Hi. I Was Wondering If You Were Still Writing For George Foyet? If So Could You Possibly Write About

"Inseparable" Part Three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

i need to ride his face sorry

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

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

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

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

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

988-Crisis National Hotline

1-800-395-5755

1-800-394-HOPE

"Love Me Dead- Ludo" Part Two

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

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

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

I live in the city.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing changes as I run.

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

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

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

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

"Love Me Dead- Ludo" Part One

“You’re very tense.” 

The clock ticks, it’s echo bouncing off the beige walls of the plain, boring room. The couch I sit upon is a sad brown, fitting into the rest of the sad theme.

The window sill has plants on it though, very green and happy plants, a complete contrast to the rest of the snowy atmosphere outside.

“I’ve always been tense,” I say, looking away from the window and at the woman in front of me. She smiles a pitiful smile, sympathy she obviously can’t hide flashes through her green eyes. 

“Not always. In your file it says you used to be a very calm and relaxed-”

“It also says I used to have brown hair. How times change,” I smile tightly back at her, sighing as I realize my mistake. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so snippy. I’m just tired and I want to go home.”

She looks at her watch, also sighing as she shuts her notepad and sets it on the coffee table between us. She runs a hand through her hair, clearing her throat as she leans her arms on her knees. 

“I know this is tough, and I know what he did to you, and I know you want to get better, but this takes time. You can’t rush healing. I’m sending you home, and I won’t add this appointment to your bill,” She shushes my protests, raising her hand and making a ‘quit it’ motion, “You need to go home and sleep. You can’t rush this process.”

My keys clank against the trinket bowl as I shrug off my winter jacket, a soft bell following suit with soft, padded thuds. I grin, taking off my boots and shaking the snow out of my dirty blonde hair. My cat, Winston, meows loudly as I crouch down to pet him. 

“You hungry, little dude?” I look at the time on my phone, it reading 5:39 pm. He meows again, butting his head on my leg as I snort and stand up. “Of course you are.”

I walk to my kitchen, setting my phone on the counter as I open the drawer I dedicated to Winston the day I bought my apartment. I pull out wet food for him, opening it and setting it on the ground next to his water bowl.

I lean against the counter and watch him shove his white little face into the bowl to inhale his food.

Shaking my head and laughing a bit, I stop when I notice my phone vibrating. Picking it up and unlocking it, I let out a huh as I open my messages and see my sister texting me.

Donna: I js got a date with the hottest mf I have ever seen

Donna: like smoking hot

Me: someone is actually interested in you? thats a first

Donna: ok ouch

Donna: but yes 

Donna: oh and mom decided shes going to stay at your place for the weeknd

Donna: so get ready to clean

I immediately hit the call button as I read her messages.

“She’s doing what now?” I yell into the phone, wincing as I see Winston puff his tail up and look at me.

“Why would you not tell me this before today? Friday is in three days, and my place is a freaking pigsty. Three days is not enough time to clean, Madonna.” I tell her and start looking around my kitchen, noticing everything I know my mom will criticize the minute she walks into my apartment.

“Uh, probably because I just found out today, and don’t call me Madonna. She called me right before I landed the date with McDreamy,” She states and sighs, and I hear her throw herself on what I assume is her bed. 

“Besides, your place is never a pigsty. It’s always so clean, I could literally eat off your bathroom floor. Speaking of eat, you should also probably cook something, ‘cause we both know she ain’t eatin’ anywhere else.” The southern accent at the last part of her sentence was absolutely awful, but I understood it enough.

“Right, right, of course,” I sigh, hearing a thunk come from my bedroom as I watch Winston race towards the door.

Remembering the fact that I left my window open in my room, I assume a bird managed to fly its way into there, and that that was probably why Winston seemed so interested in it. “So, what’s McDreamy's name? I don’t think you’ve told me yet.” 

I change the subject as I start to walk towards my room to get the poor bird out of there before Winston tortures it. As I turn to go down the hallway, I stop when I notice the bedroom light is on. 

“Oh! His name is Badri, and he owns his own company. ‘Jules Jewels’, or whatever. Anyway, he lives in-” 

The blood rushing through my ears is loud enough to block her voice out, and the fast beat in my chest definitely does not help.

Thousands of True Crime documentary scenes play through my head where my current situation is the beginning scene of a vicious murder. 

I try to swallow down the lump in my throat, but it refuses to leave. I chew on my lip as I slowly walk backwards back into the kitchen, clearing my throat as I walk towards my knife block on my counter. “Sorry, could you repeat that again? You, um, cut out for a second.”

“Mhm! I said that Badri’s sister was getting married next fall, and that she invited us to come to the wedding.” I hum in response, taking out a chef’s knife and taking off the safety cover. 

“I’m sorry Donna, but I’m gonna have to call you back. Kensley’s texting me about when our next therapy session will be.” I lie to her, grasping the knife in my hand tightly. 

“Oh, that’s okay! I’ll call you later to tell you more, love you, bye!” She says right before I hang up on her, and I put my phone in the back pocket of my jeans.

I go over to my sink, turning on the faucet to hopefully drown out my footsteps and any creaking the floor might do as I walk down the hallway to my bedroom. 

I grasp the knife even tighter, furrowing my eyebrows as I hear Winston purr with a deep chuckle and a pop following after. I take a deep breath in, and open the door as quickly as I can.

I drop the knife at the person in front of me, and Winston darts out of the room, startled from the loud noise. 

“Go–good evening to yo–u too, sweets.”

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

Hii❤️could you do something with Simon from twd where he babysits negan's daughter she's about 5 or 6 and she falls down and she hurts her keen and Simon is just so sweet with her

Thank you!

This one is on it's way!

"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.”

"Mr. Mechanic" p. hockstetter Oneshot

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Summary (Smut): What was supposed to be a fun field trip for you and Bower's gang turned into standing on the side of the road when the car breaks down. What could possibly happen between you and Patrick on this simple little trip?

Warnings: Vulgar language, oral (male receiving)

A/N: I'm at my breaking point too, Patrick, don't worry. I don't know shit about cars.

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

“God, it is so fucking hot. Like, my hypothetical balls are sweating.” You said, sitting on the trunk of Belch’s car while fanning yourself with your hand. 

You and the Bower’s gang were heading towards Buxton, Maine, on a simple field trip. There was a popular street fair happening that you mentioned to the group, and you somehow convinced them all to go.

After much begging, and accidentally giving Patrick a hard-on because of it, you were all able to go. Splitting the hotel bill was easy, since it was your idea, you and Henry decided to split it together.

With his father being the sheriff, it was rather easy to get a discount from him. All you guys needed to do was drive up there and check in.

 So here you five were, on the side of the road because Belch’s car broke down halfway through the trip.

“Fucking piece of shit car.” You heard Henry murmur to your left and you sighed. You were leaning back, kicking your feet off the edge before an idea came to you.

“Hey, Vic?” You stretch out his name in a sing-song way and tilt your head sweetly with a smile, watching him and Patrick look up from their spots on the street curb and squint at you.

“What?” Unfortunately, he doesn’t respond with the same energy.

“You should totally go get the map from the car and find restaurants near here.” Your smile never falls and you playfully bat your eyelashes at him.

Vic looks unimpressed with your supposed flirting skills, and he stands up and walks himself to the car, jumping in and pulling out the map. 

“Thank you, Vic.” You beamed and he let out a sound of acknowledgement. 

To your left, Henry was playing with his switchblade on the trunk with you, a very bored expression on his face. On the curb, Patrick was watching cars speed by and messing with his lighter between his fingers.

You watch his hands as they skillfully flick open the lid, spark a flame, spin it around his slender fingers, close it, and repeat.

It was entrancing. The way the flame would move with his fingers, the way it somehow never got caught on his rings.

You liked it when he played with his lighter because there was just something so hypnotizing about it. 

His fingers had a couple burn scars on them and some normal scars on his pale hands, a couple of calluses. What you liked most though, was how long they were. 

How he had such good control over them, how they seemed to know when to move and how to move. How they would drag against your jaw, down your neck, wrap around your throat. How they would grab at all the right places, how they would pull up your skirts with such ease, how they would pull down your underwear so roughly. How they would tease you, carefully work their way into you, and curl themselves at just the right spot-

“There’s an ice cream shop just up the road.” You jump out of your thoughts and notice how Patrick’s fingers stopped, his blue eyes staring straight into yours with raised brows. Clearing your throat, you look away and turn around to look at Vic.

“Where?”

–

Vic, Patrick, and you all went up to the shop, letting Henry and Belch handle the car. The ice cream place was cold, and it felt amazing to all three of you. After ordering, you guys settled down at a booth to enjoy the air conditioning a little longer. 

“How long d’you think it’s gonna take?” Patrick asked from your right, his left arm strewn across the back of the booth behind your head. 

“A long ass time,” Vic snorted across from you, crossing his arms. His head was leaned back and his eyes were closed. “Belch may love his car, but he doesn’t know shit about it.”

Patrick snickered and looked out the window, watching people pass by the place. You hummed in agreement and watched people walk into the store and order.

It was silent, and the three of you were enjoying it for a bit. That was, until, some old lady got her ice cream and said something to her husband while leaving.

“Poor boy, having to third-wheel a date must be so tough.” She shook her head and her husband nodded.

Vic’s head shot up from its resting position and he stared at them while they left before looking at you two. You covered your mouth to try to hold in your laugh, letting a few giggles escape. Patrick wasn’t, though, and he laid his head on the edge of the table and was shaking and hollering. 

“Yeah, no. We’re fucking leaving.”

–

You three walked back, Vic pouting and walking in front of you the whole time, and were all now sitting somewhere around the car eating your ice cream. Belch was in the front seat eating rocky road, and Henry was on the trunk again eating vanilla. Vic was laying across the back seats and eating strawberry, and you and Patrick were both on the curb, him eating mint chocolate chip and you eating chocolate chip cookie dough. 

The both of you watched as a van sped past you, and you barely got to see the logo on its side.

“MARGO’S JUNK CARS”

Your eyebrows furrowed as a memory of Patrick telling you something crossed your mind. You gasped and swiftly turned your head to look at him, your left hand grabbing his bicep. He was already looking at you, a confused look on his face.

“Patrick Hockstetter!” You hissed quietly at him, “You know how to fix junk cars!”

He licked his lips before the corners curled up. “Mhm hm.”

“So fix the fucking car!” Disbelievement crossed your eyes and you scoffed.

Months ago, you and him were getting high in your basement when you had wanted to play ‘Two Truths and a Lie.’ It was his turn, and he gave you your choices. 

–

“There’s something in the forest nobody knows about but me. I lost my virginity at 12, and when I have nothing to do in my day, I work on cars.”

“Hmm. This is hard.”

“Yup.”

“Woah, wait. You, mister, lost your virginity at 11.”

“I did, yeah.”

“You work on cars?”

“Shut up and give me the joint, would’ya?”

“...”

“That’s kind of hot…”

“Is it?”

"Mhm. So, what's in the forest?"

–

“It’s his car, not mine.” Patrick replied, finishing the last of his dessert. 

Sighing, you pick your spoon around at your own sweet treat. “If you fix his car, and if we get a private room at the hotel, I’ll give you a blowjob.”

Patrick snaps his head over to make eye contact with you, and you stick your tongue out, put your spoon on it, and suck off the ice cream while giving him the best doe eyes you possibly can.

He stares and licks his lips again, deciding if he wants to think with his head or his dick. 

His dick always wins, though.

Patrick set his ice cream cup down and took off his black flannel shirt. It was your turn to stare, more specifically at his arms. He had a white wife-beater underneath, and his arms flexed while he handed the flannel to you.

Patrick stood up and grabbed at the hair tie you gave him a while ago on his wrist and he put his hair up. You marveled at the veins that ran up his forearms and crossed your legs, hoping he didn’t notice you clenching your thighs.

He did though, in the corner of his eyes, and his mouth twisted into a lopsided grin. Embarrassed, you looked away with a not-so-subtle blush on your face. 

Patrick started walking towards the hood of the car, and he slapped his hand on the driver's side door, startling Belch.

“Maybe if you’d pop the fucking trunk, you’d be able to see what’s wrong with it.”

–

After about 15 minutes of Henry complaining about how hot it is, Vic and you talking about what you hope to find at the street fair, and Patrick and Belch looking at the car, Patrick came to the conclusion that an oil change was needed, and that some random part needed to be changed.

You weren’t listening all that much to him though, focusing on Vic’s voice instead. You knew if you looked at Patrick, you wouldn’t be able to take your eyes away from him. 

Him and Belch went to go find some convenience store nearby, and you, Vic, and Henry found some cards in the backseat and decided to play some blackjack. 

When they came back with the motor oil, a bucket, and a new part for the hood, you all watched as Patrick got under the car to remove the current oil. Belch got to work on the front with a wrench, and the other two guys went to chat with him about what needed to be fixed and whatnot.

You sat on the curb again, leaned back on your hands, legs crossed in front of you, biting your lip while Patrick laid under the car and waited for the bucket to fill. 

You watched his face as his eyes followed the oil, his eyebrows scrunched together, hands resting on his chest, one leg propped up and the other straight. He blinked, and then his eyes were trained on yours, only this time, you didn’t look away.

The two of you stared at each other, admiring each other shamelessly. Your eyes roamed over his arms, his tank top that was soaked through with sweat. Down his lean torso, following where his shirt was slightly lifted up to show off his dark happy trail, right before it stopped at his jeans.

In your right hand, your fingers fisted around the flannel he tossed at you earlier, and you rubbed your thighs together to relieve at least a small ounce of friction. Patrick simpered, his canines showing against his lips, and continued to focus on the oil change. 

When he was done, he stood up and wiped away the sweat on his forehead. Grease and dirt littered all over his face, which unfortunately only added to the problem between your legs. 

“Why the hell isn’t this tightening?” Belch bellowed, catching both of your attention. 

“Lemme take a look.” Patrick winked at you before going to check it out, and you rolled your eyes playfully, standing up to follow him.

“Well, maybe if you’d twist it in the right direction, it’d fucking tighten.” He sneered, putting his arm on the edge of the hood while tightening the new mechanic piece.

Belch clicked his tongue and crossed his arms, and all of you watched Patrick work. Well, they were watching the new piece get put in, you were watching the way his biceps flexed and the way his veins popped behind the skin of his hands.

“Try the engine.” Patrick stepped back and popped the hood down, wiping his forehead once again with the back of the hand holding the wrench.

Belch did what he said, and they all cheered when the engine started. The five of you all got back into the car, Henry in the passenger seat, Vic to the left of Patrick, and Patrick to your left. 

Belch was talking to Henry about how long it’d take to ride back up the same road, what would happen if you went different streets, and you were about 70% positive that you all were supposed to be listening to him.

You couldn’t though, your mind only paying attention to the warmth of Patrick’s thigh against yours, and the way his hand was placed on your thigh, his thumb rubbing circles on the inside. 

Leaning into your ear, “This better be the best goddamn head I’ve ever had,” he purred and leaned back. You chewed on your bottom lip and lightly nodded, to which he responded with a tight squeeze on your soft flesh.

“Yes, Mr. Mechanic.”

–

Patrick slammed you against the hotel door, lips attacking yours instantly. You gasped and your hands immediately found his shoulders, your fingernails digging into them. 

His hands guided themselves over your body, up and down your waist, groping your breasts, and then finally resting on your ass. 

His lips were chapped and rough, an opposite to your soft and plush ones. Your lipgloss transferred to him though, slightly softening his lips just a bit.

He bit at your lip and shoved his tongue in your mouth, letting it roam around your mouth. You reciprocated and sucked on it, earning a low groan from the back of his throat. 

Your hands flew to the bun in his hair and you took it out, tossing the hair tie away from the two of you. You grabbed at it and pulled, harder than you probably intended. 

Patrick pulled away and looked at you, a predatory gaze in his eyes. Your mouth was slightly open with saliva on your bottom lip and your cheeks were burning up, your heart racing. 

You were a mess, and he loved it. 

He pecked your lips and started walking towards the bed, leaving you breathless against the door. You watched him take off his shirt, revealing a plethora of tattoos he gained over the years of highschool. He sat down on the side of the hotel bed and spread his legs, an obvious bulge in his jeans. 

You stood at the door and waited for him to tell you what to do. His eyes never left yours when he undid his belt with one hand and threw it behind him.

“Come ‘ere.” Patrick leaned back and you quickly walked over to him, kneeling in front of him without him even needing to ask. 

The grin on his face was large, and it grew when you reached for his groin and pulled him out of his pants and boxers. He sighed when he felt your soft smooth hands touch the base, a complete contrast to when his calloused ones do. 

The tip was red and leaking, and you brought your face closer to it, kissing just below it. Patrick’s hand rested on the top of your head, and he watched with amused eyes as you focused so hard on making him feel good. You did promise, afterall.

Your warm tongue slipped out and ran up the underside to collect what was building on his head, and then back down to trace over the vein underneath. His eyes closed tightly and his head tossed back, shivering with anticipation. 

He felt your warm lips wrap around the head and suck before pulling away to kiss down back to the base. His hips bucked upwards to show his impatience, and you ran your tongue back upwards along the vein, and sucked on the tip again. 

You didn’t pull away this time, though, knowing that he’d only push you down further. So you opted to suck on it and to languidly stroke the rest of his dick.

Patrick’s eyes stared into yours, taking note of the way your eyes would get glossier when he would push you further down his cock until he hit the back of your throat. Your hands came to tightly grip his thighs and you gagged, tears finally falling.

“Atta girl.” He hissed when your throat squeezed around his length, trying to get rid of the intruder that was making you choke. “Doing such a good job, dollface.”

You whined against him, the vibrations causing him the lurch forward. He cursed, grabbing your hair into a makeshift ponytail and roughly pulling you up and down his cock.

“If I’d known you be so good at this, I would’ve, shit, I would’ve fucked up Belch’s car months ago.” He panted, frantically matching the thrusts of his hips with his grip on you. 

You gagged again, and dug your fingernails so hard into his pants that you might have ripped them open. That seemed to be Patrick’s breaking point, though, and he faltered his movements before pulling you until your lips were wrapped around the head again. You sucked as hard as you could, and with a loud moan, he came. 

You swallowed as it coated your tongue and went down your sore throat, and continued to suckle it until every drop was gone and he went soft.  You finally pulled away and you wiped your mouth with your hand, the room silent and only filled with the sound of you two catching your breath.

“You, you fucked up the car?” You croaked out, your voice raspy and grated. Your hands rested on your own thighs, still kneeling in front of him. Your eyes caught his while he was putting himself away, and he snickered at how ruined you were.

“How the hell do you think I knew exactly what parts to get?” He huffed out, shrugging his shoulders and laying back on the bed. “I thought I’d get something out of going on this trip, so why not use your mouth for something good for once?”

You stared at the bed in front of you and leaned against his knee, closing your eyes. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

“You love it.”

absolutely seething because I can never find any good fanfiction for a girl who isn’t some timid little fuck puppet. Like I get that some girls are hyper feminine but oh my god I just need a reader who can kick ass and hold their own. I’m not 4 foot 2 and 3 pounds I’m a decent sized female who could easily fill out the shirts of men I thirst over. I’m not cutely strolling into the room in my little pink sundress and white sandals, no dude I’m stomping into that room in jeans and a t shirt combat boots and saying the most disgusting dick joke you’ve ever heard. Sorry guys I’m not a girly girl