#patrick anderson

i follow mlanderson for the plot

Of course! I hope you don't mind I did a small fluff blurb because cuddles. ANd my inbox is stuffed with horny asks so I figured some soft here and there would be nice ^^. Its also going to be stormy and cloudy all day here so I was inspired. Also low key wanna work on some imagery work so theres that too

Rainy Day

not truly twins but we’re still the same

Please consider Patrick as a good boy <333

I’ll go with Patrick

He’s not actually a entity and part of the reason he dresses like he does is he wants to look older then he is

He’s kind of the jealous type and he thinks of himself as protective when in reality it’s sort of unhealthy and smothering

He tries to protect Michael but in reality is repressing him so much there might be nothing left of him if this ever ends.

One time he tried to kill Michael’s parents so they couldn’t leave him

he wants to like fancy foods but in reality when he eats it’s more likely to be stuff like candy and canned beans because he can’t find the fucking time

He hates being on the run and he has all these dreams of the life he’d like to live, they help him get though.

Hmmmmmm....

How about pat?? I also added some cursed teasing from reader cause you’re the one that requested it. Enjoy lovely.

Also, everyone else plz send tummy bulge things cause I wanna wrITE THAT BIG DICC. Maybe with prison Cody or prison Brian or PRISON EJ

TW: Porn, kitchen sex, and um. Tummy bulge?? Should I tag that?

You’d been making dinner innocently enough.

If innocently enough meant wearing one of your mate’s button up shirts and nothing else.

Humming softly, you stirred the mix of meat and potatoes around in the skillet. You’d been trying to make something healthy each night, resulting in Patrick having to grocery shopping more often.

The sound of the door closing brough a smile to your face.

“In here, Pat,” you called, moving to the fridge to grab some minced garlic. You added it to the skillet, glancing over your shoulder as you saw the familiar form of your beloved pause.

“What are you wearing?” He muttered, trailing his gaze over you.

“I know you’re not blind,” you chided, pointing the spatula at him. “You or Michael.”

A soft growl worked its way from his throat, glaring at you as his eyes flashed a familiar crimson.

“Don’t mention Michael right now,” he muttered. Making his way across the kitchen, he dropped the bags on the counter, glancing down at the skillet on the stove. “Not when I’m about to fuck you.”

“Big talk for a limp cock,” you snickered out, watching him raise an eyebrow at you.

“Limp, little one?” His hand wrapped around your throat, a sadistic grin crossing his face as your hands wrapped around his wrist. “Would you like me to prove otherwise?”

“Of course, big boy,” you wheezed, grinning at him. Patrick let out a low laugh, licking his lips before effortlessly lifting you onto the counter.

He pushed your stolen shirt around your waist, releasing his grip from your neck to hold you in place as he sealed his lips against yours. You whined into the kiss, pressing desperately against him as you heard him unzip his jeans.

Without breaking the kiss, he tugged you forward again, snapping his hips forward to bury himself inside you.

A startled cry left your throat, legs wrapping around him as you pulled back from the kiss. You shot him a half hearted glare.

“You couldn’t have-“

“I need you,” he shrugged, rocking slowly inside you, barely moving as he pressed you back against the counter. Your head rested uncomfortably against the wall, back flat against the counter, and your hips draped slightly over the edge.

“Then show-“

You didn’t finish your sentence, a gasp breaking from your lips as he pulled almost completely out, slamming his length back inside you.

Fuck, fuck, had he always been this brutal?

Patrick set a quick pace, leaving you clawing at the edge of the counter in an attempt to ground yourself as you tightened your legs around him. Your eyes rolled back when he shifted, forceably uncrossing your legs around him to drape one over his shoulder, the other held in the crook of his elbow as he curled himself over your smaller form.

A soft growl echoed in your ear as he pressed against you, laced with a chuckle as he slowed his thrusts.

“I can feel-I can feel myself in your stomach,” he breathed, jerking forward before he pulled back so stare at your smaller form. “Lift your shirt.”

You were definitely not in a state to disobey, hands tugging the hem of the white button up above your breasts as you shamelessly tried to rock on him.

Patrick groaned, rocking his hips slowly against yours as he stared at your navel. Following his gaze, you felt your face heat as your stomach clenched.

He wasn’t kidding.

He could watch you take every inch of him.

He could watch himself fuck your stomach.

A deep, possessive growl ripped from his throat as he curled himself around you, resuming his previous fast, deep, and dizzying pace.

All you could do was hold on for dear life as he used you however he saw fit.

You felt the familiar burn in your stomach, curling your toes as you babbled what you hoped was a coherent sentence explaining how close you were.

Patrick laughed breathlessly, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. The pain mixed with your pleasure in the perfect way, sending you crashing into your orgasm as you tangled your hands in his blonde locks.

The feeling of you tightening around him was enough for him to follow, burying himself inside you as his hips stuttered, emptying himself in your soaked core.

Patrick pulled away, gently kissing the now bleeding mark on your neck. He hummed softly, sniffing the air before turning his attention to the stove.

Without pulling out of you, he shifted, turning off the stove as he raised a brow at you.

“Dinner is burnt,” he muttered. You panted in response, watching him as he raked a hand through his tousled hair. “Takeout?”

“Long as you don’t take it out of me,” you giggled breathlessly. He snorted, rolling his eyes as he slid his arms under your back, pulling you close as he kicked his pants off.

Hmmmm. Prison Patrick.

He hummed softly, a tune you didn’t recognize as he sat across from you.

“Michael,” you said, causing him to tense and glare at you for a moment. You blinked, clearing your throat. “I’m sorry, Patrick.”

He nodded slowly, leaning back in his seat. He stared at you for a moment before speaking.

“I’m glad you know the difference,” he started. His gaze narrowed slightly. “I hope you continue to do so.”

“I try,” you said. “I’m sorry I slip up. Do other people mess up often?”

He shrugged, slouching more in his seat.

“Sometimes I think they do it to just piss me off,” he said. “Michael doesn’t like it in here.”

“I understand that,” you said slowly, placing your pencil down. “From my interactions with him, he’s a lot more nervous than you.”

Patrick nodded, yawning and shrugging.

“Are you tired, Patrick?”

“Sort of,” he answered bluntly, meeting your gaze before smiling. “But I do love talking to you.”

“Why is that?”

He shrugged, not answering. You yawned, rubbing your eyes.

“Are you tired, Y/n?”

“Yeah,” you answered. “Sometimes working doesn’t end after my shift.”

“What if I could take you away?”

You blinked at that, before a wide smile worked its way across your face.

“If you find a way to do that, let me know.”

Patrick grinned slowly.

“I have a few bad Habits that might be able to help me out of here,” he said. Your head tilted at the way he said the word ‘habits’, almost as if it were an inside joke.