Fall Out Boy Imagines and Preferences

Preference #20 Laughing

Pete:
"Look Daddy!" Bronx smiled, proudly holding up a chocolate cupcake decorated with vanilla frosting and rainbow sprinkles.

Tomorrow was the bake sale for Bronx's soccer team, and the two of you decided to bake together. You had done most of the work, measuring out all the ingredients, but you had let him dump them into the bowl, and he was old enough to decorate himself, with supervision of course.

"Is that for me?" Pete asked with his signature goofy grin.

"No, it's for the bake sale tomorrow, remember? We gotta get money, so I can get a blue jersey, and it's gonna have 'Wentz' on the back of it and everything!"

"Well, I'll defiantly buy one then," he kissed your forehead, and wrapped his arm around your waist. Saint gurgled happily from where he was sitting on the floor, chewing on a teething toy.

"I have to go switch the laundry over," you sighed, pulling away from your husband. "Will you be okay for a few minutes, Bud?"

"Yeah," he nodded, not looking up from his current cupcake.

"The guys are coming over to practice in half an hour, so I'm going to go set up the basement," Pete decided.

"Good idea." He leaned over and kissed your cheek, and the two of you went your separate ways.

You plopped the warm, dry clothes into an empty laundry basket, and filled it with the soggy clothes from the washing machine. You filled that up with dirty ones. After that was finished, you stated to fold the freshly cleaned laundry. You were wrapped up in your work, and didn't notice how long you had been folding until the doorbell rang, signifying that a half an hour had gone by, and one of the guys were there.

"Hey," you smiled, rushing past the kitchen to open the door.

"Hi," Patrick grinned back at you.

"Uncle Patrick!" Bronx shouted in excitement. "Come see my cupcakes!"

"Okay," he nodded, following the two of you back into the other room, which was covered from celling to floor in white icing. Everything, including Saint, was sticky and vanilla flavored.  Hemingway stood in the corner, licking one of the cabinets.

"Bronx," you asked patiently, trying to hold in your giggles. "What happened, Buddy?"

"Me and Saint got into a frosting fight," he explained innocently.

"Buddy, Saint can't even walk, let alone get into a frosting fight with you," Patrick laughed. "And he's the one covered in it, not you."

"Don't encourage this!" You scolded.

"Sorry."

"Babe, who's here?" Pete asked, rushing up the cellar steps, and into the messy kitchen. "Woah, what happened in here?"

"Bronx and Saint got into a frosting fight," you explained.

"That's hilarious!" He could hardly contain his laughter.

"I can't believe you two find this funny!"

"You mean you don't?" Patrick asked, pretending to be shocked.

"Okay, maybe a little bit," you cracked a smile. "Come on, Hemingway," you picked up the dog, and cradled him in your arms. "You're gonna get sick, Bud."

"What's up bit-" Joe barged in, stopping himself when he saw the kids, knowing how you felt about swearing in front of them. Andy was close on his heels. "What exploded?"

"Frosting fight!" Bronx giggled, grabbing some off of the wall and smearing it on Pete's shirt.

"No more!" You finally gave in, letting the giggles escape your lips. "You four need to clean the kitchen, and I need to give this little guy," you set Hemingway down, and picked Saint up. "A bath."