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lokisgoodgirl · 9 months

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Comfort & Joy: The Lakes [Loki x Reader]

The Lakes Masterlist / Regular Masterlist Summary: (9) Roll up, roll up for the Stark Christmas Jamboree. Where candied nuts and cunning plans both come with an extra sprinkling of festive sweetness. (w/c 7.8k) Warnings: Minors DNI. Usual Lakes fare. Humour, Asgardian lore, fluff, all the feels. Smut references. A/N: This is the final final edition of The Lakes.

“Remind me, what named day is this in your charming yuletide festivities?” Loki inquired as you stepped out the revolving door of the Tower.

Charming. You smiled.

Last year it would have been any number of synonyms for stupid. You could hear them, see his lips curling the words from memory. Gratuitous. Senseless. Superfluent. Foolish.

But that was your problem, you recognised, not his.

“I don’t think it has one officially,” you shivered, nestling your chin deeper into the scarf. Fuck, it was cold today. “But I call it Christmas Eve, Eve.”

You sighed, watching crowds of the general populous making their way in shuffling merriment towards the Christmas market. No, not market. Festive Jamboree.

Tony had taken it upon himself to create a mini-wonderland right outside the Tower for one day only, all proceeds to the local children’s hospital.

A ferris wheel rose at the end of the cordoned street, every carriage packed. The smell of hot-dogs and caramelised almonds filled the air, old-time speakers tied to high lamps blaring Andy Williams at a volume that couldn’t be code compliant. “Lighten up, darling” Loki chirped as a gloved hand laced with your own. You turned to him, forcing a smile through the nerves. He looked phenomenal. A high collared coat of darkest green framed his cheekbones, pink tipped in the sudden chill. The one you’d seen in the window. You couldn’t resist. But when it came to Loki, what else was new?

He’d popped the collar, loose strands of onyx hair tumbling over the thick of his scarf. The one you’d bought him, of course.

Against the pale of his skin, dark brows peaked above a lowered fan of lashes while his gaze lingered on your intertwined digits. He raised the back of your hand to his lips, kissing it firmly.

“This will be fun,” he murmured against your glove with a knowing glint. “Have you planned...something?” you laughed. “Other than the thing.”

The nerves were fading, finally. He pressed his free hand against his chest in mock-hurt. “You wound me with your suspicions, madam” he purred, playful insolence thick in his tone. He sniffed, raising his chin. “I am merely imbibed with the spirit of the season.” Mid-giggle, your whole body rocked forwards as two hands shook your shoulders from behind. “Merry Christmas Eve Eve, sister!” Thor boomed in your ear. There was ringing. Thor looked good. He smelled good. And blessedly for now at least, there were no crumbs in his beard. “And to you, brother” Loki said, smile widening.

Thor tilted his head, regarding Loki’s jovial demeanour with suspicion. “And to you, brother-” he rumbled. His interest was piqued. “What has my Sponge of a sibling in such a buoyant mood this fine December day?” “It’s Scrooge,” you corrected, grinning. Thor grinned back as all eyes fell on your lover.

Loki gaped, darting his gaze between you both.

“Scrooge?!” he scoffed incredulously. “In past years, perhaps. Yet despite your attempt to churl me, I shall take it as a compliment,” Loki said, squeezing your hand, “for I too was visited by three spirits and thus...changed forever.” Thor frowned, “spirits, says you?” “Yes, brother. Yourself, Rogers, and the spectre of that ghastly reclining chair.”

Thor chuckled, before being distracted by something deeper within the crowd. Or someone. He cleared his throat. “I must to the candied nuts, brother” he muttered formally.

Out the corner of your eye, you saw Rogers tip the nuts-vendor a quick salute as he nestled a fresh bag in his hand like a hamster. Heat steamed from the opening, wafting through frosty air. “Oh yes brother,” Loki drawled with equal gravitas. “The nuts will not eat themselves.” Thor squinted as a restrained smirk danced at Loki’s dimples. “Indeed,” the blonde replied, clearing his throat. “I shall see you at the bandstand anon.” And with a curt nod to you, he waddled hands in his pockets through the throng. You watched him go as Loki’s warm breath seeped down your neck, his mouth fastening to your pulse-point with a happy hum of pleasure. “You’re naughty,” you chided playfully. Loki nodded against your neck, the vibration of his agreement making you fizz. “And I have the knitwear to prove it,” he whispered. As you made your way through the crowd, Loki’s hand never left yours.

The two of you together were a familiar sight in Manhattan, and Avenger-fans on the whole had been beside themselves at news of your reunion. Confirmations had been slow. At you and Loki’s insistence, there had been no official statement. But the public had cottoned on eventually, with the help of the press.

Fans waited politely for pictures, nervously pulling at gloves and activating their cameras while you and Loki smiled and chatted. It was night and day from the way things used to be, while you stood on the sidelines amid a sea of bodies whipped into a frenzy by the god of mischief’s theatrical adulation.

Every so often, Loki would nuzzle your cheek; checking in. You’d squeeze his hand. One for all good, two for let’s go. You didn’t need that second squeeze today.

“With regret, we must depart for the afternoon’s questionable entertainment,” Loki announced. There was a chorus of disappointment, but he patted down the air.

“Please, join us-” he smiled to the crowd gathered around you, extending an arm towards the bandstand not thirty meters away. “Your participation will be most appreciated to drown out the subpar efforts of all of us. Truly, you will never look at us the same way, I guarantee it.” Despite having been erected overnight, the bandstand in the centre of the wonderland wouldn’t look out of place in Victorian England. Thin wrought iron pillars stretched upwards, twisting to an ornate canopy adorned with Christmas lights. Garlands wound up the pillars, twinkling sporadically. It was only 3pm, but the gathering darkness made them shine. A modest band of brass and strings had gathered beneath the canopy, instrument tune-ups peppering the chilly air.

And in front of it, in a semi-circle, microphones.

Steve stood to the side, handing booklets to a line of anxious looking avengers. Bucky, Wanda, Sam, Natas-

“I cannot believe we have to do this,” Bucky muttered ruefully as he threw his coat in the assigned box. “I can’t believe it. I actually can’t? Someone, fight me. Knock me out.” “We’re all in the same boat, Buck” Natasha lamented. She pulled at the baggy jumper hanging around her hips. Bucky looked down at his chest, pleading eyes meeting her stoic stare. “Fight me, Romanoff. Please.” “Don’t tempt me,” Natasha replied. Their jumpers were matching. Red, thick wool hiding any hint of the lithe muscle beneath. And stitched on them in winding, white-knitted lettering? Nice.

Your chest shook with the effort of holding in giggles. Even knowing what was coming, it hadn’t prepared you for the reality.

Looking around, you clocked each of your teammates in turn. Stark’s logic was thus – Avengers with a ‘harder’ reputation? Nice jumpers. And for those reputed to be on the softer side?-

“You’re wearing the wrong gosh-darn sweater, Laufeyson!” Steve hissed over your shoulder.

Both of you spun to face him. Steve’s arms were folded over the green version of the standard knit, the word Naughty emblazoned on his chest in white bobbling letters. Your shoulders were shaking now, too. “Don’t act like you're surprised, Rogers” Loki drawled. His coat hung off one long finger, before disappearing in a flash of seidr. “The public will not be fooled by Stark’s futile attempt at psychological subterfuge. I am simply getting ahead of the inevitable Tumblr edits.”

Steve’s chin snapped towards you. “Did you know about this?” he piped, flustered. You raised your eyebrows guiltily, making Steve’s hands fly in the air. “Perfect. Just heckin’ perfect. Why I outta-” “What seems to be the problem?” Thor’s voice boomed from behind. The words were accompanied by crunching, flecks of almond littering his green jumper like snow. You and Loki parted, making a four-square shoulder to shoulder and shuffling further towards safety from prying ears. “Laufeyson’s taken it upon himself to go against the agreed sweater-allocation and wear a Naughty, that’s what-” Steve bubbled bitterly.

Crimson had begun to creep up his cheekbones. A vein in his neck throbbed. Thor threw his head back with an almighty roar of laughter. Several almonds bounced from the bag in his hand from the force.

“Come now, Rogers ” he managed through gasps of mirth. “What did you expect? Tis just a silly rule, who cares?” He tossed an almond in the air, attempting to catch it in his mouth. It ricocheted off his eye. As Thor began blinking, Steve raised the clipboard in his hand. He tapped it violently. “I’m in charge of project managing this,” he hissed. “Laufeyson – change back to Nice.”

“Shan’t.” Loki quipped. Steve flushed deeper. “Laufeyson,” he warned. “Actually,” Loki started, enjoying the hushed tension. “I think you’ll find I am rather nice. You saw to that. So in truth, my sweater is fitting for this farce.” Steve’s eye began to twitch.

There was silence.

“Look at us, we’re like a little team," you offered, pointing to each of your green jumpers in turn. “Like the old days.”

Thor chuckled agreement as Loki and Steve stared each other down, a smile playing on Loki’s mouth that was irrevocably absent from the Captain’s. All four of you, it seemed, wore the Naughty uniform today. “In your case, as in mine, our knitwear reflects our essence perfectly my darling” Loki purred to you while his eyes narrowed towards a now vibrating super-soldier. “My naughty...naughty girl.” Steve sighed, hanging his head in resignation. “I told Tony this was a pooper of an idea,” he lamented. “It’s a disaster and it’s not even started.”

Thor’s hand clapped the captain’s shoulder in sympathy, lingering in a squeeze. Steve looked up at him, their eyes meeting.

The blonde god’s gaze widened slightly. You saw his fingers clench as his hand froze. In moments, he raised it; fluffing back his hair before sliding the hand into the pocket of his jeans.

“It’s only one sweater, Rogers” he muttered nervously. “Who cares?” Steve’s face fell, eyes darting to Thor’s crotch with a frown before rising back to his face. “I expected better of you, Odinson” was all he said before turning away.

Loki let out an exasperated sigh, elbowing his brother in the ribs. But Thor didn’t even flinch. His features had crumpled, spinning slowly as he watched the captain leave. His nuts? Forgotten.

But Steve didn’t see it. He was already making his way to the cluster of anxious looking Avengers huddled by the bandstand, examining carol music like they were Hydra files. “That could have gone better,” you whispered to Loki. The god frowned. His attempt to provoke his brother into siding with Rogers had not borne fruit. “Fear not,” Loki replied mysteriously as Thor produced a chicken drumstick from his jeans pocket. He tore off a chunk with a thousand-yard stare. Loki watched him in disbelief, continuing slowly. “There is still time to salvage this operation from the wreckage of my brother’s obstinance.” You gaze flitted between your team-mates. Bucky – Nice. Natasha- Nice. Clint – Naughty. Bruce – Naughty. Wanda – Nice. Sam – Naughty. Scott – Nice. Out the corner of your eye, you saw Loki swipe the half-ravaged chicken drumstick from Thor’s hold with hushed reprimand.

“What’s the big man wearing, I wonder?” you asked no one in particular. Loki snorted, “what else?” he said, nudging his head towards the Santa podium. There he was, Father Christmas aka. Tony Stark. Dressed in ray-bans and custom tailored suit, he looked suspiciously trim for a man in his position.

“Ah,” you smiled.

Loki’s smokey cologne filled your nostrils as he looped his arms around your body, pulling you tight to his chest. “It seems he will not be joining us in this public embarrassment,” he smirked before placing a warming kiss on your lips. Then to the corner of your mouth, then to the angle of your jaw. “Places!” a peaky-sounding Steve shouted, tapping a baton against the music stand at the head of the choir section. There was a deep line between his eyebrows that was decidedly un-Christmassy. “Norns,” Loki muttered. His hands slid down your body, fingers weaving through yours. “Ready?” he breathed nervously, your foreheads touching.

“Are you?” you replied.

Loki squeezed once.

The front row of the audience was made up of children, patients of the hospital. Cushioned folding chairs were laid in a half-crescent, two dozen of their smiling faces staring expectantly. Several of them sat in wheelchairs in the middle. Prime spot. One of them was wearing a pin-badge with Loki’s face on it. A young connoisseur, you thought with a smile.

Behind them, the growing crowd heaved. Sparkling Stark-Industries antlers filled your field of vision, handed out at the gates. There was a static hum, hundred of conversations and jokes and countless eyes inspecting each of you with anticipation. You could feel their excitement fizzing in the air while Bucky fidgeted beside you. Thinking about his solo you had no doubt. You rubbed his back sympathetically. He offered a weak smile of thanks. Steve tapped the pedestal again. “Avengers,” he announced with authority. The hushed whispers and small waves of the team to the crowd came to a halt. “One..two..” he mouthed the three.

All of a sudden, the air came alive with the sound of ten voices, stronger and louder and more melodic than you had expected. Unbelievably, it sounded...good. Hark! The Heralds, angels sing; Glory to the newborn king,

The brass quintet upon the bandstand soared. Even in practice, it hadn’t been this good. A Christmas miracle, you thought as you belted out the words in some semblance of tune.

Peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconcile, Your gaze flickered to the other side of the semi-circle, catching Loki’s.

He held his carol-sheet diligently at arms-length, not looking at it. But rather, at you.

He winked.

Steve had rightly separated you. The chances of him squeezing your ass in front of the sick children was just too high. What if one of them goes into shock, Steve had said. But in truth, it was the deep, soulful magnetism of Loki’s singing voice that posed the real risk. If you were standing beside him, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to contain yourself. You winked back. Beside Loki, Thor craned towards the paper his brother held.

Thor had memorised every carol. Every modern classic. Everything in the repertoire. You knew that for a fact.

For the last two weeks, ever since your conversation in the common room – you’d been able to hear him before you could see him. And not in the usual way. You’d become accustomed to hearing his theatrical rendition of Silent Night bouncing its ironic way around the tile of the gym, the hallways, seeping through floors. And what he lacked in vocal melody, he certainly made up for in enthusiasm.

No - in truth, as the God of Thunder stared at the music sheet, he was avoiding Steve’s appraising stare which darted to each of them in turn. Joyful, all ye nations rise, Join the triumph of the skies,

Reluctantly tearing your gaze away from your boyfriend, you focused back on the conductor. The crimson flush of his ears had ebbed. He was beginning to smile. Well, a little.

Hark! The Heralds, angels sing; Glory to the newborn king,

The carol continued. And then the next, and the next. Collection buckets that were being passed amongst the crowd began to overflow, the spectators indulging in a mix of swaying, singing, dancing.

With every song that passed, Bucky became more nervous, his voice a little higher.

You only faltered once during Winter Wonderland when you made the mistake of looking at Loki again. At some point, he had raked his hair back. Pink peaked at his cheekbones, his hip slouched casually, tapping his foot in time. One side of his sweater was concealed in the waistband of his dark chinos. A french-tuck, if you weren’t mistaken. It highlighted the sluttish creases that strained at his crotch.

Dark curls fell around the green knit, half-lidded eyes following each word as he sang it. You would fuck that sweater right off him later. Or maybe, he could keep it on...you mused. His smooth baritone slid over the words like a sled in morning’s first snow, to face unafraid, the plans that we made, walking in a- He looked up with a knowing side-smile in your direction. A sharp elbow in the ribs from Wanda made you realised you had lost your train of thought. Your mouth was open, but no words were coming out. “-winter wonderlaaaand,” you squawked out of time.

Steve’s eyes snapped to you, brow arched. He couldn’t complain, not really. Considering how well it was going. A brief erotically-charged moment of disassociation was the least he could expect, surely. As the song drew to a close with a flourish of conductor Rogers’ arms, the crowd burst into applause. With every passing number, it had become louder. You weren’t sure if there were more people, or if the mulled wine had been refilled. Steve spun to face the audience, growing darkness making the warm glow from fairylights create a halo around his blonde hair.

“And now...a very special treat,” he announced mysteriously to the expectant crowd. “Something very, very special indeed. I’ve heard it in rehearsal and golly, he’s just spiff.” Bucky’s feet began scuffing on the ground. He’s going to do a runner, you thought. But thankfully for Bucky, he had nothing to worry about.

The plan was for Barnes to perform a rousing rendition of Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) by Olivia Holt. Or Michael Buble, depending on the demographic. Backed up by the jingling ooo’s and aaa’s of the team of course. But despite Barnes initial enthusiasm, the thought of it had filled him with more horror each passing day.

Steve had been very excited about the whole affair. A grand finale for his orchestral debut, such as it was. And Bucky hadn’t the heart to tell him. “Buck?” you muttered out the corner of your mouth. You glanced at him, trying to be covert. He was sweating, staring blankly ahead. “Buck?” “Yuh.” Barnes mustered quietly as Steve began to move a microphone between the sick kids. Their little voices made your heart flutter. But you had a job to do. The weight of Loki’s concentration radiated from across the space between you. He was watching you and Bucky, completely still aside from one twitching finger and the small smile flickering at his dimples. You cleared your throat, leaning to the side towards the soldier. “In a few seconds you might feel a bit funny-” “I already feel a bit funny doll,” he murmured bitterly. “Yeah but...well, you’ll see. Just don’t freak out.” “Freak-what-now?” “Out-” “-Yah I got that-” he snapped, trying to turn towards you and failing. He tried to twist, but his shoulders wouldn’t budge. “What the-?” “Buck?” you repeated slowly. He met your eyes, the first shadows of fear creeping in. “When Steve calls you up, just shake your head. You have a little bit of movement in your neck. And you can talk a little. Just a little so I can check you’re okay. Okay?” Bucky raised his eyebrows in a grimacing caricature. You decided to assume that meant it was totally cool. “Who are hoo hurkin’ hor!?” he hissed in a wreckage of lisping syllables. His shoulders shook ever so slightly back and forth like a wound-up nutcracker as he tried and failed to move his feet. “Oh, no-” you said, realising he thought you’d been turned. “No, it’s just Loki’s magic. Don’t worry.” Bucky’s eyes widened.

‘Please welcome-’

“You’re off the hook with the song?” you chirped quietly, hoping it had the intended effect. Barnes stopped struggling. ‘-my friend, James Buchanan Barnes!’ A round of deafening applause snapped you from your bubble. Steve stood back at his podium, baton poised and ready for the band to begin.

Alongside the other Avengers, except Bucky, you bent down and picked up a sleigh bell carefully placed at your feet. You could beat someone to death with this thing, you thought as the chrome bells jingled beneath your hand. Wanda shot you a knowing glance, holding in a laugh.

The applause ebbed as James Buchanan Barnes remained rooted to the spot. His eyes darted side to side across the waiting crowd. He shook his head very, very slowly. Showtime, you thought. “I’m afraid he has a bit of stage-fright,” you explained loudly. Collective disappointment hummed in the air. Steve’s face flushed an immediate shade of fuchsia, features hardening. You could see the cogs in his brain turn, a victorious glittering finale slipping from his grasp. His lips puckered, sucking in his cheeks. “I’m sure with a little...encouragement,” Steve said with a grimacing smile, raising his arms. The crowd roared back to life.

Bucky shook his head, a bit faster this time. Rogers head lowered, the breath from his sigh of exasperation clouding around his face. “If I may...” came Loki’s calm drawl from across the line-up. It dripped with sensual showmanship, treacleish tones sending an immediate flood of desire leaking into your panties.

Men and women in the front rows grasped at each other, gawking as if suddenly seeing him for the first time. It doesn’t get any easier folks, you thought with a smile. “My brother here knows the arrangement by heart,” Loki continued. “The lyrics and suchlike- I’m sure he would be happy to relieve Barnes of his duties-”

Mutters of excitement spread through the crowd like a mexican wave. Thor immediately turned his back to the audience, muttering something at surprisingly hushed volume in his brother’s ear. Loki listened diligently, holding up a penitent finger to the crowd. Steve’s arms were folded, storm-clouds knitting his brow. The foot had begun to tap. “My brother makes the valid point that of the two of us, I am the more musically inclined-” Loki began, gracefully gripping Thor’s shoulders and spinning him back to face the audience.

He brushed his brother’s collar, removing the last of the almond crumbs which resided there. A smile you knew all too well stretched across Loki’s lips as he looked deep into Thor’s eyes, willing him to understand. “But alas,” Loki purred, “I know not the words.” And perhaps these words will heal, Loki thought.

Loki held his breath as Thor began to gingerly shuffle forwards, tugging at the hem of his Naughty- emblazoned jumper. If father could see us now, Loki mused with a shiver as his brother gripped the microphone.

The crowd was beginning to stomp in appreciation, driven into a frenzy by the turn of events. Thor gave a small wave, bashful smile growing wider as people began to whistle. Loki turned his attention to Rogers, standing stiff and poised with baton in the air. He gave it a singular flourish, counting down from three. The crowd fell silent.

Loki saw the moment that Steve and Thor’s eyes met. It seemed to make every fairy bulb glow a little brighter in the darkness, sparks of hope spreading like embers from a fire, fluttering upwards in a night sky. Please brother, Loki pleaded silently as he raised his sleigh bell. Don’t arse this up. He suddenly wondered if Thor had felt this way during their time at the cottage. Loki supposed that he had. The brass band sprang to life, drums making an entrance. (Christmaaaas) Loki sang suddenly with the others. Nine voices harmonised as one.

Thor panicked, pulling the microphone to his mouth. “Snow is...coming down...uh-oof-” he spluttered, the cable tangling around his shoe. (Christmaaaaas) they sang, cringing slightly.

One line in, and Loki had almost lost all hope. “I'm watching it faaaaall” Thor crooned in bass – a little more tunefully. (Christmaaaas) “Lots of...very lovely and festive, yes – you...people aro-hounnnd,” (Christmaaaas) Loki sang, a smile beginning to spread as his brother came alive. He was pointing at the children, giggles and squeals peppering the air. The sleigh bell beat against his palm in time with his brother’s voice. “Baby, please come ho-hommmme,” Thor sang. Loki looked up, catching a look on your face that he hadn’t seen before. There was something different in that look. Some deeper variable of your smile that ignited his heart. But there would be time for overthinking it later, he surmised as his brother launched into the chorus with a glottal barrage of enthusiasm. For now, he had a love to nurture.

As Loki released his practised backing harmonies with the rest of the team, his brother got into his stride. ‘Owned the stage,’ Loki believed was the term. Steve didn’t take his eyes off Thor for the whole number. And if Loki didn’t know better, which of course – he did, he would swear that the captain was blushing.

(Please) they sang, sleigh bells jangling in time. “Pleaseee” echoed his brother. (Please) “Please” (Please) “Please” (Please) “Please Baby, please come hommmme-” You were surprised the operatic efforts of Loki’s brother didn’t make the ground shake.

The crowd were beside themselves, singing and jiving and waving their hands in the air. Thor worked the big crescendo, falling to his knees on the ground. His thighs spread, and whether it was his intention or not, you saw Steve grip the podium as his sensibilities buckled. Just a bit. The captain’s lips rolled together, stifling what you were sure was a bite. Thank god Thor wore the tight jeans today, you mused as you held the final note. With a swiping flourish of the conductor’s baton, the song was over. The cheers were deafening.

Thor stood and gave a small bow, sudden bashfulness descending. He waved, backing off to the side. His eyes met Steve’s, giving him an understated nod. The captain returned it slowly, a look in his eyes you hadn’t seen before. You watched him mouth two words, thank you, before Thor collided into Loki.

There was only one more song to go. You watched as Loki patted his brother’s shoulder across the semi-circle, pulling him into a hug. His face was alight with pride. It melted your heart. Despite the passing of the months, you couldn’t get over how different his smiles were now. Open. Genuine. Real. He’s finally opened his heart.

Have you? The thought came intrusively. Fairy lights shone all around as Loki tussled his brother’s hair. Thor couldn’t stop smiling. And neither could Steve, you noticed. One more song. Rogers tapped the podium for the final time, raising the baton. The mellow sound of the saxophone twisted in the air, followed by strings.

“I'm dreaming of a white Christmas Just like the ones I used to know” you sang. Loki’s eyes met yours, sparkling with the glitter of mischief well done. “Where the treetops glisten, And children listen, To hear sleigh bells in the snow,”

Bucky’s voice began to grow louder beside you. Released from his bodily prison at last. On cue, the Avengers began to peel away from the semi-circle, mingling with the crowd. Of course, any production orchestrated by Steve Rogers would end in a collective heart-melting communal singalong. Nothing else would do.

You watched as Wanda cosied up to a older man holding a mulled wine. He offered it to her immediately, stunned as he mouthed the words to White Christmas. She took it.

For your part, you made a beeline for the children sitting at the front of the audience, joining them in their sway. This whole thing was for them, after all. Loki’s shadow crept behind you, falling over the little girl with his face emblazoned on the pin badge.

“I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, with every Christmas card I write” Loki purred melodically as he lowered to his haunches. He paused, leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek. You watched her face, transfixed in joy as all her daydreams came true. The God of Mischief in person, his shadowed blue eyes looking into hers as though she was the only person in the world. That never gets old, either, you thought. He took her hand, pressing her tiny palm against his own. “May your days,” he sang with the crowd as his fingertips glowed green, “be merry and bright-” You couldn’t tear yourself from the look of absolute sincerity on his face. The utter determination painted on softened features to give this sweet girl a memory that would last for the rest of her life – however long that was.

Tears began to prick your eyes, seeing the crane of her neck upwards as her mouth fell open in wonder to the sky. Loki smiled. The green shimmer of his palm pressed to hers grew stronger. A glow flashed across the inky night, a billowing flourish of northern lights erupting over central Manhattan seeped in emerald and pinkish hues. They twisted in waves, swirling like a cloak which moved and rolled. It was alive. Loki's voice was quieter now, but no less beautiful as he sang. “And may all your Christmases, be-” “white,” the little girl gasped as snow began to fall. He did that, you thought in wonder as the crowd began to cheer, hugging each other. All sets of eyes were turned upwards to the sky. All but yours. They stayed fixed on Loki as the band played on amidst a flutter of newly swirling snowflakes. The man I love.

“The tie, brother-” Thor muttered nervously, “is it..?” “It is well done, brother” Loki replied.

He dusted the lapel of Thor’s crushed velvet suit jacket a final time, a deep red the shade of fine merlot. The blonde released a trembling sigh, pulling at his fingers.

It was Christmas Eve. “Did you take the pharmaceuticals as instructed?” Loki enquired quietly as the elevator bounced to a halt. Thor nodded, patting his breast pocket. “The Tums? Yes. I have some on my person should the gaseous beast rear in my belly.” Loki nodded, satisfied. All the bases were covered. He had done all he could do. Now, it was up to Thor. Well, almost. It had been Loki’s idea for the brothers to dress together for the party tonight. And although his initial plan was to ensure that Thor was in peak condition for this eve of great import, Loki would admit that he had enjoyed it. Very much.

He wore a suit matching his brother’s in all but one detail. Loki’s was a crushed velvet of richest emerald green. Thin silk ties of gold adorned them both, fastened tight to the white shirts beneath with a pin bearing their respective emblems. Loki’s gift to his brother. The Asgardian Princes were showing up, tonight. Loki had made sure of it. Mother would be proud, he smiled as the elevator doors opened. Thor’s Yuletide offering to him had been a gift certificate to the Cheesecake Factory, but Loki paid it no mind. Gifts had never been his brother's strong-suit.

The rest of the team was already gathered by the Christmas tree, festive beverages in hand. A rolling cheer of greeting sounded as the duo strode towards the scene. Loki grabbed two glasses from the bar, passing one to his brother who necked it immediately. The dark god swirled his finger, refilling it. Loki felt his brows rise as he saw you, standing with one finger curled over your lip and an entirely too sensual smirk on your beautiful face. Beneath the perfectly cut trousers of his suit, Loki’s cock twitched. “You look handsome,” you coaxed quietly as he slid an arm around your waist, releasing a breath he’d been holding as a charged grunt of need.

“If we had gotten ready for tonight together,” Loki growled hot in your ear, “I fear that dress would never have been seen by another intact.” He pressed himself to you with a lingering kiss, an appreciative thrust of his hips rubbing against your own. He sighed into your open mouth, feeling your fingers dig into his shoulders. “God,” Natasha muttered with playful scorn under her breath, shuffling over to give you both space. “Can’t take them anywhere,” she murmured to Sam. Sam grunted in agreement.

“Presents!” Tony cried, clapping his hands together. “Party starts at eight, tick tock. Cutting it fine thanks to Paris and Nicole here.” He nodded in Loki and Thor’s direction. Steve checked his watch. “One cannot rush perfection, Stark” Loki smirked, releasing you. He watched as Rogers turned and adjusted a decoration on the tree. A plush rabbit wearing a santa hat. He was nervous. Tony knelt down, reading each gift tag and throwing it to the corresponding team-member. An oblong package whizzed past Loki's face, hitting his brother square in the mouth. 'Ooft,' Thor grunted as mulled wine slopped over the side of the glass. He stumbled, catching the present. Loki sighed, flexing his fingers and removing the stain from the front of his sibling’s suit. His brother nestled the empty glass dangerously within the tree branches to his side, inspecting the package. “Tis soft,” he muttered seriously. Across the circle, Loki saw Steve’s anxious gaze darting upwards at his brother in intervals. He noted you offer the captain a comforting nod while Thor tore at immaculate wrapping, ripping off the red ribbon and casting it aside. “Odin’s beard…” Thor gasped as the final sliver of paper fell away.

The team fell silent, looking up from their various body massagers and associated tat. He raised the item in his hands like Simba, slack-jawed in awe. The amazed god stared at it, eyes glossy.

Bruce frowned towards the blonde, peering over his glasses with an oversized posing pouch dangling from one finger. “Is that-?” “-A chicken drumstick?” Nat gawked. “Tis’ soft…!” Thor breathed in wonder, twirling it in his hands. He clutched it to his chest, eyes darting around the group. “A thousand thanks upon whomever bestowed this plush poultry treasure upon me,” he murmured, unable to resist holding the cushion proudly at arms length.

“Truly whomever be my secretive santa knows me to my core-” he continued dreamily, looking to each avenger in turn. They all looked befuddled. All except one. Thor’s brow creased, doing a double take as Steve’s cheeks plunged to new depths of crimson. “Rogers?” the blonde god whispered, so low only Loki could hear it. “Open yours Steve!” someone probed. Captain America still held his own package in his hands, toying with it gently.

Loki maintained his stoic expression, tossing his newly acquired bottle of luxury dry shampoo between his hands as he noted horror descend on his brother’s face. Never fear, brother; he thought smugly. Thor thought that Steve was about to open a small box containing yet another gift certificate to the Cheesecake Factory. But Thor was mistaken. Firstly, America’s saviour was lactose intolerant. Any internet search would have told him that. But despite his brother’s poverty of imagination where presents were concerned, his heart was in the right place. And for the cunning plan his love and he had concocted, there was only one gift which could bring the two men comfort and joy this Christmas. The truth. “Wait, wait-” Thor yelped as he took several panicked strides across the room. He knelt down to Steve’s level, placing his hands over the box that Steve had only just revealed through the wrapping. “It’s not-” Steve looked up, meeting the god’s panicked stare with practised indifference.

“Let me open it, will ya?” he said calmly. Thor sank back, head bowed as he waited for the axe to fall. With every careful unlatching of sellotape, Loki saw his brother’s heart sink a little more into his stomach. “Good gravy, what’s this? A pocket-square?” Thor looked up, regret turning to confusion as he clocked the handkerchief dangling between Rogers slender fingers. It was familiar, heavy with otherworldly silk and trimmed in thread ground from the most precious jewels of nine realms. On one side, deepest burgundy melting to crimson. But on the other, a rich navy which faded to shimmering azure.

Red and blue, not red and green.

The two colours met in the middle, threads glittering and overlapping like foam on the shore. They seemed to move. To change and ebb in the light like a living thing. And stitched across the handkerchief in the finest gold,

En sannhet byttet mot en sannhet. “Jeepers,” Steve muttered as he pulled the silk appraisingly through his fingers. “Someone definitely went over the twenty dollar limit.” Thor twisted his head incredulously towards his brother. Loki narrowed his eyes briefly in response, coupled with a small nod. The blonde god cleared his throat, finally catching up to the scenario unfolding before him. “A truth for a truth,” Thor breathed quietly, looking to the floor.

Steve’s concentration broke, as if suddenly seeing the person kneeling beside him on the floor for the first time. “P-pardon?” he stuttered. There was a sudden wave of green hued light through the room, reminiscent of the northern lights which lit up last night’s sky at the jamboree. “My apologies, Rogers…” Loki purred, stepping forwards. “I feel it best to inform you that the others cannot see nor hear us at this moment. As far as they are aware, you are both by the bar.” Loki nodded to where a slightly glitchy duo of duplicates stood behind Tony’s counter, clinking glasses of tequila. “Just myself, and she-” he nodded to you, “are witness.” “W-witness?” Steve spluttered, trying to stand and finding his knees starting to buckle. He looked at Thor, eyes wide. But all he found was softness. “Say the words, Rogers” Thor urged gently, gesturing to the handkerchief. Steve frowned, as the blonde god pulled the silk from his grip.

“A truth for...what was it? Truth for a truth?” Rogers asked, confused gaze darting between the men and you.

Loki clapped his hands together quietly. “Wonderful. You are now bound to the Accords of the Kerchief.” Steve frowned deeper. “Accords of the what-now?” “Kerchief,” Loki repeated formally, nodding towards the silk in Thor’s hand.

“You have both held it while the other spoke the words. And now, you must exchange the truth which causes the conflict between you – so that it may be resolved.” “And what if I don’t wanna?” Rogers sniffed, ears burning. He avoided Thor’s eyes. Loki released a whittling hum of discontent. “Unfortunately, failure to comply with the Accord of the Kerchief once initiated means instant smiting at the hands of Heimdall.” “Smiting?! You can’t be serious,” Steve scoffed with gusto. “Oh yes,” Loki nodded very seriously. Thor was nodding too. Also very seriously. “The penalties are most grave, Rogers.” “You tricked me,” Steve hissed to the blonde opposite him.

“Technically I tricked you,” Loki smirked apologetically. Rogers eyes narrowed in his direction, his lip trembling with what looked suspiciously like a swear. “Laufeyson,” he warned. Loki extended his forefinger, waggling it slowly side-to-side. “It will do not a jot of good, Rogers. You can thank my mother for this one. Now -” he gestured expectantly between the men. Thor took a deep breath. “Rogers-Ihavefeelingsforyouwhichcannotbeexplainedin,mere...Norns-” “Slow down, Thor-” you cooed gently.

Loki felt your hand slide into his. The nerves roaring in his belly soothed as your fingers interlinked. Despite maintaining an exterior of calm, he was terrified.

“Rogers,” Thor began again. Steve stared at him, transfixed. The aura of suspicion which surrounded him was fading, his stiff spine slackening as he looked at the god. Really looked at him. Saw him.

“I have feelings for you, which run deep to the heart of me. Which I cannot deny any longer. And if you feel that you cannot return my interest, then I shall understand. But I cannot spend another night unable to sleep, thinking that you believe me to hate you. And I apologise for my boorish behaviour these past months.” There was a pause as the god took a breath before continuing. “It was self preservation, you see-” Thor rumbled quietly, before sighing.

Steve looked down, still except for his fingers fidgeting with the wrapping paper in his lap. “That was well done, brother” Loki soothed. Thor shot him a sad smile. “I-” Rogers started.

The three of you held your breath. He looked up, just at the moment Thor curled a blonde tendril behind his ear. ��I-” Steve choked, shifting on his knees. “It’s okay Steve,” you coaxed from the side-lines. It was the final nudge he needed. “I feel the same,” was all Steve said. He looked up, meeting Thor’s widening eyes. “Truly?” Steve nodded shyly. “I got myself in a tizz, about a whole bunch of things which weren’t really to do with you. Or….us. Not really,” he stammered. "It wasn't a mistake. And I was a dummy to say so." Loki felt your fingernails dig into his palm, both of you craning forwards as the captain continued. His voice was serious, a slight waver just audible between the words. “For a while, I thought you thought I was just some kinda tart. Some kind of loose Jack. Well lemme tell you Odinson, Steve Rogers is no one’s tart.” “You were never my tart, Rogers,” Thor uttered with gravitas, gently cupping Steve’s jaw. The captain’s eyelids fluttered closed, leaning into his hold. In seconds, the space between them closed. Rogers arms wrapped around Thor’s shoulders, Thor’s hands sliding around the captain’s waist. They fit together like a glove, Steve’s fingers winding in the god’s hair like a spindle through spun gold. Low mutterings of apologies cascaded from their lips between kisses, small gasps and sighs as unpleasantness of past months were forgotten. “What the fuck?” Tony spluttered. Every set of eyes in the room was fixed on the God of Thunder and Captain America’s passionate embrace. Hel, Loki thought with a shock. In all the excitement, he had neglected to hold the spell which shielded them. The kiss ceased, but still their arms were wound around each other. “Sheesh,” Wanda laughed, grabbing a bottle of the good stuff on her way past the bar. “It’s about time.” A murmur of agreement rolled around the room, a chorus of whoops sounding as each teammate stooped to offer a clap on the back to the newly outed couple. And for the first time in living memory, the colour of Thor’s cheeks rivalled his lover’s. “Maybe you guys won’t be the public embarrassment at parties anymore,” Nat quipped as she passed, tapping Loki and you lightly on the ass. Your laughter lit up Loki’s heart. And there was that look in your eye again, the one he couldn’t place yesterday.

‘We did it,’ you mouthed silently to him. Loki winked in response, just as the clock chimed eight. With a spring in his step, Loki made his way to the men kneeling awkwardly on the floor, noting their interlinked fingers with a wave of pride. He offered both hands, and each was taken. He heaved, pulling the men to stand and immediately into a hug.

“Merry Christmas, brother” he whispered in Thor’s ear. “Do you need the handkerchief back?” Thor muttered through a smile. “I am assuming the revised colours were only temporary.” Loki chuckled, pulling him and Rogers tighter. The captain released a strangled ooft as the air was pressed from his lungs.

“I think not that we need such a trinket to ensure our bond. Not anymore. Do you, brother?” Loki murmured into his sibling’s hair.

From deep within the embrace, in a hold which seemed to melt the centuries, Loki felt his brother shake his head.

The party was a roaring success. And in the early hours of Christmas Day, you and Loki stumbled back to your apartment upstairs.

It was tiredness, mostly – and happiness. Strands of tinsel poked from Loki’s curls. You pulled one out with a giggle before unlocking the door and pulling him inside. “Finally,” he growled longingly as one slim finger toyed with the strap of your dress. Making quick work of pushing the velvet suit jacket from his shoulders, your fingers were halfway down his shirt buttons before you suddenly remembered- “-your present!” you cried, making Loki flinch back from where he had been buried in your neck.

“Can’t it wait?” he whined with feigned impatience. You waved an excited hand, scurrying to the cupboard. “No.” you shouted, head popping out behind the cupboard door. “I’ve been dying to give it to you.” Loki sighed, a reluctant smile spreading across his beautiful face. “I thought we agreed no gifts,” he huffed as you ran and sat cross-legged on the bed.

You bounced on your knees while he swaggered over, undoing the last of his buttons with a knowing grin as he enjoyed the roam of your hungry stare across his skin. His carved abdomen flirted into view, obliques visible with each stride as the thick cotton folded to his movements. Loki sat on the bed, legs spread at the edge. His thighs creased the material in a way that made your mouth water.

He picked up the box, inspecting it before throwing you a lingering smoulder. “Mischievous elf,” he purred. “It’s just a small thing” you bargained, biting your lip as the first side of paper was torn. “I stole it, actually.” Loki raised an eyebrow. “Open it!” you said, chewing on your thumbnail as you watched his eyes drop to the package. Suddenly the god’s face changed.

Playfulness melted to a frown, his smirk fading. He swallowed thickly, staring down at the mug in his hands before looking up at you. “-with the yellow bear,” he said quietly. “and the eyepatch!” you beamed. “I took it from the cottage. I noticed you always used it, I thought you might like the-”

Before you could finish, Loki’s hand had cupped the back of your head and pulled you into an all-consuming kiss. He bore down on you, the passion of his adoration sinking through the air and deep into your soul. Every circle of his tongue against yours, every caress of his breath as he repositioned his mouth over your own. He broke, panting. “Darling,” was all he could muster in thanks as he looked down at the ceramic with adoring eyes. You couldn’t stop smiling. His gaze snapped up, a click of his fingers making a perfectly wrapped present appear beside you on the bed. Golden paper shimmered before becoming whole. It was flat, and light. “No presents, huh?” you goaded sweetly. Loki smiled. “Open it,” he echoed. You complied. And inside the paper was a perfectly folded nightdress, adorned with autumnal leaves. The very same one. You hugged it to your chest, a dopey smile on your face. “I knew it was the one thing in that room you would miss,” he rumbled apologetically.

You reached for his hand, thumb running over the veins taut and thick on the back. “I hope this doesn’t mean I’ll be sleeping alone,” you whispered with a smile. Loki placed his mug on the side table, before reaching for the nightdress and placing it beside. “God forbid,” he growled. Loki pulled another errant strand of tinsel from his hair, making it vanish. Without breaking eye contact, he lowered you back on the mattress, the pad of one fingertip tracing down your cheekbone. Memorising it.

The way he was looking at you, the silence that hung where words should be. You knew which words they were. He was holding back, even now as he inhaled against your pulse-point. Holding back for you. As dark curls blanketed your vision, you thought of the excitement in his voice as the cunning plan was formed. Of the way his fists clenched as he silently cheered his brother on, how his face fell when he thought that it was all for naught. How his eyes had swum with joy as it all came together. Not for himself, but for them. And you thought of the smile on that little girl’s face, joyful in the midst of Christmas lights and magic that shouldn't be possible. But for her, and for you - with him...it was. Yes, you’d thought about that a lot. “I love you, Loki” you whispered slowly in his ear.

Loki’s kisses against your neck faltered. You heard a sigh rack his chest, breath hitching as his heart-beart quickened on top of your own. “Truly?” he murmured in response.

It was cautious, wary. His eyes came into view, concern clouding them. You slid a hand up his jaw, kissing him gently. “I love you,” you repeated solemnly. He pressed his forehead to yours, a choke of relieved laughter accompanying a long inhale of breath. “Gods,” he whispered on the exhale, “what have I done to deserve you?” “Everything,” you replied quietly. It was a truth.

He kissed you as though he was trying to absorb each atom of your breath, capture each flutter of the three words he’d longed to hear. As though they might vanish if he did not mark the moment with the seal of his touch. But they wouldn’t. You knew that now. How could they? “I love you,” he whispered back. And you believed him.

A/N: Thank you again so so so much for coming on this journey with me and the gang. I'm so happy with how this ended, even though the expansion was a bit unexpected(!) and I really hope you are too! Although the 'main' story is chapters 1-7, it felt like there was more to explore. Please let me know what you thought, any insights or additional HCs you have - they are always welcome ❤️ Tags

@lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @mrs-illyrian-baby @icytrickster17 @muddyorbs @buttercupcookies-blog @goddessofwonderland

#the lakes #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki x female reader #loki fanfic #loki smut #loki fluff #loki odinson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson fluff #loki marvel #loki imagine #loki x yn #loki x you #loki gif #loki series

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pursuitseternal · 9 months

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“Wrap Me Up:” 🎀 A Merry (NSFW) for the Vampire Lord Astarion, “The Rogue You Were” Christmas Special 🕯️

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 5.6K of thawing his “Scrooge-ish” heart with bondage and ice play

Based on “A Christmas Carol,” because Astarion would be a total “Scrooge”

Part 2: “Yuletide in Faerûn”

Summary: He hates Yuletide, a time where he is haunted by the ghosts of Yuletides past, but you won’t let him remain so cold, not when all he needs is a little warmth and pleasure to thaw…

CW: Bondage, Ice Play, temperature play, Dom/sub tones, face fucking, nipple play, breast biting, blood kink, sex as healing, face the ghost of Yuletide past, make him look towards the ghosts of Yuletide present and future with you

AO3 link | Read “Rogue You Were” | Masterist

🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊🔥🧊

Cazador was dead to begin with…. His palace redone, reclaimed by your love, your master. No longer some distasteful, neglected home of a miser and monster. It is the toast of Baldur’s Gate, the lavish, decadent crowning jewel of the city, and home to the man all admired and feared. Astarion, Vampire Ascendant.

Your love. Your Master. Your spouse.

But even still, as the streets of the city filled with snow, wet and heavy from the sea, as the air filled with the sights and sounds and smells of Yuletide, your home remained cheerless.

Cazador was dead, and so was the infamous Yule Ball he hosted in his decrepit halls—forbidden by its new lord and master. Astarion had no wish to carry on any of that monster’s legacy. A gala event meant to make his spawn work all the harder for victims at the risk of torture… a night of sumptuous darkness, where victims were aplenty, a prize for their master.

And so… Yuletide was banished. Halls were bright, but no more shining than usual. No evergreens or music or mirth. No gatherings or carols or banquets or dances.

And no… gifts. Those were his orders.

Orders that you understand, but ones that make you grieved. That make you wish to show him the true meaning of Yuletide. And you will show him tonight. To do so, you have been sneaky, subtle, deceptive. And above all… disobedient. But that only makes this plot of yours all the more delicious.

He’s been away all day, corrupting officials and threatening the right people. Turning the powerful into puppets, ensuring everyone pays their tribute to the most powerful being in all the realms. In fact, you think as you begin to peer out the window looking down into the drive, banks of snow scattered to the side and torches flaming to await the master’s arrival, he has been extraordinarily ruthless of late. These last weeks leading into Yuletide, he’s been extorting more money, squeezing favor after favor from the influential, securing all the wealth he could to line his own coffers. And all the while, he grinned that brilliant fang-toothed smile, laughing to be such a menace before the festivities.

Little did he know what you are doing in his absence. Your little secret.

It wasn’t easy to keep. You had to block out his mind, the little ways he liked to check on you from a distance, swirling into your thoughts down your bonded minds as master and bride. You were careful these last few days. Conveniently sending him only thoughts of how much he pleasures you… his hands gripping your ass, his fangs in your throat, his cock shoved to the hilt between your thighs or down your throat, the slick feeling of his cum or its rich and bitter tang….

And once he was satisfied, his presence would leave you, back to your own devices.

Even when he was home of late, he spent much of his time in the treasure vaults, counting and recounting your wealth… until he wandered back to your bed for sweet words of praise and pride in your victories… and for all the carnal ways he loved to consolidate that power with you.

And so, you were free to continue your little plan. You are free to complete your plan.

The eve before Yuletide, and you place a few finishing touches around the library. His favorite place. Not only because he was fond of books, but it is a room all of his own creation. A room free from the ghosts of Cazador’s abuse and violence.

A room all his own.

And now, you made it… festive. The air smells of fresh evergreen and holly, spiced rum punch and sugared sweets, candle smoke and… him. Of citrus and rosemary, that makes your mouth and your cunt wet. Your eyes peer out from the slit in the curtains, watching the snowdrifts billow up in the wind and weather, more flakes of white falling heavy in the night. All that soft, fresh fallen snow muffles the rattle of Astarion’s carriage as it glides up the drive.

Your heart leaps, your hand pulling the curtain back, making sure the light illumines behind you. Making sure he sees you wait for his return, his most beloved spawn in his most beloved room.

He is like shadow incarnate, his black cloak wrapped tightly around his body as it still flaps in the icy winds. Those crimson eyes catch your figure, backlit by the glow within, intrigued, suspicious, his smirking grin makes your quiver, even at this distance.

“Little love… whatever could you be up to?” His voice caresses your mind, sultry and purring to warm your soul.

“Oh, don’t be so cold, my love,” you throw back down the bond of your minds, “why not come and… make yourself warm?”

“Make myself…” he continues to purr even as he strides inside the doors to your palace, “…or permit you to warm me?”

“Come and find out, my darling…”

You can feel his approach, as if you travel as his shadow. Sensing the moment he undoes his clasp, the wet wool of his cloak flopping to the tile. Riding the movement of his legs as he climbs the stairs two at a time. Hearing the sniffs of that aquiline nose that makes a little growl resonate in his throat.

“What have you done?” he hisses into your mind, a pulse of rage and suspicion flaring down your bond.

“It will please you greatly,” you chide in reply, “as long as you overlook my loving disobedience.”

His presence pulls away, only because his hand tears the handle from the library door, the panes of its dark wood flying open to reveal him.

Where he fumes in the entrance.

Crimson eyes glow as he takes in the sight… the fresh scent of spices and sweets and evergreens making his nose turn up in disgust… his gaze scanning from the decorated mantle to the table of sweets, to where you await him near the window.

“My… defiant… little… consort,” he speaks steadily through his grit teeth. “Do you wish to tell me the meaning of all this before I punish you or will it be an extra sweet revelation I pry from you… during…?”

“Or, consider this, my love,” you give him a warm and sultry smile, “you let me, your beloved bride, your treasure, lavish you with some festive joy,” you gesture to the mantle and the table of spiced punch and sweets, “bestow upon you some adoring gifts to show my undying love for you,” you point to the two, small gift wrapped boxes waiting on the table, “and of course some very… merry… entertainment…” You would blush harder if it were possible, your hand tracing down the deep cut of your silken dressing gown. His crimson eyes darkening and dilating as it follows your touch on your own skin.

“You, of all people, my darling should know the dangers involved in tampering with the ghosts of the past that still haunt me…” he crosses the room in what feels like a single bound, his hands closing on your upper arms, his warm touch crushing you against his chest. “You are on some very thin ice… darling. Tread. Very. Carefully.”

“The Rogue I love wouldn’t shy from a fight, even against facing the ghosts that once tormented him,” you smirk up at his enraged face, you can feel his heart racing in a heady mix of emotion, see it throbbing in the veins of his neck. That powerful ascended heart. “Won’t you… at least open my gifts? Let me spoil you for once this Yuletide, as you have never been spoiled before…”

A single brow raises at that. “Well,” he sniffs, tilting his head, eyes falling to the boxes impeccably wrapped before him. “I do rather like being spoiled.” It was a quiet, begrudging sort of acquiescence. “And…” he sighed through his frowning, open mouth, “I suppose you did make a huge effort… even if it was a secret…” he hisses, suddenly giving you that gaze as if you are his next, most delicious meal, “…and disobedient… and deceptive sort of effort for me…”

You smile, such a saccharine look of innocence. “I’m glad you’re beginning to see it, my love.”

His hands fly to your chin, clasping around it before slinking down to claw gently around your neck. “I still expect much from you, darling, to make reparation for your… defiance, as loving as it might be.” You laugh, letting your throat vibrate beneath his touch, as he brings your lips in for a consuming kiss.

However brief.

He presses against your throat, breaking with that dark, conceited grin. “Now, my dearest pet,” he purrs, “impress me with your festive spirit…”

You give him that slightly pouting smile that seems to lower that haze of lust over his eyes. You keep his gaze locked, reaching for the large box,

wrapped in golden paper, tied with golden ribbon. He accepts it into his hands, sifting its weight, shaking it just a touch to feel something hefty sliding inside the container. Then, you see it, almost like the first trickle down an icicle as it starts to melt, the corner of his lips turns just a little higher.

His fingers grip the end of the bow, slowly unraveling it. “What is it?” he asks, a skeptical brow raised.

“The gift to help you chase away the ghost of Yuletide past, my love…” you grin, feeling so confident, so sure of your choices, of your knowledge of him more than he would even admit to his ascended self.

That wins you a twist of those full lips. Those crimson eyes flicker up to yours briefly as his long, dexterous fingers lift open the lid. “Is that a… crown?” pure amusement, voice tickled with the flattery only a perfect gift could give.

You reach your hands in, lifting the metal circlet from its box, the little interwoven strands of dark metal rising into little spikes. “Elegant and vicious,” you hum as you take it between your hands and raise it to rest on his tousle of silver hair. “Just like you, my roguish love.”

“Well if this is your idea of spoiling me with festive cheer…” he raises a brow, turning his head to test out the weight upon his head, “you’re exceeding my expectations.” He turns to the wall behind you, where you have draped boughs of holly leaves and blood red berries around the ornate and gilded mirror on the wall. A fixture in every room now, so he may bask in his own reflection when he wishes. He primps and preens before the glass, turning and twisting to view every angle.

“And I must say, you’ve really captured my power and prestige with something so deadly and…” He pauses lost to the silence as he lavishes in his own reflection, rubbing a finger over the sharpened edges of the points.

You sneak up behind him, where he is lost in his own reflection, that piercing red stare meets yours in the reflection. “A gift, reforged from the past… your old, sadistic master’s dagger, melted down to make you into the sovereign you have always deserved to be…”

He pouts, dramatic and whining and most of all, fake, “A dagger for a crown?” Sighing, he turns quickly to capture you in his arms. “I’ll say, it is the only acceptable repurposing of a blade. You’re lucky I love you so much, if you’re going to be turning my weapons into jewelry…” He presses his lips against your neck, “But even a crown worthy of my handsome head won’t spare you from your own recompense.”

“For my loving disobedience,” you laugh, arching your neck to expose even more of your skin. “And perhaps, you should open your second gift, my love, before you settle on any ideas of exacting such delicious… retribution. Especially now that your chilled heart seems to have thawed.”

“Me?” he rasps into your ear, “cold? Chilled? Cheeky little pup… do you forget that my heart beats now, my skin warmed over as your ascended lord?”

“Hmmmm,” you sigh, “why don’t you open that second gift, a little something to help you embrace the spirit of your Yuletide present and future with me, your own… forever…”

“Oh,” he smirked, wicked and ravenous, “if you’re my gift… and all the many ways I can play with you, I doubt you’ll fit in any little box, darling.” he gave a loud giggle, “but I can imagine how festive you would look… all wrapped up in ribbon…”

You feel his hands wandering over your body, his touch seeping its warmth through the fabric of your dress as he does wrap you in arms and presses you against his unyielding body.

“My little treat, ready to be unwrapped once she’s been very… very… good to me,” he growls in your ear. Shivers racing down your spine as you giggle. Your stomach flips upside down, despite the months of this… of being his, forever. Your body still gives you away with each encounter.

And you grin like a lovesick fool, reaching to the table beside you for that second, smaller package.

He palms its wrapped sides in a single hand, the other remains clutched firmly around your waist with his hand curved hard over the swell of your ass. He smirks, dark and playful, as he bites into the end of the bow and tugs the black silken ribbon apart with those gleaming fangs. The silk slides, no resistance as the bow comes apart in his mouth.

You know that feeling all too well. Of coming apart at the command of those teeth or lips or tongue… You love that feeling. Crave that feeling.

He lets it drop from his teeth to flutter to the floor, a finger flicking open the top of the box to fall to the same fate. Then his brows furrow, he lips drawing in a smile so wide, those perfect teeth glint in the flickering warmth of the firelight.

“My, my…” he purrs, lifting his touch from your backside to fish out the gift within.

It’s coiled, wrapped around itself, this long strand of thick and smooth, a long velvet ribbon, as crimson as his own eyes.

“Perhaps our minds are shared more than the bond formed when you made me, my love,” you taunt, a lilt in your voice as you press into him harder, letting the curves of your breast flatten, the panting of your belly push into his. “Now… are you going to finally let that cold, beating heart of yours be melted by Yuletide warmth?”

He cocks a brow, tilting his crowned head at that rakish angle, hand returning to claw around the base of chin. That free set of eager fingers slipping the gifted ribbon from the box. You gasp as those fingers pull you against his lips. He sucks and caresses with all the hunger that flares under his touch and behind his eyes. “I think I’d rather watch you melt, watch you puddle on my fingers and come when I say, my consort, beloved but also naughty.”

“Sounds like you’re burning to use your gifts, my love…” you growl between his lips. “My lover with the warm touch and the ice in his heart, a bit different than before, my love….” You rake your nails into his hair. “Now I can make you warm all over.”

He chuckles, his grasp easing around your throat, winding to the back of your neck to tilt you open for his tongue all the more. “Sounds like you’re missing that icy touch of your undead rogue, my treasure,” he snaps in return, biting down on your lower lip just enough to draw blood.

“And what are you going to do to remedy that?” you reply, a little moan coloring your voice as his hands begin tearing off your clothes.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he taps his thumb over your swollen lips. “Not a sound, not if you wish to earn my forgiveness, and perhaps receive a little sort of gift of your own in return…” you shudder in his arms, the only reply needed for him to flash you that feral, twisted grin. “Then lay down, my love, and warm yourself by the flames of the fire.”

A hand tugs apart the last laces from your dress, sliding the sleeves from your shoulders. “Oh, and you won’t be needing any of that now…” Your silken gown becomes a silken puddle around your feet. Your skin turns to gooseflesh as he scores his nails down your sides. He snaps his gift, your velvet ribbon, between his hands. “Get comfortable, my treasure, while you still can…”

His gaze scalds you, intensity beyond even your expectations. He is about to enjoy this… and you are too.

He lets you settle on the puddle of furs, the thick white skin of some animal that lines the floor before the fire. Back turned on you, he busies himself at the table of sweets and punch, the clatter of dishes enough to make you smile; he is indulging. You lounge, letting the light flicker over your flesh, letting the fire warm your skin, a cascade of heat over your back and shoulders and ass. One that almost rivals the heat that puddles and pools between your folds.

“Hurry,” you mewl, rubbing your thighs together. “I’m burning for you…”

“Don’t worry, my greedy pet,” he snickers from the table of refreshments, his back to you, purposefully hiding just what he is busying his hands with. You hear the silver spoon stirring the bowl of punch, the clatter of metal and the clacking of ice cubes as he chuckles to himself. “I’m confident there are many ways to cool that lust in your veins, darling.”

He turns slowly, his face leering at you, you see why he has suddenly begun a low rumbling laugh in his chest, a small glass holds a few of the cubes of ice, your velvet ribbon hangs over his wrist, and his eyes glow with that simmering power that crawls beneath his skin. Stalking towards you, you flash him your own fanged smile, running your fingers through the lush fur that cradles your naked form.

Astarion steps over you as you lie on your back, settling down to straddle your belly, making you work for every breath beneath his weight. “Now, for the toughest decision, just what sense to control as your reparation for such a willing… if loving… transgression.” He sets the ice down at his side, the silk of his breeches strained taught with his arousal as he covers you with his body. “Do I take away your sight to awaken all your other senses, do I gag that pretty little mouth of yours to make your screams deeper and richer… or do I bind your hands and make you crave only my touch for your release.”

He trails the soft, fluttering edge of the ribbon up and down your belly, your eyes following it, drawn to the way it makes your gaze flicker to his own straining cock. You snigger, gripping your nails shamelessly into his hips, running them down his thighs hard enough to score his flesh. Stopping only once you cup that erection you crave.

“I guess that seals your fate, my love,” he licks his lips, gripping your offending hands by the wrists to stretch them overhead. The velvet caresses your skin, soft and cool as he snugs it around you, tethering them together and binding them around the leg of the chair nearest you.

It wouldn’t hold you captive, not for real, but this… this was for fun… delightful divertisment to help him rekindle his… festive spirit.

And as he leans over you, satisfied with the work of his skilled fingers to bind your hands above your head, you moan when he slips his legs between yours. Prying you wider, grinding that confined erection against you, the slippery feel of his silken pants soaking with your arousal.

Wet and warm before the fire, every nerve ignites under his attention, flaming with your need to have his skin against yours. “Seems unfair,” you try to whine as your voice ripples more as a whimper, “for me to be so… unwrapped and ready for you to enjoy.”

“You’re going to have to beg and plead more sweetly than that, my darling,” he smirks against your whining mouth, capturing it with his. You taste the burst of flavors on his tongue, the sweet and spices of the punch, his tongue cool in your mouth from having imbibed it.

Just like old times. You shudder and moan to feel it tangle with your own, that flavorful concoction, the tingle of alcohol spiking your senses. “Mmm, delicious,” you moan against his fangs.

“Not as delicious as it will be as I taste you, my pet. Be a good little consort, plead so prettily, and you’ll get everything you desire tonight.” He gives a little extra, hips undulating into your slick, his breeches undoubtably ruined by your arousal. You groan at that ferocity, that untamable hunger. And you, you buck your hips to ride that friction. You give him what he wants, a loud mewl of your pleasure to tickle his punch-coated tongue.

“Very good,” he smirks, raising back to his knees. “I’d ask you to help me…” he taunts, rubbing his hand down the front of his decadently embroidered jacket, slowly letting his buttons free one at a time. “… but you seem already… tied up…”

“Oh, you must be feeling merry to throw such taunting puns at me, my love,” you smile.

“Hush, love,” he grins wickedly, tossing that jacket to the side, the firelight dancing over his ivory skin, rippling over all the rises and ridges of his torso. “Or if you insist on that insolent mouth teasing me, I might just have to find something with which to gag you.”

You smirk, hungry and defiant, as you stick out your tongue. A taunt. And an invitation.

“If you wish,” he growls happily, hands quick to unbutton his breeches. A split second, and he frees that cock, drips of his seed already seeping from its tip. You keep your tongue dangling as he scoots forward straddling your shoulders, until your mouth has nothing more to do than let him in.

With a groan, he thrusts into that familiar wet. Head thrown back, but not so far as to risk that magnificent crown to tumble off. He’s slow, languorous, savoring the way you’ve taken him so well. “Such a good little consort, earning your penance and more…” One hand knots in your hair at the crown of your head, the other you can’t see.

But you hear his movements, that dull clank of ice cubes on glass. And suddenly, you gasp, that frigid cold in his invisible grip, trailing its cold up your thigh. He’s so quick, his face scrutinizing your slacked mouth as he continues to fuck your throat, a twist of total delight on his lips as you shiver.

That is your only warning, the only inkling of his devious intentions before he slips that cube of ice between your folds. His mouth grins so wide, you see every tooth, his pleasure cemented as he thrusts between your moaning lips. Your body fights against his pinning weight. Thrusts begin to accelerate, timed with the swirls of that ice as he circles faster over your clit.

You feel the water beginning to drip, same as your slick, and your body shudders, heated by the fire and his body, frozen between your thighs as he still sweeps the melting ice through your seam.

Wave after wave consumes you, total swept away by the play of hot and cold, the merry dance of ice and fire that crashes through your body. It makes your buck and writhe, panting and choking on his cock between your cheeks. He withdraws a bit to let you savor your pleasure, pouring those praises over you once more, “Perfect, my treasure, coming for me so hard and beautifully.”

He chuckles, stroking his fingers through your long hair, lifting your head for a few really slow, really deep thrusts. Ones that you curve your tongue around and suck hard until you gag.

“Yes…” he growls, taking his cock back in his hand as he withdraws it from your now swollen lips, “good girl, so delicious… I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson of loving disobedience.”

“Savored the fruits of it, more like…” you grin, sultry, desirous, licking your lips clean of his juices that have already snuck out to coat your lips, your tongue.

That ice, so much smaller already, skates up your mound, your belly, settling it in your navel. “Astarion,” you screech as he leaves it there, as the chill settles over where you crave the heat and weight of pelvis, where you wish for him to crush you and fuck you.

“So greedy, little love,” he purrs. “And isn’t I who should be the greedy one? Denied any semblance of Yuletide joy for so long?”

“Then be… greedy… be naughty, and I will be very, very nice,” you giggle, deep in your throat as you watch him sliding down to settle between your burning thighs.

But not before he sneaks another ice cube from the cup. You lose track of it… until he grins with his mouth spread wide, his gleaming teeth biting down on that piece of ice, shining like crystal in the firelight. You shiver in anticipation. Waiting, watching for just what he might do next.

Angling down agonizingly slowly, his eyes lock into yours, his mouth aiming that fragment of ice for your already straining taught nipples. You scream again, bucking and writhing as the cold shoots right through you, racing down your every nerve. He laughs, taking that cube back inside his mouth, swirling that ice-cold tongue now over your flesh, sucking it hard between his lips.

“I will be undone, my love…” you groan, arching under his tongue.

“That’s the point,” he laughs darkly taking out that cube to rub over your other aching nipple as he teases and toys with it, “be undone before you’ll be… unwrapped, my darling.”

It steals your breath, making you writhe and tug against your binds as you feel every shiver down your spine consuming every sensation. Then he sets the ice, nearly gone back in your navel.

Heavy-lidded, Astarion licks his lips, dragging his tongue over his fang, announcing his next desire loud and clear.

“Hungry? Then get to it, greedy love,” you squirm and squeal as he gives a bite on your breast, just enough to bring a little blood to the surface. “Hgnf,” you groan as he drinks from you, those little hums and noises he makes as he feeds bring even more arousal pooling between your thighs.

You feel his cock hardening even more, as if that was possible, the union of your bloods, that tremor down your bond as he feeds from you, chin red with your essence. It makes him grind against your mound, cock twitching, a mind of its own to find that wet and clenching pressure he craves more than anything.

You feel that slow undulation, the tip of his length slipping into your folds, teasing just an inch inside you. The chair above your head scrapes across the floor, the ribbon snapping as you struggle against your binds. “Please,” you beg, “free me. I want you… I need you.”

“And why should I release you early?” he asks, barely raising his head from the pillow of your breast as he still laps at your blood. Eyes closed. As if he is too preoccupied to watch your agony. Even though you feel his smiling lips against your skin. “Just what would you do… if… I set you free?”

“Touch you…” you pant, feeling his cock dipping in and out again, shallowly. But he stills, unsatisfied.

“And?” he goads, slowing his tongue, eyes flickering up briefly at last.

“Cling to those powerful scars on your back, trace them since I know them all…”

Another dip inside your channel, slowly still but deeper as he withdraws equally slow.

“…and?” he smirks, licking his bloodied lips and chin.

You give a laugh, heavy with your need. “Clean your face from my blood, you messy thing…”

“Hmm,” he smirks wider, the lights catching in the red of his eyes as he scans your pale skin, where you pant and squirm beneath him. “Tempting, but…”

“Worship you,” you interrupt, “caress every inch of your ivory skin, grip hard into the clenching power of your ass as you fuck me… finally, run my fingers through your hair to keep that perfect crown on your perfect head…”

His lips twitch just once, a single arm reaching for that ribbon as the velvet release from your wrists. You groan, finally… finally touching him again, your voice rasping in your throat as he sheathes himself in fully. Already he commands a punishing pace, but you are so on fire for him, you crave it. You ride it all, legs wrapped tightly around his hips, your hands clutched into his hair, pinning that crown in place.

A good thing too, his body shaking as he loses all his control. His rhythm is feral and driven, giving no regard to anything other than filling you with his cock and making you burst with his cum. But he watches, arms pressed into the floor as his eyes drink in that sight of you. The way your bosoms sway, coated in his spit and your blood as they glisten in the soft light. The way your eyes lock into his, flickering every now and then to watch the way his pale cock spears harder and harder into you.

You snicker, a wicked idea in your head as you glance to the last cube of ice in the glass. “You wouldn’t dare…” he groans inside your head. But it’s too late. You’ve already snagged that chilling, hard lump, tracing it down the planes of his belly as you reach between you.

“Oh, I would…”

You have to be quick, but he lets you… his flawless reflexes could stop you… if he wants.

But instead he just groans so loudly as you press that ice at the base of his cock. Caressing whatever length of him doesn’t thrust inside as he fucks.

He shivers, his arms shaking as he lowers down on top of you. That crown falls into the furs at your side, but he doesn’t care. His mouth devours yours, his grunts and pants as you bring him to climax deafen you, reverberating inside your mouth.

And as the melting ice drips to your seam, you follow him into that wave of pleasure. Heat and ice, fire and cold blast through your bodies. His thrusts are merciless, slamming hard against the end of your channel, the pain adding to the heady mix that steals your breath and sends his name screaming from your lips.

He stills inside you, your greedy walls squeezing out the last of his cum, working against the twitching pulses of his cock. Resting his hot, damp forehead in the nook of your shoulder, he struggles to catch his breath. Nuzzling closer, you feel his warmth saturating your flesh, your arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders as he lays on you and in you.

“I… should thank you, my love,” he whispers, that tenderness he saves for your ears alone. “You never give up on me, never allow me to remain trapped, haunted by those ghosts of my past… however tormenting they may be. You have… done more than make my heart to beat again, to teach me how to love again. For centuries, at this time of year… I wanted nothing more than to take one of those stalks of holly and ram it like a stake through… his heart.”

Cazador’s. He won’t say it. Can’t say it.

“But with you, perhaps it is something just the two of us may… enjoy. To savor…”

“My love,” you whisper, placing a kiss into those silken, gleaming silver locks, “you don’t need to use Yuletide as a reason to wrap me up in pretty ribbons.”

“It is rather pretty, isn’t it?” he chuckles as he raises his head, “not as magnificent as this, however…” His hand closes around that metal circlet, replacing it crookedly on his silver hair. On that head made for a crown. “Seems like you’ll need one of your own, my little consort.”

“I’m open to all sorts of gifts from you…” you purr, catching his chin to bring his mouth to yours.

“Perhaps you need me to give it to you again, my darling?” he speaks into your lips. “Another lesson for me in finding the warmth of Yuletide? I might still feel a bit frozen in the heart, if you’re not thorough, you know…”

“Avernus would freeze over before I abandon you to such a fate, gods bless it…” you catch his lips in your mouth, a good long suck in that thick lower one as you nip it gently in your fangs. Tasting the richness of his blood, the thrumming of his power that rides his essence.

“Then gods bless it,” he growls, hand catching tightly around your chin, a slight drag of his still hardened cock inside you, “every time.”

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