#ONE TWO Films | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gladiatorcunt · 8 months ago

Note

pwetty please more dom art, switch patrick, sub reader. that blurb was so so good i think “Go ahead and make daddy cum while I give him kisses, ‘kay?” may be the hottest thing anyone has ever said ever actually

# 🫀HONEST HEARTS 🪤 !!

cw: WEIRD VIBES, dom art switch patrick sub reader coded, heavy on the art x patrick, breeding kink/pregnancy/ambiguous baby trapping (???), art’s lowkey mean, daddy kink (referring to patrick), patrick calls you a slut, oral (afab reader receiving), patrick’s sandwiched in between you & art, anal sex (m receiving), summer heat will have you displaying behaviors and acting in ways, ambiguous era, feminization (one use of “mama” not in a mommy kink way), stream of consciousness style writing, they’re gross but so are you, reader having a hamlet holding up the skull moment

Art fucks Patrick like a bat out of hell, you lie beneath them wet and wanting as you watch patrick’s sweaty body flail around like a ragdoll. Art squishes your bodies together, pressing his weight against Patrick's back. There’s so much pressure on your lungs, you’re scared you’ll pop. The humid July air is so thick around you that the plush bedding feels swathed in a soft old film yellow tint, you and Patrick swap glassy eyes when his tip finally sinks into your tight ass. No lube in sight, you want pain that only skinny dipping in a private river after dark will fix. Reminders of youth, the sting from the current as it travels through the indents of teeth.

You would think Art had become a ferocious shark, inky pupils dripping onto Patrick's shoulder blades and toothy grins, feral and lead only by his cock at the first scent of blood he could catch. yours, Patrick’s, his. Patrick fucks your ass to the point of no return, his pace never ceasing until all you is the word “Daddy” howled out over and over. Every thrust earns art deeper inside of him, Patrick greedily rolls his hips back. In appreciation Art leans down and watches his spit highlight how cock drunk the two of you are, a see through trail trickling down both of your faces onto the pillow.

It’s like Art doesn’t have any worth until he’s fucking you and Patrick out of your minds at the same time. He hooks his chin in Patrick’s shoulder, winking down at you as he ramps up the speed of his thrusts. Patrick’s eyes tighten in pleasure-pain but any sounds he has to offer are muffled in the seams of your slick lips, you open your mouth to catch them and hoard them all. Breathy pants and whines and growls becuase Patrick may be the one getting fucked the most, but you should never forget who’s next in line to benefit from this little symbiotic expression of your relationship. You’re the atlar, solid foundation and the center of life’s devotion. Art and Patrick are the attendants, bringing you animal sacrifices in the form of their flesh and soul and hearts. In their bones and in the nerves connecting to their brain, where you all exist in an undefiled state even as fluids are spilt in between the cracks in the marble. A poor man’s kintsugi.

Patrick begs Art to cum, but you defer to Patrick when it’s your time to be a babbling brook around his thick length. Art always says yes when the other man’s balls deep in you, plus he has dibs on your pussy this week. It’s in their nature, to desire each other carnally and still keep each other entangled in steep competition even when those desires are fulfilled in excess. Art really wants a baby, you’ve been too gung ho to bounce all over the world as if it were your very own tennis court. Explaining it by using their busy careers as an opportunity, you must not know that you’re best when you’re right where they can see you. Even if they’re not there, jerking each other off to grainy security cam footage is their own bonding time. Sometimes you put on shows for them, modeling expensive lingerie that you think is going to be a surprise for their welcome home. Art always has an eye and a hold on Patrick, they both want that with you too.

“Go on,” He whispers for only Patrick’s uniquely shaped ears to hear, sorry angel. “The sooner you give our baby that nice big tangy load I know you’ve got for us, the sooner I can get their tummy swollen.”

Daddy gets his favorite kind of kisses when he floods your ass with cum, and he licks the remaining drops off your stretched rim with Art’s hand heavy on his head. You get your kisses too, from each of them until you’re sinking so far into that dreamy kind of headspace that affection from you means you lazily smack your lips together and call it a job well done. Fuzzy voices coo at you that it was indeed a job well done, squelching noises accompany Patrick reluctantly pulling out. You both whine the exact same way, Art beams and shushes you, using Patrick’s bruised ass to get rock hard and wet again for your puffy pussy.

“Just like that, fuck! Should have taken a picture, don’t you think? Make it last longer, keep you useful.”

All talk, as long as he’s alive he’ll have use. Existence breeds obsession, split three ways, the way some god intended. Like calls to like, moths to flame, water to silent desert rock, bleeding knuckles to piping hot iron, copper to silver, bones to soil, ball to grass-clay-concrete court.

Patrick hates it when you and art fight, turning him into a scared puppy. He doesn’t say to your face that he agrees with Art, that you shouldn’t leave the house amidst all the stress that a possible pregnancy can bring. Stress that’s easily worked off under their touch, stuffed full of so much cum that it might as well replace your gray matter. You can’t run laps around the house despite it being what your anxiety is telling you to do. You have to wait there on the toilet, holding each of their hands as you wait for the test results. Once the necessary time has passed, you can’t overcome your nervousness and instead wait for Art to look at one of the sticks.

You barely catch a glimpse of the test result when you’re tackled. Patrick’s on you first, sucking your tongue into his mouth while cradling your head in his hands so you don’t feel it when you bump into the wall. Art chastises him of course, pulling him back by his ear to give you some space. They’re both smiling, wide and blinding white grins so dazzling that you’re worried you’ll go blind. Their reactions alone tell you more than you could ever need to know, the monarch butterflies scurry from stomach to stomach. Those teeming with life and those forever starving. Art gives you a slow kiss and hums into you, the vibrations travel down to your flexing toes. Bubbly laughter drowns out the cracks of lightning outside, baby blanket blue on fire white.

You want to be loved in a way that’s wrong and out of sorts, your arousal is heightened by what your paranoia tells you will be someone’s undoing. Yours or theirs. Both. No one really needs pure intentions to love or be loved at the end of the day, and maybe that’s something to be grateful for. There are people who can love the sin as well as the sinner. Your hormones are doing a number on you, that much is clear, if you’re philosophizing about the morals of being in love when there more than likely are none. There’s just that so much time to think, that initial fear of being left when you yourself would be too overencumbered to. Art picks up on these kinds of thoughts more often than Patrick, who’s just happy to belong somewhere and to someone. The former busies himself with the heft of your tits. Sucks the life out of your hard nipples and then some, he adores when you come begging with a dripping cunt after a late afternoon nap because you had a very good dream.

“Lie back angel, working so hard right now… you need a break, mama.” Art giggles, engaging in a riveting one on one conversation with your throbbing clit, rapidly flicking it with his tongue as he locks clear eyes with your sleepy blinks. “Pussy’s gushing like a fountain now, ‘s so chubby too, I hope you never fucking work off the baby weight.”

Later they’ll wipe you down from the shower with their tongues, slurping up the water droplets like they’re bugs hovering around an in bloom blush pink flower because they’re freaks like that. Patrick’s out on the now usual run to the nearest convenience store for your latest cravings, he’ll try it with you too no matter what it is. Art does his best, but you’re too sensitive to others being nauseous to handle seeing his skin almost cartoonishly flood with a light mossy green undertone. Fall brings a whole new array of food combinations and flavors of snack cakes just waiting for you to inhale them worryingly quickly. Art brings your focus back to him with a teasing nip to your bud, closing his lips around it and giving it a firm suck as the front door unlatches. The crinkling of plastic grocery bags reach your ears before Patrick’s corny “Honey, I’m home!” does. More single minded than a dog with his bone, the bags clatter to the floor and his shoes pound the floor on the way to where you’re cumming on Art’s face in a flash of white.

Patrick frowns, “You know I don't like you being a slut when I'm not there, now you owe me two rounds.”

Art reminds the other man that you might not have the energy for the two rounds he’s imagining, full of slapping skin and ghoulish howls, Patrick simply says that you can drift off while he ruts away. Into you or on you, so long as his puffy tip is touching some sort of skin, makes him wish he could burrow and dig a tunnel inside you. Live in one of the chambers in your heart, Art in the other, your kids in the next, a no vacancy sign boarding the last of them shut. You tilt your head to the side so he runs his nose along the faint line of your pulse. He should record the echoing rhythmic thumps for when they’re traveling and can’t sleep without their missing piece. His chest burns when the words well up and won’t come out how he needs them too, how can you express that you need to live in someone’s very dna without letting your huge dick do the talking for you? He’ll quite possibly never know, maybe a rare showing of Art riding Patrick into the center of the earth as he gasps for life saving breath will be enough for you.

1K notes · View notes