#Sunday Mail

[mrepstein]

The Sunday Mail (Glasgow) September 19, 1965

[ryansbedroom]

[nvuy]

I find it kinda funny the way you react differently with Boothill and Sunday in terms of writing but they both hold the same flavor of “I want him carnally.” Keep up the wonderful work

PLEASE they’re so different it’s hilarious. gross loser with a cowboy hat that’s terrible at hiding his feelings and another gross loser with angel wings who’s slightly better at hiding his feelings but only because that’s what expected of him.

i could actually yap about them for hours…

cyborg abomination, last washed (can he bathe?) 58269652 days ago, scuffed boots but keeps them spurs polished, definitely chews hay, swallows bullets and can catch a fired one between his teeth with zero effort because his teeth are fake, probably jumps in mud puddles if given the opportunity (not like a child, but more like if he’s walking he’ll stamp in it, because he can)

versus

last washed one hour ago and smells purely of dove soap and an orchard on a rainy day, actively watches for his appearance, obsessed with organisation and order, and also actively avoids mud puddles.

but at the same time by the gods if they both don’t fret over your appearance. sunday’s more formal in the matter; he likes to dress you up if given the opportunity. fancy dinners, and he’s already organised your outfit down to the core. he likes to see you presentable, but there’s also something so raw and gorgeous about how horrible you look when you wake up (he’s swooning despite his straight face. if you’re not already jealous of his flawless he looks in the morning, that is).

sunday also absolutely loves when you keep him company in the office, even if you’re a total distraction. it’s not even your fault either. you could be doing something else entirely in the corner on a couch and his eyes will wander. don’t sit in his lap because then he’ll be a lost cause entirely.

boothill will doll you up too, don’t get me wrong, but it’s more of a “hey i bought you this and you’d probably look hot in it” and he’s always right. you’re more fretting over his appearance than anything—he doesn’t mind.

brush his hair all you want. if you wanna braid his hair, go for it. he’ll keep it like that for the rest of time if he could. his hair isn’t exactly real, nor does it grow, so it doesn’t really need to be washed, and the strands are effortlessly silky. he’ll let you do anything to him, it’s that bad. he’d probably let you push him off a cliff. and yes, you can use his little ports to charge your phone, even if he whines every time about it.

the white hair is natural, by the way. definitely had very very dark brown hair that his fathers loved to take care of, and then when he lost his daughter, it was a case of marie antoinette syndrome (whether it exists is debatable, but for my mind’s sake, yes).

[bigfootsmom]

feasting on the crumbs we’re given of the helicopter crash fic. can we please have another 🥹🤲🫶🏻

I hope soon i can feed you a full meal! I can see the end in sight it’s just a matter of finding the time to sit down and get there 😔 but I have a snippet for you for seven(ish) sentence Sunday:

Evan is so heavy in Tommy’s arms and he digs his fingers into his sides, clinging desperately to any part of Evan he can keep his hands on.

“Evan, please–– c’mon, baby I can’t—“ Tommy cuts himself off with a sharp clack of his teeth, trapping the frustrated sob in the back of his throat before it can escape. “We’re almost there, don’t give up on me now.”

Evan mumbles something unintelligible, eyes rolling back in his skull as fails to regain his center of balance. Tommy grunts, taking more of Evan’s practically deadweight.

Tommy almost loses his footing, knees nearly buckling as he tries to keep Evan from completely slipping from his grip and hitting the hard ground. Evan’s face remains slack, skin so pale under all the blood. The sight of it makes dread twist its claws into his stomach. Evan’s bloodless lips part around a wheezing rasp and if it wasn’t for the sound of it Tommy would think—

No. No, no, he can’t. He can’t even think about that. It’s going to be fine, he’s going to get Evan out of this. Evan is going to be okay. He has to be okay.

Tags below the cut <3

Tagged by the lovely and wonderful @diazsdimples and @eddiebabygirldiaz <3 <3 <3

Tagging @usersiren @honestlydarkprincess @swiftietartt @holdmygum @giddyupbuck

@monsterrae1 @loserdiaz @underwaterninja13 @father-salmon @devirnis

@princessfbi @homerforsure @mellaithwen @bisexual-buck @buddie-buddie

@bibuddie @shyaudacity @housewifebuck @colonoscopys @loveyouanyway

@watchyourbuck @smallandalmosthonest @try-set-me-on-fire @iinryer and YOU if you want to post something <3

[inkykeiji]

Sugar daddy Sunday with a brat, sugar daddy Sunday with a brat, sugar daddy Sunday with a brat!!!!

anon you literally took me out with this because he is SUCH a perfect character for that role uGH!!! not only is sunday disgustingly wealthy, but he also desperately desires complete and total dominance and control—which is what makes him ripe for a bratty lil baby (especially if he gets to withhold certain privileges as a result of being Daddy). 

sunday’s word is ultimate, decorous and divine, and what he says goes, irregardless of how many fits you throw or feet you stomp or fists you ball up in anger, defiance, or fury. he tells you he doesn’t enjoy inflicting punishment on you—and while his voice is cold, stern, and full of veracity, that sharp glimmer in his eye suggests otherwise—but that he must dole out such discipline, as it is his duty as your Daddy; to guide, to teach, to mold, to correct.

his retributions vary depending on the severity of the act you’ve committed, ranging from merely revoking privileges (technology, later bed time, sweets, his credit card) to full on physical punishments (spanking your bare ass while wearing his gloves seeming to be the one he favours most often, but he is not above using canes and the like on you if he believes it to be ‘necessary’ to sear whatever lesson he’s trying to teach into that pretty little brain of yours), and you can bet your ass he’s got a meticulously worked out system in place that decides what the punishment will be, proportional to the transgression. 

he acts as if it’s exasperating, as if your disobedience is exhausting, yet he can’t seem to smother those tiny twitches tugging at the corners of his lips any time you push back, any time you challenge him, that glint in his eye flaring to something bright and blazing, despite his features being etched in stone. because although he’d never admit it, he does love enforcing (his specific brand of) justice; he does love exerting that power over you as he shepherds you back onto the path of the righteous, just as a blessed man should; he does love the utter and complete iron-fisted dominance it affords him.

but sunday doesn’t love being your Daddy just because of the absolute control it instils in him; he also loves being your Daddy when you’re good, well-behaved and obedient. oh, then he’s sweeter than sugar and just as corrosive; he spoils you fucking rotten. it’s one of his favourite things to do, showering you with expensive gifts and extravagant outings—lace-trimmed silk and red bottom shoes and multi-day spa getaways and lavish restaurants…all until that indulgence erodes your obedience, turns you into something naughty and saucy again, something greedy and entitled, something he has to fix.

and then, he repeats the whole process over.

[lnfours]

When Tom gets back from filming after months of no sex and just so horny for reader that they have sex in the Jacuzzi just think of Tom being sweaty from the heat not just from the sex but also from the heat of Jacuzzi his muscles just all prominent 🥵🥵

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

slutty sunday

you had suggested getting into the hot tub to relax after tom spent his whole day on a plane flying back home. he knew it would help his stiff muscles, so he agreed. he slipped into his swim trunks, telling you he’d meet you outside.

you had fished out one of your bikinis, tying it around your neck and walking to the back deck. you smiled as you spotted him in the hot tub, his eyes closed as he basked in the warm water.

you joined him, stepping into the jacuzzi. he opened his eyes at your presence, his eyes immediately wandering and letting his imagination take over. he hadn’t seen you in months, and right now it was hard for him to keep his cool.

you sat across from him, smiling, “see, isn’t this nice?”

he nodded, a soft smile on his face, “it is, yeah. should listen to you more often.”

you chuckled. after a few minutes he had reached out to you, pulling you into his body. you sat on his lap, straddling his hips. his hands wandered over your skin, the hot water making his curls stick to his forehead. you reached up and brushed them away, his soft hair fluffing up.

he smiled lazily at you, “‘missed you.”

you smiled back at him, “i missed you, too, honey.”

he leaned down and pressed a kiss on your shoulder. you wrapped your arms around his neck as his caressed your back.

“y’know, we never properly broke this thing in.” he said and you laughed softly.

“what’re you suggesting?”

“you know what im suggesting,” he smirked, leaning in and pressing a kiss on your lips. you weren’t against the idea, it had been months since two of you got to have proper sex. sex that wasn’t sexting or phone calls while the other got off.

you kissed him back sweetly as his fingers worked to untie your bikini top. once he got it loose, he slipped it off of you and flung it on the edge of the hot tub. you shimmied out of your bottoms as he pulled down his trunks, his erection springing free.

you climbed back on top of him, sinking down on him. he grabbed at your hips, letting you ride him as he threw his head back in bliss. sweat was starting to form on his forehead from the heat of the water, his muscles prominent as he held onto you tightly, not wanting you anywhere but skin to skin with him.

he moaned softly, “god, it’s good to be home.”

[fantasykiri5]

A PressureBeast for day 10 of @hermitadaymay !!

[comfortzonelol]

Collar on?

[hippolotamus]

🪩🪩☀️☀️

I know you can do 20 sentences, my love, you've got this!

As you wish, Sir

🪩 - Mirrorball || prev snippet || master list

The stinging bite of jealousy settles in Eddie’s chest, curling up like a wild creature behind his ribs. He only hates himself a little for it. Honestly, he shouldn’t even be thinking about who else gets to see Arsen’s* body. Who might call him over for a lap dance or to a private room. Eddie saw what he came for and got his fix. Now he can drive to Athena’s and ignore Bobby’s curious looks while he stress eats his now weekly peach cobbler. He begins pushing his chair away from the table when a familiar voice stops him. “Leaving already, handsome? Here I thought we could play a little longer.” Time feels almost suspended, syrupy and slow as Eddie turns towards the sound. He finds himself eye level with a sparse thatch of hair peeking out from an electric blue waistband. His gaze travels up, up, up to an equally brilliant blue.

*if you're new here Arsen = Buck's stage name

☀️ - Weather and Time || prev snippet || master list

That night, after Where the Wild Things Are, The Giving Tree, one too many Five-Minute stories, a cup of water (and a trip to the bathroom), Christopher finally agrees to sleep. Or at least to Eddie kissing him goodnight and leaving the room. He flicks on the planet themed night light before softly closing the door behind him.   His body begs him to stay in the hallway and sag against the wall. To slowly slide to the floor, rest his elbows on his knees and hold his head in his hands. But there’s perfectly chilled beer in the fridge and a Rangers game that should just be starting.  He sprawls on the sofa, one hand cradling the back of his head while the other holds his drink. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he mutters as soon as the game coverage starts and he remembers the Rangers are playing the Arizona Diamondbacks tonight. Because of course they are. Why would it possibly be any other team?

also going to use this as my mumbledy sentences Sunday/Last Line Tag

tagged by @loveyouanyway @missmagooglie @actuallyitsellie @jesuisici33 @tizniz

@thekristen999 @lemonzestywrites @elvensorceress @daffi-990 @loserdiaz

@spotsandsocks @wikiangela @diazsdimples @bidisasterevankinard

@shipperqueen6 (tagging y'all back for next time)

it's late so np tagging for the next tag day @stereopticons @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @filet-o-feelings @queerbuckleys

@bi-buckrights @chaosandwolves @epicbuddieficrecs @eowon @fortheloveofbuddie

@bucksbiawakening @giddyupbuck @saybiwithme @honestlydarkprincess @hoodie-buck

@indestructibleheart @ladydorian05 @monsterrae1 @spaceprincessem @statueinthestone

@steadfastsaturnsrings @the-likesofus @theotherbuckley @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @thewolvesof1998

@watchyourbuck @weewootruck @wildlife4life @your-catfish-friend @underwaterninja13

@kitteneddiediaz and anyone else who wants to 😘

[texasbama]

Ryan looks so smol from Oliver’s POV

TINY BABY

[sebsxphia]

This is so self indulgent- but could you do something about falling asleep in Jake or Bradley’s arms after a long day? Cause 😍

bradley always knows.

bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x reader.

￫ c/w: mentions of painful headaches, fluff, fluff, fluff.

￫ a/n: @sydneejean i couldn’t resist writing something as soft and fluffy for bradley so i hope you enjoy! this is part of seb’s soft sunday. find the other fics here! 💌

Your head felt like it was going to burst from it’s seams and drip through your ears it hurt that bad. Your day from hell, as you would accurately describe it, had you feeling defeated and exhausted by the time you crossed the threshold into your home. You could recognise the soft piano keys drifting through the house when you closed the front door. You wanted to shut the outside world out completely. The music was the first thing to soothe your pulsating head all day, but they came to a stop and your head went back to beating.

“Baby?” You heard Bradley’s voice follow the sound of the finished piano music.

He came through the doorway from your front room that held his piano and your desk. It was front facing the sun and you adored the summer time when the sun would cast a golden glow over your walls, the shadows dancing in time to the music Bradley was playing that particular evening.

“Baby? You’re late, what happened?” Bradley called out to you again. He wasn’t accusing you of being late, no. There was worry in his voice.

“Stand still traffic all along the northern lane. My phone ran out of battery from meetings all day, I forgot my contact lenses so my head feels twice it’s size and my favourite sandwich was all sold out by the time I got to my very late lunch and it’s only fucking Tuesday.”

A pout formed on your face as you kicked off your shoes and hung your coat up. It was winter now and you barely saw the sun with how long you were tucked away in your bleak office.

Bradley could recognise the tiredness in your face. It was etched over your features like an old painting. Your shoulders were hunched and your pace was slow as you came towards him, looking for his warm and familiar embrace. He stretched his large arms open wide and you fell into him with an ‘omph’.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. It sounds like you’ve had the day from hell, hm?”

“Exactly my thoughts, Roos.” You reciprocated with a little smile. Bradley always thought the same as you.

Bradley smoothed down the back of your hair as you nuzzled closer into his broad chest, trying to soak up the feeling of his warm torso. Bradley pulled you away from his frame and you groaned in protest. He still kept you close by gently cradling your jaw with his slender fingers.

“I don’t want to rub it in and please don’t be mad at me, but as you know I was off today and I didn’t prepare dinner in case you wanted a treat. Takeout?”

You could feel an inch of tension roll off your shoulders and your eyes fluttered at the indulgent thought.

“How could I be mad at you?”

“I know, I just want you to know I still want to take care of you, baby.”

You leaned up and brushed your nose lightly against his, feeling the hairs of his upper lip tickle your skin. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips and your lips twitched upwards into a blissful smile.

“You always do, Roos.”

He kissed you back sweetly after you reassured him.

“Go upstairs, get changed, shower, whatever you wan’ do and I’ll order.”

You didn’t even need to check what he was going to order. As always, Bradley always thought the same as you.

An hour later you were scraping the last morsels of food off your plate and slumping back against Bradley’s chest on your couch. You’d slipped into Bradley’s old navy shirt and something easy was playing on Netflix. Some show you picked that could be enjoyed, but didn’t need your full focus.

You hummed in bliss and let a sigh escape your lips, one that you had been holding in all day and you felt you could finally release it as you were pressed in between the legs of your sweet Bradley with a full belly. Your inhale after flooded your nostrils with Bradley’s familiar scent. It was warm like cinnamon with a slight tang of sea salt. You twisted your warm frame around and lulled your head to the side. Your cheek was now pressed against his peck and your legs curled up in between his.

Bradley wrapped his hands around your frame and gave you a light squeeze. “Comfy?” His voice was just above a whisper.

“Very.” You agreed and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, both of you still mindlessly watching the television. “What time is it?” You murmured out to him again.

“Nine o’lock, darling.”

“Okay, one more episode then I’ll go to bed.”

All it took was fifteen minutes and Bradley could hear your soft and small snores. Your body was going limp against his. He cocked his head down and saw your eyes finally closed shut with the tension now all drained from your face. Bradley smiled proudly to himself knowing he could still take care of you and always will.

He was careful not to wake you too much as his broad arms scooped under your body and hoisted it to his chest.

“Lets get you to bed my baby.” His voice was soft against your ear as he carried you up the stairs.

“Ni’ night, Roos. Love you.”

He stilled for a moment hearing your voice peep out from his hold. His heart felt like it was going to explode out of his chest at hearing your voice laced with blissful sleep. He wanted to squeeze you and pepper your face in kisses, but he could save that for tomorrow.

“Night, angel. Love you more.”

taglist:

@tallrock35

@luckyladycreator2

[mrepstein]

The Sunday Mail (Glasgow) - December 20, 1964

WHEN A BEATLE KIDDED THE ‘NEMPEROR’

RAY JONES, former member of The Dakotas, continues ‘My Wild Life With The Pop Groups’

On his way up, somebody christened Brian Epstein the ‘Nemperor,’ after his music firm, NEMS Enterprises. It stuck.

And with his kingly success came kingly trappings - a chauffeured Rolls, a Maserati, a big Belgravia apartment, a listing as one of the ‘Ten Best Dressed Men,’ etc.

Nobody on the inside now calls Epstein’s business NEMS. It’s ‘The Organisation’ - a thing bigger than all of us.

Brian sits at the centre of it all - rich and powerful.

And though his success becomes greater he is still much the same young man whom we first knew in Liverpool, and labelled ‘Mister Elegance.’

Brian hates reprimanding people - and as far as his top earners, the Beatles, go I think he gave up trying long ago!

Organisation

Even when, last July 20, he had me in his office near the London Palladium and told me I had to go I could see he was actually embarrassed by the whole bit.

I almost felt sorry for him - though, as a young married man being sacked from a £120 a week job, I suppose I should have felt sorry for myself.

The Beatles were the only people in the organisation who dared call him ‘Eppie,’ probably because he didn’t like it.

He was Brian or Mr. Epstein to everybody else.

I KNOW THEY WERE FOND OF HIM, AND RESPECTED HIM, BUT THEY OFTEN PULLED HIS LEG.

John Lennon, whom I think of as the most original personality in the Beatles, would say to him: ‘You’re only our agent’ - in that deadpan way of his.

He could always depend on this riling Brian. ‘I am not your agent,’ he would say emphatically, ‘I am your personal representative’ - which he really was.

‘Oh, ah!’ John would say.

John is a real character - with no flies on him. I always had the feeling that he was a good friend to have, but not a man to cross.

He can be scathing to people, but when he takes the mickey its usually good-humoured.

And shrewd! This year, trying to get rid of his old car, John got Brian to contact their New York agent, to see if they’d get more money for the car there - as a car ridden by a Beatle!

JOHN’S ALWAYS COMING UP WITH THE GIMMICKS.

Conscious

Having a drink with him one day I noticed his cuff-link had the name ‘Ron’ on it in big letters.

‘Who’s Ron?’ I asked.

‘Cousin of Jim,’ said John smartly - and flashed the other cuff-link, which did indeed bear the name ‘Jim.’

It was John who came up with the original idea for the Beatles’ Jacket, which swept the country. He had seen something similar in Paris some time before, and liked the idea.

But Epstein and Paul McCartney are the really clothes-conscious members of the outfit.

I always found Paul a nice guy - and the girls’ favourite, of course!

AND OF THE FOUR, THE ONE MOST CONSCIOUS OF THE GROUP’S POPULARITY AND THE NEED TO PROTECT IT.

I was in their dressing-room one day when an argument flared up between John and Paul.

Contrast

They are the driving force of the group and it’s not unnatural - as I well know! for tensions to build up in a group, even the Beatles.

John was picking up steam when he suddenly stopped, and I noticed that Paul was jabbing a finger in my direction and looking at John significantly.

The row ended right there.

Even though I was a fellow NEMS artist, they were taking no chances - following to the letter a Brian Epstein instruction that his groups should never be seen arguing publicly.

I don’t think George Harrison and Ringo Starr ever get much involved in the temperamental clashes of John and Paul.

By show business standards George is a reserved sort of fellow - though in ordinary life I guess he’d be rated a wild-oh!

Somebody once accused George of being ‘anonymous,’ and he retorted: ‘So long as I’m giving my best and getting an equal share of the take I couldn’t care less.’

That’s his attitude, and there’s a lot to be said for it.

Ringo, by contrast, is too busy enjoying the life he lives to have time for rows!

Where his energy comes from, nobody knows - but he loves dancing and being out till all hours. I think he enjoys being a Beatle more than the other three put together!

I suppose when I first heard the Beatles I was about as wrong in my judgement of them as Brian Epstein was right.

Imitation

The Dakotas, at that time, had a polished sound along the same lines as the Shadows, whom we greatly admired.

We thought ourselves the most professional group around in the North country and scoffed when people told us: ‘Wait till you hear the Beatles…’

The Beatles were in Hamburg when we heard that, but the week they came home we had the chance of working with them in the Cavern in Liverpool.

Capacity of that famous cellar was around five hundred, but we quickly found there must have been twice that number when the Beatles were appearing.

THEY MADE THAT STAGE IMMORTAL, IN FACT, IT WAS SOON TO BE CHOPPED UP AND SOLD AT FIVE-BOB-A-CHUNK AS SOUVENIRS!

I don’t know what I expected from them - just another imitation of Cliff Richard and the Shadows, I suppose, because they were all the rage at the time.

When I heard them, I thought there were out of this world - maybe too much out of this world.

No group, not even the Shadows made the same initial impression on me.

I remember thinking: ‘Here’s something completely new and fresh, it’ll be great if they can get it off the ground.’

But I didn’t think their sound was really commercial! I thought they were more of a musicians’ group FOR musicians.

Mind you, they had a rougher, original style then - like all the original Liverpool groups.

They played as they wanted, and sang a much wider range of material - including numbers which Manfred Mann and Freddie and the Dreamers later made big hits.

Resistance

Soon after, the Beatles played Manchester’s ‘Oasis’ beat club, and my judgment seemed to be right.

THEY WERE LAUGHED AT. ACCORDING TO A FRIEND OF MINE WHO RAN THE PLACE, THE EVENING WAS A NEAR-DISASTER.

People forget that the Beatles had to overcome a lot of sales-resistance before they were a success.

Their first big national disc hit, ‘Love Me Do,’ only really made it because of the fantastic support given by their Liverpool fans.

In a few months, they were to come back to that same ‘Oasis,’ and take the place by storm.

[nvuy]

FUCK WAIT spoilers for the new 2.3 story but have you seen chained up Sunday yet

2.3 spoiler warning under cut

i have not played 2.3 (still haven’t updated my game) but yes. yes, i have.

it was more or less an accident.

i wasn’t SUPPOSED to see it but my stupid ass doesn’t see any ‘spoiler warning for sunday 2.3’ text in these posts because my eyes flick straight to ‘sunday’ and i click instantly.

but anyway.

pathetic & obsessed yan sunday concept is screaming at me in my head.

because now i’m just thinking you’re his lover and you sneak down to see him.

and so halovians are telepathic, but max they can read your mind is at about 10 feet. i’m no american so i don’t get inches and feet, but anyway.

so, maybe you open the door to speak with him one last time and admit that you’re leaving.

obviously he’s chained down, so when you begin speaking to him, he freaks out and tries to launch forward in the seat and grab you.

he’s stopped by the chains, and he feels like a placated animal.

he pulls weakly on the shackles. “step closer.”

you furrow your brows. “i’m fine right here.”

“please.” he drops his hands in defeat. “i need to–”

and he’s never begged before. he’s panic-stricken, because he’s not in position to do anything but beg and plead. it eats him alive.

he can’t tell what you’re thinking, and it’s killing him. it’s genuinely destroying him, being unable to read your mind. you’re just out of reach, and his halo flickers desperately in an iridescent display of light.

and you know.

you know all too well he needs to hear your thoughts. he was always so, so paranoid and insecure, that at almost every single night you were together, he would probe around secretly in your head while he held you tight against him in bed.

he asks if you’ll ever return to him.

you tell him maybe. one day.

maybe that’s it, then. maybe you turn and leave and lock him back up in that dark room all alone.

or maybe you do step closer. you’re quick, because you know what he’ll do less you remain too long in his reach. you gently grab his face and press your lips to his forehead.

when he does probe around in your head, because of course he does, all he can feel is unconditional love, and it almost burns with how warm it is.

so, he promises himself, if he ever does get out of here, he’ll scour the galaxy and tear it to little pieces in order to find you again.

[bigfootsmom]

Me at you and your Bucktommy helicopter crash wip 🖤

I’ll have you know this motivated me to write a little bit for seven sentence Sunday <3 thank you to the lovely and talented @eddiebabygirldiaz, @tizniz, @eowon, @shyaudacity, and @try-set-me-on-fire for the tags <3 <3 <3

Tommy’s next inhale brings smoke to the back of his already raw throat, and among his hacking coughs that set his ribs on fire, he hears that mournful sound again— some poor creature trapped by smoke and flames just like him.

There’s another sound. It’s faint and faraway, and it sounds as if it could have come from inside Tommy’s mind. But wait—

Tommy freezes in his tracks, muscles trembling under the weight of Evan, his ears straining.

There! It almost sounds like—

“Buck! Tommy!”

The animal noise stops as Tommy sucks in a breath. Oh. It had been him the entire time.

“H-here!” He croaks out, the word getting stuck in the back of his throat. Swallowing, Tommy tries to wet his dry mouth, his sandpaper tongue rubbing over cracked lips.

it’s not longer Sunday for me so I’m tagging whoever would like to post something <3

[inkykeiji]

I feel like Sunday would enjoy leaving marks on your body and then admiring his work, tracing the bruises left on your body. He would normally put them in places only for his eyes, but from time to to time he would leave a hickey on your neck or another visible place, only covered by a piece of clothing that equally shows his claim over you, like a choker etc, just in case you feel like removing it, there will still be prove of who you belong to underneath.

oooh honestly i think sunday really enjoys marking, too!!! i genuinely think sunday has this like...sadistic side to him, but it’s so covert you almost need to know exactly how to decode him to see into what it truly is.

i could also see sunday leaving marks in spots that are just barely hidden. he gets a thrill at the thought of someone catching a quick glimpse—nothing more than a second-long instant; a rapid flash of mangled purple braceletting your wrists, or a fast peep of snapped capillaries crushed to a deep navy blotting your collarbone—and thinking about it for hours afterward, questioning what they saw, if they saw what they truly think they saw, and if yes, why you’re so battered and bruised.

i love love love the idea of sunday admiring his work afterwards, and i think he purposefully takes his sweet, slow time with aftercare to do just that. a standard cleaning procedure that should be quick and painless takes him a laughable amount of time, a tender finger tracing the edges of the contusion after it’s been cleaned, only to have to clean it again. the process is meticulous, as most things with sunday typically are, and ridiculously precise, and by the end you’ve growing fidgety and restless, muscles beginning to ache from sitting still for so long. but he always makes you wait until he’s finished, eyes alight with stars of reverence as he tends to each wound, and he always seals them with a kiss—each and every one, no matter what.

and don’t even get me started on how this whole process is so long and so tedious and so insanely overblown that it does more harm than good to the wounds, because that’s part of sunday’s plan, too. in fact, that’s the bit he loves the most.

[lnfours]

What about Tom taking osterfield reader on the kitchen counter (and Harrison can't know) and if just in absolute need of her and when the Harrison and guys come back and come into the kitchen they are wondering why the reader is so disheveled

oh my fucking god.

slutty sunday

the house was finally empty. your brother had gone off and run some errands, which left you alone with tom.

you and tom had been hooking up for the past couple months, the both of you finally giving in to each other after a night out. you two kept it under wraps, though. you didn’t want your brother to freak out and it would break his one rule:

‘no dating my friends’.

but that was the last thing on your mind as tom grabbed at your hips, his hips pressing against yours as he fucked you senseless on the kitchen counter. he pulled at your hair, whispering things that sent your knees weak.

“shit,” he mumbled against your shoulder blade, “so good for me, baby. c’mon, come for me. can’t have your brother see us like this.”

you were so close, so so so close when you heard the keys jingle at the door. you immediately separated, the two of you tugging back on your pajama bottoms. you busied yourself with making some coffee as tom rushed over to the fridge to make himself look busy.

you ignored your heavy breathing as your brother walked through the door. you turned around and softly smiled at him as he placed his phone down on the counter. the counter tom had just been fucking you so hard on that you were about to see stars.

“morning, sleeping beauties,” he smiled, eyes darting to you as you sipped your coffee. tom grabbed the eggs to start making himself some breakfast, even though he wasn’t hungry.

“you need a brush, y/n.” haz laughed at the state of your hair. you almost choked on your coffee.

“yeah, i know,” you said, “i’m gonna… go do that.”

you sped walked out of the kitchen, tom smiling to himself. your brother watched you with a confused look, but brushed it off as he looked over at his best mate.

“girls,” he sighed, shaking his head, “how was your night, mate? heard you leave your room.”

tom thought about how he snuck into your room last night, his heart dropping. he didn’t know, right? there was no way. he made sure you two were quiet.

“was good,” he said, nodding, “want some eggs?”

haz shook his head, “nah, ‘m good,” he scrolled on his phone, “but, if you’re screwing my sister, at least don’t do it on the kitchen counter. this is where we eat.”

he wasn’t mad. he knew the two of you had been eyeing each other for years.

tom dropped the egg into the frying pan in shock, choking on air as he cleared his throat, “what? no, we’re not-“

“i think you forgot we share a wall, mate,” haz laughed, “just disinfect the counter, would ya? im going to take a nap since the two of you kept me up all night.”