Hello lovelies! You can call me Tesss.
| 28 | She/Her | Hiddlestoner | MCU & Star Wars fan | Bi |
Masterlist | AO3
Please feel free to send a fic request!
I frequently post/reblog content that is NSFW/18+, please DNI if you are a minor.
All smut will be tagged so it can be filtered. Any of my own fics that contain smut will be linked from AO3.
Hey y’all! Welcome to my masterlist. It’s a bit sparse right now, but I’m just getting started! If there’s an idea you’d like to see here, please feel free to send me a request. You can also find my fics on AO3.
Fics with an asterisk (*) contain smut. These are intended for 18+ readers ONLY. Please respect that.
Unless otherwise noted, reader inserts are from a female perspective.
One-Shots
Pillow Talk* (Loki x reader)
God of My Heart (Loki x reader)
Blue (WIP)
Pairing: Loki x reader
Summary: Loki is your next-door neighbor who always goes out of his way to say hello to your pup.
Word Count: 1385 (and counting)
Warnings: none... pure fluff
Links: Part 1 / Part 2
A Stranger’s Vow* (WIP)
Pairing: Loki x OFC (Elin)
Summary: A stranger arrives in Asgard, claiming to have received an invitation, but neither Odin nor his sons have any idea who she is. The princes are shocked when their father invites the mysterious young woman to stay at the palace. But when the God of Mischief catches her in a lie, minutes after her arrival, he takes it upon himself to unravel her story. The more he knows, the more he cares… and it might just cost both of them their lives.
Word Count: 23,934 (and counting)
Warnings: explicit language, eventual smut, loss & grief, mentions of past torture (brief/vague), canon-divergent (after TDW)
Notes: There is mention of Frigga’s murder scene from Thor: The Dark World, but the story does not follow canon after her death. In this version, Odin has reluctantly allowed Loki to go free in recognition of his role in saving Thor and Jane, and Thor remains in Asgard to try to keep the peace between the two of them.
Y’all... this is an extremely self-indulgent story. I’m playing fast and loose with elements of both the MCU and SW. I’m grasping at straws to make excuses for Frigga’s parenting decisions because I really want to believe that she would have been a good mom under different circumstances. I’m BS-ing some lore about kyber crystals and other Force-related stuff. And Loki & Elin’s relationship was supposed to be slow-burn, but these characters immediately ran away from me and hopped in bed with each other. It’s been a fun story to write, though, which is the only reason it’s here. If you still want to read it after all that... we must be kindred spirits.
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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.
And I love when he says “It’s an impressive cage. Not built, I think, for me.” The placement of ‘I think’ drives me crazy in a good way!! Gets me all tingly!!
Well, he IS the Silvertongue. He is supposed to drive you to distraction with his words and voice. So it would be bad form for him to use incorrect grammar. :P
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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.”
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.
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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
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.
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.
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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.
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