#flustered loki

The imp mischief never actually thought of that, did fiddle his fingers a bit.

Summary: you have a little too much to drink and set your sights on a certain god, and loads of chaos and perfectly awkward situations ensue.

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff? bad words?

A/N: this is my first time besides Heat Wave writing for not-yet-dating Loki x reader, and i loved it sm, and got a little carried away. so enjoy this one shot!

also i didn’t proof-read or edit so i apologise in advance have a nice cute gif of loki’s murder strut instead

You and alcohol don’t exactly make the greatest pair.

You and alcohol and an extremely attractive god don’t exactly make the greatest trio, either.

But here you are, strutting over to Loki like you own the place; you’re only a couple drinks in and already have made up your mind that this one, this crazily beautiful god isn’t going to slip out of your grasp. You’ve been chasing after him for too long, and it’s too obvious how he’s chasing you too, right? Right?

Your ankles have decided otherwise.

The moment you shout his name and he glances over at you, you’re flat on your ass and there’s a watermelon margarita dripping down your front—and the Asgardian is laughing.

He laughs but walks over to help you up, extending a hand you too eagerly take. Oh…his hands are something out of a dream. It’s just a simple hand to help you up, but his long fingers curl around your wrist and they’re cold, wonderfully cold against your heated skin.

Good god, if you don’t want to hold that hand for the rest of eternity…

“I…I think I just fell for you,” you giggle breathlessly when he pulls you to your feet. “Get it? Cause I fell? I fell for y—”

“Yes, yes, I get it,” he laughs, steering you back to the bar and helping you into a seat. You immediately reach for a menu to order another drink, but Loki places a gentle hand on yours to stop you; your heart nearly stops. “Might you consider something non-alcoholic? Some water, perhaps?”

“No thank you, sir.” You shake your head and cross one leg over the other, trying your best to look put together. “I feel great. Another marrrr-grita please!”

“Absolutely not. We’ll have water, thank you,” he tells the bartender, catching you with a hand on your waist when you nearly fall out of your chair from whirling around to glare at the god for ordering for you. “This is for your own good, trust me.”

“M’not drunk! I only had…had…” you try to count on your fingers, furrowing your brow when you can’t seem to remember what comes after three.

“I believe the number you’re looking for is four,” Loki chuckles and hands you a glass of water, making sure your grip on it is tight before he lets go. “Drink up—no, don’t you dare dump it out—you’ll feel better after this.”

“But I feel great,” you slur and take a messy gulp of water, trying to talk with your mouth full and only dribbling water all down your chin. “I feel like I could take on the world, and—and—ooo Loki, you’re wearing a white shirt!!”

The god raises a confused eyebrow at you and nods, glancing down at the white button up he had chosen to wear to this little gathering, something different from the dark and most likely leather he generally finds himself wearing. He hadn’t thought much of the choice, but the fact that you noticed him doing something differently sends a funny feeling to the pit of his stomach—maybe he should change things up more often.

“Yes, I am, wonderful observation. Here.” He hands you a napkin to dry off your face, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “You should be getting home, don’t you th—what in sweet Valhalla are you doing?!”

You’ve just reached over to his seat and dumped your entire cup of water onto his chest. “Makin’ you sexy, that’s what,” you declare, rubbing the water around his shirt to make sure it covers every inch of his torso. “See? Now it’s see-through.”

Loki’s heart is beating a little too fast for his liking at the feeling of your curious hands all over his chest. It was completely out of the blue, what you’ve just done, and extremely inappropriate…right?

But now you’re staring, because his shirt is see-through, and things are looking incredible.

“I didn’t know you have abs, Loki!”

Yes, you’re staring shamelessly and he wants to shrink under the wonder filling your gaze as you take in his much too exposed stomach, raking your eyes from his perfect collarbone down to the little dips on his hips forming a beautiful ‘v’ and he can tell your gaze is only getting lower—

“You should take me home, big boy.”

He almost spits out his water at your blatant request, already feeling much too open to your, ah…interest than he’s used to. To take you home, in this state? Even though you had literally just asked him, and even with how…tempting you look in this elegantly disheveled state, he pushes the very thought out of his mind and shakes his head.

“No, no, that’s not a good idea,” he laughs nervously, quickly turning away from you so you can’t stare at his chest any longer. “You’re not yourself, and I couldn’t possibly take advantage of you like this.”

“But I asked!”

“Yes, but—no. You’ll only regret it, trust me.” He looks around for whoever is responsible for you, whoever let you reach this state of drunkenness and left you alone like an idiot, but he can’t find anyone.

“I just wanna go home,” you whine softly, dropping your head onto the bar top. “If you won’t take me home, can you call me an Uber?”

Loki freezes, heat rushing to his face as he realises he might have misunderstood your previous question. “Wait…you want me to take you home?”

“Yes please. I’m startin’ to get dizzy.”

“Just…just to see you home safely?”

You give him a puzzled look and hop off your barstool, wobbling slightly and grabbing his arm to steady yourself. “Yeah…? What else would you do?”

Then you see his blushing face staring at you and your drunken mind fills in the gaps.

“OH! Ew, Loki, no, I don’t want you to ‘take me home’ and like, sleep with me or somethin’.” You shake your head and burst into a fit of giggles just at the thought—nervous, drunk giggles.

Nervous? Terrified, really, because the thought of him ‘taking you home’ is definitely appealing—and you can’t imagine what you would do if he ever discovered that.

Relief floods Loki’s mind, but there’s also a hint of embarrassment and—oh god—that’s not…disappointment, is it?

If he hadn’t just signed himself up to take care of you, he‘d get himself a drink too; gods know he needs it if these are the thoughts that a drunk mortal can put in his head.

“Let’s get you home, then,” he chuckles nervously and puts a tentative hand on the small of your back to lead you to the door—you immediately tense up when his hand touches you and he feels it.

He yanks his hand away and it drops to his side, and he can’t bring himself to look you in the eye. “Let’s just get outside,” he mutters, cursing himself for even thinking to touch you. “Then I can get you to your place in seconds.”

“No! Nooo, Loki, no magic portal thingys.” You shake your head and twirl your fingers around your ears, making the god give you a strange look. “Makes me feel a little loco. I might puke if we travel through space.”

He wants to disagree and insist on using the “magic portal thingys” to get you home and away from him as fast as possible. He needs you out of his hands now, because for some horrifying reason, the way you spun your fingers around your head and stuck your tongue out to mime “crazy”…was strangely adorable.

His heart, the cursed thing, needs to stop this right now.

“That way. Quickly, now, let’s go.” He points to the door and starts to walk away from you, trusting you to follow on your own. But the first step has your head spinning and you shout his name and grab his arm, looking around wildly until the seven Lokis you were seeing become one again.

He’s reaching for you right away, giving you his arm and steadying you with his other hand on you waist. “Easy, darling, walk slowly,” he says, worried eyes meeting yours. “You may be in a worse condition than I thought.”

“Darling?” You giggle, squeezing his bicep lightly—oooh, nice—and slipping into a revoltingly awful, exaggerated royal accent. “Ah, my prince, please do escort me to thy carriage! I, your darling, have consumed too much alcohol—” you’re overcome by a fit of hysterical, breathless giggles as you hang on to Loki’s arm, hiccuping and following him out the door. “—way too much booze and…and…wow, Loki! Stand right there!”

He looks like something straight out of a dream.

Minus the confused look on his face, of course. You tug his arm to get him to stop walking, then step away from him to take in the view. Your jaw is practically on the ground, but you really don’t care; the way the moon is hitting his jawline is the most beautiful masterpiece you’ve ever seen, and his shirt is still wet and thankfully see-through.

That was a good decision, tequila brain.

“You’re so…so pretty,” you sigh dreamily, holding up your hands to frame his shocked and confused and beautiful face. “I kinda really wanna kiss you.”

Whoops.

Maybe tequila brain needs to put a lid on it.

Loki just smiles at you, almost sadly, and points to the waiting car. “No, you don’t. Now get in the car, I won’t make you go through any ‘magic portal thingys’ tonight.”

“And you’re such a gentleman, too,” you giggle and run back to him, grabbing his arm and pulling him to the car. “The whooooole package.”

This is getting ridiculous—and extremely painful for the god being pulled in the backseat of a little silver car by your much too bold and delightfully warm hands. His heart hasn’t stopped pounding since you had grabbed hold of his arm, holding onto him for dear life, as if he can protect you, as if you trust him.

Just the thought of that is terrifying.

But you sidle up next to him in the backseat as the car starts moving, because it just feels like the right thing to do, and his damp shirt and cool skin is so perfectly refreshing…you lay your head on his shoulder and scoot closer, your knees knocking together.

You’re not talking, surprisingly, and Loki can’t breathe. Your head is laying so gently against his shoulder, so close he can feel you moving with every breath, every blink. He can’t move a muscle; he needs you to stay there as long as possible. You’ve chosen him, regardless of your state of being, and he’s terrified that the slightest movement might make you lift your head and sit up.

When you reach for his hand, he almost screams. You don’t hold it, necessarily, rather you just take his hand in yours and start studying it, running a finger over the lines in his palm.

“Why’re you shaking?”

“Nervous habit,” he answers curtly. Pulling his hand away might be the best idea, because you’ve begun to place your hand against his to compare sizes and your hand is just so warm, too warm.

“Well, y’got nice hands, Loki,” you mumble, and suddenly the car is much too comfortable. Eyelids drifting shut in a matter of seconds, you barely realise that you’ve slipped your fingers between his and tightly closed them around his hand.

You seem to be quite comfortable, but for Loki, the rest of the car ride is pure agony. His hand is still wide open, palm to the ceiling and refusing to curl his fingers back around your fist—but he’s itching to. He wants to hold your hand, desperately, to run his thumb across your knuckles as you drift into a content, alcohol-induced sleep on his shoulder, but he keeps his hand flat and just lets you hold his hand.

You’re drunk, he reminds himself over and over again, you’re drunk and not thinking in any way intelligently. You won’t remember this, and you probably don’t even realise what you’re saying or doing or for that matter, who’s hand you are clinging to for dear life.

Loki breathes a chuckle, a quiet, disbelieving laugh at his own stupidity. Really? A mortal? And an inebriated one, at that?

His chest lifts with the chuckle and rouses you from your sleep, your mind just as foggy as before. You sit up and blink to clear your eyes, and Loki’s heart falls—Norns, this is getting out of control.

“Wait a minute…” you gasp and stare at your still connected hands, the many drinks from earlier making your mind fill with dreams of holding his hand and what that could possibly mean, the thought getting you waaay too excited. “Are we a thing now?! Oh my god, Loki…what are we?! Are you my boyfriend now?”

“I consider us acquaintances,” he blurts out too quickly, trying to change the subject. “Some would go far enough to say even friends.”

“What’s wrong with friends? I like being friends! Let’s be friends, Loki!” You’re beaming at him, the prospect of actually being with him obviously exciting you, and he pries his hand from your grip.

Trying to ignore the hurt confusion on your face and how you reach for his hand again, he moves away from you to lean against the car door. “I’m not particularly fond of the term.”

“Why? You don’t have friends?” You scoot closer to him and try to grab his hand, but he crosses his arms and glances out the window.

“‘Friendship’ is only something for me to lose.”

“So dramatic,” you giggle and wrap your arms around his neck, practically laying on him. “Chin up, buttercup, you look like you need a hug.”

The nonsense spilling from your mouth has another amused smile tugging painfully at his lips, one he fights along with the desire to wrap his arms around you and just hold you close. You’re already too close, with your arms around his neck and leaning against his chest, and you’re right—he would love nothing more than to hug you back.

Thankfully the Uber pulls into your driveway and Loki can finally be rid of you to clear his head of these insane…feelings. But you jump out of the car and grab his hand, pulling him out after you and begging him to come inside, and he finds it impossible to refuse.

“Just for a minute,” you promise, fumbling with your keys. “You don’t have to stay long—oh, but I’ve got ice cream! Have you tried ice cream? Let’s have ice cream—”

“Give me those.” He laughs and takes the keys from your distracted hand, putting a hand on the doorknob and it promptly clicks open. This is for the better, for your safety, he tells himself as he follows your happy skipping into your apartment.

“Chocolate or vanilla?” You yell and immediately rush to the freezer, bringing out two cartons of ice cream and grabbing a spoon. “Never mind. Both.”

Loki’s standing uncomfortably by the front door, looking around at your little home and picking at his hands. He looks a little nervous—nothing ice cream can’t fix.

“Over here,” you call and wave him over, flopping down criss-cross on the couch and digging in to the first carton of ice cream. “Hurry up,” you slur around a mouthful, “m’gonna eat it all before you get any.”

“Are you sure that is the best idea…?” He reluctantly sits down next to you, concern in his eyes as he watches you shovel down spoonful after spoonful. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“But it’s so good,” you practically moan, and the god’s cheeks turn bright red; the last thing he needs right now is a sound like that coming from your beautiful mouth and ingraining itself in his imagination.

“Try it.” Now you’re shoving the spoon up against his tightly pressed together lips, smearing the cold ice cream across his face. “Try it, just tryyy it, Loki. Open your mouth.”

He just stares at you, not moving, keeping his mouth firmly shut. That is your spoon, it was just in your mouth, and now you want to feed him with the same utensil? You just keep grinning and trying to slip the spoon between his lips, completely oblivious to the suggested intimacy of your actions.

It’s clear you have no intention of stopping until he eats the ice cream, so Loki takes the spoon from you with a sigh and quickly eats the ice cream off of it, trying his hardest not to think about the fact that he just shared a spoon with a mortal—and didn’t really mind.

“Yay!” You squeal and grab the spoon back out of his hands to get yourself another heaping bite. “It’s good, right?”

“Exquisite,” Loki halfheartedly agrees, his stomach churning at the sickly sweet and cold taste lingering in his mouth. His eyes are trained on your face, specifically your lips; despite all his attempts to distract himself, the only coherent thought running through his mind is how divine you must taste, with the ice cream still fresh on your lips and your tongue—

“Stop that,” he growls, ripping his gaze from your mouth.

But you don’t even hear him talking to himself, because your drunken mind is too busy with the exact same train of thought. The spoon falls limply out of your hand as you slip into a trance watching his tongue dart out over his lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows, the way his jaw tightens for a moment when he notices you staring.

Were you supposed to not kiss him? To not fling the carton of ice cream to the floor and pounce on him, knocking him onto his back and crashing your lips into his? I mean…you had to. And yes, he does taste incredible.

The only problem is that he’s not kissing you back. Even though it’s taking every ounce of self control for him to not pull you into his lap and lose himself completely in your drunken lips, and you do taste divine, so sweet, so warm…

“Stop, please stop,” he murmurs and gently pushes you away from him, resisting the urge to lick his lips just to taste you again. You pull away with a quiet gasp, your eyes still closed and lips pursed, slowly growing into the happiest smile he’s ever seen on your face. “Darling, you just kissed me.”

“Hell yeah.”

Loki laughs at that, tipping your chin up to look at him as you open your bright eyes. “No, you just kissed me. Loki.”

“Perrrrrfect,” you slur, leaning towards him again and closing your eyes. A cold finger on your lips shakes you from the trance of that first half-kiss and you open your eyes with a quiet noise of protest.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he tells you gently, a sad smile on his perfect lips. “You don’t want this. You’re drunk, you’re not thinking correctly.”

“Nuh uh. I want you,” you whisper, fumbling around in his lap for his hand. He can’t bring himself to pull his hand away when you lift it up and press your palm flat against his, placing each of your fingers to his. “I wanna kiss you forever, and hold your hand all the time, and hug you whenever I want, and—”

“That’s enough.” He puts his hands on your shoulders and shushes you, wishing you would stop talking. These ideas are just too painful to hear. “It’s me. You’re talking to me, I’m Loki. I don’t think you realise what you are saying.”

“I know that, genius,” you giggle, reaching for him. “You’re Loki and I’m me, and together we’re perrrfect.”

“No, we’re not. You don’t want any part of me, trust me.” The god can’t bear to look at you anymore, because your eyes are too enchanting and your smile is too addicting, even with these alcohol-induced lies spilling from your mouth. He gives you a reassuring smile and stands up, picking up the ice cream carton and spoon you had thrown to the side before kissing him. “I should leave soon, can you get yourself cleaned up?”

“Good idea, I wanna put my comfy sweats on! Just need to take this off…” you reach behind you to unzip your dress, your face scrunched up in concentration as you rearrange your arms to try and reach it. “I can’t—reach—Lokiiiii, help me.”

You throw your hands in the air with a groan and turn around, presenting Loki with your back, and he swallows hard at the sight. The zipper reaches from your shoulder bones all the way down to just above your ass, stopping in the curve of your spine. He can’t do this, hell no, his heart is pounding just looking at the task you asked him to do.

“Your hands are shakin’ again.”

Loki curses and the zipper slips out of his hands, which are most definitely shaking, because he’s trying so hard to get this over with but the zipper just caught on something underneath your dress.

Something black and lacy.

“Oh for the love of…” he promptly rips the zipper the rest of the way down, cursing under his breath and immediately shooting his gaze to the ceiling. This is getting out of hand, and he needs to leave you now, for your own good more than anything.

Luckily you thank him and bounce off to your room, the unzipped dress flapping open as you run. Loki runs a hand over his face with a groan, glad the worst of it is over—then you start lifting the dress over your head with the door wide open.

He flings a hand towards your door and it slams shut, only to be followed by your amazed “wow! More magic thingys!” and he drops onto the couch, head in his hands. This whole night has taken a turn for the worse, and despite his best efforts otherwise, he finds himself undeniably attracted to this weak, stupid, drunk mortal.

For the first time in his life there’s something disgustingly warm spreading through his chest as his mind wanders back to how you had kissed him, even under a layer of alcohol, how you had said so honestly that you wanted to hold his hand?

He’s overstayed his welcome. Standing near the door, he can hear you humming quietly to yourself as you shuffle around the room, reassuring him that you’re okay. He sets the dirty spoon in the sink and puts the ice cream back in your freezer, straightening the grocery list stuck to the metal door. There’s blank sheets behind the list and a pen connected to it, and Loki takes them down and writes you a quick note.

By the time he’s finished, there’s only silence coming from your room and he carefully opens the door to peek inside; you’re fast asleep, thankfully wearing pants—the hem of your t shirt has ridden up and Loki quickly tugs it down to cover your skin. You don’t exactly look comfortable, one leg bent and hanging off the side of your bed, with an arm crossed over your face as you snore.

How in all the nine realms do you still look so ethereal?

Loki can’t help but smile at you. You are, for lack of a better word, adorable, and he subconsciously brings his finger up to brush over his lip—you had felt so right against his lips and he almost wants to…no. No, no, no.

He lifts your leg onto the bed and pulls the covers over you, hanging up your discarded dress and setting his little note under the glass of water on you bedstand, refilling the cup with a wave of his hand.

“Goodnight, little mortal,” he whispers, hesitantly hovering a hand over yours. “I hope you don’t remember any of this.”

Then he gives your hand a light squeeze and is gone, leaving only a faint green glow settling around your room.

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

Okay…at least you wake up in bed alone, thank all that is holy.

Alone save for a million regrets and a pounding headache. Somehow you had gotten home safely last night, Tony must have called you a cab or something. Sitting up with a groan, you stretch and—wait a minute.

Loki. 

Oh my god. Flashes of last night flood your mind and there are a million scenarios that you aren’t sure really happened or were just dreamed up by your drunk mind…you’re never drinking tequila again.

Your dress is hanging neatly on the back of your closet door, and you definitely were not the one to have done that. You’re wearing your sweats and an old t shirt…oh hell no. Did Loki change you??

That was not the way you would have ever wanted him to see you half-naked for the first time. Not drunk and messy and doing god knows what, saying who knows what, but there’s no going back now…

At least he’s not laying naked in your bed.

Actually…maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing. Wait, no, no thinking things like that!

You fall back onto the pillows, rubbing your throbbing temples and trying desperately to remember what happened. Besides the headache, you don’t feel too terrible; a little parched, maybe, and your lips feel kinda funny.

Reaching for the cup of water you keep by your bedside, you notice a piece of paper tucked underneath—the cup has been refilled as well, the water still cold. The writing on the note is frankly beautiful; small, tight loops in the lettering give it that perfect touch of messiness for added character. You check the bottom of the slip and—oh god—it’s from Loki.

“Good morning, mortal,” it reads, “don’t worry. You dressed yourself behind a closed door and I sat in a different room.”

Oh thank goodness.

You requested that I see you home safely, and we took a car (we had a third driver, neither of us were—are—fit to drive) to your home. You begged me to stay and try what you call “ice cream,” which we then sat on the couch and ate to our heart’s content.

Fantastic. You had a drunk date with a god and ate ice cream.

You thankfully fell asleep on your bed, so I left you there, made sure your doors were locked, put the ice cream away, and left. Thank you for the ice cream; that is an incredible midgardian creation and I hope someday you will show me where I can find some of my own.

I left you breakfast on the table. Take the day, rest, and I’ll be back to check on you soon. Thank you for the…entertaining night, and call for me if you need anything at all.

If there is anything you remember from last night that you wish for me to forget, say the word and I will have no memory of it.

-Loki

Anything you want him to forget?

It all comes back to you at once. The water, that disgustingly attractive white shirt, the car ride—the car ride?! For some reason, you remember just being close to him, and you rack your brain to try and remember what happened.

You held his hand. Oh no, no no no. He’s not supposed to know any of that, anything about how you might feel for him. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Loki’s note clutched tight in your hand, you drag yourself out of bed and into the kitchen. Sure enough, there’s a plate of some kind of sliced bread sitting on your counter. It smells delicious, crumbly and sweet and unlike anything you’ve ever eaten before—it must be Asgardian. You scarf all of it down without hesitation, and immediately your throbbing headache subsides, your head clears, and memories start to trickle back into your mind.

You glance around the kitchen and see a dirty spoon in the sink, and suddenly there’s the weirdest tingling sensation in your lips as your head starts spinning. Bringing a hand up to gingerly feel your lips, your heart starts pounding and it all clicks: you kissed him.

No idea what the deal is with that spoon, but oh my god, you definitely kissed Loki last night.

“If there is anything you remember from last night that you wish for me to forget…”

The thought has barely processed through your panicked mind when you hear a gentle knock on the door, rattling you from your thoughts. You rush to the door and crack it open to see the last person in the world you want to see right now standing on your porch: the god you kissed and ate ice cream with while you were drunk off your ass.

“Good morning,” he says, a little too cheerfully. And oh my god, he’s wearing another white shirt, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “May I come in?”

“Um…no.” You push the door almost completely closed, just barely peeking out at him from behind the door. Like hell he can come in, looking like that?! “Sorry, I’m like, really sick.”

Loki raises an eyebrow and puts a hand on the door. “I’m nearly certain that’s impossible. Did you eat what I left you?”

“…maybe.”

“Then it is impossible for you to be sick.” He smiles at you and your hand slips off the doorknob. “That particular grain can cure the simplest of ailments, the most common of which would be those caused by…a certain level of drunkenness.”

“Loki, I’m so sorry,” you start rambling, opening the door and stepping back to let him in. “Thank you for taking care of me, um, I’m really, really so sorry you had to deal with my drunk ass—”

“Oh, hush. I’ve dealt with worse.” He steps inside and closes the door behind him, turning around only to find you right in front of his chest, much too close. “I—sorry.”

You both immediately back away from each other, casting your gazes anywhere but at one another, and you notice Loki has a plastic bag one hand partially hidden behind his back. “Um…whatcha got there?”

Loki blinks and glances at the bag, then gives you a sheepish grin. “It’s, uh, ice cream. You seemed to enjoy it last night, and I thought it might make you feel better?”

Crap, there goes your heart again.

“Wow. Thank you, Loki, that’s-that’s super sweet.” Words don’t seem to be working very well for you right now, so you just wrap your arms around yourself and wave him inside to the kitchen, unable to bring yourself to look at him.

You kissed this guy.

He follows you as you pad into the kitchen, bare feet shuffling across the floor to drop you into a chair at the little table in the corner, and you carefully start sipping your water to try to get some moisture back in your dry throat.

Loki stands uncomfortably in the middle of the kitchen for a moment, holding the bag of ice cream and looking around in confusion. “Where would you like me to put this?”

“Break that baby out, I’m hungry,” you mumble over the rim of your cup, eyes squeezed shut in exhausted pain and you wave a hand at a top shelf in one of the cabinets. “Bowls’re up there.”

He doesn’t move and just stares at you for a bit, opening and closing his mouth as if he’s about to say something. You can only imagine what he has to say to you after last night, and you’d rather just get it out of the way. “Come on, get it out. I can handle it,” you sigh.

He’s so cute when he plays oblivious. “What?”

“We kissed, didn’t we?” You set down your cup with a bang and risk a glance at his face, only to find his face a little more flushed than usual. “Well, I kissed you, right?”

“…you did.”

“Oh my god, Loki, I’m so sorry.” You drop your face into your hands with a groan. “That’s so terrible of me to put you in a position like that, and-and you were so nice to me and took such good care of me and—why are you smiling?”

He’s just standing there, smiling softly at you, in that damned white shirt, and you swear you couldn’t possibly fall any further in love with this guy, this god.

“Maybe,” he begins thoughtfully, putting the ice cream on the counter and rifling through a drawer for two spoons. “Maybe it wasn’t all that terrible.”

He flashes your stunned face a sideways grin, waiting to see your reaction and falling silent. You’ve completely lost the ability to speak in complete sentences after that and fall silent as well, and the two of you just sit there in each other’s heavy silence, waiting to see who will cave first.

Oh, fuck it. This one isn’t getting away.

“Hey, Loki?”

The god pauses and glances down at you, an arm frozen in midair reaching for the bowls on the top shelf. “Hm?”

“…nice shirt.”

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hope you enjoyed, feel free to send me ideas!

happy valentine’s day to you lovely, lovely people. thanks for making the world a little brighter!!

let’s make loki blush, shall we?

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“Hey Loki, wanna kiss?”

“Mmm.” Not looking up from his book, he leans over to you a little and purses his lips, clearly waiting for the kiss to come.

You bite back your laugh and unwrap the little chocolate, holding it in front of his face. He blinks and finally looks at you, squinting in confusion but taking the chocolate, inspecting it between two fingers. “And what is this supposed to be?”

What a sad, sad thing to think, someone you care for so much not even knowing what a Hershey’s Kiss is. You unwrap your own candy and pop it in your mouth. “It’s a kiss!”

There’s no mistaking the obvious disappointment on his face and he takes a tentative bite. “Shame on you. You got my hopes up.”

“Oh, you weren’t…were you hoping for a real kiss?”

He swallows and shakes his head, ardently refusing to admit that he was, in fact, hoping you would kiss him, and you catch a glimpse of his cheeks flushing pink as he buries his nose behind the book again.

What an idiot.

What an adorable idiot.

You grab the book from his hands and toss it across the room, smushing your lips to his cheek and throwing your arms around his neck. “I live to disappoint,” you giggle as he nearly falls over from the force of your hug. “Now I’ve got something else for you. Close your eyes.”

Loki raises a suspicious eyebrow. “Is my safety ensured?”

“Definitely not. Come on, eyes closed!”

He sighs and closes his eyes, holding a ready hand out to you just in case. A grin spreads over your face as you reach behind your back and pull out a stack of letters that you’ve been writing to him over the past couple months, all tied neatly together with a piece of twine, placing them in his open hand. “Okay, open your eyes.”

He winces automatically, expecting the worst, then breathes out in relief when he sees its only letters that you’ve put in his hand. “And what is this?”

“Love letters! Really sappy love letters,” you grin, pushing them towards him when he blanches. “Super gushy and full of reasons why I love you, and the stupidly adorable little things you do that make my heart pound, and a very detailed description of your eyes, and your smile, and your kiss—”

Loki’s cheeks are burning red as he lightly smacks you on the top of your head with the stack of letters. “Norns, mortal, do you ever stop?”

“Nope!” You scrunch up your nose in the biggest “sorry not sorry” grin you can manage, then pull the next gift from behind your back.

“Roses?!”

Already laughing, you shove the overflowing bouquet in his face before he can escape and he scrambles away from you, blushing like a fumbling teenager. The poor guy is beyond confused, well beyond flustered, and you haven’t even gotten to the lacy part of the gift yet.

“Stop, darling, please! What in the name of Valhalla are you doing?” He jumps off the couch, throwing his arms up to shield his face, cause you just started picking individual roses out of the bouquet and actually throwing them at him.

“Showering you with love? Can you just take the flowers? And my affection?” You toss the whole bouquet at him and luckily he catches it, a dopey grin growing uncontrollably over his face. “Pleeeease?”

Now the god is standing there amidst a scattering of roses holding a bouquet bigger than his whole top half, his face brighter red than a tomato and desperately trying to hide the smile tugging at his lips—he certainly looks far from kingly, godly, or anything regal—for once, he just looks…well, loved.

Mmhm, you did that.

“Tell me right now what is going on.” He tosses the flowers on the couch and crosses his arms, half-heartedly glaring down at you. Ignoring him, you just raise your eyebrows and smile innocently, going back to the pile of gifts you have yet to give him.

“Let’s see, here’s something fun for later…” you hold up the lacy and slightly more R-rated part of the gift, a tiny little black thing with gold trimmings, and Loki somehow turns an even brighter shade of red.

“Good gods above. Who are you?”

Out comes a box of dark chocolate covered strawberries. “We’re gonna feed these to each other, m’kay?”

He makes a strangled, shocked noise and gapes at you.

“And this,” you hold up a huge bottle of whiskey. “This is for our bath tonight.”

“Our bath?” He croaks weakly, running a hand over his flustered face.

“Mmhm. And these are for after.” You grin and toss him a pair of metal handcuffs—mostly a joke gift, cause you know he would certainly never need actual handcuffs in the bedroom—but worth every penny to see how his jaw practically drops to the floor when he snags them out of the air and he loses the ability to form a coherent sentence.

“You—these are…you want—what?” He’s blubbering like the idiot in love that he is, and your giddy laughter definitely isn’t helping. Raking a hand through his hair, he takes a deep breath and tucks the handcuffs in the pocket of his sweatpants. “Okay, you have ten seconds to explain what has gotten into you before I take matters into my own hands.”

Well, he walked himself right into that one. You sidle up in front of him and run your hands up his chest, murmuring “mmm, that sounds good to me, my king…”

“Have you been bitten?” Loki puts his hands on your shoulders and pushes you away to hold you at arm’s length, examining you and still red in the face. “Are you feeling ill?”

You stick out your tongue at him. “Yes, ya dingbat, I’ve got a bad case of feelings for your lonely ass.”

“…I despise you.”

“And you’re full of shit. You gonna kiss me now?”

“Naturally.” He rolls his eyes and grabs your waist, pulling you into a mind-numbing kiss and practically bending you backward with the force of it.

“There,” he pants when the annoying need to breathe breaks the two of you apart. “You got what you wanted, now explain yourself.”

“I looove you, doofus.”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned, but why all the gifts? Why this?” He grimaces and gingerly picks up a rose in two fingers. “And this?” He gestures wildly at the gifts strewn about the room, then yanks the handcuffs from his pocket and shakes them in your face. “And these?! Darling, what is this?”

You spread your arms proudly. “It’s Valentine’s Day! Literally a whole day that we get to devote to loving each other—basically like every other day, but this one is a little more special.”

“Disgusting,” he retches dramatically and you cannot roll your eyes any harder. “So much…affection.”

“Loki, you little liar. That’s complete and utter bullshit and you know it.” You walk two fingers up his chest to give him a good boop on the nose, much to his horror. “You love when I cuddle with you, you love when I kiss you, you love being the little spoon—yeah, of course I know that! You ain’t slick!—you’re still blushing, you cute little greasy—”

His lips are on yours before you can say another word. In a matter of seconds, he’s got you stumbling backward in search of something he can brace you against, his hand already tucked under your left thigh to lift it up and around his waist, and he’s desperately trying to quiet your only-growing laughter with an avalanche of kisses.

“Shut up,” he growls, only making you laugh harder. “Stop laughing!” He lunges forward again to smash his lips to yours, but you’re laughing too much and his teeth just ram into yours with a loud clink.

“Ow!” Clapping a hand over your mouth, you shove him lightly to get him to pause his attacks. “Geez, Loki, this is great, but chill for just a sec, would ya?”

He’s immediately all over you, inspecting your face for injuries and apologising over and over until you kiss him again just to get him to stop saying sorry.

“Sorry,” he mumbles once more against your lips, hands starting to wander. “Hold on. Don’t we have things to do?”

“Huh?”

Loki pulls away with a pop, a devious spark starting to gleam in his eyes. “This…‘valentine’s day.’ We have to celebrate, right?” He turns on his heel and starts gathering your gifts, making a big show of slipping the lingerie in his pocket as well. “And I believe some of the festivities included fruit, alcohol, and correct me if I’m wrong, scarce clothing?”

You grab his wrist and start excitedly tugging him down the hall, heart already pounding at the prospect of celebrating Valentine’s Day, like, for real.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, babe. We’ve got work to do.”

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hope you enjoyed, feel free to send me ideas!