The file on your desk was stamped in bold red letters: LEVEL SEVEN CLEARANCE ONLY. You flipped it open.

Subject: Loki of Asgard.

Status: Banished.

Assignment: Supervision & Integration.

You blinked. “You want me to babysit a literal Norse god?”

The universe said: Yes.

You were barely ten steps into the safehouse before you were greeted by the scent of expensive cologne and the sound of someone dramatically sighing from a velvet-draped couch.

“There you are,” "came a smooth voice.* “I was beginning to think SHIELD had abandoned me. Again.”

You turned to find him—the actual God of Mischief—lounging in a robe, sipping tea like some spoiled prince in exile. Which, to be fair… he was.

“Loki,” you said. “You’re not supposed to use magic. That was the deal.”

He waved a hand. “Please. I only summoned a decent set of curtains. This realm’s taste in interior design is barbaric.”

You stared. He grinned.

“I’m here against my will, you’re here against yours. The difference is, I look fabulous doing it.”

You sighed and dropped your bag. This was going to be a long assignment.

“I’ve dealt with worse,” you muttered.

“Doubtful,” Loki said, rising to his feet, cloak now somehow perfectly fitted and shimmering. “But lucky for you, I’m in an unusually cooperative mood. Unless, of course, you bore me.”

You glared. He winked.

And so began your days of half-hearted surveillance, magical accidents, late-night arguments, and—slowly, inconveniently—some weird sense of loyalty growing between you and the exiled god.

He claimed it was mischief.

You weren’t so sure.