be tormented by me babe

I am too! The only down side to ao3 is that you can’t tag individual chapters. BUT I’m really satisfied and hope if you can remember the name of some of your favorites that you’ll be able to find them as I labeled them as appropriately as I could!

Plus I’m still writing and I think I’ve improved even more yet still and I hope you can enjoy what I create now! Though I mostly just write for whatever I think of or have interest in, I do enjoy going on little warmups and talking about things- so if you ever have an an interest or an au that you love, I’m your girl!

hello, loves! 

I am just here to inform you all that I am in the process of archiving all of my fics on my ao3! It also houses my newer pieces as well if you’re interested! 

As always, my dms are open and I’m eager to chat with any of you! 

Thank you and have a wonderful day!

Rating: Adore me, please me.

Warnings: Bloody love

Note: For the kind anon asking for Zed and Rakan as well as the amazing anon requesting Rakan with some other male League champion with Rakan getting reamed and chest adoration amongst a few other things. Enjoy, loves.

"What a dirty bird," Zed coos, his voice a toxic mess that's lost somewhere between admiration and teasing. Rakan's whole body flushes, a magnificent explosion of rosy hues that blend into a divine rainbow against the backdrop of his plumage. Slowly, Zed runs a bladed-finger along the underside of Rakan's jaw, tracing the breath the caught in the Vastayan's throat. "Dirty, yes," affirms Zed to no one but himself, voice low and hushed as if admitting a secret, "but I think I can ruffle those feathers a bit more."

Rakan had never been known to keep his mouth shut, so Zed, happily, had done that for him- tearing off a portion of the cloak the Vastayan donned before shoving it into his mouth. And, of course, the hyperactive male couldn't be trusted not to squirm or behave, so Zed remedied that with some simple rope he found. Zed, after all, doesn't always like to be so hasty in his kills all the time. Zed finds a certain beauty in the violence, and he despises how much that sounds like Jhin.

Despite how easily Rakan had submitted, a look of confusion and perhaps erring on the side of sadness, he couldn't hide the fact his heart thumps maddeningly inside his chest- Zed could have heard it miles away. Maybe it was the gag in his mouth, perhaps it was the hands tied behind his back. Maybe it was the fact he was almost entirely naked and Zed was still there almost fully clothed. The tree at his back, bark digging into his skin certainly isn't helping though. Not that Rakan ever had any shame about his body, quite the opposite in fact- he proudly flaunted any marking laid upon him with an unparalleled arrogance. Zed never did like his prized toy being shared but the sacrifices he's willing to make to get what he wants- never say Zed isn't willing to compromise.

Bare chested, Rakan's breath has finally tumbled down and swells. Zed runs his fingers along the dips and hollows of the Vastayan's solid chest, admiring the once pristine flesh. What was once a flawless marvel, almost alabaster granite, is now littered with scuffs and scratches that slowly begin to heal. There are two distinctive types of cuts, one jagged and harsh- almost cruel- and the other tender, a near caress. Zed rolls his eyes.

Without warning, Zed brings his blade to Rakan's chest and mirth ignites in his eyes as the blood begins to flow. Rakan gasps softly behind his gag, golden eyes beginning to go misty. With a smile, rough hands that are not rough with callouses but instead with intention, Zed thumbs Rakan's pert nipple, smearing the dripping blood.

"Pent up, hm, pet?" Zed muses aloud, never missing the shiver barely clinging to the Vastayan. Immediately Rakan flushes, refusing to meet Zed's hungry gaze but Zed, however, is not allowing it and tips Rakan's head back up with a benevolent sneer on his face. "Xayah hasn't touched you in a while, has she? Left her poor darling boy to fend for himself," suddenly Zed's voice grows cold, sinister with a kiss of amusement, "is that why you came crawling to me, literally on your hands and knees like a bitch in heat?"

A slow, cautious nod is all Zed gets but it's more than enough- Zed can read the rest in the softened lines of Rakan's body. He can read the want in the twitch of his hips, the need in the cloudy haze of those vibrant eyes. He can feel the hunger like a starved beast against his thigh when he slots his leg between Rakan's. Huffing, Zed smirks as he runs his fingertips along the defined masterpiece of Rakan's chest.

"Admittedly," Zed confides, not bothering to meet Rakan's curious gaze, "I much rather you on your back, pet. It is so much more fun to see your face when I tear you apart." A quiet moan is muffled behind the gag and Zed dips his claws into the mess of blood slicking the Vastayan's chest, but not before allowing himself to wander his hands across the playing field. Rakan's flesh is supple, hot beneath Zed's touch. Zed licks the blood off with fervor, relishing in both the taste of metal and the whimper from the feathered male.

Resting his hands on Rakan's chest, Zed buries his face in the crook of the Vastayan's neck, fingertips exploring the subtle edges of Rakan's flesh. The rough borders of his hips feel like home to Zed's hands as he gently sinks his teeth into Rakan's throat, tasting a rushing pulse. Rolling his own hips against Rakan, Zed smiles almost sheepishly.

"Not much for foreplay today, pet?" The hardness of Rakan's cock pushes against Zed's sturdy frame through his trousers. Cupping the shaft with an almost reverence, Zed smirks. "Or are you just that eager for me to break you again?" Rakan nods, his brilliant plumage no match for the vibrant flush painted on his cheeks. It takes only a quick flick of Zed's wrist to slice through the rope binding Rakan's wrists, but Rakan doesn't falter and instead just gazes expectantly at Zed. "On your knees, pet."

Zed has never been a religious man but the sight of Rakan's radiant eyes peering up at him through long lashes, blood coating half of his chest- it's enough to make Zed think he's in heaven. There's no words, but Zed makes a seemingly bored motion and Rakan nods with hunger burning upon his face. It doesn't take much effort for Rakan to take Zed's own hardened cock out, at least not anymore since he's had practice.

Rakan is careful as he envelops Zed's cock, closing his eyes happily. There's a tenderness in the way Zed caresses Rakan's ear, watching the way his cock slips between the pink petals of the Vastayan's lips. Riding the length of Rakan's ear with his fingertips, Zed finds it divine the way Rakan shakes. He can feel the low whine on his cock.

"You look so good like this," comments Zed, almost aloof when he drags a bladed-hand across Rakan's cheek. A shudder is given in response. As much as Zed would love to swipe a blade along Rakan's pretty face, he must respect Xayah's decree- as much as it banes him. "It's like you were made for this, pet," Zed's words make the Vastayan hum contentedly, tongue riding along the underside of Zed's shaft.

It's admittedly difficult for Zed, he is almost ashamed of how quickly he arrives to his edge. He is, however, more embarrassed for Rakan and the sweet, high-pitched moan he makes when Zed threads his fingers into his hair and yanks him off. Rakan smacks his lips, licking off the string of saliva that drops to his knees after swiping his tongue across the bulbous head of Zed's swollen cock.

Tsking, Zed scraps his nails along Rakan's scalp, reveling in the delicious shudder and flicker of the other's eyes. "On your back, pet," husks Zed, eyeing up the exposed male with a hunger rivalling that of a starved wolf. With ease Rakan slips onto his back, ignoring the slight pain of branches breaking under him.

Zed's thighs feel stiff as he kneels atop Rakan, boxing the other in beneath him. Placing his claws onto Rakan's firm, bloodied chest, Zed smiles.

"Touch yourself, Rakan," breathes out Zed, watching and enraptured by the way Rakan moves. He's like a cat, slinking his fingers down his chest and pausing along the soft plane of his pelvis. Rakan's hands are gentle as the slip under his trousers, wrapping long, lithe fingers around his cock.

Zed caresses his own cock, fist tight around his shaft as he leans down to run his other hand through the chilled blood on Rakan's chest. Rakan's heart thumps loudly in his chest as he easily thumbs over the head if his cock, whimpering deep in the back of his throat. It's ethereal almost, Rakan's halo of feathers fallen upon the wooded floor. Zed's claws begin to sink into Rakan's chest, pinpricks of blood once more starting to flow beneath the surface wounds.

It's quick, the rush of adrenaline as Zed's cock twitches, cum shooting forth to coat Rakan's chest, mixing with the ruby blood. Breathing heavily, Zed hums pleasantly as he tucks his spent cock away, watching the hypnotic roll of Rakan's muscles as he teases his cock. It's nearly elegant the way Zed eases himself onto Rakan's thick, taut thighs before dancing his bladed hands through the mess of cum and blood.

With lidded eyes, Zed smiles as he raises his slick hand to Rakan's lips, "Open up, pet." It's seductive, the peeking of Rakan's tongue as it runs along Zed's long fingers. Rakan shivers in euphoria as blood and cum mix in his mouth, lapping lazily at the extended hand. "You really are a dirty bird, Rakan."

It's warm, the cup of tea cradled in your hands. But despite that, despite the heat soaking into your skin and sinking deep into your bones, you feel cold. Even swaddled in a blanket and a hoodie, it's like a chill clings to you like a drenched shirt. But it's not a physical chill, it is not something that could be fixed with a warm bath and a good night's sleep. This is something psychological, a metaphorical knife to your throat that has a blade like a kiss, flickering against your neck. It's said that crying is a natural response to fear- that's how you rationalize the tears on your cheeks.

So caught up in your woes, the faint thump of footfalls on the carpet barely register. "Why are you crying?" His voice is melodious, cautious as if fearful of frightening you as he reaches out, fingertips grazing your jaw.

"Does it bother you," you manage to croak out, wrecked like a lily after a storm- some might still say beautiful but there is no ignoring the tragedy of the downpour. Your soaked sleeve does little to dab away the wetness on your face as you try your damndest to regain just a sliver of composure. "Does it bother you," now your voice is barely above a whisper, like it's some dastardly secret between the two of you, "doesn't it bother you that we don't have much time for each other anymore?"

The fingers once settled on your jaw have sunk, lingering like ghosts upon the collar of your hoodie. Gentle and tender, it feels like a parody of affection to you in the moment. "Hey, hey," his voice is wavering, cloaked in a mysterious sorrow but clearly trying to come off strong, "you don't need to worry, [Y/N]."

It's like the knife presses tighter against your throat when his touch leaves your skin, a small part of you wonders if it would be a better to just replace the blade with a fist. But then you blink, the glassy world blinded by your tears becoming bright for just a few moments as he rounds the couch. There's something on his face, a distant, glossy pain glowing in his amber eyes. It takes you a second to realize it- he's been crying too. His hair is pulled back but a few strands have fallen loose, framing his face in a way that reminds you of an awkward halo.

The couch groans in protest as he settles down besides you, the warmth of his body almost like a promise you remember being traced against your collarbone. Immediately your head finds a home in the crook of his neck, burying your face into his hoodie.

"[Y/N]," he breathes out, piecemeal. Upon his lips, your name feels like the summoning of angels, beckoning you forth. With shaky hands, his fingers intertwine with yours and you can't help but look down at your locked hands. You can't tell where he's looking, but he hasn't moved since he sat down. With your ear nearly pressed to his chest, you can hear the thrum of his heartbeat as it rattles inside his ribs- you feel begrudged to admit it reminds you of a drumline to a sad song. You don't hear what he says when he speaks next.

You do feel the warmth of his lips against the back of your hand though, as he lifts your interlocked hands up to his face. It's chaste, the momentary brush of his mouth on your flesh, burning hot. It's a kiss, surely, but it feels so much more. Your hands stutter between you before falling back, a natural homeostatic environment. Turning your head slowly, you gaze up at him with a neutral, dazed expression.

"Do you experience all the stars, [Y/N]?"

Taken aback by his question, confusion dances across your face as you lean back and away from him. But his smile is anything but rude- in fact, there's only a vibrant love glossed behind the tears in his eyes. Carefully pulling apart your hands, he tucks a strand of his hair behind his ear with a lopsided, pained grin before patting his lap. It's unspoken but you find it easy to rest your head in his lap. So you do. You find yourself looking up at him, something akin to the sun blessing the foliage.

Rating: Warm and wet like a shower, baby

Warnings: Hold me tight and make me feel.

Notes: For the uber sweet anon asking for some throatfucking/sloppy oral for Koova. Enjoy, loves.

They never meant to change the routine, to throw a wrench into their metaphorical relationship. But they knew their way of living would fall apart if they kept down the same road, getting tangled in words like lavender and skin like silk. James needed his world to diverge into colors unknown to him while Jordan sought to fix himself up when he gets lost. So maybe their time apart was necessary in order to bring them together for these few short moments.

“You look so perfect like this,” Jordan coos, saccharine, as he slips his thumb into the spread of James’ lips as they remain split open around the ring gag. James sits on his knees, legs sprawling open like a book ready to be consumed by Jordan in all his glory. To map all the muscles in James’ inner thighs, to read the flesh, would be a miraculous and marvelous experience. All James can do is keep himself from drooling on Jordan’s steady hands as they caress his cheek.

Maybe the situation isn’t ideal; the color of the hotel room is ghastly at best and James looks far better in pastels than the dark shades that billow around him. But they needed secrecy so sacrifices must be made for the moments they share together. 

Jordan’s cock is hard, aching for this kind of touch after so long as he unzips his pants to remove his cock from his boxers. Jordan’s fingers trail along the scruff of James’ beard with a hearty hum, wrapping his free hand around the girth. A low, gritty groan seeps out of Jordan when he brushes the head of his cock against James’ cheek. James was never one to get on his knees, never to submit without a fight, but, fuck, if Jordan doesn't almost envy the sight he is so blessed to experience.

James' lips are split open. Like a morning glory, Jordan finds that such a welcoming sight. Drool has collected at the corner of his lips- Jordan can tell James is not even trying to hide the smirk toying with his mouth, no matter how distorted.

Gently, Jordan eases the gag out of James' mouth. He relishes in the pretty red color of James' lips as it slides out with a subtle squelch. Saliva oozes out and Jordan doesn't even fight the urge to run his fingers through it before swiping it along his hard cock. It's still warm.

"You gonna fuck my damn mouth or not?" James' voice is harsh, snide as he pipes up, clearly taunting Jordan. And to his credit, it works.

Jordan huffs before running his fingers through the loose curls of James' hair. Using one hand, he slowly guides his cock into James' open mouth, eager and hot. A dreamy hum rumbles deep inside James' throat as his tongue slides along the underside of Jordan's cock.

Nails digging into the back for James' head, slowly a beastly groan escapes Jordan. While Jordan is careful, cautious, James is far more outspoken, wild. And the rough hands that wrap around Jordan's thighs prove this difference. Jordan is pulled forward, a throaty grunt choked off as James swallows around Jordan's cock.

As much as Jordan might physically be in control, James knows damn well just what he can get away with. Jordan groans deliciously when James teases his tongue along Jordan's shaft. The roll of Jordan's hips is hypnotic, each time pressing his cock deeper into the velvet heat of James' mouth.

Saliva collects in the soft curls of Jordan's pubic hair. Obediently James keeps his mouth slack, but his fingers remain an ever present pressure on the back of Jordan's meaty thighs. Groaning loudly, Jordan slips his hands from James' neck and sinks his fingernails into James' shoulders.

Jordan breathes out quietly, "Your mouth feels so good." James merely grunts haphazardly. With a slightly shaky hand, Jordan runs a hand along James' throat, admiring the warmth of his Adam's apple. James shivers at the slight pressure and Jordan's hushed confession, "I'm gonna go faster now."

Now Jordan knows he could just take his time, take his pleasure and dismantle James piece by piece until he's breathless and shaking. But he'd much rather enjoy the short amount of time they have together.

The jut of Jordan's hips cut away from James' hungry mouth. Cockhead settled on James' bruising lips, drool slips down James' chin and pools on his lap. Jordan could write poetry about how gorgeous James looks right now, ruined and eager to be broken.

It is harsh and uneven, the thrusting Jordan starts. James' eyes flutter shut and Jordan can barely make out the smile quirking James' lips as they spread out around Jordan's cock.

Maybe it should have been something more delicate, more ritualistic. But something about James, the soft flush on his cheeks and the furls of hair that frame his face, it makes Jordan's heart rush into his throat. James is the one person who Jordan felt complete with, like he's finally cocooned when he's with James. Jordan never knew what was going to happen, an unknowing caterpillar, but he felt safe and warm with James.

It builds up fast, much fastee than Jordan would have liked. It starts in his chest, heart beating erratically until it's practically threatening to jump from his throat. It moves to his stomach, turning and churning.

“Don’t swallow yet, James,” purrs Jordan, the dulcet tone of his voice like a drug to James as he shivers. Jordan curls his fingers around James’ jaw, stroking the warmth of James’ cheek with his fingertips and admiring just how broken he appears.

Rating: League of Legends? More like League of Sleaze!

Warning: Short stuff doesn't mean weak stuff.

Notes: for the awesome @filthandsin who plays an astounding Lux with me and is super nice! Enjoy, loves!

Veigar wasn't known for just his adept reputation for meddling with magic, for becoming so lost in the idea of power that he forgot the necessity of his physical body. Veigar was far more than that- at least to Gnar. To Gnar, Veigar was something to be cared for until it's pieces crumble, until gasping for more. Veigar was meant to break but only by Gnar's sheer willpower. Veigar knew that Gnar was primal, full of teeth and hunger that screamed until satiated. He is a beast, untamed by the cruel world around him and Gnar always suffered for craving more. To Veigar, Gnar was a conquest that he could never call his own but needed to claim. Gnar was meant to be taught to heel but only by Veigar's desires. Maybe that's why they've ended up like this.

Rating: You know with a voice this smooth, that boyo is just practically asking for someone to behave naughty.

Warnings: That someone just may be himself

Notes: For the amazing anon who welcomed me back so kindly and asked for some Crycest with toys. Enjoy, loves!

Cry's teeth are shining under the harsh light of the restaurant, fingers lightly clasped around the flute champagne glass. His lips like a bloody carnation are curled into a joyous smirk as he diligently spears his steak with his fork. Dulcet, he speaks with an uncomfortable fondness, "I am so very glad you agreed to join me for dinner tonight." Across the satiny tablecloth, a soft, begrudging grunt arises. Huffing in indignation, Cry muses politely, "Now, now. You should know better than to act so rudely in public."

"You shouldn't have made me get dressed up," the words carry a hefty bite, threatening to sink deep into Cry. However, Cry merely grins. He thinks he actually did a marvelous job coordinating Virus' ensemble. The baby pink looks breathtaking against the pale blue tint of Virus' flesh.

"Well," Cry muses playfully, eyes glowing under the potentially romantic light, "perhaps if you'd just have listened to me earlier, you'd be enjoying some Chinese food instead on our couch." A brilliant smile blossoms on Cry's face as he meets the face flushing across the table from him. "Perhaps you'd have even less clothing on too," there's a toying factor to Cry's tone as he runs his foot along the inside of Virus' firm calf. He absently wishes he could feel the soft fabric of the knee socks he chose for his partner.

Virus worries his lower lip, painted a soft, velvety pink that reminds Cry of cotton candy. They part almost dramatically when Cry innocently sweeps his hands across his thigh, Virus letting out a shuddery gasp with rose-tinted cheeks. Betrayal etches itself upon Virus' face as he lowers his head, not bothering to confirm whether or not the surrounding tables have becoming suddenly more interested in their private conversation.

Now Cry wouldn't say he could be creating looks that could make their way down a runway; but he will say that he thinks Virus looks downright ravishing. The icy blue hue of his eyes is beautifully framed by the thick, black crown of his eyelashes, royalty inspired. He's wearing a rather nice dress shirt, unisex in a way that is impeccably flattering to any body it so happens to be donned upon. And his hips, those godly hips, are hidden snugly beneath the folds of a blush pink skater skirt that does little to hide the troublesome sight of his needy erection. That Cry certainly hasn't been helping, or not helping depending on who you ask. Those long legs too, the ones Cry could press into Virus' chest and smear kisses along for hours- those are swathed in a sheer nylon. He's gorgeous. He's Cry's.

"Don't want you getting too comfortable, sweetheart," Cry croons, a sultry lilt crimping his words as Virus narrows his eyes, staring down the length of Cry's arms as it has undoubtedly snuck into the pocket of his jacket.

"Good evening!" Their server's voice is chipper and very clearly strained from having been at his job far too long, but they're trying. Cry makes a mental note to leave a good tip. "I see we have a happy couple here with us tonight! Might I interest you in our couple's special? It's a magical fondue spread that featur-" Cry's foot has slowly trekked it's way up beneath the smooth folds of Virus' skirt, toeing up underneath to press firmly against the hard cock presenting itself.

"Sounds great, we'll take it." Virus blurts out, blatant disinterest coating his words like venom and it's obvious he's only eager to eat and go at this point. Their waiter blinks, unsure of how to respond from being interrupted but when they open their mouth once more, Cry slides his hand upon the table with a gentle smile.

"I think one order of that fondue special would be lovely..." Cry seeks out a nametag in a panic, "Alex. Fondue sounds wonderful." Clearly flustered, the server nods with a flush before scribbling onto their notepad and rushing away.

"Pretty sure there are more fun things you can melt," boldly murmurs Virus while crossing his legs to hide his obvious arousal as it distends the soft pleats of the skirt. Clicking his tongue in distaste, Cry bites back a smirk when Virus chokes down a yelp as Cry reaches deep into his pocket once again. The bulge of Virus' cock looks deliciously tempting underneath all the fabric, just waiting for Cry to unwrap it with the fervor of a child on Christmas. Suddenly Cry becomes aware of two things.

Rating: Since when isn't sinning a gorgeous experience?

Warnings: No insertion but that doesn't mean we can't appreciate the human body, right?

Notes: For the miraculous @scremliketripleabattery who I promised, albeit some time ago, some NovaHD smut with some daddy!James. As well as for the very sweet anon who just wanted some more of our very beautiful Russian boy. Enjoy, loves.

James never knew what to think of him, of the Russian fireball. It's always been like fighting a wildfire with nothing but a bucket and a leaky faucet- it amounts to little more than burns he could never heal from fully and a hunger for more of that heat. So maybe that's why he's having mixed feelings at the sight before him.

Rating: Fruity tooty

Warnings: I'd say a mention of blood but I think that's just a given with Natasha, loves. The real warning is that this is one of my first posted fics on here in a long while, so I hope it's not too trash.

Note: For the magnificent anon that requests some laid back, recovery after a long, terrible mission for my return fic. Enjoy, loves!

Now let it be said that Bruce never thought of himself as some kind of animal- he never imagined that, in the guise of the Avengers, he was little more than the stereotypical rabid pitbull on a much more metaphorical chain. If anything, he was a parrot that emulated what he saw around him. He saw the betrayal and hurt lingering underneath Tony's metal facade; Bruce relives the angst and confusion that Bucky and Steve endure through each of their rendezvous as if it's the first. Bruce dances on a razor edge of carefree brilliance and well-intentioned ignorance when he meets Thor. Bruce experiences his life and meaning through those surrounding him. But never once has he understood what he learns through the steely demeanor of Natasha, strutting around despite the sorrow threatening to spill from her lashes.