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zuhaism · 1 year

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⊹ ｡˚ 𓂃 ♡ AFTERMATH ?! ┊ kim chaewon ⁺

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eunchae was already passed out on her bed. the only source of light coming from her study table illuminating the room. the silence rang through the room as you were focused on solving the problem for her. eunchae had asked you for help with her math homework after finding out you were in the mathletes.

“unnie! you should’ve told me you were a nerd. now my life is going to be easier.” you smiled and patted her head “i can tutor you. free of charge” now you’re already regretting your decision. who made math so hard nowadays? you’ve been stuck at this question for so long eunchae already fell asleep.

the front door unlocking made you comeback to reality. you glanced at the clock ‘2:34 am’ you rubbed your eyes and cleaned up for eunchae before going to greet your beloved leader after her schedule.

you walked out eunchae’s room and was greeted with chaewon on the floor leaning against the kitchen counter with a viking hat on. her eyes could barely open. “chaewon-unnie?” you called out. she opened her eyes and slowly moved her gaze to you and smiled lopsidedly. “y/nnie!” she slurred out trying to stand up.

you immediately went to help her up. when your hand got a grip of her forearms she wrapped her arms around your shoulders mumbling ‘i missed you’ ‘you should’ve been there’ all that kind of stuff.

you ignored her incoherent slurs and circled her legs around your waist so you could carry her easily to the bathroom. she was still mumbling in your neck as you entered the bathroom.

you sat her down on the toilet. slowly taking off her viking hat. she was looking at your face with with doe eyes and puffed up cheeks. you wanted to squeeze her face so bad. you got some makeup remover, bending down right infront of her and started to gently rub the make up off.

you held the side of her face for a better grip. she leaned into your palm which made you smile softly. “you’re the best. d’you know that?” she slurred out as her eyes closed. your heart fluttered at her drunken words. “i didn’t know that. thank you.” you said softly. rubbing her cheek in circles using your thumb.

you’ve always cherished moments like this where her attention isn’t being taken away by the other members. compared to the other members you’re a low maintenance person. having grown up an only child alone in the house you’ve learned to be independent.

“you’re so cute y/nnie.” she said breaking the silence. she was looking at you intently with half lided eyes. you chuckled and pecked her cheek once you’re done. standing up to bring her to her room. chaewon started moving around seeming uncomfortable with her clothing.

you helped her unbutton her top. while doing so u slowly squinted not trusting your eyes to wander. chaewon giggled at your actions “y/nnie its finee you can look.” you could feel your face heating up before leaving her to take one of your sweatshirts from her closet that she’s stolen.

after putting the sweatshirt that’s engulfing her tiny frame. “can you stand?” you asked as you held her hand up. she nodded, swaying a little as she stood up and putting her whole weight on you. her eyes was closed as she held onto you while you brought her to her room.

you tucked her in pulling the blankets over tiny frame and tucked her hair behind her ear. “goodnight chaewon-unnie” you whispered softly as her eyes began to fully shut. you admired her for a while. stroking her hair softly adoring her resting face. you noticed your eyes lingering on her half chapped lips. you shook your head.

you stood up slowly, you were about to go back to eunchae’s room but a tug on your pants stopped you. you turned around and was met with chaewon’s sleepy eyes looking up at you with a pout. your heart tried not to burst when she “stay with me, please.”

without saying a word, you lifted the sheets and laid down. she instantly clinged onto you, her nose nuzzled into your neck and her hair tickling your chin. you laid awake until you heard soft snoring.

you were awoken by loud footsteps running through the hall. you stirred awake , looking down checking on chaewon. her whole weight was on you and she was dead asleep.

then suddenly the door opened “good morning!” it was eunchae. she always does this. wakes up super early on day offs and disturbs everyone. you shushed her, giggling softly because she was wearing the viking hat chaewon brought home.

before you could say anything about it, you felt movement on top of you. chaewon was wiggling around in your hold then eventually she opened her eyes and was greeted with eunchae. “what the hell” in her raspy voice. when she realised what eunchae was wearing she snatched it from her.

“hey thats mine.” she said while hugging the head. eunchae let out an annoyingly loud laugh with her head tilted backwards. “you’re silly chaewon-unnie. anyway kkura-unnie went out so im going to be making ramen for breakfast.” she pumped her fist in the air after getting approval from you.

“be careful!”

“i will!”

you looked back down on your chest and saw that chaewon was already looking at you sleepily. “thank you for taking care of me.” you played with her hair and tsked. “you dont need to thank me. im always here.”

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sunlightmurdock · 1 year

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‘Friendship’ Bracelets — Rooster x Bambi (18+)

Synopsis: Rooster gets half of a friendship bracelet

Warnings: unabashed size kink, unprotected sex, pinv, creampies

…

You sigh softly, lifting your head from his chest and propping your chin up on your palm. Rooster’s brows knit together, his muscles tensing under you as there’s another near miss for his team. He relaxes again and brings his beer bottle to his lips, taking a long drink and then setting it back down on the floor beside the couch.

“You okay, baby?” Rooster hums without managing to tear his gaze away from the screen, smoothing his palm along your back. You turn your gaze to the rain pouring on the window, and then to the football game on the television.

“Mm.” You shrug, pushing yourself up from where you’re laying on his chest, stretching your arms up above your head. “Bored.”

“I can fuck you at half-time, if you want.” He jokes, tucking an arm behind his head and shifting to find comfort again now that you aren’t acting as his weighted blanket.

Your lips quirk, rolling your eyes playfully as you turn away from him in search of something to occupy your Sunday stuck inside. He won’t play a board game with you, and you don’t want him to break one of your puzzles trying to mash the pieces together with his big fingers. Reading sounds like too much effort. You sigh softly and pull open your closet.

There’s usually something entertaining that you have forgotten that you own in here. Bradley gasps and grumbles something discontentedly from the living room as you rifle through the closet.

He looks up as you wander back in, grinning at him and holding a little plastic box.

“What’s that?”

“My friendship bracelet kit, I’m gonna make us matching ones.” You explain, setting the box down on the coffee table and sitting down on the floor with your back to the couch. Rooster hums to show his interest, stroking your hair back away from his neck.

“That’s nice.”

“What colours should we have?” You ask him as his thumb strokes absent-mindedly along the exposed curve of your neck, stopping at the collar of your sweatshirt.

“Purple and gold.” He replies, nodding towards the television. Immediately, you scrunch your face up in distaste. With your back to him, he doesn’t see that. You peer down into the box and hide the purple thread under the green.

“I don’t have purple.” It’s an innocent, little white lie that means you don’t have to walk around with an ugly Minnesota Vikings bracelet on. Rooster doesn’t even notice.

“Whatever you want, baby.” He decides, taking another sip from his beer bottle. His lips quirk softly as he rests the chilled glass against the exposed back of your neck and watches you squirm away from it. You smack his leg and scowl at him, he winks at you and settles back some to watch the game again.

Making your own bracelet is easy work, you’ve been doing it since you were six. You pick out pink, blue and yellow threads, twisting them intricately around each other until you’ve got a thread long enough to fit around your wrist.

“Will you tie it for me?” You turn to Bradley, pushing yourself onto your knees. His eyes never once leave the screen as he reaches for the two ends of the bracelet. “Not too tight, but don’t let it fall off either.”

“Mhm.” He frowns at the game and glances quickly downwards to make sure he’s doing it right, securing it in a knot and dropping your wrist. “Looks pretty, Bambi.”

You turn back around and start working on his bracelet immediately, braiding the threads together until they should be long enough. You grab his arm from where it’s resting against his middle, wrapping the bracelet around as much of his wrist as it’ll cover.

Frowning, you drop his arm and turn back around to fix the length of it. His arm’s just bigger than you had anticipated. Adding an extra little bit, you turn again and pick up his wrist. He lets you without complaint, too focused on the end of the first half.

The thread almost fits, you could maybe make it fit if he was willing to compromise on his blood circulation. Frowning again, you drop his arm and watch it flop back down against the couch.

He doesn’t react, brows raised in anticipation as the quarterback heads towards the end zone. You reach out delicately and take his arm again, this time shifting around and extending your forearm beside his.

“Almost finished?” He asks.

“Mm, almost,” You answer quietly, placing your open palm in his, stretching your fingers out to see how far they are from the tips of his.

Glancing back up at his face, he sips on his beer, oblivious. You trail your index finger along the veins in his forearm, up onto the firm skin of his bicep.

He’s always wandering around here shirtless, even on days like today when it’s miserable and drizzly outside, he’s still warm under your touch. You’re wearing a sweater and a big t-shirt, fuzzy socks and grey sweats, and he’s still warmer than you are.

You exhale quickly and turn back around to your little workstation, picking up more thread. You wonder what size gloves he wears in the ring. Then, you try to shake that thought from your head all together and focus on the wholesome activity you had chosen for the afternoon.

Rooster’s hand is on the back of your neck again. Just an absent-minded need to be touching you, his thumb stroking along the top of your spine delicately. You’ve never noticed how softly he touches you before now, wondering to yourself if he has to hold back — if he knows how strong he is.

“Damn it!” He yells from behind you, fingers squeezing softly around the curve of your neck. You tense, glancing up towards the screen, then slowly turning to peer back at him over your shoulder. He softens and squeezes at your neck again, an apologetic smile tugging at his lips. “Sorry, baby, didn’t mean to make you—“

He stops, brows furrowing as you drop the bracelet to the ground and push yourself up from the floor, swinging a knee over his hips swiftly. You brace your palms against his broad shoulders, kissing him hard before you’ve even settled in his lap.

Instinctively, his hands find your hips and he pulls you down hard against his groin. You pull back just to tug your sweatshirt over your head, groaning in frustration as your arm gets stuck in the struggle and then your necklace catches on the collar of the sweatshirt.

“Slow down, I’ve got you.” Rooster chuckles softly as he sits up and untangles you from the nice little straight jacket you had just made for yourself. You drop the sweater and the t-shirt to the ground at once, sitting in his lap in just your bra and your sweats. “Is there like a go button on you somewhere? — where the hell did that come from?”

You place both palms, flat and open, on his bare chest and push against his muscles, feeling them flex against your hands as he doesn’t let you push him back. “Just want you.”

Rooster’s lips quirk softly as he relents and allows you to push him down against the couch, his head resting against the arm. “Sure, but that doesn’t answer my question. Kinda leapt on me out of nowhere, baby.”

You shrug your shoulders and squirm around him as you quick your sweats and socks off, his body heat does more for you than they did anyway.

Taking his hands in yours, you open them up and place them on your skin. He curls his hands around your ribcage and flexes his palms softly, keeping you in place.

“Fuck.” You exhale softly. His brows knit together a little, cocking his head. Trying to figure out what’s got you so flustered all of a sudden. You smooth your fingertips over his collarbones, the swell of his broad shoulders, over his thick arms.

His hands trail innocently, coming down to rest against your thighs on either side of his hips. Palms open, he squeezes softly at your legs, still confused but not complaining as you grind yourself against the growing tent in his shorts.

“I can’t wait, I just really need you.” You rush out, all in one big breath, pressing your palms harder against his chest. Rooster’s lips tug at a smile as he nods slowly at you.

“Alright, it’s alright,” He sits up and presses his chest into yours swiftly, hooking an arm around your middle and lifting you so that he can push his shorts down. You hum as his thick fingers nudge your underwear to the side and swipe between your legs gently. “Fuck, baby, you’re soaked.”

Grabbing a handful of the short hair at the back of his head, you kiss eagerly at his neck as he works his fingers into you. You could whine and argue as much as you want, he isn’t going to give you anything more until he’s satisfied that you’ll be able to take him.

His fingers curl upwards, massaging that spongy spot inside of you that makes you dig your nails into his shoulders. Mewling into his neck, fucking yourself down onto his thick fingers. The game long forgotten, Rooster shoves his boxers down and withdraws his fingers, grabbing your hips instead.

You slowly sink down on him, taking in his tip. A soft squeak slips your lips. He squeezes softly at your thighs again. His eyes shut, preventing himself from grabbing your hips and forcing you down to take him in all at once.

He breathes out hard and grabs the back of your neck, pulling you into a bruising kiss. You whimper softly against him. You breathe out softly through your nose, pushing your chest against his as you sink the rest of the way onto his length. Rooster grabs your hips with both hands and pulls you tight against him, driving himself as deep as he possibly can.

You lift yourself just slightly, rocking back down once again, finding a soft rhythm. Sinking up and down on his length. More full than you’ve ever felt. Head lulled back. His hands, big and strong, squeeze your middle and guide you on him.

You pick up speed, your bodies sloppily colliding as he kisses the salt from your skin, peppering his mouth over every inch of skin that he can reach.

Rooster moans, desperate and panting into your chest, fingers bruising your skin. You arch your back, grabbing onto his thigh for support as you fuck yourself on him. He squeezes softly at your hips, sliding his hands down to your ass instead.

“Bra — ungh — Bradley — I’m gonna — I’m-“ You can’t manage real words right now, interrupted by his mouth on yours anyway. He grabs a handful of your hair and tugs as his other arm tucks around your waist and keeps you steady as he pounds into you.

You cum, careening against him, his arms keeping you steady. Panting hard, you’re locked in his embrace as he drives into you, relentless. Overstimulation creeping in, your thighs tremble around his as he spills into you.

Mind hazed, you hum as you fall forwards against his chest, a soft smile on your lips. He groans, resting his head back against the arm, closing his eyes.

“So you get off on doing arts and crafts now or something?” Bradley asks, squeezing you in his arms. Your cheeks burn at the notion as you shake your head and settle down against his chest.

“Or something.”

…

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #miles teller #blow by blow #drabbles #rooster x bambi

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victoria-styles · 5 months

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Do you have any Harry Styles smutty prompts?

Actually, I have 38 Harry Styles x reader smut prompts. 😈

1. Harry is tired of Y/N stealing his sweatshirt and sweatpants and makes her take them off.

2. Harry is having a wet dream and wakes Y/N up by grinding against her.

3. Harry is a gynecologist and gives Y/N a pelvic exam.

4. Harry makes Y/N come over and over again until she’s crying.

5. Y/N’s thigh tattoo turns Harry on.

6. Harry is a pornstar and requests a new PornHub model, Y/N to be in his new video.

7. Harry’s raspy morning voice turns Y/N on.

8. After having their baby, Y/N’s breasts are bursting with milk and Harry helps her relieve some of the pain.

9. Y/N surprises Harry by coming home with her nipples pierced.

10. Harry and Y/N are in a movie theater when he starts fingering her.

11. Y/N distracts Harry while he’s in the middle of writing a song.

12. Harry wakes Y/N up by fingering her and eating her out.

13. Harry and Y/N are strangers who get trapped in an elevator together.

14. Harry and Y/N are best friends who are also very affectionate with each other.

15. Harry is eating Y/N out so intensely that he has to stop and pull his hair back into a ponytail.

16. Harry does something to royally piss Y/N off which results in her giving him the silent treatment, so he has to work to get her to make a sound.

17. Step siblings, Harry and Y/N have to share a bed while on vacation with their family.

18. Y/N is sore and horny due to her period.

19. Harry and Y/N are spies on a mission sent to seduce and capture a major drug lord.

20. Y/N gets a new perfume and it drives Harry mad.

21. Y/N is an actress in Vikings and Harry gets jealous of her spending so much time with her costar, Alex Høgh Andersen.

22. Y/N is the pastor’s daughter, but she isn’t so innocent when it comes to Harry.

23. Y/N and Harry are best friends and what started out as an innocent massage turns into something else.

24. Harry begs Y/N to let him fuck her without a condom.

25. Y/N is Harry’s new costar on Don’t Worry Darling and she’s nervous about the sex scene they have to film.

26. Y/N is 8 months pregnant and her large belly and breasts are making Harry go mental.

27. Harry, a demon, persuades Y/N, a human, to have some fun with him.

28. Harry discovers Y/N, a mermaid, living in the lake behind his new house.

29. Eros comes to Earth and seduces Y/N.

30. Harry and Y/N are best friends and when her boyfriend can’t satisfy her, Harry steps in.

31. Harry is a dangerous patient in a mental asylum and Y/N is his nurse.

32. Harry is a well-known sex therapist and helps Y/N.

33. Harry finds Y/N reading smut about him on Tumblr.

34. After Persephone leaves him, Hades!Harry decides to abduct another woman. But this time, he chooses a human.

35. Harry is a SWAT officer and Y/N is a feisty, unhinged criminal.

36. Hades!Harry falls in love with goddess!Y/N.

37. Harry is a psycho masquerading as a haunted house actor when Y/N runs into him.

38. Harry is Y/N’s new stepfather.

#victoria styles #anon #smut #mine #answered anon #harry styles #harry styles smut #ask me anything #send asks #send me anons #harry styles x reader #fic rec #prompts #smutty prompts

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jadelynlace · 5 months

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Learning to Walk Again⎮Ink Drinker Deleted Scene⎮Modern Vikings AU [Ivar x F!Reader]

Find more Ink Drinker here.

Author's Note: This takes place somewhere between Chapter Six, and Chapter Seven, and as someone who is only a provider for patients pre-hospital, this defienetly pushed me out of my comfort zone. (And was likely why it took my so long to write again.)

Content Warnings: Medical settings, Ivar being reluctant.

Word Count: 2600+ words

“Giving you love right now, Ivar, seems like a desperate act,”

It intoxicates him, lying in the cot; and having seen the abyss he’s falling towards up close, he still refuses. Floki sits on the other side of the room, painstakingly watching Ivar stare at the ceiling, at the world just beyond his window. He’s watching him waste away; pushing himself up on few occasions to readjust, but he refuses food. Refuses help. He just simply refuses.

“The only way I am leaving here, Ivar, is if you get up and escort me out,” Floki has told him, calmly.

“Do you want my lunch?” Ivar asks dryly. Floki on shakes his head. “You’ve been here for days,” He tries.

“As have you,” Floki starts. “The only difference is, Helga has packed me food. You know how she gets,”

“Go home to her,” Ivar grumbles.

“No,” Floki replies, and it’s firm. Reasonable. Steady—what Ivar needs right now. His eyes are still closed as he speaks, head resting back against the wall. Floki never sleeps, Ivar is sure of that. He only rests.

“I don’t want to break up your marriage because of this. I’ve already lost Y/N,”

“You fight for what you want,” Floki simply says. “And, if you would look at any other place than outside your window, you bastard, you’d notice, she’s been in the hall,” Ivar turns his head quickly at that. But he knows, Floki never lies.

You’re there, propped up in one of the most uncomfortable chairs you’ve ever sat in, your sweatshirt bunched into a makeshift pillow as you scroll on your phone. You’re still in your uniform, and you’ll probably stay in it until your next shift. There’s a single water bottle on the ground, and as Ivar watches you, a nurse stops at your side. She offers you something to eat and you accept it. Because she knows you’ve been here for days, too.

“Thank you, Thora,” You say softly and your throat is dry. Dry from misuse, dry from crying. Dry.

“You’re alone today,” She remarks, and takes the set next to you. Your eyes watch her, trailing from your phone to her face before dancing down to her ID badge, clipped to her scrubs by a cartoon pizza slice, complete with a smile.

“Yeah, his brother wanted to get some sleep in a place that won’t cause him irreversible spine damage,” You hum, watching Thora split her sandwich into two pieces.

“You might want to try that too,” Thora says softly, handing you your half. “They seems really close,”

“They’re twins,” You state. “They were made that way,” You snort. “We uh, we worked his crash together,” You then tell her.

“Wow,” Thora answers. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like,”

“I couldn’t tell you, either, I haven’t—haven’t processed it yet,”

“You will in time,” She tells you. “If you don’t die from exhaustion, or spine damage first,” She teases you, and you snort.

“I didn’t get to be where I am without being determined,” You answer. “Chief didn’t raise no quitter,” And that phrase alone makes you smile.

For a moment you wish he was here; everything makes sense with him around. Your drawing he handed you is still in your pocket, and every so often you find your fingers gravitating towards it. Like a toddler and their favorite blanket. It makes sense. Just like everything makes sense in the bay at the station. You can’t remember how many times you’ve sat on those floors, even prior to your career, just to find some piece of mind. That warmth of nostalgia from the cool touch to the concrete; and the smell—one you’ve never found anywhere else. How your home smells, only to you. A scent you could notice any moment, but it would only make sense in that one place. You’d wheel Ivar there in a heartbeat if you thought it would have the same affect on him.

“If he doesn’t start eating soon, we’ll have to place him on a feeding tube,” Thora suddenly admits.

“I know,” You say.

Ivar watches you converse, not able to know what you’re saying but with the expression on your face, he learns it’s nothing pleasant. You’re paler now than he remembers, there’s no color to your cheeks, you’re gaunt, you’re simple existing as he is.

That’s the moment Ivar realizes it. If this kills him, it’s going to kill you, too.

It’ll kill Floki.

It’ll kill Hvitserk.

It’ll kill Aiden.

It’ll kill his mother.

It’ll kill you. It’ll kill the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

Inhaling suddenly, a panic seeps into Ivar—as if something has grabbed him, holding him under water and his screams only bubble to the surface. Sitting up quickly he grips his bed sheets, the monitor to his side beeps rapidly to announce the anxiety and it draws Floki’s attention. It draws Thora’s attention, and with a bite of turkey in your mouth, you look up at the man, with panic etched into his features, he is staring back at you.

“Ivar?” Floki says, and even you notice that this is concerning to him. “Ivar? What’s going on?”

“I—,” And out of all the languages he can speak, none of them want to trickle off his tongue. Thora stands in anticipation and you only put your hand to slow her down.

“Leave him be,” You finally say after swallowing your bite. “Floki’s the best thing for him right now,”

“Not if he’s having a serious problem,” Thora answers, looking down at you.

“He’s not,” You reply. “I know that look,” You tell her.

“I can’t kill her,” Ivar finally says.

“Ivar…?” Floki starts.

“Y/N,” Ivar replies, as if the answer is as clear for Floki as it is for him. “I can’t kill Y/N,”

“You think this is killing her?” Floki asks. “Tell me more,” Ivar swallows thickly.

“She’s…she’s pale,” Ivar replies. Floki negates to turn to look at you, waiting for what more is to come. Ivar takes his hands to scrub the tears out of his eyes before speaking again:

“She’s in the same uniform,”

“She wears and identical uniform, Ivar. Every day,”

“No—no she washes it after work. Right after work—she’s through the door and…and it’s in the wash before anything else. I always—I always kiss her shoulder when she’s done and she said—she wants a tattoo there now because it’s so reparative. It drives me up the fucking wall too because sometimes…she just washes it alone, or I’ve done my laundry already and then she’s there, taking off her uniform,”

You watch Ivar. You watch him explain something to Floki with the intensity through his features, a passion to his words and you wonder what on earth he could be talking about.

“The color is always brighter after the wash, and it’s always dim when she comes home from work. Like…like she’s so excited to go into the job she loves, and even though she’s drained when she comes home, she does it all again because that’s who she is,”

“Ivar,” Floki tries.

“And it’s so dim right now, Floki—her uniform, her face, everything is so fucking dim because of me. And this is killing me, because I can hardly move and—and I keep trying to tell my legs to move but they’re ignoring me. And if this kills me, it’s going to kill her. Where will she find that color if I die, Floki?” Ivar finally cries.

Floki’s eyes water, inhaling deeply as he watches the little boy he remembers cry in front of him.

“Ivar,” Floki says. “Let’s stand up, and we’ll go from there,”

And Ivar nods. Without even thinking about the sentence, he nods every so slightly that Floki almost misses it.

Stunned for a moment, Floki swallows, mentally patting himself on the shoulder as he straightens. He puts a hand on Ivar’s shoulder, squeezing for a second before he abandons his bag on the chair and turns to the hallway. Opening the door and cleaning his throat he looks at both you, and Thora.

“Think you can help him stand, Y/N?” Floki asks. In all honesty, you’re quite positive you’re imagining it. “Y/N?” Floki asks again.

“Help him…help him stand?” You ask.

“Did I stutter?” Floki tries. You inhale, standing as Thora follows you. But before she can follow you into the room, Floki cuts off her path.

“Give them a second,” He winks. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” Floki asks her.

“Hi,” Ivar says to you softly.

“Hi, Ivar,” You say back to him as he finally looks up at you. “Oh, Ivar…” You trail off, taking the pad of your thumb to wipe the tear that spills. He melts into your hand at an instance, leaning against your palm as if you’re taking away every ounce of discomfort for him.

“I don’t want to kill you,” Ivar mumbles.

“What?” You ask.

“I don’t want to kill you too,” He repeats, as if it makes sense to you, like it does to him.

“You won’t,” You try.

“If I don’t get better, I will,” He tells you and that’s when it hits you, too.

“Then lets stand up, just you and me, yeah?” You try.

“Are you allowed to do that?” Ivar asks, stalling.

“I am a medical professional,” You say. “And they can sue me if they think otherwise. I’ll move the blanket, you don’t have to look, alright?” You tell him and Ivar nods.

It aches Ivar as he feels you pull the sheet from his leg, relishing in the fact that he can feel it; he can feel the cold air against his skin, but he won’t look. You eyes scan his legs, still wrapped in dressings, less stitches than you remember and you gently place you hand on his thigh.

“You feel that?” You ask and Ivar nods. Your mind takes over, as if he is a patient in your care and you asses is pedal pulse, two fingers on the top of his foot and it’s strong. “Can you feel that?” You whisper and Ivar nods, still looking directly at you. Only at you. You take your knuckle against the ball of his foot, tracing from heel to toe lightly, and back down again. “How about that?” And he nods, a glimmer of a smirk to his lips at how it tickles him. “Can you move your toes for me?” You then ask him, and Ivar does—eyes still not leaving yours. He watches how your eyes water, and you recall asking him similar questions in the heat of the crash’s aftermath and how he slurred a response.

“Can you roll your ankles at all?” You whisper. And you watch them rotate, just as you ask. You take you thumb to his nail bed, pressing against his toe to watch the capillary refill in almost perfect time. And the whole time, Ivar’s eye never leave your face. “Alright,” You squeak. “I’ll help you swing them slowly,”

“Wait,” Ivar says suddenly. “Come here,” And you obey. His hands stretch towards you, taking up your cheeks as he brushes the hair from your face, and wiping under your eyes. He pulls you in then, his lips just brushing yours and you can’t help the small cry that escapes, that’s caught between the two of you before it’s swallowed with the kiss.

“I love you,” Ivar whispers.

“I love you, too,”

“Now I’m ready,” Ivar tells you.

Your hands are nearly hot coals against his legs, as you try to be as gentle as possible with your heart rate nearly pounding in your ears. You have half a mind to stop, to pull out your phone so you can record it but you don’t want to ruin the moment.

“Fuck, that tile is a lot colder than I thought it would be,” Ivar grumbles and it makes you laugh. “If I fall, you know you’re going to fall with me, right?”

“Gee, Ivar, I hadn’t really thought of that,” You say sarcastically and there’s a glare from his face that you don’t realize how much you have missed until that moment.

With his feet on the floor you repeat the same movements, assess, feeling, having him move his toes and his ankles and all the while Ivar won’t look at his legs. Adjusting his hospital gown, you position his hand to grip the railing, and you put your shoulder under his opposite arm.

“Ready?” You ask.

“Not really,” Ivar admits.

“If you think you’re going to fall, just sit back down, alright?”

“You ever done this before?” Ivar asks, stalling.

“Only at least once a day while I’m on duty,” You answer.

“I don’t know if I can—”

“Ivar, not today,” You state. “We’re not doing this today, we’re not doubting ourselves,” And Ivar inhales. “On three, yeah?”

“Baby—”

“Ivar,” You say sternly, catching his eyes. “You can do this. You can stand up. It’ll get you that much closer to coming home,”

“Alright,” Ivar peeps.

“One, two…two and a half…three,” You finally say. And as you hold your breath your barrel your feet down against the ground, taking Ivar’s weight as you help to lift him. You watch the muscles in his arm tense, the veins popping into view as he pushes himself to be flat on his feet. And for a moment, time freezes, and Ivar stands.

He stands.

“Fuck,” Ivar hisses. “It’s worse than pins and needles,” He groans.

“Lean some of your weight on me,” You tell him. And he does. “Alright, good, now shift some back against the bed,” You then say. As Ivar follows your command you take your free arm and you reach for the walker that’s collecting dust by his bed.

“We’re going to switch, and you’re going to push your weight through your hands against the walker, alright?”

“No—I’ll fall,” Ivar tries.

“On three, yeah?”

“Y/N,” Ivar tells you but you know better this time than to let him pull himself out of the moment. You move the device in front of him and he follows suit without argument, grunting slightly as he moves his hand from the rail to the handle. Slowly you help him bring the other hand down, catching his weight before he’s standing on his own, hands gripping the bars for dear life.

And you laugh—in sheer shock you look at Ivar standing before you.

“Ivar!” You exclaim. “You’re standing, you’re—you’re fucking standing!”

Ivar has a look of discomfort across his face, mixing with the anguish and what feels like slight embarrassment while you reward him for what he thinks is the most basic fucking thing.

“Where do you hurt?” You ask quickly, searching his face.

“Do you want to guess?” Ivar snaps at you. His breathing rate increases as he feels his palms get sweaty and he worries he’s going to lose his balance.

“I’m right here, Ivar,” You tell him.

“I’m standing,” He finally croaks. “I’m actually—standing,” And there’s a smile on his face.

You move yourself to his vision, reaching through your toes to kiss his chin and you smile back at him.

“I told you,” You whisper to him, and Ivar sees that color come back to your face.

“Where’s Floki?” Ivar asks.

“Did you really think I would go that far, eh?” Floki sings from the hallway.

“Floki—I’m standing,” Ivar says in disbelief. “You have to call Hvitserk,” He adds.

“My phone is a bit busy right now,” Floki hums, and you notice then, where his bag sits abandoned in his chair, his phone sits just outside of it, propped up, and recording.

Tags:

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full masterlist can be found here.

#vikings #vikings au #modern vikings #ivar au #modern vikings au #ivar #modern ivar #vikings fiction #ivar lothbrok #ivar x you #ivar x reader #modern ivar x you #modern ivar x reader #floki #floki au #modern floki

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trivialbob · 5 months

Text

The last few days I've been weary of social media and the Internet in general. It's not any sort of New Year's resolution, but I've used my phone less. I can't say that's had a negative impact on my life.

On my laptop I cut down to mostly reading the newspaper, but no more looking at the comments people leave on stories. What a waste of pixels. I still like viewing Manhattan townhouse floor plans on Zillow. Those townhomes are really interesting to me. Twenty feet wide, six levels, and only some have elevators. It's incredible that there are so many listed for eight figures.

We had light snow overnight. Outside is much less brown now. Unfortunately the clouds are sticking around like that last party guest who doesn't realize it's time to go home (been there, done that).

This morning at the dog park Sulley got mad at me. I wouldn't let him keep a dead, frozen mouse he found in some tall weeds. He forgave me at home, as I started to give Oliver and Ella a treat and he realized I wasn't going to chase him down to give him one.

Later I decided I needed provisions. Dreary days were made for Target and Costco runs. The Vikings weren't keeping my attention anyway. I donned my Target-red jacket and aimed my truck for the big red bulls eye. Good grief, everyone else in town had the same idea.

As I entered the store I saw a young mom pushing a cart with two small girls hanging on to it, both leaning precariously. "Someone is about to join the Target Crying Child Club," I thought. Moments later the girl leaning off the front of the cart lost her grip.

She attempted a front one-and-a-half somersault with a mid-flight twist and totally nailed the landing--on her face. The girl stood up, birdies circling her head, and looked at me silently. I read her expression as, "Whoa, did you see that?!"

Then mom, who hasn't learned a certain important child-rearing lesson yet, says with alarm, "Oh my gosh! Are you OK?"

That was the cue for the girl to enter wailing mode. If the mom had simply said, "Nice move, Olga Korbut" I'm sure the kid would have remained quiet, though she might have wondered, "Olga who?"

Not waiting around for the medal ceremony I made my way to the men's clothing section. Sometimes Target has some sweet deals on sweatshirts. I didn't see any I liked today so off to paper products and food.

An end-cap display of Goldfish crackers beckoned me with a sale price, then mocked me by once again lacking the pizza flavored variety.

Sulley didn't get to keep his frozen, dead mouse. I didn't get to bring home any pizza Goldfish crackers.

#There's Dry January #And now Damp January #I call mine Moist January #I'm only having drinks at breweries and none at home

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farlydatau · 9 months

Text

Justin Jefferson Griddy Hoodie, Hit'em With The Griddy Hooded Sweatshirt, Minnesota Vikings Hoodie, Sweatshirt Gift For Footbal Fan

0 notes

theladyofdeath · 2 years

Note

Elorcan- elide surprising lorcan with a sexy Halloween outfit for a party and lorcan gets all jealous of anyone seeing elide like this.

Written alongside @snelbz :) Happy spooky season! Warnings: language

Sitting on the couch, clad in his costume of a Viking, Lorcan waited.

And waited.

And when half an hour had passed from the moment his ass hit the couch cushion, he was about to lose his shit. Patience was not in his blood, but he certainly tried for Elide.

Even though she knew that he hated being late.

He glanced at the time on his phone and sighed. “Anytime, El!”

“Perfection takes time, relax!” She called, and then he fell into an annoyed silence once more. Another ten minutes went by before he pushed himself up and stormed down the hallway to their bedroom. He didn’t bother knocking as he pushed open the door and froze.

His jaw locked. “What the hell are you wearing?”

She slowly turned, her dark eyes wide and feigning innocence. “You don’t like it?”

She wore a black onesie with fishnet tights and tall stiletto heels. A glittery bow tie was around her neck and two shirt cuffs were worn on her wrists like bracelets. She was placing a headband on her head, where two bunny ears stood tall, matching the little cottontail that was stuck to her ass.

Her full, beautiful breasts were gloriously on display.

Nothing was left to the imagination.

Of course he fucking liked it.

“You’re wearing that out of the house?” He asked, body still rigid. Her lingerie covered more.

“I’m wearing it to the party,” she clarified, walking across the room to their dresser, opening her jewelry box atop it. Slipping the solitaire diamond earrings Lorcan had given her for their anniversary the month before into her lobes, she looked at herself in the mirror. Turning to look at the entire ensemble, she hummed in appreciation and her eyes met his in the mirror. She asked, “Ready to go?”

“You’re not wearing that,” Lorcan replied, still gaping.

“I am,” she said, smiling sweetly. “I look good, don’t I?”

She did, infuriatingly so. Good enough that he was contemplating texting Connall and letting him know they wouldn’t make it to their party, but knew Fenrys would never let him hear the end of it. Nor would Elide.

Lorcan, damn him, hesitated. “Don’t make me be an ass.”

She rolled her eyes, humored. “If you don’t want to be an ass, don’t be an ass.”

He was about to be an ass. “You’re not wearing that,” he repeated.

Elide shifted her weight onto one foot and crossed her arms. One beautifully sculpted brow arched. “Yes, I am.”

“No,” he said, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “You’re not. If you can’t bend over without your ass or your tits falling out, you can’t wear it.”

“I look amazing!” She yelled, laughing incredulously as she tossed her hands in the air. “You’re not even wearing a shirt. You don’t see me asking you to cover up.”

Lorcan snorted. “Yeah, because—”

“If you say because I’m a man, Lorcan Salavaterre, I will cut off the very part that makes you one, I swear to the gods.”

That very part reacted to her tone with pure excitement.

“I was going to say because this is the costume you picked out for me,” he clarified, gesturing to his Viking garb. No shirt, but a pellet of fake fur was draped around his shoulders. “Not my fault sexy Viking is what you came home with. I was perfectly happy in my jeans and sweatshirt.”

Elide shook her head in pure disbelief. “It’s a costume party, Lor. You have to participate. Participating is fun.”

“Having men ogle over you all night is not my idea of a fun time,” he muttered, unable to keep his eyes from roaming her body.

He was her husband.

He was allowed to ogle.

Drunk assholes were not.

“Then don’t pay attention to them,” she purred, approaching him slowly, a little extra sway to her hips than normal. Pausing in front of him, she added, “Just pay attention to me.”

She had to crane her neck to look up at him, despite her high heels.

He hated that he reacted to her further.

Lorcan knew he wasn’t winning this argument, knew that demanding she change into something else was going to do far more harm than good. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You do realize I’m going to get in a fight with someone tonight, right?”

“No you won’t,” she whispered, and ran a finger down his broad, bare chest. “Because if you do, you’ll be getting none of this tonight.”

“I don’t do bribes,” he muttered, even though goosebumps trailed her gentle touch.

Yes, he did, because the second they walked into that party, Lorcan was on his best behavior. Elide ran to Aelin and Lysandra, all who were dressed as scantily as his wife, and they found their way to the makeshift bar in the corner.

Lorcan stood with a frown just across the threshold until Rowan spotted him and approached him cautiously.

“Viking?” He asked in way of greeting.

Lorcan blinked and glanced down at his costume before meeting Rowan’s eye. “What else would I be?”

His friend wore a fireman costume, matching Aelin’s Dalmatian attire. “How long did you beg Elide not to leave the house in that?”

Lorcan let out a defeated sigh. “I don’t beg.”

Rowan gave him a look that said he knew better. Lorcan blamed it all on Aelin, really. She was the one who took Elide shopping for costumes earlier that week.

Across the room, Lorcan caught some asshole’s eyes lingering on Elide’s tail.

It was going to be a long night.

“You need a drink,” Rowan declared, clapping Lorcan on the shoulder and leading him into the kitchen. “Straight liquor.”

With a grunt of agreement, he followed, giving Connall and Vaughn a nod of greeting from where they held court at the beer pong table. They found Aedion in the kitchen and Lysandra’s tight, red jumpsuit and horns made sense as Lorcan took in his all white attire and sparkling wings. Rowan gestured to him. “At least you aren’t wearing glitter.”

Ignoring him, Lorcan grabbed a solo cup and filled it with equal parts ice and whiskey.

“Why does he look pissier than usual?” Aedion asked, not bothering to acknowledge the glitter comment if Lorcan wasn’t going to.

“Because Elide is half-naked and looking fine as hell,” Fenrys answered, appearing in the door, dressed as a cowboy. “And Salvaterre has never been one to share.”

“She’s my fucking wife,” he snarled, though Fenrys was rifling through the fridge, his back to his friend. A dangerous move. “I shouldn’t have to share her.”

Aedion whistled under his breath as he looked between Fenrys and Lorcan, backing up a few steps to haul himself up on the countertop. A perfect seat to watch the show.

“Have you ever wondered what it would be like to take that stick out of your ass?” Fenrys went on, pulling out a craft beer and popping the tab.

“Don’t mess with me tonight,” Lorcan said, calmly, taking a sip of his drink.

Aedion’s eyes were practically glittering, nearly matching his wings as he watched the events before him unfold.

Rowan was just shaking his head.

“Someone has to lighten you up,” Fenrys went on, nudging Lorcan’s shoulder. He glanced across the room at Elide. “I’ve seen at least ten guys with lingering eyes in the last two minutes alone. She’s feeling herself, you can tell. You should like that she knows how to strut her stuff. I like a woman with confidence.”

Territorial asshole. It was something Elide called him often, usually joking with a brightness in her eyes that made his chest ache. Right now, he was trying to convince himself that he shouldn’t be a territorial asshole, that it would ruin her night, but being territorial was in his nature.

Although, he preferred the term passionate.

At the end of the day, Elide could do whatever the hell she wanted. Yeah, he loved her confidence. Yet, he loved this woman…and he wanted to be the only one to love this woman. Now he had at least ten other guys longing for his wife’s attention.

The music playing somewhere in the house got louder and as if it were some pre-planned queue, people began to fill the space the furniture shoved against the walls vacated.

Including Aelin and Lysandra.

And, of course, Elide.

He was half conscious of the fact that there were still conversation going on around him, barely registered when he heard Westfall and Haviliard join them in the kitchen. Lorcan’s eyes were trained on Elide, on every dip and curve her body made. Rowan asked him something but he didn’t answer, only sipped from his drink and watched her.

A quick glance over her shoulder, their eyes meeting for the briefest of moments, that was all it took for Elide to know she had his attention.

His full attention.

Lysandra took Aelin’s hand and spun her out, the two girls far more drunk than Elide, since they’d arrived on time. Aelin lost her grip and they were both riotously giggling as they fell into a heap on the couch. Elide couldn’t stop her own laughter from where she lingered on the edge of the dance floor as well, but didn’t join her friends. Instead, she continued dancing, feeling the thrum of the music through the soles of her ridiculously high heels, the beat in time with that of her heart.

When a hand slipped in hers, she smiled and turned around, but rather than a Viking standing in front of her, she found a football player. No helmet adorned his dark hair and his grey eyes were intrigued. Elide tugged her hand back and he let her.

“I’m Nox,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the music.

Deciding he was harmless enough, Elide let out a slightly tipsy giggle. “Hi. I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

Nox lifted a brow. “Should I be offended?”

Elide shook her head and explained, “Being a married woman, I don’t often have men coming up to grab my hand.”

Disappointment shone in his eyes but he gave her an apologetic nod. “Fair enough. Well, you look incredible. Can’t blame me for saying hi. Have a good rest of your—”

His words were cut off by the sudden appearance of Lorcan. He stood so close to Nox that Elide had to keep herself from cringing. His broad arms were crossed and the pure death radiating off of him promised a fight.

“Hi,” he said, word clipped, voice low.

Nox, with a madness Elide could not believe, smiled. “Hey, I’m Nox.”

“I’m Elide’s husband,” Lorcan answered. Elide subtly rolled her eyes.

Nox’s smile wavered but he nodded. “Yeah, she was just telling me—”

“I was watching her dance,” Lorcan interrupted. “You got in my way.”

“Lorcan,” Elide warned, then smiled at Nox. “Sorry, he can’t help being a jackass when he’s not the center of my world.”

Nox chuckled but his laughter soon died when he met Lorcan’s gaze again. He cleared his throat, stepping back. “As I was saying, have a good night.”

“You, too.” Elide gave him a little wave as he melted into the crowd of bodies, but by the time she turned to face her husband, any warmth there was gone.

He was equally stone faced and suddenly, there was a standoff taking place in the middle of the dance floor. They wore mirrored expressions and posture, arms crossed over their chests. Neither wanted to be the first one to speak, to break. They knew the power it held.

“I was handling it,” Elide finally snapped, stepping towards him. “I thought you said you weren’t going to be an ass tonight.”

“Yeah, I also said I was probably going to get in a fight,” he reminded her, voice so low that she could barely hear him.

She could feel it rumble along her skin though, that deep voice that awoke something in her, made her feel alive.

He must have seen something change in her dark eyes because he leaned down, his lips brushing her ear, and asked, “Am I jealous enough for me to take you home yet or would you like for me to prove to every man in this room that you’re mine?”

“It would certainly tell the women that you’re mine,” she breathed, turning and dragging her teeth along his jaw.

He pulled back, blinking. “What?”

She smirked. “For someone so concerned with how many people are looking at your wife, you don’t seem to notice the women who have been ogling your muscles all night.”

Lorcan took the bait and glanced around the room. He found plenty of dead men still looking at his wife, but he also made eye contact with more than a couple women. Turning back to his wife, he said, “Again, you picked the costume.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” she said, tugging on the unfinished edges of the pelt he wore. He conceded a step towards her. “I get to stare at your abs all night.”

“And so does every other woman here,” he added and Elide rolled her eyes.

“Yes. They get to stare at your abs and my ass all night.” Her fingers grazed over his exposed abdomen, making him jerk, those rippling muscles defining further. “But do you want to know a secret?”

Lorcan’s hand had found its way into her long, dark hair, tipping her head back. “What’s that?”

Her red lipstick had hypnotized Lorcan. “They can look their fill, but at the end of the night, I get to take you home.”

“Can you take me home now?” He murmured, hands sweeping down her back to her backside.

“Dance with me first,” she pleaded, eyes lit as her arms went around his neck.

He wouldn’t say no to that.

Lorcan may have been a territorial ass, but Elide was just as territorial.

And he would allow her to show everyone that he was wholly hers.

#elorcan #elide #lorcan #tog #throne of glass #fanfic #fanfiction #snacmc collabs #tara answers prompts #spooky season #fall prompts #halloween prompts

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leiascully · 2 years

Note

Are you taking prompts? Scully is cold so Mulder gives her his coat, or vice versa.

The thermostat on Scully’s air conditioner is stuck on a setting that reminds her of the Arctic. She huddles under the thin covers of the motel bed. She’s not surprised when there’s a tap on the door. Mulder got soaked through earlier, wading into a lake to help retrieve the remains of one of the victims she’ll be autopsying later. The water in the showers here doesn’t get hot enough to soak the chill away. She lets him in.

“It’s freezing in here, Scully,” he says, and she nods and gets back into bed.

“I spoke to the woman at the desk. She said that’s just the way it is.”

He shivers. “The Icebox Motel. It’s got a ring to it. I was hoping it would be warmer in your room.”

“Didn’t you bring a sweater?”

He rubs his arms, bare under the brief sleeves of his t-shirt. “No. It’s July. The forecast said it was going to be hot.”

“To be fair, the outside is hot,” she says.

He cocks his head and gazes at her, miserable.

“Come on,” she says, and flips back the covers on the other side of the bed. “We’ve huddled for warmth before. I’m sure we’ll have to do it again.” She slips out of the bed as he toes off his shoes and crawls into it.

“That does seem to defeat the purpose of huddling for warmth.” He has the covers pulled up almost to his nose. His forest-light eyes watch her over the hem of the polyester comforter.

She digs in her suitcase. “Here.” She holds out a sweater: warm, wooly, the color of embers in a fireplace. Even the sight of it eases the ache of the cold.

“I don’t think most of your wardrobe is going to fit me,” he says, but he’s reaching for it, the covers sliding down his body.

“It was my father’s,” she says. “I keep it in my suitcase sometimes. It comforts me.”

He pauses, his arms already in the sleeves. “Are you sure?”

She nods and watches him pop it over his head. It’s strange to see his dark hair emerging from the neck of it instead of her father’s bald head, but Mulder relaxes almost immediately.

“Oh, Scully,” he says in a voice like melting butter.

“Wool is an amazing material,” she says, slipping back under the covers on her side of the bed. “It will keep you warm even when it’s wet. The Vikings wore wool when they sailed on long voyages.”

“Bless the sheep that grew this,” Mulder mumbles. She can already feel the heat of his long body warming the bed. She can’t help but cuddle closer — her University of Maryland sweatshirt is warm, but not as warm as her father’s beloved sweater, and not as cozy as the shared heat of their bodies. Mulder reaches for the remote and she hands it to him.

“No conspiracy shows,” she says. “And no historical documentaries. I need to stay awake for a few more hours.”

“How do you feel about a classic movie musical?” he asks, squinting skeptically at Gene Kelly prancing on the television screen.

“Good,” she says, and he puts his arm around her.

#leiascully fic #xfiles fic #msr #i hope you enjoy it!#my fic

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wildfaeworld · 3 months

Text

Today would have been my Grandpa's birthday.

"I've got it right here in my kidney," he'd say when asked if he'd remember this or that, tapping his head.

"Pew, pew!" he'd yell, feigning exaggerated disgust at the smell of soap on our hands when checking that we'd washed them for dinner.

He taught us how to jump rope and how to hit a baseball. We caught our first fish in the pond just outside the back door. At Christmas, there was a house in the community that built a miniature village in their yard, complete with a model train running through little tunnels and cloudlike false snowdrifts. We'd ride our bikes to go look at it every year.

He watched Jeopardy every afternoon at 4pm. When we were there I'd watch with him, and I know now that he let me answer first, but the confidence he gave me has remained a steady warmth through the years.

He was a jokester, a pun-maker, a dancer, a juggler. He loved to sing. I'd feel his baritone in his chest when we hugged. He kept polka tapes in the car until they stopped making cars with tape players in them.

His football team was the Vikings, and most of his sweatshirts were purple for them, or green for his college colors. We wore his colors proudly even though none of us follow sports the way he did, because they were his more than they were a team's or a school's.

He got a little shorter, near the end. Had to give up hiking. His baseball caps protected thinning skin from sunburn where he used to sport a full head of white hair.

Now, his smile is mine to keep in photographs on my wall. He's so handsome in his high school graduation picture, wearing a suit and tie with his hair styled so carefully in the neatness men favored then. On the verge of adulthood, he watches my grandma in her prom dress so fondly. In black and white (this was before color photographs had made it to their small town on the Canadian border) surrounded by family, he and Grandma look so proud of themselves on the doorstep of their first house.

It's been six years. I wish I could hug him one more time. Today I'll remember him, and remember that grief is just love with no place to go.

#love you grandpa

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thehours2002 · 4 months

Text

in 401 out of uniform danvers wears loose fitting jeans and a vikings sweatshirt and complains about her fantasy football team. this is difficult for me to reconcile with the skinny jeans and fitted long sleeve tee with delicate floral print and black lace bra in 402

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celestial-thoughts · 2 years

Note

Openliner 2." If I want to get through the night, I'm gonna need a lot more alcohol". For shaykota please!

blame it on the alcohol

Ooh, thanks for the request anon!

Warning(s): mentions of alcohol, slightly suggestive language, slightly spicy in general.

Word count: 518

"How much have you had to drink?" Dakota asks, eyeing the beer in Shayna's hand as her girlfriend enters the living room. Jessamyn is home visiting her family, and Mia is spending the night with Keith. It's the first time in months that Shayna and Dakota have had the house to themselves for the night, and they're absolutely going to make the most of it.

Shayna smiles at her protective girlfriend. "Just this so far baby," she tells her as she sits down on the couch. Dakota quickly climbs onto her lap. She's dressed comfortably in black leggings and a gray zip-up hoodie. Shayna is wearing a sweatshirt as well, a purple Minnesota Vikings hoodie. Unlike Dakota however, Shayna is wearing a pair of black shorts, showing off her toned legs.

"Have I mentioned that you're gorgeous?" Dakota asks, absolutely loving the flush rising to Shayna's cheeks.

Shayna shakes her head, smiling sheepishly at the girl on her lap. "Shut up," she says, taking another sip of her beer.

"No way," Dakota says, pressing a kiss to the tip of Shayna's nose. "We finally have the house to ourselves. You know how much I've been looking forward to tonight?"

"Doesn't mean you get to be mean," Shayna retorts, finishing her beer.

"I'm not being mean," Dakota says. "I'm just telling you how hot you are."

The heat rising in Shayna's cheeks is obvious. "Am not," she says, standing up to get another beer. But Dakota clings tightly to her, and Shayna ends up carrying her girlfriend with her.

“Are too," Dakota says. "And why are you getting another beer?"

"Because," Shayna says, giving Dakota a quick kiss on the lips before setting her on the edge of the counter. "If I want to get through the night, I'm gonna need a lot more alcohol."

Dakota smirks at her. "Sure, so you can pretend that your face is all red because of the alcohol, and not because you're blushing," she teases, making Shayna's cheeks go red.

"I'm not blushing," Shayna insists. Before Dakota can say anything, Shayna leans in and kisses her. It's long and passionate, and it does things to Dakota that she would never admit out loud. Shayna pulls away and looks at her girlfriend's flushed cheeks and grins. "Look who's blushing now," she teases, cracking open her new beer and taking a sip.

Dakota just smirks at her, gently pulling Shayna over to where she's perched on the countertop and wrapping her legs around her girlfriend's waist. She leans in, pressing a soft kiss to Shayna's collarbone, knowing that it's her girlfriend's sweet spot. "What was that?" Dakota asks with a playful smile.

"Kota, stop teasing me!" Shayna whines, cheeks bright red.

Dakota can't help grinning. "Make me," she playfully retorts.

Something changes in Shayna's eyes, her more dominant side starting to gain more control. "You asked for it," is all she says before setting down her beer, scooping Dakota up off of the counter, and heading up the stairs to their room.

Needless to say, Shayna did in fact make Dakota stop teasing her. Eventually.

#shaykota #dakota kai #shayna baszler #wwe #nxt #anon ask #prompt #kiss prompts #my writing

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