i decided to write some Patrick on this night. here’s some 4 30 AM Andersen angst!
warning for implied attempted consensual s5x, and some blood!
“Please, just breathe.”
There was a spray of blood when Patrick coughed, sending a fresh wave of warmth over the side of your neck. You groaned, his weight settled right on your shoulder as you struggled to shuffle to his table in this lofty basement, gently trying to maneuver him while simultaneously shifting his weight off of your sore muscle. He collapsed backwards into the chair unceremoniously, coughing again and licking blood away from his lower lip.
“I’m trying.” He laughed without humor, a wheezy sound that only served to deliver an arc of pain through his lungs. “What are you doing in the neigh–” He hacked, stooping over the table and groaning as he spat blood and phlegm onto the concrete. “…shit… –in the neighborhood?”
“I just wanted to help…” You trailed off, fumbling a handful of tissues out of your pocket and pressing it to his mouth. “… To help Michael.” You finished, wiping away the spittle on his chin as he heaved, looking back at you through dark circles. There was a brightness in his eyes that faded when you said this.
“No one can help Michael. But me, that is…” he insisted, grabbing your wrist softly, as if with intent to twist but hesitation spoiled the thought. He stared down at your fingers, wrapped around the blood speckled napkin. “He doesn’t want help. He loves his pain.” His grip hardened and he tugged you forward. There was sweat under his cologne, blood on his teeth when he grazed them over your lips.
“He…” You were starting to forget your words as they came to you. “He looked so tired in his videos, I didn’t want to leave him alone. Shaun did, and I can’t.”
“Shaun will come back, you didn’t come for Michael.” Patrick’s arm looped around your waist, and in one fluid motion, he had you in his lap, looking up into your eyes as he squeezed his bony digits into your wrist. “Admit that you came for me.” Despite his words, the brightness returned in his eyes, and you understood what it meant.
Please don’t go. I don’t want to be alone, either. You furrowed your eyebrows and sighed, letting your head fall forward and rest on his shoulder. He buried his face in your neck, leaving feverish kisses, attempts to coax you to stay the night, so he could coax you to stay for breakfast, so he could coax you to stay the night again.
“Patrick…” You twisted your wrist in his grip. He pulled harder, hard enough to rip the seams on a doll. You felt yourself tearing. “Patrick!” You yanked yourself free, stumbling back and to your feet. He looked defeated, bleeding from the nose in his chair, his eyes bright and desperate. Bright and begging. Nothing left his mouth.
“I came for Michael.” You straightened your shirt, forcing yourself to look away. Nothing left his mouth. “Clearly he isn’t here.” You felt yourself tearing. He still had his fingers dug between your seams as you walked away. You tore more and more as you left, as you drove home. The thread held despite.
thank you for the request. under the cut for what the kids are callin’ a lime, these days
warning for, well, lime. implied s5x.
“Well?”
You blinked, seeing but not quite processing, the sight of Patrick in a red lace bustier, with matching garter belt and panties, standing in the doorway of your room. This confused you, primarily, because you didn’t remember letting him in.
You slowly rose your head, pushing closed the cap of the sharpie you were using to draw experimental sigils onto your palm. He looked confident, though the impatience in his darkening brown eyes told you he wouldn’t stay confident for long if you didn’t say something.
“Uh, ah…” You meant to say something clever, honestly, you did. A soft pink flush had started spreading across your cheeks as you gaped at him, and that was enough to revive Patrick’s confidence. He all but grinned, approaching you coolly at your desk, and perching his bony little ass on top like a cat with a mouse between its teeth.
“Uh, ah?” He mocked you, carelessly knocking your sharpie set and journal into the floor before scooting himself closer, hooking his fingers around the back of your neck to pull you upwards. His lips grazed over yours, and you could smell the slightly musky sweetness of a new cologne on his neck. “Is that all you have to say?”
“I…” Your flush evolved to a deep red, only driven further by your continuing stammers. Your eyes dropped to where his thumb had begun stroking over your full lips, and without hesitation, he pushed it into your mouth.
“That’s okay…” He smiled at you without an ounce of innocence, pulling you round in front of him, watching your eyes widen as you sucked at his thumb. “You won’t need to talk to do this, will you?” His hand slowly withdrew from your mouth, only to press down on the top of your head, pushing you to your knees between his thighs.
You, still enchanted by the very sight of him, flustered as he hooked his thumb into the hem of his panties. Impatient once again, he dug his fingers into your scalp with his opposite hand and tugged you forward.
i’ll answer these for Patrick and HABIT, because i haven’t answered enough stuff for Pat, and it’s been a while since I’ve talked about HABIT.
What’s your f/o’s style of affection? (Soft, reserved, nonstop, etc.)
Patrick is dramatic and theatrical in almost everything he does. He has to make a spectacle out of his pain, his hatred, his persona, and his happiness. So of course, in the public eye, around other people-- especially Shaun-- he doesn’t shy away from PDA. It’s almost like he’s trying to prove to other people that what’s his is his, as if they were competing for claim. In privacy, however, and especially after Shaun’s death, he’s a lot calmer. It’s all fingers running through hair and gentle tugs closer, talking low enough to whisper over curved lips touching.
HABIT’s affection is straightforward, possessive, and primordial. In his eyes, everything he loves, he owns with absolute certainty. So, to express his love, he either fiercely protects his belongings, or babies them; usually in the case of something with a pulse, it’s both. While this goes over well with cats, it doesn’t so much in something with free will. While I prefer more subtle ways of expressing my love (such as making him food and cleaning up the house a bit when I visit, petting his hair no matter how greasy and trying to pry out what, for him, could be considered stress), he expresses his in jealousy, anger, and controlling behaviors, though that’s mostly when others are involved. In quiet moments, he’s the type to smother you in compliments, both of a sexual and nonsexual nature, and keep you within arms reach in case he feels like having something to hug. Beware, if you squirm, he squeezes tighter.
How much time do you or your f/o devote to relaxing/cuddling?
Patrick likes to keep busy. Whether that means running around, leaving traces of himself in everyone and everything and generally meddling, or just working on the channel at home; He doesn’t like staying stationary and not doing something productive. So, generally, if I want to cuddle or lounge around, I have to find a way to work around his hummingbird-in-a-shoebox complex. So that means curling up in his lap as he sits at his desk and edits videos, or holding his hand as he drives with an unconscious body gagged and tied in the trunk. Either way, my visits generally involve finding affection and contact within his busy day. I don’t take offense, I have just as many places to be as he does, and I’m glad to be tagging along.
HABIT doesn’t like to keep busy, but he is anyway. Normally he has a great amount of people within a given day to be keeping tabs on, and a handful to be physically torturing or mutilating. When I visit, he doesn’t stop for me, but doesn’t mind when I shadow him, as long as I don’t get in his way. So normally when I want to cuddle, I just have to look cute and whine until he gives in for a moment. Other than that, I “get” to watch him show off for me, which is honestly enough for him. He’s lucky I think he looks good covered in blood.
fine ill give you animals what you want. patrick andersen kisses like he’s trying to suck the air out of your lungs. he’s all tender face stroking and nose nuzzles until his lips are on yours and then he’ll bite a hole through your bottom lip and suffocate you just to piss on your corpse.
okay that was dramatic but im serious he kisses like he’s losing a competition
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