#van mccann au

[your-divine-ribs]

Forbidden Part 30

Words: 3.6k

Prof Van and Y/N finally get it on // just porn right from the start // warnings: very rough sex (it’s all consensual), degradation, spanking 🖤

I forgot how dirty this was I’m going to hell 🫣

Forbidden Masterlist Main Masterlist

You don't realise that your legs have turned to jelly until Van releases your feet and starts to rise up out of the chair, lifting you up and out of his lap as he goes.

"Ahhh shit," you hiss under your breath as your knees buckle and you veer to the side, unable to counter your balance with your hands cuffed behind your back.

"I've got you," he says, one hand wrapped around your waist, the other tangling in your hair. "I reckon I could do just about anything to you and you'd always want more, isn't that right? My filthy little girl's always ready for more. I suppose you think you deserve my cock now, huh? Guess you think you can handle it?"

"I want it... please," you utter, your voice tight and shaky with need. Your cheeks burn hotly with shame at the delicious thought of being made to beg for it even now. Van's right, you really can't be satisfied. Even as fucked out and exhausted as you are you can't get enough. You can't get enough of him and his wickedness. "Please Sir, I want you. I'll be good from now on, I promise."

"Oh you promise do you?" A dark laugh, mocking. He holds you steady whilst you squirm, forcing you to look at the mess he's made of you. His lips drag down the length of your neck then up again to your jaw as a hand slides down to cup between your legs, his thumb sweeping purposefully across your over-sensitive clit. "Well I don't just want you to be good, I want you to be good for me. And I mean only me. Understand?"

You're so tender and sore that his movements make you whimper pathetically but you have no choice but to take it, knowing full well that you brought this all on yourself by shamelessly seducing Johnny. You love that fact and you know that Van does too. Despite his possessive demands he gets off on your brazenly slutty behaviour. He's addicted to that bratty side of you that's just begging to be subdued and tamed just the same as you're addicted to his corrupt streak. You're the perfect match.

"Yes Sir, only you," you whisper, faltering as he releases you temporarily to turn the chair around and push it up to the mirror, the back pressing against the silver surface. Before you can even begin to wonder what's in store for you next he shunts you forward over the chair. You push one knee up on to the seat to steady yourself and you feel him kick roughly against your other foot, spreading your legs wide.

"Well, open up for me then," he commands. "Let's see how good you can be."

You watch him reach around to dig into the back pocket of his jeans, biting down hard on your bottom lip to stifle a fearful whimper at what he might produce but to your surprise you see a flash of silver, then the pressure around your wrists is gone as he clicks open the cuffs. Your hands automatically shoot forward to grasp the back of the chair to brace yourself.

"So what'll it be then baby?" He taunts, towering over your prone body, eyes dark and dangerous in the mirror as he slowly winds your hair into a tight fist. His voice is low and measured, deliberate as he delivers a threat that makes your insides plummet with exhilarating dread. "I was gonna leave that vibrator inside you for an hour or so, all tied up and helpless whilst I sat back and watched the show... thought you might enjoy that."

He scans your face, delighted to see your eyes widen, doe-like and pleading. He tugs your hair back sharply, pushing your body down simultaneously so your back arches upwards, curved so prettily for him. "But then I figured... why should I miss out on all the fun?"

His gaze is hungry as it roams over your frame, his free hand following his line of sight, smoothing carefully down your spine and then over the curve of your ass, kneading the flesh and pulling your cheeks apart. You're fully exposed to him in the most indecent and undignified of positions as he studies you, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip as he mutters darkly. "So pretty... and all for me. I'm gonna fucking wreck you Y/N. We'll see how desperate you are to go running off for Johnny's cock when I'm done with you."

You hear the harsh slap of skin a millisecond before the pain registers and you scrunch your eyes shut, crying out. You gulp back your shock but it isn't enough to brace you against the impact of the second blow, or the third or fourth, layer after layer of pain blooming with the undoubtedly large red handprint you're sure is forming now on your delicate skin. The thought alone inspires wetness to pool between your thighs, the idea that there'll be marks left on your body after your encounter, secret marks that only you and Van know about. Marks to savour and remind you, marks to show where he's been... a delicious token of your punishment.

"Eyes open," he reminds you gruffly and you obey at once, your eyes fluttering open, blinking back tears from the sting of the impact. "I want you to watch this."

"Y... Yes Sir."

Your needy gaze searches for his in the mirror, finding it quickly and locking on, a silent plea in yours for him not to go easy on you as you hear the sound of his zipper opening. Nerves and excitement shoot through your body like lightening bolts. This is what you wanted. More of him. More of anything that he's willing to give. You want him to take you apart, push your body to its limits and beyond. You don't even want to think anymore... you just want to feel... everything.

You grit your teeth as you feel his hips butt up against your ass, his unclothed cock rubbing temptingly against your slick core. You can't see him in this position but you distinctly remember how big he was, the way he filled and stretched your mouth when he forced you to choke on his cock. You know it's going to hurt... he's going to make damn sure that it does. The most blissful kind of primal sensation. The anticipation makes you whimper pitifully as he drags his hot flesh up and down your slit, teasing you.

"So fucking needy," he mutters disdainfully. "Well, go on then... beg for it if you're so desperate. Let me hear how much you want it."

You clench with arousal, your skin aflame with want, glowing hotly with humiliation. Your instinct is to dip your head and shy away from your reflection but you can't, forced to watch the shame twist your features as he controls your every movement. He maintains a punishing grip on your hair as he slides the very tip of his cock through your folds, coating himself in your wetness, making you mewl.

"Please," you mumble, the words tumbling small and timid from your red smeared lips. "I want it..."

He chuckles derisively, goading you. The head of his cock presses tantalising against your entrance, the sweet pressure making you ache. You desperately try to manoeuvre your hips back to push down on him but he tuts at you scornfully, countering your movements, not giving in. Not giving you what you want.

"Is that all you've got? I'm sure you can do better than that. I know how filthy that mouth of yours is so don't try and act all coy with me now." He yanks roughly on your hair, arching your body unnaturally so he can growl low and throaty in your ear. "Beg for it Y/N... beg real pretty for me or you'll get nothing."

No one has ever made you feel like this before. No one has ever tapped into this darkness, this twisted need to be degraded and cheapened and used. The whines and whimpers that escape you are shamefully eager, your whole body singing with need, twitching and trembling like something possessed.

"Fuck me Sir... please!" You cry out, the desperation in your voice clear, punctuating the still of the house and bouncing off the walls, your breath hot on the mirror's surface, fogging it over. "I need your cock! I want you to fuck me hard... please!"

How needy you sound. Depraved. It's utterly humiliating. You cringe from your sudden outburst but you don't have time to contemplate it. You feel him shift into position behind you, you can see it in the mirror, his expression evolving into something wild and animalistic. You should be ready for it but nothing can prepare you for the way he forces himself inside you hard and unforgiving. It splits you in two, forcing a guttural groan from deep within your throat.

"FUCK!" You sob, eyes pricking with tears as you feel his cock kissing the furthest depths of your core, your walls struggling to accommodate the sudden intrusion.

It hurts but in the best possible way, dancing on that razor's edge of pain and pleasure, the sting receding as your body stretches and moulds itself around him. A hand grabs your hips with a bruising pressure as he pulls you tight against his body and leans over, the weight and heat of him enveloping you, overwhelming, clouding your senses.

"Holy shit, you feel so good," he hisses sharply, his edge of control wavering as he savours the feeling of being buried deep inside you.

He rests there for a moment, head bowed and hair hanging down whilst he mutters under his breath how good you feel... how tight you are... how fucking perfect you are for him... It makes your cunt flutter, your body poised and ready to take him, weakened but accepting. The thought that you might be witness to him losing it completely floods your whole being with a need so strong it catches you unawares. You've never needed anything so badly.

"Please Sir, please fuck me. I want it. I need it so bad."

"I'm gonna fucking ruin you," is his gruff reply, a threat you hope he'll fully deliver on as you feel the jut of his hips pressing against the swell of your ass. He pulls himself out slowly, slow enough for you to feel every inch of him until just his tip rests inside you. Excitement buzzes in your blood, your lower lip pulled between your teeth.

Without warning he snaps his hips forward in a brutal thrust that wrenches a strangled cry from your lungs, the loud smack of flesh on flesh harsh as his cock splits you open once again. And this time he doesn't stop, hips pistoning ruthlessly as he pierces you again and again with every upward drive. He feels so big and so deep in this position that you swear you can feel him in your belly.

"Fucking hell," you sob as you cling to the back of the chair, your knuckles white. You knew it would be intense but you hadn't bargained on it being quite so devastatingly all-consuming. Your shamefully fucked out expression in the mirror looks back at you through a veil of tears, your skin slick and glossy with sweat, your breasts bouncing with each merciless thrust.

"Needy slut," he hisses, drawing back enough to watch you take him, delivering another stinging blow to your ass which has your cunt clamping down on him, a surge of wetness trickling down the backs of your thighs. "Oh you like that don't you? Fuck... just look at you. Dripping wet for me. My filthy girl likes it rough, huh?"

Your mewls and whimpers and whines are all the answer he needs and he picks up his pace, every buck of his hips forcing his cock to slam hard against your cervix, the overwhelming pressure sore but blissful.

"Gonna fuck you so good you'll never want anyone else."

He looks divine in the mirror as he spits out his promise, the flush high on his cheeks, sweat pooling in the hollow of his neck and glistening on his chest where his shirt's open, strands of his dampened hair plastered to his forehead. His gaze is glued to the point where you two meet as he watches his slick length relentlessly plough into you, your hot wet tightness clutching him so perfectly.

Another whimper escapes your lips as he leans further forward so his body weight presses you down whilst he pulls your head back by your hair. He tilts your hips to a new angle so he can fuck you impossibly deeper and you feel like a broken puppet with severed strings, your delicate frame jarring with each of his relentless thrusts. He has complete control over you and all you can do is take it, fucked out of your wits, your mind emptying of everything apart from him and the mind-numbing pleasure that hurts so fucking good.

"Don't fade out baby, not yet," he croons, warm and sweet as he nips roughly at your ear-lobe. "You're gonna come for me one more time. Wanna feel you cream all over my cock."

"I can't... ahhh... I don't think... I can... fuck... it's too much..."

Even as you're saying the words you feel his hand sliding between your legs to feel the stretch of you around him, moving up to pinch at your clit, the pressure making you moan jagged and broken.

"Shh-shh-shh, I'll say when it's too much," he hushes you gently, sweeping slow circles on your abused clit, a sharp contrast to the savage pace he's fucking you with. Each collision of your bodies jolts you, raw gasps interspersed with sobs of pleasure. It's too much, much too much, bliss bubbling up through your veins and overflowing with nowhere to go.

You want so bad to just tip your head up to the ceiling and surrender to the euphoric sensations but you catch his burning gaze in the mirror and you find that you can't look away. You daren't look away.

"That's it Y/N, get a good look at who's fucking you so good. Only I get to make you feel like this." He releases your hair as his hand snakes around your neck, pulling your body up tight against his, your shoulder blades pressing into his chest. "You understand?"

You whimper in response, the only noises escaping you high-pitched whines that catch in your throat as his fingers lace firmly around it. His merciless pace doesn't falter, every mind-fracturing thrust pushing you closer to the brink, grinding deep whilst his fingers work increasingly slippery strokes on your clit.

"I said do you understand?" He demands, his grip tightening on your throat at your lack of satisfactory response. "Who's the only one who gets to fuck you like this?"

You wonder how he expects you to answer. Sounds choke in your constricted throat, your brain turned to mush so that when you try to stutter out the words 'only you Sir' they come out like a garbled sob. All you can think about is the throb at your core, the insatiable need to come again obliterating everything else. The sharp bright promise of indescribable pleasure twinkling like the sun cresting the horizon.

He chuckles at your pitiful attempt, his voice in your ear condescending. "Ahhh... is my baby too cock-dumb to speak? Well I guess I'll just have to show you then."

Your arms are shaking and you can barely feel your legs and you dimly wonder what would happen if you collapsed from exhaustion and over-stimulation right now. Would he be merciful? Would he stop? A wicked part of you hopes that he wouldn't. He's fucking you with everything he's got, his carefully composed self-control disintegrating rapidly as he pants and groans like a man possessed. Everything inside you is pulled up tight and taut, the pressure building rapidly, unbearable. You're amazed that it's even physically possible to peak again but it's the sight and sound of him like this that brings you swiftly to the edge, unhinged and feral like you've never seen him before. It's exactly what you wanted. It's everything that you've been dreaming of.

"Fuck-oh-fuck-oh-fuck-oh-FU-CK!" You wail, your body shuddering like you've just had a thousand volts pumped through you. Stars burst in your field of vision and your brain short-circuits as you erupt like white hot lava, the rush of heat shooting through every nerve ending, leaving you weak and boneless.

Van isn't far behind you. He finally lets go with a throaty groan of pure relief, his hips stuttering against your ass as he pumps you full, fucking you through his climax, every muscle in his body going rigid. He mutters into the skin of your neck, breathless and a little dazed himself. "So good... so good for me... fucking perfect... you did so well... my sweet, sweet girl..."

His words wisp hot and scorching over your clammy skin, sweet as sugar, cooling against the sweat which drips from your hairline.

You feel his lips on your jaw, you can see it in the mirror as he plants gentle open-mouthed kisses down the length of your neck to your shoulder, tasting the salt on your skin, breathing in your scent. He's still holding you tightly against him, a hand under your jaw, another clutching you around your waist. You feel him softening inside you, the warm sticky wetness of his cum mingling with your own juices, trickling down the backs of your thighs as he moves against you to pull out.

"I don't... I can't... I don't think I can stand," you murmur quickly, panicking at the thought of him moving away and leaving you slumped over the chair. You're physically and mentally exhausted, your body wrung out and used up, surely to crumple into a heap if he lets you go. Your muscles are stiff, everything tight and aching, bruised. You can only imagine the marks you'll bear tomorrow.

"Shhh... it's okay... I've got you," he promises for the second time that night, but this time there's not a hint of mocking or threat. You wonder if you're imagining it, the sudden softness in his voice, the roughness melting away as the pent up sexual energy that's been crackling between the two of you for weeks is finally reduced to a residual hum. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna let you go."

You're still transfixed by the image before you in the mirror, the gorgeous mess he's made of you, makeup smeared over your face, eyes glazed and unfocused, glossy wetness coating your thighs. Van's right there behind you, the usual icy intensity in his eyes marred by a warmer glow. It's something close to tenderness... or so you find yourself daring to hope.

Despite your tiredness an electric buzz still simmers under your skin from the thrill of it all, little tremors like aftershocks shivering you through. Your breath snags in your lungs, struggling to surface. Soothing touches run across the skin of your mid-riff, his other hand finally tilting your face up and away from the mirror to his. He's firm but not harsh, still demanding in that thoroughly addictive way of his. His brows are knitted together in a small frown as he gazes down on you, studying you intently. "I don't think you realise how long I've been dreaming about this... having you all to myself."

"You... you've been... dreaming... about me?"

You stutter out the words, still breathless, an overwhelming shyness washing over you with his full and close attention turned on you the way that it is. For some reason you feel even more self-conscious now than you have done all night. It seems crazy considering the compromised positions he's had you in, the way he's had you on show for him all exposed and vulnerable.

When he smiles his whole face lights up, eyes crinkling in the corners, radiating an unexpected warmth. He runs his thumb softly over your cheek. "Uh-huh. Is that so hard to believe?"

"Yes, yes it is actually." You nestle into his palm, barely daring to breathe lest it breaks the calm kind of intimacy that's fallen over the both of you.

He never breaks eye contact as he shifts his position, the hand that was around your middle sliding down to tuck around the backs of your thighs. He lifts you quickly and without warning, almost causing you to yelp out loud in shock as he scoops you up in his arms, holding you bridal style.

"What the... what are you doing?" Your voice is high-pitched with surprise.

"You said you didn't think you could stand. I thought you might need a hand."

You reach up to rest your hands around his shoulders as he turns you away from the mirror, mind whirling with thoughts about what he has planned. "So, this dream you've been having..." you start, your gut churning with excitement and nerves. "What happens next?"

You're exiting the living room now, moving back towards the hallway, keeping your eyes trained on Van even though you want to gawp around and take everything in. He's carrying you as if you were weightless, satisfied little smile playing on his lips as he looks down on you. Fuck... he's ridiculously gorgeous. You've always thought it but there's something about seeing him in this intimate setting that makes him even more attractive. You're in so deep with this man you can't even touch the floor anymore.

"Well... I take you to bed of course."

[catb-fics]

Skin to Skin (Dad Van)

Words: 2k

No warnings just fluff for my Valentine’s countdown // Feeding your baby daughter for the first time 💗

Dad Van Masterlist Main Masterlist

You'd never understood the concept of crying tears of happiness until now. Sweat-soaked and exhausted, your voice hoarse and dry and your muscles strained and weary, you gently cradled the precious and wondrously beautiful new life that was your baby daughter and you sobbed as you watched her through glassy eyes full of tears.

"She's perfect babe, just perfect. I can't believe it. You did so good... I can't believe that she's ours..."

Van's voice is tight and shaky as he loses the fight to hold back his own tears, wiping them away with the cuff of his shirt sleeve as they track down his cheeks. You wrench your eyes away from your perfect little miracle to look up at him, so much love flowing between you at that moment as you soak up the realisation that you're parents now, no longer just a couple but a family.

"She's beautiful Van. Just look at her. Look at her little nose... and lips... and fingers. Everything's so tiny! I think she has your features, she definitely has your eyes. I think she looks like you already."

You both look down again at the little bundle, all swaddled up in a blanket, big expressive eyes wide open and gazing up at you and it hits you then. This is just the beginning.

You'd thought the birth was the hard part but the visceral pain of labour had already started to dull the moment the midwife had checked over and weighed your daughter and placed her in your arms. The hard parts are up ahead, the sleepless nights and the new-mum worries, the realisation that not only have you both created a little human being but now you have to take care of her for the rest of your lives overwhelming you.

"Nah, she's too beautiful to look like me, she's gorgeous, just like her mummy. I'm so proud of you Y/N, you were amazing. I'm in absolute awe of you love."

His eyes glow with adoration as he looks between you both, slipping an arm around your shoulder as he snuggles in even closer to you on the hospital bed.

"I couldn't have done it without you," you tell him, resting your head his shoulder. "I love you."

"I love you too... so much," he mumbles into your hair, planting a soft kiss there before he turns his attention back to his little girl, leaning right over her, a fingertip gently running over the apple of her rosy cheek. "Hey there baby girl, I've been waiting so long to meet you... and here you are, more beautiful than I ever could've imagined."

She makes a soft gurgling cooing noise, stretching out a tiny arm, her hand coming to rest on Van's finger. He lets out a delighted chuckle as her small but perfectly formed fingers wrap around his fingertip.

"Look at that! Look at that Y/N! Hey sweetheart, I'm your daddy. I love you so much, me and your mummy love you more than anything. You wouldn't believe."

His voice cracks again as he fights back a fresh round of tears, fascinated and awed by this new life that you've both been blessed with. She blinks up at Van through her long lashes, squirming in your arms, turning her head towards his finger, tiny lips seeking as a small whimper arises.

"I think maybe she's hungry already," you observe. "She definitely takes after you! Are you hungry my little one?"

You shift on the bed, drawing down your nightdress and unclipping your maternity bra, uncertainty taking over as you awkwardly try to manoeuvre your daughter into the position you'd been shown in your ante-natal sessions.

"Are you okay? What can I do? Do ya want a pillow? Here... have one to prop up your arm," Van offers, fussing around you, concern in his eyes as he takes in your worried expression. "Can ya manage? Are ya comfy like that? Shall I get the midwife back?"

"No, no... just let me try," you insist. "It can't be that hard."

Surely it should be the most natural thing in the world? The female human body is literally designed to birth a child and feed and nurture it, but even so your head is full of countless stories you've read on baby blogs online about breast-feeding struggles. Your little girl latches on hungrily but then quickly pulls away, her whimpers growing stronger, her small fingers pawing at your skin.

"Shit... this is harder than it looks," you curse nervously, gathering your baby up in your arms to try switching sides, groans of frustration bursting from you as you struggle to get your positioning right. "Something's wrong, I'm not doing it right. I just can't seem to get it right!"

Your eyes flick up to meet Van's anxious expression but then quickly back down, not wanting him to see the hot tears that are brimming in your eyes. Tears of tiredness and worry and frustration this time.

"You're doing great babe, really... you are. We could just give her a bottle though... just this once... I'm sure it'd be fine..."

"No!" You cut him off bluntly, your voice coming sharper and with more force that you intend. His eyes widen and his face creases and you soften then, quickly checking yourself. "I didn't mean to snap," you explain. "You know I want to do this myself, it's really important to me. I just need a bit of time to get it right... that's all."

"Okay... okay... I just want to do as much as I can. I'm sure you'll be feeding her like a pro in no time though! You can do anything that you set your mind to... you'll see... you always do."

Van grins a warm encouragement, one hand gently stroking at the downy hair on your baby's head, the other smoothing down over your back. You both watch as her tiny lips latch on again, a surprisingly strong suction this time that makes you gasp. You look up at Van, a huge smile of triumph breaking out.

"She's doing it... she's actually doing it!" You whisper, excitedly but quietly lest you break the spell. Van looks back at you with pride and reverence in his eyes, shaking his head slightly like he still can't quite believe that the last tough ten hours of labour since you arrived at the hospital have just taken place.

He leans even closer, peering in wonder as he takes in the scene. "Just look at you both like that... look at her go! She's proper guzzling! S'fuckin' amazing innit?"

"Shh... no swearing, remember?" You gently scold him with a smirk. "Don't want her growing up foul-mouthed like her Daddy!" You're only joking and he knows it, breathing a quiet 'sorry love' in between a whispered laugh.

You're both silent then for a long moment, you leaning into Van's warm embrace, your daughter contentedly suckling at your body's wonderful nourishment, a picture perfect scene that you know will be imprinted in your memories forever.

"How's it feel anyway?" Van breaks the silence eventually, folding the neckline of your nightdress carefully back where it's fallen over your daughter's face.

"It's just... weird... feels weird... kinda strange..." You pause, searching for the right words, quickly adding "in a good way though... a really good way. It feels bloody amazing actually. I can't believe I'm actually doing it. I'm actually feeding our baby Van... our daughter... our little girl. Can you believe it?"

You break off into a delighted giggle, only distracted when the sensation of your baby suckling changes, looking down to see her tiny jaw slacken as her lips purse and pucker as she pulls away. A small trickle of milk pools in the corner of her mouth which you quickly wipe away with a muslin cloth.

"Oh my god look at her!" You laugh, watching her eyelids fluttering as she blinks up at you sleepily, looking almost dazed. "That's the exact same look you get when you've had too much to drink!"

"Milk-drunk!" Van sniggers, lifting his arm away from your shoulder as he shifts on the bed. "Must be good stuff! Not surprising really... considering where it's come from!"

You laugh, nudging him with your elbow lightly, then you set about propping your baby up on your lap, gently rubbing soothing circles on her back which elicits a tiny burp, smiling to yourself that you've already overcome such an important first milestone of motherhood.

You're so caught up on making gooey eyes at your daughter that you don't realise what Van's doing, but detecting movement out the corner of your eye prompts you to look around. To your surprise and puzzlement, Van's sitting there propped up against the headboard of the hospital bed unbuttoning his shirt. The first four buttons are already undone and he's starting on the fifth when you speak, stilling him momentarily.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"It's my turn now, c'mon pass her over," he smiles, popping open the last button and holding out his arms, his shirt falling open to reveal his bare chest.

You just stare at him, completely befuddled, wondering whether maybe he's been sneakily siphoning off some of the gas and air whilst your back's been turned. "C'mon," he urges. "Ya can't keep her all to yourself! I'm desperate to hold her!"

"Sure... sure..." you mumble, gathering up your precious little bundle and getting gingerly to your feet, wincing slightly as you shuffle over to Van. You stop, hovering over him whilst he looks at you expectantly, bursting with eagerness. "What's with stripping off though? I'm not being funny, but you haven't exactly got... the right equipment!"

He grins, shaking his head. "Course not love, but I'm just thinking about what the midwife said... you know, in the ante-natal classes. About how dads could get involved? Skin to skin or summat... s'posed to be a good way to bond."

"Oh... so you were listening then?" You tease good-naturedly, recalling all the daft jokes Van used to relentlessly crack during the sessions, no doubt a cover for the nervousness he'd never admit at the prospect of becoming a dad.

You can see it now, the slight tremble in his hands as you place your baby carefully in his outstretched arms, the gentle way he supports her head and tiny body like she's made of the finest china and he's frightened that she might break.

"Oh wow, she's so tiny... she's as light as a feather. And so, so beautiful... just perfect. How did we create something so perfect, eh?"

You hear him suck in a shaky breath which he blows out quickly, leaning back against the headboard and bringing his daughter closer to his body. He lifts her carefully and positions her so she's pressed flush to his chest, then he begins to untuck the blanket that's swaddled around her, delicately pulling it free.

"Look at you... all wrapped up like a little burrito!" He chuckles. "C'mon sweetheart, come and lie on daddy. Gonna take good care of you... you and your mum. I love you both so much."

He dips his head down to plant a small kiss on your baby's head and she makes a contented cooing sound, nuzzling into his bare chest. He's cradling her with one hand, the other stroking soft, soothing circles on her back. You feel your heart swell with emotion watching the two of them together, your precious little girl so serene and comforted, the way Van looks down at her so dotingly and protective.

"Thank you Y/N," he murmurs, voice a little choked as he looks up, meeting your eyes which again are brimming with tears of emotion, his own looking glossy too.

"For what?"

He smiles, warm and genuine. "For making me so happy. Don't think I've ever felt this happy before... ever."

[pacifymebby]

Born To Die <3

If you want to go on a taglist add yourself by replying to this post x

Intro

🐇Chapter One🍎

🌹Chapter Two🔪

🍬Chapter Three🪽

🐇Chapter Four🍎

🌹 Chapter Five🔪

🍬Chapter Six🪽

🐇Chapter Seven🍎

🌹Chapter Eight🔪

🍬Chapter Nine🪽

[you-andthebottlemen]

55 - AU request: Peasant Van part 2

Hi everyone!! New day, new post and it’s a fun one! My first AU in a while. Now today I am frantic as I am flying back home (yaaay love 24hr long haul flights rip) and will be crazy over the next little while with Life Things and getting used to normality after so long away (is this what Van feels like?) so I hope you enjoy this one and that it will tide you over until my next post. For anyone who has sent a request recently: I promise I have gotten them and started working on them. Love you all, hope you’re doing okay xxx 

Based off this request:

i’ve got no clue if this has been asked before but... is peasant van/princess reader part 2 a possibility? where she gets out of that tower and gets her cottage and her kids and her love-filled marriage and everything she’s dreamed of? because to be honest, that’s exactly the kind of story i need right now (your writing is class by the way, and your harry potter au’s might just be the greatest thing aside from this) xx

It is a part two of my medieval ‘peasant Van’ AU I wrote ages ago so definitely read that first if you haven’t, I will link it below. I am so happy someone requested this. The fic is weird and cute and I love it, glad to return to these characters! (Disclaimer: it is also not historically accurate or anything like that, it’s not very logical either or realistic. But it is CUTE so enjoy).

Part 1 can be found here: https://you-andthebottlemen.tumblr.com/post/163965383698/43-au

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Month’s had rolled by since the night that Van, the scruffy but sweet boy who lived outside the wall, had climbed up the tower and found himself in your bedroom. You weren’t able to see each other much in fear he would get caught. But you found a way to exchange letters; one of the servant boys in the kitchen, Johnny, knew him and would pass them between you for a small reward in return. Van’s letters were poorly written, and you could tell that he probably had trouble reading. It didn’t matter though; the letters became your prized possessions.

You spent your time as always, doing your duties sitting in court by your parents, attending feasts and whatever else. Your ‘spare’ time was filled with embroidery and endless day dreaming. The same routine, day in and day out. Sometimes you were able to visit the town but never alone, always with your silver clad entourage. This made things tedious anyway and even more difficult with Van in the picture now. You’d usually only have stolen glances, maybe the odd conversation where you pretended not to know each other. Regardless, you found ways to make it fun with your secret language made of riddles that only you and he understood.

“Will you be attending the opening of the gardens this week?” you asked him, your tone formal as to not alert the knights to anything suspicious.

“My lady, ‘course I will be. Love them roses,” he smiled, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Your heart felt warm and fuzzy, making you bite your lip to hide a smile. “They’re my favourite,” you replied.

“Specially them peach coloured ones,” Van commented and winked. You blushed wildly and he smirked triumphantly.

“Move along Princess,” one of the knights grunted, staring down at Van menacingly, perhaps remembering him from The Incident a while back.

Van reached out and delicately took your hand in his, bowing and giving it a quick kiss. You hated being treated this way by people, as if you weren’t just the same as them on the inside. But with Van it was sweet and filled you with excitement knowing that it meant something more than anyone realised, and you were doing it right under their noses. You smiled and held eye contact with him as you were guided away, knowing you’d be seeing each other again soon.

……….

Finally, the day had come for another garden opening. It had always been your favourite event at the castle, you loved being able to give some joy to the townsfolk, a distraction from their day to day lives. But now, it was even more special because it was a time you could slip off and be with Van undisturbed, where you could be yourself.

You were sat down in the soft green grass, shoes off and your face pointing up towards the sky so the sun could soak into your skin. You could feel Van just watching you. He’d been telling you that the roses he’d planted at home were in fact, flourishing. He reckoned he had a green thumb. Though from what he’d told you about his father, you could bet that Bernie had been tending to them without Van’s knowledge. They sounded like the sweetest family and you wished you had a relationship like that with yours. Instead, you did whatever you were told without question and it never felt all that loving.

You fluttered your eyelids open and turned to Van. He was laying back on the ground, propped up on his elbows. He quickly averted his gaze when he saw you catching him in his stare. You giggled and he cracked a sheepish grin.

“Whatcha’ thinking about Peaches?”

Him. Always him.

“What’s the story of that gold necklace?” you asked, your eyes landing on the small pendent that peeked out of his tattered shirt.

Van sat up and shuffled towards you; you now sat cross-legged opposite each other, your knees touching.

“Well, it’s been in my family for a while. Dad gave it to mum when she had me, then when I turned 18, they gave it to me. Then I’ll give it to my wife when she has our first-born son and yeah.”

He finished his clunky story with a shrug and placed a hesitant hand on your knee. You looked up and met his eyes; both of you suddenly nervous. Van probably because he knew that he was overstepping a line, and you because you wanted more than just a hand on the knee.

“I love that,” you said, referring to the story of his necklace. “Your wife will be a lucky woman.”

“Will you be my wife?” Van asked, innocently but with conviction.

The soft smile on your lips fell and your jaw dropped in bewilderment.

“What?!”

“I meant it when I said I’d get you out! That we’d run away. Run away with me?”

Van shuffled closer and moved the hand on your knee to your cheek. You were reminded of the conversation on your bed that night, when Van pleaded with you and proposed ideas of escaping to the life you wanted but couldn’t have. You’d not said no to his idea then and you had clung onto it in your daydreams ever since.

“Van…“

Van leant forward close to your face and you could feel his breath, his nose grazing against yours. Your heart rate spiked and you sat stunned and frozen. Taking your stillness as a sign, Van leant in even closer and pressed his lips to yours.

It was a soft and undemanding kiss. Van was testing the waters; he didn’t want to scare you. You pulled away slightly and looked at him in both shock and wonder. You loved that he was brave and bold enough to just kiss a princess.

“Oh, Peaches, I’m sorry, I- “

“Shhh,” you smiled. You grabbed his face in your hands and pulled him into you again. You felt him smile against your lips as you kissed the second time. You had more confidence now and your heart fluttered. It was messy but that was okay.

When you pulled away, Van was wearing the biggest grin you’d ever seen, and that was saying something. You couldn’t help but mirror his expression; you were feeling giddy and dazed and incredibly happy. Your first kiss. It was perfect and with the perfect person.

After a moment, you both burst into laughter. Neither of you could believe what just happened. Van fell back into the grass and covered his face with his hands, still grinning.

“I kissed a princess!” he exclaimed to himself, his voice turning high pitched. You giggled at him and smiled in awe.

When he moved his hands from his face, you lay down on the grass beside him, resting your head on his chest. Van wrapped an arm around your shoulder and held you close. You’d never felt safer and you’d never felt happier, than right there in his arms.

………………

That evening, you floated about the castle without a care in the world. You were so happy; completely on cloud nine. Your kiss with Van and the afternoon as a whole replayed over and over in your mind, filling you with more excitement each time. You felt as though nothing could wipe the smile from your face or the joy from your heart.

However, you were wrong.

“What do you mean I’m getting married?!” you exclaimed, in both rage and shock.

“We’ve found you a suiter y/n!” you mother squeaked excitedly, clasping her hands to her cheeks.

You glared at both your parents who sat in their thrones before you.

“No. I don’t accept. I don’t want to marry someone I don’t know and don’t love.”

“What do you mean ‘no?” your father scoffed. “Marry for love? This isn’t a fantasy!”

“I will not marry him!” you cried with tears streaming down your cheeks.

“You will. It’s decided. The Lord arrives in a week for your first meeting. And you will be wed y/n, it will be of great benefit to our land.”

You tore away from the throne room in a run and escaped back to your tower. Once inside the walls of your bedroom, you collapsed down onto your bed and sobbed until your eyes were bloodshot and sore. You didn’t want to marry whoever this lord was, you didn’t want to move away. You didn’t want any of this. You only wanted Van and the babies and life far away from all of this royalty crap.

Once you’d calmed down and could breathe properly again, you went to look out your window. The sun was going down now and the land around you glowed. You looked out into the distance in the direction Van had told you he lived and wondered what he was doing right now. Was he thinking of you too?

You mulled over his words and promises about running away together. You wanted to drop everything and run so, so badly. To leave it all behind and escape this life that wasn’t meant for you.

Without a second thought, you packed a rucksack with some clothes and your most important possessions, the pile of Van’s letters included. Once the sun had set and the sky was black, you devised a plan on how to escape the castle under the cover of darkness while everyone was asleep. Not an easy task but if Van could break in, you could break out. And you’d never been more determined to do anything in your life.

…………

Wearing the plainest clothing you owned, you followed Johnny through the tunnel under the moat. You felt scared and cold but also couldn’t shake the excitement. Turns out that Van had told Johnny everything; so, he wasn’t too hesitant on helping you escape out the servant’s route to the town. He said he’d take you to Van’s house and you promised that you’d make sure no harm would come to him and also gave him a small pouch of coins for the risk.

“You alright?” he asked.

You nodded but clung to his arm as he led you through the dark. You didn’t dare light a torch in case you were spotted.

Once you reached the end and you could finally see the stars again, Johnny gave you his coat to cover your dress in case anyone was out and about who could recognise you. You were beyond grateful for his help and you wished you could do something proper for him in return. You thought it said a lot about Van that he had such wonderful friends.

Soon, Johnny had led you past the market and through rows of small houses, which were more like huts or cottages. Animals made noises as you passed them by and you winced every time in fear the owners would come out and find you. You dreaded the thought of what would happen if you were to be dragged back to your parents at the castle, caught in the act of running away.

“Okay Princess, it’s that one,” Johnny whispered, pointing out a small mud brick place with a wonky looking rose bush at the side. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Thank you, I can never repay you Johnny, truly I am in debt to you.”

“Not at all Princess,” Jonny said sincerely shook his head. “And call me Bondy.”

“Bondy,” you repeated with a smile and small nod. “Call me y/n.”

He stuck his hand out for a shake but instead you pulled him in for a hug and kiss on the cheek. You could almost feel the shock radiating off him. You gave him back his coat and waved one last time before he descended back off into the dark the way you’d came.

You took a final deep breath; it was now or never and you’d already come this far. There was a soft orange glow from one of the windows, probably a candle, so hopefully you wouldn’t be waking anyone up with your shock arrival. You felt bad turning up like this and hoped that Van had truly meant what he said.

After softly knocking at the door, you heard a shuffle of feet. Your heart was racing. When the door opened you were met by an older man with kind eyes. They were like Van’s but aged, though no less bright. He opened his mouth to speak but before he could get a word out, you heard another echo of footsteps and a familiar voice.

“Who is it?”

Suddenly Van peaked out from behind his father’s shoulder trying to get a look at whoever was there. If you weren’t so nervous, you would have laughed at how nosey he was.

“Peaches?!”

Van eagerly pushed poor Bernie out of the way and bundled you into a hug. You felt instantly relieved and melted right into him. When you pulled away, Van ushered you inside without question, his father close behind. The place was small, smaller than any home you’d ever been in. The whole place was probably the size of your bedroom if a little larger. There was a basic stove in one corner with a stone bench to cook on, a shabby looking table and chairs then two small doorways which you assumed led to bedrooms. It was so basic but somehow felt more homely than the castle despite its size and grandeur.

“Dad this is Peach-… the Princess,” Van said to his dad, stumbling over his words.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Princess,” he smiled warmly.

“You can call me y/n, I’m nothing special,” you replied timidly. “Sorry, for uh, being here Mr McCann,” you said, looking down. Your usual confidence and eloquence escaped you.

You didn’t want to offend the man and you felt really terrible for showing up on his doorstep like this and putting the family in such a position. Hiding you would be considered treason. Treason was punishable by imprisonment or even death.

Bernie’s face softened and he placed a hand on your shoulder. “Van’s told us everything, you’re so welcome here my dear.”

“Thank you. So, so much.”

You looked between Van and Bernie gratefully, some worry lifting off your chest. After a short while Bernie went back to bed where Van’s mother Mary was still sleeping. Van and Bernie both had an inkling she wouldn’t be as happy about this unexpected visit as they were so best to let her have a full night’s sleep. You and Van stayed up longer and talked. You told him everything, about the marriage and the lord arriving in a week. You had to fight off tears just speaking out it.

“I knew things were too good to be true,” you whispered into his chest as he held you tight.

You were upset that this had all happened after the most perfect day together. Your head swam with worries and you didn’t know what on earth you were doing.

“You’re here now and we’ll work it out, yeah?” Van soothed.

He set you up in his bed, insisting on taking the floor. You put up a fight but he was relentless and wouldn’t stop making a fuss until you were laid down and tucked up. The bed was hard and dug into your back, but you didn’t care.

Van kissed you goodnight and then fell asleep quickly despite laying on the cold dirt floor. Everything was uncertain and this was terrifying. But you stared down at the boy with the freckles, bad haircut and blue eyes who would do anything for you and felt a little more at ease. You fell asleep that night calmed with the knowledge that Van McCann, the peasant boy who had taken a bite out of your peach, had also stolen your heart.

…………….

“Van! Close the gate! The goat will get out!” you yelled desperately as you heard him come home.

“Sorry Peaches can’t hear you, the goat got out!” he shouted back.

You sighed and rolled your eyes. You couldn’t help but laugh a little too. Years had passed but Van hadn’t changed at all; you loved it.

Ignoring the ruckus caused by Van trying to herd the goat back into the yard outside, you looked down at the little rosy cheeked baby girl sitting up and smiling at you from her wooden crib. She had Van’s blue eyes and long lashes. Just looking at her made your heart want to burst with love.

“What are we going to do with Daddy?” you asked her, smiling and bending down to her level.

You’d named her Mary after Van’s mother. Little Mary made gurgling sounds at you and stuck her fingers in her mouth. She was the first of what you suspected were many babies to come. You caressed her cheek before getting up to clear the kitchen from breakfast.

You and Van had escaped and eloped. Van’s cousins lived in another village that was in another Kingdom; your parents couldn’t touch you and it was unlikely anyone would recognise you there either. His uncle set him up with a job and he’d worked day in and day out saving up to buy you a wedding ring. As soon as he could afford it, he proposed. After a while, you were able to move from the spare room in one of his cousin’s houses into a tiny cottage of your own. Then before you knew it, Little Mary was on her way. Van’s family had been so kind and supportive; giving you second-hand baby clothes or toys and anything else they could. Life was perfect. You had friends, real friends for the first time in your life. You felt free. No one knew you had escaped the life of royalty and it felt good to be seen for who you were, not the title that hung over your head.

Van was the perfect husband and perfect father. You couldn’t believe that your reality now looked the same as all the things you daydreamed about up in your tower for years. And it was all because of Van. The love of your life. You’d grown up together, his hair cut improved a bit and now you shared a tiny perfect child who so far seemed to be an even combination of the two of you. You wondered what her personality would be like as she grew up. Would she be sweet and mischievous like Van or a level headed dreamer like you?

Van came through the door breathing heavily and his face and clothes smudged in dirt.

“Bloody goat,” he breathed, wiping his forehead.

“Well, I did say not to leave the gate open,” you smirked. “Besides, I like the goat, best not let it escape yeah?”

You walked over and gave Van a kiss, ignoring how bad he smelt. You’d started selling goats milk cheese in the local market, earning your little family some extra money. You’d also started experimenting on making goat milk soaps. That was still a work in progress, though you enjoyed having something of your own to do. Van loved it, thought you were ‘dead smart’.

“Go get washed up,” you instructed as you tried to rub the smudge off his cheek.

Van stopped to give Mary a kiss on top of her head as he walked through to the back where the tub was. She giggled and reached her arms up to him.

“Can’t pick you up love, mum says I need to wash. I smell,” he said to her as if she understood.

Your hand moved unconsciously to the gold chain that now hung on your neck and you fiddled with it as you stared at the two of them, totally besotted.

When Van had finished, he came out to find you and Mary sat out in the garden. You had her sat on your lap and you were showing her the different flowers that had bloomed. Van sat down beside you and reached his arms out for his baby girl. She shrieked when she saw him and was passed over happily. Mary stretched out and touched his face, he just made silly expressions back at her. Van was dirt free and in a clean fabric shirt, his wet hair clung to his forehead and stuck up funnily. He’d lost the baby fat off his cheeks but otherwise looked the same as when you’d first met him really. Though he’d definitely gotten more handsome with age.

“Look how beautiful your mummy is,” he whispered to Mary as he held your gaze, turning her to face you.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks.

“I got something for you at the market this mornin’,” he said.

He sat Mary down on the grass and raced off. She began to curiously pull blades of grass out of the ground and squish them up between her fingers. When Van came back, he had his hands hidden behind his back.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed. You did what he said.

Van placed something in your hands, it was soft and kind of…furry? When you opened your eyes, you couldn’t contain the grin.

“A peach!” he boasted proudly.

Peaches were ridiculously hard to come by where you lived now. In that moment you were thrown back to your first meeting with Van. The old lady and her granddaughter, Van being chased by knights, you keeping the peach on your windowsill for weeks. Who would have thought that you end up running away to start a family with that very peasant boy? Certainly not you. You felt sad for a minute, thinking about your parents who had no idea where you were. You tried not to think about those things too much. You had everything you’d ever dreamed of.

As if sensing your sudden mood change, Van crouched down closer to you and stroked your cheek.

“Thank you, Van,” you smiled and leant in to kiss him. You handed the peach to Little Mary. She looked at it curiously and rubbed the soft peach fuzz against her cheek.

“Do you think she’d like it?” Van asked you.

You shrugged and he reached out to take the peach. Little Mary’s face screwed up and her lip trembled like she was going to cry because daddy had taken her new toy. Van pulled the skin off the peach to make it easier for her toothless little mouth.

“Careful, don’t let daddy take a bite!” you said to her, giving Van a wink. He just smirked back at you, knowing exactly what memory you were referring to.

Van’s hair had started to dry in soft waves under the sunshine and he looked faultless. He handed the fruit back to Mary and her tiny smile returned. She began to suck on the peach, clearly liking the sweet taste.

Van sat and pulled you into his lap. He held you from behind and buried his face in your neck, giving your skin soft kisses. You squeezed his hands tight, wanting to live in this moment forever.

“I love you, Peaches,” he whispered.

“I love you too Van,” you replied, staring at your blue-eyed baby girl who was now covered in peach juice and loving it.

[vanmccantfish]

decided it was time to take catfish's socials into my own hands... presenting:

catfish and the bottlemen if they were active on twitter

+ bonus for asa

[i-ntrmission]

Nine (Van McCann)

Just a silly little fic where Van is sporadic regular at a coffee shop.

Part 1

Part 2 

Saturday morning.

You’ve already baked cinnamon buns and the peacan pie by time Carly officially opens up the café at 8. The smell of freshly baked goods circling the shop, Carly hums in appreciation, hovering in the kitchen to see what she can rob for breakfast.

Toby arrives at half 8, Carly all too gladly standing back from the coffee machine. He hovers by the kitchen door a few minutes later, thanking you again for last night while you’re pulling a tray of breakfast muffins out of the oven.

“Sure you didn’t lose something?” You ask him, he only blinks, a questioning ‘no?’, and you tug his keys from your pocket.

“Are they my- shit, where’d you find them?!”

Fragmented story telling about last night, about Van, between serving customers. You still feel a rush of lightheadedness when you think about last night, think about Van. Heartbeat kicking up in a weird little pitter-patter rhythm - something you only associate with kittens and Hugh Grant films. Toby listens with a knowing smile, which you choose to ignore.

“Oh, and guess who Julia got off with last night?” You say, maybe to change the subject off Van, after he’s handed a takeaway cup to the last of the customers. He raises a how eyebrows, looking at you with interest. Toby liked to act like he wasn’t interested in the gossip, stories swapped between you and Julia on long shifts - but you always caught him half listening, weighing in with his own comments if asked.

But before you can dish out the gossip on who you had walked in on in your kitchen this morning, Julia herself stomps through the door.

“Speak of the devil,” you mumble with a smirk while Toby playfully hisses at her as she walks past “Ey, what time do you call this then?”

It’s 9, she’s an hour late. She had told you this morning she’d cleared it with Carly, when you had brought her water and painkillers. More as a front to question her on who you had found in the kitchen than being concerned for her head. She’d seen through it and buried herself under her duvet when you entered her room.

“Piss off,” she hisses back, taking off her sunglasses. No makeup and too much perfume, the telltale signs of a rough night. “And don’t even start you!” Pointing her sunglasses at you, your smug smile. You only hold your hands up to with a lingering smirk. Toby’s eyes flickering between you both.

The bell hanging from the door rings, drawing your attention back to the till as two mums with buggies and toddlers make their way in, the screeches of excited children make Julia shudder.

“Jesus Christ, kids shouldn’t be allowed out in public until at least midday on weekends,” she huffs under her breath and makes a beeline for the staff room. A chuckle - calling after her, telling her you had left breakfast muffins in the oven. The perfect combination of savory and sweet - the best hangover cure. Apart from more alcohol that is.

You’re loading up a tray with hot chocolates and coffees for the mums and kids when Julia re-emerges from the back room, taking a bite out of the muffin in her hand with a groan of your name, telling you that you were a lifesaver.

“Sure you can manage these? No more bad luck leftover? Need a side of salt?” Toby teases while handing you the tray over the counter, you roll your eyes - telling him not to remind you of yesterday’s disasters.

“So, wild night at the pub quiz I hear,” you hear Toby turning back to Julia while you walk away, biting down on the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile. Recalling her texts.

You make your way out front to the terrace where the noisy kids have taken up residence at one of the tables, except now their shrieks seem to be in despair rather than delight. One of the women standing out on the path while the other is desperately trying to calm the boys, one already in tears. Inconsolable.

“Oh, what’s happened?!” You ask, a frown while setting the tray on their table.

“Pebbles ran away!” The older of the boys wail while pointing down the road. It’s then that you notice the abandoned dog leash on the ground beside your foot, one end under the seat of the chair, the other end clipped onto a collar.

“He must have wriggled out, a lad’s gone running after him - I hope-“ the woman is cut off by the younger boy’s screech of “There! Pebbles!!”

You follow his gaze, almost shaking your head and laughing - it’s Van, of course it’s fucking Van to the rescue. Sauntering back down the path with the runaway Yorkshire terrier in his arms, licking at his face.

You watch the look of adoration in the women’s eyes as he carries the dog back up to the table, the gleeful sounds of the kids. His smile widens once he spots you, hovering.

“Alright lids, see he’s fine! Just a little messer ain’t he?!” Van eases, dropping down on his haunches to hold the dog while the mum fiddles with adjusting the collar.

Ducking back inside while the chorus of ‘thank yous’ surround Van, grabbing a couple of chocolate chip cookies and pain au chocolats, sugar for the shock.

Once you set the treats down on the table, the boys wipe the end of their tears from their eyes. Sounds of delight resurface, something their mothers echo when you tell them not to worry, that the cookies and crossiants are on the house.

Van follows you back inside after high fiving the boys, winking at the women and blowing a kiss at the dog - who seemed rather taken with him. Holding the door open for you.

“You’re in early, thought rockstars didn’t get up ‘til noon,” you say as he follows you in. Eyes a little bloodshot, voice a little husky - but other than that he didn’t share any of Julia’s hangover symptoms. You wonder what kind of drinker he is.

“Eh, never been good at the whole rockstar thing me.” A lazy grin, reaching the counter where Julia stops mid rant about how bacon absolutely belongs in muffins. Their eyes lock, mirrored smirks - sharing the same secrets.

“Think you have someone that belongs to me, love.” He chuckles.

Julia hums in response, “think I’ll hang onto him a bit longer.”

You bite back a smile. This morning, walking into your kitchen at sunrise only to be greeted with a scruffy, bearded man. Vaguely familiar, from the countless interviews and live performances you had binged on YouTube. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, unbuttoned shirt and undone jeans, hand buried in his hair, staring blankly at the floor tiles. Clearly in the midst of a hangover from hell, possibly going through the fear. You could smell the stale alcohol.

“Er, morning?” You said quietly, blue eyes flickering up, a crooked smile, and a rasped “Mornin’, love.”

Like it was the most natural thing for him to be standing in your kitchen, like it was his kitchen even.

“Are you looking for sommat or?” You opened the fridge, glancing back over him. Hoping he wasn’t about to puke all over the place. He had that look.

“Yeah, just the last shreds of me dignity.. and anything.. cold, please... fuck,” he grumbles, pressing his head into his hands. You almost felt sorry for him, then you remembered the videos and messages from Julia last night and hide a smile by looking back into the fridge. Jug of iced water and a pint glass, handing him the full glass before rooting through the medicine drawer, painkillers.

“Aye, you’re a fuckin’ godsent, thanks angel.” Taking the painkillers and water from you. “Can see why Van’s so fond of you, coffee girl.”

There’s a lot of unpack in that sentence, and it was way too early. So you simply blink and watch him take the pills.

“Coffee girl?” You question eventually, arms crossing.

His eyes drift back over to you, grimacing while he sips on the water. “Aye, you work down the café, wi’ Julia, reet?”

You knew you shouldn’t have, but when opportunity arises, you can’t help it. Winding him up. It’s a rare morning you’re in a good mood, able to communicate in more that one syllable words.

“No? Dunno what you’re on about mate, Julia works down the cafè.. heard her mentioned someone called Van a few times, seemed like they had a thing, yeah?”

A flash of panic in his eyes, practically hearing the flurry of curse words going through his head. The prospect of the fact he’s probably shagged someone his best mate is ‘fond of’. Quirking a brow while he stared.

“Nah, she said.. You.. fuck.. fuck me,” a string of grumbles, clearly trying and failing to get his head straight - remember what had happened last night, what Julia had told him. Hands patting down his jeans, pulling out his phone with a heavy sigh. He curses at the screen. “Fuck, Van’s gon-“

“Hey,” you decide to put him out of his misery. He was growing paler by the second, and you were getting more and more worried about the prospect of cleaning up puke. “I’m just messin’ with ya.”

Realisation hitting - eye narrowing at you, telling him your name, confirming that you were indeed the coffee girl who worked with Julia. He shakes his head, a gruff noise and crooked smirk.

“Jesus, threw me for a loop there... well played, my dear... I like you already,” holding out his first, “Am Johnny,” he says while you knock your knuckles against his. You refrain from telling him you knew that already.

“Well, he’s kinda crucial in our band and that, so afraid I get first dibs, darlin’” Van’s voice drags you back to the present.

“So you’re saying you’re going on tour again soon, eh?” Julia tilts her head.

A breathy little laugh - “Bands do more than just tour, yanno?”

“You do realise the internet is a thing, Van - we could literally google your tour dates right now and find out. So your mysterious bullshit ain’t flying anymore.” She rolls her eyes, another bite of her muffin.

Since finding out he was in Catfish, neither of you had ever thought about checking on the tour dates, when he came he came and when he left he left, and that’s that. No wondering if he’d show up when the tour was up. Simple, no attachments. You and Julia even named a local stray cat after Van who you fed from time to time when he came snooping around the bins outside, the easiness of coming and going.

So why were your fingers suddenly itching for your phone.

“Ah, love! Why ruin the little mystery that’s left then? Like I said - we do other stuff too, could have label stuff to do, graftin the next album... cheers, mate.” Trailing off once Toby slides his caramel latte over the counter, something he had got him hooked on a year or so ago. “Fuckin missed this.” He says as if every other coffee shop has yet to discover caramel.

“So yous are doing a new album then, that it?” Julia persists, rolling your eyes at her blatant attempts at winding him up. But he catches on, a lazy grin, licking his lips.

“Ain’t ya too hungover to be fuckin’ with us like this?” He calls her out, a smirk.

She shrugs while her eyes slide over to the elderly couple that come in every morning, sitting in their usual spot. Calling over to them that their tea and scones are on the way, fond calls back of ‘take your time, pet.’ telling Van she’s not finished with him before heading into the back to get a teapot.

“What happened last night anyways?” Toby interjects, bemused look across his features. Completely left out of the loop, obviously not getting anything out of Julia when you left them a while ago.

Taking the opportunity to pull up Julia’s messages - putting you phone down on the counter between the three of you. The video is obviously taken at the time of the night where all rational thoughts are lost to drinks. Loud music, girls screams - background static, Johnny Bond stood at the bar, downing three consecutive shots of what you assume is tequila, Julia’s giggles soundtrack while following him out the smoking area, turning back to the camera and taking off his cap with slur of ‘mind this for me, love’ before he proceeds to do a handstand against a wall for 15 seconds. Confused onlookers as Julia counts it out.

Amused sounds - Toby and Van, Julia passing back around the counter in search of scones for the couple, she glances over your shoulder at the video.

“Ey, anyone who does a handstand after 3 shots of tequila without vomming earns their space in my bed.”

There’s another video from about 20 minutes later of Larry stood on a table, Kylie Minogue blaring, and he’s doing an enthused rendition of the Can’t Get You Outta my Head dance mixed with a bit of the Macarena. Cheers erupting around him, wolf whistles.

Van - a rasped cackle, “send that one onto me, that’s too good! Never gon let him live that one down!”

You watch him while he watches the video again a few times over. His eyelashes nearly brushing his cheeks when he looks down, fingers restlessly tapping against his coffee mug, soft chuckles. Feeling Toby give you a nudge, a wink when you look up. Letting you know he caught you, shaking your head with your best ‘fuck off’ eyes.

“So why were you making the lads humiliate themselves for your entertainment then?” Toby asks Julia once she circles back around the counter

“‘Cause, the lads bet me that they’d beat us at the pub quiz,” she explains, helping herself to another muffin. “Johnny spent half the time outside smoking, and Van and Larry fuckin’ argued over every question and ended up writing down bullshit made up answers.”

Toby asks where Van’s forfeit video is, you’re only half listening now - taking orders of the few people who just came in, but you zone back in once you hear your name mentioned.

“-and after I told him she was workin’ late closing up, never seen anyone down their pint so quickly, what was the excuse again, Van? Jet lag was it?”

Glancing up at that to find him already looking at you, catching his eye, his lips tilt making his dimple pop out. It lasts less than a second, your eyes darting back down to the pecan pie you’re cutting. Feeling your cheeks warm up. He never mentioned that he had run into Julia at the pub last night, remembering how he just said he was on his way home. Although, you were half sure it did have nothing do with you, more likely he was just sick of Julia’s drunken bullshit.

“Nah, just quite like that pub and want to be able to show me face in there again, innit.” He tells her, a laugh.

You grab a basin and walk away to start to clear tables, not really wanting to hear anymore of Julia’s torments. You’re happier zoning out, getting lost in your own thoughts, smiling and small talk with a few regulars. On you’re way back to the kitchen when you hear Van again as you walk past, catching your elbow.

“You in then too, Glasvegas?”

“Sorry, what?” Turning back to him, you had been thinking if Julia would be up for getting chipper on the way home after the pub tonight. You were already craving garlic cheese chips.

“Coming down Cassidy’s tonight? Van’s buying first round for being a pussy last night.” Julia quips, and you look from him to her. Fuck, remembering Van’s confession about wanting to buy you a drink last night. Julia’s looking at with you a smug expression, knowing you can’t get out of this one. You and her always went out on Saturday night’s - either just the two of you, or a group of friends. But going to the pub with Van and his mates, your heart skips a few beats, uneasiness. You give her a look before letting your eyes slide back to Van, an expectant look, finishing off his cinnamon bun.

“Er, I dunno..”

“Dunno if you’re up for going to the pub? Like we don’t go out every Saturday night?” Julia tilts her head, feigning mock innocence. You knew what she was doing, and you glare. A non-verbal ‘you’re being a dick.”

“Well, er, it’s been a long week.. yanno. I’m kinda tired.. was thinkin’ of staying in and having a quiet one,” you’re backing slowly into the kitchen as you say this, feeble excuses. “And I’m.. I’m trying to save some and that.”

“So me and you will do pre-drinks at ours,” Julia pushes, entertaining your excuses to a certain extent, but not letting you get out of it.

“And I’m buying first round,” Van adds.

“So, it’s just one drink really.” Julia confirms.

“Jus’ one drink.” Van reaffirms.

“Just one drink?” You say, somewhat defeated.

Toby glances up from the coffee machine, a chuckle. “Now when’s the last time anyone went out and actually had just one drink?”

Van leaves a little while later, Toby giving him a tray of coffees for Larry and Bondy if he’d yet ventured back from your place, you sending him off with a bag of hangover cures in form of pastries and cakes.

He came back in a few minutes later, forgetting his stamp on his loyalty card.

“2 down, eight to go. Cheers, see yas later.” He walked back out, a spring in his step. You turned to Julia.

“What the fuck, Jules?! Will you leave us alone and stop tryin’ to setup me up with Van fuckin’ McCann!” Exasperated tone, she only shook her head and giggled. “S’not funny! He probably already has a girlfriend and you’re here makin’ us look desperate!”

“Dunno what you’re on about, babe!” She says while heading out to clean up the terrace, humming matchmaker matchmaker under her breath. She turns back to you as she reaches the door “Oh, and he deffo doesn’t have a girlfriend, found that out last night for ya. You’re welcome!” She beams, all but skipping out the door.

You somehow resist the urge to chuck the tea towel in your hands at her head.

[tractorbeamofwoe]

Masterlist

Welcome to the masterlist of my old fics. Here you will find my Catfish, Inhaler and Sam stuff.

Likes and reblogs appreciated :)

ANNOUNCEMENT

ALL SFW UNLESS STATED OTHERWISE

Playlists Kathleen

Tyrants

...

Inhaler (900+ words)

Elijah Hewson

Belated

...

Robert Keating

Blame

...

Ryan McMahon

...

Josh Jenkinson

...

Catfish and the Bottlemen (900+ words)

Van McCann

Hourglass

Hourglass Part 2

Bring You Home Myself

Encore

Traitor

...

Johnny Bond

Bondy’s Bathroom Birthday Bash

Bonding With Bondy

Red

The Birthday Party

Make It Go Away

Is Everybody Going Crazy?

...

Benji Blakeway

What Does This Do?

Goldfish and the Bottlemen

...

Bob Hall

...

Sam Fender (900+ words)

Stranger Things AU: Part 1

...

Drabbles/Blurbs (less than 900 words)

Catb

Van: Write Off  She’s Thunderstorms (a little spicy but nothing too crazy) Glasgow  Mini Me  Watch Her On The West End  Some Things Never Change  Losing My Breath  Get The Balance Right

Bob: Bells On Bobtails Ring

Bondy: Igloos Together

...

Inhaler

Robert: You Look So Cool (this one’s also a little spicy but nothing too crazy) 

You Only Live Once  Sparks  ‘‘I love you even when...”  Too Hot To Handle  Out For The Count

Ryan: Friday I’m In Love

...

Headcanons

Catb

Vondy

R&L

Podcast

...

Inhaler

As Boyfriends

Eli SFW Alphabet

Ryan SFW Alphabet

Rob SFW Alphabet

Josh SFW Alphabet

...

Sam + band

As Horror Villains

...

things I'm working on

my wattpad

[icouldntfindquiet]

And we’re live! ✨

The first chapter of Unravel is up. You can find it HERE. Let me know what you think! 😊

Updates on Tuesdays and Fridays unless otherwise noted. Thanks for reading as always! <3

Description:

Van has been working at a private investigator firm for almost a year now and is fed up of the boring cases he always gets. One day, he's assigned an interesting case for once. A mysterious woman has been residing in a blind woman's house and his job is to figure out who she is and why. As he digs deeper, he soon discovers he's a part of something bigger. Something he doesn't want to be a part of.

A Van McCann AU.

[fineosaur]

“VAN MCCANN FOREVER” “Yana is my wife and we are soulmates forever” “Just let me stan my two emo soft bois Jon and Theon in peace 🥺🥺🥺” “I like my coffee like my soul, black and bitter, and I like my men like I do being vulnerable, not at all, now get ready for some shitty memes” But in all seriousness, you are so lovely and a wonderful human being!

this is all...... almost too accurate. who are you..?

@yanak324 they’re catching on to the fact that we’re in a soulmate au

[landedinaverycommoncrisis-505]

Catfish and the Bottlemen for AU Review | 📷 Briana Davis

[fontainebleau22]

Box of Frogs (Part 2)

From @tramstrams‘ not-at-all-serious prompt, ‘an AU with magic, but something has gone terribly awry and people are being turned into frogs. Only Sam Chisholm can stop this madness’. Read Part 1 here.

-----------------

 Ale regarded FrogJosh mournfully. ‘I’m sorry, güero.’ 

He’d done his best to make a suitable habitat, as Billy suggested: he’d taken advice from an enthusiastic assistant at the pet store, and now his boyfriend was perched on a moss-covered rock in his new tank, next to a shallow pan of water and a heap of dried crickets. A nest of fresh green twigs offered a hiding-place, but he seemed to prefer to sit in the open, eyes fixed on Ale. 

It worried him: he’d followed all the advice in the guide he’d bought and Josh seemed happy enough, but how could he tell? Was he racked with internal anguish? FrogJosh reached up a hind foot and scratched his snout reflectively.

Behind him Red sighed exaggeratedly. ‘Take him or leave him here, just decide.’ 

‘I can’t take him.’ Ale gestured vaguely towards Good Care for Your Frogs where it was propped against the coffeepot. ‘He’d get too hot in the car and I can’t take the tank into the shop.’ 

‘Might end up on the menu?’ Red grinned, and Ale fought the urge to clap his hands over Josh’s ears. Did he have ears? 

‘How can you be so heartless? I thought you’d show some fellow-feeling.’ 

Red tugged reflexively at the feather hanging from his earlobe. ‘Hawks aren’t edible. Look, just leave him. He seems happy enough in there.’ 

FrogJosh stared some more, then swelled out his throat sac suddenly. Was it possible for a frog to look impatient? ‘You’re right.’ Ale stood up. ‘There’s only one way to fix this.’

‘So what’s the plan?’ 

‘We track this woman down, confront her, and Billy tells her to change him back.’ 

Red considered, serious as ever. ‘What if she’s immune to Billy?’ 

Ale scoffed. ‘When did that ever happen? Billy’s – persuasive. He once made Josh drive him to Tucson and back so he could buy Goody a turquoise tie-pin.’ 

Red grimaced: they’d all been bent to Billy’s will at one time or another. ‘How d’you think Goody stands it, being married to a man who can tell him to do anything he wants?’ 

‘You’re kidding me,’ says Ale. ‘Billy doesn’t even have to use the voice on him: Goody’s always done everything he says.’

Red settled himself at the table. ‘Be easier just to get Sam onto it.’ 

‘He’s in Albuquerque, Goody, said. That thing he goes to every year.’ Ale picked up his keys and headed for the door. ‘Billy’s the best bet right now. Just keep your phone on. And don’t poke at him.’

**

Billy was waiting outside his and Goody’s apartment, sharp and handsome in his suit for work, his carefully tied-up hair lending him an appealing hint of exoticism; as he got into the car Ale sparkled at him a little, just to prove that even in jeans and flannel shirt he was still the most attractive. 

‘How’s your boyfriend?’ asked Billy pointedly. ‘Happy in his tank?’ Ale damped it down again: Billy was, after all, integral to his plan.

‘Where are we going – following the trail of frogs?’ 

Ale grinned. ‘That’s exactly what we’re doing, amigo. I went over to see Léna, my niece. She’s … good with the internet.’ Billy nodded: abilities of that kind were best left undiscussed except among friends. ‘A complaint was filed two days ago to the local police department of a man being turned into a frog. They didn’t take it very seriously. A woman called Thelma McCann reported it, so we’ll start with her: she can at least tell us if it was the same woman involved.’

Eventually Ale pulled to a stop beside a row of small houses. ‘Think this is it.’ 

Whatever the McCanns’ abilities were, they didn’t seem to run to home maintenance: the paint on the house was peeling and the front grass overgrown. At first sight the yard appeared to be full of garbage, but once they were out of the car it was clear that a yard sale was going on: a battered leather recliner with a dent in the seat stood next to a stack of video games and a console, and ranged on a table were novelty beer glasses, a collection of expensive-looking model cars and an assortment of books.

A plump middle-aged woman, presumably Thelma McCann, was sitting beside the stall in a deckchair. ‘Come to buy?’ she asked hopefully. 

‘Mrs McCann?’ Ale put on his most winning smile. ‘Could we ask you a few questions?’ 

‘You from the police?’ Her expression became more guarded. 

‘No, ma’am,’ said Billy solemnly, ‘we’re herpetologists.’ 

He held out his hand and she took it, mesmerised. ‘You’re here about Thomas? Well, you’d best come through.’ 

She led them through the house, which had a sparse, newly spring-cleaned look about it, and out to the back yard. ‘He’s over there,’ she said, pointing, ‘under that flowerpot.’ 

Ale crouched down to lift the terracotta crock carefully and reveal a large amphibian with brown-black knobbly skin, panting slightly in the heat. It goggled up at him. 

‘Isn’t he a bit big for a frog?’ asked Billy. ‘You know, a bit … warty?’ 

Ale looked warily at Thelma; probably best not to use the t-word. ‘What happened?’ 

‘We got a new neighbour, bought a house just up the street. Cullen, she’s called, and she’s real crabby – always looked like she just swallowed a cactus. Got into a row with Thomas, though to be fair maybe she wasn’t to blame for that: he likes to pick a fight. One minute they were yelling at each other, and then – zap! She waved her hand, and there he was.’ She seemed oddly calm, telling the story.

‘Just like Josh,’ said Ale, then, in response to her raised eyebrows, ‘my boyfriend, he got on the wrong side of a woman like her in the café yesterday.’ He looked optimistically down at Thomas. ‘I was hoping it would wear off in a couple of days.’ 

‘You think?’ Thelma looked disappointed; a fly buzzed past and Thomas flicked out his tongue to snatch it from the air. ‘More use to me as a frog than he’s ever been as a husband.’ 

‘Can you tell us where she lives?’ asked Billy. 

‘Number 113.’ Thelma frowned. ‘Not sure she’s so keen on visitors.’ 

Billy’s smile was complacent. ‘I can be persuasive.’ 

She cast an appreciative eye over him. ‘I’ll bet you can, honey.’ 

‘Good luck with –‘ Ale nods at Thomas, who’s happily rooting about under his flowerpot.

A few houses further up the street in the direction she indicated, they found a van parked at the kerb: emblazoned on its side was H. Worchester and Co.: Let Us Take The Load Off. Its back was open as two men in overalls unloaded furniture: one of them laid his hand on a sofa which rose a few inches into the air, then guided it down the ramp and across the pavement with a few gentle touches, as though it were made of thistledown. 

A red-haired woman, the same woman Ale had seen in the shop, was standing to one side supervising the delivery and clutching a pile of soft cushions. He hadn’t really had a chance to look at her last time they met, and all he’d remembered was how brusque and unfriendly she’d been: her face now was still set in the same hard lines, though she was undoubtedly younger than him.

Billy approached her confidently. ‘Excuse me, Ms Cullen,’ he asked, ‘could we speak to you for a moment?’ 

She looked him up and down, coldly hostile. ‘I don’t need converting or encyclopaedias, thank you.’ 

Ale came up beside him. ‘Please,’ he said placatingly, nerves tight in his stomach, ‘we just want to ask you-‘ 

‘And don’t even think about telling me that there’s good news,’ she snapped: at this distance she seemed to be positively vibrating with banked-up fury. ‘How do you know my name?’ 

Next to him Billy cleared his throat. ‘You turned my friend’s partner into a frog.’ 

She straightened, narrowing her eyes. ‘If I did, he deserved it.’ 

Ale struggled to put aside his anger on Josh’s behalf: surely she just needed winning over. ‘Will it wear off? Can you turn him back?’ 

Ms Cullen looked at him straight on. ‘Why would I want to do that?’ 

One of her hands clenched, and Ale took a step back, a restraining hand on Billy’s shoulder as warning crackled through him, but Billy had already started, in that voice, ‘We want you to-‘

 - Zap!

Ale fell to his knees with a groan of horror, scrabbling in the grass; Ms Cullen turned on her heel and strode into her house. No. No. It was as much as he could do to wrestle out his phone one-handed and gasp out his request to Red; then there was nothing else but to sit and wait, racked with guilt.

It seemed an eternity until Red’s truck came screeching to a halt beside him and Goody spilled out of the passenger door, looking round frantically. ‘What happened? Where’s Billy?’ 

Mutely, Ale held out his cupped hands and the colour drained from Goody’s face at the sight of the tiny blue frog nestling there. 

‘Billy!’ he gasped, reaching out a trembling finger. ‘Sweetheart! No!’

[your-divine-ribs]

Forbidden: Happy Birthday Sir

Words: 3.6k

Wrote this little one-shot separate from the main story // smut 🖤

Forbidden Masterlist Main Masterlist

"Y/N... this is a surprise, your tutorial doesn't start for..." Your Professor pauses, glancing down at his watch, his eyebrows raising slightly. "Forty minutes actually. It's most unlike you to turn up so early."

You push off from the doorframe that you'd been leaning against, letting the door swing shut, fixing Van with a steady gaze as you make your way over to his desk. Of course you're aware that you're early and it's very out of character for you, but there's a good reason that you're being overly punctual on today of all days.

"Well... I thought I'd make an effort, seeing as it's a special day and all that." 

You come to a stop at the edge of the desk, planting your hands on it and leaning forward to proudly display your ample cleavage in the low-cut blouse that you're wearing. Van's eyes travel down and linger inappropriately as you smirk back at him, watching his tongue flick out to run over his plump bottom lip.

"Oh really?" He looks up, eyes meeting yours, and you can already see the heat starting to pool there. "And what's so special about it?"

You straighten up, running a finger lightly over the edge of the desk as you start to step around it, maintaining eye contact with Van the whole time.

"Well..." you say, a seductive smile playing on your lips. "A little bird told me it was your birthday actually. So I thought I'd do my good deed for the day... come and deliver you your present..."

Amusement plays on his lips and he sets his pen down, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest, watching as you step around his desk until you come to a stop, perching along the edge where he's sitting.

"You got me a present?" He seems mildly surprised.

"Uh-huh..."

He looks down to where your empty hands are resting on the edge of the desk. "But you don't have anything with you."

You giggle flirtatiously, tossing your hair back over your shoulder. "You mean you can't see it?"

His eyes flick down again, then he shifts in his seat, impatient, indicating the paperwork spread all over the surface of the desk with a hand gesture. "Look, I don't have time for games Y/N... I'm very busy as you can see. I have exam scripts to mark, lectures to prep for, I have another student due for a tutorial at any moment... oh..."

He comes to an abrupt stop as you boost yourself up on to the desk, unmindful of the paperwork which creases underneath you as you scoot over to the centre of the desk, your spread legs dangling down on either side of where his chair's pushed underneath. Then you hitch up your skirt.

"Don't you want your present then... Sir?"

And it's the way that you say it, that wide-eyed innocence combined with that cheeky pout, the fact that you're brazenly sitting on his desk with your short skirt indecently bunched up around your hips, legs spread wide in an invitation that you know damn well he won't be able to resist.

And he doesn't, his eyes darkening with lust immediately.

"You bad, bad girl... c'mere..."

His hands are on your thighs before you can even draw a breath, his fingers digging furrows into the flesh as he pushes them even wider apart. You brace yourself on your hands, leaning back, sighing at the feel of his hot breath dancing along the soft skin of your inner thighs, yelping softly at the sting of his teeth as he nips at you.

You're already lost as he curls his fingers tightly around the tops of your legs, dragging you forwards across the desk to his seeking mouth, the anticipation making your whole body thrum. You close your eyes and tip your head back as you bury one of your hands in his thick locks, surrendering yourself to him without hesitance.

Within seconds his tongue is laving up your thighs, snaking a hungry path to the thin strip of material between your legs, nudging against it as he buries his face into your throbbing heat, breathing you in...

And then a sharp rap on the door makes you almost jump out of your skin.

"Fuck..." Van growls under his breath, pulling away and pushing his hair back off his face, trying to compose himself as you scrabble to jump down from the desk, pulling awkwardly at your skirt, your face flushed.

"Just wait a minute please," he calls out, but it's too late, whoever is outside the door is just too impatient and the door's already cracking open, undeterred.

You're not sure what possesses you to do what you do next. You suppose it must be a combination of panic, shock and fear at the thought that someone might actually catch you in the act with Van, but instead of smoothing your clothing down and composing yourself to act like just an innocent visitor you drop down on to the floor and dive straight under the desk.

"Y/N! What the fuck are you..." Van hisses, but it's too late, you're already tucking yourself into the small space under his desk, hidden from view from anyone on the other side, scrunched up in a ball on your hands and knees, trying to make yourself as inconspicuous as you can.

Your ears are pricked keenly as you hear footsteps shuffling across the carpet, hear Van say, "oh... you're early. People seem to have a habit of turning up early today."

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything Sir... I mean Van. I know how you hate people being late... and I was so keen to discuss my coursework with you."

Your heart lurches at the familiar female voice.

"That's quite alright Erica," Van greets your arch-nemesis, adopting his usual warm and friendly tone that everybody outwardly knows. "Go ahead and take a seat."

Of all the people that could wander into Van's office now it had to be her. Your heart's still pounding as you hear her drag the chair over the carpeted floor, feel the desk shudder as she catches it accidentally with her foot as she giggles something about being clumsy. You've overheard her many a time simping over Van with her friends, you've had to watch her batting her eyelashes at him over her textbook in lectures, but now you've actually got to sit here as a captive audience whilst she flirts her way through a thirty minute personal tutorial. You can almost feel the nausea rising as she splutters out a shy compliment about how much she likes Van's shirt, and how he ought to wear blue more often.

"Thank you very much," he says graciously. "Now about this coursework..."

You smile to yourself, glad that he's not encouraging her, wincing as you feel Erica's chair butt up harshly against the desk several times. What the fuck is she doing? If she pushes herself any closer to the desk she'll be sitting on top of it. She immediately starts gushing about her piece of work and you feel a little part of you dying inside at the prospect of listening to her droning on for the next half an hour.

"Just a moment... I just need to get something from my bag," you hear Van say after a few minutes, and you suck in a quiet breath as all of a sudden his face appears below the desk line, head cocked to the side as he feigns reaching down to his bag.

You're worried that he might be angry with you for putting yourself in such a risky and incriminating position, after all it would be pretty hard to come up with an innocent explanation if you were caught like this, on your hands and knees under his desk. So you're surprised that his face doesn't show any annoyance whatsoever, in fact he has that sly kind of grin he wears when his head's full of filth as he peers at you knowingly, tipping you a lascivious wink as you see him reach down and surreptitiously unfasten his belt buckle. It's quite clear that he's decided what his birthday present should be. A huge grin paints itself on your lips as he carefully unzips his jeans before straightening back up and pushing his chair further under the desk so you're pinned right in between his spread legs.

The dirty bastard, you think. And you fucking love it.

It's dark and hot and cramped under the desk, the scratchy carpet already irritating your knees but far from feeling discomfort, the fact that Van's got you trapped in such a compromising position is massively turning you on. You don't give a fuck about your sore knees or the perspiration that's starting to prickle at your skin, not when you're on direct eye level with his semi-hard cock which is lightly straining at his boxer briefs. You shift your position slightly, leaning in to him, grasping the fly of his jeans as you ease the denim apart and he shifts slightly in his seat to assist you. Your mouth's watering already at the sight of him from down here, so you waste no time in delving your fingers under the material and freeing him.

"This is such a good piece of work Erica, so well planned out and executed... even though I can already tell you've gone way over the required word-count."

"You know me," Erica giggles back. "I always go above and beyond... especially in my favourite classes."

You can picture Erica sitting there, eyes wide and adoring, leaning in as close as she can to Van whilst she soaks up his praise. She's going to be be creaming her panties telling her friends all about their cosy one-to-one tutorial after this, but if only she knew what was happening right under her nose beneath the secrecy of the desk. The fact that whilst she's dreamily looking into the eyes of your hot Professor, fantasising about him romancing her, you're kneeling there with his cock in your hand, just about to give him the ultimate sleazy thrill. You're so turned on you can feel the damp cotton of your panties sticking to you, the urge to rub your needy clit against something taking over you as you squirm where you kneel.

You start off by gently stroking him, satisfied as you feel him swell and grow in your palm. There's something so gratifying about pleasing him, feeling him hot and heavy in your hand, knowing that no matter how much he likes to take control in your sexual encounters you're often the one with all the power. You've certainly got it now, you hear his voice waver a little as you grip him tighter, rubbing your thumb teasingly over the sensitive skin at the head of his cock, his hips shifting under the desk.

You're torn between wanting to go to town on him and holding back. The temptation to deep-throat him with the sloppiest, most filthy head you've ever given is strong, but you know you're playing a dangerous game. No matter how risky and exciting your encounters get, it's of utmost importance that you don't get caught.

So you decide to take things slow, gripping his thighs and pushing them further apart so you can lean further into the space between his legs whilst you extend your tongue to softly lick the head of his cock, gentle kitten licks and feather-light kisses all over, savouring the taste of him. You feel his thighs tense under your hands as you tease the slit with the very tip of your tongue, tasting the sweet tang of his arousal.

"Remember this piece of coursework is worth 20% of this whole semester's grades... and you're already on track to gain a first."

"I'm definitely working towards that, I'm doing everything I can, I really am, but I... errr... I was just thinking... just wondering..."

Erica's voice trails off and your ears prick up, listening keenly. You know that tone, you can picture her coy smile, imagining her leaning across the desk towards Van, a hand on his arm. It makes your blood boil. You increase your efforts, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock, pursing your lips to suckle on the tip whilst you start to deliberately pump his length with your hand. She might be the one sitting across the desk from him but you'll make damn sure she's not the sole focus of his attentions.

"Yes?" Van prompts and you hear a small tinkling laugh come from her.

"I was... just thinking... was there... you know... anything that I could do... you know... to boost my grades." She pauses, laughs again. "Anything... extra?"

WHAT THE FUCK?

Oh no, this isn't happening. No way. No fucking way. You're instantly transported back to the night that you'd first propositioned Van, how he'd looked shocked and outraged at the time as you'd brazenly looked him dead in the eye whilst your hand had snaked down between his legs, asking how you could ensure good grades. The shame and embarrassment you'd felt afterwards as he'd called you back after class the next day, certain you were in real trouble. As it turns out you were in trouble, but the best kind of trouble there was. The kind that had since seen you in all sort of compromising positions, bent prone over the desk and thrust down on to your knees, taking everything that your Professor gave you just like the good girl he wanted you to be. But you were his good girl, and no one else was. There was no way you were sharing.

"There is one thing..." Van begins, and you tense, furious fire running through your veins as you pull your mouth away, suddenly wishing you could dart out from under the desk and storm straight out of the office. You feel your fingers flexing their grip on his legs, digging harshly into the meat of his thighs.

"Yes...?" Erica's voice is all breathy and light.

"Well, your essay-writing skills are exemplary, but you know you mustn't forget to quote the source of your citations, that's really important... you'll miss valuable marks if you do."

You're sure the sigh of relief that suddenly escapes you is audible and you clap your hand over your mouth quickly to stifle any further noise. Of course Van wouldn't entertain fucking miss goody two shoes Erica, he knows he's on to a good thing with you. No one else can give him the same sordid relief that you provide, not even his pretty little fiancé. You're the perfect combination of sweet and servile and disobedient, slutty brat, a potent mix that Van can't resist, an illicit thrill that's as potent as any class A drug and infinitely more addictive.

You smile to yourself as you hear Erica mumbling something about extra tuition, and how she'd heard rumours that a certain student was getting more than their fair share of attention from him, but Van quickly shuts her down with a stern reminder that it would be improper to comment on another student's progress in their meeting. He draws her attention back to the intended topic, and as he does you feel a hand reach under the desk, firmly gripping your jaw and guiding your head back to his awaiting cock, his fingers caressing your cheek as you obediently take him into your mouth again.

This time you don't hold back, allowing your lips to widen around his girth, firming them as you slide them fully down and back up. His hand moves to the back of your head, threading through your hair and winding it into a tight knotted fist, pushing your head down even further as his hips press upwards. But then he keeps on going, roughly pushing you down until you feel him enter the back of your throat without warning. You swallow around him, feeling choked, stuffed so full of his cock that you find you can't even draw a breath, the urge to gag making your body buck as you fight to stay quiet. He holds you there unflinchingly until your eyes are watering and your throat is contracting and your fingers are clawing at his thighs before he relents, loosening his grip. You pull back quickly, almost smacking your head on the top of the desk, trying your hardest to stifle the whimper that's threatening to break free. You suddenly feel too hot, your skin aflame in the cramped space, your knees burning and aching from the scratch of the rough carpet and your constricted positioning, but you like it. The notion of him using you like this in such a brazen way has you so worked up your panties feel drenched and you rub your thighs together, trying desperately to find some friction.

Van's hand finds your cheek again, tenderly stroking it for a moment before his hand's in your hair again with a punishing grip, coaxing you down again to take him as deep as you can. This time you're ready, steadying yourself with your hands on his thighs, pushing yourself to your limits as you press past your gag reflex at each downward stroke, allowing the saliva that's pooling in your mouth to coat his cock, making a real mess as it starts to drip down your chin.

The conversation drones on above, mainly Erica's shrill tone, but you find you can't concentrate on what's being said now. You're too consumed by Van, the weight of his cock on your tongue, the taste and the heady scent of him, the sharp sting on your scalp which you relish as he controls your actions. The increasing throb of your clit is now too strong to ignore so you don't, sliding a hand down between your parted thighs and rubbing yourself over your underwear.

Fuck... it feels good. Too good. You press harder, circling your clit as you bob your head, the obscenely wet sounds slipping out of your mouth increasing in volume which you can only hope are being muffled by the cover of the desk. You're too far gone to care now, cocooned in your sinful little space under the desk, working yourself up into a lustful frenzy. You're not even aware of the change in the tone of conversation above until Van's grip suddenly tightens in your hair even more and his thighs start to tremble. He suddenly pulls your head upwards, his voice tight and strained.

"I'm sorry, but I think we'll have to cut the meeting short, there's... something very important I need to do."

"Are you alright?" Erica's voice is loaded with concern and you hear her chair being pushed back as she gets to her feet.

"I'm fine, really. But I do need you to go."

There's quiet for a moment, some shuffling and then Erica speaks again. "But you don't look so good... you're sweating. Do you want me to get you a glass of water?"

"No, just leave please Erica. Like I say, this is a very important matter... urgent actually."

You bite down hard on your lip to stop the snigger that nearly erupts from you at his increasingly desperate tone, giving him a few firm tugs which causes a low groan to rumble in his throat. He tugs harshly at your hair, a warning, but you're feeling wicked now, ignoring it as you return your lips to his cock, suckling with vigour as you pump the rest of his shaft hard and fast.

"Fu-ck," he utters through gritted teeth, the muscles in his thighs clenching rock hard, and you're dimly aware of the sound of the office door opening and closing. It's just in time, as you have no intention of stopping now, relishing the sounds of Van's control shattering above you as he falls spectacularly apart, hissing a string of expletives as he shoots his load into your awaiting mouth, fucking into you with one final thrust that practically snaps your head back with the force.

He holds you there for a moment, his harsh, panted gasps filling the office as he catches his breath, then his grip falls away as he pushes his chair quickly back. You almost fall forward with the momentum but he grasps for you quickly, pulling you up with strong hands in a swift motion on to his lap.

He looks very different to when you'd walked into his office half an hour ago, pupils dark and blown, strands of hair sticking to his forehead amongst beads of perspiration. No wonder Erica sounded concerned. He's wearing a beatific expression like he's just glimpsed heaven though, and maybe he has. You smirk to yourself as he pushes your own messy hair back off your face, tucking it carefully behind your ears in a tender gesture.

"You're all messy baby," he says softly, wiping at the drool that's made it's way down your chin, using a finger to smudge away the tears that have tracked down your cheeks. "Fuck... you did so good... my good girl. Think maybe I need to repay you for that."

"But it's your birthday Sir," you start, not even sure why you're protesting, knowing that you're a lost cause as one his hands slides up your thighs and straight under your skirt, making you shiver.

"Bend over the desk sweetheart, there's a good girl, it must be about time for your tutorial by now... I'm gonna teach you a lesson you won't forget..."

[catb-fics]

Kinktober 2023 Writing Challenge

Hi guys welcome to the shit-show which is my first Kinktober Writing Challenge! 🫣 I didn’t manage to write 31 minifics/headcanons and I still need to finish some off but I’m aiming to get 31 completed at some point (hopefully before October 2024!)

Since these got deleted off Wattpad I’m going to post them on here. The masterlist is under the cut and I’ll link them as I post them.

Thank you for reading lovelies, hope you have a good laugh lol 😘 xxx

Masterlist

1. Bad Girl 🖤 Prof Van (spanking)

2. Inside 🩵 Sam Fender (cock-warming)

3. Secretive ❤️ Red Van (thigh-riding)

4. Burning Desire 🧡 Prof Bond (wax play)

5. Truth 💖 I’m with the Band Van (squirting)

6. Sweet Dreams 💙 Ice Cold Van (somnophilia)

7. Daredevil 🩶 Playing Hard to Get Van (exhibitionism)

8. Borrowed Time 💗 Dad Van (69)

9. Limit 🖤 Prof Van (overstimulation)

10. Confession 💜 Pure Van (corruption)

11. Surrender 🩵 Sam Fender (idk… size kink maybe?)

12. Privacy ❤️‍🔥 Devil Next Door Van (voyeurism)

13. Blade 💙 Ice Cold Van (knife play)

14. Cheat ❤️ Red Van (exhibitionism)

15. The Show 🖤 Prof Van (sex toys)

16. Baby Fever 💗 Dad Van (breeding)

17. Anything ❤️ Red Van (edging)

18. Picture Perfect 💖 I’m with the Band Van (sex tape)

19. Poolside 🩶 Playing Hard to Get Van (nipple play) WIP

20. Incentive 🖤 Prof Van (orgasm denial) WIP

21. High 🩶 Playing Hard to Get Van (stoned sex) WIP

22. Miss You 💘 All the Mixed Feelings Van (phone sex) WIP

23.

24.

25.

26.

27.

28.

29.

30.

31.

I’m open to suggestions for any of the blank numbers!

Kinktober talk

[catfish-and-the]

catfish and the bottlemen tokyo revengers au where van mccann is mikey and sanzu is benji

[you-andthebottlemen]

41 - AU

Request: Hey! I just read your vampire van story and it was AMAZING! I know you've probably got loads of other stuff to work on, but if you don't mind, could you right like a follow-up sort of story to it? I really enjoyed it! It doesn't matter if you don't want to though, I get that you're probably busy! Bye xx

So, this fic is a part two to my “Vampire Van” AU, link here.

This fic was really difficult to write mostly because I don’t like vampires and also I had no clue how to make it semi-believable and not cringe. Therefore, writing a part two was a challenge, to say the least. Decided to stick to my ‘is he or isn’t he??’ type thing. But here it is! I hope those of you who liked Vampire Van enjoy it xxxx

For the lovely anon who requested, those of you who read and enjoyed the first one and for @storiesaboutvan as I know Vampire Van holds a special place in your heart.

Also, dear anon, I am busy yes but I always manage to find time to write at some point so don’t ever think that you shouldn’t request or something because I may be busy! I am here to take your requests and I love it. Thank you again!!! Xxx

*****

Head pounding, you rolled out of bed and stumbled into the foreign en-suite bathroom, taking a good few seconds to adjust to your unfamiliar surroundings. You rifled through the cabinets with blurry vision, in search of something to kill the pain. Unable to find any medication or much of anything at all, you groaned and slumped over the sink with your head down and hands firmly gripped on the basin. You breathed heavily and fought the urge to throw up. After a minute or two, you splashed your face with ice cold tap water and looked at yourself in the mirror. Makeup free, skin breaking out and definitely not fresh as a daisy, you wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep for days.  

“Looking for these, love?” Van asked, leaning against the door frame sleekly and holding up a box of paracetamol with a small smirk. 

You hadn’t heard him come in, so his sudden speech made you jump. 

“Fuck, don’t creep up on me like that!” you laughed, gently slapping his arm and taking the box of tablets from him as you walked past.  

“Sorry for going through your stuff,” you added quietly.

“All good, nothin’ to hide,” he winked.

After taking the tablets, you stopped to notice that Van was fully dressed, unlike you in your underwear and a sweaty t-shirt that you’d borrowed from him late the night before. After playing another round of pool, you’d continued drinking until you decided it was a good idea to go back to Van’s place. He’d insisted on getting the taxi to take you home, but you forced him to take you to his instead. You promised you wouldn’t drunkenly seduce him so he finally agreed; though he said it wasn’t very gentlemanly of him. You just laughed and pulled him confidently by the hand into the taxi with you. He’d given you a t-shirt and after kissing you goodnight, tucked you into his bed where you fell asleep immediately, soothed by his smell and the feeling of his cold lips on your skin.

“Where’re you off to?” you asked, walking back into his bedroom and sitting on his bed.

“Nowhere,” he replied, pushing slowly between your legs, “didn’t really sleep so thought I should just get dressed.”

You smiled up at him and went for a kiss, the both of you ignoring your sour hangover breath. Strangely, you didn’t mind looking your absolute worst in front of him. Usually, on a one night stand, or whatever this was, you’d not be caught dead in their bed the next morning yet alone sweaty, hungover and looking like you’d just crawled out of a bin. But Van made you feel safe and you could tell he didn’t think you were any less beautiful than you were the night before in your makeup and fancy clothes.

After pulling away from the kiss, you looked at him. His hair was neatly, yet effortlessly styled so it hung gently and curled up at the back where you presumed it was growing out after a haircut, just as it was last night. Van grinned at you, revealing those sharp teeth once again. When you saw them, you were reminded of the events of the previous night like a flashback scene in a film. Cold hands. Pointy teeth. Vampire? Nah. 

You pushed back gently on Van’s chest so you could stand up. You’d decided you wanted a shower to wash off all the dirt and grime that came with a hangover and a night of sleeping in a stranger’s bed. You rocked on the spot slightly and Van put a hand to your waist to steady you. Again, you noticed the temperature difference between his skin and yours. You looked up at him and bit your lip.

“Can I go and take a shower?”

“Of course,” he smiled, “I’ll go grab ya a towel”.

Van let you pass and watched as you walked into the bathroom, his eyes had that slightly glazed, hungry look again. It turned you on. 

“I don’t know how to use the taps in here, I think you’ll have to show me...” you said innocently though it was clear you meant the opposite.

“Is that so?” Van replied with a smirk, crossing his arms and licking his lips as you turned to face him in the doorway. 

Looking at him standing there in his navy button up with the sleeves rolled at the elbows, his chest hair showing at the top where it was loosely buttoned, you couldn’t believe your luck. Who the hell meets someone like this randomly at a bar?

“I have also completely forgotten how to use shower gel, so yeah.”

Van chuckled and unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way before he walked into the bathroom behind you and turned the shower on for you both; completely forgetting to go and get some fresh towels. 

.......

Once you and Van had emerged from the haven of hot water and steam, skin on skin and lips on every square inch of each other, it was obvious the two of you wouldn’t be parting ways anytime soon. 

Still in one of his t-shirts and now a pair of boxer shorts, you sat cross-legged on his couch and flicked through the TV channels while he made tea for you. While he looked handsome and attractive in his skinny jeans, button ups and fitted jackets, seeing him in black track pants and a white t-shirt was a whole new ball game. His wet hair clung to his forehead slightly and looked darker than usual, making his pale skin stand out. 

Despite the gloom of outside and the drawn blinds, you knew it was lunchtime without even needing to check a clock. Your stomach rumbled and the hangover induced hunger made you suddenly feel ravenous. 

“I heard that,” Van commented with a smirk from the kitchen. 

“How? It was so quiet!” you responded, shocked and grabbing at your growling stomach. 

“Want something to eat?” he asked as he set down the mug of tea on a coaster in front of you. 

“Yeah sure, I can cook us something if you like?” you offered; a meal being the least you could do after all his generosity. 

“That’s sweet but uh, no ingredients. I don’t have a fridge,” he responded awkwardly, moving his hands about in a weird twitching motion. 

“Oh,” you glanced over and saw he was right; a gaping hole in the kitchen where a fridge should be. 

“Why not? you asked. 

“Don’t have much of anything. I travel a lot,” he shrugged, brushing off the question. 

“Let’s order in yeah?” he suggested, “save ya from having to get dressed to go out,” he winked.

“Sure but I’m paying,” you told him but he wouldn’t have any of it. 

You and Van sat together on the couch scrolling through menus on your phone from all the different food places nearby that would deliver. Your shoulders were pressed together and your knees touching slightly. Van turned his nose up at almost all your suggestions, yet urged you to get whatever you wanted. He was very unusual and full of contradictions. 

“Fuck. Garlic bread, yes please,” you all but moaned with hearts for eyes.

“Um. No garlic bread. Makes ya breath smell shit,” he replied quickly. 

You raised an eyebrow, confused; earlier, your hangover breath was the opposite of a big deal. 

“Okay...”

After a few more minutes of umming and ahhing over the various lunch options, Van easily settled on some ghastly looking steak and chips meal and you went with the Italian style pesto pasta. 

He stood up to call the restaurant, holding your phone to one ear and placing his other hand on his hip. You couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his voice as he ordered; you could tell he was trying to speak clearly so they’d understand his accent. While you waited, you continued to flip through TV channels looking for something interesting to pass the time with until the food arrived. 

When he was done, Van handed you back your phone with a smile and sat down beside you, wrapping one long arm around your shoulders not, minding the drips from your still wet hair. You quickly replied to the few texts that had popped up from your housemates who wondered where you were and Van picked up where you left off looking for something to watch. 

“What the fuck?” Van mumbled to himself in a high pitched voice. 

You looked up at him and followed his eyes to the TV. 

“That’s toddlers and tiaras. Fuck. I know,” you rolled your eyes and put your phone down beside you. 

Eventually, you and Van settled on some nature documentary; daytime TV was boring as all get out. You leaned more into Van’s side and he tightened his grip around you. You bit back a smile and grabbed his empty hand confidently. He drew small circles on your skin with his thumb which made butterflies erupt in your stomach and you focussed more on those tiny details than anything else; the TV was just something to look at.

.......

“You’re seriously going to eat that?” you questioned in disbelief, pointing your fork at Van’s meal. 

Van’s steak was so rare that you were convinced it was seriously undercooked. The sight of it alone made you wanna hurl. Van just shrugged and dug into the red and bloody slab of meat happily. You held back a gag. 

As you chewed on your pasta, you thought about how you were acting as though you’d known Van for months, not a number of hours in which most of them you were drunk or asleep. You glanced over at him quickly and smiled. He had his legs outstretched and crossed with his feet resting on the coffee table, mismatched socks in full view. His hair which was now dry, was fluffy and wavy, making him look slightly younger and very soft. 

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Van asked knowingly when he noticed you staring. 

“Nothin’,” you grinned back, despite the probable bits of pesto stuck between your teeth.

“Okay,” he smirked, “thought you were thinkin’ about how good looking I am.”

“Definitely not,” you replied with an equally as smug tone and a matching cheeky glint in your eye.  

Van put his now empty plate on the coffee table and turned to face you, crossing his legs under him. He ran a hand through his hair and licked his lips.

“Think maybe I like you y/n,” he said suddenly yet you weren’t taken aback. 

"I think maybe I like you too Van," you placed your bowl beside his plate, "despite the fact you don't own a fridge, you don't like garlic bread, you eat undercooked steak and you're just a little weird generally."

Van’s face flooded with an expression that was a combination of faux-offence and head over heels happiness.

“Could say the same about you y/n,” he replied. 

“Then I guess we can be a little weird, together?” you said. 

“That we can, love.”

With that, Van took your face in his cold hands and kissed you like you’d never been kissed before and you knew that falling in love with him would be completely and utterly inevitable. 

[mintyvan]

RED

part one of two

prompt none; this is an original AU fic. van mccann’s charming wit and hatred for authority has put him in danger, and you’re the one who’s after him.

notes lovely banner by @niceboybob

_____

The day the package showed on your doorstep, you had come back from the ropes course ready to shower off the grit and sweat. There it lay on the rough doormat: a pristine black box sealed tight. Scrutinizing your surroundings - left, then right - you carefully lifted the box and brought it inside, locking your door behind you. You knew what this meant.

As soon as the package was inside and away from unwanted attention, you unsheathed the pocket knife you always kept in your bra. You slid it across the black satin tape of the box, cutting a straight, calculated slit all the way around the length of the package.

A ribbon on the side was meant for you to pull. The inner black box slid from the outer shell. Inside, wrapped in fragile black tissue paper, were two items: a small piece of black cardstock the size of a business card, and a black file folder sealed with red wax.

The red wax came away from the folder easily; it was fresh.

You spread the pages of the file over your table and read them silently to yourself, aware of your surroundings.

Van McCann. Born August 1, 1994.

Will be attending Capitol Records opening reception for Halsey’s latest album release with entirety of Catfish and the Bottlemen.

Photo enclosed.

Catfish and the Bottlemen. Band information card enclosed.

Members: Van McCann (frontman), Benji Blakeway (bassist, photo enclosed), Johnny Bond (lead guitarist, photo enclosed), Bob Hall (drums, photo enclosed).

The black card read a dollar amount embossed in gold. Six figures.

*****

Your Louboutins stung the sidewalk as you strutted down a side street from the entryway doors. You’d studied the plan of the block enclosed in the black folder. You knew every alleyway, every door, every window, every escape route possible throughout the mansion this party was being held at.

You stalked up to the entrance of the grand old house, careful not to step on the excess fabric of your trailing black dress while avoiding the throes of paparazzi. They were everywhere, photographing artists stepping out of jet-black limousines with belles and beaus on arms. You made a point to avoid having your photo taken. The doorman’s eyes caught a glimpse of yours for only a moment before you showed your invitation and were let inside.

The foyer was wide, chandeliers looming overhead in the entryway as guests chatted, waiters winding through the crowd with silver platters sprinkled with champagne glasses. A grand staircase to the right spiraled up to the upper entertainment hall and balcony, where most of the guests would settle shortly before 10:00pm, when Halsey would address the party and thank them for their support.

Your eyes swept the crowd a few times. Your eyes grazed Jennifer Lopez in her Rihanna-esque see-through dress (“swarovski crystals, girl,” you thought to yourself), Niall Horan in his sharp dapper suit, and Migos, chained to the nines over all-black ensembles. Capitol Records had a diverse artistry, and it made for a wild party. Target wasn’t in sight yet.

You cautiously ascended the hardwood stairs above to the upper banquet hall, heels resonating on the wood, all the while acutely aware of your surroundings, softly smiling at people so they wouldn’t suspect the glock strapped to your inner thigh, or the razor-sharp comb holding your hair in its perfect half-updo.

You circled the room once, chatting small talk with waiters until you’d made your rounds indirectly examining every guest at the party. There was a mirror on the opposite wall; a perfect way to innocently touch up your makeup while still recording the positions of everyone in the room. From your bra, you pulled your ruby red lipstick, and drew it on your lips painstakingly slowly. Both men and women alike were watching you from the corners of their eyes, enthralled.

Afterward, you needed a drink in your hand to convince everyone you belonged there. You glided to the bar-cart at the back of the room. After surveying the liquor available (expensive it was - but you were used to clientele with money) you decided on a drink. Your hand reached out, nails painted perfectly crimson, and collided with another, clumsier hand, reaching for the same crystal lowball.

“Ain’t that funny. I’m already actin’ drunk and I’m not even on my second,” a warm voice to the right of you said, loudly, in a hybrid Chester accent. You turned to look at the face of the person with the voice, and immediately had to keep cool. It was him. Target, sighted.

You smirked, to save face. You were hardly ever surprised in this business; you wondered where he’d come from, and how he’d managed to slip through the throng of the crowd without you noticing.

“Hi, I’m Scarlett,” you introduced yourself, voice velvety, letting him kiss your hand. Seductress tip number one. His lips were warm.

“Hello, love, I’m Van. Catfish and the Bottlemen. Heard of us?” and at your brief head shake of a no, he continued. “All of us boys are here, celebratin’ with Ash. What’ll ya have?”

“Scotch neat.”

His head ticked to the side, and eyes sparkled mirthfully. In a low, flirtatious voice, he replied, “How dangerous of you.” Tongue between teeth, impressed, he poured you the finest scotch on the cart, and made himself one too.

You rose your glass to his with a clink. You sipped it, smoothly. He took one timid sip and scrunched his face up.

“Can’t handle your liquor?” you said, devilish grin on your face. He was already enamored.

“Not as well as I handle my women,” he replied, and downed the rest in one gulp, winking as he swallowed.

At that, you let out a genuine laugh.

“We’ll see about that,” you spoke, sipping your scotch slowly. You had to keep your wits about you tonight.

“Will we?” he looked up at you from beneath his eyebrows, one cocked up slightly, smirk plastered to his face.

He noticed someone walking at the front of the room, and poked your shoulder with the pointer finger of the hand the crystal glass was in. Some cold condensation dripped on your collarbone, and you shivered. “See him?”

You turned your head slightly, and nodded at the grey fox in the rakish burgundy suit.

“That there’s Joffrey Wingate. Reckon he’s had it out for me for a while,” he told you, chuckling to himself. “The man hates me.”

“And why is that?” you asked, curiosity dancing on the tip of your tongue. Always putting on a show for your prey.

“So like I said I’m from Catfish and the Bottlemen; we’re a band, signed to Capitol like the others here. But I’ve terminated my contract with the label without going through all the hoops, cause I found myself a loophole in the contract, see. Smart one,” he said, tapping a finger against his temple. “But I’ll lose him countless dollars. He’s the CEO of Capitol, right. He didn’t expect that me going back to Communion would be this easy, nor did he think his pockets would be affected.”

“How dangerous of you,” you repeated coyly, and watched his playful smile widen. It seemed he was a fan of your banter. Most men are.

“I always rake up trouble wherever I go. Always have. You gotta do it your way, or don’t do it at all. Anyways -- I see my pal over there, and he looks like he needs to be steered clear of that unsuspecting lass. She looks like she’d do some fatal damage on him, she’s way out of his league” he said, taking a step away from you. He looked back, smiled a teasing smile, and said, “Lovely to meet you, Scarlett… hope we see each other again soon.” He then stalked away to interrupt Larry Lau from making a so-called fatal mistake.

You watched him walk over and cut into the conversation from across the room. He probably knew you were watching; that was your intent, anyways. Let him know you’re “interested.” Seduce and destroy.

He was wearing black slacks over his long, toned legs, with a black blazer. Golden pendant peeking out from the white shirt that wasn’t buttoned all the way up. Hair mussed about, falling into his eyes when he became more animated. Shoes, unshined. Hands drifting about, acting as if he belonged there, because in his mind, he did. He was cleverly underdressed. You sipped your scotch again, shook your head slightly to clear it from the pure alcohol, and prepared for phase two.

This time, you made the rounds to attractive men in the room, using jealousy as your weapon. Liam Payne was without Cheryl Cole, and it made it all too easy to flirt with him. Hand on his arm, laughing at the things he said, casually throwing in some interesting pieces of knowledge; he was hooked. He seemed like the type who craved fame, fortune, and women of status. Dan Smith from Bastille was next; a bit older, but still a catch. You actually enjoyed the conversation you had with him, and it made your act more believable. You made sure Van was eyeing you occasionally; he was making sure you weren’t getting too comfortable with the other men in the room with the drink he made you in your hand.

When you noticed Van staring a little too often, you knew it had worked. So you said goodbye to the man you were speaking with, dropped your crystal glass onto a waiter’s tray beneath your nose, and made your way to the powder room.

It was on the lower floor. Heels echoed down the hardwood stairs again, and across marble flooring. You pushed open the door, and were met with several dashing ladies in jeweled dresses and perfectly primped hair ogling themselves in the mirror, fixing lipstick, bobby pins between teeth, arms pulling down dresses that had hiked too high. You smiled at them, and walked into the bathroom.

Time check: 8:00pm. Two hours before Halsey’s speech. The party had potential to die about an hour after that; 11:00pm was the deadline to get the plan rolling.

The gun strapped to your inner thigh by the lacy black garter was pre-loaded; safety now turned to off. Comb, ever present in your hair.

You popped out of the stall to check your looks one more time, making sure everything was concealed beneath the black swooping dress your body called home tonight.

“Wow. You dress is like… fucking gorgeous,” a drunk girl called out to you from her perch on the loveseat by the mirrors. “This sweetheart neckline…. The bodycon silhouette that drapes all the way down to the floor so elegantly…. God, you’re beautiful!”

“Thank you, dear,” you snickered, and let her feel the fabric on your little sleeve.

“Like, I’m so inspired by this. I’m going to have to get my boyfriend to buy me a dress like this. Where’d you get it?”

“Actually, I had it specifically made for this occasion. Parties like this don’t happen for me this often.”

“Woooow. You’re fancy. I love it!” she squealed, and hopped off the loveseat to rejoin the party.

You adjusted the sleeves a bit, so they draped just right on the sides of your shoulders. You had to admit - in the full-length mirror, you looked incredible. This had been your favorite job outfit yet; the red lip, the red nails, the red bottoms on the shoes, matched with the black just screamed exactly what you were up to. The irony was giving you a power trip.

You put your persona back on, and opened the door of the powder room out to the foyer. Miniature tiramisus were swaying back and forth on waiters’ trays as they corkscrewed through the crowd. You picked up a small tiramisu; it looked delectable.

“Figured you were the type to like chocolate,” Van said, walking from behind you to stand next to you. “Told the waiter myself to bring some over to yous.”

You smiled. “So thoughtful.” He smiled too.

“How is it?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Want some?” you asked. You punctured a corner of the cake with your fork and tore it off for him. “I’ll feed it to you,” you said, playfulness dancing in your eyes.

He opened his mouth, and he used his teeth to retrieve the cake off the fork. He sighed and closed his eyes. “Now that’s fuckin’ delicious.”

You laughed, and used the same fork to feed yourself more cake. A little germiness didn’t matter in the grand scheme of this job. Not that you minded his. He seemed like a relatively clean guy.

“So, Miss Scarlett where you from?” he began, and you knew he was falling for the ruse quickly. You hated that you had to tell him the story of your alias. He was starting to grow on you.

“I’m from a tiny town called Lakeland, Washington. It rains there all the time. Wouldn’t recommend it. Yourself?”

“I grew up in a place called Widnes, in Wales. Me mum and dad had a bed and breakfast. I loved helping them out and generally having a laugh there. Now I live in New York, with me mate Larry, the one you saw me rescue earlier.”

“Ah, yes, Larry. Does he always go for women like that?”

“Well, us both are terrible ‘bout it. We see somethin’ we like and can’t help but latch on,” he said, winking. You felt a blush creep up hot on your cheeks. It did not go unnoticed by Van.

“Shall we have another drink, love?” he asked, and when you nodded, his arm looped through yours. He escorted you up the stairs to the bar cart. The men who’d eyed you previously, even some you’d spoken to, were now staring at you enviously as you walked by with Van on your arm. When you got close to the bar cart, his arm dropped, and instead his hand went to the small of your back, leading you the rest of the way. His hand was warm. You appreciated the touch.

“You still want scotch neat or you want to try something else?” he asked, perusing the contents of the cart.

“How about a red wine?”

“Done and done.” He lifted a bottle by its neck, peeking at the date. His eyes widened. “1947. Alright, gotta be this one. Can’t not take advantage,” he said, and poured two glasses.

A clink resounded again. Van picked up the bottle of wine again, studying it. “What do you say we take this onto the balcony? Get some fresh air?”

“As you wish,” you responded seductively.

He held your hand and drew you both to the french doors that were propped open to the stone balcony that overlooked the front yard of the mansion. He leaned against the railing, sipping his glass of wine, eyes locked on you.

“Van, do you have any cigarettes?” you asked him, batting your eyelashes slowly. He set his glass of wine on the stone railing of the balcony, reached into his pocket and pulled out a package of hand-rolled cigarettes. “Course.”

You put one to your lips, and he lit it for you. You did the same for him; the flame twirled in his eyes, and over his pursed lips. He breathed out a heavy sigh. You were so close to him, breathing smoke in his face. He couldn’t handle the lack of touch.

He placed his hand on your waist, and led you to stand between his legs; you were at eye level with him now. You let your hand come up to smooth down the white collar of his shirt. His lips parted into a smile as he tilted his head up and puffed his cigarette. His jawline was exposed; hard and thick. One move from head to neck and the comb would slice his jugular right through. But you refrained. It wasn’t time yet.

You leaned in to whisper in his ear. Your cold breath blew across it first, and he closed his eyes. “You should come home with me tonight,” you softly said, and pressed your hand against his chest with intent. You let your hand trail up to his collarbones, pressing the chain of his pendant against his skin, leaving tiny indentations, caressing his jaw, and landing on his cheek. His lips parted. Your crimson lips brushed the corner of his mouth, and you felt his thigh twitch. You stood up, pivoted, and walked away.

****

Time check: 9:45pm. Fifteen minutes until Halsey’s speech. She’d been gliding around all night, sequin dress ablaze under the chandeliers, hosting. You knew from the files that she knew Van. That would be your hook to get him where you wanted. You sighed. Your job never got any easier.

You saw Van speaking to one of his bandmates on the outside backyard patio. For the past few hours, he’d been chatting it up with everyone, as if he knew everyone. You’d been watching him for the past thirty minutes from a third floor balcony. It’s not like anyone noticed you slinking away toward the unused elevator on the first floor, and it’s not like anyone knew where it was besides the owner and yourself, because you’d looked at the plans prior to the event. You needed to get away, to survey the back portion of the house where the alleyway with your car was visible behind the fence.

Van would look around every few minutes, surveying the guests for your face. It was honestly making you sad. He had no idea he’d fallen straight into your trap.

PART TWO HERE.