#fob x reader

“awww, well isn’t that cute”. pete pulled her closer“now that she’s actually met a bass player she’s too nervous to even take her eyes off the floor”

she felt his hands wander down her back stopping on her lower back. y/n was so tense she was refused to even open her mouth in fear of nervous puking.

mikey pressed up behind her, snaking his right arm around pete’s hips and his left in her back pocket. she could feel is erection pressed up against her.

all of her senses were overwhelmed instantly as the two men stood on either side of her. the stench of sweat and alcohol being faintly masked with axe body spray was making her stomach churn.

“so i hear you gotta thing for guys who are good with their fingers”?mikey smirks down at her. “thats why you wore that lovely shirt i assume”?

“m-maybe” was all that left her mouth. she cursed herself for not having more to drink during the show. being tipsy would have really made this moment a lot less nerve wracking.to be fair she never in a million years would have imagined herself sandwiched between the two hottest emo icons of all time.

pete rested his chin on her head. “there’s no need for you to be so nervous pretty girl. we’re gonna take real good care of you”

———

“fuckkk” mikey groaned, drinking in the sight that lay before him. her knees were practically touching her ears giving him the perfect view of her perfect pussy. the way it glistened under the fluorescent bulbs of his dressing room drove him wild. “that shirt is so fucking hot baby. did you wear it just for me” he growled, grabbing a fistful of the cloth and yanking it up exposing her breasts to cold air. to his pleasant surprise there were piercings through her perky pink nipples. as if on command they instantly hardened against the cold air.

for just a second he felt almost bad. he never bothered to learn the poor things name. she was splayed out across his dingy couch showing him everything he ever could have wanted and he didn’t even have the decency to ask her a simple question. then again this girl was so desperate for them he doubt she’d even care. the way she hung on his every word was so very pathetic..fuck he was in love. there is nothing better in this world than an easy woman. that’s what made being famous so much fun, having a bunch of gorgeous groupies who were ready to give it up just because he made eye contact with them in a crowd of thousands.

she kept her eyes squeezed tight praying this was the idle chatter from the crowd of concert goers leaving for the night was drowned out by the sloppy sounds of pete’s cock sliding past her parted pink lips. it was just as pretty as you imagined it would be. thick and veiny with a bit of a tan,pink tip dripping with a mix of precum and spit. mikey couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the mesmerizing sight of his friends cock appearing and disappearing again and again and again. pete was like a rabid animal with the desperate pace he was keeping.

he never really appreciated how good his friends dick looked. objectively he had a good dick. he wasn’t gay or anything but who wouldn’t want to suck that ?

“oh my goddd your throat is sooo perfect,baby. you were really made for this shit”. pete groaned, slamming the full length forward with no mercy. his large hands gripped either side of her head as he continued to thrust forward.

tears started to from on the crease of y/n’s eyes but she was beyond hyptonized. what more could a girl want in this world? she did her best to take the abuse,focusing her eyes upward towards the ink plastered over his pelvis. watching the muscles in his chest flex as he continued his abuse of your throat made your heart flutter.

a pair of large hands began to slowly caress her thighs,temporarily distracting her from the abuse of her throat “I would love nothing more but to fuck this pretty pussy, would you like that”? mikey asked, his voice sounded like honey to her ears. she could came exploded right then and there.

she tried to nod but pete had her head held firmly in place. her throat just felt so heavenly from this angle.

“i can’t hear you sweetheart, use your words”

wow. all she ever wanted in the world was for mikey fucking way to use her like a fleshlight. with pete’s length still buried in her throat and drool rolling down her chin she tried to form a sentance. it sounding like a gargled mess. and mikey loved it.

this poor desperate groupie was literally shaking for his touch. hell,he loved the attention. being in a band wasn’t half bad.

for a brief moment pete allowed her time to take a breath. now that she could adjust her position she got a proper look at mikey…more like the print in his black jeans. maybe what they say about skinny guys was true after all. she focused on his dick, begging to be freed from its denim prison. in her head she always imagined it would be big but if what she’s seeing is true it’s so much bigger than she thought.

“mikey please don’t make me wait anymore..i want to feel it”. she regretted it as soon as the words left her mouth. the goal was to seem not insanely obsessed. but for mikey those words did the perfect trick. “please” she spoke again, barely above a whisper but the need was obvious in her tone.

her eyes widened at the sight of his dick. never in her life had she seen something so pretty. slightly longer pete’s, standing at attention against his chiseled abdomen. the pale white was a beautiful contrast to his light pink mushroom tip.

how did she get so lucky? seeing it so proudly presented before her had her contemplating if god was real. only a world with a god would have such a handsome specimen.

he wasted no time tracing his index finger between her folds. the sound it made was nothing short of pornogrpahic. audibly making a wet squelching noise.

“jesus you really liked sucking this dick huh”? pete said proudly , rubbing his length over her parted lips.

“i doubt it, not when you’re forcing it like that. she deserves to be treated like a proper lady” mikey responded, not taking his eyes off her sex.

pete rolled his eyes. “who’s the one who got her that wet ? obviously she likes me “forcing” it down her throat”. he ran his tip across her lips, spreading the black lipstick around her face. “we all know who she’s here for. did you read her shirt or what”?

“i play bass too,dumb ass”

“tell us baby, who do you like more”pete asked his tone a bit desperate

as patrick was starting to tour for the first leg of infinity on high, you thought he wouldn’t bother to call or text that much.

boy, were you wrong. if anything, he became more clingy than ever.

patrick’s days spent polishing his precious vocals were still constantly taken up from the thought of you. he'd ask to call you as soon as he left the stage, even if it was extremely late at night. sometimes he'd even ask for sleazy pictures of yourself before the show to "give him motivation"...whatever that meant.

anywho, it's frustrating enough that you aren't able to tour with him for the second time. he had already begged you to come to their friends or enemies tour, which you had to reject because it was during school and there was no way in hell either of you could’ve pulled that off.

but now that it was the beginning of summer, patrick hoped it would be different. that you and him could spend the whole tour together being on the road and the stage, completely unbothered and in love. no more secret hangouts on the weekends and or sneaking you out for the night just so you could see the stars together. it would be you and the band, but mostly you, for two months.

it would be awkward introducing you to the guys but patrick didn't care. pete was the only one who had a hunch - he didn't know anything about you, but he definitely knew of you. one night on the first leg of the tour after patrick had hung up the phone with you, pete pulled back his bed curtain to shove patrick.

“dude, go to bed! who the fuck are you talking to this late?” pete sighed while patrick stuttered profusely. before he could form a response, pete just shoved him again and rolled back into his own bed. “just take it outside, will ya? jesus, like we all can't hear you jerking it…gross”

patrick just huffed, pulling his curtain back forward and rolling over. pete always had chicks and dudes come and go on tour - it was practically all he ever cared for. if he hadn’t left to hook up with someone last night, he was either yapping endlessly on the phone or boasting to the guys about the latest apple of his eye (which also changed from day to day).

at some point, patrick learned something critical - to pete, touring wasn’t even really about the music anymore - it was just a ploy on travelling across the country for him to be a dirty player.

but at the end of the day, nothing else could be expected from pete. he was conventionally attractive not to mention the literal crowned frontman of fall out boy. patrick just wished that he didn’t rub everything in so much.

how come pete always gets all the love when he doesn’t even care about the music anymore and just the attention? at least patrick was doing this for the love of the game. and suddenly when patrick gets even an ounce of appreciation - not to mention, from you, who’s wasting your last true summer away back in chicago - now it was a problem.

at least you cared - you were the only one who ever did. you’d came to a few shows with your friends in your junior year, excited to see the new up-and-coming band fall out boy from the city. the first crowds were small and packed, leaving you skeptical, but as soon as you laid eyes on the chubby blonde boy with his funky little hat, you were absolutely awestruck. he was truly the hottest thing you’d ever seen.

noticing your frequent appearances to the next few shows, patrick had began to catch on to your fawning and decided to take a chance and ask for your number. he seemed sweet at first, but you quickly learned that he wasn’t as innocent as he let on.

the truth was that patrick never could have had enough courage to even look at you if you hadn’t been younger. you were fun, shy, and undeniably beautiful - but most importantly, you were obsessed. patrick finally had a girl who appreciated him for who he was and who would do anything for him. you were the only girl who ever looked at him the way he wanted and more.

who’s to say he should give you up so easily? you quickly molded into his dreams like clay, perfect and pretty just for him. even if you were a little younger, it wasn’t that reprehensible if you truly loved him, right?

the idea of being patrick’s secret younger girlfriend was fun until there was the reminders of the obvious divide in your lives. as time went by, you were preparing for college in a few months - which meant that homework, testing, and applications were all on high. patrick was busy with the new attention from the band, recording songs, doing interviews, and touring almost all the time (especially now with the release of the new album, infinity on high).

its true, there was always late night video calls or the occasional rock-thrown-at-window sneak in, but it was hardly ever enough. you made patrick feel in control, which was a thrill so rare that always had him chasing it from you.

the first tour of the season had come and gone, but this time he wasn’t going to miss the opportunity for you to tag along, especially when you were (mostly) free for the summer.

“just tell your parents you’re with your friends on a trip, or at camp…i don’t know, please just come, please?” he insisted one evening over a rather informal dinner at his place. you had told your parents you were going to a friend’s for the night, yet here you were wearing pj pants and one of patrick’s oversized shirts as you sat on the couch with a takeout box in hand.

you rolled your eyes and shoved another chopstick full of rice in your mouth. “trick, you know my parents wouldn’t believe me. i dont think ive been to camp since i was, like, 8. and besides, its like two months of being away!! and what about moving into college?”

“but you’ll get to meet our friend gabe from cobra starship. come on, pete loves him. he’s fun and throws all these cool parties. i sort of produced their first album, yknow…” he rambled, trying to find any reason to make you come.

after a confused moment of silence from you, he started to sing as if to jog your memory. “i came here to make you dance tonighttt, i dont care if im a guilty pleasure for youuu! come on, baby, you love that song!” you both laughed as your face scrunched up in recognition and amusement. “lets just save your voice for the tour, baby…”

although the rest of the evening was spent in giggles and quiet whispers under the blankets, patrick knew your answer was final. you couldn’t come, it just wasn't possible. preparing for college wasn’t a feeling he knew, but he could only imagine how stressed you were. at least maybe the tour could have taken some of the edge off.

he did feel a little selfish for putting all of this pressure on you, but the truth was he really was seriously desperate for you to come. patrick hates being away from you more than anything in the world, especially with how dreadfully lonely touring always felt…

which led him to one particular night on stage. it was a typical show, one spent screaming ballads and dripping with sweat. patrick gave it his all, singing and strumming to put on his best performance for the crowd.

but as expected, it seemed like he became lost in the scene per usual. andy seemed completely in his own world as he drummed loudly behind him. joe did a few poses for the crowd while the girls squealed obsessively. and pete, as always, completely immersed himself with the audience, standing right at the edge of the stage while being…unhinged.

pete wasn't even playing at this point, he just looked like he was possessed or drugged, hopping around and dancing frantically. of course the crowd loved it, they loved everything pete did. patrick felt a rush of humiliation flood his body. he hated feeling jealous, but truly there was no other feeling to describe it.

if only you were here.

you would have been front row (reserved by him of course), eyes fixed on patrick and patrick only. screaming not just to blend with the crowd of teenage girls but because you really were fangirling. his gaze through his floppy hat would be practically glued to you, making silly faces in between songs and winking during suggestive lyrics. you'd giggle and blush nervously as the girls next to you would shriek in jealousy, not knowing half of who you really were and not even caring about patrick in the first place (but were just shocked and envious at the received attention you were getting).

patrick’s fantasies dissolved as his eyes scanned the crowd, foolishly searching for your face that was obviously not present. later as he stood next to his bandmates and thanked the audience, all the love seemed to be on everyone but him. patrick sucked it up and put on a smile, walking off stage with a broken spirit that of course only pete could recognize.

“hey man, what's wrong? you were great out there!” pete patted patrick’s back as they sat down to catch their breaths backstage. after a moment of silence from patrick (who was disassociating at the wall), pete piped up again. “...you good?”

“yeah, ‘m fine.” patrick mumbled, wiping his face with his shirt and taking a swig of his water. “im good. really. good job out there, the crowd really loved you tonight…”

“aw, yea dude, it was awesome! they're always great though.” pete leaned back before sitting up again, suddenly tapping patrick's leg. “hey listen, me and the boys are gonna go to some club gabe rented out in a few. yknow, just one of his shitty parties again…maybe you could actually talk to a real girl for once. it’ll take the edge off of whatever you're thinkin’ about.”

another party? the last time patrick tagged along to a party it was an absolute nightmare of standing in the corner while watching his friends get hit on the whole night. the offer didn’t even sound remotely tempting, as he’d rather hang back at the bus and catch a breather while relaxing on the phone with you (who was, in fact, very real - thank you pete…).

patrick didn't take his eyes off the wall, just blinking and wiping his forehead again. “...nah, im good. i need a break tonight. you guys go have fun.”

“you sure?...alright man, take it easy,” pete gave a reassuring look before standing up. “we’ll be back whenever, you know how it goes. hey, unless i bag a chick, amiright?” he laughed, patting his friend before running off to god knows where.

unless i bag a chick. please, like that was something completely unexpected for pete. what else is new? patrick grumbled a goodbye, but it was too late - the boys had quickly gathered their things and had already left backstage.

after helping the staff put away a few instruments and some equipment, patrick stood around for a few more moments, watching people passing through the door saying goodnight. at some point he decided it was time to clean up and hopefully get rid of this awful headache.

patrick kicked pebbles with his head hung low as he sulked back to the bus, biting his cheeks to try and distract himself from the ache in between his temple. at least he knew he could talk to you about tonight (after all, you would never say no to a late night call).

……………...

after showering and grabbing a shitty microwave meal from the minifridge on the bus, patrick finally felt a little better than before. the ac hummed on in the quiet night, leaving the bus feel empty and cold.

patrick pulled the starched sheets over his body and flipped his phone open for the first time since before the show. his eyes gleamed as he saw two unread messages from you.

you're going to ROCK it tonight!!!

i love you so much tricky!!! 🤍 call me later… if you don't feel too tired haha;)

patrick softened his body, releasing tension he hadn't even felt hanging on his shoulders. he couldn’t help but feel the corners of his mouth tilt into a small smile as he hit the dial button.

“hi honey,” he rasped, clearing his throat. “whatcha up to?”

“oh, you know. just finishing some college prep stuff,” you smiled, putting down your pencil. “no biggie. sooooo…how was the show?”

“it was okay,” patrick sighed, smiling at your concern - but his tone didn't quite convince you.

“...just okay?” your brows furrowed and smile dissolved. “trick, what's wrong?”

patrick bit his lip, mumbling ashamedly. “they don't even care…”

“what do you mean?” you asked, ready to listen.

“they don't care about me,” patrick took a deep sigh, relieved to get everything off of his chest. “it's like…during the show everyone’s always watching joe or andy or pete. and then the boys always rub it in my face…even after, they beg me to come to all these parties and get upset when i say no. but im only saying no ‘cause i know they’re just gonna leave me in the corner the whole time while they get hit on…”

there was a brief pause before patrick continued. “not that i want anyone to hit on me - of course not, when i have such a pretty little lady on the other line…”

you let out a giggle, your concerned expression faltering for a moment before going right back to being stiff as patrick let in a few last words. “but…whatever. i just feel like its not really about the music anymore…i wish i was more appreciated around here - if that makes sense…i know it sounds kinda dumb,” he trailed off, bracing for any sort of awkward reaction from you.

but much to his surprise, you only let out a little reassuring hum. “are you serious? that's not dumb at all, baby.” patrick could practically hear your growing warm smile on the other line as you began to sweet talk him. “you’re the only one who’s actually working so hard. dunno why everyone's being such jerks…i’d slap everyone in the face if i was there. promise.”

patrick couldn't help but let out a sudden laugh at your words. “even pete?”

“especially pete,” you agreed, twirling your hair at the thought. “i’d slap him extra hard and then i’d make out with you in front of him. could you imagine the look on his face?”

“priceless,” he groaned, laughing lightly to himself at your ridiculous scenario. “we should recreate it. just to show him.”

“if only i was there…” you bit your lip, a bit of regret seeping into your smile. “i hate getting ready for college. and i hate everyone at your shows. and i hate that douche pete wentz.”

“that's a good song title,” patrick added mindlessly before the both of you began to crack up again. he shook his head, grinning wide to the ceiling. “i miss you so much baby. i think about you all the time, yknow. what it would be like if you were here.”

“really? no you don't,” you rolled your eyes, thinking he was just buttering you up.

“no, seriously. i do.” his voice hesitated on the other line before continuing a little with a hint of embarrassment. “i like to look in the crowd sometimes and pretend you're there, watching me…like old times.”

you swore you felt your heart physically melt right then and there. “really? trick, that's so sweet..”

“yeah,” he closed his eyes, thinking about how beautiful you must look smiling ear to ear right now. craving something a little more, patrick decided to test the waters a little while he was at it. “you know, if you were here, we’d have to sleep in the same bed. twin size, and they're bunks.”

“mmm,” you hummed into the speaker softly. “i don't think you could handle that.”

“why’s that?” he furrowed his brow at your quick reaction.

“you can barely keep your hands off of me when sleeping next to me in your regular sized bed. and now everyone's sleeping around us? please.”

patrick opened his mouth, ready to spit out a teasing rebuttal, but who was he kidding. “...yeah, you're right. i couldn't do that.” he shrugged before smirking a little, pushing a little further. “what can i say? you're just too damn sexy.”

“trick, stop,” you groaned playfully while rolling your eyes. stepping away from your desk, you flopped onto your bed lazily. holding the phone up to your ear, patrick began to speak again, this time with a little more intensity.

“im serious. do you know how hard it is without you here? i feel like bashing my head against the walls of this damn bus every day.” he scrunched his eyes shut, yawning quietly with his hand pressed to his mouth.

“what would you do if i was there?” you mused, rolling onto your back and getting comfortable in your sheets.

“well…for the days that we’re on the road, we'd probably just cuddle up and watch a movie or come up with some new tunes for the next album…” patrick thought out loud to himself as you closed your eyes in approval at his continuation. “and for show days i’d take you out somewhere special for breakfast and lunch…and then we’d probably ruin it all with some shitty last minute fast food run before the show, so it isn't really that special anyways.”

“and then after the show, you’d kiss and hug me and then laugh at how ridiculously sweaty i am. but you're also sweaty from dancing so it doesn't even matter.” patrick smiled before giving a sad laugh. “and the boys would leave and go to a party without me like usual. but that's okay cause now…we're alone.”

you let out a shallow “yeah”, realizing the obvious at the shift in tone. you had a small suspicion about where this conversation was beginning to head.

but nevertheless, you stayed patient on the other line, biting your lip excitedly as he continued rather casually. “we’d go back to the showers then, and i’d strip you down…leaving your sweaty tight shirt on the floor and slipping off your soaked panties…”

before you could stop yourself, your hand slithered down to trace your clit gently over the fabric of your underwear. the sudden sensation made you gasp, muffling your speaker into the pillow. “what about my bra?” you laughed quietly, trying to hide your shudder.

patrick's mouth curved up into a small guilty smirk as you caught on. he finally had you where he wanted you. “come on, honey. i know you and you are not wearing a bra. especially not at my fuckin show.”

you accidentally slipped out a small whimper, taking off your panties completely and rubbing your clit a little more hastily now. the attempts to hide your noises slowly became futile as he went on, describing his fantasies unashamedly. “i’d lather you down softly…kissing down your pretty neck, groping your sweet little ass that fits so perfectly in my hands..”

at this point, patrick had began to palm himself a little through his boxers, hand kneading against his now hardened cock at the thought of him penetrating you in the shower. “bend you down flush to the wall..i’d fucking ruin you,” he trailed off, voice becoming a little brittle as he got lost in his daydream. patrick couldn’t help but slip his calloused hands past his own waistband, craving more of you.

for a moment, all was quiet on the line. you wanted to break the tension but right now the friction felt too good to stop. opening your mouth to say something, you instead let out a small lewd whine, running two fingers across your slick covered slit. your noise was all patrick needed to hear before wiping the precum off of his tip as he released a shaky exhale. “are you touching yourself right now, baby?”

you burned up in embarrassment even though you knew at this point he was probably doing the same thing as you. mewling softly, you could only mutter out a pathetic “yes,” as you teased your own hole, not wanting to fully indulge just yet.

you could practically hear patrick’s cheeky smile as he rasped out some much needed praise. “oh, my angel. listen to yourself…i bet you're soaking just for me, hm?”

your head began to ache a little as your pussy throbbed in anticipation. you prodded your entrance tantalizingly slow, torturing yourself just because you knew what he wanted you to do next. “trick…i can’t-”

“can’t what? use your words, sweetheart.” patrick tsked, picking up his length and stroking his base ever so gently at your broken tone.

“can’t go in yet…need you t’tell me. please.” you whispered, holding the phone shakily to your ear as your cunt ached with desperation.

your stutters sounded like music to his ears as his eyebrows shot up in pleasure. “please? wow, look at you. you're being good today.” he cocked his head to the side, letting the phone lie next to him on the pillow to grip the base of his dick steadily now. “push a finger in. come on, i know you want to.”

you obliged. of course you did, you always do. dipping in your entrance slowly, you let out a strangled moan that came out a lot louder than intended. thank god you were home alone tonight.

patrick bit his lip at hearing your unrestraint, feeling his dick twitch eagerly. “that’s my sweet girl. can you fit two?” he teased, beginning to stroke his thick cock while imagining how beautiful you must look right now, obeying him so well like this.

at this point you were sprawled on your bed sinfully, arching your back as you began to push your second digit in. the stretch was so dizzying you thought you would cum right then and there.

holding your breath, you let out another sweet string of whimpers, letting your body swallow your fingers whole now as you pictured patrick’s plump cock filling you up instead.

hissing lustfully, you let your phone lay on your chest as you gripped the sheets with impatience. squirming a little to get used to the feel, you began to pump your fingers in and out now as patrick groaned on the other line. “bet your tight little cunt misses me, hm? i know your fingers don’t feel the same as me filling you up…poor thing. probably touch yourself every night when im away, just aching for me…”

patrick bit back a growl as he began to thrust into his hand feverishly now, inhaling sharply. his forehead began to gleam, hair damp from a mixture of the previous shower and new sweat.

rolling his eyes back in pleasure, patrick's mind began to drift to the thought of your wet pussy squeezing around him instead of his hand, the grunts over the speakers making the fantasy seem all the more real.

patrick grunted, pumping his dick and rutting against his hand now like a desperate bunny. “mmmmfgg…honey, im going to-”

the line disconnected. you sat up almost immediately out of shock. it was definitely not on purpose, but it was surprising to some extent. laughing to yourself lightly, you figured the wifi was just probably bad. oh well. the irony wasn’t enough to leave you without satisfaction. your fingers found your slit again, thrusting back into you hastily while you threw your head back at the sudden pleasure, continuing from where you left off...

patrick, on the other hand, was also breathing heavily - but unlike you, his whole body went stiff with humiliation as he dropped his flushed, hot dick and scrambled to press the hang up button frantically.

before he had time to process what was happening, the bus door slammed open and fluorescent lights flickered on, jolting patrick out of his pleasured haze.

the boys tromped back inside the bus completely oblivious (and definitely drunk), both calling out patrick’s name loudly. patrick was left no choice but to swing his bed curtain shut and pull the blankets over his half naked body, leaving him on edge and unable to relieve the ready pleasure.

he knew he needed to text you something, anything - but before he could reach for his phone again (which was lost in the blankets now), his curtain swung open. patrick’s frustrated face met pete’s excited one as he stared back at him, the light behind his black, fringey hair making him seem like some sort of emo angel. “good morning, sunshine!”

patrick squinted and rolled his eyes before pulling his curtain shut again on pete's teasing. “go to sleep, jackass!” he grumbled, flipping around and reaching for his phone again to type out a slew of apologies to you.

you, who had already finished and was now lying in your bed attempting to catch your breath. staring at the dimly lit ceiling, your phone suddenly blinked brightly, an endearing notification blessing your lust-filled eyes. letting out a tired laugh, the brief wit from his message was all you needed to know.

The other guys have already left through the back of the building.

“You would’ve gone with them if you hadn’t wandered off.” Brian sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He takes a card out of his back pocket— a black laminated lanyard with bold words printed onto it. 

“Backstage pass, just tell ‘em you’re the drummer. I don’t have time to hold your hand through this.”

He hands you loose papers— schedule, a copy of a setlist. You shove them into your duffel, your drumstick bag sloppily peaking out of it.

Pulling the lanyard over your head as he waves you off, you exit out of the back of the building.

Your phone has been buzzing nonstop ever since you Brian called you back. You don’t have time to check it, opting to put it on silent for now and fill your friends in on everything when you’re done. Whenever that will be…

Getting through security is another ordeal entirely.

One guard studies your badge for potential counterfeit, asking for any other forms of identification.

“I uh, have a drivers license, is that good?” You ask, pulling the card from your wallet. They nod, mumbling something into their radios and waving you through. 

The prospect that you’re probably already too late gnaws at the back of your brain, but as you step to the “backstage” you realize you really can’t turn back anymore. It stretches for at least half a mile, with more semi-trucks and smoking electrical wires than you had anticipated. The place was packed, as well, looking almost like the booths out front. Workers bustling, a couple of bands rehearsing, and some skateboarders you have to dodge. Noises from the vehicles and the bands make it almost impossible for you to hear yourself think. You stop for a second, pulling the papers out of your bag to see if they can provide any answers…

Okay… Where exactly are you supposed to go?

Before panic has a chance to settle in, someone in an event polo notices you standing in the middle of the walkway, looking you up and down before glancing at your badge.

“Who are you with?” They ask, their voice raised so you can hear them over the chaos. You flip your badge around, revealing the shiny “My Chemical Romance” print on the back. The stranger gives you a quizzical look, raising your lanyard to get a closer look at it, forcing you to step a little too close to them than you’re comfortable with.

“My Chemical Romance, hm? You look a bit young.” You just nod, not wanting to draw any attention to yourself by backing up. 

“You seem new, c’mon, lemme show you where to go.” A toothy grin spreads across their cheeks, seemingly inviting until they drop your lanyard and take your wrist in a grip that has your hand growing cold from the pressure.

You’re dragged through crowds, reaching a couple of buses near the back when you spot them. It seems the employee does too, because he takes you by the shoulders and places you in front of him. The band, previously strumming their instruments, stare up at the two of you. 

“Sorry to bother you guys” The stranger says, trying to garner their attention as if they didn’t already have it. “Just had a kid here claiming she personally knows you guys? Hm?” Their lips curl into a line as you look behind you and then toward the band. 

“It’s not like that, I was just lost—“ You try to deescalate, but you’re cut off by Gerard, a cigarette halfway hanging out of the corner of his mouth. 

“We know her.” The frontman explains. “She’s the local we got to do drums.” 

“Should’ve led with that.” The stranger grumbles, letting go of your shoulders and disappearing into the crowd behind you.

You stand there for a split-second, processing, before walking over to the group.

“I’m so, so sorry he just saw I was lost and came up to me and saw my pass, and—“

“Hey, don’t sweat it. You’re here now, that’s what matters” This time the one speaking was Ray, a handheld fan blowing in his face, causing his curls to fly about like tiny pieces of cloud. 

“We go on in an hour, so I suggest trying to familiarize yourself with the setlist if you haven’t already.” Gerard says, stamping out his cigarette and taking a long gulp of water from a bottle that has no doubt been sitting in the sun too long. 

“What about soundcheck?” That makes the guys laugh, you can feel your shoulders hunching in on you at the sound.  

“This—“ Frank gestures to the mess of guitars and an awkward setup of equipment boxes as chairs, an open box of drum pads not going unnoticed by you. “—is soundcheck.“

“But Brian said—“

“Brian gives it too much credit.” Frank waves the thought of it off, like it’s a routine occurrence. “Take him with a grain of salt. Matter of fact, take us all with a grain of salt and your life’ll be much easier” You laugh breathily at that, taking a seat on a box.

“So how long’ve you been playing?” He asks. 

You count the years of your fingers, holding them up to him. Frank whistles lowly. 

You glance over at the equipment, your eyes landing back in the stack of drum pads. 

“Mind if I use these?”

Ray responds, already seeming to know what you’re asking about and not bothering to look up from where he’s tuning his guitar. “Sure, they were just kinda left with us so if you need ‘em, knock yourself out.” 

Two minutes. You peak your head just slightly out of stage right, gazing out toward a sea of people illuminated by the smoldering sun. Thousands of cheers erupting as the band before you wraps up their set. You’ve never seen that big of a crowd in one place before, let alone been at the very front of it.

“First big crowd?”

You jolt as your focus is broken, whipping your head around to reveal Gerard, who’s seemingly noticed your natural state is in a bundle of nerves. You give him a nod. 

“Don’t look at ’em.” He shrugs.

“…What??”

“I mean it. Pick somebody in the front row if you have to. Focus on your set more than anything.”

You inhale sharply, being guided forward by the other members. Ray gives you a double thumbs up while Gerard immediately steps toward the front of the stage, introducing the band and saying some words you might’ve heard if Mikey didn’t nearly collapse in front of you, catching himself before his gangly form lands on his guitar. Looking down, the stage is littered with ropes of coiled cables. Shoving your drumsticks in the waistband of your pants, you lean down to at least try and gather some of the bundles and drag as many them out of the center of the platform as possible. It seems a stagehand notices, taking the cords from you and continuing your efforts.

“No idea how they’ve been playing like this all day,” Frank mutters, passing you and ending up on the left of Gerard, who was still having a conversation with the crowd.

You sit at the drumset that was left by the other bands, adjusting the seat so your feet can reach the kick pedal.

Your eyes scan over the set, the rack tom sat a little higher than your own, most likely to adapt to the many male drummers. The floor tom a little farther away. You reached instinctively to fix them—

Ray struck the opening chord. Your ears perk up, your head following suit.

It takes you a second to register what song you’re supposed to be playing. It was the first on the list, you know this one! You know this one!

You know— that you’re late.

Shoot.

You start up, around where you should be in the song, only a few moments lost as Gerard starts to sing. Multiple members glance back at you as you play, sweat beading your forehead despite the stage largely obscuring the sun. You can’t hear your bass pedal over the sound of the crowd screaming and singing along.

Hopefully, you think to yourself, any minor mistakes made will be drowned out.

You can’t afford another screw-up like that first one though. Who knows who else is watching you, and if you ever want a gig with your own band again you’ve gotta step up your fucking game. 

pt. 1 here

PETE WENTZ

Current!Pete is so mean not moving when he fucks you : (

Dirtbag!Pete making you take only the tip of his cock inside

Sub!Pete is rare… but the chances are never 0

Pete talks big game until he’s actually in bed.. then he’s a mess for you

Pete’s way of apologising

Pete is always such a cocky fucker, especially as a mentor to P!ATD.. what happens when Ryan’s sister doesn’t take his BS?

Pete is a cheat.. it’s not exactly like he wants kids, he always says no to creampies.. but why is the girl in this video not you?

Bsf!Pete fucks you like he means it..

Divorcee!Current!Pete when you’ve been such a good babysitter to his kids.. of course he pays you money but he pays you like this, too

Dirtbag!Pete yanks off that condom as soon as he can, he’s just a fiend for hitting it raw

PATRICK STUMP

Soul punk!Patrick letting you ride & dom him

You promised Patrick head.. it’s only fear you follow through, even in the back seat

Patrick is a gentle eater.. naturally

Post split!Patrick is so pent up he just had to fuck you like this.. just let him yeah?

Late!Soul Punk/Blondegate!Patrick

Subby!Patrick begging to paint you in his cum

JOE TROHMAN

Joe begging to cum and he keeps trying to grab at your ass.. why won’t you let him?

Big fan of the Subby!Joe agenda..

Pervy!Gyno Joe… do you see the vision

How Joe eats it when he’s back from tour

SOMNO WARNING!! -> Joe comes back so late.. but he needs to inspect you

Joe and Tmasc!Viewer ; )

You've been in the acting industry for a little while now, having gotten some small but notable roles in The Walking Dead, Supernatural, House M.D., hell- even Glee. But despite your relatively good line of roles, your career was quickly fizzling out as the typecast you once filled was replaced with newer, younger actors.

Which is why your agent suggested doing some music videos, saying it would be an easy casting call. You were experienced enough, and the bar wouldn't be high. It was easy money, really. That's how you ended up here, in this uncomfortable costume, on set for Fall Out Boy's "Where Did The Party Go?" music video.

---

You sigh, tugging at the hem of your stereotypical sexy nurse costume, attempting to cover your ass while the director goes over some last-minute changes made to the script.

You remember a few of the band's earlier albums, having only heard them from younger cousins and friends' little siblings. That said, you wouldn't really consider yourself even the most casual of fans. It just wasn't really your genre. Not that they were horrid; you just preferred other artists.

Whatever, you're here regardless of being a fan or not. Doesn't stop you from wishing you were on some other set with an artist you actually knew. You can't help but start going through a list of artists and songs you love, little fantasies of what roles you could play, what stories could be told if only given the opportunity.

The director snaps his fingers, knocking you out of your train of thought. "Got it?" An embarrassed flush creeps up your neck. You give an awkward smile, "Uh- one more time?" That draws a tired sigh from the director as he begins to repeat himself.

"Your role," he makes a sharp point towards you, "you're a zombie-like nurse from this hospital." Now gesturing to the set, his tone is condescending, like he has to dumb it down just for you to understand.

"Stump here," using his thumb to point at the bloody blond man with a fake hook for a hand that stood beside the two of you, "He is basically tripping balls, so what he's seeing isn't reality. You are part of said trip. In actuality, he's hunting down Wentz, Trohman, and Hurley." He raises a brow at you, making sure you're actually listening, continuing only after you give a short nod.

"Most of the video, you'll be stumbling in the background like a zombie, but thanks to Wentz, you have a bigger part at the beginning of the video," he sighs, clearly not the happiest that such last-minute changes had been made to his already perfect vision. "He would like you to straddle Stump on the operating table. You have to make a show, dance a little," he makes a vague gesture with his hands. "Just- 'be sexy,' as Wentz put it. Got it?"

You give a nod, crossing your arms. You definitely didn't sign up to lap dance the lead singer, but as long as everyone was ok with it and you got paid, what's the harm? Patrick was cute, after all, so you sure as hell weren't complaining.

The director then turned to Patrick. "Got it?" he repeated. This seemed to knock Patrick out of his own daze, blinking at the director with a soft "Hm?" giving an exhausted groan, the director waved his hand dismissively. "You've gone over it in your own time, and I repeated it twice; I'm sure you got the gist," the overworked man mumbled, leaving with his fingers pressed against his temple.

Patrick gave the director a strained, apologetic smile, cursing himself for getting so distracted by the barely dressed woman in front of him.

---

Patrick was a respectful man, no doubt. He made a conscious effort never to make anyone uncomfortable, always making his stance on important topics known. Being one of the few in his genre who stayed true to his beliefs, he never used his status or fame for the wrong reasons. He was raised with morals and stuck to them.

That said, he was still a man. A man with eyes. A man with a type that you fit into perfectly. He couldn't help but get just slightly distracted.

Pete, of course, knew Patrick's type. He had never told Pete outright; no, he felt weird about confessing his preferences. But seeing as Pete had always been Patrick's unwanted wingman at random bars, he learned Patrick's type fast.

Despite his many embarrassed protests at clubs across the country, on the rare occasion, Pete's games worked. The very few times Patrick actually went home with someone in his arms were when the ladies looked similar to you.

Hey, having a type isn't a crime, right?

That's why, when Pete saw you, he just had to jump into his wingman duties. He was quick to scribble his additions to the script and shove it in the director's face. With a little bit of begging and a lot of power play, the director added the changes for the sake of his job.

---

The scene was set up, the lights a mix of fluorescent pinks and eye-numbing purples, all actors in place. Patrick was in the flow of things already, having completed several scenes that day; he was warmed up and ready to give his all.

Pete, wanting to see the poor blonde man's reaction firsthand, made sure to watch the scene from afar. After all, he knew full well Patrick would connect the dots and didn't want to be in range of getting absolutely brutalized for setting up his best friend.

"Action!" is called out, music starting up to keep everyone on cue.

---

Patrick stumbles into the pink room, mouthing the lyrics dramatically as he finds you, the nurse, finishing up procedures on a zombie-like man lying on the operating table. As you push the man off, Patrick begins to stagger towards you.

Patrick is trying to make sense of his surroundings, looking around in a stupor. Taking advantage of his confused state, you're quick to grab onto the lapel of his leather jacket, pulling him towards you. Now, practically chest to chest, you hitch your knee up to rest on the operating table before pushing the dazed man onto the already warm surface.

The admittedly rough shove catches him off guard, gasping at being manhandled. Just slightly out of character now, he forgets he's supposed to sing the lyrics for the scene. He's quick to try to get refocused, though, continuing to look around from his seated position on the operating table, despite his frazzled mind.

You let the moment linger before the next cue starts up, shoving him down on the table. The cameras focus on his form fighting against your grip, locked on his face before lifting to you, catching the moment your figure straddles his.

The second your leg swings over his hips, he realizes he missed some very important updates when the director was going over the script earlier.

His breath holds when he looks up at you, now grinding against him in a confidence that makes him lightheaded. The zipper of your costume is only half done; the swell of your chest is practically popping out of the costume, being accentuated by the bright lights and the red lace that barely covers you.

The bottom half isn't much better, being slightly bunched up; his eyes catch sight of your matching lace panties. He forces his head to turn to the side, not being able to look at you any longer without passing out then and there.

This, of course, immediately backfires when his gaze finds how your thighs are barely contained in your costume's thigh-highs.

He's doing everything in his power not to get too excited, to stay in the scene, to be a normal fucking person. He tries to keep himself in character by thrashing under your weight like the script said, cursing Pete in his head for putting him in this situation.

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you-oh god-fuck you.

He's too in his head, flailing around so absentmindedly that it starts to look overdone. Your hands move to press down on his shoulders, staying in character yet needing to bring him back into the scene before the director calls for a reshoot.

The pressure makes his head roll back, his back arching just slightly as a low groan leaves his lips. A sound that he immediately regrets and prays no one, especially you, heard. The action did its job, though, as now he was painfully aware of his surroundings.

He was back in his role, making purposeful yet unpredictable movements. You give a soft smile when his eyes meet yours in recognition, a silent "thank you" shared between the pair before you go back into action.

Hand on his lapel again, you dance a bit more freely. Hips rolling in circular motions that read as you riding him. Your free hand now wanders, starting on his thigh behind you, to his neck, up to your hair as you look down at him with a smirk.

If he wasn't hot and ready before, he sure as hell was now. He can only hope you don't feel the twitch of his hips beneath you, that you don't notice his poorly hidden arousal.

---

"Cut!"

The scene wrapped up after what felt like forever. Patrick had only been able to power through by telling himself that if they got it done right the first time, they wouldn't need to reshoot this hellish scene.

The sexy act you put on had disappeared quickly. Half-lidded eyes and pouty lips turned soft and sweet as you mumbled a soft apology to Patrick, climbing off the table. He went limp for a moment, his hand sliding down his face with a sigh, his legs bent in a way to hide the obvious tent.

He lifted his hand off his face to notice some of his makeup had lifted from how hard he was sweating, softly cursing as he sat up, hopping off the table, before excusing himself to his dressing room trailer to take care of his makeup.

Only his makeup.

Nothing else.

A/N: part 2 :D