An Old Wives’ Tale
Summary: You're officially past due, and you're desperate to have this baby. You enlist the help of your storm-summoning brother-in-law to move things along. Characters: Dad & husband Loki x mom & wife reader, brother-in-law Thor Trigger warnings/General tags: No use of Y/N, mentions of late-term pregnancy pain, pure, unadulterated fluff as always Word count: 1.1K Author's notes: See the direct continuation here. Part of my Cottage AU. See my masterlist here. Taglist: @tinyshyteacup, @eclipseahmed3 (please leave a comment if you'd like to be tagged in future posts!) Divider by @olenvasynyt
You were officially past due. Your belly hung heavy like overripe fruit on a branch, ready to snap at any moment.
In the week leading up to your due date, you had tried everything to induce labor. A vast array of spicy foods. As much exercise as you could endure. A desperate prayer to any god who would hear you. None of it worked. Your prayers seemed to fall on deaf ears.
The Asgardian midwives you had trusted to care for you and guide you through your pregnancy assured you that you were perfectly healthy, that your daughter was safe in your womb, and that she would make her glorious appearance when fate decided it was time.
But that didn’t help the dull ache in your ribs that flared whenever your daughter squirmed inside you.
You had almost rolled your eyes during the midwives’ last visit, but Loki had placed a consoling hand atop yours.
“I am not trying to silence you,” He reminded you gently after they’d left, brushing his thumbs tenderly over your cheeks. “I am simply trying to protect your peace. Now, please tell me all of your worries, that I may listen and alleviate them.”
You burst into tears against his chest.
Now nearly a week past due, Loki insisted on you resting as often as you could. He stood straight as an arrow at the kitchen counter, preparing dinner. You envied his perfect posture now more than ever.
You sat at the table, your swollen feet propped up on an ottoman. You rubbed the stretched expanse of your stomach absentmindedly. As you looked out the window into your garden, you realized how much you had neglected it over the past few weeks. Your flowers wilted lifelessly. Your vegetables had developed leathery, rotting patches at their bases. Weeds were beginning to creep up your trellises.
It didn’t help that it had been an unusually dry Autumn. New Asgard hadn’t seen so much as a sun shower in days.
“We could really use a good storm.” You mumbled to yourself.
“Did you say something, darling?” Loki turned to face you, concerned and doting.
Then, the thought struck you like lightning on a distant prairie. An old wives’ tale.
Babies are often born in storms.
You looked up at your husband with a mixed expression of desperation, conviction, and hope.
“Call your brother.”
With the promise of a home cooked meal prepared by his dear brother, Thor made his way to your cottage in the hills. His hearty knock rattled the doorframe.
“Come in!” You called urgently from the kitchen table. The door creaked open. Thor ducked as he crossed the threshold and smiled sympathetically at you.
“Hello, sister.” He leaned down to wrap you in a brotherly embrace.
“Thank you for coming.” You draped your arms around his broad shoulders and gave his back a pat. When he pulled away, you motioned to the empty seat beside you. “Please, sit.”
Loki placed a colorful, well-balanced plate in front of his brother. A seasoned salmon filet, mixed vegetables, and crispy potato wedges sprinkled with herbs. Adjusting to life without servants preparing meals had been a bit of a struggle, but you had taught him well.
“Thank you, brother.” Thor grinned teasingly up at Loki.
“You’re very welcome,” He answered curtly. “Though I advise you not to expect this treatment in the future. I am only doing this to ease my wife’s burdens.”
Thor chuckled in response and began to eat. “So,” He said in between chewing. “Why have you summoned me, sister?”
You opened your mouth to speak, but were cut off by a sharp kick, which caused you to gasp. Your daughter, startled awake by the voices around her, was seemingly expressing her frustration the only way she knew how. You winced and rubbed your stomach, trying to appease her.
Loki noticed. He always noticed. He reached down and pressed his palm to your side, a warm light emanating from his hand. A tingling sensation spread like carbonated bubbles through your torso. You exhaled slowly as the pain dissolved. Your daughter stretched, then settled. Like balm to a wound.
“Thank you.” You whispered and gave his arm a grateful squeeze. You steeled yourself and returned your attention to your brother-in-law, who had nearly cleared his plate at this point.
“Could you please summon a storm for me?”
“Of course, but…”—He paused to swallow a bite—“Whatever for?”
“It’s an old wives’ tale,” You began. “Some people believe that the drop in barometric pressure during a storm… can… induce…” You gestured vaguely, hoping Thor would catch on. Unfortunately, he only stared at you, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“Induce… what?”
Your face fell.
“Labor, brother.” Loki sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.
“Ah!” Thor broke into a wide, delighted smile as understanding dawned. “You wish to evict the child!”
“Something like that, yes,” You laughed, despite yourself. “I don’t need a hurricane. Just a few hours of rain and thunder. Worst case scenario, the baby resists and my hydrangeas get the water they desperately need.”
Thor laughed, his booming voice shooting up to the weathered ceiling beams. Your daughter jumped inside you.
“The child will be in your arms by this time tomorrow. You have my word.” He vowed, his eyes sparkling with determination.
“I’ll hold you to it.” You gave him a watery, cautiously optimistic smile—but optimistic nonetheless.
Shortly after Thor left, the storm began. It started with a light patter of rain against the roof and windows, which quickly turned into a downpour. Eventually, the thunder began its slow descent over the hills, echoing through the peaks and valleys.
“I should warn you,” Loki drawled as you both climbed into bed. “If this plan of yours works, my brother may request to have the child named after him.”
“If it works, I just might grant that request.” You huffed as he pulled the quilted blanket over your shoulders.
He chucked and leaned in for a kiss, which you happily returned.
“This may be our last night as a duo.” He said softly, running his fingertips along your arm. Your eyelids began to droop with bone-deep exhaustion.
“Here’s to hoping.” You murmured, your vision dimming like a flickering candle.
He pulled you close, the swell of your bump pressed carefully against his midsection, as rain poured down the window in a rippling current.
In the deep hours of the night, you jolted awake to a rolling sensation that crested at the highest point of your belly and tightened in your pelvis.
You reached over and shook Loki awake. He was instantly alert, his hand flying to your stomach, protective magic sparking from his fingertips.
“It worked. It’s starting.” You whispered breathlessly in the dark.
End.
