lowkeytesss

[lowkeytesss]

Oh my gosh, where do I even begin?? This is genuinely one of the best works of fanfiction I've ever read. I love this take on Din's character, and all the adorable little interactions with Grogu. It's the perfect balance of adventure & day-to-day life on the Razor Crest with our favorite space dad. The spicy scenes are exquisite, and the YEARNING (ohmygod) ...the yearning is off the freaking charts. The history that these two share, and the pacing of it all, it's an emotional rollercoaster that I enjoyed every moment of! To say I'm looking forward to the next installment is a huge understatement.

Basically, stop whatever you're doing right now and go read this whole series.

Season 1

Episode 1: One Very Good Night (12k) (Multi-Chapter)

A bad night out with a friend leads to a much better one with a mysterious Mandalorian.

Episode 2: Good Company (18k) (Multi-Chapter)

Many years later, a not-so-stranger finds himself in a cantina on Tatooine.

Episode 3: Me or the Thought of Me (9.5k)(Multi-Chapter)

The Razor Crest has never been home to more than the Mandalorian.

Episode 4: Galaxies Collide (3.5k)

Everything you need to know about the Mandalorian is in his hands.

Episode 5: A Sweet Response to Tragedy (5.8k)(Multi-Chapter)

A trip to the market defines Mando’s boundaries.

Episode 6: Bloom (4k)

Mando offers a lesson in restraint. And blasters.

Episode 7: Ache (3.2k)

In the aftermath of illness, Mando takes another step.

Episode 8: Both Sides of the Door (13.3k)(Multi-Chapter)

Nevarro holds many revelations about your companion, and Mando comes to some of his own.

Episode 9: Soft Fires (5.3k)

You’ve learned much about the Mandalorian, but his tiny green companion is still a mystery.

Season 2

Episode 10: If the Moon Walks Out (6k)

The Mandalorian’s profession ushers in a harsh reality.

Episode 11: Rising Phoenix (4.7k)

The Mandalorian offers a gift greater than he imagined.

Interludes

Interlude 1: The First Ever Touch (2.8k)

Din’s first meeting with the child sparks a memory. Takes place around Season 1, Episodes 1-3.

[lowkeytesss]

The Mandalorian concept art | illustrated by Dave Filoni

[lowkeytesss]

thanks for reading my din fic!! Just got your comment in my email inbox, it was so so kind

you're so welcome! I've been binging Mando fics all day to cheer myself up, and yours was so freaking good! ❤

[lowkeytesss]

♦

[lowkeytesss]

mark hamill and carrie fisher adventures in the star wars set 🥺🤍

[lowkeytesss]

‘Be on time. Be prepared. And be true to you.’

Tom Hiddleston’s wise words at MCM Comic Con London, 23rd October 2021

[lowkeytesss]

What if Luke was a Prince on Alderaan and Leia was a farmer on Tatooine?

[lowkeytesss]

Which ironically makes him smile, because although the part of him that hates it all continues to exist, another much darker part appears; yearning for you to hurt —craving it and wanting it, because if you’re in pain that means he’s winning.

This was simply devastating, Summer 😭😭😭

THAT OLE DEVIL CALLED LOVE

SUMMARY: Loki promises he won't leave.

PAIRINGS: Loki Laufeyson & Gender Neutral Reader

WORD COUNT: 816

WARNINGS: Toxic relationships, allusions to mental health issues (specifically BPD), mentions of abandonment issues.

A/N: Is this just a bunch of metaphorical bullshit to represent my struggle with BPD? Yes. Does anyone care? Probably not, but that's okay, here have it anyway! :')

Loki feels like rain against your skin —a torrential downpour of dampened droplets, crashing into your frame.

It’s alarming at first. The way he covers you in his innards like storm clouds stealing the sky; taking away the sunlight despite your desperate protests.

Greedily, he takes the brightness and the heat, shielding you from its sustenance until you’re left thinking that what you have is normal —that the way he pours himself onto empty, untouched skin, coating it in weakened tears long forgotten, is love and not just him seeking you in times of need.

Because he does need you. Like the rain needs the clouds and the clouds need the sky —Loki always speaks of how much he needs you. “I’ve given up on the lies,” he tells you. Always holding your face or your hands, stroking the goosebumps that line your skin like textured fear as you shiver from his grasp and shake your head, knowing that the truth is scarce.

Because Loki lies about lying —forever repeating each line to himself with a smile right before he finds you again, working to claim you as his own as he ignores the crisscrossed fingers hidden behind his back.

And every time he succeeds; taking you in his arms; whispering his falsities like a broken religion you’ve long since abandoned. In your ear, he prays for your existence —for your mind, body, and soul to submit, needing you pliant and ready, because what use to him are you if you’re defiant?

Nothing, you think, because without compliance Loki’s affections are void. Without blind accession you’re without purpose —just another plaything meant to be discarded in the graveyard that contains the people who may have loved him.

Thinking about it, you’re almost certain that you love him. Even though you often feel more like a contractual obligation than a partner; always giving him everything and receiving empty promises in return. There’s no gain in your alliance. No equality between parties, yet regardless, each time you’re presented with documents disguised as loyalty, you find yourself gripping the pen with shaking hands and signing the dotted line.

“You won’t leave me again, right?” you ask him, bated breath and blinking eyes, looking up at him like he’s the rain coming in to wash away the drought.

You feel it pour across your skin like waves —wet lips taking hold of all his favourite spots, lapping them up like silent promises of allegiance as he feels you curl around him —protecting him; taking all the bad inside yourself so that he can thrive amongst the toxicity of your kindness.

“I won’t,” he says then, peppering your cheeks with soft kisses that radiate relief, despite your mind knowing that I won’t is always code for later.

“Promise?”

You know that the questions itself is redundant. It’s meaninglessness heavy on your mind as you work to part your lips and ask anyway; hoping that somehow through his absence he’s managed to swap out prayers for miracles.

Wordlessly you watch him stare, his mouth retreating from its place upon your face to move and survey the desperation in your eyes, instantly seeing just how much you need him and how attached you’ve become despite his obvious mistreatment.

And a part of him breaks because of it; his insides shattering into white bolts of lightning that painfully lick his skin, reminding him that his pleasures contain guilt and that, with time, his actions have become knives that stab until the wounds that ink your skin are stained in red he can’t quite see as you plead for him to stay, just this once please stay.

Which ironically makes him smile, because although the part of him that hates it all continues to exist, another much darker part appears; yearning for you to hurt —craving it and wanting it, because if you’re in pain that means he’s winning.

If you’re suffering that means he’s above you, high up in the clouds, watching you bathe in colourless blood, so desperate and alone.

Beneath him, you’re drawn to his power —to the empty offerings of close companionship you fall for each time he finds a sliver of hunger within his stomach.

You’ll do anything he says at the promise of permeant residency. You’ll mold yourself into something new; take up a different identity to better serve his needs. You’ll commit crimes —unlawful acts of service to help even the smallest of problems get resolved.

Norns, at this rate, Loki knows you’d probably hollow out your own chest for him if he asked —if somehow he needed a place to stay where he knew he’d be safe; trapped inside the cavernous space of your self-destructive body.

Loki can do anything he wants to you, and as he watches the way your eyes shine for him and him alone, he can’t help but smile and say, “promise.”

[lowkeytesss]

Ao3 writers are the strongest Avengers

[lowkeytesss]

i think sam makes bucky listen to we didn’t start the fire and he’s like you have to do a shot every time they mention an event you personally had a hand in. at the JFK mention you have to chug this whole beer

[lowkeytesss]

Reunion

Pairing: Captain Rex x F!Reader Word Count: 790 Rating: Explicit 18+ Warnings: Oral sex (f receiving), face sitting

zinzinina kinktober drabble masterlist // want to be tagged? ✨ 

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[lowkeytesss]

Driven to Distraction (Loki/Reader Lullabies #181)

Fandom: Marvel/Avengers

Pairing: Loki/Reader

Category: Fluff.

Rating: PG, maybe, for suggested adult situation, but it’s not smut.

Summary: You’re just sitting at home, minding your own business, when the sight of you takes Loki off-guard.

Warnings/Notes: This is another one that was more or less requested by @katherinalyn (whom I still can’t tag–wtf, Tumblr). Thank you! I hope I’ve done it justice! (And okay, the gif is maybe a li’l steamy but I promise this is not smut!

Driven to Distraction

It’d been a while since you made time for something like this, but you were enjoying it all the same. Cozied up in the window-seat in your apartment, a few panes of glass and multiple stories away from the street with a throw-blanket and a thick old book in your lap. Why didn’t you read more? It felt good. It was wonderful, this particular book, and opening it and sinking into the story felt a lot like coming home. The sun was beginning to set, shining rich and golden through the window. In a little while, the beaming light would probably make this seat a little warmer than would be truly comfortable, or at least it might make it more difficult to read the words on the page before you, but, for right now, you felt a little like you were in a fairy tale. Or maybe like you were in a fantasy that you might have had as a kid dreaming about having your very own place in the middle of a big city.

Keep reading

[lowkeytesss]

I often think of the little human parts of the Star Wars characters’ lives.

Like, did Ahsoka wake up early at the Temple to go train with Anakin or the clones? Did they stay up late at night together to talk? Did Ahsoka cook traditional Shili meals for Anakin in those rare days when they were at the Temple? Or did Anakin make them for Ahsoka to remind her of home? Did they nap together during tiring field missions, Ahsoka’s head resting on Anakin’s or Obi-Wan’s arm?

That’s why I love those little mundane scenes in the show and the movies. Anakin and Padme just having a good time on Naboo: going on picnics, having dinner together on long cool rose smelling nights, sitting by the fireplace, talking about nothing and everything. Or Obi-Wan casually having a drink with an old friend at a diner, even though he’s on a mission. Anakin telling Ahsoka that he’s hungry, so they go to a cafe to eat, just eat and rest a bit and talk about their mission, while enjoying the food. Fixing their starfighters in the company of Artoo, hating the job the way we hate mopping the floor, but still low-key valuing their time together, chatting about the recent news on the HoloNet. Rex staring at a picture of him with his brothers that was taken by someone for no other reason but the one why we take photos with our friends. Anakin bringing pizza from one mission that a friend on the cruiser gave him, Padme promising to bake some bread later. It’s all so vague and small, and heavily underrated, because those little details, hobbies, everyday likes and dislikes are what makes the heroes real. It’s that string that connects the Star Wars world to ours because it’s one of the only things we share in common.

And also the Ghost’s crew. Zeb loving waffles, Hera’s favourite fruit being meilourans, Sabine painting her room and the walls of the ship, and even her seat in the cockpit, Kanan and Hera loving the silence of the Ghost when there are no kids on it, Ezra and Zeb watching the sunset while listening to space Hawaii radio, chilling, Kanan using empty milk bottles to help train Ezra, the Ghost just being their literal home where they feel safe and loved.

It’s those tiny details on an oil painting that seem insignificant at first but are the soul of it in reality.

[lowkeytesss]

Me trying to leave a comment on a fic I love but not knowing what to say

[lowkeytesss]

😉😉😉

[lowkeytesss]

In the Dark

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Here it is on Ao3

Rated: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 4.8k+

Summary: You and Din have a thing…it’s very complicated. It’s definitely not just sex but will either of you admit there’s something more between you?

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, PiV, oral (f receiving), fingering, creampie (blink and you’ll miss it), hickies and other marks, biting (just a lil), angst, feelings, some fluff, mutual pining, dumb idiots in love but they don’t wanna admit it

AN: This is my very first Din Djarin fic and I am soooooo proud of it. It was inspired by the phenomenal @charnelhouse​​ , whose Din fics are absolutely amazing. I’ve been working on this for weeks and I feel like it might be some of my best work. Please let me know what you think! Your comments, likes, and reblogs really mean the world to me.

You’d memorised the way from your bunk to his. Late at night, when you should both be asleep, you sidestep the crates stacked against the wall and tiptoe through the darkened hull of the Crest. The cold metal floor bites into the soles of your feet and the only light that guides your path is the dim glow of the emergency strips lining the walls.

He’s never asleep when you tap on the thin door that separates his little bunk from the hull. Each night he expects you. Neither of you are really sure why you don’t just start the night this way — together. Maybe it’s because then you would both have to confront the fact that there is something more between you and it would be too real. Something that doesn’t exist cannot be broken, or taken away…but this is real, whatever it is, it’s almost devastatingly real. Denial is just easier.

Keep reading

[lowkeytesss]

TALK TOO MUCH

SUMMARY: After Loki's presumed dead (yet again) you move into his apartment only to later find him very much alive and bleeding all over the place.

PAIRINGS: Loki Laufeyson & Gender Neutral Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,966

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, light descriptions of blood and gore, that's about it for this one.

A/N: Did I write this whole thing in one sitting? Yes. Is it properly edited? Probably not, but that's future Summer's problem. :)

I also might turn this into a two parter –haven't quite decided yet.

Don’t freak out, don’t freak out, don’t freak out…

The sentence repeatedly plays in your head as you sink further under the covers, feeling your breath catch inside the centre of your throat as you listen to the sounds of banging erupt just outside the door.

It practically pulls you out of your skin just listening to it; hearing the racket move abruptly through the living room in between a chorus of muffled swears that force you to tightly shut your eyes and cover your ears.

I’m going to die, you think. Right here, right now in Loki’s stupid apartment.

At this point it’s almost comical to think about —you dying in the apartment of a man who literally just died. It’s such a sick and twisted coincidence, or maybe more of a curse —like somehow death itself has awoken hungry and this apartment is it’s hunting grounds, feeding on the flesh of whoever happens to step inside.

It’s not exactly how you want to go, but obviously if death’s in charge you know there’s no denying it —you’re going to go how death says you’re going to go, and if that happens to be by a measly old breaking and entering so be it.

Swallowing hard, you hear the crashing of glass followed by a loud groan, prompting you to push the covers away and jump out of bed; your body moving on autopilot.

You need to find something to defend yourself. Maybe a baseball bat or a heavy lamp —literally anything with a bit of weight that you can just toss at the perpetrator if things go south.

Scanning your surroundings, you bite your lip and tip toe towards the closet, pushing open the door as quietly as you can to reveal nothing but a few loose hanging coats and a scarf.

Fuck.

This time it’s your turn to swear as you turn on your heel and run your fingers through your hair, gripping the roots in frustration as you hurriedly pad through the bedroom, desperate to find literally anything.

Which turns out to be an impossible feat considering that there’s not much to work with. Most of the previous tenant’s stuff has already been packed and taken; hidden away to collect dust until they’re eventually reopened in the form of memories.

At this point all that’s really left are a few pieces of large furniture and a handful of random, invaluable items —all of which have no quality of danger. There’s no knives or guns or ancient relics that you’d assume a god of mischief might have laying around, which makes you panic as you listen to the noises outside get increasingly closer.

“Shit, shit, shit…” Pacing back and forth, you feel your heartbeat thump against your chest, creating an ache that radiates beneath your skin as you swiftly move towards the nightstand and grab your phone.

You’re not sure what you can even do with it at this point, but you fumble with it anyways, your hands shaking as you move to press the emergency call button at the same time you hear the door handle begin to twist, prompting your hand to tighten around the device.

Somehow in the next second or two you need to come up with a plan —something that can buy you some time to get the upper hand so you can escape or attack or at least come to a conclusion that won’t get you absolutely eviscerated.

Noticing the door begin to open, you go with your first instinct and chuck the phone in your hand, watching it’s shadow arc through the darkness until it makes contact with the person’s face, prompting them to angrily flick on the light.

“What the hell are you doing in my apartment?” they angrily ask, and immediately you stop in your tracks; your mind unable to commit to fight or flight as you watch a very much alive Loki storm into the room with his hand on the spot where you’ve managed to nail him.

“I uh… I—“

“And where’s all my stuff?” Moving towards the end of the bed, Loki examines the room with narrowed eyes, a visible distaste lacing his features as he eventually looks to you and drops his hand. “C’mon, speak up. I know you’ve done this.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you say, but all Loki does is scoff and mock your innocent tone with rolling eyes.

“Did Thor put you up to this?” He takes a step towards you, raising a threatening finger that’s coated in blood.

Which makes you realize he’s literally covered in it —from head to toe, he’s dripping in mucked up layers of crimson that stick to his skin in dried out patches, making your already erratic heart begin to quicken and pulse; your head becoming dizzier by the second, because not only is he here, standing upright instead of lying dead in ditch somewhere, but he’s injured too.

And he’s tracking blood all over your apartment, causing you to frown and wordlessly move towards the connecting bathroom, all while Loki continues to rant about the potential offenders who could’ve possibly up and transferred his possessions to some lowly Midgardian such as yourself.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Shaking his head, he paces back and forth and swipes the back of his hand across his face, catching a pool of blood that causes him to furrow his brow at the same time you re-enter the room with a dampened cloth.

“Why didn’t you tell me I was bleeding all over the place?”

“I don’t know, I figured you knew.” Rolling your eyes, you wander to his side and motion for him to sit at the edge of the bed, immediately becoming surprised when he does it, his usual protesting nature gone with the wind.

“Well, obviously I didn’t considering how hard it is to tell when one’s bleeding when they’re busy wondering who’s stolen their stuff,” he says, partially flinching when you sit down next to him and press the cloth to his face.

“Yeah well, it’s also hard to tell someone their bleeding when you assume they’re a burglar.”

“A burglar?” he asks, shooting you a smirk that makes you frown even harder. “You  can’t be serious.”

“What?” In response you give him an offended look and press the damped fabric further into his forehead, prompting him to groan and pull away; angrily grabbing your wrist in the process.

“Be gentle,” he warns.

Part of you wants to ignore him and instead smother him to death with the cloth, but being the better person you merely sigh and rip yourself from his grip before returning to your previous position, dabbing the wound as lightly as possible.

“I can’t believe you’ve managed to pull this shit again,” you say as you do it, moving your hand gently across the deepened cuts that frame his hairline. “Thor’s going to kill you.”

“Not if he doesn’t know.”

“You think I’m not gonna tell him?” Angrily, you raise your other hand to cup his cheek and move his head to the side, feeling the way the edges of his lips pull the skin towards your fingers as you make work of his other side.

“If you know what’s best for you, you won’t.”

“Yeah okay, Bloody Mary.” Out of habit, you roughly tap his cheek with your palm, causing him to laugh, because both of you know he doesn’t mean it. Loki’s always had a soft spot for you.

“I’m serious this time,” he says, but despite the dramatic tone he’s still grinning like a fool. “If he finds out I’m alive he’ll surely hunt me down and strike me where I stand.”

“Oh, and that’s a bad thing?” You quirk your brow upwards and trail the cloth along a set of small cuts that hardly need the amount of care you’re giving them, prompting him to snort.

“Wow, I die for a mere couple of weeks and already you’ve moved on.”

Swiping a small patch of dried blood, you force yourself to suppress the urge to smile, noticing just how close the two of you are. “I haven’t moved anything other than your stuff.”

“Ah yes, a bit of a hasty decision, don’t you think? Surely you knew I’d return?”

You lick your bottom lip nervously and drop your hands to your lap with a sigh, unsure how to respond, because truthfully you weren’t so sure this time.

Loki’s died a thousand times and sure, he’s always made it back, but somehow this time felt real. It felt like the end —the time you’d see him disappear for good, because at some point it was bound to happen. At some point he was meant to leave and never return, while you’d remain feeling stuck and alone wondering what you could’ve done to change his ways.

It’s how things have always been between you since the beginning of, well, whatever this was, except this time around there was a semblance of acceptance. This time you’d accepted that he was gone, because Thor himself had seen him die; fully witnessing his lifeless body get thrown over some cliff.

It was all the evidence anyone needed to come to the conclusion that he was well and truly gone, which was why you were here in the first place, taking over his space.

“Nobody knew where your body was.” Looking down at your hands, you swallow back the realization that you’re actually relieved to see him —a feeling that often doesn’t present itself, because most of the time his presence just pisses you off more than anything.

“That doesn't mean I'm dead,” he defends, but it comes out harsh, as if he’s offended that you’d even think he could die like everyone else.

“Okay, but that doesn’t mean you’re alive either,” you argue, meeting his gaze.

Both of you narrow your eyes then, challenging each other in a way that’s familiar and homely, prompting the silence that festers between you to become short lived after you let out a defeated sigh.

“All I’m saying is it would’ve been nice to have a heads up that you were coming back, even if that heads up came with the promise of not telling anyone else.”

“Why?” The look in his eyes is filled more with confusion than anger, causing you to toss the bloodstained cloth aside and move your hands to your eyes.

Out of frustration you palm them roughly, digging the heels of your hands into the sockets as you let out a deep groan and fall back onto the bed. “Because maybe if I knew you were coming back I wouldn’t have broken the lease on my place and moved into yours!”

“Wait, you live here now?”

You move your hands and take a peek at Loki’s reaction, noticing the absence of hurt you figured might be there. “I mean, yeah, why else would I be here?”

“I don’t know, mourning purposes or something.” Casually, he turns away and waves his hand, showcasing an air of nonchalance that makes your stomach twist and your palms clench, because of course he doesn’t think this is a big deal.

Loki’s never really understood the implications of regular human things. Mostly because he doesn’t feel they have yet to apply to him. Being magical and annoying and unfortunately godly he’s always just assumed everything would sort itself out without consequence, even though they definitely don’t.

At least, not this time. Because regardless of what he says, you aren’t leaving this place without a proper fight. Like him, you’ve earned the right to be here, even if that right had been given to you by a careless Thor who definitely should’ve better confirmed that his brother was dead instead of missing like he actually was.

“Loki, I don’t think you really get why I’m angry.” Realizing that you’re most likely going to have to spell it out for him, you sit back up and once again tighten your grip on the cloth in your lap, practically tearing it in two due to the amount of stress you feel.

“Look, I’m sorry I’m not dead, but—”

Throwing your head back in frustration, you sigh again before turning to face him. “Oh for god’s sake I’m not mad that you’re dead,” you tell him, annoyance filling your features as you watch his mouth fall open. “In fact, I’m actually relieved you’re not, because now I don’t have to go to the compound everyday and have people stare at me all sad, wondering if I’m okay!”

“Why would—“

“Like seriously, isn’t it obvious that I’m not?” You interrupt him with a dry laugh that’s devoid of it’s usual humour, ignoring the way he cocks his head to the side looking almost amused. “Like how could I be okay when my best friend is dead?”

Mockingly, Loki juts out his bottom lip and wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his chest with a heavy sigh. “You know, for a supposed best friend, you have very little faith in me.”

“Yeah well, can you blame me?”

“Guess not.”

Despite wanting to remain angry, you find yourself clutching onto his torso after that, both of your arms gripping tightly onto the fabric of his dirtied shirt as you recount the last few weeks without him, realizing that deep down you really did miss him.

From his attitude to his innate sense of hatred and overall guardedness; you missed a lot things about him. Things like his jokes and his pranks and that hidden playful innocence that only really came out among the few he trusted.

You also missed his face, as much as you hate to admit it, knowing if you ever said that he’d most likely bully you about it, using that stupid, low voice of his to torment you continuously.

God, and how you missed that stupid voice of his —that unrelenting tone that always barked out a never-ending streamline of complaints. Out of everything you definitely missed that the most, solely for the consistent promise of discussion; something you hadn’t realized you missed until it had been taken from you.

“God, you really are the worst, aren’t you?” No longer able to hide the obvious relief blooming inside your gut, you pull away and scrunch up your face, reaching to grab his cheeks and squish them together.

Unsurprisingly, not long after you do it he bats your hand away, giving you a warning look. “I assumed you already knew that.”

“I did, but somehow you’ve outdone yourself this time.”

With a chuckle, he squeezes your shoulder and stands up, moving to stretch his arms with a groan.

You see then that there’s another coating of blood pooling around his lower abdomen, coating the unfamiliar office shirt that sticks to his chest, prompting you to follow him upwards and reach for the hem.

“Mind taking me out to dinner before you undress me?” he jokes as you pull the fabric upward and shake your head.

“Shut up, I’m trying to fix you not fuck you.”

“That’s only mildly disappointing.”

Ignoring the way that phrase makes your heart literally fumble against your ribcage, you drop the shirt’s hem and instead move to undo the buttons, keeping your eyes focused on the blood that continues to seep through.

“What the hell even happened to you?”

Shrugging, Loki looks down and grins at your precise movements, taking in the way you focus on your hands and how they desperately seek to expose him. “That’s a bit of a long story.”

“Obviously I have time.”

“Of course you do.”

Snorting as you undo the last button, you look to see a massive, freshly opened gash on his right side, prompting you to share his gaze. “Seriously?”

“What?”

“We’ve been sitting here the whole time wiping your stupid face when you’ve had this shit going on?” You motion towards it angrily, watching the way his face contorts into that expression of annoyed exhaustion you often see whenever he’s done something wrong and you’ve gone into mom mode.

“What? It’s not like it hurts.”

“This doesn’t hurt?”

“No, why would it hurt?”

Raising your arms, you give him your biggest are you fucking kidding me look and shake your head, unable to fathom the lack of pain he’s apparently feeling. “Loki, you literally have a cut the size of Marianas Trench on your stomach and you’re gonna tell me you don’t feel it?”

“Course I don’t—“

Before he can even finish you make a grab for the cloth on the bed and press it into the wound with a smug grin that makes him groan through pressed lips.

“By Norns, I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I hate you too. Now c’mon, let’s get you patched up,” you reply, ushering him roughly towards the bathroom.

Thankfully, he goes along with your instruction, following you through the doorway with little to no complaints as you tell him to get comfortable inside the tub and hold the wound.

“You know,” groaning as he gets in, you turn to face the cabinet and pull out your first aid kit, listening to the sounds of him adjusting his body against the porcelain. “Usually it’s me patching you up, isn’t it?”

“Your point?”

“Nothing really. Just pointing it out.”

You can hear the presence of a smile coating his lips —the kind of smile that will more than likely be followed up by some sort of disgusting joke that you’ll think about for weeks on end.

“Alright, c’mon, say it.”

“Say what?”

Turning on your heel, you cross your arms over your chest and lean against the countertop, giving him a raised brow that he immediately reciprocates with one of his own.

“Darling, I swear I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he then muses, forcing back the aforementioned grin you knew would be there. “All I’m insinuating is that for once it’s nice being on the receiving end for a change.”

Already filled with regret for egging him on, you let out a heavy sigh and grab the first aid kit along with some gloves, positioning them both on the edge of the tub before kneeling down on the floor. “You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?”

Almost immediately, he stifles back a small laugh, his chest shaking as he does it, prompting you to gently move his hand off the compress and take it away.

Thankfully, the bleeding’s already started to settle —only a small portion of it remaining throughout the wound, which instantly makes you release a sigh of relief, because if it’d been any worse you most likely would’ve had to cave and take him to the compound.

Which isn’t something you’re necessarily ready to do yet, given the circumstances. The last thing you need at this point is a night of screaming and interrogations and other such things that would most likely happen upon your arrival.

Really all you want to do is fix up your friend and maybe have a quick drink to calm your nerves before retiring for the night and dealing with everything tomorrow.

“This is definitely going to hurt, isn’t it?”

Pulling you from your thoughts, you nod your head and grab your gloves, sliding each one on before readying the needle alongside your driver. “Probably.”

“Well, in that case, doctor, may I make a request?”

You look up at him, annoyed then, watching the way his smirk makes its return, coating his cheeks in a layer of warmth you’re almost certain you’ve never seen before. “Yes, patient?”

“After all this,” he starts, motioning to the needle in your hand, “would you mind doing me a favour?”

“Only if you sit still.”

“Will you kiss it better?”

Kiss it better? Good fucking lord.

For a moment you think about leaving —just standing up and walking out, leaving him to bleed out and die like he was meant to. At this point it’d be a better option than having to remain here to finish the job, because at least leaving would mean you wouldn’t have to deal with that fucking smirk of his.

“Loki, can we please not do this right now,” you practically groan, hearing him laugh.

“I’m being serious! On Asgard it’s actually customary that the medical professional kisses the patient after the procedure, whether that be on the wound itself or, preferably in this case, on the lips seeing as this particular injury is quite ghastly.”

As he goes on to fabricate this so-called Asgardian tradition, you try your best to focus on the task at hand by pressing your elbow into his chest, motioning him to lay so that you can get a better angle.

Somehow through the explanation he finds it in himself to listen, making you at least a little bit thankful as he leans back and drones on, explaining that the reason why he’s never thought to bring up the kissing thing to an actual medical professional is because, here on Midgard, such a thing could be deemed as harassment.

Which is an excuse that makes you snort as you start the first stitch, prompting him to let out an angered yell. “You didn’t even warn me!”

“You were too busy talking! I figured you’d be distracted!”

“From a needle piercing my abdomen, are you stupid?”

“No, but I’m sure you’re gonna say otherwise Mr. Kiss Me I’m From Asgard!”

“I was just making a joke!”

“A joke that’s wildly inappropriate given the fact that two hours ago I thought you were dead!”

“Dead? Do you know me at all? I am Loki, of Asgard, and I—“

Before he can even finish you’re doing the unthinkable: pressing your lips against his to shut him up.

And at first it seems to work —the sudden presence of your mouth providing just enough pressure to muffle his annoyed voice, prompting an air of silence to fall between you.

It’s almost nice not having to hear him talk for a minute, even if just earlier you were thinking about how much you missed it. Overall, it gives your mind a sense of peace —a sense of tranquility and clarity that —oh my god— makes you realize that what you’re doing is actually very much wrong.

It’s bad and wrong and wildly inappropriate considering that this is definitely not a boundary either of you had discussed. Nor was it one you ever planned on crossing, despite the better part of your brain currently feeling like it’s simultaneously drowning and on fire.

Loki’s mouth is soft and cool and as much as you want to pull away and profusely apologize, a deeper, much darker part of you wants to keep going.

Except you can’t. Not right now when there’s a gash the size of the Grand Canyon in his stomach.

So, instead of continuing you awkwardly pull away, meeting his gaze with widened eyes and open lips trying their best to connect to the part of your brain that’s able to function and lie and say, “well on Midgard it’s customary to shut the patient up by kissing them if they so choose to not to remain silent” or some bullshit like that.

“Did you just…?“ Almost immediately he trails off, looking at you with cautious eyes that don’t quite fit the smile that presents itself across his mouth.

“Kiss you to shut you up?”

“Yes.”

“Yes. Yes I did. Now will you please stop talking and let me stitch you up so we can do it again without you bleeding all over the place?”

Similarly to you, Loki opens his mouth, but quickly closes it and nods instead.