#f: seven

[aphrodites-law]

I feel like with Seven, everyones waiting on that Lust day, but I personally cannot get the picture out of my head of Clarke coming home after a quick errand and finding the kitchen a wreck, Lexa on the floor with like three empty pans around her,face covered in chocolate, just like "I tried to bake you brownies to thank you for taking care of me, but I just kept eating them all"

Clarke doesn’t leave Lexa’s side because each sin dominates everything and it gets worse as the day goes by — basically “burns” through Lexa’s poor human body. Like in a store Lexa just turns into those kids who grab everything off the shelf and puts it all in the cart. Unscrews honey jars and shoves her fingers in. The dangerous part is that she can’t stop herself. She needs ALL the delicious things. She seeks out the holy grail: Witchy foods, which can be toxic or worse, so Clarke is literally tying this woman to the bed to keep her from eating. Lexa is so confused why she’s being ~starved to death~, she’s still herself to some degree after all, so it’s NOT a good day in the household 😩 Good thing Clarke has upset-stomach potions too 🥴

[solaceseven]

more than friends?

things they do that make you second-guess your friendship featuring: gojo satoru, geto suguru, kento nanami, ryomen sukuna, toji fushiguro.

GOJO - being touchy.

you’re used to gojo’s touch.

the way he drapes himself over your shoulders like a human scarf, pulling you into his side without a second thought. the way his hand finds the small of your back when he guides you through a crowd, his palm pressing firm against you, like he’s staking a silent claim. you’ve grown accustomed to the way he plays with your fingers absentmindedly—twisting your rings, tracing circles over your knuckles—while he rambles about something completely unrelated.

it’s always been like this.

that’s what you tell yourself, at least. that it doesn’t mean anything. that he’s like this with everyone.

but lately, it’s been getting harder to believe that.

because his touches have started to linger. his fingers don’t just graze your wrist anymore—they rest there, warm and grounding, his thumb brushing slow, deliberate strokes against your pulse. when he reaches for something above your head, he doesn’t just stretch over you; he presses his chest against your back, close enough that you feel the heat of him seep into your skin.

and then there’s the way he looks at you.

like right now.

you’re both sprawled out on his couch, half-watching some random movie he insisted was a classic (it’s not), when you feel it—his fingers, absentmindedly tracing shapes on your wrist.

you try not to react, try to focus on the screen, but your breath catches anyway. if he notices, he doesn’t say anything. he just keeps going, slow and lazy, the pads of his fingers skating along your skin like he’s mapping out something only he can see.

your pulse jumps when his fingers move up—tracing the inside of your forearm now, featherlight. it’s not accidental. you know it. he knows it.

but he doesn’t stop.

you sneak a glance at him, expecting that usual smug grin, but he’s still staring at the screen. too casual. too relaxed. he’s testing you.

like he’s waiting for you to do something about it.

you should move your arm. you should pull away. you should call him out.

but you don’t.

because the way he’s touching you now—it’s not friendly. it’s not casual. it’s not something he does with anyone else.

and the worst part?

he knows you know it.

GETO - never correcting people when they assume you’re his partner.

you don’t think anything of it at first.

you and geto move through the grocery store like you always do—bickering over which brand of cereal is better, tossing random snacks into the cart, laughing when he makes fun of your terrible attempts at balancing fruit on top of an already overflowing pile of groceries.

it’s easy. it’s comfortable. it’s just you and him.

and then you get to checkout.

the cashier, an older woman with kind eyes, watches as geto effortlessly lifts the heavy bags before you can even reach for them. he does it without thinking, just like how he had taken the cart from you earlier, just like how he always opens doors for you, just like how his hand had rested on the small of your back when guiding you through the aisles.

she smiles warmly.

“you two make such a lovely couple.”

you freeze.

your brain short-circuits for a split second, mouth already opening to correct her, but then—then you hear nothing from geto.

not a single word of clarification. not even a chuckle or a shake of his head.

nothing.

instead, he just hums, tilting his head slightly as if considering the statement. he doesn’t deny it. doesn’t laugh it off. just lets the words sit there, completely unbothered.

your head snaps toward him, eyes wide.

he meets your gaze, entirely too calm, a slow smirk forming at the corner of his lips. and then—because he’s absolutely insufferable—he leans in slightly, voice smooth as silk.

“you hear that?” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. “we’re a lovely couple.”

you want to strangle him.

your reaction must be obvious because the cashier just beams, clearly convinced she was right. “oh, young love is so sweet. you take good care of them, dear.”

geto chuckles, and before you can protest, he effortlessly places a hand on the back of your head, ruffling your hair like you’re some flustered little thing.

“always,” he says smoothly.

you don’t remember the rest of the transaction. you’re too busy contemplating whether it’s legal to strangle someone with a grocery bag.

as you’re walking out, geto leans in again, voice dripping with amusement.

“you could’ve corrected them,” he muses, lips dangerously close to your ear. “but you didn’t.”

your stomach flips. you hate that he’s right.

NANAMI - always taking care of you.

you don’t plan on staying this late.

but time slips away between deadlines and last-minute emails, and before you know it, the office is nearly empty, the sky outside painted in deep shades of navy. you sigh, rubbing your temples, already dreading the long commute home.

by the time you step out onto the quiet street, the city lights glowing around you, your phone buzzes.

you don’t have to check to know who it is.

nanami: where are you?

your stomach flips.

you: just leaving work. why?

the message is barely delivered before another one comes in.

nanami: stay there. i’ll be there in five.

you frown at your screen. he was nearby?

true to his word, exactly five minutes later, a familiar figure approaches.

nanami, dressed in his usual crisp attire, looking entirely too put together for this hour. he doesn’t say anything at first, just glances at you, scanning you over like he’s checking for any signs of exhaustion.

“you should have left earlier,” he says, voice even, but you catch the slight furrow of his brow.

you roll your eyes. “yeah, well, i got caught up.”

“hm.” he exhales, the sound bordering on exasperation, before tilting his head toward the direction of your apartment. “let’s go.”

you blink. “what?”

“i’ll walk you home.”

you huff a laugh. “nanami, it’s fine. i can handle walking alone.”

he gives you a flat look, as if the idea is so ridiculous it doesn’t even warrant a response. Instead of arguing, he simply starts walking, fully expecting you to follow.

and—of course—you do.

it’s not the first time he’s done this. You know it won’t be the last.

he doesn’t hover, doesn’t lecture you about staying late. but his presence is solid beside you, steady and unwavering. his hands stay in his pockets, but you know—if anything were to happen, if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way—he’d be on them in a second.

as you near your building, you sneak a glance at him. “you didn’t have to do this, you know.”

nanami sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like you’re the one giving him a headache. “i know.”

“…then why do you?”

he stops walking. turns to face you, studying you for a long moment.

then, with a sigh—like he’s so tired of explaining the obvious—he simply mutters:

“because you don’t take care of yourself.”

and that’s that. no room for debate. no further explanation.

your heart stumbles in your chest.

because he doesn’t say i worry about you. he doesn’t say i do it because I care.

but he doesn’t have to.

the truth lingers in the quiet, in the way he watches you, in the way he makes sure you’re safe—every single time.

and when you step inside your building, looking back one last time, you catch him still standing there. waiting.

making sure you’re okay.

like he always does.

SUKUNA - being unreasonably jealous.

it starts off as nothing.

a passing comment here, an unimpressed scoff there. sukuna has always been blunt, always had a sharp tongue and an even sharper glare. but lately, you start to notice a pattern—one that becomes impossible to ignore.

it happens again tonight.

you’re out with friends, the atmosphere light and easy, laughter filling the air. you’re mid-conversation with some guy—a friend of a friend, nothing special—when you feel it.

that presence.

it’s not loud or obvious, but it’s there. a weight lingering at your back, pressing into your skin before you even turn around.

and when you do—

sukuna is already watching.

seated across the table, one arm draped over the back of his chair, his gaze locked onto you with an expression that makes your stomach flip. bored. blank. irritated.

you try to ignore it. you keep talking, keep laughing at whatever the guy is saying, but it doesn’t matter. because every time you sneak a glance in sukuna’s direction, his eyes are still on you.

unwavering. unrelenting.

you swallow, trying to shake the weird tension creeping up your spine. but then the guy leans in slightly—just slightly—and that’s all it takes.

there’s a sharp scrape of a chair against the floor.

and then sukuna is there, standing beside you, a hand dropping heavily onto your shoulder.

“alright,” he drawls, voice slow, lazy, but carrying something unmistakably sharp. “this conversation looks thrilling.”

the guy stiffens. you do, too.

you glance up at sukuna, narrowing your eyes. “what are you doing?”

“listening.” his fingers tap idly against your shoulder, his weight sinking into the space beside you like he belongs there. “should i join? or is this, what—special?”

your brows furrow. “are you serious?”

he tilts his head slightly, feigning confusion, but you know that look. the glint in his eyes, the smirk barely tugging at his lips—he’s enjoying this.

the guy across from you clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “uh—i was just—”

“no, no,” sukuna interrupts smoothly, finally dragging his gaze away from you to look at him. “you were just what?”

the guy hesitates, then shakes his head. “never mind.”

and just like that, he stands, mumbling something about needing another drink before walking away.

you whip around to face sukuna fully, shoving his arm off your shoulder. “what the hell is wrong with you?”

he doesn’t move, doesn’t even pretend to be remorseful. if anything, he looks amused. “relax,” he hums. “didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

you scoff. “oh? and how exactly was he looking at me?”

sukuna shrugs, completely nonchalant. “like he could have you.” his head tilts, eyes flickering over your face. “and he can’t.”

your heart stumbles.

you open your mouth, then close it. because what do you even say to that? what does he even mean by that?

he smirks at your silence, reaching out to flick your forehead lightly before leaning in—just close enough that your breath catches.

“relax, brat,” he murmurs, voice deep, low, too much. “i’m just looking out for you.”

you should shove him away. roll your eyes. call him out for acting like an overprotective asshole.

but instead, you just sit there, pulse unsteady, second-guessing everything you thought you knew about this friendship.

because you know sukuna. and you know damn well—

this wasn’t just him looking out for you.

TOJI - flirting with you consistently.

it starts small. barely noticeable at first.

a lazy smirk here, a lingering touch there.

you don’t even think much of it in the beginning. it’s just toji being toji, right? he flirts with everyone—cashiers, waitresses, random people in passing. it’s just how he is.

except… it’s different with you.

because when he leans in close, voice dropping lower just for you to hear— “that color looks real good on ya, sweetheart. what, tryna drive me crazy?”—his eyes don’t leave your face. because when his fingers skim the small of your back, guiding you through a crowd, they stay there a second too long to be casual. because when he throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his warmth, he’s comfortable like he belongs there—like he’s claiming that space.

and then there are the compliments.

not just the casual you look nice or that suits you. no, never that simple.

“bet guys lose their damn minds over you.” he says it so offhandedly, like it’s just a fact—just something everyone knows.

you scoff, rolling your eyes. “yeah, sure.”

“i mean it,” he murmurs, and you hate the way your stomach flips when his gaze settles on you, something dark and unreadable in his eyes. “if i were them, i wouldn’t let you outta my sight.”

you tell yourself you’re imagining it—that he’s just messing with you. that’s what he does.

but then it keeps happening.

every single time, without fail.

you’re just trying to grab something from a high shelf? suddenly, he’s behind you, reaching over your head, his chest nearly brushing against your back. he doesn’t have to get that close. he knows it. you know it. but he does it anyway, voice low in your ear as he hands you whatever you needed.

“next time, just ask me, yeah? don’t gotta strain that pretty little neck of yours.”

you push him away, muttering something under your breath, and he just laughs, all smug amusement.

he’s always touching you, like he can’t help himself. a hand grazing the back of your neck when he adjusts your hoodie. his palm resting against your thigh when he leans in to say something. he doesn’t cling to you, doesn’t make a big show of it—but it’s there. subtle. constant. a quiet, unspoken thing.

and then—then, there are the moments that really get to you.

like when you’re out with friends, sitting side by side, and his fingers find the hem of your sleeve. absentmindedly playing with the fabric, rolling it between his fingertips. he doesn’t even seem to notice he’s doing it, just listening to the conversation, relaxed and completely at ease. like touching you is second nature to him.

or when you’re waiting in line for something, standing close, and he leans in just slightly, dropping his voice low.

“keep looking at me like that, sweetheart,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to your lips for half a second. “gonna start thinkin’ you want somethin’ from me.”

your breath catches.

and the worst part? the absolute worst part?

he sees it. every damn time.

sees the way your pulse flutters at your throat. sees the way your fingers twitch, like you don’t know what to do with them. sees the way you avoid his gaze, pretending like your entire body isn’t reacting to him.

and every time, without fail—he just smirks.

like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. like he’s enjoying it. like he’s waiting—patient, unhurried—for you to break first.

and the thing is…

you think he knows you will.

eventually.

[kakushusband]

Robot characters who are given names like SL-308-62 but instead of their human friend going Well let's call you Sally for short, they instead ask the other if they Like their current name.

"Do you like your serial number?" they ask. "Yes, quite. It reminds me of who I am" the robot replies. "I have heard others like me go by different names after some time, and maybe one day I'll choose one for myself, too. But right now that is my full name, yes" they continue.

Because it's not your decision to make whether or not the robot will receive a new name. It should be theirs only. What's the difference? One is more complex and the other is simplified. They were both given by strangers instead of themselves.

"62 will do," they conclude. "It's my model number - there will be no other 62 after me."

[luxmoogle]

F L A N

[bunniebi]

[infamous-if]

Spicy Snippet #3: F!Seven

VICTORIA - ORION - M!SEVEN

The high you feel hearing the crowd after a performance is one that can’t be replicated. Not even the strongest drugs can make you feel this…alive. Nothing else in the world can make you feel this alive. 

Aside from Seven, of course. 

But if the danger of the drug is measured by how strong the addiction is, you fear Seven Lawless is definitely the worst. 

Or best, depending on how you look at it.

That thought runs through your mind now when Seven takes your hand and motions to the bathroom. Your friends are too busy riding that post-performance high by dancing together, and you look away from them to give Seven a nod.

The sly, evil smile that rises on her face makes a shiver run down your spine, and you allow her to pull you through the crowd. 

When you two reach the bathroom, Seven looks under each stall as you throw cold water on your cheeks. You’re panting, sweaty, and your skin still burns with heat from the performance. When Seven is satisfied that you two are alone, she turns to look at you through the mirror. The secret smile on her face makes your skin burn hotter, and you’re certain that performing on stage to a stadium of people won’t ever hold a candle to how she makes you feel with one look.

She keeps her eyes trained on yours when she walks over to you, stopping to stand behind you. A lump forms in your throat, and a swell of excitement and nervousness rises in the pit of your stomach when she puts her hands on the sink, looking away from the mirror to tilt her head at you, gazing at your face. 

“Hi.” 

You manage a smile when you drag your eyes away from the mirror to turn your cheek, meeting her eyes. “Hey.” 

Her humor fades away once her eyes settle on your mouth and you subconsciously lick your lips. Doing the same to her own, she appears to debate something for a brief moment. Then, with heated eyes, she leans forward and presses her mouth to yours. 

The action is cautious, delicate, which is funny considering Seven was just head banging on stage minutes ago. You can taste the strawberry chapstick on her lips, and the heat of her tongue against yours makes your legs feel like goo. Kissing Seven is still something completely new to you. 

After being best friends for years, you thought you knew all there was to know about Seven Lawless. It’s only recently that you discovered there’s a version of her you were completely in the dark about. Like how she kisses. How, sometimes, you look at her while you two are singing on stage and feel like she’s undressing you with her eyes. Or how she makes a certain sound in your mouth when you kiss her just right. A sound only you can pull from her.

When she pulls away, it’s too soon. She smiles at you. “You did really well on stage tonight.” 

“Is that why you brought me to the bathroom?” you say with a smile of your own. “To compliment me?”

“Maybe.” Your nose brushes hers when she moves her head to kiss you again, chaste and brief. You ache for more. “Are you disappointed? Is it not enough?”

“Not nearly,” you admit, the words leaving you in a sigh. 

Her eyes glitter with happiness and she chews on her lower lip in thought before saying, “I like when you want me. For a long time, I wasn't sure if you did. Well...I hoped you did."

You hate how easily saying things like that come to her. “So do I.” 

“So do I.” 

“Well, I want you all the time so that’s not really anything special…” 

You sputter out a laugh, looking around the bathroom. Like most club bathrooms, it sits in disrepair from lack of maintenance. It’s dirty, and hardly romantic. When you look back at Seven, she’s looking at you with half a grin, already knowing what you’re going to say next. “Even now?”

“Especially now.” She looks at you. “Sweaty from performing and we’re alone…”

You snort and Seven smiles before she leans in again. All pretenses flee, and your skin grows hot when you turn fully to face her. She presses her body against yours, pushing you against the sink. 

You deepen the kiss, your hand going to her neck, pulling her closer. Seven’s chest vibrates against yours when she moans, her palm reaching under your shirt to swipe across your stomach, the heat of her skin against yours making your desire shoot up until you feel yourself reaching between you two, tugging at the waist of her pants. You want to see just how much she wants you. 

Seven pulls away, putting her hand on yours, stopping you. When you look at her, she shoots a pointed look at the door. Understanding, you smile and push yourself off the sink, grabbing her hand. It’s your turn to lead her and you do to one of the empty stalls. 

The moment you lock it, Seven is on you. She pushes you against the door of the stall. She stifles your gasp with another kiss, this one hurried and urgent as if time is running out. 

When she pulls away to kiss your neck, you bring a hand to her hair to guide her. The strands are soft between your fingers, and Seven smiles in satisfaction against your skin. And then, between kisses, she says, “When do you think we’re going to tell the band about this?”

“Never,” is your immediate reply, and her kiss melts into a bite that makes you stifle a moan. You drop your hand from her hair to the waistband of her pants, forcing it down her hips. “They’d never let us live it down.” 

You and Seven have been hiding away for the past few weeks. You don’t remember the exact reason why you two agreed not to tell anyone, but it had something to do with “not ruining the delicate ecosystem of the dynamic” ...whatever that means.

“Do you think they already know?” she manages, the words coming out strangled when you hook a finger around the delicate band of her underwear, they drag down her legs and your mouth waters.

“Don’t know,” you say, kissing her again. She bites your lower lip in playful warning. “And right now, don’t care.”

“Eventually we’re going to have to tell the—oh.” You know exactly how to shut her up. Your fingers disappear between her legs, and you feel victorious feeling just how much she’s been aching for you. You hear it not too long after when a moan leaves her mouth. 

 It’s that moment that the door to the bathrooms swing open, and Seven’s eyes widen. Sensing another moan from her, you put your hand on her mouth and her brows furrow together in panic. Then you hook your fingers just right and her face melts back into that expression of carnal pleasure that has her forgetting what she was worried about. 

“…you think we’ll be able to come back next week?” You almost choke the moment the voice rises in the air, and your hand falters. Seven makes a frustrated sound in her throat and she grinds her hips on your hand, urging you to continue. 

“You heard that?” Iris asks. 

You look at Seven with wide eyes, and her brows furrow in faux innocence. “Mfhfnmf?” she mutters against the skin of your palm. You want to scream in frustration—at Devyn. At Iris. At their impeccable timing. 

You hear the doors of the stalls slamming open and Seven shoots you a look. Ah. Shit. The last thing you need is for your friends to find out you and Seven are…whatever you are right now. 

Your pull your fingers away from her and wipe off her wetness on your pants. She immediately appears disappointed. Still, she fumbles to pull her pants back on. You look around, uncertain at first, before you step on the toilet so only one pair of feet are seen in the stall. Seven spins around in confusion, not knowing what to do with her hands and…with herself, and you point at the door so she understands. 

“I swear I heard that,” Iris says. “What if someone is dying or something?”

“It’s…me,” Seven calls out. Her voice is thick and breathy with desire, still hoarse from what you two just finished doing.

Well, finished isn’t exactly the word. 

“Seven?” Iris ventures. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just felt sick,” she responds, looking at you with a shrug. The heat in the pit of your stomach hasn’t gone away, and when she looks at you, it takes everything in you not to tell Iris and Devyn to fuck off somewhere. 

“You need help?” Devyn asks.

“Nuh-huh.” Seven puts a cheek on the door, then her hands. She looks like she’s getting irritated. You understand—you want them gone.“I’m alright. I’ll meet you guys back outside.” 

Your legs are starting to hurt, you shift in order to give your muscles relief, but the toilet seat moves with you, making you slip. 

You scream, because what else is there to do when you're slipping face first off a toilet seat?

“Wha—” Seven barely has time to spin and catch you before you’re crashing into her, making her head clatter against the door. The sound echoes against the bathroom, and your friends are gasping.

“Seven?!” A moment later you see Iris peeking out from under the stall, her eyes widening. “[MC]?”

“Heyyyy,” you drawl out casually, your body slumped over on Seven’s as she uses her arm to hold you up. She uses the other one to unlock the door, pushing it so it swings open. The squeak is slow, long, and pathetic, and it gives you a full view of Devyn and Iris looking at you two with twin expressions of surprise. 

“Hiiii.”  Seven nods her head, smiling awkwardly. She puts her hands together to lock her fingers behind your back, holding you to her chest.

Devyn glances at the both of you, lips parted. “What the fuck are you guys doing?”

“I…uh.” She swallows. “Thought I had a bowel problem. [MC] was just helping me in making sure nothing wrong’s down there.” She lets out a forced, airy laugh. "All good."

“Ugh.” Iris waves a dismissive hand, walking away. “You two are so fucking weird sometimes. Go to the doctor! It's not normal to be that close!"

"We're best friends," Seven throws back. "We are sooo close," she says, lower, and you nudge her rib. She smiles with all of her teeth.

Devyn stands there, not so easily convinced, but then she follows Iris out anyway. Not without shooting you two a look. 

When they’re gone, you two glance at each other. "I think it's time we tell them." You untangle from her grasp, fixing your clothes.

Seven lets out a laugh, letting her head fall back against the stall wall.

“You think?” 

[frankys-wife]

⭐Fond Memories with You⭐

Finally got around to drawing younger Franky and Mimi together!! Some art of them being childhood best friends (with some unspoken feelings 👀) <3

Yes, Mimi at 22 looks a little bit closer to me irl (23).

And yes, Mimi still likes to catch a ride on Franky's back sometimes, just like the old days together. Though she doesn't ask for it nearly as much with her being 32 currently (and Franky being 36).

Tag list (DM if you wanna be added or removed!!)

@100shark @brutally-loving @fl0ralsxgar @kissingarthurclaus @lances-wife @literally-just-there @moxanji-real @r0tten-hav3n @starshakez @vergils-beloved

[toniodarling]

I’M TRYING SO SOLVE A PUZZLE LEAVE ME ALONE

[moonlightsapphic]

Swoony Sapphic Romance Recs

Ever find f/f lukewarm? (It’s not you, it’s an industrial complex.) My intention here is to collect canonical sapphic rep that avoids the flat “girl meets girl” trope, where two women with doubtful chemistry are made to get together simply because they exist in the same narrative. I want media that will make me feverishly ship characters and spend at least 24 hours reeling from the brainrot in the aftermath. I don’t want to like a pairing just because they’re sapphic rep, I want it to be good and unforgettable. These lists are a wild jumble of genres, loosely organised (mostly novels, but I clarify when they aren’t), and in alphabetical order! I left out author names to avoid clutter. This is a living post and I will keep updating—please reblog or comment with your own recs if you wish!

⭐️: classics among sapphic media and/or criminally underrated essentials

Top tier best wlw romances: fluttery, swoony and angsty

in four, very loose categories

CONTEMPORARY

Bottoms (movie) ⭐️

How You Get the Girl

Iris Kelly Doesn’t Date

Kiss Her Once for Me

Love & Other Disasters

One Last Stop ⭐️

Saving Face (movie) ⭐️

She Loves to Cook, She Loves to Eat (manga/show)

The Fiancée Farce

XO, Kitty (show)

HISTORICAL

Annie on My Mind ⭐️

Don’t Want You Like a Best Friend

Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

Last Night at the Telegraph Club ⭐️

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo ⭐️

SCI-FI/FANTASY

A Dark and Drowning Tide

Arcane (animated show) ⭐️

Lucy Undying

The Midnight Lie ⭐️

Warrior Nun (show)

Youngblood (faced backlash for problematic content—check reviews before reading/supporting. Included here because sapphic romance itself is undeniably excellent.)

GRAPHIC NOVELS

Sunset Phoenix (webcomic)

Tamen de Gushi ⭐️

The Guy She Was Interested in Wasn’t a Guy at All ⭐️

The Princess and the Grilled Cheese Sandwich

Solid romance but less angsty:

Bloom Into You* (ani/manga)

Crush (movie)

Forget Me Not

If You’ll Have Me (graphic novel)

I Kissed Shara Wheeler

Magan & Danai (webcomic)

Run Away With Me, Girl (manga)

She Drives Me Crazy

These Witches Don’t Burn

Bonus: SFF with excellent sapphic characters (not romance focused)

A Lady’s Guide to Petticoats and Pirates* (graphic novel)

Gideon the Ninth ⭐️ (this is its own genre and absolutely gutting despite not being heavy handed on the romance, very emotional and will make you want to put a butch in a pillow fort)

On a Sunbeam (graphic novel)

Shera and the Princesses of Power* (animated show) ⭐️

Bonus: Literary fiction (little focus on romance but packs a gut-wrenching punch)

Blue Sisters

Even Though We’re Adults (manga)

Our Dreams at Dusk ⭐️ (manga)

The Impossible Love Life of Amanda Dean

Wandering Son ⭐️ (ani/manga)

*sort of girl meets girl but worth plowing through for various reasons, usually their importance to sapphic media or LGBTQ+ discourse in the plot (might get taken off the list with time as I add better options!)

[scribeofmorpheus]

New stills of Solas and Eldritch Mommy Ghilan'nain (and look at the size of that Dragon!), ho boii!

[source]

[aveloka-draws]

Seeing Kallamar, Leshy, and Narinder actually become more human (animal?) is really great and I love every moment of it! I wonder what Hekets and Shamura's progress looks like? Especially Shamura because EXPERIENCE THE JOY THAT IS EXISTING ON THIS EARTH AND EXPERIENCING THE SIMPLE YET MEANINGFUL BONDS BETWEEN PEOPLE YA WALKING SARCOPHAGUS!!!

I

Have thoughts

[cathoderaymission]

when im in a toxic yaoi competition and my opponents are these two

[odyooles]

(roleswap au)

eveline uses the newest word in her vocabulary

[varigolover]

So…uh…hi chat 👋🏼😔

[thatsbelievable]

[buddiedaydreamer911]

EVERYBODY STAY CALM STAY CALM STAY F*CKING CALM-