FOB Fics

Title: Ex Friends, Best Friends ‘Til The End Pairing: Peterick (Pete Wentz/Patrick Stump) Rating: PG-13 Summary: Patrick is just fresh off his Soul Punk tour, resting in Chicago, when he gets a call from Pete, who just so happens to also be in Chicago.

((i got another request for this so this one’s a high school au i am trash))

See, the thing is, Joe’s not bullied easily. They all say shit, make fun of his nose and his lisp and his hair, with cruel smiles and quick glances in the linoleum halls.

But he doesn’t really care.

Like, sure, they hate him. But like, he’s heard it all before. He’s hardly even worth making fun of. Just some kid who’s gonna be an accountant.

Nobody cares if an accountant is Jewish, or has a lisp.

Sure, it makes him kind of bitter. Like, why can’t they just keep to themselves? He probably hasn’t done anything to them. Maybe he drank too much at one of their parties, or hit on their girlfriend when he was high, but he just takes it out n his guitar when he gets home.

His parents don’t even notice. See, he’s fine.

It’s worse, though, when it’s in front of his friends. Pete gives them the finger, Andy calls them assholes, and Joe tells them it’s nothing.

Today, for the first time, it happens with Patrick. Some kid from their English class, passes them at lunch, says. “Jewith”, laughs with his friends. And Joe just ignores it, that one’s overused anyway, and he blink up to tell Patrick that he’s used to it, but Patrick’s gone.

Joe’s confused for a second, then hears someone scream, and something heavy hit the ground. 

Joe rushes over, to see Patrick standing over the guy, who’s crouched on the ground with a bloody nose. Joe’s impressed, because, shit, that guy was like, a foot taller than Joe, and Patrick’s tiny.

"Fuck off." Patrick spits, and before Joe knows it, he’s being dragged by his wrist to the bathroom.

"Patrick, you didn’t have to -"

"Yes I did. Listen, Joe, don’t listen to them. Don’t you EVER listen to them." Patrick says, and looks so sincere, like he didn’t just land himself in detention for a week.

"I won’t." Joe says, a little breathily. He hugs Patrick. Very tightly.

Patrick hugs back, standing on his toes to lessen the height difference.

"I love you, Trohman. Like, I really love you." Patrick says, his head resting on Joe’s shoulder.

Joe didn’t get sick a lot. Hardly ever, really, the last time, he was still in high school, and all he can remember is that he puked all over his geometry test and managed to get an A out of sympathy.

Anyways, when he does get sick, it’s bad. He’s drained of literally all energy, his throat gets sore enough that it hurts to talk, his nose is stuffed up, and he can’t keep anything, not even water, down.

He’s confined to his bed by Patrick, who’s a lot like a mother when he gets sick.

Always coming in to check on him, bringing him water to see if he won’t throw it up, asking if he’s too hot, just fussing about.

It’s cute, but Joe’s head hurts a lot, so he doesn’t really want to make any sound right now.

Patrick had told him to take a nap about half an hour ago, to try and sleep some of it off, but Joe was so fucking sick all he could do was stare at the ceiling the whole time.

The door opened, Patrick stepped in and touched Joe’s forehead.

"You’re really hot. Are you sure you need all these blankets?"

"M’cold." Joe mumbled out, trying to ignore his throat’s angry soreness.

Patrick too Joe’s clammy hand in his, interlocking their fingers and smiling at Joe, who was kind of freaking out, because fucking germs, man.

"Don’t fucking touch me." Joe croaked out, trying to pull his hand away. Jesus, what if Patrick got sick too? That would be terrible, Joe is really bad at dealing with that shit.

"Don’t worry about it." Patrick said, reading his mind somehow, like always.

When all else fails, Pete jerks off thinking about Patrick’s mouth.

The catch is, he doesn’t even think about Patrick doing anything particularly X-rated with it. If he does he just feels vaguely ashamed and 90% turned off, like that time he accidentally watched interracial porn in his grandma’s house.

So he thinks of Patrick’s mouth in its natural habitat, so to say. Patrick licking or biting his lips while he’s thinking. The way it contorts when he sings - almost more ridiculous than hot, which ends up making it even hotter despite itself.

Patrick’s lips pursed around a milkshake straw, cheeks hollowed, frowning slightly. Letting go and complaining, “It’s too thick.”

At the time it happened, Pete had cracked up too hard to even say, “That’s what she said.” On recounting, he imagines himself leering and says, “Yeah? Want me to show you something thicker?”

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