#ive teared up twice now during chandelier seeing the show live

[canyousevmyheavydirtysoul]

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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