✓ ❘ 𝐄𝐌𝐎 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ─ 𝐌𝐂𝐑. 𝐏!𝐀𝐓𝐃. 𝐅𝐎𝐁. 𝐓Ø𝐏.

My Best Friend's Wedding. (Part 2) (Pete Wentz x Reader)

~Tuesday, 09:00, 97 hours until the wedding~

Patrick set a wonderfully aromatic, steaming-hot mug of caffeinated heavenliness down in front of you before stealing a couple of grapes from your plate.

"Thanks, 'Trick," you smiled.

"No problem, (Y/N/N)," he responded, ruffling your hair.

"Ugh, you know I hate it when you do that," you pouted, swatting his hand away and attempting to flatten your hair.

"I do. That's exactly why I do it. Duh."

You reached up and knocked his fedora off of his head, sticking your tongue out at him.

"Wow, real mature," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes at your childish antics.

"Says you," you giggled.

"It's nice to hear you laugh again, you know. You've been on edge for the last few weeks," Patrick commented while attempting to take a sip of his coffee, but stopping when the scorching liquid burnt his tongue.

You rose from your seat before sauntering over to the drinks section of the delectable breakfast buffet, gathering a couple of ice cubes before making your way back to Patrick, handing him the ice - which he gratefully accepted.

"Fanks," he mumbled against the ice cube he now held against his tongue.

"Mhmm. You see what happens when you talk shit?" you joked.

Patrick placed the ice cube into his cup of coffee and his expression turned serious.

"It's not shit, (Y/N). You've been acting unlike your usual self for a long time now. Is everything okay?" Patrick rubbed your shoulder in concern.

Taking in his worried demeanor and caring gaze, you had an internal struggle over whether or not to tell him the truth. You knew that Patrick would keep it a secret if you asked him to; yet at the same time, he was Pete's best friend (and Best Man) and putting him in that position would be awfully unfair to him. A small part of you was also afraid that he would try to convince you to tell Pete how you really felt, and heaven knows you didn't need another person trying to persuade you to do so. For the sake of your sanity, you decided not to tell Patrick the truth.

At least not the whole truth.

Not yet.

"It's nothing major, Trick," you forced a small smile, "It's just that seeing Pete get married, it makes me wonder if I'll ever be that happy." you said softly.

"Of course you will," came the response of a voice behind you, which you immediately recognized as Pete's. You and Patrick turned to face him as he walked over to you. "And when you do, that son-of-a-bitch will be the luckiest man to ever live," Pete stated, wearing the smile that made you weak every time.

You started to thank him, but right at that moment, Meagan strutted into dining hall. Her lips were pursed and her eyebrows were furrowed in annoyance as she scanned the room, undoubtedly looking for Pete. When she spotted him standing next to you, the look on her face could only be described as pure hatred.

Within seconds, Meagan was next to Pete. Her manicured nails clutched his bicep as she hooked her arm in his, her other hand snaking around his neck and pulling him down to kiss her.

The kiss went on for what seemed like hours, and was almost unbearable to watch. You could've sworn that she even opened her eyes once just to shoot you a glare.

Patrick looked at you with a look of pure disgust on his face and made a silent gagging motion, which almost led to you spitting out your coffee trying not to laugh.

After finally pulling away from each other, Pete looked dazed and confused and Meagan looked as vindictive as ever.

"C'mon, baby. Let's go. They've organized a special table for us. You know, the Bride and Groom," she gave you a sly smirk when the last three words came out of her mouth and then proceeded to practically drag Pete away ("See ya later, I guess!")

"Some people," you groaned, shaking your head.

"Ah, don't worry. You have me to suffer through this with you," Patrick raised his coffee cup, "To us, and getting through this next week without any mental breakdowns or alcohol.... for the most part, at least."

"To us," you concurred, clinking your coffee cup with Patrick's.

~Tuesday, 14:00, 92 hours until the wedding~

After sitting through Hell's breakfast a mere 5 hours earlier (Meagan had found every possible way to make the morning horrible for you. From 'accidentally' spilling orange juice down your shirt, to making sure everyone was looking forward to seeing you in your "exquisite" dress on Saturday, she continuously tortured you.), you emerged from the hotel elevator in a swimsuit, sundress and flip-flips. You were determined to enjoy at least 1 hour of the barf-fest that is this week, so when Tyler and Josh invited you to join them to spend your said hour at the gorgeous rainforest-inspired hotel pool, you practically jumped at the chance.

Sadly, the universe had other plans.

"(Y/N)!"

You picked up your pace and headed for the automatic glass doors ahead of you, pretending not to have heard Meagan.

"(Y/N)!" she yelled again, even louder this time, gaining a few turned heads from surrounding guests.

There goes your hour of happiness.

"Meagan. How may I be of assistance?" you questioned in mock excitement.

She practically threw the white gift bag at you and you caught it just before its contents could spill onto the linoleum floor.

"You do calligraphy, correct?" she gave you a wicked smile.

"Yes," you sighed.

"The girls and I were talking, and we decided that the place cards would look beautiful in calligraphy. Oh, and the menus and seating chart too."

"And you want me to write it?"

"Was that not implied?"

"That's 250 names -500 with the seating chart- and 25 three-course menus! Do you have any idea how long that'll take?!"

"Guess you'd better get started then," she sassed, before turning on her stiletto heels and walking off, hips swaying.

Clutching the white bag, you trudged your way back to the elevator, cursing Meagan the entire way to your hotel room.

Tossing the bag onto the bed, you picked up the phone from the receiver and dialed 2.

"Room service, may I please have your room number?" came a cheery voice from the other end.

"121."

"Your order, ma'am?"

"Vodka. Lots of vodka."

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Thank you for reading x