Nightmares, revolve around you (Peterick)
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- Partes 9
Contenido adultoContinúa38m
Última publicación dom, jun 19, 2016
Patrick has night terrors about pete leaving him or dying or even worse. Pete is trying to help Patrick by sending him to a mental hospital. Does it help? Does bring them closer? Or farther away. What will Pete think when Patrick hasn't told him his full story from when he was younger.
I walk back to where I left Patrick except he was curled in a ball and crying. I rushed over to him picking him up and cradling him in my lap hoping he would stop crying, but failing.
He started to shake uncontrollably, I picked him back up and carried him bridal style up the stairs taking him into my room. I grabbed my fluffiest blanket and laid him down putting the blanket on top of him.
I get under the blanket with him and wrap my arms around him protectively. "Its okay Pattycakes" I whisper sweet nothings to him.
Full of fluff a bit of smut
TRIGGER WARNINGS/ self harm, rape, alcohol, suicide
Okay I suck at writing so yeah
Not very good at updates srry
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When Pete shows up Sunday, mid-afternoon, for ten days of house sitting and "Keeping a general eye on things, Patrick, we know you're too old for a babysitter, but we worry," he looks exactly the same, except for a stupid haircut that makes him look like someone cut it when he was too drunk to look in a mirror, or something. "Hey, kid," he says, first thing, lugging a huge, shiny brown duffle behind him. It's slippery, nylon or something, and it keeps rubbing against Pete's jeans, making some sort of whispery zipper sound that sets Patrick's teeth on edge. "I'm here for Patricksitting. I assume you're the Patrick?" Link to the original story: http://adellyna.livejournal.com/355836.htmlConcluida
Word Count 22,385 Summary When Pete shows up Sunday, mid-afternoon, for ten days of house sitting and "Keeping a general eye on things, Patrick, we know you're too old for a babysitter, but we worry," he looks exactly the same, except for a stupid haircut that makes him look like someone cut it when he was too drunk to look in a mirror, or something. "Hey, kid," he says, first thing, lugging a huge, shiny brown duffle behind him. It's slippery, nylon or something, and it keeps rubbing against Pete's jeans, making some sort of whispery zipper sound that sets Patrick's teeth on edge. "I'm here for Patricksitting. I assume you're the Patrick?"
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