Loki x Reader (18+). Smut, Violence, Mature Language.
Some people call you good, some call you evil, but you like to think you're somewhere in between. The public doesn't really know of your existence, but the higher powers in the world, from crime...
Loki has been living in the mansion for almost a week now, and it has been trouble-free on the most part. He's frequently in the library or wandering around your garden, seemingly easily amused. Although you know you probably shouldn't, you kind of like the guy.
You are almost certain he's hiding something about New York now, because you can't comprehend why he would basically save your life when he had only known you for a day. Sure, he could chalk it up to you having a nice house, but that's obviously not it.
You're getting ready for a check-in from the Brady Bunch today, and slip on a simple black shirt and matching pants.
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As you fasten the strap of one of your heels you hear a knocking on your door.
"Alex?" you shout and the door opens, "Oh what's up," you say nonchalantly to Loki as he stands in your door frame.
"I heard my brother was coming today-"
"Ah yes, I'm going to need a favour from you," you secure the opposite strap and head towards him.
"That depends on what the favour is," he moves to the side, letting you exit past him.
"I have a feeling you're not going to like this one," you mumble under your breath, strutting down the hall ahead of him.
"So the whole reason Stark sent you to me was because I kind of specialise in gadgets, much like him, and he thought I would be able to come up with a way of 'containing' you," you begin to explain, Loki catching back up to you, pacing at your side.
"I'm well aware," he grumbles in response.
"Well basically, I haven't really been doing my job, seeing as you just decided to stay here anyway. But-"
"But?" he interrupts, seemingly starting to catch on where your point is headed.
"I did, you know, come up with one. So I'm going to need you to wear these," you lead him into your workshop, gesturing towards the electronic wristbands you've been working on.
"Are you serious?" he scoffs, "You really expect me to-"
His sentence is cut short by the snapping shut of the metal bands on his wrists, you looking at him slightly apologetically as you clasp them on.
"Y/N, do you know the real reason I've stayed here so long."
"My good looks and impeccable wit?" you suggest.
"That you don't treat me like a prisoner," he says spitefully.
"Can you just do me a favour, and wear them for one day?" you ask pleadingly.
"Well since you're so desperate, then yes." The growing smirk on his face makes it clear to you that he only wanted to see you beg. You roll your eyes, your assistant walking into the room.
