❝ my chemical romance, panic! at the disco, fall out boy and twentyonepilots imagines. ❞
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𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐎𝐖𝐍, 𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒
𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐄.
𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃:...
Note: I (and my prompt fairy) ran out of ideas after the first three so that's why Pete's is lowkey shitty. I'm sorry. x PS: Thank you all for the positive comments! I'm stoked that you guys are enjoying these. 🖤
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Patrick:
A few strands of hair blew into Patrick's face as he huffed in exasperation after dodging yet another flying snowball, courtesy of his bandmates.
"Guys! Really!" he shook his head, throwing his hands up to visualise his annoyance, "Keep those things away from me!"
The other three showed no notice of acknowledgment of their friend's irritation, and continued on in their quest to hurl snow at each other.
"Idiots," Patrick mumbled under his breath as he turned around and picked up his guitar, gently plucking out the melody that was forming in his head.
Patrick was able to work blissfully uninterrupted for a solid three and a quarter minutes – until a snowball struck him mid-back.
Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he stood for a moment before carefully setting the guitar back in its case. "Honestly," he growled under his breath, gathering a small pile of snow on the ground before taking it into his hands and shaping it into a ball.
With a growl, he spun around and indignantly threw the ball of ice in the direction of the other three with all his might – in order to do maximum damage.
His aim was horribly off, unfortunately, and instead of hitting one of Pete, Joe or Andy, it ended up hitting you. Right in the face. Hard.
You fell to the ground with a yelp, the coffee you were holding in your hand flying off to the side.
Gasps of horror escaped the mouths of all four guys, and they broke out in a sprint towards you, with Patrick right in front.
"Holy smokes," he groaned, partly because he'd hit an innocent bystander in the face with a powerful snowball, but mostly because said bystander was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen, "Oh, lord. I'm so, so sorry. It wasn't meant for you, I swear!"
You chuckled softly as you brushed the remaining ice off of yourself. Patrick's hands were hovering close to you as if to help, but they didn't move. He'd already physically assaulted you; he didn't want you to think he was sexually harassing you too.
"It's okay," you smiled genuinely, which made him relax, "I'm sure millions of girls are waiting for the day when Patrick Stump throws a snowball at their face."
