Patrick Hockstetter x Reader (brief Smut)
Its consensual, but it ain't healthy
2.8k words
Warnings - Patrick ofc, the fridge plays a role, the small bit of smut is rough and hateful. PIV, biting, scratching, hair pulling.
'I Want To Teach You A Lesson In The Worst King Of Way'
Everyone knew who Patrick Hockstetter was, and fuck if that didn't stroke his ego just right. You certainly knew who he was, and everything you heard just made you glad you'd never had the misfortune of interacting with him. Turns out a winning streak can only go on so long.
With Patricks superb reputation (Trying to fuck every girl he comes across) it was only a matter of time before you found yourself in the same hallway as him when he happened to be on the prowl. And on that unfortunate day, you got to experience his charms first hand.
The sound hit you before anything, a sharp crack filling the hallway. The sting came next, followed by the realization and the horrified flush that crawled up your neck and over your cheeks as you turned to face him. He stood there, looking down at you with that sickening smile and eyes that were trying too hard to be innocent. As if he hadn't slapped your ass in the middle of a crowd of people.
“What the fuck-”
He stunned you into silence quickly, sliding an arm around your shoulders. It was uncomfortably warm and he was far too close for your liking.
“You look real nice in that shade of red,” he hummed, his breath hot against your ear as he looked you over, clearly referring to the red of your cheeks and not anything you happened to be wearing.
Your nose scrunched up in vague distaste as you ducked out from his hold, side stepping him. “Not interested.” Was all you could think to say as you watched him. He didn't seem deterred at all, crossing his arms over his chest and meeting your eyes like he hadn't just been rejected.
“Don't worry sweetheart, you'll be spreading those legs for me soon enough.” He said it with such certainty that you wondered if that line had somehow convinced someone in the past. You really couldn't picture that.
“I wouldn't hold your breath,” you hummed out blandly. And somehow your flat tone seemed to bother him more than if you'd taken offense and gone off on him. That made sense of course, he seemed like the type to act out for attention and become petulant if they didn't receive it.
You could feel all the eyes of surrounding students, watching the interaction with poorly hidden interest. And fuck did you hate being watched.
With that in mind you turned away, not bothering to spare him another glance as you resumed your walk to class. Perhaps somewhat foolishly, you assumed that would be the end of it.
Patrick knew better than that.
It took a few days for him to finally see you again, but the way you looked at him and spoke to him had been all he thought about in your absence. Your uncaring gaze, like he had had no effect whatsoever. It made his guts twist.
Realistically he knew it didn't matter much. There was just no reason to think about some pompous girl who thought she was somehow better than him.
At least there wasn't. Not until you were there again.
He hadn't expected his next time seeing you to go quite like this. Hell he hadn't even seen you at first as he stalked through the aisles, carelessly shoving whatever looked appealing into his pockets. The owner of this shop was old and didn't take notice of anything around him so it was usually a good place to snatch random things when he grew bored.
Or it was until he felt a hand catch his wrist in a firm grip. And when he turned he was met with the disapproving eyes, not of the shop owner, but of one of the younger men who worked in the back.
One of the ones who could actually do something.
There was no real punishment for such a small thing of course. He just had to empty his pockets of all the junk he had taken and had to live with the annoyance of not getting away with it this time. And that would have been easy if he hadn't caught the smallest glimpse of you near the counter, arms crossed as you watched him hand over everything he'd snagged.
And your blank look from earlier was gone, replaced with the slightest hint of a smug smile. Like you got genuine satisfaction out of seeing him like this. He couldn't prove it, but he knew you had to have said something and gotten him caught.
You weren't just rejecting him now, you were there, making his life harder. It rubbed him the wrong way, and suddenly he didn’t want your attention anymore. Not like before.
And much to your delight and his dismay it was far from a one time thing. Maybe it was good timing (it definitely wasn't) and maybe it was just a bit petty (it definitely was) but somehow he found himself in your presence far more than he would have liked. And somehow everytime you managed to take just a bit of his fun away.
Be it a heads up to a student he was planning to go after, a warning to a teacher he was planning to fuck with or even a tip to the town police when he was planning on vandalising the corner store, you always ruined it.
You slowly morphed from a vague annoyance to an actual obstacle that Patrick found himself wanting to stomp out.
It was a never ending cycle that he was starting to grow irritated with. By the time he was stepping out of his 7th detention caused by you he felt like he was at a breaking point.
Then he saw you.
You weren't drawing attention to yourself, but you certainly weren't trying to hide either. You were just there, leaning against one of the walls as detention let out, arms crossed and looking just like you did the very first time you'd gotten him caught.
He B lined straight towards you, his resentment growing at the way your smile got wider, without a hint of fear.
“I trust this detention was just as fun as the last?” The words came out lazy and condescending as you watched him tower over you with a sneer.
He grabbed your arm, hard enough to bruise but not enough to make you regret anything. “You think you're doing anyone a fucking favor like this?” He snapped, eyes dark with barely concealed rage.
You hummed that fucking hum, not bothering to pull out of his grasp.
“This ain't about anyone but you. I like watching you lose”
He stared at you for a moment, your words swimming in his head. You weren't trying to be some hero, weren't trying to keep the town or his victims safe. You just wanted to see him suffer, and in a way that made you just as cruel as he was.
He scoffed.
He let go of your arm, seeming to not know what to say for once. You only smiled once more, taking your leave with immense satisfaction.
After that you became a near constant for him. Always there, always watching and always in his fucking way.
You enjoyed watching him suffer, but a small part of you knew it wasn't exactly healthy. That proving he didn't have a chance was fine but dedicating so much time and thought to him was probably the wrong way to do it.
And maybe even undermined that thought.
However, bringing yourself to care was an entirely different matter. One that was on the back burner as you had your fun.
While it was fun at least.
But then it stopped. Not all at once, not enough to make you stop. Just enough to make your skin crawl and make you want to rip your hair trying to figure out why.
He still got in trouble, still lost the game that you had orchestrated. Still had everyone's eyes on him, watching him closer than they ever used to. It was his reactions that had changed. He no longer glared daggers. Didn't threaten you in the halls. He barely even tried to get away with anything any more.
He went quiet.
And it bothered you more than his anger ever did.
You tipped someone off as always, over something small, something barely worth the effort and you made sure he knew.
He didn’t even look at you, just rolled his eyes and walked away like you had gotten boring.
He barely even tried any more. Didn't do anything you could get him caught doing. You still watched, in case. You held onto a small sliver of hope that you could get one last spark of joy out of the situation.
So when you saw him leave school early two days later, cutting down the side road instead of toward town, you were thrilled. You could have gotten him then and there for skipping, but something in you told you to follow.
You kept your distance. Far enough back that you could easily pretend you were heading the same way or even duck behind something to keep from being seen. And he didn't seem to notice you at all.
You pretended that didn't bother you.
The houses thinned out faster than you expected. Pavement gave way to dirt, then grass worn flat by feet that didn’t belong to anyone passing through. The air changed. It got cooler, heavier and carried a smell you couldn’t place.
You slowed, but he didn’t.
Patrick stride was quick and confident like he'd done this walk a hundred times before.
The woods swallowed sound. The further in you went, the quieter it got, until even your breathing felt too loud. You caught glimpses of him ahead, enough to just barely keep up.
You foolishly ignored the pit forming in your stomach when you saw him turn into the junkyard. This was a victory, you told yourself. Skipping school was nothing compared to trespassing so following him was a great idea.
You should have just left, but in a foolish moment of what you thought was victory, you crept closer. And then you stopped, watching him bend over and open up an old, broken down refrigerator.
The smell hit you fully then, hard like a slap to the face.
Something sick, something rotten. Like the time your 3rd grade teacher had found a decaying mouse in the closet, but 10 times stronger.
You didn’t need to get closer to see what it was. You held your breath, partially from the shock but mostly to try and keep the smell from hitting you harder. Hard enough that you could taste it more than anything.
This wasn’t a prank, this wasn’t attention-seeking or acting out because it was fun. And this wasn’t something you could smugly report and walk away from clean.
Whatever satisfaction you’d been chasing curdled in your gut.
You took a step back without thinking.
The sound of gravel crunching under your shoe was small, barely anything, but in the dead quiet of the junkyard it might as well have been a gunshot.
Patrick froze, every muscle going rigid as he straightened up and turned to face you.
For a second, neither of you moved. The smell hung thick in the air, clinging to the back of your throat, making it hard to breathe. His expression didn’t shift into anger or panic like you expected.
It sharpened.
“No,” he spoke calmly, “Not this time,”
You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The moment stretched just long enough for your instincts to finally catch up.
You ran.
You barely remembered turning, just felt the sudden burn in your lungs, the sting of rusted metal tearing at your sleeve as you bolted between heaps of scrap. You heard him move immediately, boots pounding against the dirt behind you.
“Hey!” he shouted, voice cutting through the air. “Get back here!”
You didn’t look back.
Your heartbeat was loud enough to hurt and almost be a distraction as you pushed your way through the junkyard, finally approaching the exit. You ran for the tree line, every part of you tense and rigid.
You heard him gain ground.
“Stop!” he barked, closer now. Too close.
You burst into the woods, branches whipping against your face and arms as you tore through undergrowth without any sense of direction. The quiet from earlier was gone, replaced by the snap of twigs, the crash of movement, your own ragged breathing.
You didn’t know where you were going, couldn't remember how to get home.. You just knew you couldn’t stop.
A root caught your foot.
You went down hard, air punched from your lungs as you hit the ground. You pressed your palms against the ground, ignoring the sting of sharp rocks as you tried to shove yourself back to your feet.
The force of Patrick's full weight slamming into you made a panicked sound catch in your throat.
He held you against the ground for only a moment before grabbing the back of your shirt and yanking you up. You felt your back hit the tree, and his forearm kept you in place.
“Jesus Christ,” he panted, breath uneven now despite how controlled he’d sounded before. His eyes were dark, angry.. No longer void of interest and yet, you couldn't really feel like you won anything.
“You really thought you could just run?” he snapped.
You struggled, but he was stronger, heavier, and fueled by something that made your blood run cold. His grip tightened as you fought him, his voice dropping low.
“You don’t get to see that and just disappear.”
“Let me go.” You snapped, adrenaline running through your veins.
He laughed, short, sharp and humorless. “Fuck no. After everything.. Not a chance. This is one thing you don't get to tell anyone-”
You grabbed at his bicep, nails digging in as you met his eyes.
“And what are you gonna do? Shove me in the fridge?”
He grit his teeth, contemplating. You were a person. It was a big step up from a bird or some yappy street mutt. Someone would notice you gone.. someone would look for you.
“You dont get to fucking win again,” was all he managed.. He had no plan, but he also had no intention of letting go.
And you were feeling everything at once. He scared you, how could he not after what you had seen? But he also pissed you off, made you want to snap and do more than just tattle. You wanted to hurt him in a real way.
“Then kill me. Because if you don't I'll tell everyone who will listen-” You huffed, still trying to catch your breath.
His expression shifted, from frustration to a split second of genuine panic. Because how the fuck was he meant to get out of this shit.
“You think youre so fucking smart huh? So much better. You arent fucking better than me,”
And before you could say anything his lips were on yours and you froze. As soon as you came back to reality your nails in his arm dug deeper, and you found yourself pulling rather pushing. It didn't make sense, and when he finally pulled back your free hand met his cheek, hard and sharp.
The sound of the slap rang out in otherwise still, silent woods. But you were the one to lean back in, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as the kiss grew more heated.
Who dragged who to the ground didn't matter. Who was the first to be undressed mattered far less, and suddenly the only thing that mattered was the way his skin felt as it split under your teeth. His hands were in your hair, his grip tight as he pressed into you with little care for how it felt for you.
You accepted it with no resistance, your body spreading around him with an ease that annoyed you. The fact that kissing this prick had managed to get you wet was aggravating at best.
Your moans were muffled by the blood and skin of his shoulder as you bit down deeper. He needed to prove you weren't better, and maybe this did it. But it also let you hurt him with 0 consequences.
When your nails ripped the skin from his shoulders and he didn't hurt you back, just held your thighs open and rut his hips forward harder. When he grabbed your hips and moved your body against his, you just snatched a handful of his hair and twisted till you were sure you'd ripped a decent chunk out.
You shoved him back, and the sigh of him wincing as rocks and tree roots tore up his skin was enough for you to not care that he was still inside of you. Or that you were rolling your hips down against his, biting at your lip to keep yourself quiet as your hands found his throat.
Everytime your body clenched around him, walls dragging over his cock, he'd groan and thrust up into you. You let him, it kept him occupied as you dug your fingers into the bloody wound your teeth had left behind.
Who lost themself first didn't matter, and whether you ran or were let go mattered far less. Because you were walking away with a piece of information that would keep him squirming, mad and interested for the rest of his life if you wanted that.
And Patrick had the satisfaction of knowing he had dragged you down to his level. Finally got you to spread your legs like he had promised.
You hated him, but you never told his secret. Because at the end of the day, holding the fact you could over his head would always be more fun. And getting him mad proved to not be the worst pass time in the world.
Even if you couldn't pretend he didn't stand a chance while you did it anymore.
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Im back! I have 3 whole requests and I ammm working on them, just have major writers block lately. This one had been mostly finished for a while but I finally got the last bit out. Sooooo. Yay. Please leave requests, I swear Im not ignoring them, I just work very slowly most of the time. So if you did drop a request, I have seen it and slowly workin on it :) Until I get in a kick and write like 6 things back to back. But yay, hi. Hope you enjoyed this because its a mess
