Patrick Stump Imagines

Lies

A/N: Something different inspired from a video I watched online. Enjoy!

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• Your POV •

I smiled at my father as bright as I always did. He let go of me from the hug and sent me off to school. I didn't see why it was necessary that he did that, but all I knew was that because he was proud of me. I was always a straight A student, and never got a failing grade ever in my life. He looked like he was expecting something more, but a hug and a kiss on a cheek was all I could give him, considering there was no special occasion I could remember.

Let me tell you about my dad. His name is Patrick Stump, lead vocalist of his best friend's band, Fall Out Boy. Considering that he was rich beyond imagination, I never really worried about anything because he gave me everything. But there is something odd that I have been thinking about for years.

He's only 7 years older than me.

True, odd. I don't possibly see why a seven-year-old could possibly reproduce, since his mind should be focused on trucks and playsets and not... you know.

I disregarded it, thinking he was lying that he was 25 and in reality, he was older. But his looks were impossible to be mistaken as more than a 25-year-old. Damn, those blue eyes that were the brightest, his blonde hair, his glasses, and his signature fedora made him look as young as me.

I don't remember being an orphan, too.

I loved how he looks and him overall, but I still continue to wonder.

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I walked past the corridors, greeting a few people before heading off home on the school bus. The roads seemed to reciprocate as to which tree was which and grass was everywhere within sight; all calm and peaceful, yet boring. I slept through the ride, and found myself inside my room. I looked around, seeing the four familiar walls greeting me every time I woke up. I started to wonder how in the world I got there, but left it in the back of my head to wonder about later. I had so many questions in mind. My curiosity led me to go downstairs and ask my father about this, and my eyes scanned the room as soon as I got down.

My father was writing something on his journal, and it seemed so private and fragile that if a single word slips out of it, his life was ruined. I sneakily tip-toed into the kitchen and silently opened the door, forgetting the questions I had in a meanwhile, looking at the choices of food left inside. There were a lot, and some even from other countries from my dad's tours, but I settled for Nutella and tried sneaking back into my room as silent as I could, but he still turned and saw me, causing me to shriek.

"(Y/N) Stump! What are you doing, sneaking up like that?!" he exclaimed. I was used to his sudden outbursts so I just sighed in frustration at his accusations.

"I wasn't. Now, will you excuse me, I would like to go to my room now," I said, walking towards the stairs, but another one of his outbursts stopped me.

"No. Come down here. Now." His voice was sterner than I've ever heard, and I was starting to get scared. I took a seat beside him and put the jar of Nutella down on the coffee table. "Have you ever heard of privacy, young woman?"

"Yes, father," I dragged out the last word in an attempt to mock him, but it made his expression was serious.

"Have some respect. I've taught you so much and this is what I get? I didn't raise you to be a disrespectful bitch."

I was surprised that he called me a bitch. I was his only friend when he was feeling depressed, and this.

"What's so special about that fucking journal that you keep anyway? Is it worth calling your daughter a bitch?" I stared him down, trying to shame him. "You know what? I'm going upstairs to be alone, since I don't want to be with people who made me think that I was worth it, then months later, calls me a bitch. Goodbye!" I walked towards the stairs again, but he stopped me.