Some would say you had the best job in the world, others would agree. Basically every woman in the palace would love to swap places with you, well, even you... You hated your job, or you loved your job, just not the person you were working for - confusing right?
In fact, that person you hated sat smugly on his couch, reading away in one of his old dusty books which he liked to throw at you when the mood struck. Your eyes shot daggers at him as you neatly folded his laundry, only to place it in his stupid wardrobe that was twice the size of your house. As you walked past, he snapped his fingers, whistling at you to call you back. You rolled your eyes, blood boiling. You turned around with a steel smile on your lips that brightened rustily.
"How can I be of service?" you asked mockingly, popping your hip out and placing a hand on your hip.
"Drop that attitude, mortal," he sneered, then nodded to the small table on which his feet were popped up. "Get me my tea, I can't reach it." He extended his hand for you to place the cup of tea in, and went back to reading his pompous book. You raised an eyebrow. It had been like this for months on end, from the moment you stepped foot in his aura, he always pestered you, got the blood from under your nails.
He looked up from his book, a scowl prominent on his usual chiseled forehead. He dropped his hand, put the book aside and folded his hands across his chest.
"I'm waiting," he casually commented. You scoffed.
"You get it yourself." You wished you hadn't said that, judging from the look on his face, but it did felt good. A fist gripped your bowels and twisted them, making you sick to your stomach. "You're closer to it than me and I've got work to do," you added to soften the blow. You turned around to put the remaining clothes in his wardrobe when he cleared his throat, the smirk evident in his midnight purr.
"You're my slave, you're supposed to fetch it." Your spine stiffened. You could feel your face heating up from the anger rising within you. Fist tightening on the wardrobe door, knuckles turning into chalk, your jaw tightened. You bit back a fire of insults and instead calmly turned around, the laundry now forgotten.
He had pulled the last straw. It wasn't like this was your dreamjob either, you never even asked to be on this forsaken planet in the first place. His stupid brother brought you here together with your friend Jane, and they had forgotten about you, leaving you here - and here you were in front of this pompous God that was oh so smug of himself.
"I'm not your slave," you bit. He rose an eyebrow, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Oh, have I hit a nerve?" He chuckled, bent over and grabbed his tea taking a sip and then looked at you. "Then what are you? My maid, servant? Honestly they're just nice words for slave."
"I'd still appreciate it though if you didn't call me that."
"Then what would you like me to call you?" he asked, sitting up straight, clearly intrigued by the conversation. You suddenly weren't even sure if he had ever even heard your voice.
"What about just my name," you proposed. "And while you're at it, you could start being nice to me for one." He got up from the couch, your heart rate sped up. Putain.
"Well, Y/N, I don't like you one bit, for starters, you're a mortal. I despise mortals, if you haven't noticed yet and -"
"Then why don't you take me back? Why force me to be here?" you interrupted, crossing your arms as to shield you from his giant form halting in front of you, his daunting chest only inches away from yours.
"I'm not forcing you to stay. Odin is-"
"Are you afraid of Midgard?" you taunted, having lost all hope and finally fighting back after all those months. "What was it again, oh yeah, the Hulk, correct me if I'm wrong, but-" His hand shot up to your throat, his fingers gripping your jaw and lauching your back against the wardrobe door.
A brief flash of pain shot through your skull before your vision blacked and you passed, your fragile frame tumbling to the ground as the God in front of you let you go. His face was stern, yet a hint of a smile spread across his lips.
It had been a half an hour since that happened, and you still laid on the floor, your body in an unpleasant angle. He glaced over at you, brows furrowing in concern. He walked over to you, picked up your frame and put you in his bed so you could rest.
