By Far My Fave Comfort Fic!!❤️❤️❤️

What the Top Gun guys would be like in the kitchen

My first headcanons! I decided to keep the x reader bit out for now, but I might put some Top Gun guys x reader headcanons up later. These were really fun to write, so I hope you enjoy!

(Let me know if you want me to write a fic with these in!)

Warnings: Mention of fires, possibly a bit OOC for Goose and young Mav

Maverick

If it's young Mav, he'll be pretty bad at cooking

I mean, he can probably heat up a tin of soup or some baked beans (do they have those in America?), but don't trust him with anything else

I can imagine him and Goose trying to bake something (think basic cake mix), and next thing you know, the fire brigade's at the door

If it's older Mav, he'll able to cook some basic things, stuff like pasta, scrambled eggs, and so on

If he does attempt baking, though, it won't be very good

Maybe it's not quite bad enough to cause a fire, but he'll probably have mixed the ingredients wrong or something, or he'll forget to grease the baking tin

Tbh it doesn't taste bad, but it probably has a weird texture or something, and will most definitely not be aesthetically pleasing

But he's so pleased with himself that he's managed to bake something without setting the kitchen on fire that nobody really wants to burst his bubble

Goose

Is a TERRIBLE cook

He would find a way to literally burn a salad

Carole had to ban him and Mav from the kitchen

Like, she loves him, but she doesn't love having to call the fire brigade every single time Goose and Mav decide to try cooking (again)

Goose thinks it's hilarious whenever he and Mav mess up - until Carole makes him and Mav scrub all the charred food out of the pans (and buy her some new ones)

She arranges to go to McDonald's with Bradley if she knows Mav and Goose are cooking that night

They'd try to teach Bradley, but Carole's not having any of it

"Hey, Bradley, want to find out how you can-" "NICK!"

Bob

I feel like Bob would probably be the best cook out of them all

But it's like a hidden talent

It's probably Phoenix who finds out

Bob is not happy at first

For one thing, he's now got to bring all the food to every. single. party

But once Phoenix manages to persuade him and makes the other guys pay for the ingredients, he'll do it

And he loves it when people compliment his food, although it makes him blush a lot

But he won't let Mav, Hangman, or any of the other bad cooks near his kitchen

He probably uses a different pan for everything (think omelette pan, milk pan, etc.)

He's probably really, really cautious about getting burned

Like if he's frying something, he will probably wear full-on oven gloves

And if he does get burned, even just a little bit, he will hold it under cold water for at least half an hour before wrapping his hand firmly in ice, and continuing to cook

That's probably why he hates being distracted while cooking

He also hates when people mess with his cooking, even if it's just giving something a little stir

Or adding some spices into a sauce he spent ages getting just right

That's one of the few times when he gets really angry

People messing up his system will turn him into a rage monster

This guy has a system for everything in the kitchen, and if you mess with it, even once, out you go

Once Hangman made the plate stack top-heavy while drying the dishes, and now he's not allowed near the cupboards

Then he messed up Bob's pans, and Bob kicked him out of the kitchen

But it's just because he loves cooking so much, and he wants everything to be perfect

And it's all worth it in the end, because his food is really delicious

Hangman

I feel like he's a barbecue guy

Like, this guy loves barbecues

In any type of weather

He would probably get the barbecue out in the middle of winter if Rooster hadn't locked it in the shed (and thrown away hidden the key)

He's also good at frying stuff (even though he drives Bob crazy by using the omelette pan to fry everything (Bob was about ready to throw a rolling pin at his head the last time that happened))

When he's not got the barbecue out, he'll fry literally anything in sight

Literally anything

He also likes deep-fried stuff (but will just get the fast food anyway because he's too lazy to set everything up)

But anything else?

NO.

Do not even let him near the tinned stuff, or you will come back to find the smoke alarm blaring, and a charred, blackened mess (probably in Bob's favourite non-stick pan)

He's also pretty bad at baking (about young Mav level)

Bob despairs of ever getting him to stop messing up the pans, so he simply won't allow Jake into the kitchens anymore

So Jake has to sneak in, make his food, and sneak out again

But Bob always catches him, mostly because Jake's cooking always smells very strongly of barbecue sauce

Rooster's already chased him out several times

Rooster

I think he'd be a pretty decent cook, better than Mav, but maybe not on Bob's level

He probably learned it from his mum

And fortunately, by the time he was old enough to learn, Mav was already banned from the kitchen

He can do most things - fry, heat up tinned stuff, etc.

He's a pretty decent baker, too

Obviously he's not on Bob's level, like I said, but he's good enough that Bob will allow him into the kitchen

He respects Bob's ordered kitchen (and secretly wishes he was that organised)

He'll stand guard outside the kitchen (with a rolling pin) whenever Bob is cooking, and doesn't want to be disturbed

He's chased Hangman out a couple of times (and probably Mav some of the other bad cooks, too)

As always, I do not give permission for anyone to copy my work, post it elsewhere, etc.

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

reblog if you’re okay with people writing fanfics of your fanfics and/or fanfics inspired by your fanfics

Maybe Things Are Looking Up

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Shy!Autistic!Fem!Reader

Summary: Your friend sets you up on yet another blind date, much to your annoyance.

Warnings/tags: Soft Bradley, age gap (reader is in their 20s), mentions of autism, implied sensory issues, Bradley being an absolute sweetheart, one implication of sex (blink and you miss it), mention of crying, lots of fluff, a bit of angst, implied low self-esteem (I think?), super self-indulgent, mentions of throwing up, mention of injuries (nobody gets hurt), one mention of dieting

A/N: I feel like I'm having way too much fun writing for soft Bradley. (Sorry, the writing's probably kind of clunky.)

***************************************************

A knock on the door makes you nearly jump out of your skin.

He's here.

Your heart is pounding as you take one last look in the mirror. You can't say you're impressed with what you see, but at least you look presentable.

It's very difficult to not trip as you rush down the stairs, already regretting wearing heels. They're very uncomfortable, and your balance isn't the best, so you normally opt for flats, but you want to make a decent impression.

For a moment, you consider hiding, saying you're sick, allowing yourself to break your ankle on these ridiculous heels.

Anything but go on this date.

Why, oh, why did Callie have to set me up with one of her pilot friends? you wonder, as you fumble around for your keys. Why does she even feel the need to set me up at all? I've told her time and time again that I'm resigned to the fact that I will be single for most of my adult life.

It takes you much longer than normal to unlock the door, mainly because your hands are shaking so badly that you can barely get the key in.

But once the door's finally open, you stare in shock at the man before you.

After all, it's not every day you see a guy with an 80s mustache, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and aviator sunglasses at your front door.

He should look absolutely ridiculous.

But he doesn't. Quite the opposite, in fact. He's very, very attractive. Unfairly so, you think.

Especially considering you're suddenly acutely aware that the colour on your dress doesn't really suit you, and neither does the style. You knew it didn't suit you when you picked it out, but you just pulled it on anyway in an act of rebellion, mainly because you didn't want to make a good impression.

Something you're sorely regretting, especially because you now feel extremely unattractive.

"Hey," he says. "Y/N, right?"

You nod, your mouth suddenly too dry to speak.

He holds out a hand. "I'm Bradley."

Why's he holding his hand out? You take it anyway, forcing a smile.

"You ready?" Bradley asks.

You nod.

He's surprisingly courteous, letting you hold onto his arm as he walks you to his car, and helping you in before getting in the other side.

"So, any ideas where you'd like to go?" he asks.

Oh, no. Your chest clenches with fear, and you shake your head, hoping you're not doing it too vigorously.

"How about the restaurant near the bar?" he suggests. "I've never been there, but I heard it's a nice place."

You nod, desperately hoping that he won't get mad at you for not speaking.

The rest of the drive is silent.

After he's parked the car, he turns to you. "These doors are a little tricky when you're not used to them. I'll get yours for you."

"Okay," you whisper. It's the first thing you've said all evening.

Once Bradley's helped you out, and locked the car, he offers you his arm.

"The restaurant's usually a little busy this time of day," he explains. "Callie'd never forgive me if I lost you on our first date."

You just nod as you take his arm, feeling more and more shy by the minute. You can tell that Bradley's trying to put you at ease, but you've already worked yourself up so much that you don't even know if it's possible for you to calm down.

***************************************************

Fortunately, you're seated very quickly. You have a feeling that it might have something to do with Bradley being so familiar with the staff, but you brush it off. He's probably just a friendly person.

Still, you're not complaining about being off your feet. Those heels were definitely a mistake.

"Do you want a menu, Y/N?" asks Bradley.

You almost jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice, and then nod, your face burning.

"Here." His hand brushes yours as he hands you one.

You manage a small smile as you take it.

You're not very hopeful as you read down the menu. While they look nice, none of the main courses sounds like something you'd eat. Normally, if you were out with a friend or your family, and you ran into a situation like this, you'd order off the children's menu, but you're too scared to here, in case Bradley thinks you're weird, or makes fun of you for it.

"So, what are you thinking?" asks Bradley.

You look up, wishing your throat wouldn't clench so. Hoping he won't think you're rude, you show him what you're ordering. Fortunately, some of the sides look okay, so you've decided to order a couple of them in lieu of a main.

"You sure that's all you want?" he asks. "You don't want a main?"

You nod.

Bradley leans forward, lowering his voice. "You know, if there's nothing you like, we can just go to another restaurant."

You shake your head. Tears begin pricking at your eyes as you try to find the words to explain, almost wishing he'd just snap at you. For some reason, his kindness is making you feel much worse than if he got annoyed, or yelled at you.

It takes some time, but you manage to push past the barrier between your brain and vocal cords. "It's - it's not that I don't like anything, I just - I'd prefer to order off the children's menu. It's just - more familiar territory."

"Hey, that's okay," says Bradley gently. "Was that all you were worried about?"

Not exactly. But you nod anyway.

"I don't mind you ordering off the kids' menu, and I'm not gonna make fun of you for it, okay? I just want to make sure you have a good time."

You manage a small smile. "That's - very kind of you."

Bradley smiles. "It's nothing."

As the server comes over to take your order, your nerves suddenly increase tenfold. You've always hated having to speak to order, but you've never really felt comfortable typing an order out and just showing it to the server, either.

"Hi, can I take your order?"

You don't even hear Bradley tell the server his order, because you're trying to plan out what you're going to say - and try and stir up the courage to actually say it.

Then you feel a hand on your arm, and your face burns as you realise that you haven't even acknowledged the server, and have in fact been staring into space for some time.

"Do you want me to order for you?" Bradley's voice is very soft, whether to try and calm you, or to save you from any more embarrassment, you're not quite sure.

You nod, feeling horribly guilty at ignoring the server, but not really knowing what to say.

But you do apologise to Bradley once the server's gone. "Sorry. I didn't mean to - sorry…"

"It's okay." Bradley's voice is still very soft. "You're nervous, I get it. You don't have to be sorry."

"But I embarrassed you."

Bradley shakes his head. "You didn't. And even if you had, I promise you I've been in worse situations."

"Like what?" You regret the words the second they come out of your mouth. Don't ask him about embarrassing situations, you idiot!

But, judging by the grin on his face, Bradley doesn't seem to mind.

"Well, there was this one time at The Hard Deck…"

At first, you're not really listening, mostly because you're still trying to shake off your embarrassment, but you soon get drawn in to the story, and by the time Bradley finishes, you're feeling much more at ease.

"Okay, here are your meals."

You feel yet another stab of fear. What if I make a mess? What if the texture of the food makes me throw up everywhere?

But you manage a small smile as the server hands you your meal.

You're both silent as you eat, you because you're trying not to spill everywhere, and Bradley - well, you're not really sure. Maybe he's not the type to talk while eating.

But then why did he suggest a restaurant for our date?

Fortunately, Bradley seems to understand that you're nervous, and doesn't push you to speak too much. You do notice him glancing at you several times, and you feel guilty for not being more chatty, but it feels like there's a massive barrier between your brain and your vocal cords, one that you just can't face pushing through.

"How's your dinner?" he asks.

You look up. "It's good, I guess."

He raises his eyebrows. "You sure?"

You nod. "Um - how's yours?"

He smiles. "It's good. What're you thinking for dessert?"

Oh, no.

It's not that you don't like sweet things. Or that you're dieting. You just don't want to risk making yet another mess. You've already dropped some food onto the floor, and you only just managed to fight your gag reflex when you accidentally chewed a piece of food too long.

"Um, I'm kind of full."

"Yeah, me too. They're pretty generous with the portions here." He must have noticed that you're feeling uncomfortable, because he adds softly, "Do you want to leave?"

You nod.

"Okay."

After he's signalled to the server that you're ready to pay, Bradley tells you that he's going to pay.

You don't feel entirely comfortable with him paying the entire bill, but before you can protest, he's already paid.

You wobble as you stand up, and Bradley hastily takes hold of your arm before you can fall.

"I'm never wearing heels again," you mumble.

He just smiles. "You're not used to them, I take it?"

You shake your head. "I don't really go out much. In fancy stuff, I mean." Or at all.

Just like on the way there, you're silent on the way back.

You've got a horrible feeling that you messed up, and now Bradley's angry with you. What if he wanted dessert? What if he wanted to stay longer? What if-

Before you know it, Bradley's pulling up outside your house.

"I'll get your door for you," he tells you.

As Bradley goes to get out of the car, you stop him.

"Um - look, I'm sorry I wasn't very chatty this evening. I just - sorry…"

"That's okay," he replies. "It's not your fault for being shy."

You shake your head. "I'm not just shy. I'm - look, I know I've been difficult pretty much the entire evening. And - I wish I could do something about it, but I can't, and-"

"Hey, what's all this about?" Bradley looks genuinely puzzled. "You weren't difficult."

"I was."

"How?"

You feel tears welling up, and you desperately try to force them back. "I didn't talk for most of the evening, I was messy with my food, and I was rude to a server. And now I've ruined your evening. I'm - I'm sorry."

Bradley doesn't reply immediately, and for one horrible moment, you wonder if he's angry with you.

You don't even realise you're picking at your hands, until Bradley takes your hands in his.

"Y/N," he begins softly. "You don't have to look at me, but please hear me out. You were not being difficult. That incident with the server was not your fault. If anything, it's on me. I should've made sure you were ready to order before the server came over."

You feel a couple of tears roll down your cheeks, whether from relief or something else, you're not really sure.

Bradley gently brushes them away. "I know you didn't talk much, but - I don't mind that. I know not everybody's a talker, and I'm fine with you using other ways to communicate if that makes you feel more comfortable. And I certainly don't mind if you're a messy eater. You don't have to look perfect, okay?"

You suddenly feel light, like a heavy weight's just been lifted off your shoulders. He's not mad?

"But it can't have been a fun evening for you."

Bradley's eyebrows pinch together. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know, I just-" You pause, taking a breath. "I just - I feel like I have this bad effect on people - like I just jinx a night out and make it awkward and horrible when it doesn't have to be, because I'm just so socially inept."

"Oh, sweetheart. How often do you feel like that?"

You hang your head, trying hard to hide your tears. "Every day."

"I'm sorry. It must be hard."

You nod, almost wishing he wouldn't be so nice about it. It's hard enough trying to keep yourself together around people who don't really care, but it's nearly impossible around someone who does.

"Do you ever feel like that with Callie?" asks Bradley.

You shake your head. "She's the exception. We've known each other all our lives, so…"

"That's good."

You're both silent for a while. Bradley's started gently tracing patterns on your hands, which you're actually enjoying the feeling of.

"You know," he says, "tonight wasn't too bad."

"You think so?"

He smiles. "Yeah. I enjoyed your company. If it's okay with you, I'd like us to meet up again some time."

"For a date?"

"Only if you're comfortable with that."

You manage a small smile. "Okay. I - I'd like that. But - can we not do it in public?"

"Of course." Bradley gives your hand a gentle squeeze. "If that's going to make you feel more comfortable, then I'm fine with it."

You nod. "Thanks. You're - you're very kind."

"I try." He goes to open his door, but then stops. "You okay walking in those?"

That's when you suddenly remember you're wearing heels. Blushing, you shake your head. "I'll probably fall over."

"You want me to carry you?"

You shake your head again. "I'll just take them off."

He frowns. "I noticed some broken glass on the ground earlier. I don't want you stepping on it and hurting yourself."

Despite yourself, you giggle. "I guess you'll have to carry me, then." Not that I'm complaining.

Bradley just smiles and pats your arm, before getting out. "I'll get your door for you."

While he's going around the car to open your door, you arrange your handbag in your lap so that you'll be able to reach your keys easily. You haven't been carried in a long time, so you're a little nervous about how it might feel.

Bradley must have noticed that you're nervous, because he's very gentle as he lifts you, and makes sure you're completely comfortable before he starts walking. You're surprised at how easily he carries you, like you weigh nothing - and how safe you feel in his arms.

He doesn't seem to want to let you go. Even once he's right outside your front door, he still doesn't set you down.

"Um - I should be okay from here," you begin, rather nervously.

"I know," says Bradley. "But I was actually thinking it might be safer if I get you settled on your sofa, so you can get those shoes off, before you start walking. I don't have to if you're not comfortable with me being in your house, though."

That actually makes sense. "No, that's - that's fine."

It only seems to take a few seconds before Bradley has you in your house, and settled on the sofa. You take your shoes off with a sigh of relief.

"I am never wearing heels again."

Bradley chuckles. "You really hate those shoes, huh?"

You smile. "I guess so. I would get rid of them, but someone bought them for me, so it just wouldn't feel right to give them away, you know?"

"Yeah. I get that."

You stand up. "Um - Bradley?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For being so kind."

He shakes his head. "It's nothing. I'm just glad you had a good time."

You nod, suddenly feeling rather shy. "Yeah. Um - see you."

Bradley smiles. "See you around."

Once he's gone, and you've locked the door, you go upstairs, and collapse on your bed with a sigh.

Can I be bothered to change into my pajamas?

You're replied by the seam digging into your back. Yes, I can.

***************************************************

Once you're back in bed, you curl up, preparing to do some scrolling. It's been a long day, and you need some headspace.

It's a relief to be back in your normal clothes once again. That dress was not very comfortable.

Your phone buzzes.

It's a message from Callie.

You home yet?

You type a reply. Yes.

How'd it go?

You pause, thinking out an answer. Was okay. Bradley was really nice. He offered to take me out again.

Take him up on it.

I already did.

Good. You know, I thought you'd get on well. He's a bit more mature than the guys our age.

You frown. How old is he?

He's in his thirties, I think.

Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest. Thirties?! Callie! Why didn't you tell me?

I did.

I didn't see it.

You hastily scroll back through your messages.

Oh, nevermind. You did. Sorry.

Told you. And he's not ancient, Y/N. He's in his early thirties.

But - his thirties! I'm practically a kid compared to him!

You're not. I'm the same age as you, I'm friends with him, and you're more mature than me.

I guess we are both adults. But still… Did you tell him?

Tell him what?

That I'm younger than him.

Of course. And he's a good guy, Y/N. He'd have never asked you out on a second date if he wasn't comfortable with the age gap.

You breathe a sigh of relief. Good to know. Oh, we're still meeting up for drinks on Tuesday, right?

Yep.

Okay. Bye.

Byee.

Well, that was unexpected, you think, putting your phone aside.

But you don't really mind the age gap. So long as Bradley's okay with it - which he seems to be - then you are, too.

Plus, it would explain why you actually enjoyed tonight. You've been on dates before with guys your age, but you've never really enjoyed them.

For one thing, none of them have ever been as nice as Bradley, and for another, they've always wanted you to come back to their place…

Another message from Callie pops up.

Oh, hey, forgot to tell you I gave Bradley your number.

You groan. Callie is enjoying herself way too much.

He said he'd message you tomorrow.

Why tomorrow?

There's a bit of a pause before Callie replies.

He says he noticed you were tired out, and he doesn't want to bother you until you've rested.

You feel your throat getting a little tight. That's so sweet.

Told you he was nice. I'm telling you, Y/N, he's a keeper.

Callie, we've only been on one date - and even that wasn't really a date.

Close enough.

You grin. I'm going to bed now. See you Tuesday.

Byee.

Putting your phone on silent, and setting it aside, you roll over, grinning like an idiot.

Maybe things are starting to look up.

************************************************

As always, I do not give permission for anyone to copy my work, repost it elsewhere, etc.

Me with my long LoTR fic

This is too true!!

STOP MAKING MY LIL AWKWARD NERDY BOYS BE CONFIDENT AND SO SURE OF THEMSELVES!!! I LIKE THEM BECAUSE THEY’RE NERDY NOT BECAUSE YOU FANFIC WRITERS MAKE THEM EGO MANIC ASSHOLES

Maybe We Can Be Friends

My first fic! Not requested, but I thought it was a nice idea for a story, so here you go.

Pairing: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Autistic!Fem!Shy!Reader

5.56K words

Warnings: A bit of angst, lots of fluff at the end, soft Jake, Penny being an awesome best friend, sensory overload and consequent meltdown, mentions of autism, mild cursing, mentions of a failed relationship, Naval inaccuracies, mentions of vomiting, mentions of alcohol, spoilers for Top Gun Maverick

Summary: You hate the cocky, blond pilot that’s always at The Hard Deck. He rubs you up the wrong way, distracts you while you’re trying to work, and generally makes a nuisance of himself. But things start to change very quickly after you find out a surprising truth about him. (Not quite enemies to lovers, more enemies to cordial friends (potentially lovers in the future).)

(A/N: Sorry, I'm bad at writing summaries)

It’s been a long day. Not in a bad way; you like university, and you like studying something that you actually enjoy, but your hyper-social classmates’ party culture does get a bit much sometimes.

At least you won’t be at any party tonight, though. You have a shift at The Hard Deck every night, which keeps you away from the noise in your apartment while the party rages on.

“Hey, Y/N!” calls Penny, as you enter. “How was college?”

You half-smile. “Okay, I guess. Lost my focus during a lecture, but fortunately I recorded it on my phone, so I don’t think I’m likely to fail the end-of-week test.”

Penny smiles. “That’s good.” As you follow her behind the counter, she adds, “We’ve got a new set of Navy pilots tonight.”

“How long are they staying?” you ask.

“A couple weeks, maybe a month.”

“The standard,” you clarify.

“That’s right.” Penny hands you a sponge. “Could you wash those glasses for me, hun? I was pretty busy today, and I didn’t get time to get everything ready before you arrived.”

“Oh, er, sure.” You start washing while Penny checks the drink dispensers to make sure they’re working.

There aren’t that many glasses to clean, and you’ve got them cleaned and dried in less than ten minutes. Stacking them into two piles, and picking up one pile in each hand, you put them away below the counter.

Once you’re done, Penny sets a glass of Coke in front of you. “Here you go.” She laughs at your surprised face. “I had to make sure it was working, you know.”

“So this is a test drink?”

“Yup.” Penny checks that you have enough canned drinks to last the evening. “You don’t have to pay for that one.”

You chuckle, turning your attention to the door. Ever since Penny had learned about your caffeine addiction (brought on by too much late-night studying), she always made sure you had enough Coke to last you through the evening, and she never let you pay for it.

Glancing up at the clock, Penny hurries over to the front of the bar. “It’s five, which means we are officially open,” says Penny, flipping over the open/closed sign in the front window.

Fortunately, the earlier hour or so isn’t too busy, which gives the caffeine plenty of time to kick in, so by the time the new set of Navy pilots arrive, you’re buzzing.

Glancing over, you notice Penny deep in conversation with a dark older guy, who she seems to know from somewhere. You know you can easily hold the fort while buzzing with your own brand of liquid courage, so you let her keep chatting.

You’ve been working at The Hard Deck for a few weeks now, and while being a bartender isn’t your go-to job, it works for now, especially as Penny has no tolerance for anyone disrespecting women.

Behind you, you hear a bell ringing, and you turn to see that the unfortunate who has to pay for tonight’s drinks - is none other than the guy Penny was just talking to.

You give her a questioning look as she joins you, but she doesn’t look upset. In fact, there’s a playful, teasing light in her eyes that you’ve never noticed before.

“Do you know him?” you ask.

“Later,” she replies.

“Penny, m’dear!” calls a voice. You turn to see a blond pilot, with what looks like a perpetual smirk. ‘Seresin’, his name tag reads.

Penny’s busy elsewhere, so you go over to him. “Yeah?”

“Or you’ll do just as well.” He smirks at you. “I’ll have four more on the old-timer.”

You try not to snort at his cheek. “Sure.” Handing him the beers, you turn to see if there’s anyone else you can serve.

“Haven’t seen you before,” remarks Seresin. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing here?”

“That’s none of your business,” you say, your voice a little sharper than you intended.

“Oho, she’s a feisty one!” chuckles Seresin. “What’s your name, pretty girl?”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” you ask.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Fortunately, the arrival of another pilot distracts Seresin before he can annoy you further. Sighing, you get yourself another drink of Coke. It looks like a long night.

“You okay?” asks Penny, going over to the card reader.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Just one annoying guy.”

“Did he do anything?”

You shake your head. “He was just cocky and annoying. Rubbed me up the wrong way. I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure.” Penny taps the card she’s holding. Declined.

You giggle. “Is that his card? The guy who’s buying a round?”

Penny laughs. “Yep. Unless he’s got cash, he’s getting thrown out.”

Sure enough, a few minutes later, you hear the yell go up.

“Overboard! Overboard!”

You don’t join in, but you do watch with amusement as the guy’s carried outside and thrown onto the sand.

Your amusement fades, however, when Seresin (who was one of the guys taking part) winks at you as he goes past the counter. You know that a wink is nothing compared to what he could have done, but it does annoy you enough for you to chug yet another Coke.

Fortunately, he doesn’t stay too long afterwards, and the rest of the night is uneventful.

*****************************************************

You wake up feeling sick. Really sick. Sick as in, you’re going to throw up.

The minute you feel the bile rise in your throat, you jump out of bed, sprinting to the bathroom - and arrive just in time as your guts begin emptying themselves into the toilet.

Once you’ve finished throwing up, you flush the toilet, leaning back against the wall. Must’ve drank too much Coke last night, you think.

Normally, you’re pretty careful about what you eat from a food safety point of view, so you don’t think it’s food poisoning. Just in case, though, you call in sick at uni, and decide to spend the rest of the day at home.

Once you’ve called your uni, you realise you should probably call Penny, and let her know you won’t be at the bar tonight.

So, you dial her number, and wait for her to answer.

It doesn’t take long before you hear her cheery voice on the other end. “Hi, Y/N. You’re calling early. Is everything okay?”

Help, you think. You hate talking on the phone, but you don’t want to text in case she doesn’t see it in time. “Uh, hi, Penny. Just, uh, letting you know I won’t be able to make it to the - um, the bar tonight.”

“Oh, no. Why? Are you okay?”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes at Penny’s genuine concern. “I, uh, threw up, like, a few minutes ago. I don’t know if it’s, um, food poisoning, but I thought it was better, to - er, stay off, you know? Just in case.”

“Yeah, that’s fine, hon. Jimmy and I can manage for a couple nights. You want me to come around and help you out?”

You bite your lip nervously. You do like spending time with Penny, but you really don’t want her to get sick - and you also feel too gross to have guests around. “Oh, no, you don’t have to. I’ll be fine, honestly.”

“You sure? If it’s because you’re worried about me getting sick…”

Your face burns. How does she know me so well? “It kind of is, yeah. And I also - I just - I’m kind of gross right now. I don’t want you to, you know, have to deal with my, um, grossness.”

You hear Penny chuckle on the other end. “Y/N, you’re forgetting that I’m a mom. I’ve seen it all, trust me. You won’t gross me out.”

“But what about you getting sick?”

“If I was worried about that, I wouldn’t have offered, hon.”

“Um…” You consider for a moment, still unsure. “Okay, you can come, if you want.”

“I’ll be there in a couple minutes. Hang in there!”

You sigh with relief as you hang up. You haven’t had a stomach bug in years, and so you never really thought to look up what to do. (Plus, the WiFi’s down again, because you accidentally kicked the router over last night, and you haven’t had a chance to fix it.)

This isn’t the first time Penny’s helped you out. As well as being colleagues, you and Penny are also friends. Best friends.

Penny was the one who’d sorted you out when you first arrived in town, got you set up with accommodation, a job, showed you where the local shops were, and working at The Hard Deck was one way that you could say thank you to her.

When Penny arrives, she takes one look at you, and orders you into bed.

“Penny, I was just going to-”

“Bed, Y/N, now. You need to rest if you’re not feeling well, okay? I’ll take care of everything else.”

You’re not really that sorry to be back in your nice warm bed, letting someone else fuss over you. Especially if it’s Penny. You’re not sure if it’s just the mother in her, or if she’s always been such a caring person, but she is a great nurse.

Once she’s got you tucked into bed, Penny says, “I’m going to make you some tea, okay? I’ll just add some sugar, no milk.”

“I don’t really know if I can handle sugar,” you reply.

“Even just tea will help settle your stomach. I’ll get you some soup when you’re feeling a bit better, okay? Stay there, and don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

You don’t want to move anyway. Your stomach hurts from the throwing up, and you feel weak and exhausted. Is this what it’s like to have a fever? you wonder.

When Penny comes back, she has the promised tea, and a thermometer. “Realised I should probably check your temperature first,” she explains, slipping the thermometer under your arm before you can reply.

“This is, like, the first time in ten years that this has happened,” you mutter.

Penny raises an eyebrow. “Being taken care of?”

“Having a stomach bug.”

“Right.” Penny takes a look at the thermometer. “Your temperature’s normal.”

“Seriously? I was convinced-”

Penny laughs. “Let me guess, you tried to take your own temperature with the back of your hand.”

“Maybe,” you mutter. “I guess my hand isn’t that good at detecting temperatures.”

Penny points to the forgotten cup. “Try to drink some tea.”

“It’ll burn my mouth if I drink it right now.”

Penny shakes her head. “I made it so that it was lukewarm. I figured you didn’t want a hot liquid going into your stomach when you’re feeling this fragile.”

“Oh. Right. Thanks.” You take a sip. The tea’s pretty watery and bland, but that’s good. You probably couldn’t handle anything stronger than weak tea right now anyway.

And it does work to settle your stomach. It takes a while, but your stomach does finally stop churning, and you can relax.

You spend most of the day curled up in bed, watching trashy Netflix movies, while Penny takes care of you, making sure you eat at least a couple spoonfuls of soup at regular intervals to keep your stomach settled.

By teatime, you’re feeling well enough that you tell Penny she can probably open the bar without needing to worry about you.

She looks sceptical at first. “Are you sure, sweetie? I don’t have to open the bar, I could just look after you.”

You shake your head. “It’s not fair for me to make you lose out on a night’s income, and obviously Jimmy won’t be able to manage singlehanded. The aviators will probably be looking forward to their drinks. I’ve been in bed all day; I’ll be fine for the night.”

“Okay,” says Penny, “but sleep on your side, and promise you’ll call me if you’re suddenly feeling worse.”

“Promise,” you reply. “Thanks for looking after me today.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” says Penny. “What are friends for?”

*****************************************************

“Hey, pretty girl!” calls a voice.

You groan inwardly as you recognise Seresin’s obnoxious timbre. “Need anything?”

He ignores your question, leaning forward to gaze into your eyes rather more deeply than you would have liked. “Missed you last night.”

“I didn’t miss you.” You were on your third glass of Coke, which had made you rather more blunt than usual. “Do you need anything?”

“Were you okay?” Seresin persists, but the smirk on his face gives you the impression that he doesn’t really care about your wellbeing.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh, come on. Do I have to?”

“Yes. There is a queue behind you, which you’re holding up, and I’m not answering your question until you answer mine. Now answer me or get out.”

Seresin’s smirk widens. “Jack and Coke.” As you hand him his drink, he adds, “Now where were you?”

“I was sick,” you say. “Sick in bed with a stomach bug. Now go away, you’re holding up the queue.”

“You were sick?” Was it your imagination, or did you catch a faint glimmer of concern?

Whatever it was, all it did was make you angrier. “Will you have the goodness to go away, or do I have to ring the bell?”

He puts his hand up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I’m moving. Geez, you ask one question…”

You sigh in exasperation as he moves away.  Idiot.

Penny, seeing your irritation, slips you another glass of Coke, which you drink gratefully. You have a feeling you're not going to sleep tonight.

*****************************************************

It's a few days later when you next meet up with Penny, this time at the beach.

“Mav's doing something with the pilots, and I thought you might just like some fresh air.”

You pause, but take her up on the offer. After all, you don't often go out for fun, and American beaches are quite nice.

So, after getting dressed, and cracking open your first can of Coke, you take a leisurely walk to the beach, taking your time, appreciating - well, everything, really. You have a friend in Penny, you're studying something you love, you live in a nice area…

You really are lucky.

Penny waves from one of the outdoor tables as you approach. “Hey, Y/N! How's it going?”

“It's going good,” you reply, sitting down opposite her. “What about you?”

“Oh, same old, same old,” smiles Penny.

You sit in silence for a few minutes, until you finally work up the courage to ask, “So, who is ‘Mav’?”

“His name's actually Captain Pete Mitchell, and his callsign is Maverick.”

“Are you friends or something?”

Penny smiles. “We go way back. I knew him before he was even in Top Gun. That was back in the ‘70s and early ‘80s. He joined in ‘86; we'd already broke off contact around ‘84.” She notices the question you're about to ask, and laughs. “And yes, we were dating. We've kind of had an on-again, off-again relationship.”

“Right,” you nod. Feeling like you should probably contribute to the conversation a bit more, you add, “I've never dated, but a guy that I liked went off with another girl and it - well, at the time, I thought it broke my heart, and so I thought, never again. But I am a bit more open to the idea now.”

“It must've been hard, though. I know it was for me, every time, even though he consistently broke my heart.”

“It wasn't as bad as it might have been, to be honest. I was just a kid at the time, so I kind of made it out to be this big deal when it really wasn't.” You smile. “And since I'm very happy being single, I absolutely forbid you to feel sorry for me.”

Penny smiles. “That's good, that you've moved on. There'll be others, you know, and maybe you'll meet the one someday.”

You shrug. “I don't know if I do want to, you know. I think there's something to be said for being single.”

“Oh, there is,” agreed Penny.

“-and anyway, even if I did meet him…” You break off, your face burning, unsure of whether to continue.

“Wben if you did?” prompted Penny gently.

You pause for a moment before dropping your voice to a whisper. “I - I'm autistic - obviously you know that already. It's pretty hard for me to navigate even friendships and family, you know, so how much harder would it be navigating a romantic relationship?”

Penny reaches over to rest a hand on your arm. “It must be hard, feeling like that.”

You shrug. “It is. I just - I don't know… I just don't want to put the burden on someone else, of having to deal with my moods and not being able to go certain places. It's just - I feel like - I just don't think it would end well - for all parties involved. And it's not like I'm burning with passion, you know; like I said, I'm happy being single.”

You sit in silence for several minutes, but it's not awkward. Penny's a very kind and understanding lady, and she has this way of not making you feel judged, even though you've shared something that people can and do judge.

“How's your stomach feeling?” Penny asks suddenly.

“It's pretty much better,” you reply. “I'm still not sure what caused it, though. It can't have been the Coke, because I had loads the last time I was at the bar, and I didn't get sick. And I'm pretty careful about what I eat, from a food safety standpoint.”

“It was probably just one of those things,” says Penny.

“Yeah. One of life's mysteries.” You turn your attention to the ball game on the beach.

A load of shirtless men playing with a couple of American footballs. There was Seresin - darn him - a moustached guy you'd seen a couple times, a guy with glasses - the only one still wearing his shirt…

“Hangman's been giving you a hard time, isn't he?” says Penny suddenly.

“What? - Oh, yeah. D'you mean that blond smirking idiot?”

Penny chuckles. “You could call him that. One of the other pilots calls him Bagman.”

“Because he's a dirtbag?”

Penny laughs again. “He's annoying, that's for sure, but I don't know that I'd go that far, hon.”

“Didn't you see him holding up the queue on - when was it now? - Wednesday?”

“I noticed it was backing up a bit. What took him so long?”

“He apparently wanted to inquire about my health. As if I was going to tell him! I gave him several pieces of my mind, and then told him to pick a drink or get out.”

Penny laughed. “That might teach him a lesson, huh? Don’t mess with a heavily caffeinated Y/N!”

You laugh. “Yeah, that stuff is surprisingly potent. It's a good thing I never liked the taste of alcohol, or he might not have gone away with just a verbal thrashing!”

“And you'd have probably ended up in hospital!” added Penny. “But seriously, try not to let him get to you. I know it's pretty much impossible to ignore a guy like that, but if he does overstep a boundary, or annoy you too much, there's always the bell, you know.”

You half-smile. “Yeah, I know. Thanks, Penny.”

Looking over, you notice that one of the guys has left the ball game.

“Looks like Mav's left the game,” remarks Penny. “Hey, Mav!” she calls. “Come over here!”

Turning in your direction, Mav grins, gets up, and goes over to you. “Hey, Penny. Who's your friend?”

“This is Y/N. Y/N, this is Mav.”

“That's Captain Mitchell!” protests Mav, smiling. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“Um - yeah, hi,” you mutter, smiling shyly.

“You been in San Diego long?”

You consider. “Um, about a month, I think.”

“How long you known Penny? You two seem pretty close.”

“A couple years,” says Penny, but doesn't clarify further.

“Hey, Mav!” someone yells from the beach.

You turn to see who spoke, and - oh, of all the miserable luck!

It's that Seresin. Or Hangman, as Penny calls him. And you'd love to hang him right now. How much did he hear? you wonder.

“Oh, hey, it's pretty girl!” he says, coming over to you. “How you doin’, hon?

Go away. You glare at him, refusing to answer.

“Oho, that won't do, hon. I asked a question.” He crouches down to your level. “How's your stomach?”

“What?” You're so shocked at the audacity of his question that you forget to blank him.

“You mentioned you weren't well. A stomach bug.”

“Oh, that. Well, I was fine until now, and will - you - go - away?”

“C'mon, sweets. I came over here to be nice, and all I get in return is this?”

I don't think you could ever be nice, you think, even angrier than before because he's making your heart behave strangely. It's jumping about in quite a disconcerting fashion.

You shoot a pleading look at Penny, who, understanding your predicament at once, says, “Y/N and I were just going, actually. Goodbye.”

As you walk off, Penny gives your hand a sympathetic squeeze. “It's okay, Y/N. He didn't hear us.”

“I didn't think he did,” you mutter. “I just - he's so irritating! Pretending to care about my health when I know he couldn't give one, that stupid smile, his stupid good looks…”

“I think you're having a sugar crash, hon,” replies Penny. “You're never this moody.”

“I probably am,” you agree. “I wonder how long that set of pilots has before they leave.”

“Another few weeks, I think. D'you think you can hold out that long?”

You sigh. “Hopefully. So long as that Seresin stays away, our feud might remain bloodless.”

Penny chuckles. “A feud? He's been here, what? A week? You barely know him!”

“I don't really know what else to call it,” you admit.

Penny just smiles. “Come in and have some Coke, and we'll talk girl things to keep your mind off him.”

*****************************************************

Fortunately, after the little scene on the beach, Seresin keeps his distance. He still smirks at you whenever you catch his eye (or he catches yours), and you still find him annoying, but at least he doesn't directly interact with you.

His stupid smirking does distract you while you're trying to work, though. You've messed up more orders in the past few weeks than ever before, and the worst of it is, the more you see of him, the more he grows on you.

It's just because of his good looks, you think at first. He is pretty handsome, although you'd never admit that to anyone, not even Penny.

You do think it's a shame that he's so annoying, though, because he seems like he's got the potential to be nice and friendly. You've seen how he interacts with the likes of Coyote, and sure, he's got a big ego, but at the same time, he and Coyote do actually seem to have a friendship dynamic. 

The next big event that happens is an Admiral's funeral. You don't actually know the family, but Penny attends, so you figure she probably knows them from somewhere, although you don't ask.

It's sometime soon after the funeral when you next see Mav. You and Penny are working harder than usual at the bar, because it's Jimmy's night off.

It's when you notice her straighten up out of the corner of your eye that you realise Mav's there. He's wearing his dress whites, and looking more serious than when you met him at the beach.

“You go on, Pen,” you whisper. “I can take care of things until you get back.”

Penny looks sceptical. “You sure, Y/N?”

You nod. “I'm caffeinated enough to handle anything. A busy bar is no problem.”

Penny's only out for a few minutes, but she comes back looking pretty serious. You don't ask right then and there, but you do afterwards.

“Mav's been selected as the mission team leader,” explains Penny.

You don't fully understand Navy jargon, but you know enough to understand that this might be the last time Penny ever sees Mav.

You don't really know what to say, so you give her a hug instead. You're not really used to hugging, so it's a bit awkward, but Penny appreciates it, and tells you so.

“Do - do you want me to stay with you tomorrow?” you ask. “I could get the day off from uni…”

Penny shakes her head. “That's very sweet of you, but I'll be fine. You need to keep on top of your studies.”

“Okay,” you reply. “I - uh, guess I'll see you around?”

“Yeah, see you. And thank you.”

You turn in surprise. “Thank you?”

“For being so supportive. I know you don't find it easy helping people when they're - like this, but it does help. A lot.”

Although you're still not sure you helped, you do feel better that Penny, at least, thinks you did.

But once you're in bed at home, you're suddenly struck with the realisation that Seresin's going on this mission. What if he doesn't come back?

And even if he does, he's going to be transferred somewhere else soon.

And you don't like that thought. You don't like it one little bit.

*****************************************************

Today is going to be a bad day. That's your first thought when you realise you're all out of Coke. You'd meant to get some at the shop last night, but you'd been so emotionally drained from a long night at the bar plus helping Penny that you completely forgot.

And now you're running late. Too late to go and pick up some Coke at a convenience store.

You lose your focus during your first lesson, and get shouted at for not paying attention. You're so upset and rattled by this that you end up finding it difficult to focus for the rest of the day, leading to panic-studying during free periods…

It's just not your day.

You've been placing all your money on the hope that the bar will be quiet, at least until you've fully caffeinated yourself.

Unfortunately, you're late, and as you walk up to the bar, you notice that it's heaving even at this early hour. The bar’s just opened!

“Hey,” Penny greets you, but she seems a bit preoccupied. “Mav's lot stormed the bar before it was even open,”  she explains. “They wanted to celebrate the success of the mission. You can leave if it's too much for you. I won’t be mad.”

You shake your head. “No, I'll stay. I just need some caffeine and I'll be fine.”

Penny looks a bit sceptical. “If you're sure. The offer still stands. You leave at any time you need, no questions asked, I'll still pay you the full amount, and I won't be mad.”

“Thanks,” you whisper, wondering if maybe you should take her up on the offer right now, before any disasters happen.

But the stubborn part of you, the part that often makes your life more difficult than necessary overrules the others. I will not be set back by something so stupid. I will finish my shift like a normal person, and I will not have a meltdown.

But that's easier said than done. As the night rages on, and the bar gets busier and busier - where are all these people coming from? - you surely regret not backing out when you had the chance.

Sure, you still have the chance, but you'd feel bad about leaving Penny and Jimmy to deal with all these people.

It's okay, you tell yourself. These are just crowds, you've been in crowds before, you can handle this.

But no matter how hard you try to convince yourself, you know deep down that it's all a lie. You can't handle crowds well, you're not okay, you need out.

“Y/N?” It's Penny, looking worried. “Are you okay? Do you need to take a walk?”

You shake your head. “I'm fine.” It's a lie, of course. But you're determined to push through, to really earn your pay.

The last straw finally falls when you hear a glass smash, and a yell go up. Suddenly, everything becomes too much for you. The background noise becomes a deafening roar, the crowd seems to be trying to crush the air out of your lungs, the heat becomes intolerable, and you feel panic - no, terror - rising in your chest.

You grab Jimmy's arm in your panic. When he sees you're in sensory overload, he springs into action immediately, taking your arm, leading you out of the bar, and into the back room, before going to find Penny.

You sit there, curled up with your knees up to your chin, rocking back and forth, willing yourself not to cry.

“Hey, you okay?”

You jump at the sound of Seresin's unmistakable voice, your mind immediately beginning to race. No, no, no! Why did it have to be that Seresin?

“Go away,” you mumble, your voice cracking on the last word. You can feel the tears slipping down your cheeks. Not wanting Seresin to see you cry, you bury your face in your knees.

“Hey, what's wrong, hon? Why are you crying?”

You shake your head violently, burying your face further into your knees, hoping he'll take the hint and go away.

But instead, you feel his hand on your shoulder. “Was it something I said? Please, don't cry, hon. I didn't mean to upset you.”

His voice has a different quality to it now; it's soft, gentle, concerned. It's like he actually cares about you.

And that's why you look up, tears still streaming down your face, which intensify when you see the tender concern written all over Seresin's face.

He's kneeling beside you, watching you with suspiciously glassy eyes. “What happened, sweets? Did someone hurt you?”

You shake your head, trying to regain some semblance of control over yourself, eventually managing to choke out something about sensory overload.

Seresin's face softened. “Oh, sweetheart. I'm so sorry. What can I do to help?”

You're so shocked by the question that you burst into a fresh load of tears.

“Oh, no, don't, please…” Seresin puts his hand on your shoulder, rubbing up and down your upper back, trying to soothe you.

It takes some time, but finally, you calm down enough to the point where you're only letting out a few hiccuping sobs at regular intervals.

“Better?” asks Seresin.

You nod slowly, still trying to grasp what's just happened.

“Anything else I can do?”

You pause, uncertain for a moment, feeling like your request sounds stupid. But when you look into his eyes, you see nothing but tender concern.

“C-can I - have a - a hug?” you ask tentatively.

Seresin nods, giving you a reassuring smile. “C'mere, sweets.”

You scooch closer to him, letting him wrap his arms around you, and just hold you. A few tears trickle down your cheeks, and you sniffle a bit, but you're quiet for the most part, just enjoying the feeling of having someone else hold you.

“Y/N? Oh, sweetie, are you okay?”

You look up to see Penny standing over you, filled with worry.

“When Jimmy told me you'd had a sensory overload… Oh, honey, you've been crying. I'm so sorry, the bar's been so busy tonight, or I'd have come sooner.”

You're not really sure how to respond to her outburst, but you mutter something along the lines of, “It's fine…” Emboldened by the sound of your own voice, you add, “Seresin took care of me while you were gone.”

“I can see that,” replies Penny. “You okay now?”

You nod. “I'm not going to cry, if that's what you mean.”

“Hey, I could take you home, if you want,” says Seresin.

You bite your lip. “It's very kind of you, but…”

You glance nervously at Penny, who, understanding, takes up the sentence. “Her roommates like to party in the evening.”

“Some roommates,” mutters Seresin. “Y'know, I could take you anyplace that relaxes you, then take you to your apartment afterwards?”

“Um…” You glance at Penny again.

She smiles and nods. “It's okay; he's safe.”

So you turn back to Seresin with an, “Um, okay.”

He grins. “Great!”

As you make your way through the bar, Seresin keeps you close, with a protective arm around your shoulders.

The other pilots give you funny looks, but Seresin just waves them away, pulling you a little closer as he does so.

Once you're outside the bar, Seresin takes you to his truck. “So, where are we headed?”

You bite your lip, blushing. “Uh, I don't know…”

He smiles. “It's okay. We'll find somewhere to go.”

As you get into the truck, he suddenly adds, “Y'know, I never did catch your name.”

“Oh, er, it's Y/N L/N.”

“Nice name. Mine's Jake. Jake Seresin, callsign Hangman, but you can call me Jake.”

“Okay… Jake.” It feels weird calling him by his first name, but it's a nice kind of weird.

As he pulls away from the car park, you think about how strangely this day has turned out. It started off so terribly, but looks like it's going to end well.

Jake glances over, smiling at you. It's a kind smile, not his usual smirk, and his voice is gentler than usual when he says, “Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I like this shy side of you.”

You smile shyly. “This is how I normally am.”

“What about those times you yelled at me?”

“I drink a lot of caffeine. It makes me more assertive.”

Jake chuckles. “Right.”

As he drives, you relax back into your seat, wondering what changed about Jake to make him so nice all of a sudden. You've never seen this kind, caring side of him before, but you like it, and you hope very much that it will last.

*****************************************************

Part 2

As always, I do not give permission for anyone to copy my work, post it elsewhere, etc.

To the fanfiction readers, the late night scrollers, the ones who are trying to escape, to find a moment of peace, to find comfort or a safe place to land.

You're safe here. You are safe, you are loved and you are important. The world needs you and my dear sweet one, I promise you it will get better. Maybe not today or tomorrow but it will get better. People love you and are here for you.

You are valid, you are enough. I promise you that you are enough.

So take a deep breath and relax a little for me. I hope you find the fan art or the fanfiction you need. I hope you find comfort and safety here. I hope you know you're favorite character is waiting for you, they adore you and are so excited to see you.

You can do this sweet one. Life is tough but so are you. Your comfort character believes in you and so do I, the random girl on Tumblr who knows it gets better, because it did for her.

❤️💛True Believer 💛❤️