#Owen Teague Patrick Hockstetter

[im-tired-404]

Yall holy shit Patrick Hockstetter would be the perfect Snow White

Before:

After:

[dreamypinkfilms]

dating patrick hockstetter headcanons (MOVIE)

- this man is the LIGHTEST sleeper you will ever meet, like.. it’s kinda scary sometimes, you’ll accidentally knock something over and when you turn back around he’ll be sitting up and staring into your soul

- he def smells like some type of cologne that his mom bought for him and forces him to wear, burning stuff obvi and hairspray

- his mom is a christian(book reference) so expect to see him in church every sunday in his preppy dress shirt and tie

- he thought michael jackson was attractive when he was younger and whenever his mom brings it up he gets super pissed off

- he’s definitely not a mama’s boy or anything, he literally forgets her name sometimes but he favors her over his dad

- this mf has a hair pulling kink i CALL it, his hair is so pretty to not be pulled at

- his laugh is SO high pitched (as if his voice isn’t already but yk) i saw a behind the scenes and owen teague’s laugh is so silly in it

- okay so about his hair again it’s too pretty for him to not care about it so i fear he wraps it in a towel when he gets out of the shower and treats it like a baby(NOT like he would in the book guys..)

- he probably has gotten arrested like once or twice or at least told off by henry’s dad for setting things on fire around town with his “flamethrower”

- this mangy ass is weak as hell he can barely lift weights without falling like a damsel in distress to the ground

- ew he probably comes up behind you and goes ‘guess who!’ OR he wraps his arm around your neck like your a frat boy buddy

- he cannot dance so if he’s at a party or someplace with music he’ll just head-bang and jump

- he probably has insomnia so he gets up at like three in the morning and wanders around the house like this:

- he definitely enjoys graffiti and likes to spray paint random buildings in derry but he probably isn’t good at it so he’ll probably just write something like ‘penis’ or paints all over actual graffiti art

- i think he’s definitely more of a cat guy then dog because he has the personality and agility of one or if it came to any exotic animals he’d be a ferret

- will chase you around with dead bugs or mice if you’re afraid of either (HE DIDN’T KILL THEM) that’s book only guys

- he’s definitely more of a cigarette guy than a alcoholic but once in a while he’ll get shitfaced with the gang(you have to pick him up after)

- he LOVES sushi, most likely because his mom cooked it a lot during his child years, but will beg to grab some while belch is driving, usually they do get it but they stop somewhere else because henry will shit his pants if he eats it(he hates it)

- MANSPREADS

- allows you to do his makeup or paint his nails if you’re on the girlier side, but if not he likes when you do his skincare

- i feel like the song that plays when the bowers gang is first introduced on screen (love removal machine by the cult) is the type of music he enjoys or that is his favorite song. he likes grungy/metal teenage boy music yk

FIRST POST EVER COMPLETED??? OH YAYAYAYA

who was gonna tell me trying to add your own gifs was such a struggle.. “gif to big!” THATS WHAT SHE SAID like stfu and let me add the dang gif

[deadbikinis]

You have got to be FUCKING KIDDING ME

[thekr2ken]

patrick hockstetter:

[ashtheketchum]

Bowers Gang Kissing Y/N

A/N: It's the first time I've written for all four of them and not just Patrick or Henry alone. If I make anything sound strange about Victor or Belch, please forgive me. Warnings: Reader is gender neutral!, mention of smut, public, make out, Patrick being Patrick Summary: How would the members of the Bowers Gang kiss you? Both in public and when you are among yourself? ___________________________________________ Henry:

For him, it often depends on where you kiss. When it's in public, he likes to kiss you passionately, in front of others, to show them that you're his. Sometimes he'll reach under your clothes or rub his knee between your legs. If you want to defend yourself, I'm afraid I have to tell you that he won't care. Most of the time he even goes wilder. But when you're alone, he peppers your face with gentle kisses. In your room, your entire body too. You should then lie completely naked in bed and he kisses every inch of your body that he finds attractive. These include, for example, your hands, your shoulders and your chest. But whether the kisses are gentle or intense depends on his mood. Patrick:

Whether in public or when you're alone, Patrick always puts his all into a kiss. For him it's all or nothing. And by that I mean everything. French kissing is a must with him, just like touching. Sometimes you have dry sex, even in the school hallways. Because the students and teachers are afraid of Patrick, they simply ignore it. Because if someone messes with you, they will automatically mess with Patrick. What else you need to know about Patrick is that he doesn't kiss normally. Aside from a kiss on the head or your hand, he always adds his tongue. When he kisses your neck, he gently licks your skin, when you kiss on the mouth, he pushes his tongue into your mouth. You got used to it after a few weeks. Victor:

Victor doesn't particularly like kissing you in public. But not because he is ashamed, but because he finds the kisses between you so special that he wants to keep them just for the two of you. They are normal, gentle kisses in themselves, but they are special for him. Especially if they are from you. Victor loves to nibble on your bottom lip sometimes just to hear your voice. No matter whether it's a moan or a whimper, it turns him on, a lot. When you make out with each other, he sometimes kisses you more passionately, but with every kiss you can feel that he loves you and he wants to be gentle. He usually tells his friends that he is always very hard on you. Belch:

Belch proudly shows off that he loves you. He hugs you, carries you around, cuddles with you and drives you around in his car. Even with the kisses. In every kiss he gives you, you feel how much he loves you. They are mostly gentle kisses, but he also likes to show intense sides. However, he respects your limits. If you say no, he'll stop immediately and try something else. He's always very careful when he kisses, as if you could break. And he does that in front of the others, he doesn't care that he's called baby. When you have sex he is usually very gentle, but if you tell him that you don't want it to be gentle, he can do something different.

[s6xpunk77]

HEYYYY sorry to bother but would you make some head cannons fro dating Patrick hockstetter. saw the belch one and it was so good yes I know hes a crazy bitch but hes my crazy bitch <3 anyway if ya have time and feel up to it id love to see it.

Dating Patrick Hockstetter Headcanons

Horny like 25/8, never stops touching you and does not know anything about consent + boundaries.

Like you would just be doing homework or whatever in the library and suddenly you would feel his hands slide around your waist.

Of course he stalked you for atleast a month before attempting to talk to you.

He must have a thing for teachers or something…

The amount of times you’ve tried to study with him, they always end up getting freaky asf.

“You as a teacher is making me hard.” “Kiss me if im wrong but…” “Can you teach me about a new topic, oh and btw im a visual learner.”

He likes showing you off to the other boys, especially Henry cause he knows Henry had a crush on you in 6th grade.

Bro would start sweating and stuttering when the word “fridge” or “forest” is heard.

Talking about the forest, he would bring you here to get away from everyone else, he would say its bonding time but hes only there for one thing only.

Knife kink!!!!! Would beg you to try it out with him.

smells of stale smokes and body oder.

Loves your hair, he loves how it looks, feels, smells, literally everything bout it.

Everything you do either frustrates him and makes him annoyed, or turns him on and gets him hard.

Slut shames you 24/7

Cause hes an asshole.

He probably carved his initials onto you somewhere, or your initials onto himself.

Cause hes a fucking weird ass psychopath.😱

Either tried or has burnt you before because this guy 100% has pyromania

[thanas-stuff]

I want that cookie so bad chat

[kaivenom]

Warnings: cuts, blood, mentions of sex, just Patrick Hockstetter Masterlist

You lie down on bed, body arching from the previous activity, you insides feel like disolving and the cuts on your tights burning. You let out a small groan while you roll on the bed, trying not to make him aware of your pain. Patrick is humming a song while he starts to dress up, then he would go down your window like he always does.

"I am going." you could only huff at that, you won't ussually do that but tonight you feel extremely sensible, "What did you just did?"

"Why don't you can stay with me for one night?"

His intimidating figure got again on the bed and catched your wrists, never breaking that infamous eye-contact, neither did you. Seeing that you didn't flinch or get scared, he proceeded to pinch your nipples, a little to hard. You huffed again but didn't break eye contact.

"Bastard," you managed to get out of his grip, "i give all my body to you and you can't lay next to me for a couple of hours, go to your house but don't try to get here anymore."

You rolled and put a pillow above your head, like a little child. You expected a slap or another cut but you felt his weight falling next to you.

"Don't expect this very often, but i suppose that since you are the best fuck i have, maybe i should try to keep you... not sad, i don't want you to kill you because you try to escape."

Even with that crazy threat, you couldn't feel anything more that hapiness or at least, relieve.

[lavender-vixen]

hey! Could you write one where Patrick is on a date with the reader in his car at night, like a lover’s lane type place in Derry, when they hear Pennywise outside? Maybe It taunts them or it’s just terrifying?? thanks!

"The Woods, the Dark, the Clown." (Patrick Hockstetter x Reader)

Your body moved with him, the slow, filthy rhythm of the car’s backseat giving just enough with every rock of your hips. Patrick was beneath you, hands tight on your waist, guiding you, his mouth trailing hot, open kisses along your bare chest. The car windows were fogged, the air thick with the smell of sweat, sex, and cigarette smoke. His jeans were shoved down just enough, your skirt pushed up too high, your breath ragged and shaky as you tried to keep up with him.

Then—a noise. A rustling. Somewhere outside the car, just beyond the tree line. You froze, mid-movement, your hands on his shoulders, pulse jumping.

Patrick groaned. His fingers dug into your thighs. “What the fuck?”

You were too still. Listening. “I heard something,” you whispered.

Patrick exhaled sharply, his head tipping back against the seat, frustrated. “It’s the woods. There’s always something.”

You glanced at the window. Darkness. The rustling stopped.

Patrick rocked his hips up impatiently, making you gasp. “Seriously?” he muttered against your throat, voice dark and teasing, his dark hair falling into his eyes. “You’re gonna stop right now?”

You still weren't convinced, your breath uneven, eyes flicking toward the window again.

Patrick sighed, tipping his head to the side, grinning lazily. “C'mon, it’s probably a fucking squirrel.”

Then it happened again. Louder this time. Something snapped in the trees. Your entire body tensed.

Patrick paused, exhaled through his nose, irritated. Then, just as quickly—he kept going. Deeper. Rougher. His grip on your hips tightened. “It’s nothing,” he murmured against your collarbone.

You couldn’t stop listening. The sound of your own heartbeat was so loud in your ears that you could barely hear anything else.

Patrick’s hands slid up your thighs, over your hips, up to your waist, slow and distracting, keeping you grounded. Keeping you with him.

Then—BANG. Something hit the back of the car. Hard. You screamed. Patrick froze. His entire body went rigid against you. Then, before you could even process it, he moved. He shoved you off him, reaching for his underwear and jeans, yanking them up, grabbing his boots.

You sat up fast, still dazed, confused, shaking. “What are you doing?!”

Patrick was already throwing his shirt over his shoulder, pulling the car door open. He grabbed the keys.

You scrambled forward, grabbing his arm. “Don’t go out there—Patrick, please!”

He smirked, cocky, dismissive. “What? You think it’s some psycho killer?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t know how. "Please, don't go out there. Let's just go."

Patrick kissed you hard, shutting you up for a moment. Then he pulled back. “Stay here.”

And then—he was gone.

The night swallowed him whole. Patrick moved carefully, stepping over damp leaves, his breath slow, steady. His hands flexed at his sides, ready for a fight. If this was some asshole kids fucking around, he was gonna scare the shit out of them.

Then—a whisper. Soft. Dripping. "Patrick."

He stopped. His stomach turned. He glanced over his shoulder—nothing. He exhaled. Took another step forward.

"Patrick."

He whipped around. Something moved between the trees. Patrick’s breath hitched. Then, for the first time that night—he felt it. Something deep in his gut. The feeling that he was not alone. That something was watching. Something that wanted him to know.

The rustling came again. Then, out of the shadows, a shape. A figure. Tall. Too tall. Grinning.

Patrick went still. His heartbeat slammed against his ribs.

The thing tilted its head. The grin grew.

Patrick’s breath came shallow. His fingers curled into fists. “What the fuck,” he murmured.

And the thing laughed.

You waited. Too long. The minutes stretched. He wasn’t coming back. The car felt wrong.

Your stomach turned, your skin crawling as you leaned forward, pressing your hands against the dashboard, staring out the windshield.

“Patrick?” you called out the open window.

Nothing. Your chest tightened. You opened the door. The air outside was colder now. Still. Too still.

Your feet were bare, your bra and skirt too thin, as you stepped toward the tree line. The silence was wrong.

“Patrick?”

Still nothing. You took a few more steps. Further. Then—something moved. Rustling. Closer.

You froze. Swallowed hard. “Patrick?” you whispered.

And then, he came out of nowhere. Barreling through the trees. Covered in blood. His forehead dripping. His breathing ragged.

You screamed.

“Fucking run!” Patrick yelled, grabbing your wrist.

Your feet barely kept up. Your legs burned. You couldn’t breathe.

Patrick was too fast, too strong, pulling you harder, rougher, desperate. You stumbled and fell.

Patrick kept running. For half a second, he hesitated. Looked over his shoulder. Like he was going to leave you.

Then, you pleaded. And he saw it. It was running toward you. Patrick’s blood ran cold. He cursed, turned back, yanked you up roughly by the arm. Then he ran again.

The car was just ahead. Patrick went for the keys in his pocket, fumbled, cursing. He threw the driver’s door open, slammed inside.

Your side—jammed. "Patrick, it won't open!"

“Then climb over me, now!” he snapped.

You ran around and climbed over him, knees hitting the wheel, hands bracing against the seat. Patrick threw you into the passenger seat. Locked the doors. Then he turned the key.

The engine stalled. Once. Twice. Then the headlights flared into the woods. And it stepped out.

You screamed. Patrick’s head snapped up. He saw it again. And for the first time in his life, he felt real fucking fear. He turned the key again, the car roared to life.

Threw it into reverse, backed up fast, looking out the back windshield. He kept going until he reached the main road not far from where you'd parked. His arm slammed over your chest, keeping you from lurking forward.

He could still see it. In the mirror. Grinning. Then he turned the wheel—hard. Threw the car into drive.

Slammed his foot on the gas. The tires screeched, the car barreling down the road. He didn’t stop. Not until the woods were gone.

The road stretched out endless in the dark, a black ribbon of pavement, empty and silent except for the roar of Patrick’s engine, the growl of tires eating up miles.

You were panting, twisted halfway in your seat, your hands white-knuckling the seat, your body still trembling.

Patrick drove fast. Too fast. The speedometer hovered at eighty-five, but he didn’t give a shit. He barely felt the road. His hands on the wheel were tight, too tight, knuckles bone-white. His head was fucking spinning. What the fuck had he just seen? That thing…

The way it moved, slow but too deliberate. That goddamn grin, wide, stretched, too many fucking teeth. And it had spoken to him. Like it knew him. Knew his name. Like it had been waiting. Patrick swallowed hard, licking his lips, the coppery tang of his own blood still fresh on his tongue.

You were still gasping, trying to breathe, your legs pulled up tight against your chest. You hadn’t said a word. Not since they left. You were staring ahead, watching the yellow lines blur past, like you were still seeing it.

Patrick flexed his grip on the wheel, flicked his eyes toward you. You were still trembling.

He clicked his tongue. “Hey.”

You didn’t react. Didn’t even blink.

Patrick sighed, reaching over, sliding his palm over your bare thigh, gripping gently. You jumped.

Patrick smirked, but it was shallow, distant. His fingers traced slow circles, slow enough to remind you he was still there, still solid, still real. His voice came out low, steady, almost mocking, but not quite. “You’re shaking.”

You swallowed, forcing out something that might’ve been a laugh, but it was more like a choked breath. “No shit,” you muttered.

Patrick exhaled through his nose, turning his attention back to the road. His thumb kept tracing slow, lazy circles on your thigh, smoothing over goosebumps, half-soothing, half-possessive. “Relax.”

You snapped your head toward him, eyes wild, disbelieving. “Relax?!” you choked.

Patrick grinned, sharp and lazy. “Yeah, y’know, that thing people do when they’re not acting like a scared little bitch.”

You punched his arm hard, right on the bruised muscle, and he winced.

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, rubbing it.

“You saw it too,” you hissed.

Patrick’s fingers flexed on your leg, his smirk fading slightly. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “…Yeah,” he admitted.

You exhaled, too sharp, too shaky. You dropped your forehead against your knees, gripping your own hair.

Patrick watched you. It was weird—seeing you like this. He’d gone out with a lot of girls, liked you the best, but it wasn’t because you were special or anything. It was because you could keep up with him. Could handle his shit. Could run your mouth and not be afraid.

But now? Now you were shaking, curled up in his seat, breathing like you were about to pass out.

Patrick’s fingers tightened on your thigh. “Hey.”

You turned your head slightly.

Patrick flicked his eyes toward you, something calculating, something serious in the way he looked at you. “Nothing happened.”

You gaped at him. “Nothing—are you fucking kidding me?!”

Patrick’s smirk came back, slow and easy, but there was something underneath it now. Something measured. “Tell me, baby,” he murmured. “Did it touch you?”

You swallowed. “N-No, but—”

“Did it lay a hand on you?”

You shook your head.

Patrick’s hand slid higher. “Did it touch me?” he asked, voice mocking, teasing.

Your mouth pressed into a thin line.

Patrick leaned in slightly, keeping one hand firm on the wheel, the other still on your skin. “So what the fuck’re you crying about?”

You stared at him, stunned into silence.

Patrick’s grin widened. “See? We’re fine.”

You swallowed. “Patrick—”

“We’re alive.”

You didn’t answer.

Patrick’s fingers slid higher, dipping beneath the hem of your skirt. You caught his wrist.

Patrick’s grin twitched. “Baby...”

Your grip tightened.

His head tilted. “Don’t be goin’ all chicken-shit on me now.”

You didn’t let go.

Patrick exhaled through his nose, tapping his fingers against the wheel. Then—he let up. He didn’t take his hand away, though. Just rested it there, a slow, familiar weight, steady and warm. He frowned again, softer this time. “It is weird though,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Why d’you think it let us go?”

You blinked. “What?”

Patrick’s eyes stayed on the road. His fingers traced absent-minded patterns against your thigh, his brows furrowing slightly, like he was still turning it over in his head. “That thing. The clown.”

Your stomach twisted at the word.

Patrick’s mouth twitched. “Coulda killed us,” he mused. “Didn’t.” His grip tightened. “Maybe it’s still playing with us.”

You froze.

Patrick felt it. Felt the way your muscles locked, the way your breath caught in your throat.

His fingers pressed into the tender flesh of your inner thigh, deliberate, possessive. “Maybe,” he murmured, voice low, gravelly, sliding closer, “it’s still watchin’ us.”

Your breath came out sharp.

Patrick sighed. “You’re so fucking easy.”

You shoved his hand off you.

Patrick shrugged, licking his teeth, one hand still on the wheel, the other resting casually in his lap. He took a turn, the headlights cutting through the dark, guiding them back toward Derry. Patrick tapped his fingers against the wheel. His grin faded. His fingers traced the dried blood on his forehead. His breath came out slow.

Something was still unsettled inside him. That thing had spoken to him. Called him by name. Patrick licked his lips. Rolled his shoulders. Shoved it down.

He glanced at you again, watching the way you still sat pressed against the door, still shaking, still lost in your head. He clicked his tongue again.

“Hey.”

You barely looked at him.

Patrick reached over, took your wrist, ran his thumb over your pulse. “You’re still alive.”

You swallowed.

His voice was quieter now. “And we’re gonna go home.”

The road stretched long and empty in front of you, swallowed up by the night. The engine purred low and steady, but Patrick’s pulse wasn’t. Neither was yours.

Your breath still came shaky, fingers gripping the hem of your skirt, wringing the fabric. Patrick could see it from the corner of his eye, the way you couldn’t keep still, your knees tucked against your chest, your gaze flicking to every shadow. His fingers tapped the wheel. A slow, nervous rhythm. His stomach still felt like it was somewhere back in those fucking woods. His head hadn’t stopped spinning. He didn’t know how to process this.

Nothing scared him. Nothing. So why the fuck was his chest still tight? Why the fuck did he still feel like it was watching? The feeling wasn’t going away.

Neither was yours. You swallowed. “Can you… can you stay with me tonight? My parents are out of town for the weekend. I don’t want to be by myself.”

Patrick blinked. He should’ve teased you. Should’ve smirked, leaned in, murmured something filthy about how you needed him to keep you safe. But he didn’t. Instead, he just… nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. He didn’t trust himself to say anything else.

When you arrived, your house felt too quiet. Not the usual quiet—the deep, suffocating quiet of a house that had been empty for too long.

You locked the door behind Patrick, flicking the lights on one by one, chasing the shadows away. Patrick stood in the kitchen, the landline phone pressed to his ear. The dial tone had rung three times before his mother picked up.

“Hello, Hockstetter residence. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Mom, it’s me. Patrick.”

“Oh, thank God. Where are you?” you heard Mrs. Hockstetter ask immediately. “It’s almost midnight.”

Patrick didn’t answer right away. His fingers tightened around the receiver.

She asked again. “Patrick?”

His tongue felt too heavy. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted to hear her voice. His mom had never really been the overly warm type. But she was real. She was something solid.

“…I’m at Henry’s,” he lied. His voice was flat, clipped. He cleared his throat. “I’m staying over.”

Silence on the other end. Then—“You’re lying.”

Patrick swallowed. His jaw tightened.

“You’re at that girl’s house,” she continued, voice firm, like she was already upset.

Patrick shifted on his feet. His grip on the phone tightened. “Yeah. So?”

She sighed. “Just…be home tomorrow morning.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He didn’t want to hang up. She was still there. She was real. More real than whatever the fuck he saw back there. His free hand curled into a fist.

She sighed again, annoyed now. “Patrick.”

“I know,” he said quickly.

Then—he hung up. The silence swallowed him whole again, and he went off looking for you upstairs.

The light in the bathroom was soft, fogged with steam. You stood at the sink in just a towel, your dry hair loose from it’s updo, cascading down your back. You felt numb, sluggish, the warmth of the room barely touching the cold in your chest.

Patrick was behind you, silent, shirtless, jeans low on his hips. His reflection in the mirror looked wrong. Not because of the blood on his skin—the dried smears across his jaw, his collarbone. But because he was unreadable. His eyes were dark, his brows furrowed just slightly, like he was still playing back what happened. Still trying to make it make sense.

You swallowed. “…It’s not your blood.”

Patrick barely blinked. “No.”

Your stomach twisted. “Then whose?”

He licked his lips. “It was in a balloon,” he said.

You felt ice run down your spine. “A… balloon?”

Patrick’s fingers flexed at his sides. “It popped.” He turned to you then, head tilted slightly.

The movement was too slow. Too controlled. Like he was trying to hold something back. He took a step forward, looking at the shower. “You want me in there with you?”

You hesitated. Then nodded.

Patrick didn’t smirk. Didn’t say anything. Just started unbuttoning his jeans.

The hot water pounded against your skin, too hot, burning the cold away. Patrick stood much taller than you under the stream, letting it run over his face, washing the blood down the drain in thick, pink spirals.

You watched the color swirl around your bare feet. It should’ve been his blood. But it wasn’t.

Patrick’s hands were on the tile walls, his head bowed, breath slow. He hadn’t spoken since he stepped in. You picked up the washcloth, soaked it under the stream, and pressed it to his chest. Patrick didn’t move. Didn’t react. You wiped away the dried streaks of red, slowly, carefully. You weren’t sure why you were being so gentle. Patrick wasn’t fragile. Not like you were.

But this wasn’t the same Patrick you’d been with earlier. This wasn’t the Patrick who teased you for being scared. This wasn’t the Patrick who smirked and ran his hands up your legs and whispered filthy things in your ear. This was a different Patrick. This Patrick was processing. This Patrick was waiting.

You dragged the cloth along his jawline, his throat. His pulse beat heavy beneath your touch.

You swallowed. “What did you see?”

Patrick’s fingers curled against the wall. His breath came shallow. Then, slowly, he exhaled. “I dunno,” he murmured.

You frowned, glancing up.

Patrick’s expression was blank. Then, finally—he smirked. But it wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t teasing. It was something else. “…But it saw me,” he said.

Your stomach twisted. You pulled back.

Patrick caught your wrist. Held it. He leaned in close, voice low, steady. “You’re still scared,” he murmured. “’S’okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

When the two of you got into your bed, the sheets were soft, the air cool, but you were still shaking. Patrick let you curl against him, let you tangle your fingers in his ribs, grip him like you needed something solid. His arm was draped lazily over you, but he wasn’t relaxed. His muscles were tense. His eyes were open and bloodshot. His breathing was slow. Too slow.

You pressed your face into his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “…You’re still awake,” you murmured.

Patrick didn’t answer.

You looked up at him. “Patrick?”

His jaw was tight, his gaze locked on the ceiling. His fingers twitched against your back.

The sheets smelled like you. Patrick hadn’t really noticed before, but now, wrapped up in you, it was impossible to ignore. The faint, sweet scent of your shampoo, your skin, the warmth of you pressed against his side, your fingers still curled into the fabric of his T-shirt like you were afraid to let go.

You were still shaking. Not as bad as before, but Patrick could feel it, the slight tremor in your shoulders, the way your breath came uneven, like you were still trying to convince yourself you were safe.

Patrick hated that. Hated how quiet you’d gone. Hated that you, the cocky, sharp-mouthed girl who kissed and fucked him like you had something to prove was now curled into a shaking ball against his chest.

Hated that something out there had gotten to you. Gotten to him. His arm was draped over your waist, holding you firm, keeping you tucked against him, but his body was tense.

His jaw still felt tight. His fingers kept tapping against your back, slow, steady, like if he kept the rhythm consistent enough, neither of you would slip back into the fucking woods, the fucking dark.

He felt your breath hitch, then you muttered, “Can’t sleep either?”

Patrick smirked, but it wasn’t the usual one. More like a reflex, something automatic. “No,” he said. His voice was low, quieter than usual.

You swallowed. Your fingers, still twisted in his shirt, curled slightly.

Patrick’s long fingers kept tracing those lazy, absent-minded patterns on your back. Soothing. He could feel the hesitation in your body before you spoke.

“What… what if it’s still watching?”

Patrick stilled. His fingers froze mid-trace against your skin. A muscle in his jaw jumped. Then, he exhaled, slowly. His fingers started moving again. Slow, warm, steady. “Nah,” he murmured. “We’re too far now.”

You were quiet for a second. Then, your voice came small. “What if it comes back?”

Patrick’s grip on your waist tightened. “Then I’ll fucking kill it,” he said flatly.

You let out something that was almost a laugh. “Yeah?” you mumbled. “You gonna fight a… a fucking demon clown?”

Patrick smirked against your hair. “Damn right.”

You shifted, adjusting against him, pressing your cheek to his chest. “You were scared,” you whispered.

Patrick’s fingers paused, mid-trace. For a second, he didn’t say anything. His smirk returned, but this time, it was slower. “Was not.”

You huffed, shoving him weakly. Patrick chuckled, fingers tightening on your back, pulling you in closer like you were gonna get away or something.

“You ran so fucking fast,” you muttered, almost teasing.

Patrick licked his lips, amused despite himself. “Yeah? And who pulled your ass off the ground when you ate shit?”

You sighed dramatically, shoving your face deeper into his chest, inhaling him. “Shut up,” you mumbled.

Patrick grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

The silence stretched again.

“…Patrick.”

He tilted his head slightly, feeling your breath warm against his skin. “Hm?”

You hesitated. “What if it tries to find us?”

Patrick stilled. For the first time since getting in your bed, something in his chest tightened. The image flashed in his head too quickly. That thing between the trees. That grin. The way it spoke to him. How it had let him walk away.

His fingers resumed their slow, steady tracing. His voice came out low, smooth, certain. “Then it can keep fucking trying.”

Your breath hitched. Patrick felt it. Felt the way your muscles locked again, the way your breathing grew uneven. His grip on you tightened. The smirk faded.

“…It’s not gonna touch you,” he murmured. Patrick’s fingers dragged up your back, slow, comforting, keeping you tucked into him. His voice was calm now. Steady. “Not while I’m here.”

You exhaled. It came out softer this time.

Patrick felt the tension in your body start to ease. Your fingers unclenched slightly from his shirt. Your breathing slowed. Patrick pressed a slow kiss to your hairline. His fingers never stopped moving. Tracing slow, steady patterns. Keeping you here. Keeping you his. And keeping that fucking thing in the woods away.

[willgraham49]

Patrick Hockstetter/Owen Teague is so hot. No one can make me change my mind. 🙏

[im-tired-404]

I want to tear his skin with my teeth. (Affectionately💕)

[eternal-sunshine-222]

Oie, Sunshine

If you're not too busy, could you write something about Patrick Hockstetter? The idea would be to show him in a relationship with a girl who is completely the opposite of him, but still keeping his personality true to the character.

I was thinking of something where she truly loves Patrick and cares about him, despite him being... well, him. She would be a kind and affectionate person most of the time, someone who tries to take care of him both emotionally and physically, doing her best to please him and win a little of his attention and affection. She would be emotionally fragile, passionate about animals (never ask Patrick what’s in the fridge 💀), and she would have a black bunny as a pet (yes, a very specific detail, kkkkk).

Please. :3

I love detailed requests, thank you so muchhh!!! Book acurate Patrick is one of my favorites by far. And him with a girl completely opposite of him??? I love it!!!

INFATUATED - PATRICK HOCKSTETTER X READER

Characters: Patrick Hockstetter, fem!reader, Henry Bowers, Victor Criss, Belch Huggins, The Losers Club

Warnings: cursing, mentions of dead animals, mentions of death, mentions of decay, mentions of gore

She was new in Derry, which meant she was also ignorant. Ignorant to all things bad and evil, ignorant to all things Patrick Hockstetter. But being new also meant that she was the sole focus of everyone in the small town.

She had gorgeous eyes, resembling the brightest jewels there ever was or will be. Her clothes were of the most fashionable and pristine fabrics you could find, coming in multiple variations of her favorite colors. You could tell just by looking at her that she had a bright and caring demeanor about her, and an even brighter future.

Patrick Hockstetter, in this sense only, also had his entire attention on this new girl, this new conquest, this new...infatuation. Yes, that's what it grew to. An infatuation.

He watched her for hours, days, weeks, and eventually months. Peeking into her classes while skipping his own. Skipping out on hanging out with Henry Bowers and the others, though he didn't make any excuses to them all. He didn't need to. Henry knew not to come in between Patrick and his "interests" as he liked to call them. Because once Pat had his eyes set on something he did not stop until it was his. And boy were his eyes set.

At first, Patrick's thoughts were only about how he could corrupt her innocence, how he could ruin her. Maybe he'd show her his pencil case, full of flies and beetles with their wings and legs torn off ruthlessly. Or maybe his refrigerator in the middle of the woods, filled with dead and decaying animals, many of which he'd killed himself.

'No,' he thought. 'Can't do that.'

Overtime as he watched her he saw how much she cared for those around her, and not just people either. She cared for the birds that sang in the trees, whistling out to them every morning as she left her house. She cared for the ants in their hills, careful not to step on them and crush their home. She even cared for the slugs in the rain, moving them off of the sidewalk and into the cool wet grass so they didn't get squished by someone's shoe or tire. It was during one of these occurrences of him watching her leave her house for school that he decided to approach her finally, ready to conquer.

This lovely girl, filled with nothing but love and life, had exited her house in a rush, school books gathered in her arms and slightly scuffed up loafers on her feet. She was late for school. Patrick knew of course, wondering himself if she would even be leaving her house today, though he knew she would be going at least somewhere if not school. He'd seen her getting dressed in her room, peaking inside from between her open blinds.

It was while she was exiting her front door that she tripped, dropping everything while her legs kicked backwards knocking the front door open wide with a bang. Out dashed a small black void, faster than The Flash himself. It ran towards Patrick who had just rounded the corner of her house in his dirty jeans and destroyed boots. He stumbled back as the now seen rabbit tried to scale his leg. If he hadn't have known that it was hers he would've punted the furry little thing right then and there. Instead, he picked it up carefully and walked it over to her where she was on her knees on the slightly wet concrete from the rain the night before, stacking her books back up in her arms.

She hadn't even noticed her furry little friend had escaped until she had reclosed her front door and turned around, coming face to face with her. A small yelp left her mouth and she almost dropped her books again, not expecting to come into contact with her now eye level pet. She looked up at Patrick with wide eyes.

'She startles easily,' he thought to himself, a small smirk making its way onto his chiseled features. His smile only widens when he sees her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink.

"He yours?"

She doesn't answer back for a few seconds, entranced with this boy she'd never seen before holding her dear rabbit. When her eyes refocus she sees Patrick still standing there, an eyebrow now cocked upwards the slightest bit.

"Oh! She, but yes." She leans over carefully and sets her textbooks down on the step to her front door. When she turns back around he's already handing the sweet fuzzy creature back to its owner.

Patrick waits outside for her as she takes her back inside. When she reemerges she's got colorful bandages on her scraped up knees from her fall, the dirt and pebbles cleaned out of them. He makes a scoff noise at the sight of the Tom and Jerry figures on them, though she doesn't hear him.

'Of course she'd have band-aids like that.'

He's so caught up in staring at her that he hasn't realized that she's already walking down the sidewalk towards Derry High School, only noticing when she calls back to him. Now it's his turn for his cheeks to turn pink. Involuntarily of course.

They walk in silence for a few minutes, only the soft clunking of Patrick's boots on the concrete heard, until she speaks up.

"Thank you for catching her. She's so fast, I would have never been able to catch her without your help." She peeks up at him from her spot beside him, arms clutching her books a tad bit closer to her chest.

Patrick just nods and puts his hands in his pockets, glancing down at her quickly, though in his mind he's practically jumping with joy.

'She's practically at my feet already.'

She's quiet the rest of the way to the school, the only sounds leaving her being her soft breathing and the few short whistles she gives to the birds like always. Even though she's late she still takes her time doing what she usually does.

Before the two of them can enter the school Patrick reaches out and grabs her arm harshly. She doesn't flinch like he expects her to from the tight grip he has on her. Instead she just looks up at him curiously.

"Patrick." He only says his name.

She smiles at him with her lip gloss coated lips and she gives him her name though he already knows it. They then travel indoors and he walks her to her class, leaving only when he can see that she's seated.

~~~

Being a member of The Bowers Gang has its perks. People leave you alone, they're scared of you. Even the teachers won't bother to do anything but give out detentions and lower their grades. But of course it also has its lows, one of which being the shit talking that happens about you to the new students. Patrick is no exception.

The end of the school day arrived fairly slowly for Patrick's new obsession. She had wanted eagerly to see if she could catch up with him again after school, maybe walk back home with him since he seemed to live out that way (he definitely did not, the complete opposite actually). But just like this morning nothing went how it was supposed to.

She hadn't even stepped one foot outside of her last class of the day when someone grabbed her arm. She knew it wasn't Patrick. His grip was rougher as were his hands, covered in callouses from who knows what. Maybe he did yard work or was an artist or maybe he even played guitar or something. All she knew was that she liked the feeling of his hands on her. They felt...new.

These hands were a lot softer and when she looked down she saw clean cut nails and pale skin with small freckles dotted around the knuckles. Following the freckled skin upwards she was met with the sweet face of a girl maybe a couple years her junior. Her eyes were a bright yet simultaneously cloudy blue, a flaming piece of hair dangling down over one.

Before Derry's newest resident could utter a word to this strange little girl she spoke quiet and fast, urgency in her voice.

"Stay away from Patrick."

She frowned in confusion. What was so bad about Patrick? He was so sweet to her this morning. Sure, he was quiet but who didn't love a little mystery? She voiced these thoughts to the mystery girl with the red hair.

"He's not who he seems. It's all an act. Trust me, he's evil." The girl lets go of her arm and leaves without another word, no name or anything.

She watched the younger girl walk down the hallway and get lost in the crowd of others before turning and walking the opposite way herself, looking back only one with a frown still on her face. But it seems that luck actually is on her side today unlike what she had previously thought. Standing by a blue Trans Am parked down by the road is Patrick with three others, though he looms over them all as the tallest. His back is to her and he can't hear her soft steps in the grass as she approaches but the others see her and signal to each other.

The softness of her fingertips graze Patrick's arm and he's quick to react, turning around quickly and pushing her up against the tree by her throat. When he recognized her face he's hesitant to let her go. Her reaction isn't what he expected at all. Her eyes are calm and a small smile plays along her lips, books still clutched against her test though just a tad bit tighter than usual. Patrick furrows his thick brows and lets her go easily.

She doesn't react at all really, as if the action hadn't even happened. She just stands and looks up at Patrick with wide eyes and a small kind smile on her face.

"Hello, Patrick."

He hates to admit it but he loves the sound of his name on her lips.

"I figured, well, since you walked with me here today that maybe you'd want to walk back with me? Maybe come inside for a little bit?" She digs the tip of her shoe into the damp grass, not too caring of the wet mud smudging over it.

Henry, Belch, and Vic can all be heard sniggering at her invitation, wondering who this chick is and why she seems to be inviting Patrick fucking Hockstetter to a tea party. They're even more surprised when Patrick accepts with a smirk pulling at his lips.

It soon became a normal occurrence for Patrick and her to venture to and from school together. He did it so much in fact that he had barely seen any of his friends aside from during what was supposed to be their classes. Hell, he spent so much time with her that he actually started to develop a somewhat friendly relationship with her rabbit.

The first couple times he had come into contact with the small furry creature he had grimaced anytime it came near him. These were the kind of animals he kept in his fridge in the woods, decayed and slaughtered. Animals - alive animals, that is - were never his forte. He couldn't stand the furry ones. If he had to choose he'd definitely prefer something scaly and badass looking. But over time he grew to actually care for the fuzzy little bastard - he never called it by its name, referring to it as only that.

~~~

It has been a few weeks since her and Patrick have started their routine and she couldn't have been happier. He was so sweet to her in her mind, and he was although it had all been an act at first. But just like with her rabbit he had slowly gained feelings for her just as she had with him. The moment he realized was a rough one for them both.

Both teens were relaxing in her living room, her little black rabbit darting all over the room. She was down on her haunches playing with her furry little companion, loud laughs erupting from her perfect lips. Patrick stared at her, a large smile on his own face. She looked amazing, so perfect and precious. These thoughts pushed themselves into his brain and once they did his smile faltered before dropping completely.

'Fuck.'

Patrick stood up suddenly, startling both her and her rabbit who darted under the sofa. She stood up from the floor and looked into his darting eyes with worry.

"Pat? Is everything okay?"

She reaches forward with short, pink manicured nails to gently touch his arm as if to comfort him but he jerks out of her reach wildly, almost stumbling from the force of his own actions.

"Don't touch me," he says lowly. "I gotta go."

With those last words he stomps toward her front door and slams it behind him, rattling the frame. She stands, confused at Patrick's behavior. Her rabbit crawls out from under the sofa and the two girls make eye contact.

"What do you think that was all about?"

It's days before her and Patrick talk again. She walks to school by herself for those days, almost late on the first because she was waiting for him to show up. Her mood sours over the course of these few days, especially because of the attention she's attracting now that Patrick isn't with her. Normally these people would leave her alone or at least act nicer to her because of her association with him alone. But now they all seem to be making fun of her, calling her daft for believing that he actually liked her and all sorts of other nasty things.

It's during one of these confrontations that Patrick shows up. She's almost in tears from the words these kids are saying to her. They're obviously younger, Freshmen maybe. And, boy, do they have the audacity. They aren't necessarily saying anything bad, just making her extremely uncomfortable.

Her back is against the lockers. She's caged in in the empty hallway with two boys surrounding her, laughing at her reaction to their words. The loud clunking of boots can be heard from around the corner. She thinks at first that maybe it's a teacher but once they get closer she recognizes the pattern and her heart rate speeds up. Her suspicions are confirmed when she sees Patrick's tall lanky figure appear.

The two make eye contact and his jaw clenches at her teary eyes. If anyone was going to make her cry it would be him. Only him.

Patrick stalks over to the boys and yanks them away by their shoulders, one of them stumbling to the floor and another into a set of lockers. He says nothing, just sending them a look that sends them scurrying off in opposite directions. Once they're gone he turns back to look at her, a softer look upon his face (as soft as he can get anyway). She sniffles and rubs her nose and cheeks with the back of her sweater covered hand, the other hand holding her books close to her chest as always.

They stare at one another for a moment before he takes ahold of her hand and roughly pulls her into his chest, resting his head on top of hers. She releases a heavy breath that she didn't know she was holding and relaxes into him.

"Thank you," she mumbles into the fabric of his shirt.

He says nothing, only pulling away and leaning down so they're eye level. And then he kisses her as gently as he can. Patrick has never done this, kissed someone without plans to fuck them. And he had to admit it was one of the most pleasant feelings in the world, kissing her.

She stands there in shock with flushed cheeks after, to which he smirks at her.

"Okay?"

She nods wordlessly, still staring up at him, before swallowing thickly and finally speaking.

"Does this mean we're dating now? Like, boyfriend-girlfriend?"

Her head cocks to the side as she asks this question and he laughs at her but nods nonetheless.

~~~

Once the students in the school find out that she and Patrick are dating she's treated nicer than she ever was before. While they never approach her themselves they do play nice if she does. She doesn't quite notice their behavioral change. Instead she's focused solely on Patrick and showing him exactly how much she loves him. She thinks it's obvious that he never got the love he needed when he was younger and what better time to start giving it to him than now?

Gosh, this took me so long! Writers block is horrible and paired with many other wips, my goodness! I hope you like it. I'm thinking of making this a two parter. Let me know what you guys think <3

[huivsharik]

burning to hell

[ashtheketchum]

NSFW alphabet Patrick Hockstetter

A/N: I've done this alphabet with a few other characters before, but I've never published anything. Then why don't you start with the biggest psycho? XD

Warning: NSFW content, female Reader, book and movie Patrick in one, mention of killing animals

_____________________________

A(ftercare = What is he like after sex?)

Patrick isn't actually that interested in you after sex. Maybe he asks briefly if you're still okay and then he doesn't care about you anymore. Sometimes he is so nice and carries you to the bathroom, but you have to wash yourself. Deep down, Patrick would like to help you, but the risk of getting a boner again is too high.

B(ody = his favorite body part)

Patrick loves your ass. He can't resist massaging it, pinching it or hitting it. All he has to do is stare at your ass and he'll get a boner and have to stop himself from fucking you to the wall.

C(um = Where does he cum?)

Patrick doesn't care where he cums. Whether in you, on your stomach, on your face, on your back, he doesn't care, you should just tell him. He's not into condoms at all, so unfortunately you have to be prepared to buy the pill. Otherwise, Patrick will never cum inside you (except in your mouth-) because he doesn't want you to get pregnant.

D(irty secret = One thing he does that you don't know about)

In class he sometimes jerks off on you. Especially in the summer when you're wearing short clothes, he can't keep himself together. In fact, no one has noticed it yet and it should stay that way. Since you sit in front of him and always help the teachers, he also has a complete field of vision of your body.

E(xperience = How much does he know about sex?)

Let's put it this way… you're not his first. Maybe the first one he treats a little gently, but when it comes to sex you are (with luck), the third one he's had. He had raped many women back then and therefore has a lot of experience about how he should and shouldn't move best. Sometimes he had to hold himself together not to destroy you completely, but he kept himself well within his limits.

F(av. position = What position does he like to fuck you in?)

Patrick goes through all the positions with you. Missionary, doggy style, riding and more. But most of the time he prefers the missionary position. This way he can see your whole body and do whatever he wants with it. Of course he prefers it if you ride him, but he prefers it if he takes the lead. But he likes to try things out, so be creative.

G(oofy = Does he have a sense of humor during sex?)

This point is critical. It depends on his mood, when he is in a good mood he sometimes teases you. "My little slut… takes my cock so well…" he says, for example. But when he's in a bad mood, he usually never says anything. He sometimes growls, growls or whines, but nothing more.

H(ickeys? = How does he feel about hickeys?)

No. Patrick likes to give you some, but he doesn't want any himself. The world should know who you belong to and not the other way around. Because you belong to him, not he to you. So you have to live with the fact that you sometimes walk around with a bruised neck.

I(ntimacy = Is he romantic?)

HAHAHA no.

J(erk off = Does he masturbate often?)

Ohhh yes. He masturbates very, very often, precisely because he can't touch you all the time. He masturbates at school, he masturbates at home. The only time he doesn't masturbate is when he's sleeping or fucking you. But otherwise he always masturbates when he can or wants to.

K(ink = What turns him on?)

Basically everything you do. Do you bend down to pick something up? He sees your ass and gets hard. You stub your toe and moan in pain? He loves suffering and becomes hard. Are you talking about your day? He wants to use your mouth for something else and gets hard.

L(ocation = Where do you like to do it most?)

If it were up to him, you would fuck everywhere. At school, in town, behind a church and more. But it's too uncomfortable for you, so you only do it in private places. Once you did it in the school toilets because Patrick got a hard on that no one could miss.

M(otivation = What really gets him in the mood?)

Fire and knife games. He loves to hurt you, even if it's just a minor injury. Your loud whimpers turn him on, making him want more and more. Most often he cuts your collarbone, your hip or between your breasts. But he never cuts so deeply that it cannot heal. But sometimes a scar remains.

N(o = What would he never do?)

Start a real relationship with you. He only sees you as a sex toy and sometimes treats you sweetly so that you stay with him longer. Don't expect to be able to change him.

O(ral = Is he a giver or a taker?)

He prefers to receive. The feeling of your lips around his shaft drives him even crazier than he actually is. And your looks, he could never get enough. Especially your strangled moans as he fucks your throat. It's never the other way around, in fact Patrick had never even thought about licking or fingering you in any way.

P(eace = Is he slow or fast?)

Hard and fast. But the closer you get to your orgasm, the more he slows down to tease you. Most of the time he tortures himself, but seeing you suffer is worth the cost to him. As he gets angrier, he gets tougher, but then his knife and fire games hurt more.

Q(uickie = Does he like quickies? Something done or had quickly)

He was never a fan of it. It feels wrong for him to just fuck you quickly and then act like nothing happened. Especially because it takes several rounds.

R(isk = Would he do it in places where he would easily be caught?)

Yes. Patrick doesn't even see fucking you in public as a risk, he sees it as a given. If it gets too much for you, he usually ignores it. But since you mostly only do it in the forest or at home, it suits him.

S(tamina = How many rounds can he last?)

If he's in a good mood, three rounds are easily possible. Maybe more. However, when he's angry, all he really wants to do is hurt you and sometimes you don't even get to your first orgasm. But he does :'D

T(oys = Does he use toys on you?)

The only toys he uses are his lighter and a small knife. He doesn't want anything more, he doesn't need anything more. You never find toys that interesting, and neither of you want to buy them and hide them.

U(nfair = Does he sometimes tease you?)

Not sure if you could call that teasing. But, as mentioned before, it becomes slower and gentler as you get closer to your orgasm. But when you beg and whimper sweetly, he speeds up again and gives you your well-deserved orgasm. But only sometimes.

V(olume = Is he loud or quiet?)

Most of the time he just growls quietly in your ear. He wants to keep his voice quiet and deep so that he can hear you better. But when he cums, he lets out a small whimper, then he just breathes loudly and quickly. He is also quiet when talking dirty.

W(ich position = Top or Bottom?)

Patrick is definitely a top. He wouldn't even think about giving you dominance, even if you give him a blowjob or ride him. He always has control over you.

X(-x rey = How is his cock?)

Patrick is a little longer than average, but he is a little thicker at the base. Slight veins can be seen under his tip and he has a pink tip.

Y(earning = How high is his sex drive?)

Very Very Very Very Very Very Very Very high.

Z(zzz = Does he sleep after sex?)

Patrick never falls asleep after you have sex. Most of the time he watches you sleep or he goes to kill some animal. When he really needs to sleep, he sleeps very lightly.

[s6xpunk77]

POV - youre dating Patrick Hockstetter.

[patricks-hockstetters-lighter]

silly wall!

LOOK AT MY WALL! IM OBSESSED!!!!!! I NEED MORE PHOTOS IF ANYONE HAS ANY GOOD VACE HOPPER Or OWEN TEAGUE PHTOTOS GIMME EM