#short and sweet<3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[paintinganangel]

Sabrina Carpenter for the Short n’ Sweet Tour in Amsterdam

[perrieedwards]

SABRINA CARPENTER - SHORT N' SWEET POSTERS

shop for the posters here

[syluses]

BREADWINNER┃sylus

cw. smut, boxer! sylus, literally purely nsfw, sylus is down bad but just a teensy bit mean here, below 1k words, fem reader, 18+ characters

this isn’t the best idea, he knows.

fucking you, he means. it’s not wise, it’s certainly not conducive to his upcoming match’s success (set to commence in the next half hour)— hell, it’s not even sanitary, not really. there’s something distinctly filthy about this all when sylus crams you against the shower wall, the rather grimy one his dressing room has to offer, and hoists you up to rut into you deeper as you cry.

you don’t want anyone to hear. his team, or more notably his coach- waiting outside the door and pacing as he readies his number one fighter’s gloves and gear.

sylus does.

there’s a whole stadium full of people waiting with barely-contained excitement just down the hall where the back area opens up to the seemingly boundless ring. he knows it’s all for naught but fuck he hopes they hear as he pounds into your poor cunt senselessly and makes a vow in your ear, saying, i’ll win it for you.

you’d admire his dedication if you were a little more lucid, but right now, the better part of your rationale has faded.

he feels good. so good. you can’t even be mad at him for going against his coach’s advice, being warned off intimacy before a match because it’ll sap him of his strength- his physical vigor- completely. there’s no room for frustration when you’re damn near certain his cockhead is rearranging your guts as you hold onto him for dear life, when he bites into your neck- not to a painful degree, but just to leave a pretty mark, proof you’re his- and moans.

he tuts when you whimper. bastard. but to his credit, and sometimes to your displeasure, his cocksure attitude is grounded: he wins all his battles. he has every right to brag, but that doesn’t mean that sometimes you won’t get fed up with his bravado and try to knock him down a peg… you think it’s good for him; you’re like his tether to planet earth as he makes a small empire off the boxing industry.

(albeit, he seems less interested in that and more so in impressing you with its wages.)

“nawh. what’s wrong, sweetie?” he asks, honey-sweet, tone deceptively cloying for the wicked, self-satisfied glint in his eye. and you make a silent swear right then and there that you’ll get him back for this later. (but not now. he feels delicious inside you and you can hardly swat his hands away as they grasp your hips to anchor you as he bullies his way in.)

“if i’m not mistaken, you were telling me just moments ago how we shouldn’t do this, how bad of an idea it is that i… touch you.” he breathes, playful.

maybe he’s being a little meaner now, okay, he’ll grant that much, but he hopes you know that adrenaline’s already coursing through him, that he can’t help the testosterone that spikes in his veins preceding a fight. it’s hard to not act on it. coach’s words be damned- sylus feels more hyped up, thrilled, than anything when he’s fucking you within an inch of your life in his temporary room’s bathroom. certainly not tired, or drained, or any other thing he sagely warned him about, painting sex before a match like it was anathema in itself, a ticket to a sure loss.

oh, okay, that’s great and all, but sylus doesn’t lose.

you manage a pout between gasping, delighted breaths. “you-! i- i hope you lose!”

pearly teeth flash at you, spotting your lie easily. his broad, muscled chest rumbles with a deep chuckle, the bass of it making your legs all the more weak where they wrap around his hips. “ouch, kitten, you’re hurting my feelings now. if i don’t have your support during the match,… then what’s the point in it?” he quips back, lighthearted, though you can tell he means what he’s saying.

that bold grin of his falters when he hits particularly deep and you clench around him, nails digging into his traps. he slants into you more, if that’s possible, bowing his head in the sweaty juncture of your neck and collar.

“y-you’re lucky i even go to your stupid matches,” you mewl back, brows furrowed with all the indignity you can possibly muster.

he gives a low hum, voice strained, words meaningful beneath all the layers of want and hunger. “i am lucky,” he pants. “and you’ll watch me again tonight, hm?” he plants a doting kiss to your clavicle, oddly tender for the moment, peering up at you with ruby eyes aflame.

“when i bring that belt home for you?”

[galindaelphaba]

SABRINA CARPENTER | Short n' Sweet (2024)

[mizukkay]

💙

[heyimkana]

kana are u just making a multiverse of jinwoo's at this point?? how many do you have???? - 💸

Literally what I listed in the last ask you sent me LMFAOOO maybe around 20???

There’s also Homewrecker!Jinwoo actually, though not in the way you think 😏

It’s about reader who’s married and has a four year old daughter, but both of them are being abused by her husband.

One night, when her daughter got sick, she took her to the hospital to make sure she was okay. Coincidentally, that was the same night Jinwoo visited the hospital to give the Elixir of Life to Jinho’s dad.

Jinwoo, reader, and her little girl stepped into the elevator together. But then, the lights flickered and suddenly everything went dark. They were trapped inside the elevator.

The little girl started crying, scared of the dark. Let's say her father (reader’s husband) used to lock her in the bathroom whenever she misbehaved. She kept sobbing, “Mama, please! I’m scared! I was good, Mama, I didn’t do anything wrong!” Reader tried to calm her down (she was close to crying herself from watching her little girl broke down like that), but her daughter wouldn’t listen. She was too scared.

Then, Jinwoo suddenly did something with his magic (maybe he created a little orb of light with his mana) and crouched down to show it to her. He smiled, so gently, and asked, “Hey, you wanna hear a funny story?”

The girl sniffled and nodded.

“I have a friend who used to be a giant ant. Really scary. Sharp claws. Big wings. Thought he was the king of the world.”

The little girl looked at him, eyes still watery, but now curious. "Giant ant..?"

“Mm-hmm. But now he wears a tiny cape and thinks he’s a stage actor.”

Then Beru appeared—floating in the air, small enough to fit in Jinwoo’s palm—and dramatically declared: “Verily, ’tis I! Destined from the womb to smite all foes, conquer dungeons, and rule o’er all creation! And yet—oh, cruel twist!—I now spend mine hours painting yon royal sister’s fingernails! What devilry is this? From dark lord to dainty manicurist—fie, what a fall!”

The little girl giggled. “He talks funny.”

Jinwoo rolled his eyes. “He thinks he’s in a drama. But honestly, I think he just likes attention.”

The girl stepped closer, wide-eyed. “Is he your friend?”

“One of the best ones I’ve got.” He held out his fist. “Wanna bump?”

She did, bumping her small knuckles against his and Jinwoo smiled, gently patting her head. “And now you’re one of my best friends too.”

The girl smiled—like genuinely smiled—and reader wanted to cry because it had been months since she’d seen her little girl smile like that.

[ivysprophecy]

slim pickins

warnings; bad date? mentions of sex, cursing underage drinking and yes i meant for it to be written poorly i was trying to keep the humor of the album in the writing

masterlist | p. 2

no pressure tags; @murdockcastleslut @kimoralov3 @arkofblake

word count; 1911

summary; youre tired of not finding a decent guy who will treat you right and lay you right. at least not one you've known since you were kids. however you just cant help yourself. besides its slim pickins out here you take what you can get.

divider by @bernardsbendystraws

i wanna make one thing clear, when i say there are no good guys left i do not wanna hear about you and your boyfriend of three years that can cook and loves your mom.

thats exactly what im talking about maddie!!! i dont give two fucks that he took you to barnes and noble and bought you every book you wanted.

they are all taken. its plain and simple.

which is why even with a full roster, im stuck taking fucking zander, yes with a z, to my friends' kegger.

i mean yea hes cute. hes tall, built but not that gross kind of muscly. but if were being real i shouldve known better when he was joking about being a male stripper when hes a ginger.

and i can tell kie is judging me, rightfully so. her side eye is lethal. when i introduced him to everyone she asked him about his greta van fleet tee and he said he didn't even know it was a band.

needless to say pope had to drag her away.

after that incident i decided it was best if we tried to talk away from the rest of the group. boy was i wrong.

"so what do you like to drink? ill go grab us something," i offer trying to start the conversation, also avoiding the usual problem with taking a drink from men.

"im good with whatever"

i like to think im not a violent person, but im about to be.

"does a beer sound okay?" i ask him grabbing a twisted tea for me from the cooler.

"sure thing." god why is he acting like such a bitch? i should ask him if he's on his period.

i hand him the can, our fingers brush and its my final clue for the night that i am definitely not going home with him. no spark at all. hes done just about everything else to piss me off.

he did the thing where he licks his lips exaggeratingly looking me up and down, making a point to make sure i saw.

he walks so slow for being 6'3.

and finally he tried to mansplain my career to me. i'd had just enough when he opens his mouth again

"ew, you like twisted tea? who likes sweet tea?" his face contorted in disgust, it was about to contort from my fist breaking his goddamn nose if he keeps talking to me like this.

"we literally live in the south dude." my face could not make it any clearer i am so done with this guy.

"still, sweet tea is disgusting. im not kissing anyone that drinks that nasty shit."

"who said i wanted to kiss your nasty fucking mou-" i was interrupted by the sound of a very familiar giggle behind me as his arm wrapped around my shoulder, the smell of his deodorant and sea salt that cover his skin start to put you at ease.

jj was always there when you needed him, sometimes even when you didnt but right now you couldn't be more grateful. "im glad you found those mama i got em just for you. remembered theyre your favorite. right?"

and you wanna know the best part? zander is shaking already pissed off that jj is at my side. territorial i guess.

"you mind?" he asks him nodding his head at me like im not even there.

jj cant help but laugh at him "yea bud i do mind. she's hanging out with me tonight. have fun with your ipa dick." and with that he steers us off to where the rest of the pogues are.

but not before i can look over my shoulder and give the ginger an innocent smile and a shrug as if i had no control over the situation, when really id pick jj over anyone else.

"you owe me a big fat kiss mama," jj whispers in my ear walking us over to where our friends are standing, drinks in their hands laughing and chatting up a storm.

"in your dreams honey."

"every night all night," he quips back before i shove him off me.

now before you give me shit, jj and i have had our fair share of fun, but unfortunately im starting to look for something more serious.

watching john b and sarah be disgusting together is getting to my head. popes got something going on with cleo and im starting to recognize the pattern. and before i know it everyone will be in love if i don't start making an effort in that department.

random casual hook ups aren't doing it anymore, especially considering they aren't even that good.

unless theyre with jj.

but hes not an option, theres too much drama. too much history. too much too much too much. im not what he needs and i know for a fact he doesn't want me in that sense.

is that a bit dramatic? probably.

i mean hes a great lay, he's hilarious, he's got that blue collar kind of muscle, and he genuinely cares about me.

so of course im not going to date him, why would i?

what do you mean make good decisions? id rather do things in the most difficult way possible!

"y/n youve gotta stop giving those guys a chance, im starting to feel bad for you."

"you try finding a decent guy in a ten mile radius." i glare at him, obviously not wanting to joke about this right now.

he sticks his hand out in front of me, "fine i will. let me see your phone."

curious to see what he will do i hand it too him unlocked, he swipes and taps for a few moments, smiling down at the phone before handing it back to you.

when you look back down at the screen all you see is your instagram open with his stupid fucking smiley face on the screen.

he took a picture of himself and posted to my story. written on the screen in bubble letters in my favorite colored heart 'my favorite guy <3'

"i think he's your best bet." that same smile facing back at me now, cockier than ever. so smug i wanna kiss it off his face

i cant help but roll my eyes. "jj im serious! at this rate im going to die alone. every decent guy is taken or unavailable. all i want is someone funny, kind, and attractive is that too much to ask for?"

"im right in front of you mama you dont gotta look far."

"jj we both know we're not the serious kind of relationship im talking about."

"you can think what you want too but ill be here waiting for that kiss you owe me."

"i think all that tequila youve been sipping has gone to your head maybank."

he stands in front of me, taking his signature red cap off his head and putting it on mine smiling down at me, "what do they say in those books you read? you wear the hat you ride the cowboy?"

"this no ten gallon hat and you are no cowboy."

we laugh at each other, its always been easier to do that then actually talk about our feelings. so i put his hat back on his head, backwards the way he i likes it.

"cmon y/n/n, have a few more drinks, relax and hang out and ill make you feel all better later yea? its what im best at, you know."

"its gonna take more than a few more teas to convince me jj"

"what about that thing you like that i do with my tongue, huh mama? doesnt that sound pretty good right now? i think it does."

"i give you one fucking compliment and it goes straight to your head."

"technically its about my head so that makes perfect sense," he hands me another can with that stupid signature smirk of his and his stupid sexy hat backwards. i hate to admit it's working on me.

just like it does every other time.

i squint my eyes at him taking the can, rolling the idea around in my head. "fuck it. its not like anyone else is offering," i take a big sip of my drink.

jj pumps his fist in the air like a victorious idiot giving a few woots and hollars before picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder despite my wishes.

"jb!!" he shouts turning around to face him, "we're headed out!"

john b looks at the two of us shaking his head at how im kicking my feet to wiggle out of jjs oddly strong grip. "make sure you change the sheets when youre done!"

oh my god he did not just say that. "fuck both of you!"

jj just laughs carrying you back to the chateau like a kid who's excited to use a brand new birthday present.

"what happened to letting me have a few more drinks before we left??"

"youre just too irresistable mama, gotta have you now,' he gives my ass a light slap for good measure causing me to roll my eyes for the 600th time tonight.

"are you gonna put me down now?"

he pretends to look like hes thinking about it, "i guess. only so i can watch you walk away," he does as he says helping me get my feet on the ground.

"youre a pervert."

"no im flirtatious, and you love it, you know it makes you blush i see it. now go on and give me a lil walk yea?"

oh im gonna kill him...

oh wait! im gonna kill him!

"okay... fine. but no touching until we get home," i smile walking away exactly like he asked, but i know behind me he is a puddle of mud. standing still, about to start begging me to let him.

he finally catches up after a few seconds "mama please- cmon thats not fair. you look too good in those shorts you know i cant wait that long. just wanna feel you."

i cant help but giggle at his words, its honestly adorable how mopey he gets. like i just kicked his puppy or something.

"hands of jj i mean it... not until that door shuts behind us."

it didn't really matter that i can see the chateau or that ill be there in literally a minute.

its actually painful for jj to not be able to touch me as he pleases.

i turn around to face him with a cheeky smile. "you want me maybank?"

and of course he nods so hard it looks like his head is going to fall right off.

"come and get me," running towards the house, i can see the moment when his reflexes kick in, his boots thudding against the ground as he gains on me.

just before i can make it to the poarch jj wraps his arms around me, lifting me a few inches off the ground and spinning me around in a fit of laughter.

"okay! okay okay okay you win- you got me."

"oh ive got you mama, and im havin you for the rest of the fucking night," he presses a kiss to my neck hauling me inside, the screen door slamming shut after us.

am i gonna regret this tomorrow? most likely.

but what can i say? its slim pickins in this part of town.

[rhettabbotts]

shelby my darling! i’m so happy for you, congratulations! i would love a little somethin’ somethin’ with our beloved old man, dilf rhett, and this prompt from the age gap list: ❛ look at how well you take me. even though it's been so long. ❜ 🩵

fast times - dilf!rhett abbott x babysitter reader

18+ only. mdni. warning for slightly problematic age gap (15 years). face fucking. dirty talk. rhett is a dirty old man.

you nearly cried from relief as you hit ‘submit assignment’ on your last paper. ever. you were nearly a college graduate. four years of busting your ass, finally coming to an end. and for once, you were excited to go back home.

your school was far away, nearly seven hours from your family and friends. and it sucked. the last time you were home was christmas. the last time you saw rhett was new years.

the last time you felt his touch. his arms around you. his kisses.

long distance worked for you both but it was still difficult. you can only do so many facetime dates and phone sex before you start feeling a ping of longing and loneliness.

it was still a secret to your family. with rhett’s age and him being close with your father, you weren’t ready to give him up. or your family up. so it was just you and him. and his girls of course. they adored you. you watched them every summer you were home. grace begged you for show jumping lessons and ellie demanded on you showing her makeup tutorials. it was sweet.

the evening went on as you packed the last of your things into boxes and ate your processed mac and cheese for dinner. kraft should get an award for how much it helped you through the last four years.

you hadn’t heard from rhett all day, which was to be expected. calving season was in full swing and he was busy on his ranch wrangling ranch hands and two wild daughters. but still, you missed him.

the last bite of the pasta was making its way into your mouth when you heard a knock on your apartment door. slowly chewing the food, you set your bowl down on your oak coffee table and looked out the peep hole, nearly busting your face with the door as you threw it open and threw yourself into the arms of the man standing on the other side of it.

“hey, baby,” rhett’s marlboro laced voice rumbled into your hair, strong arms wrapping around your frame. “surprise.”

“what are you doing here?!” you squealed, not pulling back to allow any space between your bodies as he backed you through the open door, kicking it shut with his boot.

“figured i lend a hand and help you move back home. being a good friend of your dad’s and all,” he said, a lazy smirk on his lips. god, he looked delicious. his face had a pink shade to it, barely visible white lines from where his sunglasses typically rest across the bridge of his nose. the gray hairs that grew from his temples were nearly bleached white from the sun. the smattering of freckles on his cheeks. you wanted to fall to your knees.

and you did.

you pushed him back the few steps it took for him to be flush with the front door and fumbled with his obnoxious belt buckle, desperation clouding your last thought.

“needy little girl,” he murmured as his hands joined your own to pull his jeans down enough to expose his hardening cock. a small whimper escaped you as you wrapped your hand around the length through his boxers, his length growing beneath you with each stroke. “g’on. i know you want a taste.”

your mouth attached to his already leaking tip barely a second after his boxers were pulled down to his muscular thighs. his head slammed against the door as you suckled on the pink flesh, kitten licks to the slit. you missed teasing him like this. missed his taste. all musk and all rhett. you craved it.

it took several minutes of coaxing your throat to open for him but when he hit the back of your throat and your nose was nuzzled into the hair at the base of him, he moaned your name so loud you were sure your remaining neighbors heard.

“fuck, babygirl. just like that. missed that hot mouth. look at you,” his hand held the back of your head as you bobbed up and down on the length. you knew what he wanted and there was no denying you wanted it as well. your hand met his on your head and you pushed on a downstroke. that’s the only hint he needed.

his hands cradled both sides of your face as he started to slowly thrust his hips, causing you to gag slightly at the pressure.

“you know what to do if it’s too much. one tap for a break, two taps to stop.”

you just nodded, a trail of drool escaping the corners of your mouth. rhett’s eyes darkened and he entered another world. his hips began to piston against your face, cock going deep into your throat. he was all grunts and moans through gritted teeth as he used you for his pleasure.

“look at how well you take me. even though it's been so long. so fucking good for me. always good for me. best thing i’ve ever had,” rhett rambled, signaling he was close to his peak. it hit you both a bit unexpectedly. his warm release coated your throat and his hips stopped as your face was pressed against his soft stomach.

“fucking christ,” he heaved as you slowly pulled off the softening length. “never had a welcome like that before.”

rhett helped you up from the floor, noticing the wince that spread across your face from kneeling on the cold wooden floor.

“my turn.”

and you let out another squeal as he landed a heavy hand on your ass and nearly dragged you to your bedroom. all you can think is thank god the bed was still put together. and thank god you didn’t have to wait another second to be with your man.

[oobbbear]

Short film

The core of anger is deep sadness

Design sheets

[sysig]

For Requestober

Papyrus and Sans cozily hugging each other in soft clothes😭😭😭

(well this is literally first time I did this hope didn't do anything wrong)

Day 10 - Sleepy snoozey skeletons

[archivesctrccio]

SHORT N' SWEET.

(jinx's version)

Taste 💋⋆˙ᝰ jackie taylor x reader.ᐟ

Please Please Please 💋⋆˙ᝰ natalie scatorccio x reader.ᐟ

Good Graces 💋⋆˙ᝰ travis martinez x reader.ᐟ

Sharpest Tool 💋⋆˙ᝰ travis martinez x reader.ᐟ

Coincidence 💋⋆˙ᝰ natalie scatorccio x reader.ᐟ

Bed Chem 💋⋆˙ᝰ jackie taylor x reader.ᐟ

Espresso 💋⋆˙ᝰ taissa turner x reader.ᐟ

Dumb & Poetic 💋⋆˙ᝰ lottie matthews x reader.ᐟ

Slim Pickins 💋⋆˙ᝰ travis martinez x reader.ᐟ

Juno 💋⋆˙ᝰ van palmer x reader.ᐟ

Lie to Girls 💋⋆˙ᝰ shauna shipman x reader.ᐟ

Don't smile 💋⋆˙ᝰ lottie matthews x reader.ᐟ

15 Minutes 💋⋆˙ᝰ mari ibarra x reader.ᐟ

Couldn't Make It Any Harder 💋⋆˙ᝰ travis martinez x reader.ᐟ

Busy Woman 💋⋆˙ᝰ misty quigley x reader.ᐟ

Bad Reviews 💋⋆˙ᝰ shauna shipman x reader.ᐟ

✎ᝰ. jinx notes.. this is a 200 followers special!!! I left some of them blank (because I had no ideas lol) and you can send me requests of who you want in it!! you can either send me here or in my asks!! tysm for the 200, love you all <3 (ib @swfpoetry for the idea!!)

taglist: @antlerqueensab

[paintinganangel]

Sabrina Carpenter

performing Coincidence at Primavera Sound

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Reversal is red, Limitless is blue, I keep on Infinity—but never with you⋆.˚ᡣ𐭩.𖥔˚

couldn't resist a stsg/reader valentines day drabble <33

The first sensation that envelops your senses is the rich scent of cinnamon and amber, laced with a hint of vanilla—warm and syrupy, like stepping into a bakery just as fresh pastries hit the display. You can’t remember your dream, not vividly, but the warmth in your chest lingers, wrapping around you like a second blanket. It almost distracts from the suffocating press of something firm and heavy restricting your movement.

Almost.

Waking up with Gojo is a paradox—both stifling and comforting. Your body stirs before your mind fully wakes, muscles shifting sluggishly as you stretch, only to be pulled back into a firm, unyielding hold. A sleepy exhale brushes against your ear. The weight atop you is familiar, massive, and unmoving.

As your vision clears, you blink up at a mess of white hair and smooth, pale skin. Gojo’s arms are locked around your waist in a death grip, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling, his heartbeat a calm, tranquil rhythm against your cheek. Your lashes flutter against his skin, and he shivers.

You suppress a giggle.

The golden morning light filters through the curtains, pooling over the bed in waves of warmth. Outside, birds chirp lazily, greeting the slow start of the day. You lift a hand from where it clings to the comforter and reach for the nape of his neck, eager to trace your fingers through the sharp undercut—

“AUGH!”

Gojo jolts like he’s been electrocuted, limbs flailing as he thrashes free of the covers. The sheets tangle around his waist, curling and wrinkling like rippling ocean waves.

“C-cold! What the fuck? Your fingers are like icicles!”

You blink up at him, unimpressed, wiggling your fingers idly in the air. “They were under the covers all night. They can’t be that cold, Satoru. Always so damn dramatic.”

Gojo pouts, pink lips plump from sleep, cheeks lined with indents from the satin pillow. He huffs, burrowing into the comforter again, but not before reaching out to grasp your hand. “Feel. This is the normal temperature a hand should be, Ice Queen.”

You scoff, threading your fingers through his. His hands are equally cold—if not colder. A chill shoots up your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Oh, you bitch,” you deadpan. “You’re just as cold.”

Gojo retracts his hand like you burned him, gasping indignantly. “This! This is why we need Suguru. He’s our portable heater and arbitrator,” he declares, raising a finger like he’s struck gold. “A two-for-one deal, just like we are for him!”

He throws an arm around you triumphantly, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Right, right. Where is he, anyway? He really abandoned us in the middle of the night like a couple of common whores.”

As if summoned, the door creaks open, and a smooth, familiar voice interrupts.

“Ah, I wouldn’t exactly call you that, but you do seem to enjoy it privately. If I recall correctly, it’s usually you two begging me—on your knees, insisting I call you all sorts of names like—”

“—Sugu!”

Gojo’s voice pitches high, both mortified and excited, but the way his attention snaps toward the long-haired figure in the doorway tells you Getou’s got something else that’s captured his focus. You turn, propping yourself up on an elbow to take in the sight of him.

Getou stands at the threshold, a tray in hand, eyes glimmering with amusement. Despite his teasing, his smile is warm, genuine, crinkling the corners of his violet eyes. His dark hair is tousled, flyaways curling haphazardly, but the majority cascades down his back and over his shoulders in sleek, steep slopes.

He steps forward, kneeling on the bed to set the tray between you and Gojo. His flannel pants slide lower on his hips, exposing the deep lines of his V, muscles flexing under the weight of the tray.

Your breath catches.

On the tray, two plates of fragrant omurice are neatly arranged, ketchup hearts drawn over golden eggs, scallions sprinkled delicately on top. A ceramic plate holds heart-shaped spam musubi, croissants stacked beside a fresh fruit cup. Two glasses of juice sit on either side, and in the center, a tiny vase holds two blooming violas.

Silence.

You and Gojo are frozen, utterly dumbstruck. Even the birds outside seem to pause.

Getou settles back on his knees, placing his hands on his thighs, an easy pink dusting his cheeks. “Oh, come on,” he chides, waving a hand as if to brush off your awe. “You should’ve known I had to spoil you today.”

You finally find your voice, gaze flickering to the ketchup hearts. “Be mine?” you read aloud.

Getou extends his hands to both of you, a soft, expectant smile curving his lips.

“Will you be my Valentines?” he asks, voice sincere. “It’d truly be an honor.”

You and Gojo share a look, a million unspoken thoughts exchanged in a second. Then, simultaneously, you grab Getou’s hands and tug him forward in one frantic breath.

“Come he—” “—t over here.”

Getou laughs, warm and deep, as you and Gojo shove him between you, his broad back pressing into the pillows. You lean in first, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Gojo follows, but his is far more obnoxious—a loud, smacking peck.

And then—almost as if compelled—you press another, this time along his jaw, behind his ear. A shower of kisses follows, tracing the curve of his throat. Getou chuckles, the sound reverberating against your lips, chest shaking lightly.

“You can thank me after. Eat first,” he teases, dodging Gojo’s next attempt at a kiss.

Gojo whines but grabs a fork anyway. “Fine,” he pouts. “I stole more kisses than you anyway.” He points an accusatory finger, “You lose.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, would you look at that? My omurice is bigger than yours, Satoru. Tough break.”

Gojo gasps, scandalized, angling his face behind Getou to glare at you from over his shoulder. When you adjust to meet his eyes, he flashes Red at his fingertip then drags it across his throat in mock threat.

Getou sighs, exasperated but amused. “Hey, hey. Stop that—I want us all to have a pleasant day, but I can easily cancel your surprise plans for tonight. Kiss and make up.”

Like a couple of well-trained dogs, your bodies return to Getou’s side on instinct, perching on each of his thighs as if muscle memory alone guided you there. Your nose bumps against Gojo’s, the upturned tip of his sliding against your own before you press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Again.”

Your fingers curl around Getou’s thigh, and your pinky brushes against Gojo’s. He hooks them together, matching the soft pressure as he slots his lips against yours. Getou hums in approval, and you follow Gojo’s lead, pulling back just enough to tug on his lower lip. His lips are chapped from sleep, and the friction makes him run his tongue over them to moisten the slide. The warmth of his breath lingers between you, a fleeting pause heavy with unspoken expectation.

A light tap at the small of your back pulls you from the moment.

“Now me.”

Lidded eyes flutter open as you reluctantly pull away from Gojo, turning toward Getou. He lifts up to press slow, sweet kisses against your lips, the soft smacks like music to your ears.

“Let’s eat now, shall we?”

Getou picks up a silver fork and knife, slicing neatly into the omurice, ensuring a perfect ratio of rice, egg, and ketchup before feeding it to a drooling Gojo. The moment the bite hits his tongue, Gojo moans like he’s reached nirvana, his expression pure bliss. A couple of grains of rice stick to his chin.

Getou turns to you next, guiding a forkful of the warm, umami-rich dish to your lips. The rice is still steaming, the ketchup balancing the textures and heat. You chew, savoring the care poured into the meal. The fruit is perfectly ripe—fat strawberries that stain Gojo’s lips red as you teasingly drag one over Getou’s tongue. Meanwhile, Gojo tears into the croissants like a starved beast, flaky crumbs littering the sheets and Getou’s lap.

You scrunch your nose but quickly relax as Getou offers you another bite. He follows it with a kiss, licking at your lips.

“Mm, a bit salty, is it?”

You shake your head, but he frowns anyway. As if reading your thoughts, he soothes, “Don’t worry about the crumbs. I anticipated Gojo’s frantic eating style. I’ll hand-vac after, okay?”

“Fis ith sooo guud, Soogi,” Gojo mumbles, his words barely decipherable around a full mouth, but his delight is unmistakable. The tray is nearly bare now, only cleared plates and the small vase remaining.

Feeling content, you lean into Getou’s side, his forearm curling around your shoulder, his head resting against your temple. He sighs, utterly content. By now, the sun has fully risen, golden heat flooding the room. You close your eyes, letting the warmth settle in, focusing on the small sounds Gojo makes as he finishes the last bites—hurried breaths, quick chewing, pleased little sighs.

Then silence.

Cracking an eye open, you find Gojo staring, that familiar hungry glint sparking behind his lashes.

“All full now. So good, Suguru—you’re the best.”

His appreciative gaze shifts into a smirk, milky lashes lowering over brilliant blue eyes.

“Now I’ve got pleeeenty of energy!”

He wedges himself between you and Getou, nuzzling into your necks before beginning to tongue-kiss the sensitive skin, his lips warm and sloppy. His hair tickles your chin, and his thick arms cage you both in. For all his bratty tendencies, Gojo is undeniably built—all lean muscle and effortless strength.

But Getou is stronger. He threads his fingers into Gojo’s hair, pulling him back with a firm grip.

“You guys didn’t even answer my question. I can’t help but feel ignored.”

“Hm?”

You blink up at him, bright-eyed, his feigned sad tone tugging at your heart despite the obvious tease.

“You didn’t agree to be my valentines.”

Gojo barks out a laugh. “Ha! Of course we’ll be your valentines. Is that even a fucking question?”

You poke Getou’s cheek in faux admonishment. “Right, Sugi? Duh. We couldn’t even wake up peacefully without you.”

“Exactly,” Gojo hums, ruffling his own hair to shake it out of his eyes before making grabby hands at you both. “Now give us attention. I’m not above using Blue.”

⋆.˚ᡣ𐭩.𖥔˚

[angelflms]

so sabrina carpenter and jenna ortega just said "what if we did deadpool & wolverine for the sapphics?" and act like we weren't gonna notice.

like.... hello???

[almondpiglet]

needed to draw something this year for tomes bday...really wanted to draw her highschool friends

[steddiehyperfixation]

still into you (steddie ficlet)

Eddie wakes to the mouthwatering smell of bacon and eggs and fresh-made pancakes. He stretches lazily and heads to the kitchen to find Steve at the stove making breakfast, moving expertly between flipping pancakes and scrambling eggs and checking the bacon. A stupid kiss the cook apron is tied at the waist over his bare torso and sinful pajama shorts, and he looks just as delicious as the food he's cooking. The whole scene makes something warm and fluttery bloom bright in Eddie's chest. 

He sits at the counter and sighs dreamily, resting his chin in his hand as he watches him. “God, I have such a crush on you.” 

Steve looks over his shoulder with an amused expression that crinkles the smile lines at the corners of his eyes. “We're literally married.” 

“I know,” Eddie gushes, so in awe of this fact you'd think it was a new development even though it very much isn't. He marvels at his husband of 34 years, admires every inch of Steve's middle-aged body, every place where his time-worn skin is creased with signs of age and a life well lived and well loved. The beauty of him still knocks the wind out of Eddie, a breathless giggle bubbling up his throat. “But that doesn't mean I don't still have a massive fucking crush on you.” 

Steve huffs out a chuckle before turning his attention back to the stove, a quick duck of his head as if to hide a blush. 

Emboldened, Eddie stands and comes up to wrap his arms around him from behind. He nuzzles into Steve's neck, breathes in his salt and pepper hair and smiles into the curve of his shoulder. “I’m serious. Even after all this time, you still give me butterflies,” Eddie says, resting his hands over Steve's stomach and pressing gently to demonstrate his words, “right here, like I’m a teenager again. My aged heart still does very youthful backflips just at the sight of you, and I feel that rush of falling in love all over again, again and again, like it's the very first time.”

Eddie remembers a conversation he'd had with his uncle once, when he was much much younger and Wayne was about the age Eddie is now.  When you get older, you don't feel that type a’ love the same way anymore, Wayne had told him. It ain't the same heart-pounding, all-encompassing, get drunk off of it sort a’ giddy head-rush you get in your teens and twenties. It loses that kind a’ thrill, gets quieter. 

Eddie had found that thoroughly depressing, despite his uncle’s insistences that this was not a bad thing. Don't mean that love and attraction ain't there or that you can't feel it anymore, Wayne reassured him, it's just different is all. He'd shrugged then, his face like leather, worn and fond and bemused by his nephew’s wild youth. Old hearts get tired, Ed, he'd said. You'll get it when you get to be my age. 

Well, Eddie has gotten to be his age and he still doesn't get it. He does feel that quieter love, the kind that comes from shared routines and easy conversation and even easier silences, made up of trust and familiarity, the kind that settles into his bones like it was always meant to be there. But the thrill is still there too, as strong as ever. Steve still makes his heart race and his head spin. Eddie's stomach still flutters at his smile; his touch still sets off fireworks beneath his skin. Even now, Eddie feels a little dizzy just holding him, heartbeat faster. 

“We may get old,” Eddie continues his declaration, “but the way I feel about you never will.” He holds Steve tighter, hooking his chin over his husband's shoulder after pressing a kiss to it. “I will never get over the thrill of you, and my heart will never get tired of it.” 

“You are a dramatic old sap,” Steve says through a suppressed smile, rolling his eyes as he plates the food and turns off the stove, but then he's turning around in Eddie's arms and pulling him into a spirited kiss.

Eddie's blood feels like it's made of champagne, bubbly and fizzy and utterly intoxicated as Steve fills his senses. They kiss with the same clumsy passion they'd had at 21, too eager clashes of teeth and bruising lips. It's messy, inelegant, perfect, broken within seconds when their smiles become uncontainable. They pull apart, pink-cheeked and laughing. 

Steve grins. His eyes shine with all the same giddiness of infatuation and warmth of love as he holds Eddie's face in his hands and tells him, “I have a massive fucking crush on you too.”