lokis horns

—

You seethed with anger, your teeth grit and your nostrils flaring as your car plows through the dark and barely lit streets. You wanted to fucking murder Steve Harrington.

Your car growls, the tires nearly screeching at every turn. The smell of the burning rubber floods your nose and tears bleed from your eyes. Your fingers grip so tightly around the steering wheel you begin to lose circulation, and your furious blinking is the only thing keeping your sights clear. 

The only sounds that fill the car are your occasional screams that tear your throat and the flapping of paper from your lap. Your thighs clench an envelope between them tightly so it doesn’t fly away, the paper flipping and flopping in the wind that funnels through the open windows.

Damn your car for the A/C blowing out. Damn Maxine and her friends. And damn Steve Harrington.

You whack your steering wheel from rage, your eyes flying about. Your car slows at every area of town that possibly contains signs of life, your sight set on finding Harrington’s goddamn flashy car. How can it be this hard?

The envelope that is pressed against the sticky sheen of your thigh sweat was the only thing driving your mind. As the ink leaks and smudges against your thighs, your mind replays Maxine’s words over and over again. The repeated apologies and the mentions of Billy initially made your heart plummet to your stomach. But the thing that drove a spear through you was the goodbye she wrote. 

It was a goddamn suicide note—no, insurance note. A letter that was her practically ensuring that she was about to die, and you were the last one to let that happen.

You had been there at Starcourt Mall, you had already been forced to helplessly watch the loss of your brother as reality as you knew it crumpled around you. And now you were going to lose Maxine, the only remnants of family you had left in your life. Your stepmother was mentally long gone. How could Max leave you like this?

But the point of the letter that shocked through your spine and prompted you to tear from the trailer with only the letter in hand was the ending note. She said she loved you. She wrote in small yet definite letters: “I love you”. Max had never said those words, much less written them. She had never spoken to you like a sister, and you were damned if you were going to allow this letter to be the first and the last time she did such.

Your teeth gripped tightly onto your bottom lip, the taste of hot, metallic blood searing your tongue. Your arms trembled with the force you used to squeeze the steering wheel, and your legs cramped from the usage.

But she had to be with the crew, right? She had to be, that’s the only way she found herself in idiotic fucking scenarios. And the only way the crew can get around is Harrington himself.

You had decided you hated Harrington. He allowed—no, enabled thirteen and fourteen year old kids to find themselves into trouble that could get them killed. You saw Starcourt, you saw Billy, and you heard about Barb. And you wouldn’t be surprised if Chrissy and Fred’s murders had anything to do with the bullshit monster world that the crew seemed to love. So how, in God’s name, could Steve allow this to happen?

Steve was someone you trusted. In the past, he had defended the crew. He had protected you. And he was someone you didn’t mind talking to, and had actually grown to trust. He was one of your first friends in Hawkins.

You regularly visited him at his job, and you’d be lying if your heart didn’t stutter when he flirted with you. But you guys were utterly platonic; just super close friends that hung out at least two times a week. Which made hating him a lot fucking harder. He should be protecting Max, not enabling her.

But the worst part regarding your thoughts about Steve was how worried you were for his wellbeing. What if something happened to him? He was one of your closest friends and you supposed that him being so close to the crew made him almost as susceptible to being in danger as Max is. You couldn’t handle losing the both of them. And you prayed to whatever higher power existed that Robin wasn’t involved—you couldn’t bear to attend her funeral.

Your mind reeled with all possible ‘what if?’ scenarios. What if you had come home rather than spending the night watching dumb, pointless movies with your friends? What if you were a better stepsister to Max? Would she have asked you for help? Would she feel safe around you? What if your dad hadn’t left you in Hawkins?

You cursed the universe for giving you such a weird fucking life, and cursed it even more for taking everything away from your weird fucking life. You loved Max. You were her sister, and you loved her. How could she just be taken from your grasp?

As your mind simultaneously bubbles with frustration, terror, rage, and grief, your car whips around the corner to the last possible place you could believe Max could be. Your dealer’s warehouse is a dark shadow looming over his dim cabin.

You had brought Max along for only two deals with Reefer Rick and hadn’t even told her the name of who you were visiting or what you were buying, but you had to check every possible place she had been in Hawkins. What if she had drowned in the goddamn lake?

Your car scratches over the leaves and gravel paving the ground, its lights illuminating a dark path in front of you. You hop out of the car, but you leave the envelope within the running vehicle, its thrumming engine purring behind you as you tear towards the buildings.

“Max!” you scream, your voice shredded from the frantic yelling you had done for her. “Max! Where are you?” Your legs shook and your chest stuttered as your hands fisted and pressed your nails into your palms. Your knees wobbled before they slammed into the gravel beneath you, but you feel nothing other than your heart beating out of your chest and lack of air in your lungs.

“Please, Maxine! Please, oh, dear god,” you cried out again, your frame crumpling on the driveway. Your mind was screaming at you to get moving, you didn’t have the time to cry. But your body couldn’t move from its spots as you huddled over your knees, curling into an almost fetal position as your hands grasped at the ground beneath you. You allowed a cry of frustration to escape, but sobs soon followed up, wracking your entire body.

No, no, no, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. Oh god, this couldn’t be happening. You begged to the universe, pleaded with it to just give you Maxine back. You offered yourself up, just praying that you could just know that Max was okay. She was so young, so innocent, and so scared.

And as your fists pounded against the ground and enraged screams shook your throat, a voice from behind you flutters around your ears. You think you’re dreaming at first, and your breath catches in your throat. You freeze entirely, your ears perking as your mind begins to plead that you’re not just hallucinating and you’re not going batshit.

But the voice comes again, the soft, sweet voice calling out your name. You rise from the ground, your head swiveling on your neck, and at the sight of flaming red locks, you begin to cry again.

Your knees can’t seem to straighten fast enough and your shoes can’t get a grip on the gravel, but you bolt towards Max as fast as possible. She seems taken aback at first until you whip her from the ground, your arms wrapping around her so tightly that she lets out a breathless grunt. But you don’t care as one hand of yours holds the back of her head to you, your face pressed into the crook of her neck.

Max can feel you trembling against her, and a wetness forming on her collarbone tells you of the tears draining from your body. She relaxes into your touch, and her arms finally wrap around you once you set her feet onto solid ground. You pull yourself from her, your hands flying to cradle her cheeks. You inspect her face, your eyes wild and barely clear enough to see through.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Max reassures, her voice softer than you’ve ever heard before. Her brows furrow in concern, and she takes notice of your puffy eyes and runny nose.

“I just-I saw the letter and I-well I-I needed to make sure that nothi-the letter just made me think that you were going to be gone. The letter made me think you were going to be like Billy, and I don’t know,” the words spill from your mouth, your eyes frantic and your lip trembling. Despite Max’s attempts at interrupting you, nothing can stop your word vomit. “I just, I kept thinking I know you have to be alive. You can’t leave me, no, you can’t. And I was just so scared because I love you. You know? I don’t ever tell you enough, but I love you,” your words begin to sound much more broken, yet your sentences more coherent as sobs choke you. Your arms return to their position Max, and this time, it seems like she’s truly comforting you. “I’m sorry I’m not the best sister. I’m sorry, I know I’m not.”

Your sniffles replace your crying, and Max whispers comforting words into your ear. She knew you loved her as a sister, but she didn’t know to what extent. She never would have expected you to react like this to the letter, to be so quick to defend her at whatever cost. But she was more than elated to see you—she thought she never would again.

It’s Harrington’s call of your nickname that seem to finally break you from your panic.

“Woah, sunshine, are you okay?” Steve’s voice sounds, and you can hear a rush of footsteps. You lift your face from being buried in Max’s shoulders and your eyes meet everyone’s.

The entire crew, save for Will, El, and Mike, are standing around with Steve, Nancy, Robin, and Eddie Munson. All of their eyes are filled to the brim with concern, except Eddie who seems mainly just confused to see you there.

You swallow an onset of fresh tears, and Max turns to face the group as well. Your hand slips to hold onto Max’s, though, and she doesn’t seem to mind. You blink away the stinging at your eyes, and nod tightly, your mouth opening before a pause. You aren’t entirely sure what to say.

“She’s okay, she just read my letter and I didn’t get to tell her I was okay,” Max speaks for you, and you look up to the sky partially to make sure tears don’t fall but also to send a quick thanks to the universe for allowing Max to be okay.

You lower your chin, your eyes meeting Steve’s before feeling a swirling mixture of shame (from Steve seeing you cry) and anger (at him being an idiot). But you supposed Max was okay, and you were far too happy with that knowledge to yell at Harrington.

“Okay, this was an awesome little family reunion, but we are on a little time crunch here,” Eddie voices, and you almost want to throttle the man for an instant before a realization hits you. Fucking Mystery Incorporated was all together again, meaning that there’s an extremely high chance of an apocalyptic event occurring. Your stomach plummeted into the soles of your feet, and your face paled. Your ears seem to muffle all sound as your eye twitches, your brain settling with the new reality.

The rest of the group is speaking, and at some point you register them walking away. But your eyes shut firmly and your hands cover your face. You can’t let Max die, but you can’t let this dumbs town die either. You know you could never convince Max out of it, but that means you’re also about to be dragged into a new mess and you weren’t sure you were emotionally prepared to handle this. A soft touch rests on your shoulder and your hands fall from your face.

“Hey, sunshine,” Steve calls, his eyes soft as they look into yours. You want to huff at the dumb nickname he calls you, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to do it. You want to be mad at him, but the concern written on his face seems to shut you up and your heart jumps into your throat. He scans your face quickly, seeing the tear stains down your cheeks. “It’ll be okay. Max will be safe, I promise that. But you know how stubborn she is. She literally threatened to prosecute me for kidnapping when I refused to drive her.”

You let out a little giggle a the spunk of your stepsister, and your hand rose up to wipe your nose. You grimaced at how gross you must look, but Steve didn’t seem to care. Steve was far too engrossed in hyping himself up to pull you in for a hug that he most definitely did not notice.

His arm pulls you towards him, his hand cradling the back of your head as the other held you against his warm and inviting embrace. You melted under his touch, your breath hiccuping. His presence alone comforted you enough, and his embrace seemed to do wonders.

“But you should go home, I can’t let you join us,” Steve says softly, but the words cause you to pull from his hold on you, your brows furrowing as your eyes meet his. He looks as if he expected your retaliation, and a semblance of a surrender is already written on his face. 

“Are you stupid?” you ask, your voice dripping with a condescending tone, frustration evident. Steve only laughs, and you raise an eyebrow.

“I swear to God, I should know never to try with your family. You and Max aren’t blood but, damn, you guys fucking seem like it sometimes,” Steve huffs, his arms pulling you back towards his chest.

You don’t resist, your nose instead inhaling what is definitely a mixture of a lack of showering and some pathetic attempt of covering his scent with his cologne. But you love the familiar smell, and it makes you even more impressed at the hold of his hairspray.

“You know, I was planning on ways to murder you,” you said, and Steve laughs again, his face burying itself on your head and planting a kiss in your hair. Goddamn, he must think you’re a fucking comedian today or something. 

“I figured you would,” Steve replies. You can feel his mouth open to say more, but he pauses, the words dying on his tongue. You wait patiently. “But I took some inspiration from Max, due to the genius she is, and I wrote a letter. In case anything did happen to me and her, I needed to say a few things.”

Steve’s words are shocking and saddening. You could imagine Steve so stressed out of his mind of having to babysit the crew and still wanting you to know that Max was cared for. Your heart ached at the sentiment, and you couldn’t push down the question you wanted to ask.

“Did you write a letter for anyone else?”

“Who else could I write one for? My boss, Keith? Oh yeah, ‘sorry Keith, I can’t show up to work because I may die soon and I have to babysit a bunch of high school freshmen who also may die soon, have fun at work!’” Steve jokes, and you can’t muffle the snort that erupts from your nose.

But you couldn’t hide the pitiful look in your eyes as you stared up a the boy, your heart throbbing. Steve deserved to have people other than you; he deserved to have a family that showed tangible care for their son, and he deserved to feel love for them back. 

“Hey, I’m not judging if you need to write a little love letter to him. I mean, lately you’ve been running dry in the ladies department—who could blame a little Keith backdoor action? I could even be the one to deliver it for you!” you quip back, and Steve’s mouth gapes open, but a smile tugs on one corner of his mouth. Steve closes his mouth, his eyes looking into yours for just a little too long. He inhales deeply through his nose as he breaks eye contact, his head turning to see where the group had disappeared. “Steve? You okay?”

He turns back to you, his hair bouncing slightly as his brows draw together. His eyes are big and golden brown, even in the dim lighting. They bore into you, and you swallow sharply, your chest stuttering at the intensity.

“Fuck it,” are the last breathless words that come from Steve’s mouth before his hands tighten their grip around you and his head dips down. His lips crash into yours, and it takes you the slightest of moments before your mouth opens in a gasp against his, one hand slotting itself against his jaw as the other threads through his hair.

The kiss is purely electrifying, and your lips buzz with excitement. Your heart flutters rapidly, and you feel like you’re falling from a plane. Your eyes are screwed tightly shut, and you’re too afraid you’ll awaken from some sort of dream if you open your eyes.

His lips are soft and so utterly conforming to your mouth as they move against yours. They are warm and your shameful daydreams about the boy had nothing on the real deal. He hums against your lips and your thumb swipes against his cheek in response. 

His lips part from yours, and he blinks, his head shaking as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. You were unbelievably shocked as well. Your hand reaches up to touch your lips, making sure that you were indeed not experiencing a dream. Your heart thuds loudly against your chest and you wouldn’t be surprised if Steve could hear it from where he stood. But soon enough, a massive grin overtakes his face and you wear one to match.

“Harrington, you best be careful, or I may think you wrote me a love letter,” you tease, your lips settling into a smirk.

“Oh, I did,” he responds with a smirk of your own, his eyes swallowing how yours light up in shameless excitement. “Absolutely. I couldn’t go out without telling you how I feel. Plus, hanging around Max is so scary in how much it reminds me of you. She really does see you as a role model.” You smile genuinely at the sweet words, and your body feels warm at the compliment.

“I think she got my bitchiness.”

“Most definitely. But I have training in how to handle it. The key is compromise,” Steve puffs proudly, an egotistical smile painting his lips. You truthfully don’t mind, it’s becoming more rare to see the cocky side of Steve these days since the loss of his ‘King Steve’ status.

“Oh? What’d you negotiate this time?” You quirk a brow.

“Permission to confess my love for you,” Steve says with a quick shrug, and your mouth falls open. Of course Max would set you up in return for Steve keeping her safe. Your chest bubbles with the evident care she has for you.

“Okay, get on with it,” you tease, nearly choking as you witness Steve immediately falls to his knees, his hands coming to hold yours. He says your name, his goofy smile still evident on his face.

“I am actually so embarrassingly in love with you and have been for months. I went from daydreaming about Kieth to daydreaming about you, and I can’t possibly think of a better upgrade. Do you know how sad it is to daydream about Kieth? That man hasn’t brushed his teeth since the day he was born,” Steve says with a serious face, and you purse your lips to hold back the smile threatening to spill from your lips.

Loki’s eyes slide over to you, his eyebrows pinching together. His jaw opens slightly before clenching shut, seemingly picking his question wisely. You decide to make it easy for him.

“It’s funny, really,” you start, your voice loud amongst the quiet. “I stood here three years ago. It felt exactly like this – the weather, I mean. I was just about to step off, fall to my death. And then,” you trailed off softly. “It snowed.”

You had Loki’s full attention, his eyes glued to the curves of your face, flickering between your lips, nose, and eyes. And yet, you couldn’t look at the god – at least not yet.

“I love the snow. And my train of thought was ‘No, not now. I can’t taint this weather with my blood’,” you smiled softly. “I was so tired. I was exhausted from feeling everything, but I was so numb. Every time I’d take a life or look into a dying man’s eyes, I wouldn’t care – at least not for them. I was a mindless weapon. And I loathed it.” Your smile slowly seeped away, and your eyes glazed over as you stared down at the cars treading over the streets below.

A particularly strong gust freezes your thoughts. You can feel Loki’s eyes staring at you, staring through you.

“And then, Bucky and Nat found me on this very fire escape. I was taken in, nursed to some semblance of ‘normal’. I became an Avenger through grueling hours of training, mentally and physically. And everything was fine – I was fine. Missions were a breeze, and I didn’t flinch nor loathe from killing Hydra agents or whomever else we were fighting.”

Loki stayed quiet, and for that, you were grateful. Your eyes caught onto a family strolling down the sidewalk below.

“About a year and a half ago, we were on a mission against some arms dealers in Russia. Some civilians died as a result – a rare but not an otherworldly occasion. It was the first mission that I had been on that had innocent deaths. One of them was a little girl, walking home from her ballet class. I couldn’t stop staring at her, her tutu covered in blood – in her blood. Sam ended up having to drag me away.”

The frozen metal sheets of the fire escape were beginning to dig into your palms, distracting you from your confession.

“I don’t feel as I did three years ago, but sometimes,” your voice goes softer, “I’m not sure. I’m not entirely sure what I feel anymore.”

You finally allow yourself to look at the god, your eyes meeting his. At first glance, you’re surprised to see the amount of emotion in his irises. You don’t need to pick his brain to know what he’s thinking and feeling. You can see it plain as day – empathy; and it’s relieving. He’s not pitying you. The wind bites at your cheek a little harder.

You had known about Loki’s fall from the Bifrost for a while, but you had always wondered what the motivation behind it was. Goosebumps crept over your skin, a shudder trailing up your back. You had a feeling it was something similar to yours.

You both sit quietly for a while, you unsure if Loki’s going to respond or if you should talk more, and Loki finding the right words. The howl of the wind is nice, and you didn’t realize how loud it was. You lean back, your back resting the railing of the fire escape, the cold beginning to seep into your shirt. You pushed away the image of the tons of hours’ worth of paperwork you would have waiting for you when you returned to work. For now, you were content with sitting on a freezing fire escape with the only person you felt comfortable with.

“You’re not alone,” Loki starts, and you turn your head to face the god. “Remember Stuttgart?” You nodded, recalling reporting from a longer mission when you were working as an assassin and overhearing something about a god’s siege in Germany. “A boy died there. Trampled by the chaos that I caused. I still get nightmares about his cracked and dented skull lying on the marble floors. His blood everywhere.” Loki hesitated. “You’d think I’d get nightmares of the torture, but I only get nightmares for what I’ve done. I sometimes wonder if this is a form of torture and he is still inside my head. Other times I wonder if I was actually tortured or was it some demented fantasy I made up to relieve my conscience of its guilt.”

You stayed still, absorbing his words. The tips of your ears were beginning to grow numb, a progression from the stinging cold. It had taken a year for Loki to open up to you about Thanos and his torture. He knew no one would believe such a story told by the god of a twisting tongue except for you, always ever patient for him. He always said he never deserved an angel such as yourself (to which you responded with an eye roll and a lecture). Eventually, when Thanos returned and caused the snap, Loki’s insight and information proved vital, providing the necessary proof to the team that he was not an evil being.

“I know neither is true and that my brain tends to go to the extremes. But sometimes, I catch myself telling lies in my head, looking for this inherent evil within me. But it’s not there, and I’ve learned to accept and understand that. I do hope that one day you learn and believe that you are not evil – you’re the furthest thing from it, at least, to me.” Loki’s small speech ends on an odd note. His words are warm and hopeful, but his voice seems sad.

Your eyes study the god’s complexion, trailing up his cheekbones, to his eyes, down his nose, and finally resting on his lips. Your breaths come out in white puffs, your heart lurching at the sudden change in atmosphere between the two of you.

Loki calls your name, and your eyes flit to meet his. “You are loved, by everyone you meet. You are valuable to anyone, whether it be your fantastic combat skills or your knack for baking. You are the most beautiful person, soul and physical, that I have ever been lucky enough to have in my company.” Your brows pinch, your eyes suddenly feeling wet. Ugh, damn wind.

“Loki, you know that applies to you, right? You are stunning, mind, body, soul. I cherish our talks and I cherish our friendship,” you say, your heart throbbing at the last word. “But, I…” you trail off, looking between Loki’s eyes. “I love you.”

Loki sits frozen, his eyes widened like a deer in headlights. He looks like he’s about to bolt, escape from this situation. You know this type of affection, the intimacy, isn’t what he’s used to, and you wouldn’t be surprised if it was what he was scared of most. You open your mouth, your hands trembling from fear of rejection. No, not rejection, just losing him at all. You feel tears filtering into your eyes.

“I’m sorry, and I fully understand if you don’t feel the same way. I just don’t want you out of my life, and I’m totally okay with still being friends, and I know it was so, so, so stupid of me to say–”

“Say it again.” Loki’s soft demand stuns you, and the pounding in your chest recedes in the slightest. You remain quiet for a few moments, staring at the god in front of you, trying to distinguish any sort of emotion in his face, but all that is apparent is shock.

“I love you.” Your breath is soft, and Loki can’t help but think it’s the most melodious that your voice has ever sounded.

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love–” and at the fourth time that you say those words, Loki places his lips upon yours, emotion searing through the both of you as you close your eyes. Loki’s hands find your cheeks, his thumbs swiping over your cheekbones. You melt into his embrace, your hands cradling his jaw before interlocking behind his neck. You shift more towards him, his hands finding your hips to haul your body onto his lap, pulling away from the edge of the fire escape. Loki’s tongue prods at your lips, and you give in with a shudder.

The kiss is in no manner gentle. It is forceful, teeth knocking teeth, lips bitten. It is powerful, possessing so much behind it. Loki’s fingers on your hips are near bruising, as if you’re going to slip from his grip at any moment. Years of waiting tear through the both of you. An involuntary groan escapes from the back of your throat, your face flushing immediately.

You pull back from the contact, the clouds of your breath swirling around you. Loki’s eyes are still closed, and you lean your head on his shoulder, curling in for his warmth. Loki’s hand trails up your back, rubbing small circles whilst leaving goosebumps in its wake. You shiver in the slightest.

“How are you not freezing?” you ask, huffing a laugh, your teeth beginning to chatter as you pull back to face him. Loki raises his eyebrows and your mouth makes a large O. “Frost giant, right.”

The moment between the two of you is peaceful, the wind settling. Loki’s cheeks are rosy, his breath still uneven, hair out of place. You think he looks positively adorable – although, you would never tell him, his ego would be far too hurt.

And as Loki whispers words that seep into the night sky, you smile the brightest grin you think you could manage. Your heart flutters and you are finally content; you feel whole.

“I love you too.”

—