#liam black x reader

[tarabyte3]

The Fear Has Gripped Me, but Here I Go

(13.4k)

Fandom: The Accused (BBC)

Pairing: Liam Black/F!Reader

Summary: It was so easy to develop a crush on Liam Black. He's sweet, handsome, funny, and all of your conversations feel effortless. How could you not? Maybe it was too easy because you're starting to fall a little deeper and you can't stop calling him whenever you need a taxi.

Warnings: Explicit rating, sex, car sex, semi public sex, unprotected sex, adultery, cheating, lying, mutual pinning, romance, angst

A/N: This is a fic about the character Liam Black played by Andy Serkis in the BBC anthology show The Accused. In the show, he breaks into a woman's house, steals from her, stalks her, uses that information to get her to like him, interferes with her life, etc. None of that is shown or stated in this fic, but if you’ve watched the show, you can infer a LOT about their interactions. In the show, he also cheats on his wife and lies to both her and the other woman. That IS in this fic. Unfortunately, Liam Black is one of my poor little meow meows, so this story is also intended to be romantic. I do not condone cheating (obviously). This is fiction. It's just that Liam is a sympathetic creep, but also I want to kiss him. (Andy Serkis has rotted my brain.) | Work title is from “Breezeblocks” by alt-J.

Playlist | AO3

It's distressingly easy to get sucked into the gravity of Liam Black. The way he looks at you—stolen glances in the rearview mirror when he thinks you won't notice—makes you feel special. Beautiful.

Something worth marveling at.

That should be a red flag, but you can't remember the last time someone looked at you like that. It's more than being appreciated for your appearance or checked out by a stranger. It's as if your presence is a bright spot in his day. In the same way he might stop to appreciate the view of a valley brimming with flowers or a sunrise after a particularly long night. His expression, one of awe.

Every bit of conversation between the two of you feels so natural, too. Effortless. Like meeting up with an old friend only to pick up right where you left off years ago. And he makes you laugh in a way you haven't in so long, as if he knows the exact thing to say to get you to smile. Even when you've had a rotten day.

Especially when you've had a rotten day.

So you keep calling him when you need a ride.

After all, Liam gave you his number for that very reason, you tell yourself. It's much easier than arranging a taxi because you deal with him directly. You know it will be him showing up at your door, and he already knows where you live and is familiar with the drive. Why wouldn't you call him?

At least that's how it started. Weeks ago.

Eventually any small excuse became a reason to phone him instead of driving yourself. “Parking will be a nightmare.” “I'd rather not fight with traffic.” “What if I want to have a drink during dinner with my friends?” “I swear my car made a strange noise this morning. I shouldn't drive it until I can get it looked at, and the shop is booked out a week.”

Deep down you know it's because you want that connection. You want his attention on you. You want to catch those blue eyes in the mirror. To see the profile of his nose and warm smile from the backseat. The greying scruff of his beard. The casual flex of his arms on the steering wheel—far more muscular than you would have expected from a driver and deceptively so under his polos because the way the fabric stretches around his biceps is…enticing.

It's just a crush, you tell yourself. Nothing more than a passing fancy. It's nice to have something to indulge in. It's perfectly harmless.

But then one night, you're in Liam’s taxi because you're headed to meet some friends to see a play—your favorite play—only to discover it's his favorite play, too.

So the two of you talk enthusiastically about it the entire drive there, quoting lines and debating character motivations and themes. Once you arrive at the theater, you find that you're very disappointed to be getting out of the car. You were enjoying yourself so much that it went by too fast.

“If you need a ride home afterwards, just let me know, love.” He turns in his seat to smile at you, and the corners of his eyes crinkle in a way that's endearing. Earnest.

“It'll be awfully late.” You can't help but smile back, even as you wave off his suggestion. “I can just flag a taxi.”

“I'll already be out. It's no trouble, really,” he insists while holding up a placating hand. Then his expression softens. “A lovely woman like you shouldn't be waiting that late by yourself anyway. It's dangerous.”

You want to protest further. To say your friends will be there, too, and you'll hardly be alone. That you don't want to be a bother. But, god, he called you lovely and he looks so hopeful. Those blue eyes bore into yours and pierce your defenses. The words die on your lips.

You relent.

You'll text him from the lobby after the show, you agree. He'll come get you then.

You've never texted him before. Somehow that feels more intimate than calling him and hearing the rough timbre of his voice.

The play is wonderful.

Your favorite character was perfectly cast, and his delivery of a line makes you think of Liam—the way he quoted it from the driver's seat a mere hour before, the parody of a serious expression on his face that made you laugh. He smiled at you then, all unmasked adoration, and your heart flutters at the memory.

When it's over, you text him before you've even left your seat.

As you resist the urge to impatiently push your way through the throng of people heading for the lobby, you tell your friends you couldn't possibly go out for drinks afterwards. You're tired and you have an early morning, but you'll take that rain check! Next time, you promise. You'll even buy a round! And that seems to placate them enough that they're on their way without you.

Before they can see you getting into his cab. Before they can look too closely and see what you're trying so desperately to deny to yourself: That you're more excited to see him than you are at the thought of spending time with them.

That you want this thing you shouldn't want.

He must have been close because he's already idling in wait as you exit the building. Your expression brightens at the sight of him waving at you from the driver's window, his face bathed in the marquee lights. The bulbs reflect in his eyes, tiny pin pricks like stars, and it sets your heart racing.

Christ, he's handsome.

You briefly wonder if he stayed in the area just for you. You can't deny you like the thought, even as you try to bury it down. That's something you can dig back up and indulge in later. When you're alone.

“How was the play, love?” He asks back at you once you've settled in and closed the door. The sounds outside become muted, trapping an artificial intimacy in with you.

“Fantastic! Oh, you would have loved it,” you sigh as you buckle yourself in. “You really should get tickets while it's still going.”

“Maybe I should.” He glances one last time out the window at the people still spilling from the front doors before slowly pulling away from the curb. “I might fit in better with the matinee crowd, though.”

Your head snaps up towards him. “What does that mean?”

“Well, I'm just a lowly taxi driver. Not really night at the theater material.”

“Nonsense.” You furrow your brows at him, as though you're offended on his behalf. “You aren't just anything, and there's nothing lowly about being a taxi driver. Plus, there are no requirements for going to see a play. Art is for everyone.”

He smiles to himself, almost amused by your reaction. “It'd still be sad, yeah? A man going to the theater all by himself.”

“Not at all!” You try to ignore the thrill in your chest at the implication that he doesn't have a partner. It's something you've suspected based on past conversations, but refused to ask outright. That would have been too much like showing real interest. “I've gone by myself loads of times.”

“Really?” There's a note of disbelief in his voice, and he glances up at you in the mirror. “A beautiful woman like you, without a date?”

A heat creeps over your cheeks. You bite at your bottom lip and glance out the window to hide it. You're suddenly glad for the late hour so he can't see the bashfulness in your reflection.

“Now you sound like my mother,” you tease, trying to deflect the comment.

His laughter rings out through the car. “Oh god, I take it back!”

“Besides, it's not always easy to get a date last minute, romantic or platonic. Is it?” You raise your eyebrows at him in challenge. “Why don't you take one?”

This is the closest you've come to prying because, now that he's alluded to the fact that he's available, you can't help yourself. You have to know. Whether that's to satisfy some curiosity or because a part of you has a vested interest in his answer, you're not sure.

“If you can't get one last minute, then what hope does a washed up old driver like myself have?”

And now you know. Which actually makes all of this feel so much worse because, under the serene veil of passing street lights and quiet roads, the lines are beginning to blur.

You also want to open your mouth and say something stupid like, “Then they're idiots,” or “You’re far from washed up,” and maybe even “I’d go with you.” But you know the second that you do, it pushes this beyond the bounds of rides and cautious flirting.

You don't even know if Liam would want that. What if he's only being nice? You don't know how he talks to his other passengers. Maybe he finds the flirting fun and harmless, too, and he's not actually interested in anything more. Maybe he enjoys being your friend.

Or maybe you’re only projecting what you want to see because you're lonely and he’s easy to talk to—the first man to really pay attention to you in longer than you’d care to admit. You might just end up embarrassing yourself.

Instead, you scoff and say, “Well, it doesn't matter anyway because it's perfectly acceptable to go alone and have a lovely time.”

Regret pools in your stomach. You can't help but feel you missed an opportunity. It's too late now, though. As he chuckles warmly from the front seat and shifts his attention to the road, you know the moment has passed. Bringing it up again, saying those words out loud, will give you away.

There's a silence after that, which stretches on for several minutes. A few weeks ago it might have been comfortable, but now you can't stand it. You only get a few of these moments with him and you're nearly halfway home already. It might be a while before you see him again after this. You're wasting it!

“God, I wish I had walked the block to get a takeout after the show. I'm suddenly starving,” you blurt out, lacking anything else to say, but desperate for any chance at small talk to close the gap between you.

“Want me to stop off somewhere?” He glances up at you in the mirror.

“No!” You immediately protest, a little embarrassed. You had expected this to turn into a conversation about your favorite kinds of takeout or foods so you could learn more about him. You hadn't expected him to offer anything. “No, it's fine. It was just a terrible attempt at making conversation. I swear I'll live.”

“I can if you’d like.”

“It's already so late. Don't trouble yourself. Really!” You aren't even hungry.

When did this become so difficult? When did you go from enjoying his attention to craving it this much?

“I don't have another ride after this.” His voice lowers, barely audible now over the hum of the engine. “And I've already told you, love. For you it's never any trouble.”

Oh. The uncertainty gives way to a warmth in your chest. It settles deep into your ribs and wraps itself around your heart. How could you possibly say no now?

You also know the answer to your questions then: It became difficult when, somewhere along the way, this stopped being just a simple, harmless crush.

“Okay.” Then you hurry to add, “But only if you're sure!”

“Positive.” His profile shifts as he smiles at the road, pleased you’ve accepted his offer.

“There's Chinese on the way. Over by the old Tesco? The one that closed a few months ago?”

“I know it.”

“It's not the best, but it's open until eleven. I can order it now so you don't have to wait too long.” Then you get an idea. “Do you like noodles? Or maybe fried rice? My treat.” You hold up a finger at him when he opens his mouth to protest. “You’re nice enough to stop when you don't have to, it's the least I can do to say thank you.”

“Alright,” he sighs, his shoulders going slack with acceptance. There's something tender in his expression as his smile widens, which only makes your heart constrict further. “Yeah, I'd love some noodles.”

“Then noodles it is.” You place the order on your phone as a silence settles back over the car.

All that fuss and your attempt at conversation didn't even work.

At least you get to buy him dinner, technically speaking. But you're going to do everything you can not to dwell on that right now. Especially now that you’ve realized how far this has evolved.

A few minutes and a short detour later, and he's pulling alongside the curb once again.

“I'll be right back,” you promise before hurrying out into the night.

You feel oddly self conscious of every step as you cross the street because you can feel his eyes on you the entire way. Watching you.

He probably wants to make sure you don't get mugged or something, you tell yourself. He’s keeping an eye on you. That's all. There's no reason for your pulse to be this high.

And yet, if there's a bit more sway to your hips as you walk in the hopes it draws his gaze lower…that's just more fun, harmless flirting. Isn't it?

You're not sure anymore.

At this hour, so near to closing, the restaurant is empty. There's even someone taking down tables in the dining area. The sight of it makes you feel guilty as you give them a nod of greeting. Your disastrous attempt at small talk probably prevented the kitchen from being in the same half cleaned state as well. Just add it to the list of inconveniences, you think.

It only takes a few more minutes for your order to be finished, much to your relief. You’d hate to keep Liam waiting because it's already fourteen to eleven, and you don't want him to start regretting being nice. It also means you don't have time to stand there and start second guessing yourself either, which is the last thing you need right now.

When you exit the restaurant, you notice the air has shifted. It smells damp now, like it might rain. Even the night sky is quickly growing darker as the stars are swallowed by clouds, all the telltale signs of an encroaching late summer storm. So you jog back towards the cab, clutching the takeout bag and praying it holds off.

But as your fingers brush the door handle, you hesitate.

It's late and there's not another car or soul on the street. It's just the two of you, and you've gotten both of you food. It seems almost silly to sit in the backseat now, or to pretend there's much of a separation anymore. Even as friends.

That's what you tell yourself as you head to the passenger door instead.

Liam doesn't say anything. He just watches you climb into the front seat of his taxi. When you finally meet his eyes, you can see uncertainty on his face, but of what you're not sure.

“Is this okay?” You keep the door held open in doubt, giving yourself the option of escape. “I thought it would be easier...you know, with the food.”

“Yeah.” His voice is quiet, and the wary, low gravel of it matches his expression. He glances down at the steering wheel. “Yeah, it's fine.”

Far too late you wonder if you've made a mistake.

“I'm sorry,” you gasp as you move for the door. “I should have asked first. I can get in back.”

“Wait!” His hand shoots out as if he wants to grab your arm—to keep you there—but he stops just short of touching you, still keeping that distance. He lets it hover for a second, hesitant, before lowering it back to his seat, and you swear you see his fingers twitch. Your skin tingles at the near contact. “Stay. Please.”

You take a moment to study his face, to make sure it's actually what he wants. That he isn't just being polite now that you're already in, despite his own comfort.

The genuine plea you see there makes your heart ache.

“Okay,” you say softly.

You shut the door.

Then it's quiet once again except for the rustling of the bag as you settle it on your lap. Except now there's a tension in the air that's never been there before. It's as if you brought the storm into the cab with you and have just sealed it inside. Maybe you have made a mistake.

This had always been so easy.

When there was the clear separation of a car seat between you, you both knew where you stood. Liam up front, you in back. Driver and passenger. The physical distance kept things safe. Without that, you feel unsteady, too—unsure of how to act and unsure where this is going.

You think about that heavy scent of ozone and warm concrete on the breeze outside—about the possibility of rain—and suddenly you know what you want. You know why you got in front and what your heart has been telling you all night: You want to see your possibility. What this thing between you could be.

Despite your nerves, you want him. All you have to do is continue closing the distance.

You're pretty sure that you can't make things any more awkward than they already are, at the very least. Even if you somehow manage it, you doubt he’ll throw you out of his taxi. Why would he? He’s only ever been sweet to you. So the worst he can say is no, you think, as if that wouldn't break your heart.

“I don't know how you feel about food in your cab, but we could sit here and eat before it gets cold. Together. If you want.” You try to sound casual, but hope bleeds into your voice and betrays the truth of what you're really offering him: you. Something more.

You spent weeks being careful to never cross that line while telling yourself that's what you actually wanted. That you were fine simply having something to indulge in. But now that you've finally done it, you don't know why it took you so long or how you’ve been so blind. Because as you look at him, with his snug polo, trimmed hair and beard, his full lips, and his hooded blue eyes, you wouldn't take it back for anything.

Only…that uncertainty reappears on his face. An internal struggle which deepens the lines on his forehead, pinches his brow, and causes his mouth to thin into a frown. He knows agreeing to this would mean crossing that line with you and moving forward. Except where you have hope, he seems conflicted by the possibility.

You wonder if all the flirting and stolen glances felt harmless to him, too, because he never dreamed you’d want him back. And now that you do…

“You don't need to be getting home? It's late," he says helplessly. Half-heartedly. That's when you realize: he thinks he should tell you no, but he just can't bring himself to say it. So he's offering you an excuse instead, hoping that you’ll do it for him.

Of all the ways you saw this going, you never imagined this—that he would want you and still reject you.

You want so badly to ask why, to understand, but this hurts more than a simple no would, and the fear of what he might say stills your tongue. It could just be self-deprecation on his part, the ingrained belief that he's a washed up old driver…but what if the reason is you? Imagining the pity on his face as he tries to let you down gently turns your stomach.

Despite that, you find you can't say no either. Now that you've finally realized that you want this, how do you let it go? To be the one to end it before it's even begun. You don't have the strength.

You suppose that makes the both of you cowards.

“I've got nowhere to be tomorrow, but if you do, that's alright, Liam,” you offer instead. A lie the two of you can cling to. “I don't want to keep you any longer than I already have.”

He shakes his head. “That's not it.”

Oh.

“Either way, don't worry about it,” you quickly blurt out to stop him from saying anything more. “Forget I said—”

“No!” His voice breaks as he interrupts you, stunning you to silence. “No.”

He struggles for a moment to find the words while searching your face, as if he might find the answer there. As if you might make it easier for him somehow. He must find something because then he's staring at you with the determination of a man who's made a decision, consequences be damned, and you let out a shaky breath you didn't realize you’d been holding.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Oh.

Your heart falters for a moment, lurching with violence against your ribcage, before it stutters with renewed hope.

There's a rumble of thunder outside—the sound of possibility shifting into inevitability.

“Me either,” you whisper.

“Then, yeah.” His face softens. And he’s back to looking at you in a way you’re used to, the way he secretly would in his rearview mirror, but something between you has shifted. There's a new intensity to his gaze that takes your breath away. “I’d love to.”

“I’m glad.” Feeling bold at that look in his eyes and desperate to ease some of the lingering tension, you add, “Besides, this is much better than eating reheated takeout alone in my apartment. The company is far better.”

You can tell it works when he relaxes further in his seat.

“Yeah?” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he raises his eyebrows at you.

“Yeah.”

“And I suppose it does smell really good, yeah? Be a shame to waste it.”

“It really does.” You huff out a laugh as you dig into the bag, relieved to have something to do with your hands that isn't clenching them uselessly in your lap. “Plus, now you don't have to listen to my stomach growl for the rest of the drive.”

He laughs along with you, but it quickly turns into a teasing grin. “Well, I’m glad I could save you the embarrassment.”

“My hero,” you say playfully, which finally earns you a full, real smile. The kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes your heart skip a beat. Before you can get distracted staring at him, you pull out the disposable utensils and hold them up between you. “Now, fork or chopsticks?"

He sheepishly takes the fork, and it's your turn to give him a teasing grin.

You fall back into easy conversation as you both tuck into your takeout containers. The tension between you is gone now, having dissipated under the familiar—though it'll be impossible to forget just how close he is or the way he lingers in your field of vision no matter where you look.

You’ve positioned yourself in your seat so you're half facing him, and you notice he's removed his seatbelt and done the same. There's an intimacy to the way both of your knees are turned in towards each other, unable to touch but still seeking one another out.

There it is again, you think. The gravity of him, pulling you in. You bend to him like light.

While you eat, it begins to rain. Or rather, it begins to downpour, the drops thumping and echoing off the metal body of the taxi. They coat the windows in streaks, leaving the world outside blurred—a hazy refraction of streetlights and muted color.

The combination of darkness and being shut inside the car already made it feel like there was a barrier separating the two of you from the outside, but now you feel even more cocooned from the rest of the world. In fact, you’re finding it hard to remember anything else exists beyond the interior of this cab. This moment.

Him.

Another silence settles over you as you eat and listen to the rain, but this one is comforting. As though just existing next to each other is enough. It's easy in a way that makes your heart sing.

He breaks it by clearing his throat.

“Seriously, how do you use those? I’ve never gotten the hang of it.” He gestures to your hand holding the chopsticks.

You pause mid bite, your food frozen in the air as you look up at him. “Do you want me to show you?”

“You can try, but I should warn you, I'm all thumbs when it comes to that,” he laughs and looks away, self-conscious.

You’ve seen that expression on his face a few times now. Glimpses past the easy smiles and the effortless conversations into how he sees himself. You wonder again if that was the reason he hesitated earlier. Suddenly you want to show him the man you see. The one that’s attentive when you speak and makes you feel seen. Who always cheers you up with his presence and went out of his way when you said you were hungry. The man who's never said no to you, even when you’ve called him at the last minute and were certain he was busy.

You wish you could find the way to say all of that out loud.

Instead, you raise an eyebrow and stick the uneaten bite back into the container. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“It's really not,” he says with a helpless laugh, but you're determined now.

You get a fresh set for him. Then you go about demonstrating the placement in your hand and the way you use your fingers to manipulate the utensils to pick up your food. He copies you, though his own movements are stiff and awkward. There's also a vulnerability to the way he keeps glancing up at you to see if he's doing it correctly and looking for approval.

“You’ve almost got it! It just takes practice,” you reassure him. He gives you a small smile in return, his blue eyes full of gratitude. When he tries again, he’s more relaxed and confident, and the chopsticks move with far more ease.

It's a much better look on him, you think.

You also spend the entire time resisting the urge to reach out and shape his fingers around the thin pieces of wood. Because if you touched his hands, god help you, you might not be able to stop. The idea is so tempting, though, and it only gets worse the longer you focus on the curve and press of his thick fingers.

You imagine what it would be like to have them grazing over your cheek and down your neck, or dipping along your inner thigh and dragging against your slit. There's a sudden throb of need between your legs at the thought. Now the air of the cab feels stifling, electric with a different energy, but he's so focused on what he's doing, he doesn't seem to notice the way you squirm in your seat.

Instead, you offer tips to help him get it right—from a distance, where it's safe for the time being and you're less likely to do something brash, like grab him and kiss him.

After some more practice, he makes a few unsuccessful attempts to eat and has to stop to pick dropped noodles off of his shirt and lap with a sigh while you giggle next to him. Until, finally, an entire bite makes it from the takeout container to his mouth without spilling.

“I did it!” He beams proudly at you as he chews, those blue eyes now wide and lit up with excitement. And god, it's adorable…except there's a bit of noodle stuck in his beard. You press your lips together to keep from bursting into laughter at him in his moment of triumph. He catches on anyway, and his face falls slightly in confusion. "What?"

"You've got some noodle. Right here." You point at your own face.

He quickly runs a hand over his mouth to wipe it away, but all that does is push the noodle farther down his chin. "Did I get it?"

"No!" You snort out a sharp laugh at his look of panic. So he sets his takeout carton on the center console near the gearshift for a more serious attempt, but his palm scrapes uselessly at his face again. “It's lower now.”

“Glad you're enjoying this.” He tries to sound offended, but there's a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he feels around for the elusive bit of food, betraying how much he’s enjoying this, too.

"Here." You set your takeout next to his. And then you don't think before you lean across the center console, your hand stretched out and reaching towards him. "It's right…"

You genuinely meant to help and put him out of his misery, but by the time you realize what you're doing, your fingertips are already brushing through the coarse hair of his beard, the why of it completely forgotten. Now you can no longer help yourself. You’ve finally touched him, and he feels so warm and alive beneath your hand.

Your fingers curl against his chin. Then, almost with a mind of their own, they inch towards his jaw, seeking more. You want to run them over his cheeks. His temple. His smile lines. Along the bridge of his nose. His lips. You want to feel out every bit of his face and commit it to memory.

You don't want to let go.

And you nearly don’t stop until a heavy exhale from him sends you crashing back to reality. The one where you're basically groping him instead of helping. You also notice the noodle bit has long since fallen away and landed somewhere unseen onto his lap.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" You gasp in horror. You start to pull away to search for it because, after that, you're too embarrassed to even look at him. But you’ve barely removed your hand when he grabs your wrist, firmly keeping you in place just inches from his face. Your eyes snap up to meet his.

Neither of you moves. Or speaks.

For several tense seconds, the only sound in the car is the rhythmic patter of rain and your heavy breathing as you stare at each other.

The moment stretches between you like a wire, thick and coiled taut, and you're terrified to pull away. Or push closer. As if doing so might snap the tension and ruin whatever this is. Instead, you sit there, frozen at the way his eyes become half-lidded, barely lessening the now undisguised longing in his gaze.

Just when you think it's become too much and you're going to break under the intensity of it all, his thumb brushes against the delicate skin of your wrist, directly over your pulse, sending a shiver through you. And that small touch alone is enough to make all of this profoundly, achingly, real. Distantly you wonder if he can feel the frantic drumming of your heart. Because by now it's pounding so hard with anticipation, your ribs flex with every beat.

He brings your hand back towards his face and rests it against his cheek. As he does, you're mortified to realize you're trembling in his grasp. He must notice as well because, without a word, he flattens his own hand over yours, anchoring and calming between beard and flesh. His eyes dip nearly closed at the sensation, and he nuzzles into your touch, letting the corner of his mouth graze your palm.

You watch as there's the slightest purse of his lips, a shade of a kiss onto your skin, and you suck in a gasp.

He reaches out for you, then. You think he's going to mimic the gesture and cup your face, but instead his knuckles graze along your cheek. He takes a moment to trace and explore the contour of your cheekbone in awe before continuing on, gliding past the shell of your ear, until he's cupping the back of your neck instead with his thumb resting on your jaw. His hand feels massive as it envelops you, the span of it completely covering your nape, making you feel bird-boned in his grasp. But everything about his touch is so tender, so affectionate, that it never occurs to you to feel vulnerable.

Quite the opposite. Combined with his captivated expression, which is so intense that it borders on grief, he's found a new way to make you feel special.

Wanted.

Gently, he begins to guide you towards him as he leans in and stares at your lips. There's no doubting his intentions.

You go willingly. Lead to him. Pulled to him. Sucked so far into that gravity, you’d still be moving even if he let go.

"Liam," you exhale into the shrinking space between you, finally giving voice to your desire.

His fingers flex against your neck at the sound of his name, but he still doesn't stop or speak. His hand continues to guide you closer. Slow and steady. As if he's giving you plenty of time to put an end to this. To pull away and tell him you don't want it. But you do. You want it so much that you almost forget to breathe.

As his lips ghost against yours, your eyes flutter shut. You instinctively push forward, trying to close the distance between you, but he moves away before you can fully capture his mouth. Then he goes back to brushing his lips over yours, cutting off your protest and taking in your sighs and quivers.

It's almost teasing, the way he's taking his time and savoring every step of this—of you—and there's a confidence to his movements you weren't expecting. As if, now that he's gotten you, he knows exactly what he wants to do with you while you're swept along in his wake.

Except you’ve thought about this moment so many times. Indulged in the fantasy of what it might feel like to have his lips against you as his tongue eagerly explores the heat of your mouth. Now you're so close to getting what you want, too, and the anticipation is building into an agonized yearning every second he’s just out of reach.

You're on the verge of whimpering or pleading when he finally, truly, kisses you.

Any thought you might have had is gone. The pressure of his lips, his mouth slotting against yours, his relieved exhale across your skin—the combination makes you dizzy with need. A moan is torn from your throat.

The sound breaks whatever gentle spell had a hold of him because, just like that, his arms are around you, and he's kissing you hungrily.

At first it's desperate. Nothing more than a messy searching of lips before you find your rhythm. Then every bit of it is better than you imagined—the scrape of his beard, his nose nudging into yours, a brief graze of his tongue along your bottom lip before it retreats, leaving you wanting more. And god, do you want more.

As if he knows what you're thinking—or maybe you've said it out loud—he tightens his hold around you and pulls you towards his seat, his mouth never leaving yours. But you don't have time to admire how strong he is as you scramble blindly to get your legs under you. In your haste, your knee hits one of the takeout containers, which sends it toppling over.

You break the kiss to gasp out, "I think it spilled."

"I don't care," he murmurs and captures your mouth again. This time his tongue lingers at the seam of your lips. As you open up to him and taste him for the first time, you decide you don't care either.

You finish climbing into his lap. Every movement is clumsy in the limited space, all groping hands and fumbling limbs. You have to squeeze past the steering wheel and keep your head low so you don't bump it into the roof of the cab. The position is also a bit awkward as you try to find enough purchase to settle your knees on either side of his hips. You even have to adjust your dress to keep it from getting in the way, which forces the hem mid thigh.

None of that matters once you're finally settled. Because, when you lower your weight into his lap, you find him rock hard beneath you. And the only thing separating your bare sex from that impressive bulge in his pants is a pair of lacy panties. You can almost feel the warmth of his cock radiating through the denim.

"Fuck, Liam," you hiss.

You can't start grinding onto him just yet, though, because he quickly reaches between you to adjust himself over his jeans. It's something so intimate and casual—something he has to do because of you—that it's devastatingly sexy. That alone is enough to make your cheeks and neck burn. But when his hand grips over the tented fabric and slides along his length, for a brief moment it sharpens the outline of his erection in his fist, and it sends heat racing between your thighs, leaving you aching. Your hips shift involuntarily at the sudden pressure.

“Better,” he sighs in relief. Then his hands squeeze around your waist to drag you down as his hips roll up to meet you, and you see stars.

Before you’ve even recovered, he draws you back in for another heated kiss. You're so fixated on his mouth, so ravenous for him, you don't notice when he blindly gropes between the seat and the door. So when the seat tilts back all the way without warning, you barely catch yourself with your hands at the last minute to stop from falling forward and smashing your face into his. The motion is such a jolt that you cry out in surprise against his lips. You feel his curl into a smile.

It doesn't last long. The new angle gives your hips the freedom of movement to slide over the full length of him, and the friction makes your arousal thrum with anticipation. His eyes roll shut with a groan.

While he’s distracted, you take a moment to appreciate him like this—the flutter of his eyelashes, his kiss swollen lips, and the way the rain dappled streetlight bathes over his flushed skin. When he opens his eyes again and catches you staring, his expression softens.

Your breath hitches at the sight. Christ, he’s so fucking handsome.

You suddenly realize you don't have to just look anymore. Despite the heat of this moment, you can finally satisfy the urge to run your fingers over his face. So, without hesitation, you reach out and touch his jaw again. Only this time, you don't stop. You gently map out all of his lines and wrinkles, relish the contrast in softness between his skin and beard, and trace along his lips—all while he stares up at you in half-lidded awe.

“God, you're amazing, love.” His voice is low and gravelly as he nuzzles up against your jaw. “The most amazing woman I’ve ever met in my life.”

Your eyes fall closed with a shiver, letting the vibrations of it wash over you, but you don't respond. How can you? What could you possibly say to that? 

His thumb caresses over your cheek.

“Look at me,” he coaxes in a soft tone. You slowly open your eyes again to meet his. When you do, he gives you a gentle smile. “I mean it. I've wanted you from the moment you got into my cab.”

Oh.

“I want you, too, Liam,” you finally admit quietly, your own voice thick with emotion.

“I'm still trying to let that sink in.” He shakes his head. “That someone as incredible as you could want someone like me.”

“Of course I do. How could I not?” You sound defensive, but you can't help it. You feel that familiar need to make him see himself the way you do. “I think you're amazing, too.”

“Jesus.” He lets out a heavy sigh. Then he glances down between you, seemingly overwhelmed by your statement.

“Why do you think I kept calling you?” You chuckle breathlessly. “I’ve been making plans and finding any excuse I could just so I had a reason to see you and be in your cab. You had to have suspected I didn't actually need that many rides.”

“I hoped.” His eyes meet yours again and that intensity is back. The muscle in his jaw clenches, making your heart skip a beat. “God, did I hope.”

“It took me far too long to realize just how much.” You lean in to place a slightly heated kiss onto his lips. Then, in a husky voice, you add, “I should have done this ages ago.”

"I don't deserve this," he groans as his hand tightens with rekindling lust around your waist, “but I could never say no to you.”

"Don't I deserve it?" He sucks in a breath beneath you. You let the tip of your nose brush against his as you lower to a whisper. "No one's ever made me feel the way you do, Liam. So please…make me feel even better."

His arms engulf you to capture your lips, just as you start to move over him again.

You continue to kiss as you ride that bulge in his jeans, the stiffness and friction sending delicious sparks up through your core while desire pools between your legs. Every roll of your hips draws needy sounds from your throat and little grunts from his as he rocks up to meet you.

His hands never stop roaming. Up your thighs, a quick squeeze of your ass, and tracing the curve of your waist. Then flattening to drag across your back, stroking along your ribs, and teasing with uncertainty over the swell of your breasts before cupping your cheeks. He leaves flames in his wake.

Yours never stop either. You want to finally run your fingers through his hair. To feel the thickness of his neck and the way the tendons in his jaw flex as he kisses you before wandering lower. And god, those fucking polos do him no favors because underneath you can feel the hard muscle of his chest and shoulders. They've softened somewhat with age, especially at his belly, but it just makes him feel solid beneath you. Steady. Like something you could hold onto.

Every new part of him you touch only makes you want him more.

All of your heavy breathing is trapped inside the taxi, making the air feel thick with humidity. With nowhere to go, condensation is starting to gather on the windows and settle across any exposed skin. It's stifling. You have to keep reminding yourself that you're in a car to stop from ripping your dress off. A part of you still thinks it's a wonderful idea.

Another part reminds you that you don't need to take it off.

You break the kiss.

"I want you, Liam,” you lean in to whisper in his ear. “Right here. Right now." 

He shudders with a groan. Then he gently guides you back by the shoulder so he can look into your face. “Right here? You're sure?”

You nod. “It's dark and I've waited long enough. I want you inside of me.”

“Fuck,” he whimpers, and his cock throbs beneath you. “I told you I could never say no to you.”

You gather the hem of your dress, pulling it back and out of the way so both of you can see the way you're pressed against his straining erection. Your need for him is liquid. It's been pouring from you. By now it's completely drenched your underwear, soaking them through. Only it didn't stop there because there's also a rather large damp spot on his jeans from all of your grinding. He groans helplessly again at the sight of it.

“See?” You purr down to him.

“Christ, love,” he chokes out. “Look at you.”

He grasps your bare thighs, kneading at your flesh before sliding them higher and making you shiver—until those large hands are framing your barely covered sex. He takes a second to admire you further through half-lidded eyes. Then he hooks a thumb into your panties and pulls them aside. When your arousal is exposed, a moan gets strangled in his throat, and his clothed hips buck towards you, desperate to bury himself in you already.

Your hands shoot to the fly of his jeans to fight with the button, eager to uncover him as well…just as a thumb brushes over your slit. Instead, your whole body jerks at the contact and you nearly collapse against him. Your grip goes slack.

His expression turns smug at your reaction. So he does it again—harder this time—and the tip of his thumb slips easily past your folds, making you cry out. Then he teases circles at your entrance, smearing through your slick, and you nearly sob into his shirt.

“You feel so good already.” He sounds distracted now, as though he's more focused on what he's doing than how you’re responding. He presses again, sinking until he's knuckle deep, and his lips part with a gasp, enthralled by the way his thumb vanishes inside of you. And, god, even the thickness of that leaves you breathless and writhing. Then he teases you some more at this depth, testing how your walls flutter greedily around him, before slowly drawing back out and dragging some of your fluids over your clit. Your hips pitch forward into his hand with a moan. “Can't wait to get my cock in you.”

“Please,” you beg. All of his teasing and petting has left you helpless, and your trembling fingers move uselessly over his fly, “I can't…”

That seems to get his attention.

He removes his hand and you whimper at the loss…until he takes over for you, making fast, if a bit fumbled, work of his button and zip. Then you're eager to have something even better buried inside of you. So you quickly make room for him as he lifts up and pushes his pants and underwear down to his knees.

When he settles, you finally get to have a look at what you’ve only felt up to this point, and the sight of him makes you feel weak. Because he’s sitting beneath you in his polo, and his hard cock is resting over the fabric still covering his belly.

He’s thick and uncut and twitching under your gaze, and you just know wrapping your hand around him would make you feel small by comparison. Your fingers itch to find out. You can also see a trail of hair disappearing under the hem of his shirt.

You're fighting with the urge to rip the offending piece of clothing up over his head to see just how far up it goes and whether or not it connects with that greying tuft of curls peeking out of the top when he wraps a hand around himself.

Your mind blanks.

You watch, dumbfound, as he begins stroking—working his length until the foreskin slides back to reveal the head, flushed and swollen and leaking in want of you. 

The sudden stab of arousal in your core is dagger sharp, leaving you breathless.

“Fuck,” you rasp out, and it sounds as shaky as you feel, “I need you.”

His hand grasps at the base of his erection, keeping the foreskin drawn back and holding himself steady in invitation. When he meets your eyes, you see months of longing and need on his face. How he’s ached for this—would beg to have it if you asked.

You don't hesitate. You make sure your panties stay pulled to the side as you raise yourself to your knees. You wish you had taken them off, but you're far too impatient to stop now. How could you when he's right there, throbbing in his own fist and practically begging you to take him?

With one hand bunched in the fabric of your dress and one braced on his shoulder, you shift into position over him. His tip nudges against you, effortlessly gliding through your folds until he catches at your entrance. Exactly where you need him.

You lower onto him. There's a brief moment of resistance and adjustment at the unfamiliar angle. Then the head of his cock breeches your opening as you both let out twin gasps.

Slowly, you sink onto his length, your walls stretching around him as he fills you, inch by agonizing inch.

He makes it past the halfway point before his patience runs out. He grabs your hips, fingers and thumbs spearing into flesh, and pulls you the rest of the way down onto his cock.

The sound that leaves your mouth is almost as filthy as the one that leaves his.

He keeps you there, unmoving and fully sheathed while he twitches inside of you, and a sob of relief escapes his throat. His eyes are heavy lidded, those full lips are pouting and parted, and his brows are scrunched together in an expression akin to agony.

You're certain you’ll never forget the sight of him in that moment, undone by your cunt.

You drop the skirt of your dress so you can brace against his chest. The fabric falls back into place, hiding the evidence of where you're joined. It’s not unlike when you were just sitting in his lap, grinding over your clothes. Only this time you’re straddling his bare hips and stretched full of him.

You start to move.

The rain has stopped, but outside the drops still linger, glistening and clinging to every surface. Inside, the condensation is now fully coating the glass from your hot breath coming out in sharp pants as you ride his cock. It leaves the world beyond the cab opaque, only leaking through in the trails left by heavy beads of moisture.

He braces himself by planting his feet on the floor of the cab and leaning back against the headrest, using the pressure as extra leverage. Then he's lifting to meet your hips.

"I’ve dreamed of this," he moans as he ruts into you. He doesn't stop staring up into your face—taking in every expression and quiver and noise you make with those intense, blue eyes. His mouth falls open for a moment before he gasps out, “God, your cunt is so sweet.”

You’ve never felt so seen. Wanted. In that moment, you're so utterly sucked in by the gravity of him that you crash your lips against his, desperate to be closer.

His hands bite into your hips as he forces you to keep rocking onto him. You distantly realize the car is rocking with you—that anyone could see and know what's happening—but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when you have him whimpering and groaning into your mouth with his cock inside of you.

Everything about this is fast and messy, but the buildup alone has left both of you nearly frantic with need. You're not even sure how long you’ve been doing this. It's been hours since he kissed you. It's been minutes since he kissed you.

Your overworked thighs are burning, but you refuse to stop. Pressure is building and intensifying quickly inside your core, driving you on and beckoning you to keep moving until you find your release.

His grasp has gotten so tight that his fingers are nearly digging into bone, and he's no longer holding back every whimper or stutter that works its way to his throat. You know he's close, too.

A hand finds your thigh and disappears under the fabric of your dress. He clasps the bend of your hip, and then that thumb that drove you nearly mad earlier is rubbing circles over your clit. You're gutted by the sudden pleasure.

“Want you to come for me, love,” he murmurs up to you as he moves faster between your legs, his hips and thumb working together to destroy you. “Never wanted anything more.”

“Don't stop!” You gasp. You're trembling now. Your thighs are quivering against his hips and the movement has become hard to control, leaving your pace jerky and uneven as you rock over him. “Please!”

“Could never say no to you.” His voice is hoarse and strained as he struggles to hold himself back until you come undone first.

“Liam!” Your hands clutch at his shirt.

“That’s it. Let me see you.”

That last bit of friction is all you need to send warmth exploding through you, and then you’re coming on his cock. You throw your head back with a wail. It scrapes against the roof of the taxi, but you barely notice. Every part of you is consumed with that numbing relief. The way your stretched walls convulse around him. The sound that spills out of him.

If he wasn't holding you up and forcing you to keep moving out of desperation, you’d dissolve in his hands.

Every muscle in his body is taut, strained as he keeps driving into your still pulsing heat. There's ruin on his face when his hips begin to stutter beneath you. Then he slams you onto his cock with a moan and finally comes inside of you.

The throbbing warmth of it fills you with more than a physical gratification. Your heart skips a beat at the way he lethargically works through his orgasm, rocking deep within you. At how his face is now slackened with pleasure, that contentment only broken by the occasional hiss and a shudder from aftershocks—when the sensation of you becomes too much.

You could get addicted to this feeling.

Once both of you are spent and still, you sit there in his lap, gasping for air. His stomach rises and falls against yours while his thumb draws a mindless pattern near the bend in your hip. His touch is warm, even against the ambient heat of the taxi.

Sweat pools along your hairline and back and runs between your breasts. Your body is covered in it, and his skin is similarly glistening. As you’re watching, a drop rolls past the hollow of his throat before disappearing into that tantalizing mess of chest hair left uncovered by his undone top buttons. You wonder what it would be like to nuzzle into it and inhale the masculine scent of sweat and sex before dragging your tongue along his sternum to taste it.

“You okay?” He pants up at you, pulling you out of your daze.

You huff out a laugh as you nod. “Pretty fantastic, actually.”

“Yeah?” He smiles, still breathless.

“Yeah.”

You want to lay against him, snuggle your head under his chin, and stay like that for hours, relishing in this newfound connection. But now that the high is wearing off, you’re very aware you’ve just had sex in the driver's seat of a car. You didn't even move to the backseat or drive to a secluded parking lot! It's a position that’s not only quite public despite the opaque windows, but would require you to contort your body into an uncomfortable shape to do so. Which, regrettably, isn't very ideal for cuddling.

You hadn't been thinking that far ahead at the time.

You give him one last lingering kiss, reluctant to part from him, even as you know you have to at some point anyway. Then you lift yourself off of his lap while swallowing a whimper at both the loss and the surge of wetness between your legs now getting half caught in your askew underwear.

Climbing back into the passenger seat is a slow process because your legs are weak and wobbly, but he gives you a steady hand to lean into. One that engulfs your smaller hand as it wraps around you. You try not to imagine him holding you like this, fingers laced and palms kissing, or else you might not let go.

You both stop to laugh when you bump your head on the roof of the cab.

As you get settled and somewhat put back together, an awkward silence encompasses the taxi. It's not tense like when you got into the front seat. Rather, it's unsure in a different way. It's as if both of you want to say something, but you can't find the right words. Or maybe, without the haze of arousal, they don't come as easily despite the way they build and sit in the back of your throat.

Instead, you take a moment to survey the damage from your earlier fumbling. Thankfully, the takeout spill was minor with only a few of the noodles escaping the carton. He quickly picks them up, and you toss the containers back into the bag.

He rolls down the windows, letting the rain cooled air in to clear the fogged glass and the heavy musk of sex. It feels heavenly on your skin. You lean back in your seat, basking in the light breeze, the weightlessness in your chest, the burning in your thighs, and, most of all, the ache and damp between your legs.

You both still maintain that quiet the rest of the drive with only the low din of the radio in the background. None of the songs register, though, because your mind is too busy racing with thoughts of what happens next.

There's an unbidden hope blooming inside of you that this was more than just sex. You try to rein it in before it takes over and suffocates you with expectation because some part of you is still terrified you’ll end up heartbroken. But every time you glance over at him—take in the profile of his nose and lips, the strong curve of his jaw, the wisp of his eyelashes—you know it's far too late for that.

Instead, you sit there with your heart pounding, wishing you could read his mind and admiring the way the light dances across his face whenever you pass under a streetlight. You can tell when he catches you because he turns to give you a lopsided smile. One he used to shoot back at you in the reflection of his rearview mirror, and the full force of it makes your cheeks burn and your heart flutter before it's too much and you have to look away.

Each time that hope digs in a little more.

Eventually, he pulls the cab along the curb in front of your building. It's the same spot he’s parked in dozens of times, but it looks almost foreign now from the front seat. Or maybe it just feels that way because everything about this situation is so new.

He shuts off the engine, leaving the space in silence as he glances over at you.

This is where you usually part ways. Where you thank him for the ride and pay. Then you climb out, tell him you hope he has a lovely evening, and you leave.

None of that feels right, though. Not after what’s happened between you. More than that, you don't want to walk away as though nothing's changed. Because for you everything has.

So what do you do now? Do you thank him for the wonderful sex? Ask him to dinner? Do you kiss him goodnight and tell him you'll call him later? It's what you would do with anyone else, but with him it's not enough.

Now that you have him, you don't want to let go.

"Would you…" You trail off, suddenly timid. Even though your underwear and thighs are still smeared with this man's come, you know there's so much left unspoken between you. Things you want to give voice to so that the two of you can continue to move forward towards something more intimate and meaningful than car sex. However, doing so is another opportunity to get hurt if he doesn't feel the same way.

Except now you’ve opened your mouth and he's staring at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue. But more importantly: on his face you see that same look of hope reflected back at you.

He wants this, too.

Your anxiety evaporates.

"Would you like to come in?”

His smile is both relieved and tender. He nods.

That's how you end up in your bed with Liam on top of you, entrenched between your legs, cock buried inside of you, and taking you again.

It's different this time. Slower. While the fever and desperation are gone, there's a heavier need churning in their wake. Something between you that was left unsatisfied before.

Now you're wrapped up in each other—a calf tucked behind his knee, and your thigh gripping his hip where he's bent over you. One of his hands is stroking along your hair, and the other is squeezing your waist, holding you in place as his fingers dig divots into your flesh. Your own palms cradle his jaw, cupping him like water to your parched lips.

Through it all, his forehead is pressed to yours, and he gazes down into your eyes from beneath hungry lids. Even if you wanted to, you can't look away from that blue. You're held there, pinned to the bed from the weight of it because even the physical weight of him is nothing compared to the longing you see in those depths.

In the taxi, your closeness was a given. It was overwhelming in the small space, thick like the humidity of your breath, hanging in the air and pressing back in on you. Now it's suffocating in a different way. In the openness of your bedroom, it clings to you. Needy. Touch starved. Terrified that one of you will vanish at the slightest give.

The two of you are so close, you can feel his heavy breath on your face. You can hear the voiceless sounds he makes whenever he buries himself inside of you at just the right angle, each one right there and so loud in the silence.

It's different in that way, too: Neither of you has said a word since you took his hand and stumbled to your bedroom. No pleas or praise. Not when you tore each other's clothes off and finally saw what was waiting for you underneath—the hard panes and curves of him, tan lines and hair, a freckle on his chest, the way his cock hangs thick between his thighs and twitches in your hand. Not even when his fingers dragged over your still wet folds with a groan. Instead, your voices are replaced with sighs and moans and each slick press into your heat.

You don't think you could speak anyway.

He’s fucking you completely breathless. Not from the effort. Not from the way his core flexes and his back rounds every time he thrusts into you. Each steady plunge, a slide and drag of bodies—his chest hair across your nipples, his stomach against yours, his groin grinding into your clit in a maddening friction. No, it's the unmasked passion of it that leaves your heart pounding and your breath caught in your throat.

He fucks you like he watches you: with a sense of reverence. Like he can't believe he has the privilege.

Maybe fuck isn't the right word, then. Because the way his hand moves to cradle the back of your head, thumb grazing behind your ear, feels more like an act of worship than your desperate coupling in the driver's seat of his cab, takeout spilled across the center console.

You've never had sex like this before. Not even with the few people you've whispered I love yous to. The word for it hovers, nameless and heady in the inch of space between you. He breathes it out over your skin, and then you catch it and inhale it into your lungs. As it passes your lips, you can taste it on the tip of your tongue.

You're so close to figuring it out when he angles your head to the side, baring your neck to him and nuzzling his face into the exposed flesh, and your thoughts evaporate. He takes a moment to nose over your pulse, inhaling your scent and warmth with a moan. Then, finally, he’s placing hungry, open mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. It feels so much like he's trying to devour you, that you brace for a sinking of teeth which never comes.

Instead, the scratch of his beard sends a shiver through you, leaving you quivering and covered in goosebumps beneath him. It's too much—sensation, tension, emotion.

It's not enough.

You roll your hips to meet his rhythm, and he lets out a ragged groan—pain and pleasure spilling from his chest. His next plunge is deeper. Harder. Something sparks inside of you.

“Liam,” you gasp, breaking the silence.

Then he’s kissing you, his tongue chasing the sound of his own name into the wet heat of your mouth. So you offer it to him again, a plea for more.

He relents.

He grabs one of your legs and bends it towards your chest, folding you and opening you further to him. This new angle completely traps your clit in the friction of his thrusts.

You grasp at anything you can reach to ground yourself against the onslaught. One of your hands fists your sheet, bunching the fabric in a tight knuckled grip. The other curls through the trimmed hair at the base of his skull. But there isn't enough there to hold onto, and your fingers claw uselessly at his scalp.

The effect it has on him is immediate.

Your nails drag a moan and a full bodied shudder from him. Suddenly his pace becomes urgent, each thrust now punctuated by the joining of skin on skin and a slight shifting along the mattress.

You can feel how close he is from the way he’s tensing against the pleasure building inside of him. From the way he whimpers and clutches back at you, trying to hold on as well. To keep this going just a little longer.

Knowing that his loss of control, that sense of desperation, is because of you, sends you reeling. It isn't long before your legs are quaking against him and your chest is stuttering from your shallow gasps. Every rock of his hips coaxes you further from your control. You can feel your grasp of it slipping, pulling you off balance as you sink deeper into him.

You arch off the mattress—bending as if drawn to him—while every muscle in your body is locked in that moment between tension and release. Then one more moan from him as he rubs against your clit, and you finally break.

Your orgasm shatters white hot at your core, splintering up to churn in your gut and burn through your chest, before resonating outward along every one of your nerve endings, only to recede and start all over again.

As you come, the only thought in your lust fogged brain is him on top of you. Inside of you. The grip he has on your waist. So when your mouth falls open to suck air into your strangled lungs, on the exhale his name spills from your lips.

He looks wrecked by the sound. He buries himself into your fluttering cunt, needing to feel how your walls tighten and clench around him. You protest the sudden loss of friction before your body instinctively seeks it out. You mindlessly grind your hips up against him, riding out the last of your orgasm on his cock until he can't take it anymore.

He grabs you and fucks you, just as mindlessly grunting and rutting into you as he chases his own release. He stares down between you to where his body is joined with yours, watching the way his cock disappears into your folds, his expression stern with concentration. Under the light of the street lamp leaking through your window, sweat glistens on his forehead.

A deep rumble starts in his chest, something half caught between a growl and a whine. His pace quickly becomes erratic, and every time his hips meet yours, you can feel the way he's trembling. You know he's moments from letting go.

You bring your fingers to his chin and force his attention up until his eyes find yours. And god they're so blue, even unfocused in the dim streetlight. Though you're still dazed, you’ve never seen something so beautiful.

“Look at me, Liam,” you breathe out. “I want to see you.”

That's all it takes. His face crumples in agony, and he comes with a sob of relief. He manages a few final thrusts, shuddering and panting his way through each one, until he's finally spent. All the while, his cock twitches and throbs as he fills you for a second time.

You’ve done this once already tonight, but it was different then. The distance was still there while you untangled yourself from his lap, climbed back into the passenger seat, and adjusted your dress. In the way he quietly righted the container of noodles as you struggled to find the words to fill the silence.

This time you don't part.

Instead, he settles in close, pulls you to him, and lays his head on your shoulder with a sigh. In return, you kiss his hair, taking a moment to savor the scent of him—sweat and shampoo and lingering cigarette smoke—and the softness of the thick waves over your lips, before resting your cheek on the crown of his head.

There's nothing between you now. No car seat, no clothes, no more distance.

This is what was missing before in the taxi. This is what you both wanted—what you should have had instead—because this is so easy. As easy as laughter or smiles shared in his rearview mirror. 

And it all feels so right. Even though you’ve made yourself vulnerable in his arms, the way he holds you and caresses your palm with his fingertips keeps any further uncertainty or doubt about what this is between you at bay. You know what this is. 

You’ve spent months falling for this man, bit by bit. Every time you called him for a ride. Every glance, every simple gesture, every time he made you laugh or lean forward in your seat to find some way to be closer to him. It all sucked you in a little more each time, pulled you into depths you couldn't fathom—more than a crush or attraction or something as simple as affection—and it took you far too long to notice. Now your eyes and your chest burn with the realization.

As if he can sense what you're thinking, he pulls back to place a trail of feather light kisses along the side of your face. You close your eyes, letting the tenderness of it wash over you.

“Stay.” The wave of emotion chokes your voice to a whisper. It's a plea. A hope.

“There's nowhere I'd rather be, love,” he whispers back against your temple. Then he hugs you tight, and there's nowhere you’d rather be either than there in his arms, lulled to sleep by his steady heartbeat and his even breaths across your skin.

It's when he thinks you're asleep that Liam untangles himself, and then sneaks out of your bed and steps into the hallway, carefully shutting the door behind him.

At first you think he's gone to use the bathroom and doesn't want to wake you. Which is sweet! In fact, you're smiling over just how sweet and considerate he is—how content and blissful he’s made you feel—when you hear his voice from down the hall.

It sounds as if he's having a hushed conversation with someone, but that's impossible. There's no one else here. Is he talking to himself then?

You’ve never heard his voice sound like this before, either. He’s frustrated. Annoyed, almost. Nothing like the man that smiles at you from the front seat and asks about your day.

You nearly sit up and call out to him in confusion when—Oh. Wait. No. He’s on the phone, you realize.

At nearly half one in the morning.

He's being quiet enough that, if you were asleep, you probably would have slept through it. On top of that, his words are muffled by the door. So, even though you strain to listen, you don't catch everything he says.

You still hear plenty.

He makes up a story about driving someone…somewhere outside of the city. A request he couldn't say no to, apparently, but you miss his explanation as to why. It's not a big deal, he insists. It's not.

At the end of the call, he says he'll be home in the morning. That you catch.

Then silence falls over you once again.

None of that is true. Obviously. He’s standing naked in your hall, and he’s going to spend the night in your bed, decidedly not driving anywhere.

Which means he was lying on the phone.

You quickly piece together that means he lied to you, too. And the only reason he would have to lie at all, to keep you a secret, is if he isn't actually single. Which also means—

He made you the other woman.

Suddenly, the way he struggled with all of this makes perfect, horrible sense. It was never about you. He always wanted you. It was about his decision to say yes, to give in to what he wanted, despite the consequences and what it would mean.

You're still letting that sink in when he slips back into the room, and you have no idea what to do about it. You need a minute to fucking think. So you try to appear exactly as he left you: undisturbed, curled on your side, and facing the wall. Asleep.

On the inside, however, your heart is breaking.

It happens slowly. At first you're so numb from the shock, and the ache in your chest is so sharp, that the pain takes a moment to register. Like slicing your palm open with a knife and waiting for the wound to bleed. When it finally does, the agony leaves you breathless. You can feel it twisting in your gut, searing through your fingers, and clawing its way up your throat until you're choking on it. Your eyes sting from the pain.

Through it all, you focus on keeping your breathing deep and even to calm your frantic nerves and the trembling of your bottom lip. 

He crawls quietly back into bed behind you, clearly believing you're still asleep and trying not to wake you. You try not to stiffen in response.

You're not even sure why you're faking anymore. Perhaps you're still working to get over the shock from the hurt and betrayal. Maybe you want to believe you misunderstood the conversation, even though you know you didn't. Or maybe you’re still trying to figure out what to even say to him.

He lied to you.

Worse, you thought you found something real and lasting with a man that made you smile and feel special—one you felt a connection to. In retrospect, you should have known it was too good to be true, but you wanted it to be. You wanted that so badly. Wanted him.

You feel like such an idiot.

What was this, then? Did he just use you for sex? Were all of those glances and smiles over the course of months faked just for this? How could he have faked even a moment of what you just experienced? The way he looked into your eyes as he… God, even remembering it causes your heart to flutter and heat to pool in your stomach, despite your emotional anguish. You swallow down a sob.

Instead of tucking back into bed, though, he sits there and watches you sleep. You can feel his heavy gaze on the side of your face and the way it lingers before trailing down the outline of your body under the blanket, oblivious to your inner grief or how you lay there bleeding. It lasts several long minutes—longer than you would have thought was possible to watch someone sleep. But it's as if he’s content at the sight of you.

Just when you're finally ready to open your eyes and confront him, to demand the truth, his hand reaches out to stroke over your temple and your cheek. His touch is delicate. He’s still being careful not to wake you as his fingertips ghost across your skin. Then he sighs and it sounds like your name. You didn't think a single breath could carry so much awe and longing.

You didn't think your name could ever sound like that.

He continues to explore and caress you further, gently mapping out the curve of your jaw and the shell of your ear…all while he thinks you're still sleeping. When you couldn't possibly know what he's doing and there's no need for a performance.

Which means he's doing it because he wants to touch you like this.

And every second of it is far more gentle than his voice was the entire time he was on the phone. The voice he didn't say “I love you” in before he hung up, you realize. You're not sure what it means, but it feels important to note.

Because maybe…maybe he wasn't faking anything. Not about how he feels, at least. Not about you.

As your thoughts race, you realize he never actually said he was single either, just that he couldn't get a date to the play or would have to go alone. Sure, the implication was there, and it was a fair assumption to make, but he never said the words out loud. You also wonder what else that means for the state of his relationship, and whether or not it makes any difference. Assuming he was telling the truth at all. Though something about the way he said it makes you believe that part, at least, wasn't a lie.

What are you doing? You know your mental gymnastics and excuses are pathetic. You should have some self respect! Hell, you should kick him out of your apartment and your life for what he's done! But…you just can't bring yourself to do it.

Despite everything, you're still caught in the gravity of him.

Finally, he lays down in the bed and wraps an arm around you, curling himself against your back. His hand splays across your belly, keeping you held to him as he scoots in closer. He's warm and solid, and you can't help but melt into him, skin on skin, as he snuggles into your neck. You love the way his nose instinctively finds all of the sensitive spots that make you gasp, as if he's done this before. As if he knows you.

You fit together perfectly.

You want to stay there, surrounded by him—to let him alleviate the pain he’s caused you and fall asleep for real. Instead, you roll over in his arms.

Your eyes are open now so you can look at him. After all of this, you need to see him in this new light and face the truth of him. You have to know if you can.

When your eyes meet his, there's an expression of yearning and hope on his face that's so profound, your heart aches again, but for a much different reason.

He’s looking at you as though he's a damned man and you're his salvation.

“Sorry if I woke you, love,” he whispers. He cups your jaw in his hand, and his thumb soothes over your cheek in apology.

It's not the apology you need. Not yet. You’ll get that in the morning. Then, afterwards, you’ll have the talk about where you go from here and how he's going to fix this.

Because, as he leans forward to kiss your forehead, his contented sigh warm on your skin, you realize you’ve already made a decision.

“It's okay, Liam,” you reply in a whisper. “I don't care, just as long as you come back to me.”

A/N: I left the play vague for Reader Insert/Choose Your Own Adventure purposes, but the one I had in mind for ME, because it's my absolute favorite, is The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde (it was actually, in a strange way, also one of my inspirations while writing this). Which is about a man that leads a double life and pretends to be someone he isn't, only to discover at the end of the play that he essentially IS the man he's been pretending to be and has been all along without knowing. There are parts of Liam that are real and earnest, he just doesn't believe they're enough. He despises his life and the man he's become so much, is so desperate to escape them, that he can't imagine anyone else not feeling the same way about the real him. Except, in this story with this slightly different version of Liam (who's been removed from the events of the episode), that connection IS real. He never needed to lie to get Reader to laugh and fall for him or see a glimmer of the real him. But Liam is a sad, wet, desperate little shit of a man and does anyway. (He’s lucky he's hot.) Fingers crossed that he, too, learns the vital importance of being earnest. Also Earnest's eyes are blue. 😌

#liam black #liam black x reader #liam black x f!reader #x reader #the fear has gripped me but here i go fic #the accused #the accused (bbc) #andy serkis #fanfiction

[tarrenterror25]

First: I just want to say that I think you're awesome and wonderful, and this Halloween/horror themed event is SO COOL. 🖤 Such a brilliant idea.

Second:

💀 Spooky Scary Skeletons - David Robey going apple picking 🥺

🕸️ Caught - You were in Liam Black's taxi when a zombie outbreak hit. Could take place in the beginning or a few weeks/months after and you're still together (😏). Dealer's choice, I just want to put that man in a Situation. 😌

📼 Scary Movie - 😁💕

💀 Spooky Scary Skeletons - Send in a character with a prompt/theme and I will make you a moodboard! 🕸️ Caught! - Send in a character with a prompt/theme and I will write a drabble for you! (Less than 500 words) 📼 Scary Movie - I'll tell you what horror/Halloween/fall movie I'd watch with you!

Fear Lounge

Thank you, Tara 😭🥹💕💕 I think you're just amazing as well!!

Ok, I've actually never been apple picking and now I want to go!! I won't lie, I was listening to a lot of Lana Del Rey while making this, specifically "Chemtrails Over the Country Club" and "Say Yes to Heaven". I wanted this dreamy romantic vibe especially since David might be so reluctant to be affectionate 🥹🥰

For a movie, I am nervous because I feel like you're such a horror connoisseur 😂 I want something I know we both can deep dive and analyze because I know we both would.

OF COURSE we'd watch Luther and I want to rewatch the Menu with you because I know we can swap details throughout the film 🥰💕

The movie I'd watch with you is-!

A psychological horror that I feel you appreciate/would appreciate! This movie scared me the first time I saw it, it was so creepy and eerie, I thought about it for a few days! Again, I can see us both offering our own commentary on the film and theories!

Now for the last bit!

Zombie Outbreak with Liam Black

Tags: mentions of gore, stalking, allusions to p in v, f!reader

---

Steam from the heat of your bodies fills the car. You rest on top of Liam in the backseat of his vehicle, his hand on the small of your back holding you to him while the two of you catch your breath. The flimsy throw blanket covering you two.

The world went to shit so fast and when it did you were in the backseat of Liam’s taxi.

It’s been about a month now and it was only a matter of time before you discovered the truth about Liam; about how he had been following you in the days leading up to the outbreak. He watched you, managed to steal from your purse when you weren’t looking, and found out intimate details of your life. You learned he was using these to get close to you and yet, in the midst of your anger, frustration, and hurt after finding out, you still slept with him.

In the backseat of his taxi.

Not like you had anything better to do.

“They’re coming again,” Liam says with a sigh.

The growls and gurgles of the undead shambling in your direction can be heard in the distance.

Clumsily, you two maneuver in the backseat to redress and then climb into the front seats. Liam starts the car and drives off to get you two away from the horde of trudging corpses. You look behind you and through the rear windshield; a few strays can be seen, some without arms, others with internals spilling from their bodies, and some that are…just unrecognizable.

You and Liam make it to the countryside where you locate a few abandoned vehicles. The two of you make quick work of siphoning the fuel from them.

You lean up against his car as he fills it up with the fuel gathered. “So what was the goal?”

“What?” he asks.

“Were you going to sleep with me and then dip?”

He sighs. He understands that you’re upset with what he’s done and doesn’t expect you to forgive him. He isn’t sure if he forgives himself. “No, it wasn’t like that,” he explains. “I just…I knew you wouldn’t have liked me if…you knew who I was.”

“And who were you? Hm??” You give him a pointed glare.

“Nobody,” he replies softly.

Silence hangs in the air for a moment before Liam packs up the supplies for the fuel. “That should last us awhile,” he says.

The two of you get back into the car and resume driving.

“I wish you had given me a chance,” you say as you turn to Liam. “To know you, the real you, not the person you pretended to be.”

“Let’s be honest, you wouldn’t have given me that chance,” he replies.

“You don’t know that,” you quip. “Stop being afraid. Not like we have anything better to do so you might as well drop the act.”

There’s the hint of a smile on his face.

“….you don’t actually like Turkish Delight do you?” you ask, referring to one of the things he learned about you.

Liam sighs. “Does anyone?”

You chuckle. “Not many people do, I suppose.”

“You may very well be the only person left alive that enjoys it,” he chuckles. “More for you.”

You laugh.

The two of you continue the drive getting to know each other; no lies and no more subterfuge. Only the truth.

I hope you liked it!!

#fear lounge 2023 #liam black #liam black x reader #liam black smut #david robey x reader #david robey #andy serkis fanfiction

[fragileruns]

i want to attempt to get into writing again but i don’t have a TON of time, so please send me some baby blurbs in requests!! nothing too major with too much of a storyline, just something i can write a few hundred words about <3 request link is on my page

currently accepting requests for xaden riorson, liam mairi, james potter, sirius black, remus lupin, tasm!peter parker, tangerine, any hp character in the golden trio era, mostly, bradley bradshaw, jake seresin, aaron hotchner, spencer reid, derek morgan & maybe more?

all characters are aged up to 18+

#james potter x reader #marauders x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #spencer reid x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #xaden riorson x reader #liam mairi x reader #derek morgan x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #jake seresin x reader #harry potter x reader #ron weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader #george weasley x reader #cedric diggory x reader #neville longbottom x reader #theodore nott x reader #mattheo riddle x reader #lorenzo berkshire x reader #blaise zabini x reader #tangerine x reader #rooster x reader #hangman x reader

[babeyvenus]

My Future

Derek Hale x OC

Samantha, Stiles and Scott are always joking about the impossible. Who wouldn't when your best friend's dad is the sheriff of Beacon Hills? All jokes stop when they realize the impossible is indeed possible.

Chapter 69: Negotiations and Blame

Liam, Lori and Sam rush down the tunnel turning a corner only to come up to a fork in their path.

“Which way?”, Liam asks Lori. “There’s gotta be something. Did he leave anything for you to find, l-like a signal, or more rocks?”

“I don’t see anything… I don’t hear anything.”, Lori worries. Liam gives her a small reassuring smile. “We’ll find something. He’s gonna be okay.”

“How do you know?”, Lori asks him with glossy eyes.

Liam looks for an answer. “'Cause–‘cause he’s strong. He’s really strong. He’s knocked me down on the lacrosse field more than once. Now, when I see him coming, I do everything I can to get the hell out of the way.”

Sam smiled at him before closing her eyes to feel for bodies. Once she feels a heavy presence, she turns to the path that's closest.

“Brett actually started playing lacrosse for me.”, Lori tells Liam as they follow Sam. Liam looks at her with a confused expression. “For you?”

She nods, “I didn’t have any friends at my old school. Devenford Prep needed lacrosse players, and Brett practiced all summer. And he got a scholarship and told them that they had to take me if they wanted him.”

Liam places his hand on her arm. “Hey, we’re gonna find him.” He looks at Sam who looks back at him. "Found something.", she says and leads them down the path.

As they walk further, Liam's face scrunches. “Do you smell that? It’s… it’s sour.” Lori nods. “It smells like something’s rotting.”

“I think it’s poison.”, Liam says, making Lori smile. “That’s how we’ll find him.”

They take off further down the tunnel, crossing more and more paths. “They all look the same. Are you sure we’re going the right way?”, Lori asks Sam. "I'm feeling someone's body. They're alive, but…", Sam says.

“This is her power. We're gonna need it as much as we can.”, Liam reassures. Lori sniffles. “I hate this scent.”

Liam stops the girls, coming to a freeze. “Wait. I hear something. It sounds like…”

“…a heartbeat,” Lori and Sam says and they follow the sound as it gets louder and louder.

As they come up to a wide area of the tunnels, they see a body leaning up against the wall near some containers. “Brett!”, Lori exclaims, speeding up to the body.

Brett turns to her with a grimace of a smile. “You found the rocks.”

“Yeah, I found the rocks.”, she tells him as tears of relief prick at her eyes. The other two come up to the siblings and Brett looks up to them. "It's you guys…"

Sam nods at him and Liam kneels near them. “Hey, we’re going to get you out of here.”

Brett tries to give Liam a smile but the blood exiting his body makes him seem like he's wincing instead.

As Lori and Liam grab his arm to pull him up, Brett looks at him. “You’re a dumbass for doing this.”

Liam smirks. “Oh, is that your way of thanking me?”

Brett lets go of his hand and scoffs. “No, that’s my way of calling you a dumbass, but… thanks.”

Before Liam could respond, he pauses at the sound of Sam's growl. He turns to her to see her back facing him.

Her heart raced. She knows the sound of a rumbling engine. Someone was here.

Liam makes a noise and steps forward, his face softening “Sam?”

Sam looks to the side as she feels footsteps. “Get Brett out of here.”, she says. 

“What? Why–”, Liam gets cut off as Sam lifts up a shadow barrier, blocking a canister from being thrown towards them, but the smoke from the can quickly fills the area. "Go!", Sam yells. Before they could move, all four werewolves covered their ears as the familiar sound of Argent’s emitters started going off.

“They’re coming.”, Lori bellows. Liam looks at Sam. “Go with them, I’ll hold them off.”

Sam looks at him with wide eyes. "Are you insane!?" Liam doesn't respond but shoves Sam toward Brett and Lori. “Just go!"

"Liam!", Sam yells but Lori grabs at her. "Let's go!", she yells before grabbing her brother's arm. Sam takes the other and drags him down the tunnel.

Making it easier for the girls, Sam helps Brett float with blobs of her shadow and moves the two faster to a ladder ahead. 

Lori reassures her brother. “Hey, we’re almost out of here.”

Lori and Sam help Brett up the ladder to move the manhole cover. He peeks around before exiting the manhole and Lori follows upward. Sam turns as she hears footsteps, ready to fight but relaxes as she sees Liam.

"You're okay.", Sam says but Liam shakes his head. “It's a trap. No one's down here–”

The sound of car tires rumbling above the tunnels could be heard above, making their eyes widen as they look to see Lori finally escaping the manhole. “Shit…!” 

Liam starts climbing up the ladder. “Lori, come back!”, Sam yells, following him.

“Lori, wait!!”, Liam climbs up faster but before he could reach the opening, a screeching sound stops them as they hear two thuds.

Liam's nose flares in anger as he climbs faster. "Liam, wait–!", Sam calls but the boy launches out of the manhole with a loud growl.

Liam roars, his pain and anger reverberating into the night air. Sam climbs up and peeks to see a crowd of people gathering.

She looks at him with wide eyes. “Liam, shift back now!", she exclaims. "No!", he roars. Sam feels her phone vibrate in her pocket and she takes it out to see a text from Lydia. 

Lydia - Nolan attacked Corey in the library, stabbed him in the back of his hand! in front of people that SAW HIM HEAL RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEIR EYES

What the hell was happening….?

Before she could put her phone away, she felt someone grab her foot and jolted. She looked down to see Scott looking at her with wide eyes.

"Where's Liam?", Scott asks. Sam frowns and looks up. "They're all on the street.", she says and his eyes widened.

“We have to get out there!”, Malia asked.

Sam shook her head, much to the other two's surprise. “It was a setup, Scott. I can't tell if they're actual people or hunters but Liam's up there pissed...shifted…”, she said, trailing off.

“What else happened?”, Malia asked. Sam gives the two her phone, waiting as they read the text and their eyes get even bigger.

Scott's eyebrows furrowed. “Why would Nolan want to hurt Corey?”

“I don't think he was trying to hurt him. I think he was trying to expose him.", Sam said looking at him. "The hunter used the fog and the emitters to probably corner us or to get us to go up this ladder to be exposed too.”

“But why, what’s the purpose of it all?”, Scott asks. Sam frowns at him. "They're toying with us. They're making people afraid of us and giving reasons for us to be killed."

Scott's shoulders sag in realization.

However the next day, they decided to go back to the tunnels.

Sam looks at Scott. “Liam doing okay?”

Scott nods, giving a small smile. “He’s going to go to school.”

She tilts her head as if she didn't hear him. “Excuse me, what?”

The girls look at him to continue and he does. “Yeah, I told him he needed to be like Clark Kent and pretend like nothing happened.”

“I'm sorry, did you forget that he wolfed out in front of a shit load of people and roared at them? That's enough to let anyone know he wasn't human. Not only that, the shitshow with Corey just adds onto our problem pile. If they saw what happened to Corey, what makes you think news about Liam won't come out?”, Sam asks.

“They won’t do anything to him because no one has proof," Scott shrugs. "I mean, it was nighttime and who’s to say that anyone saw anything?”

He walks over to the tunnel with Malia following behind her. Sam gives Lydia a look who returns it with a knowing nod. The two ahead turn around to see the girls unmoving. 

“I don't know about you, Scott, but I'm pretty sure you're not sure.”, Sam says. The reassured look on Scott's face drops. He sighs. “Look, he's taking Brett and Lori’s death really hard…”

“So are we.”, Lydia speaks up. Scott frowns. “We are because they were great kids who didn’t deserve that, but we didn’t know them like he knew them. We’re trying to save lives, which is why he needed to go to school and pretend like nothing happened, because if he doesn’t go, more people could die.”

Sam frowns. "No one's there to protect him or Corey. Mason can only do so much. If we're not there… I don't know…", she says, worriedly. Scott frowns sadly. "Sam…"

She looks at him, nearly trembling. "I let two people die when I could've helped. If Liam had died and I had done nothing, I don't know what I would do. It's like it won't stop. Almost everyone we know has either moved on or has been murdered and I'm sick of it, Scott.”

Scott walks up to her, bringing her into a hug. “We're gonna stop them, okay? Then we'll have our lives back. We always do.”

Always…

It never lasts. Ever. Everytime they look up, they have to find something and fight. It wasn't fair.

Sam lets out a sigh anyway. “Okay.”

Scott lets go and leads them down to the Argent bunker. Once they arrived, Chris turned to them, having to wait and asked for info on the night before.

Scott drops a lacrosse stick onto the table they stood around. “They were murdered. Killed by the new hunter in Beacon Hills.”

Sam looks at Chris. “I know you said you were done hunting or that you haven't done any hunting in a while, but the hunter that killed that Hellhound…I thought it was just a coincidence. But these methods from last night were too thought out."

Chris nods, looking shameful. “Gerard.", he says, making the teens' eyes widen. "Which means this is my fault. I’m the one who let him go.”

“You couldn’t have done anything.”, Lydia said. Malia shakes her head. “He could’ve killed him.”

The other four frowns at her. Malia shrugs. “Just saying…” Though, no one could blame her. It was a validated thing to do at this point. The man needed to be stopped.

“We are not executioners.”, Lydia scolded. Malia turns to her. "You are when it comes to war.”

“That’s why we’re gonna make peace.”, Scott says and Sam frowns at him. “Peace? With Gerard? Who made you help turn him into an alpha? Who threatened your mom? Are you sure we're talking about the same person?”

Scott leans on the table. “Sam, you know as well as I do, what's coming. It all leads back to–”

“War.”, Chris concludes. Sam frowns at the man. “Okay, so what stops a war from happening? A compromise?”

Chris nods. “A peace summit.”

Scott agrees. “Right. We meet face to face with Gerard, find out what he wants, and then we stop all this before it gets any worse.” 

Scott muttered. “Last time Gerard was at a peace meeting was with Deucalion… he blinded him and then killed everybody else, including his own men.”

Chris turned toward the teens. “I’ll go. I mean, he’s not going to kill me.”

Sam frowns at him. "I recall his words being, "I'll kill my own son if I have to", or something along those lines. You have too much faith in him."

Chris gives her a small smile with a shrug. She had a point. “All we need is to find out what he wants, then we can bargain.”, Scott says. Chris frowns once more. “Even if he does agree, his terms might be difficult to meet.”

Scott shrugs, looking at them. “Well, that’s why it’s a negotiation. I don’t expect to get anything without giving something up."

Chris thinks for a moment before speaking up. “Then you’re gonna have to figure out just how much you’re willing to give, and how far you’re willing to go to stop a war.”

After Chris went to meet with Gerard, Liam informed Scott about his time in the guidance counselor’s office. He mentioned seeing scratches on Tamora Monroe’s neck and saw books about the supernatural on her filing cabinet. 

When he asked how she got the scratches, she said from a branch in the woods when she was running. He pressed her with questions, only to come up with one conclusion. She had to be the new hunter.

Sam frowned when Scott had told her what happened. "What?", he asked. She shook her head. "I dunno. That name just sounds familiar. My mom talked about this girl she named "Tammy" because apparently she's been a regular lately."

Scott frowned at this new information. The only thing they could do was inform Chris of the information. As they walk up to the McCall house, they pause at the voices of Chris and Melissa discussing.

“As far as I can tell… genocide.”, they heard Chris say.

Scott and Sam look at each other with wide eyes. Melissa scoffs. “He just wants to kill them? All of them?”

Chris sighs. “If you’re looking for rationality, I think he left that behind a long time ago. In his eyes, Scott has killed half his family, turned his daughter into a monster, and turned me, his only son, against him.” 

Sam nods at Scott, agreeing with Chris. “So, I��m supposed to just tell them to give up?”, Melissa asked.

“I’m not asking them to give up. I just want them to survive.”, Chris presses.

Melissa forces out, “I’ve never told those kids to run and hide, and I’m not going to start now.”

Chris counters back. “Melissa, Sam was barely able to control her powers last year and almost lost her life because she was overworking herself. I can't imagine what my father would want with her. And Scott, he was dead in your arms once before, and you had to bring him back yourself. What if this is the one fight they don’t come back from?”

Before Melissa could respond, the young adults walked in. “There doesn’t have to be a fight.”, Scott says.

Chris sighs and looks at them. “Do you two know something I don’t?”

Scott lifts up his phone and shows him Liam's text. “Someone. Tamora Monroe… she’s the new Hunter.”

After discussing with Chris, Sam went home to see her mother look at her worried. Sam's eyebrows furrowed. "What's wrong?", Sam asked.

Denise took a breath before standing. "You'd tell me if something was happening, wouldn't you?", she asked her daughter. Sam looked at her confused before realization filled her.

Something happened.

"What happened?", Sam asked, walking over to her mother. "Tammy came in today and had two other people with her. They were – they looked scared? I think? Like they were looking for something specific and then got upset when they couldn't find whatever they were looking for."

Sam frowned at the news. To see her mom in distress and to know that Monroe had gone into the shop…

It pissed Sam off. Sam settled her hands on her mother's shoulders. "Everything's gonna be okay."

Denise looked up at her daughter with glossy eyes. "How do I know that? How do I know you're not getting yourself into more trouble?"

Sam didn't know how to answer. She wasn't sure either. She didn't want to make any empty promises. Especially ones she couldn't keep.

She gives her mom a hug anyways. "We'll be okay."

A moment passed, and Denise had finally fallen asleep long enough for Sam to slip out of the house to go to Scott's house.

Once she walked in through the back, she saw Malia sitting on the couch, looking conflicted. "Where's Scott?"

Malia looks up. "He said he was going to meet with that Monroe girl.", she said. Sam frowned. "What the f -- alone???"

Malia nods, a sad look coming to her face. Sam softened, sighing. "He must've told you to stay back."

Malia nods again. "I just… I don't know how to tell him how I feel. About him, about all of this! It's… hard.", she says, dejectedly. Sam's eyebrows rose a bit as she walked closer to the werecoyote. "I think it'll get easier once all of this is over.", she says.

Malia looked at her. "How'd you do it? With Derek, I mean."

Sam's cheeks burned a bit as she stammers. "I – well, I can't say there was a lot of talking. I mean, we didn't really talk about it," She frowns as she remembers. "Now that I think about it, I'm starting to think I was doing a little too much talking…"

Malia frowned. "So we shouldn't talk about it?", she asked. Sam looked at her, shaking her head. "No, you two definitely need to talk it out. At least you'll have the chance to."

Malia let out a groan. "It's so complicated for no reason."

Sam nodded. "Welcome to life." She shakes her head. "Anyways, let's focus on the task at hand. I'm pretty sure even if he doesn't get hurt, we'll still have to get involved."

Malia looks up at Sam. “So we're not going to let him go alone?”

Sam frowns, "Hell no. Let's go get Lydia."

Malia, Lydia and Sam walked through the tunnels, quietly following the path towards the heartbeats they heard.

"She didn’t come alone.”, Malia muttered. Sam frowns, annoyed. “Of course she didn’t. This'd make this too easy."

Malia stops and looks at the girls. “There’s a guy armed with a taser gun around the corner.”

Sam lifted a darkened hand, but Lydia stopped her as they heard Scott's voice. “Trust me, he’s not the kind of person that you want to follow. He’s gonna lead you off a cliff.”

“Following me? No one here is following me, Scott. I’m merely an adviser.”, they heard Gerard. “This is because of you?”, Scott asks.

“That’s right. You’re negotiating with me, Scott.”, they hear Monroe taunt. Malia's small growl rumbles from her chest.

“Okay,” Scott sighs. “Tell me how to settle this. What do you want?”

“I want to see a werewolf beg for peace.”, Monroe tells him. Scott quickly agreed to her wishes. “Fine – okay, I’ll beg. I’ll–I’ll do whatever you want. Just tell me that we don’t have to kill each other. That we can find a way to make peace.”

Monroe lets out a chuckle. “That wasn’t quite what I was hoping for.”

“People are dying.”, Scott urges. Monroe counters him. “They’ve been dying. You only care now because it’s your people.”

Scott sweats. “You have to want something other than seeing us all dead. What if we leave Beacon Hills? All of us?”

“If you leave, we’ll follow you. We’ll hunt you down until every single one of you is gone.”, Monroe tells him. Scott frowns. “Some of us have actually been protecting you.”

“Don’t listen to him. He wants you to be afraid.", Gerard tells her but Scott argues back. “But you shouldn’t be afraid of us. We protect people. People like you.”

Monroe scoffs. “People like me? You don’t know anything about people like me.”

“So help me understand. Tell me what made you hate us so much.”, Scott pleads. Gerard found his begging entertaining. “I don’t think you want to press that button, Scott.”

Scott does so anyways. “Something happened to you, didn’t it? Something bad.”

A second passes before Monroe answers. “Bad doesn’t even come close. There was a faculty meeting that ran late one night. We were complaining about the new course rubric. I thought that was the worst thing I’d have to deal with that year. I was wrong. We all heard it, this sound coming out of the shadows. ‘Probably an animal’, they said, but not like anything I’d ever heard. When it moved, it moved faster than anything I’d ever seen. I saw teeth and claws, fangs… and then there was blood everywhere. I couldn’t believe I was still alive.”

The girls looked at each other with confused frowns on their faces. The beast hadn't been their fault to begin with. They were just as shocked to know about it.

“If one of us had been there…”, Scott sadly says, but Monroe cuts him off. “You were there, Scott. You, your friends, and the deputy. Don’t you remember?”

Scott doesn't say anything, so she continues. “Did you even think to check if anyone was still alive?”

Scott almost trembles. “I didn’t know–”

“You didn’t care.”, Monroe says. “How many people have to die so you could keep your secret? So your friends could carry on as if nothing ever happened? I was there. Lying under those bodies. Hiding and waiting for someone to finally find me.”

A moment of silence waves over before Monroe speaks up again. Malia and Sam's eyes widened at the clicking sound of a gun. “You shouldn’t have come alone, Scott.”

“He didn’t.”, Malia calls, and kicks the hunter with the taser gun in his chest, causing him to crash into the wall, watching as he falls down.

Sam's hair shines into a platinum white as she summons a large resin to stop the hunters from moving. Lydia stands behind her, arms ready to launch her screech if she had to.

Sam glares at Monroe as the hunters struggle to move. “I don't know why you think you're the only one to have gone through some terrifying shit. I don't know if Gerard told you, but we were teenagers when all of this started.”, Sam told her.

Scott looked at the girls. “We are not here to fight!”

Gerard smirks. “Well, then you came here to die.”

“We’re trying to protect you!”, Malia growls. Gerard looks at Scott. “You might want to control your Beta, Scott. She could get you all killed.”

Sam glares at Gerard, "You'd love that. There's something out there that's bigger and worse than you, Gerard."

“Something worse than supernatural cannibals?”, Monroe tells. The teens look at her and her face turns into satisfaction. “Yeah, I know everything now. Wendigos, Oni, were-coyotes… people being murdered as human sacrifices?”

“We weren’t even doing the sacrifices. If anything, we tried to stop them–” Monroe cuts Sam off. “And how many people lost their lives while you were trying?”

Scott frowns sadly. “Too many.”

“It was twelve!”, Monroe shouts. “There are people here who have lost their sons and brothers. And all that came out of an official report was an animal attack.”

“We lost people in those sacrifices too! But guess what, we still stopped it!”, Sam yelled, and walked up to her, only pausing when Scott grabbed her. “Us! We stopped it! Teenagers doing things the adults could've been doing! These past few years have been a shock as to why we even graduated, because we were too busy doing what you couldn't do.”

Monroe falls into silence, so Sam continues. “I never asked to get bit. I never asked for extra powers. I never asked to get beaten by his daughter," Sam points at Gerard. "Way before I got bit. He caused that. We never asked to be used as playthings to bring chaos into this city. We didn't cause this shit."

Monroe's face falters a bit. “We lost people. Kids our age.”, Sam says and looks at Gerard again. "He didn't tell you he'd almost killed his granddaughter just to get her out of the way."

Gerard remains stoic. "But who got her killed?" Scott looks down shamefully. Sam faces Gerard. "She died a hero. She died doing what your family loved doing. If she hadn't been trained to be a hunter, maybe she'd still be here.", she says, making Scott look at her with wide eyes.

Gerard raises an eyebrow. "And what of the Sheriff’s son? That poor innocent boy–”

"The poor, innocent, human boy who you almost beat to death because you couldn't get your way like a child?”, Sam asked, making Monroe's eyes widen. "Yeah, he's not here. He's living his life like he deserves."

Sam walked up to Monroe. "Actually, you should be thanking him if he were here, because without him, you'd probably be dead. He actually helped us take out every single thing that threatened this city including what happened 4 months ago."

Monroe frowned. "What happened four months ago?"

Lydia speaks up. “A Nazi Alpha werewolf from the 1940′s was chemically kept alive by these Dread Doctors who were responsible for bringing the Beast here. Things happened and he escaped the chemical coma, brought these memory erasing cowboys, who snatch people out of a city until the entire city is forgotten, only to be his supernatural army. They almost succeeded in making Beacon Hills a Ghost Town and you’re looking at the people, minus three, who stopped that from happening. However, unless you read up on the Wild Hunt in your supernatural research, you wouldn’t believe me.”

The hunters behind Monroe trembled, and their faces gradually turned fearful as they tried to look around the tunnels. 

“What's…”, Malia muttered to Scott, but he tried to plead with Monroe once more. “We’ve all been through horrible situations we shouldn’t have. We’ve all lost somebody and you wanna get revenge. I get that, but just listen to me. Something escaped the Wild Hunt–”

Lydia's scream shocks Sam, distracting her from the hold. “Scott – Scott, it’s here! It’s here right now.”, Lydia yells.

“What?”, Scott asked. Sam looked at her in confusion. "What's here!?"

They turned around to see a bloody, skinless figure standing behind one of the hunters near Monroe who gained her feeling back and aimed her gun at the figure. “Get down!”

Scott pulled at the girls down a different path of the darkened tunnel crouching behind a wall. “Hey, stop! Stop shooting!”, they hear Monroe yell. Scott mutters to the girls. “I think that thing’s making them panic!”

"What the hell even is it?", Sam asked.

Malia gets up, growling. "Malia!", the other three yell as she rushes at the figure, and when she slashes her claw at it, it didn't damage anything. It was as if her hand caused it to disperse into the air.

She looked at her friends in confusion. “What are we supposed to do now?” Before anyone could answer, they looked up to see a lit flare dropping into the tunnel.

Scott grows his stance into defense. “What is that?”

“Backup.”, Lydia grins as Parrish jumps from the open grate and lands near them, his eyes glowing bright orange as he roars deeply at the skinless figure.

#teen wolf derek hale #derek hale x oc #derek hale imagine #poc oc #x black reader #derek hale #teen wolf #stiles teen wolf #lydia martin #sheriff stilinski #liam teen wolf #liam dunbar #teen wolf season 6 #teen wolf season six #Teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf fandom #derek teen wolf #derek hale x plus size reader #derek hale x reader #black reader #derek hale x black reader #plus size representation #plus size reader

[yynumaki]

Taking requests because I have nothing else better to do

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #aidan gallagher #aidan gallagher x reader #sirius black #sirius black x reader #james potter #james potter x reader #regulus black #regulus black x reader #liam dunbar #liam dunbar x reader #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #oliver wood x reader #oliver wood #peter pan x reader #peter pan #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nick sturniolo x reader #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader

[yandere-writer-momo]

The final part of Mommy! First part

Yandere Short Stories: Mommy

Delusional Yandere Single Father x Teacher Afab Reader x Platonic Yandere Son

Jesse wrapped his arms around (your name)‘s legs, the small boy hummed in contentment when she ran her fingers through his black curls. Why couldn’t she be his mom? She was so warm and gentle… so much better than the woman who gave birth to him.

“Jesse? I think your nanny is waiting to take you home.” (Your name) smiled down at Jesse who only burrowed himself further into her skirts. She sighed at how clingy the young boy was, but she was sympathetic to his feelings. Jesse didn’t have any warmth in his home so he sought it out from her.

“I don’t want to go home… can’t I stay with you?” Jesse glanced up at her with his blue puppy dog eyes, his lips in a pout. “Can’t you just adopt me, I’ll be good…”

“Jesse, I can’t adopt you.” (Your name) felt her heart clench when he started to cry. “Jesse-“

“But all the other kids have a mommy and I don’t! I want to be read stories and I want homemade lunches. I don’t want to be alone!” Jesse buried his face into (your name)’s skirts. His little hands clutched tightly onto the cotton fabric in a death grip. “I’ll be a good boy. I’ll be quiet and I won’t ask for much-“

(Your name)’s thumbs instantly brushed away the hot tears that dribbled down his soft cheeks to smooth the young boy. Her beautiful face now in a frown.

“Shh… you can come hang out with me when you’re lonely at school.” (Your name) warmly smiled at Jesse. She ran her fingers through his thick curls as he sniffled.

“R-really? You’ll let me spend time with you?” Jesse’s voice trembled as he tried to calm his tears. “Can I eat lunch with you everyday? I like when you cut the crust off my sandwiches…”

“Of course, Jesse.” (Your name) reassured Jesse, who buried his face in her skirts once more. This sweet boy… he deserved love.

Unbeknownst to (your name), Jesse had a wicked smile on his sweet face that was hidden in her skirts.

Jesse may have been the spit image of Liam, but he was still his birth mother’s son… and (your name) would be his mommy one way or another.

.

.

.

Jesse often hogged (your name)’s attention from the other children. He’d rush to her first whenever class would start or end to hug her, he’d raise his hand for every question so he could be praised, and he’d constantly ask for help.

Jesse was not liked by the other children but he didn’t care all that much about them.

Because Jesse wanted his mommy to only have eyes for him.

.

.

.

Liam felt nervous at the florist shop he was in. The various floral displays of affection made his stomach twist into a knot. He was so nervous… to buy apology flowers for his son’s teacher.

Liam ran a hand through his dark hair with a sigh. This was an incredibly frustrating experience for him since he’s never bought a gift for a woman before. Especially not one as lovely as (your name). Liam couldn’t get her angry expression out of his head… she haunted his dreams and lingered in the crannies in his mind.

She was an itch he couldn’t scratch and Liam disliked this alien feeling she brought out. Liam didn’t know why his heart pounded in his chest at the thought of her or why his cheeks heated up. It made him anxious.

“And what can I help you with today, sir?” The florist smiled warmly at Liam who nearly jumped out of his skin. Liam had been so lost in his thoughts, the florist had caught him off guard.

“I think I would like a bouquet of roses…” Liam’s forest green eyes glanced at the red roses in interest. “The reddest ones you have.”

(Your name) would look lovely in red… Liam couldn’t help the image of her in a red dress that surfaced in his mind. He didn’t quite understand his attraction toward her, but he hoped it would fade.

.

.

.

Liam stood before (your name) in her classroom, his cheeks rosy as he studied her expression. Her arms held the fragrant roses in confusion.

“Mister Isbert? There was no need to get me roses-“

“I’m sorry for making presumptions about your character. It was unjust of me.” Liam bowed to (your name) in apology. “Please forgive me-“

Liam gasped when she moved closer to him, which and whom snap his head up in attention. His forest green eyes wide when she gave him such a warm smile… he’s never seen a smile like that directed toward him in his entire life.

“It’s perfectly okay. I understand you may have been through some trauma but I assure you I’m not after those sorts of things with you.” (Your name) then turned her gaze toward Jesse who peaked around the corner of the classroom. It seemed the young boy was eager to enter. “I’m just concerned for Jesse is all-“

“I do not know how to be a good father…” Liam shyly admitted, his forest green eyes focused on her confused expression. “I have never been taught warmth.”

“Well I have no issue teaching you how to spend time with a child… if you’d like of course, mister Isbert.” (Your name) smiled at Liam whose cheeks went aflame.

“I’d love to…” Liam cleared his throat and gave (your name) a soft smile. “And please, call me Liam.”

The two adults smiled warmly at each other which made Jesse perk up from his spot. Maybe he’d get her to be his mommy after all…

.

.

.

(Your name) laughed when Liam tried to tie Jesse’s shoe laces. The businessman was clueless…

“Here, let me help.” (Your name) gently took the shoelaces from Liam and slowly tied them in front of him. “The dragon goes under the bridge, through the loop, and into the castle!”

Jesse giggled at the rhyme, his eyes sparkled at his dad. “See! Mommy knows how to tie shoes!”

Liam blushed in embarrassment when (your name) and Jesse shared a laugh. He never knew how simple this was… how a family should be.

“Why don’t we read a book together?”

Liam glanced over at (your name) while she picked out a fairy tale. A ray of sunlight hit her at the perfect angle that made her even more angelic.

Liam never knew someone could be so beautiful…

.

.

.

Weeks went by of Liam’s ‘lessons’ of fatherhood. The two adults would laugh together as (your name) tried to teach him how to be more affectionate with his son, unaware that the businessman started to be affectionate with her as well… Liam came to terms that he loved her.

Liam loved the young woman who was eager to help him mend his relationship with his son and teach him how to love. To not take out his trauma onto Jesse and to be more open to change.

Liam became a better person by being around (your name) and he had no interest in going back to the way his life was before he got to know her better. The two of them were truly a power couple! She’s shown him a new side of life he never knew existed… who knew Jesse would indirectly introduce Liam to his soulmate?

Liam blushed as he sat at his desk, his head filled with thoughts of (your name). The image of her holding Liam in her arms burned in his mind.

How could someone look so perfect holding his child?

Liam dug into his desk drawer and pulled out one of the many drawing Jesse had made of (your name) and him. The three of them as a happy family.

Liam lit up a cigar and took a deep inhale of the smoke. Yes… he’d ask her to be his wife. To be Jesse’s mom.

Liam held the picture close to his chest. He needed to tell her how he felt… of how he loved her.

.

.

.

Liam upped security around the school as usual since he dropped by for the lessons. Liam wanted to ensure this entire ordeal remained private, he had no desire to add more stress onto poor (your name)’s life… today, they were gong to become an official family.

Liam sighed dreamily as he thought of what was about to happen today. (Your name) would be so beautiful as his wife and future mother of more children. He wondered how many siblings Jesse would like? To add onto their perfect family.

“Is there something wrong, Liam?” Liam perked up when (your name) softly called his name, she was careful not to disturb the sleeping Jesse in her arms. “You’ve been lost in space for a while now.”

“Would you be interested in dating me?” Liam’s blunt question nearly made (your name) fall over in shock. Date him? Where on earth did he get the idea that she wanted that sort of relationship with him?

“I don’t think we should.” (Your name) smiled warmly at Liam who frowned at her gentle rejection. “You’re a CEO of a big corporation and I’m just a measly kindergarten teacher.”

“I could take care of you.” Liam whispered softly. “You’d never struggle financially and you could be with Jesse every day. Don’t you want Jesse to be happy?”

(Your name) glanced down at the young boy who remained asleep. She did care about Jesse… but not enough to date his father.

“I’m sorry but I can’t do that.” (Your name) sighed softly as she handed Jesse to Liam to take. “I hope you find someone on your level to be with, Liam.”

Liam could only sit on the floor in shock when she walked to her desk to gather her belongings. She didn’t want him? Why didn’t she want him?

Liam tried to speak but he couldn’t find the words to stop her. How could he tell her he’s never felt this way before? That he wanted her? That he-

“I love you!” (Your name) froze in the doorway when Liam blurted out his declaration of love.

“W-what-“ Liam scrambled to his feet to try to stand before her. His lithe body hovered over her like a shadow.

“I love you and I’ve never felt this way before… please give me a chance.”

“I’m sorry, Liam-“

“I won’t accept no as an answer.” Liam felt his stomach twist but he needed to get her to be his… he needed her. “I’ll ruin your life if you don’t accept my love. I’ve never wanted anything in my life as much as I want you.”

Jesse stirred awake in Liam’s arms, the young boy’s eyes wide at his father’s words. “Become Jesse’s mom. I’m serious about being with you.”

“I-“ (your name) was cut off by Jesse who excitedly reached for her.

“Mommy? You’ll be my mommy?!” Jesse began to cry when he hands grabbed hers. “Mommy. Mommy!”

“Yes, Jesse.” Liam smiled down at Jesse as he pulled (your name) close. “Miss (last name) is going to be your mommy.”

“No-“ (your name) gasped when Liam suddenly bent down to kiss her which made Jesse smile brightly.

“We should head home, right?” Liam turned to Jesse who smiled brightly at his dad. “Like a happy family should.”

#female reader #yandere fic #yandere imagine #yandere #yandere obsession #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere boy #yandere male #Yandere man #yandere dilf #platonic yandere #yandere platonic #older yandere #yandere oc #yandere original character #delusional yandere #teacher reader #tw.kidnapping

[tarabyte3]

‼️ All fics have an explicit rating ‼️ 18+ only

Bold = Completed | Italics = In Progress

Reprieve

Kino Loy finds reprieve in his memories every night while lying in his prison cell.

Wake Up, Look Me in the Eyes Again | 3.2k | Kino Loy x M!Reader

Alone in your cell, you have to do something to get Kino Loy out of your head. Unfortunately, he catches you. Or rather, very fortunately, as luck would have it.

Wants, Needs, and Clerical Errors | 22.9k | Kino Loy x F!Reader

Playlist

You're only on Narkina 5 due to a mistake on your transfer paperwork and no one in charge seems to care. The work is horrific and being the only woman there is a nightmare, but Kino Loy is... intriguing. Okay, he's hot. He's very hot.

I Want You to Show Me Weak | 104k | Kino Loy x F!Reader

Chapter 25 | Playlist

You're pretty sure Kino Loy hates you. He screams at you, grabs you, and shoves you against the wall, and it's becoming a problem because, well...it shouldn't fluster you as much as it does.

Untitled Series | Trainer!Kino Loy x F!Reader

[Coming soon!]

The Devil Makes Us Sin | 38.2k | David Robey x F!Reader

Chapter 4 | Playlist

Your life isn't perfect, and you don't enjoy moonlighting as a camgirl for so many repulsive men, but you need the money and at least it's yours. You're getting by just fine. You're content. At least you thought you were. Then you get a strange text message. And you aren't sure if you're horrified or intrigued.

And Your Heart, Love, Has Such Darkness | David Robey x F!Reader

[Coming Soon!]

The Fear Has Gripped Me, but Here I Go | 13.4k | F!Reader x Liam Black

Playlist

It was so easy to develop a crush on Liam Black. He's sweet, handsome, funny, and all of your conversations feel effortless. How could you not? Maybe it was too easy because you're starting to fall a little deeper and you can't stop calling him whenever you need a taxi.

#masterlist #fic masterlist #fanfiction #kino loy #kino loy x reader #david robey #david robey x reader #liam black #liam black x reader #reprieve #wake up look me in the eyes again #wants needs and clerical errors #i want you to show me weak #the devil makes us sin #the fear has gripped me but here i go #andy serkis #x reader

[loonylupinblack3]

Overprotective

Pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, intoxication, suggestions of violence occurring (nothing actually happens just very brief suggestion)

Summary: Going to the club and getting drunk without your overprotective boyfriend is never a good idea

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: posting bc of max's win in china

Max had always been protective of you. Since as long as you can remember Max had acted like your protector, stopping you from doing risky things and helping you when you did them anyway and hurt yourself.

You were childhood best friends, having known each other since you were five and he was six, brought together by a love of karting. As time passed and the two of you grew up, your relationship stayed strong, but changed. Feelings grew between the two of you, though it took until you were 21 before you two did anything about it.

So you were used to Max’s slightly overprotective tendencies. It was second nature to you, as familiar to you as breathing. However, that didn’t mean it didn’t get on your nerves from time to time, like tonight for instance. You were supposed to be going out with your girlfriends to a newly opened club, but Max was having some trouble letting you go.

He raised his eyebrows when he saw you enter the living room from his seat on the couch, eyes roaming your body. You were wearing a cliche club outfit; short black dress, heels, and bangles on your arm. You could see the appreciativeness in Max’s gaze, but also concern.

“You look nice,” he said, putting his phone down.

You smiled and gave a little spin. “Thank you. It’s the dress I got on Tuesday.”

Max stayed silent for a moment, considering what to say. “You look very beautiful, Schatz, don’t get me wrong…. But is that what you’re wearing out?”

“Is there something wrong with it?”

Max hesitated again. “It’s just… it’s not very restaurant friendly.”

You made an ‘o’ shape with your mouth. You had wondered briefly why Max had been so calm about you going clubbing, but you’d brushed it off thinking he just didn’t mind it. Now you knew it was because he didn’t actually know.

“Well, Max, that’s because we’re going clubbing, not to a restaurant,” you say slowly, waiting with baited breath for his reaction.

Max blinked, surprised. “You’re what?”

“We’re going clubbing….”

Max opened his mouth then closed it, clearing his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You shrugged. “I thought you knew.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “You thought I knew you were going clubbing? Even though I didn’t say anything about it? Or warn you about drinking too much?”

You grimaced. “I know how it sounds but I genuinely didn’t realise you didn’t know.”

Max sighed. “I know, I trust you. I just don’t know if going clubbing is a good idea.”

“But it’s already been decided. And I got dressed up.”

You pouted slightly and Max rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me that look, you know I’m just worried about you.”

“I know, but I’ll be fine. Me and the girls have sorted everything out.”

Max started. “You mean it’s just going to be you girls alone? What about Izzy’s boyfriend Liam? Or Kate’s boyfriend? They’re not going?”

“It’s a girls night,” you reminded him. “No boys allowed.”

“Schatz….” Max warned. “I don’t feel comfortable letting you go to the club alone.”

“I’m not going to be alone-”

“You’ll be with a group of girls, all of you vulnerable and easy to prey on,” Max said sternly. “I’m not trying to be mean, but without a man around you there are certain people who will take that as an opportunity to try and hurt you.”

You sighed. “I know Max, but we’re fine. We know one of the bartenders and he’s promised to keep an eye out for us, plus Liam will be driving us home so we have a ride. Seriously, you don’t need to worry.”

Max frowned, looking at your face for any trace of doubt. “I always worry about you.”

“I know, but I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Max continued thinking before eventually conceding, walking up to you and wrapping you into a tight hug. “Be safe,” he murmured into your ear.

You returned the embrace. “I always am.”

You pulled back, still in Max’s arms, and he tugged down your dress with a slight scowl. “Too short.”

You rolled your eyes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Goodbye Max.”

“Don’t drink too much,” Max said, “and text me when you’re coming home.”

You nodded your head and hugged him goodbye once more before leaving the apartment and your boyfriend. You knew he was worried, knew he’d probably be worried for the rest of the night and wait up for you, which made you feel guilty. He hadn’t prepared for you to go out clubbing, completely different from a tame meal at some restaurant, and you knew he’d be agonising over it for the rest of the night.

All you could do was answer his texts and make sure he knew you were safe. 

Except things didn’t go to plan.

You arrived at the club and everything was fine. You looked around, taking pictures of the new place, and greeted your bartender friend. You ordered some drinks and stayed by the bar for a bit, talking and catching up, before one of your wilder friends, Lily, suggested shots and then dancing. You weren’t much of a shot person, mostly because you were a lightweight, and you hadn’t planned on getting too drunk tonight but everyone was egging you on, and you didn’t want to be left out so you agreed, the four of you slamming down tequila shots like you did in college.

Then it was off to the dance floor, you, Lily, Kate and Izzy forming your own circle, dancing and laughing with one another. And you were having fun. You were feeling happy, giddy, and the only thing that would make this night better would be to have Max by your side.

You stepped out of the dance circle, moving back to the bar as you took out your phone. Noticing the multiple texts from Max left unanswered you felt a pang of guilt, but it was distant compared to the excitement you felt.

y/n: maxieeeeeeee

maxie❤️: you okay?

y/n: im the bset y/n: i mss yoi y/n: u shoud come tothe club

maxie❤️: are you drunk??

y/n: jst a litttle bit

y/n: lily siad shots

maxie❤️: you did shots? are you okay?

y/n: im grate

y/n: u should cmoe hree

y/n: i wnna party wth yoou

maxie❤️: already on my way

If you were sober, you probably would have picked up on the annoyed/concerned tone Max’s text had, but you were not sober, so you texted him a ‘yaaaaayyyyy’ and turned your phone off, waiting for what you thought was going to be your party ready boyfriend.

Instead, after you’d had another shot with your friends and continued dancing, you found yourself face to face with your concerned and worried boyfriend.

“Maxie!” you slurred, throwing your arms around your boyfriend in a hug. “Come dance with me!”

Max chucked, trying not to show his concern, but his tight hold on your waist gave him away. You pulled back and looked at him. “You are going to dance with me, right?”

Max sighed, manoeuvring you so you were off the dance floor. You were almost too drunk to notice, just clinging onto your boyfriend. “I’m here to take you home.”

“But I don't want to go home. I’m happy here,” you whined like a child.

Max muttered under his breath, “did I or did I not tell you not to drink too much.”

You frowned at his bad attitude. “I just want to dance.”

He shot you a look. “You can dance at home where you're safe, not in a club full of strangers while drunk out of your mind.”

You pouted but your boyfriend had already made his decision, half dragging half carrying you to where he parked his car. You knew better than to fight Max when he was like this, even drunk, so you sat in the passenger seat with your arms crossed, glaring at the road ahead of you while silently cursing Max and his stupid overprotectiveness. 

Max glanced at you as he drove. “I can tell you’re upset with me.”

“I was having fun,” you complained, “and you took me away from it.”

Max sighed. “I’m sorry Schatz, I am, but I wasn’t comfortable letting you stay in a club full of strangers drunk without me.”

You pouted again. “So why didn’t you just stay at the club with me?”

Max laughed a bit. “Because I only enjoy clubs when I’m drunk, and the whole purpose of me being there would be watching you while you’re drunk, not the other way round.”

It made sense even to your drunk brain- sort of -so you dropped the subject, letting Max off the hook. Maybe you’d argue with him in the morning when you were sober and had a better grasp on reality, but as Max parked in your driveway and helped you out of the car, all you wanted to do was curl up with your boyfriend and go to sleep, which is exactly what you did.

Max helped you undress and got as much makeup off your face as he was able to with his limited skill set and then got you into bed, laying down beside you. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to his chest where you sighed into it, content.

“I love you,” he murmured into your hair.

Even drunk and half asleep, you still managed to reply, “I love you too.

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #f1 #formula one #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 oneshot #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen fluff #f1 fluff #fluff #fanfic #fanfiction #f1 fanfiction

[vanteguccir]

GRWM with boyfriend's clothes | Matt Sturniolo

Matt Sturniolo x fashion influencer!reader

Summary: Where Y/N is a fashion influencer and makes a GRWM only with her boyfriend's, Matt, clothes.

Warning: None.

Requested?: Yes, by @matthewsspecial

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

PS.: I used the queen of brazilian GRWM, Lele Burnier, as an inspiration for the way that Y/N would produce her content in here. I'll leave the link to one of her tiktoks just so you can have an idea of what I imagined, even though Lele speaks in Portuguese in it.

PS. 2: This is in the same universe as Truth or Eat | Matt Sturniolo.

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"Hellooooo." Y/N spoke, slightly bent forward facing the screen of her phone, with her hands raised while moving her fingers in a "bye bye" gesture. Her voice slightly thinned due to the excitement she felt to record that content, while a fluffy white robe covered her body. "You asked a lot for a GRWM with Matt's clothes after the Truth or Eat video on the triplets' channel, and I, as always your favorite fashion influencer, decided to do it!"

The girl was in her own closet, which was in a small room in the house next to her shared room with Matt. As soon as Y/N moved into the triplets' house about a year ago, it was decided that that space would be her personal space to record her content, and she turned it into a large closet, filled with clothes, shoes and bags, all of all sizes, colors, models and brands.

Additionally, Y/N decided to include two pink puffs in the corner with a small bookshelf full of books and magazines, so when she wanted a moment to herself, she could stay there. Although she never used the puffs alone, she was always accompanied by Matt or Nick to read or just talk. The boys loved that corner, they always said it had an incredible vibe.

"Today we're not going to use any of the items behind me, I went to Matt's closet and got some options from there." Y/N explained, momentarily pointing to the amount of clothes behind her, before picking up two hangers with pants. "As you already know, we're going to start at the bottom." The girl said smiling, slightly shaking her hands in excitement.

"Here we have two pants, since they make up 90% of my boyfriend's closet." She paused as she rolled her eyes playfully. "One is a baggy jeans with these details as if it was sewn fabric on top of fabric." The girl lifted the jeans in her right hand, bringing it closer to the camera. "And the other is a pair of basic black sweatpants from Fresh Love." She lowered her right hand and raised her left, bringing the hanger closer to the camera.

Y/N paused dramatically as she looked at the two pieces before completely lowering the hanger with the sweatpants and holding the one with the jeans in the air.

"I think we can all agree that jeans wins, right? Sorry, Chris." She smiled at the camera.

Y/N left the sweatpants hanger aside, taking the jeans off their respective hanger and throwing it to the side, keeping them folded in half in her hands.

She quickly grabbed two still-folded t-shirt options and placed them in the front of the jeans.

"Now, for the shirts, we also have two options. Both would be good since they are basic. One is a black t-shirt that Matt bought personalized with Matt + Liam written." Y/N pointed with her index finger on top of the respective t-shirt while holding back a laugh at Matt's photos mixed with Liam's. "And the second one is a navy blue baby look with just a white phrase on the front." She did the same with the baby look, her mind reminding her of the last time Matt wore it, making her cheeks take on a red color, she loved it when her boyfriend used it.

The girl paused for a second, looking at the camera thoughtfully.

"I think we'll wear the t-shirt, I don't know if this baby look would look very good with these jeans because of the waistband." Y/N commented, looking at the pieces briefly.

The video cut to her already dressed in the two pieces.

"For the feet, I thought a lot between my basic black Converse or my black and white Samba, and it's obvious that the Samba won." She spoke while gesturing with her right hand, her left hand busy holding her chosen pair of sneakers. "You know my love for Adidas Samba."

Again the video cut to her with the complete look.

"Now, to give that final touch, we just arrange the t-shirt so that it goes better with the jeans." Y/N spoke as she turned sideways to the camera and tucked the back of her t-shirt into her jeans, so that the front was in a V.

"Finally, it's obvious that accessories couldn't be missing, right?" The girl smiled, turning around and taking one of the small wooden boxes from her closet, opening it and placing the lid on the floor quickly, before moving her fingers through the jewelry there. "I think this outfit calls for silver accessories, mainly because it only has black and white in it." Y/N spoke as she selected a pair of earrings and some necklaces, bracelets, and rings.

The video cut to the girl already decked out in all her jewelry except her earrings.

"Okay, I like where this is going." Y/N spoke to the camera as she buttoned her earrings into her ears, smiling as she finished, showing off her ears quickly.

"I guess we can put on a purse, hm? It's pretty raw around here." Y/N suggested as she gestured her hands across her upper body. "I like this one." The girl quickly turned around and fished one of her purses from the closet.

She turned back to the camera and showed her black Diesel shoulder bag, the brand's logo in silver, and the strap on a silver chain. The girl held the bottom of the bag with her right hand while doing jazz hands for it with her left hand, showing the piece.

Y/N put the purse on her shoulder and took some steps back to show the whole outfit for the camera, before stopping and looking at the front screen of her phone thoughtfully, analyzing her look through it.

"I think there's something missing." She murmured, placing her index finger on her chin as she thought. "I know what it is, come with me." The girl smiled, taking her cell and walking out of the closet, opening the door to her shared room with Matt slowly, entering the space.

"Hi baby, did you finished reco- Wow." Matt's voice sounded in the background, stopping mid-sentence as he analyzed his girlfriend wearing his own clothes.

"Hi baby, not yet." Y/N responded with a smirk, walking to Matt's closet, her phone camera catching the boy lying on the bed behind the girl, his own phone with an open game already forgotten next to him as his blue eyes traveled over her body.

Y/N opened the closet and ran her fingers through the caps there, taking out a completely black New Era one, with just the brand's symbol in white on the front.

She turned around, still holding her cell in her right hand, while her left hand held the chosen accessory.

"Thank you for lending it baby." Y/N said jokingly, blowing Matt an air kiss before leaving the room and heading back to her closet.

The video cut to the girl in front of the camera completely ready, right hand on her waist as her lips stretched into a smile.

"Final look!" She hummed, making a full turn before stopping again, approaching the camera. "I didn't put on makeup because we're not going out and I wanted to do a GRWM focused on Matt's clothes, but I can do a video with makeup that matches this look, I'm thinking that a red lipstick from Kylie Cosmetics that I have here would look amazing." Y/N commented, making the chief kiss gesture at the end of the sentence.

"I didn't think this outfit would look as good as it did, but it turned out super cool, and I hope you loved it as much as I did!" The girl smiled, blowing a kiss to the camera.

The video cut again, Y/N was now in her shared room with Matt again, facing her bed and with her phone in her hands, the rear camera pointed at Matt who was looking at her with a goofy smile and passionate eyes.

"From 0 to 10, how much do you give for this outfit made up entirely of your clothes? Minus the shoes." The girl asked from behind her phone.

"100/10, it looks really great, you can take all my clothes for yourself, they look much better on you than on me." The boy said, moving on the bed until he reached his girlfriend, his arms wrapping around her waist before pulling her onto the mattress.

Y/N let out a scream of surprise followed by a loud laugh, the camera becoming completely blurry due to her sudden movements.

"We're going out to dinner, I won't let you waste all this beauty." Matt spoke against the girl's lips and that was the last thing the camera recorded, before the video ended.

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Resquest:

My asks are open, feel free to send requests! ♡

#x reader #chris sturniolo #fanfic #matt sturniolo #fanfiction #love #sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #imagine #matt sturniolo x yn #matt sturniolo fanfiction #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew bernard sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt au #matt fanfic #matt x reader #matt #matt sturniolo x you #grwm #lele burnier #tiktok #youtuber #sturniolo triplets #fashion incluencer

[ervotica]

liam mairi x reader where he literally loses it during the torture chamber over seeing her hurt

pairing; liam mairi x fem!reader

warnings; torture lol, graphic depictions of violence and injury, liam is a little unhinged (as much as a golden retriever can be) and also the best bf ever. also xaddy makes an appearance <3

a/n; for argument's sake, liam is alive and well (also for my sake bc he's my baby and i adore him) this is a little different to the plot in the books as liam isn't *technically* there during the torture chamber scene, so this diverts from the original plot. this is gonna get like 4 whole notes but idgaf because liam is taking up my entire mind atm i just want that boy to smother me in love and i can kiss his perfect face<3

Knuckles crack against the already swollen expanse of your jaw and your neck whips sideways awkwardly as blood fills your gasping mouth. Your ears ring, vision beginning to blur and blacken at the edges as Liam roars.

You can't see him for the soldiers crowding your line of vision, but the guttural sound that rips its way from his throat is unlike anything you've ever heard before. It's raw, full of untethered fury that no one would expect from a kind soul like Liam. But, then again, no one's seen the lengths he will go to to keep you safe.

"I'm fine, Li," you murmur, neck cracking as you wrench your head upright to reassure him. The swarm of bodies part somewhat, and they back against the wall; you watch him thrash against the restraints, teeth bared like a predator; it's a stark juxtaposition to his usual - docile - countenance.

“Touch her again and I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill all of you!” he bellows, voice permeating the otherwise relatively silent chamber. It cuts through you like glass, and you wince as another blow collides with your cheekbone. You feel it shatter, growling through grit teeth at your attacker.

“You have all the power here,” he croons. “Tell us what we need to know, and I’ll let you go.”

“Fuck you,” you seethe. “You really think I’ll break that easily?”

He cracks his knuckles slowly, one by one echoing through the empty room as he paces, his head tilting curiously as though he's enraptured by your resilience. “No. But he will.”

Your nostrils flare, eyes darting to where Liam’s still struggling to break himself free. His eyes are dark, cerulean replaced with black onyx as the rage consumes him.

“You underestimate us,” you say simply; your chin juts out indignantly. “We’re not telling you shit.”

Your ribs are next to break with a sickening crunch, and when you scream, the sharp yell of your boyfriend takes up all the space left in your brain. It's all you hear, all you can decipher through the thick cotton wadded into your ears, the only thing you can manage past the searing flames that set your body alight with agony. Your lids start to droop, lips parting to croak something indiscernible; and Liam's begging, pleading with you to stay conscious, but even as you gaze up at him through sticky, tear-soaked lashes, the darkness wraps its cruel fingers around your throat and you can't fend it off.

You don't know how many days it's been when your eyes peel open, glued shut with sleep. Every nerve ending in your body ignites, set aflame with pure, unrelenting excruciation. Your chest heaves and the movement triggers another cataclysmic inferno; a sob claws its way from your throat almost involuntarily, your body relying purely on survival instincts.

Xaden's standing over you in an instant, a warm palm cradled against the curve of your jaw to keep you still when you shout and thrash, trying to rid yourself of the unyielding pain that courses through your veins like liquid fire.

"Shh, shh." He's doing his best to placate you, but you're manic, eyes wide and frantic as you attempt to orientate yourself in the room.

"Liam," you croak. "Where's Liam?"

"He's okay. He's fine. I need you to stay calm, okay?" A tear slips past your clogged waterline and runs over Xaden's knuckle, his thumb following its downward path to brush it away.

"I want Liam," you wheeze, a pain that transcends physicality blooming into your aching chest. "Please."

There's a scuffle and a flash of blonde before Liam is crouching at your side, a thick fingered hand anchoring against the top of your head.

"I'm right here, my girl. You didn't think I'd leave you alone, did you?"

You shake your head vehemently despite the throbbing in your temples, your own fingers looping around his wrist to keep him close, to keep him touching you.

"It hurts, Li," you whimper, and it's the first sign of true weakness he's seen you expose in this long, painful week. You're safe to fall apart now, safe with the knowledge that he'll help you put yourself back together.

"I know. We just need to get you fixed up and you'll feel better."

He tips forward on his toes to press his cheek to yours, and the warmth of his breath tickles at the shell of your ear. His face turns, nose squishing into the soft flesh of your cheek, lips puckered in a kiss against the corner of your mouth. You feel the scab, long dried over, and the groove in his lip where it's split; when he tilts his head sideways to watch you, your eyes fix on it.

"You're hurt," you sniffle. "It's my fault."

"Oh, this old thing?" He waves you off, flippant as the tip of his finger prods at the dried skin. "Doesn't even hurt, angel. Don't you worry about me."

"I do worry about you."

You use the little strength you have left to turn on your side, tuning out Liam's abrupt protests until there'e enough room for two on the bed. He knows what you want from no more than a pleading glance.

"I can't-" he starts, and the complaints die in his throat when your fingers dig into the worn fabric of his uniform.

"I need you," you admit. His shoulders slouch in defeat.

"You promise to go to sleep?"

He lifts your tender body, propping you against a muscular forearm as he slides beneath you, and settling you between two thick thighs, your back to his chest. His warmth seeps into your pores and he feels you sag, only succumbing to the exhaustion now you know he's safe.

Fingernails scratch at your scalp and dimples crater into the centre of his cheeks when your head tilts to nuzzle deeper into the touch. The flaring pain resides to a dull - but manageable - ache.

"I'm tired," you say, muffled.

"I know, my girl." You don't miss the thrum of his pulse, the way it picks up when he catches sight of the deep bruises that mar your skin, the swelling from broken bones. He's angry.

And he's going to make them pay for this.

#liam mairi x reader #liam mairi x you #liam mairi x y/n #fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing #liam mairi #liam x reader #liam x you #liam and xaden #liam fourth wing #fourth wing fic #fourth wing rebecca yarros #writer #writers on tumblr #writing #writing for fun #love letters #ily #iron flame #fourth wing fluff #fourth wing angst #liam mairi drabble #liam mairi fanfiction #liam mairi fic #liam mairi angst #liam mairi fluff #hurt/comfort #comfort fic #fluff writing #fluff with angst

[babeyvenus]

My Future

Derek Hale x OC

Samantha, Stiles and Scott are always joking about the impossible. Who wouldn't when your best friend's dad is the sheriff of Beacon Hills? All jokes stop when they realize the impossible is indeed possible.

Chapter 35: Death of a Tomahawk

Sam didn't know what to make of it. She knew her friends were crazy, almost borderline senile, even. But this???

She frowned as she looked in Scott's tub to see a tape bound Liam who looked both angry and scared.

"What…In the dark hell am I looking at.", she says, looking at Liam. "We didn't know what to do.", Scott said.

"So you tie him up and throw him in here?", she looked at her best friends in disbelief before walking up to Liam.

He scooted away as much as he could in fear and she shook my head, reassuring him. "Don't worry, I'm not like these two nut jobs. I'm gonna get you outta here and we'll explain what the hell happened and why.", she reassures, pointedly at Scott who looked down at his feet.

Scott and Stiles grabbed Liam and sat him in a chair at the end of Scott's bed in a chair. This was a bad idea. Liam was either gonna have to accept that he's now a werewolf or he was gonna freak out and run. Most likely, he'll be going for the ladder. 

"Liam, we're going to take the tape off your mouth. If you scream it goes right back on, if you talk quietly it stays off, got it?", Stiles asked him, Liam looked at Sam and nodded. Stiles ripped the tape off and Liam exclaimed painfully and growled.

"You couldn't have been gentler than that?", Sam asked Stiles. "Okay Liam, now you've seen a lot of confusing things tonight and more confusing things are going to happen because of the confusing things that happened tonight, do you understand?", Stiles asked him, making them look at him in confusion. 

"Not really.", Liam replied, glaring at him. 

"Good, that's good.", Stiles said and Sam shook her head. "I don't understand either.", Scott said. 

She frowned, pointing at Scott. "You better tell him what the hell you just did and why.", she scolded and moved towards the door.

"W-Wait, where are you going?", Scott asked, nervously. Sam turned to him. "I'm getting fresh air. This is a little much.", Sam says before leaving, much to Liam's dismay. 

Sam walked downstairs to contemplate. 

They didn't know a thing about Liam. What if he's another Isaac? Or a mini Derek. What if he's just naturally a hot head? She couldn't see him being anything like Jackson. This was so confusing. Way more confusing than dealing with a freshly bitten Scott.

This was stupid. How could Scott do this? 

She sighed and walked back upstairs to Scott's room.

"Shouldn't have said that.", Stiles said as Liam looked at them in shock. "What?", Liam responded quietly and started sniffling. Sam stormed up to them. "What did you two do?", she fussed and went to console Liam. 

"Liam, it's okay, you're going to be alright, you're not going to die.", Scott said, trying to console Liam. 

"Probably not.", Stiles said. "Stop it.", Scott hissed. 

"Okay possibly not.", Stiles corrected. Sam looked at him in disbelief. "Stiles!"

"Would you just help me untie him?", Scott asked him. They got Liam up and untied him. "Liam, are you okay?", Scott asked him as he stood. 

"We're sorry about that, we're really sorry.", Stiles apologized. Liam picked up the chair and hit Scott with it, knocking him down. Sam's eyes widened as Liam punched Stiles and ran out.

They chased him down the stairs but he was already out of the house. She sighed as she watched Scott and Stiles wrestle each other on the floor. 

"I got him!", Stiles exclaimed, holding onto Scott's leg. "I got him, I got him!"

"You guys are idiots.", Sam said, making Stiles stop and see it was Scott's leg. Scott glared at him and pushed Stiles' foot off his head then looked at the door.

"Your plan sucked too." Scott said then turned to glare at Sam. "Why didn't you stop him?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't bite him and tie him up, scaring him shitless.", she replied, leaving the house and going home.

The next morning was awkward as Sam sat next to Kira and Lydia in class as they looked over notes.

"These are your math notes?", Kira asked Lydia as she looked at her computer. Some code was downloading on her computer. "No wonder Malia's failing. She can't understand that.", Sam says, furrowing her eyebrows. 

"Um, some of them are my notes, the rest I think might actually be a code…", Lydia said. 

"So you don't remember writing it?", Sam asked her.

"Not in the slightest but considering my drawing of a tree that led us to the Nemeton, I should probably figure out what it means before it tries to kill us.", she says, making me look at her in disbelief. "Uh, please do that.", Sam says, uncomfortable.

"Maybe it's like the Enigma Code the Allies used.", Kira chimed in as we looked at her in confusion. "Remember, my dad was a World War II buff and my mom was, well, in it."

"I think this is a variation on something called the Vigenere Cipher."

"Do you know how to crack it?", Sam asked Lydia. 

"With a key.", she replied just as her mom walked up and held out a set of keys. 

"Remember the rules, no more than six people allowed in the lake house, stay out of the wine and if anything gets broken, it's getting added to your credit card debt."

"Fine." Lydia agreed, going to grab the keys but her mom quickly pulled them away. 

"And lock up the basement, from all the scratch marks I found on the walls it looked like a pack of wild animals got down there."

Sam hid a smile as Lydia was handed the keys.

The girls shared a look as Lydia's mom walked away. Sam snorted at them before getting up and walking to her locker. On the way, she could hear Scott and Stiles once again talking to Liam so she walked over to them.

"The bite…the bite is a gift.", Scott tried using Derek's words, making her chuckle softly.

"Scott, stop, please stop.", Stiles fussed, walking over to Scott and pointed at Liam. "You, you– we're trying to help you, you little runt."

"By kidnapping?", Liam replied. "Which again was a bad idea from the start.", Sam says, leaning on the lockers and making them acknowledge her.

"Liam, we've gone through this before.", Scott said, nodding at her before turning back at the boy. "Something's happening to you, something big."

"Nothing's happening to me!", Liam exclaimed, then held up his arm and ripped his bandage off to reveal his unbitten skin. "Nothing!"

He walked away from the trio, leaving Scott, Stiles and Sam to share a knowing look. The bite already kicked in. 

They quickly called a small pack meeting in-between a couple of buses and met up with Lydia, Malia and Kira. 

"I'm not sharing my basement.", Malia refused.

"Actually it's my basement.", Lydia corrected. "And my mom noticed how you tore it up last time."

"Alright, she's still learning.", Stiles defended. 

"But we're going to use the boat house for Liam, it's got support beams we can chain him to one of them.", Scott said. 

"But how are we going to get him to the lake house if he doesn't trust us?", Kira asked. 

"I'd say if it keeps him from murdering someone, we just chloroform the little bastard and throw him in the lake.", Stiles replied as Malia agreed and Sam looked at both of them in disbelief. "We are not killing him!", she exclaimed before turning to Scott. "Or kidnapping him again."

"Then let's be smarter, we tell him there's a party and invite him.", Lydia suggested.

"So you're going to ask out a freshman?", Stiles asked her.

"Oh, no, I'm done with teenage boys.", Lydia replied. Stiles turned to Sam. "Don't even look over here. It's not happening.", Sam says, shaking her head.

They smiled at Kira as she looked around, noticing their eyes on her. 

"Who, me?", she asked. "No way, not me."

"Yes you. You know what they call a female fox?", Lydia replied, smiling at her. "A vixen."

"Me?", Kira repeated in disbelief. 

"You can do it Kira, be a vixen.", Lydia encouraged as they all grinned at her. 

After school, Sam told Stiles she was gonna check up on Derek before heading to the lake house. Just as she walked in, Peter fell to the ground grunting in pain.

Sam hid a smile while Derek helped him stand. "He said he was after you.", Peter told his nephew and Sam raised an eyebrow. 

"How does a guy with no mouth say anything?", Derek asked him before she could. 

"With this.", Peter replied holding up some sort of glove. 

"What are you two talking about?", she asked. "I was stabbed with a tomahawk by a guy with no mouth.", Peter clarified. Sam's eyebrows furrowed.

"Wait, is this the same guy who killed Sean and his family?", Sam asked. 

"Seems like it.", Derek replied, looking at the glove. 

"And now he's after you.", she sighs and rubbed her face as Peter got dressed and left.

"This just adds more shit to our pile.", she muttered, walking over to the table and looking down at the axe that sat on the table.

"I wouldn't touch that.", Derek warned. Sam held her hands up in surrender. "I wasn't gonna touch it.", she scoffed.

He raised an eyebrow as he walked over to her. "Okay, I was curious. But I wasn't gonna touch it.", she said and leaned against the table. 

"We have to figure out who the guy is. Who attacked Peter, and why's he after me. So we need to go see the Sheriff.", Derek said. "Why the Sheriff?", she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He was already looking into this guy and asked me to help when that Sean kid was killed on the roof of the hospital." Sam raised her eyebrows as he raised one in return. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?", he asked.

Sam shook my head. "Why?", she asked. He tilted his head, crossing his arms while giving her a knowing look. "I smelled Scott which means Scott was up there and you left to go see him. Something happened. Fess up."

"Scott gave me a rundown of what happened, and there was someone else up there but it's not my place to tell.", Sam says, shrinking.

"What happened?"

"Can't tell you.", she grimaced. Derek let out a sigh and rolled his eyes as he grabbed his keys. "Let's go.", he said. They got in his car and headed to the Sheriff's station to show Mr. Stilinski the glove and told him about the guy with no mouth that nearly killed Peter. 

"I still don't get how this guy has no mouth.", Sheriff said as he picked up the glove Derek had put on his table. "I mean how can he eat?"

Derek looked up, blinking. "Peter didn't get a chance to ask, he was fighting him off with a tomahawk buried in his chest.", Derek replied, sarcastically. Sam snickered as the sheriff casually ignores his sarcasm.

"Yeah and who goes around with a tomahawk?", Sheriff asked us just as Parrish walked in. 

"I carried one for IED removal in Afghanistan.", he said. "It's military and so is that.", he pointed at the glove. "Do you know what it's used for?", Derek asked him. 

"Well this one looks like it's been modified.", Parrish replied. The Sheriff looked at Sam and Derek as he went and closed the door again before turning back to Parrish. 

"Show us.", he asked Parrish.

Parrish started logging onto a computer trying to pick up an IP address while we all waited. "Okay I think I got an IP address.", Parrish said after a little while of digging.

"That means we can find him right?", the Sheriff asked and stepped forwards to look at the screen. 

"Definitely, especially if…" Parrish was cut off then the glove moved its fingers, making me back up.

"What was that?", Derek and Sam asked in unison.

"I think I found a message." Parrish announced when he looked back at the screen "Does anyone recognize the handle 'Benefactor'?"

"Money transferred.", Derek said. "What does that mean?"

"That means this guy is not just a killer, he's an assassin.", the sheriff said. 

"Great…", Sam muttered. They found out the IP address was coming from the school's Wi-Fi so they quickly rushed over there.

As they walked in, Sam immediately closed her eyes, as she sensed for another body. There was something here.

The sheriff was holding a flashlight and his gun up scanning the hallway. 

"You know just because this guy connected to the school's Wi-Fi, doesn't mean he's still here.", Derek said, dragging her along. "There is something here, though.", Sam muttered.

"True but I've seen enough of this school to keep a gun in my hand when walking in after dark.", the sheriff said.

Sam was glad she wasn't the only paranoid one.

"Like blood…" Derek and Sam looked over and the Sheriff immediately pointed his light at a pool of blood under a door. 

"That doesn't make any sense.", Derek said as the Sheriff turned around scanning the hallways. 

"Yeah no kidding.", the sheriff said. 

"No, that's not what I mean. I should have caught the scent before we walked in.", Derek cleared, walking up to the door. Derek went to open the door but the Sheriff stopped him. 

"Hold on.", he whispered. "You being nervous makes me nervous.", the Sheriff said before looking through the window on the door before slowly opening the door an inch.

Derek looked inside when he saw a wire attached to the handle. Sam caught onto his line of sight and their eyes widened. Derek and Sam looked down at the contraption that connected the wire to the handle.

Shit.

"It's an explosive. A claymore.", Derek said and turned his head. "Get down!", he yelled, grabbing the Sheriff and Sam just narrowly dodging the tomahawk that was thrown at them by the guy with no mouth. 

They started fighting, dodging the tomahawks in his hands, and the Sheriff was knocked to the ground. Derek got the upper hand, holding the assassin's arms behind his back while the Sheriff was quick to pull his gun out. 

"You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of law, you have the right to an attorney, if you can afford one–" the sheriff read his rights coming behind him with handcuffs but Derek saw Peter running at them. 

"No. Peter, no!", Derek yelled, pulling the Sheriff and Sam out of the way as Peter started attacking the assassin, completely clawing out his throat. The three were morbidly shocked as Peter dropped the mute's vocal cord. The Sheriff pointed his gun at Peter as he stood up and wiped his claws.

They all stood up and watched Peter shake his head at the Sheriff, giving him a knowing smile before walking away. "We've learned a better way.", Derek growled out at his uncle.

"I'm a creature of habit.", Peter said, nonchalantly walking out as the Sheriff lowered the gun in relief.

Sam sighed, turning away from the sight and shaking her head. "I hate him. Have I mentioned I hate him?"

Derek sighed and shook his own head. They couldn't even get an answer out of the guy. Derek took her back to his place and she set her shoes by the door before she went to sit on the couch. 

They thought they'd seen some pretty gruesome shit before but Peter was way out of line.

Derek glanced at her from where he stood. "You okay?"

"Other than nearly having my head chopped off by a psychopath with tomahawks and nearly getting killed by your equally insane uncle once again, I'm peachy.", she gave him a short smile. He sighed and sat next to her.

"You hungry?", he suddenly asked. She looked at him in disbelief. "You're gonna ask me that shit after what we just saw?"

He shrugged with wide eyes. "It's a reasonable question to ask. Did you or did you not have your necessities today?", he asked.

Sam sighed. "Derek, I don't even have an appetite. If anything, I'm tired."

He sighed again. "I'm sorry.", he apologized. Sam shrugged and slid over to lean on his arm. He moved his arm to wrap around her shoulders.

"You can't apologize for his actions. I'm just kinda glad the psychotic trait doesn't run in the family.", Sam says, making Derek's chest rumble with a chuckle.

"Yeah, well, you'd probably just kick my ass if I did end up like him.", he says. She turned to him, amused. "You think I could?"

He shrugged. "I mean, the impossible is apparently possible, so maybe you have a chance."

She lets out a chuckle, leaning back into his chest. "You're an ass.", she muttered, making him huff in amusement. "Just saying.", he responds.

They stayed like that for a moment before she got sleepy. Before she could get up to leave, he sensed her fatigue and picked her up, carrying her over to his bed.

Not bothering to argue with him, Sam laid down, watching him go to his side and lay down next to her and pulled her close. "Go to sleep.", he said, nuzzling his chin above her head. He didn't have to say more as she let her eyes shut close for the night.

The next day turned out more complicated than it needed to be.

Lydia cracked the key for the code and it turned out it was a dead pool with their names on it. These killings that had already been happening were just getting started.

Scott, Stiles and Sam were standing in the Sheriff's office showing him the list. She frowned as she looked at it. Scott, Lydia, Kira, Derek and Sam were all on the list but it didn't make any sense.

"It's a dead pool.", Scott said, snapping her out of her thoughts. "A list for supernatural creatures, this is only part of it, the rest still has to be decoded." The Sheriff sighed as he started looking down the list and she looked at it again.

Sean Walcott 250

David Walcott 250

Michael Walcott 250

Christina Walcott 250

Lydia Martin 20

Scott McCall 25

Samantha Wilson 26

Demarco Montana 250

Derek Hale 15

Carrie Hudson 500

Kayleen Bettcher 250

Kira Yukimura 3

Elias Town 250

"Who found this list?", the Sheriff asked. 

"Lydia.", Stiles replied. 

"How?", he asked, rubbing his forehead.

"She wrote it. Actually, she transcribed it without realizing it.", Stiles said and his dad nodded.

"Banshee?"

"Banshee.", Stiles nodded, happy his dad was understanding now.

"Beautiful, alright, what are these numbers next to the names?", the Sheriff asked them.

"We're getting to that. First you need to know that the code was broken with a cipher key.", Stiles explained.

"Wait, you mean like a, like a keyword?"

"It was actually a name."

"Allison.", Scott mumbled sadly and Sam rubbed his shoulder. "Her name broke a third of the list.", Stiles said softly. 

"And we think there's two other cipher keys.", Sam says.

"Which will give us the rest of the names…" The Sheriff nodded. "Okay, so how do we get the cipher keys?"

"Same way we got the code.", Stiles replied. 

"Lydia." Scott and Sam said in unison. "She's been at the lake house all weekend trying to find the other two key words.", Scott said.

"You didn't know about Demarco or Carrie?", the Sheriff asked them. Sam shook her head.

"And what about these other two names on the list, uh Kayleen Bettcher and Elias Town, they're werewolves too?"

"We actually don't know.", Sam replied looking at Scott who nodded.

"But Deaton said the Nemeton would draw supernatural creatures here.", Scott said.

"Here being Beacon Hills or Beacon County, the population of Beacon Hills is just under 30,000 citizens.", the sheriff said. 

"And dropping.", Stiles mumbled, making her frown at him.

"But if we're talking Beacon County then you're looking at close to 500,000. Look, how many werewolves, banshees, kitsunes and whatever the hell else is out there are we talking about?", Sheriff Stilinski asked. "And what happens if the next cipher key uncovers not thirteen names but a hundred?"

"We don't think there would be that many, there's a limit.", Stiles said.

"Because of the numbers, we think that once we decode the names the numbers will add up to a hundred seventeen." Scott added. 

"A hundred seventeen what?"

"Million.", Sam said, looking at the list again. Stiles grabbed a pen and the list and started writing letters next to the names. 

Sean Walcott 250 K

David Walcott 250 K

Michael Walcott 250 K

Christina Walcott 250 K

Lydia Martin 20 M

Scott McCall 25 M

Samantha Wilson 26 M

Demarco Montana 250 K

Derek Hale 15 M

Carrie Hudson 500 K

Kayleen Bettcher 250 K

Kira Yukimura 3 M

Elias Town 250 K

"One hundred and seventeen million dollars, dad.", Stiles said when he finished. 

"Which was stolen from the Hale vault.", Sam muttered. 

"And is being used by someone to finance all these murders.", Stiles added. 

"Somebody who wants every supernatural creature in Beacon Hills dead.", Scott said.

"So the coded list goes out and somehow these professional assassins get that list-"

"And the cipher key", Stiles cut his dad off. 

"And then they go after the names on the list, they being killers with no mouths, tomahawks, thermo-cut wires that can take your head off.", his dad finished. 

"Let me see this.", Stiles said looking at the photos from Carrie Hudson's murder. "Carrie was also stabbed, what's this mark?" He pointed at the mark around the stab wound on the picture. 

"We're not sure yet, we're waiting on the ME's report, there's one other thing I don't get, how did the new assassin know that Demarco was going to be at the lake house?"

"Everyone knows he delivers kegs to teenagers for a little extra cash.", Scott replied.

"Ah, so you ever ordered that keg to kill Demarco?"

"Yeah, it was someone at the party.", Stiles answered. 

"A student.", Scott said.

After figuring out the numbers, they went to school. Well, they, being Sam and Derek who hid in the locker room so he could see who Liam was.

He hadn't said a word the moment they got there.

"Are you mad at me?", Sam asked Derek, who looked at her in confusion.

"What would I need to be mad at you for?", Derek asked, leaning on a row of lockers across from her, twisting a lacrosse stick in his hand.

"I didn't tell you that Liam was there. At the hospital. Scott took him because he bit him.", Sam says and he smiled a bit.

"Like you said, it wasn't my place to know. I can't be mad at that.", he said. He looked down at the floor. "If there's anything I learned about you, it's that you're loyal. I respect that. I ad–"

He stopped as they heard Liam approaching. They glanced at each other before Derek led Sam to the sound of Liam's frustration. Derek smirked and dragged the tip of the lacrosse stick he held along the lockers which caught Liam's attention.

His blue eyes angrily stared at them.

"Is this yours?", Derek asked him, twirling the stick in his hands before snapping the pole in half and throwing the pieces at Liam's feet.

They could hear Liam's soft growls and huffs as he looked up with glowing gold eyes. Liam charged at Derek but Derek easily grabbed his neck and pinned him against the lockers as Liam started snapping his teeth at him, but stopped as they heard Scott.

"Liam.", Scott's soft voice rang out through the room. Liam gradually calmed down enough as Scott walked over to them.

"You're right, he is angry.", Derek said, amused before dropping Liam who huffed. 

"This one's yours.", Scott said holding up Liam's lacrosse stick then threw it at him. Liam turned to them still with a glare as the bell rang. "Get to class Liam.", Scott said.

Liam glared at Derek, only for him to raise his eyebrows at the boy before Liam finally left. Sam looked up as Derek started smiling and so did Scott who looked at him in confusion. "What are you smiling about?", Scott asked him.

"You're gonna be good at this.", Derek said, proudly.

"Are you kidding?", Scott scoffed. "I am totally unprepared, remember how you said you could teach me a few things? I think right now I could use a full-on training manual."

Sam chuckled, walking over to give Scott a hug.

"I'll tell you one thing. That anger he's got, it'll make him strong.", Derek replied. 

"And dangerous.", Scott added

"Very.", Derek agreed. Scott sighed and sat down.

"This was supposed to be the semester where we could focus on school again." Derek sat down beside him. "But Kate's back and now I've got a Beta and there's a dead pool."

"If all our names are on that list, then that's what we should be focusing on.", Derek said and shook his head. "Do you think Lydia can get that second key?"

"She's working on it.", Scott replied, standing up and leaving. Sam frowned as she watched him leave. He was worried. All of them were.

Derek stayed silent. "What're you thinking?", Sam asked. He looked at her in disbelief. "You're worth twenty six million dollars. You, of all people, are worth more than the rest of us."

She shrugged. "I don't even know how or why, but I guess.", she says and he shakes his head at her.

"You're not worried about this?", he asked. She sat down next to him. "Of course I'm worried. But we're all sticking together. That's my push. That's my reason for staying alive.", she says, smiling at him. "I'm sick of my friends dying on me. I'm sick of seeing you in danger, especially when I'm not there to help like I said I would.", she tells him and he frowns.

"I'm not letting it happen again.", she declared. He stares at her for a moment before sighing.

"Sam–", he gets cut off by the second class bell. "You should go to class. You're late."

"I don't care about class.", she argued with a scoff. He smiles. "You should. We'll… we'll talk later, yeah?"

She sighed and got up. "Okay."

"Wilson, you're six minutes late.", Coach said as Sam walked in and sat behind Scott. "Sorry, coach.", she says, unapologetically. Sam looked over at Stiles and saw his head down, looking at the murder photos of Carrie, making her grimace.

"Economic disparity exists in all forms," Coach started. "Well, take sports for example. Some teams have better training…"

She frowned and softly tapped at her desk. Who's doing these requests of kills….

Why were they specific people? Some of the people on the Deadpool she hadn't even heard of. She understood Derek and Scott. Lydia wasn't even on there even though she's a banshee. Why specifically them, including Kira who wasn't werewolf…?

Sam jumped out of her thoughts as Coach slammed the lacrosse stick he was holding on Stiles' desk, making him jump as well.

"You know, Stilinski," Coach bent down and picked up one of the photos to look at. "If I could grade you on how profoundly you disturb me, you'd be an A+ student."

"Thanks Coach…", Stiles replied.

"Put those pictures away.", Coach said, hitting his desk again with the lacrosse stick and pulled away but Stiles suddenly grabbed the end and pulled it towards him then pulled off the soft cap on the end of the stick.

"What the hell are you doing…?", Sam whispered.

"Stilinski." Stiles started looking back and forth between the photos and the end of the stick.

"What the hell is wrong with you?", Coach exclaimed in confusion as Stiles was still holding the lacrosse stick before he finally yanked it out of the boy's hand. "Don't answer that.", Coach said before walking away. 

Scott and Sam both looked at him confused but the look on Stiles' face made them frown in worry.

"It's a lacrosse player.", Stiles said. 

"The killer's on the team.", Scott said in realization.

After class, they all went into the locker room and gathered everyone's lacrosse sticks and checked every single one, pulling the soft caps off looking for one with a blade in it.

It was kinda stupid, considering if the killer was smart, he wouldn't leave the stick lying around.

"Maybe instead of trying to find a lacrosse stick with a hidden dagger in it, we should be trying to get the game cancelled.", Kira suggested.

"The game is the best way to catch him red-handed.", Scott replied. 

"But what if he's red-handed 'cause his hands are covered in the blood of the person that he just stabbed to death.", Stiles said. "Which, by the way could be either of you guys.", he said pointing at Scott, Kira and Sam.

"Or Liam.", Scott said. "Well, we don't have the whole list and he could be on it."

"We don't know anything about the list. How it's made, or how it's updated.", Sam says. 

"Exactly. Who's been out taking a supernatural census anyway?", Stiles asked.

"How do they even know about me?", Kira asked. "Exactly.", Sam says. It was ridiculous. 

"They know about everyone.", Scott replied. 

"Alright I think Kira's right, I think we should stop the game.", Stiles said. "I'm not afraid.", Scott said as he looked at Kira. "Neither am I.", she agreed. 

"Well I'm terrified and I'm not even on the list.", Stiles exclaimed. "Guys, these are professional killers! It's their profession. One of them's got a thermo-cut wire that cuts heads off, who knows what else they have?"

"I kinda agree with Stiles.", Sam says, making Stiles do a little fist pump.

After our discussion, Sam met up with Malia and Lydia.

Sam had asked her if she figured out the key to the code but that was a bust. They told her they had tried going to talk to Meredith Walker.

"Eichen House says Meredith can't have visitors without permission from a family member.", Lydia said as they walked down the hall. 

"That's not going to be easy since her whole family is dead.", Malia said.

"Welp.", Sam says. This was definitely a bust.

"Okay, maybe we can go back to the art room or music room?", Malia suggested looking at Lydia.

"I'm not plucking piano strings for two hours waiting for some supernatural inspiration.", Lydia argued. 

"Fine, what else do banshees do?", Malia asked her.

"You think I know?", Lydia asked, incredulously. "I can't just turn this on. I'm not like you guys, I don't have claws or glowing eyes or super senses, I just have voices in my head." Lydia went on to explain and they noticed a few students had stopped and stared as Lydia walked away down the hallway. 

Now, she definitely looked like a nut job.

Sam left Malia to follow Lydia and ran into Scott and Stiles who was watching Liam talk amongst a few Davenport Prep lacrosse players who had showed up for the upcoming game.

"I just wanted to say…have a good game." She heard Liam say as he held out his hand towards a kid he called Brett, who just laughed. 

"That's cute Liam, is that what they told you to say in Anger Management?" She frowned.

"Apologize and everything's fine? You demolished Coach's car.", Brett said. 

"I paid for it.", Liam replied. She could tell this was gonna get bad. She stepped up in front of the boys as they looked at her in confusion.

"Yeah you're going to pay for it.", Brett said. "We're gonna break you in half out there and it's gonna be all your fault."

Sam glanced at Liam's balled fists as droplets of blood dripping between his fingers and she rushed to him, Scott and Stiles following in suit. Scott and Sam pulled Liam back as Stiles talked to Brett. Sam rubbed Liam's back as he continued huffing.

"Hey, what's going on prep students? Welcome to our little public high school, how you doing?", Stiles introduced, holding out his hand to Brett. "Stiles." Brett didn't return the hospitality.

"That's a firm handshake you got there, uh were very excited for scrimmage tonight, uh but let's keep it clean all right, no rough stuff out there, alright see you on the field." Stiles turned, pushing his friends toward the school. "Go."

They quickly pulled Liam away and into the boys locker room, getting him underneath the showerhead as he started changing and growling at them so they turned on the tap on with freezing water while Scott and Sam held him underneath it.

"Okay, you calm yet?", Stiles asked him but he roared at them. His fangs stuck out threateningly so they pushed him back under.

"Okay, okay!", Liam said, panting as they let him go. Stiles turned off the water while Liam leaned against the shower wall before sliding down to sit on the wet floor.

"That car you smashed, I thought you said it was your teachers?", Scott asked him. 

"He was also my Coach, he benched me for the entire season."

"What did you do?", Sam asked him.

"I got a couple red cards.", Liam replied, shamefully. 

"Just a couple?", Stiles asked but Liam didn't answer so Scott crouched down to his height. 

"You gotta be honest with us, what else happened?"

"Nothing.", Liam said. "I got kicked out of school, they sent me to a psychologist for evaluation."

"What did they call it?", Scott asked him. 

"Intermittent Explosive Disorder", Liam replied. Sam's eyebrows raised at the information. It kinda made sense as to why he was cocky. He wasn't cocky, he was proud of himself.

"I.E.D, you're literally an I.E.D. That's great, that's – Scott, you gave superpowers to a walking time bomb.", Stiles says, sarcastically giving Scott a thumbs up. 

"Stiles, stop it.", Sam scolded.

"Did they give you anything for it?", Scott asked Liam.

"Risperdal, it's an antipsychotic.", Liam informed.

"Oh this just gets better."

"Stiles.", Sam hissed. 

"But I don't take it.", Liam said. 

"Obviously.", Stiles replied with a smile. Sam slapped his arm. "Okay, okay.", he said.

"I can't play lacrosse on it, it makes me too tired.", Liam told us.

"Okay, I think you should bail out of the game, tell Coach your leg is still hurting.", Scott replied. Liam's eyes got wide as he stood. "No, no! I can do this, especially if you're there."

"But Liam, it's not just about the game.", Scott quickly glanced at Sam and Stiles. "We think whoever killed Demarco might be on our team."

"Who's Demarco?", Liam asked in confusion.

"The one who brought the beer to the party, the guy who was beheaded, remember?", Stiles replied.

"We think the person who ordered the keg killed Demarco.", Scott said and Liam looked down.

"What's the matter? Do you know something?", Sam asked. 

"I don't know who ordered the keg…but I know who paid for it.", he said. 

"Who?", Sam asked him. 

"Garret, he's a freshman.", Liam told them. Stiles, Scott and Sam shared a look. 

#teen wolf derek hale #derek hale x oc #derek hale x reader #derek hale imagine #derek hale #derek hale headcanon #derek hale x plus size reader #derek hale x black reader #x black reader #black reader #plus size reader #plus size girl #liam dunbar #teen wolf stiles #stiles #stiles stilinski #black writers

[rafesfavgirl]

treat you better — j. maybank

❝ tell me, why are we wasting time on all your wasted crying when you should be with me instead? i know i can treat you better ❞

pairing: best friend!jj x cheater!reader

context: once again, you went through your boyfriend's phone and found things you didn't wanna find. but for some reason, you can't seem to build up the courage to finally end things with him (he was your first love, after all). so, you turn to your best friend, jj, for advice and comfort.

words: 1.4k+

warnings: reader's in a toxic relationship, mild cheating (physical & emotional, but i don't condone it!!), a little angst, fluff

you sat at the edge of the pier at the chateau, your eyes focused on the way the moon reflected off the marsh. you had just snuck out of your boyfriend's house after he fell asleep and you looked through his phone.

adriana. kelly. paige. maya. lauryn. the number of girls' names you found in his insta dms and messages went on and on.

why did you put up with this? i mean, sure, he was your first… everything, but was he really worth it?

"y/n?" you hear a familiar voice call out your name and turn your head to find jj walking down the dock to join you. "what are you doing out here?"

"just needed some time to think," you said, looking back out towards the marsh.

jj lets out a sigh, already having an inkling of what must be bothering you, and takes a seat beside you. "let me guess… liam again?"

"i just don't understand why it can't just be me," you shrug, a thousand things running through your head. most of the time, liam told you the girls were just his "friends". but deep down, you always wondered whether or not he took it any further with any of them. and that thought, alone, made you sick to your stomach.

"i mean, am i doing something wrong?" you turn your head to look jj, only to find that he was already looking at you, a certain kind of sadness filling his baby blues. he hated that you even thought you were the one in the wrong.

"it's not you, y/n. whatever he's doing, it's on him," he tells you. "stop putting up with it."

"but i love him, j," you admit, your voice cracking a little. you knew that you shouldn't. he was a scum bag. nothing but a cheater. but he was also the guy who made you feel like the most special girl in the world. the one you'd completely laid yourself bare to. "what am i suppose to do about that?"

the defeated look in your eyes broke his heart. but instead of listing off different ways you could deal with liam, jj decides to be a friend, and opens his arms up to you, "come here."

for the first time all night, you let yourself break, and immediately fall into his arms.

"i just don't get it," you sobbed into jj's chest, as he ran a hand through your hair and rested his head on top of yours,

in an attempt to soothe you. "i've done everything, j." you continued. "everything he needs from me, i do. everything he wants me to be, i try to be. so why can't he just let the other girls go? why can't i just be the one?"

hearing you cry about this guy was not only breaking jj's heart, but also making his blood boil. liam didn't deserve you, he knew that much.

after a few minutes in silence of jj just running his hands through your hair and pepperring soft kisses on your head, you finally pull away from him, looking like a complete mess.

there were now black stains under your eyes from crying some of your mascara off, and pieces of your hair stuck to your tear-stained cheeks, as you sniffled.

"i'm sorry," you said, attempting to rub off the mascara stains also leftover on jj's shirt. "your shirt's all stained with tears and mascara now."

"i don't give a shit about my shirt, y/n," he tells you, bringing a hand up to tuck your messy hair behind your ear. "are you okay?"

you sighed, the tears threatening to well up in your eyes again. ugh. after hearing yourself going on about the way you've felt about liam treating you, you were beginning to wonder whether or not it was really love you were feeling for him or not.

but if it wasn't love, why did you still feel like crying?

"i don't even know anymore," you say honestly, shaking your head and running your fingers through your hair. "i mean, how do you even go about loving someone who's hurt you so much?"

"you don't," jj tells you.

"you don't think i love him?" i asked. i wasn't sure why i was asking jj, but i also knew that he knew me better than anyone. maybe even better than liam. so if there was anyone who could tell whether or not i was in love… it'd be him, right?

"i can't tell you how you feel, y/n," he says.

"i'm not asking you to," i reply. "i just wanna know what you think."

he sighs, and shifts his eyes between yours. he knew exactly what he wanted to say, but he wasn't sure it was his place to do so—more so, he wasn't sure you'd like his take.

"promise you won't get mad?"

you chuckle, feeling uneasy now. "why would i get mad?"

"i think you're scared," he says, causing you to furrow your brows.

you scoff, thinking he sounds ridiculous. "scared? why would i be scared?"

"because he's your first," he shrugs. "i mean, he was your first, right?"

"so? what does that have to do with anything?" you ask, knowing damn well the information was relevant.

"i know you, y/n," he says, locking his eyes with mine. "you're a hopeless romantic who has your head buried in those romance books all the time because that's what you want. you want your first to be the one. and you're a perfectionist. you can't stand the idea of putting your all into one person only for them to not be worth it… so all this time… that's what you've tried to do."

you stay quiet. jj was actually making sense.

"i'm not saying you didn't love him," he continues. "i think you really did, but the love you felt before isn't what you're feeling now. i think it's just indifference. you don't want to believe that you've actually lost feelings for someone you've fought so hard for, so you try to convince yourself those feelings are still there. because that way… at least you won't be the bad guy."

your mouth had fallen agape, as you realized that jj was right. "wow."

"but you're not the bad guy anyway," he assures you, placing a hand on top of yours. "you've done all you can. what he does isn't your fault. your only fault would be staying."

"but what if he's fucked me up so bad that i've become unlovable?" you ask, voicing your real fear. truth was, you weren't always the best girlfriend. since liam made you feel so insecure about his feelings towards you all the time, it made you act out in ways you never thought you would. you'd call him incessantly when he wouldn't answer. you'd demand he cut certain girls off. ask for his location at all times. he saw the absolute worst of you. and yet, he stayed. what if no one else did?

"is that really what you think?" jj asks.

"i wasn't always the perfect girlfriend, j," i admit, glancing down and fiddling with his fingers on top of mine. "i was insecure all the time. i constantly-"

"because he made you feel that way," jj cuts you off, and picks your head up with his hands to make you look at him. "don't you get it, y/n? whatever you did, it was because of him. anyone made to feel insecure would act out. that's not your fault. you're just…" his eyes shift between yours. "human."

"but what if-"

"but nothing," he shook his head. "you are the absolute perfect version of yourself, y/n. and liam's an idiot for not realizing that. it doesn't get better than you."

without even thinking and being overwhelmed by the sweetness of jj's words, you lean in to kiss him.

he doesn't even hesitate to kiss you back, his hands on your face immediately tangling into your hair. 

your hands make their way to back of his head, the kiss deepening as they do.

your tongues dance together in perfect harmony, until you abruptly pull away.

"wait, wait, wait," you say, and he looks at you, a mix of confusion and sadness at the lost of touch present on his face. "this feels wrong."

he glances down, "oh."

"no, not like that. i mean-" you take a deep breath to get your words together, while jj just looks at you. "the kiss was great. amazing, even. it's just… i'm still technically liam's girlfriend."

his eyes light up at the compliment about the kiss, before he chuckles, "shit."

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[pasukiyo]

Hey, ignore if u arent still doing requests but I've had this storyline in my head for ages and I think ur a perfect writer for tom. Basically, the reader is a muggleborn but she attends Hogwarts and it's like half term where they are all home for a break. Shes either avery or lestranges adopted sibling and it's kinda been kept a secret from tom because.. well yknow shes a muggleborn lol(he knows about her now because her adoptive brother had to explain before bringing Tom over) anyways so hes at every or lestranges house for some reason (you make it up) and shes in her room, her adoptive brother needs something so he asks tom to get it from her desk in her room and they preferably have 🌶 time. Sorry if it sounds stupid but I've been thinking about this for ages!!😭

𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | tom riddle

tom riddle x f!reader 8,104 words warnings: smut. sort of angst. also lots of prejudice against muggle-borns. read part two here. notes: reader is hufflepuff and muggle-born in this one. summary: every year, the lestranges will hold a christmas party for only the oldest of pure-blood wizarding families. every year you are locked in your room while the party rages downstairs, but everything will change when tom riddle is invited to this year’s party. everything…

 The Lestrange name definitely held some irony, considering how strange the family truly was. The Mother sent an owl at lunch, the rolled parchment dropping onto the plate in front of Tiernan Lestrange. On either side of him sat Clarence Avery and Liam Mulciber, who gazed down at the rolled parchment sealed with the Lestrange family crest with sparkling irises. 

 “Is it for the party, Lestrange?” Avery asked as Lestrange took another bite of his sandwich, dusting his hands off before finally taking a hold of the parchment, untying the ribbon keeping it closed. “More than likely,” he replied as the parchment unraveled, his mother’s handwriting gazing back up at him in inky black cursive letters. 

 ‘To my dearest son,

 Tell your friends they’re more than welcome to join us on Christmas Eve for the party. Invite that Head Boy you were writing to me about too. I am most interested to meet him, since you speak so highly of him. Remind the Girl that she is to not speak of the party, I simply cannot have any more of her kind in the house. I will see you at King’s Cross Station, my darling. 

 With all my love, your mother.’

 Of course, the Girl referred to the Hufflepuff sitting all the way across the Great Hall at her own House’s table, her head down as she ate, so as to not catch the attention of her brother or any of his friends. She didn’t choose this family— and if it were her choice, she’d be far away from them— and neither did they. 

 It was the fault of whomever it was who dropped her onto the Lestranges’ doorstep in the wee hours of the morning when she was only an infant. The Mother had given birth to her son only a few months before, and found the crying baby on her doorstep to be quite a burden. 

 She asked herself why the Mother and the Father even bothered keeping her, for even before they learned of her blood status, they hated her. Perhaps it was to uphold their reputation— taking in a child who wasn’t theirs? It was the perfect foundation for the story of a kind-hearted pure-blood family— how could the Lestranges let that opportunity go?

 Of course, behind closed doors, she was treated less than a family member, some would argue far less than a house elf. She may as well have been a house elf if you ask her. She was treated like how they believed anyone of her kind should be treated— a mudblood deserved to be treated like the rubbish they are, they’d say. 

 Up until she got her Hogwarts letter, she believed them. She believed she deserved to be treated this way, that she deserved to be put through the torture that came with living with the Lestranges. She believed she had filthy blood, demon blood. 

 But all of that changed the second she first stepped foot into Hogwarts. Of course, the Lestranges were at first very against letting her attend Hogwarts— mudbloods shouldn’t be taught magic, they’d say— but even they could only take so many letters flying through the fireplace or popping up in the stew before they gave in. Of course, she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone of her blood status— “you are not to tell anyone of your filthy blood status,” the Father had told her with an accusatory finger in her face. “As far as anyone is concerned, you are pure-blood. So I expect you to act like it.” 

 Her school robes and supplies were not as grand as Tiernan’s, and she wasn’t allowed an owl or a cat or a toad. But she told herself that she would make do with what she had, and she felt at least a little bit grateful that the Lestranges didn’t give her tattered secondhand, even third-hand clothes, even if she knew it was all for the act. 

 When the Lestranges found out she had been sorted into Hufflepuff however, oh, it gave them all the more reason to ridicule and torture her back at home. “Of course the mudblood is in the weakest House,” the Mother would mutter beneath her breath as she and her husband read the letter their son had written. “We were fools to think that old ratty hat would sort her into Slytherin.”

 Tiernan and his friends— they made certain that her life at Hogwarts was just as bad as her life at home. Of course, Tiernan was the only one who knew the truth about her blood, Avery, Mulciber, and the others just tagged along because they found it funny. They loved calling her names, making her trip in the hallways, pulling pranks such as jinxing her school books so that they may not open no matter how hard she tried. 

 And still, she didn’t dare stand her ground, for she knew all too well that the Mother and the Father would catch wind of it, and make certain that she’d be on the first train back to King’s Cross Station. So instead, she dealt with Tiernan and his friends, just like she learned to deal with everything else. 

 But Tom… Tom Riddle was different. 

 Tiernan Lestrange and his friends worshiped the ground Tom Riddle walked on, and it was no secret. She remembered when she first saw Tom, all the way back in the Sorting Ceremony in her first year at Hogwarts. She remembered hearing his name ‘Riddle, Tom’ being called and she remembered watching as he approached the platform, settling himself down onto the stool. 

 She remembered the way their eyes met and she swore her knees turned into jelly when she gazed into those dark ravines he had for irises. And she remembered when the Sorting Hat exclaimed “Slytherin!” hardly before it had even touched a hair on his head. 

 And she remembered how disappointed she felt when she was called up to be sorted, the Sorting Hat put her into Hufflepuff. She wanted to be a Slytherin— she wanted to be wherever Tom Riddle was. 

 In all her time at Hogwarts, she’d never even spoken a word to Tom Riddle. They’d pass each other in the halls, but thanks to her brother, she’d never been given the chance to even tell him hello. And Tiernan made it clear that she never would. 

 So life went on, and she got older. She hoped that over time, she’d forget about Tom. But it was hard when he was made prefect, and when he was given the Special Award for Services to the School, and when he was made Head Boy at the beginning of their seventh and final year. 

 She remembered her fifth year during all the attacks on muggle-borns vividly as if it were only yesterday. She remembered how frightened she was when she realized it was muggle-borns whatever it was was attacking. She remembered the panic she felt when Hogwarts was on the brink of being closed— she couldn’t have that! She belonged at Hogwarts, not out there with the Lestranges where she was treated like vermin. 

 At least here, she could pretend to be someone she was not. 

 Of course Tiernan was no help, always taunting her and teasing her that she’d be next. She remembered when she heard that it was Rubeus Hagrid who had freed the muggle-born killing beast, how although she felt that it could not be Hagrid, she felt a sense of relief when he was expelled, when all the attacks had stopped. 

 And of course it was Tom Riddle who caught him. And of course it just made her admire him more and more. 

 But she would keep her distance. She’d admire him from afar. She couldn’t begin to imagine the torment Tiernan would put her through if he found out she liked Tom Riddle. 

 “Yes! Looks like we’re invited, Mulciber,” Avery exclaimed, pumping his fist. Tiernan rolled his eyes at his friends, “you’re invited every year,” he replied, just as Tom entered the Great Hall, and they fell into silence as he approached. 

 She could see Tom over the tops of the heads of the Hufflepuffs in front of her, and she slowly sat up to get a better look. That was when Tom blinked up and she swore their eyes met, just for a moment, before he settled down into his seat, disappearing behind the heads of the other Hogwarts students. She felt herself flush as she hunched over her plate again, a small smile creeping onto her face. 

 “My Lord,” Tiernan Lestrange nodded as Tom settled himself between him and Liam Mulciber. Tom nodded in acknowledgement as he placed a few pieces of chicken onto his plate, and Tiernan’s gaze flickered from him to the rolled parchment in his lap. “My mother sent an owl,” he said, and Tom hummed in reply, nodding. Still, he said nothing. 

 Tiernan shifted in his seat and cleared his throat, and Tom, with his eyes slightly narrower than before, peered up at him, waiting for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say. Tiernan turned pink beneath Tom’s stare, and he presented the letter to him, Tom’s dark eyes flicking down to the inky black words on the scroll. 

 “My family, we… we hold a Christmas party every year,” he said, and when Tom glanced back up at him, he flushed again. “And you would’ve been invited! But it’s only for the oldest pure-blood families, and, well…” Tiernan trailed off when he saw the shadow looming over Tom’s already dark gaze, and Mulciber and Avery shifted in their seats uncomfortably. 

 Tiernan cleared his throat again, “but I’ve been speaking very highly of you to my mother. She wants you to come,” he said, his lips curving into a smile. Tom pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he stared back up at Lestrange, handing back the parchment. “Yes, I know. I can read, Tiernan,” Tom said sternly, and Tiernan clawed at his knees to prevent himself from trembling. 

 “Yes… well…” Lestrange said shakily as he rolled back up the parchment, slipping it inside one of his pockets. “…I’d really love it if you come. We’ll all be there— me, Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, Dolohov, Nott— and our families too, so you can meet them all!”

 Tom took a bite out of one of the chicken wings on his plate, placing it back down before wringing a napkin between his hands, gesturing towards Lestrange’s robes with his head. “Who is your mother referring to when she speaks of ‘the Girl?’” He asked, and heat crept back into Tiernan’s cheeks until they glowed scarlet. “Oh, you know… my sister…” he muttered, and Tom’s brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t she refer to her daughter by name?” Tom questioned, turning his body to fully face Tiernan, his interest piqued. “What does she mean by she ‘cannot have any more of her kind in the house?’”

 The other boys leaned in to hear what Tiernan would say next, and he knew now that there was no way to get out of this. He’d have to tell the truth not only to his friends, but to his Lord. 

 “Forgive me, my Lord, for asking this of you,” Tiernan hung his head and muttered lowly towards Tom. “But I must ask that you promise you won’t tell another soul about this. This goes for all of you, too,” he said towards Tom and the rest of their group. Lestrange gazed into each of their eyes and held contact for a moment with each, to make it known that he was serious. 

 Tom shrugged, “I promise.”

 Tiernan inhaled a shaky breath, before finally saying, “she… as you know, is not my sister,” he began. “And she’s not pure-blood, either. She’s a mudblood.”

 Mulciber, Avery, and the others all leaned closer and broke into a sea of murmurs, “that sure explains a lot. But a mudblood? In the Lestrange family?” Tom remained silent as he stared at Lestrange, beckoning for him to continue. “Her filthy muggle parents left her on our doorstep after she was born. My mother and father took her in purely out of the goodness of their hearts,” Tiernan sat up and stuck out his chest proudly. “And they kept her, even when they learned where she came from. So you see now why she never comes to the party. Mother always tells guests she’s never home for the party anyways.”

 The boys all laughed and ridiculed her while Tom, again, remained silent, staring absentmindedly down at his plate. He wasn’t sure what to think, how to feel. All this time he’d spent watching her, only catching glimpses of her from afar when he felt a gaze on him, watching as she turned away whenever she saw him with Tiernan and the others. 

 All this time he secretly lusted after her, the outcast of her family, the black sheep of the family. All this time he felt some sort of connection to her, all this time he felt he could relate to her because he, too, felt like an outcast. The outcast of the orphanage he grew up in, the outcast of the Gaunt family, the outcast of his muggle father’s family. 

 Tom Riddle never belonged anywhere, but he belonged here, at Hogwarts. And he knew she felt the same. 

 But would things change now that he knew she was muggle-born? Should he feel disgusted with himself now for ever thinking of pursuing her, for ever thinking of taking her in whichever way he pleased? Was it wrong of him to still lust for her, to still think of having his way with her? 

 Tom was clever but this, this he wasn’t sure of. 

 “So where has she been hiding during the parties?” Liam Mulciber asked, and Tiernan Lestrange snickered. “Mother and father force her up into her room. Says they’ll punish her accordingly if they hear even the smallest of noises coming from her room,” he replied, the boys erupting into another fit of snickers. Tom was still silent as he stared at his plate— he suddenly didn’t feel like eating. 

 The next day, she and a group of other Hogwarts students waiting to go home for the holidays gathered at Hogsmeade station, waiting for the arrival of the train. She snuck glances over to where Tiernan and his friends stood together, Tom in the middle of them all. She flushed and turned away when his head began to turn, and she moved to hide herself behind a few of her fellow Hufflepuffs, safe away from Tom Riddle’s view. 

 The train’s whistle echoed as the train emerged, slowing down to a stop before them. She dared gaze back over to where Tiernan stood with his friends as she waited for the doors to open, and when she did, Tom was no longer looking her way. She let herself stare for a little moment longer before she felt someone tap her shoulder, and blinked at the Hufflepuff girl in front of her with brown skin and shoulder length black hair she recognized as Clara Wingrave. 

 “Are you coming?” Clara asked, a furrow in her brow. She blinked and nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat back down. “Yes, sorry Clara,” she mumbled as she followed the Hufflepuff girl onto the train, sliding into the seat opposite the one Clara chose. She sighed as she settled herself into the seat just as footsteps thundered through the train, and she hardly had any time to register what was happening before their compartment door slid open, revealing none other than Tiernan Lestrange, Clarence Avery, and Liam Mulciber, Tom and the other three boys nowhere in sight. 

 Clara narrowed her eyes at their intruders, “hey, go find your own—“

 “Shut it,” Mulciber hissed towards her. “No one allowed you to speak.”

 Clara’s glare hardened as Tiernan leaned down to block his adopted sister’s view, his lips curving into a cheshire grin. Her hands balled into fists, and she suddenly felt the strongest urge to slam them right into that crooked smile of his. 

 “Mother sent the owl this afternoon,” Tiernan muttered, and he needn’t elaborate, for she was already used to the rules she was forced to follow every year during the annual Lestrange Christmas party. “Oh yeah? And let me guess…  I’m not to speak of the party, I’m not to attend the party, I’m to stay up in my room and if I make even the smallest of noises, I’ll be punished accordingly? Is that all?” She asked quietly, so that the girl across from her could not hear. 

 Tiernan scowled and grabbed for her throat, much to Clara’s shock as she shrieked, giving her a firm shake. She pressed her lips closed and gazed into Tiernan’s dark umber eyes as they gleamed with mischief. “You dare give me attitude?” He tsked. “You just wait. I’ll tell mother and father about this and—“

 “—Tiernan? Won’t you leave her alone for Merlin’s sake, the train is about to leave.”

 She along with Clara, Tiernan, and his friends snapped their heads to the open compartment door where the Head Boy now stood, a furrow in his brow. He narrowed his eyes every so slightly, and he looked irritated. She flushed when she saw him and turned away as Tiernan released her, dusting off his clothes. She glimpsed up at him as he turned to leave, not without making sure to flash a dirty look her way over his shoulder before he slid the compartment door closed behind him. 

 “What the hell was that about?” Clara gasped and shook her head in disbelief. “I know it is common for siblings to fight, but that was just absurd.”

 She shook her head as she shifted in her seat, gazing out the window as the train began to move, and Hogsmeade station grew further and further away until it disappeared altogether. 

 “He’s not my brother.”

 The train ride back to King’s Cross Station seemed to go by quicker than usual, much to her dismay. She wished she could stay on the train forever rather than have to go back to living with the Lestranges, and wished that she had an invisibility cloak so that she could hide and be on her way back to Hogwarts within the hour. 

 But, since she didn’t, she sighed as she collected her bag with her few belongings and exited her compartment, stepping out of the train and onto Platform 9¾, where her eyes immediately fell upon the Mother and the Father where they stood, eyes narrowed when they fell upon their muggle-born adopted daughter. She huffed as she made her way over to them, standing beside the Mother with a considerable amount of distance between them. 

 “Where is my son?” The Mother asked through gritted teeth, and she shrugged her shoulders. “He and his friends should be getting off soon,” she replied, not daring to turn to look at the Mother. Sure enough, almost as soon as she finished saying it, there stepped out Tiernan and his friends, Tom Riddle close behind. The other boys left to greet their own parents, but Tiernan and Tom made their way over to where she stood beside the Lestranges, and she flushed. 

 Why was Tom coming over here?

 “Tiernan,” the Mother smiled, drawing her son into her chest for a hug. “And you must be… Tom, is that right? Hogwarts’ Head Boy?”

 She glanced over to where Tom stood, a charming smile plastered his face and she could feel heat creep back up her neck. She turned away from him before he could catch her staring.

 “It is nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Lestrange,” Tom greeted them, shaking Mr Lestrange’s hand and giving the top of Mrs Lestrange’s a polite kiss. “Oh!” Mrs Lestrange giggled. “I like this one. The manners!”

 Tom flashed his best smile but snuck a glimpse over to where the Lestranges adopted daughter stood, her arms crossed over herself as she looked anywhere but at him. He eyed her up and down just as Mrs Lestrange clutched either of his forearms, and he was forced to tear his attention away from the girl behind her.

 “Tiernan here tells me you’re from the orphanage?” Mrs Lestrange asked and Tiernan felt like shriveling away beside Tom. Tom only nodded in reply to which Mrs Lestrange tutted, “how about this? You’re welcome to come and stay with us for the holidays. We’d be delighted to have you.”

 She froze at this and her lips fell agape with the intent to protest, but nothing came out. She knew nothing she said would matter anyways, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle being around Tom for the entirety of the holidays. She’d been comfortable leaving him at a safe distance away from her at school, but now she’d have to deal with seeing him at the Lestranges? She simply wouldn’t be able to trust herself being around him for so long. 

 “Thank you for your hospitality,” Tom beamed as Mrs Lestrange fussed over him, leading him away from the platform, and she, the Father, and Tiernan followed close behind. Tiernan made a point of ramming his shoulder into her every once in a while, and it took everything within her to control herself, to not shout or push him away. The Father saw this was happening but did nothing to stop it. 

 It wasn’t longer before they finally entered the Leaky Cauldron and made their way to the fireplace, and they each grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. The Father went first, then Mrs Lestrange, and Tiernan before it was down to her and Tom. It occurred to her that this was the first time they had ever been alone together, and she forced herself to look away as he stepped into the fireplace. 

 Tom was no stranger to her shy nature. He tilted his head to try and get a better look at her, watching as she peeked over at him only to find he was staring, and looked away again. He smiled, exclaimed “Lestrange Manor!” and he was gone, leaving her alone. 

 Soon, she too was back in the Lestrange Manor, and she nearly ran into Tom where he stood just before the fireplace. Her palms instinctively fell onto his back to find her balance, and oh, how she felt she’d explode where she stood. 

 It was the first time she had ever touched Tom, and she truly did not expect him to be so warm. Tom glanced back over his shoulder when he felt her hands on him and swiftly stepped out of her way, feeling her touch lingering on his back where she had touched him. Something ignited within him at that touch, and every doubt he had about still wanting to pursue her seemed to fray away. 

 He wanted her. 

 “Welcome to our home!” The Mother exclaimed with a smile as she dusted off the shoulder of Tom’s coat where some ash had fallen, letting her palms soothe back down all the way to his elbows. “Tiernan will show you where you will be staying. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

 She began to follow Tiernan and Tom as they headed for the staircase leading to the next level, but just before she could, the Mother grabbed her by the elbow and tugged her backwards to face her and the Father. She scowled down at her adopted daughter as soon as she made certain Tom was out of sight and leaned down until they were eye level. 

 “Listen to me, girl, and listen to me good,” the Mother said lowly. “You are to be on your best behavior while we have a guest in the home. You are to stay up in your room for the holidays except for meals, do you understand me, girl?”

 She blinked— normally, she’d hate the fact that she had to stay up in her room all hours of the day, but instead, she felt relief surge through her. At least she wouldn’t have to see Tom, at least she wouldn’t make a fool out of herself in front of him. 

 “Yes, Madam Lestrange,” she said as the Mother released her elbow, and the Father stepped forward, leaning down to eye level.

 “And you mustn’t leave your room under any circumstances during the party tomorrow evening,” he muttered. “If I hear even the smallest of sounds coming from your bedroom, I will punish accordingly and do understand, I will not show mercy.”

 She heard this rule every year, but still to this day, the way the Father threatened her sent chills down her spine. “Yes, Mr Lestrange,” she nodded and when the Father waved her off, she walked as fast as she could towards the stairs, practically sprinting up the steps and down the hallway until she finally reached her bedroom. 

 Tom and the rest of the Lestranges were already in the dining room when she finally bounded down the steps, and he could tell Mr and Mrs Lestrange were using all the self restraint they had within them to not blow up at her, most likely for his sake. He watched as she sat down across the table from where he and Tiernan sat, carefully only placing a small selection of food onto her plate. 

 He glanced back over to where Mr Lestrange sat on one end of the long dining table before looking over at Mrs Lestrange on the other end. Neither paid her any attention, or showed any intention of speaking to her. She didn’t seem to want to talk either. 

 “So, Tom, Tiernan tells me you’re exceptional at Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Mr Lestrange said, shaking Tom from his thoughts. He forced a small smile as he nodded, wiping his hands on his napkin. “Yes, actually, I wish to become Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher one day.”

 She listened as she finished her dinner as quickly as she could, but she didn’t stick around to hear the rest of Tom’s story. She gazed over at the Mother who only nodded that she may be excused before she gathered her plate and hurried off to the kitchen where the Lestranges house elf cleaned. 

 “Thank you for the food, Gimbel,” she nodded at the house elf who only nodded back as she set her dirty plate on the pile of unclean dishes the house elf had stacked on the countertop. She hurried back upstairs where she shut herself in her room, sighing as she fell onto her mattress. 

 All she had left to endure was breakfast tomorrow morning, and she’d be free of seeing Tom for the rest of the day. She rested her arm over her eyes, her heart beating against her chest. She couldn’t believe the boy she’s been pining after since her first year is in her house, staying in only a few rooms down from hers. How she wished she could talk to him, to treat him like a guest rather than act like he wasn’t even there at all. 

 She even, for a moment, wished she was a true member of the Lestrange family, so that she could be treated as an equal. 

 Tom hardly saw her for breakfast the next morning, for as soon as he and Tiernan had entered the dining room, she was seemingly finished with her food, and once again scurried off towards the kitchen as she did the night before. Tiernan scoffed when he saw this as they took their seats on one side of the long dining table, loading their plates with biscuits and bacon and eggs. 

 “I apologize for her… strange behavior, my Lord,” Tiernan muttered to home as Tom took a sip of milk. “She’s always like this, you see.” Tom didn’t care to listen to whatever else Tiernan had to say about his adopted sister. Tom had already made up his mind about her, it was how he’d find the chance to talk to her that was the problem. 

 She seemed to avoid him like the plague, and he knew he more than likely wouldn’t be seeing her at all the rest of the day, since the Lestranges locked her in her room while they hosted their party. Tom was clever, so surely he’d be able to find a way around it?

 But as the time for the party to begin approached, he still came up with nothing. He had no excuse for wanting to see her, and with Tiernan practically breathing down his neck, he hadn’t any chance of sneaking away any time soon. He wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to see her at all when the party began and Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, Dolohov, and Nott all came rushing towards him and Lestrange. He had no space absolutely no space and no time to sneak away. 

 “Don’t worry,” Lestrange was saying to his friends. “The mudblood is upstairs in her bedroom. Won’t be coming out at all tonight, that one.” The boys snickered as they called her names and made jokes about her, but Tom wasn’t listening. Even though it seemed as if all hope of seeing her tonight was lost, he was still thinking of every possible excuse he could come up with to sneak away. 

 But fortunately, he wouldn’t have to contemplate for much longer. 

 “Blast,” Lestrange cursed, feeling around his pockets. Clarence Avery furrowed his eyebrows as he watched his friend, the others soon joining in. “What is it?” Liam Mulciber asked as Lestrange emptied each of his pockets, coming up with nothing. “Left my damn wand in my room,” Lestrange muttered, and Tom perked at this. Lestrange turned to Tom and stepped closer to murmur close to his ear, “forgive me for asking you of this, my Lord, but I simply do not trust the others. Will you go upstairs and retrieve my wand for me? I can’t go upstairs, mother and father said I need to stay down here.”

 If Tom was the type, he’d laugh and jump up and down at the request. All day he had been trying to come up with some sort of excuse to slip away from the party, and now he finally had one. He cleared his throat and nodded, “of course,” he said to Lestrange before making his way over towards the staircase, but he did not stop at Tiernan’s bedroom door as he passed. 

 Instead, he walked a little further down the Lestranges upstairs hallway, stopping at the last door on the left where she was, the black wooden door the only thing separating him from her now. Tom raised a fist to the door and knocked, and for a moment, it was silent on the other side. 

 Who could possibly be knocking at her door?

 She knew it could not be any of the Lestranges, for they would’ve just burst through the door without any respect for her privacy anyways. It couldn’t be Gimbel either, the house elf never came to her room. She grew weary as she closed her book and set it down on the mattress beside her, clearing her throat before murmuring a low, “come in.”

 She watched as the handle to her door twisted and it swung open, and when she saw who was standing there in her doorway, she felt as if all the air had been knocked from her lungs. She’d only ever dreamed of Tom Riddle being in her bedroom, but never before did she actually think he’d really come in here. 

 But there he was. There Tom Riddle stood, closing the door behind him and turning to gaze at her where she sat on her bed, his eyes entrancing as they were dark. Even from across the room, his irises seemed to pull her in like they were magnets and she was metal, and she lost herself further and further into his soul…

 “Forgive me,” Tom said, and she blinked. Those were the first words she had ever heard him direct towards her. “I would not usually barge into a lady’s room like this.”

 Fire raged across her skin, up her neck, and to her cheeks until they were seared with flame. She suddenly had the strongest urge to open the window, wondering if she had broken into a sweat yet or not. 

 She blinked again, and the corner of Tom’s lips curved into a soft smile. He knew he already had her wrapped around his finger. 

 “Your brother thought he left something in here,” he said, gesturing towards her desk against the far wall of the room. “May I?” 

 She could not think of anything Tiernan could have possibly left in her room, but she wouldn’t dare question Tom, so instead she nodded, and she watched as he strode across the room, opening her desk drawers and sifting through its contents. 

 Of course, Tom wasn’t searching for anything. But she needn’t know that yet. 

 “Hm,” Tom hummed, closing the drawers he had opened and turning to face her again, leaning back against the wooden desk. “Perhaps, your brother was mistaken.”

 She felt small underneath Tom’s gaze, and she felt as though she could curl herself into a ball right now and shrivel away. But instead she sat still on her bed, unable to speak, unable to move. Tom chuckled and she pinched her bottom lip between her teeth, mentally cursing herself for being so shy. Typical Hufflepuff, she could imagine her adopted brother sneering. 

 “You know, you should really join the party,” Tom said, hoping to break the ice between them. She soothed the skin of her arms with her palms and rubbed at her elbows, shaking her head. “The Mother and the Father won’t let me attend,” she managed to speak at last, and she gulped down the lump in her throat. 

 Although Tom already knew the answer, he still tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “Why is that?” He asked, and she swallowed again, forcing back down the truth. She dropped her head and shrugged, “because I’m different.”

 Tom blinked, and he suddenly felt like he was ten years old again, still living at the orphanage he grew up in. For over ten years, he grew up unlike all the other children, and even at an early and young age, he knew that he was different. It wasn't until Albus Dumbledore came to visit him that he finally understood why he felt this way. 

 It was different in her case, because at least she knew why she was different. But they were still treated the same, like they were misfits, rejects, outcasts. It was then that he understood the connection he felt towards her with a different meaning, that he first noticed this string tethering them together. 

 They had both been lost before, but just like he had found himself, she could be found too. Tom could be the one to find her, for he seemed to be the only one who understood her. 

 Tom’s footsteps permeated her bedroom as he made his way over towards her bed, setting himself down on the mattress beside her. She flinched when she felt the bed dip beneath his weight, and it was then that it occurred to her just how close he was. 

 They had never ever been this close before. 

 “Why are you different?” He asked, gazing down at her as she peered up, their eyes meeting closer than they ever have before. For a moment she said nothing, only continued to lose herself further in the dark depths of the treacherous caverns that were his eyes. He studied her— her eyes, her eyebrows, her nose, her cheeks, her chin, her lips. 

 It was no secret that she was beautiful, even Tom could admit that. But she was vulnerable, it was clear the moment Tom met her eyes again. And Tom could work with vulnerability. 

 “Well…” she trailed off, contemplating how much she should tell him. Tom’s fingers grazed against her knee and she trembled, her eyes flicking down to his hand and back up to his face. “You can tell me,” Tom said warmly. “You can tell me anything.”

 She blinked. Never before had she heard those words. Nobody has ever wanted to hear her story before, for they all thought they already knew it all by now. She was the child who was left on the Lestranges doorstep as a baby, the child the Lestranges took in to ‘raise as their own’ because they just couldn’t bear giving such a young girl away since they were so kindhearted. 

 So never had she ever thought she’d be given the chance to tell someone about herself, to let someone read her story. But there was something about Tom, and she felt like she could trust him. 

 “I’m… I was left on their doorstep as a baby,” she began, and Tom nodded, encouraging her to continue. “I was… I am muggle-born…” she trailed off, wincing as she searched Tom’s face for disgust, but he didn’t even recoil. He only gazed at her with that same patient stare, waiting for her to keep going. 

 So she did. 

 “They hate me for it,” she added. “For having dirty blood. I’m not sure why they kept me, I could’ve been a Squib or not even a witch at all for that matter. Thankfully, I got my Hogwarts letter when Tiernan did.” She wrung her hands together in her lap, Tom’s warmth drawing her even closer to him. “It certainly didn’t help that I wasn’t sorted into Slytherin.”

 She swallowed the lump in her throat back down again, and Tom let his palm rest on her knee again, his touch warm, like a kiss from the sun itself. She felt relaxed when he touched her, despite how nervous she actually was inside. 

 “They treat me… so bad,” she whispered. “They treat me like I’m nothing.”

 Her voice wavered before it broke, and when it was clear that she wouldn’t be able to continue, the hand that had previously been resting on her knee retreated so that it may instead reach her face. Gently, he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her face up to his, her teary eyes searching his for something, anything she could hold onto. Warmth, comfort, reassurance, hope, anything. 

 So Tom would tell her what she wanted to hear. 

 “You are not nothing,”  Tom murmured, and her lip quivered the longer she stared at him. “You are somebody. Don’t let them take that feeling away from you.”

 She blinked and her brow softened, her vision blurring with tears. She was somebody. Tom Riddle thought she was somebody. 

 And somehow, that seemed to be all she needed to hear. 

 A silence ensued and they only gazed deeper into one another’s eyes. With the grip still on her chin, he drew her near and he leaned down to meet her halfway, his lips pressing against hers softly, as tenderly as he could. He felt the way she shuddered under his touch, as if his kiss was a tranquilizer, and she was becoming limp and pliant, all for him. 

 So he kissed her deeper, he kissed her harder. His tongue was warm in her mouth as she let him reign dominance over her own, her hands shaking as one cupped the side of his face and the other grabbed his bicep. 

 This was what Tom Riddle had been fantasizing about for years. To have her compliant beneath him, to have her completely under his control. He loved how easy it was, how easy it was to have her. Although he’d admit, this connection he felt towards her was growing, and it was growing at an alarming rate. As he pushed her down onto the mattress and trailed his kisses down from her lips to her jaw, he found that his heart burned, as if she had set it aflame, and this feeling was foreign to him. 

 He had no idea what this tenderness he felt was, whether he dared call it love or not. For eighteen years, he was under the impression that he couldn’t love, that love simply just wasn’t in the cards for him, and he was completely okay with that. 

 But this feeling, whatever it was he felt for her, came unexpectedly, and he was unsure whether or not he should embrace it or push it away. 

 For now, he worked at unbuttoning her blouse as he sucked marks into her neck, his tongue swirling around her collarbone. 

 She pressed her lips together to contain her noises as Tom slipped her blouse from her shoulders and down her arms, discarding it down onto the floor altogether. He made quick work of her brassiere, his lips previously kissing her collarbone venturing down between the valley of her breasts, sucking marks onto either mounds of flesh. 

 “T… Tom,” she mewled as he pressed a kiss to one of her nipples, kneading her opposite breast with his palm. He hummed in reply, gazing up at her through hooded lids as he sucked the erect bud, releasing it with a wet pop before doing the same to the other. She squirmed beneath him and squeezed her eyes shut, arching her back up off of the mattress. “T… Tom, I… they will punish me if they hear me.”

 Tom smirked against her skin as he released her nipple from his mouth and kissed down her stomach, past her belly button, all the way to the hem of her skirt. He pushed himself up by the elbows as he hooked his fingers over the hem, beginning to tug them down her thighs. 

 “Then I suggest you stay quiet,” he said simply as he removed her skirt from her ankles, her panties soon joining the sea of clothes on the floor as well. 

 She sank her teeth down into her bottom lip so hard when he placed a kiss just above her aching clit, she feared she’d draw blood. Tom eyed her through his hooded stare as he teasingly dipped his tongue past her folds, testing the waters. He watched as her face scrunched and she kicked her legs, arching her back at just the simplest of touches. 

 So eager, he thought. 

 He soothed her stomach with one of his palms as he pecked her clit, watching the way she trembled and writhed, whining behind closed lips, silent pleading for more. Tears broke past the glossy barrier of her eyes and began to spill down her cheeks like crystals, and he smirked as he pressed his lips down against her heat, sucking her clit as it throbbed and ached to be touched. 

 She threw her hands down on the mattress on either side of her, her fingernails clawing at the sheets as he flicked his tongue up and down her slit, humming at the taste of her nectar on his tongue. She tried to watch as he lapped up the juices spilling down her folds before flicking his tongue against her bud again, but she couldn’t even hold herself up, much less keep her eyes open for longer than a few seconds. 

 “P… please,” she mewled quietly as one of her hands ventured down between her legs to grip at his hair, and she ground her hips against his face, eager for more. That was when Tom stopped and pried her hand away from his head, and she blinked up at him through her bleary eyes. 

 “Do you want to come?” He asked as he unbuttoned his shirt, shouldering it off of him and tossing it to the floor with the rest of the discarded clothes. She gaped at the sight of his chest, but he grabbed her face again and forced her to look at him, squishing her cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. “I expect you to answer me when I ask you a question.”

 She trembled and felt her walls clench at his words, nodding up and down. “Yes. Yes please,” she whimpered as he tore his hand away from her face to work on his belt, tossing it and his trousers away until he stood before her completely in the nude, in all of his glory. 

 He was beautiful. And he was already beautiful to begin with but this, she never could have even imagined how he looked underneath the clothes. He wasn’t muscular or built like a statue or even a Quidditch player, but still, his arms and torso were toned, and his cock…

 She could feel her patience slipping away the longer he kept her waiting. She watched as he took a hold of his cock and stared down at her, maintaining eye contact as he gave himself a few pumps, his other hand absentmindedly stroking up and down her slick. She bit down onto her lip as she gazed up at him, watching him in anticipation for what was to come next. 

 Tom leaned back down to her face and captured her lips with his, unable to resist the temptation any longer. He kissed her again and again and again as he slipped inside of her, her moans muffled by his mouth on hers. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his shoulders and dug her fingernails into his skin, etching crescent moons into his flesh. Tom broke their kiss and let his forehead drop onto hers as he rocked his hips into her, slowly at first. One of her hands slithered to cup the back of his neck as tears streamed down the sides of her face, never feeling this good in all her years. 

 Tom let his gaze fall upon her face again, her eyelids squeezed shut but her face scrunched in pleasure, every once in a while muffling her sounds by pressing her face into his shoulder. He began to thrust harder than before, her legs wrapping around his waist and squeezing, beckoning him further inside of her. So he fucked her harder, and harder and harder and harder as if he intended to break her, to shatter her into a million pieces. 

 And maybe that was the goal all along. 

 Never has Tom felt this good, never had he felt so intoxicated by another person, and never did he believe he could be so attached to someone else before. Part of him hated it, part of him wanted to throw it away and stomp on it and set it on fire. 

 But the other part of him embraced it, another part of him felt powerful as he fucked into her with reckless abandon, powerful having someone underneath his control. He never imagined another person could feel so good, he never imagined someone else could make him feel so infinite. As far as he was concerned, he was doing just fine on his own. 

 But this was different. This was on a whole other level of power. He felt strong, even when she clenched around him and gushed around his cock, even when he felt himself so close to the edge, so close to releasing himself for another person. 

 He pushed away from from her and groped her chest with one hand, holding onto her shoulder with the other as he fucked her harder than before, without a care for how much noise they were making. He’d make it up to the Lestranges, he’d go down and tell them it was him making all the noise, it wasn’t like they’d punish him. 

 For now, he focused on chasing his release, on the way she felt around him, on the way he was so close to climax he could practically taste it. She sobbed beneath him and her lips fell agape with the intent of screaming his name but he clapped his hand around her mouth before she could as he thrusted again and again and again until finally he released, and warmth surged through her. 

 Tom’s chest heaved and he fell on top of her as she cried, motionless beneath him. Sweat made her skin glisten and tears made her cheeks swollen and sticky, but he found that he admired her all the same. 

 This warmth in his chest was new, and it was a feeling he couldn’t quite place or put a finger on. But if whatever it was could make him feel like he was on top of the world, like he was the most powerful being on this Earth, like he was infinite…

 …then surely he could learn to embrace it. 

a/n; oop this is the longest imagine i’ve ever written 🙈 thank you so much for the request anon! i wrote this one up pretty fast because i really liked the idea, it definitely wasn’t stupid! so i hope this is close to what you’ve been imagining!! and feel free to send in more requests if you’d like! i love writing requests!

| 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

@darkmoviesquotespizza 🥹🫶

#tom riddle x you #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle smut #wizarding world #harry potter fic #harry potter fandom #harry potter imagine #harry potter #tom marvolo riddle

[lovelytsunoda]

indecent exposure // liam lawson

summary: some men should not be allowed to buy gag shirts when they go to vegas. liam lawson is not one of them. or, the liam face-sitting fic i've been ruminating on for months and never wrote.

pairing: liam lawson x female! reader

warnings: 18+!!! SMUT!!! porn with very minimal plot if i do say so myself. lots of double entendres for common police charges (disorderly conduct, indecent exposure etc.), liam refers to himself as 'agent lawson' and makes us all cringe with laughter. the actual face-sitting portion of the fic is really only a few paragraphs at the end lmao the foreplay was too fun with all the cop jokes-

author's note: somebody should take both my library card and every british detective show in existence away from me because this is what happens when i watch too many episodes of anything with a hot detective in it. never mind the fact that i binged lauren layne's new yorks finest series last year when i was snowed in and my classes were cancelled for almost a week

there was nothing that y/n loved more than coming home from a long day at work and taking her dress pants off. and her high heels, and her bra. typically this would be followed by a pint of ben and jerrys and a few episodes of 'grace and frankie'. sometimes it would be followed by a feel good eighties movie, or by her boyfriend ordering takeout and ravishing her while they waited for it to arrive.

all of these were good options, as far as y/n was concerned.

"hey babe!" liam shouted, darting across the hall from the small gym space they'd set up, to the master bedroom. "look what i found in the closet...jesus. you look gorgeous." he stopped in his tracks, eyes fixed on his goddess of a girlfriend as she stood in front of the gilded mirror next to the walk-in closet.

"you saw be before i left for work." she laughed, taking out the small diamond studs in her ears. they were a gift from liam for their anniversary. "all i've done is take off my slacks and bra, and undo my shirt a little bit."

but it wasn't the lack of pants that was getting liam all flustered, nor was it the way the collar of her silk work shirt dipped down just a little too far, the hem not quite long enough to cover the area where thigh met ass.

no, it was the black prada glasses that delicately framed her eyes. the eyes that had so captivated liam from the moment they met.

"if you ever decide to get contacts, i'm leaving you. seriously."

he wasn't serious in the slightest.

"the way you look in those glasses should be a crime. you're gorgeous, babe."

facing him, she laughed, hands on her hips. "i thought you threw that shirt out!"

she groaned internally, looking at the tight-fitting black cotton shirt that liam was wearing, and the cracking white vinyl lettering over his heart. fbi. a gag gift he had bought in vegas. it was too tight despite it's age, hugging each and every one of liam's muscles far too tight, and looking deceptively erotic when paired with his dark blue jeans.

"so did i! isn't it great?" he grinned like an idiot, spinning in a little circle to show off the writing on the back.

female body inspector.

who the fuck came up with these things? on any random guy in the street, she would have gagged at the vulgar implications of the words. on her boyfriend? she only rolled her eyes.

"there's a reason it went missing in the move, babe."

liam shook his head, ignoring her words. "ma'am, i'm special agent lawson from the federal bureau of investigations. i've received a complaint about disorderly conduct on the premises. and now that i'm here i might have to upgrade that charge to indecent exposure, little lady."

"you're such a fucking idiot." she giggled, looping her arms around her boyfriend's neck before kissing him softly. "i love you."

"love you more." he rasped in between kisses, his hands travelling underneath the hem of her shirt. "what do you say the two of us make a case for disturbing the peace?"

"if you make one more cop-related come on, i'm walking out that front door and never coming back."

liam flashed a shit-eating grin, raking his bleached blonde hair out of his face. "so does that mean you won't consent to a frisk search?"

"i will humor you this one time." she laughed, taking a step back. "take it away, agent. but you do realize that the fbi don't get to make disorderly conduct calls? that's a beat cop's job."

"i seem to recall that you have a right to remain silent?"

she winked, undoing another button on her shirt, the fabric falling away just enough to give liam a glimpse of the soft flesh of her breasts. "and i don't recall being read my rights."

"hands against the wall, feet shoulder width apart, you beautiful smartass." liam laughed, waiting for her to turn slightly before playfully swatting at her backside. "then i can read them to you."

the wall was cold against her palms as she got into position, listening half-heartedly as liam attempted to remember the american miranda rights. he got about as far as 'you have the right to remain silent' and 'you have the right to an attorney' before he gave up.

"you know what, this isn't that serious. fuck the right to remain silent, you have the right to remain sexy as fuck. how about that." she could hear the playful annoyance in his voice, and couldn't help the smile that broke out across her face.

there was the liam she knew and loved. not one to mince words, even in the bedroom.

his smooth hands were a welcome presence on her body, travelling up her legs, over her hips and up the sides of her torso. torturously slow, his warm hands dipped underneath her shirt, taking her breasts in his hands, her peaked nipples between his fingers.

heat rose to her skin, adding a rosy sheen in the halflight. she sighed under his touch, her head dropping back to rest on liam's shoulder. liam smiled fondly, one of his hands reaching for hers, the other dropping to cradle her waist.

"you're beautiful." he hummed, kissing her neck gently. "i hope you know that."

this was a side of liam that only she ever got to see. on the outside, he gave off frat boy energy: the hair, the way he carried himself. the way he spoke. but just under the surface, was a man who was wrapped around his girlfriend's finger. one who loved shamelessly, and with his whole heart.

pulling away from the wall, the turned in his hold to face him, tangling her hands in his hair and kissing him deeply.

"if you can get that shirt off without tearing a stitch, you can keep it."

liam beamed, breaking from the embrace to scramble for the hem of the worn t-shirt. he had almost gotten it over his head when he heard the first few stitches begin to pop, fabric getting stuck by his shoulders.

"fuck!"

"need some help with that?"

"i think i'm good!"

somehow they ended up on the bed, both half dressed and pent up. she was soaked through her thong, despite her earlier attitude towards the t-shirt and further proving the point that her lover looked good in just about anything (or nothing, for that matter). she was needy, every nerve in her body reacting to the way liam's tongue probed her mouth, the way his hands touched her body. the way he moaned when she pressed up against the bulge in his jeans.

"babe," he mumbled in between kisses. "do you trust me?"

she cocked an eyebrow, brushing his bangs out of his face before looking down at him "should i be worried?"

"do you trust me, yes or no?"

"of course, li. of course i trust you."

liam nodded. "good. so sit on my face."

she paused, almost as if her brain was sending up error messages. she knew this day would come. liam lawson would eat pussy any which way. truthfully, she was shocked this day hadn’t come sooner.

it wasn’t that she didn’t want to. of course she wanted to.

“babe, how will you be able to breathe? I’ll suffocate you.” she protested, reaching for his hand. “I don’t want that on my conscience.”

“sweetheart, it’s okay. you won’t hurt me. and if-god forbid-I do suffocate, trust me on this, I wouldn’t want to go out any other way than with your thighs on either side of my head.”

and with that, liam took her hands in his, and guided her towards where he needed her most. she looked down at him with a soft smile, running her fingers through his hair.

"i love you." she whispered, moving her hands to the headboard and beginning to lower herself down to meet her lovers tongue.

she inhaled sharply as she made contact, liam's plump lips mouthing at her pussy, her grip tightening on the wooden headboard.

"i've got you, princess." liam's voice was muffled, but his words were reassuring as he ran a hand up and down her thigh. "just ride my face, darlin'. use my tongue to get yourself off."

feeling bolder than she was when she first sat down, she began to grind on liam's face, his nose bumping against her swollen clit with each movement. every bit of friction, every swipe of liam's tongue drove her wild, was like setting fire to her nerve endings.

"oh sweet jesus, god." she whined, fighting the urge to close her thighs together around liam's head, focussing on the way his hands gripped her thighs in a bruising way. she looked down at his face and moaned again, seeing the pleasure mapped out on her boyfriend's features.

"oh, i'm in heaven." he moaned, pulling her down further to plunge his tongue inside of her, rapidly flicking it inside and out.

her eyes rolled back as her hips bucked, grinding against the tip of his nose as one hand came down to clutch at his hair. tears of pleasure pricked the corners of her eyes as she cried out his name.

"liam- right there, oh my god, keep doing that." she whined, trying to move her hips faster. liam's face was soaked, the entire bottom half coated in her juices. there was so much of it, running down the sides of his cheeks and soaking into the pillowcase behind him.

she felt so good she could barely see, screwing her eyes shut. her pants and whines became closer together and more high pitched, the movement of her hips more frantic as she chased that feeling, that high.

"are you going to cum for me, baby?" liam asked, pulling his face away from her. she continued to drip onto his face, and he opened his mouth wide, catching some of her slick on his tongue. "come on my face. please, i want to be drowning in it."

and how could she say no to that?

she could barely keep her shoulders straight as she resumed her motions, fingers gripping liam's hair to keep herself steady. his hands grasped desperately at the flesh of her ass cheeks, squeezing and massaging as one of her own hands came up to grasp at one of her tits, teasing the peaked nipple between her fingers.

"oh god, liam, i think i'm coming!"

"i've got you, i've got you. just breathe-"

his last word was cut off with a moan as she began to gush, coating his face in her release. his moans were muffled by the weight of her body, but they were no less loud as he set about licking her clean.

her legs felt like jello and her body like mush as liam tried to sit up, easing her body back so that she was sitting in his lap, wet core right over top of the massive bulge in his jeans. liam was certain that if she moved at all while she was on top of him, he'd come in his jeans. totally spent, she slumped against him, resting her head on his chest.

he leaned down to kiss her sweaty forehead and she scrunched up her face. she looked adorable in her fogged-up glasses with her messy hair. and liam couldn't stop his heart from melting as she reached for the box of tissues in the nightstand and began to clean up his face.

"that was incredible." her voice was soft as she cleaned him up. "i had no idea you could do that."

"don't give me all the credit." liam laughed, playfully nipping at her fingers as she moved to wipe his mouth down. "you played a very large part in why i'm still hard right now."

she laughed, a big smile on her face as she looped her arms around his neck and leaned in to kiss him softly. with his large hands holding her in place, they kissed again. sweet, chaste and soft, with no intention of it leading anywhere else.

at least, not this early in the evening.

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @httpiastri @libraryofloveletters @cartierre @lorarri @userlando @diorleclerc

#liam lawson x reader #liam lawson smut #formula 2 x reader #formula 2 smut #formula one x reader #f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 x reader #Spotify

[1d1195]

Faking It

Sometimes while I'm listening to music, things just pop into my head about Harry and I have to write it out real fast before I forget. This is just a little random blurb that I’m posting for no reason.

best friend/roommate!reader x famous!Harry

Warnings: sexual tension, sexual wording

Not proofread (written in my drafts on my phone)

Harry is watching her dance her little heart out to whatever is playing in her ears while she aggressively folds the sheets and towels out of the dryer. He can hear the music playing from where he's standing in the kitchen getting a glass of water. They've been best friends for years and since Harry is often on tour, it's nice to have someone keep an eye on his place, water the flowers, and just...be there when he gets home or shoots home during one of his quick breaks.

She's funny and lovely. One of his favorite people. She doesn't mind acting silly around him and doesn't care if he never cleans up when he's home. "I just like when my best friend is here," she says.

"What are y'even listening to?" She turns down the music so she can hear him.

"It's called Little White Lies, it's by this great band. M'sure you've heard of them: One Direction?" She has the most impish smile on her lips.

He stares at her and blinks slowly. He hates when she does this. It's so annoying. But he finds her adorable anyway. It's been a while since he's been home and he likes seeing her in her element. As if he weren't here. He likes that she's comfortable with him. It feels...like home.

But then, since she's his best friend, she has to go and ruin it.

She shrugs. "Y'know, Harry. Bet you would get a nice girlfriend if they knew they didn't have to fake orgasms around you all the time," she winked at him pushing the laundry basket toward the hallway to the bedrooms before she starts in on the second load of clothing.

He doesn't want to know. If he asks, he'll regret it. "What are y'on 'bout?" He tilted his head back. It was one of those conversations he knew he was going to be exhausted by before it even started.

"When she's alone she goes home to a cactus. In a black dress, she's such an actress?" She quoted his own lyrics to him but phrased it as a question. "Such an actress?" She repeated. "Too bad Harry," she tisks. "You even gotta talk about a dildo being a cactus...like one of the rabbit ones,” she giggled.

Harry wonders if he strangles her if they'll question him first. He's a popstar after all. "M'gonna kill you," he says darting toward her around the half kitchen wall to tickle her. She squeals and takes off to the other side of the room, hiding behind the couch.

"Cause you've been telling me, all night with your little white lies."

"Nobody fakes orgasms with me," he grumbled. "Liam and Louis wrote that song."

She smirked. "Sensitive. I don't mean anything by it," she giggles. "Just think it's funny."

"I'll prove it," he says hopping on the couch and reaching over to grab her before she can escape. She squeals at his aggressive hold as he tosses her down (gently) onto the sofa. "Take y'pants off," he orders.

"Harry," she gasps, face blushing. The headphones fall from her ears, her phone drops to the floor.

"Take 'em off," he repeats. "You'll see."

"Harry," she whispers breathlessly. "I was just kidding."

But his eyes are hungry now. He's looking her over if he's just noticing that she's a girl. A beautiful, adorable, pain-in-the-butt, girl. His best friend that he adores with all his heart. "M'not," his voice is low. Her heart hammers erratically against her ribs.

She can't say she hasn't been dreaming of this. She wants this. She doesn't believe she'll have to fake it. But she doesn't want to force him to do it to prove a point. "Harry," she tries again, but her voice is weak. The protest is faint in her voice. "You don't have--"

"Bet y'have t'fake it all the time, hmm?" He's hovering above her. His legs straddling her hips, his arms pinning her shoulders down. She can't move her gaze from his. She's immobile. He drops his mouth to her ear. "Don't you?" He murmurs so lowly it vibrates all through her body. Right to the space between her thighs. “Bet y'dream about me when m'not here. When you're with someone else,” his lips brush the pulse along the side of her neck. He kisses the space at the bottom of her throat. "I dream about you when m’alone,” her brain is spinning to keep up. She was just joking him. He was too brave to admit that. She’s terrified she’s going to mess up. But he’s inhaling her skin like he’s sniffing out a weakness. Her whole body is one weak spot for him. “S'that why y'like it so much?" He mumbles. "S'that why y'like m'song. Because you're an actress for everyone else? You're not gonna be an actress for me, right? You're gonna be a good girl and not tell me any little white lies?" He asks it as a question, but she knows it's a statement.

"Harry," it was her last chance to protest.

“No, love. M’sure,” he promise sensing the question in just the way she uttered his name. Maybe the benefit to being her best friend he knew what she was thinking. Always. “Jus’ say the word, love,” his lips are a breath away. If she inhales too deeply or exhales at all she’ll be kissing Harry Styles. “Do y’want me t’prove it?”

His eyes are so green his skin smells so good. She can’t breathe or move.

“Yes.”

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[callsign-rogueone]

not that bad at all - b.d.

Bodhi Durran x partner!reader [requested] ✉️: …maybe the reader is badass and Violet is afraid of her, so when they have to fight, Violet poisons her like the rest, and Bodhi stops what he was doing to take care of her and he worries about her, and Violet notices that she is not that bad and asks for forgiveness. words: 1.6k 🏷: very basic fourth wing spoilers, one use of “her” to describe reader but that’s it, descriptions of dizziness and fainting, short description of injury (for Violet), everyone’s favorite girl makes an appearance (iykyk 😇), I made X a bit of a jerk here but he’s going through it honestly so he gets a pass lol

It’s easy enough for Violet to dust the white powder onto the last available bagel right before you place it on your tray.

You don’t notice what she’s done, too busy talking to Imogen. It’s strange for her to see the girl so docile like this, chatting happily about some maneuver one of you had pulled on a practice flight yesterday, but Violet is thankful for the distraction she provides.

She watches from across the room as you settle into a chair near a boy in her year — Liam, the tall blonde who’s been top of the class in Emeterrio’s since day one. He greets you with a smile, continuing to chat with the other marked ones at the table.

You look terrible as you step toward the mat when your name is called, flushed and sweating like you’ve been running for miles. It’s a miracle you’re still holding yourself upright.

You can do this. Of course you can. The general’s daughter should be easy work with how fragile she is. You won’t kill her, per Xaden’s insistence, but you’ll get her to tap out in under two minutes, guaranteed.

You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the dizzy feeling before the fight starts.

“Ready, cadets?“ Emeterrio asks. You can tell he’s giving you a moment out of pity, that he knows something is wrong.

Your dragon does too. “This is not a good idea.”

You ignore her. “Ready,” you confirm, wavering. 

You try to move your feet into a proper fighting stance, but the floor seems to shift underneath your boots like wet sand, and you collapse onto the mat before the professor can say go. There are a few gasps from the crowd of cadets around the gym.

“I yield,” you mumble into the slick padding, knowing that even if you can manage to peel yourself back up, you won’t be able to overpower her when you can’t see straight.

Violet sighs in relief. You’re still aware enough to know what you’re supposed to be doing. That’s good. That means she got the dosage correct, and that you should be fine again in about eight hours. 

“You were right,” you admit silently.

“Of course I was right.”

Violet’s pride is replaced with guilt as another cadet rushes to your side, looking deeply concerned.

Your vision focuses enough to recognize your boyfriend’s face leaning over you. Cold hands cradle your cheeks and you squirm away from the touch, delirious. 

“You’re burning up, love,” he says, tugging your sleeves up in an attempt to cool you off, exposing the black swirls running down your left arm. He takes your pulse, and your heart is racing. Something is definitely wrong.

He looks to the professor. “Permission to take her to the infirmary?”

“Granted,” Emeterrio says, unfazed. “Barlowe and Cardulo, you’re up next.”

That will be a good matchup. Maybe one of them will kill the other, and decrease Violet’s list of enemies by one.

The other cadet gathers you into his arms, helping you up, as you clearly can’t stand on your own, and Violet’s heart nearly stops as she realizes who he is.

Bodhi. Tail section’s executive officer, Bodhi. Xaden’s cousin, Bodhi. Fuck. 

She can feel multiple sets of eyes boring into her skin. Her gaze lifts to the other side of the gym, where Xaden is glaring directly at her, along with a few other marked ones. They all look like they know exactly what she did, and they’re contemplating how best to kill her.

Something tells her that Jack won’t be as much of a threat as the rest of your friends.

————————————————————

You crack an eye open, wincing at the brightness of the infirmary. 

Bodhi is standing over you in an instant, dimming the light. “How do you feel?” He rests the back of his hand on your forehead; your fever has dulled, but you still feel warm to the touch.

“Better, but still not great,” you answer, coughing into your elbow. “It’s like a flu that should have lasted a week just condensed into a day.”

He extends you a glass of water and you take a slow sip — you’ve been sweating so much that it’s completely dehydrated you.

“What do you make of the Sorrengail girl?” You ask. “Every one of her opponents in the last two weeks has mysteriously ended up ill.”

“You’re right,” he says slowly, putting it together. “But why just put you out of the lineup for a few days? If she’s really doing this, why is she not taking it further and just killing people?”

“Murder just isn’t her style, I guess.”

“I’m glad it isn’t,” he says quietly. “When you hit the floor like that all of a sudden… I’ve never been that scared in my life. I thought I was going to lose you.”

You take his hand, squeezing it gently. “It’ll take much more than a bad bagel to kill me,” you reassure him, sitting up to kiss his cheek. “You’ve made sure of that.”

He still looks worried when you pull away, but you know what will relax him.

You look at the clock. “We have an hour and a half until dinner. Wanna go shower and cuddle for a while?” You ask, and he nods eagerly. You smile. “Alright, let’s get out of here.”

At dinner, Xaden makes it abundantly clear that nobody is to seek revenge on the girl, which has Garrick grumbling and Imogen downright outraged, but you’re fine with the decision: if she’ll leave you alone, you’ll leave her alone.

————————————————————

The rest of your friends are celebrating — Liam and the two other marked first years have been chosen by strong dragons who will serve them well and provide them powerful signets.

It’s not unusual for the eldest of your group to be withdrawn and aloof, but Xaden looks like he’s going to be ill.

“Tab says that Tairn chose Violet Sorrengail,” Garrick’s girlfriend says in a whisper, knowing better than to let the wingleader hear her.

Your eyes widen. Tairn, Sgaeyl’s mate, Tairn? “I guess that makes her our problem now.” 

If Violet dies, so does your friend. 

So much for keeping your distance. 

————————————————————

When Violet gets to the gym for the workout Imogen had roped her into, it’s full of marked ones. 

Bodhi is sparring with a boy whose name Violet doesn’t know, looking like they’re going to kill each other but laughing as they do. Xaden wrestles with Garrick, Imogen is throwing daggers with Liam, and a quiet third-year girl in the corner looks to be… meditating?

You spot Violet standing in the doorway, heading over, and her heart pounds, wondering what you’re going to say to her after what she did to you.

You wipe the sweat from your forehead with a small towel. “Cool hair,” you say with a nod at her silver-tipped braid, and she blinks, stunned —  probably wondering why you aren’t biting her head off. 

“Thanks,” she replies quietly. “Sorry for poisoning you.”

You laugh at her honesty, extending a hand to shake. “Square?”

“Square,” she answers, taking it.

“Good. Now let’s see you fight, for real.”

It takes all of five minutes for something to go wrong — an awkwardly angled kick to her knee that she can’t dodge has her crumpling to the mat, lower leg bent at an unnatural angle.

Oh, fuck. Xaden will be pissed if you’ve broken her on day one.

“Angel, we need you,” you call, and the quiet girl’s eyes snap open, at your side in an instant.

Warm hands touch her skin, and Violet startles as the pain dissipates, the bone gliding back into place. She stares at your friend, stunned. “You’re a mender?”

“Not a very good one,” she answers, anxious. “And I’m sorry, I should have asked before I just… does it feel okay now?”

“Yeah, that was great.” Violet flexes the joint a few times, without pain. “Just like my brother used to do.”

There’s a flicker of… something across the older girl’s face, but it vanishes as soon as Garrick puts a gentle hand on her back, genuine worry on his face as he looks at her. “You feeling okay?” 

“Yeah,” she answers, giving him a soft smile. 

Xaden is feeling much less warm and fuzzy, eyeing Violet with generalized contempt.

You cross your arms over your chest, giving him a warning look. “Don’t even start, X. She’s trying her best.”

“If that’s her best, she’s going to get us both killed,” he says coldly.

“Which is why we’re working on it. Aretia wasn’t built in a day, and neither were any of us. She’ll get better.”

“Fine. Then training her is your responsibility now, since you’re so optimistic, but should you fail, her blood and mine will be on your hands.”

“Xay, that’s not…” the mender begins, but she falls silent quickly after seeing the look on his face.

“Fine,” you agree, standing your ground. “I’ll train her as a personal favor to you because of what you’ve done for all of us, and because I don’t want to see her die, but you need to stop being a dick. You didn’t ask to be put in this situation, but neither did she.”

Nobody looks surprised at your defense of Violet, nor your candid speech to the wingleader. Nobody speaks, either, letting you two stare each other down in silence — this must not be the first time you’ve argued with him.

Xaden sighs, clearly having something to say, but he doesn’t protest further, turning to leave.

Violet’s eyebrows raise. You defended her, the girl who poisoned you last month, and you got Xaden Riorson to back down from a fight? 

Bodhi puts a hand on your shoulder, checking in silently — that was pretty intense.

You give him a reassuring half-smile. “It’s okay, Bo. He just needs time.” You look down to Violet. “Wanna try that again?”

She nods, letting you pull her to her feet.

You’re really not that bad at all.

#bodhi durran #bodhi durran x reader #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #reader insert #mine