Unforeseen Events (Part 2)

There’s no such thing as work-life balance for neurodivergent & chronically ill people.

This is because everything in my life requires work:

maintaining friendships

keeping up with my hygiene

managing bills

making money

remembering my basic needs

sleeping regularly

outputting creatively

All requires some aspect of work for me.

And when everything in your life requires work, your balance goes out the window.

If you're neurodivergent and overwhelmed — I see you.

If you're chronically ill and overwhelmed — I see you.

You're not dysfunctional.

You're not incapable.

You're doing your best.

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

I loved your Unintentional fic I hope you do another part!!!!

Unintentional (Part 2)

Part 1

Pairing: Loki x Shy!Autistic!Fem!Reader

Summary: Loki tries to explain himself to you. Things don't go as either of you planned.

Warnings/tags: Soft Loki (probably OOC), angst, upset reader, minor character death (mentioned), mentions of mind control, mentions of delusions, mentions of alcohol, Frigga is a sweetheart, mentions of hospitals, implications of sensory overload, mentions of meltdowns, mentions of autism

A/N: I'm so sorry, this one isn't my best writing…

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

"L/N? L/N, can you hear me?"

Groaning softly, you open your eyes to see Romanoff sitting by your bed.

She breathes a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness."

Thank goodness? What's she on about?

Then a wave of dread hits you.

Loki.

You were supposed to protect him if he got captured again.

And judging by the fact that Romanoff's sitting by your bed, that means he has been captured.

"Where is he?" you demand.

Romanoff looks confused. "Where's who?"

"Loki. Where is he?"

"Oh… Loki." Romanoff shrugs. "He's in a holding cell for the time being. Don't worry, we'll make him pay for what he did to you."

Make him pay? But he didn't hurt me! "I need to see him."

"L/N…"

There's a commotion outside the room, and Romanoff goes to investigate.

"What's going on?" she demands.

"Stark wants to see L/N," sighs someone. It sounds like Agent Hill.

Romanoff shrugs. "That's all?"

"The doctor said that she wasn't supposed to be excited or stressed out."

"Look, just send him in. The sooner we get this over with, the better."

"How about we send Cap in instead?" suggests another voice.

Dr Banner? What's he doing here?

"Hey, why does Cap get the special treatment around here?" someone else (presumably Stark) complains.

"Because he knows how to deal with people, and you don't," snaps Romanoff. "She's awake, Cap; you can go in."

"Thanks." A blond guy pokes his head around the door. "Am I okay to come in?"

You nod, and immediately regret it as a wave of pain washes over you.

The blond guy - presumably the aforementioned 'Cap' - sits in Romanoff's chair. "Look, I know this isn't going to be easy," he begins, his voice gentle. "But we need to know everything that happened to you after you were - captured."

"Captured?" Since when was I captured?

Cap leans forward. "L/N, I don't know what Loki said to you, or how he manipulated you into going with him, and I know it's going to be hard to hear, but - you were captured."

You take a deep breath. "Look, just - just tell me what happened - how you found Loki, what you did with him."

He sighs. "We don't know how Loki got hold of you, but we found him at Stark Tower, with you. You were in a pretty bad way. Do you have any idea how that happened?"

"The Destroyer gun."

"What?"

"It was a prototype weapon that Coulson fired at Loki. He took the brunt of the blast, cannoned into me, and we both went straight through a wall. That's why I was hurt."

Cap looks carefully at you. "No other reason?"

You shake your head. "Not that I can remember."

"What did you do afterwards?"

You pause. "I - my memory's not very clear. I…"

Cap waits as you pretend to try and recall what happened. You know full well what happened (how could you forget?), but you have no intention of telling the truth yet, at least until you've seen Loki, and agreed either to a plausible story, or to tell the truth.

"I'm sorry, I really don't remember," you say. "I suppose I was on autopilot. I probably just ran away, and then fainted or something. I did hit my head, so my memory's not very clear."

"That's okay," says Cap kindly. "So, just to recall, Agent Coulson fired this destroyer weapon at Loki, and you got caught in the crossfire. Is that what happened?"

"Yeah, but I was behind him - Loki, I mean. So it wasn't really the crossfire, as such. But you could call it that."

Cap nods. "That'll be all for now. Thank you for your time, L/N."

You're not really sure how to respond, so you just smile, and nod, trying hard not to wince as another wave of pain hits you.

You feel a bit guilty lying to him, because he does seem like he genuinely wants to help, but you really don't want to tell the truth until you've had the go-ahead from Loki, because whatever you say will impact him, whether positively or negatively - but most likely the latter.

You can hear hushed voices in the corridor, and even though it gives you a headache, you strain to try and hear what they're saying.

"…seemed quite lucid…"

"…fairly trustworthy…"

"…most valuable source…"

The voices fade away as you fall back asleep.

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

You're woken up by yet another commotion outside your room.

This one's louder, and sounds a lot more violent, so you strain to hear what's going on.

"…can't let him see her…"

"What if he…"

"…wants to see him…"

"…could kill us all…"

There's a knock at your door, and Romanoff pokes her head in.

"Hey, L/N, sorry to disturb you, but - Loki wants to see you. He - um, he threatened to break out of his cell and come see you by himself if we didn't let him…"

You try hard to suppress a smile. "That's fine. Him wanting to see me, I mean."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Romanoff doesn't look too impressed, but nods. "Okay. He'll be here in a minute."

You can hardly contain your relief at the fact that Loki's finally coming to see you. Or the delight that he wants to see you. It's been a few days since you first woke up, and you've asked about seeing Loki a couple of times, but the Avengers usually deflect, or (in the case of Stark) firmly say no.

The door opens, and Loki steps in, handcuffed, with Thor just behind him, presumably in case he should try anything.

Oh, darling… Loki's face is impassive, but you can see that his eyes are glassy. I was so worried.

You sigh. I'm sorry I didn't hold up my end of the bargain.

Loki shrugs. It matters not. I just want to make sure you're alright. Are you?

You bite your lip. I'm tired, achy, and I feel like I never want to move again.

Loki moves to sit down by your bed. How have they been treating you?

Surprisingly well. They all seem to think that you captured me, and tortured me, or something, and I've been too nervous to tell the truth, in case they think my brain's turned to mush or something.

They probably would. Loki sighs. I'm sorry I wasn't able to protect you.

You smile shyly. You did your best. And you know, it's kind of ironic that the organisation that was supposed to protect me turned out being the one that injured me.

Loki's eyes darken. That fool Coulson. I wish I could make him pay for what he did, but he's already dead.

Dead?

He died of that stab wound I gave him.

So you kind of got preliminary revenge.

I was acting in self-defence, but I suppose you could look at it that way.

Your heart gives a guilty leap when you remember that Thor's right there. Can he hear us?

Loki shakes his head. Not under these circumstances, although he can sometimes read thoughts.

You breathe a sigh of relief. Good.

Loki turns to Thor, who's been staring at you like you're both crazy. "Do I really need these handcuffs?"

Thor glares at him. "Yes. And they're not coming off."

You glance at Loki. Are those Asgardian handcuffs?

Loki shakes his head. I think they're just hoping that Thor can overpower me, should I try to escape.

Kind of stupid, if you ask me. Then you get an idea. What if I try to convince Thor to take the handcuffs off you?

Loki shrugs. You can try.

Okay. You take a deep breath. Look, Thor-

Out loud, sweet.

You blush, take another deep breath, and begin again. "Thor - does Loki really need to be handcuffed? Couldn't he just break out of them anyway?"

Thor stares at you like you've gone crazy. "Lady L/N…"

Now that you're over the first hurdle, your confidence begins to grow. "Look, I don't know what he's told you, or if you've even interrogated him, but he didn't hurt me. You must believe me."

"Lady L/N, you were very badly hurt - you were unconscious - when we found you. You said yourself that your memory was hazy-"

"Well, I lied."

Thor stares at you in utter shock and disbelief.

Your heart's jumping about wildly, but you keep going. "I didn't want to say anything that would negatively impact Loki."

Now it's Loki's turn to stare at you. You did - you what? How - why…?

Taking a third deep breath, you continue. "Anything I said - the Avengers could have twisted it to make an excuse to torture him - to - oh, I don't know - double his sentence, give him a worse punishment…"

"Well-" Thor looks like he's desperately trying to collect his thoughts. "What actually happened?"

You glance nervously at Loki. Should I?

Loki nods, his face impassive. Go on.

So you tell Thor exactly what happened.

His face turns from shock, to disbelief, to something you can't quite place.

Finally, he turns to his brother. "Is this true?" he demands.

Loki nods.

Thor turns back to you. "Lady L/N - why would you keep this from us? We were trying to help you."

"But you weren't trying to help Loki. And - well…" You look helplessly at Loki.

Loki mumbles something.

"Speak up!" snaps Thor.

"She's my soulmate."

"Who?"

"Y/N. She's my soulmate. She could read my thoughts. That's why I was protecting her."

The air in the room suddenly shifts. Soulmate? What's he on about? That's why I could get into your head? Then why-

Thor grabs Loki's arm roughly enough to make him wince. "We're going. Now."

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

You suddenly fling your book aside, sighing in frustration.

It's been several weeks since Loki last visited you, and the Avengers have been acting really weird. You thought they'd be angry, but they've been weirdly nice. They seem to be under the impression that you were mind-controlled by Loki, which you know is ridiculous, since neither of you had even been near the Sceptre when you first decided to help him.

You haven't really recovered from your injuries yet, but you're well enough to get out of bed, which is a relief, because now you can hide from the Avengers if they take to whispering outside your door again.

"Hello."

You jump in fright when you hear Loki's voice.

"Oh - I'm terribly sorry, darling. I didn't mean to frighten you."

It's fine.

Loki smiles. "It's alright. I already soundproofed the room. We can talk freely here."

"Okay."

Loki goes to stand with his back to the fireplace. "I expect this is all very confusing for you, all this soulmate business. I'm sorry I had to tell you under those circumstances, sweet. If things had been different…"

You nod. "It's fine."

Loki sighs. "It still doesn't excuse my giving you such a nasty shock. You ended up relapsing, I heard?"

You shake your head. "They're exaggerating. My social battery died."

Loki frowns. "Your - social battery?"

"I was tired from socialising. It takes up a lot of my energy. And I was already tired from all those injuries."

Even though he tries to hide it, you can see him visibly relax. "Well - do you have any questions for me?"

Which one to ask first? "Why can you read my thoughts, but I can't read yours?"

"I can shield my thoughts - something I actually need to teach you."

You suddenly feel a hot wave of anger hit you. Wait… is he lying to me?

"Look," you begin, rather irritably. "Why are you being so nice to me? I know there's the soulmate thing, but you - you just don't seem like the sort of guy who's just going around calling pretty girls pet names, and being super patient with them. And I'm not even that pretty. What's going on?"

Loki opens his mouth to explain, but the look on your face shuts him up before he can speak, so he just watches you with a strangely sad look on his face.

Not that it matters to you. "You realise that I nearly helped you destroy New York, that I've managed to alienate the Avengers - who were genuinely trying to help me, and that I'm now on SHIELD's blacklist? All because I was trying to protect you!"

The pain in your muscles when you stand up nearly makes you fall, but you grit your teeth against the pain, ignoring Loki's outstretched hand. "I'm done. I'm sick of trying to protect someone against people who won't listen to me, because they think I'm delusional! If you want to explain yourself to me properly - then - well - just-"

Having run out of words, you simply storm out of the room, leaving a speechless Loki behind.

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

"I don't get it," you later complain to Dr Banner. "A few weeks earlier, I was trying to protect him, and now I'm storming off because I think he's lying to me?"

Banner shrugs. "You've got the wrong person. Talk to Thor."

"I know Asgardian relationships aren't your specialty-" you begin.

"Actually, I'm clueless."

"-but you're the only Avenger here who I haven't actually lied to."

"So you want me to talk to Thor."

You nod. "More or less."

"You do realise he's not mad at you?"

You shrug. "Well, maybe he isn't mad at me, but he's kind of - terrifying, to be honest."

"Who's terrifying?" asks Stark. "Oh, hey, Y/N. How's it going?"

You're more than a little weirded out by his sudden friendliness. Is it because I yelled at Loki? "Oh, uh, yeah - hi…"

"Stark, do you know where Thor is?" asks Banner.

Stark shrugs. "No idea. Probably the training room." As you turn to leave, he calls after you. "Oh, Y/N?"

You turn back. "Yeah?"

"It's Nat's birthday, so we're having a party. Do you want to come?"

In what world-? "Uh - yeah, sure."

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

Your mind is racing as you go to find the training room.

What was I thinking? I can't go to a party! I don't have anything to wear! I don't even know where it is!

Fortunately, the training room's now up ahead, and you hastily stop catastrophising in favour of trying to thing what questions you're going to ask Thor.

He's just finishing up his workout as you walk in, so you stay right near the wall, just in case.

He grins when he sees you. "Oh - Lady Y/N! What brings you here?"

"I - um - I have some questions for you." Why do I sound so businesslike?

"Is this about the soulmate situation?" asks Thor.

You nod. "I just - why do you guys make such a big deal out of it? On Earth, it's usually kind of a myth. Nobody really takes the idea too seriously - well, I certainly didn't. Not until now."

Thor shrugs. "I'm afraid I don't have much experience in this. I have sent for my mother - who I think will have more knowledge of this than I, so when she arrives, you could talk to her."

You manage a small smile. "Okay. Thanks, Thor."

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

This was a mistake.

You'd forgotten that Stark's parties are notoriously loud and boisterous. And that they're massive.

All of which is a very, very bad combination for you.

Fortunately, no-one's really noticed you, but the smell of alcohol is giving you a headache, the loud music is hurting your ears, and the crowd's beginning to feel suffocating - whether from actual lack of oxygen or sensory overload, you have no idea.

I have to get out before I have a meltdown.

You make your way to the exit, hoping that nobody notices you.

"Lady Y/N!"

Biting back curses, you turn around to see Thor waving at you.

"My mother has arrived! Shall I take you to her?"

You nod. Wonderful. Another social interaction.

But at least you can leave the party.

Thor's mother's face lights up when she sees you. "So, you are the Y/N that my sons have told us so much about," she says, with a smile. "It's lovely to meet you, dear. My name's Frigga."

"Uh - yeah… Nice to meet you too."

Once you're both settled, Frigga comes straight to the point. "I understand you have some questions on the soulmate situation."

You nod. "Why is it such a big deal with you guys?"

Frigga smiles. "Well, on Asgard, it's expected that you marry once you reach a certain age - what Midgardians would call your twenties, I believe. We have not the option of divorce, which means we must either find our soulmate, or make an eligible match with someone similar. Meeting your soulmate before then is very rare, and being soulmates with each other - that is even rarer."

"But how do you know if you're soulmates?"

"There are several stages. The first is being able to read each other's thoughts. Loki can read yours, I understand."

"But I can't read his. At least - he claims it's because he can shield his mind, but-"

Frigga sighs. "It is difficult to know whether my son tells the truth or not. He's always been one for mischief, and he is an excellent liar, but-" She sighs. "I have talked to him about this, and something about his manner leads me to believe that he is being truthful, but - he has deceived me before."

"What's the second stage?"

"The need to protect the other."

"Well, I certainly experienced that," you say. "And I think Loki might have?"

Frigga nods. "He did. And he still does, I believe."

"And the third stage?"

"The third stage depends on your soulmate's honesty. If your soulmate is generally dishonest, then you won't believe anything they say, even if they are telling the truth."

"Hang on." You hold up a hand. "Does that mean that my getting mad at Loki was because we're - soulmates?"

"Strange as it may seem, yes. But it won't last long. And the fourth stage is sharing your feelings with your soulmate."

"Like hyper-empathy?" you ask.

Frigga nods. "Yes, except that you feel your feelings as well as theirs."

Oh, no. You feel shivers run down your spine. "Is - is there any way to stop that from happening?"

"How do you mean?" asks Frigga.

You sigh. How to explain autism to an Asgardian? "I - I was just curious."

Frigga shakes her head. "No, you weren't. I know there's a reason."

You stare at the floor, fiddling with your hands. "Well, I - I already have hyper-empathy - it's not a special ability or anything, it's just the way my brain works - and…"

"You're worried your feelings might overwhelm you?" asks Frigga.

You nod.

Frigga smiles. "Don't worry, Y/N. The 'feeling each other's feelings' that I told you about - it's little more than just a twinge, an inkling of what the other is feeling. It's rarely overwhelming."

"And I think it's happening right now," you add.

Frigga leans forward. "What do you feel?"

"I just felt a twinge of disdain. Which I'm guessing is Loki, because he doesn't get along with Stark, and absolutely hates his parties. I guess Thor must have dragged him along."

She chuckles. "That does sound like Loki. He's never liked parties, or large gatherings of any kind. Perhaps we should go and rescue him."

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

As you both enter the party, you immediately spot Thor engaged in a drinking game with Captain America.

"I ought to have brought him some Asgardian mead to make it fair," laughs Frigga.

"Captain America's got some sort of super serum in him," you explain. "I think he might last longer than average, though I think Thor's going to win."

As you scan the room, you suddenly notice Loki in the back, looking very grumpy and out of it, but his face softens slightly when he sees you and Frigga.

"Hello, Mother," he says. "Hello, Y/N."

You manage a small smile. "Hi. Um, look-"

Loki shakes his head. "Outside." He offers you his arm. "May I?"

You're surprised, but take it, while Frigga takes his other arm.

As you walk out, Loki and Frigga talk about what you're guessing is Asgardian things. It's too loud for you to really catch anything specific.

It's nice walking with Loki, even if he isn't talking to you. He's surprisingly courteous, making sure to walk you and Frigga around the clean areas on the floor.

"Mother! Loki!" bellows Thor suddenly, making you jump. "Join me!"

Frigga, laughing, lets go of Loki's arm. "I will see you later, Loki and Y/N."

Loki smiles at his mother, before frowning at Thor, and then continuing towards the exit with you.

Once you're outside, Loki turns to you. "I'm terribly sorry about my oaf brother. Are you alright?"

You nod shyly. "I'm okay."

Loki nods. "That's good."

"Your mother's so nice," you tell him. "I really like her."

Loki smiles. "I'm glad you like her."

"Oh, yeah - um, Loki, I'm really sorry about storming out on you a few days ago. I know there's the soulmate thing, but - it was wrong of me, and I'm sorry."

"It's alright," says Loki gently. "It wasn't your fault. Listen, I've been thinking. We got off to a bad start, and I'm sorry about that. I know it's too late to turn things back, but-"

He sighs. "I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I love you, and I do want a relationship with you. But I want a real one, not one based off - obligation."

Your heart jumps. "Are you asking me out?"

Loki nods. "If that's what Midgardians call courting, then yes."

You take a deep breath. "Okay. Yeah. I'd - I'd like that."

Then you feel a sudden warmth in your chest, a warmth that matches the smile on Loki's face.

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

Part 3 coming soon

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

a comic about fix-it fanfics

Me with my long LoTR fic

Quotes from Authors on Writing

“You can, you should, and if you’re brave enough to start, you will.” — Stephen King

“Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.” — Louis L’Amour

“Substitute ‘damn’ every time you’re inclined to write ‘very.’ Your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be.” — Mark Twain

“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” — Anton Chekhov

“A professional writer is an amateur who didn’t quit.” — Richard Bach

“You fail only if you stop writing.” — Ray Bradbury

“I hate writing, I love having written.” — Dorothy Parker

“No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader.” — Robert Frost

“The purpose of a writer is to keep civilization from destroying itself.” — Albert Camus

“Write what should not be forgotten.” — Isabel Allende

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” — Ernest Hemingway

“Find a subject you care about and which you in your heart feel others should care about. It is this genuine caring, not your games with language, which will be the most compelling and seductive element in your style.” — Kurt Vonnegut

“The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe.” — Gustave Flaubert

“I’m not a very good writer, but I’m an excellent rewriter.” — James Michener

“Write what you know. Write what you want to know more about. Write what makes you feel. Write because you have to. Write because you want to. Just write.” — Cecelia Ahern

“You should write because you love the shape of stories and sentences and the creation of different words on a page. Writing comes from reading, and reading is the finest teacher of how to write.” — Annie Proulx

Let Me Help (Part 1)

A/N: I've been writing a lot of Jake recently, so I figured I'd switch it up a little, and write some Bradley for a change. Hope you enjoy. (Sorry the writing's a little clunky.)

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

Summary: You're injured, but you don't want to be seen as weak or incapable. Well, until you fall into the arms of a certain aviator.

Warnings/tags: Soft Bradley, lots and lots of fluff, some angst, reader is written as a WSO, crying, pining, mention of injuries, insecure reader

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

You don't see the step until you miss it, falling heavily to the ground.

Groaning softly, you roll over onto your back, trying to collect your thoughts. Your ankle's throbbing, and your hands are grazed, but fortunately, you don't feel any pain or swelling on your head.

Dragging yourself off the ground, you try and put some weight on your ankle. It hurts a lot, but it's not unbearable, and your ankle feels fairly stable, so you decide you'll just try and walk it off for now.

You're not going to tell anyone you're injured, of course.

Sure, the Dagger Squad all seem like nice people, for the most part (apart from Hangman, of course), but you don't know them that well, and you've no idea how they'll react to you being injured. You don't want to know how they'd react.

Especially Rooster.

You've been telling yourself for ages now that you do not have a crush on him. No, you just look up to him. After all, he's handsome, and nice, and you want to be friends with him. Just friends.

And you definitely do not have dreams about him taking care of you in this sort of situation. About him cuddling you while you cry on his shoulder. About him carrying you in his arms…

The thought of him finding you like this is enough to make you shudder.

What would he think of me? What would he say? Would he think I'm a weakling who can't take care of herself? Would he-

"Hey, C/S!"

You jump in fright at the sound of Bob's voice. "Oh! You scared me."

He gives you a funny look. "What are you doing hanging around the stairs? It's almost time for training."

"Oh, I - I must have lost track of time…" It's not a complete lie.

Bob doesn't look convinced. "I heard a crash a few minutes ago. Did you fall down the stairs?"

"No!" Seeing the look on Bob's face, you hastily amend your statement. "Well, yes. But I only grazed my hands. I'll be fine. Look, the skin isn't even broken."

You even hold out your hands for Bob to inspect, which he does with an extremely serious, focused look on his face.

Once he's satisfied that you're telling the truth, he lets your hands go. "Okay. Well, we'd better go to training."

You regretfully pull yourself away from the daydream you were having of Rooster inspecting your hands for grazes. "Oh. Yeah. Training. Right…"

"You sure you're okay?" asks Bob, as you walk down to the briefing room. "Sure you didn't hit your head or anything?"

"No. I - um - I guess falling down the stairs kind of rattled me. You know, it's just been so long since it last happened…"

You're still aimlessly rambling as you both enter the briefing room, but you fall silent the minute you notice Fanboy give you a funny look.

Looking around, you notice that most of the seats are taken.

Except for the one next to Rooster.

When he sees you, he smiles at you, and pats the seat next to him.

Blushing, you take it, sitting rather stiffly, partly because you're in such close proximity to him, and partly because your ankle really is throbbing now.

It seems like no time at all before you have to be back on your feet.

They're mixing things up a little, having the pilots choose different WSOs, presumably as some sort of teambuilding exercise (you weren't really paying attention).

You're disappointed that Rooster didn't pick you, but Payback beat him to it. And it's not as if he flies like Hangman. He's more inclined to go a bit slower, which suits you just fine, especially because you don't want to jar your ankle any more than necessary.

It's difficult to walk out to the hangar with your ankle feeling like it's going to buckle any second, but you somehow manage it, which makes you feel rather pleased with yourself.

You manage to get through training without telling anyone about your ankle. Of course, it helps that you've been sitting down most of the time, which gave you a chance to rest your ankle.

Unfortunately, you didn't realise that means your ankle's gone stiff. You very nearly fall when you get out of the plane, but Payback manages to catch you just in time.

"You okay, C/S?" he asks as he helps you stand.

You nod. "Just a bit stiff."

Payback doesn't look completely convinced, but he doesn't argue, fortunately.

Not that he would, anyway. You two aren't really close enough for that.

Neither are you and Rooster, as a matter of fact.

It's very difficult for you not to limp as you walk back to the building. Your ankle's getting more and more painful with every step, but you're determined to at least get through today.

Once you're in the briefing room, though, it's impossible to not let out a sigh of relief as you sit down, which prompts funny looks from the others, but you pretend not to notice.

"So, we're meeting at The Hard Deck tonight, then?" asks Phoenix.

She's answered by sounds of assent from the others.

You curse silently. You'd forgotten about the meet-up at the bar after work.

And you've already promised Bob that you'll be there tonight.

Wonderful. Just what I wanted.

It's not just because of your sprained ankle, though. You're already tired from work, and the last thing you need is more socialising in a noisy, crowded bar.

"Can't we do something different?" asks Hangman. "We're always at the bar."

Phoenix shrugs. "What were you thinking?"

"Dogfight football."

Fortunately, the protests at this shuts him up very quickly.

"Okay, okay!" Jake holds his hands up in surrender. "Geez…"

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

Sighing, you collapse on your sofa almost immediately after entering your house. You're really not looking forward to tonight.

For one thing, you've still got to hide your injury. For another, you just don't like loud, rowdy places - like bars.

What if I just didn't go? you wonder suddenly. What if I stayed home and watched a movie or something?

At first, you try to dismiss the thought, but the more you think about what you'd do if you stayed home, the more you realise that you'd actually prefer to stay home.

So you end up deciding to stay home, and order some food.

Normally, the only time you have is when you're rushing around trying to get ready for work, so it's nice to finally be able to have some quality time with yourself.

By the time you finish dinner, you're pretty tired, and you don't want to risk falling asleep on the sofa, so you decide to skip on the movie, and just go straight to bed.

As you're getting ready for bed, you suddenly remember that you should probably ice your ankle, so after rummaging through the freezer to find something to wrap around your ankle, you go to bed.

But despite your exhaustion, it still takes you ages to fall asleep.

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

The next morning, judging by the way the others are buzzing, it sounds like some crazy stuff went on at the bar yesterday, and you're very, very glad that you didn't go.

Rooster smiles when he sees you, and pats the seat next to him. "Hey, C/S."

As you sit down, you try desperately not to wince. The ice did help some, but your ankle's definitely feeling worse than yesterday.

"Missed you last night," says Rooster. "Were you okay?" Is it your imagination, or is his voice just a little softer than usual?

You nod, wishing your face wouldn't go so red. "Just - just tired."

Rooster doesn't look convinced, but nods.

He looks like he's about to say something else, but just then, Maverick calls for everyone's attention, and you've got no more time to chat.

"Well, as it so happens, Cyclone happened to be in a good mood today," he begins.

Oh no. Chills run over your body. You already know what Maverick's got in mind.

"So, since he's given everyone the afternoon off, I was thinking we play some dogfight football at the beach."

The room erupts into cheers.

Except for you.

You feel sick to your stomach. Sports were never really your thing, although you don't usually mind playing with the squad, but - you can't possibly play with an injury, and if you hide it, you won't be able to duck out of the match.

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

What am I supposed to do? you wonder, as you try not to limp on your way to the beach.

Training's gone pretty badly. You were so distracted by your throbbing ankle, and trying to think of ways to get out of the game this afternoon that you ended up getting 'killed' at least twice (you lost count).

You were flying with Phoenix today, who isn't too impressed with you, but she's not as annoyed as you thought you'd be, although that might be because you didn't get 'killed' by Hangman.

But Phoenix's annoyance at you is the last thing on your mind.

Your ankle's feeling less and less stable the further you walk, and the pain's so bad that you're giving yourself a headache trying to bite back the groans and winces that you'd usually let out.

But you're still determined to not tell anyone.

You're not really sure why you're so bent on being independent. Maybe it stems back to the fact that you're autistic, and you've always felt like you've had to work twice as hard as your neurotypical peers to prove your worth…

Of course, it doesn't help that when you first applied to be a Naval aviator, the military didn't want to let you in, on account of you being autistic, and you had to fight to prove that you were worth taking on.

But your problems didn't end there. No, even while training to become an aviator, there was still the horrible cliquey situation that you thought you'd left behind in high school. All the other women seemed to know each other, and you didn't really feel comfortable trying to make friends with the men.

Except for Bob, of course. But then, you've both been friends since you were in high school. And Bob's always been a very kind, accepting person.

But you're not even going to tell him about your ankle. He's too conscientious to be able to help you hide an injury, and he'd have you in the sickbay in no time, which is the last thing you need when you're with the Dagger Squad

Everyone else seems happy and excited, pretty much the opposite of how you're feeling right now, and you really don't want to put a damper on their afternoon.

I wish I could just go home, you think. It's not like anyone would really miss me. And we'd be an odd number anyway, if Mav wanted to play.

You pause for a moment, turning the idea over in your head.

After all, why not? Why shouldn't I go home? It's my afternoon off. And anyway, what if my ankle played up, and they all noticed? Isn't that what I was worried about in the first place?

But I told Bob I'd be there.

You didn't promise.

Yeah, but bailing on him twice in two days? Isn't that a bit much?

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

Hi, Bob. Sorry for the short notice, but I'm going to have to bail on the football game.

You pause for a moment, before hitting send. Well, no going back now.

Bob's reply comes up almost immediately. To Y/N: Oh, no. Why? Bob.

You manage a small smile as you reply. I'm just feeling kind of tired.

To Y/N: Do you want me to come over? Bob.

No, it's ok. I'll be fine by myself. Maybe tomorrow?

To Y/N: Okay. Hope you feel better soon. Bob.

Sighing, you put your phone aside, before immediately picking it up again so you can order some food. You feel bad bailing on Bob twice in quick succession, but you weren't lying. You are really tired, not least because of this stupid injury.

Maybe I'll take a sick day tomorrow, you wonder, before quickly dismissing the idea. You've only got a finite amount of sick leave, and you want to save it for - well, for a very rainy day, i.e. when you're really sick.

Which, if truth be told, hasn't happened this year. And you're past flu season, so…

There's a knock at the door.

You nearly jump out of your skin in fright, before groaning, and dragging yourself up to go and see who it is. It won't be the delivery guy, because you haven't even finished your order yet.

Your heart nearly stops when you open the door.

It's Rooster.

"Hey, C/S," he says. "Just came by to see how you're doing."

Him just being alone with you is enough to render your brain mush, and you have absolutely no idea how to reply, so you try stepping back as a way of inviting him in.

It's just bad luck that you completely forget about your ankle, which gives out beneath you, sending you to the floor.

Rooster catches you just in time.

Lifting you in his arms, he carries you to the living room, where he sets you down on the sofa.

"Where'd you hurt yourself?" he demands.

You stare at the floor. "My ankle," you whisper, wishing your cheeks wouldn't burn so much.

Very gently, Rooster takes your sock off. Judging by his soft gasp, he doesn't even need to touch your ankle to know that it's badly swollen.

"Is it broken or sprained?" he asks at last, his voice surprisingly thick.

"Sprained."

"Okay." Rooster takes a deep breath. "I'm gonna go get some ice for this. I'll only be a minute, so just stay put, okay?"

Once he's left the room, you scrub at your eyes, trying hard to keep the tears away. You expected him to yell at you for hiding an injury, but his quiet concern somehow makes you feel much, much worse.

And it doesn't help that your brain keeps replaying what happened over and over again.

That look on his face when you fell…

You don't even realise that you've started to cry until you feel a pair of strong arms around you, and a large hand cradling your head.

"Oh, sweetheart," murmurs Rooster. "I'm so sorry, I know it hurts…"

Sniffling, you lean into him as he strokes your hair, and murmurs sweet nothings in an attempt to calm you down. Despite how awkward you feel, you'd be lying if you said that a small part of you doesn't enjoy his fussing just a little bit.

It takes you a while to calm down, because every time your crying subsides, you see that look on Rooster's face again, and another wave of guilt washes over you, which makes you cry even more.

But once you're calm, you immediately pull away from him, feeling horribly embarrassed.

"Sorry," you mumble, staring at the floor once again.

"It's okay." Rooster moves to put the now partially melted ice pack on your ankle. "That better?"

You nod, feeling your throat go tight.

"Good."

There's a long, awkward silence. Not that you're complaining. You're still feeling a little fragile, and like you might cry any minute, so you don't really feel much like talking anyway.

"Hey, C/S?"

You look up.

"Do you - uh, need anything?"

You shake your head. "I'm fine. You should go back to the game."

Rooster shakes his head. "I'm not leaving you here."

"You should," you mumble.

"I don't want to leave you like this. You're tired, you're hurt, and you're in pain. Please let me help."

You can feel tears welling up again. "Okay," you whisper. "Thank you. And - I'm sorry about ruining your afternoon off."

"Don't be sorry." Rooster gives you a soft smile, although his eyes look suspiciously glassy. "I was worried about you, and this was the least I could do."

"You were worried?"

Rooster nods. "And it turns out I was right to be worried."

"What do you-"

Rooster suddenly takes your hand in his, holding it so tightly that you're worried he might break it. "You're very lucky that your ankle didn't give out when you were by yourself, and that you weren't more hurt when you fell. Please, never hide an injury like this again."

You nod. "Okay."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

Rooster lets go of your hand, although the worried expression doesn't fully leave his face.

You take a deep breath, feeling you should probably turn the conversation in a different direction. "Um, I was just about to order some food. Do you want any?"

Rooster smiles, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Sure. But I'm paying."

You shake your head. "I'll pay. It's the least I can do."

Rooster looks like he's about to argue, but thinks better of it. "You sure you're comfortable?" he asks. "I could go and get you a blanket if you want…"

"A blanket sounds good," you say, smiling shyly. "Oh, and could you hand me the TV remote, please?"

Smiling, Rooster hands you the TV remote, before going upstairs.

You let out a soft sigh of relief as you relax into the sofa cushions, and turn on one of your favourite comfort shows. You're exhausted from today, so you decide to rest your eyes a bit.

Just for a few minutes…

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

It seems like only a few seconds later when you suddenly wake up to feel Rooster tucking you into bed.

You let out a soft grunt. "Mm. What're you doing?"

Rooster smiles softly. "You fell asleep on the couch, sweetie. I figured you'd be more comfortable sleeping in bed. You still up for dinner?"

You shake your head. "Too tired. Can you just stay with me until I sleep?"

"Of course." Rooster's very gentle as he props your ankle up, and carefully wraps it in a fresh ice pack.

The slight shock from the cold wakes you up for a brief moment, but exhaustion soon takes over again, and you have to fight to try and keep your eyes open.

You feel the bed shift, and then Rooster's hand tenderly stroking your hair.

The last thing you remember before sinking into oblivion is his soft voice.

"Go to sleep, sweetheart. I'll be here when you wake up, I promise."

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

Part 2

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

Hi!! I loved your Jake x autistic!reader fic!! I was wondering if you'd be open to writing a Bradley x autistic!read fic next? Maybe reader goes out with the dagger squad and ends up getting a little overwhelmed/goes nonverbal but Bradley helps calm them down? No pressure if your not into the idea

Stay safe and stay hydrated <3

It's Funny How Things Can Turn Out

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Autistic!Fem!Shy!Reader

Warnings: A bit of angst, lots of fluff at the end, soft Bradley, sensory overload and consequent meltdown, mentions of autism, mild cursing, Naval inaccuracies, mentions of alcohol, mentions of drink spiking

Summary: You decide to break out of your shell for once, and go to the bar with the Dagger Squad. Things don't quite turn out how you expected them to.

"Y/N, please," begs Nat. "It's going to be fun."

You've got a very different idea of fun to her, but you don't really want to say that.

"I know Bob can't go, but Coyote can. You know Coyote."

Yeah, but not well enough to be able to cling to him like a limpet.

For that matter, you don't really know Nat that well, either, but since she's Bob's friend, you feel a bit more comfortable around her than most strangers.

You've known Bob pretty much all your life. Your mums were friends, you two were friends in school, and even though you're not an aviator, you've always tended to stick around Bob.

He's the type who'll let you cling to him like a limpet in a social situation, but unfortunately, he's got a cold tonight, and can't go to the bar. You were fine with that, partly because it would give you an excuse to miss the Friday night torture get-together at The Hard Deck.

Nat means well, of course. She knows you're shy, and that you're pretty introverted, but she just doesn't seem to understand that your social battery isn't up to coping with strangers today, and that you'd rather take care of Bob than socialise with a load of strangers.

"Bob's not that sick, you know. He just doesn't want to spread it on to the rest of us."

"I know," you mutter. "I guess I'd just feel better if-"

Nat shakes her head. "You need to get out of your shell a bit, Y/N. You'll be fine, okay? It'll be fun."

Your brain is screaming at you. Don't do it, Y/N! Don't!

But you don't want to disappoint Nat, so you nod. "I guess so."

Nat smiles. "Great! We'll go to the bar in about forty-five minutes."

Wait, what?

But Nat's already let herself out before you can say anything.

This is not good.

The bar is so crowded that you're convinced there's more carbon dioxide than oxygen in the air - which could explain why you're finding it difficult to breathe.

It's so boiling hot that you're already sweating, and the noise is starting to get to you - already.

Nat doesn't seem to notice as she pulls you through the crowd, towards the pool table.

"Hey, Phoenix!" calls a guy - Coyote, you remember. You've met him a couple of times, and he's always been nice to you.

Coyote smiles when he sees you. "Hey, Y/N. How's it going?"

You want to reply, but your mouth's too dry, so you just nod, force a smile, and hope that he doesn't think you're being rude.

"Who's this?" Another guy's come up to Coyote.

Wait, is he talking to Coyote, or me? you wonder. You don't want to appear rude, but your mouth feels like sandpaper, and it's impossible to even try to form words, let alone say them.

To add to it all, your social battery is on the verge of dying, which has lowered your sensory tolerance considerably.

Fortunately, Nat comes to your rescue. "This is Y/N," she says. "Y/N, this is Bagman."

"Hangman," protests the other guy.

A few other aviators arrive, Nat makes some more introductions - and then abandons you to go and get some drinks for everyone.

Where am I supposed to go? you wonder.

Normally, you and Bob would sit in a little niche near the pool table. As luck would have it, that little niche is empty, but there are people blocking your way, who you'd have to push past to get there.

The bar's getting more and more crowded by the second. People are squeezed so close together that they're touching. You can feel strangers brushing past you as they go to get their drinks.

Normally, it would just annoy you, but tonight, you have to physically force yourself to hold it together every time you feel the light tickling touch of a stranger brushing past you.

Everything's becoming too much to handle. The noise, which bothered you even at first, is now a deafening roar that drowns out individual sounds, the smell of alcohol is giving you a headache, the lights are hurting your eyes…

You need out. Right now.

Somewhere over the roar, you hear a yell. "Bradshaw! Over here!"

In desperation, you clamp your hands over your ears. It helps a little, being able to block out most of the noise, but the light's still hurting your eyes, the smell of alcohol is still giving you a headache, and people are still touching you as they walk past.

Fortunately, you're still in the vicinity of Bob's friends, so you watch them to try and calm yourself.

You should go over and say hi, you know, you tell yourself.

But there are too many people blocking the way, and anyway, you're too shy to go over. The thing is, you can put a name to his face, but you've never actually been introduced.

Another person pushes past you, more roughly than the rest, which makes one of your hands slip off your ear.

All the noise comes pouring back in, and it's all you can do not to make a run for it.

You back into the wall, hands clamped over your ears again, looking desperately for an escape.

But the only way out is the door you came in, and that's blocked by loads of strangers, all so close together that you'd have to push past.

Your heart's pounding in your ears. You can still hear some of the roar, but at least it's somewhat muted now that your hands are blocking it. You shut your eyes, trying desperately to hold it together.

Then you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder, and you open your eyes to see Bradley standing in front of you, looking worried.

You don't hear what he says, but you know it's something along the lines of, "Are you okay?"

You shake your head.

Bradley's face softens. He says something else, and then points to the door.

You nod, hoping he's asking if you want to leave.

Bradley wraps a protective arm around you as he walks you out. Somehow, he manages to shield you from being too jostled as he pushes through the crowd.

Once you're outside, Bradley takes you to a bench a little way outside the bar. Even with your hands over your ears, you notice how nice and quiet it is outside.

Slowly, you take your hands off your ears, before turning to Bradley, who's sitting next to you.

"You okay, sweetie?" he asks softly. "You seemed pretty overwhelmed back there."

You want to give him a rational answer, explain calmly and clearly that you're autistic, that it was sensory overload, and that you just need time to recharge.

But instead, you start to cry. Today's just been too much for you to handle, and now that you're suddenly in a safe space, you just can't keep it together.

"Hey, it's okay." Bradley puts his hand on your arm, gently stroking up and down. "You're safe."

You want to lean into his touch, and allow yourself to cry, but you suddenly realise just how awkward this situation must be for him. As soon as you realise, you try hard to choke back your sobs.

You idiot! you scream at yourself. You're crying in front of one of Bob's aviator friends. Do you know how humiliating this will be for him if he finds out? And how awkward this is for his other friends?

You're so busy berating yourself, and trying to choke back your sobs that you don't realise you've started picking at your hands. It's a habit you've gotten into, to try and stop yourself from getting emotional in public.

Bradley notices what you're doing. He doesn't say anything about it, but gently takes your hands in his.

"Do you need anything, sweetie?" he asks softly.

You bite your lip. What you really want is a hug, but when you try to speak, nothing comes out.

You've gone nonverbal.

This isn't the first time it's happened, but it's the first time it's happened in public without either your mum or Bob to help you.

You hastily dig in your pocket for your phone, before opening a text app, and typing something out before handing it to Bradley.

Bradley's face softens when he sees what you've typed.

Can I have a hug?

"Oh, sweetheart. Come here."

You shuffle closer to him on the bench, letting him wrap his arms around you, and hold you close.

It's been so long since you've had a proper hug that you've almost forgotten what it feels like. Some more tears trickle down your cheeks, but you let them fall this time.

It takes a while, but you do manage to calm down. Pulling away, you sniffle, wipe your eyes - and then a wave of embarrassment hits you.

I'm sorry that had to be so awkward for you, you type. Dragging you away from your friends and all. Please don't tell Bob - or the others. They'll probably never forgive me.

Bradley frowns, and shakes his head. "It's okay, sweetheart. I just wanted to help. And the others weren't mad at you, you know. They were just worried."

You sit in silence for a bit, wondering whether to go back in or not, before finally saying, "If you, um, if I go back in, can I - um - stay with you? Just, like, while we're in the bar?"

Bradley smiles. "That's fine." He pauses for a moment before adding, "You're Bob's friend, right?"

You nod. "My name's Y/N L/N."

"Mine's Bradley Bradshaw. My callsign's Rooster, but you can call me either."

You smile shyly. "Okay."

"You feel ready to go back in?" asks Bradley.

You nod. "Yeah, I guess…"

Bradley raises an eyebrow. "You sure? I don't want to force you."

"No, it's - it's fine. The 'I guess', is just kind of what I say, if you get what I mean."

"Right." Bradley stands up, and holds out a hand to help you up.

You take it, and stand up.

As you both head back to the bar, you suddenly realise that maybe the Friday night get-together at the bar didn't have to be torture.

After all, Bradley was kind to you, even though he only knew you through Bob, so maybe the others won't be so bad either.

You smile as you glance up at Bradley. You'd have never guessed that this evening, which started so badly, could get better just because of someone's kindness. It looks like being a good night after all.

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

My characters are so happy right now :) Should I... ruin... everything?