Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PATRICK] You Adopt A Child

You and Patrick are walking through the park, your two dogs about fifteen feet ahead of you, restricted by the leashes you and Patrick are holding. He's talking to you about what the band's going to do for their next tour that was coming up, but you're not listening. Instead, you're looking at all the families in the park, not really paying attention to their son or daughter as their kid plays with other parents' sons or daughters.

You frown.

All you and Patrick want is to be a family. You live in the same house, you both pay the bills, you're married, you just don't have any children. The two of you have tried and tried but all the tests come back negative.

"(Y/N)," Patrick snaps the fingers of his free hand in front of your face, bringing you out from the daze you've fallen into.

"Hmm?" You reply, meeting his gaze.

"Were you even listening to me?" He questions you, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. Your dogs keep walking but soon stop, being yanked back by the leashes.

Your cheeks grow pink, "No. Sorry, babe."

"What's with you lately, (Y/N)?" You give him a confused look. "You've been zoning out a lot and I'm really starting to not appreciate it," He tells you honestly.

"I know, I'm sorry, I-" You're interrupted when the dog who's attached to your leash starts barking at another dog that's coming your and Patrick's way. You go to quiet it down, never finishing your apology.

*****

You're lying in bed.

Later that day, you told Patrick you weren't feeling well so you went upstairs to lie down, not eating dinner.

It's not that you aren't physically feeling well, but you aren't feeling well...emotionally. Ever since the park, all you can think about is how much you want a child, a beautiful baby boy or girl to call your own and complete your life.

That's when there's a knock on the door. You look over your shoulder and see that Patrick has the door opened a crack and has a plate of food in his hands. You sit up and Patrick opens the door fully, entering the room and sitting down in bed next to you. "How are you feeling?" He asks. You shrug your shoulders. "I brought you some dinner," He extends the plate out to you.

"Thanks," You mutter, taking the plate out of politeness although you aren't hungry.

He pouts, knowing something's still not right. He puts his hand up to your forehead, feeling for a temperature. "Hmm," He retracts his hand, "Your forehead's not hot. Do you feel cold? Or like you're going to throw up?

"I'm not sick, Patrick," You tell him with a slight chuckle.

"Then what is it?" He inquires concernedly.

"I don't know..." You set the plate back on the nightstand and lie back down, folding your hands on your stomach and sighing, "I just feel like...like something's missing." Patrick lies down beside you.

"What do you mean?"

You turn your head so you're looking at him before disclosing to him very straightforwardly, "I want a kid, Patrick."

He pushes a piece of your hair that came loose from the messy bun you pulled your hair back into out of your face, "I know you do, (Y/N). I do too, but we haven't had any luck. It's not just one time either, and maybe it's a sign. Maybe now's just not the right time."

"Not the right time?" You repeat.

"Yeah. I mean, you're going back to school...the band's coming back from hiatus...I just think that maybe now's not the right time for us to try again."