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staticscreenwriting · 3 years

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LOVE LIKE THE MOVIES // BUCKY BARNES

TWO - Grease 1 & 2

Masterlist

Summary: This is a story of boy meets girl. The boy, Bucky Barnes, finds himself thrown into a world that seems so different from everything he’s ever known. The girl, (Y/N) knows entirely too much about rom-coms and is quite particular about the way she eats her popcorn. Bucky meets (Y/N) a few months after returning to NYC. He knows almost immediately that becoming her friend is inevitable. This is a story of boy meets girl. This is a story about love. (Bucky Barnes x female!Reader // a few spoilers for TFATWS)

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

“ I made a friend. “

Dr. Raynor doesn’t look up from her notebook but the slightly surprised raise of her eyebrow doesn’t get lost on Bucky.

“ Thought you might want to know. “

She stops writing for a second and glances up at him, her eyes holding a certain sense of hesitation and reluctance. He can almost see the gears in her head turning. She’s trying to get one step ahead of him, figure out what smartass comment he’ll throw at her. Only this time there isn’t one. This time it’s all genuine. It’s all true.

“ I do. That’s — good. Where’s the catch? “

“ There’s no catch. I made a new friend, just like that. And it’s not some making amends thing either. “

She closes her notebook, places it on the table to her right, and then folds her hands in her lap the way she does sometimes when Bucky knows he’s said something important. He has her entire and undivided attention.

“ That’s good, James. Tell me more about this friend. “

“ Her name is (Y/N). She’s a waitress and she’s really into movies. “

“ Oh. “

“ Oh? “

“ It’s a woman. “

“ Yeah it’s a woman, is that a problem? “ Bucky asks. Now it’s time for him to raise an eyebrow in question.

“ No. It’s not. I just didn’t expect it. “

“ Are you saying men and women can’t be friends? That’s awfully antiquated thinking, Doc. Have you ever seen when Harry met Sally? “

“ I have. Have you?”

Bucky scoffs as if the question is an insult to his intelligence.

“ Sure. It’s a classic. “

He hits her with a sarcastic grin, the one he knows she hates. The one she knows is fake and fabricated but that allows him to be unreadable to her for just a second.

“ Well then. I’m glad you’re making friends. It’s a big step, James. But I don’t want you to get attached to someone because you think that’s gonna make you get out of this arrangement any sooner, “ she says and motions her finger around the room in a twirling motion. “ It’s a more permanent situation. I hope you are aware of that.”

Eyes averted to the floor, Bucky nods his head in understanding.

“ I know. That’s not the reason. I — she knows me. Knows about me before all of the bad stuff. In her eyes, I am the man I used to be before Hydra. It’s nice to go back to that even if it’s not the truth. (Y/N) gives me a chance to figure out who I am right now without being reminded of all the bad things I did. “

When he looks back up Dr. Reynor regards him with a look he’s never seen before. Softer. She even smiles a little bit and he hardly ever sees her smile. Granted, he doesn't make these sessions easy for her so what does he expect really? Her smiling at him feels like he’s doing something right.

“ She sounds lovely. “

“ She talks so much and she sends me weird videos I don’t understand. Like, yesterday she sent me one of a kid saying he’s 19 and he can’t read and — I have no idea what it meant. And she makes fun of me for having a flip phone. But it’s not mean-spirited or anything. She doesn’t make me feel left out. Doesn’t make me feel stupid. “

“ Anything else you know about her? “

“ Her coffee tastes horrible. “

Dr. Reynor lets out an airy chuckle. “ James, I like the fact that you’re making friends. We all need friends, especially during times when we feel like we’re lost or have no direction in life. And it sounds like this friendship is good for you. “

“ But? “

“ Why do you think there’s a but ? “

“ There always is. “

She regards him for a second then nods slightly. “ You’re right. But it’s not a bad one. Listen, it seems like this woman knows a lot about who you used to be. How about you learn a little more about her? Even the playing field. A friendship is based on mutual understanding and trust. That’s my homework for you. Get to know her better. “

“ Your homework is for me to spend time with a friend? “

“ Yes. Now that doesn’t sound so bad, does it? “

Bucky shakes his head in reply.

No, that really doesn’t sound all that bad.

The bell above the door chimes as Bucky steps inside the diner. It’s quite a bit more crowded than the last time he’s been here.

“ Grumpy!”

His head snaps towards the counter at the enthusiastic exclamation of his new nickname.

(Y/N) stands behind the counter clad in the diner’s signature baby blue polo shirt, a pencil tugged behind her ears, and a frilly apron wrapped around her waist.

Her lips pull into a smile as he approaches and plops down onto one of the barstools.

“ You have impeccable timing, Grumpy.”

“ I guess that’s gonna stick? “

(Y/N) only nods her head in agreement, eyes full of mischief and determination. There’s no sense in arguing about this topic. That’s one nickname set in stone now. And really, it’s not like it doesn’t fit him.

“ I have something for you. “

“ You do? “

“ Well it’s not technically for you specifically but I need someone to try it so — “

Before he can even react she rushes back into the kitchen, her sneakers creating squeaking sounds on the shiny linoleum floor.

“ Do you want some coffee? “ the other waitress approaches, holding out the pot filled with the dark brew. It smells warm and delicious and Bucky wants to say yes until he remembers the last time he’s had coffee here and how bitter and burned it had been. And how he drank it anyway because he couldn’t bear to let (Y/N) know that her coffee was horrible.

“ Don’t worry, “ the waitress speaks up again, obviously picking up on Bucky’s complicated feelings towards the diner’s coffee “ I made it. Won’t let her near the pot when I’m around.”

“ In that case, please. “

Just as the mug fills with coffee, (Y/N) comes back tumbling around the corner and out of the kitchen. She leans against the counter, next to the red-haired waitress, and plops a Tupperware container in front of Bucky.

“ Try these and tell me what you think. “

Bucky takes a sip of his coffee before slowly opening the container to be greeted by a pile of cookies, of all shapes and sizes, no two quite the same.

“ Cookies? “

“ Eat one! “

“ Whoa, hold up.” Bucky exclaims as he raises his hands in mock defense. “ this sounds awfully suspicious to me. Are you trying to pull a Snow White on me here? “

(Y/N) eyes grow big and the most radiant smile spreads across her face at his words.

“ You made a pop culture reference!”

“ Saw it in the cinema. “

“ No way.”

“ Mmmh. With my sister.”

“ I just decided I love it when you make pop culture references. “

“ Noted.”

“ Okay, so since no one thinks it’s important to introduce me, let me do it myself,” the red-haired waitress chimes in and holds out her hand for Bucky to shake. He can see her eyebrows furrow a little as she notices his gloves. It’s not yet cold enough for people to not wonder about it. They know something ain’t right with him and he hates it. Wishes they’d just disregard it. Act like it’s a completely normal and feasible thing.

“ I’m Robin, (Y/N)’s best friend. “

“ I’m Bucky. Hopefully, not the first victim of (Y/N)’s poisoning.”

“ Oh, how arrogant of you to assume you’d be the first. If you don’t want my cookies, give ‘em back !”

(Y/N) tries to reach across the counter only for Bucky to snatch the container away holding it out of her reach. “ You gave me the cookies, you can’t take them back. That’s not how gifts work.”

“ Then try one for god’s sake! “

“ Alright, calm down. I will. “

He hates the fact that both (Y/N) and Robin are staring at him as he takes a bite of one of the cookies. The whole thing is almost the size of his face and littered with chocolate chips. It’s a damn mess of a cookie and he’d loved to have been there when she made them. No doubt it was chaos. No doubt it was an awful lot of fun too.

The cookie is — a lot. It’s too much sugar, too much chocolate. Too much of everything. He can practically feel the cavities building with every bite he takes. It’s that sweet.

But she looks at him with such glee in her eyes and this big beautiful smile that rivals the sun with its brightness and there’s no way in hell he can tell her the truth. Not when lying about it keeps that smile on her face.

Quite honestly, ��Bucky thinks, life isn’t about telling the truth at all times. Sometimes, life is about knowing when to use your little white lies. Sometimes telling the truth isn’t doing anyone any favor.

“ So ? “

“ They’re — sweet.”

And they are. So really, it isn’t even an actual lie after all.

“ Good. They’re supposed to be. You see, I have a date tomorrow and I asked him what his favorite dessert was and he said cookies. I’m not sure they count as a dessert but anyway. Thanks for being my guinea pig. “

Robin throws him a look over (Y/N)’s shoulder. A look that lets him know she’s not buying it. She’s looking right through him. But she smiles so maybe she too realizes that sometimes lying saves everyone the heartache that may come with the truth.

“ You have a date? “

“ I do. His name is Russell, we’ve been hanging out for a while but he had to go to Europe for work and we haven’t seen each other in a few months. It was never anything serious, kind of a wrong place, wrong time thing. But maybe this time it works. “

“ Oh please, “ Robin exclaims, furiously slamming the pot back into the coffee machine. “ This loser has been stringing you along for far too long now. He’s not worth it. Trust me you can do so much better than him. “

There’s something about the way (Y/N) mood changes, the way she falters, that Bucky doesn’t like. Not even a tiny little bit. It’s a split second, just the whisper of a moment and then she’s back to her joking, bubbly self. But that tiny second is enough. Enough for Bucky to know he never wants to see it again. The doubt and hurt fluttering across her eyes. He’s seen too much hurt in too many eyes. It’s never getting any easier. It just makes him realize how much he hates seeing it in hers.

“ Ignore the crazy lady, he’s not that bad.” (Y/N) tries to reason, though the light and airy tone in her voice doesn’t sound quite as convincing as it usually does.

“ He refuses to put a label on your relationship and he treats you like you’re disposable. “

“ Sounds like a catch, is this the one with the fish picture or the one with the star wars facts? “ Bucky asks, biting off yet another piece of the tooth-achingly sweet cookie.

“ Neither. We met while walking our dogs. He’s nice, really. “

“ Sounds like it. “

“ He is. Robin over there just thinks she’s the expert on romance because she’s about to get married. Don’t believe a thing she says. Her own fairytale romance makes her blind to other people’s romantic struggles. “

Robin shakes her head in disagreement, making her red curls bounce with each motion. “ You’re a big girl, you know what you’re doing. I’m just calling things as I see them. Anyway, I gotta serve table 4.”

Silence falls upon them as Robin leaves to tend to the customers and (Y/N) averts her eyes back towards the countertop.

“ Hey, “ Bucky speaks up, getting (Y/N) to look up and meet his eyes. “ I hope the date turns out well for you, you deserve that. And if it doesn’t, just text me and we can watch another movie or something. “

“ You’d do that for me? “

“ Yeah. Sure. It’s what friends do. We’re friends now — right ? “

(Y/N) smiles “ right!”

And it’s nice, Bucky thinks, to have a friend again. Even though it’s all new and fresh, it feels wonderful. Like a tiny bit of weight has been taken from his shoulders. Like he can take a breath for the first time in a long time.

Joe’s Pizzaria is an American restaurant that tries desperately to trick Americans into thinking it’s an authentic Italian restaurant.

And while it does have a certain undeniable charm, (Y/N) gets a bit tired of chomping down on yet another breadstick while staring at the red and white checkered tablecloth and pretending not to grasp the gravity of the situation. He’s not gonna come. He’s two hours late. Two whole hours. Half a bottle of wine and one salad late. The waiters pity her, it’s painfully obvious. The way they keep checking on her, keep asking if there’s anything they can bring her. Keep filling her breadstick with no upcharge.

Pity, (Y/N) thinks, is her least favorite emotion. It doesn’t do anyone any good and in the end, everyone just feels worse.

A "ping" coming from her phone pulls (Y/N) from her thoughts and for a teeny-tiny second a flicker of hope sparks in her heart that maybe Russell is just late and this is him apologizing and explaining. Maybe she was worth it to him after all.

Then her eyes register the name on the screen and disappointment fills her veins. Does he really not care? Does she really mean so little to him, he doesn't even feel the need to cancel the date? Is this some sick joke?

Bucky's message reads: Hope you're having fun. Did he like the cookies?

It's a weird feeling, to know someone she hasn't known for very long wastes even the smallest thought on her while her date doesn't give a shit. All it does is set into perspective that her blossoming friendship with Bucky is worth any effort it might take.

"Don't ask. Hey, what are you doing right now?"

"Oh, that bad? Not much. Trying to figure out what to have for dinner. Why?"

"How do you feel about spaghetti and meatballs?"

He doesn’t have a couch.

That’s the one thought that spooks around his head as soon as he realizes what he’s just agreed to.

He’s been living here for months and he doesn’t even have a fucking couch.

When (Y/N) asked if she could come around, when she said she’d bring food and asked if her dog could come, he couldn’t say no. Not when she's already been stood up that night. Nevertheless, everything inside him starts twisting up in knots at the thought of opening his home to another person. Home. That’s really the problem now that he thinks about it. This place doesn’t feel like a home. It’s 4 walls and a roof. Nothing has felt like home in a long time.

He invited her over and he doesn’t even have a fucking couch.

There’s a TV and an armchair, a few cupboards, a chair, and a bed he doesn’t sleep in. Sometimes he thinks back to his childhood home, with all his mother's porcelain figurines collecting dust on the shelves and the wall of family pictures. It felt warm and cozy and like it was meant for people to live and learn and grow. It was their own.

This apartment is a box for him to stay at. Nothing here is in any way personal. But how do you make something your own when you don’t even know who you really are? When all you remember are times long gone or times you want to forget.

He snatches the sheets and pillow off the floor and throws them on his bed. He might not be able to get any more furniture in time for (Y/N) to arrive but he sure as hell doesn’t need to let her know that his nightmares don’t allow him to sleep in his own damn bed.

A knock sounds from the front door and for a second, Bucky’s blood turns cold as ice. No one ever talks about how scary it is to let people in. Would it matter to her and their friendship that his apartment is just as empty as he feels inside?

As soon as he opens the door, a fluffy bundle of white and brown fur rushes past him and runs a lap around his living room before settling by his feet, tail wagging and tongue hanging from his mouth.

“ Oh god, sorry. She’s just so excited to meet new people. “

Giving the dog a few pets, Bucky turns back to (Y/N), who gives him one of her signature sunshine smiles as she holds out a paper bag to him. The smell of delicious food reaches Bucky’s nose as he takes the bag from her and ushers her inside.

“ So, Spaghetti? “

“ Yup. And meatballs. “

Bucky nods his head in approval, “ Sounds good to me. “

She smiles at him again but there’s a kind of sadness surrounding her that he wishes he could take away. Whoever that Russell guy is, he’s a damn fool for not showing up.

“ Food’s still warm so if you tell me where your plates are … “ (Y/N) trails off as she really takes in the state of his apartment for the first time since she’s stepped inside. He can basically see the thoughts running through her head, one after the other, none sticking around long enough to form a coherent string of words to express what she’s thinking. He knows she wants to comment, can see it in her eyes. But something is holding her back and he can’t blame her. Their friendship isn’t that deep yet. You don’t ask someone you’ve just gotten friendly with why their apartment is so fucking empty. It’s sad and there are implications there that run deeper than one can see.

So to spare her any more awkward silence, Bucky speaks up again.

“ I uh — I just moved in. Haven’t gotten around to getting much furniture. We can sit by the kitchen counter or you can take the armchair and I’ll take the floor. “

“ That’s fine, we’ll make it work, “ she replies, before turning towards the kitchen cupboards, “ now … plates ?”

“ This is delicious “ Bucky exclaims as he stuffs yet another fork of Spaghetti into his mouth.

Lady, (Y/N)'s Cocker Spaniel, casually lounges on his armchair, eyes always trained on the dishes of pasta, while Bucky and (Y/N) sit on the floor, backs against the wall.

“ Right? I love Meatballs. Last time I was at Joe’s Pizzeria, I was there with Russell and he got real pretentious about not ordering Spaghetti and Meatballs from an Italian restaurant because it wasn’t authentic Italian cuisine. As if I care. It tastes good, that’s all that matters.”

“ Well, he really does sound better with every new thing you tell me about him.”

(Y/N) shrugs and avoids eye contact with him. It’s strange, Bucky thinks, to see her this way. All of her bubbly personality and contagious energy are suddenly drained from her. Like someone squeezed her too tightly and pushed all the joy out.

“ Yeah he’s an asshole, I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess whatever we had going on just felt familiar and sometimes going back to something you know, even though it’s bad for you, is easier than opening yourself to something new. “

“ Wow, my therapist would love you. That sounded so smart.”

“ It did, didn’t it?,” (Y/N) says and lets out a little chuckle. It’s nice to hear her laugh even though it doesn’t hold the radiance, the pure happiness it usually does.

“She gave me some homework.”

(Y/N) looks at Bucky between bites, raising an eyebrow in intrigue. “ She did? “

“ Mmmh. I told her about you and our friendship and she thought that, because you know a lot about me, I should learn some things about you. “

(Y/N) quickly swallows the pasta before placing both her hands over her heart and staring at Bucky with an expression he can’t entirely read. There’s a glimmer of mischief in her eyes but there’s more, he just needs to figure out what exactly it is.

“ You talk to your therapist about me? Awww. That’s how you know a friendship is worthwhile. When they mention you to their therapist, that’s when you know it’s real. “

“ Aw man, now you’re just making fun of me. I take it all back. “

“ No! No, Bucky. I think that’s very sweet and it makes me feel important,” there’s a sincerity in her eyes that makes him feel a little weird. Not a bad weird. Just — different. He didn’t think this was gonna be such a big deal to her. And while he still feels extremely self-conscious about it all, he’s a little glad that he mentioned her to Dr. Reynor. Maybe it would do both of them some good, him and (Y/N).

“ It’s nice that our new friendship matters enough for you to mention it to her. Getting stood up by Russell felt like a punch in the guts. It made me feel incredibly inadequate and like I wasn’t worth enough for him to text me let alone show up. Knowing that there’s someone who thinks about me every once in a while, that’s a nice feeling. Least my friends think I’m worth it. "

Hearing those words fall from her lips sends a wave of anger and disbelief through Bucky. (Y/N) is the first person in a long while that makes him feel like he can figure out who he is and who he was and not feel guilty about it. To think she feels inadequate or like she's not good enough is just unbelievable to him.

"Just forget about that guy, he's clearly an idiot. You deserve someone who shows up. When it matters and even when it doesn't. "

"He didn't even get to try my cookies. I worked so hard on them."

"What? Oh my god, okay see - he's a damn fool. Those cookies were - so sweet. His loss, really."

(Y/N)'s laughter echoes through the halls of his empty apartment and Bucky thinks that maybe that was one of the things missing from this place to really make it a home. Emotions. Laughter and joy. Something other than fear and regret. Something other than pain.

“ Bucky, you’re so nice but you don’t have to lie. I know the cookies weren’t all that great. “

“ No! They were good, they were just — very sweet. And you know what? You deserve a guy who eats them anyway.”

She doesn’t give him a reply to that comment and maybe it doesn’t ask for one either. Some statements don’t need answers, they just are.

“ Hey, do you want my last meatball? “ he asks, and at her smile and enthusiastic nod, he rolls it from his plate onto hers.

“ Now what movie did you bring? “

“ Oh boy, “ (Y/N) proclaims and looks at Bucky with an unwavering excitement “ you’re in for a wild ride. Tonight we’re doing a double feature.”

“ Bringing the big guns, huh? “

“ You have no idea. Tonight we’re watching Grease 1 and 2. “

Two couples stare back at Bucky from the bubblegum-colored DVD case (Y/N) pulls from her purse. Something about the bright colors and the over-the-top hairstyles makes Bucky think that these movies won’t be the absolute pinnacle of sophisticated filmmaking.

“ What’s the lesson this time?“

“ Eh, “ (Y/N) says and shrugs “ when I was younger I thought it was meant to teach you that if you want to be with someone you can overcome any obstacle. No matter how different you seem or what other people might think. Now that I’m an adult I think it’s just about the 50s aesthetic and the killer musical number. “

“ Musical numbers? “

“ Mmmh. And well, the second one is pure garbage but it’s so bad it’s good. It also helps that Michelle Pfeiffer and Maxwell Caulfield look absolutely gorgeous in this film. “

“ So this isn’t gonna help me with my romance skills then? “

(Y/N) regards him for a second, purses her lips, and taps the side of her face as she thinks about her answer. “ I mean, the second movie is basically about how cool men who ride motorcycles are. Do you ride a motorcycle? “

“ I do actually. “

“ What? Oh, you just got 10 times cooler. One could say you’re a — cool rider.”

Bucky furrows his eyebrow in confusion.

“ Don’t worry, Grumpy. You’ll get the reference later.”

“ If I’m Grumpy, which of the 7 dwarves are you? “

“ Sleepy? “

“ Dopey? “

“ No. How about Happy ?”

It’s meant to be silly, just a joke really, but Bucky can’t help but think that it fits her. Even when she’s sad, there’s an infinite positivity in her eyes, an aura of joy and happiness and being around her is just so easy.

“ You know what? I think that’s the one. “

“ I like it. Now — let me introduce you to the students of Rydell High.”

“ What in the world did you just make me watch? “ Bucky asks as the end credits to Grease 2 roll across the tv screen. Lady is snuggled up in his lap and his right hand lazily combs through her soft fur.

“ Two absolute masterpieces. “

“ In the first one they flew away in a car. And that second one, I don’t even know what to say.”

“ Because it was so good? “

“ Mmmmh no. That's not why. “

"Oh please, you can admit you l-" a big yawn interrupts her words and Bucky notices just how tired she looks right then.

"You're tired." It's not a question, more an observation.

"Mmmh Lady and I should probably head out."

He doesn't want her to leave. Disappointment, it's a feeling he knows very well, it's familiar and almost comfortable. Usually, though, that disappointment is directed towards himself. A lovely dose of self-deprecation. This time it's different. This time he's disappointed about the situation. About the prospect of being alone again. Alone in his empty box of an apartment.

The anxiety of letting someone in is slowly being overshadowed by his fear of being alone again. With his thoughts and his failures and the images of all the faces that have ever looked at him in fear.

"You can stay"

"Bucky … you don't have a couch. Where would I sleep?"

"Bed," he says as if it's the most obvious of all answers ever given.

"Grumpy, I'm not taking your bed."

"I'm not sleeping there anyway."

"Why?"

Her eyes are so soft and gentle as the question tumbles from her lips. So full of concern. For him. Concern and care, for him. It's not like he deserves it but it's a nice feeling either way.

"It's too soft."

It's painfully obvious that she knows there's more to it, that his words hold more gravity and weight than just that simple fact.

She doesn’t push it though and for that Bucky is eternally grateful. Sure, talking to her is easy and it helps him in some way or another. But this, his nightmares and his trauma and the faces that won't leave his thoughts, that haunt him as soon as he falls asleep, that's a can of worms he's not ready to open yet.

"Where do you sleep?"

"Floor."

"Oh, Grumpy. Hey uh - how about we both stay on the floor? You're in luck too because I also have a live version of Grease the musical we can watch."

He doesn't necessarily want to watch another movie where they sing pretty much every two minutes but if it means she'll stay, he'll do it.

" Okay then."

"Okay."

That night, Bucky sleeps on the floor just like he does every night only this time there's a friend with him just a few meters away , close enough but not suffocating, and a dog resting on his chest, softly breathing gentle breaths.

That night Bucky sleeps on the floor just like he does every night only this night, there are no nightmares.

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ssdescendantsau · 4 years

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Chapter 1

Remus wanders around in silence, his makeshift morningstar slung over his shoulder, the nails digging into his shoulder. The world is too loud today, the clamour around him rising into a crescendo that grates against his ears. Maybe he could find something to steal or someone to fight so that everything would just shut up for one fucking second. Well, at least Remus lost his pursuers from the mindless fight he was just in. That was a good enough distaction. The only thing for Remus to do in the still air was talk to himself.

“You smash your morningstar in one person’s face and now the whole group is after you. Sounds petty in my opinion.”

Or well, makeshift morningstar and less like an iron mace-like weapon that it normally would be. It was more a block of wood stuck to the end of an iron pipe with a shit ton of nails pounded into the wood. A rustling sound whistled through the air, a flash of gold briefly spotted in the corner of Remus’s eye.

“From my perspective it sounds like you’re being the petty one.”

Turning around, Remus’ eyes land on a figure nestled in the shadows, another teenager by the sound of his voice. The darkness hides everything except for a distinctive glittering golden eye.

“Hi Dee~ How ya doing?”

‘Dee’, or Janus “Deceit” of Agrabah was the trader on the Isle, usually coming along with a trinket or item stolen from someone else’s pockets. A thing for another thing, a favor for Remus to fulfill later down the line in exchange for something shiny, but useless. That’s usually how these trades went.

“Alright, managed to nab a few things that might catch your eye. A favor would be nice, I’m planning on robbing this one guy and might want your help,” Dee pauses, mulling over his next words.“I just came to tell you about Maleficent's goons. Seems they’re looking for you.” He almost sounds worried. Mom huh, well at least let’s just hope it’s not because I did something stupid. Again.

“Ugh can’t Mother do her own dirty work for once?” Remus grumbles, turning around to find Dee gone. “Fine, I'll just get the stuff later then. Sneaky noodle always fades into the shadows thinking he’s cool and edgy.”

A faint hiss of air draws Remus’s attention to a small alleyway to his right, a perfect alleyway for hiding a body. He does remember a similar alleyway that one time that he hid a corpse, he doesn’t really like or want to think about that stuff.

Turning the corner he finds Virgil de Vil, the resident “artist” and the only one on the Island to wear all black, spraying something on the wall. The jacket was new though, the purple sleeves being a lovely addition along with the skull design on Virgil’s mask.

“Huh, well if it isn’t Virgie,” Remus drawls, moving forward to sling his arm around Virgie’s shoulders.

“First of all, it’s Virgil, not Virgie.”

Remus raises an eyebrow. “Uh huh.”

“Second of all” Virgil turns to look at Remus “I'm currently working on something. What do you think, some purple or red?”

Remus glances at the spray paint on the wall, moving away from his previous position. The artwork forming a purple stormcloud on a green background. “Lilac-blue, makes the green pop out more.”

“Hm.” A quick nod of reassurance from Virgil and Remus moves next to him, plopping onto the dingy ground of the space. A thin silence hangs in the air only interrupted by the sound of Virgil’s spray cans.

“Have you ever thought about getting off this dump?” Remus doesn’t know why he said it in the first place, the question already forming before he can stop himself.

“Out of this cage? Sorry, but we’re always gonna be locked away with the “villians” in this fucked up world.”

“Of course,” Remus sighs, because this place was a death sentence in and of itself. “Forget it.” Nobody was coming to save the rejects of the world. That feeling was back, buzzing underneath his skin. So Remus did the only thing he could think of, he acted on impulse, quickly grabbing Virgil’s hand and running off with him in tow.

“Remus, no!” It was too late for Virgil to protest though.

“Remus yes.”

Whatever chaos that Remus wanted to create was quickly stopped as both of their bodies collided into an unmoving wall,black suits and sunglasses filling the frame of his vision. The only ones who dressed like here were his mom’s goons because they needed to be “presentable”. Her words not his.

“Maleficent wants to see you,” Goon #1 rumbles.

He hates these stupid lackeys. Mom sends them because she couldn’t care enough about her own kid to meet in person. Instead, it made him feel like he was twelve again, like a kid who was always getting in trouble for being too ‘much’. He can’t really protest though as Goon #1 grabs both him and Virgil.

He passes by beggars and kids with ratty clothes, crammed like sardines on this floating rock. Briefly, he passes by a mom pulling her kid with a makeshift cart and a scrawny teenager his age skimming through the crowd, most likely a pickpocket. After all, there’s no guarantee that your business will get food on the table. Remus remembers the first time that he got pickpocketed, broke the kid’s fingers for even trying. The regret came later, when the drone of bitterness and apathy left his system.

Remus watches as his “home” comes into view. It was supposed to be a fortress but it resembled a cardboard castle more than anything, ready to topple over at the slightest breeze. A building to play pretend in, Remus thinks bitterly so that everything would be ‘just like it was before’. He’s heard enough about “the glory days” from his mom to get an idea. Pushed through the entrance, Remus stares at his mom standing at the front of the room.

Looking around, Dee and the island's resident “heartbreaker” Remy, were also there with their own personal “goons” hovering over their shoulders. Remy’s sunglasses and plain leather jacket were kept clean enough as if he actually cared about his appearance. He is the kid on the Island most known from the stories gathered from his various flings. Nobody said anything at first, instead dissolving into a tense silence broken by his mom.

“Janus, Remy, Virgil and you will be going to Auradon.” Maleficent announced to the room, her gaze lingering on Remus as if to say Don’t mess this up.

“I’m sorry but, what?” Virgil splutters.

Remus looks around the room to the rest of the three kids as if to ask she’s not joking right? briefly locking eyes with a panicking Virgil.

Janus spoke up, his panicked eyes looking everywhere except for the people in the room.“I’m gonna have to agree with Virgil on this one, why the hell are we going over to those stuck-up pricks?”

“Well the Prince has made a new decree, the soft-hearted fool. You four will be attending Auridon Prep,” Her tone was detached, leaving no room for negotiations or arguement. It was Remy to first act on his impulses, blurting out the first thing that came to his mind.

“Oh, fuck no. I’m not going to be surrounded by assholes more than I need to be, ” Remy said, arms crossed and glancing off to the side.

“This is an opportunity for you. You will sneak straight into those royal’s hearts and steal Fairy Godmother’s wand in the process using, of course, the generous gifts bestowed upon you by your parents that will hopefully not go to waste. Then you’ll release the barrier and evil will spread along the land, a perfect place for us to rule.”

Remus ignores that hopeful twist in his stomach that maybe, this will prove something to her. That maybe he can be a good enough son for her.

“You don’t have much of a choice. Especially considering that your ride is going to be here soon,” the Evil Queen snapped at Remy. Quickly rifling through her pockets, she quickly took out a small mirror “Now, here is my magic mirror.” Remy stares at the small glass hand mirror in her hand, “It’s not what it used to be sadly, but it should be useful,” Remy takes the small mirror in his hands and tucks it into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“And please, get some sleep while you’re at it. Those eyebags of yours are making you uglier than you already are.”

“Yes Mother,” Remy muttered.

“Now let me see,” Mom mutters to herself, rifling through what appears to be an old cupboard as she fishes out a tattered old book, worn down from use. Turning over to Remus, she holds out the book.

“Here. This is my spellbook.” Remus gingerly picks up the spellbook from her hand.

As Remus is leaving he hears snippets of conversation from the other kid’s parents and their farewells.

“Remember Janus, lying is always the best solution” Jafar quickly tells Janus

“And always look out for yourself” Janus echoes back tonelessly, as if it were a mantra he’s heard a dozen times before.

“I’ll miss you Virgil.” Cruella puts a hand to her heart with a pout

“Really?” Virgil looks almost hopeful in those small minutes, a shine of maybe a little bit of softness in his expression

“Who else will take care of my beautiful coats.” Cruella doesn’t notice how Virgil deflates at her last sentence

“Right” Virgil scoffs to himself, his expression closing off like a set of iron gates slammed shut in front of his eyes.

Mom sharply turns to the rest of the VK’s in front of her.

“Now move along, there’s a wand to steal.”

The rest of the teenagers were shuffled out of the room to their “ride” sitting outside the fortress. A sleek black vehicle sits outside, gleaming under the sun and unbelievingly long. Maleficent clutches Remus’s arm as he’s leaving, her fingernails leaving indents in his skin.

”You better not mess this up.” Mom says through gritted teeth.

Looking at the limousine, Remus steps forward. I can make mom proud of me Remus thinks, an opportunity of a lifetime. It doesn’t stop the dread forming in his stomach.

Ao3 link

#remus sanders #virgil sanders #remy sanders #janus sanders #ts deciet #maleficent #Evil Queen #Jafar #Cruella de Vil #mentions of murder #mentions of child abuse #descendants #sanders sides

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ghostmartyr · 7 years

Text

Fic: untitled prologue of a thing

Usually I post fic segments with what amounts to a list of ingredients up top, but I don’t want too much formality getting in the way of the first post of this project (which is why that title for the post is allowed to exist).

This story is a long time coming, and I’m really excited about it. It’s a For Want of a Nail AU doubling as a Bodyguard AU, featuring Queen Ymir and Historia as the captain of her royal guard. Shippiness ensues. ...Eventually.

For the prologue, only one part of that description comes close to mattering, but hopefully it’s still its own kind of fun.

Ymir’s not really the complaining type.

On the streets, the louder you whined about how much life sucked for you, the louder the screams when a bunch of helpful people got to making it suck a lot more. That was before they started asking about your blood. If uniforms were involved, there wasn’t much of an after.

With the old man, it was even simpler. There was no way in hell she was going to complain about having a decent pair of shoes instead of counting on last week’s layer of mud to keep her feet from getting scraped up.

A few months ago, she wasn’t awake enough to consider the option.

Now is a bit different from any of those times. Locked up under a few tons of rock and dirt, hidden away from everything she never cared about, and passing the hours counting the same cracks in the stone under her feet, she’s starting to think a bit on the value of telling people where to shove it. Goddesses can’t say things like that, but maybe whatever she is now can. Maybe whatever she now wants to, even if that doesn’t make a lick of good sense. She’s had worse. Been worse, too. All it takes is closing her eyes the wrong second and the rampaging monster comes back, hunger and heaving breaths bearing down on anything stupid enough to get near her.

A real prison isn’t so bad after all that. The only people down here she has to worry about killing are the tools outside her cell who look at her like those days never really ended. She gets a fresh blanket every once in a while, and they’re good about keeping her fed. Back in her first life, the cuffs around her hands would have slipped right off by now.

Maybe that’s the point, but she’s definitely not getting on their case over that. Add a few windows, and it’s about as cozy as any home she dreamt up as a kid. Especially now that no one cares what’s inside her head. Interrogators haven’t bothered with her in a while. The weirdos who kept dragging her off for experiments haven’t, either, and it’s a bit pathetic that she’s disappointed over that. The air outside her cage isn’t any fresher, and the cuffs are even tighter.

She needed a break. She’s too young to have sixty years of problems, and every second people talk to her down here, she can feel more years piling on. Hiding away from everything isn’t the worst thing for her. Even if it means no more stars.

Or grass.

Trees.

Anything interesting at all.

The point is, complaining isn’t going to change any of it. She doesn’t know what will, and maybe she doesn’t want to care about that right now, but mouthing off could get her into a place where she doesn’t ever get a new blanket.

But it’s been months. A few weeks now with no guards. Once a day someone runs down and skids her food under the bars, then runs back to whatever more important things they’ve got going with a look like the old Ymir’s chasing down their tail.

Months and weeks and years, and now there’s this.

She can smell it, wafting down the spooky corridor. Smoked and heavy, the stench curls through the air, teasing the chance for each breath to catch the heavenly scent. Meat. Hunger has her mouth watering, and each swallow wrestles with the bile fighting its way up. Her hands are damp and limp, and her chains jangle loudly when she tries to wipe them off on her shirt.

They’re still normal hands, which is cool. Small enough that cracking a few heads open would take some work. She’s probably a bad person for thinking of which few heads she’d go for first, but they did throw her in prison.

Not that she’d usually complain about that.

Ymir rips herself up off her cot and marches the few steps she can walk over to the bars.

“Hey!” she shouts down the creepy hall with its creepy mood smells. “You want to deal with something your size, get on over here before I go for the raw food instead!”

Her teeth clack together in the echo. Because she’s pissed and gritting them. That’s rage her tiny hands are shaking with, too. She’s graduated from goddess to unholy terror, and if someone wants to mess with her, they should think twice and take their stupid cooking out of her hole.

She counts her heartbeats waiting for some sign of life outside her cell. The flicker of torchlight doesn’t count today. She gets to about twenty before her ears catch something new.

Footsteps. The same tromping kind that show up whenever the guards are around to check on her instead of sort of looking nearby the cell and running back the way they came before she gets so much as a hello. Goody.

Smoke’s following them. Ymir used up all her luck not dying when she was killed, so that’s not really a surprise. Her inconsolable rage tightens her jaw a bit more. The shadow of a person hits the bit of wall leading up to her cell. Definitely carrying something.

When color enters the scene, Ymir allows that some of the gnawing in her stomach might have something to do with dread. If the tall blond soldier notices anything, and he does, because she’s been down here long enough to know things like that about these people, he doesn’t make a noise. The platter he’s carrying hisses a little, tiny pops crackling invitingly right outside her bars. Ymir goes with ignoring it until her teeth ache.

The tromping footsteps stop in front of her cell, and the stalwart soldier spares her a brief nod before placing the stupidly shiny dish on the floor and skidding it into arm’s reach. It’s a little funny, watching him crouch down in the dirt. He almost reaches undignified, but that’s ruined when he stands back up.

Ymir doesn’t move.

He does that thing with his eyes where he’s pretending to smile without any of the muscle effort. “I thought you could use some food.”

His hands stay clasped behind his back. Ymir keeps her eyes off the plate while her nose itches. “I get food every day. You were pretty clear about that. Sir,” she adds. Because she can. The old man wouldn’t call the tone anything to do with manners, but the guy in front of her is so full of soldierly righteousness that he demands some kind of title.

Erwin Smith. He who thought up throwing her in a dungeon instead of killing her. The man who now brings secret prisoners freshly cooked food.

Once upon a time, she knew someone like that. He held out a hand to a starving street urchin, and the brat became a goddess. All because he fed her, and he asked.

Ymir can’t say she likes where this is going.

Erwin’s got a shiny new wing symbol tied around his neck, and something about him has always been a little crazy when he looks at her, but the manic light in his eyes has a power behind it that even his nutso scientist doesn’t have. He’s always walked taller than her, being about twice her size, but right now Ymir finds herself believing that he makes his living out of killing giants.

It doesn’t feel right. Not when everyone she’s seen down here for the last few weeks has looked like they’re going to hurl any second.

Ymir knows the feeling. She glances down at the plate. Her eyes skitter over the steak to the buttered bread. Hunger that belongs to her, not some shadow, drags her down to the floor, and she stuffs a roll in her mouth before bad daydreams talk her out of it.

It’s one of the best things she’s ever tasted, and if she could run, she’d be sprinting out the nearest door. Seeing as she can’t, might as well make the most of it. Warmth soothes the building nausea, and the bread is so soft that her teeth tear it apart with a gentle nudge. Despite herself, her roving eyes go back to the plate instead of watching the silent soldier.

“Aren’t you people having some kind of food crisis?” she says around the next roll. “You must really want something out of me to set yourself back like this.”

Erwin smiles with his mouth this time. “I’m glad you’re keeping some consideration of our circumstances in mind. It cost less than you might think, though.”

Ymir licks a drop of butter off her finger. “Wow. You really know how to sell a bribe.”

Erwin continues talking like he doesn’t hear her. Forget that they could probably save some time if he just went about this honestly. She’s a kid, not stupid. “You see, twenty percent of our population is now dead,” he says calmly. “Leaving the survivors to celebrate the spoils of war.”

Ymir stops in the middle of reaching for one of the berries littering the bribery spread. She looks up and stares. “Twenty—sorry, what?”

“Twenty percent of our population,” he repeats. Like he’s reciting a school lecture. “We sit here reaping the benefits of their… sacrifice.” He nods at her stilled hands. “Eat up. It would be remiss of us not to appreciate what they’ve left for us.”

Ymir rolls her eyes and takes a sip from the waterskin. There’s a hole opening up in her stomach, and that’s a feeling that’s dropped her straight into a living hell several times now.

She didn’t spend that much time inside the walls before hitting underground. She can remember enough, though. People crying. Monsters chewing off heads. Children tinier than her screaming for their parents.

She saw enough of the walls to know she didn’t even see one percent of the people trapped in them.

“You still haven’t said what you want out of me. And don’t say nothing.” Ymir plops a berry in her mouth. “People don’t share sob stories with prisoners unless they’re after something.”

“It’s hardly a sob story. Simply the facts.” Erwin takes a step closer to the cell. “Our leadership chose to send out thousands of untrained citizens to their deaths so that the rest of the population might live. That was all that was in their power to do in the current situation: encouraging the catastrophic loss of life to happen in an environment where no one would have to care.”

The dark enemy Ymir recognizes as her conscience twists into knots in her chest. She puts her next roll down. “Still nothing to do with me.”

“You said,” Erwin says, “that when our people retreated to this island, it was the king’s power that protected them.”

“I said a lot of things.” She did. Interrogations brought that out of her, apparently. Along with the absurd fun of watching the world these people thought they knew falling to pieces in a few short minutes. Fun is the last thing on her mind right now. Hitting herself for her big mouth is a frontrunner, but she’s in enough psychic torment to give herself a pass on that.

“That for generations, that power has stood between us and destruction.”

“Yeah, looks like it’s really helped you guys out.”

“No. It hasn’t,” Erwin says.

Ymir examines one of the cracks in her cell wall. “Does this place not have sarcasm, or…”

“It hasn’t,” Erwin continues, dropping the bland school teacher tone for something entirely more frightening, “because it’s missing. Our true King, as well as his Titan.” Not good. Not good at all. The whole corridor is silent, but Ymir’s own heartbeat is too deafening to care. “It is a vacancy that has cost thousands of lives.”

The crack on the wall actually starts in the floor, right next to one of the cot’s legs. Someone did a crappy job installing the thing. They’re probably dead now. Luck isn’t really a thing she sees following around someone who designs underground prisons.

Berry juice is still dripping off her teeth. With the smell right there, it doesn’t take much to imagine something thicker, with a little more tang, and the sound of crunching bones is too loud to be a real memory, but she knows it happened. Her second chance didn’t come free. It picked up with as much violence as the first left off with.

Swallowing takes a sickening effort, and she grins at Erwin.

“So what, this where you string me up for massacring the royal family?”

Erwin smiles back, and going with the rest of the terror is the sure knowledge that whatever the hell he’s selling, he believes in it. He believes in it like no one should believe in anything. That’s how you get stoned to death and turned into monsters.

“Anything you did or didn’t do is past the point, Ymir.” She never should have told them her name. “Our world is missing its key player. We need a replacement.”

Ymir closes her eyes.

She never got this conversation before.

“What do I care about your problems?”

She never got a balcony seat to how stupid she’s capable of being. She even felt smart. Food and a warm bed. You’d have to be crazy to turn all that down.

This time, she already has that.

Erwin’s voice comes at her like the last bell toll before the public gets to pick their ammunition up from the ground. “I don’t know,” he says softly. “What I do know is that you came into our custody because your refusal to take our lives left you at a disadvantage.”

She has a blanket. Food and water.

She’s not a rampaging monster.

Things have been worse.

Better, too.

“Twenty percent of our population is gone, Ymir. What I am offering you is a chance to save the other eighty.”

For that one moment, staring up at the starry sky and breathing free air, she was the happiest she’d ever been. There was a joy that nothing could touch bursting to life in her soul, and everything that had gone on, as bad as it was, had felt worth it for that perfect set of seconds.

Then she threw it all away trying to save some dumb kids from botching their exit plan.

Ymir opens her eyes.

“You’ll get me out of here?”

She sucks at second chances.

#shingeki no fanfic #fic #mine #Ymir #the good news is that by the time I've finished the first chapter I might have figured out a title #the bad news is I don't believe me

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rawiswhore · 4 years

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Rob Van Dam x Fem Reader- “Smoke Weed Every Day”

There's a new wrestler who's arrived to the WWF, but only for a temporary while, not officially joining into the next decade.

Who is it?

Rob Van Dam.

No, not to be confused with Jean Claude Van Dam, but Rob Van Dam, from Extreme Championship Wrestling.

And goodness gracious, where has RVD been all your life?

When you look at footage of him when he wrestled in WCW or the year before the year this fanfic is set in, or even in 1998 and '99 when his hair would look messy and disheveled all while being tied back in a messy ponytail, he's absolutely gorgeous and sexy, he looks slightly like Brendan Fraser.

You've been banging various sexy male wrestlers lately, and you've added another wrestler to your "to do" list, ifyknowwhatimean.

One thing Rob does before he wrestles in a match is smoke weed, and he's done this surprisingly throughout the 90's.

You've also been doing drugs throughout the 90's, and you noticed Rob smoking weed before a wrestling match.

You spoke with him once about how you've seen him smoke weed and you'd love to smoke weed with him, it doesn't have to be before he does a wrestling match, just one day, and he'd like to do it with you too.

When you joined the WWF, many male pro wrestlers thought you were absolutely beautiful, RVD included, and he wouldn't mind getting high with you.

You actually have had sex with RVD before, you just had to.

One afternoon, Rob invited you back to the locker room to smoke weed, and you couldn't resist it.

While walking to the locker room, Rob was holding a little Ziplock baggie filled with marijuana in it inside his hand.

You, however, had a lighter in your purse to help light your cigarettes, your purse slung around your torso.

When you entered the locker room with him, some wrestlers were already in the locker room and a few of them you were going to fuck RVD in there, since you have had sex with some wrestlers in the locker room before, but surprisingly, no.

Once the two of you entered the locker room, the two of you headed to a shiny, slick empty wooden bench that no one was sitting on, luckily.

Rob was the first person to sit on that bench, where his legs were in between the bench.

You plopped your ass on that bench, your thighs spread apart and sitting on the bench while your calves and feet dangled on opposite sides below the bench, you sitting like Rob was sitting.

Rob was sitting across from you, a few inches away from you so he could roll a joint.

He placed the bag of weed on the bench in between the two of you, you looked down at that bag.

He also placed a white, unrolled joint on the bench in front of that baggie, laying the white joint flatly on the bench.

His hands eventually moved over to the top of the Ziplock bag, where he opened that bag, one of his hands, specifically his fingers, fishing down in that bag, until he pulled some marijuana of his fingers, picked up some marijuana that was hidden and squeezed by the pads of his index finger and thumb and pulled it out.

You just really hope and pray the two of you don't get arrested.

Weed is NOT that bad of a drug.

He directed his hand, specifically his 2 fingers carrying that marijuana over to the joint and lowered his hand down above that white joint, where his fingers began sprinkling across that white joint like he was cooking something.

Marijuana was beginning to cover the top of that white joint not yet rolled.

He sprinkled that marijuana until it was mostly all completely onto the joint and no longer in between his fingers.

You, meanwhile, were looking down at that joint about to be smoked.

He felt like he didn't have enough weed on that joint, so he sunk his hand down in the Ziplock baggie again and pulled out some more marijuana that was in between the pad of his index finger and thumb.

His hand escaped the plastic bag and hovered over the joint, where he continued to sprinkle some more marijuana on the joint.

His fingers sprinkled the marijuana from the top of the joint all the way across to the bottom.

While this was going on, you looked down to your purse and opened your purse up, where you dug around in your purse trying to find a lighter.

Finally, your eyes caught that thin little lighter you use to light your cigarettes (and sometimes, occassionally joints and blunts), so you pulled that lighter out of your purse, closing your purse afterwards.

Rob had not only zipped the ziplock back tightly, but he also rolled the joint over and over again until the marijuana was hidden inside like beans in a burrito.

Once the joint was completely rolled, he picked it up and raised it up to his lips, putting the end of the joint in his mouth.

You held that lighter to the joint sticking out of his mouth, pressing and turning it on until a flicker of fire appeared.

The tip of the joint began burning a bit, hopefully it doesn't catch on fire.

A little puff of smoke burned at the tip of the joint, whereas Rob took a long inhale of the joint in his mouth.

You shut off the lighter, opened your purse and put the lighter back in your purse, shutting your purse afterwards.

You just hope your purse won't catch on fire.

Rob's other hand took the joint out of his mouth by pulling the joint out of his lips with his index and middle finger, the joint nestled in between the space of his index and middle finger.

He opened his mouth and huffed out a huge cloud of white smoke that looked like fog, his eyes closed when he released that smoke out of his mouth.

Surprisingly, you didn't start coughing while the smoke surrounded you.

Can Rob see you through the cloud of smoke? You hope he does.

He opened his eyes, his eyes looking slightly pinkish and handed the joint to you.

You took the joint and put it in your mouth, where you took a long, deep inhale of that joint, your nose inhaling the smoke coming out of the tip of the joint.

You then pulled the joint out of your mouth and let out a gust of marijuana smoke out of your mouth, the smoke resembling fog.

The weed made you feel giggly and giddy, an ear-to-ear smile was widening the bottom of your face, the smile on your face was rather Joker-like.

You actually had an idea with smoking weed with him that you talked with him over before the two of you entered the locker room.

"Hey, Rob" you said. "Did you remember what I wanted to do with you when we smoke weed together?"

"Yeah" he replied.

You put the joint back in your mouth and took another inhale of that joint, only to release the smoke out of your mouth with your nose.

After that, you leaned your face into his face, your eyelids shutting and shielding your eyes and planted your lips on his lips, your forehead pressing on his.

Rob suddenly closed his eyes when your lips touched his, where he began kissing you back.

While you were kissing him, your lips opened and widened and enclosed on his lips over and over again, so did his lips.

Not just that, but your tongue snuck into his mouth, where your tongue, specifically the tip of your tongue, began flicking on his tongue.

He felt your tongue trying to entice his tongue, and his tongue decided to fight back.

He let his tongue slide on top of your tongue, where his tongue rolled all around the beginning of your tongue, as well as let the tip of his tongue give your tongue a few licks.

While one of your hands was holding a joint in between your index and middle fingers, you placed your other hand on the side of his head, where his hair was, and your fingers dug through his hair, trying to slightly mess up his hair.

He felt your fingers trying to creep through his hair bunched and tied up in a ponytail, you like him with a messy ponytail.

Actually, you removed your fingers out of his hair and moved that hand next to his head to his shoulder, where you tapped his shoulder a few times.

He suddenly pulled away, opening his eyes.

"What?" he asked.

"Want a puff?" you asked, handing him the joint.

He took the joint from you, where he put the joint in his mouth and took a pretty long drag of that joint, only to release a gust of cannabis out of his mouth.

"I hope you don't mind this" you said to him.

You quickly pulled your face into his face again, locking your lips on his, where the two of you presumed kissing and making out with one another.

You regret not being a part of WCW and even ECW, why?

Because Rob Van Dam was so sexy in 1993 and there was another cutie patootie WCW wrestler in 1994, named Jean Paul Levesque, and you wish you could've banged them then.

And ECW is a pro wrestling company notorious for being very violent and where women in the company are hot, slutty chicks getting into catfights, much like the Attitude Era, and the women give sexy, seductive promos.

You probably would be better suited for ECW than WWF, because the WWF as of now, for the most part, is pretty family friendly, only it's about to get waaaaaaaay edgier next year and the years afterwards.

Underneath the classy, elegant gowns you wear as Hunter Hearst Helmsley's valet and acting like a classy lady, you're really a dirty, naughty pornslut underneath it all.

Too bad most of the male wrestlers in ECW aren't much to look at.

#rob van dam #rvd #1997 #90s #wwf #ecw #fanfiction

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