||Shut It|| Brendon Urie x Reader

Nash and a Blond

Hello it is your fellow friend: writers block.

Comment stuff you wanna see in this story here please and thank you I wanna make y'all happy <3

Isn't she the girl from that cafe?

I heard she was just a fan.

That's fucking stupid! What makes her think she's better than any of us?

Is she trying to rub it in our faces by kissing him?

She must be an attention whore. Or a slut, with how she somehow managed to seduce Brendon Urie.

Hmm maybe I should start wearing skimpy clothing and making out with random guys in public to catch Brendon's attention.

You slammed your laptop closed and all but threw it to the other side of your bed, face in your hands, and let out a shaky breath. A knock sounded on your door.

"[Y/n], babe, are you alright?"

You wanted to let out a response, but the words wouldn't come. Without the slightest clue of whether you should respond angrily, frustrated, upset, or relaxed, your mouth pursed itself closed. Molded itself into a thin line.

You stood up and threw open the door to face Brendon, and when he saw you he reached out to cup your face. It seemed he was struggling with how to respond, too.

"I'm fine. People are just misinformed and it's frustrating."

He nodded, but you suddenly had a thought that shook you out of your phased state. Brendon became alarmed as you pushed passed him and grabbed his keys, running to the door.

"[Y/n], what-"

"I'll be right back, Brendon. Wait here."

You were surprised with how fast you managed to drive down to the pet shelter, how fast you had snapped out of your upset state, and how fast the volunteer gave you permission to take the cute pup with you.

This time the volunteer was a blond male; the kind that seemed like he was interested in any kind of music other than Brendon's, which you were thankful for at the moment. Despite his baggy gray sweatpants, fade hairstyle, and pierced ears, you couldn't stop staring at his blond hair and blue eyes.

"Well, here you go. Your new pooch, all ready for you." He reached out to hand you a leash connected to the collar of the small, excited border collie, his tail wagging fast.

"Woah," you gaped at the collar and leash. "What kind of pet shelter is this?"

The blond chuckled. "One that gives a free leash and collar when you adopt a dog. They're kind of shitty, though, so I wouldn't rely on them much."

You laughed—a bit more obnoxiously than you would have liked—and smiled at him. "Thank you, um. . ." You looked around for a name tag but is was missing from his shirt.

"Sam." He cocked his brow at you in an amused way. "And no problem. Have fun with little Nash and have a nice day."

You finally understood why you couldn't stop staring at his face. His hair and eye color were way too familiar. He wasn't the boy you were thinking of—no, that boy was very different and, not to mention, back in your hometown—but at the same time, the remembrance of your old life and friends caught up to you.

You did the best you could to make sure the three-legged pup was comfortable during your car ride home as you rolled down a window for him and played some Panic! at the Disco. You fought the urge to blast the music: you weren't quite sure if Nash was scared of loud noises and didn't want to test it on your first day with him.