#perotovar's offering of Frith

[qveerthe0ry]

What Means to You, What Means to Me

Summary: Max Phillips changes everything. Written for @perotovar 's offering of Frith Word Count: 8,046 Pairing: Max Phillips Loki (The Trickster God of mischief and chaos) x afab! NB! Bisexual! Reader Rating: 18+ mdni Warnings: smut, talks about gender non-conformity, talks about gender dysphoria as it relates to sex, GENERAL GENDER FUCKERY Beta: My sweet angel @for-a-longlongtime of course A/N: Under the cut

Author's Note: First of all, I just want to thank Erin for putting together this writing challenge and sharing SO much about Norse Paganism. The effort you put into this, from the moodboards to educational resources is incredible. And the fact that you've shared something so close to you with all of us made this writing challenge feel like getting a warm hug <3

Second, see the author's note I wrote at the end (as to not spoil the story) if you want to know the ways Loki ingrained himself in this fic.

_

You’ve heard of this queer club before, but you’ve never been inside. You’d thought the descriptors were exaggerations, but you find out quickly that you were wrong. 

Security is tight at the door, and they ask you questions as they scan your ID that sound like small talk but are a bit more probing once you think about it. Your pockets are patted down and you walk through a metal detector before you even breach the front door. 

You’re wondering if it’s even worth all this. You’re by yourself, no one’s meeting you here, and you don’t plan on going home with anyone. 

Really, you’re just bored, in a fairly new city with no one familiar but your new co-workers to converse with; those are the last people you want to be around on a Friday night after a long work week. 

So you’re here. Are there a dozen other queer bars you could have gone to on this rainbow-lined street? Yes. But none of them really feel right. So you’re here, finally in clothes that you feel comfortable in, around people who aren’t going to make you feel uncomfortable in them. 

And its reputation precedes itself. 

Gaudy. Over-the-top. 

There’s three floors, the top two cut out to overlook the dance floor in the middle of the ground level. There’s chandeliers everywhere, far too ornate for a fucking nightclub. Candelabras litter every tabletop with flaming wax that you’re sure is a fire hazard in an establishment like this. There’s fuzzy, cozy-looking lounges and really hot people walking around serving complimentary waters on gold trays and maybe it was a mistake, coming here. 

But you’ve already been through the TSA of nightclubs, and so you might as well grab a drink while you’re here and make the uber ride home worth it. 

At least the drinks seem to be cheap. You take too long staring at the specialty cocktail names when a bartender asks how you’re doing, and end up ordering your favorite drink anyways. At least they seem nice, unlike some of the bars you’ve been to at the not-mandatory-but-suggestively-obligatory happy hours after work. 

You sit at the bar, a little intimidated by the fancy decor and skilled dancers that overwhelm the club. 

The music is unsuspecting, something soft and melodic that you only realize is live music when your eyes settle on her. 

Her fiery red hair cascades down her shoulders, igniting all the skin exposed by her backless dress. She’s sitting at the piano in the middle of the dancefloor, obscured by couples and others dancing around her. 

She’s everything. The most gorgeous woman you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Her nose is strong and her jawline juts and contrasts with those soft brown eyes. You’re yearning before you can even realize it, a kind of consumption that leaves you breathing heavier than normal as you sip your drink probably way too quickly. 

You focus on her long, nimble fingers, painted red at the nails and fluttering so skillfully over the ivory keys that it makes your cheeks feel hot. 

The ringing of the keys doesn't register over the thumping of your heart and the blood rushing in your ears, which feel like molten lava. Perhaps that’s why you don’t notice she’d finished her set until she’s a foot away from you, placing an order you’d only know if you were able to read lips.

Christ, her lips. Plump and painted in the same shade of red as her hair and nails, they purse as she sips from a champagne flute. She’s so dainty, and poised, everything you’ve never had the desire to be. 

And she’s staring right at you. 

“See something you like?” 

Your breath gets stuck in your lungs and your heart flutters in a medically dangerous way. 

“You’re incredible.”

The words roll off your tongue without any go-ahead from your brain. 

She laughs anyway, with her head thrown back, and the sight of her throat elongated makes your own go bone-dry. 

“If I had a nickel,” she jokes with a wink. 

Your half-melted brain scrabbles for something to say so you can be graced with her presence for even one more second. 

“How long have you been playing?” 

She quirks her perfectly shaped eyebrow at you, and she smirks, and something about the way she can see through you like cellophane turns you on and it makes you feel wicked. 

“You don’t really care, do you?” 

From your peripheral, you see her long, toned arm inching closer to yours on the bar. Her fingers touch yours, feather-light, and you shiver before you freeze in place. 

“I— No, I do.”

You can barely hear her low chuckle over the house music that’s started to play in her absence, but you do, and it sounds like heaven and hell all at once. 

Slowly, torturously, she leans closer to you, and her bubbly breath ghosts across your cheek, your jaw, and then gusts in your ear. 

“Don’t lie to me, handsome.” 

Her tone is teasing, sing-songy in a way that might be annoying if you weren’t so aroused. 

Your fingers clench around the glass you’re holding, and her own do the same over yours. 

“What do you want me to say?” 

You don’t know if you’re more scared, horny, or irritated. They’re all three tied for gold, at this point, with tipsy coming in second and way too warm bringing up the rear. 

And the pure audacity this woman has is impressive, as she places her lips so so lightly under your earlobe. You hope to god her lipstick stains. 

“Ask me if I wanna get out of here.”

Your lungs inflate too quickly, and your eyes close, and you lean into the touch of her lips. 

“Where would we go?” 

It’s a stupid question. Why in your right mind do you give a flying fuck? She could drag you to the DMV and you’d happily follow like a pup. 

She stands from the barstool, tall, taller than you realized, and the proximity puts her between your spread legs. 

Your thighs flex involuntarily, and your fingers twitch and ache to touch her. 

“I know a place. If you want?” 

Her eyebrow is quirked at you again as she leans back. You can’t find your words, so you stand in answer, and now you’re too close. Every delicious curve of her body is pressed against your front and you unhand your drink to dig your nails into the top of the bar. 

“Please.” 

Her grin is so mischievous that it startles you, those sharp canines on full display. You think about how they’ll feel against your skin as she nods her head and prompts you to follow her. 

You might as well be wearing a leash, the way you trail her so closely. You twist your fingers as the nerves start to pick back up, and all of a sudden you’re in front of some elevator doors with a very huge and intimidating bouncer guarding the buttons and staring you down. 

“Before we head up, just so you know, I’m working with a… different set of equipment than you might expect.”

You nearly ask her to repeat herself, a bit too overwhelmed with the eyes on you and the situation you’re about to get yourself into. But your brain plays a game of catch-up, and somehow this little fact makes you feel more comfortable. 

“That’s cool— me too. I mean, maybe? I don’t know what— uh, what you’d expect me to have, but… yeah.”

Your voice trails off as the big burly bouncer chuckles at you, and your face could probably melt off of your skull with how hot it feels, but then she grabs your hand and squeezes to tug you into the elevator with her. 

The club sounds are nearly all drowned out now, and you’re certain she can hear your heartbeat in the silence as she crowds you against the back wall. 

“My name’s Max,” she says, speaking all breathy and low against the skin of your neck. 

You shiver, barely eke out your own name as her body presses against yours. 

It’s heavenly, the way she feels against you, but the way she teases your earlobe between her dark cherry lips feels hellish. You still haven’t touched her, even though your hands are burning to feel the silk of her dress over her waist. You’re intimidated and horny and mentally working yourself up to do anything on your own without her giving you direct orders.

There’s a ding, and all momentum is lost when she turns away from you to enter the snow globe of a penthouse beyond the open elevator doors. You follow eagerly.

“This is your place?” 

Your voice is awe-filled as you look around. The walls are just windows, and the city lights and the last few minutes of sunset brighten all the dark wood and leather around you. 

“Yeah, so’s the club.”

Her tone is nonchalant, and you gape at her as she steps out of her strappy, expensive-looking high heels. Maybe you shouldn’t be so surprised. She has all the confidence of someone who owns the world, and her cockiness is reflected in the ostentatious nature of the club and her penthouse. 

But you’re still shocked. Maybe you’re shocked because she’s chosen you, out of every other patron, to come up here with her. 

“It’s nice— the club. And here, too.” 

She chuckles and shrugs but she thanks you as her bare feet bring her close to you once more. You feel your hackles raise as she approaches, along with your heart rate, but she walks right past you. 

“Follow me.”

As if you’d dream of doing anything else. 

Her bedroom is all windows, too. The bed is huge, much bigger than a normal king, and the space itself is fairly empty of any personal touches. It suits her mystique. You feel like you have a million unanswered questions, but none of them matter when she shoves you down onto the mattress and straddles your thighs. 

Your mouth drops open, but she steals the words from your breath when she grabs your hands and places them on her hips.

Finally. 

Fuck, she feels incredible under this silky dress as you squeeze her waist and arch your hips up into her. 

You tell her as much, and get another one of those cocky chuckles that goes straight to your center. 

“Do your worst, handsome.” 

And maybe you’ve never been the best at getting into someone’s bed, but you’re certain you’re the best once you’re between the sheets. 

It’s no exception, with her. You’re so eager to please. You worship every last inch of her body once it’s revealed to you. You take note of all the places you kiss and lick that make her breath hitch, you tease her until her cock weeps, and you take her so far down your throat that tears sting your eyes. 

Her nails dig into your scalp, and you feel like the cocky one when she begs you to pull off, when she tells you that you’ve damn near sucked her soul out through her dick. 

Your clit is throbbing and you’ve soaked through your underwear by the time she hastily pulls them off of you. She kisses you breathless and bites your lip with her sharp teeth as you roll the condom down her length. The way she whimpers when you finally straddle her sends you reeling. Your hand finds her tit, and your palm rolls against her taut nipple as you finally get her cock to slide through your slick folds. She arches into your touch and she begs and there’s no force powerful enough to keep you from giving in to her pleas.

Her face twists up so fucking beautifully as you impale yourself on her. Inch by inch, so slowly, teasing her like she’d teased you earlier in the night. You feel satisfied and hungry at the same time when you’re flush with her thighs. Her hips buck when you pinch her nipple, and she hits the perfect spot, and neither of you have any resolve leftover. 

It’s a give and take that lasts too long and is over far too quick. You ride her, and she thrusts up into you, back and forth until you both crumble at the same time, blinding and intense and loud. 

You might black out. 

One moment you’re stroking her skin with your fingertips and thanking her over and over, and the next you’re sitting up against her headboard with a glass of water in one hand and her fiery hair in the other. 

She’s sighing in your lap, nuzzling into the heat of your thighs with her aquiline nose. 

“You’re incredible,” you say for probably the millionth time that night. 

She chuckles again, just like she did when you first told her, but her pretty brown eyes shine when she looks up at you. 

“You’re not so bad yourself, handsome.”

Your face gets all hot again, and you feel shy, eyes darting around the room to focus on anything but the gorgeous woman resting on you. 

“Does it bother you when I call you that?” 

You huff. 

“Not at all.”

“Are you trans?” 

You huff again. 

“No. I— I don’t know. I’m just… me. In-between. I don’t really feel like I fit any one description.”

She hums and presses a kiss to your mound through your underwear.

“I understand.” 

“I’ve always been like this, you know? Before I knew what it was. I just didn’t feel comfortable in my own skin. Not in an insecure way. Just that it didn’t feel right.” 

“Do you want a dick?”

Her bluntness makes you laugh. 

“Sometimes I do.”

She nods, and the way her silky hair feels against your bare thighs makes you shiver. 

“It’s actually kind of awesome, I’m not gonna lie.”

She laughs with you. 

“Don’t rub it in.”

“I’ll rub it in if you give me another five minutes.”

She does.

You fall asleep in her arms, exhausted and sated and happy.

She’s gone in the morning. All the shades are drawn, those same hazardous candles from the club lighting the apartment dimly. Your clothes are dry cleaned and hanging in a bag you’re certain costs more than your entire outfit. There’s a note next to your half-empty glass of water on the nightstand.

See you around. 

Except you don’t. 

You wait eight whole days to go back to the club. You wear something nicer, go through the tight security, and saunter up to the bar with much more confidence than your first visit. You wait for her. You drink one too many and hope to find her walking around or playing the piano. 

A few people come up to you and ask you to dance, and you refuse each one with the bitter taste of irony on your tongue, and then you go home alone after last call with a headache and queasy stomach. 

Maybe she’s just out of town, you tell yourself. She owns an entire nightclub, she’s clearly a very important woman, probably quite busy, too. 

You go back the next weekend, and the next, and you don’t see her once. 

So after a month, you go again and this time you accept the offers to share a dance, grind against people with a weird confidence you know comes from the woman you hope to see tonight. You share meaningless kisses and buy a few people drinks but refuse an offer or two to ‘get out of here.’

You start to lose hope when the dim lights flicker brighter and last call is announced. But as you bid goodbyes to a group you were hanging with, that very large and scary bodyguard from the elevators is walking towards you, and this time his presence is more exciting and less intimidating. 

“Max would like you to come upstairs.”

And while it’s kind of annoying, and seems pretentious— why didn’t she come down here and tell you herself?— you follow. Eagerly. Once again. 

He lets you take the elevator up by yourself, and this time the anxiety is more anticipation than it is fear. 

Though, when the doors open, you’re face to face with a guy.

He’s got a familiar cocky smirk on his face, messy gelled hair, and he’s leaning up against a wall with his arms crossed. 

Panic, is what your body tells you to do, leave, run. But you’re frozen under his thick gaze. 

The elevator doors start to shut, and you take a step back when he moves to hold them open, but he chuckles. 

A cocky little chuckle. 

“Who are you?” 

“I’m Max.”

“No you’re not.”

“C’mon, handsome. It’s me.”

You shiver when he calls you that, but not in the same way you did when she said it. 

“Is this some kind of joke? Listen, she didn’t tell me she was exclusive with anyone—”

He cuts you off by saying your name in a pleading tone. 

“Come in, please, just give me a minute to prove it to you.”

Panic. Run. Leave.

You ignore every instinct to finally step out of the elevator. 

“You told me, last time, that sometimes you wished you had a dick. Right?”

You nod before you can think better of it. 

Who is this guy?

You’re no stranger to genderfluidity, the way a haircut or makeup or different clothes can drastically change someone’s look— but this isn’t that. This can’t be that. While they have similar features, her sharp noise was still softer, her eyes were less crinkled at the edges, her brow bone was much less prominent. If this is smoke and mirrors, she’s one hell of a magician. 

“Do you wish you had one right now?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess. Are you guys twins or something? What’s going on?” 

He chuckles again, and you have to say, it’s much less arousing coming from him than it was from your Max. He reaches out to touch your arm, and you want to shove him away, but you can’t.

Your body feels frozen, again, but not from fear. There’s a strange sensation that courses through you, some unexplainable energy that makes your bones feel like they’re vibrating, makes your blood feel thick and heavy in your veins. 

It scares you, but the newly soft look on this Max’s face is just comforting enough to keep you from a full-fledged panic attack. 

That, and the fact that it’s over just as quick as it started. Your body loosens back up as Max’s hand on your arm rubs reassuring circles. 

But then you feel weird. A strange turning low in your gut, kind of like arousal, but not quite. And your pants feel tighter, more constricting than they did earlier. 

You look down. 

There’s a bulge in your pants, like there would be if you were packing. But you’re not. You’re certain you made the decision to leave it at home when you left earlier in the night. 

You look back up at him. He’s smirking. 

“You can touch it.”

You do, despite your brain screaming how weird it would be to touch your crotch in front of a man you’ve never met before. 

You have a dick. 

You feel it now, and while the feeling of it in your hand isn’t foreign to you, the fact that it’s sensitive and fucking actually attached to your body is. 

You pull your hand away like it’s been scalded. 

“What the fuck?! How did you—“

You stare at him open-mouthed and terrified and maybe a little bit turned on.

“Does it matter? I gave you what you’ve always wanted.” 

He looks from your face to your… dick, and back again, smirking, admiring, like he’s just finished an art project.

“Will it… Will it go back?”

“Do you want it to?”

“I— I don’t know.”

Max chuckles that damn chuckle, all full of himself. But this time, it’s her. You know it is, now. As crazy as it sounds, it’s the only thing that makes sense. This is your Max. 

“Why don’t you take it for a test drive? If you don’t like it, I’ll change you back.”

You gape at him. It’s all clicking. This is your Max, and they’ve listened to you and done something so fucking weird but so fucking sweet. You don’t know how, and you honestly are starting to care less and less the longer Max keeps staring at you like he’s proud. Of you or himself, you’re not so sure, but it’s working. 

“It’s— it’s you, isn’t it?” 

“I told you so.”

“Fuck,” you sigh, “where have you been? I came back. Every weekend.” 

Max hums. 

“I was a little caught up. Got into a bit of trouble, as I do. But I’m back, and I wanted to see you. I’m glad you came.”

“Are you— I mean… you look a lot different?” 

He shrugs. 

“Do you still think I’m hot? I can change back—”

“No! No, sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I was just confused. You’re still—”

“Incredible?” 

You huff a laugh, and finally relax for the first time since you got into that elevator. 

“Yeah. Incredible.”

His cocky demeanor falls to the wayside to make room for something more sincere. He takes a few steps until you’re face to face with him, and places a suspiciously cold hand on the back of your heated neck. 

“I missed you,” he mumbles. 

“I— I missed you too. That night… I’ve thought about it so much.”

“Mmm, yeah? Me too.”

You kiss the stupid smirk off of his face. 

He tastes the same as you remember before, like champagne and sweet mint and her. His teeth are just as sharp, scraping your tongue as it explores every bit of his mouth. 

His free hand grabs your hip and pulls you even closer to him and fuck, that feels better than it has any right to. Your cock stirs in your pants and you buck your hips again, fiending for this new type of friction. 

“Come to bed with me?” 

All you can do is nod and follow. 

The bedroom looks just the same as it did last time, but the lack of sunlight makes everything feel quieter tonight— slower, more serene. 

He turns down the covers slowly, and you stand at the foot of the bed, extremely uncertain about what happens next, even though your dick throbs with anticipation. 

“You still into this?” 

Max’s voice startles you out of your own head. 

“Yeah, sorry. Nerves.”

He hums and steps closer to you. 

“Nothing to be nervous about, handsome.”

You nod and let your eyes trace up and down his body, noting his broad shoulders in that crisp white dress shirt and his thick thighs under the satiny sheen of his slacks. He’s still just as gorgeous in this masculine form, and it’s as irritating as it is enticing.

“Do you wanna fuck me?” 

“Shit.” 

His words go straight to your cock, and you’re unashamed to palm it in your hand and press and curse at the completely new sensation. 

“I’m assuming that’s a yes,” he chuckles. “Do you want my ass or my pussy?” 

Your hand on yourself stills. 

“You— you have a pussy?”

“I can.”

And it shouldn’t surprise you, after everything else that’s happened in the last ten minutes, but it still does. Your breath stutters in your chest and your dick fills out even more against your hand and you distantly wonder how big Max made it, if it’s exactly what he wants. 

“Can I— Will you show me your pussy?” 

He leers at you when you ask, and it only turns you on even more. 

“I was hoping you’d go for that.”

He starts unbuttoning his shirt, but this whole mad situation has you feeling much more comfortable, in a fuck it kind of way. You step into his space and work the buttons free, and follow with your mouth. His skin is cold under the heat of your lips, and by the time his shirt hangs free from his shoulders you’ve made it your personal mission to warm up every inch of him. 

It’s easy to work his belt open, undo his fly and watch it open to a thick thatch of pubic hair. You pause to press your lips to his again, to reach around to cup his pert asscheeks as his slacks fall to the floor. 

You can’t stop grinding against him, even as you press him back and down onto the bed. You just follow, fully clothed, hesitant to deny yourself this new heady feeling of pressure to your cock. 

It’s only when he suckles your top lip and reaches down to palm you that you realize you’re teetering on the edge of embarrassing yourself. 

Your hips jolt away from him and it hurts a bit when you rip your lip out between his teeth, but all the better to take your mind off the intense, heavy arousal in your gut. 

“Okay?” 

He asks it with a smirk, like he already knows the answer, so you don’t give him one. You just stare down past your heaving chest to see the damp spot on your pants and start to unfasten them to relieve some of the pressure. 

“You’re gonna want to chill out. Refractory periods are annoying with those things,” he warns. 

You huff. 

“That’s kind of you,” you joke. 

It’s better, just in the thin fabric of your underwear, less resistant. You want to take them off too, but you’re afraid that the euphoria from seeing yourself with a dick will really conflate the issue at hand. 

So you shuffle down the bed a bit, and press your lips to Max’s flat chest, to his nipples that are half the size they were last time. They pebble quickly under your attention, and you bite down on one when you accidentally drag your cock along the mattress. 

He groans and arches into you, goads you on with a hand on the back of your neck. 

“Are you as good at eating pussy as you are at sucking dick?” 

It’s almost comical, the way he applies pressure to urge you further down his body. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You nip at his sparse happy trail as he pushes you down with his large hand on your shoulder and delight in the way his muscles twitch under your mouth. 

“Some time this century, yeah.”

You hum, nose at the wiry curls on his mound and grab the wrist of his hand that’s still pressing on you. 

“You’re not very gentlemanly,” you tease.

He laughs as he stares down at you with his dark eyes. His hand moves to cup your jaw and you let it, let him trace your bottom lip with his thumb. 

“Is that what you want? A gentleman?”

You suck his thumb into your mouth as you shake your head, grinning around his knuckle. You bite down a little harder than you mean to and he hisses. He yanks his hand from your mouth to grab the back of your head and tug until your face is buried between his thighs. 

You relent, breathing in the scent of him, bypassing any preamble to shove your tongue inside of him. The way his hips buck into your face makes you smirk into his folds and dig your nails into the skin of his thighs. 

He still makes the most beautiful noises, when you get down to it. Desperate, hungry, eager. For as cocky as he is, he sure writhes against you like a shameless whore as he whispers curses into the dark room. 

You savor the taste of him, the warmth and tightness of him around your fingers, the scratchy feeling of his bush tickling your nose. The way his strong thighs tense and relax under your grasp makes you want to feel them do the same around your waist. 

You look up when he starts clenching around your fingers like a vice, and the thought of that feeling around your new dick makes you whimper into his pussy. You focus even more on the way you suckle and flick his clit, to try and set the arousal aside so you don’t come before you can even slip into him. 

He’s got his head thrown back, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, his back arched off the bed when he finally shudders and comes. You work him through it, lapping at his dripping hole, letting him grind against your tongue until he’s squirming away from your touch. 

You’re dragging this out. Stalling. You press little biting kisses to his thighs and his mound as he’s coming down. Maybe if you just worked him through one more, you’ll be calm enough to—

“C’mere already.”

You roll your eyes at him as he tugs on you, but you go willingly to hover over him and let him lick his taste from your mouth. His hums are lower and more subdued in the aftermath and they rumble deep in your chest as you try your hardest not to grind into him. 

It doesn’t matter. 

His free hand wraps around your cock and the feeling turns you on so much that you almost feel nauseous. You can feel all five of his fingers there, even with how big his hands are. He’s around you, and the familiar sensation on the inside mixed with the foreign sensation against your skin is a bit confusing but so hot. He squeezes and you jolt, bite down hard on his lip, but it only makes him chuckle. 

“That good, huh?” 

You groan into the crook of his neck in answer, completely at a loss for words. 

“I’d like to say the novelty wears off, but I haven’t found that it does.”

You feel like you’re on fire, honestly, like you’re trapped in a burning building with no way out. It’s hard to speak or breathe or think with his hand wrapped around you over your underwear. You can’t even begin to imagine how good his skin is going to feel against yours. 

“C’mon, handsome, lie back for me.”

You do, with his help, reclined back against his decorative pillows. Your breathing is ragged as he takes his time getting your shirt off and pressing surprisingly sweet kisses to everything revealed to him. 

You ground yourself by petting his hair, coarse and a little sticky from hair gel but thick enough to be extremely satisfying to card through. For a moment you’re able to focus on the feeling of it slipping between your fingers instead of the throbbing of your prick. 

But then his thick fingers find the elastic waistband and creep underneath. It shocks you out of your false sense of security. When your panicked eyes meet his, they’re so warm and soft you think you could maybe cry a little about it. But he speaks up instead. 

“Are you still okay with everything going on?”

And you are, even though you’re hanging by a thread and preemptively embarrassed by what’s about to go down; you want it so bad. 

So you nod. 

“Words, handsome.”

You huff. 

“Yes, Max. Please.”

He hums and smiles. 

“Good boy.”

You’re engulfed by embarrassment when your cock jumps dramatically at his words, right beneath his hovering face. You feel even hotter when he huffs out a laugh.

But then he’s pulling your underwear, and it’s there, in plain sight, a gorgeous cock. It’s perfect, it’s how you’ve always imagined yours would look if you had one. Like Max knew, somehow, was inside your brain and could see the same fantasies that you could. 

It jerks again in the cool air. You can feel the blood rushing there, a powerful gush that makes it twitch when you think about how it’s your dick, on your body. He hasn’t even touched you yet and you can feel pre-cum dripping down your shaft. 

“Can I taste?” He asks. 

You nod, then remember your words. 

“Please.”

You can’t produce more than a whisper as you watch him lean forward, like slow motion, with his tongue hanging out dramatically and his eyes locked on yours. 

The first touch of his tongue against your skin has your hips flying off the mattress at a speed that you’re sure defies laws of physics. 

He just looks so fucking gorgeous with your prick eclipsing the middle of his face. Your prick looks so gorgeous. God, you’re starting to understand where cis men get their audacity from. 

You tighten your grip on his hair for no other reason than you need something to hang onto or you might just float off into space. He teases you with more kitten licks, up one side, then the other, and you watch in awe. You can’t take your eyes off it, even though it may delay the inevitable if you could. 

He kisses the head of it, and his tongue does something wicked right underneath it that makes you tug his head back by his gelled locks. 

“Too much?” He asks, even as he winces at your tugging. 

“You’re teasing, and all that’s going to lead to is disappointment on your end.”

God, why do you sound like you’ve just run a marathon?

“I’ll never be disappointed by making you come, handsome.”

He’s so fucking annoying. You want to fuck his face just to shut him up, but you know that would only last about ten and a half seconds. 

You curse and close your eyes and dig your head back into the pillows. He must take it as a signal to continue, because bright, staticky stars burst behind your eyelids when he takes you into his mouth for the first time. 

Fuck. You’re inside him. It feels hot and wet, kind of squishy, but so tight when he sucks and sinks his mouth down even farther. 

You yell. The dramatic noise is ripped from your vocal chords without your consent, and your eyes fly open to look down at him. Those plush fucking lips look so goddamn good wrapped around you, all wet and red and swollen. You squeeze his hair in your hand. You’re so torn between wanting to chase the warmth of his mouth and wanting to arch away from it. 

Then you feel it, that familiar twisting deep and low in your gut, only it’s ten times as intense as it usually is. You start to panic. 

“Max! Max, please, I’m—!”

He pulls off quickly, and squeezes the base of your jerking dick. It kind of hurts, and you hiss and watch in horror and wait for something to come out. But it doesn’t. It’s so weird, the way he’s manually shut down your orgasm with one touch. Completely different than the way you would have had to hold back without this new dick. 

“That’s—”

“Incredible, right?” 

You huff in the midst of catching your breath. You still feel like a hair trigger, but without someone’s finger hovering over it now. 

“Oh my god,” you sigh. 

He laughs and lets go of you. You watch him wipe the corners of his pretty mouth and distantly think that you can’t wait until you get used to this, so you can make him gag and watch his drool and your cum seep from it. 

Your dick jerks at the thought, and it’s strange to have the evidence of your arousal be so obvious. It’s like a damn car alarm. 

“Wanna fuck me now?” 

You laugh, delirious. 

“My new nickname’s gonna be One Pump Chump.”

He slithers up the bed to lie beside you. 

“It’s totally understandable. Normal, even.”

You raise your eyebrow at him. 

“How big is the sample size?”

He shrugs and smirks but his eyes focus on the bedsheets between you. 

“I know I seem like a douchebag, but I really just wanna help.”

You pout at him, but fix your face before he looks back up at you. You run your hand through his hair, gently this time, and something about this whole situation is making your heart feel all gooey. 

“You only seem like a little bit of a douchebag.”

He grumbles at you but smiles. 

“Besides, there’s like, a billion things you’re gonna want to try with that thing. You’ll get practice.” 

That thing suddenly doesn’t feel as pressing anymore. You’re still hard as rock, but it finally feels like it would take a little more than a gentle breeze to make you spill. 

“Let me fuck you, then.”

“Yeah?”

You nod and smile; and some of that eagerness comes back to light up his devious eyes. He reaches for the condoms in the bedside table and you admire all of the taut muscles under his tan skin. 

“You want help with this?” 

You roll your eyes, but it’s kinda sweet. You’ve never actually put one on at this angle before. So you get between his thighs when he lies back and let him roll it on you. 

“You can definitely get someone pregnant with this too, so… be warned. Don’t sue me about it, it won’t go over well in court.”

Your dick bobs in his grasp as you laugh. It feels so weird and fascinating.  

“Noted, thank you for the disclaimer. And sorry about the lawsuit?” 

He squeezes your prick around the condom and smiles up at you. 

“No worries, that was decades ago.”

You laugh until the words catch up with you. But you don’t have time to question it much, because he’s lying back and spreading his thighs for you, getting a pillow under his hips so his glistening pussy is tilted perfectly. Your mouth waters at the sight of him so aroused and ready for you, and at the thought of how much more wet and tight and hot it’s going to feel compared to his mouth. 

You sigh and play with his little clit, still wet from your saliva. He keens and seeks out more friction and you have to fuck him. His pussy is even more enticing now, knowing you can slide your prick inside. 

You shuffle closer and try to remind yourself to take your time. You purposefully glide your hands up his thighs, feeling the way the hair gets more sparse and fine the further up you go. You’re delighted by the little goosebumps that form under your fingertips and the way he sounds so relaxed when he sighs. 

Shuffling even further now, you settle those thick thighs over your own and let your knees cage his slim hips. When you look up, he’s watching you through hooded eyes with his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You really are gorgeous,” you tell him, softly, afraid to disturb what’s becoming a very peaceful calm before the storm. 

His breath hitches a little and you see it as it ripples his chest. 

“You really are handsome,” he winks back. 

Your hand wanders up higher, across his ribs, and your thumb presses against his stiff nipple and rolls it. You feel the small noise he makes under your palm and smile. 

Your other hand grabs the base of your cock, sure to keep the base of the condom from slipping down. The subtle move kind of makes you feel like a pro, and you’d snicker about it if the euphoria that flooded through your body didn’t overwhelm you. 

It’s kind of like an out of body experience. But you’re also painfully aware of your body and this new appendage and the way the feeling of it is wreaking havoc on your entire being. 

You slide your cock through his wet folds and even just this feels incredible, the way every bit of him feels rubbing against your sensitive cockhead. You can’t drag it out any longer, you know. 

“Are you ready?” You ask him hesitantly. 

“Are you ready?” 

You snort and roll your eyes and pinch his nipple. His back arches and the movement makes your dick slip down, press just barely against his opening. You suck in a breath and it takes every ounce of willpower not to shove yourself inside to chase that wet heat. 

“Okay, okay, I’m ready. Just fuck me already. Gonna feel so good.”

For him or for you, you’re not sure which he means, but it doesn’t matter. 

You try to take your time. You really do. But as soon as the head of your prick slips in it’s like you have no self control. 

You chase the warmth, plunge all the way into him, and stay. 

Oh my god. 

“Oh my god.”

Max chuckles at you and you can feel it. You’re so fucking wrapped up in him. Every little move, shift, clench, it surrounds you and overwhelms you. 

“You feel so fucking good, Max.”

You’re sure you look absolutely wild. Your jaw is permanently dropped, eyes wide as you try with all of your might to hang on. 

“Ditto,” he breathes. 

His eyes look dark and intense, when your eyes can finally focus in. 

“Do you— did you make it exactly how you like?” 

It’s so stupid to be asking questions right now but it’s the only thing you have to keep you somewhat composed. 

“Yeah,” he admits, a little breathless. 

“You get off on that?”

You know he does before he answers, can feel him clench and contract around you. You muster up the dexterity to find his clit with your thumb and press. 

“I do! I do, fuck.”

You finally start to inch out of him, slowly, afraid that too much friction will send you over the edge. 

“Are you using me like a toy?” 

He whimpers, and the sound alone makes you snap your hips back into him. 

“No, no, that’s not it.”

Your brows rise up in question, and you pull out again as you wait for him to explain. 

“It’s— I dunno. I like that you… hah, shit, like that, don’t stop.”

You feel smug that you’ve derailed his thoughts by starting to fuck him with a slow rhythm, if only because he’s derailed yours a million times in the two nights you’ve shared. 

You circle his clit and groan at the way his pussy squeezes you. It’s hard to even pull out of him, it’s like he’s sucking you right back in. 

“You were saying?”

And it doesn’t sound smooth coming from your mouth, your breathing labored and your voice strained. 

“I like that you’ll think of me when you fuck. I like knowing I made you like this for me even if others get to enjoy it. I like knowing— shit— I like knowing I’m the one that makes you feel good.”

You balk at his confession. Such a beautiful explanation for something so possessive. From anyone else it would sound so objectifying. But with this strange relationship the two of you have, it makes your entire body burn. 

You collapse on top of him once the words really sink in. You hide your face in his sweaty neck and begin to rut into him with the knowledge that you’ll probably crumble far too quickly, but you don’t quite care. 

“You do, you make me feel so good,” you tell him. 

He whines and works his hips against yours to meet your frantic thrusts. You grab his hair again and bite faint marks into his neck that make him writhe and squirm against you. 

“You do too— harder, please, fuck me harder.”

Man, your hips are starting to ache, just like with your strap, but this time the sensation of feeling him wrapped around your very real cock keeps the discomfort at bay and it’s just pure bliss. 

So you double down, raise back up to put more of your back into it. Your sweaty hands slip against his skin as you try to grab his hips for leverage. 

“You gotta touch yourself for me,” you pant. 

The way he scrambles to comply just turns you on even more, gives you one more tick in the ‘power tripping’ column. He looks so fucking beautiful under you, back all arched in pleasure, his face scrunched up in concentration. His bicep is bulging as he slides three fingers back and forth across his clit, so frantic but so practiced. 

You fuck him and try to think about anything other than how good he feels. You’re plunging into the world’s softest, warmest hole and he’s moaning for you, you’re making him feel just as good as you do, and you’re going to lose it. 

“Gonna come, Max. I can’t—”

“Do it, come for me. Wanna be the first.”

Your hips stutter as the wave finally, finally crashes over you. You try so hard to fuck through it, try to make him come again, but as the first shock of your orgasm spikes up your spine, you can’t think to do anything but try to bury yourself as far as you can into his tight cunt. 

You know he’s saying something encouraging by the tone of his voice, but his words go in one ear and out the other as you grind into him and rest your sweaty forehead in the middle of his chest. It feels so good you could cry. 

Your fingertips dig into the flesh of his hips as you ride it out, and your chest starts to burn and your throat starts to ache and your eyes start to burn.

You are crying. 

“Shit.”

It comes out as a broken sob, muffled into his chest, and he starts at the sound. 

“Hey, it’s okay. Just breathe.”

You shake your head against him. 

“I’m fine.”

“I know, just breathe though.”

The breaths you suck in are all shuddery and stilted, and there’s snot, and it’s so embarrassing but comforting all at once. 

He urges you to slip out, and he even holds the condom for you, pulls it off, and ties it while you try to reel yourself in.

You don’t, not right away at least, because once you get over the crazy rush of endorphins and serotonin and dopamine or whatever that’s flooded your body, you start feeling extremely self conscious about the whole sobbing during sex thing, and the fact that he didn’t get off, and—

“Come snuggle?” 

You’re not sure when he got up, but he’s holding up a robe for you in one hand, and cradling your head in the other, and ushering you out into the living room. His fireplace is on now, and there’s a tall, snobby glass bottle of water on his end table. 

You’re tired, now. Like, bone-deep exhaustion. You slump into him where he’s sprawled out on his leather couch and close your watery eyes. 

“I’m sorry.”

He shushes you gently, pets your head that’s on his chest that definitely has your dried snot on it still. 

“Don’t be sorry. As long as you feel good, I feel good.”

You nod, and taking a deep breath comes easier to you this time. You brave a look up at him, and his eyes are warmer than ever as they reflect the orange-yellow flames.

“Thank you.”

He smirks then, and you feel the tension in the room shift. 

“So how was it?”

You grin and hide it in his pecs. You’re hyper aware of your spent dick lying soft and sticky on your thigh. You’re so much more tired than you ever usually are after an orgasm. It was all so different, every little bit of it. And there’s this calmness you feel now, after all the commotion, and it hits you all at once that it all feels right. 

There’s no cleaning your strap, putting away your toys, no sliding on your underwear to hide the thing that just gave you pleasure. There’s no awkward dissonance. It’s just… normal. Normal in a way it’s never been before. Effortless bliss, like a sensory deprivation tank. Nothing. 

“It was everything.”

-

Author's Note: I wanted to share a bit about what really resonated with me as I learned more about Loki. The one thing that stuck with me throughout this writing challenge is that Loki is not a bad guy. I will be honest, the only thing I knew about Loki before this was from the MCU, which to me seems like an oversimplification of the norse god from everything I've learned about him. Erin provided me with this very thorough video that analyzes Loki and his myths. To me, he seems like someone who liked to 'stir the shit' for the sake of curiosity. I didn't find much ill will at all in these tellings of his trickery, just a guy who wanted to fuck around and find out about things, someone who did more than just wonder what would happen.

Second, Erin said he's Like a fun older brother. Very playful and mischievous. Very straight-forward. Protector of outcasts; lgbtq+ folks, disabled people, neurodivergent people, etc. This was another driving force behind this fic. It wasn't a coincidence that Max met reader their first night at the club, they founded the club for the sole purpose of creating a safe space for queer people and takes an active role in making sure their patrons feel like they belong.

Lastly, Erin said their pick for me would be Max / Loki because of the gender fuckery, which excited me as much as it made me feel honored. When watching the aforementioned video, I learned about Loki turning himself and Thor into a bridesmaid and a bride, respectively. Loki himself was unrecognizable and was the exact image of a woman. However, Thor pretty much just looked like himself in a dress (this is paraphrasing.) I loved the idea that Loki's shapeshifting could not only be directed toward other people, but could vary in vagueness. These undefined rules for Loki’s gender felt like how I personally view gender in general, as well as how I relate it to my own identity, and I really took that idea and ran with it.

Anyway, thank you again @perotovar for this writing challenge and the piece of yourself you shared with all of us. I love you so much! <3

[lotusbxtch]

Ocean's Gold - An Offering of Frith story

Pairing: Jack Daniels / Agent Whiskey x f!Reader Word Count: 6.4k Rating: Explicit - 18+ ADULTS ONLY, MDNI Frith Challenge god: Ægir

Summary: Jack Daniels, retired from the Statesmen, signs you on as the business partner for his new brewpub. Sparks fly, and you wonder if it could ever be more.

Tags/warnings: Tags/warnings: alcohol (beer) is a major part of the story, consumption of food & alcohol, a sprinkling of angst, fingering (f receiving), oral (f and m receiving), protected PIV, Jack is an absolute consent king & safe sex advocate, semi-public sex (1 scene), absolute tooth-rotting fluff (these two are SO CUTE). Reader has she/her pronouns and identifies as female, has a name (not including it yet to keep it a surprise!) and some backstory but otherwise there are no physical details included - it's you, darling! (psssst: 2 other P boys make a guest appearance!)

a/n: This is my (belated) entry for @perotovar's Offering of Frith Challenge. My P boy/Norse god combo was Jack Daniels & Ægir. This is actually my first time writing Jack! It was such a fun challenge, and although I was honestly initially scared that I bit off more than I could chew, I ended up loving what I've written. I hope you do too! (See the afterword for more details on Ægir and other nods to Norse mythology/traditions that I sprinkled in!) Thank you Erin for hosting this challenge, and @for-a-longlongtime for being my cheerleader, beta reader, and telling me over and over that I could do this! Moodboard by @perotovar, dividers by @saradika-graphics.

Just breathe, you got this.

You straighten out your outfit in the mirror in an attempt to quell your nerves. Dark jeans, espresso leather lace up boots, cropped well-worn Fleetwood Mac graphic tee, and your favorite blood red blazer. You swipe on a matching red lip, nod at yourself in the mirror, and leave your apartment to walk down to the brewery.

The 3 block-long walk gives you time to review what you learned about the business opportunity. Jack was a recently-retired government operative who inherited a large sum of money and wanted to use it to open a brewpub. A smart businessman already, he knew that in order for his brewpub to be successful - regardless of how good his beer was - he needed to have a damn good pub restaurant, too. Which is why you’re swinging open the brewpub’s doors on a mild fall evening, CV in hand: as it turns out, you were looking for your next culinary opportunity. After working in a number of prestigious kitchens, you itched for the opportunity to build something of your own, something homey that you could be proud of. This position is exactly the kind of project you hoped for.

You step into the building, the interior clearly unfinished, but with good structure to it - high vaulted ceilings, good natural lighting, and two levels. Three, if you count the brewery on the floor below you to the left, where you could see the tops of large brewing fermentation vessels.

“Hello?” you call out into the barebones building, looking around for signs of life.

“I’ll be there in a jiffy!” you hear from someone below you, presumably Jack. In a moment, you see him emerge from the staircase leading to the brewing area, and you feel your breath catch in your throat.

Holy hell, you didn’t know he was THIS hot.

Walking towards you was easily one of the most handsome men you’ve ever set eyes on. Tall, incredibly broad-shouldered, and golden-skinned, Jack sauntered up to you wearing a white t-shirt stretched across his chest, dark jeans, black Wellingtons, and a belt with - is that a whiskey flask buckle?

“Rán, I assume?” Jack broke into a wide smile, offering up his hand. You shook it firmly, reveling in the warmth of Jack’s hand and how it dwarfed yours. Keeping your eyes locked to Jack’s amber ones, you returned his smile and nodded.

“It’s so nice to meet you in person, Jack,” you said, taking another glance around the interior. “The place has good bones.”

“That is does,” Jack responds, looking around as well. “I have high hopes for this place. And you seemed like the perfect person to hook up with to get it done.”

Your eyes bug out for a moment before you can school your face, but the heat starts creeping up your neck anyway. I’m sure he didn’t mean it that way…

“Oh, hell,” Jack sputters, “That’s not what I meant! I… dagnabbit, I’m already blowing it…” He runs his hand through his dark brown waves, thoroughly embarrassed. “I meant to partner with. On this business venture.” Jack looked at you, face flushed, eyes pleading. You couldn’t help but let out the giggles coming from your chest.

“Hardly blown, but maybe we can have some of that beer you promised me and start over?” you suggest, tilting your head towards the brewery. Jack looked relieved and nodded in agreement. 

“Follow me, darlin’, and I’ll take you to my mad scientist lab,” he says as he motions towards the staircase. Following his broad frame (good god, those shoulders are so wide) down the steps, you emerge in the brewery, the heart of the business. Gleaming stainless steel fermentation tanks tower above, the immaculate floor wet, looking recently sanitized. The smell of malted barley and herbaceous hops permeates the air, and the brewery area is compact yet efficient. Everything looks perfectly kempt, a testament to how much Jack cares about his beer. On a wall hook near the entrance hung a black leather jacket and a black Stetson cowboy hat. You notice a small farmhouse table set up nearby the office area with two glasses set atop. 

He set this up just for us?

Your eyes meet Jack’s, your mouth a bit ajar, and he smirks, pulling out a chair for you like a real southern gentleman. “Think I wouldn’t pull out all the stops for my hopefully-soon-to-be business partner?” You sit, and he walks to the carbonation room to fetch his brew of choice. Returning with the deep brown glass growler, Jack raises it towards you in offering. You nod, pushing your glass closer and he pours the liquid within out. A pale golden beer flows into your glass, creamy foam gathering on the surface. He pours himself some, then sits down at the other end of the table. 

“This is somethin’ I’ve been workin’ on for the grand openin’,” he explains, motioning to the beer. “It’s a farmhouse ale, what’s usually referred to as a saison. I’m callin’ it Ocean’s Gold. I want it to be the flagship brew. Please, try it and let me know what you think.” Your eyes flick to the glasses, and then with a small smile, you bring it up to your lips and drink. The beer is full-bodied, malty but light, with citrus and peppery notes dancing across your tongue. The finish is dry, resulting in a beer that’s incredibly drinkable and refreshing.

“Holy cow, Jack,” you breathe out, astounded at his skills. “That’s so delicious. You’re one hell of a brewmaster.”

Jack chuckles, grinning warmly. “Why thank you, sugar,” he croons, making the heat rise up the back of your neck again. Damn those Southern nicknames, you think to yourself, willing your nerves to calm. “Hopefully I’m as good of a brewer as you are a chef. I’ve been askin’ around, and word on the street is that you’re one of the best and hardest working chefs people have worked with.”

“Well, that’s high praise,” you reply, “but I’m glad to hear it. I pride myself on my work ethic and food is my first love, as it seems like brewing is for you. What sort of place do you want the brewpub to be?”

Jack contemplates his answer. You see his face get more serious, but nothing but passion shines from his eyes when they lift to yours. “First and foremost, aside from serving up the best beer this side of the Rockies, I want this place to be ingrained in the community.” You sip your beer as Jack continues. “This place has given me so much, and I want to give back. I want a place where everyone feels welcome, ya know? Whether they want to share a pint with a friend, get a bite to eat with loved ones, or meet new people who share their love of good food and beer, I want them to feel at home.”

A wistful look passes over Jack’s face, and he pauses to meet your eyes again. “Now, I don’t wanna overload you with too many details, but this part is pretty important to me, and I wanna make sure that whatever business partner I end up with is on the same page.” You nod, encouraging him to continue. “Now, when I was growing up, my family didn’t have the most to live on. A lot of times we went hungry, and it was only through the kindness of strangers that we got to eat then. I have this idea for a ‘pay it forward’ type meal program. Folks can come in, pay $5, $10 for a prepaid meal ticket. We’d put those paid vouchers up somewhere and if someone is hungry and doesn’t have the money to pay, they can take one of those vouchers and we’d give ‘em a hearty meal, free of charge.”

Jack takes a breath and closes his eyes for a moment, then looks back over at you. You can feel your heart ache for this man who clearly had to work hard to be where he’s at, now wanting to share his wealth with those less fortunate than him. You try to swallow the lump in your throat.

“Jack, that’s… incredible,” you finally get out. This degree of selflessness wasn’t common in business owners in the circles you existed in. “I’d be honored to help you make that dream a reality.”

“Is that you sayin’ you’ll saddle up with me, sugar?” Jack looks at you with hope in his eyes. Your heart leaps, and you try to calm it down as you nod affirmatively. This is a business deal, your brain warns your heart. It beats fast anyway.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Jack beams, excitement rippling off his body. “Can’t wait to build this place up together.”

You grab the growler and fill your and Jack’s glasses, raising yours to his. “Cheers to a fruitful new partnership.” Your smile reflects Jack’s, and you both drink up.

The next 9 months are a whirlwind of activity. After your official business documents were drawn up and signed, you and Jack worked night and day to get the brewpub ready for the following summer. You designed the interior, fitting the place with warm dark wood and brassy golden fixtures. Chic firepits dotted the outdoor patio in the back. You included subtle oceanic iconography wherever you could – the sea was a huge inspiration for the both of you. Jack worked tirelessly on a signature lineup of beer, as well as a couple of seasonal offerings to add variety. Meanwhile, you toiled in the kitchen, experimenting with flavor profiles and dishes until you’d perfected your menu. You laughed and joked as you worked together, getting to know each other’s backstories as well as each other’s preferred workstyles. You talked and dreamed, debated and sometimes argued - after all, both of you were stubborn - but always worked things out. You kept him on his toes, and he kept you grounded.

Oftentimes, you and Jack used each other as taste testers, knowing the both of you would give honest feedback. On one particular evening in the late winter, you were sitting at the half-finished bar, sipping on a trial seasonal amber ale that Jack fermented in whiskey barrels. 

“I never asked you where you got your name from, darlin’,” Jack mused, taking a gulp of his beer afterwards. “It’s quite unusual.”

“Ahh yes,” you responded, a smirk turning up your lips. “That would be thanks to my literary professor grandmother. She specialized in studying mythology texts from around the globe. Rán is the Norse sea goddess of death.” You saw Jack’s eyebrows twitch upwards in surprise, and you chuckled a bit before continuing. “That sounds intense, but she is also seen as the caretaker of those who die at sea. She helps care for them until they are ready to move on to the next realm. My grandmother wanted me to be tough, suffer no fools, but to also be kind and care for those that need it.” 

Jack huffs in amusement. “Sounds just like you. She did a good job with that name.”

You smile, swirling your glass in thought. You look up at him, but his warm chocolate eyes are already on you, a flicker of something in them that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Jack?” you start. “There’s something I wanted to ask you about the ‘giving back’ part of the business.” You take a deep breath, your true passion project in your mind. “A long time ago, when I was much younger and just starting my culinary journey, I worked at an assisted living home, specifically for those with Alzheimer’s disease. It paid terribly, but I got a lot of experience in preparing food in a foodservice setting. It also deeply affected me. You don’t realize how important food is to people. Sometimes family members would ask if we could put something special on the menu, a dish their loved one used to make or loved to eat, to see if they would remember. We wouldn’t make any promises, but I’d always remember which request was from which family. When we were able to accommodate those requests, I’d see these people whose minds… for lack of a better term, seemed to be proverbially lost at sea… but they took one bite of their favorite food, and their whole face lit up. Sometimes it was simply enjoying the food, but other times it would trigger fond memories.”

Your eyes began to water, and Jack reached across the table and grabbed your hand, gently stroking his thumb across the top. You swallowed, continuing. “I hated that I had to leave that place, but my career wouldn’t go anywhere if I didn’t, and the money wasn’t nearly enough to pay the bills. I always thought, if I was in a place where I could give back, I would love to donate my time and supplies to cook for people like that again.” You look into Jack’s eyes, a swirl of emotions in yours. “Do you think… we could maybe do that with the brewpub? Take a day off every month or so to cook for an Alzheimer’s assisted living home?”

Jack squeezed your hand. “Of course, sugar. It means a lot to you, and it’s helpin’ the community. I couldn’t think of a more worthy cause.”

A tear slipped down your face as you smiled and mouthed “thank you” at him. But your breath caught in your throat when Jack reached up to tenderly wipe away the tear from your cheek. You stare at each other, a charge running through the air. 

Kiss him, your heart whispers.

But instead, you clear your throat, squeeze his hand and throw on a grin. “I’d love some more of that ale if you got any more.”

Jack smiles softly. “For you? No charge.” You both giggle as he goes to grab another pint for you.

He’s just a business partner, your brain reminds you. But he’s become more than that, you realize.

A friend. A partner in dreams.

Maybe more, says your heart.

A few months later, the brewpub is bustling.

With the support of some of your industry friends - and your and Jack’s hard work - The Gilded Wave opens with a bang. Business is booming; the restaurant is constantly busy, and Jack is so swamped with the microbrewery that he had to hire two additional assistant brewmasters to keep up with demand. You are speaking to your front-of-house manager when two very familiar faces burst through the front door.

Your face lights up. “Pero! Ez! What are you guys doing here?” you exclaim as they wrap you up in a bear hug. You squeal as they lift you into the air with ease.

“We heard through the ever-whisperin’ grapevine that our sweet Birdie built her very own nest and we just had to come see for ourselves,” Ezra drawls, his characteristically charismatic smirk alighting his face while he takes in the brewpub. “What a perfectly festooned establishment you got here! I sure do hope the fine provisions match the opulence of the aesthetics!”

You shake your head, giggling at Ezra’s always-fanciful dialogue, as Pero rolls his eyes at his companion. “It’s lovely to see you, hermosa,” he rumbles, kissing your cheek. 

“I missed you both so much! Wanna sit at the bar and I can set you two up with some beer & food?” you offer.

“That would be fabulous, Birdie!” Ezra exclaims, clapping his hands together. “I am in need of libations like an earthworm in the midday sun.” The two men plunk themselves down at the bar, and you turn to your bartender.

“Eddie, do you mind sending in an order of garlic fries and crispy artichoke hearts for these two gentlemen?” Eddie nods and starts punching in the order in the system. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Jack coming up from the brewery stairs, wiping his brow after checking on the brewing. “Jack! Come meet some friends.”

Jack grins, loping up the rest of the stairs. He swaggers up to the bar, looking at you expectantly. 

“Jack, this is Ezra and Pero. We worked together in a bunch of restaurants over the last few years.” Jack smiles widely, shaking the hand of each man and exchanging greetings.

“Guys,” you say, “this is my business partner Jack. He’s the brilliant brewmaster keeping this place busy.”

“Aww, shucks, sugar,” Jack guffaws, “this place ain’t what it is without your excellent food. Only so long a man can survive on beer before he needs to eat. And what an incredible menu it is!”

You feel your cheeks heat with the compliment. “Jeez, don’t make me soft in front of these two. I’ll never hear the end of it!” You punch Jack in the shoulder playfully, and your friends snort.

“Rán? Soft? No way, only if she really likes you,” Pero gruffs with a laugh. “She used to make grown men cry when they’d try to start shit with her.”

You turned to Jack with a smirk. “I told you I suffer no fools.”

Jack puts his hands in the air playfully in mock surrender. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.” He turns to Pero and Ezra. “Would you two like to act as my beer guinea pigs for a moment? I have a new winter ale that I’m looking to perfect before the season hits us.” Your friends nod in agreement and thanks, and Jack turns to the bar, pouring from an unmarked tap that he keeps just for his trial brews. He slides the taster glasses to Ezra and Pero, and your friends sip in contemplation.

Ezra immediately starts speaking, as per usual. “Why, Jack, that is one of the finest ales I’ve ever had in my many turns around this here planet! The spice notes, they’re so unique! Is that coriander and ginger I’m picking up?” He sips again before Jack can speak. “Maybe some citrus?”

“Mighty fine palette you have there,” Jack responds. “It’s a white ale I’ve spiked with coriander, ginger, and orange peel. Gives that warm holiday feeling.”

Pero nods, eyebrows raised. “Now that, amigo, is a good beer.” He raises his taster in salute, then downs the rest.

You giggle and slap his hand. “Tovar! You’re supposed to savor it!” Pero only shrugs.

“It’s quite alright,” Jack chuckles. “They can each have a full pint with all the compliments they’ve lathered me up with.” You roll your eyes at your friends, and rub Jack’s shoulder in a “thank you” gesture. Pero clocks the move, and raises his eyebrows in question. You silently beg him to not ask anything.

Jack places two pints of the white ale in front of the men. “Well, fellas, thanks for coming in. I have to go back down to the beer lab now that I know this winter recipe is locked in. It’s been great meeting the two of you, and I hope to see y’all around again!” 

Pero and Ezra bade farewell to Jack, who disappeared back down the stairs just as the fries and artichokes arrived to the two of them. Both men dig in, nearly moaning in pleasure at the food.

“Birdie, this is incredible,” Ezra exclaims, dunking a fried artichoke into the aioli. Pero nods in agreement.

“Thanks, guys,” you coo, pleased that two of your longest friends approved of your menu. The three of you are silent for a moment, a rare occurrence when around Ezra.

“So what’s with you and Jack?” Pero asks bluntly. You nearly choke on the garlic fry you swiped from the basket. Ezra giggles into the artichokes.

“Nothing is going on,” you stammer, coughing slightly. “He’s my business partner.”

“Hermosa, I know you well, and you’ve never rubbed my shoulder like that,” Pero levels.

“I will say,” adds Ezra, “I could detect a certain… aura around you when Jack came upstairs. I have also never experienced that around you.” 

“Guys, we are business partners,” you assert. “We just got close ‘cause of how intertwined our work is.”

“Yeah, I’m sure there was some intertwining happening…” Pero mutters, and you slap him upside the head. Ezra titters uncontrollably.

“Alright, Birdie,” Ezra relents, “we’ll leave you alone about handsome Mr. Jack for now. But his winter ale did alight some thoughts in my head about a certain gathering…”

You groan. “Ez… we just opened up not that long ago. I can’t in good conscience ask Jack to let our ragtag group of friends take over the brewpub for our yearly winter debauchery.”

“But what if we profusely pledge to be on our most upstanding deportment?” Ezra begs, batting his eyelashes comically while putting on his best puppy face.

Pero snorts. “Fat chance at that. But I do like the idea.” He turns to you, raising an eyebrow.

You stare at them for a few moments more, and then your resolve crumbles. “Alright, you two hooligans, I’ll ask. But NO promises, okay?” Ezra cheers and wraps you in a tight hug, while Pero gruffs in agreement and stuffs a handful of fries in his mouth.

Surprisingly (or not so surprisingly, as he is so sweet and accommodating), Jack is enthusiastic about hosting your friend group’s annual winter party, saying how excited he was to meet your friends. You and Ezra planned for weeks, and Pero came through to help you and Jack decorate the place. The warm wood is hung with pine and holly garlands, twinkling string lights criss-cross along the walls and ceilings, and pine cones are tucked into various corners of the space. A yule tree sparkled in an alcove, decorated in red, green, and gold. And you made sure to pin up a few sprigs of mistletoe, one of your favorite traditions of the season. Back at your apartment, you slip on a sumptuous golden silk dress that clings in all the right places and flows beautifully to show off your figure, and strap on matching gold heels. Swiping on the same crimson lipstick you wore when you met Jack as a finishing touch, you smooth your outfit and walk back to the pub.

Soon enough, your friends began to pour into the space, bringing with them various foods and drinks. Jack made a special batch of wassail for the occasion, and Ezra dramatically waxes poetic about how good it is while Pero rolls his eyes at him, as usual, in the corner. The space fills with laughter, clinking glasses, and the smell of delicious food. You and Jack act as the gracious hosts, making sure no one’s glasses are empty and all the plates are full. As you’d hoped and prayed, Jack gets along amazingly well with every single one of your friends. He jokes and roasts; listens intently and carefully to people’s stories. He extends a warmth and familiarity to all, and more than once you get nudged suggestively, eyebrows wiggling and giggles whispered into your ear about how wonderfully well you and Jack work together. You flush with heat every time, and it’s hard to deny the chemistry between the two of you. Beyond being fantastic business partners, you admire Jack’s adeptness, his dogged cleverness, and most of all, his heart. Jack’s got one of the biggest hearts you’ve ever come across.

And, even if you fight it, you realize that Jack’s worked his way into your heart, too. All night you’ve been exchanging charged glances, sly smiles, little winks here and there. Jack places a warm hand on the small of your back while passing you. You press your body subconsciously against his while reaching for another glass. Fingertips brush, sparks fly. 

By the time your friends trickle out into the night, merry and full, the heat between the two of you is palpable.

You’re cleaning up the bar area when Jack approaches you, two glasses of wassail in his hands. “Outstanding shindig you threw, darlin’,” he observes, passing you a glass. You clink your cup against his and take a sip, savoring the way the ale, sweet honey, and spices swirl across your tongue. 

“We threw the party, Jack,” you correct. “You were just as good of a host as me, if not better.”

Jack smirks. “Well, it’s easy when you have such fun friends.”

“They are fun for sure, although I was worried they’d be a bit… much,” you admit.

“Pfft, I’m used to dealing with strong personalities,” he scoffs, nudging you pointedly. You roll your eyes but your grin remains, and you scoot closer to him, pressing the side of your body against his. You both lean against the bar, facing the interior of the brewpub, admiring where your hard work has taken you.

“Can you believe this place is real?” you muse, sipping again. Your eyes roam the space above you, when you stop and smile to yourself.

“Yes, I remember you waltzing into this place when it was nothing but concrete and pipes and my brewing equipment, a pretty thing with red lips and determination,” Jack reminisces, ignorant of what you’ve spotted.

Your heart skips a beat. Pretty.

“Oh yeah, cowboy? ‘A pretty thing’?” you purr, turning slightly to face him, your red lips pursed in amusement. Jack looks slightly hesitant, worried he crossed a line, until you point upwards and his eyes follow.

A sparkling sprig of mistletoe hangs between the two of you, above your heads. He meets your eyes again, all hesitation gone. 

“Are you gonna just stare, or are you gonna respect tradition and kiss this ‘pretty thing’?” you whisper, your lips curled flirtatiously.

A smirk spreads across Jack’s face. “I thought you’d never ask, sugar.” And with that, he pulls you into his body and your lips connect.

It’s a slow, sensual kiss when it starts. Jack is gentle, all brushes of the lips, presses and caresses of your body. You lean into him, feeling your nipples press against his dark button up while he cups the back of your head tenderly. A small whimper escapes your lips, and Jack pulls back with concern. 

“Is this still okay?” he murmurs, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs. You don’t answer with words, you just nod and pull him into another kiss, gently biting his plush lower lip. Jack moans gruffly, sliding his hands down the lines of your body, pausing to cup and squeeze your silk-covered ass. You feel wetness start to gather at your entrance, your arousal rocketing by the second as your kisses get more and more impassioned. Jack trails wet kisses down your neck, licking at your pulse point and right behind your ear, ripping another whimper from your chest. 

“Sugar, I need to taste you so badly,” Jack groans into the junction of your neck and shoulder, biting softly. 

“Please, Jack,” you breathe out, and Jack lifts you onto the bar counter, rucking your dress up. You spread your legs, helping to pull the golden silk out of the way. Jack pauses, then another smirk blooms on his lips; he takes his black Stetson off his head and places it onto yours in a quiet act of possession. You pant while you watch Jack pull up a barstool in front of you. Seating himself, he spreads you even wider, his eyes glittering with desire when he sets his eyes on your glistening center. You didn’t wear any panties, and he groans at the realization.

“Fuck, you’re prettier than a picture, honey,” he rumbles, tracing his large warm hands up your inner thighs, triggering more slick to seep out of you. Using his thumb, Jack spreads your wetness around your folds, and you inhale sharply, whimpering again. When Jack spies the pearl of your clit, he runs his thumb across it slowly, encouraging it to harden. 

“So fucking pretty,” Jack murmurs to himself, thumbing your clit again and reveling in the twitch of your thighs as he does. He leans down and runs the flat of his tongue across your entire pussy, from bottom to top, swirling around your clit deliciously slowly. Wanton moans snake their way from your throat. You grip Jack’s hair, keeping his face pressed against your most intimate parts. He groans into your folds, devouring you like a man starved, as you whine and whimper and shake for him. He’s observant, noticing when your body twitches and your cries pitch higher, using that information to bring you to the simmering cusp of your orgasm. 

“Come for me, darlin’,” Jack pleads, slicking up two fingers and sliding them inside you, your pussy gripping him tightly. You throw your head back, legs shaking from the intensity, when he reaches a spot deep in you.

With a few more pressured strokes of his fingers and a gentle suck of his mouth on your clit, you shatter around him, cunt clenching and dripping onto his fingers.

“That’s it, such a good girl coming for me when I ask,” Jack coos, his fingers continuing to work you through your orgasm, squelching from your release. Your moans are music to his ears, rapidly hardening his cock. Once you recover a bit, Jack slips his fingers into his mouth right before your eyes, growling quietly at the taste.

“Sweeter than honey,” he grits out, swooping in for a kiss, your own taste lingering on his lips and making you moan yet again. 

“Jack, I need you inside me,” you beg between fevered kisses. Jack pulls away to meet your eyes. 

“I don’t want to fuck you here,” he explains. “Can we go to your place? I want to lay you out, fuck you proper like you deserve.”

“Yes, of course,” you breathe, and he slaps your ass lightly before helping you off of the counter. You giggle, wobbling slightly in the aftermath of your pleasure. Jack helps right you and wraps a steadying arm around your shoulders while the two of you walk the three blocks to your apartment.

As soon as you enter the door, Jack is on you again, grinding his clothed cock into you and kissing you deeply. You walk the two of you backwards to your bedroom, clothing and shoes coming off between lips locking and hands groping, exploring. Both naked, you climb onto your bed, Jack following. Your legs fall open, and Jack can’t help himself from lunging forward to lick at your drenched pussy at the first sight of your slick lips parting. A whine hitches from your lungs, and Jack pulls back, shifting up to kiss you deeply again. Tongues tangle, lips are bitten, breathless moans exchanged. He pulls back again as you chase his lips, but he stops you.

“Hold your horses, sweetheart. Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, eyes shining with both hope and concern. “I don’t want you to move faster than you’re ready for.”

Your heart clenches at the display of care and consent. A smile lights your face as you respond, “Yes. I’ve been wanting this for ages… I was just too scared to be wrong about you feeling the same way for me and ruining an amazing business partnership. I’ve been dreaming of you in my bed for months, and now that I have you here, I’m not going to let you get away so fast.”

Jack’s eyes light up, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead before getting off the bed. He rummages through his pants briefly until he pulls a gold foil square from his wallet.

“I’ve got a golden ticket here for you, darlin’, but I want you to know that I get tested regularly and that I’m clean,” Jack informs you, a smile warming his face when you giggle at his corny joke. “Is that okay with you?” He climbs back onto the bed, leaning down to kiss your belly.

You nod affirmatively. “So do I, and I’m on the pill.” Sitting up and holding your hand out for the condom, you ask, “May I?”

Jack hands you the packet. “Be my guest, angel.” You lean forward, pressing your lips once again into his, and he groans in surprise as you flip him onto his back in one fluid motion. Climbing up his legs, you push them apart to make room for yourself in between. His impressive cock is achingly hard, viscous droplets of precum bubbling at the tip. You lap them up eagerly, Jack’s head falling onto your pillows with a muffled thump and a whine of pleasure.

“Fuck, your mouth feels so good,” Jack breathes. You suckle at the head, humming in pleasure as the salty-bitter taste floods your senses. Slowly, you begin bobbing up and down his shaft, swirling your tongue across his silky length, making his moans louder and more ragged as you go. After a couple of minutes and an intense suck later, Jack actually whimpers into the thick air of your bedroom, begging you for more. You tear open the foil packet carefully, then suck his cockhead one more time before settling the condom on top and gingerly rolling it down his thick cock. 

You rise to your knees and shuffle upwards, leaning down one more time to kiss him. With your lips locked, Jack presses you back a bit and scooches his body up to sit against the headboard. You settle into his lap and slide yourself down his cock slowly.

The stretch is exquisite. Both of you moan in sync, your hands planted on his tan chest, his hands coming up to grip your hips to keep himself tethered to the moment. You feel as if every empty space in your body is filled; he fits perfectly inside you, like he was meant to be there. 

He feels like coming home.

Once he’s bottomed out inside of you, you both take a moment to breathe and be present. Jack’s eyes are closed, forehead resting against yours, breathing each other’s air. His hands slowly and gently knead your hips while you adjust to his thickness stretching your walls deliciously. Bringing one of your hands to his face, you admire his blissed but tense countenance. It seems like the both of you are barely keeping it together; your pussy throbs against his cock, which twitches in response. Your breathing is heavier. And so is the tension and desire.

You kiss Jack’s lips softly, tracing your thumb down the line of his jaw, and his eyes flutter open, utterly melting when they focus on you. “Baby,” you murmur, “can I ride you now?” A groan claws out of Jack’s mouth, and his lips part as he nods his head affirmatively. 

“Please,” he begs, and fucks up gently into you. Your center clenches in response, and you begin to work yourself on his shaft, rolling your hips as you grind down and back up. The sensation is intense, intimate, and all-consuming.

You clutch at Jack’s well-muscled shoulders, pressing kisses wherever you can reach and nipping his neck. His groans deepen and lengthen, his cock swelling even harder with the feeling of being buried inside you, surrounded by hot velvet. Hands gripping harder, he thrusts back up into you each time you slide down, punching into a spot deep inside you that makes you see stars. Dizzying ecstasy lights up your veins as your moans and whines pitch higher with your arousal. The slick, obscene squelching of your pussy only serves to intensify the experience for the both of you.

“Oh god, sweetheart, you’re so fucking wet and tight for me,” Jack slurs, lost in his reverence of you. “Could never get enough of you.” All you can respond with is a devout chant of his name, moaned and sighed and whimpered. He reaches down and slicks his thumb with your juices, swirling it gently around your clit. You keen sharply.

“Jack,” you moan, “don’t stop, you’re getting me there.” Jack hushes you as he works your pearl firmer.

“C’mon, sugar, I wanna feel you come all over my cock,” he encourages urgently, massaging that spot deep in your pussy while he swirls, swirls, swirls with his thumb. Your whines sharpen, your body beginning to shake.

“Oh fuck, Jack, you’re gonna make me come,” you yelp desperately, your pussy contracting and squeezing his cock tightly. Jack digs his fingers harder into the meat of your hips, trying to stave off his own orgasm, as he continues his ministrations.

He leans forward, sucking and kissing your neck, up to your ear, and licking the spot right behind it gently before murmuring, “Come for me, beautiful.”

You shatter.

Flames lick along every nerve ending, and you shove Jack as deeply into you as possible when your high hits you. Wailing his name, you grip his hair, your cunt gushing and contracting against his length, and that’s enough to push Jack over the edge with you, your name tumbling off his lips in a whimper as he buries himself deep and empties his seed into the condom. 

Waves crashing together, the wheel of fate bringing you two to each other. He is meant for you, and you for him.

You both come back into your bodies, breathing heavily with your faces nuzzled against each other. Jack kisses your lips gently, and you part them to allow a deeper kiss to blossom. Slowly, languidly, your tongues dance, lips press and pull. With the tiniest peck, the two of you separate, and Jack brings his hands to cup your face gently, fingertips stroking your soft skin. His eyes shine like the sea on a sunny day, and you see golden flecks catch the light from your bedside lamp. 

“You’re so perfect,” he murmurs, mesmerized.

You huff a laugh. “Hardly,” you reply, “but I feel like we’re perfect for each other, no?” Jack nods.

“Perfectly suited for each other,” he agrees. “You are my fire, and I am your ocean. You motivate me to push myself and our business further, and keep my passions burning.”

“And you go with the flow, move with the tides, helping me get through rough waters,” you mutter sweetly at him, kissing his strong, aquiline nose. You both sit and absorb each other’s presence, soaking in the new stage of your relationship.

“Where do we go from here?” you whisper to Jack. Your lover, your confidante, your partner in business - and now, in life.

“I don’t quite know what our future holds, sugar,” Jack responds, kissing your forehead, “but where your heart is, there I will be also.”

a/n part 2: Thank you for reading! Below I've included the brief that Erin wrote about Ægir, as well as some details/inspo from the fic. Disclaimer: I am not inherently familiar with Norse mythology or traditions, so apologies if there's anything that is off-base!

-- Beers are inspired by Allagash Brewing's saison and seasonal Ski House Wheat.

-- The winter holiday party decorations are inspired by traditional Norse decorations for Yule.

-- The "wheel of fate" and the last line Jack says are a nod to traditional Norse wedding vows.

-- For Erin's Frith Challenge, Thor was assigned to Pero Tovar, and Tyr was assigned to Ezra.

God: Ægir  Character: Jack Daniels / Agent Whiskey

God of the sea and brewing ale. A Jotun (which translates to “devour” or “consume”, despite being connected to “giant” more often), suggesting that he would devour or consume the ships that would sink into the sea, and his wife, Rán (the death goddess of the sea), would consume the men upon the ships.

“The brother of air and fire”. Father of 9 daughters, who themselves are the waves. Not only represents the sea, but also personifies it. Symbolizes the strength and power of the ocean, so many view him as a great warrior.

Framed as a terrible and devouring Jotun, he’s also a welcoming host. It’s said that Thor and Tyr would visit to have some of Ægir’s ale, and every winter, the gods would come to feast in his hall. This makes him a great match for Rán, the caretaker of those who died at sea, as his hospitality would be extended to them through Rán. This could be seen one of two ways: that either the dead would reside in their hall, or that they would rest there until they were ready to move on.

The sea was seen as a source of great wealth, since sailors would find treasure through industry, trade or plunder. Gold itself was referred to as “Ægir’s Fire”, because he “lights his hall with gold in his hearth”. He’s wealthy, but he shares that wealth as he entertains his guests.

However, he sort of wanted to get out of being the gods’ host. He said he’d do it on the condition that they find a big enough cauldron to account for the amount of ale he’d have to make, since the gods liked to party so much.

To follow Ægir is to be hospitable to those who enter your hold seeking comfort.

Offerings: Ocean/water iconography. Gold. Fire/flames. Ale/alcohol.

Tags for those who may be interested: @mountainsandmayhem @alltheirdamn @sin-djarin @nerdieforpedro @mermaidgirl30 @missredherring @morallyinept @qveerthe0ry @guiltyasdave @almostfoxglove @almostempty @schnarfer @kedsandtubesocks @djarinmuse @agentmarcuspike @gasolinerainbowpuddles @yopossum

[kedsandtubesocks]

the dark dresses lightly

Dave York x F!Reader

written for @perotovar offering of frith challenge

Vidar [Víðarr] (The Silent God of Vengeance)

summary: your ex has made your life hell & you had hoped for retribution - but when it arrives as a handsome stranger you must now place your trust (and heart) in his hands

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. Norse God Mythology AU (Dave is still Dave but also the god of vengeance), fake dating, mild angst & yearning, soft & protective!Dave, creepy awful ex boyfriend & his awful friends (stalking, extreme harassment), light use of gendered language, alcohol consumption, themes & moments of violence, gun usage, blood imagery, minor character deaths, masturbation (f), soft dom!Dave, Dave’s dirty talk, use of “good girl”, oral (f!receiving), finger sucking, light spit kink, fingering, smutty thoughts, spicy themes, poetic allusions to smut (p in v)

word count: 8.9k

a/n: here’s my offering to our dear @perotovar wonderful writing challenge - the moodboard is all theirs too! Thank you for arranging for us Erin & for all the help you’ve given me, ily forever! Also a huge thank you to @pedgito & @pr0ximamidnight for always letting me scream about this wacky idea lol… now to you, if you’re reading this too I also can’t thank you enough ♡

You meet the god of vengeance at a bar. It sounds like a bad joke, but it’s true.

Except you didn’t know he was the god of vengeance then…

The situation with your ex brought you to this point and to this bar.

You feel like a cliché sitting at the counter nursing a drink. The meeting with your dad’s attorney friend went well. You just hope, wish, this all will end soon.

“You okay?” A smooth, rich, hesitant voice emerges beside you, and when you turn you’re stunned.

He’s utterly gorgeous. Dressed in a dark blazer and red tie, it’s like he just walked out of a very important conference meeting. Sharp clean shaven jaw, amazing tiger’s eye gem like gaze, beautiful aquiline nose - you didn’t even hear him approach.

You wonder if maybe he’s a hallucination.

Weakly, you reassure him you’re fine, even flash a fake smile.

His eyes wince almost like he’s heartbroken at your response. But you get it. You alone in the bar exhausted and dejected probably presents a bleak sight.

“This seat taken?” The mystery man asks, nudging at the open barstool next to you. You gently tell him it’s not.

He grins soft, under-stated and polite. There's a reassured ease you’re surprised to see in his eyes. The man turns to the bartender and orders a drink for himself and you.

The dark cloud looming around you slowly starts to dissolve.

“What’s your name?” He asks, and you happily give it to him.

“I’m Dave.” He extends his hand out respectfully. The handshake is firm, and you already can’t get over how much larger his hand is compared to yours.

You haven’t met and talked to someone like this in so long, especially with the mess you’ve been dealing with. Dating has been out of your mind completely.

“So what brings a beauty like yourself to a bar all alone?” Dave smoothly asks.

A flattered fluster runs across your face. His tone isn’t out right flirty but still curious, testing the waves.

Hesitation however tugs at you. The last time your best friend tried to set you up with one of her co workers, you accidentally let everything slip about the mess with your ex boyfriend. The guy was polite and sweet about it all but never talked to you again after that.

So you half lie and say you’ve been dealing with some legal issues. You explain how you just left meeting an attorney and dropped by this bar nearby.

Dave nods, patiently.

“That’s unfortunate. I’m sorry.” He sympathizes.

After thanking him, you now ask what brings someone like him to the bar. The man smirks, and it colors him slightly cocky but attractive like a coy rich business man.

“Just dropped by after work.” He answers and curiously you of course ask what he does.

“Oh, I’m a mercenary,” he explains simply.

That’s a new one.

“If you are, then you’re doing a bad job at keeping a low profile.” You casually tease. Dave smiles, crinkling his rich earthen eyes.

He of course reveals he works a boring government job. The small talk comes easily afterwards. He makes you laugh and is engaging to talk to. Every worry, every weight that’s been on your shoulders, ebbs away.

Eventually you excuse yourself to the bathroom, but before you move from the bar stool someone yells your name, and your heart drops.

You find Nick, your ex’s best friend, here with other guys from work. You’re terrified.

“You look scared.” Nick laughs mockingly. You’re torn between running or throwing your drink at him.

“You okay? Do you need me to call someone?” Dave swiftly asks worried, and you shake your head.

You head to the bathroom to calm yourself down. After splashing some water on your face, you simply reassure yourself to finally sober up and drive home.

But stepping out of the bathroom into the hallway, you’re not alone.

Nick sneers. “So, heard you’ve been causing my boy some trouble.”

“Your piece of shit fuck of a friend is the one causing me trouble.” You snap. Even though every cell in your body screams to hit this guy in the face, you decide to walk away.

“Fuckin’ bitch.” He curses under his breath.

Nick corners you against the wall in the tight hallway. Disgust bubbles in your throat. You try maneuvering around him, but this asshole is persistent in blocking your path.

Eventually you manage to squeeze past. Unfortunately you trip on Nick’s obviously held out foot and fall forward fast.

You hit the bar’s stone flooring hard. The asshole who tripped you laughs. Anger, embarrassment, or a deadly combination of the two swirls in your chest.

Someone however quickly steps in between you and Nick’s menacing shadow.

“Leave, before I show you out.” Hearing Dave’s voice your eyes widen. You again didn’t even hear him approach or see him walk in.

“What the fuck man, I didn’t do shit she just tripped!” Nick sneers with a snake venom infused lie.

Dave doesn’t say anything, instead helps you up with steady hands. Nick calls you a fucking cunt under his breath before he walks away.

Suddenly he trips on air falling flat on his face. The crack of the impact is loud, and he screams. Everyone close by gasps and when Nick sits up, his nose bleeds violently as crimson spills onto his work attire.

You almost want to laugh.

“Sweet revenge.” You mutter smug to yourself.

Dave chuckles low, and you smile softly to him.

His cologne, dark and rich, expensive as hell, and his deep eyes are a comfort.

The ambulance is called for Nick. Dave urges you to let the paramedics check your wounds too.

“I just need a few bandaids, that’s all.” You urge, but the sharp pleading look he gives makes you stay.

Eventually even the paramedic treating your scrapes whispers with a warm friendly grin. “Make sure to get his number.”

But when you glance out to find Dave, it’s like he disappeared into thin air. After getting the clear from the medic, you head outside to the secluded parking lot behind the bar. You want to at least thank him.

There outside in the quiet secluded lot Dave types something on his phone. Before you can even call out to him -

You literally watch Dave walk into the dark shadow of the building and disappear.

You’re sobered up. Your eyes are fine. You know what you saw. Your confusion only solidifies and gets confirmed when Dave flickers back out to the same spot from the shadows. He stares at you with dangerous cloudy eyes.

“Fuck.” He exhales.

With a sigh, this strange man nudges his chin towards you signaling to follow him. You sit in the passenger's seat of his sleek luxury car. You don’t panic. Prickling curiosity and slight confusion run through you more than fear.

“So are you like… a witch or something?” You ask weakly.

Dave barks a dry laugh.

“No, nice guess though.”

He apparently isn’t a demonic figure either, though his face darkens when you ask that.

“I wasn’t fully lying about the mercenary hitman job. I just happen to be something else.”

Specifically, he calls himself the god of vengeance.

You laugh now.

“Wait, what?” You settle confused seeing him glare unamused at you.

He says his true name -

Viðarr

The name rolls off his tongue a beautiful wave and has the hum of an ancient forest. A chill even runs up your spine.

“But after so many years and aliases, you can just call me Dave.”

This guy can’t be serious.

“You just saw me walk in and out of a shadow, but now you’re doubtful?” His eyebrows raise.

He’s right of course. But the atmosphere in the car freezes tense, like this man waits for you to react or maybe you’re waiting for him to react.

“What’s going to happen to me then?” Your voice creaks, hesitant and worried.

“Normally? I would erase your memories. But…because of your situation, this actually might work out.”

This supposed god of vengeance explains how your situation has been brought to his attention.

“I’m here to decide if that ex of yours should face retribution or not.”

Your blood runs cold. You never once mentioned your ex.

“I need at least a month to observe him. So my original plan was to try and stay close to you. But since you know about me…this might work to my advantage.” Dave explains all this as if he’s simply explaining a new insurance plan to you.

“I still need to figure out the details-”

“Just…can I please just go home…” you finally croak out cutting Dave out.

The air in the car pops.

“Uh…yeah sure.” Dave says deflated. “Do you need me to take you home?”

You shake your head no. Wearily, fighting back tears, you thank him for the drinks and for dealing with Nick.

Your head spins. You don’t know how you manage to get home. Yet you can’t stop thinking about Dave and who he truly is. His words linger, especially about how he has to observe the situation with your ex…

Your mind turns and turns.

But the next day you head back to the bar.

Leaning against his sleek car looking devilishly handsome, Dave waits.

Before he can even say anything you slide into the passenger's seat. He follows your lead.

“I have an idea.” You declare firm.

A somber, suspicious, look falls over the god of vengeance’s face. He doesn’t say anything, just nods, a signal for you to speak.

This is your plan.

Dave needs to be your fake boyfriend.

“My ex…he was the worst when he got jealous.” You explain how he even messaged and harassed an old coworker cause he was paranoid you were cheating.

So maybe now adding the pressure of a new boyfriend would make him show his true nature even more.

Dave’s eyes light up, surprised.

“That’s…not a bad idea at all.” He even mutters about how this would allow him to get better observation from your side of things.

Dave simply nods, turning to you determined.

He holds his hand out almost anti-climatic. However, that's when you realize how easy it is to shake vengeance's hand.

Later at your apartment the neighbor furthest down the hall perks up seeing you in the landing.

“Did you see?! We have someone new moving in. And he’s really cute.” He whispers while he accompanies you on your walk.

Walking up the stairs a few boxes clutter the hallway.

Dave steps out of the open door and smiles. He’s ditched the suit blazer and tie. Now his button up shirt is rolled up to his elbows. You almost choke on an inhale.

“Hey.” His voice radiates sparkling and friendly, a picture perfect sweet guy next door. “You lovely folks must be my new neighbors. I just moved in. Nice to meet you both.”

You act as nice and calm as you can when warmly greeting him. The minute you step into your apartment you try not to freak.

A solid knock comes at your door. Opening it, Dave stands grinning slightly coyish and smug.

“You got any sugar, neighbor?”

You almost slam the door in his face. But of course you let him in.

“Thought moving in would help. It makes for a good alibi, getting with the guy you just met in your apartment. Plus being close by helps to see if your ex pulls any shit.” Dave explains while he inquisitively looks around your place.

You get his logic. It just takes you by surprise.

“See you around, neighbor.” He nods with a gleam of dark playfulness brewing in his eyes.

Already this man, or this ancient being, seems like such an enigma.

That’s only confirmed when Saturday arrives and someone knocks at your door.

Dave once again stands on the other side. This time in a lightly casual outfit of a leather jacket and jeans that still seem effortlessly put together. He reminds you of a guy who owns a home in the hamptons.

“Thought we’d go out on a date. If you’re free.” He offers, and you have to force your jaw not to drop.

He ends up taking you to the city’s aquarium and pays for everything.

“We can get lunch or something afterwards if you like.” Dave suggests.

You remember this is all for show.

So you take this time as a chance to enjoy a day among the gorgeous fish and beautiful blue waves all around.

But even admiring the angelic jellyfish, a worried itch crawls at the back of your neck. Your ex has shown up at the worst time in places you never would have ever expected.

A warm hand comes against your back, and Dave’s wonderful birch cologne clouds your mind.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here. Won’t let anything happen to you.” His voice, deep and low, is simple and absolute in his promise.

When you focus on him, the soft light of the aquarium bathes him ethereally highlighting his godly features. You can now see why he’s not a simple mortal man. Someone this gorgeous is unearthly.

As promised Dave stays close beside you. You even start relaxing so much that you ask him questions.

You had been wondering if he really does work at a government job.

“No, I run a private investigation agency. Didn’t wanna tell you that and scare you off thinking it was your ex after you.” He explains.

“How does an ancient god run an agency?” You ask dubious and slightly amused.

Dave rolls his eyes.

“The same way you’re taking this all really well. It just becomes a natural thing.” Dave says while you and him pass by a lovely stretch of coral reefs and fish. “Plus some families are in service to me, have been for centuries. So this helps them continue to work for and with me.”

“A private investigation agency must help with confirming and keeping track of things. Plus a god with a job seems humbling.” You lamely add, and he snorts.

“Yeah something like that. It also weeds out which cases aren’t fair.”

That shocks you, and you press more. Among the dreamy blue waters glossing over the room, you and Dave stroll leisurely.

“As simple as vengeance can be, I’m honor bound to only act if the situation is deemed justified.”

He even goes into detail about how situations are weighed out, determined, and how the hearts of people are almost judged. A worried heaviness arrives. You now hope your situation can pass this trail.

Thankfully the aquarium is rather vacant so you don’t worry about someone overhearing. But, you’re also wondering why Dave freely discusses this with you.

“Because you won’t remember any of this.” His answer is collected, faintly frosty and curt.

“Anytime I’ve had to talk to other mortals I normally erase their memories, along with anyone else involved, once everything is done. It keeps everyone safe.”

“Oh.” Your voice dips.

So, you won’t remember him.

“It’s for the better for everyone.” Dave adds calculated.

For some reason a strange tightness settles now over you. Dave and you stay silent the rest of this strange date.

He walks you back to your apartment door, and you politely thank him for the nice afternoon.

Resolution settles in you. You swear to not take any of this personally. After all, you won’t remember it.

For being an ancient god of vengeance, Dave is a surprisingly considerately sweet boyfriend.

He drops by with coffee and pastries when he can. After he exchanged phone numbers with you, he even sent you a meme that made you laugh. Playfully you had texted back -

Didn’t know old gods could have such a good sense of humor or could text

He sent an unamused emoji face after that.

Everyone of course takes note of Dave’s new place in your life. Your sister even wants to meet the new guy.

“I know it’s been hard… this year. But seeing you try getting back out there and hearing how good this guy is already, I’m happy for you.” She says. You swallow back the heaviness and truth wanting to slip away.

But you won’t spoil this gilded lie. You can’t.

That’s what you tell yourself when you invite Dave over for dinner at your place.

Lounging eased in your living room watching the game, he’s the picture of comfort. Especially in his casual jogger pants and soft sweatshirt.

You hate how much you enjoy seeing him in your space. It’s been isolating these past few months with how awful your ex has been. Now it’s like slowly gaining a new friend. You at least can appreciate that with Dave.

But thinking of him just as a friend is getting murky, especially since you find yourself staring at his gorgeous shoulders and cute ass while he stands in your living room.

Dave is extremely handsome, charming, playfully snarky and surprisingly perceptive. It’s hard trying not to get swept into this idea of being his.

The next date night he takes you to see a movie. Walking back from the apartment’s parking garage he offers his arm, and you greedily take it.

“Okay, next time I’m picking the movie cause I can’t trust your taste I’m sorry.” Dave argues jokingly, almost flirty. You snicker but readily argue about how good the movie was while staying linked in the crook of his elbow.

A familiar voice yells out your name, and your soul evaporates.

You freeze on instinct. From across the street, your ex approaches slowly. Your legs almost give out.

“So it’s true. You’re dating someone.” He says in disbelief. You can’t even speak, can’t handle how terrifyingly sharp his terrified eyes stare at you.

Suddenly Dave effortlessly slides in front of you, completely protectively blocking you. His hand moves to intertwine with yours.

“You need to leave.” Dave declares firm.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Your ex fires back.

“You’re making my girlfriend upset. So that means this is my problem now.” Dave’s words cut through the air deadly, and your heart flutters.

It’s the first time he’s addressed you as that - girlfriend.

“Girlfriend? Girlfriend?!” Your ex boyfriend cries, horrified and upset. You only realize you’re shaking when Dave squeezes your hand, stabilizing you.

“Get the fuck out of here.” Dave orders with a commanding yell.

Your ex continues trying to talk to you, but it’s all nonsense, almost waterlogged with your head feeling fuzzy.

Dave shifts to now pull you completely into his side and guides you back into the apartment complex. Your ex’s voice grows more distant until you’re safe inside. Thankfully he isn’t allowed on the property anymore.

Your hand clutches Dave’s refusing to let go. He keeps you in his hold the entire time even arriving at your door.

Whenever this happens you always head to your parents or sister’s place. You already think about packing a bag.

“Hey,” Dave’s voice softly interrupts your cluttered thoughts.

“Do you…want to stay at my place tonight?”

When you turn towards him, vengeance has never looked this beautiful. His eyes are glossy, drenched with understanding.

You nod.

Dave helps grab your essentials then guides you back to his apartment. Even with the roller coaster still running in your mind, you perk up knowing you’re finally seeing his place.

It’s sleek, immaculate in its cooler toned shades. However it also radiates a spartan aesthetic. The walls are moderately barren. On the counter though various items from all the dates you’ve gone with him, like the aquarium map, litter the space.

That comforts you knowing he’s kept them.

“You can take my bed really, I don’t mind.” He offers.

You shake your head. “The couch is perfect really.”

Now stubbornly Dave sits beside you on the couch, and you snort.

“I won’t leave until you do.” Dave grins.

You snuggle into the couch more, almost defiant in pulling the blankets up. The ancient god rolls his eyes, but makes no sign of moving either.

“That ex of yours...” Dave cautiously comments.

“Yeah.” You sigh tired.

The rose colored glasses could only hide so much before the toxic emptiness swallowed you. You’re now left with the pieces of yourself you’re still grateful to have and hold together.

Dave patiently sits with you, listening attentive when you tell him everything. After unfolding your heart to him, you almost ache to know more about this mythical man.

So he tells you about ancient kings who called upon his aid for the most trivial things, to actual countries that begged for his wrath.

As he reveals so much, you notice how many shadows weigh on him, aging him in a way that speaks of the eons of trouble he’s faced. It’s like Dave houses an archaic rusted ache you could never fathom.

Something deep within your heart longs to gently run your fingers through his hair, or even hold his hand.

But these thoughts are dangerous to have for a man you won’t even remember in a month's time.

On the couch, not even paying attention to what’s on the television, simply being at peace in Dave’s company, you slowly start falling asleep.

Halfway in the night, you wake up slumped against Dave.

His warm solid shoulders, the soft rise of his chest, you’ve never been this close to him. The faint smell of his cologne mixing his fabric softener, along with something uniquely him, wraps around you a protective delicious comfort.

A delicate shift comes in your heart as you snuggle closer to him.

“I think…I’m going to extend this surveillance to another month.” Dave says when you and him quietly get ready for the morning.

The way he calls this relationship and situation a surveillance punches right through your chest. It reminds you this again is not real. You also can’t believe a month has come and gone.

When you go on another date with Dave, this time to an art museum, he readily holds your hand. It’s awful knowing something in you is crystallizing in adoration.

He’s thoughtful in admiring the art, almost plucked from a hallmark movie dream. As much as you enjoy holding Dave’s hand being by his side, you realize you need to start pulling away before you fall even harder.

Thankfully a text comes in for you to reply to. There's also an alert from Instagram.

One message comes. Then a spam of them flood your inbox. The profile that sent them is blank, and what they sent are horrendous. They call you an absolute whore, argue how you’re nothing more than a pathetic piece of trash.

Your throat gets tight, and your hands shake.

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?” The pet name causes your heart to skip, but the panic is too much.

Wearily showing him your phone, he frowns dark.

“Only more proof I guess.” You half joke.

Dave thankfully reports the account, but the mood of the day is soured.

“Hey, let’s get something sweet, yeah?” He suggests softly rubbing your back. You agree hoping this will help.

Thankfully it does. Dave is surprisingly talkative, even discussing this one particular client who requested revenge on their old partner because he stole a family secret ice cream recipe.

“You can’t be serious.” You snicker.

“I swear on my godhood!” Dave laughs, and it paints him devilishly young. Though you do tease him for getting rum raisin, and he rolls his eyes.

Now you watch him slowly lick away at the ice cream, letting his tongue drag along the treat slowly. Your mind rapidly catches fire imagining his tongue dragging across your body in just as slow.

It’s getting harder to not want Dave, especially seeing how handsome he looks in his leather jacket and simple t-shirt.

Then at your apartment door, anxiety slowly festers. You don’t want to be alone tonight. You even hesitate grabbing your keys.

Dave tugs on your hand still holding his. “Just stay at my place. I’m heading back to the office tonight so you’ll have the place all to yourself.”

You thank him, grateful for the comfort of just not being in your apartment.

But being alone in his place might have been the worst decision. Curiosity claws into you while you wander. The space stands smaller than yours and is still so sparse. Finally stepping into his bedroom, a dangerous urge bubbles in you.

“Make yourself at home.” He did tell you, so it’s why you slowly pull the covers back and slide into Dave’s bed.

The cold gray sheets fit him. But the smell of him, swirling all around you, enveloping you, has your pussy wet.

You imagine him sleeping here, wondering what he’d look like if he’s ever fucked his fist here -

Your eyes flutter shut while your hand drifts to your underwear. You should feel shame and disgust for getting off in your fake boyfriend's bed, but you quickly rationalize you won’t remember this.

So pressing your face into Dave’s pillow you let your fingers curl into your pussy imagining it’s his thick firm fingers instead.

You come harder than expected. Exhausted and floating in post orgasmic soft bliss you wearily drift to sleep in his bed.

Until noise in the other room suddenly has you bolting up in a slight panic. Hastily you head out into the living room.

In the low light, Dave puts things away in safes and among bags. You catch glimpses of various types of weapons. The one he places back in a duffle bag is a gun. Your heart does jump at the sight, but it makes sense for a god of avenging to have many forms of it.

Dave quickly whips around spotting you.

He’s dressed very differently tonight. In all black athleisure, even wearing black beanie that intensifies his appearance, he looks every bit the hit man he once joked about being.

He says your name soft, a mutter. Your focus goes to the cut across his cheek.

“You’re injured!”

He blinks surprised at your words.

“Oh yeah, got a little hairy tonight. But it’s nothing, should heal up in a couple of hours.”

“You’re still bleeding.” You firmly rummaging around the kitchen for the small first aid kit you remember seeing in one of the drawers.

“Honey, I’m fine.” You can’t even comment on the pet name instead stubbornly grab a bandaid and disinfectant.

“I don’t need a bandaid.” He dully tells you.

“Too bad.” You huff.

Dave sighs, giving up and taking a seat on the couch. The cut isn’t bad, but you still tend to it best as you can. With the briefest glance down, you spy blood crusted over Dave’s fingers.

“So you were out… dealing with someone tonight?” You cautiously question.

He sighs. “Yeah, finally got to take out this awful piece of shit, but he put up a fight.”

You should be rattled hearing him casually discuss violence, even seeing it drying on his hands. But you’re not afraid.

“Glad you made it back safe.” You truthfully tell him.

He chuckles dry. “Always do.”

Gently placing the bandaid on his face, your fingers accidentally graze against him.

Dave appears like a normal man, a handsome business looking guy you met at the bar. But right now he seems to have shed that persona and sits before you a sort of chameleon stuck between identities.

It must be hard to compartmentalize so much like he does. And…it must be lonely.

You don’t realize you’ve gotten lost in your thoughts, allowing your fingers to absentmindedly trace across his cheeks, until Dave’s hand slowly crawls up your wrist.

You’re about to apologize until his eyes lock you in place. His daze simmers between a deep darkness and soft awareness.

His other hand now rubs up against your other arm.

“Thank you.” Dave mutters.

Cautiously he turns towards your fingers still on his face, and his eyes haze over. The hold he has on your wrist slowly drags your hand down his cheek, almost like he’s pulling your fingers to his lips. He inhales deep and instantly his eyes close. You’re hypnotized, waiting to see what he does.

Then a phone goes off, and the moment shatters.

You scramble away. Dave immediately swiftly answers his phone with a professional steeled voice.

Flustered, you’re considering maybe grabbing your things and heading back to your apartment. Dave however calls your name. Like a spooked deer, you turn. He nudges his chin at you.

“Head back to bed sweetheart, I’ll be there in a minute.”

Your mind goes blank as you nod stunned. Then everything melts away. Possessed, maybe floating on a cloud, you slip back into his sheets.

You want to stay awake, want to see him get comfortable and get into bed. But exhaustion wins pulling you back to sleep.

Strong arms slowly curl around you, the warmest protective shield. You even wonder if it’s all a dream.

Especially when you wake up alone.

On the kitchen counter sit your favorite pastries and coffee order with a note from Dave who had to leave to work early. Running into him later heading back to the apartment after work, you notice he’s still wearing the bandaid you placed on him.

It makes you grin wide.

Work eventually gets busy. You miss out on a date weekend which you see as a blessing.

You’re growing too attached to Dave and it’s dangerous. You even ignore a few of his messages he’s been sending you, blaming it on work.

Work even has you staying up late now trying to finish up a few things.

Until a sudden rush pelts against your window, and a small scream escapes you.

You’re on the second floor, what the fuck can possibly be making that noise?

Drawing back the curtains, trash greets you flying hard against the glass. You know it’s your ex and his stupid friends.

You hate that you’re about to cry and that the first person you’re calling -

Is Dave.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” He rushes out on the phone.

Before you can answer, from a shadow against your living room wall Dave walks out like he emerged from a door.

Immediately his face drops seeing you and then hearing the rush of shit getting thrown at the window.

Swiftly, moving like a sleek hunter, he pulls a gun out from behind and slides between you and the window. Dave opens the window then very obviously peers out with the gun in hand.

It’s enough to scare your ex and his friends.

You wearily head to the couch and collapse in on yourself. Silent as a shadow Dave draws you into his arms and holds you close.

“Can you stay?” You weakly ask.

“Don’t even have to ask.” He mutters rubbing your back.

Camping out in the living room with piles of blankets and pillows, Dave pulls up a seat against the window, keeping the gun in hand.

Your eyes fully take in the sight of him staring out keeping watch, a haunting stoic sight of brewing composed wrath.

He drips of an ancient blood, old as the galaxies themselves or possibly even older, and you want to cradle that violence in your hands.

“Do I scare you?” He asks quietly in the evening’s abyss.

Still lying on the couch, among your blankets, you shake your head no.

“Feel safe with you.” You mutter truthfully. This is the safest you’ve felt in so long.

You fall asleep without any worry knowing he’s nearby.

After that night, and for the rest of the month, he’s either at your place or you’re at his. One of your chairs becomes a constant spot where he sets his jackets. Your toothbrush keeps his company in his bathroom.

When you’re facetiming with your sister he accidentally walks by, and immediately she perks up.

“Is that the secret mystery man?!” She cries out.

Dave awkwardly waves but charms her with his smile.

“You need to invite him for my big promotion dinner this Friday.” She urges with a hiss.

You snap at her fierce, but when you hang up Dave quietly asks -

“So what time is dinner Friday?”

You throw the nearest couch pillow at him.

But a man to his word, he’s happy to accompany you.

Friday arrives and he’s in a deep navy blue blazer combo that makes your throat dry. His eyes also scan you up and down very blatantly.

“You look lovely tonight.” He mutters, and you thank him saying he looks just as amazing.

And he does.

Your sister playfully nudges you with her elbow. “He’s hot.”

Her husband, your brother in law, even jokes that Dave’s a handsome catch.

Which, to your family, he is. Dave is warm, the absolute dream boyfriend anyone could even imagine.

He pulls out your mom’s chair, happily puts up with your dad’s long stories, bonds really fast with your brother in law and is sweet to your little twin nieces who ramble about their soccer matches. Your heart aches just seeing him interact with everyone and how much they already adore him.

The only thing keeping you afloat is that you, nor them, will remember any of this. But it also haunts you.

You smile fake through it all.

Then during dessert Dave’s hand unprompted moves to rest against your leg. His hand on your skin, so close to the edge of your dress, all of this under the cover of the dinner table sends an electric dizzying current across your body.

Slowly his thumb starts rubbing against your skin, softly, delicately like he has all the time in the world or isn’t bothered about your dad complaining about his work buddies again.

You keep your composure as best as you can.

When the check comes Dave quickly snags it up and doesn’t hesitate sliding his card in to pay. It wins huge points with everyone. Your family showers Dave in thanks and warm embraces.

“Like this guy, happy for you.” Your dad says low while he hugs you tight, and you blink back the tears.

“Yeah dad, me too.”

The car ride back to the apartment, you’re silent.

Dave however tries to push through the tension talking all about your family.

“They’re lovely. Your nieces are adorable too. One of them was constantly trying to make me laugh the entire time.”

You smirk while still remaining quiet.

“Hey… you alright?” He of course notices. You also make

no sign of following him back to his apartment.

“Just let me get a few things and I’ll be over in a bit-”

“No Dave, it’s okay. I think I just wanna be alone tonight.”

You cut him off gently.

A moment of silence comes. You’re thankful he doesn���t push, just wishes you goodnight and heads to his apartment.

The silence eats at your insides leaving you empty.

The next morning you don’t wait to walk out with him or even text him. For an entire week you stay quiet and try avoiding him as much as possible.

Then on Monday, flowers wait for you on your desk. All you coworkers coo at the beautiful blooms.

Your heart however melts at the card.

Thinking of you, hope you’re alright.

It’s simple, very Dave.

After work you start typing out a thank you text to send to Dave, including a photo of the flowers.

New footsteps echo in the parking garage, and you don’t think much of them. Until you hear Nick’s slimey voice say your name.

Turning around, he casually saunters with the smuggest sneer.

“You okay? You don’t look too good.” He grins bigger as he continues walking towards you.

He’s just here to scare you, especially since he works close by and now that you put the restraining order on your ex.

Walk away and get to your car, the voice in your head, now sounding so much like Dave, urges.

You turn on your heels and rush to your car.

“You’re such a god damn fucking bitch, you know that?” He yells still behind you.

Calm, you try remaining calm.

Then someone runs up from behind. Everything dissolves into pure fear. You turn around and there Nick rushes forward to you in a frenzied terrifying glee.

Dave suddenly emerges from the other side of another parked car and grabs Nick.

“What the fuck?!” Nick cries. “Where the hell did you come from?”

Dave quietly glares deathly cold at Nick.

Then a snap comes, a popping of bone and Nick screams in pure pain cradling his hand. Dave stares composed, unbothered.

“You broke my fucking fingers, what the fuck?!” Nick snarls.

With his good hand, Nick moves to punch Dave.

You cry out in a panic.

Dave, no…the god of vengeance now before you, in his hand captures Nick’s fist before it can even land a hit, casually holding him back.

Fluidly, with a nightmarish grace, Dave twists Nick’s arm back forcefully in disarming him from an attack. Another crack of bone and Nick cries out again.

The god leans in close to Nick.

“You try harassing my girl again and I will make this much worse.” He says low, lethal.

Nick screams like a caged animal until Dave shoves him away. For a moment you’re terrified Nick is going to charge, try throwing another fist, but he scurries away like a broken little rat.

Dave’s gaze, empty and cold, watches Nick the entire time until he’s gone. Then the mask falls as he rushes to you with the most worried frown.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

You are, thanks to him. You’re still trying to process fully what happened.

“What are you doing here?” You manage to ask.

“After that text you sent, I came up to check up on you.” Dave answers.

When you check your phone, he’s right. You had been in the middle of typing out your text to Dave when Nick had showed up. The text became a mess of letters that you had accidentally sent.

“Didn’t seem like you.” Dave adds.

His hand softly drags across your cheek with the most delicate pressure, like moth wings, and it electrifies your heart. Your eyes snap to Dave. His face is harder than ever to read, foggy in thick emotions.

Before he can put you anymore under his spell, you move first. Thanking him for showing up and for protecting you, you return to head back to your car. Dave stays in step with you, offering to drive you home, and you let him.

Quietly you finally thank him for the flowers and apologize for forgetting them.

“It’s fine.” He reassures you. “I’ll just have to send you more.”

His voice soothes you, and you almost grin.

Back at the apartment a mess of feelings get tangled in you.

“Do you need me to stay?”

You shake your head no to Dave.

After a small pause, he wishes you well and a good night.

But you can’t sleep. And Dave continues haunting you. It's why you’re now across the hall knocking on his door after midnight.

He answers quickly. You’re surprised to discover him in the all dark outfit except this time without a beanie and with how wild his short hair looks you wonder if he just yanked it off.

He breathes your name with worried eyes.

“I’m sorry. Can I…stay over?” Your voice is small, worried.

He welcomes you in without hesitation.

You keep your gaze away from his, but that's when you catch the blood on his hands. This time the blood is fresh.

“Are you okay?” You squawk panicked.

“Oh. Uh yeah. Nothing serious.” Dave shrugs.

He effortlessly changes the subject telling you about the new restaurant he wants to try with you.

“Go lay down, honey. I’ll be with you soon.” He urges. You don’t want to fight him. You should but don’t.

In his bedroom you watch him undress for the night. His bare shoulders are stunning and you want to kiss the gorgeous pudge of his soft stomach. The delicate warm light paints him a dream.

“Dave…” you ask, fading in and out of sleep now among the safety of him.

“Yeah?”

“Do you get lonely?” Your words slip out.

He doesn’t answer for a moment.

“Why do you ask that?”

Sleepily you shrug already groggy.

“Just seems like you are.” You admit through a yawn.

You see it in the hollows of his apartment, in the somber looks that create cocoons in his eyes from time to time.

You’re worried you’ve upset Dave with how quiet he gets. Instead his hand moves to turn off the light by the nightstand. You notice he’s holding something else in his grasp.

“Don’t worry about me. Get some sleep, sweetheart.”

You nod at his words, closing your eyes.

But before you fall to sleep, you swear you saw Dave holding a phone with an obnoxious neon and black green case… one that looked exactly like Nick’s.

The next morning Dave is gone again, this time leaving you various breakfast bars to take.

Back at your apartment you scroll taking a break from getting ready. Someone posted in their story about Nick not coming home and that no one has heard from him.

You try not to focus on that and head to work.

More flowers, as promised, wait on your desk.

“You’re so lucky.” Your favorite coworker gushes. You weakly grin at her.

The day goes by slowly. Until your sister calls you frantic over the phone.

Your ex had showed up at your nieces school.

You feel sick. Your boss thankfully lets you leave, but you’re barely aware of how your body moves. You even forget the flowers again.

Yet your hands shakily manage to make a call.

“Hope you liked the flowers.” Dave answers smooth, almost purr like.

All you do is croak out his name. In the instant of getting off the elevator, Dave emerges from the shadow of the hallway. You’re thankful no one is around, but then again, you could care less now.

“What happened?” He frowns hard.

Telling him everything, you crumble sobbing in Dave’s arms.

“I know sweetheart, I know.” His sincerely comforting voice and warm arms all wrap around you.

He places a soft kiss on your head.

“Come on, let’s head home.” He guides you to the shadow, holding you tight. In a simple step you’re walking right out into your living room.

So, that’s what it’s like.

Sitting down everything feels too much, yet numbing all at once.

“This is all my fault.” You mutter, vacant.

If you hadn’t dated that fucker, you wouldn’t be here.

“No,” Dave says firmly. His eyebrows are furrowed hard, stern and upset. “None of this is your fault.”

A numb nod is all you give.

The window suddenly shatters. A rock flies into your room and you scream.

“You fucking bitch, I know you did something to Nick!” Your ex howls from outside. “You and that fucking creep boyfriend of yours!”

This can’t be happening. How did he even know you were home?

Dave moves swift. He protectively pulls you further away from the living room. Reaching into the inky shadows, he pulls out a large duffle bag. From that Dave unpacks a firearm. Not just any gun, a sleek sniper rifle. He readies the weapon up and out the window.

It’s a dead threat in the middle of the day. Dave’s face completely composed reminds you of a hunter.

And he’s beautiful.

The sight of Dave and that terrifying weapon must have scared your ex because there’s no sign of him after that. You even delete all your social media now out of fear.

Dave takes care of everything. Discussing the window break with the building's supervisors, even calling the cops to report what happened.

You now sit in Dave’s living room.

“Viðarr.”

You speak his true name, the one that feels incredibly scared and almost too holy on your tongue. The air in the room tightens fast. Dave, who halfway is trying to figure out what to make for dinner, stops.

A grave expression paints him an ancient terror.

Your stare back at him is just as serious.

“I need vengeance.” No more. You can’t handle any more of this.

Dave, quiet, silent as a shadow, nods. That’s all, the agreement of it. It seems so very anticlimactic.

“You know,” he mutters. “By accepting this…you have to give something up.”

Dave had told you about this briefly. Once he accepts a case, takes up the mantle of retribution, it comes at a price. You must offer something up.

“I’ll let you think about it.” He mutters.

But you don’t need to. You shake your head.

Slowly, possessed, yet never feeling more solid in your decision you walk to Dave’s bedroom.

Politely you sit on the bed.

Dave follows you and stares with a furrowed brow.

“What are you doing?”

“Me,” you say low. “I’m offering myself. Whatever you need.”

Dave’s flint eyes go wide. He swallows hard, a small crack in his composed armor.

“That’s…I can’t accept.” His voice croaks.

“Why not?” You frown hard.

He exhales, running a hand over his face.

“Because…you…” he pauses for a moment.

“It’s dangerous to want you the way I do. And accepting… don’t know if I’m strong enough to deny you.”

You inhale sharp.

He removes his hand from his face and now stands a man composed of stardust and beautiful retribution.

“There are other things you can offer.” He offers a weak attempt to persuade you. Yet he slowly walks to you, a hunter before prey.

You shake your head.

Cautiously, now that he stands so close you grab Dave’s hand. Slowly, hesitantly, you guide his hand up to your heart then rest your hand above his.

“This…I’m yours.” You admit weakly.

This is your oath, your sacrifice and offering. Though it does not feel like a burden of an effigy, no source of pain or flames of anguish over this decision.

It almost feels holy and sacred in its simplicity.

Your heart will always follow him, Dave, Viðarr, whichever form or soul he took, yours would be tied to him.

“It’s…that’s not an easy sacrifice.” His voice is thick, laced with a burnt hidden depth you take comfort in.

“For you it is.” You reply.

Something shifts in Dave, like his eyes waver and humanity shines through, a shimmering gloss over.

His hand over your heart moves slowly gliding up your chest, up your neck. His hand on your skin blazes a heated path. Now he cradles your face

“Oh baby….” He hoarsely says, and your world collapses to be reborn in an instant.

“I’m yours.” You whimper.

Dave kisses you with a collision of a star being created. It’s nipping teeth and a fierce passion that immediately has him licking into your mouth as if he’s trying to swallow you whole.

He’s unrelenting, a war general on a mission as his hands immediately start to peel off your clothes.

You now lie only in your underwear on his bed. You should feel exposed, almost awkward that he still wears all his clothes, but for some reason it heightens your arousal. Being bare and laid up for him as offering…

“You swear?” Dave croaks, a final offering for you to back down.

You nod firm and absolute. “I swear.”

He nods.

“Then I'll be your justice for you. All yours, and you’ll be mine.”

Your heart flutters. Revenert, you thank him and whisper his name, a debauched prayer.

Dave pounces on you fast.

He licks a trail up your chest to your neck, biting when he can and you whine.

“So fucking sweet.” He slurs, nibbling at your chest and sucking at your nipple.

His tongue swirling across your skin has your mind melting.

“Open your mouth for me, baby.” But then he quickly demands.

Rising up, Dave leans above you and you willingly open your mouth.

He takes a moment to gaze at you, then effortlessly spits down into your mouth. You feel dizzy when it hits your tongue. You greedily swallow, closing your eyes.

“Good fucking girl.”

That makes you feel even more electrified.

“Oh you like when I call you that huh?” Dave says slurred.

How? How can he tell? Your face must tell him everything as his hands begin to slither all across your body.

“I can smell you.” He whispers thick.

That truth hits you breathless. He’s not a normal man. Of course he would have heightened senses.

“That night… that night you slept in my bed. I smelt you still on your fingers and in my bed.” Dave admits.

You moan half embarrassed and half drunk.

“Almost took you right then and there.” He reveals. His large hand cups your jaw, rubbing his thumb hard across your lips.

“You want more? My good girl wants more, huh?”

“Yeah.” You nod feeling every inhibition slip away.

He kisses down your body then when he reaches your core, he presses his face against you and deep.

Dave groans like he got punched in the stomach.

“Shit, wanna fucking eat you alive.” He slurs, biting at you gently through the fabric of your panties.

“Dave, please.” You squirm wanting more, begging him for him.

“My sweet girl, so polite.” He kisses your pussy over your underwear then rips it apart. You gasp, and he kisses your thigh.

“I’ll buy you more.” Dave mumbles dark.

He drinks all you give you, sends you to a new realm. His fingers fuck into you wild and reckless as he sucks at your clit possessed. It feels like your world is being destroyed in the most beautiful little death. Then his fingers curl against that oh so delicious spot making you scream.

“Yeah baby, give it to me.” He growls.

You come hard clutching at Dave’s hair.

His face glistens, and you feeling possessive now pull him to you. You kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips, and it’s divine.

Drunk on this moment, you bring his fingers that were inside of you into your mouth

The thickness of Dave’s fingers, the salt of his skin mixing with your cum, it all has your eyes rolling back.

“Oh fuck yes, good girl, suck on ‘em.” He purrs, moving his fingers in and out.

Soon enough he pushes them back a bit further, making you gag but he urges you on sweetly. He suddenly pulls his fingers into his mouth and sucks them now closing his eyes.

“We taste so good together.” He hoarsely sighs.

“Dave… Vidðarr.” You whisper both his names.

His lips find yours in a blazing force.

This god takes apart your world and carves it new. You’ve never had someone touch you with the reverence of a sacred altar, yet also fuck you raw like you were his to destroy.

Your legs can barely move, and you simply now exist a blissed out puddle on Dave’s bed. But you happily bask in his arms.

“So much for fake dating.” You joke.

Dave smirks against your forehead.

“Stopped being fake a while ago.” He admits, and you curl into him more.

“You know, I’ve wanted to ask.” You shift in his arms to get a better look at his handsome clean shaven face. You feel smug seeing the bite marks, your marks, across his delicious exposed throat.

“How did you even find me?” You ask. He mentioned that sometimes some people pray to him, even try to summon him.

You did none of that. He did tell you once that everyone in your life wished for justice for you, and it’s why he possibly was summoned. But you were never satisfied with that.

Dave exhales. “Your soul called to me. I just answered.”

His words flutter through your chest. You’re the one now leaning forward to kiss him.

But then sorrow tarnishes this moment.

“When…when will you erase my memory?” You just hope he will give you a heads up, let you prepare.

Dave pulls back, and his face is scrunched up in confusion.

“You’re mine now. Don’t need to wipe your memory.”

His words rush into you but in the best way. A relieved sob escapes and you rush to pepper so many kisses across his face.

Dave smirks soaking it all up, a pleased cat in the sun..

Eventually he does get up, and with the shadows that drape over him, he becomes the hands of wrath and retribution. Your vengeance.

Those hands cradle your face tenderly.

“I have to honor my end of the oath. I’ll be back.” Dave doesn’t need to say more, and you don’t need to either. He kisses you softly then melts into the darkness.

The god vengeance doesn’t return until the late night, witching hour.

He’s covered in blood, hauntingly so, but it paints him a warrior.

Dave moves to kneel before you.

Gently, his blood hands place something in your palm. You’re reminded of a cat that brings its owner dead mice to show it can protect and bring you prey.

Instead you discover your ex’s college class ring, the one he was never seen without.

You want to laugh. You want to cry.

Instead you slide out of bed and gently kiss Dave gentle. You wordlessly lead him into the bathroom. With sacred grace you peel off Dave’s clothes.

His eyes, soft and dark, never leave you. In the warm shower, you wash him clean with all the thanks and adoration you can muster.

Dave eventually gathers you in his arms and under the warm, you let it cleanse something deep in you.

Here, you find a new home safe within the arms of vengeance and you hope he never lets you go.

[toomanytookas]

PPCU Fandom Projects Digest: September/October 2024

A summary of projects that wrapped up last month, ones to look forward to this month, and one plucked from the past to (re)discover for your TBR! First time hearing about the database? More info available here.

Celebrate September Projects!

@almostfoxglove - Thank You Boards

@auteurdelabre - Trope Off

@beefrobeefcal - Married Joel Sits on You

@burntheedges - Roll-a-Trope Challenge

@justagalwhowrites - Joel Miller Birthday Celebration

@perotovar - Offering of Frith

@quinnnfabrgay-writes & @hauntedhowlett-writes - Monster (S)Mash

@toomanystoriessolittletime - 8k Writing Challenge

Anticipate October Projects!

Open for Participants - October deadlines (sign up and/or post)

@baronessvonglitter - Fuck-tober [Your prompt is an assigned character and song combo]

@beefrobeefcal - Dave York Made Me Believe [Dave York + the X files come together for this prompt]

@goodwithcheese & @jolapeno - jolabrew + withcheese challenge [Pick from a menu of characters and fall-themed prompts. A smut free fest.]

@mermaidgirl30 - Halloween Writing Challenge [Halloween as a general theme]

@mrsmando's birthday soirée [Request drabbles/headcanons and moodboards for a variety of Pedro boys]

@norththelemon & @alyssamariag - Pedrotober [Daily character/Pedro-themed prompts]

Non-PPCU specific events include: angstober, fictober, flufftober, whumptober, cherrytober, kinktober [various, including prompt lists created by @absurdthirst here and @ozarkthedog here]

Signups closed - October posting

@the-orange-tabby-cat's Yard Sale

For projects beyond October, head on over to the database to peruse the listings!

(Re)Discover an Older Project! (selected from the database via RNG)

@pickled-pena - Pickled Peña Writing Challenge [January 2024] Check out the masterlist for this challenge, which has 25 awesome fics with the following parameters:

Character: Javier Peña Theme: New Year's Resolutions Dialogue: "You stand there and accuse me, but where were you at the time?" Prop: pickle/jar of pickles Length: 5k and under

[joelalorian]

a hero's blessing

marcus moreno x f!reader | wc: 4474 | 18+ mdni | masterlist

Thank you to the marvelous @perotovar for hosting such a fun and interesting challenge with the Offering of Frith event and for providing this beautiful moodboard! I had such fun learning about Norse mythology and the goddess Frith. This is also my first foray into writing my lovely husband Marcus Moreno. If you have not done so already, please check out all of the other amazing contributions to this challenge here!

Summary: The Norse goddess Frigg weaves the fabric of destiny for every living being. A Norwegian gift of a thousand thanks unlocks a destiny which Marcus did not see coming.

Warnings: Not much, really. Some cursing. A touch of angsty thoughts turns to fluff. Some adult themes and implied sex. My blog as a whole is 18+ mdni. A little bit of info dump. No use of y/n, ever. Two idiots with crushes stumbling through life until fate intervenes. Dividers courtesy of @saradika-graphics.

The people of Norway cheered when the Heroics delivered the final blow to the blight that menaced the women of their country for weeks. The skies cleared and birdsong once again echoed through the air as if the Norse Gods themselves expressed their heartfelt thanks.

Marcus Moreno looked up from a knelt position, still catching his breath after the hard-fought battle, to see a weathered old man standing before him with a toothless grin.

“Tusen takk,” the old man said in a raspy voice roughened by age. Placing one wrinkled hand on Marcus’ shoulder, the old man reached out with the other and it took Marcus a moment to realize the old man held something in his hand, extending it in offer.

Instinctively, Marcus stumbled to his feet, a gloved hand stretching out to meet the old man’s. He stared in wonder as the old man gently placed a metal pendant emblazoned with an intricate Norse knot into his hand. Like the old man himself, the emblem had been weathered by the passage of time, yet remaining ever sturdy, the black leather rope attached to it brand new and tied in a neat knot.

Marcus stared at it in wonder, wide brown eyes tracing the never-ending pattern of knotwork as the metal gently vibrated through his glove. His gaze dragged upwards from his hand to meet the milky eyes of the old man; eyebrows raised in question.

“A symbol of our gratitude, a thousand thanks, if you will,” the old man said in English. Arthritic fingers grasped the thin strip of knotted leather and reached upwards to place it over Marcus’ head. “Said to be blessed by the Norse goddess Frigg, wife of Odin. May it bring you love and harmony in this life and beyond.”

Too stunned to form words, Marcus nodded with a warm and grateful smile as the gift buzzed against his chest, calling to his heart.

A hundred pages deep into a thick text on Norse mythology, Marcus didn’t hear the first few gentle knocks on his office door. You waited a solid minute, unsure what to do knowing he was in there and finally pounding on the door, snapping his attention away from the book.

“Come in!” Marcus called, marking his page before he closed the book and leant back in his chair. His face split into a soft smile as you entered the room, a stack of files in hand.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Moreno,” you offered, placing the files down on his desk, the top one open to a form needing his signature. “This needs to be signed right away. As do these few.”

“How many times do I need to tell you to call me Marcus?” He reached forward pen in hand and signed the forms you laid before him. “Mr. Moreno sounds too…”

“Formal?” you supplied helpfully. “Would you really prefer I call you Marcus?”

His breath caught in his chest hearing his name coming from your lips. He longed for you to say his name every damn day.

“Yes,” Marcus replied with a nod.

The token of appreciation given to him after completing the mission in Norway sat heavy against his chest, hidden beneath his dress shirt. Marcus felt incapable of removing it once donned in the presence of the old Norwegian man, and now, for the first time since the day the old man slipped it over his head, it buzzed against his skin suddenly.

It was also the first time he spoke to you since he returned.

Coincidence?

Or could there be something more to it?

“Well, if you insist, Marcus.” You smiled sweetly at him as you scooped up the necessary forms. With a cheeky wink, you offered one last parting shot. “You are the boss, after all.”

His eyes tracked your departing form with a crooked grin and furrowed brow, one hand rubbing at the warmth in his chest.

It took Marcus a week to determine that the pendant only buzzed with electricity when in your presence. It didn’t happen with anyone else. Not Missy, or his mom, or the pretty barista at the coffee bar down the block from Heroics HQ, or any of the moms who routinely tried to flirt with him when he picked Missy up from school. It certainly didn’t happen with any of the other men he interacted with daily.

After one too many experiments, Marcus also concluded it appeared to be unrelated to his powers. He apologized profusely to Sharon in Purchasing when he fried the new coffee machine after testing that theory while waiting for a fresh cup of coffee.

What was it about you, he wondered. The mystery irked him.

As any man would, or so Marcus thought, he blithely ignored the fact that he harbored an innocent workplace crush on you since the day you started at HQ, wide eyes twinkling in the fluorescent light as you eagerly trotted behind his mother when she gave you the penny tour. One glance at your ethereal beauty and Marcus knew he liked you in a way entirely inappropriate for the workplace.

Some might have called it love at first sight, but not pragmatic ol’ Marcus Moreno.

No, for the sake of his own sanity (and his heart), Marcus buried that crush deep, deep down beneath layers of grief for his wife’s passing and any number of other suppressed emotions, never to see the light of day again. Until now, apparently.

Marcus wished he thought to ask the weathered old man in Norway some questions about the nature of the pendant before just putting it on without thought. For all he knew, it could have been cursed to turn him into a salamander.

That would have totally sucked.

Marcus spent days with his nose buried in research trying to figure out the meaning behind the gift. He even went as far as calling the nearest museum to speak to a historian. In all, it took him three weeks and a coffee meeting with the historian to finally get some answers that, well, almost made sense.

The spitting image of Sean Connery in his portrayal of Dr. Henry Jones Sr. in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade – honestly, they could be brothers! – the historian introduced himself as Franklin Rockel, an expert in ancient European history. “So, how can I be of help to the leader of the Heroics?”

Marcus thanked Franklin for meeting with him and dove into a long-winded explanation of the Norwegian mission and the subsequent token of appreciation gifted to him. Pulling the pendant from beneath his shirt, he showed it to the man without once removing it from his around his neck. The tips of ears turned pink as he explained to the older man how it buzzed against his chest every time you were near.

Visibly fascinated with the tale, Franklin stared down at the knotwork in the metal with a broadening smile. “What do you know of the Norse gods?” Franklin spoke with a calming lilt to his voice.

“Just what I’ve been able to read up on in the past few weeks. Lots of lore, just like with Greek gods. I didn’t find much on Frigg – that’s who the old Norwegian man told me blessed this piece. Just a bit about her being Odin’s wife and the goddess of destiny, love, marriage, and the skies. A few other things, but that’s what stood out to me.”

Pulling out a small notepad, Marcus sat straight-backed, ready to absorb every word Franklin shared.

“That’s a good start. Frigg is said to have weaved the very clouds, though that could just be a metaphor for her abilities with shaping destiny. She knows the fates of every living thing and holds that information dear, not allowing herself or others to interfere with divine destiny, no matter the eventual outcome.”

Franklin pulled a battered yet clearly beloved tome from his satchel, opening it to a depiction of Frigg in all her majestic maternal glory, her gold dress enhancing the youthful glow of her skin.

He eyed Marcus as the younger man gazed at the illustration, soaking in each detail in true wonder.

“It is not immaterial that you are a widower, Marcus.” Franklin said, voice measured as Marcus’ eyes shot to the historian’s in surprise before remembering it was common knowledge that the leader of the Heroics lost his wife some time ago. “Frigg is the guardian of familial and marital bliss and harmony, seeking to comfort and guide those dealing with the complexities of these bonds. She knew of your eventual loss long before it happened and now, she offers a beacon of hope, a sign that a new love exists for you.”

Flipping through the fragile pages, Franklin pointed out a particular passage that reiterated much of what he just described. He allowed Marcus several minutes to absorb that and more about Frigg, watching as the younger man jotted down a few notes while reading. When Marcus sat upright once again, a little bewildered, Franklin smiled.

“Frigg must feel a connection to you. You share several qualities – wisdom, a strong understanding of diplomacy and strategy, a protective nature with children.” Pointing to the metal dangling from Marcus’ neck, Franklin continued, “There is no doubt in my mind this was meant for you. The fact that it buzzes when only a certain person is near – that alone convinces me, as it should you, that you are destined to be with this woman.”

Franklin packed away the tome, finishing the last sips of his Earl Grey tea while Marcus tried to make sense of all that he just learned. Tapping gently on the table as he stood, Franklin offered one last pearl of wisdom.

“What you do with all that I told you is up to you, but Frigg’s intentions are clear.”

Marcus didn’t know what to think but nodded and thanked the man all the same.

In the week following his meeting with the renowned historian, Marcus ran into you everywhere. At HQ it was entirely expected and normal (and brightened his day every single time, whether he’d admit it or not), but then he started seeing you at places he never had before. Did he just never notice you there before or was Frigg’s influence pulling you together more and more?

He ran into you at the grocery store where he did his weekly shopping on Friday evenings, catching sight of you frowning at the selection of fresh seafood. At the mall when he took Missy clothes shopping – his baby girl was growing up so fast! – and you stopped them to say hi, smiling brightly at his little girl. And even at his favorite pizza place blocks from his house, where he popped in to pick up the best pie in the area two nights a week like clockwork. He saw you every-damn-where. And maybe he just never noticed before or fate really was drawing you both closer, making you circle each other until your orbits finally collided.

Marcus would have thought you a stalker if not for the raw look of bewildered surprise each time before your expression split into a delighted grin. It was clear you were equally, and pleasantly, confused by the sudden coincidences. A few times you hung about, chatting with him and Missy before carrying on your way, not wanting to disturb the Moreno’s precious downtime too much. He secretly treasured those moments.

Still, Marcus took no action, too busy overthinking everything, as he was wont to do. Was he even ready for romantic entanglements? He hadn’t so much as gone a date or kissed someone since his wife’s passing, too concerned with taking care of Missy and too consumed with their mutual grief for so long. By conventional standards, it was more than time he moved on, but… He still wore his wedding ring, for fuck’s sake. Despite whatever destiny and fate might say, was he really ready for taking another chance on love? Would he ever be?

He didn’t know.

“Hey Marcus,” your sweet voice snapped him from the paralysis his overthinking led him to. “I stopped at the coffee bar on the way in and got you this. Thought you might need it after that last case.”

Placing a large to-go cup on his desk when Marcus didn’t reach out to accept the offering, you stared at him as your smile fell bit by bit. He just stared at you, but you could practically see his brain working behind those too intense, dark eyes.

“Ar-Are you okay?” you questioned uncertainly.

Did you overstep somehow? He insisted that you call him Marcus instead of Mr. Moreno or Boss, so it couldn’t be the informal greeting. Was bringing him a coffee too much? You’d never done that for him before, but you often brought one back for Shelley in Accounting just like she did for you. It wasn’t that unusual, was it? It seemed like you two were growing closer each day, but did you read it entirely wrong?

Falling deeper into the pit of self-doubt, you fidgeted waiting for Marcus to do or say something, anything, before you melted into a puddle of mortification. When he merely continued staring at you wordlessly, face like a mask of the man you knew for a solid minute, you spun on your heels and fled before the sudden onslaught of embarrassed tears hit.

You barely heard the sudden, frantic call of your name from his lips as he finally snapped out of whatever daze he was in, but it was too late. Your already fragile self-esteem and overwhelming feelings for the leader of the Heroics could not handle whatever the hell just happened. Nor did you understand quite why it bothered you so much, why a piece of your being felt like it had been cut by a sharp knife, and you needed to get as far away from Marcus Moreno as you could for a hot minute.

Scratch that. You needed to be anywhere but Heroics HQ for the rest of the day. Dropping an email to your boss, feigning food poisoning, once you returned to your office, you shut down your computer and skulked home.

Marcus snapped from his self-inflicted panic moments too late, shouting your name but failing to get up and follow you.

Shit! What the hell was wrong with him?

Marcus didn’t have an answer for that. The vibrations from the pendant against his chest became overwhelming when you stood before him, strumming against his skin harder than it ever had before, and he froze. His brain must have short circuited or something. There was no other explanation.

Marcus flung himself back in his chair with a weighty sigh, one large coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. He caught the shattered look on your face even through the haze and it pierced his heart. It wasn’t intentional, him being a dick. He had to make sure you knew that. But how?

Hemming and hawing for a solid half hour, he was no closer to coming up with a worthy apology. He hated hurting your feelings or making you question yourself, no matter how unintentional. You deserved so much better than that. You probably deserved better than him. No, you definitely did.

This goddess Frigg and her blessing were really messing with his head, throwing his ability to think and act out of whack. How could he possibly know what he felt when it seemed like the universe decided for him without ever asking if he was ready?

Swiping his hands down his face, scrubbing roughly at the neatly trimmed scruff on his face, Marcus heaved a sigh, feeling like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Whatever it is can’t be that bad, mijo.” His mother stood in the doorway, one hand on her cane and the other resting against the doorframe.

Her knowing smile worried him but he didn’t have the energy to trade barbs and hidden meanings with the inimitable wits of Anita Moreno right now. Not when he long suspected that she had the power of omniscience.

“Not now, mom,” Marcus groaned, fingers massaging his temples as his eyelids shuttered closed.

“Yes now, mijo,” Anita replied, stepping into his office and easing herself down into one of the chairs in front of his desk. “I just watched one of the administrators I hired for you rush out of the building nearly in tears. What did you do to that sweet girl?”

His eyes snapped open with another groan. As if he didn’t feel awful enough, now his mother wanted to give him shit over you, too. Leveling tired eyes at the woman who told him many times that she brought him into the world, and she could surely bring him out of it if he didn’t behave when he was younger, he sat back in his seat.

“You already know, I’m sure. Why don’t you just let me have it so I can get back to work.”

“Why would I let you have it? Are you admitting that you acted poorly?”

This back and forth was exactly what he wanted to avoid.

“Must we do this? I’m exhausted and confused, and I know I messed up, but I don’t know if what I feel is my feelings or fate telling me what to feel, and I hate that.” That summed it up pretty well, actually, and now that he admitted it out loud, Marcus hoped his mom would have some helpful insight.

“Well, tell me this. Did you have feelings for her before you were given that trinket you’re wearing?” Anita watched him consider the question, a smirk stretching her lips when realization hit him.

“Point taken,” Marcus sighed.

“Good. Now get off your ass and go apologize. That girl is head over heels for you as much as you are for her,” she replied. Watching her son’s eyebrows shoot upwards, she waved him off. “Oh, don’t give me that look. You both think you hid it well. Pathetic effort, really. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes and half a brain that you both had crushes on each other. Fate is finally telling you that this is meant to be, that it’s okay to move on and be happy again, mijo. Don’t spit in the universe’s face thinking you know better than it does.”

Marcus hugged his mom, finally allowing himself to accept that destiny might be on to something. “I gotta go. Can you pick Missy up from school? I’m not sure when I’ll be home.”

Shooing him out of the office, Anita assured him she’d look after Missy. “If you apologize right, I imagine we won’t see you until tomorrow.”

Marcus weaved his hybrid sedan through the afternoon traffic, impatient to get to your house, to make things right. It was well past time to be honest with you, to share his feelings. He only hoped his mother was right, that you liked him as much as he liked you. Even if you didn’t, he still owed you an apology for earlier.

Pulling up to the curb out front of your quaint home, your sensible car parked in the driveway, he realized that you lived only blocks from him. How he never saw you out and about in the neighborhood until recently was beyond him. Maybe the timing was always off until now.

Taking a moment to steel his nerves, Marcus shut the car off and climbed out of the driver's seat. He swiped sweaty palms down the legs of his pants as he walked up the small front porch and knocked on your door.

God, he hoped you’d hear him out, that you wouldn’t just slam the door in his face.

A hopeful smile spread across his face when he heard the lock click and you opened the door, looking beautiful in loungewear instead of your typical business casual outfits you wore to work. The material looked soft, and Marcus felt the sudden urge to nuzzle his face into the fabric and beg your forgiveness for being an idiot hit him.

Your pouty frown, scrunching your little nose, almost to adorable to handle, Marcus blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” The words left his mouth in a rush of breath before his brain could think better of it and the tips of his ears flushed as you gaped at him. “I, uh… shit, sorry! Getting a little ahead of myself. May I come in? I owe you an apology and an explanation.”

Hesitating, your eyes scanned Marcus’ handsome face, and upon seeing the sincerity in those eyes so brown they reminded you of melted chocolate, you stepped aside to invite him inside your modest home. “Forgive the mess,” you mumbled as you led him to the living room and motioned for him to take a seat on the couch.

Glancing around while you hovered nervously, Marcus soaked in the details of your living space and wondered what mess you referred to. Everything had a place, just like your office at work. From the pale blue walls to the light gray couch with the fluffiest cushions to the black and white portraits on the mantle above the fireplace, he could see bits of you everywhere. It fascinated him, this peek at your life outside of Heroics HQ.

Heart pounding in his chest, Marcus motioned for you to join him on the couch. “Sit with me, please. I need to say a few things, starting with I’m sorry for behaving so oddly earlier. There is much to share with you that will hopefully help you understand why I froze.”

You nodded and sat next to him, still a bit confused on whatever the hell was going on. Marcus launched into an explanation of the gift given to him in Norway, the meaning behind it, his conversations with the historian as well as his mother. You sat there staring at him in wonder, mouth dropping further open as the pieces of the puzzle began to come together.

When his voice tapered off, dark eyes beseeching you to not reject him, you reached out to him, a soft expression in your own eyes. “May I – uh, may I see the pendant?”

“Oh, yeah, of course. But first, I want you to feel something.” Marcus grasped your hand in his and pressed it against his chest, right over where the pendant hummed against his skin beneath his shirt. “Do you feel that?”

Eyes widening, your gaze flashed back and forth between his chest and his eyes a few times before gasping out a quiet “Yeah.”

“That’s what it does whenever I’m near you. The closer you are, the stronger the vibrations,” Marcus explained. “When you brought me that coffee, it was so thoughtful and unexpected, and it caught me completely off guard. And for some reason, the pendant buzzed abnormally hard against my chest in that moment, and it all became overwhelming.”

Your fingers traced around the feel of the vibrating metal as Marcus spoke, and you knew at once how distracting it all must be for him.

“So, we’re like soul mates, then?” you questioned, bolding tugging on the leather rope to pull the pendant out from beneath his clothes.

“Of a sort. We were destined to be together according to the goddess Frigg.” Marcus gulped, watching intently as your fingertip delicately traced the knotwork pattern on the metal. “How do you, uh, feel about that?”

Your eyes, glossy and full of wonder, met his and you flashed him a sweet smile. “Well, I’ve had a debilitating crush on you since we first met, so I can’t say I’m against the idea.” Your laughter tinkled in the air and his heart soared.

“You have? I never knew,” Marcus replied in wonder, his own face split by a jaw-breaking grin. “I had one on you, too.”

Quirking an eyebrow at him, eyes twinkling in the dim lighting of the room, you said, “Well, that was the point, wasn’t it? I was trying to be professional, and I never thought you would feel the same, so I buried that crush deep in the depths of my soul.”

Stunned, Marcus spluttered before finding his words. “How could I not feel the same way? You are amazing and beautiful and smart…”

Lunging forward, you kissed him, cutting off the rest of his response. The kiss started off as hesitant exploration of lips and quickly morphed into an unleashing of pent-up desire. Teeth clashed and tongues tangled as the kisses deepened and control weakened. With swift movements, Marcus shifted until you were sprawled across his lap, hands wandering until layers of clothing were tossed aside in your combined need to feel more, more, more.

When Marcus flipped you onto your back against the plush cushions of the couch, the pendant dangled between your naked bodies as he hovered over you. It vibrated with such intensity that it visibly swayed with its own energy. You pulled him down on top of you, feeling that intense yet pleasant buzz and heavy weight from the pendant pressed against your skin as the two of you came together as one.

Afterwards, when you both lay together sated and sweaty, chests still heaving as you recovered, you ran your fingers through his thick locks. “We really owe Frigg for bringing us together.”

Marcus hummed, pressing a series of kisses along your collar bone and up the side of your neck until he reached your face. “We sure do. I’m not sure this ever would have happened without her influence. I don’t know that I ever would have found the courage to admit my feelings otherwise.”

You both gazed at each other with love in your eyes, feeling grateful for that old Norwegian man, his surprising gift, and the wonderful blessing from the goddess Frigg. You laid there for hours, talking and laughing and just genuinely enjoying each other’s company. The future before you looked much brighter and Marcus excitedly invited you over for dinner with him and Missy the following evening, hoping that you would never leave once you arrived at his house.

Later that night, while in cuddled together in your bed, Marcus confessed that he loved you. The crush he harbored in silence for so long turned to love at some point without his knowledge and now his heart practically overflowed with it. He asked if it was too soon to say something like that and you shook your head.

“Not when we were destined to be together. I love you, too, Marcus Moreno.”

The pendant buzzed heartily once more before going still as if Frigg herself was saying “Finally.”

thank you for reading! feedback is always appreciated but never demanded.

[oonajaeadira]

Get to Know Your Mutuals!

@katareyoudrilling I love you for tagging me

currently reading: Oahspe. I love learning about new theology--especially from the Spiritualism/Theology era--and this one's super new to me...but fascinating. I'm also traipsing through a number of books for reference for a show I"m working on.

last song: I listen to The Current's Song of the Day podcast and today was "Big Women" by Robert Randolph and I enjoyed it very much.

last film: Materialists.

last series: Andor.

sweet/salty/savory: All, and all at once if possible.

coffee or tea: Coffee, all the way. No flavor, no sugar, just cream. Hot or iced, but prefer iced just so I can drink it faster.

working on: I'm making a show and it's going so SO well--it's so pretty and my cast is so great; every day's a pleasure. But it is taking up a lot of my time and focus for the moment, so I've accepted that I'm on a temporary writing break. I am looking forward to getting back to the boys, and first up will be an Oberyn piece for @perotovar's Sleep Token Offering of Frith challenge.

.

tagging: @iamskyereads @max--phillips @greenwitchfromthewoods @covetyou @deadhumourist

[missredherring]

An Escape Rope Tied Around My Neck

Maxwell Lord/Odin ft. Max Phillips/Loki

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: angst. Mentions of blood.

Summary: A wish… what is a wish if not a desperate plea for the unobtainable?

A/N: This is my offering for @perotovar's Frith Challenge! I have a lot of feelings about Norse Mythology and Maxwell Lord, so figuring out how to combine them was a lot of fun to noodle over.

It's a personal belief that the events of Norse Mythology aren't linear and are happening all at once and not at all. You know, in a timey-wimey way. (A little bit of UPG for you, lol.) I've written it as such in this piece, and those moments are italicized. I hope it's not too confusing.

Not beta read. All mistakes are my own.

“Are you sure you don’t need me for anything else tonight, Mr. Lord?” Raquel asks. Her tone is genuinely sincere and without any flirtatious undertones like his last two secretaries had when they’d asked him that same question. Raquel wants to do her job and do it well. He likes that about her. 

“Yes, thank you, Raquel. Don’t worry about me and go home; I’ve kept you late enough,” Maxwell says and shoos her out of the office.

He watches her, listening to how her heels echo in the empty workspace and then the hum of the elevator as it takes her away. A few minutes later there’s the sound of a car pulling away. Only then does Maxwell close his office door and take a seat behind his desk. 

The room is crammed with every knick-knack and trinket that he’d seen splashed across the pages of the business magazines. The intention had been to spread them around the larger work spaces in the building, to decorate with the trappings of a successful business in hopes of luring in more clients to keep playing this little game he’s passing the time with, but then the search for the Dreamstone had ended much quicker than he’d anticipated. 

The stone sits like the prized heart of a hunted down stag in the middle of his desk, resting on top of the scattered academic papers, journals, and notebooks that made up the research material he’d been using to find it. 

It’s almost disappointing.

A couple of lamps on the desk illuminate the room, casting warm light on the stone and turning its color a more dark amber than the fresh honey hue it’d had when he’d snuck a peak through the packaging in the daylight. 

The Dreamstone is different than all the shiny, pristine, and ultimately useless trinkets in the room. It has potential. It could be an escape rope. Or at least a way to smooth the path to Ragnarok.

Eye intent, Odin reaches for it but pauses just before touching the smooth facet of the largest crystal point. There’s a noise in the room, a weight shifting on the cushions of the nearby couch. Magic beckons just out of reach, making his fingertips buzz and tingle with the urge to touch, but he stills.

There, cast in a perfect balance of light and shadows, sits Loki. Fiery hair in disarray around his shoulder and eyes glittering in the low lighting as he sprawls on the couch. The bond between them pulses: warm, strong, and intact.

His chest aches with the foreknowledge of how it will twist and knot in the future.  

“Please tell me you’re doing something interesting,” Loki says as he rests his head on the back of the couch. 

Odin wants to bring Loki into his plans, as he has a sharp mind that loves to think outside of the realm of possibilities, but another part stops him. The part that grows louder by the day and warns of wolf teeth and serpent scales and living dead flesh. 

“Just a curiosity that caught my eye,” Odin replies, covering the desperate need that’s been gnawing at him with nonchalance. 

He picks up the stone and examines it, taking in the weight and texture of the crystal cluster. There’s magic at its core, he’d sensed it before, but now it rises to meet his own. Darker, bitter, and more acidic like bile: eating through whatever holds it for too long. Pulsing, it tastes him and he bites back, a reprimand and reminder to know its place. Around the base of the cluster is a metal ring, aged from time and rough handling, inscribed with an old language, but not as old as his, he notes. He traces a finger over the letters but catches on a singular word. 

“Place upon the object held but one great…”

Desire? Want? Hope? Dream? All options but none that feels right. 

He turns the stone this way and that, but even bringing a lamp closer sheds no light of understanding on it. Sighing, Odin looks to where Loki has started wandering around the room, touching everything. 

“Be useful and take a look at this.” 

Loki saunters over, curious, and takes the stone, tossing it from hand to hand before rolling it along his palm. He squints, bringing the stone closer to his face and then licks the last word, his tongue contracting into a point to dip into the grooves.

Odin grumbles and rolls his eyes, the action making the severed muscles in the empty socket ache as he doesn't want to close his eyes and miss a moment of the children playing in the field outside the hall. As the blood rushes to his head, pooling and throbbing there as he hangs from the tree. As he plucks out the eyeball, Mimir’s chosen currency. 

There is no hiding the truth from Loki's silver tongue. He rolls it around in his mouth, teasing it out, and then pronounces: “Wish.” He spits it out onto the carpet and sneers. “Looks like it’s the work of an Olympian’s clumsy hand.” 

Loki passes it back and dusts his hands off to dispel the sticky residue of the stone’s magic. Task finished, he returns to his circuit of the room.

Odin sets it on the desk and leans back to regard it.

“Place upon the object held but one great wish.”

A wish… what is a wish if not a desperate plea for the unobtainable? 

Ragnarok. 

It is a fool’s wish that Ragnarok will stop its steady march onward. 

Deep in whatever approximates a god's soul he knows it's coming, it needs to happen, it will happen. 

A forest devoured by fire makes way for new, stronger growth in its place.

But when that forest is home to all he holds dear? His family. The people of his community. The mortals who still pray in his name and honor him in their actions.

All those who will look to him when the wolf finally catches its prey and plunges them into darkness. 

If a single wish could save them the fear and pain in favor of a kinder end? 

There is potential here and all he has to do is coax it to its greatest yield. 

A thrum of delight slides along the bond and Odin brings his focus back to the office to find Loki admiring a gaudy gold ring on his finger that had been on a display with that year’s latest watch model. 

He blinks again to clear his sight fully because Loki has changed. A broad frame dressed in a tailored suit, its design different from the one Odin is currently wearing. His jewel eyes have darkened to be almost black in the room’s shadows. His hair, now short and dark, is neatly combed and styled and yet still caught up in the chaos of his movement. 

They look like they’re brothers who once shared a womb instead of a chosen bond.

Odin’s lips twitch. “You could’ve picked something else,” he says and watches as Max gives him a toothy grin.

“Haven’t you heard that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery?” He lifts a shoulder. “Plus this’ll work better for my own plans.”

Odin opens his mouth to say he doesn’t want to know, but a shiver of premonition rolls through his body, raising the hair on his arms and the back of his neck.

“Come,” he orders in the voice of a leader responsible for many and while Max’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline, he obeys without question.

How many people will obey him to their deaths? 

He motions and Max kneels at his feet, curiosity burning in every line of his body. Odin cups Max’s jaw and squeezes gently, drawing it open to allow his thumb room to enter Max’s mouth. 

He presses down on a sharp, too sharp, canine until blood wells up and beads. Turning it, he presses the pad onto the hot, soft muscle of Max’s tongue, forming the runes as they offer themselves for use. 

Uruz, Ansuz, Isa, Algiz, Algiz, Algiz, Algiz.

The bindrune complete, Odin releases him and allows Max to sit back on his heels as he puzzles over the magic. Maybe the mystery will be enough to curb some of his mischief. Another fool’s wish. 

Rippling, Max fades and Loki watches him with a relaxed face, she’s glowing in the midst of her pregnancy. He’s sparkling with mischief and humor, scarred lips stretching wide. Their face is burned and marred and eyes unseeing in the hard light outside of the cave, left blank after finally being consumed by the spark of their nature. It is not in fire’s nature to be merciful. 

Max swallows and stands. “Interesting. I’ll leave you here,” he tugs his waistcoat into place and smooths the lines of his jacket. “Wish me luck.”

The Dreamstone pulses on the desk in front of them. 

Max is gone and Odin is alone with the stone again, its cloying influence reaching and coaxing.

Wish, wish, wish.

URUZ symbolizes Strength, Tenacity, Courage, Untamed Potential, Freedom.  ANSUZ symbolizes the Mouth, Communication, Understanding, Inspiration. ISA Clarity, Stasis, Challenges, Introspection, Watching & Waiting.  ALGIZ symbolizes Protection, Defense, Instinct, Group Effort, Guardianship.

[kedsandtubesocks]

thank you so much for the tags @pedgito @almostfoxglove @sunshinehaze1 appreciate y’all 🩷 also big thanks to dear @jolapeno for putting this sweet event on for us

What a year it’s been!!! I’m grateful I still get to write among so many of you amazing creators, you all inspire me. This year felt like I really got to connect with so many of y’all & getting to embrace new friendships is such a gift in itself. All the fun messages & giggling we’ve shared have kept me going and brought light into my days - so even when it gets a bit hectic here, I’m so thankful this place brought us together

Favorite Fics I’ve Written

You, My Golden Hour - Javi P x Cowgirl!Reader

this fic holds a special spot in my heart, it felt so cathartic and healing to write, plus Texas Javi P is such a dream

Game Changer - Baseball Pitcher!Joel x F!Reader

Getting to blend my love of baseball & my love of Joel Miller? This is one of those ‘embrace the self indulgence’ fics lol

Blood on Your Name - Evil Cowboy!Ezra x F!Reader

I wanted to challenge myself this year & Ezra to me is such a tricky handsome fella to write so getting to explore him in a Wild West setting was such a mini win when I finished this fic lol

What the Water Gave Us - Merman!Joel

My goal is to just monsterfy Joel Miller more & more plus I believe we deserve all the merman boyfriends so this was such a one fun to write

Fic Challenges

this was the most fic challenges I’ve ever done and I do want to take a moment to pat myself on the back & I’m beyond thankful to all the wonderful babes who hosted these

PPCU x MCR Prompt Challenge:

All the Trouble We’ve Seen - Max P x Witch!Reader

An Offering of Frith Challenge:

The Dark Dresses Lightly - God of Vengeance!Dave York

#MONSTERSMASH24:

Fire Starter - Dragon!Dieter

I’m gonna sound like a broken record player but I really can’t thank everyone enough, from reading to simply allowing me to share this space with y’all - my heart is beyond full & I hope the final weeks of this year are kind to us

no pressure tags: @perotovar @hauntedhowlett @quinnnfabrgay-writes @burntheedges

@saradika @lowlights @joelsgreenflannel @julesonrecord @beardedjoel @morallyinept @nothoughtsjustmeds @msjarvis

@gasolinerainbowpuddles @chronically-ghosted @haylzcyon @corazondebeskar @pedropeach @sp00kymulderr @amanitacowboy & to anyone else - if you’re seeing this, I want you to too your own horn too!! You’ve done so much & you should be proud like I’m proud of you!!

[toomanytookas]

Original image credit: Tantor Films

PPCU Fandom Projects Digest: August/September 2024

Thank you so much to everyone who has spread the word and said such nice things about the PPCU Fandom Projects Database so far! Here is a summary of projects that wrapped up last month, ones to look forward to this month, and one plucked from the past to (re)discover for your TBR!

First time hearing about the database? The PPCU Fandom Projects Database is a site with listings for both current/upcoming projects as well as masterlists of past projects in the fandom. More info available here.

Celebrate August Projects!

@almostfoxglove's Angst Writing Challenge

@burntheedges's Stuff My Inbox Round 2

@hellishjoel's Hot DILF Summer Challenge

@punkshort's AU August Challenge

@secretelephanttattoo's Tumblr birthday bash

@studioghibelli's writing challenge

@whocaresstillthelouvre's Little Mood Mood milestone celebration

@yopossum's Moot Boards and Mini Fics celebration

Anticipate September Projects!

Open for Participants - September deadlines (sign up and/or post)

@auteurdelabre's Trope Off

@beefrobeefcal's Married Joel Sits on You [masterlist]

@burntheedges's Roll a Trope Challenge [masterlist]

@justagalwhowrites’s Joel Miller Birthday Celebration

@quinnnfabrgay-writes & @proxima-writes’s Monster (S)Mash

@the-orange-tabby-cat's Yard Sale

@toomanystoriessolittletime's 8k Writing Challenge

Signups closed - September posting

@perotovar's Offering of Frith

For projects beyond September, head on over to the database to peruse the listings!

(Re)Discover an Older Project! (selected from the database via RNG)

@dieterbravobrainrotclub's Server Challenge - March 2024 Check out the masterlist for this challenge, which features six amazing fics all including the following trope and prompt:

Trope: only one bed/forced proximity. Prompt: “You’re going to get us arrested” “Oh I’ve always liked the idea of you in handcuffs”

[joelalorian]

Wip Wednesday

Thank you lovelies @evolnoomym and @sizzlingcloudmentality for tagging me!

Yay! I made it on time. Booooo! I don't have any actual wips to share. I do have some things in the pipeline though...

Pero Tovar oneshot for @/spookymulderr's My Chemical Romance challenge. Set to the MCR song House of Wolves. I'm super intimidated by this one and don't even know where to start. I will get it done though, at some point.

Marcus Moreno x f!reader oneshot for @/perotovar's Offering of Frith challenge. The Norse God Frigg was the prompt. I have a vague idea about Marcus finding a Norse knot blessed by Frigg that needs some serious development.

Marcus Moreno x f!reader oneshot featuring reincarnation for @/burntheedges Roll-a-trope challenge. Two souls find each other under the stars in a past lifetime and again in this one.

Dave York x f!reader series - nanny reader is an aspiring writer and the local publication shared a short story of hers that is eerily similar to Dave's latest job. I really need to get started on this one as it's been on my mind for months.

Stepdad trope - I'm dying to write this for a Pedro boy but I'm terrified at the same time. Could be a oneshot or series if I ever grow a pair and finally do it.

No pressure tags (sorry if you've been tagged already!): @burntheedges @sp00kymulderr @perotovar @punkshort @mermaidgirl30 @sanarsi @thesummerpetrichor @hellfire-state-of-mind and any other lovelies who'd like to play

[joelalorian]

wip wednesday

Thank you so much for the tag, my lovely moon girl @evolnoomym! Feeling pretty good this week as my shoulder is healing (however slowly, but 50% improvement is no joke) and work is leveling out for the moment. I'm wrapping up my contribution to @perotovar's Offering of Frith challenge today, so here's a little snippet:

This goddess Frigg and her blessing were really messing with his head, throwing his ability to think and act out of whack. How could he possibly know what he felt when it seemed like the universe decided for him without ever asking if he was ready? Swiping his hands down his face, scrubbing roughly at the neatly trimmed scruff on his face, Marcus heaved a sigh, feeling like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Whatever it is can’t be that bad, mijo.” His mother stood in the doorway, one hand on her cane and the other resting against the doorframe. Her knowing smile worried him but he didn’t have the energy to trade barbs and hidden meanings with the inimitable wits of Anita Moreno right now. Not when he long suspected that she had the power of omniscience. “Not now, mom,” Marcus groaned, fingers massaging his temples as his eyelids shuttered closed. “Yes now, mijo,” Anita replied, stepping into his office and easing herself down into one of the chairs in front of his desk. “I just watched one of the administrators I hired for you rush out of the building nearly in tears. What did you do to that sweet girl?”

NPTs: @burntheedges @thundermartini @sirowsky @sizzlingcloudmentality and anyone else who'd like to play

[joelalorian]

wip wednesday

Thank you for the tag @sizzlingcloudmentality! I actually have something to share after a couple weeks of the crippling inability to write a single word.

I'm about halfway through the rough draft of my Marcus Moreno fic for @perotovar's Offering of Frith challenge, so here's a little peek:

The people of Norway cheered when the Heroics delivered the final blow to the blight that menaced the women of their country for weeks. The skies cleared and birdsong once again echoed through the air as if the Norse Gods themselves expressed their heartfelt thanks.

Marcus Moreno looked up from a knelt position, still catching his breath after the hard-fought battle, to see a weathered old man standing before him with a toothless grin. “Tusen takk,” the old man said in a raspy voice roughened by age. Placing one wrinkled hand on Marcus’ shoulder, the old man reached out with the other and it took Marcus a moment to realize the old man held something in his hand, extending it in offer. Instinctively, Marcus stumbled to his feet, a gloved hand stretching out to meet the old man’s. He stared in wonder as the old man gently placed a metal pendant emblazoned with an intricate Norse knot into his hand. Like the old man himself, the emblem had been weathered by the passage of time, yet remaining ever sturdy, the black leather rope attached to it brand new and tied in a neat knot. Marcus stared at it in wonder, wide brown eyes tracing the never-ending pattern of knotwork as the metal gently vibrated through his glove. His gaze dragged upwards from his hand to meet the milky eyes of the old man; eyebrows raised in question. “A symbol of our gratitude, a thousand thanks, if you will,” the old man said in English. Arthritic fingers grasped the thin strip of knotted leather and reached upwards to place it over Marcus’ head. “Said to be blessed by the Norse goddess Frigg, wife of Odin. May it bring you love and harmony in this life and beyond.” Too stunned to form words, Marcus nodded with a warm and grateful smile as the gift buzzed against his chest, calling to his heart.

No pressure tags to the following lovelies and any others who want to play: @guiltyasdave @lanaispunk, @punkshort @burntheedges. Sorry if you've been tagged already!

[lotusbxtch]

hey lovely! 15, 22 & 25 pretty please? 🫶🏻

Hi Jana darling! @guiltyasdave thank you for asking!

\\ ETA: forgot a couple of drabble challenges I participated in so I added them! \\

15) something you learned this year - I took the plunge and asked my published author friend all about her experience writing and self-publishing romance novels, and in doing so, I learned that I would, in fact, like to work towards becoming a published author myself! It's a bit scary and exciting but I'm taking it step by step and not rushing into anything.

22) events you participated in this year - I did my very first challenges this year! First I participated in @beskarandblasters Taylor Swift Challenge and wrote and I lost you. The next one was @wannab-urs Hozier drabble challenge and wrote Sunlight. Finally I wrote my first full-length one-shot fic, Ocean's Gold, for @perotovar's Offering Of Frith challenge. It was really fun, even though I was terrified to write Whiskey since I'd never done so before, but I found the writing process rewarding and ended up absolutely loving the fic. It has a special place in my heart!

25) a fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read - ugh I CANNOT narrow it down to just one, so I'm going to list 3. If I get asked 25 again, I'll recommend one fic at a time. All of these are 18+ MDNI! -- Going for the deep cuts on this one because I'm always screaming about her writing: Little Beast by my darling @for-a-longlongtime. This was also for Erin's Offering Of Frith challenge. It is highly angsty, dark, and only a smidge smutty, but it has some of the most devastatingly beautiful storytelling paired with touches of magic realism. She poured everything into this story, did SO MUCH research, and it nearly broke her, so it deserves ALL the love and more.

-- Rotten by my sweet honey @alltheirdamn. This is a series that's become so dear to me, and there were many nights that V and I were up late, swapping ideas back and forth for the chapters. Rotten Reader and Joel are one of my favorite couples, and although I'm not usually one for rough sex, dear GOD does she knock it out of the park. I like to think I helped influence the looooove, heeheehee :)

-- BDSMaid by my daddy @mountainsandmayhem. To say that I am obsessed with this series would be an understatement. I've had the privilege of beta reading this series from the start, and it. is. everything. If you're not reading it, you ABSOLUTELY need to be. That's all I'll say because otherwise I'm gonna cry ok byeeeeeee

Want to ask me some questions? Check out the post here!

[joelalorian]

Wip Whatever Day of the Week it is…

Thanks for the tag @evolnoomym!!! 🖤🖤🖤

I’m going through a bit of an existential crisis due to something that happened at work and I don’t have any wips at the moment, which is surprising. Trying to get my mojo to kick in by joining some fic challenges, so I’ll share some ideas instead.

Pero Tovar x f!reader for @/spookymulder’s My Chemical Romance PPCU challenge. MCR prompt song: House of Wolves. I’m really intimidated by this one and have no idea what I’m going to do.

Frankie x f!reader for @/almostfoxglove’s angst challenge. Was given an awesome moodboard and the song Siren by Kailee Morgue. I’m thinking helicopter crash action adventure.

Neighbor Frankie x f!reader for @/punkshort’s tumblrversary challenge. No clue where I’m taking it yet.

Marcus Moreno x f!reader for @perotovar’s Offering of Frith Pedro boy/Norse god challenge. Really intrigued by this one but don’t know where I’ll take it.

Finally, I have the Dave York x novel writing nanny series idea that I haven’t started yet. I’ll get to that at some point.

Anyway, no pressure tags to anyone who hasn’t done this yet.