Loki X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

SECTION A --- EARTH

All one shots from this point onwards are set in New York, EARTH, after Avengers 1

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Loki is a criminal (because of his attacks on new york) but also a hero (because of his help destroying the Tesseract) so, after his capture, no one really knew what to do with him. The conclusion was eventually reached that he would stay on Midgard, where his powers were weakened, and he could be under maximum security at all times. He now has lodgings in Stark tower where his brother could keep an eye on him when he's there and the whole of SHIELD could keep an eye on him when he's not.

Y/N works for the Avengers. She isn't a superhero, she just runs errands and looks after the occupants. Clint, Natasha, Bruce, Steve and Tony all have their own houses, so aren't around a lot, and when they are it's usually to quickly go over a plan or two before rushing out again to destroy a bad guy or mob of killer aliens. One day, starved for company, Y/N makes the risky decision to befriend the only permanent resident... Loki.

And she will not be disappointed.

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Loki would like to say that he has hated every second of living on Midgard, but that would be a lie.

Living on Asgard, he'd been under constant pressure to set an example, to lead, to abide by every meagre rule. He was endlessly bombarded with meetings that droned on for days, invasions from neighbouring planets, civil wars on his own planet. Not to mention the fact that he'd had to do all this whilst living in the ever-present shadow of his older brother, Thor. This, and everything else, had given him a permanently gaunt appearance, a lanky figure, and---compared to everyone else---a slightly weedy appearance.

On Midgard, though, he didn't have to do...anything. He could curl up on a comfy sofa with a book; a real sofa, not one made of solid gold and so encrusted with jewels it would leave imprints of rubies on your skin if you use the armrests. He could take a shower and use the wonderful potions whole Midgardian industries were built on called 'toiletries'. He had even started to like Midgardian food, which he had called 'vile' at first, but now praised for its diversity and flavour. A meal on Asgard---even in The Palace---meant choosing from a selection of root plants, or tough meat. He'd been on Earth only several months and still hadn't eaten the same dish twice.

The result of his vastly improved lifestyle meant his physical appearance and health had enhanced to a considerable degree. Even traces of his enslavement by Thanos (an experience he'd rather not think about) had been erased. Worry lines that had previously creased his forehead vanished. His hair was no longer an oily tangle, messed by his fingers running through it every ten minutes. His bones are no longer defined bumps pushing against tissue-paper-pale skin.

He's still pale, but rather than ghostly grey, his complexion is a deep and rich porcelain white. He's bigger, his body filled out a little more, muscles replacing hollows, shoulders wider, arms thicker, his whole stature having shifted from boy to man in a few short weeks. He used to be the kind of person you wouldn't notice sneaking up on you, but now he's the kind of person you feel standing next to you before you see them. His presence is more solid, that of a confident, powerful individual, all sparkling eyes and formidable energy.

When he'd moved (well, been moved) into Stark Tower, it was difficult to remember that he was a god.

Now, it was difficult to forget.