Patrick Stump and Pete Wentz Imagines

Patrick - I never knew who you were.

You parents kick you out of your- well their house. 

You had no where to go. 

No boyfriend. No friends. (Ok I sound mean rn)

You were now officially homeless.

-

You go to a 7-Eleven, but as you're paying, you realize... you have no money. 

You apologize, and go outside.

Slowly, you walk to the side of the 7-Eleven building and side down the wall, beginning to sob.

You wrap your arms around your legs, and place your face in your knees.

You just sit there, still sobbing. 

"Hey, are you ok?" Someone asks.

You suppose they're not talking to you.

Someone taps you on the shoulder. You look up to see a guy, with blonde hair and green eyes.

"Are you ok?" The guy asks again.

"Not really," you reply. 

"Here," he says, offering you some chocolate.

"No thank you," you say.

"C'mon," he says. "it's not poison."

He breaks off a piece and hands it to you.

You take the chocolate and nibble on it.

"Where are you sitting outside a 7-Eleven?" He asks.

"Long story," you say. "and I'm pretty sure you don't want to hear it."

"Hmm, let's see," he says. "I'm sitting outside a convenient store, talking to a sad stranger, on my day off. I'm pretty sure I want to hear it."

"Ok," you say.

"Before you tell me," he says. "do you want to come back to my place? I mean, it's better than outside."

"Sure," you say, thinking the guy looks trustworthy enough.

He helps you up and you walk to his car. 

You get in.

He starts the car and pulls out the parking lot.

"My name's Patrick," Patrick says. 

"I'm (Y/N)," you say.

"You have a pretty name," Patrick says. 

"Thanks," you say, slightly blushing.

"So, tell me your story," Patrick insists. 

"This morning," you begin.

(TOO LAZY TO WRITE A HUGE FRICKIN STORY) 

Patrick seems to be listening to your story.

You were half way through when you reach Patrick's house.

You get out of his car and stare in aw at his house.

It was beautiful.

"I see you like my house," Patrick says.

"Yeah," you say.

Patrick escorts you into his house. 

You two walk to the living room and sit on the couch. 

You continue the story. 

"And next thing I know I'm in a really nice house, sitting with a cute guy," you end.

Patrick just hugs you. 

"Well, (Y/N)," Patrick says. "you can stay here for as long as you need. It doesn't bother me." 

"Thank you so much, Patrick," you say.

"No problem," Patrick says.

The next day, you'd found enough money to buy a magazine.

You flip through the pages when something catches your eyes. 

An articles reads: "Musician, Patrick Stump was seen yesterday (July 13, 2015) picking up a girl outside of a local 7-Eleven. Then, he soon proceeds to bring her to his home. Does Mr. Stump have a new girl toy?"

There was a picture under it. It was of you.

Patrick walks into the living room to see you sitting on the couch staring at the picture of yourself in the magazine.

"I never knew who you were," you say. "And I still don't know."

"I'm a singer," Patrick admits. "I'm a lead singer in a band, and I also make music on my own. I'm famous. But, you don't have to think of me differently. I'm still a person."

"I know, Patrick," you say. "I'm not going to think of you any differently. But you could've just told me who you were."

"I wanted to," Patrick says. "But, I've learned not to do that."

"Well then," you say.

"Are we good?" Patrick asks.

"Yeah, we're good," you say. 

"Thank god," Patrick says. 

He pulls something out of his pockets. "Chocolate."

"No," you say. 

"C'MON," Patrick says. "THERE NO POISON IN IT."

He breaks off a couple pieces and hands them to you.

Then, you just eat it. "See?"

"Yeah," you say. "But, it can still hurt you."

"How can chocolate hurt you?" Patrick asks, and immediately regrets asking, because you start throwing the pieces at him.

THE END.