You were woken by the first rays of the morning sun, gently filtering in through the small square windows of the tiny bedroom of your apartment in New York City. As you squinted blearily against the, to your until-recently-closed eyes, blinding light, you could make out the contours of the Stark Tower, rising like a twisting metal beast, dominating the New York skyline.
You yawned silently, and looked sleepily around your room. Your gaze fell on your bookshelf, crammed to the bursting point with all sorts of literature: it slid over the haphazard collection of trinkets on your drawer and the pile of clothes by the bedroom door that you had carelessly dumped there the previous night. And as you gently turned over, averting your face from the glare of the sun, your gaze came to rest on the man lying next to you.
There were a lot of words one could use to describe Loki Laufeysson. Villainous, deceitful, treacherous, (handsome, you thoug