Fuck is a Bad Word || Brendon Urie x Reader

What is Going on?!

Welp, it's chapter 2! This one is being released a day early since tomorrow is Easter and I won't have time to write.
Enjoy, and thank you to anyone reading this!

A finger pointed to the center of the VIP section.

"Hey, you there in the middle."

Kassidy had already avoided confrontation, but where did that leave you? Being pointed at by an accusing finger and several people staring you down.

'Well, crap. . .' You thought to yourself. Your face heated up, your mouth ran dry, and your eyes were wide. You weren't used to so much attention.

"Hey, could you come up here for me?" Brendon called out. He tapped the shoulder of a security guard and pointed right at you, signaling the direction he should be going.

You yelped a bit and jumped in surprise. Were you in trouble? What was the purpose of the security guard coming to get you?

The man in black and walked closer to you and your anxiety grew. People cleared a path for him and his intimidating aura loomed over. However, when he stood in front of you, he approached with a kind smile.

"Right this way, Ma'am. Just follow me."

You did as you were told. What else were you supposed to do at a time like this?!

To your surprise, the man in black led you up the stairs on the side of the stage right to Brendon.

You think you died a little.

Brendon greeted with a smile. "Hey, how're you doing?"

No words came out. You stood opening and closing your mouth, but nothing came out.

Then HIs aRM wRAPPED aROUND yOUR sHOULDERS.

You sucked in a gasp of air at the touch, and your head shot toward him.

He smiled and spoke to the large, intrigued crowd. "Do you all know what she did?"

There were a few yells in a response, but nothing at all easy to decipher.

"Of course you don't," he replied jokingly, pretending to have any clue what anyone was saying.

"Can you tell them what you said," he laughed a bit at the remembrance of your previous action.

"N-No," you stuttered. Smooth, [y/n]. Smooth.

Full curiosity present on his features, he asked, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you yelled, 'Fuck is a bad word,' right?"

You just nodded, stupefied.

"And your name is. . ."

You let out a stutter, "[y/n]."

He smiled at how startled you were. He glanced at the phone in your pocket. "Do you have a pen on you?"

You fumbled around before pulling one out of your purse and holding it out to him. "H-Here."

"It's ok for you to keep it. I was just wondering if you could write your number on my arm." There were cheers from the audience, but also grumbles of jealousy.

"You're not serious,"

"I'm entirely serious." His smile grew.

Your hand was shaking as he took his arm off of your shoulders to hold it out in front of you. You wrote your phone number on his arm, trying to make it as legible as possible. You're not sure how that turned out in the slightest.

He looked at your handwriting on his arm, and then turned to you.

"Ha, this is so crazy, isn't it? This is actually one of the first times that someone said something even remotely close to that at one of my band's concerts."

You stood, frozen.

He began to clap a bit and talked to you again. "Thanks for that, by the way." His microphone was pressed up against his lips, and and crowd clapped and a few cheered, just for Brendon's sake.

The security guard led you off stage, but left you to retreat to your seat by yourself.

Kassidy stared at you laughing at your dazed face. "Dude, you looked like an idiot up there!"

"Shut up, Kass," you laughed.

"But he got your number. I wonder if he'll actually use it."

You didn't respond. You partially hoped he did because that would mean you would get to talk to Brendon. . . But you partially hope he didn't because that would mean that you could avoid too much drama.

You sat through the rest of the concert, singing along in a daze. But this time, you knew that Brendon was glancing at you.

Woop.

Later that night, you got in your car and were driving Kassidy home. She laughed at your tired, beat up expression and made jokes about how you should let her drive because you looked so dead inside. After all, you were both [suitable age] and had your licenses. . . But that's not the point. As supportive as she was, she'd never let you live down the expressions you made while on stage. She even got pictures.

After dropping off Kassidy, you drove yourself to your small apartment and you immediately went up to your room.

"What a day. . ." You muttered. "Everything is so jumbled up in my head. . ."

Then your phone buzzed.

I wonder who the text was from? It could be a multitude of people, actually. A family member, Kassidy, another friend, maybe even Brendon. . . But I'd just like to acknowledge that his birthday was recently. Happy Belated B-Day, Brendon!