#anyways hopes this means anything to anyone

[lupinqs]

THE TONIGHT SHOW ━━ paige bueckers x actress!reader

☆ ━ summary: a talk show, an after party, and far too much champagne leads paige bueckers straight to you.

☆ ━ word count: 9.5K

☆ ━ warnings: smut (scissoring, oral, fingering)

☆ ━ links: my masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: shameless timmy chalamet cameo because i love him…. anyways that pic with p and the champagne single-handedly revived my writing

THE DRESSING ROOM is loud, but in a muted way—voices murmuring over each other, flat irons hissing like snakes, the faint thump of bass through the walls as the Tonight Show band rehearses. You’re sitting in a high-backed chair, eyes half-lidded, a stylist brushing highlighter onto your cheekbone while someone else carefully curls the ends of your hair. You’re barely paying attention, letting yourself be fussed over like a human Barbie. You’re used to it by now.

Timothée’s sprawled on the little velvet couch behind you, legs hanging over the arm like a spider that’s given up. He’s buzzing, as usual, knee bouncing, fingers drumming against his thigh. You love him, but he never seems to run out of energy. You glance at him in the mirror as he tosses a piece of popcorn in the air and catches it with his mouth. Barely.

“Missed,” you mutter.

He gasps like you insulted his lineage. “Just untruthful.”

You grin, but your attention shifts. Something itches in your brain—some piece of information you forgot to check.

“What’s the lineup tonight?” you ask, voice pitched slightly above the hum around you.

The girl doing your hair, her name’s Rachel you think, nods absently as she wraps another section around the curling iron. “Rami Malek’s first, then you two. Oh, and I think Paige Bueckers has a little cameo. She’s crashing the monologue but doesn’t have an interview.”

Timothée sits up like he’s just heard his name. “Ohhh, because they won the natty, right?”

Rachel nods, unfazed. “Yeah. She’s just doing a little bit with Jimmy to start the show. Real quick thing.”

“Damn,” Timothée whistles low, like he’s genuinely impressed. “She a hooper, for real. I wanna meet her.”

You roll your eyes playfully but don’t say anything right away. Of course you know who Paige Bueckers is. Everyone does right now.

A few days ago, you watched her team win the national championship. You weren’t at home or anything sentimental—just curled up in your trailer between night shoots, a bowl of cereal in your lap and your assistant’s login for ESPN on your phone. But you’d watched her. The way she moved. The way she led.

You’re not a basketball diehard by any means, but the big stuff? You pay attention. And Paige is big. A name on the rise. A face that teenage girls across America are scribbling in the margins of their notebooks, reposting edits of on TikTok, screaming about like she’s Harry Styles during prime One Direction days. The girl’s got motion.

You don’t know what it is about her. Maybe it’s the way she smiles when she’s caught off guard or how she carries herself like she doesn’t care at all what anyone thinks. Or maybe it’s just the fact that she’s hot and tall and athletic and entirely too marketable.

Timothée tosses another piece of popcorn into his mouth. “What do you think she’s like?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes a little. Your co-star loves sports and Paige has been the biggest name in them this week. “I don’t know. Cool, probably.”

He nods along, chewing his popcorn. “Well, duh. She’s an athlete. They’re all cool.” (Case in point.)

You nod slowly, lips parting but not quite moving yet. You’ve been in rooms with world-famous people, with actors who have Oscars and musicians who have egos the size of planets. But there’s something about athletes—especially ones who just won something. There’s a heat to them, a freshness. Like they’re alive in a way everyone else is pretending to be.

“D’you think she’ll still be here after the show?” Timothée asks curiously. “Maybe at the after-thing?”

You hum, noncommittal.

But secretly, you hope so too.

Not that you’re planning anything. Not that it matters. You’re just curious.

That’s all.

And then—it’s time for rehearsal. Nothing new. You and Timothée are ushered through narrow hallways that smell faintly of hairspray and cold brew, past stagehands with headsets and clipboards. Jimmy’s warm-up guy gives you a quick wave. Someone hands you a printout with a few of the pre-cleared talking points: talk about the shoot in Italy, Timothée’s improv moment in the cafe scene, your character’s breakdown, funny story about the crying scene.

The usual fluff.

You barely glance at it. You and Timmy have done this song and dance enough times to know that the real magic happens when you ignore the cards and just talk.

Still, you sit side by side on the little couch in the green room, tossing lines back and forth as if you’re already on air.

“Okay,” Timmy says, clearing his throat in an exaggerated newscaster voice. “Tell me, what was it like doing another film where all you do is cry?”

You snort. “Life-changing. I mean, I think I’ve really got it down now. You, on the other hand…”

“Hey!” he clutches his chest dramatically. “I cried some beautiful tears.”

“Uh-huh.”

You’re both still laughing as the stage manager pokes her head in. “We’re about to get to your segment. Paige just finished her bit.”

At the mention of her name, something flickers in your chest—quick and sharp, like a spark. You don’t know why. You don’t even know her. You just saw her on TV a few days ago, limbs outstretched and screaming at the buzzer with the rest of her team swarming her like bees to honey.

Now she’s here, in the building. Probably just down the hall.

Timothée, of course, notices your shift. “You nervous?” he teases, nudging your shoulder.

You shake your head. “Nah.”

You don’t elaborate.

The rest of it happens fast.

They mic you up, fluff your hair one last time, and lead you through the wings toward the main stage. Jimmy’s voice floats through the air as he wraps up a bit with the band. The audience laughs, and the floor vibrates faintly with applause.

“Alright,” Jimmy grins, turning toward the camera. “Coming up next, two of my favorite people!” He calls your name and then Timothée’s, ushering you both onto the stage.

The applause swells like a wave. The music kicks in. You walk out with Timmy beside you, the lights hitting hard and hot, but you don’t flinch. You smile. You wave. You hug Jimmy and sit down on the couch, legs crossed, posture perfect. Timmy hams it up immediately, pointing at the crowd and then at you like, can you believe this woman? The audience eats it up.

It’s easy. Familiar. You talk about the movie. Timmy tells the story of how the gelato stand you filmed at got mobbed by fans. You talk about a scene that took eight takes because the wind kept flipping your hair into your mouth. Jimmy laughs too hard. The audience claps on cue.

And somewhere, offstage—maybe leaning against a wall or scrolling through her phone—Paige Bueckers is watching.

Maybe.

Not that it, like, matters.

PAIGE ISN’T USED to feeling like this.

She’s good with people. Always has been. Her dad used to say she could talk to a brick wall and get it to smile. She knows how to work a room, can flip the switch between lowkey and charismatic like it’s nothing. And normally, this kind of party would be her sweet spot—music pulsing, champagne in hand, famous people milling around.

But she’s been a little overwhelmed—and who can blame her? The last few days have been a whirlwind—interviews, flights, appearances, more interviews. Since the natty win, her world’s been spinning faster than usual, and not even her extroversion can keep up with the pace forever.

She’s grateful that Azzi and Kaitlyn are here with her. They’re posted up by the bar, all of them sipping champagne and trying to stay nonchalant, even though they just met Alicia Keys and Azzi legitimately had to walk away before she burst into tears.

“She said she watched the game,” Kaitlyn says, shaking her head in disbelief and swirling her glass.

“She said she loved my jumper,” Paige deadpans.

Paige lets the conversation blur around her, her eyes scanning the room over the rim of her glass. It’s crowded with beautiful, wildly successful people. She recognizes singers, actors, athletes. Everyone smells expensive and looks like they floated in from a campaign shoot.

Then she sees you.

You’re wearing a black dress that makes her blink twice. It clings in all the right places, dips a little lower than should be legal, and your hair is tucked behind one ear like you’re unaware of how gorgeous you look. Or maybe you are aware. Maybe that’s the point.

You’re deep in conversation with Kylie Jenner, who’s leaning in close, sipping on something pink and fizzy. Timothée Chalamet is perched beside you, laughing at something Kylie says, his hand tapping against her hip.

You look… perfect. Fuckable. Edible. Paige knows that it’s probably disrespectful to think of you like that when she’s never even spoken to you, but—damn—she can’t help herself.

Of course, she recognizes you instantly. She’s seen all your movies. Follows you on Instagram. Knows which photo you posted after the Venice premiere because she may or may not have saved it. She’s watched interviews you’ve done, including the one tonight with Jimmy Fallon and Timothée.

“You should go talk to her,” Azzi says beside her, like she’s been waiting for the moment Paige would finally catch up.

Paige startles slightly. “What?”

“You’ve been staring. Go rub your hands together and rizz her up or something,” Kaitlyn adds, laughing a little at the end. Azzi does, too.

“I haven’t—” Paige scoffs. “Fine, maybe a lil.”

Azzi nudges her with her elbow. “She’s right there. Just go say hi.”

“Yeah, because that won’t be weird. ‘Hi, I’m Paige, I’m a fan, please marry me.’” The blonde gives her best friend a look.

Kaitlyn grins. “You’ve said worse to girls you weren’t obsessed with.”

“I’m not obsessed with her.”

Azzi lifts a brow.

“… I’m just aware of her existence,” Paige mutters into her champagne.

She turns back toward you just in time to catch you laughing at something Kylie says. It’s a real laugh—head tilted back slightly, hand brushing your collarbone. You’re flushed with happiness or alcohol or both. Timothée leans toward you to whisper something in your ear, and you swat him away like a brother, grinning the whole time.

You look like a dream Paige isn’t sure she’s allowed to have.

Azzi nudges her again. “Go.”

“I’m waiting til she’s not surrounded.”

“She’s never not gonna be surrounded. That’s the point of people like her. They orbit.”

Paige sips her drink, hesitating. You glance up—just for a second—and Paige swears you catch her watching. Your gaze flits past, then back again, like you’re registering her face. There’s a pause, something unreadable in your expression, and then Kylie tugs at your wrist and you look away.

Paige exhales. She takes a sip of her champagne. She’s going to stay nonchalant. If she gets the opportunity to talk to you—later, maybe—then she will. But not right now.

Or, well, actually, maybe right now.

Because when she turns her head to look back at where you were previously standing, all she sees is Timothée Chalamet is walking toward the bar.

And you’re by his side.

You’re a few feet away, pausing just short of the counter to place a drink order. You laugh at something Timothée says, one hand resting loosely on the curve of your hip, the other reaching for a cocktail menu you probably won’t read. Paige’s eyes catch on the way your dress rides up just slightly as you lean forward, the way your hair falls over your shoulder, and it’s almost enough to knock the air out of her chest and send heat to her stomach.

She forces herself to look cool, calm. Like she belongs here. Like she’s not actively freaking out about the fact that the actress she might, sort of, maybe be lowkey obsessed with is now ten feet away ordering a drink.

And then it happens.

Timothée glances across the bar, eyes scanning lazily—until they land on her.

His whole face lights up. Like, visibly. Like they’re old friends or something.

“Yoooo! Paige!” he says, grinning, like he’s been waiting all night to spot her.

Paige blinks, actually looks behind her to make sure he means her.

“You’re Paige Bueckers, right?” he continues, already stepping closer. “Yo, I watched the championship game. You’re nasty. Ate them gamecocks up.”

Paige lets out a short laugh, genuinely caught off guard. “You watched?”

“‘Course I did, bro!” His grin widens, like it’s insane she didn’t believe. “I’ve been following y’all forever. Y’all are hoopers.”

Kaitlyn is already whispering to Azzi, probably something like what the hell is happening right now, but Paige tries not to pay attention to that. She holds her champagne glass a little tighter and nods coolly.

“Appreciate it, man. That means a lot,” she says, managing to keep her voice steady. “These are my teammates, Azzi and Kaitlyn.”

Paige watches as Timothée daps both of them up, his whole body buzzing—probably with champagne. “Nice to meet you guys. Love both your games, for real.”

And then Paige sees it—the way his eyes flick back to you as the bartender slides your drink across the counter. You’re turning to say thank you, lifting the glass to your lips. And then, without warning, Timothée reaches out, both hands grabbing onto your shoulders.

“Yo, you gotta meet someone,” he says, steering you gently but decisively in their direction. “Come here.”

You glance over, a little curious but not annoyed, your gaze settling on Paige and her friends as you approach. Paige straightens up slightly—not noticeably, she hopes—but she can already feel the warmth rising in her chest.

“This,” Timothée says, pulling you in beside him, “is Paige Bueckers. Bucketssss!” The way he drags out the second word leads Paige to believe he’s had one too many champagnes.

You smile easily, glossy lips pulling up at the corners. “Yeah, I know who she is.”

Paige feels her brain short-circuit for just a second.

Your voice is soft but certain, laced with that familiar confidence she’s seen in your interviews. And now it’s directed at her.

She nods, flashes a small grin. She hopes she seems chill. “Aye, good to know I’m not invisible.”

You laugh, and Paige swears the whole party sound dips out behind it. “Not even close.”

“This is Azzi and Kaitlyn,” Paige adds, gesturing toward her teammates, desperate to keep the conversation moving so she doesn’t drown in her own nerves.

You offer both of them a quick wave, clearly familiar enough with sports to know names, but you’re focused mostly on Paige now. And that’s dangerous.

Because up close, you’re even more stunning. Your dress dips just slightly in the front, and the shape of your cleavage makes Paige want to forget how to speak English. She reminds herself—she’s fine. She’s got game. She’s been in tougher spots than this.

But your eyes flick down her frame briefly—just a flash—and then back to her eyes. You tilt your head a little, smile. And she thinks, maybe she doesn’t.

“You played great in March, by the way. I saw that forty piece.”

Paige raises a brow, impressed. Her forty piece wasn’t in the natty or Final Four—it was in the Sweet Sixteen. So, maybe you weren’t just watching to watch. Maybe. “You watched that game?”

You shrug, taking another sip of your drink. “I dabble in excellence.”

Timothée lets out a loud drunken laugh beside you, “Dabble in excellence—I’m stealing that.”

Paige’s grin widens. “You can’t just dabble in March.”

“Guess I’m a committed fan, then,” you say casually, and God, you really don’t play fair.

Azzi catches Paige’s eye behind your back, giving her the most painfully obvious oh, you’re screwed face. Paige ignores her entirely.

“Well,” Paige says, lifting her glass toward yours, “cheers, then.”

You clink glasses with her, your fingers brushing against hers briefly. “Cheers.”

And it’s not flirty, not exactly—not yet. But there’s something in the way you’re looking at her now. A spark. An open door. Well, shit.

Paige doesn’t know where this is going, but suddenly she doesn’t care how tired she is or how long this week has been—because you’re standing in front of her in that damn dress, and you know her name, and your smile is enough to knock her off balance in the best possible way.

But, the thing about nights like this is that they never really slow down.

One minute, Paige is thinking she might actually be getting somewhere—that you might actually be into talking to her—and the next, someone who looks vaguely famous (blonde, sequined, expensive) is whisking you and Timothée away with a cheerful, “Come on, you have to meet—!”

You shoot Paige an apologetic little smile as you’re tugged off, mouthing something like sorry!, and then you’re gone. Just like that. The crush of bodies swallows you whole.

And Paige… is left standing there, still gripping her champagne glass like it might offer answers.

Azzi bumps her shoulder. “Paige,” she laughs.

“I’m calm,” Paige lies through her teeth, staring at the spot you were just standing in.

“Uh-huh,” Azzi nods, looking entirely unconvinced, biting her lip to fight another laugh from escaping.

Kaitlyn grins, too. “What’re you thinking?”

“I’m thinkin’,” Paige mutters, taking another sip, “that I shoulda said more.”

Azzi snorts. “Nah, you said enough. She was into it.”

Paige gives her a side-eye. “You think?”

“She smiled at you like this.” Azzi does a dramatic, slow-motion head tilt, batting her lashes.

“Stop.” Paige shoves her.

But… yeah, maybe she’s hoping her best friend is a little right about this one thing.

IT’S ALMOST AN HOUR before she sees you again.

In the meantime, she’s made rounds with Azzi and Kaitlyn, posed for some photos, took another flute of champagne, and then promptly lost track of them somewhere around a table filled with sliders and very fancy-looking truffle fries.

She heads to the bathroom just to get a breather, leaning against the marble counter and staring at herself in the mirror for a beat too long.

You’re fine, she tells herself. You’re not twelve. She’s just hot. And famous. And you’re…

She frowns. “Also hot. And famous,” she says out loud, trying to hype herself up. It doesn’t work. She’s never really cared about either of those things.

And, of course, the mirror—as expected—doesn’t respond.

She leaves the bathroom and steps back into the party, only to find that Azzi and Kaitlyn have fully vanished. Not just moved—vanished. Gone without a trace. It’s not that big of a room, but the lights are low, and the music is louder now, and she’s weaving through the crowd like she’s suddenly in a dream sequence.

Then—

“Your teammates ditch you?”

The voice comes from behind, low and familiar, and Paige freezes before she turns.

You.

You’re standing there holding an empty glass, still looking so fucking fine in that damn dress, your weight shifted to one hip and an amused tilt to your head like you might already know the effect you’re having on her.

Paige blinks once. “Uh…”

You stare.

She clears her throat, pulling herself together. “Yeah. Seems like they did.”

You nod, tapping the side of your glass. “It’s okay. I was ditched too.”

She laughs softly, eyes flicking down to the floor and then back to you. “Timothée ditched you?” She doesn’t add the fact that she thinks anyone ditching you might as well be a crime.

You shrug, scrunching your nose just slightly. “Yeah. He and Kylie left. They’re always escaping to go be nasty together.”

And Paige—

Paige blinks, because the first thought that enters her brain is: you and I can go be nasty together.

And the second thought is: Jesus Christ. What is wrong with me.

She manages to keep a straight face, nodding with a mix of mock solemnity and disgust. “Gross.”

“Very,” you agree, leaning a little closer. “But I guess that makes us the abandoned ones. Left to fend for ourselves in this sea of glitter and Botox.”

Paige chuckles. “Could be worse.”

You smile at her, a dimple popping out of your cheek. “Could definitely be worse.”

There’s a beat. A pause, but not an awkward one. The music swells in the background—some mellow pop remix of a song Paige doesn’t recognize—and your eyes haven’t left hers.

But then they do, glancing at her empty glass. “Out of champagne?”

She looks down like she didn’t realize it. “Apparently.”

You hold up yours, empty too. “Same. Let’s fix that?”

Paige nods, heart ticking up a notch. “Let’s.”

You both drift to the bar again, standing shoulder to shoulder while the bartender takes someone else’s overly complicated drink order. You lean in a little as you wait, not quite touching but close enough that Paige can smell the citrusy perfume on your neck.

“Sooo…” you say, dragging the word out, looking at her sideways and smirking a little. “You’re gon’ be the number one pick next week, yeah?”

Paige feels her face flush a little, blood rushing through her cheeks. The draft. Another thing that’s coming head-on. She’s excited. Grateful, of course. Just… also still a little overwhelmed. It’s okay; she’ll be ready come Monday.

She swallows, shrugging a little. “If that’s in God’s plan for me, then I guess so.”

Your eyes seem to soften a bit at that but before you can respond, the bartender finally turns to you both. Paige puts on her normal smile, ordering two more glasses and sliding her card across the counter before you can even reach for your handbag.

You arch a brow. “Really?”

“Mhm,” she hums, not elaborating. She leans against the bar, looks at you. She hopes she seems smoother than she feels.

Your lips twist into something almost flirtatious. “Fine. But only if I get to buy the next round.”

“You planning on stayin’ that long?”

You tilt your head, gaze sharp and playful. “I don’t know. You planning on making it worth my while?”

And there it is—Paige feels it hit her chest, the full-body flush of oh my God, this is happening.

She plays it cool. Leans in just a little. “I might.”

You hold her gaze for a moment. The drinks arrive. You both take a sip, and something simmers in the space between you.

“Okay then,” you say softly. “Show me what you’ve got, PB.”

THE DRINKS GO DOWN easily. Too easily, maybe.

Because—one minute, Paige is flirting with you at the bar, and the next, you’re both in the family restroom.

It’s a nice bathroom. Like, really nice. Too nice for what’s about to happen in it.

There’s a changing table, a comfy little chair in the corner, even a soft-glow light coming from behind the mirror. It smells like eucalyptus.

Paige watches as you push the lock in with a soft click. You move then, stepping right into her space.

She doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t even think.

Her mouth is on yours before either of you says a word.

It’s hot. Messy in the way champagne makes everything feel a little blurred and desperate. Paige’s hands find your waist, pulling you closer and pushing you until your back hits the edge of the sink. You’re kissing her like you’ve been waiting all night to, and Paige is still trying to keep her cool but—God, the way you taste, the way you’re tugging at the open collar of her flannel—it’s a lot.

Paige slips her tongue into your mouth, licking around, tasting. You make a low sound when she sucks lightly on your bottom lip and Paige feels it everywhere.

“Fuck,” you mumble and Paige manages to laugh a little, low and breathless, before tilting your chin up to kiss you deeper.

Paige’s head spins a little.

How did she even get here?

She’s in a family restroom. At a celebrity afterparty. With you. Famous, perfect, actress you, whose Instagram she’s stalked more times than she’ll ever admit. And now you’re as close as possible, your tongue tangled with hers.

This can’t even be real.

And yet—your mouth moves to her jaw, kissing along it in slow, maddening lines, and Paige grips the edge of the sink behind you because if she doesn’t hold onto something, she might just melt into the floor.

You murmur into her neck, “You good?”

She laughs quietly, shakes her head a little. “Yeah,” she mumbles, a little breathless. She reaches for your face again, adding, “C’mere,” pulling you back in.

She kisses you, harder this time, a little reckless. You taste like champagne and mistakes and her own disbelief. And strawberry lip gloss. The same strawberry lip gloss that she’s essentially sucked off.

Your fingers slip beneath the hem of her flannel, lightly tracing the skin above her waistband, and it makes her hips twitch forward before she can stop it. You feel it. Smirk into the kiss.

“Easy, Bueckers,” you tease, lips brushing hers.

Paige swears something explodes behind her ribs. Like a firework. Or a panic attack. Or both.

She groans, kissing you again—if she doesn’t keep doing it, she might lose her mind. Her hands move back to your waist, grabbing you, your dress wrinkling slightly beneath the grip of her palms. You kiss her deeper, mouth open and needy, teeth grazing the blonde’s lip.

Paige’s hands slide lower, palms skimming down the curve of your back, fingers trailing over the fabric of your dress until they land—firmly, confidently—on your ass. She gives a slow squeeze, exhaling lowly at the feeling. You make a soft sound, too, and it nearly sends her spiraling.

Paige feels you press closer to her, your leg nudging between hers slightly. Her pulse picks up like she’s got two seconds left on the shot clock and the ball’s in her hands.

Her hands palm at you again, trying to memorize the shape of you. At the feeling, you pull back just enough to speak, lips kiss-swollen and spit-slick, eyes a little glossy.

“D’you wanna leave?” you ask, voice low and slightly breathless.

Paige’s mouth instinctively moves to your jaw, kissing there, slow and a little greedy. She hums against your skin. “Where would we go?”

You tip your head back slightly, exposing your neck to her in a way that drives her insane. “Back to mine?”

And—fuck.

That snaps something within Paige.

She stills for a half-second. Not pulling away. Just taking a moment. Letting that sentence sit in the air between you two.

Back to yours.

You. Your apartment. You, a little tipsy and flushed and stunning and clearly just as into this as she is.

How in the hell?

This doesn’t happen to her. Sure, she’s fucked a good amount of girls on campus. Sure, she’s got a lot of fans that edit her. But this? You? The girl with the Oscar buzz and the actual fame and that little black dress that’s been driving her out of her mind all night?

All she can think is—thank God for that natty.

She kisses you again, deep and hungry and like that answers the question for her.

You smile into it, pulling back just slightly, lips grazing hers as you ask, “Yeah?”

And Paige—grinning now, breath uneven, hands still resting on your ass, fingers skimming the back of your thighs because your dress is so short—says against your mouth, “Oh, yeah.”

You laugh, and it’s giddy and bright and sounds like bells. Paige wants to hear it again.

But then you’re both moving. You smooth your dress, pulling it down a little, fixing your lipgloss in the mirror with a lazy swipe of your finger. Paige straightens her flannel and tightens her ponytail, trying not to look like she was just seconds away from doing something very vile in a public restroom.

You unlock the door. Step out first.

Paige follows, hand brushing the small of your back before she shoves it in her pocket, like if she doesn’t, she’ll touch you again in front of everyone.

You both re-enter the noise and chaos of the party like nothing happened. Paige sends a quick text to Azzi and Kaitlyn—wherever they are—telling them of where she’s going.

You catch her eye over your shoulder as you lead the way toward the exit. And Paige just follows—completely, hopelessly, happily gone.

YOU TAKE THE SUBWAY.

You could’ve called a car—should’ve, probably—but it just feels easier like this. It’s late, the platform is as quiet as it is all day, and there’s something a little funny about a famous actress and a famous basketball player going home on the subway following a celebrity afterparty. You half expect her to complain or hesitate, but she doesn’t. She stays right beside you the whole time. Close, like she needs to feel the heat from your skin.

You feel the same. It’s almost like your skin might catch fire if she gets any nearer.

You don’t talk much, just a few soft jokes between stations. Stuff like:

“Are the subways usually this dirty?”

“Paige.”

And:

“People are staring.”

“Yeah. At you.”

“Mm. Doubt it.”

“You’re holding the pole like it owes you money, Bueckers. You’re not exactly blending in.”

(Clearly, Paige is not a New Yorker.)

She laughs at that, quietly, and you watch her from the corner of your eye.

You didn’t plan this. At all.

When the girl doing your makeup mentioned Paige Bueckers would be popping into the Tonight Show monologue, you’d barely reacted. Just filled it away. You knew who she was, of course—who doesn’t, at this point? You’re not deep into basketball, more of a casual watcher, but she’s impossible to ignore. A little golden, a little unreal.

You definitely didn’t expect to be on your way home with her a few hours later.

But then Timmy geeked out. Saw her at the bar, dragged you to meet her. Said her name with this over-the-top awe as if he isn’t ten times more famous than her. You’d just laughed and let him, not thinking too much about it—until you got close.

And then, yeah, you understood.

She’s hot.

Like, obviously. She’s tall, strong, stupidly pretty in a way that seems both entirely effortless and at the same time a little intentional. Her posture alone—the confidence in her stature—made you straighten up, and you put on your best perfectly casual acting face for moments when you don’t feel quite as casual as you should.

But it wasn’t just her appearance.

She’s kind. That was clear right away. Not performative or trying too hard. Just nice. And funny, in a dry way. Quick with the side comments. Self-aware. And slightly, slightly nervous around you, which you can’t lie—you like. It’s endearing.

There’s this quiet little tension between you now. A hum under the surface. Every time your knees brush on the subway bench, you feel it spike. She keeps glancing at your legs like she’s trying not to, like she doesn’t realize you’ve already caught her twice.

You don’t say anything. You just sit there and let it build.

The ride doesn’t last long. Your stop comes faster than expected, and Paige follows you off the train without a word.

It’s chilly outside. The city’s quieter than usual, but not silent. It never is. You walk a block to your building, Paige’s steps in rhythm with yours, and when you glance over at her under the streetlight, she looks down and gives you a half-smile. It makes your chest tighten a little. Like something you didn’t know was there is trying to make itself known.

Inside your building, you greet the doorman, who gives you a knowing look that you ignore. Paige nods politely. She’s got that people-pleaser charm—you can tell.

The elevator is slow. Old. You both step in and the doors close with a soft thunk.

You hit the button for your floor. Then, the air shifts.

There’s a pause—quiet but heavy. The kind of silence that makes you feel the other person. Paige stands just a little too close. Not aggressively. Just… aware. The distance between you isn’t quite respectful. Her arm brushes yours, and neither of you move away.

You stare straight ahead, but your eyes flick sideways every few seconds. She’s doing the same. You can feel it. Like heat. Like static. The air between your bodies buzzes like it’s waiting for permission to break.

The elevator dings.

Your floor.

You step out. She follows. And this time, she’s close enough that you feel the warmth of her breath as she exhales.

You swallow and walk to your door, unlocking it quickly, gingers a little clumsy on the key. Your heartbeat’s in your ears now. Loud.

The door swings open, and you step aside to let her in.

Paige walks in slow. She glances around, taking in the space—it’s nice. You know it is. Acting—well, it makes good money. And your apartment is a reflection of that.

You let her look around, setting your keys down and toeing your shoes off. When you glance back up, she’s watching you.

Neither of you says anything.

You walk over to her slowly.

And Paige—still looking at you like she’s not quite sure how this is real—just stands there, letting you close the space between you.

Your fingers find the hem of her flannel, gently.

“You wanna stay a while?” you ask, voice quiet, casual.

She nods.

And this time, it’s her who kisses you.

Its immediate. The fire. The heat. The way her mouth meets yours like it’s something she’s been dying to do all night—maybe longer. Her lips are warm, soft but urgent, and you can barely keep up with the way she kisses you, like she’s been holding herself back and now there’s no reason to anymore.

You make a sound against her mouth, half gasp, half laugh, and she responds with a low hum, hands already gripping your hips like they’re the only thing keeping her tethered to the Earth.

Your fingers slide up to her shoulders, trying to steer, to hold, to anchor—but you’re barely steady yourself. The two of you stumble back a few steps, laughing breathlessly between kisses as she walks you toward the couch, bumping a wall, into the table, not even caring. Her hand is on your lower back, guiding you—no, pushing you—and you let her, let her press you into her, let her kiss you like she knows exactly what she wants and exactly where she wants it.

It’s messy. Hands moving with no direction, your bodies pressing into each other like you’ve already forgotten you’re in your own damn apartment. Her mouth moves from your lips to your neck for half a second and you feel your knees weaken a little. You bite your lip, grab her jaw, kiss her harder. It’s so much, too much—but not enough.

You gasp against her mouth, “Wait—bed,” and she pulls back, just a breath away, eyes wide and dark and already a little wild.

“Yeah,” she says, already reaching for your hand, letting you pull her because she’s not familiar with the space.

You thought maybe you’d end up… here. The couch. The floor. Whatever. But no—you make it to the bedroom, somehow. Still kissing, still giggling in these little gasps when you bump into furniture. Still fumbling. Still grabbing.

Once you’re there, you push her down onto the bed, your palms flat on her chest. She goes easily, grinning up at you as her back hits the mattress. She’s breathing hard. So are you.

You crawl into her lap, settling your thighs on either side of hers, letting her hands immediately go to your waist again—strong, sure now. Her fingers grip you tighter than before. She’s steadier. More confident. And it’s really fucking attractive.

You bend down and kiss her again, slower this time but just as deep, just as desperate. Her hands slide up your back, over your spine, under the hem of your dress, wandering. You don’t stop her. You don’t want to.

And God, the way she moves underneath you. The way she kisses you now—like she’s not nervous anymore. Like she’s got you, and she knows it.

Your lips trace down, slow and hungry, grazing her skin like you want to memorize every part of her. Her jaw. The curve of her throat. The warm spot just beneath her ear. You suck lightly at first, then a little harder when you feel her shift beneath you—when her grip tightens and her breath gets heavier.

She mutters something low and strained, a quiet “Christ,” that sends a pulse right through you.

Her hands slide under your tiny dress. You feel her fingers splay across the back of your thighs before moving your, gripping your ass in a way that’s both firm and reverent. Like she’s still shocked you’re even here, straddling her, touching her. You groan softly against her neck, sinking your teeth gently into her skin there before pulling back with a kiss.

Your focus shifts to her flannel. The sparkly thing that you think probably only she can pull off. You eye it, fingers fumbling a bit as you reach for the buttons. She doesn’t move to help you at first. Just keeps her hands right where they are, thumbs brushing slow, distracting circles as she watches you with this little smirk.

You finally get the last button undone and she shrugs it off, tossing it across the room. She’s left in a black Nike sports bra and cargos and somehow still looks like maybe the hottest person you’ve ever seen in your life—and, seriously, you’ve seen a lot of hot people.

Your hands run up her bare abs, firm beneath your palms, before she pulls you back down like she can’t go another second without your mouth on hers.

This kiss isn’t sweet or exploratory. It’s flat-out hungry. Like now she’s got permission to take her time and take her fill. Her hands are back on you again, sliding lower, gripping tighter, pulling you down into her until your whole body is flush with hers. You can feel the heat of her skin through the fabric between you, the tension that’s been simmering since the moment your eyes met hours ago now boiling over.

You grind into her without even thinking, and the way her breath stutters against your mouth makes your whole body buzz.

You chuckle, soft and breathless, pulling back just enough to look at her. Her lips are kiss-bitten, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide.

“Okay?” you whisper.

“Mm,” she hums before pulling you back into her quickly like she was offended you pulled away at all in the first place.

You respond immediately, tongue sliding against hers, teeth clashing. Her hands are everywhere. Your hips roll against hers instinctively, your breath catching every time her fingers dig into your skin or slide along your thighs. It’s hot and heavy and dizzying in the best way.

At some point, she pulls back just slightly, lips parted, gaze hungry. She looks down at the way your dress rides yo as you move against her and then back up at you like she’s barely holding it together.

“Can I take it off?” she asks, voice low, almost hoarse. Her hands pull at the fabric a little. “Needa see you.”

There’s this desperate kind of honesty in the way she says it that shoots straight through you. You not without even thinking, already helping her—grabbing at the hem of the dress, pulling it over your head, tossing it blindly across the room.

It lands somewhere near the door. Neither of you cares.

Now, you’re in nothing but your lacy black thong (thank God you decided to wear a sexy pair of underwear today, seriously), straddling her, skin flushed and warm and bare to her, and when Paige looks at you—really looks at you—she groans under her breath. Head falls back for a second like she needs to reset, eyes fluttering before they lock onto you again, darker than before, icy blue mixing with the black of her enlarged pupils.

“Shit,” she mutters, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs to your waist, then higher. “You’re—”

She doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t have to.

She pulls you down to her again, but this time her mouth doesn’t go to your lips. Instead, she kisses across your chest, slow at first, open-mouthed and warm. Her rough palms hold you firm against her, fingers splaying along the swell of your ass as her lips move down. And then her mouth closes around one of your nipples, sucking—lightly at first, just enough to make you twitch in surprise—and then again, a little harder, her breath hot where it fans out.

You exhale shakily, fingers fumbling with her hair tie before undoing it, letting her ponytail fall loose. She looks up at you for just a second, grinning like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.

And she keeps kissing across your chest and tits, mouth open and warm and purposeful. Her lips drag over the swell of you, her tongue flicking occasionally at your nipples like she’s trying to memorize the way you taste, the way you react. And you do react—your back arches, your hands tighten in her hair, and your hips roll forward against her without even thinking about it.

She hums in response, low and satisfied. The sound vibrates against your skin. Her fingers tighten at your waist, holding you in place, guiding your rhythm.

“Fuck,” she murmurs against you. “Don’t stop doin’ that.”

You don’t.

You move against her with a little more purpose, the friction sending a slow burn through your body. Her hands are hot and strong where they grip you, and her mouth doesn’t let up. She kisses over the curve of one of your tits, up to your collarbone, then back down, her breath shaky now too. She’s unraveling under you, even if she’s trying not to show it.

But you’re unraveling, too. Fast.

You let her mouth linger a little longer, let yourself feel every second of it—and then you’re tugging away from her, chest rising and falling a little too fast. Her eyes flick open, meeting yours, a silent question in them.

“I need…” you trail off, already reaching down.

She gets it. She shifts under you, lifting her hips as you start pulling at her cargo pants. She helps, fumbling a little in the rush to get them off, and her boxers come with—unintentional, but neither of you is complaining.

Paige leans up, kissing you again—a little slower now, a little more sensual. Tongues sliding and tangling languidly. There’s a kind of reverence in it now, like she’s savoring. You’re straddling her still, one knee braced beside her bare thigh, your chest still flushed and wet from her mouth, your breathing uneven. Her hands are at your hips, fingers flexing like she can’t decide whether to hold on tighter or let herself get lost in the feel of you completely.

Her fingers drift along, ghosting along the hem of your thong. She pauses, just barely.

“Can I?” she asks lowly. It’s respectful; you like that.

You nod, already leaning in. “Yeah,” you say softly. “Yeah, Paige.”

She kisses you once more—quick, urgent—before sliding her hands down, easing your underwear over your hips, your thighs. You lift just enough to help her, and she works them off completely, tossing them to join the growing pile of clothes somewhere on the floor.

And then she pulls you down again. Fully. Flush against her.

You gasp quietly at the contact, your bare cunt pressed to hers, the heat and slick between you unmistakable now.

Paige groans quietly, head dropping to your shoulder, arms wrapping tight around your waist as she holds you to her. Her hands splay wide across your lower back, like she needs to ground herself in the feeling of you there. Her lips brush against the curve of your neck, and you feel her smile just barely.

“Fuck, ma, you’re killin’ me here,” she mumbles into your skin.

You laugh, breathless. “Pretty sure you started it.”

Her hand drifts lower, palming your ass, her mouth now back on your jaw. “And I’mma finish it.”

Her words send a jolt through your stomach. And then she’s shifting beneath you, hips twitching up against yours, your slick clits bumping. Her palms guide you, moving you against her with slow, grinding pressure.

It’s instinct more than choreography. Your bodies find the rhythm together, messy and hot and overwhelming.

You let out a sound—something caught between a sigh and a moan—and she tightens her grip like she’s trying to draw more out of you. Her eyes are glazed over, locked on yours, and there’s a kind of quiet desperation in them that makes you grind down against her harder.

“Fuck, that—” you gasp a little as she shifts her angle, her pussy hitting yours just right. “Right there, Paige—”

She groans, pulling you down so your forehead is resting against hers, your lips brushing. You can feel her breath against your mouth, fast and shallow. You can hear the slick, vile sounds of your wetness against hers filling the room.

“Keep going,” she mumbles. “You feel so good, just—don’t stop.”

You nod, can’t even form a real answer, just roll your hips against her again, and again, chasing the way her body feels under yours, the way her mouth keeps finding your throat, your jaw, your shoulder. Her skin is slick with sweat, her hair dampening, sticking to her forehead.

You’re both panting heavily now, bodies moving in sync, heat building between you like it’s alive. The room spins a little around the edges, your heart pounding so loud it feels like the only thing you can hear besides Paige’s voice, the occasional moan, and the rustle of sheets.

She grips your waist and rocks up into you, and the pressure makes your vision blur.

“Shit,” you breathe.

Paige laughs under her breath, low and ragged. “Mm. I—I know.”

Everything begins to sharpen around you and you lean in, kissing Paige as hard as you can—teeth clashing, mouths open and desperate. Every roll of your hips, every sound that escapes either of your lips, every gasp and half-muttered name. Her hands hold you so tight you think she might leave bruises—you don’t care. Your cunts are warm and wet and swollen, sliding messily enough to get each other’s arousal on both of your thighs.

It builds fast. Hot and tight in your chest, in your stomach, in the way you’re grinding against her now—faster, harder, needing more, needing her. She’s right there with you, her mouth pressed to the side of your neck, her voice rough and muffled against your skin.

“God, you’re—” she chokes out, breath stuttering. “You feel—shit, I’mma—”

“Paige,” you mewl.

She nods, biting at your throat a little.

That’s all it takes.

Everything inside you snaps. White heat floods your senses and you fall into it, trembling and moaning against the blonde, your whole body shuddering as you come, pressed tight against her. Paige follows right after, hips stuttering, arms wrapped tight around your waist as she falls apart with you.

You collapse against her—completely boneless, your cheek pressed to the curve of her shoulder. Paige’s arms stay around you, her chest rising and falling in sharp bursts against yours, skin slick with sweat.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. You just breathe. Skin damp, thighs sticky. Hair in your face. Her heartbeat thudding loud under your ear.

Then she rolls, gently shifting you onto your back and settling between your legs again. Her body rests over yours, her nose nudging your jaw before she starts trailing wet kisses along your neck and shoulder.

You hum at the feeling, the pads of your fingers trailing down the side of her arm. “Feels good,” you murmur lazily, eyes half shut.

Paige chuckles against your skin, lips brushing just beneath your jaw. “Yeah?”

You nod slowly, watching as she lifts her head just enough to smirk at you, her eyes heavy-lidded and bright. Then, without breaking eye contact, her hand moves lower—slow, easy. You don’t even realize where it’s going until you feel it between your thighs, her fingers sliding between your slick folds, pressing lightly against your sensitive clit, confident and sure.

Your breath catches.

Paige leans up, her mouth just by your ear. “Can you gimme another?”

You blink at the ceiling for a second, trying to form a coherent thought. She was nervous before, you could tell, and now she’s so damn sure. You turn your head to see her. Her expression is intense—she looks almost like she would devour you if she could. Her fingers stay resting on your clit, unmoving with the slightest bit of pressure. The touch alone makes your skin feel like it’s buzzing.

You swallow. “Mhm. Yeah,” you stumble out.

Paige’s mouth curls into a grin, something between cocky and sweet. “Good girl.”

And then her fingers finally move. She circles your clit—once, twice, three times. Your thighs twitch some, still sensitive from before. Paige reaches down after that, sliding her middle finger inside you. She gives you a moment to adjust before adding a second digit in.

You try to keep it together—you really do—but the way her fingers move in and out, slow and certain, curling just when you need her to… she knows exactly what she’s doing. Her blue eyes flick between where her fingers thrust inside you, covered in your slick, and your face. Her lips are parted, chest rising and falling with the same shallow rhythm as yours. It’s hot in here. You’re sweating. You’re both still breathless, still recovering and already going again.

Your hand tightens your grip on Paige’s bicep as she moves her fingers just a little deeper, her wrist flexing with intention. Your hips twitch up in response, and you catch her smirk as she glances up at you—flushed cheeks, messy blonde hair, a cocky look in her eyes that should be illegal.

“Oh, my God,” you mumble, breath hitching.

She grins, biting her lip as her gaze stays locked on the way your cunt swallows her digits. It’s seems to do something to her because then—quietly, mostly to herself—she murmurs, “Fuck, I gotta taste you.”

You think your breath may stop entirely.

She shifts downward, pressing kisses across your stomach as she goes—soft, almost worshipping. Her fingers never stop moving, scissoring inside you, making it even harder for your lungs to function, and her mouth follows the trail of heat between your thighs.

Her tongue flicks out, swiping between your folds. You shudder at the feeling. Simultaneously, her fingers keep working you open, skilled, like she’s mapping out every reaction she gets. The combination of both is almost too much. You can’t help it—you grip at her hair, threading your fingers through the soft strands and tugging when she does something particularly good—which is often.

And she notices. Of course she does.

Paige hums against you, just enough vibration to make your thighs tremble. Then she glances up at you—barely, eyes hooded, teasing. “Don’t tap out on me yet, ma.”

Your eyes roll back at the nickname and the feeling of her fingers hitting that spongy spot inside you. You let out a breath that’s half a laugh, half a moan. “I—I’m not,” you say, trying to convince both her and yourself.

Her grin flashes, all pride and playfulness, before she dives back in—lips slick, tongue slow and focused. Her mouth wraps around your clit and sucks deliberately while her fingers curl inside you just right. You feel yourself fall deeper into it, into her, one hand pressing to the back of Paige’s head like you don’t want her to go anywhere.

You don’t. You really, really don’t.

She speeds up just a little, coaxing another sound from you, and your hips lift off the bed involuntarily. “God, I—”

That earns you another smirk against your skin, and she doesn’t stop. She’s locked in—and she’s not letting up until she gets everything she wants.

So, she keeps going.

Even when your hips stutter and your lungs stumble. Even when your hands slip from her hair to the pillow, fingers flexing and grasping at anything to hold you down. Even when you whimper something that barely sounds like her name.

Paige doesn’t stop.

Her mouth is certain, her tongue sliding through your folds, up and down across your clit. You feel like you’re melting into the mattress, boneless, trembling, completely at her mercy. Her fingers never lose rhythm, continuing their thrusts, and you vaguely wonder if her hand is cramping yet.

At one point, you hear her murmur something against your cunt, too muffled to catch.

“What?” you gasp, barely managing the word.

She lifts her head slightly, lips shining, and says, “Said you taste really fuckin’ good. Can’t get enough of you.”

And then her mouth is right back on you, her head shaking back and forth as her tongue follows the movement across your swollen clit. You make a sound that isn’t even close to human. It’s almost too much. The way she licks into you with purpose, the way her hand holds your thigh down like you might actually float away, the way her fingers keep coaxing more out of you like it’s her only mission.

“You’re—Paige, fuck, you’re…” You can’t even finish the thought. Can’t form words. Cant think straight. And she loves it. You can tell in the way she groans lowly into you, like you’re the best meal she’s ever had, like she’s the one getting off.

It’s so good. It’s too good.

Her fingers start pumping harder and faster, a white ring forming around them. Paige is unrelenting; she can probably tell that the coil deep in your belly is preparing to snap. She wraps her lips around your bud again, sucking and sucking and sucking.

“Paige—” you gasp, voice breaking. “I—shit—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” she murmurs, low and husky against you. “C’mon, mama, I gotchu.”

She thrusts again. She lays her tongue flat, shaking it.

That does it.

Everything tightens, your whole body curling in on itself for one suspended second—before it all shatters. You cry out, hips stuttering, thighs shaking as the orgasm rips through you like a wave, overwhelming and all-consuming. You can’t even think. All you can do is feel. Her. Her mouth. Her fingers. Her voice.

She works you through it, gentle now, easing you down. Only when you’re twitching and completely spent does she finally pull away.

You’re panting. Drenched in sweat. Barely coherent.

And Paige looks… completely wrecked in the best way. Her lips are swollen and pink, her cheeks bright red, her fingers slick. She licks them slowly, not breaking eye contact, cleaning the cum off.

“Good Lord—taste unreal,” she mutters, voice rough. Then, she leans down, kissing the inside of your thigh before crawling back up your body, lazy and satisfied.

When she finally teaches your face, she’s grinning. She kisses you softly, almost sweetly now, brushing her nose against yours as she whispers, “Told you I needed that.”

You shake your head, smiling a little in disbelief, letting her peck your lips one more time before laying on you. Paige is warm and a little damp with sweat, her breathing now steady. You run your fingers lazily along the slope of her shoulder, and she hums a little at the touch, face buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

For a while, it’s silent. You’re not sure if it’s too late or too early, only that the city outside your window sounds far away.

Paige traces circles on your side with thumb. Slow, soft. Barely there.

“Hey,” you say eventually, voice a little raspy.

“Mmm?”

You glance down, and she shifts just enough to look at you. Her eyes have gone a little sleepy—she looks pretty like this. You think she probably looks pretty all the time, though.

“So, like… Dallas, right?” you ask hesitantly, bringing up the WNBA draft on Monday.

She pauses, and you feel her thumb stop its movement. “I mean, yeah,” she says eventually, her voice quiet, almost careful. It’s not set in stone—but everyone knows. She’s going to Texas.

You nod, stare at the ceiling for a second. You’re not sure if you should say what you’re thinking. You just met her tonight. But… fuck, she was good. And she’s hot. And she’s nice. And she’s funny. And—what’s the harm? “I’m filming a movie there all summer.”

There’s a beat of silence. And then you glance down at her and you watch as she stares at you for a long moment before her lips begin to curl up in the softest, most dangerous smile.

And, oh yeah—you already know. You’re both so screwed.

[no1blacksapphirefan]

In your self aware crk au, what if the player didn't log in for a week or two? Like, usually they're there every day for the log in bonuses and stuff but they're missing. Maybe their phone broke/ lost it or they were really sick or something. Would our beloved beasts and ancients (+ black sapphire if you want) freak out?

I like the way you think >:) Before I came back I did wonder, if the cookies were aware, I wonder how they feel about me constantly dipping back in and out of the game. (I'm here to stay this time!!...hopefully...if my phone storage lets me)

Pure Vanilla He's worried :(( He isn't sure what happened but not seeing your face for nearly 2 weeks now worries him a lot. Did you...loose interest? He understands and he can't be too mad if you didn't know that they're aware. He can't help but feel done as he patiently waits for your (hopefully) return.

And when you do? He nearly breaks character, running up to where your screen is pointed at and waving happily. Nearly telling you welcome back. He quickly switches to once of his automatic voicelines and prays you didn't notice the slip up. He's so happy to see you, if you were sick and that's why you weren't playing? He makes sure to (try) and send you good blessings through the screen, he may not be able to heal through he screen but he can try in another way.

Dark Cacao He won't admit it to anyone, but your disappearance makes him upset. He's gotten so used to you after all. He doesn't exactly like the thought of you going missing even if...sure technically you're probably not. His mind goes to the worst case scenario. Caramel Arrow Cookie has to try and calm him down until you return.

Upon seeing your face again, he instantly feels a wave of relief crash over him. What's that? You just broke your phone when you accidentally dropped it down the stairs?...Now he feels embarrassed on what he thought had happened, but hey!! He was just really worried about you okay...

HollyBerry She waits patiently, she knows you'll come back!!...Right? If you're go for more then say, 2 weeks then she'll get scared. You will come back right? She knows you technically didn't promise anything (Joke or not) and you aren't...obligated to come back but...she's starting to miss you!! She loved hearing you laugh.

When you finally come back she's so happy, quickly waving to you, when the screen goes to her. She'd knew you'd come back!! There's no way you'd get bored of them, she can sense how much you love them after all!

Golden Cheese She didn't notice it at first, well...she noticed the silence but she knew when you get upset, sometimes you'd be more quiet. Eventually she realises...it's a bit too quiet. And that's when sh realises you've been gone. Wait, don't leave her too!! Well, she knows you're not gone gone but. She can't help but pace back and forth, hoping to see your face again She silently begs you to come back.

When you do she lets out the biggest sigh of relief ever. She tries her hardest in Arena (And arcade arena if it's there + she's allowed to fight) for you. As a sort of, welcome back kind of thing. Oh she misses seeing that smile of yours.

White Lily Wait what? You're gone? Okay you're not gone gone but...what happened?...Did you...finally get annoyed by her? Has her actions eventually annoyed you enough to make you leave? She shakes her head, and tells herself that if you did leave, it wouldn't be because of her...surely...you've shown her how much you cared about her after all.

She nearly lets out a noise of pure delight as you come back, she's so happy and relieved to see you again after so long. Sure it wasn't years but it's still been a while!! Plus it felt like forever to her...she can't help but smile in her cookie menu and your kingdom for a few days.

Mystic Flour She's the Light of Apathy. You'd think she'd care? That's what she told herself and others anyways. That your sudden disappearance didn't mean anything to her. You could be gone for years and she wouldn't feel anything. That's what she said and that's what she believed...she did feel strange though, but that was probably nothing.

She was quickly proven wrong when she realised seeing you again after 2 weeks made her feel a sense of joy in her chest...what's this? She swears she didn't care you were gone...but seeing you again with your smile, hearing your laugh again...it proved her wrong...she really did care about you being gone...huh, you make her feel the strangest things you know.

Burning Spice He become a bit more...how do I put this, tense, angsty. Not even Nutmeg Tiger Cookie could calm her master down as he constantly hit his axe against the rock each day you've been gone. Where have you even gone?? Arg, he's gonna run out of rocks to destroy at this poin- wait you're back?

He's quick to throw his axe to the side and greet you happily, he couldn't care for playing along right now. Right now you have his attention and he hopes he has yours as well. Take him back to the Arena yeah? He's gonna take the rest of his rage out by destroying these cookies for you. Just for you!!

Shadow Milk He's been trying to cope by writing script after script after script. He has a feeling that you just can't play right now, or atleast he wants to believe that...he has yet to be proven right with your return...he's so worried, he hopes the reason you're not playing isn't because you got hurt...oh if it is, he hopes no one hurt you...he isn't scared to teach the other person a lesson if that's the case.

His worries washes away as he sees you return, happily taking advantage of the fact he "can break the 4th wall" without trouble. Giving you nearly a whole dramatic speech about oh how lonely you've made him feel, how much he missed you and how you shouldn't leave him alone like this again. He hides it all behind a giggle but...he does mean some of the words he's said in his speech.

Black Sapphire At first he brushes it off, even using you being gone as something to get more viewers to listen into his radio show...but after awhile, seeing that you're still gone. He gets more upset and worried, almost cancelling his usual radio shows until you came back. While he doesn't in the end up, it's not as well done as it was previously, listeners can tell your disappearance is upsetting him.

When you eventually do come back, his mood quickly shifts and he becomes happy again. His mic keeping an eye on you, seeing if it can spot the exact reason why you disappeared. He almost never leaves your screens field of view, waving at you any chance he gets, just to subtly tell himself it is you there. His radio shows go back to normal after that with the usual charm in his voice.

[starly-amazing]

Cover art by @khorrorshow as a donation commission for Palestine. Commission him or his team here!

A Star From the Multiverse - Ch 4 is OUT!

Fic summary: Siffrin wakes up in the field South of Dormont... after beating the King. After WINNING. He should be celebrating their victory with his friends atop the house! They won! So WHY!? They drag themself through the day and to the Favor Tree in the dead of night. He calls out—wishes—for help and the Universe listens... by dropping an entirely alien creature with fangs and feathers and talons right at his feet.

Chapter summary: Wuh oh! Turns out Loop isn't quite as helpful as Siffrin had dared to hope. It's fine though! It's fine!!!

Rating: Mature (eventually) Graphic depictions of violence & all the canon-typical warnings.

[Read on Ao3]

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

You

forgot

the rock trap!

YOU FORGOT THE ROCK TRAP!

IDIOT!

STUPID! STUPID!!!

THAT'S THE FIRST TRAP! HOW DID YOU FORGET THAT?

'THIS IS THE LAST LOOP' HUH?

THE LAST LOOP!

NOT GONNA DIE AGAIN, RIGHT?

HAHAHAHA

HAHAH AHHAHAHA HAHA HAHHAHHA HAHAH

OH THIS IS SO FUNNY! I HOPE THE AUDIENCE IS LAUGHING!

...

Because I'm not.

Siffrin wants to shrivel up and die right there. Just die die die and die again. Die and not come back.

If they can't even get past the first trap, how are they supposed to even beat the King again, let alone figure out what's really causing the loops?

They hear light footsteps and swishing grass and, as if being pulled up by puppet strings, they rise and stretch their smile back on.

Okay, well. The curtains open once more; they won't wait for you! Put your smile back on ‘stardust’ and don't make anyone suspicious this time!

Right on time, Mirabelle arrives to chastise them for napping. They smile and nod, smile and nod, and soon enough, she's on her way. Their eye was too unfocused to even tell if she was fooled by their act.

Not like it matters, anyway, he'll be dead in a day anyway.

But they'll have to put on the act once more, and then again and again and again until the end of time!

Stars.

They start to head to town, but a tug at the back of their mind has them turning back around and staring into the trees.

Oh right. Loop.

They push their way into the thicket and scan for any signs of the rukemi.

"Loop?" they call out to the boulder next to the suspiciously quivering foliage. "I'm going to the Favor Tree. I'll talk to you there, I guess."

Why there, anyway? There's no reason you have to go there.

...

Big tree nice.

They shrug, shake the leaden feeling from their limbs--or at least try--and trudge through the meadow.

Happy face. Happy face! Let's go Siffrin!

They pat their cheeks and shake their head to knock some of the despair away. Or, rather, to hide it better.

Mirabelle's second conversation went well, for the most part. She looked at them with a raised eyebrow and a quirk of the head a few times, but if she suspected anything, she said nothing.

Success! Just fit right back into that role!

...

Isabeau time.

" Tree-mendous tree! " they smirk and watch as he barks out his normal (normal!) laugh. He raises his hand toward Siffrin, stops, then lets it fall to his side.

Siffrin blinks. Did that happen before?

They can't take their mind off that gesture as they script their way through the rest of the conversation. It has been a while, after all, besides the complete fumble of the last loop.

He gives a small wave as Isabeau walks off, stopping at the treeline to give him a questioning look before leaving.

Weird. Well whatever, you probably still look like shit.

Shit?

Loop's swear popped into their mind so naturally. They don't even know what it means yet; maybe it isn't even a swear!

Sure sounds like one though. It has that zest only the good swears have.

He shrugs and moves on.

The Favor Tree looms over them, guarding a little patch of night under its million leaves. He inches forward and calls out.

"Loop?"

They look up into the branches to see the rukemi flattened against the same branch from last loop. They peer at him, tilting their head with their ears and long feathers fanned up and out. Like they're studying him, like they're deciding if he's a friend or a meal.

They don't respond. Just stare.

With a deep breath, Siffrin hauls themself up to their branch and plops down. They don't make eye contact for a moment, already suspecting some sort of quip for looping back so soon.

"So...Stardust?"

They groan. "I know, I know, I said that was the last loop and then messed it up."

"Hahah, yeah I uh..." They scratch the back of their head right under their long, fluffy feathers. "I suppose I should know what you're talking about?"

Siffrin's blood runs cold. "What? What!? What do you mean? You don't remember last ni--loop? ANYTHING?"

"I--" their gaze follows a dry leaf as it flutters down through the air, hitting and nearly sticking on branches on the way. "I think? Some things? You def--"

"Like what!?" He leans dangerously close to the edge of the branch.

Loop flinches. "Well, um. You're trying to kill a King?" they say with a huff and a flick of their tail.

A twisting feeling in their chest falls. "...Is that all?"

"No. Something about...hmm..." They bring their claw, no longer cracked, to their mouth and bite down once again. They speak in a low rumble. "No, that's impossible, but..."

"Yes!?"

"Time...loops? That's what you meant, right?"

Siffrin nods so aggressively their hat nearly falls off. "Yes! I told you about it and everything! And you don't remember?"

Loop lowers their head against their shoulders, as if trying to hide in their feathers. "Time loops, tyrannical king--now isn't that redundant?--he/they, stuck for a while, forgotten a lot since you've been trapped, I think, something about mangoes...oh right you told me quite a lot of personal details I don't think were relevant to anything, didn't you?"

Siffrin bites their lip. "Was relevant to me," they mumble.

Loop tilts their head. "Erm, well, we can unpack that another time." They put their claws together in the shape of a diamond.

"...Is that all?"

They make a swirling gesture in the air. "Bits and pieces of things. But, yes." Their feathers settle. "That's about it."

Siffrin sighs. They close their eye and press their face into their hands. Gravity pulls at them harder and harder, making them sink into themself. If the branch he's sitting on shatters and he crashes to the ground in a pile of meat, he wouldn't even be surprised.

Heh.

Ground meat.

But the branch holds firm, and he's faced with the fact that it's only his mind pulling him down.

"Stardust?"

Siffrin grunts. At least they remember that .

Okay. Okay, no this is fine. They're only mostly unhelpful! They remember more than your friends, at least! We can still figure things out!

Digging his palms into his face, he takes a deep breath and faces the rukemi. "We're here to kill the King who's been freezing everyone in time and--" they inhale again and push on. They repeat much of what they said the night before, slowly, painfully, already writing the script in their mind, they plan on telling Loop every single time from then on...

A flash of a buried memory flits across their mind, and they perk up slightly.

Oh right, at least there's that.

They divert the topic and dig through the mire for more and more, picking up speed until there's an edge of desperation to their voice.

More campfire meals. Finding an orb (which one, which one!?). Isabeau's strong hand stopping him from walking straight into a trap he so stupidly missed. Tending to Mirabelle's hair after the river mishap. Losing a drunken arm wrestling match to Odile. Losing a sober arm wrestling match to Bonnie.

Loop listens, just like the night before, head tilting side to side, occasionally having their attention stolen by a fluttering leaf or the gentle piou piou of a songbird.

After Siffrin's words peter off once again, they massage their throat and press their face into the cool, rough bark of the tree.

"Well." Loop stretches out, careful not to tumble out of the tree or snap the branch. "You certainly gave me a lot of information... Again."

"Please remember it this time," they murmur, dejected, hollow.

"Ehh. No promises."

Siffrin can only groan.

"But I certainly can try!" They give him a soft smile with their eye.

"Why can't you remember it all? Why is it only me?"

Why me why only me why why why?

"How would I know?" They give an exaggerated shrug. "Maybe you're infecting me with your memory problems."

"How would I even do that?"

They snort. "Well, we've already established time loops are a thing, so infectious amnesia doesn't seem quite so far-fetched anymore." They flick a leaf off their haunch with their tail. "Also, that was a joke."

Siffrin grumbles and knocks their head against the trunk. "Ugh, some help this is. The Universe is just toying with me at this point."

"I'm sorry ?" They raised their brow.

"I found you because the branch broke and you fell out of the tree."

Loop sinks their head into their shoulders. "Eghh, stars, that's unfortunately one of the things I do remember. What of it?"

"If the Universe did that--if it sent you to help , then this is just some sort of sick cosmic joke."

Just like me.

"Okay, first of all, rude. Secondly, the Universe doesn't work like that. It doesn't care about us. It just is. "

Siffrin presses his forehead to the bark. “Ugh, it’s not like any of that is real anyway." He lets out another long-suffering sigh.

"Are you even listening to me?" Loop's ears twitch. “Ehh, we’re getting off-topic anyway.”

Siffrin sniffs and shifts their head to look at them again. The bark scratches at their face and pulls at their hair.

“You still in there, stardust?”

They grunt.

"Okay, good enough," they shrug. "Anyway, I'm assuming you have not defeated the King again.”

"No." He knocks his cheek against the tree.

"Okay, well, did you try the thing I suggested? The er...poison?"

They grimace. "...No."

"And why not?"

Siffrin grits their teeth. "Didn't make it that far."

"Oo, that would mean you died, correct?"

They scrunch their nose and nod.

"Well, try not doing that again!"

He scowls and is only met with a twitch of Loop's ear.

"Well, anyway, now that you're not quite so...er...last night... Maybe we can put our heads together again and think of something else. What did your party do when you talked to them about it, again?"

"I haven't told them. I can 't tell them."

"Right. And you haven't told them once...why?"

“I told you why."

Loop squeezes their eye shut and exhales. "Something about not wanting to hurt them. A ridiculous reason in my humble opinion, but it seems like you're not budging on that." They clap their hands together and turn their eye upward in a smile. "Well! We'll just have to do this in a more roundabout way, then! Maybe there's somewhere you can do more research? You all have libraries here, right?"

They raise an eyebrow at Loop. Duh .

"Mhm. There's one in town and in the House."

"There you go! A new goal to strive for."

"Ehh, I'll check it, I guess."

How many more loops will it take to even find something useful? There's so many books in the House, and you can't even go into most of them.

"Great! Let's make a list of what we need to figure out. First order of business is to find an easier way to kill the King."

Siffrin presses themself even harder into the bark. "Don't even know if I can , I've tried thousands of times and only managed that one time. What if it was a fluke? What if Mira's not able to deal the final blow next time? What if there's never a 'next time'? What if I can't replicate what I did last time and have to fight him another thousand times?"

...

They scream into their hands.

"I can't do that. I can't keep doing this."

Loop's wings droop. "Well, that's what the research and experimenting is for, stardust. Finding another way." Their voice is gentle, soft like their feathers seem to be.

Siffrin's eye focuses on Loop's talons and how they so easily carve through the bark on the tree. An image flashes in their mind of them carving them into the King's throat--of their fangs slicing through all the weak points in his armor as he thrashes around and paints the room in his blood.

He thinks about Loop's jaws around his own throat--

"Can you help us?" The words tumble out of their lips on their own.

Stupid. Why are you asking this?

"Huh? I mean, I already am?" They flick their tail. "Well, trying, at least."

How are you going to explain to your friends? Are you that desperate?

"I mean help us fight the King."

'Oh, hey everyone, do you mind if I bring a blinding dragon thing with us to the fight? No, they won't eat you! Probably!'

"Er, no. I do distinctly remember telling you I'm not supposed to interact with humans. That includes killing them--even if it is regicide." They add that last bit with a huff and a gaze into the distance.

Siffrin sighs.

Well, at least you don't have to think about explaining anything.

"Plus, I won't be much help, I'm no fighter and couldn't kill a human even if I wanted to." There's a tinge of bitterness to that statement.

"But how? You're covered in sharp parts. It should be easy!"

" I am not a weapon !" they hiss, jaws slamming shut and glaring straight at him with an intense, wide-eyed look. Their feathers stand on end and almost vibrate with emotion.

It was enough to make Siffrin jump and straighten himself out.

" I. Don't. Fight . I didn't sign up for any of this." Loop grimaces and slaps their hand to their head, digging their talons into their scalp. "I didn't ask for this blinding migraine or to be dropped at your feet in the dead of night. I'm helping because I'm stuck in this fucking mess too, but I will not fight your battles for you."

A shiver runs down their spine as their blood chills. "Right, okay, sorry."

Loop studies them for a moment longer, making them shrink into their collar and under their hat until they look like a stray pile of clothes.

Loop sighs and scratches the bridge of their snout. "It's fine." A bit of dried skin falls off their scar and spirals down. The exposed flesh underneath makes the space behind Siffrin's good eye ache a bit. The shade of it is...slightly strange, but they can't really put their finger on what is so wrong about it.

Now that it isn’t quite so dark as before, Siffrin can take a closer look at Loop.

They look… not great.

He can't see much of their left eye; there's hardly any left of it besides scar tissue. It doesn't seem like they can open or close it any more than it already is.

The scar on their face is thick and leathery and extends partway down their neck. It's mottled with different shades and patterns, suggesting that it hadn’t been properly healed. It seems to pull their head slightly to the left as the skin has tightened from whatever injury caused it. A burn? There's really nothing else that could have done it...unless it was caused by whatever chemical warfare Loop was talking about.

Siffrin suppresses a shudder.

They seem to be missing feathers here and there, and many of the existing ones are damaged or dirty. And their front legs--the skin on them looks rough and mottled, though not quite as extreme as their facial scar.

It's hard for Siffrin to really guess much about Loop's condition outside of the obvious--it's not like he knows any other rukemis to compare them to. But... thinking about the fluffy round birds hopping around town, and the many, many chickens and ducks they've seen in their lifetime (oh, a memory! He's seen chickens and ducks before, now isn't that useful!) Loop looks... thin.

"Loop, are you hungry?"

They jump slightly; it seems like they were distracted by studying Siffrin themself.

"I could be, perhaps. Maybe a little." They puff out the feathers on their body just a bit.

"I can get you something to eat." They grab their silver coin and squeeze it in their hand until it hurts. "Well, I don't have any money, but I can catch some fish."

Loop's ears turn back, and they sigh. "It's fine, stardust. It's not like it matters if we're going to go back in time anyway."

"...Right."

The sun is close to the horizon. Dinner will be ready soon. Maybe he can leave a plate out for them; it's not like food does him any good anymore.

"Anyway, I'm sure you have places to be soon. So hurry on over to the library to find some other way of killing the King and more about the loops or whatever." They scratch at their throat. "I still vote poison, or dropping the ceiling on him, but I'm sure there's other magic spells you can use to turn him inside out or something."

Ew. But again, too kind an end for him.

"Okay. Thank you, Loop."

"Don't mention it. And please find something soon."

"I'll try."

Siffrin shifts themself and clambers down the massive tree, making each step with care to fight off the pins and needles that have returned. He takes one more glance at Loop as they watch him silently, head resting on their hands.

With a nod, he heads to the library and feels his smile plaster itself back on the moment he reenters Dormont. He wastes no time with pleasantries and heads straight for the nearest bookshelf.

The librarian approaches him anyway. "You're one of the saviors, right?" They ask with a tilt of their head, the beads on their glasses make a funny little clinking sound. "Do you need my help with something?"

He flinches. They stare at the librarian, giving them a questioning gaze. 

Oh right the boulangier isn’t the only villager who talks to you. Oh. When was the last time you even went there? 

A pain au chocolat doesn’t sound terrible in that moment. Maybe they should go grab one. Anything chocolate. Maybe something for Loop, too.

Wait… 

Can Loop eat chocolate? Or will it kill them because they’re part dog or something?

“Hello?” The librarian waves a hand in front of their face. “Are you okay?”

“Huh? Oh, right? No chocolate for me, please—I mean I’m fine, thank you!”

They blink a few times. “Well, okay then. I’ll be over here if you need anything.”

Siffrin pulls their smile wider and waves a ‘thank you’ before turning back to the bookshelves.

Okay, that was blinding awkward of you, but whatever, not like any of this matters in the loops anyway! 

He shakes his head clear. Sliding his finger across the spine of every book, he reads each title carefully, once, sometimes twice, blinking away the fog in his mind.

Useless.

Useless.

Useless.

Weird headache book again.

Oh? No, just basic craft spells.

Nothing. Of course not. They probably checked it a hundred times before and just forgot.

What were they looking for again?

Oh, right, ways to hit the King harder and a book on time loops, as if that's something that exists outside of fiction. Maybe one of Mira’s horror books has something on time loops. Maybe it’s based on a true story too! You just gotta casually ask her—

No, that’s stupid, of course it’s stupid! 

Defeated, they lightly hit their head on the shelf and trudge out. 

Whatever. Whatever! It's something to look forward to. Enrichment!

They blink.

They're at dinner, eating ash once again. He smiles through the banter and is happy to notice that their friends aren't as suspicious as the previous loop. Or at least they don't seem to be.

Something to look forward to. Don't run headlong into your death this time!

He blinks.

They're in bed and Isabeau is once again trying to tell him what he's tried to say a thousand times before.

Don't be stupid, stupid, stupid this time.

They close their eye.

They're back at the House once more. At least they managed to get a little more rest that time. Even if they didn't get to sleep much, they still got to be horizontal for a few hours.

Beats sitting in a tree and talking all night.

It's hopeless.

But at least there's something new to do.

For now.

[kickbutts-singsongs]

I’ve had some thoughts about Izuku and his actions in the post-canon chapter that I haven’t known how to voice until this very moment so uh I just wanted to say that I actually saw myself in him and his decisions and here’s why:

(warning: manga spoilers and minor traumadumping)

I just recently turned 20 years old and I’ve been noticing that life feels a whole lot clearer now that I’m out of my crazy house (for the most part) and attending college, but I didn’t realize just how murky and foggy everything had felt up until now.

Like seriously looking back on it, I felt like my head was underwater and I was in a fishtank watching everyone pass me by. Some people would come up to the glass and reach out, but I didn’t really reach back bc I just assumed that since there was glass I wouldn’t be able to truly connect. Instead I kind of acted the best and brightest that I could, almost like I was performing tricks for them, in the hopes that they’d at least stick around, but I didn’t think I’d be anything more than a passing interest to them. But that was okay because I liked seeing the people and it was enough for me, I’d take what I could get.

Also some context: I was homeschooled as a kid and was a pretty isolated child whose only real connection to anyone was with her younger sister (which may or may not have been an unhealthy relationship) so when I finally attended high school, I went through those years thinking that everyone who ever met me wouldn’t really like me or want to stay connected bc if my own lil sis didn’t then who would? And though I did make friends, and they def reached out and touched the glass, I felt like I was this intangible thing that they would soon move on from and forget, once again leaving me alone in the water

Last year, someone came up to my tank and punched straight through the glass

And holy fuckin smokes everything changed

I have this dear friend that I’ve known for quite a long time (6 years now), but I never in a million years would’ve guessed that I had any real impact on her bc she was so well-liked and was surrounded by so many great people. I was just me.

But one night, she told me that I was her best friend.

Did I cry? Uh huh big time

But also?? My entire worldview changed????

Cuz WHAT DO YOU MEAN IM SPECIAL ENOUGH TO YOU FOR YOU TO DECLARE THAT OUT OF EVERYONE YOU KNOW, I AM YOUR BEST FRIEND

Basically, since then I have never felt more alive, and now I’ve decided that my days of being a wallflower to everyone I know and love are fuckin OVER

IM BEING PRESENT AND ATTENTIVE AND INSERTING MYSELF INTO PEOPLES LIVES BC THEY WANT ME IN THEM BITCHESSSSSS

“Wow, Song, congrats on the epiphany? I guess? What does that have to do with Izuku??”

Great question my friend

In my humble and lightly biased opinion, Izuku grew up without a bunch of self-worth and didn’t think very highly of himself. He also didn’t grow up with very many (healthy) friendships, and when he finally attended UA, he got his first dose of seeing people actually reaching out to him

But I think he was stuck in a daze of “Wow they really wanna be my friend? That’s crazy cuz they’re so cool and I’m just. Me.” <- similar to how I acted in hs.

And after all the ✨traumatizing shit✨ he went thru up until the end of the series, I think it’d be understandable if his life felt a bit foggy and murky, like he was existing but not truly living (esp if he never got a therapist or smth, but I sincerely hope he did) and he didn’t feel like he had much of an impact on the lives of his friends in hs other than his heroics (esp after he lost his quirk)

So my guess is that he just coexisted with everyone, counted his blessings, and then let everyone go after they graduated. It wouldn’t surprise me if the only reason he and Katsuki are as comfortable as they are in the epilogue is bc Katsuki was the one making efforts to reach out to Izuku for the past eight years, but again that’s my projections ashajkajaka

Anyways SO when it comes to the point where Katsuki’s driving and tells Izuku “if you treat everyone like they’re special to you, then no one actually is” I was shook to my core because that’s how I’d been living my life (and I still was at that point) so when I saw a lot of people criticizing Izuku for his seemingly uncaring behavior in rejecting Katsuki’s vague agency proposal, I couldn’t help but feel empathy for my boy bc I prob would’ve said and done the exact same thing. I don’t think I would’ve understood the importance of such an ask, or the impact I would’ve had if I’d said no.

And further on, when Izuku looks at Uraraka, someone who was a dear friend of his in high school, and notices that they never talk anymore and grew apart (partially bc he let that happen), he hears Katsuki’s words in his head and realizes that he’s right, and that Uraraka is someone that is special to him, actually special to him, and that he wants to rebuild that connection and put work in to keep in touch.

But I don’t think that means that that’s the end.

I think Uraraka is just the beginning.

My theory (my hope) is that he’ll start to look around at the people in his life (or currently out of his life) and allow himself to actually be in their lives again, to purposefully insert himself back in. To reach out, to connect. He’ll start being more aware of how his life actually impacts others, and how his life has meaning outside of doing things just to help people.

(And maybe he’ll re-evaluate how much he actually cares about a certain someone and notice how much effort they actually put into their relationship and wonder if they’re really just a friend to him but that’s my shipper heart alskllaksk)

Anyways uh I guess I had been neglecting my ‘thinking about Izuku’ duties for a sec so now I’ve just word-vomited a small essay that’s probably mildly incomprehensible but the point is that I care and maybe someone else will too so if u got this far thanks for reading 🫡

[tonycries]

DADDY TONY IM SO SORRY I SENT THE PWP TO THE WRONG BLOG IM IN SHAMBLES AND TEARS. There's like, lore? Not sure if you want the full worldbuilding, but the basics here is Choso is a crow! Or has crow wings, anyways. Crows are very family oriented, which I thought was amazing. It's been recorded that crows who left the nest will return to help their parents with younger clutches! Tell me that isn't a Choso thing to do, I dare you. Plus their whole symbolism with carrion/blood/death (painting) can you see the vision? I made Yuji a chickadee for the crack. They're kinda food-hoarders, which is very funny to me. Not picky birds at all; they'll eat anything from seeds and nuts, to insects, even pick at carrion! I thought it was very fitting for the idiot (affectionate) who ate a rancid ahh finger. Personality wise, they're very friendly birds, very vocal and curious and friendly. Very Yuji. Eso and Kechizu are there for the plot, but they're not really mentioned in the porn. I miss them sm when fics don't include them. I've left the reader's wings up to interpretation! For the worldbuilding, it basically boils down to omegas running society, bc I was sick of all the 'Ragh, alphas are the superior subgender' shit. With the exception of Daddy Tony, ofc. Omegas are low-key terrifying in this one; the whole idea spawned from a couple tiktoks I found! Anyways, I've kept you waiting long enough! The opps (character limit) are against me, so I'll post the smut in chunks! Hope Daddy forgives my sin.

-😔 Choso didn't know how he got this lucky. You were everything he could ever dream off, so pretty and kind and warm in a way that had every part of him aching. He really was going to have to buy Yuji something; if it weren't for his baby brother getting lost in the park, he might never have met you. All wide eyes and soft smiles, with the chickadee clinging to your back, right between your wings. The sight of it still hadn't left his mind; what if that was a different chick? One that looked a little like him, and a lot like you, with your eyes and smile and feathers. He hadn't expected you to laugh and accept his fumbling requests for your number, hadn't expected you to invite him over. Fuck, he wondered if his feathers would line your nest after tonight. Never in his wildest dreams did he expect to find himself in your apartment, feathers puffed with adrenaline and need. Had he preened himself well enough? His brothers had insisted on helping, but chicks weren't exactly reliable. Oh no, what if his wings were a mess and he didn't seem impressive enough— "Are you over-thinking this, Cho?" Your voice cut through his thoughts. Choso's head jerked up, eyes meeting yours for a split second before he had to look away. Oh, why had he given you permission to call him by his first name? The sound of it was so sinful on your lips, he had to choke back the urge to just fall to his knees and start begging. For what, he wasn't quite sure. "N-no. Just nervous. I've never..." He winced. How much more pathetic could he sound? Never been with an omega before? Never been with anyone? Hadn't even wanted to until he saw you, you, you. "No? Never?" You were so mean to him. You already knew what he was going to say, why were you making him say it? (What did it say about him that he craved when you were a little cruel?) "Cute." That word had Choso's brain short-circuiting. Cute. Cute. You thought he was cute? He stuttered, unable to find anything to say. Cheeks flushing a brilliant red, he ducked his head.

I demandddd moreeee JJK men with wings ngh 😩❗ Being mean to Choso and him getting a severe case of birdbrain (I just had to, sorry) I love itttt you're so talented ml!!

[peppermint-whiskers]

So I recently watched this video about Sun basically burning out over time due to various factors, and this image has been burned into my brain for a while

And I couldn't stop thinking about it. So picture this:

Some time passes. The virus gets purged or whatever after that night, everyone gets fixed, yadda yadda. All that goodness. Staff decides that separating Sun and Moon would be a good idea (twice the hands, less risk of one corrupting the other, able to quarantine one if it gets infected, etc), and with the virus gone, everything will go back to normal. They still have a line of communication for easier transmission of data and instant communication, but they are largely separate now. Daycare operations will go as smoothly as before (up to interpretation how smoothly things went before, but I like to think they went pretty smooth considering they didn't shut down the daycare). To make sure, they run a test day

Except things don't go smooth. Everyone expected a happy reunion (the daycare attendants are back in working order, they used to be best friends before all this), but it isn't. Moon is still acting off. Instead of taking care of the kids or even paying attention to anyone, he only has eyes for Sun. And Sun?

He hates Moon—with a passion, it seems. Does not want to go near him, will not interact with the kids, reacts rather violently to the notion of anything touching or interacting with him. This is especially notable with Moon and the children

Staff take them down to parts and service. Try to see what's wrong. Nothing physically seems wrong, and they just updated software, so that can't be the problem either. They stick them in a room together while they try and figure it out (and sorta hoping the attendants will sort this out themselves if forced to interact with one another—they do not)

Finally, they resort to asking. Sun practically screams at them every time they try, so they try with Moon. And Moon conveys just one sentiment:

"It's nap time."

"Sunny needs his nap."

"Good night."

Nobody knows what this means. Sun needs a nap? Animatronics don't really sleep; they either power down or enter standby, and neither of those are akin to sleep. But Moon is insistent; he won't say much else besides that. Like Sun, he has a one track mind about all this

Somehow, during their quarantine, Moon gets a hold of Sun. Sun fights him—of course he does, he's been fighting Moon for a long time now—but Moon's music box starts playing, and he starts singing a soft lullaby, and no one can resist the siren song of sleep

Against precedent, Sun sleeps. Doesn't power down, doesn't enter standby—he sleeps. When it's clear he won't wake up, Moon stops singing and just lets his music box play. But the sleep is restless, so Moon requests something for the first time in a long time:

"Take us to the daycare. Don't wake him up."

Somehow, they manage it. Moon manages to set up a small nap area just for them, and once they're both comfortable, he stands vigil over Sun's sleep. The music box plays constantly. No one dares wake either of them up

Not after the last person tried

Management had gotten sick of the attendants growing idle and wiling the days away napping and doing nothing, but when they sent people to get the attendants back to work? Well, it wasn't exactly Moon they'd needed to watch out for

Who knew Sun could be just as vicious as Moon when awakened from this nap?

Moon's smug little "told you so" look somehow shines through that ever present smile. He certainly shows no remorse for any of this; just coaxes Sun back to sleep for his own good

"Shhh. It's okay."

"Take your nap."

"No more sun."

The Sun is burned out. It's the Moon's turn to keep him asleep, locked down until they're both ready to resume their duties

ANYWAY all this to say I love the idea of burned out Sun, of Moon making him take a nap to escape the reality they live in, and the both of them just chilling in the daycare with ominous music box tunes ^^ I rotate this scenario in my head every chance I get

[lightlycareless]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8Lxvo2s/

I saw this and it makes me wonder which of Naoya’s kids would have that reaction. I don’t think it’d be Naomi tbh only bc I don’t see Naoya leaving his wife and child to ride a ride like idk he doesn’t seems like he’d desire going on it that much to do that(I hope that makes sense 😅) but I can see him riding with one of the older kids while Y/N waited with the younger one(s) and them having this type of reaction.

Helloooo!!!

Once again, thank you so much for indulging my domestic bliss fantasies. Anything that has to do with Naomi, Naoya, and you is 😫 instant favorite.

ngl whenever I have the opportunity to do such things I like to fantasize what Naoya and Y/N would do as a family; I've gotten some ideas already that I'm sure I'll write soon enough :3 just gotta start with some others first (does that make me weird? I hope not. I just love daydreaming hahahah)

Anyways, I took some creative liberties with this prompt since I've always stated Y/N to be the one that likes rides and amusement parks more than anyone else. But I like to think I kept the cuteness of it all 🙈🙈

Warnings: none. fluff. Naomi and Naori are cute. Minimal proofreading!!

Happy reading!!

Your love for amusement parks is something you just couldn’t wait to share with your babies!!! So, when they were finally of age to start attending and actually enjoying their surroundings, you and Naoya promptly made preparations for a family trip with the sole intention of having the best holiday ever!

Unfortunately, the same passion you had for adrenaline is not something they’d grow to have, at least not yet.

Anything that had to do with steep drops, 360 turns, alongside the gut wrenching screams that usually followed were just some of the things that pushed them away from even considering going on those high thrill rides.

Less letting you go.

“No, mama, don’t go!!” Naori, your shyest, would cry whilst tightly pulling and tugging at your leg, exhorting all of his strength into stopping you—but he barely makes you move, or reconsider. “Mamaaaa!!”

“Papa, make mama stop!” Naomi urges her father instead, knowing well that he had the ultimate power to convince you otherwise. Surely this situation wouldn’t be any different!

Unless, not.

“I… I think you should reconsider, my love.” Naoya says after hearing another high-speed cart passing by, alongside the screams of its riders that soon dissipate into the air. He doesn’t know what anguishes him more: his baby’s tears, or those of the attendants. “For the kids, at least?”

It’s unfair how he uses the mention of your kids to get what he wants, even more so when you almost concede to his request…

But you really wanted go on this ride, and Naoya knew how enthusiastic you were about amusement parks, way before the two started dating! Besides, it had been so long since the last time you’ve gone to one… don’t you deserve this treat, specially after taking great care of your family?

You deserved this small moment of enjoyment, and after slight debate, Naoya understood how unreasonable he was by siding with his children and proceeded to compromise with them.

“I’ll be back soon! And when I am, we’ll all get some treats, ok?” You say, cooing at your teary-eyed children. God, why did they have to be so adorable?

“Ok, mama…” Naomi silently cries, still holding onto your leg.

“It’ll be fun, don’t worry.” You lean down, bringing her and Naori into a hug before kissing their foreheads. “Besides, you’ll get to see a really funny picture of me at the end.”

“What do you mean?” Naori asks.

“Just wait and see.” You wink, peeling away from them and heading to what they considered your imminent demise, expressing their fear in the way they now tightly clung onto their father.

Naoya didn’t know whether letting them know when it was your turn would be right for them, feared might upset them even further…

But once the cart approached, setting itself into its launching position, coincidentally right before them, all his worries disappeared when you giddily cheered for their attention. And oh, your sweet babies, even though crying still found it in themselves to wave back.

They weren’t able to say nor do much after the ride starts and you were thrusted forward, screeching like there was no tomorrow while their eyes remained glued on your figure (or at least tried to) as you were moved from one side to the other, up, down, backwards, and front once again.

For what felt like an eternity to be away from their grasp, it was only short of a few minutes, and just as they begun to feel impatient at your absence, you suddenly surprised them by tackling them from behind with a hug, followed by peppering their faces with soft kisses to reassure their seemingly endless worries.

“See? Nothing happened! Mama is back with her two little dumplings!” You coo. “Oh, why are you crying? It was fun! Maybe when you’re older you’ll like it too.”

“No! I hate it! I’ll never go on that ride!” Naomi quickly retorts, shaking her head. “Don’t ever go on that ever again!”

You stare at your bold daughter for a few seconds, blinking in disbelief before chuckling.

“Alright, I can manage. It was enough excitement for a while either way.”

“…Do you promise, mama?” Naori quietly asks, you smile.

“I promise.” You say, crossing your fingers behind your back. “I won’t go on any rides like this anymore.”

At least not in front of them. You and Naoya might have to get a bit more creative when it comes to distracting them, or convincing ways to bribe them into letting you go…

Like the funny picture you promised to show them after everything was done, portraying your reaction to a steep fall—a sight that managed to slowly quiet their cries and replaced them with giggles.

Fortunately, their animosity towards such entertainment would promptly disappear when much older. At least for Naomi, whom had a much greater interest in all adrenaline-inducing activities compared to her younger brother, who instead enjoyed getting any sweet treat he could get his hands on.

The two may not physically look like you at all, but when it came to their preferences, they were nothing short of carbon copies of you.

Omg rare mention of Naori lmao. I promise to write more of him, it's just that Naomi.... :(

Anyways, thank you so much for sending in this 🥺💖💖💖 I hope you enjoyed this small piece the same way I enjoyed writing it.

Now, take care, and hope to see you soon!!!

[lurafita]

Inspired by No Way Home, Alec’s deal with asmodeus is instead that Magnus will get his magic and his immortality back but in exchange Alec Lightwood will be wiped from Everyone’s memory.

Bonus if Alec is made immortal in this, to suffer eternity as a stranger.

I’m just not sure how we get back to Malec or if they have to meet again.

Or if we say that just like the books, Ragnor hid in a pocket universe and when he comes back his phone has messages from Magnus pining for an Alec Lightwood perhaps with an image attached?

To be honest, I'm in favor of most things that change the "Break his heart for his own good" plot. (I believe I have posted here already why I hate it so much, so I won't bore you with it again. XD )

Immortal Alec is always a goal for me, because I need immortal Malec, because I cannot stand the thought of Magnus having to lose yet another person he loved so much.

And the memory wipe thing, I mean, I may be a little too blazé about this, but I don't think that needs to be such a bad thing. (though my personal dislike for big drama plays into this, so I'm probably just gonna think in far too simplified terms about this)

But, I mean, come on. It's not like Alec was blissfully happy with his lot in life, right? Magnus and his siblings, as I see it, were the only things he truly cherished. And with them, he can simply rebuild his relationship. Maybe not to what it was before where his siblings are concerned, but still something good. And with Magnus, he can strive to be even better.

And the immortality thing, maybe, since wiping Alec from everyon's memory is such a big scale operation, since it also invovles rewriting the memories of all those involved to make things make sense without Alec being a factor in all that had happened. Maybe that means that there is a balance kinda thing, where mortal Alec cannot exist where the memory of him doesn't exist. So his being needs to be made into something different. And so Alec becomes ... I don't know, an unseelie, or a dark fae, or a warlock, or a vampire, or whatever else is immortal, or maybe some kind of higher demon. With his own memories intact, but inaccessible to anyone else.

And then he can meet the group after that, while they are out closing a rift or whatever, and help them. Make a whole new entrance for himself. Start out as an ally, and then get absorbed into the group again.

Or meet Magnus first. Who would most likely still be single and having had his heart closed off for centuries. Meet him on more even footing, under better circumstances (like, not right after Magnus had lost some of his warlock friends to the circle members. I can't believe the show just hand waved that away. An apartment full of traumatized people who had just been attacked by murderous fanatics, but the shadowhunters needs came first, of course...)

Anyway, I think a setup like this could be made to do something really neat, without having to wade through too much drama.

Many thanks for this message. This is really fun to think about.

Hope the driver's liscence thing all works out. Though anything that has to do with departmental work usually takes way longer than it shouuld ..

[francis-mulcahys-angels]

Okay so maybe it’s my fault that I read an article about the quantum leap reboot but I did not expect the spoiler

SAM BECKETT NEVER GOT HOME LIKE WHAT

I haven’t finished the show as I’m in the beginning of the fourth season but what </3

Like I’m here hopelessly wishing he gets home and he never gets home what ??!???

I’m so not fucking ready for the finale omfg

[robiinurheart33]

This will be the plot to movie 4 trust

[chibishortdeath]

Ya know, Castlevania tackled the concept that life after defeating Dracula could be difficult for a Belmont with Richter feeling like he’d lost all purpose and reason to go on living if not for saving others and fighting against something—

But, do you think any of them before him felt that way too?

I mean it sounds kind of miserable, being raised your whole life to be solely relied on for one moment… and then what? How do you handle the sudden shift to ‘not being needed anymore’? Evidently, most of them didn’t have very much happen to them after the events of their games since we don’t get to know—

But, do you think any of them ever got better? Do you think anyone before Richter ever learned how to live for themselves? Did Richter?

Anyway it’s 8 PM and I’m sitting around wondering if any of the Belmonts were still happy after their happy endings (debatable if certain ones got happy endings tbh but anyway), Konami can u check on them, I’m worried—

[deanofsam]

it just occurred to me that some of you might have missed seeing american football player joe burrow’s suit this past june during paris fashion week, and it is my personal opinion that everyone see these images at least once in their lifetime, especially those of us with a shared interest in slutty clothes on men (fictional or otherwise). so here they are.

[chrollogy]

[sesamestreep]

“requiem for methuselah” crazy ass episode for many reasons. Kirk is being fully insane, like I don’t actually think, even controlling for how quickly and easily and readily he seems to fall in love with anybody at the slightest encouragement, that he’d go that bonkers for that android woman he just met while everyone on the ship was this close to dying, but that’s neither here nor there, because in the background you’ve got an equally but much more subtly insane episode for Spock, who extremely uncharacteristically admits to experiencing an emotion (or nearly experiencing, whatever) and that emotion is ENVY of all things. And then spends the rest of the episode warning Kirk away from this new love interest (something that doesn’t usually happen, even when Kirk has very inadvisable love interests) and is, in the end, the person who accurately identifies that Rayna’s competing love for Kirk and Flint is ultimately what overwhelms and destroys her with the most killer line in maybe history???

And then to wrap it up we get an equally uncharacteristic sort of denouement scene (TOS loooves to cut an episode off right after the actual climax, leaving little time for falling action or character reflection, or to stick a sitcom-y button on the end where the gang all smiles and laughs at their misadventures and everything resets to zero, which is not a criticism, it’s just the style of that era of tv, honestly) where Kirk is literally miserable over Rayna’s death (again, kind of unusual for a lot of his love interests, he tends to be able to move on pretty quickly) and Spock goes to see him and he falls asleep right in front of Spock (also odd) and then when Bones comes in to give the final word on Flint, Spock waves him off from waking the Captain (tender) and Bones gives him that awful speech about how it’s sadder that Spock can’t even imagine the love Kirk felt for this random android woman than it is that Kirk lost her in the first place (debatable but also rude) and how his great tragedy is that he can’t love at all like they can and how all he wishes is that Kirk could forget about all of this and move on. AND THEN, to have Bones leave and Spock go over to Kirk and very gently, tenderly, reluctantly touch him and put his hand to his forehead and tell him to forget and HAVE THAT BE THE END OF THE EPISODE??? What am I supposed to do with that??

[javierduffy]

stuffand also things

[dazais-guardian-angel]

Chapter 110 is 13 pages long welcome to hell!!! so in a lot of ways this is just more fuel for a theory that I've had for a few weeks now, that's only gotten stronger with each recent season 5 episode, which is that the last episode of the season is gonna end on 110, and that Asagiri/Harukawa and Bones have been collaborating to make this happen, specifically because it's a major turning point that would be the only good place to end the season on.

When we started getting especially long chapters again (like from 25-35ish pages, with the exception of 107.5, the last two being some of the longest we've ever had), at first I just assumed that Asagiri/Harukawa got freed up from some other obligations they'd been having to cause the extremely short/half chapters, like promotional stuff for the anime/Beast movie, or working on light novels. But then 109 happened, with the "supposed" death of Dazai, and heavy emphasis at the end on how literally everyone is at their lowest point right now, and I got to thinking. 11 episodes is a strangely specific number for an anime season -- why not 12, or 13, or even 10, like you'd usually see? Why have we gotten suddenly gotten two 35 page chapters out of nowhere, that's almost unheard of at this point? They're both beautiful chapters, don't get me wrong (as always), and maybe A/H simply just didn't want to cut them in halves because they felt like the full emotional impact wouldn't hit/that there were no good cutoff points in them, but you can't deny that it's surprising, after all the shorter chapters we've been getting. Why has the anime been going at such insanely breakneck pacing for the most part ever since around the Sunday Tragedy chapters, even more so than it has in the past? So much so that it feels dangerously close to overtaking the manga?

Well, maybe, just maybe, it's because..... Asagiri decided a long time ago that whatever happens in 110 is the only point that feels "season finale"-worthy enough, in an arc that still isn't anywhere close to being completely wrapped up, and so both the manga and the anime have been specifically coordinated to reach that part within 2 and a half weeks of each other?

I've seen a lot of people now think season 5 will end with 109, and as much as my sadistic side would find that hilarious, I honestly don't think they'd do that and realistically don't want it to happen; it'd be so cruel to cliffhanger the anime for years like that, and just doesn't feel like a season cliffhanger BSD would do, a series that is ultimately hopeful and uplifting. Seasons 2 and 3 had a positive, conclusive ending; the only reasons seasons 1 and 4 didn't was because they're technically not really full seasons of their own, and are more like the first cour of another "season" that also came out that same year (seasons 1 and 2 both aired in 2016, so they're more like one big season, and seasons 4 and 5 have both aired this year, so they're also more like one big season, again taking into account how episodes 12 and 50 are not satisfying finales like episodes 24, 37, and hypothetically, 61, are). I really can't see season 5 ending with Dazai and Fukuzawa's supposed deaths, Sigma being unconscious and maybe close to death, Atsushi being vulnerable and limbless again, everyone we love still vampires, and the entire world being basically doomed; that's just too depressing and not like BSD at all. However, having said that, if it doesn't end there, there really isn't any good place to end the season before that, either, that feels in any way satisfying or like a finale at all. And so, to me, that only leaves after 109: chapter 110.

I think things are really gonna turn around next chapter. Like I said, everyone is at their lowest point right now, it cannot possibly get any worse, the framing of Dazai, Fukuzawa, and sskk at the end of 109 is telling us that; this is the time for the heroes to finally start winning again, with Aya being so close to pulling out the sword, and for all the thematic reasons other people have talked about to death that I don't need to go into here again. This upcoming chapter being so short again makes a part of me wary of 110 being "the one", so to speak, I won't lie, but at the same time, it's very possible that it needs to be that short because that's all the final episode of the season will be able to reasonably fit in, since it's already gonna be VERY close if they do make it all the way to 109. And at the end of the day, I don't doubt at all that Asagiri and Harukawa can make these the most monumental and game-changing mere 13 pages ever if they wanted to; a chapter does not at all need to be extremely long in order to be an important and impactful one, even if short ones we've gotten in the past haven't felt the most important.

An additional thought I've had, though this is much more crack territory than all this already is, is that since we know from Anime Expo that a Stormbringer movie at some point is highly likely (judging from Asagiri's reaction when someone brought it up), it's possible that chapter 110 and thus the final episode will involve the long-anticipated return of Verlaine and/or Adam, or at least some other major reference to Stormbringer, that would naturally and smoothly lead into a Stormbringer movie to explain things to people who haven't read the novel. It would make a lot of sense, especially since the s4 OP has the Old World sign behind Chuuya, which might be a hint that this has been in the works ever since seasons 4/5 were first in planning with Asagiri. We also know that Dazai and Chuuya's voice actors apparently struggled to record their lines together this season, which probably relates to 101 and possibly 109, but it could be 110 too.... I could be very wrong, as I'm no expert on this kind of thing, but I kinda doubt they would bring Chuuya's actor in for just the vampire growls, and Asagiri placing heavy emphasis on Chuuya's importance this season in that one interview gives me the impression that he's talking about much more than just 101/109. But that's the least solid evidence I have, that's just mostly based on vibes I get.

So basically, I think a lot of factors -- the unusual episode count, how close the anime is to catching up to the manga with three whole episodes left, the seemingly arbitrary recent chapter lengths, and the climactic events of 109 -- can tell us that 110 might be a very, VERY big deal. Again, there's of course no way this arc is anywhere near close to being finished, with so much left to address and resolve, but since it is currently incomplete in the manga, unlike the previously adapted arcs, if the anime was going to adapt it at all, they'd have to find a place that feels satisfying enough to end this season, knowing there won't be more anime for a long time after this, and so I think they specifically planned for that, from both Bones' and A/H's sides. 10 episodes might not have been enough to reach that point, but 12 or 13 might have been too many it wouldn't have been if Bones actually decided to slow down and let the story breathe the way it needs to, but this post isn't meant to criticize the anime, so maybe 11 was just right. And maybe Asagiri and Harukawa specifically pushed to make recent chapters longer than usual, in order to make sure that the manga reached the story content in 110 the monthly release right before season 5 was to end.

Is this just copium? Absolutely. Am I going to look like an absolute clown in two days when this post ages like milk? Probably. But the evidence is There, so let me just enjoy my delusions until Sunday, okay 🥂🫡