Loki X Reader || Girl With The Gold Earring

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Y/N had expected sketching her lover to be erotic---humid palms clutching charcoal sticks, and fleeting grins peeking over sketchpads---but in actual fact her smirk had cooled into a focused frown after ten minutes of trying to get the line of Loki's widow's peak just right.

She had thought he would make it difficult for her—his earlier banter making it seem like he'd spend the entire time teasing her with lewd poses—

But as soon as Y/N had touched the charcoal to the page, he'd removed his playful expression and settled down with uncharacteristic obedience, holding still so she can capture his likeness.

Y/N understands why; during the lonely nights in the servant's quarters, she had also longed for a picture of her and her prince together; something she could gaze at forlornly like a romantic woman in a sad poem. 

Instead, to ease the loneliness, all she had to retreat to were memories—and they have an awful habit of fading at the edges.

This picture, though, can be folded up carefully and tucked into a wallet. Or pinned above a bed, or propped on a nightstand. 

Hung above the mantel in a house they'll grow old in.

Y/N wonders why they hadn't thought of this before.

"Could you turn your head a bit?" Carefully, she drags the nub of the charcoal in a smooth curve, giving her drawing-Loki an ear. "Thank you."

It's come out rather well, she thinks.

"You better not be sketching me as a vampire," Loki warns, and Y/N's lip twitches.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

His eyebrow raises a fraction. Flatly:

"You have before. Many times."

She shakes her head. "Well, I promise this time I'm not."

For a little while, the only sound is the whisper of charcoal agaisnt parchment and, further down the boat, the distant scratching of Aasta scouring cheese sauce stains from crockery. 

A smile graces Y/N's mouth as she remembers something. "So," she begins, not looking up from the page. She's filling in the dark coils of hair falling about Loki's shoulders. She doesn't need to bother shading them; they swallow light like the night. "All those months ago, when you'd go for your morning walks, you were just trying to work up the courage to talk to me?"

Y/N can see Loki's smile over the edge of the sketchbook; the bashfulness he tries to cover with a smooth shrug.

"I didn't know what to say to you."

"You're a prince; you could've said anything."

He shakes his head, carefully. "I didn't know what to say because I'm a prince. What would I have opened with? 'Come inside, have some breakfast, I'll tell the help to finish that'? You were the help."

Y/N laughs through her nose, sending a few powdery charcoal flecks scattering. Wetting a finger, she dabs up as many as she can from the duvet.

"Either way, I didn't think you'd want anything to do with someone as spoiled and useless as me," Loki confesses from his throne of pillows. "You're a self-made, hardworking woman. You'd want a big burly blacksmith, or a carpenter who could build you a house with his own two hands." A smug grin ghosts his face. "How was I supposed to know you actually prefer lanky, artsy hermits?"

"Lanky artsy hermits with wonderful hair," Y/N corrects, and it makes Loki chuckle. She captures the curve of it quickly, adding a few little smile lines to her sketch.