#word count: >1k

[fic-recs-by-lulu]

Title: Anomaly

Author: softestpunk

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Rating: E - Explicit

Category: M/M (Jayce/Viktor)

Content Warnings: Monsterfucking

Word Count: 1,021

Excerpt:

There’s a monster under Jayce’s bed.

It’s his fault. Something went wrong in his research. He tapped into something he shouldn’t have, and something that shouldn’t be here slipped through.

In the lab, in the daylight, he works, frantically, on fixing it. Reversing the process. Sending it back.

At night, he retreats to his bedroom and waits.

[voidnull-crow]

How To Cure A Bad Day - a guide by Jeong Yunho

I don’t know how to do y’all’s fancy formatting so here’s what you need to know:

Pairing: Yunho/Yeosang

Word count: 1,030

Additional info: fluff, cuddling, kissing. Established relationship. Yunho is little spoon. Yeo is the one having a bad day

Read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59293198

Or read below the cut:

Yeosang is moping.

He’s been having one of those days where you wake up in a bad mood and can’t get out of it, like you’re stuck in a glue trap. He dragged himself to the couch in the hopes some episodes of his favorite show might help, but no dice.

Yunho comes out of their room, dressed to go out, but hesitates to move much farther than the doorframe when he sees Yeosang’s state.

“Yeosang-ah, do you want to come to the convenience store with me?” He asks softly, unsure whether Yeosang might be trying to sleep.

“No thank you,” he mumbles.

“Do you want anything from it, then?” Yunho follows up, walking to the front door and taking his keys from the hook.

Yeosang hums, trying to pull his thoughts out of the syrup holding them where they are.

Yunho’s face comes into view, much closer than before. His sweet features read concern, and he crouches in front of the couch.

“Are you feeling alright, Yeosangie?” He brings a hand to Yeosang’s cheek, and then moves his hair to feel his forehead too. Yeosang reaches up to pull his hand away from his face, but holds it still instead. The gentle touch is comforting. Yunho waits patiently for his reply.

“I’m having a bad day, is all,” he says after a moment.

“Ah, I know just the thing you need,” Yunho stands, giving Yeosang’s hand a light squeeze before letting go. “I’ll be back soon, okay? Wait for me.”

He leaves with a smile. Yeosang hears his key turn in the lock.

And now, Yeosang is waiting.

Waiting is much better than moping.

The tv, left idle too long, shuts off. He doesn’t care. He moves positions to lay on his back; the most movement he’s done in hours. After stretching his arms up and out, he admires the mundanity of the ceiling for a couple minutes. What interesting patterns for something nobody looks at.

He gets up from the couch and stretches a little more, wandering his way into their bedroom to find his phone and a blanket.

When he comes back to the living room, he hears the door unlatching. He sits back down on the couch, setting the blanket next to him and his phone on the coffee table.

Yunho comes in wearing the same smile he left with.

This time he sits cross-legged in front of the couch, setting his bags on the floor. He hums the item theme from Zelda while slowly pulling Yeosang’s favorite drinks and snacks out of the bag, doing little motions with his hands to mimic sparkles when he has everything set out.

The edges of Yeosang’s mood wear down.

“Why don’t you pick a movie for us to watch while I get everything moved to the table?” Yunho prompts.

Yeosang grabs the remote. He turns the tv on again and leaves his show behind. He scrolls through what they have downloaded, weighing his options. Yunho continues to hum Zelda tunes while moving his and Yeosang’s treats to the table.

Yeosang settles on a movie he knows they both like. Yunho pulls the table closer and sits on the couch next to him. Pressing play, he sets the remote next to his drink and flips his phone so the screen faces down.

He doesn’t watch the opening credits though, because Yunho has turned in his seat to face him. He opens his arms and reaches for him.

“Cuddles?” He asks.

“Cuddles,” Yeosang affirms.

He motions for Yunho to come to him, at which he gasps dramatically. “I get to be little spoon?”

“Who said you can’t?” Yeosang says, grabbing the sleeves of Yunho’s shirt to pull him in.

Yunho’s face lights up in excitement. Yeosang lays back and coaxes Yunho into his arms. He curls up with his head on his chest, arms against his sides, and legs tucked up onto the couch, entangled.

Yeosang wraps an arm around his shoulders and cards his other hand through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes. Yunho closes them briefly, letting out a content sigh.

Yeosang can feel his mood clearing away slowly but surely.

Yeosang angles his neck downwards to plant a kiss on his now exposed forehead. Yunho’s eyes glitter when he looks up at him, smiling sugar sweet as always. Yeosang mirrors the smile, then stretches to place a kiss on his nose.

Yunho laughs and shifts a little so his face is closer. He gazes into his eyes again, giving a plea with just one look. Yeosang grants his wish and places his next kiss on his lips.

One peck turns into three, each kiss being a thank you from Yeosang to Yunho. Thank you for getting my favorite things, six. Thank you for existing, seven. Thank you for being mine, eight. On and on until breaks between kisses are no longer distinguishable and his thanks lose their composition, becoming chants of him, him, him.

Yunho pushes himself up onto his hands for stability. Yeosang holds his shoulders to ground himself as they melt into each other.

His hands move up to the back of his neck, one hand staying there and the other finding placement tangled in his hair. With a light tug on the strands acting as a cue, Yunho deepens the kiss.

He maps Yunho’s mouth with his tongue, and maps his body with his hands. He takes the chance to feel his lean muscles flexing, run his hands across his broad shoulders and down to his chest. He pauses there for a moment, just long enough to feel Yunho’s heartbeat under his hand.

He forgets he was having a bad day in the first place.

His mind clear and content, the kissing ends as easily as it started, and they fall back into their positions cuddling on the couch. He begins to absentmindedly play with Yunho’s hair.

He gently squeezes Yunho to his chest, his personal giant teddy bear. Yunho squeezes him back as best he can in the position he’s in.

With Yeosang’s bad day cured, the two settle in for an evening with plenty of snacks, movies, and each other.

[sleepykichii33]

cw: implied major character death

Eren didn’t think the day would come where Jean would die. He didn’t think he’d experience the moment where he witnessed the dirty blonde get hit by a running titan and slammed into a tree, being completely unmoving. It took a few excruciating moments to fully process what he’d just seen. 

It didn’t take long after that to use his ODM gear to get to Jean, falling to his knees and grabbing the latter’s lifeless body. There was suddenly a lump forming in his throat, his eyes wide with tears forming in them.

“Fuck, Kirstein- Jean! Wake up!” Eren yelled, his voice frantic as he shook the other by his shoulders. “This isn’t funny!” 

Was he really dead? Did he seriously just watch someone he cared about so much get murdered? Eren doubled over in tears, almost even wailing as he rested his forehead against Jean’s chest.

“You- You idiot! Why do you have to be so stupid?!” He sobbed, not-so-gently hitting the dirty blonde’s torso with his fist. He just stayed there for a few moments, everything around him becoming a blur. He couldn’t hear anything. The titans, scout’s screams, death. It didn’t matter what it was.

His bottom lip wobbled as tears continued to flow. His heartbeat was loud in his head. So loud that it took him a minute or so to make out the sound of a heartbeat different from his own. Was that Jean’s heartbeat? No. No, it couldn’t be his. Eren was just imagining things. He was going insane, wasn’t he?

“T-The hell are you doing, weirdo..?” A voice said, one that was so painfully familiar it made Eren’s head jerk up. Eyes wide, he saw Jean just barely opening his own. A few beats of silence passed (well, as silent as it could possibly be with titans and scouts being murdered in the near distance), before the brunette finally came to terms with what he was currently seeing.

“You- You’re alive?” Eren choked out, and it was so god awfully embarrassing how badly he’d been crying over Jean. They were ‘enemies’. Or, that’s at least what they called themselves. In reality, they grew fond of each other. They understood each other a lot more than they led on. Even then, it was humiliating to wail over the idiot.

Jean chuckled weakly in response, just barely nodding his head before replying.

“I-I’ve been alive this whole time, dumbass. What, d-did you think you could get rid of me that e-easily..?”

. . .

Things were fine after that. Jean got the medical help he needed, and he recovered perfectly. Eren would even say the two of them grew closer after that event. Their arguments and bickering were less heated, and they happened less often. The fondness between them both grew stronger.

Maybe that’s why it hit Eren even harder than the first time when he witnessed Jean being eaten by a titan right in front of him just a few months later.

[swsapphics-ao3feed]

by star_wars_lesbian

Satine took a moment to run her fingers over her own naked thighs, scratching her fingernails lightly between them, pressing the pad of her index finger ever so lightly over her clit. A gentle sigh escaped her lips. Oh, how she had been looking forward to this.

Words: 1361, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F

Characters: Padmé Amidala

Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Satine Kryze

Additional Tags: Somnophilia, Consensual Somnophilia, Face-Sitting, Fingerfucking, No Beta We Die Like Clones

[sapphicsrogues]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: X-Men (Comicverse), Marvel (Comics) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Remy LeBeau/Rogue Characters: Rogue (X-Men), Remy LeBeau Additional Tags: From The Ashes (X-Men) Era, Mild Smut, Post-Coital, Pillow Talk, or in this case couch talk, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, i just really love these two okay, Established Relationship Summary:

“Chére…that was…”

“Amazin’?” Her hand snakes its way into his auburn hair, carding her manicured fingers through the slightly damp locks.

“I was gonna say real fuckin’ good.”

“That works too.”

or: a moment before it all goes to hell (again).

[thoughtsinhd]

How Fox Found Her Voice

Deep within the forest lived a clever fox who preferred to stay hidden among the trees. She moved like a shadow-silent, unnoticed, yet ever watchful, her sharp eyes tracing the pulse of the forest around her.

Fox noticed it all - the branches creaking with the breeze, roots tangled beneath the soil, the whisper of the river’s flow, and the quiet scurrying of insects weaving unseen trails.

But although she held such a deep connection to the land, she kept her distance. Fox had faced many storms- storms that left scars on her spirit, and so she had learned that to survive, she must guard herself. So she continued in silence, carrying her burdens and keeping her true feelings locked away.

Then one year, a great drought came, throwing off the balance of all life in the forest. The animals gathered, desperate for answers, and each had their own idea of how they should move forward. Voices clashed, rising and falling, as every creature tried to be heard over the others.

Fox stayed quietly on the edge of the clearing, eyes sharp and ears perked, but the voices crashed over her like thunder, loud and relentless. She knew this forest well, yet she worried that the others would only see her as sly, sneaky, and hard to trust.

That night, as the moon cast a silver glow over the forest, Fox struggled to sleep. She felt a pull - a call to the mountain rising high above the trees. She had never gone that far before, but as she climbed the winding paths upwards, she felt a stirring within her. This was the land where her ancestors had once roamed.

Reaching the peak, Fox felt a clarity like never before. She felt the earth solid beneath her paws, and with it, the wisdom of her ancestors echoing through the land. It was as though the mountain itself spoke to her—its strength and resilience, its role as a silent witness to the forest below—showing her that her voice, too, had a place in the balance that held the forest together.

The next morning, Fox returned to where the animals were gathered. She hovered at the clearing’s edge, surrounded by the chaos of clashing voices. She felt herself shrink, her voice nearly lost in the whirlwind of noise. But she thought of the mountain—its silent power—and, gathering that strength, stepped forward to speak, her voice cutting through like the soft rustle of leaves.

At first, her voice trembled, but as she continued, it found strength, steady and sure, like the mountain she had climbed. She shared what she had learned from her constant observations - how each animal could honour one another’s strengths to restore balance to their world.

At first, the other animals were hesitant as they had only known the fox as a quiet figure who stayed on the fringes. But as they listened, they felt the depth of her words. Fox was not just offering quick solutions; she spoke with the wisdom of the forest itself, rooted in the knowledge passed down through generations. In her voice, they heard the care of a leader who saw the unseen and honoured the delicate threads that connected them all together.

Following Fox’s wisdom, the animals began to work together in harmony. The birds scouted the best places to dig, the beavers restored the flow of the streams, and every creature played its part to help the forest recover. And through it all, the fox was there—no longer hidden in the shadows, but standing boldly as a voice for the forest, bringing together the knowledge of the land, the pulse of its creatures, and the strength of her roots.

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

extremely unpopular ship but. marc/luca with 24 + 21

marc/luca: 21 (biting) + 24 (dacryphilia)

Luca braces for it like he braces for hitting the ground after being highsided off his bike. Marc saying you’re nothing like Valentino or you’re just like Valentino. Or—God fucking forbid—being sorry about how shit the Honda is. Poor boy, wasting his career on a comeback that won’t deliver.

He never does. Which is half the reason that they’re doing this, in the first place.

It’s not an accident, is the thing. Luca enjoys making mistakes with his eyes wide open.

He grinds up into Marc, dirty, slow sweeps, right against his prostate. The wet squelch of lube echoes gunshot loud between them, accusatory—as does Marc’s breathless little gasp. Luca keeps at it, again, again, again, so he’ll get another one of those noises, but Marc only throws his head back, puts it against his shoulder, miles of smooth, tanned skin in his bobbing throat.

Pretty, Luca thinks, a hysterical little laugh stuck behind his teeth, shaking when he runs a forcibly idle touch over Marc’s waxed, soft thighs.

“More?” He asks, careful.

Marc nods—open-mouthed, greedy—and drags him to hold his cock. Luca’s hands are calloused, bony, dry. Probably doesn’t feel that good, in retrospect. Marc bucks into his grip anyway, fucks into his slightly unsteady fist with abandon, like he’s bending a bad bike to take a tricky corner.

Luca bites into the soft insides of his cheek. Focus.

So he leaves a bite on Marc’s throat next. Mean, deep—it’s right there, after all. Presses down hard on the imprint of his teeth he left on the swell of Marc’s pec, on his nipple, on the knob of his hipbone. They’re growing dark already, a splotchy purple-red on gold, ugly, round lines.

He keens, jolts, legs falling open, hooked over Luca’s skinny knees. It’s like pressing on the keys of a baby grand at random, only to find out everything sounds fantastic. His cock twitches in his hand, leaks. Each slide is wetter and easier than the last.

Christ. Luca sucks in a breath, tucked against the corded muscle of Marc’s neck.

But Marc is allergic to breaks or something like that. Twists his head around and tugs him up by his hair. They’re looking at each other—which should technically be sobering, a cold wash of reality, but only makes Luca ache to press a kiss on the corner of his shiv-quick smile.

In a bit, maybe.

“You really are mean,” he says, winded, in this dangerous, wild delight.

Luca arches an eyebrow, immaculate through the hell press of Marc’s ass around his cock, how it rakes over him like an electric shock. “You asked me to.”

“People don’t usually—ah, shit, see—first fuck is usually a warm-up. Very polite.”

Luca debates for a split second, five lights and off they go, prying the words from the bottom of his throat. I actually get off on making people cry, just like that. Decides against it at Marc’s dark, cutting stare, his open-mouthed, shameless hunger. Too much like feeding a shark.

Makes himself grin, instead. “I’m very polite. You always say that.”

“Asshole,” he says—in Spanish. Putilla, like Luca doesn’t know what it means. And he laughs through it too, this ugly, honking laugh.

It’s not what you call someone doing a favor, sort of. Luca keeps smiling.

Squeezes Marc’s cock hard, drags his nails all the way to his flushed, wet head. Marc chokes on whatever noise he was making, scrambles to scratch him back, at his wrist, legs twitching to cover himself up on instinct.

He lets them fall limp, though. Stares wide-eyed, expectant. Challenging. Luca croons something sweet-sounding, backs off just a little. His grip is too tight, cruel, but more pleasure now, working him over in quick, rough twists of his palm.

Nothing about it is pretty, exactly—except Marc crumbling against him, Luca is at his strings. Except Marc whining, high-pitched and raw, when he shivers and comes with Luca running a nail over his slit and biting down on his nape.

Luca grunts, muffled through Marc tightening up around his cock, through the pound of blood in his ears.

It’s probably the funniest—most absurd—consequence of going to an engineer’s birthday party, he thinks, nerves in overdrive, about to giggle or moan or come, same fucking difference, heart drumming against his ribcage, thoughts hitting every corner.

Marc hisses out a thick noise, holds his arm. There’s no real strength behind it. Luca gets back on with what could be called his meanness, smears Marc’s come over his own dick. Jerks him only a fraction gentler than he was.

He isn’t crying, yet.

Not like he asked to, not like Luca wants to see.

But maybe soon, he thinks, perverse and not caring all that much about it, heat prickling under his skin, spit pooling over his tongue. Luca gives him a light nibble on his earlobe as a reward, more intent than actual pressure.

“More?” Luca breathes out, barely a whisper.

Marc—lashes wet, fluttering, almost there—nods.

[izzyfishie]

IZZY'S PERSONAL INTERPRETATIONS ON GI-HUN AND IN-HO’S DYNAMIC

some friends encouraged me to finally post this long essay, so here i am!

some pre-post notes:

this is NOT an inhun analysis. the admin of this post does not like inhun whatsoever, nor do they feel the need to be "swayed" into liking inhun. this is just a non-romantic/non-sexual exploration of in-ho and gi-hun's dynamic, brushing past the surface.

however, this is also not an inhun hate post or an attack on those who do ship them. people are entitled to their own opinions, this just happens to be mine, as well as the select people who beta read this analysis post LOL

without further ado, let's get into things.

i think gi-hun confuses in-ho. and not in the “wow i’m gay for him haha” way everybody thinks.

gi-hun makes in-ho question his morals and person, to say the least. he’s confused, and likely angry about that fact. he manipulates gi-hun as young-il to show him the way the world works, and prove him wrong. i also feel like, like il-nam, he would take his beliefs to the grave. it’s just like. when you’re religious for the longest time and confirmation bias the shit out of that until suddenly all those beliefs are being refuted by somebody. that’s probably where the “slightly rooting for him” thing came from as well

but at the same time, in-ho still has anger and likely some sort of envy towards gi-hun — he is the thing in-ho is not morally. and gi-hun is breaking the system set up and breaking his cynical beliefs. so yes, despite what inhun fans think, i do really think he does want to see gi-hun suffer.

but no matter what, even if gi-hun were to show sympathy for in-ho despite his heinous crimes, i do not think in-ho will be fully forgiven, nor do i think he deserves forgiveness. he still has/had autonomy. his trauma can be an explanation, but never an excuse.

not to mention, we forget in-ho was previously a police officer. what do police officers do? guys.. acab.. come on.. i refuse to believe in-ho was fully a good person before the games. until there is genuine concrete canonical proof, i cannot believe it. did he have good qualities? yes. everybody has good and bad qualities. but i also believe he developed a lot of cynicism and moral disengagement over the years, and the games later solidified that.

when he’s playing as young-il, he’s trying to play god, and show gi-hun reality. he does this in many ways – puts their lives on the line during the six-legged pentathlon, uses his words in ways to make gi-hun fall down a pit of questioning, etc. but gi-hun never breaks! and this confuses the shit out of in-ho.

i do firmly believe in-ho is a bad person beyond redemption. nothing can excuse the thousands of deaths he oversaw willingly. unless we somehow find out he’s being forced or coerced into this, which is highly unlikely considering his genuine beliefs on humanity, it is made evident that in-ho is willingly doing this.

at the end of the day, he still did the things he did. he still toyed with lives, and oversaw the deaths and displacement of thousands. he believes he’s doing the right thing, but does that really justify any of it? it does not.

another thing i want to say. i believe gi-hun would give in-ho mercy, not forgiveness. gi-hun is a good person. but he is not naive. he is strongly set on his morals and has been affected deeply by the games set up, and would likely show in-ho mercy without absolution. he never forgave il-nam, did he? (i know it’s not exactly the same since il-nam set the games up but in-ho is still endorsing them!! he still has autonomy despite what people will say. that’s why i said mercy.)

“but izzy,, he forgave sang-woo!”

and this is where i diverge from the topic for a moment.

sang-woo and gi-hun had a past. gi-hun knew sang-woo in ways he didn’t know in-ho or other people. also, there’s no way gi-hun would have immediately forgiven sang-woo. like i said, he is very strongly set on his morals. gi-hun would forgive sang-woo at some point because he knows sang-woo, and he knows the kid in sang-woo that wouldn’t have done this. they had a strong connection. also also.. sang-woo is a victim of the games. it’s not like he had a choice; he was just trying to survive, as was everybody in the games.

season 2 gi-hun has also learned that the players are not at fault. i think that notion would help him show more forgiveness for sang-woo. while yes, he KNOWS killing is wrong, i think s2 gi-hun has definitely realized more that they are the victims, not the ones to blame, the GAME MASTERS are (cough IN-HO). therefore, i think while gi-hun didn't forgive sang-woo right off the bat, his development, along with his genuine CARE for him would have. anybody who denies they care for each other is just pure wrong. while s1 gi-hun was fighting for himself and his mother, and FOR THE MONEY, s2 gi-hun is fighting for the players as a whole. that sentiment definitely set in after the limo scene AND il-nam and his final interaction!!

this is also why the in-ho to sang-woo pipeline comparison doesn’t sit 100% well with me. they have similarities, of course, and they’ve both done questionable things. they also have both challenged gi-hun’s morals. but sang-woo’s actions CANNOT compare to the extremity of in-ho’s situation. people may deny it as much as they want, but in-ho is fucked. up. as stated earlier, trauma is not an excuse for that. sang-woo was thrown into a situation that, might i add, in-ho assisted in. gi-hun is sympathetic of the players, seeing them as the victims in this situation. and YES i KNOW in-ho was a player so don’t jump on my dick with that argument. VOLITIONAL AUTONOMY is key here. gi-hun would physically not be able to understand why in-ho turned out the way he did.

alright. back to the original topic.

now, about gi-hun’s feelings on young-il… i don’t think he has more feelings for young-il as opposed to the other players. “young-il” made himself more visible to gi-hun intentionally, and did what he could to get closer to him, which does make it kind of impossible to ignore somebody like that. i don’t think gi-hun was more drawn to young-il. as we’ve said before, young-il made himself appear more. when somebody is in your proximity, you think about them more. also, as i’ve said before, “young-il” had a child and a wife at home!! gi-hun likely feels a lot of responsibility and sympathy. and we see this with jun-hee, too. it doesn’t feel like the same “if you die I will feel empty inside because i'd miss your company” we see with jung-bae or sang-woo. to me, it reads more as the guilt and general sympathy that this man has a wife and an unborn child that he has the possibility of losing. young-il just made those feel more personal by getting close to gi-hun and, yes, manipulating him.

in conclusion, in-ho and gi-hun have a very compelling dynamic that to me personally gets ruined when romance comes into play. people are entitled to their own opinions but the general mischaracterization of in-ho pisses me off and i really don’t see them working out in a romantic sense whatsoever.

[fic-recs-by-lulu]

Title: Flower Language

Author: softestpunk

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Rating: G - General Audiences

Category: M/M (Jayce/Viktor)

Content Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,281

Summary:

Jayce keeps giving Viktor flowers. It probably doesn't mean anything. Viktor keeps them. That probably doesn't mean anything, either.

Excerpt:

“How come you’ve got a desiccated rose in here?” Jayce asks, peering into the drawer he’s opened. He was looking for the delicate little screwdriver he’s fairly sure he last saw in Viktor’s hand, but this is more interesting.

“You gave it to me,” Viktor says. “You were a little drunk, I think.”

[voidnull-crow]

(Love)Sick As A Dog

Pairing: Yunho/Yeosang

Word count: 990

Summary: Yunho’s flu is overstimulating him to the point he can’t sleep, so Yeosang stays up tending to him.

Additional info: established relationship, sickfic, hurt/comfort, overstimulation (non-sexual), domestic fluff, slice of life, Yunho is a mess and Yeosang is soft for it

I’m sick. It’s Valentine’s Day. Have a Valentine’s sickfic special. This is part four of my yunsang series, and part one of my bingo series. It covers these squares: Overstimulated, [free space], Hurt/Comfort

Read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63074887

Or read below the cut:

On the worst night of Yunho’s flu, Yunho is so fretful and fitful he can’t sleep. In turn, Yeosang can’t either. His runny nose leaves a mountain of tissues piling in the garbage can, his coughing fits last for minutes and leave him gasping for air by the end, and his hot and cold flashes leave Yeosang scrambling to accommodate his temperature needs. Yeosang stays dutiful and diligent even as his energy starts to wane.

Deep in the night, Yeosang gets up to rewet the rag on Yunho’s forehead since it’s no longer cool, but when he comes back Yunho is trying desperately to push the covers off of himself.

“Yunho, what are you doing?” he asks softly, setting the rag on the nightstand for now.

“I can’t— I don’t like—” Yunho stammers weakly, fatigue defeating his attempts at pushing off the blankets.

“You have a bad fever, you should stay under the covers so you can sweat it out,” Yeosang explains as he tries to put the covers back over Yunho.

“No,” Yunho whimpers and Yeosang pauses. Yunho swallows and tries to find the words he needs to get Yeosang to understand. “They feel wrong.”

“The blankets?”

Yunho nods. Yeosang folds the covers to the side neatly and picks the rag back up.

“Can I put this on your forehead to help you cool down? Does it feel wrong, too?” He holds it out to Yunho so he can feel it. Yunho pinches the corner of the rag and pulls it toward his forehead to reply. Yeosang folds it and puts it across Yunho’s forehead, his hand lingering for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” Yunho whispers. His eyes well up involuntarily and he tries to blink it away. “It hurts.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Yeosang says, “please. Can you tell, or show me what hurts?”

Yunho gestures to his head, then throat, then his chest, then the rest of him down to his toes. Yeosang glances at the clock on the nightstand, taking a second to do the math.

“It’s been long enough that you’re safe to take more medication. Your last dose must be wearing off by now, huh? Here,” Yeosang steps closer and bends down, “let me help you sit up.”

He lifts Yunho easily and moves him into an upright position. He does this slowly to avoid aggravating Yunho’s headache and making him lightheaded. Then he busies himself with pouring out the right dosage so he can hold the small cup to Yunho’s lips and help him tilt his head back.

Yunho squeezes his eyes shut at the nasty taste, the tears gathering on the edge of his eyelids soaking his eyelashes. Yeosang pities him, giving some reassuring pats to his shoulder. Yunho offers the cup back to him, and Yeosang trades it for a glass of water. He seems grateful for something to wash the taste away with.

When Yunho’s done and the water glass has been returned to the nightstand and he’s been laid back down in the bed with the rag readjusted on his forehead, Yeosang checks in again.

“Is anything else uncomfortable?”

“The light,” Yunho sniffles. A tear escapes and rolls down his cheek. Yeosang catches it and wipes it away with the pad of his thumb.

“It’s okay. I’ll take care of it.”

Yeosang covers Yunho’s eyes with his hand as he climbs back into bed at his side. He tucks himself up against the headboard and helps Yunho adjust so he can lay his head in Yeosang’s lap. When both are situated, Yeosang flicks off the lamp.

“That better?” Yeosang murmurs, taking his hand off Yunho’s eyes and gently stroking a fingertip down his nose. Yunho nods. “What else can I do to help you?”

“Talk to me. Your voice is nice,” Yunho says, voice wet with emotion.

Yeosang smiles and begins a story. “Once upon a time, a young man named Yeosang was having lunch with his friends. A friend of a friend was passing by and stopped to talk, and asked Yeosang out on a date. Yeosang said no.”

“No, you didn’t,” Yunho huffs out a chuckle. Yeosang strokes his hair and shushes him.

“The guy was persistent, but Yeosang kept saying no. Eventually he gave up, they stopped talking to each other, and they never dated or got married or bought a house together. The end.”

“Sangie,” Yunho laughs, curling into Yeosang’s stomach to cover the coughing fit it spurs.

“You’re right; that’s an alternate universe,” Yeosang says and Yunho furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “This is how it really happened: Yeosang was having lunch with his friends, and a friend of a friend stopped to chat. He talked with everyone in turn, gathering his courage. Then he turned to Yeosang and asked him politely if he’d like to go on a date. Yeosang said yes to the man, named Yunho.”

A content smile spreads across Yunho’s face. He cuddles up a little higher, draping an arm around Yeosang’s hip.

“Yeosang was nervous about the date, but hopeful at the same time. He wanted it to go well. And thankfully, it did. Him and Yunho got along so great, that one date turned into two. Then three, and four, and five. Those singular dates turned into a year, then two, then three, and four, and five.”

Yunho yawns. Yeosang holds him close, caressing his face with one hand and stroking his hair with the other. He smiles fondly down at his poor, sweet, sick husband.

“One day, Yeosang realized he loved Yunho more than anything else in the world. It overwhelmed him; he wasn’t sure how all that love could be contained in one body. Then he realized it wasn’t contained in just one body, because Yunho loved him back.”

He kisses the crown of Yunho’s head. Yunho’s eyes flutter shut, lulled into sleep by the calm waves of Yeosang’s voice.

“Together, they live happily ever after. The end.”

[siriuslygay1981]

Barty shifted to the side, his heart beating rapidly. He felt shaky and like he might throw up. Clearing his throat he let his eyes jump to where Evan sat next to him casually.

He looked fucking beautiful,like always. His blonde hair was ruffled by the wind, his face slightly flushed. Barty watched with no little amount of affection as Evan closed his eyes and smiled.

"I love you." The words were out of his mouth before the words even formed in his mind.

The leafs around them rustled, the wind pushing against them. Bartys mouth open and closed, his stomach forming a black pit.

Fuck.

"uh.." Evan said awkwardly

"oh-" it felt like the word was punched out of him. Breathless and full of pain.

"yea...no YEA i-i was just- mm I'm going to..."

His limbs felt weird, his whole body felt out of place, his cheeks were warm with embarrassment. He cursed himself out mentally as he scrambled up and ran to the castle with a crumpling face and a breaking heart.

He didn't hear the faint call of his name too busy berating himself, he wiped at his face angrily and forced himself to keep going.

Way to go, ruin another friendship you idiot

__

Evan sat at the lake dumbfounded.

What the fuck.

He stared at the spot where Barty bolted from, his eyebrows pinched together. His heart thudding against his chest wildly, he pushed his hair out of his face as he tried to process everything that just happened.

What the fuck.

Part two

[swsapphics-ao3feed]

by Sixes_and_Sevens

For NiteArmor Week 2024 on Tumblr. The Armorer and Bo-Katan Kryze sit down to sign a contact. Can they come to an agreement for the benefit of all New Mandalore?

Words: 2369, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of The Armorer Gets A Name and a Face

Fandoms: The Mandalorian (TV)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F

Characters: The Armorer (The Mandalorian TV), Bo-Katan Kryze

Relationships: The Armorer (The Mandalorian TV)/Bo-Katan Kryze

Additional Tags: Arranged Marriage, The Armorer is black

[sapphicsrogues]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men '97 (Cartoon 2024) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Remy LeBeau/Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr/Rogue Characters: Rogue (X-Men) Additional Tags: Episode 2: Mutant Liberation Begins, Internal Conflict, Character Study, Shippy Gen, Angst, Spoilers, Drabble Summary:

To Rogue, Erik is…safe. She knows the irony of using such a word to describe a man the rest of the world has labeled a terrorist. Yet he can touch her, give her more than just unfulfilled promises of a life together, and make her feel normal for once.

His words don’t have the power to break her the way Remy’s do.

or: rogue's thoughts before her decision at the end of episode two.

[syndrossi]

I did at last figure a way out of my own personal War of the Five Kings aka "if I had a penny for the number of opening scenes I've written for this chapter..."

It looks like the 2K+ Larys scene is getting pushed back and worked in to a later chapter, as I finally realized that the most compelling structure is for [REDACTED] to be [REDACTED] in order for [REDACTED] to make the most sense. I thiiiiink [REDACTED] might even make it into this chapter? I've been dying to write it for so long...

[florencebirdsong]

When you plan to do a small Agatha x reader smutty one shot but then suddenly it’s an Agatha x Rio x Reader fic and almost 2k words when you’re not even done yet 🧍‍♀️

[kakushino]

Haganezuka's apprentice - Fem!Reader

You'd heard about his temper, or rather, you heard his temper, long before you first saw him. The need for new swordsmiths went beyond personal wants and so, you found yourself as one of the would-be apprentices under masters of their trade. Your master though? Haganezuka Hotaru

Since you would be entering the Swordsmiths' village proper, as a citizen and not a visitor, you had received your own hyottoko mask, as ugly as the rest of them, yet crucial for its anonymity. You were grateful to it though, because it hid your scowl during your first few weeks under Master Haganezuka's dubious tutelage.

"Not like that, you stupid shithead!"

"This is shoddy as hell. Again."

"Useless brat."

"If Kamado got a sword like this, he'd be coming back for another in a day."

It was all you could do to not blow up on him. As it was, you just shut your mouth and tried to keep up. You weren't even sure if he knew you weren't a man; after all, the masks did distort even voices.

You understood though, really. He was forbidden from touching the forge until he healed up and just tried to focus his energy on you, but he went about it completely wrong. 

Every insult and snide comment fueled your wrath. It was time to show him what you were made of, what you learned and what you could do. 

With bandage-covered hands from the blisters and rawness of overworking, you did what you did best as of late - forge.

The day you presented your first 'passable' wakizashi (passable for him, very good for others) was the day his comment felt less offensive and more… like a compliment?

"Hmpf, guess you aren't that incompetent, brat."

With time, the heat of his words went out of the window, his vulgarity dwindling as you improved in leaps and bounds. Despite his harshness and unpolished way of teaching, you'd become a swordsmith who could stand on her own two feet. Your apprenticeship would last for years more though, giving you plenty of time to really get to know your master.

"You didn't buy yourself any dango? Idiot. Here, take one. Don't tell a soul or you're dead."

"Here… What do you think it is? I didn't know you were so stupid you couldn't recognize tea. You like this type, don't you? So shut up and take it."

"Tsk. Brat. As if you could distract me from my- is that Gyomaru's dango? Hand it over."

Haganezuka Hotaru was just abrasive on the outside, but a big softie on the inside. 

A big softie who couldn't take care of himself properly at times. 

"Master Haganezuka, you need to eat. You've been in here for over a day." You cautiously touched his shoulder, hoping beyond hope he would snap out of the Zone. You'd brought dango and tea, hoping to entice him with the smell at first. It wasn't working, obviously.

He said nothing, just continued to hammer away at his latest work. 

“Master Haganezuka?” you shook his shoulder a little, making him pause for a moment before he continued. Your patience wore thin. You scowled. You’d be surprised if the ugly expression wasn’t permanently fixed into your face with how often you wore it when dealing with him. 

Maybe taking off his mask would make him pay attention to me?

Spoiler alert: It did not.

But it did make your face feel hot when you saw how handsome he was under it. A few shiny scars from the not-so-recent village attack still stood out against his pale skin, making him even more attractive.

Sweat made his dark hair stick to his skin, and suddenly, you were curious about the whole picture; you untied his scarf - it wasn’t like he was going to un-Zone anytime soon, you reasoned. You were not ready for the dark wavy tresses spilling over his shoulders. It was not fair how much of a looker he was. Was this man really single?

You continued to study him, memorizing his features for long lonely nights in your accommodation. Soon enough, you realized you were being a creep and should stop at once; you needed to finish what you started after all.

“Master Haganezuka!” you reached for his other shoulder to shake it. What you didn’t account for was the fact it was his blind side. Instead of an insult or even a scathing remark, you were nearly slashed with a red-hot blade in the face. You took a quick step back and it thankfully only knocked off your hyottoko mask to the ground, the wood smoking a little where the iron made contact with it. You stared at it with wide eyes, your heart in your throat and terror pulsing in your veins. “...”

“...you’re a woman?” 

Your eyes met his, both of you staring at each other in disbelief. “You didn’t know?” 

A flush rose to his cheeks, before his expression turned to white ash. “The old man is gonna kill me.”

"How did you not know I was a woman? The Chief told you when he was introducing me."

"I wasn't listening," he huffed, looking away. 

"More importantly, you just tried to kill me!" 

"Not my fault you were being stupid, brat!"

"You were being stupid. You didn't get out of here for over a day! You have to eat! And sleep!"

"Sleep is for the weak! I need to finish this project-" Haganezuka turned back to his bench, reaching for his hammer.

You snatched the tool before he could touch it. "No, you don't-" You high-tailed it out of his forge, clutching his favorite hammer as if your life depended on it.

"Wait-! You useless wench!"

Your master swore up a storm, hurling insults, screaming at you and chasing you with his half-finished blade. 

Kanamori even ran out into the street in his pajamas, mask askew, a katana of his own in hand, thinking there was an attack again. Seeing Haganezuka, he huffed and went back to sleep, too tired to deal with this right now.

A few days later, the Chief came to officially scold your master. You had a kick out of it, thankful your mask hid your smirk.