She woke to the sound of a loud horn blast, sending her heart into her throat as she suddenly lurched upright. A light breeze traveled in from the bedroom window and, with it, the voices of disgruntled men. Cassandra rolled her eyes before sliding out of bed with a groan. As usual, the morning came too soon.
Her youthful joints were already popping and whining in disgust of her life choices and she didn't have the heart to fight them on it. She did love being a florist, building a home out of that small apartment—but something about it didn't agree with her body. Instead of allowing herself to wallow in the mild depression of the morning, she tried to brush over it with a hot shower, fresh clothes, and a bagel for breakfast.
Every morning started the same—wake up, joints pop, shower, dress, have a small breakfast, and finally make coffee for the road in her travel mug. It was repetitive and sometimes loathsome, but the schedule she kept to seemed to help quiet her mind for the moments left empty. So, she filled her travel mug, and put it with her purse in the basket of her bicycle. She found biking to work was much better than walking.
The distance to the flower shop wasn't all that great, though biking helped take a bit of time off her usual commute. She locked her apartment door—double, triple checking—and then made her way down to the lobby and out onto the sidewalk. Car horns honked, pigeons cooed beside the building, and some oddly metallic sounds were coming from the construction across the street, but the temperature was nice and her hopes were high.
Hope for a good day, nice customers, and breathtaking floral arrangements. Still, hope he would be in the city somewhere. That they would meet when she was least expecting it like every time before. There was a word for her childlike persistence, she knew—foolish. Yet there it was, unbridled and unforgiving.
She strapped on her helmet and began pedaling along the street. The flower shop was on a corner just four blocks away. She'd met the owner, Sandra, at the laundromat just down the street from her apartment building only a week after moving in. They struck up a kind conversation and Sandra mentioned her profession. Cassandra had always loved flowers, and she told Sandra as much.
But Sandra had been looking for another hand in the shop for weeks. She'd tried many different options and no one quite fit the way she wanted. Then, she offered Cassandra a job—or, Claire Brown, a job. There hadn't been much luck applying to other places, so Cassandra accepted, and began a short apprenticeship at Sandra's Flowers.
Their friendship was almost immediate—and it surprised her. She hadn't been such fast friends with someone in years and, if anything, their age difference only made it easier. Every day was like being mentored by her mother. Or, a kinder version of the woman she remembered. It helped her further adjust to the newness of the big city, living alone after being overcrowded for so long.
When she arrived that morning, the glass doors were propped open and the flower displays were just outside, along the front windows of the shop. Cassandra dismounted and carried her bicycle through the store to the back, where she parked it every day. Leigh was helping a man decide on the right arrangement for an engagement dinner in the corner.
She gave Cassandra a small smile and Cassandra returned it, along with a small nod, as she passed through. Leigh had worked at the shop only a year before Cassandra was hired—but it was nice to finally have some company on the slow, and busy, days. The newest recruit tied her Sandra's Flowers apron behind her back, straightening her name tag as she stepped behind the front counter.
Leigh was there, finishing her customer's transaction. "And there you are," she said, giving the man his receipt. "Have a great day."
"Thanks—you, too," the man nodded, retrieving the arrangement from the counter. He headed out of the shop and Leigh exhaled, relaxing her shoulders as she turned to smile once again at Cassandra. This time, a genuine, full smile.
"Morning, Claire," she greeted. "How was your weekend?"
Cassandra smiled back, but the question was hard to answer honestly. How was her weekend? Lonely. Uncannily lonely. She gave a small shrug and scrunched up her nose as her fingers fidgeted with the name tag still. "It was great, actually. How was yours? Do anything fun?"
As Leigh rattled off the details of her weekend date, Cassandra busied herself with restocking the displays inside the shop, nodding along and commenting when required. Mentally, she was barely there. More and more, it seemed her mind was getting away from her—either running to him or running away completely.
Her hands worked as they had many times before, gentle but precise with the stems and petals, despite the complacency. When she came back from her far away place, she was straightening a vase of chrysanthemums, roses, and daisies. The coloring of the arrangement was one of her favorites—deep reds and rusty oranges with a soft touch of white. Leigh was at the front counter still, writing down an order list for Sandra. "It would be really fun if you joined us next time," she told Cassandra.
Having missed vital context, Cassandra only chuckled to mask her cluelessness. "I don't know. I'm not good at third-wheeling."
"We've got to find you someone," Leigh said. "Can you imagine? Us, double-dating?"
"It would be a train wreck," Cassandra smiled, moving to another display, closer to the counter.
"The maintenance guy at my place is kind of attractive—I could give you his number?" Leigh offered. She leaned into the counter on her forearms, looking up from her list to give her friend a sarcastic look.
Cassandra chuckled again, shaking her head, "Thanks, but I don't think I'm that desperate. I don't know...I guess I'm waiting on somebody?"
Leigh's eyebrows raised in intrigue. "Oh? This is the first I'm hearing about this," she said, only playfully offended. "Is he hot? Wait. He's a doctor, isn't he? A lawyer?"
"No, no—neither of those," Cassandra once again shook her head.
There was a momentary silence. It was uncharacteristic of Leigh not to respond for so long, even when focusing on a task. The lack of further questioning prompted Cassandra to glance up at her friend. When she did, she saw Leigh paused behind the counter, her eyes drifted toward the front door.
But, upon her glance, Leigh looked back to Cassandra. She tripped over herself to speak again, rushing. "So, out with it. Who is this guy?" she questioned. Her eyes flickered again toward the door and Cassandra's eyebrows knitted. What was she looking at? It wasn't easy to steal her attention like that, she knew.
Then, arms encircled her, tightening around her torso from behind. As a jolt shot through her muscles, heat surged through palms—shattering the vase in her hands with a small flash of purple before it even had the chance to touch the ground. The glass swirled amongst the water now pooled on the concrete floor, and the flowers escaped with their lives but the stems were singed.
"Oh dear," as the arms around her loosened, a male voice in her ear sent a rush along her spine. Her eyes, desperate and hopeful, moved quickly in the man's direction and her lungs stalled. Loki. "That's unfortunate."
"What are you doing here?"
All she could do was stare. But the attention of his blue irises was enough to pull at her lips, curving them into the first genuine smile she'd given in weeks, her cheekbones prickling with warmth.
He smirked down at her, "Well, I desired the company of a very beautiful, very clumsy woman—and it appears I'm in the right place."
Leigh emerged from behind the counter with a broom and dust pan, and hurried over to the display to clean up the glass. "Wow. I've never seen you so jumpy, Claire," she joked, as she arrived.
Cassandra blinked hard as it finally came back to her—she'd broken the vase with a pure bolt of energy. Thankfully for her sake, the display was just enough in the way, blocking Leigh's eyesight to just what transpired. But Cassandra was quick to make an excuse, to add to the illusion, nervously chuckling and kneeling to pick up the larger pieces. "I skipped breakfast. Guess I'm just a little shaky."
It'd been quite a while since her last slip. So long she had almost forgotten what it felt like to lose control, even for a second. But a second was still too long. Cassandra took a deep breath and stood, swiftly carrying the pieces she'd retrieved off the floor to the garbage bin behind the counter.
"My apologies," Loki smiled politely at Leigh as she swept. "I didn't mean to make such a mess."
Leigh shook her head, waving away the idea with a brief hand gesture, then knelt to sweep the glass into her dust pan, "Don't worry about it—it happens all the time."
She stood with her full dustpan and held out her free hand. "I'm Leigh, Claire's friend—and, co-worker," she chuckled casually. "It's nice to meet you."
Loki shook her hand, though a bit awkwardly, "Ben. The pleasure is all mine. Claire speaks of you often."
Cassandra dropped the glass in the bin and hurried back around the end of the counter, across the store to Leigh, who now retracted her hand with a subtle brow-raise. There was something odd about the way he spoke, but it was almost charming—a contradiction that left Leigh a bit more than curious. "Um, would you mind covering me today?" Cassandra asked her, diverting the conversation. "I know I just got here-"
"No, I got it. Looks like a slow day anyway."
"Thank you," Cassandra smiled, and Leigh smiled back knowingly.
Cassandra untied her apron and carried it to the back room, placing it on the hook where it was not an hour earlier. She walked her bicycle into the store and motioned to Loki. "Come on," she said, before continuing toward the door. Loki gave Leigh a nod and another polite smile and Leigh returned it before heading for the garbage bin.
He followed Cassandra out of the flower shop onto the somewhat busied sidewalk, and fell into step with her along the other side of the bicycle. It hadn't felt that long since his last visit to Midgard but, when her irises rolled his way, something swelling in his chest and he knew—it had been far too long. "So? Do anything exciting this time?" she inquired, smiling up at the Asgardian.
It felt like a kind of weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The newfound emotional freedom gave her the room to be excited, to be happy. It radiated off her as they walked together. Loki gave a small chuckle, "Traveling in secret to Midgard is fairly exhilarating."
Cassandra's lips quirked to one side, playfully skeptical. "I was kind of starting to think you weren't coming back," she confessed, as they rounded the corner toward her apartment building. "You were gone for such a long time."
Loki put a hand on the handlebars of the bike, stopping her. "Know that if it were my choice, I wouldn't ever have left," he told her. His voice was so sincere, so warm that it felt too hard to question it—and trusting it so easily felt wrong. But he took the bicycle from her and carried it up the stairs, and she couldn't force herself to bring it up again.
Instead, she fumbled for her keys and unlocked the door, stepping inside to open it wide enough to fit the bicycle through the frame. Cassandra locked the door behind them, and Loki put the bike beside the door in the living area—right where he knew she'd kept it before—before hanging his coat. It had been months since the last time he set foot in her apartment but the space looked virtually the same.
With a brief glance, only a few dishes in the kitchen appeared to be in a different place. She was a creature of habit, he knew. He'd discovered that about her rather quickly. Her likes, dislikes, traditions, hobbies—they were simple and easily remembered, and distinctly her. As she took steps away from the door, he turned to find her beaming at him as she always had.
"I don't suppose you're hungry?" she asked, standing before him. "I can make you some tea? I didn't know when you'd be back so I bought another box of the ginger stuff you liked-"
Her delicate voice was interrupted as he swiftly closed the space between them and cupped her face, pressing an almost desperate kiss to her lips. Admittedly, he missed her. The adoration and life in her eyes, the sweet taste she left on his tongue, and the way she always smelled like the flowers she spent her days around. But although the touch sent her head spinning, heart fluttering—she could feel something was different. Something was different about this visit.
It wasn't the spontaneity or kind gestures. Those things were common. Though, she'd never heard him say he didn't want to leave. Not so sincere, so genuine. There was sadness there—she could see it. And now he was kissing her like he had before, but he relaxed into her like he'd lost a weight of his own. She wanted to hold out just a little longer. But the shift in feeling was nagging at her.
"Hey," she spoke softly, fingers loosely wound around the exposed skin at his wrists as she broke the kiss. She searched his eyes. "Are you okay?"
Loki chuckled, his features smoothly hiding any indication the answer could be 'no'. But there was something about the way she looked up at him so tenderly, piercing irises filled with a shade of worry—it was like she was seeing right through him. "Of course. I'm here with you, aren't I?" he replied, with a sweet smile.
Cassandra was no stranger to lies. She'd been raised on them, and was now burdened with the ability to see them—even when they were the last thing she wanted to see. He had a habit of hiding them in his eyes. They were always delivered so beautifully, but they were there still, a speck of black on the ever dazzling charade.
She smiled a little as she gently tugged on his wrists, pulling his hands from her face. "I'll make tea," was all she said, before treading lightly to the kitchen. It wasn't the first time she'd retreated from him when he told her a falsehood. That kind of behavior was hard to miss, considering his unusual talent for deception. Somehow, she knew. Although, he was unsure just how much.
Sometimes the retreat was subtle and others it was like a slap across the face. Loki watched her fill a tea pot and place it on the stove as he came to stand on the other side of the island. Not once did she look over her shoulder despite feeling his eyes. "What would you like to hear?" he inquired. Though, it wasn't truly a question. It was a test.
It was only then she looked over her shoulder. "I won't force you to talk about it, Loki," she replied, calmly. "But, if it makes you feel better about it, I can share, too."
His eyebrow arched, intrigued, "Oh? And here I thought I'd been beguiled by all the stories you had to offer already."
Cassandra exhaled and turned to face him before hunching over, leaning into the countertop on folded forearms. "My brother showed up at my door last week. I guess we're talking again," she told him.
"Which one?"
He took a step forward and mirrored her position on the countertop, clasping his hands in front of him, and Cassandra fought a smile. "Clint," she answered. "The decent one."
"And what did he want? Surely, it was something important after abandoning you as he did."
She tilted her head, eyes drifting to the countertop. That was something she didn't allow herself to think about. Of course, looking back, refusing to help her all those years ago was reasonable. Still, it stung. "He just wanted to see me," she spoke quietly, readjusting her forearms. "Still can't stand your brother?"
"He's not my brother," he replied quickly, coldly, pushing off the countertop to stand upright. Loki's demeanor had changed in an instant from something calm instead to something defensive. Cassandra was confused. It was clear the topic of family was touchy from the beginning of whatever their relationship was. But she'd never quite gotten this reaction.
She'd never gotten something so subtly hostile. As she, too, pushed off the countertop to stand upright, she opened her mouth to speak—but the Asgardian beat her to it. "He never was," he said the words as he took a step away from the island, turning to walk slowly toward the living room. "I'm no prince of Asgard."
"Am I supposed to look at you differently now?"
Her words caused him to stop, turn back around with confusion and mild irritation, but he didn't see what he was expecting. Surely, she was mocking him, wasn't she? Making light of the situation? However, Cassandra looked at him from the kitchen with empathy. It wasn't for mockery—it was for assurance. She didn't intend to mock him at all.
The surprise was almost enough to break through his hardened features, but they stubbornly remained. "You don't understand, Cassandra," he gave a shake of his head, walking toward the kitchen. "I am not only a fraud, but a monster."
Her eyebrows raised in anger hearing that word. It had been slung at her and people like her since she was a child to make her seem as something other than human. Something dangerous and unworthy. Hearing such a word again sent a pang of hurt at the left side of her chest. She stepped around the end of the island, meeting him where he'd stood before.
"What the hell about you is so monstrous?" she questioned, crossing her arms.
Shoulders slumped inward, weight on the balls of her feet, and a look in her eye that was arguably murderous—protecting herself but ever ready to protect someone else. After all, that's what she was trained to do. No matter how much she wanted to scrub that part of her life from her mind, it was always there, just waiting to be provoked into use.
Loki watched the split-second change just as she had done him, but nothing about the way she reacted felt menacing. It was comforting. As though she were asking a child who had been bullying them. A mother protecting her young. It was then that a sharp whistle caused her to startle, whirling to face the stove. Steam shot through the spout of the teapot, screaming wildly. Cassandra moved quickly to turn off the heat and remove it from the burner, placing it aside to reach for mugs out of the cupboard, and the sound slowly died out.
"I was called a monster. A freak. Every name in the fucking book," she was seething, ripping the tops off the tea bags and shoving the pouches of leaves into the mugs. "There's nothing wrong with us, Loki. We're just different."
"I'm afraid most Asgardians do not share that sentiment."
A heavy exhale of anger and annoyance escaped her but the air trembled. Loki stepped around the end of the island, into the kitchen, and came to stand beside her. The frustration, irritation, it hung around her like paused droplets of rain he could feel. Gently, he reached out and his fingers encircled her wrists. Though, that wasn't what stopped her so suddenly.
It was the color of his skin—blue, like frostbite, and ridged by paper thin lines. Her eyes widened but, again to his surprise, she didn't shy away. She didn't even startle. Instead, Cassandra only moved her eyes up to his face, searching. Every inch of his skin was the same blue color. His eyes were now colored orange-red. Lines on his forehead made a half circle, retreating into his hairline.
Her expression softened, then, as a small smile crept onto her face. "You call that a monster?" she lightheartedly joked, voice quiet. "I've known three people in my life so far that looked like you."
"Others?" he asked, head tilted with intrigue.
"Two of them were good friends—Kurt was arguably my best friend. He had blue skin, but it was a lot darker, and his eyes were yellow. He could do what I could."
His eyebrow quirked as a smirk began to pull at his lips, "Blast things into oblivion?"
"Teleportation," she chuckled softly, a sound that eased the tense muscles of his shoulders. Everything about her calmed him. It always did. This time, it didn't feel like such a hindrance—it felt like a privilege. A relief. He lifted a hand, running a thumb over her cheekbone, and she found herself instinctively leaning into the touch.
Heart swelling, she reached up, then, and took hold of the black tie hanging from his neck, pulling gently as she rose up on her toes until she could reach. His pale blue lips melded with hers slowly, openly. He snaked his arms around her torso, bringing her close against his chest, and her hands found their way into his hair. They always did.
The air felt warm with a loving acceptance, the heat making it harder to breathe as their kisses were quicker, deeper. Loki turned them, pressing her lower back against the counter with his body, a hand moving up to brush her hair off her shoulder as his lips moved to the sensitive skin of her neck. "I've missed you," he murmured the confession.
She was breathless, "I missed you, too."
His lips trailed toward her collarbone and her fingers worked quickly to pull off his tie, discarding it on the kitchen floor. Then, they worked at the buttons of his shirt with a kind of determination they so rarely possessed. He chuckled against her skin. "Someone's eager," he mused, close to her ear.
Though, he didn't mind. There was a fire in his gut—a craving, a desire—growing with every touch of skin, every taste of her lips. Cassandra pushed his shirt from his shoulders and he pulled his arms from the sleeves, parting enough to find her eyes. "Guess I missed you a lot," she said, with a small chuckle. It elicited a mischievous smile that pierced her chest, blue skin and reddened eyes be damned.
She tugged up the hem of her sweater until it was over her head. The clothing was tossed aside on the tile with the others and, in a heartbeat, their lips were connected again—toiling hungrily. "Better not waste our time, then," he spoke quietly, pulling away from her.
He bent, hands sliding behind her thighs and she caught on, wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders and hopping up. Once her legs hooked around his hips, he took a step back, and a rush of purple smoke and electricity engulfed them. They reappeared in Cassandra's room in the same display of smoke.
However, distracted, her calculations were off by several inches. The backs of his knees hit the side of the bed—hard—forcing him to drop, back against the mattress with a light bounce, and Cassandra couldn't hold back a string of surprised laughter, pressing a hand into the bed to keep their foreheads from colliding. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?" he questioned, rhetorically, as he reached up to push her hair behind her ears.
Loki's hands roamed the exposed skin of her neck and shoulders, soaking in her warmth and relishing the softness as they trailed her arms. She shook her head quickly, now displaying a mischievous smile of her own despite the truth of her words, "That was an accident, I swear."
He hummed in playful skepticism, before moving a hand to the back of her neck, tugging her close—and their lips met openly, deeply, swallowing any laughter left from the mishap. Reaching behind her to unclasp her bra, they parted long enough to toss it somewhere off the edge of the bed.
It fell to the floor beside the crumpled dress shirt, returned to its usual spot due to her erratic sleeping behaviors. The shirt had only touched the floor in months past from a situation not unlike this one. They were in a similar position—her straddling his waist, nothing but a pair of lace underwear between them as they kissed each other hard enough to leave bruises.
Even now, once they discarded the last of their clothing, they devoured each other. The lust swelling within Loki's chest traveled to his gut and lower still, solidifying his already hardened erection—almost painfully so. He was throbbing with need, her drenched core against him enough to send a soft moan into his throat as his fingers dug into her hips.
She swallowed the sound, shuddering as it reached her gut, kindling a fire beneath the knot already wound tight there. It wasn't enough. The urge to move, to do something more was overwhelming. She acted on her impulses, sliding her fingers into his hair and giving a gentle tug before moving her lips to his neck as her hips slowly moved, dragging her wetness up his shaft. The action alone was enough to calm the beast but the desperate, open-mouthed moan that escaped him begged it to continue. "Cassandra," he panted her name, voice thick with desire as she moved a little faster. "I can't wait much longer."
"What do you want, Loki?"
She knew what he wanted. It was the same thing she wanted. But there was always something about hearing it out loud—or better, hearing him beg. Maybe it was simply the thrill in the idea that a powerful being from another realm would sound so utterly desperate when touched by her, a mortal human?
It was an empowering jolt of lust and confidence right into her veins. She felt the vibration of his voice in her tongue as she licked and kissed the left side of his neck. "I want to be inside you," his hands guided her hips now, adding pressure, and she bit down on his earlobe to stifle an ungodly sound in her throat. "I want to feel you clench around me. Ride me until I fill you with my seed, and then I'll lick you clean."
"Fuck, why are you so good at that?" she whined, before pushing herself up, sitting back on his hips, hands furiously combing back her wild brown locks.
Despite the tremble of anticipation in his muscles and the fire in his lungs, a smirk broke out across his face at the gentle stroke of his ego, staring up at his lover with eyes full of nothing but hunger. "You make it easy."
A hand on his chest, the other on his shaft to guide him, she lowered herself onto him in one fluid motion—not stopping until there was nowhere left to go. The pulsating warmth engulfing him to the hilt elicited a sharp hiss as she exhaled a breathy moan. Her stomach already felt too tight, that knot coiling tighter with every subtle movement as she was filled so completely.
She leaned forward, palms braced against the sheets beside his head, and their noses brushed. "Look at me," she whispered the demand, lifting her hips before easing them back down, taking him in once more. He did as told with no other options—the weight of her eyes boring into his soul yet again was too great, even for him. His hands remained firm on her hips but they were still.
Cassandra continued the same action a second time before beginning to rock her hips, and he swallowed an ounce of self restraint, allowing himself to buck his own hips with her movements. Sounds of pleasure fell from their mouths with each timed thrust, their eyes transferring heat between their gazes. It was lustful and needy but just as passionate and intimate.
Pushing herself upright again, she quickened her pace, and he adjusted his thrusts to match. Then, he removed a hand from her waist to brace against the mattress, sitting up as desire swelled in his chest—and he kissed her hard. Her hands gripped at his hair as their mouths opened, granting his tongue access to her mouth. It was a whirlwind of intense emotions, one of which a profound sense of fulfilled longing.
Longing for comfort, for safety, for love. It wasn't long before they reached their highs, when the tightrope they'd been walking finally snapped. Pure ecstasy filled Cassandra's veins, clinging to Loki as she called out his name in utter bliss, and it was her release that triggered his. He came through gritted teeth with a sharp hiss, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he filled her with warmth.
They sat there for a long moment, heavy breathing and the construction across the street the only sounds left in the bedroom. Loki began to place slow, gentle kisses on her shoulder and along her collar bone, and her forehead remained pressed to his neck, allowing her eyes to close as she caught her breath.
"That was magnificent, darling," he spoke quietly, close to her ear.
A loose, sloppy smile of satisfaction settled onto her lips as she lifted her head, meeting his eyes. "Yes, it was," she said, reaching her hands up to smooth over the rat's nest she'd made out of his inky locks. "Now, when do I get to be cleaned?"
The corners of his mouth upturned into that trademark smirk of his—the one she'd come to truly adore—and he slipped his arms around her torso before shifting his weight, turning them over until her back pressed into the mattress. "Right now."
