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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 3 years

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Bodyguard IV: Vegas Lights (Chapter Seven) (B. Urie x Reader)

"WE NEED TO RECONVENE UPSTAIRS. COME ON."

Brendon's words echoed in your head, yet failed to properly sink in. Your feet moved on their own accord, instinctively following in the steps of the agent ahead of you. The hotel's various entertainment areas and their accents faded into a swirl of blurred colours and patterns; you shut your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose in hopes that it would recalibrate your vision.

It might have been all those tequila shots you'd taken with Ambrose, or the exceptional kiss you'd received a few moments earlier, but you were fairly certain that it was Brendon and his mesmerising, unnecessarily flirtatious performance that was responsible for your current state of disorientation.

A frown crept its way onto your face as you played back the last fifteen minutes in your mind – specifically, the parts where your bodyguard had gotten a bit too up close and personal with the hotel's female guests.

You were still following Brendon's lead, however your stride had slowed down enough so as to allow a couple feet of distance between the two of you. Sensing the change in proximity, the agent halted his movements and spun around to address you.

"Why the frown?"

Shaking your head, you avoided eye contact. "Just... thinking about your little... show."

His left eyebrow arched and there was a smirk playing on his lips. "You didn't like it?" he queried, feigning hurt, "It was for you."

Snapping your head back to look at him, you furrowed your brows and scoffed, stretching your arm out to gesture at the music lounge. "You sang to every girlin there."

"Yeah." He walked forward to minimize the distance between you and whispered lowly. "But where'd I end, though?"

With the intention of delivering a clever retort, you immediately opened your mouth to respond. Sadly for you, you couldn't think of a single thing to say in return, and instead resigned yourself to clicking your tongue at him irritatedly.

Satisfied with his little win, the brooding agent straightened himself up and smoothed his jacket. "Exactly. Besides..."

He started making his way to the elevator and you followed suit, leaning in slightly to ensure that you heard everything he was about to say.

"...not liked I danced with them. Unlike some people."

His voiced dropped to a low hum for that last sentence, but you caught it nontheless. You caught it, and you once again stopped dead in your tracks.

"What did you just say?"

"You heard me."

It was abundantly clear that his quip was in reference to the whole "went-out-to-a-karaoke-bar-and-let-Aaron-Ross-serenade-you" thing, and honestly, you were insanely annoyed that he had brought it up.

After all, pretending to be dead and disappearing for eleven months was far worse.

"Oh, I'm sorry," you scoffed, clutching at your chest and widening your eyes, "I wasn't aware that dancing is a crime."

"It isn't," he shook his head, then tilted it to the side and stuffed his hands into his pockets, "Unless you do it without me."

"Oh, is that so?" you mumbled, skewing your face mockingly as you proceeded to overtake the agent in heading for the elevator. "Well maybe, if you had beenthere..."

Holding up his hands in a silent plea for you to stop talking, Brendon resumed his stride and sidled up next to you. Now that he was close enough to do so, he spoke into your ear.

"I don't intend on ever making that mistake again, believe me."

The two of you stepped into the elevator, standing shoulder-to-shoulder after pressing the button for your floor.

"I knew you sang," you scoffed, "You tried to deny it all those times, but I knew."

"Obviously. I literally sang you back to sleep once. What did you think that was, sweetheart? A dream?"

The elevator doors opened with a ding and seconds later, Brendon slipped out and down the hallway, leaving you to gawk after him.

"You literally said- UGH!"

✧✧✧

Minutes later. Your and Brendon's hotel suite.

"...so to summarise," Rollins made a circle with his hands, signifying that his recount of the last hour was coming to a pinnacle, "the lead was a bust and we just wasted a perfectly good distraction technique on nothing."

From the other side of the suite, over by the bar cart, Ambrose piped up. "On the bright side, we did bust a drug operation." Drink in hand, the Hound nudged Brendon with his elbow and leaned in to mutter some words. "I swiped a couple grams, if you wanna have a party later."

Already annoyed due to the fact that no one had managed to get anywhere with this case, Brendon clenched his jaw and exhaled fumingly at the Lunatic's immaturity. Turning his head sharply, he delivered a glare so deadly that it could be felt all throughout the suite.

Stepping back, Ambrose held up his free hand in a show of surrender, raising his brows. "Kidding. Jesus, lighten up a bit."

"I'll lighten up when we finally find a lead that's an actual fucking lead," the agent growled, grabbing Ambrose's drink out of his hand and downing it before rubbing his hands over his face.

"That was the closest thing we've had," Reigns reminded everyone, shaking his head in disdain, "I can't believe weof all people are in a rut."

Sick of the heavy, pessimistic aura in the room, you stood up and clapped your hands together once. Making sure that you looked each man in the eye, you called them down.

"We are not in a rut. We've been in Vegas for all of what, three days? Not all missions are walks in the park – you guys of all people should know that."

You were met with silence and four downcast gazes, and so you continued.

"Today was a particularly draining one; we're all tired, not thinking clearly, and some of us are still slightly inebriated so," you made your way over to the bathroom and placed on hand on the doorframe as you finished addressing your teammates, "let's all just call it a night, get some rest and then discuss our next move in the morning, okay? Okay. Wonderful. Now get out of my room, I need to take a shower."

A resounding slam echoed around the room as you emphasised your point by shutting the bathroom door. The lock clicked and taking that as their final cue, the four agents shifted from their respective spots around the suite and headed for the exit.

Given that there was twenty feet and a thick plastered wall seperating you and your teammates, it wasn't at all possible for you to overhear any conversation that arose between them. Nevertheless, Brendon waited to hear the water spouting from the shower head before he started speaking.

"Since this case is clearly going nowhere slowly..." Brendon stopped in front of the door, running a hand through his hair before placing both hands on his hips. The Hounds ceased their steps and listened intently. "I'm gonna call Weekes. In the meantime, I want you guys to keep looking for Mason."

Ambrose made no effort to hide his disdain over the request, letting his body go limp as he expelled a throaty groan.

"Big brother duty again? Dude, we told you that he's dead."

Brendon responded with an icy glare. "You also told me that the kidnappers were operating from an underground lair here in the casino. So forgive me if I'm a bit untrusting of your sources and their intel."

"Fair enough."

Always the rational one, Rollins nodded his head and gave Brendon a firm pat on the back as reassurance.

"We'll handle it. Let us know what Weekes says."

Nodding, the brooding agent opened the door to allow his colleagues to leave, each of them mumbling goodnights as they did so. He locked the door, making sure that it was properly secure before moving off to grab another drink from the bar cart.

The pattering of water against shower tiles continued to filter through from the bathroom and concluding that you'd most likely still be in there for a while, Brendon decided it'd be best if he called HQ then.

He picked up the suit jacket strewn across a chair in the corner of the room and ruffled through the inside pockets in search of his phone. Once he found it, he walked over to the compact dining area, i.e. the most secluded part of the suite and tapped the screen a couple times to ring Dallon.

Setting it down on the small table, Brendon tooks sips of his whiskey as he waited for the techie to answer. There was complete silence in the suite, save for the distant pattering of the water from the shower and the trill of the phone; the sounds fell in and out of sync with one another, giving the agent something to listen to until the cheery voice of his comrade – accompanied by his hologram – pierced through the air.

"Hey, handsome! I was wondering when you'd call!"

Just barely managing to fight back a chuckle and a smile, Brendon cocked his head up in greeting.

"Hey, Weekes. Listen, everything has pretty much gone to shit over here. We've got no leads, no intel, nothing. So..."

It took a second for the penny to drop but once the techie fully caught on to what his brooding counterpart was insinuating, he dropped the Scooby-Doo mug he'd had in his hand. The broken pieces of ceramic and milky coffee painted the linoleum floor of the tech room in an unappealing mixture of browns and blues.

Scooting as close to his desk as the roller chair would allow, Dallon leaned in closer still as he readjusted the glasses in front of his wide eyes. Eyes that were sparkling with excitement and a hint of mischief.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" He was practically squealing, forcing Brendon to recoil and shut his eyes. "We're gonna do the-"

"Yes." The agent cut his colleague off, partly out of fear that he'd overspeak and say something he shouldn't and partly because he was still squealing. "I hate to say it but... we're in a rut, and this might be our only option."

Dallon's hologram cheered triumphantly. Brendon winced. The techie was far too invested in this, and that unsettled him a great deal. Especially since it was purely for the sake of the mission, and not for the reason Dallon was not-so-secretly vouching for.

"So," Brendon cleared his throat, tossing a quick glance over in the direction of the bedroom to make sure that you weren't out yet; you weren't, and he looked back to the hologram, "Can you get that suitcase here by morning?"

"How do you know me, bro?" Dallon scoffed, then leaned back in his chair and cracked his knuckles, "Already on its way."

✧✧✧

The next morning.

The tiny crack in the hotel's curtains allowed for rays of morning light to filter into the bedroom, illuminating the space in a soft glow. Your eyelids rose with ease, grateful to finally reopen after a good night's sleep. Stretching out your limbs, you shook off the remnants of your slumber.

You had gone to bed right after your shower the previous night, calling out a goodnight to Brendon as you crawled beneath the covers. A low mumble was all you'd received in response. He was hunched over his phone, busy with what was undoubtedly mission-related things; you assumed he'd come to bed as soon as he finished whatever it was he needed to do.

Looking over at the space next to you, a frown found its way onto your face. The bed looked completely untouched, not a crinkle in the bedding nor a dent in the pillow. Your fingers trailed along the crisp duvet, hoping that you would somehow feelhim – feel that he had been there – and that it would prove that your thoughts of him chosing to sleep on the sofa rather than next to you were nothing but pesky anxieties.

Sadly, you found no such reassurance.

Heaving a sad sigh, you rolled over to face the other side. Your eyes fixed on the compact bedside table – or more specifically, what was on top of it. The frown you were wearing slowly morphed into a soft smile as you took in the sight of the still-steaming cup of coffee.

There was your reassurance.

While it was evident that he hadn't slept next to you, the familiar gesture of bringing you your morning coffee was proof enough that he cared.

Pushing yourself up into a sitting position, you called out to him. "Bren?"

Your voice was hoarse from sleep, and you cleared your throat while reaching over to pick up the mug. After taking a sip, you tried again.

"Brendon?"

No response. Knitting your brows together, you peeled back the covers and tentatively slid out of bed, trying not to spill any coffee. The complimentary hotel slippers laid by your feet; you slid them on and started for the living area of the suite.

There was no sign of your bodyguard, however there was a note on the coffee table. Picking it up, you read over the slanted handwriting.

'Needed to run a couple errands. Be back soon.

-B'

"Errands?" you muttered, taking another sip of coffee as you reread the note.

It was odd that the usually mission-orientated agent would take time off to do personal things, which led you to conclude that whatever he was doing was somehow tied to the case. It was even more odd, then, that he hadn't informed you of what exactly the errands entailed.

Chalking it up to his lone-wolf, arrogant nature, you dropped the note back onto the coffee table and walked back to the bedroom. You picked up your cellphone from the side table and sat yourself on the edge of the bed, scrolling through your notifications while you slugged down the remainder of your coffee.

Not long after, you were headed for the bathroom to freshen up and get ready for the day. You shut and locked the door out of habit, ensuring your privacy despite the fact that you were alone in the suite. When you emerged from the bathroom a half hour later, though, you realised that that was no longer the case.

You stopped in your tracks when you saw the dress splayed across the made-up bed. Knitting your brows together, you approached the bed with cautious steps and an inquisitive gaze.

Now that you were close enough to properly examine the dress – which was covered in a transparent dress protector to preserve its delicateness – you were quite easily the most confused you had ever been.

"Uh... Brendon?"

"Heads up."

You spun around just in time to catch the airborne object he had tossed across the room. Clutching the bunch of tulle in both hands, you lowered it down to inspect it.

"What's this?" you asked, fondling the material as you tried to make sense of it.

"A veil." His words caused you to freeze, your eyes the only part of you that moved as you looked up at him. He nodded to the item of clothing on the bed. "And that's a dress. Get changed. We have an appointment."

Tilting your head, you gave the agent a skeptical look. "Where?"

"The altar."

"...why?"

"We're getting married."

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 3 years

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Heyy

I just wanted to say that I love your bodyguard series! Sadly, I'm too low on energy to read rn :((( can't wait to binge it all in one go! Have a lovely day 🌸

hi, my love!!

that’s so sweet; i’m so glad you like it :)

take care of yourself and rest up - the series isn’t going anywhere (and it’s highkey way better to binge it all together lmao)

stay safe and enjoy the holidays. xx

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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 3 years

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❆ merry christmas, my loves. hope everyone is staying safe. :) x ❆

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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 3 years

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Bodyguard IV: Vegas Lights (Chapter Six) (B. Urie x Reader)

"DAMN BOYS," Ambrose wolf-whistled, letting his gaze wonder up and down as he approached you and Brendon at the bar with Reigns and Rollins in tow, "Have you ever seen anyone so attractive? So undeniably sexy?" He bit his lip and nodded appreciatively, then looked at you and gave a big smile. "Oh hey, (Y/N). You look good, too."

Unimpressed and unamused by his colleague's teasing, Brendon delivered a death stare in the Hound's direction before softly clicking his tongue and downing the remainder of his drink.

"Back so soon; I guess that means that the mission was successful?" you queried, arching a brow as you addressed the towering agents.

"Well it was definitely... eventful," Rollins answered. Your bodyguard's jaw tensed at the choice of words.

As Rollins and Reigns stepped around to properly greet you, Brendon took the opportunity to grip Ambrose's jacket and yank him closer. He growled lowly into his ear.

"The fuck are you guys doing back? And be warned that there's only one acceptable answer to that question."

The agents were so close to one another that Dean could smell the bourbon on Brendon's breath, and feel the vibrations of his voice on his skin. The blond gently shoved him back and smoothed the creases Brendon's fist had created in his jacket.

"Ease up on the suit, dude – it's a rental," the Hound complained, maintaining a perfectly jovial expression despite the furious one adorned on his counterpart's face, "And to answer your question... we're back because we got a lead."

Brendon frowned. "What kind of a lead?"

"The kind that-"

"Ambrose!" Your voice pierced through the air and halted their conversation, prompting them to both look to you expectantly. "Your friends are wusses. Wanna do tequila shots with me?"

Behind you, Reigns and Rollins stood vigourously shaking their heads and mouthing the word 'NO' over and over. As always, the third Hound totally disregarded his friends' instructions and proceeded to do his own thing.

"Fuck yeah!" He strutted over and picked up the salt shaker from the bar top. "When in Vegas..."

Cheering, you picked up a second shaker and the two of you went through the motions of taking a tequila shot. You were busy downing the alcohol when Rollins sidled up next to a seething Brendon.

"You wanna explain to me what the hell is going on?"

Puffing out his cheeks and exhaling, Rollins turned to face Brendon and began speaking in a hushed tone.

"Alright so, two things... one, we got a lead for this 'runaway-couple' mission and that's why we're back."

Now properly irritated, Brendon had to physically grip the edge of the bar to keep from lashing out. He'd given them explicit instructions to not return until they'd done what they were supposed to, and yet, return is what they did.

"You couldn't have called?" the brooding agent grumbled. "(Y/N) and I could've handled it. You had more important things to take care of."

Pushing himself away from the bar stool he'd been leaning against, Rollins straightened himself up and pointed at the other agent.

"Which brings me to thing number two – we didn't find Mason. BUT," the Architect made sure to elaborate as quickly as possible, "we're pretty sure that he's dead."

Red.

Red was all that Brendon saw.

However, for the sake of not drawing attention and blowing their cover, he suppressed his rage.

"Prettysure?" he echoed, voice eeriely calm, "You're prettysure? Do you have any idea what I will-"

"Before you bring the place down..." Rollins held his hands out in an attempt to combat the hostility radiating off of Brendon. "We have it on good authority that he's dead."

Taking a step forward, Brendon leaned in and narrowed his eyes. His tongue darted across his bottom lip. "And whose authority would that be, exactly?"

"A friend."

The Hound's face was earnest; he was clearly wholly convinced that the information he'd received was correct, and upon realising this, Brendon relaxed ever so slightly. He trusted the man in front of him, and would take his word as truth.

"Okay." Standing down, Brendon nodded slowly. "Okay. Good."

The sound of what was your and Ambrose's fourth tequila shot glass clinking against the top of the bar reverberated through the area, immediately drawing the attention of the two agents. Reigns was trying to prevent you from going in for another, but was failing miserably.

With frustrated sighs, Brendon and Seth made their way over and wrestled the shot glasses away from both of you.

"Will you quit it?" Rollins scolded his friend, knocking the plate of lemon slices away with a scowl. "We can't follow through with the plan if you're wasted."

"And the plan is what, exactly?" Brendon queried, furrowing his brow as he wiped the grains of salt off of your hand.

The three Hounds shared an unreadable look, then all stared at Brendon uneasily.

"We think it's a solid one," Reigns explained, stuffing his hands in his pant pockets and cocking one brow, "But you're not gonna like it..."

✧✧✧

Twenty minutes later. The music lounge.

"Just tell me what the plan is," you groaned, tugging on Brendon's arm while you had a hand wrapped around it.

The Hounds had explained what the lead was – according to their source, there was a concealed area of the casino that the kidnappers operated out of and wherein the abducted couples were held until transport. This 'lair' was reportedly accessible through the back area of the music lounge.

As far as leads went, this one wasn't particularly plausible, but it was the only one any of you had conjured up so far, and all of you were firm believers that any and all leads should be followed up on.

Your bodyguard and the other three agents had rudely excluded you from the earlier discussion of what exactly the plan involved, so as you shuffled along the carpeted lounge floor, you were entirely in the dark about what was about to go down.

"Nope."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because you're drunk." He looked at you disapprovingly. "And we can't take any chances. So you'll just sit right here," he led you to one of the couches and gently guided you into the seat, "and let us handle it."

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed. "Typical men. Always thinking you're better because you got the muscles and the charm and the-" you made a disgusted face "-testosterone. I could totally pull off this plan, you know!"

"Of course you could, babe." Glancing over his shoulder, he motioned something to one of the passing waiters before refocusing on you. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he tilted his head to the side and raised his brows. "But not like this."

You clicked your tongue and waved one hand dismissively. "I'm fine."

"You most definitely are not. And I must say, I'm crazy disappointed in how low your tolerance is."

"Whatever," you mumbled, slouching back into the soft couch and gazing out across the lounge.

Moments later, Brendon placed a ginger ale on the table in front of you. "Drink up. It'd be nice if you were at least slightly sober for this."

You obliged, and with the straw dancing across your lips, you frowned up at him. "For what?"

"This."

The alcohol coursing through your veins had slowed down your brain's processing abilities greatly, and it was only once Brendon was standing on stage with a microphone in his hand that you fully comprehended what was going on.

"Oh... my... god."

The opening notes of a song you didn't recognise blared through the speakers scattered around the lounge, garnering the attention of every person in the room and drawing their eyes toward the stage. The stage on which your bodyguard stood, face as emotionless as ever, but hands gripping the micstand with familiarity.

You stared, wholly captivated, watching as his hands slowly danced along the shaft of the mic, his fingers tapping along to the music that sounded through the air. As the gentle beat in the opening picked up, it was joined by a guitar riff, and when the drums jumped in soon after, your eyes practically bulged out of their sockets as you saw how Brendon reacted to it.

His usually perfectly quiffed hair bounded out of place as he banged his head back and forth, rocking out to the track with such vigour that you were completely convinced that the man that stood up there was not your stone-hearted, icy bodyguard.

But then he started singing.

And you knew that it most definitely was.

"Cross my heart and hope to die, burn my lungs and curse my eyes," he started, silencing everyone and everything in the room.

"I've lost control and I don't want it back; I'm going numb, I've been hijacked," he sang, slightly bumping up and down to the melody, "It's a fucking drag..."

He locked eyes with you, peering deep into your soul, and proceeded to sing his heart out.

"I taste you on my lips and I can't get rid of you,

So I say damn your kiss and the awful things you do,

Yeah, you're worse than nicotine,

Nicotine,

Yeah, you're worse than nicotine,

Nicotine,

Yeah..."

Stepping down from the stage, he ran a hand through his hair to push it back and swaggered over in your direction. Heart hammering in your chest, all you could do was sit there and watch; you couldn't speak, you couldn't move, you couldn't even think.

You were entirely puzzled as to why he was doing this, especially since he'd so often reminded you that he "doesn't sing." But you didn't dare question it. It was far too magical.

His voice was so powerful yet so angelic and each time he started singing again, you were drawn back in. You watched, entranced, as he commanded the room in such an effortless manner it was unreal.

Diverting his path, he turned to the right of you and began singing to the lady in red sitting alone at a table.

"It's better to burn than to fade away, it's better to leave than to be replaced,"

She blushed, clearly flattered, and you scoffed under your breath. Before the jealously could really set in though, he pulled away and strutted over to another table. This one had a group of girls around it – all of whom were shamelessly gawking at the gorgegous man performing in front of them.

"I'm losing to you,

Baby, I'm no match,

I'm going numb, I've been hijacked,

It's a fucking drag," he serenaded each one of them in turn, and they were practically drooling over him.

The intial shock and elatedness at hearing him sing had worn off now – mostly due to his show of obnoxious flirting – and you sat back in the couch, unimpressed.

Thankfully, he moved away from the girls before any of them could grab onto him. Now, he sashayed across the dance floor and towards the bar with each and every pair of eyes in the room focused on his every move, all of which were incredibly graceful and showman-like.

Reaching out to grab the edge of the bar top, he used it to spin himself around as he delivered the pre-chorus for the second time.

"I taste you on my lips and I can't get rid of you,

So I say damn your kiss and the awful things you do,"

In a movement so fluid and quick, he darted his eyes over to the far end of the lounge. It was so subtle and undercover that you were the only one able to catch it; and that was merely because of your heightened senses and agent training.

Knitting your brows together, you looked over to where he had and noticed something you hadn't before – a door, secluded and hidden in the dark but nevertheless surrounded by two bouncers.

At face value, they could've passed as regular patrons of the casino, but their burly nature and stiff body language told you that they were more than that. Although, judging by the tapping of their feet and slight bobbing of their heads, they were enjoying Brendon's performance just as much as everyone else.

And then it dawned on you.

Straightening up in your seat, you turned back around and watched wide-eyed as Brendon climbed atop the bar in one swift movement.

This was a distraction.

"Yeah, you're worse than nicotine,

Nicotine,

Yeah, you're worse than nicotine,

Nicotine,

Yeah,"

The agent leapt off the bar, pressing his feet to the backrest of one of the stools and using it to slide down to the floor. Your eyebrows raised and you couldn't help but smile at his smooth moves.

Yet again, he approached a woman. This one, however, was with a partner and as a show of respect, Brendon didn't spend toomuch time serenading her.

"Just one more hit and then we're through,

'Cause you could never love me back,"

He turned his attention fully on you, as he started taking slow steps to your table. The two of you locked eyes again, and your lips parted slightly as he got closer.

"Cut every tie I have to you,

'Cause your love's a fucking drag,

But I need it so bad," he closed his eyes and shook his head lightly, now practically right in front of you.

"Your love's a fucking dra-a-a-ag,

But I need it so bad."

He ran his fingers along your cheek and you leaned into his touch. Preparing to belt out the final chorus, he took one step back and ran his hand through his hair.

"Yeah, you're worse than nicotine,

Nicotine,

Yeah you're worse than nicotine,

Nicotine,

Yeahhhhh."

Pulling you up and out of your seat, Brendon gripped you flush against his body and as the audience in the lounge gave him a standing ovation, hegave youthe most passionate kiss of your life.

So passionate, in fact, that you nearly passed out.

"Hey," he whispered, steadying you as your knees buckled, "You alright?"

You nodded. "Yeah," you were breathless, both from the kiss and from his performance.

"Good." He looked over his shoulder, noting that the two bouncers were now gone. "Let's get out of here."

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 3 years

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❆CHRISTMAS❆

Suffocatingly Gleeful. (P. Stump x Reader)

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆

for: my lovely friend @sunsetinmyvein.

request: ‘It’s nowhere near Christmas, it’s literally still November would you calm down about Christmas wait no why are you getting the tree out- no, stop, please stop

I'm thinking this could be a good Patrick idea?’

note: day five of the twelve days of christmas. :) x

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED.

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆

Every year.

Every. Single. Year.

Every year without fail, you would drive Patrick crazy with your over the top, suffocatingly gleeful Christmas spirit. He wasn’t anti-Christmas at all – he liked the holiday as much as the next person – but your zeal made the holiday season something he had come to dread.

It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy doing festive activities and getting in the spirit with you; it was just that you were busy all the time. At any given time during the month of December, you could be found doing some kind of Christmas-related activity and quite frankly, it was exhausting.

At least, it was to your boyfriend.

You, on the other hand, seemed to run on some peppermint-fuelled never ending energy source.

It was straining to try and keep up with and with each passing year, Patrick found it to be more and more difficult. He found himself wishing that you’d kick the Chrismas cheer a notch or two down, just so that he at least had a chance of matching your energy.

That’s why when this year’s festive season began drawing nearer and nearer and you had yet to utter a single word about Christmas, he was lulled into a false sense of security. But on the fateful morning of November 29th, he received an extremely rude awakening.

Literally.

“What the hell…” Patrick woke with a start, the music blaring downstairs causing him to jolt into a sitting position on the bed.

The singer rubbed his eyes, then ruffled his hair while attempting to fully shake off his slumber and focus on his surroundings. A quick glance at the empty space next to him told him that you were already awake, and were most likely the cause of his unwanted alarm.

“Oh,” a long, tired moan left his mouth as he swiped his hand over the nightstand in search of his glasses. Once he found them, he slipped them onto his face and relunctantly climbed out of bed. “It’s that time again.”

Bracing himself for what he was about to encounter downstairs, he drew in a deep breath and zombied out of your shared bedroom and down the wooden stairs. Much like he’d expected, you were in front of the music system, tuning the various knobs to ensure that your Christmas playlist was receiving the proper treatment.

The chorus of ‘Last Christmas’ blasting through the speakers muffled Patrick’s groans of agony, and you were only alerted to his presence when you felt his hand on your shoulder.

“Oh,” you spun around to greet him with a smile, “morning, baby.”

“Morning.” He placed a chaste kiss on your lips. Side-eying the stereo, he cleared his throat and rubbed up and down your arm. “What, uh… whatcha doin’?”

He knew what you were doing. He knew damn well. The only reason he asked was because he had the tiniest shred of hope that maybe – just maybe – he was wrong.

He wasn’t.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” you scoffed, then gestured to the music system, “I’m preparing for Christmas.”

“It’s nowhere near Christmas-“

Not giving him a chance to finish, you pulled a piece of paper from your pocket and held it in front of his face. “And look!” You unfolded it and pointed out the list you made. “I already have everyone’s gifts planned out and here’s a couple new recipes I wanna try.”

Glancing over your intricate list, Patrick arched his brows and blinked slowly. It was so early in the morning. So early. His brain couldn’t forge an appropriate response even if he tried.

That didn’t bother you, though, and you continued babbling on about your plans for the upcoming weeks.

“Okay but it’s literally still November-“

“OH and did I mention that there’s this cute little market that’s coming to town? Josh told me about it and I can’t wait for us to go,” you beamed, pulling up some images of said market on your phone.

Patrick had to admit that it did look pretty charming but again – it was far too early for all of this festivity. He reached for your half-full cup of coffee on the edge of the stand and took a huge gulp.

“Ugh, and can you imagine how good we’re gonna look on the cards this year?” you sighed dreamily, closing your eyes to visualize it.

“Would you calm down about Christmas- wait, no- why are you getting the tree out-“ He set the cup down and hurriedly rushed over to stop you from dragging the tree and décor out from the storage closet. “No, stop, please stop-“

The singer was silenced by the tree landing in his arms, branches blocking his view of you. You proceeded to gather the necessary boxes filled with ornaments and tinsel before shooing Patrick back into the living room area.

“Come on,” you huffed, dropping the box to the floor and brushing the hair from your face, “If we hurry, we can get it up before-“

“Before we do anything else,” Patrick held up his hands and walked forward to cup your face with them, “How about we do breakfast?”

“Oo, but I wanna-“

“I’ll cook your Christmas favourites,” he bargained, arching his brows enticingly.

“Sold.”

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 3 years

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You Pick a Fight - P3

I have long since forgotten what prompts from the prompt list that we used for this, but as requested by @imagine-that-100, the third and final part of You Pick a Fight. Enjoy!

True to his word, Matty absolutely did give me hell for everything I had said and done while in hospital. Word spread pretty fast in our circle of friends about how soft I had remarked his hair was, much to my dismay. But my thumb survived, and that was the main concern. I could tolerate the berating for the sake of still having all of my digits. And to be fair, Matty was very helpful in hospital that day, as much as he didn’t tell anyone else about that half of the story. A part of my anaesthesia haze ramblings stayed with me even past that hectic evening. I suddenly felt like I gave that man too much grief throughout our friendship, maybe a few of my pranks were edging on too mean. Not that I was going to give up entirely on that side of our friendship, but I definitely had a feeling that it was time to pull back from how intense they had been becoming. When every interaction between us wasn’t laced with sarcasm and spent looking over your shoulder for what could be coming next, spending time with Matty was actually… fairly pleasant? I found myself actually wanting to be around him.

Keep reading

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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 3 years

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Bodyguard IV: Vegas Lights (Chapter Five) (B. Urie x Reader)

IN A DIFFERENT SETTING, the shiny surfaces and flashy lights might have appealed to you, but in the current environment, it did the exact opposite. The high of being surrounded by high rollers and their lavish lifestyles had worn off pretty quickly, and now your journey throughout the hotel casino was made bearable only by the presence of the man whose arm you had a hand wrapped around.

"You alright there?"

"Hm?" Tearing your gaze away from the crystal chandelier dangling in the middle of the room, you turned to find Brendon observing you with an expectant expression. "Oh, yeah. Just... feel kinda out of place."

The agent let out a wheeze. "Says the one who lived in mansions all their life."

"Yeah but..." you gestured to all of the affluent individuals buzzing around, "These people are on another level."

Shaking his head, Brendon placed a hand on the small of your back and gently guided you further toward the center of the casino.

"They only look that way. I guarantee you that at least seventy percent of them can't even really afford to be playing. But they do it to keep up appearances. In Vegas," he stepped to the side and allowed a couple of servers carrying drink trays to pass, "it's all about the image. Which..." Lifting his hand from your back and stepping away to observe you, he nodded in approval. "You seem to have perfected." His eyes met yours, and your heart skipped a beat. "You look beautiful."

Smiling softly, you reached out to grip the collar of his shirt and smoothed out the small crinkles in the material.

"You're not looking too bad yourself. Not as good as me, obviously, but..."

Rolling his eyes, he placed his hand atop yours and lowered it from his collar. "You want a drink?" You nodded. "Okay," he said quietly, moving to place an order at the bar.

As he did that, you once again looked out across the casino floor. The section you were currently standing in was comprised mostly of poker tables, each one virtually identical to the one next to it. However, there was one table in particular that caught your attention.

It was one that had a particularly large, macho-looking older man in the seat left of the dealer. Everything about his body language and style of playing showed that he was extremely confident in his playing abilities, and the towering stack of chips in front of him was proof that he had good reason to be.

You had never been a good poker player, yourself. Sure, you could handle yourself during a hand or two, but winning was never something you could ever envision yourself doing.

"Thanks." Taking a sip of the drink Brendon had just handed you, you narrowed your eyes as you continued watching the game being played and pointed them out to your partner. "You any good at that?"

Cocking his head to the side and taking a sip of his drink as well, Brendon raised one brow. "What do you think?"

"I think..." you trailed off, staring in awe as the macho-man let out a cheer and used both arms to sweep the massive pile of chips in the middle of the table towards his pile, "...that that guy is fucking unbelievable."

Following your gaze, Brendon watched the man count his chips. Unlike you, though, he was unimpressed.

"He's too cocky," the agent said plainly, gently swirling the bourbon in his glass before taking another sip, "It's not an ideal trait in a good poker player."

You found his impression of the man somewhat hypocritical, and the funny look you were giving him made that quite clear. Noticing your disapproval, he pursed his lips and held out one hand.

"His cocky and my cocky are two vastly different things," he justified, once again guiding you by the small of your back, this time in the opposite direction.

"Right, of course."

As the two of you made your way through the crowd and consequently got closer and closer to the table you'd been watching, the planget voice of the macho-man became audible; he was relishing in his major win, and arrogantly tossing out open challenges to anyone who passed by the table.

"What about you, pretty boy?" Calling out to Brendon, the man leaned back in his seat and raised his chin. "You game?"

Not paying any attention to the challenge whatsoever, Brendon continued guiding you along. Macho-man didn't seem to appreciate being ignored, and seeing the two of you walk away prompted a louder, far more insulting string of words.

This time, Brendon stopped dead in his tracks.

Knowing that the only way this situation was going to end was badly, you immediately gripped his arm and squeezed tightly.

"Don't," you said lowly, "Let's just keep walking."

He turned to look at you, and you were shocked to see that his eyes weren't ablaze. No hint of anger at all. Not even a little bit. A small crease formed between your brows as you tried to make sense of it, meanwhile Brendon traced his fingers along your face before tenderly cupping your cheek.

"Don't worry, baby."

With those words, he straightened his shoulders and headed for the table.

You were still too confused – and slightly worried about what the agent was about to do to the macho-man – to make a move to stop him. In fact, him calling you 'baby' didn't even resonate with you.

All you could do was stand back and watch with bated breath as Brendon gripped the back of the chair across from the man. Much to your surprise, he didn't pick up the object and send it flying towards the man's face, but sat down instead.

Maintaining unwavering eye contact with his opponent, the agent reached into his inside jacket pocket to retrieve a stack of chips. Gently, he set them down on the table and nodded at the dealer.

"Let's go."

✧✧✧

A little while later.

Brendon tapped his fingers on the table, lifting just the corner of his cards to stare at them for the third time. Macho-man let out an irritated huff.

"Today would be nice."

Brendon didn't say anything in return, instead put his cards back down and fiddled with his chips; he counted twice and then slid them into the middle.

"I raise you," he said, face as blank as ever. Peak Brendon energy. You noted the look of surprise on macho-man's face.

"Someone's feeling brave, hm?" the man taunted, raising it again. Only by a few chips but still, a raise.

Brendon, again, seemed unphased really. He peeked at his cards, flexing his jaw.

Despite standing by your bodyguard's side for the entirety of the game played so far, you had no way of seeing what he had in his hand. You were desperate to know what cards he had, what kind of hand he could possibly deal right now. Not that you weren't extremely confident in his abilities; it was just that his opponent was clearly some sort of poker wizard, and if Brendon was able to beat him at literally his own game, it'd be amazing.

"You can always fold."

Brendon stared at him then, expression blank. It was astounding, really. Even his poker face had a poker face.

"Raise you." Brendon threw in more chips, and he was slowly running out. Anymore and he might as well go all in. You were obviously impressed, although part of you still worried that Brendon didn't have the cards to pull this off.

Brendon stared his opponent down, watching him for his reaction to him not backing down, but instead challenging him even further. Macho-man, ever stubborn and proud in his poker abilities, raised Brendon's bet.

You could have sworn he saw a twitch of Brendon's lips up into a smile. A twinkle in his eye. But you were most likely imagining it.

"All in," Brendon said, not even bothering to look at his cards this time. Macho-man simply huffed and pushed in the chips to match, still having what you counted to be about $750 worth of chips left. The pot was now around $10 000 and on the table was a 5, 7, 10, and two Aces.

"Have some of this, pretty boy," macho-man grinned wide as he laid down his cards. You inhaled sharply, a flush was a hell of a hand.

For the first time that entire game, Brendon dropped his guard and made an uncertain face; you might even have gone as far as to call it defeated and you felt a knot beginning to form in your stomach. That is... until Brendon flipped his cards.

A seven and the fourth ace. Full house, aces over sevens.

You let out a relieved, disbelieving laugh, as macho-man smacked the table with a heavy hand. Brendon's false uncertainty slipped away and his signature unreadable expression returned, now accompanied by the smallest of smirks, knowing exactly how well he played the man.

The agent stood and swiped up the chips as macho-man swore, glaring the younger man down.

"Huh, would ya look at that..." Brendon tucked the chips away, then picked up his almost-empty glass of bourbon, "Now I've got my looks andyour money."

He raised his glass as if to toast, and tilted his head. "Viva Las Vegas." Bringing the glass to his lips, he tilted it and let the remaining liquid flow into his mouth, then deposited the empty glass on the tray of a passing waitron.

Under the hateful eye of his seething opponent, Brendon approached you and held his arm out, pulling you closer to him once you linked your arm with him.

The pair of you began walking off and once you were out of earshot of Brendon's now forlorn opponent, you turned to grin at your partner.

"That was incredible," you enthused, "Where'd you learn to play that well?"

"Not important." He cleared his throat and used his free hand to straighten his suit jacket.

Your face fell, although you tried your best to hide it. You'd thought that the two of you were long past vague answers and dismissive gestures; evidently, you were wrong.

Those two words, as unimportant as they might have seemed, served as a stark reminder that despite everything that had happened over the last couple years – including those things that happened between the two of you – you still didn't know Brendon. Not really.

And you were starting to wonder if you ever would.

"Want another drink?"

The agent's question snapped you out of your thoughtful trance, prompting you to shake your head to recentre yourself.

"Yeah. Yeah, please."

He led the way to the nearest bar, which just happened to be situated in a spot that allowed those around it to peer into the adjacent music lounge. As Brendon placed your order, you rested your body against the top of the bar and observed the festivities across the way.

It seemed to be karaoke night, as could be seen by the unmistakably inebriated duo prancing around onstage, dancing out of sync and singing hopelessly off-key. A chuckle slipped past your lips as you watched them attempt to give a decent performance, but fail miserably. They were a tragic case, but their efforts were nevertheless endearing.

"Thank you," you cooed, taking the drink from Brendon's hand, "Hey, I meant to ask you – what's the deal with The Hounds? You heard anything from 'em?"

Thinning his lips, the agent shook his head before copying your action of sipping the drink he held. He had spoken to them last night, but he couldn't exactly be truthful and tell you that, considering he was the one who sent them off.

"Not yet, no."

"It's weird, isn't it?" Scrunching up your face, you held the cold glass to your chest. "That S.H.I.E.L.D would put them onto another mission just like that."

"We don't have anything concrete here yet, and they're fucking good at what they do so... not weird, exactly. Just," he sighed then, somewhat agitatedly, "God-awful timing." He took a big gulp of bourbon. "Anyway, I doubt we'll hear from 'em anytime soon. They're probably deep in some jungle or somethin'."

Brendon took another drink, looking across the casino floor and over to the entrance; it was there that he caught sight of three very familiar faces.

"Or not."

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 3 years

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Shirt Happens. (M. Way x Reader)

for: anon

request: I’m so happy to see that you’re back! Hope you’re doing well! I was wondering if I could request a fic where the reader is best frens with Mikey Way (include the others if you want to! I live for the way you write their interactions!) And she’s always stealing his clothes and acts like she isn’t (It’s super obvious though) and in the end they end up together? Sorry for the long ask, but thank you for reading!

note: here you go, my love. sorry it took so long; i hope you enjoy it! :) x

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

“That’s a cool shirt.”

“Oh, thanks! I got it at my favourite store – Mikey Way’s Closet.”

Ray lowered his taco from his mouth and stared at you in disbelief. Raising both brows, you picked up your soda and took a gulp.

“You’re stilldoing that?” he gawked, shaking his head to ensure that his disapproval was very much clear. “Jesus, (Y/N), just tell the guy how you feel about him already.”

You almost choked on your Coke, a hand immediately flying to your mouth to prevent spillage as you suffered through a coughing fit.

“For the last time,” you wheezed, coughing once more and hitting your chest to ensure that you were clear before continuing, “It’s not like it; I only steal his clothes because they’re so much cooler than mine.”

“Riiight.” Ray ran his tongue over his teeth and nodded skeptically.

“I’m serious.”

Widening his eyes, he nodded and held up one hand to show that he was relenting. “I believe you.” He took a sip from his own drink. “He does know that you’re taking his clothes though, yes?”

Clearing your throat, you readjusted yourself in your seat. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure he does.”

✧✧✧

“WHERE THE FUCK IS MY SHIRT?”

Mikey let out an angry groan as he ruffled through his closet, tossing t-shirts and hoodies over his shoulder as he searched for the one that was eluding him. He’d been planning on wearing it tonight for a week – he’d even taken it out and placed it on his dresser – but now the damned thing was nowhere to be seen.

From downstairs, an irritated Gerard huffed as he checked the time on his phone before yelling out at his younger brother.

“Can you hurry the fuck up? We’re gonna be late!”

The singer’s voice reached Mikey’s room as a distant yell, muffled even more by the fact that Mikey’s was torso deep inside the jackets and shirts hanging in the closet. Nevertheless, the younger Way heard his brother’s call clearly, and responded with and equally frustrated response.

“I can’t find my fucking shirt!”

“Then just wear a different one!”

“No! You know I’ve been planning this for-“

The bassist had an epiphany then, and he stopped tossing clothing around as his face morphed into a scowl. Removing himself from the closet, he stomped over to the doorway and shouted down the stairs.

“Gee, I swear to God, if this is some kind of joke-“

“The fuck are you on about?” Gerard growled, annoyance growing by the minute as his brother delayed their departure from the house even further.

“This isn’t the first time my shit has gone missing,” Mikey pressed on, “and I know that it’s gotta be one of you-“

“OH, FOR THE LOVE OF-“

Now pushed way past his limit, Gerard stormed up the stairs with such vigour that Mikey could feel the floor shake all the way in his room. A moment later, he was shoved out of the way as Gerard barreled into his room and made a beeline for the closet, grabbing the first shirt he could find and throwing it at his brother’s face.

“It’s a pub crawl, not a fashion show. If you’re not done in the next thirty seconds, I’m leaving.”

✧✧✧

A tipsy Mikey stumbled into his bedroom in a drunkenly haphazardly manner, almost tripping over his own feet but managing to grab the edge of his dresser and steady himself just in time.

Figuring it’d be best if he took advantage of the equilibrium, he began undressing himself. You strolled into the bedroom shortly thereafter, significantly less drunk and with your hands outstretched and ready to catch your sloshed friend if need be.

Now free from the uncomfortable constraints of his skinny jeans and combat boots, Mikey looked around in search of his boxers and sleep shirt. He couldn’t find it in its usual place, prompting him to let out a groan of frustration.

“I can’t believe this,” he frowned, throwing his hands up. He lost his balance for a second, but you gripped his arm and helped him stand upright. “All of my clothes – all of them are just disappearing! Like what the fuck!”

Pursing your lips, you looked down at the t-shirt you had on – his t-shirt. It was a plain black one, which is probably why he hadn’t noticed that it was his, and it was one that you’d swiped from his closet months ago already.

Clearing your throat, you patted him on his back and gently led him to the bed. “C’mon, I’m sure we can find something else in here.”

You managed to pick out an old tee and shorts from one of the dresser drawers and helped him pull them on. A mere two minutes later, he was passed out on the bed.

✧✧✧

The next morning, you were preparing breakfast for you and Mikey; humming to yourself as you flipped pancakes. When the last one was out of the pan and on top of the stack, you wiped your hands on a dishcloth and started for the stairs.

From the bottom, you called out to Mikey. “Yo, Way! Food’s ready!”

You received no response from the bassist, prompting you to heave a heavy sigh and relunctantly trudge your way up the stairs and to his bedroom. Once you got there, you find him (once again) torso deep in his closet, clothes strewn all around him.

“Uh… whatcha doin’ there?”

Upon hearing your voice, he retracted his body and lifted his head to look at you. The poor guy looked distraught, and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

With a loud, exasperated exhale, Mikey explained. “My clothes – especially my shirts – keep going missing.”

Looking down at his Smashing Pumpkins tee you were wearing, you clicked your tongue. “Spooky,” you replied, widening your eyes.

“Wait a minute…”

Mikey wasn’t sure whether he was seeing things as a result of a mild hangover and too little sleep, so he shut his eyes and rubbed over them a couple times before checking to see if he was indeed seeing what he thought he was seeing.

And he was.

You were wearing his shirt.

“It was you!” he gasped, eyes the size of saucers as he jutted an acusatory finger in your direction.

“Well yeah, clearly,” you scoffed, placing your hands on your hips, “Took you long enough to figure it out.”

“But… why?”

Brushing it off with a shrug, you tugged at the tee and looked down at it. “Smells like you. It’s comforting.”

Mikey’s mouth fell into an ‘o’ at your revelation, but he quickly recovered and played it off with a joke. “Jeez, (Y/N). If you wanted to date me so bad, all you had to do was ask. No need to raid my closet.”

“Maybe this was my not-so-subtle way of telling you.”

Oh.

He had most definitelynot been expecting that response. And his face showed it too.

Swallowing harshly to comfort your dry mouth, you looked down and shook your head awkwardly; his expression felt like a shot to your gut.

“But it’s cool if you don’t feel the same, obviously; like, I get-“

“Shut the fuck up.”

Snapping your head up, you frowned, preparing to rip him a new one for being so rude. You didn’t get that far, though, since his lips found yours in a super passionate kiss.

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” he pulled back with a smile, brushing your cheek affectionately as he gave you another short kiss, “In case it wasn’t obvious enough – I do feel the same.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing into his arms. “Thank God.”

“So… does this mean I can get my clothes back now?”

“Oh, Mikey,” you stroked his face, “They’re ourclothes now.”

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 3 years

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oooooo

☄ anonymously tell me what vibes I give off ☄

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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 3 years

Text

Bodyguard IV: Vegas Lights (Chapter Four) (B. Urie x Reader)

"HEY, HEY, HEY, EASY!"

Stumbling forward after his teammates, Ambrose grumbled under his breath as his hands worked on readjusting his t-shirt, which Brendon had used as leverage to shove him into the armory only seconds ago.

Sharing a quick look with his two friends – who were just as ticked off and confused as he was, standing in line next to him – the Lunatic addressed the fuming agent who had cornered them in the room.

"What the hell-"

Brendon silenced him with a single, furious glare. The agent stabbed a finger in the general direction of his colleagues, the vein in his neck protuding as he addressed them.

"You had one job," Brendon thundered, "One fucking job!"

The Hounds stared back at the fuming agent in front of them with blank expressions, none of them taking the liberty of delivering a response. Eventually, a few seconds into the intense staredown, Ambrose broke the silence, holding out his hands as he did so.

"You gonna elaborate on that, or..."

Jutting his chin out, Brendon shut his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. "Mason!" he seethed, "You were supposed to make sure he went off the grid! You were supposed to handle it!"

Rollins tilted his head, narrowed eyes looking between his teammates and the lead agent. "We did. Loaded him off at the bottom of the southern hemisphere."

"Where?!"

"Cape Town," Reigns answered, folding his arms across his broad chest, "In a quaint suburb just off the coast."

Brendon's right eye twitched. "So you're telling me..." Swallowing harshly, he looked down at the ground while raising one clenched fist. "That your idea of handling things... meant dropping that asshole... in one of the world's capital cities?"

Realising their screw-up, the three agents groaned lowly, rubbing their hands over their faces.

"It seemed like a pretty good idea at the time," Rollins defended, shrugging lightly, "Syndicate levels and underground activity is practically non-existent over there."

"Yeah but he'd have access to a shit-ton of resources!" Brendon countered, clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly.

Another hush fell over the group of men but as usual, it was eliminated by a certain Lunatic.

"Well maaaayyybe if you had handled the situation the way it should have been handled, we wouldn't have had to 'handle' it the way we did."

In the blink of an eye, Brendon had rushed forward and grabbed the front of Ambrose's shirt, and was looming over him menacingly.

"Say that again-"

"Hey, hey, HEY!" Rollins and Reigns pulled the two apart before the situation could escalate any further.

"Calm down, alright?" the Architect placed a calming hand on his aggravated colleague's shoulder, "Tell us what's goin' on, 'cause we're kinda running in circles, here."

"He's here," Brendon answered irritatedly, turning his head sharply and looking the Hound up and down, "In Vegas. He's been to visit our mom."

"Shit."

Shrugging the hand off of his shoulder, Brendon stepped back and pointed at the three Hounds once again. "As of now, you're off the mission. Your new one is to find him. We can't have him roaming the streets. Especially not when..."

There was no need to voice the rest of his thought; the guys knew precisely what he was referring to. If Mason was in town, that meant that there was a possibility that he would run into you, and that particular interaction would not bode well for anyone involved.

"Don't worry, uce." Reigns slapped Brendon's back in reassurance, giving a curt nod. "We'll get him."

"You better. Or else we're all fucked."

✧✧✧

That evening, 4:59pm. Bellagio Hotel and Casino.

Through the window of your Uber, you peered up at the towering building you'd just arrived at, one brow arched dubiously.

"Very inconspicious," you chided, sliding out of the car as Brendon held the door open for you, "I'm sure a five-star hotel is the perfect hunting ground for a group of criminal kidnappers."

Turning to the left, you watched as Brendon shut the door and gathered your luggage before rolling his shoulders and giving you a once over.

"All this time," he spoke, starting up the path to the entrance, "and you still question me."

Following his trail, you stuck your hand in the back pocket of your jeans and arched your brows. "In my defense, you've made some pretty questionable choices as of late." A bellhop approached with a trolley, and the three of you shared a brief greeting before he began loading your bags. "And I mean seriouslyquestionable."

"Well," Brendon took a step forward, reaching out to brush his fingers along your cheek before continuing, "This isn't one of them."

You were shocked by the agent's sudden bout of PDA but before you could question him on it, you caught the slight dart of his eyes in the direction of the bellhop, who watched you with a small smile.

Right. Pretences.

Taking the performance a step further, Brendon placed a gentle kiss to your forehead and linked his hand with yours, before following the bellhop as he led the two of you inside.

Once in the reception area, you let the agent head over to check you two in at the desk, while you hung back and surveyed your surroundings. The gold status, the white leather couches, the extraordinary cleanliness, and the distinct air of luxury that these places always seemed to have – it was things you'd experienced a million times previously, but never before had it done such a marvelous job of making you feel out of place.

Those trivialities were reminiesceint of your old life, before things had changed so drastically. Now, it was meaningless. Fiddling with the hem of your t-shirt, you stifled a laugh as you imagined how odd you must've looked to passers-by – combat boots, leather jacket and jeans in a five-star hotel. How classy.

Gazing over at Brendon, forearms rested on the front desk as he waited for the receptionist to finish typing, you noticed that he was the exact opposite.

Despite the fact that he was dressed almost precisely the same as you were, he exuded confidence and regality. He'd never had a problem with appearances – that you understood from the moment you'd met him; he could walk into a room and own it, capture everyone's attention without ever even saying anything. You'd always assumed he'd become that way over time, evolving from a shy boy into a confident man as he got older; but now, you realised that it was simply who he was, it was engrained in his very being, and it always had been.

As he took the key cards from the receptionist and thanked her, you smiled to yourself and watched as he made his way over to you. Even his walk was insolent.

He was a Vegas boy.

"You good?"

Shaking away your thoughts, you nodded. "Mhmm."

"Great." He laced his fingers around yours. Butterflies. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the receptionist observing you two. "Room's on the third floor."

Looking up at him as you started for the elevator, you smirked tauntingly. "Balcony with a view?" you joked, mocking the extravagant nature of the trip that was supposed to be mission-based.

Brendon looked to you with a smirk of his own. "Only the best for you, sweetheart."

✧✧✧

"Have a lovely stay, sir."

"Thank you." After handing the bellhop a couple bills, Brendon shut the door of your hotel suite.

The agent made sure that it was locked securely, then pulled out his cell to text Dallon and The Hounds that all was well so far. He walked as he typed, feet instinctively moving toward where he would find you.

Out on the balcony, you rested your hands on the spiral gold railing as your eyes drank in the magical sight of Las Vegas in the nighttime. The bright lights stretched on for what seemed like thousands of miles – a colouful expanse of unending high-rolling and bad decisions – reflecting off the dark pupils of your eyes as tiny glowing specks. Staring out, you saw Sin City at its finest, and it was juxtaposingly beautiful.

Sensing his presence behind you, you spoke out.

"It's so beautiful."

"What is?" Letting out a deep breath, he rested his forearms on the railing right next to your hands, and hunched forward a little.

"The Vegas lights," you marvelled, looking up and around.

"Where villains spend the weekends," he muttured, nodding slowly.

Tearing your gaze away from the faraway gorgeous sights, you turned to look at the one standing next to you. Arching one brow, you gave him a bemused smile.

"What's that mean?"

Scoffing lightly, he brushed it off. "Nothing. You know, there's much better things to see in Vegas than the night lights."

"Yeah? You gonna take me to them?"

With a wheeze, he looked across the vast expanse of lights himself, then turned to you and tilted his head to one side.

"Yeah. Sometime. But for now," he pushed himself away from the railing and nodded in the direction of the hotel, "How about we see how good your poker face is?"

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

Taglist:

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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 3 years

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❆CHRISTMAS❆ Market. (J. Dun x Reader)

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note: day four of the twelve days of christmas! :) x

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED.

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It was a clear, crisp night; the air had just the right amount of chill to it, and the sky sparkled with hundreds of blinking stars – a perfect winter’s night. The local Christmas market was merry and bright, with all kinds of delicious smells flooding the air and lively music playing in the background. You and your boyfriend strolled through the grounds at a leisurely pace, his right hand clasped lovingly around yours as his left held a firm grip on the dog leash secured around Jim’s neck.

Turning to gaze at the man walking next to you, a wild grin burst across your face as you thought about just how happy you were. You saddled up against his side, close enough to smell his cologne over all the other unfamiliar and wonderful scents of the market.

“I’m so glad we could do this,” you beamed, earning a smile and kiss on your forehead as a response.

“Me too,” Josh agreed, pulling you closer, “It was exactly what I needed. And by the looks of it, exactly what Jim needed too.”

A short laugh slipped past your lips as you looked down and observed the affectionate waggle of your dog’s tail, and the way he was strutting along excitedly. The three of you were approaching a stall that had the most beautiful handcrafted wooden ornaments on display, and you tugged Josh toward it.

Picking up a small wooden reindeer whose painted details shimmered vibrantly under the fairy lights, you turned to catch your boyfriend staring at you as if you were one of the stars in the night sky. You scrunched up your nose and held the ornament up for him to see.

“I think he’d look great on the mantle, don’t you think, babe?” you queried, pouting your lips slightly so as to guilt him into agreeing.

Whether he agreed or not, he handed the vendor a couple bills and thanked him, leaving you to happily deposit the reindeer into your bag. Recapturing his hand in yours, you led him further into the array of stalls.

Twisting through the beautiful wooden stands, treading carefully so as not the slip on the icy stones beneath your feet, you suddenly came to a halt. Completely captivated by the delicious smells, you backtracked a bit, dragging Josh along with you, and turned to stare in the direction of the wide selection of sweet treats on offer.

“Ooo, I needsome of those,” you hummed, closing your eyes as you revelled in the sweet aromas.

“Uh… I think our child had the same idea.”

Your eyes opened immediately, your head whipping around so fast you almost injured yourself; there, five feet away, galloping like a horse and heading straight for the cake stalls, was Jim.

Josh and you stared at each other for a moment, then simultaneously started running after Jim and yelling out his name. The animal paid no attention to either of you – he was far too intent on getting himself some treats – and dashed through the crowds of people so fast that all you could see was flashes of golden brown as he sprinted.

“Excuse me, sorry, pardon me, so sorry,” Josh mumbled apologies to the people he unceremoniously shoved out of the way as he attempted to catch up to your dog.

You weren’t far behind him, calling out to Jim and whistling to try and get his attention. He was generally a stellarly behaved dog, but tonight that was most definitely not the case. The dog was a maniac.

By the time the two of you eventually caught up to him, the snow was falling in earnest. Josh dove forward and managed to wrap Jim up in his arms just before the animal could leap up and swipe a couple danishes from the nearest stall. You scurried up to them, clasping the leash back onto his collar.

“Gotcha, you little minx!” you exclaimed, out of breath from the unexpected round of cardio you’d just done. Even though the snow was falling, you were sweating, and wiped a gloved hand across your forehead.

“I’ve never chased that hard after anyone,” Josh breathed exasperatedly, ruffling the dog’s coat before cocking a brow at you, “Not even you.”

You wheezed. “Yeah, I beg to differ.”

“Oh? I-“

“Don’t make me pull out the reciepts, Jishwa.”

Holding up his hands in defense, your boyfriend relented and went back to snuggling your dog. When you weren’t looking, he mumbled to Jim. “She’s got nothing.”

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 3 years

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A Very Bodyguard Christmas 2.0. (ymbnmo!B. Urie x Reader)

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For: @KaylaBignall on Wattpad

Request: They're stationed somewhere warm for the holidays and (y/n) makes it snow for Christmas, just for the two of them. Cute

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED.

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Propped up on the windowsill of the front window overlooking the rolling green hills, you heaved a heavy sigh and let your forehead fall forward against the glass. It was Christmas season – the best time of the year – and you'd had the misfortune of being called in for an emergency mission.

Stationed in a primitive cabin far out in the remote countryside, you were about as far away from festivities as one could get. No snow, no carols, no decorations whatsoever – not even anything that could pass for a Christmas tree. And to top it all off, you were holed up indoors with the most un-Christmassy, grinchy person on planet Earth.

"Sighing every ten seconds is not gonna change a damn thing, you know," a cold, irritated voice sounded from behind you.

Turning to glare at him, you let out an overexaggerated, extra drawn out sigh. He rolled his eyes in response, unfolding his arms and walking over to join you by the window. Placing one hand on the top frame, he bent down and squinted to peer out into the distance.

You resumed looking, too, but other than green grass and distant rolling rivers, there was nothing to see. Brendon and you were the only people for miles.

"What I wouldn't give to be chugging down egg nog and watching Home Alone right now," you mumbled, pulling your sleeves down your hands and resting your head in your open palm.

"I literally cannot think of anything worse."

Picking up a throw pillow from a nearby armchair, you tossed it at the brooding agent's face. He deflected it without even looking.

"Oh, piss off, Scrooge," you hissed. "No one likes a grinch."

Arching one brow, he scoffed lightly. "You liked me just fine when we were making out."

"yOu LiKeD mE jUsT fInE wHeN wE wErE mAkInG oUt- Shut up." Sliding off the windowsill, you started for the couch. "Go make me some hot chocolate or something."

"Excuse me?" he frowned, irritation evident in his voice, "You don't tell me what to do."

You brushed him off with waving hand movements before grabbing a blanket and curling up on the couch. The silent and peaceful atmosphere was enough to put anyone at ease, and you dozed off a couple minutes after settling down.

When you awoke a while later, slowly opening your heavy eyelids, the first thing you saw was Brendon kneeling by the fireplace with a poker in hand, nursing the flames. On the coffee table just in front of you, a mug of hot chocolate topped with mini-marshmallows sat waiting. Smiling droopily, you pulled the blanket from your body and swung your legs off the couch. One of your hands flew to your mouth to stifle a yawn, as the other brushed your hair back.

Sensing you, Brendon turned his head. "Oh, look who finally decided to participate in this mission."

You flipped him off, and he returned to attacking the fire with the poker. Picking up the mug, you reveled in the warmth for a moment before taking a sip.

The moonlight cascaded down through the windows, casting gorgeous rays across the wooden floorboards as you stood up and crossed over to the fire. Halting behind Brendon, you bent down until you were level with him.

"Thank you," you mumbled, placing a kiss on his cheek.

"Mm hm."

You dropped down into a cross-legged position, and the two of you sat and watched the dancing flames of the fire in comfortable silence while you finished your drink. Despite insisting that he didn't want any, Brendon drank most of it.

"How much longer do you think we'll be here?" you questioned, looking around the cabin.

Brendon shrugged. "Two days, at least."

Groaning, you let your head fall back. "I can't believe this. Dallon and I had a whole Christmas bucket list planned! We were gonna make greeting cards, bake cookies-"

"-drive Brendon totally fucking insane," the agent drawled mockingly, rolling his eyes upwards, "Yeah. So sad we're on the other side of the world."

Dropping your shoulders, you smiled condescendingly. "Mm. I can just sense your devastation."

"How ever will I survive?" Clenching a hand to his chest in mock hurt, Brendon stood up and moved to deposit your empty mug in the kitchen sink.

Looking out the window at the clear, starry sky, an idea popped into your head and you sprang onto your feet. Making sure that Brendon couldn't see you, you hurriedly slipped out the front door.

Once outside, you took a moment to breathe in deeply and bask in the warmth of the evening air one last time. Then, raising your hands up and out, you summoned a torrent of snowfall.

You laughed happily as the tiny flecks of ice fell down and touched your skin, contrasting against your body heat.

As he was washing the dishes at the sink, Brendon stole a quick glance through the window. The sight didn't register in his head at first, and caused him to do a double-take.

"What the hell..." he mumbled, creasing his brow as he bent down to get a better look at what exactly was going on.

The two of you weren't anywhere near the northern hemisphere; there was no reason for it to be snowing in December. Then he saw you, giggling and dousing yourself in snow.

Drying his hands on a dishcloth, he watched you for a moment, then headed outside too.

Too preoccupied with the snow to notice anything else, you continued your little session as the agent approached you. He stopped a few feet away, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his jeans.

"You just had to have a white Christmas, huh."

A bit startled by his company, you sharply turned your head to stare at him. Raising one hand, you increased the snowfall ever so slightly.

"Bet."

Expressionless, he strode forward to be closer to you before crouching down and sticking his hands deep in the snow on the ground. His rough hands worked in the ice to form a snowball, which he then hurtled at a nearby tree. It hit the dead centre of the trunk.

Cocking one brow, you extended your arm and took aim. A flurry of snowballs materialised and soared through the air with a force so hectic, it knocked the tree over. You smirked proudly.

"Show off," he scoffed, lips twitching upwards ever so slightly.

You shrugged. "If you've got it," you turned your entire body to face his and twirled your fingers above both of your heads, sending snowflakes falling down, "flaunt it."

Naturally, the flakes got caught in your and his hair and eyelashes. One landed on your nose, and he leaned in to kiss it, the warmth of his lips causing it to melt away.

You scrunched your face up in appreciation, before returning the favour and kissing away a snowflake on his cheek.

Afterwards, you moved to pull away but he caught you and held you in place, then began leaning in.

An inch away from your lips, he stopped suddenly and let out a soft groan while doubling over in pain.

You had completely blindsided him and sent a snowball hurtling at his stomach. Amused with yourself, you laughed and untangled yourself from his grip before running away.

"Oh, you're dead now, (Y/L/N)."

"If you can catch me!"

Gathering some snow in his hands, Brendon cracked his neck side to side.

"Challenge accepted."

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 3 years

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@ the anon who requested a mikey x reader - your imagine will be up monday! :) x

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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 3 years

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From The Top, Make It Drop. (D. Weekes x Reader)

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note: day three of the twelve days of christmas! :) x

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED.

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Standing on your tip-toes, you reached up to secure a metallic bauble on one of the tree branches. Your tongue poked out of the corner of your mouth as you concentrated on making sure that it was tied tight enough while a bunch of other ornaments dangled precariously from the fingers on your free hand.

Dallon strolled into the living room with a tray of sugar cookies and hot chocolate in his hands. He smiled to himself as he watched you – completely emmersed in the decorating – and gently set the snacks down on the coffee table.

“Okay,” you breathed out, stepping back and holding both hands out as you observed the newest addition to the tree.

Dallon grabbed a marshmallow from one of the bowls and popped it into his mouth as he sauntered over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pecking your check once he was close enough to do so.

“It looks great, babygirl,” he complimented, placing a second kiss to your skin.

Nodding appreciatively, you sucked on your bottom lip and leaned back into your husband’s embrace. He was right; it did look great.

Although it would’ve looked even greater if the top half wasn’t totally bare.

Apparently, your dear, loving husband thought it would be hilarious to purchase a giant Christmas tree for this year’s celebrations; one that was easily eight feet tall and whose top branches you could definitely notreach.

That being said, you’d be damned if you weren’t going to try.

“Could you pass me that snowman?” Untangling yourself from Dallon’s arms, you pointed at the ornament you were referring to and stepped up to the tree once again.

“Sure.”

The musician picked out the snowman from the box and joined you at the tree. He moved to place it on one of the branches that was level with his mouth, but stopped instantly when you smacked his hand.

“Nope! My job,” you scolded, grabbing the ornament from his grasp and bumping him out of the way with your hip, “Get lost, Doofenshmirtz.”

Feigning hurt, he scoffed and clutched at his chest. “Hey now,” he chuckled, “That’s not very Christmassy of you.”

You tossed him a death glare over your shoulder as your hands kept working on tieing the ornament to the branch.

“Says the guy who thought it’d be funny to get a tree that’s practically double his wife’s height. You know how much I love decorating the tree. Shame on you.”

Dallon shrugged defensively. “I just thought it’d look nice.”

“You mean you thought it’d be hilarious to see me struggle.”

“You wouldn’t be struggling if you let me help.”

You blew a raspberry. “And let you win? No way.” A frustrated groan slipped out of your mouth as you jumped up to try and twirl the tinsel around the tree, missing by a mile. You would’ve used a step ladder, but the tree was huge and you’d have to keep repositioning it around the sides.

Dallon stood back and watched you thoughtfully, then walked forward to present you with a solution once it struck him.

“Ya know… I think there might be a way around this…”

✧✧✧

“There! All done!” you beamed, letting out a small cheer after placing the tree topper on.

“Good job, babygirl.”

Turning around as much as you could, you looked down at Dallon – who had his arms secured around your waist in a tight grip as he held you in the air so that you could reach and decorate the top half of the tree.

“Thank you,” you cooed, “And I did it all by myself; can you believe that?”

“All by yourself, huh?” he cocked one brow.

“Yup.”

A mischevious grin broke out on his face. “Well then you wouldn’t mind if I just… let go?”

Your face fell instantly. “Dallon James Weekes, don’t you dar- AH!”

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 3 years

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Bodyguard IV: Vegas Lights (Chapter Three) (B. Urie x Reader)

"FIVE P.M. PERFECT. THANK YOU."

The telephonic conversation now over, Brendon clicked off the phone and placed it on the table. From across the way, you and The Hounds gazed at the brooding agent expectantly.

Straightening his posture, he gave a small nod. "Hotel's booked. They're expecting us – in all of our lovebird glory – at five tomorrow afternoon."

"The plan's set, then," you said, pushing yourself off of the wall you'd been leaning against, "Perfect. Who's hungry?"

A chorus of 'me!'s' echoed around the conference room, courtesy of The Hounds, and you beckoned them to follow you as you shuffled to the kitchen. Brendon hung back, despite the pang of hunger he'd felt in his stomach, and pulled out one of the desk chairs.

There were a million and one things on his mind, each more of a problem than the next, and he needed a couple of minutes to himself to decompress. He folded his arms on the tabletop and with a heavy sigh, let his head drop onto them.

The situation regarding his mother was bothering him more than he'd let on, and he was stuck in a tug-of-war between the two sides of himself; one half wanted to see her, but the other wanted to stay as far away as possible.

Brendon sat there – mind racing and thoughts spiralling – until he physically could not bear it any longer, then pushed himself away from the table and sprang to his feet.

Mumbling a "fuck it", he ran a hand through his hair and headed for the door.

✧✧✧

Fifteen minutes later. The kitchen.

"Okay, okay, okay, I got one!"

Holding both hands up, Ambrose swallowed the food in his mouth before proceeding with his offering to the game. He ran his tongue over his teeth as he pointed between you, Rollins and Reigns.

"Give up music or give up sex?"

The three of you answered without hesitation and in unison.

"Music."

"Sex."

All three agents immediately turned to stare at you with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows, clearly not in favor of your answer. Looking up from your sandwich, your eyes darted between the three men.

"What?"

Reaching out one hand, Rollins touched the back of his calloused fingers to your forehead, seemingly checking for a fever. Clicking your tongue, you swatted the Architect's hand away and rolled your eyes.

"You can't be serious," Ambrose laughed in disbelief, blue eyes wide, "You'd really give up ever getting laid again just for a couple tunes?"

You raised one brow.

"Jesus," the Hound mumbled, shaking his head as he flicked around the remainder of his sandwich, "You've obviously never been in bed with me."

Reigns and Rollins tossed their friend an unimpressed glare. He simply wiggled his eyebrows and held out his hands.

"Y'all know it's true."

A soft chuckle slipped past your lips at the juvenile antics of your company, followed by a small smile as you thought about how grateful you were to have met them. You missed your old friends dearly, and having The Hounds around made you feel slightly less depressed over the fact that your days of socialising were a thing of the past.

"But seriously, though..." Ambrose leaned in across the table, face as serious as can be as he posed his question, "Is Urie that bad?"

Heavily amused, you opened your mouth to respond but you were interrupted by the chime sounding from your phone. Seeing that it was a text from Brendon, you frowned.

"Speak of the devil."

✧✧✧

Two minutes later. The garage.

"Hey," you called as you approached Brendon, who was leaning against the bonnet of the SUV. Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you waved it around. "What's with the summoning texts? We're in the same house; you literally could've just walked to the kitchen."

"Didn't feel like The Hounds' questions," he answered simply.

"Okay," you nodded, "So let me ask one: What's going on?"

Stepping to the side, he reached over and opened the passenger door for you. "I wanna take you somewhere."

Slowly, you made your way into the seat. "Okay... may I ask where?"

"It's a surprise."

Tilting your head to the side, you gave him a condescending look. "Last time you said that, I ended up falling off of a cliff."

"Did you die, though?" He didn't give you a chance to reply, instead shutting the car door before you could get a syllable out. "Exactly."

✧✧✧

Twenty minutes later. Oakey Boulevard, Las Vegas.

"Wait... you're serious?" You glanced between Brendon and the building ahead apprehensively, trailing slightly behind the agent as he started up the path to the entrance. "You're actually doing this?"

"Yes."

There was the usual coldness to his tone, as well as to his expression, but you knew him well enough to know that the minute creasing of his forehead and the ever-so-slight twitching of his fingers meant that he wasn't entirely confident about his decision.

Frowing to yourself, you put a skip in your step and rushed forward to catch up to him.

"And you... want me to come with you?"

"Yes."

Brendon took a couple more steps before coming to an adrupt halt. You nearly bumped into him, but stopped yourself just in time and tossed him a confused look.

He turned his head to look at you, and a hint of unsurety flashed across his chocolate eyes.

"That okay?" he asked, realising then that he probably should've taken the initiative to gauge your willingness to participate in his little errand beforehand, instead of simply assuming that you'd want to go along with it.

Fortunately for him, you'd be willing to follow him anywhere.

"More than," you said softly, slipping your hand into his and squeezing.

The agent squeezed back, then gave a small nod and continued forward. Following suit, you trudged up the rest of the cobblestone path and toward the high, spiked front gate.

A security guard was perched in a hut to the right of the gate and when he caught sight of the two of you, nodded in greeting before stepping out and extending a register form.

Brendon took the clipboard and began filling out the required information, while you stood back and took a moment to survey the building properly. Stuffing your hands in your back pockets, you peered through the openings in the gate.

The place looked nice enough – slightly modern, but with a certain charm that made it evident that quite a few years had passed since its construction. The plaque fixed to the fencing-wall confirmed your suspicions; it listed the year of establishment as 2004.

There was a low hum as the gate swung open, and you walked behind Brendon as he led the way through the now-open space. The light scratching of your shoes against the stone ground was the only sound between the two of you, joined soon after by the creak of the wooden front door as it opened.

Most reception areas followed the same blueprint, and this one was no different. There was a seating area to your left, centered by a coffee table and a potted plant. And to your right, a semi-circular desk behind which the receptionist sat, gaze cast downward and voice hushed as she spoke into the reciever held to her ear.

Brendon's bulky frame cast a slight shadow over the top of the desk, catching the receptionist's attention and prompting her to look up. Acknowledging the both of you with a small smile, she held up one finger as if to say 'one moment'.

"Just a second, Mrs Brown." After excusing herself from her telephonic conversation for a beat, she pressed the reciever to her chest and raised her brows as she addressed you. "Here for visitation?"

"We are," Brendon confirmed.

"You can head on through," she smiled, handing over two vistor badges before extending a hand down the hall to direct you, "The courtyard is where you want to be. Down the hall to the end, last right and then the last left."

You and Brendon started down the hall as the receptionist resumed her call, and you scoffed at her nonchalance.

"You'd think they'd have a better first line of defense," you chided, shaking your head.

"We probably don't seem like too much of a threat," Brendon said coolly, peering down each turn the two of you passed by, "Young couple in Vegas... we scream harmless and naïve."

"Which is what we're going for, right?"

The agent glanced at you briefly. "Exactly."

Coming to a halt in front of an antique oak and glass door, the both of you bent down to peer through at the outside. There was a large expanse of green grass and tall trees, surrounding a quaint courtyard area in which the building's occupants were currently enjoying some downtime with their visitors.

You gave Brendon's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You ready?"

He exhaled heavily. "As I'll ever be."

With one solid push, Brendon opened the door, allowing you to exit first and following closely behind. The bright sunrays blinded you momentarily, and you lifted a hand to shield your eyes from the harsh light.

Brendon seemed unaffected – the only show of discomfort on his part was the slight narrowing of his eyes, but even that was more due to the fact that he was avidly scanning the garden in search of that one familiar face amongst a sea of strangers.

His gaze stalled on a figure at the far end of the lawn, sitting on a bench underneath a flowering Jacaranda tree, and his body tensed up instantaneously. They were too far away to see their face, but there wasn't a shadow of a doubt in his mind that it was who he was looking for.

"There she is."

Attention now fully on Brendon, you followed his gaze, letting your mouth fall open into a small 'o' once you spotted her. Without saying a word, the two of you fell into stride next to each other as you started towards her.

As you walked, you couldn't help but let out a short, almost inaudible chuckle at the situation. Never in a million years would you have envisioned that you would be in Las Vegas, with Brendon, seconds away from meeting his mother. In fact, if someone had told you a couple months ago that this would be the case, you'd have laughed in their face and called them crazy.

And yet, here you were.

There was a slight tremor in your hands, and you quickly hid them in your pockets so that Brendon couldn't see. He was noticeably (and understandably) on edge; the last thing you wanted was for him to be focused on you and your emotions.

Accompanying the agent on such a precarious outing, you felt somewhat out of place. Not nervous or anxious, exactly – more like you shouldn't be there. This was the height of 'familial business', and you were afraid that being there with him during his first encounter with his mother in almost ten years would seem intrusive.

But... he wanted you there. He asked for you to come.

He needed you there.

And if he needed you, then that was the only thing that mattered. To hell with feelings and circumstance. This wasn't about you, in any case.

Ten feet away from her now, you drew in a deep breath in an effort to steady yourself. Although steady was the last thing you were a moment later, when a middle-aged woman in staff attire accidently bumped into you. She had been carrying a bundle of seat cushions in her hands, and the impact caused them to go sprawling across the grass.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, sweetie," she smiled apologetically, already half-way to the ground to start picking up the scattered items, "Damn sun's been blinding me all day, already."

"No worries," you assured her, immediately reaching down to help with the collection of the cushions.

Brendon hadn't even noticed the ordeal; his focus and attention was solely on his mother. He continued forward as you stayed back to help, taking purposeful yet cautious steps in her direction.

Once he was close enough to touch her, he reached out and with a shaky breath, lightly touched her shoulder.

"Mom?"

His voice was soft, timid. A striking opposite to the icy hardness it usually held. It flittered through the air slowly; once it reached Grace's ears, she perked up.

"Mason?"

Brendon felt a pang in his chest – partly due to the fact that it was the first time in nine years that he was hearing his mother's voice, and partly because the first thing that came out of her mouth had been his name.

The brooding agent's eyebrows knitted together as he frowned, wondering why the hell his mother had uttered his brother's name. He couldn't think of a single reason why she would have.

"No," he started, shaking his head lightly, "it's-"

She had turned around then, coming face-to-face with her youngest for the first time after what had felt like an eternity, and finished his sentence for him.

"Brendon," she said, his name coming out as a breathy gasp as she struggled to contain her emotion.

Getting to her feet, she covered her mouth with a shaky hand as the tears started forming, before throwing her arms around his towering frame as they began cascading down her cheeks.

Ever so slowly, Brendon wrapped his arms around her too, causing her to tighten her hold and keep him even closer. Turning her head, she gave him a tear-filled kiss on the cheek, then once again buried herself in his embrace.

"Oh, my boy," she whispered, more to herself than to him; she couldn't believe that he was there with her, "My sweet boy."

After another little while, the two of them pulled back from one another. But Grace still kept her grip on him, holding her hands to his cheeks.

"Look at you," she laughed, eyes still watery, "You're so... big."

"Yeah," the agent wheezed.

You approached them, tentatively sidling up next to Brendon with a soft smile. His tense body language softened with your prescence, and you saw him exhale in relief.

"Mom, this is (Y/N)," he introduced, tilting his head in your direction a tiny bit.

She looked at him in surprise, but that surprise turned to glee a second later, and she pinched his cheek ever so slightly. Looking to you, she gave a warm smile, her eyes crinkling as she did so. She was beautiful; Brendon looked just like her.

"It's lovely to meet you, Mrs Urie," you said politely.

"Call me Grace. Please," she rectified, giving another wide smile.

"Grace," you repeated.

"Come sit, both of you."

Waving you over to a white, stone picnic bench, she slid into one end as you and Brendon took a seat on the other side.

"I can't tell you how unbelievably happy I am to see you," Grace gushed, still staring at her son as if she were expecting him to vanish into air at any moment.

Sucking on his teeth, Brendon nodded. "Yeah, it's...been a while."

"Nine long years," she specified, and you caught a flash of sadness in her eyes; but it was quickly replaced by the sparkle that accompanied her smile, "What do you do? Are you in the military? I remember you were so intent on enlisting..."

"I, uh... I was. For a little bit. But then I got this job offer that I... well, I couldn't refuse." He scoffed, running a hand through his hair.

Grace nodded, listening intently to each and every word that slipped past her son's lips, as if each syllable would help close the void that had developed since he'd left.

"He's phenomenal at his work," you reported, earning a big grin from the woman seated across from you. Brendon gave you a look, too, but it was the exact opposite of his mother's. "The best, actually."

"I don't doubt it," she murmured, looking from you to him and then back again.

For the next half an hour or so, the conversation flowed steadily. There was still apprehensiveness on Brendon's part, but he was trying, and made a concerted effort to answer any and all questions tossed his way.

Now and then you'd reach under the table to give his hand a squeeze, just out of reassurance; you thought you had been subtle enough that Grace wouldn't notice, but she did. She was thoughtful enough to not point it out, instead smiling to herself each time she caught it.

The sharp sound of your ringtone cut through the air, prompting you to hastily fish your phone out of your pocket. Reigns' name flashed across the screen, and you swung your legs off of the bench, starting to get up.

"Excuse me, I have to get this," you excused yourself from the conversation, then scurried off in search of some privacy, just in case the call was mission-related.

Grace watched you fondly, turning back to her son once you were out of her direct line of sight.

"She's lovely."

Tossing a brief look at you, Brendon nodded. "She is."

"I want to give you something."

The agent's forehead creased at his mother's words, perplexion deepening as she unclipped the necklace around her neck. The pendant-like piece had been hidden underneath her blouse, and once Brendon saw it, his jaw tensed.

Reaching for his hand, Grace held it in her own as she gently lowered the piece of jewellery into his grasp. Closing his grip with her other hand, she held on tightly.

"For when the time's right."

Mustering up a weak smile, Brendon nodded once and gripped her hand tighter. He pulled back soon after, depositing the necklace into his pocket and frowning as a bothersome thought re-entered his mind.

"Mom?"

"Yes, honey?"

"When I first called out to you... you thought I was Mason." He looked at her with a blank expression. "What made you think that it could be him?"

Grace stared at him, genuinely perplexed. "You mean... you don't know?"

Brendon frowned. "Know what?"

"Mason's back home, too."

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 3 years

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Bodyguard IV: Vegas Lights (Chapter Two) (B. Urie x Reader)

THE HEAVENLY AROMA OF FRESHLY BREWED COFFEE enveloped you the second you stepped out of your room. Letting the scent guide you, you descended the staircase and drifted toward the kitchen area in a dreamy state.

Rollins was stationed in front of the coffee machine, hands eagerly preparing five cups of the caffienated drink. Reigns and Rollins sat at the breakfast table, chatting about football while Brendon stood at the other end, immersed in whatever his phone was displaying.

You came to a halt next to the two Hounds with a sigh, placing one hand on Ambrose's shoulder. "Any idea where I can get me one of those?" you nodded your head in Rollins' direction, "He's a whole housewife."

"Right here, babe," the Architect turned around with a cheeky grin, holding out a cup of coffee for you to take.

"Bless," you smiled, scrunching up your face in appreciation as you took the drink.

Sipping on the liquid, you watched as Rollins handed out mugs to the rest of the guys; your eyes stalled on Brendon. His attention was still solely on the device in his hand, eyebrows knitted together as he concentrated on the words on the screen. The more you stared at him, however, the clearer it became to you that he wasn't fully present.

He seemed distracted, an exponentially rare thing for him, and it only appeared to worsen as the minutes ticked by.

Darting your tongue across your lips to get rid of some residual droplets of coffee, you made your way over to the brooding agent and pulled up a chair next to him.

"Whatcha reading?" you queried, leaning in to get a glimpse at the screen.

It only took a split second for him to move his hand and shield his phone from your view but even so, you had managed to see what he had been busy with. A confused frown settled onto your face.

"Why are you researching retirement homes?"

That little question put you on the receiving end of a terribly icy glare.

"Why are you concerning yourself with my business instead of minding your own?"

Before you could conjure up a reply, Brendon had already stood up and was headed for the door, his entire body tense. Sitting silent for a moment, you let him walk away. But then the anger set in, and you placed your coffee on the table with a shake of your head.

"Oh, hell no," you scoffed.

The Hounds watched, coffee mugs frozen against their lips, as you stormed out of the kitchen and after your bodyguard. When you were no longer in their line of sight, they shared a look of unease.

Raising one brow, Ambrose slurped from his mug. "And so the fun begins."

✧✧✧

"Hey!"

Brendon gave a monumental eye roll at the sight of you charging down the hallway, and quickened his pace as he exited the building into the reclusive backyard area. Following suit, you slinked past the glass door and let it slam shut harder than it should have.

Broken glass was the last of your worries, after all.

"Alright, what the hell is wrong with you?" you demanded, locking your jaw as you stared at the agent expectantly.

"God, is two minutes of privacy too much to ask? Leave me the hell alone," he snapped, raking a hand through his hair as he stormed off further into the confines of the zen area.

If it were any other person, you'd have absolutely left them alone, no questions asked. But such a high level of angsty frustration was an unusual trait for Brendon to exhibit, and you weren't about to let him self-destruct and potentially compromise the mission because of it.

Besides, had the roles been reversed, Lord knows there was no way he would have left you to wallow in depression by yourself.

"You're acting strange. More... volatile, than usual."

Brendon had anchored himself beside a potted plant, one hand on his hip as the other rubbed over his face in a clear show of agitation. You made your way over to him, wrapping your hand around his bicep gently.

"Bren... talk to me." You rested your head against his shoulder. "Please."

There was a long period of silence, during which Brendon stood as still and stoic as ever. The only reassurance you had that his heart hadn't stopped beating was the rythmic rise and fall of his shoulder against your cheek.

After what felt like hours, he finally uttered two melancholic words.

"My mother."

Hearing those three syllables slip past Brendon's lips shocked you to your core. The mention of any kind of family was the last thing you had been expecting; the agent was painfully guarded about that particular subject, after all.

He had used the excuse of searching for his brother as explanation for his "death" and disappearance last year, but not once had he ever uttered a single word about his parents. Which had, in turn, led you to believe that they had passed on.

Those two words indicated otherwise.

Lifting your head from his shoulder, you stepped around his broad frame so that you were facing him.

"I'm sorry, what?" You parted your lips and stared at him blankly. "Did you say your-"

"Mother, yes," he reiterated, a hint of annoyance in his tone, as if the mere thought of her brought along with it a naseauting feeling in his stomach, "She's in a retirement home on the other side of the city."

Oh.

No wonder he was so hesitant to come back to Vegas. Returning home forced him to confront countless emotions and memories he'd fought so hard to shove into the deepest, darkest corner of his mind and forget completely. Eighteen years. Eighteen long, challenging years he'd spent in this godforsaken city.

The life he'd built for himself over the last nine years was meaningless when returning to Las Vegas; the city forced him to confront the life he'd left behind, and all of the memories that went along with it.

"Are you..." Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you pondered over how best to approach the topic. "You planning on going to see her?"

Brendon shook his head before you'd even finished your question. "No." He froze for a moment, staring unblinking at the stone pathway ahead, then shut his eyes and let out a sigh. "Maybe... I don't know."

The agent wondered over to the patio set and let himself fall into one of the chairs. Following behind slowly, you took a seat across from him.

"Well when last did you..." you trailed off, rolling your hands over each other in a gesture that served to replace the second half of your question.

"Last time I saw her was when I left this place," Brendon answered, looking up and around the sky with a look in his eye that you far from recognised. You knew that by 'this place' he was referring to, of course, Las Vegas. "That was almost a decade ago."

Eyebrows raising at his revelation, you rested your forearms on the tabletop and tiled forward.

"Oh wow. And have you ever called her, or...?"

"Nope."

"Oh."

A couple moments passed wherein neither of you said a word, and the only sound cutting through the air was the drumming of Brendon's fingers against the table. Eventually, he spoke again.

"I mean, even if I were to go and see her – call her, even – I would have no idea what I would..." he exhaled heavily, forcing his gaze to meet yours, "What would I even say?"

"Wish I knew the answer to that."

A beat, and then the agent stood up, as icy and emotionless as ever.

"Doesn't matter," he said flatly, and there was a finality in his tone which told you that this particular conversation had now reached its end, "I have more important things to deal with right now."

More important than your own mother? you thought, but of course you didn't actually say it out loud. That would only ignite an argument you weren't willing to participate in at present.

Besides... Brendon had already disappeared back inside.

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

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canyousevmyheavydirtysoul · 3 years

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❆CHRISTMAS❆ Sleigh My Name. (F. Iero x Reader)

❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆

note: day two of the twelve days of christmas! :) x

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED.

❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆❆

You were headed to the airport for your flight home from California. You had moved to Los Angeles three months ago and were already extremely homesick. Fortunately, the holiday season gave you a reason to take off from work and return home for two weeks to celebrate the season with your loved ones.

Given that it was December 23rd, the airport was bustling and incredibly crowded with travellers wanting to get home in time for Christmas. You had managed to secure a seat in a spot that wasn’t too crowded, and were currently munching on some snacks while listening to a killer playlist.

The vibes were immaculate.

Nothing could’ve possibly killed your cheerful vibe.

Then, the lights turned off.

Looking up from your phone, you noted that everyone had confused and concerned looks on their face. There was a giant window nearby, and you could see the effects of the roaring wind outside. Snow was descending from the sky in a malevolent manner, as if it had been waiting years to fall down. You didn’t know what was going on or what to do, so you remained still.

There were people pacing around, on their phone calling friends or family.

Babies that were wailing.You tried not to panic or overthink, but it was becoming more and more difficult to do so.

You were caught up in your bad thoughts when a small voice to the right of you asked, “Are you ok?”

Snapping out of your thoughts, you look over. A seat away from you was a man, probably around your age, that was glancing at you with a soft smile on his face.

You nodded your head. “Are you?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I think so. I was looking forward to getting home, but I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon.”

“You reckon?”

“Yeah,” his smile faded.

As you opened your mouth to respond, airport employees drove by in small carts announcing that there was a city wide power outage. They asked that everyone remained calm, since there was no indication of how long the outage would last.

Slinking down in your seat, you ran a hand over your hair in frustration. “I think you were right.”

“Do you mind if I sit next to you?”

You shake your head. “Go for it. Anything to get my mind off of this madness.”

He scooted to the seat next to you and you two started chatting, making small talk and getting to know each other. A couple minutes turned into a half hour, which turned into an hour; eventually, you realised that neither of you had made a proper introduction.

“I never got your name, actually.” You prompted, leaning back in your seat.

“Frank Iero.”

Without thinking you respond, “Oh, sounds kinda familiar.” A slight crease formed on your forehead as you racked your brain trying to figure out where you’d heard that name before.

He gave a light laugh, scrunching up his nose as he nodded. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

You smiled, still trying to piece together why it rang a bell, as he repositioned himself and lifted one foot to rest on the opposite knee.

“What’s yours?”

“(Y/N).”

“Rad name,” he grinned, a tiny sparkle in his eye. He observed you for a moment, tilting his head to the side and squinting, then turned to grab something on the seat next to him. When he turned back around, you saw that it was a guitar. “Well, (Y/N)… you’re clearly super bummed about being stuck here with a bunch of randoms instead of your family and friends or whatever, so whaddya say we have a little fun?”

“Uh… define ‘fun’,” you chuckled, shuffling closer to him as he positioned the instrument under his arm.

He thought for a minute, then pulled out a pick from the pocket on the front of his jacket and strummed gently. You listened with the utmost attentiveness, recognising the notes he was playing as the intro to All I Want For Christmas Is You.

A giant smile appeared on your face as Frank started to sing. He didn’t really know the lyrics – as was evident by the way he’d mumble certain words – but you could tell that he was trying.

People in the nearby vacinity began looking over, listening to the skillful way Frank’s fingers elicited beautiful sounds from the guitar. He turned to look at you, nodding as if to say that you should join him in singing.

You were hesitant, but (finding yourself caught in the moment) you sang along. Not long after, one of the other stranded passengers joined in; then another, and another until eventually, everyone in your corner of the airport was belting out the Christmassy tune.

Frank finished off the song with a guitar flourish, causing the crowd to errupt into cheers and applause. He chuckled softly before turning to you with a bashful grin. “Did I cheer you up?”

“Yes! I think you cheered the whole terminal up!”

He ran a hand through his greased hair and shrugged. “You guys were definitely better at performing it than my band was.”

His words froze you in place. “I’m sorry, your what?” you squinted.

He didn’t answer, only stared at you with a closed-lipped, childlike smile on his face. In that moment, the lightbulb in your head lit up.

And so did the ones in the airport.

You had to blink a couple times to allow your eyes to readjust to the bright lighting and once your vision was clear, you looked over to the man next to you to confirm your suspicions. And confirmed they were.

“Oh my- you’re that guy!” you gasped, pointing at him, “From that band!”

Clearly bemused, he bit his lip as he nodded along and attempted to stifle a laugh. “I am that guy. From that band.” The musician leaned his arms on his guitar and cocked his head sideways. “Ya know, you wouldn’t make a very good detective.”

“In my defence,” you sat back and folded your arms, “I didn’t have much to go on. It was dark, and you don’t usually sing.”

He peered at you disbelievingly. “I literally gave you my name.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sucky with those.”

“Hopefully that won’t be the case anymore.”

You raised one brow, smirking at him. “And how are we gonna make sure of that?”

A shit-eating grin. “I’ve got a couple ideas.”

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

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