I Love It! This Reader Is Just So Me!

Reblog if you think it’s okay to platonically say “I Love You” to your friends

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.

no outlining, we struggle with the plot halfway through like real men /j

Two years?! I’m in!

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.

For any relocated TikTok users

you can say sex and kill its fine

If you don't have a profile picture people will assume you're a bot

theres barely an algorithm, if you want to see cool shit reblog things instead of just liking them

follower count doesnt matter

tumblr fame gets you one thing and it is Yelled At

no one knows what the fuck the nsfw policy is

block anyone that annoys you even a little bit

And most importantly:

post cringe

Unforeseen Events

Pairing: Bruce Banner x Shy!Fem!Autistic!Reader

Warnings/tags: Violence, mention of suicide attempt (no details), angst, autistic reader, spoilers for Avengers, implied head injury, mentions of weapons of mass destruction, mention of the arms race

Summary: Being assigned as Dr Banner’s lab assistant was not what you’d signed up for when you joined SHIELD.

A/N: This is a bit angstier than my usual style, but it will get fluffier later on, I promise!

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

When you were first noticed by SHIELD, you were ecstatic at being one of the select few chosen to be an agent. But you quickly learned that was not how things worked.

Even though you were hoping to work with gadgets, or maybe even go out into the field, once you’d mastered your poker face, SHIELD had other ideas.

So, you're now a lab assistant, working with - well, for - various genius scientists. It can be boring, sure, and the scientists aren’t usually the most sociable or polite, but it's not terrible, really. And you haven't really had to put your life on the line.

Well, until quite recently.

You were working with a guy called Selvig, who was working on something called a Tesseract, a weird glowing blue cube that emitted gamma radiation, which was apparently fished up from an ocean about the same time that they found Captain America.

That last assignment was the first time you'd had a brush with death on the job. The Tesseract had somehow opened some kind of portal, which had let Loki into the lab. He captured Selvig, Agent Barton, and a couple other agents, killed several more, and then escaped. You only just managed to escape before the whole place blew up.

Needless to say, you were pretty shaken up about the whole incident, and you considered quitting, but - well, there weren't really any other jobs that you could do, since you'd pigeonholed yourself so far into intelligence. And you knew it wasn't likely that SHIELD would let you go, anyway.

Your phone buzzes.

Picking it up, you groan when you see who it is, but you accept the call anyway.

"L/N?"

"Agent Hill?"

"We need you on the carrier."

Seriously? I only just escaped being killed once, and now they're recruiting me again? "Yes, Agent." You don't bother asking why. If she'd wanted you to know why right now, she'd have told you.

After you've grabbed your stuff, left a note with instructions on what to do if you don't return, and texted your family with similar instructions (just in case you don't return), you take one last look around your apartment.

Well, I guess this is goodbye - hopefully just for now.

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

You stand, speechless, as you try to take in the information that Agent Hill has just given you.

“We’re assigning you as lab assistant to Dr Bruce Banner.”

The words play over and over in your head, as you try to make sense of them. Dr Banner? The super-genius with like seven PhDs? The guy who turns into the Hulk? You’ve had surprises like this before, but never one like this. How am I supposed to deal with a guy who turns into a giant green rage monster that can’t be reasoned with? How do I not stress him out? How do I…?

Agent Hill seems to notice what you're thinking. “Dr Banner hasn’t had an - incident - in over a year. He’s here purely to help us identify what might be powering the Tesseract - and the Sceptre.”

I don’t really have a choice, do I? If I refuse, they’ll fire me. If I concede, well… The odds don’t look great all round. I might as well agree.

“Where is Dr Banner now?” you ask.

“He’s being shown to his lab by Agent Romanoff.”

Despite having worked for SHIELD for a few years now, you're still not really familiar with this ship. You mostly work on the ground bases, so this is maybe the second time you’d been on this thing.

As a result, it takes you a while to find Dr Banner’s lab.

On the way, you bump into none other than Captain America. Literally.

You never really understood the hype around finding Captain America was still alive. Sure, it's great that a guy who was frozen for seventy years is still alive, but you don’t really hero-worship celebrities like a lot of the other agents seem to, especially Agent Coulson.

“Oh - sorry, sir!” you gasp.

He gives you a funny look. “Uh, it's just Steve.”

“Right, right,” you mutter, adding an extra apology for good measure.

Steve seems unsure whether to be amused or annoyed. “One apology's enough, Ms. L/N.”

“Um - yeah, right.” You rub your hands together nervously. “Uh, you don't happen to know where Dr Banner's lab is, please?”

“Might I ask why you're looking for Dr Banner's lab?”

“Oh, um, I'm his lab assistant. Or I'm going to be, anyway…”

“Right. I'll take you there; I was going there myself anyway.”

“Oh, um, thanks,” you mutter, feeling rather awkward.

You're both silent as you head up to the lab. You're not sure if Steve feels as awkward as you, or if he's just a naturally quiet person. You're really hoping it's the latter.

As you near the lab, you hear a yell.

"Ow!"

Steve rushes in with you in tow. "Are you nuts?"

You look around in confusion. There's two guys there, one of which is probably Dr. Banner, although you don't know which.

"You really have got a lid on it, haven't you?" remarks one of the guys. "What's your secret? Mellow jazz, bongo drums, huge bag of-"

"Is everything a joke to you?" demands Steve.

The guy he's addressing doesn't seem bothered. "Funny things are."

"Threatening the safety of everyone on this ship isn't funny. No offence, doctor."

The other guy, presumably Dr Banner, looks up. "It's alright," he says. "I wouldn't have come aboard if I couldn't handle - pointy things."

"You the new lab assistant, kid?" asks the other guy.

You nod rather nervously.

"I'm Tony Stark." He turns back to Dr Banner. "You're tiptoeing, big man. You need to strut."

"And you need to focus on the problem, Mr Stark," snaps Steve.

"You think I'm not?" asks Mr Stark. "Why did Fury call us in? Why now? Why not before? What isn't he telling us?"

"You think Fury's hiding something?"

"He's a spy. Captain, he's the spy. His secrets have secrets." He gestures towards Dr Banner. "It's bugging him, too."

Dr Banner seems reluctant to be brought into the conversation. "Uh… I just want to finish my work here, and…"

But Steve's not convinced. "Doctor?"

Dr Banner sighs. "'A warm light for all mankind'. Loki's jab at the cube."

"I heard it."

He gestures towards Mr Stark. "Well, I think that was meant for you. Even if Barton didn't tell Loki about the tower, it was still all over the news."

"Stark Tower?" asks Steve. "That big, ugly-" Mr Stark gives him a look -"building in New York?"

"It's powered by an arc reactor, a self-sustaining energy source. That building will run itself for what, a year?"

"It's just a prototype," says Mr Stark. "I'm kind of the only name in clean energy right now."

"So why didn't SHIELD bring him in on the Tesseract project?" asks Dr Banner. "I mean, what are they even doing in the energy business in the first place?"

"I should probably look into that, once my decryption program finishes breaking into all of SHIELD's secure files."

"I'm sorry, did you say-" begins Steve.

"JARVIS has been running it since I hit the bridge. In a few hours, I'll know every dirty secret SHIELD has ever tried to hide."

Steve isn't impressed. "I think you're confused about why they didn't want you around."

"An intelligence organisation that fears intelligence? Historically - not awesome."

"I think Loki's trying to wind us up. He means to start a war. We have orders. We should follow them."

"Following them's not really my style."

"And you're all about style, aren't you?"

"Of the people in this room, which one is A. Wearing a spangly outfit, and B. Not of use?"

Steve sighs. "Just find the cube."

After he's stepped out, you look around awkwardly, wondering what you're supposed to do.

"So, we kind of have everything under control here…" says Mr Stark.

There's a long, awkward pause. You're not really sure what you're supposed to do now. You don't want to bother Dr Banner and Mr Stark while they're working, but you know you'll get told off if you're caught 'slacking off' - and even if you did want to slack off, there's nowhere to go, and nothing to do.

Dr Banner looks up. "Uh, actually, could you come over here a sec?"

You step over slightly too quickly, almost tripping over your own feet. "Uh - yeah?"

"Could you note down these numbers, please?"

"Okay." You start scribbling down the numbers, while trying to calm your racing heart.

This is definitely not what you signed up for.

When you were little, you pictured espionage as being a cool secret agent, wielding lots of crazy gadgets, killing villains, and generally having daring escapades like what you’d read in books. Sort of like James Bond, or Sherlock Holmes, or something.

But even as you grew out of that phase, you still held onto the dream of one day becoming a spy - not in the field, of course; your poker face couldn’t fool a child, but a gadget-master. You had it all planned out in your head; you’d be like Smithers from Alex Rider, sitting in your office, working on your latest invention, and thinking up cool gadgets in your spare time.

But even if this isn't what you signed up for, it's not terrible. Be a genius’s personal assistant, put up with their moods, listen (well, look like you’re listening) to massive infodumps on niche topics you'll never understand, all for a sum that only just pays the bills? Not bad, really.

"Hey, I never caught your name, kid," says Mr Stark suddenly.

You jump at the sound of his voice. "Oh - er - it's L/N."

"You got a first name?"

"It's Y/N. But everybody goes by last names here."

"So, how'd you wind up here?"

You blush. "It's stupid."

Dr Banner looks up. "It's alright. You don't have to tell us if you don't want to."

You nod, and turn back to the numbers, but your mind's elsewhere as you write them down.

Dr Banner seems surprisingly chill for a guy who can turn into the Hulk. Or maybe he just has really, really good self-control. Either way, it's nice to be working for someone who's actually civil for once. You've never been assistant to anyone super nice in the past; some of the other scientists haven't been the most polite in the past.

The worst you had happen to you was when some particularly volatile scientist lost his temper at you for not paying attention to something about some weird niche branch of quantitative chemistry, and threw a conical flask in your direction. (To be fair, he apologised profusely afterward, and was actually alright for the rest of his stay.)

"Y/N?" says Dr Banner.

You look up. "Yeah?"

"I think we're good here."

"O-kay…" Is he trying to get rid of me?

Taking a deep breath, you say, "Well - I don't really have anywhere else to go."

"What do you mean?"

"Well - I - I'm literally just a lab assistant. This is the only job I have here. And even if you give me your express permission to do whatever, if I get caught, it'll cost me my job. I don't have a safety net; my family don't live in New York, and I'm already behind on rent, so if I lose my job…"

Dr Banner looks almost horrified. "Oh, no, no, I don't want you to risk losing your job. I just thought you might want to - you know, not have to stand around? I - I used to be a lab assistant, so I know it gets kind of - boring."

"We're both pretty much done here anyway," adds Mr Stark. "All we have to do is wait for my decryption program to finish breaking into SHIELD's secure files."

You nod. "Yeah, I heard."

"So what do you think, kid? Do you think Fury's hiding something?"

Your heart jumps, but you try not to look too nervous. "Uh… probably? I - never really thought to try and find out…" You're not feeling very comfortable with Mr Stark breaking into SHIELD's secure files, but that small, rebellious, powerful part of you really, really wants to see those files now. And you also don't want to get on his bad side, since your job is more or less in his hands. "Captain America doesn't seem too bothered."

You almost facepalm at your stupid, stupid blunder. Oh, you idiot!

But Mr Stark doesn't seem bothered. "He's a soldier, kid. He's trained to follow orders. Wondering if they shouldn't have kept him on ice?"

That's a bit mean, even if he is a bit too perfect.

"He's not wrong about Loki," says Dr Banner. "He does have the jump on us."

Mr Stark snorts. "What he's got is an ACME dynamite kit. It's gonna blow up in his face. And I'm gonna be there when it does."

Dr Banner smiles. "I'll read all about it."

"Or you'll be suiting up, like the rest of us."

"See, I don't get a suit of armour. I'm exposed, like a nerve. It's a nightmare."

You can't help feeling a pang of - something. Is it pity? Sympathy?

Or is it because you get what he means?

Mr Stark's suddenly serious. "You know, I've got a cluster of shrapnel trying to make its way to my heart. This-" he tapped his light circle -"stops it. This little circle of light is a part of me now. It's a terrible privilege."

"But you can control it."

"Because I learned how."

Dr Banner shakes his head. "It's different."

He tries to get back to his work, but Mr Stark stops him. "Hey, I read all about your accident. That much gamma exposure should've killed you."

"So you're saying the Hulk-" He pauses. Even the mention of the Hulk seems to put him on edge. "You're saying that the other guy saved my life? That's a nice sentiment. Saved it for - what?"

Again, you feel that weird pang. Is this empathy? you wonder. How could I be able to empathise with a guy who's had such a different life than mine? I have no idea what turning into the Hulk is like, but I'm somehow able to understand? How?

"I guess we'll find out," says Mr Stark, after an awkward pause.

"You might not like that," says Dr Banner.

"You just might."

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

It's the next morning when Director Fury bursts into the lab, every inch of him living up to his name.

"What are you doing, Mr Stark?" he demands.

Oh, no. You know immediately what's happened. SHIELD must have found out that Mr Stark's trying to hack into their computers.

"Kind of been wondering the same about you," remarks Mr Stark.

"You're supposed to be locating the Tesseract."

"We are," says Dr Banner. "The model's locked, and we're sweeping for the signature now. As soon as we get a hit, we'll have the location within half a mile."

"And you'll get your cube back, no muss, no fuss," adds Mr Stark, just as a load of secure files suddenly pop up on the lab computer screen. "What is Phase 2?"

Steve bursts in, slamming a weapon onto one of the benches. "Phase 2 is when SHIELD uses the cube to make weapons. Sorry, the computer was running a little slow for me."

Weapons?

"Rogers, we gathered everything related to the Tesseract. This does not mean that we're-"

Mr Stark interrupts. "I'm sorry, Nick. What - were you lying?"

You stare in shock at the computer screen. Weapon plans. This is what the world is coming to?

"I was wrong, director," says Steve. "The world hasn't changed a bit."

Couldn't agree more. Seriously - did we learn nothing from the last arms race?

Then two other people rush in. One's a medieval giant of a man, and the other's probably an agent.

"Did you know about this?" demands Dr Banner of them.

"You wanna think about removing yourself from this environment, doctor?" demands the agent.

You hastily step back. Sure, Dr Banner seems to have a pretty tight lid on the Hulk, but from the way the agent's looking at him, you've got a nasty feeling that the lid might be loosening.

Dr Banner just laughs. "I was in Calcutta. I was pretty well removed."

The agent isn't amused. "Loki's manipulating you."

"And you've been doing what, exactly?"

They're manipulating people, too? You're not sure why that would shock you so much, but for some reason, it does.

"You didn't come here because I bat my eyelashes at you."

"Yes, and I'm not leaving just because you get a little twitchy," retorts Dr Banner. "I'd like to know why SHIELD is using the Tesseract to make weapons of mass destruction."

The director points to the medieval giant. "Because of him."

"Me?"

"Last year, Earth had a visitor from another planet that flattened a small town, and we learned that we are hopelessly, hilariously, outgunned."

Okay, that makes sense, but it still doesn't excuse you keeping us all in the dark about this.

"My people want nothing but peace with your planet," says the medieval man.

"But you're not the only people out there, are you? The world's filling up with people who can't be matched or controlled."

"Like you controlled the cube?" demands Steve.

"Your work with the Tesseract is what drew Loki to it," says the medieval man. "It is the signal to all the realms that Earth is ready for a higher form of war."

"You forced our hand," protests the director. "We had to come up with something?"

"A nuclear deterrent," remarks Mr Stark, his tone dripping sarcasm. "Because that always calms everything right down."

"Remind me how you made your fortune, Stark?"

You back away to the edge of the lab. You're irrelevant here, and you don't want any part in this argument. Besides, if things get ugly, it never hurts to have an escape route.

"You speak of control, yet you court chaos," says the medieval man.

"It's his M.O., isn't it?" says Dr Banner. "I mean, what are we, a team? No, no, we're a chemical mixture that creates chaos. We're a time bomb."

The director steps forward. You can see the fear in his eyes. "You need to step away."

Mr Stark puts an arm around Steve. "Why shouldn't the guy let off a little steam?"

Steve pushes him away. "You know damn well why! Back off!"

Oh, no. You start to edge towards the door. You don't want to get caught in the crossfire if anyone here starts fighting, least of all Mr Stark and Steve.

The medieval man laughs. "You people are so petty - and tiny."

"Agent Romanoff," says the director, "would you escort Dr Banner back to his-"

"Where?" demands Dr Banner. "You rented my room."

"The cage was just-"

"In case you tried to kill me, but you can't. I know, I tried." You stare at him in shock. "I got low, and I didn't see an end, but the other guy wouldn't let me. So I moved on. I focused on helping people. I was good, until you dragged me back into this freak show, and put everyone here at risk. You want to know my secret? You want to know how I keep myself calm?"

You're almost at the door now. You can see the Sceptre in Dr Banner's hand, and you really don't want to get stabbed today. Or any day.

"Dr Banner, put down the Sceptre," says Steve.

Dr Banner looks shocked to find that he's holding it, and hastily puts it down.

The computer beeping seems to break the tension slightly.

"Sorry, kids," says Dr Banner. "Guess you don't get to see my party trick after all."

He goes over to take a look, and after pausing for a moment, you join him.

You can hear the others starting to argue again, but you don't care. The numbers on the screen are more important right now - even if you're not sure what they mean.

Dr Banner knows, though, and judging from the look on his face, it's not good.

"Oh, my God," he mutters.

Suddenly, an explosion seems to rip the lab apart.

Once your head clears a bit, you realise that you must have fallen through the floor, and that you're trapped under some of the debris.

Looking over, you see Dr Banner on his hands and knees, gripping at the floor, grunting, trying desperately to control himself. You know you should probably go and try to calm him down, but you're so panicked that you have no idea what you would even say.

As you try to pull yourself free, some of the metal falls, making a loud clanging noise.

Dr Banner looks over to you. His eyes are green. You feel a shudder run through you.

"Get - away - from - me!" His voice is changing, slowly morphing into a growl.

The fear that rushes through you gives you the strength you need to pull yourself free, just as the lights go out.

A deafening, primal roar breaks the air, and with it your last nerve.

So you run.

You don't even bother trying to look for an escape. All you're trying to do is keep away from the Hulk.

But it's no use. He's too fast for you.

Finding the stairs, you begin to run up them.

You trip.

In another moment, Hulk's on top of you.

And then everything goes black.

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

Part 2

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

If you read the fic, leave the kudos. Leave a comment too, if possible. Just do it. It takes a few seconds of your time and it means the world to the writer.

Sincerely, me who just got told that my writing feels like watching a blockbuster movie. I don't care if they were sincere or not, I'll be thinking about that comment for the rest of my life and every time I feel bad about my art, I'll remember that someone once liked it.

Holy moly dude.

The feeling you feel when you finally break free of a writers block. When you finally finish that paragraph that you had no idea how to complete. When you finally find a way to fix that story that always felt incomplete. That amazing feeling that makes you feel like ur on top of the world and untouchable.

I live for it.