#help me jane austen you're my only ho

[fandom-hyperfixation]

𝗗 𝗥 𝗘 𝗔 𝗠 𝗜 𝗡 𝗚

Summary: You had a dream but unfortunately there was a misunderstanding.

Characters: Valtor x Reader (she/her) / Bloom

Words: 1091

Warnings: Implied smut/Nsfw, some spice but nothing detailed. Cuddling with a friend. Secret relationship. Enemy to lovers. Kind of betrayal. (Please let me know if I should add anything)

A/n: Hey Ho. Well, this is only the second fandom for which I post fanfiction and I haven’t written for a while. And my native language is not English, so please forgive me for any mistakes and it was more of a spontaneous idea I had. Please just don’t expect a Jane Austen novel. (I'm not nervous, you are xD) Okay, I’ll stop talking now and just hope that at least one person will kind of enjoy this here. Have a great day/evening/night.

"Y/N! Hey, Y/N, wake up. You’re having a nightmare." The voice of bloom breaks through the wonderful dream you just had.

"Y/N, come on, please, you have to wake up, it’s all right, I’m here, it’s just a bad dream."

Confused, you slowely open your eyes but the second after you closed them again, blinded by the bright light of the lid lamp.

"Ugh," escapes your mouth while you press your face into the pillow.

"Y/N, finally! Everything is fine." Bloom’s deliberate calming words only add to your confusion. More carefully this time you turn your head to look at her.

The brightness lets small tears shimmer in your eyes, quickly you try to blink them away.

"What’s the matter?" you ask without really opening your mouth but Bloom understood you anyway.

She carefully puts a hand on your cheek, stroking a tear from your skin with her thumb. "Hey, don’t cry. Everything's okay, it was just a nightmare, don’t worry, Valtor’s not here."

Suddenly your eyes widen, "What? Valtor?" Your voice sounds nervous as you're pushing yourself up to sit, capturing her gaze with your own.

"Hey, I told you everything was okay. It was just a bad dream. You called Valtor’s name in your sleep, I can understand it, I often dream about him. But we’re with you, we protect each other, don’t worry."

The Guardian of the Dragon Flame moved closer to hug you. Still overwhelmed you let it happen, placing your head on her shoulder.

You can’t find the right words to get yourself out of this uncomfortable situation. And the only option you have is to play along and just agree.

You close your eyes, still not accustomed to the brightness and two more small tears roll over your cheeks, your chin and finally land on Bloom’s arm.

Your friend sighs, "Back a little, I can sleep next to you, maybe we’ll both dream better."

In your head you hear the laughing of the lord of evil. He's laughing at you for this situation. Gloatingly, teasingly.

You nod indecisively but at the same time shake your head to banish the magician from your thoughts, which rather ends in a strange circular movement.

The fairy lets you go and crawls behind you on the bed, patting on the mattress next to her and slowly you lie down.

With a snap, the light goes out. Bloom approaches you, wraps an arm around you before snuggling up to you.

You grab her hand to cross your fingers with hers.

"Try to sleep a bit more, I’m here now," she whispered.

Your heart is racing incessantly as you can do nothing but nod again, it has absolutely taken your breath away.

For the next few minutes it is quiet, you do not dare to move. Not until you are aware of the regular breath of the fairy. She fell asleep.

You sigh and are sure that your cheek must be red like a tomato from shame.

Your mind worked at full speed to realize and process the things that have just happened. You must summon all self-control to avoid giggling. At the same time, however, you feel your guilty conscience eating through your body, burying cell by cell.

Your friends were always there for you, they helped you every second without asking questions, they trusted you blindly, just like you trusted them. They made every effort to protect and support you.

You all had nightmares about all the things you had to go through and survive. But since Valtor came into your lives, everything has gotten worse. Hardly anyone can sleep for a whole night. Hardly anyone can dream of anything beautiful.

Hardly anyone can feel something like true joy.

But while all your friends were plagued with nightmares and are not allowed to have a careless second because of the dark wizard, he is the reason that you can sleep well. That you still feel something like satisfaction or happiness and can forget all that terrible things for a moment.

It was pure irony.

While they all suffered because of the wizard, every night you dream of his hands gliding over your entire body when you sneaked out of Alfea to meet him in the cloud tower again. How his lips invade every spot of your body, leading you into another dimension. How his rough voice sounds musically in your ears when he groans your name or tells you how perfect you are for him. How his hot breath flits over your skin when you lie in front of him on the desk. How he makes you feel as good as no other has done before.

What was your dream, was their nightmare.

What became your joy, became their sadness.

What deprived them of all their powers was what made you feel more alive than ever.

Valtor was their curse, but he was your blessing.

The more you thought about it, the more your mind became weary. And as soon as your eyes closed, you were back at the sport you were before Bloom woke you up.

In a storeroom in the cloud tower, without clothes, while the magician knelt in front of you, throwing your head back in pleasure.

***

In the cloud tower, Valtor laughed deeply as he turned his gaze away from the sphere through which he had observed you and your friend.

He could hardly wait to make you blush with the events of today and evoke your shy side the next time you would come to him, your enemy, to wind under him in passion.

He had taken off his coat and pulled the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. Sitting in the big desk chair he turned in a semicircle. He looked through the large windows of Miss Griffin’s office into the dark night. Then he leaned back, closing his eyes as well before mentally diving into the same memories you are exploring.

This little fairy had fallen for him, just like he had fallen for her.

Thanks for reading. 💚

#winx club #winx club fanfiction #winx club valtor #valtor fanfiction #valtor smut #valtor x reader #winx club valtor x reader #winx club villains #winx club bloom

[hjbender]

Imagine a story line where Loki was married to Thor's older brother. Thor swallows his feelings for his brother's husband, Loki. That is until his brother is off at war and he discovers Loki sobbing in a corner about how lonely he is since no one will talk to a first giant. So Thor decides to befriend the forehead bride and may or may not have his feelings rekindle for Loki the same time Loki realizes he had feelings for Thor.

Within an hour of reading this stellar ask, this idea turned into a full-blown 150k slow burn novel written by Jane Austen, if Jane Austen also wrote Norse myths. (In other words, EXCELLENT.) It played out in my head like an Asgardian version of Pride and Prejudice. Let me try to summarize it in 3900 words:

Tagged: arranged marriage, drama, sexual content, marriage problems (no adultery), angst, miscarriage, character death (not Thor or Loki), accidental love, marriage proposals, happy-ish ending (maybe?), just read it

Baldur is the eldest son of Odin, heir to the throne of Asgard. He is handsome and well-mannered and will someday inherit tremendous power and status, and that makes him the most desirable man in the Nine Realms.

His brother Thor, on the other hand, is a bit rough in terms of both appearance and manners. He prefers to spend his time alone or with his small group of close friends, traveling the realms, fighting brigands, settling disputes, learning new skills from dwarves and elves and humans, appreciating nature, lending his might to the defenseless when they need it. He is a comfortable loner, he detests politics and formalities, and he hates being cooped up in the palace. He dresses more like a commoner than royalty. He is tall and well-built, unbelievably strong, and more than a little intimidating.

His father is always urging him to be more like his older brother. “Show some interest in reality, boy! You can’t roam the wilderness for the rest of your life! Get married and settle down. Find your place in the court, raise a family. Be a proper prince, for Valhalla’s sakes!”

But Thor adamantly states that he is content in his bachelorhood and intends to stay that way. He is a warrior and a wanderer, like Odin himself once was. Not a soft-hearted fool with romantic dreams in his head and a desire to be domesticated. He is too wild, too in love with his freedom. He will never marry.

Then, in the interest of politics (and adding some new blood to the royal family), Baldur becomes betrothed to the youngest of King Laufey’s children, a lovely little jötunn named Loki. Loki’s people are Frost Giants of the realm of Jötunheim, and normally a marriage between their two kingdoms would never happen due to the size difference between jötnar and Æsir. However, the last baby Laufey bore happened to be quite small, making him a perfect candidate for marriage with one of the non-giant races. Thus Loki was groomed from birth to be a royal spouse. Given the biological flexibility of the jötnar, he could provide his future husband or wife with fine, mixed-blood children.

It is a perfect arrangement. Odin has been wanting to clinch ties with Jötunheim for centuries (it has nothing to do with gaining exclusive trading rights to Jötunheim’s coveted natural resources, oh, goodness, no, certainly not), and now he can finally do it. Baldur is pleased at the prospect of achieving this goal for his father and readily agrees to the match.

In just a few short years, Loki is married to Baldur in one of the most extravagant and ostentatious weddings in Asgard’s history. Women (and men) all over the kingdom mourn that their dream prince is now off the market, and their scorn for Loki is bitter and fierce. (A simmering, low-level dislike of Frost Giants crops up overnight in Asgard, and it’s something Loki must deal with for years to come.)

Loki tries to ignore all the negativity and fear in his heart and enjoy his wedding day. He pretends to be happy at the reception feast, but he struggles to truly smile. Prince Baldur is nice, but he is a far cry from the spouse Loki imagined having one day. Their wedding night is even more disappointing. Baldur is overeager and giggly from too much wine, and he spills himself prematurely, less than a minute after deflowering his virginal bride. He then passes out beside him and starts snoring.

Annoyed (but partly relieved to be spared a long night of awkward first-time sex), Loki wraps himself in a robe, pours himself a drink, and slinks away to take in the moonlight in the east gardens. He walks barefoot in the soft grass between the rose bushes, sipping his wine, sighing at the moon, and trying not to feel sorry for himself.

This is his lot, his destiny. And really, it isn’t so bad. Baldur is a good man. He doesn’t have any disgusting habits, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t swear. He keeps himself clean and measures his words carefully. He doesn’t lose his temper easily. In fact, he seems incapable of being angered. He is polite and educated and diplomatic, a natural king. He’s a little self-absorbed and prideful sometimes, and he has an irritating laugh, but if those are the worst of his vices, then Loki counts himself fortunate.

At least he was not married off to one of Surtur’s vicious sons. Or a haughty Elf. Or a bigoted Vanir who believes the jötnar are descended from ogres. At least he was not given to a lowly drunkard of common birth and poor character. Loki would not be forced to toil for a living, laboring to earn his daily bread, spending the majority of his life pregnant and impoverished. He would not be beaten or berated. He would not starve or suffer. No, he is married to a very nice, handsome, mild-mannered, financially secure Æsir prince, and even though they don’t share a passionate, romantic attraction to one another, it’s not bad for an arranged marriage. Loki will teach Baldur how to love and please a jötunn. He will be a good wife. He will bear Baldur’s children—maybe; hopefully; if that strange organ and thin, meager seed is capable of giving him a baby—and someday he will be a queen. It’s an impressive destiny, especially for a defective runt. A fairy tale ending. Loki is very grateful to his mother for realizing his potential.

As he walks in the gardens, he spots Thor, his new brother-in-law, whom Loki had been introduced to at the wedding and never really got a chance to speak to during the feast. He is sitting under a tree and smoking a pipe, contemplating the moon.

Ugh, Loki thinks disdainfully. A smoker. And he has a beard, too, which means he must stink of pipeweed. His hair is long and unkempt and he’s dressed like a poor farmer, sleeveless tunic showing off his bare arms—great Ymir, just look at those enormous muscles, it’s almost grotesque—and worn leather trousers that look like they haven’t been washed in a year.

So this is the other Odinson. Loki thanks his lucky stars that he got the more civilized brother. He couldn’t imagine being married to this brute. He looks to be mean and simple, one of those rough, rude alpha males who speaks in one-word grunts and chews with his mouth open. No, thank you.

Loki begins to tiptoe back into the shadows, but Thor’s strong, low voice stops him: “Asgard is a poor trade for the majesty of Jötunheim’s mountains. I hope you will not regret your decision.”

Loki is at first surprised to hear such eloquent words from such a coarse-looking man, and he is flattered by the compliment to his homeland. Then he bristles defensively.

It’s true, he hadn’t wanted to leave Jötunheim—with its cool, green valleys and soaring glaciers and crystal-clear lakes—to come to this gold-plated city of few trees and even fewer friendly faces. But there was no life for him in Jötunheim. He had known that since he was a child. He was destined to become a part of his spouse’s realm, and once he left the place of his birth, there would be no returning. Such is the way with his people.

Loki stiffens his lips and answers curtly, “Jötunheim is a crude, underdeveloped region. Nothing but rocks and ice. I am glad to call Asgard my home now.”

Thor chuckles. “You’re a fine liar, Laufeykin. That is good. You’ll need that talent if you hope to survive here.” He stands up and approaches Loki, who takes a fearful step back.

Thor is much taller and broader up-close. Loki realizes how vulnerable and underdressed he is, nude beneath his robe, with his husband’s seed still sticky between his legs. Perhaps brothers shared wives in Asgard, like they did in other kingdoms. Dear gods. Thor could easily take whatever he wanted from Loki, right here in this garden.

But Thor only gazes at him tenderly—such blue eyes he has—and Loki swears he sees pity flash across his rugged features.

“You’re too good for him,” he utters. “Such rarity and beauty…” He raises his hand as if to touch Loki’s cheek, but his fingers curl at the last moment and retreat. “I wish you many years of happiness… if you can find them here.”

Then he turns and disappears into the shadows, leaving Loki standing in the garden with his heart pounding and the sweet perfume of roses all around him.

Two years pass. Loki remains an uncomfortable stranger in Asgard, never really fitting in or feeling accepted by anyone but the immediate royal family—and even then, it is only because they must.

Old age begins to catch up with Odin. He spends more and more time in his regenerative sleep cycles and there is murmuring of his abdicating the throne to Baldur within the next year.

Loki begins to feel the distinct pressure to produce a child. Reigning kings prefer to relinquish their crowns when they have one or two grandchildren already on the ground, for it is the sign of a stable lineage, securing the line of succession. If a future queen cannot provide her husband with children, what good is she to him? This is what Loki has been told his entire life: marry well. Make babies. Achieve power, wealth, and status. Secure them, defend them. Don’t let anyone see your weakness.

But Loki is beginning to wonder if it might be impossible for an Æsir to breed a jötunn, regardless of how potent or fertile either of them may be.

Baldur is flippant toward his spouse’s worries. “Don’t worry, my little dove. It will happen in time.”

But babies aren’t made out of thin air, Loki knows. Baldur is tenacious and extremely dedicated to his duties to the royal court, and he takes on responsibilities one after the other. There is very little time left at the end of the day to devote to his marriage, and even then, he seems more interested in hosting dinner parties and building his wine collection than making love. Loki almost has to beg and plead for it.

In the hopes of getting Baldur interested in the activity, Loki  implements all sorts of strategies to spice things up in the bedroom, but his attempts are usually met with laughter, eye-rolls, and patronizing little pats on his head.

“Oh, my dear Loki, we don’t need these tawdry, silly things! Our marriage is exciting enough. Here, put aside those toys and come to arms, darling. Nature has already given us everything we need.”

Loki hides his annoyance but submits to Baldur’s requests.

The man is absolutely clueless when it comes to romance.

It could be worse, Loki reminds himself, lying beneath Baldur and staring blankly up at the ceiling while Baldur makes clean, quiet, polite love to him. I could be married to a Fire Giant. An elf. A Vanir.

Thor.

Loki shivers and closes his eyes, wrapping himself around his husband.

He wonders what it’s like, being at the mercy of those hard hands, pinned under the weight of that heavy body, so musky and hairy and warm. Being taken roughly, having his hair pulled and his haunches spanked, feeling the delicious stretch of a thick cock thrusting into his cunt, hearing all the sloppy wet sounds as he is thoroughly, ruthlessly fucked—

Loki comes with a cry and bites down on Baldur’s shoulder.

“Ouch! Sweetheart, please! There’s no need for that!”

Loki retreats like a scolded child, his orgasm dying almost as soon as it began. He is embarrassed and ashamed. He shouldn’t be fantasizing about his brother-in-law. It is wrong. Terrible, actually.

It could always be worse, says a voice in the back of his mind.

Loki doesn’t know how, but he has no choice but to believe it.

They are preparing to celebrate their fourth wedding anniversary when war suddenly breaks out on Vanaheim. Loki is at the council meeting when Thor—resplendent in full armor, with his hair plaited and beard groomed, cloaked in a blood-red cape, such a powerful and formidable sight—steps forward and announces his intention to lead the armies of Asgard.

But Baldur, who is neither a warrior nor very military-minded, intervenes and says it would be folly to send his little brother into battle while the future king of Asgard sits comfortably in his palace. “Nay, Thor, remain behind and look after my affairs! This is only a skirmish; I shall be home before the end of the season.”

Thus it is decided. Baldur bids farewell to his wife and his brother, kissing them both on their cheeks, and departs for Vanaheim.

The “skirmish” drags on for weeks, becoming months. With Baldur absent, Loki’s link to (and refuge from) the Asgardian people disappears. He grows increasingly melancholic and isolated. He can be heard crying at night, and he wanders through each day looking miserable and depressed, silent and sullen, if he is even seen at all. He spends most of the day locked in his room with only the servants for visitors, avoiding awkward, unnecessary interactions with people.

Thor’s concern finally reaches the point where he can no longer stand aside and watch Loki deteriorate. This lonely, beautiful, neglected creature is suffering. Baldur had instructed Thor to tend to his affairs while he was gone, and Thor is—politically. But he gladly resolves to set aside his work duties and make Loki his top priority.

Thor knocks on Loki’s bedroom door one evening and Loki answers it with flushed cheeks and a stuffy nose, his jewel-red eyes bloodshot. His breath smells of strong wine. They stare at one another awkwardly for a moment, then Thor clears his throat and asks if Loki would join him for a walk in the nearby wood. He offers him his arm.

Loki sniffs. “Oh, I. I couldn’t. I’m in my dressing gown and I haven’t, I was already in bed when you—”

“It wasn’t a suggestion.” Thor thrusts out his elbow. “Come,” he says more gently. “You’ve spent enough time indoors. The fresh air will do you good.”

Loki timidly acquiesces, sliding his hand around the proffered arm, and Thor leads him away. Once outside, Thor wraps his arm around Loki’s waist and uses Mjölnir to fly them to the edge of the wood.

Loki has never flown before. At first he is terrified and clings to Thor tightly, but then he relaxes when he realizes how safe and secure he is in Thor’s arms. He takes a deep breath and smiles, the wind flowing through his hair. He hasn’t felt this good in weeks.

They land at the wood’s edge and walk along its borders, making small talk and listening to the natural world around them, so wholesome and soft compared to the hard, man-made surroundings of the city.

They speak about the war, the future, the weather. Thor asks if Loki has received any letters from Baldur; Loki haltingly confesses he hasn’t. “He is very busy, I imagine,” he says with a brave but sad smile.

Thor scowls at the ground as he walks. He knows his brother. Hardworking but single-minded, focused on politics and very little else. Loki doesn’t deserve to be brushed aside, to be placed so far down on the list of Baldur’s cares. No wife does. But Thor simply says, “Yes, I’m sure that is the case.”

Night falls and Thor returns Loki to the palace.

“Thank you,” says Loki, turning at his bedroom door with a fragile grin. “I really enjoyed tonight.”

Thor smiles, and Loki is struck by the warmth and gentleness of his face. Hardly the barbarian he had mistaken him for in the beginning.

“I am available again tomorrow evening,” says Thor. “I would be happy to spend it with you.”

Loki nods, and Thor politely kisses Loki’s knuckles and bids him goodnight.

Loki shuts his bedroom door and presses back against it, sighing as he gazes up at the ceiling.

Four years he’s spent in Asgard, yet only now does he feel like he’s made a friend.

Soon these nightly strolls become a routine, and a warm camaraderie blossoms between Thor Odinson and Loki Laufeykin. They find they are not so different; they like nature and animals and share an appreciation for the beauty of life’s simple pleasures: the smell of the earth after a spring rain; a hot drink on a cold day; the taste of a sun-warmed apple plucked right off the branch; the rumble of thunder, the song of a bird, the trickle of a clear, quiet brook. Their tongues loosen as they become more familiar with one another, and soon Loki’s shyness fades.

One evening he confides in Thor something he’s been keeping a secret:

“Two weeks after Baldur left, I began to feel ill in the mornings.” His voice is delicate, his face tense as he speaks. “The smell of breakfast would make me vomit, so I stopped coming to the dining hall and took breakfast in my room instead. I wasn’t avoiding everyone, I simply didn’t want to make a disgusting scene at the table.”

Thor stops and stares. So that was why Loki had stopped showing up for breakfast. He isn’t unsociable—he is pregnant. Baldur is going to be a father and Thor an uncle. This is very good news for their family.

Why then does Thor feel so bitter and jealous?

He tries to hide it. He clasps Loki’s hands and forces a smile onto his face. “I’m very happy for you. Have you written to Baldur of your good news?”

Loki looks downward and pinches his lips together. “No. And he will never find out, if I can help it.” He closes his eyes. “Two months later, there was… I, I miscarried. I lost the baby.”

Thor’s heart clenches in his chest. He opens his mouth but no words come.

Loki gulps and continues, “I went to bed that night perfectly fine. Well, I was a little more tired than usual and my back was hurting, but I thought it was normal. Maybe it was; I can’t say. All I know is that I woke up the next morning and there was blood… everywhere. And I hurt”—he places his hand on his flat lower belly—“here. That’s how I knew. I knew I’d lost it.”

Thor stares, too stunned to react.

Loki bows his head. “I was so happy. I thought things were finally changing. I was already picking out names—” He chokes and covers his mouth, unable to finish. He falls apart.

Thor reaches out and pulls him into an embrace. Loki almost disappears in his massive arms.

“These things happen,” says Thor roughly, his eyes filling with tears. “It is not your fault. Take heart, Loki. You and Baldur will make another child.”

“But this one took so long,” Loki sobs, clutching Thor’s cape in his fists. “We’ve been trying for four years! I don’t know if we can make another. I don’t know if I could bear the pain of losing another child. Oh, Thor, it’s just—I fear Baldur is going to die in this war and then I’ll be stranded here in Asgard, cast out from the palace a ruined widow, untouchable, unwanted, forced to—”

“That will not happen to you, Loki, I give you my word,” says Thor firmly. “Baldur is going to come home to you and make you happy again. You will have another child growing in your belly within a fortnight, and you and he will share many happy years together. Believe it, Loki, and it will be so.”

Loki stops moaning but the tears still slide down his cheeks. He buries his face against Thor’s chest.

He should believe it, but he doesn’t.

He’s not sure if he wants to.

A week later, Odin’s ravens deliver to him the terrible news: Baldur is dead.

He did not die gloriously on the battlefield, nor was he murdered by assassins. He was celebrating a recent victory with his men and unwittingly stepped in front of a drunken archer trying to impress a local Vanir woman. The arrow went straight through his neck, severing his nerves, and he fell to the ground dead.

The story will be altered, of course. Baldur will have a warrior’s funeral, go down in history as a hero. It is the least they could do.

When Odin shares the news with his family and close advisors, Loki turns and flees from the throne room, sobbing. Not because his worst fears had come true; not because he is now a lone sheep among a court of hungry wolves; but because his husband is dead. The man with whom he’d shared four years of his life—not the best years, but they had their moments. Smiles. Comfort. Familiarity.

But now Baldur is gone. Loki will never see him again, nor hear his laughter, nor smell his hair, nor feel his warmth beside him as he sleeps. He is completely alone. He has lost his unborn child and now his husband, and all he wants to do is run until he dies.

Thor chases after Loki, finally catching him in the east gardens, where they first spoke to one another on a mild evening four years ago. He takes Loki’s face in his hands and tries to soothe him, but Loki is inconsolable.

“I knew it, I knew it!” he weeps. “I knew he was going to die! Now there will be no children, no throne, no life for me here! No one will want me now! I am widowed and worthless!”

Thor holds Loki’s cheeks so he is forced to look into his eyes. “That will not be your fate, Loki. I gave you my word, and I intend to keep it.”

He sinks down on both his knees, grasping Loki’s hands tightly in his own.

“It is not uncommon in Asgard for an unwed man to take his deceased brother’s wife as his own,” he says. “This way, you shall remain in our family and be looked after. You will not be abandoned or cast out. I will be your friend, your companion, your ally, Loki. I will do my best to nurture your dreams. I will place your happiness over my own, for that is only what you deserve.

“I know that you loved my brother. Maybe you feel that you will never love again. Perhaps you won’t. I cannot say. But I tell you now, Loki, I will not force you to submit to me, nor render unto me anything you do not willingly give. I will not ask that you love me or make love to me, but I hope that someday you might find me worthy of your affections. If so, I will endeavor to remain worthy of them for the rest of my life.”

A squeak escapes Loki’s mouth and his eyes gleam wetly in the light.

Thor looks up at him, his face honest and hopeful. “I am already yours, Loki Laufeykin. Will you also be mine?”

Loki sucks in a breath. “Oh, Thor—” He bends down and folds himself around Thor’s head, hugging him, shedding tears into his blond hair. “I will. I will.”

All around them, the rose bushes bloom full and pink.

And this is only the first half of the novel’s summary. They still have to get married and fall in love and Thor has to defend Loki’s honor and Loki of course gets pregnant again and they name the child in memory of Baldur and Thor must stop the war in Vanaheim and become king of Asgard and

*collapses*

#help me jane austen you're my only ho #ask bender #thorki #ficlet #hjbwrites #hjbedit #baldur x loki #loki laufeyson #thor odinson #baldur odinson #intersex loki #mpreg #miscarriage #drama #arranged marriage au #accidental love #nafw

[scorpionwins]

Some Riverdale headcanons that no one can convince me aren't canon in a better reality:

Jughead:

Loves Jane Austen, - Pride and Prejudice especially

Dog person to the core but has fostered well over a hundred stray cats in his homeless days

Cuddle bug

Has a sweet tooth - the scene where he stole candy from the therapist makes my entire existence

Clothes thief - half of Veronica’s wardrobe is stuffed in that huge backpack. Archie is hoodieless and dramatic about it

Learned how to braid hair for JB

Doesn't speak sports. *Holds a football jersey* wow I love... Volleyball

Easy crier. Knows how to hide it well- I always thought he was sensitive to specific things. Physical pain? He can deal. Getting yelled at? Well, brace yourself cause you're getting a typhoon of tears

Really REALLY good cook- Pops would not let his honorary nephew walk around without knowing how to fry an egg

Cheryl and him were childhood best friends

Archie:

Big time smoker- I mean come on. Riverdale is stressful as hell. Who could blame the guy?

Doesn't smoke in front of Fred, tho cause he'll get his ass beat because he knows it upsets him

Had an Eminem phase. Wore baggy shirts, ate only spaghetti, and tried rhyming every sentence for a whole month before he got into Indie (or whatever the hell he's listening to cause imma be honest chief i forgot what genre he's supposed to like)

Not the most academically inclined but is weirdly really good at science? Can he do basic math? No. Can he build a whole iron man suit because he thought it looked cool? Yeah

Everyone assumes his favorite Avenger is Captain America but he doesn't like any of them. He loves the Punisher. Mr. Frank Castle was his bisexual awakening

Uncle Frank took him hunting when he was 5 and made him shoot a deer. He's hated camping every since

Adopted Cheryl when they were 10 during biology class. No one wanted to be her lab partner. From then on It's tradition they're seated together in every class

Actually really mean and funny

Veronica:

Cannot do taxes to save her life and doesn't know how to pay bills.

Knows New York by hand but gets lost in grocery stores

Really bad cook, - burn water and almost sets the house on fire trying to fry an egg type

Cat person but loves Vegas to death. Smithers helped her sneak in a baby kitten when she was 9, raised him ever since, and neither Hiram or Hermione noticed.

Scrunches her nose when confused/mad

Is a hoarder and very protective over items she deems as "sentimental relics"

Has a book club with Jughead. Every Friday night they gather at his and Archie's treehouse and argue over weather or not Lizzie Bennet is gay or bi

Archie singing her lullabies puts her to sleep IMMEDIATELY

Only likes being called "Ronnie" by her friends, family, s/o

Thinks of Fred as a father figure and calls him " Pa" like Archie does

She and Mary don't get along. Ronnie doesn't approve of her absence in her son's life and only inserting herself into Archie's narrative when she's obligated to

The Lodges have Uno game nights and whenever Hiram loses he raises a new disaster. Even so, Ronnie never lets him win

Sweet Pea:

Loves rom coms, cartoons, and Disney movies with a PASSION

DC person but dresses up as Bucky Barnes for Halloween. Every. Single. Year.

Has a personal vendetta againts shirts with sleeves

Artys boiii- has a secret sketchbook drowning in beautiful sketches of flowers, landscapes, and portraits of Toni, Joaquin and Fangs. The ones for Jughead he keeps in a stash under his pillow

HUUUGE momma's boy, - his mom's really tiny and sweet and no one can believe they're related. But then they see her punch his dad in the face and go oh so that's how-

Learned how to throw punches from his grandma. The brass knuckles are passed from generation to generation

Hates Star Wars??

Sweet Pea and Archie strangers to enemies to mortal enemies, 250k words, fastburn. These two see eachother in any situation and it's on sight

When the serpents stayed at the Andrews home he drew hyper realistic dicks on Archie's face when he was sleeping and no one told him to stop because it was funny

Jealous and possessive- not in an unhealthy way but he has the confidence of a soggy biscuit when in a relationship and insecurities make him act up

Sappy and romantic to boot (confirmed!!!)

#riverdale #jughead jones #archie andrews #veronica lodge #sweet pea #southside serpents #jarchie #varchie #jugpea #cheryl blossom #toni topaz #fangs fogarty #cheryl x toni #headcanons #text #text post

[shysneeze]

Pride and Prejudice (Draco Malfoy x fem!Reader)

Description:  Draco x Weasley!reader based on Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice because why tf not? Kind of AU 'cause I'm pretending Umbridge didn't exist and everyone is just a little ooc.

Warnings: lets be real, imma a swear, cussing makes up 80% of my vocabulary. This is super bad and a bit all over the place but hey ho

A/N: because I'm a real Jane Austen slut you know

(Y/N) Weasley has gone most of her school life avoiding a situation where she might come face to face with Draco Malfoy. A year younger than him, she’s  never been in his class and knowing his reputation she’s been very paticular in avoiding bumping into him elsewhere in the school. That's why it's surprising and undoubtedly irritating to see him now.

"This one's mostly empty- Can we sit here?"

Looking up from her book, she’s confronted with a Slytherin boy from the year above, Blaise Zabini, poking his head through the compartment door with an awkward boyish grin.

Behind him, the infamous scowling face of Draco Malfoy.

She can only nod with a kind smile to the Blaise, one of the nicer Slytherins as rumour has it around the school. She sees his face relax in relief as he begins to make his way into he compartment.

"Blaise." The boy introduces as he stumbles in, Malfoy following grudgingly behind , "Blaise Zabini."

"(Y/N)." She smile, eyes drifting to the silent blonde before adding an almost challenging, "Weasley."

"Nice to meet you." He extends a hand, unfazed by her surname, that so many Slytherin have turned their noses at before. “Thanks for letting us sit here.”

She offers only a smile, followed by an awkward silence that soon suffocates the compartment following the hand shake. She can feel Draco Malfoy’s eyes boring into her from across the compartment but she doesn’t let her confidence waver. 

“How come you aren’t with your siblings?” Blaise asks after a moment. 

"Oh, I normally sit with Ginny but we had a fall out this morning so I'm waiting to see how long it will take for her to miss me." (Y/N) grins cheekily, one that quickly disappears at the sound of Draco’s scoff.  "What about you, surely your friend group is larger than this?"

"You're not wrong." Blaise grins at her teasing tone. "Crabbe and Goyle left in search of the trolley then the girls kicked us out to get changed."

"Ah, fair enough."

The silence returns now and (Y/N) can feel herself growing more and more irritated by Malfoy's presence. He exudes pretentiousness, offering nothing more than a glare and the occasional disapproving scoff. After a few minutes she grows tired of feeling his judgmental eyes on her and searches her mind for an excuse to leave.

"Excuse me, I should go get my robes."

"Oh-" Blaise jumps at this after the prolonged silence. "We can leave if you like."

"No it's fine, my robes are in Ginny's bag anyway."

"Oh okay." He says, relax back into the seat.

She smiles at the offer, trying to ignore how Draco remains seated despite it, or possibly in spite of it. She holds back a sigh for only Blaise’s sake as she rises to her feet.

"See you later." She gives him a smile.

She’s slipping from the compartment seconds later, sliding the door shut behind her. She’s about to make her way along the train when she catches something just before the door clicks shut.

"Pull yourself together man."

"You couldn't have chosen a compartment with worse company, Zabini."

Frozen only momentarily to repeat it in her head, she lets out a scoff of her own, rolling her eyes back. Everything she’s heard about him has clearly been true, but seeing it first hand, at her own expense is something else. 

.

She goes four years without having the displeasure of bumping into Draco Malfoy and now he's everywhere. No study seension at the library goes undisrupted by his presence, no pleasant conversation with Blaise ruined by his bored eyes and pretentious scoffs.

It’s made becoming friends with Blaise difficult, though not impossible. He’s a pleasant boy, kind and unjudging compared to his questionable taste in friends, who she’s become reluctantly acquainted with on group trips to the Three Broomsticks.

Today, on another of their Hogsmeade outings, they’re on the topic of houses, a risky conversation starter given the Slytherin to Gryffindor ratio. However, (Y/N) isn’t particularly shy, nor is she ashamed, and so she doesn’t hold back.Then, taking her completely by surprise, for the first time, Draco Malfoy opens his mouth and asks her a question.  

"What makes you think Gryffindor is so superior?" 

She takes a second to register it happening in her head, that Draco Malfoy has stooped so low as to talk to her, a Weasley. She blinks at him in surprise momentarily before regaining her composure to answer him.

"Well, I don't think we're superior at all." She informs. "I think Gryffindor is better at some things while Slytherin is better at others."

"Like what?" Pansy speaks up smugly.

"Well, for example, you are a lot better at planning your actions, I can be very rash and impulsive but I am more open to change and new experiences for it.” She continues. “While I think you could benefit from thinking less and letting yourself open up." 

"And how do you suggest we do that, Weasley?" Draco inquires.

She tries to hold back her smirk, but it comes free far too easily as she meets his eyes knowingly, so smugly that it makes him gulp. She’s been waiting for the opportunity for weeks.

"At least attempting polite conversation." She concludes. "Even if one is amongst the 'worst company'."

His eyes are quickly torn from hers, dropping to the table as he attmepts to fend off the blush that creeps threateningly up his neck. She’s sure she’s never felt pride quite like it.

"I see." 

.

"Where is Blaise?" 

Upon entering the Three Broomsticks, she can’t help but panic slightly by the boy’s absence, leaving her only with the less open Slytherins, the once unafraid to let her know how much her presence is despised.

"Oh, Weasley." Pansy smiles slyly. “You’re here.”

"Hello, Pansy, Daphne." She nods. "Malfoy."

He offers a slight nod, lifting his eyes for a moment to meet hers. Sheepish still from their conversation weeks ago, he manages to act almost civil, she observes. She’s almost impressed, though slightly confused.

"He's helping your sister with something." He informs. "He should be here soon."

"My sister?" 

"Yes, it appears they've become friends." Draco scowls.

"And you don't approve?" She teases with a sort of grin that has him rolling his eyes. 

"One Weasley girl is enough." Daphne tuts. 

(Y/N) bites at her lip to hide a laugh as she takes a seat across from the blonde boy, catching, what for a confusing moment, appears to be a glare, directed not at her, but at Daphne. (Y/N) shakes it off as her imagination though, pulling off her scarf and settling in for a long afternoon.

"Do you want a drink?"

She almost jumps at the question, meeting the eyes of it’s source across from her in disbelief. Draco gives her an intent, questioning look, brow raised to accompany it.

"No, thanks..." (Y/N) frowns skeptically.

"Okay..."

When Blaise arrives with Ginny by his side, (Y/N) can barely hide her excitement, her relief. It takes a moment for it the dissipate to leave in it's place confusion as to what her sister is going here. 

"Sorry to keep you waiting, guys." Blaise smiles. "I was helping Ginny with her potions work- Draco come help me with drinks.

As the boys stand to leave, Ginny slides into the seat beside her sister without meeting her curious eyes. That doesn’t prevent (Y/N) from staring though, waiting for an answer to their unspoken question.

"What?"

"Nothing..."

"Oh shut up." She snaps quietly, as not to be overheard by the other girls. " You aren’t the only one that gets to befriend him.”

“Fine.” 

It’s a few minutes before the boys return with drinks, placing them down on the table and dishing them to those who were waiting on them. (Y/N) isn’t quite paying attention until Draco is sliding a glass of Pumpkin juice in front of her. She almost jumps, giving him a wide-eyed stare that he raises his own brows at in response.

"You like pumpkin juice, don't you?" He asks.

"Yes." She finally manages after an kick to shins from Ginny beneath the table. "Thank you."

For a brief second, she sees Draco Malfoy smile at her.

.

From there on he still stares at her like he hates her but does things, little things that suggests he doesn't, sitting with her while she studies, glaring at the girls when they try to pick on her, even saving her a seat at the booth at Three Broomsticks that they’ve grown to call theirs.

Each kind gesture though is treated with suspiscion on the basis of his reputation, the rumours that he wears proudly with his surname, the whisperings from around the castle and the stories of the past. They act as a constant reminder that, even with a smile, he’s still a Malfoy. 

It’s made easier to treat him with this suspicion given his new attempts to separate his friend and her sister. He’s become very talented at rushing Blaise away when Ginny approaches, pulling him up with a fake emergency when they study together. It’s not hard to see how superior her believes himself to be, as though he’s protecting his friend from another Weasley, like some stuck up superhero. 

So it comes as a surprise to hear from Harry that he’s looking for (Y/N) as she sits unexpectedly in the Gryffindor common room. 

"Malfoy is looking for you." He explains in passing, only stopping at the shock on her face. 

"What?" 

"I don't know, (Y/N)." He admits. "I heard him asking someone if they'd seen you."

Carefully sliding the bookmark into her book and placing it on the coffee table she stands slowly, as if in some sort of daze to leave the common room in search of Draco Malfoy. 

She finds him in an empty corridor, nervous at the look he gives her upon her arrival and gulping before she speaks. She looks around desperate for a sign of someone, anyone else to witness whatever is about to happen, who can report her missing all else fails, but it’s just the two of them.

"You were looking for me?"

"Yes," He admits. "Hello, (Y/N)."

She’s never heard her forename from his lips before, it sounds foreign in strange way for a word she hears everyday. But from his mouth, it’s different, confusing suddenly.

"What's wrong?"

"I wanted to know if you'd come to Hogsmeade with me this weekend...”

She’s sure she’s heard wrong, titling her head to the side questioningly.

"Huh?"

"On a date." He states with a blush. "I want to know if you'll go on a date with me."

She isn’t sure what she expected. On her way here she’d dismissed many ridiculous notions, fist fights and kidnappings, but some how this is worse, this is so much more terrifying. Her words tumble out before she can form full sentences, fuelled by the many confusing emotions swirling in her chest.

"Wha- What? Are you mad?"

He physically falters at the words, brows furrowing in a grimace at the harshness of them. She’s beginning to pace in a small circle, eyes wide as she tries to figure out exactly what is happening.

"Why?" She continues.

"I like you, (Y/N)." 

"You hate me." She corrects, running a hand through her hair. "You've made that clear on multiple occasions."

"I never hated you.” He exhales.

“Don’t lie.” She snaps. "I'm a Weasley and you are your family hate Weasleys."

He has the decency to look sheepish from the reminder, his confidence beginning to shrink with each word. She can’t stop though, she can’t begin to work out where down the line this could have arose, where his hatred turned to something else.

"I don't, not any more."

"How reassuring." She scoffs.

"You can't say anything." He say, suddely bursting at the seams with defensiveness.. "You hate my surname just as much as I hated yours."

She pauses from her pacing to glare at him in disbelief.

"I hate your actions." She corrects furiously. "I know your reputation- you know your reputation. What on earth would posses you to think I would ever want to be with you?"

"I thought you might be able to see past your prejudice and see I've changed." He says through gritted teeth. "You were the one saying that Sytherins need to  be more open."

"Changed?" I exclaim. "You're still up to something Malfoy, all the time."

His confusion is genuine, not a sheepish attempt to seem less guilty. He can’t think of what she means and it does nothing to rid her of her anger, only spurring it on aggressively.

"You beleive yourself so above me and my family that you won’t even let your friend near my sister!”

"You don't understand." He says. "I'm doing him a favour that you can't see because your focused solely on seeing the negative in me."

"The minute you prove me wrong I'll stop." She snaps. "Right now though, you're the last person I'll ever date."

Ginny stares cautiously at her sister as she bounds into their dorm room to fling herself onto her bed dramatically with a groan. Feeling her sister’s eyes on the back of her head though, (Y/N) sits up with a galre.

"What?" 

"Nothing? What's wrong with you?"

"Malfoy." 

Ginny sighs, having listened nonstop all year about the evils of Draco Malfoy narrated by her sister. Every evening is filled with complaints of the days previous events, his attitude, his staring and his confusing smiles. 

"What'd he do now?"

"He asked me on a date." 

The laugh ginny releases at the statement dies at the serious look in her sister’s dangerously angry eyes. Her own eyes widen in shock, suddenly much more invested in this evenings rant.

"Oh Merlin, you're serious."

"Yep."

"Just there?"

"Yep."

"Really?"

"Yes!"

"I thought he hated you." Ginny frowns. "What did you say."

(Y/N) stares almost stunned by the question. She can’t quite believe her sister is implying that she might even need to think about whether or not to date Draco Malfoy of all people.

"No, obviously." She snaps. “Do you think I’m mad?”

"Okay." She says in surrender. “Okay.”

"He says I'm prejudice." She continues stubbornly with her rant. "That he's changed."

"Hasn't he?"

"Wow, you're so supportive of me right now." 

"I'm just saying, he hasn't caused a fuss since the start of the year with anyone, not even Harry."

"He's still a scheming snake." (Y/N) snaps bitterly. “Okay?”

"How?"

"He's keeping you from being friends with Blaise,” She burst despite her resolve not to. “Says he's doing Blaise a favour."

“Oh.” Ginny scowls. “Prick.

.

It's the next day as she’s studying by herself in the library that the paper swan flutters onto her open textbook. She looks up curiously but sees no one around before she carefully unfolds it to reveal the contents shown by the inky dots that seep through the parchment.

'(Y/N) Weasley,

I feel the need to explain why I believe myself to have changed.

I will admit wholeheartedly that I let my own pride control my rude actions at the start of the year. I'm a Malfoy, thinking I'm above a Weasley was ingrained in my mind at a young age and so my response to you becoming part of my inner circle was not polite.

I got over that though. You showed yourself to be funny, kind and smart, nothing at all like I was led to believe from my father and you did not back down to any challenge Pansy presented you with. 

I admire that about you.

So, I began to be kinder to you, to your siblings and even Harry Potter trying to show you that I can change. I may have appeared to still hate you but that's only because I had no idea what to say or how to say it. I've never had great people skill as you may have noticed.

As for preventing Blaise from seeing your sister, I did.

I do not regret it.

Blaise is smitten with her  and she very clearly does not like him back, so obviously infatuated with Potter as she has been since first year. So, you can not for one second blame me for trying to protect my friends feeling for being destroyed by rejection. If I in the process hurt your sister's feelings, I'm sorry.

Draco Malfoy'

She reads it twice to make sense of it, then a third time to admire his cursive scrawl in all it’s annoyingly elegant glory. It’s after that final read that something like guilt twists in her chest.

Thinking back, she can recall a few times noticing Blaise’s behavior to her sister, how it went beyond friendship. It’s a relationship that wouldn’t work for exactly the reason Draco has observed, that Ginny is still clearly pining for Harry Potter. 

It’s still Blaise’s question to ask, and not Draco’s place to intervene but there is something quite admirable about his attempt that makes her want to apologise. She’s read him wrong, ignored his change in behavior out of stubbornness 

She packs her books and parchment up hastily after a moment of reflection as sets out for Draco Malfoy himself.

.

He’s avoiding her.

He’s only ever seen at meal times from across the great hall, where his eyes avoids her despite all their attempts to catch his attention. Her frustration isn’t unseen by her friends an family, who’ve watched her fury turn into a solemn sort of desperation for something they aren’t sure. 

"What's with you and Malfoy now?" Ginny asks after an evening of watching her sister stare across the great hall to the gryffindor table. “You’re not glaring at him and it’s very confusing.

"Nothing." (Y/N) replies too quickly.

Something between shame and the urge to keep Blaise secret has prevented her from telling Ginny, with whom she usually shares everything. This is different though, something she needs to handle herself.

"Come on." She rolls her eyes. "You've been staring at him all week."

"I've not been staring at Draco." 

The smile that fills Ginny’s face is menacing in a way that makes (Y/N) gulp. 

"Draco?"

"That is his name." She gulps nervously.

"Oh I know that." She teases. "You've never called him that before, you only ever call him Malfoy."

"Well." (Y/N) inhales. "Not anymore."

.

She finally finds him alone and off guard by the Quidditch pitch, sitting in the stands in quiet contemplation over something as the Hufflepuff team gathers its things down on the ground.

"D-draco." She starts. 

He jumps at her voice, too deep in thought to have noticed her arrival. She gives him a sheepish sort of look and waves awkwardly. Even after recognising her though, his shoulder to not slump and his body remains tense, something that causes an all too familiar guilt to twist in her chest.

"(Y/N)." 

"Can I sit?" 

Answered by a nod, she slides into the seat beside him. Their legs touch and they’re so close she can see the faint blue in his gray eyes. She notes to herself that this is the closest she’s ever been to Draco Malfoy.

"I'm sorry." She starts with a sigh "I was wrong."

He shakes his head, turning to stare determinedly at the Hufflepuff team in an attempt to avoid her eyes. She’s left with a strange urge to reach for his hand, an urge that frightens her.

“I was just as bad.” He admits. 

"Yes." She agrees. "But you were right about some things... I can't blame you entirely for Blaise and my sister, you were trying to protect him."

"I was." He nods. "But I stopped and let him make his own mistake... he was rejected last night."

"I heard." (Y/N) confess with a grimace. "Is he okay?”

"Yeah, he's taking it better than I imagined."

"Good." 

Draco smiles at her, and she’s gulp at the butterflies that fill her chest from it. He nods, oblivious to her inner confusion. It’s a confusion she’s struggled with ever since his letter, though she’s fairly confident she knows what it means.

"I'm sorry that I didn't see that you'd changed." She continues. "I was prejudice, and a hypocrite given what I'd said about Slytherins."

"It's fine."

"It's not." She scolds herself sternly. "Ginny and even Ron- Ron- noticed that you'd changed."

He lets out a chuckle, so much softer than the scoff she’s used to hearing from his lips. It’s something she wants to hear over and over again, sure she’ll never grow tired of it. 

"And I was so mean to you." She grimaces. 

"Oh yes." He says, laugh turning bitter. "The last person you'd ever date."

"I was wrong, okay?"

He gives her a curiously look, not willing to allows himself to believe the statements implications, too frightened to set his hopes too high. She gives him another nervous look before continuing.

“I didn’t realise until after your letter, and when you began to ignore me, what my own feelings were telling me.” She admits. “You have changed... I’m sorry I was blind to it before.”

"That took a lot.” He begins to grin. “Huh?” 

"Shut up."

"Sorry." He chuckles. "I'm sorry that I was so mean at the beginning of the year."

"I think we're even."

They sit in silence for a moment, though nothing like the ocntricting kind felt on the first day of term on the train, or felt in the gaps in conversations at the Three Broomsticks. It’s a natural, comfortable sort of silence only felt between two people at ease.

"Does this mean you've reconsidered?" 

"Ask me." She replies with a soft smile.

"So demanding." He jokes.

"Draco."

"I like that." He lets out a soft, content sigh. "You saying my first name."

She has no idea when his words gained such a talent for incapacitating her, but sat in front of him she feels frozen, overwhelmed with that jittery feeling of young love.

"Will you please go on a date with me?"

She nods slowly, shuffling closer to him and using her free hand to cup his cheek, which turn red beneath her finger tips. She feels momentarily triumphant before he’s moving in to capture her lips with his own before she has the chance, hands sliding to her waist and tugging her somehow closer.

It’s a kiss gentler than she’s ever allowed herself to imagine him capable of and she melts into it happily. Moments later she’s pulling away to smile at him, grinning at his flushed cheeks and dazed look.

"I could get used to that." She assures.

"Me too." he says, leaning in again.

.

"Merlin's sake." Ginny groans when (Y/N) returns, lips swollen and red, and gushing about Draco Malfoy's eyes. "You spend all year complaining about the boy and then you disappear for an hour, clearly having snogged him and gushing like a little girl."

"I like him, Gin." She sighs. "I really like him."

"You're infuriating."

(A/N); So, I potrayed you as Lizzy, Draco as Darcy, the Weasleys as the Bennets, Ginny being a more sarcastic version of Jane. Blaise is meant to be Mr Bingly and Pansy as Miss Bingly etc 

I made a separate post about the Weasley siblings specifically and how I view them in parallel to the Bennets HERE

#harry potter #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #malfoy x reader #malfoy #pride and prejudice #draco imagine #ooc draco #harry potter imagines #Ginny weasley #hermione granger #Weasleys #ron weasley #draco #imagines #draco imagines #malfoy imagine