ok this one is really really sad, one where the war in the whole universe is done and loki and reader has to part ways just because loki has to come back to asgard and live 5000 more years and like they're saying their goodbyes while reader is crying so bad she can't say i love you to loki and loki's like "see that shiny thing in the sky? that's asgard, I'll watch you all the time" but then on their last goodbye kiss loki just did a trick and cleared out reader's memories with him??? imsosorry
okayyyy i apologise in advance for this. and for doing this when i have like 20 other requests that came before this one.
i edited the plot a lil for clarification, so it takes place right before The Snap™️ but Loki was on earth with you so no stupid stabby boi. ohhh you wanted elliot in this too??? enjoy heh
also why is your url give-me-fluff when you’re putting ideas like this in my mind you sly dog
if you wanna cry, listen to this song on repeat while you read. trust me.
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Something is wrong. Extremely, horribly wrong.
It brings Loki from a restless sleep before it hits you, shooting straight up from the pillows in a cold sweat.
Darkness still encompasses the room hiding you from view, so he reaches out to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you into his chest. His fingers slip under your shirt to spread against your stomach—you’re still breathing.
Relief floods his mind and he moves his hand up to find your heart, needing to feel it beating steadily under his hand before he can fall back to sleep.
It’s there. His heart is ready to pound out of his chest, but yours seems fine, calm and steady and thankfully reminding him that he’s fine, you’re fine, and Elliot is f—
The baby had been cradled in your arms when you fell asleep, only being a few days old, neither of you had wanted to leave him alone. Loki pulls himself from your warmth to flip on the bedside lamp, rousing you from your sleep as well.
“What’s going on?” You mumble, blinking groggily at him over your shoulder. He’s running a hand over his face, traces of slumber evident in his eyes, but his breathing is shallow and shaky. “Loki, babe, what’s wrong?”
He looks terrified, cheeks paler than usual and his eyes are frantic; it’s scaring you.
You nod and roll back over to check on your newborn son, but the little bundle of blankets you had fallen asleep next to is empty. You’re wide awake now, that’s for sure, and you fling the covers off the bed—babies are unpredictable, right? Maybe he slid further under or-or rolled off the bed??
“Loki,” you hiss, jumping off the bed and checking the floor. Nothing. “Loki, where’s our baby?”
He’s on his feet in a flash, ripping the covers off the bed completely. “What do you mean, ‘where’s our baby’?”
Your voice raises with the panic in your heart: Elliot is nowhere to be found. “Loki Laufeyson, this is not a fucking joke. I swear to god, if you are pulling some shit—”
His fist closes around your arm and he gives you a rough shake. “Why in the name of Valhalla would I joke about this?” He hisses, eyes flashing in anger. Anger.
It’s been ages since you’ve seen anger in his eyes, especially when he’s looking at you. But his grip on your arm is unyielding and only getting tighter, his fingers digging into your bicep until you meet his piercing gaze with fear-filled eyes.
He freezes at the look on your face, how you’re staring up at him as if he were straight out of a nightmare, and immediately the grip on your arms loosens. “Forgive me…” he whispers in horror, bringing a hand to the back of your head and pulling you flush against his chest. “Forgive me, my love, forgive me.”
You quickly wrap your arms around him in quiet comfort, reassuring him that you’ve already done so. “I’m sorry too. We’re both scared,” you explain, rubbing a soothing hand over his back. “We need to find Elliot.”
He nods and slowly lets you go, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and something on the bed catches his eye. The blankets the Elliot had been wrapped in are still piled on the mattress and he quickly picks them up, unfolding them and shaking them lightly.
There’s ashes? Some kind of dust, scarily similar to ashes, falling from the blankets, and you run a hand through the dark ashes, leaving black smears and stains on your white sheets.
“No, this couldn’t be…” your mind is running a thousand miles an hour, too many possible scenarios ricocheting around your head. Only one sticks out, keeps popping up to taunt you no matter how hard you push it away. “Loki, this isn’t…?”
Loki looks like he’s seen a ghost.
“He did it,” is all he breathes, setting a trembling hand on the bed and picking up a fistful of the ashes, turning his fist over to let the ashes pour through his fingers.
You can hear your heartbeat pounding and you try again: “Loki, answer me. Is this our son??”
His wide eyes meet yours, all colour drained from his face and the light in his emerald eyes promptly extinguished. You want him to just answer you, to tell you no, that’s not your son, that Elliot is in the room down the hall safe and sleeping soundly…but he just nods.
It doesn’t make any sense. But Loki grabs your hand, smearing the ashes—your son’s ashes—over your palm as well and he puts his other hand to your face, holding your cheek and he’s staring at you, absolutely terrified.
Waiting for you to turn to ashes with his son.
He should have known you were too good to be true.
There are tears in Loki’s eyes, actual tears sneaking from the corners of his eyes as he watches you, waiting for you to be ripped from his hands.
The tears come to you before you have a chance to fully process what just happened.
There’s a flash of light from the window—the bifrost, you realise—and your door slams open. It’s Thor, who hasn’t been to visit you in months since he’d been on Asgard.
“Asgard has fallen.” Panic hides in his rumbling voice, but you can hear it loud and clear.
Loki is dressed in the blink of an eye, armour glinting from his chest. “To what end?” He asks, stepping slightly in front of you, quickly wiping the tears from his cheeks. His voice is steady, strong…fake. That’s not your husband.
“Half our people,” Thor hoarsely tells him. “Half our people are gone.”
Loki swallows thickly with a nod and you notice his hand shaking against his thigh. You step behind him and grab his hand, twining your fingers between his and squeezing tightly.
“Are there…are there ashes?” He croaks, pointing to your bed littered with the ashen remains of your son. Just hearing him brings another lump to your throat and you let your head fall against his back, holding onto his hand with a death grip and hiding the tears trickling down your cheeks.
Thor nods, his face ghostly pale. “I apologise to the both of you. This…this takes no prejudice in its victims. Brother, I trust you will do what is necessary.”
Loki finally squeezes your hand back, tighter than you can almost bear. “Leave us.”
As soon as the door closes behind him, he’s pulled you back into his arms and he’s shaking, his face buried in your neck. Shaking with sobs, fear, rage, you don’t know, but this, whatever this is, has done something to him and he’s finally broken.
Right when you were starting to piece him back together.
Your mouth snaps shut, shocked and confused at his command. It’s not like this isn’t affecting you too, Elliot was as much your son as his! You open your mouth to argue, eyes narrowing at your husband—mmph.
His lips are on yours before a single angered word leaves them.
Wet. It’s a wet kiss, in the worst way possible. It’s all tears and tongue and he’s desperate, clawing at your face and your back and staining your cheeks with his burning tears. By the time he rips himself away from you, your skin is streaked with black marks from the ashen remains on his hands.
“I have to leave,” he whispers against your lips, eyes tightly shut and chest heaving. “I have to leave and you cannot follow me.”
“Bullshit,” you answer firmly, grabbing his face and wiping away a tear with your thumb. “I’m coming with you.”
He shakes his head furiously, grabbing a fistful of your shirt and pulling you even closer to him. “You are not. You’re safer here. I won’t be able to care for you in the way you deserve.”
“You think I care about that?” You smack at his arm, undeniably getting angry with him; he’s not allowed to make these kinds of decisions for you. “That was my son too, Loki. My son. Your son…our son.”
Your words hit him like a brick and he lets go of your shirt, hand coming up to caress your cheek. “That’s why you can’t come, my love,” he mutters. “I’ve caused you enough pain already. I will not bring you any more.”
“That is so selfish,” you hiss, wrenching your head from his touch. “Selfish, Loki, selfish. Clearly the better way to ‘care for me’ is to stay with me, right?”
Not that you could’ve ever known, but those words would haunt him for the rest of eternity.
His mouth opens and closes a few times, unsure of how to answer such an accusation. “I…you know I love you,” he says, practically pleading with you. “I’m trying to protect you! Don’t make this harder than it has to be—”
“Take me with you, Loki!” You cradle his head in both hands and force him to look at your teary eyes. “Just take me with you, idiot, take me with you.”
He can’t. There’s no way. It would never work, with Asgard now compromised and destroyed, leaderless and on the run. He knows you wouldn’t be able to survive a single unavoidable battle, and he wouldn’t be able to be there to protect you.
“I can’t. I love you, and because of that, I can’t stay with you.” He pries your hands from his face to hold them tightly in his own, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “You can hate me, blame me, wish I were dead. I don’t care. I refuse to put you through more pain than I’ve already caused.”
You back away from him, gaping and shaking your head in disbelief. He’s actually going to leave you. You want to hate him, to scream and yell at him until he wakes up and realises you can stay with him, but you don’t think there’s a bone left in your body with the strength to be upset with him.
“I can’t lose you too,” you say, your voice nothing more than a strangled whisper. “First Elliot. Not you too.”
He reaches for you and when you add a whispered “please,” his heart twists and breaks.
There’s only one way to rid you of this painful reality he’s created with you, but Loki wonders if he even has the strength to do it.
It would ruin him, the rest of his life, his spirits, and any hope for peace within him. But it would save you from a lifetime of pain, guilt, hatred…he won’t be able to live with himself if he doesn’t do it.
If he’s ‘selfish’ in your eyes, the least he can do is let you go.
You stare at him dumbfounded as he stands there, silent, out of words to say to you, his silver tongue finally stopped. Doesn’t he have anything to say to you? Any consolations, any comfort?
Then he puts a hand out, palm open in offering to you and you immediately place your hand in his. His skin is burning ice to the touch, biting through your fingertips, but you don’t let go, trying to let your warmth seep into his skin.
He curls his fingers around yours, his other hand coming to rest on the small of your back and gently leading you to the one window in your tiny apartment. Pulling aside the curtains, he leans down to press a breath of a kiss on your shoulder.
“You can hate me,” he murmurs, his voice steady. He has no more tears to shed. “You can curse my name. But I will not hurt you.”
He cuts you off by tipping your head up and kissing you again, molding his lips into yours. When he pulls away he stays there for a moment, just letting your breath caress his empty lips and running his thumb along your jaw.
“I will not hurt you,” he repeats, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Do you…do you see that star, my love? The one with four points, two to the left of the moon.”
He nods in the direction of the night sky, and you reluctantly follow his gaze to the left of the moon. Sure enough, a four pointed star blinks faintly down at you.
His arm wraps across your chest, running his thumb over your shoulder. “Let’s say that is Asgard. I will always be able to see you from up there, and any time you wish to see me, just look to the sky.” He presses his lips up the side of your neck, relishing the fading feel of your skin. “You see? I’m not leaving you, my love. Never.”
You know it’s a lost cause. He’s leaving and you’ve given up trying to convince him otherwise, so you just stand there silently in his embrace, letting him run his lips along the curve of your neck, knowing this may be the last time you ever feel his lips on you.
There’s nothing left for you here. It, whatever it is, took your son before he could even see the world you brought him into, and now it is ripping his father—your husband—from you too.
He lingers in your empty silence a moment longer before turning you to face him, cradling your head in both hands and brushing away your tears. “No more tears, my queen.”
He leans forwards, his eyes drifting shut and you know this will be the last kiss. You don’t know how you know, but something about it just seems so…final.
“I love you,” you blurt out, finally finding your voice. “I could never hate you.”
He rests his forehead against yours and smiles, a sad, heartbreaking baring of his soul, and he nods. “I know,” he softly assures you, then closes the tiny gap between your lips.
And for the first time, his kiss is warm. Not burning with passion, not the biting cold of a possessive lover, but warm.
He’s not speaking, but you can hear his voice clear as day echoing through your mind.
And I could never forget you.
The warmth of his kiss wraps your body in a saving embrace, filling you from the tips of your toes to the top of your head until his lips are barely touching yours.
The warmth is fading from his ghosting lips. Fading away, and you reach out to grab his arm, keep him here…
You’re standing in front of the window.
Why on earth are you up at such an early hour? You’ve got work in the morning. You should’ve been in bed hours ago.
With a tired sigh you trudge back to your bed, your bed that is much too big for just the one of you. Oh well, more space to sprawl, right? You pull the covers back onto the mattress—you must have kicked them off in your sleep—but there’s a dark streak of something on your white sheets.
Huh. You try to brush it off with your hand, but the powdery mark has stained and just rubs off on your hand. It’s weird, it’s almost like…ashes.
Oh well. You’ll wash the sheets tomorrow.
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hope you enjoyed, feel free to send me ideas!
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