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Summary
It all started—like most compromising moments in Loki’s life—by losing a bet. To Agent Mobius, no less.
And what was Mobius’ prize?
Loki had to allow him to braid his hair.
“Why in Hel would you want to do that?!” Loki huffed.
It was nonsense. Ridiculous!
“Because,” Mobius replied, “your hair looks—just like any other part of you—divine,” he whispered in awe.
“You needn’t flatter me!” Loki retorted. Mobius was surely just teasing him. “Just shut up and do it!"
The sooner Mobius claimed his idiotic prize, the better.
AKA I miss Lokius and I felt inspired to do a cracky, fluffy and soft hair braiding fic with touch-starved Loki. With additional bickering 'cause it's their love language.