You Dont Own Me (Larcel)

Marcel Styles. Your typical nerd. He wore the bottle cap, huge frame glasses, sweater vests. The guy who was always made fun of in school. Marcel would have random asthma attacks and made little choking noises when he nervous, the lot. He even snorts when he laughs. Some people think its cute, like his mum. But the kids in school think its nerdy. Especially Louis Tomlinson. Louis had the typical "bad boy" persona. He hated Marcel with a passion, he hated Marcel so much. He bullied him constantly. He had tattoos, he had dark hair, perfect features though. Marcel hated Louis. He was scared of him. Marcel was gay though, which oddly, wasn't why he was tormented. Louis loved his own life up until he started having dreams, very wet dreams, about Marcel. Very vivid, so vivid that sometimes Louis would even wake up with a boner. He moaned in his sleep. Dreams about Marcel, in a writhing moaning mess under his own body, and himself, pounding in and out of Marcel's glorious heat. But this wasn't possible, he hated this boy. Why did he have these dreams? Current dreams of his dream last night flew through his mind. Him fucking Marcel against the wall. A story about two boys who absolutely hate each other- or do they?


1. I Hate You


It all started when I saw Marcel naked in the changing room. Yeah, funny way to start a story, I know.

Anyways, for some reason, I couldn't take my eyes off of him. It was only supposed to be a prank. But, it made a bigger impact on me.

He has a big impact of his own.

His slightly toned chest with oddly no visible chest hair, his curvy hips that are just begging for finger print bruises to be put on them, and this glorious thing we call a 'V' line or 'Happy Trail' that had curly hair, the only visible hair on his front, that led down to his, well, you know.

He usually changes in the shower behind the curtain, and he used to wear boxers when he showered. Obviously he doesn't anymore.

And I think its because we made fun of him.

But now I kind of regret it.

But at the same time, in my mind I'm giving myself a Nobel Prize for indirectly telling him to shower fully naked.

But just seeing him like that, all naked and vulnerable, just made me, I mean, it made me get a bit excited.

While the lads just laughed at him from beside me, I was standing there noticing how fragile he looked, instead of laughing.

He just looked so, breakable. So ruinable and I couldn't help but comment on how impressive his package was. Oh the look on his face.

A blush mixed with confusion.

But I couldn't help but see the small yellow and purple marks along his sides and arms.

And the worst thing to see, the faded red lines across parts of his body.

Then I instantly felt guilty.

I knew it was because of me.

But he then yanked the curtain closed and I heard him sobbing quietly.

Then the dreams flood my mind. Why does this have to happen?

Most importantly, why Marcel?

I mean, its Marcel Styles the annoying nerd who couldn't get much more stereotypical with his big rimmed glasses and sweater vests.

That's what got me all hot for Marcel. The dreams.

Why couldn't it have been like, Eleanor Calder or summat? Yeah, she's hot.

But most of all, he's a guy. A guy. Do you know how weird that is? I mean I'm not homophobic. Or I don't think I am.

But I can see myself even kissing the bloke. Bloody kissing!

I just want to hit myself, just thinking about it. But why hit myself when I have my ragdoll?

He's such an easy target. And I have anger issues.

So I keep hurting him but at the same time I want to ravish him.

Oh yeah, I currently have Marcel against the locker. And my hand planted firmly on his bum. Which is quite nice actually. God stop it Louis!


Louis huffed like a bull. He was mad. And Marcel knew when Louis was mad, his own body would show it the next day, with all the bruises Louis makes on him.

And once again he finds himself under the hooves of the bull.

"Styles" Louis said bluntly, in a monotone voice. Marcel didn't dare to move much less breathe. It took a minute, to Marcel it felt like more than that, just for him to speak.

He let out a small, "yes?" And that seemed to make things worse somehow.

Louis bent Marcel's arm behind his back and held it there. Marcel let out a pained whine and the look of hurt was evident on his face.

"Where are you going?" Louis asked, same tone voice. He didn't really give a fuck where Marcel was going. He just wanted an excuse to bother him.

He saw the wince and slight pain on Marcel's face.

"T-theatre" Marcel spoke quietly. He knew he'd get made fun of for it.

Louis chuckled. "You're such a nerd" he said and clamped his hand down, squeezing Marcel's bum once more.

Marcel accidentally let out a gasp of small surprise, it escaped his mouth like a cat would do if a vacuum were coming towards it.

"L-Loui-" Marcel cut himself off by a small shout of pain coming from him as Louis bent his arm more, at an acute angle.

"Don't talk" Louis said sternly. "Did I give you permission?"

Louis leaned in, his lips a centimetre away from the shell of Marcel's ear.

"Styles" He whispered. His warm breath cascading down Marcel's neck, causing a ripple of a shiver to go down his spine.

"N-No m'sorry" he whimpered. Louis only grinned. "Good. I taught you well" Louis laughed. He practically had Marcel trained and his method of training was intimidation and Marcel learned by fear.

Marcel only looked at him.

Louis huffed. "You should get to class. You'll be late" He said and gave Marcel one final push against the locker and bounded away down the hall.

Louis stopped by his locker to get his Maths book, also keeping it over his crotch, trying to make it look like he was just naturally holding it. Seeing as how he had to hide something sinful.

He smirked. "Styles" he grinned to himself.

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