Disclaimer: I don't own "Ragnarok" Netflix or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: I wanted to write about what might have happened after the credits rolled at the end of season two.

Warnings: sexual content, canon typical violence, drama, romance, angst, age/experience difference, enemies to enemies that fuck, norse mythology.

Today (I want to resolve nothing)

Chapter Two

She opened her mouth, poised to say something smart. To say she didn't need a reason. That he'd obviously enjoyed himself, so why was he asking her?

"Why did you kiss me back?" she asked instead. The soft of her hair teasing her cheeks as the wind started to pick up.

His expression twisted. Open enough she could tell the moment he settled on it. Only he didn't reply. He chewed on it instead.

"We have history," she said simply. Surprised to find herself admitting it. Normally she would have kept such a secret for later. When it would most benefit her. "Do you remember?"

His head cocked. Blond hair feathering over his face as the wind grew cold. Turning his exhale into a plume of condensation. Reminding her of another time, on this very peak. It had been near the end. He'd been quiet that night. Quiet and serious. And for once, the weight of the ages showed on his face. He hadn't greeted her when she'd come up behind him. But nor did he make it clear he wished to be alone. So, she stayed. Standing with him until the dawn. It was the last time they had together. But not the last time she saw him.

Magne's frown had layers. Like ancient sediments compressed into handsome cross-thatched tapestries. She wanted to demand what he was thinking. What he was hiding. But she didn't. Instead, she just watched him watch her.

"You said it felt wrong," she continued, remembering the confused panic when he'd thrown on his clothes. "That what we did was wrong. Was it? Was it wrong because of our family? Isolde? Or was it because something about it felt right?"

She had missed him.

She hated that.

The only thing that would make it bearable was if he felt the same.

"...I- I don't know."

It was infuriatingly truthful.

"I know," she murmured, sullen with it.

Then-

"Can I kiss you again?" she asked instead, something warm in her belly twisting.

When he stepped forward, she let him. Curious to see what he would do. She didn't flinch when he reached for her. But nor did he claim her lips like she expected. Thor would have. But Magne just rested his hand on her arm. Half to touch, the rest, perhaps, to stave off an attack.

Her eyes flicked from his hand, to his face, before nodding. Wondering if that was the permission he needed. But when it didn't encourage movement, she captured his hand in hers. Dragging her finger down the open palm until he shivered.

"There were callouses here once. Dark, pitted things from many battles. Mjölnir was your steadiest friend. He lived in your palm," she hummed, watching as he bit his lip. Not sure if he wanted to look at her or their hands. "The other Gods used to tease you for them. But they never understood the toll your hammer took on you. Those callouses never faded. Your wounds healed. Your bones mended. But not them."

She pressed a kiss into the creases. Inhaling happily when it tingled familiar. His skin had a godly scent. Juvenile, but rising.

Magne wavered closer.

"You liked them," he said raggedly, breathing harder than the moment called for. But she understood. It wasn't just this, it was reaching back in your memory and finding something impossible there. "You liked the way they felt against your skin."

She purred an affirmative. Rubbing her lips between his thumb and forefinger.

"What else do you remember?"

When she looked up, she wasn't surprised to see his eyes flash blue. More than himself, but still less than the Thor she'd known.

"I'm not him," he growled. Like he'd read her thoughts. Ironically sounding so like him, it prickled gooseflesh down her arms.

There was no heat in it, but her hands clenched around his palm anyway. Needing something to hold on to. Because he was wrong. He was Thor. But he was also right. Because Thor had never been Magne.

"No," she agreed, swallowing thickly as thunder echoed, jumping from the mountain sides. "But I'm still here."

His free hand was at the small of her back before she could finish. Cupping her close as the kiss she'd been expecting was clumsily bestowed. Making her chuckle into his hair as she captured his face instead. Bringing him down for a slower kiss. Something that was all teeth and tongue and evolved quickly when he hiked her up. Encouraging her legs to wrap around his waist as gravity stumbled them towards the treeline. Feeling it through him when his spine met the bark.

She kissed him like she needed him to breathe.

He kissed like only a distant part of him remembered how.

The contrast should have been off-putting. But, somehow, he barely noticed.

She chirped approval when his tongue slicked across her lower lip. Showing him what she liked as she took charge of the kiss. Rewarding him with sharp nails kneading into his shoulders. Making him groan.

He pulled away, tugging off his shirt as she scrambled with her slacks. Feeling the material tear against the uneven rocks that jutted out around them.

She would have bruises tomorrow, at best.

She didn't care.

But Magne did.

Because before she could move, she was in his arms again. Scooping her up as he pushed towards a small glen. A clutch of soft, long grass cradled between high-hanging rocks. Protected and green.

She wanted to hate him for it. She wanted to pretend that Fjor and Vidar had ever treated her in such a way. Caring for her comfort. Caring that she felt-

She sank her teeth into the fat of Magne's ear when he set her down. Making him hiss in muted outrage until they were face to face again. Cock straining against the zipper of his jeans.

That, at least, was familiar.

He kissed her harder this time. She retaliated by wrapping her legs around his ass. Anchoring herself there. Forcing him to take her weight as she ground herself against him. Smirking when he moaned. Soon, he found the hem of her shirt and tugged it upupup. Fingers awkward around the clasp of her bra until she took pity. Unclipping it with a practiced flick that made his lips still against hers. But the pause didn't last. Because before she could flutter her eyes and gloat, his hands were running down the knobs of her spine. Clearly liking her bare.

His thumb ringed around her nipple, making her keen. Breathing through the dry, sensitive catch. Knowing he was watching her, learning. Hungry for every reaction. Every inch she would allow him. She was so caught up in the power of it, she nearly screamed when he pulled away. Shoving her legs off his back and crouching down in front of her.

His hair was wild, hanging over his face as lightning flashed behind him. Lighting up the space with eldritch phantoms. His gaze was predatory in the same way Thor's had been – especially during moments like this. Eyes alive with the same blue flame that had marked every child of Odin.

She held her breath as the curl of his knuckles dropped between her legs. Petting her through the damp of her underwear. Letting her get used to the action before he eased them down her thighs. Nostrils flaring as he brought them to his nose and breathed her in.

Yes.

Her mouth was painfully dry. Sex throbbing as he moved between her legs. Head low. Shoulders hunched like a bird of prey as the muscles in his forearms flexed. Any other man would be smirking. Greedily pleased with themselves. But when Magne looked at her, the world narrowed. Feeling like she had so long ago. That dangerous, traitorous want to keep him forever.

Sorðinn!

"I remember your name..." he rasped. Mouth so close to her sex she could feel the words against her slit.

Her lips parted, but no words came out. She'd lost them, somehow.

But Magne didn't need them.

He mouthed her cunt, kissing it again and again as she keened a broken sound. Liquid heat quivering through her as he found her clit and laved it with his tongue. Needing no encouragement other than instinct as she ripped at the long grass. Digging her fingers into the musky sod as an entirely different sort of reunion rippled through her core.

Thor had loved this. He fucked like a force of nature. But he gave pleasure generously in return. She remembered banquets where just watching him eat had thrilled her. The way he laid waste to his plate and horn. Rubbing her thighs together as she remembered how Thor leveled the same pleasure, the same attention, when he tasted her.

"What is it?" she managed hoarsely. Suddenly wanting nothing more than to hear him say it. "What is my name?"

Because then it would be real.

If he said it, she would own this moment in every way.

If he said it, she would own him, even if they never came together like this again.

Her name would be enough.

After all these eons, it was the only thing she needed to hear.

The only thing she wanted to hear.

His eyes flicked up, acknowledging it. Tongue rough against her clit. Vicious with the barest rasp of teeth. But he said nothing. Perhaps his mouth was too busy. Perhaps he didn't want to answer. Or maybe he knew the consequences if he did. He must have, because he stayed silent. Clever fingers joining his tongue as he buried his face between her thighs with a growl.

She screamed her frustrated pleasure to the sky, head tipping back as she found her peak.

Damn him. Damn him to the deepest chasms of Niflheimr.


Still, he looked like any man when she flipped them and kissed her wet from his mouth. Sinking down on his cock so suddenly Magne's fingers left bruises on her hips that lasted for days.

She treasured them in the mirror.

It wasn't the first time, after all.


"You might not believe me, but I've missed you," she told him later. Staring up at the sky as he collapsed beside her. Chest rising and falling like a bellows as dawn stained the horizon.

She wouldn't have been able to answer, even if he asked, if the feeling came from the old days or the habits they were forming now.

Perhaps it was both.


A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – This story is now complete.

Reference:

- Sorðinn: old norse for "fuck".

- Niflheimr: In norse mythology it is the cold, dark, misty world of the dead, ruled by the goddess Hel. In some accounts it was the last of nine worlds, a place into which evil men passed after reaching the region of death.