The Spot Headcanons
Request: I have no idea if you take requests or anything but like ... spot with an s/o who chews on him. Nothing nsfw or suggestive or anything. I think they'd just wanna chew on him like . Some kind of stick. (Btw i 💞💞💞 ur writing so BADDDDD)
A/N: I did a quick glance and I thought you were calling my writing bad and im like, then why are you hereಥ_ಥ (there’s a quick mention about sex, but its not like graphic)
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In all his time that he’s known you, he’s always known that you had some oral fixation. There were times that you tried to hide it from Johnathan, but it was never successful. You’d chew on popsicle sticks until they were splintered and frayed, you bite on toothpicks until you’d spit out the thin lines of wood, and only once you grew comfortable around him, you’d bite on your knuckles. If he were to be honest, he was worried you’d break your skin, so he started to carry bandages in his pocket.
However, you never broke skin. You’d chew lightly, your teeth marks dented into your skin, over your knuckles and on the webbed part of your hand, chewed on the side of your finger. Further into the relationship, you start to chew without trying to hide it from him. He’d watch as you bite on a popsicle stick, bitten between your molars and grinded until it pared in the middle, and you’d hold his hand. You’d massage it, your jaw tight as you press into his palm and squeeze onto his fingers. With wood acting as a poor replacement for flesh, you’d satisfy your desire by holding his hand.
Splinters are on your tongue and drool lays a pool into your mouth as you focus on his hands and wrists, running the pad of your index finger over his veins, pinching over the flesh of his knuckles and the meaty part of his palm. It’s obvious to anyone watching that you want to bite him, but are too afraid to ask. He has his own quirks that you’ve satisfied without complaint, and he’s sure that he’s made it clear that you can ask him anything, and yet, you don’t. Your tongue is splintered, and his hand is massaged, and he lays on your chest. A part of him wonders if his flesh is not to your desire, if his fingers are too calloused for your liking. He can only hold his breath when you kiss his palm. Your breath is warm, and your lips are soft, you hold him gently, running your lips from the center, up towards a finger, and he hopes that you bite him, that you mark him and dent his skin with your canines.
Of course, he has tried to get you sensory toys due to not wanting you to get splinters on your tongue, they never worked the same. The toys would work for a while, and it was apparent that you tried to enjoy them, grinding your teeth into them, and trying to tear it apart, but he could tell that you’d only grow frustrated. As you would chew and chew, by the end of it, spit had coated the toy and dripped onto your hand. It wasn’t the most sanitary, especially when you made it a point to try to tear apart the toy, and it would lay wrapped clean in a napkin until the next use. It was fairly common that you would end up losing them, and by the time you found them, no amount of soap and water had deemed the toys clean.
The only time that you’d actually bruise his skin is when the two of you are intimate. You’d bite his shoulder, sink your teeth in and pull him closer when he hisses at the contact. He had no idea someone could bite so gentle and harsh at the same time. You lap at the wound, kissing it, pressing your lips softly as if to ease the sting. And again, you bite, scratching at his back, knitting your hands into his hair, and breathing heavily. When he stares at himself in the mirror, he lets his hands linger when your teeth have tattooed themselves. His fingertips ghost over the inflamed skin, and he swears that he can feel the dentations, and the skin burns, and he can’t stop tracing where you’ve kissed him.
If you won’t bite him unless there’s intimacy involved, then he’ll make it known that it’s okay to chew on him. He’d cover your mouth with his hand, his index over your mouth, and the rest of his hand cradling your chin. He’d feel your heated breaths pant over his index, and he’d stare into your eyes, the void of the black hole that is him staring into your shining eyes reflecting his image. Neither of you dare to break eye contact for a moment- he wants to see if you’d actually bite him. You’re the one to break eye contact, your eyes darting down to his finger, and back to him and he nods, unable to breathe as he can feel the skin of your teeth drag over the side of his finger and feel the thin of it bite down. His breath catches in his throat, and his spots widen and contract as the feeling of your teeth squeezing down.
You smile with your teeth bared, and he realizes just how much he wants you to bite him. He wants you to etch yourself onto his skin, to know that you find him worthy of being torn and mawed by you. You comment on the different texture that he has compared to you. How he feels different, and when insecurity makes him anxious, you ask if it’s really okay for you to bite him. And when he tells you yes, you hold onto his arm, your breath soft and fanning over him as you bite and bite, pressing a kiss over each mark.
If he’s not in close proximity towards you- which is rare- he will use a spot to put his hand through, letting you bite onto him. It’s almost frightening how addicted he became to you biting him, how he likes the feeling of your maw threatening to tear and rip his flesh. In the soft kisses that follow, where you flutter your lips over his hand and arm, and over his neck and shoulder, you tell him thank you, and your hands have gone untouched, splinters no longer poke your tongue.
In return for letting you bite him, he likes to rest his head on your chest and feel you scratch his back. He’ll always tell you that there’s no need to repay him- he enjoys your biting habits as much as you do- but he can’t complain when he’s allowed to just rest on you. He’ll put his full weight on you, and stretch over you, humming when your nails pull down on his back, and nearly asleep by the time your hand has cramped. He’ll nuzzle further into your chest when you scratch at the top of his head, letting out a noise of content.
What will and his spots and the chewing that you allow, you’ve started to try different nicknames. Johnathan and any variations of it were always welcomed and when you called him Spot, you always said it so lovingly that it never struck the kind of intimidation that he was going for. At one point, you tried calling him “Swiss”- “like swiss cheese, ‘cause you’re so holey and chewy,” you joked. He still doesn't know how he feels about the nickname, but the more you called him that despite the obvious grumbling, the more he became almost fond of it. He isn’t sure how much he likes being compared to a piece of food, but you always smile at the name, and he can’t ruin your smile.
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GtWAC Day 1:
Reblog your go to comfort fic
If you have not read The Stranding (and by extension, The Rescue) by the darling @belethlegwen you are deeply missing out! The sheer amount of content is truly a blessing, and considering its still being updated?? ASDFJHSLK
Belle is an incredible story teller, and this shines through in her writing so well I feel like I'm getting flashbanged by talent.
You know that typical writing advice about not introducing too many characters, especially early on as it divides the reader's attention?? BELLE STOMPS ON THAT.
AND
IT
WORKS
I genuinely can't get over how much I am in love with her characters. I must admit- I am the typical reader with one too many bonks to the head that can't seem to focus on/ remember/ care about more than 3-5 characters- that is not the case here.
Every character she introduces has my interest piqued- each one feeling alive and at home in their setting. And its not just likeable in the sense of "oh I'd be friends with them" (and she absolutely has many characters I'd love to be friends with)- its these raw and real characterizations that make you like them as a character.
They have their own mystery to them too- even if its not direct. Her characters make you wonder more about their past and why they act the way they do. They can be frustrating, immature, stubborn, even cruel- but they feel so deeply real.
Both written works from Sizeable Ship Wrecks are among my favorite things I've read- both inside and outside of the G/t sphere to the point I feel as though I could shamelessly recommend this to someone outside of the G/t community and be confident they would enjoy it.
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YOU SAID YOU HAD NO ASKS AND IM FIXING THIS.
LITTLE TRAVELLER WOLF. remember. I Do. i remember everything, luna. And am i still thinking about the light-suppression cuffs and the moths and the Eliksni and--
Think about it again,,, always bleeding a liquid light, trying to stop the hatchlings from trying to eat it (still crying). the family that basically adopted them while they were out of it, and who they stayed with when they were themself again. the wolf plushie...
I never forget,,,
Saladin watching someone he’s always seen as a powerful warrior deteriorate into something almost akin to a child but it is not quite that either- no it is something else, something wrong. A slow acting poison ending in death set upon Wolf by the people they should have been able to trust the most.
Do you remember Wolf in the wilds? Travelling alone to a destination they don’t remember? Resting in hunter hideouts they had made or been trusted with, admiring the light of the stars, and the moths of course.
The Traveller only wanted its favoured guardian back, taken from it for being too good, too powerful. It can do nothing but give away as much as it can until its power is warping the foundations of Wolf’s body and soul into a form that cannot remember itself. Saladin looks upon Wolf whose arms glow with bright white Light, whose fingertips are ever so slowly beginning to melt into nothing. At the near ever-present liquid Light tears running down one side of their face out from under freshly replaced bandages. Their body is covered in fissures, bodies shouldn’t do that they think- for a moment until the very capability of thought is gone again.
This Light is a gift. Each time Wolf looks upon their wounds they know that they are loved. This Light is a gift that leaves everyone questioning if Wolf is even human anymore. They can see through walls, hear what no one else can. The Traveller speaks, they alone hear it.
Then once they are free from their quite literal shackles they remember the hands that stemmed their bleeding, who cried once their blood stopped running red, who walked them through the city and bought them the one thing they had ever wanted.
Eliksni arrive to the city and Wolf can feel the Traveller welcome them, even if the humans do not. It is awkward, always, for they worship the traveller and it’s Light is Wolf’s body. There is little else left. Though they are not alone in their stilted interactions with Wolf- no one is quite sure about how they are supposed to speak to them, to the one the Traveller loves. Except for the ones who held them together when no one else would, those ones still treated them as human.
The Eliksni endure the animosity thrown at them. Ask for nothing from no one. They have endured, they do not need gifts to survive. But the Traveller still answers their silence, through Wolf’s voice it tells them that they’ve found peace, finally, they’ve done good, they can have the Light now.
…But not in so many words, Wolf has never been one to speak after all. Let everyone decipher their actions instead.
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