#John Mayer watch out

[sophplanetoflove]

WOAH TAYLOR 😨

anyway good luck John Mayer and Jake Gyllenhaal (especially with May 18th coming QUICK!) !!! 🫶

[incognit0slut]

Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

This isn’t a love story. This isn’t a fairytale. This is about a woman bent on setting the world on fire and the FBI agent assigned to her case, drawn to the very flame she ignites.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Unsub!Reader

Warnings: (18+) Typical CM violence, mentions of sexual assault and trauma, implied sex, fire/arson, and this is basically angst with no happy ending

A/n: For once, I am writing outside my comfort zone. This is heavily based on John Mayer’s song with the same title, Female Rage, and Megan Kane (she did nothing wrong!). Constructive criticism is welcome since I rarely write angst, but please be nice, it's my birthday🥺 (yes my birthday appreciation post is heartbreaking)

You wanted the world to burn.

You wanted to watch the ashes drift through the air. You wanted to smell the acid scent of smoke. You wanted to feel the heat envelop you, to wrap your body like a suffocating blanket. Because simply sitting in silence wasn’t enough for the rage that consumed you, the smoldering anger that craved the sound of the world cracking and crumbling under the force of your wrath.

You craved the chaos, but the man lying defeated before you was enough for now. His eyes, wide with horror, stared up at you—the look of a man who knew these were his final moments. He pleaded, his voice cracking in desperation, his hands bound tightly behind his back as you stood there, unfazed.

Please.

I have a family. Think of my children.

Just let me go—I'll disappear, you'll never have to see me again.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? How a man could beg for mercy, could invoke the sanctity of family only when facing his own end. How a man could think that running away could solve everything, believing that his disappearance would erase the past and the suffering he caused.

No, that was a choice you didn’t have. The luxury of forgetting, of escaping the shadows that clung to your every step. Not only was his pleading in vain, it was insulting, as if the depth of his misdeeds could be washed away by mere absence. You wanted him gone. You wanted him dead.

So you gave him a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. Your expression was serene, almost angelic, but it belied the reality of your intentions as your heels echoed through the empty warehouse, a jug of gasoline in hand.

He screamed. Your smile widened. It was useless—no other soul was near enough to hear his cries, too far away to save him. His desperation filled the empty space once again as you poured the gasoline around him, drenching him in its sharp, pungent scent.

Then you took a step back, your hand reaching for the lighter in your pocket. There was a moment of hesitation as you watched him struggle. Could you really do this? Could you cross this final line?

But then the memories surged forward, vivid and painful. He was one of them, one of the people who had taken advantage of your innocence when you were young and naive, who had shattered your trust and left you to pick up the pieces alone, leaving scars that never truly healed.

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

Your fingers tightened around the lighter. What a foolish man, who was he to think that a forced apology could undo the damage? With a steady hand, you flicked the lighter, the flame springing to life. His apologies continued, increasingly frantic, but they were nothing more than the desperate noise of a man who had run out of options, out of time.

You threw the lighter. The small flame sailed through the air, landing amidst the gasoline-soaked ground with a burst of fire. The flame caught instantly, erupting into a roaring blaze that engulfed him in a matter of seconds, drowning out his piercing scream.

You continued to watch his body burn, and perhaps for the very first time in your life, you felt a terrifying peace.

~*~

“This is the third body in a week,” Derek mentioned, stepping into the old factory as he slipped his sunglasses on top of his head, scanning the scene before him. It was disturbing. The stench of burnt flesh hung heavy in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood.

Spencer looked up from where he was crouched near what was left of the victim. “It’s getting more deliberate,” he observed. “The Unsub is trying to send a message.”

Derek moved closer, carefully stepping over a piece of evidence marked by the forensic team. “What are you thinking?”

He slowly stood up, his eyes assessing the place. There were actually a lot of things on his mind, and one of them being how this third victim seemed more calculated, more precise than the others. It was a stark contrast to the first victim, whose remains were found in a haphazard, chaotic state in that old warehouse.

But this one… everything was meticulously arranged, from the positioning of the body to the burn patterns that radiated outwards in a controlled manner. The Unsub was trying to perfect their methods in a short amount of time, and as much as Spencer hated to admit it, it was almost impressive.

“They want attention,” Spencer finally said, breaking the silence as he mulled over the crime scene. “They’re not just doing this for the sake of it; they’re communicating. Whatever message they’re trying to send, it’s getting closer with each victim.”

“You think they’re trying to tell us something?”

“No, I don’t think it’s aimed at us.” Spencer bit his bottom lip, his eyes narrowing in thought. “They’re trying to make a statement.”

“Like a public declaration?”

“Could be,” Spencer acknowledged, stepping back to view the scene from a different angle. “Or it could be a form of protest or revenge.”

“Burning people for revenge,” Derek mused, crossing his arms. “Now that’s a hell of a way to get a point across.”

“It’s deeply symbolic. Fire consumes everything, leaving nothing but ash. It’s final.” He looked up, his eyes meeting Derek’s. “Whoever is doing this is not just angry, they’re trying to erase their victims from existence.”

“Well, they’re doing a pretty good job at it, we haven’t identified any of them yet.”

Spencer frowned, his gaze dropping back to the scene in front of him. Identifying the first two victims had been nearly impossible due to the extent of the burns. The flames had consumed everything, leaving behind little more than brittle bones and ash. Dental records and DNA tests had been their only hope, and even those couldn’t identify the victims.

He continued to study the body, looking for anything that could help them. The burns were severe, almost total, but then something caught his eye. A faint mark, barely visible under the scorched skin. He leaned in closer, squinting to make out the details. There, peeking out from the blackened flesh on the victim’s forearm, partially obscured by the burns, was a small tattoo.

“I think we might have something,” he said, pointing to the mark.

Derek leaned in, his eyes widening slightly. “That looks like a tattoo.”

“You think we can get this to the lab?”

“We can,” Derek replied as he took out his phone and took a quick photo of it. “But we also have Garcia.”

Spencer watched as Derek quickly navigated through his contacts, his fingers moving with practiced ease. He tapped the screen, putting the phone close to his ear. It didn’t take long for the call to connect, and almost immediately, a familiar voice filled the brief silence through the speaker.

“I knew you couldn’t go a day without me,” Penelope’s unmistakable cheerful voice greeted him. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this delightful interruption?”

Derek couldn’t help but crack a slight smile. “Garcia, we need your magic on a photo. There’s a partial tattoo on our latest victim, and we need to know if it matches anyone in the system.”

“Send it over and I’ll sprinkle some of my digital pixie dust on it.”

Derek attached the photo to a message and sent it directly to her. “It’s on its way.”

“Got it,” Penelope replied, her fingers already flying across her keyboard on the other end. “Okay, this might take a while, but I do have more information on our first victim, or I guess you can say, I have all the information that you need.”

“Our first John Doe is identified?”

“Rick Sullivan,” she confirmed. “He was reported missing a week ago by his wife. Turns out he has a bit of a past—multiple arrests for minor offenses, but nothing that would usually make him a target for this kind of violence.”

Spencer leaned closer to Derek’s phone. “Does he have any known associates or enemies that stand out?”

“Not on record,” Penelope said, her voice slightly muffled as she sifted through more files. “But listen to this, his bank transactions show some pretty hefty sums being spent regularly. Guess where most of it is going?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Where?”

"To an exclusive strip club on the east side of town called The Velvet Curtain,” she revealed. “Seems our Mr. Sullivan was quite the regular spender there.”

Derek smiled, shaking his head slightly. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Not nearly enough,” she replied with a playful lilt in her voice. “Keep the compliments coming and maybe I’ll dig up even more dirt for you.”

“We’ll need all the dirt we can get. Thanks, Garcia.”

“Always a pleasure, gentlemen. I’ll keep you updated if I find anything else,” she said before ending the call.

Derek turned to Spencer as he slipped his phone back in his pocket. “Ready to see some strippers, Pretty Boy?”

Spencer glanced back at the charred remains. He’d seen too many bodies, too much senseless violence. There was nothing left that could shake him—not even the neon lights and dark corners of a strip club, or even the thought of being in a room surrounded by half-naked women. He could handle that. He could definitely handle that.

With a slight nod aimed at Derek, he followed him out of the building.

~*~

“Scarlett!” A voice rang through the dressing room. “You’re up in five!”

You swiped the red lipstick across your lips one last time, perfecting the bold arch that had become your signature look as your eyes swept over your reflection, eying the thin straps of your costume. The fabric was a deep, seductive red, almost the color of freshly drawn blood, and barely covered your skin. The material was sheer and see-through, leaving little to the imagination, something you preferred. Because the more skin you showed, the more you felt in control.

This was your armor, the persona you donned to hide the secrets buried beneath your glamorous exterior. As Scarlett, you were a siren. Untouchable. You had power and control, something your life outside these walls lacked.

“Scarlett!”

“I’m coming!” You snapped, capping the lipstick and placing it back in your makeup bag. You stood up, smoothing down your outfit, and made your way to the stage entrance.

The stage coordinator eyed you up and down. “No props for today?”

You shook your head, giving a confident smile. “Not today. I can manage without them.”

He nodded approvingly, moving to the side. “Alright, it's your cue."

You brushed past him and headed down the dimly lit corridor leading to the stage, the familiar rush of adrenaline surging through you. Taking one last deep breath, you finally stepped into the glow of the spotlight. The crowd's attention shifted to you, and you felt the power you had grown accustomed to, the control you desperately craved. The music pulsed through the air as you sauntered toward the pole at center stage.

You started to move.

Your fingers around the cold metal, and your body naturally found the beat as you began to dance seductively, letting the red fabric of your costume shimmer under the lights. A flirtatious smile played on your lips as you glanced around the room, locking eyes with a few patrons who watched. You slid down the pole, bending your knees and arching your back gracefully, biting back a smile as you heard the cheers and whistles from the crowd.

You took in the familiar faces and the usual gazes of admiration and desire, from the sleazy grins of regulars to the guilty looks of married men stealing away from home. But then, two men caught your attention, standing out starkly against the backdrop of the usual patrons.

One of them exuded confidence, his gaze steady and assessing as he watched your performance. The other, however, seemed out of place, his eyes darting around the room awkwardly. At first, he appeared uneasy, shifting uncomfortably on his feet and avoiding direct eye contact. But as you moved, dancing with the pole and letting your body sway to the rhythm, his gaze gradually settled on you. 

You had never seen him before. He was unexpectedly handsome, with soft curls that danced along the edges of his face and soft features that made him beautiful, almost angelic. But there was something more about him that intrigued you. Maybe it was the way he seemed to blend in with the shadows, making him nearly invisible among the brasher, more excited crowd. His presence was so out of place and yet so focused on you that it spurred you on. 

With a teasing smile, you tugged at the thin strap of your top, playing with it as you danced. His eyes followed the movement, his breath catching slightly as you slowly slid the strap down your shoulder. The fabric slipped further, revealing more of your skin as you twirled around the pole. 

You then arched your back and bent low, the thin strap finally gave way, allowing your top to slide down your body, exposing your perky breasts to the crowd. His eyes widened slightly, but he couldn't look away. Neither could you. For a moment, it was just the two of you, locked in a silent exchange as the cheers and applause became a distant hum in the background.

You could see the conflict in his eyes—part fascination, part restraint—and it only made you bolder. You slipped the last piece of fabric down your legs, and with each sway of your hips, you drew him deeper into your world, determined to leave a mark on his memory.

~*~

“Just talked to the club owner,” Derek mentioned as he walked over to where Spencer stood, hiding in the corner of the room. “He gave us permission to question the dancers.”

Spencer nodded, but didn’t say anything. Derek raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m… fine.”

Derek gave him a knowing look. “Your first time being at a place like this?”

Spencer’s gaze lingered on the stage. That would be a good excuse for why he was acting this way, but it wasn’t the truth. He grew up in Las Vegas, after all. Even though he rarely found himself in these types of scenes, he knew what went behind the walls. He was aware of what happened inside clubs, the performers, and the whole spectrum of human behavior. But he had never seen someone so… mesmerizing.

His mind was still processing the way you moved, the way you commanded the room with such effortless confidence. The way you shamelessly captivated everyone’s attention, including his.

No, it wasn’t the setting that threw him off—it was you.

“Reid?”

Spencer cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m here,” he managed, snapping back to the present. “So the dancers?”

Derek nodded, sensing Spencer’s momentary distraction but choosing not to comment.

“Yeah, we need to start talking to them. With these many dancers, I think it’s better we split up.” His eyes scanned the room. “You take the bar out here, and I’ll handle the lounge area. If any of them seem to know more or are hesitant to talk in front of others, we can bring them aside for a more private conversation.”

“Got it,” Spencer agreed. He straightened his tie and took a deep breath as he made his way directly to the bar, nodding politely to the bartender before turning to address the group of dancers gathered nearby.

“Excuse me, uh, hi there,” he greeted, showing them his badge. “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI. I’d appreciate it if I could ask you a few questions.”

The dancers exchanged glances as Spencer cleared his throat, trying to appear composed. One of them, a tall woman with striking pink hair, stepped forward. “What do you need to know, Handsome?”

Spencer felt a flush creep up his neck, momentarily flustered by the directness. “Have any of you noticed anything unusual or seen anyone acting suspiciously in the past few weeks?”

The pink-haired woman looked him up and down, taking in his crisp suit and tie with a playful smile. “Well, the only unusual thing I’ve seen lately is a handsome FBI agent in a place like this.”

Her comment drew a few chuckles from the group, and Spencer felt a wave of awkwardness wash over him. He usually could handle a bit of teasing—he’d even interviewed sex workers who blatantly flirted with him before—but being surrounded by half-naked women, one of whom was actually topless, was making him feel distinctly out of place. His usual confidence was slipping away, replaced by a deep, uncomfortable blush.

Before he could respond, another dancer, this one with blue hair, joined in the teasing. “Aww, look at him blushing. Aren’t you just adorable?”

Spencer cleared his throat, trying to refocus. “I, uh, appreciate your… observations. But really, any information about unusual behavior could be very helpful.”

One of them, with a mischievous glint in her eye, leaned closer and asked in a flirty tone, “Would you like to find a private room for questioning, Doctor?”

His eyes widened. “W-What? No, no, I—”

“Ladies.”

Spencer turned around, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw you standing close to him, your sweet fragrance enveloping him. His heartbeat quickened, and he found it hard not to stare. You had changed from your performance attire into something slightly less revealing but no less captivating that Spencer had to remind himself to blink.

“Stop teasing the poor guy,” you said, addressing the dancers with a slight smirk.

“We were just being nice,” one of them protested, feigning innocence.

You rolled your eyes. “Come on, let’s give him some space.”

The rest of the dancers giggled, picking up their drinks and retreating to another part of the club. You watched them leave before turning back to Spencer and gracefully took a seat on a stool where one of them had been.

“So,” you began, crossing one leg over the other, and Spencer made a conscious effort not to focus on how the fabric rode up your thighs. “I can’t help but overhear you’re with the FBI. I’m Scarlett.”

He stared at your outstretched hand but made no effort to take it. “Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Ah,” you said, retracting your hand and placing it on your lap. “You’re that type of guy.”

“What do you mean?”

You tilted your head slightly, a wry smile playing on your lips. “You know, the type who might think less of this kind of job, of people who work in places like this."

Spencer shook his head quickly. “No, it’s not that. I grew up in Las Vegas, places like this don't surprise me. It's just that—l don't do handshakes. Personal preference, not a judgment."

You raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“Well, studies show that handshakes transfer a significant amount of pathogens. It’s actually safer to kiss someone than to shake their hand.”

An amused smile played on your lips. “Is that your way of trying to kiss me, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer’s eyes widened, and a flush crept up his neck. “Uh, no, that’s not what I meant at all,” he stammered. “I just meant, scientifically speaking, it’s… safer.”

“Of course.” You chuckled, leaning back slightly. “So what brings the FBI here?”

Spencer cleared his throat. “We’re here to gather information about one of your customers.”

“Who?”

“Do you know anyone by the name Rick Sullivan?”

“Know him? He practically lives at the end of the bar some nights.” Your eyes swept over the empty seat where Rick usually occupied. “Although he hasn’t come here in a while, his wife probably decided to put her foot down."

“Do you remember anything unusual about his behavior or if he mentioned anything out of the ordinary recently?”

You thought for a moment, then shrugged. “He was always pretty quiet. But now that you mention it, a few weeks ago, he seemed more on edge than usual. Kept looking over his shoulder like he was expecting someone.”

“Did he ever talk to anyone in particular, or did anyone strange approach him?”

You shook your head. “Not that I noticed. But then again, it gets pretty busy here. Hard to keep track of every interaction.”

Spencer nodded at the information. “Is there anyone who seemed particularly close with him here?”

“I don’t think so. He’s friendly with some of the regulars, but no one stood out. He mostly keeps to himself unless he’s buying drinks for the dancers.” You watched him, noticing the way his brow furrowed slightly in thought and you couldn’t help but ask, “I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but don’t you have to write all this down?”

Spencer glanced at you, a small smile forming on his lips. "I have a good memory. I'll remember everything you've told me."

"Really? Do you have a photographic memory or something?"

"Eidetic, actually.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. “That’s impressive. So basically you’ll remember anything?”

Spencer nodded. “Yes, I can recall detailed images and information with high precision.”

“Alright, I want you to remember this then,” you said, leaning in slightly. You recited a series of numbers, your voice smooth and confident.

He looked genuinely confused. “What’s that?”

“My number.”

He blinked, clearly taken aback, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Oh.”

“There’s a rule against sharing personal information while working here,” you explained, leaning in a bit closer, “But you can save it under Y/N. That’s my real name.”

Spencer found himself momentarily mesmerized by your proximity, the scent of your perfume, and the intensity of your gaze. He blinked, trying to maintain his composure.

“Y/N,” he repeated softly, as if committing it to memory.

You smiled. “Exactly. Don’t forget it.”

“I won’t,” he assured you as you slipped off the stool and the space between you momentarily vanished. For a brief, unexpected second, your body lightly pressed against his. The contact was fleeting but there was an unspoken tension that seemed to pause the noise around you.

The closeness brought a rush of warmth, and your eyes locked with his. “Do you like jazz music, Dr. Reid?”

He frowned, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “Um, I don’t really listen to music.”

“Well, that’s a pity,” you replied with a playful smile. “There’s a great spot not too far from here. They have live bands on the weekends.”

“What… what are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to ask you out on a date.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly as he processed your words. “Oh,” he stammered, clearly taken aback by your boldness. He hesitated, his mind racing to catch up with the situation. “I, uh, I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

“Because you’re an FBI agent and I’m a stripper?”

He swallowed, looking a bit flustered. “It’s not that. It’s just… there are boundaries, and I’m supposed to remain professional.”

“Ah, I see. But if you decide to change your mind…” You moved closer, reaching out to fix his crooked tie, your fingers brushing lightly against the fabric. “I’ll be at the Blue Moon on Saturday around 9 p.m., sitting at the bar in a red dress with a drink in my hand.”

Spencer’s breath hitched slightly as he tensed but didn’t pull away, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“I hope you do, Dr. Reid.” You took a step back, your hand lingering for a moment before you let go of his tie. “You know where to find me.”

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there as he watched you blend into the crowd, conflicted and unexpectedly aroused.

~*~

You weren’t sure what you were trying to do. Asking an FBI agent out on a date went against every rule you had set for yourself. You were supposed to keep your distance, to remain anonymous and untouchable. It was safer that way, for both you and your secrets. Yet, here you were, sipping your drink as you waited for a man who represented everything you should be avoiding.

A part of you questioned your sanity. What was it about him that made you break your own rules? It was reckless, foolish even. Getting involved with someone like Spencer Reid could only complicate things.

But there was something about him. Maybe it was the curiosity in his eyes, the way he seemed both out of place and perfectly composed at the same time. Or perhaps it was the way he treated you with a respect and sincerity that you hadn’t felt in a long time. Whatever it was, it had been enough to make you take this risk.

But now, as you sat by the bar alone an hour later, you couldn’t help but wonder if it had all been a mistake. The minutes had ticked by slowly, and you tried to ignore the gnawing feeling that maybe you had misjudged him. Maybe he decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, and maybe that was for the best.

Just as you were about to give up and leave, the door to your side opened. You turned, not daring to hope, and there he was—looking slightly disheveled and out of breath, but undeniably there with a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

His eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, and a small, relieved smile crossed his face.

“Hi,” he said, a bit breathless. “I’m sorry I’m late, I got held up at work and I didn’t want to come empty handed, so…”

Your eyes drifted towards the simple bouquet of white lilies in his hand. “Are those for me?”

Spencer nodded, extending the flowers towards you. “Yes, they are,” he replied. “I didn’t know what you’d like, and I thought lilies are a safe choice because they’re elegant and not too overwhelming, but then I started thinking maybe roses would have been better, but then roses can be a bit too—”

You cut him off with a warm smile, gently taking the bouquet from him. “They’re perfect. Thank you.”

He let out a small sigh of relief. “I’m glad you like them.”

You placed the lilies on the bar and gestured to the seat beside you. “Come here, you look like you just ran a marathon.”

“It felt like it,” he admitted, taking the seat right next to you. “I really didn’t want to be late.”

“You’re here now, that’s what matters.” You slightly leaned back and studied him. “I’m actually surprised you changed your mind.”

Spencer glanced at you. “I… I guess I realized I didn’t want to miss the chance to get to know you.”

“Yeah?” You tilted your head, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “What do you want to know about me?”

There were so many things he wanted to know about you, actually. He wanted to know your story, why you chose your job, and who you were beneath this confident exterior. But that was all too much for a first date. Glancing around the room, he decided to start with something simpler and said, “Start with how you know this place.”

You smiled, looking around the familiar setting. “I found it a few years ago. I was walking aimlessly down the road one night after work and stumbled this place. It’s become my little escape since then.”

“I can see why." His eyes drifted towards the band playing live music and the few patrons mesmerized by the soft tune. "It’s definitely got a charm to it.”

You leaned in slightly. “Do you have any secret escapes?”

He looked back at you. “Not really. My escapes aren’t quite as charming. Mostly books and chess. They're not exactly thrilling.”

“Books and chess?” you asked, tapping your finger on the bar. “You really are a nerd.”

“I prefer to think of myself as a man of knowledge,” he replied with a shy yet proud smile.

“Well, intelligence is attractive, and not only that, it’s also very sexy." You laughed when you noticed him slightly squirming. “Do you have any other hidden talents I should know about?”

He tilted his head, thinking for a moment. “I’m actually pretty good at magic tricks. It’s something I picked up as a kid.”

“Now that’s a talent I didn’t expect,” you observed, your eyes lighting up. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

“I’d be happy to,” he replied enthusiastically. “What about you? What’s your hidden talent?”

You grinned. “I can make a pretty mean lasagna. And I’m good at dancing, but you might have already guessed that.”

Spencer suddenly felt the warmth spreading along his face as he remembered your performance on stage the other day. His mind flashed back to the way you moved with such confidence, the undeniable sex appeal you exuded effortlessly, and he could feel his cheeks heating up.

“Yeah, I, uh, definitely noticed,” he admitted.

“I hope that means you were impressed.”

Spencer nodded, still a bit flustered but managing a smile. “Very impressed.”

“Why, thank you,” you noted, leaning closer to him. “How about you? Do you dance, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly at the question. “I’m not nearly as skilled as you are,” he confessed. “My dance moves are more… theoretical. More of an exercise in coordination than something you’d want to see in action.”

The image of this authority figure awkwardly dancing in his suit made you smile.

“Now this I need to see.” Sliding off the stool, you extended your hand towards him. “Dance with me.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, glancing around the room. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely,” you replied. “Trust me, it’ll be fun.”

You waited, half-expecting him to decline considering he didn’t even want to shake your hand the last time you saw him. But then, to your surprise, he took a deep breath and placed his hand in yours.

You couldn’t help but smile as he stood up and let you lead him to a small open space near the bar, slipping in between other couples swaying to the music as the band played a lively, upbeat tune.

“Okay, put your hand here,” you instructed, guiding his hand to rest lightly on your waist. You took his other hand in yours and began to sway gently to the rhythm, leading him in a basic two-step.

Spencer tried to follow, his movements slightly awkward at first. “I’m not sure I’m doing this right.”

“You’re doing fine,” you reassured him, smiling up at him. “Just trust your instinct.”

“My instinct is to find the nearest exit door.”

“No escaping tonight. You’re stuck with me,” you teased, your other hand holding onto his shoulder. “Besides, I think you’re doing pretty well for someone who claims to be bad at dancing.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow, his confidence growing slightly. “You think so?”

“Yep,” you replied, giving him a grin. “In fact, I’d say you’re almost a natural.”

“Almost?” he echoed, a teasing note in his voice. “What do I need to do to earn the proper title?”

“Maybe a spin?” You suggested, already positioning yourself lightly. With an encouraging nod, you prompted him, and he took the cue, lifting his arm and carefully guiding you into a smooth spin under his hold. You twirled gracefully and came back into his arms, beaming up at him.

“How was that?” He asked.

“Pretty impressive.”

He smiled, and a warmth spread through you, a sense of happiness you hadn’t felt in a long time. It was wrong, you knew that. You knew you were stepping into dangerous territory, blurring lines that should remain clear. But at that moment, all those concerns seemed distant and unimportant, especially when the music suddenly turned slower.

The soft, sultry notes of a saxophone filled the air as you moved closer to him, gently grabbing his hands before guiding them to rest behind your back.

“Now this,” you began, moving your arms around his neck. “Is how you dance to a slow song.”

Spencer smiled, a genuine, soft expression that made his whole features light up. He pulled you gently against his chest. “I think I prefer this type of dance better.”

You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt. “Me too.”

You felt a hand press gently on your lower back, drawing you even closer as you took a deep breath, inhaling his scent. He smelled of fresh soap and something sweet, like vanilla or honey—a combination that you could easily find yourself getting addicted to.

The thought surprised you. For someone who loathed men, who had built a life around a cold, calculated revenge against them, you found Spencer oddly comforting. It was unsettling how natural it felt to be this close to him, how safe he made you feel.

You could almost laugh at the irony. Here you were, a woman fueled by a desire for vengeance, finding solace in the arms of a man. It was reckless. Dangerous. You needed to keep your head in the game. Allowing yourself to get distracted, to feel these warm, tender emotions, was a risk you couldn’t afford.

But as you pressed your face closer to the crook of his neck, it became increasingly difficult to push him away. You knew you had to be cautious. You knew you needed to keep your head clear, your focus sharp, and you promised yourself that you would.

But not now. Not when his touch made you feel something you hadn’t felt in years. For now, you allowed yourself to surrender to the moment, to the warmth of his embrace, to the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat against yours, and to the fleeting sense of peace that felt so foreign yet so desperately needed.

~*~

Spencer wasn’t sure what he was trying to do. He found himself awkwardly moving close to you, then pulling back, reaching out as if to take your hand, then stopping himself. The hesitation gnawed at him, torn between wanting to hold your hand and maintaining a respectful distance.

Was it too soon? Was there a rule about holding hands on the first date?

He mentally sifted through his limited experiences, trying to recall any useful advice or guidelines. But all he could think about was how natural it had felt to dance with you, to be close to you. He glanced over, catching the soft glow of the streetlights across your face. You looked serene, content, and he wished he could just follow his instincts without second-guessing every move.

“What?” You asked without looking at him. “Why are you staring at me?

He quickly directed his gaze away from you. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You turned to him with a small, amused smile. “You’re not making me uncomfortable. I was just curious.”

He hesitated as you both continued to walk, the rhythmic sound of your footsteps blending with the quiet night. Finally, he decided to be honest. “I’ve been trying to figure out the right moment. I guess I’m not very good with this sort of thing.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I wanted to hold your hand,” he blurted, his face flushing slightly. “But I wasn’t sure if it was too soon. I didn’t want to seem too forward or make you uncomfortable. I’m sure there’s a whole rule to this that I don’t know about, and I’ve been overthinking it the entire walk.”

You chuckled softly. “Spencer, you don’t need to worry so much.”

He took a deep breath. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… can I hold your hand?”

“Of course, you can,” you replied. “I’d really like that.”

His face lit up as he reached out, his fingers gently intertwining with yours. You laughed at his boyish smile. “So this is why you’ve been silent this whole time?”

“I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.”

“And here I thought you didn’t want to talk to me because you didn’t enjoy my company.”

Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise. “No, not at all! I was just worried about doing something wrong.”

“I don’t think you’ve done anything wrong tonight.”

He looked at you, relief washing over his face. “Really?”

“Well, except for making me wait for a whole hour.”

He winced at your words. “Sorry about that. I really didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “Don’t worry. The flowers were worth the wait,” you said, holding up the bouquet in your other hand. “And besides, I enjoyed dancing with you, I had a great time talking to you, and now you’re walking me home, which is definitely a bonus point.”

“So you’re keeping scores?” He asked, finding this conversation amusing. “What’s my score now?”

You pretended to think, a smile playing on your lips. “Well, punctuality could use some work, but excellent choice in flowers, charming dance skills, and chivalrous escort service? I’d say you’re doing quite well. Maybe an eight out of ten?”

“An eight? What happened to the last two points?”

“You need to earn them.”

“How?”

You slowed your pace, pulling him to a stop under a streetlight.

“Close your eyes,” you instructed. He hesitated for a moment, then complied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he shut his eyes.

“Okay. Now what?”

You stood on your toes, trying to match his height, and leaned in close. Then, with a quick flutter of excitement, you pressed a soft kiss on his cheek.

His eyes widened in surprise. “I—uh, what—”

You just laughed, a light and carefree sound that cut through the night. “You just gained another point, Dr. Reid.”

Before he knew it, you turned and dashed away, your laughter trailing behind you playfully. He couldn't help but smile at the sound, and, almost without thinking, he started chasing after you.

Spencer wasn't sure why he was running, or even why this felt like the most natural thing to do, but he didn't care. Your laughter was infectious, and when he finally caught up, wrapping his arms around your waist, he couldn't stop laughing.

"Got you," he said, grinning as he met your gaze.

His eyes lingered on yours for a moment, taking in the way you looked up at him with those pretty eyes. There was a certain glow about you, a warmth that seemed to radiate across your face. His gaze then drifted down to your lips, slightly parted and still bearing the sweetest smile he had ever seen, and he felt an unfamiliar tug in his chest.

He liked seeing you like this. You always looked so confident and poised, but now you seemed... happy. There was a lightness in your eyes that he hadn't seen before, and like a moth to a flame, he wanted to bask in your warmth.

Without thinking, he slowly closed the gap between you, his eyes flicking down to your lips for a brief moment before meeting your gaze again. The world seemed to hold its breath as he leaned in, and then, gently, he kissed you.

Your lips were so soft.

He had imagined they would be, but not like this—not as delicate, not as perfectly in sync with his. The sensation was more than he had ever expected, more than he had allowed himself to hope for. His tongue gently traced your bottom lip, and the soft moan that escaped you urged him even further.

He pulled you closer, and you parted your lips to invite him in. The moment his tongue slipped inside your mouth, he was lost in the rush of flavors and sensations. Your tongues danced together, exploring, tasting, savoring every second while everything around him started to blur into shadows and muffled sounds.

He was so engrossed, so utterly consumed by the taste of you, that he completely forgot he was standing in the middle of a bustling sidewalk. It wasn't until he heard the distinct sound of a throat being cleared that reality snapped back into focus. Pulling slightly away, he turned his head towards the sound and met the stern gaze of an older woman passing by.

“Sorry,” he muttered, feeling incredibly flustered. The woman simply huffed and continued on her way, shaking her head.

You giggled as you reached up to wipe a smudge of lipstick from his mouth. “I thought you weren’t good with this sort of thing.”

“I’m not,” he assured you, his thumb gently brushing your sides. “This is... definitely a first for me.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “So you’re saying you don’t usually make out with girls on busy sidewalks?”

The laugh he let out sounded almost ludicrous, as if the image of him kissing girls in public seemed completely out of character, out of place—until now, to his surprise.

“Nope, can’t say that I do.”

You smiled and tugged on his arm. “Come on.”

You walked together, and Spencer took your hand again. His grip tightened slightly, almost unconsciously, as if he wanted to imprint the way your hand felt into his memory. He was acutely aware of the warmth of your skin, the way your fingers fit perfectly with his. And this sense of wanting to hold onto you grew even stronger when you finally arrived at your building.

“This is me,” you said softly, turning to face him.

He looked down at your intertwined hands. “This is you.”

There was a brief, tense silence before you softly called out his name. He met your gaze, and dear god, how could he let go when you looked at him like that? He was mesmerized by the way your eyes sparkled under the light, the soft curve of your smile, the gentle confidence in your stance.

“Yes?”

“Aren’t you going to ask how you can earn your last point?”

He blinked, momentarily thrown off by your question, then a slow smile spread across his face. “Alright,” he said. “How can I earn my last point?”

Then he saw it, the same glint in your eyes that he had noticed when you were dancing on stage. It was a look filled with flirtation, exuding sex appeal and confidence. The way your eyes sparkled under the ambient light, the subtle but assured smile playing on your lips, all pointed to someone who knew exactly what they were doing and enjoyed the game just as much as the outcome.

“Well,” you started. “How about you come upstairs and we can figure it out together?”

Spencer’s heart raced at your words. He might not have had much experience when it came to dating, but he knew the look on your face all too well because he was sure he had the same expression. His eyes fell to your lips.

“I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

You gave him a knowing smile. “Because you’re trying to remain professional?” You asked, recalling his exact words the other night. “Spencer, I think you’ve long forgotten about that the moment you agreed to spend the evening with me.”

He felt a rush of warmth at your words, realizing just how right you were. The boundaries he usually upheld seemed irrelevant now, replaced by the desire to be closer to you. He sighed, the tension easing slightly as he admitted, “I guess you’re right.”

You stepped closer, your smile seductive. “So, how about we stop worrying about what’s appropriate and just enjoy ourselves?”

He was going to regret this.

“What do you have in mind?”

He was really going to regret this.

“I think you already know what I have in mind.”

Oh, screw it. If regret was the price he had to bear, then he was willing to pay it.

~*~

The crowd pulsed when you stepped out into the main area, heels clicking sharply against the floor. You took in the scene before you, passing sleazy men, some slipping tips to a dancer on stage, others getting lap dances in the dimly lit corners. A group of men in sharp suits whistled when they spotted you, and you winked at them, flipping your hair back with a playful gesture before continuing on.

You could feel heavy stares watching your every move, but despite being in a room full of men, there was only one man you had your eyes on.

You spotted him by the bar with a drink in his hand, and despite your meticulous planning to bring him back here to observe him, the sight of the man who ripped off your dreams as a naive sixteen-year-old girl never failed to ignite a burning rage within you. You wondered whether his memory was as vivid as yours, if he remembered the disgusting things he had done. But there was never any sign of recognition in his eyes, just as there hadn’t been in the eyes of the three before him.

They all thought you were just a woman trying to make ends meet, working every night in this dark place by taking your clothes off on stage. To them, you were just another pretty face, another body to gawk at. They believed you were just another girl trapped in the cycle of survival, oblivious to the deadly game you were playing.

You had crafted this persona carefully, every move, every word designed to lure them in, to make them feel comfortable, even powerful. They had no idea that you held their fate in your hands. You made them think they were taking advantage of a desperate woman, but in reality, they were the ones being manipulated, guided like pawns towards their inevitable downfall.

And tonight, it was his turn. The last of the men who had tainted your innocence.

You slipped into the empty stool beside him, a coy smile playing on your lips. “I thought I saw a familiar face.”

He turned towards you, his eyes lighting up. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” you replied, your voice a soft purr. The words were easy, almost natural.

“You’ve been quite the distraction for me,” he admitted. “Couldn’t stop thinking of you.”

You laughed lightly. “Good, because I aim to please.”

“And you’re very pleasing to look at,” he agreed, his eyes tracing the curve of your smile. “You have a way of captivating an audience.”

“Well, it’s nice to know I have such a dedicated fan.” You leaned loser so your shoulders brushed. “What brings you here tonight? A fight with the missus?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, nothing like that. She’s out of town.”

You knew that already. You knew his schedule as well as he did, if not better. But you feigned innocence, like you always did.

“Lucky me then,” you replied with a flirtatious tilt of your head. “It means I get to have you all to myself tonight.”

“That’s the idea,” he said, his eyes roaming over you with undisguised interest. “I really couldn’t stop thinking about you lately.”

You leaned in closer, your breath warm against his ear. “Really? What exactly have you been thinking?”

“I’ve been thinking about what it would be like to spend some real time with you. Away from the club.”

You arched an eyebrow, your lips curving into a playful smile. “Oh? And what exactly would we do with that time?”

His hand brushed against your thigh under the table, a bold move that was more telling than any words. “I think you know what I mean.”

You pulled back slightly, giving him a flirtatious look. “You know it’s against the rules to do anything too... personal here. The club has strict policies about that sort of thing.”

“That’s a shame. I was hoping for more than just a dance.”

You smiled slyly, your eyes locking onto his with a promise. “Who says we have to stay here?”

His grin widened. “Yeah?”

You nodded, brushing your fingers along his arm. “We could go somewhere else…” you murmured, your hand continuing a path up his shoulder, tracing the line of his suit jacket. “Somewhere we can really enjoy each other’s company.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued by your suggestion. “Like where?”

You let your lips brush his ear. “How about your place? Your wife isn't there, we can use it however we want.”

There was a pause as he considered your words. You could see the wheels turning, the temptation playing across his face. Sensing his uncertainty, you placed your hand gently on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart under your fingertips.

“Think about it,” you coaxed softly, your voice a seductive whisper. “Just you and me, no rules, no eyes watching...” Your body inched closer to his. “It’ll be our little secret.”

His eyes darkened with anticipation, the earlier reluctance fading away under your touch. “Alright,” he said after a brief pause. “Let’s go back to my place.”

You smiled triumphantly, standing up, brushing the nonexistent dust on his shoulders. “Meet me at the back exit in five. I need to grab my purse.”

He nodded excitedly as he watched you walk away, mesmerized by the confidence in the sway of your hips. But the moment you stepped into the dressing room, your façade cracked.

You closed the door behind you and leaned against it, taking a deep breath as you fought to keep your composure. The walls seemed to close in, the air thinning around you as if suffocating you under the weight of your own emotions. Your breath became shallow, the world spinning slightly as a wave of dizziness and anger overwhelmed you all at once.

You slowly forced yourself to move, your feet dragging you over towards the mirror. The reflection staring back at you was almost unrecognizable. The confident, seductive woman from moments was now replaced with a figure trembling under the weight of her memories.

Tears welled up in your eyes as the past rushed back in a wave of emotion. The image of the young girl you once were, the girl whose dreams had been shattered by the man waiting for you outside, seemed to blend itself over your reflection. The pain, the anger, the helplessness—it all came flooding back, threatening to overwhelm you.

But you couldn’t let it. Not now.

Wiping away the tears with the back of your hand, you straightened up, forcing yourself to take deep, steadying breaths. You grabbed your purse and checked its contents one last time, making sure everything was in place, and checked your phone.

There was a message.

Your eyes welled up with tears again as you saw the name glaring back at you.

Dr. Reid :)

Just seeing his name was breaking your heart. He had been trying to contact you for days now, ever since that night you spent together. The night that had been a brief, beautiful distraction from the dark path you were on. He was kind, gentle, and you couldn’t stop thinking of the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world. 

Each message was harder to ignore than the last, and he wasn’t just reaching out; he was trying to reach in. His words were always kind, always thoughtful.

I had a great time. Can we meet again?

Just thinking about you. Hope you're okay. 

Did you know sea otters hold hands when they sleep to keep from drifting apart?

His random messages of facts always made you smile because it was so authentically him—something you had never encountered before. And every time he tried to contact you, the walls you had carefully constructed around your heart began to crack. You longed to reach out to him, to relive those short moments of happiness that had brought a rare light into your life. But you knew that if you allowed yourself to see him again, it would only weaken your resolve.

So you had been avoiding him, giving excuses about being busy or not feeling well. His presence had a way of grounding you, and you couldn’t afford that now, not when you were so close to the end.

Your eyes fell to your phone again. Despite the knot tightening in your stomach, despite knowing how much it would hurt, you clicked open the message.

Can I see you tonight?

The words on the screen blurred as your grip tightened. A part of you wanted to see him again, to have his arms wrapped around your body, to feel the rhythm of his heartbeat against yours. But surrendering to these desires would only put you in danger. It was only a matter of time until he saw through your act, and until then, you needed to move fast.

Because you knew that if you let him in, if you opened that door, you wouldn't be able to follow through with your plan. The plan that had consumed you for so long, and now with the final act right in front of you, you couldn't afford any distractions.

So you took a deep breath and crafted another lie.

I have work tonight. I'm sorry.

~*~

Spencer stared at the message, a frown creasing his forehead. Had he done something wrong?

He couldn't shake the feeling that you were avoiding him. He replayed the evening in his mind, analyzing every detail, every word exchanged. It had felt perfect to him—the connection, the chemistry. But now, your constant excuses and distant responses gnawed at him. Had he misread everything? Had he been too forward, or was there something he had missed?

"Reid?" Derek's voice cut through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality.

“Sorry,” Spencer mumbled, slipping his phone into his pocket. “You were saying?”

Derek opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Penelope entered the conference room with a laptop in her hand. "You guys are gonna love me," she sang, setting the device down.

“You found anything?” Derek asked.

“Remember that blurry picture of the tattoo you sent me a few days ago?” she turned her laptop screen towards them, showing a detailed emblem that was now clearly visible. "This isn't just any tattoo—it's mandatory for the members of a local club known for their… exclusive membership.”

“What kind of club?”

Penelope clicked through a few more screens, bringing up information she had compiled. “It’s a bit underground, not your typical social club. It appears to be part social, part cultural, but there are hints of something more... let's just say, illegal activities.”

“And all members have this tattoo?”

“Yep, it’s like a symbol of loyalty, almost like a badge of honor.”

Spencer felt a knot tightening in his stomach. “Is it… The Velvet Curtain?”

Penelope shook her head, typing quickly to bring up a comparison on her screen. 

“No, The Velvet Curtain is just a fancy, exclusive strip club. This one, on the other hand…” She paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she chose her words carefully, “...is much more secretive and, from what I can tell, much more dangerous. Think less about glamour and more about power and control."

“What kind of activities are we talking about?”

“Oh, you know, just the usual gambling and trafficking,” Penelope said dryly, scrolling through her screen. “I think you guys should check this out after we wrap up the case.”

Derek ignored her jab and crossed his arms. “So our victim can be anyone, which doesn't narrow it down much.” He turned to Penelope. “How many members are we talking about?”

“Over three hundred registered members.”

He let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of numbers.”

“Have you tried cross-referencing the members with Rick Sullivan?" Spencer suggested. "He might be our best lead.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Penelope’s fingers flew over the keyboard as she pulled up new data. After a few moments, she exclaimed, “Got it!”

Derek leaned in. “We have a name?”

Penelope quickly brought up a profile. “James Dalton, went to college with Rick. Mid-30s, a manager at a tech firm, lives in the suburbs with his family…” She trailed off, her eyes widening. “...and was reported missing a week ago.”

Spencer frowned, piecing it together. “He could be our John Doe.”

Penelope nodded, already typing away. “I’m cross-referencing his dental records and fingerprints as we speak.”

“You can do that?”

“You underestimate me, pretty boy,” she quipped with a smirk, her fingers flying over the keyboard. It didn't take long for her screen to flash with the confirmation she needed. “It’s a match. James Dalton is our John Doe. The dental records line up perfectly.”

The room fell into a heavy silence as they absorbed the news. Derek ran a hand over his face, breaking the silence with a sigh. “Did Rick and James ever contact each other after college?”

Penelope shook her head, scrolling through her data. “No, there’s no evidence of any recent communications. It looks like they hadn't been in touch for years until... well, until whatever pulled them back together recently.”

Spencer leaned closer to get a better view of Penelope’s screen. “Can you check his bank records? There could be any mutual transactions between them.”

“Pulling up his financials now,” she said, her eyes scanning the data that populated her screen. Moments later, she pointed at a series of numbers. “There are no mutual transactions… oh wow.”

“What is it?”

“He spent a lot of money over the past few months,” Penelope continued, her eyes wide with surprise. “We’re talking significant amounts.”

“Where?”

She looked up at him. “The Velvet Curtain.”

Spencer felt the blood drain from his body. It was as if a heavy, sinking feeling took hold, the kind that grips the stomach and pulls down hard. At first, he thought of your safety. The club you worked at was linked to the case, and worse, even directly to the victims. This connection sent chills down his spine, filling him with dread.

But the more he thought about it, especially when his mind replayed how you had been avoiding him lately, the worse his feelings grew. His concern turned into suspicion, and then that suspicion morphed into a sense of betrayal. Were you involved in this? Were you hiding something from him?

He shook his head. No, he couldn’t let his mind go there. You wouldn’t do that. You couldn’t. You were too kind, too genuine. There had to be another explanation.

“Reid, let’s go.”

Spencer looked up to see Derek standing by the door. “Where?”

“We need to go back there,” Derek said firmly. “We’re missing something.”

Spencer’s badge felt heavier than usual, the gun on his hip weighing him down. His mind was clouded with doubt, his heart pounding with anxiety. He always considered himself as someone who was confident when it came to his job, a man of knowledge who could win an argument with facts and logic. But now the lines of right and wrong seemed to blurred and he found himself questioning even his own judgment.

He let out a heavy breath. There was nothing else he could do but to follow Derek out of the room. He needed to see this through, for justice, for his peace of mind, and perhaps, for your innocence he hoped to prove.

~*~

You weren’t here. 

I have work tonight, I’m sorry.

You weren’t here.

Spencer was trying to come up with excuses for your disappearance. Maybe you got sick. Maybe there was an emergency. His mind went through plausible scenarios, but none seemed to fit quite right, and his curiosity continued to gnaw at him. He braced himself and approached the club owner, hoping to gain some information under the pretense of connecting you as a witness.

The man, with a burly frame, salt-and-pepper hair, and a scowl etched on his face, barely let Spencer get the words out.

“She was here,” the owner grumbled. “Her set was half an hour ago and I haven’t seen her since. If I find out she’s skipping out on work again…” He trailed off, shaking his head in frustration.

Spencer felt his heart sank. “Again?”

He nodded gruffly. “Yeah, she’s been a bit unreliable lately. Shows up late, leaves early. It’s becoming a problem.”

“Did she mention anything to you?”

“She never says much. Keeps to herself mostly. If she’s in some kind of trouble, she’s not talking about it.” He gave Spencer a once-over. “You know her personally?”

Caught off-guard, Spencer quickly shook his head. “No. I’ve just heard she might have some useful information on the case we’re working on.”

The owner seemed to accept this, nodding slightly. “Well, good luck with that. If you find her, tell her she’s got some explaining to do.”

Spencer nodded, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him even more. The pressure in his chest was almost suffocating. He knew he needed to focus on trying to find out anything about James Dalton, but his mind kept turning to you, unable to shake the fear that something terrible had happened, or worse, or worse, that you might somehow be involved. 

“What was that all about?”

He looked up to see Derek watching him closely. “Nothing.”

Derek studied him for a moment, noting the slight shift in his demeanor, the way his eyes darted away. “Reid, is everything okay?”

“I’m fine."

“You know you can talk to me if something’s up, right?”

“I know,” he snapped. Then he sighed, his expression softening. “I’m fine, really. Let’s just focus on the case.”

Derek studied him for a moment longer, wanting to press further, but was stopped when his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, saw Penelope’s name, and quickly switched it to speaker.

“Found something new?” Derek asked.

“Yes,” Penelope's voice came through with urgency. “Have you found anything interesting yet?”

“No, nothing solid on our end,” Derek replied, glancing at Spencer who remained focused but visibly tense. “What did you find?"

“I think you should take this somewhere private,” Penelope suggested cautiously.

Derek nodded, catching Spencer’s eye and motioning for him to follow. They navigated through the bustling backstage area, moving past busy staff and performers until they spotted an empty dressing room. He ushered Spencer inside and shut the door behind them.

“We’re out of earshot,” Derek confirmed, his tone low. “Go ahead.”

“Alright, listen,” Penelope began, her voice serious. “I’ve been digging into the pasts of the two victims we identified and I found something disturbing that was buried deep in their college history. It took a lot of digging because it was almost completely erased from the public record.”

“What did you find?”

“There were reports of a group of men, including Sullivan and Dalton, who were accused of sexually assaulting a high school student who was a minor. The details were sketchy and it seems there was a significant effort to cover it up. The case never went to trial, the reports were sealed.”

“How many men were involved?” 

“Four. Sullivan, Dalton, Mark Eldridge, and Robert Lawson.” There were some clicking noises in the background before Penelope continued, “Mark Eldridge was reportedly missing a few days ago, and I cross-checked his dental records with our second John Doe—it was a match.”

Derek let out a sigh. “This looks like some kind of revenge plot.” He ran a hand over his face, the weight of the situation sinking in. “What can you tell us about Lawson?”

Penelope quickly typed in a few commands. “Robert Lawson lives on the outskirts of town. He’s maintained a low profile over the years, but nothing in his recent history suggests he’s aware of the danger he might be in.”

Derek nodded, absorbing the information. “Alright, send us his address. We need to get to him before the Unsub does.”

“Sending it now,” Penelope confirmed.

“Garcia?”

Derek looked up to see Spencer standing at the edge of the room, staring blankly at a spot on the wall. His posture was tense, his face pale, and his breathing uneven. It was the most uncharacteristic of him Derek had ever seen.

“Who was the victim?” Spencer asked, his voice low, almost strained.

There was a brief pause as Penelope searched through her files. “Y/N L/N,” she answered quietly. “She was a high school student at the time, just sixteen. The case was buried deep, but it’s all here—she was threatened, her family was paid off, and the whole thing was hushed up.”

Derek felt a chill run down his spine. “And where is she now?”

Another pause, this one more tense, as Penelope gathered the final piece of information.

“She’s a dancer at The Velvet Curtain.”

Spencer felt his world tilt. The realization hit him like a freight train, his heart dropping like a stone into the depths of his stomach. It was as if the ground beneath his feet had turned to ice, sending him slipping into a dizzying spin of shock and disbelief. The pieces clicked together with the painful precision of a knife twisting in his gut. All the clues that had seemed disconnected before suddenly formed a clear, devastating picture. 

“Reid.”

He couldn’t breathe, his chest tight with a constricting panic. The room closed in around him, the walls seeming to press closer with each labored breath.

“Reid.”

The reality made him feel sick.

“Reid!”

He needed to get out of here.

His feet carried him toward the door, pushing him outside to breathe. The fresh air hit his face, but it did little to ease the heaviness in his lungs.

“Reid, I need you to talk to me,” Derek’s voice followed behind him.

Spencer leaned against the cool brick wall, trying to steady his racing heart and chaotic thoughts. He struggled to find the words, the horror of the situation crashing over him like a relentless wave.

“What happened?”

He stared at Derek through blurry eyes. “It’s her,” he managed to choke out. “I-I didn’t know it was her…”

“Reid.” Derek stepped closer, gripping his shoulders. “Breathe.”

Spencer looked up at him, the pain suffocating his chest, building up inside until he couldn’t hold it back any longer. The words began tumbling out of his lips.

He told him everything. How you approached him that first night they came to the club, how you stood out in the crowd. He described the spark in your eyes when you had asked him out on a date and how hesitant he was at first until his curiosity got the better of him.

He recalled that night, how he felt a connection he hadn't known was missing. He told Derek about the conversations you shared, the laughter between you, and how deeply fulfilling it felt to be with someone who seemed to truly get him, a happiness he hadn't known before.

Derek stared at him when he finished. There was no judgment in his eyes, far from it, but what Spencer saw was even worse—it was pity.

“Reid…”

Spencer shook his head, trying to dismiss Derek’s sympathy that made him feel so exposed. “I know what this looks like,” he cut in quickly. “But you have to understand, it felt—everything with her felt real.”

“I know, I know. I believe you, man, it’s just—”Derek sighed. “You’re too involved in this.”

Spencer met his gaze. “I never wanted to be this involved.”

Derek let out another sigh, something he couldn’t stop doing when the person he considered as his little brother was going through so much pain. He took out his phone from his pocket. “Look, let me call Hotch and tell him to send someone else—”

Spencer quickly grabbed Derek’s arm, stopping him from dialing. “No,” he insisted. “I need to do this. I want to see her.”

“I don’t think—“

“I have to,” Spencer pleaded. “I need to. I can’t… I just… I need to see her.”

“Reid, she’s dangerous. She’s killed three men before, and there’s a chance she might do the same to you.”

Spencer shook his head. “What she’s doing is for revenge, you said that yourself. She won’t hurt me.”

“But—“

“Morgan, please,” Spencer interrupted, the desperation clear in his voice. “Let me talk to her. This might be my only chance.”

Derek watched him closely, seeing the pain and determination in his eyes. It was clear Spencer wasn’t going to back down, and understanding this, he finally gave in.

“Fine. But we’re taking every precaution, okay? You’re not going in alone.” Spencer nodded gratefully. “And I’m still calling for backup.”

“Of course,” he agreed, watching Derek turn around.

Spencer silently followed him back to the car as he replayed every moment without you. He tried to search for any clues he might have missed, wondering how he had been so blind, so caught up in his feelings. The thought of you being the one behind those murders was too much for him to bear, yet he knew he had to confront you. He had to know why you did it. He had to know whether any of those moments you shared together was as magical for you as it was for him, even though he was scared of the answers, of this new, cruel reality.

He just had to see you, no matter how painful it might be.

~*~

Your last victim was the easiest. You’d think he would have struggled a bit, or maybe he’d see right through your act. After all, this wasn’t the first time he had seen you, and sure, you might have looked different, but you still had the same features from when you were young. Your eyes. Your smile. You were still you, just older.

But he never noticed, because as soon as you started to seduce him, he was just like the others. All they sought was your body, or the thought of it, the fantasy they spun so easily in their minds. You realized that another thing that hadn’t changed was their disgusting perception of you, not as a person, but as an object for their desires.

Despite their oblivious nature, it came to your benefit. It was easy to put the drug in his drink, not much, but enough to make him drowsy. Enough for his body to go limp so you could tie his hands behind his back easily. You could see his brows creasing as he struggled to keep his eyes open. You knew the sedative was starting to get to his brain.

You managed to drag his body to his study. You had pulled him by his feet, his head occasionally bumping along the floor. He groaned but didn’t do much, not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. His eyes, heavy and confused, flickered with a dim recognition of his state, a useless attempt to grasp the situation that was slowly escaping his control.

And you loved it.

“W-What…” He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “…help…”

You left him there to struggle as you grabbed the can of gasoline from his backyard, which you had hidden there that morning when he was at work. You wondered briefly if he had noticed it when he came back home, but just like the others, he was oblivious. It was still right where you left it.

You carried it back into the study and noticed his eyes widening slightly, a fear starting to seep through his confusion. You unscrewed the cap, the pungent smell filling the room, and stared down at him.

That was when you heard the ringing.

It was a loud, jarring noise and your eyes settled onto the house phone sitting on his desk. The sound was out of place, cutting through the tension-filled silence like a knife as you waited for it to stop. It kept on going, on and on, until the answering machine clicked on, and a familiar voice cut through the room, calling out your name.

You let out a cry. The sound of Spencer’s unmistakable voice echoed in your ears, the voice you had hoped to avoid was now invading this moment.

“Pick up the phone,” he pleaded. “Please.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not when his voice was already starting to shake your defenses.

The call ended not long after that. You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to regain your composure. But then the phone rang again. This time, his message was more desperate.

“Talk to me, please, I know what you’ve been through... I just want to help.”

The gasoline can shook in your grip. Help was the last thing you needed. “I don't want any help," you muttered to yourself, the words barely audible over his voice cutting through the answering machine.

“I-I’ll be here if you need me, you don't have to go through this alone.”

"I don't want any help.”

But he kept on, his voice calm yet insistent. "I know you're in pain, but this—this isn't the way to solve things. Answer me, please, let me help—“

It was your last straw. You finally snatched up the phone. "I don't want any help!"

You were met with a stunned silence on the other end. It was deafening, stretching out long enough for the reality of who was on the other end to sink in.

“…Spencer?”

“I’m here,” he replied softly. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Hearing his voice, so familiar and filled with genuine care, made you pause. For a split second, the walls you had built around your heart trembled. You wanted to scream at him, to push him away, but a part of you longed for his presence.

“Why?” you whispered. “Why are you not going anywhere?”

“Because I…” There was a pause. “Because I care about you.”

Your heart felt like it was going to burst. “You do?”

“I do,” he confessed. “More than I should have.”

You sniffed, gently placing the gasoline on top of the wooden surface of the desk. “Because you’re an FBI agent and I’m a stripper?” You wondered, recalling the same question you had asked him days ago.

“You know it was never about that,” he said. “But you’re smart enough to know the real reason.”

You glanced back at the man lying on the floor, barely conscious, his breaths shallow and labored. Spencer’s voice rang in your ears again.

“Don’t do this… please.”

You swallowed, your heart beating fast. “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t.”

“I’ll give you three,” he responded quickly. “One, you’re not a bad person.”

Your grip on the phone tightened.

“Two, you deserve a chance to find real peace.”

Your eyes welled up with tears, the resolve in your heart wavering.

“And three,” Spencer’s voice softened. “Because I want to dance with you again.”

The memory of that night, the connection you felt, rushed back, overwhelming your rage that you couldn’t help but laugh through your tears. “Yeah?”

“I want you to teach me again,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice. “I’m still not very good at it.”

The image of the two of you dancing at the bar brought a bittersweet ache to your heart. But it wasn’t enough to overwhelm the anger, the deep-seated rage that had driven you for so long.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the phone, the words escaping in a breath so faint it was almost swallowed by the silence of the room.

Spencer heard it, though. “Don’t say that. It’s not over,” he pleaded. “We can still have more nights out, more dances.”

“Spencer, stop.”

“Think about it,” he continued, his voice softening as he tried a different approach. “Your family, they would rather take the money than fight for you. They left you to fend for yourself when you needed them the most.”

“Spencer…”

“And you’ve carried that weight for so long. You’ve been so strong, but now you’re not alone, you have me. So don’t let their choices define you,” he muttered. “You’re better than this.”

His words struck a nerve.

“Better than this?” You suddenly snapped, anger flaring up again. “You don’t know me. Just because we had one date, it doesn’t mean you understand what I’ve been through.”

“I don’t know everything you’ve been through,” Spencer admitted. “But I know pain. I know what it’s like to feel abandoned and betrayed.”

He paused, the line silent for a moment before he continued with a heavy sigh.

“When I was in school, a girl asked me to meet her by the school field one day… only for the football team to show up instead. They tied me up to a goalpost and stripped me naked in front of all the students.” He took a deep breath. “Everyone laughed and stared, and no one did anything to stop them.”

You knew what he was trying to do. And partly, it worked. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for him. You imagined how sad it must have been for him, how traumatic and devastating that experience must have been. It was heartbreaking to picture him in that situation. But despite your sympathy, it didn’t suppress the anger inside you.

As painful as his story sounded, you knew you’d rather take his place instead of enduring what you had experienced.

“Spencer, it’s not the same,” you said, your voice trembling. “What they did to you was horrible, but what happened to me… it destroyed everything.”

“I know it’s not the same,” he replied quietly. “But pain is pain. And it doesn’t have to define us. We can choose—“

“Pain is pain?” You cried, finally letting go of the tears you had been holding back. “You know what’s painful? Hearing your story and the first thing that came up to my mind was how I’d rather take your place, because unlike you, those men didn’t stop after they stripped me naked.”

The anger boiled over, and you couldn't stop yourself, tears streamed down your face as raw, unfiltered pain poured out in your words.

"Do you know what it feels like to be young and helpless? To have four men twice your size assault you?" You screamed, losing any semblance of control you had left. "Do you fucking know how it feels to see these disgusting men get away with everything while you have to endure the nightmares, the flashbacks, the fear every single day?"

Your voice broke, heavy sobs wracking your body.

"Do you know how it feels to be broken, to be so destroyed that you can't even look at yourself in the mirror without hating what you see?”

Silence fell, your heavy breathing the only sound in the aftermath of your outburst. Spencer's voice was gentle when he finally spoke. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Of course, you didn’t. Because you’re a man, after all.” You picked up the gasoline again, the weight heavy in your hand. “You’re just like them… all you want to do is to save them.”

“That’s not what I—”

“And you’re fucking wasting my time.”

You slammed the phone down, cutting off the connection.

You moved on instinct. You looked down at the man on the floor, his eyes half-open, barely conscious. You regarded him one last time before you poured the gasoline over his body. The fumes rose in the air as you spread the liquid around the room, creating a trail that led to the door. At some point, one of your heels cracked, and you kicked them off, feeling the cold ground beneath your feet. It was a minor inconvenience, nothing compared to the gravity of what you were about to do.

When you finally reached a safe distance from the house, you paused, taking one last deep breath, throwing the empty can onto the ground. The weight of your past, your pain, and your anger all converged in this single moment. You took out the lighter, your hands trembling as the reality of what you were about to do settled in.

You flicked the lighter, the small flame dancing in the night air. For a moment, you were transfixed by it, the flickering light a stark contrast to the darkness surrounding you. Everything you had endured, everything that had brought you to this point, seemed to hinge on this tiny flame.

With a flick of your hand, you let it fall to the ground.

The flame kissed the trail of gasoline, igniting it instantly. The fire took life, racing along the path with a hunger that matched your own rage. It moved back toward the house, consuming everything it touched, fueled by the fume and your deep-seated desire for retribution.

The flames grew and the fire roared louder, its crackling sound filling the silence of the night. The house began to catch, the flames eagerly climbing the walls. The sight was mesmerizing yet horrifying, and you stood rooted to the spot, the fire reflecting in your eyes, casting light on the tears that streaked down your face.

You felt a smile forming on your lips.

So this was what it felt like, to watch the ashes drift through the air. To smell the acid scent of smoke. To feel the heat envelop you, wrapping your body like a suffocating blanket. To hear the sound of the world cracking and crumbling under the force of your wrath. It was beautiful, and you were mesmerized by the flames, the destruction—they were your creation, your justice.

But deep down, it was so much more than that. This wasn’t just for you, but for everyone else who had been silenced, who couldn’t do anything. You realized your anger was more than just a personal vendetta. It was a voice for the voiceless, a stand against those who had used their power to hurt and destroy.

You thought of all the others who had been through the same hell, who had been left to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives alone, who had been dismissed by a system that should have protected them.

The fire was for them, too.

You continued to watch the flame dance through the night sky, and that was when you heard it, the distant sound of vehicles approaching you. The crunch of gravel under tires grew louder and you stayed rooted where you were.

There was no running from this, no escaping what was to come. You had chosen this path, you had already accepted the consequences long before the first match was struck.

As you turned around, a group of people in FBI vests came rushing out, some frantically calling for backup as they watched the fire consume the house, while a few others pointed their weapons towards you. But your eyes were fixed on the man who had given you a glimpse of hope, the man who had tried to save you.

You felt tears streaming down your face as Spencer approached you, and you sobbed uncontrollably, the reality of what you had done sinking in.

“I’m sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking. “I-I had to do it.”

“Reid.”

An older FBI agent standing close called him, his tone a clear warning, but Derek, the other agent who you had also seen at the club, placed a hand on his shoulder. The older agent hesitated, then remained silent, allowing Spencer to approach you.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Spencer’s eyes took in your appearance. The confident woman he had always known was nowhere to be found, replaced by this version of you—vulnerable, sad, and angry at the world. The sight of you barefoot, the dirt and grime clinging to your skin, made it even more heartbreaking. Your hair was disheveled, your face was streaked with tears. The raw emotion in your eyes tore at his heart.

“I—I’m sorry too,” he whispered.

You let out a choked sob. “I… I-I really had fun that night.”

Spencer nodded helplessly. “It was the best night of my life.”

Your sobs grew louder, feeling the air restrict your lungs. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get to do it again.”

He shook his head. “We could.”

“You know well we couldn’t,” you murmured. The pain in his eyes after those words left your mouth was too much—that raw, unguarded hurt—and you had to close your eyes, not wanting to see it.

In that brief darkness you wondered what would have happened if you had never gone through with any of this. Would you still have crossed his path? Would things have been different? But no, your rage was too consuming, too deep-seated for you to second guess the path you had chosen.

His soft voice whispered your name, and you blinked your eyes open, noticing his outstretched arm.

“Dance with me.”

You let out a painful cry. “Spencer… don’t make it harder than it already is.”

“Please, I… I just want to hold you.” You stared at his hand trembling under the firelight. “Please.”

You had never felt so much pain, a crushing weight on your heart, and against your better judgment, you took his hand. He pulled you gently into his arms, holding you close as if trying to memorize every detail of your body pressed against his.

The world seemed to pause. You let your mind be happy for a while, you let it travel to the simple, mundane things you wished you could do with him—walking hand in hand through a park, sharing quiet breakfasts, laughing together over something silly, and feeling his comforting presence beside you during the small, quiet times in bed.

You dreamed of a life where your past didn’t haunt you, where the weight of your decisions didn’t crush your spirit. You dreamed of waking up to his smile, of whispered conversations in the dark, of his naked body pressed against yours as he whispered sweet nothings to your ear. You allowed yourself to fantasize of a life filled with those ordinary, beautiful moments, a life that felt so achingly close yet so painfully out of reach.

But the fire’s glow around you was a reminder of the reality you couldn’t escape. Still, for a few moments, the night around you seemed to fade, the chaos and destruction reduced to a distant backdrop. His hands were gentle on your back, holding you as if you were something precious, something to be cherished, someone to be loved.

“I’m sorry for everything,” he murmured into your hair.

You pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes, those deep brown eyes you knew you were going to miss. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

The sorrow there was mirrored in your own, a mutual recognition of the pain you both felt. His gaze held yours, intense and searching, as if trying to commit every detail to memory. The color of your eyes, the feel of your skin, the sound of your voice. He wanted to remember you for a lifetime.

With tears streaming down your face, you leaned into him, savoring the bittersweet moment. You ignored everything around you. The noise, the chaos, the destruction—all of it faded into the background. It was just the two of you, as if nothing else mattered.

And nothing else did.

So you danced for the last time, holding on to each other desperately, each step a silent prayer, each turn a tender goodbye, as the world continued to burn.

~*~

“Can't seem to hold you like I want to,

So I can feel you in my arms.

Nobody's gonna come and save you,

We pulled too many false alarms.”

~*~

A/n: If you managed to make it to the end, I applaud you! Thank you from taking the time to read this fic. I’m very self conscious about this because not only does it have 14k words, the plot is also very heavy. But I’m happy with how it turned out and I hope you liked it too. Also, I could go on and on about why I chose this specific plot, but I’d be talking too much here. So if you want to further discuss this story, feel free to send me asks. I’ll gladly reply to them <3

[nolita-fairytale]

comfort & chaos | carmy berzatto x fem!reader | chapter six: home

summary: takes place after 'make my heart surrender' ends (so if you haven't read the series, you can do so here). after surprising carmy at the restaurant, he has something really important to tell you. (the five times carmen berzatto fell in love with you a little and the one time he finally told you)

warnings: time jump, fluff, 'i love you', smut (18+ mdni), no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, drinking & smoking, suggestive language, not proofread -- will probably go back and make some edits

word count: 3.9k

listen to: no such thing - john mayer | you're the best - wet | pancakes for dinner - lizzy mcalpine | want want - maggie rogers

a/n: hi it's me! i'm tired of breaking my own heart are you tired of me breaking your hearts?!! if you're wondering what the heck happened between chapter 5 & 6, make sure to read 'make my heart surrender' or at least, this final chapter!

didn't think you were getting smut with this final chapter?! gotcha!! i had to take some DEEP breaths while writing this. thank you so much for all of the kind comments, external screaming, and dms about this series. i love you all sm. here's is thee much needed and well-deserved fluffy chapter where carmy finally says (redacted).

read: chapter five | masterlist

“God I fuckin’ love you.” 

Your words echo in Carmy’s head all shift, and he doesn’t know why he hasn’t said it back yet. 

The restaurant has been slow for lunch, and in every single moment he’s had to think about it, the words felt like they were on the tip of his tongue:

I love you. 

I love you too. 

I love you and I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. 

But what was he supposed to do? Tell you in the middle of your mise en place? Follow you into the walk-in and tell you there? He almost regrets not just saying it back right then and there – the minute he realized that you and Richie were both pulling a prank on him. Carmy decides that telling you here, at the restaurant just won’t do – just wouldn’t be romantic enough – and he knows you deserve more than that. 

As you finish up your prep for dinner service, you eye Carmy carefully. He looks totally wrapped up in thought, and you can’t imagine what he must be thinking this hard about. You’re here. You can’t believe you’re here. And you could care less about anything else right now.

“How ya doin?” you ask him, pulling him from his thoughts. 

He doesn’t know if you can see it on his face – that he’s thinking way too hard about this. 

“Uh, I’m-. Just thinkin’ about strategy… for dinner service,” he lies, trying his best to throw you off his trail. 

“Okay,” you reply, unconvinced. 

But it’s clear that he’s not going to give you much more than that.  

“You should go home,” he blurts out. His response takes you by surprise, and as soon as he realizes it sounds like he doesn’t want you here, his face softens, quick to course correct. 

“I just mean-, you must be tired. From the drive. As much as I appreciate the help…” he trails off. “It’s been slow today anyways. You should take my key and head home. If you want. Get some rest.”

Home. 

You smile in response at the sound of it, knowing that, after today, Chicago is your home. 

“You sure?” you ask him. 

“Yeah,” he insists. “If it stays this slow, I may even be able to get home early.”

You’re sure you have the silliest grin on your face as you hear the word again. 

Because this is your home now. 

Because Carmy is your home now too. 

“Well, if you insist,” you say with a shrug. 

“I do,” he says back, a seriousness in his voice. 

“Okay,” you giggle in response, agreeing to his demand. 

Carmy’s always trying to take care of you. It’s one of the things you love the most about him. Whether he’s asking you if he can make you something or asking to walk you home, you’ve always known that this is how he shows his love. 

You and Carmy both wash your hands, and he follows you towards the locker area, watching you hang up your apron in the locker that will now be yours. He busies himself with finding his apartment keys while you gather your things. 

“I kinda missed this place,” you say, even though you’ve only been gone three weeks. 

“Yeah?” he asks, a light in his eyes as he watches you. 

It feels surreal: seeing you here, knowing that you’ll be at his place when he gets back, that he gets to keep you. 

“Yeah. And maybe even some of the people too,” you smirk, cheekily. 

Carmy blushes, taking a few steps towards you with his keys in hand. 

“Need the address?” he asks. 

“I remember how to get back there,” you reassure him, playfully. 

It hadn’t been that long since you walked home with Carmy the night that changed it all: the night he’d made you his carbonara, the night that feelings were revealed, the night you made love. You’d followed him back to his apartment two nights in a row after that, letting yourself surrender to this thing between you that you’d both spent over two years fighting. And you’d let him take you to bed each night, getting lost in the way he smelled, the way he tasted, the way his skin felt against yours. 

You’re still in shock over how much has changed in your life in the last month alone.

It felt like heaven. 

It feels like heaven. 

And you wonder what took you both so fucking long.

At the same time, you know it happened exactly when it was supposed to happen – that anything before this wouldn’t have worked. 

As Carmy hands you his keys, you give him a goodbye kiss, the tension between the two of you palpable. It’s the kind of ‘I can’t wait to get you alone’ tension and you can’t wait till he gets off his shift – your thoughts filled with all the things you want to do with him when you finally do. 

It takes a while to leave the restaurant – everyone wanting to get in their hello or goodbye in – before you’re on your way home to Carmy’s apartment. On the drive there, you laugh to yourself about how the staff of The Bear have been betting on how long it’d take for you to come back. It fills you with a sense of warmth, confirming that this was exactly the move you needed to make. Since it’s close by, and you still have your stupid fucking U-HAUL, it doesn’t take long to get back to Carmy’s apartment. You make a mental note to find a good storage container to rent out so you don’t have to lug this thing around while you look for a place. 

By the time you get into his apartment, suitcase in hand, it’s clear to you that Carmy wasn’t expecting you. His home is messier than you remember it being when you left three weeks ago, but it’s not so intolerable that it’s maddening. 

You put something on the TV in the background, while you unwind, taking a shower then tidying up a little bit around the apartment. You let yourself enjoy the simplest of pleasures: your favorite pair of sweatpants that you can’t believe he’s kept, and a comfy bralette you’ve packed at the top of your suitcase. 

But it all starts to hit you as you start slowing down: after spending the night in Cleveland, you’d driven all morning to Chicago, jumped in on the line for dinner prep. You’ve barely had a moment to slow down and holy shit, are you exhausted. It doesn’t take more than a few episodes of Pasta Grannies for you to pass out on the couch. Carmy’s YouTube playback is set to autoplay, and as your eyelids become progressively heavier, you promise yourself you’re just going to close your eyes for a few moments… 

“Hi sweetheart,” you hear a voice say, causing you to slowly blink your eyes open. 

“Carm?” you mumble, only half awake. “Is it you? You’re really here?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Did I wake you?” he whispers, letting out a small laugh. 

You giggle as Carmy comes into your line of sight. He’s perched on the edge of the couch as you reach for one of his hands so that you can touch him. 

“Yeah, but I’m glad you did. What time is it?” you ask, becoming more and more awake by the minute. 

“Ten-thirty. Business picked up a ton for dinner.”

“Damn.”

“So much for getting off early.” 

You hum in response, sitting up momentarily to grab his hands, pulling him towards. Carmy smiles, laying his body over yours, before leaning in for the softest, gentlest kiss. 

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hi,” he smiles back at you, the words just on the tip of his tongue. 

I love you too.

You pull him back in for another kiss, this time deepening it. You laugh again, as Carmy breaks the kiss, an inquisitive look plastered to his face. 

“What?” he questions. 

“Nothing. You smell like hot giardiniera,” you giggle as your lips twist into a smile against his. 

He laughs, “Yeah?’

“Uh huh,” you say. 

“I’ll shower,” he suggests, playfully. 

“No, no it’s okay. I’m kinda into it,” you reply, earning another chuckle from him. 

“It’s okay,” Carmy replies, shaking his head. He places a peck on your lips before sitting up properly, earning a groan from you as he pulls away. “I’m gonna hop in the shower. Maybe we can move this to uh… my bedroom?”

“Are you putting the moves on me, Berzatto?” you tease him, shooting him a playful look.

“No! I just meant-, since I know you must be tired-,” he stammers, a blush running across your cheeks. 

You shake your head, sitting up to reassure him with another kiss. 

“I’m kidding,” you say with a chuckle. “And I’m also starving. 

“Yeah?” he sounds. 

“How about this? Why don’t you jump in the shower and I’ll order us a pizza. I’m sure we can find something to do while we wait for it to get here,” you say suggestively. 

Oh. 

“Sounds great,” he agrees with a quick raise of his eyebrows. 

You watch as Carmy disappears into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling your ears, you scroll around a little for a good pizza spot nearby. You settle on something New York style out of habit, ordering a few things for delivery. 

By the time Carmy gets out of the shower, you’ve curled up with yourself in his bed, scrolling around on your favorite social media app. You let out a whistle as soon as Carmy enters the room with only a towel tied around his waist. You can tell he’s tried his best to dry his hair, running the towel through his perfect curls a few times. You’ve got all this pent up sexual energy, and seeing Carmy like this, all hot, nearly-naked, and wet is really doing it for you. 

Hell, he could be in a full hazmat suit and the man would do it for you. 

You watch as he rummages through his dresser, searching for a t-shirt and a pair of briefs, but there’s no fucking way you’re letting him get dressed. You toss your phone to the side, standing up from where you are on the bed.

As you approach, you snake your arms around his waist, stopping him in his tracks. He cannot believe this is real: that you’re here, in his bed, in the sweatpants that he knows you love. That you’re here to stay. That you’re here and you’re his. 

“Hey,” he says, his lips twisting into a smile as you begin to leave soft kisses across the back of his shoulders. 

“Hey, yourself,” you reply, nipping at the skin you’ve just kissed. 

Carmy hisses at the feel of your teeth, letting out a laugh that seems to rumble in his throat. 

“Can I help you with something?” he teases you. 

He feels your lips curl into a smile against his skin, smirking in response. 

I fucking love you too. 

But before he can say anything, your hands are pushing his towel down past his hips, desperately envious of the way the material clings to him. 

“Mhm,” you hum. “I think you know.”

He lets the towel fall to the floor, and Carmy groans as you wrap your hand around his hard on, hissing as he feels you pump him a few times. 

“Seems like you’ve been thinkin the same thing,” you say again, feeling how hard he already is. 

He bites into his lower lip, his eyes rolling towards the back of his head as he enjoys the way you touch him. 

“Been thinkin’ about this all day, sweetheart.”

“Well…” you trail off. “I’d love to hear more about what’s been on your mind.”

“Yeah?” he croaks out, the pleasure you’re bringing him causing him to short circuit. 

“Yes,” you sigh out, wound up with desire. 

Finally, Carmy turns around, grabbing the back of your head and pulling you in for a passionate, lust-filled kiss. His lips are on yours like he’s been starving, as if nothing would satiate him the way tasting you will. You open your mouth, deepening the kiss, as you feel his tongue slide against yours. Carmy begins backing you up towards the bed, guiding you down to his mattress. 

“Had this on my mind since you left Chicago,” he mumbles, his pupils wide, fully blown out in lust. 

“Me too,” you manage to get out. 

He leans in once more, pressing his lips to yours once more. You drag your teeth against his bottom lip, before he breaks the kiss, his mouth and hands searching for real estate lower. Carmy leaves hot, open mouthed kisses along your breasts, your torso, and you’re practically pulling off your bralette like it’s burning your skin. 

“Been thinkin’ about this. You…” he admits, his voice hoarse. 

You gasp in pleasure as Carmy drags the sweatpants, along with your panties, down over your hips, tossing them who knows where behind him. 

“... tasting you.” 

You moan as he positions himself between your legs, kneeling on the floor, his chest pressed to the bed. Your legs quake with anticipation as you feel his hot breath fan over your core. Every moment he spends making you wait is killing you. 

“Carmy, please,” you beg, as he begins leaving soft kisses along your inner thighs. You can tell he’s making himself wait too, building the anticipation so that when he lets himself have you… 

“Carmen!” you moan. 

He practically groans against you as he uses the tip of his tongue to trace your clit.

“Fuck, I missed this,” he muses, before burying himself between your thighs again. 

His mouth is on you, tracing little shapes with his tongue, licking up and down your progressively wet core, while his hands keep your legs spread wide. 

All for him. 

He continues to eat you out, completely enraptured with the way you taste, the way your moans and gasps sound, the way you say his name, calling out for him and only him. As he slips a finger inside of you, you bury your hands in his hair, your hips thrusting up into his hand and against his mouth. 

“Holy fuck, Carmy,” you gasp, your mind completely taken over with the pleasure he’s giving you. 

He can tell that you’re close, adding another finger, taking note that you seem to like it even more. It’s as if he’s memorized every single thing you loved, everything that seemed to make you tick, and applied it to this time. 

“Carmy, I’m gonna-,” you cry out, your legs shaking as he brings you over the edge. 

You’re gasping, writhing against the bed, your legs still pushed wide by tatted hands as you begin to come down. You look down, tugging Carmy’s hair to bring him back up to you. When he finally looks back up at you, he’s grinning, completely satisfied with the pleasure he’s brought you. He makes his way back up, laying his very naked body over top of yours, leaning in for another kiss. 

You can taste yourself on his lips, and he doesn’t know if it’s possible to get harder than he is. 

“That’s what you were thinking about?” you whispered against his lips, spreading your legs to make room for him. You can feel his hard, aching cock against your wet center, and if you think you’ll die if he’s not inside of you as soon as possible. 

“All day.” 

He kisses you, nipping at your top lip momentarily, before continuing with:

“Haven’t stopped thinkin’ about it, actually.” 

That and something else. 

Three words he can’t seem to get out. 

Even though they’re begging to be said. 

You reach down, wrapping a hand around him, sliding his thick tip against you so that he can feel how wet and needy you are for him. 

“I can think of a few other things I want,” you beg him, feeling him shudder against you as you drag the tip of his cock over you again and again. 

“And what’s that?” Carmy asks you cheekily. 

Instead of answering, you guide him into you, earning a gasp from the both of you as he splits you open. Carmy takes his time pushing into you, making sure to pause when he’s fully seated inside of you. 

Your eyes are locked with his, allowing yourself to get totally lost inside of the pools of blue. You’re sighing out in pleasure, squeezing around him, your lips so fucking close to touching it’s near-painful. Carmy begins to slide out of you at a dangerously slow pace, thrusting into you, deeper each time. You’re pulling him down to you, and it’s as if you can’t get enough – enough of his mouth on yours, enough of him to hold onto – even though you have all of him. 

You’d let him consume all of you if he wanted to, you think to yourself, as he swallows your moans in his mouth.

It’s tangled legs, and tangled tongues, and whispered pleas. 

“God, you feel so good,” he grunts, burying his head in your neck as he speeds up. You can tell the both of you are close – that all the pent up sexual energy means that neither of you will last long. 

But you don’t care. 

You’ve got all the time in the world now. 

“Carmy,” you whine, desperate for him to let you cum.

You know you have his attention, as he raises his head, locking eyes with you again. 

“I want you to fuck me from behind,” you whisper, desperately. 

“Fuck. That’s so hot,” he groans, his eyes wide.

Unwillingly, he peels his body off of yours, letting you sit up straight. He thinks he may have died and gone to heaven as he watches you turn around, kneeling on all fours over his bed. His hands immediately go to your ass, dragging calloused palms over the curve of it as he kneels behind you. 

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” he gasps, guiding himself back into you. 

He thinks the sight alone may send him to an early grave as you bow your back, your ass still high as you press your chest against the bed. 

“Your ass is fucking incredible,” Carmy says, pulling out slowly, before thrusting back into you with a force that makes you cry out. 

“Carmen,” you whimper, your legs shaking beneath you. 

This feels too good. 

“Hmm?” he asks, his hands smoothing over your low back, following the way your back seems to arch in pleasure. 

“Fuck me. Please.” 

He knows he won’t last much longer. His hands hold onto your hips, the pads of his fingers pressing into your skin as he begins to speed up. It feels unreal, incredible, being this deep inside of you. And he gets to watch: watch the way you arch your back, watch your body respond to every single thrust, watch you grasp at the sheets and pillows, searching for something to hold onto. 

“I don’t think I’m gonna last long, baby,” he stutters out, his thrusts becoming more erratic as you beg him to keep going. 

“Please, Carmen. That feels so goddamn good,” you plead with him, face down into his sheets. 

“Shit. Fuck,” he howls, his voice booming against all corners of the room. 

Carmy places the gentlest hand against your low back, as if it to ask you to lay down, laying his body over yours from behind. He pauses, because it just feels too damn good, and he wants to revel in this moment before this ends. Ever so slowly, he begins to drag his cock in and out of you at the most torturously slow pace. His mouth leaves small kisses against your shoulders, nipping at your soft skin as he continues to make love to you. 

“Faster, Carmy. Please. I’m gonna cum,” you pant. 

You’re not sure just how much more patient you can get here. You feel him begin to speed up, and you’re moaning into his mattress against, begging for him to make you cum. He can feel you squeezing around him, and the sight of himself fucking into you really isn’t helping either. 

“Fuck,” he manages to get out, his hips beginning to stutter against your ass. 

“Yes. Whatever you want. I’ll give you whatever you want,” he repeats, earning the most blissful ‘Carmy’ from your lips he’s ever heard. 

“Baby, I’m so close,” you whine. 

“Yes, me too. Yes. Fuck, I love you,” he calls out, shutting his eyes as he cums. 

He can feel you shuddering around him, as he fucks you through your orgasm too, completely unaware of the words that have flown out of his mouth. 

You’re both panting, breathless from what you’ve just done, as you begin to come down. 

“Holy shit,” he finally says, leaning his forehead against the back of your shoulder. 

“You can say that again,” you chuckle, trying to catch your breath. 

“Can we do this tomorrow? And the day after that?” you ask, playfully, turning your head to kiss him. “And the day after that?”

Carmy smiles, “Absolutely.”

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to get cleaned up and back into comfy clothes. Carmy knows there’s no point in fighting you for your favorite pair of his sweatpants as he picks out another pair, remaining shirtless for your viewing pleasure. The pizza arrives shortly after, and you find yourself in bed, with the man you’ve loved for so long, getting a much-needed refuel break. 

“You know I hate eating in bed,” Carmy points out, watching you get crumbs all over his sheets. 

“Yeah, well I’m getting my own place so… that’s a future problem for you and me,” you answer, without a single care in the world. 

“For when we move in together?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

It’s almost as if he’s testing the waters – seeing if that’s something that’s still on your mind. 

“Right,” you confirm, confidently. 

But you’re in. 

You’re all in. 

It seems like you’ve passed whatever test he’s given you as the corners of his lips curl into the softest smile. 

“You know… you live in Chicago now,” he teases, in reference to your choice of pizza. 

You scoff in response, throwing in a playful eye roll for dramatic effect. 

“Oh fuck you.” 

He laughs. 

You eat quietly, enjoying your first night in Chicago as a resident. You watch as Carmy’s face changes, as if he’s trying to find the right words to say what’s on his mind. Instead of asking, you wait, knowing that he’ll bring it up when he finds them. 

“Hey uh…” he starts, hesitantly. “I just want you to know… that I… I meant what I said earlier.”

The more serious tone he uses piques your curiosity as you stare back at him blankly, unsure of what he's referring to.

“What do you mean?” you ask back.

Carmy takes another beat, pausing as he musters up the courage to clarify with:

“That I love you. I didn’t want you to think I just said it because… well you know.”

Because you were naked.

Because he got caught up in the moment.

Because he was inside of you.

He licks his lips, before opening his mouth to say it again: 

“I love you.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, his eyes are on you, watching your face for any kind of reaction.

But you’re beaming as you hear them and it all begins to make sense. It was something you’d said earlier, but the fact that he hadn’t said it back hadn’t been on your mind. Is this what he’d been thinking about all day? You just figured he'd say it back when he was ready.

You shake your head, a grin plastered to your face as you reply,

“I know, silly. I love you too.”

Fin. 

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @galaxyprincess51-blog @carmensberzattos @blue-weekends @rexorangecouny @ridingthehotmessexpress @the-nursery@strawberryalicia @astronautelilanded @veryplatoniccircunstances @fonteyn @hlkwrites

[seeingivy]

Omg can u do a one shot where reader goes to the eras tour with Gojo??

miss americana and the heartbreak prince

satoru gojo x f!reader

an: this didn't mesh well as a one shot when I wrote it, so i hope this mix of blurbs and headcanons is ok <3 also, this is for a very specific audience, feel free to ignore on your dash!!!

--

satoru gojo, in his infinite knowledge and wisdom, is first exposed to the eras tour when you ask him to sign up for a presale code

“wait, so. you just want me to sign up for all the dates?” satoru asks, voice echoing through your phone speaker.  “yes, make sure that you verify your ticketmaster account and everything now. and then when you do that, send me a picture so i can make sure you did it right.” you respond.  “it’s not rocket science, babe. i’m sure i can figure out how to do it.” satoru grumbles, as you hear typing on the other end of the line.  “just take the picture when you’re done.”  “was this that important that you had to call me while I was at work?”  “babe. this is taylor swift. of course it was.”  “right.” 

the fated day of buying tickets come and you and satoru are literally hiding from your bosses in the corner of your office - laptops pulled up and anxiously watching the queue

you're both nervously watching the numbers get smaller and smaller, nervous hands open on a twitter tab that's talking about people getting kicked out of the line, locked out, or being told that the tickets are already all gone

but by the grace of god, satoru's laptop goes through first and he manages to bag the two of you floor tickets and you're in

you climb into bed, pushing the hair off of satoru’s head to give him a kiss on the forehead, before you tuck yourself into the sheets and nestle into his arms.  “sweetheart.”  “hm?”  “can i ask you a question? you don’t have to say yes.” he asks, voice all uncharacteristically shy.  you prop yourself up on his bare chest, trying to discern the look on his face in the dark, as you nod.  “can i go to the concert with you?”  and when you see the little frowny face he has on, you can’t help but laugh at the entire ordeal, at the satoru gojo begging you to take him to a taylor swift concert. and when you start laughing, he starts grumbling, turning his surely pink face away from you.  “shut up.”  “oh my god, toru. you’re so cute, you know that?”  “i’m glad my misery is adorable to you.”  “I’d love if you would come to the concert with me. on one condition.”  “what’s that?”  “you have to learn all the lore and listen to the songs before we go. i’m not about to be that girl standing next to the guy who doesn’t know the surprise songs on the floor.”  “okay. what’s a surprise song?”  you press your fingers against his lips and place a kiss on his cheek.  “all in good time.”

you make a game plan for satoru, color coded and planned out, for him to learn everything you want him to know

you break it down for him era by era, asking him to first listen to the album and send you his reviews - and then explaining important key details that he would need to know

and it evolves so fast, because he gets more and more excited as he goes on, texting you his thoughts at work

he just needs a reason to not do work, but he gets REALLY REALLY INTO IT

satoru: YOU’RE GAY.  you: no? i don’t think so satoru: i’m singing picture to burn babe, be quiet satoru: if the way i loved you is country music, slap a flannel and a cowboy hat on me because i am FLOORED. ABSOLUTE BANGER.  you: PLEASE ARE YOU LISTENING AT WORK???  satoru: mind your own business.  satoru: also, who is mr. perfectly fine about?  you: joe jonas.  satoru: she dated joe jonas?  you: no satoru, she dated barack obama. yes, she dated joe jonas.  satoru: well now i hate him. he’s so rude.  satoru: THIS IS ME SWALLOWING MY PRIDE STANDING IN FRONT OF YOU SAYING IM SORRY FOR THATTTT NIGHT  you: last night when you ate my leftovers?  satoru: that wasn’t me you: sure.  satoru: is dear john about john mayer?  you: yes. we don’t like him.  satoru: fuck yeah we don’t. SHINING LIKE FIREWORKS OVER YOUR SAD EMPTY TOWN??? JOHN, JOHN WHEN I CATCH YOU  satoru: babe if you ever break up with me ill go sleep on the highway  you: ok?? I wasn’t planning on it satoru: do not EVER give me a reason to relate to last kiss i will actually do something dangerous  you: why did shoko just send me a picture of you with your head down on your desk at work?  satoru: babe please don’t talk to me rn. i just listened to all too well and i am inconsolable.  you: wait till you watch the short film.  satoru: PLEASE I CAN’T HANDLE THIS. JAKE GYLLENHAL ALEX THE LION FROM MADAGASCAR WHEN I GET YOU.  you: ok satoru. pipe down.  satoru: ARE WE OUT OF THE WOODS YET ARE WE OUT OF THE WOODS YET ARE WE OUT OF THE WOODS YET  you: i feel like im creating a monster.  satoru: I WANT YOU FOR WORSE OR FOR BETTER BROKE YOUR HEART ILL PUT IT BACK TOGETHER satoru: just finished reputation. many thoughts  you: oh???  satoru: one. can we get frisky to dress? two. I am buying you a necklace with my initial on it. three. king of my heart is my favorite song so far. four. CAN WE GET FRISKY TO DRESS. five. kanye west, when I get you. you: satoru. you are at work. please focus.  satoru: i know that’s a yes.  satoru: just listened to lover. I am inconsolable and i love this white woman. DAYLIGHT??? THAT’S SO ME AND YOU. LOVER??? THAT’S SO ME AND YOU. PAPER RINGS??? ME AND YOU.  you: do not take paper rings as an excuse to not buy me a real ring. I am expecting a nice six pronged gold band circular cut diamond.  satoru: also can we get frisky to false god.  you: satoru gojo.  satoru: babe. urgent. 911.  you: what.  satoru: am i augustine or am i betty??  you: you’re inez. nosy gossiping ass bitch.  satoru: EXCUSE ME. also invisible string is so us. joe alwyn, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS.  you: well. satoru: is she ok. like seriously, is taylor ok??? if she has happily been in a relationship for six years why did she write tolerate it? doesn’t she know my mental health is fragile?  you: why tf are YOU crying about tolerate it? we’ve been in a stable relationship for four years satoru: i was imaging you being mean to me. it really hurt my feelings  you: ok.  satoru: long story short, the masterpiece that you are. JOE AND TAYLOR YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS.  satoru: what is their name combined  you: toe.  satoru: ok… satoru: MEET ME AT MIDNIGHT you: oh god. you’re at the end. let’s hear it.  satoru: one. can we get frisky to maroon? two. you’re on your own kid changed my life. three. sweet nothing is us. four. can we get frisky to maroon. five. john mayer i will KILL YOU. six. also is like scooter braun a crack head or something like what is vigilante shit even about  satoru: babe. satoru: no.  satoru: YOU’RE LOSING ME???? JOE???? JOE ALWYN MY BROTHER JOE ALWYN???? NO.  you: yes.  satoru: Y/N. HE WON’T MARRY HER?????? IM GOING TO KILL HIM. THE GUY WHO LOVER IS ABOUT??? WHO MASTERMIND SWEET NOTHING INVISIBLE STRING IS ABOUT???  satoru: do not talk to me. I hate you.  you: WHAT DID I DO

satoru gets more and more excited about the entire thing as it goes on, telling YOU that you need to start planning outfits and making bracelets like you weren't the one who got him into this

satoru cannot make friendship bracelets. but he likes watching you make them and asking you all the little things you like about the music

“ok. what do i make the next one?”  “hm. did you do style yet?”  “no.”  you start collecting all the beads as satoru props his phone up against the table, to the live stream of the concert. every night, the two of you watch the surprise songs together and make a note of which ones you lose from your drafted list of picks - a mix of yours and satoru’s favorite songs that aren’t on the setlist.  “open.”  satoru holds the spoon of noodles right over your lips as you focus on finishing the bracelet, his eyes focused on the live stream.  “satoru.”  “hm?”  “can i ask a weird question?”  “sure.”  “you seem like you’re like really into this. like actually.”  “well, i am. this is serious - i cannot lose clean for a second time or i will break something.”  “not that. I just mean, the entire thing. like the songs and the music and all that. you…are really into it.”  “well, why wouldn’t i be? it’s something you like. and it clearly means a lot to you, so it does to me too.”  you can feel your cheeks burning at how blunt he is about the entire thing, like it’s something so obvious, like him putting in all this effort to like something you do is a given. you lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek, which he smiles at before focusing back on the live stream.  “BABE. NO.”  “OH MY GOD." “ITS CLEAN.” “TORU HOW DID WE LOSE A SONG TWICE.”

satoru decides that the two of you are going to go as miss americana and the heartbreak prince - and watches you meticulously collect fabrics and threads to make the pink dress you had in mind

you made it a point to also sew on the little broken heart for satoru's light pink shirt and white slacks that he was going to wear to the concert and buy the two of you matching gold crowns to wear together

“something is missing from my outfit, y/n.”   you frown, looking over at him as he fixes the little gold crown you got him on his white hair.  “what are you talking about? you look fine.”  satoru digs through your makeup box, rummaging around till he pulls out a tube of your red lipstick.  “you want to wear it, toru?”  “what? no. you put it on and then plant a bunch of kisses on my cheeks. so it leaves a mark.”  “oh?”  “IT’LL LOOK BETTER THAT WAY. I SAW SOMEONE ON TIK TOK DO IT.”  you roll your eyes as you lean forward in the mirror, blotting the buttery product on your lips and ignoring the devilish smile that satoru’s giving you in the mirror. and then you turn around and cup his face in your hands, making it a point to pepper long kisses on his cheeks and the side of his neck, making sure the full mark of your lips is left on his skin.  and when you’re done, he turns in the mirror and gives you a satisfied smile.  “perfect.”  “you’re so lame, satoru. if you wanted me to kiss you, you should have just asked.”  “can i have a kiss?”  “no.”  he leans forward and wraps his arms around your waist, it being his turn to smother you in kisses, eliciting a laugh from you when his breath tickles your neck.  “shut up.”

type of mf to take BILLIONS OF PICTURES of you outside the concert and even more with you, until you both get ones you like

also, totally wears a stack of friendship bracelets that you made together, but only trades with other boyfriends and dads in solidarity

man stands for the entire concert with you, except during the man. because he knows his place.

you start SOBBING during lover and he's there just smiling at how SILLY you are and wiping your little tears away. you both sway to the song together and scream the bridge together.

he takes a picture of you doing the fearless heart with taylor in the back. bc duh.

speaking of, this dude is NOT recording taylor AT ALL he is recording you and taking pictures of you and it's literally the most wholesome thing ever

like you're just so excited and jumpy that he thinks its cute and he wants to document it

but then he's so inconsolable during tis the damn season and tolerate it that he's SCREAMING THE LYRICS with the passion of ten suns (he is an evermore stan, fight with the wall)

takes a video of you singing during enchanted (which he later makes his lockscreen)

fighting for his life during all too well. like everyone else.

your surprise songs are dear john and daylight - which you're both screaming together on the floor.

satoru is giving YOU the side eye when you scream DATE ME TAYLOR during vigilante shit chair moment.

mister man is blushing when you point at him when taylor sings karma is my boyfriend

carries you out of the concert bc he knows your feet are killing you.

and feeds you after. bc duh. post concert munchies at a fast food drive thru.

--

an, again: tee hee this was so silly but so fun to think about. and for a very niche audience AHAHHAHA. also it feels weird to use my taglist when this is for a VERY specific audience so I will ignore.

[somuchforstardust]

sorry for being unable to stop talking about this but it's actually insane that any of you can

literally seconds into the video when alexa asks the contrived would you rather question and john mayer is like "i'd much rather have a member of fall out boy sit on my lap 😐😐😐"

a second later he's pretending to be surprised that they're bringing pete out but the ten pixels of this video still clearly convey the completely dead look in his eyes

pete's smile gets wider when he's about to hug john mayer

the least sexy or intimate lap sitting i've ever seen in my life pete looks like a little boy sitting on santa's lap

genuinely talking in a baby voice when he says "all i want for christmas is john mayer's battle studies 🥺" HUMILIATING.

the way he's cradling that cd

the masculine alpha way john mayer grips believers never die and delivers his line in contrast

this one is a @lyekisses original: you can see on pete’s face when john is like “all i want for christmas is pete wentz…” he believed that and he fell deeper. he’s not good enough of an actor for it not to have been real to him

pete has one of john mayer's legs between his

john mayer moves over when pete gets off his lap and pete SCOOTS CLOSER TO HIM 😭

the amount of space between pete and john mayer and john mayer and alexa chung

crosses his legs

john mayer makes a stupid joke that possibly doesn't make sense but pete laughs with a sparkles in his eyes anyway he's so excited that john mayer is talking about his band

pete continues to lean in even closer he is genuinely living in a different dimension at this point his face is in his neck he's trying to mate

john mayer starts making fun of their titles while pete visibly leaks omega slick in front of the entire studio audience. at least when kanye did it it was in a verse 💔

alexa chung is trying to wrap up his part and pete is like "i'm done already 🥺"

pete telling people to buy the john mayer album so earnestly that he's stumbling over his words meanwhile john mayer told like 50 bad fall out boy jokes instead of promoting believers never die

everything pete says is so timid and shy if he's not silently giggling and blushing he's going "w-wait do i really have to go 🥺👉👈"

"i watch john write this record and it actually comes from the heart" i don't want to imagine what this might mean i'm sure it's depraved

[chanranghaeys]

🌆 "love on the weekend" by john mayer — js

now playing: seventeen's playlist - song # 1

pairing: joshua x gn!reader, school!au word count: 700 tags: fluff, John Mayer, more fluff, earphone sharing, the “i want this too” sickly sweet kind of fluff bc i rly want this too

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

2017

“Have you listened to this?”

Shua plays a song from his phone and gives you the right earbud. The signature guitar plucks come through the earphones as he looks at you expectantly, slowly watching your expressions shift as the song plays.

“Huh, what song is this”

“It’s the new John Mayer song.”

“WHAT? No way.”

“Yeah! Listen to it.”

It's a cool Friday afternoon and Shua is on time as usual, picking you up from your last class for the week. You barely have any classes together this term, except for one in the early mornings of Mondays and Wednesdays. This means that while you get to start the week together—albeit in class—and unless you both make an effort on the weekdays, you don’t see each other again most of the time until these Fridays after class.

It's a Friday, we finally made it I can't believe I get to see your face You've been working and I've been waiting To pick you up and take you from this place…

Shua grasps your hand, fingers intertwining, and he raises it to place a kiss on the back of your palm. He looks at you with his smiling eyes and you can’t help but smile back. You end up leaning your head on his shoulder because you absolutely can’t bear the way your heart is beating after listening to the song’s first verse.

“Love on the weekend, love on the weekend, I’m coming up and I’m loving every minute of it.” Shua’s soft voice reaches your ears. You love it when he sings along to John Mayer’s songs. You could never listen to his songs the same way again when you found out the singer was one of his favorite artists too—you thought that it was rare for people to still listen to him. Instant green flag, was a thought that immediately popped into your mind.

“I love it already.” You say as you look up at Shua, who couldn't look away from you even if he wanted to.

“It’s us. It’s our song.”

You didn’t think you could smile any wider. “It is.”

“And I’ll be dreaming of the next time we can go into another serotonin overflow…” Shua resumes singing along, leaving you entranced and enchanted with both the song and this man who is holding your hand and who has done nothing but make you feel happy and loved on every single weekday and weekend you’ve spent together.

“Love on the weekend, love on the weekend, I’m busted up but I’m loving every minute of it.” You both sing along to the song’s hook, singing truths that sometimes only songs can contain.

The song ends and you return the earbud, a silly smile plastered on your face.

“Uh oh, I think you’ve malfunctioned.” Shua pokes your cheek in an attempt to get your attention.

“Stop it! You’re making me malfunction with your cheesy shit!”

You feel his hand rest around your waist. He brings you closer to his side and he laughs, its gentle and sweet sound pure music to your ears on its own.

“Get used to it, love. I will never stop if it means I get to see that smile. I love you too much.” He says this as if the plainest and simplest truth there is in the world.

You couldn’t help how your voice went up a few pitches, mockingly saying “Hmm? You loveeee me?”

“You and only you” He brings her around to face him and he looks at her eyes, eyes that he could look at until the end of his days. “You and I, and no one else.”

No one else. You believe him—how could you not—and nod in agreement. He replies with a kiss on your forehead. You could melt on the spot.

“Coffee? At the usual place?”

“Yes please.”

“Let’s go.”

Your hands find each other again, with stories about the week spilling from your mouths and hearts overflowing with love. It really was the little things like this that made your youth count. You two were young and in love, and you both swear never to forget this feeling until the day you turn old and gray.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

post a/n: fun fact actually—this is actually a flashback scene from like this mini delulu au my friends and i came up with when we were bored. and given that it’s a flashback…shua and reader weren’t this happy later on in the story so :( haha but i would like them to exist this happily in this pocket of the alternate universe

[arashi-no-saxlphone]

Season 3 Episode 2 of House "Cane and Able" is such a fucking life-ruining episode, man. You watch House start to become human and happy and then see that the little world he's in has doomed him to be needed in the state of "godhood" that makes him a medical genius. He uses his very own abilities to deduce that Wilson and Cuddy have lied to him and it puts hin right back into his samsara of pain and misery. Don't even get me started on the end of that episode too:

Wilson: "...more that, if you found out you'd solved a case based on no medical proof, you'd think you were god. And I was afraid your wings would melt."

House: "...God doesn't limp."

*John Mayer's "Gravity" starts playing while Wilson looks ready to cry*

Fucking god damn, man.

[horseshoegirl]

Damn Those Dog Tags - Part 16: In the Blood

📖I'm amused you guys voted on this one as the one that inspired DTDT. I wouldn't say this one was one of the big three, but it ended up becoming my inspiration for Jake's backstory.

Also, this was me after that last part: 🏃‍♀️<-🔱🔥

I'm so sorry I broke all of your hearts with part 15! They have a happy ending, I swear! We just have to get through the angst first... And Sadie... Oh dear... I cried writing this... so it's safe to say maybe bring tissues?

❗️+18, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, original child character, Shitty family dynamics, Angst, talk about break ups, talk about therapy, probably inaccurate dogfight descriptions (I tried my best!), Jake is going through it, Emotional & Protective Sadie (She needs her own warning), & Protective Bradley.

#6K words

Part 16 | Masterlist | Part 17

It had to be the shock.

The reason why there were gaps in your memory. You don’t remember climbing into the front seat of Rooster's Bronco. Or even putting on your seat belt or him pulling out of the parking lot.

He probably had to do it for you.

You had to remind yourself he was driving you home. That you just very publically broke up with Jake in the Hard Deck. Spit-roasted George with very colourful vernacular.

You'd have to explain to Penny why you were swearing in her bar again. But you had a more pressing predicament than wondering what might happen in the aftermath of that experience, which would presumptively have Hangman's callsign back on the sign in the bathroom.

Even with a broken heart, you felt like you were a child being allowed to sit in the front seat of a car. Under the scrutiny of an "I'm not mad, just disappointed" parent driving you home from school. White hot anxiety coursed through your veins with the assumption you did something so incredibly wrong; you just didn't know what.

Rooster was eerily silent. Next to the roar of his engine and AC fan, the silence was constructing. Suffocating. He should be gloating, listing off all the ways you ignored him, ignored the team that day on the soccer field. All the ways he was going to hurt Hangman the next time he saw him.

It was driving you insane.

"Are you going to gloat? Say, I told you so?" you finally huffed through your tears when it became too much. "Hangman did what he does best?"

"Not today, Liz."

Out of all the things you expected him to say, that was not one of them. It almost made it worse. Like you were genuinely expecting a verbal argument, and the fact you weren't getting one was making you pout like an actual child.

"I'm sorry for what happened," he offered eventually, after a pregnant pause. A horrible scraggly sound accompanied your hiccup.

"I should never have let Sadie invite him to Saturday nights."

"No, I'm sorry for what I said in your hallway," he countered. "For the way I acted."

Ironic, isn't it? The person you knew to be the most childish when expressing his emotions was sobering your petulant thoughts and behaviour. Even when your mind and obsessive internal dialogue went, why the fuck did he think now was a good time as any to apologize?!

You dropped your chin to your chest. "But you did," you huffed, hugging yourself against the sudden chill. “In front of Sadie, no less.”

Had you turned your head, you would have seen Bradley nodding absentmindedly, his eyes staring blankly at the road.

“It was uncalled for, Liz. The fact you felt you needed to hide it from me….” he trailed off. You sniffed, wiping at your cheeks, letting him gather his words. "I get it. Why you didn't. I wouldn't have taken the news differently even if you had told me. It might have been worse."

“Still, I should have told you,” you offered, shaking your head before staring out the window, watching the trees blur by. “Not that it matters now.”

Bradley gritted his teeth, hands flexing on the steering wheel. He wanted to mouth off. Not about you ignoring his warnings but all the ways Hangman was a complete and utter cock.

He couldn't. You didn't deserve that in the fragile state you were in. Fragile wouldn't even be in the vocabulary of words Bradley would ever use to describe you. Hangman had made you like this, played you and your feelings.

It was never going to be your fault. He had realized that after the fight. When he promised he'd be there for you and Sadie, he didn't know what that meant or what it looked like.

A punch to Jake's face? Hearing it after the fact? Not actually being there to witness it? Him rambling off all the things he hated about Hangman? Ultimately, Bradley could only offer a measly retort of, "He's an asshole."

You swallowed hard. You couldn't deny Bradley's remark.

Jake being an asshole at that moment was him being Hangman, a side you thought you'd never have to see. For him to so readily agree with George, there was no other way you couldn’t interpret those words as anything but him playing you, using you.

Had he not given you that condensing grin and spoken those words, you might have believed he was merely being triggered by the presence of his brother.

You should have been waiting for the other shoe to drop. You felt foolish, naive, and utterly lost. The grief of losing Ridley was and had always been a constant companion, but this felt different. It was the realization that you had let him in and allowed him to become a part of Sadie's life and yours. You had trusted him, and he had betrayed that trust in the cruellest way possible.

You just wanted to know why? Why he lashed out at you? Why did he act like he cared when he didn’t?

Why? Why? Why?

You’d never get an answer from him now. You wanted to stay away from him, ignore him, avoid every mention or instance of him and his fucking callsign. The wall was back up, and it would never come back down. Instead, fixing your eyes on his dashboard, with no judgment in your voice, you asked Bradley, “Why Roo? Why did you lash out like that?”

Bradley sighed once, tapping his thumb against his steering wheel.

“Loving any of us is a death sentence, Liz. One day you might wake up and find one of us is gone. Just like that.” He shuttered in a breath. “I think, in some twisted way, I wanted to spare you the pain of losing someone you were in love with that way.”

He tried to find the words to explain his next point delicately, but there was no other way he could say it to you without not getting his point across. “You don’t handle grief well, Liz. You barely found the strength to carry on had it not been for Sadie.”

You huffed, knowing deep down he was right but doing absolutely everything in your power to keep denying it. You weren’t doing this today. If not, ever.

Bradley heard you but continued anyway, leaving your reaction tucked away for later. “I didn’t want you to end up like my mom. Sadie to end up like me. Cause him? He always flew like he had nothing to lose; he would do something foolish sooner than later. You would be left to mourn him. For Sadie to mourn him. I didn’t want that for you.”

He paused, letting his words sink in. Yet, you blurted out suddenly, "You need to go to therapy, Roo."

Bradley laughed softly. You looked over at him, slightly worried he might be having a fit. But it was a genuine reaction. And despite everything, you caught a tiny smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

You shouldn't be laughing. Not with the heavyweight still pressing down on your chest. Yet, sitting next to Rooster as he drove you home, his laughter was the only thing that seemed to be cutting through the heavy fog weighing over you.

Nothing could be done to suppress the laugh that bubbled up inside your chest. Bradley's grin widened, his laughter louder when he realized you were fighting your own. You couldn't help but join him. Whether the pain in your chest was from the laughter or the heartache, you couldn’t tell.

When the two of you finally managed to stop laughing, Bradley admitted with laboured breath. "I am, actually."

You turned to face him, utterly shocked. "Since when?!"

"Two days after." He doesn't need to be explicit. You know what he's referring to. "There's someone on base. I've only had one session so far, but it's making me realize I should have gone sooner."

You stared at him in disbelief.

If he had told you that, come to you while you were still working, or if he had called or even texted, you would have forgiven him instantly. You couldn't hold what he did to you against him after an admission like that.

"I'm proud of you, Bradley," you said, wiping your nose. "I really am."

He glanced over at you, a level of warmth in his eyes. “I needed to hit rock bottom and get a push by a few people. People who cared.”

His response was cryptic. It couldn't have been just you and Sadie, not after how you screamed at him or after Sadie kicked him out. Or even anyone on the Squad. It made you wonder who was his catalyst for the sudden change of thought. For now, you were just glad he was getting help.

You gave him a small smile, making Bradley reach over and grab your hand, squeezing it tightly. You gripped it back, but when he went to let go, you tightened your hand in panic.

"Just... Don't let go. Not yet."

Bradley didn't let go, driving one-handed the remainder of the journey back to your house. The two of you didn't say anything else. You sat silently even when he pulled into your driveway and turned off the ignition.

You didn't want to get out of his Bronco. You didn't want to walk into your house and see all the traces of Jake. You didn't want to gather his things in his bag. Leave them on the front porch, or change the spot for the emergency key.

But that was what happened when you went through a breakup, right? These were the things that needed to be done.

Bradley broke the extended silence, his voice deep and gentle when he asked, "What will you tell Sadie?"

Sadie.

You paused. You didn't really need to think about your answer. Just the weight of what it truly meant to say it out loud.

"The truth. As I've always done."

This was your worst fear about dating. The one that arose when you became Sadie's guardian. The one that so precariously dangled over your head when you told Jake you were a package deal. It wasn't the threat of betrayal, wasted time, or memories turning bittersweet.

As bad as that was at the Hard Deck, as broken and in pieces as your heart was, telling Sadie would be worse.

Jake broke your heart.

Now you had to break Sadie's too.

You glanced at Bradley, searching his eyes before asking him quietly, "Wanna come with me to pick her up from Penny's?"

Bradley smiled, nodding softly.

---

It was the eighth time the F-18s had flown this exercise this week. Coyote, Rooster, Hangman, and even Maverick, all had taken turns flying it with each other, in pairs, to navigate an imaginary narrow terrain.

Had Hangman been paying more attention, he would have questioned the sudden need to practice this particular exercise repeatedly and why it was just them, not Phoniex, Bob, Payback, and Fanboy. The first few times had been a simple flight test, learning the route, the twists, and the turns.

He was never more ruthless than in the cockpit, especially now. All that was child's play compared to some of the stuff he had done throughout his Naval carrier.

But today's addition? They wanted to see how they handled the pattern while dog fighting.

Rooster had decided to make it personal.

"Come on, Hangman!" Rooster taunted through the comms. "Is that all you've got?"

Hangman gritted his teeth, his hands gripping the controls, knuckles white. He was pushing his jet to the limit, narrowly avoiding Rooster's ‘fire’ as the alarm from the targeting system filled his cockpit.

The turn in the valley afforded Hangman the opportunity for some leeway to move out of the way. Barely.

"Come on! You're flying like a rookie today!" Rooster taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Thinking about what you did to Liz?"

Hangman's jaw tightened, and he forced himself to focus on the controls. "This isn't the time, Rooster," he snapped, but the cocky twang had lost its touch.

Rooster just laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Oh, I think it's the perfect time. You need a reminder of what a colossal fuck-up you were."

"I know what I did," Hangman growled, banking hard to the right to avoid Rooster's aggressive maneuvers. The asshole was gaining on him, even with how carefree he seemed to be with his taunts.

"Still thinking about Liz?" Rooster's voice was a sneer, crackling through his headset, and Hangman could hear the satisfaction. "Maybe that's why you're losing."

"Focus on the fight," Hangman snapped, anger boiling in his chest.

"Oh, I am," Rooster replied, his voice crackling through the headset and dripping with contempt.

The mountainsides and the green of the trees were a blur as Hangman and Rooster approached the end of the valley. Hangman could hear his heartbeat against the sound of his own breath in his oxygen mask.

Rooster didn't need to say the obvious aloud. Hangman was thinking about you. He couldn't shake the image of your face from that night.

Broken. Sad. Devastated.

He wanted to close his eyes, get lost in the moments when he would awake in your bed, finding you next to him. In your touch. In your voice.

When he hadn't fucked it up.

But he couldn't.

He rolled the F-18 over once he was clear of the mountains and the flight pattern, finally able to use open space to retaliate and flip around. There was only a few seconds left in their time limit.

If Rooster wanted a dogfight, he'd given him a dogfight while he still could.

"Where are you? Where are you?" he drawled aloud. He kept his eyes on the sky, searching for any indication Rooster was nearby as the seconds ticked away. But he was nowhere to be found.

"Time!"

Hangman didn't trust Rooster would listen to Maverick's call. He'd even go as far as to admit the man was almost like him, dead set on proving a point when it mattered. At least Hangman could demonstrate some restraint.

Sure enough, Rooster's voice echoed as his plane came into view. Swinging up and hanging upset down from directly under him.

Inverted.

"Forget to look below?"

Hangman finally had enough.

"Want me to take one out of your book?!" he yelled, staring up through the glass, never once taking his eyes off Rooster as he jolted the stick to the side, rotating the plane over in time with Roosters.

Into a damn spiral dive. A fucking corkscrew.

Rooster grunted with the effort of withstanding the Gs on his body. Hangman was no different, bracing hard as he fought against the controls. Neither one listened to Mav shouting over the airway or the different tone alerts signalling information.

"You think this proves something?" Hangman's voice was cold and ruthless even though he gritted his teeth. "Break off now, and maybe you won't embarrass yourself."

"Embarrass myself?" Rooster spat back. "Like you did with Liz?"

His response was automatic, like reading a script he had long since memorized. "Life is hard, Rooster. It's cruel and unforgiving. You can either whine about it, or you can face it head-on. You think you're going to prove something, kid, by keeping me here?!"

"Watch me!" 

The world faded out. Nothing mattered but the two pilots, locking in that spin, seemingly staring each other down. 

Yet, Hangman was completely unaware he was running out of space. The Terrain! Terrain! Pull Up! Pull Up! was background noise on muffled ears, as were Maverick's increasing shouts for the pair to stop and break away. 

He was too caught up in everything to care. Rooster would have to break away first. He wouldn't give out.

He wouldn't let him win. 

But then a voice, soft and delicate despite the alarms, shouts and struggles of the Jet's engine broke through the haze.

Jake.

It was a blast of bright light like the sun suddenly blinded the corner of his eyes. For whatever spoke to him, it had been as close as he had ever been to hitting beyond the hard deck. He finally pulled up on the control stick, saving himself just in time and avoiding hitting Rooster. 

His breath was harsh, anger on the edge of boiling over as he levelled the jet. And when he finally returned to the correct altitude, Hangman ripped the oxygen mask from his face, fighting the urge to hit something, as Rooster's chuckles filled the air.

"Hangman! Rooster! Get back to base. Now!"

---

"Do the two of you want to get kicked out?! How could you be so stupid!?"

Nat's question was rhetorical. Hangman and Rooster were stupid. It was so deeply entrenched into their entire being she knew she was wasting her breath by even pointing it out.

A reminder didn't hurt, though.

She had her eyes set on Hangman, but Rooster wasn't very off, sliding his way over to the blonde pilot who had only just started his post-flight checks after getting his jet back into the hanger.

He was deadset on ignoring her, not once glancing her way as she stomped toward him.

“What will Liz say when she finds out how reckless the two of you were?!”

His reaction made her pause; his hands froze from where they were adjusting a valve. Had she turned away, she wouldn't have caught the grimace on his face - however slight or brief it made have been.

“Oh, you didn’t hear what he did?” Rooster called out, smirking from his perch, leaning against a nearby table and crossing his elbows. He may have promised not to gloat around you, but the squad was fair game.

"Liz even slapped him for it too."

Confusion, shock, and pure anger crossed her face in the three seconds she took to glare at Jake. Heat laced her voice as she asked, "What the fuck did you do?"

Liz would never, she thought, only if she had to.

Jake bowed his head, slamming the panel of the jet closed with a hard bang. He turned, gritting his jaw and standing straight, ignoring Nat’s heated question. Rooster chuckled from the side, uncrossing his arms to stride forward.

“Oh, he did exactly what we expected him to,” he filled the silence. “He hurt Liz and left her out to dry, saying she and Sadie were nothing but a bit of fun to pass the time. And when she confronted him about it, he went right for the kill, not concerned about who he would hurt in the process.”

The rest of the Squad was nearby when they heard Rooster’s words, awaiting the fall out of that aerial display. They gathered around the pair, faces twisting with disdain as a dangerous silence befell the room, each looking from Rooster to Jake, reflecting varying degrees of disbelief, shock and, more predominantly, anger.

Jake's eyes were dark, his face tight with suppressed emotion. For a moment, it looked like he might lash out, defend himself, try to explain. But he didn’t. No one would believe him anyway.

"Damn you, Hangman," Phoenix whispered, her voice breaking. "We trusted you."

The room seemed to deflate as the truth sank in. Bob, who had been silent until now, let out a long breath, his face pale. He couldn’t help but think of Sadie. She would be devastated.

“So did Liz,” Rooster smirked, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing Jake.

Jake's eyes narrowed, his voice cold and defensive. "You think you know everything, don't you, Rooster? You abandoned her when she needed you most. For what? To prove a point? Now you’re acting all righteous?”

Something hard flashed in Rooster’s eyes. “At least I owned up to my mistake and apologized. I never pretended to be something I wasn’t! I never fucked around with her heart!”

Jake let out a condescending laugh. “You think she came running to you because she trusts you? She couldn’t even tell you she was seeing me. What does that say about you? She doesn't trust you as much as you think.”

Rooster grinned. “If that were true, she wouldn’t have come to me in that aftermath. After all, she asked me to drive her home,” he said mockingly. “We even went together to break the news to Sadie.”

Jake clenched his fist at the mention of Sadie, charging forward to ready a punch to Bradley’s smug ass face. But Bradley didn’t move, still smiling as Jake stared him down last minute as the Dagger’s jumped to Bradley’s defence.

Jake’s guilt over you and Sadie wouldn’t let him follow through on that punch. Bradley was sure of it. Even with the rest of the daggers looming around, he knew Jake would still be seeking your approval, even if you would never give it to him again.

How disturbing would it be for him to know little less than three weeks ago, Bradley had been at the end of the team's disapproval as they backed Jake.

The tables had turned. Nobody would stand behind him after what he did to Liz now.

The two were locked in an intense stare-down, Jake more rattled than he let on and Bradley unnerving calm. It wasn’t until there was a slamming of a door echoing from somewhere in the hangar did the Squad suddenly walk away from the feuding pair, not wanting to be caught in the crosshairs, already on their phones to message Liz. the only one who had stayed was Nat, wondering how she could have ever thought Hangman was capable of change.

“Rooster! Hangman! My office!” Maverick's voice boomed from somewhere within the empty hanger.

When neither moved or peeled their eyes away from the other, Mav’s voice rang out again, this time enough to rattle off the hollow steel walls, making Nat jolt from the force of it.

“Now!”

---

As a team, the Daggers celebrated everything. Maverick labelled it moral support and team-building. Jake realized long ago it was just his way of getting all the pilots out of the hangers to experience life. Not that he ever complained.

After the lashing he got earlier, it was surprising that he and Rooster were still invited. It was clear as day nobody wanted him here.

It was the second anniversary of the Urianum mission. The official anniversary of the creation of the squad. Jake missed the last one, so he wasn't sure what to expect. A beach party. A game of dogfight football. A bonfire.

Jake couldn’t care less what was going on. You and Sadie would have been here with him had he not snapped.

Somewhere down the line, everything had become blurred. The day he had been dubbed “Hangman” - they said he was surgical, precise, unfeeling - the perfect pilot.

It gave him purpose and confirmation. He’d even make the stretch to say acceptance. He embedded it. Cause nothing else mattered. It worked the facade. It kept people at a distance and shielded him from judgment and expectations.

But now? Things were different. You, Sadie… the two of you got under his skin.

Would you, would have anyone, listened to the truth after the fact? That he only agreed with George to throw it back in his face? To cockily stand up and remark that he was better off than he had been in years?

Then you heard him. Heard him agree with George and assume so readily it had all been a game. You had never believed he was everything his callsign represented.

You were hurt. Angry. And those words he uttered proved every word you had probably been told about him, words you had ignored. It stung, the words you had yelled back at him. You had given him a chance before, so why didn’t you have faith in him then?

The facade returned. He opened his mouth, and his father and George came out instead. Hangman came out instead.

He had sworn so long ago he would never become like them. Yet here he was, inflicting the same trauma and patterns onto you. He had proved he was just as capable of the same cruelty and manipulation his father was.

You would never forgive him after that. It’s what he did best.

The only person who seemed to stand being around him right now was Javy, but he had left to get another drink, leaving Jake alone next to their bonfire, missing you.

You would have been in his arms, lying up against his chest. The pair of you staring out to the water, watching Sadie hunt for sea shells like she hunted for bugs. He would have stolen a kiss or two, unashamed of the PDA, maybe even purposely putting on a show to intentionally piss off the squad and make you blush.

The two of you would have laughed at Sadie. Maybe he would have been tempted to get up, grab her, and topple the both of them into the water. Rooster didn't need to remind him of what he lost when the absence of both of you was staring him in the face.

"You hurt my aunt."

Well... he was half right.

"You're going to get the both of us in trouble," Jake called out, not bothering to look up from the sand. He knew she'd come for him sooner than later, no matter your wishes. With all your threats to Bradley about revoking his Sadie privileges, Jake never would have thought he’d be receiving those threats too.

Sadie stepped onto the tree log behind him, spreading her arms wide to balance herself before jumping, landing softly on the ground.

"Since when have I done anything I'm supposed to," she argued heatedly.

It took her every ounce of strength not to lay into him like she wanted. She was desperately holding herself back. Because this was extremely different than Uncle Roo hurting her Aunt's feelings.

Hangman messed with her Aunt's heart.

This one was on her.

"Who did you escape to get over here?” Jake still couldn’t bring himself to look at her, reaching over to grab a stick in the sand.

“Aunt Nat. She thinks I’m with Uncle Bob.”

You picked up a shift today where Aunt Penny was working with you. So when the offer to stay with Amelia or sit around at the Hard Deck for most of the afternoon, Sadie opted to join you.

Little did you know she had other ideas. When Aunt Nat came by to steal her away, to join the others with the promise she'd keep her away from Hangman, Sadie saw the perfect opportunity.

Aunt Nat didn't know her tricks as well as she thought. A mad and angry Sadie was a conniving Sadie.

Jake said nothing, choosing to poke the sand with the stick in his hand before adding to the fire.

Sadie knew he was stalling, making small talk to avoid talking about what he did. She had played that card enough to know when it was being thrown back at her.

But he was the grown-up. He shouldn't be pulling childish tricks. He should be the one who should be telling her all the grown-up excuses for why things just sometimes don't work out or, worst case, it was for the better.

Nothing was ever for the better.

She sat down on the opposite end of the log, reasonably close to Jake. She dug her nails into the bare skin of her thigh. She wasn't going to speak first. She had promised him so long along she'd come for him. He should know better than to expect she was here for anything else.

Yet, the words he finally uttered had her reeling.

"I don't know what the right thing is to say, Bug."

The thin sheet of ice Sadie holding her back cracked at the mention of her beloved nickname. He shouldn't be calling her that; he didn't deserve to call her that. Not after what he did. Not after what he said.

For one of the first times in her life, Sadie saw red.

She quickly reached down to grab a handful of sand, only to toss the tiny grains in his direction. Jake ducked, shielding his face with his arms. Sadie leaped up and tackled his exposed side, hands balling into fists. She didn't know what she was thinking or her ultimate goal by coming here and seeking him out. It was such a good idea at the time.

When it came down to being face-to-face with him, she was at a loss for words. Her obvious hurt overshadowed any sassy remark or comeback she could gather.

"Sadie! Hey, stop!" Jake's shouts of her name did nothing to stop her from pounding her tiny fists on his back. “Stop!”

"You don't get to call me Bug!" she hollered through her sobs, still trying to leave a mark, thumps on his back accompanying her cries. "You lost that right!"

She knew you wouldn't want her doing this. Her mom wouldn't want her to do this either. But sometimes, it was just too much for her to handle.

She didn't know how to react to something like this. The world was making her grow up faster than she wanted to. Now, she couldn't help but think about what it would throw at her next.

Jake slid off the log, twisting to kneel in front of Sadie while holding out his arms to protect his face. He was at eye level with her, finally seeing the damage he had wrought on the ten-year-old girl.

Sea blue-green eyes framed by shimmering tears, pooling at the edge, until Jake watched one linger down her cheek. It’s your favourite colour staring back at him, making everything worse.

"Why did you do it?!" she cried, still trying to hit him, arms loosening their strength by the second. "Why did you say it?"

"Sadie, stop!" his voice was starkly quiet compared to the sobs, both fragile and profound, catching in her throat. Still, Sadie wailed, "I trusted you! You were supposed to be her person! You made her happy! You reminded her she was worth it!"

With each remark Sadie threw at him, he couldn’t bring himself to stop her tiny punches. Or say anything this time that could calm her cries. It was so starkly different from the night he found her hiding in her bed because of that thunderstorm. She had been the one to jump into his arms, to seek comfort from him.

This time, he was the reason she was crying. Like that night, he wanted to tell her it would be alright.

He couldn't. In losing you, he had lost Sadie too.

Utterly weak, Sadie's final thump on his shoulder resulted in her gripping onto his shirt as she fell to her knees on the sand, face blotchy and patch-stained red.

"Why Uncle Jake?" her voice was small. Devastated. "Why did you have to hurt her like that?"

He tried not to look shocked. Sadie's voice was sudden, so unsteady and innocent-like, it was hard not to hide any reaction. She caught on instantly.

"Don't act so surprised," she snapped at him through her misery. "You know she tells me everything."

Jake felt the sharp glare of Sadie’s eyes on him, her small face always displaying a type of sternness that was way beyond her years. She was demanding answers, as horrible as they were.

He couldn’t avoid this conversation. You were… you had taught Sadie to be honest and, in her doing so, to expect honesty in return. He didn’t know how to be. How could he explain this?

He didn’t know where to start.

He wasn't going to say anything. Sadie knew that. Adults would rather hide their emotions and not speak about things. She pushed herself away from him, the little force she exerted rocking Jake’s body back, readying herself to get up and leave.

This had been a bad decision, after all.

“Did anyone tell you why they call me Hangman?”

Jake’s words made her stop, making her fall back into the sand, kneeling before him.

“It’s your call sign,” she said innocently. Jake frowned, biting his lip. “Did they tell you the story?”

Sadie copied the look on his face, thinking about it before admitting, “A little. I know you left someone behind.”

It sounded worse coming from the mouth of a child.

Jake sighed, rubbing his temple. “Yes… but there’s a little more to it than just that.” He couldn’t look her in the eye as he managed to form the words, “My father… he was a tough man. A lot behind the meaning of that call sign has to do with him. He left … scars. Sometimes, they make me act in ways I don’t mean to.”

Sadie’s eyes softened a little, but she still looked confused. “So that’s why you said those things? Hurt her?”

Jake looked down to the sand in shame, nodding once. “When I’m stressed, the anger… the frustration... It brings back memories. It’s easier to put a mask up… lash out. Even when it’s the wrong thing to do.”

"So apologize," she sniffed, shrugging. "Uncle Roo did."

"It's not that simple, Sadie."

She eyed him hard. "Yes, it is."

Her tone left no room for a reply. Who was he to refute the honesty of a ten-year-old who had seen more shit than anyone her age?

"I know you're hurting too," she said, her voice small and trembling. "But hurting others won't help, Uncle Jake.”

A sad smile crossed his lips. "I don't know what the right answer is, Sadie."

Sadie looked at the fire, watching the flames dance. She didn’t know the correct answer either. Adults would rather hide their emotions and not speak about things than admit they were wrong. But he had to try, right? Cause if he didn’t at all, it would only make it worse.

Maybe she could nudge him one last time.

"Do you still have the note I gave you when you helped me with my math homework last year?"

Jake stared at her momentarily before reaching into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet, and opening it to find the ripped piece of paper. He had kept it tucked away in the back pouch, even after all this time. Her writing was slightly smudged on account of her using a pencil, but he could still make out her words along the top.

I believe in you.

"I didn't randomly invite you to that Saturday Night," she started to say, watching him stare down at the piece of paper. "I invited you because you looked sad when you thought nobody could see you."

Sadie paused her words, searching his face for any hint of emotion, before she continued. "Because you needed to know people care."

"Your Aunt said something similar to my brother," he said, not looking up from the piece of paper. "That the only reason she allowed me to come that night was because you reminded her of something your mom believed in."

"Of course she did," she said simply as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "She loves you."

Jake's hand clenched on his thigh involuntarily, his eyes turning away from the fire to the water. Growing up without love, without hearing those words, Jake was left wondering if he was deserving of such a remark.

How could he be anything else when all he ever did was self-impose an executioner’s noose around his neck, hanging himself with his own fear and self-doubt, always cutting himself off from what he craved most.

Hangman, indeed.

But Sadie wasn’t done - not by a longshot. Even with her tears, perhaps a touch quieter now, she managed a soft smile, telling him, “You taught me it’s okay to mess up, you know.”

Jake looked at her, puzzled. “I did?”

Sadie nodded, taking in a deep breath. “When you helped me with my math homework. I was struggling, messing up horribly. I wanted to quit. And nobody seemed to listen to me trying to understand till you came along.”

Jake was trying to see where she was going with this. Math and messing up a relationship were two entirely different things.

“But I was messing up because I was trying. And trying means the possibility of someday getting it right. I was so scared to mess up, but then you sat with me, listened, and made me realize it was even scarier not to try at all.”

“What does this have to do with …?” he trailed off, Sadie glaring at him as his voice died down. “You messed up, Uncle Jake. Bad. But that wasn’t the worst thing you could do to hurt her,” she stated, taking another deep breath. “It would be if you stopped trying to be better. Stopped trying altogether.”

Sadie thought about what Jake just told her about his family. Then she thought about everything that had happened over the last few weeks, the question she had once asked you about, the one that had plagued her until you made her recognize the truth.

"You're not your father, Uncle Jake. You're you.”

Jake couldn’t help the tears, as treacherous as they were, from pooling in his eyes as he lowered his head. He felt a tightness in his chest, a mixture of gratitude and pain, before he grimaced stiffly, huffing out, "It's a pretty messed up world we live in.”

Sadie didn't hesitate when she replied, "I'm almost eleven, Uncle Jake. I don't understand the world at all." Her bottom lip started to tremble, her eyes watering as she let out a sniffle. "But I know you never know when you'll say I love you for the last time."

Jake knew she was referring to her mom, her sudden death that night. But her words hit Jake differently. He recalled the moment he stood on Penny's porch and decided he'd try to take his chance with you.

You were still his possibility of someday. That had never changed. Like he thought then, time was something he was never promised. It was time spent well in the weeks he lived with you and Sadie. Small moments meaning the world, whether it was staying up to play a game with Sadie or waking up to see you sprawled out across his chest.

They were moments he thought he'd never have. Now that he had them, he was left wondering if he should spare you the heartbreak that came with loving someone like him.

Sadie's admission, and words of advice, were more damning than she knew.

He looked up from the sand to peer hesitantly at her face, not surprised to find another remark about to pass her lips.

"If you can't say you're sorry, my Aunt and I don't need to add somebody else to the list of people who've hurt us. So if you want to leave, go ahead but stay away," Sadie remarked, hiccuping as fresh tears streaming down her face.

Every word Sadie uttered hit deeper than any shitty remark his father or brother could throw back in his face. The façade he built, in the face of every slight to his character, was no match for a ten-year-old who had the ability to see through everyone's bullshit, including his.

He couldn't manage a reply. She had given him blows no physical assault could ever imagine reaching.

Sadie saw Jake's silence as a chance to leave. Aunt Nat wouldn't be gone for much longer, and she knew if she weren't with Uncle Bob soon, she'd cause a panic. She got up, rubbing the dirt from her hands, standing over the conflicted aviator with a face marred by sand dust and tears.

Sadie stepped forward to leave. But at the last second, she whipped around in a move that reminded him so much of you. Her voice was firm, scathing even, adding with a note of finality, “I won't be the one to stop you from leaving. And I won’t be the one to welcome you back either if you change your mind. If you're gone, stay gone. We can survive without you."

After shooting him a hateful glare, Sadie left Jake sitting in the sand, staring after her. She wiped her eyes as she ran, finding Bob sitting at the nearby bonfire with the rest of the team. He pulled her into his arms with a laugh, instantly handing over his marshmallow-topped stick with a smile as Sadie giggled, her sadness disappearing as she roasted Bob on the quality of his marshmallow.

Jake threw his head back to the sky, still kneeling in the sand, fighting the knot in his throat.

Damn, George.

Damn, his father.

Damn, Bradley.

Damn, you.

And in some ways, despite not wanting to admit it…

Damn, Sadie.

He didn't know how to make this right. But he wanted to. He had to.

That had to be enough.

Right?

.... Ouch, Jake... And OUCH, SADIE!

Tags:

@blue-aconite @tinytotontheoversizedpony @djs8891 @caitsymichelle13 @startrekfangirl2233

@mayhemmanaged @ereardon @dempy @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @daggerspare-standingby

@phantomxoxo @formulapierre @eli2447 @fulla02 @blckgrl-sunflower @mizzzpink @ohgodnotagainn

@bubblegumbeautyqueen @sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @lynnestra44 @memoriesat30 @penwieldingdreamer @mxlanciia

@bradleybeachbabe @bobby-r2d2-floyd @lavenderbradshaw @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @dakotakazansky

@keyrani @craftytrashprincess @hisredheadedgoddess28 @abzidabzy @memeorydotcom @vicsnook @taestrwbrry

-Wickett ;)

Part 17 - Come a little bit Closer coming soon.

[likeadevils]

We don't talk enough about Superman in general for me. I understand why - it's objectively not her *best* song, and the implications on a grander scale can be deeply disheartening. BUT from a storytelling perspective, I actually find it very compelling.

She's towing the line between acknowledging his faults and the effect they have on her, and looking past them completely in service of one day being with him. I also think it's interesting she very clearly wrote/places the song before they "dated" (the specifics of that are... it's sort of difficult to work out what the fuck happened there.)

It has this intense level of hero worship that is gutwrenching in the context of WCS, and even more gutwrenching in the context of how she spoke about him in interviews (namely the one where she talked about meeting him - which was at the Met Gala in 2008 - and said explicitly he was "one of her heroes.")

There's also the fact that the song is just objectively unhinged. Yes, in the way she delivers it, especially in the outro, but the lyrics themselves are wild: she is writing this song, about a person she has not dated (yet), whilst per her description having someone who is sending her flowers and cards and calling her. Despite this, she is worried about the muse meeting someone else and forgetting about her. Her assertion that she "swears she'll be with him someday" is so intensely juvenile, and it simultaneously highlights how young she is and how strong her emotions are.

I've also been thinking about the implications of her having to "wait" in context of the age gap, which is a grim thought, one motivated by Foolish One, presuming they're about the same person. When he eventually "came back down" it was right before she turned 20, I.e right before she was no longer a teenager and it was slightly more socially acceptable to date her - not that I think it's justifiable. I don't think you get to meet an 18 girl who idolises you as a 30 year old man and then get brownie points for waiting to date her until she was (almost) 20. If anything I think him keeping in somewhat consistent contact with her is.. like just as bad as if he'd pursued her straight out the gate.

ANYWAY, getting off track. I agree it's very TTPD coded. I just love this song a lot.

the interview that gets me from before they dated is when she’s asked to name artists she likes, and she rattles off a couple, and the interviewer goes “not john mayer?” and she’s like “i talk about him too much i need to mention other people” like i watched that and my heart caved in a little bit. it also drives me absolutely insane that she (seemingly) met john mayer before she met joe jonas. also that “it’s like watching superman fly away” is, according to her, an ACTUAL THING SHE SAID TO HER FRIEND

the thing that’s compelling to me about superman, and the thing that makes it hard to pin down on the timeline, is how unclear the level of commitment is? and that’s reflected across their relationship— from the outside, it very much seems like they never made it official, and they never officially called it off. in the song, it adds to his unpredictability, and it adds to her pining, and you’re not quite sure what’s going on, but you’re sure you want more, and she’s doing a really good job portraying that confusion. kinda too good of a job for me, it makes the song hard to hold onto.

i’m not sure foolish one is about john mayer— the idea of being the girl on the sidelines while the boy marries someone else appears in her lover journal dated to february 2009, a solid couple of months before her and john mayer got in contact in any real way— but its definitely is portraying a similar story. a major theme on speak now is taylor’s relationship with commitment, how she’s been left behind, or left to dangle in confusion, and how she’s done that to other people. that’s why long live is such a perfect closer— it’s something permanent, something that will be remembered.

[sophietv]

It's not about kaylor but I really want to know about the song all too well. Who is it about? I think Jake G was PR. And the lyrics doesn't fit the Taymily narrative either. This song and the relationship seems very important to her. It hurt her badly. I am asking you because you always make very informative and reliable post that makes sense and closest to the truth.

Also who is Dear John about? Is it really John Mayer? Her only straight relationship I believe in is Joe Jonas.

Hi!

Thank you sooo much for saying that! It means a lot. I really can't claim that my theories are always 1000% right, but I do make a lot of research before posting, and try to cross check everything.

2. I must admit that when you asked the question, I did not have real solid theories or evidence to give you. I was even bending toward telling you that the song might be about Lizz since the timestamp of the song on Spotiy is 5:27 = Lizz birthday.

3. Considering that Taylor wrote this during Speak Now Era and that Lizz was present during that Era, well it doesn't fit the narrative of the song being about a relationship that has ended some time ago. And also, it would have been really weird to write this song during rehearsal where Lizz was present, if it was about her...

But thanks to you! I did a lot of research to try and find evidences (I read all the timelines but I'm not that well verse in what came before Kaylor and Swiftgron).

I asked what my groupchat thought about this.

Re-read the Taymily Masterpost (X)

Read and watched Taymily interviews

And now! I can say with more confidence, that I'm pretty sure this song is about Emily Poe, her fiddle player that worked with her from 2006-2008.

Now. Here's the evidences:

First. As pointed out by my group chat, the song does not seem to fit Tayliz dynamic. It seems to be talking about a complicated relationship with someone older.

As by the lyrics "you said if we were closer in age, maybe it would have been fine"

So first thing I did is look back as to when it was written.

Here's a piece of interview I found:

Thanks to this post: (X)

We know that she wrote it during her reheasal in 2011.

Because here's when David Cook started working with her:

And here's the date of his first show in the Phillipines:

February 2011....

Then, I did a little digging on what was going on with Emily at the time:

And oh does it get interesting!!

Here's an Emily's interview I found (X)

And here's what she was doign in February 2011!!! (I'm excited of the evidence I've found, does it show lol) :

"Two thousand eleven was a big year for me. I became engaged in February, graduated law school in May, took the bar in July, and Eli and I were married in November.”

What did Taylor said?: "I was feeling terrible about what was going on in my personal life"

What if she just learned about Emily's engagement???

And to make it even more interesting. Here's a journal entry with the first lyrics of All Too Well:

Confirming that it was written in 2011.

This is inchteresting.

But it gets better!

Because, before last year, Emily's Pinterest was public. And on her wedding board, she did save a picture with a red scarf....

It's not Emily, it's just a picture that she had saved in her Pinterest. Thanks to Kate for giving me this!

But what if the red scarf was really just to tie the song to Jake???

Here's another interesting thing I've found in the Taymily timeline:

This letter is from the video she made to Emily when she left, with everyone having "I love you Emily" signs.

It says:

“Emily– I feel as if our relationship has been taken to the next level over the past few months and with much contemplation I decided I would bestow upon you one of my most prized possession: my flamingo bandana. This is a 3rd generation family heirloom and i suggest you frame it. I think it will look perfect in your apartment with the cat pillows. Enjoy”

Inchteresting....is the red scarf a bandana??

Also. We know that All Too Well was really significant for Taylor and that for a long time, she was not able to sing it without crying...

So it's about a relationship that had a big impact on her life.

Very recently. Like in June, Taylor performed the song Breathe as a surprise song and very clearly cried during that performance.

The next day, we learned that the day before the show, Emily did this post on Facebook:

Breathe was heavily rumored to be about Emily back when Fearless came out. But Colbie confirmed it with Fealess Taylor's Version in an interview when she said that it was about something that was going on with one of Taylor's band membre.

So yeah... this would make way more sense being about Emily and having Taylor be emotional singing it for a long time.

Than the song being about a relationship that lasted 3 months.

Of course I can't know for sure for all her relationships...

But most of them I believe was PR. Like the one she had with Jake.

Thanks for the question! It was really interesting doing all those research!

ADDITION!! : It just hit me but! The line "And you call me up again just to break me like a promise"

Fits perfectly with Emily calling her to tell her about the engagement! omg...

SECOND ADDITION: This morning when I woke up, I thought about two things that points to Emily!

1. Taylor turned 21 in 2010, 2 months before writing All Too Well.

"And you call me later and say sorry I didn't make it and I say I'm sorry too" from The Moment I Knew

to two months later:

"And you called me up again just to break me like a promise"

2. The night Taylor sang Breathe and looked devastated after Emily's Facebook post. She also sang All Too Well looking REALLY MAD.

People have all noted it.

Look: (X)

This solidifies even more that All Too Well is about Emily for me...

[sluttyenthusiast]

You’re Losing Me

Jack Hughes x Reader

Warnings- Mention of drinking and throwing up, Mean!Jack 🥲

(Hey!! Idk if y’all missed me but I have missed you!! I’ve been busy with my own things ya know, like, a baby, moving, school, basic stuff. Anyway, I hope y’all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!)

Everyone you knew would describe you as lively and full of spirit. Your parents even described you as a wild child. While you were wild and out there you were never bad, and they were thankful for that. You carried your full of life attitude with you all through life, from primary to high school, onto college. Your intense friendliness and spark is what attracted most people to you, especially your boyfriend of now 3 years. He remembers the first time he saw you. It was at a dingy college party he was dragged to, and while his friends were off getting drinks he spotted you from across the room. Like a moth to a light, he was attracted to you. He got up closer to try to see what you were yelling about, and who you were yelling at. The closer he got the more he picked up on.

“-And you probably own a guitar cause you wanted to be like John Mayer and thought girls would find it attractive.”

Jack found himself laughing at the way you screamed at the man sitting in front of you, pointing a finger to his chest.

Your head whipped around at the sound of laughter, the guy in front of you forgotten as you started pointing at Jack.

“What are you laughing at? I’ve seen barber shop floors with better haircuts than you and wha-.”

At that moment he knew, he wanted you in his life.

And in his life you were, after screaming at him for 10 minutes he asked for your number, where you stood in disbelief, but eventually ended up giving in.

Years later you have become a vital part of his life, supporting him through every aspect of his life.

Jack couldn’t imagine life without you, and he was hoping he would never even experience it. But as seasons change so do people

•••••

You don’t remember who you were celebrating or what but you knew that you weren’t completely sober. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as everyone encouraged you to take body shots, you friend smiled at you, telling her you could take them off of her, so you did, cause that’s what best friends do. You both giggled as everyone clapped for you, as you finished she stood up on the table, pulling you up with her as everyone cheered for you.

“I’m the best damn thing at this party!” You screamed, watching as your friend and everyone around you agreed, laughing with you.

Your laughter stopped as you felt yourself get pulled off the table, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you saw who it was.

“Jack? What are yo-“ Before you could even finish he guided you toward the exit into the cold of the night, gasping as the hoarse breeze hit your body.

“We’re going home.” He set a hard pace as he yanked you to the car, you had never seen him like this hit you felt it was best to just listen.

Silence was the only thing you heard on the way home, watching the headlights fade off as you sat parked in front of your shared home. Ready to get out of the car you were stopped by Jack speaking

“Do you ever think before you do anything?”

“What do you mean?” You sat back into your seat, facing him as he faced forward, eyes set on the garage in front of him.

“You know what I mean, you pull all this shit and expect me to just smile and be okay with it? You seriously can’t be that stupid.” Before you could even answer him he got out of the car, slamming the door behind him, but you were quicker, running after him as he stomped his way into the house, throwing down the keys on the counter.

There he stood, head down, hands gripping the counter.

“You’re too much you know.”

There it was, the one phrase that slashed your heart in two.

In all your years of living no one had ever told you that you were too much, but hearing those words from the man you loved hurt more than a bullet ever could.

You stood in disbelief, afraid to speak, afraid he’ll slip away.

You watched as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a dainty black velvet box, tossing it at you. He sighed as you caught it, still refusing to look up at you.

“I had my heart set on marrying you, but I can’t do this anymore.” You felt your heart settle in your stomach, scared that if you opened your mouth you might throw up.

“You know, I wouldn’t marry me either.”

And as those words were spoke into the air, never to be taken back, you watched as his eyes fell while clatter of the dropped ring box was the only thing to be heard. You turned away, out the door, out of the driveway way, out of his life.

[bbsmuts]

What are some songs that make you really nostalgic?

Well, I could go on for a long time with this, so get ready for some serious yapping.

Don't You Worry Child - Swedish House Mafia This came out when I was 21, and I used to listen to this ALL THE TIME. I'm talking maybe 10 times a day, for a few months. It's associated with a lot of good times in my life.

I NEED U - BTS This was more recent, I was 24 when it came out, but not only is it one I also associate with good times, the sad side of it is amplified by the death of my great aunt about two weeks afterwards. I'm not a very emotional guy at all, but to this day the original video can make me sob like a little kid.

Dancing With a Stranger - Sam Smith & Normani Ah, 2020. A year like no other. Covid spread to Korea pretty quick, so it was here when this song was released. Whole cities were locked down, including mine, so I would throw this banger on at least once or twice again. It does make me nostalgic, but let's be honest, who actually misses 2020?

TASTE - Stray Kids PLEASE, this song is SO DAMN GOOD This was much more recent, and it was released right after I turned 32. It reminds me of life back in Gwangju. Also the production on it is top notch, it's a fantastic song.

LA DI DA - EVERGLOW Ah yes, another 2020 song. Unfortunately, lockdown restrictions didn't relax majorly until 2022, so I had plenty of time to listen to this and its album counterparts in my spare time. Also, Yuehua, WHERE'S OUR FULL LENGTH ALBUM FROM EVERGLOW FOR GOD'S SAKE

The whole album of Return of the Girl - EVERGLOW December 2021. Still on lockdown. Thanks, China. All jokes aside, this was the closest thing we've gotten to a full length album and in my opinion one of the better ones, and brings back plenty of memories from Christmas 2021 with my entire extended family in America. I'll add that trying to leave South Korea during 2021 lockdown was an excruciatingly drawn out process. Thanks, China.

Sit Next to Me - Foster the People A true classic. When I used to visit my brother at his apartment (across half the goddamn country), they would always have this on in the pool hall. Good times.

Immortals - Fall Out Boy Of course, we all remember this song from Big Hero 6, but I can proudly say I was here for this song before then, which was only a month before the movie. Regardless, it's a great song and brings back those memories from being 24.

Bohemian Rhapsody - Queen Moving back a good while before I was around, this song was incredible. I heard it all the time growing up.

Burning Love - Elvis Presley Moving back even further, this is probably my favorite Elvis song. As mentioned in a previous post, my dad was a pretty big Elvis fan, so I grew up hearing his music.

Sweet Home Alabama - Lynyrd Skynyrd Ignoring all the memes, it's a great song and one of my favorite rock songs. Alabama accents kill me bro 🤣

Slow Dancing In a Burning Room - John Mayer This song is AMAZING dude

Scarborough Fair/Canticle - Simon & Garfunkel Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme

Levanter - Stray Kids Incredible song, and also reminds me of Gwangju.

Bad Boys - Theme from the show "Cops" I watched this show a lot back in the 90s and early 2000s, and because of that I worked as an officer for a few years before turning my career path elsewhere.

Sultans of Swing - Dire Straits My dad used to listen to this all the time when I was growing up, so it brings back some memories.

I'm going to leave it here. Some of these I put in here make me feel so old 😭

[unladyboss]

A TOP 10 LIST TOLD IN PICTURES: SYDCARMY EDITION

My top 10 Sydcarmy interactions that give me feels in no particular order

1.

I didn't say they had to be good feels, but this scene where Carmy is yelling and cussing at Syd, stressed me out, to no end.

2

I watched Carmy's fingers moving from the beginning of this scene to the end. They quickened in movement at this particular moment. He turned away to break the trance

3.

I always love when they cook and find something amusing

4.

She wrote my most favorite retort. Then went to find the same man

5.

When he almost reached for her, but caught himself in time

6.

The back touches.

I'm a big fan of these. I'm thinking he was trying to tell her without telling her how much he cares in general

7.

This one reminds me of that John Mayer song Back To You.

Back to you, it always comes around, back to you...

8.

Sharing a spit cup.

Gross yet highly intimate

9.

Umm Carmy? Your friend who is a girl, is standing right there. So if you can put your eyes back in their sockets...

10.

This scene where Syd says they have to workshop the name of the Sydney donut because she'd added 'which Carmy destroyed like a little b_tch'

There you have it 10 of my favorite Sydcarmy moments.

I realize while I was doing it, that there's more

[baby-girl-aaron-dessner]

These Joe haters are so dumb. Joe went to his own award shows when he was dating Taylor. They even went to some together! They went to her awards together! They're so transparent. Truly cannot wait for Tay and Travis to break up, so I can watch these losers turn on Travis.

it's so exhausting to see this cycle play out time and time again: taylor gets a new bf -> die hard swifties obsess over him -> taylor and bf break up -> die hard swifties launch a hate campaign against him.

I get it for people like John Mayer because no 32 year old should be dating a teenager and men who date teenagers need to be called out for their behaviour.

(side note: I did find it weird and gross when Taylor Swift dated Conor Kennedy when she was 22 and he was 17).

[queermania]

No that's exactly why I'm asking you. I think you can be normal about it and I trust your opinions but it's totally okay if you don't feel comfortable doing it but if you do I'd be really grateful 🙏🏽

ummm okay yeah i can do that. i'm just gonna straight up start with the songs that i've used for my swiftnatural posting. it just seems like the most obvious place to start:

maroon for this destiel set. listen to it with the volume up and headphones on. it does some really freaking cool stuff sonically.

would've could've should've for this samruby set. this song is for anybody who likes religious imagery or hates john mayer for any number of reasons including but not limited to the way he speaks about women in public. fuck that guy :)

i did something bad for this demon!dean set that i hate and should redo but that's neither here nor there. i linked a live performance simply because i like what her and her band and her backup singers do with it live more than i like the studio version. you don't have to actually watch the performance if you don't want (i personally have a very hard time watching her perform for reasons that i won't get into beacuse i don't want to get yelled at) but the production value is crazy and nobody can argue that she isn't putting on a Show. i also just think this song is so fun and i think if it came from anybody else everyone would agree.

this is me trying for this post that i never really made haha. this is also not the studio version but i think this is a song that really benefits from a more stripped down intimate feeling.

as for what else you should listen to, well, to be honest it's really hard to say because her catalogue is vast and all over the place. the song that is like thee taylor swift song that everybody points to in order to showcase her songwriting ability is all too well. there are three four versions of this (not counting live performances) and i think most people will probably say the ten minute one from the vault is the one you have to listen to but my unpopular opinion is that the original five minute recording is the strongest version as a finished product. but i will say that it's impressive that a song can be ten minutes without a chorus or really even a hook and not make you wonder when it's going to be over already. so i don't disagree that the ten minute one is worth a listen too.

my tears ricochet is another one that's really strong in terms of songwriting. i'm of the opinion that knowing all of the ~lore behind every single song is not necessarily a good thing but i do think in this case it elevates the song so: it's about being screwed out of her masters by a record executive whose record label she helped make.

exile and evermore with bon iver are good options simply because of how interestingly the deepness of his voice pairs with the softness of hers.

i would die for cornelia street. i don't know how anybody else feels about it and i don't have any deep thoughts about it. it just makes me happy.

i think her newest album is Not Great but i like the lead single, fortnight, a lot and it continues to grow on me. from what i've gathered i'm in the minority on this one though haha.

another unpopular opinion: i don't love 1989. i know it's thee album for a lot of people but i've just never loved the sound of it. but! (and this is where it gets really unpopular) ryan adams covered almost the entire album and i adore his version of most of those songs. unfortunately ryan adams is a garbage person so i don't really want to rec him but it is what it is. for a more rock-y, almost country-ish sound i highly recommend all you had to do was stay and i wish you would.

also, i don't care what anybody says, we are never ever getting back together was and still is fun, especially the live version with the electric guitar.

i like a lot more of her songs but i think this is a nice little starter?

(sorry for linking to youtube instead of spotify or whatever streaming thing the youth are using these days but i am just not hip)

[didnt-hear-cold-as-you-live]

maybe I'm just 😵‍💫 about this because.... the real effect John Mayer had was the start of the "watch out she'll write a song about you" mentality; his complaining about oh poor me look what this woman did to me by talking about what I did to her - and the public eating it up - was the real start of the shame she got for dating that altered the course of her entire life. it's the reason why she has a lyric saying, "if you aim for the devil, be sure you don't miss" immediately after a song where he's established as a devil, because in the grand scheme of it she DID miss, because her reputation as a young girl writing about her life - as opposed to an actual serial dating life ruining threat - went right down with him.

And now, here she is, a 33 year old woman, reclaiming her life's work over a decade later and..... all this album is about, fucking still, is pearl clutching about how this is going to affect poor John Mayer (instead of just the rightful, actual cancellation of John Mayer - everyone knows already, all the info is all already there. what exactly are we anticipating?). Give me a damn break this makes me feel so upset for her.