Kyle Trying To Escape Having To Speak In Front Of The Crowd And Putting It On John Instead….

Fluffy Winks! Maybe something where his girl is stressed because of job and overworking herself. Then it's finally friday and weekend. And he makes sure she gets a rest; maybe some cuddling, bath or something.

Ugh I love him he’s like a puppy x

And you’d wander into his house, collapse on the sofa, hearing him pattering about upstairs but you’re too tired to go see what he’s doing, too stressed to even think about him and you’re thinking about work, pulling out your laptop and finishing things off - despite it being Friday. And he’s coming downstairs with a cheery ‘hi’, closing your laptop and talking you by the hand, ignoring your protests of having to finish your work. And he’s shushing you with ‘you can’t do good work if you’re stressed, like I can’t play good football when I’m stressed’ and he’s pulling you into the bathroom, a bubble bath inside and lit with candles. Then he starts undressing you, and you climb in, with Harry sat on the floor by the side, kissing you occasionally, listening, letting you get it all out and hugging your top half lightly - ‘I don’t want to get too wet’ he’d laugh. And you’d think about all the work you have to do for a split second second, but one look into his puppy dog eyes and it all melts away, the only thought now: ‘babe, are you not getting a dead leg?’. And of course he is. For you.

If you ever tagged me to do one of those tag game thingies and I never did it:

1) Thank you, seriously. Those are fun and being included shows that my followers care enough to want to learn more about me.

2) Very sorry about that, it’s extremely likely that I said to myself “Cool! But I’m busy at the moment, I’ll have to do this later today or tomorrow” before proceeding to just straight-up forget, now it’s too far back in my notifications and/or your blog to find again.

Dear trauma survivors,

It doesn’t matter that somebody else ‘had it worse’.

You deserved to have it better.

you and Trent come home drunk and end up having drunk sex and your both laughing and acting like teenagers again x

And you’re falling through the door, clung onto his shoulders, still giggling at both of your attempts to open the door and immediately going to unbutton his dress shirt. But obviously you’re doing it clumsily and T is laughing at the site, not making it any easier with his dramatic chest movements for you and you’re thinking fuck it, it can stay on, getting to work on his belt instead. And he’s hitching up your dress seemingly with the same self awareness of his capabilities in that state as you finally fling his belt off with a ‘why’d you even where this thing’. And he’s undoing the button because you’re taking too long, shoving down his trousers and boxers, and kicking them off to the side. And he’s pulling you up to him, dress still hiked up, and sloppily inserting himself in you. And it’s erratic and messy and not at all sexy and you’re both finding it hilarious as you knock over the clock, both of your faces tinged red - from the alcohol and the sex and god this is love.

Finished all my exams, so I can get back to writing!

Basically I’m Gay

more smutty stonesy please !! Your amazing love x

aww thank you anon, it’s a longer one x

Running around a football pitch for ninety minutes can be tiring, a fact you came to know because of the aftermath of John’s matches - him falling exhausted into bed the minute he got home, regardless of if you were there or not. So, as much as you loved watching your man run about for ninety minutes, goal line clearances left and right, you relished the games he was a sub or he didn’t play - you loved a riled up John wanting to blow of steam. So when he pulled you hurriedly to his car after the game, hair wet from his post-game shower and adrenaline coursing through his veins from the 20 minutes he played, you didn’t resist one bit, your own car left forgotten. And he drove hurdily through the streets, navigating his way back to his house and you squeezed your thighs together in anticipation, glancing over at John, who’s eyes were firmly fixed in the road. And then you decided to have some fun. It started off innocent. A small brush over his thigh, smirking to yourself at his tightening hands on the steering wheel. And you moved up and across, fingers skimming his bulge, hands on the steering wheel going white, smirk on your face growing as you pushed down his joggers, palming him through his underwear. His moan filled the quiet car and it was enough to get you to place your mouth around him in a state of passion, engulfing his entirety immediately, wanting to waste no time, and he squirmed beneath you, growling into the air, foot letting up on the gas pedal, as you gained rhythm. One white knuckle off the wheel, into your hair, pushing and pulling your head how he wants, and it was lustful and passionate and interrupted by the loud honking of a car horn behind you. And you jumped up in shock, John practically having stopped in the road, and you laughed to yourself as John hurriedly collected himself and drove on, definitely breaking the speed limit and both squirming at the thought of the rest of the night - and it’ll be a long one.

Trying swimsuits infront of T?

‘What about this one’ you’re saying, giving a spin and watching his eyes drink you all in as they slowly skirt up and down. ‘Beautiful, love.’ And you’re sighing slightly as you throw him a smile - of course you appreciate it so much but god he’s been saying that about every one and you just want to know which is the best one to buy. So you’re turning around, strutting back into the changing room to change into a final one when he’s appearing behind you, arms sliding around your waist and head in your neck. ‘The red one. Get the red one, love’ is huskily whispered into your neck: ‘now let’s go home and try taking off some clothes’

Being friends with Dele growing up and your families always talk about you getting together and you both always tell them it will never happen but secretly you both have feelings and are too afraid that if you say something you will lose your best friend

And you both laugh whenever someone mentions it, brushing it off as complete nonsense: you’re both just friends. But he doesn’t notice how you wince whenever he says ‘shes just me best friend’, and you don’t notice how his face momentarily falls whenever you laugh at the ‘so how long have you been dating?’ comments. And he doesn’t notice when you down a drink and leave as quick as you can whenever you spot him in the corner of a club with a girl and you don’t notice how his knuckles whiten whenever a man buys you a drink. And he doesn’t notice how sick you look when his hands are roaming a girls body in the middle of the dance floor and you don’t notice how he takes a minute to steady his breathing whenever you laugh at another man’s jokes whilst touching his arm. Neither of you notice - but why would you? You’re just friends.

— back to back premier league champions!! 💙