Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1703036.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F, F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      My_Chemical_Romance, Fall_Out_Boy, Panic!_at_the_Disco
  Relationship:
      Mikey_Way/Pete_Wentz, Frank_Iero/Gerard_Way, Ryan_Ross/Brendon_Urie
  Character:
      Greta_Salpeter, Jon_Walker, Andy_Hurley, Numerous_Irrelevant_OCs, Patrick
      Stump, Lindsey_Ballato
  Additional Tags:
      Gerard's_not_nearly_as_straight_as_he_thinks, Gerard's_a_diva, So_is
      Ryan, I_didn't_include_fandoms_for_minor_characters_okay, HELLA_PORN, I
      think_that_last_tag_was_implied, I_didn't_proofread_this_hard_enough, I
      messed_up_the_ages_okay, IT_WAS_FOR_THE_PLOT, for_science
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-05-28 Chapters: 1/? Words: 4043
****** Pete Wentz's Grand Dive into Entrepreneurship ******
by homotrons
Summary
     Pete Wentz' family has a lot of money but he wants some of his own.
     How will he go about such a task? He starts making underground porn
     that's illegal for many reasons but he doesn't care and no one really
     has to know, he just needs to be super top secret about it. Mikey Way
     has one friend who just happens to have a crush on his brother so
     Mikey's kind of lonely. Mikey and Pete meet and that's as far as I
     can say without spoiling the plot to my own poorly written story.
Notes
     It's bad. I got the idea from this prompt blog on tumblr but it
     wasn't exactly porn it was I think underground movies or something
     but I was looking for stuff I can use for gay stuff so wowie kazowie
     porn. I have three fics going right now and one I sort of abandoned
     so I can't guarantee I'll actually keep up the motivation to work on
     this but we can hope. Or I can. I also can't guarantee anyone will
     really like this story but I can hope for the beet.
     This fic's pretty shitty and generally unrealistic since I'm
     uninformed and the NSA will probably get me for informing myself but
     yeah here it is.
Never would anyone hesitate to say Pete Wentz was weird or a little off, but
they didn't know the half of it. Pete Wentz was batshit, two hours of sleep a
night, video game addicted, bass playing, computing hacking crazy. That was
still relatively normal compared to the half of it; Pete was a teenager, stuff
like that was really rather common. He just seemed like another internet loser
with a minimal amount of friends and excessive amount of unscheduled time. He
actually had a lot of friends, soccer players mostly, but also a few losers
that could play instruments or at least fake it to the point that it's amusing
however that could be interpreted.
One day, Pete sat down at one of the many plastic top tables that scattered the
very populated public school cafeteria and waited for one of the losers. He
drummed his calloused (and ugly, he noted as well) fingers on the cheap yellow
material and mindlessly picked at a french fry. He craned his head back and saw
the previously mentioned loser on his way over. The long haired teenager with a
tray full of french fries, corn chowder and Gatorade proceeded diagonally from
his black haired compadre who others and himself considered to be less of a
loser on the social ladder. They were both okay with that.
"How's being a vegan going?" Pete raised his eyebrow and poked at the corn
chowder with a french fry before the owner of the meal promptly slapped his
hand away and gave him the scariest glare he could manage, not that his glare
didn't always work on Pete anyway. "Okay fine, but that seriously looks like
semen delight," he commented before lazily half-eating one of his thirty-four
french fries (he counted).
"Don't you have a girlfriend or something?" the other one rolled his eyes and
began scooping his lunch. Pete narrowed his eyes.
"Now, what would lead you to assume that, Mr. Hurley?" he wiggled his eyebrows
for dramatic effect to which the person in question just scoffed. Pete giggled.
"Soccer doesn't make me a chick magnet. I'm short!"
"And you wear eyeliner."
"Fuck you, Andy."
They laughed in unison before a flying french fry slapped Pete right in the
back of his head. Pete inhaled and turned around, thinking he looked more
intimidating then he did. He exhaled and said, "Oh, it's you."
"Uh huh!" The chirpy brown haired boy sat down across from the two of them. He,
Brendon Urie, was bearable, Pete had concluded a few weeks ago when Brendon had
recited a whole scene from A Midsummer Night's Dream in the locker room and
promptly flipped off the guys who called him a fag before turning the act of
giving them the bird into interpretive dance. Pete liked him. "You two looked
lonely and I sought making my presence known would be a viable solution to your
problem that probably only exists in my head." Andy rotated his eyes in a
sarcastic manner once more, but truthfully, Brendon didn't bother him either.
"Tell Andy his soup looks like cum," Pete demanded with saggy eyelids and a
salted fried potato stick rolling between his fingers.
"Your soup looks like cum," he stated and Andy simply nodded before mumbling
something along the lines of, "fucking carnivores." The carnivores mutually
agreed that was fair.
 
------
 
Renting out a storage unit never seemed to be a bad idea. Pete could use it for
anything he wanted and his parents had no way of knowing it exists, or at least
belongs in his name. The Wentz family weren't lacking in money by any means
(though public school might suggest otherwise, it was his idea anyway), no,
they could buy numerous yachts and it would barely dent their crazy income of
three to six million a year. Pete never understood money all that well, mostly
because his family did have it in having disposable amounts, but he knew that
was way too much for a single family. His whole plan was that he could use the
storage unit to make money that would also go to paying rent for the storage
unit. It was a cycle.
His family's income only comes into play because he had no money of his own at
the beginning when he rented the unit. He wasn't stupid but they were. He knew
that he could easily slip $700 a month from one of his father's accounts and he
wouldn't notice a damn thing and his accountant likely wouldn't either. His
whole family was painfully oblivious to each other. Mrs. Wentz was on Mr.
Wentz's financial leash and their son was aware of it too. He knew how people
worked, they were just another upperclass family who think in economical
currency and fake family values.
Pete didn't always want to steal his father's money, he wanted to feel like he
was being an entrepreneur too. He knew that what he was doing was more than
just potentially illegal even if he disagreed with the reasoning behind it, but
the law wasn't going to stop him. His product was going on the internet, a
place where nothing was really within the law. He got a thrill out of it, not
so much when he thought of how he was going to have to approach Andy with the
opportunity to join in on his little journey into illegality and money.
That didn't matter right at that moment though, what mattered was figuring out
how the fuck that tripod and that camera can fit together. Pete avoided doing
things for himself for this nearly exact reason.
------
 
Mikey hung the heels of his feet on top of his headboard and leaned his head
back to see his older brother standing in the doorway looking pissed as ever.
"Guess who wants to join drama class?" he ran a hand through his black hair and
furrowed his brow more intensely. Mikey sighed.
"Who wants to join the drama club?"
Gerard blinked up and pursed his lips. "Jon Walker." The younger held in
laughing (which he was a pro at).
"And?" he cocked his eyebrow before swinging his feet from their original place
down to the pillow. Gerard walked over to his bed and fell backward
dramatically before kicking his shoes off. Everyone knew Gerard was a diva, but
only two people had to live with it unwillingly and only one had to share a
room with it (also unwillingly). He rolled onto his stomach and grabbed one of
the comics he hid in his pillow case like a magician would with ties in his
coat sleeve. He opened it up and exclaimed, "I don't know! He's just– he's a
football player! How will a football player be able to be in the drama club?
They're all pricks and big and burly and I want nothing to do with them! He's
probably only doing it to make a big, fat joke out of us!"
"And what if he's not?" Mikey inquired, still bored with the topic. His brother
shifted his weight and adopted an expression of pure confusion and possibly
disgust, "He is, for a fact, a football player, Mikey, you literally cannot
disagree with me."
"I know that, I meant your stereotype of a football player. Maybe he could act
out some sixteenth century tragedy like angel." Gerard coughed and rolled his
eyes, "You just don't get it."
"Of course I don't. Can you go ask mom what's for dinner?"
"It's spaghetti."
"Neat."
 
------
 
Gerard chatted on the phone with Greta for two hours about something Mikey
didn't care about and that cut down his sleep time by three hours, causing him
to be in a really shitty mood the next morning. Ryan picked them both up in his
mother's PT Cruiser that morning and Mikey decided to infect both of them with
his really shitty mood by saying things like "check your mirrors" and "wow,
wouldn't it have sucked if you didn't slow down before that school zone and hit
a bunch of kids?" from the backseat. Mikey felt sort of bad, Ryan wasn't that
bad, but he was set to piss off every drama club kid he could as revenge for
the two that ruined his night. He didn't sleep enough anyway, but Gerard's girl
talks till two a.m. made those poor habits feel much, much worse.
Ryan parked the car and gave Mikey a dirty look from the front mirror as he
stepped out of the car that the younger boy couldn't take too seriously because
of the scarf tied around his greasy brown hair. He adjusted his glasses and
pulled out his iPod as the white SUV speeded off (sort of, it only move thirty
feet forward). First period was English, a class he was enthusiastically
apathetic about. It was also a class that was all the way across campus.
Mikey trudged through the muddy snow like it was Valley Forge and encountered
nearly nobody while he did so. The school had about 500 students and they all
traveled in packs, save a few kids like Mikey Way. Gerard was a nearly three
hundred pound loser two years prior but then he thinned down to half that
weight and befriended with the whole drama club. The drama club wasn't cool,
but it was something at least. They were both awkward losers, but Mikey was
more reserved and didn't constantly subject himself to embarrassment like the
eldest brother did, yet he probably didn't even know that's what was happening
every time he opened his mouth to defend how aesthetically pleasing Audrey
Hepburn and zombies were.
Mikey had one friend. "Hey!" his one friend yelled directing it at him and
began running to catch up. His one friend was Frank Iero, a scrawny kid with a
sort of mohawk (Frank had explained it to him but he forgot) that liked punk
rock and had so much energy that he could and would put an eight year old with
ADHD and a pack of coke to shame. He also played guitar and tried out for every
band that was open even if that didn't mean playing guitar. He just liked music
and being loud. Mikey respected that.
"Hey," Mikey responded and adjusted his backpack onto his aching left shoulder
once again.
"There are lockers, you know. I believe you have one too," Frank chuckled.
Frank was a year younger than Mikey and had a sort of crush on Gerard. Mikey
shoved Frank and his happy little ass which only caused his noise level to
increase and his grin to grow wider.
"Don't you have biology or something?" the older one narrowed his eyes under
his glasses. Frank confirmed it. "And isn't that in the 200s building?"
"Uh huh." Their school was split up into separate buildings for separate
subjects and they were all strategically placed at least 70 feet away from one
another. No one was sure if it was for visual appeal, needing to take up lot
space, or student exercise (they had a gym class though that latter was deemed
rather likely, it was the second best compared to the first option). Mikey
shrugged because he knew Frank didn't care if he was late or even showed up,
that's just how Frank was. He did whatever he wanted when he wanted to and that
came with varied reactions. Mikey and Frank didn't really care what each other
did, they weren't hooked together like Gerard and the whole goddamn drama club.
Frank giddily took Mikey's backpack right off his shoulders and begin skipping
with the biggest smile he could manage.
"You look like a fucking schoolgirl, Iero!" the backpack-less teenager shouted.
Frank stopped for a second to turn around and yell back, "My hair's not long
enough for pigtails! Your brother on the other hand..." Mikey laughed and
nodded before chucking a shoe at his jackass of a best friend. "Now that's
counterproductive, Way!" The now backpack and shoeless teenager ran to catch up
with his friend and snatch his backpack back. Then he shoved him to the ground
and Frank finally understood that they were both late and sort of covered in
mud and he still had Mikey's gross black sneaker in his hand.
Frank handed him his shoe and began running to his class that was approximately
139 feet away. Mikey took off his muddy sock and threw it off to the side
before sticking his bare, sweaty foot into his dirty shoe. He hung his bag over
his shoulder once more and finished the walk to his designated building. The
large glass doors took effort to pull open, but they were still within fire
code so that was good. He dropped his bag on top of a bench before pulling out
his books and stepping in with his bag lazily on his arm.
He slouched into his seat and glanced up at the clock. He was three minutes
late and received a nice scowl from the teacher. He thought their seating
arrangement was like something you'd see on a plane; he, a skinny 5'10 kid with
glasses, sat between a 5'4 all-American kid who had two hundred pounds on Mikey
and a 4'10 Asian girl who played her gameboy throughout class and still kept up
a straight A record. Representations of high schools weren't stereotypical, the
stereotypes were just all true. Stereotypes are always based off of fact.
The teacher began announcing what their new assignment was and Mikey almost
thought it was funny that they were still doing book reports in the same manner
as he was required to do in second through fourth grade. The girl to his right
glanced up from her handheld outdated (everyone could agree that Gameboys would
always be cool) Nintendo device and managed a piercing look of determination,
annoyance, and fury. The kid to Mikey's left picked up his water bottle and
spilled a little on himself while he was drinking it.
"Excuse me! Ms. Hanson! I have study hall right now, so can I get my test and
do it now?" Pete shot through the door. Mikey didn't know it was Pete though
since he didn't know who Pete was. The teacher crinkled her face to look even
more irritated than usual and walked over to her desk then bent down to grab
the test from a drawer. The slob next to Mikey was obviously examining her
thighs and Mikey didn't really blame him but he was already naturally fucking
gross, plus Ms. Hanson was in her late fifties and her neck sagged.
She handed the test over to Pete and said, "Try not to hang out with your
cousins when they're sick, okay?" He nodded and darted out the door. Mikey
thought he looked funny, he was short and had red skinny jeans and a full on
emo fringe. One could argue Mikey looked emo and Gerard unarguably looked emo,
but Pete took the cake. Mikey was pleased with that conclusion and looked over
only to realize that the girl next to him had been burning holes into the side
of his head for a good thirty seconds and that made Mikey uncomfortable.
Ms. Hanson walked up to the front of the room to begin explaining the
importance of apostrophes and how to use them. Mikey dragged his backpack onto
his lap and barely took note of the few tiny blonde hairs that fell from his
friend's head. He unzipped the space behind the main compartment and pulled out
a drawing his brother drew for him a few weeks ago. Gerard asked him to leave
notes where he could use improvement and Mikey hadn't left any yet because he
couldn't find any flaws. His older brother may have been a dramatic bitch most
of the time but he was an amazing artist. Mikey grabbed a blue pen from his
pocket and wrote "needs more blood" next to one of the bodies littered in the
street. He slipped it back into his bag and looked up at the clock to see that
there were thirty minutes left.
When they had three minutes left, he gazed at the door and saw his hyperactive
and only friend jumping and making faces through the window in the door. Frank
poked his tongue at his cheek and made pumping motions with his right fist and
Mikey began quietly giggling. Unfortunately, he was quiet or subtle enough and
the teacher walked over and shut the blinds. The perpetrator ran and Ms. Hanson
gave Mikey a detention slip.
Eventually the bell rang and he made a mental note to pack lunch tomorrow since
he has to spend that lunch period in detention. He swung his backpack over his
left shoulder and rushed through the crowd of exiting students before leaving
the bag right outside the door and heading to the cafeteria which was rather
close to the building he was in. He started walking out of the glass doors he
entered earlier and up the concrete slope leading to the lunchroom. The strings
on his hoodie got pulled from behind him and he turned around to see Frank
running to jump on his back which he succeeded at.
"What the fuck, why didn't you just go get a head start and get lunch?" Mikey
tried to throw the shorter and not necessarily lighter boy off of his aching
back. Frank finally hopped off and began matching strides with his friend.
"Just wanted to mess with you. Also, it's meatloaf so I wasn't too eager to get
it right away. . . or at all," he flexed his neck muscles and widened his lips
into a goofy frown. Mikey laughed and elbowed him. They arrived at the
cafeteria soon after and Frank immediately slid into one of the tables while
Mikey stood in line. Frank pulled out his left over meatless lasagna and
inhaled the beautiful vegetarian aromas.
Mikey came back and sat next to the freshman before sniffing his lunch and
asking, "How do you even get vegetarian lasagna?"
"My mom's fabulous, that's how," he answered. Their days mostly revolved around
lunch. Frank's mom and teachers recommended he play soccer or lacrosse because
of his height and he tried lacrosse before quickly resigning after whacking the
coach's son upside the head with a stick. He could've had serious brain damage
and not only did it scar Frank from trying anymore sports, it taught him to
avoid adults with muscle mass and a lot of power on their hands. For as much of
a little punk (pun slightly intended) as Frank was, he was absolutely terrified
of people physically bigger than him that he couldn't outwit or annoy or do
something to amuse himself with until they went away.
Mikey poked his soggy yet still somehow dry meatloaf with a plastic fork before
being slide into by someone too white and skinny to be dangerous. He groaned,
"What do you want Gerard?" He was going to add a joke about the drama club but
he couldn't see if it were more to entertain Frank or himself so he didn't.
"Just wanted to tease my little brother and his friends," the eldest Way said
gleefully. They knew he was too much of a loser to do that but it was okay.
"Friend," Frank corrected him. They both laughed and Mikey half smiled at the
comment. Gerard stared at the singular friend while he slurped his milk. Gerard
was 100% straight but he was also an artist so it was okay to look at people
for extended periods of time. Only he thought that was a reasonable argument
but that was another thing he could live with. Frank noticed at the end but
made sure Gerard didn't know that for both of their sakes. It didn't really
bother him though, he liked being stared by hot dorky older guys who aren't
legal so it wouldn't totally be statutory rape if they fucked. Frank wasn't
sure how two minors having sex worked within the legal system but it didn't
seem to be a big deal.
Gerard left a few minutes after to go catch up with Ryan and try to look at the
girl he convinced himself he had a crush on. Her name was Lindsey and she was a
bit younger than him and had a nice nose with a slight bump that was still
attractive and added character. He liked to draw figures that kind of looked
like her since she was very aesthetically pleasing even if he wasn't really
sexually attracted to her much to his dismay. He was straight for a fact
though.
 
------
 
The seven members of the drama club sat in the front row auditorium chairs:
Ryan Ross, Greta Salpeter, Carry Ann Heuston-Louise, Veronica Gary, Patrick
Stump (he only played piano), Fitz Bejarano, and Gerard Way. They were all in
anticipation over how Jon Walker would do, especially Gerard and Ryan, Ryan
actually more than Gerard. All their eyes shot over to the door when the newest
possible member poked his head through. Greta friendlily shouted, "Come in!"
Ryan sneered at her, she slapped his arm.
Jon stepped up to the stage and Ryan tightly gripped his clipboard while Greta
tried to calm him down by using her left hand to rub his extremely tight
shoulder. He very slightly relaxed and broke the paper with the pen while
scribbling down "Jon Walker".
"Uh, so, is there anything specific you want me to uh, preform?" He stuttered
from the stage. Ryan called from his seat, "You were supposed to have memorized
something, numerous things preferably since you are joining the drama club."
"Oh, no, no! I do have many things memorized, I just wanted to know if there's
anything in particular," Jon inhaled sharply.
"Just go!" Gerard shouted barely nicer than his friend had. Greta rolled her
eyes and Veronica threw her long brown hair over her shoulder and prepared to
watch.
"Okay." Then he proceeded to recite the most beautiful thing Ryan Ross had ever
heard in his whole damn life. Ryan told him he was in with amazed eyes and a
weak tone.
 
-----
 
Andy hung upside down off of Pete's bed while Pete had his back bent over a
yoga ball. They had a Green Day CD playing since it was one of the few bands
Pete's mom didn't know enough about to ban him from listening to.
"Aren't you like fifteen? How the fuck are you growing facial hair?" Pete
asked. Andy wasn't the most friendly looking person but he wasn't super
intimidating. He had dorky hair and glasses.
"It's more of a sort of beard, I don't know! It distracts from my jaw," he
mumbled. The facial hairless one of the two chuckled and groped around his
pocket. He felt the key to his super secret storage unit and froze. He
remembered why he asked Andy to come over and became overwhelmingly anxious. He
knew it wouldn't go smoothly so he tried to word his proposition the best he
could.
"Hey, Andy, you watch porn right?" Pete slipped. He mentally applauded himself
for being smooth as fuck and prepared to go die in a hole.
"Yeah," his friend answered. "I mean, I don't drink or do drugs or any of that
but yeah, porn's okay." Pete exhaled in relief and even more anxiety.
"Have you even wondered how they film those?" he continued. Andy contemplated
for a moment before responding, "Yeah, kind of. It sounds unhorny as fuck
though I mean come on– I'm pretty sure telling a girl to deep throat some guy
and for both of them to make as many noises as possible isn't exactly jack off
material."
"Have you ever wanted to be the person telling the girl to do all that stuff?"
Pete slurred his words. Andy gulped and said, "Uh, I've never considered that?
Is this theoretical or no?"
"Not really."
"Okay Pete spit it the hell out."
"Do you want to make underground porn with me? I mean like neither of us will
be fucking on camera, we'll just be recording the fucking."
"Okay," Andy agreed swiftly. Pete fell off the exercise ball in awe
"Wait– what?"
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