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This Piece of You (A Saugust One-shot)
I’ll take this piece of you
And hold for all eternity
For just one second I felt whole
As you flew right through me
Sorrow — Flyleaf
Eyes on the couple in the corner, August watched her from behind the bar as he idly wiped the counter. The rag in his hand did little to clean the scarred wooden surface since the filthy scrap of cloth was dirtier than it by far, but his lazy swipes were more an attempt at busywork than actual washing.
Although they were too far away for him to hear what was being said, he could read her body language, and he recognized the tricks in her arsenal with an irked familiarity. She’d started off flirtatious to soften up the man across from her, coyly teasing with a subtle brush of a finger against his, a smile paired with the coquettish tip of her head, batting long pretty lashes over those fathomless green eyes. But as the negotiation furthered, the act shifted from demure to dogged, her expression hardening as she sat up straighter and kept her hands on her side of the square plank of a table. Clearly their conversation was getting serious.
“I’ll have ‘nother," Rocco said, drawing August’s attention momentarily to the sop perched with his elbows on the bar. “That is if you can spare a minute to reel your eyes back into your head, old boy.”
August grunted in reply, pulling a bottle from under the counter and tipping it into Rocco’s tumbler. Amber liquid splashed out, turning the dingy grey of the empty glass a foggy honey.
“Must be some sight to be pulling your focus like that,” Rocco grinned widely, pink gums shining wetly as his blackout goggles shifted with the movement of his round cheeks. “Who is she?”
“Nobody,” August muttered gruffly. Having given up a long time ago on making sense of how the old man could be so perceptive despite his blindness, he didn't bother asking the drunk how he knew it was a woman that had arrested August’s attention. “Just somebody I used to know.”
“Ah, a ghost from the past, eh?”
“Something like that.” Making an effort to concentrate, he shifted his piercing blue gaze to Rocco. “What’s it to you, old boy?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing. No reason at all.” Rocco picked up his glass and took a dainty sip of the watery contents. “Just find it interesting that she’s driving such a hard bargain when he’s got that gun trained on her so diligently. She’s either very brave or incredibly stupid. Either way, she sounds just like your type.”
Rocco let out a hoarse laugh, a rusty saw slicing through the relative hush of the bar. August’s attention snapped to the man seated opposite Sasha, eyes narrowing as he tried to spot the weapon Rocco had picked up on.
Sure enough, a gray metal barrel poked out of the meaty fist balled on his thigh, hidden in the shadows under the table.
August was rounding the bar before he even realized he’d moved. Behind him, he heard Rocco make a crack about knights in shining armor.
“If you think you’re gonna be able to get any stock off-world at that price, you’re better off selling whatever it is you’ve been smoking lately,” Sasha was saying to her companion. Leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed, the chill in her imperious gaze could have formed ice crystals on the abandoned bottles between them.
“Listen here, you little bi—”
August’s hand met the stranger’s shoulder with a loud thud, knocking the man’s balance off as well as his words.
“It’s time for you to leave.” August’s tone invited no argument.
He barely acknowledged the mute shock in Sasha’s gaze, his focus intent on the scum bag still seated in his bar.
“What the hell, pal? Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something here,” the man protested, turning his head to look up at August. His bulbous, veiny nose looked like it had been broken a time or two before and August was tempted to see how many slams against the table it would take to turn it into paste.
“I said it’s time to go,” August growled, tightening his grip on the man’s sloped shoulder. “Bar’s closing.”
“Funny, I don’t remember hearing the shout for last call.” The stranger stared at August challengingly, his thin lips pressed into a hard line. “And what kind of bar closes this early anyhow?”
August’s body tensed, muscles flexing as his mind blanked in preparation for a fight. He was about to make good on the idea of squashing this asshole’s fat, red nose like an overripe tomato when Rocco appeared on the other side of the man.
Plucking at the stranger’s sleeve, he said, “C’mon, old boy. Help a blind fool find the door and I’ll buy you a drink elsewheres. I know a place nearby that’s open late. The servers might be just as mean, but they aren’t nearly as ugly, or so I’m told.”
His grating scratch of a laugh cleaved through the growing tension, effectively diffusing it.
“Fine, whatever,” the stranger muttered as he twisted August’s heavy hand from his shoulder and stood. Small angry eyes flicked towards Sasha and he spit out, “And fuck you very much too.”
As soon as the door creaked shut behind the two men, the loud slam of Sasha’s twin fists on the table followed.
“What the hell, August?”
He didn’t reply, just turned on his heel and stomped away.
“You do realize you just cost me a huge pay day, right?” she yelled after him, quickly gaining her own feet. “Are you going to explain yourself?”
He just grunted, frustration hiking his shoulders to his ears as he kept his back to her. Adrenaline riding high in his body, his hands gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white with the effort to hold his temper.
“You heard me,” he said. “I’m shutting down early.”
“Good luck with that, because I’m not leaving until you tell me what that was all about.”
He spared her a sidelong glance over his shoulder. As expected, everything about her screamed defiance, from the tip of her chin to the cock of her hip.
“Asshole had a gun,” he finally muttered. “Under the table.”
She let out an incredulous snort. “That’s it? August, this is Pandora. Everyone has a gun.”
“He had it aimed at you while you were sitting there egging him on,” he sneered. “What was I supposed to do, just let him shoot you for mouthin’ off?”
Venting a long-suffering sigh, he could almost hear the roll of her eyes to the ceiling.
“Did it ever occur to you that I might have a shield in my pocket meant for just such an occasion?” Although her forethought in the matter did come as a surprise to him, she continued, the question rhetorical, “Obviously, this isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve been meeting creeps like that for a while now. It’s the cost of doing business.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you need to get into a different business.”
A bark of a laugh burst from her, humorless and angry. “Wow, okay. You know, when I asked to arrange meet-ups here, I didn’t realize the crappy beer on tap came with free life advice and a belligerent bodyguard.”
“Why are you meeting people here?” he questioned, whirling around to face her.
To her credit, she didn’t back up when he stalked closer, eager to hear the explanation for the mystery that had been baffling him.
“What? What do you mean? This is a bar, right? Liquor usually makes people more willing to negotiate. That is when they aren’t getting chased out by the owner. Is that why this place is so empty? Because if that’s some new business strategy, you might want to rethink it.”
“You know exactly what I mean. Why this place specifically? I don’t hear from you for months, and then all of sudden, here you are,” he flicked his hand at her, the gesture meant to encompass not only her presence in his bar but also in his life, “out of the blue, looking to run smuggling deals at my table. You could go anywhere on this godforsaken planet— hell, even in this shithole of a town. So why here?”
Under his unwavering scrutiny, her angry glare faltered. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it, sealing her reply behind the tight line of her frown.
“Well?” he demanded, gratified to have her on the verbal backfoot.
“I–” She stopped. Bringing a hand to her face, she pinched the bridge of her nose, then turned for the door. “It doesn’t matter now. I have to go.”
“Wait a damn minute,” he demanded, snagging her elbow and spinning her to face him. His hands formed a firm cinch around her biceps to keep her from fleeing. “You were all in a tizzy for an answer from me. Well, now it’s my turn. You’re not running away this time. Tell me why you’re here.”
She looked up at him for a moment and he was surprised to see the fiery indignation in her eyes fizzle into withdrawn resignation.
“All right, fine. I asked because…” Her head dipped down as she looked away, “because I needed a safe place to meet with clients and I…I knew you’d have my back if things ever got sticky.”
His brows knit together as what she said slowly sunk in.
“Hang on...” He shook his head in confusion. “You’re telling me that you’re pissed because I stepped in when that’s exactly why you came to me in the first place?”
Her cheeks were rosy pink as her head snapped up. “Well, you didn’t exactly have the best timing on when you interfered. I had that handled but you blew it. Now I have to go find him and try to undo the mess you made.”
She jerked in a bid for freedom but he held fast. Heat unfurled in his chest, a lingering ribbon of warmth that enveloped his heart and soothed the persistent ache that had taken up residence there so very long ago.
As with everything about her, nothing was as it seemed: a simple request was never just a favor, a smile could be a prelude to a blade at your throat, and an argument held the echo of affection. He’d been slow in realizing it — slow in a lot of things, if he was being honest with himself — but now that understanding had taken hold, he saw the signs.
“Sasha.”
Even spoken in his gruff voice, her name was a pretty winged thing as beautiful as she was. She stilled instantly at the sound.
Her eyes found his in the quiet that followed. Gone was the rage and fire; spirit and vigor replaced by a keen awareness. The tender teeth of her allure, that fanged bite of her magnetism that had sunk into him from the beginning, pulled him in once more, drawing him closer even while standing still.
“You trust me,” he breathed.
It was a simple statement, a rather inane one in light of the revelation, yet August had never been one for words. Actions were his language, fluent in brute force and fists. Following that same instinct for touch to voice the emotion that overwhelmed him, he lifted a hand to cup her cheek, skimming the smooth plane of her skin with his calloused thumb.
She blinked at the contact, clearly surprised by his delicate touch, but she didn’t twist away. Brows pulled together, a wry half grin tugged the corner of her mouth up, a sight that never failed to charm his churlish heart.
“That’s a stupid thing to say. Of course, I d—”
Afraid of what the rest of the sentence might entail, he didn’t let her finish, trapping the last of her reply with his lips against hers. He savored the tiny gasp of her shock that whispered against his mouth, drinking in the sweet feeling of her astonishment. His other hand rose of its own accord to frame her face, cradling her like the precious treasure she was.
He may have been a brute, but even he understood the poetry in pleasure and kissing her again was like coming home. Overcome, he wanted to bottle this feeling, to keep this bliss close for when she inevitably ran away once more, leaving him fractured and incomplete.
As if on cue, her fingers circled around his wrists, so reminiscent of the shackles of his ardor for her. He anticipated the imminent withdrawal, half expecting her to peel his hands away from her cheeks, to spit in his eye, and curse him as a fool.
Looking to spare himself the further heartache, he pulled away first. His hands dropped, clenching into fists at his sides as he stepped back.
In the air between them, her sharp exhale sounded like the beginning of a word.
He swallowed a swear, unable to look her in the eye for fear of what he might find there. The unfamiliar taste of an apology thickened on his tongue, but before he could utter the foreign word of regret, she spoke.
“Why’d you stop?”
He caught the briefest of glimpses at the impish smile that rested naturally on her mouth. Then her hands were fisted in the front of his shirt and she yanked him down to meet her waiting lips. The return of her kiss burned away his apprehension with its feverish heat.
Greedily, his arms slipped around her waist to pull her closer. Her lithe frame fit against him as snugly as a glove. She rose on her toes for better leverage, her kisses tenacious and bold.
Her entire body pressed into him, forcing him to take it. His hands roamed down her back, cupping under her rear to lift her up. She didn’t hesitate to wrap her legs around his hips, enclosing him as tightly as noose.
Rocking back to accommodate the forward shift of weight, his back hit the bar behind him and he pivoted around to place her seated on the counter. Her hands were in his hair, fisting the short locks to make him tip his head to deepen their kiss. The hot lathe of her tongue against his reawakened something inside him, a dormant but ceaseless hunger that infused him with a powerful desire to take, to feast, to ruin.
She seemed to sense the change within him. With the practiced shift of her chin, she broke contact to bare her throat, allowing him access to the smooth column of her neck. Haunted by the ghost of deja vu, he buried himself in the secret hollow under her ear, breathing in the heady scent of her. The subtle blend of her aroma flooded his brain, feeling equal parts familiar and necessary, like a lungful of oxygen after a long dive.
Restless in the increment submission, she was at his clothes, tugging and pushing fabric with a haste that spoke to her own overwhelming need, never spending enough effort to get very far before moving on. Her questing fingers eventually landed at his belt buckle and she immediately set to work unfastening it.
Even as he tracked harsh little nips and wet slips of his tongue against her pulse and along her collarbone, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this wasn’t a good idea. This was not the solution to his persistent yearning, nor a guarantee of security. Deep down, he wanted more than just this one time, this flash of fleeting satisfaction.
But the future held little interest for him in that moment, while he was so immersed in echoes of the past. The time would come when he would have to answer for these actions later. For now, he gave himself willingly, stepping off that ledge once more to plummet into the swirling chaos that came from loving her so completely.
Show Me My Silver Lining (TFTBL Rhys/Fiona Fanfiction) - Chapter Two
SUMMARY: A fan-written continuation of the lives of the Atlas CEO and Pandoran Vault Hunter. Canon-aligned with TFTBL, but not with game 3. What happened after the vault? How does the beloved duo continue growing together? Rhyiona ship including slow burn, fluff, and banter. Enjoy!
It was a couple weeks later, all while the pendant was locked away in Rhys’s apartment for Fiona’s sake, when Rhys eventually found and introduced Fiona to someone interested in the treasure.
The collector, some rich businessman, sat before her in a high-end restaurant in Promethea. The three were seated in a big leather booth, a private space divided off in a corner. The walls and overall restaurant atmosphere were painted in dark blues and adorned with soft yellows from the ceiling lights and other decor. Wafts of steak and pastas flooded the air as waiters passed by, making Fiona’s mouth water, but she held off ordering food until the pendant was determinedly out of her possession.
For only a little over a year of kickstarting Atlas, Rhys made his way up the corporate ladder fast considering he was able to meet at a place like this. It helped to have the rights handed over– or stolen over– but starting from ground up was a time consuming and teeth grinding process. He was doing well. However, as he drove Fiona to the place, he specified that he couldn’t afford to go to restaurants like this one everyday. It was more like a once in a blue moon, special occasion kind of place. It didn’t stop Fiona from ordering one of the finest drinks on the menu, though– He offered that what she ordered would be on his tab, so of course she had to. She mercilessly smirked as he pouted.
After explaining the pendant’s mechanics to the collector, a grey haired man in an expensive suit, he eyed the display box cautiously. The man frowned at them, stating he would need to see a demonstration to confirm the legitimacy.
Rhys scratched his head. “Here wouldn’t exactly be the best place to show it.”
Fiona waved him off, reaching for the pendant. “It’s fine,” she quickly said. “I learned that you can readjust the size of the preview portals by turning the segment that connects to the bail.”
The three leaned forward in their booth, and on the tabletop mini images spun. The collector’s eyes widened. Drawn as he reached for the pendant, Fiona snapped the images off and swiftly leaned back, keeping it out of reach. She flashed him a charming smile. Rhys crossed his arms, the corners of his lips quirked up. He was entertained to see Fiona’s cool demeanor at play.
“How much?” The collector asked, eyes still on the pendant.
“Thirty million,” Fiona confidently started. Without skipping a beat, it was clear she planned the details of her act leading up to the meeting.
Rhys froze, wide-eyed. She saw he opened his mouth to speak and briskly kicked him under the table, a firm “keep it shut.” Rhys stifled a wince and shook his head amusedly, smiling in disbelief to her high demand. He leaned back, letting her do all the talking. The collector sat with a more neutral expression, attempting to be unreadable, but Fiona’s life was dedicated to reading people. She saw how entranced he was, and with a fine-tailored suit like the one he sported, surely he could afford to pay an expensive price.
“Ten million,” the collector said, trying to act nonchalant as he sipped his drink.
“Ten million?” Fiona grinned and shook her head. Though she felt her heart race at the mention of any million, she figured she deserved more than that. “That’s the price for a vault key. Thirty million is the price for opening the vault, and retrieving a one-of-a-kind alien treasure out of it.”
“Thirty is much,” the collector frowned. “How about twelve million?”
Fiona shrugged. “Twelve’s not much higher than ten. Getting this thing wasn’t easy; the vault monster was ginormous, y’know? Have you ever taken on a vault monster?”
His mouth pressed into a thin line. “Alright,” he hesitated. “Fifteen. That’s all I’m offering.” His eyes darted from her to the necklace as she toyed with the chain.
“No, that’s far too low.” She shook her head.
“Fifteen million,” he insisted again.
“Fiona,” Rhys mumbled under his breath, uncertain. She didn’t look at him though she heard him. She was definitely being pushy, but with the collector incredibly fixated on the device? She was sure she could get away with it.
“Hmm,” Fiona nodded thoughtfully. “Y’know what? For you, I’d let you pay twenty-five.”
The collector huffed. “Sixteen,” he replied through slightly gritted teeth. “I can’t go higher.”
Tilting her head, she smiled at his body language. He leaned forward the more she leaned back. His eye slightly twitched. After some thought, while letting suspense fill the air, she shrugged. “Mmm… Guess we’ll find another collector,” she casually concluded. Fiona tsked, opening the display lid. “Well, thank you for your time. It was nice meeting you–”
“Twenty!” the collector desperately succumbed to. Rhys and Fiona flinched as he practically yelled it. The collector cleared his throat, suddenly red and abashed at the volume. With an antsy, frustrated sigh, he finally insisted, “Twenty, and that’s it. That’s the honest final. No more than twenty.”
Rhys’s eyes widened, and Fiona felt herself stunned as well. The collector was legibly at his honest final price point, and she couldn’t believe he even raised it that high– that she even got it that high. Remaining composed, she let a second silence pass between them, then grinned. “Alright. You got yourself a new piece of jewelry.”
…
Time passed since then, when it finally rolled around to being officially one year since defeating the vault monster. Here’s what happened since:
The twenty million dollars was split four ways between Sasha, Vaughn, Rhys, and Fiona. It was fair to split it as they’d all earned it, seeing that they all worked together. They all set their money aside for the most part as it was a lot to have, but they also placed their money towards carving out their new journeys.
Sasha and Fiona were already financially stable from the vault loot, but the newly acquired wealth sealed the deal that they were more than taken care of. So Sasha decided to take off work at the bar with August, and the couple went to travel to other planets together. August was too attached to his bar after running it for so long to just simply shut it down, so the Purple Skag still operated with Tector’s two brothers as the couple’s substitutes, and Tector still being the bouncer.
Vaughn began to manage his cut towards investments for the Children of Helios. His accountant skills still came in handy as he easily knew where to put his numbers. Through networking with Rhys’s help, Vaughn planned to build small neighborhoods at the base where Helios crashed, wanting to support the quaint community he operated.
Rhys of course gradually utilized the money to continue advancing Atlas, funding technological and research opportunities, and Fiona bought some new gear to continue exploring and hunting vaults. At Athena and Janey’s wedding, Athena introduced Fiona to an exciting cast of vault hunters. Fiona continued her combat training with them, adventured through many new thrilling places with them, and life became busier and busier ever since.
—Now the new tale begins—
It was one late afternoon when Fiona came back to the caravan after a long week of chasing down another lead in the desert. No, she hadn’t left Pandora and resided elsewhere. As messed up as the planet was, it was the only sense of familiarity Fiona realized she had left. She tossed herself onto her bed, the one that’s the bottom of the bunk. Laying on her sore back, she groaned and shut her eyes. She was incredibly tired. Her whole body hurt and it was enough to convince her to skip showering, to just lay down and not move. She let her feet hang off the bed, too exhausted to take off her shoes. She knew she should take them off, though. She wanted to crawl further under the blankets.
She pried open her eyes, but before she sat up, she found herself staring at the underside of the top bunk. Fiona had taped photos chronicling many moments of her found family. There was the group photo at Athena and Janey’s wedding, all smiles except for August with his resting-August-face because he hated photos, but for Sasha, he tolerated it. Next was another photo from the wedding, specifically of Gortys wearing a flower crown as she gleefully held a basket of petals and Loaderbot beside her with a bowtie, being ring bearer. There were a few photos of their family game nights where the group would meet up in Scooter’s old garage– one depicted Janey laughing at an angry Athena throwing dice at the wall, another that showed Rhys pouting at a pile of plus-fours while Vaughn gave him bunny ears and grinned at the camera. A photo of Fiona winking at the camera during a game of poker, Sasha beside her chuckling from something August whispered in her ear. Photos when they got together to go camping, one where Gortys was proudly showing Rhys a cool stick she found, another where Vaughn happily showed off his survival skills by building the biggest campfire while Loaderbot, Janey, and Athena cautiously watched him.
Fiona frowned, feeling a weird emptiness settle in her chest. She missed them. Of course she missed her sister, Sasha. She missed Vaughn. She missed Gortys and Loaderbot and Athena and Janey. Strangely, she even missed August. But even more strangely… rather uncomfortably… well, um. Yeah– Okay fine, she missed Rhys.
Obviously, Fiona would never tell him that. She didn’t even like admitting to herself that. She’s not sure why it was weird for her to admit that to herself, but she very much cringed at the fact that she missed the guy at all. Yeah, they were friends, maybe even good friends, but he was Rhys. He was some dork she decided to work with for some time during the weirdest adventure of her life so far, and maybe even the weirdest adventure of her entire life. It started out with a failed con, then losing a ton of money to bandits and an explosive, then being paired to seek out the cutest robot who led them and their friends to a huge teleporting vault with a huge teleporting monster. After teaming up for something as wild as what they had, it would’ve been strange to not have some sense of closeness or fondness for him. Him and his annoying smirk, his horrible lack of upper body strength and funny pouty face and impressive knack at hacking. The dumb, ugly socks and the way he drooled when he passed out on the floor and when he leaned his head back on Fiona’s shoulder.
A part of her always got excited whenever the next family get together was planned, but that was totally because she just wanted to spend time with everyone else. It was absolutely not because it was the only time she’d get to hangout and catch up with Rhys. She didn’t care about him too much like that. It was fine. It wasn’t a big deal. She totally didn’t replay the moment he told her he was interested in someone else over and over and over since the moment happened. It had to have been someone he met while starting up Atlas again– not that Fiona spent a lot of her time speculating that. It had to be someone he probably met in his industry because she figured it surely wasn’t anyone else she had known during her time with Rhys. Which is fine because she didn’t care to know whoever the person was. Maybe she was a little curious at most, but she didn’t heavily care. If she thought too hard about it, maybe she just… wanted to know he would end up with someone who would look out for him. Hey, that’s something anyone would want for a friend. Yeah, that was all it was. She maybe cared about that, and that’s all there was to it. Yep…
Fiona sighed, rubbing her eyes. She finally took off her shoes, then buried her face in her pillow. She knew everyone was busy. She was too tired to chat with anyone even if they were free. However, as she drifted off to sleep, the ringing of an ECHO call snapped her eyes open. She reached to answer before she could even process her hand on the device, and blinked once she registered the name on the screen.
writer’s acknowledgments of credit where credit is due:
Firstly, you guys in the rhyiona community have all been so incredibly sweet and supportive!!! Thank you all so much for your wonderful words of encouragement– especially you, Rin!! Rin, Andaxy, AdmiralSweko, and Tamerofdarkstars are rhyiona writers that have inspired me to start writing fanfics for our favorite CEO and Vault Hunter, too. There were some hints in this chapter that I’ve been reading their stuff! Andaxy’s “Our Mutually Beneficial Partnership” (super great by the way especially if you want a lengthy fic of Rhys and Fiona schemes!) actually inspired the bit where Fiona ordered an expensive drink knowing it was on Rhys’s tab, and Tamerofdarkstar’s “Now Everyone Can See Me Burning” (also super great btw, check both stories out on ao3!) had the funny and spot-on idea of August being uncomfortable in a wedding photo. Anyways, I’m still new to doing this, so any feedback on however you take the writing is very much appreciated<3 Haha okay, till next time! Bye~
JK I'M NOT PUTTING WILMON THROUGH THAT, HERE'S SOME SAUGUST FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER:
“I can’t do it anymore,” Sara whispered.
Felice had forgiven her a while ago. When she went back to August, it hadn’t been... well, Felice hadn’t been thrilled about it, and no one else was either, but she’d forgiven Sara.
It was clear she had no idea what she was doing. There was no talking her out of it, and every damn time that man showed his true colors, Sara put on rose-tinted glasses and pretended she couldn’t see the cracks. It was maddening to watch. After a while, Felice gave up trying to show her the truth, stopped begging her to leave him. What was the point?
There were two simple options in her head: live without Sara, or stay and keep picking up the jagged shards of Sara’s breaking heart, over and over again.
And Felice couldn’t live without Sara.
This time, Felice didn’t give herself false hope. Sara would stay the night, pretend she was finally giving up on the shit show back home, and then go back the next morning with an excuse about how he would be “better” next time. He never was, and Felice had given up on saying “I told you so” ages ago — it only made the goodbye harder.
“What happened this time?” she asked instead, though she didn’t really want to know.
“He’s punching walls again,” Sara answered. Sometimes Felice wished she didn’t shrink herself when talking about it. August never made himself small, and certainly not for Sara’s sake. “It’s like he doesn’t know basic communication, and it’s like this every time we argue.”
And, yes, Felice knew that already. She knew this story by heart. Still, she’d sit, and she’d listen, and she’d let Sara crash on her couch. She always did.
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wtf is a word limit 💪😤
send me a number from my spotify wrapped and I'll write something
