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
beloved niku as i told you i'm so sorry for this but it gripped me and wouldn't let me go the notes i took in the grocery store when it hit me are wild 😭
technically a sunday x f!reader. reader is humanoid but not technically a human. also sorry for being american and using feet as distance i know nothing else.
"Those are fake, you know."
Sunday pauses. Yours is a new voice, and there should be no new voices here.
(Voices are easy for most Halovians; they're just a quiet song, each one a carefully plucked note, a harmony made unique. Robin knows a voice by heart after she's heard it once. Sunday is less accomplished, but he still hears a chord and knows its difference.)
"Excuse me?" he says, glancing towards the source.
He finds you immediately. Your lazy lounge is at odds with the stiff dignitaries he's been entertaining—you're half over the little table, chin propped up on one glittering hand, your smile slow, sweet syrup.
You nod towards the small box in his hand. "Fake," you tell him again. "Rude, really, giving a fake gift."
He glances down. The little earrings—meant for his wing, apparently—gleam in the light. They're delicate in their intricacy, petal-edged, softer than his usual rapier points. The metal shines like the stars. It rates as gold, he knows, but the yellow of it is peculiar, a quirk of the planet it comes from. There is nothing else in the universe like it.
"I do not doubt their origin."
"Mhm," you say. "You should."
"Because of your assessment from—" he considers the distance between the two of you "—over 10 feet away?"
"Yup."
Sunday raises an eyebrow. He should go. His schedule is never-ending, always brimming with the duties that weigh down the curves of his slim shoulders. He has little spare time, and even littler to spend with someone like you. But—
"And you are an expert in the subject matter, I presume," he says dryly.
You smile. "Something like that."
His eyes dart back to the earrings. They gleam. There's nothing to even suggest that they're anything less than what the honey-mouthed diplomat had claimed. "Forgive me if I don't believe you."
You laugh. "They said you were polite," you say. "But you do have teeth, don't you?"
"Doesn't everyone?"
"I suppose," you say. "Give them here. I'll test them."
He arches his brow again.
"They're not worth stealing, if that's what you're worried about."
"Hardly."
"Then give them here."
Sunday does. He steps closer and presses the box into your open palm, the velvet of it soft against your glittering palm. Gems, he thinks, inlaid in your skin like a jeweled glove. He follows their path up your forearm, your bicep, until they disappear under your gossamer sleeve, barely visible save the faint sheen of them flickering through the thin fabric like fireflies each time you move. Something rings in the back of his mind, a memory just out of reach.
You push yourself up from your indolent sprawl, and those same gems spill out across your neck, your collarbone, into the soft curve of your breast.
Perhaps you are an expert.
"Wow," you say, laughter curling in the corners of your lips again. "I didn't think you would."
Sunday didn't think he would either. It's unnerving.
You pop the small earrings out of their case, rolling them against your palm. They clack against your bejeweled palm, teeth against teeth.
"They're close, I'll give you that," you say. "Good fakes, expertly-made, really."
"There's no purpose in gifting me fakes," Sunday says. "And this hardly proves anything other than your commitment to your assumption."
You smile again. "There's always a purpose," you say.
You bring the earrings up to your face, holding one between your fingers. Sunday watches you, waits. You meet his gaze, something knowing in your eyes, and then—
You slip the earring between your lips.
Sunday starts. A surprised noise—an undignified one, likely—almost leaves him, but he bites it down with his iron control. He should—he should scold you, he supposes, or demand you spit it out, but there's laughter sparkling in your eyes. It feels like a challenge; a dare he can't afford to lose.
There's also the matter of your tongue.
He can see it pressing against the inside of your cheeks, your lips, as you roll the earring in your mouth. Sometimes, there's a flicker of the pink of it peeking out from between your lips.
Before he can gather himself enough to protest, the earring clicks against your teeth. You press it against your lips until they part, the metal gleaming wetly before it drops into your hand with a soft chime. There's a thin string of saliva connected to it. It's vulgar; it's mesmerizing.
The string snaps.
Sunday refocuses just in time to hear the end of the list of metals you're listing off. All of them are far from the prized yellow-gold of the planet the earrings purportedly came from.
"You can—" he starts, before catching himself.
"Taste it," you finish.
The echo of memory from earlier solidifies; a species from a distant planet that rarely leave their home, the way they can taste precious stones and metal alike, can break them down to their core. One of the diplomats had boasted of coaxing one off-world.
If that is you—and it must be you—you are an expert indeed.
As if sensing his thoughts, you smile again. You press the earring into his hand; your gemstones are cold, but Sunday can't help but focus on the wet, still warm earring against his palm.
"Like I said," you say, leaning back in an irritatingly satisfied way. "Fake."
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
beloved niku as i told you i'm so sorry for this but it gripped me and wouldn't let me go the notes i took in the grocery store when it hit me are wild 😭
technically a sunday x f!reader. reader is humanoid but not technically a human. also sorry for being american and using feet as distance i know nothing else.
"Those are fake, you know."
Sunday pauses. Yours is a new voice, and there should be no new voices here.
(Voices are easy for most Halovians; they're just a quiet song, each one a carefully plucked note, a harmony made unique. Robin knows a voice by heart after she's heard it once. Sunday is less accomplished, but he still hears a chord and knows its difference.)
"Excuse me?" he says, glancing towards the source.
He finds you immediately. Your lazy lounge is at odds with the stiff dignitaries he's been entertaining—you're half over the little table, chin propped up on one glittering hand, your smile slow, sweet syrup.
You nod towards the small box in his hand. "Fake," you tell him again. "Rude, really, giving a fake gift."
He glances down. The little earrings—meant for his wing, apparently—gleam in the light. They're delicate in their intricacy, petal-edged, softer than his usual rapier points. The metal shines like the stars. It rates as gold, he knows, but the yellow of it is peculiar, a quirk of the planet it comes from. There is nothing else in the universe like it.
"I do not doubt their origin."
"Mhm," you say. "You should."
"Because of your assessment from—" he considers the distance between the two of you "—over 10 feet away?"
"Yup."
Sunday raises an eyebrow. He should go. His schedule is never-ending, always brimming with the duties that weigh down the curves of his slim shoulders. He has little spare time, and even littler to spend with someone like you. But—
"And you are an expert in the subject matter, I presume," he says dryly.
You smile. "Something like that."
His eyes dart back to the earrings. They gleam. There's nothing to even suggest that they're anything less than what the honey-mouthed diplomat had claimed. "Forgive me if I don't believe you."
You laugh. "They said you were polite," you say. "But you do have teeth, don't you?"
"Doesn't everyone?"
"I suppose," you say. "Give them here. I'll test them."
He arches his brow again.
"They're not worth stealing, if that's what you're worried about."
"Hardly."
"Then give them here."
Sunday does. He steps closer and presses the box into your open palm, the velvet of it soft against your glittering palm. Gems, he thinks, inlaid in your skin like a jeweled glove. He follows their path up your forearm, your bicep, until they disappear under your gossamer sleeve, barely visible save the faint sheen of them flickering through the thin fabric like fireflies each time you move. Something rings in the back of his mind, a memory just out of reach.
You push yourself up from your indolent sprawl, and those same gems spill out across your neck, your collarbone, into the soft curve of your breast.
Perhaps you are an expert.
"Wow," you say, laughter curling in the corners of your lips again. "I didn't think you would."
Sunday didn't think he would either. It's unnerving.
You pop the small earrings out of their case, rolling them against your palm. They clack against your bejeweled palm, teeth against teeth.
"They're close, I'll give you that," you say. "Good fakes, expertly-made, really."
"There's no purpose in gifting me fakes," Sunday says. "And this hardly proves anything other than your commitment to your assumption."
You smile again. "There's always a purpose," you say.
You bring the earrings up to your face, holding one between your fingers. Sunday watches you, waits. You meet his gaze, something knowing in your eyes, and then—
You slip the earring between your lips.
Sunday starts. A surprised noise—an undignified one, likely—almost leaves him, but he bites it down with his iron control. He should—he should scold you, he supposes, or demand you spit it out, but there's laughter sparkling in your eyes. It feels like a challenge; a dare he can't afford to lose.
There's also the matter of your tongue.
He can see it pressing against the inside of your cheeks, your lips, as you roll the earring in your mouth. Sometimes, there's a flicker of the pink of it peeking out from between your lips.
Before he can gather himself enough to protest, the earring clicks against your teeth. You press it against your lips until they part, the metal gleaming wetly before it drops into your hand with a soft chime. There's a thin string of saliva connected to it. It's vulgar; it's mesmerizing.
The string snaps.
Sunday refocuses just in time to hear the end of the list of metals you're listing off. All of them are far from the prized yellow-gold of the planet the earrings purportedly came from.
"You can—" he starts, before catching himself.
"Taste it," you finish.
The echo of memory from earlier solidifies; a species from a distant planet that rarely leave their home, the way they can taste precious stones and metal alike, can break them down to their core. One of the diplomats had boasted of coaxing one off-world.
If that is you—and it must be you—you are an expert indeed.
As if sensing his thoughts, you smile again. You press the earring into his hand; your gemstones are cold, but Sunday can't help but focus on the wet, still warm earring against his palm.
"Like I said," you say, leaning back in an irritatingly satisfied way. "Fake."
Asking him if he still loves you while he's balls deep in a post-orgasm bliss and he just groans and goes "christ, I bought a ring last week" and that's how you find out he was planning to propose 👍
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
oh. being a plant engineer who cares for the plants. who talks to them. you go through your shifts speaking to them and telling them stories and it feels a little silly, sometimes, but your shifts are often long and lonely and there's something comforting about the quiet pulse of the plants' tanks. something in the way the water ripples sometimes.
it's silly, but they're yours to take care of, to maintain, to keep healthy.
and then a man breaks in, tearing through the guards like they're tissue paper, blood spattering against the pristine white of his body suit.
you run to the plant room without thought, because there's nothing else he could be after. you're pressed up against the tank when he stalks in, his sapphire eyes almost aglow in the light, and as he raises his hand, the beginnings of a knife emerging from his palm, you blurt out:
"don't hurt us!"
his brow furrows as you press back further against the tank, arms spread akimbo in front of it as if you can do anything against him.
"us?" he asks, his voice a summer thunderstorm, low and rumbling.
"the plants," you babble. "me and the plants. they're alive, they deserve to live, they deserve to be cared for, just like you and me."
he lowers his hand, though the gleam of the knife still peeks between his fingers, the silver of the moon caught behind clouds.
you suck in a breath and slump against the tank, legs shaking.
"us," he says again, quieter this time, as if to himself.
he looks at you again, all searing, arctic blue, and you realize that he's decided something.
you have a terrible feeling that it's your fate.
you don't even see him move. you don't see him move but he's in front of you, pushing you back against the tank once more. the glass is cold against your sweaty back.
you part your lips, but before the plea can spill from them, there's a pinch at your neck. the world starts going spotty at the edges, blackness encroaching like the night. you slump forward and he catches you, his broad frame a cushion.
juni how do you feel about dottolone? (also do you want art of dottore or pantalone lol)
okay so like. i am behind in quests but i hear 6.6 was a very dottolone time in genshin's life and i'm ready to see it!!! i think there is Flavor to dottolone but also sometimes i dig my heels in about it skldfjsldfj but honestly they're fun!!! and if i can be between them they're even more fun <-delusional
and yes omg i am always open to art!!! and i know you sent some after this i am just so behind on everything rn rip
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
Oml thats so scary glad you're okay 😖 chicken little is saying i was right all along 😭
please this made me CACKLEEEE not the chicken little reference 😭 but yes i am okay and i appreciate this!! and honestly while it did startle me it was not nearly as scary as the fan blade lmao but like. ideally things would stop falling onto me from the ceiling while i'm asleep!!! it's really a 0/10 experience i do not recommend it
