em's writing corner 🫶

who are you? just a girl who loves to write

how do i request things? (note: requests are currently closed) send me a message! rules are in the linked post right here

where are the fic masterlists? you can read my works on ao3 or here on tumblr! just click the links

what fics do you have in the works? soooo many…….

can I podfic / translate your works? unfortunately I do NOT allow any podfics or translations. maybe if I know you really really well, but otherwise it’s a firm no. I do make my own podfics of my works, if you’re interested in listening to them!

when do you post / update your fics? whenever i feel like it :)

do you write [insert thing here]? scroll up, click the linked post for requests, and read what i will and won’t write there!

do you have any fic recs? at the moment, I don’t have a post that covers everything I recommend. however, my bookmarks on ao3 are a good place to start :)

do you have any writing tips? at the moment I also do not have a post about this. but the one thing I will say: write it. no matter how bad you think it is, if it’s giving you enjoyment to think about it, WRITE IT! do it for you (and for the kudos, but mostly for you). write what you want, how you want, and don’t be afraid to just try :)

how can I contact you? say hi over on my main @swimreadrepeat!

It’s 5 AM when you roll out of bed and grab your tablet off your bedside table. Tapping open the group chat titled “Steve Day,” you type one-handed while you dress quickly. Your head throbs a bit, the bright light of the screen stinging your eyes in the near-darkness of the room.

Go time, you write in the chat. A flurry of thumbs-up emojis and confirmations fills the screen and you smile softly to yourself as you put the tablet down and head to the bathroom.

Last year on July 4th, you had put together an elaborate, scavenger-hunt style gift giving extravaganza for everyone’s favorite super soldier. It ended with a surprise party, dinner and a fireworks show, and your first kiss with the one and only Steve Rogers. 

So naturally, this year you had to outdo yourself.

Splashing some water on your face, you grimace at the pain in your temples. But you brush it off - nerves, maybe, since there’s a lot of pressure riding on you this year. Or just your body’s way of saying ‘stop waking up at 5, you psychopath!’

The first stop is the kitchen to oversee breakfast. Last year you’d made all the food yourself, but you’d delegated that duty to Tony and Bruce with the express warning that if anything exploded, they’d never be able to help (or step foot in the kitchen) again. You know Steve is awake already, jogging around the Compound, but you’re pretty sure he’ll maintain his usual schedule and not come back inside until around 6. 

You doubt that the ‘hide and try to gaslight him into thinking everyone’s been there the whole time’ breakfast schtick is going to work this year, so this time you’ve made it pretty obvious that there’s a special meal being set up. The scientists made waffles - Tony claims they’re special, you threaten to destroy him if there’s “any weird chemicals in there” - and there’s a myriad of sides and baked goods to fill the rest of the table. 

A hand-painted sign that says “This way to Steve’s birthday breakfast” has been hastily taped to the front door, with signs along the hallways to direct him. Steve, still sweaty from his run, pushes open the door to the kitchen with a smile.

Nat, Clint, Bucky, Tony, and Bruce all freeze. It’s only 5:45 - no one had been expecting him. He grins at you, the only person still moving (you’re, in fact, pretending nothing’s happening and he’s not even there).

“Payback for last year,” he says simply, walking into the room and ruffling your hair affectionately. Finally, you turn around, giving him a wide-eyed stare. 

“What did I do last year?” you ask innocently. The slight twitching of your lips, however, gives you away. He answers you with a kiss, before you pull away and turn back to the cookies you were frosting. “Go sit over there,” you instruct. “We’re not ready yet.”

He obliges, perching on the counter out of the way of the others, who have gone back to work. Then he opens his mouth again. “So, what’s on the itinerary today, oh great birthday party planner?”

“Bold of you to assume I planned anything this year,” you shoot back.

“Please,” he scoffs. “Everyone is in the kitchen at 5 in the morning. If you didn’t plan anything, I’m the queen of England.”

You roll your eyes at him and continue frosting his shield onto the sugar cookies. The headache is still there, a sort of ominous fog rolling through the back of your mind. (You tell yourself to shut up and just make today the best day ever for Steve.)

When you all finally sit down for breakfast, other Avengers-adjacent guests have arrived, and the kitchen is abuzz with casual conversations. You pile your plate with food, eating up to make sure you have the energy to get through the rest of the day. The noise and the barely controlled chaos is a lot, though. It’s making the pressure in your skull a bit more noticeable, so you excuse yourself to take stock of the situation in the bathroom.

The headache is spreading from your temples to your whole forehead. You feel a little warm, so you splash some water on your face and neck. You’re not feeling great about these symptoms, but it’s okay. All you have to do is get through today - make Steve’s birthday the best it can be - and then you can have headaches and fevers later. And by sheer force of will, you paste a bright, genuine-looking smile on your face and re-enter the fray.

-----

Similarly to last year, you’ve scattered presents around the compound for Steve to find, though it’s a little more structured this time around to keep him away from the ‘surprise’ sections and ensure he gets every present.

You’re noticing more and more concerning symptoms: you’re not usually one who gets cold easily, but you shiver even in rooms that are fairly warm; your hands are shaking slightly; it’s getting harder and harder for you to focus.

The gift-finding seems to stretch on for days, though it’s only a couple of hours. You’d accompanied him for a while, forcing a smile when he looked at you, before he headed off to the gym to work out again and you let him find some on his own. 

It’s midday now, the shivering and the headaches getting worse as you hurry around putting the finishing touches on some of the surprises for later. Your mind feels fuzzy, like your thoughts are wispy bits of smoke that you can’t quite catch. The big breakfast you ate is sitting heavy in your stomach, but you figure you can probably pick at your food and get away with it.

You’re grateful that you’d arranged for a private picnic-style lunch on the far side of the compound; you don’t think you could handle another chaotic meal with all the voices and the people pressing into you from all sides. So you meet Steve, grin firmly in place, and give him a conspiratorial wink. “Follow me,” you say, beckoning like a conspicuous informant in a cheesy spy movie.

He indulges you, letting you grasp the front of his shirt and drag him across the lawn. There’s a smattering of sparkles on his cheek, probably a remnant from another Tony glitterbomb card. You’re glad he’s not touching you, though - you’re pretty sure your skin is hot to the touch, and you really don’t need him freaking out. You can’t ruin his special day. You refuse.

But as you trek across the grass, it’s harder and harder to hide how dizzy you are. Your breaths are coming quicker now, limbs feeling heavier with each step. He hasn’t caught on yet; he’s too busy praising your planning and joyfully detailing every present he’s gotten so far.

The nausea is rising in your stomach and you’re really regretting eating so much food. The pounding in your head has risen to the point where you can feel your heartbeat in your ears. At the base of the hill where someone (your memory is so foggy at this point you’re not even sure who) has set up a picnic blanket and a veritable feast under the large tree, you feel Steve turn to look down at you.

“You’ve been quiet,” he says, a furrow appearing between his brows.

Divert, divert, divert, you think frantically. “Race ya!” you yell, letting go of his shirt to start sprinting up the hill.

It’s not a particularly large hill - in fact, it’s on the shorter side. But right now, in your current state, it might as well stretch for miles. Your head spins. Black dots fill your vision as you gasp for air. Your legs feel as though they’ve turned to bricks, or lead, or some other similarly heavy and immovable material.

It takes you several moments to realize you’ve fallen to your hands and knees, grass prickling at your hands as you take a shaky, nauseated breath. Steve blew past you easily and just now turns around once he reaches the summit and realizes you’re not beside him. He calls your name worriedly and you wave him off with a shaky hand.

“I tripped,” you call. “I’m fine.” You force yourself to stand and walk the rest of the way up. Make it through the lunch, then you can hide away at the party and rest. Make it through lunch.

He’s still looking at you with concern in his eyes, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he turns to the picnic blanket and marvels at the food laid out in front of him. “This is incredible! I love it, thank you!”

The world is blurry around the edges. Your tongue feels too big for your mouth as you reply, “No problem.” You’re hot, so hot, from the run and the sun beating down on you, and you can feel a bead of sweat trickling down your neck. It makes you shiver, and suddenly you’re cold. Saliva is pooling in your mouth and your stomach is roiling and you realize much too late what’s about to happen.

“Shall we eat?” Steve asks, stepping aside and sweeping an arm towards the blanket like the courteous gentleman he is. 

You grin at him. “Happy birthday, Steve.” Except the words don’t quite come out right, the sounds smushing together in your mouth with your uncooperative tongue. You open your mouth again - to try again, maybe, or to tell him that you don’t feel good - and then it happens. 

You throw up all over yourself and the grass. And then the world spins, or maybe that’s you spinning, because your legs buckle and you’re suddenly face-down in your own vomit. Steve, who was too far away to catch you, is at your side in an instant. He rolls you over, pulling you away from the pile of your breakfast, and presses a hand to your forehead.

It’s so cool that you instinctively lean into the touch, barely conscious but aware that your body is hot and cold and it feels so good. 

Then the nausea hits again and you barely manage to roll away from Steve before more of your breakfast is on the ground in front of you. He stands, grabbing napkins and the pitcher of water from the picnic blanket so he can gently wipe your face and clothes.

It hits you now, the shame and embarrassment. You ruined Steve’s birthday. You puked all over the special birthday lunch, and now you’re laying limp on the grass while he pats you with a wet cloth like a sickly Victorian child. “’m sorry,” you mumble, the words still oddly slurred in your disobedient mouth. And then you’re sobbing, wet, ugly tears racing down your cheeks.

“Hey,” he says sharply. “Hey. It’s not your fault you’re sick. You did all of this - while sick - and I’ve had so much fun. But now it’s my turn to take care of you and do things for you, okay?”

“But it’s your birthday.”

He wipes the tears from your face. “And there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

You lay there for a bit while he cleans you up, trying desperately not to fall asleep. Suddenly, you shoot upright, regretting it instantly when your body protests with a sharp pain in your temples and some dry heaving. “The party!” you try to tell him. “There’s a surprise party back at the building.”

He ignores you, gently wrapping an arm around your shoulders and rubbing your back as you heave again. “Can you walk? Let’s get you back to your room.”

This you can tell him. You nod firmly, even as the motion makes the darkness cloud the edges of your vision. He helps you up, letting you cling to his arm for support as you slowly make your way down the hill. Stumbling along beside him, the walk back to the Compound seems to pass in the blink of an eye. Maybe you’re way more out of it than you thought.

The doors fly open. “Surprise!” someone yells. Then: “Oh, shit.”

Slipping in and out of consciousness, you sway on his arm as he talks with whoever was at the door in a low murmur. And the next thing you know, you’re undressed and redressed and being tucked into a bed that’s not yours. Opening your eyes takes a Herculean amount of effort, but you’re rewarded with a gentle smile from Steve as he lays a cool cloth on your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” you say again. “This was supposed to be…your day.”

He squeezes your hand. “And I can think of no better way to spend it.” Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he whispers, “Now rest. You need it.”

You dispatch them easily, kicking their legs out from under them and smacking them in the head with their own gun. You, unlike the Hydra goons, are above killing.

“You good?” Stark asks, descending from the sky to look you over. You give him a thumbs up and turn the agent’s gun over in your hands. 

You scoff. “Bro, this gun is basically empty.”

“No surprise, given how bad of a shot that guy was,” Stark replies. He looks like he might say more - unclear, though, given how his faceplate covers his expression - but is interrupted when Captain Rogers’s voice crackles over comms.

“Loki is fighting inside, if you two would like to join him,” he says, faint exasperation coloring his voice.

You’ve known Steve long enough to understand that he’s not really annoyed at you, just wants to keep the mission running smoothly. Of all the people, you enjoy poking at him the most, mainly because the two of you are close friends. He’d chosen you, out of all the SHIELD agents, to join the Avengers team as a more boots-on-the-ground presence among the superpowered beings that actually make up their group. It was working great for about a year.

And then, of course, he’d exposed the fact that HYDRA had infiltrated SHIELD, gone on the run, nearly gotten all of you (and himself) killed, and then miraculously pulled a 180 and came back to being a superhero committed to taking down HYDRA. So here you all are now, invading HYDRA bases and burning their organization to the ground.

You’re pulled out of your reminiscing by a team of agents who try to tackle you, only to be met with a blast from Stark’s repulsors. “Thanks,” you tell him, letting him fly by and march into the building. (His armor is mostly bulletproof. Your skin? Not so much.)

It’s not too hard to find Loki, once inside. The former villain-turned-Avenger is fighting a squad of at least ten men at once, blasts of green magic and the glint of light off his knives blinding you as you jog inside the room. Surrounding him are the bodies of probably half the base. It’s unclear whether they’re knocked out or dead.

“Hello, darling,” Loki says to you, panting slightly.

You join the fight, punching and kicking until you fight your way into the middle of the room. “Hey, dude.”

“You’re late,” he admonishes.

“Sorry,” you say sarcastically. “I was busy.”

You can feel Tony’s eyes on you, but he doesn’t have time to question you before an agent throws themselves at him and meets the business end of the Iron Man suit. It’s not that you’ve been avoiding telling the Avengers that you and Loki are a thing.

But you haven’t exactly been forthcoming either.

It’s not a big deal, anyway. If someone asks straight up, you both agreed that you’d answer honestly. It’s just that no one has asked. To be fair, the two of you barely interact in public, and while he’s nice to you - he’s always been nice to you - the rapport you’ve built doesn’t exactly scream ‘dating!!’

The three of you make quick work of the rest of the agents, regrouping with the rest of the team outside. Loki pulls you aside, looking you up and down for injury. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, brushing some dust from your shoulder.

“Mhm,” you reply. “You were cooking in there.”

He cocks his head. “Cooking?”

“Like…on fire? Doing great.”

Nodding, he files this away. You’ve taught him a wide variety of slang, most of which he never uses but some of which he pulls out just to annoy you every once in a while. (The duality of modern times? When the Norse god of mischief calls your new suit “dope”). 

But as the youngest member of the team, you’ve taken it upon yourself to enlighten the old geezers. And it’s led to some inside jokes - and a lot of mortification when one of the Avengers yells a sentence “to the gen Z kiddos out there”.

Loki finishes his inspection, finding no injuries, and you climb onto the jet with a smile. His hand brushes yours and you ache to grab it, but you know that’ll just cause more confusion than you want to deal with right now. After all, the two of you had agreed that, if no one found out within the time frame you’d decided, you would stage the biggest relationship reveal you could imagine and film the looks on everyone’s faces.

Revealing it on a quinjet just doesn’t have the same effect. But time is running out - you’d bet it would take two months, Loki had bet on three. It’s been two and a half months of dating (capping off nearly a year of friendship), and no one seems to suspect a thing.

When you’re all back at Avengers Tower and are dispersing to get cleaned up, it’s your turn to catch Loki’s arm and pull him away. “So when are we staging the Big Reveal? I really thought someone would have caught on by now, but I guess not.”

He chuckles. “Maybe it’s because you call me ‘dude’ all the time, darling.”

“Or ‘bro,’” you add, “sometimes it’s ‘bro.’”

“I still don’t understand that,” he teases. “I am not your brother, therefore I cannot be ‘bro.’”

You groan. “It’s just something I say!”

He gives you a chaste peck on the lips. “Whatever you say, love.”

“Wait,” you say, realizing something abruptly that you really should have thought about ages ago. “How does Tony not know about this? JARVIS is-”

The AI’s disembodied voice comes from the wall to your left. “JARVIS doesn’t care about meddling in the relationships of the team. All members are entitled to their privacy.” He sounds offended, as much as a computer can.

“Oh, okay,” you say placatingly. “Sorry, J, I didn’t mean to like, insult your programming or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” Loki mimics quietly. “You Midgardians really do have the most interesting methods of speech.”

“Shut up.”

He blows you a kiss instead and heads down the hall to your right; you turn and go back to your room with a dopey smile on your face. It only widens when you think about what will happen when the rest of the team finds out. Man, you’re so excited to see their faces.

-----

Two weeks blow by in sparring bouts and the occasional mission. None of them are big enough to merit the whole squad, so there’s a lot of waiting around in the Tower while other people fight bad guys. You hang out with Natasha and Clint a lot, since their schedules usually align with yours: Steve wakes up at the crack of dawn, Tony doesn’t go to sleep until then, and everyone else keeps odd hours or isn’t interested in sparring with you.

Nat teaches you some new moves and Clint attempts to teach both of you archery, which goes just as well as you’d expect.

“It’s not that hard,” he gripes. 

“Agree to disagree,” you mutter back. “It’s not our fault we prefer to fight with weapons from this century.”

“What if you don’t have a gun?”

“Since when am I gonna lose my gun and then whip out a freaking bow and arrow?”

“You never know,” he shrugs, loosing another round of arrows (all bulls-eyes, of course) without even looking.

Nat, who’s sharpening the arrowheads in the corner, joins the argument. “If I lose my guns we’ll all be in a lot more trouble than me not being able to shoot an arrow.”

You point at her. “See? She gets it.”

“Gets what?” Loki asks, walking into the room.

You and Clint immediately try to ask him the question, yelling over each other until neither of you is intelligible. Off his raised eyebrow, you stop talking and take a breath. “Clint is saying I need to learn how to shoot a bow in case I ever lose my gun. I’m saying if I lose my gun I’m not going to have a bow, because I’ll be dead.”

Loki laughs, a musical sound to your ears. “I will admit it’s not the most commonplace skill,” he says, tipping his head towards you. “But, it’s worth learning, just in case. We are, after all, not commonplace people.”

“Ugh,” you reply. “I knew you were gonna side with Clint.” Then your eyes widen. “Dude! If it’s such a good skill to learn, then you teach me. Anything you teach me will be better than whatever this guy’s been doing.”

Clint punches you in the arm, but Loki looks like he’s considering your proposition. The two of you are trying one final push to see if your teammates notice anything, mainly trying to actually spend time with one another. Regardless of the multiple times you’ve interacted with each other, though, no one seems to think anything other than casual partnership is going on.

Flirt with me, you try to tell him with your eyes. Clearly it doesn’t work, because his what? expression is very clear. You roll your eyes. Nevermind.

He steps closer, holding his hand out for your bow. After inspecting it and handing it back to you, he says, “Show me how you shoot.”

Taking a breath and shuffling your feet into the correct position, you relax your arms before you nock an arrow. Squinting at the target, you let your shoulders sink but don’t release the tension as you draw back the bowstring.

“Can you hold like that, darling? I want to…” He trails off as he steps closer to you, gently tapping your hands and shoulders to adjust them. “Good.”

You release the arrow, which, while it doesn’t get anywhere near the center of the target, gets closer than you’ve made it all day. “Hey!” you cheer. “You’re a good teacher. See that, Clint? Bro taught me more in one shot than you taught me in an hour.”

“You overuse that word,” Loki mutters under his breath, a smile tugging on his lips.

You lower your voice too. “You love it.”

“Do I, though?”

You nod confidently. “Yes. You do.”

-----

“Hello, darling.”

“Hey, dude!” Your customary greeting - to everyone in the room, not just to him - goes unanswered, the cheerful tone instantly dying as you take in the somber mood. “Wait. What’s going on?”

Steve points at the holographic map in the middle of the room. “This is the last active HYDRA base that we can find evidence of.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“It is,” Steve replies, “but since it’s their last base it’s the most protected. We’re all going in.”

This is news to you. Given that you’re arguably the weakest link on the team (sorry you’re not a superhuman lab specimen and/or cracked at shooting arrows), you haven’t gone on a mission for weeks. But as you slide into your seat for the briefing, you feel a twinge of fear.

You’re only human, after all. And who knows what dirty tricks HYDRA has up their sleeves. You tune back in to Tony’s overview of the facility and Steve’s rundown of where everyone will be placed. 

You’ll be stationed outside, as expected, covering the team’s back on comms and video feeds. Not that you’re complaining - it’s much easier to get out when you’re already outside. And given the Avengers’ propensity for blowing the bases sky-high, it’s definitely an advantage to get out quick.

When the Quinjet touches down a few miles outside the base’s monitoring zone, you take a quick moment to squeeze Loki’s hand. “When we get back, darling,” he whispers as he passes, “we’ll blow their minds.”

You, along with Steve and Nat, are approaching the base from the north, so once leaving the jet, you veer away and creep through the forest. “Building a base in the middle of the woods,” you pant, scrambling over a fallen tree. “Like that’s not cliche at all.”

Finally reaching the breach point, you hang back in the trees while Steve and Nat plot their attack. Setting up the small portable monitors and checking comms to make sure you can direct everyone, you give the others the signal to proceed. And then you sit back and watch the show.

Tony is first, swooping in with the Iron Man suit’s thrusters firing and repulsors blasting. The shield around the base is impervious to such attacks…but not when you’ve hacked in and set it to disable right on cue. (You really can’t take credit for that - it was mostly JARVIS, and therefore, mostly Tony who did all the heavy lifting).

Guards come streaming out, Tony dispatching them easily. In the chaos, the rest of the team slips inside. With you and Bruce running recon and directing the attacks, the Avengers are a well-oiled machine, surprising and dealing with every guard in their way. 

But then a sharp squeal of feedback has you ripping out your earpiece. Thankfully it doesn’t seem to have damaged your hearing - you test, snapping your fingers near your ears - but you definitely don’t want to have that happen again. Carefully holding the earpiece next to your ear, you speak into the mic.

“Can anyone copy?” But like you’d feared, there’s only silence. Without you able to guide them, the Avengers are running blind. The cameras still work, and you can only watch with apprehension as each Avenger takes on their opponents alone.

You know they’re highly capable and highly trained. You know they’ve been on countless missions, many without the kind of technology you’d been using earlier. You know they’ll be okay. But that doesn’t stop the worry from creeping in as you lean closer and closer to the screens, trying to pick out every detail.

And then your heart drops into your stomach, because you can see something that no one else can: there’s a squadron of HYDRA goons grouping up in a corridor on the east side of the building. They’re clearly lying in wait for someone, and that someone no longer has you in their ear to warn them.

You click through cams desperately, trying to figure out who’s the closest - who they could be trying to get. And then…

If your heart was in your stomach before, it’s in your throat now. You feel it spasm, sending full body chills through your frame. The person walking blindly into danger is Loki. They knocked out your comms and planned this ambush because they know how powerful he is. And they know that this is how they can overwhelm and defeat him.

You sink back into the bushes, heart hammering and mind racing. You know the layout of the building by heart. You know you can get to him.

Taking note of how many agents (twenty) and their position behind the doors, you pack up the surveillance equipment and, after some quick deliberation, leave the case hidden in the bushes. You can’t justify lugging it around with you in a fight.

Glad you thought to bring a weapon, you pull out your gun and make sure it’s loaded as you sprint through the forest towards the east. It’s in your best interest to stay undetected for as long as possible, so you stick to the trees until you spot the telltale blasts of green that indicate a Loki-HYDRA fight.

You wait for him to finish knocking out (or killing?) the agents outside before trying to get his attention, but he immediately turns to the building. Crap. There are twenty highly armed agents on the other side of those doors waiting for him to walk in. And he only thinks there will be a few stationed there.

“Dude!” you whisper-yell, unwilling to give your element of surprise away quite yet. “Bro!” Desperately, you throw a stick out of the trees. “Loki!”

He turns, having heard the stick or maybe your last desperate attempt to reach him, but then the doors explode outwards and the twenty guys, having gotten tired of waiting, burst out.

You freeze. You hadn’t been expecting them to go on the offensive quite so quickly. Your plan consisted of 1. get Loki’s attention and then 2. figure the rest out.

The god is engaged in battle again, knives flashing as he deflects their bullets with ease. But he’s tired, and there’s a lot of them, and so you aim carefully at the agents regrouping around the edges. You don’t want to hit Loki by accident, but thankfully there’s a good number of them trying to stay out of range of those blades.

Your first shot rings true, and then you step from the trees as you fire two more. A group of agents splits off to come deal with you, and you shoot them as they approach. The twenty is quickly dwindling, but your hope is immediately quashed by another, larger group blasting out the already-broken doors.

“Loki! Behind you!” you scream, abandoning all pretense of secrecy. He whirls, giving them a nasty faceful of magic, but you can tell he’s going to be quickly overwhelmed. It’s too close quarters to fight with a gun - thankfully the HYDRA agents can’t shoot either - so you whip out the small knife sheathed at your hip and curse at the fact that you don’t have any other (preferably bigger) weapons. “This is what happens when you’re supposed to be in the back line,” you mutter vengefully. “You end up woefully underprepared.”

“What’s that, darling?” Loki asks between stabs.

“I wish I had a bigger knife!” you yell back.

Shoving an agent back with one hand, he conjures one of his signature black and green daggers with the other and tosses it to you. You grab it by the hilt and nod your thanks as you immediately spin it around and clock an agent in the head with its heavy handle.

Now that you’re in the thick of the fight rather than watching from the outside, it’s hard to tell how many agents are coming at you. Ten? Twenty? More? Every time you knock one down, there’s two more in their place, you think wryly. Exactly how HYDRA likes it.

There’s a screech in your ear that nearly deafens you, but thankfully it shuts off and Tony’s voice crackles through comms. “We are back, baby!”

“Need some help,” you gasp. “East side.”

Steve curses and you’re so winded you don’t even crack a joke. “Why are you in the field?” The concern in his voice is clear. The plan is falling apart right before their eyes.

“Saw-” you cut yourself off as you whirl around, taking down another man. “Saw them trying to ambush Loki.”

A loud sigh through comms. Then back to Tony: “Hang on, we’re coming.”

But even as he says it, you see the HYDRA goons shift strategies. They had been rushing at the two of you, trying to overpower with sheer numbers rather than any kind of elaborate strategy. But now they’re drawing back, in what seems to be a retreat.

You get a bad, bad feeling in your gut. Next to you, Loki seems to be picking up on the same vibes. “What are they doing?” he murmurs.

It clicks a split second before you even see it. “They’re gonna bomb us!” you yell, grabbing his arm and turning to run. You see a projectile, glinting in the light, arching overhead. A string of curses escapes your lips.

Loki throws up a shield, a pulsing green bubble that shimmers as it wraps around the two of you. The bomb bounces off, rolling into the grass harmlessly. You both eye it warily.

Nudging him out of the way, you squint at the blinking lights. “Is it off?” he asks.

“NO!” It’s cliche, but time really does seem to stop. The timer clicks to zero. You whip around and fling your entire bodyweight at him, knocking him to the ground and curling yourself over him like a shield.

It explodes. Even with the protection from his magic, the blast throws both of you forward, and being on top, you feel the brunt of the blast. Something hits you hard in the back of the head, and the last thing you see is Loki’s worried face before everything fades out.

-----

The hospital blankets at Avengers Tower need to be replaced.

That’s the first thought you have when you wake up, quickly followed by is everyone okay??

You open your eyes to the cool, sterile medbay room you’d been expecting - really, the scratchy sheets are a dead giveaway - and give your body a mental walkthrough. Sore, aching, probably bruised and scraped in more places than you can count, but you’re alive.

Loki is sleeping in a chair in the corner, neck bent at an uncomfortable looking angle. He looks like he hasn’t moved from this room in days. You glance at the various tubes and wires connecting you to the high-tech medical equipment, then at the screen. 

PATIENT STABLE, it reads. AWAKE.

Right on cue, the door clicks open and the Avengers filter in. No doctors, surprisingly, but given that you were only a little banged up, they probably only had one check on you in the beginning.

“How are you feeling?” Tony asks, as Thor gently prods his brother awake. The other Avengers have adopted concerned expressions too, but you can see them side-eyeing Loki when they don’t think you’re paying attention.

Right. They don’t think either of you particularly cares for the other. So why is he sleeping in your hospital room?

You catch his eye as he blinks awake, alert in an instant with a smile that makes your stomach flutter. You’d always thought that saying someone’s “face lit up” was something fabricated for books and movies, but seeing him brighten as he meets your eyes has you reconsidering.

“Now?” he mouths, a sparkle dancing in his eyes.

You nod minutely, then turn to Tony. “Fine, actually. A little bruised, but nothing a little rest can’t fix.”

The others move out of Loki’s path as he makes his way to your bed. “Do you want me to kiss it better?” he asks in a low voice.

The choking sound that Steve makes almost breaks you, but you manage to keep your composure. “It wouldn't hurt to try, would it?”

“I don’t think so, darling,” he breathes, leaning over the bed and bracing his hands on either side of your head.

You do the rest, cupping the back of his head with a slightly shaky hand and pulling him the rest of the way down. You’ve kissed hundreds of times before, but somehow this feels like a first kiss all over again, all sparklers and explosions as every synapse in your brain fires at once. Sighing into the kiss, you let the rightness of it wash over you like a wave. 

It’s only when someone starts slow clapping that you remember you have an audience. Loki pulls away reluctantly, resituating himself on the edge of your bed with your hand clasped in his.

“So…” Tony says, drawing out the word. “How long has this been happening?”

You shrug. “A little over three months.”

“Three months?” This is chorused from almost everyone in the room, except Thor and Nat, who both look supremely smug.

Nat steps forward, making grabby hands. “Pay up, boys.”

Grumbling, Clint, Bruce, and Tony all hand over a wad of crumpled bills. She counts them out, then passes some of the money to Thor and, surprisingly, Steve.

“You bet on us?” Loki drawls. He doesn’t sound surprised in the slightest - probably because it’s not surprising. They bet on everything.

Steve gives you a wry smile. “Sorry.”

“Hey, you don’t need to apologize. You won, didn’t you?” Smirking, you lace your fingers through Loki’s.

Nat sidles to your other side, smoothing out her hard-won money. “I bet you’d get together right away. So I lost part of the winnings to Steve, who had it down to the week, the weirdo.” She rolls her eyes.

The man in question shrugs. “Thor and I figured you were dating a few months ago.”

“How?” you wonder.

“Vibes,” he replies and you snort out a laugh. Thor steps forward, laying a massive palm on your shoulder.

“You make my brother happier,” he says simply. “It was easy to detect, after that.”

You feel your face warm as Loki squeezes your hand. He doesn’t deny anything, just looks at you with a soft smile.

Tony claps his hands, “Well, thanks to you two for the show. Next time-” he points at you “-don’t run into danger. And you” - to Loki - “play nicely, or you’ll find yourself on the wrong side of the Avengers.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, only halfway sarcastic.

Loki sighs. “It’s nice to know the rest of you aren’t observant in the slightest.” He leans close to you again to plant a quick kiss on your cheek, then whispers, “Love you, darling” in your ear.

Wylan and Jesper started it. They were all flirty and oblivious, and then suddenly they were mushy and lovey-dovey with one another all the damn time. It was like they’d been apart for a thousand years and never wanted to be separated again.

And then it was Nina and Matthias, all clasped hands and love letters and breakfasts that Matthias claimed were for all of them but were really for her and her alone. They also like to engage in the kind of PDA that is frankly embarrassing, and Kaz often pretends he doesn’t know them when they’re out in public doing that.

And so, not to be left out, he pairs with Inej. Not a problem, since he’s harbored some sort of feeling (ugh) for her for quite some time. She says she likes him, he likes her, and so now there’s three couples in the Crow Club and they’re all paired off like socks.

They go on triple dates - to see shows, to dinners and brunches and random little ice cream runs - and it feels normal. Like he’s finally found people to share his life with. It’s a scary, scary feeling, but he’s Kaz Brekker, the Bastard of the Barrel, and he does not get scared.

And then Jesper confesses something to him. That he’s always had a crush on Inej, and that Wylan is willing to open the relationship, and that they can do it, honest, because as long as there’s good communication, a relationship can be whatever you want!

Kaz is caught in a tailspin. On one hand: Inej had confessed, many moons ago, to similar feelings about Jesper. And Kaz had said he was alright with it. On the other: weren’t these relationships working? It had taken enough already to stabilize their lives after they all started dating; were they so eager to upend their lives yet again?

But then he thinks about the nice days, which are happening more and more frequently, where someone’s cooking dinner and the smell permeates every corner of the building, and everyone else is hanging out in the communal space with books and games. And there’s laughter, then; a lot of it, filling the empty spaces and making the run-down building feel like something bigger and better than it is. Making it feel like a home.

And so he says: “Sure, why not?”

And that’s how it all begins.

-----

This one's for the lonely child Brokenhearted, running wild This was written for the one to blame One who believe they are the cause of chaos and everything

They make a messed-up little polycule; a family of trauma and pain but also happiness and light. Half of them are in romantic relationships with one another, the other half in QPRs. The boundaries fluctuate, their lives intertwine, and the only thing they know is that they are all in love.

The love of a family can’t fix every scar or untangle every twisted path. But it can illuminate the dark roads and shove the shadows out of a mind, at least for a little while. It can bring peace and joy in the small things: a trinket found while out scavenging, a sweet treat baked in some spare time. A concerto composed for an audience of one (or two, or five). A love letter with names scrawled across it in swirling ink.

Love comes in many flavors, in many forms. Kaz likes them all.

He likes the cozy mornings, with waffles on the stovetop and hot cocoa in their respective mugs. He likes the chaotic shopping trips, with the list that starts out innocent and quickly devolves into a competition over who can hold the most bags of candy at once. He likes the sleepy nights, when they break out the fluffy blankets and fight over what movies to watch. He likes them. His partners. His family.

It’s not always rainbows and sunshine - sometimes one of them wakes up screaming, tangled in the sheets and soaked through with sweat. But there’s always the rest of them to talk them down, to bring them a snack or a drink or a book and sit with them until dawn. Sometimes someone will have a bad day, will go quiet and withdrawn. And the rest of them will protect that person, making sure no one bothers them and bringing them food and comfort items.

And when they fight (because they do fight) there’s always someone there to cry on, to hold them, to reassure them. Also, to tell them they screwed up. All of them always apologize the next day, after they’ve cooled off, and soon it’s like nothing’s ever happened.

Kaz isn’t much of the comforting type, but he’s learned how to soften his sharp edges because of them. They don’t seem to mind, anyway.

A relationship like theirs is…odd, to say the least. They refrain from telling the world about it; though that’s not saying much because they’re literal criminals, so they refrain from telling the world anything. It’s not like anyone else is entitled to the information. Friends, romantic or sexual partners, what does it matter in a world of liars and thieves?

But Kaz can’t help the little swells of pride when they pull off a job with the labels of girlfriends and boyfriends (or even, in one daring case, fiancé). It’s usually Nina or Jesper doing most of the talking, flirting and flitting their way into even the tightest of locations. They’ll drag someone else along to act the partner; Nina pulling Matthias by one coatsleeve, Jesper pushing a reluctant Wylan along the sidewalk.

No one can deny it’s an effective strategy, though. They rob a jewelry store while Nina and Matthias distract the workers by excitedly looking through rings. Kaz and Inej waltz into a fancy gala arm in arm, Wylan and Jesper right behind them. They beg out of situations with a quick, “My boyfriend’s calling!” and pull a quick getaway before anyone notices what they stole.

Yes, having multiple partners is perfect for the Crows. For purely sensible reasons.

(And for the personal ones as well).

-----

You may find yourself in the dead of night Lost somewhere up there in the great big beautiful sky You were all just perfect little satellites Spinning round and round this broken earthly life

Kaz is not in the business of foiled plans. Every piece, every part is always played to perfection, slotted into place to ensure that everything goes according to procedure. Everything is accounted for, planned for, prepared for.

Except this. 

It is a bad leg day, one where the pain is a little more pointed and the joints are a little more stiff. But he goes along with the plan anyway, because Kaz Brekker never backs down. That was the first sign, though. He should have known it would all go sideways.

There are triple the amount of guards as he’d planned for. Someone had tipped them off, most likely, and they’d filled the mansion with people to guard the priceless treasures that the Crows were looking for. There are triple the guards and Kaz’s leg is aching and he just knew that it was all about to go to hell.

They attack him, five on one, and he dispatches them with ease, fists swinging and cane smashing. But the next wave comes, and the next, and soon he’s winded and they’re still coming.

The others are outside. They don’t know what’s happening; they don’t know that the plan has been blasted to pieces. He claws and fights and attacks with the burning fire of a man possessed. He needs to keep them from realizing that he’s not working alone.

There are too many guards. One hits his leg, his bad leg, and he feels the pain radiate through his whole body.

He goes down. It’s hard to fight from the ground, and they know it. They converge on him, punching and kicking and tramping down on his arms, his legs, his face. He lashes out with his cane, biting and scratching anyone who falls next to him.

But there are too many guards.

They drag him from the room, bind him against a wall with his arms stretched out and his legs chained. They rip off his gloves, chuckling to one another about how they can’t believe they’ve got the Bastard of the Barrel himself, all helpless and weak.

He tries not to be weak. He tries not to be helpless. But as they strip him of his clothes, touch him with their slimy skin and their cold, hard fingers, laugh and tease and poke and sneer…

He feels the waters of the harbor closing over his head. He feels the waves, the salt water snaking down his throat, his lungs closing up as he fights for air.

Beneath his fingers, the bloated, dead skin of his brother.

Beneath his skin, the stench of death. A tightness that pulls him from inside out, threatening to rip him apart, destroy him whole.

And then the men in front of him disappear. He blinks - still out of it, still drowning in the harbor, but aware enough of his surroundings to know that there is no reason for them to suddenly be gone. But they are, and in their place: The Wraith.

Inej. He watches her move, dispatching the men surrounding him with ease. A voice is echoing in his head. Jesper, desperately calling his name.

With great effort, Kaz focuses on him. A hand enters his field of view as they cut him down from the wall and he collapses on the floor. Matthias’s large palm is extended to him, but he can’t bring himself to grab it. He’s in his body enough to know that touching skin-to-skin will send him over the edge again. 

But then Jesper is pulling a set of gloves from who knows where, and Kaz is sliding them on as Nina wraps him in her jacket so she doesn’t accidentally brush against his skin, and they’re pulling him to his feet and guiding him out of the building and into the light.

The ground shakes and Wylan comes pelting around the corner, hair flopping in his eyes as he breathlessly yells at them to come on! His partners hustle him down the street, Kaz blinks, and suddenly he’s in the Crow Club and all five of them are clustered around him. 

Nina opens her mouth, probably to ask if he’s okay or if he needs anything, and he holds up a shaking hand to stop her. “Thank you,” he says instead. I love you, he really means, hoping desperately that they hear the unspoken words. I love you all.

And from the looks in their eyes, they hear it.

-----

This is so you'll know the sound Someone who loves you from the ground Tonight you're not alone at all This is me sending out my satellite call

Life goes back to normal and time ticks forever forward. Kaz is wary of touch for a while, but eventually he starts to relax. They’re alive and they’re here and they’re holding him like they’re never going to let him go.

He makes dinner once a week, part of the rotation they have with chores and errands and the like, and he relishes the sound of their laughter. He watches from the corner of the room as they play-fight over a card game, then sighs and not-quite-begrudgingly joins in on the next round.

He watches them terrorize each other with harmless pranks (and on that front, he is a willing participant).

“Put me down!” Inej shrieks as Matthias picks her up with one arm. “I promise it wasn’t me!”

The Fjerdan just looks down at her skeptically. “You didn’t break into my room and replace all my clothing?”

Inej scoffs. “If I did, would I have been caught?”

“So what, someone framed you?”

“Maybe!” Inej wriggles unsuccessfully. Matthias finally puts her down, looking thoughtful.

“What about you, demjin?” he asks, turning towards Kaz, who’d been observing from the sidelines.

“Me what?” Kaz retorts. “You wouldn’t have caught me either.”

Inej lifts an eyebrow, eagerly trying to herd Matthias towards the culprit. “If it was us, we wouldn’t just be sitting in this house.”

“If it was us,” Kaz puts in, “we’d be hiding.” His lips curl into a smile as Matthias’s eyes open wide.

“Nina!” he bellows, Inej stifling a smile behind his back as he races out the door.

“So who was it really?” Kaz asks, scooting over on the couch to make room for Inej.

“Wylan,” she replies. “He can be sneaky if he wants to.”

“And what did he do, exactly?”

This makes Inej’s mouth twitch. “Discolored all of Matthias’s clothes. It’ll wash off eventually, but right now…it’s all a very interesting shade of pink.”

Kaz snorts, which draws a gentle smile from Inej. But then he sobers. “Quick, what’s a prank we can play on Wylan to make him blame Matthias?”

Inej bursts out laughing before whispering something, between giggles, in his ear.

Later, when the whole group is getting cozy in the living area, they both pretend to have no idea what’s happening when they hear Wylan scream.

WHAT FANDOMS?

you can currently request for: marvel cinematic universe, newsies (movie or musical version), and six of crows

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WHAT CHARACTERS/SHIPS?

I am most comfortable writing: - x reader (mostly Steve, Loki, Tony) {MCU} - Steve/Tony or Steve/Bucky maybe? I definitely like reading it but haven’t yet gotten around to writing them {MCU} - Jack/Davey or David (I use ‘David’ as 1992sies version and ‘Davey’ as livesies) {Newsies} - Spot/Race {Newsies} - Polycrows {SOC} - Wylan/Jesper {SOC} - Wylan/Kaz {SOC} - non romantic relationships (found family, platonic relationships, etc) {ALL} - character studies {ALL}

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WHAT WILL I NOT WRITE?

- smut or sex of any kind - graphic/descriptive violence, abuse, or torture (note that I will write whump but just not super super detailed) - drugs/alcohol use or abuse - any kind of abusive relationship - a fic centered around a character I don’t think I can do justice to (it’s not fair to them or to you the requester and I’ll just feel bad or stressed about writing something)

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WHAT ARE MY PREFERRED FIC TOPICS?

- fluff fluff and more fluff! - first meetings / meet cutes - enemies/rivals to lovers - friends/coworkers to lovers - canon divergence / any kind of AU tbh - songfics (feel free to give me song recs that you think fit your fav characters!!) - domestic fluff

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HOW DO I REQUEST?

just drop an ask in my ask box! please include the fandom, the characters and/or relationships you want it to center on, and the scenarios, plots, tropes, etc you’d like to see! feel free to be as detailed or as vague as you’d like, just know that I will take as much creative liberty as I’d like, so it might end up a little different than you imagined. I’ll try to get something back to you as quick as possible—the main reason my requests are open are to give me a deadline so I have to write something—but sometimes life gets in the way. please remember I am a high school student with a heavy courseload and a highly competitive sport. I am doing this for fun, not for your benefit. please be kind, respectful, and considerate. it is my discretion on whether or not to take your request.

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