The Only Excuse I See From People Who Think It's Okay To Give Fanfic Writers Unsolicited Criticism Is

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

Let Me Help (Part 2)

Part 1

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

Summary: You're pretty sure you imagined last night. After all, why would someone like Rooster care about someone like you? (Well, that's what you ask yourself, anyway...)

Warnings/tags: Super soft Bradley, a little bit of angst, mentions of autism, mentions of sensory issues, mentions of social awkwardness (I think?), mentions of injuries, one mention of painkillers (Tylenol), so so self-indulgent

A/N: Sorry, the writing's probably kind of clunky.

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

As you wake up, the memories of the night before come back to you.

It was probably all a dream, you decide. It feels devastating, but it's the only reasonable explanation you can come up with as to why Rooster, of all people, would actually care enough to go knocking on your door to check up on you.

I probably just went straight to bed the minute I got home, and just imagined all that other stuff.

Trying to suppress the sting of disappointment, you carefully lever yourself out of bed, and try to stand on your ankle.

You're unsuccessful, of course, and you have to bite back a yell of pain when it nearly gives way beneath you.

After hopping to the door, and opening it, you take a quick breather, before starting towards the kitchen. Maybe some food will help me feel better.

"Sweetheart?"

You don't quite jump, but you do lose your balance in your shock at hearing Rooster's voice.

Fortunately, he manages to catch you before you can fall.

"Hey, whoa, what are you doing out of bed?"

He looks so worried that you can't help but feel a little guilty, despite the fact that you hadn't even known he was in the house.

"S-sorry…"

"Don't." Rooster takes a good look at you. "Did you put any weight on your ankle?"

Your cheeks burn as you nod. "Just for a second."

"Did you fall?"

You shake your head, staring miserably at the floor.

Rooster sighs softly, before lifting you in his arms. "You shouldn't be trying to walk. You could really hurt yourself."

"I'm sorry," you mumble. "I didn't realise - I thought you would have gone home by now."

"Why would I do that, sweetie?"

"I don't have another bedroom..."

"I slept on the sofa."

"You could have just gone home."

"Yeah, but what if you'd needed something during the night?"

You bite your lip, trying hard to hold back the tears. "Thanks, Rooster."

He smiles. "How about we use first names, sweetheart? Mine's Bradley."

You smile shyly. "Mine's Y/N."

Bradley smiles. "I like that. Now, do you want me to take you to the living room, or your bedroom?"

"Living room, I guess? But I was - um, I was actually going to the kitchen, to make myself some breakfast…"

Bradley shakes his head. "It's okay, I'll take care of that."

You stare at him. "Are you sure?"

Bradley's lips turn up slightly. "Of course. You need to rest, honey. Just leave everything to me."

"It's a lot of work…"

"Hey." Bradley gently sets you down on the sofa, tucking a blanket around you as he talks. "I don't think this is gonna be as hard as the work I'm used to. And - I know this'll sound weird to you, but I really do want to take care of you."

You mumble something in reply, your eyes fixed on a point just over his shoulder.

"What's that, sweetie?"

The whole of your face and neck burns. "It's nothing."

"Y/N." Bradley's voice is still soft, but there's an undercurrent of steel.

There's a long silence. You really, really don't want to repeat what you just said, but judging from the look on his face, he's not going to let this slide.

"I'm-" you take a deep breath. "I'm - autistic."

Bradley's eyebrows pinch together in confusion. "Why would that be an issue, sweetheart?"

You take another deep breath, feeling really stupid. "It's going to be harder than taking care of a neurotypical."

"Well, I know it's going to be different, but - can you give me some examples?"

You pause, trying to gather the courage you need. "Well, there's certain foods I can't eat, because of the texture, or the taste, or even the smell. There's certain clothes I can't wear - although that doesn't really apply to - this."

Bradley listens carefully as you tell him the specifics, never once interrupting, just allowing you to talk until you stop, feeling rather miserable.

"I suppose I've ruined it now," you mumble, staring at the floor once again.

"Ruined what?"

"We were finally getting a rapport, and now I've ruined it."

"Oh, sweetie…" Bradley rests a hand on your shoulder. "You haven't ruined anything. If anything, I'm glad you told me, because now I know how to help you better."

You're silent for a while, trying to hold back tears. He's being so kind and understanding that all you want to do is collapse against him and cry.

"I've never had that reaction from someone before," you mumble.

"How do you mean?"

"The last time I told someone I was autistic, it was when I was applying to join the Navy. They almost didn't let me in because of it."

"Oh, sweetheart…"

His tone makes you look up suddenly. Your heart jumps when you see that he looks like he's about to cry.

You give his arm a small squeeze. "It's - it's really not that big of a deal. It was years ago."

Bradley shakes his head. "It is a big deal."

You frown. "How?"

Finding your hand, Bradley gently rests his on top. "Because - you've never felt able to tell anyone else, because-" He sighs, shaking his head. "I really wish you had felt able to tell us sooner, sweetie."

"What difference would it make?" you mumble.

"Well-" Bradley gently takes your hand, stroking along the back with his thumb. "I don't know about the others, but I wish I would've known sooner, because then I would've been able to help you better. I mean, I've noticed you don't like crowds, or loud places, that you leave early whenever we're all at the bar…"

For some reason, you suddenly feel a stab of guilt in your stomach. "Sorry," you mumble, staring at the floor. "I guess I am kind of rude…"

"No." Bradley's voice is suddenly stern. "Don't ever talk about yourself that way. Leaving early because you're overwhelmed, tired, or you just don't like crowds is not a bad thing. You were not being rude."

He pauses, taking a breath. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. "Y'know, sometimes I want to leave the bar early, and I kind of feel jealous that you can just - slip out."

"Why don't you just slip out?" you ask. It seems simple enough to you.

Bradley sighs. "I've kind of gained a reputation for being the life of the party. Most people think I'm an extrovert, 'cause I'm pretty outgoing. There's not many people who know that I'm actually an introvert."

He chuckles at your surprised look. "Yeah. Don't get me wrong, I like socialising, but - it's pretty tiring. I'm usually ready to go home about halfway through a night out. That's why I usually sit at the piano. It's kind of like a way that I can find my place in a social situation, without actually having to talk all the time. And I also just enjoy singing."

You smile shyly. "I get that. Except for me, it's a bit earlier. I just hang on a bit so I don't seem too rude."

"How much earlier, honey?"

You think for a moment. "About ten, fifteen minutes in. Sometimes twenty, if I'm feeling a bit more energetic."

Feeling like you have to explain a bit better, you add, "It's because the bar's super crowded and things. I can socialise longer in quieter environments."

Bradley smiles. "Good to know."

A silence settles over the room, but it's not awkward. In fact, you quite like it. Normally, when you're socialising, you feel like you have to constantly be chatting, or something's wrong with you, but - this feels much nicer.

It's just unfortunate that your stomach growling is what breaks the silence.

Bradley just smiles. "You hungry, sweetie?"

You nod, wishing your face wouldn't burn so much.

"What do you want to eat?"

"Uh, there should be something in the freezer. I prepped a load of my safe foods, and froze them. There should be one portion per bag, and I think I wrote the cook times on, too. Or they might be on the fridge, I'm not really sure."

"I'm on it." Bradley pats your shoulder before standing up. "I'll get you another ice pack for that ankle, too. Do you want a drink or anything? Maybe some Tylenol?"

"Can I have some water, please?"

He smiles. "Sure."

After he's left the room, you switch on the TV, and turn it back to the show you were watching last night.

Stepping back into the room, Bradley hands you a glass. "Here's your water, sweetie. You need anything else?"

"Do you - um, would you mind getting me my phone, please?"

It seems like the words are barely out of your mouth before he's back with your phone.

"Thanks." You open it to see a message from Bob.

To Y/N: Do you want to meet up today? Bob.

"Oh, um - Bradley?" It's weird how using his name makes your heart jump.

"Yeah?"

"I, um - Bob wants to meet up with me - 'cause, you know - um, anyway, would you mind if I invited him around here?"

Bradley chuckles. "Why would I mind? It's your place."

"Yeah, but - you're taking care of me, so…"

"Hey, I'm fine having him around, if you feel up to it. Like I said, this is your place. Just because I'm taking care of you doesn't suddenly make it my place. What time were you thinking of inviting him?"

"Maybe early afternoon?"

He smiles. "That works for me."

After he's left the room, you reply to Bob's text, and then turn up the volume on the TV. As you watch, you can hear Bradley moving about in the kitchen. It feels weirdly familiar. Like something you could get used to.

It feels like home.

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

Part 3

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

Me with my long LoTR fic

Reblog if it's OK for other artists to draw your OCs

Sometimes I get too timid to send asks to ask. I want to see how many people are ok with artists drawing their OCs!

why must a fic be "finished" is it not enough for it to be lovingly daydreamed over a period of 6 months.

This is too true!!

what abled ppl think is a massive problem for disabled folks: 13 year old on the internet faking something

what is actually a massive problem for disabled folks: "well you don't LOOK disabled, are you sure you're not faking? I'm not giving you accommodations until you PROVE you're not faking. Please give me, a stranger, your medical info and explain your condition to me in detail so I know you're not faking and only then will I respect or take you seriously"

Maybe Things Are Looking Up

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's here.

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

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

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

Anything but go on this date.

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

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

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

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

He should look absolutely ridiculous.

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

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

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

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

You nod, your mouth suddenly too dry to speak.

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

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

"You ready?" Bradley asks.

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

The rest of the drive is silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You manage a small smile as you take it.

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

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

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

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

You nod.

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

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

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

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

Not exactly. But you nod anyway.

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

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

Bradley smiles. "It's nothing."

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

"Hi, can I take your order?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But I embarrassed you."

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay, here are your meals."

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

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

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

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

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

"How's your dinner?" he asks.

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

He raises his eyebrows. "You sure?"

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

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

Oh, no.

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

"Um, I'm kind of full."

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

You nod.

"Okay."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I was."

"How?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's good."

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

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

"You think so?"

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

"For a date?"

"Only if you're comfortable with that."

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

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

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

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

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

"You want me to carry you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am never wearing heels again."

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

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

"Yeah. I get that."

You stand up. "Um - Bradley?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For being so kind."

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

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

Bradley smiles. "See you around."

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

Can I be bothered to change into my pajamas?

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

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

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

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

Your phone buzzes.

It's a message from Callie.

You home yet?

You type a reply. Yes.

How'd it go?

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

Take him up on it.

I already did.

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

You frown. How old is he?

He's in his thirties, I think.

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

I did.

I didn't see it.

You hastily scroll back through your messages.

Oh, nevermind. You did. Sorry.

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

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

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

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

Tell him what?

That I'm younger than him.

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

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

Yep.

Okay. Bye.

Byee.

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

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

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

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

Another message from Callie pops up.

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

You groan. Callie is enjoying herself way too much.

He said he'd message you tomorrow.

Why tomorrow?

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

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

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

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

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

Close enough.

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

Byee.

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

Maybe things are starting to look up.

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

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

WHY are titles so hard what the fuck man

I love it! This reader is just so me!

The Lab Assistant - Banner

Pairing: Eventual Banner x Reader

Warning: Shy Reader

A/N: This will have more parts at some point.

***

You had worked for SHIELD for years. You’d started the day after you graduated from college with your doctorate at 17. You weren’t a field agent. In fact you were pretty sure you would injure yourself if you tried to fire a gun. You were however a brilliant scientist. Your time was spent in a lab surrounded by calculations and beakers. 

Living the life you did, you were also painfully shy. You’d always been younger than your classmates and your job at SHIELD was a fairly isolated one. Currently you were observing a chemical reaction between two formulas you’d created. You peered through your reading glasses to read the temperature and jotted it in your notebook. You heard the door open and held up a finger to let them know you’d be right with them.

You finished recording your observations and turned to your visitor assuming it was one of the lab assistants. To your surprise, none other than Nick Fury himself stood in your lab. Heat flooded your face and you were certain you were as warm as the chemical you’d just been experimenting with. “D-director. What can I do for you?” your voice was soft but the lab was quiet so he heard you.

“I have an assignment for you, Dr. Y/L/N.”

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