You were frozen with shock, your face completely numb as Bucky speaks his first words to you.
His blue eyes bore into yours and you swear you can see a smudge of guilt in them, or perhaps that was your wishful thinking.
“B-Bucky,” Your voice shakes so much you can barely get the words out but Bucky’s soft coos gently begin to soothe you, enough to the point your tears began to dry and your breathing evened out and you could finally speak properly.
Even with your now calmer state, the dry cheeks, the steady breaths, Bucky keeps his hand on your cheek, his thumb gently swiping along your skin.
“Where did you go?” You ask softly, not so brokenly anymore, just sad and distraught.
“I-I panicked, I didn’t know what to do. I-I shouldn’t even be here right now, it’s against the rules and-”
“Bucky, you’re not making any sense,” You look at him with furrowed brows and a cocked head, showing your confusion. Bucky sighs gently, the cuts on his neck puffing in and out as he does so.
“(Y/N) I can’t keep visiting you, it’s dangerous, for both of us. That’s why I was so scared the first day, the day you rescued me. I’m not even supposed to be by the docks, much less caught in a net. I was afraid someone of my cove was going to come and-”
“wait…a cove? Like a- like a cove of a fish?”
“I’ve said too much already…” Bucky’s hand slides from your face, leaving you feeling more hallow and alone than you had felt in a long time. “I should’ve just stayed away-”
“Bucky wait-” You slide to the end of the dock, desperately trying to cling onto him. “Where are you going?”
“I can’t tell you…you know too much already-”
“Bucky I hardly know a thing-”
“They’ll hurt you if they find out I’ve been up here?”
“(Y/N), I really cant stay-”
“Bucky please don’t leave me-” You stop short when suddenly two hands cup your cheeks, the same slimy, cold ones that you had grown to love but what truly takes you off guard was the fact there was another pair of lips pressed to yours. Bucky was kissing you. He was finally kissing you.
His lips were soft, wet, cold, but they were oh so perfect, they felt like they were made to fit directly with yours, like two pieces of a puzzle.
You sigh against his lips, scooting a little closer as his lips move against yours so sweetly and so softly you could almost weep but before you could Bucky was pulling away and disappearing into the water once again, leaving you all alone.
You sit there dumbfounded for a few minutes, staring a the spot he had just disappeared to but no matter how much you stared at it you simply couldn’t make sense of what had just happened. A man you had known for a total of three weeks just kissed you after he went on and on about how dangerous it was to even be talking to you, and then suddenly he disappears again? You hadn’t seen him in three fucking weeks, he shows up for a minute and then leaves again? You groan angrily as you flip back against the dock, staring up at the sky as tears burn at your eyes. Only this time you knew that a certain dark haired man wasn’t going to show up to wipe them away.
Bucky watched from afar as (Y/N) packed up their things, angrily wiped their tears and stomped away, limping on their still shredded feet. He felt horrible, of course he did. He’d grown to love- no, not love, love wasn’t permitted among his kind, only survival and lust- he’d grown to care for (Y/N) very deeply and to see them so hurt over something he had done truly hurt him. Watching them those three weeks was absolute hell, he could barely stand to watch from a distance, to watch them sing and play whatever they had been playing, to watch them give up on drawing, to watch them slowly lose that smile they always held. He had to do something- he had to apologize, tell them what was wrong-
“Bucky-” A sudden voice hisses to him, making the merman flip around.
Floating just a few feet beyond him was the all too familiar face of Natasha, the most cutthroat fish in the sea. Nat was a part of his cove, as was a number of other mercreatures, but she by far was the scariest. Not even Steve, the leader and commander of the cove was as fear inducing as Nat.
“What the hell are you doing up here?” Her gills fluttered as she breathed in angrily, making her much more intimidating than usual.
“Nothing,” Bucky whispers back, hoping that she wouldn’t notice that he was lying.
“Rogers will kill you if he finds you up here, it’s broad fucking daylight,”
“I know that Nat, Bucky mutters through gritted fangs, restraining himself just enough so he didn’t end up ripping Nat’s throat to pieces.
"What if someone sees you? What then?”
“I know Nat, I just needed some air, I’m still human after all,”
“Yeah,” Nat mutters in disgust. “I know. Now lets get going before Steve has both of our asses,” Natasha sucks under the water, her shimmering red tail surfacing from the water for only a moment before disappearing back under the rippling waves.
“Neither of us even have asses,” Bucky grumbles as he takes one last look at the docks, at the place he once used to be happy. He’d find a way to apologize to (Y/N)- he just needed time.
(Your point of view)
You knew coming back to the docks was wishful thinking, Bucky had told you he wouldn’t be coming back and yet every morning you found yourself drawn to the same dock.
For weeks, much longer than the precious three, you rose at sunrise and came down to the docks, sat on your designated piece of wood and waited. You’d sing, draw, maybe read a little bit but no matter what you did Bucky never came back. You even tried at night and still there was no sign of your friend. After weeks of waiting you were starting to lose hope again, no matter how hard you tried to hold onto those last glimmers of it it was just slipping away.
At this point it was pointless to even wait for Bucky anymore, it was obvious we was never coming back and yet you kept on coming. Perhaps your persistence would pay off in the end? Maybe Bucky really would come back, he’d apologize and explain why he’d left and then the two of you would go back to being Friends? You scoffed as you walked down the docks for who knows what time. Wishful thinking hadn’t gotten you anywhere so far so why should it suddenly start now-
Your train of thought stops immediately as you stop at your dock, the dock. You didn’t know what you were expecting but a large, white seashell most definitely wasn’t it. You furrow your brows as you stoop to pick the shell up; It was shiny, pearly white, and absolutely gorgeous. You smile softly as you run your fingers along it’s smooth layers, nearly shivering at it’s cold temperature. It must have just come out of the ocean- You stop once again, looking down at the shell in shock. There was only one person who could have done this; Bucky.
You knew it was a long shot but you couldn’t help but think that your ocean loving friend had left a little present for you. You smile as you hold the shell close to your heart, being careful not to break it.
“Thank you Bucky,” you whisper to the ocean, hoping your dark haired friend could hear you and it may have been your imagination but you could’ve sworn your heard the ocean whisper back, “You’re welcome,”
From that day on every time you came to the docks there was a little prize waiting for you, a pearl here, some cool knickknack there, maybe a plant of some sort another day.
That’s when your truly knew it was Bucky, who else was considerate enough to Leave little trinkets for you to find, no one.
Your collection was really starting to grow, you’d been accumulating quite a bit of sea treasures form your mysterious friend. You did feel a bit guilty, he kept bringing you all these amazing gifts and yet you had nothing to give him. You could draw him something, maybe write him a song, bake him some food, anything would suffice. You thought about it for a bit as you sat on the dock on particular day, listening to soft waves of the ocean as you plucked at some strings on your guitar.
Your parents had always had some more- eccentric kind if foods. Perhaps you could bake him a little something and bring it by, that is if the gulls and fishes didn’t get to it first. You smile victoriously as you pack your guitar up, a new kind of determination running through your veins. Millions of ideas raced through your mind as you walked back home, perhaps a nice bread, maybe some form of desert or pasta? You figured it had to be something that didn’t spoil easily, something that could withstand the poor beach temperatures.
An idea came to mind and you smiled as you scurried home, wasting no time in baking your little surprise.
(Bucky’s point of view)
Bucky looked up at the rippling water, the sun shimmering through the deep blue. He missed the surface- he missed having legs, being able to walk around, eat natural foods, he missed being able to interact with a species that wasn’t so vicious. Bucky sighs, or sighs as well he could as a mermaid could in the ocean. His lungs burned slightly as he tried to breathe in, as he hated to remind everyone, he was still partly human.
Years ago, back in the 1940’s he had been a soldier for the US military and one day a mission ended up going poorly and he found himself stranded in the middle of the ocean. He was freezing, his crew was dead, he was the only one left, just floating in an endless expanse of hell. Luckily (or so he thought at the time) a blonde haired man came to save him (again, or so he thought at the time). The man had looked so kind, with blue eyes and a warm smile but Bucky quickly realized that it was no warm smile, it was full of hunger and malice but before he could truly find time to be scared the man pounced upon him and dragged him down below.
There was a sharp sting in his neck and Bucky realized that the deranged man was biting him, he was fucking biting him. He remembered struggling but the man was far stronger, he kept on dragging Bucky down until he couldn’t breathe, until his lungs ached and burned, until he thought he was going to die of the pressure.
His world was slowly fading to black, he could see the sea above him slowly fading, he could feel his entire body go numb but just as his body was close to giving in to the comforting dark everything suddenly snapped back to life. He could suddenly breathe, he could see the rippling sea and the pieces of wreckage floating above, he could see the blonde man swimming, no, floating, beside him except Bucky quickly realized that it was no man. Not a single man Bucky had ever met had a tail and yet this man did. It was shimmering silver, just like his eyes; It was long and thick, just like he was and it gently flicked back and forth through the water, helping the man float. Then Bucky remembered looking down at his own body and seeing a tail just like the man’s only blue, shimmering blue. That’s how Bucky came to be what he was today, some kind of ocean freak. Only there was one small setback, he was still partly human.
Steve, the mermaid that day, hadn’t bitten him correctly, leaving some wiggle room for his human form to creep back in. That meant that at any given moment he could change back into a human. He had wanted to do it a billion times but every time he so much thought about it his cove would threaten him into staying, they’d intimidate him, beat him some more, make threats that sent shivers down his spine. In the end he decided it wasn’t worth it to try and be human once again. Since he was a mutt, as so gently put by the Cove’s second in command; Sam, He wasn’t like the other mercreatures, they were pure breads, he was a mutt, a filthy piece of bottom feeder scum who amounted to nothing in sea life.
Other members of his cove often liked to remind him of the fact that he was partly human, that he was a disgrace to their cove. They treated him poorly, he was abused, starved, left to fend for himself half the time. His cove hated him, the people who had damned him to this life hated him. (Y/N) had never hate him, never treated him poorly, they made him feel wanted and safe, they made him feel like he mattered. They were sad for fucks sake when he disappeared, that’s more than his cove had ever amounted to.
(Y/N) was something special, that’s why he couldn’t be with them, that’s why he had to stay away. If anyone from his cove found out that he was talking with a surface dweller it would be the end of them, and it’d be all his fault. He couldn’t risk losing (Y/N), he’d do anything to keep them safe, even if that meant going against his every instinct and leaving them alone. Thankfully he had some way of staying connected with them, the little prizes he left them every night. (Y/N) still came to the dock every morning even though Bucky had stopped coming. Every morning they’d stop, smile at the small gifts he’d leave them, then utter a quiet “thank you” to the ocean and every damn time Bucky would respond with an equally quiet “You’re welcome.”
Bucky’s grip unconsciously gripped the small necklace he held in his hand, the next gift he had for (Y/N). It was his dog tags, the ones from the war. They had his name printed on them, his position, and his number. It was the only thing he had of his old self but he wanted (Y/N) to have it, they’d benefit from it more than he ever would.
Bucky’s eyes roamed up to the watery sky, it was almost pitch black but luckily he could see as though it were broad daylight, one perk to being a merman. It was night, maybe midnight or sometime later. It was illogical that anyone would be out at such a time but as Bucky rose to the surface, his head popping up from the dark depths he was more than surprised to see someone sitting on the docks; aka (Y/N).
Bucky bit his lip as he surveyed them, shivering, a blanket of some sort wrapped tightly around their body. Soft lights twinkled around their body and it was impossible for him not to swim closer. He knew he shouldn’t have, he had just told them he couldn’t ever return and yet he found himself venturing closer and closer until suddenly his webbed hands were upon the dock and he was staring up at (Y/N)’s face.
“You came back,” (Y/N) whispers, almost in disbelief if Bucky thought about it. Bucky nods softly, biting his lip as he stared at the dock sheepishly.
“I wanted to thank you for the gifts,” (Y/N) suddenly smiles, a smile Bucky had longed to see for weeks, nearly months. Bucky smiles softly, his pale, wet cheeks dusting a soft pink.
“Did you like them?” He asks quietly, meekly.
“I loved- love them, especially that shell,” Bucky smiles, his blush only growing.
“I thought of you when you found it. I remember thinking how beautiful it was, just like you,” Now it was (Y/N)’s turn to blush, their cheeks dusting a rather dark red.
“Really?” Bucky nods, smiling softly at the fact that he- a filthy human as stated by his cove- was able to make (Y/N) blush and smile.
“I never thought I’d get the chance to tell you in person…” Bucky whispers as he stares at his hands, at the web in between his fingers.
“I think you’re beautiful too,” (Y/N) whispers back, their tone soft and full of a kind of fondness that Bucky hasn’t experienced in years. Bucky looks up from the dock, his eyes wide and full of surprise.
“You really think so?” (Y/N) nods, smiling at Bucky in a way that had his stomach up in knots. “From the moment I laid eyes on you,” Bucky could feel his entire face heat up, straight to the tip of his pointed ears. (Y/N) thought Bucky was beautiful, the most amazing thing he’d ever laid eyes on thought he was beautiful.
(Y/N) looks to their hands, biting their lip as a wide smile threatened to overtake their features. Bucky had distracted them so much they had almost forgot about the “gift” they had brought him. Almost.
“But um- I wanted to thank you for the gifts by giving you one of my own,” (Y/N) slides a plate of something towards Bucky, smiling at him gently. “Unfortunately I don’t have any cool little knick knacks like you do but I sure as hell can cook so I figured why not bake you something?” Bucky looks at the plate of food longingly; it’d been so long since he had a proper human meal and since he was the weakest link in the cove he was rarely ever fed so having something so tantalizing placed just a few feet before him was pure torture. “I wanted something simple so I just made some fish. I uh- I hope you eat fish…”
“Wait…I’m allowed to eat this?” (Y/N) chuckles softly, nodding their head once again.
“Yes Bucky, I made them for you,”
“…It’s really okay?”
“Yes Bucky,” (Y/N) nudges the plate closer. “It’s really okay,” (Y/N) gives Bucky a reassuring smile as he reaches a webbed hand out to the plate, casting one more glance at (Y/N) before gingerly picking a cooked fish up. It looked…different from how he remembered but god- he wanted to eat it so fucking bad. He raised it to his lips and took a tentative little bite. Almost immediately flavor burst in his mouth, something he hadn’t had the pleasure of eating in years (the sea didn’t offer many spices). A soft moan of delight pushed past his lips as he took another bite and another and another until all the fish was gone.
“Does it taste okay?”
“Oh my god yes,” Bucky moans, nodding immediately. “I haven’t had food like that in years,” (Y/N) smiles victoriously, proud of their own little accomplishment.
“Tomorrow I’ll have to bring you some other food, that is, if you’re still here…”
“With cooking like this hell yeah I’m coming back,” (Y/N) smiles and laughs, making Bucky’s heart warm within his chest.
“Glad I’ve persuaded you to stay, I’ve really missed you,”
“I’ve- I’ve missed you too…” Bucky whispers as he licks his lips, looking up at (Y/N) with a fond look in his eyes.
“I’m sorry I scared you away…hopefully the food makes up for my mistake,”
“no, it was my fault really, I shouldn’t have left so abruptly, I should’ve given you an explanation first.”
“Was it-” (Y/N) sighs, looking at their hands as they do. Their mood had immediately dropped, going from happy and bubbly to nervous and remorseful. “Was it because if what I asked?” Bucky knew it was coming. He knew sooner or later he was going to have answer their question. He was constantly in the water, he had gills for fucks sake, he was surprised (Y/N) hadn’t asked earlier but now they were and this time he had to tell the truth.
(Y/N) was the only person- both on land and sea- who treated him well, it was time he started doing the same. Bucky nods softly, casting his gaze down towards his webbed hands.
“I’m so sorry Bucky- I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,”
“No,” Bucky whispers, interrupting (Y/N) before they could say anything else. “The answer to your question is no,” (Y/N) falls silent for a moment, obviously taken aback by Bucky’s intrusion. It takes a few moments for it to click but when it does (Y/N)’s eyes widen and their lips part in shock. They gently clear their throat, closing their lips and blinking a bit to compose themself.
“Can you- can you tell me what you are then? You don’t have to answer, I don’t want to scare you off again-” No. Bucky needed to tell the truth. He needed someone to know who he was, what he was, what had happened to him, he needed to let someone in, he needed to stop hiding and he needed to start telling the truth.
Bucky sighed, opened his mouth to answer but before he could the water around him became frantic, as though swarmed with a million fishes. The water crashed against the dock wildly, making it impossible to see a single thing. Bucky ducked under the water, in. No mood for the waves to smack him against the dock. The strange thing was underneath the water he could barely see a thing either, the sea was dark and murky for once and it was impossible to even see his own hands. Eventually the waves settled and Bucky rose back to the surface, shaking his wet hair out of his face.
“(Y/N), are you okay?” Bucky asked as his eyes adjusted to the not murky atmosphere. He squinted as he looked around, trying to spot his land walking friend only there was a problem; they were no longer there. The waves had settled and when they had (Y/N) was no longer sitting on the dock….
A/N: For my dear dear friend Christina who attacked me with this image while I was trying to do a five hour drive home in a rain storm.@dibsonthat1d
The past two weeks had been out of control. Ever since Niall had released “Slow Hands” your life had been turned upside down. From the moment you first heard it you knew it would be a hit for him - a departure from “This Town”, but still distinctly “Niall”. After the initial furor had died down Niall jumped immediately into promo. Suitcases were packed. Guitars were in their cases. Itineraries were printed out. You’d known this was going to happen, Niall’s team had his schedule planned months ago. But knowing something is coming doesn’t necessarily take the sting out the actual event when it finally happens.
The day had finally arrived. Niall had finished his California shows and was headed out for another round of radio shows across the country. Even though the weeks would go by quickly, you’d gotten used to having him home. Even if he was doing ten or twelve hour days in the studio he was still waking up next to you and that made all the difference. Instead of dwelling on the empty feeling in the pit of your stomach as the front door clicked behind him, you decided to treat yourself to a hot bath and maybe a mani-pedi. Anything to take your mind off how quiet the huge house had suddenly become.
Drove past your house on the way home from work last night,a message from his dad says when he checks his phone one morning. The lights were on.
already has his bags packed. His guitar is leant up against the wall by
the front door of the rented flat, and a car is set to pick him up for
the airport in a matter of hours. He presses the phone to the mattress,
and then his head to his pillow. Screen and nose in threaded
conversation upon sheets that aren’t his. His breath is warm of
transparent longing on all that white, an It’s easier than it should be
to change his destination in a matter of minutes.
The bass thumped loudly through the walls, and although you were sighing, your eyes meeting the tired ones of your boss with feigned annoyance, your heart was thumping loudly, excited, along with the fast pace of the thumping. As your boss of ran his plump hand through his dark locks, sighing softly before he waddled back into the backroom of the now-closed cafe. With a quick to look on your wrist, your eyes falling onto the petite watch adorning it, you noticed that—finally—the clock was eleven.
Eleven o'clock was when you were allowed to leave. And yet, ten o'clock was the time when this band called Exo Planets, who’s lead guitarist happened to leave you so weak in the knees and burning hotly inside, started their nightly performance at the neighboring bar. Their show only lasted an hour or so, and you were only able to glimpse the end of it. But you didn’t mind too much. With the sighed-out goodbye from your boss, giddiness ran through you, as did adrenaline and your feet were already hurrying over the floor in direction of the door. You were ripping the apron off around your waist, waving goodbye to your oh-so tired boss before hurrying out the door of the cafe, careful on the smooth tiles with your worn, pattern-less sandals. As you got outside, the fresh night air breathed over your skin, ruffled slightly in the white, thin blouse you always wore to work. You took a sharp turn left and only walked a few steps until your reached the glass door. You skimmed the words “OPEN 10-3” and “TODAY’S ACT: EXO PLANET”, scoffing humorously to yourself because this bar really didn’t have any other acts, before opening the door and entering your kryptonite – “The Lighterhouse”.
Every single night at this hidden, yet popular, bar the small, black stage placed in the back of the large, dim space would be graced with the presence of a tall, dark–sometimes curly–haired man who’s bomber jacket was too large and skinny legs only more skinny underneath black, tight, ripped jeans. Every single night you ignored your body’s need for a good night’s sleep to prepare for the next morning to come, because indeed; The Lighterhouse was your lighthouse every night after the cafe had closed, leaving you free for a couple of hours. Hours you didn’t want to spend sleeping– especially not when the creators of the fast paced, addicting thumping noise met your eyes, and the man of your absolute dreams took a spin on the stage before hitting the strings of his guitar with a quick, downwards punch. His eyes scanned the large crowd that filled the bar with a wide grin, before he bent down his head, focusing on the sight of his calloused fingers playing the strings with such expertise.
You, as well, focused solely on the same sight, and that might have been why you stumbled into at least four different people while trying to find a small table, or at least a seat, to fully enjoy the pure sex that was Park Chanyeol—you didn’t really want to admit that you spent a good two hours snooping around Instagram, Facebook and all other social networks you assumed they used for the name of the band members. You also didn’t really want to admit that for a while, you internally called him Baekhyun due to the lack of band members’ respective pictures on Exo Planet’s official page.
Just as your hand fell upon the back of an empty chair, not too far from the stage, the song came to an end. You sat down, smiled as a quick sign for the waitress to come over before looking back upon the stage. Chanyeol stood there, posture cool and relaxed, his smirk calm yet taunting while the lead singer, the actual Baekhyun, took the microphone in out of it’s stand. He welcomed you to another night, another show and just as you pointed at the peachy drink you wanted to indulge in that night, you suddenly felt exposed. Completely bare.
Your heart raced with the sensation of a pair of eyes traveling up the length of your leg, hip and up to your neck, and you had to will yourself to not let your eyes fall off the smiley face of the waitress as she thanked you. You watched her leave, your cheeks becoming warmer and your palms becoming wetter just by the second until you finally turned to the stage again. There, you met the dark eyes of your one and only Chanyeol. He had taken a seat now on a stool placed further back, his guitar rested on the floor, leaning against the stool and his eyes were solely transfixed on you. In the lapis and maroon light of the small stage, you could barely make out the tattoos that ran down his neck and down underneath the collar of his white t-shirt. You looked up, ultimately locking your eyes with his and staying there, in a heavy daze.
Minutes passed; Baekhyun introduced Sehun’s drum solo, Sehun performed said solo, your drink arrived and the puzzled waitress took the money you had laid on the table top already, people applauded the young drummer, laughed over another joke from Baekhyun — and it had all sounded muffled. Your focus was on Chanyeol and Chanyeol alone, and his on you and you alone. You watched each other with hooded eyes, the occasional lick of lips and drawn-out blinks of eyes. It was like he was drawing your power out of you, leaving you weak in your limbs.
Feeling a bit thirsty, you reached out your hand to grab the glass that had stood on your tabletop for a while now, only for the cold, wet glass slip through your palm and crash against the wooden floor. The peachy liquor flooded the planks, and soon you were sitting in a dam with more than only one pair of eyes on you. Baekhyun jumped slightly but continued to talk, and soon enough Chanyeol was the only one looking at you once again, now with a cocked eyebrow. Baekhyun announced their last song and Chanyeol finally stood up, lifting the guitar up and securing it around his neck.
The last tune was one you recognized, given that it was the only full song you could hear every night. But tonight you weren’t feeling it. You took the moment when Chanyeol was looking down to slip out of the bar and hide around the corner.
The colder, late night air didn’t bother you too much. You only hugged yourself, leaning your back against the brick wall, staring silently as you waited for the bass thumping to cease and Chanyeol to follow you outside. And when it eventually did, you couldn’t calm the excited beat of your heart as the tall man hurried out of the door of the bar, his guitar long gone–probably packed in it’s case in the backroom.
Puzzled, he stared with wide, disappointed eyes at the empty street in search of you. His beaten look was too much and you had bite your lip–to muffle your chuckles–before stepping out, into the warm embrace of your husband. Chanyeol jokingly gasped, and then he chuckled with normal, husky baritone voice.
“Babe, hey, you’re not going to clean up in there?”
You mischievously shook your head into his collarbones, circling your arms around his waist before moving your palms down the length of his back, to playfully grab his bottom. He jumped and you couldn’t stop the extra wave of bubbly giggles escaping your lips. A flushed Chanyeol grabbed helplessly for your hands, trying to escape your dangerous embrace until he just gave up and let you lie your head back down against neck and softly kiss the dip behind his collarbone.
After a while, a blissed-out dark haired man sighed softly against the top of your head. “We should probably head home, I’m sure your mom is tired enough now. As much as she loves the twins, she sure cannot stand having the responsibility of them for more than five hours – and now it’s been seven.”
You snorted. “You went out earlier to practice today?”
“I had to. Baekhyun called and said he wanted to have some more time to go through some newer songs.”
You hummed tiredly, the hours of work finally dawning upon your body and this he noticed.
“Let’s go home, babe. I’ll put the boys to sleep so don’t worry about that.”
You smiled, your eyes bright yet droopy and your heart didn’t cease it’s quick pace despite the soft and reassuring moment. You suppose that was just the side effects of being the wife of the one and only Park Chanyeol.
This is for my two dearest Chanyeol stans which I have missed so much - I’m honestly crying - my bb @lovesehunright and my fam @nunchiwrites !! I’m back (or at least officially in a few days) and I have missed you and all my readers and I have missed writing and just everything ;; ❤️❤️❤️ I love you guys and I hope you enjoy my untitled fluffy rocker Yeol
Brian woke up with a jolt. His left cheek was cool and sore, having been pressed to the window during his blissful nap. He checked his wristwatch, and was mortified to see that it was already 4:30 P.M - the audition was supposed to begin at 4. He looked out the window and saw an unfamiliar street, which meant the bus had passed the Imperial stop. He grabbed his guitar case and shouted for the driver to let him down at the nearest stop, please. When he hopped off, he discovered that to his luck, he wasn’t too far from his stop, but it was still a fifteen-minute ride. As Brian made his way across campus, it was almost 5, an hour past the scheduled time. No one would have the patience to wait that long, he thought, he’d apologize and set up another date for the audition later.
Just outside the door to the auditorium - all out of breath and flustered despite the chilly London air - Brian was most definitely surprised to hear someone drumming. He froze with his hand on the handle, amazed by the drum solo. The tempo was average, but there was a melodious quality to the sound, unlike any drum solos he had heard before, and he could tell the drummer made good use of all the pieces of the kit, judging from the variety of sounds. When it came to an end, Brian suddenly felt nervous about coming in - he wondered what kind of person he would find behind the door. At last, for fear the drummer would leave (which should have happened), he knocked twice and let himself in.
Sitting behind the kit was a small, young man with dirty blond hair. He was repeatedly hitting on a drum (Brian thought it’s called a tom-tom?) and turning a few knobs here and there. He was so absorbed in this he hardly noticed someone had just walked in, and Brian himself was too in awe to disturb him. After a few minutes, he smiled triumphantly and looked up from the drums, only to see Brian right there staring at him. The smile vanished from his face and one of the sticks dropped from his fingers, crashing down on the bass drum.
“Holy f- How long have you been here?“
"I’m so sorry, I- I didn’t want to interrupt,” Brian stammered. “But that- that thing you’re doing, what is it? I’ve never seen anyone do that on the drums before!"
This earned a chuckle from the drummer. "Hah, typical guitarist. I’m tuning them. Bet you didn’t even know drums could be tuned, am I right?”
“Yeah,” Brian admitted. “It’s quite bloody amazing. I don’t have much experience with drums, you see."
"Or maybe you’ve only been around crappy drummers who don’t really know how a kit works. I suppose I could change that for you. I’m Roger Taylor,” he said with a grin.
“Right, and I’m Brian May. I’m sorry I arrived so late, we could do this another day if you have the time. It’s just, I fell asleep on the bus, and Tim Staffell was supposed to be here too, but apparently he’s gone off somewhere. I’m so sorry for wasting your time, Roger."
"You do say sorry a lot, don’t you, May? I don’t mind, really. In fact, we could still get on with this audition thing, I’ve got all night."
"Alright then,” Brian removed his beloved home-built guitar from its case and plugged it in. “Well, me and Tim were in the same high school, and we joined the school band together, mostly doing covers of The Beatles. Now we’d like to be more original, you know, creating our own music, but it’d be impossible without a drummer. So yeah, that’s why we’re doing this. How long have you been playing the drums, Roger?"
"Since high school. I started with the guitar but I wasn’t any good, so my dad bought me a cheap drum set, and I saved up for months to buy a cheap cymbal, and that was it. I’m much more suited for drums, it’s satisfying to spend the evening alone hitting things, you know. And I just have a way with the rhythm, I rarely mess up a beat."
"Alright, so now I’ll play something on the guitar, and you just play along, okay? Just go with the beat and fill it in. I’ll start first, you take your time to join in."
Brian began to play the riff from a song he had come up with a few days ago. After two bars, Roger’s drums kicked in, and Brian was surprised at how it gave much more thickness and dimension to the sound. Towards the end of his guitar solo, his eyes met Roger’s blue eyes as the beat sped up. In that moment, he found himself mouthing "Go!” and Roger nodded. Without missing a beat, Roger launched into a drum solo, this one even more impressive than the one he had heard from outside the door. Each beat was electrifying, and Brian was immediately turned on (in the musical sense, of course), he could feel his face grow hot with excitement as he watched Roger. “This is it,” he thought, “we’ve found the guy.” Roger ended the solo with a dramatic clash on the hi-hat, his mop of blond hair wet with sweat and his cheeks flushed pink.
“That was, wow - pardon me, I really need to swear - well, fuck, that was great! I mean, you were great on the guitar, yeah. What do you think?"
"You know what? I’m definitely taking you before some other band does. And if Tim disagrees, we’ll just kick him out and start our own band. Seriously, though, you’re really something else,” Brian smiled. “We’ve booked this room for Tuesday night, will you be able to come? I’ll make sure to get Tim here to see how good you are this time."
"Sure. What time?"
"6 in the evening. Well, that’s all, I think we’re finished here for today. See you on Tuesday, Roger."
Brian packed his guitar in the case and headed for the door. He couldn’t wait to come back to their shared flat and tell Tim Bloody Staffell what he had missed today - it was very likely the git had gotten himself drunk with one of the models at his art sessions and then crashed at her house. Just as Brian rounded a corner, he heard Roger calling after him.
"Hey, May! Do you really have to leave now, or can you stay for a cup of coffee? Cos’ this is not how it’s done, you know, if we’re going to be bandmates then shouldn’t we at least get to know each other first?"
Brian looked at Roger, who was shrugging on an oversized navy coat, feeling both confused and embarrassed. Dealing with people had never been his strong suit, which was why Tim was supposed to be here to handle all the talking. He nodded anyway, and led the way to the coffee shop across the street that he frequented. Out of the drum kit, Roger looked quite small, only as tall as Brian’s shoulder, and he was very good-looking with bright blue eyes, an easy smile and soft blond hair. Almost too handsome for anyone to believe that he’s got some serious chops.
"You’re a student, aren’t you, May? You look like the scholar type - very smart and quiet. I wouldn’t be surprised if you said you’re a scientist or something,” Roger said, in an attempt to start a conversation.
“You’re right, I’m a third-year undergraduate student here at Imperial. I’m studying Math and Physics, but my main research interest is Physics. You’re also a student, right? You look very young."
"I knew it, you’re a total nerd! Yeah, I’m a first-year at London Hospital Medical College. I do dentistry, dunno why, starting to have second thoughts about it now. I’ve been looking for bands to join since I moved to London, the music scene is really booming here."
"So you lived in the country before?"
"Yeah, I’m from Cornwall, very middle-class. It’s a big move, from good ol’ Cornwall to London, I wouldn’t have made it without a partial scholarship. But it feels good to be here, like this is where I want to live my life. All this glamour,” Roger seemed the quintessential wild-and-young boy, but at the same time, there was something wistful and oddly mature about him.
“I’m from Middlesex. Same as you, being in London town really opened my eyes. Just so many things to see and to do. Where else do you get to see The Jimi Hendrix Experience, right?"
They entered the coffee shop, and Brian got them their drinks (black coffee with two sugars for him, hot cocoa with milk for Roger). For over an hour, they talked about their music taste (The Beatles was one of the many bands they agreed on), and discussed the current music scene in London, where to go for good music, where to find fellow musicians, things like that. When Brian checked his watch and saw the time, he immediately fumbled for his coat and scarf.
"Sorry, Roger, I must go if I don’t want to miss the last bus. It was so nice meeting you, really, and we’ll see each other again on Tuesday, okay? Good night,” he said, getting up to leave.
“My pleasure, May. Good night. Thanks for the drink."
"Just Brian,” he corrected and headed out into the crisp chill of London winter. He was brimming with a strange sense of happiness as he ran towards the bus stop.
Requested by anon: Brother!Derek where his younger sister, which is a
werewolf, has an interest in music and she buys herself a guitar behind Derek’s
back because he tells her that that’s not gonna save her from the dangers in
Beacon Hills and she starts playing and singing Rocket by Tori Kelly (really
good song btw) without knowing that there was a pack meeting and the pack are
all taken back by her talents, Derek gets angry at first for the guitar, but he
tells her to do what she loves and packxreader fluff?
You have always had a passion for music.
You always have. So you brought yourself a guitar. You had been saving up for a
while now and you were really looking forward to learning how to play it
You had just come back from local music
shop, the guitar in its case on your back, when Derek spotted you. “Y/N, what’s
You froze. Sighing, you turned around to
face him. “What does it look like?” You returned with a roll of your eyes. You
resumed walking back to your room.
“Y/N, did you just buy yourself a guitar?”
Now it was Derek who sighed. “Really Y/N?
You’re a werewolf and how exactly is your guitar going to help us?” He
questioned. “How is it going to save you from the dangers here?”
“Well I suppose she could whack them over
the head with it.” Peter said, chipping in to the conversation.
Both you and Derek glared at him. Derek
shook his head, ignoring his uncle’s comment. “Tell me Y/N, how is going to be
any help to us what so ever?”
You paused. “Jeez Derek, it’s just a bit of
fun – for whenever everyone is stressed to death!” With that, you retreated
back into your room.
“Where’s Y/N?” Lydia asked as she, Stiles
and Scott entered Derek’s loft.
“She’s in her room at the moment,” Derek
answered, sighing. “I wouldn’t go in there at the moment.”
Scott furrowed his eyebrows and Stiles and
Lydia exchanged glances.
You had been practising non-stop for a few
hours now. You could say that you were okay
at playing it. You had picked a song: Tori Kelly’s ‘Rocket’. You had searched
the chords and lyrics on the internet and after practising, you decided to plug
your guitar into your speaker.
I could build a rocket I would; put all my dreams inside it I would.” You
began. You smiled to yourself, so far so good.
You continued the song, confidence
controlling you. “Maybe I could travel far into something new. Hang onto a shooting star
bursting into view. Just me and my fickle heart lonely never felt so right;
I would go anywhere tonight.”
“Who’s that? Isaac asked.
“Who was what?” Derek said.
“Who was that singing?” Stiles continued.
I could be a pilot I would; unlock the sky see what’s inside it I would.”
“Is that Y/N?” Scott questioned.
Derek sighed; hesitantly, he nodded.
everyone’s out doing things and I’m stuck in my room, but if this bed grew some
wings then what could I not do. Just me and my fickle heart lonely never felt
so right; I would go anywhere tonight.”
Silently, Scott, Stiles, Isaac and Lydia,
with Derek gradually following behind them, cracked open Y/N’s door slightly:
on her bed, she sat with her guitar in hand, strumming away and singing.
I could build a rocket I would. I would go anywhere tonight.”
You spotted them—you were a werewolf after
all. “Oh hi guys, I didn’t hear you come in.” You said, immediately stopping
"Uh hi.” Isaac said awkwardly.
"Where did you learn to play?” Scott asked,
being the first one to come into your room.
“I taught myself but I’ve been watching
videos too.” You replied with a wide grin.
"Really? You have?” Your brother spoke up.
Somewhat nervously, you nodded. “Yeah, it’s
something I’ve wanted to do for a while now.”
Derek smiled. “You’re a really good player.”
You too smiled. “Thanks.”
“And Y/N,” Derek carried on. “About what I said
earlier, pretend I didn’t say that. This obviously makes you happy and you
should do what you love.”
You placed your guitar down. You went over
to your brother and hugged him. “Thank you.”
Saturday afternoons were the only time in Gajeel’s life that had any kind of structure. One pm he would sling his guitar over his back and start the walk down to the centre of town. At quarter to two, he would sit down next to the old fountain, and get set up for his time slot. Saturdays were the only day the council allowed buskers, and it had a waiting list as long as Gajeel’s arm to get a slot. He listened to the saxophonist screech for fifteen minutes before the youngster put his instrument back into the case and Gajeel started to play.