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yandere-wishes · 2 years ago

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Spider Bite Love

Synopsis: Miguel loves you, this you know. But neither the story nor the hero ever stops long enough to wonder if you love him too.

Warnings: Choking, Biting, Reader is from Miles' universe, Miguel is kinda a perfectionist. Yandere themes.

Author's note: Forgive the Spanish it's mostly found on Google. I took like four months of Spanish back in 7th grade and have retained exactly 0.1% of that knowledge.

💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙🕷💙

The future is porcelain, all marble white and reflective crystal. Flying cars and a horizon that echoes soft tamed pastels. Nueva York can almost be described as beautiful. Almost.

If not for the technicalities and lies and the loss of total freedom.

If not for a fate that's been prewritten. Repeated across centuries and dimensions. So uncontrollable that it practically cultivates inferiority within your heart. An age-old tradition found in every child's tale about dashing heroes and harrowing villains.

If not for the looming uncomfortable, presence known as Miguel O'Hara who refuses to leave you alone.

Your lover.

Your hero.

Your Spider-man

Although he's not your Spider-Man. Not really. And you're not the love of his life. Not really. You're both just Look-alikes, cheap replicas from a corner dimension.

It's difficult to comprehend, pondering it encompasses you with an unruly headache. Galling and overpowering, not unlike your so-called "Lover".

To put it simply or rather to oversimplify. You are not meant to be here. You are from Earth-1610, at least you think you are. It's hard to tell since apparently from what you've gathered there was another (y/n). One who looked just like you, acted just like you, and was essentially you in every microscopic aspect. At least that's what Miguel says, and you've come to learn that he's not awfully good at telling the full truth.

She died or was killed. As is customary with every hero's first crush. Thus leaving Miguel without a lover or a prisoner. Depending on which iteration of the story you fancy.

Then Miles came along disrupting the canon and causing a dimension's wide spider hunt, with Miguel leading the charge. Somewhere along the lines, between chasing down Miles and barking orders at the other Superheroes his secret society was made of. He passes by your window. Caught a rogue glimpse and froze. He'd found you again, after all these years of believing that you were dead. Technically you were dead, his (y/n) was dead. But there was one here, another one, just as radiant and beautiful as his original lover had been. Miguel knew he had to have you. To take you back to his dimension. To complete his Canon.

Your dimension was doomed anyway.

So he wasn't really doing any harm.

You shuffle uncomfortably on the couch, attempting to readjust your position as to better gaze out the window at the porcelain city.

It's almost homogeneous to Miguel himself.

A perfect city with no room for cracks or mistakes.

A perfect hero who flawlessly preserves the multiverse.

They're both perfect you think as you steal your gaze from the skyline. Although sometimes perfect and pristine aren't always reflective of a person's inner workings. Miguel isn't exactly corrupted but he's far from innocent either. You - and the motley amount of fang marks spread across your body- are living proof of that.

His apartment is clean, spotless, all ceramic tiles and snowy furniture.

No room for faults or fallacy. His whole life is meant to be errorless. Just like the delicate spider-verse, he's all so keen on protecting.

The door chimes, a light buzz and a thud. It's hard to remember that this is technically the future. That trivial things such as keys and locks have long since been eradicated.

Miguel steps in, a bouquet of red and yellow roses grasped within his hand. He walks in as the door buzzes closed behind him. There's a docile look in his eyes as he spots you sitting on the couch. A repeated memory you realize and you wonder if his (y/n) use to wait for him to get back from Spider HQ, all patient and passive like a pretty doll awaiting her master.

"Para vos, mi querida" he mumbles, somehow apathetic and bashful all at the same time.

You reach for the flowers a practiced smile bearly tugging at your lips, your fingers curling around the bouquet, then you freeze eyes going wide.

There's blood on his claws again, pristine rudy red that drips to an invisible tempo. You wonder who he's killed this time. A canon divergent Spider-Man or Spider-Women. A villain running amuck across the city.

Or some regular civilian he was supposed to protect. A regular civilian who had some interaction with you on one of the rare times Miguel actually agreed to take you out. You wonder but you don't date ask.

His suit is unscratched -as it always is- His face is bruise-less, so it makes you think that your final hypothesis may just be the accurate one. Miguel's eyes narrow when notices your frozen hand.

"What's wrong," he asks a gruff edge in his voice, a warning.

One your mind begs you to obey.

"Who did you kill?" You ask eyes concentrated on the sharp blue razors that make him look more monster than superhero. Your fingers abandon the bouquet's base and return to your side. You try to force your eyes into a glare despite the unruly beating of your fearful heart.

One look from Miguel snuffs all that resistance out. One dark glare from eyes that can't choose if they wish to be red or blue. Human or hero. Human or monster. And you're back to cowering into the couch cushions.

"It doesn't matter" he all but barks, a supernatural chill encompasses the room. As he throws the bouquet down onto the ceramic floor. His lips pull back in a snarl, showcasing milky white fangs that gleam in the low lights.

"It does matter Miguel!" Your voice is raising, itching to scream to yell. To make him understand a fraction of your hatred

"You're supposed to be a hero, a savior, but all you ever do is act like a villain. You stole me from my home, you killed my universe's Spider-man, you destroyed my dimension! You're nothing more than a villain wearing a hero's mask."

There's a punchline to this, you're almost sure of it. Some storybook explanation as to why you decided to lash out at the most terrifying creature you've ever met. Maybe in the heat of the frigid moment, you forgot that he's no mere spider. He's a tarantula, bloodthirsty and savage, ready to attack when someone goes poking at him with a stick.

Miguel's fingers tighten around your throat, sharp claws digging into soft skin and delicate muscles. Pushing you further into the couch. Miguel's ears ring with the symphony of your gagging as he tightens his grasp. He thinks you're choking, suffocating, asphyxiating.

Good. With any luck, you'll be dead soon.

"Mocosa ingrata"

He's not sure if your death will be significant in any way. You're honestly too trivial to have any impact on things. If you hold a place in the canon of his timeline or yours, he's yet to find it.

Miguel hates oddities, things that disrupt the canon, selfish missteps that destroy entire dimensions. You're not quite an oddity per se, although everything in your timeline is broken. Dangling from a loose threat at the edge of a cliff. All because Miles Morales decided to be selfish and greedy and "change" what's been canon for longer than any "Spider-man" has been alive. Miles is a mistake. that whole universe is a mistake. It's bound to collapse on itself at any moment. So for the life of him, Miguel can't understand why you're so ungrateful. So desperate to reprimand him and belittle him when all he's doing is trying to save everyone.

He's failed once,

He's failed twice,

He refuses to fail for a third time.

It doesn't matter that you're some helpless civilian who was stuck in the wrong universe at the wrong time. All that matters is that you're (y/n), his (y/n). Every other Spiderman has their Gwen or their MJ. A dutiful lover, to return to when the night ends, when the fighting ends. When the ignorant sun finally decides to reawaken and cast the city in a temporary ray of peacefulness. Someone to love and cherish, to take their minds off of the dread and misery that runs amuck across their lives.

Peter Parker has his Mary Jane.

Miles Morales had his Gwen Stacy.

So why can't Miguel O'Hara have his (Y/n) (L/n)?

When Miguel looks back down at you, he notices your dark eyes. How the life is slowly fading from your body. He relents, pulling you forward and slamming you into the couch one last time before retracting his hand. He sits down next to your coughing body.

"I hate you" you manage to blurt out between desperate heaves. Trying to fill your lungs with as much oxygen as possible. You don't bother looking at him, you know he's mad. He's always mad when you refuse to act like his (y/n). When you poke holes at the perfect illusion he's created.

There's a brief pause. A second of tranquility. Before Miguel grabs your arm and pulls you onto his lap. His mouth parts. Fangs releasing and hovering above your jugular. His fangs pierce your vain, releasing his poison into your bloodstream. It's not lethal, at least not yet. Miguel prefers to think of it as a sedative for when you start to act up.

It soothes you, calms you into remembering your place. Your head lulls to the side, falling on his shoulder as your groggy eyes look up at him with a stare that he can almost trick himself into believing is loving, or some variant of the same emotion.

You're his, he knows that. You have to be. It's all he can tell himself as to stay sane. You'll understand someday. Realize you love him too.

After all every hero needs a lover.

3K notes · View notes

naeverse · 1 year ago

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Stress Relief

🌑staring: Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

�� preview:

Blinded to the meaning of his always tensed muscles, excessive sleep, and lack of energy.

Your boyfriend, Miguel O'Hara was stressed and even worse…

Sexually frustrated.

You became even more saddened at the revelation, pondering how you couldn't decipher it sooner with the many red flags in front of you; but with the new knowledge, you, luckily, knew a way that could relieve him of all his stress and exhaustion.

Knew of something that will cleanse him and make him anew whilst in the process, curing the burning ache in your core…

🌔Summary: Lately, your boyfriend Miguel has been arriving home from work with an overwhelming sense of stress and exhaustion, leaving him unable to dedicate time to your relationship or attend to the needs of either himself or you.

Tonight, you've planned to offer the much-needed support and care he deserves.

🌕tw/cw. Bed-Sharing, Blowjob, Cock Worship, Fingering (Slightly) Handjob, Oral sex, p in v (Slightly), Size Difference, Somnophilia,

🌖pet names: Mi amor (My love), Mami (Sweetheart/Baby/Honey)

🌗rating. 18+ explicit I SMUT I

🌘Word count: 4.4k

This request is from a lovely anon, so I hope you enjoy! 💜😊💜

(I do not own any of the photos used! All credit goes to the original artist!)

(This oneshot contains Somnophilia, do not read, if not comfortable.)

Somnophilia- The urge/desire to have a sexual encounter with someone who’s asleep.

**YOU’VE BEEN WARNED!!**

Your boyfriend, Miguel O’Hara was a workaholic.

You discovered his habit upon moving in with the large Latino and noticing his incessant late-night shifts at the Spider Society HQ.

At first, you didn’t mind it, your boyfriend found joy in helping the multiverse through his tech and Spider-Man work, so it didn’t bother you as long as he was happy. It wasn’t until he began to come home after a long day of work with tense shoulders, half-lidded eyes, and a face full of stress wrinkles. He wouldn’t say much, only a drowsy greeting, followed by a tired peck upon your lips or cheeks before he crashes onto any soft surface he lands on first.

His intense fatigue began to build a wedge between the two of you. You missed Miguel, his cute fanged smile, comforting words, loving pet names, and the way he looked at you like you were the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on.

Now the only thing his eyes searched for upon entering home was somewhere for him to lay his head.

Due to his absence because of exhaustion, you’ve also grown to miss intimacy with him. Even though he was tired, he used to still make sure to satisfy you, but recently, his weariness seems to be too much for him.

Tonight, you sat in your shared bed, a book in your hands. Your eyes scanning the erotica you were reading, full of interest.

Due to your lack of intimacy from your lover, you’ve begun to search for it elsewhere, and thankfully, erotic authors were a thing.

You didn’t know what you'd do without them.

You bit your lip, reading the sexiest passion exchange between two lovers when the all too familiar sound of your boyfriend's arrival via his orange and red portal was heard from the living room. You looked up from your book when you saw his massive being enter your bedroom.

His dark hair was messy on his head and his muscular frame was covered in his red and blue holographic spider suit. He almost touched the top of the doorway due to his tall height.

When his crimson eyes met yours, a tired smile spread across his exhausted face. He walked over to your side of the bed, pulling you into a deep embrace. His burly arms and massive chest engulf your being in his warmth.

“It’s nice to see you after a long day, mi amor.” He muttered, pressing a brief kiss to your lips. Your eyes fluttered close, savoring the feeling of his plush lips when he pulled away. Desperately your mouth followed him, yearning for more as he was already climbing into bed beside you. The mattress creaking loudly under his heavy weight.

You pouted, setting your steamy erotica on your bedside table and turning on your side to face him. “How was work, baby?” You asked, causing him to groan, his eyes already closed. “Tiresome, mi amor.” He said sleepily, your face saddening even more at his response.

You pulled him to your chest, enveloping your arms around his shoulders and beginning to run your fingers through his dark hair. He sighed in contentment against you. With him in your arms, an idea came to your head— a thought that you’ve been meaning to bring to his attention.

“Babe, I was wondering since tomorrow is Saturday, maybe we can do something different.” You proposed, continuing your soft massage on his scalp. “Like we can stay home together, snuggle up on the couch, catch up on some movies and TV shows, and just relax-”

The sound of his soft snores instantly brought your words to a halt. You looked down to see he was asleep, a peaceful look of rest adorning his defined features.

You sighed, a small smile spreading across your lips at his adorable deep grumbles whilst his face was buried into the dark green fabric of your nightgown. You caressed his chiseled cheekbones with your thumb, knowing his inability to fight the sleep that always sought him each night upon returning home.

“Goodnight, Miguel.”

You whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead and gently placing him onto the soft pillows of your bed. You then stood up, moving over to his side as you frowned at the sight of his holographic suit still covering his body. The suit seemed to be the second skin of your boyfriend as every contour of his muscles and body was hugged by its blue and red digital strands.

Despite the burning desire for him to sleep without such restrictive clothing, you didn't want to disturb his tranquil rest, so you decided to leave it on.

You took the white linen sheets in your hands and pulled them over your boyfriend, tucking him in before turning off the lamp that sat on his bedside table. His side of the room, darkening at the loss of light whilst your bedside lamp still assisted in bringing a soft glow to your space.

After clicking off his lamp and ensuring he was comfortable, you returned to your side of the bed. You climbed under the sheets and drew back the blankets, beginning to read your erotica once more.

As the night progressed and the deeper you got into your steamy novel, you started to become overly aroused.

You couldn’t explain the tantalizing feeling of need and lust that felt like a feather gliding across your skin. The sensation felt just beneath the surface, spreading like wildfire and demanding your attention. You couldn't pinpoint when it started as it crept upon you so suddenly.

With each steamy word, phrase, and action read, your body heated up and your core throbbed in desire. You clenched the novel in your hands, squeezing your thighs together under the sheets in an attempt to control yourself, but it was no use.

You closed the book and took a deep breath.

‘What is wrong with me?’

You pondered, never before feeling a deep craving for such intense intimacy. Most of the time you were content with just your steamy novels to cure your need, but tonight, you felt like you were about to burst.

You squeezed your eyes shut, biting your lip harshly whilst sitting against the headboard of your bed. Occasionally your hands gripped the erotic book, trying to relieve yourself of lust, but it felt unshakeable.

You needed touch…

You needed intimacy…

You needed Miguel…

‘I could…wake him.’ You thought, your mind going into a spiral of all the things Miguel would do to you upon awakening and hearing your need for him.

How he'll grant your lips with his long, passionate kisses that you missed so much. How his large hands would roam your body, his every touch igniting a flame inside of you that only he could achieve.

Most of all, your sex-deprived brain imagined how he'd take you.

How despite his loving touch and kisses, sex with your boyfriend was the complete opposite.

Miguel loved to take the lead and enjoyed watching your eyes roll in ecstasy, the trembles of your body, and how one mere thrust of his massive cock could make you come undone.

And that’s what you imagined whilst sitting with your eyes closed shut, biting your lip, and gripping your book so tight, your knuckles turned white.

You didn't care what position, the pace set, or of a release, being filled by your boyfriend's cock was enough.

It was all you needed at this moment.

To feel him buried deep inside, your walls stretched to accommodate his enormity whilst you felt his warmth and massiveness.

‘Maybe just…?’

You opened your eyes, looking over to take in your boyfriend's sleeping form. How peaceful and content he looked, the rises and falls of his chest and the sounds of his adorable deep snores that left his tanned lips.

He was handsome even in sleep.

The thought once more resurfaced in your head, the urge to wake him and satisfy your needs when you hastily shook your head.

‘Get a grip, Y/N. It's not that important. You can wait.’

You scolded yourself, averting your eyes from your enticing lover and deciding to go to sleep.

You closed the book, placed it on your nightstand, and turned off your lamp. Your shared bedroom instantly engulfed in darkness except for the natural glow of the moon through your window.

You pulled the white blankets up to your chin, snuggling up against them as you closed your eyes for sleep.

But it appeared that sleep was playing hard to get tonight.

You were restless.

The lust was too overwhelming and made rest impossible to reach.

You tried to clear your mind, focus only on sleep but the thought of Miguel and his massive cock would invade your mind every time, preventing you from your slumber.

You gripped the sheets tightly, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to calm your arousal and relax; but your composure only shattered when small sounds began to fill your, once silent bedroom.

Small sounds that went straight to your core and made you wet.

Your eyes slowly opened, eyebrows furrowing as you turned to look at your sleeping boyfriend.

You thought you'd misheard it, that maybe the arousal was so intense that it had clouded both your mind and sense of hearing, but again, you heard another soft groan leave your lover’s lips.

Your eyes widened at the sight of his face that was scrunched up in ecstasy, yet holding its peaceful look of sleep. For a moment you were confused, eyes trailing his being in search of the reasoning behind his pleasurable facial features and erotic noises.

Upon examining your boyfriend, you shifted slightly in bed to get a better view when something hard brushed against your thigh. You gasped in surprise, springing away.

‘What was that!?’ You wondered in astonishment, clueless about what the object could be.

Gently and cautiously, you pulled the sheets up to peer under the white blanket and your heart dropped at what you saw.

An evident tent was sprouting from the crotch of your lover's spider suit.

You wanted this to be a dream, that you were just seeing things, but upon drawing the blankets back fully to get a better view, you could clearly see the massive bulge under the red and blue strands of his holographic suit.

You bit your lip, eyes trained on the alluring sight. Your core pulsated, begging to be filled as you couldn't remember the last time you were intimate with your boyfriend. Another series of very familiar deep grunts and groans were heard from him, only coaxing you to do the unthinkable.

‘But…he's sleeping. That's not right.’ You thought, your eyes drawing back to the outline of his huge member through his suit, begging to be freed from its confines and brought to a release.

But the more you looked at his bulge and heard his occasional whimpers, you wondered if this was a regular occurrence.

That possibly due to your boyfriend's fatigue, he tended to fall asleep despite his burning need for you.

The thought of him waking up in the middle of the night to relieve his arousal himself, without waking you, tugged at your heart.

You sighed, looking back at your sweet boyfriend. He needed you and you've been oblivious to the signs.

Blinded to the meaning of his always tensed muscles, excessive sleep, and lack of energy.

Your boyfriend, Miguel O'Hara was stressed and even worse…

Sexually frustrated.

Knew of something that will cleanse him and make him anew whilst in the process, curing the burning ache in your core.

With your decision being final, you slid closer to your sleeping lover, the sheets under you rippling slightly at your movement. Your bare thigh brushed against his clothed one, making your breath hitch and instantly come to a halt.

Your eyes snapped up at him to see he was still asleep, shaky, uneven exhales passing his tanned lips. You breathed a sigh of relief, continuing with your plans of relaxing him and yourself, but you first, had to undress him.

There was only one way that you could get Miguel out of his high-tech spider suit and it was by his technological white watch that adorned his left wrist. Like a stamp glued to an envelope, Miguel never could depart from his multiverse watch. It was one he’d worked very hard to create alongside his artificial intelligence, LYLA. If his watch went missing, he promised that all hell would break loose.

But now, it was the center of your focus.

Your gaze was entranced by the orange screen of his white watch, emitting a small glow from his left wrist. The burning desire to just reach over and click the irresistible button was overwhelming you.

But you had to be careful…

Frantically, your eyes glanced from the well-lit gizmo on your lover’s large wrist to up to his sleeping face. You followed the pattern of his breathing and when you were ready, you slowly rose on your knees. With a heart beating loudly against your chest, you gradually leaned over his massive, sleeping form. It felt like forever before your fingers finally touched your boyfriend’s sacred watch.

You didn’t hesitate to slide the pad of your finger along the orange screen, remembering how your boyfriend did it every night as you discovered your long-awaited button.

With much fervor, you tapped it...

In amazement and satisfaction, you watched the sight of his holographic spider suit begin to disintegrate from his body, revealing his massive, tanned figure that was covered with muscles.

But, your triumph was short lived as upon relief of his suit, Miguel whimpered softly, shifting in his sleep. You hastily sprung away from him, not wanting him to wake up and see you hovering.

You held your breath, waiting for his groans to die down to be replaced with soft snores and the creases of his eyebrows to settle once more before turning back to the task at hand.

Your boyfriend Miguel wasn’t just a workaholic, but he was somewhat of a meathead.

He enjoyed long workouts that consisted of intense and extreme exercises in an effort to keep his massive build. It was a figure that you could never get over, and despite what he wore, his muscles seemed to strain under the fabric, demanding attention.

Even now in his peaceful state, they were enticing you.

Begging for you to get a touch, to feel just how solid he was.

You bit your lip, blinded by lust, you placed a hand on his right pec. You moaned softly at just how hard it was, the muscle seemed to have a life of its own as it rose under your palm with each breath he took.

‘Gosh, how did I get so lucky?’ You wondered, unable to just get a touch and beginning to run your hand along the large expanse of his chest, relishing in the ripples, curves, and dips of his muscles. You traced your fingers along every beauty mark and scar, loving how they only seemed to add to your lover’s attractiveness.

The more you touched him, the more your lust heightened. You felt your panties underneath your gown begin to become soaked with your arousal, and start to unbearably stick to your core, but you couldn’t help it.

Your boyfriend’s body was calling to you…

Intoxicated by the feeling of him, you continued to feel his body, moving down his defined stomach adorned with a captivating six-pack and following the alluring brown trail of coarse hair from his navel, down to his massive length.

You were in awe at the sight, falling in love with your lover’s shaft every time you saw it.

His well-endowed cock was now released from its confines to stand hard and completely erect before you. A patch of coarse dark hair sat upon his base; his tip was an angry brown with a tantalizing vein that bulged down the underside of his girth, leading down to his captivating balls.

You sucked in a breath, glancing back at him to see his face momentarily contort in pleasure to soon relax once more.

You pouted at the sight.

Your boyfriend was secretly craving you, but due to his exhaustion, he was unable to cure his needs. The thought only urged you to continue.

You kneeled beside his huge body, enveloping a hand around his girth and feeling just how solid he was. You gasped, a deep groan erupting from Miguel at your contact instantly made you bite your lip to silence you're surprised sound. You waited a few moments before stroking him at a slow pace and watching for any signs of discomfort to cross his tanned face, but none did.

Breathy groans left his lips whilst his eyes remained closed, his features showing he was still asleep as you proceeded with relieving his stress.

With each stroke, you were slowly becoming more engrossed into your erotic action. You pressed gentle kisses onto his thick, muscular thighs, running your closed fist up and down his enormous member. “Always working so hard, baby mmm~ never giving yourself a break.” You whispered, continuing to fist his cock, gradually speeding up. “But I’ll help you. Help you relieve the stress you have packed onto yourself.” You uttered through hushed moans, leaning towards your boyfriend’s sticky tip and licking it softly, finally getting a taste of his salty essence.

A deep groan left Miguel’s lips, his body jerking in his sleep causing you to halt. You looked up at him, your hand still wrapped around his cock as you studied his pleasured face. It wasn’t long before deep snores filled the room once more, his body settling upon the bed.

You smiled, continuing your work at satisfying your lover and sucking his cock passionately. Your tongue licked up and down his shaft, running only the valley of veins of his base to circle the crown of his tip. You enjoyed how even in sleep, he shuddered at your touch.

Upon rising to his tip, you buried his member deep into your mouth, feeling his head touch the back of your throat. You gagged, eyes beginning to water up as you pulled away to catch your breath, saliva, and pre-cum soaking your chin, but you didn’t care.

You were blinded by your lover, driven by the need to satisfy him and yourself. Hastily, you returned, savoring the feeling and taste of your lover’s shaft on your lips and tongue, a sensation you haven’t had in so long.

You moaned softly, rambling nonsense whilst stuffing your mouth repeatedly with his length, sucking and choking on his cock. Miguel’s soft grunts and groans filled the room with every flick of your tongue and suction of your lips on his shaft, the sounds only urging you to do more.

You stroked him with one hand, slurping and lapping at his length as your other hand slipped into your panties. Your eyes fluttered when your fingers found your sensitive bud, circling it and moaning around his cock. “So good, Miguel. Gosh~ You taste so good.” You babbled breathlessly, your wetness coating your fingers while you pleased yourself.

You whined, bobbing your head along his cock and swirling your tongue around his tip. His grunts of pleasure becoming more louder and consistent the more you pleased him.

But the longer you fingered yourself and sucked his cock, the more careless you became.

The drunkenness of the pleasure caused the thought of not wanting to wake Miguel to rush to the back of your mind. He felt so good, tasted even better, and your fingers flicking and rubbing your throbbing bud was only the cherry on top.

You moaned loudly, gripping his cock tightly as you wiggled a finger into your drenched entrance. You whimpered, sucking his tip once more and thrusting your finger in and out of yourself, enjoying the sweet friction you were creating inside...

“Fuck...”

Miguel drowsily groaned, your eyes widening at the slurred words. You hastily glanced over at him to see he was still asleep, snores soon passing his lips soon after.

You breathed a sigh of relief, mentally facepalming yourself at being so negligent but unable to resist the spell that washed over you at the sight of his very saturated cock.

It only drew you again.

You engulfed his member in your warm mouth, sucking his thick manhood and discarding your own pleasure to use two hands to stroke him. With closed eyes, you relished the moment, tracing every vein with your tongue once, twice, thrice until it was engraved into your head like writing upon a stone.

“Nngh…Mierda.”

Another whimper escaped your lover’s lips, in his state of repose, but the words only became background noises to your loud slurps and squelches of your throat. “Fuckkk, so big. I-I missed this.” You babbled, moaning and gasping for air when you felt his cock throb inside of your mouth.

You pulled away, watching beads of pre-cum dripping down his base and his abs tightly clench.

He was close, you could feel it.

You caught your breath, your lips and chin still coated in your mixed essences. With hungry eyes, you took in your boyfriend, every muscle in his chest clenching and unclenching, his incessant groans that left his lips and his member that throbbed horribly.

Blinded, you climbed into his lap, his solid thighs easily holding you. His cock brushed against your gown, smearing its thick layers of saliva and pre-cum onto the fabric.

You bit your lip, pushing your damp panties to the side and lifting your hips. You placed a hand on his hard chest, and took his cock in your other, brushing his tip along your drenched folds. You moaned at the feeling soon lowering yourself onto him.

Your soppy walls instantly sucked him in while the satisfying feeling of fulfillment overwhelmed your being. Tingles spread through you whilst deep whines left your lover’s lips.

You looked up at him, his face contorted in a look of pleasure as his hand instinctively landed on your waist. You hummed at the touch, beginning to roll your hips. With each grind, his cock buried deeper inside of you, taking the air from your lungs.

At your movements, his breathing began to quicken, his eyebrows knitting together tightly as a guttural groan left his lips. Your eyes rolled, his load shooting inside of your walls, painting and filling you up completely. The warmth and intensity making you shudder and release after him. Your body trembling horribly as you held your loud moans back with a harsh bite of your bottom lip.

Once you regained your senses, you lifted your hips, releasing his cock as his creamy essence slipped out of your entrance, eyes fluttering at the sensation.

After catching your breath, you took the blankets in your hands, covering both of your bodies. Exhaustion instantly crashed into you upon your contentment and satisfaction. The lust and need were gone and Miguel was relieved.

You couldn't be happier.

Sleep soon overtook you as you snuggled into your lover’s chest, his breathing settling after his release and lulling you to sleep.

The next day, Miguel’s eyes fluttered open. The Saturday morning sun shining into your window and illuminating the bedroom. Miguel oddly felt relaxed, completely refreshed like a free-flowing river after being burdened with ice.

He heaved a relieved sigh when he noticed the warmth that lay upon his chest. He glanced down to see you snuggled up against him, soft snores passing your lips. He smiled, running his thick fingers through your hair, slowly waking you.

You looked up at him with drowsy eyes, giving him a warm smile. “Good morning.” You whispered, the night previous feeling like a dream, but the lingering sensation of being full could still be felt in your core.

“Good morning, amor” He replied, pressing a kiss to your head, your body instantly melting at his affection. “How do you feel?” You asked him, a fanged smile spreading across his tanned lips. “Oddly, I feel rejuvenated.” He chuckled. You grinned, a small blush spreading across your cheeks at your words.

“I’m glad. My top priority is to make sure you are satisfied and most importantly…

Stress-free.”

You said in a suggestive tone, one that your lover instantly picked up on. His crimson eyes wandered your face in thought when his bushy eyebrows rose. “Ah, did you have something to do with this?” He inquired, your boyfriend's intuition always being spot on. You bit your lip, flashing him a sly grin. “Maybe…” You trailed off.

Miguel cocked his head at you, finally noticing his change in attire and that he was now bare, completely different from when he crashed the previous night. Along with the change, he was beginning to notice a potent scent of your shared arousals, a smell only he knew due to his heightened senses. His smirk broadened at the realization.

“I see…” He smirked, catching on to the little fun you got to have with him last night. You blushed, a little embarrassed as he shook his head. “Mami, no need to get flustered on me now.” He teased before suddenly flipping you over.

A gasp escaped your lips followed by a laugh when you found yourself under him on your bed. He held his body over you, your being much smaller compared to his massive form. His crimson eyes held amusement in them at the sight of your laughter. Miguel looked down to your lips and back up at you, his tanned ones parting.

He didn’t say another word, only devouring your mouth with his own. His suddenness surprised you but instantly made you melt into him. You cupped his face in your hands, hungrily matching his intensity.

Miguel overwhelmed and intoxicated you, engulfing you in his burly arms as your lips clashed in a combination of teeth and tongue. “Had some fun, huh?” He growled between the passionate exchange of kisses. You moaned against his mouth, humming in agreement.

He smirked, continuing to messily ravage your mouth and roam his hands down your body. “I've been neglecting my baby, hm?” He groaned, squeezing your soft flesh through the fabric of your gown. “That's why you did it? You missed me, mi amor?” He inquired breathlessly in a hoarse voice through kisses and firm caresses on your body.

You moaned at his touch, nodding at his question of longing. The familiar feeling of need sprouted through your body the more he spoke, kissed, and ran his hands along your being.

He pecked your lips one last time before pulling away, the intensity of the kiss leaving you in a daze. You looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, his skin seeming to be more radiate than ever. His crimson eyes met yours, blown with lust as a fanged smirk spread across his puffy tanned lips.

“You’ve had your fun, amor. Now it’s my turn…”

A/N: Thanks so much for reading my oneshot! Shoutout to the wonderful anon who gave me the request, I hope you enjoyed it!

Make sure to like, comment, reblog, and follow! Don't hesitate to request or message me for any ideas or if you'll just like to chat! Love talking with you guys. ❤️❤️

<3 Taglist:

@oscarissac2099 @powerful-niya @szapizzapanda @mcmiracles @mreowmoreww @thedevax @jadeloverxd @lazyotakuofficial @migueloharacumslut @nattywattyy @homewreckingwreck @kinkybandages @prazinos

#miguel o'hara #spider man 2099 #across the spiderverse #the blue panther #miguel ohara #miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel smut #miguel x fem!reader #miguel o hara #atsv miguel #miguel atsv #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel x reader #miguel x y/n #spiderman 2099 #astv miguel #spiderman 2099 x reader

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amethystarachnid · 9 days ago

Text

THE ROYAL LOVERS - part 2

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 9k

ᯓ★ Summary: you and Loki are going to be parents, when you discovered it you were more than happy, but once little Astrid is born you realize that having a kid is more difficult than you had thought

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think

ᯓ★ Part 1

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The morning feels different. There’s a strange flutter in your chest, an unexplainable lightness despite the weight of realization settling in your mind. You sit at the edge of the bed, staring at your hands, your thoughts spinning. It’s been weeks—weeks since you last bled.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. With the chaos of court life, your duties, and your shared moments with Loki, it had been easy to overlook. But now, as you count the days in your head, as the truth sinks in, you feel something bubbling inside you—something warm and exhilarating.

You’re pregnant.

The thought sends a rush of excitement through you, but along with it comes a nervous thrill. This is real. You place a hand on your stomach, trying to fathom the idea that life—his life and your life—is growing inside of you.

Loki.

A smile tugs at your lips as you imagine telling him. He will be overjoyed, you’re sure of it. For all his sharp wit and composed demeanor, you know the depth of his emotions—how fiercely he loves, how much he craves the kind of family he never quite felt he had. This will change everything.

With renewed excitement, you rise from the bed and quickly dress, practically floating as you make your way through the palace halls in search of your husband.

You find Loki in the library, curled up in his favorite chair, reading some ancient Asgardian text. The early morning light filters through the tall windows, illuminating his sharp features, making his black hair gleam. His long fingers rest lightly against his temple as he turns a page with his free hand, completely engrossed.

You pause for a moment, just watching him. How is it possible to love someone this much?

Then, unable to contain yourself, you clear your throat dramatically.

“Good morning, my prince.”

Loki looks up, raising an eyebrow at your playful tone. “You seem… unusually chipper this morning,” he remarks, closing his book with a soft thud.

You grin, stepping closer. “I have something to tell you.”

There’s something in your expression, in the energy of your stance, that makes him straighten. His piercing green eyes lock onto yours, searching for a clue. “Oh?” he says, tilting his head. “Should I be concerned or intrigued?”

You pretend to ponder for a moment before stepping right in front of him, placing his hands on your waist. His touch is warm even through the fabric of your dress, grounding you.

“You should be excited,” you whisper, unable to hide the smile threatening to break across your face.

Loki frowns slightly, his mind already working through possibilities. You can practically see him trying to deduce what could be making you act this way. But then his eyes flicker down—to your stomach.

He stills. His hands tighten on your waist, his breath catching.

“Y/N…”

You nod before he even finishes his thought. “I’m pregnant, Loki.”

For a long moment, there’s only silence. You watch as the emotions flicker across his face—shock, realization, disbelief. And then, as if the dam breaks, pure, unfiltered joy floods his expression.

“You—are you certain?” His voice is almost breathless.

You nod again, laughing softly. “Yes. I missed my blood, and I feel different. It’s happening, Loki.”

And then, before you can say another word, he laughs. A real, genuine, beautiful laugh—so full of wonder and elation that it makes your heart swell. In one swift movement, he pulls you into his arms, lifting you off the ground as he spins you in a circle.

“You mad, wonderful woman!” he exclaims, his laughter vibrating against your skin as he presses his forehead to yours. “You carry our child.”

There’s something so raw, so vulnerable in his joy that it almost brings tears to your eyes. You cup his face, tracing his cheekbones with your thumbs.

“Yes, my love,” you whisper. “Our child.”

He kisses you then, fervently, as if he’s trying to pour every ounce of his love into that single moment. When he finally pulls back, his eyes are bright, filled with something indescribable.

“We must tell Mother,” he says at once, grinning. “And Thor. And…” He hesitates. “And Father.”

You nod, squeezing his hands. “Yes. But I think we should tell Frigga first.”

Frigga is in the royal gardens when you find her, tending to the blooming flowers with her usual serene grace. The moment she sees you both approaching, she knows something is different. Her sharp eyes dart between you and Loki, her lips twitching as if she already suspects the truth.

“Well,” she says lightly, brushing the dirt from her hands, “you both look positively radiant. Have you come to share some good news?”

Loki smirks, shaking his head. “Mother, you always know everything before we even say a word. It’s truly unfair.”

Frigga chuckles, stepping closer. “A mother knows her children.” She pauses, searching Loki’s face, then yours. And then her eyes widen ever so slightly. “Wait…”

You take a deep breath, squeezing Loki’s hand. “We’re having a child.”

For a moment, she simply stares. Then, in the blink of an eye, her face breaks into a radiant smile, and she laughs—a joyous, melodic sound that echoes through the garden.

“Oh, my sweet ones!” she exclaims, pulling you into a tight embrace before immediately turning to Loki and cradling his face in her hands. “A child! My grandchild! Oh, this is wonderful!”

Loki chuckles, though his eyes are soft with affection. “You are pleased, then?”

“Pleased?” Frigga scoffs. “Loki, I am overjoyed.”

She steps back, beaming. “Oh, I must prepare! There will be so much to do! And have you told Thor yet?”

Loki shakes his head. “Not yet, but I suspect his reaction will be equally dramatic.”

Thor’s reaction, as expected, is nothing short of thunderous.

When you find him in the training grounds and deliver the news, his joyful roar can probably be heard all the way in Midgard. He immediately engulfs both you and Loki in an enthusiastic embrace, nearly crushing you.

“This is magnificent!” he bellows, grinning from ear to ear. “A little one in the family! Oh, I shall be the best uncle Asgard has ever seen!”

Loki rolls his eyes, but his smirk betrays his amusement. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, brother.”

But Thor isn’t listening. He’s already ranting about how he’ll teach the child to wield a sword, how he’ll take them on adventures, how he’ll ensure they are the most beloved royal in all the realms.

You exchange a knowing look with Loki, and despite his usual exasperation with Thor, you see the affection there—the quiet gratitude that, for once, something truly belongs to him.

Telling Odin is the last step, and the most daunting.

He listens in silence as Loki delivers the news, his expression unreadable. For a long, unbearable moment, he says nothing. Then, finally, he nods.

“This is a great responsibility,” he says, his voice measured. “One I trust you both will bear well.”

It’s not the warmest reaction, but it’s not disapproval either. And from Odin, that’s as close to a blessing as one can expect.

Still, when you leave the throne room, Frigga is waiting outside, and the warmth in her eyes makes up for any lack of enthusiasm from Odin.

That night, as you lay in bed with Loki, his hand resting protectively over your stomach, you realize that this—this—is everything. A family. A future. A love that was never expected but now feels inevitable.

And as Loki presses a soft kiss to your temple, whispering promises to you and the child growing inside you, you know that the best is yet to come.

Time passes, and with each passing day, your belly grows, a visible testament to the life blossoming inside you. It is a sight that has Loki utterly, completely captivated.

At first, his fascination is subtle—his hands lingering on your stomach longer than necessary, his gaze constantly drawn to the curve of it when he thinks you aren’t looking. But soon, all subtlety is abandoned.

Loki becomes obsessed.

Any moment he can, his hands are on you—palming the swell of your belly, tracing idle patterns across your skin, murmuring to the baby with a voice so soft and reverent that it makes your heart ache. He presses kisses to your stomach constantly, sometimes speaking in the All-Tongue, whispering things only your child can hear. You don’t even have to say anything anymore; the moment you shift in discomfort, he is at your side, hands ghosting over your form, making sure you are well.

And then there’s the protectiveness.

It starts small. A firm hand on your lower back whenever you walk together, guiding you carefully through the palace halls. An unreadable look directed at anyone who dares get too close. A subtle clearing of his throat when someone asks too many questions about the baby, as if to remind them whose child you are carrying.

But soon, much like his obsession, Loki’s protectiveness grows.

One afternoon, you reach down to pick up something from the floor—a simple task, nothing strenuous—and before you can even grasp it, Loki appears out of nowhere, snatching it up before you can bend further.

“Absolutely not,” he says flatly, handing it to you as if it weighs a hundred pounds.

You raise an eyebrow. “It was a handkerchief, Loki.”

He doesn’t even blink. “And what if you had lost your balance? Fallen? Hurt yourself?”

You stare at him. “I am pregnant, not made of glass.”

But Loki only narrows his eyes. “As far as I am concerned, they are one and the same.”

And then there are the Asgardians.

The news of your pregnancy spreads through the realm like wildfire, and the reaction is immediate. Asgard is ecstatic. The streets erupt into celebrations, the people eagerly anticipating the arrival of their future prince or princess. Feasts are held in your honor, songs composed about the child who will inherit both your strength and Loki’s cunning. Children play in the streets, pretending to be the young heir of Asgard, already crafting wild tales of what they will be like.

But of course, Loki’s protectiveness extends to them as well.

You cannot take more than a few steps outside the palace without being swarmed by eager well-wishers, and though their joy is infectious, Loki is constantly watching them like a hawk, his hand never leaving yours.

The first time someone—an enthusiastic old woman—reaches out to touch your belly without permission, Loki’s expression darkens. His fingers tighten around yours, and his voice drops to a dangerously smooth warning:

“I would advise against that.”

The poor woman nearly faints on the spot.

You spend the next ten minutes reassuring both her and your husband that no harm was done, though Loki remains suspicious. After that, any Asgardian who dares approach you with hands outstretched learns very quickly that they must ask first.

And yet, for all his overprotectiveness, you know it comes from a place of love.

At night, when it is just the two of you, he is softer. He lays beside you, his hand resting over your belly, his long fingers splayed across your skin as if he still cannot believe this is real. He whispers to the baby, voice laced with wonder, making promises he would never dare utter aloud in the light of day.

“You will be safe,” he murmurs one evening, his lips brushing against your stomach. “I will make sure of it. No harm will ever come to you, or to your mother.”

His eyes flicker up to yours, and something in his expression makes your breath catch. It is rare to see Loki so openly vulnerable, but here, in the quiet sanctuary of your chambers, he allows it.

You reach down, threading your fingers through his hair. “We will protect them together,” you say softly. “As a family.”

Loki exhales, pressing another kiss to your belly before shifting up to capture your lips in a slow, lingering kiss.

And as you fall asleep in his arms, his hand never leaving your stomach, you know that no matter what comes next, you will never be alone.

Telling your family is the final step in making this all feel real.

The journey back to your kingdom is not long, but Loki insists on accompanying you. “You are with child,” he says when you raise an eyebrow at his concern. “I will not allow you to make this journey alone.”

“I have guards, and I am perfectly capable—”

“You have me,” Loki interjects smoothly, offering his hand. “That is all you need.”

You roll your eyes, but there is no real irritation behind it. The truth is, you are grateful for his presence. And when you arrive at your childhood home, stepping through the familiar halls, you feel the warmth of nostalgia settle over you.

Your father is the first to greet you, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you and Loki. “My daughter,” he says fondly before his gaze shifts, scanning you more carefully. A frown flickers across his features. “You look… different.”

Your mother tilts her head, sharp as ever. “Yes,” she agrees, a slow smile forming. “There is a glow about you.”

You exchange a glance with Loki, who gives you a small nod. Taking a deep breath, you reach for his hand and guide it to rest over your growing belly.

“We have come with news,” you say, your voice filled with quiet excitement. “Loki and I are expecting a child.”

For a moment, silence. And then—

Laughter. Cheers. Tears.

Your mother gasps, covering her mouth with her hands as her eyes shine with emotion. Your father’s proud laughter fills the room as he steps forward, clasping Loki’s shoulder in a rare display of affection. Your siblings (if you have any) immediately bombard you with questions—when is the baby due? Will they have your eyes or Loki’s? Can they teach the child tricks?

The celebration lasts for hours. Feasts are prepared, and your family ensures that Loki feels just as welcome as you do. For all his sharp wit and cool demeanor, he cannot hide the way his lips twitch upward at their excitement.

“You are truly happy,” he murmurs later, when it is just the two of you watching the stars from the balcony.

You turn to him, lacing your fingers with his. “Because I have you. And soon, we will have our child.”

Loki presses a kiss to your forehead. “Yes,” he murmurs. “Soon.”

The months pass swiftly.

Your belly swells with each passing week, and Loki remains as obsessed—and as protective—as ever. He insists on helping you with everything, from getting out of bed to ensuring you never so much as lift a finger. At first, you try to resist, but soon you realize it is easier to let him fuss than to argue with him.

And then, finally, the ninth month arrives.

The baby could come any day now.

The Asgardian healers constantly check on you, assuring Loki that everything is progressing as it should. But he still hovers. Every night, as you settle into bed, he keeps his hands on your belly, murmuring softly to your child, making sure you are both safe.

And then, one night, the moment arrives.

It begins with a sharp, sudden pain that rips you from sleep. For a moment, you think it is another one of the usual discomforts that come with pregnancy, but then the pain intensifies, and a low, involuntary moan escapes your lips.

Loki, ever the light sleeper, is at your side in an instant.

“Y/N?” His voice is thick with sleep, but the concern in his eyes is immediate. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

You clutch his arm, your breath shallow. “Loki… I think…” You wince as another wave of pain crashes through you. “I think it’s time.”

There is a beat of silence as Loki processes your words.

And then—

“It’s time?!”

He practically leaps from the bed, shouting for Frigga before you can even finish nodding. Within minutes, the entire palace is awake.

Frigga arrives swiftly, her expression calm but focused. The royal healers and several experienced women of the court follow close behind, ready to assist. Loki, however, is the opposite of calm. He paces restlessly, wringing his hands as he mutters to himself.

“Loki,” Frigga says firmly, placing a hand on his arm. “She will be fine. But you must be strong for her.”

Loki swallows hard, nodding quickly before rushing back to your side.

You grip his hand tightly as another contraction tears through you, a strangled groan escaping your lips. “Loki,” you pant, your face contorted in pain. “You’re crushing my fingers.”

He immediately loosens his grip, though his expression remains tense. “Apologies, my love,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But you must squeeze as hard as you need.”

The hours drag on. The pain is unbearable, but you refuse to let go of Loki’s hand. He is your anchor, murmuring soft reassurances, brushing damp hair from your face, kissing your knuckles between contractions.

“Almost there,” Frigga soothes, her hands steady as she guides the process. “You are doing beautifully, my dear.”

Loki watches you with an expression unlike anything you have ever seen before. Awe. Fear. Love.

And then—

A final, agonizing push.

A sharp, piercing cry fills the chamber.

And just like that, everything else fades away.

For a moment, there is only silence, only the rush of relief as you collapse back against the pillows, chest heaving.

Then, through your haze of exhaustion, you hear Frigga’s gentle voice. “A daughter,” she announces warmly, carefully swaddling the tiny bundle in her arms. “You have a daughter.”

Loki makes a choked sound, his grip on your hand tightening.

A daughter.

Frigga steps forward, cradling the small, squirming infant before gently placing her into your waiting arms.

The moment you see her—your breath catches.

She is perfect.

Tiny, delicate, with soft tufts of dark hair and round, pink cheeks. When her eyes flutter open, they are a brilliant shade of green, so much like her father’s that your heart clenches.

Loki is utterly still beside you, staring down at the baby with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“She is…” His voice breaks. He swallows, reaching out with trembling fingers to trace the curve of her tiny hand. “She is ours.”

Tears prick your eyes as you watch him. “Yes, Loki,” you whisper. “She is.”

The baby lets out a tiny whimper, her small fingers curling around Loki’s. His breath shudders, and before he can stop them, silent tears slip down his cheeks.

Frigga smiles knowingly, brushing a soft kiss against your temple. “Have you chosen a name?”

You and Loki exchange a glance. You had discussed possibilities before, but now, looking at her, only one name feels right.

“Astrid,” you whisper.

Loki exhales shakily, nodding as he presses a reverent kiss to her forehead. “Our little star,” he murmurs.

The room is filled with quiet joy, the soft coos of your newborn daughter, the lingering warmth of family surrounding you.

And as you rest your head against Loki’s shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath, you know without a doubt—

This is the beginning of something truly beautiful.

The first day of having Astrid is nothing short of overwhelming.

You wake to the soft cry of your newborn daughter, the sound piercing through the peaceful silence of the early morning. For a moment, you lay there in a daze, your mind still half-drifting in sleep as you listen to her cries. And then—

“Loki,” you whisper, your voice hoarse from the exhaustion of childbirth. “It’s time.”

Loki is beside you in an instant, his dark eyes wide with the same mixture of awe and terror that had been present when he first held her. “I know,” he mutters, running a hand through his already messy hair. “I heard her.”

Your little princess, only hours old, already has an impressive set of lungs. And when Loki carefully takes her into his arms, it’s as if she senses the opportunity to assert her will. Her tiny fists wave in the air, and her cries grow louder, sharper. Loki looks at her, wide-eyed, as if trying to figure out what to do next.

“She’s… she’s hungry, isn’t she?” Loki asks, his voice a little strained, as he shifts Astrid in his arms.

“I think so,” you reply with a yawn, sitting up. You’ve already fed her once before falling asleep, but newborns have a tendency to be demanding. “Let me try.”

You shift to pull Astrid closer, your hands shaking slightly as you reach for her. But as soon as she’s near, the crying only intensifies, her little face scrunching up in outrage.

Loki watches with wide eyes as Astrid wails, his face almost as concerned as hers. “Is she always this loud?”

“Apparently,” you say, trying to soothe her with gentle rocking. You glance up at Loki, unable to hide the faintest chuckle from your voice. “She’s already a menace, and she’s barely a day old.”

Loki frowns, but the corner of his lips twitches upward. “She is definitely your daughter.”

Despite your tiredness, you can’t help but laugh at that, a sound that feels strange after hours of intense labor. But the sound of your laughter calms Astrid down just enough for her to stop crying, and she latches onto your chest, beginning to nurse.

Loki stands by your side, looking down at both of you. “She is… so tiny,” he murmurs, his voice soft. He reaches out, brushing his fingers over her small head, his touch gentle. “And already so… demanding.”

“You’ll get used to it,” you say, your voice fond as you continue feeding Astrid. “She’s not going to let you off easy.”

Loki leans over and presses a kiss to your forehead. “I don’t mind,” he says, his voice quiet. “I will do anything for her.”

By mid-morning, it’s clear that your daughter has no plans of giving you and Loki a moment of peace.

Astrid refuses to sleep for long stretches, waking every hour or so to cry, demanding attention and comfort. Loki does his best to calm her, pacing the room with her in his arms, swaying gently as he tries everything in his power to soothe her. But nothing seems to work. The moment he sits down, she lets out another loud cry, and he’s back on his feet, bouncing her lightly, his voice low and soothing.

You watch him, amused and exhausted. “I told you,” you murmur, your eyes barely staying open as you sit up in bed, one hand cradling your daughter. “She’s a menace.”

Loki glares playfully at you. “I thought you said I’d have time to adjust to fatherhood.”

“I did,” you say with a grin. “But you’re learning very quickly, aren’t you?”

Loki sighs, but there’s a warmth in his expression, a tenderness that softens the usual sharpness of his features. “It seems as though she has no intention of allowing us any rest.”

You chuckle softly. “I’m afraid that’s true. But at least she’s ours.”

Loki looks down at Astrid, his expression filled with something unrecognizable—a mixture of pride, love, and the tiniest bit of fear. “She is.”

Just then, Astrid lets out another wail, her tiny face turning bright red as she starts to squirm in your arms.

Loki immediately springs into action. “I’ll take her,” he says quickly, leaning over and gently lifting her from your arms. He starts to pace again, his movements more frantic now. “What is it this time? Are you hungry again? Tired? Do you need—”

You smile at the sight of him. “She’s probably just gassy,” you say, trying to suppress a laugh.

Loki stops mid-pace, his eyes wide. “Gassy? How can something so small… be so loud?”

“She’s just working through it,” you say, leaning back into your pillows. “It happens. Trust me, you’ll get used to it.”

But Loki, despite the chaos, is calm, his touch gentle as he tries to settle her. He even starts humming softly, a tune you’ve never heard before, something low and soothing, just for her. Slowly, her crying begins to quiet.

“You’re a natural,” you murmur, eyes half-closed as you watch him.

Loki turns to look at you, a proud but weary smile curling at his lips. “Perhaps I am.”

The rest of the day is no less chaotic.

Astrid refuses to sleep for long periods, waking up every time you think you’ve finally managed to settle her. Loki continues to dote on her, but his patience is beginning to show the first cracks.

At one point, he carries her to you, his brow furrowed as if he’s at a loss. “I’ve tried everything,” he says. “She just won’t stop crying. What do we do now?”

You reach for Astrid, who, as if sensing her father’s distress, quiets immediately. You smile softly. “She likes to be close to me.”

Loki looks at you, then at her, his mouth pressing into a thin line. “And how do I fit into this equation?”

You chuckle as you rock Astrid gently. “You’ll have your turn, don’t worry. Right now, she just wants her mother.”

Loki crosses his arms, a bit put-out but not truly offended. “I suppose this is my life now,” he mutters. “Just… this.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound light and carefree. “Oh, Loki. Don’t worry, you’ll be her favorite once she can talk.”

Loki’s eyes brighten slightly at that. “Really?”

You nod. “Really. And until then, you just need to be patient.”

“I am not used to patience,” Loki grumbles, but the corner of his lips twitches upward.

And so, the day passes—Astrid crying, then sleeping, then crying again. You and Loki barely have time to eat, let alone rest. But through it all, there is love. It is in every glance Loki gives you, every moment he spends with their daughter, every soft touch as he watches her sleep in his arms.

By nightfall, you are both completely exhausted. Loki collapses into the chair beside your bed, his eyes drooping, but he doesn’t stop staring at Astrid. You see the soft smile on his face, the way he still touches her with such reverence.

“I think,” you say, your voice heavy with sleep, “we’re going to have a long journey ahead of us.”

Loki sighs deeply, his head tilting back as he exhales slowly. “Yes,” he agrees, “but she’s worth it.”

You smile, your eyelids fluttering as the exhaustion finally catches up to you. “She is.”

And as you drift off to sleep, you can hear Loki’s soft humming once more, as if he’s trying to lull both you and Astrid into peaceful slumber. The chaos of the day fades away, leaving only the warmth of your family, together at last.

Astrid’s first steps are as monumental as they are unexpected.

One moment, she’s sitting on the floor, her little body teetering and swaying as she studies the world around her. And the next, she’s pushing herself up onto her feet, her tiny hands bracing against the soft rug beneath her. You and Loki exchange a glance across the room, both of you holding your breath as your daughter wobbles unsteadily, her eyes wide and focused.

Loki is on his feet immediately, ready to rush over to her if needed, but you gently take his arm to stop him. “Let her try,” you say, your voice a mixture of amusement and awe.

And try she does. Astrid takes her first shaky step, then another. Her arms flail out to her sides as she finds her balance, her legs trembling with the effort. For a brief moment, it seems like she’s going to fall, but then she straightens herself again, her tiny feet finding their way one after the other.

Loki gasps. “She’s walking,” he says, his voice full of disbelief.

You nod, a proud smile tugging at your lips. “She is.”

Astrid takes a few more steps, a grin spreading across her face as she realizes she’s doing something new, something important. You can see it in her eyes—a spark of excitement, the thrill of accomplishment.

But before she can get too far, she wobbles again, her balance faltering. With a soft thud, she sits down on the floor, her little legs splayed out beneath her.

You can’t help but laugh, a sound that makes Loki’s lips curl up in amusement. “She’s still getting the hang of it,” you say.

Loki shakes his head, his eyes glistening with something akin to wonder. “She’s so… so small.”

You approach her, crouching down as you offer her your hand. “You did great, sweetheart.”

Astrid looks up at you, her face lighting up with pride. She reaches out for your hand, her little fingers grasping at it.

Loki kneels beside you, his hand hovering just inches away from Astrid, clearly unsure whether he should pick her up or wait for her to reach him. But then, in the most unexpected of moments, she looks up at him, her expression intense.

“Dada,” she says, the word as clear as day.

Loki’s breath catches in his throat, his heart skipping a beat. For a moment, he just stares at her, frozen.

“Did she…?” you ask, unable to hide the surprise from your voice.

Loki, eyes wide and glassy, nods, though his lips are trembling. “She said it,” he breathes. “She said dada.”

Tears well up in his eyes, and you reach out to steady him as he kneels beside Astrid. He doesn’t speak for a long moment, his gaze fixated on her as if trying to comprehend what just happened.

“I never thought I’d hear it,” Loki whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “Dada.”

You press your hand to his back, offering him the comfort you know he needs. You’ve always known how much this moment would mean to him. It’s a sign—of everything he’s done, everything he’s become.

Astrid, still looking at him with innocent curiosity, giggles softly, oblivious to the profound effect she’s had on her father. Loki lets out a shaky breath and smiles down at her, his fingers brushing through her hair in a tender gesture.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs to her. “My little girl. My daughter.”

The months pass by, and with them, Astrid grows more and more. You and Loki find yourselves in a blur of milestones, each one more amazing than the last.

Her first teeth arrive one morning, when she’s playing with her favorite rattle, her mouth slightly ajar. You notice a slight shift in her usual babbling, a new sound that doesn’t quite belong. You peer down at her, only to find the tiniest glint of white peeking out from her gums.

“Loki,” you call, your voice excited.

He looks up from where he’s sitting, absorbed in his own work. “What is it?”

“Her teeth,” you say, motioning toward Astrid. “She’s got her first tooth.”

Loki gets up quickly, his eyes immediately scanning Astrid’s mouth. Sure enough, a small tooth is visible, barely breaking through the gum.

“That’s…” Loki’s voice falters, his emotions once again taking him by surprise. “She’s getting so big. It’s happening too fast.”

You smile softly, touching his arm gently. “They grow up so quickly. But it’s all part of it.”

Loki watches Astrid with a mixture of pride and bittersweetness. “I didn’t expect to feel so… overwhelmed. She’s so little now, and yet she’s changing every day. Soon she’ll be walking, talking…”

You chuckle softly. “She’s already talking.”

He nods, his gaze softening. “Dada.”

It isn’t long before Astrid’s first words become a bit more varied. She learns “mama” a few weeks after “dada,” much to your delight. But it’s “kitty” that seems to catch everyone’s attention.

One morning, as Loki is playing with her, a small tabby cat walks through the room. Astrid’s eyes light up, and she reaches out toward it, babbling happily.

“Kitty!” she exclaims, her voice high-pitched and full of excitement.

You freeze, turning to Loki. “Did she just say…?”

Loki, equally stunned, nods. “She did. She said ‘kitty.’”

Astrid grins at the cat, who seems oblivious to her excitement. She crawls toward it, her little hands reaching out to pet the animal, but the cat darts out of her way, much to her frustration.

“Kitty!” she says again, more insistently this time.

Loki chuckles softly, leaning down to scoop her up. “She already has her preferences.”

You smile at the sight of them, your heart full. “She’s growing so quickly. I can’t believe it.”

“I’m not ready for her to grow up,” Loki admits, his voice quieter than usual. “It feels like I blinked, and now she’s… saying words.”

“You’re doing great,” you say, offering him a reassuring smile.

But as the days go by, Loki’s protectiveness only grows. He watches over Astrid as she becomes more and more mobile, her curiosity leading her to explore every nook and cranny of the palace. She begins walking more confidently, her steps less wobbly, and her balance improving.

You find yourself laughing at her antics as she toddles around, mimicking what she sees. The other day, she tried to grab Loki’s cup of wine and nearly toppled it over. The look of determination on her face was enough to make you and Loki both laugh, though the incident was quickly followed by a stern warning that, no, Astrid was not allowed to touch his wine.

But the more she grows, the more she becomes a handful. Her toddler years are filled with discovery, questions, and an unrelenting energy that exhausts you both. And through it all, Loki stands beside you, equally smitten and overwhelmed.

By the time Astrid is two, she’s a little whirlwind of curiosity and endless chatter. She repeats words constantly, stringing together simple sentences with the clarity of someone far older than her age.

But there are still moments when she surprises you both with the things she says.

One evening, as you’re putting Astrid to bed, she looks up at you with a serious expression.

“Mama, dada,” she says, her tiny hands clutching the edges of her blanket.

You smile softly, brushing a lock of hair away from her forehead. “Yes, sweetie?”

“Love,” she says, her voice quiet but firm. “Love you.”

Loki, standing in the doorway, watches the scene with an expression of complete wonder. His heart skips a beat as Astrid’s words settle into the air.

“Love you, too,” he says softly, stepping forward to kiss her forehead.

You smile at Loki, reaching out to take his hand. Together, the three of you share a quiet moment, surrounded by the soft glow of the evening light. Astrid may be growing quickly, but she’s still your baby, and no matter how big she gets, she’ll always have your love and your protection.

Life at the palace with a toddler princess is nothing short of an adventure—a whirlwind of giggles, mischief, and the constant patter of tiny feet echoing through the grand halls. Astrid, now two years old, has fully embraced her royal upbringing in the most chaotic way possible.

She is adored by the people of Asgard, worshipped as their little star, their future. But more than anyone, she has her uncle Thor completely wrapped around her tiny fingers.

Thor, mighty god of thunder, is utterly smitten with his niece. His formidable strength and commanding presence mean nothing in the face of Astrid’s wide green eyes and mischievous smile. The moment she reaches for him, he is at her service, scooping her up into his arms with ease, letting her tug at his beard, climb all over him, and even demand stories of his grandest battles—though, of course, they are censored for toddler ears.

“I struck down an entire army with Mjolnir,” Thor boasts one evening, bouncing Astrid on his knee as they sit in one of the grand sitting rooms. “And do you know what they did, little one?”

Astrid gasps, wide-eyed. “What?”

“They ran!” Thor declares, making exaggerated motions with his hands.

Astrid squeals in delight, clapping her hands. “Boom!”

“Yes, boom indeed!” Thor laughs, setting her down so she can reenact the scene with all the dramatic flair of a warrior-in-training.

Loki, standing nearby with his arms crossed, watches the interaction with an unimpressed expression. “Wonderful. Just what we need. A two-year-old believing she, too, can strike down an army.”

“She can,” Thor argues, grinning. “She has the blood of warriors in her veins!”

Loki groans, rubbing his temple. “You’re encouraging bad habits.”

“Thor is fun!” Astrid insists, wrapping her tiny arms around her uncle’s leg in a show of loyalty.

Loki rolls his eyes. “Yes, well, Thor isn’t the one who has to keep up with you when you decide to start wielding weapons in the halls.”

Astrid beams up at Loki, her expression full of mischief. “Dada fun?”

Loki falters. His daughter has an uncanny ability to turn his heart into mush with a single look. He clears his throat, pretending to be unaffected. “Dada is fun,” he concedes, though his lips twitch in amusement.

Thor throws his head back and laughs. “She has you completely under her spell, brother.”

Loki scowls, but he can’t deny the truth of it. He would give Astrid anything she asked for, even if he pretended otherwise.

But unlike Thor, Loki is also the one who is painfully aware of every possible danger that could befall his little girl. His protectiveness borders on paranoia—watching every step she takes, ensuring she is never too far from his reach. He inspects every meal she eats, every toy she plays with, every person who dares to interact with her for too long.

It’s almost ridiculous, and you are the only one who can keep him in check.

“She is fine, Loki,” you tell him one afternoon when he refuses to let Astrid run freely through the palace gardens without staying two feet behind her.

“She could fall,” he argues.

“She will fall,” you counter. “That’s what children do. And then she’ll get back up.”

Loki sighs, watching as Astrid toddles through the grass, her little hands reaching out to grab at flowers. His jaw tightens when she stumbles slightly, but when she immediately stands back up and keeps going, you nudge him gently.

“See?” you say. “She’s strong, just like her father.”

Loki exhales, shaking his head. “I just… I can’t help it. She is so small.”

“She won’t always be,” you say softly. “Let her be little while she still can.”

Loki glances at you then, and for a moment, something shifts in his expression. His gaze flickers down to your hands, resting over your stomach, and a memory washes over him—of you carrying Astrid before she was even born, your belly swollen with life, the quiet nights where he had spoken to her before she ever took her first breath.

And suddenly, he wants it again.

It happens more and more often now—these moments where he catches himself staring at you, at Astrid, and thinking I want another.

He doesn’t say it aloud, not yet, but the thought lingers in the back of his mind every time he sees you holding Astrid, every time she reaches for you with sleepy little arms, curling up against you like you are the safest place in the world.

One evening, he finds you sitting in Astrid’s room, rocking her in your arms as she dozes off. He stands in the doorway, watching the way you hum softly under your breath, your fingers tracing slow, soothing circles against her back. The sight is so achingly familiar—reminiscent of when you had carried her inside of you, when you had cradled her before she was even big enough to sit up on her own.

A strange warmth spreads through his chest, a longing that he doesn’t know how to put into words.

You notice him watching and smile softly. “She’s finally asleep,” you whisper.

Loki steps into the room, his movements careful and quiet. He leans down to brush a kiss against Astrid’s forehead before straightening to meet your gaze.

You tilt your head at him, sensing something in his expression. “What is it?”

Loki hesitates, then shakes his head. “Nothing,” he murmurs.

But when he reaches out to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek, the tenderness in his touch tells you otherwise. You don’t press him for answers—not yet. Instead, you lean into him, allowing the moment to stretch between you, filled with quiet understanding.

Later that night, when you’re lying in bed together, he pulls you close, his arms wrapping around you in a way that feels more desperate than usual. He doesn’t say it—doesn’t voice the thoughts swirling in his mind—but you can feel it in the way he holds you, in the way he presses soft kisses against your shoulder, lingering there like he’s trying to commit the moment to memory.

And though he doesn’t say it yet, you already know.

Loki wants another baby.

And deep down, you know you’re not opposed to the idea.

Loki doesn’t know why it’s so difficult to say the words.

He’s never been one to hesitate, never been one to stumble over his own desires. And yet, every time he looks at you, every time he watches you cradle Astrid in your arms, every time he sees her tiny hands clutching onto you as if you are her entire world—he can feel the words bubbling up in his throat, but they never quite make it past his lips.

It’s ridiculous, really. You are his wife. You are the mother of his child. And yet, for some reason, asking you for another child feels more daunting than anything he has ever faced.

But one evening, after an exhausting day of chasing after Astrid (who has apparently decided that she no longer requires sleep and will instead spend her time trying to climb every surface in the palace), he finally gathers the courage to bring it up.

You’re sitting in bed, rubbing your temples, looking like you are seconds away from collapsing into sleep when Loki clears his throat.

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

Loki hesitates for a fraction of a second before finally saying, “I want another child.”

Your hand freezes where it rests against your temple. You blink at him, eyes widening slightly. “I—what?”

Loki shifts uncomfortably, feeling oddly vulnerable. “I want another child,” he repeats, this time more firmly. “A sibling for Astrid.”

You stare at him, processing his words. Then, to his utter horror, you start laughing.

Loki scowls. “I fail to see what is so amusing about this.”

You shake your head, still chuckling. “Loki, have you met our daughter?” You gesture vaguely in the direction of Astrid’s room, where she is (hopefully) sleeping after a full day of causing chaos. “She is a menace.”

“She is two,” Loki argues.

“Exactly! And she already runs this palace like it’s hers.” You sigh, rubbing your face. “I mean, I do want another child, but are you sure we’re ready for that? Because last I checked, we can barely keep up with the one we have.”

Loki leans closer, his expression softening. “You do?”

You huff out a laugh. “Of course I do. But I’m just saying—”

“We’ll manage,” he insists. “We’ve done it before.”

You tilt your head at him. “Yes, but last time, Astrid wasn’t outside of me causing problems yet.”

Loki smirks. “So, you do admit she is a menace.”

You groan. “That’s not the point.”

Loki shrugs. “We will figure it out. I’m sure it won’t be that difficult.”

It is, in fact, very difficult.

The problem isn’t wanting another baby. The problem is having another baby when your current child refuses to allow you two a single moment alone together.

Astrid, despite her small size, has an uncanny ability to sense the exact moment you and Loki are about to have some time to yourselves and promptly decides that she desperately needs attention.

Every single time.

The moment Loki so much as touches your arm in that way, Astrid appears as if summoned by some ancient magic, demanding to be held, entertained, or carried around the palace like a tiny queen.

One night, after yet another failed attempt, Loki throws himself back onto the bed with an exasperated sigh. “This is absurd.”

You flop down beside him, equally frustrated. “Maybe we should explain to her that she needs to sleep in her own bed?”

Loki scoffs. “Oh, yes, because a two-year-old will surely listen to reason.”

You snort. “Okay, then what do you suggest?”

Loki groans, rubbing his face. “I don’t know. Perhaps we should leave her outside the door and simply refuse to open it.”

Unfortunately, he says this right as Astrid toddles into the room, clutching her stuffed animal.

She freezes, staring up at Loki with wide, betrayed eyes. “Dada?”

Loki immediately sits up. “I—”

Astrid’s lower lip trembles.

Your eyes widen in horror. “Oh, no.”

Astrid sniffs, her tiny face crumpling. “No leave me…”

Loki panics. “Astrid, no—”

But it’s too late. The wailing begins.

Loki stares, completely out of his depth, as his daughter throws herself onto the floor in the most dramatic display of devastation he has ever seen.

You immediately scoop her up, shushing her gently. “Sweetheart, no one is leaving you outside the door, I promise.”

Astrid clings to you, still sniffling, as she glares accusingly at Loki. “Dada mean.”

Loki sputters. “I was joking!”

Astrid is not convinced.

You shake your head at him. “This is your fault. You fix it.”

Loki sighs, reaching for his daughter. “Come here, my little terror.”

Astrid sniffles but allows him to take her, curling into his chest as he strokes her hair. “Dada loves you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Not leave me?” she asks, still wary.

“Never,” Loki says firmly. “You are far too troublesome for me to abandon now.”

Astrid sniffles again but finally relaxes, resting her head against him.

You shoot Loki a look. “Well done.”

Loki groans, leaning back against the pillows with Astrid still in his arms. “Remind me again why we want another one?”

You grin, settling beside him. “Because despite all this, we love her more than anything.”

Loki sighs. “That does sound like something I would say, doesn’t it?”

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “We’ll figure it out. Even if it means getting creative.”

Loki smirks. “I do excel at creativity.”

You roll your eyes. “Not that kind of creativity, Loki.”

Astrid mumbles something incoherent against his chest, already half asleep again.

Loki glances down at her and sighs, knowing full well that if he moves, she will wake up and the entire process will start all over again. He looks at you, raising an eyebrow. “So much for alone time.”

You snuggle into his side, resting your head against his shoulder. “There’s always tomorrow.”

Loki sighs dramatically. “Assuming she allows it.”

You grin. “She has to sleep sometime.”

Loki smirks. “Then we shall simply have to be faster.”

You laugh, nudging him playfully. “We’ll get there.”

And as the night settles around you, with Astrid sleeping peacefully between you, you know that, somehow, you always will.

It takes time, but eventually, the stars align.

Astrid, for once, does not burst into your chambers at an inopportune moment. The palace is calm, with no pressing matters dragging Loki away. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you and Loki have time to yourselves.

It’s been so long since you’ve had a moment like this—where it’s just the two of you, no toddler interrupting, no duties looming over your heads. And when Loki kisses you, when his hands skim your skin with the same reverence as they did years ago, you feel it down to your bones.

It’s only after some time has passed that you realize the truth.

The signs are subtle at first—the feeling of exhaustion that lingers even after a full night’s sleep, the way your body feels off in a way that’s difficult to explain. But then, your blood does not come, and suddenly, you know.

You don’t wait to tell Loki.

The moment you confirm it, you rush to find him, nearly colliding with a servant in your haste. Loki, ever perceptive, notices your excitement the second you burst into his study.

His eyebrows lift as he sets his book aside. “What is it?”

You barely contain your grin. “I’m pregnant.”

For a second, Loki just stares at you, as if he’s waiting for you to elaborate, as if he’s not quite certain he heard you correctly. Then, slowly, a grin spreads across his face.

“Again?” he breathes, pushing to his feet.

You nod, barely suppressing a laugh. “Yes, again.”

Loki crosses the room in an instant, sweeping you into his arms and spinning you around. You laugh as he buries his face against your neck, holding you tightly.

“You truly are remarkable,” he murmurs. “Another child?”

You hum, brushing a hand through his hair. “Another child.”

Telling your family and the court is easy. Frigga nearly weeps with joy, pressing both hands to her heart as she declares that this is the best news she has ever received. Thor clasps Loki’s shoulder with enough force to nearly knock him over, congratulating him with his usual boisterous enthusiasm. Even Odin, while far more reserved, offers his approval, though it is clear that it is Frigga who carries the true excitement for this new addition.

The celebrations that follow are grand, as they were with Astrid, with the people of Asgard rejoicing at the prospect of another royal child.

But there is one more person who needs to be told.

Astrid.

You and Loki wait for the right moment, deciding to tell her when she is relaxed and happy rather than when she is in the middle of one of her many dramatic fits. Eventually, you find your chance, with Astrid curled up between you both, playing with one of her stuffed toys.

Loki is the one who starts. “Astrid, darling, we have something to tell you.”

Astrid glances up at him, her tiny nose scrunching. “What?”

You exchange a glance with Loki before smiling at her. “You’re going to be a big sister.”

Astrid freezes, her fingers tightening around her toy. She blinks up at you both, processing your words. “A… a big sister?”

You nod. “That’s right.”

For a second, she says nothing. Then, to your absolute horror, her lower lip wobbles.

Loki stiffens. “Oh, no.”

Astrid’s voice is tiny when she speaks. “You don’t love me no more?”

Your heart shatters.

“Astrid, no!” You pull her onto your lap instantly, pressing kisses to her hair. “Sweetheart, we love you. So much. That will never change.”

Loki immediately follows suit, cupping her little face in his hands. “My love for you will only grow,” he assures her. “Just as it did when you were born.”

Astrid sniffles. “But—but now you have a new baby.”

You shake your head. “And we will love them just as much as we love you. But that doesn’t mean we love you less. You will always be our first, our little star.”

Loki nods firmly. “Nothing could ever take your place, Astrid. You are my heart.”

Astrid sniffles again, considering your words. Then, cautiously, she asks, “Can I still be a princess?”

Loki lets out a breath of relief. “Of course.”

Astrid looks down at her toy, processing everything. Then, suddenly, her eyes brighten. “Will the baby be my baby?”

You laugh. “Well, not quite. But you will be their big sister. You’ll get to help take care of them, and they will look up to you.”

Astrid’s little chest puffs up at that. “I’ll be a good big sister.”

Loki smirks. “Oh, I do not doubt it.”

Astrid wiggles excitedly in your lap. “Can I teach them stuff?”

You nod. “Of course, sweetheart.”

Her excitement grows. “Can I tell them stories?”

Loki chuckles. “Yes.”

Astrid gasps dramatically. “Can I be their queen?”

You and Loki exchange a look before you grin at her. “Let’s… start with big sister, and we’ll see from there.”

Astrid pouts for half a second before nodding. “Okay!”

And just like that, all of her fears seem to disappear.

Later that night, as she sleeps curled up between you both, Loki wraps an arm around you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I knew she would come around.”

You laugh softly. “I still can’t believe she thought we wouldn’t love her anymore.”

Loki exhales, tightening his hold on you. “She is young. But now, she knows. And she will be the most unbearably doting big sister imaginable.”

You hum, smiling as you look at your sleeping daughter. “You’re probably right.”

Loki shifts, his lips brushing against your shoulder. “And you,” he murmurs, “are carrying another miracle.”

You turn to face him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I couldn’t do it without you.”

Loki smirks. “Well, I certainly contributed, didn’t I?”

You roll your eyes, laughing against his lips. “Go to sleep, Loki.”

And as the night settles around you, you know that this, this growing family, this love that surrounds you, will always be enough.

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