Loki Laufeyson Oneshots Vol.2

You're Infuriating (slight smut)

(Y/N)= your name
(E/C)= eye colour
(H/C)= hair colour
(F/C)= favourite colour
(S/C)= skin colour

What grown, mature adult needs babysitting in this day and age? Loki, that's who. At the ripe age of 1054, the man still needs to be watched over every second of every day to ensure that he doesn't wreak havoc in the Avenger's compound. You'd think that after a millennium Loki would use his initiative like the grown adult he is and know that there is a time and place for everything.

Loki didn't need babysitting because of what happened in 2012, or when he overthrew Odin, or when he let Frost Giants into Asgard, or when he- the list goes on. He certainly lives up to his title as the God of Mischief, a little too well in my opinion, he took every opportunity possible to anger each member of the Avengers whether that be tripping them up with his Æsir, vanishing certain objects, or simply just starting a pointless argument for his own entertainment.

He is a literal child in a man's body, and he made it his sole mission to rattle every existing nerve in my body with his sly comments and mischievous nature. I loathed every bone in that man's body, I loathed his sleek, black hair that curled towards the end, I loathed the way his voice sounded like silk in my ears, I loathed his chiselled facial features that seemed to be carved by the Gods above, I loathed the way he carried himself with such confidence, but I mostly loathed the way my heart skipped a beat in the confines of my chest when his skin brushed mine or whenever those emerald irises locked with mine.

It just so happens that I was coincidentally chosen to be Loki's beloved babysitter, every single day he followed me around the compound and made it his one and only purpose to irritate and annoy me as much as possible until it was time to turn in for the night. He would criticise every little thing I did, whether it was how I train, how I write or even how I cook, there was always something for him to complain about. He would constantly compare 'Midgard' to Asgard and claim how ludicrous and mundane our realm was.

A part of me absolutely hated how Loki acted in the compound and how angered he made me feel, but another part of me, a more lively and infatuated part of me loved the way Loki annoyed the team and how he focussed the majority of his attention on me. Keeping a watchful eye on him was a curse and a blessing in disguise, more so a curse since there has been no indication from Loki whatsoever that he may have similar thoughts to mine - he only enjoys getting a reaction out of me to satiate his need to cause havoc. 

You can imagine how much infuriation builds up inside of me every day and clouds my mind with annoyance, all because of Loki. I felt as though I was walking on thin ice, one wrong sentence and my true feelings will be exposed to him since he has a habit of detecting lies and reading people like an open book. I'm aware that one day it will happen, it's practically inevitable, that's why I have taken to distracting myself for a few hours every day by training in the evening so no one can disturb me - not even the God of Mischief himself.

Or so I thought.

This evening was like no other, it's currently 10pm and most of the Avengers had already retired for the night, leaving the training room entirely desolate. I had began my training around twenty minutes ago, starting off with the treadmill before wrapping up my hands in some gauze and moving over to the numerous punching bags hanging from the ceiling. This was how I released the majority of the frustration that had built up throughout the day, I focussed on one spot on the punching bag and directed all of my punches and jabs to that one area. 

Left. Right. Right. Left. Right. I maintained the same sequence of punches, finding satisfaction in the clanging of the chain that suspended the punching bag in front of me. Each hit I landed made the sand-filled bag sway and twist violently, tiny beads of sweat began to form on my forehead and slowly roll down my flushed face. I could begin to feel my knuckles become increasingly sore as I continued to beat the living daylights out of the punching bag, my lungs sucked in as much air as they could and my rapid heart beat became muffled in my ears as the adrenaline ran its course through my veins.