Fall Out Boy – The Nose Fic

Chapter 1 – Prologue-Ish

Asking a surgeon to remove part of your nose for reasons that are of the most personal nature is strange enough. What makes it stranger is when the person asking the surgeon is a well known musician in the public eye. Thankfully surgeons don't do a whole lot of talking outside of their workplace.

"So, Mr. Wentz...You're asking me- Scratch that, bribing me to perform surgery on you, and then to keep it secret from the public and only keep the legal documents? I'm...More than willing to do this, but can I ask why exactly you want the bones from your nasal cavity expanded to such a diameter? Surely you can't have that much trouble breathing." The surgeon questioned, voice in a mix of a drone and a quizzical tone. Who could blame him given the request he's just been given? While Pete struggled to find the words to answer him with, filling the space with 'um''s, 'well''s, and other such things...Simply put, the surgeon held up a hand to stop him.

"It's Patrick, isn't it, Pete?"

Pete brushed the hair out of his eyes, coughing as the blunt explanation of his situation was just spat out into his face before he could do it for himself. Once the bassist had brought himself to look the other man in the eye, he said, "Yes. It's about Patrick. I found this...Journal, diary, I don't know what to call it. And each page had song lyrics, everything that you'd expect to be there, yeah?"

Pete couldn't believe that he had snooped through Patrick's stuff. Yes, they were technically in the weirdest limbo one could call a relationship (even if they didn't refer to it as such themselves, save for the other members of the band,) Pete had his demons. And so when he found himself flicking through journals and came across nothing but the writings you'd get from any songwriter, he just had to go deeper, didn't he?

"And so...Well, I kept reading, and at the end of the journal, it was blank! But the backs of all the pages had something, but they were written upside down. I started reading them and," Pete forced out a nervous laugh, trying his best to ease the tension mostly on himself, "every single one was a sexual fantasy of sorts. Very descriptive, and-"

"Let me guess: Each one was him trying to fuck you in the nose?"

"Well aren't you just a fucking fortune teller?" At least the comment brought his nerves down, but the surgeon was right. The bassist's date-friend of sorts had been fantasizing something not only rather bizarre, but damn well impossible under the best circumstances. Hence why Pete was offering a surgeon several thousand dollars to just fuck with his nose a bit. Not to mention the roof of his mouth.

"Well...I've heard of people doing some crazy things for the sake of love. But you, Pete Wentz, are something else. I'm tempted to call you a saint, but a saint wouldn't be letting someone put their penis in his nose. Maybe you're the pope then." The man chuckled at his own joke, turning around. He stayed silent for a solid few minutes, the atmosphere growing heavy and thick with awkwardness. Finally, he turned to face Pete, and said rather bluntly "Get on the table, I'll call the nurses in."

Several hours, days of rehab, and two days of planning later, and this would leave Pete Wentz kneeling on a hotel room bed, shirt thrown onto the floor and pants barely clinging to his hips, as he waited for Patrick to come back. This was a surprise. It was going to go fine. He was doing it for love. It was going to go just fine...

….Right?