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heliosunny · 10 hours ago

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Heaven’s Gold Noose

Yandere!Sunday x Reader

Life hasn’t been kind to you.

Every job interview ends in rejection.

Every relationship fizzles out.

Even your coffee always spills at the worst possible moment.

But then… he appears.

A man with soft, feathered wings and a halo—Sunday, your newly assigned guardian angel.

"The celestial council has reviewed your past life," he murmurs, "You were a soul of pure kindness. And now, in this life, you’ve been given misfortune as a test."

His fingers brush your cheek, "But don’t worry. I’m here to guide you."

You should feel relieved. But...

Now, he’s sitting across from you at a café, dabbing at his stained white robes with a napkin while giving you a pained but patient smile.

"Okay, let me get this straight. You’re an angel. From Heaven. And you’re here to… what, fix my life?"

"Precisely! Consider me your divine guardian—" "Uh-huh. And how much is this ‘heavenly guidance package’ gonna cost me?"

"I would never—! This is a sacred duty, not some… earthly pyramid scheme!"

You take a long sip of your (third) coffee, squinting. "Prove it."

Without missing a beat, he plucks a feather from his wing and offers it to you. "A token of my sincerity."

You grab it—then yelp as it bursts into golden sparkles in your palm.

"Okay, that was cool. But I still think you’re either a hallucination or a really dedicated cult recruiter."

You wake up the next morning to find your broken phone fully charged, your dead plant thriving, and your cat suddenly fluent in Latin ??

"…Did you just say ‘ave dominus’?"

"Meow."

Then, Sunday materialized just behind you.

"Ah! I see you’ve noticed my small blessings!"

"Dude! Do you have to pop up like a jump scare?!"

"Apologies. I forget earthly beings are so… fragile."

----

You’re on a terrible date (third one this month—curse your bad luck) when Sunday manifests in the restaurant’s chandelier, glaring daggers at your oblivious companion.

"So, I think splitting the bill is only fair—"

"HERETIC."

"SUNDAY. NO."

"Uh… did you just say ‘Sunday’?"

"Yep! Gotta go! Bye!"

Outside, Sunday floats beside you, pouting. "That man was unworthy of you."

"Yeah, well, possessing the lighting fixtures isn’t gonna help!"

"But you did leave with me."

"Oh my god—"

----

At first, you thought it was all some elaborate joke—or worse, a scam. A literal angel showing up in your life? Yeah, right.

But after weeks of inexplicable blessings: your rent mysteriously paid, your chronic back pain vanishing overnight, even your perpetually dying houseplants suddenly flourishing... You finally gave in.

"Fine," you muttered one evening, throwing your hands up as Sunday hovered expectantly by your window. "You can stay. But no more weird angel stuff, okay?"

"I shall adhere to your mortal customs... within reason."

You set boundaries, of course. You weren’t religious, and the idea of divine intervention still made you uneasy. But Sunday was... different. He wasn’t preachy or holier-than-thou. He was just... there.

You kept your distance, treating him more like an overly affectionate roommate than a celestial being. He respected your space, though his presence lingered in small ways—freshly brewed tea waiting when you woke up, your favorite snacks restocked before you even realized they were gone, and an unsettlingly perfect knowledge of your schedule.

"You don’t have to do all this" you told him once, frowning at the spotless kitchen.

"But I want to" he replied, "Your happiness is my purpose."

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you just nodded awkwardly and went about your day.

Then came the day you almost died.

Tires shrieked against asphalt as headlights flooded your vision—too bright. Your coffee cup slipped from numb fingers, hitting the pavement in a burst of scalding liquid. The truck’s grille filled your entire field of view, chrome gleaming like a predator’s smile.

You had half a second to think: This is how I die.

You gasped, blinking as you found yourself standing safely on the sidewalk, Sunday’s arms wrapped tightly around you. His wings were fully unfurled, casting an eerie glow in the dim streetlights.

The sound of screeching metal filled the air as the truck crashed into the guardrail right where your car should have been.

Your legs gave out.

Sunday caught you before you hit the ground, cradling you against his chest.

The warmth of the milk cup seeped into your fingers as you sat curled up on the couch, the near-death experience still fresh in your mind. Sunday sat across from you, his wings now neatly folded behind him, his golden eyes watching you with quiet intensity.

The silence stretched, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable.

----

You both returned home after that.

You took a slow sip of your warm cup of milk, then finally spoke.

"So… when are you leaving?"

Sunday blinked, as if the question had never occurred to him. "Leaving?"

"Yeah. Like, is there an expiration date on this guardian angel gig? Do you get reassigned? Or do you just… vanish one day when Heaven decides I’ve had enough blessings?"

"Oh, you misunderstand. I’m not here on a temporary assignment."

"So… you’re stuck with me forever?"

"Not stuck," he corrected gently. "Chosen. My presence isn’t bound by time. I stay as long as you need me."

"Which is…?"

"However long that may be. Perhaps a lifetime. Perhaps longer."

"Okay, next question," you said, shifting topics before your brain could spiral. "Do other angels do this? Just… move in with humans and fix their Wi-Fi and scare off bad dates?"

Sunday tilted his head. "Some do, in their own ways. But most guardians are subtler. They prefer signs, whispers, the occasional miracle. I, however…" He gestured to himself, wings and all. "I believe in a more hands-on approach."

"No kidding." you muttered.

"Besides," he added, "you’re special."

You ignored the way your face warmed at that.

"Last question," you said, pointing at his robes. "Heaven’s got, like, upgrades, right? You guys aren’t all harps and scrolls up there?"

Sunday laughed in a rich, melodic sound. "Oh, we’re quite modern. Cloud computing is literally cloud-based. The Pearly Gates have biometric scanning. And the angels in charge of mortal affairs? They love spreadsheets."

You nearly choked on your milk. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly." He leaned forward, mischief dancing in his gaze. "Would you like to see my divine tablet? I have an app that tracks prayer requests in real time."

You stared. "…You’re joking."

He pulled out a sleek, glowing device from thin air.

"Nope."

As the night wore on, you learned more than you ever expected:

Angels have hobbies. Sunday’s was composing hymns… and binge-watching human dramas.

They adapt to human culture. He preferred loose sweaters over robes at home ("More comfortable for lounging") and had strong opinions about coffee brands.

Heaven does have WiFi. ("But the connection in the mortal realm is terrible.")

At first, you had to remind yourself constantly: Sunday is invisible to everyone else.

You’d catch yourself mid-conversation in public, only to bite your tongue when strangers shot you weird looks. You learned to text him instead of speaking out loud, to nudge him under the table when he laughed too loudly at a restaurant, to pretend you were on a phone call when he whispered warnings in your ear.

But slowly… you stopped caring.

Because Sunday wasn’t just your guardian angel anymore.

He was your best friend.

You’d wake up to find him humming hymns while making breakfast, his wings brushing against the ceiling.

He’d sit beside you on the couch, scrolling through memes on his divine tablet and snickering at cat videos.

When you had nightmares, he’d stroke your hair until you fell back asleep, murmuring, "I’m here."

You started looking forward to coming home—to his warmth, his laughter, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you.

----

One evening, as you lounged together, Sunday suddenly went still.

"There’s something I need to tell you."

You tensed. That tone never meant anything good.

"You weren’t just randomly assigned to me," he admitted. "You… you’re not entirely mortal."

"What?"

"Your soul—it’s different. " His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. "That’s why I was sent. Not just to protect you, but to… prepare you."

"Prepare me for what?"

He hesitated. "One day, you’ll have to decide—stay human, or ascend."

All this time… he’d known.

And he never told you.

"So what, this was all just a mission to you? All the—the tea, the jokes, the saving my life—just part of the job?"

Sunday’s expression shattered. "No. Never." He reached for you, but you flinched away. "I was supposed to guide you, yes, but my feelings—my devotion—that’s real."

"Then why hide the truth?"

"Because I was afraid!" The raw desperation in his voice stunned you. "Afraid you’d hate me. Afraid… you’d choose to leave."

You stared at him.

And yet…

You still didn’t know if you could trust him.

You needed time.

So you did the only thing you could—you walked away.

And Sunday, for once, didn’t follow.

At first, you told yourself it was fine.

But then…

Your coffee went cold because he wasn’t there to reheat it with a touch.

Your nightmares returned, and there were no gentle hands to soothe you.

The apartment felt wrong—too quiet, like the world itself had dimmed.

And worst of all?

You missed him.

Meanwhile, in Heaven…

Sunday stood before the Celestial Council.

"Remove their name from the records," he demanded, "They don’t belong in this trial."

The council murmured amongst themselves.

"The choice was never yours to make, Sunday."

"You would fall for them?"

Sunday didn’t hesitate.

"Yes."

Three days passed.

Then, on the fourth morning, you woke to the scent of fresh tea and the sound of rustling wings.

Sunday stood at the foot of your bed, his form flickering—like a star about to burn out.

You sat up, "You… you look terrible."

And he did. His glow was dim, his wings frayed at the edges. But his smile was the same.

"I had to see you one last time." he whispered.

"What do you mean, last time?"

"I made a choice. You won’t have to."

And then—

He began to fade.

For weeks, you searched.

You screamed his name into the empty air. You prayed—something you’d never done before. You even tried to bargain with the universe.

"Bring him back. Please."

Until—

It was a rainy afternoon when you saw him.

A man sitting by the window, his eyes scanning the street with an expression so achingly familiar it stole your breath.

But he wasn’t Sunday.

Not quite.

No halo. Just a human—or something close to it—with a faint, lingering glow at the edges of his silhouette.

Your feet moved before your brain could catch up.

You stood in front of him.

He looked up.

"Do I… know you?"

It was him.

And he didn’t remember.

You smiled politely at the stranger with golden eyes, exchanged a few meaningless pleasantries, and walked away.

What else could you do?

He didn’t remember you.

And maybe… that was for the best.

----

That night, he dreamed. Visions of a life he never lived flickered behind his eyelids—a celestial choir, a mortal with your face, the weight of devotion so fierce it burned like holy fire.

He woke gasping, fingers clutching at his chest.

And then—

His voice.

"You loved them enough to fall," whispered the shadow of his former self in the mirror. "Are you really going to let them walk away?"

Piece by piece, the memories returned.

The way you used to scowl at him for hovering too close.

The sound of your laughter when he tried (and failed) to understand mortal slang.

The betrayal in your eyes when he told you the truth.

And worst of all—

The way you looked at him in the café.

Like he was nothing.

Like Sunday had never existed.

-----

He found you again on a stormy evening, standing at your doorstep, drenched and desperate.

"You know me," he said, "Don’t you?"

You froze, keys slipping from your fingers as you tried to insert it to the keyhole.

This wasn’t the same man from the café.

"Sunday?"

"You remember."

"No," you lied, turning away. "I don’t."

The moment you lied—"I don’t know you"—something in Sunday snapped.

Before you could turn the key fully, his hands slammed against the door on either side of you, caging you in. His chest pressed against your back, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned in.

"Liar" he whispered.

His fingers curled into the wood, splintering it slightly as he spoke.

"I gave up everything for you," he hissed. "Heaven cast me out the moment I begged them to spare you from your fate."

His nose brushed against the nape of your neck, sending a traitorous shiver down your spine.

"And you dare pretend I never existed?"

Before you could react, his arms wrapped around you from behind, crushing you against him.

"I don’t regret it," he murmured, lips grazing your skin. "Even if Heaven abandons me forever, even if I have to claw my way through eternity alone—you will never be alone again."

He was no longer an angel.

At first, the changes were small.

Almost kind.

You used to wake up groggy, stumbling to the coffee maker like a half-dead thing. Now, there’s no need. Sunday is already there, pressing a steaming cup into your hands before your eyes even fully open.

"You function better with caffeine before seven," he murmurs, "I’ve timed it perfectly."

He learns your preferences down to the smallest detail. The way you prefer your eggs (soft-scrambled, no pepper). The exact number of seconds you like your toast browned.

(You try not to wonder what else he’s memorized.)

This is where it gets dangerous.

You mention offhand that you don’t like your coworker. The next day, they transfer departments.

You sigh about the noisy neighbors. That night, their apartment goes mysteriously silent.

"Sunday," you say slowly, "are you—?"

"Making your life easier?" He tilts his head, innocent. "Of course. That’s my purpose."

(He doesn’t mention the blood on his hands. You don’t ask.)

Then comes the night you catch him editing your journal.

You freeze in the doorway, watching as his fingers glow faintly over your open notebook—words rewriting themselves under his touch.

"What are you doing?"

Sunday doesn’t startle. He just turns, smiling beatifically.

"Fixing it," he says, as if it’s obvious. "You were too hard on yourself here. And this memory?" He taps a page. "It hurt you. Now it won’t."

"That’s not your choice."

For the first time, his smile falters.

"Isn’t it?" He stands, stepping closer. "Who knows you better than me? Who loves you more?"

His hand cups your cheek.

"Let me perfect you."

You wake up one morning with a gap in your memory.

A childhood birthday party—except now, when you try to recall it, there’s a new figure standing beside you in every photo.

A boy with golden eyes.

That’s not how you remember it.

That time you failed your driving test? Erased. Now it’s Sunday in the passenger seat, guiding your hands on the wheel. "Perfect" he praises.

The funeral you barely survived? Rewritten. He’s there, holding you up, taking the pain away.

You clutch your head, dizzy.

"This isn’t real."

Sunday smiles, stroking your hair.

"Isn’t it better this way?"

You remember now—the truth.

The day you almost died in that car crash.

How Sunday didn’t just save you.

How he leaned over your bleeding body and whispered:

"Let me make it all beautiful."

And then—

Nothing.

Just him.

Always him.

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #honkai star rail sunday #sunday #hsr #sunday hsr #sunday x reader #hsr sunday

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aventurinesweetheart · 3 days ago

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˗ˏˋ MESSY EATERS ´ˎ˗

characters: SUNDAY, Aventurine, jing yuan, CAELUS, STELLE (more in pt2??) genre: SMUUUTTTTTTTTTTT summary: r they a munch? come find out! warnings: afab reader (no prns used), mentions of squirting, spit!, oral (reader receiving!) (also aventurine in his part bc yall 69), overstimulation, light dacryphilia, praise, playful teasing, generally messy oral sex, mentions of hickies?, jing yuan puts his thumb in your ass while he eats it from the back, mentions of cum eating in caelus’, face sitting (stelle), idk proceed at your own risk this is one of my more tame works so 🤷 a/n: this was not originally going to be my comeback fic but i was hit with a bolt of inspiration comparable to lightning

SUNDAY

→ now. just. hear me the fuck out. sunday is THE munch. do not fuckin play w me rn. he LIVVEEESSSSS to eat pussy — he gets off on pleasing his partner (he’s a bit of a service switch, willing to take up any role to make you happy) and making you cum all over his face. he loves making a mess out of you—sweaty with cum soaked thighs.. mmh, he gets hard at the sight and ends up digging back in to your puffy cunt, tongue fucking you with no remorse and keeping your thighs spread apart with a surprising amount of strength

→ if you let him, he’ll stay between your thighs for hours, until he gets lockjaw, so for your sake and his, please remind him that you both need breaks so you don’t pass out.

→ always praising you too, talkin ab how youre so pretty and well behaved for him (as he will eat the brat right out of you), and how he just can’t get enough of you

→ “mmnhg, fuck, you taste so good, dove, i could eat you whole.” and he Does.

→ sucks on your clit and curls his fingers so good inside you until you eventually squirt n make such a mess on his face — something that initially shocks him, but he quickly grows obsessed by it and wants you to do it again, even if you protest that you can’t!

→ “did you just..?” he asks in awe and disbelief, looking up at you with big, gold eyes. he couldn’t quite believe what he’d gotten you to do—all from a little stimulation? (buddy, you’ve been eating them out for the last half hour, AT LEAST)

→ it’s safe to say he becomes obsessed with you making an absolute mess on his fuckin face, and encourages you to make one everytime !! for a former priest or sum, he sure is unholy in the bedroom in your humble opinion!

“aa–ah! sunday!” you wail as he scissors your drooling, overstimulated pussy. your cheeks were flushed and eyes full of tears as he ignores your cries in favor of lapping and sucking away at your throbbing clit.

he had made you cum thrice now, and he was well on his way to working you to your fourth orgasm. perhaps sunday was a bit of a sadomasochist, as he focuses on overstimulating you and ignoring his own achey cock, straining horribly against his slacks, sure to leave a wet stain against his boxers.

sunday can’t help but moan into your cunt when you tug at his hair, forcing him closer to your core despite your protests that you couldn’t handle anymore. so, you squeeze your thighs around his head and throw your head back, uttering a silent prayer to whatever god may have been listening for any kind of mercy from this overwhelming pleasure.

and, finally, just as you’re pushed over the edge for the nth time, you actually fucking squeal! when you feel teeth come into contact with the almost hypersensitive skin of your inner thigh—and sure enough, there was your silver-haired boyfriend nibbling on your skin as gently as he can, not wanting to overwhelm you, but still wanting to play with you a bit..!

Aventurine

→ okay so. he can suck dick AND eat some pussy. my Bisexual Versatile Switch Icon. while he’s a bit of a whore, that just simply means he has more experience to please you with <3

→ REEAALLLLYYYYYYY into spit (im projecting) and i mean spitting in your mouth, you spitting in his mouth, spitting on your face, etc. but, and i say this with a devious grin on my face, spitting directly onto your pretty pussy of course ! <3 and diving in immediately after!

→ do not let him eat you out anywhere but the bedroom, bc he will make such a fucking mess out of the sheets, the couch cushions, fucking. anything wherever you are.

→ big on sucking your clit raw while he scissors your cunt apart and curls his fingers ever so nicely inside you. he just likes the feeling of it twitching and pulsing in his mouth, but he’s not afraid to tongue fuck you either

→ LOVES when you sit on his face oh my god PLEASE sit on his face—and if you’re fat? please keep in mind he’s a gambler and does not gaf if he dies from suffocation, that is a risk he is more than willing to take! if the pussy kills him, he can die happy.

→ but. wait. oh my god. 69ing with him. he LOVVVEEESSSSSSSSSSS to 69 oh my GOD holy shit. The 69er. always prefers you to be on top so you can still sit on his face tho.

“mmh,” aventurine moans into your cunt from beneath you, the vibrations only serving to enhance your pleasure. as a chronic yapper, he wants to tell you how good you taste, how sweet you are, how he can’t get enough, but thankfully, for your sake, your pussy was smothering and silencing him. all you could hear was the moans and grunts he couldn’t seem to stop making — but to be fair, neither could you, as he rolls his hips up, stuffing his throbbing cock further down your throat. his hands grip your thighs tighter, and you think you may have bruises in the shapes of his fingertips later, but you don’t really mind.

“nngh,” you echo his moan, and you feel his dick twitch in your mouth, and you know he’s close. you two had been like this for about ten or so minutes now, and he’d already managed to make you cum once—you’re just honestly surprised he’s lasted this long (or maybe it’s because you had to pull off of him a handful of times to selfishly catch your breath while he ruthlessly ate you out, even as his jaw began to get sore, he really didn’t care).

hollowing your cheeks out, you bob your head lower down his shaft, as one hand blindly moves to fondle his heavy balls as you focus on both getting him to cum and also the feeling of cum about to squirt down your throat. humming around him to assist you in your work, aventurine doubles down in his efforts of eating you out once he realizes what you were doing.

lifting you off his face ever so slightly, he takes a deep breath before locking the fuck back in and pulling you back down against his soaked face. his tongue eagerly dives into your slick hole and a chill runs down your spine as goosebumps cover your skin, your hair standing on end.

the blonde can’t help but moan again as he tastes you for the nth time tonight, as he sticks his tongue out as far out as it’ll go and he licks your velvety inner walls, uncaring of the way his drool and your cum coat his lower face.

“hmngh,” he hums pleasantly, as if he were enjoying a meal (and believe me, he was), and he pulls his tongue out of you to lick a hot line from your puffy clit to your twitching hole, where he reinserts himself and you moan around his dick again. this time, when aventurine bucks his hips up, he finds himself cumming with a groan, having to pause in his endeavors due to how intense his orgasm was.

thankfully, you were prepared to swallow around him as he cums down your throat, and you can feel yourself right on the edge as well.

“a–aven—” you whine, trying to lift your hips up—something he does not allow. in fact, he pulls your pussy flush against his messy face and easily finishes you off, until you’re creaming on his tongue and a few tears roll down your cheeks from the stimulation.

jing yuan

→ yall alr fuckin KNOW mr general will eat the FUCK out of some pussy !!!! he will make you cream yourself 3 times over before he even gets the chance to get his pants off i’m ngl.

→ and he’s always. Always. !!! so smooth with his words, you don’t understand how !! it’s not fair, really, the way he coos at you with that stupid lazy grin on his face. goddamn him.. and speaking of that lazy grin…… the general always likes to take his time with you—like he has all the time in the world!! and to be fair, he kinda does.

→ “shh, just stay calm and i promise you’ll get what you need,” he’d tell you sweetly, just to tease you for another seven minutes!! and it wasn’t even mean teasing! he was just genuinely enjoying his time and stretching out the foreplay, which made you feel a leetol bit bad.. because you knew he just wanted to appreciate you, but.. not bad enough to sit still for him!

→ he loves to slowly pepper your body in kisses, trailing down lower and lower until he’s nestled between your thighs and his head is dangerously close to your cunt — begging him for a kiss, or anything to soothe the ache between your legs

→ you can’t even dream of being a brat w this man icl, he will eat you right back into place. he’s big, he’s beefy, and he can absolutely manhandle you into whatever position he wants—speaking of, he’s quite fond of bending you over onto your hands n knees and burying his face right into your pussy from possibly the Most embarrassing angle

→ you can feel his nose brushing up against your asshole while he goes to town on your other hole, and the whole ordeal has you feeling more than shy.. but it’s okay bc jing yuan can be rather gentle with you — although.. he absolutely does Not pass up the opportunity to stick his thick thumb into your tight asshole, spitting directly onto the clenched ring to act as a lubricant of some kind

it’s all you can do to whine as jing yuan slowly works his thumb into your ass as his swollen lips are pressed against your slick pussy, licking away at your drooly slit. he’d had you like this for about twenty minutes now, bent over on all fours as he lazily eats it from the back. he’d been relishing in your taste and pretty noises when suddenly he got got the bright idea to try and stick a finger into your neglected asshole.

he had spit on it beforehand, to try and lubricate it, so it wouldn’t sting as much, but the sensation only served to make you yelp and turn your head back around to look at him.

“j–jing yuan!” you cry out, gripping the sheets at the feeling. “wh–wha—?”

“shh, it’s okay,” he says calmly, trying to soothe your qualms. “do you trust me?” he asks, moving his head away from your cunt so he can look you in the eyes, pausing in all his actions. when you nod your head after a brief moment of hesitation, the general slowly resumes the easing of his thumb into your slightly more relaxed hole as he goes back to eating you out.

once his thumb is fully seated inside you, paired with him licking away at your drooly cunt, goosebumps cover your skin at the dual sensations, and you don’t know how to react, but your body sure does! your asshole clenches around his thick and calloused thumb while your cunt flutters around the tongue now inside it, and it’s less than a few seconds later that you’re squirting on his face with a loud cry of his name.

CAELUS

→ okay. just hear me out Again. i think, both trailblazers for this matter, but stelle will get her own part in a moment. caelus isn’t necessarily a slob..? or maybe he is i can’t particularly remember icl i’m running off less than 4? hours of sleep in the last 38hrs and four (pacific punch) monsters lol. but either way when it comes to getting to go down on you—he all but makes out with your cunt and takes his sweet, sweet time eating you out; alternating between sucking harshly on your throbbing clit to licking your gummy inner walls

→ he can 100% get off on your noises and from humping the mattress, the feeling of your thighs around his head and your hands in his thick hair… mmmh he’s big on sensations, feeling things, feeling you…. oh aeons he is pussy WHIPPED !!! if you don’t stop him, he WILL stay between your legs, happily slobbering on your pussy and sucking on your swollen clit until you physically cannot handle it anymore

→ literally will do so until he makes you squirt on his face or until you actually cannot orgasm anymore—when there’s tears streaming down your cheeks and you’re crying out his name, pulling at his hair and begging him to stop; he just can’t help himself!! how’s he meant to have any self control when you taste so fucking good? when your reactions get him so hard!! fuck’s sake!

→ nasty disgusting boy.. a little too into spit and slobber and other bodily fluids (real big on fucking you first, then going down on you and eating his cum straight from you fluttering hole…… how sick he is.. because he really does take delight in these. simply put. fuckin sick nasty acts!) he’s obsessed with your cunt and he loves even more the person attached to it — perhaps what he’s getting off on isn’t the act itself, but the fact that you were, in fact, enjoying yourself, or that he was the one making you feel like this

though somewhat quiet outside the bedroom, caelus certainly moans like a bitch as he rolls his hips into the mattress beneath him and your thighs clench around his head. currently, he was preoccupied with your—would it be fair to say drooling if he was the one physically unable to contain his own saliva? while he was the literally drooling one, your pussy was certainly soaked !! both with your own juices and a genuinely disgusting amount of his spit.

he had been busy eating you out for the better half of an hour now, after he had actually fucked you once. he kind of does reverse foreplay, really—and he’s always so gross about it that you can’t help but feel flustered about it everytime, even if you were just as into it as he was.

caelus loved to fuck you first, maybe after a little bit of fingering just to get you ready for him, and then take his sweet, sweet time going down on you, and eat his cum out of your used hole—filthy slurping style. the noises he makes are always so fucking nasty and loud that you can feel yourself blush as he shamelessly slurps away at your cunt.

“cae-lus!” you cry out his name, all but yanking at his grey locks. “pl–please— i can’t!” you try pleading with him, vision starting to grow fuzzy around the edges.

“just— just one more..?” he asks, glancing up at you from between your legs. he’s already creamed himself twice and his jaw was genuinely sore, but god fucking damn he just could never get enough of you!!!

unfortunately for you, this was his third time asking for just one more. and you didn’t know how much more you had left in you considering you were having dry orgasms at this point. it was bordering on painful, even with your hypersensitive clit in his hot mouth, there were just too many sensations going on and you were too overstimulated. you really hope he meant just one more this time…… (and thankfully, he did.)

STELLE

→ okay. now. these will be a little similar to caelus’ since they’re technically the same person, but i’ll try n add some variety

→ i think stelle is messier than caelus tbh and idek how thats possible bc he’s so…... 💀 but anyway. stelle is Sick Nasty™ and a slob and a lesbian ik i said sunday is The munch but i may have lied. that title actually belongs to stelle. because holy shit

→ if caelus is pussy whipped then she’s fucking ADDICTED. stelle will take literally Any Chance you give her to eat you out, and she won’t stop until she’s satisfied. so. make sure you have time, because she takes an upwards of 45 minutes to feast on you everytime without fail

→ though quiet by nature, stelle does get a little more vocal in the bedroom—not as loud as caelus, but enough to take notice of. especially when she was in her happy place!! (between your legs)

→ she is a stone top in search of a pillow princess what else can i say?

→ i really dont have much to say hc wise that i hadn’t alr mentioned in caelus’ so instead here’s a drabble of you sitting on her face

“st–stelle!” you gasp out, one hand gripping the headboard while the other covers your mouth in an attempt to contain your pathetic noises. you’d been sitting on her face for the past twenty minutes, and you’ve already came three times, about to be a fourth.

“mmngh,” she grunts from beneath you, grip on your thighs tightening. she couldn’t be bothered right now, not when she was busy enjoying her fucking meal!!

sucking on your clit, it doesn’t take long for the grey haired woman to force another orgasm out of you, something she’s quite pleased with. sure, her lower face was covered in your slick, but that wasn’t actually her problem—quite the opposite, really. it would become your problem whenever she decided she was done and that she wanted to make out with you so you could taste yourself in full.

“sens–sensitive!” you manage to squeak, head falling back as you openly pant, overstimulated from nothing but her mouth… just wait until she got the strap (8” btw)!

stelle hears what you say, and understands you’re trying to tell her to stop, but….. how was she meant to stop when you tasted this good? simple: she wouldn’t! because she hasn’t had her fill yet and she knows you have a few more left in you—she’s spent this long building up your tolerance and stamina, after all.

she doesn’t even bother to slow down while you cum, either! she just sucks away at your engorged clit while both her hands come up to grope your chest and play with your stiffened nipples. sucking on your tits was her second favorite thing to do to you, right behind eating you out, obviously.

her calloused fingers pinch and twist your nipples, making you moan softly as she presses her tongue flat against your cunt before inserting it into your slit, moaning into you at the taste. deciding she hadn’t had enough yet, she sets her mind on pushing you to a fifth, and maybe even sixth orgasm..! yes, that would be enough to satiate her for now.

she truly was addicted to you (it needs to be studied, actually..).

HSR m.list

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