Loki X Reader || Girl With The Gold Earring

30 | Significant Insignificant Things

The sconces had been lit by the time Y/N left Loki's chambers, and she followed their swaying flames down to the servant's quarters; the soft smell of beeswax morphing slowly into the tang of burning fat as the wax sticks decreased in quality the close she got.

Loki's kisses are still echoing on her lips, his words still nestled close to her heart. She'd clutched them there, safe and secret, enclosed in the warm cradle of her palms.

'I don't need wax sticks,' she pondered to herself amongst the shadows. She's pretty sure she's glowing just as much as they are.

He loves her. He loves her. He loves her.

It's a different sort of love to that of Y/N's parents, or Alfdis, or even Arne, and it feels different in the way it follows her about--- unassuming, honest, and asking nothing in return---keeping dutiful watch over her, his affection padding invisibly, loyally, silently at her heels. It was there the entire time and she didn't even know.

As Y/N loaded some leftovers onto a plate and took a seat in the almost abandoned mess hall, she self-consciously checked her reflection in the curved back of her pudding spoon. Her own bright expression shone back at her, her slight kiss-bruised smile stretched into a grin.

Hopefully, no one will notice.

-- ❈ --

The glowing hadn't subsided, even when Y/N woke the next morning. She would have suspected it to be magic---some sort of mild spell she'd walked into by accident---had she not known that to be near impossible. The only practitioner of magic she knew was Loki, and he of all people understood the importance of keeping their relationship a secret.

It was spitting with rain as Y/N made her usual walk to the market, the sloped road trickling with rivulets of moisture. It was a lazy sort of rain, falling softly from a wet bundle of clouds, and Y/N didn't even mind when the occasional droplet seeped through her oilskin. The damp was a nice change of pace from the dry heat of summer, and when she reached Aasta's stall Y/N was still smiling.

"Someone's chipper," the baker teased, nipping a fat wedge of rocky road in some tongs. Shards of butter-biscuit protruded jaggedly from the treat, yet Aasta managed to fit it neatly into a wood-pulp box which she began fastening with twine. "You're glowing like a dog with two tails."

Y/N took the box once the baker had executed a deft, loopy little bow, and placed it carefully at the bottom of her cotton bag with the other. She shrugged with one shoulder, making sure not to shake up her cakes and pushing down a blush. "I just like the rain."

Aasta looked like she very much didn't believe that to be the whole reason, and Y/N retreated under the hood of her oilskin---even though the rain couldn't penetrate the market's thick maze of awnings---as she pressed a few coins into her hand.

It was white with sugar dusting and soft as the dough she rolls. "Of course." Her plump lips curved into a smile, but as Y/N turned to leave she added seriously:

"Just be safe, okay sweety?"

-- ❈ --

Y/N contemplated Aasta's words as she watched Arne fiddle about with some scales at the back of the apothecary stall.

While he was distractedly tipping crumbly nuggets of gold powder onto the weighing dish, Y/N made a decision.

Suddenly feeling too hot in her oilskin---Y/N leaned over to whisper a few quick things into Frode's little pink mole-like ear.