Imagine: Loki Laufeyson x Reader
Synopsis: You, a relentless and sly board member and businesswoman of a very world-renowned company, was set up for an interview with Loki. He decided to dub himself as Will Key for the Chicago Tribune working as a philanthropy and humans' rights activist reporter all because for a portion of his imprisonment, Loki was exiled to Midgard. This portion of his imprisonment consisted of him to live as a normal, everyday Midgardian for several years, without the interference or the guidance of the Avengers, and other individuals associating with them. This is written in Loki's point of views. And, this is long as hell.  Oh well, 'tis Loki.
Trigger Warning:  Smoking, cigarettes, arrogance...
Word Count: 2267

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2:43 p.m, the contraption says.  As a mere immortal-transformed-mortal, the stupid iPhone will never seize to faze me. 

The year is 2017, the Midgardian month of August, on the 28th day, Monday.  That wasn't exactly written on the iPhone, however, I choose however I chose to read or format it. 

Ever since Odin exiled me here, I've adapted to the way of the Midgardian, gaining a job in this cubicle or "office," catching the morning train, coming home around 5:00 or perhaps 6:00 at often times, to my cat that I have what Midgardians called as "adopting" from the local "Animal Humane Society," ordering take out or often times cook, read, listen to what I found appealing on an online store of sort called "iTunes," taking a not-so-glorious bath underneath the shower head, sleeping without any piece of apparel on, and for the rest of the night, bearing the noises that vibrate through the thin walls of my flat.  The process couldn't get any more complicated in the mornings, especially during what they dubbed as the end of the week, the "weekend," it's a lot more interesting. 

Hello, my name is William Key.  So far, Midgardians referred to me as "Will" for short, but really, my name is Loki Laufeyson of Jotunheim.  But as of right now, I am Will Key of Odin-knows-where and apparently, I am a single, male, 29-year-old Midgardian, living in the city of Chicago, Illinois, which is in the US of A.  The life of a god could not get any more frustrating.   I take a run as early as 6:00 in the morning, feed Johnny, the adopted cat, eat my breakfast, dress up and clean up, pick up some tea (which was highly preferred than coffee, I must say), and off to the subway, bringing me to a 435 North Michigan Avenue. I get a trim of my hair every few weeks or so, my hair resumed to even containing more of so-called "hair gel" and the length prior to when Thor broke the rainbow bridge.  And New York City.  And... We shall not get further past that.

But, anyways, gratefully, my knack for the books in the palace's library, obviously far more superior than the one in the Library of Congress or the British Library, my thousands-of-years worth of knowledge landed me a position as a reporter for the Chicago Tribune, and as stated on business cards or résumées or info cards, "I," happen to, "interpret the stories regarding the daily vernacular of the humans' rights activism and philanthropy."   And in addition, I received the reputation as one of the greatest reporters in the nation.  In under a year.  But with these benefits due to my mental physique, my physical... physique, unfortunately, is, unavailable.  I'm stripped of my magic, my tools!  My strength is still apparent, however, I still am immortal, even though I am just a mere weakling back at Asgard but still! Immortal, but invulnerable.

Oh, who am I joking, it's the United States.  A tiny nation in the tiny realm of Midgard.  Oh well, as least I earn a stable salary for a single "man" living with his cat, live in a somewhat lavish flat, getting ignorant positions from other companies like CNN and Times Magazine, but it's--

"Will?"

Who is--

"Will?"

Snapping from my mind journal entry, I turned to Amber, a colleague of mine here at the Chicago Tribune.  Pushing the thick-rimmed glasses up my nose, I turn to her, "yes?"

"How's it coming along?"  She asks as her cherry lips curl up, which she always wore every day since I arrived.  Another thing I don't understand, yes, I do have an accent, an Asgardian one, but whatever the thing Americans have for "British" accents, then I feel pity if you have one, as every single day of your life you will be bugged by it by everyday people surrounding you while you live here in America. 

With my fingers, I comb back my slick, black hair, resuming on facing my monitor as I finish typing up on a story regarding Indian students and NIT.  "I am almost finished with this."

From the corner of my eye, her cherry grin grew wider.  "Isn't that nice..."

"Yes, it is."  I immediately answer, trying to avoid her weekly advances.  It's only Monday, woman.  "My three days in India was hopefully well spent."

It really wasn't.  A largely populated country, there was a stressful sack that remained to cling to your back and limbs during those three days. 

"There hasn't been a story that proved you didn't spend those business trips well."

Not going to lie, I was flattered by her comments.  But it's too frequent, so simultaneously I am bored. However then, as I was about to reply, another colleague of mine, a lot more of like a competitive acquaintance approached my cube.  Freddie butts in, "Will, the boss needs you.  She's assigning you another story."

Saved by the bell.  Aka, Viola, Editor-in-Chief.  I sent a look to Amber, misfortune clouding her eyes, saving the article to my drive and I stood up from my chair.  "See you later."

Her mouth was left gaped for a moment as I pushed in my chair and turned to the other direction, then she managed to stutter out, "you too."

---

I knocked the door on Viola's office, which was swung wide open. She calls for me to enter, and I briskly did.

She greeted me with her formal smiles, while I returned a smaller one than hers, which was small enough. "Take a seat, Will."

"I'm almost done with the NIT story..."

She raised her hand, "I'm not getting into that."

"I'm just letting you know."

"Very well, then. That's good." I shifted in my seat, sitting a little slouched, crossing my legs. "What shall this be about?"

She crosses her hands on her desk, looking at me straight in the eye, "(y/f/n) (y/l/n). Heard of her?"

I lied. "I believe so." If I only have my magic, I would take a peek into her mind and get a clue on who's (y/f/n) (y/l/n).

She gives a slight nod, "(y/f/n) (y/l/n) is a shrewd, relentless, and reportedly, a very sly businesswoman. She's a very garnered board member for a company called Midas. You heard of that?"  I nod. She continues.  "She earned numerous titles, especially in categories of being a very influential individual in almost the past decade by a variety of catalogs."

Shrewd, relentless, sly... And thus I am intrigued. "Impressive."

"Very. I need you to interview her. For a very young woman, her net worth is $8.6 billion. Almost lining up to Tony Stark."

My eyes slightly widened, but it narrowed. "Very, very impressive."

Viola smirks, then leans back, "assuming this is your first impression of her, then it turns out you have never heard of her."

Frowning and dropping my shoulders, Viola's smirk curls even further. That is why I have given her an utmost form of respect for her as a mortal. She adds, "so take lots of research tonight. Look at pictures. Swoon. Read. Then be intimidated for once."

I scoff, "believe me, North Korea was intimidating enough for me." I tried to come up a remark that's seemingly human enough.

Viola then shoos me away, "very well. Your flight to New York will be on Friday. You'll stay at a hotel in upper Manhattan, where the Midas Headquarters are located."

I get up, "thank you." Then, as I was about to exit her office, I turned back. "wait, what kind of interview? What do I ask?"

Viola chuckles, "that's up to you. Depends on your research. Come up a good story, but it's all about her, got it?"

I stare at the floor, as I held the door open. Then I look up and nod, "yes. I got it."

"Good. Now finish up that NIT article so you can go home."

---

Opening the doors to my flat, Johnny, as I can sense, happily greeted me from his tree that I lavishly purchased for him.  He took a leap of faith, landing right in front of me, purring as he rubbed his body among my forelegs.   I warmly smile to myself as I always loved his company, which was why he was adopted.  I suppose, everyday Midgardians automatically feel connections, especially with the unfortunate ones. Bending down after I tossed my keys to the table on the side, I continued petting him.  "How was your day?" I asked him.

He purred as I pet his head, I chuckle to myself.  Unfortunately, Odin can not permit for me to bring him back to Asgard, due to my, imprisonment.  In addition, as a mortal... cat, he can't live his days out in another realm.  

Standing up, I placed my work bag on top of my bed, then headed to my small kitchen.  There, I prepare Johnny and I's food, his cat food and some pasta for me.  Pasta isn't in, Asgard.  I never heard of it, but I was then infatuated.  And starving.

Bringing my dinner outside the balcony, I also bring along my laptop that with my godly mentality, I was able to figure out in a matter of hours upon my arrival here.  Unlike my, non-academic oaf of a brother.  And a pack of cigarettes. 

I remember when Amber first saw me smoking, she had a look of disgust on her face.  I don't understand the mortal's perspective of my way to sublime relaxation and, typically I won't die out for another five to seven thousand years or so, give or take.  Freddie, the other colleague, didn't quite care, as he mentioned on how I am entitled to my own right.  Damn right.  I was a prince of Asgard.

Lighting up the cigarette placed in between my lips, I opened the laptop straight to Google which, was also easily evaluated, and searched up the name "(y/f/n) (y/l/n)."

And holy fuck was there many of her.  So lazily, I decided to look at her face. 

"Hm.  No wonder she's a brilliant businesswoman."  Both man and woman could be hypnotized.  Or a god...

So, I escaped from looking at her photos and to other headlines.  Exhaling the excess smoke from the cigarette, I trash the butt in the tiny ash pit of my table in the balcony.  As I took a bite of my pasta, I keep scrolling through articles.  Some headlines, irrelevance leaked through them, while others sprang interest.  Taking a sip of my tea, I scroll back up the first page and take a glance at her Wikipedia, regardless on how it can be inaccurate at times.  It's hilarious to watch sometimes, but I think nobody would dare to change some facts about Ms. or Mrs. (y/l/n) on her Wikipedia page.

Let's see... she's 28!  My eyes widened, looked at her alma mater... or alma maters.  (your/dream/college),  (a/hardass/college), (your/an-impossible-to-get-to-or-just-an-Ivy-League/college).  Degrees in international relations, Ph.D for political economy, B.S. in econometrics and a B.A. on "history of economic thought."  I didn't even know there's such a thing, for a Midgardian.

As I kept reading, usually, I would ignore the "Personal Life" section, but I became tempted. 

"Personal life," I mutter to myself as I kept eating the pasta.  From the table of contents in her Wikipedia page, I clicked on it.

My eyes scanned the page for a moment, "advent philanthropist, humanitarian, and..." In the last paragraph, it states she runs a "very private life," thus, there aren't any recorded relationships. Except a recorded Twitter account.

I mean, why would I fucking ask that? I laugh to myself, "'so, who you've been fucking with around, Ms. (y/l/n)?' Stupid, stupid..." So I moved on.

Exiting Wikipedia, I ventured into the past and current news regarding (y/n).

"(y/f/n) (y/l/n) bashes out the President." Who hasn't?

"(y/f/n) (y/l/n) agrees on Avengers Facility collaboration." Ugh.

"(y/f/n) (y/l/n) increases Midas' Stock Market Shares by 267%." Well, shit.

"(y/f/n) (y/l/n)'s showing support with friends at the LGBTQ+ Parade in Los Angeles."

"(y/f/n) (y/l/n) spotted with Tom Hiddleston at the 74th Golden Globes After Party."

I am much attractive. Also, actors and business people don't work out. Next.

"Tom Hiddleston denies relationship with (y/f/n) (y/l/n)."

Exactly.

"(y/f/n) (y/l/n) donates one of the largest recorded funds for American Cancer Society and Step Up for Students organizations."

"(y/f/n) (y/l/n) (signs/does not sign) the Sokovia Accords and (denies/accepts) offer to present herself as a representative for the UN panel." I could care less...

"(y/f/n) (y/l/n) warmly welcomes girls education activist Malala to Twitter." How lovely.

I stopped to take another bite of my pasta, further reading as I construct some questions in my head.

And honestly, this shall be, this has to be put a lot more serious thought than the others I have interviewed therefore, this shall be interesting.

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Part two's coming up.