#also never over how it feels like patrick Punches a laugh out of pete with that silly joke. he is Delighted

[alonetogether]

"whatever you say honey" vibes

[sunsetinmyvein]

Just Off the Key of Reason - Chapter Twelve - Me and My Plus One

Saturday, 28th of April, 2007 – Chicago, Illinois

This time around, Patrick at least knew why he was being ignored. He couldn’t say he was overly comfortable with the situation but this time he knew what the cause behind it was. At least he was pretty sure he knew what it was; his memory was kind of hazy up until when Joe had interrupted them.  As his head hung over his toilet bowl the following morning, he tried to recall everything to the best of his ability through his pounding headache. It felt like a freight train had pushed its way through his ear canal and left a train of destruction as it pushed from one side of his head to the other, but he could make out some details through the debris. He had sent her a few half-drunken texts shortly after Pete had interrogated him about his opinion on their party planning, and unsurprisingly, they went unanswered. The night had ended not long after that, partially due to Patrick kicking people out one by one in his attempts to find her, and partially due to people actually having to go home. Once everyone had left Patrick found himself moping in his bedroom until the sun started creeping through his curtains the following morning. In the cold light of day, being forced to throw up the contents of his stomach, he was beginning to feel like maybe last night wasn’t his best decision. He should’ve known better. He should have known that it would only leave him feeling worse and wanting even more answers than he had been given. She had told him to forget it, so maybe that’s exactly what he should, would do.

 Thursday, 14th of June, 2007 – Chicago, Illinois

The time gradually ticked by in their time off. Andy had a low key family get-together for his 27th birthday in late May; meanwhile Pete had another raging party in a privately hired club for his 28th in early June to celebrate getting through his 27th year on this Earth that he never felt he’d make it to. Eventually they had to start getting ready to go back on tour. The bus was hired for the month that they would need it and was scheduled to meet them in Washington after their flight. Guitars were packed, drums were neatly slipped into their boxes, and merch was chosen. Mostly that had all been sent earlier so that it could take the longer, and cheaper, way around. Interviews were had, signings were attended, promos were released – anything to make sure that people knew Fall Out Boy were coming. If the first of their two months off had been a break, the second had been intentionally made as busy as possible just to make touring seem easy in comparison. In the process of all this commotion, Patrick had found himself meeting many new people. One of whom took a shine to him, and he took a shine to her. All of a sudden he found himself with a girlfriend. A girlfriend who wanted to come on tour with him. This was unfamiliar territory for him; he’d never properly dated anyone since they started touring regularly. She was one of the people who worked in the studio, so she wouldn’t be coming on the road normally, but he had assured her that she could come along to the first two shows with him. From there she was going to meet a friend in Oregon and they’d drive home together. He was more than happy to let the excitement of the new experience keep his mind occupied.

 The band and immediate crew members had crammed themselves into a row of seats at the airport, waiting patiently – or impatiently in Andy’s case – for their red eye flight to Washington. He sat there bouncing his knee as he watched the clock in the corner of the electronic poster in front of them. The time gradually counted up and up as he anxiously glanced around the waiting area for their missing bassist.

“Where the fuck is he?” He grumbled under his breath.

“He’ll be here, man. He was in that group chat with the flight times, just like the rest of us.” Joe reasoned from under his eye mask. He had decided as soon as they sat down that it was far too late to still be functioning and had opted to take a nap in the waiting room seat. But their drummer’s constant worrying had mostly prevented that from happening.

“It’s five minutes until we board. You’ve not heard anything from him?” His question fell upon deaf ears. Joe was either ignoring him or half asleep already and Patrick was too engrossed in his conversation with his girlfriend to care. He kicked Patrick’s shin across the aisle, earning an ‘ow’ in response as he attempted to rub the pain out of his leg. “Pete? Have you heard from him?” He asked again.

“No, I haven’t spoken to him since the day after my party.” Patrick glared back.

“Well, I’m going to call-” Before he could even punch the numbers into his phone, a familiar, overly loud, laugh filled the mostly empty gates.

“I told you he’d be here.” Joe mumbled.

 “Are you not meant to be my babysitter?” Pete laughed as he dropped his backpack from his shoulder. Patrick felt himself tense at those words, trying to remain interested in his conversation but suddenly finding it very hard to remain focused. “I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be giving me tips about how to get as drunk as I can on the plane.”

“You said you don’t like flying. If you’re totally wasted, you won’t even remember you did it.” She shrugged as the two of them walked up to join the group. Patrick felt the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. They hadn’t spoken in over two weeks. He had assumed that she wasn’t coming back for the second leg of the tour. The label had never mentioned her staying on for another month.

“I might also try and join the mile high club though.” He chuckled as he nudged her in the ribs.

Joe snorted loudly with a laugh, “Don’t pretend like you haven’t already.”

 Eventually Patrick caved to the nagging feeling in the back of his mind and looked up at her from the waiting room chair. She was rifling through her bag, he assumed for her boarding pass. The conversation he had been having was still droning on in the background of his thoughts. He felt like maybe he should say something about where they left off, but if she hadn’t wanted to talk then, why would she now? He stared at her in a stupefied silence until eventually she looked up from her bag and met his gaze. Her eyes flicked from his to above his head.

“New hat?” She asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Uh, yeah.” He absentmindedly touched the fedora atop his head. “The other one…” He swallowed hard as he tried to force the words out, “it kept getting in the way.” He could’ve sworn he saw a blush creep onto her cheeks, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it because soon enough his girlfriend was grabbing his arm and dragging him to the gate to board their flight.

 Friday, 15th of June, 2007 – Seattle, Washington

The flight was mostly uneventful. To avoid his crippling anxiety of impending doom on a metal death trap, Pete doped himself up on some sleeping pills and in-flight vodka. When he came to he was draped across a couch somewhere. He felt vaguely like he was moving, but he himself wasn’t. Was he in a car? His eyes slowly came into focus and he realised he was facing a small living area. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and sat up, figuring he must have been relocated to the tour bus. A little part of him wondered who had the pleasure of hauling his unconscious ass here, but given the fact that a blanket was draped around his waist and a water bottle sat at his feet, he assumed it was probably Andy. Also he wasn’t entirely sure if anyone else would be able to carry him without assistance. He glanced around the small area at the back of the bus, spying the kitchen through the aisle of bunks and feeling his stomach growl. How long had he been out? Apparently long enough that he felt that familiar sleep induced unsteady feeling settling in his legs.  The bus seemed dark; it must still be early morning. All of the bunks had their curtains pulled shut so he assumed they had left him here while they all went to bed. He ambled through to the kitchen, examining what was in the well-stocked cupboards. This was a hell of a lot fancier than what they had in the past. The appliances were all chrome and shiny, there was a proper benchtop and even an oven cooktop combo. They must have either hired or purchased this bus from new. He absentmindedly wondered how fancy a tour bus kitchen would have to be before he decided they had made it as he refiled through the food supplies. He couldn’t help but snicker with the knowledge that the label had intended for this to last the whole tour. It would last a week at best.

 After much consideration he settled on a packet of pancake mix, it seemed the most practical option and he was excited to use appliances that he’d never had the thrill of using on a moving vehicle before. Would it be easier to flip pancakes with the momentum of the bus? But before his hand could even come into contact with the gas dial, it was rudely slapped away.

“Fucking hell,” He squeaked in surprise as he pulled his hand up to his chest, “don’t sneak up on people like that.”

“You are banned from the gas appliances.” She ordered as she moved in between him and the stove.

“What? Why?” He tried to reach around her to at least retrieve the pancake mix but she wouldn’t budge.

“Because you have a tendency to explode things.” She explained, narrowing her eyes at him. He vaguely remembered fireworks in hotels.

“No, I don’t.” He lied. “But even if I did, how am I going to cook pancakes without a stove?”

“I guess you’ll have fun working that out.” She grinned up at him. They stood there in silence for a few moments, waiting for the other to stand down, until he admitted defeat. He groaned loudly, instead grabbing a bag of chips from the counter and moving to sink back into the couch.

 The two of them decided to watch whatever terrible show was on at five in the morning in the middle of nowhere, killing time until everyone else woke up. She had gotten up early to make sure everything on the bus was working before everyone attempted to use it, at least that way they would be able to accurately tell if Pete did break anything, or if it just came like that. They’d grown a lot closer in the month or so since Patrick’s party. Anyone who was willing to assist with Pete’s antics was someone he considered a friend. He was also beginning to find her company considerably more tolerable than what it had been at the start of their tour. Even despite that every second conversation was her reprimanding him for something. After a few minutes of static silence Pete threw a chip in her vague direction. She looked over at him in confusion.

“How’s things with you and lover boy?” He asked with an eyebrow raised. She rolled her eyes.

“How’s things with you and your girlfriend?” She shot back, voice laced with sarcasm.

“Good, actually.” He nodded. The confused stare he got in response urged him to continue. “We, uh… we didn’t break up this time, we’re going to try the long distance thing.” It was still a concept that didn’t sit well with him, but he figured if Patrick could work it out, then so could he.

“Oh. Well, good for you guys. I hope it goes well.” She smiled back at him, reaching across the table to grab a handful of chips. He pulled the bag away from her as he clicked his tongue.

“Nuh-uh. Answer my question.”

 She let out a heavy sigh. “That should be pretty self-explanatory, Pete. He’s on tour with his girlfriend.” Since coming back onto the tour she was trying her best to ignore the changes that had occurred in their month off. Patrick’s hair had grown out quite a bit, nearly coming down to his shoulders. He also seemed very attached to his new hat, she was yet to see him without it. In addition, and probably the most hard-hitting change, they hadn’t spoken except for their brief exchange in the airport. It was odd going from being attached at the hip to suddenly having a minimum ten metre gap between you at all times.

“That doesn’t mean shit. She goes home after two shows and you’re still here.” He finally offered the bag over to her and allowed her to take a handful.

“They won’t break up just because she goes home. Patrick’s not like you.” She laughed dryly, trying to avoid the slightest amount of hope sitting in the back of her mind that maybe Patrick was like Pete.

“I take offense to that.” He gasped. “But you never know. Crazier things have happened.” He shrugged, stuffing a wad of chips into his mouth.

“Yeah, like you being a bass player in a band when you’re terrible at it.” She grinned.

“You’re sho mean ooday.”  He garbled, spraying chips over the living room table.

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

When Friends make a Mess - Patrick Stump x Reader

Request: Patrick x reader where they’ve been best friends for years but he can’t work up the courage to ask her out and the guys (Pete,joe,Andy) try to help him but it’s a mess and it’s cute(? Does that make sense? Thanks

Warnings: none

Word count: 1 655

Reader: female

Patrick nervously ran his fingers through his hair and put his trucker hat back on. He should not be that nervous to meet his best friend, but he was. He was only meeting her for studying in the library, nothing more. There was no chance he could scare her off while studying. She had been his best friends since junior year of high school and she had put up with him. No reason to start panicking over a simple afternoon in the library. She was his best friend, nothing more. If things only were so easy, then Patrick could push his feelings for her aside. But things were complicated and so Patrick suffered through heartbreak every time he saw her because he knew she would never be his, he kept quiet even when jealousy was eating him alive because she smiled at some other guy for a little too long, he constantly wondered what he could do, to catch her attention while she became more and more beautiful with each day, and in the mornings he woke up, sad because the wonderful moments of his feelings being returned were just dreams. He had never been as much in love with someone as he was in love with (y/n). When Patrick had told his bandmates Pete, Joe and Andy about the mess he was in, they had tried to convince Patrick to ask (y/n) out. But did they not understand that she was his best friend? Never in a thousand years would she go out on a date with him, at best she would feel betrayed and tell him their long lasting friendship was over. No way he was gonna risk that.

“Deep in thoughts?”

The soft voice of the girl Patrick loved so much brought him back to reality. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. Patrick quickly hugged back, his hand resting on her waist while he felt her burry her nose in his shirt for a moment. She smelled wonderful, as always, but today a hint of honeysuckle was in her hair as well. Damn, why was she this perfect?

“Are you ready to face the abys of Nietzsche’s work,” Patrick wondered, pulling back from the hug he wanted to last forever.

“It’s starring right back at me,” she answered with a wink.

“Whoa, calm down, we haven’t even started yet!” Patrick giggled, understanding the reference to one of the philosopher’s most famous quotes.

Studying was a lot easier for Patrick, when he was not constantly distracted by (y/n). The way she was running her fingers through her hair, the little sounds she made when she was frustrated by the exercise, the soft reflections of the sun on her hair and her eyes, everything was absolutely perfect about her. He tried to remember the last time he had not been in love with her. That had probably been in the beginning of senior year. At the end of that school year Patrick had panicked terribly because he had thought that (y/n) would move away for college, but she did not. This way they both attended the local college together where they had met Patrick’s three band mates.

“Everything alright?”

Again her lovely voice tore him out of his thoughts.

“Everything alright,” he hastily confirmed and pretended to check his phone. There was a message. “(Y/n)? Pete asks if we want to come over for dinner.”

A smile spread across (y/n)’s face at the mention of Pete’s name and immediately a sting of jealousy raced through Patrick’s body. Why did she smile when he talked of Pete? Why did she not smile when Pete talked of him?

“Sounds amazing,” the young woman nodded. “We should send him a study selfie!”

“You think so?”

“Definitely! Let’s do a funny one!”

Patrick shrugged. He was not the biggest fan of selfies and he knew that (y/n) was not that obsessed with pictures of her either so he wondered what all this was about.

Probably so Pete can pay her compliments later, Patrick thought bitterly, but lifting up the phone none the less. He also picked up a book to cover the lower half of his face. (Y/n) leant her head on Patrick’s shoulder, pretending to be asleep. For a moment Patrick concentrated on the feeling of her soft skin against the fabric of his shirt. Why was she so cute?

Patrick pulled a stupid face, pressing the button of the camera a few times to take a couple of pictures. When (y/n) noticed that he was done with taking pictures, she sat back up and spied onto the screen.

“Which one should we send him,” Patrick asked, scrolling through the photos.

“This one, no one back. There. I like your face in this,” she decided.

Patrick nodded and sent it to Pete, adding “Studying killed us, but pizza might revive us.”

~*~

A few hours later Patrick sat on one of Pete’s sofas, pressed between Joe and (y/n). Andy sat in an armchair and Pete sat on the floor, ordering pizza through the phone.

“No, garlic bread! I said garlic bread. No mozzarella please, it needs to be vegan. Yes, no cheese, right. Just garlic bread! Yes!”

(Y/n) giggled at Pete’s helpless gestures. Patrick just stared at her. Wow, she was really pretty when she was laughing. Her nose did that little crinkling thing and her whole face beamed. Now if she was smiling at Patrick that would be perfect.

Pete had told his address as well and hung up when (y/n) suddenly stood up.

“Where are you going,” Patrick asked instinctively. The part of his leg that had brushed against hers felt cold without the girl at his side.

“Just to the bathroom. Don’t worry, I’ll be back. Unless I drown in the toilet that is,” she winked at him and disappeared into the hallway.

As soon as she was gone, all of Patrick’s remaining friends started talking at once.

“Dude, you need to ask her out!”

“She’s so got a crush on you man!”

“When will you finally tell her?”

Defensively Patrick raised his hands.

“Wow, stay calm guys!”

“We’re not staying calm while you are messing up your chance with the girl of your dreams!” Pete had jumped to his feet and almost shouted. Patrick quickly covered Pete’s mouth with his hand.

“He’s right, if you don’t do something soon, she’ll fall in love with someone else!”

“But she already is!” Patrick exclaimed helplessly.

The boys fell silent.

“She is?” Andy asked. He sounded disappointed.

“How do you know? How is it?” Joe wondered.

Patrick slopped down on the sofa, all the guys sitting around him, waiting for his answers.

“She’s in love with Pete.”

Silence again.

“Did she say that?” Andy wanted to know.

“No, of course she didn’t. But it’s obvious, isn’t it? Every time she sees him she smiles like he is the best thing on earth!”

Pete groaned and hit his flat hand against his forehead. “She’s not in love with me, idiot,” he told Patrick. “She probably just remembers what I told her.”

“What did you tell her?” Joe looked at Pete questioningly. Also Patrick was really interested in that.

“Well, I told her, that Patrick likes her-“

“You did what?” Now it was Patrick who was shouting.

“Shh, quiet,” Pete demanded. “I’m breaking a promise here, but she told me that she likes you too, so finally grow some… you know… and ask her out!”

“Stop lying!” Patrick was furious. What kind of game was Pete playing at?

“Who’s lying?” (Y/n) wandered into the living room, sitting down next to Patrick again.

“Patrick!” Joe giggled.

“What’d he lie about?” Curiously her eyes wandered over to Patrick. He knew what they were planning and he hated them for it.

“He lied about the feel-“

“Stop it Andy!” Patrick shouted. He was embarrassed to lose control like that in front of (y/n), but he really did not want his friends to reveal his well-hidden secret.

“Actually he’s been trying to ask-“

“Joe!”

“He’s terribly in-“

“Pete, I swear to god!”

“What he’s trying to say is-“

“Andy, one more word-“

“What the hell is wrong with you guys?”

(Y/n) was back on her feet. She looked scared and confused. Confused by the mess in front of her, scared of Patrick’s sudden emotional outburst.

“If you don’t tell her, I sure will,” Pete threatened.

Patrick was no aggressive guy, but right now he wanted to punch Pete in the face.

“Tell me what?”

“Okay,” Patrick finally gave in. There was no way to explain everything other than by telling her the truth. “You’ll hate me afterwards, but the guys wanted it this way.” He shot an angry glance at Pete, Joe and Andy, who listened intently. Patrick took a deep breath and continued speaking. “Truth is, I’ve been in love with you for ages and I wanted to ask you out on a date. There now, I said it.”

Patrick felt dizzy. Maybe from his nervousness. He was waiting for the few fatal words that would break his heart forever, but they never came.

Instead he got a soft hit on the back of his head. It did not hurt, his head was hardly even touched, but he flinched anyway.

“You couldn’t have said that any earlier?”

(Y/n)’s voice was shaking slightly as she knelt down in front of Patrick. He looked up into her beautiful eyes, wondering, hoping, praying that she would not reject him. Suddenly she wrapped her arms around him tightly, pulling him close to her.

“I’d love to go out with you sometime,” she whispered only for him to hear.

Patrick’s breath stopped and his heart beat so fast, it was hurting. But it was perfect.

“I’m just really surprised that Pete didn’t lie when he told me you liked me,” she added just as quietly.

Patrick shook his head slightly. “That bastard.”

[bshpkntrck]

Lost snippet of How The Mighty Fall

Pete was still sulking as him and Brendon sat in shade watching Ryan waterbend. "I'm telling you Bren..he was perfect. He had soft kissable lips,perfect skin and was absolutely amazing in bed. Screw being the avatar I want to find him and marry him."

"I know how you feel, I feel like that about Ryan."

"But you did marry Ryan."

"So this is who you took off for Brendon?"

"AH VICKY! YOU FOUND ME!"

"Yeah she did, with my help. Now get up so I can pump you full of lightning, you have no idea what you took away from me."

Brendon jumped and cowarded behind Pete who  perked up at the second voice. "Patrick?"

Patrick stopped in the process of  forming lightning. "Pete?"

Pete is drooling at the look of Patrick in full fire nation armor. "It's me...you didn't tell me you were fire nation."

"I was going to but then I had to come after this dumbass."

"So AVATAR Pete why didn't you tell me you slept with Prince Patrick?"

After punching Brendon, Patrick loops his arms around Pete's neck."So I hooked up with the avatar huh?"

Pete's arms go to Patrick's waist. "Yeah, does that mean I have to call you Prince Patrick now? Since i want to address my new teacher properly." "Oh god, no. Patrick is fine. However, right now you need to shut up and kiss me."....and who said anything about me teaching you?" He raises his eyebrow and smirks. "You gotta! Like I thought Brendon was amazing!" 

"Who do you think TAUGHT Brendon?"

"Don't worry Bren, I'll give you a fighting chance. Vicky you have that ridiculous cloth hair pierce I refuse to wear?" "Yes..why?" "Tie it around my eyes."

Vicky does so, Pete looks more terrified and Brendon's like. "Ryan...it was nice to know you...Imma die."

"Well let's go Bren, be confident as always.You're royal guard after all." The fight starts with Brendon hesitantly throwing a fire blast in Patrick's direction. Pete's trying to watch because he's friends with Brendon and pretty sure he's in love with Patrick and at the last minute he see's the wall of blue flames to counter Brendon's attackVicky just rolls her eyes and tells Brendon to just apologize before it gets out of hand but her comment is too late. There's lightning sparking at Patrick's finger tips. Ryan's there ready to rush in to heal Brendon but it shoots past Brendon and hits one of Kevin's spies. Patrick unties the blindfold (which is his crown) and walks over to the fallen spy.Lifting him up with a strength he never really shows he smirks. "Send my brother a message. He'll regret the day he told the world I was dead. Stop following me. That shot? A warning next one won't be so friendly."

"Y--you're the fire nation prince? Why..why didn't you tell me?" "Because..because I never wanted to be. I left the fire nation to live a normal life but I've learned a lot being away from home. The world under my brother's rule...it's awful just holy smokes its bad. People are suffering...no one should have to live like that. So I don't regret running away it just shows me more that my brother doesn't deserve his throne and it also lead me to you."

]

Brendon finally stands up. "You know what I think? I think you should be Pete's firebending teacher Patrick! You're a better bender than i am!"

[

Brendon still on his knees looking at Vicky who stands up. "Let me formally introduce Patrick Martin Vaughn Stumph, crown prince of the fire nation. So yes your highness."

Everyone was having a laugh as Brendon dusted himself off,his cheeks hued pink from his defeat. Pete was in utter amazement at what a strong firebender Patrick was. He was confused as to why Patrick had never said that he was a bender and was about to approach him

[semisweetfics]

Baby Boy Can’t Lift His Headache Head (Isn’t It Tragic?)

Trans ! Pete AU based off @night-time-drabbles headcannons :) Set during IOH (?) 

A shitty interview leads to cuddling and a most likely broken hand

TW: violence, transphobia, body image, depression, negativity, misgendering, angst, hurt and comfort, angst with a happy ending 

Pete looked forward to the interview at first. He had started growing stubble, which had earned him compliments from the rest of the band. Every time Patrick walked past he’d smile, or brush his fingers across Pete’s jaw. It made the older man blush just thinking about those calloused fingertips on his skin.

He was excited though, because it would air on MTV, so everyone would so how well things were going with T. He was really proud of how he looked so far, and almost wanted to show off.

It started going badly almost immediately, however. The two people interviewing them asked about the new album at first, but that quickly went downhill.

With fake smiles, the blond man turned his attention to Pete.

“So! A lot of attention in the press shoots for this album are on you, the heartthrob of emo! How does it feel to be one of the most popular female bassists of the century?”

Pete felt Patrick tense beside him, and his own stomach churned. He tried to laugh it off. “I don’t really think I’m that good of a bass player. Besides, I’m not.. I’m not a girl bass player.”

The guy laughed, looking over at his co-host. She gave him a puzzled look, glancing at Pete in concern. The interview went on, Patrick’s answers slightly shorter now, but he remained polite. Until the next slip up, of course.

“So, Patrick, I understand that you wrote a lot of the melodies, and she wrote the lyrics? How well does that process work for you two?”

Patrick’s eyes narrowed, and his tone was cold when he answered. “I’m not sure where you got your sources, but Pete here writes the lyrics. He’s very good at what he does, too. We work well together, also, even though we argue in the studio a lot.”

The man laughed, brushing off Patrick’s remarks.

“Yeah, women get kind of bossy in the workplace don’t they.”

At this point everyone was staring at this douchebag. Pete felt sick, bile rising up to his throat, but Patrick was visibly shaking. He glared at the cameraman, who cut immediately, calling for commercial. The female co-host stood and turned on her heel immediately, stomping away.

Patrick stood, fists clenched as he glared at the now confused interviewer.

“Look, asshole, I don’t know how fucking ignorant one person can be, but you apparently seem to be to an extraordinary case, so let me explain it to you very clearly,” Patrick stepped forward, a tiny ball of rage, and Pete caught his arm, afraid that he’d get arrested again.

“Pete motherfucking Wentz is a man, and more of a man than you ever fucking will be. If you ever dare to disrespect him, or anyone else for that matter, again, I will personally make sure that you never work again, you got that? Think I won’t pull the famous musician card, fucking try me.”

Patrick grabbed his jacket and Pete’s hand and stormed out, dragging a visibly upset Pete Wentz behind him. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone until they got back to the bus.

Patrick all but kicked the door down, making Andy and Joe jump up from the couch.

“Dude, the fuck?”

Pete waved him off, eyes stinging. Patrick screamed in frustration, punching the wall before sitting on the floor, knees up to his chest. Andy and Joe stared at him in shock, and Pete hurridly pulled them aside.

“The, um.. The interview didn’t go well.. Go get the manager? Tell.. Tell him we..” Pete swallowed, close to tears. Andy seemed to understand, because he nodded, looking at Joe before they both left.

Pete turned to Patrick as soon as the door closed, tentatively dropping to the floor beside him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, trying to get the golden haired boy to look at him. Patrick was so upset; Pete hadn’t seen him that angry in a long time. He hated that this was his fault, that because of him Patrick probably hurt his hand and they were gonna be in so much trouble with their interviewer for making a scene with the interviewer.

Patrick sighed, dropping his arms to look up at Pete. He seemed tired now, sadder.

“Pete.. I’m sorry for over reacting. This.. This isn’t your fault man.” Pete shook his head, tears threatening to overflow as he looked at the floor. He cleared his throat, trying to direct the attention from himself.

“Did.. How bad is your hand?” Pete reached for it carefully, fingers barely brushing Patrick’s bruised and bloodied knuckles. The singer shook his head, smiling wryly at Pete.

“Doesn’t matter. Are you okay?” His blue eyes seemed to pierce straight through Pete, and the bassist shook his head, looking down sadly.

“It’s never gonna get better, is it, Trick?” Pete shifted, sitting cross-legged beside his best friend. “No one is ever.. Nothing I do will be enough, no one sees me as a boy..”

Patrick’s hands cradled Pete’s jaw now, forcing him to look up.

“Peter Wentz. That’s fucking bullshit,” he said softly, making Pete laugh dryly,” Pete. It doesn’t fucking matter what some asshole says, or the tabloids, or anything. You’re a boy, a really fucking amazing guy at that. There are cis guys that would kill to look the way you do, to be half the man that you are. That guy, and everyone like him, are just insecure ignorant wastes of air.”

Pete squeezed his eyes shut, nodding. Patrick’s arms were around him in an instant, letting Pete cry softly into his shoulder. After a moment he tapped Pete on the back, softly rubbing circles on his cheek with his thumb.

“Let’s go to the bunk..?” He suggested, giving Pete a small smile. The bassist nodded, standing up and following Patrick to his bunk. The singer climbed in first, shifting pillows around so that Pete could crawl in. The bassist looked at him once gratefully before frowning.

“I.. I should probably um.. My binder..”

Patrick nodded in understanding, smiling at him encouragingly. “If you don’t want me to see I’ll close my eyes Pete. It’s getting closer and closer to your surgery man, and then you won’t have to worry about it anymore.”

Pete nodded, smiling gratefully at his friend. Patrick closed his eyes immediately, prompting Pete to strip. He shrugged his jacket off, throwing it on the floor, followed by his t-shirt and tank top. The binder was last, as always was difficult to get off, but he managed without stumbling this time. When he was done and had changed into a different t-shirt, he crawled in beside Patrick, curling in close.

The singer wrapped his arms around Pete instantly, squishing the bassist to his chest. Pete tucked his head under Patrick’s chin, content on listening to him breathe for a moment.

Patrick’s fingers started pulling gently through his hair, other arm still tight around his waist. He was warm and comforting, just like he always was on night when Pete couldn’t sleep.

Patrick had become a constant source of comfort for Pete, actually. Since they met, Patrick had been strongly, and violently, at times, supportive of him. He researched it extensively; Pete had caught him in his bunk several times, reading articles or blogs on his laptop. Patrick helped or supported Pete when he explained it to the rest of the band too, and then to everyone’s families.

Pete felt Patrick squeeze him for a moment, and looked up at him in confusion. Patrick was staring at him seriously, fingers brushing against the stubble on his cheek.

“You’re the bravest guy I know, you know that, right?” Pete rolled his eyes, prompting Patrick to continue.

“Seriously, Pete, listen. No one else puts up with the shit that you do. I mean,” he sighed, chewing his lip,”I get shit for looking the way I do, but it.. It’s no where near the shit you go through, y’know?”

Pete shook his head, kissing Patrick’s forehead affectionately, making the singer flush deep red.

“Trick, doesn’t matter. You don’t deserve to be sad man, you’re too good for that shit.”

“You are too, jackass.” Patrick’s eyes narrowed before he squeezed Pete again, leaning forward to put his forehead against Pete’s. Pete’s eyes closed, and he hugged Patrick tightly.

“Love you, fucker.” The singer whispered, making Pete smile.

“Love you too Trick.”

The singer hummed, kissing Pete’s nose once before pulling back, letting him get comfortable. Patrick started singing as soon as he was settled, fingers pulling through Pete’s hair softly. The bassist fell asleep quickly, listening to the quiet thrumming of Patrick’s heartbeat.

AN: i could post more but it’s late and im gonna be busy tomorrow, so i leave you with this. May post to ao3 and wattpad too for the hell of it. 

[teenbrigade]

With apologies to Neil Patrick Harris

So, shoutout to 2017 apparently, for being the year I actually finish a fic (nevermind that I started this in 2016).  Bascially the premise is I come up with bad ideas on twitter and @traincat enables me (but seriously mega mega ty for being my biggest supporter on Getting Back Into the Content Creating Scene).  Also thanks to @maryjanewatson for suggesting the Halloween costume.  

I also just remembered google alerts are a thing, please don’t sue me Neil Patrick Harris I’m sorry.

So anyway:

Johnny met Neil Patrick Harris for the first time at an Oscars afterparty. Johnny was a little past tipsy and Harris was completely put together even though he was on at least his sixth glass of champagne that evening.  The first thing Johnny had said was “Are you sure that’s not ginger ale?” even though he’d been planning clever quips since he got the invitation.  Harris just laughed graciously.  “I’ll never tell,” he said, and swept back to his party guests. Johnny didn’t remember much from the rest of that evening, other than the really tall guy he went home with and exactly how loud Really Tall Guy’s snoring was when Johnny woke way too late in the morning somewhere near Pasadena with no recollection of what his hotel was called.  

               Peter laughed when he heard the story.  Johnny left out the part about Really Tall Guy, because even though Peter’s ring was on Johnny’s finger now, Johnny knew his husband well enough to know that hookup stories were a bad idea.  Especially for the petty criminals of New York, who would have Peter’s jealousy written all over them in bruises.  Sometimes Johnny kind of liked that, but today, he decided, he would be merciful to the petty criminals of New York.  

               “It probably was ginger ale,” said Peter, “he so seems the type.”

               “You just don’t want to admit that Neil Patrick Harris can probably drink you under the table.”

               “He probably can,” Peter laughed, stroking Johnny’s hair.  “I’m just saying he seems the ginger ale type too.”  He brushed Johnny’s hair back and kissed the top of his head.  “Will you go get the kids up? I’ll make breakfast.”

               Johnny reluctantly peeled himself out of Peter’s warm embrace and slung his legs over the side of their bed.  “I’ll get the kids,” he said, “but don’t you dare make breakfast.”

               Peter laughed.

               “I’m serious!” said Johnny, padding to the door, “Coffee only.  Cereal’s pushing it.  You wait for me, buddy.”

               “I love you,” said Peter from the bed, looking all tousled and beautiful and smiling dumbly at Johnny in the yellow morning sunlight.  Johnny’s heart tripped a little the way it always did when he really looked at Peter, when he stopped, temporarily, not believing it was possible this was real, that he had Peter, that they’d promised each other forever and it was looking like forever, that when Peter said “I love you” he meant it as much as Johnny did, meant it with all his heart. I know it feels like we took forever to get here, he thought about saying to Peter, but I would wait another forever if it meant I got to come home to you.

“Cereal,” he said instead, “and maybe toast.  But if I catch you with eggs, dude, it’s over.”

                 “Isn’t it weird,” said Peter, after the kids had been packed off to school and the baby was safely toddling around her playpen, “that Neil Patrick Harris is a very famous blond guy who is married to a slightly less famous brunet dude, and they have two kids?”

               “We have three kids, so we win,” said Johnny, scraping at the egg Peter had burnt to the bottom of the pan. “Wait.  Are you admitting I’m more famous than you?”

               “No, I’m saying that the brunet dude Johnny Storm is famously gay married to—Peter Parker—” he gestured dramatically to himself, “is perhaps not quite as famous as Storm himself, but Spider-Man, no relation, who could be bald for all anyone knows, easily out-reputations you.”

               “That’s what you think.” Johnny snatched Peter’s fork away.  “Don’t pick at Benjy’s leftovers, you had your own.”

               “I’m just saying, we should, like, cage fight them.”

               “That wouldn’t be fair, Pete, we would definitely win.”

               “I dunno, David Burtka looks like he knows Tae Kwon Do.” Peter grabbed some ketchupy hash browns up with his fingers and popped them into his mouth before Johnny could whisk the plate into the dishwasher.  

               “They probably take couple’s Tae Kwon Do lessons together.”

               “They probably do family Tae Kwon Do!”

               “Oh, my god, they do.”

               “They probably dress their little kiddos up in tiny little gis and kick all in sync.”

               Johnny started the dishwasher, shaking his head dramatically. “We gotta up our game.”

                 The second time Johnny met Neil Patrick Harris was at the Baxter Building during a gala celebrating the return of the Future Foundation.  “Home turf,” Peter whispered in Johnny’s ear when he spotted the Harris-Burtka family taking a sickeningly adorable picture with the hired photographer.  “Better think of something better to say than ‘is that ginger ale?’.” Johnny smacked him.  “Ow!” hissed Peter.

               “You have super-strength, you big baby.”

               “That doesn’t mean I have super-pain-tolerance!”

               Johnny sipped his drink innocently.  They watched the family get in line for food. “Burtka’s pretty cute,” he mused. “We should do like a gay wifeswap thing.”

               Johnny smirked at Peter’s murderous look.  “Over my dead body,” said Peter.  “Plus, he’s at least ten years older than you.”

               “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

               Peter choked on the hors de ’oeuvre he’d nabbed from a passing tray.  Johnny patted him obligingly on the back.

               “Why didn’t we bring our kids?” asked Johnny when Peter was mostly recovered.

               “Because this is an evening event, and the 7-year-old would get restless, the 5-year-old would have a meltdown, and the baby would throw a tantrum?”

               “Ugh, you’re right,” sighed Johnny, watching the Harris-Burtkas with envy.  “How irresponsible.”

               “Their kids are older,” Peter offered.

               “Irresponsible and adorable.”

               “I still think we should throw down with them. You take the blond, I’ll take the brunet?”

               Johnny gasped and grabbed Peter’s arm.

               “What? Do you have a strategy?”

               “No, but Peter—he’s wearing my tie.”

               “What?”

               “Neil Patrick Harris is wearing the same tie as me.”

               Peter squinted.  “I mean, lots of guys are wearing blue ties.”

               “No, Peter, this is an Armani tie.  It’s from their new spring collection.  It hasn’t even been released yet, this was a gift from my stylist.  And look! Look at the pattern!  Look at the spacing.  That is definitely my tie.”

               “I’ll take your word for it.”

               When Johnny looked up from glaring bitterly at the tie, Neil Patrick Harris was making eye contact with him.  A bright smile sprung across Harris’ face.  He said something to his husband and ushered the twin he was watching closer to their sibling.  “Oh no,” said Johnny, “is he coming over here?  Does he see my tie?”

               “He’s definitely coming over; tie thing I’m still up in the air about.”

               “Johnny Storm!” chimed Harris with all the charm and enthusiasm of his onstage persona.  Johnny was going to punch him.  He settled for an overly firm handshake instead.  “Have I met your husband?”  Here he turned to Peter, his face glowing.  Johnny was an extravert too, but he found Harris’ unwavering brightness a little suspect.  Or would, if he didn’t come across so genuine.  

               “His name’s Peter,” he said a little loudly at Harris, before Peter could introduce himself.  “And you can call me John.”  Peter shot Johnny a quizzical look.  Johnny made one of those faces he made when he was trying to communicate something silently.  Peter was usually pretty 50/50 with face interpretation, but this one flew right by him. He raised his eyebrows.

               “What do you do, Peter?” asked Harris, gracefully ignoring Peter and Johnny’s facial acrobatics.  

               “He’s a photographer,” said Johnny.  

               “Does he speak?”  

               “Haha,” said Johnny, too loud and with too little emotion.

               “I do,” said Peter, thankfully, at the same time. He tried to step on Johnny’s foot but just kind of mashed his pinky toe.  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Harris.  Or Patrick-Harris?  Or—”

               “Neil, please,” replied the aforementioned Mr. Harris. “I wish I could have made it to your wedding.”  He leaned in conspiratorially. “David and I were wrapping production on a top-secret project.  But I hear the ceremony was quite touching.”

               “Yeah,” said Johnny, “Yeah, there was a lot of touching.”

               Harris threw back his head and let out a delighted guffaw.  Johnny shot Peter a look.  “I honestly didn’t even know you were invited to our wedding,” Johnny pressed on unwisely. Harris stopped laughing.  “My, uh, uh, sister made the guest list,” he finished, even though Sue and Reed had still been missing through most of the wedding planning, and everyone knew it.  He spotted a waiter rushing past and grabbed him by the sleeve.  “Is there any more champagne?” he asked a little desperately.

               “Right away, Mr. Storm,” said the waiter.

               “Thank god.”  Johnny pressed his empty flute into the waiter’s hand.  “And take care of this, too, would ya?  Thanks, man.”  The waiter rushed away with Johnny’s glass.  Johnny squinted at Harris, wondering if he remembered their brief meeting years earlier, daring him to make a ginger ale crack.

               “You really have something to celebrate here,” Harris said instead, looking around.  He was right, thought Johnny.  It had been too long since the Baxter Building had really felt like this—lively, lived-in.  Full of colorful people.  Earlier in the evening, after the speeches but before the food, the Future Foundation kids had had full run of the room, bouncing off the wall with their youthful energy and excitement.  It was getting late now, and they were down the old people and a few stragglers—Val was still mingling expertly—Alex Power, who’d apparently grown up completely when Johnny wasn’t looking, was chatting up some of the less terrifying Avengers. Franklin’s head rested drowsily on his mom’s shoulder while Sue stroked his hair.   Johnny had never been so grateful to have his family all in one place.  

               But Neil Patrick Harris didn’t need to know that. Neil Patrick Harris wasn’t family. Neil Patrick Harris’ closest connect to the Future Foundation was the time a background character in an episode of his latest hit TV show had mentioned something called the Fabulous Foundation, which was mostly, Johnny seemed to recall, about clothes.  

               “Yeah,” said Johnny.  “We do.” He cleared his throat. “Where’d you get that tie, Neil?”

Harris glanced down at his tie, then back up at Johnny.  He opened his mouth.

               “Going to introduce me to your friends?” asked David Burtka, who had snuck up to them from across the room.  He swung an arm around Harris’ shoulders.  Johnny fumed until Peter mirrored the gesture, yanking Johnny closer to him a little possessively.  

               “Where are the kids?” asked Harris softly.

               “Gone home.  The nanny came to pick them up.”

               The nanny, Johnny mouthed at Peter.  Peter rolled his eyes.

               “You know John Storm,” Harris introduced.  

               “In name only,” said Burtka, shaking Johnny’s hand. “So nice to finally meet you.”

               “I’m Peter, his husband,” Peter growled, snatching Burtka’s hand as soon as he’d finished greeting Johnny.  

               “I’m so sorry we missed the wedding!” said Burtka brightly.  “We had a—”

               “I was just telling them,” chuckled Harris.

               “I saw your People cover, though.  Nice shots.”

               “Yeah,” said Peter, “Wasn’t yours on Vanity Fair?  We did Vanity Fair, too.  And Out magazine had an exclusive spread.  They arranged it as soon as we announced the engagement.”

               “I’m pretty famous,” added Johnny.

               “He’s pretty famous,” Peter confirmed.  

               “Well, I’m sure you got our card, but it never hurts to say congratulations in person.” Burtka offered them a warm smile.  Peter narrowed his eyes.  Harris and Burtka definitely had the short end of the fame stick. Weren’t they going to defend themselves?

               “He’s right,” said Harris.  “We’re so glad you boys got to join the old married club!”

               It was a sweet thought, really.  Johnny was sure he should have been flattered that Neil Patrick Harris and David Burtka were apologizing for not coming to his wedding. He should welcome the mentorship they, as an older same-sex married couple, were offering he and his husband. He should feel honored to be in the Old Married Club with them.  If Johnny were someone else, he was sure, he would feel all these things.  He kind of wished he did.  But mostly he was just annoyed that Harris seemed to think he and his husband were in charge of gay marriage or something.  And what were he and Peter?  Chopped liver?

               “Yeah, so, anyway,” said Johnny, “wanna see something cool?”

 ~

               “I’m so sorry, Neil,” said Sue, mostly at Johnny, while she patted down Neil Patrick Harris’ slightly singed tie with a towel.

               Harris laughed.  “It’s fine!  It was an accident.  And the fireball juggling was very cool.  No hard feelings, John.”  

               “I’m sure John will be sure to keep his powers under tight control from now on, the way he was trained,” Sue snapped pointedly.

“I liked the part where you acted like you were gonna miss that fireball headed for the hors de ‘oeuvres,” whispered Peter in his ear.  Johnny smirked.

“Won’t you, John?” Sue asked raising her eyebrows.

“Of course, sis.”

 ~

“Pete, I need help,” Johnny said one afternoon, emerging wild-eyed from their bedroom.

Peter, who was fully decked out as Spider-Man, stopped halfway through closing the window he’d come in through and ripped his mask off, rushing to Johnny’s side. “What, what is it,” he babbled, “is everyone ok? Is it Reed and Sue? Where’s Ben?”  He gripped Johnny’s arms.  “Where are the kids?”

“The kids—everyone’s fine.  The kids are with MJ, remember?”

“Then what the hell is going on?”

Johnny thrust his smudgy iPhone at Peter.  “Look.”

               “What—what am I looking at?” asked Peter, squinting at the grid of colorful family photos that hovered dangerously close to his nose.

               “It’s Neil Patrick Harris’ Instagram.” Johnny tapped a photo.  “Look!”

               “Shit,” sighed Peter, giving Johnny’s bicep a sharp squeeze in reprimand.  “You scared me, Johnny, I thought it was a real emergency.”

               “It is!”

               “Neil Patrick Harris’ family’s last year’s Halloween costume is an emergency?”  Peter groaned, pulling the top half of his suit over his head.  “For better, for worse,” he repeated to no one in particular, “For better, for worse.”

               “Stop it.”  Johnny followed Peter into the bedroom, where he had flopped onto their bed, spread-eagled, nude but for the grimy bottom half of his Spidey suit.  “It’s like you don’t even care!”

               “About what?” Peter considered getting up to change, but it didn’t seem worth the effort, especially when it was Auntie MJ night for the kids.  There was no one to stop him wandering naked around the apartment now.  Johnny was rummaging through their closet.  “Is my robe in there?”

               “If you mean the tiny little red one, I burned it,” said Johnny, his voice muffled with his head stuck past the first row of hanging shirts.  “And I wish you would take me seriously.”

               “You did not burn it!”

               “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.  But you’ll never find it.”  Johnny emerged with a wrinkly t-shirt from the back of the closet and tossed it at Peter’s head.

               “You liked that robe!”

               “I didn’t.”

               “You said it was sexy!”

               “I said you shouldn’t be allowed to wear a robe like that around the house like a smoking jacket; that thing was practically lingerie—” Johnny threw himself dramatically onto the bed next to Peter, picking up the t-shirt that had settled over Peter’s face and smacking him with it, “But that’s not,” smack, “the point!” smack.  “I am so close to murdering a celebrated actor and his husband, and all you care about is your stupid robe!”  His voice shot up in desperation.

               “Ok, ok,” said Peter, propping himself up on his elbows, “I’m listening.”

               “Up,” Johnny prompted, patting Peter’s back gently. Peter snorted but sat up. “Up,” Johnny said again.  Peter raised his arms over his head.

               “I’m not a child, you know,” said Peter. Johnny hummed, pulling Peter’s shirt on over his raised arms the same way he dressed the kids every morning.  He slid off the bed and started tugging at Peter’s boot.  Peter watched him for a little bit.  He’d always known Johnny would be a good dad, but when they first adopted Benjy, he’d been surprised at just how patient and gentle Johnny had been—Johnny, who literally burst into flames, Johnny, whose emotions had always flared and burned quicker than a struck match—Johnny had been the tear-wiper, the diaper-changer, the patient listener to toddler stuttering long after Peter was burnt out and frustrated.  Peter should have known—Johnny had always been tender, even his hottest rage lit by passion.

               Johnny looked up at him, boot in hand.  “What?”

               “Nothing,” said Peter, suddenly aware of the fond, dopey smile on his face, but doing nothing about it.  “I just like looking at you.”

               “Sweet-talker,” Johnny muttered.  He leaned back on his hands.  “I’m still mad at you.”

               “I said I was listening.” Peter leaned forward to kiss Johnny on the top of his head.  Johnny, despite himself, tilted his chin up for another kiss, which Peter delivered gently to his lips.  “I promise I’ll do everything in my power to take down Neil Patrick Harris’ terrible Instagrams, or whatever.”

               Johnny’s eyes sparked.  “It’s not that,” he said, his mile-a-minute panic voice coming back, the voice that was the same for We’re Out of Vanilla Ice Cream and The World is Maybe Ending for Real.  “I’m pretty sure Neil Patrick Harris and his snotty-face kids are going to steal our Halloween costume.”

               “What!?” Peter cried.  He hadn’t expected to share Johnny’s panic, but he’d helped pick the costume this year, and it was awesome. “They wouldn’t.  We’re the diversity factor!  Who’s their little girl gonna be—Rand?”

               “Probably,” said Johnny miserably.

               “This isn’t even—we’re more famous than them!”

               “The Halloween costumes are their thing,” Johnny whined, “they’ve been doing them since before Benjy was born.  We have to stop them, Peter, I was ok with more Insta likes when we were doing different costumes, but they can’t take—”

               “We’re literal space heroes!” Peter burst out.  “Well, you’re a literal space hero.  What do actors—they can’t take Star Trek from us!”

               “I knew you’d be on board,” said Johnny, leaping to his feet, “once you knew how dire the situation really is.”  He was rummaging in the closet again.  “So I was thinking—” he tossed an expensive-looking pair of black pants out onto the floor, “sabotage?  I already have the layout of their house in L.A., and I think I can figure out where they keep the costumes.  I can get us there by six with the Fantasticar.  Or we could fly, but I know you aren’t—mmph.” As soon as he was out from behind the clothes, Peter was grabbing his face, kissing him off center.

               “You are the weirdest person I’ve ever met,” said Peter, and kissed him again.  “I love you. Let’s go.”

Johnny was halfway dressed in his cat burglar outfit, the top half hanging limply around his waist.  He was smearing black greasepaint around his eyes when Peter yelled from the bedroom, “You have a text from Sue!”

“Can you read it to me?” called Johnny, trying to arrange the black into a slightly more attractive shape.  “I’m kinda busy.”

There was silence in the other room as Peter read the text to himself.  Then he laughed.  “Johnny,” he said, “you’ll never believe this.”

“What, what’ll I never believe?”  Fuck it, he thought, tossing his thirty thousandth blackened q-tip aside.  

“Just talked to Neil,” Peter read aloud, “They are not doing Star Trek.  He told me Scooby-Doo.”

“No,” said Johnny, emerging from the bathroom.  “No! Scooby-Doo?”

Peter wiggled Johnny’s phone.  “From the Master Spy herself.”

“Scooby-Doo!” Johnny said again, lifting his arms up to let Peter, who’d been creeping ever-closer, loop his arms around Johnny’s bare waist.  “That’s a terrible idea.  There’s only four of them!”

“I guess they’re leaving out the dog,” said Peter, with his face right up to Johnny’s, smiling.  

“The dog!  How can you leave out the dog! That’s why it’s called Scooby-Doo, it’s the dog’s name!”

Peter laughed into Johnny’s mouth, swaying both their hips from side to side. “So,” he said, and then kissed Johnny slow and gentle, “now that our burglary trip is off…and the kids aren’t home…what should we do instead?”

Johnny smiled against Peter’s lips.  “You tell me, handsome.”

[carza1995]

A Shielded Heart (Patrick Stump x Reader)

Okay people’s so this part the reader is going to be getting really nervous. Then Andy, Joe, and Pete try to get you to calm down. Find out how this makes Patrick feel. Also fair warning vulgar language is used in this part so read at your own risk.

Reader POV

The music video is played I felt goosebumps rise on my skin. I twitched as I felt a shiver climb up my spine. I thought what if nobody liked how I did. My mind was swimming with negative thoughts. Andy, Joe, and Pete looked towards me and asked “You alright y/n?” “Yeah just a little nervous that’s it.” “You seem questionable when you say that.” Pete gave me a small smile, then Andy said “You should be smiling y/n besides we like seeing you smile.” Then Joe chimed in “I bet that I could get her to smile.” “Hey y/n you want to see Louie?” “Yeah where is he?” “He’s outside I’ll go grab him.” “Ok thanks Joe" Andy gives me some apple slices I say. “Thanks, Andy.” Pete then makes silly faces at me and I laugh. Patrick just stares his phone he looks like he’s real concentrated. I decide to not say anything towards him. Then I hear a knock on the door, close my eyes and say. “Who is it?” “It’s your favorite little pig Louie!” “Joe he’s not pig he’s a fluffy Frenchie” “Yeah that too, now let me in I’m on a mission to turn a girl’s frown upside-down.” I unlock the door sit back on the couch and I feel something set on my lap. I open my eyes to see “Louie, how are you my frenchie furry friend.” He licks my hand and lays on my lap. I kiss his head then Patrick looks towards me and I giggle.

Patrick POV

I see y/n kiss Louie’s head she giggled as I looked towards her. Her laugh could turn around anyone’s day. Y/N seemed less nervous I smiled at her. Then her phone went off tweets mentioning her appearance in the music video flooded her phone. The music video was over after five minutes. Then I said “Okay everyone now we’ll be answering your questions. So Pete why don’t you start?” “Okay first question is for our special guest y/n.” “Okay what is the question?” “What is your favorite animal it can be a wild one or a pet.” “Well my favorite pet animal is a dog big or small. My favorite wild animal are pandas.“ “Okay and next is Andy so ask what the next question is” “Okay the next question is what is your favorite tattoo, Pete?” “Ughhh that’s a tough one because all are my favorite for different reasons, but I gotta say one that is my favorite for now is the one close to my neck.” “I knew it the camera man owes me 10 dollars now.” “How many people have you bet with today?” “Only some of the people here on set.” I say a question that someone tweeted. “Which one of us would you go out with y/n?” “Boy that’s a tough one but I’d probably say Louie” “Awww but he’s a dog he can’t kiss you like a person.” “Yeah but Louie is nice he listens very well and he’s handsome.” “I think what that person is saying is which one of us from the band would you go out with” “I know I was just playing, but I think I would go out with Pete.” I feel like something is burning inside me. Is it jealousy? No it can’t be I’m married plus she’s young it’s wrong. “Patrick are you okay?” I didn’t notice but I felt my cheeks get red hot I laughed. “Yeah why wouldn’t I be?” She came back with “Well you are acting a little weird”

Pete POV

I could tell Patrick was getting jealous, but it’s probably best that I not tell Y/N. She looked at me blushing as bright as a cherry. It was always cute when she blushes, a tweet came in from my phone “Okay next question is for Patrick asking if you could do an impression of Stitch from Lilo and Stitch?” “Sorry if I butcher it but ‘Blue punch buggie’” Y/N said “Nailed it Trick, to be honest, one of my favorite quotes from Lilo and Stitch.” He grinned a little at her comment. “Okay any last minute live questions?” y/n phone went off with another tweet “I just got one it’s for Andy, it says have you ever done yoga.” Andy blushed a little and said “Yes I did but only for a little while” “How long is a little while to you Andy?” “Less than two weeks is what I consider a little while.” Y/N still had Louie on her lap and laughs.

{Timeskip to you collecting money from bets you won}

Reader POV

“Okay well everyone we hope you enjoyed the video. a link should be popping up somewhere in here for you to buy you or a friend some merch. Until next time we hope to see you later, peace out.” I dragged myself off of the couch, Joe took sleeping Louie off of my lap. Patrick was still on the other end of the couch. He was still looking at his phone I decided to scoot towards him. “You know I would never date Pete?” I pulled out my vape mod, steel blue with a silver dripper tank. I take in a long drag, and blew it out. The taste of starburst filling the air. I wiped the tip with some napkins. “Want to try it Patrick? It doesn’t have any nicotine!” “Sure it smells a lot like candy” “Well the e juice is Starburst, but the company calls it Sunburst.” I watch him take a drag noticing the tank is almost empty. “Just don’t take a long drag then the dripper will be dry.” he took it off his lips, honestly I felt my lips wondering how soft his could be. Dammit I shouldn’t be thinking about this he has a wife. He gave me back my mod, then we got into a discussion.