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tripleyeeet · 11 months

Note

(Look away, Loki!)

✒️

I’d like to request a drabble featuring my favorite himbo, Steve Harrington. Where he and reader are trapped together somehow. Perhaps in his Scoops Ahoy era? 😆

Angsty, fluffy, whatever you choose – I know it will be incredible!

it's been so long since i've written for steve so i kind of went a bit ham with this one, my bad :')

also to anyone reading this, if you'd like your own request for steve (or even eddie) hmu i'll probably another one or two requests! :)

LIKE WHEN WE WERE KIDS

PARINGS: Steve Harrington & Gender Neutral Reader

SUMMARY: It's Steve's first day on the job... what could possibly go wrong?

WORD COUNT: 3,878

WARNINGS: Brief mentions of claustrophobia/anxiety. Also unedited so bear with me if you find any mistakes!!

It starts on a playground.

Steve Harrington, the boy that lives next door is shooting across the monkey bars. His long, strong arms propelling him forward with ease. Beneath him, his legs dangle like dead weight, showcasing the curve of his calves and how they work in tandem with the rest of him.

“Oh, my god Steve is so hot,” Becky says. The two of you are sitting on the grass a few feet away, suddenly admiring his movement as he skips one of the bars with a triumphant jump.

Scrunching up your face, you watch as he hits the platform and turns to watch his friend follow. “I guess he’s taller than I remember,” you say then, watching the way his hands neatly nestle themselves into the curvature of his hips as he bends forward.

“Obviously. He’s like, the tallest boy in school!”

“Is he?”

You could’ve sworn Andy was. Last year in gym class the two of you had been paired together for dance unit. Both of you looked incredibly awkward standing next to each other as you moved throughout the room, trying your best to accommodate the other’s height.

“He’s also so funny. Janet and I were at the arcade the other day and—“

As Becky drones, it’s hard to imagine Steve Harrington as anything other than tiresome. Having grown up alongside him, it’s more often than not you tend to view him as something entirely different from your peers.

For example, to you, he’s always just been this loud and obnoxious know-it-all rather than cool. Everything he does is done with far too much gusto for that of a fifteen-year-old boy and it’s annoying. Infuriating even because as a fellow teen going through puberty, he shouldn’t be allowed to have that much confidence. Like you, he should be weird and anxious —not hip and hot and tall, apparently.

It’s not fair, you think, trying your best to tune back into your best friend’s words. Somehow she’s still going, her voice excitedly shrill as she relays some stupid joke Steve told her while he was showing her how to play Space Invaders. Apparently, it was really funny —you can tell by the way Becky’s whole face lights up as she tells you, her hand moving to grip your arm in excitement once she tells you the punchline. Awkwardly, you laugh and nod your head in agreeance, hoping that she doesn’t catch your lack of attention span as you glance over at Steve.

He’s on the monkey bars again, positioning himself so that he’s facing you and your friend. As per usual, he’s grinning up a storm, watching the way all the girls at the park ogle him as he pulls himself onto the top.

Becky, who practically squeals at the sight, watches the way he sits on the edge with wide eyes. Once again, she makes some comments about his appearance. Something about his hair looking extra fluffy or whatever.

Same as before, you merely nod your way through the conversation, listening to the way her voice fluctuates in between topics as you continue to stare at him and the way the bottom of his shirt starts riding up, exposing the bottom half of his stomach.

Immediately, it makes you uncomfortable, your own stomach churning in a way that has you readjusting in the grass to accommodate the sudden upset. Slowly, you pull your knees up to your chest and hug your shins, noticing how much tanner his skin has gotten since he’s come back from summer camp.

It looks nice. Warm and soft and—

Years later, you now realize that’s when your crush on Steve Harrington started. At the playground in the summer before sophomore year of high school. Embarrassing, right?

To this day Becky still hasn’t let you live it down, despite her own past infatuations. Day in and day out, she teases you any chance she gets even now that you’re all graduated and getting ready to move on with your lives.

“I bet you and Harrington would make beautiful babies,” she always says, grinning that evil little grin she knows you hate. It makes you want to smother her in her sleep. But considering her companionship is more important, you reluctantly don’t. Instead, you just grin and bear it, hoping one day soon she’ll just forget that you and he ever existed on the same wavelength, even though you know that’ll never happen, considering Steve Harrington is still your neighbour.

And as of today, your coworker.

You’re not sure if it’s the universe slapping you in the face or what but either way when you walk into work and see him standing there, donning the mandatory Scoops Ahoy uniform you feel like you’re about to faint.

“Ahoy there sail— shit.”

“Shit.”

Immediately, your other coworker Robin looks between you with interest, her eyes narrowing at the uncomfortable stand-off.

“Since when do you work here, neighbour?” Steve attempting to break the ice, watches in confusion as you roll your eyes and brush past, making your way to the backroom.

You need time to process. To grieve what could’ve been your first summer without Steve Harrington. To come up with a game plan of sorts so that you don’t go crazy these next couple of weeks.

“Neighbours, huh?” Robin grins and follows closely behind you, making you feel suddenly claustrophobic. Panicked in a way that has your chest tightening at the remembrance of why you took this job in the first place.

You wanted to escape the yearly summer trip your and Steve’s parents planned every year.

Not many people at school knew this but your families were practically inseparable. Having been brought up together, they still clung to each other like leeches. Everything they did often held an extended invitation to the other, prompting a lot of hang out’s between you and the Harrington’s.

Inhaling deeply, you walk over to your locker and spin the dial of the lock, ignoring the way Robin and Steve begin to talk behind your back; both of them (in a volume you’re not entirely sure you’re supposed to hear) discussing the details of your relationship and how the two of you have known each other since you were preschoolers.

It makes you quietly groan as you pull open the lock and begin to shove your bag inside, prompting both of them to change the subject.

“So, uh, I told Kevin that I could only do a half day today,” Robin says, flashing you her most apologetic smile once you turn around in shock.

“Seriously?”

Steve looks between the two of you, pressing his lips together in a way that makes him look guilty. As if somehow this was his plan all along.

“I have that thing with my parents, remember?”

You don’t remember but Robin’s never been the type to lie so you merely just sigh and close your locker, accepting your fate with reluctant arms as you fully turn to face them. “I assume that means we’re both training today then?”

Robin offers another meek smile.

Great, you think. Just perfect. As if the universe wasn’t punishing you enough by giving you arguably the worst mall jobs in the world. Now on top of that, you had to work with him, the one person you took this job to avoid.

A part of you wants to quit on the spot —to tell Steve that he sucks before grabbing your things and storming out of there. It’d be exhilarating for sure, but then you quickly remember school and the tuition waiting in the wings to be paid.

So ultimately, you don’t quit. In fact, you don’t even fuss as you go about your day, letting Robin take the reins during the first half, avoiding Steve as much as possible in favour of focusing on customers to provide the best possible service.

And for a while, it works. Thanks to the constant streamline of people and Robin’s ability to distract Steve when needed makes the day fly by with ease, pushing you into the last, dreaded half.

The clock hits quarter to one when Robin finally hands him over, giving you a look that screams I’m sorry please don’t hate me.

In response you dramatically frown behind Steve’s back, watching as Robin snorts and shakes her head. “Alright Harrington, let’s go to the freezer before Rob leaves.”

You motion to the backroom and make a beeline for the freezer, motioning for Steve to prop open the door once you arrive. “So I don’t know if Robin told you but around this time we usually do restocks,” you tell him. “Obviously the exact time fluctuates but it’s usually around noon cause people are too busy getting actual lunch.”

“Makes sense.” He nods.

“Yeah, so basically what we’re gonna do is pull what we’re low on. I saw you and Robin going over that already so we can just grab whatever it is you guys figured was needed and then we’ll bring it up front, FIFO the case and eventually write down what we took from the back on this clipboard.”

As you tap the clipboard hanging on the wall beside you, Steve steps forward to take a look, sending you into a panic as soon as you see the door closing behind him.

Somehow, you forgot to mention that the door is broken. A thought that crosses your mind as you haphazardly blurt out a bunch of panicked sounds while simultaneously trying to reach around him to grab it.

Steve, who has no idea what’s happening, looks at you as if you’ve just sprouted a second head and tries to dive out of the way. Except instead of that he merely miscalculates and moves directly in front of you, causing your face to ram into his shoulder.

Groaning at the impact you pull away and palm the sockets of your eyes because, of course, this would happen. Of course, out of everyone in the fucking universe it’d be you and Steve destined to get locked in a freezer on your first day of working together! Of course, of course, of course!

“What the hell was that?” He looks at you with discomfort, his eyes full of judgement as he watches your continued silent frustration unfold. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest as grabs the aforementioned clipboard and begins to take a look.

“The door is broken, you idiot,” you tell him, even though you know it’s not his fault. It’s yours but you’re too angry to deal with that right now.

“What do you mean broken?”

“I don’t know, broken? It’s just, it’s —it won’t open from the inside!”

“What do you mean it doesn’t open from the inside?” Suddenly panicked, Steve puts the clipboard back and turns to the door handle, giving it a few good yanks before looking at you. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was too busy training!”

“Well shouldn’t that be apart of the training tour? Y’know like, here we have register, here’s the case and the backroom and the freezer —oh just so you know the door doesn’t work so don’t accidentally lock yourself in because if you do you might turn into a god damn human popsicle!”

You can feel that familiar tension rising like a fog, covering you in a cloud of ignorance as you flash an angry look in his direction. Somehow it’s always your fault. No matter the topic of argument, between you and Steve, you’re always the one to blame. It’s been that way since you were kids and to this day you still resent him for it. For making you the bad guy in every situation. It’s why you’ve always hated his presence, despite the attraction. Just the sight of him often makes you feel like less of a person. Like, regardless of your accomplishments, you’ll forever be beneath him because, at the end of the day, you’re not cool enough.

It sends you into a rage just thinking about it. And has continued to ever since that summer before sophomore year when you started looking at him as something other than the boy you grew up with. Suddenly, it was like a switch had flipped in your mind, telling you that maybe he wasn’t all that bad —that maybe you and he could be more than just neighbours.

Nowadays though, you know that that feeling is just the result of the chemicals circulating through your brain. An overload of dopamine and norepinephrine hitting you like a bus. Back then, puberty had fucked you up and now here you were, standing alongside Harrington in a small, cold room for god knows how long.

Suddenly, Steve bashes his fists against the door and screams Robin’s name. His voice is strained —loud and desperate and despite wanting to make fun of him for the way it cracks you merely follow suit and join in, throwing your hands against the cold sheet metal.

“There’s no way she’s already gone, right?”

Your shrug your shoulders, knowing it’s possible.

“I swear to god if she’s gone I’m—“

“What? You’re gonna kick her ass?”

Steve looks at you, annoyed. “No, I’m not gonna kick her ass. What do you take me for? A psycho?”

“Not a psycho per se.”

“Oh, not a psycho okay. Then what?”

He’s pissed off now. You can tell by that familiar frustration lacing itself between his features. Almost instantly his brows pinch toward the centre of his face, meeting the bridge of his nose that simultaneously crinkles upwards. On his hips, his hands settle into that usual position he holds whenever he’s ready to pick a fight; his fingers tightening around the flesh that sits above the waistband of his shorts.

“Hey Steve, for once could you just like, maybe not look at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to antagonize me like you always do.”

He lets out a scoff. “I don’t do that.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Name one time I’ve antagonized you.”

You stop for a moment to think of a good answer; a bunch of options rising to the surface of your mind. “Last summer at the cabin. I brought Becky with me and she brought those beers and instead of just letting us have fun you yelled at me for like twenty minutes before telling my mom.”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t be drinking.”

“Seriously? I shouldn’t be drinking?”

“Yeah, you’re underage who knows how it’ll effect you!”

“Steve, are you serious? We’re the exact same fucking age!”

“Actually, pretty sure I’m older than you by like, three or four months?”

You want to wring his neck. Take your two already shaking hands and wrap them around his stupid throat until there’s nothing left inside. It’d be easy, right? Sure, you’re shorter than him and probably a bit weaker but people are known to act faster when put into fight or flight. One quick lunge and you could end him in a matter of minutes.

“Besides, you and I both know the only reason I did that is because Becky is a bad influence!”

You raise your brow and refrain from killing him (for now), looking at him confused.

“She’s got all the bases already covered if you know what I’m saying. Every party I see her at she’s always necking with some guy she’s just met. Not to mention the fact I saw her purchasing some dope from Munson last weekend. She’s bad news.”

“Bad news? What are you my dad?”

“No but—“

“Then why do you care? It’s not like you’re any different Mr. Horny Harrington!”

“Horny Harrington?” Suddenly, Steve looks at you in horror. “Jesus christ, is that what you call me behind my back?”

You don’t, usually, but you refuse to tell him that. Instead, nodding your head triumphantly as you watch his previously aggressive stance sort of dwindle into nothing, his hands rising to slide across the expanse of his face in defeat.

“Never mind, I’m just… I’m gonna ignore you now and try and get us out of here.”

Immediately, a part of you is thankful for him changing the subject. The last thing you want to do is continue to fight, especially now that you’re once again aware of the circumstances. Which is that you’re still trapped inside the freezer, arguing in a space that isn’t as comforting as it usually is.

Upon remembering your chest instantly begins to tighten, your breathing pattern becoming erratic as you glance around the room before you, remembering how small it is. Now forced together, you and Steve have probably around six by eight feet of movement amongst you which you’re sure is a lot but because of how cold it is it just makes you feel numb.

Because of this you sort of just freeze while he works, watching as he fiddles with the handle.

“There’s gotta a be a way to fix it,” he says under his breath, his fingers wedging themselves into the base to brush against the exposed mechanisms.

“We’ve been trying to fix it on our own for like a month now,” you tell him, noticing the air of meticulousness that surrounds him.

Embarrassingly, it’s kind of attractive. Something about positively seeing his stubborn personality makes you feel that familiar warmth bloom across your torso. Your eyes, once used to survey the lack of space in the room quickly dart towards his face, noticing the way his tongue sort of pokes out the side of his mouth in deep concentration.

“Do you think you could hold this open for me?”

Without hesitation, you do as he says. Something you’re sure he’s thankful for based on the heavy breath that comes from his nose.

“What are you doing?”

“I think there’s a spring stuck,” he says.

More than anything you want him to be right so you continue to leave him be, waiting in the wings with bated breath while trying not to stare.

Not that it’s easy though. Not when you’re so close and freezing and obviously full of foreign feelings like that summer at the playground.

All of a sudden it feels like a mixture of old and new emotions. All of them swirling through your system like a hurricane ready to strike. Consistently, your breath moves in and out of pace, your chest hurting from the lack of stability.

You hope he doesn’t notice. Because Steve, despite everything has always noticed you. At your best and your worst, he’s always been able to pick you apart with just the glance of his eye. It’s another one of the reasons you always avoid him. You fear he’ll see what you’ve been hiding all these years. What you planned on hiding and hopefully getting over before you left for college.

Well, at least until he decided to ruin that by taking a job you’re absolutely positive he knew you already had. A new level of annoyance you weren’t aware he was capable of.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“You knew I worked here,” you point out, suddenly curious because it doesn’t make sense. Sure, since the beginning of time, he’s been on your ass one way or another, whether it’s selling you out to your parents or making fun of you at school for little mishaps. The torment never seems to end but why continue it? Why now that you’re officially about to go your separate ways is he still trying?

“That’s not a ques—“

You let out an angry breath before rephrasing. “Why did you take the job when you knew I worked here?”

There’s silence for a minute. An unbearable lack of sound other than the overhead fan and the clicking of his fingers against the metal. It’s awful, you think, your lack of patience quickly eating you from the inside out as you watch his eyes begin to narrow and his tongue pokes out again, completely forgetting your question.

“Steve, can you please j—“

Before you can finish the door jerks forward, making both of you stop. Somehow he’s managed to do it. The impossible task you and Robin and the rest of the part-timers have been attempting for weeks.

At first, you’re happy —excited even. Your face breaks out into a large grin as both you and Steve shuffle into the back room, rubbing your arms to get a better flow of heat. But then you remember your words —your question and the still unexplained answer you continue to wait for as your moment of celebration quickly starts to end.

“Shit, we should probably—“

“I took the job so I could hang out with you.”

What?

Time, regardless of everything, stops in an instant. Your body, still frozen from the chilled air, makes it hard for you to move even the slightest of muscles as you watch him look to the roof and sigh.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this. I swear to god,” he mumbles, shaking his head —still averting his gaze as his neck cranes back to its previous position. “I just… I know I can be dick sometimes.”

“Most of the time.”

“Yeah, sure, most of the time. Believe me, I know. I sucked in high school. I treated people like shit and because you were always like, there, you were the one that got it the worst.”

His apology feels surprisingly genuine. His voice is quiet and slow unlike it usually is and every word feels purposeful, like he’s rehearsed it before but has suddenly forgotten his lines.

“It sounds stupid but I took this job thinking that if we hung out more maybe I could apologize and it’d like, actually mean something?”

You’re not quite sure you follow so you continue listening.

“Like, maybe if we hung out you’d actually like me again. Like when we were kids.”

Like when we were kids.

God that seems like forever ago. A whole other lifetime. Honestly, it’s been ages since the two of you could sit in the same room together and enjoy a normal conversation. A moment of peace undisturbed by each other’s thoughts and feelings.

It reminds you of how easy it was when you were kids. How, even though he was loud and boisterous and such a frustratingly competitive child, at the end of the day, you still managed to love him. To care for him when things were hard. To set aside your frustrations after a hard day to hear him out when he needed it.

You’d like to say you’re unaware of when all that changed. To be as ignorant as you normally are and turn a blind eye. But deep down you know exactly when it started —why it started.

You’re the reason he feels the way he does and as you stare at the side of his face, wishing he would look at you, you know it’s all your fault.

“Anyway, uh, we should probably go man the ship or whatever…”

You open your mouth to protest —to argue in an attempt to get him to stay— but nothing comes out. No feelings or thoughts or counterpoints rise to the surface as you watch him awkwardly scurries out the door without another word.

#the big yeet #steve harrington fan fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #forced proximity #enemies to friends #i'm honestly thinking about writing a part two to this but i don't know #summer writes

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tripleyeeet · 11 months

Note

✒️ hello my dear! could i ask for a drabble inspired by this song where basically loki courts asgardian!reader with huge gifts and promises but they don't really need that, just his love? I just want something really sweet and happy. okay, love you, byeeee <3

first off, love you, hi <3

second, okay, i absolutely love httyd so when you requested this i only slightly screamed. that being said though, i really don't know if i did this justice??? ahhh i hope it's okay. i changed a couple of things to make it easier for my brain to write but hopefully you still like it???

also to anyone reading this, if you'd like your very own fic feel free to read this post and then send in a request!

WHO TOLD YOU?

PAIRINGS: Loki Laufeyson & Asgardian Female Reader

SUMMARY: There's always rumors circulating throughout the kingdom of Asgard, but what happens when one turns out to be about you?

WORD COUNT: 2,165

WARNINGS: Literally none???

There’s talk amongst the kingdom, as per usual. A rumour of sorts running through the land’s highest families. Like always, you’re completely unaware of who starts it. As well as who it goes through as it ultimately falls onto the ears of your cousin Mads who tells you about it during archery practice.

As you move to pull back your bow, you notice how low his voice is. How his eyes slightly narrow into tight slits as they survey the area, making sure none of the maids are within hearing distance. “Odin’s finally pawning off the frost giant,” he whispers, just before you take your shot, making you momentarily slip and send the arrow flying way too low.

Angrily, you curse under your breath as it happens, hearing your cousin snort and proceed to take his own, landing it perfectly in the centre circle of the dummy just fifty yards away.

“Cheater.”

Ignoring your claims, he knocks his next arrow with ease. “It’s not my fault you’re blinded by love.”

“I’m not blinded by love,” you scoff, your eyes rolling practically to the back of your head as you watch him take another near-perfect shot. “I’m just… surprised.”

“Why?”

You shrug your shoulders and look around. So far none of the help has suddenly appeared like they usually do, leaving you thankful as you knock your next arrow. “That Loki would agree to it.”

“Agree to it?” Mads laughs.

“What?”

“You and I both know it’s not a matter of agreeance. It’s a matter of peace.”

“Ah yes, the Odinson’s, a family known for their abundance of peace,” you mock, instantly feeling a twang of anxiety build in your chest once you realize what you’ve just said. “I mean, I uh—“

“Relax. I’m not going to storm the castle and tattle on you for insulting our beloved king,” he assures, watching as you look at the target in front of you, honing in on the centre, before taking a deep breath and pulling back the bow in one tight motion.

“You can just do it yourself once you move in.”

Your arrow shoots directly into the ground a couple of feet in front of you. Again, you curse, this time much louder, drawing in the attention of Tora -your lady in waiting- who’s suddenly scurrying up the path with worry in her eyes.

“I swear to—“

“Is everything alright, m’lady?” Tora, the living embodiment of fear itself, runs to your aid without question, causing you to sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Yes Tora,” you drone.

“Are you sure? You seem awfully distressed. Can I get y—”

You open your mouth to respond but Mads beats you to the punch. “She’s fine, Tora. Just a tad ticked that I keep upstaging her archery skills.”

If it wasn’t for the shock of the informational bomb he’d just dropped, you would’ve pounced on him then and there, elegance be damned. Instead, though, you merely just glare and listen to Tora as she lets out a sigh of relief before apologizing and taking her leave.

“If I wasn’t required to uphold a certain standard in public you’d be on your ass right now.”

“I highly doubt that, princess.”

Princess. Norns, you want to kill him. Right here, right now you want to pull back your arrow and pierce it right through his thick skull.

“You know false gossip is frowned upon.”

“Yes, but who are we to say what’s true or false?” Ever the annoyance, he nudges your elbow with his, wiggling his brows in such a mocking way you feel your chest start to ache with uncertainty because there’s no way this information is real. Sure, the prospect of Loki being married off could be probable. He’s at that age where people are starting to question his marital status but he’s… Loki. Your friend. There’s no way they would’ve chosen you.

“Who told you?”

“Who do you think told me?” he scoffs.

Immediately, you feel like a fool for asking, already well aware that it was his sister, Freydis.

“Where is she?”

Before Mads can even shrug you’re dropping your bow and racing to her quarters, feeling your heart begin to race as you run up the path, motioning for Tora to stay put. Reluctantly she does, giving you a nervous look as you tell her you’ll be back soon even though you’re not entirely sure. Freydis is often selective when it comes to information. Being one of the biggest keepers of it, she can be quite fickle regarding trust, especially with something as serious as the future of the king’s son.

It makes you nervous about what’s to come —thinking about the possible results.

For example, if it is true, what do you even do? How do you process? It’s not as if you can, really. Arranged marriages like these, as you’ve often witnessed, tend to go from zero to one hundred at the drop of a hat, leaving both parties too exhausted to deal with the consequences beforehand. Plus, knowing Loki it’s not as if he’d be willing to share his thoughts on the matter.

Considering he’s always been closed off, even throughout your constant years of friendship, he’d most likely just grin and bear it for publicity's sake. Play the part of the loving husband. Hold your hand, kiss your cheek —make sure the world knows you’re his and no one else’s.

To the people you’d be the perfect couple, but to you?

There’s an inkling of pain that resides throughout your chest once you think about the alternative. That instead of you it’s perhaps some other woman being thrown recklessly into his chambers. Somehow it fills you with dread as you round the corner of the path, your mind moving at such high speeds trying to figure out how you should react that you don’t even process the body that’s crashing into you.

At first, it hits you —knocks the air right out of your lungs as you fall prone— but then it hits you. Like a freight train, your innermost thoughts rush out of you as you look up to see Loki’s wide eyes staring at you from above.

“Is it true?”

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just looks at you, settling on the vision of your dishevelled appearance before him.

“Lo?” you ask again, feeling his hand extend to meet your own once he realizes you’re still on the ground. Without protest you take it, feeling the coolness of his skin mix with the heat of your own as he pulls up, asking if you’re alright.

“I’m fine, thank you,” you say, watching him stand there, hands now at his sides. His fingers rub against each other nervously as he looks around the path, avoiding your gaze entirely.

“Loki, is it—“

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

He nods, finally making eye contact. “Who told you?”

You’re tempted to lie in case there are consequences but ultimately admit the truth. “Mads… but to be fair it was Freydis who was the first in our family to find out.”

As expected, Loki shakes his head. “Course it was.”

“Obviously it’s a mystery as to how she found out,” you blurt out, your nerves suddenly becoming more apparent the longer you look at him.

He’s wearing his nicest leathers today. The ones that hug his frame just right. Across his skin, he’s adorned himself in all his usual colours, dark greens with charcoal and hints of gold. Like usual his hair is pushed back behind his ears, dangling just beneath in a way that somehow seems different despite how standard it is for him.

“You uh, you look nice today.”

Your words throw him off for a moment, his face screwing up in confusion until he eventually looks down and realizes. “Oh, yes, right. Thank you. So do you.”

Like him, you look down to see your archery gear covered in dirt from the fall. “Only the best set of pants for my future, uh…”

“Husband?” he offers, a cautious grin plastered across his face.

Just the sight fills you with a certain warmth you’re not entirely sure you’ve felt before. Your hands, already covered in sweat seem to double in perspiration the second you see the slight embarrassment in his eyes and the way he immediately searches your face for an approval you don’t know how to give.

An approval you’re desperate to offer despite the circumstances. Despite you and him and this whole new arrangement, you have to navigate. It’s odd, really. Surreal. This idea that two people being forced to spend the rest of their lives together at the expense of someone else’s gain.

It’s barbaric, isn’t it?

You’ve always been the kind of person that agreed with the notion of freedom. That, regardless of an individual's nobility they should be able to choose the person they love over everything else. Things like shared resources and politics shouldn’t be a factor in one’s future marriage.

And yet, the longer you stand there, thinking about it —this idea of you and him and everything that’s suddenly been thrust upon you— the less awful it sounds. Because despite everything, Loki as a whole is good. He’s kind and smart and albeit, a bit of a troublemaker but in your experience never at the expense of your happiness. In fact, he’s always treated you well. Respecting you in ways that other people hadn’t. Growing up, he never saw you as this woman being trained to wed a higher man to bring further respect to her family. He only saw you as you, a rarity nowadays.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” he jokes.

You give him a half-happy, half-annoyed look once you realize that despite the awkwardness, everything between you is still okay. Still normal, in a way.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this? I mean, obviously your father’s pretty strict about arrangements but if you’re not comfortable —if you’ve got your eyes set on someone else I’m sure we could—“

He doesn’t interrupt you. Instead, he merely shakes his head and smirks, causing your words to fall to the back of your throat as you nervously swallow, watching him motion toward your hand.

Without protest you offer it up, feeling your fingers twitch in the air until they’re being steadied by his own.

“Honestly, I’m a bit irritated I didn’t get to be the bearer of bad news,” he tells you, and before you can even think of a clever response, you end up snorting and averting your gaze, feeling a wave of embarrassment as his thumb runs lightly along the base of your fingers. “I got all dressed up to tell you and everything.”

As he speaks he takes a small step closer, watching the way your gaze continues to shift around the path, focusing on the grass or the trees or really, anything other than him.

“I even skipped out on training with Thor and the others.”

“That’s, uh, very… nice of you.”

You can feel his eyes boring holes into the side of your face. His pupils are impenetrable, staring at you like two black holes just waiting to pull you in. Desperately, you want to look at them —to memorize the way they dilate and constrict with every action and reaction.

“I came to ask you something, if I may?”

This time you give in, noticing the slight growth of his eyes once yours make contact. Suddenly, they look lighter, filling his face with a newfound warmth as he pokes out his tongue to nervously lick his lips before clearing his throat.

“If it’s alright, I’d like to do this. Properly.”

“Properly?”

“Yes, properly. And not because Odin said so or because it’s the right thing do to politically. No, I—I want to do this because slowly I’ve come to realize that it’s what I want. Th—that you’re one I want.”

You open your mouth to speak but pause, noticing his other hand come up into the air between you. In it, his sedir flickers for a moment before pulsing brightly, prompting you to scrunch up your face in confusion when, barely a second later, a small wooden box appears before his palm.

It’s made of ash, you notice, leaning it to scan the etchings that overtake the top. It’s simple in design but beautiful nonetheless, its presence leaving you almost breathless as you glance back up to Loki who’s suddenly smiling again.

“It’s not much,” he says. “To be fair, I probably should’ve waited and got you something a bit better but I promise if you say yes I’ll get you everything. A horse, a castle, the finest gowns with the softest fabrics you’ve ever touched, the most delicious—”

Before he can even finish you’re closing the space between the two of you, ignoring the box in his hand in order to squeeze him tight and tell him you could care less about the gifts.

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