#haven't written pete in so long but the vibes were right and :') i want a boyfriend :'))

[shark-myths]

1/2 Hi hello I have a...Headcanon? Fic prompt? Grand unifying Mania to smfs tryst theory theory? Anyway it's this: There was some sort of 'fuck it lets just try again' decision around mania era and it was good! It was working out! And then there was covid and lockdowns and everyone had to make some really tough choices re: who we say irl and when and how often and that led to some real 'well maybe were fooling ourselves when we thought we could have it all this can't really work we did miss our-

2/2 -shot' ergo the smfs lyrical lean of 'I love you so much but this maybe really isn't our time'/ mixed in with all the other very project-written-during-covid ~vibes~ (which I love). But anyway there's a lot of time that can and did (if they started in 2021?) pass between writing lyrics and releasing music and working on the album after all that isolating introspection led right back to 'fuck it lets just be together life is short' hence The Way They're Acting now. *shrugs* idk

*

Love this, love you, thanks for the conspiracy ask!

we know from this kerrang interview and a few other casual mentions, like in patrick's album commentary from the release parties (still haven't listened to that myself but @leyley09 is an excellent on-the-scene reporter) that some of the writing for SMFS actually started before the pandemic, with Patrick dreaming up the music for What a Time to Be Alive right after the release of MANIA and Pete writing the lyrics that paired with it before the pandemic. so if the writing process went dormant in lockdown, we know many of the threads were connected before covid hit the US. (i'm also remembering the cute zoom sing-a-long pete & patrick did at the beginning of the pandemic where they were clearly in the same room but on separate video feeds so that we, viewing, could feel like we were all alone together)

I stand by my thought that MANIA's ask symbolizes open doors that are open-ended--the queer poly happily ever after is floated, and maybe it's answered and maybe it's not but i don't think any of those doors were closed, even by lockdown. i take the backwards-looking in SMFS as a way of acknowledging what's gone past and is no longer possible: having their whole lives being entwined together, maybe even raising a family together instead of with the lovely women they've chosen and built something beautiful with, not letting the fear of being found out determine the unhealthy shape their relationship took for the first 15-odd years of its course. i find this deeply relatable as a mid-30s bisexual, honestly, whose life could have looked really different in some really joyful ways if the culture had been more hospitable and open to queerness when i was growing up, but who also doesn't regret or want to change what i have now.

SMFS doesn't feel like a frantic too-lateness to me, it doesn't feel young; it feels plain and true, like, well, it is too late for some things, but that might not have worked out anyway, and as it stands we're everything to each other--patrick can't write songs without pete and pete feels like he's a painter who can't paint without fall out boy (the kerrang interview is giving me life, truly)--and it isn't so bad, having a soulmate, whether that manifestation is currently romantic or not. it's too late to change what's gone past but it's not too late for the entire future.

i've just never seen them so comfortable together and so matter-of-fact! like their closeness hasn't looked this easy since pete was making patrick squirm on vh1 by describing them as husbands nearly 20 years ago. i love the way no one's rushing to disguise or define or defend anything, they're just sitting there plainly like, this dude is everything to me, and it frankly is so beautiful and refreshing after the no-homo panic that characterized the early aughts.

i love your headcanon and it gave me all these lovely chewy thoughts! god i can't wait to see the fic that comes out of this. thank you darling!

[duskholland]

could you maybe do a college!Peter blurb where y/n gets really tired and falls asleep halfway through a project, so he puts her to bed and it's just really fluffy?

-- clearing out the askbox: peter edition -- 

“Y/N… Are you sure you want to be working on this right now?” Peter’s got a concerned frown on his face as he looks up at you. He’s sitting cross-legged in the centre of your living room, textbooks and sheets of scientific formula covering the carpet around him. 

“Hm?” You blink a few times, his words taking a few moments to sink in. Peter loves you, and he thinks you look adorable, always, but he can tell you’re tired. As you lay over your sofa on your back, glaring at a textbook, he knows you’re barely awake. You keep yawning, your eyes disengaged as they read the same page, over and over again. “Yeah, yeah… I’m fine.”

It’s halfway through the semester, and it’s reached the point where the two of you are drowning in lab work, essays, and assignments. Peter knows that you’re running on fumes and caffeine, working tirelessly as you try desperately to stay on track with your studies, and as much as he admires you for your strong work ethic, he wishes you’d slow down and rest. 

So… Maybe that’s why he’d suggested you study at yours tonight, and he’d spent all evening trying to get you to calm down. He’d made you dinner, given you a shoulder massage - hell, he’d even let you put a face mask on him as he’d tried to get you to relax. But it’d still ended up here - you, settled up on the sofa, indignant that you’re going to get through your readings before you go to bed. 

“You’re falling asleep, baby,” he points out. 

You tilt your head to the side, your tired face relaxing into a smile the moment you meet his eyes. 

“I’m talking to you, so I must be awake,” you reply, quirking an eyebrow, “unless you’re just the man of my dreams.”

Peter snorts, running a hand through his hair as he looks at you, rolling his eyes. “Smooth,” he mutters, drumming his pen on his knee. “Jus’ checking. We can stop whenever you want, remember. Don’t wanna tire you out.”

“I’m fine,” you mumble, bringing your eyes back to the textbook after shooting him a soft smile. “Thanks, though. Love you.”

Peter hums. “Love you too, honey.”

He watches, amused, as you spend thirty seconds staring at the book, before softly relaxing. First, you rest the textbook on your stomach, then you sink down into the sofa, using one hand to bring a blanket over your figure. Next, you reach up and pull your hoodie over your head, snuggling further into the couch cushion and sighing gently. Your eyelids start to droop, and though you seem to try and fight it, Peter hears your heartbeat slow as you drift off into sleep. 

He can’t help but swoon as he looks at you, grinning as he takes you in - knocked out, jaw half-open as your soft breaths drift through the air. He immediately puts down his textbook and stands up, pulling out his phone and cooing as he snaps a few shots of you snuggled up on the sofa. He walks to your bedroom as he sets one of them as his new lockscreen, and then he gets to work. 

Peter knows your nighttime routine almost as well as you. He knows you like your blinds open but your curtains drawn closed, knows you can’t sleep if your wardrobe door is even the slightest bit open. He tidies up some of the clothes you’d left strewn across the floor, then he moves the books from your bed and organises your bedside table. His final task is pulling back your duvet and fluffing up your pillows, then he walks back out into the living room and pauses by your figure.

Trying his best not to disturb you, Peter gently pulls the textbook off your stomach and then picks you up, his super strength making the task easy. In your sleep, you nuzzle your head into his chest, and he has to make a very conscious effort not to melt right there and then. You are so cute.

He lays you down in the centre of your bed, eyes watching you for any sign of life. You seem to be completely asleep, so he’s quiet and slow as he rolls the crinkling duvet up and over you, tucking it up to your chin. Peter then leans a little closer and brings his lips to your forehead, letting his mouth linger against your warm skin. 

“Sweet dreams, baby,” he mumbles, voice soft. He goes to step back, only to startle when you crack open one sleepy eye.

“Stay,” you whine, voice cracking from fatigue. “Please?”

And you blink up at him so softly, how could he ever say no?

“Okay,” he whispers. “Do you need anything before I get in?”

You shake your head, pulling a hand out from beneath the duvet to open it up wide. You pat the mattress, lips quirking into a tired smile. “Just you.”

Peter’s glad that he’d already changed into comfier clothes, and he walks around the bed, closing your bedroom door and turning off the light as he goes. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and plugs it in at the wall, setting an alarm for the morning before finally, finally clambering into bed beside you. Before sinking into the sheets, he pulls off his hoodie, knowing that you always love nuzzling your face against his warm chest.

As expected, the moment there’s a chance, you roll over, clinging to Peter like a koala. You throw one of your legs over his thighs and nestle your head in the crook of his arm, resting a cheek up against his side. 

“You’re so warm,” you mumble. “Big teddy bear.” But you don’t settle. You keep shuffling around, not relaxing, and it brings a frown to Peter’s face.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, bringing a hand to rest on the back of your head. It’s dark, but he knows you’ve got a frown on your face.

“Still got my bra on,” you complain, groaning softly at the realisation. “Fuck.” You wriggle again, moving away from Peter completely. He can hear your struggle. “Can’t- ugh, I can’t get it, ‘m gonna have to get up.”

“Hey.” Peter reaches out, hand finding your shoulder. “D’you want me to get it?”

“Please.”

Working in the dark is tricky, but Peter manages to curve a hand beneath the bottom of your hoodie. You arch your back, and his nimble fingers slip up to release the clasp. The moment it bursts free, you sigh contentedly. 

“Thank you,” you say, and Peter moves away as you manage to get the straps down your arms and wriggle it from beneath your jumper. He chuckles when you throw it, and then hears the unmistakable sound of pens being knocked over as it clatters over your desk. “Shit.”

“Go to sleep,” Peter urges, turning over to face you. His hands go to your waist, gently rolling you over until you’re settled on your side too, and he loops his arms around you properly so he can spoon you. Peter presses his face into the back of your neck, smiling as you relax into him.

“M’kay,” you say, sighing easily. You yawn, and then you reach down to link your fingers with his. Peter smiles as you roll your thumb over the back of his hand. “Sweet dreams, Pete.”

He kisses the back of your head, the scent of your mango shampoo drifting over him. His heart beats warmly in his chest.

“Sweet dreams, baby.”