#much on fear. i’m inviting it into my space deliberately. it’s the main emotion i’m experiencing from the media i consume. and i don’t know

[fingertipsmp3]

So me and my friend unpacked that night terror I had the other night & basically I am now on a self-imposed horror ban because I genuinely think if I keep consuming horror with my current mental state I will have a full-blown psychotic break 😔✌🏻

[diverdowns]

tidal volume (read on ao3?) implied kira yoshikage/kujo josefumi. spoilers for JJL 49-52. rated T; 2.4k words

Kira smiles, eyes shuttered and secretive, and Josefumi thinks: this is what it’s like to drown.

“Do you enjoy playing God?” Kira asks, watching Soft & Wet draw bubbles around the seam where the two branches connect. The bubbles pop, one by one, revealing a smooth join grafted flawlessly together.

“Do you?” Josefumi replies. He doesn’t have to ask, but he does anyway to humor Kira, maybe. He doesn’t expect Kira to reply. True to form, Kira says nothing, shooting Josefumi a pensive look. Look at me, Josefumi thinks. What do you see?

Josefumi shakes his head, running a finger along the branch and checking for imperfections. Kira’s eyes follow, sharp as a hawk.

“I enjoy fixing things,” Josefumi says. Kira’s silence is expectant where it hangs in the air between them — heavy, tangible. “This branch — it was taken from another plant. Separated from the main tree, it would die. But like this, joined together again, it can bloom. It can bear fruit. Taking something apart to put it together again, slightly different, something new from the old — it’s fascinating.”

Is that what you think you are? Kira doesn’t ask. Josefumi hears it all the same in the weight of his gaze, in the sweep of his lashes. It makes Josefumi’s lips quirk upwards, briefly — a small, bitter thing.

Yes, he doesn’t reply. Maybe. Would you take me apart? Josefumi’s hands are steady where they slide away from the branch, as steady as Kira’s eyes trailing up his arm to graze thoughtfully over Josefumi’s face.

I think I would let you, if you asked. Take me apart, that is. The words rise in Josefumi’s mind and stick at the back of his throat, fierce and unrepentant. The waves tug relentlessly at his heels and there’s salt on his tongue, iron in his lungs.

Kira smiles, eyes shuttered and secretive, and Josefumi thinks: this is what it’s like to drown.

.

The beach is a familiar dreamscape, waves crashing tumultuously against the coast. The moon is full where it hangs in the sky, pale light casting a spectral glow across the surf. Josefumi’s feet sink into the cold sand. He represses a shiver when the tide glides through his legs, the icy water reaching his knees.

He’s pacing the length of the shoreline, steps mechanical, practiced. Two strides. One and a half meters. Kira’s voice echoes in his ears.

“It’s all in your steps,” the wind whispers, with Kira’s voice. Josefumi closes his eyes, as the tide draws in steadily higher.

Twenty strides. Thirty meters.

“You need to walk the distance. First, in real life, then in your mind’s eye,” Kira murmurs, and Josefumi takes a shuddering breath. Thirty strides. Forty-five meters. The water is cold where it brushes against his chest, and Josefumi has a split-second of instinctual panic before familiar hands brush across his waist, his neck.

“Keep your strides steady,” Kira says, and Josefumi obeys, his movements sluggish in the rising tide. “Josefumi.” Forty strides. Sixty meters.

“Kira,” he tries to say, but when he opens his mouth, saltwater rushes in. Josefumi jerks, choking, but when he opens his eyes, Kira is in front of him, pale and otherworldly where he floats in the water.

“Josefumi,” Kira says again, his voice clear despite the water around them. Kira’s eyes are greedy, focused, predatory. “Are you alive? Or have you already drowned? Choose, Josefumi. You can’t stay here, on the boundary, or I’ll choose for you.”

He puts his hands on Josefumi’s neck — soft, at first, and then hard — and Josefumi is choking, the world exploding into pinpricks of light and dark around him as he thrashes, struggling for breath. Kira shushes him, pressure insistent at his throat, and Josefumi thinks, his hands are beautiful —

— and then he’s awake, jolting upright, breaths coming fast and labored and shuddering as he savors the feeling of air in his lungs.

“Josefumi,” Kira calls, and Josefumi realizes, distantly, that Kira’s hands are on him: his shoulders, his arm, the small of his back. “You were dreaming.”

Josefumi hugs his knees to his chest, controlling his breathing and sliding a hand across his neck. There is no soreness, no bruising. When he looks up at Kira, all he sees reflected in his eyes is curiosity, concern — and yet.

“Kira,” Josefumi croaks out, running a hand through his hair. The remains of product he’d missed in the shower flakes off onto his fingers like salt from seawater. Kira draws back, just out of reach, and stares at him, waiting. Josefumi feels like he’s going to laugh, like he’s going to cry, like he’s going crazy.

Will you leave me? he wants to ask, but the words don’t come. Instead, he glances out the window, at the dim night sky, approximating the time as a few hours after midnight with a grimace. Strange, he thinks, to see Kira out of sync with his carefully maintained sleep schedule.

“Why are you here?” Josefumi asks, finally, and Kira blinks, eyes darting off to the side. With one hand, Kira thumbs absently at the cuticles of his index finger, a nervous habit. There are faint circles under his eyes, and without his ever-present sailor’s hat, Kira looks strangely vulnerable.

Maybe it’s just the low light, Josefumi tells himself.

“You were calling my name in your sleep,” Kira says. None of his emotion shines through in his voice, flat and devoid of inflection when he speaks. Josefumi knows better, and he waits, letting a beat pass in silence before he shrugs.

“Okay,” Josefumi murmurs. He shifts on the bed, making room for Kira. It’s an unspoken invitation that Kira hesitates at before settling, cross-legged, on Josefumi’s mattress. It’s a small space, a guest bedroom converted haphazardly into something resembling Josefumi’s old room — something resembling Josefumi’s new home.

The silence seems to Josefumi a false calm, like the smooth waters heralding the approach of a storm front. Kira bows his head, his spine a tired, sinuous curve. Josefumi turns to him.

“Holly,” Josefumi says. He’d reach out, if he was braver, if Kira wasn’t who he was: sterile, calculating, detached. Josefumi, in comparison, is compromised, and he knows it — his emotion and his fears gnaw endlessly at his core, digging into him like rust on the hull of a boat. He keeps his hands to himself, letting his voice bridge the gap instead. “She’s going to be okay.”

Josefumi says it for his own sake as much as Kira’s, but he lets himself breathe when Kira nods, when Kira’s fingers twitch slowly against the sheets, his only tell.

“I know that,” Kira replies, his voice placid, and Josefumi lets his eyes drift shut, wondering who Kira’s trying to convince. Neither of them smoke, but Josefumi finds himself thinking that if they did, now would be a good time to do it. The silence hangs in the limbo between tense and comfortable and awkward, and Josefumi speaks before he can catch himself.

“Teach me,” he starts, hesitating. Kira waits, ever the patient one. “Teach me to do that trick, where you measure distances by sight.”

Kira’s quiet, his body going still, and Josefumi almost stops breathing to match him. He counts his heartbeat instead, counts his pulse, heavy in his ears like the crash of waves against the shore. After a few seconds — six beats, Josefumi’s mind supplies — Kira relaxes, acquiescing as he rises to his feet.

“It takes practice,” Kira says, gesturing for Josefumi to come towards him. “It’s all in your steps.” Strides. Meters. The waves speed up. Josefumi can feel them beat against his fingertips if he focuses. He’d thought of Kira like the ocean at first, vast and untameable, but he knows now that Kira is the moon.

“Try me. I’m a fast learner,” Josefumi says, and follows like the tide.

.

The kitchen cabinets are organized meticulously, sorted by color — layers upon layers of green lie behind closed drawers. Josefumi doesn’t ask. If he opens the bathroom medicine cabinet, he never mentions it. He’s not going to judge. He has his own issues.

When he moves in, Kira shows him his room, sets up his futon, and Josefumi just accepts it, letting Kira sort him into his space. He wonders what that makes him. Another box of peas, maybe, another possession of Kira’s, filed safely away into the sanctity of his home. It doesn’t sound half bad to Josefumi, being used, as long as Kira keeps him in the end — another discarded clipping to bottle and catalog.

“Kujo,” Kira calls, beckoning, and Josefumi surprises himself when he speaks.

“Call me Josefumi,” he says. Kujo was the name of the father I never had.

“Okay,” Kira says, unsurprised. “Josefumi.” His name rolls smooth off of Kira’s tongue, shaped like a question instead of a curse. Kira surprises him in his familiarity — the man’s manner is almost deliberately succinct, obtuse, and yet — Josefumi finds himself reading the twitches of his fingers and the tension in his shoulders like a well-worn book, pages fluttering through the wind to reveal Kira’s thoughts.

Who are you? Kira’s eyes whisper — and Josefumi wishes he had an answer.

.

The first lesson Josefumi learns as a child is that abandonment is human nature. His teacher is the burn in his lungs when he watches his mother through his fading vision, still on the shore where she watches him drown. Betrayal stings like salt in his eyes as the water crashes into his mouth, his nose as his mother calls his name, refusing to move. In an instant, he’s swept out into the tide, ground pulled out from underneath him.

After the fact, he acknowledges simple truths. He has no home. His mother, for all she tried to hide it, found him only a passing fancy at best and ultimately, an inconvenience at worst. His parents’ divorce, in the end, is only more salt in age-old wounds.

Holly and Kira gave him his life back, but Josefumi doesn’t start living until he meets Kira for the second time. Kira, unyielding and apathetic, who looks at Josefumi and says, There’s space for you here, if you want it, who hollows out a piece of his home for Josefumi without a second thought. Guilt claws its way into Josefumi’s chest with the weight of a life-debt and speaks for him when Josefumi opens his mouth to say yes — yes, I’ll move in, yes, I’ll help you steal the fruit, yes, I’ll help you save Holly’s life.

Josefumi wants to trust him so badly it hurts. He wants to believe that he’s not just another tool, another pawn, another unfortunate complication of a one-night mistake — he wants to believe that Kira cares about him, even as he learns to unravel Kira’s secrets, as he learns that the man Kira is can’t be what Josefumi craves, what he needs.

Kira’s voice, smooth and manipulative, starts to haunt Josefumi’s dreams, eventually.

Are you alive? Kira asks, in Josefumi’s mind. Or have you already drowned? Choose, Josefumi. You can’t stay here, on the boundary, or I’ll choose for you, he whispers, as his hands — always his hands, beautiful and lithe and deadly — close tight around his neck, before Josefumi inevitably jolts himself awake.

In daylight, Kira is quiet and cunning, deliberate when he extends small concessions to Josefumi. Josefumi doesn’t know what to make of it. He waits for the other shoe to drop, as he knows it inevitably will. He accompanies Kira to sea, trips with the him on his small boat evolving from novelty to habit to comfort as Kira folds Josefumi effortlessly into his life, just as intentional and planned as every other aspect of the doctor’s daily routine.

And still, always there in the background is the rokakaka tree, growing and blooming and flourishing as the season winds down, a living time-bomb. Josefumi wonders, despite himself.

“You can stay here,” Kira tells him once. “Even after, if you don’t have another place to go. I don’t mind it.”

I don’t mind you, Josefumi had translated, exasperated.

Josefumi had tried, with all his heart, to believe it.

.

It ends how it begins.

I’m going to be abandoned, he thinks.

His body collapses and sharp pain consumes his skull as Tamaki forces the bill deeper. Josefumi chokes back a scream, voice breaking in a desperate sob. If I’m going to be left behind — does it make a difference, this time, if I make the first move?

Kira’s voice interrupts his thoughts before he can say a word.

“Josefumi, you run away first,” Kira tells him, voice dark and tinged with resolve. The wound in his side bleeds sluggishly where his body is folded over on itself like a grotesque paper doll. Josefumi thinks he’s going to be sick, watching as Kira’s hands — beautiful, even now — applied futile pressure to the gash, blood running scarlet over his fingers. His jaw is clenched, breath ragged with pain, and Josefumi feels guilt, heavy and all-consuming, wrack through his body as Kira forces himself to talk.

Josefumi’s vision swims with tears.

“Don’t worry about me,” Kira murmurs, voice soft even as his gaze bores hard into Josefumi’s eyes. “Okay? Go on ahead!”

Did he know that I was going to talk? Josefumi thinks, desperately.

“Sorry, Josefumi,” Kira says, a pained smile making its way across his face. “I roped you into this mess… None of this is your fault. You haven’t done anything wrong.” His voice is reassuring, gentle — it sounds like forgiveness, like understanding, and Josefumi starts to fall apart.

Karera appears, the world explodes in a rain of light and sound and blood, and Josefumi runs.

He spots the rokakaka tree, eyes narrowing on the two fruit hanging from its branches. Kira is limp where he sags against Josefumi’s arms, his blood painted red across Josefumi’s hands. Josefumi breathes, and he runs, and he counts.

Sixty meters away. Forty strides.

Thirty meters away. Twenty strides.

One and a half meters away. Two strides.

He watches his hands harden and crumble as the fruit makes its way past Kira’s lips, and Josefumi understands. He lets it happen, feels the exchange take him apart, piece by piece. He can hear voices in the background, fading out to static — waves, crashing in the distance.

Kira, he thinks, watching the cracks climb up his skin. The strange, oppressive pressure feels like hands at his neck. I’ve made my choice.

[imagine-loki]

TITLE: Fear and Other Related Emotions CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter-2 AUTHOR: latent-thoughts ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine meeting Loki to interrogate him while he is incarcerated in the Helicarrier glass enclosure. He initially tries to scare you away but then becomes interested in you as you keep talking to him. RATING: NC-17/ MA NOTES/WARNINGS: Warning for sexual situations, slightly dubious consent and violence (combat/fighting/interrogations).

This chapter picks up after the events of Thor: The Dark World and just before The Avengers: Age of Ultron. The events have remained canon so far, but it will turn AU soon.

(A year later)

Reva was listening to her client as she explained her recurring nightmares to her. It was only their second session and there was much to learn about her still. So far, she had come to know that the poor woman’s nightmares featured a pack of feral dogs chasing her into the darkness.

Involuntarily, Reva compared them to her own. Hers featured a feral space Viking. The nightmares showed him as angry and spiteful, wicked and seductive, cunning and calculating, all at the same time. Sometimes she was being murdered, and sometimes, seduced. She always woke up in panic, with sweat running down her back.

Loki was stuck in her head in the worst way. She was one of the few who he had personally terrorised, and even after a year of him being gone, she still felt the lingering effects of it on her psyche.

However, in her case, it wasn’t just the terror that kept bringing Loki back to her subconscious. Her thoughts about him tended to vacillate between resentful and grateful. Yes, he had deliberately toyed with her on the helicarrier. But he had also saved her life that day, having been the one who rescued her from the tarmac of the helicarrier.

The memories were vague, but she remembered being carried in his arms, hearing his voice barking orders at someone as she had slipped in and out of consciousness. She had fully awoken on a hospital bed a few hours later, briefly wondering how she had ended up there. Only one assumption seemed plausible, even though it went completely against Loki’s character. He had indeed dropped her at the hospital before going on his merry way to wreck New York.

She didn’t tell anyone about her rescue operation by Loki, and thankfully, no one asked. At the time, everyone had all but forgotten about her in order to save the world. It was a small mercy. She didn’t want the slightest focus on herself, and she was mighty glad that the attack had been thwarted by the heroes.

Loki had been captured and taken back to his home planet, Asgard. She had Tony Stark to thank for that information. He had sought her out after the dust had settled and was relieved to see that she was alright. He had told her that he felt a bit guilty about involving her in the mess with Loki, and in return, she had joked that she probably needed a therapist of her own to deal with the aftermath. Only… it wasn’t a joke.

However, things were looking up now. Life was getting better. She had gained more clients than ever in the last few months, most of them due to Stark’s recommendation. That more than made up for being manipulated by Loki.

The good thing was, her Loki related nightmares had reduced in their frequency and intensity over time. That may have been aided by the fact that Loki was dead, as conveyed to her by his own brother—Thor. It was the first time she had seen him after the attack of New York, about a month ago.

She had been attending one of Stark’s parties when Thor had approached her. At first, he had apologized for whatever had happened at the helicarrier. Then as she was trying to downplay the whole helicarrier incident, he had proceeded to tell her about his personal losses. His mother had died trying to protect his love, Jane Foster, from an attack by an alien species known as the Dark Elves, and Loki had apparently died protecting him.

The news had shocked her, and she had offered her condolences to Thor. She had wanted to offer free therapy sessions as well, but opted against it, in the end, not wanting to look desperate and creepy.

As for Loki’s death and the reasons underpinning it, Reva didn’t want to examine any of it. She was just glad to be back to a normal life which didn’t involve any alien attacks. Also, she often liked to remind herself that Loki had taken more lives that he had saved. That kept her opinion less ambivalent towards his ultimate fate.

After the session with her client ended, Reva went straight home. It was a Friday, the weekend was finally here, and all she wanted to do was unwind and watch TV. Boring, but satisfying. She was never a very social creature, so weekend outings were few and rare.

As she entered her apartment, Reva immediately felt an odd feeling creep up her spine. Her apartment looked the same as she had left it in the morning, but something seemed amiss. She couldn’t put a finger on it, but her home didn’t feel as inviting as it usually did.

Hesitating in the doorway, she tried to look around to see what was wrong, but nothing seemed out of place. Perhaps she was just tired and it was messing with her head. Nothing a little junk food and TV couldn’t cure.

She sighed and dropped her bag in its usual sitting place—a little table by the door. Only, it dropped on the floor with a thud. She looked down at it and then at the table. That never happened. How did she miss the table? Sighing, she picked up the bag and carefully dropped it onto the table.

Then, as she proceeded on to the living room, her knee banged against the sideboard right next to the entryway. She cursed and rubbed the ailing spot, blaming her typical clumsiness. However, the bumping-into-random-stuff thing kept happening.

The bed, the coffee table, and even the dining table, all of them had hurt her like they had some personal vendetta against her today. Thankfully, her bathroom fixtures had spared her as she freshened up and changed into more comfortable clothes.

When Reva came back into the living room and sat down in front of the TV, she noticed that her ass landed not directly in her spot on the couch, but slightly towards the armrest. Something was seriously wrong.

Then it struck her. Her furniture had moved. No, it had been moved by someone. Not enough to draw immediate notice, but enough to make it so that she bumped into things. The scariest part, though, was that no one else lived in this apartment except her, and no one had access to it when she was gone. It wasn’t like she had housekeeping staff.

It could only mean one thing. Someone had broken in, or, her furniture was possessed. The former seemed more plausible.

Very slowly, Reva got up from the couch and started for her bedroom, where her phone was lying on the side-table, getting charged. Whoever had broken in was probably still here, and was probably watching her. Why the intruder hadn’t acted at all wasn’t her concern, getting out of this situation was.

The bedroom door creaked open as she pushed it casually, trying to act normal for her hidden audience. Her eyes straight away landed on the side-table.

The phone was gone.

Reva’s heartbeat surged. She turned around and made a dash for the main door. Only to be blocked by a tall, familiar figure clad in green and black armor.

“A nightmare, I need to wake up,” she muttered, discounting reality immediately.

Because how else could Loki be standing in her doorway when he was dead?

He appeared to be confused for a moment, then his eyes twinkled with mirth. “I’ve been called worse things. A nightmare is fairly mild.”

“No…,” she whispered desperately as he moved towards her. Now would be a really good time to wake up. “No, please god, no.”

Loki just rolled his eyes and walked right past her to sit down on the couch. Her body trembled like a leaf as she squeaked and jumped away belatedly.

On the couch, Loki spread his long legs and settled in as if he owned the place. Meanwhile, Reva contemplated her absolutely rotten luck, to be facing the crazy space Viking for the second time in her life.

“You moved my furniture.” Not the first thing she thought she’d say, but she considered herself to be on auto-pilot anyway. She was pretty sure screaming would not help anyway. Not this time.

“Just a bit of fun.” Loki chuckled and splayed his arms on the back of the couch. He made it look tiny as he hoarded almost the entire sitting space. “It was amusing to see you fumble around.”

“You’re supposed to be dead,” she accused, backing into the wall furthest from the couch. Interacting with Loki from the barrier of a cage was bad enough, interacting with him without any barriers was nearly wrecking her.

He rolled his eyes and huffed in response. “It seems my brother has already spread the news about my untimely demise.”

“And to think he’s still mourning you…” she muttered all to herself, eyeing him cautiously.

“It’ll not be the first time that I’ve purportedly died and come back.” He seemed really nonchalant as if discussing the weather and not his own death.

“Great, even hell doesn’t want you.” Reva hugged herself nervously, rubbing the prickling goose bumps forming on her bare arms.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “I didn’t actually die. I cheated death.”

“Sure you did.” She nodded, fighting hard not to roll her eyes.

“Come here,” he commanded, his voice husky and inviting. She knew that voice very well by now. “You aren’t going to escape through that wall by pressing yourself to it.”

“I’m kind of comfortable here, thanks.” She gave him a derisive smile—her attempt at being brave. Loki was dangerous. She wanted to keep as much distance between her and him as possible.

Loki sighed dramatically, mocking her. “Come now, Reva. You’re going to act all coy now? After that conversation filled night we spent together, after I saved your life on that wretched air-ship, I thought we’d be on better terms.”

“You and I remember that night quite differently. And pardon me for not trusting you with my life, irrespective of what happened on the helicarrier a year ago.”

“I think you are astute enough to note that if I had any plans to kill or harm you, I’d have successfully executed them by now.” There was an edge to his voice, but his expression remained serene. It made him sound like an exasperated adult dealing with a child.

There was some truth in his words, though. After all, Reva was still alive and breathing and he hadn’t made any move to kill her. But then again, who could trust a trickster?

“Do you need something from me?” she asked cautiously, her back still stuck to the wall.

Loki appeared right beside her then, leaning against the wall. Reva instinctively leapt back, nearly colliding with the sideboard right next to her. Loki’s hands shot out and grabbed her shoulders before she could.

“Of course I need something from you, why else would I be here?”

“I don’t th-think I have anything to g-give you,” she stammered, feeling the cold of his hands seep through her top and into her skin. Oddly, it didn’t feel repulsive. Instead, it summoned the memory of how pleasant his cold hands had felt on her heated skin that night in the helicarrier.

Loki pulled her close and tipped her chip up with his finger. “Don’t assume, little one. Let me explain my motivations to you, and then we can discuss how you will assist me.”

“I didn’t agree to assist you in anything,” she protested as he took her hand and led her to the couch.

“At times we all must do things we don’t want to, for the greater good.” He pushed her down on the couch and settled in next to her.

Reva couldn’t believe she was back in the Trickster God’s clutches. It scared her, for obvious reasons. Fear and Loki went hand in hand. However, what scared her more was her instinctual draw to him despite the fear.

“When did you start bothering about the greater good?” she asked, trying not to fidget as he trained his sharp gaze on her.

“Ever since it aligned with my designs and purpose.”

“Hard to believe.”

Reva surreptitiously slunk as far away from him as possible while still remaining on the couch. His keen eyes followed her movement but he didn’t react. Instead, he turned his attention towards the coffee table as his hands hovered above it.

The familiar glow of magic emanated from his hands and a strange, dark box materialised on the table. It was so dark that it appeared to be two-dimensional to her untrained eyes. She had to squint and tilt her head this way and that to see if it was actually a box or just an illusion. It was non-reflective, like a little black hole shaped into a cuboid. It was messing with her visual perception.

Feeling curious despite her fear, she reached out to touch it. The material felt similar to velvet, but not quite the same. It was solid but non-metallic. Reva rubbed her fingers on its top, wanting to decipher what it material was. She was unable to come up with any plausible answers.

Loki smiled at her inquisitiveness and moved to open the box. She couldn’t even see the opening mechanism, it was that dark.

“What kind of material is this?”

“The darkest substance ever created. It doesn’t reflect light at all. It was conceived and forged by the Dark Elves first, now only Asgard possesses the means to produce it. I’m not sure your language has a name for it.”

“The same Dark Elves who attacked Asgard?”

He seemed suddenly irritated by her questioning and gave her a curt nod.

“Interesting. You know, us lowly humans are also developing a non-reflective black coating quite similar to this.” She pointed at the box. “It’s called Vanta Black.”

Loki just rolled his eyes and opened the box, clearly not impressed with human innovations. Placed within the box were a hovering, glowing blue gem and another small box with swirling red light emanating from its centre. Reva sat riveted as she stared at them. They seemed to emit a low hum.

She briefly noted that the box had six slots, in six different shapes, with only two of them presently occupied. But her attention was once again ensnared by the blue stone. It was especially mesmerizing, drawing Reva in like a magnet.

Instinctively, she reached to touch it but Loki grabbed her hand immediately and pulled it away. Her questioning eyes met his and he shook his head.

“Do not touch either of them. One will possess you and the other will incinerate you.”

Alarmed, Reva lurched away from the box. “Should’ve told me that before opening the box like a Christmas present.”

Loki sighed and closed the box, waving his hand to make it vanish. Reva kept staring at the spot where the box had been, wondering what he had just shown her. Whatever those things were, they weren’t to be trifled with.

“They are two of the Infinity Stones. They were created from the singularities of the Universe before it took its current form. The stones possess immense power and hence, cannot be handled by just anyone. One has to be very careful when wielding their power.”

Reva was intrigued and wanted to know more. But she was also apprehensive, not knowing whether she should be getting herself involved this cosmic intrigue. Biting her lip in contemplation, she turned her gaze to Loki, who was looking at her expectantly.

“I kind of understand,” she said, trying her best not to sound dumb. “I suppose you meant that these stones were formed before the Big Bang?”

He nodded and sat back against the couch cushions languidly. “Yes, these strange Midgardian terms are infinitely amusing.”

Reva ignored his taunt and continued. “Okay, I get it. These are powerful things, not to be messed with, blah blah. But why and how are they in your possession?”

It was worrying that this kind of power was in the hands of someone like Loki. She shuddered to think what he might do with it.

“Well, the blue gem was previously housed inside the Tesseract, which I took in my possession the last time I was here. It can be used to open doorways through space, among other things. And—”

“Holy shit!” Her eyes widened in realization. “That was the thing you had used to call in your alien army!”

“Do not interrupt me,” he snapped, his eyes flashing in annoyance, making her recoil. “The other one, the Aether, was discovered due to the meddling ways of Thor’s precious lover, Jane Foster. It possessed her, and Thor had to resort to my help to save her life. I nearly died in the process, but in the end, it landed in my hands.”

A shadow passed over his sharp features, conveying a deep, unspeakable sadness. The easy going façade of the quintessential trickster dropped for a second there. Reva wondered what else happened in the struggle for the Aether that he wasn’t telling her.

He noticed her scrutiny, and that seemed to snap him out of his funk faster than she could blink.

“I know you want to know more,” he said with a pitiless sneer, “but I’m not here to regale you with tales of my valiant endeavours.”

Reva rubbed her eyes in frustration. Keeping up with him was exhausting. “Then please let me know the reason that brings you here, to my humble abode.”

A cold finger touched her bare arm, making her jump. Loki seemed to enjoy her reaction as he stroked the length of her arm with that offending finger. She wanted to shrink back, but there was no room left to do so.

“I need to retrieve my sceptre. It contains something precious that I want to add to my… collection in the box,” he stated, watching the rising goose bumps on her arm in the wake of his touch. “I believe it is in the custody of Anthony Stark, the man of iron, as he prefers to be called. You know him.”

She stiffened at the mention of Stark. “I’m not that close to him, if you’re thinking of using me to get that thing—the sceptre, whatever that is.”

His hand now reached up to pull gently at a few strands of her hair. He was driving her insane with these little touches here and there. The temptation to lean into him was getting stronger with each touch.

Instead, she resisted and turned, shying away from him. He, however, snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. The sudden proximity made her panic and she grabbed his arm reflexively. However, instead of trying to remove his arm, but her traitor hands settled in to trace the engravings on his vambrace.

“You are so soft and pliant, just like I remembered,” he hummed seductively, brushing her hair with his other hand. “And don’t worry, I have a plan for you.”

“That’s not reassuring at all,” she breathed, not sure how to react to his advances.

The feeling of being this close to Loki wasn’t at all unpleasant and therein lay her problem. It was like staring down a sheer drop from great height, feeling terrified but also exhilarated, the urge to jump as strong as the urge to retreat.

“Hmm Reva,” he continued, now nuzzling her hair, “what are your thoughts on the Midgardian courtship ritual called dating?”

“Dating?” Surprised, she whipped her head around to face him. Bad decision, as she found her face merely inches from his.

This close, she couldn’t help but admire his sparkling green eyes. They were gorgeous, with long, dark lashes lining them. She could get trapped in them if she let her guard drop. The trouble was, her guard was already slipping.

“Yes, we will go on a date.” His cool breath fanned across her face as he spoke, making her shiver. “And our destination shall be Stark Tower, attending one of his extravagant soirees.”

That threw her off and jolted her out of her Loki-induced reverie. “What?!”

“You heard me,” he replied, raising an eyebrow, still holding her close. “I believe the celebrations for one of Stark’s obscure achievements will be happening in the next week.”

That, right there, was the reason for his visit, the purpose Reva was going to serve. She wanted to slap herself now for not realizing it sooner. Loki had bigger plans. She was but a mere pawn in his elaborate chessboard setting.

“It’s next Saturday,” she huffed, turning her face away in annoyance. “Wait, how did you know?”

He handed her mobile to her then, as the obvious answer, not even trying to appear guilty. She gave him a look of pure indignation, wanting to deck him for going through her texts. Also, she was kind of impressed at his familiarity with human technology and gadgets.

“So, Saturday it is,” he said, ignoring her glare. “We’ll attend the event as a couple, we’ll socialize as per Midgardian customs, and then I will go in search for my sceptre when everyone is sufficiently inebriated to not care about my absence.”

Reva groaned in dismay upon hearing his plan. “I’m not fake dating you and becoming your accomplice in a crime.”

“I never said anything about it being fake,” he stressed, sliding his palm over her cheek. “And pray tell me how is it a crime to take that back which belonged to me in the first place?”

“Whatever, Loki, I don’t want you to start another war,” she confessed, squirming in his grasp, “and I don’t want to help you in that.”

“War might actually be the opposite of what I want now.” He pulled her closer, cradling her face fully in his hands now.

“What is it that you want then?” Her voice wavered as he drew closer still. Her gaze involuntarily dropped to his lips, wondering if they’d feel cold on hers.

“I want a lot of things, but right now, I want to kiss you,” he rasped, his voice sending tingles between her legs. “I have wanted to, ever since that night when we first met.”

“But I’m a lowly human,” she reasoned, wondering if he was toying with her. “Am I not beneath you?”

“You mortals have your merits,” he admitted with a wink, “and I’d very much like you beneath me, quite literally. But first, I’d like to explore this…” He traced her lips with his thumbs, making his intent clear.

She gulped and gave him a nod. Oh, she was so damned curious to see how his kiss might feel. Just one kiss—it couldn’t hurt. One kiss and she’d be done. It was for personal research purposes…

Reva’s eyes fluttered close as his lips brushed against hers, cold as his hands were. He seduced her mouth slowly, with a gentle suction. She had assumed that he’d be harsh and brutal, but he was surprisingly gentle and sensual.

His arms encircled her fully as he turned her whole body towards his. Reva broke the kiss with a gasp, needing a breath. He proceeded to kiss the side of her mouth and lick her lower lip.

She heard him hum something in an unfamiliar tongue as his lips brushed against her again and again.

A warm glow burst behind her eyelids and she gasped in surprise. He chose the moment to deepen the kiss. His tongue, cold and delicious, teased hers languidly, coaxing her with the promise of pleasure and fulfilment.

Reva was pretty sure her mind had melted away by the time he broke off the kiss. No, it couldn’t be called a kiss. It was a possession.

Loki looked back at her with a self-satisfied smirk as he licked his lips. “Mmm, that was a good beginning.”

“You can kiss,” she panted, eyeing his lips in awe. In the back of her mind, though, she wondered what all she was willing to put on stake for Loki’s kisses. She wasn’t sure she was ready to face the answer to that yet.

“I offer more than a mere kiss, little one,” he said, easing her back against the cushions. “I’d like to taste more of you… in time.”

She closed her eyes and exhaled, willing herself to resist his charms. “I still don’t want to help you.”

“Oh, but you will.”

“And then what?”

“You’ll see.” He brushed his fingers across her cheek, the gesture coaxing her eyes open. It almost felt affectionate, if not for his condescending tone.

“So once you get your toy, you’ll leave me alone then?”

He chuckled, and she wished the sound didn’t make her stomach flutter. “Once I get what I want, I very much like to keep it close to me.”

His cryptic words nearly gave her a headache. She deliberately ignored his last comment. “But everyone will recognize you at the party, especially Stark. Being my date won’t change your face.”

“No, they won’t recognize me,” he said, as his green-gold magic shimmered all over him, transforming him into a perfect duplicate of none other than Captain America.

“Holy shit!” She jumped in disbelief and nearly fell off the couch. “You can do that?”

He transformed back into himself and nodded. “I believe that should convince you.”

She was pretty sure she was gawking at him like a lunatic but she didn’t care. This little stunt of his reminded her of how little she knew of him.

“Is there any limit to your magical abilities?”

“A conversation for another day.” He got up from the couch and looked down at her regally. “I will come to fetch you on the eve of the party. Till then…” He seized her hand and planted a soft kiss on her knuckles. “…farewell, my lovely lady.”

Reva rubbed her knuckles unconsciously after he let go. His lips were so sinful, they were evil incarnate.

“Oh, and don’t bother trying to tell anyone about me or my plans,” he said with a knowing smirk. “Or mayhap, do try. You will soon realize it’s futile.”

And then he was gone, poofing away with that same green-gold shimmer of his magic.

His words registered a few beats later, and Reva felt a growing dread inside her. Grabbing her phone, she immediately started typing a text to see if she could write anything about Loki in it. Her fingers froze every damn time she tried to type anything relating to him or his name. She couldn’t even type mischief or space Viking.

She opened her mouth to call his name, and it would not come out. She could feel it on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t utter it.

“Such a dick move!” she grumbled in frustration, tossing her phone away. “I don’t understand how you can be so cruel and yet, so likeable at the same time!”

Reva hadn’t really thought about tattling against him or his plans. She knew better than to trick the ultimate trickster. And she valued her life. She wondered why he felt the need to bind her in this manner, if he wasn’t planning something sinister, like attacking the Earth or something equally bad.

And then came the penultimate question… Had Loki lied to her about his true plans? He was the lie-smith after all.

Reva shook her head, wanting to dispel her growing distrust in Loki. He had toyed with her before, what was to say that he wasn’t doing it again?

However, she could do little more than sulk in indignation. The trickster had tricked her into remaining silent.