Little Giant
Summary: After the storm, a little girl is born to you and your husband. Only a few hours old, and she’s already changed your world in wonderful and overwhelming ways. Characters: Dad & husband Loki x mom & wife reader (plus newborn daughter) Trigger warnings/General tags: No use of Y/N, descriptions of contractions, labor, and birth (nothing graphic or overly-detailed), implied non-sexual nudity (not detailed), very brief mention of anxiety, author doing her own spin on Jotun physiology, pure, unadulterated fluff as always Word count: 2K Author’s notes: You guys were so kind in the comments on my last Cottage AU post! I couldn’t leave you hanging, so here is the direct continuation of An Old Wives’ Tale. Special thanks to tinyshyteacup for reminding me that pocket dimensions are a thing. Part of my Cottage AU. See my masterlist here. Taglist: @eclipseahmed3 (please leave a comment if you'd like to be tagged in future posts!) Divider by @cursed-carmine
“I can’t believe it,” Loki breathed, amazed and endeared. “You brilliant woman. It actually worked.”
For a while, you both laid in bed, his palm stretched over your belly, waiting for every kick and ripple.
Eventually, another contraction crashed over your lower body, causing you to duck your head and groan. Immediately, Loki sprung into action. A warm light emanated from his hand, that familiar tingling sensation spreading through you once more, allowing you to breathe the way the midwives had instructed you to.
You raised your head as it waned. “Thank you.”
“Always,” Loki pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I believe the time is drawing near. We should make our way to the chamber soon.”
You nodded in agreement. Loki slipped from the bed and came to your side, holding out his hands. Your center of gravity shifted as you rose slowly, supported by his forearms.
“Slowly, darling. That’s it.” He said, his voice low. Finally, you reached your full height and grinned up at him, brave and determined.
“Let’s go.”
You walked slowly toward the spare bedroom at the end of the hall. Loki walked beside you, one hand holding yours, the other hovering protectively at your back.
When you arrived, he opened the door with a swift wave of his hand, the hinges creaking. Together, you passed through the threshold of your humble cottage and into the splendor of an Asgardian birthing chamber.
The cool marble floors soothed the tired soles of your feet. Candles were clustered in corners, flickering against the tall columns and filling the chamber with buttery, subdued light. In the center of the room was a pristine birthing pool. Its sapphiric surface was glassy and still.
You had visited the chamber many times together during your pregnancy to familiarize yourself with the space, yet it always stunned you with its otherworldly beauty. Now, it felt purposeful and sacred. Humbling. Gravity hung over you like a heavy cloak.
Loki helped you lower yourself onto a plush velvet lounger.
“How are you feeling?” He asked. He knelt to meet your eyes and ran his hands along your arms, slow and soothing.
“Underdressed.” You quipped, referring to your simple cotton nightgown. Truthfully, it was your favorite. You found the eyelet lace romantic, and often commented that it made you feel beautiful.
Still, in the opulence of the birthing chamber, it felt a bit plain and understated.
Loki laughed and shook his head. “Then I must remedy that.”
A flash of green light spilled from your shoulders to your feet, a silk robe unfurling in its wake. The fabric shimmered like fresh snow in the sun. Intricate floral patterns dappled the hem.
“Better?”
You pulled the robe around yourself, indulging in its cloud-like texture. “Much.”
“Excellent,” He said, proud his gift had pleased you. “I’m going to call the midwives. I’ll be gone but a few moments.”
“Go. I’ll be fine.”
Loki squeezed your hands gently, then rose fluidly and crossed the chamber. He stopped in the doorway to give you a reassuring smile before stepping out like a shadow.
As the door clicked shut behind him, you cradled your stomach. “Are you ready, little girl?”
Another contraction rolled through you in response.
True to his word, Loki returned promptly and refused to leave your side from then on. Soon after, the midwives arrived.
By that time, the contractions had grown stronger and closer together, so much sooner than you had expected. The midwives began their work, casting glowing runes around the birthing tub, praying quietly to the Norns.
“We’re ready,” The head midwife announced, motioning to the birthing pool. “Whenever you are.”
Suddenly, your courage abandoned you. Reality hit you like a tree crashing to the ground. Your throat went dry and your heart plummeted.
You gripped your husband’s arm involuntarily and peered up at him, tears welling in the corners of your eyes. He knelt before you again and gripped your shoulders, firm and grounding.
“You have already carried our child this far,” He said, his voice thick with conviction and emotion. “You are more than capable of bringing her into the world.”
You gave him a quick, jerky nod as your tears spilled over your cheeks. He brushed them away before they could sprinkle onto your robe.
“I will not leave you,” He kissed your cheek to seal his promise. “Not for a moment.”
You nodded again, this time more controlled and self-assured. He helped you stand once more and led you to the pool. You bunched your nightgown at your knees and stepped carefully over the edge. The robe and nightgown billowed around you as you sank into a sitting position. Loki’s hands never broke contact.
The water was surprisingly warm. The aromatic scent of lavender rose to the ceiling as you settled in.
Once you were shoulder deep, your robe and nightgown dissipated slowly and reappeared on the lounger, draped delicately over the armrest.
Labor progressed rapidly. The contractions were quick and crushing. The runes flared and sang in tandem with your cries. Your back arched with every spasmodic wave.
You gripped the edge of the pool with one hand, Loki’s with the other. In a brief moment of respite, your head lolled to the side. You looked up at your husband, your features contorted in painful vulnerability and paralyzing fear.
“It hurts.” You whimpered, having no energy to say more, your chest heaving.
“I know, darling,” He pushed the hair from your dripping forehead. “But you’re doing beautifully—”
Another contraction seized you and you cut him off with a scream.
“The child is almost here,” The head midwife announced. “One more push, and she will be in your arms.”
The room fell silent. Loki kissed the back of your hand reverently.
“You can do this.”
You sucked in a long, fortifying breath and bore down with all the strength you had left. A final scream erupted from your throat like a battle cry.
The pain crescendoed uncontrollably, searing through you like wildfire.
Just as all the air left your lungs, another cry rang out.
Your daughter’s.
In a blur, the midwives wiped the blood from her body and placed her atop your hammering heart. You wrapped your shaking arms around her for the first time and began to sob in relief, your cheek pressed to the crown of her head.
Loki stared, awestruck and starry-eyed, unaware of the tears streaming down his face.
After the blissful golden hour had passed, a few of the midwives helped you bathe and dress yourself, while the others swaddled your daughter and handed her to Loki. He held her close, though he was careful not to touch her skin, fearful that even the slightest touch might unmask him.
Loki had been honest about his origins with you. He had explained that skin-to-skin contact with other Jotuns caused him to revert to his true form. He had described what he looked like, but had never had the courage to show you, even with an illusion.
You never pushed him.
“When you decide that you’re ready, I will be too. I’m not going to run.” You swore to him.
You both knew it was possible that physical contact with his children might undo Odin’s spell and cause him to shift. He told himself accepted it. But now, staring down at his daughter, he felt staggering dread at the thought of revealing himself.
Once they were satisfied that you were able to stand and walk and that the baby was healthy, the midwives took their leave. Loki cradled your daughter with one arm and supported your back with the other as you walked back to your bedroom together.
The door to the birthing chamber shut behind you with a soft click, careful not to wake your sleeping daughter.
The windows were foggy with precipitation from the nighttime storm, diffusing the late morning sun.
“Welcome home, little heart.” Loki murmured as he placed your daughter in the bassinet with reverent care. She didn’t stir. Then, he turned to you and pulled you into a tender embrace, mindful not to hold you too tightly.
“I am so very proud of you, darling.” He whispered against your hair.
“I didn’t break your hand?” You teased light-heartedly.
“No,” He chuckled fondly. “You were divine.”
“You were wonderful.” You beamed and pressed your cheek to his heart. It beat steadily like waves against the shore, nearly lulling you to sleep where you stood.
Eventually, you heard your daughter yawn. You both peered over the edge of the bassinet. Her curious eyes were scanning the ceiling above her.
“She is already so precious to me,” Loki remarked, staring at her as if she had scattered the constellations across the sky herself. “It almost hurts my heart.”
“Would you like to hold her?” You squeezed his arm, hoping to encourage him.
“I want to hold her. To touch her. I just… I fear that…” He trailed off as his voice cracked, his throat bobbing.
“I’m not running.” You reminded him gently.
He turned to you, wary but willing. “Let’s get ourselves settled, shall we?”
He quickly adjusted your pillows and lifted the quilted blanket, allowing you to climb into bed with a contented sigh. He placed your daughter into your arms and you made quick work of unwrapping the swaddle. Loki pulled his shirt off of his torso and let it fall into the woven laundry basket in the corner.
He slid into bed beside you and took in a fortifying breath of his own.
“Ready?”
He only nodded in response. His hands shook as he reached for her, but he steeled himself as he took her into his bare arms and lifted her to his chest.
For a moment, time seemed to stand still.
Then… nothing. No reaction. No blue hue spilling over his skin like ink on parchment.
Loki exhaled shakily, relieved and elated all at once. He drew her closer and pressed a kiss to her head for the first time.
“I guess our theory was wrong.” You hummed with a tilt of your head.
“I wonder if, perhaps, it’s because she’s not full Jotun?” Loki responded clinically, his mind processing questions and possibilities as he played gently with her small hand.
Just as the emotional intensity was starting to wane, Loki froze. His eyes widened as your daughter’s body temperature suddenly dropped. Faint blue lines spread over her skin, magic dancing beneath the raised edges like aurora lights.
“W-what is this?” You gasped, motherly panic flaring. “Is she alright?!”
“She’s fine,” Loki supplied quickly, placating your anxiety. “They’re… hereditary markings. Every Frost Giant has them. They serve as conduits for magic.”
“Oh.” You sighed, placing your hand on your chest. As your panic faded, you found yourself mesmerized by the markings. They were intricate and artful, almost alive. You traced a pattern from her shoulder to her knuckle, following the flow of her magic with your fingertips. Her skin was cool to the touch.
“They’re so beautiful,” You looked up to your husband with a watery smile. “And she got them from you.”
“I’ve resented this part of myself for so long,” He said ruefully. “I think it’s time I learn to embrace it. For her sake.”
Your heart swelled with pride at his words. You rested your head against his shoulder, basking in the overwhelming way your daughter had already changed your world.
“I think so too.”
Your daughter’s papery eyelids began to flutter shut, her mouth hung open in a little “O” of contentment.
“I love you, my little frost giant,” You cooed, then turned your gaze to your husband. “And I love you, my not-so-little frost giant.”
That earned an affectionate laugh and a grateful kiss. “I love you more, darling. You have given me everything.”
For a while, you sat quietly, occasionally laughing softly at the way your daughter scrunched her button nose or puckered her lips.
Watching in wonder as the sun illuminated the delicate, icy ridges that adorned her skin.
End.
