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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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Update: after I reblogged this someone messaged me offering me tickets to the sold out Hausu screening with a Q&A and autograph session with the director
I reblogged her late last year and my 2024 has been very satisfying work-wise and (secure enough to not stress out) money-wise so far. Money Snake is wise and good.
“What was that?!” he demanded, already shifted in your kitchen with his pelt wrapped around his waist like a toga. “You sneezed. That’s the sneeze of someone dying. Isn’t it?? Are you dying??”
“I’m fine,” you croaked.
“You sound like a haunted foghorn!!”
You tried to wave him off. He took that as a sign to sprint outside, trip over a seal-shaped Zayne, and yell:
“MEDICAL EMERGENCY. WE NEED SALT. AND TEA. AND HONEY. AND MAYBE A CLERIC.”
---
🪨 Zayne
Zayne didn’t scream.
He stared.
He knew the moment he looked at you that something was off. You looked tired. Pale. Your hoodie was two sizes too big and your socks didn’t match.
“You’re sick.”
You opened your mouth to lie. He raised a brow.
You coughed.
Zayne sighed, stood up, and walked out the door.
You thought maybe you’d upset him—until he returned fifteen minutes later with:
2 extra blankets
1 hot water bottle
4 kinds of soup
And a thermometer he clearly didn’t know how to use
“You’re resting,” he said. “No arguments.”
You tried. He growled.
You shut up.
---
🫧 Rafayel
Rafayel had never seen sickness before.
He flopped into the house in seal form, saw your red nose and puffy eyes, and immediately fainted.
Just—thud. Roll. Flippers in the air.
You were too dizzy to deal with that, so you just laid on the couch with a tissue box while he fake-fainted for fifteen minutes.
Eventually he slunk over, nudged your cheek, and licked it softly.
“Gross,” you whispered. He squeaked back like he was apologizing.
Then he wriggled under the blankets with you and stayed there—head on your chest, letting out tiny wheezing sounds like he was mourning your soul.
---
🐺 Sylus
Sylus was in the doorway the whole time.
He watched. He listened. He said nothing.
Until you dropped a glass trying to clean up.
Then he moved.
Shifted to human in seconds and caught you before your knees hit the floor.
“Why didn’t you say something?” he growled, helping you to the couch like you were made of glass.
“I didn’t want to bother—”
“You’re never a bother.”
He wrapped you in three blankets, sat beside you, and glared at the fireplace, not knowing how to actually get it working.
You might’ve been sick, but your heart definitely skipped a beat.
---
🌊 Xavier
Xavier didn’t fuss.
He saw the tissues. He saw your hoodie. He heard the way your voice cracked.
Then he disappeared.
You assumed he left. Typical mysterious ocean man.
But twenty minutes later?
He reappeared in full human form—dripping wet, windblown, arms full of every comfort item known to man.
“Did you rob someone?”
He avoided your gaze, “Borrowed.”
You squinted your eyes, “This is a weighted blanket.”
He nodded, “Yes. So you stay.”
You blinked. “Stay?”
He looked at you very quietly. “With me.”
---
Later…
They wouldn’t let you get up for anything.
Not even for tea. Not even to use the bathroom alone.
You had five seals piled around you on the couch, hot soup on the table, and someone (probably Caleb) had placed a little sticky note on your forehead that said:
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Some things he simply can't let go of.
soft!sylus x gn!reader, dragon tendencies, sfw; 500wc
By nature, dragons must have a hoard to call their own, and old habits die hard for Sylus.
A poorly kept secret is housed in the bottom drawer of his desk. Filled to the brim, each and every item in it is more priceless than all the artifacts and paintings he owns combined. As far as he's concerned, they are—and will always be—incomparable in value.
There are stashed receipts from dates with you, enumerating coffees and pastries bought from cafes; theater tickets for two; bills for suits and outfits purchased in Linkon's boutiques. He's accumulated almost a year's worth by now, organised them into neat bundles, tucked into one corner.
Under them are a stack of wrinkled papers filled with your idle scribbles, of clouds and flowers and ritual curses for your annoying coworkers. After you finish working you crumple and toss them into the bin he keeps by his desk. He recovers them when you aren't around. Unfurls each one at a time with care, pressing his hands down to soothe the creases—and into the drawer they go. At the very top is the frustrated sketch you'd created when you first met, depicting him with horns and a devil's tail.
The rest of his collection is a jumbled mess that clatters when he pulls it open, which is more often than he'll ever admit. Keychains adorned with charms roll around with piles of hard won coupons from the arcade. However useless they may be, he holds onto every single prize: matching candy rings, toy harmonicas, tacky plastic gems.
Your personal accessories have also migrated to the drawer over time. Sylus tells himself he's not stealing. He simply notices a misplaced piece of yours on occasion—perhaps in the crevices of the couch, under the bed, or in one of the cars, and they're simply spirited away and remain missing. Even the wrappers of the candy and chocolate you snack on around the base are preserved here.
There's an ancient greed that roots in his mind, demanding to possess and gather all that it desires, and you are its singular focus. You, and everything within your orbit. Everything you touch.
These ephemera, unremarkable to anybody else, serve as crucial reminders to him that you're truly here. They embody the life he strives to nurture using this unthinkable second chance he's been gifted with you.
The promise of a kinder, gentler story resides in the scraps he collects; one shaped not by grandiose games of fate, but sweet drinks and cakes, idle pastimes, and quiet evenings steeped with your presence. Desolate spaces transformed into somewhere comfortable, safe. A place he regards as a home—for you both.
And so these tangible traces of you are infinitely more precious to him than any material thing could be in this universe. Forget the mountains of gold and dragonslaying weaponry from long gone days. This unassuming drawer of junk, entwined with your memories, is a treasure unlike anything he's ever known.
you honestly think you’ve been fooled. It should be illegal for Xavier to have such doe eyes and soft features and then turn out to be the most dominant and possessive man you’ve ever met.
I mean damn when you started dating the guy you were sure you would be the one in control during freaky time. Yet months into the relationship, he’s got you pinned under him every single night without fail. His doe eyes darken with lust and there’s nothing soft under his soft hoodie. And fuck why is he so damn strong? He folds and bends and throws and manhandles the shit out of you. It’s honestly humbling and very hot.
Notes: I actually did not expect yall to eat dragon sylus up but here you go.
Click here for my Masterlist
The night the storm came showed that it was no weak, brief storm. It tore through the thick trees scattered across Sylus’s forest with violent howls, shaking the mountains, caves and flooding the valley paths. Sylus had gone out that night, scouring the woods for dry firewood and hunting to feed you. He had told you to stay in the den, the one lined with soft pelts and dragon-warmed stones—but the winds rattled the entrance, and rainwater slipped in through cracks in the cave mouth. You’d tried to keep the fire going, shivering despite your efforts. When Sylus returned, drenched and wild-eyed, you were already curled up in a thick blanket, coughing faintly and sniffling.
Sylus was not a beast who feared much. Not man nor beast nor blade. But the sound of your cough? The paleness of your face? Those sniffles? That made his blood turn to ice. His claws, still wet from the storm, shook as he reached for you. His nostrils flared as he inhaled—too warm. Your body radiated heat, not the kind he loved and purred for in his sleep, but the kind that screamed of fever. His pupils dilated into slits as he stared down at you, a soft rumble building in his throat, protective, panicked.
Sylus wasted no time. The moment he realized you were ill, he sealed the cave with massive boulders from the outside. leaving only a small space for airflow and for him to squeeze through, No more wind. No more water. The den became a fortress. He reinforced it with clawed Fingers and scorching dragonfire. He even wove layers of thick leaves, moss, and hides over the opening to keep the storm’s icy breath away from your fragile human body.
He refused to leave your side. Not even for a minute. Whenever you coughed, his tail curled around you, trying to wrap you in his warmth. When you whimpered in your sleep, he huffed at the shadows. He didn’t sleep, His glowing red eyes stayed locked on you all night, unmoving, his breath shallow as he counted every rise and fall of your chest. Every time your fever spiked, he let out an anguished, low snarl, pressing his forehead to yours as if he could draw the sickness out of you and into himself.
The moment your fever drops, even a little, Sylus melts. You wake up to his heavy head resting against your stomach, wings tucked in and relaxed for once, breath even and calm. He still watches you, but the panic is gone—replaced by exhausted relief. He touches your face gently, claws careful not to scratch. “Better,” he rumbles. “You smell like you again.”
Once you’re well enough to sit up, Sylus becomes twice as clingy. He insists on carrying you to the nearby hot spring he guards in his free-of-humans territory, letting the mineral-rich water soak your muscles. He refuses to let you lift a single rock, fetch a single log, or even touch the cold floor barefoot. He builds a second fire beside the first. Reinforces the den with even more heat-holding stone. Stockpiles on plants that smell like herbs. every time the sky darkens or the wind howls, his body stiffens and he pulls you closer, whispering, “Not again.”
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you've got me under your spell | eddie brock and venom
summary: the then's and now's of halloween in the brock household
pairing: eddie brock x wife!reader (and their son!) x venom
warnings: i've turned eddie brock from a swagless loser to a dilf, venom is loaned to a child as a halloween costume, venom is almost like a second child tbh, implied smut, brief mentions of mental illness and pregnancy-related mental health issues. not to spoil anything at the end but the final section is pretty fucking funny if i do say so myself.
author's note: i have a very delayed last minute addition to my halloween fics for 2024! after flying through all three venom movies in about two days (as someone who doesn't watch marvel movies, might i add), i am pleased (and a little concerned) to annoucne that eddie brock is now my favourite marvel character.
yes, dylan brock is a canon character in the venom comics (or so i have been told) but all this dylan had in common with the canon version is his name.
2010.
she watched fondly from the doorway as eddie picked up the infant, who was currently trying to crawl towards the white pumpkin in the bay window. dylan laughed in his father's arms as eddie spun around before cradling the infant against his chest. he caught his wife's eyes from the doorway, a cheeky grin on his face as he looked down at dylan.
"hey kiddo, i think mommy's looking at us."
dylan smiled, wide and toothless, letting out the baby equivalent of a cheer as he looked over at his mother.
"are you guys ready to make the rounds? i promised mrs. chen some baby time." y/n laughed, reaching out to hold her son's small hand in hers.
the streets outside were lit up with fog machines and smiling skeletons, filled with the sounds of kids milling about. it was baby brock's first halloween, and he was dressed appropriately for it in his little pumpkin costume. after attempting to suck on y/n's finger, dylan dropped her hand and busied himself with attempting to trace the tattoos visible on eddie's forearm.
eddie beamed, kissing his wife softly before answering. "we're ready if you are. lead the way, mamas."
y/n had never pictured herself as a mother. in her twenties, when it seemed like settling down was the only thing people her age wanted to do, she was paralyzed with fear, insecurity and a little bit of self-loathing. being inside of her head was a nightmare, and she wasn't even sure she'd make it to thirty.
things had started to change when she met eddie brock.
slowly, she came alive again. she started to want things that she had thought were out of reach. she wanted to get married, have that house and that family and the white picket fence. to know that everything she had done had added up to this moment, and that everything had been worth it.
but she hated being pregnant. for her, growing another human being had been an arduous, terrifying experience. the eight hours of labour she had gone through on the day dylan was born was enough for her to decide that she didn't want more kids, and that she could still have the family she dreamed of with only one child.
she kissed dylan's forehead softly, brushing back his thin baby hair before tucking the small pumpkin hat onto his little head, and over his small ears.
the couple walked down the front steps of their bungalow, one of eddies arms around his wife, and the other holding his son (which was quite the feat, considering that the infant so desperately wanted out of his father's arms. dylan was an active baby, but he was allowed to crawl down the residential street, he would do so at such a pace that the brocks would never get him back.)
at every house they went to there was someone to coo over the littlest brock. eventually, eddie had to drop that arm around his wife so that he could use both hands to hold his son. dylan smiled that wide, gummy smile and laughed and babbled at all of the people that they passed, y/n clutching an almost-full orange bag of candy (she was convinced that some of their neighbours gave out extra candy to the couple, simply to reward them with the hit of caffeine found in chocolate that the new parents would so crave).
as they walked towards mrs. chen's house, dylan finally settled in his fathers arms, eddie looked over at his wife with nothing but reverence and love in his eyes. even carrying a little bit of extra weight around her hips and stomach, her breasts a little fuller and her arms a little chubbier, she was as radiant as she was the day that they got married. he would do anything for her, for his son. his little family.
"eddie, darling." she laughed, turning to face him. "you're staring."
eddie blushed, the rose in his cheeks barely visible in the dark. "uh, no i'm not."
"yes you are." she giggled. "i love you, eddie brock."
"i love you more." eddie beamed, leaning over to kiss her. "i think the little guy is worn out." he spoke softly, nodding towards the baby in his arms. "he's asleep."
"awe." y/n cooed, gently stroking her son's arm with her pointer finger. the sight of eddie holding their son in his arms would never grow old. she was starting a folder of pictures on her laptop of this very thing, as she knew dylan would soon be too big for his father to hold. "he's just like his father. he can go to sleep any time, any where and in any condition."
eddie laughed. "i feel like there was an insult buried in there somewhere."
"i still married you, didn't i?"
2024.
"dylan, if you want to get to eric's on time, you've gotta get going now! his mom's on the way!"
y/n knocked on her son's door, waiting until she heard the disgruntled teenage groan from the other side. satisfied that dylan had been served enough warning, she headed back out into the living room.
she had put eddie in charge of moving the halloween candy from the massive carboard costco boxes to the festive plastic bowls, and he was doing a surprisingly okay job at it.
their life had changed drastically in the years since her husband had begun to share his body with a symbiote. the symbiote had once given dylan nightmares, and she had fielded one too many concerned calls from the school after he had gone around and told all of the other kids that his father was an alien and would eat anybody who was mean to him (although, once eddie and venom had bonded, venom was steadfast in his commitment to eating any bullies that dylan may face) it had taken time, and a lot of home repairs to get used to, but alas, venom now felt like one of the family.
well, more like the cousin you don't want any of your friends to meet. or the alien that your husband is in a strangely homeorotic relationship with.
"i thought venom would have eaten half of those by now." she remarked, leaning over the back of the sofa to rest her head on her husband's shoulder, hands on his chest.
"i made him promise to behave today. i don't want him scaring the little kids." eddie shrugged, turning his had to kiss his wife softly.
"what did you have to give him?"
eddie paused, waiting a beat in order to formulate an answer that wouldn't send his wife into a spiral. in the distance, he heard dylan's bedroom door open and close, and then the fourteen-year-old came bounding into the living room.
"eric's mom is like five minutes away. is it okay if i wait outside?"
keeping her hands on eddie shoulders, y/n straightened, looking over at her son. "no costume?'
she didn't miss the way that eddie's muscles tensed up under her hands, or the way dylan's pinkie finger twitched. neither of them said a word, and when her eyes zeroed in on the full boxes of nestle chocolates, she got her answer.
"edward brock, please tell me that you did not lend your symbiote to our son as a halloween costume!"
dylan's shoulder rippled black over the top of his hunter-green sweatshirt, venom's inky head materializing next to a defeated looking dylan.
"okay, we won't tell you." the symbiote said , turning to face eddie. "you told me that this was okay with mrs. b."
eddie got up from the couch, pointing a finger at the symbiote. "i said no such thing. i said we were never supposed to tell y/n under any circumstances."
"mom, it's only for the night. you let dad have venom year-round!" dylan protested, stuffing his hands in his sweater pockets. "how is this any different?"
y/n stopped and counted to twenty, eyes closed before she breathed deeply and opened them again.
"that's because your father is the one who brought venom into this house in the first place, and i didn't get a say in the matter. also, your father is an adult, and venom actually listens to him."
"i listen to nobody!"
eddie coughed. "actually, he doesn't listen to me at all. he does what he wants half of the time."
"not the point, eddie! hosting venom almost killed you."
"actually- "
"not now vee!" eddie and y/n shouted together.
eddie reached for his wife's hand, knowing that she needed something to ground her, something tangible that she could hold on to. his hand was warm and calloused, comforting. she ran her thumb over eddie's knuckles as he stepped closer, dropping his voice in the hopes that dylan and venom wouldn't be able to eavesdrop.
"y/n, you know that i wouldn't let dylan take venom out if i didn't think he could handle it. its just one night."
"eddie, venom eats people. i don't want to get calls from parents stating that their sons hung out with my son, and then they came back headless."
"he has sworn to be on his best behavior tonight." eddie insisted. "and besides, when was the last time we had a night that was just the two of us? no dylan, no venom."
she paused, trying to think, the calm was starting to ease back into her body, the initial panic subsiding. her husband was right, she knew. while nights without dylan had become more common the older he got, with the boy staying over at friend's houses or going out late with his buddies, having a husband who hosted an alien sometimes put a damper on date night.
for the past five years, she had felt like she was in a never-ending threesome. don't get her wrong, the sex was absolutely phenomenal, but she missed her husband. she missed the days when it was just the two of them, curled up in bed on a sunday afternoon, with reruns of a bad sitcom playing in the background as they made love without a care in the world.
she realized that she was excited at the idea of having sex with her husband without an alien tentacle trying to slip into her ass (which felt absolutely incredible, by the way. after the first time venom did that, she downloaded all the monsterfucking books she could find on kindle unlimited. trying to explain the plot of ice planet barbarians to eddie had been quite the spectacle).
a honk in the front driveway snapped her out of her thoughts. dylan was looking at her expectantly, venom's head still hovering in the air next to him. if it were possible for symbiotes to give puppy dog eyes, she was sure that venom would be doing so. she looked at eddie, and then back at dylan, weighing her options.
"fine. dylan, you can take venom with you."
venom and dylan gave a cheer, the teen high-fiving one of venom's slinky tentacles.
"i promise not to eat any of the children, mrs. b. only gourmet chocolate. dylan says tonight is the best night for it."
"go on." y/n laughed. "don't keep eric waiting. and be careful!"
eddie and y/n stood by the front window, eddie's hand in her back pocket as they watched dylan run down the driveway and jump into the back of eric's mom's nissan. he had grown up so fast. it felt like just yesterday he was an infant in a pumpkin costume, cradled in eddie's strong arms. now he was almost as tall as his father.
y/n let out a small yelp as she felt herself become weightless, her husband's strong, beefy arms wrapped around her thighs.
"baby, be careful! you aren't as strong without venom! i don't want you to hurt your back!"
"i'll be fine! we have a heating pad for a reason!"
the headed down the hallway in a cloud of giggles, eddie kicking the bedroom door closed behind them with a cheeky grin on his face.
oh yeah, they were going to enjoy every second of having the house to themselves.
____
it was nearing midnight when dylan brock came home, shocked to find his father in the living room, sitting on the sofa in the dark and wincing every time he moved.
"dad? what are you doing? where's mom?"
eddie groaned, trying not to move too much. the heating pad rested against his lower back, and any movement sent a sharp pain up his spine. "she's asleep. tired out."
dylan made a face, dropping his backpack next to the couch. "god damn it, dad! i don't need to know that!"
eddie chuckled. "not like that." well, sort of like that. "this week has been hard on her. between you, me and venom, she's got her hands full."
"what's the heating pad for?" dylan crossed his arms over his chest, staring his father down.
"i hurt my back. it's nothing, not important."
"oh my god! you hurt your back banging mom!"
"dylan, keep your voice down! your mother is sleeping!" eddie scolded, screwing his eyes shut. "and she doesn't know. there is nothing less sexy than pinching something in your back while-"
"stop. please. i don't want to know."
"anyways, i waited until she fell asleep to put some muscle spray on it, and that didn't help, so here i am with the heating pad. how was your night?"
"it was good. venom's fun. we went trick-or-treating around eric's neigbourhood, where all the fancy houses are. also, i think i know what possum brain tastes like." dylan scrunched up his face. "venom decided he'd eaten enough snickers bars."
"snickers are for the weak." venom grunted. "real men eat brains."
eddie laughed. "now you know what the inside of my head is like. at least venom didn't try to eat any people. i wish i never knew what grey matter tasted like."
dylan extended his hand. "it's been fun, but i think he wants his host back."
eddie took dylan's hand in his, inhaling as he felt venom fill his veins once more, the familiar voice he'd come to tolerate returning to the back of his mind. slowly, the stinging pain in his lower back started to subside, the symbiote healing him from the inside out.
"thanks buddy. i needed that." he sighed. "and thanks for looking after dylan."
"no problem, eddie. you know, you'd get hurt less around the house if you stopped doing silly things when i'm not here."
"hey dylan, do you want the symbiote back?"
dylan laughed, heading to his room. "not a chance, dad. you're the only person in the world who could handle him."
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