I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY
contains: patrick stump, pete wentz, gerard way, mikey way, frank iero, ryan ross, jon walker, jon mess, william beckett, sisky business
A/N: thank you all sm for 153 followers as i type this, this is a compilation of all the requests currently in my inbox and will (most likely) be actively updated!
NSFW LINKS BELOW THIS POINT!! you must be logged into twt in order to see these links , unfortunately fem centric : (
requested? yes!
FALL OUT BOY
patrick with a breeding kink
public sex with patrick
how pete fucks you after a long tour stint
subby!pete & older!viewer
over the clothes grinding / riding with patrick
current pete!drilling into your already sore pussy
MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE
secretary!gee & male viewer
subby!frank calling you mommy
slapping current!franks cock like it’s disgusting, he’s such a perv.
tell me this doesn’t sound like gee??
mikey sucking on your tits
leathermouth!frank touching your pretty pussy
how leathermouth!frank leaves you
P!ATD (JON & RYAN)
gentle sex with current!ryro
late!AFYCSO!ryro knows he’s hot and knows you like to get slapped around
dom!ryro taking your virginity and talking you through it
pretty odd!ryro domestic grinding
forcing jon to come inside you
jon fucking you so hard it nearly breaks the bed
JON MESS (DGD) — all w/ one man who looks A LOT like him
talking through it with agressive dom!jon
car sex with jon while he drives
munch!jon ; )
THE ACADEMY IS . . .
bilvy humping you so desperately
walking bilvy like a dog.. as foreplay
sisky whimpers.. i don’t make the rules (yes i do)
current!bilvy fingering you juuusstt enough to make you moan
ofc i return w some patrick headcanons it’s taken me an embarrassingly long time to get around to this. smh. how have i not written a nerdtrick fic yet i am a disappointment to my fellow stump lovers. enjoy a short list of headcanons for my loves belated birthday.
to everyone that sent requests i promise they’re coming!! life has been busy busy busy but it will come !!
he’s a lil perv,panty sniffing,sock sniffing,they’re in college ,porn, sub!patrick elements, degenerate behavior,stalking i guess,
nerdtrick! who may or may not be in love with you. sure you’ve only offically talked to him once and it was just to ask if he had the answer to number three(he didn’t) but those five seconds were magical to him. he thought about those five seconds for weeks. it was tattooed on his brain.
nerdtrick! who is awful at chemistry. he planned on dropping the class before he stumbled across you. ever since your fated meeting he stayed up for countless nights on end studying and memorizing. in his mind if he could master the art of science you’d be so impressed at his dedication you’d fall head over heels.
nerdtrick! who sketches you in his notebook during classes. he fails his open book exam because instead of notes the pages were filled with little sketches of you. your eyes. your full lips. your lips wrapped around his cock. what? he isn’t a pervert he jsut really likes to draw.
nerdtrick! who stares at you an unsettling amount during class. for a duration of the time his eyes are fixed in your direction taking in every detail of your pretty face. one particularly slow class he counted how many times you blinked. it’s not that he’s obsessed he’s just observant. two totally different things.
nerdtrick! who was devastated when you moved classes. he didn’t mean to freak you out. it wasn’t his fault you had him so mesmerized. you were a goddess meant to be worshipped and praised.
nerdtrick! who would daydream about you constantly. while sitting through another boring lecture he’s dreaming of you forcing him to obey your every order. you’d force him to eat you out for hours and he’d happily sit there and do it. anything to please you.
nerdtrick! who is thrilled you live on campus too. not because he was a creep but because he just wanted to make sure you were safe. he would follow you back from your last class keeping an eye on you. he would imagine what it was like to hold your hand
nerdtrick!who spends most of his day in the library waiting for you to come in. that’s the only place he sees you nowadays. he needs his fix. he palms himself through his jeans as he watched you giggle with your friends. you had such a pretty smile. he would kill to have you spit in his mouth.
nerdtrick! who comes across your bag when he’s leaving the library. he knows it’s yours. from the color and the small pins littering the front part of th bag. he can practically smell you on it. he is quick to snatch it, rushing out of the library. he holds it close to his chest as he sprints back to his dorm.
nerdtrick! who doesn’t sleep a wink for about a month. oh my god your socks smell heavenly. the faint scent of sweat was like a drug to him. he pressed the fabric to his nostrils as he furiously jerked himself off. “fuck, y/n” he chants under his breath like a prayer. for nights on end he’d stay up all night smelling and touching your things.it was almost like you were right next to him.
nerdtrick! who slowly falls into a porn addiction. he imagines it’s you instead of the faceless actress moaning loudly. “you’re so pretty when you touch yourself like that y/n”. he groans at the dimly lit screen. “what i would do to eat that pussy. you’d like that wouldn’t you”.
nerdtrick!who’s grades start slipping. his teachers say he’s losing focus. they’re absolutely right. you’re begining to consume his every thought. he can’t sit still in class,he can’t finish any of his assignments or study for exams. nothing in school is as important as his love for you.
nerdtrick! who gets put in a study group with you. turns out you both are on academic probation never in his life had he been so happy to be flunking school. he seats himself right next to you keeping his eyes lowered. he cpuld smell your perfume. god you smelled so good. his jeans got tighter as he continued to bask in the wonderful scent.before he could register what was happening he was painfully hard, erection uncomfortably pressing against the denim.
nerdtrick! who rushes to get up. he mutters an excuse as he makes his way to the bathroom. he is so ashamed of himself in this moment. this lack of self control was so unlike him. before you came along he was the top of all his classes, his grades were prefect. and now he’s stroking his cock in the bathroom willing himself to stay silent. you were so effortlessly pretty without even noticing it drove him wild. he squeezes his eyes shut as he imagines it’s your hands touching him not his own.
nerdtrick! who’s heart stops when you approach him. “um i think you dropped this”. you say handing him his notebook. he couldn’t bring himself to speak. he smiles awkwardly. the love of his life was finally talking to him and he couldn’t bring himself to say a word.
nerdtrick! who is relived. the note books you had picked up happened to be the one dedicated to your routine. it’s not like he was going to kidnap you but a guy can dream.
no warnings for this chapter but just keep in mind that the reader is 17 and explicit grooming and underage activities will be taking place in later chapters. please dont read if it will harm your mental health in anyway, keep yourself safe🫶
My fic will be pretty plot heavy, I wanna keep it at least somewhat realistic and not too heavily relying on plot armor
As always, feel free to leave feedback and my anon box is always open!!
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.
Just listen to this, my friend. Patrick is your best friend from high school, and he's the typical virgin/nerd/geek (I suppose I would use the Patrick take this to your grave era.) who has no luck with girls and the reader (female, please). She's his best friend. So Patrick asks her for flirting tips and they end up kissing or something? I hope you like the idea, yay!
~I'll leave the rest to your imagination.
Heyyy, My anonymous internet friend. I totally loved your idea!!! Took me a minute to write it out, sorry about that, but tbh I had so much fun writing it and I had no idea when to stop! So, like, warning: this one-shot might be a bit longer than it should’ve been. But I really hope you like it anyway! 💙
☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★☆゜・。。・゜・。。・゜★
This Was Just Practice Until It Wasn’t
Patrick Stump x fem! reader (also it could be gender neutral)
summary: Patrick wants to ask a girl to prom, but he has no idea how to flirt. So he asks his best friend for help. Things don’t go exactly as planned (or maybe they do).
Warnings: slow burn, slightly long, minor awkwardness.
Type of fic: friends to lovers. fluff. slow burn. slice of life
☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★☆゜・。。・゜・。。・゜★
It was unusually cold for a May afternoon in Chicago. The wind slipped through your jacket, carrying the scent of recent rain mixed with wet asphalt. Like every Wednesday, you walked the two blocks that separated you from Patrick’s house—your best friend’s place.
It was almost a ritual: you’d hang out to play video games, read comics, and he’d always save a moment to listen to the gossip you brought along—both the celebrity drama from those teen magazines you read and the real-life mess from your high school classmates.
But lately, Patrick had been way too focused on prom. And you, acting as his emotional support system, had listened to him over and over again talk about how he didn’t know how to talk to girls. Which, honestly, was true. What you didn’t understand was why, all of a sudden, it mattered so much to him.
When you arrived at Patrick’s house, his mom opened the door almost immediately, looking genuinely happy to see you. No surprise there—she adored you. You’d been her son’s best friend forever, through everything, and she’d practically watched you grow up.
“____! I’m so glad you’re here, sweetie,” she said with a warm smile. “Patrick’s been holed up in his room since he got home from school. Maybe you can get him to come up for air.”
You returned the greeting just as warmly and stepped inside the Stump house.You went upstairs and reached his bedroom, gently pushing the door open. Patrick was sitting in front of his monitor, hunched over and completely absorbed, his headphones on.
You dropped your backpack in the corner; he didn’t even notice you were there, totally locked into whatever he was reading. You stepped closer, leaning in to see what had him so focused… and you couldn’t help but laugh.
It was a post on some stupid forum, the title written in giant, apple-green letters:
“How to Flirt with Women.”
You sat down on the edge of the bed, laughing to yourself at how ridiculous the whole situation was. Who even wrote posts like that? And worse—who read them seriously, without irony? The answer was right in front of you: just… Patrick.
You waited until he finished reading the entire article, and the moment he took his headphones off, you commented casually:
“You’re more desperate than I thought…”
Patrick jumped so hard that, in less than a second, he was standing right in front of you, staring at you like you’d just scared ten years off his life—eyes wide, one hand pressed to his chest.
“FUCK—w-wait, what?!” he blurted out. “____, how long have you been there just… watching me? Are you insane or what?”
You burst out laughing at how nervous he looked and raised both hands in surrender.
“Relax, dude. I didn’t see anything incriminating… at least nothing I didn’t already know.”
Patrick pulled off his cap to fix his hair, then put it back on immediately. His face was bright red.“You have to knock!” he whined, nervously adjusting his glasses.
“Yeah, yeah, sure, I will next time… I swear,” you said dismissively, still smiling. “So—what were you reading so intensely, by the way?”
You stood up and walked toward the computer, fully intending to read the post yourself.
Patrick immediately stepped in your way.
“____, no, please… don’t do this. I’ll give you whatever you want,” he begged, trying to physically block you from reaching the screen.
But there was no way he was beating your curiosity—or your need for a good laugh.
“Step one… out of four,” you started reading, already laughing. “No way—these steps are illustrated. This is amazing.”
“____!” he kept pleading, very clearly being ignored.
“‘Be aware of how you present yourself. Stay clean and hygienic.’” You laughed out loud. “Dude, this is so stupid… it’s insanely vague and generic.”
Patrick stopped responding. He just walked over to the bed and buried his face into one of the pillows.
“This is humiliating. Let me know when you’re done making fun of me.”
You kept reading for a bit longer, still laughing, but eventually you closed the browser window and turned back around.
“Stop crying, baby, I’m not gonna make fun of you anymore—just—” you let out one last giggle, covering your mouth with your hand. “Tell me why you suddenly care so much about this stupid dance. And this whole… casanova thing. It’s weird. I’ve never seen you like this, and I lived through your damn puberty, Trick.”
Patrick lifted his head just slightly, his hair flattened against the pillow. His face was red, his bangs wrecked, his dignity clinically dead.
“I wanna… you know… go out with girls,” he muttered, like the words physically hurt. “I wanna… I don’t know, experience that. Everyone does except me.”
You blinked, softer now. “I mean… yeah, I get that. I just think you’re taking it way too seriously.”
Patrick let out a frustrated sigh. “That’s easy for you to say…”
“Why?”
“Because you’re… you’re really pretty.” It came out rushed, like an accidental confession. “I mean— I guess,” he added quickly, trying to put the fire out. “And you’ve gone out with a bunch of guys. Idiots, by the way… but still. You’ve been on dates.”
You didn’t say anything. You just smiled—soft, almost without meaning to—like that awkward compliment landed somewhere you weren’t ready to look at yet.
Patrick swallowed hard, like your smile just spiked his blood pressure. “I kinda wish I was more like Pete, you know?” he murmured, staring at the floor. “He just… gets girls. He’s like a dating Jedi or something. He goes anywhere and suddenly there’s someone to flirt with, and they always go along with it.”
He twisted his mouth, defeated. “Maybe there is something wrong with me. Don’t you think?”
You shook your head firmly before he could spiral any further. You walked over and sat down on the bed next to him, close enough for him to feel you there.
“Wow, Patrick, listen to me. Don’t be an idiot. There is nothing wrong with you.”
No jokes this time, no teasing—your voice was serious.
“Pete is just… a different kind of person. And he’s, like, five years older than us? He’s lived more, done more. You can’t compare yourself to that.”
Patrick looked up at you without saying anything, wearing that expression that screamed: I know you’re trying to cheer me up, but I still feel like a total loser.
“You wanna start going out with girls? Totally fine. Seriously. But if you start by comparing yourself to someone else, you’re already doing it wrong.”
The blond sighed. “Then where do I start, if it’s not reading stuff online?”
Your smile came back when you realized he genuinely thought that was the most reliable option.
“First of all, people who actually date and have game or whatever aren’t writing posts on forums, Trick. They’re busy, you know, actually going on dates and doing stuff. So step one: forget all that crap you just read.”
He nodded, clearly seeing your point. “Okay. Then what?”
“Well, flirting is basically trial and error, dude. Even Pete has to have at least one super embarrassing story,” you patted his back and tugged at his T-shirt to make him sit up. “And I’m pretty much the only girl here, unless you wanna practice with your mom.”
Patrick followed your pull until he was sitting right in front of you.
“That’s disgusting, _____,” he said, making a face, still trying to erase the mental image of his own mother in any kind of romantic context. “So… your idea is that I… flirt… I mean, with you?”
“Yeah, why not?” you shrugged. “Last time I checked, I’m a girl, so let’s do this.” You nudged him to make him stand up. “Get off your ass and try.”
Patrick obeyed, standing in front of you while you stayed seated on the edge of the bed.
You were doing everything you could not to laugh, but Patrick wasn’t helping. He was completely stiff, adjusting his glasses every two seconds, his eyes darting all over the room.
“So… what do I do?”
“Start by relaxing.”
You lightly tapped his leg with the tip of your sneaker. “Picture this: I’m a girl you like at prom, and you wanna ask me to dance. Simple.”
The blond huffed. “Yeah… simple…”
“C’mon,” you pushed.
He took a deep breath and stepped toward you, hands shoved into his pockets.
“Hey. Hey—! Uh…” he started, already wearing an uncomfortable smile. “So… uh… it’s a dance, you know, and—” he made a hand gesture neither of you understood. “And… and I wanted to know… if you wanted… to dance.”
Patrick finished the sentence and just stood there, frozen, like his entire life depended on your answer. You raised an eyebrow, trying —with everything you had— not to burst out laughing.
“Wow...” you said slowly. “That was… definitely what not to do in front of a girl.”
He immediately brought both hands up to his face, completely mortified. “I knew it! What the hell was that? I suck. It was obvious… I screwed it up before I even started.”
“Oh, c’mon, it wasn’t that bad,” you said with a soft smile as you stepped closer. You placed your hands on his shoulders and gave him a little shake. “Listen, stop being so dramatic. You’re just… way, way too tense. Breathe.”
He looked at you for a few seconds, lips pressed into an involuntary pout.
“You know what… forget it. This is stupid anyway. I’m gonna die without dates, without girls, just me, my video games, my comics and… my guitars.”
You bit your lip. It was impossible not to feel that overwhelming tenderness watching him spiral like a walking bundle of nerves.
“Don’t laugh, please… this is really bad,” he whined.
“No— I’m not laughing,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I just…”
You didn’t say the truth: that nervous, sweet boy was giving you butterflies.
You sat back down on the edge of the bed, crossing your legs, looking at him like he was a math problem that had suddenly become really interesting.
“I mean… what are you actually scared of, Trick?” you asked, tilting your head. “Is there… someone you like?”
Patrick froze, blue eyes shining somewhere between panic and embarrassment.“What— what? No! No… there’s no one. Why— why would you ask?”
You shrugged again. “That would explain… all of this,” you let out a small laugh. “And I know there is someone. You’re really bad at lying.”
Patrick swallowed, clearly uncomfortable, and looked away toward the window. “Well… maybe there is someone,” he muttered, his voice low and shaky. “I don’t… I don’t know… it’s complicated.”
“Yeah,” you said, a little quieter than before. “I get that.”
You weren’t going to deny it— you felt a small sting in your chest when he said that. Even if you didn’t want to admit it, part of you had been hoping Patrick would say there was no one. That it was just a phase, him wanting to meet girls without taking it too seriously.
Or maybe you were hoping he’d say that, after all this time, you were the one he liked.
“But like I said… it’s… it’s complicated,” he added, tripping over his words just to break the awkward silence that had settled between you. “I’m not even sure I actually like her.”
“How complicated?” you pressed, not really understanding why you kept pushing. You wanted to know, even though you knew anything coming out of his mouth could hurt… a lot.
“I mean— it’s not like you’re into some married thirty-something, right?” you joked, trying to lighten it.
Patrick turned red instantly, shaking his head. “No! God, no…” He let out a nervous laugh, eyes fixed on his own hands. “It’s not that…”
“Then what? C’mon, it can’t be that scandalous.”
“I… I’d rather change the subject…”
“Hey—” you started, your tone making him look at you — fast, nervous, but look at you all the same. “I don’t know who you like, but… she’s lucky. Like, really lucky.”
“Lucky?” he repeated, incredulous, like the word was way too big for him.
“Patrick, you’re sensitive, you’re kind, you pay attention to people…” The words came out on their own; it had always been way too easy to talk him up. “And you play guitar and drums. Honestly? That’s pretty hot to most girls.”
“Hot...?” Patrick laughed, but his head dropped, and the sound came out crooked, almost hurt. “Please, ____… don’t say that.”
“What? What did I say?” you asked, genuinely confused.
“You say those things just because… you’re trying to make me feel better.” He swallowed. “I know it’s not real. You don’t actually think that about me.”
“And why are you so sure about that?” you insisted, not breaking eye contact.
“Because I just know.” His voice got small. “I’m not that kind of guy… the kind girls fall for.”
Before you could reply, he kept going, fast, clearly trying to dodge the moment: “Whatever. You wanna play something? Mom got me Ultimate Mortal Kombat 3 a couple days ago.”
You watched him for a few seconds. That quiet disappointment hiding in his blue eyes poked right at your chest. And even though playing sounded tempting, you’d already made up your mind.
He stood up and started toward the console, but you stopped him, grabbing his hand.
“No.”
He looked at you, surprised, like he’d never expected you to say that to him.
“I’m gonna help you with this, whether you like it or not.” You walked over to the stereo, flipped through Patrick’s CDs, and picked one with slow songs. You popped it in and hit play. A soft track filled the room — the kind they’d play at any school dance.
Patrick frowned. “What are you doing?”
“What has to be done,” you said, crossing your arms. “I’m not letting you tear yourself down like this. You are going to prom with that girl, even if I have to spend all day teaching you how to—”
“No… please, _____. I don’t wanna dance.”
He cut you off, backing away. Like, literally retreating like a scared little bird.
“Sorry, Patrick, but here’s the thing: at prom, people dance.” You laughed, raising an eyebrow.
Patrick froze as the music filled the room, like the air had suddenly gotten too thick to breathe. He wiped his hands on his jeans. Again. And again. Like he was fighting his own body.
“I don’t know how to dance,” he muttered. “And… and my hands are sweaty. Like, really sweaty. I can’t touch anyone like this.”
“Patrick, relax. No one’s ever died from sweaty hands.”
He swallowed so hard you could almost hear it. “But—”
Before he could keep going, you took his hands and pulled him closer. “Shhh, stop talking and put your hands here,” you laughed, guiding them to your waist.
Patrick went completely still, watching every move you made with focused panic.
“This feels like a personal space violation,” he muttered.
“That’s kinda the point,” you replied, resting your hands on his shoulders. “It’s supposed to be romantic.”
You took a slow step, setting the rhythm. Patrick tried to follow, but he moved half a second late, making both of you stumble.
He took a deep breath and tried again — still awkward, but paying more attention to you than the music. You could feel his fingers at your waist, tense at first… then a little less.
“At dances,” you explained as you swayed gently, “girls usually rest their head on their date’s chest. You know — romantic moment, straight out of a ’90s movie.”
Patrick let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah, okay, but…” he glanced down, “I’m kinda… too short for that.”
“Patrick,” you said, holding his gaze. “That doesn’t matter.”
And without warning him, you rested your head against his shoulder.
Patrick froze. Like—full stop. He forgot how to breathe. His fingers tightened at your waist for a second, unsure, startled, like he was afraid he might break something.
“See?” you murmured, not lifting your head. “Still works.”
“Yeah…” he said quietly. “Yeah, I guess it does.”
The music kept playing, soft, wrapping around you both. The movements turned smoother, almost natural.
And then the song ended.
You didn’t pull away.
Truth was, neither of you wanted to.
He didn’t let go of your waist, and you didn’t move your hands from his shoulders.
You just stayed there, sharing the same air, like moving would crack something fragile. Something important.
And then — either the universe being sneaky or just dumb luck — the next track on the CD started playing.
Damn U, by Prince.
Soft. Slow. Stupidly romantic.
You couldn’t help a small laugh.
“Well… if this song plays at prom, you’ve basically got it in the bag,” you murmured, your head still resting on his shoulder.
“I don’t know about that… unless I learn how to dance without embarrassing myself,” he laughed, sounding oddly calmer.
You lifted your head slowly, just enough to look at him. “Honestly? That was… actually pretty good.”
“Seriously?” he asked, suddenly brighter — like a puppy that just got praised.
You nodded, smiling.
Without really noticing, you kept slow dancing, moving to Prince’s syrupy melody. Patrick looked calm, but his heart was pounding hard against his chest with you this close.
Your eyes met for a second, and he couldn’t help it — he glanced at your lips for the tiniest moment, and it completely threw him off.
“____,” he murmured, soft and careful, like he was scared you’d disappear if he spoke too loud. “I have a question… maybe… kind of a dumb one.”
“Tell me.”
“When do you— I mean…” His words tripped over each other, and he let out a nervous little laugh before going on. “When do you know it’s the right moment to… you know… kiss… kiss a girl?”
The question caught you off guard, and you felt that sharp twinge again, right in the pit of your stomach.
“About that…” you replied with a slightly sad smile. “I guess you just… feel it, you know?”
He nodded, his gaze awkwardly bouncing between your eyes and your lips.
But your mind was already somewhere else to really notice.
“Yeah, I get it… since it’s my first time, I mean…” he went on, scratching the back of his neck, nervous. “I just… don’t wanna mess it up.”
“Do it when you feel safe,” you said softly. “No rushing it. Just… wait for that moment when you’re close and you catch each other’s eyes.”
And then you really looked at him.
There was no way not to.
Patrick looked so vulnerable it made your chest tighten.
He bit his lower lip, nodding at every word you said like he was trying to memorize it all.
His fingers tensed at your waist, warm through the fabric of your shirt. Every syllable out of your mouth was a sweet kind of torture; he was painfully aware of how close you were. He could smell your perfume — something vanilla, something coconut — wrapping around him, pulling him in a little more.
He leaned in, just an inch. And it felt like the whole world leaned with him.
You stopped breathing. Literally.
You stayed perfectly still, just to make sure this was actually happening.
And then… he stopped.
A spike of insecurity froze him halfway. He pulled back with a nervous huff, eyes wide.
“Shit, I’m sorry, it’s just—” he swallowed, ears burning red. “I don’t know if I should… I mean… can I?”
You turned your face slightly to the side, letting out a soft laugh you couldn’t fully stop.
That laugh hit Patrick like a punch to the chest.
He pulled away immediately. “I–I’m sorry… I’m such an idiot,” he muttered, mostly to himself.
He walked over to the bed and dropped onto the edge, elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands. Completely embarrassed, totally wrecked, he muttered a few choice insults about himself under his breath.
You walked over slowly, your chest tight with a mix of tenderness, disbelief, and way too many feelings at once.
“Patrick…” you called.
He didn’t answer.
You knelt in front of him to be at eye level and rested your hands on his knees. He still wouldn’t look at you.
Gently, you took his wrists and pulled his hands away from his face. “Hey…”
“No, please...” he said quickly, shaking his head a little. “I’m so sorry, I-I I don't want to hear...” The words spilled out fast, panicked. “I just… I thought—”
You didn’t let him finish.
You cupped his face and kissed him.
No thinking. Just did it.
Patrick froze at first, like his brain completely short-circuited. Then he reacted, hands coming up to your arms, touching you shyly, like he still wasn’t sure this was real.
His lips moved just a little — uncoordinated… but honest.
It was a short kiss.
No tongues, no rush, no gasping for air.
Just a simple, innocent kiss, full of everything you’d both been holding back for way too long.
When you pulled away, you were still inches from his face.
The song had ended and the room was quiet.
Patrick blinked a couple of times, still processing what just happened. “Wow… did that really just—” he didn’t finish the sentence.
This time, you both laughed at the same time.
“Sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to be so… awkward.”
You rolled your eyes at that. “God, stop apologizing. It wasn’t awkward. It was… cute. In our own way.”
Patrick let out a short breathy laugh, clicking his tongue. “Sure,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It's not awkward at all.”
The silence that followed didn’t feel heavy. It felt easy. New.
Patrick dropped his gaze for a second and, shyly, leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours, like that was the safest place in the world.
“So…” you said with a small smile, “you said you had Ultimate Mortal Kombat?”
“Three,” he answered, suddenly way more animated, grinning as he got up to hook the console up.
You settled onto the bed like always. Backs against the wall, knees bent, the screen glowing in front of you.
Only this time, it was different.
Your legs ended up tangled without either of you pointing it out.
Your thigh pressed against his. His knee resting lightly over yours.
Neither of you said a word about it. Patrick handed you a controller, and when your fingers brushed, he didn’t pull away right away.
He smiled to himself, eyes on the screen… but clearly more aware of you than before.
“Get ready to lose,” you said, scooting a little closer so your arms touched.
“Tch, says the number one loser,” he shot back, just as competitive as ever.
And while the fight raged on the screen, your bodies stayed relaxed, intertwined, comfortable.
Like this new space between you had always been there… just waiting for you both to step into it.
You weren’t just best friends anymore.
But you didn’t need to know exactly what you were, either.
