#patrick hockstetter x ghost reader

[sematarygirls]

Could you post what you have so far for living dead girl so we aren’t left hanging?

sure! i already posted it a bit ago, but it was quite awhile ago, so i'll be happy to post it again for you <3

it sort of makes me cringe when i read it now but i'll take one for the team

"What the hell do you want from me?" Patrick asked, trying to hide the fear in his voice as he spun around to face you.

You grinned wickedly, trailing your fingers along his chest. "To feel your fear," you whispered darkly, leaning in so your lips ghosted over his earlobe. "Are you scared yet?"

"Fuck you," he scoffed, stepping away. "I'm not afraid of some little bitch"

"Oooh," your eyebrows furrowed in distaste as you clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth. "Such a vulgar mouth." Faster than he could even comprehend what was happening, your hand reached up, gripping his throat with inhumane strength.

He sputtered something incoherent as he tried to fight you off him, clawing at your arm, hand, face, anything he could touch, but you were completely unfazed, staring into his eyes with a fire that ignited a foreign feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Do you know what it's like to die?" You asked through gritted teeth. He tried to shake his head, his movement hindered by your hold on his neck. "Would you like too?" You grinned sinisterly, watching the fear in his eyes grow for a moment before pushing him back and releasing his throat from your grip.

He stumbled backward, tripping over the end of his bed as he gasped for air. His eyes were blown wide, all bravery gone as he crawled away from you.

"Relax," you scoffed, rolling your eyes. You disappeared, appearing in front of him in a crouched position so you two were eye to eye. You pressed your hand to his cheek, caressing it lightly which caused him to recoil away from you. "I'm not gonna kill you," you flashed a dark grin his way as he stared at you with fear. "I'm not done playing with you yet."

"Get the fuck away from me," he croaked out, voice weak from both being choked and being frightened half to death, but he still tried to regain his dominance.

"You're in no position to make demands," you laughed humorlessly, obeying him nonetheless and giving him a bit of space. You flopped down onto his bed, making yourself comfortable as if you hadn't been strangling him a moment prior. "Your bed is surprisingly comfortable."

He carefully pulled himself up from his position on the ground, staring at you as he crossed the room quickly, making his way to the door. With a wave of your hand, the door slammed shut. "W-what? How did you-"

"Are you really this stupid?" You groaned, placing your arms behind your head and watching in amusement as he tried to open the door to no avail. "I guess I'll spell it out for you. I'm a ghost. I'm dead. I have otherworldly abilities," you said, explaining it for him in a few different ways. "Does that pretty much clear it up for you?"

"This isn't happening to me. This can't be happening to me," he murmured to himself, fiddling with the doorknob.

"God, you're whiny," you scoffed. He froze, his back straightening as he thought for a moment. After a beat, he turned around, advancing toward you with a newfound bravery.

"You're nothing," he seethed, looming over you. "You're not real. I'm real."

"Ooooh," you smirked, gazing up at him. "Finally, some fire."

"Listen here you little bitch," he wrapped his fingers around your neck, choking you as you had done to him. He glared at you as he climbed onto the bed, hovering on top of you. His eyebrows furrowed, words dying in his throat as he watched a grin spread on your face.

"Can't feel pain, babe," your lips curled upwards, a condescending edge in your voice. "Only," you trailed off, swiftly flipping you two over so that you were on top of him. "Pleasure." You watch his eyes darken significantly as he licked his lips. "One of the many parks of being dead; I suppose."

He clenched his jaw, hands falling away from your neck and resting on your hips instead. "Y'know I gotta give you a little credit. I was so," you sighed. "Bland when I was alive." Your eyes trailed to the space where his shirt had ridden up, exposing a bit of his stomach, the exact place where he had driven a knife into you. "The perfect victim, huh."

"You were pathetic," he degraded, flashing his Cheshire cat grin at you.

"No," you shook your head, disappearing and reappearing on the other end of the room. "You're pathetic," you taunted, promptly disappearing from his view and leaving him all worked up.

He called your name, demanding you come back to him or suffer the consequences. You, of course, watched from the shadows, invisible to the human eye as he stared at his ceiling, a scowl etched on his face as he laid in discomfort.

You had power over him. This was your unfinished business. You were meant to make him feel how he had made you feel— weak, small, helpless. You were made to make him suffer.

He laid in bed, processing the events that had happened up until now and trying to ignore the tightness in his jeans. "Fuck," he groaned, standing from his bed and pulling his t-shirt over his head. He was hot, too hot. It felt like his skin was on fire.

He stumbled to the bathroom, the feeling on his skin something unnatural— he fucking knew that you were behind it. He couldn't tell whether he hated it or enjoyed it. It was walking the thin line between torture and ultimate pleasure. It burned so bad that it almost felt good.

He turned the shower on, stepping into the ugly green bathtub, only shedding the rest of his clothes once they were soaking wet. He groaned out in relief as the freezing water soothed his skin.

This feeling was shortly lived as he heard your laugh resounding through the house which had him gritting his teeth.

Never in his life had he been met with his match. He couldn't hurt you. That was what got him into this mess, and he couldn't fuck with your mind because you were fucking with his.

He knew that feeling he felt, that anger every time he looked at you, was him staring at the only other real person in this shitty world, but he ignored it. He killed you, killed someone godly like himself, and was now facing the consequences.

"Fuck you!" He shouted, slamming his palms against the shower tile as water dripped down his body.

"You wish," your voice whispered right in his ear, but when he turned, he was met with nothing. The feeling on his skin vanished all at once, causing him to yell out as the icy water pelted his skin like hail. He fumbled, quickly turning it off with a frustrated sigh.

You were messing with him, and you were enjoying it. He hated being your plaything. He hated feeling weak and powerless like the animals he'd torture and kill and the loser kids he'd bully with his friends.

He lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling with his arms tucked behind his head, shirt riding up to reveal a small portion of his stomach as he thought about you.

Nothing had ever plagued his mind as much as you had, and it drove him mad. Most recently, his thoughts had been filled with feeling your lips on his, and your hands on his burning skin. Something about the fact that you were dead, murdered by his hands made him want you more than he'd wanted anything in his life.

#☀️ sol's asks #answered ! #patrick hockstetter #it #patrick x ghost reader #patrick hockstetter x ghost reader

[bowersgangobsessed]

The Water Nymph: Chapter One

Water Nymph!Patrick Hockstetter x Reader Fluff! My fingertips graze the water, watching the ripples that circle out through the water. I sigh, walking in, the water rising to my waist, my ribs, my shoulders. “Peaceful... Isn’t it?” I turn seeing a boy about my age. His chest is bare, sparkling with water droplets. His raven black hair hangs around his face, making his emerald eyes look ethereal. “Yes. It is.” He walks closer, sitting next to me. “I’ve been watching you.” My eyes widen as I turn to him. He continues to speak, staring off into the distance. “I’ve always watched you. You come here everyday to just enjoy the peacefulness.” “Stalker.” He grins, playing with the water. “Just a little bit. Can you blame me?” I blush, extending my hand. “Y/F/N.” He smiles, shaking it. “Patrick Hockstetter.” My jaw drops as I look at him. “But you went missing, they found your body.” He sighs, looking down. “Yeah, and now I’m doomed to stay here forever.” I look at him. “So you’re a ghost?” He frowns. “A water nymph.” I smile. “Sorry, water nymph.” He smiles, cupping water in his hands. “Watch.” The water starts to shape itself into a tiny dog, I smile as it prances around his palms. He holds it towards me. “Open your hands.” I open them as he lets it crawl into my palms. It sits down, staring up at me. It’s small, clear tail wags side to side, droplets spray as it moves. “It’s so cute.” Pat smiles, petting its head with a fingertip. “Keep it.” I smile, stroking my thumb over it. “Won’t it die though?” He shrugs. “I don’t know. Try your best though.” I smile at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. His cheeks flush instantly as he clears his throat. “Good luck.” I grab my things, slipping the small puppy into my bag. I turn back to Patrick, smiling. “Thanks for everything today.” He grins. “See you tomorrow.” I wrap my arms around him, pulling him into a hug. “See you tomorrow.” I walk away, turning to wave, seeing him gone. “Bye Pat.”

#patrick hockstetter #owen teague #water nymph #it #itchaptertwo #it2017 #it2019 #it chapter two #bowers gang #bowersgang #henry bowers #nicholas hamilton #vic criss #logan thompson #belch huggins #jake sim #bowers boys #losers club #losersclub #thelosersclub #water #swimming #reddie #richie tozier #finn wolfhard #bill denbrough #jaeden martell #bev marsh #sophia lillis

[fuck-bowers]

Opposites Attract (Henry Bowers x Reader)

request: the reader is really shy (like me) and she has a huge crush on Henry. Henry finds out one day that she has a crush on him, and he teases and flirts with her and does sexual things to her until he gets her to crack and admit her feelings for him. then Henry asks her to be his girlfriend.

a/n: thank you for the request @kaitlinp0rrini, and I hope you enjoy it! this is the cheesiest thing I’ve ever written

It all started when Clark Freeman, number 52 on the Derry High football team, got tripped by Henry Bowers in the first floor hallway in between class periods five and six. You’d been standing by your locker, organizing your papers for science class, when you saw it go down.

Clark was a complete asshole, not only to you, but to everybody around him, one of those popular jocks who thrived on thinking the world revolved around him. No one had ever challenged that idea before. Henry seemed to take it into his own hands to fulfill such a task single-handedly, while walking towards the cocky quarterback one fateful Monday afternoon.

You’d heard a rumor that the whole football team had a secret fear of the Bowers gang, a club of four delinquents that made games out of terrorizing their peers. You’d never thought much of them, until you turned around and saw a flash of a letterman jacket fly to the floor before you.

Clark gasped as he turned around to see the perpetrator of the crime - Henry Bowers in the flesh, turning around to look at his victim with a sneer.

You froze, anticipating to be in the VIP section of the fight of the century, but saw nothing of the sort transpire.

Clark scrambled to his feet, keeping his eyes on Henry, giving a death glare that was undermined by his body language.

“You wanna fuckin’ go, Bowers?” He asked, though it seemed he didn’t want to know the answer, as he scurried away without another look behind him.

You couldn’t help but start to laugh. It wasn’t something you did often - you were extremely shy, and hated drawing too much attention to yourself. However, it was just too funny. You fucking hated a majority of the football team, it was chock-full of assholes like Clark. Finally, you saw one of them get a taste of their own medicine.

The other witnesses around you looked just as shocked, just as amused, but you were the only one to outright laugh, granting you the momentarily undivided attention of Henry himself.

His eyes locked with yours, and before you could nervously look away, he spoke.

“Somethin’ funny, sweetheart?” Henry questioned with the ghost of a smile. Your eyes widened as his scanned over you, making eye contact once again before stalking off.

That’s all it took for you to develop a crush on the most dangerous boy in school.

Patrick Hockstetter loved people watching.

People watching at Derry High was like studying an ant farm. Students and teachers scattered mindlessly wherever they needed to go, and interacted with each other for arbitrary reasons, and all looked so normal until you picked just one to study and tried to figure out its motives.

Of course, it was never very hard to do, but it was a way to pass the time far better than paying attention to the teacher.

One day in science class, Patrick picked you as a specimen.

Quiet people were usually the most interesting to watch, and were always the best fucks - you were even one of the more attractive girls in that class - but the potential of developing even remote interest in you hinged on whether or not you were entertaining to observe.

You were very entertaining, much more than he anticipated, but not because of your unconscious mannerisms - you’d kept your eyes on Henry for a majority of the class period.

Henry attracted many girls, but Patrick noticed that they were a particular type of girl. The loud, raucous ones, or the dangerous, wild ones made up his fan club. Very rarely would the quiet librarian type develop feelings for him, or at least make it as obvious as you made it, without using words.

Only at the end of class did you turn and notice Patrick staring at you one row over. Face reddening, you looked down as the bell rang, folding your textbook into your arms and walking out of the classroom in a rush.

Henry approached Patrick, hands in his pockets.

“We goin’ downtown today?” He asked, apparently completely oblivious of how you’d stared at him all period. Patrick smiled slyly.

“Sure thing, Henry.”

Patrick intended on telling about you later that night, but that evening he’d completely forgot by the time the Bowers gang was huddled around a table at Barry’s Burgers, and it had completely slipped his mind.

“You guys should’ve fucking seen it.” Henry laughed, taking a bite of his burger. “He fell like a ton of fucking bricks, and ran the fuck away like the pussy he is. It was hilarious.”

The guys laughed with him.

“I would’ve fucking paid to see that. Did any teachers catch you? They basically worship the football team.” Vic sarcastically questioned.

Henry shook his head. “Not this time. Thank fuck. I’ve had enough bad shit with teachers.”

“You had an audience though, right?”

A nod. “Yeah, everyone looked fucking thankful I did it. This girl from my chem class burst out laughing when I did it, like, loud, and she’s one of those quiet girls. He must’ve fucked her over or something.”

Patrick immediately perked up.

“What?”

Henry blinked, taking another bite before his reply and talking as he chewed. “Everyone was happy I tripped that little bitch. You guys should’ve been there. It was like, two months ago.”

“You said a girl was there?”

Henry smiled when he thought of you. He swallowed.

“Yeah, I think her name is Y/N? She’s in our science class. She was there when I tripped him, and she laughed out loud about it. He must’ve fucked her over or something. Or she just hates him like everyone else. Surprised more people didn’t laugh. He’s such a dick.”

Patrick smiled.

“That’s interesting.”

Henry scoffed. “What, have you met Clark? Cuz-”

“Do you like that girl?”

Henry had thought you were hot since the beginning of the year, but had a feeling you were one of those out-of-reach girls, either with a boyfriend, or with standards too high for the head of the Bowers gang, much less any of the other members. Henry rarely attracted shy girls, and he was positive that he’d never heard a single peep out of you before the day he tripped Clark.

“She’s a babe.” Henry said, furrowing his brow at Patrick. “Why?”

Patrick had gained the attention of Vic and Belch, and the whole table stared at him.

“That girl’s totally in love with you. She spent the whole fucking period today staring at you.”

Henry blinked, perplexed, trying to imagine you doing such a thing without him noticing.

“How the fuck would you know?” He asked, nearly insulted.

“I had nothing to fuckin’ do, and I looked around the room and I saw she was fucking staring at you, like, the whole period. Like a freak.”

“Don’t fucking insult her man, you’re a freak.”

“Fuck you.“

Henry had already known about Patrick’s tendency to people-watch. Maybe he was telling the truth. There was no reason for him to lie anyway, and Henry had caught you looking at him a few times.

As Vic and Belch picked up a conversation, the gears in Henry’s head began to turn, and he smiled, turning to his best friend.

“Well, thanks, Pat. I think I’ll put it to the test.”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “You really don’t fuckin’ trust me?”

“I do. I just wanna see how right you are.”

It was perfect, it really was - on most days, you’d sit with desks about two feet apart. On testing days, they’d be even farther apart, sometimes positioned in random opposing directions - but due to an upcoming project, Mrs. Baxter was sure to separate people into partners for the week ahead. Fifteen minutes before the end of class that Friday, Mrs. Baxter began her weekly process.

The two of you had never been paired before. Henry knew full well it was time to strike.

“I think I’ll pair you with Roger this week, Calvin… and Y/N…” the teacher glanced around the room, until she spotted Henry with raised eyebrows, as well as a raised hand.

“Yes, Henry?”

“I’ll be her partner.” He volunteered.

Your heart nearly did a backflip. What was he doing?

Though it caught you off guard, you weren’t about to turn down such an offer.

You swallowed and nodded at a crossed-brow Mrs. Baxter.

“Yeah. We’ve never been partnered up before.” You added. Henry shot a smug glance at you from the back of the room.

“Alright.” She said, moving onto the next student.

It was the protocol to go to your partner and talk about the study guide, start going over the first page if you had the time. As you turned to look at the boy you’d been partnered with, it seemed that he wasn’t going anywhere. You’d have to go to him.

You stood up, your textbook and your notebook wrapped in your arms, nervously walking towards his seat in the last row. You passed Patrick Hockstetter, who wore quite an ominous smirk, staring at you intently. Shifting your gaze to the floor, you continued, looking up only once more to see Henry.

His stare sent waves of butterflies through your stomach, blue eyes bearing the same sly grin that his lips did. He probably loved how nervous you were.

The end of class was near. You could do this.

For a minute, neither of you spoke. Mrs. Baxter reminded everyone of the test date, the material being tested on, and asked everyone to become familiar with their partner and inquire about study sessions outside of class, if possible. No one ever met up for science studies.

Finally, it was silent, and she momentarily left the room, everyone breaking into conversation.

Another moment passed, your mind racing for something to say, wondering if you should say anything at all. That’s when he spoke.

“My friend Patrick said you stare at me a lot in class.”

It felt like your ribs caught fire. You stared down at your paper, embarrassment washing over you. Thanks for that, Patrick.

You swallowed before speaking, organizing your messy thoughts, flipping open your notebook to distract yourself.

You could feel him staring at you merely inches away.

“W-Well, I don’t. He must’ve gotten me mixed up with someone else.”

Henry leaned back in his seat. “You can admit it, babe, a lot of girls are obsessed with me.”

Immediately, you scoffed, underlining sentences of your notes randomly. You refused to look at him.

“I’m not obsessed with you.” You quietly remarked.

“Then why do you stare at me in class?”

You shrugged. “Patrick lied to you.”

“Why would he lie about that?”

You finally turned to him, and your anger was offset by his jovial, entertained expression.

“Patrick is crazy.” You said, as-a-matter-of-factly.

Henry cocked an eyebrow, looking at his nails. 

“I dunno, Y/N. Crazy people stare at other people in class. I’ve never caught Patrick staring at me.”

You let out a sarcastic laugh. “He was staring at me the other day!”

Henry smirked. “Sounds like a match made in heaven. Two crazy people.”

The boy looked at your lips, making you nervous all over again. You turned back to your notes and flipped open the study guide.

“You don’t talk too much, do you?” He teased in a low voice. His voice turned you on.

You hesitated a moment before replying. “You never talk in this class, either.”

“Well, I fucking hate science. Is that your excuse, too?”

The fact that the guy you’d developed a crush on months ago was finally flirting with you now was a high you’d ride out until it died.

“Yeah, science sucks. But… I mean, my friends all say I’m shy. So I guess I really am just shy.”

After a moment of hesitation, you suddenly felt his hand on your knee.

Goosebumps spread over your skin, from your legs up to your back. Henry smiled at you, tracing his nails over your kneecap.

“You’re not being too shy with me, today.” He said.

Your cheeks must’ve been bright red, your heart beating a million miles per hour.

“Neither are you.” You nervously joked.

Mrs. Baxter had left the room. None of the kids facing forward remotely seemed to notice Henry’s advances. At least you didn’t have an audience.

His fingertips gently trailed up your thigh, going further up and further inside. He tightly grasped your leg, making you gasp.

You put your elbow on the table and rested your face against your hand, covering your face from his view.

“I can’t help myself. You’re so fucking hot.”

The compliment made your heart flutter, but also put a bad taste in your mouth. He was probably one of the boys you’d been warned about by your parents and the TV shows - saying anything to butter you up and get in your pants.

Please let the bell ring, you mentally pleaded with the clock on the wall, edging closer to the end of class, his fingers edging the hem of your skirt.

Though part of you absolutely loved the attention, the pursuit from the guy you’d wanted it from most, you were so nervous, so unsure of what to do. Mrs. Baxter reentered the room, and seemed completely oblivious, sitting down at her desk. She was probably used to ignoring Henry.

“Why are you doing this?” You asked, in a nervous yet enthused, moving your arm back down to rest on the table. You didn’t have to look at him to know that he was smiling.

“Cuz I know you like me.”

You rolled your eyes, still turned away from him. “I told you Patrick was lying.”

“Even if he was, I know you still like me.”

You finally turned to look at him.

“How?” You sarcastically questioned. He answered you very simply.

“Because opposites attract, sweetheart.”

Your nerves were at an all time high as he gently moved his hand in between your thighs, ever so slowly, the eye contact single-handedly killing you - right as the bell rang.

“The study guide is due Monday!” Mrs. Baxter said, almost pleading, as the room broke into loud conversation and laughter. In the midst of it all, you quickly stood up, grabbing your books and walking away with them in a rush. Your only goal was to get out of the school as fast as possible, leaving Henry in the dust.

You felt scared, so exhilarated, and you knew there was no real reason for it - but he was too bold, too terrifying, to have anything to do with you.

You threw your books into your backpack and speed-walked out the door, melting into the throng of students moving through the hallway. Within minutes of urgently flowing through the crowd, you made it out the front doors, and finally you felt the first waves of calm. That was, until someone gripped your shoulder.

“Y/N!” Henry Bowers groaned, in an exasperated tone. You nearly jumped, turning around with wide eyes to see him. He was breathing heavily.

“I’m sorry.” He said.

You didn’t expect him to follow you. For a moment, you just stared at him.

“For what?” You asked.

“I think I scared you off.”

You took in a slow breath, unsure of how to phrase your concern.

“I like you, Henry. I just think we’re too different.”

Other students passed by, but the two of you barely noticed, completely focused on the other.

“Sure, we’re pretty different, but it’d be boring if we were the same.”

You looked up at him, blinking in the sunlight. He stepped closer.

“I like you. A lot. And if Patrick wasn’t lying about you starin’ at me, I wanna take a chance on that.”

He smiled, putting his hands into his pockets. You were surprised how he seemed so… Nervous.

“Do you…” He picked up his gaze from the ground and looked at you. “Do you wanna go out?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, hiding all signs of mental explosion that you experienced.

“You mean, hang out after school to study for our test?” You coyly questioned, cocking an eyebrow, unable to hide your growing grin.

“Do you wanna be my girlfriend?” He finally asked, smiling back at you.

He was bold, he was terrifying, but you couldn’t say you didn’t like those things about him. It was true - you had no idea how well you'd do on the test - but you knew for sure in that moment, he’d proven to you that opposites attract.

Holding eye contact, the two of you beamed at each other.

“Of course.” You quietly replied.

#cheese glorious cheese #henry bowers #henry bowers x reader #henry bowers imagine #patrick hockstetter #the bowers gang #bowers gang fanfic #the bowers gang fanfic #bowers gang fanfiction #imagine #it movie 2017 imagine #it movie 2017 fanfiction #it movie 2017 #it movie 2017 fanfic #henry bowers fanfic #henry bowers fanfiction #derry #shy #it 2017 #cheesy fanfic #fanfic request #fanfiction request #imagine request #fic request

[sscamanderr]

Ground Rules // Patrick Hockstetter x reader

This was gonna be smut but I’m too tired so use your imagination I guess. I can’t get this boi or this song out of my head so it resulted in this mess. Enjoy under the read more. 

Warnings: suggestinve situations, Belch x reader if you squint really hard

I’m tagging: @pennywise-fucker @hockstetter1989 @henrybcwer @nicholashamilton @thotstetter bc i know you from the fandom. I’m also @whoarumancek if you wanted to know,,

Once again you were buttoning up your shirt in front of Patrick’s bathroom mirror. You ignored the marks on your chest and ignored the ache between your thighs as you pulled on your shorts from his floor when you walked back in, treading carefully. Soft snores left his mouth, muted by the pillow that squished half his face. You almost smiled at the odd position but the regret washed over you before you could do so.

He doesn’t love you. Honestly, get it together.

You collected your purse from his floor as well and winced when the keychains jingled. But Patrick did not stir. You spared one last glance his way and felt your lips tingle where he had bit down on them countless times the night before. The ghost of his teeth made you shiver. You pulled his door closed with a gentle click and ventured to his kitchen. You picked up the landline phone and dialed Belch, remembering you had no car.

He’d be there in five, he said. You hurried out the front door when you saw the blue Trans Am at the end of the driveway. You smiled but showed no teeth when you opened up the door. You liked the front much better, but Henry wouldn’t dare let you steal his seat. And Patrick wouldn’t dare let you leave the reach of his hands. You didn’t want to think how he would react when he woke up and didn’t find you cradled in his chest like he liked you to be.

“You look like you’ve been to hell, Y/N.” Belch commented once you were settled in.

“Thanks, Reggie,” You sighed and leaned your head against the window. Belch smiled at his lesser used nickname. You were the only one allowed to call him that. Patrick got hit square in the chest when he tried to copy your nickname. “Just take me home.”

He didn’t want to press, so the ride was silent. He knew how Patrick was and how he usually left you the next day. Patrick was a manipulator, and Belch knew that you knew it. Soon your house loomed before you. You gave your thanks and stepped up onto your porch.

“You don’t deserve it, Y/N.” Reggie called. You peered over your shoulder at him. He nodded his head then set Amy in reverse.

“I know that now,” You mumbled to yourself, watching the blue Trans Am disappear. You turned on your heels and headed inside.

***

Darkness had fallen quicker than you thought. Your mother went out with friends and your father had taken third shift for the night. You were all alone with your regret. It was hard to concentrate on the movies because you could still feel Patrick on your skin, even with all the soap and hot water you used in the shower. You thought about what Reggie had said, and you fully agreed. Why were you still thinking about Patrick?

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

No more. It’s time for some ground rules.

     1. Don’t pick up the phone, you know he’s only calling ‘cause he’s drunk and alone

Around 10:30, the shrill ring of the phone woke you from your dozing. You jumped to get it but hesitated as you stood before it. It could be three things at this ungodly hour: your mother needed you to pick her up from the bar, your father was calling to say he was coming home early (it sometimes happened), or…it was Patrick.

That was how it started. He’d gotten drunk with the boys and couldn’t make it home so you let him crash at your place. But crashing usually meant other things.

You hoped it was your mother.

“Babe, I was wondering where you were this morning,” His sultry voice came through the phone and broke your skin into goosebumps.

“I accidentally left my socks at your place.” You said, evading the feeling that Patrick only wanted another night inside you.

I’ll run them over to you, baby,” You could see Patrick’s smile on the other end of the line.

“I’ll get them tomorrow.”

“Shit on that, I’ll be over in a bit. I’m bringing the booze.” And the line went dead. An ugly feeling churned in your stomach.

He may not love you, but you still felt something for him. You wouldn’t call it love, though. You knew better. You deserved better.

      2. Don’t let him in. You have to kick him out again.

When your doorbell rang, your nerves had already been working on your skin and making it jump at the sudden sound. You opened the door to behold Patrick leaning up against the frame. He looked up at you past his lashes with his bottom lip pinched between his teeth.

“Your socks,” He held them out to you. No slur in his words, or even a purr. Patrick was sober and acting unlike himself. You studied the bundle of socks and grabbed them only to toss them into the house over your shoulder. Patrick’s eyes followed them into the living room and smiled.

“The Goonies? You love that movie.” He mused. You had forgotten the movie long before.

“O-Oh…Yeah. My favorite.” You said. Patrick kept his expectant gaze on you and you sighed. “C’mon,”

Patrick resisted a smirk when you opened the door wider, letting your noticeably tight grip on the wood slacken. He brushed past you and made himself comfortable on the couch. You took note of the bottle of some liquor or another in his hand. You took it from him and set it on the side of couch where he could not reach it. He pouted, but said nothing about it.

“How’d you get home?” He asked instead.

“Reggie picked me up,” You answered, using all your energy to keep your eyes trained on the movie playing. One of the characters screamed; you felt like doing the same. Patrick inched his hand over yours and intertwined your fingers just enough to know you weren’t moving them away. His face said otherwise, but you knew. You knew. This was the real him.

     3. Don’t be his friend. You know you’re gonna wake up in his bed in the morning.

“Waking up without you made me realize something, Y/N,”

You winced and hoped he didn’t notice. “And what is that?”

“I need you, Y/N. Badly.” Patrick leaned in closer to you and you smelled his usual cologne on him; a smoldering, rich scent that he knew you liked.

But I don’t need you, you thought. But you leaned in too.

“Please, baby, don’t let me be alone.” Patrick’s lips grazed your cheek and you were frozen on the spot. Patrick nuzzled his nose against your skin and pressed his lips against your jaw. He could be so soft when he wanted, but it was all for play. A sick game because he knows. He knows you have feelings for him.

     If you’re under him, you ain’t getting over him.

You turned your head towards him, eyes hooded and staring at his lips. Patrick’s hands released your fingers and rested on the tops of your lower thighs. You weren’t going anywhere now. Patrick closed the distance between you and found your lips instantly. You allowed him to push you back against the arm of the couch and adjust so his hips rested against yours and the rest of him settled between your legs. Patrick’s arms snaked their way up to your ribcage, but didn’t tighten his grip. He didn’t have to; you weren’t leaving. He wouldn’t let you, and you weren’t going to try.

He made you dizzy. Patrick’s cold hands traced the skin under your shirt and he arched his hips into you. His lips left yours. Your shirt was now thrown somewhere on the floor and Patrick’s mouth replaced his hands. His mouth was hot, his fingertips were chilled, and that made you even more lightheaded. In a blur you were bare, underneath him, and your regret, along with your ground rules, were forgotten. You knew the regret would be back in the morning, but for now, you would let Patrick’s tongue be the only thing you felt.

end me :))

#patrick hockstetter #it 2017 #it 1990 #the bowers gang #patrick hockstetter imagine #patrick hockstetter x reader #it imagine #it 2017 imagine #mine

[thefuckingazebos-blog]

Last First Kiss (Richie x Tall!Fem!Reader)

Request- Could I please request a Richie X Tall!Fem!Reader? Like, she's taller than Richie and he thinks it's super sexy and she really likes him, but doesn't think he would like her because she's so much taller than he is? Cuteness ensues! I’m going to make them older for stories sake, so both Richie and Reader are both between 17-18! I also realized after writing this that she isn’t super feminine im sorry!!

 Last First Kiss

               When she stood next to him, he didn’t mind that he slightly had to look upward. He didn’t mind that he would have to tilt his head slightly when she spoke so he didn’t seem rude for not making eye contact. With her, he actually cared about what she thought of him. No matter how many times she would shyly try to hunch down so their eyes were level, he would never fail to act like he didn’t notice the difference.

The day he mentioned it, he immediately regretted even opening his mouth about it. Her face dropped, the sparkle that normally filled her eyes clouded over.

“I know that I’m tall…sorry…” She had said to him in a gentle voice, clutching her books to her chest tightly, hanging her head as she had walked down the hallway to her next class, not picking her head up in fear that other people would say something about her height like Richie had, even if he hadn’t said it in a mean way, or even really anything about it at all.

“Wow, YN, you’re a lot taller than me, huh?” Richie had asked her, having only noticed the height difference. She bit her lip in response, shaking her head and trying not to seem hurt. Now Richie was mentally kicking himself for having said something to her about it. He had never been conscientious about the things he said to people in the past, his mouth running faster than his brain did most of the times. But with her, things were different. She was the first real crush that he had developed and paid attention to. She was the first girl that he looked at as being someone he would be interested in dating, not just hooking up with. Richie had never, since meeting her, thought of her height as something that could hold him back from dating her.

YN’s chest felt tight as she held her book to it, her eyes staring straight at the ground as she walked to her next class in a hurry, just wanting to get there and sit down where she could actually look short for once in her life. Ever since she was young, she had been the tallest in her classes. She assumed that once she reached high school it would be different, but much to her despair the only person who was taller than her was that freak, Patrick Hockstetter. Personally, she wanted nothing to do with him, so she made it a point to not compare their heights at a closer distance. When she was around Richie, she forgot that she was as tall as she was, and forgot that he was shorter than her. He had never said something about it to her before, this having been the first time he had mentioned it to her. She knew that he was the kind of person who just blurted things out, having fallen victim to many of his previous perverted jokes that he made, but she always felt like this was territory he knew not to touch. Maybe she was wrong.

After school that day, Richie waited outside of the school for YN like he did every day, ready to give her a ride back home. He leaned against the brick wall of the building, cigarette between his bony fingers, almost artistically. Blowing the smoke out from between pursed lips, he looked around, his eyes falling finally on YN as she walked towards him.

“Hey, hot stuff. Like keeping me waiting?” He teased as she walked closer. She rolled her eyes, pushing his shoulder gently as he took her bag from her, slinging it over his shoulder. It was like a tradition of theirs at this point. He would wait outside the school for her after class, hit on her, and then carry her bag to his car before driving her home. They had developed this routine as soon as Richie was old enough to drive, before having just carried her bag for her as they walked home together from the school building. YN pulled the sleeves of Richie’s jacket in close to her body, having stolen it from him on the way to school that morning when she realized that it was much colder than she had been expecting it to be for early fall. Richie looked over at her, a small smile playing against his lips, wanting with all his soul to crack some sort of joke.

“Ya know, you look really hot in my clothes, but you’d look so much better if they were all on my bedroom floor.” Richie said to her, having finally cracked, earning him a light punch to the shoulder. “Worth it.” He stated, smirking at her. YN rolled her eyes, chuckling slightly and shaking her head.

“You’re an idiot.” She stated, looking over at him and receiving a large grin in return. When they reached his car, Richie threw their bags in the back seat, allowing YN time to slide into the passenger seat before he even opened his door. Once he entered the car and cranked it to life, the radio blared deafeningly loud, causing YN to cringe back slightly and raise an eyebrow at him.

“You were fine with it this morning.” He reminded her.

“I was half asleep.” YN retorted, reaching over and turning the radio down, then reaching her hand for his pocket to take out the pack of cigarettes he had. He smirked at her, wiggling an eyebrow.

“If you wanted to touch my dick you could have just asked me, I would be happy to let you.” Richie told her, adjusting slightly so that she could slide the pack from his pocket. Again, YN rolled her eyes in response and shook her head at him.

“Again, you’re an idiot.” She told him, mentally taking note that today he was being extra flirty with her. She was used to the occasional joke here and there, but it seemed as though he was taking it up a notch to a new level entirely. The two pulled into YN’s driveway where Richie cut the engine, reaching into the backseat for their backpacks. Usually Richie would hang out with YN after school, but today her parents weren’t home, so she wasn’t sure just how long he would be able to stay before they came home and chewed her out for having a boy over while they were away.

When they got into her bedroom, they threw their backpacks on the floor next to her bed, something that they always did before sitting in front of her record player.

“Your turn.” YN said in a whisper, referring to the fact that it was his turn to pick the record that the two would listen to. Richie leaned close to the stack of records she had, inspecting each one carefully. YN looked at him with careful eyes, scanning his body slowly. She didn’t know what it was, but something about him made her have butterflies. He finally decided on a record, putting it onto the player, letting YN lean over and start it. Now it was Richie’s turn to check her out. His eyes fell to her legs and he bit his lip, looking away, his face a slight shade of pink.

“Hey Richie...” YN said slowly, catching his attention again, “Do you think I’m too tall?” she asked quietly, causing him to raise his eyebrows at her in surprise and shake his head quickly.

“No? Why would you ask that?” He asked her, scooting a bit closer, resting his arm over her shoulders gently. She sighed, leaning her back against the edge of her bed and shrugging her shoulders.

“You have to look up at me when I talk.” She stated, lazily looking over at him. Richie laughed, looking back at her again.

“So? You think I care if I have to look up at you when you talk? Fuck, YN, you’re like the hottest chick in our entire school. I’m lucky you even talk to me. Like do you see the position we’re in right now? My arm around you and all that shit? Any guy would be creaming his pants to get this opportunity.” Richie told her, giving her the most serious look he could muster. Her face turned a pale shade of pink, but Richie didn’t stop there.

“I mean, Hell, if I really wanted to…I could pull you over here right now and kiss you.” He added, making her eyes go wide and she looked over at him. “If you let me.”, was quietly added to the statement, Richie’s eyes locking with YN’s, then slowly moving down to her lips. She bit her lip gently, his arm tightening slightly around her. She wasn’t sure what to do, she had never been in this situation before. He placed a hand gently on her leg, leaning closer, then pulled her almost onto his lap. Her breathing got slightly heavier, going along with his movements timidly, until he was inches from her face. She could feel his lips ghosting over hers and she wanted nothing more than to finally press her lips to his.

“Is…it okay?” Richie finally asked, and as soon as YN nodded in response, his lips pressed against hers roughly, as if this was something he had been wanting to do since the day he met her. And it was. And he knew in his heart, this was it. The last “first kiss” he would ever have with someone. He knew that YN was end game.

#richie tozier #richie tozier fanfic #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier oneshot #xreader

[sematarygirls]

started writing the next part of living dead girl (with absolutely no idea where this is going) and it's kinda steamy... but also idk if it's shit or not. im fr starting to doubt that it's very good 😭

#patrick hockstetter #patrick hockstetter x reader #it 2017 #it x reader #belch huggins #henry bowers #ghost reader #victor criss #bowers gang #patrick hockstetter is so fine #patrick sneak into my window and kiss me challenge #patrick hockstetter x ghost reader #patrick x reader #patrick x ghost reader #patrick hocksetter x reader

[sematarygirls]

Living Dead Girl Pt. II — Patrick Hockstetter.

part one

pairing : patrick hockstetter x ghost!reader

summary : patrick gave into his urges and finally tested his morbid curiosities on prey much larger than just a cat or dog. little did he know his actions would come back to haunt him... literally.

warnings : patrick being a psychopath , animal cruelty , male masturbation , graphic descriptions of murder and suicide , reader being manipulative , degradation , sexual themes ,

word count : 4.5k words !

a/n : can't believe i'm finally posting this after a year and a half. also this is my first attempt at smut-ish so i'm sorry if it's ass. im not gonna say this is 18+ bc I myself am not 18+ (im turning 18 this year tho) also im not your mom and idgaf what you read.

"Finally," a voice sounded, causing him to drop both his can and his plate. The sharp sound of glass breaking followed by a loud thud echoed through the room as the plate and soda can collided with the floor.

"No, no, no," Patrick shook his head, shutting his eyes. "This isn't real. I killed you. You're not here. You're not real."

"Sorry, babe," the voice, your voice, whispered into his ear. Your warm breath fanned his ear, and he felt his whole body tense. "I'm very much real."

"That's not possible," he said through gritted teeth. "I watched you die. I buried you!" He opened his eyes, convinced that this was all some terrible drug trip. Maybe the weed he'd just got from Henry was laced, or maybe he was suffering from a temporary psychosis. Either way, there had to be some rational and logical reason that he was seeing you.

However, when he saw you there, sitting there with a smug look on your face, your presence as solid as any living person, he felt his heart skip a beat.

You tilted your head, eyebrows furrowing as you pouted. "What's wrong, Patrick?" You asked condescendingly. "Don't act so scared now." You walked toward him slowly, watching him scramble backward in a panic. A smile spread across your lips as you saw the pure fear in his eyes when he hit the wall behind him, having nowhere else to go. "You weren't scared when you stabbed me. You weren't scared when you watched me bleed out in your arms. You weren't scared when you buried my body like some animal you found on the side of the road." Your voice was seeping with anger as you stepped closer and closer, cornering him. "So you don't get to be scared now."

Patrick Hockstetter was not someone who was frightened easily. In fact, up until this very moment, he didn't think he had the ability to be frightened at all. His unique ability to remain calm and collected in situations that would often stress others out was one he was prideful of. However, at that moment, he felt all composure and level-headedness dissolve. For the first time in his life, he was scared. Not just scared—terrified.

"What- What do you want?" He asked, his voice shaky as he looked into your eyes. You no longer looked at him like he hung the moon. There were no remnants of your innocence and naivety—willing to trust that people have the best intentions. There was nothing behind your cold, lifeless eyes. It was like staring at a corpse.

"Now, what's the fun in that?" You grinned, leaning forward so your face was inches away from his. Your gaze flickered to his lips. The same lips you thought he'd planned to kiss you with, but instead, he'd stabbed you in the stomach and mocked your intelligence. "You should really watch your back, Patrick," you whispered with a devious smirk, your breath fanning over his face. "I heard the search for me is really picking up after they found my blood in the woods."

Your words snapped him back to the reality of the situation at hand. He had killed you. What you were saying was impossible though. Right? He was meticulous in every stage of his plan. There was no way they found any trace of you. "What are you talking about?" He asked, his eyes searching you for any sign of deception, but you were impossible to read like this. He was no longer able to detect everything from a single glance. He only knew what you wanted him to know.

Without another word, you disappeared, leaving the boy spiraling as he went through all the events of that night over and over again. "Come back!" He screamed, his voice echoing through the empty house. "You can't just leave like that you bitch!"

Patrick let out a frustrated yell as he grabbed the nearest thing—which happened to be a porno mag—and threw it across the room in a fit of rage. Who did you think you were to haunt him? To come into his room, make him feel that horrible emotion, and tease him just to leave abruptly?

He sat on the edge of his bed, trying to control his heavy breathing as his anger took over. You had to have been lying, trying to get into his head. He hated to admit that it was working. He was supposed to be the one in your head. This was his world. He controlled everyone and everything. You shouldn't be here. You should be dead and buried like he had intended.

He fell back in his bed and took a deep breath, letting his mind settle as he chased sleep. He told himself you would be gone tomorrow and that would be that. Your appearance to him, like something out of a Charles Dickens novel, was just a fluke. Tomorrow you would be dead and all would be right with the world.

He drifted off to sleep, having convinced himself that he would never see you again. He was able to get a few hours of sleep, but you weren't going to let him be at peace for long

At around 4 am, Patrick had a very vivid dream that he was choking. He was gasping for air, clawing at his neck as he looked around frantically. His surroundings dissolved into a pitch-black room. He felt his lungs burning, his brain growing fuzzy as the oxygen left him. It felt so vivid, so real.

He awoke in a panic, sitting up straight as he gasped for air. His lungs felt like they were on fire. Like he had truly been deprived of air like he'd dreamed about. He panted, catching his breath as he looked around at his room, thankfully finding no signs of you. However, when he finally felt secure, able to draw a breath without feeling like a thirsty man drinking water, he realized the pillow that had been behind his head was now sat on his lap.

The realization dawned on him that he may have been actually suffocating, and you were the culprit. He shook his head, trying to expel the thought as he laid back down, throwing the pillow off into the black depths of his room, so he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. It was just a dream. Just as you were just a vision.

Patrick wasn't stupid, though many would argue to the contrary. Just because he didn't give a shit about school and didn't try didn't mean he wasn't smart. He just saved his intelligence for things that actually mattered—like planning and executing a murder.

That in mind, his refusal to accept the things he deep down knew to be true was not, as some would think, him being stupid. On the contrary, he believed himself smarter than to believe in silly things like ghosts. Dead things stay dead. He'd learned that at a very young age. He knew when he killed his brother that he would not be coming back. Just as he knew when he killed you that you would not be coming back.

Ghosts don't exist. He wasn't dumb enough to believe that.

As he laid in bed, trying to rationalize himself into a calm enough state to fall asleep again, he found himself more on edge with every creak of the old house around him. He stared up at the ceiling, his eyes conspiring with the moonlight to play tricks on him. His breath hitched at every shadow dancing around the dark.

You were proud of your work, and you had barely done anything yet. You watched from the shadows, pleased as he seemed to run himself in circles trying to cope with everything going on. The mere thought of you was torture enough.

You grinned, biting your lip as a thought washed over you. As a ghost, not bound by the physical realm, you had the ability to do a lot of things. One of those so happened to be raising and lowering the temperature in a room.

You focused hard, raising the temperature several degrees, making Patrick swear at the sudden sweat washing over him. You watched with a satisfied smirk as he pulled his shirt over his head, trying to cool himself off.

He didn't have a six pack or anything, but you didn't expect him to. He had a lean, toned torso with a very sexy v-line peeking out from his jeans. A small tattoo sat on his stomach just above his v-line on the right side. You couldn't make it out in the darkness, but you didn't care much. The sight of it alone was enough.

After all, who said you couldn't mix a little bit of business with pleasure.

He had taken away the rest of your life, all the possibilities of experiencing having your first kiss, losing your virginity, falling in love. It was only fair he made up for that in one way or another before your time together came to an end.

The time passed agonizingly slowly with Patrick staring at the ceiling and you watching him, studying him like he was some foreign thing. It was so interesting to watch someone when they don't know they're being watched. Of course, he felt the hairs on his neck stand on end, his body detecting the unseen eyes on him, but he chalked it up to paranoia—as he did every other unexplainable thing that seemed to be happening to him.

His mind drifted off, the heat making him restless as his brain filled with gruesome images of his previous kills. He sifted through his memory for the most interesting ones—dismembering birds, beheading cats, snapping a squirrel or two's neck—but none of them seemed to get him off anymore.

The image of your face right after he stabbed you made it's way into his mind. Your eyes, so wide and filled with fear. He could practically hear your sweet voice crying out, asking why he would do this to you. The thought made his cock tighten in his jeans.

He reached down, palming himself through his jeans with a groan. Reliving the sounds of you choking and coughing up your own blood had his fingers working quickly to undo his belt. He tossed it to the side, practically ripping the button off his jeans as he pulled them down along with his underwear, allowing his dick to finally be free from the restrictive fabric.

He spat in his hand, gripping his cock and lubricating it. He caught his chapped lower lip between his teeth as swept his thumb over his pink head, smearing his precum across it. He let out a low moan, letting his hand travel up and down his dick at a slow, agonizing pace. He kept his eyes screwed shut, immersing himself in the memory of your murder as he stroked himself.

Patrick was not a moral man by any means but this was a new low. Getting himself off to you, in his mind, was no better than if he was imagining one of his dead animal playthings. You were nothing to him. You were roadkill.

But, for some reason, the fresh sight of you, wearing the clothes he killed you in with that dark blood stain right where he'd stabbed you, your hair all matted, and the cold, lifeless look in your eyes, made it so easy to relive that night in great detail.

It was the greatest night of his life. The biggest release of pressure he'd ever felt since he began getting those homicidal urges—those itches. He didn't think he'd ever get to feel that euphoria again, but fucking himself to the thought of it would get him pretty damn close.

He let out a strangled moan, his hips pushing into his hand as he came, and he was right, it was the second-best feeling he'd ever felt. It didn't compare to killing you, but it was enough to satiate his urges once again.

He laid there, panting for what felt like hours. The time moved by so slowly until finally, the sound of the alarm block beside his bed blaring pulled him from his thoughts.

The red numbers reading 7:30 blinked slowly, reminding him that he had to get up and get ready for school. He leaned over, smacking the top of the clock roughly to silence it before falling back flat on his bed, preparing himself to get up.

He groaned, pushing himself up and grabbing a random pair of jeans and a shirt that smelled clean enough. He quickly got dressed before making his way back downstairs. He knew Belch would be here any second to pick him up—he always woke up later than he was realistically supposed to.

He slipped his boots on, and a few moments later, he heard Belch laying on his car horn. Rolling his eyes, he opened the door, heading outside and letting it slam just behind him.

"Calm your tits," he shouted in annoyance. Patrick always had a short fuse, but after the particularly restless night in which he'd been visited by some fucking ghost of Christmas Past, he found himself particularly irritable.

"Dude what happened yesterday?" Victor asked as Patrick climbed into the blue Trans Am.

"You were totally tripping the fuck out," Belch chimed in, starting the car and peeling out of Patrick's neighborhood.

"Dumb fuck can't handle his liquor," Henry scoffed from his spot in the passenger's seat.

"Shut the fuck up, Bowers," Patrick bit back, gazing out the window. "At least some of us don't piss our pants when we drink."

"It was one fucking time you dickhead!" Henry defended quickly, his cheeks turning red from the embarrassment.

At the feeling of someone's hand on his thigh, Patrick quickly looked over at Vic. "Don't fucking touch me you-" he paused just short of spitting some derogatory remark about Victor being gay and a freak when he saw you sitting between him and Victor, grinning at him darkly.

"What the fuck are you talking about, dude?" Victor asked, bewildered by Patrick's behavior. Patrick was always an odd one, but he never acted this weird.

"He probably smoked himself fucking dumb," Henry grumbled, still annoyed about the pants pissing remark.

You held a finger to your lips as climbed over onto his lap, holding onto his shoulders to steady yourself. You just wanted to rile him up a little, make him feel suffocated by you, like he could never escape. And truly, he couldn't. You were never going anywhere until you believed justice had properly been served, and you would take that in any form.

He glared at you, but you paid him no mind, leaning to whisper into his ear: "How cute," you condescended him. "You thought I would just go away." You dug your nails into his shoulders making him sharply inhale, trying not to tip off his friends to the seemingly unwarranted pain he was feeling. "You will never be rid of me," you whispered menacingly, looking deep into his eyes with a sickening grin that made nausea pool in his stomach.

In any other situation, having someone on his lap, digging their nails into his shoulders would probably have been a pleasurable experience, but this was not any other situation. This was a nightmare he couldn't seem to wake up from.

When Belch finally pulled into the school parking lot, Patrick couldn't get out of the car fast enough. You disappeared as he scrambled to unlock the door and get out, finally feeling like he could breathe. He pulled his shirt collar to the side, looking down at the angry red marks where your nails had been. They served as a disturbing reminder that you were really there, and you could do anything to him.

"You get laid last night, Hockstetter?" Belch asked, grinning as he saw the red marks.

"That why you ran off yesterday?" Henry snickered. "You pussy whipped?"

"At least, I actually get pussy," he sneered, paling as he heard your laugh echoing around him the moment the words slipped from his lips. It was a deafening sound. Like a mix between a cackle and a scream that seemed to permeate his surroundings.

His jaw clenched, eye twitching as he resisted the urge to cover his ears. Apart from not wanting to look insane, he also didn't think it would help much. You weren't around him. You were in him, in his head.

The bell could faintly be heard going off inside the school, making Victor curse under his breath. They had two minutes to get to class or they were late.

"Mrs. Denton's gonna throw a bitch fit if I'm late again," he groaned, watching as Henry lit a cigarette.

"Kiss ass," he remarked, taking a long drag before exhaling the puff of smoke into Belch's face as Victor walked away.

"You asshole," Belch coughed, shoving Henry.

"Oh, shit." Henry's eyes widened as he tossed his cigarette on the ground, quickly stomping it out. "Let's go," he ordered, making his way up the stairs to the front doors of the school, looking behind him frantically.

Patrick's eyebrows furrowed at the sudden shift in Henry's demeanor. He followed the brunette's gaze, his eyes locking with those of Butch Bowers, the sheriff.

"Wonder if they're here for you," your voice taunted him, breath tickling the back of his right ear. He turned, preparing to come face to face with that condescending smile you always seemed to be wearing, but you weren't there.

He looked back, finding Sheriff Bowers still staring at him, seemingly ignoring whatever the deputy was leaning into his ear to say. Patrick wasn't one to back down easily, but your presence, your warnings, had him on edge. He quickly advanced forward, his lengthy legs providing long strides as he followed suit in heading inside Derry Highschool.

The sounds of his heavy boots hitting the linoleum floor echoed through the empty hall as he made his way to his math class. Victor was right; Mrs. Densen was going to throw a bitch fit that he was late, but he didn't care. He wouldn't have cared on a normal day, but on this day, with the police sniffing around and you practically breathing down his neck, he cared even less—which he didn't even know was possible.

He pulled open the door to the classroom, a hush falling over the students as he entered. Most stared at him wide-eyed, some avoided looking at him altogether, and he briefly caught Vic looking at him with sympathy. The teacher, however, was glaring at him, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Mr. Hockstetter, late again I see," she said pointedly. "You've earned yourself a detention after school today." Patrick stifled a laugh as he made his way to his seat at the very back of the classroom. "Is something funny?" She asked, her tone displaying clear annoyance.

"Yeah, that you think I care," he rolled his eyes, slipping into his desk. He tuned out whatever lecture the teacher decided to give him after that. His gaze drifted to the empty desk in the front row— the one you used to sit at.

"Don't go feeling remorseful now," you said into his ear. He felt your arm around his shoulders as you leaned down, your face positioned next to his. He turned to look at you, and you turned to look at him, your faces almost touching.

your breath fanned across his face, the moment oddly intimate until you grinned at him, opening your mouth and emitting an ear piercing scream.

"Ah," he grunted in pain, his eyes screwing shut, and his hands gripping his ears. It felt like his eardrums were seconds away from bursting and causing blood to pour out of his ears. "Shut the fuck up!" He yelled, the room, and you, falling dead silent immediately after the words left him.

He peeled his eyes open, his hands falling as he looked around. "Excuse me, Mr. Hockstetter," the teacher gasped, clearly taken aback by his outburst. "Take yourself to the principal's office right this instant!" She ordered him.

His blood began to boil as he stood up abruptly, storming out of the classroom and slamming the door behind him. He was getting very very sick and tired of your little games. He headed toward the back door of the school, not wanting to cross paths with Henry's dad.

"This doesn't look like the way to the principal's office," you mused, appearing beside him. He stopped, turning to shove you against the locker. He groaned when his arms made contact with the locker instead of your body, and your laugh echoed behind him. "You think you can hurt me, how cute."

He let out a frustrated groan, smashing his fists against the locker. He couldn't stand you. He couldn't stand having someone that he couldn't manipulate or hurt but that could manipulate and hurt him. "What do you want with me?" He asked, refusing to look at you.

"To break you," you grinned. "To have you begging for it to stop."

Yeah, right he thought.

He was Patrick fucking Hockstetter; he didn't beg. He didn't bend to the will of others, especially not some dead bitch. He was determined not to let you win. You would eventually get tired of tormenting him and go back to wherever the fuck you came from. He was sure of it.

Oh, how he underestimated your patience and overestimated his resilience.

He lasted exactly a week. A week of you screaming and poking and scratching and fucking with his head. A week of people staring at him like he was insane with his random outbursts and talking to the air. A week of torment before you finally had him right where you wanted him.

"Just leave me alone!" He begged, standing in the middle of his room with his head in his hands. You had finally drove him to the brink of insanity, and he didn't know how much longer he could live like this. You, being everywhere all the time, taunting and touching and teasing, it was too much for him. He couldn't take it anymore. "Go away!"

You tsked, grinning at him, that condescending grin that filled him with indescribable rage. How could you look at him like that? Like he was stupid? You were the stupid one. You were killed by him not the other way around!

"I'm afraid that's not how this works," you told him, shaking your head slightly. "I get to stay until you give me what I want." You took a step, punctuating the next words you said with a pause between each one and another step forward. "However. Long. It. Takes."

"What the fuck do you want from me?" He yelled, desperate to get you away from him forever.

"Well," you drawled, running your index finger along his chest, making him flinch. You smiled at the effect you had on him. He talked a big game, getting mad when you left—cursing, throwing things, even—having the audacity to fuck himself to the thought of your murder— but when it came to being face to face with you, he cowered away.

Ain't nothing like a little fear to make a paper man crumble as Henry Bowers' father once said.

"I'll be nice and give you a choice," you said darkly. "You can turn yourself in," you almost laughed at the way his demeanor hardened. "Which we both know you're too proud and stubborn to do," you continued. The intrigue behind Patrick's eyes was undeniable as he eagerly awaited his second choice. "Or," you trailed off, grabbing a razor from his dresser and holding it in front of his face. "You can die."

"You're a crazy bitch!" He shouted, though his inability to mask the tremble in his voice made him sound less than threatening.

"Maybe," you shrugged, admiring the sharp piece of metal. "Hmm," you hummed. "I wonder how you'll feel about me in another week," you asked thoughtfully. "I bet you'll be wishing you took the chance while you had it."

His jaw clenched at your words. He'd already lost a considerable amount of sleep because of you, and the thought of you tormenting him any longer was a fate worse than death. "Why don't you just kill me?" He asked defeatedly. You'd backed him into a corner that he was positive he couldn't get out of without doing things your way.

"I'm not you, Patrick," you spat hatefully. "I don't kill people or things."

"What? Like driving me to suicide is any better?" He scoffed, challenging your sense of superiority over him.

"You have an informed choice," you told him, trying to regain your calm. You didn't like losing your temper, especially not to the likes of Patrick Hockstetter, scum of the earth. "That's a luxury you didn't extend to me."

He eyed the blade in your hand warily. He didn't like accepting defeat. He would never admit to killing you. Being confined to a tiny room, unable to satiate that burning itch deep inside him whenever he needed; it would drive him mad.

"Go on," you urged him softly, holding the razor out for him to take. "Put yourself out of your misery. End it all and be free."

He looked between you and the blade hesitantly, a million thoughts running through his mind as he tried to make a decision. Glaring at you, he took the blade. A scowl formed on his face as he observed the triumphant expression that you seemed to wear immediately after he made his choice.

"Two deep cuts, and you'll never have to see me again," you assured him. That all but sealed the deal. Patrick didn't believe in heaven or hell and death didn't scare him. Being caged like one of the many animals he's so cruelly killed scared him more than dying. He walked over to his bed, sitting on the edge.

He sucked in a breath, pressing the blade into his wrist and dragging it upward toward his inner elbow. He clenched his teeth, deeply inhaling through them. A groan of pain fell from his lips as he felt the warm blood begin seeping from his wound, running down his arms and onto his jeans. He continued the action on the other arm, feeling nauseous and lightheaded.

The blade fell from his trembling fingers, clattering to the floor as he fell back onto the bed. His head felt foggy, and the pain began to melt away into numbness. His eyes began to droop, and he faintly saw your outline standing above him.

He just barely felt you lean down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. His ears began to ring as his eyes fell shut. The words you spoke next were the last he would hear before his heart slowed to an eventual stop. He almost couldn't make them out, the sound muffled, as if he was underwater, but his mind used its last bit of energy to process them before giving out.

"Goodbye, Patrick Hockstetter," you said softly. "May you burn in hell."

tags! : @fatfagsj , @mysticalhills , @simpingforthe80s , @slasherho , @pinkpanther-44 , @slaggylemon , @kyranisnotdead , @ladydragiiss ,

#🎀 #patrick hockstetter x reader #patrick hockstetter #the bowers gang #it 2017 #patrick x reader #patrick hockstetter x ghost!reader #henry bowers #victor criss #reginald huggins #belch huggins #it x reader #living dead girl #dark romance #dark themes

[sematarygirls]

writing a patrick hockstetter x ghost!reader oneshot, and it's turning out to be longer than i anticipated lmao. im already at 2k words, and the setup isn't even done </3

#patrick hockstetter x reader #patrick hockstetter #bowers gang #henry bowers #victor criss #reginald huggins #belch huggins #it 2017 #it x reader #ghost reader

[sematarygirls]

Living Dead Girl — Patrick Hockstetter.

part two

pairing : patrick hockstetter x ghost!reader (descriptors such as beautiful and nicknames such as dollface, darling, ect, but no described features— ie. long hair, brown eyes)

summary : patrick gave into his urges and finally tested his morbid curiosities on prey much larger than just a cat or dog. little did he know his actions would come back to haunt him... literally.

warnings : patrick being a psychopath , animal abuse , graphic depictions of murder/gore , you being murdered (in third person) 🤗 , self image issues

word count : 5.5k (part one)

a/n : i don't know how accurate this is to patrick, but i tried to make him lack empathy and remorse and he can't exactly feel love— just obsession and fascination. also, i hc patrick as a lefty so do with that what you will.

Patrick had once again been feeling that familiar itch. It started subtlety this time, like a tickle from a weightless feather that blew lightly across his skin every so often, and it began to gradually grow.

He tried his best to satiate the hunger of the beast within, to scratch that itch in the same way he had so many times before— by killing the neighborhood pets.

But, it appeared this craving was a different kind altogether, for when he lit his lighter, allowing the aerosol to spray through the flame and fry the kitten until it was unrecognizable and it's shrill screams had died out, he felt nothing. There was no sense of relief, no satisfaction or even the small semblance of happiness— because Patrick truly couldn't feel such uplifting emotions.

There was just nothing.

Well, there was still that nagging itch.

It took some contemplation. Long nights staring up at the empty ceiling of his room, his right arm propped under his head while his left laid passively across his torso. How could he rid himself of this feeling?

He pondered that perhaps burning just didn't do it for him anymore. To test his theory, he tried many other options— drowning, suffocation, mutilation— he even, regrettably, attempted tasting the vile little creatures.

So, definitely not the method of torture because he was sure that if he hadn't even feeling so empty, those, with the exception of the last one, would have been a world of fun for him. Well then, maybe it was the animal!

Squirrels, cats, dogs, raccoons, lizards, frogs, birds— anything he could get his hands on became helpless victims in Patrick's reign of terror, but none of it helped.

That feeling began to grow until it took up every inch of his body. All he could think about was the kill. Even when he and his friends were torturing their pre-pubescent victims, images of blood and agonizing screams plagued his mind.

And that's when it hit him— he needed a human victim. One that brought real stakes to the equation, one that would get his adrenaline rushing at the idea of being caught.

Initially, it had been an idea. He hadn't planned to act on it... but then you came along, and god, you were just so perfect.

You ran into him, through no fault of your own. He had been walking down the wrong side of the hallway, and you were just coming around a corner, so he was in your blind spot.

"Oh, god. I'm so sorry. I'm such a klutz," you chuckled lightly after you collided into his hard chest. You looked up at him with wide, apologetic eyes.

As he stared down at you, he just knew that you were the one. You were so perfect. So beautiful. And it made him furious. He couldn't quite discern why, but the way your eyes sparkled with genuity and naivety caused a pit of red hot rage to build in his stomach.

But he couldn't act yet. He had to gain your trust. He had to ensure that he could get you into the woods by yourself so he could enact his plan and finally scratch that fucking itch.

"My fault, dollface," he spoke with a wide smile, attempting to be somewhat gentlemanly. "I wasn't paying attention." He gently clenched and released his fist as he watched you smile brightly. "I'm Patrick, Hockstetter," he introduced, leaning forward to tower over you in an attempt to be intimidating but in a way that could also come off as flirtatious.

"Ah, yes, the infamous Patrick Hockstetter, I presume?" You asked, your eyebrow arching slightly. There it was again. That anger. It had to have been your subtle cockiness, the way you weren't the least bit fearful of him even though his reputation clearly proceeded him.

"The very same," he smirked, leaning close to your ear. His breath lightly fanned the shell of your ear. "Why? Does my reputation scare you? Do I scare you?"

You let out a light chuckle. "No." It was a simple answer, and yet Patrick still found himself having to cling to that feeling on his skin, the one he desperately wanted to be rid of, to ensure that he didn't snap right at that second.

For some bizarre reason, in your presence, Patrick felt utterly powerless, which was a very foreign feeling to him. He had always been calm and calculated, except for when he was alone with his projects, so to be so out of control of his emotions just added to his resentment toward you.

"You should be," he replied ominously before turning and walking away from you in long, precise strides. He let his smirk fall and his lip curl up in disgust as he felt your eyes on his back the whole way down the hallway.

It had been such a simple interaction, and yet it had left you completely and utterly captivated. You should have been afraid of him. You'd known of his tendency for him and his friends to terrorize younger kids, and of course, you had heard the whispers of what he did when he thought no one was around, but those were just rumors... right?

Either way, you were intrigued by Patrick and wanted to see him again.

The next time you two had met, you were walking home. You lived above your parent's old record store in the town square, which was extremely convenient for you because it meant all the stores, the arcade, and school were just a short walk away. The record shop had been your grandfather's before it became your mother's, and soon it would be yours.

You were coming up on the arcade, and as you approached, you hesitated. Should you go inside? Your parents were expecting you home, but it was Friday, so they'd be okay with you going out for a bit, right?

As you contemplated, a blue Trans Am pulled up next to you, and a voice called out to you. "Y/N!"

Your eyebrows furrowed as your mind registered the familiarity of the voice. It sounded like Patrick, but it couldn't be because you had never told him your name. You turned, eyes widening slightly in surprise as your gaze met Patrick, who was hanging with half his body out the window of the car. In the passenger's seat, Henry was staring forward, a bored and slightly irritated look on his face.

"Hockstetter?" You asked with a grin. "I don't remember telling you my name."

"You didn't," he replied, sending a grin of his own your way.

"Did you ask around about me?" You teased, your eyebrows raising slightly as you gave him a playful look.

"Maybe," he shrugged. "Still not scared of me?" He asked, placing the palms of his hands on the door to push his upper half out the window toward you.

"Hmm," you looked up and to the side, pretending to think for a moment. "Nah," you shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips.

"Well, in that case," he drawled out. "You wanna go out with me tomorrow night?"

"You bringing your posse?" You asked, nodding your head to the three other teens in the car that had undoubtedly been listening in on your conversation.

"Why? Do you want them to come?" He asked suggestively. "I mean, I didn't know you were into that, but if you insi-"

"Stop! Stop!" You laughed, clamping your hand over his mouth. He looked you dead in the eye, and for a moment, you were so hypnotized by his eyes that you didn't realize the wet sensation of his tongue flicking across your palm. "Ugh!" You shrieked in disgust with a small laugh. "Gross."

"So?" He asked, his eyebrows raising. "Whatdya say?" He grinned his Cheshire cat grin, and you couldn't help but relent.

"Okay," you said softly with a little nod. "Yeah, I'll go out with you."

"Great," he smirked, doing a little drum solo on the door in, what appeared to be excitement. "I'll pick you up at 8." You nodded, not able to contain your huge smile as he tried to awkwardly pull himself back into the car. "Oh," he said, sticking his head out the window a bit. "And wear white." Before you could question him, he sent you a wink, and then, the car was off speeding down the street.

You began to absent-mindedly walk the rest of the way home, all plans of going to the arcade having fled your mind, replaced with the thought of going on a date with Patrick. Your first date!

You really didn't know what he saw in you. He was so charming and handsome, and you were just... you. You weren't exceptionally attractive like Shelly Benson and Daniel Klein or outrageously popular like Greta Bowie and Jackson Pines. You were smart in subjects you enjoyed and not as smart in one's you weren't, and you had average social skills but never really made friends, just acquaintances.

You were just normal.

And so you stood, staring at yourself in the mirror as you examined every inch of your outfit, desperately trying to look less like yourself. You sighed in frustration, running a hand through your hair with a huff as you turned around, refusing to look at yourself any longer.

Your room was your safe space. The walls were covered in posters of your favorite bands, celebrities, and movies. You wondered what it felt like to be so effortlessly flawless as you stared around at all the beautiful people littering your walls.

Aside from the posters, your room was quite cohesive. You had chosen an excellent set of neutrals to pair with your accent color (which was your favorite color, of course), and it created a very attractive and appealing color pallet.

The sound of a knock on the apartment door made you snap out of your admiration of your room. Leave it to you to critique your artistic excellence when you're on a time crunch.

You took one last look in the mirror before taking a breath and exiting your room. You proceeded down the hall and through the living room. With one last mental reassurance, you turned the knob and opened the door.

Patrick had been practicing and planning his moves precisely. He had to shower you with compliments and be completely polite. It would let your guard down, and that's when he could strike.

The door opened, and Patrick's gaze fell on you. Even he had to admit, you were undoubtedly attractive, but it wasn't companionship he was after. It was relief.

So, putting on his best show, he opened his mouth as if he was going to speak before closing it and giving you a once over, trying his best to seem in awe of you.

"Wow," he breathed with an awkward chuckle. "You look," he let out a puff of air, motioning to you as if he couldn't find the words. "I mean- you look perfect."

He watched in satisfaction as you smiled sheepishly, gaze averting to the ground. "Thank you," you replied. You looked back up and playfully said: "And you don't look too bad yourself," in an attempt to play it cool, but Patrick could see right through you. You were falling for his charm, and how could you not?

He was a God, after all.

"So," you asked, stepping out of your apartment and shutting the door behind you. "Where are we going this fine evening?"

"Well," Patrick started, placing his hand flat on your lower back as you two walked down to the record shop on the first floor. "I know this perfect spot in the woods away from town-" You gave him a concerned look, and he chuckled lightly at your fear. "I know how it sounds, but there's a firepit me and the boys set up out there, and it has a great view of the stars because there's no light pollution out there."

You bit the inside of your cheek, and Patrick felt his pulse begin to quicken. It seemed like you were going to back out. Should he have told you? Or just let you panic when they got there?

"Okay," you nodded, turning to him with a smile as you made up your mind. "I don't love the idea of a first date in the woods, but I'm like 99% sure you're not an axe murderer or anything, so," you trailed off.

Patrick gave you a wolfish grin. Oh, if only you knew that he was a predator and you were his prey— so innocent and oblivious to the things that the night had in store for you.

The two of you walked out of the store, and Patrick read the shocked look on your face as you saw Belch's Trans Am, which was then followed by discomfort and then relief when you noticed his friends hadn't accompanied him.

"Took some convincing, but I got Belch to let me borrow Amy," Patrick said proudly as he took one long stride forward and opened the car door for you.

"He named his car?" You asked with a little giggle as you climbed into the passenger's seat. "That's cute."

"Yup, although cute isn't the word I'd use," Patrick replied before shutting the door and walking around to the driver's side.

"And what word would you use?" You asked, amusement coating your tongue and dancing in your eyes.

"Demented," he said, giving you a look as he started the car. It was ironic coming from him, and he knew it. If anyone was demented, it was the pyromaniac freak who killed animals and was tricking a girl into thinking he liked her when really he was taking her to the woods to kill her.

"That's interesting coming from someone with such a," you paused, for a moment, thinking for the right word. "Colorful reputation."

"Touché," he shrugged, pulling out of the spot he was parked in and continuing down the road to the woods. The car settled in an awkward silence as neither of you really knew what to say. Patrick knew he should ask you questions and engage with you, but to be honest, he didn't really care about what you had to say.

"Let's see what Belch has in his glove compartment," you said with a grin. Patrick's blood began to boil again. Not because you were invading Belch's privacy— he quite liked that part, actually. No one was ever allowed to look in the glove compartment. In fact, he had specifically told Patrick not to and that he would know if he did, and now Patrick could satisfy his curiosity while blaming it on his date.

No, his blood was boiling because of how casual you were. Most people would ask a stupid question to fill the silence or just sit in it, but you found a way to light heartedly and nonchalantly attempt to start a conversation. It was Infuriating to him how different you were.

Patrick considered himself an expert on human behavior. After all, it was his world, and everyone else were pawns, so growing up, he had to learn about people. He had to pick up on their little habits and understand why people did certain things so he could manipulate them and use them as playthings.

But you were different, and that's what infuriated him so much. You were still plenty easy to manipulate, but you had little quirks and ways of doing things that he'd picked up on that went against his understanding of the human condition.

You were defective, and that's why he had to get rid of you. You weren't normal. You weren't a plaything or a pawn.

You were a threat.

Patrick glanced over at you, watching for a moment as you rummaged through the glove compartment.

"Eyes on the road, pretty boy," you said absent-mindedly. "I don't plan to die tonight, and especially not at the hands of you." This made him internally smile. That was the second reference you'd made tonight of him hurting you and each time you had been wrong. You were going to die tonight— a very painful death— and the blood would be on his hands.

"He has got a lot of tapes in here," you observed aloud, pushing things around a bit more before a gasp left your lips. Patrick looked over again as you pulled out a pink piece of paper with a red lipstick stain in the shape of lips and a message in a hot pink sparkly pen that read: I really enjoyed tonight. We should do it again sometime =).

"No fucking way," Patrick said in shock, a laugh leaving his lips as he registered what he was seeing. "I can't believe that fat fuck actually gets bitches."

"Hey," you scolded, smacking him lightly on the arm. "Don't be mean," you defended. "I think it's really sweet, and clearly, he knew you'd be an ass about it," you rolled your eyes. "He really tried to hide it in there."

Patrick turned the car into a little dirt road and parked. He knew no one would be out there that late, so the car wouldn't be seen. "Here we are," he announced before climbing out and making his way to the passenger's side to open your door.

"Don't take this the wrong way," you started as you got out of the car. "But I did not expect you to be such a gentleman." Your eyes followed Patrick as he grabbed a blanket out of the backseat and tucked it underneath his right arm before approaching you.

"Well," he said, linking your arm in his left one. "I don't usually care what people think," he confessed, one of the few true things he'd actually said to you, but of course, he was about to follow it up with a lie. "But with you, it's different." He looked over at you, only to find you staring. If he wasn't making an attempt at faking vulnerability right now, he would have smirked at how enamored you were by his words.

"And why is that?" You asked quietly, hypnotized by the way the darkness created shadows on his face that seemed to define it so well. Almost as if the darkness suited him better, which was odd considering usually the light was more well-defining to people.

"You're unlike anyone I've ever met, and I don't want to scare you away," he professed, his voice seeming genuinely sincere, but obviously, that wasn't the case.

"That's quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me," you said sheepishly, a soft smile falling upon your lips. You both walked in silence for a moment, the cruching of leaves and the chirping of crickets ringing through the vast area. "Wow," you breathed out, eyes glued to the sky. "You were right. The stars look amazing out here."

"Told you," Patrick grinned before unlocking your arms and advancing forward. You two had reached a clearing, and he was approaching the firepit in the middle. Surrounding the firepit, which was clearly homemade as the stones surrounding it were just stacked on top of each other haphazardly, were various random chairs and a long bench that looked surprisingly comfortable.

"This place looks cozy," you said, eyes sweeping over the area. A chill ran down your spine as a breeze blew through the clearing. The air seemed to grow thick, and something in your gut told you to run— leave now and never look back.

You would soon wish you listened to that feeling.

Instead, you walked forward, taking a seat on the bench as Patrick doused the wood inside the firepit with lighter fluid before grabbing a lighter from his pocket and setting it ablaze.

A wave of warmth fell over you as the clearing lit up gold. Patrick straightened up and came to sit beside you on the bench. You were so focused on examining your surroundings that you didn't notice Patrick carefully grab the knife that he'd hidden inside the folded blanket and tuck it under his leg before unfolding the blanket and placing it across you both.

"So," you grinned, finally looking over at him. "Do you bring all your conquests here?"

"Just the hot ones," he smirked. You rolled your eyes, laughing at his remark. "No, but seriously," he let his smirk fall into a soft smile. "You're the only one."

You looked into his eyes and couldn't sense any deception. God, those beautiful eyes. You didn't didn't think they were capable of telling a lie.

They say eyes are the windows to the soul, but Patrick didn't have a soul, so his eyes were more like mirrors, reflections of what he knew people wanted to see when they sought out answers to questions that were better left unsaid.

You stared at each other, the air growing thick with tension as the urge to kiss him overwhelmed you. Your faces slowly inched closer together. "Patrick," you whispered, a wanting evident in your voice.

He reached up to cup your face with his right hand as his left carefully, discretely retrieved the knife from under his leg. He moved his face in, and you were sure he was going to kiss you.

But instead, he moved to the right, his mouth next to your ear as he plunged the knife he had deep into your stomach. You let out a choked cry of surprise and pain as your mind raced with a million thoughts at once, all of them so loud that you couldn't think rationally at all.

"Aw, Y/N," Patrick said darkly, feigning disappointment as he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "I told you that you should've been afraid of me."

He pulled away, twisting the knife to create irreparable damage before pulling it out. He watched as you cried out in pain, hand clutching your stomach in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

"But you were too pathetic," he spat. He ran the bloodied knife across your cheek, slicing it open before pushing a strand of hair away from your face. "Just a desperate little whore."

"Why?" You sobbed, tears streaming down your face from the burning pain. Blood began pouring out of your mouth due to the damage to your internal organs, and you knew you were going to die.

"Because I wanted to," he replied with a crazed grin, his tone of voice indicating that he believed it was the most obvious thing in the world. You had never been more fearful than you were now. Not just because you were dying, bleeding out in front of a boy you thought liked you, but because of the look in Patrick's eyes.

They were devoid of any emotion, as if killing someone didn't matter to him at all. You would have even preferred for him to look like he enjoyed it; that's how disturbing his absence of emotion was to you.

Patrick sat there and watched as you bled out before him. The glossed over, far away look in your eyes made his whole body ignite. It just felt so good.

Finally, the itching was gone, and he could live in peace for a little while more. He sat on the bench beside your lifeless body for awhile more, relishing in the feeling of freedom; it had been so long since he had felt that. When he was fully satisfied, he began cleaning up. He threw the blanket in the still burning fire before running back to Belch's car to grab the shovel he'd brought.

Sweat clung to him, sticking his shirt to his chest as he dug the hole where your body would lie. It seemed to take hours, and the feeling of sweating but also being cold was very unpleasant, but finally, he got the hole dug.

He threw the bloody knife inside and grabbed your body, picking you up bridal style and hauling you over to the hole. He dropped your corpse carelessly into your makeshift grave and didn't give you a second thought before he began shoveling the dirt back into the hole.

When he was finished, he walked back to the Trans Am, wrapping the dirty shovel in the other blanket he had brought so no dirt would get into the trunk of Belch's car. And, no one would question dirt in the driver's seat of a teen boy's car, so he wasn't overly worried about his dirtied hands and jeans.

For weeks, Patrick felt amazing. It was the longest Patrick had ever gone without feeling the compulsion to kill. Of course, he still tortured small animals, but that was for fun rather than necessity.

But then he started to see you.

At first, it was just glimpses. Like, when he was brushing his teeth, he'd lean down to spit out his toothpaste, but when he straightened himself out, there you were— standing beside him, blood staining your clothes and the cut on your cheek that he had gave you still fresh. But then, once he blinked, your figure was gone.

He would see you around like that sometimes, not frequent enough to cause concern that he was gaining a conscience. Just enough for him to think he was suffering from a bit of sleep deprivation.

He wasn't worried about being caught. The police hadn't found your body, and when he was questioned as to what happened that night on your date, he said that the two of you had planned to go out to the woods, but on the way there, you two got into an argument because you had been snooping through Belch's things and you got so furious that you demanded to be let out of the car right then and there. Belch, of course, backed this story up because he could tell someone had disturbed his glove compartment.

Soon enough, however, you began to haunt his dreams as well. He would have terrible nightmares of you coming back from the dead and murdering him in cold blood, just as he had done to you, and then, when he awoke, you were standing in the corner of his room.

It wasn't just his brain making shapes out of things to scare him. It was you. He could see clear as day; the moonlight illuminated your face, your once innocent and naive eyes now staring at him with hate and malice.

Patrick Hockstetter didn't believe in ghosts, but he believed in you.

"Dude, what's your fuckin deal?" Henry asked, snapping Patrick out of his thoughts. Patrick looked over at Henry from his spot, splayed out on the hood of Belch's car, which he had objected to until Patrick threatened him. The four boys were hanging around at the quarry, drinking beer as music blasted through Amy.

"What?" Patrick questioned, hostility lacing his voice. Who did Henry think he is speaking to him like that?

"You're not even listening, man," Henry complained, attempting to throw a crumpled up beer can at him but missing.

"Maybe because you fuckers don't have anything interesting to say," Patrick shrugged, looking to his left at the water and tuning their conversation out again.

You had been on his mind non-stop. All he could think about was your eyes. They were so real. That look of hate— he had seen it before in his mother and father after he killed his little brother Avery. He couldn't have imagined that so vividly.

"Do I scare you?" A familiar voice asked, voice a mere whisper as a breeze tickled his ear. He quickly turned and saw you. You were sitting right next to him on the hood of Belch's car, and this time, he was sure he wasn't imagining it. You were there in broad daylight. He had heard you. He had felt your breath across his ear.

But how was this even possible.

"What the fuck!" He shouted, genuine fear in his voice. He felt something he had never felt before as he tried to shuffle away from you, but there was nowhere left to go, so he ended up falling off the car and onto the ground.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, man?" Victor asked, his eyebrows furrowing in pure confusion as he registered the panic and fear— he had never seen Patrick exhibit such emotions, and he could tell by the look in Patrick's eye that they were not fake.

Patrick couldn't hear Vic over the sound of your laugh. It was so loud, deafening even, and it made his ears ring. You hopped off the car and walked toward him slowly with a sickening grin.

"Why are you doing this to me?" He asked, scrambling backward, pebbles and rocks digging into his palms as he tried to escape you.

"Because," she stepped forward, leaning down and grabbing his faded yellow Tom and Jerry t-shirt by the collar. He felt her grab him. It was all real. "I can," she spat viciously. And just as quickly as she appeared, she was gone.

"Are you alright, man?" Belch asked, genuine concern lacing his voice as his brows knitted together. Why had his friend been acting so strange?

"I-I need to get out of here," Patrick spoke quickly as he rushed to his feet, dusting off his clothes and looking around frantically.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Henry cackled, taking a long sip of his beer. Patrick gave him a hard, warning glare that confused Henry. What did he do?

Patrick took off running into the forest, driven by a pure, unbridled fear as he tried to escape you, but the faster he ran, the louder your laugh became. It echoed all around him. It was everywhere and nowhere all at once. He clamped his hands over his ears and screwed his eyes shut.

It's not real. It's not real. It's not real.

And then, just like that, it stopped. He slowly opened his eyes and removed his hands from his ears, peering around the woods. He heaved a sigh of relief as he realized it was over.

It wasn't real.

You weren't real.

He took his time walking back home, stopping and tormenting a few animals on his way to relieve some of the stress that had built up from the games his mind had played on him.

By the time he arrived home, the sun had long disappeared below the horizon, replaced by the luminous glow of the full moon. He pushed the front door open, kicking his muddy boots off by the front door before shrugging his leather jacket off and tossing it onto the floor.

"Ma!" He called into the oddly silent house. He advanced forward, his eyebrow arching as he didn't get a response. "Ma, I'm home!" He tried again, still no answer. He continued through the house into the kitchen, hoping to find something to eat.

As his eyes scanned the kitchen, a tiny post-it note stuck to the fridge caught his attention. He took two long strides and ended up in front of it. Grabbing it off the fridge, his eyes scanned it.

Gone to see your father. Be back in a few days. I left some lasagna in the fridge for you to heat up and some money on the table for pizza or something in case you eat all of it.

Love, Mom

Patrick scoffed, crumpling the post-it into a ball and tossing it into the trash. Patrick's father was arrested for attempted murder when Patrick was young.

After Patrick killed his brother Avery, his father went mad and tried to kill Patrick. He claimed that Patrick was evil, and the world needed to be rid of him. Fortunately for Patrick, his mother still loved him (he had no idea why she still did after what he had done), and she called the police.

The paramedics arrived in time, and Patrick was saved. Though the attack did leave a raised scar on his stomach that never went away.

Patrick pulled a plate out of the top cupboard and a fork out of the drawer before opening up the fridge. He grabbed a can of Coke and the large glass dish with lasagna out. Deciding he didn't feel like waiting for it to heat up, he just used his fork to pick the pre-portioned slice of lasagna out of the dish and drop it onto his plate before sliding the rest back into the fridge for later.

Grabbing his beverage and dinner, he began making his way up the creaky steps that led to the second floor.

The carpet that had previously adorned it had been ripped up when his mom was having one of her overly energized and productive moments, so staples and other sharp objects stuck up from the dirty wood. He was careful to avoid them.

He reached the door at the end of the hall with a yellow sign that read DO NOT ENTER and swung the door open.

"Finally," a voice sounded, causing him to drop both his can and his plate. The sharp sound of glass breaking followed by a loud thud echoed through the room as the plate and soda can collided with the floor.

"No, no, no," Patrick shook his head, shutting his eyes. "This isn't real. I killed you. You're not here. You're not real."

"Sorry, babe," the voice, your voice, whispered into his ear. Your warm breath fanned his ear, and he felt his whole body tense. "I'm very much real."

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