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His Promised Sin part 2

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Remmick x reader

Word count: 743

Warnings: suicidal ideation? it depends how you look at wanting to be a vampire

Finally posting this. I hope you enjoy despite it being short, thank you so much for the love on the first part it means a lot to me. Every comment and like does.

Part 1

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Sleep evaded you the nights following Remmick’s visit. You found yourself whiling away the hours picturing his calloused hands holding your neck to his teeth, taking his fill. How long would it take? How painful would it be? These were the questions that kept you awake.

As for Chris, you neither visited him nor cared if he visited you. He was a distant memory, one that could stand in the way of Remmick’s plan for you if focused on for too long. No, your focus was Remmick and only Remmick. His fiery eyes and his tongue working you open played on a loop inside your skull. You felt ghosts of his touch over your body and thought of his last words to you.

“I’ll still be here when you wake.”

His presence never felt stronger than at nightfall, when the moon was your only guiding light. You could almost feel him, a few steps behind perhaps but always watching. He was reliving your night together too, how he’d changed you. Did he know your cunt hadn’t felt the same since he’d tasted it? If you thought about him long enough you could swear on the Bible that your fingers were his own. One night you were so lost in the feeling that you almost missed the footsteps.

“Miss me that much darlin?”

You bolted upright, staring at Remmick standing at the foot of your bed. Before you could remember how to speak he began pacing, slowly, tauntingly, around your room. The very place you’d prayed for his return.

“You feel it without me don’t you? That emptiness.”

It wasn’t a question.

“You’ve waited so long to be full, to be like everyone else but you’re not are you? You crave something different from them.”

He knew.

He knew nothing mortal could fix you.

Death, afterlife and moving on…where to you could not know and yet any fear felt dwarfed by the freedom that awaited you. Yes, Remmick knew. He knew everything you’d ever craved from the first dark dreams you’d carried as a child to your most recent desires.

“You called for something to take you away.”

Remmick took a step closer to you.

“I’m here.”

To feel comforted by such a beasts words should have felt unnatural but it was nothing of the sort. When Remmick held out his hand you took it gladly and without question. A faint glow from the full moon outside lit the sight of your fingers entwined like you felt they always should be.

“What now?”

Remmick ran a finger down the line of your neck, his eyes fixating on your pulse point.

“Immortality darlin.”

You wanted an escape from life, not more of it. At the thought your body stiffened but Remmick, as if he’d read your thoughts, only shook his head.

“Nothin like this Y/N.”

In the light of the moon he gestured to your plain walls.

“Not for us.”

Your breath hitched as Remmick caressed your face, gentle as the purest soul he could never be. Once again his eyes ran over your neck and pulse, drinking in the sight.

You gave him the only word left to say.

“Please.”

Mere seconds later you felt the haunting sensation of Remmick’s teeth sinking into your exposed neck. The pain was visceral only overshadowed by the gentle hand in your hair, holding the back of your head. Please, you prayed as he drank from you, please let me rise from this place - let me be remade.

A gasp left your lips as Remmick took a hungry, primal bite you knew you’d feel the ghost of later. Whenever later came, whatever it looked like. I forsake this life! You repeated in your head, over and over as Remmick continued taking you away. He could hear every word.

There would be no privacy after this, no loneliness. A warm feeling spread through your blood, it surged at great speed filling you from head to toe. Your senses magnified, your heart quickened, your cells shook and every fibre of your being felt transformed. Then, and only then, did Remmick stop.

“From now on we’ll never be parted.”

He wiped the mess of blood that coated his lips before kissing you - deeply - like he’d wanted to since seeing you for the first time. When Remmick finally pulled away you weren’t breathless like you once would have been.

Life had rendered you bitter, perhaps death would be sweet.

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Masterlist

Resources

Taglist: @bluevenus19 @ajanehopper @jjubilee-fluff @troyottonick @solsoris @megangovier @avidreader73 @boo3ies

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hihi i hope you’re doing well!! tis me.. mommy issues!art anon.. >:3

mommy issues!art who is just so needy. he can’t help but melt into your touch after a long day, he’s completely pliable in your hands. he just wants mommy to hold him!! it’s not his fault that being cuddled by you leads to him eagerly shoving his tongue down your throat!! he just missed you!!

then he’s breaking away to beg, “please- mommy, can i?” while he paws at the neckline of your top. his desperate, wet eyes are too much, how could you ever say no? not that you’d ever pass up a nursing handjob, anyway…

(p.s. may i claim 🍼 anon… seemed fitting lol)

mommy issues!art anon hii:3 love to see you in my inbox again; this is so yummy.. also 🍼 is yours!

cw (18+) : sub!art, mommy kink, messy nursing hj, desperation/neediness

art immediately pushes your top up and over your breasts as soon as you give him permission, his blue eyes glazing over with unfiltered arousal. his cheeks are flushed the prettiest pink you’ve ever seen, and then you notice that his bottom lip is wobbling like he’s about to cry. it wouldn’t be the first time that tears were shed down his cheeks when faced with your nurturing dominance. you feel both sets of his fingers squeeze at your chest—thumbs rubbing circles over your pebbling nipples, whimpering when you stroke your fingers through his blonde curls. he’s stuck in a trance of some kind, it seems.

“go on, i said you could.”

those simple words of encouragement are all that he needs to be snapped out of his stupor and surge forward to take one of your tits into his warm, open mouth. he slathers your bud in his sweet spit, moaning with pinched-up brows and suckling like he’s expecting something to come out. it’s hard not to stick a hand down into your panties at the feeling of him working his tongue so greedily over your flesh.. and his whimpers aren’t helping. your touch tightens in his strands and pulls a high-pitched keen from his chest. he unlatches and looks up to you, pouting, afraid you’re about to cut him off.

“are you going to be a good boy for me, art?”

he shudders, his legs tensing.

“yes, mommy. whatever you want..”

“you want help?” your fingers tease the waistband of his sweats before dipping down into them and his boxer briefs, playing with the base of his swollen length. his eyes roll back the instant you make contact with him there, and you laugh breathily in response. he’s always this easy with you. you drag your nail against the pulsing vein that you feel bulging from the underside.

“ye—yeah, help—help me, please,” he mewls, lifting his hips to press further into your palm, “be good, ‘m gonna be so good, i need it..”

your hand moves and wraps around his cock without further pleading from the blonde curled against you. he’s already filthily covered in his own juices, so it’s easy to stroke him without feeling like you’re hurting him. he gives confirmation of that in the form of a instantaneous, shattered cry and an arching back. he clutches your tit harder before burying his face back into the other one, trying to muffle his pathetic sounds as you jerk him off in time with the hollowing of his cheeks around your bud. he laps at you for another minute before his pelvis starts to stutter and roll up into your fist. it’s normal for him to try to take what he needs, even if you’re already giving it to him exactly the way he likes it. you smirk.

“you wanna do it yourself?”

he sobs around your flesh, shaking his head and letting his eyes flutter open to look up to you. “nmph—mmm-mn—“

“okay, then calm down and let me finish you off. have some faith in me,” you tease.

art’s mouth parts into a slackened ‘O’ around your sensitive skin when you twist your wrist and begin working his aching tip, the wet sounds emanating from your motions only heightening his pleasure. his toes start to curl, his legs clamp shut, his breathing picks up rapidly. he nearly squeals at the sensation of your thumb playing with his glossy slit. he hates (loves) it when you do that.

“mmm-my—mmm-my—! mmmngh!”

it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what lewd nickname he’s murmuring around the mouthful of your plush breast. you bite your lower lip, letting out a stream of breathy moans to accompany his sounds, and stroke him faster. his eyes fly open wide before squeezing shut so tight that wrinkles appear at the outer corners. reaching your free hand up, you move to lightly trace his cheek, his brow, the bridge of his nose. such a pretty little toy.

“are you close?”

he nods.

“are you gonna come?”

he suckles harder, wails louder against you.

“you can come for me, baby. give me a big load.. show me how much you’ve been wanting this..”

three more flicks of your closed hand around his throbbing appendage and he’s gone—his lips detaching from you with a sharp, trembling gasp, a string of spit connecting to your body; his head falls into your lap as he bucks into your touch and feels several viscous streams of fluid spray from him and into his clothing, as well as between your moving fingers. it sticks between your digits like glue. he wails like he’s being taken apart by you, praying that you’ll put him back together afterwards, and you closely watch his abdomen flex with each orgasmic contraction—every single one followed by a puny whine of ecstasy.

you don’t stop pumping him until he begins to wheeze and jolt. it’d be unfair to expect him to vocalize his overstimulation, given how wrecked he is. your ministrations slow and then rest in a pause at the base. he catches his breath as best he can and winces when you accidentally force an aftershock from his spent dick. tugging your touch from his soiled bottoms, you look down to your hand that has become creamy with his frothed-up release.

“such a mess, artie,” you croon, showing it to him as he pants and gazes up to you with an unfocused stare, “did that feel good?”

a single nod is all that he can manage. his lips part a few moments later, trying to muster up the energy to tell you exactly what he wants to say.

thank you. i love you. i needed that. i needed you. please hold me.

but none of it comes.

he leans in and kisses your breast, giving one more languid lick over your nipple in hopes that it’ll get his point of gratitude across. once he’s got his bearings back, he’ll give you everything he has.

now, though, he just needs a moment in your arms.

“mommy,” he whispers. he swallows thickly after and tries to blink away the wetness stinging his vision. it'd be embarrassing if he was with anyone but you.

you caress his jaw, give him a soft smile.

that’s all you really need to hear.

tags : @voidsuites @asheepinfrance @fawnnpaws @artstennisracket @andyrambles @imperishablereverie @ghostgirl-22 @lexiiscorect @cha11engers @patricksbf @newrochellechallenger2019 @pittsick @blastzachilles @oncefaist @tacobacoyeet

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Posting part 2 (the final part) of His Promised Sin later today. I’m sorry for the stupidly long wait, so much has happened recently with my health and family and money issues I just haven’t felt up to writing. This however was fun. I adore writing dark fics and anything vampire related. I have a few other Sinners ideas, some are for Stack so look out for those.

Anyway if you’re reading this have a lovely day despite the horrors

Update: it’s posted HERE

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omg congratulations!!! I love your stories so much. They have been a blessing to this fandom. 💕💕

If I could request a headcanon :) 8) Their most embarrassing moment, for Art.

Thank you so very much!!! i am so grateful that you have taken the time to read my stories 💙💙

8) most embarrassing moment art Donaldson. Oh so very sorry im about to sexualize it.

probably that one time in college when he had a huge crush on his professor this hot older milf who was always so put together killing it in high heels and pencil skirts. it got so bad he kinda developed a fetish fantasizing about her every night. dreamt of squeezing her tits, sucking on them. her curling her fingers into his hair and calling him a “good boy”. one night mid session he whined out “mommy mommy” on accident and came so hard he nearly blacked out. so he started saying it every night during his fantasies, “please mommy, thank you mommy”.

fast forward to him drifting off a little during morning lecture after a long intense night at practice. he’s dreaming all about his professor, her tight skirts and his hand sliding into her fitted blouse, easing her tit out so he can suck on it. when he’s suddenly jarred awake. she’s standing right in front of him. “mr donaldson are you still with us?”

“yes, yes, mommy,” he blurts before he can stop himself . “i mean…”

the whole class erupts with laughter and he feels his cheeks heat up. his professor is suddenly flustered. one of his classmates from the team taps his arm giggling “you were moaning for mommy over and over in your sleep.”

whoops.

he fakes a stomach ache and leaves early. he almost drops the class with only a month left to go. oh poor baby he doesn’t know how he’ll ever live it down.

forgot… adding this here cause this is technically story<3

taglist: @artstennisracket

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Warnings : SMUT! This is almost sappy…idk Remmick yearns for connection and he’s so so angry he can’t have you without hurting you … erm anyways he’s also a PERV!!!

“I should hate you.”

You rasped it out, like finding the strength or will to say anything else might stop what’s happening - and you mean what you say. You shouldn’t be as sticky and wet between your legs as you are right now, shouldn’t feel like keeping your eyes open is impossible - but it’s too good, he’s so deep you feel him twitch against your cervix.

Your insides are being rubbed and prodded over and over by his length, the pleasure is white hot and spreads all over, inside and out. A tightness inside of you, a pressure that feels overwhelming.

“Y-you should,” he pants, wet mouth glued to the side of your neck - his canines graze your skin and he teases himself with the idea of wrapping his lips around your shoulder and pressing his teeth into you - a shiver wracks your body. You sense it in him, get goosebumps everywhere.

You cling onto his tattered tank top with all your strength, ensnaring your thighs around his strong waist and holding him inside like a vice. He feels so heavy, so deep inside of you - a slow pace with the force of something, not someone.

“But you take it- oh god, y’take it so gooooood.” He mewls, eyebrows pinched together. Red irises glare at you - stare like you’re the sun he hasn’t had the pleasure of basking in for centuries. You see the void, the depths of despair- it feels like a beckoning.

He’s being loud and lewd, peering down between your bodies and the thatch of his dark hair- watching his slick soaked length go in and out and in and out, the sounds are squelchy and obtrusive and fuck he’s somewhere in your stomach, feels like.

“Why are y-you fucking me li-like this?” You plea, and his mouth is on yours before you can take another inhale. Wet, hungry.

He’s moaning against you like he’s never felt the touch of anything good, anything as whole and divine as you - while he spears you - curling his hips upwards while clawed fingers hold your face preciously. Softly.

“Told you - mm, I love you, didn’t I?” He punctuates between thrusts, juices dripping down to your ass and forming a wet spot beneath your bodies. Your old bed is weary, your sheets tired.

You whimper like a hurt, small thing. It makes him feel crazy - makes his instincts become a real palpable thing - if you weren’t the closest thing to salvation something like him could have, well - he doesn’t like to think about that. Would be messy.

So he softens his lip bruising kisses, makes sure to use his tongue and lick all the knicks from his teeth on the spongy surface of the inside of your bottom lip.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re throbbing around me, y’know that? Yeah that’s it - awe baby take it just like that.”

His hips lose a bit of control- his stomach is tensing at the bottom, thighs tight and balls sore - aching to release, aching to soothe this insatiable need to rock you back and forth on his manhood till he’s raw.

You’re a mess down there, swollen and puffy and your arousal mixed with pre cum has coated his cock in this white translucent slick - it’s gorgeous, he wants to suckle your clit and clean you up.

“Love you, R-Remmy.” You hiccup, and if he had a heart that could beat - it’d be hammering out of his chest. He’d do anything, anything, to give you his babies, build a nice big garden out front - dine between your legs for dessert after the house is asleep.

It’s pathetic. That’s what does it for him. It washes over him like a spell - a lucid dream that shatters his ability to hide. He rips the sheets between his fists - and his mouth is buried into the mattress between the empty space of your neck and shoulder.

He’s ripping the material with his teeth, thrashing while his hips form an unsteady, frantic rhythm - you feel it inside of you, his release. It’s warm because he fed earlier - you don’t think of it too hard - and you can’t when your body is quivering and trembling underneath him.

“Cumming, cumming - oh god, Remmick, Remmick.”

You’re fucking yourself on him while the otherworldly feeling creeps in - you’re not sure how he does it, or why it happens - but his release almost always spurrs your own and it’s an unbearable sort of pleasure.

You want to cry, but your voice doesn’t work. He’s still pumping cum into you, you’re coated between your legs with its abundance - and your fingers tangle within his sweat soaked strands of hair.

You tug him up, like you need him to breathe. You kiss him so roughly, he almost finds it cute. But he’s got you pinned to your mattress and he’s sheathed inside of your cunt and he’s a fucking vampire. Ain’t that a bitch?

“Feels good honey? Yeah I know I know, shhh.”

He pecks your mouth, moving your hair out of your face, admiring his work on you. You’re kiss bitten, fucked out, barely here but you’re so completely locked into him - a spirit to the void. A match into the darkness. You are so alive beneath him, a perfect, delirious daydream.

He gives you a second. A human second. Knows you need it the most after he makes love to you, deflowers you over and again. He can’t feel shame. Maybe if he could, he’d feel something close to it - but how can he?

You’re staring up at him, thumb squishing into the soft flesh of his mouth, prodding the fangs behind the pink skin. You trace the lines etched into his skin, wonder what he looked like as a human man. Doesn’t matter now. He’s yours.

You press your nose to his, and he pulls out - you wince and you blink once - he’s in between your legs, licking you clean, sucking and resisting the urge to draw blood - you try to squirm away but he doesn’t let you - it’s almost endearing if you weren’t so overstimulated.

He’s doing it so lovingly, just cleaning up his mess, licking his plate clean. Your clit, your folds, everything he can reach. Kisses your bundle real sweet when he’s done. He’s satisfied, stands up and he’s still not yet fully soft as he pulls his trousers back on.

“Stay.” You say it like you’re surprised it came out of your own mouth. But it was bound to be said at some point. Every time you’re with him like this - the pull gets worse and worse. It doesn’t feel natural, but it doesn’t feel unnatural either.

You’ve got it bad.

He pauses, stares at you in a way that should scare you to death - should make you run. It’s creature - like, as if he’s trying to figure out if you’re a threat or not. You’re used to it now, know it’s just part of his nature now.

“You mean that?”

He shouldn’t sound so breathless. He hasn’t had a need to breathe in centuries. He steps closer, slowly. And you know that it’s on purpose, makes you smile a little.

You pat the bed, ruffling the covers. His ears twitch, nostrils flare and the scent of you is so perfumed in the air he almost moans.

“I always did like taking strays in.”

He smiles, even chuckles, irises a crimson and obsidian melt of admiration.

“Keep feedin me, and I might stick around too long.”

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dom!art still taking the strap like a p★rnstar.

cw (18+) : teasing dom!art, eager-to-please sub!reader, brief fingering, choking, pegging, spitting in mouth, handjob, general filth

art pushes his face into the mattress as your soft, willing tongue laps slickly over his hole from behind, his left hand reaching back to grab your shoulder and squeeze it with everything he’s got. he rocks his hips against your mouth and keens when he feels you whimper into his flesh.

“f-fuuuck,” he shudders, “you’re so greedy for me, aren’t you? do i taste good?”

all you can do is nod, too immersed in his taste and his smell and his dirty language. he laughs lowly in response and then hisses like he’s in pain—even if he’s feeling quite the opposite—when you begin to ease two fingers into his tight entrance without permission. you usually have to ask in order to touch any part of him, as he likes the sense of control and you like knowing that your movements are dependent on his say-so, but it just feels like the right moment to open him up. (he’d been prepped perfectly already with just your licking, his cock hard and hanging heavily between his thighs.) he bites at the sheets, the feeling of you beginning to curl the pads of your phalanges down into his prostate punching a broken whine from his lungs. warm spit clings to his bottom lip and chin as he releases the fabric from his teeth to sit up a bit and look over his shoulder. he looks annoyed.

aroused beyond belief, but annoyed.

“that’s enough—no more, or i wont last long enough to take you. come lie down,” he pats the pillows near the top of the bed, “and tighten the harness, it’s slipping.”

you scramble to your feet, easing your touch from his core, and wipe your face with the back of your other hand before you pull at the polyester straps of the strap-on enough to keep it secure. art sprawls himself out on the bedding for just a moment; he lets you stare at his toned, flushed, willing body while you move to lay your frame down. he crawls on top and straddles you afterwards. maneuvers to smush his shaft against the faux rubbery one underneath him. he moans when he frots with it—grinding his leaking tip against yours with even, teasing thrusts. he does it until he starts to shake, his limbs locking up with an impending climax, only to pull back and begin to sit over the dildo without needing your despairing whine as a prompt. your brow pinches reflexively as you watch him devour the inches, one after the other.. he’s a pro by now, but it never ceases to amaze you. he bucks against the fullness. you wonder if it’ll bulge his tummy this time like his dick bulges yours when he’s inside. the way he starts to bounce on it interrupts your flow of thought. he’s slow at first, then ravenous with it. you’re sure that every motion is hitting that special spot in his walls.

“you look like a mess.. and i’m the one getting fucked,” he snickers between whorish groans and whimpers, his hands finding your throat and gently squeezing the sides under his palms, “you like when i ride you? yeah? just like this? fuck, shit—open your mouth—“

you do as you’re told.

is there any other way to respond to him when he gets like this?

you do what he wants you to do, or you don’t get the satisfaction of pounding him until he’s gone mushy in the head. it’s a transactional process that you’re more than willing to work through.

as soon as your jaw is slacked, your eyes fluttering, he leans in and purses his pout. a glob of his saliva is slowly spat over your tongue like sugary honey. you can hardly take it. your hands fist the sheets and you writhe beneath his weight at the viscous fluid dulling your senses. the flavor is so him, slightly minty from the gum he always chews. he taps the underside of your chin when he’s finished letting it drip. he licks his bottom lip to be rid of the remnants.

“swallow.”

and you do—you want nothing more. he sits upright again and splits himself open harder on the toy bound to your pelvis. each time he slides down it, you get to watch as his abdomen curls and his blonde locks are strewn about his forehead. he tightens his hold on your neck just enough to remind you who’s really in charge, and his length jumps in response to the resulting look that crosses your face. you mewl when it dribbles glassy precome like a river; it glosses over the throbbing vein running down the underside of it. a sound that’s a mix between a shout and a sob then escapes his chest.

“god, i’m close,” his hips stutter in their efforts, his blue eyes shielded by low lids, “c’mere—“

he takes one of his hands from your body and reaches it down to take one of yours that’s still grasping at the sheets. he guides your limp fist to wrap around the base of his cock, keening as he starts to hump it.

“touch me—jerk me off.. fuck.. that’s it—that’s good—don’t stop.. beg me to come for you..”

the heat in your gut swells and contracts in time with his noises and his movements, your hand pumping him quickly to aid his consumption of the pleasure he’s being abundantly given. your thumb swipes over his tip, you can tell it aches. he jolts forward at his sensitivity, dazedly moving both of his hands to your chest for leverage, and you dig your heels into the mattress to help you rut up forcefully into his ass. he almost screams.

you beg. you slur out a multitude of pathetic, indulgent sentences that spur on the wave of ecstasy about to crash into his figure. ‘please, come on my strap’ and ‘i’m begging you to let it all go for me, let me watch you lose it’.

it does the trick. in fact, it does it perfectly. everything snaps.

he topples forward with a sudden wail; brows furrowing and thighs quaking and back arching in an unbelievably filthy manner. his legs begin to close as the pleasure floods in and squirts from his erection in several bursts—the ropes coat your fingers and dribble over his stomach like fresh milk. still riding the toy, he digs his calloused touch into the sides of your torso, his fingers moving there in the midst of his orgasm. he hangs his head as he pants.

“fuck, i’m coming,” he gasps, growling afterward as if the sensations are causing his hair to stand on end, “keep stroking me, i’m still—yeah—god, you’re my favorite way to get off..”

you can tell that he means it, that the intoxicating effect of his release isn’t making him drunk enough to be insincere. you pump him until he seizes up and starts to hiccup. when the overstimulation becomes too much, he drops himself on top of you in a boneless heap; a sweaty, spent, satisfied mess of a man. the strap-on is still buried in his heat, and his cock is softening rapidly, but he shows no sign of moving anytime soon.

he reaches up quietly and cups your cheek, brushing his nose against it. you can feel him swallow down a jumble of words before his final ones sound out lowly and tenderly.

the way you like them, and the way he knows you need them.

“good job.. you did so well for me, thank you. give me a few, and then i’ll let you have what you really want.”

there's no need to place any bets on his integrity; you know he’ll keep his promise.

he always does.

tags : @voidsuites @asheepinfrance @fawnnpaws @artstennisracket @andyrambles @imperishablereverie @ghostgirl-22 @lexiiscorect @cha11engers @patricksbf @newrochellechallenger2019 @pittsick @blastzachilles @oncefaist

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Finals are almost over, so I'm redoing the list yayy. I will update more as I come across them but if anyone has any recommendations comment pls!!! ALSO THANK YOU TO THE AMAZING WRITERS THAT ARE PUTTING OUT THESE WORK I LOVE Y'ALL DOWN 🫂🫶🏽

Work by @writerofautumnnights A Dance with the Devil

Works by @jazziejax ModernAU Jumpin' (SmokexBlack!OC,StackxBlack!OC) From the Same Cloth(SmokexBlack!OC,StackxBlack!OC)

Work by @hotgrlcece Fever (soon to be out,StackxReader)

Work by @strangerexee Sir,You're Too Fine (Bo ChowxReader)

Works by @livingmybestfakelife Castle Made of Sand (StackxReader, PlatonicSmokexReader) Love Rollercoaster (pt1)(StackxReader) Love Rollercoaster (pt2)(StackxReader) Waiting to Exhale(SmokexReader)

Works by @rdmasevi The One Who Asked (RemmickxReader) The Long Night (RemmickxReader) Blood&Blues (StackxReader) Bloodlines&Blues (Stack and SmokexReader)

Works by @aviawrites Love Bites (StackxOC) Wait For Me (SmokexOC) Anastasia Antoinette (StackxOC, SmokexOC)

Works by @fckwritersblock I Never Told You (Pt1,StackxBlack!Reader) What I Should've Said (PT2) Works by @spikedfearn Mercy Made Flesh Upon the Scarlet Alter Work by @uzumaki-rebellion Choose One (Smoke,Stack&OC. first three chapters posted)

Drabbles by @crystalgemcrusaders Til Death Do Us Part(Stack) They Are All Sinners(18+)(Stack) Headcanon-devils temptation:NSFW(Smoke) Work by @melancholymetropolis "Stop pretending that you hate me" (StackxReader) Work by @coldeforprez Is It The Way;2003 teaser (StackxBlack!OC)

Works by @szatears Just a lil' something (SmokexReader,Plantonic StackxReaer) ModernAuSmoke (personal fav 🤭) Three's Trouble (StackxBlack!Reader, StackxMary, MaryxBlack!Reader) Works by @spookysanta The Stack Effect 1/3 The Stack Effect 2/3

Work by @freshbakedbreadstick Advantages and Disadvantages (Smoke&StackxPOC!Reader) Work by @ughdontbeboring Let Me In (SmokexWOC!ReaderxStack)

Work by @starcrossedxwriter Still Standing pt1 (SmokexBlack!Reader) SmokexReader sneak peak

if any author wants to be removed, let me know and I'll glad do so 😁

also here are the A03 works :) A' Lil Taste by Katetypes (Sammie rec) Blood Ties by Xoslimm26 (Remmick fic) níl sé ina lá, níl a ghrá by Subedarling (Remmick/reader) Where's There's Smoke, There's Fire by CreativeBuzz (Smoke/Annie, my parents fr) Dangerous by Cohrareads (Stack/Mary)

[pugh-bug]

more art x milf reader! we all say in unison 🙇‍♀️

cw (18+) : needy!art donaldson, milf!reader, jealousy, masturbation, mention of alcohol/intoxication, pillow humping, mommy kink

it was usually hard to tell if she was flirting with him or just being her usual, saccharine-sweet self. whenever he and her would converse, a generally rare and heaven-sent occasion, he’d pay careful attention to her appearance and the little details she seemed to keep consistent each time; deep mauve lipstick perfectly slicked to her pout, freshly manicured nails, low rise jeans that hugged her curves in a way that made his stomach fizzle and flood with heat.

right after the most recent match on campus, he’d been granted another opportunity to have a full, lengthy discussion with her. he was absolutely dripping with salty sweat and panting like a dog, but she didn’t seem to mind too much at the time—batting her lashes and patting the seat next to her to invite him closer. he had wiped at his damp brow when they began to talk, pulling at his collar afterwards (burning up from the inside out), and then made sure that he was smiling at all of the right times as he listened to her speak. he tried his hardest to focus on the words leaving her mouth: tennis player.. thrilling match point.. congratulations.. you’re a star. the nervous laugh that clogged his throat when he registered her praising sentiment only caused his cheeks to flare a deeper shade of pink, and his fingers reflexively squeezed the metal edge of the bleachers underneath him. she’d smiled in return and only doubled-down on her compliments then. he just had to sit there and take it, fidgeting and folding his legs into different positions to try to hide the swell of his desire. it was a mess of an interaction, and art was well-aware how embarrassing it was for him to be acting like a teenage boy in front of such a sophisticated, charming, yet down-to-earth older woman, but he sincerely could not help himself. it was impossible to stay sane in her presence.

the universe gifted him a couple more similar interactions with her in the following month, and this only worked to solidify his (wildly inappropriate) obsession. he’d go to class and think about her bubbly laughter, he’d eat in the dining hall and forget to chew when thoughts of her mouth infected his mind, and he’d even started to lose himself in her image when he was playing tennis—which, for him, was incredibly damning. tennis was usually a healthy distraction, a coping mechanism, as it rarely allowed him to get lost in irrelevant ideas. his head was almost always in the game. so, when he was in the middle of a practice singles match with another stanford player one evening and missed a shot because a flash of her thighs rendered him boneless and swallowing a whimper, he knew he had a real problem.

masturbation didn’t even help.

not in the slightest.

he jerked off in the showers regularly, fisting his aching, angry cock with urgency as he pressed his forehead into the tile wall and moaned her name into the running water. he’d buck his hips to gain friction against his palm when he orgasmed, clapping his free hand over his mouth to stifle his repetitive mewling, and then would watch as his wasted load swirled down the drain.

it was all very routine. it usually was a temporary solution to the desperate and persistent yearning he felt during every agonizing minute of every torturous day. more broadly, it was just hard to ignore the reality that he’d never been so horny in his entire life—and it was all because of her, though he could never truly blame her beauty. his perverse nature was the real culprit.

the only time that he’d successfully been able to get off and get over her for longer than an hour happened when he came back to his dorm room after a party thrown by a handful of the other members of the tennis team. he’d gotten drunk on beer and cheap shots, egregiously so, but still found himself stumbling into his room with half of an erection bulging in the front of his pants. as he kicked off his shoes and peeled off his bottoms, he recalled what one of his teammates had said about her in the middle of the function—

“she’s so fucking hot, isn’t she? i mean, shit, i’d do anything to fuck her.”

art had never considered himself a violently jealous person, but in that very moment at the party something ugly had reared its head and he’d wanted nothing more than to put his fist to the guy’s teeth until his own knuckles cracked and bled. the guy had never even talked to her before, whereas it could be argued that art and her were almost friends. if anyone deserved to squeeze her plush tits and slide their unworthy dick into her perfect pussy, it was him. he ended up having to walk away from that cesspool of locker-room talk in order to avoid starting something that would surely land him in hot water with the university.

he took off his shirt and dropped it down onto his floor to meet his other garments as he staggered deeper into his cramped living space, crawling up to lay on his twin xl. his hand was immediately in his boxers in the next moment, fondling his warm flesh as it swelled hungrily in his touch, and he groaned and shuddered as he felt his head spin wildly. art then turned to flip himself gracelessly over onto his stomach, limbs moving uncoordinatedly with each brief shift of his weight. his jaw slacked and he gasped pathetically into his sheets as he humped his curled set of digits. though, when he blinked his eyes open blearily, his wasted brain formed a filthy idea..

“ohhh, fuck me,” he whimpered, shoving a pillow from the top of his mattress between his legs, his pelvis arching back only to rut forward and smush his clothed shaft into the cushion, “i’m all yours.. please, use m’cock.. don’t take anyone else’s, i wan’ be the only one—!”

he slurred through every lewd word that left his mouth. his abdomen curled and tensed as he began to feverishly hump the softness under him, his cock throbbing with incoming drizzles of pleasure. he clawed at his bedding like he was some sort of drooling, snarling, chained-up monstrosity. felt like one too with all of the arousal paralyzing his frame. every cell in his being was on fire with the debilitating need to be nestled in her sopping cunt, hugged by her slick walls and pleasing her any way that he was able. he imagined sucking on her nipples until she pulled his hair.. her soft tongue on the seam of his sack.. her fingers at the back of his throat, fluttering and giving him something to worship as he pounded up into her. his thrusts quickened to sync with the rapid beating of his heart in his ribcage. he was so close that he almost felt sick with it all.

art's noises raised in pitch and volume with every second; everything was boiling over in record time.

“oh no—“ he drunkenly choked and moaned, teetering on the edge, “mommy, i’m gonna come inside you—i’m, i’m so—it feels s’good, i can’t hol’ it anymore—please don’t b’mad, i really like y—HAAH—“

he pushed himself up onto his palms and let out a strangled, wet cry as he suddenly felt the world close in on him. head tipped back, toes curled, muscles flexed. white flashes erupted behind his low lids, something hot gushing copiously from his tip and into his underwear.. over and over and over and over again. a final curse flew from his lips as his climax wrapped its arms around his body and flooded him with the last bits of boiling gratification—so much so that it was almost numbing. his hips moved jerkily through the lingering sensations; they snapped downward several times until the spilling of fluids ceased and was only replaced by the feeling of all-consuming oversensitivity. art quaked from his head down to his toes, squirming and hiccuping against the stimulation that only he could save himself from.

when he finally collapsed into a panting heap, the fantasy of her core wringing him dry starting to fade out, he'd sucked at his bottom lip and let out the tiniest of whines.

“mommy.. mommy, mommy, mommy..”

he whimpered it until he fell asleep.

tags : @voidsuites @asheepinfrance @fawnnpaws @artstennisracket @andyrambles @imperishablereverie @ghostgirl-22 @lexiiscorect @cha11engers @patricksbf @newrochellechallenger2019 @pittsick @blastzachilles @oncefaist

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obsessed with subby art but dilf art hits different sometimes

Thinking about being Dilf!Art's free use girlfriend🤤🤤

no bc this is sooo. yeah to me like him just coming home after getting his ass chewed out at practice n you're just so willing to let him do whatever agrhedffjkdsjf

warnings: 18+ smut (p in v), dom!art, f!receiving oral/fingering, free use mentions/mild degradation but not much dialogue

When Art is tense, there's only one thing that really calms him down: sex.

Any form of it, really—whether it's just heavy petting that ends with his boxers warm and damp, a blowjob, or him having you bent right over the kitchen counter in the middle of cooking dinner. At first, he used to whine and groan about it until you relented, but over time you've realised it's just not worth it. It's why you don't even bother wearing panties at home any more; he'll always find an excuse to get them off.

"Hi, baby," you coo as the door clicks shut behind him. You catch a glimpse of his tense shoulders through the open door, his bag dumped alongside a racket that looks like it's seen better days. Frayed strings, the head of the racket crumpled in on itself. You can practically hear the way it must have rang out against the court.

Rough day. Your thighs give an anticipatory clench.

He mutters a cursory greeting under his breath, shoes kicked off before he pads across the living room to join you. Not on the sofa, though—on his knees, palms resting on your own to part them.

In one breath he's kissing up one thigh, then the other, a little rougher each time. It feels like he's getting some frustration out, as if he can work the tension right out of his arms while he holds you open. To fill the hole where his sour mood used to be with just the taste of your sweet cunt.

Impatient fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts, shimmying them down your thighs until they fall to the floor. He has the grace to help your ankles out of them, at least.

Art’s breath fans out over you in soft, warm bursts before he's even made contact. "So fuckin' pretty, babe. Waiting around like this just for me." You'd laugh about the first words he's said to you since 6am this morning being about how beautiful your pussy is if your breathing hadn't quickened in excitement.

His tongue presses flat against you, lapping up whatever mess it finds. You’ve been wet since you saw that battered racket upon his entry. He makes a low groan of satisfaction when you sigh softly at the feeling of his warm tongue. By the time the tip of his tongue flicks over your clit, you know his mood is already shifting. He always starts so desperate, licking messy and deep like he's trying to prove a point (if there's one thing that can absolve the feeling of self-loathing after a bad practice, it's making you feel good), but his hands slowly ease on your thighs as he settles into it. His mouth gets a little softer, a little more determined.

The tip flicks over your clit, coaxing it to swell. Just like that, he's relaxing into it.

You reach down and start to scratch at his scalp, fingernails dragging across it. It's just long enough to grip in your fist, and you pull on it to earn an approving hum. His shoulders relax, tension seeping out of him—you can feel it in the way he grips your legs, the way he runs his tongue around your clit with relish.

"Taste so good," he tells you, words breathed into your heat. "You always taste so good."

When he pauses to take a breath, his fingers push between his own lips to coat with a layer of saliva. He runs the two of them over your swollen bud, just enough to make you inhale sharply. If you weren't already worked up, that would have done the trick. His eyes flick up to catch your own, pools of blue studying the way your jaw slackens and your brows peak when his fingers slide into you.

You clench instinctively, and he tuts in warning, fingers crooking cruelly in a way that has you whimpering out apologies. Your eyes are too heavy to catch the way the corner of his mouth quirks up at that reaction. Bingo, you're in for it now.

The first few slow slides of his digits in and out of your tight cunt seem to be perfunctory. After that, he's really going at it. Fingers scissoring and thrusting, curling up against that spot that has your eyes rolling back and moans of his name spilling past your pretty lips. One hand still nestled in his cropped blonde hair while the other grips at the cushion next to you for dear life as he drinks in the way you fall apart around his fingers.

He's clearly enjoying himself at this point, chipping in with the occasional low "right there?" or "someone's desperate today." He can play your body like a fiddle at this point—a curve of his fingers here, a brush of his thumb there. He's even memorised the pitch of your whines to know when you're achingly close, walls fluttering around him as your peak nears.

He pulls away from you, fingers sliding free with a whine of complaint from you, and your hands reach to tangle in his hair to pull him back before he's even had the chance to stand. His knees are burning, but he ignores the pinch of the rug underneath as he pushes himself up.

His hands catch in your hair to yank your head back, forcing you to look right up at him where he's looming over you.

"Need me that bad?"

Your words feel stuck in your throat and he tsks softly at the way your mouth only falls open soundlessly, the grip in your hair preventing you from moving.

"Tongue-tied, huh? All that talk last night just to get you like this." He grins down at you, a flash of white teeth caught between his lips, still shining with your essence. "You know we could just go through the list until you find your voice back."

His hand releases your hair to reach between you. When you can think clearly again, you can't tell if you're grateful, or if you miss the painful prickle of your roots. But you're definitely thankful when his fingers are back between your legs—a reward, of sorts. You let out a low sigh when he brushes against your clit and he groans in acknowledgement, like he's just reminded himself of how wet you are.

"Oh, I think I know where the list should begin."

The pads of his fingers run in a slow circle over your clit, as if the only thing he's interested in the world is how much he can make you squirm. It seems like now, with some of that initial tension drained, he has no qualms with making you suffer. Your fingers dig into the couch instead of reaching for him again, nails digging into the fabric. You can only watch up through your lashes; it’s a lovely sight, his head tilted downwards to look at your body, eyes dark and a look of concentration on his face.

He looks down at you the same way he looks at his opponents' during matches; analysing the way your knees twitch towards each other. Like you're just another opponent to get the upper hand against.

Another hum, like he’s thinking, and then—

Hands on your hips, he turns you around until you’re facing away from him and shoved up onto the couch. You brace yourself on your knees, but he doesn't wait for you to find your footing before one hand is pressing between your shoulder blades, forcing you down with a hand between your shoulder blades—back arched beautifully, cheek pressed into the fabric, cunt dripping with anticipation

Art’s other hand pushes at the waistband of his shorts, boxers dipping down with him to pool at his ankles to free his aching cock. The couch dips under the weight of you both when his knees hit the cushion.

"Fuck. Just like that. I need—" He inhales sharply, hard length pressed against the back of one of your thighs. "I need to be inside you.”

He takes himself in hand and leans over you, free hand on the back of the chair.

"You need this too, right?" He murmurs, low and rough in your ear. His eyes are a little glassy, still hazy with a day's worth of frustration. "Been thinking about you all day."

You moan your affirmation into the cushion.

“Be a good girl and use your words for me.”

“Y-yeah. Need it. Need you.”

Good enough for him. When you finally feel him sink into you—slick, hard, thick—your legs almost buckle beneath you. All you can do is curse out a series of profanities that would make a sailor blush when you feel that familiar stretch as he bottoms out, his hips pressing flush against your ass.

“Say it one more time for me,” he instructs, hand sliding down your clothed spine until it finds your hip again.

You’re barely coherent enough to register that, but you manage a, “I need you, Art.” Breathy and weak, no more than a mewl.

He withdraws then, tip still pressed into you, before sinking in again. A punishing rhythm right from the get go, enough to have your couch rocking dangerously beneath you every time he snaps into you. Skin on skin, your moans reaching new octaves to harmonise with his grunts of effort as his cock drives into you.

Relentless, precise, deliberate.

And you’re content enough to just let him use you like this. An outlet for all that stress.

“You get off on this, huh?” He rasps in your ear. “Just sitting around waiting until I’ve had a bad day?”

You moan something that vaguely resembles a slurred “yes” into the cushion, senses clouding entirely by the brutal onslaught of pleasure when the hand on your hip slides down to rub at your clit.

“There’s my girl. Always so eager to be of use.”

The praise is condescending but it makes you clench around him nonetheless. You love when he gets like this—just a little bit mean, using the way your bodies collide together to relieve his tension.

Everything he moans into your ear blurs together after a while.

“So fucking tight. How’s a man supposed to be angry when he comes home to this?”

“Fuck, you were made for this. Perfect little slut for me.”

“Just you lay there and take it. That’s right. Atta girl.”

You think you reply, but all he can make out is senseless babble into the pillow your face is half-pressed into. He still has a hand between your shoulder blades to hold you in place while his fingers, coated in your slick, continue to circle mercilessly at your aching clit.

He can tell by the way your walls flutter around him that you're close, knuckles curled into a death-white grip on the back of the sofa. He doesn't have it in him to make you beg—not when his own orgasm is so close. His place slows down a little. Slow, deep, tip nudging that spot inside you that has your vision whiting out. The deliberate drag is enough to push you over the edge with a cry of his name.

Art groans in satisfaction. "Fuck. That's what I wanted. That's it."

He fucks you through the intense wave of pleasure, fingers finally stilling to grip your hips again. Another few sloppy thrusts and it's impossibly not to cum with how your cunt is gripping him just right.

His moan is guttural right by your ear. Inhumane, even, as he rocks into you to prolong his pleasure, spilling into you until your thighs are sticky. The pair of you stay there for a while. You still arched forward, panting into the pillow. Art massaging your hips, murmuring words you can't quite make out into the back of your shoulder. It's almost comedic the way his own shoulders have relaxed since he first sunk into you.

"Can you move? My knees are killing me," you manage eventually, tilting your head to catch a glimpse of him pressing a kiss to your shoulder over your shirt.

"Yeah, sorry."

It's the same way he says 'sorry' to the chair umpire when he smashes his racket against the ground—a quick apology, a flash of an almost-there smile. You know there's no remorse behind it at all. Not when he gets to see you so thoroughly wrecked and he's too blissed out to remember why he'd came home in such a mood in the first place.

He pulls out of you (and takes a moment to admire the way you look with your back arched and your cunt dripping with his release), and then helps ease you up.

"Wanna talk about it?" You ask, voice still wrecked as his arms circle around you and a kiss is planted to the top of your head.

"No need. I feel better."

You can feel him smiling against you as he gives your middle a light squeeze. All you can do is roll your eyes fondly and usher him off to fetch something for the mess between your thighs.

—

taglist: @gracelynnx @tacobacoyeet @blastzachilles @cha11engers @magicalmiserybore @newrochellechallenger2019 @coolgrl111 @artspats @peachyparkerr @stanart4clearskin @misswrldd @kaalxpsia @downtwngrl @pittsick @strfallz @dazedandconfusedlvr @turnerrst @m4lodr4ma @artdonaldsonmalewife @challengersism @artstennisracket @elsieblogs @imperishablereverie @lvve-talks @won-every-lottery @fairytrollslut @ellaynaonsaturn @xoxoeviee @voidsuites @cryinginanuncoolway @artaussi @shahabaqsa0310 @ashdaidiot — (join here)

[pugh-bug]

the way he’s looking at her my god

i need a second

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*makes barking noises

sorry y’all, i didn’t know they cropped me out 😔

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need him so bad

† MAKE IT STICK. REMMICK.FEM!READER

⊹ A/N; yk that one part in LCL where oliver’s giving it to connie from the back,,,, YUPYUP,,,,

⊹ WARNINGS; porn no plot.

⊹ MASTERLIST

=͟͟͞͞ ✧

“goddamn, baby, you gon’ take it like that- ain't ya?”

he muttered it low, more ragged breath than words, as his hand splayed over the damp small of your back, fingers digging in like he was anchoring himself to the earth while grinding that leaking, angry red cockhead right back into the mess of you. he’s got you pinned flat, belly to the bed, no room to run, no give, no grace. he grinds his hips down, balls slapping heavy against your cunt with each hungry thrust. your cheek stuck to the mattress, your mouth open, drool pooling in the corner as your body jolted forward with each rut- his hips smacking your ass like they hated you for being this tight, this full of him. he spit thick into his palm, smearing it down the base of his cock like his own slick wasn't already painting your thighs. “fuckin’ hell, girl- tight as a noose, aye..” slurred and broken over the wet echo of his thrusts. your ass bounced from the force, cheeks flushed and shimmering with sweat where he’d been biting earlier. the noises filled the room- his cock plunging deep with slick, gasping squelches, wet from your own mess and the spit he kept feeding your cunt like it was starving. you can feel the curve of his cock grazing up into your womb every time he bottoms out.

“shhiiit, listen t’that, sweetheart,” he moaned, hips rolling in faster, shallower. “so wet I’m drownin’ in ya. pussy’s talkin’ t’me, beggin’- ain’t no fuckin’ way she don’t want me puttin’ another load in her.”

his cock twitches inside you, hot and soaked, thick with a curve that keeps punching into that gummy spot over and over, relentlessly. you can hear the squelch each time he slides back, a fat drag of slick sucking him in with a wet pop. “you takin’ me so deep, darlin’- fuck, my tip’s kissin’ your womb, ain’t it? tell me. say it, say it’s right there, lemme hear how good it feels,” he gasped, voice cracking, tongue flicking out over your shoulder blade. that good, thick stretch of him, curved just so, driving straight into the part of you that made your toes curl, made your breath catch and your cunt clamp down like a vice. he howled. whole body buckled, arms trembling as he folded himself over you- sticky chest pressing down your back, wet curls hanging in your face as he gasped and panted like a man on his deathbed. “aww fffuck, m’spill’n again,” he slurred into your hair, hips still jerking forward with every pulse. “didn’t even mean to. didn’t even fuckin’ mean to, darlin'- pussy just took it outta me..” he shivered, full-body and pathetic, he never pulled out. stayed buried, thick and still twitching, drool slipping from his lip to your neck as he nuzzled into the soft skin beneath your ear. “gimme a minute,” he mumbled against your damp skin, breath hitching. “jus’-jus’ gotta feel you a lil’ longer. shit’s so good.” your cunt was still fluttering around him, greedy and open. he groaned, and with a grunt, pulled out just enough to see the creamy mess stretch between you both before he slammed back in, slower this time. deep. “aw, baby… baby, please,” he whined, voice gone nasal, cock sliding deeper again, already firming up. “one more. gimme one more- i promise i’ll be good- fuck, i’ll put my name in that pussy- carve it in with this fat fuckin’ cock- one more, sweetheart- jus’ one more, i swear- lemme make it stick, yeah?”

[pugh-bug]

thinking about this again

[pugh-bug]

thinking about art Donaldson again

i want intimate sex. i want to be completely pressed against him, grabbing and kissing him. him inside me or my strap inside him, i just need to fuck him passionately.

[pugh-bug]

some of u should have an OnlyClowns account

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so it’s my birthday tomorrow …

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need

yeah we need more milf!reader x art

milf!reader who flirts with art the next time they meet by telling him that he looks just like the father of her kid (before she and him got divorced, years and years ago). art helplessly giggles and sweats in response; he has to awkwardly dance around the way that the comment makes his stomach swoop and fizzle with heat. he wipes his damp palms on the back of his joggers, trying not to imagine himself on top of her—his spine pricking with swells of satisfaction as he sloppily thrusts into her perfect pussy, eventually filling her with his load.

he jerks off every night to that thought.

his sticky tip kissing her cervix, her manicured nails in his back, their moans colliding in the most obscene symphony of shared lust. he fucks his fist and bites into his opposite forearm as he gets lost in the idea of it all, drool spilling down his skin and seeping into his bedsheets. the way his length throbs when he fantasizes about her core squeezing him nearly shoves him into his orgasm without permission.

“i wanna,” he whines, “wanna fuck you, mommy.. wanna.. wanna make you feel so good, wan’ lick your pussy clean, wanna suck your clit, wanna make you feel special—“

he guides his shaft through his line of curled digits. if he really tries, he can imagine that the ridges in his touch are the ones nestled in her slick walls. the ones that would massage and milk his dumb cock dry. he chokes around a broken mewl, shaking from head to toe. it’s like he’s vibrating.

“mommy, mommy, mommy—“ his voice pitches up as he feels himself get closer, his balls drawing up and his tip oozing, “gonna give you another kid, mommy.. gonna make it stick—make it take—take my come, please, please.. fuck, all for you—only for you—‘m gonna.. fuck! all for you—!”

everything in his body erupts at once as he plunges into release. white blotches speckle his lidded vision, his pelvis writhing, thick salted ropes of his desperation clinging to his fingers and splurting out over the covered mattress. he squeezes his eyes shut and pretends that every drop is going right to her womb, breeding her, flooding her warmth with his love and adoration.

“still coming.. i’m still coming for you..” his dick starts to soften as he bucks himself repeatedly in and out of his grasp, up to the point of overstimulation, “please take it all.. i.. i can be better than he ever was.. i can treat you right, i promise.. please.. please.. have me..”