summary: Roses were your signature, in both life and death.
warnings: cursing probably, death, blood
notes:Â so I cleaned out my account, got rid of fics I hated or didnât like and became a predominantly mcu account for writing. I want to get a fresh start so hopefully, that happens. Along with this cleanout, some requests canât be completed due to its relation to deleted fics, so if youâd like to request again, please do!!
You remembered how Loki had looked at the flowers. You had gotten them for him, completely taking him off guard at the unusual present. Although he pushed the flowers and you away with his words, remarking on how cliché roses are, you saw the gleam in his eyes once he set his eyes on the plants. He was ecstatic and did a poor job of hiding it.
He had gathered the flowers in his hand, turning abruptly into his room, leaving you stunned and in the dust. You watched as carefully cut off the thorns with surprising gentleness and precision, making a once-dangerous thing into something more regal. He stayed silent the entire time as he prepped the flowers, fluffing them out once they were placed into the vase. He inspected his handiwork, making sure each petal was facing the right direction, each rose spread out with even space.
From then on, you made a point to always buy him roses whenever you went to visit him. The flower shop was convenient, right in between the tower and your apartment. You had become a regular customer at the flower shop, earning yourself discounts for frequenting there far too often.
You had grown to love watching Lokiâs face light up every time you showed up with a bouquet, studying him as he ran back into his room and prepped the flowers for their display.
However, not all beautiful things could last.
Loki didnât remember much about Thanos and the snap. He only remembered watching you after seeing Bucky fall to the ground, helpless and praying to Odin that no harm would come to you. A horrid and wretched sound was ripped from his throat once his eyes found the charcoal dust falling from your fingers, blowing away in the light breeze. His panicked screams and cries had shaken you, never having heard worse sounds in your life. It was more paralyzing than the screams of torture or death. It was one of desperation, horror, and confusion all pulled into one sound.
Once your legs had given out, his arms holding you gently as if not to break you, but his fingers clutching your arms tightly gave away his bluff. He was trying to hold you together, as if that would be the thing that solved the problem. And dear god, his face. He was horrified, his screams molding into sobs as his eyes watched you die before his eyes.
The last thing that was left of you was a sad smile before your remnants stained his hands, marking him with what he loved. He hated your smile. He hated how your lips curled softly as your eyes dulled. He hated how you welcomed death, a smile greeting the cloaked figure that held a scythe.
Loki stared at his hands, his mouth frozen in a scream, his eyes widened. Silence filled the wooded area that surrounded the heroes, all paralyzed. The only sound was the rustling of the trees and the whirl of ashes that was the only reminder of fallen heroes.
Thanos had won. They had failed.
Wakanda stayed silent for a few moments before wails and screams erupted from the fields, the city, from everywhere, all filtering into the ears of those who had lost. The figures all slowly retreated to the palace, filing out one by one, some stumbling, some walking lightly as if numb to feeling. All but one returned to the palace. Loki hadnât shifted his eyes from the ground and his hands, his body trembling.
Thorâs hand had rested on his shoulder sometime after, choking on his own tears as he witnessed the happiness of his brotherâs life fade with the wind, blown into oblivion.
âBrother,â Thor rasped, Loki only flinching at the title. âPlease return.â
A whisper left Lokiâs lips, barely audible and blending with the howl of the wind. Thor leaned down, his brows furrowing until the words had reached his ears clearly now. His face dropped in horror.
Thor looked down to his hands, noticing the stark difference of the ash to his porcelain skin. Thorâs stomach dropped, realization clouding his mind. Your ash was on his hands, literally.
âSheâs on me,â Lokiâs voice was louder now, no emotion in his word. âSheâs on me.â
âSHEâS ON ME,â the scream resonated through what seemed like the realms. Thor winced at the sound, recognizing what his voice carried.
It took hours before Thor was able to bring Loki into the palace, taking him to an unfamiliar room. Thor left after watching Loki for a moment, closing the door softly behind him. Loki sat on the bed, staring at the floor, unable to bring himself to move. When he did turn his head to survey the room, his throat caught and his breathing stopped.
A bouquet of the bloody flowers laid on the side table of the bed, as red as ever. They taunted him, screaming at him and forcing him to relive the events that had just happened hours ago. The thorns were still protruding from the stems, calling out for his touch and care that they so desperately needed.
Lokiâs actions were erratic and frantic as he stood up from the bed, his heart beating loudly in his ears and his eyes never leaving the offending bundle of flowers. He let out a grunt, his seidr rippling on his skin, aching to be released. He was furious and filled to the brim with rage. He approached the flowers with what could only be deemed as violence, furniture flying and hitting the sides of the room, denting the drywall. The only furniture that did not experience firsthand his wrath was the side table that held up the roses. No matter how badly, he couldnât touch it.
On top of the roses was a white notecard, folded over. His chest heaved as he picked the card up, unfolding it. He almost gasped at the sight of your handwriting, rushed and disorderly. He felt his throat close up and his chest tighten, his eyes refusing to scan the lines that were haphazardly placed on the white background.
I asked them where we were to stay after the battle and this seems to be the place they had in mind for us. Itâs fitting, grand just like you but minimally furnished. I got you these back from home so they may be a bit smushed, sorry! I hope weâll celebrate after this battle, Iâm sure itâs one we win. Maybe we could even drink some of that Asgardian stuff you and Thor smuggled.
His hands had grasped the roses, squeezing them tight. He didnât let go when he felt the thorns digging into his hands nor did he let go when he felt his blood running down his skin. Tears trailed down his cheeks, his heart full of so much pain. He missed you so dearly.
These werenât the last roses he received.
When the Avengers returned to the compound, he found a dried and shriveled bouquet sitting at the threshold of his room, thorns crusted. His teeth grit and he turned around, the roses grasped tightly in his hand, prickling and causing fresh blood to pool up. He shoved his way into the common area where the Avengers were sitting, silently talking about plans for the future, their conversation halting when they saw his state.
âWhat kind of sick joke is this?â his voice broke, anger, confusion, and desperation made apparent in the sound. He held the roses up with his trembling and blood-stained hand, scanning their faces. Mostâs mouths were open, their eyes wide in horror that someone couldâve played such a sick joke. Others just looked at the bouquet with concern, having a hard time processing his anger. âWho did this?â
All only looked at each other, questioning how to handle this. His body shook with rage, his eyes wide and wild. Blood dripped to the floor, pattering softly.
âLoki,â a soft voice spoke up, Thor cautiously standing up. âI donât think anybody here would do that,â Thor spoke calmly and Lokiâs face fell, quickly scanning the group. He knew none of them would do this. They wouldnât dare try it, especially since every one of them lost someone too. He let the dried and crumpled roses fall to the floor, blood drizzling onto the marble.
The roses wouldnât stop coming.
Loki hated that once a week a knock would signify the presence of the flowers. Each and every time, the flowers looked pristine, an unlikely occurrence for the state that the world was in. Occasionally he caught the delivery boy that brought them, begging him to tell him why he was receiving such things, but he always got the same answer every single time. A shrug and a quick murmur that he didnât know.
Lokiâs birthday had arrived shortly, and he was in no mood to spend it outside of his room. He didnât expect a bouquet to arrive today as the âpresentâ usually came on Thursdays rather than a Monday. When his door rattled from a loud knock, Loki was prepared to scold Thor for his insufferable actions, but instead was surprised with a bouquet â bigger than usual. It held more roses than he could count, and babyâs breath filled the gaps. Loki was in the process of closing his door when a white note card had caught his eye.
His breath hitched, hesitant to reach down. His hands grasped at the note, taking in the slightly frayed and yellow edges before peeling it open. He let out a strangled breath of air at your handwriting.
If youâre reading this, it must be your birthday. Happy birthday! You never look a day over twenty even if you are a couple thousand years old. Iâm also so sorry Iâm not there to celebrate with you. You might be confused about the flowers. I arranged with the flower shop to send you weekly flowers if I donât come into the shop one week. I hope you arenât too mad with it and youâre taking care of them; if not you are always able to cancel them, and theyâll pay the money back. I canât fit much onto this card, but I love you. And Iâm so sorry.
Loki stands for a few moments, his eyes trained on the large and flamboyant bundle of flowers that sat at his feet, begging him to allow them in. Lokiâs chest tightens, anger flushing through his body. He hated it. He hated that every week he was reminded of what he lost. He hated that you would do this to him. That you would haunt him even after you were gone. You werenât coming back, and the roses were a constant reminder of such.
That night, Loki had taken the bouquet outside and burned it. He had watched as the flowers crumpled in on themselves, falling to ash soon after. He stared, his eyes entranced with the fire that burned before him as if it was some sort of siren. His stomach felt empty and hollow, a hole gaping in it for all to see. He had loved you and he still did. Every day when he woke up, his skin still rippled with the rage that he felt once he lost you.
âHi, Jeff,â a chorus of voices rehearsed as the middle-aged man shifted in his seat, his Adamâs-apple bobbing. Loki only watched.
âI was, uh, playing with my girls. We were at the park, and they um-â Jeff cleared his throat. âThey just were gone. I didnât say goodbye. I just saw two patches of ash that piled where they had been.â A synchronized hum of sadness pushes through the circle of people and Loki wants to throw up.
Loki had just been about to leave when someone pointed to him, asking what his story was. He gulped, his eyes glancing around.
âWell, uh, my name is Loki,â Loki spoke quietly, not expecting the greeting he received. âI was in the battle. She was alongside me. I donât remember much. She had just fallen in my hands. And whatâs worse, I still see her every single day. I still get roses from the same flower shop. I still am forced to take care of the only thing thatâs left of her.â Somewhere along the way of his speech, his voice had broken, but he didnât care. He was surprised when he felt the light weight of a hand on his arm, his eyes meeting with an older woman.
âDear,â a sad smile crinkled her eyes as she spoke, âend those flowers. Maybe one day, theyâll all be back. Maybe not. But let her go for now.â Lokiâs eyes looked into the elderly womanâs gaze, feeling a familiar wave of comfort wash over him.
And Loki had ended the regular flower delivery. A part of him missed the weekly deliveries, but he found he needed the space from the reminder. After a few months without any deliveries, Loki found himself in the same flower shop that you had religiously stopped at when you still were with him. He had been glancing at the flowers near the front desk before a picture that sat on the desk caught his eye. He peered closer, almost tripping over himself at a picture of you laughing and smiling. A plaque stood in front of the frame, reading words that captured your essence beautifully.
In memory of the brightest face and most devoted donor. Thank you, Y/N.
He stood for a long time, only capable of nodding whenever the manager asked him if he knew you. He read the words over and over again, not knowing of the impact you made at this shop. He didnât move until a small and familiar touch rested on his shoulder.
