purpleplumpudding

[purpleplumpudding]

i just read this again 

─── SMOOTHIES ♡

♡ pairing: dilf!art x reader

♡ summary: art has… some trouble in the bedroom, and to help him out, you slip something in his morning smoothie.

♡ warnings / tags: smut, MDNI! piv, slipping viagra in his smoothie.

♡ author's note: i love the concept of ed art so <3 also yes i made a viagra divider just for this… 😭

ART DONALDSON MASTERLIST ♡ 5K MASTERLIST

sometimes, art had... trouble when it came to the bedroom. but you never blamed him, all too aware of how stressful the life of an athlete could be. during the times he couldn't perform, his head would end up between your thighs until your whole body was trembling.

but it had been four weeks since he'd last gotten hard, and all you wanted was to have him inside of you. sure, you had one of those homemade dildos in the shape of art's cock, and he'd use it on you, but you missed having him inside of you. not a silicone toy. art.

and you could tell that art was feeling self-conscious; he'd never gone that long without managing to get an erection. you'd heard him through the door while he was in the bathroom the other night, quietly talking to himself, beating himself up over it

no woman would want their man to feel bad about themselves, right?

that was what you told yourself as you poured the blue powder you'd just crushed up into the green smoothie you made art every morning. you could see the look of disappointment that fell on his face every time he failed to get hard, each 'i'm sorry…' he said practically making you cry… and it's not like you could ask him to take them, some men were fragile about these things.

you just wanted to help art regain his confidence. there was nothing wrong with that. right? it's not your fault that you didn't remember he had an important meeting that day…

he ended up having to cancel. because by the time you're on your fourth orgasm, art still has you pinned to the bed, still as hard as a rod, your poor pussy already starting to get sore while he continues to fuck into you.

"i... have... no idea... what's going... on..." art groans between each thrust, your bedroom filled with the lewd squelching noise of art's cock thrusting in and out of you, hitting that that sweet spot inside of you each time, "'m so sorry..." he mumbles, your hands twisted up in his blonde hair, tugging on the strands, your brain too fuzzy with pleasure, with stimulation to be able to even comfort him; to offer him those honey-sweet words that came so easy whenver he had difficulty getting hard.

all you could butter out was "so... good..." even as art kept fucking into you with no mercy, basically sliding into you from all the arousal leaking out of you.

but two, grueling, filled up hours later, art was finally soft, collapsing right next to you on the bed, covered in sweat and other fluids; and although you were sure your pussy was going to be sore for a week... you couldn't help but think of the next time you could slip something into his smoothie.

"you know…" art mumbled breathlessly, "my smoothie tasted a bit different this morning…"

you bit down on your lower lip, turning to look at him, both of you covered in sweat, "i might've added in a secret ingredient." you shrugged, making art laugh, bringing his hand to your cheek, tucking a sweaty strand of hair behind your ear.

"it didn't taste half bad."

taglist: @inbred-eater @h8aaz, @purpleplumpudding, @cinnamoncunt, @nonietosay, @ariieeesworld, @in-my-feels-probably, @harringtonsbowgirl, @lacelottie

click here to join the taglist! 💙

[purpleplumpudding]

ik i just run a tumblr smut page BUT!!!

FUCK ICE, free palestine, free congo, FUCK trump, FUCK musk, no one is illegal on stolen land, and if u disagree, FUCK YOU TOO!!!

i’ve said this before but if u support that fuckass orange in office, idc if ur a silent follower or ur like is ur only form of interacting with me, just know, i don’t want it!!! and u are a terrible person!!! 😛

[purpleplumpudding]

!!!

♦️My home was completely destroyed, our dreams were stolen, and stability was taken away here by death, hunger, and loss.💔♦️

⛔The war has returned blood is everywhere the sound of explosions never stops we lose our children every minute We deserve life help us survive death is closing in on my family we need your support more than ever⛔.The whole world is silent. There is no way out of this hell We are dying before your eyes Please don't leave us😭

$20 will make a huge difference in providing for their needs and medical expenses. I have a huge responsibility ahead of me: my children, my sick daughter, and my elderly parents.I beg you by all that is humane to support us No one gives us anything 🙏🏻💔

[purpleplumpudding]

i needed this after a long day 🥀

dilf!art x stripper!reader pt1 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

the first time he saw you he was hooked.

patrick had dragged him to a club after his retirement and divorce with tashi. he was hesitant on going, but he had been rotting in his house, alone. you were basically naked. thong not covering your ass at all, your top piece couldnt even contain your breasts either. your face had glittery make up that make you shine.

but what specially caught his eye was the man you were ontop of. he was ugly. ugly and he could tell he wasn't going to give you good money in exchange of your dance.

he turned to look at patrick but he was already getting danced on by another girl. he sighed, walking towards you. he was nervous, he didnt want to seem like a pervert, even tho he was going to basically give u money for a dance. he gently tapped your shoulder, gulping as your turned around to face him.

you had to tilt your head slightly to look up at him. you were surprised, very. he was tall, broad shoulders, neat button up, a gentle smile on his face. and the most important of all, he looked like he had alot of money. you smiled back, "yes? how can i help you with?" you said in the voice you use with all your costumers. except now your voice was sweeter. he was handsome and looked like he had money? yeah. he was your costumer. you

"i-i um-" he sighs, slightly embarrassed at his stuttering. "how much for a dance?" he mumbles, and you giggle. "that depends, clothes on or clothes off?"

his eyes widen slightly, he looks back at patrick and that's when he realizes the girl ontop of him is naked except for a thong. "oh um," he responds before taking out $400. "clothes on."

your eyes widen slightly, "it's usually only $200 i dont need-" "take it," he insists, softly grabbing your hand and placing the 4 hundred bills in it. you looked so beautiful in the lighting. too beautiful for a place like this.

"okay then, if you insist." you smile softly, grabbing his wrist and pulling him to one of the room where private sessions happen, "sit down." you press your hands on his chest, pushing down on the couch.

"so," you hummed as you straddled him. "what you work on?" you tilt your head to the side, grinding on him softly, hair falling to the side to reveal your neck.

his chest faltered slightly, you were so pretty, in such a horrible place. he could easily 'save you'. get you in his house, spoil you, treat you like you deserve. "i-im a retired tennis player." he mumbles, your eyes widen slightly as you realize. "no wayyy, you're Art Donaldson?" you giggle, smiling even more as you feel his hands shyly touch your thighs.

"yeah. in the flesh," he chuckles, gently caressing your thighs. "whatcha doing in a place like this, Mrs. Donaldson?" you tease. and god, he wishes he had the balls to ask you the same question. "me and my wife got divorced a few months ago, my friend thought going out would be good for me."

"divorced, huh?" you gently rubbed your chest against him before getting off him. "well, since you paid such a generous tip, i dont mind breaking a few rules for you." you winked, slipping your thong down to your knees.

he wanted to stop you, but he wanted it. plus, he could be one step closer to convince you go to his house. not for sex, but for you to experience how to be truly taken care of.

you pressed you ass against his groin, grinning as you arched your back and grinding against him at a measured pace. his hands gently grasped your hips, after a few seconds he stops you. "d-do you want to go back to my place?" he mumbles.

he can already imagine you, sleeping in his shirt, getting held in his arms as you sleep peacefully in his big bed. away from the men in here, away from all the perverts that want to put their hands on you. he doesn't know why he feels a big sense of protection over you, he just does.

"um what?" you laugh nervously, turning to look at him with raised eyebrows. ah, right. "ill give u another $500 dollars if you go to my place." he frowns very slightly. "1k. if you go to my house."

after a few seconds of thinking about it you nod. "yeah, yeah sure."

he lets out a sigh of relief as he stands up, even tho he knows you're mostly doing it for the money. his hand wraps around your waist and he pulls the thong back up. "ill see you outside, yeah?" you nod. gulping as his big strong hands give your thighs a little squeeze.

he walks out, and you're left standing alone with a tinge of nervousness and also a tinge of excitement. biting your bottom lip, you scatter out of the room to your locker to change.

[purpleplumpudding]

i’m literally in love with this series/character

intro

for being a good boy, you decided to give arty a little treat. you set the table—linen, crystal, and a single candle lit, flickering low; around it roast chicken, green beans, and a perfect glass of red wine, his favorite. you wear something sheer with no bra or panties on. art walks in, wearing his gym clothes, and freezes like a deer in headlights.

“shorts off,” you say, without looking up. he obeys instantly, dropping like he’s allergic to disobedience. you tilt your head just slightly, pointing to the chair at the head of the table. “sit.”

he moves fast, you straddle him before he’s fully settled, one slow grind of your hips as you guide his cock inside you—bare, of course. no prep or foreplay. he gasps, hands flying to your thighs like he might hold on—

“no,” you say, catching his wrists. “hands in your lap. or i stop.”

he obeys, trembling already. you can feel every twitch of him deep inside you, stuffed full, throbbing against your walls. 

you pick up a bite of steaming hot chicken, blow on it, and bring it to his mouth. “open, baby.”

he does—lips parting, tongue just barely peeking out. you feed him. as you stare at him, he chews slow and swallows hard (moaning as you softly tighten around him.)

you moan low in your throat—not from pleasure, but from power he’s giving you. he’s shaking under you, hips pressed against the chair, your cunt keeping his cock soaked and tight. he wants to thrust, wants to fuck up into you. but he knows he can’t (only on his birthday, new years, or any time you tell him to).

he gets a bite of green beans next. his lips brush your fingertips and he moans.

“you love this, don’t you?” you murmur, picking up your own fork. “sitting still like a good boy, stuffed full of my cunt, while i feed you like the dumb little pet you are.”

“yes, ma’am,” he breathes. “i love it. love being inside you—so warm—so tight—fuck, i can’t—”

“you can.” your voice cuts sharp. “and you will.”

he bites his lip. his cock twitches inside you. you feel it—so fucking desperate, pulsing with every heartbeat. you take a sip of wine. press the glass to his lips next. he drinks, soft whimpers caught in his throat, neck flushed and glossy with sweat.

the sight makes you clench and he choke from the pleasure. “mommie—please—please just let me move, just once, just a little, i’ll beg—i’ll do anything—”

you cut a piece of meat. feed it to him. “no.”

his eyes flutter, while he continues to pant with his cheeks red and balls tightening.

you lean in, lips brushing his ear, giving him little kisses. he makes a incoherent sound, somewhere between a sob and a moan. his hands tremble in his lap, making him cry all soft and wet, with pretty glassy eyes.

you press your hips down just a little. his hips jerk up and you instantly slap his thigh. “sit still, baby.”

he nods as you feed him again, but he’s so far gone by the time you’ve finished your meal, his cock was soaked, balls super heavy and lips shining with spit, wine, and your praise.

you set down your fork and look down at him. “you want to come?”

“God—yes—please—i’ve been so good—”

you rise off his pretty cock before slamming down again, and lifting up again that being his breaking point. he screams, high-pitched and all. his cum spurts painting his belly, chest, even his chin. he jerks, sobs, full-body trembles, hands still clasped in his lap. you bend down, scooping a little with your fingers, feeding it to him while trying it for yourself, moaning at how good he tastes. “mhm, this is good.”

special tags: @inbred-eater @faiszt @cherrygirlfriend @nemesyaaa

inspiration ➳ my lovey @rafesplaymate

[purpleplumpudding]

OHHH YEAHHHH

oh, you told him. just once. just one rule. don’t be late.

you weren’t asking much. he could fuck up a dish, forget the grocery list, make lily’s sandwich wrong—fine. but he is not allowed to be late. not for you. you told him in that sweet posionous voice of yours, over the sink while rinsing strawberries. "if you’re ever late for me, art, i’ll act like you don’t exist."

and today, he was late.

five minutes. maybe less. but five minutes past the time you told him to be home for lunch, five minutes of you sitting on the couch in silence, untouched wine glass in your hand, one stiletto crossed over the other while your pasta went cold. he walked in breathless, hair tousled, tie askew.

“baby, i’m so—” you stood up without looking at him. you walked past like he was air. you didn’t slam the glass down. you didn’t yell. you just didn’t speak to him.

⋱

he followed you from room to room like a kicked dog. you folded laundry with perfect creases while he lingered by the door, hands in his pockets, waiting for you talk to his sad self. you adjusted the pillows on the couch he wasn’t allowed to sit on. you smiled at lily like your heart was full and art wasn’t dying two feet away.

he tried again. during dinner. “that’s a nice dress, my love” he murmured. like you might throw him a scrap of affection. you didn’t even blink.

⋱

he doesn’t make it to bedtime. you’re brushing your hair in the mirror when you hear him behind you—shuffling feet and shallow breath. you don’t look at him directly. your wrist flicks the brush through untamed strands, lazy and indifferent. your perfume clings to the air, soft and sharp at once.

and then—thump. he drops to his knees. “please, baby.”

his voice is low, cracked. you still don’t look. you glide your brush slower, watching yourself instead.

“baby, please. i’m—i fucked up. i know. i know i did.” his voice shakes. “ but i can't take this, i hate it. i hate when you won’t even look at me.”

your silence is the loudest thing in the room.

you hear him crawl. the shuffle of pj pants over hardwood. his hands touch the hem of your robe like it might burn him.

“please punish me, yell, hit me, use me. anything, i’ll take anything. just look at me.”

you pause, letting the brush hang mid-stroke. the corner of your mouth lifts. not quite a smile….more of an encouraging him to go on.

“i said i was sorry, princess” he breathes, forehead pressed to your thigh. “please. don’t shut me out. i’ll do anything. i’ll lick the floor clean if that’s what you want. just—don’t ignore me.”

you finally look down. slowly, your eyes meet his and he flinches, like it hurts. God, he’s beautiful when he begs.

“anything?” you say, voice like silk drawn tight.

he nods too fast. “yes. yes, anything.”

you drag your fingers through his hair, curling them in until you’ve got a grip. he whimpers. “strip.”

he obeys, very clumsy and frantic. shirt buttons pop open, and his pj pants drop quickly. his cock’s already hard, leaking at the tip, humiliated and desperate.

“on your back.” he scrambles. you press your heel to his chest, pinning him to the floor. he gasps as your robe slides open just enough to show your bare thigh. he stares like a starving man.

“my time isn’t free, art.” your voice drips disdain. “you want my attention?” he nods, choked. “earn it.”

you step onto him, one heel digging in, just above his heart. his hips twitch. he’s moaning like a bitch in heat. “start by apologizing with your mouth.” you lift your foot and turn away, robe swaying.

you don’t look back as you settle into the armchair. and behind you, you hear him crawl again. lips pressed to your ankles. kisses soft, reverent, and ashamed.

he’s not allowed inside you tonight. but you let him cry between your thighs, whispering "i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m yours," until he’s soaked in his own sweat, face shining with your slick, begging to be used. and tomorrow? you’ll decide if he gets to cum. maybe, but only if he’s not late again.

special tags: @inbred-eater @faiszt @cherrygirlfriend @nemesyaaa

inspiration ➳ my lovey @rafesplaymate

[purpleplumpudding]

this is so tea, i love it.

meet art's new wife જ⁀➴

𖠁   housewife!reader who wears sheer satin robes, kitten heels, and a constant look of disapproval. art trails behind you like an obedient puppy, always trying to earn your praise. you never raise your voice—you don’t need to....all it takes is a disappointed sigh and he’s on his knees, begging for another chance to make you happy.

𖠁   housewife!reader who gives art the cold shoulder when he forgets something small, like taking the trash out or fluffing your pillows right. he sulks around the house, trailing you, murmuring “i’m sorry, baby” like a prayer. you finally give in and let him crawl between your legs with a smug little, “are you ready to be useful again?” and his eyes get all glassy.

𖠁   housewife!reader who makes art sit in on your weekly girl lunches just so he can carry your purse and refill your wine. the other wives giggle behind their glasses, whispering about how “whipped” he is—but he doesn’t care. you let him rest his head on your thigh under the table and stroke his hair while talking over him. you’re his whole world. he just likes being near.

𖠁   housewife!reader who dresses like a dream and argues like a demon. pink nails tapping on the counter, voice like poisoned honey. art doesn’t even flinch—he thrives in the submission. you call him an idiot, and he smiles. you roll your eyes at his affection, and he kisses your cheek anyway. he likes being your punching bag, especially when he knows you’ll reward him after.

𖠁   housewife!reader who makes art wait at the door like a sad little puppy when he comes home late. you don’t even yell. you just raise an eyebrow, fold your arms, and he immediately starts rambling—“i swear, baby, traffic was—please don’t be mad—i missed you—i love you—” and you just hum, already walking away. he follows like the lovesick fool he is.

𖠁   housewife!reader who loves him, but refuses to let him forget who’s in charge. and he doesn’t want to. he likes being reminded. he likes the leash. likes how you tug it gently with your tone, your look, your hands in his hair. tashi made him feel small in the wrong ways. you make him feel small in the right ones. safe. loved. and completely yours.

𖠁   housewife!reader who lets lily paint her nails and put curlers in her hair while art makes you both lunch. she babbles about school, and when she says, “i wanna be a wife just like you,” you glance at art—who’s smiling like he’s won the lottery—and say, “then pick someone who knows how to serve a woman, honey.”

special tags: @inbred-eater @faiszt @cherrygirlfriend @nemesyaaa

notes: thank you to my love @rafesplaymate for inspiring me to write this!

[purpleplumpudding]

i axtually love this to much !

bimbo!reader x art donaldson

summary: your friend goes missing...

cw .ᐟ missing person, murder

꒰ notes ꒱ more of joe goldberg!art

art had been so good recently. kept his emotions in check, didn't make an rash decisions. he was focusing on you, wasn't letting anyone get in the way of your relationship. until, of course...

"artie!" your bloodshot eyes appear unannounced at his dorm, thank god he'd already gotten rid of the guy in his bathroom. his heart clenches at the sight of you, sniffling through your tears as your hands reach out for him immediately. art's already working out a new hiding spot at the sight of your tears, and he doesn't even know what happened yet.

his strong arms carry you into his room, cradling you in his lap, stroking through your hair as he waits for you to be ready to speak. he'd never rush you, art does everything at your pace. "my– my– she–" you mumble, choking out the words through sobs. "what is it, princess?" art coos, gently tilting up your chin to force your eyes onto his.

"y'know my friend lexi?" oh, fuck. he definitely knows lexi. lexi is currently in the trunk of his car, he was planning on discarding her body today, before you arrived. shit, shit, shit.

art nods softly, pushing down all feelings of panic that are threatening to boil over. he has to be here for you right now, not thinking about himself. "yeah, baby, i know lexi, she lives in your building, right?" of course he knows that, it's where he killed her. "mhm, yeah," you mumble, wiping your nose on your sleeve as you sniffle through more sobs.

"she's– she's missing," you whisper, as though saying it any louder would make it more real than it already was. your lip trembles as your doe eyes look to art for comfort. "oh, princess," he murmurs, pressing his lips gently to your forehead. christ, was this girl miss popular or something? art only killed her in the early hours of the morning. fuck, he's in deep shit. she's still in his fucking car and the whole campus is looking for her.

no, it's fine. a missing persons report can't be filed before she's been gone for twenty-four hours. art has time. the police will think she's just some college student who got too drunk and didn't come home. she'll turn up, they'll say, don't worry. yeah, she'll turn up. in a fuckin' ditch somewhere as soon as art's ready for her to be found.

and hey, look, art didn't have a choice, okay? he's not just some psycho that kills people for the fun of it. it's not fun. it's fucking hard work, actually. he had to find out exactly where she'd be, when she'd be alone, make a copy of her dorm key, make sure her roommate was out. and that's all before he killed her. he had to get her body out, unseen, bleach her dorm, get her into the trunk of his car, and he's still got to get rid of her body, now with everyone looking for her! it’s fucking hard to be a serial killer. especially one that doesn't get caught.

it's her own fault. stupid girl shouldn't have been bad mouthing you like that. to do it so out in the open too? bitch had it coming. yapping around campus how she only kept you around 'cause other people liked you. nuh uh, no one talks about art's girl like that. she'd been getting too close to you anyway, it was only a matter of time before art took things into his own hands.

"oh, baby, i'm sure she's fine," he murmurs, rubbing up and down your back under your, his, sweater. art's trying so hard not to let his mind run away with him, especially with the feeling of your skin under his and how fuckin' pretty you look with tear stained cheeks and that pout on your lips. "she probably just stayed at some frat boys house, lexi can be like that." lexi can be a slut, is what art's trying to nicely say. always dragging you with her to stupid frat parties, that art hates you going to. he's the only boy who should be seeing you all dolled up.

brows knitted, bottom lip still poking out as you meet his eyes again. nodding in agreement, always taking art's words as gospel. he would never lie to you, right? "think you should stay here, until she's back though, baby." art murmurs softly, holding your cheeks in his hands, breath ghosting across your face. any excuse to have you staying with him, he'll take. "yeah?" art hums, a smile threatening his features. poking your side, making you giggle, when you don't respond to him.

"yeah, artie." you mumble, smiling up to him. you're too easy. he'll have you convinced lexi was a horrible person by the time he's even dumped the body.

© 222col. do not steal or repost my work without permission.

[purpleplumpudding]

i love this wth

mhhmm yesss thinking about Joe Goldberg!Art many thoughts yes

bimbo!reader x stalker!art donaldson

summary: art will stop at nothing to protect you

cw .ᐟ hints at nsfw, murder

꒰ notes ꒱ this kinda feels like a prologue........ (assumed this was a writing req rather than a bot but lmk if im wrong angel!!!)

you were too easy of a target. made things oh so simple for art. you were too damn trusting, it was half the reason why he was so besotted with you. you and your sweet smile, the wide eyes that just said ruin me. god, he'd never needed anyone so badly in his life.

he'd had tendencies before, slight obsessive behaviours back in boarding school. patrick noticed, back then, but he always assumed it was innocent. thought that art was just a little insecure, just relied on patrick a lot. never did he think it would grow into anything more, boy was he wrong.

it was like a flip switched, when art first saw you. every single thought in his brain switched off, he didn't care about anything other than you. the pink dresses you always wore, how your hair was always perfectly done, the shine of your lipgloss. art could fill books about you— he's nearly finished the first diary dedicated to you.

he found ways to stay close to you, to keep him going while he wasn't with you. he'd been doing it since before you were dating. stealing your panties, covering your pillows in his fluids, polaroids of you while you were sleeping. art treasured everything he stole from you, and everything he did to your space when you weren't there.

and see, art wasn't originally the violent type. but no one messes with his girl. he's grown to love the look of blood washing down his sink, the bruises that line his knuckles days after, the memories of their pleadings for mercy. that guy who called you dumb? gone. the girl who laughed at you? buried. the boy who tried to touch you? oh him, he's still bleeding out in art's bathroom. be a couple days before you can stay the night at his dorm.

he would do anything for you. in a heartbeat. and the amount of bodies he's had to discard are definitely starting to prove that point. he's just protecting you! art's only looking out for his girl, there's nothing wrong with that, surely! he can't let anyone say anything bad about you, do anything bad to you, he won't have it.

he's fuckin' smart too. that goofy grin and head of blonde curls cover up a multitude of sins (literally). art knows exactly how to play things, how to cover up his crimes. come on, he's literally majoring in criminology. he's got it all sussed out.

there's nothing he won't do for his little doll.

© 222col. do not steal or repost my work without permission.

[purpleplumpudding]

i’m just thinking wit my dih 🥀

[purpleplumpudding]

literally one of the best smau i’ve ever read 😛😛

𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡 𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚 - 𝙤𝙗𝙭 𝙨𝙢𝙖𝙪

𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗍 𝖻𝗈𝗒!𝗋𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 (𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇) - (𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗃𝗃𝗉𝗈𝗉𝖾)

𝗉𝗈𝗀𝗎𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌 - 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗆 - 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋

𝗄𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌 - 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗆 - 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋

𝗋𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝗑 𝗒/𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗈𝖽𝖻𝗈𝖺𝗋𝖽

𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌

01. 𝗉𝖺𝗒𝗈𝗅𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋

02. 𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗍 𝖻𝗈𝗒 𝖼𝗎𝗅𝗍

03. 𝗂 𝖺𝗆 𝗌𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖽

04. 𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝖻𝗈𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌

05. 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽

06. 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇 𝖻 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝖽𝖾

07. 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆𝗂𝖾𝗌

08. 𝗐𝖺𝗋

09. 𝖺𝗆 𝗂 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖼

10. 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾

11. 1𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾𝗌

12. 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍

13. 𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖺𝖼𝗒

14. 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽

15. 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇

16. 𝗂’𝗆 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗉𝗂𝖽

17. 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗂 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋

18. 𝖺𝗆 𝗂 𝖾𝗏𝗂𝗅

19. 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇

20. 𝗂 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌

21. 𝗄𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖺 𝗉𝗂𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗉𝗁𝖺 𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖾

22. 𝖽𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖽𝖾𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽

23. 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗀𝖾

24. 𝖻𝗂𝖽 𝖽𝖺𝗒

25. 𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀

26. 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍

27. 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗐

28. 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗃𝗈𝗋 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇

29. 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒

30. 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗒

31. 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝖾

32. 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍

33. 𝗆𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗂𝖾

34. 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾

35. 𝗂 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝖽

36. 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽

37. 𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾

38. 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝗆𝖾

39. 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖻𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽

40. 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋

41. 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋

42. 𝗂 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖾𝗇

43. 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾

44. 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖾𝗅

45. 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌

46. 𝗂 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎

𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀

𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗂𝖺 𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀

[purpleplumpudding]

needed this 🚬

thinking abt weird!reader with dilf!art ? 😝😝 like i mean like reader is absolutely like insaneee and very brain rotted, yk? he just wouldn’t get it :(

(hope this hasn’t been done before 😓)

hiii i’m alive again sorry…

[purpleplumpudding]

just what the doctor ordered

idk if this is a bit much or wtv 😓 but like imagine dilf!art at a place like twin peaks, hooters or wtv and reader just happens to be his waitress 😛😛 like imagine how he’d react to the view 🐕🐕

omg wait you’re a genius! and then he’s like i can take you away from all this HAHAHAH art is such a fall in love with a stripper type. ✍️✍️

[purpleplumpudding]

🚬🚬

posting this here bc tiktok sucks and I really like how it turned out

[purpleplumpudding]

PLEAAASEEEEE I NEED THIS MAN SO BAD ITS NOT EVEN FUNNY. mike faist the man you are 💔💔💔💔. sigh 🚬

I have much to say regarding this shot of him...not much of it is coherent unfortunately, but what I WILL say rn is I typed in "sweet boy" on pinterest, and this came up for me so...

(Not kidding btw)

[purpleplumpudding]

midnight snack

dilf! art

he finally worked up the nerve to text you after a long two days, after much deliberation of if this was even ethical, if pursuing his peers daughter made him a creep. he decided that, no, it didn’t. your dad was older than him, and he still spent time surrounded by athletes your age anyway. plus, you had to be interested, or you would have never given him the time of day. with all that in mind, he sent you a simple text.

‘hey, it’s art. how are you?’

you replied soon after, casting a small smile across his face.

‘hi! i’m good, you? i didn’t see you around the courts this morning.’

god, had you looked for him? the thought twisted into something obscene so quickly that he had to blink it away, shaking his head and trying to regain focus.

‘i’m at home, actually. have an event this afternoon in the city.’

it was safe, he told himself. small talk with an acquaintance, that’s all. just friendly.

‘oo, what event? that’s such a funny coincidence, i’ll be in the city tonight as well at the club’s charity gala.’

oh, god. oh, he was so fucked. an entire night, with you, in a semi intimate setting. your father would probably be there. hell, his ex wife would probably be there.

‘i’ll be there too. small world.’

his throat was dry as he sent the message, his teeth worrying over his bottom lip, a mix of dread and excitement curling in his stomach.

‘see you tonight then! xx’

art, embarrassingly, spent the entire car ride to the gala psyching himself up for seeing you. he went over all the variables and possibilities, all the ways that he needed to avoid making a complete fool of himself, all the ways he wanted to impress you.

time stopped when he saw you, your satin dress sparkling in the light, your laugh carrying through the room and going straight to his head. your dress was short and your heels were tall and you looked like a fucking model, like a daydream, a vision of tanned legs and shimmery makeup.

“oh, mr. donaldson!” the sound of his name from your lips snapped him from his trance, and he smiled the best he could, practically buzzing with your proximity, “i’m glad you made it. here, i saved you a seat next to me. my father couldn’t make it, so it was empty,”

“oh, thank you,” he grabbed a champagne flute from a passing server, trying not to let his gaze linger too much as you lead him to the seats, your hips swaying with every step. it was gonna be a long night, he thought to himself. especially without your father to be a buffer.

thankfully, once you took your seats, the long droning of speeches started. over an hour of pledges and donation announcements and information on the benefits of the charity, things that he didn’t particularly care about but was suddenly grateful for, since it kept him from making any reckless mistakes involving you.

god, you. you’d been drinking champagne like it was going to disappear, glass after glass without any other substance to keep you from getting too drunk. you were giggling by the time the speeches wrapped, laughing at nothing in particular, covering your mouth as you did. he should’ve suggested you slow down- shouldve done the right thing, been a good influence, been the mature one.

but then your hand was on his shoulder, and the giggles had stopped, replaced by a glint in your eyes that he couldn’t quite place. “you’re so strong,” you told him, smiling and biting your lip, looking him over, “is that all from tennis, mr. donaldson? your arms are so big,” and you were squeezing at his bicep with your manicured hands, watching him in a way that made his heart stutter.

“it’s- yeah, it’s all from tennis. i mean, i work out too, but tennis is most of it,” he cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure, “i think you’re drunk, sweetheart. do you want me to call you an uber? or do you have someone that can come pick you up? this was right- the ethical thing to do. to send you off and shake this from his mind and steer clear from now on.

“i don’t wanna go home,” you sighed, leaning your head back on your chair dramatically, “my driver will be here in an hour and a half. i’ll be fine,”

“you had seven glasses, i think fine is an exaggeration,” he mumbled, “let me take you home. i don’t want anything to happen you,” he didn’t want any guys to take advantage of you- didn’t want them to do the very things he was thinking of at that moment.

to his surprise, you agreed, and he suddenly wasn’t sure if it was relief or dread he felt. when he stood to leave, you stood with him, pulling yourself up by his arm and letting your touch linger once again, looking up at him and smiling so sweetly it was hard to believe you’d been throwing back drinks all night.

“come on, darlin,” he led you outside, opening doors and excusing the two of you, calling the valet and waiting patiently. he tried to train his eyes anywhere but you, looking entirely too long at the fountain, at the other cars, anywhere but your legs and your curled hair and your- “mr. donaldson,” your voice disturbed him once again, “it’s really cold,”

he glanced over, and you were shivering in the night air, holding your arms around your chest tightly. he acted before thinking, like he always did with you, and shrugged off his suit jacket, draping it over your small shoulders lightly. “that better?” he asked softly, concern knitting his brows. you nodded, thanking him and taking the fabric into your hands, pulling it tighter around you.

“mr. don-“ “please, call me art,” it came out almost pained, but he truly didn’t know if he could take it anymore, the mr. and the way you looked at him, and then oh god- “okay, art,”

this was so much worse, his first name on your lips like that. he nearly choked on air, his cheeks reddening like a fucking high schooler. before he could dwell on it, the valet pulled his car around, tossing him the keys with a smile. he opened the door for you, looking over the car to avoid having to see your thighs sliding against the leather seat.

when he settled into the drivers side, pulling out of the lot, you finally spoke again. “your car is nice,” you hummed, tracing your fingers over the leather interior. he watched you, entranced, as he sat at a stop light. the way your fingernails scraped slightly over the fabric, the way you glanced over at him, a coy little smile on your lips.

he tried to ignore it, to just focus on the road. he maintained it for the most part, making it all the way to your street before he let it slip, glancing over at you. you looked to be half asleep, all curled up in his suit coat, your heels discarded in the floor and your feet tucked into the seat. you looked so peaceful, so angelic, he had to force his eyes away so he didn’t wreck his car.

he pulled into the drive, letting it idle just outside your gate, reaching over to touch your shoulder gently. “hey, sweetheart, you’re home,” he murmured, trying not to startle you awake, “come on, you gotta get up,”

you made a little noise as you stirred, turning in the seat to look up at him, yawning quietly. “thank you,” you said softly, and the air was suddenly so thick, it was so warm and you were so fucking beautiful- “will your wife be wondering where you are?”

all the breath left his lungs at that, at the presumption in your tone, the way you glanced him over as you asked. “ex wife,” he choked out, “we’re not- we got divorced,” “mm,” you hummed, smiling slightly, “that’s a shame. i’m sorry to hear that,”

“don’t be,” he said a little too quickly, “you really should go, darlin. it’s late,” you sat back to unbuckle your seatbelt, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to him carefully. “thank you again for the ride, art,” you said quietly, “it was really sweet of you. most guys would’ve tried something,”

the image was almost too much for him to bear- the thought of trying something with you, of getting to touch you, to make you come undone right there in the passenger seat of his car. he shifted in his seat, clearing his throat, struggling to focus. “well, most guys are stupid,” he muttered, “you’re obviously too drunk to do anything,”

you let out a little laugh at that, shaking your head. “you’re so chivalrous,” you smiled, “maybe it’s because you’re older. i’m so tired of guys my age,” jesus christ, he was a goner. “yeah?” he exhaled shakily, “you’re tired of them? why’s that?”

“they just don’t know how to treat a woman,” you shrugged, “they’re rushed and greedy and assholes,” you giggled quietly, “you know how it is. i’m sure you have younger girls hanging all over you,” god, he wanted to. “no, no,” he shook his head quickly, “i don’t- i don’t want to take advantage of anyone that way,”

you leaned a little closer, the smell of your perfume suddenly clogging his senses, “well let me know if you ever change your mind,” you whispered, the heat blowing through the vents nearly drowning out the sound.

“sweetheart, you don’t- you’re drunk,” he managed to get out, his hands itching to grab at you, to do something. “i’m not that drunk,” you argued, pouting slightly, “anyway, i’m just saying. you have my number,”

you turned to get out, and he knew it was stupid, knew it was reckless and a bad idea and he’d regret it tomorrow and you were young and he was such a bad person, but then he was kissing you and you made a soft little preening sound and he knew he’d never regret it, not truly. he’d be a bad person if it meant he got to do this again, if he got to be the one to make you make that sound.

you kissed him back, draped across his center console to reach him, your hands on his shoulders and grabbing at his dress shirt and he could’ve lost it right there, could’ve pushed the seat back and pulled you into his lap and fucked you stupid, could’ve made you see what you were missing with all the boys your age. and he was sure you would’ve let him, if the noises you made from just his kisses were any indicator.

but then the motion light at your gate was on, and he was yanking away from you like a criminal caught, his eyes wide as he looked at your blown out pupils and smeared lipstick. “oh, shit,” you said under your breath, fixing your dress and grabbing your heels, “my dad tried to call my cell, i didn’t even notice. thank you again, art. i’ll see you at the club,”

and then you were gone, leaving the scent of your perfume and the tent in his slacks behind. he watched you put in the gate code and disappear behind it, his mind running wild with what he could’ve done to you.

when he got home, he tried to shower it off, to wash off the all consuming need he felt for you, the sins he’d nearly committed in his car. but his hands wandered and soon he was cursing and moaning your name under his breath as he came undone under the shower stream, images of you and that dress playing like a film in his mind.

when he got into bed and checked his phone, he had one unread message.

‘i had fun tonight. goodnight, art. x’

[purpleplumpudding]

ovulating

Not now honey. I’m to busy thinking about this Jackles interview.