The floors were covered in an assortment of frills and sequins.
No matter what you wore, something cinched wrong, was too loose in certain places, or was just plain too small. You haven’t gone to a charity gala in years, and perhaps the last few years of comfort in your marriage have left you with a few more pounds. Your hips have softened, your waist has grown a little wider, and your thighs jiggled as you slipped into your next dress. You had been married to Loki for the past five years, and throughout those years, you had felt more happy and confident about your figure, but the scrutinizing glares of senior commanders who hadn’t seen you in years opened up a new world of insecurity. The black silk glimmered in the lamplight, revealing the round imprint of your stomach and the rolls on your waist. It stretched around your thighs, and the side slit practically gaped around the black tights covering your legs. The dress ended at your calves, and the spaghetti straps dug into your soft back and shoulders.
You thought the dress was beautiful, but as the tears ran down your cheeks, you knew it just wasn’t something cut out for your figure. Quickly, you moved to paw at your cheeks, enough to fix the smudged eyeliner and blush on your face. You turned quickly to your phone, getting ready to call the sponsor and make up a quick lie about being sick, before the worst imaginable thing happened.
“Y/N, have you seen my good cufflinks?”
Turning around, you looked like a deer in headlights, your eyes practically cartoonish as you came face to face with your husband. He looked on in shock for a brief second before immediately leaning his arm against the wooden door frame and breaking into a giddy smile.
“Don’t you look pretty?”
That was all it took for the floodgates to burst. Tears ran down your face as your shoulders began to shake. Loki immediately ran toward you, his dress shoes swiping against the hardwood floor. His long arms snatched you up and held you tightly; his cheek curled into your neck. Cool hands ran up your back, stopping right at your shoulders, before he peeled back and looked at you.
“I’m sorry I ruined my makeup, it’ll take us a little longer to get there now.”
Slowly, you calmed down from your teary-eyed state, your fingers fumbling with the red cream blush in your hands. The pale palms of your lover quickly stretched out to ask for the blush. You looked up at him quizzically.
“Let me fix it up, I’ll be quick.”
He pressed the plastic applicator on to the tip of a blunt blush brush he picked up from the vanity mirror table. He gently dabbed the brush to the apples of both your cheeks, spreading and blending the product out on your cheekbones. He went in with the open eyeliner next, placing it over the messed-up mascara and fixing it slightly.
“There we are, look at you, gorgeous.”
You gazed into the vanity mirror, and you knew he was right. A bright smile appeared on your face.
“I look pretty.”
“You are pretty.”
Turning around to stare back into your husband’s warm eyes, you felt his hand trace down your arm and envelop your hand.
Everything was going to be alright.