Only

Loki could still remember the moment he'd laid eyes on her, the moment he'd first gazed into such vivid eyes, the exact fabric of reality that had twisted and writhed beneath the depth of unexplored waters, spiraling out of control until his fate was forever twined with hers.

He could still remember it, and for all the moments tangled and captured in his mind, that memory thrived still within her smile, shining in her grey eyes and weaving between the wind-blown strands of ebony hair fluttering toward him, dark in the heated blood just under the pale, china skin of her cheeks and throbbing alive and whole inside the warm pulse rapidly beating at his fingertips. Loki was Sif's, and Sif was Loki's, and fate had designed it that way from the very start.

Fifteen

She was beautiful in more ways than one, envied in all those that were conceivable, and desired by any whose gaze flitted upon her. That was perhaps why he tried not to look at her for too long, why he sought darkness instead of the bright beacon she had become for him. An unattainable girl in a rotten world, a girl donning perfection and ignorant of its fallacy. She was lovely incarnate, a midnight breeze on the hottest of nights, a vital taste of water underneath the sweltering rays of sun.

She was already gone, fallen into the rift separating him from the rest of the Asgardians, lost to the void that he was too reluctant to leap over.

What New Madness Here

Sif could see it each day, growing and festering within him like some kind of nasty infection, could spot the darkness crawling over him and reaching in to change who he was. She could see it and trace the madness invading his senses, but could do nothing to quell the bleeding such painful jealousy had inflicted upon him. She couldn't help him and she couldn't stop it and Sif felt entirely hopeless, worthless, pointless, and Loki was none the wiser.

She was falling, clawing at the precipice with bloodied nails and weakening fingers, into the abyss he had dug for them both.

Stumbling Upon

The humans liked to call it a "happy accident". Sif was beginning to understand why. It had been a complete mistake that she'd happened upon him in the vicious heat of late summer, curled around himself and leaning against a tree, feebly attempting to read his book in peace while Thor pestered him with yearning visions of some adventure or another. It had been a complete accident that she'd tripped over his outstretched leg, and that Thor had caught her gracelessly as she'd tumbled onto him, Loki's grassy, wide stare transfixed and filled with child-like wonder.

It had been an entirely different matter, however happy, when she'd turned to meet such mesmerizing eyes and taken a slow, cleansing breath.

Lovely

There were many things Loki admired about Sif: her unflinching courage, her devoted loyalty, her unfailing capability to hold grudges, her melodious laughter, her bright smile, her warm palm against the side of his face, her tight and certain embrace, the scent of lavender clinging to her locks. They were all a single and important part of her, and without any one Sif would be made lesser for it.

But in the end, that was impossible, for the warrior maiden could never be anything but exquisite, and Loki made sure to tell her that when she made her way gracefully down the stairs, battle-ready and flushed in her haste, her armor clinking around her lithe frame just as she looked up to him with that secret grin of hers.

Adorable

He had the oddest habit of clinging to her while they slept, side by side with entangled limbs, his chest pressed to the notches of her spin so that she could feel his heart pound nearly in tandem with her own. His body was always so unnaturally cold, but she fought off the chill with the heat of her skin, imagining that she could keep it all in and be selfish for just a moment.

His short, sleepy breaths tickled the nape of her neck and she fought back a smile, accustomed to what a night with the trickster entailed, knowing full well that there would be pillow lines etched into her face the next morning, aware that Loki would wake and grin against the skin between her shoulder blades as he ducked his head down to kiss the soft skin there.

Laughter

It was a gift in times of desolation, and Loki found that he needed it always. He desired it when silence fell upon his ears, and missed it when she turned to walk away, longing for it at all hours and imagining that he could hear it in her absence.

He told her of his habit when at last he could again catch a moment of that familiar fit of chuckles, and he felt the breath from it against the shell of his ear as she wrapped her arms tightly about his neck. He loved the sound, and perhaps it was a symbol of his true affections, but neither voiced the notion flitting past their thoughts.

Based on 15 words given by rodlox over on Tumblr.

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