Fall Out Boy Imagines

Patrick Imagine: American Beauty/American Psycho

This follows after the Youngblood Chronicles but Patrick is still a demon.

There you were, chatting with friends in a nice dress. There he was, sitting at a table, messing with  his hook. You were an American beauty, an American sweetheart. He was an American Psycho. He killed his friends, but they were offered a second chance. So was Patrick, but he had to stay this way. No hand, his eyes were permanently yellow. He could finally listen to music, which was great. You made eye contact with him and blushed. He hung his head down after you turned your head.

"Hi," you said as you walked up to him.

"Hi," he grunted out, his head was still turned.

"You're pretty cute," you cooed. You knew this man had a bad past, just by looking at him. But you didn't give a single flying fuck.

"T-thank," he said while looking at you, "You're pretty nice yourself."

"Do you mind if I sit?" You asked.

"Not at all," he stuttered out.

"So what's your name? Where did you come from? How old are you? What's your favorite band? Do you like cuddles? What's your favorite food?" You asked quickly, causing the man to laugh.

"My name's Patrick Stump, I'm from Chicago, I'm 29, I don't have a favorite band, I love cuddles very much, and my favorite food is cereal. Your turn," he said.

"My name is (Y/N), I'm from (hometown), I'm also 29, my favorite band is Fall Out Boy, and cuddles are life, also my favorite food is also cereal."

"That's cool. Hey, do you want to dance? I mean, it's fine if you don't want to."

"I'd love to Patrick. Come on," you said while grabbing his hand and dragged him into the dance floor. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he put his arm around your waist. He would constantly step on your foot, which caused him to blush and you to laugh.

"I'm sorry," he whispered in your ear.

"You're good. I can't dance either," you sighed while looking into his yellow eyes. They were beautiful. They were this golden color, and boy did you love them.

"(Y/N) are you alright?" Patrick asked while spinning you around.

"Y-yeah. I'm fine."

Patrick though, he had worse thoughts. He would stare at you with hearts in his eyes, but he would always see you and his hook covered in blood. He would see you with a gash across the throat, like Andy. He saw rope marks around your neck, from where he killed Joe. He would see you run from him, because he was a demon.

Patrick dropped you and he ran  outside. You got up and followed him, but when he saw you, he ran faster.

"Patrick! Where are you going?" You yelled after him. "Patrick!"

You ran after him into the woods. You soon found yourself in the middle of nowhere, now scared. You heard a twig snap and you turned your head. A pair of yellow eyes looked at you, but they turned away.

"Patrick," you said while getting closer.

"Get away," he growled. "I'm a monster."

"Patrick, you're no monster."

"I killed them! I killed my friends! You're saying that I'm not a monster!" He yelled, making you flinch back.

"Your friend had a second chance, right? Joe, Andy, and Pete. They are my friends' boyfriends, so I know them, and I know what happened."

"I see you, covered in blood, everytime I see you and my hook will also be covered in blood. (Y/N) it's better if you leave."

"I'm not leaving you," you said while walking up to him. "You're my American psycho. If you kill me, at least I know it's by you. It's better then being killed by a drunk motherfucker that's also high off of his ass."

You heard Patrick laugh. "You got a point."

"Hell yeah I do. Now let's go back. It's getting late."

You grabbed his hand and put your head on his shoulder. This was your man. This was your psycho and you were his beauty.