"fuckass Picture" T. Todoroki Mha Smau

LoV-

"weed or us?" "weed!" touya t. mha smau

"fine asf" touya t. mha smau

"chivalry isn't dead ig" touya t. mha smau

"surprise?" touya t. mha smau

"together 💕" touya t. mha smau

Classmates-

"well damn" katsuki b. mha smau

"i don't hate you" katsuki b. mha smau

ProHeroes-

None yet..

I just want a man above the age of 52 to hug me and tell me that its not my fault :(

"Love Me Dead- Ludo" Part Three

I forgot how fast this bitch runs, I thought while watching her go toward the treeline. I wonder if she remembers the deal.

Fuck, I hope not.

Last year I saw her on a camping trip with her friends, who were assholes anyway so I technically did her a favor by killing them, and decided she was going to be mine.

Well, her ass was going to be mine. I don't really care all that much about her. 

The sound of the snap of a camera, a thump with the crunch of leaves and twigs, and cursing pulled me out of my train of thought, and I looked over at the sources and scoffed.

“T–ell me again how yo–u two dumbasses became prox–oxies?” Glaring at the masked idiots, the one in orange stands up and wipes off the leaves on his pants.

“We were here before you, Twitchy.” He snarls and looks down at the one in yellow who was still on the ground and looking through his camera. 

“So what's her name? I mean, since you've dragged us here to help you play Hide and Seek, I think we should know what to call her.” He looks up at the two of us, his black mask slipping off his face just a bit.

I shake my head and start walking in the direction she started in. 

“Yo–u don’t need to k–know it, and I didn’t wan–nt you two here.” I groan, watching a bird and a fox wrestle in the distance.

 “The Op–op–erator’s just an untrusti–ing bitch,” Mumbling, I kick a rock in front of my boot and look back at the two. “Brian, how long has it been?”

“Two minutes and thirteen seconds.” He looks at his watch and wipes his yellow sleeves of the twigs he fell on and looks through his camera, no doubt looking back at the video he took of the girl he stalked yesterday. 

I roll my eyes and my neck jerks to the right, my knuckles unwillingly cracking inside of my pocket.

I reach my hand up to my left cheek and scratch at the scar, a bad habit that always ends in a bloody, bigger hole than the last. 

I think I’ll just try to find her now, it’s not like she’s counting the seconds.

My hand grasps the hatchet hanging on my waist and I start the walk to the other one a couple yards away, silently praying to any god that she still has that fighting spirit in her that I love breaking so much.

"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.”

oh hey guys, i'm back

"Sweltering" p. hockstetter Oneshot

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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!!

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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.”

"The Wrong Kind of Jealousy" p. hockstetter Oneshot

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Summary: A break up leaves Y/N heartbroken and feeling awful, and Patrick doesn't like it. He's the only one who should make you feel like shit, and he's determined to prove he can be worse than your boyfriend.

Warnings: Vulgar language, break up, kind of non-con, choking, passing out, dacryphilia, classroom setting, almost fingering, use of "slut."

A/N: My bad guys, I got botox up my bladder so I haven't gotten to my Wips 😭 Here's my apology, please don't burn my house down.

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“Aiden, please! I didn’t know he’d ask me out, I thought he was just being friendly.” You sobbed, breath raspy and scattered. 

You had met a guy named Donnie in your science class while you were taking a test. He had asked for answers since he was new to the school and didn’t know much, and being the people pleaser you were, you gave them to him. 

He asked for your number after and said that he’d give you the answers to the upcoming math test as a thank you, and you didn’t think anything of it. 

You two started talking, and became friends over the few weeks you knew each other. Of course, nobody ever has kind intentions anymore, and he called you, asking you out on a date while you were making food in your kitchen. Since your boyfriend Aiden went to a different school, the two had never met. And he picked up the phone before you could.

“Does that really fucking matter?” He raised his voice at you and you flinched. He’d never gotten so upset over things like this, so it hurt to hear him yell.

You had a plethora of guy friends; many that he was also friends with. So why was he so angry now?

“You never thought to tell him about me? About us?” Aiden threw his hands on his head and laughed. He was pissed.

“I didn’t think about it, it seemed innocent!” You couldn’t recall the last time you had to defend yourself like this to someone over anything because you were an honest person.

He shook his head and ran his hands down his face, inhaling deeply. “I should’ve known you were gonna cheat on me. Nobody’s that perfect.” 

“Aiden-”

“You’re a slut, Y/N. I should’ve fucking known. We’re done.” He growled, grabbing his jacket off of the counter and aiming towards the door.

“Aiden, please wait.” Tears fell down your face as you tried to reason with him. You loved Aiden, and you didn’t want to see him go. 

“I don’t wanna fucking see you again.” Aiden slammed the door behind him, leaving you to cry in your kitchen.

–

Two days passed, and you were miserable. You cut it off with Donnie, and you hadn’t seen or heard from Aiden since that night. It was lunch and you were at school, eating your meal in an empty classroom, sitting on one of the desks. You’d usually eat with Aiden and talk about anything, but now it was quiet and lonely. 

Holding your sandwich up to your mouth, you were about to take a bite when the door opened.

It was Patrick Hockstetter. The bane of your very existence.

He was such an asshole, and you hated him. He’d grope you, call you names, sometimes even hurt you if you two were alone. You had brought it up to Aiden a couple of times, but he’d always dismiss it, saying he did it to everybody and that you weren’t special.

You never had sex with Aiden, and he never saw you naked, so he also never saw any of the marks Patrick would leave on you. Burn scars from lighters and cigarettes, bruises, cuts, the initials he carved under your belly button. The hickeys.

You never thought it counted as cheating since you never reciprocated anything Patrick would do, and you never told Aiden about it in fear that he’d break up with you for it. But you knew deep, deep down, that you were cheating.

Because a sick, sick, part of you liked it.

Aiden was never rough with you when making out. He treated you like fine China, which you were thankful for. But he never went further, not like Patrick would.

Aiden would kiss you softly, never pressing too hard on your lips. Patrick would make you choke on his tongue and bite your lips, making you bleed every time. 

You hated him, and everything he did. But sometimes you’d look at your scars and remember how awful it felt, and you’d get hot and red in the face.

“Figured your cunt would be in here.” Grinning, he slipped through the crack in the door and closed it, locking it behind him. You shivered, knowing that you weren’t going to leave the classroom without some kind of wound. 

“What do you want?” You croaked out, voice hoarse from crying. You put the sandwich back in your lunch bag and crossed your arms over your chest, regretting the tight white shirt and pastel pink skirt you wore today. 

Patrick snickered at your poor attempt to cover yourself and he turned the lights off, making the only light in the room be from the cracks in the blinds that covered the windows. 

“What do you think I want?” It was only then that you noticed the blood from his nose, and the blood on his hands. Usually you’d never think anything of it, but you were somewhat worried.

Patrick never liked Aiden. He hated how much attention Aiden took from you, and he made sure you knew. He hated how upset you’d get when you remembered a date you two would have to go on, especially right after he’d make you suck him off.

You’d be a complete mess, mascara running down your face, lip gloss smudged, hair sticking up everywhere, drool on your chin, and your clothes would be ruined.

He liked you better when you looked that way and begged him to stop. He made sure to take a picture once, and when he couldn’t see you, he’d jerk off to it.

Patrick loved when you looked ruined, but you always wanted to look put together for Aiden.

“Patrick, what’s on your hands?” You asked shakily, eyes trained to his blood soaked fingers. 

Patrick tutted and started a slow stride to the desk you were on. “You know, Aiden was never a good choice for ya’, toots.”

You crossed your left leg over your right and your skirt rode up your thighs, and Patrick licked his lips.

“I mean, he always controlled what you did. You couldn’t go anywhere without him. And you surely wouldn’t be wearing that skirt if you two were still together.” He stopped in front of you, and put his right hand on your left knee, and his other on your calf.

He uncrossed your legs and stepped between them, removing his hands and placing them on the desk.

Patrick’s eyes never strayed from yours, and you were shaking. 

“What did you do?” You caught your breath and questioned him, fear evident all over your face.

“You never cried for me as much as you did a couple nights ago for him.” Patrick’s face held no emotion, and you had no idea what was happening inside his mind.

It filled you with dread.

“Patrick, please.” His right hand moved from the desk and he placed it up your left thigh, moving it under your skirt. His left hand went around your throat, and his fingers placed themselves skillfully against the sides of your neck.

He squeezed, hard, and slipped his fingers underneath the waistband of your underwear, pulling them back and snapping the elastic back onto your skin.

You yelped, and it took away most of your oxygen. Patrick’s fingers teased down your leg and to the back of your knee, leaving a trail of blood as it went.

You didn’t ask him, but you knew it was Aiden’s. You didn’t want to know what happened to him.

You were hyperventilating now, taking in any air that you could. Patrick would lessen his grip every now and then so you wouldn’t pass out, but then he’d tighten it again. The process repeated until you were wailing, and your hands were clawing at his.

His right hand was resting on your thigh again, and would etch up closer to your groin whenever he’d let go a bit. You were full on sobbing, and you looked perfect to him.

Mascara down your face, red marks on your neck that would surely leave a perfect blue and purple handprint later. You were trembling underneath his touch, and he loved it. 

Aiden could never make you cry like he could, and Patrick carried that pride with him. 

You tried to beg him to stop, but your words were broken and you could barely keep yourself conscious. Black spots dotted your vision, and you kept thrashing against him. 

He had never gone so far when choking you, and he’d usually leave you with some air. But he didn’t now, no matter what you did.

Patrick’s fingers climbed up into your underwear, and he smirked when he saw the fear in your wet, drowning eyes. Two fingers touched your entrance, and he dragged them up and down, pinching at your clit.

You’d never been more terrified as to what Patrick was going to do next, but you never found out. He squeezed your throat much harder, completely blocking your windpipe from getting any form of oxygen. 

The black spots took control of your vision, and you went limp in his hands. Your legs stopped kicking, your hands fell to your sides. Your head lolled back, and your face relaxed. 

Patrick hummed and let go of your neck, letting you fall back on the desk. He made sure your pulse was still beating, and his fingers went into your entrance with no more resistance. 

Aiden could never make you feel anything like he could.

"Inseparable" Part Four

Nobody questioned Patrick’s return when they saw him, especially considering he’d disappeared like that before. The next day consisted of skipping their weekend detention and hanging around in the junkyard that Y/N's cousin owned, and getting high while playing golf there.

When she got home though, she immediately thought of Nicole and how she had acted weird on their last call. Why did Nicole get awkward when she mentioned the clown? Y/N flopped on her bed as a headache started up, and she sat up to take off her dirty boots and socks.

She let her hair down from her ponytail to try to get some of the head pressure relieved, and stood up to walk to her dresser where she took off all her jewelry and placed it there.

Her mind still raced with her thoughts as she changed into her sleepwear which was just short shorts and one of Patrick’s band shirts that she stole.

Placing her hands on her hips, she clicked her tongue and made her way to her nightstand where her phone was.

Y/N dialed Nicole’s number three times, and each time she got no answer. She looked at her clock and it was only 11pm, meaning she was probably with some boy.

Y/N looked at the rug on her floor while she thought of what to do for the rest of the night. Then she had what she thought was an amazing idea. 

"Inseparable" Part Five

“‘Maximum hydration and acne preventer’?” Patrick stared at the box in his hand, then at the gooey face mask Y/N was placing on her own face. She snorted and put it on, fixing her wet hair into a ponytail to keep it out of her face. 

“Oh, yes. You’ll have the prettiest face of them all, ‘Trick.” She smiled devillisly, snatching the box from Patrick’s hands and opening it. He grunted and looked at her dresser, and then to the dirty pile of clothes she left in her bin.

The purple lace hidden inside of the shorts she wore a while ago caught his attention, and he questioned who she bought those for.

Hopefully not that dumbfuck Aiden from her physics class. Y/N went out with him once, and Patrick had scared him away after their ‘date’.

Patrick didn’t like to sharing. Especially not what he considered to be his property.

Y/N blew away a stray, wet hair that got into her eye as she looked over the directions for the face mask. She had taken a shower right before Patrick had arrived and didn’t have the time to blow dry her hair.

She hated having wet hair, and the way it felt on the back of her neck. It made her cringe, and Patrick used to pour water on her head all the time in the fifth grade when he found out. But she broke his nose after a while, and he hasn’t done it since. 

“We should totally watch a movie.” Y/N suggested while sitting in Patrick’s lap, putting the front of his hair into a ponytail to get ready for the mask.

His hands were resting on her hips to hold her steady and he watched her tongue poke out of her lips as she got more frustrated with his hair falling out. She clicked her tongue and moved forward more, tightening her legs around him so she didn’t fall.

The whole time, Patrick only stared down her shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra and had on a baggy white shirt, and he took his opportunity.

He thought of giving her a hickey for fun, but remembered when he did that in eighth grade and ended up with a busted lip, so he decided against it. 

“If it ends with a blowie then you can choose.” He grumbled when she started applying the grey mask on his forehead, his grip on her hips tightening. 

“No, and loosen your fucking hands. I’m going on a date with a guy Nicole thought I’d like, and I don’t want him to think I’m a whore.” She smiled and booped his nose with the brush and resituated herself on him, pausing when she felt something she wished she hadn’t underneath her.

“‘Trick.” She stared at him, scared to move.

“Nessie.” They stayed still for a long time, not sure what to do in the situation. 

“How is this gonna end?” Y/N asked, absolutely terrified of what she thought his answer might be.

“I have a few ideas.” Patrick grinned and moved his hips to egg her on, and he licked his lips at her. 

“Yeah. Well you get one, so pick wisely.” She furrowed her eyebrows and held her hand to his chest to stop him, and he pouted like a kicked puppy.

“Oh?” He dragged out the syllable, “So I can get my way?”

“Patrick.” She warned again, her fingers gripping his shirt and her other hand tightening into a fist, very ready to swing on him.

It wasn’t the first time Y/N sat in his lap and he got a hard-on, and especially not the first time Patrick tried to convince her to “fix his problem”.

It never worked, though. And it always ended with him getting hit somehow. 

He snickered, looked down at her breasts, then back to her eyes. “Nightmare on Elm Street.” 

“What?” Confused, she tilted her head. 

“‘What?’” He mocked, “It’s what we’re watching tonight.” 

Patrick leaned back on the bed, and crossed his arms behind his head. She looked surprised at the switch up for a second, then tried to move off of him. His hands swiftly moved back to her waist, and he pushed her onto him harder. He looked amused, the exact opposite reaction to hers. 

“Not even a lick?”

“No.”

“Not even a suckle?”

“No.”

“Not even-”

“Patrick, I swear to fucking God. I will blow your top head off instead of your bottom one with a gun.”

He grimaced and let her go, and she quickly stood up and took the boxes for the masks to her trash can, but not before reading how long they’d stay on. 

“Can you last twenty minutes without jerking off?” Y/N asked him, her goo-covered eyebrow raising playfully at him. He sighed dramatically and lifted his arm up to fake cover his eyes, peeking at her from under them. 

“I guess.” He rolled his eyes and sat up, and she smiled and turned around to grab the remote. Realizing it fell onto the floor, she bent down to pick it up, and her shorts rode up.

Patrick stared at her and groaned loudly, hands reaching up to take out the ponytail that was still in his hair. 

“You’re killing me, babe.” He grinned, and she looked back at him and scoffed.

His smile only grew more and he got up off the bed, and looked her dead in the eyes as he started to undo his belt. She glanced down at his crotch and back up, the same way he did her breasts. 

“What the hell are you doing?” She reluctantly asked, her hand gripping around the TV remote. 

“Changing.” He simply said, dropping his jeans. He only wore black boxers and a shirt now, and he looked away to go into her bottom drawer to pull out his pair of grey sweatpants that he gave Y/N whenever he wanted to change at her house.

Her eyes stayed trained on him, and she pointed the remote at the TV and turned it on. He put the sweatpants on and grabbed his crotch to “readjust” it, winked at her, and flopped down onto the small sofa in front of her TV.  

"RSV" g. house/j. wilson Oneshot

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

The cold atmosphere surrounding the two men dampened the mood plenty, and the harsh coughs of the patient in front of them made it worse.

House had taken a case of a seven year old girl who hadn’t been able to walk since she was three. Whenever pressure was put on her left leg she would get a shooting pain all the way up to her spine.

No doctor knew why, other than that it was immovable and that she would probably never use it again. She and her mom had come into the clinic due to a respiratory infection, and House found her background ‘interesting.’ 

After a plethora of examinations and not-so-legal operations, he and his team found a tumor in her calf and in the middle of her spinal cord. How all of her other doctors missed them baffled the man, truly.

But that was how he was now sitting next to the girl showing her magic tricks as Wilson discussed with her mom possible treatments. 

“We could remove them and the dead tissue that surrounds the tumors, but it’s a tough and long operation that doesn’t have the highest chance of working.” Wilson stated lowly to the crying woman.

“How high?” She choked out, wiping her eyes with a tissue.

“A good, twenty-percent chance.” He estimated and thought about the severity of the girl's illness. “Her respiratory infection also doesn’t help much in the process, but if we don’t take those tumors out now, they might not be able to come out at all.”

The mother looked over at her daughter and watched as House pulled out a card from behind her ear, and then she saw him flick the girl’s forehead when she said it was the wrong card. Her mother laughed slightly, and then looked back at Wilson.

“Where do I sign?” Wilson smiled at her words and nodded to the door, “I’ll show you the reception.”

=======

The woman came back to the room and hugged her daughter, kissing her forehead. “Are you ready to get better, sweetie?”

The girl nodded her head and grinned, a tear falling from her eye.

Wilson walked in and snorted at House, who had fallen asleep in the chair with cards spread out all over him. 

“House.” He called out to the man, repeating it louder again. House still didn’t wake up, and Wilson scoffed before looking at the girl and the woman. 

“It’s about to get a little loud.” He warned them before he stood in front of the girl and offered his hand out. She took it, and he used his other to take off a cord that connected her to her heart monitor. It beeped loudly, repetitively, and House jolted awake. 

“Huh?”

“Welcome back, we almost lost you there.” Wilson said sarcastically, and House rolled his eyes. Wilson looked back at the girl, and he and House both grimaced when she coughed on his face. 

“I am so sorry.” The girl said and covered her mouth as she finished coughing. 

Wilson smiled tightly at her and connected her back to the heart monitor, “It’s all right, it happens more than you think.”

=======

“Where’s Wilson?” House barged into Cuddy’s office, completely ignoring the man she was with.

“House!” She scolded him, gesturing to the other man. “I’m in a meeting with someone. Knock next time.” 

“Oh, really? In that shirt I thought you were trying to proposition him a little something-something, if you catch my drift.” He raised his eyebrows to punctuate his sentence and grinned.

Cuddy gritted her teeth, and excused herself from the other man before walking out of the office with House trailing behind her.

“Wilson is at home sick with RSV. I told him to leave when I saw him this morning with eyebags heavier than yours and when I heard him cough his lungs out in his office from outside his door.” 

House looked at her and hummed before taking off without a word. The woman groaned and turned around, stopping one of the assistants. “Clock Dr. House out of work, please.”

=========

House lifted his cane up to Wilson’s door and knocked to the tune of ‘Shave and a Haircut’. He didn’t get a response, so he jiggled the handle and opened the door when he noticed it was unlocked. 

“You know, I could kill and rob you right now.” He shouted out as he walked into Wilson’s living room. It was eerily quiet, and he didn’t like it. The man thudded his cane on the ground three times and heard a faint cough as three other knocks followed from Wilson’s bedroom wall.

House’s eyebrows furrowed and he went to see the sick oncologist, roughly opening the door and turning on the lights. “Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey.”

Wilson groaned loudly and grabbed one of his pillows to cover his head with, coughing underneath it. He groaned even louder when House poked him with his cane, right before House jabbed it into his side.

“Ow! House!” Wilson uncovered his head and looked at the other man, holding up his hand to the light above them. He coughed a bit, and House let out a quick ‘yikes’ when he saw just how bad Wilson looked. 

The man in question had eyebags darker than his own hair, and his eyes were incredibly red and puffy. His lips were dry and cracked, and he had dried drool on his chin. His cheeks were red as well, and his hair was tousled like he just got thrown off a bull. 

“Jesus Christ.” House murmured, taking in the sight of his best friend. The said man had only grunted and thrown his face back into his pillow, coughing into it. 

“If you’re gonna gawk, at least turn the lights off.” His voice was muffled, but House understood it enough to flick the light switch and leave the room.

The man stood there for a second, staring at the door before going into the kitchen and grabbing Wilson’s keys from the glass bowl, and leaving to go to his own house.

=======

Wilson’s eyes opened when he heard his front door slam shut, and he inhaled deeply and sat up. He ran his hands through his tangled hair and carefully stood up, making his way to his bathroom. Washing his hands when he was finished with his business, he turned off the water and dried his hands while trying to sniff the air.

He couldn’t smell or breathe very well, but there was a slight smell of Thai food that caught his attention. He fixed his hair and left the bathroom, and wobbled to his kitchen, where he saw House sitting down on his sofa and eating noodles while watching ‘General Hospital.’

“Save any for me?” He croaked out and cleared his throat. 

“Fridge.” Was the only thing House said through a mouthful of noodles, and Wilson made his way to his fridge.

He pulled out a box of more noodles, and noticed the grocery bag on his counter. He reached out for it, and pulled out a bottle of Nyquill, Aspirin, Tylenol, allergy medications, and Motrin.

He opened the bottle of Tylenol and grabbed two, tossing them into his mouth and fitting his head under the sink to down them with the tap water. He grabbed the Thai noodles and sat down next to House, digging into his food. 

They both sat there in enjoyable silence until Wilson noticed all of the new pillows and blankets that sat on his reclinable sofa and spoke up.

“What’s all that for?” He mumbled through his noodles. 

“Doesn’t matter.” House said simply, pushing himself off the couch with his cane and taking his trash and bowl to the kitchen. Wilson stared at the cushions and shrugged, continuing to watch the TV. 

When he was finished, he got up and also took his bowl to the kitchen, and he coughed into his elbow as he placed his bowl in the sink. “Are you going to pay rent, at least?”

“Nope.” House popped the P and typed away on Wilson’s laptop, not bothering to look at the man. Wilson deadpanned at House until he decided to walk away and go back to his room, flopping onto his bed and falling asleep there.

The other man was searching for drug cocktails that he could inject his friend with to get him better, and he grinned devilishly when he found one that he had access to all of the drugs.

He leaned over slightly to see if Wilson’s door was open or not, and stood up and quickly made way to his bag when he saw it was closed. He pulled out what should have been a med-kit, and took out the drugs in it. He chose what he needed, and made sure all of the right ingredients were put into a syringe.

He slowly limped to Wilson’s room, opting out of using his cane so that he didn’t cause too much noise and wake him up. House opened his door carefully, and his nerves eased when he heard the loudest snore he’s ever heard in his life.

 He ticked his tongue and made his way to Wilson, pulling out a sanitisation packet from his pocket. He lifted the sleeping man’s shirt and carefully rubbed it onto his back, freezing when he stirred. Pulling out the other packet, he wiped down the needle slowly and injected Wilson with the cocktail quickly. 

He froze again, expecting Wilson to wake up and yell at him, but he didn’t. He was still fast asleep, and still snoring. House smiled in success and tossed the syringe into the trashcan by Wilson’s bed, and covered it up with crinkled tissues. He then left the room and closed the door, and went back into the kitchen where the laptop was. 

House re-skimmed over the article with the side effects and he stopped when he saw something slightly alarming.

“Patient may fall unconscious for any time ranging from 16 hours to 2 days. Watch closely and monitor all the time. Any illnesses that the patient may have when the cocktail is injected will dimishness.”

“Shit.”

=======

Wilson woke up after twenty-six hours with cotton mouth, a diaper on, and no idea where he was until he saw House sitting on a chair reading a magazine. 

“House?” He grumbled, lifting himself up to look at his clock. It was late, 1:24 in the morning to be exact. He looked back at House, and the man stood up and slapped the back of his hand onto Wilson’s forehead and held it there. 

“Feels fine.” The man said, and he grabbed his cane and left the confused Wilson to his own devices. 

Wilson didn’t know what happened, or what to do, so he chose to take a shower and freshen up. When he was done, he saw a glass of water on his bedside table and downed it immediately.

He sighed and stood there, unsure of what to do once again. That was until he noticed he felt much better than when he fell asleep.

He went to find House, and saw him in the kitchen again making what he assumed was an omelet. Staring into the back of House’s head, he felt that something was wrong.

He went to sleep with RSV and the worst headache and cough of his life, and now he felt like he could run a marathon.

“What did you do?” He questioned, and locked eyes with House when he turned around.

“What, no ‘thank you?’ No, ‘Oh my goodness, House. I feel so much better, thank you for your help and kindness?’” House mocked, tossing the omelet onto a plate and holding it out for Wilson.

Wilson felt iffy taking the food, but he still did and he sat down at the table as House served him a glass of orange juice. 

“It’s two in the morning-” “I don’t care, eat your food.”

“M’kay.” Wilson didn’t argue and he grabbed his fork and ate, huffing down all of it and drinking every drop in the glass. “So, what’d you do?”

“I drugged you with seven different drugs.” House told him, grabbing Wilson’s plate and putting it in the sink before filling his glass back up with more juice. Wilson sat there and stared at him in disbelief, no words could come out of his mouth. 

“Right.” Was the only word he could say, and he downed the drink in his glass. His mind was racing with many things he wanted to tell his friend.

He was in awe that he would put him so close to death, and that he would even think of doing such a thing that could one again, put him so close to death. It was insane of him to do, and he was flabbergasted. But what came out instead of yelling was, 

“You cared that much?” House turned on the water to the sink and grabbed a sponge and soap and started doing the dishes, ignoring Wilson’s question. 

That was the only answer Wilson needed, though, and he smiled at the back of House’s head. 

“I’m telling your team when I go into work.”

“No the hell you aren’t!”

“Oh, yes the hell I am!”