The Avengers x Reader Inserts

wild promises | loki

· a/n: this is my first day of fictober (I'm carrying it into November/December, so I have ample of time to write at my leisure and write well) based on the prompt for day one from the official prompt list. not focusing on perfection, just focusing on enjoyment + completion.

PSA: Loki's not being creepy when he looks at you (you'll see when you read), he's admiring you respectively. after all, we fangirls admire him all the time. also, this is young Loki, around or a little before Thor (2011).

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK.

· prompt: "no, come back!"

· warnings: rejection, angsty fluff, a smooch

· word count: 3,386

· music: The Ugly Truth by Aaron Zigman

The early chill of autumn had begun to settle itself into the bones of Asgard's vast kingdom when Loki, second-born prince of the royal family, found himself in the dew-laden meadows that laid tucked into the shadows of the mountains, crowning the green moors of the palace courts. His pale, slender fingers wound around the clustered stems of sweet-smelling wildflowers and fresh fern leaves, snapping them gently at their base. His expression was solemn and as sharp as jagged stone, and had anyone been with him in that hour, they might've assumed him angry. But Loki wasn't angry. He was nervous.

Although the raven-haired prince was ever-careful in how much emotion he allowed himself to display, he couldn't mask the swarm of discomfort swelling within his stomach. Butterflies, the mortals deemed them, a sensation aroused by infatuation and excitement. He had butterflies.

When his arms were full of a wide array of colors and wild scents, he knelt on the rock face at the edge of the meadow, setting his bounty gently on a green ribbon he had brought to bind the bouquet together. He had seen his mother do this a thousand times over when she dried stashes of herbs from her garden to be used for medicine and spells. His mother used dozens of different colored ribbons for each herb type she dried as a method of organizing the plethora of species hanging above her head.

Loki had taken a long strand from one of his mother's rolls of delicate ribbon – the rich emerald green with golden lace bordering its edges – knowing she would not have minded his use of it. When he had arranged them to even out the scheme of colors, he managed to tie the bundle of stems together without crushing them. He then used the dangling remains of the ribbon to make a drooped bow. Satisfied with his handy work, the prince picked up the fresh bouquet and cradled it in the crook of his left arm. He crossed the meadow and passed into the moors toward his home.

When he passed onto the thinned grassy path near the rear courtyards of the western wing of the palace, he found his nerves accelerating with such ferocity that he momentarily forgot how to breathe properly. Every step he drew nearer to your family's home in the upper city, he felt that flittering sensation in his stomach intensify. He could hardly keep track of his own thoughts.

Loki Odinson, the stalwart prince of Asgard, had butterflies because of you.

By the time he crossed into royal gardens, the rich yellow moon of the harvest season had risen far above the horizon and the sun had settled somewhere behind the mountains into the other lands of the realm. He took the quiet passages of the palace to avoid confrontation and any risk of seeing his brother - who would undoubtedly badger him with a dozen ridiculous questions about the flowers in his arms – and soon found himself on the merchant's path that lead directly into the civilian plaza, where your family business sat primly in the market circle.