#counter kisses
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HMBingo "Hot Chocolate"
Marinette loved mornings like this. Waking up in the arms of the one she loved while being basked by the sunlight filtering in through the windows.
The best part? Neither of them had duties to attend to that would require them to be up early, so they could stay in bed to their heart's content.
And she was so grateful for that, because the previous night’s mission took a toll on Damian, and although he’d gotten better at expressing himself, he still wouldn’t let people know when he got injured.
Thankfully, she’d learned to read him very well and managed to convince him for a day in (it took a bit of help from Alfred’s side, but still, she managed to do it).
Moving his arm from its place firmly wrapped around her waist, Marinette got up to start preparing something for them both to eat. She moved lightly, in hopes of not waking him up so he could have a bit more rest, wrapping herself in her robe and getting her slippers on, she left the room, unaware of the emerald orbs already following her form.
She started by preparing herself a mug of coffee and placing the frozen croissant dough in the oven for 15 minutes.
She doesn’t have as much time to bake as she’d like to, so, whenever she does have the time, she bakes extra and freezes them so she only needs to place the dough in the oven to still have fresh pastries whenever she feels like it.
For Damian, she started a water bath to melt the chocolate and started heating up the milk with a hint of cinnamon and nutmeg.
For someone who inherited his father’s stoic look and with his mother’s training, it came as a surprise to her when she found that his favourite beverage was a cup of hot chocolate milk. But then again, it shouldn’t come as a surprise, especially when it was prepared by the one and only Alfred Pennyworth.
She had yet to reach his level of connaissance when it came to Hot Chocolate but, so far, the DuPain-Cheng recipe hadn’t failed her, so she was proud of herself for managing that much.
Distracted with her hot chocolate recipes, she wasn’t aware of the second person in the kitchen until strong arms wrapped themselves around her waist and his forehead fell on her shoulder, startling her out of her musings.
“Why did you leave?” came his groggy voice.
Damian already had a very pleasant voice to hear and she swore she could hear him talk all day if allowed, but his morning voice was something else, and it made the butterflies in her stomach become a chaotic mess she could not contain.
Turning around she pressed a light kiss on his lips and, taking a deep breath she replied, “I was just preparing something for us to have for breakfast. You can go back to the room and I’ll bring it all in, Honey.”
“Trying to get rid of me first thing in the morning already?” he said while peppering kisses all over the shoulder he was propped on.
No deep breath will help me recover from this, first thing in the morning even!!
“Damian, you know that’s not it! You need to rest, especially after last night. I just want you to recover and let me take care of you in the meantime.”
“I am rested.” he said while still continuing his ministrations on her shoulders, changing sides this time.
“Damian, I’m trying to prepare your Hot Chocolate!” She tried admonishing him.
“And what’s preventing you from continuing?” He asked, as if he was not aware of how much his actions affected her.
“You know exactly what it is! Aren’t you hungry, I’m trying to prepare breakfast here!”
“Oh, I am hungry alright.”
“See, I’m prepa- Damian!”- she didn’t get to finish her thought as Damian placed his hands on her waist more firmly before turning her around and placed her on the counter, so she was levelled with him, swiftly moving the cups aside so no spillings would happen.
“I’m hungry for something else though, something sweet.”
Damian always let Marinette know just how much he liked kissing her, that it was his favourite way of showing her affection. He also liked saying her kisses were sweet, teasing her that it was because she was raised in a bakery.
So when he leaned in for a kiss, she shouldn’t have been as surprised as she was.
But then again, every intimate moment with Damian was a surprise because one never knows what to expect from him.
This time, it was her on the kitchen counter, his hands on her hips and his lips peppering kisses all over her shoulders and collarbones.
“If you want something sweet, you could always have the hot chocolate I just finished preparing and you just pushed to the side.”
He pulled away from his ministrations to look at her and the little pout on her lips. She saw something light up in his eyes, as if he’d had an idea - which usually meant trouble - and saw him grab the said mug. He looked at it and placed it in front of her lips, looking at her expectantly.
“What? You want me to drink it? I made it for you though!”
He just kept staring at her with the mug placed in front of her lips, so she huffed, but grabbed it and took a sip, all while raising her eyebrows at his strange behaviour this morning.
After confirming she had indeed taken a couple sips from the hot beverage, he placed it down and kissed her like a starved man.
Marinette, poor soul, could only place her arms on his wide shoulders in her flustered state. Not that she wasn’t enjoying it, because she definitely was. It was just startling, and her poor heart could not take that much so early in the morning.
Leaning away from her lips, he sighed.
“It was indeed a very sweet hot chocolate, thank you for preparing it for me Habibi.”
Marinette just stared at him blankly, still attempting to form words, or even process what had just happened. And it seemed Damian was enjoying her reaction a little too much, if his smirk was anything to go by.
“I’ll go wash up first and return to eat.” He said and pecked her still sligh opened lips in her dazed state.
In the end, she only got out of her stupor when he shouted from their room:
“The croissants will burn if you don’t take them out now!”
#dc x mlb#maribat#daminette#damian x marinette#damian wayne#marinette dupain cheng#lazy mornings#dorks in love#damian wayne is a little shit#counter kisses#neck kisses#poor marinette#fluff#lots of fluff#tooth rotting fluff#you'll need a dentist appointment afterwards
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Injury patching troupe || Childe X Reader || one shot
Y/n didn't know how it happened, all they knew was that at some point they had run into a few abyss lectors and it didn't end well. With cuts, bruises, and a spectacle of injuries that were sure to scar; y/n stumbled into their apartment and leaned on the door as they closed it with a lock. They sighed looking at the wall in front of them trying to steady themself and even out their vision that was well more than blurry.
Soon enough they took a brave step to the bathroom, after a few pained steps they made it to the hallway near their bathroom and realized they were probably not going to make it there. So they leaned against the wall and slid down it. Maybe if they took a quick nap they would wake up and either be visiting Hu Tao in the after life or have enough energy to get to the bathroom and patch themself up.
Or so they thought that would be the plan, but not a second after they had the plan set in action, a clicking to the door sounded and they heard some footsteps.
"Y/nnnn I've come to pick you up for dinnneerrr!" Childe spoke with a happy and carefree voice. Oh yeah, y/n forgot. They were supposed to go to dinner with him. They leaned their head against the wall behind them with a grimace. That wasn't happening. Shit. Now they felt even worse.
"Y/n? Y/nn- holy shit fuck" Childe stumbled as he came rushing to y/ns side his hands on the air not sure where to put them to help y/n. Y/n smiled weakily, "sorry bout this. We were gonna go to dinner too..." They spoke with a strained voice laced with pain and regret. This has only earned a shaking head from Childe before y/n felt two arms slipping under their knees and back before picking y/n up. They hissed in pain as their wounds screamed at the pressure. "Don't apologize. Just be quiet so I can help you." Childe spoke before setting y/n on the bathroom counter.
Childe started rummaging through y/ns cabinet and pulling out the first aid and some towels. He turned back around to y/n and opened the first aid kit next to them and took out the rubbing alcohol. He looked at y/n before taking a deep breath; "can you show me where the worst is? So I can patch it up first?" He asked getting a small nod from y/n as they lifted their shirt up to their rip cage to show a cut that was the length of their stomach. Luckily none of their cuts would be lethal; just enough to be painful for a long while.
He took another breath to calm his own nerves, sure he's seen his own share of injuries and blood, but that did not mean he didn't feel an overwhelming anxiety on his shoulders when he saw his loved one injured and bruised like this. He took up the alcohol wipe and started to wipe away the blood and clean
A few days later Childe had y/n sitting up on the counter with the first aid kit out again and ready to clean their cuts and switch bandages. There was light banter and talk in the air as he worked on their abdomen. But it soon fell quiet as y/n became lost in their thoughts, Childe too letting his mind wander.
Y/n noted how he slowed down as the pain of alcohol brought back their senses. They looked at him to see him staring at the biggest cut with what they could only assume to be pain; from his furrowed eye brows to his tense shoulders and turned down lips. Y/n took a deep breath before speaking, "hey. If you're uncomfortable doing this I can do it just as well." Y/n moved their hand to grab his which was working. He stopped and looked up at them before shaking his head
"No it's alright. I'm just..." Y/n saw him hesitate before continuing, "I'm just regretting not being there to help you... I'm your boyfriend and look at you now." He spoke softly as if he didn't want to admit that he was worried. Yet y/n just smiled and took their other hand and brought it up to his fluffy orange hair and ran it through his tangled locks.
"You can't always protect me. And I can't always protect you. You immediately helped me with all I needed. And look at you now; you're sitting here patching me up!" Y/n spoke as they smiled as brightly as they could. Childe only looked at them, searching them, looking in their eyes for an ounce of disappointment. Having not found it though, his shoulders loosened, his eyebrows went to a more rested position, and he smiled a bit. Childe took his free hand and gently copped y/ns face before placing a kiss on their lips. One kiss turned into two, two into three, and soon y/n was giggling and trying to push Childe away as he peppered their face with kisses; holding onto them like a koala to a tree.
And there was peace.
#im not used to format in tumblr yet lols#writing#childe#childe genshin impact#childe genshin x reader#childe x reader#childe x reader fluff#fluff#counter kisses#angst to fluff#concerned boyfriend troupe#concerned boyfriend#worry#one shot#they/them#no gender#no gender one shot#non binary reader#no gender reader#they them reader#x reader
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after hours
#i want andrew getting kissed on counters and desks and such. bangs my gavel#aie i redrew this 5x and i think i shouldve done one more..BUT ITS FINE!!#025.png#aftgart#all for the game#aftg#the foxhole court#andreil#fanart
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tired university student remus sitting in a library trying to study when a hot stranger dressed in leather and carrying a motorcycle helmet drops into the chair across from him, leans over to look at his work, and sighs that his work seems very boring and that he's never read anything on that subject before and then proceeds to explain everything about the subject and what paths he should take in his essay to get high marks, only to then lean back with a grin and declare academics to be tedious and instantly falls asleep until the library is about to shut and remus has to wake him up.
#the hot stranger then runs to the front desk and climbs on it to the absolute horror of remus. and then kisses the librarian on the cheek#the librarian is wearing the name tag Euphemia'#remus gets his books checks out whilst sirius sits on the counter recalling remus' essay subject to mia#remus lupin#sirius black#wolfstar#marauders era#marauders#wolfstar au
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inspired by this Hope!Hob piece by @mashumaru, have a little reverse-verse fic, Hob as Hope of the Endless and human Morpheus
(reverse-verse Hope and Morpheus are my special special little guys, I wrote an extremely long fic about them before. I think about them all the time and at this point they're basically distinct from Dreamling in my mind 😂)
cw hate speech, homophobia, slurs, violence. it's pretty brief though.
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At this point, Morpheus is no longer shocked to come home and find Hope sat at his kitchen table, knuckles and brow bone bloody, drinking tea as if none of that matters. It still rankles him, though. Bloody. Injured. Always.
Morpheus sets down his messenger bag in the hall with a thump and bypasses Hope entirely to go right for the first aid kit on the top shelf in the bathroom. Hope turns to watch him pass, a forlorn little look on his face. No, Morpheus tells himself, he does not get some sweet little welcome home kiss if he’s going to come back like that.
“Must you insist,” he says, as he drags the kit—packed full, always—off the bathroom shelf and trudges back into the kitchen, “on always starting fights?”
Hope pushes his half-drunk tea away, pouting. “I don’t start them!”
Morpheus sits in the chair next to him and just looks at him.
“…Okay,” Hope concedes. His lip and brow line are bruised. There’s dried blood under his nose. Morpheus wishes this wasn’t his natural state. “Sometimes I throw the first punch.”
Morpheus sighs, tearing open an alcohol swab and starting to wipe at the cut on his brow.
“…Most of the time,” Hope admits.
“Hope,” Morpheus says, exasperated, and Hope cringes.
“You know I can’t really be hurt,” he tries to explain. “I’m not human. Besides. You think I’m just beating the crap out of people for no reason?”
“No,” says Morpheus, and wipes at his split lip with perhaps more force than necessary. “I do not.”
“Besides, I don’t kill people and I don’t like when people do it around me either. It’s not about fighting, I don’t enjoy fighting. It’s about taking a stand.”
“You do enjoy fighting,” Morpheus accuses. “I have seen you.”
Hope ducks his head. “It’s not about that, though,” he insists. “Listen. You know I never really finish these things, but it’s my role to start it. To show that these battles can be fought. And that it’s worth standing up.”
“Bar fights, such a noble cause,” says Morpheus dryly, and Hope tucks his forehead into his shoulder. Morpheus can’t help himself, his hand automatically goes to the nape of Hope’s neck, fingers combing through his hair.
“You attract violence to you,” he says quietly. “I have seen it.”
Hope sighs. “Did you really think that people would like Hope? Sometimes they want to give me a hug but more often they just want to punch me in the face.”
“I thought you were meant to inspire,” Morpheus says, and it’s a little bit mocking of things Hope himself has declared in the past but Morpheus is listening.
“More like get in the way,” says Hope, his face still pressed to Morpheus’s shoulder. He sounds despondent now. Morpheus supposes people instigating fights with you simply because of your nature wouldn’t be pleasant. At least when people instigate fights with Morpheus, he’s usually done something to deserve it.
“You are not ‘in the way,’” he says. “If you are, then you are meant to be there. Like when you stepped into my path.”
“‘Least you didn’t punch me,” Hope mumbles.
“I considered it.”
Hope huffs. He pushes himself upright again, shaking his messy hair out of his eyes. He is so beautiful, even still speckled with blood and grime from the fight. Especially like that, if Morpheus is being honest with himself.
“So long as you never hated me,” Hope says. His voice is fragile now, and it hurts Morpheus’s heart. Hope is like a radiant sunbeam, and still more often than not people are only trying to throw shadows over him.
“I could never hate you,” he says, and Hope’s expression softens. Morpheus kisses him lightly on the lips. “I do not think they hate you either. You are… challenging. Just being around you… it is a confrontation in its own way. Especially for those who may have pushed you aside.”
“Even for you?” Hope says.
“Especially for me,” Morpheus tells him. He leans his cheek against Hope’s, overcome with fondness. Fondness that is greater for how frustrating Hope has been to him over the years, during those times of darkness. “It is how you saved me.”
“You saved you,” Hope says firmly. “But if I helped, then I’m glad.”
“Always.” Morpheus kisses the hinge of his jaw. “What would I do without you?”
“Now you’re just coming on to me.”
Morpheus hums, not disagreeing.
“Admit it,” Hope says, tangling fingers in Morpheus’s hair. “You’re into it. When I come home all bloody.”
“Mm. I am not.”
“Oh, you are. I can tell.”
Morpheus skates a hand up along his thigh. “Hm. Perhaps it makes you seem very fierce.” He kisses Hope’s mouth this time, swipes his tongue soothingly over his split lip, tasting just the tantalizing hint of blood. Leans in and—
“Ow!”
Morpheus pulls back, raising an eyebrow. Hope looks sheepish, pressing his hand to his nose, which Morpheus had bumped. Hope’s non-human body will heal quickly, but for now his nose remains at least partially broken.
Morpheus keeps giving him an unimpressed look. “I see you are gravely wounded.” Hope catches him by the hair before he can truly pull away, and he smiles. “I suppose… I will have to ply my mouth elsewhere. If you promise to be more careful.”
“For such a reward I’d promise anything,” Hope swears, and Morpheus obligingly sinks down, hands on Hope’s thighs. It is hardly a hardship.
“You do like this,” Hope swears. “Don’t try to pretend. You’re so transparent.”
“Perhaps you once punched a man in the face on my behalf, and perhaps I found it titillating,” Morpheus says, and Hope laughs. “Is it terrible if I wanted you to break his nose? Perhaps I am terrible. You do look appealing with blood on your hands. If it is not your own.”
Even Hope’s own torn, bruised knuckles do stir something in Morpheus, a fierce pride and terrible heat. But he worries for him also.
“Liar,” Hope crows, gleeful, “hypocrite. Terrible lecturer. You love it. You know you do.”
“Do not get yourself horribly maimed in a bar fight,” Morpheus orders. “However…” he takes one of Hope’s hands, kisses his knuckles, lets his lips linger there for a moment. “If you must be righteous and full of passion, then I will soothe your injuries later, oh knight of promise.”
“Terrible incentive, now I’m going to get worse,” Hope says. He caresses Morpheus’s cheek, thumbs at the corner of his mouth. His look on Morpheus is so fond, always. Then he says, “Alright, darling, for you, I’ll be careful.”
“Thank you.” Morpheus leans his face against Hope’s thigh, lets Hope play with his hair. In a moment he will indeed ply his mouth upon Hope’s body as promised, in a moment he will indulge the spark that Hope’s fierceness lights within him. But for this moment, he just stays close to him, a gentle valley in the topography of Hope’s violence. Morpheus has never been gentle for anyone before. He finds he likes it.
Hope leans down, smiling, and kisses the top of his head.
~
Morpheus does not like to be “out and about.” In fact, he generally detests it. But Hope likes to be out among people and Morpheus likes to be with Hope, so sometimes he goes. Besides, he likes to see Hope happy.
The White Horse is a safe space for them, anyway. Morpheus does not feel so uncomfortable there as he does at other crowded, loud establishments. He sits in his usual corner seat at the bar, nursing a drink and working on his writing, leaning lightly against Hope’s shoulder as Hope chats with whomever has come up to him now. He tends to attract people wherever he goes. Fortunately, no one has tried to start a fight, this time.
Hope leans in close to his ear. “Get some air with me?”
Morpheus smirks. Inevitably, getting some air will turn into Hope pushing him up against a wall and kissing him senseless. He is hardly opposed to that series of events.
Cold air washes over him as Hope leads him out to the back garden, around the corner to a private spot in the alley by the inn. It makes his hands feel even warmer as he takes Morpheus by the hips, leans him up against the wall as expected, thumbs stroking over his hip bones under his shirt. Morpheus smiles to himself.
“Did you get bored?” he teases.
Hope kisses his cheek, then his jaw, leans in close to his ear. “Hardly. You know my mind is always on you no matter what. But you were being so patient.” He tugs on Morpheus’s ear, then goes to his throat, kissing along his pulse. “How could I not reward my darling?”
“Knowing that I am the one you will go home with is its own reward,” Morpheus murmurs. He trails a hand up Hope’s back, pulls him close so their bellies are pressed together. “So many of those people in there want you. I see it. But they do not know that you are already taken.” It makes him feel privileged. And hungry.
Hope laughs. “Possessive little bastard.”
“Yes.” Hope is so radiant. To be the one chosen by him… it makes Morpheus’s soul sing. “You are mine. I am yours.”
“Yours,” Hope agrees. With that he moves to Morpheus’s lips and kisses him deep. Morpheus hums in pleasure, opens his mouth to him. Tastes the beer lingering on his tongue. Sinks into the press of Hope’s fingers on his hips, and—
“In public? Disgusting.”
Hope pulls away from him, and Morpheus grumbles in displeasure. Hope turns to the mouth of the alley, where a strange man is standing, expression of, indeed, disgust on his face.
When they don’t respond, the man steps closer until he's almost in their space. Hope’s jaw clenches but, perhaps remembering how Morpheus had chastised him for always getting into fights, he doesn’t yet react.
“Can we help you?” Morpheus asks. Not politely.
“By taking that somewhere else,” says the strange man. His tone is aggressive. And most of his attention seems to be on Hope, rather than Morpheus, which Morpheus doesn’t like. Morpheus has noticed before that Hope’s presence inspires ire to jump to action as often as it inspires positivity and good works. But this is the first time he has seen such outright aggression.
Maybe some people really do hate Hope.
“Mind your own business,” says Hope, stiffly.
“You fags shouldn’t be allowed out in public, it’s an insult to respectable people.” He’s still primarily looking at Hope, and it's hard to say if it's because he is the one who looks more traditionally masculine between the two of them, or if it is because of the inherent draw of Hope as an Endless. “Should fuck a real woman instead of that.”
Hope takes a quick step forward at the man’s words, expression hard.
“Hope—” Morpheus starts. Do not get yourself hurt again, he means to say. As much as I enjoy you defending our honor I also like you well. For Hope may have supernatural qualities that prevent him from dying but he is not invulnerable. His powers lie in his empathy, his charisma. Emotion and community. But he takes a punch like any other man. Comes home to Morpheus with a black eye like anyone else would.
Hope stops sharply as if caught on a leash. And Morpheus immediately regrets speaking, for the other man crows in victory.
“What are you, his little bitch? You a man or not?”
Hope flinches despite himself. Not, Morpheus thinks, because he cares so much about a stranger’s sense of masculinity, but because he prides himself on being able to handle himself. On being able to defend his lover. On being able to stand on his own feet after being broken down into shards by his imprisonment.
Morpheus often feels anger, is too quick to it even, but he does not often act on it with violence. It is not so much that he disapproves of violence as that he dislikes the attention associated with causing a scene, and, being rather slight, is usually at a disadvantage in any physical confrontation besides. Cutting words are his weapons instead.
But watching Hope shrink back, the hurt that flashes over him—a terrible spark jumps inside Morpheus. Hope is stronger, is better, than any person he knows. Has been through hell and come out of it still with more empathy than Morpheus has ever possessed in his life. Morpheus will not watch him made small.
He steps forward and punches the man square in the nose.
He hears a crunch. He’s not sure if it’s the nose, or his own knuckles. The man wheels back with a shriek, clutching his bleeding nose, and Morpheus stumbles back, too, shaking out his hand.
Hope has his hands over his mouth in shock, eyes wide. “Holy shit.” When he drops his hands, he’s grinning. “Holy shit.”
Holy shit indeed. Morpheus watches the man scamper off down the alley, casting one last dark look back at them. His hand hurts, he might have broken it—but the adrenaline pumping through his veins is much louder. He can’t quite believe he did that.
“How’d that feel?” Hope asks. He is a terrible influence sometimes. Always roping Morpheus into doing terrible things, like wanting to live.
A smile tugs at Morpheus’s lips. “It felt… good.”
“Yeah?” He’s still grinning madly. “Let me see your hand.”
Morpheus shows him. Hope prods gently at his knuckles, and winces.
“That’s gonna hurt for a while,” he says. “Your punching technique is terrible.” He kisses Morpheus’s hand anyway.
“Now you understand how I feel when you come home bloodied,” Morpheus says.
Hope’s eyes are sparkling. He does not seem like he’s learned a lesson from that at all. “Oh, I do.” He leans in close, presses his lips to the corner of Morpheus’s mouth. “You were…” his voice is a low hum, “incredible.”
“Do I get a reward?” Morpheus asks dryly, though his breath quickens at Hope’s proximity, the heat in his voice.
“For defending my honor? Anything.” He takes Morpheus’s uninjured hand. He smiles. He’s altogether too excited about Morpheus punching someone. Which only makes Morpheus want to do it again. Terrible influence, Hope. “Come home, and I’ll show you.”
But Morpheus catches him when Hope starts to tug him away. “Here.”
Hope raises an eyebrow at him, but he does look… interested. “Something to prove?”
Morpheus draws him close again, leans back against the wall so Hope is caging him in. “Perhaps I simply want you, and I do not care who knows about it.”
He touches low on Hope’s belly, his hand hidden between their bodies. He is not willing to truly expose them—though they are somewhat sequestered in the alley at the moment—but to play with the idea is… arousing. He wants Hope to touch him. Here, in their place. After Morpheus has hurt someone for him.
He cannot blame Hope for this. Morpheus is just a terrible influence upon himself.
“Menace,” Hope chuckles. “You’ve no high ground left, you know that, right? You’ve obliterated it.”
“I never did,” Morpheus says, as Hope lets him draw him in and kisses along his neck. “Always you have been the better of us.”
“In terms of exhibitionism, maybe,” Hope says. Even now, he won’t let Morpheus truly criticize himself. “I could be persuaded, though.”
With that, he slots their lips together. Sucks on Morpheus’s lower lip as he pushes him harder against the wall, Morpheus’s back scraping the brick. Morpheus groans, pulls him close by his hips so Hope’s swiftly-hardening erection is pressed against his, and Hope’s breath hitches against his mouth.
“Should I give you a proper reward?” Hope murmurs.
“Yes,” Morpheus breathes. “Hope—”
He loves Hope so much. He wants Hope so much.
“Vicious little thing, I love you so,” Hope says. And then, in the darkened alley by their favorite place, with his hands and mouth and the weight of his body and his devotion, he goes about showing Morpheus just how much.
#this has been sitting almost finished in my drafts for months...#dreamling#my writing#hope of the endless#hope x morpheus#cw homophobia#writing hate speech even for the purposes of the story (morpheus getting to punch someone) feels so fucking CRINGE like can you imagine#behaving like that. i think instead of countering hate speech with logic we should just start cringing at people like oh my god you talk#like that? 😬 cringe. you kiss your mother with that mouth? wow. everybody point and laugh at this idiot. the power of public shaming#anyway if it sounds super fucking cringe in the fic i apologize 😂
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line cook barty that has every server of the restaurant greet him with cheek kisses when they clock in and he’s trying So Hard to get evan to do it too as he starts working there
#cmon rosier gimme a kiss#that’s the least you can do for the free meal you Know you will be sent home with#evan: you can suck my dick#barty: sure baby that works too. get around the counter then cmon. i’m not hearing the sound of a zipper yet! cmon evan darling#siggghhhhhh#rosekiller
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with kisses like these, who needs magnesium?
#disco elysium#disco elysium fanart#disco elysium skills#de skills#de volition#de electrochemistry#skillship#skillshipping#volition#electrochemistry#volistry#voliart#GET LOVED. IDIOT!! GET KISSED!! comic ive been procrastinating on the last panel on and got it all done tonight hkjg#i love the morale counter telling on volition. i use this so fucking often in my fics hkgh volition voice ''Of course I'm not sad.''#[DAMAGED MORALE -1] echem voice ''mmhm right. anyway do you want me to hug you and remind you of good things about the world?''#things i think about often. kisses for volition. and making him lose his cool. luckily! these things often go hand in hand!! :]#ough. my idiot knight guy who i cherish. and echem my lovely silly guy!! i love drawing him smug#i feel like i was supposed to say something in the tags but i!! forgot!! so oh well!! peace out gang
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It is of my opinion that Eddie would actually have a killer falsetto which Steve discovers when he walks into the trailer kitchen to find eddie singing along to the radio playing you make me feel like dancing while waltzing (surprisingly well) with an upside down mop
#Steve is leaning up against the counter arms crossed and smiling just watching#until eddie notices and when he does he shields his ‘dancing partner’ and stage whispers to it ‘DONT worry my love. he will never separate#us. our love is too strong. he is but a jealous voyeur’#and Pretends to make out with the mop head complimenting the ‘thick and lucious hair. much better than anyone in hawkins’#Steve feels like his heart is going to burst with how much he wants to kiss the smile that Eddie is fighting Down#they aren’t even dating (YET)#Eddie recounts the whole thing to Wayne later that night because he needs boy advice and Wayne may be exasperated but he is supportive#mayhaps I should have put those tags in the main post…#alas I cannot be bothered#go listen to Leo sayer#and wham rap because it’s fun#stranger things#eddie munson#steddie#steve harrington
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i'd love to know who took this uaa soso unreal and beautiful like a wong-kar wai classic feature :(
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I think we need more love for mean femmes. Broad femmes. Resting bitch face femmes. Intimidating femmes. Femmes in stompy heeled boots instead of stilettos. Femmes with bare faces and sharpened glossy nails. Femmes who are scarier to men than their butches please stand up.
THIS POST IS INCLUSIVE OF TRANS FEMMES. TERF SHITHEADS GO HOME.
#Big femmes who glare at every man they see and tap their nails on counter tops let's kiss 🥺#And then go glare at men together
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Someone posted something about Tommy and a motorcycle so I spawned this:
"Where's our car?" Buck asked, as he stepped out of the loft building and next to Tommy.
"I have a surprise for you," Tommy grabs his hand and takes a few steps towards a motorcycle. Buck is pretty certain his mouth fell open. "Sooo... I take it that means you like motorcycles?"
"Haven't been on one in years," Buck smiled, "But yes, I like motorcycles." Tommy leaned against the vehicle, taking in Buck for a minute. The glint of surprise, excitement and glee on his face was- well, like a blinding ray of sunshine. Yes, he makes you feel cheesy, Tommy answered himself. Then suddenly lips were on his. Buck was going to pull back, but too late. Tommy grabbed him by the waist and kissed back.
"We should go-" Buck kissed him again. "Or maybe not." Tommy chuckled.
"I kind of forgot about dinner," murmured Buck as he placed a kiss to Tommy's chin.
"Well, how about this? We ride around the block a few times and come right back….go upstairs-" Buck kissed him again. Tommy had to get used to this. Buck surely loved planting kisses at random, and sometimes Tommy couldn't understand what this man was made of. Part golden retriever and marshmallow fluff.
"One condition," Buck's toothy, scrunchy face, flirty grin was contorting into action, "I drive."
"Fine." Tommy was not going to be able to say no.
Buck gave him another kiss. Excitedly, Buck puts on a helmet, Tommy follows suit and gets comfortable on the bike. He did not think this through, because he for sure thought he'd be driving. It felt really nice, though, once Tommy wrapped his arms around Buck who took a minute to say, "Damn, I haven't rode a motorcycle in forever and one of the last times I crashed."
"That's comforting to know, Evan."
"You'll be fine," Buck kissed a hand. Buck didn't see it, but Tommy rolled his eyes. They pulled away, making circuits around the block.
"Well, that was awesome." Buck grinned. "You're still coming up, right?" He quickly hung the helmets on the handlebars as if they were on time crunch and Tommy would change his mind. Buck sure knew how to plead with those eyes. So adorable.
"Yes, Evan, I'm coming up."
They rushed upstairs and as they opened the door, Buck surprisingly grabbed Tommy by the face and kissed him. Tommy's hands found Buck's back and he pushed them forward onto the edge of the dining table. Buck didn't let go, Tommy didn't let go and the kiss lasted for minutes. When Tommy lifted Buck he pulled away to give him a chuckle. Then Tommy put Buck onto the kitchen counter and that granted him another kiss.
If this what they did all night, Tommy wasn't going to complain.
#I have no idea what this is#motorcycle plus tommy#but buck also having been on bikes...#and then me just wanting a lifted onto the counter kiss...#yeah but I want you guys to have it too#kinley#bucktommy#tommy kinard#evan buckley
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right in front of his tteokbokki
#creations#gifs#kdrama#kdramas#the uncanny counter#the uncanny counter 2#netflix#so mun#kim woongmin#kim ungmin#im juyeon#srry romanisation of ungmins name is weird so he gets two#ive been meaning to gif this scene since i saw it too its so fuckig funny i love them#hes so genuinely scandalised#ig thats what happens when u grow up together nd then one day two of u kiss#nd u r forced to see it in a weird pov#also lov that the inclusion of ;what is it this time#implies that he touches them nd then freaks out bc he can see shit he doesnt want to often
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good luck kiss ^^
#you gotta kiss your pilots so they come back safe it's science#r0ryy art#cassmako#friends at the table#counter/weight
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hc the aurora crew starts giving sam little kisses
#acedraws#metro 2033#metro last light#metro exodus#tokarev#sam taylor#idiot#Sergei#duke#igor dukov#miller kisses him on the crown of his head peepaw style#katya would give forehead kisses#nastya would not be able to reach unless she climbed up a counter or was picked up#but she'd copy her mom#i am putting too much thought into this#tokarev n anna on the cheek#artyom damir stepan n krest on the side of his noggin. like near the temple but hair part#IDIOT N DUKE GIVE HIM A BIG FAT KISS ON THE LIPS#lost in translation
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imagine the other two players at the table are blue players who youd expect to counter something but surprise! its the mono black player
also idk if anyone else plays withering boon except my wife but here we are :3
#mtg#magic the gathering#id you counter my spell you are legally obligated to kiss me on the lips after
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67 and/or 38!
alright the last one of these I tried to answer is currently an 8K WIP so here goes nothing [ins. ralph wiggum ha ha I'm in danger gif]
We've got Hands by Barns Courtney on deck, a fun little rock anthem about meeting a cutie at a show and then losing their number and trying to find them. Going looking in the streets even!
This would be a fun missed connections AU - both humans or else a Dream who is taking mingling with humanity a LITTLE too seriously, a little like a bender, and a Hob who organizes shows, sometimes does security for them. It'd be a little love letter to a very specific brand of twee indie romcom films. i will not name a setting or a time period because that was the thing that ruined me last time!!
So one night, at a show - not one of his - Hob sees Dream, it's a fuckin' coup de foudre. The thunderbolt. Love at first sight. Dream is wearing a leather jacket, black lipstick, and a determined sort of expression that suggests he is a) utterly shittered and b) here looking for a fight.
Hob gets it. He does. He used to go looking for fights all the time. He watches from across the crowd as Dream finds his. When he takes a punch grinning, like a fucking lunatic, not even defending himself, Hob shoulders his way across and intervenes to try and make peace. Dream has, of course, chosen the most unlikable possible person to get into it with, and when certain Objectionable Comments are made, well, it's a bad look, he knows, but Hob decks the guy anyway before his buddies throw him out. And then Hob is left to deal with Dream, who is kicked out too, for starting it, except kicking him out actually means taking him home, because Dream is too drunk to get back to his, and also refuses to tell Hob where he lives.
Dream is flirting with Hob the entire way back, and saying things like "You need not have come to my defense," and sort of feeling up the arm Hob has offered to steady him with, and just. Just staring a lot at him, with very blue eyes. Hob resolutely deposits him on his sofa with a glass of water and a quilt he actually knit himself, and then goes alone to his room. After a second thought, he locks the door. He does not trust his resolve, not with this man.
Sometime in the morning - morning for decent people who weren't up until 4 AM, not yet morning for Hob - he wakes up and sees Dream standing in his room, like the world's hottest hungover sleep paralysis demon. "What the fuck," says Hob, muzzily, "I locked that."
"Why," asks the world's hottest hungover sleep paralysis demon, "Are you afraid of me?"
Hob, more awake, remembering last night, says, "No. But you were very drunk. And very persistent."
"I'm not drunk right now."
"Clearly still very persistent," says Hob, not only more awake at this point, but also considerably more in love with this stranger.
"I feel like shit." He says it while looking at Hob and sounding tremendously regretful. Hob honest-to-god blushes. Later, he thinks. In the actual morning. After a good breakfast.
He lifts up the covers. "Well, come on then," he says. "We can still snuggle."
Dream crawls in, and Hob nuzzles his face a bit into his hair. Dream sighs happily and settles himself into Hob's arms, presses his bony back into Hob's warm and naked chest. All the tension melts out of him. Hob wonders what sort of breakfast his stranger would like. Starts mentally planning something, and then dozes back off to sleep. When he wakes up at his morning - noon - the space next to him is empty and the bed is cold. But there's a phone number on his hand, and a smiley face.
Only Hob drools, when he sleeps, and the last three numbers are hopelessly smeared. He panics, a little. Starts dialing numbers, looking in the phonebook, asking around at shows with his stranger's description. It's the opposite of trying to find a goth in a haystack. That would be so, so much easier than this.
Dream, for his part, had to leave for work, but it's fine. He's sure this man will call him. He knows where he lives, of course, but Matthew insists he has already acted 'sufficiently fucking unhinged' and 'cannot show up on some guy's stoop, he lives in Greenpoint dude, you will get the cops called on you'. So Dream tries to wait. He thinks, over and over, of this man who threw an easy punch in defense of his honour and then looked, bizarrely, bashful about it, who threw the same arm around him and used it to tug him closer and huff softly into the back of his neck the next morning, and Dream knows it's not exactly the normal speed of things, but he's in love. He's in love, and his happy confidence that he was going to be phoned the same afternoon - or, maybe he was busy, the next day then - or on the weekend, surely? - or - has vanished.
It's not his stoop. That's what he tells himself when, on the fifth day of not hearing anything, he finds himself picking up oranges and putting them back down again at the bodega a block from the mystery man's apartment, staring at the door as if sheer willpower might summon him. He starts getting flowers for his sisters at a Greenpoint florist. At his lowest moment, he does an entire load of laundry at a laundromat three blocks away, and spends the whole time staring out the plate glass windows furiously people-watching. Maybe he doesn't even live there. But it had seemed like a home. It had - felt like one. More than Dream's own apartment ever has.
Hob is giving up hope as the week wears on. New York is huge. Brooklyn is huge. What if he was just a tourist? What if he lives in Delaware? He didn't look like someone who lives in Delaware. He's even fallen behind on his fucking errands because he's been going to every show he can find, shows that he thinks would be his stranger's scene, staring at crowds looking for black hair, black lipstick, blue eyes.
And after nearly a week of these mortifying shenanigans, he finally sees him again - at the bodega of all places - and Dream looks, frankly, furious, until Hob holds up the back of his hand, the faded incomplete phone number (he morosely started avoiding washing the spot after fearing it might be all he would have as a memento), and Dream realizes that Hob had wanted to phone him, he had.
Hob hands him the sharpie he always keeps in his pocket, says, "Here. For next time. Something that lasts longer."
And Dream, of course, takes it from him, wearing the same wondering small smile he had when Hob invited him to come cuddle, and then he's staring at Hob again, except this time he's not drunk, he's not drunk, but they are in Hob's local bodega, which Dream apparently either does not know or care to consider, because suddenly strong hands are wrapping around the back of his neck and he's being kissed, sweetly and hungrily, and Hob is making a piteous noise of happiness into his mouth, and Dream is slotting a thigh between his legs, mother of Christ, right in front of the sandwich counter. Hob pulls himself away and breathlessly asks, "Can I take you home? Again?" and Dream smiles and takes his hand, the one with the faded blue scrawl Hob can finally wash off, and pulls him out the door.
They're half way down the block before Hob remembers he forgot to buy the gnocchi. He makes them go back for it, because he's pretty sure they'll be hungry in a couple hours. And he still owes his stranger a good meal.
#the sandman#dreamling#my writing#this has been jot-note drafted since the start of the week#i was just afraid i would elaborate and it would turn into a giant fic#calling it a win#only a small fic!!!#i will not name a setting i say to myself#(names setting)#hob apologizing profusely to the bodega employees who know him by name#being mercilessly teased every time he goes back#hob where is your pale friend? does he not come out during the day??#hob if you give me 20 bucks i'll let you borrow the storeroom since you obviously don't have a place to be alone with your boyfriend#hey hob should i ask my uncle about stocking tofu for your goth#the first time they come back in together:#hey!! young men!!! no kissing in front of the deli counter this time!!! i have CUSTOMERS today#customers: (staring openly)
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