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societyfolklore · 6 months ago

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Yulefire and Shadows

Title: Yulefire and Shadows Pairing: Loki x Asgardian Female Reader (hinted established relationship)

Summary: The Asgardian solstice tradition of lighting a great Yulefire is meant to drive away the lingering shadows of the past year. Loki, haunted by his own shadows, takes part reluctantly until the reader coaxes him into a private moment of vulnerability by the flames.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Warnings // Explicit Content //18+, Minors DNI, Angsty, Kissing Unprotected Sex (Don’t do this!) (No Beta read)

A/N: Entry for @lokisgoodgirl Winter Warmers collection The great hall of Asgard was alive with the warmth of the midwinter celebration. Golden light spilled from chandeliers overhead, reflecting off the polished stone floors and the ornate decorations that adorned the room. Yet, despite the laughter and the music, Loki stood on the periphery, a shadow among the revelers.

You noticed him immediately, leaning against one of the marble columns, his arms crossed over his chest and his emerald-green tunic catching the light of the massive Yulefire in the centre of the hall. The fire roared, crackling and snapping as it sent golden sparks into the air, but Loki’s gaze remained fixed on the flames, his expression unreadable.

“Not in a festive mood?” you asked, approaching him carefully. You held a goblet of spiced mead in your hand, offering it to him with a small smile.

Loki’s sharp blue eyes flicked to you briefly before returning to the fire. “Festivities are for those without burdens,” he replied, his tone clipped. “I’ll not pretend to revel when I have no cause to.”

You sighed but didn’t press him. You knew better than to challenge Loki directly when he was in one of his moods. Instead, you stepped closer, glancing toward the massive bonfire that served as the heart of the solstice celebration. Asgardians gathered around it, tossing small tokens into the flames—pieces of parchment, scraps of cloth, even bits of broken weapons. Each offering represented something they wished to leave behind: regrets, pain, grudges.

“It’s supposed to be cleansing, you know,” you said, gesturing toward the fire. “A way to start fresh.”

Loki’s lip curled into a faint sneer. “Do you truly believe a bit of fire can burn away one’s regrets?”

“Maybe not entirely,” you admitted. “But it’s symbolic. A way of saying, ‘I’m letting this go.’ It helps, even if just a little.”

He didn’t respond, his gaze still fixed on the fire. You studied him for a moment, noting the tension in his jaw and the way his hands clenched at his sides. Loki often wore his pain like armor, hiding it beneath layers of wit and sarcasm. But tonight, the cracks were showing.

“Come on,” you said gently, tugging at his sleeve. “Let’s give it a try.”

Loki arched a dark brow at you. “You expect me to partake in this asinine tradition?”

“Yes,” you said firmly. “And you’re not getting out of it.”

To your surprise, he didn’t argue further. Instead, he allowed you to lead him toward the fire, though his steps were reluctant. The heat of the flames washed over you as you approached, and you pulled a small piece of parchment from your pocket.

“What’s that?” Loki asked, his tone laced with curiosity.

“Something I’ve been holding onto for too long,” you said. You didn’t elaborate, and Loki didn’t press you. Instead, he watched as you folded the parchment carefully and tossed it into the fire. The flames consumed it instantly, the edges curling and blackening before it disappeared entirely.

You turned to him, offering a small smile. “Your turn.”

Loki hesitated, his gaze flicking between you and the fire. “I have nothing to burn,” he said finally.

“Everyone has something,” you countered, looking over at the raven haired man. “Even you.”

For a long moment, he stood there, silent and still, sometimes he was stone. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he conjured a small token—a delicate silver chain, tarnished and broken in places. You recognized it immediately as one of his childhood trinkets, something he’d once treasured but had long since discarded.

“This is meaningless,” he said, holding it up. But there was a tremor in his voice, one you doubted anyone else would have noticed.

“Then it should be easy to let go,” you said softly.

Loki’s fingers tightened around the chain, his jaw clenching. For a moment, you thought he might refuse. But then he stepped forward and cast the chain into the fire. The flames leapt up, consuming it in a flash of brilliant light.

When he stepped back, his expression was unreadable, but there was a faint, almost imperceptible shift in his posture. The tension in his shoulders eased, and his gaze softened as he turned back to you.

“There,” he said quietly. “Satisfied?”

You smiled. “It’s a start.”

As the hours passed and the celebration wound down, the great hall began to empty. The laughter and music faded into the background as guests retired to their chambers or ventured outside to enjoy the solstice night. You wandered through the now-quiet hall, searching for Loki, only to find him seated near the dying embers of the Yulefire.

The golden glow illuminated his features, casting shadows across his sharp cheekbones and the faint crease between his brows. He sat with his elbows on his knees, staring into the fading flames with an intensity that made your chest ache. The glow of the fire seemed to burn in his eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked, settling down beside him on the cool stone floor.

“Something like that,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on the embers.

You were quiet for a moment, the two of you sitting in companionable silence. The air was still and heavy with the scent of wood smoke, and the warmth of the fire lingered, though it was fading fast. Finally, Loki broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you think it’s possible to truly let go of the past?”

The question caught you off guard, and you turned to look at him. His expression was unreadable, but there was a vulnerability in his tone that you rarely heard.

“I think it takes time,” you said honestly, your own voice getting a little heavy. “And effort. But yes, I think it’s possible.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze distant. “Perhaps.”

Reaching out, you placed a hand on his, the warmth of your skin grounding you both. “You don’t have to do it all at once,” you said gently. “But you’re not alone, Loki. Not anymore.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. Then, slowly, he turned his hand over, intertwining his fingers with yours. The gesture was small but significant, and it sent a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the fire.

“Darling,” he said softly, his voice almost breaking.

The two of you sat there for a while longer, watching as the last embers of the Yulefire faded into ash. The hall was quiet now, the echoes of the celebration long gone, but the silence was comforting rather than oppressive.

Eventually, Loki spoke again, his voice steadier this time. “You’ve always been annoyingly persistent, you know.”

You smiled, leaning your shoulder against his. “Suppose that’s better than you calling me stubborn. We balance each other out.”

A faint chuckle escaped him, and the sound was so rare that it made your heart swell, it was velvet sound.

“Perhaps we do,” he said quietly.

The moment lingered, and you felt the pull between you shift. Loki’s eyes flicked to yours, searching for something, and you didn’t look away. The shadows of doubt and pain that so often clouded his gaze seemed to soften, leaving only raw vulnerability.

“I’m still haunted by them,” he admitted, his voice breaking the quiet. “No amount of fire or tradition will chase them away.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers against his cheek, the touch light but grounding. “Then let me help,” you said softly.

Loki’s breath hitched, and his hand came up to cover yours. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine as his sharp features softened, his barriers lowering. Slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing yours with an unexpected tenderness that melted into something deeper, hungrier, as the kiss deepened.

The dying glow of the fire cast flickering shadows across the hall as Loki shifted, his hands finding your waist and pulling you closer. Your back pressed against the cool stone floor as his weight settled over you, his lips never leaving yours. His kiss was a mix of desperation and need, as if trying to silence the ghosts that haunted him with every touch.

“Darling,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and filled with longing. “Let me lose myself in you.”

You nodded, your fingers threading through his raven hair, holding him to you as your breaths mingled. Loki’s hands roamed over you, his touch reverent yet possessive, as though he feared you might slip away. The heat between you built steadily, eclipsing the dying embers of the fire as he poured every unspoken word, every buried emotion, into his actions.

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a path of searing kisses that made you arch beneath him. His voice was a rasp against your skin, a broken prayer that sent shivers through your body. “You’re my light,” he murmured, his words raw and unguarded. “My only light.”

Your breath caught at his confession, the raw honesty in his voice sending a tremor through your chest. “Loki…” you whispered, unsure of how to respond to the weight of his words.

His eyes met yours—stormy blue, filled with turmoil and yearning. For a moment, you saw the bare truth of him, stripped of his bravado and sharp edges. The God of Mischief was not a god here, but a man aching for something real, something to hold onto.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, though his voice held no bite. His forehead fell to rest against yours, his breath mingling with yours in a fragile pause. “You’ll ruin me.”

“Perhaps you need to be ruined,” you replied softly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as your hands traced the line of his jaw. “And perhaps I do too.”

Loki groaned softly, a sound of surrender as he tilted his head to kiss you again—this time slower, as though memorizing the feel of you. His hands wandered with a gentleness that belied his desperation, caressing your sides before sliding up to cradle your face. The weight of him grounded you, and the fire between you burned hotter than any embers in the dying hearth.

“I need you,” he whispered between kisses, his voice a husky plea that made your pulse quicken. “Let me forget.”

You nodded, your chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths as you pulled him closer. “forget together.”

His lips curved into the faintest smile—brief, fleeting—before he dipped down again. His kisses trailed lower, his movements deliberate, reverent, as though committing every inch of you to memory. Your body responded to his touch instinctively, arching into him as soft sighs and whispered words filled the empty hall. The cool stone floor was forgotten as Loki's warmth surrounded you, his every caress chasing away the chill as His hand started bringing up the fabric of your gown. His face buried in your neck as his weight shifted on top of you on hand working between your legs, teasing though aching wetness while he freed himself from the leathers holding him. “Norms I need you pet.”

His voice demanding you make it better, make him better. It was all the warning you got as he bit down on you neck at lanced himself into you his hand over your mouth the moment you cried out. Muffling the noise before you nipped his fingers.

“Shhh darling..” He purred before slowly pulling his hips back moaning into your ear, your eyes going back as you felt every ridge of him pull along your slick walls. “got to be quiet..” His own voice shaking in whisper, his hand bringing your thigh up higher, letting him sink further as your hands gripped tightly to his shoulders. To be full of him was all you wanted. You walls holding him as your own body responded to his.

The shadows on the walls flickered like living things, dancing in time with the rise and fall of your bodies. Loki’s name slipped from your lips like a prayer, and he shuddered against you, his hands tightening on your skin.

“Say it again,” he pleaded softly, his voice trembling as he kissed the hollow of your throat. “Say my name.” AS she push into you again.

“Loki…” you whispered, threading your fingers through his raven hair and holding him close.

His response was a broken sound—one you couldn’t decipher, though it clung to you like a promise. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body moulding to yours as though you could banish every ghost that haunted him. His movements long and fluid as his hips rocked back in forth, taking his time.

Hours seemed to pass as the two of you moved in tandem, unspoken words conveyed through every kiss, every touch, building heat and need that seemed to rope through both of your so tight it seemed ready to break. “Loki…” You couldn’t hold it anymore, your body thrummed now. As you whispered his name again, Loki's body tensed, his hips freezing for a moment before he began to move with a newfound urgency. His strokes were deeper, harder, and more insistent, as if he was trying to claim you, to mark you as his own.

Your body responded in kind, your walls clenching around him, holding him tight as you felt the tension build to a crescendo. The shadows on the walls seemed to grow longer, darker, as if they were feeding off the energy between you.

Loki's hands were everywhere, touching, caressing, and claiming. His mouth was on your skin, kissing, biting, and sucking. You felt like you were being consumed, devoured by his passion, his need.

And then, in an instant, it was too much. Your body shattered, breaking apart into a thousand pieces as you came. The sound that escaped your lips was raw, primal, and unbridled, a scream of pleasure that was muffled only by Loki's hand over your mouth.

He followed you, his body jerking, convulsing, as he emptied himself into you, his breathing tight and strangled.

And when the embers in the hearth finally gave way to darkness, the two of you lay tangled together, the stillness broken only by the sound of your breathing.

Loki’s hand found yours, his long fingers weaving between yours as though anchoring himself to you. He said nothing, but when you glanced at him, his gaze held a softness that spoke volumes. He looked at you like you were the answer to a question he’d been too afraid to ask, the balm to a wound too deep to heal.

You reached up, brushing your knuckles against his cheek once more. “You mine to carry..” you said quietly.

Loki’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yours,” he murmured, pulling you closer until his forehead pressed against yours. “Mine.”

For tonight, at least, the ghosts that seemed to haunt his eyes were chased way.

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