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A day like many others is coming to its close and you have brought prince Loki his supper as he wishes to dine in privacy this evening. On your way out, you pause to collect his laundry and straighten a few things – you know how particular he can be. Bending to pick up a discarded tunic, you catch a glimpse of movement to your right but a glance proves that it’s nothing more than the reflections in the tall mirror: you, bend over and cloth bundled in your arms; him behind you, a goblet in hand and gaze stuck on your most prominent feature your position considered.

Flushed with embarrassment, you straighten quickly and then nearly drop your armful as you notice something in the reflection. His eyes! Gone is the usual green, swallowed instead by a crimson more intense than rubies.

Startled (scared), you twirl around but now as you look upon him, his eyes are back to normal. Confused, no words come out as you open your mouth to question reality – which perhaps is for the better as you shouldn’t speak out of turn but of course Loki notices.

“Cat got your tongue, little mouse?” he mocks. Then he motions to the dirty clothes. “See that they are returned without a wrinkle.” And with that he returns to the seat by the fire.

...

It happens again a few days later.

Cleaning the chambers, you’ve taken to polishing that very same mirror and as if to mock your memory, Loki enters the room behind you, shamelessly looking you up and down although you can see his actions without needing to turn.

But what can you say? So you continue, rubbing vigorously with your cloth to finish the task quicker...until you reach the spot that holds his face and your eyes lock with his through the reflection.

Red. Red like spilled blood or the roses from the queen’s garden. Gasping, you drop your cloth and turn only to suddenly find him standing much closer than anticipated.

“What seems to be the problem, little mouse?” he smiles coldly, voice nothing but a shivering whisper.

Looking up at him as he towers above you, the odd colour has drained from his eyes, leaving the usual emeralds to mesmerize you.

“Y-your eyes, my prince,” you manage to mutter. He doesn’t move his attention, just smirks and motions for you to go on. “They were...I thought...” But now that you’re to say it out loud, you realize how silly it is. How impossible.

Rather than say anything, he turns you around so you both face the mirror. One hand rests on your shoulder even as he points to his eyes which remain the same forestry hue as you should have expected. Still, you find that you have to release a breath of relief. Briefly, you admire the hand that still holds you steady before lifting your head once more...and freezing.

There it is: the crimson. Ominous and undeniable, both his eyes are drowning in a sea of blood made all the more hellish by his grin that bares teeth akin to fangs. Now both hands are on your shoulders, fingers digging into your joints and making you whimper. And still you can’t tear your eyes away.

“Afraid of what you see, mouse?” he growls.

You are. Or you should be at least. Your heart is galloping and your legs threaten to buckle and bring you to the knees before the prince where you could – NO! Stop it! Unbidden, an image of what you could do for him on your knees has sprung into your mind, making wetness pool between your legs and the air stick in your lungs for a second before you can push the twisted and inexplicable desire aside.

But a second is all Loki needs to perceive that something is up. You can tell by the smirk and raised brow that he knows. Nostrils flaring, he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, his hands glide down your arms before locking your wrists in a punishing grip.

“I smell it, mouse,” he purrs, sending shivers down your spine, “I smell your lust. You cannot hide it from me.”

A part of you doesn’t want to, though. Your body is urging you to give in but you know better than that. Still you don’t object as his hands begin to wander again, feeling your bosom through the drab linen of your dress before moving to cup your ass, caress your waist, pinch your thighs. His hands seem to be everywhere as he circles you, long fingers working your heart into a frenzy.

You don’t know when you’ve moved, but suddenly you find the back of your legs bumping against the ostentatious bed and you struggle to maintain balance both physically and mentally.

“We shouldn’t -” you begin only to be silenced by a searing kiss that seems too intimate for him yet serves its purpose by silencing you. Lost momentarily in the conflicting sensations, it takes a moment before you force yourself from his lips. “Your highness! We can’t!”

Something dark flashes in the crimson pools and he growls with a warning voice: “And who would stop me? You?”

A light push is all it takes for you to topple over, bouncing slightly on the bed before he pins your wrists with a single hand above your head. He’s supporting his weight on a knee by your side, leaving the other hand free to hoist up your skirt, baring your less than glamorous intimates to him. He doesn’t seem to care that the undergarments aren’t made of silk or gossamer, though. He simply purrs with delight and strokes your weeping folds through the fabric.

You don’t know what causes you most shame: to be seen in a state of undress by the prince...or in such a state of need. You know you ought to at least try to resist it and so you begin to wriggle in his grasp if only for a brief second because the movement brings added friction, making your cunt clench around nothing in response.

Repositioning you both properly onto the bed roughly, it’s a relief when he removes his hands but the sensation is short lived as a golden flicker conjures a gleaming dagger and a new fear courses through you.

“Please!” you squeak, afraid of what Loki might do to you.

He scoffs. “Relax, little mouse, this is not for you...well, not directly, anyways.”

He slips the blade down the side of your undergarment and tears back with a flick of the wrist, causing the fabric to split. Of course he repeats the action on the other side but this time you know what he’s about to do and you have time to register the cool whisper of steel against your skin. Dangerous. Tantalizing. Like the prince.

Pulling the loose fabric aside, Loki brushes his nose against your folds, breathing in deeply. His proximity makes you squirm, heat rising to your scalp and causing your heart to up the speed a notch – something you’d have sworn was impossible if you’d had the wherewithal to think that far.

“Lie...still...” the god growls, moving a hand to close loosely around your throat.

Of course you do as he says. A part of you understands that it would be useless to struggle anyways but mostly you don’t want to. You want to know what it’s like to be taken by him and so when his tongue darts out, delving into your slit to lap at the juices, you moan rather than whimper.

“Oooh, my little mouse enjoys the game,” he singsongs, biting into the supple flesh of your inner thighs, “let’s see what else she likes.”

If you’d hoped for more magic wrought by the silver tongue, you’d have been disappointed. Thankfully, you’ll never make the mistake of trying to predict you master’s actions and you manage to stop yourself from wincing when he drags you flush against his crotch, ankles resting on his wide shoulders. You can feel the bulge through the leather and you know that he must be frighteningly well-endowed. At least he’s still dressed, giving you some time to prepare mentally.

His fingers snap and a golden shimmer surrounds him. He was dressed.

Now you can marvel at his creamy skin and the ropy muscles that serve one purpose right now: making him grind against your heat. The long shaft of his erection fits snugly between your folds and he angles his hips in such a manner that the cock head, weeping and purple from the strain, nudges your clit. Each time, it sends a shudder of delight through your core.

As if he can read you – he probably can – Loki presses your legs against your chest with his own body weight and spears you.

He does not grant you time to acclimate or even regain you breath, but sets a punishing pace that makes the whole bed shake. Each thrust hits deep in your core and drags over the sweet spot. You would have cried out in pain and joy if he didn’t clamp down against your windpipe.

“Not a sound, little mouse,” he hisses, making sure to thrust particularly hard.

All you can do is nod. Your hands are scrabbling for purchase but you’re too afraid to touch the prince without his explicit consent and so instead you end up reaching above your head, finding the headrest to push against and stop your body from inching closer to it, instead granting you the ability to meet his movement.

Your body is fighting a losing battle, trying to retain a semblance of control over itself. Your legs are shaking. Lungs burning, your vision starts to blur but just then Loki releases you long enough to cough and breathe in deeply.

It hurts but it feels amazing too, making the tension in your womb build and threaten to spill over. You fight to stay quiet, clamping your hands over your mouth instead in a fool’s attempt to hold back the moans but they slip past anyways.

An annoyed growl escapes Loki as he pulls out, leaving you hollow and throbbing with need. You were so close and now...now you fear you’ve lost it and upset the prince to boot.

“On your hands and knees,” he growls, guiding you around to face him in all his glory.

You know what he wants and your mouth already fills with saliva at the thought but he leaves nothing to chance and instead grabs you by the neck to guide your lips to his cock.

He’s big, far bigger than any other man, and veins and ridges adorn the shaft which in hindsight explains the friction you’d been too fucked out to consider before. Now, however, you get to run your tongue along them before your lips wrap around the crown and you try to take him in.

He tastes of you but you also register a hint of something else that must be his precum. Then his strong hand pushes onto your neck. Slurping and toying with the frenulum with the tip of your tongue, you set to work obediently.

You’re not even close to fully taking him in and you want to use a hand to compensate for the rest, but Loki tuts at you: “No, little mouse...try harder,” and frames your face with both of his hands to angle your face just right before pushing in.

Hitting your gag reflex, he groans in delight as your throat constricts around him and he stills for a moment. Once again, you can’t breathe, not even as you try to through your nose and your hands find the only purchase available: his hips.

He takes to fucking your throat with a fiendish vigour. Tears run down your cheeks, mixing with the spittle as they drip from your chin and onto the silken sheets beneath you and you vaguely realize that you will never be able to see his bed again without thinking of this moment.

You’re whimpering, but the sound stays in your chest, unable to push past his thick cock except in brief bursts when he pulls back. Your jaws ache and yet you want more, so much so that your cunt clenches around thin air. Trying to be discreet because you don’t know how he’d react, you reach between your legs to find the sensitive little nub, rolling it between your fingers.

“I see,” Loki grits out, “but I shall be gracious and allow it. In fact...”

Letting go for a moment, Loki snaps his fingers and your entire body is enveloped in the golden shimmer you are learning to associate with his magic.

It’s as though a dozen hands are touching you. Although invisible, the hands impatiently tears your dress asunder, gaining access to fondle your breasts, tweaking the nipples to the verge of pain, and playing with your clit.

Then, without warning, something is inserted into your core. A deep groan rips through you, causing Loki’s hips to stutter and his balls to tighten and instinctively you cup and tug them, making his breath hitch.

Whatever is filling up your cunt increases its pace and the rubbing of your clit intensifies causing the impending ecstasy to build within you like a bubble ready to burst. You want to call out to him, tell him that you are close but there’s no time and you’re taken over by the roaring luxury of wave after wave of bliss. You entire body seizes, your walls fluttering and your clit throbbing almost painfully as the stimulation continues.

Then Loki cums. Thick ropes shooting into your throat as he slams his pelvis flush against your face, a guttural sound escaping him. For a few moments, he holds still while the magic still works on you, making you whimper and cry.

Eventually, you try to push away, wanting to escape the overstimulation that’s causing the tension to grow inside you again.

“Not so fast, little mouse,” he purrs, partially out of breath.

Though he does pull you off his cock and onto your side, you realize that even now his erection shows no sign of lessening. Swallowing hard, you scramble to get a bit of distance, but he won’t let you, hooking an arm around your thigh instead to keep you in place. His fingers, real fingers, dance through your soaked slit, collecting all they can and smearing it around your other hole and fear grips you once more

“Don’t worry, pet,” he smirks, “I’ll be gentle.”

A single digit plays with the puckered ring before pushing in, adopting the same rhythm as whatever is working your cunt. It feels foreign...but not bad. In fact, it only adds to the build-up in your lower abdomen and you know you’ll be loud if he inserts another finger so you reach for one of the fluffy pillows, burying your face in it.

You can hear him chuckle. “Smart girl.”

And then, as you had predicted, he adds to the intrusion, scissoring and wriggling and pumping until you think you can handle it no longer. You breathe a sigh of relief when the emptiness returns even though you know that it’s a brief respite. Still, tears stream freely into the silk covered pillow.

Invisible hands keep still, simply holding you. Blunt and big, you recognize the insistent pressure against your hole for what it is.

“Too big!” you whimper when it feels like he’s splitting you open.

“Nonsense, my mouse,” he gasps, voice strained.

And indeed: somehow he does manage to fit. This time he pauses (although you’re sure it’s for his own sake rather than yours) before slowly beginning to rock. Slow at first, he eventually finds a rhythm that he probably could keep up for a long time if it wasn’t for the tightness you provide.

You? You’re forgetting how to breathe, finding a new pleasure that you had no idea existed. Your logic tells you to relax, but the adrenaline coursing through your body makes you clench, causing the god to swear.

As if to reward or punish you (you aren’t sure which) the magical stimulation begins anew. Rough, borderline painful. Circles are rubbed onto your clit and the feeling of both holes filled has your squeaking into the pillow but it far from hides the squelching sounds caused by the lewd actions.

Then he ups the pace, thrusting harder and deeper than you thought possible to bear and the dam breaks, flooding you although you never fully had recovered from the first time. You can’t help but scream, muffled as it may be. He rides you through it, prolonging the ecstasy until you beg him to stop and only then does he snap his hips one last time, filling you as he roars.

There’s no tenderness once it’s over. Just a simple dismissal causing you to dress in your ruined clothes, the trace of your sins still sticky between your legs and running down your thighs. But as you stand with the hand on the door handle, he calls to you from the bed:

…

All unpacked, you’ve started to correct the self-created mess in the closet while singing and dancing along to your favourite tunes and not giving a damn about anyone else. Your new work isn’t starting until next morning. Your hips have found a life of their own, accentuating the beats by drawing horizontal figures of eight in the air while your arms work with hanging dresses and shirts on hangers.

You’ve just smoothed out the worst wrinkles of a black little number when you turn around right into the chest of someone. A cold hand grabs your fist before it’s brought into contact with the jaw of the intruder, another blocks the knee that was going for his groin.

“My my…easily scared?” A well-known smile is beaming impishly down at you

Yanking your hand free, you step back to take in the Asgardian as he stands before you. “Loki…” Your heart is hammering in you throat, but you don’t want him to have the satisfaction of knowing he scared you. “What makes you think, you can just come in here?”

“You didn’t answer, still I wished to see who I’ll be inconvenienced by.” Green-blue eyes are sparkling with mischief and ill-disguised curiosity as he takes in the sight of your curves that are badly hidden in tight jeans and a tank-top.

Shoving him slightly, you usher him towards the door. “Well, don’t pull this sort of crap and you can avoid being inconvenienced.”

He’s not even halfway to the door when he stops dead. “As simple as it may seem, I’m not in the mood to leave just yet…” one steps brings him flush against you and you can feel the muscles of his slender body as he pulls you close with an arm around your waist, “we’ll be in each other’s company often, so I want to get to know you better.”

Cool, soft lips graze your jaw and you can hear him inhale the scent of your hair, the skin of your neck. He’d be an attentive lover. It’s not a thought you want rummaging around in your head, and you hate how it already is sending warm shivers to your core. This man, this god, is made for mischief and sex and he knows it. Use the opponents strength against them. His free hand is travelling teasingly down you spine.

Your voice turns into honey, a soft purr adding to the sensuality as you angle your hips towards the tall man. “I take it you always get want you want?”

“Mhmm.” He doesn’t object as you tangle your fingers in his hair, but rather reciprocates by palming your ass greedily.

The second his lips touches the tender spot under your ear, your fingers lock in the black mess and pull his head away. “Get used to disappointments…god.” The harsh, mocking whisper might be what’s really surprising him, even if there probably haven’t been many who have pulled him by the silken locks with those intensions. “Get…out…”

This time he complies, and you manage to keep the strong appearance until you have slammed the door in his face. Then you collapse with your back against it, trying to get your body to let go of the conflicting needs.

…   Weeks pass   …

If you had hoped Loki would have learned his lesson, then you’d be the one to be disappointed, if anything, he seems to have taken it as a personal challenge to win you over.

The first week you’d see him shadowing you when you went about your day. At breakfast, he’d be watching your eat, learning how you wanted your coffee and what sort of cereals and yoghurt you had, and afterwards he’d try to be present during your workout…thankfully Thor or some other Avenger would keep him occupied with different other things somewhere else and the next time you’d find him would be at lunch, when you were clean and ready to cover for the real heroes as they indulged in their own Loki-free plans. Whatever you did in the afternoon, no matter where you went, the pale Asgardian would be nearby. Sometimes he had the dignity to pretend to read a book or write, whatever he had that could be important enough to put on paper, but all too often, he’d just sit and stare at you.

Not even at the academy had you been under such scrutiny. You tried to ignore it, sometimes even succeeding because he’d rarely talk to you and you had no need to indulge his interest save for when it was strictly necessary as a part of your job. Still, you couldn’t help but feel overly self-aware of the smallest thing you did. His turquoise eyes would bore into you, searing through your clothes to learn every single detail, making you feel naked and exposed. You should hate it and you almost did. Almost. Because his leer was not like that of any other brainless playboy. Loki was studying, analyzing, and you could see his intellect at work in the glint of his eyes and the near invisible smiles that would make the corner of his mouth curl.

During the second week the odd flower would be waiting for you at your door or your breakfast would be ready for you if you’d gotten out of bed a bit later. You knew it was Loki, but you could never get him to admit it.

…   Weeks pass   …

“Not bad.” Natasha’s smiling genuinely at your efforts even if she’s just floored you. “I can see why SHIELD’s so proud of you.”

The two of you have taken to spar together on the mornings where there’s time for it. If she’s not available, then sometimes Sam or maybe even Steve is up for adding to the challenge, and it’s with some pride that you can say that you beat the famous Falcon every time.

Pulling you to your feet, the world-famous assassin pats your back. “I don’t feel so bad about leaving you alone with the snake for a few days now.”

“What?” Leaving? “Just you or…?” You fight to keep your voice even. Afterall, you’re not afraid, just surprised.

“Yeah, got a lead and we might need all hands on deck,” the grey eyes are gaging your reaction calmly, “so you’ll be alone with Loki for a bit…is that a problem?”

You still haven’t learned to read the woman, but either way, you wouldn’t want to admit the uncomfortable situation between you and the slender Asgardian. “Nope, just hadn’t heard anything about it before now. It’s cool.”

…

The very same evening, while you’re preparing a simple dinner for yourself in the kitchen, you’re joined by Loki. Of course, even so-called gods eat, and you just nod at him to acknowledge his presence as he begins to rummage around. More than once, he brushes against you even if it doesn’t seem to be strictly necessary. If he does it again…and as if he knows what you had been thinking, nothing more happens.

Sitting down to eat, you watch his hands work with a delicateness that makes your mind wonder what else those longer fingers would be good for. Just they way he handles the knife while cutting the vegetables for a salad is close to being art. Get a grip! Your own sandwich isn’t bad and together with the report you have to make for the past week, you actually manage to distract yourself from the man for a while.

“You look tense, my pet.” Slender fingers are already curling around your shoulders, making his words come true. “Allow me to ease your discomfort.”

A shoulder rub can’t hurt. Sitting straighter, you allow him to find the sore knots between your shoulder blades. “So, this is plan B?” Oh, right there. “When flowers and breakfast doesn’t work…” you stifle a sigh, “you up the game?”

“Oh, but what a game, darling,” the purr makes the air and your resolution tremble, “and it’s one I intend to win.”

His hands are beginning to travel over your shoulders, the fingers already pushing at the bra straps underneath the shirt. Maybe it wouldn’t be a loss for me if I lost. Except you’d risk your job, the respect of other people and your own dignity.

Lifting his hands away, you stand up (only shoving the chair a bit harder into him than strictly necessary). “I’ve warned you…you’ll just end up disappointed.”

The finish the meal in your room that evening.

…

His slender frame is much more impressive undressed that you had expected, and you savour the rippling ropes as they work under his pale skin to hold his body in place above you, to move his hips rhythmically, grinding against your inner thighs to fill you up. Your fingers are digging frantically into his back and shoulders and ass to pull him closer. Sometimes his head dips down to place kisses and gentle bites on your neck, your breasts. Each time making you moan.

The sharp trill of you phone brings you into the reality that is your darkened bedroom. There’s no one there with you, and you are not naked (although booty shorts and a top doesn’t make a big difference). Shifting to reach the mobile phone, you feel a needy throbbing in your core and there’s no doubt that your panties are soaked with the lust from the dream.

…

“Are you alright, dear?” The smug smile on Loki’s face makes you worry that your dream wasn’t as silent as you had hoped. “You are giving that punching bag a severe beating.”

It’s true. If it had been a living being then they’d have tapped out long ago, and you can barely feel your arms or legs due to exhaustion…and still your body is screaming with an unsated need.

“I’m…fine!” The words come out between shar intakes of breath. “Just…needing to…improve.” Sweat is not only glistening on you, it’s running in thin streams and you’re sure you smell bad enough to scare even the most stubborn god away.

You’re wrong. “Allow me to help.”

A green shimmer travels across his body, and suddenly he’s wearing the type of training gear the other guys use. The sweatpants and t-shirt looks strangely foreign on him, but you can’t help but appreciate his wiry muscles and surprising broad chest, and to top it all off his jawline and cheekbones as he pulls the hair together in a sort of ponytail is beyond sublime.

Smiling broadly, he beckons you to the large padded area that’s used for sparring. “I realize you’ve been training hard already, thus I will go easy on you this time.”

There’s no need to answer him. Nothing you can say will change his mind that this is an opportunity to get close to you. I should walk away. Still…just one proper hit would make it worth the torment he’s putting you through.

Standing quietly, you allow him to circle you, so you can get a feel for the way he moves. Light steps, graceful enough to be a dance, and a stance that oozes of confidence. If he ever has lost a fight, it’s not often. The first strike is probing, and you dodge it easily. The second time, he faints towards you chest, only to go for you knees instead, and now you have to keep moving too. I have to finish this in one blow. Next time he lunges at you, you grab the nearest arm as you drop and roll in front of his feet, efficiently tripping him up so he lands flat on his stomach. In a heartbeat you’ve got his wrist pinned between his own shoulder blades and you’re sitting on his lower back.

“Why thank you, Loki,” triumph fills your chest as you lower yourself to hiss into his year, “it was easier to beat you than expected.”

You push off and turn your back to grab your little towel and water bottle, then you leave the room without bothering to look back.

…   Days pass   …

Abandoning your own bed, you’ve settled down on the sofa under the blanket in the hopes of finding something interesting on TV. It’s not the first time that you’ve lied awake, wondering what the point of this assignment really is, and it won’t be the last. This time the insomnia is made worse by a message from Natasha and the team that the mission will take longer than expected.

Loki is being a pain in the ass. Each day he’s challenging you to spar, and if not, then you can be 100% certain that there will be flowers or beautifully, handwritten poems waiting for you by your door, or he’ll cook dinner or breakfast and make a fuss out of getting you the right wine for it. The Asgardian is even trying to engage in conversation, carefully picking subject that he thinks you like…and damnit if it doesn’t work. Talking with him, you’re discovering that he’s even smarter than you expected, but not just book smart. Sure, he’s well read, but it’s more than just that, and he even has a pretty decent sense of humour once you’ve gotten used to the sarcasm. In fact, being around him isn’t really a drag, although you act like it is because you don’t want him to win.

Picking your way through the channels, there’s nothing worth spending your attention on. Instead you turn the TV off and turn onto your back staring at the filtered light from outside that’s making patterns on the ceiling.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been lying there when you hear the sound of soft footsteps. Loki passes by the sofa without noticing that he’s not alone in the room and crosses over to the large bookcase. For a few second you can see his sharp contours in a flickering green light and you realize that he’s only wearing a pair of sweatpants, but the light is gone as sudden as it appeared, and it’s only the sound that helps you deduce that he’s pulled a book from a shelf. The god pads over to the deep windowsill where he often sits and reads. True to habit, he curls up and conjures a green orb that only just shines enough to illuminate his face and the pages of the book. His normally bright eyes are almost completely hidden in the shadows under the dark brows, and his bare chest and arms, which are even better shaped than you wanted to admit, are moving gently with his breaths.

As the minutes drag by, turning into a quarter of an hour and then half an hour, it becomes evident that the man isn’t paying attention to the information on the pages before him. More often than not, his gaze is drawn to the world outside the window and one deep sigh takes the other.

“Damnit!” You manage to stay completely silent when he snaps the book shut, finally giving up on reading. “By Odin’s beard…what am I to do? Nothing works?”

Does he know I’m here? Nothing so far has made you think he realises that he’s not alone, and your suspicion is confirmed as he start to pace the room and mumble to himself. It’s nearly impossible to make out what he says, and you have to fill a lot of gaps before you realize that he’s troubled demeanour is caused by your unrelenting refusal to give in to him. Loki is giving up hope. Then why aren’t I happy? You’re winning, you’ve resisted temptation and managed to defeat him by proving that he can’t just have anything he want. Watching him wander the room, it’s all you can do to stay quiet until he goes back to bed.

…

Everything (including a bouquet of yellow acacia, blue anemones, and white peonies) is ready for your breakfast when you get to the kitchen, and Loki is leaning against the counter, nursing a cup of tea. As you sit, you decide to wait for the Asgardian to talk.

“Miss [Y/N],” he begins hesitantly by the time you’ve had the first spoonful of cereals, “there’s something I ought to confess.”

You place the spoon in the bowl, then flush your mouth with some of the perfectly brewed coffee. “Oh?”

“It seems I underestimated your…your virtue and strength of character.” Loki bows elegantly, making it impossible to read his face, before rushing out of the kitchen.

You should be relieved. Happy. You wanted to prove that you’re not the kind of person to just give in and that’s exactly what you done…as promised to him. So why am I feeling so crappy? Saying “no” to any suiter is a right, and it doesn’t require an explanation or even the slightest inkling of guilt…but then again, this doesn’t feel like guilt per se. Shaking your head, you decide that you just need to shift your focus and then you’ll be fine soon. As soon as you finish your breakfast, you throw yourself headfirst into the many tasks awaiting.

…   A few days pass   …

Accepting the assignment, you knew it wouldn’t be easy to be around the Trickster, God of Mischief and Chaos. You had dreaded the hours you’d spend defusing sensitive situations and cleaning up his messes. Now there is nothing. Like rarely leaves his room and when he does, he’s quiet and perfectly well-behaved the few times he can’t easily avoid being in the same place as you. When he can get away, it feels like ripping off a band-aid and being overly aware of the sudden lack of it. More often than not, you awake with fresh dreams of Loki in your mind.

This is one of those night. Tossing and turning in your sleep to the imagined sensation of his hands exploring every inch of skin, his long and strong body pressed against yours, and the cool kisses peppering you with kisses and soft love bites, until suddenly you gasp awake full of need and sexual frustration. Every thought keeps churning in your brain making it impossible to keep track of where one ends and the next one begins, the kind of mental unrest that you’d either train away or gossip away if you’d had any of your good friends around. If you’d been home, you’d have gotten out the drinks and maybe ice cream and talked through the night or as long as it took to straighten out the messy mind. But you’re on your own and you won’t begin drinking alone. The ice cream, however…that should be doable.

Padding down the dark hall and through the deserted lounge, you reach the kitchen. The faint shimmer of light from the world outside illuminates enough of the room to make it possible to navigate to the freezer where the icy air blasts you from head to toes, making the small hairs stand on end and you nipples pucker in protest. Damn it. There’s only one tiny tub left, limiting the choices to vanilla or nothing at all. Putting it aside on the counter you get out a spoon and rummage around for anything that can work as sauce on the frozen treat, but nothing catches the interest.

You’ve eaten a third, leaning against the counter with your hip while you look out into the night, when you hear a sound. Turning with the spoon halfway to you mouth, you see Loki in the doorway, wearing nothing but the loose pair of sweatpants and the long, black hair. It’s hard to read his face in the darkness, but you could’ve sworn for a second that it was wide-eyed and slightly slack-jawed. A second, because a sudden touch of intense cold lands on your chest, startling you enough to become bewildered until you realize it’s dripping ice cream from the spoon. Any sensible person would have put the spoon back in the mini-tub and found something to wipe the stray food away with…not you. All you can think of all of a sudden is how little clothes you are wearing and that Loki’s watching the creamy droplet as it begins to follow the curve of your breast. It requires a real effort to get your limbs to do what your logic commands, delaying your actions enough that by the time you reach for a paper towel, Loki has thought of the same solution to the problem and you bump into him. He’s cool to the touch, not unlike the ice cream, heightening the sensation of the contact.

Instinctually, you stop. “Oh, I…errr…sorry.” You could’ve kicked yourself for getting so flustered.

He avoids looking directly at you, instead grabbing the piece of paper towel and trying to hand it over, but in your momentary ineptitude you never got so far as to put down the spoon and ice cream, so your hands are full, increasing the burning embarrassment. There you stand, face to face with the one person you promised never to give in to, with your heart racing and your mind filling with images that tempt you to abandon the last strength of will.

“Allow me.” Loki’s voice vibrates with reignited desire even if he tries to hide it.

Bad idea. You nod silently, mesmerized by the gentleness as he wipes the runny streak of dessert away. Beneath the spill your heart is hammering rapidly, as if you’ve been running. Only the absorbent paper touches the skin, not his fingers, but they might as well have, and the simple gesture sends warm sparks through your body before pooling in your core. Finishing the task, Loki looks up from your cleavage and locks his gaze with yours. He knows. A faint smirk ghosts his lips when he steps closer, his left hand cradling your jaw tenderly and triggering a reflex in you to lick your lips with a quick darting of your tongue in anticipation of what might come. The tips of your noses touch lightly.

The short words come out raspy and pleasing. “May I?”

Nodding again, you tilt your head to meet him in a soft kiss. Testing, careful, until one of you (you’re not sure who) part their lips slightly to sneak a feathery lick across the seam of a mouth.

Next minute your hands have been freed of their burdens, and you find yourself backed against a counter. Warm fingers stroke over muscles like polished marble, feeling them working to shift the shoulder blades and pull you closer so your pelvis and lower abdomen rubs against the strained fabric of Loki’s sweat pants. Even through the layers, you can feel he’s well endowed. His attention is everywhere in much the same way as his hands that are exploring your curves through the elastic fabric of the tank top, and his mouth that find the tender spot by the jaw just below the ear or nibbling at your clavicle before tugging at your bottom lip. Adeptly, his fingers circle your nipples, sending a shiver to your core. Another hand is following the hem of the booty short slowly from your ass cheek, around your thigh, and hooking a single fingertip behind the fabric where it dips between your legs.

“So warm and wet,” Loki murmurs against your lips,” but are you sure you want this?”

His exploration stops, although he doesn’t break contact. If it hadn’t been for the night you saw him in the living room, or for the sullen privacy he had built up since he officially gave up on winning you over, then you’d have thought he was playing hard to get. But this man, no, he needs to know for real. Do I? You body is screaming for more, has been begging for his touch for days in blatant disregard of the logical reasons to stay away from him.

“It wouldn’t mean you’d be entitled in any way.” I’ll deal with the mess when it’s there.

Pulling back slightly, he presumably looks you deep in the eyes. “I’d never take you for granted, m’lady.”

There is no doubt Loki has a plan as his one finger brushes over your most intimate part, teasing subdued whimpers from you each time he adds pressure to the clit or slips between the folds. Multitasking, he pulls at your top to gain access to more of your breast, cupping it and pushing it up to lick and bite softly.

“This has to go…” He finds the bottom hem of the top with both hands, slowly dragging it up and marveling at the view when it clears your boobs.

The piece of clothing lands somewhere on the floor, out prioritized by your body and your needs. Maybe Asgardians simply are that much better, or they’ve learned something that no guy on earth has figured out…which ever it is, Loki knows exactly what to do to make you moan and arch against him for friction against you pussy. He lifts you up easily, making sure your legs wrap around his hips and grinding against you though both his and your pants with each step he take to the nearest free table where he lays you down, trailing kiss down your chest and belly. Each time you reach for him, the god lifts your hands away, and eventually you submit to his decision, clinging to the table as goosebumps and desperation travels across your body.

It comes as a shock when the first cold drop lands on your breast, and you’re trying figure out what is going on by the time a larger one, creamy and easy to see in the faraway light from outside, falls onto the other breast’s nipple. Ice cream. You watch in fascination while Loki leaves a trail leading to the edge of the shorts where he stops.

The flat tongue laps up the first, sweet dripple. The other one is sucked off so harshly that you’re sure it’ll leave a mark, mixing pain and pleasure and making you whimper. Finally, he allows you to touch, to tug at the strands of long, black hair. His hands, however, are pulling your last clothes off inch by excruciatingly slow inch in the same pace his mouth works its way down your body, and by the time his lips kiss your mound, the only cover you had left lands on the floor. Kisses and love-bites are peppered on your inner thighs, dancing closer to where you want it, and when Loki finally does indulge…hot and cold mix so well, each flat-tongued stroke making you writhe beneath his hands until he holds you firmly by the hips. Reaching deeper than expected, he enters you with the tongue, curling the tip up as he pulls our and circles your clit. Every time, it adds powder to the growing time bomb of pleasure that’s building inside you, forcing your breathing to be short and ragged. Between gasps for air, you urge him on, wanting more and warning him as you suddenly find yourself teetering on the edge of an orgasm. In one fluid movement he stands up, aligns the cockhead with the entrance to your core, and drives into you slowly. The intrusion and the sheer size of his manhood keeps you from tumbling over for the minutes it takes you to adjust and for him to find a steady rhythm that brings him deep inside, filling you completely. A few thrusts more and your back’s arching, your body shaking, convulsing, with each wave of ecstasy released as you cum.

A strikingly animalist growl joins you half-choked scream of pleasure. “So…tight…” Loki rams into you faster and harder, pushing the table across the floor each time. “So perfect. You…are…so perfect.”

Leaning over you, his mouth finds throat first before homing in on your lips. A thumb plays with your clit, staring a new series of waves that forces him to hold on to you with the other arms as your clenching pussy milks him. A part of you is surprised to feel how hard his hearth is beating when he partially collapses on top of you, another (much bigger) part is loathe to admit that you will be craving more.

“{Y/N], m’lady…” he leaves a sweet kiss on your lips before he straightens and pulls out, leaving you with an empty feeling, “whatever you decide, I will respect it. Just…know that I’m yours to call upon if you so desire.”

Trying to stand on jellified legs, you take his hand. “Then come with me.”

You turn to lead him to which ever of your bedrooms is closest, but you’ve not gone farther than six steps before he picks you up as if you weigh nothing.

But Loki is stubborn. Even as he thrusts up into you, breath catching in his chest, he stays silent with the exception of the breathy gasps.

“Nuhuh,” you purr, “deal was: you don’t move.”

You’re about to lift off of him, finishing his torment but he holds on too tight for you to rise more than half his cock’s length before being stopped. The fatness of his cockhead is nudging right against the most sensitive spot inside you and you can’t hold back a whimper yourself.

“To hells with the rule,” he growls, “I want to hear that sound again.”

Grabbing you by the hips, he yanks you down once more before lifting you. Up and down, muscles rolling in his chest and arms as he uses you while you are unable (and honestly unwilling) to stop it – it’s not like you haven’t been winding yourself up too, teasing Loki.

But you had a plan.

Steeling your jaw, you wrench yourself free of his grasp, rising off his cock that’s glistening with your juices. Twirling your fingers in the air, you conjure invisible bonds that strap him down and hold him in place. True, he could probably overpower your magic with his own but he’s so crazed with desire that he doesn’t think of it.

Sinking slightly on to him again, you relish in the stretch of his tip pushing past your entrance. Your cunt clenches around too little but you can see it’s driving him wild too. Hands on his chest for leverage, the beating of his heart is fast and hard underneath your palms. Loki’s eyes are dark with desire, brows furrowed in twisted pleasure and the need for more.

He’s close to breaking.

“Just say it, love,” you purr, “and you’ll get it.”

You rise higher, the very tip of his cockhead resting at your entrance. Waiting.

“Fuck! Please!”

That’s all he had to say. With a snap of your fingers, his bonds are broken and you sink down, sheathing him fully in the heat of your cunt.

Immediately, Loki rolls the two of you around and presses your legs up onto his shoulders so you find yourself in a mating press.

“Teased me too much, kitten,” he growls.

Snapping his hips, his cock pistons into you repeatedly so deep it almost hurts – but not quite. Moaning at the sensation, your voices mingles with his strained gasps and the obscene squelching of your joining.

He brings you to the edge in no time, having already prepared the path there with the teasing, and as he snakes a hand between your bodies, thumb finding and circling your clit, you topple over with a broken scream. You’re vaguely aware that Loki cums too, hips stuttering and his head thrown back. You don’t see the flicker of pale blue that rushes over his skin in waves because you’re too caught up in your own ecstasy.

He keeps thrusting slowly into you, pushing his seed deeper as much as he forces it out of you, seeping from your crevice and onto the sheets.

Eventually, Loki stills and he seeks out your lips with his mouth, kissing you soft and slow to help ground you. You whimper as he pulls out but the cool of his magic as he cleans you is soothing.

"She’s been sad again," Frida murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, the weight of knowing pressing heavily on her small shoulders. "You think it’s just because you’ve been busy, but it isn’t only that. Yule is... hard for her. It makes her eyes go quiet."

Loki let out a long, quiet sigh, the kind that seemed to pull from the base of his spine. He brushed her hair back with a gentleness he rarely displayed beyond these walls, tucking a stray curl behind her ear with almost reverent care. His voice, when it came, was soft and deep. "I know, little shadow. I feel it too- like something missing that should be here."

"But I have a plan," she said, sitting up straighter, her voice gaining a new brightness, the pride of a plan already forming. "Uncle Thor told me about mistletoe. About the Midgardian tradition. If you stand under it, you get kissed. And Mama doesn’t always know how to ask for what she needs. But she always smiles when you kiss her. So I thought..." She paused dramatically, her eyes sparkling with clever intent. "If it just keeps showing up, she won’t have to ask. And you won’t forget."

Loki blinked at her, stunned for a heartbeat, then laughed, a real laugh, low and warm and full of something ancient and pleased. It curled through the room like firelight, crackling at the edges. He scooped Frida into his arms, hugging her tight and kissing her brow. "My devious, darling little frost flower. You’ve inherited far too much of me- and somehow, even more of your mother."

"Is that a yes?" she asked eagerly, her arms circling his neck.

"That," he said, eyes glittering as illusion magic shimmered between his fingers like frost-dusted ribbons, "is an emphatic, resounding yes. Let the games begin."

~#~#~#~

The first sprig appeared the next morning, hanging innocently in the doorway.

You were walking Loki to the door, still half-asleep and robe-wrapped, mumbling reminders about his council appearance and a scroll he couldn’t forget. He was dressed in deep green, golden pins at his collar, his hair swept back in neat braids. Dignified. Polished. You paused, blinking blearily at the small green sprig tied with a red ribbon now dangling from the doorframe.

"What is that?" you asked, as if it might lunge at you.

Frida popped up beside you, bright-eyed and still in her nightdress. "It’s mistletoe! It’s a Midgardian thing. Uncle Thor told me about it."

You frowned at the greenery. "Mistletoe?"

"You’re supposed to kiss under it," she explained seriously. "If you don’t, it’s bad luck."

You gave it a skeptical look. "Bad luck, huh?"

"Very serious tradition," Frida nodded, crossing her arms.

Behind you, Loki’s voice purred with theatrical gravity. "Indeed. And I would hate for us to begin the day cursed."

You turned to find him smirking, eyes glinting with amusement and anticipation.

"Very ancient tradition," she nodded sagely.

You laughed, shaking your head. "It is not that ancient." The very idea that something from Midgard, of all places, could be considered some ancient and binding tradition was almost comical. Still, the way Frida had said it with such conviction, it was hard not to indulge her. And, in truth, the notion that anything born of Midgard customs could ever happen in this household by accident was laughable at best.

"Still counts," she insisted.

Loki leaned forward with a wicked smirk, tapping his cheek. "Best do as the tradition demands, my love."

You rolled your eyes, but kissed his cheek all the same, your lips lingering longer than you meant them to. He smelled like frost and something spiced, like clove and magic. When you pulled back, Frida had stepped under the mistletoe too, looking up expectantly.

You bent to kiss her brow, warm and sweet. "There. The ritual is complete."

Frida bounced on her toes, eyes bright. "I should go get dressed! We've got an adventure to get to!"

You nodded, still adjusting the collar of your tunic as you readied yourself for the morning. "Don’t forget your scarf."

"I won’t!" she called, already halfway down the corridor. "Meet you in the hall!"

Her footsteps faded, leaving you and Loki alone in the quiet chamber. The moment stretched, soft and unspoken, mistletoe still dangling overhead like a secret watching guardian.

Loki gave the hanging sprig an appraising glance. "Unusual, isn’t it? To find mistletoe in Asgard. I suspect Thor is behind this. He’s always had a flair for the seasonal."

You looked at him then, one brow raised, eyes steady with suspicion. "You're up to something.." 

"Me?" Loki asked, feigning innocence with a hand to his chest. "I assure you, I was the victim of this plot. I merely indulged a harmless tradition."

You hummed, unconvinced, but not displeased. "Mm. Best be on your way before another 'tradition' holds you hostage."

You nudged him with playful insistence toward the doors, laughter warming the space between you as he made a dramatic show of retreating.

"Until later" he said, his grin lingering before he disappeared down the corridor.

You shook your head, still smiling, and turned toward the day ahead, your little chaos cloud surely already plotting the next festive mischief in her room.

~#~#~#~#~

The library had always been your sanctuary; a warm, cedar-scented alcove tucked behind velvet-draped archways. This afternoon, it was unusually still. Outside, the wind stirred the heavy boughs of the trees against the high glass windows, and faint harp music played from a softly glowing music sphere nestled among the shelves in the corner.

You were seated at the low table near the window, papers and tomes scattered around you in a curated storm of study. Your head was propped up by your hand, fingers woven into your hair as your tired eyes traced a page of tightly inked script. Frida remained nearby, wandering the room’s perimeter in loose circles, pulling volumes from the lower shelves with a focused hum. She was carefully assembling her own floor-bound collection, her private curriculum, equal parts curiosity and conviction. Though she had tutors aplenty, you still took a fiercely protective hand in her education, guiding her inquiries with quiet, deliberate care.

A sudden rustle pricked your ears, Frida slipping another hefty tome under her arm, then casting a glance toward you with that telltale twinkle of mischief.  She was already snickering behind the pages of an oversized botanical folio.

Loki’s boots barely made a sound on the thick rug as he arrived, the muffled sound alerted you to his presence. You glanced up with the slow curl of a smile already tugging at your lips.  “Come to spirit your daughter away again?”

“She sent word,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “She insisted I come fetch her myself- said you needed an afternoon alone. Claimed you were at risk of spontaneous combustion if you didn’t get some peace.”

You arched a brow. “Is that what she said?”

Another quiet snicker from your daughter, followed by the soft thump of another book hitting her growing collection, but it was the simmer about your head that drew your eyes upward..just in time to spot the dangling sprig of mistletoe now suspended from a pale ribbon and stick protruding from the near by book case. You blinked at it, surprised and huffed out a laugh as though you’d only now realized you’d been caught in another trap.

Frida tried, poorly, to smother her grin behind the wide spine of her folio. “It’s tradition,” she said innocently.

Loki followed your gaze with a knowing glint, his arms folding loosely across his chest. “She is persistent, I’ll grant her that.”

You leaned back into the cushions, head tilted as your gaze lingered on the little sprig.

"You going to honour tradition?”

With a theatrical sigh and a flash of that unmistakable mischief in his eyes, he bent low. “I suppose I must.”

His lips brushed yours.. It was not a chaste thing, but something slow and tasting of cinnamon and indulgence. His hand came to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb tracing just beneath your jaw. You felt yourself lean into him, chest rising to meet his, the forgotten book slipping from your lap as a quiet tightness in your shoulder slowly began to unwind. It was subtle at first, just a soft undoing of a knot you hadn’t realised you’d been carrying. The ease of it made your breath deepen, the moment stretching longer than it might have otherwise, suspended in a hush that neither of you rushed to break.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes lingered on you, unreadable and deep. “You taste like the hunt,” he said, voice low, almost reverent. “Like the wild places I miss.”

Your smile turned a little uncivilized at that sharp-edged and knowing, delighting Loki further. Then, with a spark of mirth, you gave him a soft push to break the moment, though the warmth of it lingered between you.

“Go. I’m supposed to have a quiet afternoon.”

He chuckled and caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm before backing away. “We’ll try not to get arrested."

As Loki stepped back, he turned and offered his hand to Frida, his fingers extended with mock gallantry. She took it with an exaggerated curtsy, their shared grin a mirror of trouble well-matched.

“I suppose Frida’s the instigator. You’re just the poor accomplice aren't you Prince.”

“Exactly.”

Together, the pair of raven-haired menaces strolled toward the corridor like co-conspirators in a heist, leaving you momentarily to your own devices.

~#~#~#~#~

Dinner with the royal family was a lavish affair as always, filled with glowing lanterns and the scent of roasted meats, spiced vegetables, and honeyed root cakes. The long table stretched across the length of the great hall, decked in silver and evergreen garlands. 

Though the full Yule celebration was still days away, the signs of the season were everywhere; glittering ornaments nestled among the branches, flickering candles in deep red and gold, and intricate paper stars suspended from the ceiling beams. Great bowls of holly and fir lined the sideboards and musicians tucked into alcoves played winter tunes on harp and flute. 

There was a soft murmur of anticipation in the air, a quiet joy that threaded through the evening like the scent of mulled wine. Yule was near, and its presence lingered in every wreath, every flame, every smile.

Frida sat beside you, with Odin and Frigga across the table. The warmth of their conversation formed a comfortable hum around the flickering candlelight. You and Frida had arrived early and she’d insisted on helping the stewards arrange the table, her eager hands tugging at runners and positioning cutlery with ceremonial gravity.

Thor and Loki were the last to arrive. The meal was already well underway when they swept in together, both offering smooth apologies for being detained. You barely had a moment to react before Frida sat up sharply in her seat, eyes alight.

She leaned forward across your side of the table just as Loki reached his chair  and with a triumphant flourish, held a sprig of mistletoe over your head.

The room fell into a sudden hush. All conversation paused as Frida looked squarely at her father, as though daring him to challenge her. She cleared her throat with deliberate exaggeration.

“Rules are rules,” she said, grinning with wicked satisfaction.

Loki didn’t miss a beat. He turned toward you slowly, eyes molten with amusement and something gentler, something deeper…something you felt down to the soles of your feet. Then, as though no one else were present, he leaned over and kissed you.

Not a brush of lips. Not this time.

This kiss was full of quiet heat, drawn out and lingering, his hand briefly grazing your cheek before sliding along your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. His mouth moved with reverence and need, yours restrained only by the awareness of the table around you, yet no less potent for its subtlety. Beneath the candlelight, with the scent of winter spices heavy in the air and your daughter’s satisfied smirk hovering at the edge of your vision, something deep within you stirred.

A want long-neglected, a heat that had been banked in the chill of recent weeks, began to smoulder anew. It didn’t burn yet, but it promised to. The warmth of him stayed with you long after he pulled back, a phantom touch kindling beneath your skin.

Your face flushed, and you cleared your throat while Loki took his seat “You two are absolutely incorrigible.”

Frida beamed, eyes dancing with triumph. “We learned from the best.”

Before anyone else could speak, Thor let out a low, warm chuckle. “I must admit,” he said, glancing between Loki and Frida, “I didn’t expect my niece to be paying quite that much attention to the mistletoe traditions. who knew she was listening when I talk of the mortals and Midgard.”

Frigga, ever regal, reached across the table and gave Odin’s hand a fond squeeze, her eyes glittering with approval. “It’s good to see the old magic alive in new ways,” she said softly.

Odin looked overthe table at his granddaughter with a gruff but amused nod. “Come now, little fox- let me see that sprig you’ve been wielding like a weapon.”

Frida grinned and passed it over with great ceremony. Odin turned it over in his weathered hands, inspecting it with mock seriousness while murmuring something about her clearly being Loki’s child. 

Frida straightened with the importance of someone about to give a speech. "Grandfather," she began, with the clarity of rehearsed pride, "Uncle Thor said that on Midgard, if you catch someone beneath the mistletoe, they must be kissed. It’s part of their winter rituals to encourage love and joy."

Odin’s brow rose ever so slightly as his eye turned to his eldest son. "Is that so?"

Thor shrugged in the way only he could, with great shoulders and minimal effort. “Mortals find it fun. What’s the harm? Let the child know of these things." 

You were about to say something,  when Loki beat you to it. Loki raised his goblet in your direction, his smile unmistakable. “To tradition.” Damn him and that smile. 

You returned the smiled despite yourself, heart still beating a little too fast, the ghost of his kiss still tingling on your lips. You lifted your glass. “To mischief.”

 ~#~#~~#~

Later that evening, after dinner had settled into warm wine and laughter, the three of you lounged across the great velvet-draped couches in the privacy of the family chamber. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting golden light across the soft blues and dark greens of the room, shadows flickering over bookshelves and arcane artefacts glowing faintly under the candlelight. Gold and silver streamers of ribbon hung from the mantle, dotted with pinecones, tiny bells, and glowing charms shaped like stars.

Loki had a book open in one hand, voice steady and low as he read aloud, cadence smooth as silk. Frida had tucked herself under your arm, head resting against your side, her fingers curled in the loose hem of your sleeve. She smelled of apples and snow, her content little sighs syncing with the soft rhythm of Loki’s storytelling.

You watched them both; her rapt expression, his lidded eyes flicking from the page to glance at you in sly intervals. Each look lingered just a little too long and it did something to your chest. A warmth coiled deep in your belly, a dormant ember stoked by the weight of his voice and the intimacy of his presence. Your other hand absentmindedly traced through your daughter’s curls as you sank deeper into the moment, comfort blending with a hunger you hadn’t let yourself feel in weeks.

But peace never lasted long.

You felt it before you saw it; a subtle shimmer of green that caught your eye in the firelight, swaying just above your head. Loki’s fingers, as ever, were artful and precise with his spellwork, even when mischief brewed behind his calm exterior. With a near-invisible flick of his hand, something unseen had settled atop your crown.

Frida, snuggled against your side, failed to suppress her giggle, her shoulders trembling with effort. You lifted a brow and reached up slowly, feeling a faint, scratchy texture brushing your fingers. When you pulled it free and brought it into view, your breath caught slightly.

A small, delicate wreath crafted from mistletoe, dark green ribbon threaded through it like trailing ivy. It was expertly twisted into the shape of a crown, elegant yet mischievous in its implication. Clearly handmade; not conjured, but woven with intention.

You turned your head, fixing your gaze on Loki, who had just then paused in his reading, his voice fading mid-sentence. He feigned ignorance, but the quirk at the corner of his lips betrayed him. That smirk of his, sly and knowing, flickered like the candlelight. So that's what they'd done that afternoon.

Your flat look was slow and deliberate, dragged out for effect. He only raised a brow, feigning further innocence. Then, pointedly, you turned your stare on your daughter.

Frida looked back with wide, watery eyes, blinking up at you far too sweetly.

You weren’t fooled for a moment.

She blinked up at you, all innocence. "It's the tradition," she whispered. "You need all the kisses you can get."

You huffed a breath that could have been a laugh and returned the crown to your head with exaggerated grace, letting it sit like a royal circlet. Then, tilting your head toward her, you smiled and tapped your cheek. "Then perhaps you'd better give me one," you said softly.

Frida beamed and pressed a kiss to your cheek with all the solemn pride of a priestess enacting an ancient rite. You laughed, cradling her face in one hand, your heart warm in your chest.

Then you curved your arm tighter around Frida and let your gaze return to Loki. "Carry on, storyteller," you said, voice teasing.

His grin sharpened and he read on.

The story came to a close with Frida stretching and sighing, murmuring something about washing up. You kissed her temple and sent her on her way. Loki set the book aside, lounging back with a relaxed air, one arm stretched along the back of the couch where you still reclined.

He turned to look at you fully then, his gaze softer now, less playful, more searching.

You shifted toward him. “Thank you,” you said simply.

He tilted his head. “For what?”

“For the mistletoe. For letting her think it was all her idea.”

Loki chuckled. “It was her idea. I merely… indulged her creative efforts. It suited us both.”

You reached for his hand and he caught yours easily, drawing you toward him until your knees touched. The wine was still in your glass, half full, but you ignored it.

He leaned forward, brushing a thumb over your cheek, and kissed you. Gentle at first, the kind of kiss made for shared glances and candlelight; soft and sweet, a reminder of the bond you'd always shared. But then your fingers curled into the front of his clothes and the kiss deepened, your mouth allowing his tongue entry. It shifted, becoming a promise, one that spoke of warmth, of longing, of time to be made up for. Heat bloomed between you, slow and familiar, a spark catching fire with every heartbeat. His hand cupped your jaw, guiding you closer, as if to say thank you- thank you for waiting, for still wanting, for still being his.

The moment, however, shattered at the sound of a loud, theatrical groan.

Frida had returned from washing up and stood in the doorway with a towel slung over her shoulder and the most exaggerated expression, the sentiment shifting hard from aww to ewww after witnessing how things had clearly intensified in her absence.

Loki sighed, pulling back just enough to glance at her with faux formality. His hand moving to your thigh. “You're the one who said your mother needed kisses, I am just holding up my end of the promise.”

You hid your smile behind your hand as Frida frowned. "Those kinds of kisses are for other places."

"And where do you suggest these other places be?" you asked, feigning innocence. But your mind betrayed you with a rush of images; of dark corners, warm sheets, and the cool press of Loki's mouth on skin far from view. He didn’t speak, but the tightening of his grip on your thigh told you he was imagining the same.

“Bedtime,” Loki declared, already rising to his feet. “Come, little shadow. You may be the stars, but your mother is the sky and it is her time now.”

Frida squinted suspiciously at the sudden declaration, her eyes narrowing as she tried to protest. "But I -"

“Whatever it is,” Loki interrupted smoothly, “I shall give it to you tomorrow. Now, you will sleep.”

He crossed the room and swept her up effortlessly, spinning her just enough to turn her pout into a burst of delighted laughter. The fabric of his tunic flared with the motion, and Frida’s giggles echoed down the hallway as he carried her toward the suite she’d claimed as her own.

“Anything?” she asked again, arms looped around his neck, her voice sleep-soft but insistent.

He kissed her brow tenderly. “Anything you demand of me." He promised. Then, setting her gently down at the threshold of her room, he added with a conspiratorial whisper, “Just don’t come out. Swear it.”

“Swear,” she said solemnly, nodding with all the gravity of a princess keeping court taking her book that her father passed her.

“Excellent child.” He kissed her again, lingering for a moment in quiet affection. “Good night.”

He waited until her door was closed, then paused, murmuring a quiet spell under his breath. Soft green wards shimmered along the frame; gentle protections shaped of care, pulsing once before disappearing into the wood.

Then, slowly, he turned, his expression shifting as he made his way back to you; his heart, his sky, the gift still waiting to be unwrapped. 

Loki stepped quietly back into the bedroom, the soft sound of water and your gentle humming guiding him like a thread. His mouth curled into something warm and wolfish as he began stripping off the outer layers of his clothes, folding each piece with deliberate care. First the heavy green-gold tunic, the clasps catching on his hair before he brushed it back with a hand. Then the layered undershirt, its silk sleeves whispering as they slipped from his arms, revealing the pale strength of him in the firelight. Piece by piece, he peeled away the long day until only himself remained; bare, shadowed, and intent.

He came to stand in the doorway of the private bathing room, leaning his shoulder against the frame as he watched you. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too preoccupied with sinking lower into the bath, the rising steam curling around your naked body like a spell. The mistletoe crown still perched on your head made his heart stutter unexpectedly. You looked like something out of an old tale, like one of the Fae queens Frida loved to read about; wild, enchanting, untouchable save for the chosen few.

The bath was aglow with the gentle shimmer of floating candles, their flickering flames mirrored in the ripples of water. Oils of pine, myrrh, and orange blossom clung to the air, scenting the room like an ancient offering. The scent clung to your skin too…he could almost taste it already.

Only once the water was nearly full did he step in to the room, unhurried as he undid the final fastenings at his hips. His fingers moved with the same reverence he might use undoing a spell. He shed his pants in silence, letting them fall to the floor like the last of his defences, his eyes never leaving you. For a long moment, he simply stood there, watching you as though trying to commit the moment to memory, the steam rising around you, the candlelight gilding your collarbones, the wine glass in your hand held loosely, the curve of your lips relaxed in rare peace.

You sank lower into the scented water, tension unwinding in slow, invisible threads. A content sigh spilled from your lips as you lifted the glass to your mouth, savoring the last of it as warmth bloomed deep in your chest. The surface of the water kissed your skin like silk, carrying the day away one heartbeat at a time.

“I believe we might have the evening to ourselves now.”

You looked up, shifting around to the side of the bath, amusement lighting your face, and that familiar flicker of want dancing beneath it as your eyes flicked over him. “Did she put up much of a fight?”

Loki laughed, reaching for the wine glass you had thoughtfully brought him earlier. He downed the last of it in one elegant tilt before setting it aside on the shelf and collecting a towel. “She extracted a vow that may cost me dearly by sunrise.”

“That sounds about right,” you said, lips curving with affection as you watched him approach. You could see it in his posture, relaxed but not without the glint of sharp amusement.

“She’s clever, that one,” he added, “But I’m more willing to bargain than you are, darling. I suspect that gives me an edge.”

You raised an eyebrow at that. “Oh, is that so?”

Loki stepped closer, the towel now resting over his arm, the soft steam from the bath curling around his legs. “Indeed. You draw lines. I, on the other hand, negotiate. She likes that. She knows she can tilt the world a little more when I’m the one holding it.”

You snorted, amused but not entirely disagreeing. “She’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

“She does,” he said, unabashed. Then, with a wry tilt of his mouth, he added, “But I’d argue she’s learned from the best.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. It was true, Frida had inherited your stubborn streak and his charm. She played the both of you like a harp, but only Loki seemed to enjoy being strung up and strummed at quite so freely.

You leaned over to place your glass on the tiled floor. Loki stepped into the bath, the water rippling around his legs as he settled in behind you. You shifted, your back to his chest, his arms sliding around your waist.

He pressed a kiss to the space where your neck and shoulder met, letting his lips linger there as he breathed you in. Your body relaxed instinctively, tilting back into him, the tension in your spine giving way under the warm weight of his presence.

“Did today help?” Loki asked softly, his mouth still close to your skin. “Was Frida right? Was this what you needed?”

You nodded slowly. “Yes,” you murmured, closing your eyes. “More than I realised.”

His hands smoothed along your body, drawing soft circles with soap and fingers alike, slow and reverent. You melted under his touch, and for a time, neither of you said anything. Just quiet sighs and the sound of water shifting.

“Will you tell me,” Loki murmured finally, “what the burden is?”

You hesitated, glancing down at the water. “I… don’t know,” you admitted. “There are too many small things. Like cuts. None deep enough to pull your attention from everything else, but… still there.”

“Nothing,” he said firmly, “is more important than you and Frida.”

Still, you only watched the ripples at your fingertips. “Sometimes I forget I don’t have to carry all of it,” you said. “Habits are hard to break.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how much I missed you,” you replied.

He turned you to face him in the water, cupping your cheek. “We’re here now.”

“We are,” you breathed, tracing the edge of his jaw.

Your foreheads touched. Fingers drifted along each other’s ribs, down shoulders and arms, the kind of touch that wasn’t searching but anchoring.

His hand moved with reverent slowness, dragging fingertips through the water just beside your knee, drawing lazy, swirling patterns like he was writing a poem only the two of you would ever read. The scent of the Yule bath oils and something darkly sweet, it rose like incense as the water shifted around your bodies. You could feel the ripple of heat from where his thigh pressed to yours, his bare skin damp and warm against your own.

Loki leaned in, the steam curling through the strands of his dark hair, making them cling to his neck. He brushed your hair aside, lips finding the sensitive space where your shoulder met your neck. The kiss was unhurried, like he was sealing a promise into your skin. He breathed you in as he lingered there, tasting the salt of your bath, the softness of your skin, and something else…something real. Something needed.  “I will never tire of how you taste,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Like home.”

You sighed, your spine arching just slightly to give him more of you, a silent offering he took with a low hum. His hand slid beneath the surface, wrapping around your waist, grounding you in the heat and stillness. You shifted in his arms, letting your head rest back against his shoulder, the mistletoe crown still slightly askew atop your damp hair.

His lips found yours in the silence, the kiss blooming between you with no warning and no rush, just heat, just hunger, slow and deep and burning. There was no show in it, no flare of seduction. It was molten and needy, born from the place where your hearts had cracked open to each other. His hand rose to cradle the back of your neck as his mouth claimed yours again, firmer this time, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against his chest.

You melted into him. Gave yourself over to the rhythm of it.

You could feel the slow thunder of his heart as he kissed you, could feel the tension building in the way his muscles shifted against you, the way his breath caught as your hand moved up to rest on his thigh.

You could feel him responding. Loki's arousal nestled firm against your backside, hard and undeniable beneath the water as you moved just slightly against him. A gasp caught in your throat, but Loki only exhaled through his nose, one hand splaying across your stomach, the other sliding slowly down your torso beneath the water.

“You’re so soft here,” he murmured against your neck, kissing the place where your shoulder met it, his lips open and reverent as they lingered against your pulse. “Always warm for me.”

You arched a little as his fingers slipped between your thighs beneath the water, teasing, not quite touching where you needed, but close enough to make you ache more. His teeth grazed your skin. His breath was uneven now, whispering against your damp shoulder, stirring goosebumps in his wake.

You swallowed hard, barely able to find words with his fingers circling closer. Your hips shifted, searching, rocking instinctively into the subtle pressure of his hand and he chuckled low in your ear. "Is this what else you need?"

You turned your head then, catching his mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle; deep and burning, your teeth grazing his lower lip as you clung to him. Your arms slid up and around his neck, fingers tangling in his damp hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. The friction of the water as you rocked into his hand sent sparks up your spine, your body chasing every sensation he gave you.

His fingers finally…finally….brushed your clit properly, slow and deliberate now and you gasped into his mouth, hips rolling harder into his touch. He kissed you like he meant to devour you, mouth open and claiming, his breath rough against your lips as his desire pressed insistently against your backside.

"I will give you what you need," Loki murmured against your mouth, voice dark and certain.

You broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, breathless and honest, "You are what I need."

Your breath caught as Loki's fingers resumed their slow, deliberate circles, teasing you with maddening gentleness. Each pass was too light to satisfy, too precise to ignore. He held you steady against his chest, his other arm wrapped around your middle, anchoring you to him, your back flush to his front as the warmth of the bath swirled around your bodies.

He dipped his head to the curve where your neck met your shoulder, pressing a reverent kiss there, then another lower, his lips moving slowly over wet skin as he breathed you in.

“My love-  beloved heart- you are everything,” he murmured in low, the syllables brushing over your skin like a spell.

The sound of his voice, raw and possessive, sent a shiver through you. You exhaled shakily, your eyes fluttering closed as you felt your pulse throb in time with his touch.

He didn’t rush. Instead, Loki worshipped you in movements measured and precise, lips kissing just beneath your ear, hand coaxing your need higher and higher without granting release. His breath was steady, his mouth brushing against the back of your jaw as he kissed his way to your cheek, then found your lips again.

The kiss he gave you was searing; slow and searching at first, then deeper, darker, a claim forged not only in passion but in need. His tongue swept into your mouth, commanding and coaxing in equal measure, tasting you like something he had been denied too long. You moaned into the kiss, helpless against the surge of sensation, your lips parting wider as if to keep him closer, deeper. Every movement of his mouth was purpose-made, designed to unravel you.

Your hips lifted, chasing the rhythm of his fingers with a quiet, aching hunger. You could feel your slickness swirl with the warmth of the water, the teasing friction of his touch dragging you closer to the edge. Beneath you, his cock throbbed, hard and heavy where it nestled between the curve of your ass and the strong line of his thigh. You ground back against him without thinking, your need making you shameless, desperate.

He groaned low in his throat at the contact, the sound dark and possessive, vibrating against your lips. One strong arm banded tighter around your waist, holding you exactly where he wanted you.

“Easy now,” he murmured, voice a velvet command as he slowed the pace of his fingers to a torturous glide. “Breathe for me.”

You tried. Gods…you tried.

But your lungs felt too full of him..

Too full his scent..

Of the heat of his skin…

The water lapping between you, the molten need pooling low in your belly.

You inhaled shakily, only to exhale on a broken whimper as he drew his touch back just enough to keep you quivering on the brink.

His mouth trailed along your temple, his breath warm and steady against your damp skin. Then he found your ear, lips brushing the shell with the faintest, reverent touch.

“I will give you anything you ask for,” he whispered, voice thick with promise and longing. “Trust me, love. You only have to speak it.”

You gasped as his thumb found your clit again with featherlight pressure, the sensation detonating through you. Your whole body jerked with it, thighs tightening, toes curling under the surface of the water.

Your fingers curled in his hair, needing him closer, grounding yourself in the silken strands as your lips found his again. The kiss was messier now, deeper, open-mouthed and panting. Your teeth grazed his lower lip. He moaned into you, his hips rolling instinctively, his cock dragging slow and thick against you.

“Please,” you begged, not even sure what you were asking for. Just more. Him. All of it.

He didn’t answer. Only kissed you again; long and consuming, until your moans were swallowed into him, until you felt like you might come undone just from his mouth and the strength of his hands, his voice, his presence.

His forehead pressed to yours. “Yes?” he breathed, reverent.

“Take me to bed,” you murmured, chest rising and falling, your heart pounding beneath his palm.

His answering smile was molten, eyes burning with purpose.

And the bathwater rippled as he stood, taking you with him.

By the time he lifted you from the bath, your limbs were languid and loose, lips pink from kisses and cheeks warm from heat and wine. You instinctively curled around him, arms looped over his shoulders, legs gripping his waist, feeling the ripple of his magic as it dried the water from your skin with a whisper-soft caress. The warmth of it lingered, as if the bath still clung to you, a memory etched into your pores.

The mistletoe crown slipped sideways on your damp hair, nearly tumbling free. Loki’s hand shot out and caught it before it could fall, holding it between two fingers as though it were the most delicate treasure. You laughed; soft, surprised and he grinned in return, slipping it back onto your head with exaggerated care before leaning in to kiss you, deep and slow, lips warm and tasting faintly of wine. The press of his mouth was grounding, steadying you to him with every pass of his tongue against yours.

Then, with a look that promised more, Loki carried you both from the bathing chamber, his strides long and unhurried, as though parading his prize straight into the heart of indulgence. You felt every step reverberate through your body, every inch of his skin against yours a provocation.

The bed was already turned down, covers of dark green velvet and snow-white linen pulled back as if in invitation. Loki carried you there, setting you gently upon the mattress before joining you, the mistletoe crown now hanging loosely from his fingers. His eyes roamed over your body like a man starving, devouring you in slow reverence.

With a small smile, Loki leaned forward,  gently looped the ribbon through the carved post on your side of the bed, tying it there with an elegant knot. It hung safely within reach, a quiet symbol of the day’s mischief and meaning. Your fingers reached up instinctively to brush against it, reverent and thoughtful. It felt an enchantment sealing the moment into memory.

Loki knelt at the edge of the bed, his hands sliding up your calves, tracing the shape of you slowly. His lips followed the same path, soft kisses trailing from your ankle to your inner thigh, pausing to breathe you in.

"Like silk," he murmured, voice low, his breath teasing your skin. He looked up, eyes dark with desire, and pressed another kiss higher still, making you tremble, your core tightening in anticipation.

"Do you know how maddeningly beautiful you are like this?" he asked, voice low and reverent, as though confessing a truth he'd kept locked away for centuries.

He rose slowly, his body unfolding like a shadow coming to life, the lean lines of his form casting a silhouette against the flickering candlelight. His hands never left your skin, mapping the curve of your thighs with palms that were both commanding and tender, reverent in their exploration.

You reached for him instinctively, but he caught your wrist and pressed a kiss to your palm. "Patience, my heart," he said, guiding your hand back to the bed. When he settled between your legs, the heat of him radiated against your core, a promise unspoken yet felt in every fiber. You parted your thighs, inviting him closer, your body remembering his shape as surely as your heart remembered his laughter, his comfort, his chaos.

Loki's mouth found the swell of your breast, lips parting to draw your nipple into the wet heat of his mouth.

 "Gods, the taste of you," he groaned, voice muffled against your skin. He sucked gently at first, tongue flicking over the peak until it hardened under his attention, then grazed it with his teeth, a sharp, delicious sting that made you arch into him, gasping his name.

You whimpered as his hand cupped your other breast, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger, pinching just enough to send sparks racing down your spine. He knew exactly how to undo you.

"Loki- please," you breathed, your voice trembling as your fingers threaded through his dark hair, holding him there while you shifted beneath him, rubbing against him, feeling his hard length slide along your folds without entering, teasing the slick entrance of you. A low sound escaped you, desperate and aching. "Please."

"Say it again," he whispered, lips brushing your sternum as he moved lower. "Let me hear it."

"Please... don't stop."

He chuckled softly. "Oh, my love. I have no intention of stopping tonight."

You gasped as he pressed against your sex. You clung to him, fingers digging into his shoulders, your body greedy for every inch he hadn't given you, every piece of him that still felt withheld. Him just held flat long that seam.

“Look at me,” he whispered against your lips, his voice roughened by restraint and reverence.

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze. The heat there wasn’t just lust, it was longing, adoration, the ache of a thousand unspoken promises made flesh. "There you are," he murmured, brushing your cheek with the back of his fingers, tender amidst the tension.

His hand slipped between your bodies, fingers moving himself to play through wet folds, tips circling your clit with deliberate slowness. The touch was feather-light at first, tracing the swollen bud, making your hips buck upward in search of more, your breath catching in your throat.

Loki chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that rumbled from his chest, and pressed his thumb firmer against your clit, rubbing in slow, tight circles. Pleasure bloomed hot and fierce, radiating outward as your pussy clenched around nothing, aching for him. He watched your face, drinking in every gasp, every flutter of your lashes, his free hand stroking your hip in soothing arcs, grounding you even as he unraveled you.

"That’s it," he breathed, leaning down to brush his lips against yours, not quite a kiss but a shared breath. "Let me feel you unravel. Let me feel what only I get to feel."

You reached for him, nails scraping lightly down his thighs, urging him closer. His cock nudged at your entrance now, the broad head keeping your lower lips parted. He didn't thrust in…not yet…but rocked his hips forward, letting the tip slide along your clit with each pass of his fingers. The dual sensation made you whimper, your body writhing beneath him. Loki groaned, the sound guttural, his control fraying at the edges as he ground against you, his shaft gliding through your wetness, coating himself in your desire.

His hips rolled again, deeper this time, as if coaxing your soul to stay right there with him. "Let me see all of you, every flicker, every shiver. You’re mine tonight. All of you. Always."

"Touch me," he urged, voice husky leaning forward. Your fingers wrapped around his length, stroking from base to tip, feeling the vein pulse under your palm, the skin velvet over steel. "I am yours, to do with as you will. There’s never been anyone else who could make me feel this way- never will be."

His cock nudged at your entrance again, slick now with your arousal. Your breath caught, shaking, wanting. The sensation of him there, right there, almost inside you but not yet giving, made your whole body tense with anticipation.

Your thighs quivered, your pulse thrumming in your ears and the need to be filled by him..to have that connection, that completeness, became unbearable.

"I need you," you whispered, barely more than a breath, the words tumbling from your lips like a sacred vow. "I need to feel you. Always you."

His gaze snapped up, eyes blown wide with desire and something deeper..something that burned just as fiercely as the ache in your chest. His hand cradled your face, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone as if you were the most precious thing in all the realms.

"Take it away," you murmured, voice trembling, hand splaying over your heart. "The ache. The empty space ... I’m not… I’m not whole without you.."

Loki expression shifted, softening with affection, sharpening with want. "Then let me remind you," he said, his voice low, husky. "Let me make you whole again."

You tilted your hips toward him, toward that wanting core, the place that pulsed for him alone. That aching emptiness he had always known how to fill. The place where your souls met. You reached down, fingers trembling, and guided him there, aligning him with that molten ache that cried out only for him.

His face softened with reverence, his fingers stilling where they circled your clit. "Then let me make you whole, beloved," he said gently, his voice catching. "Let me give you crave My body. My devotion. My eternity."

He pressed in slowly, guided by you, inch by inch, the stretch filling you completely, your walls gripping him like a vice. You gasped, back arching, as your body opened for him, every nerve alive with the ache of being made full.

“Gods, yes,” you breathed, voice trembling. “You feel like… everything.”

Loki’s brow pressed to yours, a low moan vibrating from his chest. “You are everything,” he whispered. “Every breath I’ve ever taken was for this- for you.”

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as your legs wrapped tighter around his waist. “There’s never been anyone else who’s known me like this,” you murmured. “Never been anyone else who could make me feel like this.”

“There never will be,” Loki growled softly, voice thick with reverence and hunger.

His hips began to move, slow and deep, each thrust a worshipful offering. The slide of him within you was maddeningly perfect, every stroke dragging across the places that only he knew how to reach. Your body responded instantly; slick, eager, greedy for more.

“You fill me like you were carved just for me,” you gasped.

Loki’s lips found yours in a kiss that stole your breath, hungry, possessive, sweet. “Say it again,” he begged, rocking into you. “Tell me.”

“You’re the only one,” you whispered between kisses. “I’ll never want anyone else.”

A shudder ran through him, and he buried his face in your neck, his thrusts quickening, hips driving harder now as need overtook him. “Mine,” he groaned, biting down lightly against your pulse. “Only mine.”

Your fingers clawed down his back, your voice breaking on a whimper. “Yours. Always.”

He pulled back to look at you then, and what you saw in his eyes stole the air from your lungs- fierce devotion, unrelenting need, and something softer… something eternal.

“This- us- it’s the only truth that’s ever mattered,” he said hoarsely. “No matter how far from me you go, no realm, no eternity I would choose over this. Over you.”

“I don’t want eternity,” you breathed. “I just want you. want us.”

Loki’s mouth crushed yours with a kiss that melted the world away, and his movements became raw, relentless. Every thrust echoed with a need older than memory. The tension inside you coiled, tight and trembling, as your body built toward the breaking point.

“I want to come with you,” you panted, desperate and aching. “Please, Loki- don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop- ”

His hand found yours, fingers lacing together tightly, anchoring your joined hands above your head as he drove into you with a rhythm that was both reverent and relentless. Each stroke sent shockwaves of pleasure through you, the stretch of him inside igniting every nerve. “I’ve got you,” he growled, voice raw and low, his lips brushing your cheek, your temple, your throat. “Come for me, my love. Let go for me. Come with me.”

Your climax ripped through you like lightning, your back arching violently off the bed as the orgasm seized every inch of your body. A silent scream wrenched from your lips, your walls clamping around him with desperate intensity. The pleasure fractured through you in waves, and Loki followed with a hoarse, guttural cry of your name, burying himself to the hilt, his hips pressed flush against yours as he spilled into you, warmth spreading deep as his body shuddered in your embrace.

He stayed there, pressed against you, forehead against yours, breath mixing with yours, both of you trembling in the aftermath, a perfect, breathless stillness where nothing existed but the fierce, burning bond between you.

“I love you,” he whispered, over and over, like a prayer. “There’s never been anyone but you. Do not doubt that." 

Your eyes filled with tears as you kissed him back, holding him tighter.

“I don't.”

He stayed there, buried deep and breathless, murmuring your name like a benediction. And for a long while, the only sound was your mingled breathing, your hearts thudding in rhythm. Tethered. Tangled. Alive.

The room was quiet now, save for the gentle crackle of the hearth and the steady rhythm of your joined breaths. The scent of the candles, myrrh, and lingering warmth, it hung in the air like an enchantment. Loki lay beside you, half-covered by the plush folds of the fur blanket, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, fingertips tracing idle, thoughtful patterns against your skin.

A whimper escaped you as he gently pulled out, a low groan rumbling from his chest at the loss of connection. The stretch, the fullness, the heat, it left your body trembling, both of you oversensitive, nerves raw and singing. But he was quick to move, to wrap you up in his arms and draw you close, as if shielding you from the sudden cold. His palm pressed between your shoulder blades, pulling you against his chest, your cheek resting over his heart. That steady thrum was your anchor as you breathed together, foreheads pressed close, the aftershocks of pleasure still humming through your bones.

He didn’t speak yet. Just held you, held all of you, like he knew how much you needed not to be let go.

You sighed into the space between you, the kind of exhale that tasted of contentment and the slow easing of old, buried tension. Loki tilted his head toward you, his nose brushing your cheek before he pressed a kiss just beneath your eye.

“Tell me,” he murmured, voice low, “If I asked... would you wear the crown to the feast tomorrow?”

Your lips curved against his chest.

“Of course I would.” There wasn’t a hesitation from you. “Without question.”

He shifted slightly to look at you, delight blooming in his expression like spring come early. “Then I shall have the pleasure of kissing you senseless in front of the entire realm.”

You laughed, soft and fond. “Frida might tire of the game- even though she started it.”

Loki grinned, unbothered. “Then I shall make her a crown of her own. She can have all the kisses she desires too.”

“As long as they’re from Papa, she wont mind." You pointed out. combing back Loki raven hair 

“Oh, I’m quite sure she’d snarl at anyone else who tried.”  He chuckled low. You smirked “I think she’d even snarl at the All-Father if he pushed her too far.”

“She’s got your fire.” Loki kissed your forehead, his hand found yours under the blankets, fingers lacing with yours gently.

The silence that followed was golden. Not empty, but full, with understanding, with promises, with the slow, sweet drift of a moment neither of you needed to rush through. The bed creaked slightly as he shifted closer, pulling you flush against him, skin to skin, heart to heart.

You pressed your forehead to his, your voice barely more than a whisper. “You and Frida… you anchor me to this life. You’re my gifts. I’m so thankful for both of you.”

Then you kissed him; slow, sure, grateful for being yours. For giving you Frida.