#GET CHOMPED ON !!

[bigcatbulges]

Source - Bweno_v

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[magicicephoenix]

Happy Bendyversary!! He’s now 7 years old! :O

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Please let Astarion meet Tav's family and have a younger sibling like 6 be like im gonna marry the prince points at Astarion.

Tav : Sorry, im married to the prince

NO IM GONNA MARRY THE PRINCE

That's so fucking cute kill me. But I just realized AFTER I finished it I read this wrong 😭😭 I read it as "marry" instead of "married" so whoops now it's an asking for your hand in marriage fic.

Also, I'm going to make this a weird little, unofficial, alternate reality, off shoot of this fic to explain away why Astarion can be in the sun without ascending because I am ~lazy~

Quick summary if you didn't read it, Tav serves Selune, gets a blessing for all the good work, and uses it to cure the anti-light issue of the vampirism (but not all of it). It's not a literal extension of that fic but I'm stealing my own plot explanations. That's it! Now here we go:

~

Astarion wasn't nervous per se. He was just... on edge. And the two-week journey it took to get here wasn't helping things, not when it gave him so much time to ruminate in his thoughts. He never expected to be in the position of "meeting the family," let alone in anticipation for asking for someone's hand in marriage.

Astarion wasn't even quite sure how his life got here. He had always fantasized that a life without Cazador would be one of selfish hedonism, not one where he would be legitimately concerned about a damn six year old sibling's first impression of him.

But then you came along, effortlessly shattering all of his grandiose plans with a batt of your eyelashes. Perhaps the entire journey of falling in love was more complicated, but it felt like it was that simple. In hindsight, he never stood a chance against you, but it was hilarious that there was a time he ever thought he did.

All of his prior dreams and fantasies felt like nothing in comparison to just being with you. It had been a year since you both saved the Sword Coast, a beautiful, fantastic year. That had ended with him somehow more in love with you now than when he first confessed. Selune's blessing had certainly helped with that he was sure. He still couldn't quite believe that you would use a god's blessing on him of all people, but gods, was he appreciative. Because being able to walk in the sun again meant that he could live the life he wanted, with no restrictions. He could be the partner you deserved, the kind that a father would happily say yes to when asking for your hand.

Which brought him back to his current dilemma. Perhaps he hadn't seen any of your family members in the time you'd been together, but he had heard plenty. You loved them all to death, especially your little sister. You wrote to them constantly, the mere sight of a letter from your parents enough to put you in a great mood for the rest of the day. He was aware that your mother was supposedly a saint, a fact that your own father had instilled in you often. He knew that they had a wonderful, loving marriage and were both higher ups in the Church of Selune. A fact that Astarion didn't particularly enjoy.

As grateful to the moon goddess as he was, he was aware that you were an expectation to the very normal belief that vampires were bad. And that marrying one was one of the stupidest things you could ever do from an average person's perspective, let alone a Selunite.

Why you hadn't done the smart thing and lied about what he was, Astarion would never know. But he did know that the thought of their rejection over his admittedly sordid history was putting him in a tailspin.

"They're going to love you," You said for the hundredth time, giving his hand a squeeze as you led him up the steps to your childhood home, "You have nothing to worry about sweetheart. I promise."

Astarion highly doubted that, but you were already knocking on the front door before he had a chance to argue. The door instantly slammed open, a beaming child already launching themselves at you before Astarion could process what was happening.

But you were more prepared them he was. You effortlessly caught them in your arms, laughing at their excited shouting, "Titi! You're late!"

So this was the famous Arabeth.

"No, I'm not!" You laughed as you settled her on your hip, "And what happened to my little girl's manners huh? You haven't even introduced yourself yet."

The child glanced over at him, like she was just realizing for the first time that someone else was standing over there. She looked a little shocked at the sight of him, staring at him with wide eyes. Wide enough for Astarion to start to wonder if something was on his face.

He gave her a little wave only for her to bury her face into your shoulder, peeking out at him with her lips pursed. Which was not the best start to the whole making his darling's family actually like him plan.

"Well, as you've probably guessed this is Arabeth. She's just a little shy," You reassured as you stepped inside, muttering a quick invitation inside under your breath. He appreciated that, he didn't need the whole house to be reminded of his... limitations.

"But she'll get over it soon enough," You continued as you called into the house, "Mom? Dad? We're here!"

And just like that they were rushing into the room, acting just as excited as your sister had been. Your mother wasted no time in smothering your face with kisses while your father swept you up into a hug. It was a rather impressive display of coordination, considering how they hadn't managed to knock you and your sister to the floor in the process. Astarion was pretty sure they were both saying something along the lines of We missed you! But it was hard to tell with all of you so tangled up in each other.

It was heartwarming to see, in all honestly. Of course such a loving person would come from an equally loving family, what else would he expect?

Though he certainly hadn't been expecting for your mother to throw her arms around him next. She brought him into a tight hug before looking him up and down, "So you're Astarion huh?"

She turned back to you, grinning ear to ear with her hands set on Astarion's shoulders, "He's so handsome! Selune help us, do you remember the last boy you brought home? He had a nose the length of my arm-"

"And that's enough of that," You said with a strained laugh, pulling your eccentric mother back a few inches, "And we've talked about the impromptu hugs. What happened to asking for permission?"

"Sorry, sorry!" She said with a wave of her hand, "Let me try again. I'm Seliras, and this is my husband-"

"Marcoul," Your father interrupted, putting his hand out for Astarion to shake, "It's been awhile since we've met a boyfriend."

"He's a little more than that," You said with a sigh as everyone exchanged pleasantries.

"We'll be the judge of that," Marcoul said with a sharp but friendly grin, the grip he had on Astarion's hand briefly tightening before he let go, "From what we've heard, you're quite the character aren't you?"

Ah, so the interrogating was starting early then. It was nothing that Astarion hadn't expected. Besides, turning up the charm was his strong suit, even when he was uncharacteristically nervous.

Astarion smiled back at him, "You've heard right. And I'm more than happy to answer any questions you might have."

"Oh gods please don't say that," You groaned, but it was too late. Your parents were already leading him to sit, rapid-fire questions coming out of their mouth.

Where are you from? How did you meet? Are you serious about our Tav? What's your religion? Where's your family? What are your plans?

But Astarion answered them all, with only mild censorship for the child's sake. The child who suddenly couldn't stop staring at him. It wasn't exactly easy to sell himself as a future husband when he was a vampiric ex-slave, but he made do.

It was an overwhelming experience to say the least, but not necessarily an unpleasant one. That was one good thing about trying to marry into a family of zealots, it was a lot easier to convince them of your virtue when you received a personal blessing from their goddess.

By the end of the night, they were all throughly appeased, enough so to get off the topic of him for a moment.

"You look a little young to have a thirty-year old child," Astarion said to your mother. He was actively trying to compliment her for obvious reasons, but he was also genuinely curious. She barely looked a day over 40.

"Oh we breed young," She said with a laugh, "We had Tav in our teenage years. Arabeth came much, much later. Our favorite little surprise. Gods, I can't think of a single person in our family who didn't have kids young. Our little Tav is the only exception to the rule."

"But maybe not for much longer, huh?" Marcoul added with a grin, yelping when you lightly smacked him over the head for the comment.

"Do not start the kid talk again!" You hissed out, cheeks red, "We've talked about this!"

Astarion couldn't help but grin at your reaction, charmed by your embarrassment. Though... the idea of the two of you having children together sure was an interesting thought.

Astarion felt a tug on his sleeve while you were distracted arguing with your parents. He turned, smiling when he saw your little sister standing there, still staring at him with wide-eyes.

She took a deep breath before blurting out, "You look like a prince. Are you?"

"Not exactly," Astarion said with a small laugh. That couldn't be further from the truth, "There's no blue blood in my veins."

She frowned, cocking her head at him like he wasn't making any sense. But then an idea obviously struck her as she excitedly asked, "But if you married a princess, then you'd become a prince too. Right?"

"I suppose?" Astarion answered with a shrug.

"So if I become a princess, and I marry you, then you'll be a prince?"

This conversation was quickly becoming out of his depth. But luckily enough for him you were swooping in to save him.

You laughed at her question, turning your attention back to the two of them, "No offense Bethy, but I'm going to be the one marrying this particular prince."

But Arabeth wasn't having it. She crossed her arms, looking at you like she was the one talking to a child, "You can't. Because if I don't marry him, he won't be a prince. So there. I have to do it."

She looked so serious, her facial expressions incredibly similar to your own. Astarion was holding back a loud laugh as you tried and failed to reason with her, "I can marry him without the royal status-"

"No! I'm marrying the prince!"

Your parents were doing a much worse job at hiding their reactions, both of them opening giggling behind their hands as you came up with a compromise.

"Okay, okay," You said with a sigh, kneeling down to look the small girl in the eye, "How about this? I marry him first. But only until you become a princess. Then he's all yours. Sound fair?"

She thought about it for a moment before nodding to herself, "Sounds fair."

Well Astarion wasn't going to get a better set-up then that. He turned to your father, his nerves coming back for a brief appearance, "I'm assuming now might be a good time to ask what I came here to ask. Though I do promise I only intending on asking for one of your children's hand in marriage."

Marcoul nodded slowly, his face unreadable as he spoke, "I mean no offense when I say this Astarion, but you aren't exactly who I imagined for my daughter."

"Dad don't-"

"Darling, let him finish," Astarion gently interrupted, his eyes still locked with your father's.

He took a deep breathe before continuing, "That said, I've never seen her so... herself with someone else before. So yes. The two of you can marry. On one condition."

"Anything," Astarion said instantly, nearly giddy at the fact that he was so close to the official yes, "Just name it."

"You have to have the wedding here," Seliras answered for him, a massive smile on her face, "No ifs, ands, or buts."

"And I get to be flower girl!" Arabeth chimed in, her past indignation completely forgotten as she climbed all over you, "And there has to be chocolate cake!"

"Oh gods, help us," You groaned, but Astarion was already nodding along. He couldn't give less than two shits where it happened or who was involved. He could scarcely believe that it was happening at all. But that was the last thing he had needed.

He already had the ring, the most amazing person he could ever fathom being with. Who actually wanted him back.

Now all he had to do was ask.

[confessedlyfannish]

DP x DC Writing Prompt #8

The day Bruce Wayne knocks on her apartment door Sam knows it's going to be a doozy.

"Mr. Wayne, I really do hope no one saw you," she says, ushering him in. "And for the record, a text ahead of time would be appreciated."

"I parked the car a few streets away," Bruce says, sticking a finger in his heel to peel his polished leather shoes off. Sam raises an eyebrow. "It's a sedan, not a Lamborghini."

"You own a sedan?"

"Taught Dick to drive in it...after he crashed the Lamborghini."

Sam snorts despite herself. The charm Bruce Wayne exhibits would usually rub her the wrong way, too reminiscent of wealthy men that feel comfortable placing a hand on the small of your back at a crowded gala, but Bruce is honest enough about his playacting that she has come to find its insincerity comforting. She's actually sought him out more than once, leading to several annoying headlines that can't seem to decide if she's aiming to date him or one of his eligible sons. None of whom are eligible by the way, as they are a) taken, b) legally dead, c) practically a minor, and d) an actual minor.

Sam's generational wealth is peanuts compared to Wayne Industries, so naturally her parents have been thrilled and rooting for option c.

"I also didn't want Danny to see I'd texted you. Or force you to lie to him."

Sam doesn't quite tense, but it's a near thing. She does slide to the other side of her kitchen island, under the context of finishing prepping her feta fried eggs, laid on a bed of smashed avocado and warm tortilla. She pulls a bottle of crunchy garlic oil out of the fridge and drizzles hot red crisps across the runny yolk. She takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully, not so much as offering him a glass of water.

"You realize, Mr. Wayne, I have no intention of lying to Danny now?"

Bruce sits at the stool on the opposite side of the island. "I understand. And if you want to ask Danny to return home before we continue, I'd understand that as well. I didn't mean to discomfit you--"

"Please do not lie to me now, Mr. Wayne," Sam says, rolling her eyes. "By your own admission you showed up at noon without warning knowing my superhero boyfriend wouldn't be present. If I am discomfited, all the more likely you get your information, right?" Golden yolk runs down her fingers, and she sacrifices it to the napkin rather than lick up her arm in front of her boss, with no small amount of resentment. The yolk is the best part.

"Get to it then," she demands.

Bruce straightens in his stool, chin raising and firming in a jawline she most often sees under a cowl. His eyes attempt to pin her in place, but Sam has stared the Master of Time in the face and demand he reschedule so she is built. different. She takes another bite of egg taco.

"I was not aiming for you to feel threatened, and moreover, I doubt you could be."

Except a smart person should always feel threatened by a threat, no matter their capability of handling one. It keeps them alive.

"Can you tell me how I'm not like all the other girls after lunch? You'll spoil my appetite."

Bruce clears his throat. "I'll get to the point--"

"Thank you."

"--Danny has been exhibiting paranormal behaviors beyond his baseline. We welcome all biologies; human, alien, and paranormal alike, but I have observed actions unlike what he had previously established as his, for lack of a better word, 'normal'

"I want to make sure he is not experiencing any unwelcome outside influence. Or, if this is merely a facet of his evolution, I'd like to know if this is something we or his family should be monitoring."

Sam has been an eco-consultant with Wayne Industries and unofficially, the Batfamily, for half a year now and this is the most she's ever heard the man speak in one sitting.

"Wow," she says. "How long have you been rehearsing that one?"

"A while." Bruce grunts, voice finally taking that final drop into Batman's gravelly rasp. "I see you're not surprised by any of this."

"No, not really," Sam says. She pours him a tall glass of lemon water from the pitcher, freshly sliced that morning, and he takes a polite sip.

"So what can you tell me?"

"Probably a lot. And Danny would probably prefer that I do, knowing him, the big baby," Sam sighs. "Listen Mr. Wayne, I can appreciate that you came here from a place of caution rather than intrusion. And if Danny was undergoing something negative or from an 'unwelcome outside influence' that would be the right call, and I, albeit begrudgingly, encourage you to do so in the future."

"But he's not."

"He's not," Sam confirms. "And in fact, I think he could really use someone to talk to about it. Outside of his family."

"I see..." Bruce says, shifting.

"If you want to tag team this one with one of the higher EQ players, such as Superman, I give you permission." Sam does not think she's imagining that slight sag of relief.

"Thank you," Bruce says, sliding off the stool. "I don't suppose you have material we could consult...?"

"Actually yes, I happen to have a pamphlet right here. 'So your ghostly body is changing, and how.'"

"You're being more sarcastic than usual."

"You interrupted my lunch, Mr. Wayne."

[beanghostprincess]

i think sabo got the habit of biting as a love language from luffy and ace and now every time they see each other sabo will go chomp chomp on luffy's cheek and luffy will go nom nom on sabo's arm and everyone around them witnesses two of the most influential men in present history biting each other like lunatics

[willowser]

getting to a point with nerd bakugou where you're not even playing games online together anymore, you're just — chatting, all day 🥺

and you've gotten close enough that you'll send him a mirror selfie and even if your phone is mostly covering your face, he's ZOOMING IN ON THAT BABY and over-analyzing the hell out of it 🥺 trying to figure out what you look like 🥺 and every single photo he sends in return is assessed for a minimum of 20 minutes, because he wants to make sure his reflection isn't showing anything or his body doesn't look weird, that his posture is right 🥺

and the first time you send something back like, "you look nice today 😊🩷", even though he's just showing off his shirt from a movie you both like — he's having to put his phone down on his desk and put his hands over his face because he feels so airbruqoabdka about you !!!!!

[beefcake-penguin]

Kara: *bridal carrying Lena* "I'll take care of you"

Lena: *nuzzling into Kara's beefy neck/shoulder area* "It's rotten work... and I'll bite you"

Kara: "Not to me. Not if it's y- wait, what?"

Lena: *wicked little grin on her face and pupils dilate like a cat's*

Lena: *CHOMP!!!*

Kara: "YeeOUCH!!!"

[intotheelliwoods]

If 2AL had a crossover with HTTYD, Sprout would get a Rumblehorn, and Poptart would get a service dog Terrible Terror, by the way. If you care~

[thychesters]

do you ever think about how zoro says “scars on the back are a swordsman’s shame” but one of the first scars he received after joining luffy was on his back after buggy stabbed him through the stomach, and not only that but it was for luffy, too.

[livetogether--diealone]

what's the prize? one million jelly-beans?

[plush-rabbit]

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)

-

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. 

[samrut]

Gilsicle

[thornycanary]

big frightening ducky

[clownsuu]

Are they friends? Frenemies? Oh, who knows!

LMAOOO c l a s s i c Mob!Barnaby behavior

[charmac]

Going back in the water? Backflip!