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prettyboykatsuki · 5 months ago

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exception(al) | sunday hsr

𖤓 tags ; afab + gn!reader, established relationship, established d/s dynamic (implied to be 24/7), extremely submissive!reader, soft dom!sunday, shoe humping, oral (m!recieving), cock worship, deep throating, lots of praise / pet names, thumb sucking, cum swallowing 18+

𖤓 wc ; 2.2k

𖤓 a/n ; if you care abt me you won't say a word about this post. okay. alright. takes place in this universe, but not required reading.

𖤓 synopsis ; he'd give you anything you ask for. his one love. his only exception.

If Sunday could use one word to describe you, he would pick the plainest option: obedient.

You're other things. Loyal, desperate, beautiful, adoring. There are other words more well-fitted to your character and better words to describe the way you look through his lens. Ethereal. Charming. Provocative

But above all else, if Sunday had to sum up all of your parts he'd choose to put your obedience on the pedestal it deserves to stand on.

Obedience like yours can't be bought with fear, can't even be bought with manipulation. You have to get lucky to find someone so perfectly, unflinchingly obedient in the same way you are.

The leash Sunday keeps you on, intentionally tight, never appears that way on your throat.

That is to say: you bear the suffocation of Sunday's affection so well, a lesser person would be at risk for taking you for granted.

Not Sunday. Never him, of course. No one knows better how much you deserved to be cherished then him. That's how the cycle between you always goes. You live at his beck and call— his mercy. You're obedient with his whims and patient with his insecurities. Eventually, after some time passes, he'll praise and reward your efforts.

(The truth is, Sunday is always one difficult day away from spoiling you. Showering you in his affection after the thread-bare strands of his patience snap is his idea of letting go. There's few things more precious than how doe-eyed you get when he does.

But, a good owner knows to raise loyal pets - you must let them work towards rewards. He refrains for your sake. Always for your sake.)

Sunday always asks you what you want as a reward. Your requests are usually innocuous. Prey-like innocence in your eyes as you fiddle with the ends of his coat and ask for things like a date together or a bath or matching rings.

Sunday sometimes wants to tell you that's not the sort of thing you really need to beg him for. Sunday wants to tell you everything in his order is also yours.

He is yours, just like you're his. Mind, body, soul—devoured heart and all.

(Later, when Aeons abandon Sunday, he will find contentment in the fact you still belong to him. Even falling through Dreams or chained to hell. Still his. )

He doubts he ever will. He will continue along with rewarding you ask. Anything you want, you can earn.

It's rare you ask him for anything sexual so overtly. You do often beg to touch him and it's rare that Sunday lets you. He doesn't like to indulge too often, lest he lose the control that binds him so tightly.

Your latest request is half surprising. The desire to pleasure him being predictable and your bashful request to rub yourself against the toe of his dress shoes being the surprise.

He could tell at the time that it took all of your courage to ask. Clenched fists at the knees, gaze cast down instead of looking into his eyes, fidgety and uncertain.

It's an easy desire to fulfill and Sunday is, by all means, a loving master. If you want it, he'll will it by any means.

"Are you sure this is what you want, my heart?"

The affection bleeds into his voice as he cast his gaze at you. Bent down on your knees, naked from the neck down with the exception of a heather-blue collar with golden embellishments. You flicker your eyes up to him after he speaks to you, but don't talk.

"You may speak," He hums. He places a hand on your head, reaching down to pet your cheek and scratch under your chin. You preen under the silent doting. "It's your reward today, remember?"

"It's important to mind the rules no matter what."

He thinks about bending down and kissing you with a hand on your throat but keeps his composure. Instead, he pats your head and offers a smile. "That's right. Very clever, my dove."

You're elated just hearing it, staring at him. Pure need paints your expression, eyes wet as you squirm naked underneath him. He meets your look patiently, expectantly.

"Use your words."

"My reward," You swallow thickly. "Is it okay if I have?"

"Of course," He appeases your anxiety with a hand cupping your chin, thumb running your lower lip. "Do as you please."

You always wear your heart on your sleeve but it's times like this he finds it most impactful. Excitement radiates off of you in waves, shaky hands fumbling with his slacks. Your fingers are shaking as you unzip them slowly. Each step you take to get him undressed, you look up at him and wait for him to nod. Always obedient.

You get him partially undressed, each step slow - before you permit yourself to pull the rest of his clothes down. His cock springs free from fabric confines as you tuck the band underneath it. He hitches a breath trying not to lose his composure.

"You're hard," You observe in awe. He laughs breathlessly.

"Of course," He tells you staring down at where his cock cast shadow over your face. "It's you, after all."

The praise makes you wide-eyed. You mutter some kind of thank you that he smiles at gently. He can't help but be entertained by how you assess him. You've seen it before, a few times - yet you're awestruck. Every movement is tentative despite all of his encouragement. You mostly stare at it.

"It's alright. Take what you want." Sunday tells you, like it's some sort of gift. You treat it as such.

He feels his stomach tighten as soon as your hands fist the shaft of his cock. You frown a little. "It's really okay?"

"Yes," He hums, suddenly feeling aware of every nerve in his body. Spurred by his approval, Sunday merely watches you. He's fascinated, in his own right.

You're shaking with want by the time you move to do anything.

You stick your tongue out of your mouth tentatively, eyes transfixed on the tip so eagerly it makes his chest feel tight. Sunday is more familiar than most with desperation, but yours he knows like the back of his hand.

And Aeons, don't you look so desperate? The warm wet slide of your tongue is messy as you run it from base to tip, spitting gathered saliva on the tip with each go. It's clumsy, too desperate to count as a kitten lick and too practiced to count as virginal. It falls somewhere in between, like watching desire mix with your perfectionism.

He adjusts himself slightly. He tugs on the leash in your hand to pull your closer until you're wrapped around his leg, cock pressed against your cheek as he pushes you down by the shoulder. You squeak suddenly at the sensation, too enraptured with his cock to remember the other half of your request.

"I won't help you," He hums, teases - something he rarely does. You nod, not expecting it. You never are and it endears him.

There's parts of him that couldn't understand that this is what you wanted. You begged him for it but it felt unfathomable before now.

Your longing for his cock down your throat, in your mouth is so obvious it makes him waver. It's not something he gets used to. You slide your tongue all over his cock, drool giving your skin shine as you wet it over and over not even taking it in your mouth. Just spitting and licking like you're trying to remember every inch with your mouth and burn it into your memory.

Blissed out with your eyes nearly lidded shut, he can feel you rut your soft cunt over the point of his dress shoes over and over all the while.

It's interesting to affirm all the ways you feel pleasure. Sunday knows you let to put something in your mouth. He's fond of the habit - opts for cum soaked gloves or his own tongue to fulfill the urge for you.

This is an extension of your baser desire. Still, still - you do it with remarkable enthusiasm. It would almost feel torturous if you weren't so thorough. You remember points of pleasure on his cock. Along the veins, underneath the glans.

When the arousal starts to floor his system, you dip your tongue messily into the tip - precum staining your saliva with a pale white.

It moves you further along. You open your mouth up all the way, staring as you hollow your cheeks around the shaft of his cock with impressive ease. Fluttering your eyes shut, you hold onto his thigh and ease yourself as far down as you can go.

Your throat is wet and wanting for him. Over eager even with all the patience you try to demonstrate.

A thought passes by him as he watches you do it so expertly. The warm, slick cavern of your mouth accommodates him perfectly. No teeth, just throat and spit and drool. The corners of your lips flood with saliva as you take his cock in, breathing through your nose.

"Have you been practicing? To do this?"

You jolt, suddenly embarrassed. But you don't move to pull yourself off of his cock. Instead you stay for several moments, stretched throat - nose pressed into the thin hair above his cock and breathe him, humping his dress shoes like you're in heat. When you look up, he gets the confirmation he wants.

He's impossible endeared by you.

There's something strange in that it seems you relax after making it down. Heat stricken, swallowing his cock, chasing animalistic pleasure - truly content as your whole body begins breaking out in an aroused shudder. He can feel your chest against his leg, hardened nipples evidence of your arousal. Your wetness shines his shoe till it's reflective.

When you find you can no longer hold it and breathe, you pull back - a filthy slurping noise resulting. The tip sits on your tongue afterwards as you hum. It's lewd and filthy, not something he thought he'd be so interested in.

But it's you, after all.

Sunday admires you. How wrecked and lustful you look. How excited you are from something like this. An extension of your loyalty to him, down to bone.

He'd underestimated you, somehow. His mistake. When you pull off, before you go back down - he hooks his thumb into his cheek. His voice is thick with desire. The arousal is painful in his stomach as it ties in knots, cock twitching at the sight of your spit-soaked face.

"What do you want?"

You look at him confused before something seems to cross your mind. He encourages you. "Tell me,"

"Cum down my throat," You offer, debauched beyond his understanding. "Please."

Fuck. He takes in a breath.

"If it pleases you, dove," He says, then pets you affection as you go to deep throat him again. He decides to praise you. He can't think of anyone who would deny how sincerely you've earned it. "It feels good. You're thoughtful, hm? I'll return the favor ten fold after, like always."

You make a strangled noise as his cock hits the back of your throat again faster. You're sucking hard this time, quicker - your hand massaging his balls as you do. You hold his gaze the entire time even when you gasp for air, nose running. You're still perfect somehow, doe-eyed and innocent to him despite yourself.

"You're beautiful," He tells you and means it more than anything. Means it as you swallow and suck on his cock like it's everything you could ask for, means it as you hump against his shoes and stare up at him with crushing reverence.

Beautiful, perfect, the sweetest thing he's ever felt in his life. His most obedient possession. His from top to bottom, skin and bone and mind and body. Everything in Sundays possession - wholly his.

He pets your cheek as you move back and forth slowly, doing it properly. Bobbing your head back and forth, slow and smooth and deep with each motion until you feel comfortable enough to go rhythmically without gagging in excess.

You suck with such fervor he's inclined to believe you feel more pleasure than he does. Muffled whimpers and whines as you chase your own high. Sloppy at both ends.

Sunday lets himself slip. He moans - moans your name, soft and sweet and watches your whole body go alight at the reaction.

He can feel you cum before he can see it, the wet pulse of it and the sound of your high pitched whine.

It makes you cum, hearing Sunday express that. So he lets go, just for you, like always and watches tears fill the corner of your eyes like it's the happiest you could be.

Obedient thing you are, so tender - sweeter than all things in the world. Sweeter than a a dream. The thought makes his body lurch. His hips thrust this time and you let him with ease, shaking as Sunday lets himself fuck your throat a little harder.

"Gonna cum for you, sweet thing," He says, holding you close as he bottoms out again. He puts a hand on the back of your neck to hold you steady.

Sunday groans, shudders as an orgasm rips through him something irreparable. He cums hard, and you swallow all of it like it's easy despite how far he is down your throat.

He stays like that, catching his breath until he's ready to pull off. A long thick trail of saliva follows, drool dripping down against the hotel room floor as you leave your mouth open to show you swallowed it all.

Your expression morphs into fucked out pleasure, voice hoarse as you smile. "Thank you,"

You're his exception, Sunday thinks. If he's to deviate from structure, order, routine - it'd be only for you. He wipes the spit from your chin as he bends down to kiss your forehead.

"You made me feel good and did exceptionally well," He murmurs, soft and sweet. You melt under the touch, under the praise. "I love you,"

You smile happily. "Me too. I love you,"

"Now get up," He says, stroking your skin. "My turn, hm"

#writing tag #sunday x reader #sunday hsr x reader #hsr x reader #sunday smut #hsr smut #no one say a word to me i already know. i know #i cant even read this back im genuinely in distress

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