Misfits (Loki x Reader) Slow Burn

Chapter 3 - The Supply Room

Althea dusted the large drape before her. She tried to scrape the dust off, but the feathers of her tool only split away from each other. She tried again using more pressure, but they only seperated again. She attempted to be more gentle with her strokes, but that didn't seem to do anything either. Still she gave in since that was how she'd observed the other women do it. She stroked the drape with the feathers of her duster. She held it too lightly and it fell out of her hands and onto the ground with a clang.

Annoyed with her clumsyness, she took a moment to breath before grabbing her duster.

"You dropped this."

She gasped, seeing him now beside her, holding the duster. He smiled, clearly amused. She snatched it from his hand and turned away.

"Thanks." She growled.

"I'm sorry for scaring you. What is it? The third time now?" He laughed to himself.

"4th." She cringed, realizing she'd said that out loud.

She could feel his eyes on her. He probably had that same smirk tugging at his lips. The one that made it clear how much he enjoyed messing with her.

"Oh?"

She rolled her eyes. She couldn't be distracted. Or... She could. She could be distracted, by him. Easily distracted by him.

"Is there something I can help you with, your majesty." She turned to him and raised an eyebrow.

"Actually yes."

There it was. The smile that told her he was going to do everything in his power to bother her.

She cocked her head, disinterested.

"I still don't know your name."

She rolled her eyes and went back to dusting.

"So what?"

"I'd just like to know who to call when I want a bath." He was definitely smirking.

Her cheeks burned, but it wasn't all anger. That only made things worse. She tried to ignore him.

"That was probably the best one I've had in years." He continued.

She kept up her work.

"It could have been better though..."

She could feel his breath on her ear now. She whipped around to face him. He was so much closer than she thought. Still, she stood her ground.

"Don't you know how to turn a damn faucet???" She didn't mean for it to come out as a shout.

Her words echoed against the empty corridor walls. She wanted to melt away into nothing. The anger she felt was washed over by embarrassment. He laughed softly, still towering over her. She huffed, going to the opposite side of the drape.

"You're better at turning faucets than dusting." He pinched the section of fabric she had been working on.

"I'm more suited for a different type of labor." She sighed, failing to ignore him.

"And what might that be?" He surprised her with the question.

She shrugged.

"My parents were soldiers. I picked up a few things here and there." She continued dusting.

"That explains a lot." He said.

She glared at him.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Your response to fear is fight. Most people freeze up. I suppose you do that too, but not because of fear." He seemed to be thinking about this intentionally.