Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Watching sleep token tour videos again cause I wanna go to a concert so bad T_T
This band means a lot to me. Their music has gotten me through some shitty times. It's my go to when I need a good cry, or when I need a good jam out. I really adore this band. I'm glad I found them when I did.
summary - in order to save your village, you make a deal with the devil.
cws - yan!pantalone, he’s actually kinda sweet in bed, dom!pantalone, sub character, he fucks you up against a window, sweet petnames, dub con, praise, degradation, riding crop impact play, he cares for you reluctantly. essentially reader trades her freedom to him, fem identifing and fem bodied reader, petplay if you really squint. reader is not a virgin. some yes sir but it’s not crazy sexual yet.
part one | part two | part three
please have an age in your bio and be 18+ before interacting with this fic. reblogs/comments appreciated, and encouraged.
His servants barely look at you, wrapped in your heavy coat and bright red scarf, skin chapped from the icy winds on the mountain. They open doors for you and ignore you when you thank them, one of them takes your scarf and gloves. They’re caked with snow, but they ignore your apologies as well, you catch the way they eye your dress, and you find yourself wishing you’d worn something less warm, but more fashionable.
The castle itself is warm in temperature, while cold in color palette. The stone is dark grey blue, in stark contrast to the bright light of the crackling torches, shackled to the wall. You rub your hands together, willing feeling to return to them as you’re led deeper into the building. You feel the sword at your hip, aware that it looks off, wrong, and far too large for you to carry. It bounces as you move, and the servants offer to take it, but you politely refuse. You stand in an antechamber, with high vaulting ceilings and a huge window that snow whips against. You pace nervously there for a few minutes. On a clearer day, you imagine you might be able to see the whole valley, down to your tiny village, and the towns beyond, represented currently by little smudges of light.
“He’ll see you.” One of them says, bowing his head and opening the heavy dark wood door on the right side of the room, you stride quickly across it, heart thrumming in your chest, aware of the stakes of this simple conversation. The room is an office, with walls of bookshelves, and a globe in the corner. There are huge tapestries of the night sky, constellations and directions carefully mapped out in glistening gold thread against the indigo cloth. The room is long and thin, with a desk at the far end, and a huge arched window behind it. The light from outside is bright and white, and it makes it hard to focus on the man’s facial features. He sits behind the desk, studying some paperwork, dressed entirely in black and dark blue, a pair of glasses low on his nose. He doesn’t give you any greeting, doesn’t agknowledge you as you walk across the stone floor, your footsteps echoing. You stop a few feet from his desk. He clears his throat, lifting his attention from his paperwork.
“Have a seat.” He says, gesturing to the two dark wood leather-backed chairs that are positioned in front of his desk.
“Thank you.” You manage, your voice sounding odd and soft in the large space, as if it’s swallowing it.
“You are here to buy something from me, correct?” He says, setting his pen down on the desk, folding his gloved hands in front of you. You nod. “You’re here for the hypericum perforatum.” He seems nearly cheerful, giving you a smile that sends shivers up your spine. You nod again. “I need to know, first of all, how you found out I have it.” He watches you choose your words carefully, allowing a moment of silence before you speak.
“In order to make the risk of the mountain roads worth it in this season you have to be transporting things of a certain importance or I suppose, ah, value,” your hands move in front of you as you speak, as if you’re carving the snow out of the way of his wagons with your palms, “And there are really only three regularly supplied marketplaces in the region, with shipments that, despite weather conditions are rarely delayed. Those shipments contain basic supplies, to a man like you I’m sure they’re hardly worth making the effort for generally during winter, unless you have other things coming and going throughout the region that you’d like to disguise under the pretense of supplying the local marketplaces so that people don’t starve.” You shrug. “There are three major political players in the region who could be making or using such channels, but out of all of them you’re the most likely.” He raises his eyebrows and adjusts his glasses
“So you hiked up a mountain, in the middle of a blizzard to meet with someone who almost certainly wouldn’t want to see you,” he squints at your outfit, “Wearing that, based on those deductions alone?”
“Ah, no sir.” You touch the back of your neck self-consciously, your eyes flick to the window behind his desk. “I was able to plot the coming and going of your caravans and estimate that yours were likely the ones being used to smuggle goods, given that rarely did the size of the caravan match a delivery. If ever. So I knew it was you who could get it for me.” He leans forward, studying you, still amused, his chin in his palm.
“And what would you like to give me, in return for my healing herbs?” He asks, a little smile on his lips, “Since you’re here, at my mercy after all that hard work.” You squirm uncomfortably.
“People in my village are dying.”
“Yes.” He says, waving that fact away. “I know.”
“It’s a terrible fever,” you say quickly, “You go to bed feeling fine then wake up in the morning far from your body.” He wrinkles his nose.
“I dislike metaphors for death.” He says, and you’re struck by just how little emotion his features telegraph. “I dislike metaphors generally.” You nod, noting the preference. “And I don’t care much for the day-to-day goings on of the local villages, it’s not my problem if people die of some mysterious illness.” He watches you nod. “What have you brought me?” You take the sword from your waist and set it on the desk, the jewels on the hilt sparkle in the low light.
“It was my grandfather’s.” You offer. He takes it, standing, holding it up to the light, running his fingers down the sheath. He hums softly.
“This is quite valuable,” he eyes you, setting it back on the desk, and you’re struck by how large he is when he stands up straight, how broad his shoulders are. “But unfortunately for you, I don’t want it.” He watches you wilt, delights in it, the way your shoulders curve a little inward, and your lips twitch in an attempt to hide your disappointment. “However,” he sits back down, “I am willing to give you what you want, in return for something.” You perk back, how easy, he thinks, how easy it is to move your body, like you’re on marionette strings, using only his words, his favor.
“Anything you want,” you blurt, “Anything at all.” A small smile plays on his lips.
“I will re-introduce this remedy to the trading route,” He says, writing something down quickly on a sheet of paper in front of him, “You cannot have my personal store of it because I need it in case there’s an outbreak in my home, I’m sure you understand.” You swallow, nodding. “And in return,” He pulls a sheet of paper from his desk and slides it over to you. “I want you.” You blink at him, not entirely sure you’d heard.
“Me?”
“Yes.” He takes his glasses off, cleans them, and then looks you up and down again. “I do, I want you. All of you.”
“F-for how long?” You get out, hands doing a nervous little dance in your lap. He shrugs.
“Call it a year.” He taps the paper in front of you. “Can you read?”
“Yes.” You say quickly, skimming the contract. “This is for the sale of goods, though, and I-”
“Here,” he taps the last line, a touch of impatience in his tone, “It makes an allowance for exchange of services. This would be open-ended, of course, as I would like your complete obedience and loyalty for one calendar year. To start.” You look nervous, as he expected, but a smart girl like you had to know that a year’s worth of your labor was certainly worth the lives of those you held so dearly. Perhaps, he considers, a valuable lesson for you about showing your cards too early in a negotiation. He could teach you to be better, though. He watches you decide, eyes on the way you flatten your hands in your lap, on the slope of your cheek, surprising himself with how much he cares what your response will be.
“Where do I sign?” You say after a long moment, and he makes some quick calculations, giving you one last out.
“If I own you it means I can do whatever I want with you, or your body.” The unspoken burns under the surface of your conversation. “You do understand that failure to obey or meet my demands will be followed by swift and appropriate punishment?” You nod, swallowing.
“Yes.” You whisper. He slides the paper across the desk and hands you the quill.
“No need for dramatics. Sign your full name here.” He notes that you do finish reading it before signing the contract, good girl, your hand trembling slightly. He takes it from you then, filing it in a drawer that you hear lock shut with a soft click. “Well,” he stands, smiling at you. “Let’s see what I’ve purchased, hm?” He scribbles something on parchment. “This is the order for the herb. I’ll have it sent out with my other missives before sundown.” He looks back up at you over his glasses. “Strip, please.” You look up at him sharply, surprise on your face. “Let’s try that again,” he says, faux kindness in his voice. “I gave you an order, and you say, yes sir.”
“Yes sir.” You blurt before he even has a chance to speak again and then you feel your face warm. He chuckles, it’s a deep, warm sound.
“Eager to please, are we?” He strides around the desk. “That’ll serve you well. Strip.”
“Yes sir.” You say, and this time you stand, unlacing the side of your robes with trembling hands, laying the fabric on the chair, standing for a moment in your plain white slip dress before pulling it over your head carefully.
“You may leave your stockings on,” his eyes flick to your thighs, where the high wool socks make the plush of your thigh squish around the top, “You’re of no use to me if you catch cold.”
“Yes sir.” You avoid eye contact as you pull your bra over your head, and then step out of your panties, covering yourself with your hands.
“That won’t do.” He murmurs, and he goes over to the bookshelf, leaving you nearly naked standing next to his desk. He takes something long and black down from a shelf and comes back to stand in front of you. He uses the thin, whippy riding crop to push your hands away from your breasts, “Don’t cover yourself.” He says, tone sharp. “I want to see what’s mine.” You nod, and he steps forward, delicately removing his black gloves and rings, and setting them on his desk. “These,” he murmurs, almost to himself, taking your breasts in his hands and massaging them, flicking his thumbs over your nipples as his cool fingers sink into your warm skin. “These are exceptional.” He pinches your nipples and you whimper, he smirks at the sharp expression of emotion. He notices your hands twitch at your sides, glancing down with momentary annoyance. “Behind your back.” He instructs, and you do, reaching for your opposite elbow, folding them behind you. “Good girl,” he says, radiating smugness. He takes you by the shoulders and spins you around, pushing you down over the chair so that your ass is in the air and your feet on the ground while your face pushes against the cushion.
“Oh,” you gasp, rocking onto the balls of your feet and then coming back down, stilling when you feel his palms on your ass, and hear him set the crop on his desk.
“This is nice too,” he murmurs, and it’s odd, to feel appraised in this way. “Let’s see what you can handle.” His hands withdraw and you cover your face, hiding in the chair. Normally, he supposes, he’d make you look at him, thank him, but there would be time for that. He picks the crop off the table, and you have time to hear it whistle through the air before it cracks against your ass. You inhale sharply, but he notices you don’t cry out, and don’t attempt to hide or protect yourself. He rubs the skin for a moment, humming something unintelligible. He draws it back and hits you again, and again, he counts in your head and it takes fifteen lashes before you let out a soft whimper. He stops, you hear him set it on the desk and you don’t dare move, feel him palm your bruised, warm skin.
“C’mere,” he grunts, suddenly the tone of his speech has gone from lilting and posh to something rougher, something more impatient, as he lifts you back up into a standing position and drags you to the window behind his desk, pressing your naked body up against the freezing glass and listening to you hiss with pain at the contact. “Shhh,” he breathes, fumbling with his pants, letting them fall to the floor. Logically, you know no one can see you - you know no one is outside for miles, that the weather is awful, and you’re far, far from civilization. Emotionally, you want to hide your face, there’s a burst of warmth on your cheeks when he pushes your legs apart and pushes one, then two fingers inside you. You whimper loudly and he chuckles. “There she is.” He murmurs, and you feel his breath on your skin, his lips on your neck, on your shoulder. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”
“N-no, sir.”
“Good.” You feel him scissor his fingers inside you and you gasp again, back arching as your breath fogs up the glass. “Going to be sweet,” he murmurs, and you feel his cock pressing up against your entrance, “Be a good girl for me, hm?” You open your mouth to respond in the affirmative but suck in a sharp breath instead, shivering as he pushes his length inside you. He moves more slowly and kindly than his demeanor would suggest, hands stilling your hips as he fills you. With a languid moan, he pushes your hips down onto him, and you feel the mushroom head of his cock nudge that bundle of nerves inside you. He deliberately angles you so that you’re fully pressed against the window when he bottoms out inside you, pulling a soft moan from your lips. His hips press against your ass as he stills inside you, the welts from his crop throb gently. “How does it feel?” He asks, his voice breathy, but you can hear it, hear that edge of cockiness. He knows how big he is, that he knows the way you’re struggling to focus on anything that isn’t his hands on your body, his cock buried inside you. He wants to hear the way you struggle to respond.
“I,” you hitch, leaning forward and pressing your face against the freezing glass. “It’s so much,” you whisper, your every breath depositing vapor on the glass next to you, little clouds making your ecstasy physical.
“I know,” he coos, “I know, you’ll get used to it.” He draws back a little and then refills you with a quick movement, “So warm,” he murmurs, setting a gentle pace, allowing your body time to adjust to him. He takes your forearms in one hand and uses it to fuck you just a little harder, letting out a soft hiss. “Anyone could see you right now,” he tightens his grip on your arms, “How does that feel, that anyone could watch me use you?” You mewl softly. “Oh,” he coos, and you feel him get closer to you, feel his breath on your ear, “She doesn’t like that, does she?” You shake your head, trembling, unable to focus on anything that isn’t him, that isn’t his cock nudging your cervix, that isn’t the slap of his hips against your bruised ass.
Your breath fogs up the glass, and then the condensation freezes, forming a delicate crystal structure that blurs in front of you as your eyes burn with tears.
“Oh, she’s crying,” he coos, fucking you harder, “Such a pretty girl, go on, cry for me,” he kisses your cheek, releasing your arms and taking a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back away from the window. “Should I be kind,” he says, “Should I let you cum?” You whine, a soft sad sound. “I like that,” he growls, voice taking on a darker undercurrent, “I don’t wanna hear you speak.” He slams his hips up against yours, burying himself to the hilt inside you with every thrust, “You wanna cum in front of the whole fucking valley,” he spits the words out, “Look down, look out there,” the snow swirls, as the day darkens you can make out the little sparkles of light in the blue twilight, the homes and farms, and small cities preparing for the night. “Go on,” he goads, “Go on, cum on my cock, I can feel you,” he’s interrupted midsentence by his own groan, a short, angry growl, “I can feel how close you are, cum for me.”
“Fuck,” you choke out, and your legs nearly give out from underneath you as you clench down on him, hands flying from around your back to brace yourself against the window as your knees give way and the white-hot pleasure rips through you.
“That’s it,” he coaches, his own thrusting becoming sporadic as he seeks his own high. “Just, just like that.” He groans loudly, and buries his face in your neck as he finishes deep inside you, essentially holding you upright as he cums deep inside you. He carries you back to his desk and then deposits you gently on the floor next to his chair. You shiver in the cool of the air. “Stay there for now,” he says quietly, adjusting his trousers and going back to work. “I want you to stay still and be sweet for me, can you manage that?” You nod on the ground, his cum dribbling out of your pussy onto the stone floor. He works for another few hours while you shiver, eventually, he sighs, standing and taking a throw blanket off of a nearby couch and tucking it around your body. “I suppose,” he murmurs, massaging your scalp softly for a moment before sitting back down, “It will be nice to have some company.”
please have an age in your bio and be 18+ before interacting with this fic. reblogs/comments appreciated, and encouraged.
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guests involved! ganyu, xilonen, lauma, and a special guest!
content included: strapping down your fave genshin girlies! squirting, begging, crying, begging to come inside while being strapped down YEZZIR, potentially ooc for some characters for the sake of dominance, ganyu begs for the strap, somnophilia, thigh grinding!!!
a/n: it just jumps straight into the smut, sorry :’)
ganyu
face down, ass up is how she ended up so pleasantly fucked at home, ganyu never wanted to leave this moment if she could help it. her purple eyes nearly rolling backwards into her head as she arches into the grip you have on her hips. sputtering moans fall from her drooling lips as you watch her fingers clench the sheets that you’re plowing the poor qilin into. a whiny sob permeates the heated air as her entire body seizes up as your strap hits the spot inside her body, “-gonna come!” ganyu cries out, tears mingling with her saliva as your hips keep grinding into her limp body.
the after effects of her orgasm coat the sheets when you keep rutting into ganyu, a whine retches itself from her throat when you grasp at her hair near the base of her horns. shudders wrap around her body as you keep grazing against that spot inside ganyu that makes her see stars. “inside, do it inside.” you blank at her words, “what?”
“i don’t care if it’s fake, cum inside me!” the qilin below you snaps out, starting to roll her hips backwards. her tone brings you out of the daze of her request and you fuck into her warm cunt with a feverish smile. something hits your thigh at a pressure consistent with something you’ve only seen in those racy magazines in back alley’s.
“oh fuck, did you just squirt?” ganyu’s wanton moan is the only answer you get from her before your own orgasm hits like a train. your nails digging into her hips as your body hunches over her back, swear dripping off of places you didn’t think sweat could come from. “holy shit, we gotta do that again.” you pant out, breath raggedly leaving battered lungs.
ganyu shakes her head weakly, “won’t… fuck.. i can’t do that again!” blue hair sticks to her forehead with sweat as you pull out slightly and you watch her still twitching cunt suck you back in.
“you sure about that? your pussy’s practically begging me to come back in, i’m sure you can go another round.”
xilonen
cat-esque purrs rumble from xilonen’s throat as you slowly turn her over onto her side. the dip of her spine enticing you beyond belief, you begin to trace the ocelot splotches spreading themselves across her lower torso due to her feline features. as the sheets fall from where you two were sleeping, you notice how she’s clenching in her sleep around your thigh.
lustful fascination forces you to watch as xilonen drags her pussy along the top of your thigh in her sleep. the longer she does so, the more she purrs. as soon as her hips start to speed up you stop her, the motion waking her up from the nap she was taking, “wait— huh? what happened?” a smile inlays itself on your face as you grab the strap from the nightstand next to your shared bed.
“i thought you’d want the real thing, rather than trying to get yourself off with it in a dream.” and by the archons above, the heat from her face floods down her neck, you can feel it against your cheek as you nuzzle into the column of her neck. a soft sound from xilonen echoes out from the pillows that she shoves her face into— trying to stop most sounds from escaping her mouth.
your hand guides the tip of the strap to her hole, as your fingers run along the dripping seam on her pussy an impatient grumble vibrates from the pillowcase as she pushes back onto your prodding fingers. “patience, sweetheart, i can’t fuck you like i want to if you don’t have patience.” xilonen growls like an offended ocelot and pushes again into your hand.
her inability to hold still is her downfall as you push her over onto her stomach completely and dig your nails into her fat of her hips. a wanton moan sputters from her lips as you plow into her warmth, warbles of ‘faster’ and ‘right there’ are repeated over and over- nearly overlapping- when the tip of your strap hits against a spot that makes her seize up before shudders run along her spine.
from the view you have of her from on top and her face turned to the side, you can see green eyes rolling backwards into her skull. tremors running rampant through her body as her orgasm hits her full force. “xilonen? sweetheart?” purrs rumble softly from xilonen as she backs herself into your hips as if trying to seat herself further onto you.
“stay inside. don’t move. just lay back down while you’re still inside me.” a contended sigh from her is all you need to cuddle back into your wife, wrapping your hands around her waist.
“you, uh, you know i can’t sleep with straps around my waist right?” you murmur into her blonde hair, twirling some sweat slicked strands between your fingers. she chuffs and nods as she falls asleep in your arms again. “i guess i’ll endure it for you xilonen.”
lauma
the mist shrouded temple was all lauma could remember, that and the cold walls pressing into her bare chest as your hands grasp at whatever exposed skin you could find. even though she was taller than you by a good foot, you can still make her knees shake and crystalline blue eyes roll backwards into her head. lauma’s raucous moans echo in the empty temple space as she feels the knot in her stomach snap loose from the minutes you spent working her into a frenzy, and the days spent leading to this moment.
lauma’s whimpering sighs grace your ears the longer you keep her pinned against the wall of the temple. as this was a site of worship, it only feels right to worship your wife in a way that would appease the archons of days past. one of your hands rose above your head to wrap around the base of one of her antlers, pivoting her head towards your own.
“who fucks you this good?” you watch her shake in pleasure as the words barely register in her deer ears. garbled cries of ‘you’ and ‘only you’ trickles from her mouth in the same way that a river streams from a glacier. you can feel how wet she is, fuck you can even hear it, as you drive your hips further in to the fat of lauma’s ass.
the jingle of her gems and jewelry rings out in the marble enclosed space as you bring her over the edge of completion yet again tonight. the smell of incense sits in your nose pleasantly, muddling your mind and snapping the knot in your own stomach as you hunch over her back, sweat dripping down your aching thighs. “lauma, my love, can we officially mark this off of our list of places we’ve fucked?”
she hums thoughtfully, barely able to take in a breath before she has to step away with a wince, “i guess we can mark this off, what’s next on our list, love?”
special bonus, nefer!
nefer’s hand grips onto the base of your neck, forcing your face into the pillows as she thrusts into your weeping body. you could feel her claws raking themselves along your spine; therefore, rendering you a shuddering mess that can only spout off about how good nefer makes you feel.
a sarcastic grin lights up her flushed face as she pulls out just the slightest bit and coos at the ruined state that she’s leaving you in. “oh you poor thing, i thought you said you could handle me at full force.” another pathetic sob escapes your bitten lips as you whine ‘yes, i can take it. i can handle anything she’ll offer me.’ nefer simply tuts at you, frowning and rocking her hips forward.
a surprised moan cascades out, your eyes blowing wide at the stimulation. “im barely trying, pet.” nefer hisses at you, and you know she’s telling the truth. she’s barely broken a sweat the entire time she’s had you at her mercy. even while she has you on your hands and knees below her, nothing feels lower— and hotter— than when she calls you pet
“ne-nefer— archon’s above don’t tease me!” your squeal is broken off harshly when you feel her claws dig into your throat teasingly, angry scars develop along the column of your throat as her fangs come down to rest by your ear.
nefer hums softly, teasingly, “if you must beg so prettily, then i must only oblige by your requests.” and that’s the only thing you register before your vision goes blurry and all thoughts exit your skull.
a/n: i originally had chasca and furina but i wasnt sure how well that was going to work, if someone would like me to write for them i would be more than happy to do so!!
cw: lactation, deep in subspace reader, no mommy kink, dry humping (is it rlly dry humping if you’re both soaked?)
a/n: reiterating that im a freak and will likely do anything, and i’ll love it as much as the next person!! REQUESTS ARE OPEN BTWWW
The heavy weight of Lauma’s tits in your mouth was addictive, almost as mind altering as the sounds floating from her mouth in melodic waves. Your own fingers dug into her hips as you ground her shaking body onto the top of your thigh, Lauma’s silky soft fingers ran over your forehead and sat at the top of your hairline as she smiled down at you. “You love this, huh?”
Your only respinse you give her is a lazy “mm?” before you keep sucking at her chest, urging the milk from her tit. Lauma feels the warmth from her stomach deepen beyond what was already there as she watched you suckle on her. Her thumb came down to brush away the stray milk droplet that fell from your lips, but you felt her cunt clench on your thigh as you took her finger into your mouth.
Her other hand, the one not occupied at your mouth, dropped from your head to feel at you. To indulge in how wet you were. She kissed the crown of your head as she traced patterns over your soaked underwear, her middle finger glided down to hook the fabric around to pull it away.
Cold air hit you at the same time her thumb pulled away from your mouth, a sloppy smile tugged at your lips as you switched your attention to her other breast. “Yeah, you look so pretty like this. All sweet and soft for me.” Lauma’s words coaxed you further into the warm abyss of submission.
tags 🏷️
none this is so embarrassing bc i love this specific trope (SORRY IM A FREAK
Lauma playing with your clit until you squirt all over the sheets
🥹🥹 bro this is so peak oh my fucking gods
did i say you could stop?
cw: squirting, fingering, overstimulation, one (1) pussy slap
a/n: hi guys please lmk if this is something you’d like to see more of, rather than waiting on my longer stuff to be posted and perfected!!
Lauma’s fingers were pressing into you at just the right angle that it had your head rolling backwards in delirious pleasure. Drool was slipping down your chin when you feel her thumb graze against your clit again. She even feels when your legs threaten to close around her hands, tutting at you softly before repositioning you both.
Her legs that were previously crossed behind her were now bracketing your legs to keep them from slamming to a close as she brought you to the precipice of yet another orgasm, “Oh, my sweet doe, you know this is punishment for testing me.”
The sickeningly sweet words are barely registering in your lust-adled mind before you jerk in her grasp with a keening moan as you squirt all over the bedsheets. Lauma rumbles out a soft laugh at your hazy expression, pressing a soft kiss to your brow as she continues to finger you. Her hand pulls out when the gushing of your cum sputters, and she slaps your clit once. The action almost immediately sends you into another round of drenching the bedsheets.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
notes: suggestive elements!! reader is nefer's assistant in place of jahoda in her oneshot. first post... kinda nervous. (ᵕ—ᴗ—)
━ Arlecchino
Arlecchino always felt apprehensive since you two got together. You were just.. overwhelmingly delicate, making her always reconsider her static, harsh tone when responding to you or softening the conduct of her cursed hands when she'd groom your wings. Arlecchino adored your wings, the downy feathers, floofly, sensitive, and fragile. Everyone noticed the great margin of edge Arlecchino lost when she had gotten with you; she's become more curt and dimissive with everything else, only caring about returning to her lovey dovey angel at home.
Arlecchino feels profoundly endeared by spectating you tend and care for the children at the house of the hearth. Seeing you sweetly let them pat your wings curiously and amuse their youthful ramblings makes her feel achingly satisfied. Later in the night, when you two are tucked close in bed, she strokes your wings languidly, brushing on your back between them where she knew would elicit a squeamish, tiny whine. "You.. did good today with all the children." Her praise is sparse, but holds weight, making your head feel fuzzy; it makes you quiver as she kisses your temple. "So good for me, dove.."
Arlecchino was never.. a fan of preening. It's a routine thing she integrated unconsciously, unaware it'd be a mundanity added to her life when she got with you. But, how could she not concede when you'd come to her, needily sulking and griping about the uncomfortable weight of your wings? She has a special brush for your pristine plumes, her talon fingers ever so gently plucking feathers that were coming loose, clicking her tongue when you'd squirm from the receptive nerves being rubbed repeatedly. "Behave please.. I know you know how to sit still for me pretty." Her scolding is tender but austere, it makes your cheeks hot; you can only nod and muffle your ticklish reactions by arching your back a little, making Arlecchino target your most sensitive spots deliberately, acting coy and ingenuous if you catch on. She has a thing for seeing you struggle.
Seeing you fly is one of Arlecchino's most precious, favorite sights. Seeing you soar, giggle, the sun coating your face and you so unbound, it makes her feel queasy. She always feels almost unnerved by her immense affection for you, uncoordinated in expressing it and still fully acclimating with her fervor towards caring for something so dainty. When you come down from the sky, she wordlessly pets your head, humming. "You are a marvel.. aren't you?." She tilts her head with a small, tenuous smile, it makes you feel giddy and jovial. "Now, come along angel, I have imperative things to finish."
It's only natural you draw attention when you both go out to town. In Fontaine, people will gather around you, ask for photos and of your origins. In Snezhnaya, the attention is much less concentrated, but still very much present, especially when certain comrades.. (Childe) like to get personal and show a bothering amount of interest in you. Arlecchino gets inherently displeased; there's a fissure in her composure, a twitch her lips. You can always sense it, she'll mire your hand with hers, her voice snipped and taut. When you get back to her manor, she'll be noticeably more brooding until you show her your dose of affection. Arlecchino is never one to profess her jealousy, she'll just innovate ways to subdue those feelings. You'll be in her lap by the fire, her hands on your lower back, thumbs tracing your navel to your stomach. "Maybe I should carve my initials into these pretty wings baby.." She'll propose sternly, making you whimper, her tone scaringly serious before she chuckles quietly. "Oh, but.. I couldn't hurt you. Don't get pouty."
Arlecchino will be away for long periods when she's dispatched into another region for a mission, this is when she is seen at her most irritable and prone to snapping. She would bring you, but the last thing she'd ever compromise is your safety. She writes you letters every night, making sure you're doing fine managing the orphanage and if you are taking care of yourself. She knows you're an needy thing, she'll make sure to promise you an extended wing grooming and a more erotic reward if you're feeling especially antsy from her absence.
━ Lauma
Oh, sweet Lauma, the poor woman almost had a heart attack when she first saw your divine, delphic beauty. She was gathering berries around the rural springs of Hiisi Island when she first spotted you knelt by a river. You were dipping your wings into the water like a swan would, grooming the ruffled feathers and humming quietly. It was safe to say, from that day on, Lauma worshipped a completely new goddess.
Lauma is.. a quite bit overbearing when it comes to you. If you're feeling drowsy, she's immediately offering a remedy, a massage, maybe a kiss? If you're feeling sad, she's immediately cooing and coddling you. Lauma is even a tad bit possessive, although she'll never admit to that aspect of her needy affection for you. She'll usher you to stay in your bedroom or constantly tag along when she's tending to animals or her fellow frostmoon scions. She loves to gush, fawn to the members of her community about you, loving how shy you get in front of others. "Oh yes, she loves when I rub her wings! They're very ticklish, aren't they dear?" Your face is entirely aflush by the time she's finished doting with her sisters, making her vehemently worry that you possibly caught a fever.
Lauma became a bit more.. provocative ever since she had gotten with you. Whenever you'd two would go into the forest to find somewhere to bathe, she purposefully disrobe in front of you to watch you seize up and cower behind your wings. When you two are close, her hand always lingers on your lower back, guiding, but wandering. When she hugs you, she smothers your face in her large bust, making you squeal. Lauma loves to coo at you when you become all nervous and shy; stroking your wings and shushing you. "Don't hide your face please.." Her imploring, dulcet tone always gets you, making you plaintively fold away your wings from hiding your face, making Lauma gently smile. "There's my pretty angel.. I won't tease you anymore, promise."
Lauma is obsessed with kissing your wings, taking a lot of persuasion and pleading on her end to compel you into indulging her wants. She'll utter prayers while pressing her wet lips to every crease and silken dip in your supple, lush plumes; her hands tracing the arcing edges of them and inhaling their scent. It's religious, reverent, voracious; she'll sometimes pinch or give a little nibble in a way that makes you squeak and grab onto her antlers just the way she likes for stability. She'll rear her head to almost buck into your hands, making them glow as she rocks upwards, something that happens whenever she's aroused. It makes you completely flustered. "Your noises are so nice.. I can't help myself, apologies dear.." She'll giggle, her voice velvetly, her dilated eyes tracking your pretty face the entirety of her oral exploration of your wings.
Lauma is pathetic for you, even if she tries to futilely act inconspicuous about it. If she notices even a sliver of discomfort on your face, she's dismissing herself from whatever she's doing to find somewhere to have you in her lap. If it's your wings, she'll coo and begin to rub your back; knowing the weight of the divine appendages could cause tension right between your shoulderblades. Lauma learned that you produce a vibrating sound close to purring whenever she does this; rubbing all the areas that make you sigh, melt into her. Lauma puts your needs above all else, cooing at you throughout her ministrations. You'll feel guilty for taking her time, Lauma taking that as a personal offense. "Don't feel bad dear.. just let me make you feel good, okay?." She strokes near the lower center of your back in ticklish, languorous passes with her nimble fingertips, making you arch and hide your face; her not ceasing till you nod furiously, her kissing your cheek, savoring your winsome, petulant humiliation. "It's my duty to worship you.. you know that, right?" She laughs, soft and dreamily.
━ Nefer
Nefer always thought you were frightened by her. She remembers the day you came in for an interview to be her close secretary and assistant; tumbling over words, thoughts incohesive, and your eyes anxiously darting away when they'd meet hers. You were a little mess under her scrutiny, a divine creature acting like schoolgirl with her crush, it was a.. sight. Nefer may be a very selective, strict woman, but as long as you could listen; seeing your pretty face around her agency, always petting your wings nervously when she'd call you to her office for a new task, she felt pleased having you bustle around to complete her bidding. She felt almost bad, unconsciously softening her voice with you and compensating you more for missions. She became a little indulgent with you, testing just how much you pour into earning her praise; you were her dutiful, eager little angel.
Nefer is intrinsically independent, she thinks she does things much more concise, cleaner than others, and she's definitely correct when compared to you. You're clumsy, always knocking over things with your ditzy, large wings, it's frustratingly endearing. Nefer would request simple things like a glass of water, a document on her desk just to give you a rewarding scratch on your wings' feathers. She loves seeing you squeak and tense, bearing her touch and biting your lip to contain any embarrassing noises, it's amusing. "You react so scared, 'm just scratching.. are they really that sensitive?." She'll muse, her pinching you barely to see you shrink backwards. "Get back to work, don't let it get to your head too much." She likes to see that slight dejection your face has when she cuts her affection short, shooing you off with a small chuckle.
Nefer has her.. days where she's more agitated, more impatient from her workload, so she naturally takes out on you. If you're behind a deadline, spilling her stack of papers into a scatter on the floor, maybe just breathing near her wrong, she'll bend you over her knee. You.. don't complain much, just wiggle your hips, arch your back whenever her hand comes down hard on your backside. It's humiliating, just how much you're enjoying it, how your thighs squeeze together subtly before she wedges them apart. Nefer never hides her satisfaction, seeing your wings seize up with every slap! or how you stifle little, keening sounds into the couch, eyes glassy and face hidden with embarrassment. When you start crying, she'll stroke your wings, kiss between your shoulderblades softly, licking your skin to see your wings flap, thumping on her couch. "You took it so good this time sweets, don't whine so much." She'll chide, albeit her voice is much gentler than usual; her hand rubs your reddened thighs and rear, tracing your spine with her nail to see you tremble. "Be better at your work and there will be no more of this.. easy, right?"
There's certain rules you wouldn't expect being hired for Nefer, like how she has a dresscode just for you. She buys you pretty, frilly gowns or skirts, usually in shades of translucent white to match with your wings. Seeing you amble around looking all pretty in the clothing she tailored just for you is a sight for sore eyes, a little distraction from the repetition of her convoluted work; she loves especially how you haven't noticed that the words 'property of Nefer, return if gets lost while flying' is stitched onto the back in a small font.
One of her 'comrades' or rather, frequent visitors, Yelan happened to have her eyes wander to you while in Nefer's office for business matters, much to Nefer's displeasure. Yelan would sit across from her over drinks with that prideful, subtle smirk, humming. Yelan prods too much, asks questions about your relationships and if you'd ever leave Nefer's side for a better job offer. Nefer immediately shuts her advancements down, tautly smiling with furrowed brows, seething. "She's very much.. loyal to me, you're out of luck. Besides, we both know who's more competent here in pleasing her." You were behind a near wall while overhearing Nefer's outburst, flustered and awkwardly fidgeting while the two women kept bickering heatedly. It probably wasn't the best idea to ask Nefer if Yelan was.. open minded any time soon. (you want both of them.)
