pat andrews

That's My Boy

I love your writing!! Could you write a Shawn imagine where he’s been ill all morning & day but he doesn’t want to let his fans down and cancel a show but he’s been getting worse all day & doesn’t think he can last through a whole show?? Maybe he gets really upset before the concert because he starts feeling really sick to his stomach & you think it’s partially nerves because he doesn’t want to ruin anything? Thanks!!

Oh my god I’ve been waiting for a request like this for such a long time! Anyway, I’m still trying to get out of the funk of writers block and get back on the saddle (god I sound like an old person) but, I hope you enjoy this one! ❤


‘Alright, looks like we’re almost set for Shawn’s concert tonight, everything looks great.’ Andrew sighed in content, giving me a high five. I admired Andrew on how proud he was of Shawn and how far he had come. It made me happy to see Shawn pulling off huge crowds like this.

'I seriously love this set up though. You guys always out do yourselves.’ I smiled, staring at the full circled moon that was hanging in the middle of the room.

'It’s all Shawn’s ideas, we just make it happen. Speaking of Shawn, where is he?’ Andrew asked, looking around.

'I let him sleep in a little longer, he seemed knackered last night after the concert. I’ll go get him, best me do it.’ I chuckled, remembering the last time someone else tried to do it, never seen the boy so angry in his life.

'I think that’s a good idea.’ Andrew chuckled, patting my back. I smiled again, before walking out of the venue towards the tour bus.

I noticed James walking towards me, smiling ear to ear. 'Hey Y/N, how you going today?’

'I’m alright, I have to go wake up his royal highness so wish me luck.’ I chuckled, looking back to the tour bus.

'Good luck, I’ll see you later.’ He smiled. I waved bye to him, finally reaching the tour bus. I opened the door, walking up the steps to see Shawn’s bunk curtain still closed.

I walked over slowly to him, pushing open his curtain quietly to see his sleeping face. I smiled at the sight, lifting my hand up to run my fingers through his soft curls. He moved a little, before slowly opening his eyes. He grabbed my hand, holding it in his whilst I rested my chin on his bed.

'Hey sunshine, you’ve got to get up now.’ I whispered.

'What’s the time?’ He asked, his voice sounding croaky. I frowned, a little worried. I know he had a morning voice, but something seemed off.

'It’s 11:00. I let you sleep in because you seemed tired from the night before.’ I answered, kissing our intwined hands. 'Don’t worry, Andrew said it was okay. Besides, I think James is rehearsing.’

'No, I-I gotta get up.’ I backed up a little, letting him get out of his bunk. He slowly rocked a little, leaning his back against the bunks.

'Shawn, are you alright?’ I asked, stepping forward. I placed my hands gently on his face, studying him. Something was definitely off.

'Yeah, I’m just tired that’s all.’ He gave me a half hearted smile, wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me closer to him.

'Are you sure? You look a little pale…’ I sighed, wrapping my own arms around him. He leaned down, kissing my forehead for reassurance.

'I promise I’m okay, really.’ I sighed, his stubbornness always powering over mine. Damn him.

'Alright, well take a shower and get freshened up. You’ve got a big night tonight.’ I smiled, pecking his lips. 'I’ll make you some tea and breaky if you want?’ I went to walk away, before Shawn pulled me in again, kissing my lips once more. I chuckled, feeling him pull away. I pushed him towards the bathroom, turning on the kettle.

I smiled, feeling lucky to be on this journey with Shawn, he was the most hard working musician I’d seen to date. He was always working, on stage and off, I’m still surprised he managed to graduate sometimes. I was absentmindedly scrolling through Twitter, looking at edits of Shawn and fans tagging me in posts when I heard a thud come from the bathroom.

I placed my phone down and ran to the bathroom. I knocked on the door, waiting to hear a response, hearing nothing.

'Shawn? Sweetheart? Are you okay?’ I asked hurriedly, hearing no response.

I opened the door, seeing him past out on the floor of the shower, steam filling up everywhere. 'Shit! Shawn!’ I exclaimed, opening the shower door and turning on the cold water. I didn’t care if my clothes got wet, but now I was seriously worried.

I flicked cold water on his face, seeing his eyes slowly drooping open. He looked up and around, trying to familiarise himself with his surroundings.

'Y/N? Wha-what happened?’ He asked. I switched off the water, moving his hair from his eyes, staring into his eyes.

'You must’ve passed out from the heat. Shawn, you don’t look well at all.’ I sighed, seeing his face pale.

'I’ll be okay, I promise.’ He mumbled, trying to stand up. I stopped him, kissing his forehead.

'Stop lying. Wait here, I’ll get you some clothes.’ I whispered, running out of the bathroom, straight to his suitcase, grabbing a shirt, hoodie, underwear and sweatpants. I walked back in, placing the clothes down and grabbing a towel, starting to dry him.

'Is this your way of turning me on?’ He joked whilst I dried the lower part of his body, I rolled my eyes and shook my head at him, smiling.

'You wish, Shawn Mendes.’ I replied. 'C'mon - help me, help you.’ I wrapped his arm over my shoulder, mine around his waist to help him up.

'Y/N, I can get changed on my own.’ He kissed my forehead, whilst i quickly put down the toilet seat, sitting him down on it.

'Hush up and put on your briefs.’ I threw him his underwear. He rolled his eyes, slipping them on with the rest of his clothes.

'Shawn, I don’t think you should perform tonight.’ I spoke up honestly. He looked at me like I had said the most offensive thing ever. I threw my hands up in defence. 'You passed out in the shower!’

'I’m just tired, alright? I’ll rehearse for a bit, sleep and I’ll be right. Just - please don’t tell Andrew or Geoff, I need you do this for me.’ He sighed, running his fingers through his still wet hair. I stood in front of him, placing my hands on face. He was burning up and I wanted him to lay and rest, but knowing him, he didn’t want to disappoint anyone, especially his fans.

'I hate it when you guilt trip me. I’ll shut up, but, if you’re not feeling well, tell me straight away. If you’re not better four hours before, I’m telling Andrew.’ I compromised, pecking his lips. I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him, feeling his strong arms wrap around me.

'I love you.’ He whispered in my ear. I felt the corners of my mouth lift up, making me smile.

'I love you too.’


It had been a few hours and Shawn had been rehearsing non stop. I had to force him to take a break, in which he took a nap in his dressing room for half an hour. He wasn’t getting any better, in fact, he was getting worse.

'Y/N!’ I peeked my head up from the front row, seeing Geoff on stage as he motioned me over, making my nerves worsen. I slowly made my way up the stage steps, standing in front of Geoff.

'What’s up?’ I asked.

'Is Shawn okay? He’s seemed off all day. Is there something I should know?’ He asked.

I shook my head, feeling guilty for lying to him. 'I’m not sure, he hasn’t really talked to me.’ I shrugged.

Geoff sighed. 'I’m really worried because he has meet & greet soon and I don’t want him to go out and do this if he isn’t well.’

I sighed, biting my lip to stop the truth coming out. 'You’ll have to talk to him, I doubt he’ll tell me anything.’

He nodded giving me a side hug before walking away. I sighed, looking out to the arena from the stage. This venue was soon going to be filled with fans, I just hope they’ll be able to see Shawn.


I don’t know how he did it, but Shawn managed to meet over 100 fans through meet and greet. He looked so ill it made me feel like crap looking at him. Fans asked him apparently if he was okay and he replied that he was.

He laid on the couch in his dressing room, his eyes closed. I sat on the floor next to him, laying my head on it to look at him. He looked peaceful but exhausted at the same time. I sighed, hearing a knock at the door. It opened to reveal James, frowning a little at the state of Shawn.

'Is he okay?’ He whispered, closing the door behind him.

I shook my head, staring back at my sleeping boyfriend. 'I promised not to say but he really wants to perform. He has the next two days off but, I feel bad for him that he pushes himself too hard.’ I whispered.

'What can we do?’

I shrugged. 'I don’t know. He isn’t better and I hate to say it, but, he won’t be able to perform.’

Shawn moved suddenly, waking up and staring at James and I. 'What’s up?’ He croaked out.

'Dude, you look horrible.’ James sighed, sitting in the other chair across from him.

'Thanks.’ Shawn replied, sarcasm evident in his voice. 'I’ll be fine though guys, please stop worrying.’

I closed my eyes and looked down at my lap, completely worried about him. I didn’t know how he was going to do this.


It was an hour or so in and James played a few extra songs to give Shawn some time to gain some strength to perform. I stood side of stage with him, helping him out his electric guitar on.

He sighed, looking at me. 'I want to do this, Y/N, please don’t be mad.’ He whispered, looking down at me.

I lifted my gaze up to look at him, no smile or nothing shown on my face. 'I’m not mad, Shawn. I’m worried.’

He moved his guitar around, hugging me tightly. 'I’ll be okay.’ He reassured.

'Are you reassuring me or yourself?’ I asked. Before Shawn could answer, Geoff called him over, telling him to get ready to go on.

Shawn sighed, before looking down, covering his face with his hands. I notice his shoulders shaking, hearing his quite sobs coming through.

'Where does it hurt?’ I asked.

'It hurts everywhere.’ He sobbed. Luckily the side of stage was dark so no one could see him.

'Where specifically?’ I asked, placing my hands on his biceps.

He pointed to his chest and throat. I knew exactly what it was, it was anxiety. He was feeling scared, which was understandable.

'Shawn, hey,’ I murmured, hugging him. 'If you can’t do this, don’t. But, if you want to fight through and give the best of your ability, do it. I support you with any decision you want.’ I removed his hand from his face, staring at his tear stricken face. I bent his head down, kissing his forehead. 'Do what you want, hun. I support you.’

He nodded, looking a little better, staring at the side of the stage, everything becoming dark, his intro to his concert starting.

'You’ve got this.’ I whispered in his ear, kissing his cheek, before he walked to the side of stage, his nerves slipping away with every step.

That’s my boy.

  • Sharpy: *peers around the door of the locker room*
  • Sharpy: He's coming, get ready!
  • Patrick: *enters the locker room*
  • Sharpy and Shawzy: Patty cake, Patty cake, Tazer's man. Score me a goal as fast as you c--
  • Patrick: Oh God... stop this right now
Jughead x Reader - How Your Pain Bleeds

Jughead x Reader


Word Count: 1954

@idle-lanes @sgarrett49 

This is a new story idea I came up with. There are some similarities from this to “In Your Head” but is a different story entirely. I hope you guys like it. Warnings: Physical and parental abuse. Please don’t read if easily triggered. 

How did you get here?

That’s all you could repeat in your head.

It was raining and after a few moments, you finally found your courage to knock on the door. The rain covered your tears but not your body pulsating in fear. You took a small step backwards.

Keep reading

Vraie famille

A/N: Based off the promo pic for episode eleven of Jughead looking devastated in his dad’s trailer. Hope you enjoy :)

“Dad?” Jughead Jones yelled as he threw open the door, a frantic mess- Archie, Betty and Veronica in tow. The trailer creaked with their weight but Jughead paid no heed as he registered the dark room before him, devoid of any traces that his father was still here. No clothes laying across the floor, no Serpent jackets hanging on the back of a chair- no beer bottles or alcoholic of any sort, and the pictures that were up behind the kitchen counter- gone.

“Shit.” Jughead whispered, hands fumbling for his phone as he checked the text Joaquin had sent him once again.

Jughead, your dad’s leaving. Hurry.

With a few words- the happy night that Jughead was having came to an end.

He was too late, it seemed.

“Jughead, what’s going on?” Veronica asked him, hand on his shoulder.

He’d bolted from the dance the moment Joaquin had sent him this, with no explanation, and the rest had followed him. The whole way here, Jughead’s heart had been thudding, hands had been shaking, because the mere possibility that his family was abandoning him once again was terrifying. Not even Betty’s hand, grasped in his, could sooth him even the slightest bit.

He didn’t respond to Veronica.

He walked around the trailer, the faintest shred of hope he had grasping onto any sign that no, his father hadn’t actually left, but the empty bedroom, with one desolate mattress lying in the centre, only further cemented his anguish.

He kicked the door of the room with all the strength he could muster up, hands curling up into fists, skin whitening.

“Juggie,” Betty said worried cerulean eyes on his, obviously alarmed. He looked at her with hopelessness and misery, and Betty almost recoiled, her own eyes glistening.

FP Jones had left.

Why? Jughead didn’t know.

He walked to the kitchen, his grey eyes trying to ignore his violently trembling hands. Archie, Veronica and Betty stood next to him, the former two looking unsure of what to do, while the latter could only place an arm around him. No one said anything, but Veronica seemed to have realised his harsh reality.

His phone rang, previously set on the counter, and tunes of The Bohemian Rhapsody spread in the dimly lit trailer. The number was unknown. It was his dad, he was sure.

He didn’t want to pick it up, honestly. He didn’t want to hear whatever excuse his father was going to give him.

But he did so anyway.

He took a deep breath. “Hello?” His voice was soft and broken.

“Jughead.” The deep, raspy voice said, on the other end of the receiver. Jughead curled his lip up and bit it.

“How did you know I’d found out?”

“I had one of my men inform me when you entered the trailer. I couldn’t risk leaving a note.” FP said, and Jughead listened. “Jughead, I am so, so sorry. I had to leave, I had to leave Riverdale, and I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” Jughead’s voice cracked.

“Jug, I can’t tell you that.”

“Dad, why?”


“Dad, if you have any courage, any at all, you’ll tell me why exactly you left.”

Silence for a few moments on the other end. Jughead was ready to throw the phone at the wall.

“Jughead, please-”

“Goodbye, Dad-” Jughead was about to cut the call.  He needed to why, and if his Dad wasn’t telling him, he might as well stop himself from going through his torture.

“No, Jug, wait.” Jughead did. “Listen, I need to tell you something. Something big, and I’m so sorry for this.”

Jughead’s silence was an indicator for the older man to go on.

“I have incriminating evidence for Jason Blossom’s murder.”

Jughead paled at that, and he walked away from the group, not wanting them to hear what he didn’t want to hear himself. “What?”

“Jason Blossom’s jacket.”

Jughead nearly dropped the phone. “Dad, why do you have-?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Dad, did you murder Jason Blossom?” Jughead asked, heart rate increasing and breath becoming uneven. “Did you- or the gang-”

“Jughead, I need to go now, but you should know that I love you very much and I am so so sorry, and I wish that I never had to do this.”

Jughead’s eyes welled up with tears. “Dad, are you even planning on coming home?”

“I don’t know, bud, and it seems unlikely.”

Jughead bit his fist. He asked his question again, even though FP Jones had deigned not to answer it.

“Dad, tell me one thing.” He said, voice cracking and becoming even softer. “Did you-” He gulped. “Did you murder-”

“I’m sorry, Jughead.”

And the phone line clicked, followed by a long beep, and Jughead stood there, unsure of how to process the information he’d just received, as he brought his phone down and looked at it.

It started raining, the deafening pitter-patters on the trailer roof overwhelming him, and everything started echoing. Thunder cracked in the sky, lightening lit up the trailer, and suddenly, he was back in the rickety old house he’d shared with his mom, dad and Jellybean.

The rain continued, flattening his mom’s hair as she stood at the edge of the porch, yelling at his dad, her hand in Jellybean’s. Jellybean was drenched, water droplets running down her face, but doing nothing to hide the fact that she, like her brother were crying. They didn’t want their family to be torn apart, as it was right now.

Suitcases surrounded the girls, as his mom continued yelling, his dad pleading for them to please stay, we can work this out, don’t leave, but all Jughead could do was wipe away his tears, wondering why his mom wasn’t taking him too.

And then the taxi arrived, and Jellybean started screaming for her brother and her dad, but Jughead couldn’t do anything, other than stand at the doorway with tear stained cheeks, his own beanie dry while her scarf was drenched, and wave at her, one last time.

And as the taxi sped away, FP Jones went back inside, all his efforts in vain, and he drowned himself in bottles of vodka, while his son helplessly watched. At least then, Jughead had his dad.


He snapped back into reality, and realised he was crouched against the wall that separated his kitchen and the living room, sobbing his heart out. It wasn’t raining anymore- nothing was a reality. His fists were curled against his forehead, and in his pathetic position, he didn’t notice Archie and Veronica standing before him, with worried expressions, and Betty crouching down next to him and enveloping him. No one said anything, because at this point, what could help?

He’d honestly believed that his dad was turning over a new leaf. He’d shaved, actually made dinner, started working again, and started saving it, using that instead of whatever black money the Serpents dealt with. Gosh, he had been so stupid. So gullible. He’d let himself hope for a new life, one where Jellybean and his mom moved back in. He’d dreamt of Thanksgiving, at their old house, with a table set for four. He’d imagined his parents actually loving each other again, with them hugging each other as they watched their kids unwrap presents on Christmas day. He’d imagined so many things when he saw FP Jones finally, and seemingly clean up his act, but now…

He curled into Betty, his heart broken, hopelessness pervading within every inch of him, heart-wrenching, gut-twisting sobs permeating the cold and stale air of the trailer.

His family had abandoned him.

He stood in Archie’s driveway, a suitcase in hand as he hugged the redhead. One week had passed since Jughead’s breakdown in his trailer.

A lot had happened since then.

His dad was now a main suspect in the investigation of Jason Blossom. A thorough background check had been done, with Jughead being interrogated a second time, and his mom spoken to over the phone.

In lieu of said phone call, Gladys Jones had been made aware that her son had no family left in Riverdale. She had been furious and guilty, calling her tormented son immediately.

“Come here,”, “Please,” and “Sorry,” were words repeated multiple times in the conversation they’d had.

The thing was, Jughead didn’t want to go. His family was here- with the Andrews and the Coopers. Well, mainly the youngest one. He’d almost declined her offer, because she’d already left him once, and his stupid pride wouldn’t let him go.

It had taken one tearful call from Jellybean and another tearful midnight stroll with Betty to convince him to change his mind.

He wasn’t going forever, though. Just for winter break and he’d be back, staying with the Andrews after.

But it was with a heavy heart that he said goodbye to the only people who had stayed beside him during his lowest moments. He wouldn’t be spending Christmas with them, or New Year’s, and that upset him, but thoughts of a ten year old, soon to be eleven, made him look forward to this.

Everyone had already given him his Christmas gifts, and he couldn’t be more thankful to have these people he could call his friends by his side. Betty had made him an entire cassette, its contents yet to be discovered, but Jughead knew he was going to love it. “Listen to it only on Christmas,” She’d said, and he intended to keep that promise.

Archie had given him a photo album of their friendship throughout the year, and Veronica had given him first edition version of ‘The Catcher in the Rye’, “For Riverdale’s very own Holden Caulfield,” She’d said.

He was eternally grateful, not only for the gifts, but their presence. He had yet to give them theirs, and he was going to channel his appreciation into their gifts.

And so, here he was, patting Fred Andrews on the back as he waited for his taxi to the train station, leaning out of their embrace.

“Thank you.” He whispered, and smiled as Fred said, “Don’t mention it.”

He hugged Veronica, who was clad in the most stylish, and possibly most expensive coat he’d ever seen, and he almost didn’t want to embrace her with the fear of ruining it.

“Don’t get yourself killed out there, Jughead, or Betty and I will kill you.”

Jughead laughed. “Noted.”

Finally, it was Betty.

They looked at the rest, and they got the message, because they hastily excused themselves and went back inside the heat.

“I’ll miss you, Jug.”

“You too, Betts.”

They both leaned in for a short kiss, but that wasn’t what neither Betty nor him needed. Instead, he broke it and put his arms around her, burying his head in her blonde locks.

Simultaneously, they crouched down together, so that more of them could be intertwined. It was a peculiar sight, Jughead thought, for their sure spectators from the Andrews’ living room window, but he didn’t care as he breathed in the scent of her honey and cinnamon shampoo.

He thought of he they’d been in a similar position seven days ago, but with him in emotional anguish. This time it was a hug of desperation and love and comfort, and Jughead knew he’d miss Betty Freaking Cooper, the sunshine that she was, the most.

He remembered the monologue she’d  given him, the long, mostly one sided conversation they’d had on the night his dad left. She’d helped him realise that he wasn’t alone in this big, bad, world and he did have family- among his friends. She’d grasped his shoulders, looked into his eyes, and as blue met grey, she made her first declaration- she loved him.

He’d said it back there and then, and he meant it with all his being.

The sound of snow crunching and an engine notified them that his taxi had arrived.

They broke apart, albeit unwillingly, but they couldn’t keep the driver waiting. With one last kiss, he put his arm around her as he heaved his extremely light suitcase into the backseat.

Finally, the door closed, their arms separated, and Jughead drew a small crown on the frost that had formed on the window, from the cold Canadian weather.

Betty laughed, her cheeks flushed, and the taxi started moving. He smiled at her until she was out of sight, and with a sigh, a leaned back against the taxi’s black interiors. He wasn’t going forever. He’d be back.

He had a family.