#source: s1ep3

[multifandomed-multishipper]

HIS FINGERS FLUTTER-

[apocalypse-shuffle]

THE HULK & BRUCE BANNER (avengers: earth’s mightiest heroes)

—

“Just My Luck” (Hulk x Fem!Reader) and (Bruce Banner x Fem!Reader)

| Thaddeus “Thunderbolt” Ross tries to pull one over on the Avengers when they go to get Bruce Banner released from government detainment; acting as their consultant, however, you’re more than primed to go head to head with the General for your partners’ freedom.

| SFW, arguing, my shit understanding of military procedure of any kind, drugged characters, some angst, some fluff -professional!irritation!reader

| This exists purely because I want to scream at Ross every time he shows up on the screen or in comic panels. (Pic sources: “Hulk vs The World” - S1EP3 & “Gamma World, Part 2” - S1EP13)

| 4k+ words

“Actually, Stark…”

Uh oh.

You knew Ross not being the one to intercept you all once you got to the Raft wasn’t a good sign.

Talbot, your escort for the afternoon, turns around so he can look Tony in the eyes where his helmet’s faceplate is popped up.

“…we’re pushing for him not to be released, if you’d like to sit in on the meeting,” Talbot finishes, the Major’s mustache twitching as his eyes pass distastefully first over the teams’ leader and then the rest of the Avengers in turn.

Dark blue eyes then stick to your form where you’re standing behind Steve.

Teeth clicking together, you don’t let yourself shift like you want to. His gaze is a physical enough thing you want to shrug it off— want to flip him off too for good measure, but that’s beside the point.

Talbot’s lips quirk as he glances over you, something sharp in his gaze that reminds you conveniently of a rat in that moment.

Except the rat would be far cuter.

The man doesn’t say anything more though, only waiting for Tony’s affirmative before starting down the poorly lit hallway again.

When Talbot turns down a corridor that is clearly not leading to a secure containment cell you can’t even pretend to be surprised. In all but name this was an ambush after all.

And now you were officially irritated.

The room you all are led into is large for a conference room, but there’s absolutely no mistaking it as such either. It’s also packed with plenty of official looking people with all sorts of indicators of military rankings you don’t know or care to know.

Clint curses as he comes up behind you and notices the sheer amount of people in the room and seems to recognize the direct importance of at least a couple of them.

For your part you hardly spare them more than a seconds glance upon entering, eyes sweeping across the crowd in search of one thing and one thing only.

Or one person as it were.

The sight of him once your gaze lands on the dark corner they’ve got him tucked into makes your breath hitch.

The sight of him in prison orange ill-fitting enough to be baggy over his pale frame makes your blood boil and you barely stop yourself from sucking your teeth as you lay eyes on him for the first time in nearly two months.

Bruce’s brown eyes are far away and sunken, dark bags diminishing his usually wry gaze and hands twitching intermittently where they’re strapped down at his sides.

The back of your teeth grind together without your say-so, molars twinging.

Yeah, you didn’t care if you had to fight this entire room, nothing short of death was going to keep you from getting him out of this place.

─────

By the time the meeting’s officially begun your gums have begun to twinge with every press of your molars and Ross has been talking so much shit for the last twenty or so minutes you’re surprised he isn’t throwing it up too.

Just then he starts up about Hulk being an out of control beast without a conscience and it’s so absurd a claim you can’t stop yourself from commenting out loud, even if it is just to yourself.

“Huh,” you scoff, rolling your eyes while staring at your hands in your lap, “that’s a lie,” you grunt quietly.

Not quietly enough it would seem.

From across the room Ross instantly jerks his head up to look at you, the frown already etched onto his face turning severe as if he’d not noticed you until then.

If only you had the same privilege of ignorance when it came to him.

Jaw working as your mind reels, you look the man head on with an arch of one of your brows.

Catching his attention might not have been a part of the plan you’d been attempting to form in your head but you weren’t in the business of giving Ross any inches.

You’d just have to think on your feet.

“Stark,” Ross starts, voice tight, “control your—”

“—Yeah, no,” you assert, talking over him with a level tone and completely skipping over Tony in the process. He knew better than to answer for you anyway. “I’m not Stark’s anything, General. He doesn’t control me.”

“Hn,” Ross grumbles, grinding his teeth together. The ‘somebody ought to,’ goes unsaid but you can see it in the clench of his jaw and the way he tries to…to glare you into submission or some shit.

‘Hn’, indeed.

“Fine,” he grounds out, “Do you have something to add?”

He speaks as if he thinks he’s tripped you up. A large part of you wants to make him regret giving you the room.

Even still, for a moment you contemplate not stirring the pot, taking the out and letting someone else handle him, but really the choice is obvious. There Bruce was stood up in the corner chained and shackled to hell on a stretcher like he was Cletus Fucking Kasady or something, power suppressor collar locked tight around his neck with probably enough sedatives in him to kill an elephant given just how impossibly high he looked, and actively struggling to get a good read on the room.

Bruce’s eyes were so unfocused and glassy, his head so heavy, that you barely caught your frown before the wider room could see it upon first seeing him. Let alone hid the show of emotion how you would’ve liked to as a whole.

Ross wanted to keep him, that much was obvious. But he didn’t care about the man or the so-called monster, which was just as easily noticeable.

General Thaddeus Ross wasn’t fit to keep Bruce Banner or The Hulk safe — captured, sure, but unlike the others on the team that wasn’t something you even remotely cared about — and seemed too inclined to keep them tortured and in easy reach to be experimented on instead for your liking.

“I do,” you say. Tony looks surprised when you glance over to him, but it’s about the only request for permission he’s going to get from you. When he nods, just once, you turn back to Ross and his crossed arms and you smile. “I think that over the years the General and the military have proven untrustworthy when it comes to matters of The Hulk.”

One man huffs in the back, curls cropped short and that same air about him that Ross has. The type of urge to commandeer everything that gave you hives on a good day.

You grit your teeth. Today was not a ‘good day’.

“We captured that beast, didn't we? Banner’s been dozing in his cage for weeks before today, a non threat.”

Cage.

The way your eye twitches is small enough you’d bet no one without a heads up display or enhanced vision could see it.

You shift in your seat, gesturing to the wider room.

“Only after breaking form, though, correct? And stop me if I’m wrong, but both times you successfully captured the Hulk were S.H.I.E.L.D or the Avengers not present and providing crucial aid? So it’s just the same to say that the Avengers have an even better track record of keeping Hulk out of trouble than even the Hulkbusters do, and a room is about as much containment to someone so powerful as Thee Hulk as a cell is.”

“You’re proposing we treat that thing like a—”

“Like a person, yeah. It’s no coincidence that both times you captured the man was because he was reasoned with or otherwise distracted by saving an agent’s life. The Hulk is a person, and he can be stabilized after an episode — which rarely happen without provocation by the way — just like any other man.”

“Other men don’t usually possess the ability to tears tanks apart with their bare hands, Miss.”

“Other men also usually don’t respond rationally when being shot at…” you lean forward to read the man’s name off the gold plate pinned to his breast, “…Fortean.”

Immediately, he clarifies you on his rank, on the fact that you should put it in front of his name. As if you respect him enough for that; these people were lucky you haven’t devolved to schoolyard taunts yet considering just how little you respected them.

“Sure,” you shrug. Fortean grits his teeth, standing up a little taller as he fixes his mouth to say something that he’ll want to be cutting but you know you’ll just blow off.

“Now, Y/n,” Ross cuts the younger man off, pressing him back into the corner like a good obedient lapdog, and swinging the conversation back in his control. “Our hands are the most capable to keep Hulk from sowing destruction everywhere he goes, even if you think being nice to it and letting it play dress up with the Avengers is a suitable containment method that doesn’t account for the fact that everywhere the Hulk goes destruction follows.”

Rogers pipes up before you even can. “Pardon my forwardness, General Ross, but any destruction caused while we fought beside Hulk was due to the impromptu establishment of a battle field in civilian spaces by our enemies, enemies which we stopped with the help of Hulk. The Hulk is a hero, and he was doing his job the same as any other Avenger, Sir.”

Ross smiles, it’s not pleasant but it isn’t condescending either. Lucky Cap.

“And before he joined your team? What of the destruction that followed him then, Captain?”

“Well,” you cut in, doing away with caring about being too forward entirely, “that was mainly you and the Hulkbusters, so the answer is fairly obvious.”

To that Ross stares at you for a second, mouth ticking, and then promptly lets out a gruff bout of laughter. The other military personnel and military officials in the room give a resound chuckle as well.

It echoes around the room for a couple of seconds and each new laugh feels like needles burrowing deeper and deeper into your brain.

You didn’t tell anything nearing a joke so the only reason for this was that they were all laughing at you.

“I’m sorry,” you pipe up, unlocking your jaw to speak after swallowing down the angry tremble you could feel crawling up your throat, “I don’t recall telling a joke.”

Despite your words the room still sobers at everyone else’s own pace and you can’t help but to wish the man would drop dead when you chance a look Fortean’s way and catch the smug upturn of his mouth.

Hulk probably wouldn’t approve, Bruce definitely wouldn’t. You don’t think either would object to you socking him in the jaw though, knocking the smirk right off his face.

“Apologies, Miss,” Ross grunts once he’s finished, eyes glinting. “You’ve provided me with my counter argument though, haven’t you? Or the Captain did. We responded to Hulk’s presence after he made an impromptu battlefield out of a civilian area and people got hurt at his fault when we engaged in our duty to this country. We did our jobs”

“That’s not how I see it.”

Ross stops just short of glowering at you, pausing in the pointed looks he’s giving the officials in the room to narrow his eyes your way.

“Well then you’re seeing it wrong.”

“No.” Ross’s eye twitches. It’s visible. Same as the vein that protrudes across his temple. You cross your arms, shrugging even as you narrow your gaze on him a little more in tandem. “Is it incorrect to assume that you track both Bruce Banner and The Hulk, General?”

“It’s not.”

“Good,” you hum, tapping a steady rhythm with the pads of your fingers into your forearm. “How about the target on sight orders for them both? That true as well?”

“Yes,” Ross says, voice dropping down. He’s wary about where you’re going with this but isn’t sure of your angle yet, most likely.

Thaddeus Ross wasn’t an idiot — especially where being a tactician was concerned, and that was all the props you’d ever give the man.

At the very least it meant he was giving you something of a challenge.

You nod to yourself, biting back a smile, “And you would agree that most times you catch up to Bruce Banner he’s not at immediate risk of transforming?”

“Not always, but—

“—And that provocation of the target — already agitated or otherwise — never fails to escalate tensions and make the situation more dangerous, correct?”

There was more to it than just Bruce or Hulk’s temperaments though, and you knew that well. But fighting the Hulk angle here wouldn’t be as helpful — even though every time Ross’s team have ever ran into Hulk already in control was because he was dealing with an even bigger threat, saving people, and the only thing the Hulkbusters ever succeeded in doing in those situation was exasperating the collateral; simply put Hulk wasn’t the aphantomable monster everyone wanted to paint him as, but paint their hearts out people would regardless — as you’d want with this audience, so stressing the Hulkbusters being nothing but a trigger in an otherwise calm situation was what you’d do.

Ross shifts to run his hand over his mustache, lips pursed.

“That’s…an affirmative, but—”

“So then, if you stand by your word, of course, you admit that any collateral damage caused by Hulk after you or your Hulkbusters have arrived on scene is not the fault of Hulk himself since you actively and willfully provoke him into violence and initiate battle in civilian areas with him for your own means?” You pause to swallow, blinking faux innocently up at Ross in the process, “Whatever they may be,” you finish, raising your brows at him in challenge before relaxing back into your seat.

Everything was in his court now.

You’ve put him in an uncomfortable place. He’s either got to admit that all his tracking down of the Hulk is no more than posturing on his part, posturing that willingly puts civilians in danger for little acceptable reason, or he’s got to admit exactly what it is he wants the Hulk for to a room of the type of military personnel who cared about at least appearing too civilized for human experimentation and the utilization of mind controlled bio weapons.

“Now I did not say that,” Ross says in a huff.

You just shrug. If the shoe fit and all that.

“You’d think finding a better strategy than shooting a barrage of ineffectual weapons at a man in public who gets stronger and less coherent the angrier he gets would tip you off that you are indeed not as capable as you think you are at keeping your constituents safe,” you reiterate, expression remaining unchanged.

“Nonsense,” Ross snaps. Looking around at the officials in the room he seems to get even angrier at the contemplative looks on their faces. “What are you all doing? This woman hardly qualifies as a superhero, let alone an Avenger. She doesn’t mean jacksquat as far as this conference is concerned.”

“But, General—”

“Don’t ‘but general’ me, Stevens. Buck the hell up!” He swings his head around after chewing the younger man out then, and when his gaze snaps back to you he bares his teeth. “You! You and your bleeding heart bull! What do you know about the danger that monster inside Banner poses?”

Sucking your teeth, you stand, roller chair threatening to topple over in your rush.

“Oh get real,” you snap lowly, planting a hand on the table and leaning over it in a bid to match Ross’s big irritated movements and gestures toward you, “Hulk hasn’t been a serious threat to human life in years.”

“There’s no sufficient evidence of that!”

“As much as I’d been worried about that too, Thunderbolt,” Tony starts quickly, voice turning mocking as he tosses out the other man’s nickname, “the stats don’t lie. Hulk hasn’t caused actual human collateral in…ever, really.”

Ross glowers his way, “I have men who’d say otherwise, Stark.”

Tony shrugs, “Frankly, Ross, if they can still say anything at all then you’ve already disproven your argument here.”

“Exactly,” you sniff, rocking back on your heels and crossing your arms. “And it wouldn’t be too hard to prove that over the last few years Hulk has saved more lives than he’s ever truly hurt either.”

Some of the Suits in the room begin nodding shallowly to themselves.

At the sight of them Ross starts up another sheet of yelling in your direction: “You damned blight, who do you think you are, you’re nothing,” he rattles in the next breath, but doesn’t get any further than that before you take personal offense.

“Um, hello!” you say, voice rising for the first time the entire meeting as you attempt to talk over him, “is your name either of my parents’?”

Ross sputters at your question, “What?”

“Exactly! So don’t come up here yelling at me like I’m some child! Only two people get to just barely yell at me, and you’re not either of them, so you need to come better!”

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” he growls out, clearly stopping himself from advancing towards you with a sneer. “Women your age have no damn respect. You are a subordinate, act like it!”

“First of all: not your subordinate,” you clarify, face scrunching at the idea alone. “Second of all: I wasn’t aware that as a so-called ‘subordinate’ I couldn’t speak my mind, you must want a pack of mindless slaves that agree with your every word if that’s the case.”

He grins something nasty.

Behind him Fortean scoffs.

“Oh I see. I don’t care what goddamn race you are, insubordination is insubordination—”

“—I literally didn’t say anything about race. I said that with the way, as your so-called ‘subordinate’, you do not think people should talk back to you in ways you personally deem disrespectful is akin to you wanting a bunch of slaves working under you.” Scoffing, you shake your head. What a pack of clowns. “Last time I checked slaves aren’t allowed to oppose their Masters, General, whereas subordinates are meant to keep you in check which requires opposing opinions to be—”

Ross starts to stammer badly enough you’re stopped from continuing because you honestly aren’t sure he'll be able to hear you over the stuttered flapping of his gums, the gnashing of his teeth and the blood rushing to his face at an alarming speed.

Not that you gave a fuck about his health, but still.

He stutters for a few more seconds, fists balling where you can see them from where his arms are now crossed tightly across his chest, before eventually giving up with a harsh curse and pointing angrily at you, voice going up an octave or two.

“Missy, you will get off of my base right now! I’m not running a hen house. Talbot, escort her out!”

Both your eyebrows jump towards your hairline. Your response is on the tip of your tongue too: ‘Missy’! Excuse you, I am a grown ass woman, but, again, you’re stopped before you can get anymore riled up by a sudden bout of noise.

When you knock your head up to lock fiery brown eyes onto the source of the sound towards the back of the room you do so fast enough for your neck to crack.

A snort.

Someone’s laughing.

Your eyes narrow.

Unlike last time, no one else is joining in, however. No, instead everyone’s looking at a still drugged Bruce — who your eyes finally land on before promptly widening as his bleary gaze locks coherently onto yours for less than a second. It’s an eternity of a second, though.

In the meantime Bruce’s snort turns into stilted chuckles that swiftly morph into low gasps of laughter as his shoulders shake and his heavy head lists to the side.

Then, against all odds considering the boatload of drugs he’s visibly on and the suppressor collar around his neck, he starts to transform.

Bruce’s voice shifts to Hulk’s in the ensuing moments and his voice becomes significantly more disruptive even above the sound of the collar snapping in half. Hulk breaks out into booming laughter with a bellow of: “Flustered Ross?”, absolutely amused by how fucked up you’ve gotten his oldest foe.

“Wha—? Bruce— Hulk,” you cut yourself off, just staring at the jade giant as he full belly laughs, head thrown back and everything.

It’s adorable.

A little bit of you perks up at the rumbling sound and the heaviness that’s been anchoring your feet, making every step harder and heavier than the next, seems to lift.

Every non-Avenger in the room freezes bar Ross, who twitches and seems to get notably redder around the edges.

Honestly though, you don’t think anything would have supported your case any better than Bruce — your sweet, usually dry humored man — laughing so hard he cedes control to Hulk, who’s laughter is even more infectious. In real time you can even see the officials in the room having their perceptions shift as well.

Didn’t hurt that the evidence of their ineffectual Hulk containment methods when Hulk actually wanted out had just clattered into pieces on the ground either.

A little giggle bubbles past your lips almost in spite of the fury still firing through you. Alright, Ross’s beet red flush and slew of tripped over words in the face of confrontation from a black woman who was no better than a civilian skill wise was pretty funny.

For the first time since the team and you were redirected to this stupid fucking room the anxiety and irritation tightening your abdomen to aching relaxes.

Subconsciously you feel yourself sigh, straightening up from where you were leaned over the table to better get in Ross’s face the same way he felt he needed to get into yours first, and shifting to pop your back in the process.

Shit you were wound up.

You had to get yourself together because Ross’s ass was not worth putting all this strain on your body.

Eventually Hulk’s boisterous laughter peters off naturally. A smile sticks to his face still though, a boyish type of grin that shows enough teeth to make most of the big men strewn throughout the room shift uncomfortably and have your stomach fluttering welcomely.

Shoulders dropping and jaw unclenching you smile over at him in turn, his green eyes locking onto your brown for a slew of moments before some Suit clears his throat— then immediately ends up loosening his tie as that drags Hulk’s attention squarely his way.

The man clears his throat two more times before he finds his nerve, “Well the way I see it the best course of action to keeping Hulk…stable would be to let the Avengers keep an — um — eye on him and Bruce Banner. As I see it, at least,” he adds in a rush at the unblinking stares the Hulkbusters start giving him.

Ross seems to double take: “What,” he barks out, “you can’t be seriously considering this!”

“General, I think it’s about time we consider the option of least resistance.” And the Suit considers you now, gaze on you noticeable but one that you refuse to return with anything but a bland expression and raised brow. He sighs. “Not constantly waging clearly avoidable war on The Hulk, especially when the money going into the Hulkbusters can be utilized better elsewhere, seems like a solid plan to me, and I can only imagine my compatriots agree.”

Ross sputters for a few moments, Fortean’s frown crests hard enough you hope it sticks, and then the General’s mouth shuts with a snap. His pivot to turn your way is accompanied by a low growl from Hulk, but for once Ross is mad enough at someone else to not blow the rumble out of proportion.

“Get out,” he snaps, and like ants all the people who aren’t his (or The Avengers) in the conference room scatter.

You’d laugh if it weren’t so pathetic. Ross was only one single goddamn man, explosive anger or not.

Staring him down you cross your arms, cocking your head and hip and not hesitating to let a smirk grace your dark lips.

“Bitter?” You question before he can start.

Behind you some one of your partners’ teammates snorts.

You’d put your money on Clint.

Ross snarls and turns sharply to Tony somewhere behind you and to your left, features twisting nastily.

“Stark, take your team and get her the hell out of here now!” He jerks his hand towards the entrance, pointing some more. “She’s the most disrespectful, surefire example of why women shouldn’t be apart of discussions like this I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting—!”

When you laugh it’s a mean melodic thing. Overly loud just to be as obnoxious as you can manage.

The others start to move around you too, mainly Cap and Clint, to push past Ross’s unit and get to Hulk. When they start releasing him from his bonds and he stomps from the trolley he’d been tied to, two feet finally firmly planted on the floor and making the room tremble for a moment, the Hulkbusters collectively recoil and bristle all at once.

Somehow you find it in you to laugh a little harder. Apparently it was your turn to bust a gut in Ross’s face.

Talbot and Fortean glowering your way in response makes you feel doubly accomplished on top of everything too.

“Oh, screw you, Ross! You’re nothing but a sore fucking loser on a power trip and, quite frankly— ah shit!”

In one singular movement you’re swooped up. Eyes widening you gasp, hands flying down to grasp onto the nearest thing you can as your balance is thrown off. Really you needn’t have worried though, the lighter palms of brown hands — the lightest part on you beside the bottom of your feet, honestly — meet the stern knuckles of warm green skin and your spirit instantly re-enters your body as you realize what’s happening.

Unfortunately though you’re covering ground too fast for it to mean much.

Ross shouts, “God-damn—” and then he’s cut off and you can’t do a single thing about it.

Well then.

Doors close with an unsatisfactory but resounding finality in your face, the image of Ross red and belligerent lost behind it, and you scowl; still huffing and puffing even after being swept up into a carry by the very man you were arguing over.

From where you’re being carried partially laying over Hulk’s shoulder, you glare at the empty corridor he’s stomping down with the rest of the Avengers, heart hammering in your chest.

That’s when you’re finally aware enough for it to truly click that you’ve been tossed over his shoulder and you balk.

“Hulk!”

“Y/n relax now,” Hulk rumbles, large thumb patting you on the back from where he’s holding you to him.

At that you have no choice, really. You slump. Arms hanging limply at your sides and head resting on his shoulder, you pant too. Sucking in large gulps of air and trying to get your heartrate back under control before your anger spurs on a headache.

“Alright, fine,” you mutter into green skin, relaxing into Hulk’s hold, “but only because you said it so nicely.”

Hulk hums. It’s too pointed to be anything but him calling you out on your bullshitting, but you’re too tired to riff on him in your defense and start a playful back and forth right then.

“Well,” Tony chirps from the corner of the large industrial elevator once you’ve all finally settled back into it for the day, “At least you riled old Thunderbolt up enough for him to let us go with the Big Guy pretty easily.”

Lips splitting into a grin, even slightly out of breath as you are, you push up from Hulk’s shoulder a little and turn your head to the side so you’re not staring at the side of his neck and the wisps of green hair that curls some at the base of it.

When Tony sees the smile on your face he balks. By the time you’ve started up a sheet of poorly held back laughter he’s caught on.

“I should’ve known,” Tony snorts, shaking his head. “You did have a plan.”

“Of course she had a plan,” Hulk intones, tone deadly serious even though you can feel the way he huffs out a laugh.

“Hold on,” Clint starts, “you mean you picked a fight with Ross on purpose?”

“Sure did,” you start, curling back into Hulk’s hold and turning away from everyone else again. “Ross hates Hulk, yeah, but he can’t stand a woman stepping up to him either. I knew if I screwed him over he’d focus on tempering my loud mouth more so than fighting to keep his arch enemy or whatever.” You raise a limp hand to wave in their direction, “Plus, with only Cap as backup somebody had to pick up the Hulk Defense slack.”

“Okay, don’t do us like that now,” Tony complains, the metal of the Iron Man suit clanging lightly as he shifts.

“Oh, I’m gonna,” you scoff. You snort too, though, as a bout of Hulk’s more subdued laughter reaches your ears and shakes your entire body. “Just a little.”

Still, you didn’t miss the team’s broader unwillingness to stick up for the bigger and greener of your partners before today, though— and your reclusive white man too, by extension. Hulk didn’t miss it either, you'd bet, and some definite developments would have to come of that.

For now though, that could wait till you were no longer in a fucking American military base.

Once this was all over, and things settled back down, you’d have to ask Hulk if he wouldn’t mind letting you talk to Bruce. If Bruce wouldn’t mind coming up for a conversation.

That was something for later though, for now you’d just let your nerves calm and bask in not having to worry about walking.

Without another word you curl more securely into Hulk’s hold, tucking your head into his neck, your umber skin and tight curls brushing over the protruding veins there, and moving one of your arms up to wrap around Hulk’s neck.

As you all make your way down the elevator and back to the quinjet you’re fully content to keeping silent. Fingers tangled lightly in the dark hair at the base of Hulk’s neck you lean in to press plump two-toned lips to his skin in a lingering kiss.

Hulk huffs. Big hands secure you to his chest even more than you already are and his thumb and forefinger squeeze fondly, delicately, around your waist, his giant head leaning just enough to press lightly over yours for a second.

Eyes watering, you smile into him, hands trembling in his hair as you hug him harder.

You missed him, and you missed Bruce (missed the knowledge that he was safe even when you couldn’t directly talk to him because Hulk was safe) and that had strained on you badly.

At least you had them back now though. And this time around you’d be far meaner and a lot less lenient about parting from them again.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!! Didn’t expect that this would be the first fic out of all the Bruce/Hulk fics I’ve started this year that I’d post, but it worked out anyway.

Also, honestly, I forgot how the episode began and was sequenced so this is more inspired by “The Deadliest Man Alive” - S2EP22 episode of EMH than a rewrite of it. Fortean is here too so that doubly doesn’t support this being a direct rewrite; I just needed to throw some shots his way too though so that’s why he’s here.

And the title is from the Coco Jones song bcs I was listening to it on repeat while finishing writing this, the fic isn’t inspired by the song tho.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

[p0ssywhippedcream]

a/n; totally just rewatched s1ep3 of the 100 and it shows (the inspo scene w Atom, Clarke and Bellamy made me bawl HARD). TW for animal death and the usual criminal minds gore/death talk.

The day Hotch falls in love with you is dark and cold, but your presence alone lightens it. A case drags your team to the wilderness of the foggy Appalachians, the unsub leaving a string of bodies through the mountains and across state lines. So far, 23 of them had been located.

Your team had been split, duos of you all tackling different perspectives. JJ and Morgan at the sheriffs office, Emily and Rossi interviewing families and Reid focusing on the online footprint with Garcia, who was not happy to be physically present instead of in her Batcave.

That left you and Hotch to miserably trudge through the winding hills, surrounded by deputies and trees as far as the eye can see. It’s a cool day, wind chill gusting through your zippered jacket as you follow the path that had previously unearthed corpses. Hotch is silent at your side, the two of you deep in thought as you make your way down to the river bed now claimed by an aura of death.

You walk along the bay, flat stones shine in the rushing water and leaves crunch beneath your feet.

“How many?” You breath out, voice an octave above a squeak. “How many more are we going to find here?”

Hotch’s dark eyes find yours when you turn your gaze to his intense face. “Too many.”

You nod, dropping your sight back to your feet and walk another step before halting suddenly. The man at your side freezes a pace in front of you, spinning to question your pause when he notices you squating down.

“Another body?” He asks gravely, ready to signal to a nearby officer when you make a choked noise.

“No,” You look up at him through thick eyelashes and he sees the quivering mammal at your feet, “It’s a squirrel.”

He kneels with you, the fabric of his pricey suit the last thing on his mind as it rubs in the dirt.

He watches you glove yourself and lift its bloodied limbs, examining the creature for the source of its misery. When you find the puncture marks at its torso and see how deep they go, your heart deflates. Another life you can’t save.

You know enough that the pain must be unbearable, and the squirrel would suffer for atleast another hour before death would naturally come. With a heavy sigh, you reach into your back pocket and retrieve your switch blade.

Hotch watches you flick it open, brain at the same conclusion and lips set in a line as he waits for you to take mercy. Instead, his eyes widen a nudge when you begin to hum.

With your left hand, you stroke the creatures head gently as your right holds steady to your blade. Your throat murmurs a soft lullaby, a song your mother used to sing to put you to sleep seeping into the air.

“You’re okay,” You whisper, bringing your knife down and hovering just above its shaking form, “I’ve got you, you’re okay.”

Swift and careful, you darken the steel with the little blood left in the squirrels body. You continue to hum, love and compassion in your saddened voice as you pet the critter until its breath ghosts its mouth no more.

You lose a weighted lungful, the pressure of it in your chest almost unbearable. “You’re okay.” You say one last time, running a finger down the creatures spine, missing the look in Hotch’s eye as he observes your treatment. He spent the whole time with his vision set on you; not because he couldn’t handle the sight of death but because watching your kind heart weep through your actions bent his in a strange way. A familiar tug in his chest, one he hadn’t felt since Hailey, kept his eyes locked on you as you took the pain from the woodland soul and added it to the mountain of your own.

Hesitantly, a large hand finds your shoulder and you look up from your mourning to see your boss’s brows knit in care, intense pupils warming you with a comfort you’d never felt from him.

“I’m okay,” You reassure, a slight smile falters at attempting to take your lips. Hotch nods, a squeeze of your jacket and he retreats his touch.

Neither of you speak as you stand, go through the motions of discarding your gloves into the trash and continue on down the trail. Words rumble in your head behind closed lips, worries regarding the case buzz violently like a provoked bee hive, your brain frantic to find hope for life in the ever-deepening void of despair. Hotch keeps a trained eye on you, out of concern and also a bit from this new feeling that burrows in his ribcage.

A shout from a nearby blue-coat informs your duo of the discovery of a new corpse, prompting conversation again between the two of you as you race over.

You come to halt in front of the body. She’s fresher than others, you can see the lines of smiles on her face and youth in her skin. Her blonde hair matted with red like the squirrel you’d just encountered. You think of the pain it takes to be alive, the pain death takes when it comes to an end. You know she suffered, and it makes you grow a headache thinking of all these people hurting for the same sadistic demon.

“She doesn’t suffer anymore.” You look up, Hotch is already looking at you with an unreadable expression. He knows what you’re thinking just from the divot of your teeth in your lip. “Sometimes, that’s all we can tell ourselves.”

Your aching heart swells, the blood pumps a little easier. You nod and take a full breath for the first time in 20 minutes.

“And the man who did this will feel their pain for the rest of his life, when we put him away.”

You feel the effort behind each word, knowing Hotch is a man of few, and it makes inspecting the body easier, makes the search through freezing fog more worth the dreadful discoveries . The day you fall in love with Hotch is gray and cold, but he warms it with the fire of his tongue and the hearth of softness in his eyes.

[artemisresources]

julia lester in hsmtmts s1ep3 gif pack

UPDATE! by clicking this link or the source, you will find #59 gifs of julia lester in High School Musical: The Musical: The Series S1 added to her gif pack for a total of 136 gifs. and here is a link to the zip file where you can pay whatever you want. both the gif pack page and zip file will be updated with more episodes in the future.

trigger warnings: n/a birth year: 2000 ethnicity: Ashkenazi Jewish scene pack: me :)

Do: use in roleplay use in edits/fanvids/oc content use in edits/fanvids about the celeb tag or credit me (optional)

Don’t: use in taboo or celebrity roleplay racebend the celeb

[wolf-359-unquotes]

Eiffel: Man, this seemed like a really cool idea until we didn't succeed at it