Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy
Something Special
4 reviewsPete's got something to show Patrick. Something very special. PETERICK one-shot. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
2Ambiance
Something Special
“You’re eyes shut, Trixie?”
His voice, the voice of an angel in a devil’s body, giggles through the darkness of my clamped eyelids and forces a smile to my lips, just like his voice always does. Everything about him just makes me happy, or at least want to be happy because I know that’s what he wants me to be. I don’t think that there’s ever been a time in my life, no matter how low I’ve been feeling, when Pete Wentz hasn’t been able to make me smile. Even when he’s found me beaten and bruised in the boy’s locker room at school, his tenderly caring fingers have always stroked my tears away into the smile that was once a rarity before he came along.
So what if I sound like some lovesick teenager; I’ve been sounding this way since the age of thirteen, when a fifteen-year-old Pete first decided to take me under his wing at school, with anything concerning my boyfriend and I’m not about to stop sounding like it any time soon. I love him way too much for that.
I nod in response to his question, reminding myself that Pete can get childishly impatient when excited like he is right now for reasons unknown to me, my trilby slipping forward over my forehead in the process. In response I hear that warm chuckle I feel in love with three years ago shortly followed by a set of playful fingers flipping the rim of my hat up above my blonde flop of hair that some could consider to be a fringe.
“What are you up to, Peterpan?” My tone is full of fun, just like my fun-sized boyfriend, and the beam pulling at my mouth amplifies as he strokes a hand over my back like moonlight over two stargazing lovers.
“I’m showing you something special.” He pauses and I hear his sock-muted footsteps scurry around as though his life depends on his intricate steps. “It’s the most specialist thing in the whole wide world to me anyway!”
He sounds so excited that I can’t help but let my heartbeat race in anticipation; sure, Pete’s known to overreact to pretty much everything in some way or another, but the way he’s acting right now is something else. It’s not him exploding in volcanic anger at the sight of me getting beaten up, nor is it him blossoming into over-exaggerated applause after hearing me sing the poems he writes for me. This is him being genuinely bubbling over his red-and-black-haired top over something. Something that he wants to share with me.
And that in itself is enough to make me forget the earlier words of my tormentors.
Not at school, but on Facebook; I can’t even escape their taunts in the privacy of my own home anymore. My own damn iPod has turned against me, my one place of complete refuge outside of Pete’s arms brightly showing me the endless flurry of insults. But, as always, Pete made me smile and now he’s making me forget all about those motherfuckers who are stupid enough to hurt me despite my fierce guard-dog boyfriend.
“Okay…” Pete’s artist-like hands grip my shoulders and turn me to face, what I think is, south. “Open!”
“Oh… Um, nice mirror, Peterpan.” I’m trying my hardest to keep out the disappointment at the so-called ‘special’ thing being some drab mirror framed by plain oak. No fancy patterns or anything; just a slab of glass outlined by a slither of dead tree. “Really, it’s, uh, very… mirror-y.”
Pete just wraps an arm around my shoulders, making me snuggle into him through reflex, and lets out a delighted guffaw at my answer. If this were anyone else holding me in front of one of the dullest pieces of furniture I’ve ever laid eyes and laughing like a maniac, I might be more than a little bit frightened. Not with Pete though. With Pete insanity is the norm. It’s when he’s acting halfway normal that I start to get scared.
“Trixie, Trixie, Trixie. You silly boy.” He all but skips to the mirror and starts pointing at it frantically from the side, clearly doing his best to keep out of the reflection. “Look at it. Look at my most specialist thing!”
I shake my head a little in adoring disbelief and take a closer look, my eyes squinting in desperation to find whatever it is that my precious Pete wants me to find. But all I can see is some podgy, overweight loser squinting back at me. I sigh, forcing my too-big eyes to choke on the grotesque image of their owner. My hair’s greasy even though I only washed it this morning, my cheeks puff out too far and my skin looks too pasty for it to be cool and ghostly or even healthy for a boy of sixteen. How a face like mine ever ended up being constantly glued to a face like Pete’s own tanned perfection is beyond me; it really is a story of Beauty and the Beast, isn’t it?
“See it yet?”
My thoughts snap against my mind like some kind of metaphorical elastic and pull me out of my self-hate like the buoyancy aid that Pete is constantly being to my mentality. Unable to form an answer after being dragged into such deep concentration I simply shake my head, once more dislodging my beloved trilby.
“Wanna clue?”
He dances back over to me; arm wrapped this time around my too-wide waist and sending fireworks up my spine. I nod my response, this time muted by the tingling pleasantness of the way his fingers are positioned to be under my t-shirt and tickling like minnows on my cool skin.
“It’s in the reflection.” He stops, swamping me in one of his trademark panda (not bear) hugs, and plants a kiss on my icy cheek. “And right now it’s in my arms.”
Everything stops.
Well, not everything; my heart is beating at least twenty times quicker, exploding in adulation, and Pete’s lips are butterflying all over my neck like a fast-spreading heat rash.
“M-me?”
He gazes up at me, honey-sweet eyes like two whirlpools of pleasure dragging me into something that I would die to drown in.
“I love you and you love me, Patrick. It doesn’t get much more special than that.”
A/N: This is my first attempt at a Peterick, so sorry if it sucks. Please let me know what you think! :)
“You’re eyes shut, Trixie?”
His voice, the voice of an angel in a devil’s body, giggles through the darkness of my clamped eyelids and forces a smile to my lips, just like his voice always does. Everything about him just makes me happy, or at least want to be happy because I know that’s what he wants me to be. I don’t think that there’s ever been a time in my life, no matter how low I’ve been feeling, when Pete Wentz hasn’t been able to make me smile. Even when he’s found me beaten and bruised in the boy’s locker room at school, his tenderly caring fingers have always stroked my tears away into the smile that was once a rarity before he came along.
So what if I sound like some lovesick teenager; I’ve been sounding this way since the age of thirteen, when a fifteen-year-old Pete first decided to take me under his wing at school, with anything concerning my boyfriend and I’m not about to stop sounding like it any time soon. I love him way too much for that.
I nod in response to his question, reminding myself that Pete can get childishly impatient when excited like he is right now for reasons unknown to me, my trilby slipping forward over my forehead in the process. In response I hear that warm chuckle I feel in love with three years ago shortly followed by a set of playful fingers flipping the rim of my hat up above my blonde flop of hair that some could consider to be a fringe.
“What are you up to, Peterpan?” My tone is full of fun, just like my fun-sized boyfriend, and the beam pulling at my mouth amplifies as he strokes a hand over my back like moonlight over two stargazing lovers.
“I’m showing you something special.” He pauses and I hear his sock-muted footsteps scurry around as though his life depends on his intricate steps. “It’s the most specialist thing in the whole wide world to me anyway!”
He sounds so excited that I can’t help but let my heartbeat race in anticipation; sure, Pete’s known to overreact to pretty much everything in some way or another, but the way he’s acting right now is something else. It’s not him exploding in volcanic anger at the sight of me getting beaten up, nor is it him blossoming into over-exaggerated applause after hearing me sing the poems he writes for me. This is him being genuinely bubbling over his red-and-black-haired top over something. Something that he wants to share with me.
And that in itself is enough to make me forget the earlier words of my tormentors.
Not at school, but on Facebook; I can’t even escape their taunts in the privacy of my own home anymore. My own damn iPod has turned against me, my one place of complete refuge outside of Pete’s arms brightly showing me the endless flurry of insults. But, as always, Pete made me smile and now he’s making me forget all about those motherfuckers who are stupid enough to hurt me despite my fierce guard-dog boyfriend.
“Okay…” Pete’s artist-like hands grip my shoulders and turn me to face, what I think is, south. “Open!”
“Oh… Um, nice mirror, Peterpan.” I’m trying my hardest to keep out the disappointment at the so-called ‘special’ thing being some drab mirror framed by plain oak. No fancy patterns or anything; just a slab of glass outlined by a slither of dead tree. “Really, it’s, uh, very… mirror-y.”
Pete just wraps an arm around my shoulders, making me snuggle into him through reflex, and lets out a delighted guffaw at my answer. If this were anyone else holding me in front of one of the dullest pieces of furniture I’ve ever laid eyes and laughing like a maniac, I might be more than a little bit frightened. Not with Pete though. With Pete insanity is the norm. It’s when he’s acting halfway normal that I start to get scared.
“Trixie, Trixie, Trixie. You silly boy.” He all but skips to the mirror and starts pointing at it frantically from the side, clearly doing his best to keep out of the reflection. “Look at it. Look at my most specialist thing!”
I shake my head a little in adoring disbelief and take a closer look, my eyes squinting in desperation to find whatever it is that my precious Pete wants me to find. But all I can see is some podgy, overweight loser squinting back at me. I sigh, forcing my too-big eyes to choke on the grotesque image of their owner. My hair’s greasy even though I only washed it this morning, my cheeks puff out too far and my skin looks too pasty for it to be cool and ghostly or even healthy for a boy of sixteen. How a face like mine ever ended up being constantly glued to a face like Pete’s own tanned perfection is beyond me; it really is a story of Beauty and the Beast, isn’t it?
“See it yet?”
My thoughts snap against my mind like some kind of metaphorical elastic and pull me out of my self-hate like the buoyancy aid that Pete is constantly being to my mentality. Unable to form an answer after being dragged into such deep concentration I simply shake my head, once more dislodging my beloved trilby.
“Wanna clue?”
He dances back over to me; arm wrapped this time around my too-wide waist and sending fireworks up my spine. I nod my response, this time muted by the tingling pleasantness of the way his fingers are positioned to be under my t-shirt and tickling like minnows on my cool skin.
“It’s in the reflection.” He stops, swamping me in one of his trademark panda (not bear) hugs, and plants a kiss on my icy cheek. “And right now it’s in my arms.”
Everything stops.
Well, not everything; my heart is beating at least twenty times quicker, exploding in adulation, and Pete’s lips are butterflying all over my neck like a fast-spreading heat rash.
“M-me?”
He gazes up at me, honey-sweet eyes like two whirlpools of pleasure dragging me into something that I would die to drown in.
“I love you and you love me, Patrick. It doesn’t get much more special than that.”
A/N: This is my first attempt at a Peterick, so sorry if it sucks. Please let me know what you think! :)
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