I Need To Ride His Face Sorry

"RSV" g. house/j. wilson Oneshot

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The cold atmosphere surrounding the two men dampened the mood plenty, and the harsh coughs of the patient in front of them made it worse.

House had taken a case of a seven year old girl who hadn’t been able to walk since she was three. Whenever pressure was put on her left leg she would get a shooting pain all the way up to her spine.

No doctor knew why, other than that it was immovable and that she would probably never use it again. She and her mom had come into the clinic due to a respiratory infection, and House found her background ‘interesting.’ 

After a plethora of examinations and not-so-legal operations, he and his team found a tumor in her calf and in the middle of her spinal cord. How all of her other doctors missed them baffled the man, truly.

But that was how he was now sitting next to the girl showing her magic tricks as Wilson discussed with her mom possible treatments. 

“We could remove them and the dead tissue that surrounds the tumors, but it’s a tough and long operation that doesn’t have the highest chance of working.” Wilson stated lowly to the crying woman.

“How high?” She choked out, wiping her eyes with a tissue.

“A good, twenty-percent chance.” He estimated and thought about the severity of the girl's illness. “Her respiratory infection also doesn’t help much in the process, but if we don’t take those tumors out now, they might not be able to come out at all.”

The mother looked over at her daughter and watched as House pulled out a card from behind her ear, and then she saw him flick the girl’s forehead when she said it was the wrong card. Her mother laughed slightly, and then looked back at Wilson.

“Where do I sign?” Wilson smiled at her words and nodded to the door, “I’ll show you the reception.”

=======

The woman came back to the room and hugged her daughter, kissing her forehead. “Are you ready to get better, sweetie?”

The girl nodded her head and grinned, a tear falling from her eye.

Wilson walked in and snorted at House, who had fallen asleep in the chair with cards spread out all over him. 

“House.” He called out to the man, repeating it louder again. House still didn’t wake up, and Wilson scoffed before looking at the girl and the woman. 

“It’s about to get a little loud.” He warned them before he stood in front of the girl and offered his hand out. She took it, and he used his other to take off a cord that connected her to her heart monitor. It beeped loudly, repetitively, and House jolted awake. 

“Huh?”

“Welcome back, we almost lost you there.” Wilson said sarcastically, and House rolled his eyes. Wilson looked back at the girl, and he and House both grimaced when she coughed on his face. 

“I am so sorry.” The girl said and covered her mouth as she finished coughing. 

Wilson smiled tightly at her and connected her back to the heart monitor, “It’s all right, it happens more than you think.”

=======

“Where’s Wilson?” House barged into Cuddy’s office, completely ignoring the man she was with.

“House!” She scolded him, gesturing to the other man. “I’m in a meeting with someone. Knock next time.” 

“Oh, really? In that shirt I thought you were trying to proposition him a little something-something, if you catch my drift.” He raised his eyebrows to punctuate his sentence and grinned.

Cuddy gritted her teeth, and excused herself from the other man before walking out of the office with House trailing behind her.

“Wilson is at home sick with RSV. I told him to leave when I saw him this morning with eyebags heavier than yours and when I heard him cough his lungs out in his office from outside his door.” 

House looked at her and hummed before taking off without a word. The woman groaned and turned around, stopping one of the assistants. “Clock Dr. House out of work, please.”

=========

House lifted his cane up to Wilson’s door and knocked to the tune of ‘Shave and a Haircut’. He didn’t get a response, so he jiggled the handle and opened the door when he noticed it was unlocked. 

“You know, I could kill and rob you right now.” He shouted out as he walked into Wilson’s living room. It was eerily quiet, and he didn’t like it. The man thudded his cane on the ground three times and heard a faint cough as three other knocks followed from Wilson’s bedroom wall.

House’s eyebrows furrowed and he went to see the sick oncologist, roughly opening the door and turning on the lights. “Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey.”

Wilson groaned loudly and grabbed one of his pillows to cover his head with, coughing underneath it. He groaned even louder when House poked him with his cane, right before House jabbed it into his side.

“Ow! House!” Wilson uncovered his head and looked at the other man, holding up his hand to the light above them. He coughed a bit, and House let out a quick ‘yikes’ when he saw just how bad Wilson looked. 

The man in question had eyebags darker than his own hair, and his eyes were incredibly red and puffy. His lips were dry and cracked, and he had dried drool on his chin. His cheeks were red as well, and his hair was tousled like he just got thrown off a bull. 

“Jesus Christ.” House murmured, taking in the sight of his best friend. The said man had only grunted and thrown his face back into his pillow, coughing into it. 

“If you’re gonna gawk, at least turn the lights off.” His voice was muffled, but House understood it enough to flick the light switch and leave the room.

The man stood there for a second, staring at the door before going into the kitchen and grabbing Wilson’s keys from the glass bowl, and leaving to go to his own house.

=======

Wilson’s eyes opened when he heard his front door slam shut, and he inhaled deeply and sat up. He ran his hands through his tangled hair and carefully stood up, making his way to his bathroom. Washing his hands when he was finished with his business, he turned off the water and dried his hands while trying to sniff the air.

He couldn’t smell or breathe very well, but there was a slight smell of Thai food that caught his attention. He fixed his hair and left the bathroom, and wobbled to his kitchen, where he saw House sitting down on his sofa and eating noodles while watching ‘General Hospital.’

“Save any for me?” He croaked out and cleared his throat. 

“Fridge.” Was the only thing House said through a mouthful of noodles, and Wilson made his way to his fridge.

He pulled out a box of more noodles, and noticed the grocery bag on his counter. He reached out for it, and pulled out a bottle of Nyquill, Aspirin, Tylenol, allergy medications, and Motrin.

He opened the bottle of Tylenol and grabbed two, tossing them into his mouth and fitting his head under the sink to down them with the tap water. He grabbed the Thai noodles and sat down next to House, digging into his food. 

They both sat there in enjoyable silence until Wilson noticed all of the new pillows and blankets that sat on his reclinable sofa and spoke up.

“What’s all that for?” He mumbled through his noodles. 

“Doesn’t matter.” House said simply, pushing himself off the couch with his cane and taking his trash and bowl to the kitchen. Wilson stared at the cushions and shrugged, continuing to watch the TV. 

When he was finished, he got up and also took his bowl to the kitchen, and he coughed into his elbow as he placed his bowl in the sink. “Are you going to pay rent, at least?”

“Nope.” House popped the P and typed away on Wilson’s laptop, not bothering to look at the man. Wilson deadpanned at House until he decided to walk away and go back to his room, flopping onto his bed and falling asleep there.

The other man was searching for drug cocktails that he could inject his friend with to get him better, and he grinned devilishly when he found one that he had access to all of the drugs.

He leaned over slightly to see if Wilson’s door was open or not, and stood up and quickly made way to his bag when he saw it was closed. He pulled out what should have been a med-kit, and took out the drugs in it. He chose what he needed, and made sure all of the right ingredients were put into a syringe.

He slowly limped to Wilson’s room, opting out of using his cane so that he didn’t cause too much noise and wake him up. House opened his door carefully, and his nerves eased when he heard the loudest snore he’s ever heard in his life.

 He ticked his tongue and made his way to Wilson, pulling out a sanitisation packet from his pocket. He lifted the sleeping man’s shirt and carefully rubbed it onto his back, freezing when he stirred. Pulling out the other packet, he wiped down the needle slowly and injected Wilson with the cocktail quickly. 

He froze again, expecting Wilson to wake up and yell at him, but he didn’t. He was still fast asleep, and still snoring. House smiled in success and tossed the syringe into the trashcan by Wilson’s bed, and covered it up with crinkled tissues. He then left the room and closed the door, and went back into the kitchen where the laptop was. 

House re-skimmed over the article with the side effects and he stopped when he saw something slightly alarming.

“Patient may fall unconscious for any time ranging from 16 hours to 2 days. Watch closely and monitor all the time. Any illnesses that the patient may have when the cocktail is injected will dimishness.”

“Shit.”

=======

Wilson woke up after twenty-six hours with cotton mouth, a diaper on, and no idea where he was until he saw House sitting on a chair reading a magazine. 

“House?” He grumbled, lifting himself up to look at his clock. It was late, 1:24 in the morning to be exact. He looked back at House, and the man stood up and slapped the back of his hand onto Wilson’s forehead and held it there. 

“Feels fine.” The man said, and he grabbed his cane and left the confused Wilson to his own devices. 

Wilson didn’t know what happened, or what to do, so he chose to take a shower and freshen up. When he was done, he saw a glass of water on his bedside table and downed it immediately.

He sighed and stood there, unsure of what to do once again. That was until he noticed he felt much better than when he fell asleep.

He went to find House, and saw him in the kitchen again making what he assumed was an omelet. Staring into the back of House’s head, he felt that something was wrong.

He went to sleep with RSV and the worst headache and cough of his life, and now he felt like he could run a marathon.

“What did you do?” He questioned, and locked eyes with House when he turned around.

“What, no ‘thank you?’ No, ‘Oh my goodness, House. I feel so much better, thank you for your help and kindness?’” House mocked, tossing the omelet onto a plate and holding it out for Wilson.

Wilson felt iffy taking the food, but he still did and he sat down at the table as House served him a glass of orange juice. 

“It’s two in the morning-” “I don’t care, eat your food.”

“M’kay.” Wilson didn’t argue and he grabbed his fork and ate, huffing down all of it and drinking every drop in the glass. “So, what’d you do?”

“I drugged you with seven different drugs.” House told him, grabbing Wilson’s plate and putting it in the sink before filling his glass back up with more juice. Wilson sat there and stared at him in disbelief, no words could come out of his mouth. 

“Right.” Was the only word he could say, and he downed the drink in his glass. His mind was racing with many things he wanted to tell his friend.

He was in awe that he would put him so close to death, and that he would even think of doing such a thing that could one again, put him so close to death. It was insane of him to do, and he was flabbergasted. But what came out instead of yelling was, 

“You cared that much?” House turned on the water to the sink and grabbed a sponge and soap and started doing the dishes, ignoring Wilson’s question. 

That was the only answer Wilson needed, though, and he smiled at the back of House’s head. 

“I’m telling your team when I go into work.”

“No the hell you aren’t!”

“Oh, yes the hell I am!”

Give me 10 minutes with him alone in a room and one of us will come out pregnant (it's gonna be him)

"The Wrong Kind of Jealousy" p. hockstetter Oneshot

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Summary: A break up leaves Y/N heartbroken and feeling awful, and Patrick doesn't like it. He's the only one who should make you feel like shit, and he's determined to prove he can be worse than your boyfriend.

Warnings: Vulgar language, break up, kind of non-con, choking, passing out, dacryphilia, classroom setting, almost fingering, use of "slut."

A/N: My bad guys, I got botox up my bladder so I haven't gotten to my Wips 😭 Here's my apology, please don't burn my house down.

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“Aiden, please! I didn’t know he’d ask me out, I thought he was just being friendly.” You sobbed, breath raspy and scattered. 

You had met a guy named Donnie in your science class while you were taking a test. He had asked for answers since he was new to the school and didn’t know much, and being the people pleaser you were, you gave them to him. 

He asked for your number after and said that he’d give you the answers to the upcoming math test as a thank you, and you didn’t think anything of it. 

You two started talking, and became friends over the few weeks you knew each other. Of course, nobody ever has kind intentions anymore, and he called you, asking you out on a date while you were making food in your kitchen. Since your boyfriend Aiden went to a different school, the two had never met. And he picked up the phone before you could.

“Does that really fucking matter?” He raised his voice at you and you flinched. He’d never gotten so upset over things like this, so it hurt to hear him yell.

You had a plethora of guy friends; many that he was also friends with. So why was he so angry now?

“You never thought to tell him about me? About us?” Aiden threw his hands on his head and laughed. He was pissed.

“I didn’t think about it, it seemed innocent!” You couldn’t recall the last time you had to defend yourself like this to someone over anything because you were an honest person.

He shook his head and ran his hands down his face, inhaling deeply. “I should’ve known you were gonna cheat on me. Nobody’s that perfect.” 

“Aiden-”

“You’re a slut, Y/N. I should’ve fucking known. We’re done.” He growled, grabbing his jacket off of the counter and aiming towards the door.

“Aiden, please wait.” Tears fell down your face as you tried to reason with him. You loved Aiden, and you didn’t want to see him go. 

“I don’t wanna fucking see you again.” Aiden slammed the door behind him, leaving you to cry in your kitchen.

–

Two days passed, and you were miserable. You cut it off with Donnie, and you hadn’t seen or heard from Aiden since that night. It was lunch and you were at school, eating your meal in an empty classroom, sitting on one of the desks. You’d usually eat with Aiden and talk about anything, but now it was quiet and lonely. 

Holding your sandwich up to your mouth, you were about to take a bite when the door opened.

It was Patrick Hockstetter. The bane of your very existence.

He was such an asshole, and you hated him. He’d grope you, call you names, sometimes even hurt you if you two were alone. You had brought it up to Aiden a couple of times, but he’d always dismiss it, saying he did it to everybody and that you weren’t special.

You never had sex with Aiden, and he never saw you naked, so he also never saw any of the marks Patrick would leave on you. Burn scars from lighters and cigarettes, bruises, cuts, the initials he carved under your belly button. The hickeys.

You never thought it counted as cheating since you never reciprocated anything Patrick would do, and you never told Aiden about it in fear that he’d break up with you for it. But you knew deep, deep down, that you were cheating.

Because a sick, sick, part of you liked it.

Aiden was never rough with you when making out. He treated you like fine China, which you were thankful for. But he never went further, not like Patrick would.

Aiden would kiss you softly, never pressing too hard on your lips. Patrick would make you choke on his tongue and bite your lips, making you bleed every time. 

You hated him, and everything he did. But sometimes you’d look at your scars and remember how awful it felt, and you’d get hot and red in the face.

“Figured your cunt would be in here.” Grinning, he slipped through the crack in the door and closed it, locking it behind him. You shivered, knowing that you weren’t going to leave the classroom without some kind of wound. 

“What do you want?” You croaked out, voice hoarse from crying. You put the sandwich back in your lunch bag and crossed your arms over your chest, regretting the tight white shirt and pastel pink skirt you wore today. 

Patrick snickered at your poor attempt to cover yourself and he turned the lights off, making the only light in the room be from the cracks in the blinds that covered the windows. 

“What do you think I want?” It was only then that you noticed the blood from his nose, and the blood on his hands. Usually you’d never think anything of it, but you were somewhat worried.

Patrick never liked Aiden. He hated how much attention Aiden took from you, and he made sure you knew. He hated how upset you’d get when you remembered a date you two would have to go on, especially right after he’d make you suck him off.

You’d be a complete mess, mascara running down your face, lip gloss smudged, hair sticking up everywhere, drool on your chin, and your clothes would be ruined.

He liked you better when you looked that way and begged him to stop. He made sure to take a picture once, and when he couldn’t see you, he’d jerk off to it.

Patrick loved when you looked ruined, but you always wanted to look put together for Aiden.

“Patrick, what’s on your hands?” You asked shakily, eyes trained to his blood soaked fingers. 

Patrick tutted and started a slow stride to the desk you were on. “You know, Aiden was never a good choice for ya’, toots.”

You crossed your left leg over your right and your skirt rode up your thighs, and Patrick licked his lips.

“I mean, he always controlled what you did. You couldn’t go anywhere without him. And you surely wouldn’t be wearing that skirt if you two were still together.” He stopped in front of you, and put his right hand on your left knee, and his other on your calf.

He uncrossed your legs and stepped between them, removing his hands and placing them on the desk.

Patrick’s eyes never strayed from yours, and you were shaking. 

“What did you do?” You caught your breath and questioned him, fear evident all over your face.

“You never cried for me as much as you did a couple nights ago for him.” Patrick’s face held no emotion, and you had no idea what was happening inside his mind.

It filled you with dread.

“Patrick, please.” His right hand moved from the desk and he placed it up your left thigh, moving it under your skirt. His left hand went around your throat, and his fingers placed themselves skillfully against the sides of your neck.

He squeezed, hard, and slipped his fingers underneath the waistband of your underwear, pulling them back and snapping the elastic back onto your skin.

You yelped, and it took away most of your oxygen. Patrick’s fingers teased down your leg and to the back of your knee, leaving a trail of blood as it went.

You didn’t ask him, but you knew it was Aiden’s. You didn’t want to know what happened to him.

You were hyperventilating now, taking in any air that you could. Patrick would lessen his grip every now and then so you wouldn’t pass out, but then he’d tighten it again. The process repeated until you were wailing, and your hands were clawing at his.

His right hand was resting on your thigh again, and would etch up closer to your groin whenever he’d let go a bit. You were full on sobbing, and you looked perfect to him.

Mascara down your face, red marks on your neck that would surely leave a perfect blue and purple handprint later. You were trembling underneath his touch, and he loved it. 

Aiden could never make you cry like he could, and Patrick carried that pride with him. 

You tried to beg him to stop, but your words were broken and you could barely keep yourself conscious. Black spots dotted your vision, and you kept thrashing against him. 

He had never gone so far when choking you, and he’d usually leave you with some air. But he didn’t now, no matter what you did.

Patrick’s fingers climbed up into your underwear, and he smirked when he saw the fear in your wet, drowning eyes. Two fingers touched your entrance, and he dragged them up and down, pinching at your clit.

You’d never been more terrified as to what Patrick was going to do next, but you never found out. He squeezed your throat much harder, completely blocking your windpipe from getting any form of oxygen. 

The black spots took control of your vision, and you went limp in his hands. Your legs stopped kicking, your hands fell to your sides. Your head lolled back, and your face relaxed. 

Patrick hummed and let go of your neck, letting you fall back on the desk. He made sure your pulse was still beating, and his fingers went into your entrance with no more resistance. 

Aiden could never make you feel anything like he could.

"Inseparable" Part Seven

What the actual fuck. Y/N was in the sewers again, except instead of sewer water she stood in it was blood. Mixed with torn and chewed limbs. Human limbs. 

She put her left hand over her mouth and gagged, tears pricking her eyes. The limbs were a complete variety. Rotted, fresh, small, large, bitten and untouched. It reeked sweetly, the dead and decomposed did not smell nice. It was like a slaughterhouse. Scratch that, it was a slaughterhouse.

Bloodied hand prints littered top and bottom of the sewer walls, child and adult, along with arrows pointing one way in between them. The only way was forward. 

Y/N felt something move in her right hand, and she looked down to see a flashlight appear in it. She looked back up when she heard a faint “Penny! What the fuck!” and the sewer was empty and back to normal. All that remained was the arrows pointing forward, and forward she went. 

The water sloshed grossly as she moved on, the squeaking of rats made her flinch whenever she’d accidentally point her flashlight at them. Sighing, she didn’t feel like she was going anywhere. Every arrow was the same, and she only went forward. It was all the same.

She cursed when she pointed the light ahead and came face to bars blocking her way. She grabbed them and shook them, but they didn’t budge at all. She was going to turn back until she felt something grab her foot and pull her down into the trashy water. She screamed and dropped the flashlight as she went, and thrashed her leg to get whatever was grabbing her off.

Y/N couldn’t see anything, so all she could do was kick and hope she would get let go of. After hearing a grunt of whatever grabbed her, her foot was released. She sighed with relief and moved her hand up to move her wet hair out of her face, but then stopped when she remembered that she’d lost the flashlight. 

She let out an angry shriek and thumped her hands down into the water, not knowing where to go from there. She stood up carefully and fixed her hair before she saw it. The red balloon.

It had a bright glowing light in the middle of it, and it moved swiftly past her as she watched it. She let out a confused ‘what?’ when she saw that the bars were gone, and she quickly started to follow the balloon. She didn’t have all that much trust in it, but she didn’t want to go back and get grabbed by whatever the hell was behind her.

She stopped when the balloon did and she watched it grow bigger. All she could do was stare, even though her instincts were telling her to cover her ears. It popped, loudly, and she winced, and then gasped. 

The sewer tunnel had stopped with a ladder leading down, and in front of her was a bright, beautiful circus. She heard giggles and music, and smelled popcorn and sweets. Y/N quickly went down the ladder to explore, and that’s when it all went to shit. When she turned around, the music turned demonic.

The giggles stopped, and it reeked of rot once again; it looked abandoned. She stepped forward and stopped immediately when she heard what resembled a ‘squelch’, and looked down to see a half eaten rat.

She gagged like she did earlier and stepped in front of it, paying more attention to where she was placing her feet. When she reached the circus tent, a huge plank of old wood fell right in front of her, and a single flier was stapled to it. 

“Pennywise the Dancing Clown?” Y/N muttered, taking the flier and folding it to put it in her back pocket, which was weird because her shorts didn’t have pockets.

A soft jingle of bells made her look over to a half closed gate, a blood hand print on the handle. She watched her step as she went to explore it, and yelped out in surprise when she saw someone come out.

“Nicole!” She shrilled, running over to the red head and hugging her tightly. 

“Ow! Ow!” Nicole cried and pulled Y/N off of her, holding her shoulders with a confused look on her face, “What the hell are you doing down here?”

“I-” Y/N paused and looked down, “You know, I don’t actually know.”

“Right.” Nicole said, taking her hands off of her friend. Nicole was very..rugged looking. Her shoulder-length hair was an absolute mess and filled with grime, blood, and knots. Her mascara was running down her face, her lipstick smudged all over.

Her clothes were ripped from what looked like claws, and she had a huge bite mark on her left shoulder. It wasn’t too deep, but it definitely drew blood.

“Oh my God, are you okay? You look like shit.” Y/N told her, concern washed all over her face. Nicole let out a ‘huh’ and looked down at herself and started to nervously laugh a bit.

“Who me? I’m perfect, I’m great. Feeling fresh as a daisy.” She tried to reassure the other girl, a forced smile on her face. Y/N only gave her a deadpanned look before she started shouting at her about how she’s hurt and needs to be looked at by a doctor.

“I’m fine, Y/N!! Jeez, I’m not gonna die or anything. Let’s just focus on figuring out why you’re here.” Nicole raised her arms like she was getting interrogated by the police and looked around the empty circus. Y/N only nodded her head, everything that happened here had been such a shock.

She was very worried about Nicole, though. She looked like she’d been through the shredder. She had a pink flush on her cheeks since Y/N found her, and also a slight limp. Whatever had grabbed Y/N earlier must have gotten to her as well, and it must have ruffed her up quite a lot. 

They were walking around the sorrowed circus when another jingle of bells caught both of their attentions. It came from the wizened, nauseating circus tent in the middle of the huge sewer room.

Nicole and Y/N looked at each other, and Nicole smiled nervously at her before running towards that direction.

“Nicole! Wait up!” Y/N shouted after her, trying to make her way around all the trash that covered the ground floors. She watched Nicole dance through it all like she’d done it before, and it made Y/N think about if she had been down here before.

She struggled a bit and then gave up, sighing heavily as she looked around from where she was stuck. She tried to pull her feet out from the sticky spots they were in, and then she flinched when she heard Nicole’s roaring voice echo throughout the sewers. 

"Inseparable" Part Three

As she laid back down in bed with Patrick she tried to fall asleep. Yet to no avail, she couldn't. Patrick woke up later on in the morning, slinging onto her like a wild tick; a very unlikely thing for him to do.

She eventually got him to calm down and managed to get him to latch off, after some swearing and somewhat empty threats. Still questioning everything that happened, she pressed him even further about his dream and why he was acting like he was.

While he explained his dream, Y/N only got more confused. None of it made sense to her at all. Flying leeches? Some red and white clown? A blue fridge? He was frustrated when she said she couldn’t understand, and she told Patrick that it was only a dream after she got him to calm down again.

Y/N tried her best to get him to believe her, and soon the room fell silent, save for the heavy breathing and occasional sniffles. She felt he was leaving something out, something important. Wanting to find out, she offered to go on a walk to get some fresh air.

They walked along their usual path and talked about Y/N's week to clear the tension, and it seemed to work. Patrick was easier and his normal ass-hatted self, but still rather jumpy.

They were joking around about how some kid Brandon had actually pissed his pants when Henry said “I’m gonna beat you like how your mom beat my dick last night,” when Patrick had stopped and kneeled to re-tie his shoe.

Y/N had looked over the playground while waiting and saw something floating by the swing set. Frowning, she squinted her eyes to try to see it better. It was the red balloon from earlier.

“‘Trick, look!” She tapped Patrick’s shoulder and whispered. He looked over to where she was pointing, but as soon as he did, it disappeared.

He uttered a ‘huh’ dumbly and watched the empty swing go back and forth, and his skin got colder each time it did. Y/N sighed and pouted a bit, “Never mind.”

Patrick looked up at her and studied her face as she kicked at the gravel on the pathway, his eyebrows furrowing. He didn’t like the way Y/N made him feel sometimes. How it felt like he had tapeworms in his stomach anytime she’d accidentally touch him, or why he always felt like he had to keep the gang away from her so they didn’t do anything stupid.

Or how every single time she’d cry about her day, he’d get a little jealous of whoever made her cry. Sure he felt bad for her, or as much as he could anyway. But her tears should be for him to see, and him only. Just for him. 

He knew what those feelings meant. The last one, at least. He excused it, though. Blamed it on puberty, and he’d get rid of it by finding some town slut to ride his dick.

But the other feelings? He hated those. Sometimes he’d think about killing her so they’d stop. He couldn’t bring himself to, though. Patrick kind of liked Y/N, and not in the way he wanted.

"Broken A/C" p. hockstetter Oneshot

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“Admit it, you totally wanna blow me.” 

“I totally do not.” Y/N scoffed and adjusted her crossed arms, leaning back farther on the cold counter. It was the middle of the night and 82 degrees in Derry, and the air conditioning at her house had broken down from overuse.

Her dad, being the man he is, suggested they stayed at his friend’s house. Y/N didn’t remember her name, but her father told her to call her Mrs. Hockstetter. 

Y/N’s only objective was to get out of her awful hot house, so she agreed and packed a bag. She packed short shorts, a couple tank tops, a sketchbook, and her homework into a bag.

She thought she’d spend the night on Mrs. Hockstetter’s hopefully cold couch, but what her father had failed to mention was that she had a son Y/N’s age.

She was introduced to him when she and her father got into the house, and she wasn’t a big fan of his lingering gaze on her chest. She eventually stopped caring when she was greeted by the wonderful arms of air conditioning.

She had set up camp on the couch while her father and Mrs. Hockstetter talked to each other in the master bedroom, and while Patrick was up in his room doing only God knows what.

Y/N was sketching a bird in her notebook on the couch when she heard an odd thunk from the walls, and when she heard the air conditioning turn off.

Groaning, she rolled onto her stomach and shoved her face into the cushion, the immediate rush of hot air hitting her back. She threw her notebook off the couch and sat up before reaching into her bag and pulling out her short shorts and a white tank top.

She stood up and made her way to the upstairs bathroom to change when she heard noises coming from Patrick’s room. His head lights were off, but there was a small glow that emitted from underneath the door. She tilted her head and tried to be more silent as to hear what he was doing when she heard a very low and raspy “fuck” come from him.

Realizing what he was doing, she turned around quickly and went into the bathroom, softly closing the door and shaking her head. She changed into the clothes when she realized that she had grabbed her old tank top that she wore as a kid that no longer fit her, and that she had also grown out of the shorts.

They were supposed to be shorter than most, but they definitely weren’t supposed to show the underside of her ass. Y/N tried pulling them down to make them less revealing, but she gave up and accepted the fact that they rode up when she walked. 

She left the bathroom and was going to walk down the stairs when she saw that Patrick’s door was open and that he was no longer in there. Thinking nothing of it, she went down the stairs and back into the living room when she saw him looking through her sketchbook. She froze, and he noticed she was standing in front of him and grinned.

“I’m guessing birds are your favorite animal?” Patrick mocked, flipping the book around to reveal her recent drawing.

“Set it down, Patrick.” She sighed, and let out a breath of relief when he did. What made her tense again was when he walked into the kitchen that was conjoined with the living room and opened a cupboard to grab a glass.

She watched as he turned on the sink faucet and filled the cup to the brim before he steadily walked back to her and held it out for her.

“Thirsty?” He grinned, his gaze burning her as she licked her dry lips.

“A bit…” Y/N admitted and grabbed the glass, confused as to why he didn’t let go as well. She gasped loudly when he tilted it towards her and spilled some of it on her shirt, cursing him out as she walked into the kitchen to grab a towel.

He watched her wipe her chest off with the useless piece of fabric, and grinned even more when she realized it was doing nothing to absorb the water. 

She didn’t wear a bra as her tank top was too tight for one, and now her entire chest was revealed to a guy she barely knew at all. She groaned and threw the towel onto the counter, crossing her arms to keep at least a bit of her dignity.

She refused to look Patrick in the eyes, too embarrassed that she didn’t have anything to cover up and that she let a mistake like this happen. The guy in question frowned and walked towards her, leaning on the opposite counter that she was so that they stood in front of each other.

“Aw, ya shy?” He taunted, snickering at her face of disgust. 

“No, I’m mortified. You just spilled water all over me and made me flash you.” She deadpanned, unimpressed with his actions. 

“Not my fault you dressed like a whore.” Patrick only shrugged and let his eyes roam the rest of her body, from her head to her well manicured toes. “Cute nipple piercings, by the way. I really like the hearts.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Y/N sneered, readjusting her arms so that they covered more.

“D’ya want my shirt? It might make you less…cold.” He teased, watching her face turn bright red. Y/N rolled her eyes as he taunted her more and more.

That was how they got into their positions now, with her in his lap making out with him in the hot, thick aired living on the couch. His hands roamed over her torso, and hers grabbed onto the hair behind his head.

Patrick groaned when she tugged a bit too hard, and he bit her lip and grinded her hips down onto him as a response. She winced with a gasp and pulled away to catch her breath, his hands still moving her back and forth. He showed her the same devilish grin he had earlier in the night, and then the lights came on.

“Patrick!” “Y/N!” 

“Dammit!” “Dad!”

hey guys, so this is a rough time for me rn. Earlier this year, my best friend Makayla was diagnosed with severe pneumonia and was hospitalized bc of the symptoms. we had thought she had gotten better and she was let out of the hospital with medication, but it wasn’t out of her system and it got used to the steroids. We didn’t notice until it was too late, and we didn’t make it to the hospital in time. Makayla is now where she’s better and where she will forever reside with relief.

It’s been a few weeks and I haven’t been able to bring it upon myself to post this and to let you all know bc this was her passion and I wish it didn’t die with her. I wish this wasn’t how her story ended, but it unfortunately is.

I hope you all are okay and tell your loved ones you love them. We are all grieving and I will list some phone numbers for anyone who needs to talk to someone. As we struggle to accept the fact that our beloved Makayla has passed, the family has a go fund me for their needs to help with the funeral and further payments. If interested to donate, please contact me here.

Although in her honor, i know she would want me to keep posting and to keep up with myself, so I will be posting some fics that I did before all of this went down.

Thank you for all your support, I hope you all talk to your loved ones and appreciate them.

988-Crisis National Hotline

1-800-395-5755

1-800-394-HOPE

this is the same scene to me

-Character Requests-

These are just some characters I will do from fandoms that I can think of, feel free to request any character though, even if they're not here!

I do Oneshots, Series, and SMAU's. If there's anything that you want, just ask!

*-Rules-*

The Walking Dead:

Rick Grimes, Carl Grimes, Daryl Dixon, Negan Smith, Glenn Rhee, Maggie Rhee, Enid Rhee, Michonne, Rosita, Simon, Abraham, Carol, Jesus "Paul", Shane, Sasha, Dwight, Beth

House MD:

Gregory House, Lisa Cuddy, James Wilson, Allison Cameron, Robert Chase, Eric Foreman, "Thirteen"

CreepyPasta:

Jeff The Killer, Toby Rogers, BEN Drowned, Eyeless Jack, Laughing Jack, Jane The Killer, Nina The Killer, Hoodie, Masky, Liu, Sally

Slashers/Creepos:

Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Chucky/Charles Lee Ray, Brahms Heelshire, Michael Myers, Jason Vorhees, BeetleJuice

Criminal Minds:

Aaron Hotchner, Emily Prentiss, Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan, Elle Greenaway, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Penelope Garcia, Tara Lewis, Cat Adams, George Foyet

White Collar:

Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey, Alex Hunter, Diana Berrigan, Lauren Cruz, Clinton Jones

Hannibal NBC:

Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter, Alana Bloom, Beverly Katz, Freddie Lounds

Marvel Universe:

Loki Laufeyson, Mobius Mobius, Thor Odinson, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker (Tobey Maguire, Andrew Garfied, and Tom Holland), MJ Watson, Sam Wilson, Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange, Wanda Maximoff, Clint Barton, Prince T'Challa, Princess Shuri, Okoye, Carol Danvers, Gamora, Peter Quill, Nebula

IT (2017 and 2019):

Patrick Hockstetter, Henry Bowers, Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak, Bill Denbrough, Ben Hanscom, Mike Hanlon, Beverly Marsh, Stanley Uris, Pennywise

Stranger Things:

Eleven, Mike Wheeler, Steve Harrington, Joyce Byers, Jonathon Byers, Jim Hopper, Max Mayfield, Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley, Karen Wheeler, Dr. Brenner, Argyle, Billy Hargrove

Once Upon a Time:

Rumplestiltskin, Emma Swan, Prince Charming, Snow White, Regina Mills, Henry Mills, Killian Jones, Baelfire, Robin Hood, Peter Pan, Belle, August/Pinocchio, Ruby/Red, Zelena

Good Omens:

Crowley, Aziraphale, Gabriel, Anathema Device, Newton "Newt" Pulsifer, Beelzebub, Muriel

Avatar:

Jake Sully, Neytiri, Kiri (No smut), Lo'ak (No smut), Neteyam (No smut)

The Boys:

Homelander, Billy Butcher, Becca Butcher, Frenchie, Hughie Campbell, Mothers Milk, Queen Maeve, Starlight, A-Train, Deep, Black Noir, Firecracker, Kimiko "The Female", Ashley Barret, Ryan Butcher (No smut), Victoria Neuman, Soldier Boy

"Love Me Dead- Ludo" Part Two

Loud, chirping birds were not the greatest thing to wake up to with a headache, neither was the wolf spider on my pant leg. The blinding sun wasn’t either, and the twigs stabbing into my back definitely weren’t. 

Groaning, I wince and put my hand over my eyes to block out the deadly rays. The breeze did feel nice, and the smell of the forest was nicer.

I was just about to go back to whatever sleep I woke up from when I realized something that was just a bit off-putting.

I live in the city.

Sitting up too quickly for my head’s liking, my breath hitches in my throat as I take in my surroundings. Trees, trees, a squirrel, trees, and oh look! More trees.

I’m practically hyperventilating when I try to stand up, and I hiss in pain as I look down at my feet. Taking in my appearance, more dread fills my body. No shoes and no socks. 

Whoever took me was kind of smart; a very bad thing.

I wipe the leaves off my jeans and shirt and start scanning everything I can that was in my eyesight, hoping that there was some kind of human life out here.

Not seeing any, I sigh and curse under my breath, knowing that I have to suffer through no foot protection to find a way out of here.

I cringe with every step I take, knowing the amount of blisters I’ll have. Something heavy falls on my right shoulder after a few steps and I freeze. 

I stop breathing as I notice through my peripheral vision that the heavy object is indeed something sharp and that there’s a gloved hand holding it.

It pulls back, slicing through my shoulder when a pop comes from the hand’s wrist. I scream and fall to my knees, hand reaching up to hold the wound as I cry. The person behind me snickers, and crouches down next to me. 

They’re a man, and the object he holds is a hatchet. One that really fucking hurts. 

“Let’s replay our l–last game from last ye–ar, m’kay?” He grins, his neck popping to the left. “You run, and I’ll find you again!” Giggling, he stands back up and puts the hatchet into the harness wrapped around his waist, and I notice the other one on the other side. 

“I can cl–close my eyes if that makes you feel an–y better.” His god-awful smirk makes me want to vomit, or maybe that was just the fear coming back from last year.

Whatever it was, I shuddered and quickly stood up, making a run for it.

“One, two, three-” His voice fades away as I go, and I’m too high on adrenaline to notice the cuts and splinters in my feet. The trees all look the same, the rocks, the logs, everything.

Nothing changes as I run.

Panicking and realizing that I’m still running in a straight line forward, I start taking lefts and rights to throw him off. Is he still counting? I doubt it. Last year he gave me at most five minutes to run, probably less now that I think about it.

I slow down due to my shortness of breath and look down to see a rather large splinter on top of my foot. Something feels off and I get the urge to kneel down and pick it out, so I do.

The second I bend down, a whoosh comes from above me, and I look up to see an axe halfway through the tree in front of me. I widen my eyes and look behind me, seeing him standing there at least 15 feet away.

His hand twitches, his neck popping to the left once again. Before I register the fact that that tree could have been me, I sprint away once again, completely forgetting about my lungs and the splinter in my foot.