Loki was… complicated, but who were you to judge? Your job was it to clean the Avengers compound, to cook for the heroes when they were hungry, to wash their laundry, make their beds… well, all the things a maid was responsible for. In return, your salary was heavenly. You were good at what you were doing, Stark had never had a reason to complain.
It was Loki who made your time at the compound rather nerve-wracking if anything because of the scrutinizing and penetrating looks he occasionally shot you—not to mention the many times you caught him staring at you and sometimes… sometimes the teasing innuendos sending shockwaves of heat through your body, gathering unceremoniously between your legs.
You were not afraid of the God of Mischief. Stark had ensured you that you were going to be absolutely safe and had nothing to fear from Loki. Nevertheless, though, you were intimidated. He was handsome. He was charming. He was dangerous and he was playful. And you had fallen for him, head over heels. Naturally, of course, you would never tell him that. Instead, you let your fantasy consume you, let your unconscious take care of your unfulfilled desires. Your dreams came all by themselves and you were not to complain—waking up in the middle of the night to get yourself some relief was not the worst reason for sleep deficit after all.
It was one of those typical sleepless nights. Bad dreams kept him up, robbing him of restful slumber. Loki decided to give up and instead read a book in Stark’s library as he did so often. As quiet as a cat, he moved through the dark hallway, in no need of any light other than the pale moonlight from outside as he could see well enough not to trip. He took a deep breath when he passed your room, glancing down at his feet to see if you were still awake.
No. It was dark, no light coming from your room, yet the door was open just a smidge—just enough for him to peek inside. The God of Mischief frowned when he suddenly heard you moan quietly, ready to conjure up a dagger and defend whatever was attacking you in your sleep.
It took him another moment to realize you were dreaming. Were you having nightmares as well? He had never thought you could be a tormented and hurting soul either, sharing his grief and pain which he carried inside him at all times. You were always so… cheerful, so… disgustingly nice, even to him. Granted, you worked here. The maids on Asgard had been forced to show respect and kindness even when all they wished was to kick him in the shin as well, there was no need to try and interpret your friendliness towards him.
But Loki was beyond attempting to figure out whether he could pique your interest, he knew someone as soft and innocent as you would hardly wish to be with him of all people in the compound… no. He would content himself with how flustered he managed to make you whenever he was around; after all, that was what he was good at. The Master of Mischief. The Trickster.
He almost laughed out loud as he glanced further into the room, for he, Loki, was smitten with a mortal woman.
He flinched when you moaned again, watching you thrash briefly on the bed. Only you did not sound like you were having a bad dream at all.
Were you having a… sex dream? Loki smirked. Naughty little thing… Quite unable to help himself, he slid through the small gap and quietly closed to the door behind him, drowning himself in utter darkness as he stepped closer to the dark spot that your bed had become upon the lack of any light coming from the pale moonlight shining through the window in the hallway.
He wasn’t so sure what exactly he was doing. Thousands of delicious ways of blackmailing you with his nightly observations tumbled through his mind, dizzying his mind with electrifying waves of pure mischief, the very magic pumping through his veins. Oh, he could use this intimate and private information against you, draw a selfish advantage out of his presence in your room.
