#he would collapse if he saw how i cross the road at uni

[violetnaps]

crossing the road alone: hit me i fucking dare you

crossing the road w other people: we cant take a single step onto the road until theres zero vehicles in sight. less even

[words-with-wren]

you are someone that i’ve loved but never known

yeah it’s still minecraft hours lads 

This is what happens when you loop Never Love an Anchor by The Crane Wives for the entire plane ride from uni to home. I wrote this a while back - before Tommy even left Logstedshire I believe, which is why it’s not completely canon compatible. 

___

Technoblade was about seven years old when he met his younger brother. He and Wilbur had been messing around with Wilbur's new guitar when their father returned home, looking exhausted, wings closed protectively around a bundle. 

Techno had never see anyone quite so small. The child had blinked up at them both with large blue eyes and Phil had smiled tiredly. 

"He's going to stay with us for a while," he said quietly. 

"What's his name?" Wilbur asked, looking up at their father. Techno couldn't quite bring himself to look away from the tiny human's frowning face. Phil settled onto the ground and placed the boy down. He stood uncertainly, watching them all and both Techno and Wilbur echoed their father and sat. 

"I'm… not sure," Phil said. Wilbur frowned, watching as the child glared out at the world with an anger that Techno grew to know all too well. 

"Tommy," Wilbur said finally. "I like that name." 

The newly named Tommy stared in Wilbur's direction and stepped forward. He misjudged his step and lost his balance and collapsed to the ground and his eyes welled with tears and from that moment on Techno knew something. 

There was a weakness to his brother. A weakness that Wilbur shared as well, that even Phil had to a certain extent. Techno didn't exactly know what it was, but he knew he was different. He was stronger. He was more powerful. He was tougher and violent and full of blood-lust. The voices whispered that his family was weak and pitiful and Techno couldn't help but believe them. 

He watched as Phil swooped down to scoop up the now crying Tommy, bouncing him effortlessly and cheering him up. He watched as Wilbur shuffled to their side, leaning over Phil's shoulder to talk to the new addition. 

He watched, but he didn't want to interfere. Didn't want to be the cause of the next welling of tears. 

Didn't want to listen to the voices that chanted for blood. 

The voices chanted louder as he grew. Wilbur grew outward, making friends where ever he went, easily talking, easily leading, easily influencing. Tommy grew beside him, stepping effortlessly in his brother's footsteps, his quick tongue and sharp anger getting him into his fair share of scrapes (always accompanied by their newest addition to the family, the boy they had found alone on the side of the road. Phil hadn't even hesitated to take Tubbo in, and he and Tommy were barely apart). 

Techno grew on a different path and that became more and more clear. While Wilbur followed music, Techno followed battle. While Tommy followed people, Techno followed blood. 

"I can't shut them up," he said softly one night, hands gripping the edge of his cape and he stared at the fire. Phil looked up from where he was writing in a notebook. It was just the two of them, Wilbur was out for the night and Tommy and Tubbo had gone to bed a while ago. 

"Then learn to work with them," Phil had said. Phil was the only one who knew - the only one who knew about the voices that chanted for blood, the urge to destory and kill, the need to fight. 

"I don't know if I can." 

He had seen fear mixed with adoration in Tommy's eyes so many times. The hero worship of a younger sibling mixed with the fear of an inhuman force. When he gave into the chants, when he gave them what they wanted, he saw - saw the concern in Wilbur's face and the fear in Tommy's. 

He didn't like that. Didn't want that. Didn't want to be unable to control himself. 

Didn't want Tommy's fear to be justified. 

So he left. He struck out on his own, wandering the world to learn how to work with the cacophony in his brain. He saw Tommy's hurt expression, hidden by anger as he left. 

"Why're you leaving though?" he had demanded, arms crossed, eyes flashing. 

"I gotta go," Techno had answered, ruffling his brother's hair softly. 

"Yeah well I didn't want you here anyway," Tommy had said, head held high. And if the words had been true, Techno wouldn't have blamed him. He had seen Wilbur and Tommy - how close they were, how Tommy would do anything for their brother. How much Tommy wanted the same from Techno. 

But Techno couldn't give him that and so he did the only thing he could. He left before he hurt them more. 

He came back. Came back to a canyon underground and a revolution and two brothers who had been changed and hardened by war. He came back to Wilbur's wild eyes and speeches of chaos and anarchy and destruction and the voices cheered and Techno couldn't help but agree. 

He came back to Tommy's hard eyes (far to hard for any boy his age), Tommy's quiet pleas for peace, Tommy's loud laughter and excitement. 

He hadn't been broken, not by all that he'd been through. And for a moment, Techno thought that coming back might have been a good idea. He had missed his brothers, missed Wilbur bouncing lyrics off him, missed Tommy trying to beat him in combat (he had improved a lot since Techno had left, but so had Techno and it still wasn't a contest). He had missed the quiet evenings when it was just the three of them sitting around a fire in silence, enjoying the company and not needing to speak. 

And then he was reminded why he had left and he knew he could never let them get close to him. 

He stood on the stage, wind fluttering his cape, blowing hair into his eyes. His hand gripping the handle of the crossbow, eyes boring into his back and voices screaming for blood. 

He stood on the stage, staring into the panicked eyes of his brother's best friend. Tubbo, who loved bees and Tommy and probably so much more but Techno didn't know because he hadn't let himself get close. 

He pulled the trigger and reminded himself why. 

Tommy's eyes flashed with anger but Techno couldn't bring himself to feel guilty for what he had done. He had tried to distance himself from them - but they had invited him back. Tommy had insisted in seeing the best in him, in adoring him as a brother and not a force of nature. Not the blood god. 

And Tommy took betrayal hard. 

And yet Techno had stayed. Despite himself, despite the flashing rage in his youngest brother's face he had to see this through. Wilbur called for chaos and the voices echoed the call and this - this was where the blood god would find blood. 

If Tommy insisted on being betrayed again that wasn't Technoblade's fault. 

Until it all went wrong and their father was kneeling over Wilbur's limp and bloody form and Tommy was picking himself up from the destruction of his entire world and still fighting and suddenly the victory felt pointless. The thrill of chaos and battle and death felt like ashes in his mouth at Phil's guilty expression, Wilbur's dull, dead eyes, Tommy's hard face, a little more cracked, a little more damaged. 

There was a reason he had left the first time and there was a reason he left again. He didn't want to listen to the voices anymore. He didn't want to see the betrayal and hate in his own brother's eyes. (And wasn't this why he had kept his distance in the first place? Wasn't this why he had never been close to Tommy? Wasn't this why he had rejected the hero worship, the adoration and love of his brother? To avoid this, to avoid this hate and hurt and pain and yet here they were.) 

And yet he couldn't bring himself to leave entirely. Couldn't bring himself to abandon his only brother. 

He saw, saw the betrayal and abandonment, saw his own words come true though he had never wanted them to. Saw Tommy once again betrayed and thrown aside - this time by his very best friend. And Techno didn't know what to do because he didn't know Tommy. Hadn't let himself know Tommy. 

But when he saw his brother, alone in exile the voices were louder than they had been for a long time. Tommy needed people - that was something Techno knew. Seeing his brother like this, exhausted and tired and finally, finally crumbling to pieces after all he had fought through he knew. 

Maybe he didn't know his brother. Maybe he had never let himself know his brother. But there were two things he did know - and that was blood and that was that he never wanted to see Tommy hurting again. 

He gripped his axe and hardened his face and listened to the voices one last time and when it was all said and done and a stark white mask lay stained with red he stood in front of his brother. 

"I hate you," Tommy said, the venom in his voice almost all faded, replaced with exhaustion and grief and a deep, bone aching tiredness after all he had struggled through. 

"I know," Techno said and held out a hand. Tommy hesitated, glanced back at his home - no, his prison - and back to Techno. Techno, with the light of battle still in his eyes, with blood tattooed onto his face and clothes, axe reded and still in his hand and anger and fear and tiny, tiny hint of hope began leaking through Tommy's exhaustion. 

Despite it all, he stepped forward 

This time Techno did as well. 

"Let's go home." 

[greasyvan]

Sweets [A Van McCann Oneshot]

Rating: M. This is pretty much just pure smut lol

Word count: 5k

Request: nah

You swore as you crossed the threshold, struggling with the grocery bags you had hanging off your arms. Kicking the door shut behind you and blowing some loose strands of hair from your eyes, you shuffled into the kitchen.

“Jaff?” Van called from the couch, the top of his head peeking over the back. You smiled at each other as you dropped the groceries on the counter and rubbed your arms. They were red and indented from where the straps cut into your skin.

“Larry over at Kai’s?” You asked, unpacking the first bag. Larry and Kai had been dating

for the last eight months and he was smitten to say the least. He spent most of his time over at hers, “making up for lost time,” as he said. Van hummed and hauled himself off the couch, resting his guitar against it and coming over to help you unpack. He yawned, he’d just gotten back from a four month long tour around the world and was understandably exhausted.

“How was class?” Van asked as he pried open the refrigerator door and slid the strawberries into the drawer. You lifted a shoulder in a shrug.

“Fine,” You rubbed your eyes and leaned against the counter, watching Van work. He was wearing his old “The Streets” sweatshirt, something he only did when he was at home. It was hard to get used to seeing Van not in a button up and boots. “Same old. What about you, write any new timeless classics today?” Van threw his head back and laughed, a happy sound that you missed when he was gone.

“Nothing yet Jaffa but the night is young,” He met your stare and you quickly looked away. “What?” You blushed, having been caught, and shrugged.

It’d been you, Van, and Larry since reception school. Your mom packed you two Jaffa Cakes for snack time and you offered the extra to Van. He’d called you “Jaffa” ever since and that set the foundations of your friendship. You remember getting carted around in the back of Larry’s mum’s car and holding Van’s hand as he read to you and Larry slept. Van asked you to prom and Larry took two dates. You’d watched Van transform from an awkward gangly weirdo with bad hair into a slightly less awkward filled out weirdo with kind of better hair. You’d been Catfish’s biggest cheerleader since Van formed the band. You made t-shirts with fabric paints and spray on glitter. You nixed more songs and lyrics of Van’s than you could keep track of. You fell in love with each new addition to the band. You cheered the band on from the sidelines while you grinded away at uni. You wished you could go on the road with the lads, mostly because you missed Van and Larry when they were gone but also because you got lonely. You thought that living alone for nine months out of the year in a huge apartment ten minutes from your school that you paid next to nothing for because Van insisted on paying your half of the rent would be fun. You were wrong. It sucked.

“Nothing,” You mumbled after realizing he was waiting for an answer. You fussed with a plastic bag and looked back to Van. “I bought Jaffa Cakes.” You held up the box to show him and he grinned.

“Again.” He scoffed and you rolled your eyes and slapped him in the arm. You eyed him and turned away, gathering your tote bags up and putting them under the sink. “Don’t be like that Jaf,” He pouted, and before you knew it he’d snatched the box from under your arm and was holding it above his head.

“Van!” You protested, getting close to him and reaching for the box. “Give ‘em!” He laughed and stood on his tip toes, keeping them further out of your reach. Your tongue poked out from between your lips and you braced a hand on his chest, jumping for the box. You gritted your teeth but you couldn’t stop a small smile from gracing your lips. He was so annoying.

“Ryan Evan Mccann.” You threatened, knowing how much he detested the use of his full name. His face dropped immediately as he scowled at you. “Give it back.”

His frown deepened. “Just for that, no.” He turned away from you and slid the package onto the highest shelf of the cupboard. You stomped your foot and whined, only serving in making Van laugh at your childish reaction.

You made grabby hands and huffed. “Fine, fine, I’m sorry.” You pouted. “Will you just... pass it back? Please?” You blinked your eyelashes up at him and made a puppy dog face. You could see his resolve crumble right before your eyes as he pretended to think about it.

“Fine,” He lowered the box slightly. “But give us a kiss first.” You knew he was joking but the request... it might’ve made your stomach flutter and you didn’t know why. You’d kissed Van before in primary school during recess and you both immediately jumped back, laughing and scraping at your tongues. You’d agreed to never do it again. You kissed him again a couple of more times as you grew, after prom, when he released his first single, and most recently, when you were both drunk and playing a childish game of truth or dare in the back of the tour bus. You hadn’t thought about kissing Van since then. Okay well maybe the idea passed through your mind a couple of times but you never went in depth with your fantasizing.

Because it was Van, your platonic best friend Van, and maybe you didn’t want things to be so platonic anymore.

You also saw this as a way to fuck with Van a little but that was less important. You stared at each other with stubborn, narrowed eyes and taunting smirks, both playing a game of chicken that neither were prepared to lose. So you took the bait, leaned up, and planted a fat, wet kiss on Van’s chapped lips. But instead of jumping back, or laughing, or any sort of action to lessen the tension, his wide palm found your hip and seemed to be pulling you into him.

And he smelled so good, comforting and warm and spicy. Before you were aware of what you were deepening the kiss, opening your mouth and letting his tongue run over yours. You could feel his eyelashes flutter shut against your cheek, your hand moved to the nape of his neck as you twisted the hair that was there around your fingers. The other hand cupped his jaw, thumb against his cheek as you leaned away just enough to capture his bottom lip between your teeth, pull back, and let it snap back into place. Van blinked at you, slow and heavy, before descending back onto your mouth with a renewed fervor. You pulled away and sponged kisses back along his cheek as he panted, his hand squeezing your hip and the hand that held the Jaffa’s came down to waist level. You licked a stripe along his jaw and he shuddered as you leaned into him, your teeth grazing his earlobe as you spoke.

“I want you to bend me over this counter and fuck me.” You felt Van tense and inhale a

gasp, and you saw your opportunity. You snatched the box from Van’s hand and bounded out of the kitchen with a shriek.

“Hey!” Van called and ran behind you, watching you disappear behind your bedroom door with a devilish grin. You listened to Van groan behind your locked door and you grinned with satisfaction. “C’mon Y/N you gotta be kiddin’ me!”

“That’s what you get Ryan!” You said with satisfaction and tossed the box on your bed and flopping down next to it. You were slightly breathless, mostly from running but also from kissing Van.

Kissing Van. The words felt foreign on your tongue.

It was Van. You rode on the pegs of his bike with your arms around his middle and his guitar strapped to your back. You shared smokes and music and he held your hair out of your eyes when you puked. You cuddled and rubbed his feet and washed his clothes and kept him and Larry fed.

You shouldn’t have liked it but you did. You liked how his lips felt against your lips. You liked the way his breathing sped with just a few pecks to the cheek. You liked the feeling of his pulse hammering under your palm. It was all so...good.

You fell asleep and dreamed of chocolate and oranges and smooth skin and chapped lips.

//

A few days later you were sitting at the bar with a couple of girls from your psych class doing shots of tequila in celebration of completing your exams. You licked the salt off the back of your hand and took the shot, your nose wrinkling in disgust. You hated tequila but this was your fourth shot of it in the last hour. You swayed in your bar stool and grabbed onto your friend Anna’s arm, laughing about nothing and everything. There was a little electric jukebox playing some old R&B that you were bopping along to. Other than your group of five friends there were probably only seven other people in the bar. You were sufficiently drunk and the bartender set a glass of water down in front of you followed by a shot of rum. You drank it. The room started to spin.

“Y/N,” Anna slurred, leaning onto you. “That guy is looking at you.” You followed her finger to where she was pointing. Leaning up against a pillar with a smirk on his face and his arms crossed in front of his chest was Van. You threw your arms in the air and called his name, shimmying out of the bar stool and wobbling as you landed on unstable legs and teetered over to Van. He met you halfway and you collapsed in his arms, trusting he’d catch you. He did. He held you to his chest and brushed some hair from your eyes.

“What’re you doin’ ‘ere?” You asked, blinking up at him blearily and smiling.

“You didn’t come home,” Van softly replied and smiled. At the moment you were more interested in his white cotton shirt and how it felt under your fingers. “Figured you’d be here. You’re usually home at five and we was gonna watch Guardians of The Galaxy.” Through your spinning mind you made sense of the words and cringed internally. You were supposed to pick up thai food and watch movies with Van all night, but you’d blown him off. You felt like a shitty friend.

“You’re not,” Van used his two fingers to angle your face up towards him, not realizing you’d voiced your thoughts. “I’m not bothered.” Your eyes filled with tears at the level of softness Van was treating you with. He usually did act this way when you were drunk but because you were so inebriated it tugged at your heart a little harder.

“Van,” You clutched his shirt in both hands and let your head fall forward into his chest. “You’re so good.” He chuckled and squeezed you a little tighter.

“Let’s get you home, Jaff,” He said and you nodded into his chest. With his arm around

your waist keeping you mostly upright, Van lead you back over to your friends who you said goodbye to and paid your tab despite your protests. When the two of you got outside he wrapped you up in your jacket and carried you bridal style to his car, depositing you in the passenger seat. Your head rolled forward as he buckled you in and he held your face in both hands.

“If you’re gonna throw up tell me, alright?” You nodded in his hands. “Alright.”

//

“Jaff.” You were disoriented and tried your hardest to open your eyes. You felt hands on your body, unbuckling your seatbelt and sliding under your thighs and behind your back, lifting you up into a sturdy chest. Your arms wrapped around a neck and you finally blinked your eyes open to see Van’s sturdy jaw. You moaned and nuzzled into the crook of his neck, trying to curl up into a ball which was impossible in his arms.

“Fuck, Jaff, you may be tiny but you’re heavy.” You giggled as he walked you into the building.

“Not small, you’re huge.” He laughed and readjusted you in his arms as you stepped into the elevator. “Okay Superman put me down.” He complied but kept his arms around you in a hug. You appreciated it. You appreciated everything about him. He walked you into the empty apartment.

“Larry?” You questioned into the quiet of the house.

“Kai’s.” You hummed and let him walk you to the bathroom

“Up,” He commanded, holding onto your hips. You jumped and he lifted you onto the counter next to the sink. His tongue poked out from between his lips as he cleaned your face with makeup wipes. You stared at him as he worked. He was... so beautiful. Why hadn’t you noticed before.

“Van.” You whispered, his eyes flicking up to your face. “You’re so pretty.” He chuckled and shook his head but you needed him to know just how you saw him. You reached up and held his face in your hands, dead serious now. “No Van, listen.” He licked his lips and nodded, encouraging you to continue. “Your eyelashes are like, super long,” You started to list. “And your eyes are so sparkly. You have such pretty lips and freckles on your nose.” Your thumbs brushed over his cheekbones, touching the little dots on his skin. “And I love you so much.” Van grabbed you by the wrists and pressed a kiss to your palm before dropping to his knees in front of you and untying your converse, tugging them off and dropping them to the tile floor.

“Let’s get you in bed.” You nodded and allowed him to deposit you in bed, on top of the covers. “I’ll be right back.” You whined but allowed him to untangle his limbs from you and disappear. You suddenly felt hot and you needed to not be hot. With a huff you unbuttoned your jeans and kicked them off, tugging your t-shirt and bra off and throwing it across your room. You spread your limbs out wide like a starfish in the middle of the bed with your eyes closed, comfy and cool, and waited for Van’s return.

“Okay painkillers, water, some crisps- Christ Y/N!” Van slapped his palm over his eyes and attempted to juggle the items in his hands. You giggled and sat up on your forearms. “Can you please put a shirt on.”

“Nope!” You chirped, filled with drunken energy suddenly. You sat up on your knees and threw your arms open, bare chested and giggly. Van sighed and moved his hand away from his face, keeping his eyes on his boots. He placed the items on the bedside table and started to move away.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“No!” You fell forward and grabbed Van’s arm, falling into his chest, his arm going to your waist. “Give us a cuddle, Van?” You pouted and blinked up at him. “Please?” You heard him groan and bite his lip.

“Five minutes. And put a shirt on.” You squealed and released him, stumbling out of bed and towards your dresser. You grabbed the first soft thing you touched out and pulled it over your head. Coincidentally it was an old shirt of Van’s that you’d stolen so much he gave up on trying to take it back. You pulled it over your head and turned back to Van. He toed off his boots and slid under the covers, patting the empty space for you. You flopped down next to him and wrapped your arms around his waist, nose brushing against the column of his throat. His body went rigid and you almost pulled back until he turned on his side, deepening the embrace. You inhaled his deep scent and sighed, his hand going from your shoulder to your lower back.

“Van, just, like, cuddle me.” He chuckled and locked his arms around you, becoming more sure of his movements. He was in awe that you could be so drunk and so bossy at the same time. You tightened your hold, your lips brushing against his exposed collarbone. His breathing stuttered and, testing your luck, you pressed a solid kiss against his skin. He made no sound so you continued, just brushing your lips over his expanse of skin, lips touching his jugular. His breathing was becoming ragged but he was holding you tight against him. You twisted the cotton of his shirt and tugged, popping a couple of his buttons open, exposing more skin, becoming more forceful with your kisses. You kissed a trail up his throat, continuing the sweet torture on him. His adam’s apple bobbed when you nipped at the skin of it, feeling his pulse beneath your lips.

And then you reached the junction of where his jaw and throat met, and without warning you puckered your lips, sucking at his skin. Van gasped, his fingers pressing into your back as you continued to suck dark marks into his flesh. Your hand ran down the curve of his spine as Van waited for you to finish, the only noises echoing around your room being his heavy pants and suckling sounds. You pulled back to admire your work and smiled at his skin, shimmering with your saliva and and red spots blossoming against his skin. You hummed with satisfaction and nuzzled back into Van’s neck.

“Mine,” you mumbled into his warm flesh. “Alllllll, mine.”  You felt his chin rest against the top of your head, his chest rising and falling quickly. Sleep took over almost immediately.

//

You stumbled into the kitchen the next morning, your head pounding despite the painkillers. Van was standing in just sweatpants in front of the stove, swearing as he attempted to scrape partially cooked pancakes out of a pan and onto a plate. You were mostly bare, just an old t-shirt of Van’s and some underwear. You didn’t remember getting home. You walked up behind Van and pinched the soft skin of his hip. He physically jumped away from you and cursed, holding his spatula up like a baseball bat.

“Jesus Christ it’s just me,” You rolled your eyes and pulled yourself up onto the counter, taking the plate of partially cooked pancakes and setting it on your naked thighs. Van mumbled something under his breath and became very interested in his pancakes. “Thanks for getting me home last night,” You said and pulled off a piece of pancake that was more cooked than the rest of it. “And taking my makeup off.” He glanced up at you and shook his head. Weird. Van wasn’t normally this grouchy in the morning. “What’s wrong?” He shot you a look and grabbed the plate off your thighs, sliding more burnt and partially cooked pancakes onto it. “Jeez what’s up your ass this morning?” He looked at you like you grew another head and sighed.

“Nothin’,” He shrugged. “I’m good.” It was your turn to shoot him a look.

“Clearly you’re not or you’d tell me what was wrong.”

“I’m fine, Y/N.” He was using your actual name. That wasn’t good. You must’ve drunkenly said or did something. You sighed and twisted on the counter, reaching into the overhead cabinets behind you and producing the box of Jaffa Cakes. You slid one out.

“Here,” You said, offering it to him. “Consider it a peace offering for whatever I did wrong.” The corners of his mouth twitched up as he stared at the cake between your fingers. He bit into it and allowed you to feed it to him. The tension seemed to be letting up until Van turned his head to the side and you saw a dark purple hickey. The metallic taste of jealousy filled your mouth for a moment until the night came back to you in fragmented shards. Arms carrying you home. Holding Van’s face in your hands. Heat waves and bare chests. Sucking and kissing and lips brushing his skin.

“Oh shit,” You panicked. That’s why he was pissed. “I did that, didn’t I?” His hand flew up to prod at the love bite while you shook your head. “Van I’m -- Fuck --You know what, let’s just, uh, forget this ever happened.” You slid out another cookie into your palm. “Take it, please,” He stared at you. “Fuck Van I’m-”

He lurched forward, cupping your face in both hands and smashing his chapped lips against yours. Your frame went rigid and your eyes flew open as he kissed you, the pancakes and cookies totally forgotten about. You were so stunned you felt like you couldn’t move. Van took your lack of movement as rejection and pulled away, scratching the back of his head.

“I don’t wanna forget about it.” His lips were pink and his pupils were blown wide. He looked, well you were gonna say it, your childhood best friend looked fucking hot. The things running through your head failed to form cohesive thoughts so you just gaped at him. He sighed and turned away, muttering “Nevermind,” under his breath.

“Van,” You called softly, that being the only thought you could fully form. When he didn’t turn around to look at you you called to him again. “Ryan Evan Mccann.” He spun on his heel and glared at you. Good. You jerked your chin up at him. “Do it again.” His brow dropped into a frown.

“Look Y/N if this is some kind of joke to you-” You rolled your eyes as he spoke and tugged your-well his-shirt over your head and dropped it to the ground, stopping him in his tracks. His eyes bulged wide as you took in the expanse of your chest, fully exposed to him.

“Oh so now you’ll look at my tits.” His eyes flicked back up to your grinning face. “Come ‘ere.” He nodded and took a step towards you. You placed the box of Jaffa Cakes on the counter beside you. He took another timid step towards you, inching his way along until he was in front of you. You parted your knees and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his mouth onto yours. Your ankles wrapped around his waist and his fingers held your hips, you pressed your naked chest into him as you slipped your tongue into his mouth. Your teeth gnashed together and it was awkward with haste, but at the same time perfect. You didn’t realize how badly you wanted to kiss him, and now the floodgates were open and you didn’t think you could stop. Quickly it became frantic, with lips getting pulled between teeth and Van exacting his revenge onto the skin of your throat, yours hips grinding into his as you moaned. When you pulled away for a gasping breath and Van’s mouth went to your breasts, your fingers threading through his hair, you spoke.

“I meant what I said before,” He grunted as he took a nipple between his teeth, desiring an explanation. You hissed and let your head roll back. “Please fuck me.” He froze and retracted his mouth from your flesh, looking at you. “Yeah, I want that.” You watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed thickly and nodded but didn’t move. You rolled your eyes and reached between the two of you and into his sweatpants, gripping his steadily swelling length. He groaned and grabbed the counter in both hands, his forehead pressing against yours as he watched your hand move against his flesh. He bit his lip, your palm rolling over the top of his pink head. Your unoccupied hand went to the back of his neck, keeping him pressed to you.

“F-Fuck,” He stuttered, eyelashes fluttering shut as he bucked into your hand. His fingers went from gripping the granite counter to pulling your panties to the side and slipping knuckle deep into you, thumbing at the bundle of nerves. You moaned his name as he steadily worked his way inside of you, you doing the same to him. The amount of times you’d heard stories about how good he was with his hands were proven as fact. He had your legs shaking in less than a minute with how he manipulated his fingers against you.

“Stop,” You panted, gripping his wrist and releasing his shaft. His eyes were half open as they met yours, he looked completely fucked out, and you were sure you didn’t look any better. “Want you,” You breathed, slotting your lips back against his.

“What are we doin’, Jaff?” He asked into your mouth, not hesitating despite the apprehension in his voice. Your hand that still held his wrist was brought up to your mouth, your tongue tracing over his fingertips before getting taken into your mouth. His eyes bulged out of his skull as you sucked yourself off his fingers. “Fuck me,” He whispered as you released him and slid off the counter. With a shimmy you kicked your panties to the side and turned away from him, arching your back and bracing your hands on the counter.

“If you haven’t noticed Van, that’s what I’ve been tryin’ to do.” He chuckled earnestly and bit at his lip.

“‘M serious. I don’t wanna be just friends with you.” You turned back around to look at Van with a roll of your eyes.

“Yeah, I thought I made it obvious I didn’t want to either?” He smiled, warm and intimate despite the depravity of the situation at hand. “Now will you please, just, fuck me?” Another warm chuckle and he turned you back around,leaning over you and skimming the tip of his nose up your spine. The hairs on the back of your neck raised as he planted a kiss on your right shoulder, biting down slightly on your flesh. You moaned. You could feel him fidget with his sweatpants for a moment and listened for the soft sound of them hitting the floor. Then his fingers were back inside you, working you open, his free hand splayed across your lower back. When he withdrew his fingers you whined, but the emptiness was quickly filled with him, pressing into you, stretching you so deliciously, making your knees go weak. He slowly pushed himself all the way in until your ass was pressed back against his hips and you’d draped yourself over the cool stone of the counter, unable to keep yourself upright. The draw back was even slower and you could feel every ridge, muscle, and vein of Van inside you and it was so intimate and felt so unbelievably good that your eyes rolled back into your head.

“Van,” You breathed and he hummed in response. “Harder.” He snapped his hips forward and you could feel him in your stomach. “Faster.” His palms went back to your hips to get a solid grip and he pounded into you so good that it felt like you were choking.

“Love,” He groaned, finding a steady pace that satisfied your needs and was something he could keep up with. “You’re squeezin’ me,” His voice was unlike how you’d ever heard it before and you could come just from that. “Fuck.” He released your hips and snaked one around your front and finding your nub, the other going to to your hair and pulling you up against him. You angled your head away from his face so he could lock his teeth onto your throat, rolling his fingers against your clit and hitting that spot inside you that made your back arch. You moaned his name like it was something holy. “Jaff I’m gonna-,” He grunted, slowing down considerably but rubbing your bundle of nerves faster.

“Yes, Van, fuck,” You turned your head over your shoulder and seeked his lips out with yours, your knees buckling. Van kept you upright as he finished you off, body going slack as his hips began to stutter. You could feel your orgasm shatter through your body, and it was so, so, so good you hardly even noticed Van coming deep inside you. He went to pull out but you wrapped your arm around him from behind, keeping him buried inside.

“Wait,” You gasped, not ready to be empty quite yet. Van nodded and kissed your throat, rubbing your tummy and just feeling you until you were ready to be released. You turned around and rested your back against the counter, watching him as he watched you.

“D’you mean it?” He asked, worrying the skin of his thumbs, a thing he often did when he was nervous. You looked down at the fluids running down the inside of your thighs and back to his face.

“You think I let any guy come in me?” His eyes went wide at your brashness, cheeks pinkened and a wispy chuckle left his throat. You punched his shoulder. “Nuh uh, I love you, Ryan.”

Van grinned at you with his crooked teeth, stepped forward, and planted a wet kiss on your lips. “I love you.”

You bent down and picked up his sweatpants, tossing them at his head. He caught them and you both redressed, just as you heard the front door unlock and Larry call out your names. He stopped when he saw you both in the kitchen exchanging guilty glances. He looked between the two of you for a moment.

“Did you two just fuck?” He didn’t even say it like a question though. Neither of you answered and Larry sighed. “Well it’s about time.” He kept walking into the house before calling over his shoulder, “Please just don’t fuck in the kitchen anymore. Highly unsanitary.”

[jilyyall]

prompt: we're neighbours/live in the same flat? and it's raining and you've left your clothes out on the line and its CHUCKING it down

Thanks for the prompt! :) It got away from me a bit and ended up twice as long as I planned for it to be, but that’s really not much of a surprise!Read the very smutty sequel here.

It’s just something that I want to do

“For fuck sake, not again!” Lily shouted and aimed awell-placed kick at her dryer, which had apparently decided to crap out for the fifth time this month, and promptly collapsed tothe ground clutching at her throbbing foot which was probably broken now. Itwould be just her luck and it would perfectly top off the shittiest day imaginable.

It had even started off terribly, which most of her shittydays did not – usually it was the type of awful that crept up on you, the kindyou didn’t see coming, that hid behind a normal, every day morning, and thenhit you quite suddenly and left you reeling. That was what had happened the dayher parents had announced their divorce when she was fifteen. It was even howshe had felt when her sister had sent her that nasty text telling her that shewas no longer welcome in her wedding party because she had disagreed with Petunia’s fiancé. FuckingBrexiters.

No, today had started out terribly. Today, Lily had woken uplate for work for the first time ever, had arrived over an hour late withouteven being able to stop for coffee on her way in, and had to listen to hergod-awful cow of an editor berate herfor something which, admittedly, was actually her fault for once.

Usually, when Rita – Ms.Skeeter – went off on Lily, it was for something ridiculous and unavoidablelike when the Prime Minister had refused to give a quote to the Daily Prophetduring yet another disastrous press conference and Rita had decided it wasLily’s fault even though Lily hadn’t even been at the press conference.

To make matters worse, she had agreed to meet up with an oldfriend for lunch, apparently having forgotten that she had cut ties withSeverus Snape three years ago for a reason. She had sat through forty-fiveminutes of him making thinly veiled racist remarks whilst brazenly praising TomRiddle, a divisive politician about whom Lily had written numerous scathingarticles in the past three months alone before she had made her excuses toleave.

She’d had a few minutes to spare before she had to be backat work since she had ditched Severus at the restaurant early and so haddecided to stop for coffee. She had thought it would be a good pick-me-up, thatit would turn her day around. It hadn’t. The barista, a first year uni studentby the looks of her, had made her order wrong twice before finally getting it right and once she finally had hercinnamon latte in hand, an impatient man crossing the road next to her hadjostled her arm and made her spill her drink all down the front of her whitedress.

It was at that point that Lily had pulled her cell phone outof her purse and sent a text to her editor telling her that she would befinishing her work from home for the day. It wasn’t worth risking a phone calland having to listen to Rita say something that rubbed her the wrong way. Nottoday, when God only knew how much more Lily could take before reaching herbreaking point.

So Lily had stopped at the shop on her way home, figuringthat if a coffee hadn’t improved her day, a glass of wine was her next bestoption. And if that didn’t do the trick, then the whole bottle would have todo.

It was only one o’clock when she had gotten home, so she haddecided to at least pretend to be a responsible adult and fold her laundrybefore getting drunk off wine in the middle of the day. Now here she was, collapsed on the floor with a definitely broken foot in front of her broken dryer full of wetclothing, which was going to mildew if she didn’t take care of it right away.Sighing, she heaved herself to standing, tested her weight on her injured footand decided that, okay, it probably wasn’t actually broken, and gathered thewet clothing from her useless dryer.

At least she still had the clothesline strung across herback garden, she thought as she limped out the back door. It didn’t take herlong to hang her laundry – it was a rather small load and her wardrobe mostly consistedof no-iron dresses. It was quiet work; her fit neighbour’s equally fit friendwasn’t staying with him this week – not that she paid either of them anyattention, honestly – so she didn’t have to listen to the friend calling her Red and telling her neighbour she wasfit and he should make a move already. Even better, her clothes wouldn’t reekof cigarette smoke after a few hours.

Honestly, how he put up with his friend – she had yet tolearn either of their names yet as he had only moved in a couple months ago –was beyond her. The one who actually lived there didn’t seem particularly happywith his friend whenever he made those comments that were clearly meant to beoverheard, and she had never seen him smoking either. She had wondered at firstif it was a friendship of convenience, if they had known each other for so longthat not being friends was too frightening and foreign a concept for them toentertain. She had been there, once, after all, so she thought she couldunderstand if that was the case. Then, one day, the friend had showed up in abad way, bloody and bruised and clearly badly injured, and Lily had noticed but definitely not watched her neighbourpractically nurse him back to health over the course of a couple of weeks.Clearly there was more there than convenience.

She pondered this as she poured herself a glass of wine. Shehad friends – there was Marlene, who she had drinks with every Saturday night,and Benjy from work, and Emmeline, with whom she had lunch every otherWednesday, and Dorcas, who had moved to America after uni and skyped in withher and Marlene and sometimes Emmeline once a month – but Lily didn’t thinkthere was anyone she was close enough with to have them move into her house fora few weeks, anyone she would be willing to nurse back to health after anaccident. All of her friends had families, after all, who they would turn tofirst.

The worse realization was that she had no one who wouldwillingly do for her what her neighbour had done for his friend. Obviously, herfamily and her friends wouldn’t let her die if anything happened to her. Theywould certainly check in with her, make sure she was coping well, but shedoubted they would so selflessly and willingly allow her to take up residencein their home.

She frowned as she nursed her wine and began to drift offthere on her couch, thinking about her friends, whom she loved, truly, but alsoabout her neighbour, whom she didn’t actually know but now, half a bottle ofwine in and unconsciousness overtaking her, could admit she wanted to.

Several hours later, she woke to the sound of rain pouringdown outside. It was dark now, not because it was late – it was only about fouro’clock, according to her iPhone – but because of the thunderstorm. Shestretched, arms above her head, feet reaching towards the arm of the couch, andthen rolled to her feet. Pulling the blanket off the back of the couch as she madeher way towards the window overlooking her front garden, she wrapped herself upnice and cozy and smiled for the first time that day.

She loved the rain, always had. She loved how everythingslowed down, all but stopped, outside when she sky opened up. She had alwaysbeen fond of curling up in a window with a blanket, a book, and a steaming mugof tea and losing herself in a different sort of world. After the day she hadendured, that seemed like the only fitting way to spend the afternoon now. A dark figure caught her attention before she could turn away to fetch herkettle and she realized with a skittering heart that none other than hermysterious, fit neighbour was sprinting through her garden. She watched,stunned, as he leapt up onto her porch and stood there for a moment, armoutstretched, fist frozen above her door. She waited, hidden behind the blinds,as he fought some kind of internalized battle and finally rapped his knucklesagainst the door, a quick, firm, loud, confidentsound. After a brief pause – she didn’t want to betray the fact that she hadwatched him the entire time – she opened the door to peer up at him.

He wasn’t wearing his glasses. That was the first thoughtthat crossed her mind. They kept a fairly similar schedule, leaving for workaround the same time every day, and he usually returned home about a half hourafter her. On her days off, she usually still woke up early out of habit andtook her coffee out on her front porch just in time to watch him leave hishouse for a run. She saw him every day, at least once a day and although theyhad never spoken, she had still noticed that he never left the house withouthis glasses on. Glasses were probably pretty useless in the rain, though, sherationalized.

“Hello?” she said softly when he merely looked at her. Sheran her fingers through her hair, wondering why he looked almost dazed at thesight of her. She hadn’t looked in the mirror before she had opened the door,but she probably should have; it wasn’t as if she had a tendency to wake uplooking flawless.

“Er – hi. Sorry,” he shook himself off and Lily couldn’tdecide if he was shaking off the rain or the daze. Either way, it was adizzying mixture of adorable and incredibly sexy. His normally messy hair wasplastered to his head even though he could only have been in the rain for allof ten seconds. He suddenly thrust his hand towards her and Lily shook it witha bemused smile. “I’m your neighbour. James. Sorry, I’m wet.”

“It’s okay,” Lily smiled when he pulled his hand back on anembarrassed smile. “I’m Lily. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too. Did you realize it was raining?” When sheraised her eyebrows because obviously,he dragged his hand through his dripping hair and shook his head, lookingslightly embarrassed. “What I mean is, your clothes are still on the line and Idon’t think it’s proper drying weather at the moment.”

It took a moment for her to understand what he was saying.When she remembered her broken dryer and the clothesline out back, she sworeheartily and turned to rush out the back door. It was rude, probably, leavinghim standing there at the front door without saying a word, but she needed tosave her clothes. There may not have been many clothes hanging, but she haddefinitely thrown her favorite bra and knickers in the wash last night beforebed and she didn’t fancy the idea of leaving them out in the rain for God knowshow long.

She rushed out the back door and started ripping clothesfrom the line, not realizing that he had followed her until he already had halfof the load in his arms and was ushering her back inside.

“Thanks. You didn’t have to…” she trailed off, mortified,when she realized that at the very top of the pile of clothes in his arms sather overpriced, but very beautiful and favored black-and-cream lacy bra andknickers.

He seemed to realize a moment later what had caught herattention. His eyes went wide and he thrust his arms forward, offering for herto take her unmentionables back. She hesitated, arms already full, and nowhereto put her sopping clothes, before gesturing for him to just drop the clotheson the kitchen table. He did, and she quickly dropped her half of the load ontop hoping that the saying out of sight,out of mind might apply here. Judging by the redness creeping up his neck,though, that wasn’t going to be the case.

“Why do you dry your clothes on the line?” he blurted outand it was so obviously word vomit that she wondered if the question had beenniggling at the back of his mind since she had strung up the line or if he hadsimply said the first thing he had thought of in an attempt to clear theawkwardness.

“My dryer is a traitorous piece of shit,” she told him. “Notonly does it occasionally refuse to dry my clothing, it also attempted to breakmy foot today. When I kicked it, that is.”

He laughed at that, rubbing the back of his neck as hestudied her. “Well, you seem to be doing okay.”

“Yeah, I’m a right trooper,” she said.

They were quiet for a moment, only the sound of the rainoutside filling the silence. This wasn’t exactly how she had imagined theirfirst meeting going. Not that she had fantasized about meeting him or snogginghim or sleeping with him or anything. She definitely hadn’t dreamt about it andwoken up in the middle of the night panting and frustrated and wanting nothingmore than his head between her thighs, his hips cradled between hers and havingto make do with only her hand. Except that she definitely, absolutely,embarrassingly had. Just last night, in fact, which, in hindsight, may have hadsomething to do with why she had overslept this morning.

“Did you want a cup of tea?” she offered, voice unusually high-pitched.

“Oh, actually, I can’t right now. I’m sorry,” he said, andhe did actually sound regretful. “I’ve got to get home.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine. Of course you do!” she exclaimed, andled him back to the front door. “Thanks so much for reminding me about mylaundry. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Of course. It’s not a problem.” He opened the door forhimself and started to walk outside. He paused on the threshold, his hand stillon the doorknob, and turned to look at her, the rain pouring down behind himand spoke in huge rush, as if he was afraid of missing his one shot at… something. It was charming, in anervous, boyish sort of way.

“Did you maybe want to use mine? My dryer, I mean. It’s nota traitor, in fact it’s been quite loyal to me so far. Always gets the clothesdry, if not a bit wrinkled, but I think that might be my fault – I’m shit atfolding.” He stopped himself, took a deep breath, and ruffled his damp hair. “Ihave food, too, if you were hungry.”

“What kind of food?” She asked, a smile playing on her lips.

“Beg pardon?” He was staring at her lips. She thought herealized it at the same time she did because he cleared his throat andimmediately refocused his attention on her eyes.

“I mean, are you cooking food or do you have take away or isit frozen dinners or…?” She was only giving him a bit of a hard time. It wasn’tlike she had particularly high standards – she survived on a diet of frozendinners and take away for the most part herself, and had already decided to goover to his house anyway for the use of the dryer, and the promise of dinnerand maybe, if they were both lucky, something more.

“I’m cooking.” When her eyebrows shot up, he grinned. Ittransformed him from awkward, uncertain, and adorable to full-blown sexgod. “Icook. Tonight I’m making Eggplant Parmigiana.That’s actually why I have to get home. I’ve left the oven on.”

“Oh my God, you’re serious. You actually cook. Like Italianfood.” Not only was he fit and kind and caring and adorably awkward and sexy,he could cook. She almost asked him to marry her right then and there.

“Yeah.” He nodded, that sexy, cocksure grin still playing athis lips. “It’s actually ready to go in the oven already. I just need to cookthe pasta and then…”

He trailed off when she turned away from him, marched overto the kitchen table, and scooped up her dripping clothes. The table waswooden, and it was soaked, and she should definitely be a responsible adult anddry it before it, too, was ruined, but she didn’t. She turned and met him atthe door, reveling in the way his expression changed from bewildered to elatedwhen he realized that she was taking him up on his offer.

“Oh, wait.” She hesitated, eyeing her keys on the table nextto the door, and he took her laundry from her without being asked so she couldlock the door and follow him next door.

His house was warm and brightly lit and surprisingly tidywhen she walked in. She followed him through the foyer, past the living roomand the dining room, through the kitchen, and into the laundry room, which waseasily the messiest room she had seen so far. There were clothes piled on topof the washer and the dryer and at least three pairs of running shoes scatteredaround the floor. At least everything seemed to be clean judging by the freshscent of the room.

“When you said you’re shit at folding…?” She trailed offwhen he straightened up from loading her clothes into the dryer. He looked around and cracked a shameless smile. “I guess I meant I just reallydon’t do it often.”

“It is the worst part of doing laundry,” she said.

“Yeah, it is.” He turned away from her for a moment to startthe dryer and rummage through the piles on top of the appliances. When heturned back to her, he handed her a jumper and a pair of sweatpants. “Here. Youmight want to change into dry clothes. I promise they’re clean.”

She hesitated for a moment before she took the clothes – shewould look ridiculous seeing as he was easily a foot taller than her, but shealso really didn’t want to sit through dinner in a wet dress.

“Thank you,” she said softly when he led her to the guestbathroom so that she could change. She watched him disappear from view, heardthe stairs creaking as he ran up them, and assumed he was going to change intosomething dry as well.

She leaned against the door for a moment after she closedit, taking several deep breaths before looking in the mirror and oh God, she was still wearing hercoffee-stained white dress. For a moment, she could do nothing but stare inhorror at her reflection. Then, she started laughing, deciding that other thancrying it was the only acceptable option. After several seconds of self-deprecating laughter, she stripped out ofher wet clothes and pulled on James’s clothes. A glance in the mirror assuredher that, no, she did not look any less ridiculous than before. She took a deepbreath, rolled her eyes at her reflection, and turned to leave the room.

When she walked out of the bathroom swimming in his jumperand sweats, her sopping hair piled up on top of her head, he had already changedhis clothes, started boiling water for the pasta, and was pouring two glassesof wine. He looked up when she walked into the kitchen, and froze, staring ather. She wasn’t a naïve schoolgirl; she knew she was attractive and she knew whatit meant when a man froze up like that at the sight of a woman in his clothes.

She watched as he carefully thought through his next move –they were both aware at this point that this night could very well set the tonefor all of their future interactions. He finished pouring the wine and thenwalked over to her, handing her a glass. When she raised a questioning brow, heshrugged. “I saw the bottle in your living room. Figured you wouldn’t mindanother glass.”

He smiled when she clinked her glass against his and took asip. She smiled when she realized they apparently had the same taste in wine.“I love a good Chardonnay.”

With one finger, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of hisnose, drawing to her attention the fact that he had put them on while she wasgetting changed.

“Me too. Technically, it’s not the best wine to pair with ared sauce, but it’s my favorite and I knew you liked it, so I…” he trailed off whenshe stepped closer, set her wine down on the counter next to him and thensurged up on the tips of her toes to press her lips to his ever-so-briefly.

“Sorry,” she said, blushing when he only stared at her. Shebacked away quickly, shaking her head with the sudden realization that that mayhave been wildly inappropriate. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I just… I’ve wondered whatit would be like, and… shit, I’m sorry. Do you have a girlfriend? Oh, God. I’vejust realized I don’t know anything about you.”

“No, no, no.” He rushed toward her, his hands closing overher clasped hands. “I just didn’t expect… You’re beautiful and… Fuck it.”

He leaned down towards her and kissed her, his lipslingering far longer than she had. When he pulled back, his glasses wereslightly askew, but he didn’t seem to care, choosing to cup her face in hishands instead of fix them. “I don’t have a girlfriend, and I have beenwondering what it would be like to kiss you as well, ever since I first sawyou. You’re just very attractive and I’m incredibly shit with women.”

She smiled up at him, resting her hands on his hips. “Well,you seem to be doing okay.”

In answer, he kissed her again, more enthusiastically thistime, pushing her up against the counter. She wanted him to lift her up, sether on top of the counter, press himself against her. When he didn’t lift herup, she pulled back, boosted herself up to sit on the counter, and drew him inbetween her legs. He groaned deeply and slipped both of his hands under thejumper he had given her.

When he cupped her breasts, her head fell back. There was asudden violent hissing-popping noise that was definitely not coming from eitherof them. He pulled away from her quickly, grabbed the pot of water on the stove, andmoved it to a different burner. His chest was heaving and he was looking backand forth from her to the water with comically wide eyes.

She laughed and shook her head. “Let’s put this on pause,yeah?”

When he looked like he wanted to protest, she jumped downfrom the counter and lifted her glass of wine. “I want to watch a man cook.It’ll be like foreplay.”

“It’s pasta,” he said, his voice much gruffer than before.“Not much cooking there.”

“Hey, I am one of those people who can burn pasta,” she toldhim, figuring it wouldn’t really matter to him that she couldn’t cook – a manwho cooked when he didn’t know he had anyone to impress was a man who enjoyedcooking and therefore did not need a woman who could cook. When he grinned ather, she knew she was right. “Give me this.”

He studied her for a moment and then shrugged. “I amhungry.”

Grinning, she watched over the rim of her glass as he movedpurposefully through the kitchen. When he caught her gaze over his shoulder,she bit her lip. This could be the start of something really, really good.

(Sequel)