Just A Silly Bill And Ted Headcannon Because I Love Transmasc Bill. I Think He Started Doing The Over

I had a dream that the members of Korn were donating clothes but in order to get them they made people fight in a mosh pit, and Johnathan Davis got really mad at me for being too aggressive and beating people up (you would be too for some free Tripp pants).

John Deacon!

𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕄𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕤 𝕎𝕒𝕣, ℝ𝕠𝕘𝕖𝕣 - ℝ𝕠𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕎𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕩 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

CHAPTER 2

Roger had a bit of an odd fantasy. Over and over again, he’d imagine a young girl walking on the side of the road, her thumb held high in the air as sunbeams beat down on her skin as she hoped someone would stop and save her from the long walk in the summer heat. And he'd be the devil dressed as the good Samaritan who would pull over in his shiny red car with the top down and his arm resting on the back of the passenger seat. It excited him to think he could be there to save a girl like that, and in her desperation, she'd love him. 

Good looks didn't get him girls, nor did a good personality, so he had to resort to the demented schemes in his head. Some would say that made him an asshole, and others would call what he did manipulation. But to Roger, he was just the hero who could pick up a girl and revel in her weakness, and when he got bored, he could take her to the next town and leave her for the next helpless girl he found hitchhiking. But it was only a fantasy; in reality, he was usually shut in his house, with days passing between the words he spoke out loud. Sometimes he'd practice speaking to himself, but he'd always get shy even though he knew no one was around. “Hi, I'm Roger.” He said it in his most charming voice, but then he quickly looked around in embarrassment as though he expected someone to hear him. The truth was that Roger was the insane drug addict that everyone hated. He wasn't the cool guy who could pick up pretty girls, and he wasn't the handsome and wild rockstar he had imagined he could be. He was just Roger, who was always fighting some inner demon rather than taming it and using that festering spite to his advantage. 

If anyone had known about Roger's inner thoughts or, heaven forbid, his deepest secrets, they might be curious to know what Roger's idea of a perfect girl was. Could he put a face to the girl he imagined picking up on the side of the road? He’d only ever closed his eyes and pictured her from behind. Maybe the way she always had her back to him in his mind somehow represented vulnerability. And she was always a younger woman, definitely shorter than him, but that wasn't hard to accomplish. He always pictured her body getting into his car but never her face, and when she lay in bed next to him, he could just feel the way her bare legs brushed against his but not the way her cheeks felt in his hands. It didn't matter anyway; whoever the girl was meant to be, she was disposable to the debonair star that Roger felt he was within his soul, and as he stood in the dark bar, he stared at the back of a woman who could fit his fantasy. She had long blond hair, and she had to have been a foot shorter than him. He took another swig of the vodka he had been cradling all night. It was getting hot, and he hated the way its usual burn was making him uncomfortable rather than relaxing him. He had to go talk to that girl, get her back to the band's hotel, and then tomorrow he could get back on the bus with a horrible hangover while being another notch on that girl's vanity if he was lucky.

One, maybe ten more gulps of alcohol later, Roger slid the bottle against the wooden table and stared at the clear liquid that clung to the bottom of the glass. It was as if that little bit of vodka was avoiding being consumed by Roger, as if his lips were something deadly from which there was no return. Was that what girls thought of him? Was that why no sweet girl ever skipped his way, ready to pour out all of her love and devotion freely? 

Shut the fuck up, Roger.

He stood up and walked over to the blond woman. He couldn't remember her face; he was way too drunk, but she had followed him to the hotel, and she had been there giggling as he fumbled with the lock on his room door. He didn't really feel excited about having her next to him, but fuck, was he mad when he opened the door to see Nick's sister lying on the small couch in his hotel room. She had the cord of the room phone woven around her fingers as she spoke softly into the receiver. God, he could have punched her. She annoyed him enough on the bus, but to have her in his room when he was trying to dive headfirst into some mindless sexual escapade made him want to slap her. 

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” He asked almost calmly. The girl from the bar had stopped her relentless giggling and was now awkwardly fidgeting with her purse. “S-sorry, I'll hic leave now.” The blonde mumbled as she turned to leave. Roger felt the urge to grab the woman's wrist and plead with her to stay, pleading with her to make him feel like the man he imagined he could be in his daydreams. But he just watched as she opened the door and walked away into the night, her back turned to him before he could even get a glimpse of her face.

You sat up fully on the couch and stared up at Roger. He looked defeated, which was the goal, right? It was step number one in your big plan to win the war against Roger. “Ruin his night” had been scrawled across the top of your notebook in angry black ink that smeared and bled on the old pages. It felt so good to write it, but now as you watch Roger walk to the bed and fall over onto the taut white sheets, it makes your chest burn with tension and a guilty feeling that reminds you of a small child getting in trouble. He didn't look comfortable or even endearingly sleepy on the bed; he just looked cold and out of place in the stuffy hotel room. 

You sit the phone back down on the coffee table and stand up slowly as you debate apologizing to the empty lump of a man in the other room. You had expected him to yell at you and call you all sorts of names, but he didn't; instead, he just lay there silently, which somehow echoed louder in your ears than any of his yelling would have.

The clock on the wall ticks loudly in the dimly lit room, half a wall separating you from Roger's unmoving body for what feels like forever. Had you been standing in the doorway for five minutes? Ten? Maybe a hundred years for all you knew. The words “I’m sorry” were stuck in your throat as you watched his chest slowly rise and fall. He was alive at least, drunk and probably angry with the sexual frustration you had dried up just by sitting in the same room as him. You had only gone in there to make a phone call because the line in your room was messed up, but you had succeeded in the first stage of your plan nevertheless, despite it being an accident.

“Roger….” You whispered as you stepped closer. He didn't make a sound, so you reached out a shaky hand to his shoulder. “Roger, I'm sorry, okay?” He still did not stir; you almost felt like kissing his forehead and just getting this whole “war” over with, but there was still one more step in between that you couldn't skip, otherwise you wouldn't be winning the war, you would just be surrendering, and what did it matter if you planned on making Roger cry? He was just an asshole loser anyway, right?

⫘READ MORE⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

1 CHAPTER 1

2 YOU ARE HERE

3 CHAPTER 3

4 CHAPTER 4

5 CHAPTER 5 

6 CHAPTER 6

𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕄𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕤 𝕎𝕒𝕣, ℝ𝕠𝕘𝕖𝕣 - ℝ𝕠𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕎𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕩 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

CHAPTER 3

Roger hardly called you by your name; he avoided referring to you in conversation at all if he could. Your name was like a drop of poison on the tip of a snake's forked tongue. He’d call you Miss Mason when you were being bitchy, and he'd call you Missy when he teased you, but never would he choke up your first name. He only called girls by their first name when he knew he didn't have to remember it any longer than a few days because, in his mind, you only name a dog to tell it what to do. If he met a girl and her name was Helen, he’d call her Helen because that was what got her to act right, to obey him until the fever of lust had broken. Getting too attached to a name and putting it to a pretty face would make him attach that face to a body, and then that body had to have a mind that would want dopamine and commitment and all sorts of other pure things that would burn a devil like him. He didn’t want to love any woman, and to him you weren't a woman; you were just a girl, old enough to be an adult, of course, but calling you a girl was another cemented block in the wall he had built between you and him. He liked it that way, his back to the cold metaphorical wall where he didn't have to acknowledge your maturity or your name or anything to do with your individuality. You were just another brick in the wall of his life, even if your brick was starting to crack.

As he lay on the white sheets of the dark hotel room he could have been angry if he weren’t so drunk and tired. He could have been frustrated with the way his jeans felt strained and the way his face burned with shame, knowing he could ease his discomfort on his own, but then he'd be alone with just his thoughts as usual. 

“Roger…. I just needed to use the phone; I didn't mean to interrupt.” Your weak voice drifted out into the room, but Roger couldn't bring himself to acknowledge that he had heard you or that he had heard the other two apologies you had already offered as you stood in the doorway. He felt his body tense slightly at the childish way you walked over to the bed and sat down on the corner. You were like a hurt dog with your tail between your legs. And that was a perfect example of why Roger refused to call you by your name. You were like that stupid dog Old Yeller. That little boy in the movie had guarded his heart against some mangy dog that he didn't even want at first, and then after a while he began to love the stupid thing, just to have to look into its eyes as he shot it. You were like that in a way, as awful as it may be to compare you to a dog in a western that Roger had seen in the 60s. Still, you followed him around like a puppy, and he shoved you away because he knew if he let himself get too close, he would have to look into your eyes when he inevitably hurt you. 

“Sweet Madame Blue, Gaze at your looking glass. You're not a child anymore, Sweet Madame Blue. The future is all but past.” Roger sang under his breath the next morning; his skull felt like it was full of hot coals that were burning the back of his eyeballs, but he couldn't look miserable now and let you see the toll the night had taken on him. Despite refusing to call you by your actual name, Roger liked to sing “Sweet Madame Blue” by Styx to mess with you and he'd call you “sweet blue” when the other boys weren't around. It was a bit ironic, a British man singing about the dying light of American and blind patriotism, but you knew Roger liked to sing it and tease you with the nickname as a very round about way of calling you a whore. 

“Got your bicentennial panties this morning, sweet blue?” He asked as he drank a cup of coffee in the hotel lobby. You rolled your eyes; you had felt so horrible last night about ruining his rendezvous with the girl he had picked up from the bar, but if anyone was a whore here, it was him. 

“Roger, what does that even mean?” You groaned as you made your own cup of coffee. 

“It means you're a nice young girl with a free and independent spirit who is being corrupted by the various indulgent greeds of society. Or, in simpler terms so you can understand, it means you're a slut.” 

“You used to be creative with your insults, Roger; what happened?” You shake your head with mock disappointment. Roger tried to hide his smirk as he brought the porcelain cup to his lips. 

“You're only mad because you know it's true.” He retorted, and without thinking, you protested with a remark about the girl he had brought to the hotel last night.

“Well, why the fuck were you in my room?” He asked coolly after a long moment of silence.

“I needed to use the phone.” You mumbled as the other band members began to file into the lobby with you. Roger just glared at you, your wide eyes reminding him of that damn rabid dog. If you had known what was good for you, then you wouldn't be messing with him; you wouldn’t be waging this silly “war.” You were a kid with toy soldiers, and Roger was a tyrannical warlord with psychological weapons of mass destruction you couldn't even fathom yet. He had brushed you off as a stupid girl, but now Roger was starting to think of his own ways of getting revenge.

⫘READ MORE⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

1 CHAPTER 1

2 CHAPTER 2

3 YOU ARE HERE

4 CHAPTER 4

5 CHAPTER 5 

6 CHAPTER 6

𝕁𝕦𝕤𝕥, 𝕁𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕎𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕋𝕚𝕞𝕖 - ℝ𝕠𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕆𝕣𝕫𝕒𝕓𝕒𝕝 𝕩 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

CHAPTER 2

TW!: child death / miscarriage / blood

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Blood. The sheets are covered in blood and so are my legs but I can’t get up. I’m in a strangers bed, five months pregnant and there’s a pool of blood around me. All I had done was agreed to let Roland take me home and sleep in a warm apartment for the first time in days and now my baby was gone. Was it because I betrayed Steven? Is this what I deserved? How would Roland, a man I barely knew and trusted on a whim, react to finding my bloody body lying next to him? I knew I should cry for my now dead child but instead all I could think about was the ruined sheets. I must be in shock but those damn sheets…he would have to burn them and I would have to buy him new ones and I barely had enough money to eat.

Roland began to stir on the other side of the bed and I forced myself to sit up and fall out of the bed. The falling part was an accident but what did it matter? Baby was dead and I deserved to be in pain.

“SALEM WHAT HAPPENED?!” Roland yelled in horror when he discovered the pool of blood next to him. At that point I was gone, so fucking gone.

“I-I’m so sorry Roland, I’ll buy you new sheets. I’ll clean it up and then leave. I’m so so so sorry.” Sorry, that’s all I could say, overs and over again. The sheets. I felt so bad about the sheets. And I felt like such and idiot for messing them up. And the mattress was probably ruined by now too. I would have to buy him another mattress which would be far more expensive than the sheets.

Roland jumped up and instantly wrapped his arms around me trying to get me to calm down and explain what happened.

“I-I think I had a miscarriage.” It was the first time I had said that vile word out load since I had woken up and dipped my fingers into my daughters blood.

“I’m so sorry Roland I feel like this is just some awful nightmare. I’m so sorry about the bed.” I again turned to see the messy sheets.

“Don’t you dare apologize. I don’t care about these sheets. This isn’t your fault. I’m here with you every step of the way.” Roland hugged me in a way that felt so genuine. A sort of warm hug I had never felt but had dreamed of since I was a young girl.

Roland had introduced himself and sat down beside me in the library. I felt so nervous being next to such a pretty man that I almost forgot to tell him my name.

“Oh I’m Salem.” I giggled nervously.

“Come here often Salem?” Roland rested his hand on his cheek and smiled at me. His deep brown eyes seemed to shine with the reflection of myself staring back at him. I felt so unattractive and yet I wanted him so bad. I had always jumped into the arms of any man that would have me and that’s probably how I ended up pregnant and homeless. But then as I began to talk to Roland I noticed a faint blush beginning to get redder on his cheeks. He was wearing the cutest sweater with a scarf and a long overcoat that made him look like a cute little schoolboy.

I explained most of my situation to him and the crazy thing was, he actually sat and listened to every word of it. He didn’t interrupt or tell me I got what I deserved, he just sat and nodded and occasionally gave me words of encouragement.

After several hours of rambling on about my miserable childhood, my poor taste in men and my current state of having no where to stay, Roland suggested that I stay at least one night in his apartment since he “couldn’t bare the thought of letting a young girl in your condition sleep on the street again tonight.” He promised that he had no ill intentions and I felt that his eyes seemed to reflect his honesty. So I walked with him, arms full of books, to my car where he drove me to his apartment. The whole night was spent laughing and eating a tray of left over lasagna that Roland had made. Never once had he tried to touch me or even so much as kiss me. He just hugged me cautiously goodnight as I climbed in his bed next to him.

That was when I was happy. But now I sat on his bedroom floor crying hysterically.

“I-I’m sorry Roland I barely know you and I just…I don’t know what to do” I sobbed. He gently placed his hand on my shoulder and brushed some hair away from my face.

“Please don’t apologize. We’re going to get through this together.” I looked down at my stomach and felt like vomiting. My thoughts were starting to become clearer and my mind turned its attention away from the bloody sheets I had been desperately grasping on to and now to the thoughts of the little baby I had lost. For months now I had been dreaming of holding her for the first time and playing with her as she happily waved her little fingers in the air.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” I whisper softly. “Just let it out. Let all the sadness and pain come out. Cry as much as you need to.” His words seemed to mix together with the loud voices in my head screaming at me.

“I’m going to take you to the doctor okay.” He said and gently picked me up. I was a mess, blood stained clothes and legs that felt disgusting. I felt like a murderer. I did this to my daughter and anyway she deserved better.

The doctor only told me what I already knew and so I spent the car ride back to Roland’s apartment feeling numb. I should call Steven, the voices in my head kept whispering. He deserves to know that his daughter is dead. But did he even care? I had likely lost the baby due to stress and lack of nourishment. Maybe if Steven hadn’t kicked me out I wouldn’t have been stressed or starving. Maybe if I had been with a better man I wouldn’t have been in this situation.

Roland stopped at the library so I could call Steven. After a few rings he picked up.

“Hello?” He said in that rough voice that had once given me butterflies.

“Steven? It’s me Salem.” I chocked back a sob.

“Didnt I tell you to never speak to me or show your face her again you fucking whore.” I couldn’t hold back, I let out a strangled sob as Steven continued to list all of the reasons as to why I was the problem and how I ruined his life.

“Steven….I had a miscarriage.” I said despite the fact that he was still talking. He couldn’t hit me here. The distance and the fact that Roland was sitting in his car waiting for me made me feel safe.

“Good riddance to you and that kid, would’ve turned out just as ugly and probably twice the slut you are.” He then slammed the phone down on the receiver and the line went silent.

It was over. Steven had made it clear that he didn’t want me. And now I was not only single I was also no longer pregnant. I slowly walked back to Roland’s car and tried not to start crying.

“You okay?” He asked cautiously.

“N-no”, I wiped away the tears that were forming, “he doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“I hate to say it Salem, but isn’t that a good thing? You can start over now.” I looked at him and he weakly smiled back at me.

“I guess.” I whispered.

“Tell you what”, Roland said in his deep English accent, “me and you could be roommates and I’ll help you find a job.” I knew he was trying to help me and that I couldn’t just sit around and pity myself all day so I agreed.

As he drove out of the parking lot I whispered, “I was going to name her Mia.”

ℍ𝕒𝕕 𝔼𝕟𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝕄𝕖 𝕐𝕖𝕥? - 𝔻𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕄𝕦𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝕩 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

ONESHOT - NSFW!

Warnings: VERY NSFW ONESHOT YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!

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You could feel warm hands wrapping around your stomach, contrasting the cool feeling of the stone tile on your bare feet. You hadn’t slept much last night because of certain...activities that had kept both you and Dave up until well past midnight. The exhaustion hadn't yet caught up to you, but the aching feeling between you legs was enough of a reminder.

Reluctantly, you had climbed out of bed and out of Daves embrace to get something to eat from the kitchen. Of course Dave had followed you, already missing the feeling of your bare body against his. Not like you were complaining about it though, you had also missed the warmth that had engulfed the two of you.

"What are you making baby?" Dave inquired between placing soft kisses on your neck.

"I was thinking of just eating a pop tart." You said.

"Sounds tasty, just like you." He smirked to himself and began to kiss along your jaw.

You smiled and reached across the counter for the box poptarts. Taking one, you opened the package and took bite.

"You want one?" You asked Dave.

"I want you." He answered, lifting you up by the waist and sitting you on the counter in front of him.

“ I guess you just cant get enough of me can you." You tried to joke, but your words faltered when you felt Daves erection pressing itself against your thigh.

"I get the feeling that you wouldn't mind more of me." He said. His warm hands now cupping your face and pulling you into a kiss. It of course started out sweet and slow, before it got more heated.

"Fuck baby, if you keep kissing me like that then we're going to end up back in bed.”

"Maybe that’s what I want.” You answered him between kisses.

Without another word, Dave picked you up from the counter and carried you back to the bedroom. Without breaking the kiss, he laid you down on the bed.

“Do you want me to be rough like last night, or do you want me to be gental with you?" He asked, knowing that you were probably still sensative from the night before.

"I want it rough of course." You said.

Dave gave you a concerned look and asked if you were sure that thats what you wanted.

"Yes baby, I’m sure thats what I want. I trust you."

Dave gave you a sweet smile and placed another rough kiss on your lips. His hands roamed your body, starting at your brests. His thumbs applying pressure to the sensitive spots he had learned would elicit noises from your pretty lips.

You started to get a bit impatient with his slow movements, so you moved I hand to his erection and stroked it slowly in retaliation. But Dave was quick to grab your hand and press your wrists above your head.

"I told you I would give you what you wanted didn't I? But since you chose to act out I’ll make this even more slow. By the time I’m done with you you’ll be begging for my dick like your life depends on it." You whimpered at his harsh words, and the way his hot breath fanned across your face.

“Get on the floor and sit on your knees." He demaned.

You immediently obeyed and got down on the floor. You looked up at him expectantly but he just scoffed at your desperation. He stood infront of you, his dick just centimeters from your lips.

“I want you to put your hands on my thighs and watch me get off." He commanded. You nodded and put your hands on his bare thighs. His hand wrapped itself around his erection and he sighed and the contact.

“I could have been in you by now if you weren’t such a brat." He mocked you as his hand moved up and down.

"I know you love the way I stretch that pussy of yours, too bad though." He looked down at you and smirked at the needy look on your face.

"Look at you, pressing your thighs together like that. You want me don't you.” His breathing was beginning  to get heavy and you knew what was coming next. The warm liquid sprayed out, painting your your face and chest with cum

''Do you think I should fuck you now baby?" He reached for a towel and cleaned the white liquid from your face.

"P-please Dave."

"Oh come on, I know you can beg better than that, you did last night.” Your face turned a deep shade of red.

"Please Dave, Im sorry for being impatient. I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk anymore. Please." Dave looked at you with an unimpressed expression.

“Honestly, do you expect me to give in when you beg like that. I can’t even get hard to that bull shit.”

You looked up at him with a distraught expression. The burning between your legs was agonizing, and all you wanted was for Dave to touch you. But instead he walked over to the dresser and pulled out a belt from one of the drawers. Giving you a stern look he walked back over to you. Smiling down at you, he ran the leather material across your cheek slowly.

“Do you want to know what Im going to do?" He asked you with a hint of amusement in his voice. "Im going to wrap this around your throat and choke you while you touch yourself." He didn't wait for an answer before pulling the belt tight around your neck. The pressure wasnt enough to hurt you, but it did serve as a reminder that Dave was in charge.

“Thats it baby, be a good girl for me and I might give you what you want." You pressed your fingers against your clit as you listened to Daves words. Fuck, you were so sensitive already, and after watching Dave jerk off you were practically melting. And of course the feeling of Dave’s belt pulling at your throat was making the situation all the more erotic.

"You're so hot, Ah I’ve got to be inside you." He panted, his erection growing from seeing you touch yourself like that. With one quick motion he pulled the belt up, guiding you to the bed like an animal on a leash. Once you were on the bed he unbuckled the belt from your neck, and used it to tie your wrists in place. When he was satisfied that you were ready, he spread your legs and pushed in you.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of this, you feel so good every time." He panted as his movements began to get sloppy.

"I love you, oh fuck." He said as he pulled out and came on your stomach. Once he had recovered from his orgasm he smiled sweetly at you.

"Had enough of me yet?"

𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕄𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕤 𝕎𝕒𝕣, ℝ𝕠𝕘𝕖𝕣 - ℝ𝕠𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕎𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕩 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

CHAPTER 1

“I hate you.” The words spilled from your mouth so easily.

“I hate you even more.” Roger sneered. You just rolled your eyes and stared out of the tour bus window.

You were Nick’s sister so you had known Roger for a very long time. And for an equally long time you had hated him. He was like the human form of a pterodactyl, he screeched and had unsettling facial features. Not to mention his shitty personality that made you want to slap him every time he opened his mouth.

Nick had been nice enough to let you come with him on tour for a little while since you were taking a break year from college to travel. But it also meant that you had to spend three months with Roger. And to make it even worse you were forced to sit next to him.

“You love me.” You hadn’t really meant anything by it but as soon as you said it you blushed. Roger glanced at you and shook his head.

“What’s it like being a delusional bitch?” Roger asked just loud enough for you to hear him. You glared at him.

“What’s it like being an insane drug addict who everyone hates?” Okay so that wasn’t your best material but it was hard to be witty when you were flustered.  Roger just laughed and elbowed you in the ribs.

“Ow!” You hissed.

“Oh please, that did not hurt.” You glared at Roger, but then you realized that if you kept giving him the reaction that he wanted then he would just keep bullying you. Instead you just smiled.

“What is your problem? You look like a fucking psychopath when you smile like that.” Roger spat.

“This. Means. War. Roger.” You said slowly, empathizing every word. 

Roger smirked and glared down at you. "War? And what are you going to do? You’re cramped on this bus with me for the next three months and you aren’t even tall enough to reach my height. what is a shrimp like you going to do to me?"

You looked up at him and grabbed the collar of his shirt. "Watch me." For a moment you and Roger locked eyes and maybe for a second you saw a slight blush dust his cheeks. You let go of his shirt and quickly went to your bunk and closed the curtain. How were you going to get back at Roger? He was right, you were a lot smaller and weaker than him. But.... maybe he wanted to see you fight him. Maybe he liked seeing you get upset over every little thing. If that was the case then what?

You buried your face into your pillow and screamed. Roger was such a pain in the ass and at the same time you wanted him to like you, even just as friends. It would certainly make this trip a whole lot easier. You looked up from your pillow and wiped the tears that were beginning to form in the corners of your eyes. Every damn time you wanted to be close to someone you couldn't seem to get along with them. Sure you were Nick's sister and while you argued sometimes you were still somewhat close for siblings. But you also found yourself living in his shadow for most of your life. He, and his bandmates, were so much cooler and more talented than you and so it made sense that they wouldn't want anything to do with you. But that was just you throwing a pity party so you sat up and grabbed a pen and a notebook. At the top you neatly wrote, "THIS MEANS WAR ROGER". Below it you wrote out a checklist of all the ways you were going to get revenge on Roger. Step 1, ruin his night. Step 2, make him cry. Step 3, Kiss him. You slammed the book shut and then realized what you had written at the bottom, Kiss him.

Images of his pretty lips and unconventionally attractive features flooded your mind. It finally dawned on you that you didn't want to hurt him; you wanted to love him.

⫘READ MORE⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

1 YOU ARE HERE

2 CHAPTER 2

3 CHAPTER 3

4 CHAPTER 4

5 CHAPTER 5 

6 CHAPTER 6

𝔻𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕖 - ℕ𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝕩 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

CHAPTER 1

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Standing in front of the apartment building you let out a dramatic sigh. Carrying all of your stuff up the stairs all morning because the elevator was broken had proved to be quite stressful.

Your friend David had asked you to move in his apartment with him and two of his band mates since they were all quite broke and splitting the rent four ways would be cheaper on everyone. David had been a good friend of yours for years now, and you really needed a cheap place to live. You hadn’t met David’s band mates so all you knew about them were that their names were Roger, Nick and Rick but Rick wouldn’t be living with you.

“Roger’s a bit of an arse.” David explained.  “But Nick is easy to get along with so you don’t have to worry about him.”

You sighed again and picked up the heavy box you had been carrying through the parking lot. It had a variety of things that you thought would be necessary to bring.

“Ugh!” The box tumbled from your hands and fell to the asphalt.

“Let me help you with that!” A man with dark brown hair and a mustache to match ran over to where you had dropped your box.

“That’s quite a heavy box for just one person to be carrying.” He flashed you a cute smile and helped you pick up the box.

“I’m Nick by the way, Nick Mason.”

“Oh are you David’s band mate by any chance?” You remembered David saying that one of the guys you would be living with was named Nick.

“That’s right, you must be Y/N.” David was right, Nick was very friendly. The two of you carefully hauled the big box up the stairs to your apartment.

“It’s sort of a suite if you know what I mean. A living room and kitchen that connects with two bedrooms that have their own bathroom and two beds.” Nick tried his best to explain. “Well I guess I could just show you.” He took out a key and unlocked the door.

The apartment was exactly like what Nick had described. It was a bit sad looking but at least it came with a microwave and a small fridge. David and Roger had already arrived and started to unpack their stuff. They had chosen the room on the left side of the living room.

“Guess we’re sharing a room then.” Nick laughed awkwardly.

“That’s alright, David said Roger wasn’t all that friendly.” You said under your breath only loud enough for Nick to hear. Nick grinned and slid the box into your new room. It too was just as empty as the living room. There were two beds on either side of the room and a small bathroom.

“I call the bed near the window!” Nick said and flopped down on the bare mattress. You rolled your eyes and scooted the box near your bed. Opening it up you pulled out some blankets and sheets to put on the bed.

“Hey Y/N.” David said. He leaned in the doorway and watched you struggle to find the edges of the sheets.

“Hey David.” You turned to look at him. Behind him was a tall man with a rather interesting face.

“This is Roger, and I’m assuming you’ve already met Nick.”

“Yeah, he helped me carry some stuff in.” Nick smiled proudly to himself.

“Well I’m going to go get the rest of my stuff. I guess you can introduce yourself to these two.” You looked between Roger and Nick. They seemed alright, although Roger was a bit scary looking.

“So you guys are in a band.” You tried to make conversation.

“That’s right, it’s called Pink Floyd.” Roger informed you.

“David hadn’t told me a whole lot about you guys if I’m being honest.”

“Well he sort of uh…replaced our former lead singer, Syd.” Nick said.

“He was having a lot of issues with drug abuse and we were having a hard time working with him.”

“No hard feelings though.” Nick quickly added.

“Anyway, like David said I’m Roger the bassist. I also sing sometimes.” Roger struck you as a bit arrogant but you had expected that.

“I play the drums.” Nick said but he didn’t seem all that full of himself.

“Do you play any instruments Y/N?” Nick asked you. Roger had wandered off back to his room to unpack.

“I play piano but not much else.”

“Maybe I could teach you how to play the drums sometime.” You thought about it a moment.

“Maybe.” You giggled.

Nick had brought a suitcase but not much else. He had also packed a small box that he shoved under the bed.

“What’s that? If you don’t mind me asking.” Nick blushed a little and pulled the box out from under the bed.

“It’s um…..my hot wheels collection.” He opened the box to reveal a large collection of hot wheels.

“That’s so cool!” You plopped down on the floor next to him and looked at all of the cars.

“I use to love hot wheels cars.” You said excitedly.

“Really!?” Nick had the biggest smile on his face.

“Yeah, but I lost them all. You know moving around and all.”

“Well Ive been collecting them for years. It’s just embarrassing to have toys at my age don’t you think?”

“No not at all.” You gave him a reassuring smile.

“I think we’re going to be very good friends Y/N.”

After you and Nick had put all of the toy cars back, David burst in.

“Let’s go out and do something!” He exclaimed.

“Like what?” Nick asked.

“Let’s go see the new Monty Python movie!” Roger yelled from across the living room.

You all excitedly climbed into David’s car and drove to the theater. David and Roger were in the front and you and Nick sat in the back.

“Should we pick up Rick?” Nick asked.

“Nahhh.” Roger said.

So poor Rick didn’t get to go.

Meanwhile Nick admired the night sky through the car window. And you found yourself admiring Nick. He had the cutest nose and his hair looked so soft in the moonlight.

Wait! Why were you looking at Nick like that!? You had just met him. But…he was really cute you had to admit. Not to mention that he had been so sweet to you today. You thought back to what he had said earlier, “I think we’re going to be very good friends Y/N.” Right, just friends.

𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔸𝕚𝕣 - 𝔻𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕕 𝔾𝕚𝕝𝕞𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕩 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

CHAPTER 2

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Blue fabric and blond curls brushing against once youthful pounds of flesh. Once painless joints dance and fingers intertwinedas laughter erupts from the lungs of the two lovers. Crashed hotel rooms and half-burnt cigarettes combine with the smell of coffee cups that had been forgotten the moment that clothes had been tossed aside on the floor and short words of affection were exchanged. These memories are only fleeting in David’s mind as he grew older. He could see girls he had once loved flash before his eyes like static on a TV, only a few images were clear and once they were enjoyed they vanished back again into that special hell for unremarkable thoughts. Dirty thoughts, lustful ones that could drag him to that same hell with them if he didn’t shake them from his mind. But no matter how hard he tried he felt this overwhelming sense of distraction every time he saw her. Or rather every time he saw the tiny picture of that mysterious girl on her tiny plastic license. Her had every inch of her silhouette engraved into his mind but all he had to look at was that picture. It was grainy and the lighting was atrocious but he kept it safely in his pocket in case he saw her again, or in case he just felt like resting his eyes in something pretty.

Y/N couldn’t be more stressed. Not only had she been humiliated by some married asshole, but she had also embarrassed herself in front of a hot guy in the bathroom at the party last night, and to add to everything else, she had lost her driver's license. Technically she hadn’t needed it last night since she had gotten a taxi to take her to the party last night and then drive her home because she had assumed she’d be coming home drunk, but instead, she came home brokenhearted and without a very important little ID. At least she had come home alone. That had been the goal, right? Don’t hook up and get hurt but rather show the world that you can be a strong independent woman. She really showed all of those men working for various record labels, didn’t she?

It had been almost a week since David had seen her at the party that was set up for music producers to mingle with up-and-coming artists and discuss contracts as well as find members of successful bands who could mentor these young musicians. It hadn’t been the most eventful party but it had weighed heavily on David’s mind and the more he thought about her the worse the obsession became until finally, David decided that maybe this mysterious girl, whoever she was, probably needed her ID back asap. But how would he find her? He’d never seen her before and she seemed so nervous he doubted that she’d show back up at another party like that. Maybe he could ask around? But who would he ask? And how would he describe her? “Oh you know this really cute girl with the pretty hair and the pretty eyes and the great figure and shy personality?” Like that would make any sense to anyone but him. When he had first laid eyes on her he had wondered what he wanted from her. Sex? Company? Did he want to have her as just some hot girl to carry around and show off to executives? That was probably it knowing him, but now that she was gone he needed to find her to return her ID and this was David’s one chance to do something that might make her notice him. Then hopefully he would know her as an acquaintance at most. But deep down, maybe between his legs, he got the feeling that he wanted way more from her.

Y/N had dabbled in music since she was in elementary school when she had been pressured into playing the cello by her parents and despite hating it throughout middle school she was talented. It wasn’t until she began playing along with rock songs on her cello that she realized that the instrument was cool and something that she grew to enjoy. She loved playing covers of songs from bands like The Beatles, Creedence Clearwater Revival and Pink Floyd. Oh, how she adored Pink Floyd. She loved the album Animals since she was also a fan of the book Animal Farm and she had seen the movie for the Wall a couple of hundred times. She enjoyed the lyrics and music that had such depth to them that she could never duplicate. And then the band members were an obsession in and of itself. Her favorite members were probably Nick, Syd and David, god David was hot. Y/N wasn’t exactly in her youthful years anymore but she was pretty sure that all of the Pink Floyd members were old and wrinkly by now. Wait a minute, the older man that she has seen at the party, could he have been…the David Gilmour? He certainly had David’s gorgeous lips and eyes. But no, there was no way she could have been that lucky. She quickly jumped up and went to her computer to see what David looked like these days. *Click click* there he was, staring back at her from the other side of a screen, the David Gilmour, the same man that she had met in the bathroom doorway at a party.

David didn’t think that the girl he had been interested in, okay obsessed, had recognized him as a member of Pink Floyd. She did look a bit younger than him and maybe people her age just weren’t interested in classic rock the way they once were when he had joined the band. But even if she had recognized him she hadn’t said anything that had indicated she knew who he was. The reason he was falling down this thought process was because he had hoped that if she did recognize him she would be at the concert tonight so he could give her the ID that she had dropped at the party. Pink Floyd was currently on tour for their new album “The Division Bell” and if David had any hope of returning the license before he went far out of town to tour, she needed to be there. Maybe in passing, he should have introduced himself as a rock legend but he didn’t, seemed a bit egotistical at the time, but now it felt like a missed opportunity to meet up again. David wiped the sweat from his forehead and walked on stage. His heart sank when he looked out into the crowd but what was he expecting? For her to be on the front row screaming for his attention? Would he have climbed down off the stage and placed the card that had kept them connected for the past few weeks into her palm and gently closed her fingers around the piece of plastic so that she would never lose it again? But then he would lose her.

Tickets were so expensive but it was so worth it. Y/N pressed the rewind button on her CD player and listened intently as the opening piano notes played for “High Hopes” the 11th track on Pink Floyd’s new album “The Division Bell”. She had listened to the album over and over dancing to it, singing along and daydreaming about David. She had purchased tickets to the closest concert and was excitedly choosing what to wear. So what if her biggest goal in life was to stop hooking up with men she barely knew and developing feelings, if she came home with David Gilmour then that was better than accomplishing her goals.

David’s voice rippled through the crowd as instruments crashed and hummed all around him, flying past his ears and into the crowd who screamed for more. But his now watering eyes weren’t focused on the crowd but rather on the girl who stood just a few rows back from the stage. Her hair flew in the wind and her smile beamed up at him as he sang. It had to be her.

Y/N sighed and pressed rewind again in her CD player. Track two pounding the words “What do you want from me” along to the beat of her pounding migraine. It was too early to be waking up and getting all dressed up for another day. She stumbled to the bathroom and sat down on the cold porcelain toilet. The year was 2003 and Y/N was well past her youth. About ten years ago she still had the energy to go out, party and pick up men. She still had the strength to scream along at concerts and sneak backstage just as she had done at the concert where she had officially met the man of her dreams. It hadn’t been the first time they had seen each other, no the first time she had seen him was in the bathroom doorway of a smoke-filled room, but at that concert when their eyes had met and he had flashed a little white card at her, she knew he was the one and that she would never need to worry about being heartbroken again.

David waved the little card for just a second and winked at the girl. When he saw her blush and look down, he knew, he’d never have to put his love on the air again.