Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

What is a lie?

For me, it is the act that allows beings to coexist. After all, selfishness is our foundation—present at the core of all mortal beings, the drive behind our evolution. We act to fulfill our own interests. Cooperation is fleeting, and for it to occur, deception is necessary.

Take this moment, for example: a gathering of heroes intended to forge new alliances. I was invited with all due honors. After all, I am a villain reintegrated into society—my presence here serves as a pamphlet of their mercy, proof that their actions, in the end, "work out," reaffirming the so-called goodness they so desperately need to believe in.

All the "Avengers" (as my brother’s idiotic companions style themselves) are present. Some are more tolerable than others—Stark, for instance, whose charisma and genius might have been useful were they not clouded by that tiresomely human morality. But none compare to Rogers and the pathetic idealism he flaunts like a red, white, and blue peacock. They are not alone, of course. Members of the entire heroic community—including some extraterrestrial, given the presence of a certain "Star-Lord" currently making a fool of himself while vying for Romanoff’s attention—have flocked to this decadent affair.

As a reformed villain, my role is decorative; pamphlets do not interact. They laugh among themselves, and the glances thrown my way are either averted or dripping with disdain. I remain at the bar. This reintegration suits my plans—I’ve grown weary of celestial battles and hunting artifacts of mass destruction. I crave something... different.

"Hello!"

A voice pierces my mind. Telepathic. I scan the crowd and spot a woman of unfamiliar species waving at me. I block her and return to my drink. Undeterred, she approaches.

"Hello, my name is Mantis! What do you think about joining the Guardians of the Galaxy?"

I turn, irritation giving way to amusement as she beams at me. Her smile is a pantomime, a poorly fitted mask. Is this her best attempt at persuasion? Telepaths usually possess more finesse. Yet, I find myself indulging her.

"Very well, Mantis. Why do you want me in your Guardians?"

" You block your thoughts constantly and then blocked them even more tightly when I tried to enter, so you must have unique abilities. We're almost at the end of the party and no one has come to talk to you, so you must be lonely or abandoned!-Being alone and having unique abilities are basically common characteristics of Guardians, so I think you could be a part of it!."

I should bristle at her presumption, but there’s no malice in it.

"Do you know who I am?" I ask mockingly.

"No. You didn’t let me see your thoughts," she replies, tilting her head as if stating the obvious.

"I am Loki, God of Mischief and King of Asgard."

"Oh!" Surprise flickers across her face. "You’re the one everyone’s thinking badly about?"

"Yes, that would be me" I say, sipping my drink.

"I thought you’d be scarier."

"I can be frightening when I choose to be" I growl.

"I’ve been practicing! I think I can be scary too, when I want!" she declares, utterly missing the threat. My patience wanes, I conclude that this creature is nothing but an idiot, and irritation begins to return. I want to end this conversation. But without me saying a word, she seems to notice my displeasure. I watch as her expression falls, her face twisting into something almost tearful. Even a god can feel pity—and it’s unsettling to see her like this.

"Can you understand that I, The God of Lies, would not fit in your little group?" I say, softer that I can .She looks at me and, for some reason, brightens up—even despite my response.

"Well, the god part sounds useful! And the lying? That’s fine—I can handle it."

"How is that not a problem?"

"I know when you’re lying. You can block your thoughts, but I feel what you feel. I’m an empath—I sense emotions. And it’s even clearer when I touch someone." Ah. If she’s truthful, she sensed my earlier irritation. So why this sudden cheer? What does she see that I don’t?

"Oh yeah, when have I been lying until now?" 

"Basically the whole time."

"This conversation?"

"No. Since I first noticed you at the party. You keep lying to yourself. It’s weird… but that’s good! Weird is another Guardian requirement."

I am somewhat perplexed by what she said. In all my years, I have never had contact with an empath, so I don't know if others would share such a peculiar attitude. Telling me that she will know when I am lying challenges me—it makes me want to torment her when she realizes she has been deceived. I am not the God of Lies to be outmatched by a mere mortal. But I’m intrigued. No one has ever called my self-deception strange like it’s a quirk rather than a flaw. The audacity tempts me to unravel her.

My gaze drifts to Star-Lord, now drunkenly dancing with his tie around his forehead.

" Do the Guardians of the Galaxy have that idiot as their leader?"

" That's right!"  No defensiveness—just earnestness. "The galaxy’s vast, and we can’t answer every cry for help. Peter came to recruit. I saw you alone and thought you’d be perfect!" She is so... refreshing, It would be a tragic if this were our first and last conversation. A plan crystallizes. 

"Mantis, I have a proposal."

" If it's not an evil proposal, you can tell me." Another one of her statements.

"I must remain on Earth for a year. I’d like your help. After that, I’ll join you as one of the Guardians."

"Oh! What will you do here?"

"Run for U.S. President."

"King and president! How could I help?"

"Be my secretary." 

"A sexy secretary!" she exclaims. I choke on my drink. Now that I look—yes, Her face was delicate and harmonious, her uniform didn’t do much to flatter her figure—she would certainly look better without it. Despite those antennas and those disproportionate eyes the potential was there.

" Why do you want to be my 'sexy secretary?" I tease.

" Peter always said that the best secretaries are the sexy ones."

"I suppose I can agree with him on something… So, do you accept, Mantis?"

She hesitates for a time, her antenna twitching. "A year is short for you. I’ve barely visited Earth—staying could be fun! I don’t know what a sexy secretary does, but I’ll help you, Loki."

"We have a deal."

And so, my newest game begins.

I tell myself I’m keeping her close for utility or the challenge of deceiving an empath. But the truth? is something I’ll keep lying about until even I no longer know what it was.

Chapter Text

I like parties—dark places where spinning lights reveal and hide people at random. Those who drink change unpredictably, music creating different rhythms in their hearts. This is what happens to people at parties, and I love how they feel. Their thoughts are usually happier, more affectionate.

Yet, I don’t interact with them. Peter tells me to try socializing more, but it never goes well. When I talk to people, all I sense is disdain and discomfort. It hurts. It makes me want to stay only around those I already know.

So, at these events, I’ve found my own way to have fun. I have a little ritual: I find a chair in some corner, close my eyes, and focus on how people are feeling. Of course, there are always bad emotions mixed in, but I can choose what to focus on. So I feel the joy of friends reuniting, their hope for a better future, their desire for one another—each of them in a different way.

But something pulls me out of my ritual—a man with golden horns in the corner of the bar. It’s strange how quickly his emotions shift. A flash of sadness, a burst of joy… all smothered by disdain and pride. Ah, he’s lying to himself. It’s always like that—when people lie, their emotions turn into chaos. I try to dig into his mind, but it’s like hitting a wall. He’s blocking me. I can’t confirm my theory. The party goes on. The music changes. People get drunker. But that man stays in the same spot, ordering the same drink, his emotions cycling in the same rhythm. No one approaches him. When they notice him, there’s only scorn.

Watching him makes me feel lonelier… Wait, no—I was wrong. This loneliness, this pain… it’s his. It’s been there all along. Amid all his shifting emotions, his loneliness remains untouched.

People start leaving. Is that it? Am I just going to walk away without knowing who he is? I don’t want that. I don’t want to leave.

What if he came with me? This is a gathering to form new alliances among heroes, if I remember right. If he became a Guardian, I could learn more about him.

Yes! That’s a good idea. I’ll invite him.

But… how do I talk to him?

Come on, Mantis. He clearly has psychic abilities. Just think "hello" really loud.

"Hello."

I send the mental message, and finally, he moves. His eyes lock onto mine—just for a second, I sense surprise and relief before he masks it with irritation.

He turns back to his drink, but for a moment, I felt happiness when he acknowledged me.

I will invite him. I can do this!

I know talking to people usually goes badly, but I want to try.

Come on, Mantis. You’ve got this.

" Hello, my name is Mantis! What do you think about joining the Guardians of the Galaxy?"

He seems… happy that I talked to him? There’s still that ever-present pride, but—curiosity?

"Very well, Mantis. Why do you want me in the Guardians?"

He sounds amused—a steadiness I haven’t felt from him before.

" You block your thoughts constantly and then blocked them even more tightly when I tried to enter, so you must have unique abilities. We're almost at the end of the party and no one has come to talk to you, so you must be lonely or abandoned!-Being alone and having unique abilities are basically common characteristics of Guardians, so I think you could be a part of it!."

I think I made some very good points. He goes from surprised back to entertained.

"Do you know who I am?"

Ah. Pride surges in him.

"No. You wouldn’t let me see your thoughts."

"I am Loki—God of Mischief, King of Asgard."

The pride holds. Then I remember the thoughts others had about him at the party—a villain, a trickster who betrayed everyone.

But to me? It seems like he lies to himself most of all.

"Oh! You’re the one everyone’s thinking badly about?"

 That hurt him. A flicker of sadness before pride walls it off again. I always say the wrong thing.

"Yes, that would be me."

"I thought you’d be scarier."

Now he’s irritated?

"I can be frightening when I choose to be."

Defensive—pride mixed with annoyance.

"I’ve been practicing! I think I can be scary too, when I want!"

I meant it as "anyone can be scary sometimes," but that… did not land well. His irritation spikes, and then—disdain.

Ah.

This is how people always end up feeling around me.

I thought he might be different.

Why can’t I make new friends?

What’s so wrong with me?

" Can you understand that I, the god of lies, would not fit in your little group?"

But suddenly, the disdain fades. He’s… worried about me?

I didn’t know he could feel worry.

This conversation might still work.

"Well, the god part sounds useful! And the lying? That’s fine—I can handle it."

"How is that not a problem?"

Intrigued now.

"I know when you’re lying. You can block your thoughts, but I feel what you feel. I’m an empath—I sense emotions. And it’s even clearer when I touch someone."

His focus sharpens on me.

" Oh yeah, when have I been lying until now ?"

"Basically the whole time."

"This conversation?"

"No. Since I first noticed you at the party. You keep lying to yourself. It’s weird… but that’s good! Weird is another Guardian requirement."

It’s fun feeling his emotions spin so fast—surprise, anger, then… affection?

I think he’s enjoying this.

" Do the Guardians of the Galaxy have that idiot as their leader?"

(He means my brother.)

The disdain is back.

" That's right!"

" The thing is, the galaxy is a very big place, and sometimes we can't meet all the calls for help. Peter came here with the intention of recruiting new members. I saw you alone and thought you'd be a good candidate! "

It’s working. He likes talking to me. I feel his attention, a small warmth forming toward me.

Maybe I can make a new friend?

"Mantis, I have a proposal."

What’s he asking? I can’t forget he’s a villain—better clarify now.

" If it's not an evil proposal, you can tell me."

Surprise, then just… warmth.

"I must remain on Earth for a year. I’d like your help. After that, I’ll join you as one of the Guardians."

Affection, then disgust at "Guardian." He’s lying about that part. But I’m curious.

"Oh! What will you do here?"

"Run for U.S. President."

From what I recall, "president" is a high-ranking Earth title, but there’s no war involved. Doesn’t seem evil.

"King and president! How could I help?"

"Well… you could be my secretary."

I try to remember what that means. Peter once said in his paperwork, "I just want a sexy secretary."

Ah. That must be it.

"A sexy secretary!"

His shock is so strong he chokes on his drink. Then he looks me up and down—slowly—and I feel… arousal?

No way. I must be misreading.

"Why do you want to be my ‘sexy secretary’?"

Still feeling that.

" Peter always said that the best secretaries are the sexy ones."

Now he’s amused.

"I suppose I can agree with him on something… So, do you accept, Mantis?"

When he asks, I remember something important: his loneliness has shrunk so much I’d almost forgotten it. What stands out now is his expectation  in me—and that flicker of affection.

In front of me stands a liar. I’m sure of that.

But there’s so much I don’t know.

Who is he, really?

What does he think?

Maybe, in this year, I can convince him to truly become a Guardian.

Maybe I’ll even gain a friend.

All I know is—I want to understand Loki.

I don’t want this to be our first and last meeting.

"A year is short for you. I’ve barely visited Earth—staying could be fun! I don’t know what a sexy secretary does, but I’ll help you, Loki."

I try to focus on the "good for the Guardians" part, but really? It’s more for me.

"Then we have a deal," he says.

Being near Loki makes me think about lies.

I don't understand why people lie. They want to be close—I know that, it's what we all have in common. But they're afraid of what they feel around others... so they lie. The closer they get, the more lies pile up.

It's strange. The lie is almost always the opposite of what they truly feel. Why would anyone want to be accepted for something they're not?

Maybe walking this path with the God of Lies will finally help me understand.

But... if I don't tell him I'm only accepting this secretary position to stay near him... wouldn't that be a lie too?

Chapter Text

After we made our deal, there was a small silence between us.

I like the end of parties the least - there's a certain melancholy. A slow song was playing and some couples were dancing together. I've participated in lively dances before, but never this kind, the kind where you need someone to hold. It's hard to find someone to hold you when you look like me. Even though most couples were attracted to each other, some were just friends. Would it bother Loki to ...

"Do you want to dance with me, Loki?" he was kinda of surprised, his eyes fixing on me, then cycles through his characteristic wave of emotions—excitement shifting to shame, then irritation. And somewhere in that mix, there’s a flicker of arousal.

But why would he feel that?

"You mistake me for someone who finds charm in this tacky display of mortal desperation. This gathering reeks of loneliness and cheap liquor - why would I lower myself to this pathetic excuse for dancing."

Peter said, 'The Stark events are some of the best in the galaxy—I saw at the bar some intergalactic drinks and all kinds of fancy decorations. I think this is another one of his lies, but I’ve got a good argument to change his mind

"But we could be pathetic together!."

"Mantis, you need to know that I never submit, I never lower myself, others do that around me." A lIttle irritation there,

Oh, why didn't I convince him?

"But you wanted to participate for a moment, I felt that!" Then it turns to anger and he stands up.

"I'm leaving."

It’s fear now

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, Loki..." Some people don't like it when I report what they're feeling, it makes them pull away from me. I know this, but sometimes I just speak... I stop my train of thought when I see Loki approaching me.

"Give me your hand." I extend it toward him without question, he places a small green stone in my hand. The tips of his fingers briefly touch my hand and I could feel it more clearly:

Affection.

"This works anywhere on Earth, just break it and you'll come to me."

"Goodbye, Mantis." He turns quickly - there's shame there.

"Goodbye, Loki." He walks a little away from me and stops.

"I'll be waiting for you." He says without turning his face, but I can feel his expectation. 

He snaps his fingers, and then; the smell of lightning, and empty space where a god had been.

I spend some time thinking about that conversation and all those feelings that appeared. Affection - I certainly felt that at the end, I'm not fooling myself.

Maybe I really made a new friend.

"Mantis, let's go." When I notice, Quill is in front of me, his arm resting on the bar counter. His smile was crooked, the smell of alcohol clinging to him, sweet and sour. We walk back slowly with him staggering a bit, The other heroes waved as we left - polite, distant. Not like Guardians. Not like...

I smile at the idea, but Peter doesn't seem to notice.

I return with my brother to the ship, it was parked not too far from the event. It was just the two of us and Peter isn't in condition to pilot. The sound of the party fades away, there's a silence where we only hear our footsteps. We get to the ship and he sits on the couch, I get a glass of water from the fridge and hand it to him.

"Peter... I think this is happening more often... it's not good for you." He gets a little irritated at my response, it seemed like he was going to say something - I don't look into his mind to see what he wanted to say (we already have that established). But the sadness that starts growing in him reaches me.

My brother shines like sunlight. Every planet we save, every crewmate we gather, he warms them all. But for two years now, there's been this: nights where he drowns in what we don't mention.

"When you drink, everything seems easier." He says despondently. In these moments I never know what to say, I've had time to think and reflect, but the words never formed in my head.

In these two years I've only known one way to help him. As soon as I sit beside him he urgently grabs my hand - it's a request for me to use my powers, and so I do.

The sadness hit like always. I cried like always.

I should have more control. I should be more efficient at using my powers. He doesn't get better - maybe he's getting worse, and it's all my fault.

I'm so weak.

"Drink the water please." He obeys and starts drinking, little by little I manage to transform his feelings and the sadness fades away, and he calms down. He lets go of my hand and heads toward the bed.

"G'night, Mantis. Home tomorrow.”

I better let him sleep, then I'll talk about Loki When he's better.

I go to my cabin and try to sleep, but all I do is replay the conversation with Loki.

In that moment when he stood up and said he was leaving, I felt fear - I thought it was of him, but it was mine. I didn't want him to go. I almost ruined everything by talking too much.

I look at the stone he gave me - dark green and prism-shaped. I shake it but it makes no sound. I hold it up to the light and you can see the glow inside , its glow pulsed like a heartbeat.- it's certainly magic. Loki's magic.

Waiting for tomorrow is so exciting, there are so many questions. How does running for president work? It's a new adventure ahead, my adventure, with a new friend.

I don't know exactly when I fell asleep, but I know I woke up to the sound of the ship's engines starting.

Chapter Text

I wake up to light streaming into the bedroom through curtains that weren't properly closed. At times like these, I miss having servants.

Not that I need them, of course, but it would be less tedious to delegate trivial tasks.

I'm in my new Earth "mansion" - a whim, an experiment. Why settle for vulgar apartments when one can command vast spaces worthy of a king?

Has she ever seen anything like this? I doubt it. She probably lives in dirty ships and concrete cubicles.

I suppose her ship was to depart at dawn, so she could arrive at any moment.

I take a shower - hot water, perfect pressure, like everything I choose - and descend the stairs. The silence is absolute, save for the echo of my footsteps. How many rooms does this house have again? Ten? Twelve? A perfect host would have everything prepared for his guest, but as usual, I'm forced to do everything myself.

She seems to have no concept of how things work, likely accustomed to hovels. If I let her choose, she'd probably nest in the basement.
The house is a monument to my impeccable taste: two floors of marble and glass, pure lines, calculated elegance.

Which floor would be most suitable for her stay? I should consider weakening her powers - I don't know their range. I select a distant room with an ensuite, king bed, unnecessary generosity, but so be it. A wardrobe materializes with a gesture, a divan. Some toiletries and a towel on the bed - green, like all in the house.

I head to the kitchen.

No one in the house. Just the sound of my footsteps clicking on marble, my sole reflection in the mirrors. I can reflect while drinking my coffee, this Earthly spice I must admit has quality. Certainly a quiet, peaceful moment.

And lonely.

But... obviously this is better. Company has only hindered me through the centuries - I don't need it. Besides, soon I'll be holding strategy meetings for my campaign, with people eager for my opinions, desperate to please me.

As things should be.

Yes, it's only a matter of time before this place is crowded.

And soon she will arrive. But does she have clothes from this planet? She was wearing a uniform at the party. Well, I'll place some garments in the wardrobe. "Sexy Secretary" is what she said - I have some ideas about what that might entail. I teleport a few basic pieces into her wardrobe and return to my plans.

She's late. Breaking the stone should have brought her to me immediately. How dare she keep a god waiting? I'll have to teach her proper conduct.

Of course, all in good time - it should be an amusing experience.

I can't worry about this now. I have plans today, and waiting for her isn't an option.

I should stop this nonsense and return to my completely legalized evil plan, that's an election. What's better for a campaign than saving innocent people? As a reformed villain, it's the perfect launch strategy.

To stage a rescue, I need a scapegoat. Hydra seems the easiest to negotiate with. It was simple to teleport to one of their "secret" bases. I turn invisible to enter - child's play.
I could make Mantis invisible too, but she'd complicate my plans - talking or touching someone. I must remain alert. If she breaks the stone, she'll materialize at any moment.

She's truly making me wait.

And I hate it 

The Hydra base was depressing - gray smooth walls, minimal decoration, somehow worse than that party. I pass soldiers training; all manner of weapons being developed. One passes near me, but there's no magic detector in the facility.

They want to conquer a world but can't even detect a god.

It's exhausting. Do they think they can match Stark's technology with this? Defeat Thor? It's not so easy to defeat them.

I know all too well about that.

In the past, she'd just be another person ruining my plans.

I hear there will be a meeting soon. I enter unnoticed - it's almost offensive how unprepared they are. I sit using an illusory copy of myself. The room focuses on laughable plans, to the point they don't notice a chair moving by itself.

Enough.

I materialize the copy. Everyone startles, weapons are drawn, they threaten me with slow deaths and torture. Classic.

I offer help: magical defenses. Of course they'll be ineffective. They'll come begging for more, and then, new agreements. When they ask what I want, I'm direct: an attack at a rally in two days. I'll confront them publicly, gain sympathy and, of course, votes.

If they attack again, I'll claim it was the opposition's doing.

My copy disappears. They panic and start scheming how to betray me and benefit from the deal.

Amateurs.

I teleport away. The plan went perfectly, and it was good she didn't appear. I look at the sky - the sun is at its zenith.

Ah, it's noon.

She's not late. She's simply not coming

She's too cowardly to say no. Or someone stopped her - and she, pathetically, obeyed. She's just a follower, not on my level. I negotiated with those idiots easily - her presence would only have hindered me.

That woman's presence is insignificant. That creature. That, that bug.

I return to my damned mansion. Gleaming marble. Silence. My own reflection. None of it matters - soon I'll have an entire country under my command.

So why am I angry?

One night.

A single night with that bug. I shouldn't care about another person not wanting to stay by my side. A god isn't shaken by such trivial things.

There's still weakness in me. I must eradicate it. I must destroy—

And there she is.

I find her... perfectly seated in the living room, hugging one of my pillows, curled up with her feet on the sofa, muddy boots staining the fabric.

Ah, I was mistaken.

The stone didn't bring her to me, but to the base I established here.

Those enormous eyes are swollen, her face marked by dried tears, her antennae drooping.

She doesn't see me enter - I realize I've remained invisible since leaving Hydra. Yet she raises her antennae and looks in my direction.

"Loki, it's you, isn't it?" Anxious voice, almost fragile.

She sees me? How can she see me? I retreat slowly, but she follows.

"Loki, I know it's you. Stop playing," she says with an irritation I didn't know she possessed.

She almost reaches me, but I dodge.

I'm enjoying this game.

We continue this dance - she's clearly dirty, yet her scent is pleasant.

The game ends abruptly when her hand touches my chest. We stand face to face. I materialize before her, and she offers a small smile - different from when we first met.
In this moment, with her hand still on my chest and her face tilted up toward mine, I realize how small she is - her face barely reaches my neck.

"How did you know I was here?" I ask, still surprised.

"I could feel your happiness, so I followed it," she answers, slightly animated.

It was true...

I was happy.

Chapter Text

I quickly leave my cabin and run toward the command wing. By the time I arrive, Peter is already lifting the ship off the ground.

He can't leave, he just can't!

"Stop the ship, Peter!"—I think i screamed. He startles and looks in my direction.

" What the hell, Mantis? We're going home," he says, disoriented, still a little hungover.

"No! I’m staying here on Earth!"- My fists clench

"What ?!" He’s shocked and lowers the ship back down.

"What do you mean you're staying on Earth, Mantis? Do you want to see something from here?" he asks, concerned, walking toward me.

"No, it’s not for any of those reasons..."

"Then what is it?" Curiosity begins to creep into his voice. I step back, pressing myself against the wall. I could say I got confused and drop the whole thing.

But I really want to stay...

"Someone asked for my help yesterday, and I agreed..."

"Who? Tell me, you're making me curious? If it’s a mission with the Avengers or the X-Men, it’d be awesome for you to team up!" His excitement will soon turn to anger.

"Actually… it’s Loki."

He stares at me— confusion, concern, then dawning horror —then he sighs and sits down.

"When did this happen?! You were on the couch the whole party! When did he even talk to you?!"

"It was toward the end… Actually, I went to talk to him."

"Why!? Why would you go talk to him, Mantis?!"- the anger I imagined appears

"Because he was alone."

"There’s a reason he was alone!"- he raises the tone

"You’re wrong!"

"How am I wrong?! What does he even want your help with?"

"A presidential campaign!"Even as I say it, I hear how absurd it sounds.

"Do you see my point?! The whole premise sounds like another scheme!" Peter shouts, a mix of anger and disbelief. He’s angrier now.

"But as far as I know, there’s no war in an election process," I try to argue.

"This whole election thing is a lie, Mantis! He’s the God of Lies—this is just another one of them! He’s tried to take over Earth at least twice. He got a pardon for helping save the universe, but only because it suited him! Everything he does is self-serving! There are plenty of people back home who need our help—why do you want to help him?"

"Because… he’s interesting to be around."

"What do you mean 'interesting to be around'? Don’t tell me—" He cuts himself off, but impulsively, I read his mind.

"You have feelings for him."

"If I do have feelings for him, isn’t that more reason for me to stay?"- I respond

"It’s more reason for you to stay away! And we agreed, no mind-reading !"

"You held back what you wanted to say. Weren’t we supposed to be honest with each other Peter?"

"Since when have we been honest Mantis? We haven’t talked about anything that happened!!"

"What happened to Gamora won’t happen to me, you're terrified of being alone again." The words slip out. Peter goes corpse-pale.

"Don’t say her name! You can’t help me, and throw that in my face” he's shouting now

"You can’t treat me like this—correcting me, then trying to protect me. I’m not a child."

"But you’re sure acting like one, falling for the first psycho who gives you attention !" -How can he says things like that. 

"Talking like that… it sounds like you want to control me. It’s almost… almost like father."

The silence. There’s a moment of shock—then pure anger. Peter's face does something terrible - crumples, then hardens

"Mantis, you're an idiot sometimes, but even you should know—this guy will see you only as a pet. How desperate are you?"

This is just too much, when I realize the green stone burns in my pocket and just one sharp squeeze-

The world dissolves into emerald light.

Then I’m in a place of white stone and mirrors.

No Peter. No Loki.

Where am I?

There are several sofas and a staircase. It looks like the house of that man I gave as a Christmas present to Peter—what was his name again? Steven Bacon!

I walk through the rooms. I’m alone here—could this be a trap? Was Peter right?

Peter... How could he say those things? 

How could I say those things?

My vision blurs..., tears pools in my eys, they plop onto my jumpsuit.

Oh...I’m sad now right? I’ve never fought with my brother like this before. I left him alone. His anger was so desperate, he felt betrayed

I didn’t want to leave like that. We’re hurting each other. I just wanted to live my own adventures—that’s what I meant to say.

But I acted impulsively and left before we could reach an agreement.

He must be so worried.

I feel weak. I see a sofa nearby and lie down.

I don’t know how much time has passed, but a familiar wave of emotions crashes over me, swirling at an incredible speed.

It’s Loki.

"Loki, are you here?" He's amused by my question.

So, he can turn invisible? I walk toward him, but he keeps dodging me.

Does he think this is some kind of game?

"Loki, I know it’s you—stop playing around!" His amusement turns into pure delight. We keep at it for a while until I finally catch him. My hand touches his chest, and he materializes in front of me. He smiles—a rare moment when his expression matches his emotion. Peter's words resonate in my mind:

Can I have feelings for a trickster?

"How did you know I was here?" Curiosity shows on him.

"I could feel your happiness and just followed it."a slight surprise manifests itself in him, then... shame?

"Well... I am pleased. After all, you seem like someone who keeps their word."

"I wanted to come..." I reply simply. He pauses, studying me—another one of those moments where he inspect me carefully. Concern surges.

"Did you eat today?"

"Didn’t have time." He sighs at my answer.

"I’ll cook this time, but I expect you to handle these things yourself from now on." The embarrassment in him returns.

As  he magically moves the pans and spices with a bored look on his face, the opossite of the joy that he's feeling, he points out where each ingredient is, which pan to use for what, how to clean them, and things like that. Honestly, I wasn’t really following, but I can manage. Food is just mixing good things together—how bad can it be?

He serves me some kind of Midgardian dish, I guess.

I’m about to take a bite when someone breaks down the front door, is a particular 'oh-not-this-again' feeling there, then a tall, blond, worried man steps inside—

Oh, it’s Thor.

"BROTHER, THAT SO-CALLED 'STAR-PRINCE' OR WHATEVER CLAIMED THOU KIDNAPPED HIS SISTER. HAST THOU RETURNED TO THY EVIL WAYS AGAIN, BROTHER!?"

Chapter Text

My perfect cedar door lies shattered on the floor. I haven't even committed enough atrocities today to deserve this. At least the parallel kitchen remains intact.

"Brother, when I gave you my address, the intention was for you to knock when visiting. Clearly, that was expecting too much," I say with disdain.

"When you kidnap someone, you forfeit the right to an intact door," he declares in that self-righteous tone of his.

"I wasn't kidnapped," Mantis chews slowly, as if discussing the weather. "Loki invited me. I accepted."

"Why would you accept his invitation? Brother, what spell hast thou cast on this innocent maiden?" Thor turns to me, skeptical.

"I'm not enchanted. Loki and I made a deal, and I accepted," she replies between bites.

I seize the opportunity: "Is the idea of someone choosing me voluntarily so inconceivable to you?" Thor falls silent, scrambling for a more diplomatic response—after all, the mighty Thor could never admit his hypocrisy.

My brother tightens his grip on Mjolnir—his substitute for complex reasoning. "Given thy history... yes."

"Ah yes, my 'history'," I make air quotes. "The times I seized power, or the times I saved you? Convenient selectivity, brother."

Thor stares at me with that hollow affection. "Loki, we should speak privately." His serious tone is exhausting—sometimes I prefer when we just fight.

I lead him to my study, glancing back at Mantis as I conjure a glowing path from her seat to her room. "Just follow the line to your quarters," I say, keeping my tone just gentle enough to show she's no hostage, but not so affectionate that Thor might think her as my lover. The less he knows of my intentions, the better.

In the study, Thor occupies the entire sofa with his bulk and hammer. I perch on the farthest chair.

"Brother, he also mentioned... a candidacy," Thor says the word like it's obscene. "What are you truly planning?" This conversation was inevitable.

"Ah, Thor," I smile sharply. "I do love a good conquest. Thought I'd try it this way." A lie here, a truth there—our usual dance.

"Art thou upset about not ruling Asgard?" The urge to disintegrate him itches in my palms, but patience is necessary. A failed plan merely requires additional steps.

"I wouldn't say upset, brother. I have a desire to conquer and rule. I'm tired of battles—why not try a more... peaceful approach?" My voice remains cold.

"Thou shall lie your way to power as usual then?," he accuses.

"And don't they? I'll be honest about my dishonesty. If they elect me anyway, what's the harm?" I wonder how stupid Thor truly is—whether he can't comprehend what my ruling a country means, or simply refuses to think about it to spare himself pain.

Either way, I benefit.

"And how does she factor into this?"

"She approached me at the event. Her skills are useful, nothing more." 

"She seems too naive for your games, Loki. You'll only hurt her." He's not wrong. ]

Yet being told I can't have something only makes me want to claim it.

"She's here of her own free will, brother. She may leave whenever she chooses."

The more disinterest I show, the sooner he'll leave.

"So thou won't stop me from persuading her to go?" I hate when he uses what few brain cells he possesses.

"By all means. She's in her quarters. Oh, and since you're going there anyway, do check if my 'hostage' has sufficient pillows." Thor gives me a suspicious look, but then—something rare happens. He stays silent and heads for the door.

"Farewell, brother. I'll be keeping an eye on thee."

As he leaves, I'm tempted to turn invisible and eavesdrop, but she apparently can detect me. Best not to interfere. I should focus on campaign strategie

What truly matters.

Two hours.

Two full hours where my mind—sharp enough to orchestrate the fall of kingdoms—can't formulate a single worthy plan. At first, I'm distracted wondering what they're discussing. Then I start questioning whether she'll at least come to say goodbye. By logic, my oafish brother departed without ceremony—I should be relieved.

Instead, the empty room confronts me with my own thoughts.

She might have stayed. She might have left.

Right now, I'm Schrödinger's damned cat.

I descend to find the hall deserted—even my shattered door seems to mock me. Only her room remains to check.

A god doesn't wait. A king doesn't beg.

Yet here I stand, knocking.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

No answer.

"She's insignificant," I tell the void as my traitorous hands open the door without permission.

The air changes—humid with steam, soap, and something else... familiar yet unplaceable. Refreshing.

Ah. She's bathing.

Again, I've jumped to conclusions.

Didn't she hear me knock? I wanted thick walls, but never imagined they'd block sound so completely. Steam escapes beneath the bathroom door, drawing invitations in the air. Her uniform lies discarded, muddy boots proof she remained. That she chose to stay. With a flick, I teleport the soiled clothes away.

"Loki?" Her voice emerges through the wood. "I forgot my towel... could you get it for me?"

I could solve this with a snap—materialize a towel before her.

That's what I should do.

Yet my legs carry me to the towel on her bed, then to the bathroom door. My body divides—one arm extending into the steam-filled room, clutching the towel.

Her scent intensifies now. I hear water drip as she rises, footsteps approaching. Then her fingers brush mine as she holds the towel. Through the crack, I see, Black hair dripping down her neck, shoulders were bare, her skin was a little pink from having been in the tub for so long. I felt compelled to pull the towel off and make her come to me. To bring her into my arms, to touch her-

"Loki... could you let go?"- She speaks in a shy voice between sighs.

The door shuts like a blow. I run in the cold hallway, only one doubt remains:

What in the Nine Realms is wrong with me?

Chapter Text

"Did my powers malfunction?

Or is Loki actually attracted to... me?

I stand still, clutching the towel he handed me... Our fingers brushed for just a second, but the intensity of that feeling makes me blush.

Except he ran away embarrassed. Ugh...

I should’ve tried to read his mind—maybe then I’d understand what happened.

I glance back at the enormous bathtub, all those oils and soaps, I remember having similar things when I lived with Ego. No wonder I ended up falling asleep in the bath. I should’ve been more careful—I lost track of time.

When Loki knocked, I sensed his relief... like he thought I’d left.

I dry off and head to the bedroom. Is this really the guest room? It’s so spacious... Green ornaments accent the wooden furniture. Are the trees that made these related to Groot?

I look for my uniform—I swore I left it on the rug—but it’s gone. For a moment, I think I’ll have to wander the house in just a towel, until I remember the wardrobe.

The door sticks a little, but when I finally open it, there’s an overwhelming amount of clothes: all kinds of fabrics, sizes, and shades of green. I search for something resembling a uniform, but most are dresses or uncomfortable pants. I settle on a dress with a nice texture.

After struggling to close the wardrobe (and failing), I collapse onto the massive bed—too soft, with too many pillows, then switch to the nearby couch. Feels more like my cabin. At least I can lie here and think.

Searing excitement..

That’s what I felt when his finger touched mine.

But that intensity? It can’t be normal.

I don’t have much experience with attraction or its derivatives. I learned a bit when Adam and I dated for a while. He was mostly a person of such small feelings, but what I felt with Loki? That’s so different. We’ve known each other for less than two days.

Besides, I’m way too ugly for instant attraction.

Especially from Loki. He’s so...

Ugh, exhausting!

Here I am, thinking too much, while two people have already warned me I’m in danger.

Is Peter right? Am I stupid?

Lost in thought, I barely notice my eyes closing.

When I wake, it’s night. Oh! Lost track of time again.

Time for food. I open the shoe cabinet and find slippers.

Obviously green.

I leave the room and wander the glass hallways, white stone walls, and black decor. Now that I think about it, this place is very...how do you say...

Villain’s lair?

In the kitchen, I rummage through cabinets and sniff jars. I grab a pot, turn on the stove, and toss everything in. The mixture thickens—I turn it off and plate it: a sticky yellow-brown glob.

Looks perfect!

I’m halfway through eating when I sense Loki approaching. Shame and insecurity. He’s on the second floor, motionless... then finally moves toward the stairs. Slow steps. Is he still embarrassed about the bathroom?

It’s the first time I’ve seen him without the golden horns. He wears a dark green robe, hair loose. He eyes the pot with disgust.

“What is this... substance?”

“Food.”

“It resembles a necromancy experiment.”

“Try some if you want.” I offer a fork, but he eyes it like a weapon.

“I certainly will not.”

He sits at the counter, keeping distance, then materializes a wineglass and drinks. Silence lingers.

Now that I think about it, we haven’t talked since the party. I’ve already said dumb things to him, maybe starting a conversation won’t go well.

“What did Thor tell you?” A flicker of unease crosses his face.

“That I’m just a pawn in your plans... and that I’m in danger.” The bitter taste of his anger surges, followed by a wave of emotions.

“Thor always pushes people away from me. Like he wants me alone.”—There’s a lie in there somewhere.

“When I spoke to Thor, he wasn’t angry at you. Just worried.”

He looks startled.

“You’re certain?”

“Yes. From the moment he entered your house.”

His anger dissolves into grief, that specific sadness of losing someone dear. He stays quiet.

“Y’know, I only found out Peter was my brother after we’d known each other a while. He was already a friend, and after that, our bond just got better!.”

I try to change the subject.

He smiles, but it curdles into bitterness.

“Funny you say that. For me, it’s the opposite, in each part"  It’s so sad... The pain Thor showed mirrors what Loki feels now.

“So you and your brother get along?”  He probably doesn’t want to talk about himself.

“It’s good, but... we fought.”

“Because you came here?”

“Yeah...” Worry about me surges.

“Don’t worry. You’ll talk eventually and make up.”

“How do you know?”

“I understand sibling fights.” Beyond melancholy, it’s like he’s mourning. I don’t know what it’s like to clash with someone you love every time you meet. The face of suffering that Peter made still haunts me.

“My heart felt shattered when we fought. How do you stand it?”

“Stop having a heart.” His smile is the fakest I’ve ever seen. Sarcasm masks the pain.

I want to say something, about how he feels now, but as usual, words fail me.

“I could take this pain from you. When I touch someone, I can influence their emotions. It’s part of my powers.” My usual offer in these situations.

Surprise flashes across his face, then affection. A far more genuine smile appears.

“You speak of suffering, but I barely notice it. For me, this is just another Tuesday.”

How can he say that so earnestly?

It’s unbearably sad.

Gamora was like that—never let me touch her, just suffered silently for hours.

But she had Peter. He always knew how to pull her out of it, even if it meant swapping sadness for irritation.

They were so good for each other.

These are trifles in my long life, little bug. No need to fret. I’ll cook something, since you clearly only make slop.”

He turns away, but I feel the warmth lingering. He starts to cook magically.

The night passes quietly. Most of my questions strike him as obvious; his explanations feel unnecessary. He eats his food, offers me some (I decline, preferring my “slop”), and he acts soo scandalized.

But gradually, his heart calms. And strangely... there’s no loneliness between us.

It’s odd. I don’t remember my mere presence ever being enough to make someone feel better.

Chapter Text

Doubt is a situation where lies thrive.

So I’ve always seen it as an opportunity.

Every gap in information can be filled with a story that benefits me.

That’s how I’ve walked my path—that’s how I’ve triumphed.

Yet now, doubts have been haunting me ever since I met this bug who, for some reason, lingers in my thoughts.

My plan with Hydra was flawless, of course. A terrorist attack conveniently interrupted by "Loki, the Hero." Poll numbers jumped 12 points.

Today is a day to walk the streets, greet a few mortals with my "genuine" smile. Besides, it’s the first day Mantis will accompany me as my official secretary.

This should have happened sooner, but every night I invited her, she said she wouldn’t come. It was almost as if she was testing me in some way. Not understanding her reasoning was the first doubt that tormented me.

I circle the clock three times before her clumsy footsteps echo down the hallway.

The block heels, a concession to her inexperience, make her sway like a newborn fawn. The dress is perfect: light green to contrast with my emerald jacket, fitted just enough to require help with the buttons. Yet somehow, she managed to fasten it herself when she turned around.

"Loki, are you sure I can’t just wear my uniform?" she grumbles. It’s amusing to see her so bothered by this.

I don't think she'll ever see that uniform again.

"This is an Earth presidential campaign. We must follow at least some of their customs to earn their favor."

"Okay..." she replies, resigned.

Her hair is loose—it suits her, but it’s inappropriate for the occasion. As far as I recall the extent of her powers, I should be fine as long as I don’t touch her skin.

"Would you like help braiding your hair?" 

I ask politely. After all, it’s merely a matter of etiquette.

"Oh, I like it like this. No need," she answers quickly.

"It’s not suitable for a secretary,"I argue. She stops and looks at me, curious.

"Ah! You just want to braid my hair and are using etiquette as an excuse! Fine, go ahead," she says cheerfully.

Why must everything with her be so direct?!

Another frustrating doubt. Of course, I could use an illusion to keep her flawless for the public. But the practical approach is better.

She dares to assume my intentions.

"I misjudged. It looks fine as it is." She seems a little disappointed by my statement, but now I’m irritated.

It’s time I use this bug to my advantage—not as some decorative doll.

"So, can you read minds, Mantis?"

She stares at me for a moment, likely wary of my intentions.

"It’s not strong enough to call myself a telepath, but I can catch a thought or two, especially if people are open."

"Alright. During the rally, we’ll communicate telepathically. Understood?"

"Okay," she nods, still suspicious.

"I want you to read the crowd’s emotions—their expectations of me. Can you do that?"

She pauses again.

"I can try..."

We teleport to the rally. People smile and cheer—as expected. I introduce Mantis as my intergalactic secretary, and they’re thrilled, though she seems unused to the spotlight.

"Everything alright?" I ask telepathically. I can’t let her ruin my plans.

"It’s just... a lot of expectations. So many people. Their feelings are different from the missions I’m used to..."

I’m impressed by how effective we are as a team. She whispers into my mind every hidden desire in the crowd:

"The man in red wants you to promise lower taxes... the journalist doubts an alien understands Earth’s economy... the old man there dreams of a speech about morality..."

I adapt every phrase, every gesture. It’s like playing a piano of human emotions, and Mantis is my sheet music.

There’s just one problem: I feel her trying to delve deeper into my mind beyond our telepathic exchanges. It’s as if I allowed her into the foyer, and now she’s peering down the hallway, straining to see into the rooms.

Curiosity? Fear? Desire? What drives her interest in me? There are countless possibilities, but this doubt unsettles me.

I long for the moment I can punish her for it.

Ah, yes—pinning her against the wall, an arm around her waist, pulling her close. Gripping her chin hard enough to leave marks. Whispering how treachery has delicious consequences.

Wait.

Did I properly shield that image from her?

I glance at her and find her flustered, face completely red, hands covering her cheeks.

Shit, shit, shit...

Some foolish voter is asking something idiotic about upholding morals and good customs. But I’m frozen—terrified she might send me a message about what she just saw.

"Loki, I think that voter is waiting for your answer. He wants you to say something like, ‘We must return to the old ways, which were clearly better."  Her mental voice is thin, kinda ashamed.

The rally continues without further issues. She keeps trying to invade my mind, but I’m more vigilant in blocking her—and in suppressing any... scenarios that threaten to surface.

I won’t deny it’s endearing that she keeps trying.

That night, as I dine on roasted pheasant with Idunn’s apples, I watch Mantis devour some purple goo she concocted.

"Today was productive," I say, pretending not to notice her trembling plate of poisoned jelly. "Your telepathy is sharper than you admitted."

"Oh, that’s the ability I use the least with the Guardians, so I don’t practice much," she replies with the shyness of someone unaccustomed to be praised.

"Oh? What other abilities do you have, little insect?" She glares at me, a mix of suspicion and mild irritation.

"If you show me one of yours first, I’ll show you one of mine!"

Oh? Is she negotiating with me?

Adorable.

"Very well, Mantis. I’ll show you an ability. Do we have a deal?"

"We do!" she answers eagerly.

I vanish and reappear behind her. "Satisfied?"

"Cheater!" She stands, her irritation delightful. "That’s not new!"

"You said to show you an ability. You never specified it had to be a new one." Her frustration only grows. It was only a matter of time before she fell for one of my tricks—after all, I am the God of—

Before I can react, she swiftly touches her hand to mine.

"You will show me an ability I don’t know."

The magic takes hold instantly. My body obeys her. I shrink, grow warmer—transform into a fox. It was instinctive. My senses return only after her command is fulfilled.

She laughs, a bright sound that should infuriate me. Instead, something inside me... would wag my tail, if I weren’t careful.

I return to my human form, too stunned to be angry. This power is immense. Its potential excites me, thrills me

arouses me.

"So you can force people to do as you say?" I ask. She looks almost ashamed.

"Only if I touch them. It depends on their resistance."

I’m ecstatic to have her by my side. The possibilities are endless—the things I could achieve. Imagine not having to dirty my hands to eliminate obstacles.

"Mantis, do you even grasp the extent of your power? How far have you pushed it? With my help, we could amplify both your telepathy and this ability."

She looks bewildered, then blurts out:

"Oh! So this is the villainy proposal everyone warned me about!"

Chapter Text

"Ops, I did it again - said without thinking.

'If you consider enhancing your power to be villainous, feel free to remain in irrelevance, my dear,' he snaps, all traces of the warmth I'd felt earlier vanishing.

I hate when things turn like this.

If you'll excuse me, I think I'll retire for the evening.I'll see you tomorrow.'

He walks away. Actually walks. No magical disappearance like usual. His footsteps echo on the marble stairs, each slower than the last.

Is he... waiting for me to call him back?

The way he felt when he discovered my power, that speech... there was something off about it. For me, saying 'no' was important.

He reaches the stairs but - typical me - can't find the words.

There is just the sound of his door closing.

Back in my room, I battle the dress buttons for fifteen minutes (why must they be so difficult?). All I want is my uniform, but it's gonne.

The bathtub becomes my refuge. The hot water pulls me into thought:

The rally wasn't what I expected. When saving planets, I feel desperate gratitude from people. This was... different. Anxious devotion, like worshippers in church. It's uncomfortable, especially directed at Loki. He may think himself a god, but should people really feel this way about their leaders?

Our telepathic conversation was fun, though I couldn't access his memories. Except that one moment... just remembering makes my antennae tingle.

Him pinning me against the wall. His arm around my waist. Hand tilting my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes...

The water feels suddenly hotter.

This attraction grows stronger around Loki. It can't just be my imagination.

Wait... I think I forget something...

What about me?

Am I attracted to Loki?

When I feel this pull between us, what part is his and what's mine?

I can't tell.

Ugh! I hate this!

'Come on, Mantis,' I mutter, drying my hair. 'Facts:'

I want to stay longer with Loki]

I'm curious about him

I really like his emotional waves

 I should talk to him, so I'm wearing another green outfit and crossing the marble halls.

As I climb the stairs, an intense wave of arousal nearly trips me. It's coming from... his room.

Oh....

Righhhhhhht.....

I get it

We all need private moments. Even him... My cheeks burn, and I decide not to look further.

I run to downstairs. My cozy couch awaits.

When I fall asleep I only remember that intensity that he imagined. 

Morning comes with no memorable dreams, just my usual breakfast - this time I made a  vibrantly colored mush.

Then she appears.

Long black hair. Emerald green dress. Each step precise, rhythmic, almost musical. When our eyes meet, fear and expectation race through her.

Oh. it's Loki.

"Mantis, today we’ll be looking into my election opponents. It might be a bit unscrupulous, even villainous—are you comfortable joining me, or is this too much?" Still upset about yesterday's conversation, I see. 

"Okay.' I can't stop staring her. Every form Loki takes draws me in.

'What are you looking at?' she says

"I've never seen you like this" Loki freezes.

'I'm running for president. These mortals wouldn't understand... but you? Do you understand, Mantis?' I sense her fear - sharp as ice - then warmth. Is this expectation?

'It's still you, isnt Loki?'

Her relief is palpable. '"Yes. No matter my form, I'm always me."

Her eyes goes on my loose hair. She wants to fix it, but won't ask.

'Want to brush my hair?' Just joy now.

The brush materializes before I finish speaking. 'Since you insist.'

She moves behind me (still taller, so frustratingly). Gentle, slow strokes. Pleasant. A small thrill runs through me.

"'Managed the dress buttons yourself?'" I sense disappointment colors, maybe she wanted to help. I will be smart this time, and don't comment.

"Yes, though it was difficult. Especially undoing them."

"I could help with that later." Hope shines in her.

Finished, she shows me the mirror. My hair's styled differently, braids that are tied into a bun, not bad.

"Now that you're presentable, we can go. Ready?'

'"Ready."

A snap of her fingers, green energy, and we're in a city.

Loki grabs my hand."It's crowded. Best not get lost."The gloves interfere

I could just follow the wave of emotions

Yet, I don't want to pull away her hands.

The first place that we go is a orphanage. Celebration decorations can't hide the desperate thoughts - children believing they must be prettier, smarter, more cheerful to deserve love. The anguish overwhelms me. I just want to leave.

"We'll be brief," Loki says, somehow sensing my pain. 'That woman speaking to the director - I need to know their conversation, then we'll go.'

The women's thoughts reveal her desire to keep taking the funds of the orphanage. I tell Loki, something really has to be done about this

She's pleased. With a snap, we turn invisible, retrieve incriminating documents, and replace them with forgeries.

'This will make headlines,' she gloats before teleporting us away.

The coal factory is worse. Crushing exhaustion leaves no room for thoughts beyond basic needs. I slump onto a bench, Loki takes my hand, worried, and help's me to get up .

Loki approaches the secretary. "We're from Consultancy Consulting Consultants, here to consult about potential consultative consultations."

'Ah! We've been expecting you!'

Strange - neither the secretary nor the orphanage children reacted to my appearance. Was it just my clothes they'd noticed before?

If I understand correctly, if this candidate becomes president, he will make rival companies wither away until he can buy them.

"Now that's villainous" I remark.

Loki shrugs. "Too commonplace to be useful."

'"Let's investigate more another time. Hungry?"

Today, I just did as Loki asked. The people we investigated seemed shady, messing up with their plans for me continues to be something that a guardian of the galaxy should do.

The café patrons treat me normally. Loki orders something fancy; I pick the item with the funny name.

When I go to the restroom, I find Loki waiting for me, as she is applying lipstick on the mirror.

'Want some?' She smiles like a cat offering its belly - a trap waiting to spring.

I approach her and she hands it to me. I understand that people use it to look pretty, but for me I don't think it will work. I look in the mirror and try to do the same as Loki did, but the material is much softer than I imagined, so I apply the lipstick beyond my face.

Loki's genuine laugh.

And I still liked the sound.

“Let me help you, my dear.” She takes a piece of paper, brings her face closer to mine, and holds my chin lightly, making precise movements to clean my face.

“You’re not used to this, are you?” – she asks.

“Not really.”

The gloves Loki is wearing don’t let me know what she feels, nor do I feel her touch properly.

It’s similar to that vision she imagined yesterday, but it’s missing. She takes the lipstick that was on the bathroom stand, her fingers brush my lips. My antennae stand up, I think she notices and her smile gets wider as she slowly applies the lipstick to my lips. Her face was so close, I could see it in her eyes, every layer of green that converges, there was magic in them.

Arousal is the only thing that fills the place, it takes my breath away,

but I don’t want to leave.

"Do you like ugly things, Loki?" This question has been on my mind for a while now.

She caresses my cheek, fingers grazing my ear.

Damn gloves.

'I only appreciate the most beautiful creatures.' Her lingering excitement contradicts her words.

What does this mean then...?

I jerk back. Confusion flashes across her face.

"The humans didn't stare today," I change the subject

"I’ve placed a subtle illusion on you to give you a more human appearance.' Her irritation returns.

'Then why bother fixing me up?'- I ask

She steps closer, twirling a lock of my hair between gloved fingers.

"For my own pleasure." -she says

This tension between us, it hurts. Why the gloves? Why won't she touch me properly?!

I want, I need to understand Loki.

Before I realize, my hand moves toward her face.

But she catches my hand, interlacing our fingers.

'Let's not rush, little bug.'

She was right, there is something that is pulling us towards each other, more and more

It was only a matter of time.

Chapter Text

She tried to touch me.

A simple, impulsive gesture. As much as I might want to, I don’t know how far her powers extend.

An uncalculated risk is an action uncommitted.

We remain in this mundane bathroom, our hands intertwined, holding each other, standing face to face.

Three moves.

That’s all I would need.

My hands would slide down her thighs.

With one smooth motion, I could lift her onto the bathroom counter.

Her skirt would fulfill its orchestrated purpose, granting me easy access.

I really could do it...

She lets out a sigh, her antennae lowering as she looks at me.

Ah.

She saw.

Shouldn’t have been such a nosy little bug.

Every detail—now an image we share. And, by the Ten Realms, her expression...

I loved every bit of it.

When she tries to pull away, my hands open before she finishes the motion—as if I had never held her. As if it were all just another illusion.

I turn to the mirror, adjusting an imaginary strand of hair.

"Don’t be late," I say, and walk away without looking back.

I leave her stunned by my actions.

Another day, another performance.

A day of political debate—time to thank, respond, and deceive.

The wardrobe is part of my arsenal, carefully chosen to shape my many forms. Dresses have their charm, but I’ve always appreciated a good suit.

I pick a dark green one, an orange tie, a soft wool overcoat. The gloves, besides completing the look, they are necessary for interacting with my secretary.

The mirror reflects the image of a king—undeniably impeccable.

But she never comments, no matter what I wear or how I appear...

It gets on my nerves.

But not enough to care. After all, I’ll soon be applauded by countless people.

I descend the stairs, and there she is—positioned to be the first thing I would see. Sitting on the arm of the couch, her back to me, hair loose, the zipper of her green dress lowered to the curve of her spine.

Smooth skin. Unmarked.

So many possibilities...

But she doesn’t turn.

Ah. She’s waiting for me to offer help.

I refuse to be put in such position.

If she wants a favor, she’ll have to ask.

I simply walk past her, and she stays on the couch.

"Loki!"

Her voice is irritated. When I turn, her cheeks are flushed, her antennae standing like two exclamation points. I used to find this trait of hers strange, but now:

It’s simply adorable.

I approach slowly, my hand touching her face. In my masculine form, her face is even smaller.

"What’s wrong, my little bug?"

The words escape before I can censor them.

Mine.

I’ve never called her that before.

But how perfectly it fits.

Her wide eyes blink, her lips part—but her surprise quickly fades.

She stands abruptly and finishes zipping her dress in one swift motion.

"Nothing. Let’s go, Loki." She looks at me, a mix of irritation and shame.

Why does she make things so much harder?

Ah, debates.

Nothing truly discussed, nothing truly thought through.

Each topic is just another stage for the candidates to perform.

But by the Ten Realms, what mediocre ideas.

The other candidates babble about "family values" and "ending corruption"—it’s all so shallow it makes me wonder how this civilization has survived for this long.

Mantis sits in the front row, telepathically feeding me each opponent’s strategy. But honestly, this just proves I’m a god among mortals.

Better lies, irony, mockery—all part of my domain.

"Loki, you’re deceiving people to win this debate. Is that the right thing to do?"

Of course her "hero" side would emerge now.

" They’re all deceiving, Mantis."

"But Loki, if you just revealed what we discovered, that would be enough."

"Candidate Loki, it seems you lack the capacity to address this issue."

An old man, smelling like mothballs, dares to challenge me.

Sending him into the vacuum of space would be so easy...

"You mistake me for your daughter-in-law, sir. As for the topic, I’ll simply say—"

Then the windows shatter.

Men in black uniforms storm in—Hydra insignias on their arms. My former "allies" of convenience must have realized the magical artifacts I gave them were mere trinkets.

A soldier lunges at me with a sword. I dodge, but the floor melts where it strikes.

Acid. Interesting.

I leave a duplicate on stage and turn invisible.

Panic. Screams. Chairs toppling.

I can’t kill them. Not here, not with cameras rolling. But I have my methods.

I approach one soldier, implanting a memory that his comrades plan to kill him after this mission. He turns and opens fire on his own.

My duplicate, the star of the show, engages in a choreographed duel for the cameras.

More votes incoming.

I see Mantis away from the stage. One soldier thrusts a spear at her—she dodges with a dancer’s grace, touches his face, and he collapses, laughing hysterically.

I never thought she had such elegance in combat.

Protecting mortals from real attacks is a challenge. I do what I can, but some lie wounded on the ground.

I knew they’d come—did I miscalculate their strength?

The other candidates escaped unharmed (unfortunately). Most civilians evacuated, but journalists, with their reckless love for drama, keep filming.

Managing hand-to-hand combat through a duplicate, illusions in three soldiers’ minds, and staying invisible demands all my focus.

It would be so much easier to kill them. Should I cast an illusion to make the journalists turn off their cameras?

"Loki!" Mantis’ voice cuts through my mind.

She’s on her knees, hand pressed to her shoulder—that acid spear must have grazed her. The wound seems to grow by the second.

The world stops.

The audience, the cameras, the soldiers—none of it matters anymore.

Before I realize it, I’m at her side, using all my magic to get us out.

We reappear in our home’s hall.

"Loki, go back! The people—" Her protest breaks into a groan. The green dress darkens where the acid eats through fabric and flesh.

"I was the target," I snarl, tearing off my gloves. "We need to fix you now."

She grits her teeth. "My room... there’s a first-aid—"

"As if I’d trust third-rate technology." My bare hands find her shoulder before I can think. Magic flows like water over her skin. I don’t know what kind of acid Hydra used—there’s magic mixed in.

"You know healing?" Her voice is calmer now. The acid has stopped spreading.

"My mother thought it worth teaching." The tissue regenerates under my fingers, but slowly.

Then a tear rolls down her face.

"She was beautiful... You loved her more than anything, didn’t you?" Her sadness mirrors my own grief.

Because she’s feeling how I remember her.

Ah... how embarrassing.

She’s seeing Frigga. My memories spill through our contact.

"What a lovely invasion of privacy, bug" I mutter.

"You showed me!" Her bloodstained finger touches my temple. "Why are you so afraid of me seeing?" Her hand warms my cheek, it feels so good to finally feel her touch.

But this's dangerous.I need to finish healing her, fast.

"It’s okay." Her eyes are full of concern. . "I’m not leaving."

Why is she saying this?

Why do I feel so relieved when she says this?

The wound closes. I should pull my hand away—she’s seen too much already. 

But...

Her dress has slipped, her lace bra exposed.

I should stand up.

Her chest rises and falls too quickly.

I should leave.

Her lips part between gasps.

Run, Loki.

Her sweat glistens, her scent wrapping around me.

This approach will be my doom

Her eyes lock onto mine, dark with desire.

Fuck it.

She pulls me.

Or I lean in.

Our lips meet—hard, desperate, hungry. There’s a metallic taste in her mouth. My hands find her neck, her fingers tangle in my hair.

She bites my lip sharply, forcing her way in. She moves, one hand sliding down my neck, nails scratching. A gasp escapes me.

My hands grip her waist, lifting her effortlessly onto my lap as if she weighs nothing.

The kiss deepens, her hips grinding against mine without the slightest bit of modesty.

What a indecent little bug.

Before I can act, she breaks the kiss. Her lips trail down my jaw to my throat—then clamp onto my jugular hard enough to mark.

My body arches against hers without permission.

And then...

She freezes.

Her hands leave my neck, and she shoves away abruptly.

Her eyes are wide with fear.

Ah. It happened.

I stand, stepping toward her.

"What did you see, Mantis?" My voice is embarrassingly shaky.

"Nothing," she lies.

"What did you see?" Pleading and rage mix in my tone.

"I didn’t see—I felt!" she shouts but can’t meet my gaze.

"What was it?!"

"I don’t know! My body screamed at me to stop." Her eyes flick to my neck, where her teeth left a red crescent. She stands, backing away.

I don’t believe her, but pressing further will only make it worse.

"You didn’t want it?"The question slips out before I can stop it.

She pauses, finally looking at me.

"I did... I do!" Her sincerity might be another lie. She reaches for my face, but I pull back.

Hurt flashes in her eyes before she withdraws.

"Can we take this slow?"

She was the one attacking me, and now she wants to go slow?

Is her manipulation deeper than I thought?

"I’m not leaving, Loki. I’m just going to my room. Okay?"

It takes all my strength and pride to watch her walk down the hall.

On the holographic screen, the Avengers pose with the last Hydra members in cuffs. Pathetic. The media speculates about my "heroic disappearance" after saving civilians.

The mirror accuses me: purple bite marks on my neck, hair disheveled.

She’s two doors away.

Or I could teleport naked into her bed, if I wanted.

But, what did she see?

My fingers curl into trembling fists, nails biting flesh as I barricade the nightmares clawing at the edges of my mind.

No. Better not risk it. If we touch again, she might vanish into space to be away from me.

Literally.

Yet the memory of her body against mine lingers.

How could such a small creature wreak such havoc?

It was as if she knew exactly what I wanted.

My body insists, hardening.

I can't believe I'm reduced to do this

Again.

I open a sealed drawer with a gesture. Inside, a plastic bag holds what I stole in the first night.

I sit on the bed, bringing the item to my nose.

So sweaty.

Probably worn for days without washing.

It reeks of engine oil, but beneath that—her scent. I still can’t define it, but it’s the smell of a peasant, no doubt.

Yet

I pull my pants down with her dirty uniform pressed to my face.

This is so beneath me

Oh...

The lowly urgings of the flesh.

Chapter Text

My hands tremble, moving restlessly, the sounds echoing through the room.

I can’t breathe.

And finally, all that pent-up tension snaps.

This is so embarrassing…

What’s wrong with me?

I pushed him away, practically fled, and now this?

My instincts scream at me to understand what I felt—what made me pull back from him.

But it’s useless!

Every time I try to remember, I’m dragged back into that all-consuming intensity.

I thought the bath would help me focus, but no luck.

And to make it worse?

I want to do it again.

Another day, another culinary experiment!

Today’s masterpiece: a cake!

"Maybe Loki will want a taste," I murmur, optimistically tossing in the red powder.

But... weird. He’s late. He usually shows up, all pompous, to criticize my food.

"Did he oversleep?" I ask the oven.

Maybe I can just… go check on him?

I climb the stairs to his room—two towering doors stretching floor-to-ceiling, because of course regular-sized doors wouldn't be enough for Loki

I knock. Nothing.

"Loki?"

Silence. No emotions seep through the door.

"…Did he leave?"

Then, the smell of burning.

"THE CAKE!"

I leap down the stairs, skidding into the kitchen just in time.

The bottom’s charred, but if I slice it off…Not bad!

I take a bite. That smoky aftertaste? Perfect! Maybe I should burn things more often.

I’ll save the rest for us to share.

The time passes. Then one hour. Two.

Still no Loki.

The day drags. Human TV is the worst (why so many shows about people screaming?).Left to explore the mansion: five bathrooms, a sauna, home theater, pool,garden, and 13 locked rooms.

What’s he hiding in there?

The mansion's garden is... green. Not "live" green, but "Loki" green. The plants are immaculate, unchanging, as if time itself fears touching them.

They smell nice, but there's magic in this, like imperfection isn't permitted here.

The intercom buzzes.

Boredom pull me to the door. But when I open it.

No one.

Did I imagine it?

"Hey, kiddo,down here!"

I look down. There's my fuzzy companion, adorable despite being armed to the teeth.

"Rocket!" I want to hug him, but every attempt ends in bites.

He brushes past me, sniffing around, his fur more bristled than usual.

"What an asshole mansion," he mutters, a mix of anger and anxiety rolling off him.

He side-eyes me, ears twitching. "So... heard you almost got Hydra-kebabbed during Hornhead's campaign."

"I'm fine now. Loki healed me." My shoulder still aches, but that'd just will worry him more.

"Uh-huh. And this Loki guy... Just another megalomaniac we'll gotta blow up in six months?" Rocket's signature "I-care-but-will-die-before-admitting-it" feeling.

"He's not that bad! Just... complicated."

"Translation: Jerk, but hot." He hops onto the counter.

"Rocket!"-Is it that obvious to others?

"Oh, relax," he rolls his eyes. "Look, I ain't here to be your therapist. If you've got a thing for Emo Thor, go nuts. Everyone deserves one shitty relationship, just hope yours doesn't end in world domination."

"He wouldn't do that!"

"Sure. Until he does."

He pulls a tiny gun from his pack and tosses it to me.

"Take it. For when he goes full cartoon villain."

The pistol fits in my pocket and then hands me a backpack.

"You left all your crap behind after your fight with Peter. Don't lose it, there's a communicator included."

"How is he?" I ask.

"Quill? Weirder than a Kree at a tanning salon." Sadness bleeds through him.

"What happened?"

"After you left, he locked himself up for three days. Now he's pretending nothing's wrong."

"It's my fault... I should've talked properly—"

"Enough, jailbird. Quill's an idiot, but he'll get over it. Just needs to sulk it out." He chucks an apple at my face before I can react. 

"You're not glued to us. Since Ego, you've never done your own thing. Terrible choice? Probably. But... we come running if you need it."

For a moment, I feel Rocket's pure care.

"Thanks. That means... a lot. But what if Peter doesn't 'get over it'?"

"We threw him into the space and get a new captain. Pretty sure that red-armor guy on Earth wants the job." He steals a cake slice, chewing smugly.

He probably came to Earth just to check on me.

Without Gamora, Rocket's become our reluctant caretaker. I worry too, but he’s the one who knows how to act when we need help.

"Later, kiddo, no ghosting, got it?."

I'm so glad he came. The Guardians are my family. And I've got a fuzzy guardianwho's way softer than he lets on—

My hand darts out to pet him.

Chomp.

"Why do you keep DOING that, Mantis?! We had a moment there!" He rockets away, equal parts furious and flustered.

I gonna try next time.

I stay until night in the library, reading books about Asgard. Golden halls, epic battles, lakes glowing like emeralds…

We could travel there. He’d show me everything.

We’d walk through his city’s streets, hand in—

No.

Better stop.

Thinking about Loki just drags me back to last night.

A noise in the kitchen jolts me.

I run downstairs, nearly tripping.

And there he is.

A heavy cloak of anxiety and fear hangs in the air. He doesn’t turn, just stirs pots with magic.

He’s dressed in full Asgardian regalia—golden armor, green cape. 

Beautiful, but who wears battle gear indoors?

"Loki, are you okay?" I ask.

The emotional storm rages on.

"But of course. Why wouldn’t I be?"

Liar

I sit at the counter.

"I made cake! It’s a human thing, it’s in the oven."

He doesn’t face me, but the oven door opens on its own. Curiosity flickers through him

"Why is it red?"

"I added that!" I point to the red vial.

"You put paprika in a cake?" Disgust wrinkles his nose, it's better compared to the earlier tension.

"Yes!"

He eyes the red cake like a cursed artifact, slams the oven shut, and resumes cooking.

Silence. 

I want to mention Rocket's visit. To talk about last night.

To touch him.

But the fear choking this kitchen?

Maybe it's mine too.

A plate float to the table.

Another bland meat-and-greens dish. So boring.

If he just blended and froze it, it’d taste better.

When I look up he’s gone.

Poof. Teleported.

I thought we’d eat together. Talk things out, like last time.

Now it’s just me and my feelings.

I don't like them very much..

I choke down the meal and trudge to my room.

Should I wait for him to be "ready"?

Days without speaking?

No.

I won’t accept that!

My feet fly up the stairs.

I knock.

Nothing—but I feel him behind the door.

"Loki, I know you’re there. OPEN UP!"

The anxiety spikes. The door cracks open.

"To what do I owe this intrusion, my dear ?"

He won’t meet my eyes, but finally, I see his face.

"Why’d you vanish all day? And now you’re hiding?"

His brief warmth hardens into irritation.

"My plans extend beyond you. I owe no explanations. We’ll talk tomorrow—"

He tries to shut the door, but my foot blocks it.

"You’re lying! What’s going on?!"

The door swings wide.

He’s in a half-open robe, chest bare.

"Last night, you asked for "go slowly"‘and now you’re breaking into my room?"

"I said ‘slow,’ not ‘no contact!’" - I say

"Then what do you want?" - he respond 

Uh.

…I didn’t think this far.

What did Peter and Gamora do together?

Loki’s room is huge—a ballroom with a bed. A massive TV glows in the corner.

"Wanna watch TV?" I point to the bed.

He stares. A mix of fear and hunger flashes through him.

"You realize if we share that bed, I could claim you before you even think to run."

"That sounds cool" I blurt.

He freezes. Mortification and fury erupt.

"Make up your mind, Mantis! What does ‘slow’ mean to you?!"- he rages

"I don’t know! It was too intense! It’s harder with my powers!"

"How?" - he asks

"When I touch someone, I feel everything they do. It’s like doubling the sensations. Last night was… a lot"

He goes still. Emotions flood him like a river—too fast to name. Then, finally: joy.

"Fine. We’ll watch TV."

His bed is comfortably firm. I lie down first; he keeps his distance.

He turns on the news. Boring, sooooo boring!

I study his profile—pale skin, sharp angles, such a nice chest.

I haven't bitten there yet

No marks from last night.

Like it never happened.

"The agreement was watching TV, my little bug, not staring."

Liar. He’s thrilled.

"Can we like... kiss now?" - I ask

He chokes on air.

"No. We cannot." But his fingers clench the sheets, emotions raging.

This is kinda fun.

Teasing Loki's a possibility?

'Look, I hurt my hand - maybe you could heal it?' I hold up my Rocket-bitten hand. Loki inspects the area without touching.

'You'll live,' he dismisses.

'What if holding hands helps it heal faster?' I try convince him.

"No, Mantis. We’re watching TV. That’s all."

I don’t get it. He wants me, despite my appearance.

We’re so close now, but something’s locked, in his mind, his body.

I try to focus on the terrible news.

At some point, I doze off.

I wake up being carried, his skin carefully avoiding mine.

Is that what he’s afraid of?

I play dead, enjoying the moment.

He tucks me into my terribly soft bed, then go away.

Is he watching me sleep?

What face do normal people make when they are sleeping?

Then, warmth.

His lips tremble a little, brushing my forehead, breath hitches.

Gone before I can do something.

It was fleeting, but I felt it....the same thing as our first touch.

Affection.

Chapter Text

Why do so many plans crumble between my fingers?

I wanted an ornamental secretary.

A heroine to corrupt.

An empath to deceive.

A beauty for my nightly delight.

When I realized, it was already too late.

I've lived long enough to foresee

Everything that exceeds its place on my chessboard...
...rots.

I have to learn to block her powers...

...I must avoid contact

.
But how difficult it is proving to be.

Even if she lightly knocks on my bedroom door, the damage to me is considerable.

I lack the strength to prevent her entry.

There she is, lunar eyes, antennae curving apprehensively.

“You disappeared again today” – she speaks softly, hurt.

“I was busy with the campaign” – If I'm busy with the campaign, it's less time for contact.

She seems to give up arguing, invades my room in silence.

But there's something different,

My little bug is wearing an immense green robe, certainly a miscalculation on my part, as it does nothing to adorn her.

She lies down and terribly pretends to pay attention to the TV; I accompany her, keeping a safe distance on the bed.

For a while, I'm minimally distracted by the news on the TV until I hear a small noise from her side.

She had lowered the robe.

She is wearing only a shirt, with tiny shorts.

My shirt.

How did she get it...

She entered the room...

Not this one, it was kept locked, must have gotten it from the laundry...

But more importantly

Why does she look so delicious like this?

The fabric smelled like me, but on her it gained new meaning: it was the flag of a conquest I did not authorize,

but desired nonetheless.

She notices my gaze and sketches a mischievous little smile.

It seems our contact taught her something.

“Are you seducing me?” - I ask.

“I am...! Is it working?” – she answers promptly.

“It isn’t” -

By the Nine Realms, how it is working.

I turn towards the TV and her antennae droop.

When I try to bring my attention back to the news, I hear her getting up, above me, her legs straddling my body.

Only like this is she taller than me.

“Could you look at me?” _ she says almost pleadingly.

As if it were possible to look at anything else.

My shirt covers her shorts, almost creating the illusion that there's nothing beneath.

“You don't want me to touch you indirectly, right?”

“What are you proposing, bug?”

She lowers herself onto my legs; my pajamas prevent direct touch. I feel her legs on me, and then her head finds its place on my traitorous, racing heart. Her hands carefully touch me only on the covered parts.

My arms stiffen beside my body, containing the imminent desire to just touch her.
“Can we stay like this?” – she asks, already knowing the answer.

This torment, there must be some way for me to end this.

I could do what ussualy do 

Adding memories. A magic I've used in many different ways. Thus, I could transform her mind and keep her unchanged.

That way I could do whatever I wanted without any risk.

No.

I will not alter Mantis's mind for carnal desires.

I don't want to have to resort to that level of control over her.

If she wants me, it's because she chose to.

I changed, I rewrote my destiny, perhaps I can have a relationship not shrouded in lies and control.

I truly want to believe this is possible.

I feel her breath on my chest; she manages to fit into me even in this way.

She is so strangely beautiful.

Is it really possible to keep her?

By just being me?

She lifts her head and her face meets mine; she will ask for something, I'm getting used to this expression.

“Loki, you don't trust me to touch you, do you?”

“Look at the position we're in, how do I not trust you?” - I answer with my routine disdain.

“Is it about that time I got scared? You're worried it will happen again?”

Why does this creature sometimes display an intelligence that in no way indicates she possesses it?

I refuse to say anything.

“What if we tried just a little?”

Would it work? Touching her briefly and getting used to blocking her progressively?

I don't know if it was the rational side thinking the experiment might be worth it, or my pride in maintaining dominance in this relationship,

Or I just urgently needed to kiss her again.

I lean in and my lips meet hers, the softness and her warmth return to me, my tongue enters her mouth, even though she tries to dominate the lead, I find myself too irritated to allow it.

She rubs my erection with one of her legs, her way of provoking me to continue.

My hands almost tear the sheets to stay in position; I feel her nails digging into my skin through the fabric.

However, when I feel her entering my mind, I pull away from her face.

She looks ravenous when I pull away.

She recovers slowly, almost as if regaining her senses.

“Can we do that more often?”

“We certainly can try, darling – I reply.

This time she falls silent, just snuggling into my chest, accepting defeat.

That's enough for tonight.

After that, Mantis returned to participating in the campaign. We perform brief touches, from which I usually pull away whenever she decides to be nosy in the minds of others.

This escalates our tension, but I'm happy to have her back in my daily life.

Even if with her things gets a bit more complicated.

I feel ……… Lighter

The sauna is my refuge on gray Wednesday afternoons; it's not one of the best work days, so I grant myself the right to use it.

My frost giant bloodline makes my body more susceptible, but I like the sensation overall.

But of course she would complicate something routine.

The door slides open. Mantis enters wrapped only in a white towel, the steam framing her.

“Good afternoon, Loki” – she says as if she weren't here to test my limits of self-control.

“Why did you come?” – I ask.

“Like you said that day...” - She turns her head thoughtfully, until her antennae perk up as she remembers “For my own delight!” – she says, trying to imitate me.

She sits facing me, knowing my eyes will fixate on her figure.

I suspect she likes that.

“Will it take long for the campaign to end, Loki?” – she asks, trying to create some semblance of normality.

As if it were possible.

“We are in the final stretch, I gathered some supporters during the times I traveled alone” – I comment, trying to maintain this facade. “What have you been doing alone in the house?”

She pauses and stays silent for too long for such a simple question.

“Ah, nothing much...” – she lies; maybe she's snooping in other rooms.

I notice her body slowly flushing; I see beads of sweat descending from her collarbone to her breasts.

I want to lick all over her.

I want to know if the taste is similar to her scent.

When I realize, I rearrange my posture to maintain decorum.

“Loki...” – Her whisper cuts through the humid air. “Are you trying to hide that you're hard? I feel your excitement even through all this steam.”

I freeze. How dare she—

“...It kind of wanders around the place,” she murmurs, twirling her finger in the air, avoiding my gaze.

She thinks I'll lose my composure?

If I'm invited to participate in this game of provocation, I'll play by my own rules.

I am the God of Mischief, after all.

I smile then, slow, dangerous. “Mantis, remember telling me you feel everything doubled?”

She nods hesitantly.

“Why would you want to play a game where you will always lose?”

The blush on her body somehow intensifies.

“Because you won't let me touch you!” – Seeing her eagerness makes me want to explore her.

“But you didn't beg me for it.”

“Beg.”

“Why do you want this?” – she asks.]

“As I said at the time, for my own pleasure.”

Our eyes lock. The steam thickens; I delight in her uncertainty about how to act.

Until she simply lowers the towel and finally reveals herself to me.

And she is everything I imagined and more.

A body curving between waist and thighs, small, perfectly perky breasts; she keeps her legs pressed together to my disappointment.

I need all my self-control not to tear her from the bench and succumb to desire.

My hatred escalates alongside lust in a dangerous way.

So be it

I spread my legs; my towel slips.

She gulps, eyes glued to my revealed part.

I feel dizzy from the sauna heat, but I don't fail to notice her thighs compressing, rubbing against the wooden bench. Rhythmic movements, almost involuntary.

Cheater.

“If you're going to masturbate, do it properly.”

She stops, horrified. She hadn't even noticed.

Unfortunately, she pulls the towel towards herself and abruptly leaves the sauna.

Seems I won.

But it's not enough.

I want to tease her until she begs.

When I leave the sauna, I notice she is in the pool.

She's swamming naked.

Of course she's swimming naked.

Wide strokes that twisted her torso, revealing the dangerous curve between rib and hip.

I transform my towel into my swimwear: a hat with my horns, a green robe, and swim trunks.

I see the towel she left by the pool edge and pick it up, then sit beside the pool steps.

Now to wait.

She glances at me

Drops trailed from rosy nipples, the dip of her navel, soaked pubic hair.

High breasts, heavy with water, pulsing with ragged breath. She crossed her arms over them, a futile gesture, only emphasizing how they were marked by her forearms’ pressure

"Did I take your towel?" She doesn't respond, so I just hand her the towel as she reluctantly climbs the steps

Her antennae perked and a serious look indicated her desire to continue the game.

My gaze follows her as I watch her sit on the nearby sun lounger.

She lies down and lets the towel fall. Her slender back, thighs, and butt.

How marvelous. 

I position myself beside her, on the parallel sun lounger where she lies.Her breasts pressed against the seat,

Certainly an image to be stored.

“Loki, can you put sunscreen on me?” – she feigns so poorly.

As if she were going to stay here long enough to burn.

The sun in this place don't even burns that much 

I've noticed she is flexible; she could easily do it herself.

She's an alien; she probably doesn't even need sunscreen.

Besides, there's no sunscreen here right now.

“Can't you...?” – "Well, I guess I better leave then..."

She thinks she won, but I have one last card.

I conjure a copy, a perfect reflection: my features, my bearing, even the elegant way of holding the bottle of oil.

Mantis watches the figure approach; her curiosity shows in her antennae.

“Cheater...” – she accuses.

The copy kneels beside the sun lounger. Its fingers pour the amber liquid onto her back. The movement is deliberately slow. Oil dripping down her spine, penetrating the curve of her buttocks, staining the towel beneath her belly.

“This isn't you... it's strange, someone touching me and I feel nothing,” she whispers as her body arches to the touch.

I observe her meticulously.

Every drop that descends.

Every muscle that trembles under my copy.

“It's all you'll have” – her frustration indeed pleases me.

The copy spreads the oil with precision. Thumbs press the base of her spine. Palms mold to her thighs. Fingers slide to the inner thighs, hands slipping over the amber skin, stopping exactly where the moist heat begins to throb.

A moan strangles in her throat as the fingers almost touch her area.
Her black eyes fix on me, not on the copy. Pupils dilated.

“Loki... more” - Could that be a plea?

The copy lifts her; my little bug seems to lack the strength or will to cover herself.

It sits her facing me, but her legs remain closed. This body easily covers hers. Her face sinks into its chest, its legs entwine with hers.

I conjure a glass of wine. “Since you insist.”

The copy starts at her collarbones. The oil drips over her shoulders, provoking a shiver. Its fingers descend to her erect nipples, contouring, not touching. Mantis gasps.

“Touch...”

My smile indicates my refusal.

The copy obeys my will: thumbs circle the breasts without direct contact, while palms slide down her waist, molding to her hip bones. The oil transforms her body into a glistening offering.

My fist clenches until it hurts.

I want to be those fingers.

But there's a greater pleasure in this.

My own image – sovereign, ruthless – reducing her to tremors and pleas. The splendor of my Asgardian body curved over her fragility. She, who has tortured me for weeks, now yields.

I imagine her reaction when it's really me.

She slowly opens her legs, and I finally smy prize, that she hid for so long.

Her cunt is in a sinful state.

The lips swollen with desire,

Hairs bristling, unable to hide its moisture,

So sticky there's no mistaking it's another mark of my victory. 

It's a detail that my trunks are about to rip, which clearly won't be shared.

My copy holds her arms, ensuring I can stick my finger in the liquid dripping down the chair. Her eyes are attentive now as I bring her juice to my mouth.

Her taste is as unique as she is; I need to restrain myself to take the leading role.

The copy releases her hands before she can rub herself against the chair again, it's starts to provide her relief. One hand grips her breast, squeezing her nipple, while the other descends to her clit. Her body betrays every touch. Her entrance betrays the effect of the touch.

“Loki.... please.... who I want is you...” - her voice is a mix between despair and frustration.

Seeing how much she desires me not only excites me but, mainly, strokes my ego.

I sketch a most satisfying smile.

“Look... how many times were you warned about the dangers of getting involved with me? What did you expect ?

The other hand goes down and begins to enter her, in the rhythm of her sighs.

Her face intensifies. Her arms rise as if to dig her nails into the copy's neck.

“Loki...I can't go on like this...!” – her eyes are a bit teary now.

In fact, three fingers have already been placed in her entrance, everything is already soaked, she should have already reached orgasm.

I could use something else, but I won't allow a copy to take her completely the first time.

“At least... kiss me... please Loki... kiss me... I beg you.”

“That's all I wanted to hear...”

"When my lips finally reach hers, she bites my lower lip – not in pain, but to confirm: Real. You. Here. Her moan vibrates inside my mouth, body arching in a final spasm. I keep kissing her until the screams subside.

A pity not to see her expression.

She lies prostrate, panting; she leans back on the sun lounger and takes a while to notice her own condition; she tries to cover her body with embarrassment.

Seeing her so vulnerable makes me consider if I was too cruel with her.

I remove my robe and cover her figure.

“Mantis... how was it for you?” – I'm afraid I got too carried away by the moment.

“It was good... then strange... and then good again.” — the words come out stumbling.

She snuggles into my clothes, a search for comfort that should be provided by me.

Mantis slowly turns her face with a weary expression.

“Next time... I want it to be you. Promise?”

I caress her face. There must be some way to block her...

There has to be.

“I promise.”

Chapter Text

The polls crown me victorious.

How peculiar, the God of Lies reveals himself to be the most honest and capable candidate among the opponents.

Every newspaper, whether they label me a savior, a threat, an icon, or an impostor, shares one thing: 

My face dominates their front pages.

The campaign reaches its peak tonight. Beyond these walls, a sea of voices chants my name, hungry for my presence, my lies, my attention.

But backstage... 

Ah, backstage proves far more intriguing.

"Loki... you're late..." she whispers between gasps, her back pressed against the mirror.

The way her thighs tighten around my hips as I lift her onto the vanity, scattering campaign leaflets and makeups.

The electorate can wait.

It’s so fascinating, the feeling of her skin on mine, how I can capture her completely, wrapped around me. I lift her, legs crossing behind my back.

She bites my lip with not the slightest consideration that I have to make an appearance.

She is a biter, something I’ve come to appreciate.

Our kiss is always a battle; her hands go to my hair, pulling with the urgency of wanting more.

My hands fix themselves on the curve of her backside, squeezing them deliberately.We could stay in this position for hours, this perfect friction between her legs and my groin.

It will be great to use this position in the future.

“I’d like to test that too…” she says, having clearly trespassed into my mind in the meantime.

In retaliation, I pin her arms against the wall, my lips sliding to her collarbone. I bite and lick the area.

The dressing room door begins to knock, the human campaign lackeys informing me it’s time. 

But I want to stay lost here.

“Isn’t the campaign more important?” she asks.

My tongue slowly travels up her neck, and I feel her shudder.

“You prove to be a satisfying distraction.”

My hand keeps her wrists to the wall, while the other makes quick work of the buttons on her blouse. The expectation in her eyes is almost as intoxicating as the vision unfolding before me.The green lingerie, perfectly chosen by me.

It requires precise focus to keep her distracted, to build a wall of sensation against her empathic intrusions.

My mouth descends, feeling and enjoying every moment. She seems especially sensitive to my touch, much more so than when I was my clone. Her erect nipples scream for attention. When I put them on my mouth, she moans deliberately.

"My beautiful little bug," I murmur, my lips grazing the shell of her ear.

"You might want to be quieter. The mortals might hear you." The flush that blooms across her cheeks is a masterpiece, clashing delightfully with her irritated scowl.

I need relief. I release her hands to fumble with my own zipper, but in that split second of freedom, Mantis shoves me in the ground with a strength I forgot she possesses. She yanks at my trousers with such ferocity that a button pings off and flies across the room, all to the soundtrack of the crowd chanting my name beyond the door.

Ah, it is glorious to be wanted like this.

My underwear falls victim to the same ruthless treatment. Her pupils are blown wide, a predator locked on its prey. But she is too feral, too lost in the moment, and she rises.

I realize she's positioning herself to eat me whole.

As much as I crave it, I cannot gauge the intensity of this connection now.

Almost in a battle movement.I surge upward. I grab her thighs and flip us, pinning her to the floor. She lets out a furious cry and answers by raking her nails down my back, so delightfully aggressive.

"Why are you maintaining control when it's the last thing you want, Loki?" she bites out, then sinks her teeth into my bicep in pure frustration.

For an empath, she asks far too many questions.

An explanation would take time we don't have, and would shatter this fragile, desperate truce we've built with our bodies.

And frankly?

We both just want release.

My clothes are already in tatters, her bra down,with her breasts exposed, and her shirt faded. I kneel and lift her legs, positioning them over my shoulders, her back and her head resting on the cold floor, the discomfort expendable compared to the anticipation in her eyes.

It was my turn. I hooked my fingers into the lace of her stockings and tore, the sound of a sharp rip in the charged air. Then I bit down on the soft skin of her inner thigh with every ounce of my intensity.

I want to mark her.

I want it to linger.

She cries out,not in pain, but in raw acceptance, a sound so visceral the frantic knocking at the door suddenly ceases. It seems my mortal assistants will have to concoct an excuse for my… extended absence.

Her unique scent reaches me. I can't help myself and start touching myself. But as I do, she moans at the sensation.

Oh!

Empath powers work like that, too.

I masturbate more intensely. When my tongue makes the first touch on her clitoris, I feel her contract, my name escaping between screams.

Did she come with that?

A grim smile comes over me. I want to keep this vision of her.

A series of tremors and moans.

Too busy for anything but to feel me.

My tongue penetrates her entrance, her nails finding their way back to my skin.

I don't know how much she enjoys to do this,

Or knows I want her to.

She seems to come again, not with the same intensity,

but I'm certainly counting.

"Touching yourself and touching me at the same time is too much. Loki. It's too much. I can't take it!" She struggles to form a sentence between moans.

I stare at her, as two fingers begin to do their work. She moans again. "You came at me, wanting to go all the way, and now you can't take it?" My fingers move up and down my manhood.

A consolation for what I truly desire.

She moans and doesn't seem to have the strength to respond. My orgasm, even if contained, also feels close.

Her taste, her smell, her flesh—I feel myself becoming addicted to this woman. My fingers penetrate, against her ever-present contractions. She grips my hair, desperate, while saying my name in various intonations.

We stare, I savor every expression she makes at each of her climaxes.

Yes.

She is, without a doubt, a sexy secretary.. 

And it seems like my buildup is really catching up with me. It takes all my self-control not to scream her name as she roars mine, feeling my orgasm mix with hers.

I lower her legs, draping them over my shoulders. She seems to need a moment, her breath catching. A wicked thought occurs: if I maintain this control, if I dictate the rhythm of her unraveling, then I win this mental game.

She slowly gets up and moves to my face, stroking my cheek tenderly.

In the same way my mother used to.

I prefer to believe there are no ulterior motives in that gesture.

“If it hurts you, I can stop…” she replies to what I had clearly only thought. The intrusions have returned.

I won't make a fuss to ruin such a pleasurable moment.

I get up and magically begin putting on new clothes, hiding the marks. I do the same with my little bug. She enjoys watching the clothes shift on her.

People were expecting me more than they anticipated.

The entire plan for the presidency is unfolding exactly as I architected.

Tonight should be a triumphant speech. A night to celebrate my ascension, my army of followers growing by the minute—enough to make even the Avengers uneasy. A flawless revenge in motion.

But Mantis was distracted, she wasn't looking at me and wasn't fulfilling her role of sending me thoughts of the others in the audience, I tried to focus as much as possible.

But then… he appears.

As I recite my carefully rehearsed words, a grayish humanoid invades the venue and, of course, Mantis recognizes him. The way her eyes light up, her antennae curving in pure joy… One of the Guardians.

Why is he here?

She laughs, touches his arm, and something inside me contorts.

I am a god. A king. The future president.

So why is this not enough?

Since when did her presence become a deviation in my plans?

Power—it has always been my only obsession. I need to remember that. Focus.

This woman, am I starting to—

Impossible.

I am Loki. My ambition knows no bounds. Being irritated that my toy shares her attention is merely a whim. A passing luxury.

But somehow, this event ruined my night.

Drax—yes, that’s the name of the troglodyte who gets on my nerves, almost triggering that green creature within me. He was invited by Mantis to dine at our house. And, as expected, he is utterly insufferable. Peter Quill suddenly acts like a Renaissance genius next to him.

They didn't just invade my kitchen—they defiled it. My rarest ingredients, imported from the most exotic corners of the Ten Realms, were subjected to combinations that would be considered culinary crimes in any sane civilization. This converges perfectly with the "dialogue" they maintain—a monologue of absurdities so profound I can barely distinguish where stupidity ends and insanity begins.

And I… just stand there.

Seething.

Why did he come?

Why now? 

How did he even know about the event?

She didn't seem surprised. Not at all surprised.

In fact, she was inexplicably rushed to get us out of the dressing room…

Is Mantis in contact with the Guardians?

Since when?

Why did she hide this from me?

What else is she hiding from me?

“But then, I understand why he wants something with you. Only an ugly creature would want another.” -Drax spits out the words,

Is he talking about me?

Suddenly, the memory hits me: that bathroom, Mantis staring at me with that peculiar, vulnerable expression, asking: "Do you like ugly things?"

“Before you dare speak of my appearance,” —I interrupt— “know that I can assume any form. This is one of the most majestic. Of course, a primitive mind like yours would be incapable of—”

—“Wait. You can be anything… and you choose to look like this?” -Drax laughs, flaunting his ignorance like a trophy.

Mantis looks at me, anxious, as if expecting me to play a role she herself wrote in her naive mind.

“You don’t understand anything, Drax!” -She shouts, her antennae trembling with indignation- “Loki is beautiful in any form! I know that I am ugly, but… he likes me like this!”

I want him to leave. To disappear, to turn to dust.

“Your horned boyfriend seems to have gotten angry, don’t be like that! I told Mantis that when you're ugly and people want to be with you, it's because they really love you!”

What the fuck did he just said?

I look at Mantis. She shrinks, as if trying to disappear into her own body. Her antennae curl downward, a sign of shame I know all too well.

It was a subject we had never broached. One I never intended to discuss. A fragile and unnecessary territory.

And now that idiotic, small, pathetic, lamentable creature comes and just throws it on the table?

I want to kill him. Not as a metaphor. I want this contact to end.

A few hours ago, I was in under spotlights, being acclaimed, and has just came! 

And now, I am here, being diminished to my essence by associating with such baseness.

I stand up. Mantis's eyes widen, scared.

“Loki, wait!” She grabs the sleeve of my shirt, pulling almost in supplication.

But I am too irritated to tolerate touch. Too irritated for anything but the sudden and absolute absence of that scene.

“When your friend is gone, let me know.” I simply teleport to my room.

Inside, my clenched fist strikes the wardrobe. The noble wood shatters with a dry crack, splintering as if it were little more than illusory dust.

What a pathetic scene.

What barbarism.

She…

She is doing this to me. She is getting into my mind, distracting me, diverting me from my purpose.

This cannot continue.

Time drags on like a poisoned serpent until, finally, the bedroom door is knocked upon hesitantly.

I open it.

She is there. Timid. Fearful.

Exactly like the first time she appeared at my door.

Her eyes, always so large and expressive, searched for mine, begging for an opening, any gesture that would reestablish normality between us.

But today there will be no ritual. There will be no courtesy.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been talking to the Guardians?” —My voice comes out like a blade.

She crosses her arms, as if seeking shelter within herself.

 “It didn’t seem important…” - She averts my gaze.

“If it wasn’t important, what was the problem with saying so?” — I retort immediately.

She is silent for a long moment, her apprehension palpable.

She extends her hand to touch me—a gesture I once allowed, but today I pull away.

This is not the time for her soft emotions to enter and tame me.

“You omitted. Because it was easier, Mantis. That’s what lies are for.”

“Not telling everything isn’t the same as lying...” -she insists, her voice trembling.

“They certainly are. I am the God of Lies, remember? I know how they work.”

A heavy silence falls between us. She seems scared by my coldness, but also… apprehensive. As if the real conflict is yet to come.

 "What else do you want to say?" I ask, impatient.

She takes a deep breath

“So… I have been talking to the Guardians, but not with Peter. He doesn’t want to talk to me. I am worried. I thought about going there and coming back in a few days. I need to see if he is okay…”

No.

The word exploded inside my skull, a primordial imperative.

She cannot go. Not now.

“I need you here, Mantis… it’s the final stretch of the campaign now. You are not fulfilling our agreement.”

“Loki...” Her name sounded like a caress. “Can’t you tell the truth?”

What does she want to hear?

What truth does she expect me to confess?

“I told you on our first night”  I deflect. "I do not submit. I do not beg. I do not plead.”

“Loki, why are you so desperate? It’s okay, I’ll be back! It’s only a few days!”

Lie.

How did I allow myself the luxury of innocence? How did I let this… this affection take root, infiltrate?

Should I have surrendered to her touch? Allowed that infernal empathy to strip me bare?

Tolerate that creature she calls a friend?

Not yelled at her?

No

The truth is that none of those actions would change the outcome of this relationship.

My loneliness has always been something inherent.

I can become the god of stories, I can claim new kingdoms.

“Loki, are you even listening to me!?”

I remain Loki the cursed

Loki the unloved

It's inevitable that she'll leave

And it's obvious she won't return.

“Loki, what's this feeling!? It's scary !”

But for now, every movement, every word, every moment of delay…

…I must do everything that is necessary 

To have more time.

Chapter Text

My father did not teach me how the world works.

He did not tell me about the wars that came before me, or why certain people become enemies while others unite.

I did not learn the rules of how to act with others, or how to tell when someone is trying to deceive me.

It was in Ego's interest that I remained that way.

What I had were duties and emotions.

And  emotions for a long time were my entire world.

Perhaps that is what drew me to Loki, the feelings that surrounds him, the way every touch between us triggers something new, something that, no matter how much I think about it...

I cannot name it.

But as much as I want to stay here, something is telling me.

I should leave this place.

I wake up in my room.

I suppose I can think of it as mine now, even if I'm in this horribly soft bed.

Why did I lie down here instead of sleeping on the couch as usual?

Did Loki bring me here?

But I haven't spoken to him since the dinner with Drax, and I don't remember knocking on his door.

I only remember him disappearing with a heavy, dark feeling.

Strange.

The communicator Rocket gave me starts beeping.

A sense of urgency takes over me. In two leaps, I'm answering it.

Nebula appears on the screen.

"Hello, Mantis..."-She isn't one for many words.

"Hi Nebula, did Drax come back?" - I ask, but I don't really remember when Drax left.

"He's back. Still insufferable." -I wonder how she's feeling.

I could always feel her emotions before, but I can't now—there's a universe between us.

How do people know what others feel without powers? It's agony not knowing.

Nebula is silent, waiting. Usually, she'd deliver the news and hang up..

I feel I need to say something, but I don't know what.

But I have no idea what to talk about.

I ask what usually worries me.

"How is Peter? Does he still not want to talk to me?"- She pauses for a moment.

"He's fine. Leave him be, Mantis. Eventually, he'll come to talk to you."

But I hate waiting.

"Okay. Bye, Nebula."

"Bye, Mantis."

She hangs up, but I'm left feeling... this...

I stay in bed for a while, until I find the strength to get up. I take off my nightgown and face myself in the mirror.

Loki's marks are still there—purple and tender. I press my fingers against the mark on my thigh, trying to relive the sensation of his teeth on my skin.

It's not the same.

Loki's feelings about me are intense, but in those moments, it's as if he pulls me into a deep, vast depth.

Will I be able to handle it when we go all the way...

The day at the sauna comes back to my mind, when he lowered the towel and finally showed himself....

It was truly something...

Something that somehow I want, I will! get in.

I choose one of the extravagant dresses he picked out for me.

They are strange, but breezy. I've learned to like that.

I walk through the mansion's hallways. Everything is made of dark wood, everything is old, everything is closed off. There are rugs that muffle the sound, and when I finally step on the wood, the floorboards make a noise like a sad song.

It's certainly  a Villain’s lair...

Hmm...

There's a word for that.

When I arrive in the kitchen, Loki is there.

It's her today.

She is sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and eating a biscuit. The green robe shines; the clothes she lends me clearly suit her better. Even the way she lifts the cup is elegant.

Would she lose her composure if I touched her?

I'd like to see.

There's something about when she takes this form that confuses me so much.

I don't know if I want to be her, or have sex with her.

She does that thing where she doesn't take her eyes off me; my chest tightens.

I prepare my purple porridge and sit beside her.

There is a silence. Laced with worry and fear.

There isn't even a criticism about my "slop."

It's suffocating.

I can't take it and decide to say something.

"Loki, do you want to try my porridge?" – I know I'll get scolded, but at least I want to hear her.

She looks at me; there's a mix of worry and excitement.

"Okay" – to my surprise, she takes a spoonful of my soup and brings it to her mouth. She doesn't make a face, but I feel her nausea.

"What did you think?"

'It's horrible' - she says, but takes another spoonful.

"Why do you eat this?"

"I think it's tasty."

She keeps eating, even though she's nauseated. Her eyes fix on me with frustration.

"Why do you have to be like this?"

I think this is not about the food.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Meddling where you weren't invited."

Is she talking about the time I talked to her at the heroes' meeting?

"It's just that you're so interesting, Loki," I reply, but anger surges within her.

"But not enough" - she stands up.

And the fear reappears, warning me to stop.

Why am I feeling this?

"Today is the start of the vote counting. You can come to my room whenever you want."

I put on one of those tight dresses again and head towards Loki's room. The hallway is long, full of gloomy rooms.

But I don't need to climb stairs…

There have never been stairs here.

I knock on the door, and she opens it. I see Loki in the same robe, sitting at the dressing table, combing her hair with delicate gestures.

"Why are you dressed like that?" – she asks.

"Aren't we going somewhere to watch the count?" – She gets nervous.

"There's no need. It can be just the two of us today." - She snaps her fingers, and my clothes turn into soft pajamas.

"You've always been able to do that?!" – I refresh myself with the fun Loki has with my words.

"Yes, but it's a waste of magic. Besides, the practical method tends to have a more… pleasant effect."

As she combs it, her hair shines in a way mine never has.

I envy her.

I want to touch her.

"Loki, can I comb your hair?" – She looks at me; excitement and apprehension mix, but she extends her arm with the brush for me to comb.

I stand behind her, watching her reflection in the dressing table mirror.

I run the brush slowly, from root to tip, and I feel the nape of her neck relax under my fingers. It's an intimacy different from before, without urgency, just the soft sound of the bristles sliding and her almost imperceptible breathing.

Her smell is the same; it's like I've entered a hall surrounded by gold.

Before I realize it, I've dropped the brush and am using only my hands. My fingers sink into her hair. She sighs, and her hands grip the edges of the dressing table. There's a familiar heat growing in the pit of my stomach, even though there is excitement, a cold feeling is covering her.

Her neck is exposed; it's longer and more delicate in this form. I lean in, and my lips go to her skin. She shudders when I bite; it seems all her energy is being used to block her thoughts.
But it's like a fire is lit and someone throws water on it.

"Mantis… you'd better stop."- she sighs

Guilt.

That's what's surrounding her....

But why?

Her hands find mine; our fingers intertwine. She pulls me and pushes me away at the same time. I return to her neck; I wanted to mark her, though it's somewhat in vain since she always erases it with magic later.

"Wouldn't this be taking advantage of her?"

The thought hits me. I end up pulling away suddenly. She turns on the stool, eyes wide. She knows I heard the thought and is afraid I'll ask.

There is something delicate in the air, as if certain actions would make everything shatter.

And there's a feeling that this has already happened.

"The count must have started already," she says, rising with a fluid movement that doesn't match the tension in the room. "Let's watch."

I follow her to the sofa. On the screen, numbers and graphs appear in vibrant colors. I don't hear anything. I can only look at her; her feelings are rushing in a way they used to.

Will there be a time... when I will be able to understand her?

Besides, this sensation: like an open door, I feel the cold wind coming from it, but I can't tell where the door is.

What is happening?

I remember last night again: Loki angry with Drax, the conversation that ended with her disappearing in a fit of rage. I need to explain.

Maybe it's better if I explain to her.

"Loki, I didn't tell you, but… I've been talking to the Guardians. Rocket came here and gave me a communicator. That's why I arranged to meet Drax at the rally."

She turns her face to me, and a wave of emotions hits her; fear, relief, but no surprise.

 She is silent for a while.

"It's okay. Thank you for telling me." – She turns back to the screen, but now I feel it clearly: worry and a deep fear.

I expected other feelings, bigger feelings.

Like there were last time we talked about this....

Oh...

I think I know why last night is so fuzzy in my mind.

Loki tried to change my memories.