Patrick Stump Imagines

Sick

A/N: An update with a sick (Y/N) because I am really sick too. Enjoy!

•••

"Patrick, get up here," you ordered with your groggy voice. You heard a sigh come from downstairs before they were replaced with footsteps on the wooden stairs.

He popped his head in the room. "What do you want this time?"

"Chocolates. Ice cream. Fruits. All of the Fall Out Boy albums. Rest. Netflix. Quite possibly the world."

He sighed. "Are you serious?"

"Well, shithead, if you weren't ignorant enough, then you'd know I'm not," you remarked. He rolled his eyes and glared at you.

"Just tell me what you want."

"Food. That's all I ever wanted," you said with a tone of astonishment in your voice as if you were a Disney Princess who just saw her prince. "And all I'll ever need."

"That's all?"

You nodded your head like a little kid as you pulled the blanket higher, covering more of your body. "Why do you seem so amazed?"

His eyes widened as he sucked in a breath in frustration. "Because for the past five hours, you've been asking me to get you shit that you don't even need just because you're sick."

"Well, you just wasted ten seconds ranting about something I don't care about. Now, go get me my food!"

"From your fridge?" he inquired before peeling himself off of the doorway.

"No. From Pete's asshole."

He groaned in frustration before heading down the stairs and making his way towards the kitchen. He took the whole cake you had and sliced a piece of it, putting it on a clean plate afterwards. Then he took an apple and put it there, along with some other food he knew you liked.

He started walking up the stairs and headed to your room where he saw you running to the bathroom. Worried, he put the tray down on the doorway and walked in on you puking.

"Oh my god, (Y/N), are you okay?" he asked with a genuine tone of concern in his voice.

"Does it actually look like I'm okay?" you asked sarcastically. He rolled his eyes and patted your back.

"Do you want to go back to bed?"

You nodded, expecting him to just take your hand and guide you to your bed. But instead, he bowed and swept you off of your feet, carrying you to your bed. You screamed in shock before being put carefully down on the bed, Patrick pulling the blanket over you and arranging your pillow.

"What's up with this?" you asked, internally swearing that you started to blush. He brushed the hair that covered your forehead to one side and looked at you in the eye.

"Just wanted to check if you're alright." He had a playful grin on his face as he laid beside you afterwards.

You shook your head at him. "No. You'll catch my fever."

"It's okay. I'd rather catch a fever than hate myself forever for not doing this."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Not doing what?"

"This."

He leaned in quickly for a kiss, your mouths touching in perfect contact. His lips felt perfect against yours as you felt yourself kiss back, but pulled away after sudden realization.

He blushed after. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry (Y/N). I know you don't like me that way and—"

"Shush," you ordered. "I do. It's just, there's this one thing."

"What?"

"I just threw up, you nugget!"