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Musicians/Music Groups Fan Fiction >> Panic! At The Disco >> Your Suicide Will Be My Death

The following is a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

 

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You're Telling Me It's Okay,
But I Just See Your Lips Moving

By Caydenn_x

 


Gone. He was all gone. Stolen right out from under my nose by some girl named Audrey. She always was shaking her hips, moving her lips, batting those long eyelashes of hers. She acted like she was on top of the world. She walked on everyone as if they were dirt on the ground.

I know, though, that she is nothing but a coward. A little girl hiding behind her big girl looks and breasts. She was a virgin and looking for someone to deflower her to make her even more of a slut. Surprised that she is still a virgin? I would be, too. Considering how she flaunts around like she's everything.

What was I supposed to do now? She had him wrapped around her finger, her nail as fake as the faux fur seat covers in Spencer's car.

“Dude, earth to Ryan!” Spencer shouted, waving his hand in front of my face. I broke out of my daze. My glare subsided as Spencer's face came into view. He leaned into my ear. “Stare any harder and you'll shoot fire through both of them.” He said. I laughed softly.

I looked up into Pete's eyes. He was looking from me to Brendon and Audrey, all cuddled up close to each other. I rolled my eyes. I pulled out my phone.

I'm sorry. Everything finds a way to go and bite me in the ass. I shouldn't have let you go, because it's clear I don't belong with Brendon. He's not gay.

-R

I pressed send and stuck my phone in the pocket of my hoodie. Pete pulled out his phone, then looked up at me. I saw him frantically typing on his phone.

Aw, Ry. I was so sure of it.

-P

Sure of what?

-R

That he was gay, what else?

-P

WHAT?

-R

Yeah, he just seemed…look; I don't even know how to explain it. What do you do now?

-P

If I knew, I'd have done it by now.

-R

No need to get rude, George. I was only trying to help.

-P

Shit, Pete, you know I hate when I'm called that.

-R

Yeah, I know. But why?

-P

Reminds me of my dad.

-R

He looked up at me as the bell rang to end lunch. Sympathy was etched into his eyes.

Meet me after school.

-P

X

I was curious to see why Pete wanted to meet with me after school. I arrived at his locker where he was digging through the mess of it.

“It's like the garbage dump in there.” I told him. He jumped up and hit his head on the top of the locker.

“Fuck! Ouch, that hurt!” He said, gripping his head with both hands. His eyes were squeezed shut and he was biting his lip so hard, I could almost feel it.

“I'm sorry, Petey.” I leaned forward to kiss his head when I realized where we were and that we weren't together anymore. I coughed, then leaned against the locker next to his. He raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything, just kept rummaging through his locker.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” I asked, suddenly realizing what I was here for. He smirked at me and pulled on the hat he had found. He slung his backpack on his shoulder, shut his locker, and began to bounce away.

“Follow me.” He called over his shoulder. I was confused, but followed. We got in his car and I closed my eyes as he drove to our destination.

“We're here.” He said about twenty minutes later, arousing me from my light slumber. I opened my eyes slowing, taking in the bright light. I gasped as I saw what was in front of me. We were on a cliff or something that overlooked Las Vegas. There were trees upon trees that suddenly broke into the Las Vegas lights. Behind us, I could see the desert stretching on for miles, looking so lonely and sad compared to the city before us.

We climbed out of the car and I continued to take in the beautiful sight laid out in front of me. The sun was setting, and the pinks and oranges and purples were mixing and making a pattern of the sky. I could see some stars twinkling behind us and the moon was fighting with a cloud for who got to be in front.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Pete asked, sliding onto the hood of his car. I just nodded, sitting on the hood as well. I looked over to him staring back, his brown eyes such a mix of emotion.

“I come here to think and write a lot. It's a truly peaceful place to be when you want to get your thoughts out on paper.” I nodded again, knowing exactly what he meant. He leaned forward and hesitated before scooting his body close to mine. He brushed his lips across mine, looking up into my eyes, as if asking for permission. I just stared back, not breathing, waiting for his next move. He slung his arm around my neck and pressed his lips to mine for a few seconds. Nothing but lips on lips. He slyly slid his tongue between my lips, moving it with ease and experience.

My hand was making its journey down to his belt when he suddenly pulled away. Shock, guilt, and embarrassment shone in his eyes.

“I-I'm sorry. I'll take you home.” He said, sliding off the roof and into his car. I sat there for a second, confused, before I slid off, too. I opened the car down and slipped in. What was going on? Did I do something wrong? Why would he pull away when he so clearly wanted it, too? Was I deciphering his signals wrong?

Why was it that I couldn't do anything right? Here was this amazing guy sitting beside me that I liked, but there was this boy - who was probably with his girlfriend - that I might love.

So which is it? The boy who writes the songs or the boy who sings them?

 

The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

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