He’s My Favorite Mythical Animal.

thinking about retired dilf art who can finally eat what he wants and his tummy going soft, ughhh i wanna put him in my pocket and take care of him :(

the quad squad

they will save the world. together.

CW: MDNI, NSFW

Dilf Coach!Art who feels like he should know better. You’re way too young, barely out of college, way too off limits. He’s friends with your dad for crying out loud.  But everytime you walk on the court in your tiny tennis skirt (he swears they get shorter every time he sees you) he starts to sweat and his palms feel itchy. 

Dilf Coach!Art who’s kind of a pushover. He can’t really say no to you. He tries but you manage to walk all over him easily. Five laps around the court turns into two. Twenty push ups turn into ten. The whole time he’s getting distracted. Fixated on your tits bouncing when you jog, or the little bit of cleavage that shows and the way your skirt rides up when you’re on your hands and knees for push ups.     

Dilf Coach!Art who gives in when you beg him for a ride home after practice. It’s started to rain and your parents are running late and he’s just trying to be nice. He does notice the way you squeeze your thighs together, the way your breathing picks up once the car door shuts.  

Dilf Coach!Art who tells himself it’s only gonna happen one time when you guide his hand between your thighs at the red light so he can feel how wet you are for him. When you crawl onto his lap after he pulls over behind the club parking lot. When he shivers as he sinks into your tight wet cunt. 

Dilf Coach!Art who loses it almost immediately when you get on top of him— you’re just too fucking pretty! He slides his hands up under your top to cup your tits as you ride him and suddenly he’s seizing up… begging and pleading with himself… “No no, please. Fuck… oh please no fuck fuck fuck…” and suddenly he’s painting inside your walls with so much cum, shame filled tears in his eyes. “Shit… shit I’m sorry.” An even more shameful whisper. “Are you on the pill?”

Dilf Coach! Art who makes it up to you by laying you out in the backseat. Fingers and mouth in your cunt, fucking you so good you end up soaking the leather of his fancy sports car. The one he bought himself after the divorce to make himself feel better. He’s gonna have to get it detailed. But at least it’s only the one time because he’s not gonna do it again. He’s really, really not. Really.

(Blah! Rumors of dilf coach!Art in my inbox. So here are some random head canons no one asked for to help me flesh him out. He won’t be here for a while.)

ballerina!tashi who is recognised as one of the best ballet dancers in all of america. she flows across the stage with such gracefulness that the audience is left bewitched by her delicate beauty. at times, she is still sharp and controlled with her body, leaving you intimidated by her movements. having so much talent only made it much more tragic when she suffered her knee injury, turning to ballet instructing after recovery. she's still known for her most successful and alluring role of odile, the black swan.

ballet dancer!art who has every dance company falling at his feet, begging for him to sign with them. his skills alone are admirable, but his looks are every casting director's wet dream, it's almost unbelievable how perfect he is for the stage. art is almost always casted as some sort of handsome prince, carrying himself with poise and elegance. he's a lean and athletic man, spent years of his life building his physique into the perfect vessel specifically for ballet.

ballet dancer!patrick who is never seen putting much work into his craft yet is one of the strongest male dancers in his company. he carries his dance partners over his head with ease and pulls off some of the highest leaps his instructors have ever seen. patrick secretly stays in the prop and costume room of the dance studio, refusing to ask for help unless one of the pretty ballerinas offers him a place to sleep for the night.

having thoughts about t4t cowboy artrick | 18+ MDNI

two boys who met on a ranch out in a desert town, the distance from civilization and the quiet of the work keeping them safe from suspicion, from having to reveal secrets that they’d rather keep close to their chests. but they find comfort in each other—in the stupid, small smile Art affords Patrick across the field, in the flicks to the hat that Patrick fondly gives Art as he passes him on his spotted mare. they rarely speak for the first few months, but the farther down the line they get, the more comfortable they become with one another. soon they’re eating lunch side by side, taking jobs together, and Patrick even shares his cigarettes with Art when they have breaks to keep them from sweltering in the sun.

Patrick will ask Art what it’s like to be a blue-eyed cowboy, what with the sun sensitivity and all. it makes Art laugh, and it makes his stomach twist to know that Patrick looks at his eyes. Art asks Patrick about his mare: how long he’s had her, what her favorite snacks are, how she likes to be brushed. it only takes a few weeks for Patrick to notice that Art took his answers to heart, treating his girl the way she likes. it’s the little things that drive them closer together, that drive them to lingering looks and brushes of fingers as the pass saddles and ropes between them. it makes Art’s head spin when he catches Patrick’s eyes on him—it makes Patrick’s stomach clench when Art flashes him that smile. it’s all boiling under the surface until they both can’t handle it anymore.

all those big feelings come to pass when Patrick takes Art back to his room in the company building under the guise of “smoking and drinking” but they’re barely through the door before Art is pressed against the wall next to the, Patrick’s hands all over his toned body. Art moans softly, going pliant under his touch, his own hands cradling the back of Patrick’s head, tangling in his hair. “wanted this for so long…can barely stand the way you smile at me, fucking tease—“ Patrick moans out between kisses, his stomach twisting at the sound of Art’s returning whines and soft sounds. “my smile turn you on? that’s a new one.” the blonde shot back, laughing softly when Patrick lightly smacked his hip, lips moving down to his jaw. “don’t sass me..not right now..”

it was a shock that Art promptly shut his mouth, letting the brunette guide him to the bed and toss him down. he watched with rapt attention as he undressed himself, pulling off his shirt and his sweaty tank top before his hands reached for his belt. “wait.” Art said, sitting up and slowly crawling to the edge of the bed. he looped his fingers into Patrick’s belt loops, tugging him closer, eyes looking up into his. “may i..cowboy?” he asked in a soft tone, full of desire. Patrick swallowed tightly and gave a short nod, his lips parted. “yeah. go ahead.”

he watched with rapt attention as Art slowly undid his buckle, slipping the leather from the metal and letting it hang in front of his pockets. he gave Patrick one last look before he gently undid his jeans, sliding the zipper down. but he didn’t take his pants off, he left that for Patrick to do when he felt like he wanted to. the brunette’s cheeks were flush as he watched the blonde, and when he stopped he leaned down and kissed him, guiding him back to lay against the bed as he came to straddle his hips, hands cupping his cheeks. Art sighs, hands on Patrick’s hips, guiding him to rock down against him. “fuck…” he breathed out at the friction it provided.

Patrick gently tugs Art’s own shirt off, kissing his face as he does. but his heart slows when he looks down and sees the matching scars across his lover’s chest… his eyes dart back to those baby blue’s, looking through them, searching for answers. “you—you, too..?” he says, ever so soft and vulnerable. Art swallows and nods gently, his hand finding their place on Patrick’s shoulders. “yeah. me too.” it’s a tender, quiet moment when they both realize they aren’t alone. they connect with each other, they have something that tethers them to one another. it drives Patrick forward, as he undresses them both down to their bare bones and fondly strokes Art’s tdick. it drives Art as he guides Patrick to take a seat on his face, letting him lap and suckle at his most intimate parts. it drives both of them mad with lust and fondness, their moans and whines filling the air, leaving them sticky and panting in each others arms.

from then on..the farm doesn’t feel so lonely anymore.

if you spam-like me I’m assuming you want to see me staring up at you as I mouth at your clit jsyk

“people are allowed to dislike things” WRONG nobody is allowed to dislike Joaquín Torres

can all five other mcu Joaquin Torres fans stand up, I want to get a headcount of us all

racketelio's intro post

help me to get out...

eighteen - leo - aspiring musician - art lover - masc lesbian - she/he

hello and welcome to cassiopeia's blog, you can call me cass. i'm an eighteen-year-old butch from outback qld, australia, and i'm mostly here to fuel my hyperfixations and talk to cool people.

(and also maybe thirst post, so minors dni for those - you're not banned from my whole blog, since i'm barely an adult myself, but protect yourself, for your sake).

INFO

cowboy, loverboygirl, butch, extrovert, guitarist, piano player, songwriter, student, eldest child, emotional wreck, lesbian.

MUSIC

julien baker, julien baker & torres, role model, boygenius, muna, dominic fike, royel otis, gigi perez, spacey jane, etc.

MOVIES

he died with a felafel in his hand, fantastic mr fox, dead poets society, challengers, the holdovers, call me by your name, bones and all, little women, empire records, stick it, my own private idaho, brokeback mountain, etc.

TV SHOWS

yellowjackets, outer banks, stranger things, it's always sunny in philadelphia, community, that 70s show, etc.

BOOKS

the outsiders, little women, 1984, the book thief, the alchemist, the raven cycle series, most jane austen novels, etc.

CHARACTERS

travis martinez, nat scatorccio, art donaldson, jo march, laurie laurence, elio perlman, lee bones and all, darry curtis, adam parrish, neil perry, angus tully, mike waters, robin buckley, jj maybank, charlie kelly, troy barnes, jack twist, etc.

MISC

cowboys, queer lovers, sunrises, the outback, social justice, folk music, midwestern emo, acoustic guitar, lesbians, painting, etc.

(feel free to ask about more or my preferences and feel more than free to interact however you please - i only bite when you want me to!!)

...so i can crawl back to it

Hi jo sorry if this isn’t what you normally write and you can ignore it if you want. I would just love a sort of comfort fic of reader losing their virginity to art but she’s uncomfortable and wants to stop and he’s sweet about it

No pressure I love everything you put out ♡

don't apologise pookie this is sweet :) <3

warnings: 18+ sex (p in v), insecure/uncomfortable reader, loss of virginity, very quickly (+ poorly) written apologies x

This is decidedly not how you expected losing your virginity to go.

Art was a gentleman. Waiting patiently for months, never pressuring you into anything despite the fact he'd spent countless nights leaving your dorm blue-balled and in dire need of a cold shower. Even when you suggested taking that next step, he made you insist several times that it was really what you wanted.

No, he wasn't the problem.

It took fifteen minutes with his head between your thighs for you to cum. That part was great. It was what came next that made things awkward: Art perched above you, one hand entwined with our own while the other guided him into you. The stretch was overwhelming, enough to render you breathless for the next few seconds as he eased in slowly. Each thick, solid inch has your toes curling and your lungs desperately gathering air.

An affirmative nod of your head to confirm that you were okay (you weren't) and he was rocking into you, groaning about how tight and good you felt. Everyone always said it gets better. But it's been two minutes of him thrusting into you, jaw slack with pleasure and eyes screwed shut while he babbles praises senselessly about how well you're taking it, and things are decidedly not better.

You can't take it anymore. The discomfort of having another person so deep inside you, the stretch, the burning pain...

"Art, stop."

He doesn't hear you at first. You're quiet, drowned out by the sound of skin slapping against skin and his ragged sounds of pleasure.

"Art." Your free hand finds his shoulder. Fingers curling into the sweat-slick skin, face strained in displeasure. "Stop, please."

Now you've got his attention. His eyes snap onto yours again, hips slowing to a halt. "What?" He blinks lamely. Despite his initial obliviousness, at least he's stopped moving.

"I just... I can't," you explain weakly, choking on a hitched breath.

It's not the most eloquent reply ever, but what are you supposed to say? This is awful. It's nothing like I expected. I'm having a terrible time. It hurts, it's uncomfortable, it's—

You could say all of that, actually. You just don't want to hurt his feelings.

"Okay," he says, brows furrowing. "Are you, um... are you okay? I'm sorry, was I going too fast?"

His hand moves to push your hair gently out of your face. Sweet boy. You can't find it in yourself to be upset.

"No, you're fine," you reply, trying for a smile. It falls terribly flat.

"Are you—" A pause, hand squeezing yours as he braces himself up on his other one. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you reply, embarrassed by the way his eyes are searching your face with such genuine concern. You wish you could just melt into the mattress and pretend this never happened. "Can you just... can you get off, please?"

"Oh!" He blinks, glancing down. "Right. Yeah, yeah. I'm sorry."

The process of him pulling out is far less agonising, and you breathe a sigh of relief, body relaxing beneath him. He's still watching you with that same worried look as he lays down next to you, fingers twitching by his sides uncertainly.

"Too much?" He asks tentatively. You nod sheepishly, eyes averted. "I'm so sorry, baby. I didn't—did I hurt you? Are you okay?"

It feels like the hundredth time he's posed the question, but he's panicking inwardly about your apparent state of discomfort as you shift restlessly, eyes fixated on some point over his shoulder. You feel embarrassed. Guilty. Like a failure.

What's the point in him dating you if you can't even handle sex?

You don't voice any of that out loud, but he can see it in your eyes; the way your bottom lip quivers slightly as the all of the emotions cross plainly across your face. Or how your eyes glisten with unshed tears.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, voice cracking.

"No, no, no. Why are you apologising?" He replies instantly. He lifts a hand, pausing before he makes contact. "Is this okay?" When you nod your head, his hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing tenderly over your skin.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. It's okay."

Your head shakes insistently. "No, I should be able to do it. I mean, what's the point if I can't?"

His knuckles linger against your cheek, and then he laughs. Just a soft huff of amusement, but enough to have you knitting your brows at him.

"What's the point?" He repeats softly, eyes crinkling down at you. "It's just sex, babe."

"Sex is a very integral part of a relationship!" You argue, wiping feebly at your eyes.

"Maybe," Art says, shrugging noncommittally as he watches your aborted attempt sympathetically. "Doesn't mean we have to have sex right now. There's always room to try again in the future, right?"

You hate that he makes sense. It's hard to wallow in your own self-pity when he's looking at you so tenderly, still caressing your cheek. "Right," you mumble reluctantly. "And if the future is never?"

"We'll tackle that hurdle when we get there," he says, dipping his head to kiss the tip of your nose. "Stop stressing. Let's just put a movie on and relax, 'kay?"

You pout at him for a second longer before relenting. Your head falls back into the pillow with a sigh as he settles back beside you, an arm draped across your middle to reach for the remote. A few more sniffles can be heard as you settle down.

"Thank you."

It's quiet, but he hears it. He sends you a soft smile. "You don't need to thank me."

"Well, I am," you reply, shifting to rest your head against his shoulder. All you get in reply is a light chuckle.

A few moments pass as he flicks through the channels before you speak up again. "Can you maybe put your boxers back on? I don't want to see your dick."

He snorts, tilting his head to press a kiss into the top of your hair. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."