquisitive eyes scanning over his features in a way that he knew meant he was checking he was okay, so he returned it with a hum.

Feeling bold, he leaned down – feeling his back twinge slightly, and, yeah, that definitely hadn’t been good for his back – and pressed a kiss to his forehead. It was one of his favourite places to kiss him, because it didn’t take much to bridge the distance between them, and it gave Soap a delighted little smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and light up, and it made him look stunning.

“Going to my room, Johnny,” he announced, ignoring the baffled expression that began to form across the Sergeant’s features. Instead, he straightened, plucked the pen from Johnny’s hands (because he knew it worked, and he wasn’t willing to risk it again), grabbed his mask from the floor, and headed to the door.

He paused, just before opening it, and turned, a glint in those blue eyes of his. “Meet me there later, eh?” The beginnings of a smug smirk began to quirk his lips when he heard the other begin to question his words, slipping his mask on once more and stepping out of the room, refusing to answer anything.

As he made his way back to his own room once more, the corridor felt nowhere near as imposing as it had in the morning, nor did he feel any sort of discomfort. His skin was delightfully not itchy, and all, for a time, was right in the world. If he’d known surrounding himself with Soap had been the way to fix this, he would’ve been doing that a long time ago. For now, he reveled in the feeling of calmness, entering his room with a happy hum.

And, finally, when he settled down to do his paperwork once more, the pen worked perfectly. Perhaps the day was salvageable, after all.

[popcaki]

Simon ''Ghost'' Riley

He's an artist

he's also autistic and he secretly likes pink he also designed his own tattoo

can buy stuff of him on my Redbubble <3 https://www.redbubble.com/shop/ap/165256792

edit: yeah that's Soap and Rudy edit 2: Please do not use my art for A i or use it as a profile picture for a chatbot

[milkydough]

Alex likes Farah

[forestshadow-wolf]

Soap stimming by repeatedly clicking his pen over and over because he's understimulated

And ghost who's about to smack the shit outta him because he's overstimulated

[callofdudes]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Autistic Reader headcanons.

A/N: I myself am not autistic but I do know a fair bit about it. So I figured I'd write headcanons before writing a fic just to dip my toes in and see if I can get it right.

I know that autism can present a bit differently for some things across different people. Please feel free to let me know if something in this list is not correct. ❤️

Ghost would be lying if he said he didn't give you extra special treatment apart from his other teammates. And it's well justified. Simon knows not to compare you to a child but he also knows that you need things the others don't.

Simon has picked up on subtle signs throughout the months working with you. How sometimes when things didn't go according to plan on base it would leave you more stressed out than it should have. Sometimes if your food wasn't what you had expected it to be, he'd notice how you'd react.

He eventually consulted your file before making any decisions. That's how he'd found out you are autistic.

Simon knew someone who was autistic, so he made sure to keep his eye close on you.

He noticed each little shift. How you would stim with your clothing or your hair, too embarrassed to carry a fidget toy around base. But that didn't matter to Simon. He made sure to take care of everything. He bought some fidget toys small enough to fit in his jacket and when in meetings or just sitting around, he'd pull a toy like magic from his pocket and hand it over.

You'd been incredibly grateful the first few times, and then it just became routine that Simon would carry around the toys for you and have one on hand whenever you needed.

He also noticed which ones you liked, and didn't like. Some you would hand back because they didn't feel right on your fingers. Others clicked and slid in a way you didn't quite like, and he kept a tab of that. He compared fidget toys you did like to similar ones and was very precise every time he got you a new one.

He made sure that in every environment he was nearby. How you'd react to the lights, different sounds. How you'd react when it got to loud and crowded or too quiet. What noises bugged you and what calmed you.

When on missions, Simon made sure to talk you through each step. He thought his voice would help you to face the unexpected. Telling you where to go and exactly what to do, ready to face any situation.

"Take a deep breath y/n, you're doing great. Two Shadows on your left, you can take them out from where you are without being spotted"

Your level of empathy and emotional awareness was also something he had to take into account. You could sensitive to anger. You could feel a great deal of empathy and almost take on the burden of It being your fault even if you had nothing to do with it. Because of this, Simon made sure that you were aware his anger was never on you.

"Simon? Did I do something wrong? You looked really upset when you looked at me earlier and I just thought that maybe-"

Simon places his hand on your shoulder. "No no, just had a rough morning. You did absolutely nothing wrong. Got it?"

Simon has also become much more aware of how he teases you. You were emotionally aware to the point that you very clearly understood Simon would joke about being hurt, or would make fun of you and it was all jokes. He understood that you understood how his emotions worked as well.

But there was the occasional time where Simon would pretend to be hurt by your words and you'd have genuine regret. It doesn't happen as often as he would have thought, but when it does, he's right there to reassure you he is completely fine.

Simon actually gets more upset than you do when people call you a child wrapped up in an adults body with a nice little bow on top. Of course you have your traits but Simon has seen your hobbies and interests. You're no super genius but you are more than a child. You just have a different trajectory point on life's train tracks. And Simon makes sure to remind anyone he doesn't think is being respectful of you as a person.

Nightmares can affect you more harshly because of your emotional investment with things and the people around you.

The first time Simon saw you become overstimulated he was a little scared he'll be honest. He panicked a little bit. But now he knows exactly what to do. At first he tried to comfort you, allowing you to be swallowed up in his embrace, he crushed you tightly in his arms and smoothed his hands over your muscles. It would sometimes take a while for you to come down from your high, but he was there for every moment.

When he becomes a bit better at knowing how to handle a situation when you get over stimulated the process is smoother. Simon will notice how you can completely shut down. Sometimes it's near a meltdown with tears flowing everywhere. And other times you just disconnect. You don't move, don't speak, completely distant. Simon approaches you gently and picks you up in his arms.

"This ok?" He whispers near your ear as to not startle you. You cling to him tightly, burying your head in his neck. "Alright, come on, you've had a long day."

He rubs your back and brings you to your room. If you're away from base he just finds a separate room that is quiet. Anywhere he can go to separate the noise and bustling energy from you. If you're in your room he'll lay you down and just get you to relax.

Tears flow down your cheeks, hands still clasping the material of Simon's hoodie. Simon gently rubs your collar and down over your shoulders. He presses on different parts of your arms until you relax. "Take a deep breath. Take a deep breath." Simon breathes in deeply, prompting you to mimick. He wipes the tears from your cheeks and fetches your heavier blanket from the end of the bed. "See? You're ok."

He grabs your fidget from your desk and place it in your hand, or sometimes he'll lean over you and allow you to play with his sweater.

He talks softly and calmly, he does know kinder and softer words of reassurance help.

Sometimes all you want to do is hug Simon under the warmth of your weighted blanket, his arms wrapped around you like mountains compressing you from all angles.

And sometimes Simon will shut the door, lay you on your back and lay the weighted blanket just above the bend in the bottom of your spine. If you want a fidget toy he'll get you one to distract your hands while he runs soothing motions along your muscles, feeling them relax and contract. He plays white Noise in the background for you, or he'll give you his phone so you can watch soap cutting videos or other visually satisfying things.

"How are you doing?" He whispers near your ear, thumbs rubbing over your stomach and up around your back to cup your shoulder blades. "Look at it." You flip the phone to show a satisfying paint video. "Oh, that's a cool one isn't it?" You nod and go back to watching it.

Wherever Simon got so good at doing massages, you would not change it for the world. You've expressed before how nice they feel and how they calm you down. And Simon continues to do them.

Simon always makes sure that when you're over stimulated you have something to do with your hands. Again, if you want to play with his hoodie he'll stay with you so you can. If you want to run your hands through his hair, he's become comfortable enough to allow it.

"What are you doing up there?" He asks with a smile. You hum, combing your fingers through the short hair of his nape and up into the longer locks. "Soft." You express the feeling over your fingertips. "Yeah? I did shower." "I like your hair."

The occasional times you go nonverbal and are unsure how to express your needs, Simon will pull out a few toys and just crawl up next to you. He holds out his hoodie strings and comb his fingers through your hair.

He lays next to you, holding up one of the fidget toys. You gently take it and allow your fingers to move over it. Simon stays, fingers moving to drift through your scalp. You abandon the toy quicker than he expected and reach for his hoodie. "Oh you want this?" He smiles and moves closer so you can play with the strings of his hoodie.

Simon knows that you are incredibly passionate about what makes you happy. He often bugs you that you never shut up, but he knows you love it. One time when you both couldn't sleep early on the morning, Simon made you both tea and sat silently while you went on for nearly four hours about the lore of your favorite game/movie/TV show. He'd add little key points and poke out certain details, which would lead you down a detailed side rant before coming back to wrap everything up. The conversations would ring you dry of information. Simon would be lying if he said he didn't like it when you info dumped on him.

It was one of your ways you expressed your love. Sharing these things that made you so incredibly happy and Simon wanted to be a part of that.

Simon is still learning, and honestly he's very happy to learn. Sometimes he gets things right and sometimes he doesn't. But he is always here to make sure you get the care and provision you need. Whether it's taking a step back or a step in.

[starsofang]

simon riley x autistic!reader requested by anon! <3 tw: NSFW, smut, vaginal fingering, p in v, but all of it's really fluffy

a/n: was originally gonna make this request more of a headshot typa deal but ended up writing 2.7k of fluffy sex with Simon and autistic/virgin reader, so i hope you enjoy anon, and i'm so sorry for the long wait <3

Simon knew you like the back of his hand. He knew every little quirk, even the ones you weren’t even aware about.

He kept you afloat amongst an unpredictable sea that threatened to consume you and pull you down under. Your head could be its own raging storm, cracking with jolts of thunder that shook your state of mind, yet Simon was the gleam of sunshine poking through the clouds.

That’s how it had been up until this point. Your relationship was a sweet one, filled with fields of flowers and the buzz of bees. It was soft and supple, but lately, there’d been a brewing cloud looming over your colorful paradise,hiding away the rays of light your flowers needed in order to blossom.

Sex. It was the most complex form of intimacy in your mind, and it was why you’d avoided ever doing it like the plague. The turmoil that the mere thought of sex brought you was nerve wracking, nearly throwing you into overdrive.

Simon never asked for it. He seemed perfectly content with the way things were – staying up late to hear your enthusiastic passion that poured from your lips like his favorite bourbon, encouraging your interests with subtle gifts he’d give you when he’d happen to see it passing by, holding you when your mind wasn’t a whirlpool of spitfire that threatened to lash out at you.

He never asked, nor did he seem keen on asking. And that was the issue.

You were curious.

Simon had allowed you to positively be you in all forms. He didn’t define you by your autism, it was simply a chapter in the book about you, while the rest of your story was much more special in his eyes. It wasn’t a setback, nor was it a concern – it was there, and meant to stay.

No matter how supportive he was towards your individuality and your comfort, it didn’t settle the unease of wanting to take the next step, but not knowing how to ask for it.

It festered your mind like a flu until it began to worsen into a burning fever. You kept it bottled up, the feeling of keeping it locked away making your body feel as if it were going to combust.

It didn’t take Simon long to notice. Of course it didn’t. Like said previously, he knew you better than you knew yourself.

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours, sweetheart?” he asked you when he finally had the chance to sit you down in his room.

The curtains were shut to keep the light out, knowing they irritated you and too much brightness made your eyes squint to the point of an ache. It was quiet apart from the subtle background noise of his TV, plastered with a show you enjoyed watching on nights alone with him. Bits of you were neatly placed around the room, like your journal placed on his desk with your favorite pen carefully set on top of it, or your clothes folded in a tidy pile on one of his shelves he had reserved for you.

“Nothing,” you responded, though Simon knew you enough to detect the lie, even from just one small word.

“You know you can’t hold it in, so talk to me,” he urged, taking a seat next to you from where you sat on the edge of his bed with your hands in your lap. You were picking at the skin around your nails, and like he’d always done, he picked them up into his own hands, soothing his thumbs along the back.

You blinked at him, mouth remaining shut. But the fever was becoming unbearable in your head, scorching you from the insides. You knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid asking him any longer.

“Why don’t we have sex?” you asked, blunt and to the point. His eyebrows raised from beneath his mask, one that he had yet to take off during your relationship. You never pushed since he never pushed you. Both of you had your own oddities, and for him, the mask was it.

“I didn’t think you wanted to,” he confessed, tone remaining calm and soft as he continued to encourage you to speak your mind. “I didn’t want to ask you, sweetheart.”

“Oh.”

You don’t know why you found yourself frowning, but you did, feeling a bit stumped from his answer. He had a point. You’d made no indications on wanting to be more intimate, and Simon’s only ever considered you in your best interest.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to,” he rushed to say. “I meant – do you want to?”

You did. The longer you found yourself thinking about it, the more you grew a need to try it. You trusted Simon entirely.

“I’ve never done it.” You felt embarrassed, though unsure why. This was Simon, after all.

“That’s okay,” he assured, giving your hands a squeeze. “Then we don’t have to, yeah?”

“But I want to,” you protested, frowning at him. He huffed out a quiet laugh, fiddling with one of your fingers affectionately.

“That’s okay, too.”

“Is it?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know, because I won’t be good, and I’m scared it’ll be too much, then I’ll ruin it by getting overwhelmed, and–”

“Hey,” Simon called out, lifting one of his hands off of yours to cradle your face. You sucked in a breath, exhausted from the rushed flow of panicked words that spilled out, allowing yourself to breathe. “We’ll take it slow, yeah? We’ll do everything at your pace, and the moment you say stop, we stop, no questions asked. I won’t be upset with you, sweetheart, and you certainly wouldn’t ruin it.”

You stared at him while he stared back at you, eyes filled with fondness and love that was only ever reserved for you. They were understanding, assuring, like deep pools of serenity you could float in forever.

“Promise?” you asked, and he laughed again.

“Promise.”

Simon continued to stare at you for a long moment, taking you in, before his hand lifted the bottom of his mask and tugged it over his head, showcasing the entirety of the very man who’d given his all to you. Since it would be your first time making a new step in your relationship, he figured he’d do the same by completely stripping himself of the very thing he wore to hide away.

Rugged and scarred, but beautiful, and you admired it until you surged forward to initiate the first move, like he’d always waited for you to do. He melted into you, cradling your face with tender emotion, pulling you in and calming the nasty sea that flooded your being.

Simon knew exactly how to make you feel safe, while also enjoying yourself. This wasn’t about him, it was about you, and he was absolutely determined to ensure that your first time was comfortable.

He covered the bed in your favorite blanket he kept just for you, soft and fuzzy, much more comfortable than the cotton sheet that always felt a bit too scratchy, even on his own skin. He laid it out for you, encouraging you to take your place.

His fingers were careful as they undressed you, and with every fabric he pulled off of your body, he took off of his own so the state of nudity was matched and you didn’t feel too exposed in comparison to him. He spoke to you with coated sweetness, telling you how proud he was that you told him of your needs, how honored he was that you trusted him to be the one to take you.

Simon took his time. He made no rush or fervent motion, and he allowed you the time to gather yourself if his hands became too much when they mapped out every inch of your skin. Soft and soothing, thumbs brushing along your hips as he waited patiently for you to assure him to continue.

When you were fully exposed to him, he smiled at you fondly, eyes lighting with nothing short of love. He was seeing you for everything you were now, and though for brief moments it was overwhelming to you, he was quick to wash the burden of it away with gentle guides of his hands.

The first finger was uncomfortable, even if he remained careful and slow when prodding you. Your face had mushed up into one of discomfort, and his eyes never left sight of you so he could watch for any indication that it was too much.

You, on the other hand, were both on a cloud of praise from the way he handled you so cautiously, while also free falling from the sky in anxious turmoil. The TV was echoing in your mind, the sounds of chatter causing you to lose focus. Combined with the intimate touches he filled your body with, it was already starting to become too much. You just didn’t know how to express it.

“Hey,” Simon called out to you, easing his finger out of you and instead placing his hand on your hip. “Tell me. What is it? Do you want to stop?”

“No.” You shook your head, letting out an exhale you were holding. “No, just– can you turn off the TV? I can’t– I can’t focus.”

Simon smiled warmly at you, moving without hesitation to shut the television off. The room was quiet now, and you breathed a sigh of relief, your mind finally calming.

“Better?” he asked, and you nodded. “Do you want me to continue, sweetheart?”

“Yes, please.”

Simon gave your hip a comforting squeeze before resuming his previous notions, sliding the pad of his finger along your slit before easing back inside once again. It was only when Simon was sure you could take it that he pressed in a second one, keeping his pace slow and controlled.

Discomfort was turning into pleasure, the feeling so new to you, so foreign. It wasn’t as overstimulating as you thought it would be thus far, but you had Simon there to assure it wouldn’t be.

The feeling of his fingers moving at a steady rhythm, back and forth with the occasional curl of the pads pressing up against your gummy walls, quickly spiraled into something good, something you didn’t hate.

Simon watched you the entire time, and when you gathered the courage to open your eyes and look at him, his smile nearly knocked the air out of your lungs.

“You’re doin’ good, sweetheart,” he praised, and a whimper left your mouth, causing you to squirm shamefully. “No, hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to be quiet around me, you know that, don’t you? Love hearin’ you, always love hearin’ your voice.”

His words caused your breath to quicken at the same time his fingers did, a spark of piping desire and need erupting inside of you, like lava spilling out of a volcano. It filled you to the brim, threatening to explode.

“That’s it, sweet girl. There you go,” he cooed, further urging you to let out any noises you had been holding back.

Before you could revel in the newfound fulfillment, his fingers slipped out of you, leaving you to whine at the loss. He smiled softly at your pout, lifting his clean hand to smoothen the furrow in your brow.

“I want to be inside you when you cum for the first time,” he explained, and you scrunched your nose up at his choice of words. They were unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, and clearly he found it amusing, judging from the snort that exhaled through his nose. “You tell me if it gets too much. Promise.”

You released a shaky breath, peering up at him from where he hovered over you, his hand tracing the lines on your face.

“I promise.”

That was all he needed to line himself up with you, gently easing the tip of him inside. It was an uncomfortable stretch, one that had you whimpering in disturbance. Simon shushed you, cradling his hand over your cheek and placing a warm kiss on your nose.

“I know, sweetheart. Tell me to stop. I will.”

You shook your head in protest despite the clear fluster of your emotions. He could see the inner workings of your mind driving themselves into exhaustion, so he grabbed one of your hands that were fisting the tufts of your blanket in a death grip, gently guiding it to the span of his bare shoulder.

“Dig your nails in if you have to, pretty girl. I don’t mind, hm?”

He knew when you were stimulated, you needed something to grasp and claim as yours. It was the reason you picked at your fingers the way you did, or gnawed on your lip until it was bloodied and raw. Now, he was encouraging you to release that tension, but at his own expense instead. He wanted you to express yourself comfortably.

You did as he said the more he pressed into you. Your nails created sharp indents into his scarred skin, threatening to break and pierce into him. His face showed no discomfort of his own from the sting, instead focused on your own, eyes gazing into yours the entirety of him sheathing himself fully.

Every time your face twitched, he leaned down to kiss it, showering you with his encouragement and pride for you.

When his hips were flush with yours, he stayed still, giving you all the time you needed to adjust.

Your entire body was more full than ever before, and you began to take in that feeling. It was like the world came to a stop and was waiting for your return, remaining patient and kind while you gave in to the fresh feeling of intimacy to its fullest.

“Still good, sweetheart?” he asked, and his voice brushed all the worries away.

“Mhm.”

“Doin’ amazing, sweet girl. M��gonna move now, okay?”

Another nod and he began to guide his hips back, dragging along the inside of your walls before promptly pressing back forward. It left your mind in a frenzy, and the only thing you could do was blink up at him and gasp every time he pushed and pulled in a game of tug of war.

Simon smothered you in affection while he continued to thrust into you, pressing along the spongy spot in your core that had your mind blanking. The blanket beneath you was soft against your skin, and you squirmed against it cozily whenever his thrusts had your body slightly shifting every time his hips slapped into yours, thankful he knew you well enough that he recognized what you needed to feel content.

Pleasure wracked your body, becoming overwhelming hot under the flesh of your skin. It flushed you a sheen a pink, layering you were evidence of your enjoyment, and he pressed daft kisses against the warmth.

The chord was unraveling, and the more it threatened to snap, the more Simon whispered you praises.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Doin’ so well, it feels good, yeah? You can let go, you can do it.”

With a loud cry, you did, the thin chord breaking in half and snapping, leaving you to burn with unfamiliar euphoria that took over every part of your bloodstream. It warmed you from the inside and out, and when you came down from it, Simon had pulled out, finishing himself off into his hand. When you gave him a confused and rather ruffled look, he smiled.

“Don’t think you’ll like the feelin', sweetheart,” he noted.

You laid there with an overwhelming flood of satisfaction when he went to clean himself up. When he returned, he had a warm washcloth that he used to carefully clean you up as well, knowing that if the wet, sticky feeling lingered, you’d grow agitated and uncomfortable.

Simon wrapped you up in his arms when all was said and done, making sure to brush away the stray hairs that tickled your forehead and instead tucking them behind your ears. Your mind was on mute, the consistent buzz that always lingered settling into nothingness. Simon tucked you into him, swaddling you with the fuzzy blanket and tugging it up over your ears just the way you liked, before pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead and softly playing with your hair until you were consumed by your own sleepiness.