Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance

All Bets Are Off

by DisenchatedDestroya 6 reviews

In which Pete Wentz is Cupid, William Beckett is pricey and Mikey Way is oblivious. One-shot. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst,Drama,Romance - Characters: Gerard Way,Mikey Way - Published: 2012-07-18 - Updated: 2012-07-19 - 3867 words - Complete

All Bets Are Off

It is an often told joke amongst Pete Wentz and his friends that he runs something of a match-making service; the first example of this being when he pushed Brendon Urie to ask that Ryan Ross kid out on a date, then it was him setting his own vocalist up with that of My Chemical Romance.

It is also an often told joke among Pete’s friends that any relationship started with a helping hand from the bassist will never, ever last. Brendon and Ryan lasted for all of one summer, right up until the older of the two got the hots for some dancer and realised that he bats for both teams, and Patrick left Gerard’s bed pretty much as soon as the Pete-bought alcohol left his system after his first (and only) night in it.

Now, Pete would very much like to think that he can succeed at anything from song-writing to hopscotch because, well, he likes to prove all of his doubters wrong in order to feed his beloved ego.

Which is why he is determined to set his best friend and fellow bassist Mikey Way up with a good singer friend of his. And then he’s determined to see that the relationship lasts. It’s not just that he’s arrogant enough to think that he can play god with the younger bassist’s love life, but it’s also a matter of personal honour; Pete is well aware that everyone thinks he’s incapable of setting two compatible partners up with each other and he is also well aware that his ego will never forgive him if he doesn’t force them all to choke on their stupid words.

Also, Patrick’s bet him fifty dollars that William Beckett will never fall for Mikey Way. And, let’s face it, when has Pete ever been known not to do unspeakable deeds for money?


“So, Willy, wha-“

“Call me that again and I’ll fucking throttle you, Wentz.”

Pete looks down into his steaming hot chocolate, watching each individual granule of the cocoa powder garnish dissolve into the milky frothiness of it. He knows that William’s only joking, or at least hopes he is, but there’s a certain sharp edge to his younger friend’s tone that does nothing for his nerves.

Nerves? Pete motherfucking Wentz; nervous?

Yes. Very much so. Because Mikey Way is about to walk into Starbucks and, if Pete doesn’t act quickly, will be slammed into having drinks with both Pete and his companion. Which is a bad thing because Pete wants it to just be Mikey and William. After all, what’s more romantic than coffee on a cold morning?

Pete doesn’t know the answer to that, but he does know what is less romantic. Sitting opposite some bed-headed beauty with a roaring hangover and a mood to match the fiery look in his eyes.

So here are his options as Pete sees them; calm down his friend before Mikey gets here in approximately four minutes, make some lame excuse to leave and pray for the best or, his least favourite option, call the whole thing off.

“Geez, Bilvy. Cool it.” It’s nothing short of a miracle that Pete’s voice sounds like it isn’t the least bit under pressure. “Nice coffee?”

He can’t help but squirm as William scrutinizes him, picking apart every detail of his being as though regarding some strange mythical beast, and then nods to communicate his approval of his overpriced caramel latte with whipped cream and sprinkles on top.

Well, Pete said he’d pay so why not push the figurative boat out, Will thought.

“You’re up to something, Wentz.” When all Pete does is raise his eyebrows in mock ignorance, William nods again, but more to himself than anyone else. “You’re making small talk and fidgeting like a bitch in heat.” He empties a sachet of sugar into his already sickly drink, stirring it meticulously to draw out Pete’s agonizing sense of comprehension in order to make the older man squirm. “So, what’s going down?”

Before Pete can even start to evaluate the situation like he normally would at a time like this, he spots a familiar grey beanie bobbing along across the high street. Meaning that it’s time for Pete to do something that he isn’t very good at in the slightest; think fast.

So he delves into his wallet and pulls out a crinkled twenty dollar bill, laying it on the table with a slam loud enough to make the self-assured guy sat opposite him jump at least a mile into the air.

“I’ve told you before, Sweetheart, my ass ain’t for sale.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Willy.” William scowls like a cat with a trapped tail, but Pete shushes him before any sharp words can fly from his lips. “In a few seconds time Mikey Way from My Chem is gonna walk in here and I need you to charm the pants off of him. Literally.”

William eyes the bill with a slight hint of interest and then moves his unwavering stare to Pete, his sly smirk making it obvious how much seeing the older one suffer gives him dangerous amounts of pleasure. He scrapes his finger around the rim of his mug to collect the froth before sucking on it thoughtfully as though in an annoyingly deep state of contemplation.

What he’s actually in is purgatory, not that he’d ever let Pete know that, because of the fact that he’s never had to think of Mikey Way before at all and, now that he does, he can’t help but think that the skinny matchstick boy is, in actual fact, what he would consider to be something of a god.

But he can see that Pete wants this, needs it almost, and that he’ll be willing to pay more than twenty bucks to get it done.

“That all you got, Wentz?”

The little bell on the door rings out, letting Pete know that he’s got mere microseconds left before he loses both his bet and his beloved money.

“I would have more if someone hadn’t insisted on getting a five dollar sugar-induced-coma parading as a coffee.” His sharp snap is curtly followed by William making a move to leave and Mikey looking around in search of Pete, in turn forcing the oldest of them to remember exactly what is riding on this; his ego. “Look, it’s a bet I’ve got going with ‘Trick. Do a good job and I’ll make it worth your while.”

William looks to be thinking for all of two seconds before a tall, lanky man comes running over to them with a huge grin on his face and a worn grey beanie covering his feathery hair.

“Well hello there, Mikey. I’m William Beckett, but my friends and cute guys call me Will.” The charmer pauses, throwing the, seemingly staring, man a wink for good measure. “You can call me Will.”

The look of flattered adulation on Mikey’s face, Pete thinks, makes it well worth the twenty dollar bribe.


“So, whatcha make of ol’ Bilvy?”

Pete’s voice is full of interest, fake and genuine in equal measure, his face bursting with pride at having done so well. He decided to stay for the coffee date so that he could make sure he got his twenty dollars’ worth out of his, admittedly somewhat untrustworthy, friend. And also partially because he likes seeing Mikey; they’ve been best buddies and sole members of the Sweet Little Dudes club since Warped Tour, after all.

For William’s part, he went above and beyond. In fact, if Pete didn’t know any better he’d go as far as to say Will was enjoying making Mikey smile and blush and giggle like a school girl with his not-so-subtle come-ons. And, if Pete didn’t know any better, he could swear that Will was as thrilled as he made himself out to be when Mikey agreed to give over his number.

But Pete does know better. Or, at least, he thinks he does.

“Bilvy? Oh, you mean Will?” Pete nods, eyes huge in anticipation. “Yeah, he’s pretty cool.” Mikey looks down, a small blush shading his cheeks as he chokes out a nervous laugh. “Very cool, actually.”

They walk on a little down the road, past an old married couple sat feeding the birds which somehow seems to fit the situation for reasons neither bassist can fathom. When they get to the entrance of the park where they’re heading in order to check out the so-called greatest ice-cream place this side of ever, Mikey stops dead in his tracks.

And pulls out his cell, face igniting with a sun-belittling look of glee when he flips it open to read the screen.

“Who is it?” Pete asks, his nosy side getting the better of him as it always does. “Must be someone pretty special to make you smile like that.”

Pete knows full well who it is; it’s William Beckett. Because he paid William another ten bucks to text Mikes this morning, twenty-four hours after their first meeting, in order to keep the romance going.

Some people might question the moral ethics of paying someone to make your best friend love them, not Pete though. And that’s not because Pete has no moral ethics, which he doesn’t. It’s because he honestly does think Mikey and William could work amazingly well together. Incredibly amazingly well in fact.

So incredibly amazingly well that he’s already started writing his speech for when he’s the best man at their wedding, which he inevitably will be.

Mikey finishes reading the message, eyes practically glowing as he does so, before giving Pete the most blinding grin he’s ever seen. Something that the shorter man uses to reassure himself that he’s being nice, not mean, and a good friend; not the scheming bastard he felt like last night whilst contemplating his actions.

“It’s Will!” He squeals like a schoolgirl, something very un-Mikey-like, forcing Pete to smile along because, if he’s being honest, a lovesick Mikey is a ridiculously adorable sight. “I mean; it’s William Beckett.”


“Yeah. He wants to go out with me tonight.”

And that makes Pete want to perform some sort of high-octane dance. Because he didn’t pay Bilvy to do that.


“Wentz, Gerard Way here. Mikey’s big brother.”

Pete knows the stern tone well enough to not need reminding of it’s owner’s name and title. The icy tinge to the front man’s voice sends shivers buzzing up his spine due to it’s association with anger, association with the words Gerard yelled at Pete on Warped when the singer was convinced that Pete was fucking his brother.

A tone that Pete only managed to charm out of the older Way brother when he finally convinced him that there was no fucking involved over the Tour. Sure, there was blowing, but Gerard didn’t need to know that.

But the point still stands; the tone that Pete’s currently being subjected to is one of fierce accusation and, for once, Pete doesn’t even know what he’s being accused of.


“Yo, Gee! What’s going down, Buddy?” He all but yells into his cell, not caring that his tone is twenty octaves too high. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Cut the bullshit, Wentz. You know damn well why I’m calling you.” Gerard shoots back, instantly vaporising all sense of comradeship between the two rock stars. “William Beckett. He’s one of yours, isn’t he?”

Pete knew deep down that this was coming; the whole overprotective big brother cliché. He’d foreseen it as being his biggest obstacle with regards of getting Will into Mikey’s pants, quite rightly so, but that does nothing to stop Gerard’s audible hint of threat from scaring the living shit out of him.

He knew he’d been lucky to get this far without the Phone Call of Doom occurring, but that does nothing to ease Pete’s nerves. Which is probably why he’d tried to persuade Patrick that three months of unofficial dating counted as ‘successful matchmaking’. To anyone else it may well qualify, but not to ‘Trick.

No; Patrick needs insurance.

He needs Mikey Way to wake up naked, or at least boxer-less, next to an equally nude William Beckett before he’ll had over his money and admit defeat. And so far the most the pair has done is peck under the mistletoe at Christmas.

That in itself is a surprise for Pete. You see, he knows Will to have a fuck them and then fuck off philosophy when it comes to love, so why is he waiting so goddamn long?

Pete would like to think that it’s because there’s genuinely something tangible between his two friends that’s making Will want to wait.

But for the most part Pete just thinks that William’s trying to squeeze more money out of him, like last week when he had to give up thirty bucks to get the singer to take Mikes out to dinner at a sushi bar.

Sure, this bet is costing him more than he ever could have lost to Patrick in wealth, but in reality it’s saving something money can’t buy; an ego the size of Texas.

“Answer me, Pete.”

The growl brings the bassist back the present with a resounding thud, the words making him feel like a little kid watching a horror movie in the dark even though he knows that Gerard’s too far to be able to get him should the desire so arise. Which it most likely will, if history is to repeat itself as it has done so many times before.

“If by ‘one of mine’ you mean one of my pals, then yeah.” Pete sighs, trying to sound as nonchalant as his elevated heart rate will allow, and swallows past the sticky ball forming in his throat. “Bilvy and I go way back. Who wants to know?”

“Me. Obviously.” Gerard answers dryly, not missing a beat. “Tell me everything you know about the slimy bastard.”

Pete does nothing to fight off the guffaw that escapes him at Gerard’s disgusted tone. Mainly because he knows precisely what it means.

“Slimy bastard, eh? Let me guess; this is about him and Mikes, right?” The somehow heated silence gives Pete all the information he needs to know to tread carefully. “He’s a good kid. Bit of a diva when he wants to be, but otherwise he’s pretty awesome. Knows how to look after a boy, if you know what I mean.”

“Whatever. Just let him know that if he hurts Mikes, then he’ll have me and my band mates to answer to. And trust me; Bryar can do some brutal things with those drumsticks of his.”

Pete knows then that he’s getting somewhere; that William is making a decent sized impact in Mikey’s life.

He just hopes that Gerard doesn’t murder the poor boy before he can win his precious bet.


It was meant to be one of Pete Wentz’s famed parties, all alcohol and no shame, with everyone in attendance from Gabe Saporta to that guy living in the flat below Pete’s penthouse. But no; somebody somewhere along the line had accidently-on-purpose forgotten to hand out the invites. To all but three guests.

Meaning that there are only four people currently sat in Pete’s living room; Mikey Way, Patrick Stump, William Beckett and, of course, Pete himself.

Patrick’s in the armchair next to the couch, head lolled to the side and drunken snores slurring out of his nose like thunder every two seconds. The couch itself is occupied by the two people who Pete’s life has been revolving around for the past five months; William and Mikey.

Mikey’s completely dead to the world, curled up on William’s lap and sucking his thumb lightly in a way that makes Pete feel all sludgy inside because Mikey’s just the sort of person you want to glomp whenever he drifts off into dreamland. William is adding to the unbridled cuteness of the situation by cradling the tall man close, almost like someone would hold a new born baby, and using his right hand to trail loving patterns all over the sleeping man-boy’s back.

But then there’s William’s eyes and how they’re fixed on Mikey’s sleeping face as though he’s never seen anything more beautiful in all of his life. Perhaps he hasn’t. It wouldn’t be all that surprising if that was the case.

“Five months, Bilvy. Pretty impressive.” Pete remarks, keeping his voice low but just loud enough to be heard from his spot knelt by the blazing fireplace. “Thought you’d have screwed him by now.”

William just keeps his content gaze on Mikey, not even looking to his personal Cupid when he replies.

“Yeah, well, Mikey’s too good for that.” As the words sneak out he realises what he’s saying, who he’s saying it to, and snaps his head up before snatching his hand away from his charge. “What I meant to say was; I figured you’d pay me.”

“What?” Pete all but squeals in frustration. Not just because he wants to win this goddamn bet once and for all, but because it’s so blatantly obvious that Will’s head-over-heels for the boy sleeping in his lap. “I’ve given you over one hundred and fifty dollars in bribes as it is, and now you want me to pay you to do something that you fucking want to do?”

Will gently places Mikey on the couch, trying his best to disguise the care he puts into the action, and then slinks over to kneel next to Pete, a wicked grin consuming his devilish features. He knows Pete well enough by now to understand that nothing is more important to him than his pride.

And that no price is too high for him to keep it burning bright.

“You want to go out on stage and perform every night. You still get paid to do that.”

“Are you comparing screwing one of my best friends to playing a gig?” Pete can’t help but sound incredulous, the gravity of this entire thing hitting him properly for the first time since this whole betting business started.

Mikey’s sweet. Mikey’s innocent. Mikey deserves to be loved and to be cherished. Properly, not by someone who’s just doing it for a few extra bucks. Maybe if it wasn’t so obvious that the younger bassist’s fallen hard for Will Pete would have no problem with forking out another fifty or so, but he has.

Boy, has Mikey fallen and Pete will be damned if he’ll betray his best friend so deeply.

“Thirty, Wentz, and I’ll do it. Thirty dollars and I’ll fuck Way for you.”

Pete’s so close, he knows it, and every part of his mind is screaming at him to just agree and get it over with. But his heart is different to his mind and that wants to have a say too. His heart loves Mikey, his best friend, and wants nothing more than to protect him from getting broken.

But a bet’s a bet.

But a friend’s a friend.

“No, Beckett. This ends now.”

“B-but what about your bet?” William stutters, looking almost panicked as his eyes land on Mikey, his unofficial boyfriend. “You need me to fuck him, right? For your bet.”

“Screw the bet. I was wrong, okay? You and Mikey aren’t right for each other. Not at all. He’s way better than getting used by your sorry ass.”

If Pete had looked away from the dancing flames of the fire at that split second he would have been able to see a tear trailing down William’s face and his heart breaking behind his hurt-stretched eyes.

But he didn’t and instead he said something that he never thought he’d say.

“Fuck Mikey and I’ll fucking kill you, Beckett.”


“Pete! Pete, wake up!”

“Fuck off, Stumpy.”

“No, seriously; wake up! Unless you don’t want my fifty bucks…”

“Fifty bucks?”

“Y’know? From the bet.”

“What? They didn’t.”

“But they did. Fucking noisy it was too. Surprised you slept through it.”



Pete looks down to his hands. Or rather, to the over-packed envelope that’s just been placed there by a beaming William Beckett.

“It’s all there. All one-hundred-and-seventy-three dollars, ninety-three cents of it.” William’s smile turns to a lopsided smirk at the look of confusion that prances across Pete’s, usually self-assured, face. “Every penny of what you‘ve paid me to get with Mikey.”

It’s the morning after their little chat and Mikey’s still out for the count in the guest bedroom, which will need a change of sheets before anyone else sleeps in it, giving William enough time to save his ass from a scarily protective best friend.

Pete doesn’t think of himself as protective, not in the same sense that Gerard is, over Mikey; he just cares about the kid. But then again, it’s hard not to with someone like Mikey Way.


The bassist just nods, stuffing the envelope into his dressing gown pocket.

And then it hits.

“Oh.” He says again, this time with wide and fully seeing eyes. “Fucking oh!”

“Yeah.” William agrees, chuckling despite being exhausted from a far from restful night. “You see, you made me realise something last night with our little pep talk, Wentz.”

“Pray do tell.”

“I really fucking love Mikey fucking Way.”

Before he can even process it, William’s being crushed into a huge bear-come-bro hug courtesy of a suddenly hyperactive Pete Wentz. A self-assured Pete Wentz for once content with not being the one getting laid because his two best friends are.

“Thank fuck for that.”

He lets out a sigh of relief, feeling more unlike a douche bag than he has in an extremely long while. Ever since this whole ordeal started, in fact.

“My ego is saved!”

A/N: This is a pairing that I’ve wanted to write for a while now (William/Mikey… Willkey?), but I just never got around to it. This was relatively easy and fun to write, hence the length, but I’m not really sure if it works all that well. Like, I don’t think the passing of time is really shown clearly nor the characters consistency, so sorry if this is kind of confusing. Anyway, I hope you liked it and please let me know what you think! :D
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