#reader x patrick hockstetter

[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.

[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

[bella-goths-wife]

What is the nicest thing the Bowers gang has done to ballerina reader?

The nicest things yandere bowers gang have done for ballerina reader

Warnings: physical abuse, mental abuse, verbal abuse, manipulation, violence, sexual abuse, mental illness (unspecified), stick and poke tattooing, pregnancy mentions, self harm, eating disorders

I do not In any way intend to glamourise or romanticise any of the themes mentioned. I write about them purely for entertainment and educational purposes. Please do not see these actions as normalised and seek to replicate the actions or relationships

Henry:

Henry does care about you, in his own sick and twisted way

But he does care about you and in his own way he does love you

He lets it show in the rarest of ways, and only on special occasions

And while he’s an abusive and selfish bastard, he’s also observant to a T

He notices small things about you that he’d never repeat to anyone that he noticed

He notices what your favourite flavour of something is or what your favourite song is when he looks in your eyes and notices them dilate

He may be the one who knows you the most because of how insnared he is in your life

And he will always notice when something is wrong with you, except from the usual reasons

You’re spending longer hours at the ballet studio, even when he warns you and punished you multiple times for it

But you even offered for them to come with you to the ballet studio and watch you if that’s they needed to do

You allowed them into your sanctuary, something you had fought against so vehemently before

You claimed that you had to keep going, that you had to be perfect

Henry assumed that you’d just gone into one of your moods, so he humoured you and spent time in the ballet studio with you instead of forcing you home

He watched as you forced yourself through dances, he watched you sweat and pant and work through your part so aggressively that you were coming off as more of a mad queen then a graceful swan

He watched in curiosity as your feet bled, your legs twisted, your back contorted and your bones creaked like an old cellar door

Blood leaked out of your ballet shoes and caused droplets to gather on the floor beneath you as you pirouetted through the pain

Henry decided it was time to call it quits when he called to you but you ignored him, something you never did as you continue to dance even after he turned off the music

Henry called again and again before walking towards you and grabbing your arms firmly but you fought back desperately, surprising Henry with the wild look in your eyes

Your usually dead eyes and crushed spirit were alive but not in a way that signified life but in a way that showed forced reincarnation

Henry shook you and demanded you to stop but you just screamed and cried that you couldn’t

You hysterically ranted that you had to be perfect, you had to be better than everyone, you had to be the best

You cried over how a girl who had recently moved to Derry had outshined you in your classes, it didn’t matter in your head that she was years older than you, you had always been the best and you can’t be replaced

Ballet was the only thing you had control over, the only thing you held power in by being the best there is, the only escape from the torment of the bowers gang and their cruel antics

And someone had taken over your sanctuary

Henry, confused on how to comfort you, just held you until you had cried yourself into exhaustion

He took you to your home and cared for the wounds on your body as you laid there half asleep, just like you had done for him so many times

He left you to sleep as he thought about what to do next

He couldn’t have you continuing on this path, you’d self destruct before he’d even have a chance for his plans of marrying you and popping out kids

He couldn’t have a mad woman for a wife, he needed his pretty little ballerina back to dance when he turned the music box key

He stalked the girl you had talked about for a few days before finding a good opportunity

He decided it was time to call the other boys, knowing he’d need their help

He ambushed her dressed in a black Halloween mask before tying her to a tree

He grabbed a sledgehammer from belch’s care and brought it down harshly on the girls ankles and knees, ensuring she’d never dance again

He left the girl tied up and he and the bowers gang decided that whatever happens to the girl happens, none of them would lose sleep over it

That night he crawled into your bed with your asleep figure, moving your head to lay on his chest as he caressed your face with a gentleness that was foreign to him

He decided he wouldn’t tell you when he noticed how your spirit had improved since the girl had stopped dancing, knowing the information would only make you believe in silly notions of guilt

And he didn’t want you to get the wrong idea, he did it for himself and not for you

That’s what he told himself anyway

Vic criss:

Vic had punished you pretty badly one time, he had given you burns up your thigh that had sent you to the doctor for pain killers

This small ‘hiccup’ has made it so you couldn’t dance for two weeks, a prospect that made you sob in the hospital bed and refuse to eat for two days

And that’s when vic noticed that he had unfairly punished, he assumed you had snuck out alone but Patrick later revealed that he had taken you out for the night

That realisation had filled vic with an unfamiliar sense of guilt and remorse as he looked at your sunken in features and the bandages around your thigh

He volunteered to be the one to take care of you after the doctor visit, knowing being on the pain medication would leave you out of it most of the time

He helped you bathe, forced you to eat and drink, helped you change bandages and entertained you with a unique gentleness you hadn’t felt in a while

But even that didn’t stop the constant worried looks you’d give him, wouldn’t stop the fear that you held for him

He wasn’t used to being the most feared, that spot usually reserved for Henry or Patrick, he was used to being one of the ‘better’ ones who you’d reach to to avoid spending time with the ‘worse’ ones

He begged your drugged up state for forgiveness and the state had made you honest as you spewed venom about him never feeling the pain he inflicted on you

That gave victor an idea

He sat you down in your medicated state down beside him one day and showed you his tools

He had confided in you that he had a fear of needles ever since he was a child, but that he wanted to repay you for the pain he caused

He wanted you to stick and poke a tattoo of your choosing onto his shoulder, and he would sit still, endure the pain and never tell the others who had done it to ensure you never received a punishment

Your drugged up mind didn’t even hesitate at a chance to hurt your abuser, picking up the tools you needed

Five long hours victor sat still as a statue and endured his fear and pain while you worked on his shoulder before you finally finished

You had passed out pretty much instantly as you laid back on the couch and victor didn’t have time to look at his newest tattoo before shoving his shirt on and helping you to bed

Part of him even secretly hoped it would become infected so he could show you how much pain he’d endure for your forgiveness

Once you were in bed, victor removed his shirt and readied himself for whatever was on his body forever

He expected something crude or something humiliation but to his surprise he found when he lifted his shirt, a small swan

A darkened thought entered his mind at the sight of it

You had marked him just like he’d marked you

The dark part of Victor liked that

Patrick hockstetter:

Patrick loved your body

Well, loved is a loose term when it comes to a psychopath

A more suitable description would be that your body sexually satisfied Patrick greatly

You had the perfect figure in Patrick’s eyes

And when that figure started changing, it upset Patrick greatly

One of the workers at the ballet studio had made a few crude comments on your figure, and that had sent you into a frenzy

It was a pattern you had followed since you were small, someone makes a comment and your do anything in your power to make it untrue

Someone claims your too big, you’ll do anything to show them your not

Your methods however were extreme to a worrying extent

You wouldn’t eat for days and when you did youd throw it all up or use laxatives to make sure you couldn’t gain anything from it

It had caused extreme changes to your body, your once healthy figure had become malnourished

A change that Patrick did not like, finding you much less attractive

As I’ve stated multiple times, Patrick’s obsession is rooted to his sexual attraction to you and it angers him greatly when someone changes you

You were his plaything and if you weren’t pretty anymore, well that just looks bad for him

He sat with you every mealtime for weeks and forced the food down your throat but he recognised he could only do so much, the minute he stopped youd go back to your destructive ways

So Patrick decided that he’d get rid of the root of the problem

Disposing of a body was easy to him and the others by now, digging a shallow grave in the junkyard for the nameless worker of the ballet studio who had insulted you

Without the insults present you eventually started to eat properly again with ‘encouragement’ from the boys and slowly you gained your figure back

This pleased Patrick greatly and he made sure to make you repay him for his act of kindness, despite never telling you what you were repaying him for

Even Patrick’s acts of kindness revolved because of his selfish desires

What did you expect?

Belch Huggins:

Belch had always been the sweetest to you, always treating you gently unless commanded otherwise

That’s why you had felt comfortable enough to confide in him that you had done something very bad

You had hurt someone, very badly

A girl from your school who had harassed you daily whenever the boys weren’t around you

She had followed you on your trek down to the lake, calling you all sorts of names and pushing you around

As if you didn’t face enough abuse in your life, she added to it with her cruelty and something snapped in you

She had gotten in your face, eerily similar to how Henry had many times

When she had gone to grab you, it brought back memories of Henry’s abuse and fear filled your body

In an act of fight or flight, you had given her a firm push

She had fallen down the hill and hit her head on a rock, laying unconscious as you stared in horror

You had called belch in a frenzy, rambling on about what you had done and how much trouble it would get you in, there’s no one who would let a criminal be a ballerina

Belch drove to you immediately and held you once he saw you, listening to your explanation of what happened

He checked the girls pulse and found out she was still alive, and in that moment he made a decision

He couldn’t have you going away, his little ballerina who had such high hopes for her future wouldn’t survive in a juvenile facility, they’d eat you alive without a second thought

Him on the other hand? He was built to survive with his large build and strength, and who would the police believe is more likely to have committed a crime

A pretty little ballerina with no previous record, or the big brute with many accusations and charged on his record?

He commanded you to go home and gave you a final kiss on the forehead before sending you off

He ran to the pay phone and called for an ambulance who took the girl off to hospital, and when the police questioned him on who did it he admitted false guilt to spare you the blame

The girl had a slight concussion and her memory of the crime was distorted, so she couldn’t deny his presence which was enough for him to be arrested

His father found him a good lawyer with his copious amount of money and the lawyer managed to get belch away with only three month of juvie and six months probation

He went down for your crimes and he did it happily

When the other boys asked him why he did it, he simply told them that the girl had pushed him too far and shot you a look

He came out of juvie just fine and fit into his routine quite happily when he saw you at his side again

He never told anyone about what really happened, not even the others

He knew they would blame you for his temporary imprisonment but why should they? You were his goddess, why shouldn’t he make sure no one could besmirch your name and defend your honour

He kept your secret happily as he held you close to him in your bed

What’s one more secret between him and his goddess?

Thoughts? :)

[im-tired-404]

I need Owen Teague so bad yall

It’s not even funny anymore

FUCKKKKKK

[patricks-hockstetters-lighter]

crushing! Patrick Hockstetter head cannons

Patrick not knowing how to interact with someone he has a crush on so he just stares at them silently

Either without an expression/his creepy smile thinking that'll work well enough

He steals your stuff off your desk or out of your locker (he knows your combo) and sniffs it

Leaves "love letters" in your locker but they're just…. really creepy notes

Stuff like "your hair smells good", "your red underwear makes me horny" and "I love the way your lips wrap around that pencil you bite"

Sneaks into the girls/boys locker room and either hides in the stall to spy on you or steals your clothes while everyone out

Has snuck into the ceiling some how and crawled overtop of the girls/boys locker room to watch you change

Collects your trash

Used straws, finished lipsbalms, used gum. anything really

Leaves you little "gifts" like animal bones or dead bugs

stalks TF out of you

nothing crazy at first

just some following you and staring but then

he'll break into your room and smell your bed sheets

watch you sleep

take photos of you through your window and sleeping

holds his pillow at night as it’s covered in one of your shirts so he can sniff it

makes the gang ruin anyone who tells you about what Patrick’s really like

[blue-sadie]

Plaid Skirts

Imagine:

Being the only one not taking any of the bowers gangs shit which makes them target you more and on photo day you were forced to wear a plaid skirt which drove the boys crazy so after school they dragged you into an empty classroom to have their way with you.

"You should were skirts more often so it makes it easier for us to fuck you or finger you during class oh you'd like that wouldn't you to get used whenever we want"

[bked0n-lorazepam]

"Sweltering" p. hockstetter Oneshot

---------------->

Summary (Smut): Y/N and Patrick are placed as partners on their senior camp trip for Derry high-school. Regrets are thought after Patrick convinced her to place their tent further away from the others, and when their fans die in the middle of the night in the awful Derry heat.

Warnings: Vulgar language, dubious consent, fingering, cunnilingus, nipple play, camping, in a tent. Patrick and Reader are 18 and seniors!

A/N: Sorry guys, motivation kind of went out the window for my WIP's and I can't think when I try to write them, so here's this apology while I wait for my writer's block to end!

Smut under the cut!!

---------------->

It was dark out, and hot. The Derry highschool had a camp field trip that only the seniors could go on as a ‘going away’ event for their graduation. Y/N and Patrick were partnered together, much to each other’s distaste.

There was an odd amount of people on the trip, and when Y/N was told that the other student was going to join her group of three and that she’d have to be with Patrick, she groaned.

–

“Do I have to? What have I done to deserve this?” She begged her councilor to change the groups.

“Ms. L/N, you’re the perfect student, and he isn’t. We’re hoping that maybe while on this trip, you can influence him in some kind of way. Please, you can still hang out with your past group, you just need to stick with him as well.” Her councilor begged her back, hope shining in his eyes. 

All the teachers at the highschool knew that Patrick wasn’t the greatest student, so they always paired her and him together when they could. Projects and presentations, hell, they even made her his tutor. She hated how much time out of her life he took up, and he hated how much of his she took up.

“Fucking, fine. Whatever.” Y/N sighed dramatically and walked away to talk to her friends.

She heard a faint ‘language’ from her councilor before getting pulled aside and directed the other way.

“So, we’re buddies again. Huh, toots?” Patrick grinned and put his hand on her waist while walking her towards their assigned bus. 

“Guess so,” Y/N rolled her eyes at the nickname he gave her when they met, and pulled his hand that was slowly moving to her ass off of her. “Don’t fuck this trip up.” 

“I’ll think about it.”

–

Patrick did not, in fact, think about it.

He somehow convinced her to set up their tent further away from the others, and the fans that they were given on the bus had died. They were both sweating and kicked off their blankets, and now they laid on their sleeping bags. 

“I hate you.” Y/N panted, using the safety folder as a fan. She was wearing a dark green tank top and sweatpants on, and she was sweltering. 

“Mutual feelings.” Patrick responded, laying on his back with his arms behind his head. He took his shirt off and was wearing his black boxers, even though Y/N complained about him taking off his pants.

She knew she couldn’t say much, though, having taken off her bra earlier in the night because of how uncomfortable it was. She also knew that he was staring at her breasts half the time, but she didn’t bring it up. He’d do it if she had a sweater on, too.

Y/N stopped fanning herself for a moment and stared at the wall of the tent in front of her, and Patrick looked over at her.

“What?”

“Don’t get any ideas.” She set down the folder and stood up as he stared at her, watching her every movement.

She glanced at him and caught his eyes before looking away quickly and reaching her fingers into her waistband. Pulling off her pants, she stood there in her black lace panties, bare to Patrick’s eyes.

“Thought you were gonna get some?” Patrick snickered at her fancy underwear as she sat down and scoffed.

“Yeah, from Taylor.” She smiled sarcastically and fanned herself with the folder again, sighing in relief at the difference her lack of clothing made.

She’ll admit, she was hoping that she’d end up getting a tent with Taylor because she thought he was hot, but now she was stuck with Patrick. Who was kind of attractive.

But also really attractive.

Patrick hummed and watched her again before a large grin grew on his face. He sat up from his sleeping bag and crawled over to her when she closed her eyes, and he covered her mouth with his hand when she yelped in surprise. 

“Patrick, what the fuck!” She hissed quietly to not wake the other campers.

“Shut up and enjoy this.” He sneered and slid his hands up and down her body.

Y/N gasped and grabbed his shoulders when his hands cupped her breasts and played with her nipples. She’d had sex before, but they were all asses who never thought of foreplay, so naturally, she was sensitive.

He smiled at her reactions and continued to pinch them, leaning in to kiss her neck when she threw her head back and moaned. He kissed and nipped all over her neck, leaving bruises wherever his lips touched.

She bucked her hips up into his when he found her sweet spot, and she wrapped her fingers in his hair while he sucked at it.

“Patrick, stop. We shouldn’t be doing this.” Y/N panted heavily. She didn’t want him to stop at all, but she held onto a small sense of her dignity.

They shouldn’t be doing this with the other students just a couple yards away from them, but she also knew that Patrick didn’t care.

All he did was move further down her neck and kiss her collarbone before lifting her shirt over her breasts and attaching his lips to them.

She moaned, loudly, and reached a hand up to cover her mouth. Patrick laughed and sucked all over her smooth skin, his hands now moving down her hips, to the waistband of her underwear.

“Fuck, stop. We can’t do this.” Even though her brain said one thing, her body said another. She didn’t do anything to stop him, other than tell him to.

She knew he wouldn’t listen, though, so she didn’t know why she was even trying.

His hands ghosted over her underwear to the inside of her thighs, and he rubbed the soft flesh. He pinched her and she whined, him smiling once again. 

Patrick slowly moved his hand up to where she wanted him most, and he ran a finger up her groin as she thrusted her hips towards it.

“Patrick, please.” Y/N didn’t even know what she was begging for, at this point. Whether he stopped or didn’t, it didn’t matter to her anymore. She just wanted to keep feeling good.

His fingers moved her underwear to the side and he ran a finger through her folds once again, detaching himself from her nipple.

He stared her in the eyes and brought the finger to his lips, sucking off the mess she left on them. 

“Patrick, please!”

His fingers moved skillfully and he kissed her, his middle finger plunging into her entrance all the way to his knuckle. She moaned loudly once again, but this time his mouth caught it. He stretched her out, and when he thought she was ready, he put his index finger in with it.

Y/N moved her hips with his fingers, trying to match the speed he was going at. It didn’t help that he was purposely messing up his rhythm so that she couldn’t, and he grinned when she sobbed into his mouth.

“Please, Patrick,” She whimpered, “‘M so close!”

He placed his thumb on her clit and rubbed it in a circular motion, reattaching himself to her nipple. “Go ahead.”

She cried out and clenched around his fingers, her hips finally being able to match his speed and rhythm. He let her ride out her high before he took his fingers away and moved down, licking up what was left on his fingers and her cunt.

When he was done, he sucked at her clit harshly, and she cursed out and tugged his hair away from her.

He sat up and wiped away what was on his chin, sucked at her sternum until he left a hickey, and pulled her shirt down.

Patrick palmed at his boxers and then kissed her before rolling over next to her, reassuming his position with his arm behind his head. 

“When I wake up, I expect to see you with my dick down your throat.” He told her, closing his eyes and getting comfortable.

“Yeah. M’kay, I guess.”

[angelbowerz]

Bowers gang asking you out/you asking them out

Henry

-if you asked him out...it would be a no, he would be inlove with you and still say no

"Hey Henry"

"What"

"I was just wondering if you wanted to go out some time?"

*gives you a blank stare* "...no"

-he'd wanna say yes but if he said yes to a someone asking him out...his ego would be down a notch

-I mean come on...how DARE you ask the MAN out 🙄

-but a few hours later you're getting books out of your locker and here he comes

"Wanna be my girlfriend or something"

"But I just-"

"I'M ASKING NOW! yes or no"

"Okay sure, I'll be your girlfriend"

"After school we're going to the woods to bang, see ya"

*before you could respond he walks away*

-let's face it..Henry doesn't do dates, he finds them too romantic and cheesy

-you'll obviously hang together but he wouldn't class it as 'dates'...just 'hanging time'

-romantic rating 2/10 😭

Belch

-he would be WAY too scared to ask you out.. poor reggie

-buuut..if you asked him out....

"Hey reggie, I was wondering if-"

"YES"

-you just made him the happiest person alive

-but on the actual day of the date he is PANICKING

-he is so nervous...what If you aren't enjoying it? What if something bad happens?

-what's his solution? TAKE EVERYTHING AND PUT IT IN HIS BACKSEAT

-he has blankets...food..drink...everything

-when he drives to pick you up...omg he is a sweetheart

-waits outside with a bouquet of roses

-treats you like the only person in the world

-drives you to a secluded place and stargazes with you

-the perfect date..literally something out of a movie

-drives you home then calls you later tonight and checks in on you

-romantic rating 100/10!!!!

Patrick

-he wouldn't exactly ask you out but...

-he'll stalk you, wait for the right moment and then just walks alongside you all day

-you won't realise it's a date until he mentions that halfway through

"This date is going great right?"

"Wait wha-"

-he'll walk you home...well follow you home expecting you to invite him inside

-if you don't? That's fine, he'll just climb in while you're sleeping

-he'll either walk through the door or climb through your window

-he'll get in the bed with you...to watch you, not to sleep

-when he notices you start slowly waking up..he'll wait until you look at him then he very slowly turns his head...with the most scary smile you have ever seen

-when you scream..he just laughs...so much

-if you ask him out though...oh god...you're in for a night of torture

"Hey Patrick...I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime"

*does THAT smile* "oh I would love to..."

-it won't be cute...oh no no no

-he'll take you out to the movies, not to watch a romantic movie

-Patrick will do his research to find the most scary horror movie playing right now

-if you think he's taking you there so you'd cuddle into him....ahahaha aren't you delusional

-he'll laugh his head off when he sees you scared, pure happiness

-if you try covering your face, he'll take his hands, place them on your head and will force you to watch that movie

-After it ends..he'll still scare you in ways (making you jump etc)

-if you're in the right state of mind, you wouldn't go near him again...but if you're THAT crazy over him...goodluck

-romantic rating -10/10

Victor

-if you ask him out infront of the gang, he'd say no just because he wants to act 'cool' in front of the guys

-but when he's alone he'll come upto you and say he actually will go out with you and apologises

-probably had no clue where to take you so you two just end up in a park talking all night

-I feel like he would be very awkward at first but after awhile he'll loosen up and be really cool

-when you two get tired of talking, you'll just end up making out lol

-he'll walk you home of course

-romantic rating 6/10

[lucycore]

Pov: If u were in the Bowers Gang or Losers Club

—

Tell me which one u'd pick and also if u wanna see a male version.

Bowers Gang:

Losers Club:

(Idk I got bored and did it. I'm definitely Bowers gang lol)

[lavender-vixen]

Patrick with a girl who is just as insane as he is?

"Real, Like Me." (Patrick Hockstetter x Reader)

Patrick likes breaking things. Rules. Locks. People. He likes watching people squirm, likes the way they crack under pressure, how they get all nervous and sweaty when they realize he's not like them. That he's worse.

So when he meets you, when he watches you tilt your head at the sound of a classmate crying, like it's interesting instead of sad...When he watches you hold a lighter under your palm just to see how long you can take it...When you look at him with a sharp, knowing grin, like you already know what he is, because you're the same thing...

Patrick realizes you're not normal either. And shit, that must mean you're real, too. But it's not threatening...it's more of a relief.

Patrick doesn't get scared. Doesn't feel that sharp, tight, gut-punch kind of fear that other people feel when they see something wrong.

But you make his stomach drop in the best way. Because the first time he sees you lose your temper, really lose it, you don't yell. You don't cry. You just smile. And then you do something so much worse. Something even he wouldn't have thought of.

Patrick just stands there, watching, breathless, captivated. And when it's over, when you wipe your hands off like nothing happened, when you turn to him, grinning, waiting for his reaction, Patrick exhales, shakes his head, and mutters. "Jesus Christ, dollface."

Then he kisses you like he's starving for it. It seems like the natural course of action on his part. He doesn't understand what you are, but he knows he's out of his depth until he can figure it out. So it's easier just to put his mouth on yours, biting your lips, fighting with your tongue...anything to feel like he's in control again.

Patrick always needs to be in control. Always. That's just how it is. Except, apparently, not with you.

The first time you're alone together in his room, with the door locked, with his parents out for dinner, it's not like anything he's ever done before. You don't submit. You don't let him take the lead. You match him. Move with him. Push back. Bite just as hard as he does, claw just as deep, moan just as loud, take just as much as you give. Patrick loses it. Because you're straddling him like you own him, like you're trying to break him the way he's broken so many others before you, and it's working.

His hands are shaking, his voice wrecked, breathless, his body trembling beneath yours. And when you lean down, bite his jaw, whisper, "Can't handle it, Hockstetter?"

Patrick just growls, grabs your hips, like it's a challenge, slams you down harder. He tells you to shut the fuck up, and while that might anger most other girls he's been with, you just laugh, rolling your hips deliberately slower, teasing, torturing, wrecking him even more.

That's when he realizes he's in so much trouble.

Patrick doesn't share. Never has, never will. So when some Johnny-Lawrence-looking guy with a popped collar gets too close to you at a party, when he touches your waist, leans in like he's got a shot, Patrick loses his damn mind.

One second, he's leaning against the wall, watching, absently listening to something Vic and Belch are laughing about. The next, he's got the guy by the throat, slamming him into the counter, whispering in his ear.

"She's not yours to touch, man."

The guy chokes, gasps, tries to stammer out an apology. Patrick just frowns. Then he feels your hand on his arm.

"Let's go," you murmur, voice calm, unbothered, like you expected this to happen.

Patrick glances at you. Sees the way you're smirking, watching him with that sharp, knowing glint in your eye. And suddenly, he doesn't care about the guy anymore. Because he has you.

And when you grab his hand, lead him out the door, Patrick finally grins, breathless, obsessed. Because you're the best thing that's ever happened to him. And he's never letting you go.

[knyontop]

bowers gang hcs?

₊˚ ‿︵‿୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿ ˚₊

PLEASE SEND MORE BOWERS GANG REQUESTS GUYSIGHHSIBJHSIHGJ

Ft: Henry bowers, Patrick hocksetter, Victor criss, Belch huggins.

Tw: dark stuff remember its the bowers gang!!!

Henry:

・Henry is the most aggressive and just mean😭

・you give him one wrong look and your already a target for him.

・depending on how much he hates you is how far he will go.

・He deff has some doggys!!!!

・hes a dog person confirmed ^_^

・he has two dogs, both are German shepherds (cant think of any names so just make them up..)

・hes had sex with like five girls, maybe even more. But they dont mean anything to him he just needs a good fuck every once in a while.

・he mostly goes for nasty bitches (thats all there is in darry) but if hes lucky there will be one sweet, innocent girl he can corrupt. (He has a thing for the innocent ones)

・Henrys favorite color is red im confirming it :3

・he stays out late so he doesn’t have to go home to his shit dad, he hangs with his friends but he also likes his alone time.

・when he was younger i just know he loved trucks😭

・a truck is definitely his dream car💪🏻💪🏻

・Henry doesn’t like loud children and he doesn’t like crowds because its so annoying trying to get through and its loud as hell.

・he is not scared to get into a little kids face and tell them to shut up and if they really push it he might slap em’ on the head.

・i feel like when he was younger he definitely wanted a sibling he wanted a younger sibling to hang out with and make into like a mini him just someone he could protect and hang with. (He still kinda does)

・anger issues, daddy issues, asshole issues, what do you expect?

・henry bowers getting therapy when??

・bro looks at himself in the mirror and just admires himself bc he knows hes hot😭

・AS HE SHOULDDDD

・i would like to say hes pretty good at skateboarding like i just have an image of him when he was younger with his little crew and there just skating☹️☹️

・but he thinks he doesn’t have time for it anymore, only on rare occasions he does it. (Vic still skates often tho)

・but yeah henry bowers is pretty fire🔥🔥

Patrick:

・the most sadistic and cruel like we all know that.

・bro is just born this way no sad backstory nothing😭

・I imagine that its just him and his mom, and his mom is a sweet angel while hes just the devil.

・his dad left after he killed his little brother, and Patricks okay with that. Never like his old man anyways.

・he has some type of caring for his mom I mean like deep deep inside somewhere you will find a little care.

・he does not care about your race or sexuality at all like the only thing he will care about is if your a girl because he believes that men are better than woman.

・little patrick was like, “MOM GET BACK IN THE KITCHEN!”

・complete menace smh.

・but yeah he doesn’t care he just calls you slurs and stuff because he loves humiliating people😭 the rush he feels it gives him a feeling of what its like to even feel something.

・he doesn’t have a favorite color, he thinks thats stupid and childish. Like who gives a fuck? (I DO☹️)

・no filter. Speaks his mind.

・”Fucking whore.”

・evilest laugh EVER.

・”if i laugh during a fight run” ah💀

・deep deep down he has a soft spot for his little gang and his mom, deep, deep, deeeeeep down.

・he wants to feel things he just doesn’t, so, feeling that rush of excitement or sexual energy or desire helps him feel emotions and he doesn’t care if its bad at least hes feeling it!

Victor:

・hes the smartest like he got those straight A’s in elementary🙏🏻🙏🏻

・i just know hes a cat person like he holds in a coo when hes those little furballs☹️

・has two siblings >3< a little brother and a little sister!!!

・and hes a pretty decent big bro to.

・took them to the park, helps his little sister tie her shoes, but just bc there his little siblings doesn’t mean hes not afraid to get rough with them. Hes in the bowers gang for a reason.

・hes like the stereotypical bully, pinning people down shoving them a little bit maybe a little beat dowm mocking and teasing his victims.

・never to far ig…

・Victor’s favorite color is green, yeah pretty obvious ik ik☹️☹️

・he cuts his own hair!!! Hes pretty smart when hes not being a asshole.

・i feel like if he wasn’t a bully he would have so much potential.

・buttt anywho he has old note books that he used to journal in when he was younger he thinks its stupid now that hes older. (I promise its not)

・he likes making Henry proud because i mean hes his leader why wouldn’t he want to please him?

・he grew up in a srict household, when he was 8 he realized rules are stupid.

・they are all little shits omds.

・he used to want to be a cop but look where he is nowwww..

・woops!

・funfact: hes pretty good with kids sense he has little siblings, he just doesn’t have a lot of patience.

Belch:

・most empathetic, his actor even said he was more human than the others he was not as evil as the others.

・i feel like hes a 100% mamas boy he hates his dad, his parents split up so he takes care of his mom behind the scenes.

・he has one little sister which she is the exact opposite of him like literally shes just a sweet little bundle of joy with her taller and bigger intimidating older brother next to her with his arms crossed.

・might be a better older brother than vic ngl😪

・now im not saying hes gentle or nice hes still an asshole hes not a good person im just saying hes nicer than the others.

・he intimates kids, shoves them around, never anything as bad as henry gets with his strength.

・Belch likes to make people intimidated, he feels strong. He feels good.

・belch is a dog person but he thinks cats are okay, but definitely a dog person.

・hes got a little pug <\3

・which he keeps his pug ten yards away from patrick because that pug is his baby.

・to any of patricks fat jokes hes like “Im big boned asshole!”

・close enough welcome back eric cartman.

・I feel like his favorite color would be blue or orange.

₊˚ ‿︵‿୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿ ˚₊

I had fun making this :33 PLEASE SEND MORE REQUESTS FOR THE BOWERS GANG!!

[bella-goths-wife]

How the yandere bowers gang protects you

Warnings: sexual assault, revenge porn, physical abuse, murder, gore, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, manipulation, fucked up dynamics, forced relationships, MDNI

I do not intend to romanticise or normalise any of the themes I write about, I use them simply for entertainment value and do not encourage the replication of these actions!

Henry bowers:

You never really expected any aspect of Henry to be protective

You assume the hands that lay countless bruises on your skin to be the ones to shield you from the ruthless touch of others

But below the surface, there’s a part of Henry that yearns to hide you away from the ugliest parts of the world

Even if he himself is one of the ugliest aspects of your life

He pushed that part of himself down for the sake of keeping his composure while correcting you

He can’t go soft on you and allow disrespect now can he?

But there was always a firmness in the rule of never visiting his home

You assumed it was because he was embarrassed of you and didn’t want you to meet his father, when in actuality it was quite the opposite

But belch had dropped you off in a hurry at Henry’s when the rest of the group was out of commission and he had to get home quickly, and you couldn’t avoid the bowers residence

You knocked on the door only to be greeted by Henry’s father, who stared at you leeringly and suddenly you felt like a lost lamb backed into a corner by a rabid dog

Oh, how much did Henry’s gaze replicate his fathers in certain lights

When Henry saw the scene of his father looking at you with the look of an overjoyed dog at the sight of fresh meat, his mind couldn’t stop but to wonder about his mother

Suddenly, he felt like that helpless child watching his mother squirm and scream no as a the male embodiment of terror beat her and ripped her clothes

He felt the urge to run to you, to hide you in his chest and stroke your hair that he loved so much all while reassuring you that everything was okay

Like he wanted someone to do to him when he was a child

But instead, he responds in the only language that he could speak with his father as he yelled at him while pushing him away

He positioned himself in front of you as he purposely angered his abuser in order to distract his wandering gaze to you

He screamed at you to go home, allowing you to be alone for the first time in months out of desperation

You returned to your home and oddly enough, you couldn’t remember how to act normally in your own home

Your life was a constant performance of survival, how were you supposed to act while the curtain to your theatre were momentarily shut?

You just sat for hours on the couch and listened out for the next command or for your next warning and reprimand

For hours, just sat as still as a statue with tense shoulders as you awaited the next performance

You eventually went to bed around the same time that the boys would, much later then you did before them but for some reason their schedules had merged with yours and overtaken your thoughts

Henry entered your home a few hours before sunrise and creeped into your room

He was battered and bruised as he looked down at you in your bed, you couldn’t help but think about all the times he had left you in a similar state to try and ease your misplaced sympathy

You assumed he’d punish you for your rule break, but he just slowly climbed into your bed and laid his head on your chest

He commanded your hands to stroke his hair and for you to reassure him

Small tears escaped his eyes and wet your shirt as he commanded you to tell him that he was nothing like his father, that he was a better man

The lies felt like acid on your tongue as you reassured him quietly until he fell asleep

Henry was too far gone to ever understand that he didn’t break the cycle, he replicated it perfectly

Patrick Hockstetter:

You had been weird lately, Patrick had noticed

You had always been mopey and sad, but lately you were downright depressed

You neglected your personal appearance as you refused to eat or care for yourself in any way

This had caused Patrick’s attraction to you fade slightly, and that would not do in Patrick’s eyes

His sexual attraction was the only real feeling he felt, and it was his one true connection to you in terms of outside of his obsession

So Patrick decided to do some digging

He had found that some girls from school had been harassing you daily for the last few weeks during the few times you were without them

They had taken your clothes when you were changing in the ballet studio and had ruined the clothes you had handmaid, leaving you in only a towel

Luckily belch lended you his shirt but your humiliation lasted for days

The harassment didn’t stop there, they would put sharp tacs in your ballet shoes, loosened a balancing pole so that you’d fall when using it, called you all sorts of names

Now Patrick didn’t particularly care about your general well-being, as shown by his abusive and enabling behaviours

But when something affects his attraction to you, then it becomes a problem for Patrick

And you being in this depressive mood definitely affected his attraction, so Patrick took matters in his own hands

He decided to use what he knew and slept with each of the girls, roughly and painfully but with consent which was a curtesy he never offered you, before taking pictures of them on his camera and having the pictures developed

After a night of his usual forceful abuse, he showed you the pictures as some sort of twisted aftercare

The photos made you feel physically ill as you asked him why

He claimed he was protecting you, that those girls wouldn’t bother you now

All a lie, his motives were completely selfish

You cried at the pictures and he assumed you were jealous, so he assured you that he’d fix it

The next day he spread the pictures across the school, forcing the girls to isolate themselves out of humiliation

Patrick assumed the problem was fixed now and told you that you owed him

Despite the heavy guilt in your gut, you couldn’t help but find enjoyment in the fact the girls presence was no longer constant

Victor criss:

Victor was an observant guy, especially when it came to you

He memorised everything he could about you

He knows your routines, your preferences, your anxiety’s and your expressions

And he knew the minute that one of the male ballet teacher helped you stretch by grabbing at your thigh, that you were extremely uncomfortable

At first he tried to brush it off as a misreading of the situation, simply not knowing enough about a ballerinas strict routine

But he definitely did not misread the situation when he came to pick you up one afternoon and saw you cornered by your teacher with a look of absolute fear on your face

You practically ran to vic and held on to him tightly as you lead him out the building, something that only confirmed your fear as you usually repulsed away from his touch

He prodded you for answers but you became snappy with him and as he was about to reprimand you, he saw the tears that were close to streaming down your face with any more pressure

Vic was enraged

who was this piece of shit to touch you? Does he not know your owned? Does he not know your bowers gang property? Did he not realise that you were victors property?

Vic’s mind is made up as he drops you off with belch before making his way back to the ballet studio

He used your teacher as a pin cushion as he used his switch blade over and over and over until vic finally felt he had gotten his message through

He cut the hands off individually before skinning them and keeping the bones and hiding them away

He informed the rest of the bowers gang and they helped him stuff the body with rocks and watched it sink to the bottom of the river, never to be found again

They didn’t question him, they didn’t question his brutality, they just helped him clean up his mess

The same as what he’d do for them

Vic never told you what happened to your ballet teacher, but you inferred it from the context clues of the bones under his bed and the hidden away bloody clothes

All he asked for in return was a kiss and to be able to hold your hand without you looking sick

You tried your best

Belch Huggins:

There’s something surprisingly soft in belch’s protection

He’s the biggest in the group and most assumed to be violent, but he’s the softest out of the boys

His protection can range from small thin to big things

He expresses his protection in many different ways

He covers the side of the table if your grabbing something from underneath it, he walks on the side of the sidewalk closet to the road, he holds you hands or your clothes in public places to keep track of you

He even protects you in the gang sometimes by positioning himself slightly in front of you in a group setting, taking the blame for your mistakes and distracting the others from your actions

But there is always going to be a dark side to belch

And that dark side was brought out specifically by some drunk grabbing at you harshly on the walk home, not knowing belch was with you

Belch felt iron hot fury in his veins as he looked at the scene of this drunk bastard grabbing you so hard it could probably bruise your skin

Your a goddess in belch’s eyes, a slice of heaven bestowed upon earth and something he can indulge in and hopefully on day overdose on

And to see this drunkenly ignorant fool dirty your perfection with his disgusting touch? Well it set off a reaction in belch that he hoped you’d never have to see

He bashed the man’s head against the pavement over and over again as he felt every scream of pain was retribution for him disgracing the religion of you that belch follows so piously

The crunch of the mans broken nose against the floor brings belch back to reality as his eyes shoot up and meet your horrified gaze

You had seen belch commit violent acts before, you had been a victim of those acts many times

But those were all on the orders of Henry’s, this time was different

This act was committed with free will

Belch hurriedly tried to explain himself and begged you to not be afraid

You swallow your fear and horror as you hold his bloodied hands in yours and belch only looks down at you with practically heart eyes

You assumed that if you rejected him the violence would turn on you, and all though you were wrong belch was too blinded with awe to understand that

In his eyes you had just accepted the most ugly part of himself, proving that the pedestal he had placed you on was correct and you were the angel on earth that he thought you was

In your eyes, you had just dodged a possibly painful punishment

In reality, you had just tamed the beast with a gentle giant underneath the surface

[seventiesweetheart]

ANY PATRICK HOCKSTETTER OR VANCE HOPPER FLUFF IMAGINE PLEASE

𓆩♱𓆪 ghost boy.

obsessed! patrick hockstetter x fem! childhood best friend! reader

WARNING. none much, this is purely fluff! but patrick is a teeny tiny bit of a yandere for reader.

A/N. haven’t written in while because of school but thank you so much for the 300 likes on my rafe fic! it warms my heart seeing people repost it sm <3 anyway, i know i’m really late but hope you like this, anon! might make a vance one soon :>

the summer sun beat down on derry, its warmth failing to melt the cool indifference that patrick hockstetter felt towards the world around him. leaning against the graffitied wall of the abandoned factory, he watched the town's inhabitants with a sneer. they were all predictable, annoying, and utterly boring.

all except for y/n.

a smile tugged at his lips as he saw the girl approaching, her hair catching the light of the sun in a way that made his heart stutter. every one else perceived patrick as a mystery, just another one of henry’s best friends which fully meant he was not one to be messed with. but to y/n, he was her best friend since childhood.

"hey, patrick!" she called, her voice bright and cheerful, piercing through the monotonous hum of the town. she jogged up to him, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "you won't believe what i found today."

he watched her intently, his gaze suddenly softening. "what is it?" he asked, his voice low and only slightly gruff.

y/n pulled out an old, worn book from her (fav color) backpack. "look at this! i found it in the library. it's full of so many creepy stories about derry. thought you might like it."

patrick took the book from her, his fingers brushing against hers for a brief moment. he felt a jolt of electricity at the contact, but the girl was too oblivious, her attention already shifting to something else.

"thanks," he murmured, his eyes flicking up to meet hers. she was always doing things like this—thinking of him, bringing him things she knew he'd appreciate. it was part of why he liked her so much, part of why his feelings for her had morphed into something deeper, something a bit more obsessive.

y/n plopped down on the ground beside him, leaning back on her hands and tilting her face towards the sky. "it's such a nice day. why don’t we do something fun?”

patrick sat down next to her, the book clutched in his hands. he could feel the warmth radiating from her, the smell of her shampoo filling the air. "like what?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady as he caught a whiff of her scent.

she shrugged, her smile widening. "i don't know. maybe we can explore that old house on neibolt street? i’ve heard it's haunted."

patrick's lips curved into the mischievous smirk that y/n has grown all too familiar with. "sounds like a plan," he said, loving the thrill that danced in her eyes. he'd follow her anywhere, even into the deepest parts of a haunted house. anything to keep her close—to keep her as his.

as they stood up and started walking, patrick's mind comtinued to race with thoughts of her. y/n was the only person in this town who made him feel something other than disdain. she was the light in his otherwise dark world, the only person he could never afford to lose. and though she had no idea, he was determined to keep it that way—at least, for now.

because as long as she didn't know about his little crush, she wouldn't be scared away. and patrick couldn't bear the thought of losing her, his only friend and the only person who made his life in derry so much more bearable.

[girlystories]

Being the Bowers gang girl

*ೃ::Both platonic & romantic headcanon

– pairings: various x reader

addition warnings: swearing, bullying, very few depictions of sexism, few derogatory names, toxicity, abusive parenting.

words: 2.6k

this was entirely inspired by z0mbiekittyy, so please check them out!

Meeting/joining the gang

you were at first the quiet, loner girl who kept to herself, only having a few acquaintances, with very few friends.

it wasn't because you were a loser. only the opposite. everyone wanted to become friends with you or get to know you in some way but you never let anyone get close.

everyone had heard of you of course. when they realized you were different they stopped trying to read you or make their mind about you.

that was until greta keene couldn't get enough. she hated the attention you got. so one day she started spreading rumors about you.

it was relatively easy, since no one knew you enough to disprove them in any way. one word went to another and everyone in town now started talking shit about you.

despite that, you didn't care. you had your mind somewhere else. popularity and school drama weren't your thing.

you didn't mind hearing the remarks spat at you when you wandered the halls or when you were in class. you were completely and utterly unbothered.

word got fast that it even reached the all too feared bowers gang.

you were making your way to biology class when you were shoved against a locker, all your books falling one by one on the floor.

"well well well, if it isn't derry's most favored whore", henry was the first to indulge in the act.

he was followed by vic, or – as he liked to refer to him as his 'right-man', "hey, hank. why haven't we ever tried to mess with her before?"

you tried to back up slowly, but your back hit against another frame. when you looked up your eyes met with a pair of green ones, followed by an unsettling smile.

it seemed like no one noticed what was happening – or in better words, no one gave a shit about what was happening.

"dont worry, [name], we're not gonna kill you, jeez," belch revealed.

that made henry groan and turn his head towards his friend. "shut up."

patrick, still behind you, held onto your shoulders, which was very easy due to his height. "or we will, you will find out soon."

"both of you shut up," henry silenced them before it could escalate to something else. "so, how about you come with us for a ride? ya'know, get some air n' stuff."

"you mean like skipping school?", you asked.

"why? are you scared? I'm sure your reputation is as shitty as it can get. can't get any worse than that. even ours is better."

you shrugged, and just decided to follow them. just as you sat at your seat – between vic and patrick, you couldn't make out the read ahead of you, as they were driving recklessly. where you were, you hadn't the slightest clue.

they were laughing and howling, sometimes shouting at the drives passing by.

you? well, you were scared shitless. you clung onto your seat belt, and holding back the urge to start shrieking.

after a while you got used to it and had to admit deep down it was kinda fun.

when you stopped, you realized you were at a junkyard. they prepared a fire when the sun began to set down and opened some bottles of beer.

as you all circled around the fire you began to talk about whatever. you also found yourself to... tolerate them. or, better yet, even enjoy their company.

before you knew it, little by little you hang more and more with them, slowly becoming one of them. it was the first time you were a part of something. they felt like home and you could trust them, despite the hardships and more extreme emotional outbursts.

your reputation got even worse but you didn't care. you had found your people.

Activities

other than hanging out in the junkyard, you guys do other stuff (of course).

it's like you all live together, while you also don't. frequent sleepovers, meet-ups on each other houses take place, ect.

vic once convinced you all to go camping a few towns away. despite being the one who recommended the idea, he ended up despicing it. on the other hand, patrick who hated the idea ended up having the most fun. scaring vic by hiding bugs in his tent and pretending he was hearing bears or wolves. belch had enough and kept demanding they'd stop fighting, while you kept laughing at vic's reactions everytime. you never went camping again.

every morning belch picks everyone in order, first henry, then patrick, then you, and lastly – the sleeping queen himself: vic.

then, you make a stop at the local diner, everyone choosing their own specific order that the waitress had already memorized.

unless vic had a hangover from the party the day before, he wouldn't stop complaining about who-knows-what.

sometimes, when you were really bored, you'd go out of town in search of abandoned places, owning them for a while until someone else found them and ruined them almost immediately.

it was expected and common sense you'd show up at ever party. then you all would split for a while but meet up in order to leave. belch was in priority not to drink or get high until anyone else got a license. that's what you all agreed on but that possiblility seemed unlikely.

at school you avoided bullying anyone, but giving up on trying to stop them from terrosizing another kid since it was the only thing they ignored you on. the only time you fought back was to defend yourself. not that you needed to, but because you wanted them to know that you weren't as incompetent as you seemed.

when you had the change you'd shoot empty beer bottles with henry's dad's gun.

Henry Bowers

you and henry would share your deep wounds together. him about his alcoholic and insane old man, and you about your hard time fitting in, both in family and friends.

you would joke around, but to an extent. if you said the wrong thing he'd refuse to speak to you for days, weeks or maybe even months – depending how much it affected him. if he was too stubborn, vic would have to somehow find a way to talk him out of his bitchy attitude.

despite him trying to seem hard-shelled, deep down he was very sensitive. he knew you knew that, and he hated it. it was the only thing he hated about you except the fact that tend to be pushy sometimes.

he had never cried in front the guys, but one day he couldn't hold back when he was only with you. it happened only once, but he still feels humiliated about it and hopes you'd never bring it up. he made you swore to never tell anyone.

butch seemed to like you for a reason, only approving of you from the gang. he hated the rest. when you find yourself at their house, he'd warmly greet you.

at first he and patrick made a lot of sexist joke about you. later when he noticed you went silent you, he started using them less, only saying them once or twice.

always offers you cigarettes, and makes sure to buy your favorites.

sometimes (when he's not in a shitty mood) he pays for your food when you go at the diner without saying a word or giving you the chance to convince him otherwise.

all good things considered, let's be honest here cuz we all know he has more negative that good qualities.

for example; gets jealous super easily and gets mad at you for it, making you apologize for something that isn't your fault.

NEVER admits he's wrong. ever.

when you have a different opinion he tells you to shut up or straight up threatens you.

needs a lot of attention, while also can't have on his tail all the time, making him indecisive and confusing.

sometimes doesn't realize you need help and leaves you deal with your problems alone while you clearly do need some sort of hand.

still, you always have a way to be together again, unable to keep any distance between you both. on weekends you usually take the bus to his house, helping him with the choses around the farm.

Vic Criss

you and vic already knew each other from middle school. you were in the same class and he used to help you with homework.

then, when kids started growing up through that phase everybody did about that sort of rivalry against girls and boys. because of that, your 'friendship' fell apart.

you weren't really friends back then but you could've been.

he never admitted it but he always stared at you from away, wishing you would somehow start talking to each other again.

he was the one who convinced henry to approach you that day. the idea popped into his mind just as those rumors started going around.

he was glad henry agreed. even though he always did, he was anxious of saying no. later, he lied to you, saying it was henry's idea instead and that first interaction you had with him was henry's way of being kind (despite calling you a 'whore').

you and vic were close, in a different way you were with the others. he understood you better and he was very good at telling advice. he was also fun gossiping with. definitely the best when having a sleepover. the others found him annoying or bitchy about it, but with you he was himself.

he also was kinda subtle about his true personality, not showing his true small but intresting quirks only you knew.

speaking of gossiping, almost every weekend he crashed at your place, the excuse being his siblings giving him a headache, while his mom being 'a pain in the ass'.

everytime he had a problem with the others you would be the first to know. he was still henry's 'right-man', but sometimes henry was, well... henry.

at parties he'd get wasted and you'd be 100% sure he'd be found in the bathroom pucking his guts out.

you guys are so close he would be showering while you were doing your business at the toilet, gossiping about everything single detail.

still sometimes helps you with school after some persuation, but keeps reminding you that 'he is not your tutor'.

loves braiding your hair when you're hanging out, especially during class when it's something super boring (even for him).

Patrick Hockstetter

you were honestly pretty scared of patrick at first, and most definitely the only one from the gang who gave you the creepes.

the alligations weren't few, to say the least, and at first you kept your distance from him.

he also didn't try to make a move on you, which you found stange, yet grateful. maybe henry threatened him or something. either way you were considerably on good terms with patrick.

one day at school, while you were waiting for the other three to come at your usual spot during break, he offered you a cigarette. you received it with gratitude, since it was rare for an offer coming from patrick. he even stricked up a conversation, which was... maybe a bit thought provoking.

then he smirked – that one charismatic he wore when you would stop being able to read his mind. he was like a puzzle, but most pieces were missing or switched with incorrect ones. "are the rumors true?", he asked, closing his zippo with a 'click' after he light your cigarette.

"i dont think that you care if they're true or not," you answered back, the tobacco filling your lungs with nicotine.

clouds of smoke escaped his nostrils with each chuckle. "maybe."

on your ride home Black Sun Morning by Screaming Trees was playing from the radio and you found yourself singing alongside patrick. he rose his brows, "you know 'em?"

"duh, of course."

the next day on the ride to school, instead of gossiping with vic you ended up having a deep conversation with patrick about music. you never imagined that you'd be having a conversation about art with him of all people.

since then, you hit it off well. he stopped using sexist comments as well, and even attempted physical contact at the diner, brushing his fingers against your hair. when he realized you let him or try to stop him, he smiled to himself.

in the end you were usually seen together, you sitting on his lap during breaks or at the gym stands, in the car or diner. he would wrap his arms around your waist and rest his head on your shoulder. it was making the others sick.

sometimes you attempted to help him with homework, but he only agreed so you could just hangout. he wasn't really interested in attending college. the thing he was good at was certainly playing the guitar. both bass and lead guitar. vic jokes about him making a band but it something told you he didn't view it as a light joke.

one day he invited you to his house to show you his vinyls and discs. that's when you met his mother and was pretty surprised to find out she was vietnamese. he made sure to never speak vietnamese around you or the others.

when meeting you he became less... interested at the fridge at the junkyard, viewing it less and less. maybe therapy was starting to work out? even for a tiny bit.

extremely protective of you, especially at parties. makes sure to keep an eye out even though you wouldn't know it.

Belch Huggins

belch was the most chill and the most independent one of the gang. aways making sure everything was in check and going smoothly. it was no surprise he was super welcome to you and tried to make you at ease the first few weeks, asking you if you were okay or needed a ride home.

is a gentleman, of course. doesn't tolerance any disrespect towards you, no matter how small it may seem to you.

offeres to pay for you when going out, no matter how many times you don't let him.

one time you both got so drunk you couldn't stop laughing; your bellys hurting and your eyes filled with tears while your faces were bright red. it made henry mad (as usual) but it's a memory you'd never forget. you had no way to get back home, though.

on fridays you watch him play basketball, sitting at the stands, and smoking and encouraging him. sometimes vic or patrick came too, but it was very rarely.

he offers you the ball but you immediately decline, being reminded of the day the ball hit you in the face after you missed your shot.

you requested him to teach you how to drive, which was a bad idea honestly. at first you didn't understand his instructions at all, but when he asked you if you had any questions you lied saying 'no'. after that instead of stepping on going forward you accidentally went backwards, almost crashing his beloved trams-am that he named 'daisy'. then you turned the wheel too far, almost falling at a ditch before he saved you two.

swore that you'd never get a license in your life and forbid you anywhere near the wheel, not even the passengers seat.

his dad owes a workshop, fixing cars. he helped too, supporting him in any way he could. you also helped him here and there while he taught you the basics and answered any questions you had.

he promised that he'd let you fix a car entirely on your own without his help. he said he'd also let you keep it for free.

you have a drawer contained only of belch's clothes. at first you'd ask him to try his sweatshirts on. then you'd complain you were cold and he'd sigh, saying you could give it back another day. but you never did.

you loved it when he gave you biggyback rides. his, especially. he could never refuse, despise how tired he was.

[noyoucantpinmedown]

The Bowers Gang When Their Partner Has Their Period

Basically headcanons on the boys' attitude towards periods and how they handle their afab partner having one.

Belch Huggings

While Belch was raised by his loving mom, I picture Mrs. Huggings being quite old-fashioned and therefore very sheepish when it comes to talking biology with her son. Poor woman barely made it through giving him the sex talk, and as a result all Reggie knows is that whatever happens during the elusive ''time of the month'', it's not fun. Despite his lack of knowledge, Belch will be very doting of his partner if he's told they're having theirs, or even if he thinks they might be (he will never ask, or say the P word.) His SO can expect even more cuddles, random store bought or home-cooked treats (Mama Huggins is proud of how considerate her boy is), supplies kept on hand in the glove compartment of his car, patience, and compassion. Will assume sex is out of the question for the time being, but if his partner asks, he's more than happy to oblige. Generally will check on his SO constantly to the point of being annoying, and is willing to do anything they want, being nothing but understanding and obliging the whole time, even if his partner is cranky and takes out their frustration on him. Clueless as he is, he's ready to do anything he can think of to help, and is eager to be directed on what his SO needs. Will it kill him inside to be seen out buying pads for his partner? Yes. Will he do it anyway without complaint? Also yes. 10/10 in terms of support.

Victor Criss

I headcanon Victor as having two younger sisters and one of them is around the Losers' age, so aside from actually having been educated by his parents, he has actually witnessed what it can be like. He's the best prepared for this scenario and the most mature about it. As most teenage boys, Vic is a bit grossed out by the whole thing, but he's determined to handle it maturely and discuss it openly with his partner. Once he knows Aunt Flo is in town, he'll steal some pads from his sister and mom's stash to keep in his backpack, along with some Advil for cramps. He will show empathy for his SO's aches and mood swings, but unlike Belch, he will not take his SO directing their frustration at him- they may be bleeding, but that does not get them a free pass to treat him badly. In terms of intimacy, he's squicked out by blood in a sexual context, so his partner is on their own for that one. Other that that, he's happy to provide whatever his SO needs- he'll cuddle and read with his partner when they're bedridden with cramps, supply them with warm drinks, listen to them rant, and provide plenty of affection.

We're done with the sweet boyfriends part- onto the shitty ones.

Patrick Hockstetter

Patrick's knowledge on menstruation amounts to sexist stereotypes, and shameless as he is, he's not afraid to talk about it. The type to bring it up whenever his partner is grumpier than usual (''Oh, I see. Shark week, is it?''), and enjoys coming up with names for it- they're about as gross as you can expect. He's curious about how it really works, though, which might make it even worse, because now his taunts are even more based in reality. The stereotypical ones don't really stop either, though. The only one who will not tell their partner if their clothes are stained in public, because it's funnier if they're walking around with a red spot on the back of their pants. Patrick has an uncanny ability to just know when his partner's having their monthly visitor without them having to mention it (because he's a stalker with great observational skills). Doesn't give a shit about what their partner is going through, no emotional support to be found here. He's just as likely to take mood swings and crankiness in good fun (but there will be some form of punishment if his SO crosses the line of what he considers entertaining sass) as he is to get bored with it and avoid his partner until they're in a more agreeable mood. But hey, he is not completely useless- will give his partner all the physical affection they want, because he enjoys his partner being clingy and it's easy to transition to sex from there. Every now and then he'll swipe treats and supplies from the store even if he is not asked for them. The more attached Patrick feels to his SO, the more likely he is to do it and the more likely he is to not ask for anything in return... the latter still isn't a lot, he'll still expect his partner to fall over themselves thanking him for his sacrifice and generosity (that being the one chocolate bar he stole while going to steal cigarettes for himself). Generally speaking though, for Patrick it's business as usual. Ditto for intimacy. The negative is that he will expect his partner to put out in some form of another; the positive is that his partner will not be without if they habe those kind of cravings, and absolutely nothing is off the table because we know Patrick is nasty as hell and really enjoys blood. If his partner really wants nothing to do with him in that department, no big deal! He'll just find someone who does while he waits out the crimson tide :) He's such a catch, guys!

Henry Bowers

Oh boy. So, here's the thing: unlike Patrick, Henry actually wants to help. Unlike Vic and Belch, Henry is too stoic and hard-headed to even touch the topic. All he knows about menstruation is wrapped up in sexism, so he probably thinks that ''it's not that big of a deal'', or that ''women play it up for attention''. But he's squeamish when it comes to the reality of All Things Afab, so if he pulls the ''are you on you period'' card when his partner is in a bad mood and his partner answers Yes, I am, expect blushing and stammering. Wants to help, but does not want to talk about it, and a lot of the things that would help he considers demeaning (he will not be caught dead in the feminine care aisle). Not much to offer in the way of emotional support, except awkward pats and clumsy attempts at validation. He will show his partner more grace than usual, but if they're the type to complain a lot, get snappy or emotional, he'll get very tired very quickly. As far as sex is concerned, Henry expects his needs to still be met but refuses to touch his partner below the hips- he won't push his SO more than once or twice, though, and will wait it out without bringing it up again. Generally better at the quiet moments: sitting with his SO while they nap or watch a movie, wordlessly giving them food or a hot water bottle and trying to blissfully ignore the whole situation as much as he can.

[barrackspredator]

patrick hockstetter x naive fem reader? 😋

this has been in my inbow for about a year. TW: Patrick, mocking religion, Patrick gets his own second warning

The Pastor's Daughter

Patick x Fem!Reader Patrick Hockstter is God.

In his own head, of course.

However, before he is a part-time self-proclaimed god, he is also the son of Patricia "Trisha" Hockstetter, Derry's most devout Baptist.

And while he could usually get away with skipping out on Sunday mass, this one was different. A new pastor was being brought into the church as the last pastor had gone to the pearly gates, and Trisha, eager to push her son closer to God, forced him to go with her.

After a long morning of arguing, Patrick was forced into his Sunday best, booted into the car, and forced to follow his grinning mother down the aisle. Aside from the laughable idea of there being other gods, Patrick's least favorite part about church was entering to take a seat. The judgmental stares, the hushed whispers, the blearing white. It was enough to drive him insane. He idly gazed through the crowd of phony-worshippers, grinning pridefully whenever somebody would look his way in stunned horror—which was often.

Finally stopping at the second pew, his mother ushered him in, a beaming smile on her face despite the mischievous glint in her eyes. Patrick noted this, quirking his eyebrow at her.

"What?" he mouthed as he sat down, partially sitting on something. "Nothing," she whispered, unable to hide her smile.

"Excuse me?" A quiet voice whispered from beside Patrick. "I don't mean to bother you, sir, but you're sitting on my purse."

Patrick rolled his eyes, turning in annoyance. "Then yank it." He paused, staring at the girl before him. Your eyes widened in surprise, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

"Oh, my apologies. I didn't realize... I thought you were a sir." You sheepishly laughed at your mistake, assuming Patrick was an older man. He stared at you, his eyes narrowing as he dissected every inch of you. Your eyes, your smile, your hair—the imaginary halo that glowed above your head.

"I am a sir," he growled, thinking you thought he was a girl.

"O-Oh? Really? Wow, you look so young!" You smiled wide, amazed by how young this "sir" looked.

"... Uh, yeah. I'm fucking 15, idiot." Patrick felt a sharp jab in his ribs, making him double over. He glared at his mom, who sneered at him until he turned back to face the girl. "My bad," he grumbled. The look of shock on your face was enough to make him smirk in amusement. Perhaps the most amused he'd ever felt in church.

"It's okay," you whispered. Your eyes were downcast as you tried to hold back a giggle. "You are very funny, uh... what is your name? Perhaps calling you sir would be weird as we are the same age." You looked back up into Patrick's eyes.

"Patrick." Another jab. "Hockstetter!" He glanced back at his mother, deeply annoyed with her antics. "Patrick Hockstter," he breathed out, placing his hand over his aching ribs.

You giggled politely, covering your mouth as you did. "Well, it's lovely to meet you, Patrick. I'm-"

"The pastor's daughter, right?" Mrs. Hockstetter interjected, taking you by surprise. You hesitated a few seconds before nodding your head. Patrick slowly turned his head to look at his mother as her plan clicked in his head. Did she really think the pastor's daughter would be a good influence on him? The thought was laughable. But this god had his own plan—to humor his mother. To get even.

He turned back to you with a charming smile. Well, as charming as he could pull off. "It's lovely to meet you," he said, taking your hand in his and gently pressing a kiss on your knuckle, enjoying how your eyes shot open. Church was suddenly starting to feel very entertaining for this god.

But of course, your father had to ruin the fun when he came out to begin his sermon and the choir started. You hesitated to pull your hand away, your eyes lingering on his until he turned away. Patrick only pulled away to hide his smirk, though. He didn't give a shit about the sermon, or the choir, or whatever the fuck his future father-in-law was spewing.

For that full hour, he sat there plotting. Every move of his had to be calculated, and they were. Glances here and there, brushing his hand against yours, gently thumbing your skin whenever it was time to join hands. And from every move blossomed a new splotch of red on your cheeks, which appeased him greatly. Even his mother looked pleased, and it took Patrick every bone in his body to not laugh at her failure of a plan. Oh, how he was going to make her look like such a fool!

By the end of mass, Patrick had you wrapped around his twisted, kind of fucked up, burnt finger. And with this newfound power, he got himself a date with the pastor's daughter at the junkyard.

To his mother's surprise, Patrick left mass with a big goofy smile on his face, giddy as he thought of the fridge he was going to show you on Friday night.