req~

anonymous asked:

Could you maybe do a fic where Dan and the reader have been dating. But the reader hasn't really gotten very far with Dan because they're super insecure with their body due to stretch marks, hives, scars, etc. Dan eventually finds out and just starts being cute and what not to try to reassure the reader and cheer them up? Idk I thought it would be cute. I wasn't sure if you were accepting requests though. Anyways I love you/your blog/your writing. 💕

A/N: Hey there lovely ! I am always taking requests, so I will happily fill this prompt for you. This hits pretty close to home for me - as with a lot of others - as I’m pretty insecure myself with parts of my body. As time goes on, though, we grow, and change, and our perception of ourselves does too. Sometimes, though, we need a little help along the way on the road to loving ourselves, and hopefully, with this, you can come back to it and see that I (and of course Dan) love you for you. Thank you for the prompt, and I hope you enjoy. ♡

WHO YOU ARE

Looking at yourself in the full-length mirror, you turned to the side, studying the curvature of your body. The maroon garter belt was secure, both around your waist and to the knee high stockings, and everything looked to be on right.
The only problem, as it always was, was the very faint but defined stretch marks running up your stomach. They looked carved in, like you were a pumpkin or a chuck of clay someone had started to sculpt but stopped. Some days, they didn’t bother you; they were just another part of the skin you were posed to live in. Other days, though, you wanted to actually carve them off, make them go away, pour shea butter and cold water on them to make them fade and snap back to their normal, pretty, perky position.
Continuing to study yourself, your mind concluded that it wasn’t a good idea, this purchase, and it would go in the back part of your dresser drawers to gather dust until you looked… Prettier. You’d actually have sex with your boyfriend, get all dressed up and make a big deal out of it, another day.

“Whoa, baby!” You jumped, looking over to see Dan in the doorway, eyes wide with surprise and a stupid, particularly boyish grin on his face. You thought the door was locked. “Oh - Oh, shoot, Danny - Uh -” Scrambling, you snatched up your pajama shirt, throwing it over your ensemble. It didn’t do much for the stockings or the garter belt, but you were turning as red as your undergarments; he was approaching, and shoot shoot shoot, he’s seen it, he’s seen me, he’s seen the scars…
“Why’d you cover up?” It was a simple question, but there was the gentlest tone of something more in his sweet voice. “I - It was just - I don’t even know why I bought this… An impulse purchase… I -” With less than an armslength of distance between the two of you, you couldn’t even look him in the eye. “I liked it,” he replied earnestly, though not pushy. “If all your impulse purchases are going to be like this, I should let you spend your money more often.” He laughed, and you did too. There was a slight pause, because you were thinking, the guilt elbowing you in the chest. Dan had his on-stage persona for a reason, got a lot of his sexual cravings out by singing about them, that had to be why Danny Sexbang was what he was, but your boyfriend’s eyes were still a little more blown-out than normal as he continued to look at you. He wanted it, and you couldn’t give it to him. “You know I think red looks good on you.” Sparing a glance at him, he was still smiling; he was teasing you too, for the blush. “Yeah, I know…” There’s just the problem of my stretch marks. You didn’t think tonight was going to be one of those nights where you were going to have to talk about your self-esteem issues again, but it was shaping up to be that way. Plus, Dan was always so easy to talk to, all warm eyes and welcoming demeanor.
However, he didn’t push much farther than that. “Hey, it’s okay. C’mere.” He pulled you into a quick hug. “You’re pretty in or out of lingerie.” Lifting you off your feet suddenly, you squealed with delight, wrapping your arms around him tightly, laughing as he half-tossed you onto the bed.

Back against the mattress, Dan appeared above you only a moment later. There were his eyes again, darkened with excitement and pupils dilated, like you were a one-person crowd on a big performance night. “You are absolutely adorable, y’know,” he told you, hands coming to rest on either side of your head. “Especially when you’re trying to be sexy.” A gentle laugh. “I mean, a garter belt and thigh-highs? You know how to make a man weak.” You laughed too. “Every man’s weakness is a garter belt and thigh-highs,” you countered from below him. “This is true.” He nodded. “However, you’re not for every man. You’re mine.” This was also true, and both of you knew it. Your heart was entirely his, and if you weren’t so hard on yourself, your body would be too.
With a little shift, he leaned back, hands coming away from their spots and finding their way under your overshirt. “Whoa, hey, wait-” He stopped, fingertips just barely brushing against your bare stomach. “That’s - There’s -” An eyebrow raised. “Your stretchmarks, yeah. I know. I’ve seen you naked before, babe,” he told you. He made it sound so casual, but the few times you’d shown him you were getting changed, or you were getting in the shower; there was never an intimate moment with them around. A pause, then his eyebrows raised. “Is that why you’re wearing the shirt?” That’s why we’re not having sex? It was then, you supposed, that he finally understood. You looked away. “It’s always why I wear the shirt, Danny.”
There was a long lapse of quiet, his hands still just under the hem of the shirt. It shouldn’t have taken this long to talk about your stretch marks, it shouldn’t have taken this long to tell him why the idea of getting naked and intimate made your stomach lurch with anxiety. He knew it; you did too. But he hadn’t moved from his position, legs straddling your waist, weight almost comforting, grounding. “Can I?” Fingers took the hem of your shirt and tugged gently. A small sigh came from your mouth. “Well, we’re all ready here. Might as well,” you replied with a little shrug. The big shirt didn’t come all the way off, but it was hiked pretty high, just under your bra-clad chest. Then his fingers found the scars, the feeling of someone else’s fingers tracing over them making your heart flutter like a hummingbird’s wing.
After a soft silence, he replied in a murmur, “They’re pretty.” Another huff. “You’re just saying that.” He looked at you, eyes wide. “No, honest! They’re really pretty. Kinda cute, actually. They look like lightning bolts.” All right, that was kind of a cute way to put it. You’d heard it before, always thought comparing lightning bolts to stretch marks was childish, but the way Dan said it was almost romantic. “I like them,” he continued as his thumbs followed each indent on your stomach. “And I love you. So.” As it went, he was one of very few gentlemen who were okay with your stretchmarks, one of the few who actually said they were something other than ugly or weird or unflattering. That meant a lot to you. “Are these the only ones?” Maybe it was an invasive question, maybe a mean one, but you didn’t take it that way. “Yeah, just these ones. I’ve had ‘em a lot of my life,” you explained. Another shift; he was scooting off of you, his hands letting up, and your eyebrows furrowed. What was he-?

Hands were one thing on your stretchmarks, but a mouth was something completely different. It was much warmer, much softer, no callouses or catches to speak of. Dan kissed each scar gently, not trying to be arousing but failing beautifully. “They’re beautiful,” he told you. Kiss. “Your beautiful.” Kiss. “I love you.” Kiss. “And I love your scars.” Kiss. Sure, you were totally putty in his hands by that point, all red cheeks and racing heart, but you had a choice. Your body, your decision on what to do for the night.
“All right, loverboy.” You laughed, threading your fingers through his hair as he came back up to meet you. “None of that. You’ve got a concert in two days, save all that raw sex appeal for then.” That made him laugh, a genuine and warm laugh.
Yes, you weren’t quite ready for sex, not just yet. But the two of you had just made progress, taken a step in acceptance and love, together. That’s how it needed to be; you couldn’t be more grateful that it was with him.

anonymous asked:

Hi! I was wondering if you have any johnlock fic recs that are hate to love? LOVE your blog btw!!!!!<3

Hi Nonny!

Mmm, oddly enough, the only one I can recall off the top of my head with this trope is Performance in a Leading Role; Sherlock starts off not really liking John to being literally lost without him, it’s a fandom classic, and very good, if you like AU’s.

I know I have read others… anyone?

anonymous asked:

greg universe and carol swapped outfits? or greg and carol dating? i wanna see the good parents together tbh

“I’m really sorry that my son wrecked your dojo while fighting that monster! Y’know, gem stuff. Hehe…”

“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Universe! That’s nothing new here in the plaza. Sorry about my baby breaking your van…”

“Hey, it’s fine! It’s seen worse. How ‘bout we take these two shtoo-balls for some after-monster-fighting treat?”

“That’s a great idea! C’mere, baby, We’ll take us out for ice cream!”