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Unintentional

Pairing: Loki x shy!autistic!fem!reader

Summary: Accidentally getting caught up in a chain of events outside your control was not on your bucket list. But neither was working for SHIELD. Or being able to read the mind of a certain Asgardian captured by SHIELD…

Warnings/tags: Fluff, soft Loki, angst, reader hates their job, mind-reading, implied concussion, mention of stabbing, minor character death, mentions of injuries, probably OOC Loki? (I don't really know…), probably confusing dialogue, morally questionable SHIELD

A/N: I'm so sorry I haven't posted in so long, life's just been really busy lately.

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Working for SHIELD was not on your bucket list. In fact, you didn't even know that the organisation existed until you'd dropped out of school, and started looking for work. You'd started as a lab intern, but you got promoted to lab assistant - and then you got onto SHIELD's radar.

In a good way, fortunately. You ended up getting a job there, and now you're one of the top lab assistants. You've worked with (well, for) some of the best scientists in the world. Some were nice, some not so nice, some just average.

Like your previous employer, Dr Selvig, who mysteriously disappeared quite recently.

And now you're stuck being a lab assistant to Dr Banner, who's probably the most dangerous person on the whole ship. Sure, he's not the worst scientist you've ever had to be a personal assistant to; in fact, he's actually really nice. One of the best, in fact.

Even so, you're pretty on edge around him. You're not the best with people, and the only reason you even agreed to the position of lab assistant in the first place was because, well, you thought that it would be only a few people that you'd have to interact with that would all be as awkward as you.

Unfortunately, that's not the case. Apparently, being a lab assistant also means acting as a mediator between the agents and the scientists - something you've never been great at, as it requires, well, people skills. Good people skills.

Fortunately, Dr Banner doesn't seem to be having any trouble like that, so far, and another guy's helping him out with whatever they're supposed to be doing (SHIELD is annoyingly 'hush-hush' about that sort of thing), which renders you pretty much useless as far as helping is concerned.

That's why you're glad that Banner lets you do pretty much whatever you like. He doesn't like being disturbed while he's working, he doesn't want to talk with the agents until he's found something of value - and that other guy, Sparks or something, is already playing assistant.

But still, knowing that he could lose control, and turn into a giant green rage monster at any point has been doing a pretty good job of keeping you on edge.

Sure, there's a dangerous guy locked up in the cage downstairs, who's apparently from another planet, and is ridiculously overpowered by all accounts, but - he's locked up. Banner isn't. And - well, you don't really know how the whole Hulk thing works. Does he get a nasty mood swing that turns him into Hulk? Is it under immense stress? Or does it just come on randomly?

One of the advantages of having pretty much free rein on a SHIELD hideout is that you can find out some pretty interesting stuff about the history of SHIELD, past cases, etc., and if anyone asks, you can just say it's for your job. It's just unfortunate that you aren't allowed to use your knowledge in trivia quizzes, and have to play clueless like other people.

"L/N? Where are you going?" You bite back a groan as you turn around.

It's just unfortunate that Agent Romanoff's seen you leaving the lab. You've never really been sure what to make of her. She's never been overtly mean to you, but she does have a habit of sticking her nose into your business, which you find kind of annoying, especially as you're a fairly private person.

"Aren't you supposed to be helping Dr Banner?" she asks.

You have to fight the urge to sigh. "He doesn't want to be disturbed while he's working."

"You should still stick around, though."

You shake your head. "He told me he doesn't like having people hovering over him unless they're actually helping."

Romanoff considers this for a moment, before nodding. "Okay, well, I actually have a job for you. I know it's not exactly in your skill-set, but - well, we still don't know what Loki's planning to do, so I need you to go and talk to him for me, see if he lets anything slip about his plans."

You nod. "Yes, Agent."

As you walk off, your mind's racing. I've got to talk to Loki, the second most dangerous person on the entire ship, a guy so powerful that it took the combined efforts of Sparks, Richards, Romanoff, and a couple others to even capture him? What if he attacks me? What if he gets inside my head? What if-

"L/N?"

Wonderful.

It's Agent Hill. "What are you doing?"

"An errand for Agent Romanoff."

You're surprised at how quickly her manner becomes more approving when she hears Romanoff's name. This could be a get-out-of-jail-free card for the next time I get caught snooping!

But even after that delightful discover, you're still very nervous by the time you reach the cage where Loki's being held, so much so that you end up debating with yourself about whether to even open the door.

Come on, Y/N, you have to open the door. You have to talk to him.

But he's dangerous! He might kill me!

He's in a cage that'll drop out of the helicarrier if he tries to break it, much less attack you.

But the mechanism might fail!

There's a button on the control pad that you can press that will do the exact same thing.

I don't want to do this!

Look, you promised Agent Romanoff you'd do it. You don't have to stay very long. Just ask him a couple questions, and then run away. You don't even have to stay to hear his answer; they can probably see him on the security cameras anyway.

Even so, for all your rationalising, you're still pretty scared when you finally push the door open, and step inside.

Maybe he won't hear me if I keep quiet. Maybe I can jumpscare him.

No such luck. Loki snaps his head around the minute you step inside.

He's actually a lot less scary-looking than you imagined he'd be.

Well, apart from his eyes. They're a glowing, unnatural blue that reminds you eerily of that weird spear-scimitar hybrid that Sparks and Banner are working on.

You can hear your heart pounding in your ears. Your lungs are struggling to fill with air, making you hyperventilate.

What am I even supposed to ask him? 'Hi, how's your day going? Oh, and by the way, could you very kindly tell me what exactly your plans are for invading Earth?'

Bang!

You jump back as Loki slams his fist on the glass.

"How did you get into my head?" he hisses.

Your first instinct would have been to run away, but you're so terrified that you can barely think straight, let alone run away.

He thumps the glass again. "Answer me!"

Tears begin to fill your eyes, partly from the shock, but also from his manner. You can see now why he's so dangerous; he can be absolutely terrifying when he wants to be.

"I - I don't know what you're talking about," you gasp, trying hard to hold back your tears.

"Don't lie to me." Loki's voice is quieter now, but more menacing. "Tell me how you got into my head!"

"I didn't!" Your voice is getting more and more high-pitched. "I swear!"

"Then why did I hear your voice while your lips weren't moving?"

"You can read thoughts?"

"When I choose to."

So he didn't-

"Why would I bother myself with the thoughts of a mere mortal?"

Darn. I forgot he could read thoughts.

"I'm not trying to read your thoughts, mortal," snaps Loki. "Now would you say something?"

You open your mouth, but it's completely dry, so you close it again, while trying to work out what you're going to say.

Then a wave of anger hits you.

You know what? you decide. Screw Romanoff. Screw Fury. Screw SHIELD. I'm sick of them, pretending like they're better than everyone else just because they work for the government.

You can tell Loki's listening in, but you don't care. Let him listen. Let him hear exactly what goes on inside my head.

"Tell me about yourself," says Loki suddenly, in a much more civil tone than before. "How did you start working for SHIELD?"

I got too good at my job, so Fury forced me to work for him. Outwardly, you say, "It was an internship."

Loki nods. "What do you want from me?"

Well, not from you specifically, but I'd quite like to quit this job, and go back to being a civilian. "Why… why would I tell you that?"

Loki just smirks. "I think you know why, mortal."

I don't want to tell you.

Loki chuckles. "Don't you trust me?"

I don't know who to trust anymore. "Why would I trust someone fighting the organisation I work for?"

Loki's suddenly serious. "Do you trust SHIELD?"

I thought I did. But after I read the files… "Of course." You're shocked at how easily the lie slips off your tongue. What have I become?

"L/N!"

It's Fury. And he looks like he's living up to his name quite well.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Your mind goes blank for a moment. "Uh… Romanoff asked me to interrogate Loki."

"Well, it doesn't look much like an interrogation to me. Seems like Loki's doing most of the asking."

Maybe there's different types. "Well - I'm - I'm going to ask him questions."

Fury sighs. "Fine. Just - don't get too close. He's a master of manipulation, L/N. He'll get inside your head, if you let him."

Well, I wasn't letting him. "Yes, sir."

After he's left, you turn back to Loki with a sigh. "Where were we?"

L/N, I need you to pay attention to me. In a few minutes, Barton will be breaking in with enemies of SHIELD, who work for me. I need you to stay low, draw as little attention to yourself as possible. Stay near me if you can. And get rid of that uniform, or they will kill you.

You try hard to keep your emotions in check. Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?

There's no time to explain. Are you with me or not?

You consider for a moment. What has SHIELD ever done for me? For any of its agents? I don't even like the organisation, so why…

Loki sighs. What have you to lose?

Everything, if you lose. But… you know what? Screw SHIELD. I was planning to leave them anyway, at least once this mission was over, so why not leave now?

Loki smirks. "You have no questions for me, L/N?"

It's Y/N. "I did, but then Fury interrupted, and I forgot."

"Well, I'd rather like to hear some questions, all the same." What do you have to offer me, Y/N? I'm not doing this purely out of the goodness of my heart.

If we fail, I act as a double-double agent, and see if I can get you the lightest sentence possible. You'd still be incarcerated for a while, but it would be shorter than life - and better than going to the electric chair. If we succeed - well, I'm not sure. "How - how old are you?"

Loki chuckles again. "What a silly question. I am around one thousand and fifty years old - which is equivalent to around twenty-one of your years." That sounds fair enough.

How do I know you'll keep your word? "Um - well - do you have any siblings?"

"A brother. His name's Thor. You may have seen him." I promise to you, Y/N, on all I hold dear, I will protect you.

Cross your heart? "The blonde guy carrying the big hammer?"

Loki nods. "Yes." Cross my heart?

It's a kind of promise. Cross my heart, hope to die. Or you could swear on your mother's life. "Well - um… he mentioned you were adopted."

"That's correct." Well, if it makes you feel better - cross my heart, hope to die. But I already promised on my mother's life.

And you'll keep that promise? "How old were you when you were adopted?"

"I was a baby." I will.

Should I leave? "So, like, a birth adoption?"

Loki shakes his head. "I don't want to talk about it." No, stay here. You'll be safer near me.

But what about my uniform? "Well - um…"

"No more questions, hm? You don't seem to have learned very much about me." When I get out, I can cast an illusion to hide your uniform.

Should I help you break out? "Well, I learned a bit about your family and childhood. That's something, right?"

"But you still have no idea of my plans." Do you know how?

I think I could figure it out. Or Barton could get you out. "That's true…"

Crash!

The whole aircraft gives a massive shudder, the impact knocking you to the floor.

For a moment, you're dazed, unsure what to do next.

Looking up, you see that the security cameras around the cage are broken. Not that it matters whether anyone sees you now.

Struggling to your feet, you stagger to the control panel, and try to figure out which button to press to open the cage.

After trying a few random buttons, which fortunately do nothing untoward, you find the right one, and press it.

Stepping out, Loki takes a long look at you, before putting his hand on your shoulder.

"There," he says softly. "You should be safe now. Just stay with me."

Looking down, you see that your SHIELD uniform is gone, replaced by plain black clothes. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet. Do you have a weapon?"

You shake your head. "I'm not allowed."

Loki points to your belt. "You are now."

That's when you realise there's a holster on your belt - with a gun in it. Taking it out, you take a good look at the gun. You don't know very much about guns, but it looks pretty powerful.

"Come on," mutters Loki. "We can't just stand here."

"Sorry," you mumble, hastily putting the gun back into the holster.

You feel Loki tense behind you before you hear the heavy footsteps entering the room.

Stay still.

You obey without question, your mouth dry, as you watch Loki cast an illusion.

"No!"

Clang!

It's Loki's brother, Thor. And he's locked in the cage.

"Are you ever not going to fall for that?"

Loki's words make you want to laugh. Despite everything, it seems that he and Thor still have a sibling dynamic.

"Brother-" Thor's voice is low, threatening.

An illusion of Loki walks up to the control panel. "The humans think us immortal. Should we test that?"

In desperation, Thor throws his hammer at the cage wall. It manages to crack the glass, but then the bars holding the cage in place start to give way.

Loki's hand hovers over the button, ready to press it.

"Move away, please."

You turn, and - oh, of all the miserable luck!

It's Coulson. And he's holding a pretty lethal-looking weapon.

"You like this? It's a prototype we started working on after you sent the Destroyer to Earth. I don't even know what it does, but I'm pretty interested in finding out."

Loki begins to back away - and then disappears.

The real Loki appears behind Coulson, stabbing him in the chest.

"No!" yells Thor.

Ignoring him, Loki walks over to the control panel, and pushes the button.

You have to suppress an audible gasp as Thor is thrown out of the aircraft.

Loki gestures to you. "Come on."

You obey, scuttling up to him, trying not to look at Coulson's body, which is now slumped on the floor.

"You're going to lose."

Both you and Loki turn around to see that Coulson's still alive.

Loki lets out a soft laugh. "Am I?"

"It's in your nature."

Loki shakes his head. "Your heroes are scattered; your floating fortress falls from the sky. Where is my disadvantage?"

"You lack conviction."

"I don't think I-"

Bang!

Coulson fires his weapon, which sends you and Loki flying through the wall.

Fortunately, Loki was standing in front of you, and took the brunt of the blast, but you're still in a lot of pain, and you're pretty sure you've cracked some ribs.

"Y/N!" Loki gets up, and rushes towards you. "Are you alright?"

You nod. We should go.

"Come." Loki helps you up.

You're grateful for his concern, but you're not planning on telling him how you really feel. Not yet, anyway. Your whole body hurts, which makes you wonder if you're more injured than you first thought. Maybe the adrenaline's masking it.

Your suspicions are confirmed when your knee buckles, nearly sending you down a flight of stairs.

Loki catches you before you can fall. He gives you a look, but picks you up in his arms without a word.

You nearly yelp at the unfamiliar sensation, but you're grateful for the support. You're pretty much certain that you're badly hurt, and you doubt you could have gone the rest of the way by yourself.

A jet's waiting for you when you finally get out of the aircraft.

Loki's still holding you as he steps onto the jet, maneuvering you onto his lap as he sits down.

As the jet takes off, Loki gives a few orders, before turning his attention back to you.

Let's have no more lying, please, he begins, rather sternly. Now, how do you really feel?

You stare at the floor. I don't know. I know I'm injured, but…

Loki's face softens slightly. I'll get a medic to see to you once we land. You do need to rest, so just try to relax for now.

You try to do as he says, but it feels kind of weird. It's been a long time since you've had this much physical contact, even longer since you've sat on someone's lap, and even longer since you've been held in someone's arms.

Loki…

Yes?

Why are you helping me? I'm literally supposed to be a SHIELD agent. Or are you just taking me hostage for ransom or something?

Loki sighs, shifting you into a more comfortable position. I'm not taking you hostage, sweet. Look, Y/N, I know you won't believe me, but - I really am helping you - I really want to help you. But I can't tell you why. Not yet, anyway.

Couldn't you tell me at least one reason?

Loki's mouth turns up slightly. Well, it's been a long time since someone confided in me.

But what about your brother? Hasn't he confided in you before?

Not for a long time. Loki's arms tighten around you as the jet dips. And listen, once this is over, I will tell you why I'm helping you. But for now, you need to trust me.

Well, I don't really have much of a choice, do I? I'm injured, you're about a hundred times stronger than me, and I'm in a jet with a load of guys who'll kill me if I attack you.

Loki brushes a strand of hair out of your eyes. You should rest. I doubt you could attack even a human right now, let alone me.

Sighing, you close your eyes, and rest your head on his shoulder, suddenly feeling very tired. Your whole body's really hurting now, and it's getting difficult to breathe, but you're too exhausted to care.

You're painfully jolted awake when the jet lands.

You hear Loki curse under his breath. "Are you alright?" he asks you.

You're too tired to respond.

Answer me. Are you hurt?

I don't know. Leave me alone…

You feel Loki's hand rest on your forehead, before moving down to cup your cheek. "We need to get you to a healer."

And then everything goes black.

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Part 2

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

reblog if you’re a writer who’s very terrible at responding to comments from your readers, but has read them all and loves and appreciates each and every single one of them very dearly

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.)

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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.

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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.

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 💛❤️

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.

Writing tips for ya

(Part one?) writer block

I’ve found a way that works for me personally that makes writers block nonexistent.

So, I start by writing my first 5 or so chapters, or until you get stuck. ( this is the point we’re you will get writers block)

Instead of attempt to write more I want you to go back and edit those 5 or so chapters. This makes it so you don’t have writers block anymore (gives you new inspiration and reminds you of things you added in earlier) and it will make it so you can write 5 more chapters.

Instead of editing only the 5 new chapters edit the whole thing again.

It will looks something like this

Write 5, edit, write 5 more edit 1-10 write 5 more edit 1-15. Once you hit 15 you can edit 15-20 then 15-25 until you hit another 15 mark. Like 30. Then it will be 30-35 and so on.

Also it won’t always been in sets of 5 I just happen to get stuck around that mark it can look like, write 8 edit those 8 then write 3 and edit all 11.

This also helps so you can make things connect together, so you don’t forget what’s happening, and add in those tiny details that you hope one day will be noticed by someone!

Welp that’s about all I have at the moment. But please tell me if it works for you! I would also really like to hear other problems you’re having as a writer so I can include those in another post.

Happy writing

One of the greatest lies a writer can tell themselves is that they will remember the idea that they came up with while they were half asleep, so they don’t need to write it down right away.

Love this!! I'm more of a quiet, grumpy person myself, so this was great reading. ❤️❤️❤️

how it could grow

thank you for voting in this poll! here we have grumpy!reader and sunshine!rooster going to the farmer's market | fluff, 1.7k

It's early.

Bradley gets up early and probably will forever. You've always considered yourself able to get up in the morning, but he's so...cheery. So damn chipper.

Being up early on a Saturday means the local farmer's market. It's so early that it's not even close to crowded, so you and your boyfriend stroll down the rolls of stalls, checking your combined list as you to to make sure you hit the right vendors.

Bradley waves at many of them, dragging you over to get some pickles and compliment Carlota's hat, to the bee farm stand to ask Steve about new candle scents, to get some iced tea and to hear about Lu's new puppy.

"This is delicious, Lu," he says. "What do you think, babe?" He nudges your shoulder with his.

He's not teasing you, not really, but he is trying to make you talk. You're usually very content to let Bradley be the talker, the friendly face. He's like the sun and for a long time you had no idea what he was doing spending his time with you. You're quieter, rougher around the edges. But he's practically drilled it into you by this point: he loves you. So you let him prod you a little because you do like these people and they always have a smile and kind word for you, even if Bradley does all the chatting.

"It's lovely," you tell the vendor, and mean it. It's no surprise Bradley knows him and his dog's name and everything about the business. He beams at you.

"Thank you!" he says. "Bradley's told me you're particular about your tea. Here, you take some of this new blend to try and let me know next week what you think."

So ensues a small battle over paying that ends with Bradley convincing Lu to come to the Hard Deck for a free drink this weekend in exchange for your sample blend.

"That was nice of him," you mumble, tucking into Bradley's side. He holds the iced tea you're sharing between you so you can take sips from the straw, his other arm slung over your shoulder.

"You're his favorite customer," he says. You look at him. Yeah, right, you say with your eyebrows. Seriously, his say back. You roll your eyes.

"I think that's you."

He winks. "Alright, beautiful." You scowl but he ignores it. "I think it's time to divide and conquer. You take fruits, I'll take veggies? And then we can hit the bakery on the way home and eat on the porch."

"Okay," you tell him. He gives you the rest of the tea and you tilt your cheek up. Bradley recognizes what you're asking for immedietly, surging forward to press his lips to your cheek tenderly.

"I'll find you," he says, and heads to the farm stand, whistling as he goes.

You head to the fruit stand. Bradley asked for strawberries, so you'll get some of those. And some apples for snacking on and blackberries, if she has them. When you get there, there's a small child and her mother in front of you. The little girl looks at you and you crack a smile at her and wiggle your fingers in hello. She giggles before burying her face in her mother's leg.

Yeah, okay, so a few things can crack your exterior. Your cheery, handsome aviator boyfriend and cute kids. And dogs, obviously.

The mom and kid leave and it's your turn. "Hi, honey!" the vendor says.

"Hi, Thalia," you say. Bradley comes here almost every week and when you tag along you love to visit this woman especially and her colorful piles of fruit.

"What's it for you today?" she says. Before you can answer, she holds up her hand. "Wait, I forgot!" She bends down under her stall table and reemerges with the most perfect carton of raspberries you've ever seen. You gasp softly. This is the first time she's had them all summer.

"Those are gorgeous," you say. She grins.

"That tall boyfriend of yours came by last week and I didn't have any yet." She chuckles at the memory. "He looked downright heartbroken and asked me to save some for you special once I picked 'em. So here we are! First and only carton before we bring a full load next week."

You gently take the berries from her and find that words won't come. "Oh," you say softly, looking down at them in your hands. "Thank you."

"Not a problem, dear," Thalia says softly. "Anything else for you?" You snap out of it and smile at her, rattling off your list. She bags up your things into your tote after you pay and you carry them over your shoulder while cradling the carton in your hands like precious cargo. Because it is.

The market is a little more crowded as you scan the veg stalls for Bradley. He does things like this -- the berries -- all the time, really. He looks out for you, makes sure your water bottle has ice in it, buys you more shampoo when he notices you're low, resets the car seat when he knows you'll be driving. You know that he likes taking care of you, that it makes him feel useful and like he's loving you properly, but you wonder if maybe you don't show him the same courtesy.

You know you can be sullen, you can be quiet, you can be prickly. It's not proved too much for him thus far and you're sure it won't drive him away, but you worry that he just doesn't know that he deserves to be loved with the same care and concern that he loves you. He deserves someone who makes sure he has the very first carton of the season of his favorite fruit.

You spot him standing by the kombucha stand and admire him as you walk over, tossing out the empty iced tea cup as you go. Highlighted hair, golden skin, tote bag of veg over his broad shoulders. He's so beautiful and he's yours. You love him, you really do. Right before you call his name he looks up and finds you, almost as if he felt you coming. He breaks into a smile so genuine you can't help but return it.

"Hi, gorgeous," he says, loudly. Beautiful, gorgeous. Bradley is always calling you something that makes your cheeks heat and your stomach swoop. You duck your head and step close to him. "Oh, hell yeah, the raspberries! Are they alright?"

"They're perfect," you tell him. You're perfect. "Thank you."

"Good," he says, like you being pleased by some raspberries is the best thing he's heard today. "Ready for breakfast?" You nod and he grabs your free hand and you head out of the market and down the street.

"Bradley," you say quietly, once you're clear of the stands. It's your serious tone and he picks up on it right away, giving your hand a squeeze.

"You okay?"

You hum. You are, but you need to get this out. "It was really nice of you to ask Thalia for these," you say, looking at your raspberries. "And I...I feel like I don't do things for you like that. And I wanted to say I'm sorry and that I'm going to try to do more because --"

"Woah, woah, woah," Bradley says, tugging you to a stop and making sure you're facing each other. "What's all this?" His brows are creased in concern, the furrow between them annoyingly adorable.

You take a deep breath and keep your eyes on his, determined. You want to be sure he hears this because you mean it.

"I know that I'm...prickly. And you're like the sun, Bradley." He looks like he wants to say something but you keep going before he can interrupt. "And you do nice things for me all the time and I know it's because you love me but also because it's just how you love, and because you're good. And I just want to do more to make sure you know that I love you and that you deserve to be treated like you're...like you're the best person in the world because you are."

His eyes get wider and wider as you speak, his lips parting. Yeah, maybe this is a little intense for like, 8:30 in the morning, but you two are honest with each other. It's how you got this far.

"Sweetheart," he says. "Baby, god, I--" He cups your face with one hand, eyes darting back and forth between yours. "But you do."

It's your turn to furrow your brows. What does he mean?

"You iron my uniform and you make sure I get dinner with Maverick every few weeks and you put gas in the Bronco and you stay up late to call me when I'm halfway across the world and you never let me forget my watch and you tell me you love me and that I'm brave and..." Bradley trails off and his thumb gently strokes your cheek. He starts again, quieter this time. "You're quiet in the mornings but you don't mind when I whistle and you're grumpy when it's too hot but you go outside with me anyway and you let me do the talking because I can't shut up and you only smile when you mean it and you're you. You do love me like that. You do."

Good god, you're blinking away tears at his words. "Okay," you say. "I guess we...I guess we love each other alright." Maybe it's just hard to see yourself the way he sees you. Maybe he finds it hard to see himself the way you see him. Maybe this is just how it is -- you have to remind each other you're doing your best.

Bradley leans in and presses his lips to your forehead. "You fucking bet we do," he whispers.

"Don't crush my berries," you say, eyes fluttering closed. He shifts and you feel his breath on your lips.

"I'd never."

And then he kisses you on the empty boardwalk on another gorgeous morning in your lovely, wonderful life.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, masterlist here! (also did anyone catch the easter egg in this fic :))

reblog if you believe fanfics are as valid as books that were published and sold by authors who write as their main careers. I'm trying to prove a point