#anyways.............throwing this out there

[centaurianthropology]

Let’s talk about THAT SCENE, shall we?  The big scene of episode 8, when both Alexander Skarsgard and David Dastmalchian acted their fucking asses off in a mess of mutual vulnerability, mutual aggression and betrayal, and mutual destruction. 

First off, I have to acknowledge the double-entendres absolutely littering this scene.  The mutual vulnerability!  The physical link-up, plugging into one another.  Digging into their most private (mental) places. The request for fucking restraint followed by an electronic blindfolding.  Shit, man, if there aren’t 18000 buck-wild Murderathin fics coming out of this one episode, the fandom is seriously dropping the very kinky ball that is this absolute shit-show of a relationship.

Anyway!  Onto more serious discussions. 

First off, we learn so much in such a short time.  This show has been a masterclass at utilizing a limited run-time well, demanding that everything on screen pull double or triple duty, layered with meanings and implications, and this scene is no different.  Through their mutual accusations, we get mutual confessions.  Murderbot uses an instance of mutual vulnerability to dig into Gurathin’s mind to try to find dirt on him, only to get lost in his thoughts.  It exposes Gurathin’s most closely-guarded secret—his unrequited love for Mensah—but also Gurathin’s belief that he is fundamentally unloveable.  And the accusation is read out in first-person, transforming it into a confession.  Because Murderbot very much sees itself as unloveable too.

And Gurathin has simultaneously dug into Murderbot, uncovering the fragmented memories of the massacre, and its actual name.  And much like Murderbot, what we see is equal parts accusation and a horrified confession.  Gurathin is in tears as he watches through the massacre footage (and kudos to the special effects folks for playing the footage over both Dastmalchian’s and Skarsgard’s eyes during the scene, showing both of them trapped in the same instant together), blurting out the revelation in third person rather than first, but following it up immediately with his accusations about being defective.  A danger to everyone around him.  One thought from something terrible.

Sounds a lot like self-loathing, doesn’t it?  And that’s what this scene is all about.  Two people who can’t help but dig and pry and hurt one another because they see themselves in the other.  And they hate themselves.  They are both terrified of being defective, of being somehow involved in terrible acts that led to deaths.  We don’t know if Gurathin killed people directly, but he almost certainly had the information he gathered used to kill people.  He was responsible, maybe.  Just like Murderbot.

And they are both terrified of falling back into that place.  It’s why they’re both terrified, more than anything, of being controlled.  Murderbot broke free of its governor module, but still works for the Company.  It still isn’t a fully independent being and never will be so long as it’s a part of this organization.  Its small pieces of full independence are its thoughts and its name, and Gurathin exposed both of those. 

Gurathin is terrified of falling back into substance abuse.  Realizing that it was medical painkillers that were the first step to getting him thoroughly addicted and compliant was awful, because it implies either a past physical trauma or—I think more likely—pain medications as part of the augmenting procedures.  You have to imagine having cybernetics laced into your brain and replacing your eyes has to be incredibly painful.  And from there it was a slide downward into addiction, likely deliberately by Gurathin’s employers.

But I also find it interesting that, despite the compulsive need to dig at one another and hurt one another, there is also another impulse at play in this scene: some degree of caregiving and weird trust.  Murderbot did NOT have to consent to plugging itself into Gurathin to try to bypass his pain receptors and act as a non-drug alternative to pain management during the surgery.  It may say that it did this because it would find Gurathin screaming to be irritating, but that seems flimsy.  And Gurathin DEFINITELY didn’t have to ask Murderbot to restrain him, or accept when it blanked out his vision as well. 

There is a weird, almost unconscious trust and care there.  I feel like this is something that is going to be more explored, and is the basis for something less destructive between them.  I also think it speaks to the impulse on both their parts to want forgiveness, care, trust, and love.  They don’t forgive themselves.  They don’t care about themselves as they should.  They don’t trust or love themselves.

But deep down, they both still want that for themselves, even if they are both completely incapable of articulating that outside of accusations at the moment.

This whole scene was just working on so many levels, and they weren’t pleasant or comfortable levels.  And I love how the show digs into that through these characters, their dumpster-fire relationship, and all the cracks in their psyches they keep exposing because of one another.

What this scene is really exposing is this mutual desperation for connection. They are afraid of loss of control, they are deeply self-loathing, but the seed of their personal growth lies in this craving for connection.

[inseobts]

When the Sea Gives You Tangerines

shanks x fem!reader

after years spent loving each other you have many stories to tell to the strawhats.

words count: 2.2k

a/n: I got inspired by the kdrama When Life Gives You Tangerines, I just hope it didn't come out too cringy honestly...

tags: childhood friends, storytelling, bickering, comfort, fluff

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The fire’s warm. The moon hangs heavy above the ship.

Luffy leans back, arms behind his head, grinning “So, how’d you two end up together anyway?”

You blink “Us?”

Shanks smirks, sitting beside you on a crate “You wanna tell it, or should I?”

“Like hell I’m letting you tell it.” you mutter.

Nami leans in, curious. Sanji pours wine for Robin. Zoro pretends he’s not listening. Even Usopp’s wide-eyed. They’ve heard of Shanks the Yonko, but they never thought they’d hear him laughing like this.

You sigh “It started when we were kids.”

“She hated me.” Shanks says.

You shoot him a look “I ignored you.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“She’d walk past me every day like I was just a chair.”

“You sat like one. On the dock. All day.”

“I was watching the sea! I was thoughtful.”

“You were stupid.”

Shanks grins at the crew “See? True love.”

They laugh. You roll your eyes.

You look down at your hands “We were kids in the same village. I liked books. He liked trouble.”

“She liked pretending she didn’t care.” he adds.

“I didn’t.”

“You still don’t.” he teases.

Your voice softens “He followed me everywhere.”

Shanks turns to the crew “Everywhere.”

You smack his arm “Stop making it weird.”

He grins “I’m just saying. If she climbed a tree, I climbed it. If she stole an apple, I stole two.”

“And got caught.”

“I let them catch me so that they wouldn't catch you.”

You scoff “You cried.”

“I was seven!”

Everyone laughs again, but this time it fades slower.

You rest your chin on your hand “We grew up. He left first. Said the sea was calling. I said ‘Good. Don’t come back’.”

“But I did.” he says. Quiet now.

“You always did.” you say.

There’s a pause. The kind that only happens when people are listening too hard.

Nami’s voice breaks the silence “But when did you fall in love?”

You look at Shanks. He’s already looking at you.

You shrug “I don’t know. Maybe when he stopped being an idiot.”

“So never.” Luffy says.

Shanks chuckles “I knew before she did. I was always waiting.”

You swallow. Your voice is barely a whisper “I was afraid.”

“Why?” Luffy asks.

“Because he was everything I didn’t want to need.”

Shanks leans back, watching the fire “And I was just waiting for her to look at me the way I looked at her.”

Zoro snorts “That’s depressing.”

Robin smiles “It’s real.”

You toss a tangerine at Shanks. He catches it, grinning.

“You’re still annoying.” you say.

“And you still love me.” he says.

You don’t answer but you don’t deny it, either.

You throw another tangerine at Luffy. He dodges it, laughing with his mouth wide open.

“Why are you asking so many questions, huh?” you say, pointing at him “You’ve heard this story a million times.”

Luffy shrugs, still grinning “Because I love it!”

You squint at him “You didn’t even listen the first hundred times.”

“Yeah, but I remember all of it now,” he says “When I was a kid, I used to look up at Shanks like he was the sun. Strong. Loud. Impossible.”

Shanks rubs the back of his neck “Don’t make me sound too cool.”

“But when he was with you,” Luffy continues, softer now, “or talking about you… he changed.”

You blink. The fire crackles again.

“It was like you were his captain.” Luffy says.

Everyone goes quiet. Zoro pauses mid-drink. Nami watches you closely. Robin’s smile grows just a little.

Shanks doesn’t look at you. Not yet.

Luffy’s voice drops “And that always made me feel like… maybe the Shanks everyone fears... wasn’t that scary after all.”

Shanks finally glances at you. There’s no teasing in his eyes now.

You don’t know what to say to that.

Because it’s true. All those years he was off sailing, getting stronger, louder, more famous... he’d write to you like nothing had changed. Like he was still that barefoot boy chasing after you in the mud.

You hated those letters. You kept every single one.

“He never stops talking about you.” Luffy adds.

Shanks groans “Luffy—”

“No, really! He’d be telling us about a fight or a treasure, and then... bam ‘That reminds me of her’ or, ‘She would’ve laughed at that’ or—”

“Luffy!” Shanks throws a cork at his head.

You hide a smile behind your hand.

“So,” Sanji says, leaning forward, “who confessed first?”

You and Shanks speak at the same time:

“He did.”

“She did.”

The crew erupts.

“What?!”

“Liar!”

You point at him “You kissed me first. And you were obvious since you were 6.”

“Yeah, but you said it first.” he counters.

“Only because you were dying.”

“I wasn’t dying!”

“You had a spear in your shoulder!”

“A tiny spear.”

“You fainted.”

“I was tired!”

Nami shakes her head “You two are a mess.”

Robin sips her wine “A beautiful mess.”

Luffy lies back on the deck, hands behind his head again “I just knew you two would end up like this.”

“You weren't even there... But yeah,” you say quietly as you look at Shanks, and he’s already watching you “I think deep down… I always knew too.”

“So you didn’t join Shanks on the sea from the start?” Usopp asks, still wide-eyed like he’s listening to a bedtime story.

You snort “No. I didn’t want to.”

“She followed me anyway.” Shanks says, puffing his chest like a proud idiot.

You roll your eyes “I studied. For years. Maps. Languages. History. Ship mechanics. All of it. I worked harder than anyone.”

Robin tilts her head “So you could sail?”

You pause “So I could stand next to him without being a burden.”

Shanks turns to you, slower now, like he doesn’t want to ruin the moment “You never told me that.”

You pick at the edge of your sleeve “Yeah, well. You never shut up long enough to hear it.”

The crew laughs, but it’s gentler now.

“You know what’s funny?” you say, turning back to Luffy “The first time I met you, you looked at me like I was your mom and Shanks used to make fun of me.”

“What?” Luffy blinks.“No I didn’t!”

“Yes you did,” you say “You followed me around, asked if I had snacks, and called me ‘Miss Cool Pirate Lady’ for three days.”

Shanks throws his head back, laughing “I remember that!”

“You sat in the corner and drew me with a sword,” you add “And then said I was cooler than Shanks. And you called me mom by mistakes multiple times.”

“I WAS FIVE!” Luffy yells, red in the face now.

You smirk “Still true though.”

Shanks puts a hand over his heart “He used to blush like crazy everytime he realised he called you mom.”

There’s a quiet moment as the waves lap softly against the ship.

“Going back to that question... I didn’t plan to go to sea at first,” you admit “I wanted a small, quiet life.”

Shanks smiles, listening.

“But then he left,” you say, eyes on the stars “And I couldn’t stop wondering if he’d die without me.”

“That’s romantic,” Sanji says, dreamily.

“No,” you shake your head “That’s just the truth.”

“I didn’t ask you to come.” Shanks says softly.

“No,” you nod “You didn’t have to.”

You turn back to the Straw Hats “I joined the crew two years after he left. I showed up with a packed bag and told Benn, ‘Don’t make a big deal’.”

“And I immediately made a big deal.” Shanks grins.

“You tripped running down the dock.”

“I was moved, okay?”

“You fell into a crate of bananas.”

“It was an emotional day!”

Everyone’s laughing again. The air is full of warmth now, wine and fire and stories wrapped around the mast like wind.

Luffy lies on the floor of the Sunny, staring up at the sails “You two were the first people I ever saw who felt like family.”

You go still.

He says it so easily, like it’s always been true.

“I didn’t understand it then,” Luffy goes on, “but… when you were together, it felt safe. Not boring. Just… safe. Like home.”

You glance at Shanks. He’s not smiling now, not in the big, cocky way. This one’s smaller. Quieter. Like he can barely hold it.

“I guess I raised two idiots” you mutter, wiping your nose.

“You did,” Shanks says “And somehow, we both turned out okay.”

“Debatable.”

He bumps his shoulder against yours “Speak for yourself. I’m perfect.”

“You’re loud.”

“You love it.”

You don’t answer.

You just lean into him, just enough.

Luffy’s snoring now. Flat on his back, mouth open, arms spread like he owns the whole ship.

You nudge him with your toe. Nothing. Just louder snoring.

“I guess storytime’s over.” you say, standing and brushing off your pants.

Shanks stretches, groaning a little too dramatically “Guess that’s our cue to go.”

“Yeah,” you nod, already turning to leave “Let’s let the kids sleep.”

“Wait—WAIT.” Nami’s voice cuts through the quiet.

You freeze “What?”

“You’re not leaving yet,” she says, standing with her hands on her hips “You haven’t told us the best part.”

You sigh “Oh no.”

“How did he propose?” she grins.

“Oh no...” you repeat.

Usopp leans forward “Did he cry?”

Sanji fans himself “Was it romantic?”

Chopper is bouncing now “Did you say yes right away?!”

Franky still crying over your romantic stories.

Robin smiles “You must share. We’re invested now.”

You turn slowly toward Shanks.

He looks like a man standing in front of a cannon.

“We were supposed to not to tell anyone” you whisper.

He grins sheepishly “I didn’t!… Yet.”

You groan into your hands “You’re a menace.”

“But a charming menace.” he adds, winking.

“Don’t wink at me. I’m still mad.”

You face the crew with a deep sigh.

“Fine,” you say “But it wasn’t romantic.”

“Yes it was!” Shanks says.

“No. It wasn’t.”

“I tried to make it romantic.”

“You proposed during a storm.”

“It was dramatic!”

“We were sinking.”

“That’s memorable!”

Robin’s eyes sparkle “Please continue.”

You sit back down, crossing your arms “Okay. So. We’re in the middle of this horrible storm, waves taller than the ship. I’m tying down barrels, he’s yelling commands, the usual chaos.”

“And she looks amazing.” Shanks adds.

“Drenched.” You glare at him “Hair stuck to my face, one boot missing, and I’m yelling at the crew.”

“Very commanding... and sexy...” he says dreamily.

“And then,” you continue, ignoring him, “this idiot climbs the main mast with a ring in his mouth.”

Gasps around the fire.

“You didn’t...” Nami whispers.

“I did.” Shanks says proudly.

“And he screams... screams ‘WILL YOU MARRY ME?!’ while lightning is literally striking the ocean behind him.”

“You said yes.” he grins.

“I said, ‘GET DOWN BEFORE YOU DIE, YOU LUNATIC!’”

Robin is laughing quietly now. Chopper is wide-eyed. Usopp is trying not to cry while Franky is bawling.

Sanji puts a hand on his heart “That’s the most pirate thing I’ve ever heard.”

Zoro raises a brow “So when did you actually say yes?”

You sigh “Two days later. Calm seas. Clear skies. I was brushing my hair.”

“She just looks at me and goes, ‘I guess I’m stuck with you now’.”

“And then I threw the ring at him.” you say.

“You missed.”

“I aimed for your face.”

Everyone laughs again. The fire’s burning lower now, but no one wants to move.

Shanks wraps an arm around your shoulders, casual. Warm.

“And you still married me.” he says.

You glance up at him.

“You forgot the ring at the wedding.”

“It was in my other coat!”

“You don’t have another coat.”

“Exactly.”

You sigh, shaking your head, but you’re smiling now. Soft. Quiet. Real.

“He’s a disaster.” you say.

“She’s the reason I survive it.”

The fire’s nothing but glowing coals now.

Luffy’s curled up like a kid. Most of the Straw Hats are asleep, heads resting on arms, backs against barrels, dreams thick in the night air.

You and Shanks sit side by side, knees almost touching.

He’s quiet now. Not laughing. Just watching the waves.

You look out too.

Then he says, softly, “You never really wanted this life.”

You don’t look at him “I didn’t.”

“You wanted quiet.”

You nod “I wanted peace. Soft mornings.”

“And you got storms. Blood. Chaos.”

You smile, just a little “And you.”

He swallows “Sorry.”

You shake your head “Don’t be. I said yes.”

Shanks looks at you “Even after everything?”

You finally meet his eyes “Especially after everything.”

The ship rocks gently.

“You know,” you whisper, “when we were young, I thought you were the kind of boy who would burn the world just to see what was under it.”

“I was.” he says.

“And I thought I’d spend my life trying to stop you.”

He smiles faintly “Did you?”

“No,” you say “I ended up helping you light the match.”

You both laugh, soft and low.

You reach into your coat pocket and pull out a candy.

Shanks raises an eyebrow “You still carry those?”

“I always do, they're my favourite.” you say. You hand it to him.

You rest your head on his shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything. He just leans into you, warm and steady.

And in the quiet, in the dark, with the sea all around you and stars blinking like old friends overhead, you think:

No, I didn’t get the life I planned. But I got the one I chose.

And more importantly, I got him.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Why Aren’t You Sweating, You Menace?

Summary: You cannot handle this damn heat! You’re cranky, you’re melting, and Bob is not affected. Fuck him for that. 

Warning: nothing really just sass and fluff

You felt like you were on fire.

You. Were. Melting.

You had to be in hell. An actual physical hell. The kind with sticky skin, thigh burn, the hum of three fans going at once, and the deep betrayal of your own body producing sweat just from breathing.

And of course, there was Bob just standing in the doorway of your bedroom, all golden skin and smug, sipping casually from a glass of ice water like some kind of air-conditioned Greek god. Not a single bead of sweat on him.

You sat up, squinting through the heat haze, and glared. “Why are you like this?”

He blinked. “Like what?”

You gestured at him wildly. “This. All fresh. All dry. All golden. All smug. Are you secretly refrigerating your blood?”

Bob glanced down at himself, completely unbothered. “I’m just not that hot.”

“I’m going to beat you up.”

He laughed, that bastard, and strolled over to toss you a cold water bottle like he wasn’t committing a personal hate crime. “I’m literally trying to help you survive.” You caught the bottle and pressed it to your neck with a dramatic groan. “You're a menace. An untouchable, heat-immune menace.” Bob leaned against the dresser, shirtless and glowy like a summer beer commercial. “I think you meant to say hero.”

You gave him a flat look. “No, I meant a heat demon sent to mock me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize my body temp was a relationship dealbreaker.”

“It is when I have to sleep next to a damn radiator. You rolled over last night and I almost had a heatstroke. I thought I was dying. I saw light.” Bob walked over, kneeling beside the bed, eyes full of that infuriatingly soft affection. “Babe. Sweetheart. Love of my life. You’re dramatic.” You yanked the pillow over your face. “Don’t sweet-talk me while I’m actively melting. I will throw you out the window.”

He scoffed, “I’d survive the fall.” Muffled under the pillow “That’s exactly my problem.” He plucked the pillow off your face and smiled down at you. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad. I’m boiling. I’m thirty seconds from filing a formal complaint with the sun.” He grinned. “Want me to fly up and punch it for you?” You paused. “…Maybe. Depends how hard you punch.” Bob leaned forward, bracing one arm beside your head as he kissed your forehead. “You’re adorable when you’re cranky.” You rolled your eyes but let your forehead rest against his collarbone. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you love me.” You sighed. “Unfortunately.”

Bob eased you back against the cooling sheets he got gor your shared bed, reaching over to grab a chilled washcloth from the mini freezer he’d installed just for moments like this. He pressed it to your collarbone and you gasped, spine arching off the bed.

“Better?” he asked, smirking.

“Only because you’re finally useful.”

He trailed the cloth slowly down your chest, eyes lingering on every twitch and flinch of relief. “I could be more useful. Want me to cool you down properly?”

You gave him a suspicious side-eye. “Robert.”

“Scientific,” he said solemnly. “Completely medical. I have a whole protocol.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re pretty when you glisten,” he murmured, voice dropping. “All flushed and soft and mad at me.”

You groaned but curled your fingers into his hair anyway, tugging him closer. “Just don’t be all smug about it.”

“I make no promises, darlin’,” he whispered, lips brushing yours. You kissed him--hot and slow and borderline dangerous--and pulled back with a sharp little bite to his lip.

“But if you so much as breathe on me too warmly tonight while I’m trying to sleep--”

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he swore immediately. “Or in the freezer. I’ll become a popsicle. Blast me with every fan we own.”

“Smart boy,” you muttered, pressing a kiss to his chin.

Bob grinned and kissed your hand. “Anything for my gorgeous, furious, heatstroke petal.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I really, really am.”

_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_

Later that afternoon, it somehow got worse.

You heard the hum of the refrigerator and wanted to scream. Scratch that; you wanted to live inside the refrigerator. More specifically the freezer, curl up next to the frozen peas. But no. You were a mortal. Trapped in an apartment that felt like Satan’s breath.

And Bob? Of course he was just peachy keeny.

You glared at him from your blanket-less, sheet-less, dignity-less position on the couch. You were laid out starfish-style in a tank top and a pair of his boxers, one leg twitching with irritation.

And Bob...Bob was at the counter drinking tea. Hot tea.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you snapped. “Tea? Hot tea!? In this weather?”

He blinked, like you weren’t three seconds from violence. “It’s peppermint. Regulates body temp.” You flipped him off without a second glance muttering, “Oh, go regulate this.”

And then--he chuckled.

You sat up so fast the room spun. “Don’t laugh. Don’t you dare laugh while I am actively considering peeling off my skin like a banana.”

He approached slowly, mug in hand, utterly smug. “You seem a little… testy.”

“I am testy,” you growled. “I’m hot, I feel sticky, I’m one centimeter away from insanity, and you-” you jabbed your finger at him-- “are walking around looking all golden like you’re in a goddamn hydration ad.”

He smirked. “Golden, huh?”

“Don’t you dare turn that into a compliment.”

“Wasn’t gonna.” He paused. “Well... Maybe just a little.”

You flopped back with a groan. “I hate summer. I hate you. I hate existing.”

He crouched beside you and set his mug down. “You don’t hate me.”

“Right now? I do. With every overheated cell in my body.”

He pressed the back of his hand to your cheek. “You’re really warm.”

“Gee. Thanks, Sherlock.” You batted his hand away. “Don’t touch me. I’m feral. I will bite.”

He yanked his hand away from you and nodded, “Noted.” You gave him a side glare. He was watching you with that soft, patient look. The one that made your frustration feel valid instead of ridiculous. “Why aren’t you miserable?” you asked, suspicious. “You’re not even sweating.” Bob shrugged. “Superhero perks, got that temperature regulation built in me now.”

“I hate you.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s still true.”

He grinned, leaned in a little. “You want to yell at me some more, or would you prefer pampering from your golden, heat-resistant boyfriend?” You narrowed your eyes. “Define ‘pampering.’” He pulled out a frozen washcloth and a popsicle. “Tribute from your humble servant.”

“…I still hate you.”

“I can work with that.” He pressed the cloth gently to your neck. You hissed. “Okay. Maybe I won’t bite you yet.” He kissed your temple. “You get like this every time you’re too hot. It’s okay.” You opened one eye. “You mean murderous?” He grinned. “I’d call it something more like…spicy.” You snorted despite yourself, lips curling. “Bob?”

“Yeah?”

“If you even breathe warm air near me tonight-”

He's quick to cut you off with a very understanding nod “I’ll sleep on the balcony. With the ice packs. Hell, I’ll build a shrine to central air gods.” You took the popsicle from his hand and nibbled at it like royalty. “You’re still on thin ice.” He winked. “Oh, what a fitting phrase darlin.”

__-__-__-__-

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[cat-mermaid]

Ok *cracks knuckles* lets do this party people

what am i saying here i'm saying THERES A FUCKING HAND/HANDS CRAWING AROUND OUT THERE

(i didn't want to go back and dig in the text dump for it, but the translation from the japanese prophecy window for the cage says "human soul and body parts")

Kris is pulling a fast one on us, remember this part here?

throws us into the cage then slowly and theatrically pulls out the knife for us to see? See they were gonna do a naughty no no? Yet so many times after that, they make a point of shoving us somewhere and then running off so we'd have no idea wat they were up to?

Kris has been keeping us (the Soul) focused on them with their shifty behavior while "their" appendage/appendages are scooting around out there creating dark fountains and doing god knows wat else

And just to be clear: when first i saw that cage prophecy window i did think that it was supposed to be metaphorical for Kris holding the SOUL captive, but now I think differently. And to also be clear: i'm not saying that Kris's actual hands are detaching, i'm saying they have control/are in cahoots with a second pair of hands that are "theirs". So, why oh why does this kid have one or two magic hands? i guess we just have to fucking wait and find out, but heres something to chew on....

....doesn't this look a little like a hand to you?

what if there was one hand in the dark world and one in the light?

(its shows up at the 2:07 point)

also somthing somthing theres a reference to Super Smash Brothers in like every chapter so far somthing somthing MASTER HAND CRAZY HAND

somthing somthing Master Hand symbolism of using the Nintendo game characters as literal toys/puppets for its personal games

and i reiterate, the knight ain't Dess or Carole. thats like the most transparently obvious hoodwink of a thing ever, especially wat with the antlers just slapped on there. Straight up Toby chicanery and the second i saw it i said uh huh no. Kris's fucking knife is the damn knight, in cahoots with those/that hand/hands. Thats not to say that its really fucking obvious mayor Holiday is part of this somehow. I just think her sudden appearance and the whole "katana aficionado" thing following our introduction to the knight is just waaaay too convenient and might even be another planned subterfuge by Kris and whoever else for our sakes

not convinced? creep a peep at this:

do my eyes deceive me or is that our pal the Knight/KNIFE with their two partners in crime the FUCKING HANDS

whom, since i first made this post, i'm starting to suspect really might be a "master hand" "crazy hand" situation because:

...the “mantel” (maybe?) and “friend” sure are shaped alike huh

anyways friends and neighbors, remember:

*UPDATE*

HAND

[lazysoulwriter]

first snow. - pedro pascal ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: pure fluff, vacation setting, girlfriend!reader, pedro being an in-love sleepy grump, snow magic, soft domestic love, light teasing

---

You wake up before the sun.

It’s not even light out yet, but you’re wide-eyed, nose pressed to the cabin window, breath fogging the glass as your fingers clutch the edge of the curtain.

“Pedro,” you whisper. Then louder: “Pedro.”

He groans from the bed. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Baby, it’s snowing.”

Another groan. Muffled. “I’m asleep. You’re hallucinating.”

You giggle, turning to bounce onto the bed, knees straddling his hips as you shake his shoulder. “Get up, please—come see it!”

He peeks one eye open, face half-buried in the pillow, curls sticking up everywhere.

“Didn’t we agree we were sleeping in?” he rasps.

You pout. “I’ve never seen snow before. It’s my first snow, Pedro.”

That does it.

He opens both eyes.

Sits up slowly, yawning as he pulls you into his lap like a sleepy sloth of a man, arms wrapping around your waist.

“You’ve really never seen it?”

You shake your head, practically glowing. “Only in movies. I wanna go outside and feel it. Now.”

He groans, but he’s already standing — letting you drag him toward the door as you throw on two sweaters, a scarf, his beanie, and mismatched gloves like you’re about to face the Arctic.

“You’re wearing my beanie,” he mutters.

“I’m stealing all your warm things,” you grin. “And you love it.”

He kisses your nose. “Unfortunately.”

Outside, the world is quiet.

Snowflakes drift in the soft blue light, landing on your hair, your lashes, your jacket sleeve. You hold your hands out like you’re catching magic.

Pedro watches you like you are magic.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “It’s so soft.”

You bend down to scoop some into your glove, gasping like a child. “It crunches!”

Pedro laughs — tired, cold, fully smitten.

You toss a handful at him. He flinches dramatically.

“Rude,” he says, brushing snow off his hoodie. “You realize I got out of a warm bed for this.”

“For me,” you correct.

“For you,” he nods. “Because apparently I’m obsessed with a woman who’s never seen frozen water fall from the sky.”

You smile, stepping into him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“And now that woman’s gonna kiss you with freezing lips,” you whisper.

He groans again — this time into your mouth — but pulls you closer anyway.

And later, when your cheeks are pink and your fingers are numb and you’ve fallen into the snow at least three times giggling like a maniac, he just shakes his head and mutters:

“God, I love you.”

Like it’s snowing inside his chest, too.

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[demie90s]

Real Close

Caitlin Clark x UConn!Fem!Reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: It’s winter break. Everyone knows you and Caitlin are best—inseparable since high school, always teasing, always close. But no one really knows. ( I don’t support cheating but I do love the trope…?)

Word Count:~ 1.8k

Genre:Slow burn, smut, best-friends-to-secret-lovers, lazy intimacy, deep craving

Warnings: SMUT. Explicit sexual content, soft dom!Caitlin, possessiveness, strong language, secret relationship

It’s quiet in her apartment except for the faint hum of her fridge and Caitlin’s voice on the phone.

You’re sitting on one of the barstools at her kitchen island, your chin resting on your hand, elbow pressed into the granite. Hoodie sleeves pushed up, legs swinging slightly like you’ve been here too many times to care how you look.

She’s on the other side of the island, barefoot in soft black shorts and a worn gray tee that used to be yours. Her hair’s up in a claw clip, a few golden strands slipping loose around her temples. She smells like coconut lotion and morning—like she woke up late and didn’t care because you were already here.

“Mhm,” she mumbles into the phone, spoon in one hand, cradling a fruit bowl like it’s an afterthought. Strawberries. Blueberries. Mango. Pineapple. You can’t tell who’s on the other end. Maybe her manager. Maybe the boyfriend.

Doesn’t really matter.

You’re not listening. Just watching. The way she always leans on the counter with her hip when she gets distracted. The way her eyes flick to you when she thinks you’re not paying attention.

She’s been feeding you pieces of fruit between sentences, like it’s casual, like it’s something y’all do. And maybe it is. She scoops up a strawberry, nudges your lips with the spoon. You part them without thinking, eyes on hers. She smiles like you’re predictable.

She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t have to. You chew slow. She watches. Another strawberry. Another glance. A blueberry this time. Then a slice of pineapple.

You hesitate. Her brow quirks.

She knows you don’t like pineapple. You’ve said it a hundred times. The acid. The weird fuzz it leaves on your tongue. She holds it out anyway, like she’s testing you. Still on the phone, still pretending this isn’t a game. The tip of the spoon brushes your lip.

You scrunch your nose. She taps your mouth again, gently. You sigh, lean forward, and take it. It’s still nasty.

But it tastes like her. Or maybe it tastes like the spoon she licked before giving it to you. You’re not sure. Either way, she watches you chew it, then smiles, slow and smug, and finishes the rest of it off the same spoon—your bite, her mouth.

Your stomach tightens a little. You don’t show it.

She leans forward as she walks past, like she’s going to grab something behind you, but instead—without warning—she leans in and presses her lips to yours. Soft. Quick. Barely a kiss, more like a pass-by. But it’s warm. And sweet. And familiar. And worse, she doesn’t even pause after it. Just keeps walking. Back to the fridge. Still on the phone.

You stare at her, half-lidded, unimpressed. She’s smirking now. Not at the person on the line. At you.

You roll your eyes and push off the stool, too lazy to fight her games this early. “You’re annoying,” you mumble, already walking toward her couch.

She doesn’t respond. But her eyes follow you.

You throw yourself down face-first, sprawling on the soft cushions. The hoodie rides up your back, revealing the curve of your waist and a glimpse of your sports bra. You feel her looking again. You feel it like heat on your skin.

You flip your head to the side and peek over at her through your lashes.

She’s leaning on the counter again, one hip cocked, bowl still in hand, phone tucked between her shoulder and cheek. Her voice has dropped. Quieter. More distracted.

Whoever she’s talking to doesn’t know she’s not really listening anymore.

You tug the hem of the hoodie back down lazily and prop your chin on your arms. You let your eyes flutter closed. She thinks you’re dozing. But you’re just listening now. Not to the call. To her silence between words. The little sighs. The sound of her peeling another orange slice.

She walks over a minute later, standing over you with something cupped in her hand. You peek up, brow raised. She holds out another piece of pineapple.

You blink. “You’re sick.”

She smiles. “Try it again.”

“No.”

“Please?” Her voice is quieter now. The call’s over. You didn’t even notice.

You groan and shift onto your back, eyeing the fruit like it insulted your mother. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“I know.” She kneels beside the couch, resting her elbow on the cushion near your ribs, the other hand still holding out the pineapple like a peace offering. “One bite. For me.”

You take it from her fingers this time. Not the spoon. Her fingers. You let your tongue brush against them, slow. Not obvious. But not shy either. She doesn’t pull away.

You chew. Swallow. Lick your lips dramatically. “Still nasty.”

She grins. Leans in. This time the kiss lingers.

Just for a second. Just long enough to make you feel it in your stomach. Her hand rests on your hip. She pulls back, eyes heavy.

“It tasted better on you,” she says.

You scoff, turning your face into the pillow to hide your smile. “You’re gonna get us both in trouble.”

Her voice is low. “Then stop letting me kiss you.”

You don’t respond. Because you never do.

Instead, you stay on the couch, half on your stomach now, still warm from her touch, listening to her rinse the bowl, humming some song you both know. And when she walks past again, this time heading to her room, her fingers trail down your back without a word.

You shiver. And smile. Because you were here first.

And she’s still tasting you. Right in front of everybody.

You feel her come back before you hear her.

The weight of Caitlin’s presence has always arrived first—louder than footsteps, heavier than sound. You could be blindfolded and still feel her near. And this time, she doesn’t just sit next to you.

She climbs over you.

Your body shifts slightly with the motion, but she keeps most of her weight balanced as she straddles the backs of your thighs, easing down until her chest rests flush against your hoodie-covered back. One arm slides beneath you. Her cheek brushes your shoulder blade as she exhales softly, like this—right here—is peace.

You pause the scroll on your phone, thumb hovering.

“You’re heavy,” you mutter.

“You’re comfy,” she counters, voice warm and low.

She smells like coconut and the faint salt of leftover pineapple on her breath. You feel her nose nudge lightly into the side of your neck as she settles, like she’s finding her place. You adjust slightly beneath her, but there’s nowhere to go. Not with the length of her body blanketing yours. Not with her arms snug around your middle.

You’re trapped. Sweetly. Silently. Entirely.

“Your screen’s cracked,” she mumbles into your hoodie.

“It’s been cracked.”

“Mhm.” She doesn’t care. Her fingers start tracing over your stomach again, absently at first. “What’s this? Instagram?”

You hum, chin resting on your forearm. “Twitter. Someone posted a video of Paige slipping in practice.”

Caitlin laughs against your back. It vibrates through you. She doesn’t lift her head, just mumbles, “Send it.”

You don’t move. Because she hasn’t let you. Her hand dips lower.

At first, it’s soft. Familiar. Just her pinky brushing the curve of your hip. Her thumb tracing up the line of your rib under your hoodie. You’ve laid like this before—close, limbs tangled, soft breaths shared—but it’s different now. It’s quieter. Hungrier. Still pretending not to be.

She kisses your neck once. Then again. A third time—lower. Slower. Wet. You stiffen slightly.

She shifts her hips to follow, adjusting her body so her center presses right against your ass. Her thighs cage yours. Her breath turns warm.

You exhale. “Cait…”

Her hand slides down your stomach. She takes her time, palm smoothing over your skin like she’s touching a song only she knows the lyrics to. You don’t stop her. You just lift your hips slightly, soft and subtle, enough to let her hand dip deeper between your legs.

She hums. That sound again. Like approval.

“Just wanna hear you whimper a little,” she whispers against your ear. “That’s all.”

Your body tenses, thighs twitching, but there’s nowhere to go. Her weight keeps you still. Her voice makes you stay.

“Caitlin—”

“Just… let me…” Her lips brush your ear. “Please.”

You nod, barely, once. She slides her hand under your shorts. Then everything slows.

She rubs you soft at first. Barely-there pressure, teasing. Her fingers move slow, tracing your slit over your underwear, warming you through the fabric. It’s maddening—the way she takes her time, the way her breathing gets deeper the wetter you get. She’s mouthing at your neck now, open lips, tongue flicking gently where your pulse jumps.

Your phone slips from your hand and hits the couch cushion with a dull thud.

“Good,” she murmurs. “Don’t need distractions.”

You melt into the couch, head turning, trying to catch her eyes—but her hand pushes your hip gently, firmly, back down.

“Don’t move.” It’s a whisper. A warning. A plea.

Then she’s touching your clit, real now. Rubbing slow circles that make your hips roll, even though you’re doing everything you can to stay still. Her other arm tightens under you, palm sliding up your chest, fingers curling just below your bra like she needs to anchor herself.

Like she needs you to feel how deep this is for her. You whimper.

It slips out before you can stop it—half sigh, half moan—and she groans into your neck, like your pleasure is her reward. She presses her hips into yours from behind, grinding once, slow and firm, fingers never stopping.

“I knew it,” she says, voice almost smug. “You always go quiet when I touch you like this.”

You can’t speak. Your mouth is open but nothing’s coming out.

And then—buzz buzz. Her phone. On the table. You turn your head slowly, eyes hazy.

C*nn*r. It lights up again. Buzz buzz.

Caitlin just smiles against your cheek. Her fingers move a little faster. You buck in her lap, moaning, body tense and shaking. Her hand over your stomach keeps you pinned. The other works you through it, stroking you into the edge until your thighs clamp and your toes curl and—

“Fuck,” you cry, soft and desperate.

“That’s it,” she whispers, kissing the shell of your ear as you come, her voice all praise and honey. “That’s what I wanted.”

She kisses you lazily while your breath catches—tongue gentle, lips slick, like she’s drawing the last of it out.

When you’re too tired to move, she sucks her fingers into her mouth like it’s routine. Then—she kisses you again. Real slow.

Lets you taste yourself on her tongue. Your eyes flutter. Your lips twitch. She smirks.

“Wanna order pizza?” she says, grabbing the remote like nothing happened.

You don’t answer. You’re still trying to remember how to breathe.

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037 @sillystarv @somedetailsinthefabric @essence-134340 @mochelisgf @soph1asticated @heheievidbri @unvswrld @breezybellab @planet-ghoulborne @art-ofmusic @toorealrai

[paxaz535]

SLOW SIMMER - FIVE

dallas!paige x privatechef!azzi

note : here it is! sorry for the wait lol

—————————-

azzi woke up to a ton of notifications lighting up her phone. she didn’t like being woken up by people blowing her up, but something made her check anyway.

paige has added you to a group!

lake 💦

dijonai

you all ready?

arike

girl it’s about nine in the morning

dijonai

so?

maddy

people are still sleeping

dijonai

azzi !!

hey girl

you up?

azzi

unfortunately

lyss

real

azzi decided to get up and get herself ready for the day, packing a few things for the lake.

she went to the kitchen after finishing her business.

paige

wait we meeting at your house right nai?

dijonai

yes

azzi

where even is this lake?

lyss

that’s actually a great question

dijonai

😭 y’all swear i don’t plan

it’s like 35-40 mins out

calm vibes, not crowded

maddy

i better not get bit by a mosquito the size of a tennis ball again

arike

girl that was one time

paige

azzi do you wanna ride with me? or you rollin with nai again

azzi

i’ll go with you

i gotta bring all the food stuff anyway

dijonai

as long as the food is there, idc who she ride with

lyss

period

maddy

we need to get a speaker this time

no weak phone-in-a-cup playlist

paige

i got it, don’t worry

arike

azzi just don’t forget the sandwiches

i been thinking about them since thursday

azzi

oh i didn’t forget

i’m already up and prepping 😭

dijonai

chef fudd in the building

paige

chef fudd in the kitchen

get it right

azzi smiled at the screen, shaking her head as she started pulling out ingredients.

azzi had her music playing low in the background—some soft r&b to keep her mood right as she moved around the kitchen. her bonnet was still on, slippers dragging across the tile as she packed up her cooler with care.

she had made the sandwiches fresh:

turkey and provolone with garlic aioli, caprese with a balsamic glaze, and a few vegan options just in case. fruit skewers sat in their own little container. chips were packed. and of course, she had to throw in some cookies she baked last night.

it was giving… picnic mom energy. and she didn’t even mind.

just as she zipped up the last cooler bag, she heard the familiar shuffle of footsteps coming from down the hall. paige.

“damn, you been up,” the blonde yawned as she rubbed her eyes.

“you told me y’all were meeting at dijonai’s at ten. it’s 9:12,” azzi said, not even looking up as she rearranged things on the counter.

“yeah but i didn’t expect you to be this… advanced,” paige replied, making her way toward the fridge.

“i don’t play about food. that’s like, my whole job,” azzi said with a small smirk.

paige opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. “you need help carrying all this to the car?”

“you offering or just trying to be polite?”

“a little of both,” paige grinned.

azzi laughed and handed her one of the cooler bags. “let’s go then.”

as they made their way out the apartment, paige looked over at azzi—braids still tied up, oversized hoodie and shorts, gold hoops glinting in the light.

“you always this productive before ten a.m.?” she asked, genuinely curious.

azzi shrugged. “only when i care about who i’m feeding.”

paige raised a brow but didn’t say anything—just nodded, lips twitching into a smile as she opened the trunk.

it was gonna be a good day.

even paige could feel it.

as they loaded the car, the morning sun was already warming up the pavement. azzi tucked the sandwich trays between the coolers while paige grabbed the speaker and a few folded towels she’d promised to bring.

“you sure you don’t need to change?” paige asked, eyeing azzi’s comfy outfit.

“nah,” azzi smiled. “i brought a change of clothes. i’ll get dressed once we get there.”

paige nodded. “smart.”

they got in the car, paige starting the engine as azzi pulled out her phone to send a quick text in the group chat.

azzi

on the way 🚗

don’t start talking shit without me

dijonai

we would never

arike

lies. i already got a few things to say about your hoodie

lyss

i said the same thing 😭

dijonai

it’s literally cute chill wear. leave her alone

maddy

some of y’all wore sweats to brunch last week let’s not judge

dijonai

EXACTLY

i just texted y’all the location again just in case

paige

got it

lyss

bring sunscreen this time, i’m not playing

arike

this is directed at maddy but okay

paige glanced over as azzi chuckled at her phone.

“they’re a mess,” the chef muttered, screen lighting up with more replies.

“you get used to it,” paige said, her hands relaxed on the wheel. “or maybe you just end up becoming part of the mess.”

azzi looked over at her. “maybe i already am.”

paige smiled, just a little.

“good.”

the ride continued in peaceful silence, music humming low between them.

azzi looked out the window, the city slowly turning to fields and water.

this was new.

this was soft.

this was… something.

she didn’t know what yet.

but it didn’t feel like nothing.

-after meeting at nai’s house-

they pulled into the gravel parking lot of the lake spot around 10:02.

“we’re early?” azzi asked, surprised as she glanced at the dashboard clock.

“miracles happen,” paige replied, unbuckling her seatbelt. “they’ll probably pull up loud and chaotic in the next five minutes.”

azzi laughed softly, already opening her door. “that sounds about right.”

the lake was quiet for now—water glistening, trees swaying, and the little picnic area already shaded under a big oak tree. it was perfect. azzi opened the trunk and started grabbing the bags while paige laid out the big blanket they brought, setting the speaker to the side.

“we should’ve brought chairs,” azzi muttered, organizing the food near the center of the blanket.

“we did,” paige smirked, pointing to a folded set stashed in the trunk. “you thought i wouldn’t come prepared?”

“okay, bueckers,” azzi nodded, impressed. “look at you being all functional.”

before paige could get a comeback out, a car horn beeped twice.

they turned around just in time to see dijonai’s car pulling in—music already thumping.

“here they come,” paige sighed with a grin.

the car doors flew open, and chaos spilled out: arike jumping out with her crocs already halfway off, lyss stretching like she just got off a six-hour flight, and maddy walking up with a portable fan and iced coffee in hand.

“chef fudd in the building!” dijonai shouted, arms out as she approached. “and she’s looking like a picnic snack and the whole damn meal.”

azzi shook her head, blushing as she hugged her. “you’re too much.”

“never enough,” dijonai winked before helping unload the rest of the car. “tell me you brought those turkey sandwiches.”

“of course i did,” azzi replied. “and the caprese ones too.”

“god bless you.”

“who made the cookies?” maddy asked, peeking into the container as she sat down.

“me.”

“you made these?” her eyes widened. “yeah… i’m proposing by sunset.”

paige just laughed, already setting up the speaker. “i told y’all.”

lyss plopped down next to arike, grabbing a fruit skewer. “chef fudd might be the best decision you ever made, bueckers.”

paige’s eyes flicked to azzi.

“don’t i know it.”

azzi pretended not to hear that—

but the way her stomach flipped?

yeah. she definitely did.

“we left at the same time, how come yall are now just getting here?” paige asked as she looked at dijonai. the girl looked down at her shoe, a playful nervous expression on her face. “i needed gas.”

paige just shook her head. “typical nai,”

“well come on, let’s get this started.” arike spoke.

-

the lake day unfolded like something out of a dream.

music playing low, food laid out perfectly, the sun warm but not overwhelming. azzi had changed into some black biker shorts and a cropped tank, still modest, still cute. her gold hoops stayed in, glinting when the sunlight hit just right.

she sat under the tree with maddy and dijonai, the three of them talking like they’d known each other for years.

“so wait, you really be up before the sun every day?” maddy asked, genuinely curious.

“not every day,” azzi laughed. “just the days i’m cooking—which, yeah, ends up being most of them.”

“nah, that’s discipline. i can barely get outta bed for morning lift,” dijonai added, shaking her head. “you built different.”

paige was nearby, lounging back on one of the fold-out chairs, a water bottle pressed to her cheek to cool off. she kept glancing over, just subtly, as azzi talked. there was something about seeing her like this—comfortable, a little sun-kissed, smiling easily with her friends.

not her friends. not yet.

but paige could feel the shift happening.

they were becoming something.

arike broke the calm by tossing a grape at paige. “yo. you gonna get in the water or just sit there like somebody’s bodyguard?”

“i’m observing,” paige replied, dryly. “and supervising. very important role.”

lyss was already wading in up to her calves. “coward behavior.”

“nah,” dijonai called out. “i feel her. not everyone tryna get lake water in places it don’t belong.”

“okay but—azzi?” arike called out. “you swimming?”

azzi looked up, surprised to be called on like she was the new kid in class.

“uh… maybe later.”

“i’m calling that a yes,” arike smirked, already splashing lyss.

paige sat up a little, watching azzi brush a braid behind her ear and smile at the chaos. she stood slowly, walked over to where paige was sitting, and nudged her with her foot.

“you good?”

paige nodded. “you look like you’re having fun.”

“i am,” azzi said. “your people are cool.”

paige looked up at her, shielding her eyes from the sun.

“you are too.”

that made azzi freeze for just a second.

not visibly. not enough for anyone to catch.

but she felt it.

the compliment hung in the air, unspoken weight behind it.

“thanks,” she said finally, her voice softer.

paige nodded once, letting it sit.

“you ever think about staying in dallas long-term?” she asked suddenly, voice low.

azzi looked at her, studying her expression.

“why?” she asked.

paige shrugged, not quite meeting her eyes. “just wondering.”

azzi tilted her head, playful but still serious. “maybe i will.”

paige grinned. “good.”

and just like that—

the silence between them said everything else.

the afternoon sun dipped lower, casting gold across the lake’s surface. a few of the girls were still in the water, lyss doing lazy backstrokes while arike and dijonai floated nearby on inflatable loungers they’d somehow pulled out of the trunk.

azzi was sitting cross-legged on the picnic blanket now, drying her legs with a small towel after finally giving in and wading into the water with maddy for a bit. her curls were slightly damp around the edges of her hairline, but her makeup had somehow survived. she reached for a grape, glancing up when she noticed paige walking back toward her with two bottles of water in hand.

“you finally moved?” azzi teased, smiling up at her.

“i was conserving energy,” paige replied, handing her one of the bottles. “supervising takes a lot out of me.”

azzi laughed softly, taking the bottle with a nod. “thanks.”

they sat in a light silence for a few moments, watching the others play and yell over some floating game lyss made up. azzi glanced at paige from the corner of her eye.

“you always like this?” she asked quietly. “watching more than jumping in?”

paige’s brows lifted slightly. “that obvious?”

“only a little.”

paige leaned back on her palms, stretching her legs out in front of her. “i don’t know. sometimes i just like… watching people be happy. it feels good to have quiet moments like this, you know?”

azzi looked at her for a moment, expression unreadable. then she nodded.

“yeah. i get that.”

paige turned to face her a little more directly. “but if you want me to start cannonballing into the lake next time, i’ll do it.”

“don’t tempt me,” azzi grinned. “i might hold you to that.”

paige smiled back, quiet again for a beat. the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled.

“they like you, by the way,” she said suddenly.

“who?” azzi asked.

“the girls. my team. they really like you.”

azzi looked down, biting back a shy smile. “they’re cool. they made me feel like i’ve known them longer than a week.”

“i’m glad,” paige replied, more serious now. “i didn’t wanna bring you into this and make you feel weird or… out of place.”

“you didn’t,” azzi said quickly. “i feel good here.”

paige nodded once. “good.”

the moment lingered between them—light but full, like there was something more under the surface they were both too careful to name.

then, from the water:

“YO, P! AZZI! COME SETTLE THIS!” lyss shouted. “WHO WON THE RACE? BE HONEST.”

“BECAUSE I KNOW IT WASN’T YOU!” arike hollered.

paige groaned. “here we go.”

azzi laughed, already standing and brushing off her shorts.

“you ready, supervisor?”

paige stood, eyes still on her.

“yeah. let’s go save the day.”

and they did—together.

softly. slowly.

maybe even unknowingly falling into something neither one of them was fully ready to admit just yet.

—

after stepping off the blanket and heading toward the lake’s edge, azzi felt the splash of water hit her ankle before she even got close.

“oh, we throwing water now?” she called out with a raised brow.

“you’re guilty by association,” arike said with a grin, floating in her tube like a villain in a summer movie. “and since paige be playin’ referee, you both catching strays.”

paige rolled her eyes. “this is why i stayed on land.”

“too late now!” lyss yelled before tossing another wave in their direction.

azzi yelped, stepping behind paige. “oh nah, you’re gonna have to take that one.”

“caption: bueckers caught simping at the lake,” she muttered with a smirk.

maddy stood next to her sipping a smoothie, watching the way paige kept glancing at azzi when she thought nobody noticed.

“yeah,” maddy said, leaning slightly toward her. “she gone.”

dijonai grinned wide. “so gone.”

—

later, as the sun began to dip behind the trees and the girls packed up their things, azzi sat at the back of dijonai’s car, towel draped over her shoulders and her braids slightly puffed from the lake water.

paige walked up beside her, a zip-up hoodie in one hand.

“here,” she said, holding it out.

“what’s this for?” azzi asked, eyeing it with a smile.

“in case you get cold. it’s already kinda chilly out.”

azzi took it, her fingers brushing paige’s for just a second.

“thanks,” she said softly, slipping it on. it was a little big on her. cozy. smelled like fresh linen and maybe even a little coconut.

“looks better on you anyway,” paige said quietly, almost under her breath.

they said their goodbyes slowly, the kind that came with soft yawns and half-hugs and promises to send the pictures dijonai wouldn’t stop taking.

paige had parked a little farther down the road, away from the cluster of cars. azzi walked beside her, the zip-up hoodie still on her shoulders, her towel slung across her arm. they were quiet for a second, the only sound being the hum of cicadas and the soft scuff of crocs on gravel.

“that was actually fun,” azzi finally said, glancing over.

“you sound surprised,” paige replied, smirking as she unlocked the car.

“a little. i didn’t think a random lake day with five girls i barely knew was gonna be this chill.”

“well,” paige said as she opened her door, “we’re good people.”

“eh, debatable,” azzi teased, sliding into the passenger seat.

paige looked over at her, then shook her head with a smile before starting the car. the drive was quiet at first, windows slightly down, the air warm but bearable. a playlist was running on low volume—some brent, some sza, something mellow enough to match the way the day felt.

azzi rested her head against the seat, eyes fluttering shut for a second. paige glanced at her out the corner of her eye.

“you tired?”

“no, just thinking,” azzi mumbled, eyes still closed.

“about what?”

azzi opened one eye, looked at her. “you ask a lot of questions.”

“you don’t gotta answer.”

“i don’t mind.”

paige waited. azzi inhaled slow before turning her head to face her fully.

“i think it’s just weird, in a good way, how fast i feel comfortable around you.”

paige’s fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel. she didn’t speak right away, just let the words sit in the air for a beat.

“same,” she finally said, her voice low. “it’s easy with you.”

azzi smiled to herself, a soft laugh escaping her lips.

“you’re lucky you can cook,” paige added.

“i thought i was charming.”

“you are. but food definitely boosted your rating.”

they both laughed, the car turning down familiar streets now. the sky above was getting darker, painted in shades of deep orange and sleepy blues.

by the time they got to the apartment, neither of them moved to get out right away. azzi unbuckled her seatbelt but stayed seated, her fingers playing with the edge of the hoodie sleeve.

“thanks for inviting me,” she said. “for real.”

paige looked at her, her voice quiet. “thanks for coming.”

azzi finally got out, paige following behind her. and even though the day was over, and the lake was miles behind them—

the warmth still lingered.

just like the way azzi kept paige’s hoodie on all night.

just like the way paige kept watching her when she thought she wasn’t looking.

azzi went to her room and immediately started to unwind, pulling out clothes and getting ready for a shower. just as she tossed her towel over her shoulder, her phone buzzed.

mom

you seem to be having fun hence no check-ins yet

azzi laughed at her mom’s message before typing back:

azzi

yes i have been having fun actually

mom

not too much… right?

azzi

ew mom stop

no

mom

you know how i am

how are you though?

azzi

i’m doing really good so far

paige is welcoming

me, her and a few of her teammates went to a lake today

mom

that sounds good honey

i’m glad you’re getting comfortable

azzi smiled at her phone, letting herself breathe a little easier. sometimes her mom’s check-ins could be a lot, but deep down, she knew it came from love. and honestly… it was nice to feel missed.

her thumbs moved quickly across the screen:

azzi

yeah i’m trying to

it’s a little weird still

but a good weird

mom

good weird is still good

that girl better be treating you right

i’ll come to texas if she not

azzi laughed again, shaking her head as she grabbed her towel and slid her phone onto the counter.

azzi

she’s treating me fine

don’t start

mom

mmhmm

i’m watching though 👀

azzi chuckled to herself, setting the phone down and walking toward the bathroom. she caught her reflection in the mirror and paused for a second—thinking back to the car ride, the soft music, the way paige looked at her like she was familiar.

whatever this was, it was slow.

it was new.

and even if azzi didn’t want to admit it out loud just yet—

it felt like it was building into something.

she stepped into the shower, warm water washing away the lake, the sun, and the weight of the long day—

but not the smile that was still stuck on her face.

-

paige woke up to the smell of breakfast and immediately smiled. azzi was really outdoing herself—paige loved it, though.

she stretched slowly, her body still sore from yesterday’s lake trip, but the aroma of food was enough to get her out of bed. it was warm, comforting, and familiar at this point… almost like home.

she pulled on a hoodie and padded out of her room, rubbing her eyes.

“you’re spoiling me,” she said, voice still raspy from sleep.

azzi looked over her shoulder, grinning. “good morning to you too.”

paige smirked, leaning against the counter. “seriously. this smells crazy.”

“you say that every morning.”

“and i mean it every morning.”

azzi laughed softly, turning her attention back to the stove. paige watched her for a moment—hair up, movements fluid, hoodie sleeves pushed up just enough to show the bracelet paige hadn’t noticed before.

damn.

“you want coffee?” azzi asked without turning.

“please,” paige replied. “and maybe a permanent contract.”

azzi looked back at her, eyebrow raised. “for what?”

“you. living here. feeding me forever.”

“hmm… we’ll see,” azzi teased, plating the eggs.

paige smiled, sitting down at the island like she always did.

yeah. she could get used to this.

in fact, she already was.

paige sat with her elbows on the island, eyes following azzi’s every move like she was watching a show that never got boring.

“what’s on the menu today, chef?” she asked, chin resting in her hand.

“simple,” azzi said as she slid a plate in front of her. “cheesy eggs, turkey bacon, toast with honey butter, and fruit. didn’t wanna do too much today.”

“this is doing enough,” paige mumbled, already taking a bite. she closed her eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. “god… marry me.”

azzi laughed as she poured the coffee. “you can’t keep proposing every time i feed you.”

“and yet, here we are,” paige replied, sipping her coffee like she wasn’t dead serious.

they ate in easy silence for a moment, only broken by the sound of silverware and the light music azzi had playing from the kitchen speaker.

paige glanced at her again. “so what’s on your agenda today?”

azzi shrugged. “i might run to the store later. clean up. prep for dinner. i don’t know, whatever needs doing.”

paige nodded slowly, then cleared her throat. “wanna chill after?”

azzi looked up at her, a bit surprised. “like… chill how?”

paige smirked. “like movie, snacks, couch. you and me. maybe some shit-talking if the movie sucks.”

azzi smiled behind her coffee mug. “you asking me out, bueckers?”

“nah,” paige said, eyes locked on hers. “just trying to keep the chef happy.”

“hmm. okay then,” azzi replied softly, her cheeks warm. “movie night it is.”

and just like that, something quiet sparked between them again—tucked between toast and turkey bacon and two people pretending like it was just breakfast.

but they both felt it.

and neither of them wanted to name it just yet.

-

“you’re back!”

azzi looked up and saw the two girls she came across last time she was here. she smiled immediately. they seemed sweet—genuine, kind-hearted.

“caroline and allie… right?”

she was nervous she’d mess up their names, but the second allie gasped, she knew she got it right.

“yes! you remembered, oh my gosh.” allie beamed, eyes wide with excitement.

azzi let out a small breath of relief, laughing softly. “i was hoping i did. would’ve been awkward if i didn’t.”

caroline grinned as she leaned over the counter. “we’ve literally been talking about your food nonstop. i even tried to remake that salmon dish you posted the other day.”

azzi raised her brows. “oh yeah? how’d it come out?”

“umm… edible,” caroline said, laughing. “not you level, but i tried.”

“points for effort,” azzi joked, setting her basket down.

“so,” allie started, eyes twinkling, “what’s on the menu this week?”

“that depends,” azzi said, glancing at her list. “whatever this cart tells me by the end of the aisle.”

they all laughed, falling into easy conversation—like they’d known each other for longer than just two grocery store run-ins. and for once, azzi didn’t mind the attention.

allie looked down nervously before asking, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. she knew it was a long shot, but she was never the type to hold back.

“is there any way we can stay in contact?”

azzi blinked, caught slightly off guard. she looked at allie, then at caroline, and thought for a moment.

like she said earlier, they seemed genuine. warm. sweet. and honestly… she needed more friends out here in dallas. it wouldn’t hurt to get to know them a little better.

“yeah, sure,” she said softly, pulling out her phone.

azzi opened instagram and started scrolling through her followers, quickly searching for an allie and caroline. it didn’t take long—she recognized their profile pictures.

both girls felt their phones buzz and looked down, jaws practically dropping when they saw the notification.

azzi fudd followed you back.

they tried so hard not to scream in the middle of the store, exchanging wide-eyed looks instead.

“no way,” caroline whispered.

“this is the best day ever,” allie muttered, clutching her phone like it might disappear.

azzi smiled as she slipped her phone back into her pocket. “don’t be weird in my dms and we’ll be good.”

“never,” caroline promised, holding a hand over her heart.

“seriously,” allie added, grinning. “thank you, azzi.”

“of course,” she said, pushing her cart toward the next aisle. “i’ll see y’all around.”

they stood frozen for a second, watching her walk off like they just met a celebrity. because honestly? they kinda did.

-

paige heard the door unlock and peeked over the couch. “chef’s back,” she called out, setting her phone down as azzi walked in with three bags in her hands.

“and the chef comes bearing gifts,” azzi responded, kicking the door shut behind her.

“did you buy the whole store?” paige teased as she got up to help, grabbing two of the lighter bags from her hands.

“almost,” azzi said with a shrug. “dallas tax.”

they both set the bags on the counter. paige started peeking inside one, curious. “you didn’t forget the honey butter, right?”

“top priority,” azzi said, pulling it out and handing it to her.

“you’re already my favorite person,” paige muttered, inspecting the label like it was gold.

as azzi unloaded, paige suddenly paused, pulling something out with raised brows. “uh… why is there a tub of strawberry mochi ice cream in here?”

azzi didn’t look up. “you like mochi, right?”

paige blinked. “i mean, yeah… but i’ve never told you that.”

azzi finally glanced her way with a small smirk. “you didn’t have to.”

paige stood there for a moment, staring at her. something about azzi’s answer made her chest feel warm.

“…okay, that was smooth.”

“i try.”

“you trying to get bonus points or something?”

“maybe.”

paige rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away. she gently placed the mochi back into the freezer, stealing one last glance at the girl who somehow made grocery runs feel like flirting.

azzi was trying out a new recipe, and like always, she had her phone propped up on the counter, already recording. whenever she tested something new, she liked to post the process—give her followers a peek behind the scenes.

but this wasn’t her kitchen.

this was someone else’s.

specifically, paige bueckers’ kitchen.

and for some reason, that fact weighed heavier today.

she stood quietly, her hands halfway through prepping the ingredients, her face pulled into that familiar thinking expression.

“you okay?”

she looked up, startled slightly at the soft voice.

paige stood across from her, leaning against the counter, a gentle crease between her brows. concern, subtle but present.

azzi gave a small, almost embarrassed smile. “yeah. i need to talk to you,” she said, setting the knife down.

paige’s posture straightened just a bit. “about what?”

azzi hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the cutting board. “not anything bad. i just…” she looked up again, her voice softer this time. “i don’t want to overstep.”

“you’re not,” paige said quickly, taking a step closer. “whatever it is, just say it.”

azzi nodded, her gaze dipping for a second. “sometimes when i’m cooking or recording… i feel like i’m taking up space that’s not mine. and this kitchen, this whole place—it’s yours. i just wanna make sure you’re okay with all of it.”

paige blinked. then her mouth opened, then closed, like she didn’t know how to word what she wanted to say.

“azzi…” she finally breathed out, “this kitchen has never felt more like home until you started using it.”

azzi’s breath hitched just slightly.

“i’m not just okay with it,” paige added, her tone warm and sincere. “i want you to feel like it’s yours too.”

azzi nodded slowly, her heart doing things she swore it shouldn’t.

“thank you,” she whispered.

paige smiled, that soft, knowing one that always seemed to land in azzi’s chest. “now get back to that mochi crusted chicken or whatever this is. it smells insane.”

azzi laughed, picking her knife back up. “it’s a crispy miso glaze with sesame slaw.”

“same thing,” paige teased, leaning on the counter again. “i’ll just stand here and admire the chef in action.”

paige stayed leaned against the counter, her arms crossed as she watched azzi move around the kitchen. there was something really calming about the way azzi cooked—confident but unhurried, every movement intentional. her braids were tied back into a loose bun, a few strands curling by her cheeks, and her apron was tied snug around her waist.

“you know,” paige started, her voice a little lighter now, “this might be the first time i’ve ever just… stood here and watched someone cook in my kitchen.”

azzi didn’t turn around, but her smile grew. “that a good thing or bad thing?”

“depends.”

“on?”

“on whether or not i get to sneak a bite before it’s done.”

azzi turned her head just enough to shoot her a look. “absolutely not.”

“wow. heartless.”

“it’s about the full experience, bueckers. presentation. timing. everything matters.”

paige stepped a little closer, still smiling. “you sound like a whole food network episode right now.”

“good,” azzi said, pressing a spoon into the sauce she’d been stirring, then lifting it to her lips for a quick taste. “that means i’m in my zone.”

“you always get this focused when you cook?”

azzi paused for a second, then glanced over her shoulder. “usually. but it’s different here.”

paige’s brows lifted slightly. “different how?”

“you’re here.”

there was a beat of silence.

paige didn’t say anything right away, just walked slowly over until she was standing right next to azzi at the counter. she looked at the rows of spices, the sauce simmering on the stove, then finally back at azzi.

“that’s a good thing, right?”

azzi turned to face her fully, their arms almost brushing. “yeah. it is.”

paige’s eyes lingered, softer now. “cool. just making sure.”

azzi looked away first, chuckling under her breath. “you’re annoying.”

“and you’re flustered.”

“am not.”

“are too.”

“you wanna chop the scallions or what?”

“not unless you wanna risk losing a finger. chef fudd got it covered.”

they both laughed, the kitchen settling into a comfortable rhythm again—paige watching, azzi focused, the space between them quietly buzzing with something neither one of them wanted to name just yet.

the dish was plated perfectly. azzi always took her time with presentation, especially when she was testing out a new recipe. two plates sat on the island, the aroma making paige lean in instinctively.

“this looks insane,” paige said, already reaching for her fork.

“wait,” azzi warned, holding up a hand. “let me take a picture first.”

paige groaned but leaned back, laughing. “you’re such a chef.”

“and you’re lucky to be eating this for free.”

“don’t remind me.”

azzi quickly snapped a photo, adjusting the angle slightly before nodding. “okay. now you can eat.”

paige wasted no time. she took a bite, her eyes widening almost instantly. “okay—who gave you the right?”

azzi just smiled, resting her chin in her hand as she watched paige chew. “good?”

“azzi. be serious. this is the best thing i’ve had in my life.”

“you said that last week.”

“i meant it then. i mean it now.”

azzi tried to play it cool, but the pink that dusted her cheeks gave her away. she picked up her own fork and took a bite, humming softly at the taste. it was really good. she could admit that.

they ate quietly for a few minutes, the kind of quiet that felt full. like neither one of them needed to speak to feel something.

eventually, paige broke the silence. “so, is this going on your page?”

azzi looked up, a bit surprised by the question. “probably. why?”

paige shrugged, swirling a piece of food with her fork. “i don’t know. it just feels… different. like this was made for me, not for the camera.”

azzi’s heart skipped.

“it was,” she said before she could stop herself. “i mean… you were the first person i thought about when i was trying to figure out what to make.”

paige looked at her, fork stilling.

“well,” she said quietly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “for the record… i’d eat whatever you made. even if it sucked.”

azzi snorted. “you’re annoying.”

“and you’re soft.”

“shut up.”

“no, seriously,” paige leaned forward, eyes sparkling a little. “thank you for this.”

azzi didn’t answer right away, just gave her a small nod and looked down at her plate again. but her smile—her smile said everything.

-

paige tossed the last of the throw pillows onto the couch before stepping back with a satisfied nod. “okay. we’re officially cozy.”

azzi walked in with a bowl of popcorn in one hand and a blanket tucked under her arm. “i still don’t understand why we need all these pillows for two people.”

“because comfort is a lifestyle,” paige said matter-of-factly, grabbing the bowl from azzi. “also, you move a lot when you sit. the pillows are a buffer.”

“wow.” azzi raised an eyebrow. “you just called me chaotic in the nicest way possible.”

“i call it like i see it.”

azzi rolled her eyes but smiled, dropping the blanket down on the couch before settling in. “so what are we watching?”

“you picked last time.”

“so?”

“azzi…”

“ugh, fine,” she groaned, pulling her legs up under her. “but if you pick something boring, i’m making dessert in the middle of it.”

“deal,” paige said with a grin as she scrolled through the options. “but i won’t. i’m feeling generous tonight.”

the sound of the tv filled the space, warm and low. paige eventually landed on a comedy, something light and stupid enough that they wouldn’t be too locked in. she plopped down next to azzi, close but not too close—just enough that their arms would brush if either of them shifted.

halfway through the movie, the popcorn was gone, azzi had stolen a pillow to hug, and paige had long abandoned sitting up straight. she was leaned back, her legs stretched out, one hand resting lazily over the back of the couch—right behind azzi’s head.

neither of them said much, but every now and then they’d glance at each other, smile at the same lines, or laugh a little too hard at the same dumb jokes.

“you’re really not gonna make dessert?” paige asked during a quiet part of the movie, her voice lower now, more relaxed.

“you said the movie wouldn’t be boring,” azzi teased, glancing at her from the side. “you lucked out.”

“mm. i’ll take it.” she paused. “this is nice.”

“yeah,” azzi said, softer now. “it is.”

a comfortable silence fell over them again. and when azzi adjusted slightly, leaning just a little more into the couch cushion… she felt paige’s fingers graze the back of her shoulder, casual but lingering.

neither of them said anything.

but both of them felt it.

the credits started rolling, the volume low, but neither of them reached for the remote. azzi was curled into the corner of the couch, a blanket now wrapped loosely around her legs, her head tilted toward the screen though her eyes weren’t really watching it.

paige, stretched out beside her, finally spoke.

“so, what’d you think?”

azzi glanced at her. “about the movie?”

“yeah.”

“eh. seven outta ten,” she said with a teasing smirk. “the popcorn was better.”

paige laughed. “so you’re saying i saved us by not making you get up and bake.”

“exactly. you’re welcome.”

paige looked over at her, her smile slowly fading into something smaller, gentler. she leaned forward to grab the remote and clicked the tv off, the screen going dark and leaving them in the quiet glow of the living room lamp.

“you know,” she said after a moment, “this is probably the most i’ve relaxed in a while.”

azzi blinked, surprised by her honesty. “really?”

“mmhmm,” paige nodded. “my life’s usually just… basketball, media, traveling, repeat. even when i’m home, i don’t really feel like i’m here, you know?”

azzi hummed, her voice low. “but you feel here now?”

paige looked at her for a second too long. “yeah. weird, huh?”

azzi didn’t look away. “not weird.”

they sat like that—facing each other, something silent building in the space between them. azzi shifted a little, suddenly aware of how close they were. she could feel paige’s warmth beside her. not touching, but close enough.

“you tired?” paige asked, voice quiet.

azzi shook her head. “not really.”

“good,” paige said, and then she hesitated. “mind if we just… sit here? for a little longer.”

azzi smiled gently. “no. i don’t mind.”

and so they stayed like that.

not saying much.

not needing to.

and for once, silence didn’t feel like space between them—

it felt like something shared.

paige pulled the blanket over her lap, her movements unhurried. she glanced over at azzi again, catching the way the chef’s eyes followed her hand without even thinking. it made her grin.

“you always this quiet?” she asked, her tone light.

azzi let out a soft breath of a laugh. “when i’m comfortable… yeah.”

“so you’re comfortable.”

“a little,” azzi said, teasing, her voice barely above a whisper.

paige tilted her head, smiling. “good.”

the room settled into quiet again, but it wasn’t awkward—it was the kind of quiet that comes after a long day and a warm meal, when both people are content just being near each other.

azzi leaned her head back against the couch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “you ever get scared of how fast time goes?”

paige looked over at her. “sometimes.”

“i do,” azzi admitted. “like, one day i was just a kid helping my mom cook breakfast, and now i’m here… living in someone else’s home, cooking in someone else’s kitchen.”

paige didn’t say anything for a second. then—

“you say that like you don’t belong here.”

azzi opened her eyes, her gaze meeting paige’s.

“but you do,” paige continued. “i don’t think you realize how easy you’ve made it for me to come home. how much better it feels.”

azzi blinked slowly, her eyes soft. “thank you.”

“you don’t have to thank me,” paige murmured. “just… don’t think this isn’t your space too.”

there was a beat of quiet between them, like something unspoken just settled into place.

azzi looked away first, her voice gentle. “you make it easy to feel at home.”

paige smiled, a quiet kind of proud. “then i’m doing something right.”

they didn’t talk much more after that. not because there wasn’t more to say—just because sometimes, sharing a couch and a little silence was enough.

and that night, when they both went to bed…

they both slept a little easier.

[thebettertraiaad]

Lazarus demon!damian x weird!reader

Summery; reader was sacrifice as a bride to satiate his loneliness. The young demon with an odd introverted human

Warnings!; none, i think

Head cannon addition💖 the back story stuff is later.

"you remind me of the hermits from back in hell." Just randomally throws random things when you both got married, and since that time you were willingly(unwillingly) having to converse with him daily in his dark eeri castle.

Yes you were bought kicking and screaming in the altar but at least you calmed down when he was somewhat your age, only acted and looked but he human enough(as he showed to humans so they dont fear him.)

Does he set you free if you begged enough? Probably, but will memory wipe everyone and your parents probably BUT there is a catch. He has to be your boyfriend period, so that he has an excuse everytime he sees you; shapeshifts into your professors, classmates and find a way to let to make sure he is the only clone. Trust me you didnt want to ask how but at the same time you did want to know, well he tried to be very subtle. "Oh yeah, your teacher is sick so I made sure to switch our positions." Yeah, like the reason wasnt him poisoning the guy.

Well it cant be helped, he is a demon after all. Though he does enjoy quiet dates; walking home and going in a cafe he planned, or reading whilst you study cram for any exams. He enjoys that you dont know a lot, and how endearing it is. Calls you all sort of nicknames that you couldnt understand, probably something in hebrew or latin.

Things that are both common now that your unofficially married; cuddling(aka forcing you to sleep in since he doesnt want you getting out) eating together, he enjoys simple domestic things since demons dont have a lot of friends or lovers in their lifetime. He really liked to sketch or paint you, long hours on one piece because he knew he still had time too.

Anyways short lil head canon since i had time😋

[sajaboyscumdump]

wear me | thirst! fluff! mystery saja x reader

minors dni— possessive! mystery saja ; you were all sweaty and forgot your change of clothes, luckily, your bestfriend mystery was just at the next door studio.

-

“that’s a wrap, girls!”

as a member of the new and up and coming idol group PULZE, and the main singer and leader, you were beat after a full day of back-to-back training.

vocals, formation drills, press walkthroughs, another performance check. your body was drenched in sweat, your shirt clung to your spine, and your legs were seconds away from giving out.

everything was soaked—your spare shirt was in your bag, which you’d left at the penthouse like a genius.

“anyone have a spare?” you asked your members, breathless.

they checked.

no luck.

everyone had already used up their extras—and you weren’t about to squeeze into one of their crop tops after a day like this. so you weighed your options, grabbed your water bottle, and made your way down the hall toward the only other studio still lit at that hour.

the saja boys' studio.

you knocked once. the door cracked open.

“oh.” mystery blinked. “hey.”

he was flushed, damp from training, a towel slung over his neck. his shirt was off, bare chest rising and falling gently with post-rehearsal adrenaline.

sweat beaded at his collarbones, and the lighting behind him made him look stupidly unreal.

you tried not to look.

keyword being tried.

“you guys still practicing?” you asked, leaning on the doorframe.

“just finished.” his gaze dropped to your shirt, and his brows furrowed slightly. “you okay?”

you glanced down at yourself—wet shirt, sports bra faintly visible underneath, thighs bare from your practice shorts.

“forgot my extra,” you muttered. “felt like I was gonna melt through the floor.”

he blinked. “wait here.”

he disappeared, then came back holding a plain black shirt from his bag. oversized. soft. smelled faintly like him and detergent.

you took it with a grateful smile. “lifesaver.”

you turned slightly away and peeled your sticky shirt off, too exhausted to care—slipping mystery’s over your head with a soft sigh.

it hung comfortably over your frame, big enough to swallow you whole. when you turned back to thank him—

his face was unreadable.

“...what?” you asked.

he didn’t answer at first. just looked at you.

his shirt on your body. your collarbone just visible in the wide neckline. the sleeves draping past your hands. the hem hitting you at mid-thigh.

he stepped in closer.

"don’t wear that outside."

you blinked. “what?”

his voice was lower now. firmer. "you heard me."

“mystery—”

he moved closer, gaze sharp, possessive in a way that made your breath catch. “you don’t get it. you look like… you’re mine. wearing that.”

your stomach flipped.

he wasn’t teasing. not even a little.

“i'm your best friend,” you managed, but it came out soft. weak.

his fingers brushed the hem of the shirt near your thigh.

"no one else gets to see you like this,” he murmured. “in my clothes. skin flushed. hair messy.”

“wearing me.”

your breath caught in your throat.

he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

-

you ended up wearing his shirt out of the studio anyway.

he didn’t stop you. not really.

he just stared the entire time you gathered your stuff, lips parted slightly, jaw tight, like he was debating whether or not to throw you over his shoulder and lock the door.

he didn’t say a word as you left, but his eyes never left you.

the fabric was soft. it smelled like him. the neckline dipped low every time you moved, the sleeves drooped over your fingers, and the hem covered just enough to be dangerous.

it didn’t hit you how dangerous until the elevator opened in the lobby.

and someone else was there.

“oh, hey,” said one of the backup dancers from your showcase team. nice guy. very male.

which made mystery very jealous.

he blinked at you, then let out a short, surprised laugh.

“damn. new concept? or just rocking the ‘boyfriend shirt’ look today?”

your heart stuttered. cheeks flushed.

“it’s not—” you started, but your voice caught as you turned… and saw mystery.

he’d followed you.

he stood at the far end of the lobby, arms crossed, watching.

his jaw clenched. his eyes were dark.

and when he saw the dancer looking exactly where he shouldn’t have been—at your bare legs, the way the hem of his shirt shifted when you moved—

something snapped.

mystery didn’t say anything.

he just crossed the lobby, fast and quiet, like a storm cloud with a singular target. the dancer backed off immediately with an awkward laugh and a muttered apology, disappearing into the hallway.

“mystery—”

you didn’t get to finish.

his hand slid around your waist and pulled you flush against his chest, fingers gripping the small of your back, firm and possessive and warm.

his voice was low. dangerous.

“do you like wearing my shirt?” he asked.

you nodded. slowly.

“good. because now you’re not allowed to take it off unless it’s in front of me.”

your breath caught. “you’re being ridiculous.”

you were friends. why would he say things like this all of a sudden?

he leaned down, nose brushing your jaw. “am i?”

you swallowed. “i-uh—”

his grip tightened, cutting you off.

“no one else gets to look at you like that,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“no one else gets to imagine what’s under it. no one else gets you in my clothes.”

your fingers curled into the fabric at his chest. “you’re serious.”

he kissed just below your ear, lips hot and slow.

“dead serious.”

you didn’t go back to the dorm right away.

mystery didn’t let you.

he didn’t take the shirt off of you either.

he just… held you.

walked you back to his studio. sat you in his lap. tucked your legs over his thighs. and watched you like you were something fragile and explosive all at once.

his shirt on your body.

your skin under his hands.

his name behind your smile.

and in that moment, his delicate touch made you forget that you were just friends.

especially with the quiet, yet commanding way he murmured against your skin.

“you’re mine.”

-

reblog, comment, and follow if you want more <3

[bonus-links]

*waiting eagerly and patiently for directors commentary* :)

IT'S DONE RAHHHHHH ITS FINALLY DONE!!!!!!! I hope you all have enjoyed this chapter but I am REALLY excited to move on to what's next!!!!! i have been waiting literal years to get here,,,,

starting off with a few things: these frames are the same design from pt. 9, just damaged now. it's also uh. literally the same drawings KJSNFKJG listen sometimes I just have to make things easier on myself. also convenient crack through the hero of time's right eye >:-)

okay so the hero of time lore gives me a bit of a headache. let it be known that I understand in wolf's timeline, the events of OOT technically never happened. He knows the "hero of time" moniker bc he's met him, and i could've SWORN that name is mentioned if not somewhere in TP then in the TP manga. suspend ur disbelief for me lol

Anyway the idea is basically that post-game Wolf has done some digging to track down the person the Hero's Shade was when he was alive. I like to imagine he had some kind of bargain with Zelda where if he agreed to come to certain events she'd let him dig around in what survived of the archives after lol. I actually got stuck on this panel for a while trying to think of some other imagery that got this idea across without being so,,,idk on the nose? but i couldn't think of anything so i went with this HAHA. Even if Mask wasn't technically the "hero" in this timeline, I think he still ended up being a prominent figure, and some documentation of him would exist. An unfinished portrait, a text about the history of the royal guard, military records, correspondence between him and the castle, etc.

ALSO ALSO. how do they know they're talking about the same hero of time? well, they don't. they're making an educated guess lol. obviously whoever made this statue of the Hero of Time couldn't make it look exactly like him, but I feel like Wolf has noticed enough similarities between depictions to be like. hey wait a second

wake is trying to give a pep talk here like "come on guys, going on adventures is what we do!!" meanwhile Wolf and Loft are both like. yeah i guess leaving our loved ones behind with little notice to go on dangerous missions we may never return from IS what we do.....

speaking of which Loft is maybe technically being a little bit of a hypocrite here but I really think he's just trying to make sure Wake doesn't make the same mistake he did lol. he's feeling guilty

one of many things I really regret abt this chapter is not having Tetra and Loft have a conversation similar to the one he and BOTW Zelda have. I feel like Tetra's experience of getting to grow up outside of the pressure of the royal family or her role and then basically having it forced on her during the events of WW would be very valuable for him to hear. I had so many things I was trying to juggle this chapter and somehow that just slipped through the cracks 😭 im sorry tetra.

AT LAST!!! ANNA FROM FROZEN!!! when all that was going down a few weeks ago i was like GUYS GUYS WAIT. HE'S ALMOST HERE. does this mean I have to get a new icon now

in case its not clear (and it probably isn't) he's in the ALTTP lost woods!

okay so some of you may have noticed this, but up until now we've basically been following the thread of mainline games, starting where the timeline merged and working our way back to where it split in OOT. ALTTP is technically part of that, as the timeline where the Hero of Time dies. I have them all connected through the Lost Woods. The pitch for this was basically "wouldn't it be so fucking funny if Mage could've joined the story way earlier but didn't bc he was the only one with enough sense and also enough gall to just throw something through it." and then I couldn't NOT do that

so on that note, this is the BOTW lost woods. If you look closely, you can see Wolf in the distance.

I wanted to do something to establish him as a magic user! he could have just pulled these out of his bag but where's the fun in that. you might also notice that he's not wet because the rain isn't actually hitting him

ALTTP ZELDA MY BELOVED!!!! that's all

that's all i've got for now!!! bonus links turned 3 years old 3 days ago which is. wild. thank you all for sticking with this story for so long!!!

[bratbarzal]

Oh I would kill to see luke and his lover travelling europe idk :’)

I sort of have a ~vacation thing in the pipeline for them so I'm gonna bullet point some random thoughts on this while they're fresh in my brain bc I love the idea of them having a little european trip together and doing it the authentic way bc they're just two kids in love and exploring the world!! not super in depth bc like I said there's something else in the works but I am really enjoying doing these extended thoughts!!

luke is the ultimate airport boyfriend no one can change my mind!! like standing in the check in queue with his arm slung over your shoulders or you're in front of him and his chin is resting on your head as he watches the boards to figure out where your gate is!! and he's hauling both of your cases around even though you say you're fine to wheel them, but you like watching as he lifts them onto the belt, and you like eyeing up the way his sleeves cling to his muscles when he's leaning on the desk and going through all the information with the guy behind it!!

and obviously his first thought when you're through security is food, so you're walking hand in hand and he's pretending like he's giving you the choice but he's lowkey dragging you to wherever he wants to go, and you both end up getting burgers and he steals your fries when he's done with his, but you're used to his crappy distraction techniques by now so you just let him do it!! and the two of you have a whole thing where you're swapping parts of your burgers like he'll take your pickles and you'll take his tomato and you just do it without asking because you guys eat so often together that it's just normal!!

and he'll smell all the perfume testers with you in the duty free store!! and try on a bunch of sunglasses and you're taking a bunch of pictures of him in shades that make him look like a bug or an alien hahaha!! but he buys some unisex fragrance you can share and it's that thing where it's the only thing the two of you will spray while you're away so that it will always remind you of that vacation!! and it ends up being a cute tradition every time you leave the country!!

the only thing you'd let him splurge on for the whole trip is the extra leg room seats, and he just about convinces you that premium economy is the way to go, so he gets to stretch out his legs and you get to cuddle into his side with the arm rest raised and you share a set of earphones to watch some random movie on the flight together 🥺 like you don't even bother syncing screens you'll just lay your head on his shoulder and snuggle his bicep and probably fall asleep on him while he's watching conclave or smth

and the two of you aren't exactly hostel hopping but you really wanted a lowkey trip so the hotels you stay in are all super cosy and small, because you're spending most of your time out and exploring anyway, so when you're in your room you're constantly all up in each other's space, and he's always bumping into you and grabbing at you to move you out of the way, and it's all just super intimate and precious to you that you get to be a normal young couple doing normal things away from like him being recognised all the time back home, or not being entirely secure in such a random hotel - when you're away, it's a bit like the bubble you get at the lake house, where he's just Luke, your boyfriend, not Luke Hughes.

and he's been to Europe on tournaments before but he's never been able to properly explore, so you do all this touristy coupley stuff together!! and Luke very much gives goofball energy like if he was in a relationship I don't think he'd be all mr cool I think he'd embrace getting to do dorky shit so like he's eating food from street vendors with absolutely no etiquette, and he's making wishes throwing coins in fountains and taking pictures "resting on" the leaning tower of pisa or pinching at the Eiffel Tower - speaking of have you ever seen those videos of dua lipa and Callum turner dancing near the Eiffel Tower???? they give me Luke and lih!reader vibes all the time they're so cute!!

and Luke is the perfect victim of a tourist trap so he's getting his portrait done by those whacky artists who draw your mouth about half the size of your face and they make his curls all crazy and his neck super long lmao!! and he's getting suckered into buying you flowers all the time off of the ladies who say it's romantic - and yeah, even if the roses aren't real, it is romantic because he gets all blushy and bashful about it!! and he says you have to collect fridge magnets for everywhere you go as a memento because you're not bulking up your luggage but it's cute to have something back home that reminds you of being away together!! and he's super serious about his fridge magnet criteria so you let him have the last say even if they're going on your fridge.

also he's clinging onto you for dear life everywhere you go. your hand doesn't leave his in public, and he's cuddling you in the back of taxis, and standing behind you with his arms draped over you in museums, you're tangling legs under the tables in restaurants, and falling asleep on his shoulder on trains!! bc physical touch Luke is the realest thing to me!!

and one more thing bc I love this concept is he's obviously way quicker at getting ready than you so he'll always sit by you while you're getting ready and just watch and talk to you like you curling your hair is the most interesting thing in the world!! and he's weirdly intimidated by a curling iron but one time he offers to do it for you and he doesn't burn you by some miracle so he's always doing the back of your head while he yaps lmao!! he's always zipping the back of your dresses, and untying your shoes when you finally get back to the hotel room!! and he's watching you put on moisturiser before bed and he always likes when you spread the excess onto his skin 😭😭 he's such a little obsessed lover boy I adore him!!

[rainrot4me]

Can we get some platonic proxy reader dynamics with the other slender proxies?

Long one! I really enjoyed this ask!!!

๑ Warning: Blood, violence, panic

── .✦

✦ . ticci toby

๑ “You ever just, like, th-think about smashing your head into a tree to see what it feels l-like?” Toby laughs, twirling his hatchet while you trudge through the woods. You blink at him, unsure if he’s serious.

“Toby, that’s brain damage.”

“So? Who nee-needs a brain out here anyway?” You both burst into a cackling fit, because after a night of chasing targets, absurd jokes are the only way to stay sane.

๑ You’re shaking after a mission goes south, hands covered in blood that isn’t yours. Toby is weirdly gentle, handing you a rag, leaning close enough you can smell the woodsmoke on his hoodie.

“H-Hey, you didn’t freeze up,” he says softly, almost proud. “That’s more than I did my fi-first time.” You manage a tiny smile, grateful he’s here to see you through it.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

๑ Masky watches your stance with a deep scowl, arms folded. “You’re leaving your side open,” he barks.

“I just started.”

“And you’ll just get stabbed,” he fires back, then sighs and steps behind you, adjusting your grip on the knife. His hands are surprisingly steady, grounding, even as his voice stays sharp.

“Better,” he mutters when you repeat the move correctly. You see the faintest hint of approval behind the mask.

๑ Stuck in the car together, you pass a stale bag of chips back and forth. “If you snore, I’m pushing you out the window,” he warns you flatly.

“If you smoke in here, I’m throwing up on your shoes,” you counter. Neither of you means it. There’s a grudging affection in every word.

✦ . hoodie (brian thomas)

๑ You’re picking the locks of an abandoned warehouse. Hoodie wordlessly hands you a better tool, eyebrow raised in silent commentary about your clumsy methods.

“Thanks, Dad,” you joke.

He just rolls his eyes, a ghost of a grin under his hood. You both work smoother than you ever would alone. He’d never admit it, but he likes having you around.

๑ You stumble back to the mansion, bones aching, clothes torn. Hoodie is waiting, silent, holding out a medkit.

“You alright?” he rasps.

“Peachy,” you say, sarcasm dripping.

He snorts, nudging you to sit. His hands are gentle while he bandages you, and the quiet feels safe in a way you never expected.

✦ . kate the chaser

๑ Kate is stretched across the couch, half asleep, boots still on. You flop next to her, sighing. “You know, sometimes I think this job is killing me,” you blurt out.

Kate cracks one eye open. “Good,” she says dryly. “Means you’re doing it right.”

Then she pats your shoulder, comforting despite her deadpan tone. You grin, and it makes everything feel a bit lighter.

๑ Kate disarms you again, sending your blade skittering across the floor. “Don’t telegraph your moves,” she scolds, offering a hand to help you up.

“I hate you.”

“You love me,” she teases, grinning wide. You do, in a way—she’s sharp, loyal, and always has your back.

✦ . proxies

๑ The mission got canceled. Slender’s occupied. You’ve all been technically given a free night, and nobody wants to waste it. Somehow, you wind up jammed together on the threadbare couch in the mansion’s “living room,” with a ratty TV that still kind of works.

Toby immediately claims the best seat, legs sprawled over half the couch, stuffing a huge bowl of popcorn in his mouth like he’s been starved for a week. “I’m picking the m-movie.”

“No,” Masky cuts in, “last time you picked Teletubbies edits for two hours.”

“It was ART,” Toby protests.

Kate is half-lounging on the armrest, boots still on, scrolling on her phone while ignoring them bickering. She’s pretending not to care but is absolutely side-eyeing the screen to make sure you don’t pick something too sappy. “If this turns into a rom-com,” she warns, “I’m setting fire to the DVD player.”

Hoodie is in his usual quiet mode, curled in the corner with a beer bottle, occasionally giving you a dry thumbs-up to let you know he’s alive. When you lean against him to get comfortable, he shifts just enough to support you better, solid and warm. “…Don’t drool on me,” he grumbles.

“Can’t promise that,” you grin.

Masky is the one with the remote (of course). He’s determined to put on something halfway normal, like a psychological thriller, rolling his eyes as Toby whines about wanting a slasher instead. “You kill people for a living,” Masky deadpans. “Why watch a bad movie about it?”

“It’s research,” Toby insists, mouth full of popcorn.

You’re in the middle, being the emotional buffer as they snipe back and forth. You wind up picking a compromise—a found-footage horror flick that’s scary enough for Toby, gritty enough for Masky, and boring enough that Kate can tune out on her phone.

As the movie starts, they settle in: Kate half-asleep, occasionally cursing at the screen. Hoodie doing that silent-laugh thing whenever Toby jumps at the jump scares. Masky throwing popcorn at Toby when he starts talking over the dialogue. You squished between them all, warm and protected

It’s a weird, cozy feeling, one you never thought you’d get in a place like this. All of you—killers, broken, haunted—still finding a way to feel almost normal, if only for one night.

๑ You’re all ankle-deep in mud and blood after a brutal hit.

Masky is dead silent, methodically wiping down a blade while his eyes are still wild with adrenaline, too tightly wound to speak.

Hoodie carefully checks you for injuries, gloved hands impersonal and efficient, but his breathing is ragged—he’s shaken in a way you rarely see.

Toby laughs, high and thin, still jacked on violence, and bounces around like a kid who had too much candy. He slaps you on the back hard enough to almost knock you over. “See that guy’s head pop? L-Like a melon!”

Kate doesn’t say anything, just grabs your arm to guide you away from a corpse you might recognize, forcing you to step over it. “Don’t look. Just move.”

When you get home, the group peels off soaked clothes, washes up in numbing silence, no jokes this time—only grim, shared understanding of what they are.

๑ It’s been storming nonstop, so you’re stuck in the Mansion with no power (like there was much to begin with). Someone digs out a deck of battered cards, and you all gather around a cracked coffee table in the dark.

Toby is terrible at any game requiring bluffing—his face is way too expressive, and he keeps slamming his cards down like an overexcited child. “Go f-fish!”

“This is literally blackjack, Toby.”

Kate is a ruthless shark, memorizing what everyone’s played and making cold-blooded moves to win every time. She’s the person who will absolutely gloat. “Too slow, mask boy.”

Masky tries to run the game fairly, scolding Toby for cheating and Kate for trash-talking, while you and Hoodie try not to laugh.

Hoodie barely engages except to quietly sweep the pot when nobody is paying attention, smirking behind his mask while you catch him at it.

“He’s stealing from the pot again!” Hoodie shrugs.

You end up just laughing as they bicker, making dumb jokes, the storm pounding against the window while you stay warm inside.

๑ After a mission goes wrong, you’re stuck in an abandoned shack with them during a howling, freezing thunderstorm, cop car sirens howling for miles.

Masky is half-delirious from a head wound, repeating little clipped phrases over and over like a broken toy. You and Kate take turns keeping him upright.

Hoodie watches the window, knife ready, eyes sharp enough to cut glass—he won’t let anyone sleep.

Toby, agitated by the sensory overload, rocks back and forth, digging his nails into his palms until they bleed.

The only heat in the place comes from all of you huddled close, breathing each other’s ragged air, waiting for a sign it’s safe to move.

Every crash of thunder makes Kate’s hand clench around yours. She hates the dark, and for a moment she doesn’t act so tough.

Nobody talks about what happens if they’re found—you all know it’s death, and there’s a cold comfort in surviving together.

๑ The team sets up a small campfire outside after a mission, deep in the woods.

Kate is the one who lights the fire (show-off) while Toby tries to toast marshmallows and immediately sets them on fire. “I l-like them charred,” Toby defends, chewing blackened sugar lumps.

Masky broods with a flask, giving off old-man energy while pretending he doesn’t like the smell of the woodsmoke—but you catch him actually relaxing a bit.

Hoodie carves little symbols into sticks, letting you lean against him, occasionally nudging you to hand him another stick.

Kate ends up telling half-scary, half-hilarious stories about past missions. “Remember when Toby ran into a tree trying to tackle that cop?”

Toby, mouth full of marshmallow, “That was a tactical move.”

There’s a strange calm about sitting together, letting the firelight dance over your faces, feeling like a family in the worst possible, best possible way.

๑ You end up badly hurt—too badly to walk—and they have to triage you in a filthy abandoned basement.

Hoodie is steady but you see his jaw trembling as he stitches you up. You keep grabbing onto his sleeves, begging him to stop, and it’s tearing him apart.

Masky paces, chain-smoking, unable to watch, muttering that he should’ve been the one protecting you. He could vomit at the smell of your blood.

Kate snaps orders like a field medic, but her voice cracks once, just once, when she thinks you’ll pass out. “Don’t you dare die on us.”

Toby tries to joke about it, but his grin is warped and panicked, his fingers fumbling with bandages.

The blood on their hands is yours for once, and you see it break them—because you are, in their twisted way, family.

๑ Slender orders a practice day, but it goes off the rails immediately.

Toby challenges you to a wrestling match, ends up in a headlock from Kate who is not playing fair, laughing at how easy he is to pin.

Masky tries to actually train you in hand-to-hand but gets frustrated when Toby keeps jumping in and tackling you mid-practice.

“I swear if you jump in one more time—”

“C’mere—” Toby yells, lunging for you again.

Hoodie helps you correct your stance patiently, gentle but firm, adjusting your shoulders and steadying you every time you fall over.

Eventually it turns into a dogpile, with Masky yelling, Kate cackling, Toby howling, and Hoodie halfheartedly trying to pull everyone off the floor.

Even Slender peeks in, sighs dramatically, and leaves you to the chaos.

๑ Slender doesn’t tolerate mistakes.

When you mess up, you all mess up—and he punishes you together. It’s all mental, but you feel every inch of it, every ache and jab and twist of your skin.

Masky goes deathly still, shoulders squared, resigned. He always takes the brunt if he can.

Hoodie endures silently, keeping his face blank even through pain, the only hint of suffering in how hard he grips your sleeve.

Kate struggles, biting down curses, glaring at Slender even when it makes it worse.

Toby goes completely nonverbal, shaking, trying to hide behind you if he can.

When it’s over, you patch each other up in the dark, no one daring to talk, no one daring to cry, because you know tomorrow you’ll be sent out again.

That night, you all sleep close together in someone’s bed, an unspoken pack, because in this world there is no one else who will ever understand you.

๑ You manage to drag them into the mansion kitchen for a “family meal” (more like a potluck mess).

Toby tries to cook something and nearly burns the place down.

“This is raw, Toby.”

“It’s medium-rare!”

Kate brings some half-decent pasta, acts unimpressed when everyone actually likes it.

Masky makes something very basic, like grilled cheese, but you can tell he cares because he makes yours perfectly golden-brown.

Hoodie, to everyone’s shock, is a genuinely good cook. He quietly whips up a full meal and pretends it’s no big deal.

“Who made this?” Hoodie just raises an eyebrow.

You all sit around the table, bickering, passing plates, Toby telling the worst jokes ever, and you think, yeah, this is family.

꩜ .ᐟ

[7-deadly-cats]

the bastard & the clown

★ P A I R I N G ★ boxer!rafe cameron x witty!barkeeper!reader + some platonic barry x reader

★ S U M M A R Y ★ you’re working a regular shift at the bar you run when rafe and barry drop by for a chill night out. but when a pair of men at the counter start running their mouths, rafe puts one specific bastard politely in his place.

★ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ★ rafe's pov, cursing / strong language, mildly suggestive language and themes, (verbal) themes of toxic masculinity/sexism/misogyny/domestic violence/tradwife, semi jealous!rafe, also flustered!rafe hihihi, physical violence (a punch) & mentions of blood

★ W O R D C O U N T ★ 6.4k+ (it was supposed to be 3k help)

★ A / N ★ been wanting to introduce this duo in a while now and thought they could fit @zyafics campaign. also, thought it'd be ironic if rafe got to put some asshole in his place who basically represents some of these twisted versions of him. a lot longer than intended but i got a little carried away. also only proofread twice so pls don't mind any context mistakes. anyway, hope you guys enjoy and lmk what you think <3

ps: idk if it gets clear throughout the fic (or the title hahahah) but each man at the counter is assigned a term. so don't get confused, 'clown' always refers to one guy and 'bastard' to the other.

xx ᓚᘏᗢ

R. C. M A S T E R L I S T | T A G L I S T F O R M

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

"Ahhh, now I get why you insisted on coming here, Country Club," Barry said with a fuckass grin as the bar’s wooden entrance door swung shut behind them.

The two of them just came back from a boxing session, freshly showered, and now in need of some time out.

Rafe followed that idiot's gaze, a scowl already forming on his face.

The Bastard’s Lighter was packed with a mixed crowd of shitty people, the air thick with smoke and the sharp bite of cheap whiskey. Round tables glowed under soft golden lighting, casting gentle shadows over laughing assholes and clusters of sweet girls beneath them.

Some of those girls had even turned their heads when the two of them walked in, flashing Rafe pretty smiles and giggles in their cute little summer dresses (god, how he loved this season for exactly that). They were probably hoping he’d come over and talk to one of them.

But he didn't give a shit about them.

Why should he? Because at the far end of the room, the bar awaited—a silver-lit, crescent-shaped counter with high stools offering seats with the view on the best part of this entire place.

You.

The hot bartender with the cheeky laugh and teasing smiles, the one who could outdrink any bastard who dared challenge you.

Or better: the girl Rafe had come here for tonight.

That scowl threatening to creep onto his face quickly disappeared, replaced by a faint smile and softened gaze.

"Come on, loverboy," Barry chuckled, clapping a hand on Rafe’s shoulder and nudging him forward. "Don’t wanna keep your lady waiting. Might be some other slick bastard trying his luck.”

And the scowl was right back.

Rafe turned around with a tilt of his head, eyes squinted, a crooked smile playing on his lips as he tapped Barry’s chest. “You fucker behave tonight, alright?”

“Me?” Barry raised his brows in mock innocence, shaking his head with an amused snort. “Dunno what you’re trynna tell me here, big boy, but I’m just here to drink and enjoy your delightful company. I ain’t ever—“

“Just keep count of your fucking drinks, yeah?”, Rafe said, brows furrowed as he held Barry's stupid grin. “You falling from the stool tonight, I’ll leave you there. I'm not dealing with the same shit as last time.”

Shit, Rafe had been so close to getting your number—hell, you’d already pulled out your cute little notepad and pen, that teasing glint in your eyes, the first two digits already written down—and then swamp rat Barry ruined this one-in-a-million chance by almost throwing up on the counter.

Idiot hadn't just embarrassed himself, trying to drink a dockworker the size of a bear under the table, but Rafe as well. And right in front of you on top of that.

Barry was lucky Rafe had even let him tag along tonight. He would’ve preferred bringing Kelce this time—that idiot at least knew how to be a decent wingman—but he was on some kind of detox bullshit and wouldn’t go near fast food or booze right now.

Barry let out a lazy chuckle. “Not my fault for—“

“I don’t give a shit”, Rafe cut him off, passive-aggressively fixing the crease he’d caused on Barry's tank top with a one-sided smile. “Don’t act like a clown, and I won’t treat you like one. Can’t be that hard, right?”

For a moment Barry just eyed him, mouth tugged into a downward smile, then he raised his hands in surrender. “A’right, a’right, Country Club. Relax your balls.” He nodded toward the bar. “Now get ya fancy ass movin', ya girl's been eyeing the wrong guy the past five minutes.”

Shit, what.

Rafe’s head snapped around.

Aw, hell no, fuck that.

There you were, a few meters down, chatting with some greasy fucker in his late forties, dressed in a cheap-ass Suitsupply suit (yeah, Rafe could smell that offense from across the room). And it wasn’t just one bastard you were serving with that practiced little smile—knowing full well they were disgusting pricks but also well aware you could squeeze some good profit out of them—but another one of this breed sat right beside him.

Rafe only saw the backs of their heads in those terrible excuses for suits, but he could still make out the balding patches from over here (not to mention the probably receding hairlines). He didn’t need to see their faces to know exactly how they were looking at you—lecherous grins and eyes creeping over places they had no business looking.

He knew their type. He'd seen men like these at business events of his dad.

Middle-class managers leading some irrelevant departments at some irrelevant company selling irrelevant shit. And when they weren’t sitting in their sad little three-square-meter offices, drinking bad coffee and pretending their phone calls were presidential briefings, they hit up country clubs and bars, puffing cigars and sipping whiskey, trying to make up for their miserable little lives by gathering in their self-proclaimed alpha circles.

And the worst part? They probably had a sweet wife and kids waiting at home, but instead chose to sit at a bar ogling the boobs and butt of a bartender in her twenties.

Pathetic losers.

Rafe's fingers were already twitching as he followed after Barry. And of course, as lucky as he was, only three stools left at the bar. Right next to those wannabe CEOs.

Fucking great.

Barry plopped down next to some sweet girl while Rafe had no choice but to sit down beside one of the pricks—at least one stool of space between them.

He would’ve loved nothing more than to just chase them off, but he didn’t wanna cause a scene in front of you. And, judging by the stack of glasses in front of them, you were at least making decent money off these pricks.

Besides, he knew you could handle yourself if you needed to. No reason to question that.

“Be right with you, boys,” you said with a cheeky grin, not even looking up as you mixed one of the losers a Jack & Coke (a pathetic drink for a pathetic clown).

God, but the way you worked the bottles so smoothly, not spilling a single drop. Rafe could watch you behind the bar for hours, soaking up your energy and that laugh.

“No worries, Boss,” Barry called back, matching your grin and already reaching for a peanut bowl next to him. “Got allll the time in the world.”

That stupid-ass nickname of his even made you laugh, making a soft smile creep onto Rafe’s face too.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” the clown next to Rafe slurred, voice already half gone, as you slid the glass toward him (Rafe could feel his blood pressure spike the second that fucker tried sneaking a look down your top).

You let out a light breath, pulling the drink back with a raised brow. “Aww, didn’t you see? ‘Sweetheart’ isn’t on the menu. Unless you’re cool with paying ten bucks for it every time.”

The clown had the audacity to gasp. “What? No way. Not happening.”

“Shame,” you said, pretending to pout. “You looked like a guy who could afford it.” You shrugged and started pulling the drink back again. “But I guess I was wrong—”

“I am!” the guy cut in, nodding like a maniac. “CEO of Bulk & Bloom. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

Rafe almost burst out laughing. That fuckass health/gym/whatever store Kelce swore by? That's what he was CEO of? Most embarrassing shit Rafe had heard all month.

You tilted your head with a pondering expression, face all scrunched up like you were desperately trying to remember the sad little company he worked at (god, the way you played that clown, milking him for cash—shit was so fucking hot).

"Oh, yeah, I remember now," you finally said, fluttering your lashes at the stupid fucker (Rafe knew it was all an act, but that little gesture still stirred something vile in him). "Then I’m all the more confident that a man in such an important position won't mind coughing up a few extra bucks, right?" Without waiting for that pathetic clown's response, you slid the drink across the counter toward him, your voice slipping back into your true tone. "Just leave it on the bill later, sweetheart."

As soon as you turned to face Rafe and Barry, Rafe straightened up, unable to hide a smile as your pretty eyes landed on him for a second—

—before your gaze fell on swamp rat Barry.

“B!” A wide grin spread across your face as you leaned against the lower bar with one hand, the other resting on your hip. “Good to see you. You recovered from last time? Looked pretty rough.”

Acting as if Rafe wasn't here. Ha. Funny. Fucking hilarious.

Barry nodded, swallowing a handful of peanuts. “Sure as hell did, Boss. Shouldn’t have mixed my drinks so heavy.”

You chuckled, a sweet sound Rafe wished had been directed at him. "Nah, you shouldn't have participated in a drinking game with Big Ol' Hank."

“Could’ve warned me about the guy’s skills. Man’s a bear,” Barry said, shaking his head with a lopsided smile.

You turned and pointed toward a portrait on the wall behind you—a big, grumpy-looking dude. Below him, a golden plaque read: Keeper of the Lighter since 1977. His fire never died, and neither did his thirst.

“I’m pretty sure that should've been warning enough,” you replied, amused, as you turned back to them, nodding toward Rafe. “Lucky your boyfriend walked you home that night. Would’ve been a real shame to find you washed up dead on the shore the next morning.”

"Fucker's not my boyfriend", Rafe said.

With a raised brow, you finally spared him a glance, that cheeky smile playing on your lips. “You sure? You two come in here every week, giggling like schoolgirls over god-knows-what, drinking the same kind of beer, and now you even got matching buzzcuts.” A chuckle escaped you. “Surprised you’re not wearing each other’s names around your wrists.”

Fuck that.

Rafe had the buzzcut first and a week later fucking Barry decided to chop off his hair too, for whatever fucking reason.

The worst part? You might actually believe Rafe was taken now.

“Boy’s lips probably taste like shit from kissing his daddy’s ass,” Barry said before Rafe could reply, and the fucker was lucky Rafe didn’t deck him right then and there. "Ain't wanna get involved with that mess."

Not a wingman. A fucking clipman, cutting off any chance Rafe might’ve had with you.

“I’m not—” Rafe started with a deep frown, but shut his mouth when some girl at the far end of the bar called your name.

“Coming!” you called back, then turned to Rafe with a teasing little smile in your eyes. “Sorry, Ralph, no time for—”

"Rafe."

“Right. Anyway,” you said, grabbing your notepad and pen from your waist. “The usual, I assume? Two Modelos?”

Barry nodded and motioned to the empty peanut bowl. “And refill this, would you?”

“For you, always,” you said grinning, scribbling something down, then looked up at Rafe with an expectant expression. “And you, handsome?”

Rafe blinked.

Wait, what.

Shit, why the fuck did he feel his cheeks heat up and why the fuck did you eye him like that? Like you were staring straight into his damn soul.

Rafe let out a baffled chuckle, scratching his jaw with furrowed brows. "Uh, PBR this time."

“Oh, feeling adventurous today, I see,” you teased with a grin, jotting it down. You quickly refilled Barry’s snack bowl and left with a “Be right back.”

Rafe’s eyes trailed after you, drinking up the way your hips swayed as you walked—sweet yet confident. That whole attitude of yours… shit was driving him absolutely crazy.

After Wheezie, you were probably the coolest girl Rafe had ever met. Always so unbothered, quick-witted, cheeky, and with the perfect flirt-to-roast ratio.

And Rafe still hadn't bagged you. Shit was starting to get embarrassing.

"Boy's in love."

Rafe’s gaze snapped to Barry, who was watching him with a way too shit-eating grin for someone who’d just narrowly avoided a punch to the face.

“You know if you’re trying to get your ass beat tonight, you’re on the right track,” Rafe said, tilting his head with a crooked smile.

Barry just chuckled and reached for another peanut, but Rafe grabbed the shitty-ass bowl and moved it out of reach.

“I’m serious, dude,” he said, gesturing to his chest with both hands. “Told you not to clown around tonight, and you go spouting bullshit like I’m not right here.”

Like, what the fuck was that ass-kissing comment about? Seriously.

“What?” Barry raised a brow, grinning as he leaned on the counter. “Don’t tell me Country Club’s scared I’ll shoo away his girl.”

More like cockblocking Rafe but yeah, same fucking thing.

“All I’m fucking saying is—” Rafe started, but Barry waved him off before he could finish.

"You’ve already almost won the race, bro, a’right," he said with that fuckass smile, jerking his thumb back toward where you were chatting with some other chick. "You think Little Miss Bar Queen would bother exchanging more than just your order with you if she didn’t already consider you rocking her world, at least a little?"

For a second, Rafe just stared at the idiot.

Could that be true? Were you actually interested in Rafe? Sure, you’d been cool enough to (almost) give him your number last time, but not even remembering his fucking name now… that shit felt like a punch straight to the gut.

Okay, shit, yeah, of course, you served all kinds of people every day, some shittier than others, and of course, there were guys in the mix who liked you just as much as Rafe did. A blind man could see how fucking gorgeous you were.

And of fucking course you'd flirt back. That’s just how you were. And as much as it gnawed at Rafe’s chest, as much as it stirred something deep and ugly in his gut, it wasn’t all that unlikely that you gave your number out to other guys too.

But swamp rat Barry claiming Rafe actually had a shot with you? That shit lit something in him. A wave of energy crashing through him, almost feeling as good as snorting a line (yeah yeah, Rafe was clean now, but the comparison still fit).

Shit, okay, so maybe he needed a new approach. Maybe he just had to—

"--beat up my wife if she'd dared talk to me like that", the bastard beside the clown said loud enough for Rafe to hear.

Shit, what the fuck?

"I'm serious," the bastard continued his bullshit, talking to the clown. "You let every woman talk to you like that, and pretty soon they start thinking they own you. When in reality, it's the other way around, ain't it?"

The clown nodded, letting out a sigh. “Yeah, yeah I guess you’re right, Tommy, I just—“

“What’s with the scowl, bro?” Barry said, ripping Rafe out of the braindead convo next to him. “Tried cheering your sulky ass up and here you are—“

Rafe shushed him with a wave, brows deeply furrowed. “Shut the fuck up for one second.”

"Man, am I glad I'm not your boyfriend," Barry muttered, reaching over to pull his snack bowl back and skimming the menu.

Fuckass.

“—that’s why it’s important to put them in their place, alright?”, the bastard continued preaching. “Women want someone they can follow. It’s natural they seek a man who protects them and cares for them.” He tapped the counter aggressively. “Wonder why there are no female presidents yet? Exactly! We are born leaders.”

Oh, Rafe was this close to getting up and smashing that fucker in the face, knocking a few teeth out, and giving him a pretty little black eye to match. His knuckles were still warm from earlier, would be a shame not to put that last burst of energy to use.

But nah.

He held himself back. Now he was curious. Let that asshole keep talking. Maybe he was witnessing the dumbest fucker in world history present himself right here, and Rafe wasn’t about to miss that celebration.

"Guess that makes sense," the clown slurred, swirling his half-empty Jack & Coke. "Harris is always bitching about me getting home late and not helping with the chores. I think I just gotta remind her of her role in this family, right?"

The bastard knocked on the wooden counter, a filthy chuckle escaping his lips. "You get it, man! She's working remote, right? So what's she complaining about? Got all the time in the world to prep the house for when you get home."

Rafe's blood boiled just beneath the surface. He hadn't heard this level of fucked-up nonsense in a LONG time. Last time, some cocky little shit at the boxing club thought he had a chance against Rafe. Like, was there something in the air lately making people extra fucking stupid?

The clown sighed, staring into his drink. "I just don't know how to—"

"Okay, beautifuls, sorry it took so long." The sweet sound of your voice yanked Rafe out of this braindead bubble. "Former high school friend decided to say hi."

With a soft thud, you placed two bottles of beer in front of the guys. The Modelo you slid over to Barry. "Here you go, B." And the PBR to Rafe, a bolt of lightning surging through him as you winked at him. "And this one for his cute boyfriend." You leaned back, drying your hands on the rag at your hip. "Anything else?"

Rafe blinked.

Cute!

Shit, why did that make the funniest feeling arise in his chest? He felt like some schoolgirl going insane over her crush.

Get a fucking grip, dude. Jesus.

"Get his fancy ass some ice," Barry mumbled, mouth full of peanuts, thumbing toward Rafe. "Boy decided to go gloveless at training today. Now he's hurting but too proud to admit it."

Rafe was gonna kill Barry the moment they stepped outside. Sure, his knuckles were still throbbing, but he wasn't hurt. What the fuck was that swamp rat even on?

Your soft chuckle melted Rafe's scowl, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Yeah? Wanna let me take a closer look when I'm done here? I'm sure you could use someone to tape that up after such a session."

Oh?

A breathy laugh escaped Rafe as he raised a brow, nerves buzzing under his skin. "What, you some kind of part-time sports therapist or some shit?"

"No, but my aunt is," you said with a grin, tilting your head. "Picked up a few things from her. And I'm guessing it's real tough to reach your back on your own."

Fuck yeah. Now Rafe had officially been allowed in the ring.

"Alright," he said, smiling crookedly, fingers picking at the beer label. "When's your shift over?"

"As soon as the place closes down," you replied, grinning. "Guess you'll have to stick around for a few more hours."

Oh, you could bet your sweet little ass he would.

Rafe shrugged, corners of his mouth tugging down as he shook his head lightly. "I'm free." Then mirrored your grin. "Seats here are kinda shit, but I guess the view makes up for it."

And the genuine laugh that escaped your usually bold mouth felt like snorting three lines in a row (nah, fr, Rafe was clean, alright).

"Okay, then," you said, nodding at the beers. "If you need anything else, just holler. Got other customers to tend to."

With that, you spun your cheeky ass around and walked down to the other side of the bar where some old ladies were sitting.

"Shiiit, dude," Barry said with the biggest grin ever, gulping down a sip of his shitty-ass Modelo. "I think I just third-wheeled some telepathic sex right here. Might as well thank me for giving ya the nudge."

Rafe scoffed with a shake of his head, taking a sip of his PBR and immediately regretting his choice of beer. "You can thank me for not beating the shit out of you later."

A giggle left Barry's lips and whatever smart-ass reply he threw back, Rafe didn't register, because right next to him, three seats down, he caught the bastard tossing another comment to his clown friend.

"See, Frank, and that girl right there?" Oh, that fucker meant you, huh. "Pitiful. Probably no man at home to teach her not to swing her ass around other men in public. Sad what girls are turning into."

"Say that again." Rafe had now fully turned toward the two sorry-ass losers, head leaning forward, eyes locked on the bastard behind the clown.

Both looked up. The clown blinked, confused. The bastard raised a brow like he couldn’t believe someone had just interrupted their little alpha circle jerk.

"Sorry?" the bastard said, eyeing Rafe up and down like he was sizing up if the boy in a polo and shorts deserved to be taken seriously.

Rafe nodded, letting out a sharp scoff. "Yeah, you're gonna be sorry if you open that fucking mouth of yours one more time."

The bastard's face scrunched up and in that moment he seemed to decide Rafe was beneath him. "Boy, best not get involved in things that don't concern you."

That’s when Rafe knew for sure: this asshole was getting punched tonight. Just a matter of when.

"Bullshit’s spilling out of you like this place is a fucking stable," Rafe replied with a crooked smile. "So yeah, it does concern me when your shit's reeking all the way to my seat."

The clown was already sinking into his stool, but the bastard apparently thought Rafe was the joke here. He let out a disbelieving breath, not even looking at Rafe anymore as he turned to the clown, gesturing in Rafe’s direction. “See that, Frank? That’s what happens when a father doesn’t raise his son right. His mother was probably—”

“Finish that sentence, and your loser friend can go ahead and reserve you a hospital bed.” Rafe’s voice had dropped to a low edge, his expression far too calm for how close he was to dragging that fucker’s face across the counter.

The fucking audacity—not just dragging you and his dad through the mud, but now even throwing Rafe’s dead mother in too?

“Rafe, bro, come on,” Barry said from behind. “Idiots like him ain’t worth it.”

But Rafe spared him no mind, gaze fixed on the bastard three seats down.

The clown of the duo just looked between them, then down at his sad little Jack & Coke like he hadn’t just sat in the middle of all this shit, like he hadn’t co-signed every word his bastard friend had said. (Don’t worry—Rafe would deal with his sorry ass later.)

“I know your type, boy,” the bastard went on, eyeing Rafe’s clothes again (if only he knew Rafe owned socks that cost more than his entire outfit). “Dropped out of school, probably had some rebellious phase, and of course no real man around to beat you into shape. What a shame. Society’s raised nothing but soft little men these days.”

Rafe tilted his head slightly, brows raised in mock confusion. “Funny hearing that from a pathetic loser like you. Talking about ‘real men’ like you even qualify.”

As soon as the bastard started laughing, Rafe was on his feet, brushing off Barry's hand as he stepped around the clown. He let out an amused breath and rubbed his jaw with a shake of his head as he came to a stop in front of the bastard. "Not sure what's so funny about that."

The drunk clown nearly tripped over himself pushing himself off the stool, mumbling something about needing to piss as he staggered away. The bastard only furrowed his brow, watching his loser friend stumble off.

“What do you know about being a man?” he spat, turning back to Rafe, the wrinkles in his face bunching up like worn-out leather. He nodded toward Barry. “Your friend’s a pogue by the looks of it, and you...” His eyes dropped to Rafe’s sneakers. “Either the same breed or some kook who lost his crown.”

What the actual fuck was even going on in this fucker's brain? Fucking apes had more relevant shit to say than him.

"Yeah, talking reaal big for a guy with a knockoff Armani suit two sizes too big for a small fucker like you," Rafe snorted, eyeing the bastard down for a second. "Suit's fake, Rolex fake, shoes look like you got 'em from TKMinimum, and what's that?"

Rafe let out a disbelieving scoff, raising his brows as he gestured toward the fucker's feet. "Socks matching the color of your cheap-ass suit. Lemme guess: trying to appear taller to compensate for your poor little ego and tiny cock. I mean, shit", Rafe ran a hand over his buzzed hair, grinning crookedly as his gaze zeroed in on the guy’s forehead, "Even your fucking hairline’s running away from the bullshit coming out of your mouth."

Sure, Rafe could've given him some preaching about how to treat women and how fucking stupid his fuckass worldview was but that idiot was too far gone already and the only way to put him in his place was to question his entire appearance.

That's what guys like him actually cared about. Not morals, not decency, just how they appeared in public and whether everyone saw just how glorious and wealthy they were.

And the way that pathetic loser looked at Rafe now? Worth more than all the silver, gold, or diamonds in the entire damn world.

And then the cherry on top: your chuckle from behind the bastard—light and effortless, like the ring of a bell announcing Rafe's victory after a boxing match.

Rafe hadn't even noticed you coming up but now he felt like a fucking winner getting to put a fucker like that in his place in front of you AND getting that sweet sound out of you for the second time tonight.

And then, that bastard made the biggest fucking mistake of his entire pitiful life.

He turned his head back, eyes daring to look you over as he let out a disdainful scoff. When he made a hushing motion with his hand, he said "Do me a favor, woman, and--"

Rafe’s fist collided with the asshole’s face, a sickening crack echoing through the air—nearly as satisfying as your chuckle just right now.

The guy let out a sharp gasp as he stumbled back from his stool, hands flying up to his broken nose just in time to catch the blood now spilling over his fingers and lips. He crashed chest-first onto the seat next to him, bleeding all over the supposedly precious leather cushion.

The area around the bar went dead silent, except for a group of girls giggling about something in the back and fucking Nickelback playing on the speakers.

Rafe quietly met your gaze as he rubbed at his throbbing knuckles, while the bastard on the floor dramatically moaned like he’d been shot instead of just having his nose broken.

And you cheeky little thing only raised your eyebrows at Rafe, the faintest smile playing on your lips. “I’m pretty sure the house rules say no fights.”

Oh, how much Rafe loved that glimmer in your eyes.

"And I'm pretty sure it needs two for a fight", Rafe replied with a scoff and gestured to the sorry-ass loser clutching onto the stool. "Bastard's nowhere near to even be considered a walking vendor for a match, let alone a contestant."

“Shit, Country Club, this ain’t no damn boxing ring,” Barry chimed in with a chuckle, tossing the bleeding bastard a wad of tissues onto the stool beside him. “Bro, you’re staining the seats.”

The groaning bastard finally pushed himself up and knocked the tissues off the stool, one hand clutched to his nose, blood running through his fingers and dripping onto his knockoff suit and cheap-ass shoes.

Aww, and even a bloodshot eye—how unfortunate.

Now that was a picture worthy of being framed behind the bar. Gold plaque underneath: Biggest Dipshit in the Universe (since birth probably).

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer, you little shit,” the bastard groaned, eyes watery from the punch, glaring at Rafe with a face so twisted, he looked like he was mid-way through busting the world’s saddest nut.

Rafe almost let out a giggle. Instead, he just nodded, lips curled. “Looking forward to it. Be so kind and address it straight to Thornton LLP, yeah?” And on the bastard’s delightfully baffled expression, Rafe piled on: “A very busy man, but if he sees my name on the envelope, I’m sure you’ll get priority.”

The bastard’s jaw clenched, and he let out another theatrical groan. “And that would be?”

“Rafe Cameron.”

Boom.

That was when it finally clicked in that baboon brain of his. Face pale, eyes wide as he realized just how far beneath Rafe he actually was in this little imaginary hierarchy of his. Fucker looked close to either pissing himself or throwing up just thinking about how expensive his own lawyer would be if he actually pulled through with his complaint.

A crooked smile played on Rafe’s lips as he raised his brows. “Need me to write it down for you?”

The bastard just stared blankly at him, and shit, even had the nerve to look over Rafe’s clothes again, like he couldn’t believe some dude in a basic polo and shorts was the CEO of Cameron Estates and Ward Cameron’s son.

“A'right, my guy,” Barry said, pushing off from his stool and grabbing the bastard’s shoulder. “Guess that was ya cue to leave. Pretty sure ya got plenty of paperwork waiting back at home now.”

“Get your filthy hands off me,” the bastard spat, shoving Barry’s hand away—and that alone nearly made Rafe punch him again, give him a matching bruise on the other side. “Fucking pogue. Thinks he has any say around here.”

“No, but I do.” Your voice rang out from behind the bar, hands braced on the lower ledge, an amused smile on your face. “Looks like you should call it a night, mister.” Grin deepening. “Not before you pay, though. For you and your sweetheart of a husband, of course.”

Barry said something like “I’ll get him, Boss,” and strolled off toward the restrooms.

The bastard’s chest rose and fell, face as red as the blood on it. “Back in my day, a bitch like you—”

“Shiiit, man,” Rafe chuckled low, grabbing the fucker by the shoulder and patting his chest. “You’re really asking for it right now, huh?”

Oh, and Rafe drank in that anger and fear in the guy’s eyes up like liquid coke, too scared to shove Rafe off.

Rafe nodded toward you with a crooked grin. “You’re gonna apologize to the nice lady now, pay for the drinks you and your loser buddy have downed, and then get your pathetic asses outta here.” He raised his brows with a smile. “Sound good?”

Bastard already opened his mouth but Rafe shook his head, tapping his chest with a finger, grip on his shoulder getting just a little firmer. “You’re lucky if all that bullshit earlier was just talk. Otherwise, I’m sure the cops would love a chat with that wife you bragged about beating.”

That silenced that fucker very quickly.

Rafe raised his eyebrows, waiting. “I mean, unless you need a second reminder—”

“I-I’m sorry”, the bastard blurted out.

“Nah,” Rafe said with a shake of his head, gesturing from himself to you. “Don’t tell me that shit. Apologize to her.”

A chuckle escaped your lips as the bastard finally met your gaze, brows scrunched into a pained grimace. “I’m sorry.”

Rafe let out an amused breath, clapping the bastard’s chest. “Shit, see? Easy. Now you do the same shit at home and question your morals and maybe hell’s promoting your room just a level.”

And the fact that that was apparently the scariest idea to this asshole? Not surprising. Guys like him always preached about God and then used it as an excuse for all the shit they did.

“There ya go,” Barry said as he came back in, dragging the drunk clown from earlier along. By the looks and stench of him, he’d just thrown up. “Now go over there and give the lady a generous tip, a’right?”

He did. Both of these fuckers, as a matter of fact.

Rafe and Barry both watched over their shoulders as each of the two reluctantly pulled out a $200 bill (surprised they even had those—then again, probably received them at some sad little business anniversary).

You flashed a big smile as you accepted that 60% tip. “Thanks, dearies. Hope you had a fun night.”

Rafe didn’t even let them respond, just politely kicked the bastard toward the door while Barry dragged the clown along after him.

Outside, the same clown stumbled forward and hit the pavement, landing on hands and knees in a puddle after Barry gave him a friendly shove. “Shit, bro, nobody told you the South Side ain’t no place for suits?”

“Don't think those cheap-ass knockoffs even deserve that term,” Rafe scoffed, then nodded at Barry to head back in. He didn’t want to spend another second around these losers.

Shit felt like a stain on Rafe’s evening.

Back at the bar, they were greeted by a bucket of soapy water, a pair of old gloves, and a sponge. The vibe in the place? Completely back to normal.

“You made the mess, you clean it,” you said firmly with your arms crossed—very clearly talking to Rafe only. Then, with that familiar amusement back in your voice, you added, “Want me to grab you an apron too?”

Rafe chuckled, mouth twitching into a downward grin. “You’d love that, huh?”

Oh, and that cheeky little laugh you let out? Priceless.

You tossed the rag in your hand over your shoulder, shrugging. “Nothing hotter than watching a man do chores.”

Honestly? For you, he’d probably even get on his knees and scrub the floor in an apron if you asked for it.

Fucking shit. What.

Alright, Barry had definitely hit Rafe too hard in today’s training. Now it was catching up to him, frying his brain into thinking shit like that.

“Yeah, nah,” Rafe said with a strained chuckle, running a hand over his buzzed hair. “I got this.”

A laugh slipped from your lips, nodding. “Alright. You two enjoy the rest of your night. I’ve got guests to take care of.”

“Wait!” Rafe called after you just as you were turning to leave. “Your offer—it still stands, right?”

Geez, what the fuck was up with his voice? Suddenly almost desperate. Even fucking Barry chuckled beside him.

And you? You just shot Rafe that signature teasing smile of yours, flashing your white teeth as a chuckle escaped you that made Rafe’s stomach tingle in all the right ways.

“The stool won’t clean itself, boxer boy,” you said, then turned that sweet ass of yours around and walked over to some new guests at a table in the back.

Was that a yes?

Shit, that had to be a yes. Otherwise, you’d have said No, right? Right???

"A'right bro, you have fun cleaning that shit up", Barry said as he patted Rafe's shoulder. "I'll go have a chit chat with the lady that's been eyeing me the whole night."

Rafe grimaced. "That just some bullshit excuse to dip?"

As much as Barry pissed him off, he did fuck with his ass. And now he wanted to bail after Rafe had allowed him to come along? The fuck was that.

Barry chuckled. “Ain’t goin’ far, Country Club. See,” he pointed toward a smiley redhead near the entrance—one of the girls who had turned around earlier. “I’ll be just around the corner. No need to panic about being orphaned." He smiled lazily. "Besides, I’ve had enough of third-wheeling ya and Little Miss Bar Queen eye-fucking each other.”

Fuckass.

Fine. Let him dip.

Rafe furrowed his brows and waved Barry off with a flick of his hand. “Aight. Go do your thing, then.”

After the swamp rat called Barry had strutted off, Rafe eyed the cleaning supplies on the bar with a deep frown. Never in his life had he cleaned up after anyone, let alone himself. Probably would’ve been easier to just buy a brand new damn barstool and maybe some new floor panels than to stand here looking like a damn idiot.

He could already picture the headlines if anyone actually cared enough to report it:

Rafe Cameron, CEO of Cameron Estates and local boxing champ, ready to start a new career path as cleaning lady? Inquiries welcome.

Yeah, whatever.

A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

And right now? That meant cleaning up the mess he’d made in your bar.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he walked up to the counter, stepping around the small crusted pool of blood on the floor (the bastard had bled like a goddamn pig for someone with just a broken nose).

And when Rafe stretched his fingers out to pull the gloves on, his heart skipped a beat as he spotted a little note. Torn straight from your notepad, by the looks of it.

He expected to find some numbers written on them but this was even better.

Rafe stared at the note for a solid minute, eyes locked on your pretty handwriting, lingering on the way you’d written his name.

Then, carefully, he folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket.

And just like that, the biggest motherfucking grin spread across his lips, feeling like he’d won the second round tonight.

If he played the cards right, the third was just right around the corner—set on a private stage reserved for just the two of you.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒂𝒕 ᨐฅ 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

R. C. M A S T E R L I S T | T A G L I S T F O R M

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[propenseverbosity]

Spoilers for Eddie and Volt's story in Date Everything but I need to rant about this for a minute.

I get why Volt exists. Honestly if I got to that point where Eddie was, I'd be burned out too. (Hell, I did. And I was.)

Keeping the power stable is a full-time job in itself. Now that he's running the Breaker Box too, Eddie needs someone to run the bar, dazzle the crowd, command the stage, complete all the necessarily repairs to maintain the club, and have enough mental and physical energy left over to keep the damn lights on. He's only one man. All that on top of a faulty wire? He knows he can't keep up with all of it forever without fizzling out.

To fix this, he made Volt to pick up the slack. For both the house power and the Breaker Box, but it's become so much more than that. He made Volt to be the host because he's the personification of what Eddie thinks people want from him. Volt is handsome, charming, and likeable. He doesn't tire out as easily after a surge, doesn't need to take breaks between social interactions to recharge (or else he starts snapping at customers left and right) and he doesn't shy away from flirting with people he finds attractive.

Volt is Eddie's mask taken form. He's there to throw on a smile and flirt with the human often enough that they won't want to peek behind the curtain and see what a mess everything really is. All they see is a loose floorboard here, a cracked bulb there, and hidden beneath it all is Eddie, barely keeping it together.

After all, why would they ever want Eddie when they can have Volt? Eddie himself created Volt to be everything he wants to be. How could anyone not fall in love with that?

So when the human starts taking an interest in Eddie of all people, he's confused. They must be there for Volt, right? Everyone's there for Volt. No one actually shows up to the Breaker Box just to see Eddie. Not that Volt would allow that in the first place, especially if Eddie was resting that day.

(Half the dialogue options for that interaction involve asking him where Volt is, or mentioning they'll wait until Volt gets there and that just broke my heart. This man is not ready for anyone to take an interest in HIM.)

Because the human does, of course, like Volt too, but that doesn't make Eddie any less important to them. (They are truly a bonded pair, do not separate.) The human wants to make sure both of them are okay, and seeing Eddie hurt is hard for them. They want to help in any way they can, whether Eddie trusts their intentions or not.

Even during the repairs he's hesitant to trust them. After all, they're probably only helping him to get in good with Volt, right?

But then he opens up to them about his struggles, and they promise not to tell Volt about what's going on, and he realizes they really do care about him, and want to help the club.

THAT'S the reason he calls them Live Wire after the reset, because it's not really just Volt who calls them that, Volt is literally a subset of Eddie's existing personality.

The way I see it is more like how a circuit splits power from series to parallel. He created another version of himself during that split, but in terms of making that split power into A Person, he hand-picked certain aspects of his personality to give Volt so that people would like him. After the split, Volt kinda grew to become his own person, so their personalities would be sorta like a venn diagram. Eddie on one side, Volt on the other, and the intersection is the specific traits Eddie chose to give Volt.

And how could Eddie not fall in love with the person he created to protect him on his worst days?

Anyway thank you for coming to my TED Talk, I'm very normal about the breaker box tyvm

[jamieroyjamieroy]

This is the start of Tommy buying a ring for Buck after their hook up. Let me know if you would be interested in reading more.

Tommy is just window shopping - daydreaming really - he is not seriously considering buying an engagement ring for a man that doesn’t love him. A man that only days ago told Tommy he slept with him but has no feelings for him, well that was the gist of the outburst to Tommy’s ears. But Tommy is a stubborn romantic and isn’t ready to shut the door on any opportunity to be with Evan. Tommy has known how he felt about that man since the unexpected but delightful invite to Maddie and Chim’s wedding.

That has to be the reason for Tommy being drawn to the jewellery shop he is standing outside of. Thinking of weddings and how he and Evan spent that night has Tommy’s - rarely seen - optimistic side taking the drivers seat. It’s the only reason he follows that beacon pulling him closer, enticing him to select that one ring that will bring love and joy to his life.

Tommy rubs a hand down his face ‘god damn it Kinard, you are going to start yelling my precious and living in a cave if you don’t quit thinking like that.’ He thinks to himself and pushes the door open anyway. He is going to waste money on a ring that will likely sit in his drawer for the rest of his life, all while knowing there is only one man he ever wants to give a ring to. Only one man he wants to spend forever with. Life has had a funny way of throwing Evan Buckley in his path this last year, he wants to be prepared for the next time. It could be the last chance he gets. After all, third times the charm. Or are they at their fourth chance? Whatever number they are on Tommy wants to make it count, with that final thought he enters the store to find a ring he thinks Evan would be happy to wear for the rest of their lives.

Later that night Tommy sits on his bed the ring box open on his nightstand, his phone in hand opened to Evan’s last message from months ago. Tommy’s imagination running wild with all the outlandish ways he could ask Evan to marry him, all of which he knows won’t happen. Not when he can’t even work up the courage to text Evan. Sighing loudly he closes the message app and double checks his alarm for tomorrow before locking his phone and placing it facedown on his nightstand. Next to the ring. Snapping the box shut he hides it at the back of his drawer chastising himself for spending that money and promises himself he we will return it on his next day off. Tommy knows deep in his heart that the only way that ring will leave his drawer is if it’s on Evan’s finger, but he can lie to himself tonight and pretend he will return it another day.

A week or so goes by with the ring still taking up space in Tommy’s drawer. A week, or more, of excuses for not returning the ring. ‘The store is too far out of the way.’ ‘I need to wait until I have other things to do in that part of town otherwise it’s a waste of gas. Gotta think about my carbon footprint.’ ‘I should really work on my truck today.’ ‘It looks like it might rain and everyone drives like an idiot in the wet, safer to stay home.’ Each excuse became flimsier and flimsier as he waited for Evan to call, or to run in to him in a bar. Or for his own resolve to crumble and he ends up on Evan’s doorstep begging Evan to give them another chance.

Unfortunately when the call comes it goes nothing like Tommy expected. He wishes he never got that call. Not that he is sorry he helped saved Chim’s life, he just wished Evan didn’t have to make it. He wishes the 118 were never called to that lab, that none of them had to go through what they have been through. That Bobby was still here. Tommy would give up his chance to be in Evan’s life - at any chance of happiness - if it meant he never had to witness the love of his life fall apart all alone over the death of his only real father. The sounds of Evan’s wails wake him up at night, pulling him from nightmares where Evan is in Bobby’s place and Tommy has to say goodbye separated by a glass door. If Tommy believed in such things, he would have considered the ring in the back of his drawer a curse. An omen taunting him and mocking his moment of romanticism by putting Evan back in his life for such a brief and devastating event to derail everything. And yet he still can’t return the ring.

[kamospeach]

(any pics without tags are bc i didn't know who they belonged to!)

plot: suguru's getting antsy, his ex-lover isn't looking his way on the field anymore

content warning:my sweet sugu is a little perverttt (we won't be seeing that yet), angstyyy, i love writing about trust issues and character development

dean's (aka peachy) yap: the last of the angst i promiseeee

“touchdownnnn!” the announcer yelled through the speakers of the stadium. that was the sound of the star football player of your university throwing a 45-yard pass. this was his third time making a play like that in this game alone. you wish you weren’t even there at this specific moment and time. you hated having to cheer on your ex as he won yet another game.

so it started a cycle, geto threw a pass, and you cheered. a pattern that was performed every saturday, in your home stadium or away. your reaction was what fueled his passion to play. yeah, you heard me right, he made plays and did the most because of you. whenever he assisted a touchdown, there you were cheering on his team. i mean, you had no choice, of course.

so that was why whenever suguru did something in the game, he’d look at you, always finding you looking right back at him. he read you like a book he knew you missed him, that or he was too cocky to admit that he missed you and he was now projecting. 

when the game was over, you sat around with the cheer team, talking about any and everything. the football team had won, of course, thanks to suguru’s never-ending efforts. before the game, suguru asked you to stay behind so both of you could talk. 

if you weren’t still slightly in love with him, you would've said no, but here you were waiting behind just to see him. he sauntered out hair down, wife-beater, and sweats. he walked towards you with a cockiness that clearly showed he was expecting you to stay behind.

“what?” was all you said, and he smirked. he had always loved your fiestiness.

“how did i do?” he asked, getting closer to you so he could tower over you. suguru was a self-proclaimed pervert; he liked seeing you look up at him. it reminded him of all the times you were on your knees, lips wrapped around his-

“seriously?” you scoffed, walking away from him, and he grabbed your arm. “let me go sugu… i mean- suguru- geto? fuck it just let me go.” you were conflicted on what to call him and he couldn’t lie and say he didn’t love the way you said his name.

“you can still call me sugu…” he says, letting go of you like you asked. “you’ve always liked calling me that,” he gave you his signature smile, and you laugh. it wasn’t funny, but the audacity of this man was hilarious. he knew you saw him as goofy, at least that’s what you called him when the two of you broke up anyway.

“really? you care what i like now? you’re full of shit geto.” you spat turning around walking to your friends. they were waiting for you so you all could go get ready for the after-party.

“ya okay love?” your friend asked, rubbing your shoulder, knowing how you get about geto. you

were very, very, very in love with him. you would do anything for him. he knew that you knew that, and yet your relationship still failed.

“i’m fine, yeah.” you say as you look out the window, reminiscing on the times you and suguru spent together, the breakup, all of it.

4 months ago

“see you tomorrow!” you yelled out to the other girls on your cheer team. practice was over, and you waited in your car for suguru to get out. he had a spring football game tomorrow, a few hours away from the university. you were supposed to cheer at the basketball championship game, so the two of you won't be able to spend time together.

so you waited an hour after your practice for suguru, the clock finally hit 8, meaning they should be done. but one hour turned into two, and two into three, three into four, and so on. you ended up falling asleep, and when you woke up, it was 1 am, going on 2. you checked your phone, seeing one text from suguru.

‘can’t come practicing late.’ 

he sent that at 9:30, about 45 minutes after you had fallen asleep. no missed calls, no extra texts, nothing. he didn’t even try to make sure you were safe, and that was the worst. so, without hesitation, you made your way to his apartment. 

you were prepared to make a scene, sure you had shame and self-control, but not today. you were about to make sure this conceited cocky- the door swung open to suguru with his eyes half closed. just boxer's, hair messy, and sleep in his eyes.

“you open the door like this for everyone?” you asked, and he just blinked, not sure what you were doing at his apartment. “why did you text me instead of calling me and telling me you weren’t coming anymore?” you asked, and he cleared his throat.

“thought you were asleep, so i just texted you and hoped you’d see,” he said voice still groggy, and he rubbed his eyes trying to adjust to all the lights you turned on around the apartment. “i didn’t get in until 12 anyway.”

“so you practiced until 10?” you asked, lightweight, not believing him, and he sighed, nodding.

“it’s our first game back since the fall, of course, i want to do the best i can,” he explained, and you nodded. you both were working on your trust issues he was getting better but you seemed to be stagnant. 

“i don’t like when you don’t respond it makes me over think.” you explained trying to use your hands to further explain your point. his face was deadpanned almost as if he was angry at you. 

“look no offense but i don’t care about what you like or whatever. we were supposed to work on our trust and i’ve done that for you but if you can’t focus on improving with me then do it without me.” he ranted and your eyes got wide. was that his shitty way of breaking up with you.

“are you breaking up with me?” you asked confused and he shook his head dropping on the couch. he didn’t say much just ran his hand through his hair as he thought.

“i’m not, i’m just saying that you’ve been fine since we’ve been close together for a while. we got together when things were slow and when i wasn’t as busy. so you haven’t had a chance to work on your trust issues, and so i guess the blame is halfway on me,” he grumbled head still in his hands and you stood there frozen as you listened to him. 

“so do you think i’m better off leaving then?” you raise a brow and suguru sighs with a shrug.

“i think i’m stunting your growth. if we do break up it would only be because i want you to be better,” he admitted. truthfully suguru didnt know the best decision himself. he wanted to be your boyfriend and to graduate with you, he even thought about after. how a few years later he’d work on getting married to you. but if you can’t trust him you’d just suffocate him.

“so then let’s breakup. that’s what you want that’s what we’ll do.” you nodded tears now running down your face. you wiped your tears but it was futile as the waterfall poured. suguru knew your crying voice and took it upon himself to engulf you in a hug.

“i don’t want to but i love you and i want you to trust me the way i trust you, before i end up resenting you.” he whispered in your ear and you nodded. you both pulled away from the hug he wiped your tears kissing your lips one more time before you left.

present time

the party was everything you expected it to be, loud, smelly, hot, and chaotic. you liked it because it meant you were bound to get crossfaded. you and your friends held each other’s hand as you navigated through the dense crowd. once you made it to the kitchen of the frat house drinks on drinks were poured. 

you were throwing shots back like there was no tomorrow wanting to forget about suguru for a while. but just your luck you had a filthy nerdy leech that was a constant reminder. satoru gojo. 

“what are you doing here?” you asked satoru who shrugged looking just as confused as you. 

“suguru invited me i’m just tagging along. met a girl too, she invited me so i’m following the crowd i guess you could say.” he laughed and you nodded understanding. you were kind of in the same situation as him just following the crowd.

“i getcha.” you say as you passed him a shot that was passed to you and he denied it. you shrugged your shoulders taking both shots in front. “well looks like my crowd moving, see you later yeah?” 

“yeah see ya.” he smiled as you walked away with your friends and they went to hang out with the football players. as if running into satoru wasn’t enough now you’re sitting in a circle of people. and dead across from you is suguru who was smiling and laughing with his friends.

the lighting was great but just for him, his jawline was enhanced in the light. this couldn’t be real here you are drunk (and in the process of getting high) staring at your ex almost lovingly. minutes were going by and your were getting higher and higher. and while you were getting crossfaded suguru was getting finer and finer. you felt it was practically illegal to feel this way about someone who you were no longer romantically affiliated with.

“are you okay?” one of your friends asked and you sent him a small smile.

“just peachy.” you mumbled standing up to go get water until someone came up to you. you’ve never seen him before but he was clearly flirting. his words were started to blend together and his face was almost not even there. he started to sound like a friend you knew so your body became laxed.

his hands gripped your waist and you spoke with him casually. you were now drinking whatever your ‘friend’ had poured for you. all you knew is that your blinking felt extra slow and the floor was spinning. 

after a while your friend who asked if you were okay came looking for you. he was getting suspicious as to what took you so long to come back outside with the group. until he saw your almost limp body leaning on some guy who he had never seen before either. he stormed towards the two of you both snatching the drink out of your hand. 

“what are you doing?” he asked you and you shrugged not even sure who he was at this point. he watched your behavior and then looked up at the man who was with you. “who the hell are you?”

“does it matter? who the hell are you?” he copied his question whispering in your ear to calm you down. but now it felt weird and your brain seemed to register that you may or may not be in danger. 

“do you even go to this school? i’ve never seen you before.” he questioned the man and his body became stiff against yours. strangely this was the only thing he did that raised red flags for you.

“so? do you know everyone at this school or somethin’?” he grumbled and your friend found him suspicious so he grabbed you arm to pull you away from the man but he didn’t get anywhere with that. “don’t touch her, come on let’s go. you do want to leave with me right?” he asked you and your head slowly tilted to the side as you looked up at him. you were still struggling to make out his face.

“no you won’t, she doesn’t even know you, she’s coming with me.” he said lightly pulling you towards him. you were now caught inbetween the two men one wrist in the strangers hand and the other in your friend’s.

“i-...” was all you could manage before you heard a voice. the only voice that you could identify throughout the foggy haze that was your brain.

“neither of you will be taking her home.” he said as he walked over to you. you didn’t need to see suguru’s face to know it was his. his long hair was enough for you to know it was the man you once and still do love.

“sugu…” you said walking towards him and the two men had no choice but to let you go. before you knew it suguru had his hand around your waist.

“he didn’t hurt you did he?” he asked and you shook your head. even though you weren’t exactly sure how you got into all of that. you both made your way outside to his car that you wasted no time getting. he pressed the 1 button, and it immediately went to your settings, the way you liked it.

“you never took that off?” you asked looking up at him with eyes that had him questioning his actions 4 months ago.

“why would i? this’s your seat.” he said putting on your seatbelt but before the door closed you had to say one more thing.

“thank you, sugu.”

“anything for you.” was all he said before he closed the door and got in the driver’s seat to take you home.

to be continued...

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