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Sylvie has been training Loki in the ways of enchantment for years now. It’s a complex magic, and sometimes, when they’re wrapped around each other in their bed at night, he slips into her mind accidentally. He's surprised by what he finds there tonight.
Loki discovers himself in an overgrown field, in the shadow of a wisteria covered stone cottage, he spots Sylvie on a blanket, basking in the sun. A toothy smile conquers his face at the sight of her; his feet carry him toward her, as they always seem to do, but he stops dead in his tracks when he realizes she isn't alone. A small boy with shoulder length jet-black hair, dressed in fine Asgardian leather identical to his own, eats an apple slice on the blanket next to her. A tiny fair-haired toddler squirms across her legs with her chubby little fingers reaching out toward her brother's snack. Sylvie's round with another child not yet born. His child. He knows without a shadow of a doubt.
The children notice his presence and scream, "Papa!" His lean, six-foot-two frame, plunges to his knees purely on instinct, arms wide to catch the children who rush into his embrace. He nuzzles their soft baby fine hair, they both smell like Sylvie, and his heart feels like it might burst from his chest.
Content with this greeting, the two giggling children run off into the field to continue their fight over the piece of fruit.
Sylvie doesn’t look at him when she acknowledges his presence, " You caught me."
"What is this place, darling?"
"A fantasy. My fantasy. You've slipped into my head again, dear."
"Sorry about that. Still learning this magic. "
Loki takes a seat behind her on the blanket, she relaxes her back into his solid chest. He’s still trying to take it all in. This is not a place Loki would have expected Sylvie to create. It’s delicate in a way he doesn’t often she her in their daily lives. Even her clothing, a green maxi dress accented with daisies, covering her pregnant belly, is soft. His stomach flips in excitement and wonder at the thought that she can still surprise him after all these years.
"Do you come here often, love?" He’s almost afraid to ask. He knows this is a vulnerable corner of her mind or she would have shown it to him sooner, but he must understand what he’s seeing. He strokes her hair the way she likes in a soothing gesture. He can feel her relaxation deepen into him.
"More so recently.” She admits with a long sigh. “The war is over, we're finally free to make a life, plan a future.”
Her answer makes sense to him. They’d been running and fighting for so long neither of them had time to consider what would happen when the fight was over. "Is this what you want?" He asks, running his knuckles gently down her cheek.
"Maybe?” She responds, now turning to face him in his arms. “If it's something you'd consider. Wouldn't really work without you, would it?" She leans up and back to kiss him before he can answer.
The two turn back to watch the children playing in the grass in front of them. The small blonde on chunky, wobbly legs, and the raven-haired boy, continue their battle, now with wooden swords. While spitting images of himself and Sylvie, they also reminded him of his childhood with Thor. That would make him Odin in this scenario, a thought that sends a chill up his spine.
Loki worries his lip with his teeth. "Am I any good as a father?"
As if answering his question, the little boy, holding the apple slice far above his sister’s head, proudly claims his victory with a celebratory shout," I am son of Loki, God of Mischief, best papa in the nine realms!"
Sylvie giggles, "What do you think?"
"Odin wasn't very good. What if I'm no better?"
"You aren't Odin, my love."
Her words settle in his heart, and he squeezes her tighter to his chest. "Why have you never mentioned this place before?"
Sylvie is quiet for a beat, obviously contemplating her answer carefully, "Didn't want to get my hopes up, I guess. Besides, safer here, you know? I'm a good mom here. What if I'm bad at it out there."
He’s floored by her confession. How could she not see her own strengths? He pulls her chin to look back at him, "Sylvie, darling, you have never been bad at anything in your life. Motherhood will be no different."
Her eyes fly to his, she did not miss his certainty about her imminent motherhood. Without another word, he places his huge hand on her swollen stomach and leans down for another kiss.
Loki wakes up first. Just as they’d fallen asleep, they are still both lying on their sides facing each other, Sylvie’s forehead resting on his own. He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. All those thoughts and emotions from Sylvie’s mind flood into the forefront of his, and he is hard at the thought of making a child with her.
"Sylllvvviiieee," he whispers in a singsong tone, as he runs a hand up the side of her pantless leg.
"What are you doing?" Sylvie asks without opening her eyes, a slight smile growing across her face.
"Oh, I think you know what I'm doing."
He moves to slide his hand between her legs, but over her panties, and teases her with a single finger. She squirms and makes the satisfied humming sound Loki is particularly fond of. They kiss slowly and intentionally, while he toys with her wet cunt; her hands running through this silky hair, tighten every time he touches her swollen nub.
He pulls her panties down and off with an excited force behind his movement and returns his forehead to hers, pulling her somehow closer to him than before. Sylvie lifts her left leg over this hip and lets him slowly slide in. They remain on their sides, under the covers, and they are slow and quiet with their movements, like they're trying not to wake eavesdroppers with their secret sex. He has a hand on her back, under her threadbare “I Love NYC" t-shirt, steadying their slow rocking. As the pressure starts to build, Sylvie grabs the side of Loki's face, inches from her own, and they exchange breathy moans into each other's mouths in their strained silence.
When they cum it is long and hushed at first until they both explode and release their own thunderous groans of repressed desires into the room. Desire for love. Desire for family. Desire for home.
They don't say anything; neither of them feels the need to confirm or confront the obvious intimacy of the moment. They've had each other before, but never like this, with the intention to create new life, and the weight of the moment is obvious to both in one glance.
“I love you, Sylvie. Whatever happens, whatever our future brings, you will always be my home.”
Sylvie hugs him closer, nodding her head, and returns his sentiment with a smile and a whisper, “Home.”