What’s going on everyone. My schedule is opening up a bit, so I thought I’d open up some commissions. You can get in touch with me on Tumblr, Deviant Art, Twitter, or gmail. I check all four atleast once a day so if you want anything drawn, shoot me a message!
I’ve also done bigger commissions. I’m pretty flexible, so if there’s something you want that you don’t see here feel free to shoot me a message anyway. We can talk about what you want and I’ll send you a quote.
I should also add a note about what I will and won’t draw. I’ll draw just about anything, I can’t think off the top of my head what I wouldn’t atleast try.
Summary: Where Harry’s just begun his solo career and performing is everything that he’s ever dreamed of; he can’t help but feel so alone sometimes though. Feeling as though everyone has someone, and he’s so out of the loop with his love life that it brings an imbalance. However, you can’t take everything and expect to give nothing in return or for everything to be ok for forever.
Word Count: 1,700
Pairing: Harry Styles x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Desperation, Reference to sex, Loneliness, Cursing
Prompt: A couple of weeks have passed since Peter and the reader had their little “fight.” Neither of them have yet to talk to one another though. Something has to be done about it, and Michelle is the one to make sure of that.
Word Count: 3,311
Notes: Sorry for any grammatical mistakes. I know that I said in the last part that I wanted to stretch out this story and make it more realistic, but then I realized while writing this part that I kind of want to move on from this imagine. So this part is a bit rushed and I apologize. Anyway, enjoy!
It’s had been two weeks (twelve days, twenty hours, and forty-two minutes, to be exact, but who was counting?) since that fateful night on the rooftop. Almost two whole weeks without any sort of contact from your ex-best friend, Peter Parker. You thought that you were handling it well enough though. Sure, you spent most of your after school and evening time alone, in your parentless apartment, wondering what fun things you could be doing with Peter, and regretting that night with a passion, but you had some things to distract you as well. Television was a great distraction; Netflix was a real life-saver. There was also cooking. Being left home alone while your parents were away for business was enough of a semi-regular occurrence that you managed to pick up a few culinary skills over the years. You could make a damn good chicken parmesan. There was also Michelle, aka M.J.
After that first day, when Michelle came to comfort you in the school’s bathrooms, she and you had started to become really good friends. You both figured out that you had a lot of the same interests, as well as the same classes. So every school day, you had the chance to hang out with her and grow your friendship even more. It was nice having someone to talk to during a time like this. Not having Peter around made you seem like the loneliness person in the world. Michelle was no Peter, no one could match what Peter was to you, but she was a really awesome friend nonetheless. She was a great listener and had some quality conversions up her sleeve. There was something about her that just made you want to trust her.
That said, the two of you weren’t really at the “come over and spend time at my apartment” stage of the friendship. The two of you talked over the weekends, but those conversations were usually short and cut off. Michelle would always ask when you would talk to Peter again, to which you typically (and playfully) ignored her from that point on. You understood that she was trying to be nice, and just wanted the two of you to make up, but every time you even thought about talking to Peter, you would convince yourself that you weren’t ready rather than imagine a scenario where the two of you talked like mature adults. Progress was being made though. After several days, you were at the point where you could actually look at the boy and not burst into tears. You even smiled at him while passing in the hallway one day. You were getting better, but you weren’t quite there yet. Or maybe you were and you just were too afraid to do anything. You told yourself it was the former.
Summary: AU. When a major account is on the line at work,
reader is forced to revisit some old connections at her ten year high
school reunion for a chance at success. Will she let the past consume
her, or will she see the future in her grasp?
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader
Word Count: 4,065 (I AM OUT OF MY MIND)
language, fluff, excessive sweetness
Tags are closed. This is the second to last part. I came THISCLOSE to
having another cliffhanger, but I couldn’t do it. I don’t want to drag
it out just to torture you. PS - IT’S SO FLUFFY I’M GONNA DIE!
About a month after Vulture left you broken and battered in
an alley, you were back home with your family. Tony had hired a physical
therapist for you, and you were on the fast track to recovery. However, you
were still on bed rest and had to use a wheelchair to get around most of the
time. Peter and Ned visited you often though, showering you in your favorite comfort
foods and endless collections of DVDs. You were so lucky to have such caring
people in your life. Even MJ, Liz, and Flash paid you a few visits.
It was a Friday, and you kept checking your phone compulsively,
waiting for the ritualistic just-got-out-of-school text from Peter.
You were busy staring at your phone screen when you looked
up and saw him standing in your doorway. You threw your phone down immediately
and beamed at him.
“I was waiting for you to text me,” you laughed.
He smiled back and made his way over to your bed.
“I figured you already knew when I would get here, so I just
didn’t bother. Is that okay?”
“Of course it’s okay. No Ned this time?”
“Nah, he stayed after school for the decathlon meeting.”
You raised an eyebrow at him.
“Aren’t you on the decathlon team?”
“No…not anymore. I kinda
He stared down at his shoes, tapping his foot nervously.
“What?! Peter, you loved being on the decathlon team. First band, now this?
What’s gotten into you?”
“It’s fine, Y/N. I’m just really trying to focus on the
Stark internship right now.”
“It’s not because of me is it? You’re not dropping
everything just to take care of me, are you?”
Peter shook his head furiously and scooted closer to you.
“No! Of course not.”
“Good. Because I don’t want you to give up your whole life
just to watch television with the broken, bedridden klutz of Midtown High.”
Peter frowned at you.
“You’re not broken. And you’re not a klutz either. This wasn’t
your fault, Y/N, it was…”
“It was what?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
You shook your head and decided to change the subject.
“Anyways, what did you want to do today? I was thinking I could watch you play video games. I’m too bad to actually play.”
Peter gladly dropped the subject as well and went to put his game in your console. You really didn’t want to talk about how
difficult this healing process was for you. Not to mention the fear you were
constantly battling, wondering if Vulture would be able to find you again.
also really wanted to pretend you didn’t know Peter was trying to hide
something today. After all, Peter clearly had no problem pretending he had nothing to hide. You were exhausted from his secrets. Wasn’t he exhausted, too?
You watched Peter play his game for about a half hour, sitting up next to him in your bed, so close that your shoulders were
touching. When his character was killed for the hundredth time, he switched the
game off and stared mindlessly at the blank screen for a few seconds.
“You’re a sore loser,” you chuckled, but he was frowning. “Wait,
“Nothing. Wanna watch a movie now? I brought The Godfather
this time. It’s a classic.”
He got up quickly to put the movie in, then returned to your
side silently. Your eyes were on him the whole time, trying to figure out what
was going through his brain. He did this often when he visited you. He would be
his normal and cheery self one second, then suddenly become quiet and moody.
It had taken you a while to figure out why, but you had finally
come to a preposterous conclusion. At first you couldn’t believe you had even thought
of something so ridiculous, but the more you thought about it, the more it made
Peter had to be Spider-Man. Every piece of the puzzle seemed
to be leading to that revelation, anyways. The fact that you were brought to
the Avengers Tower instead of a hospital, how weird Tony and Peter were acting
when you woke up, why Peter acted so guilty all the time, why he didn’t have
time for after-school activities, and most of all, the fact that out of everyone
in New York City, Vulture had chosen you as
his victim. All of these things convinced you that your best friend was the one
behind the Spider-Man mask.
But a little piece of you still didn’t want to believe it,
no matter how much sense it made. Besides, there was still a small chance that
Peter’s “internship” with Tony Stark was just that, and Peter was just
acquaintances with Spider-Man. If he was actually Spider-Man, he would have
told you… right? But you knew better than that. Especially considering how secretive he had been lately.
You wanted to ask Peter about it so badly. But how could you
bring something like that up? You were still staring at him and he began to
notice. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eyes, then turned his head
to face you.
“What? Why are you staring at me?”
“Nothing…” You mumbled. “I’m tired. Mind if we lie down?”
“Oh…sure,” Peter said nervously, lying down stiffly beside
You both stayed still like this for what felt like a two hours before you started to relax. You could feel yourself falling asleep. Your
bed was so comfy, and you were tired from physical therapy. Plus, the movie was
long. And Peter was warm. So, so warm.
You scooted closer to him, unable to resist how good his
body heat felt. Your hands hovered next to each other, almost touching. You
felt the sudden urge to intertwine your fingers with his - just like you had
the day you woke up in the Avengers Tower. But you thought better of it.
Instead, you rested your cheek lightly on his shoulder and closed your eyes,
drifting off to sleep.
Some time later, your eyes fluttered open. You looked
around, expecting to see the darkness of your bedroom in Queens. But to your
surprise, you were lying on the cement floor of an old, abandoned warehouse.
You sat up quickly in fright, then instantly winced in pain.
You had forgotten about your healing ribcage. You held it gingerly and frantically
looked around the gigantic empty structure.
Where the hell were you? And better yet, how did you get
there without waking up? The last thing you remembered was sleeping in your bed
Your mind began to race uncontrollably. If you were here
(wherever here was), then where was he? Did he know where to find you? Was he
hurt? Or worse?
You silenced your thoughts and fought your injured leg to
stand up. You screamed out in pain when you put weight on it and fell back down
to the cemented floor.
You couldn’t move. You didn’t know where the hell you were.
You were absolutely petrified. All you could do was cry.
“Help!” You choked out through your tears. “Please, help!”
Just then, you heard a loud whirring noise. You whipped your
head around, trying to find the source of it. You couldn’t see where it was
coming from, but it kept getting louder and louder until it sounded like it was
directly above your head. You slowly looked up at the ceiling, your eyes widening
when you realized what you were looking at.
It was Vulture flying through a hole in the roof of the
warehouse. And in his talons was a bloody and battered Peter Parker.
Before you could scream, he released Peter from his grip,
causing him to land with a sickening thud
on the cement next to you. You crawled over to him as fast as you could,
shouting his name over and over and shaking his crumpled body. But he wasn’t
stirring, and you were positive that he wasn’t breathing. You stared at his limp
figure in shock for a moment, holding his cheeks in your hands. Then you turned
a deadly gaze toward Vulture.
“Why did you do this?” You screamed at him at the top of your lungs.
“What do you want with us?”
He didn’t respond. He just hovered above you, his helmeted
head pointed in your direction.
“Answer me!” You shrieked, growing angrier by the second.
He reached up to his face, pulling off his helmet and
throwing it violently to the ground. He looked you in the eyes with an expression
so cold that you were mesmerized by it.
“Isn’t it obvious?” He spat. “I want you dead. Both of you.”
You tried your hardest to get up and run, but it was too
late. He had already swooped down and caught you in his grip. You screamed out
as you felt his talons pierce through your shoulders. He lifted you up in the
air, flying so high up that it felt like you would just keep going up forever.
Then he let you go, and you felt your body soaring through the cold midnight
You knew this was the end. You stared blankly at Vulture,
watching him disappear until there was nothing but darkness and tiny twinkly
You thought of Peter in those last moments. You wanted his face
to be the last one you saw before it was all over.
You closed your eyes and waited for it all to end.
Suddenly, your eyes snapped open and you shot up from your
laying position, letting a loud gasp escape your lips. You were still choking
on air like a fish out of water, your eyes darting around your bedroom when you
felt an arm wrap around your shoulders. You flinched and screeched, trying to
fight against whoever was touching you.
“Y/N! Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay. You’re fine. You’re okay!”
Peter yelled frantically, trying to get you to calm down.
You stared into his eyes, your chest rising and falling in
rapid motions. You took in every single one of his features in the darkness.
His curly brown hair, his chocolaty brown eyes, his messy flannel collar
peeking out from underneath his sweater. You were home. He was here. More
importantly, he was alive.
“I…I thought…I dreamt that you were…that I was about to…”
You choked out. You couldn’t bear to say it.
Peter swallowed, knowing exactly what you meant. He began
brushing strands of hair behind your ear comfortingly, trying to figure out
what to say next to calm you down.
“I’m okay, Y/N. And so are you. Everything’s okay.”
You grabbed his hand as it was brushing against your cheek,
staring at him with wide eyes.
“I’m scared, Peter. I don’t want to get hurt again. And if I
“I told you I wouldn’t
let anything bad happen to you, Y/N.” He interrupted. “I haven’t forgotten
that. Believe me.”
“Promise?” You whimpered, tears beginning to well up in your
“I promise. I promise, Y/N. I promise, okay?” He repeated
over and over, trying to reassure you as best as he could.
You wrapped your arms around him and cried softly into his
shoulder. You believed Peter, and in that moment you felt that everything really
would be okay.
But you couldn’t see the tortured expression on his face as
he held you.
A/N: Part three is coming soon! (And requests are open!)
could you do prompts 33 and 37 with reddie?? like senior year skipping class in the school bathroom to make out nd they're just jokin around and having a nice time?? thanks sm!
NOTE: I’m not comfortable making any sexual jokes like that first prompt with either of the boys as high schoolers as they are under 18 and I am over 18 and I don’t want to sexualize minors in any way at all. So I’m gonna change the idea around a little if that’s okay. It will still have both prompts and they will still be sneaking around to make out but they are both 19 and in college.
Eddie Kaspbrak strolled quickly around the corner of the English building, moving as fast as his frustratingly short legs would take him. He’s 19 years old now, he should have had more of a growth spurt by now. But much to his dismay he stands at a mere 5’5” (though he will argue he is 5’5 and a half with Richie any day), which makes it much harder to get to class on time without running and giving himself an asthma attack. He knew he was dangerously close to being late, and Eddie Kaspbrak was NEVER late. He sighed as he strolled past the buildings restrooms, when a hand comes out of nowhere and stops him dead in his tracks.
Eddie shrieks in surprise as he watches his best friend and boyfriend of 3 years (who saw that coming, not him) Richie Tozier pop animatedly out from around the corner, still with his hand pressed against Eddie’s chest to stop him from walking.
“Bill probably heard that scream from all the way in his dorm across campus.” Richie jokes casually.
Eddie rolls his eyes. “I’m a screamer. Not sexually, just at life in general.”
“I can make that sexually.” Richie waggles his eyebrows at the smaller boy.
Eddie doesn’t hesitate to smack Richie’s arm at that. “We’re in a school building, dumbass, shut up!” He hisses at Richie.
Richie shrugs, clearly not bothered.
Eddie rolls his eyes and continues talking. “What are you doing here? You know I have class at 1! I gave you my schedule and laminated it for you so you wouldn’t spill anything on it, remember?” Eddie asks his boyfriend.
“I know, that’s how I knew I’d find you here,” Richie explains. “Skip class today with me Eds.”
“Richie, I have to go! I could miss some vital information about a project or something, and I’ll definitely be behind on homew-“ Eddie is cut off by Richie’s ginger presses against his lips.
“Edward, shut it. You’re 2 weeks ahead on your schoolwork for English, I know that for a fact. You can miss a day, it won’t kill ya.” Richie says convincingly. He adds a puppy dog pout to top off his argument.
Eddie rolls his eyes and smiles at his dopey boyfriend. “Okay. Just toda-“
Richie whoops in delight and pulls Eddie into the bathroom. As soon as they’re inside and no one can see them, Richie guides Eddie against the wall and connects their lips.
Eddie squeaks in surprise but doesn’t attempt to leave. Instead he drops his bag and relaxes into the kiss, winding his arms around Richie’s neck. Richie prods at Eddie’s lips with his tongue and Eddie opens his mouth to deepen their kiss.
Richie breaks away to kiss at Eddie’s neck, occasionally biting and sucking at it to make Eddie gasp.
“Rich, we’re in public, we should-“ Eddie starts but is cut off by Richie’s lips again.
When Richie pulls away he pauses to take in Eddie’s disheveled appearance. He always loved the Eddie looked when his hair was combed neatly and his shirts were pristine but seeing his hair slightly ruffled and his shirt lopsided and his lips pinker than usual was a sight he adored. His thoughts were interrupted by Eddie’s quiet voice.
“Let’s go get ice cream Rich, like we used to. If we’re skipping, we’re doing it right, yeah?” Eddie asks.
Richie smiles and backs away from Eddie so the younger boy could gather his backpack. “Sounds perfect Eds.”
“But I’m driving though,” Eddie instists, “You’re a maniac on the road.”
Richie gasps and pretends to be offended. “You’re such an ass!”
“But a fine looking one, yes?” Eddie shoots back.
Richie throws his head back and cackles at that.
“The finest.” Richie confirms, still giggling.
Eddie smiles at him and links their hands together. “Come on then, let’s get out of here.”
“Tally-ho!” Richie states loudly in his most ridiculous British accent as he ushers Eddie out the building doors.
Eddie giggles fondly and walks hand in hand with Richie down the steps and off towards his car.
When it came down to it, he’d much rather have these moments with Richie than be in class anyway.
the prompt: Could I request something super fluffy and full of cuddles with NCT Dream Jaemin? Thank you!
category: fluff + kind of a best friend scenario?
author note: i have had this plot for jaemin in my head for months and now is the perfect time to bring it out. also i miss him so but he’s my lil honey bun and i hope he’s okay and healthy and living a unstressed life rn. ANYWAY hope this was up what you wanted! please enjoy!
RFA+V and Saeran finding out that MC is really protective of their s/o and having to hold them back from trying to beating up someone who talked crap about them. I'm not sorry MC will fite anyone. Even themselves. I will go down with this headcanon
Ok, he’s supposed to be the one getting pissed when his director gives him shit???
Yet here he is, holding MC back, trying to shut her up so that she doesn’t make things worse for him.
“Okay, okay, okay, I’ll apologize, just let me go.”
“Sir, you’re lucky to have Zen as part of your cast for this musical. It’s a wonderful production, but I would advise you to treat all of your actors with more respect before it causes a problem.”
When she turns back around to see the disappointed look on Zen’s face, that’s when she remembers she was supposed to apologize.
“Oh yeah, and I’m sorry I tried to punch your face. I hope it helped get my point across, though.”
“He called you a what?!?!”
“Oh god, MC, please don’t start anything…..!”
“No, I’m gonna go give this guy a piece of my mind!!! That’s bullying! God, I hate bullies!”
She literally drags Yoosung out of the car and forces him to show her where this asshole might be.
“Oh look, the annoying kid’s girlfriend is trying to come to his rescue! What a bunch of freaks! If you have a problem with me, handle it yourself, you fa-”
MC’s fist landed hard on his jaw, then she pushed him up against the wall. She’s yelling about respecting others and “people who only have shit to say should keep their goddamn mouths closed!” and Yoosung is freaking out.
Yoosung grabs her by the shirt and literally drags her away.
“Be assholes to ANYONE again, I dare you! There’s enough of my fist to go around, fellas!”
Nobody ever bothered Yoosung again.
Okay, all they wanted to do was run to the convenience store for some lunch. The past week, they’d only been able to spend time together at night, assuming that MC wasn’t already asleep by the time Jaehee got home.
THEY JUST WANTED TO SPEND TIME TOGETHER
According to Jumin, the report that Jaehee had submitted to him earlier in the day was “trash” and she’d have to use her lunch break to fix her mistakes.
“MC, you know how Mr. Han is. We can have lunch tomorrow.”
“Oh, yeah.. That sound’s good, Jaehee.”
“You realize that Jaehee is the hardest worker that you’ve ever come into contact with, right?!? Having her work for you is more than you could ever ask for and sure as hell more than you deserve!!!”
When Jaehee heard the commotion and ran out, Jumin was pushed up against a wall with the front of his shirt balled up in MC’s fist.
Jaehee just sort of picked MC up and ran off with her before any of them got any angrier.
“Yeah, I did an interview with him a few weeks ago about C&R’s possible cat hotel line, and the guy was awful! Jumin Han is one of the most arrogant bastards I’ve met, and that’s coming from someone who does celebrity interviews for a living.”
OHHHHHHH NO HE DID NOT SAY THAT
MC called up A! Celebrity News in a rage, requested she get an interview, and damn it, she was not hanging up until she got one.
Jumin came with her to the interview. Before they went on the air, MC had a small amount of time to talk to the interviewer.
“Actually, I’m not interested in an interview. I only wanted to confront you concerning what you said about my husband earlier this week.”
When MC lunged at him, Jumin grabbed around her middle and told her that he doesn’t care about what some shitty news program has to say about him, so neither should she.
Jumin literally carried her outside and threw her into the car to avoid being sued.
He took MC to an amusement park, and they’d been playing games for hours.
The guy at the dunk tank was insulting everyone who walked by, calling them “scrawny,” or “weak,” or even shouting “Hey ugly!” at some of them.
When he shouted “Hey, little frilly thing in the pink! Think your frail little arms can take me down?” at MC, she was sucked in.
She got three goes at it, and every time she missed, the dunkee laughed.
“Oh, why don’t you give the boy a try? He’s obviously been working out, what with the juggling and everything! God, the clowns really do get more breaks than us!” He started touching his hair, implying that it was Seven’s red hair that ‘gave him away.’
MC’s last ball missed, making her sigh and the man in the tank laugh. “Hey, Maybe you should be getting back to your posse! I think I saw balloon animals and red hair go that way!”
MC WAS NO LONGER DRY AND THEY’RE BOTH NO LONGER WELCOME AT THE AMUSEMENT PARK.
MC wasn’t really paying attention, and V literally didn’t see where he was going.
When V bumped into a guy with two waters in his hands, he immediately apologized.
“Fucking idiot, watch where you’re going. You fuckin’ blind of something?”
None of the water had even spilled?? Why the hell was he so angry?????
And he picked on something that V couldn’t control???? oh no.
MC took both of the waters from him, dumped them both on top of his head, then threw the cups at his face.
V grabbed around MC’s waist, picked her up, and started walking in the opposite direction.
“Darling, I don’t know where we’re going, but we’re going somewhere to calm down.”
If someone so much as thinks something bad about Saeran, MC is going to kick ass.
Saeran waits for her to do some damage before he actually tries to help.
Fights are exciting and she usually wins anyways. What do you want from him????
They’re banned from quite a few places because one of them ends up fighting someone almost every time they leave the house.
Prompt: Can I request a Jin smut where you and bts are talking about y'all’s sex life and they ask you hows yours and Jin’s and you say its vanilla and so Jin gets mad and later on goes rough on you to show he’s not vanilla. Thanks and love you.
Pairing: Jin x Reader
Word Count: 2.4k
Warning: Dom!Jin, overstimulation, Oppa!Kink
**This story actually has a plotline *wow* **Once again all constructive feedback is welcomed **BTS smut/fluff/angst requests are open!
anybody else get really mad when people judge people who study certain subjects?? like when people think some degrees are “easy” and require no effort, like excuse me. college isn’t easy. no course is gonna be easy. if anyone ever makes you feel dumb for choosing whatever you chose to do, SCREW THEM. the degree you do doesn’t even define your academic capabilities anyway??? like??? just do what you want to do, and do not judge others. it literally makes me so angry omg.
about/request: Hey, I really liked your Sidney Crobsy imagine. Could you do part 2?! Can’t wait to know how it continues… (x100000 this was all you all wanted.)
warnings: cursing and fighting and angst and crying
authors note: honestly i don’t even like this guy why is this becoming the best thing im writing wtf anyway it got long and i dont even know what direction its going in but here it is i really liked the restaurant scene bye
‘I’m not gay!’ Dan yelled at his friend Louise after she had asked him for the, hmmm 87th time? Why he kept looking at Phil Lester like that. ‘And I don’t like Phil!’
'Then why do you go everywhere with him? You’re never more than three feet away from him for gods sake!’
'Because… because he’s my best friend!’
Louise sighed. This was the answer she always got, she was only teasing him and she knew Dan knew that, but sometimes it seemed very much like he didn’t.
Dan hated people. In fact, he didn’t particularly like being around anyone unless their name was Phil Lester. Phil was the only person that he had ever felt close to, Phil had shared all his secrets with Dan and often tried to get Dan to tell his secrets too, though he never would. Phil always found impossible to tell what Dan was thinking.
Dan knew what he was thinking though, of course, and his mind often played games with him, trying to torment him and convince him that his biggest fears would come true. This was obviously stupid so he hadn’t bothered to tell anyone, even Phil (especially Phil) his biggest fear couldn’t possibly be real because… well because.
Dan’s biggest fear was being gay.
It wasn’t that he was against gay people, for he knew that Phil was gay, he had come out to Dan years ago, in a way so casual it was almost like it didn’t phase him at all. Dan hated this about him, the way he never seemed worried about anything,
'Okay, okay. Come on we have to go to maths now’ Louise continued.
'Oh uh, is it time already?’ Dan replied absentmindedly, he was quite relived actually. Louise wasn’t in his maths so he could get away from her endless accusations that he was gay, at least for an hour.
'Hey guys!’ A voice called from down the corridor as Phil and Louise had just started walking. The voice caught up with them, it was Phil.
'Hey Phil’ Said Dan 'Louise you should really get going, you’re in a different class to us’
'Alright, alright bye then’
She winked at Dan as she said this before walking away in the opposite direction and Dan had they urge to yell that he wasn’t gay at her again.
'You’re blushing again Dan’ Phil smirked.
'I’m. No I’m not!’
Dan knew this was a lie. He turned even more scarlet as he looked into Phil’s eyes, he wasn’t sure why but he often found himself blushing when looking at Phil.
'Yeah you are, it’s okay I know it’s cause you fancy Louise’
'I, I what? No!’ Dan spluttered 'come on let’s go to class’
He regretted getting to class so quickly, in fact he wished he hadn’t got there at all, within ten minutes he felt as though he was about to fall asleep.
The rest of the day didn’t go to great either. He had narrowly scraped detention for his English homework, Louise had continued to annoy him and as a result of this so had Phil. Phil really did seem convinced that Dan loved Louise because he brought it up again when Dan was round his house later.
'So if you don’t have a crush Louise, who do you have a crush on?’
'No one’ Dan replied instantly without hesitating, seeming a little to certain.
'And I…’ he looked into Phil’s eyes again and this time he did hesitate ’ I really should get going’
He wasn’t sure what had made him want to leave, but it was probably the uncomfortable burning he’d had in his chest the whole time he’d been there, alone and with Phil. He thought of Phil’s eyes again and the burning became stronger. What was happening to him?
He went through the next day throughly confused, wondering when this feeling would go away. It didn’t. The days of confusion soon turned to weeks and showed no signs of stopping, until one day when everything became clear.
It had seemed like a fairly normal day, at least the kind of normal Dan was now used to where he felt like there were actual flames in his stomach. He had got up, got dressed, had breakfast and headed to school. Louise had taunted him at break and lunch with her usual comments, to which Dan had responded with the usual yell of 'I’m not gay!’ Though it was perhaps a little quieter today, a little more unsure.
It didn’t become clear to him until the end of the day when he was walking out with Phil, he was walking down the corridor when he felt something under his foot. By the time he realised what it was he had fallen to the floor. He hadn’t actually noticed it had happened, his mind had been somewhere else until Phil reached out his hand.
'Here’ he was giggling 'let me help’
Dan’s confused looking face looked directly up at Phil and smiled, he couldn’t help it, Phil’s face looked so happy as he giggled, his bright blue eyes glistened and his tongue poked out slightly. Dan reached for Phil’s outstretched arm and as their hands connected, so did two invisible wires in Dan’s brain and it was at that moment that he realised something. His biggest fear had come true and he was in with love his best friend.
It was strange actually to think of it as a fear in this moment, for it did not seem scary to him anymore. The burning feeling in his stomach ceased and he got up to his feet, still smiling.
He didn’t talk much on the way home. It wasn’t until they reached the safety of Phil’s room until he spoke again.
'Yes? What is it, you’ve been awfully quiet today, is it Louise? Are you finally going to confess to me that you love her?’
'No!’ Dan shouted, though he didn’t seem annoyed, he could tell Phil was only teasing.
'There’s something I need to tell you’ he continued.
'You know there’s actually something I need to tell you too’
'Really? That’s funny, it’s like when we used to tell each other secrets when we were younger’
'You mean when I used to tell my secrets and you’d never tell yours?’
Dan blushed guiltily.
'What did you want to tell me?’ The two said at the same time. They both burst out laughing.
'What do you think I want to tell you?’
'I don’t know’
'Why don’t we say them at the same time?’
'Well, uh okay…’
They looked straight into each other’s eyes, Dan into Phil’s bright blue ones and Phil into Dan’s chocolate brown ones.
'Three. Two. One.’
'I’m in love with you’
The two continued to stare at each other, unable to form words. They leaned into each other and their lips, instead of forming words met, in a kiss that exploded into a warm and fulfilling embrace.
“I’ve got another idea if you’d like to add it to your list! Sherlock wanting to teach Reader to play violin, when she has never touched one in her life, to show how he feels about her because showing emotion is not something he is good at but music is?“
It took me a while, but I finished it. I actually did have a lot of fun writing it, though. Hopefully you enjoy!
You stared at the instrument, not sure exactly what to do with it. “I’ve always loved violin music.” You said, stepping closer to the violin Sherlock was holding out for you. “I don’t imagine I’ll like it much when I’m finished.” Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. “No one is good the first go around. Take it.” he urged softly, pushing the instrument towards you. You wanted to step back. “If I break it, you’ll kill me.” You said. That was your main concern. What if you did something wrong and broke a string? What if you dropped it on the ground and it broke? What if something happened and the bow broke? What would you do then? This was Sherlock’s most prized possession. He would practically walk through hell to save this thing. This was the most important thing to him in this flat and he was trusting you with it. “No I won’t.” “You love nothing more than this violin, Sherlock, I know that.” “Yes I do.” “What?” He stayed silent. “Never mind that, just take it. I want to teach you.” You wrapped your fingers around the neck, gripping tightly so you wouldn’t drop it. You took the bow in your other hand. “Why?” He didn’t answer. “Now, put this part underneath your jaw.” he took the violin, moving it so that it rested against your shoulder and the bottom brushed against your jaw line. “Let me see the bow.” You went to hand it to him, but he let you keep it in your hand. Instead, he instructed you where to put your fingers. You did as he said and he moved to the violin. This time, instead of just instructing, he took your fingers in his, picking them up and putting them where they need to be. He was focused on the violin and your finger placement, but your eyes and attention were on him, watching as he told you what to do. “Now, just press this string and pull the bow across. The harder you press with the bow the louder the note will be.” You were nervous. You had heard Sherlock play and he played beautifully. You knew you wouldn’t. It was a bit intimidating, honestly, to have someone to played so well watching and waiting for you to play when you had never even touched a violin before. You brought the bow up, but as soon as you were going to pull it across the string, Sherlock stopped you. “Remember, don’t play too close to the bridge and try to keep your arm in the same position.” You nodded a little and tried to so what he said. You were shocked. There was no way a nice sound came from this same instrument. You wanted to cover your ears and you stopped playing almost immediately. “That wasn’t very good, was it?” “No.” He answered quickly. “But you’ll get better, I’m sure you will. With time.” he added. You sighed. “Try it again.” You did and got the same sound, but Sherlock moved the bow slightly, adjusted your fingers, and it sounded a little better. XXXXXXXXXX You and Sherlock had been practicing for a little over a month now. While you weren’t much better, you were much more curious. Why had he decided, on a whim, to teach you? What brought this on? Not that you were against it, of course…you had developed….certain feelings…for the detective who was, on a daily basis, standing extremely close to you, as if personal space was something he didn’t believe in. His back almost pressed against yours as he adjusted your arm. His fingers touching yours when he adjusted them, putting them on the different strings they needed to be on, gently holding them, as if they were the most valuable and fragile thing in the world. You loved it. You looked forward to every session and, as far as he would tell you, he did the same. But you never knew why. You would have thought he would hate teaching-especially teaching something he was so good at. You would seem stupid and downright horrible compared to him. Why? That simple word filtered through your head all day. Why? That afternoon, Sherlock thrust a sheet of paper your way. “What’s this?” You wondered. You took a glance at it and immediately your chest tightened with anxiety. Sheet music. You never learned how to read it. Ever. A few friends from school knew, but you never tried to comprehend the secret language that was sheet music. It all just looked like sticks and circles and, sometimes, squiggly lines and hats to you, and you were happy with that. Until now, that is… You, slowly, shook your head. “I….I don’t know where to start. I never learned to read sheet music.” You admitted. You expected him to say something rude, insulting your skills and mental capacities, but he didn’t. Instead, he flashed a genuine grin and sat in the chair in front of you. “No better time to learn. Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?” He scooted the desk chair closer to you, sitting beside you now. “Let’s take it measure by measure.” Confused, you tore your eyes from the paper and looked at him. He sensed your staring, and understood the meaning behind it. Nodding, he put his fingers to the paper, tracing two fingers along two vertical lines that cut the horizontal ones into sections. “What’s in-between these two lines-that’s a measure. The lines are called bars.” He pointed to the first section. “This would be measure one, and so on. You’ll get the hang of it as we go along.” ‘Measure by measure’ he explained everything. The notes, what they meant, how long you held them, and eventually, where they were played on the violin. You went through the first five measures, which seemed to be the easiest. “Try it.” he prompted, leaning back. “Try it?” You asked. He nodded. “Yes, try it. You know what these mean.” “I just learned what those meant.” He glared at you. “(Y/N), try it. It’s easier than you think, you’re thinking way too hard about this.” You were going to argue, but maybe you were. You weren’t the expert on music, maybe you were overthinking it and you just had no way of knowing. Staring at the sheet and taking a deep breath, you lifted the violin, looking at Sherlock to check and see if your position was correct. When he nodded, you lifted the bow and tried to remember what he just taught you. It sounded…..horrible. Sherlock stopped you about three measures in to correct you. “No, see this one.” He pointed to a note. “It’s an ope circle with a line, what does that mean?” You looked at him, forgetting. “Hold it for two beats. Try that part again.” You did, and it sounded a little better. It wasn’t a professional sound by no means, but it wasn’t garbage either. It was….meh. “Good. Try the whole five measures again.” You did as he told you, trying to focus on the notes, what they meant and how to play them, but your attention kept going back to Sherlock as you played. He would stare in your direction, making sure your fingers were going in the right places, or that you were bowing properly, but this was different. This time he was staring at you. At your face. He wasn’t doing it to teach. He was staring at you and it confused you more. You quickly took your eyes from the paper and glanced towards Sherlock, who tore his eyes from you the moment you caught him. You finished the five measured and the awkwardness was palpable. “Well,” Sherlock finally spoke up. “I think we’ll end it here today, just, uh, study those…” He rose from his chair and waved a hand towards the paper. “…notes.” “Why can’t we keep going?” You wondered. You hadn’t meant to make him uncomfortable, if that’s what happened. “I’ve always found it best to let the music marinate for a while in your head. You play much better after a long break.” You couldn’t argue, again, you didn’t know anything about music. You put the violin in it’s proper place as Sherlock left the room, leaving you alone. You could hear him rattling around in the kitchen, but you couldn’t see him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” “Yes, very good!” He shouted. You sighed, grabbing your bag and coat and leaving as quickly as you could. XXXXXXXXXX Greg took the stairs in twos, eager to see just what Sherlock wanted. It was a bit unlike him to summon Lestrade to his flat at a moment’s notice so Greg knew something had to be going on. The sooner he knew the better. He just hoped him being late wasn’t going to be a problem. He knew Sherlock liked punctuality, but the case was much more important. Greg didn’t bother knocking (the door was always open anyway) and he saw his friend sitting in his chair, hands steepled and leg bouncing. An odd scene. Usually he was…calm. “Sherlock?” Greg asked. Sherlock’s eyes shot open, going to the DI standing in the doorway. “Everything alright?” “You’re late.” Was the only response Sherlock had for him. “Yeah, well,” Greg removed his scarf and gloves, walking further into the sitting room. “the case was a bit…pressing. I wasn’t able to get away.” Sherlock’s eyes closed again. “It was the gardener.” “Yeah.” Greg sighed, angrily. “We know that now.” How much easier would this case have been…. “Anyway, what did you want?” “Well, seeing as you’re late, we’ll have to talk fast.” Greg sat in the red armchair, ready to listen. “Why, got a hot date?” he joke. Sherlock didn’t answer. “Oh my-you’ve got a hot date!” He exclaimed. “No! No, not like that!” “Oh-so just a date?” “No, it’s not a date.” “Oh.” He said, eyebrows raised. “So it’s just…ho-” “If you’re just going to make jokes you can leave.” Sherlock said, becoming more and more agitated. “It’s not a hot date, it’s not just a date, and it’s not ho-” “Yeah, okay, I get it. Sorry. Joking aside.” Greg shook his head. Sherlock still didn’t respond. If Lestrade was in a joking mood this was not going to go well. “Is there a girl?” Greg asked, trying to get some kind of info. Sherlock sighed. He supposed you would get what he asked for. “Yes.” “And you like her?” “I don’t just like her.” “Oh, you like like her.” “Does saying the word twice change the meaning?” Sherlock wondered. “It just means that you, I dunno, like like her. That your like goes beyond like but doesn’t exactl extend to love, or it could, you just don’t want to be too forward.” “Oh.” Sherlock seemed to understand even though Greg had no idea what he just spat out. “Then yes, I suppose I…like like her.” “Oh, okay. Okay, I…kind of know how to deal with that.” “How?” Sherlock asked hurriedly. Greg shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. “Tell her.” Sherlock was silent, staring at Greg. “What?” Greg asked, thinking he would be pleased with the advice. “Are you serious?” “Yes!” Greg exclaimed. “Tell her that you like her before she finds some other bloke to spend her life with. The sooner you tell her, the less of a chance there is of that happening. She much be pretty special if she’s caught your attention no doubt she’ll catch other men’s attention to and they’re not going to wait around like you’ve been, mate.” Again, silence. “Okay, how?” He asked finally. Greg shook his head, trying to think of an answer. “I dunno, maybe something like….uh…..do something nice with her. Yeah? Or find something that you can do together!” he leaned forward, liking his own ideas. Sherlock shrugged. “I teach her violin every afternoon.” “Why?” Greg asked. “Music’s something I’m good at.” He answered. It was a large part of his life and he wanted to share that with you, but he kept that part to himself. “I’m better at communicating through music.” He explained. Greg nodded. “Alright, let’s go from there.” He thought some more. “Maybe take her to a recital, or a concert, or-or…or maybe write a song for her.” “Compose a piece.” he corrected silently. “Sorry?” “Nothing,” Sherlock waved his hand. “just go on.” “Making a song-” “Composing a piece.” “-would be something special for her. It would show her that she’s special to you. Girls love that kind of stuff.” Greg nodded, assured that his idea’s would work. They heard the front door open and close, the happy giggle and chatter of Mrs. Hudson, then two quiet footsteps coming up the stairs quickly. Greg and Sherlock both stood as you entered the room, looking at both of them with a wide smile. You wondered if Sherlock had a new case and you were interrupting. Maybe he sent you a text and you just hadn’t gotten it. Your phone did that from time to time. “(Y/N)!” Greg exclaimed happily as you entered. “Hey!” You greeted him, then turned to Sherlock. “We’re still on for this afternoon, right?” You wondered, still smiling. “Of course. Gerald was just leaving.” “Gre- Oh forget it.” Lestrade said his goodbyes, patting you on the shoulder before leaving, closing the door behind him. The lesson went on as usual, almost as if nothing happened yesterday. Nothing at all. XXXXXXXXXX A week went by and you were making great progress on the piece Sherlock was teaching you. He explained that it was one of the first pieces he could remember learning, so he thought it would be an excellent introduction for you. You were halfway through the piece, doing a great job, when Sherlock decided that you wouldn’t be able to finish. “I have a new piece for you.” He explained, taking the violin from you. You were confused. “Why? I liked that one.” You whined. “I was doing so well!” “You were. It was no longer a challenge.” “Oh believe me, that piece and I tangoed.” You crossed your arms. “Well, I believe it was too easy for you.” “It really wasn’t.” You mumbled. He snatched the piece, immediately becoming angry. “Fine, then, play the baby piece.” He waved at the other paper, sitting on the chair beside you. You looked at the sheet music in his hand. It wasn’t neatly printed. This music was handwritten and you immediately felt horrible. You weren’t sure if he had just simply transposed the piece (which would have taken a long time) or if he composed the song (which would have taken longer), but you were sure that he put a lot of work into it and was excited. You sat for a second before sighing, throwing the other sheet of music on the table. “You’re right.” You agreed. “It was getting a little boring. I’m ready for a challenge.” His head snapped towards you, confused, but not letting on if he knew you were lying to save his feelings. “Are you sure?” He asked, still holding on to the paper. You only nodded and he put the paper on the wire music stand he let you use. “Measure by measure?” You asked. He nodded with a small smile and you leaned forward to try and understand what was going on. After several days practicing reading sheet music, you were getting much better. It wasn’t taking you as long to read and understand a measure. You still had to ask about some things, but you were doing much better. The practice session went smoothly and the song, as far as you had gotten (and though you weren’t playing it like a professional would be able to) was beautiful. It was one you hadn’t heard before, which made you think that Sherlock composed it much more. Soon, the hour was over and so was the daily cup of tea you and Sherlock had after each practice, and you were beginning to gather your purse and coat. Something was thrust in your direction as you straightened from grabbing your purse on the ground. You looked up and saw Sherlock, violin case and an envelope in hand. “What?” You asked, confused as to what he was trying to do. “Take it tonight.” he nodded. You stood to your full height. “Seriously?” This was his favorite thing in the world. You were surprised when he let you touch it. Now, he was letting you take it back to your flat. “Seriously.” He nodded again. “I want you to try and practice on your own. We’ll still meet every afternoon, but it’s important that you learn to practice by yourself.” “And you’re sure?” You asked, taking the handle of the violin case. “I’m sure. I trust you. Completely.” Your eyes met his and you weren’t able to look away as he stepped closer and leaned in just slightly. Your breathing hitched. You were sure this was the moment. The moment. The kiss, the one that you were reluctant to admit you had dreamed about at least once. Okay, maybe it was twice, but who was counting, right? You might not have been….. He was so close, but his eyes were still wide open. You kept your open as well, wanting to see everything up until the big moment. “Just don’t break it.” He said. Maybe it was the close proximity, maybe it was because you were a swooning romantic and thought he was being a real Romeo and talking about his heart, but the comment sounded nothing like a threat. He wasn’t talking about his heart, though. He was talking, of course, about his violin. You picked up on that pretty quickly and decided, instead of seeming (letting on) that you were disappointed, you smiled. “I’ll try.” XXXXXXXXXX As soon as you got home, you opened the envelope, picked up the violin, and decided to practice. As you pulled the sheet music out of the envelope, though, something else came with it. A small note encased along with the music. Dear (Y/N) I composed this song for you. There’s a code hidden in it. If you find it, you don’t have to say anything about it if you don’t want to. I just thought you might want to know. ~Sherlock You immediately opened the music, searching for the code. You stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, searching and scanning in every line for some kind of sign of a code. At four, you found it. The small little measure that looked the same as several others. The song was full of different time signatures, a different number of beats in each measure. The timing was different in several places. It was mind-numbing work, but you got it. You can’t remember how, but you did it. ‘I like like you.’ You wondered if he repeated a measure, or a word, on accident, but it hit your sleep-depraved mind soon enough. The song, how close he was, him trusting you so much, and now the code, telling you he like liked you? You didn’t sleep that night. XXXXXXXXXX You almost ran to 221B the next day, but your energy was running low. Really low. During the middle of the practice, Sherlock was explaining a part of the music to you. There was just one part you really weren’t understanding and you hadn’t heard of before. As he explained, your eyes became heavier and heavier, vision getting darker and darker as sleep attempted to take over completely. Shutting your eyes, you thought, wouldn’t be too bad, right. Your head lulled to the left, where Sherlock was as your eyes closed. And you don’t remember the rest. But Sherlock remembered being completely frozen and ‘buffering’ as your head hit his shoulder and your eyes shut. “(Y/N)?” He asked quietly. “(Y/N)?” He asked a little louder this time. You still didn’t move. He sighed, carefully taking the violin from your hands, putting it on the table along with the bow. He did his best to pick you up without waking you. He thought he failed when you stirred a little and your fingers grasped onto one of this shirt buttons, but breathed out a sigh of relief when your hands fell back, drowsily, and your head lulled back, mouth falling open. It wasn’t a pretty sight at all and if you were aware that Sherlock saw you like that you would have d.i.e.d. But he didn’t mind. In his eyes, you didn’t look bad at all. You couldn’t. But you should have known that. After all, he did like like you. XXXXXXXXXX You kept your eyes closed when you woke up, thinking you were in your bed back at home and that you were just dreaming about falling asleep on Sherlock’s shoulder. But, when you moved your head slightly as it rubbed against leather instead of a feather pillow, you opened your eyes quickly, finding yourself on Sherlock’s couch, Sherlock sitting in his chair, reading. The sheet music was sitting in his lap and you wondered if he had taken a look at it and seen your notes and the answer. You sat up, looking outside and seeing black. You had slept all afternoon, long over an hour, and you were sure it was late. Very late. And Sherlock had let you stay. He hadn’t tried to wake you at all. He let you sleep soundly, knowing that, if you fell asleep so fast and so early, you needed it. “Good morning.” Sherlock greeted, eyes not leaving the book as you sat up completely, the blanket usually draped over John’s chair falling off you your shoulder and into you lap. He had covered you up as well, and taken off your shoes, you noticed. “Morning.” Your voice was very groggy and you rubbed your eyes, trying to wipe the sleep away from them. “You figure it out, then?” Sherlock put his book down, picking up the sheet music instead. “Yes.” You nodded. “Took me all night.” He only hummed in response. You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to talk about it, but didn’t know how to go about it. Finally, you gathered up all of the confidence you possibly could and spoke up. “I like like you too.” His head snapped towards you, almost as if he forgot you were there. “I….I-I’m sorry?” He asked, leaning forward. “I said ‘I like like you too’.” The silence made your anxiety rise quickly and after a few seconds, you kicked off the blanket, reaching down for your shoes. “I’m sorry.” You apologized. You wanted to be out of there as quickly as possible. You didn’t know if he meant it or not, and you couldn’t pass your confession off as a joke. “What are you doing?” He asked as you slipped a foot into your shoe. “I’m sorry, I should really go, I’m sorry.” You kept apologizing. Sherlock rose out of the chair, walking towards you and reaching a hand down. His hand gently wrapped around your wrist, stopping you from putting your shoe on completely. “Why are you leaving. You really shouldn’t. You’ll never find a cab and it’s dangerous for someone, especially a woman of your size and attractiveness to be wondering around London at night. The area you live in is near one of the dangerous parts of London, it’s best if you stay.” You stopped, staring at him as he spoke. Once he finished, you leaned back, slipping your shoe back off. Your wrist began to slide from his hand, but stopped once you were palm to palm, his fingers wrapping around yours. He stared down at your hands, as if he was studying them. “I like like you too.” You whispered. “Hmm?” You didn’t want to repeat it, still feeling a little silly as you did so, but he hadn’t heard you. “I like like you too.” “Pardon?” You knew he heard you that time. “I like like you too.” You spoke slowly this time, hoping he would hear you. “You know what I’m saying, I’ve said it four times now. Why do you keep making me repeat it?” You began to chuckle. “Because it’s music to my ears.” He answered, smiling and leaning in. And this time, you got your moment.