80slingard-blog

[80slingard-blog]

IM BACK?????????

hi guys i know, i know, i've been gone for so damn long and i've missed a lot!! but i just wanted to check in and make sure everyone's good and you're all healthy!!

a whole heap has gone on in my life and it's been super duper hectic but i just wanna thank you all for your everlasting support and concern for me <3 i've saw all of ur messages asking if im good and i will respond!! i promise!!

as for this account i'd love to come back and start writing again - but only if you'd welcome me back. love you all massively and thank u for being patient <3

[80slingard-blog]

just yes

[80slingard-blog]

drunken thoughts, sober feelings - marcus au

And as you’re tapping the steering wheel whilst searching through the crowd of drunken people that lingered outside of your car you cursed at the promise you had made Marcus earlier the night - “If you need picking up please call me, I’ll come fetch you”. Truth be told as soon as his name flashed up on your phone and his shouts echoed through your speaker you felt bad for not wanting to pick him up but you knew he was absolutely smashed and you promised you’d help him back. Even if that did mean running to your car in pyjama shorts and a jacket zipped to your chin.

“She’s here guys!” Jesse slammed the window of the passenger seat wildly with his palm, pulling faces at you through the glass as the rest staggered over to you car. Reaching to the back you pushed the door open, Marcus’ hand wrapping around the door frame as he threw himself into the back seat - shortly followed by Dele and Trent. Jesse chuckled as he buckled himself next to you, his drunken hands fumbling with the radio as he tried to find something worth listening to, “Marcus kissed someone today, he finally pulled!”

You listened along to the guys argue back and forth over who was the best dancer as you turned corners and waited patiently at red lights: all the time thinking about Marcus’ mouth pressed against another girl. It wasn’t as if you two were dating or anything, it was nothing like that, no, it was more down to the fact that it was obvious you two had a crush on each other - and all the guys knew that. So why was Marcus shoving his tongue down some strangers throat when he had made it so clear that he was interested in you?

Pulling into your driveway you rolled your eyes as Dele pushed Trent out of the car, his elbows hitting against the graveled driveway as you held out a hand for his to grasp. With a slurred “Fuck you” Trent playfully slapped at Dele’s head, chuckling as his palm came in contact with his ear. Slipping inside the house you beckoned the rowdy lads, not wanting them to wake any of your neighbours with their drunken antics as they yelled about needing water and somewhere to sleep.

“Can we talk?” Marcus yanked at your wrist as he slumped past you, his eyes searching your face as you motioned towards the stairs as the rest of his army piled into the living room. Armed with blankets, cushions and jugs of water you watched as they all settled onto the sofa’s - suddenly looking a lot younger than they actually were as they gulped down glasses of water. If it wasn’t for Marcus lingering about upstairs you would have happily kept them company for the rest of the night, giggling away at their conversation about what the best condiment is on toast - their voice’s getting progressively louder as Jesse exclaimed that it would always be jam.

Trent’s attention would be diverted as he scoured the room for something, his lips curling into a smug smirk, “Is Marcus sharing your bed tonight?”

Your cheeks burned as you flipped the switch, closing the door in order to muffle the laughter they had erupted into as you made your way up the stairs. Embarrassment reeked through your body as you noticed Marcus perched on your bed, his fingers scrolling through his phone as he tried to sober up. Reaching out a hand you’d bring his concentration to a halt as he looked up at you with hazed vision, “Didn’t mean to kiss her. It just happened. So quickly.”

His voice sounded desperate as you crossed your legs next to him, resting your head on his shoulder as he continued to ramble about her just coming up to him and in the moment he didn’t remember anything and he was too lost in the music as his mouth found itself to hers. But you’d switched off: too busy thinking about how you were going to live this one down with the lads downstairs. Of course Marcus was too drunk to try and speak to now but you knew in the morning he wouldn’t remember anything, his cheeks would blush a bright red as the boys tease him about sleeping with you after kissing another girl.

“Marcus. Marcus I don’t care,” You’d whisper, bringing him out of his nattering rant as you traced his tattoo’s that were peaking through his shirt sleeve, “The lad’s think we’re going to sleep together tonight so please don’t be mad in the morning. Just be prepared.”

He nodded, comfortable silence blanketing the two of you as you listened to his heartbeat increasing in his chest. You could tell by now that the alcohol was wearing off; his words weren’t as incoherent and he was started to maneuver a lot easier now. Marcus shifted nervously on the bed, your head lulling into the crook of his neck as you attempted to sit up straight. But he sort of held you there as he snaked an arm around your shoulders, squeezing your arm gently as he sighed, “I think I love you, y’know.” 

And you had second thoughts on him sobering up as you freeze in your position, swallowing hard as he fiddled with his thumbs that sat in his lap. You can tell that he’s awaited an answer as his mouth twitches to the side slightly - but you have no answer to give him. Because you know once you awaken in the morning everything would have been forgotten, so what’s the point? You saw no reason to try and talk to him about it all, not when he was drunk anyway.

“Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” You whisper as you stood from your position, hands on hips as you yearned for him to snuggle into you and tell you everything you wanted to hear. But he was drunk. And you were sober.

But he would shake his head, left to right as his vision became blurry from the sheer harshness of his neck movements. Marcus fell back, his spine hitting the mattress as he spread his arms out across your sheets in a defeated way. His was mumbling something, his words rolling into one string of noises as your chest pinged at the sound of him rambling on again. His eyes dragged across your ceiling, “You think I’m only saying this because I’m drunk. Like I won’t mean it tomorrow morning when I’m sober.”

And you hate how he was right, you despised how well he knew you. Memories of the two of you flashed before your eyes: like the time he persuaded you to go on holiday with him because he’d booked it for him and Jesse but Jesse had pulled out last minute, or the way in which he sobbed to you when his ex girlfriend had broken up with him out of nowhere. And how you had to be the one to try and mend him, pick him up from the floor and convince him that everything would be okay in the end. Your shoulder had been damp for days due to his uncontrollable tears, his voice strained as he struggled to thank you - and all you could do is hug him. But here he was now, in the present time, lying on your bed and confessing his deepest thoughts about you.

“I fucking love you! I always have! Always will. I kissed that girl tonight and you want to know something? I dreamt it was you. I always do. You’re all I dream about - every damn night.” His mouth was spewing sentences that didn’t quite make sense as he spoke them but as they sunk in he lifted his head from your duvet, wide eyes looking you up and down. Your shoulders slouched as you chewed on your fingernail: you didn’t know what to say to him. Fuck, you didn’t know if you wanted to speak to him. 

“Please say something. Just tell me to fuck off; just anything to let me know that you understood what I said.” He sounded desperate, his tone pleading as it sliced through the silence that had fallen once again between you two. Marcus rolled his body until he was facing your headboard, the duvet crinkling beneath him as he fluttered his eyes shut. You decided against trying to sleep in the same bed, scared what would happen between the two of you if you dared tried to slip under the covers - instead slouching off to the guest room. But as you pulled the door open his voice cut through the air, “At least stay, please. Even if it’s the last time you do.”

[80slingard-blog]

Being more rough with T in bed

and you’re not exactly sure how you should tell him as he’s in-between your thighs, his lips and tongue working wonders against your clit as your hand yanks at his hair. he mumbles into your skin at the sensation, his eyes locking with yours as you swallow a moan. you clamp your thighs around his head as a motion for him to stop eating you out - his face hovering above yours as he hangs his head in your neck. pushing into you he lets out a throaty whimper, your pussy clenching around him as you grasp his wrist. he straightens his back, making eye contact again as he looks at you with confusion whilst you pull his hand towards your throat, latching the fingers around your neck as you look at his wide-eyed. and it suddenly clicks in his head as his thrusts become harder and rougher, his hand tightening around your neck as you clamp down on your bottom lip 

[80slingard-blog]

Omg what about Dele reacting to a fake orgasm? I feel like he’d be so angry

and you’re telling him after one-too many glasses of wine, the alcohol going straight to your head as you ramble on about how you weren’t in the mood the other night and didn’t realise how hard it was to actually mimic an orgasm. and his head would snap towards your direction, his eyes narrowing as he digested everything you had just said. his jaw would lock as he focuses his view back onto his phone but you can tell that he’s looking straight through it as you chew at the inside of your mouth. settling the glass on the ground you’d tiptoe over to him, trying to caress his cheek but he’d pull away from your touch. you’d try to reach back out to him but he’d push himself to his feet and just stare at you dead in the eye. and the silent treatment would go on for the rest of the evening as you quickly sobered up. crawling into bed next to him he’ shift to his side, your chest trying to press against his back but he’d lie in such an awkward position to try and get you to move but you never did. and you’d thought he’d fallen asleep as you sat up, wiping your eyes as you tried to figure out why he was so angry, i mean, at least you’d been honest? and he’s yanking at your forearm and hovering above you with a hard face as he just stares at you remorseless, his fingers tugging at your pyjama bottoms as he slips himself inside of you. and you have no time to adjust as he snaps his hip against your, fingers digging into your skin as you feel the familiar knot in your stomach tighten and you know exactly what he’s trying to prove as his cock stretches you fully with little whimpers leaving your mouth. the whole time he was inside of you he’d be silent, barely looking at you as he fucks you senselessly. your mouth would hang open as you feel your body tremble underneath him, your thighs shaking as you felt yourself clench around him as the knot came undone along with you. and he’d pull out, admiring the mess between your legs as he lay quietly next to you, “don’t lie to me again”

[80slingard-blog]

T reacting to you faking an orgasm

you’re trying to tell him that it was just because you were too tired to finish but his head shakes at your reason, his eyes full of some sort of hurt as you try to embrace him. but he’d just push you off because his pride is damaged at the thought of you having to fake an orgasm with him - especially because you’d never done it before. so he’s refusing to touch you intimately or even fuck you, your mouth pouting as you desperately try and get him to knock it off because you really need him. and he’s going on and on about how you could do that and why would couldn’t just tell him that you were sleepy. and deep down it hurt more because he didn’t want you to feel pressured into doing anything with him if you were exhausted. but he only lasts a week or so before he’s crawling on top of you, telling you how you’re not going to fake another one as he tugs your jeans down your legs

[80slingard-blog]

riding Ts thighs 😭

you’re needy and desperate as you perch on his thigh, his phone pressed to his ear as he natters away to his agent about an upcoming television advert they want him to feature in. and he cocks an eyebrow at the feeling of you wearing nothing underneath your shirt as you slowly drag your pussy against his skin. he shoots you a dangerous look as you hook your arms around his neck, quickening the pace of your movements as you let out a small whimper. his legs open wider as you steady yourself better, the new position applying a lot more pressure to your clit as you close your eyes at the sensation. and fuck, all he wants to do is end the call and take you right there and then on the sofa but his manager keeps rambling about dates and times, but his attention is spent on you getting yourself off on his thigh

[80slingard-blog]

please do an dating eric dier would include please please please please please please

just done!! finally Xx

[80slingard-blog]

dating eric includes -

long walks at night, usually ending up with the dog as he tugs you along the forest path. and it’d be so dark and he’s snuggling you into him, using his phone for the torch light as you giggle about stupid ghost stories

cooking together on his days off: a recipe book folded out on the counter top as he reads the instructions carefully, chuckling as you add one too many spoonfuls of salt into the sauce

spooning you in the night with his chest pressed against your back as he traces random patterns onto your bare stomach

adopting a dog together and he’s bringing it back one day after training and you’re completely besotted with the new dog and eric

“i’ll be back soon baby, please don’t cry”

waking up to random bunches of flowers at the door with cute little cards saying how much he’s thinking of you whilst he’s in a different city for upcoming matches

passionate sex when he’s back from his short break, your hands needy and desperate as he slips inside of you. and his hips are snapping against yours as he stretches you out completely, stroking your hair to make sure you’re okay

him sending you links to a playlist he made for you on the coach and you don’t know whether to cry out of happiness or sadness as you listen through the songs

slow dancing in the kitchen, slipping everywhere because your socks have no grip and he’s clutching onto you

pressing kisses to your forehead whilst cuddling

stupid romantic movies at all hours in the night because neither of you can sleep and he’s wrapping you in a blanket whilst folding his legs across you

“is that my shirt? again?”

morning sex when it’s just the two of you, your moans and the sunlight as it streams through the window, dancing across his back as he whimpers at how tight you feel around him

running you baths whenever you’re stressed or feeling a little down. and he’s buying you special oils and rose petals, scattering lavender salts into the water as he lights candles for you

cuddling at his parents as they coo and awe over you both, complimenting you at every given chance as his dad pats him on the back encouragingly

unofficially proposing to you at any given chance. usually when you’ve just finished fucking and he rolls over to you, eyes full of happiness as he mumbles how he promises to marry you one day

needy kisses in the kitchen when you’ve got guests round and he’s tugging at your clothes, desperate to try and get some skin-to-skin contact but you shake your head, not wanting anyone to catch on what you’re up to as you plant a lasting kiss on his lips before sauntering off to keep the guests company

doing the lap of the pitch after the season with him, waving and taking photo’s of him and the fans as everyone cheers you on

“no we’re not watching another horror movie”

date nights every week. and he’s whisking you off all across the country for an evening away by the seaside because he knows how much you adore beaches, or him taking you to the fancy restaurant just outside of town which consists of him laughing throughout the whole night and staring intently at how pretty you look

calling you ever lovable name under the sun: love, angel, baby, babe, sunshine

lying in bed together in the morning before having to get up, the silence comfortable as you drag a finger up his chest as he struggles to keep his eyes open

you picking him up after he’s gone out with a couple of the england lads and you’re driving back with him in the passenger seat. and he’s drunkenly flirting with you, asking for your name and number as he whoops when you drag him inside

[80slingard-blog]

I love your new prof pic!!!

thank you ahaha Xx

[80slingard-blog]

Riding Ruben’s thighs as he’s wearing shorts whilst he’s playing Fifa. He’s like “ give me five minuets baby”.

and your perching on his thigh, the feeling of his bare skin against your pussy sending shivers down your spine. his eyes flicker from the television screen to your pouted lips, “gimme’ five more minutes baby”. his voice is low and you can tell he’s trying to hold back a groan as you rock your hips back and forth, your wetness coating his thigh. your movements stay at a steady pace as you bite down on your bottom lip, stifling a moan as he grips at your waist with his hand. his vision is hazed as he tries to carry on the fifa game on the screen, not wanting to lose but the sight of you riding his thigh is making it hard to concentrate. you slip a hand between your thighs, pressing harder against his leg as you stroke at your clit, your fingers trembling as you rub figure of eights into the bundle of nerves. with your back arches you dig your nails into his shoulders desperately trying to get him to do something, anything, to help you get off. but the view of you doing it all yourself is bringing ruben to the edge as his cock hardens at the way your chest heaves under your shirt, your eyes rolling back as you feel yourself getting nearer the edge 

[80slingard-blog]

jealousy - dele au

You knew you’d made a big mistake as you stood helplessly in the corner of the club, music with amplified bass thumping through the building as you shuffle from one foot to the other. Your eyes are dodging past the crowd towards Dele, his head hung back as he laughs along to whatever has been said among the group he’s surrounded by. With a wave of a hand your vision is brought back to the visibly tipsy man sauntering around in front of you, his hand wrapped around a cup as he sways in your way. You want to push him out of the way and wrap yourself around Dele but you don’t want to hurt him or make him any angrier than he already was - after all he was your ex-boyfriend.

And he’s staggering closer towards you, his alcohol spilling into a puddle at his feet as he slurred his words, “You left me. And for what? What did you get out of it you bitch?”

His words stabbed at you as you felt a shiver spread down your spine as you consider running past him. But he props an arm against the wall next to your head, leaning in close as his lips brush past your ear lobe. The obvious stench of vodka invades your nostrils as you try to squirm back against the wall; the space between you and him quickly become none existent as he presses his chest against yours. You swallow in fear, eyes raking the bodies around you in hope that someone will see how scared you look. But nobody does notice.

He looms in closer, his breath spraying against your skin as your hands go clammy. Dilated pupils rack your face as he brings his cup to your lips, pushing it against your mouth as you sip at the drink involuntarily. The liquid burns your throat as your knees buckle under the feeling of him being so close to you. Spreading his hand on the wall behind you he chuckles slyly, “Learnt how to keep your mouth shut, huh? You could never keep quiet when you were with me. Drove me fucking crazy.”

You’re about to react but his body is yanked away from yours, Dele’s stance coming into view as you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. His eyes burnt into the drunken leech as he held a hand out in your direction, your fingers wrapping around his as he pulled you closer to his hip. Dele’s jaw locked, his mouth twitching as he watched your ex steady himself on the stair rail, “Baby, you okay?”

You nod slowly as your heart started to return back to it’s normal pace,a wash of relief spreading across your body as Dele pushes you behind him in a protective manner. You can’t help but watch as he wraps an arm around your slumped ex’s shoulder, tugging him closer as he spits an incoherent threat towards him, his back shielding you away from whatever was being said. You grip at Dele’s shirt, pulling the material away from his back as you try to get him to back away. He ignores your desperate attempts, instead keeping his attention on the man in front of him.

“Come on babe, he won’t bother you anymore.” He gestures over to the group of lad’s you’d come out with, their heads turned in your direction as they glare at the events that have unfolded. You feel his hand on the small of your back; his other one pushing sweaty bodies out of the way so that you didn’t get no elbows in the rib-cage or drinks poured over you. He leant down, his head tickling your neck as he pressed a soft kiss there, mumbling against you skin, “You know you dated a fucking sleaze-bag right?”

[80slingard-blog]

childhood sweethearts - trent au

Okay but imagine being Trent’s childhood sweetheart and everyone had always routed for you two to get married and have children one day. 

And when you were both young you’d always laugh it off and blush from embarrassment because Trent was your best friend and you had never seen him in that light before. His mum would always coo over the two of you as you arrived back from school: for as long as you had remembered you’d always trail off to Trent’s after school, usually staying for dinner until your own mum came and pried you away from him. You’d help each other with homework, run wild in the forests behind his house and torment his brother’s relentlessly. And at school everyone would always tease you both because boy’s being close to girl’s always meant that they fancied each other - but you’d both scoff and giggle about it on the playground whilst sharing some cake his mum had packed for him.

You both grew into teenagers, going through the changes together as you started to feel a change in yourself. And Trent would start growing facial hair and getting taller; his long frame shadowing you as you prodded his jawline in an attempt to get him to shave it. But he rolled his eyes and reminded you that you weren’t his mum. And despite fitting into different friendship groups at high school you’d always still walk home together - gossiping about who was apparently dating and the new sports teacher who’d started at the beginning of the new term. His mum would still fuss around you because you were the daughter she’d never had, insisting to drive you home in the winter because it got darker earlier. The drives were always pleasantly calm as she hummed along to the radio whilst you scrolled through your phone, sending Trent stupid tweets and photo’s you’d found online. And she’d tut in your direction, her eyes sparkling in the dim lights of the streetlamps as her mouth would stretch into a smug smile, “You’d be good together.”

And on your eighteenth birthday he surprised you at your own home, a bouquet of flowers and a sloppy grin as he explained how his dad helped him pick them out for you. The flowers would have been unmatched and didn’t really go together but you adored them either-way, presenting them in a pretty vase from under the sink and propping them on the fireplace. His card was decorated with sweet messages from his family - all of them wishing you a great day and lots of hugs and wishes. And your own mum would beam at the gesture, marveling at the flowers as you pulled on some shoes because you’d promised to pop round Trent’s to thank them personally for the thoughtful gestures. 

It was only when Trent had decided to move away for his football that you really understood what you felt towards him. All the times that you had dreamt of him and woken up in a sweaty panic made sense now - after all these years you had finally realised that you were head over heels for your best friend. And the goodbye was hard because you hadn’t gotten round to actually tell him how your felt;: instead you held him tight and ruffled his hair as he got into his dad’s car, boxes of hist stuff stacked high in the boot. Tears pricked your eyes but you were determined not to cry in front of his family and your own, shutting yourself away in the bathroom after excusing yourself so you could sob into a towel. And your cries were strangled and muffled into the cotton as the thought of him actually leaving hit you like a tonne of bricks. Everyone who was there knew how you felt and heard you crying in the bathroom, your blotchy face and red eyes confirming their inner thoughts as your mum pressed a kiss to your temple.

And it was three years after he had moved that you finally worked up the courage to go to a home game, slipping on the shirt you’d brought as you trekked across the stadium car-park. Deep down you knew that he probably wouldn’t recognise you anymore because life had gotten in the way and you’d both fell out of touch. You’d both changed your numbers so it was impossible to reach out. Cheering along in the stands you screamed and clapped as the ball hit the back of the net, your throat stinging from the sheer strain that you’d put on it as you yelled his name over and over. And it was as soon as your eyes locked as you pushed yourself down to the barrier by the pitch, his eyebrows knitted in confusion as he realised who you were. The hug was tight, your body squeezed against his as your hands run up his arms, “You made it Trent!”

He would manage to convince you to come back to his hotel room after, promising a night of fine dining and catching up but you knew that you’d both end up lying on the bed and chuckling along to memories as you ordered room service up to his suite. And you were right: his thumb tracing the menu as he tossed it over to you, his eyes still having the same sparkle in them after all this time. You’d both giggle and squeal along to the stories you got up to as kids, listening intently as he described how playing for Liverpool felt after every match. Your heart would sort of ache as he progressed onto how he missed everyone from back home and how he helped his family move into a nicer house. You remembered how that was always one of his goals in life: to provide for his family after everything they had done for him. And here he was, living the dream he had told you under the stars over and over when you were young. And at the time, you had laughed and teased him about wanting to be a footballer because that was always everyone’s dream as a child: but he had proved you wrong. He’d made it.

Fast forward to now: his arms draped over your shoulders as you chat along aimlessly as your eyes drag across the television screen. There’s nothing particularly on; you just have it on for background noise as Trent mutters away at the transfer news flashing up on his phone screen. And you trace his knuckles softly, your finger delicate on his skin as he blushes at the simple gesture. His voice is mellow as he snuggles into your neck, the hot air coming from his mouth spraying on your skin as you giggle, “I’m so glad we made it.”

[80slingard-blog]

first argument with eric - au

It’s getting late: the sun has started to cast shadows across the living room through the window as you listen to Eric thud around in the kitchen. Drawers and cupboard slam shut, creating an angry rhythm which slices through the silence that had fallen upon the house. You chew on your fingernails - cursing silently at the thought of picking up an old habit which you had left behind the past couple of months.

“You know, I should have guessed that living with you would prove to be a nightmare!” Eric appeared in the doorway, his voice low and frustrated as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. Your mouth opens and then closes, not sure on what he wanted you to say. For the past couple of days the tension between the two of you had become almost unbearable; it had all started when you proposed the idea of moving in with Eric as you practically lived together already. But you could tell you’d sprung it on him too soon because it hadn’t been the same once all your stuff had been moved in and your name was put on the lease.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble, not wanting to add fuel to the fire that had already been kindled. He shot you an intense stare as you shuffle back on the sofa, bringing your knees underneath your chin as you watched him pick at the doorway paint. Splinters of glossy white peeled off in his hands as he studied you from his dominant stance.

He latched a hand over the door-handle as he turned back towards you, “Yeah you always are sorry. But you never exactly learn do you?”

His words hit you hard as he sulked back off to thumping the kitchen drawers shut, your body sort of trembling as you pick yourself up and trail after him. His back was facing you as you attempt to wrap yourself around him; trying to cradle him as you whisper your apologies. But he pushes you back, catching you off guard as you grip onto the counter to steady yourself from falling back. You narrow your eyes at his behaviour, “You act like such a child sometimes Eric. You really do.”

Scoffing he spins to face you, looming over your hunched up body as he drags his eyes across every inch of your uncomfortable expression. Despite never once arguing with him you kind of guessed what was going to happen next as his face contorted into a spiteful frown, “Yeah and you act like a bitch all the time.”

The word fell off his tongue like some sort of poison. Tears slowly started to well in your tear-ducts as he brings his face even closer to yours, your noses brushing against each other as he swallows hard, “You really piss me off.”

And you can tell that he’s encouraging you to shout and yell back: he wants you to ball your fists up and plummet them on his chest as you become red in the face from screaming at how much you hate him. But you don’t - instead you let a single tear slip down your cheek, dipping in the curve of your dimple as you shake your head. Your voice is timid and shaky, “I love you.”

He rocks his head back as he steps away from you, a hand wiping over his face as he stands there and loos at you. His eyes are empty, not showing any emotion as he see’s your sobs gradually get higher and louder. And all you want him to do is wrap yourself in his arms, pull him closer and forget about everything he’s said and done. But you don’t get the chance as he pushes past you.

You’re too stunned to try and ask what he’s doing but the sound of the front-door closing behind him answers your silent question. You wipe the tears away as you grab an empty glass from the side, snapping the tap on as you gulp down water as a calming method. Yet you hardly calm: your body aches from the way your muscles have tensed under the situation. 

You find yourself collapsing onto the sofa, tugging a throw around your body. Not a sound is heard throughout the rooms as you lay there, your head propped on a couple of cushions as you stare blankly at the ceiling opposite you. You feel yourself drift into a daydream, completely in a different dimension as Eric shuffles into the living room. His cheeks were blushed and his eyes red as he saw your eyes shut and your lips part, your mind in a whole different world.

He studies you for a while; the way your chest heaved under your shirt, the way your hair sprayed messily on the pillows behind your head. Eric shuffles from one foot to the other, waiting for you to notice that he’s come back. And he kneels to the floor, “I’m sorry for shouting.”

And the sound of his voice sends a shiver down your spine as you flinch unexpectedly. You flutter your eyes open to see his lips pressed into a thin line; he was waiting for you to say something, anything. He just needed you to speak. A shaking hard reaches out to fumble with his cheek, stroking the skin as he shuts his eyes, humming at the action. Neither of you had to say anymore - you both knew he would spend the whole night grovelling whilst you would try and comfort him without seeming too clingy. 

[80slingard-blog]

Teasing dele while wearing his football shirt

and you’re doing everything in your power to make him notice you as he clicks away at his games controller, his mind elsewhere as you saunter around the house. and you’re stroking his shoulders from behind, digging your nails into his skin ever-so softly as he mumbles “what’re you up to”. and you don’t answer, instead you tiptoe round to his lap, perching on his thigh as you lift his shirt slightly. and his eyes flicker from the screen to the sight of his name and number on you, his teeth sucking in his bottom lip as his pupils dilate. and your hands are skimming his chest, tracing his tattoo’s lightly as you lick your lips. your hips would grind against his thigh, the feeling of his joggers against your knickers creating the sort of friction you’d been looking for all day. and he wouldn’t know what to do as you bend down to kiss at his neck, teeth grazing his soft spot as he let out a low groan. he wasn’t exactly sure as to what had got you in the mood but as he settled the controller on the ground your whole mood changed, jumping from his lap as he looked at you with his eyebrows knitted in confusion. you’d just smile sweetly at him through doe like eyes, “just wondered what you wanted for dinner”

[80slingard-blog]

T doesn't want you to go on your girls holiday +packing with you ?

“just wish you didn’t have to go” he’d grumble as he passed you the folded pile of clothes from the bed. he watched as you packed them in your suitcase, pushing them down as far as they would go as you wave for him to pass the next pile. “i don’t have to go baby, i want to go” you’d smile, rearranging your toiletries as he tossed you sunglasses and sunhats that you’d brought earlier on in the day. ever since you’d told trent about a girls holiday you were planning with a couple of your close friends he had been acting weird - he hated talking about the topic and would shut it off immediately. but here he was, helping you pack as you explained what you had planned for the week-long break. “please don’t go” he’d whisper, playing with the material of some short’s you’d decided against packing, his eyes looking up at you widely. and you’d kneel forward, kissing his temple as you mumbled about being back soon and that of course you were going to miss him but it was too late to pull out now. and he’s nod his head gently as he held his arms out childishly, yanking you into a bone-crushing hug as he kissed the top of your forehead softly because damn, he was going to miss you so much

[80slingard-blog]

Hi love can you post your icon please?

yes!! lemme do some digging xx