#firefighter!Liam | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

twistedheartsclub · 2 months ago

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Bend or Break Male X Female Reader

⚠️ Content Warnings for This Story ⚠️

At first, it was just something her mom made her do.

“You need to get out of the house. Try something new. You’ve been so tense lately.”

Y/N had barely graduated high school, still unsure what she wanted to do with her life. Hot yoga sounded awful—sweaty, smelly, slow. But she gave in. Just to make her mom happy.

She didn’t expect to enjoy it.

And she definitely didn’t expect him.

Liam was older. Late thirties, maybe early forties. The kind of man who didn’t need to say much—his presence filled the room before his voice ever did. He had that strength you felt more than you saw, a quiet confidence that made people listen.

And when he spoke, it was smooth and low. Each word heavy, deliberate. Meant for you.

He never looked at her the way the others did. At least not at first. But over the weeks, she started to notice how often he hovered nearby. How he chose her mat when demonstrating postures. How his hands were always the ones adjusting her form—his touch light, but lingering.

She told herself it was in her head.

Until it wasn’t.

It started like any other class—Liam’s voice low and commanding, the room thick with heat, the air almost too heavy to breathe. Y/N moved into downward dog, her limbs trembling from the stretch, sweat sliding down her skin.

Then came his hands.

Strong. Slow. Too slow.

He crouched beside her, correcting her hips—but his grip lingered. “Relax,” he murmured, his breath brushing the shell of her ear.

Then suddenly, he was behind her, pressing in closer than ever before. She froze when she felt it—his hard length rubbing deliberately against her, separated only by the thin fabric of her leggings. He rocked against her under the guise of “alignment,” his palm firm on her lower back as if to pin her there.

Y/N’s body stiffened, her breath caught in her throat. “Liam—” she whispered, voice shaking.

He didn’t stop.

In fact, he pressed in harder, his voice a soft growl now. “You’re so tense, sweetheart. Let me help.”

Liam wasn’t always a yoga instructor.

He came from something rougher—military, maybe. Construction. Some say he was a firefighter, others swore they saw old fighting trophies with his name engraved. Broad-shouldered, hands calloused, voice low and steady like a man who’d seen too much and learned how to breathe through the fire.

Hot yoga wasn’t about wellness for him. It was about control. Release. Stillness in chaos.

After the divorce, he needed it.

Funny thing—his wife left him because he was “too intense.” Said she couldn’t relax around a man who watched everything, who touched her like she was glass but looked at her like she was a weapon.

So she ran.

He didn’t stop her.

After that, Liam didn’t settle. He didn’t have to. The women came easily—students, instructors, a few clients who knew what they wanted and didn’t care that he never called after.

He gave them what they wanted. And when it was over, he moved on.

But then she showed up.

Barely out of high school. Pretty in that sweet, untouched way. Big eyes. Soft voice. Always polite, always nervous, always doing exactly what he said during class.

Y/N didn’t flirt. Didn’t linger. She came in, took her spot near the back, listened.

For a while, he didn’t notice her. She blended in. Quiet. Small.

But then there was that one class.

She was late, hair half-up, flustered. She apologized when she walked in—sweat already on her brow from running. And he looked up, really looked at her.

And something clicked.

She wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t trying to seduce him. She didn’t even know she could. She just listened. Followed. Trusted.

And Liam felt it—something heavy and hungry settle in his chest.

He wanted her quiet obedience. Her trust.

But most of all, he wanted to be the first to ruin her.

Y/N flinched.

She tried to pull away from his touch, a small, instinctive movement—but it was all he needed. Liam shifted with her, using her own retreat as an excuse to press further, harder, into the curve of her body. His hips ground against her ass through the barrier of their clothes, slow and purposeful. She felt everything. The thick heat of him. The pressure. The sickening realization that he was enjoying it.

Her breath hitched. “Stop—”

But before she could finish, he let go.

Harshly.

Her balance broke and she hit the mat with a thud, palms scraping, knees stinging against the vinyl floor. The shock was worse than the pain. Her eyes welled with hot tears, and for a second, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Her body trembled from the inside out as she scrambled to her feet.

She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t dare.

Her mat was still there, her water bottle too—but she didn’t care. Her vision blurred as she rushed toward the locker room, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

Behind her, Liam’s voice echoed through the hot, humid room. Calm. Commanding. Like nothing had happened.

“Hold your form. Breathe into the stretch. Good.”

Y/N choked back a sob as she shoved the door open and disappeared inside.

Y/N’s hands shook as she stuffed her things into her workout bag. Her leggings clung to her damp skin, the heat of the room still clinging to her even as the cool air of the locker room kissed her cheeks. She didn’t bother changing. Didn’t even wipe her face.

Tears had already escaped, leaving trails down her flushed skin.

Her mom used to come with her. Used to park beside her and walk into class, water bottle in hand, chattering about how good the heat was for their joints. But she stopped showing up weeks ago. Always too tired. Too busy.

Y/N wished she was here now.

She felt small. Embarrassed. Humiliated. And underneath it all—scared.

She wiped her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, trying to steady her breath, when a sudden blast of music echoed through the walls. The speaker system. Studio playlist. Something rhythmic, deep, thudding like a pulse.

And then—click.

The sound of the locker room door. The latch engaging.

She froze.

Turned slowly.

He was standing there.

Liam.

Still barefoot, shirt clinging to his chest, jaw clenched. The light behind him cast shadows across his face, but there was no mistaking the look in his eyes. Dark. Calm. Intentional.

He didn’t speak. Just stepped forward and twisted the lock tighter behind him.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

“…Why did you follow me?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

But he didn’t answer.

Not yet.

He just smiled—like he was finally alone with something he’d been waiting to unwrap.

“Liam…” Y/N backed up instinctively, her voice thin and wavering. “You can’t be in here.”

He didn’t stop. Just kept walking toward her, deliberate and slow—like a predator with no need to rush.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered. Her bag slipped from her shoulder, landing on the floor with a soft thud.

He didn’t answer.

She looked up at him—so tall. So broad. He towered over her, shoulders blocking out the flickering fluorescent light overhead. His chest rose and fell slowly, like he was breathing her in.

“Please. I just want to go,” she said, stepping to the side, trying to slip past him.

But he caught her.

Big hands, calloused and unforgiving, grabbed her arm—pulling her back so hard she stumbled into him with a cry. Before she could scream, before she could even think, he slammed her back against the cold metal locker with a sharp clang.

Her breath knocked out of her.

And then his mouth was on hers—rough, unyielding, hungry. He kissed her like he owned her, like she was something he’d earned, devoured every protest she tried to form against his lips.

She whimpered, body frozen, hands pushing weakly against his chest—but it only made him groan, pressing harder into her.

One hand gripped her hip, the other snuck up under her hoodie, under her bra, groping her breast with greedy fingers. She gasped against his mouth, the violation stunning her into stillness.

“You feel that?” he rasped against her lips. “You were made for this… made for me.”

Y/N fought against him, her fists thudding weakly against his chest. Her voice cracked, caught between sobs and protests, but Liam didn’t budge. He pressed harder, his weight anchoring her, caging her in.

“Stop—stop, please,” she gasped.

That’s when his hand rose to her throat.

Not tight—at first. Just enough to make her freeze, to feel the press of his palm over the delicate line of her windpipe. Her breath hitched, panic fully setting in.

His other hand slipped lower.

She jerked when his fingers slid beneath the waistband of her leggings, hot skin against skin. “No—” she tried, but her voice faltered as his fingers moved with practiced ease.

They found her.

Hooked her.

She choked on a breath, shame flaring white-hot in her chest as he began to stroke her—slow and firm, watching her face the entire time. His knee slid between her thighs, pushing them apart, holding her in place as her legs trembled beneath her.

“It’s okay,” he whispered against her cheek. “Just let go.”

It felt wrong. Violating. Unbearably intimate. Her body tensed, recoiled—but his fingers moved with a purpose, steady, relentless. She tried to clamp her thighs shut, tried to squirm away, but he had her pinned.

“Stop—” she whimpered, tears slipping down her cheeks.

But her body betrayed her.

Bit by bit, her slick grew. The uncomfortable stretch of his fingers gave way to slick heat, her muscles clenching involuntarily. She hated it. Hated that it was happening. Hated the way her hips twitched, the way her breath started to stutter—

“God, that’s it,” he groaned. “So fucking sweet.”

His fingers sped up, rubbing circles over her swollen clit now, faster, crueler. And when she came—because she did—it was with a broken cry into his shoulder, her body convulsing against his hand as his grip on her throat tightened just slightly.

She shattered against him, humiliated, wet, and shaking.

Still pinned.

Still his.

Liam finally pulled back.

His hand slipped from her leggings, wet with her release. His grip on her throat loosened, but the weight of him still lingered, heavy and suffocating. Y/N gasped for air, her legs giving out beneath her as she slid down the lockers, trembling.

She stared up at him, cheeks stained with tears, mouth parted in shock. Her whole body shook.

But he didn’t look ashamed.

He looked satisfied.

“You came,” he said, voice thick with amusement. “Don’t act like you didn’t want it. You wouldn’t be dripping all over my fingers if you didn’t.”

She shook her head, broken and silent, her arms wrapping around herself.

Liam brought his fingers to his mouth—slowly. Deliberately.

And licked them clean.

His eyes stayed locked on hers as he did it, tongue dragging over every slick-coated knuckle.

“Mmm,” he groaned softly, lips curving. “You taste fucking amazing.”

Y/N whimpered, turning her face away—but not before she saw it. The growing bulge in his pants. The twitch in his cock as his gaze swept over her ruined body.

His thoughts were already racing.

Her lips. Her throat. Her tears.

What would she look like gagging on him? Struggling to breathe around it, choking on his release?

He stepped closer again, fingers still wet, hunger still darkening his face.

And Y/N’s stomach turned.

Because she knew—

He wasn’t finished.

She didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Y/N sat slumped against the lockers, her legs weak, hoodie clinging to her sweat-soaked skin. Her throat burned. Her body still twitched in the aftermath of what he’d done—what he made her feel.

And Liam stood over her, breathing heavier now, desire radiating off him in thick, suffocating waves.

“You know,” he murmured, crouching down, one hand braced on the locker beside her head, “I didn’t plan on touching you like that. Not yet.”

Her eyes flicked to his face—red-rimmed, glassy. He looked calm. Calm like someone who’d already made a decision.

“But then you started shaking under me, all wet and sweet, like your body couldn’t help itself.” He chuckled low in his throat. “Fuck, baby, you’re practically trained already.”

Y/N flinched as he reached out, brushing her damp hair from her face with the back of his hand. She turned her head, but he caught her chin between his fingers and forced her to look at him.

“I wonder,” he mused, his thumb grazing her lips, “how you’d taste with my cock down your throat.”

She whimpered, pressing her thighs together instinctively.

That made him grin.

His free hand moved to his waistband, the bulge in his pants now fully straining as he leaned closer, his breath hot against her cheek. “You’d gag, wouldn’t you? Cry a little. Those pretty lips stretched wide… drooling on me.”

She tried to pull away, but his hand gripped her jaw harder.

“No more running,” he said quietly. “You already belong to me now. Your body knows it. It fucking proved it.”

He stood slowly, towering over her again. Fingers toying with his zipper now.

“Now be a good girl,” he said darkly. “And open your mouth.”

Y/N shook her head, lips clamped tight, tears slipping freely now. “No,” she rasped, voice cracking. “Please—don’t.”

Liam didn’t flinch. He just sighed—low and disappointed, like a teacher correcting a slow student.

“I was patient with you,” he said, reaching down and grabbing a fistful of her hoodie to yank her upward onto her knees. “I gave you a taste. And you fucking loved it. Don’t lie now.”

She struggled weakly, her palms flat against his stomach, but he was solid, unmoving. He freed himself from his waistband, the zipper harsh in the silence. And the moment his cock was exposed, the scent hit her—sharp, musky, overwhelming.

Her stomach twisted.

“No—” she whimpered, trying to turn her head, but he grabbed her hair and forced her gaze back to his length, thick and hard, flushed and leaking.

“Look at it,” he growled. “Look what you did to me.”

She sobbed, body trembling, the humiliation hot in her veins.

Then he pressed forward.

The tip of his cock smeared against her lips.

“Open,” he ordered.

She kept her mouth shut tight, until his hand in her hair yanked hard enough that a cry escaped her—and he used that moment to shove himself between her lips.

The taste. The smell. The sheer size of him.

Y/N gagged almost immediately, choking as he forced more in, her throat spasming around the intrusion.

“That’s it,” Liam groaned, his hips barely rocking but the threat of his weight hovering right at her limit. “Just like that… let that little mouth do what it was made for.”

She clawed at his thighs, tears pouring now, every part of her body screaming to reject what was happening—but his grip was iron. One hand still tangled in her hair, the other bracing the locker above her.

She gagged again, violently, her eyes rolling as her jaw ached, drool already spilling down her chin.

“God, look at you,” he breathed. “You look so fucking perfect like this.”

Liam held her head steady, fingers buried tight in her hair, guiding her mouth over him with steady, shallow thrusts. Her lips stretched painfully around him, jaw trembling from the effort. Her cries were muffled, choked whimpers vibrating around his cock.

“Such a pretty mouth,” he murmured, voice low, almost reverent. “Didn’t think it would take me this well. You’re full of surprises, sweetheart.”

Y/N gagged again as he pushed deeper, her nails digging into his thighs now, trying to push him back—but he only groaned, his hips shifting to test her limit.

“You sound so fucking beautiful when you cry like that,” he growled, his free hand brushing a tear from her cheek. “What’s wrong? You were soaking for me earlier. Thought this was what you wanted.”

She coughed around him, spit leaking from the corners of her mouth, her face flushed red from effort and shame. Her throat burned, her stomach tight with humiliation.

“You’ll get used to it,” Liam muttered, hips rolling just enough to make her choke again. “You’ll learn to breathe around me.”

Every time she whimpered, every time her throat convulsed around him, he twitched in her mouth—his own control unraveling slowly as he watched her unravel at his feet.

And still, he didn’t stop.

Not when she cried.

Not when her eyes pleaded.

Not when her body trembled like a leaf in a storm.

Because in his mind, she was his now.

And he’d mold her into what he wanted—one degrading act at a time.

Liam didn’t finish quickly.

He took his time—thrusting slowly, deliberately, making her feel every pulse, every twitch of arousal in her mouth. His hips rolled in a steady rhythm, never rushing, always watching. Her muffled cries only spurred him on, the way her throat clenched each time he went too deep, the way her body trembled trying to keep up with the weight of him.

“Breathe through your nose,” he muttered, breath growing heavier. “That’s it. Just like that. You’re learning.”

Time blurred.

Her jaw ached. Her knees burned against the cold tile. Her body was slick with sweat and spit, humiliated and overwhelmed. Every time she tried to pull back, he corrected her—guiding her, holding her, refusing to let her retreat.

Then she felt it.

The subtle twitch of his cock against her tongue. The way his grip on her hair tightened. The low, guttural sound that escaped him.

She tried to jerk away, sensing what was coming—but he held her firm, his voice rough and final.

“Don’t move.”

She whimpered, shaking her head, but it was too late.

He released with a deep groan, cock twitching violently as his seed spilled across her tongue. Her eyes widened, body jerking again—but he only held her tighter.

“Swallow,” he growled, his tone leaving no room for refusal. “Now.”

Tears streaked down her cheeks as she choked it down, throat working, her pride dissolving into nothing. She didn’t want to taste him. Didn’t want to remember this—but her body obeyed.

Because she had no choice.

And when he finally let her go, she collapsed back against the locker, coughing, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her hoodie, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

Liam stood above her, adjusting himself with calm satisfaction.

“That’s what obedience looks like,” he said softly. “You did good, sweetheart.”

Y/N stayed curled on her side, knees drawn up, body heaving from the shock of what had just happened. Her cheek rested against the cool tile, sweat and tears soaking into her hoodie. She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Her throat was raw, her lips swollen, and her body still trembling from humiliation and exhaustion.

But Liam wasn’t done looking at her.

His eyes dragged over her again, hungry—predatory. From where she’d collapsed, her leggings had shifted, the curve of her ass rising slightly as if inviting more. Unintentional. Innocent. But to him, it was something else entirely.

His breathing hitched.

“Goddamn,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing the heel of his palm against his already half-hard cock. “I can’t wait to fuck your ass.”

Y/N flinched, her breath catching. She looked up at him, eyes wide, wet, terrified—and that only seemed to thrill him more.

“You see what you do to me?” he hissed, voice shaky with restraint as his hand pressed harder over himself, hips shifting slightly as he bumped his own shaft through his pants. “Fuck.”

She turned her face away again, sobbing silently, praying he’d stop.

And finally—after a long, tense moment—he exhaled. A sharp, ragged breath as he adjusted himself, tucking his length away with a soft hiss of frustration.

“Next time,” he muttered, almost to himself.

He knelt beside her, smoothing her hair back with a tenderness that felt cruel now, mocking. His voice lowered, sickeningly sweet.

“Baby,” he said. “You’re mine now.”

Y/N whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he whispered, his mouth near her ear now. “But you’re not going to tell anyone. Are you?”

His hand drifted to her hip, holding her in place—not hurting, just owning.

“Because if you do…” he continued, tone shifting, darkening. “I’ll ruin you. No one will believe you. I’ll say you came onto me. I’ll say you begged.”

He leaned closer.

“And I’ll make sure no one ever sees that pretty face again if you try to leave me.”

He stood slowly, collected, leaving her broken on the floor.

“I’ll see you Thursday, sweetheart,” he said as he walked out, the lock clicking open like nothing ever happened.

The door swung shut.

And she was alone.

Her limbs felt foreign.

Heavy. Shaking. Numb.

Y/N stayed on the floor a moment longer, the cold tile anchoring her, keeping her from floating too far out of her own body. But the silence in the locker room only made it worse—it echoed around her, too quiet, too still, like the room had swallowed her scream and forgotten it.

She forced herself to sit up.

Her thighs ached. Her mouth was dry. Her hands—when she looked at them—were trembling so hard she could barely zip her bag. But somehow she stood, legs unsteady beneath her, gripping the sink counter to hold herself up.

Her reflection was a mess.

Flushed. Eyes red and puffy. Mascara streaked down her cheeks. Her lips… swollen.

“You’re mine now.”

The words rang in her skull like a curse.

She twisted the faucet on and rinsed her mouth out over and over, trying to scrub away the taste, the feeling, the heat of his skin. Her gag reflex caught once—hard—and she clutched the edge of the sink, nearly retching.

Not here. Not now.

She spat again, wiped her face with cold water, and stared at the girl in the mirror.

She didn’t look like herself.

She looked like someone who had just been owned.

Tearing her eyes away, she shouldered her bag and bolted out of the locker room, her only thought now: get out.

The hallway was quiet. Just the soft thud of the music playlist and the hum of the fans still cooling the studio.

She turned the corner—

And there he was.

Liam.

Leaning casually against the front desk, chatting with another female instructor. Smiling. Calm. Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just ripped her apart inside that room.

Y/N stopped in her tracks.

He looked up. And his eyes met hers—just for a second.

He didn’t smirk. Didn’t wink. He didn’t need to.

There was nothing in his face at all. Just easy charm, folded arms, and polite nods.

And next to him, the woman laughed at something he said.

The world hadn’t ended.

Only hers had.

Liam was composed.

On the outside, anyway.

He leaned casually against the polished front desk, arms crossed loosely over his broad chest, one ankle hooked over the other. Sweat still cooled along his back from the session, but he didn’t feel it. His body buzzed with satisfaction, blood still thick with the taste of power.

Beside him, Alyssa, one of the newer instructors, stood chatting about her upcoming retreat plans—something about Bali, yoga with goats, or whatever trendy bullshit she always spewed.

He smiled when she laughed, giving her just enough attention to keep her interested. She was cute. Young. Naïve.

But she wasn’t her.

He barely heard what Alyssa said. His mind was replaying Y/N. The way her lips looked wrapped around him. The rawness in her eyes. The panic. The helplessness.

And that orgasm. Her slick coating his fingers like she wanted him.

God, it made his cock twitch again.

He could still smell her on his skin, even through the soap.

And when she came around the corner just now—shaken, disheveled, trying not to fall apart—his chest swelled with something sharp and dark.

That’s mine.

The girl he just defiled and ruined?

He owned her now. Whether she understood it or not.

And no one would question him. Not here.

Liam ran this studio. He didn’t need to—but it kept him entertained. Gave him access. Let him indulge. His real money came from the old life—family real estate, private holdings, passive income streams that rolled in whether he lifted a finger or not.

Most people assumed he taught yoga as some soul-searching, post-divorce passion project.

Let them.

Let them think he was healing. Grounded. Enlightened.

Meanwhile, he owned three properties, a stake in the gym next door, and two vintage cars parked in his climate-controlled garage. The yoga mats were just a stage. A slow-burning ritual.

A way to handpick who he wanted to touch.

He glanced again toward the door, where Y/N had disappeared.

Alyssa was still talking, gesturing now.

He smiled.

Nodded.

His thoughts stayed fixed on Y/N’s tear-streaked face.

She’ll come back.

They always did.

And if she didn’t? Well, there were other ways to keep her under his hand.

After all, when you had enough money—and enough charm—no one ever questioned the instructor.

Y/N didn’t remember the drive home.

She barely remembered getting her key into the door or walking past the photos on the wall—her graduation picture, the one of her and her mom on vacation, both smiling, arms around each other.

She went straight to the bathroom.

Locked the door.

Turned the water on scalding hot.

Her clothes came off in jerks, like they were glued to her skin, soaked in sweat and shame. The second her foot touched the tub, she collapsed to her knees under the spray, hands braced against the tile as she let the water hit her back.

She stayed there for minutes—maybe hours—face tipped up to the stream, letting it sting her raw.

Then she started to scrub.

Hard.

She grabbed the body wash, the exfoliating gloves, anything she could find—and dragged it over her skin until it burned. Her chest. Her throat. Her thighs. Between her legs. Over and over until her body was red and aching and still, still she didn’t feel clean.

Sobs wracked through her chest in heaving waves, echoing off the tile walls.

She covered her mouth.

Tried to be quiet.

Tried to breathe.

But it all spilled out of her.

The helplessness. The humiliation. The way he looked at her like she was his. The way her body had responded. That was the worst part. That shame clung to her more than his touch ever had.

Eventually, she sank to the floor of the tub, legs drawn to her chest, water pouring over her like a punishment.

And when it finally turned cold, she forced herself to move.

She got out, toweling off in silence.

Her reflection looked pale, eyes swollen, hair damp and tangled around her face.

She pulled on soft clothes—an old t-shirt, cotton shorts—and sat at her vanity, brushing her hair slowly, carefully, like that would help smooth out everything else.

She stared at herself.

Forced her hands to stop shaking.

Tried to erase the red around her eyes.

Be normal.

She needed to be normal.

Just in time—the sound of keys jingling at the front door. Her mom’s footsteps, light and familiar, moved through the house.

Y/N took a shaky breath.

Plastered on a smile.

When her mother stepped into the kitchen and saw her at the table, Y/N waved gently.

“Hey, Mom,” she said, voice soft. “How was work?”

And her mom smiled back, setting her purse down like nothing was wrong in the world.

As if her daughter wasn’t shattered from the inside out.

Two Weeks Later

Y/N hadn’t gone back.

Not once.

She canceled the rest of her schedule at the yoga studio by asking her mom—casually, as if it were no big deal—to switch her membership to a public gym instead. “It’s closer to the café,” she’d said. “And cheaper.”

Her mom didn’t question it. She just clicked a few buttons on her phone and muttered something about budgeting, pleased Y/N was finally “being more independent.”

The truth?

She couldn’t even look at that studio again. The thought of that building made her skin crawl.

Instead, Y/N walked.

Every morning, she got up, laced her shoes tight, and walked laps through the park. Headphones in. Hood up. Eyes low. She counted trees, trash bins, cracks in the path—anything to keep her mind focused.

She didn’t always make it through.

Sometimes she’d stop mid-step, heart pounding out of nowhere, palms sweating, breath catching on a memory. His voice. His fingers. The burn of humiliation rising in her throat.

Other days she managed a full hour. Smiled at a dog. Bought a smoothie. Pretended.

The new gym helped a little. It was public. Bright. Full of noise. Cameras. People. She only went when it was busy—when it felt safest. She avoided the yoga mats entirely and stayed in the cardio area, where no one touched anyone.

Still, at night… She wasn’t free.

Some nights, she’d bolt upright in bed, chest heaving, soaked in sweat. Her blankets tangled around her legs like restraints. And that feeling would be back—the one from the locker room. That crawling, suffocating heat in her throat.

She’d cry, silently, curled on her side in the dark, trying not to wake her mother.

She hated how real it still felt.

She hated that it haunted her.

But what she didn’t know—what she couldn’t know—was that across town, Liam noticed.

Back at the studio…

Liam sat alone in the back office, door cracked, music humming softly from the speakers in the main room. The lights were low. Everything was clean, orderly, just the way he liked it.

Except she was gone.

Two weeks.

No calls. No messages. No returned emails. He checked the system—her membership was canceled under her mother’s name.

His jaw clenched.

At first, he thought she was just shaken. Embarrassed, maybe. Most girls were after the first time—especially when it caught them off guard. But they always came back.

Always.

He remembered the way she looked up at him. The way her body responded. The way she swallowed.

She wanted it. She just didn’t know how to admit it.

He tapped a pen against the desk, eyes flicking to her old sign-in sheet.

Y/N L.

His grip tightened around the pen until it snapped.

He was trying to be patient. Really, he was.

But every day that passed, every empty mat where she should have been, twisted something deeper in his chest.

She was avoiding him.

And that?

That was unacceptable.

It started at the grocery store.

He’d known her mother shopped there—same day every week, roughly the same time. Liam had learned a long time ago that people are creatures of habit. All he had to do was wait.

And then—there she was.

Y/N’s mother. Pushing a cart half-filled with produce, glancing down at a folded list in her hand.

He didn’t approach right away.

No—Liam circled the aisle once, letting her pass, pretending not to see her. Then, at just the right moment, as she turned into the cereal aisle, he “bumped” into her.

“Oh!” she gasped, startled, then her face lit up. “Liam! From the studio, right?”

He smiled—warm, genuine, harmless.

“Hey there,” he said, stepping back with a soft laugh. “Wow, it’s been a while. I wasn’t sure you’d recognize me.”

“Of course I do,” she chuckled, brushing her hair behind her ear. “You’re the one who got me into those terrible pigeon poses.”

He laughed again, easy and boyish. “Guilty. But you always had good form.”

She smiled. Relaxed.

That was all he needed.

They chatted for a few minutes. Small talk. Easy things. And then, with perfect timing, he tilted his head and asked, casual as ever:

“How’s your daughter doing? Y/N, right?”

She blinked. “Oh. She’s fine. She stopped going to class, I think—something about wanting a change of pace. You know how young girls are.”

Liam gave a gentle, practiced smile.

“Yeah… I figured. I noticed she hadn’t signed in lately. I hope everything’s okay. She’s a sweet girl. Always so focused.”

That touched something in the woman. Maternal pride. Concern.

“She’s been a little quiet lately,” she admitted. “But you know, growing up. Finding herself.”

He nodded, letting the silence stretch—just enough to create space for trust.

“I really enjoyed having her in class,” he said, voice softening. “She had a natural rhythm. There was something peaceful about the way she moved. Like she listened.”

Her mother beamed, visibly pleased.

Then came the hook.

“I hope I didn’t do something to make her uncomfortable,” Liam said suddenly, dropping his gaze, looking almost ashamed. “I’m… I can be a little intense. After the divorce, I put everything into the studio. Maybe I overdid it. I’d hate to think she left because of me.”

Her mom immediately reached out, touched his arm. “Oh no, Liam. I’m sure that’s not it.”

He looked up, just the right amount of vulnerability in his eyes. “You’re kind to say that.”

And then—before she could say more—he smiled again.

“Hey,” he said, chuckling. “This is going to sound forward, but… I’d love to catch up more sometime. Honestly, it was nice talking to someone who remembers I exist outside a yoga mat.”

She laughed, flattered. “You know… we’re having dinner Friday. Why don’t you come by? I’m making too much anyway.”

“Really?” he asked, smile widening. “That would be great. Thank you.”

She scribbled her number and address on a receipt from her purse, tucked it into his hand.

And just like that—

He was back.

Friday evening came like any other.

Y/N had just finished setting the table, soft music humming from the kitchen speaker, the smell of rosemary chicken wafting through the house. Her mom was fluttering between stirring the vegetables and checking the wine, humming something under her breath.

Y/N had no idea anyone was coming.

She was in leggings and a soft tee, hair still slightly damp from her shower, face bare—comfortable, relaxed. Almost happy.

Until the doorbell rang.

She stilled.

One foot in the hallway, hand still gripping a folded napkin.

“Could you get that, honey?” her mom called over her shoulder.

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“The door.”

She hesitated. That creeping feeling again. Her fingers trembled.

But she stepped forward anyway.

Pulled open the door.

And froze.

Liam stood there.

Polished. Smiling. Dressed in a crisp button-up and dark jeans, a bottle of wine in one hand and flowers in the other.

Her stomach dropped.

Her mouth opened—but no words came.

“Oh! You made it!” her mom beamed, stepping up behind her and throwing her arms around his neck in a warm hug.

Liam laughed, low and charming. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

He glanced over her shoulder, locking eyes with Y/N.

Only he saw it.

The way her body went rigid.

The way her hand on the doorknob turned white from how tightly she gripped it.

The way she shook.

His smile never changed.

“Hello, Y/N,” he said softly, stepping closer under the excuse of handing her the wine. “You look lovely.”

She didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t even blink until his fingers brushed against hers as he passed the bottle.

Then she flinched.

Finally—her body broke its paralysis. She took a single step back, lips trembling.

“Oh,” her mom said, noticing the awkward pause but not the terror in her daughter’s eyes. “Sorry, sweetie. I meant to tell you I ran into Liam earlier this week at the store. He was so sweet, I invited him over. I completely forgot to mention it—my brain’s been all over the place.”

Liam chuckled like it was no big deal. “Don’t worry. I’m good at surprises.”

Y/N’s gaze shot to him, wide with panic—but he was already looking away, stepping past her and into their home like he belonged there.

And suddenly… she couldn’t breathe.

Dinner was set perfectly.

Candles lit. Napkins folded. Glasses filled.

Y/N sat stiffly between her mother and the wall, barely moving, her fork scraping along the edge of her plate. The roasted chicken was tender, the vegetables seasoned just right—but she couldn’t eat.

Her stomach was a knot of nausea and fear.

Across from her, Liam was glowing.

He laughed easily, complimented the wine, told a charming story about a retreat in the mountains. Her mother was utterly taken with him—she laughed more than Y/N had heard in weeks, eyes crinkling with delight as he spoke.

“You’re such a good storyteller,” she said, sipping her drink. “I feel like I was there.”

“Oh, you’d love it,” he smiled, then glanced toward Y/N. “Maybe next time Y/N could come too. She’s always had good breath control. I bet she’d do well at higher altitudes.”

Y/N’s fork slipped from her hand, clattering onto her plate.

Her mother turned. “Sweetheart?”

“I’m fine,” Y/N whispered, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Liam leaned back in his chair, watching her with that same look she remembered from the studio—quiet possession. Like he already owned her silence.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” he said gently, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “Not feeling well?”

Y/N’s jaw tightened.

“I’m just not hungry,” she said, pushing a carrot across her plate.

He nodded, a soft, knowing chuckle under his breath. “Shame. You used to have such a healthy appetite.”

Her mother raised a brow. “Oh?”

“Oh, I just meant during class,” he said smoothly. “She was very focused. Very… responsive.”

Y/N went still.

Liam smiled, eyes flicking over her.

“I do miss having her in the studio. Her form was always so good. She listened to everything I said.”

Y/N stared down at her plate, blinking hard. Her chest ached.

Her mother, of course, beamed. “She really liked you too. Always said you had a calming voice.”

“Oh, did she?” he said, lips curling. “That’s sweet.”

Under the table, his foot brushed hers. Light. Barely noticeable.

She flinched so hard her knee hit the table.

“Y/N!” her mom laughed. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said again, voice flat.

Liam tilted his head, that smile never fading.

“Well,” he said softly, lifting his glass in a small toast, “here’s to second chances. And catching up with old… friends.”

Y/N barely touched hers.

And across the table, Liam’s eyes never left her face.

Dinner ended too slowly.

Y/N helped clear the plates, her hands robotic, her movements careful. Her mother chatted cheerfully while rinsing dishes at the sink, Liam right beside her, rolling up his sleeves like he belonged in their home.

Y/N stayed silent. Focused on scraping leftovers into the trash. On stacking the forks evenly. On breathing.

Then her mother’s phone buzzed.

She glanced at the screen. “Oh, shoot. It’s the pharmacy—I’ve been waiting on this call all day.” She dried her hands quickly and looked at Y/N. “Just a minute, sweetheart?”

Y/N’s heart dropped.

“Sure,” she said, barely audible.

Her mother smiled, grabbing her phone as she stepped into the hallway, her voice fading as she answered. The door clicked softly behind her.

Y/N stood still in the kitchen.

Then she heard the water shut off.

And felt him behind her.

“Leave,” she whispered, not turning around. “Just go.”

Liam didn’t answer.

Instead, his hand slid over her hip, slow and familiar.

She jerked away, but he only laughed—quiet and low, like they were sharing a joke. His hand caught her wrist, pulling her gently but firmly back against the counter.

“You really thought disappearing would work?” he murmured near her ear. “That I’d forget you?”

She tried to pull free, but he tightened his grip, his chest against her back now, his breath hot on her neck.

“I see you’ve been going to a gym now,” he said, his voice laced with something dark. “Walking in the park. You know, the one with the blue benches and the coffee truck near the fountain?”

Her blood ran cold.

He had been watching her.

“I’m not done with you, Y/N,” he said, his hand brushing the waistband of her shirt, just enough to make her skin crawl. “You’re mine. That little mouth, that body—you proved it. Don’t make me remind you again.”

She whimpered. “Please don’t…”

He leaned closer, lips barely grazing her ear. “Then keep pretending. Keep smiling. If your mom finds out, if you try to run again…”

His grip dug into her hip now, hard enough to leave bruises.

“…I’ll make it worse. So much worse.”

And then—

As quickly as it started, he stepped back.

By the time her mother reentered the kitchen, Liam was drying a plate, smiling like nothing had happened.

“You girls make a great team,” he said cheerfully. “Dinner was lovely.”

Y/N stood frozen.

Shaking.

Her heart pounding against her ribs.

And her mother, still smiling, completely unaware, asked if he wanted to take leftovers home.

Y/N’s Room – Later That Night

The door clicked shut.

Y/N didn’t turn on the light. She walked straight to her bed, dropped her phone on the nightstand, and sat on the edge of the mattress like she was still made of glass. Her breath shook. Her chest felt bruised.

She peeled off her shirt, staring at the faint red imprint on her hip where his hand had grabbed her.

She could still feel his breath in her ear.

“You’re mine.”

Her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her thighs. No matter how she scrubbed, no matter how far she ran, Liam was always one step behind. Always waiting. Always smiling.

She curled up in bed fully clothed, pulling the blanket up to her chin, tears rolling silently down her face.

Why didn’t I say something?

Because who would believe her?

To everyone else, he was charming. Friendly. Helpful.

To her, he was a monster in nice clothes.

She closed her eyes tight, trying to will herself to sleep.

But in the dark, she swore she could still hear his voice.

Liam – Downtown Bar, Same Night

The place was loud. Music thumping low, dim lights casting shadows across the dark leather booths. Liam sat near the back, drink in hand, half-smirking as he listened to his two oldest friends talk trash.

“Man, I don’t know how you still haven’t knocked some girl up yet,” said Chase, tall, smooth-talking, with the kind of grin that got women into trouble. “You’d make a great dad. All that discipline.” He grinned, sipping his bourbon.

Liam chuckled. “Not exactly top of the list right now.”

“You say that,” said Grant, the other one—stockier, meaner, always smirking like he knew a secret. “But I’ve seen the way you are when you get attached. One of these days, you’re gonna claim something and keep it.”

Liam’s jaw ticked slightly.

Chase leaned in. “Still thinking about that little student of yours?”

Liam didn’t answer right away. He traced the rim of his glass.

“She’s… different.”

Grant laughed. “Different how? Tight little body, scared eyes, barely legal? Sounds like your type.”

Liam shot him a sharp glance.

“No,” he said. “She listens.”

That made them pause.

“She’s quiet. Doesn’t talk back. She feels everything too deeply. You can see it in how she reacts. The way her body remembers even when she doesn’t want it to.”

Grant raised a brow. “So what, you gonna wife her up?”

Liam smiled slowly, finishing his drink.

“I’m thinking about it.”

Chase barked a laugh. “You? Married?”

“Why not?” Liam said calmly. “I’ve already broken her in.”

Grant leaned back, arms crossed. “Then what’s the move?”

Liam’s eyes gleamed.

“She doesn’t feel safe now. But safety’s a gift. You scare them first—so when you offer them comfort later, they’ll crawl into your lap and thank you for it.”

Chase gave an approving nod. “That’s twisted.”

“Effective,” Liam corrected, signaling the bartender for another round. “She’ll come back. They always do. But if she doesn’t… I’ll make her.”

He looked out across the bar, smiling to himself.

“Some girls were made to be owned.”

Three Days Later

She shouldn’t have said yes.

Every part of her knew that.

But something about the way he spoke on the phone—measured, soft, normal—made her hesitate just long enough for the words to leave her mouth.

“I’ll meet you.”

It was supposed to be in public. A neutral space. Just to talk, he said.

And then the package arrived.

Wrapped in black tissue paper inside a sleek box, left on her porch without a name but unmistakably his. A dress—not too short, but still clinging in all the right places. Deep wine-red, soft velvet. Alongside it, a thin gold necklace and a note:

“Wear this. I want to see you the way I remember you—beautiful and obedient.” —L

Her fingers trembled as she read it.

Still… she put the dress on.

Her legs felt like they didn’t belong to her as she stepped outside that evening. Her mother had left for dinner with friends, oblivious, leaving the house quiet.

She almost turned around.

Until the sleek, black Maserati pulled up to the curb.

The passenger door opened with a soft click, the leather interior glowing from within. Liam sat behind the wheel in a fitted black dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up just enough to show the veins in his forearms, a glint of gold at his wrist.

“Get in, sweetheart,” he said, like they were on their way to a date. “You look… breathtaking.”

Y/N hesitated on the sidewalk, frozen.

But then—like always—her body moved.

She got in.

The door shut with a whisper. The car smelled like him—clean, expensive, dark.

She barely buckled her seatbelt before he leaned over slightly, brushing her hair from her shoulder, his eyes trailing down her neck to the neckline of the dress.

“You wore it for me,” he murmured, satisfied. “Good girl.”

Her throat tightened. Her hands clutched her purse.

“You said this would just be to talk.”

Liam smiled as he pulled away from the curb, one hand casually on the wheel, the other draped over the gearshift.

“And we will,” he said calmly. “But not just anywhere. I want privacy. Comfort. You deserve that.”

She looked out the window, the city lights smearing past in streaks of gold.

He glanced over at her legs, at the way the dress hugged her thighs. His voice dropped.

“You have no idea how good you look right now, do you?”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

His hand flexed around the gearshift.

She came.

And in his mind, that meant she was already his again.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.

Y/N stepped out onto polished marble floors, her heels clicking faintly beneath her. The space was silent—too silent. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the far wall, revealing a glittering skyline. The city below sparkled like it was a world away.

This wasn’t just some nice apartment.

It was a penthouse. High above everything. Private. Isolated.

Her heart thudded harder in her chest.

Liam stepped out behind her, his hand brushing the small of her back in a gesture that felt too intimate. Too possessive.

“You live here?” she asked softly, her voice dry.

He chuckled. “One of a few places. This one’s my favorite, though. It’s quiet. No one bothers us up here.”

Us.

Y/N’s hands clutched the strap of her purse tighter.

The door shut behind them with a click she felt in her spine.

He moved ahead of her, unbothered, unhurried, loosening the top buttons of his shirt as he walked. The space was warm and tastefully designed—clean, masculine, with soft lighting and expensive touches she didn’t even know how to name.

It felt like she was in a magazine.

Or a trap.

“You’re tense,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Sit down. Relax. You don’t need to be afraid.”

But she didn’t move.

“I thought we were going to talk,” she said, barely above a whisper.

He turned slowly, standing at the edge of the living room. The skyline glowed behind him, casting his figure in shadow.

“We are,” he said calmly. “But I didn’t say it had to be in public. I didn’t bring you here to hurt you, Y/N. You know that.”

Her throat tightened. “I shouldn’t have come.”

His jaw flexed—just slightly.

“You’re here now,” he said, stepping closer. “And you look so beautiful. You didn’t come all this way just to leave, did you?”

She backed up half a step, bumping into the edge of a sleek marble table.

He smiled, soft and slow.

“I’ve missed you,” he said. “Every night. Every little sound you made… it’s burned into me. I thought about you in this room, at this table, at my hands—”

“Stop,” she said, trembling. “Please, don’t—”

He reached for her face—not rough, not yet—and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he said. “Not if you listen.”

His fingers brushed her jaw, his voice lowering to that dark, coaxing register she remembered all too well.

“I brought you here to remind you… what you are to me.”

Liam’s hand wrapped gently around hers.

Warm. Steady. Inescapable.

“Come,” he said, guiding her deeper into the penthouse.

Y/N didn’t resist, but every step made her stomach twist tighter. Her heels clicked softly on the smooth floors as he led her into a sleek, open kitchen—black marble counters, subtle underlighting, everything pristine.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to a tall leather stool at the island.

She hesitated.

Then sat.

Good girl.

He moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, rolling up his sleeves just above his forearms. “I figured you wouldn’t eat before you came,” he said, opening the fridge. “So I planned something simple.”

She watched him in silence.

Pasta. Garlic. Fresh herbs. Expensive wine already breathing on the counter.

He worked quietly at first, the rhythm of the knife against the cutting board oddly hypnotic. The scent of rosemary and butter began to fill the air.

It would have felt safe… if it were anyone else.

But it was him.

And the longer she sat there, the more the room felt smaller.

Then he spoke again.

“I don’t think I ever told you much about me,” he said, his tone casual. “I grew up with nothing. Small town. Messy family. Left home at seventeen. Military, construction, got lucky with real estate. Now I teach yoga because I like control.”

He smiled to himself, tossing chopped herbs into the sizzling pan.

Y/N didn’t respond.

He glanced at her. “What about you?”

She blinked. “What?”

“I want to know you,” he said, pouring pasta into the water. “Really know you. What makes you tick. What scares you. What turns you on.”

Her breath caught. “That’s not—”

“You like soft music,” he interrupted smoothly. “You drink your smoothies with oat milk. You like wearing oversized clothes when you’re alone. You smell like vanilla and clean laundry. You cry in the shower and talk in your sleep.”

She stared at him, frozen.

His eyes met hers. Calm. Unblinking.

“I’ve been paying attention, sweetheart.”

He stepped around the island now, wiping his hands on a towel as he came to stand beside her.

“Tell me something real,” he said gently, tucking her hair behind her ear again. “Anything. I want to hear your voice.”

Her lips parted—but nothing came out.

He waited.

Smiling.

Patient.

But not for long.

Y/N swallowed hard.

Her mouth was dry. Her heart pounded in her ears.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” she whispered, barely audible.

Liam’s back was turned as he stirred the sauce, but she saw the slight smile at the corner of his mouth.

“That’s alright,” he said smoothly. “I’ll help.”

He picked up a wine glass, poured half a glass of deep red, and slid it across the counter toward her. “Here. Sip. It’ll relax you.”

She didn’t move at first.

He glanced back at her. “It’s not poisoned, Y/N.”

With shaking hands, she lifted the glass and took a sip, eyes darting to him the entire time.

Liam turned back to the stove. “Let’s start easy,” he said. “What time do you usually wake up?”

She blinked. “Uh… seven?”

“Alarms or sunlight?”

“Alarm.”

He smiled. “Do you sleep with socks on?”

She shifted in her seat. “No.”

“Do you shower in the morning or at night?”

Her cheeks flushed. “Both sometimes…”

He hummed like that pleased him.

“And when you cook—do you make enough for one, or pretend it’s for two so you don’t feel lonely?”

Her breath hitched. “I—I don’t know…”

“I think you do,” he said, still stirring.

The sizzle of the sauce was the only sound for a moment.

Then: “Do you want kids?”

Her stomach dropped. “What?”

“Simple question,” he said, finally glancing over his shoulder. “Do you want a family? A home? A quiet life with someone who knows what you need before you say it?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

Her legs pressed together instinctively under the counter.

He wasn’t even looking at her fully—but she felt watched. Dissected.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” he asked next, voice quieter now. “In fate? In people finding each other… even if it’s through pain?”

She shook her head slightly, eyes burning.

Liam turned off the burner, the scent of garlic and herbs heavy in the air.

“I do,” he said softly, placing the pan down and wiping his hands again. “Because I found mine.”

He moved slowly, walking back around the island, glass of wine in hand, and leaned on the edge of the counter—still far, still calm, still in control.

“I just want to know the little things, sweetheart,” he murmured, watching her squirm. “Because one day… they’ll be my little things too.”

Y/N gripped the stem of the wine glass tighter.

The velvet of her dress clung to her thighs, warm now under the kitchen lights, under his gaze—even when he wasn’t looking directly at her.

But he didn’t need to look.

Every word he spoke curled around her body like a thread being drawn tight.

He took another sip of wine and set the glass down beside hers. “Do you sleep on the left or right side of the bed?”

She blinked, her voice caught in her throat. “Wh… what?”

“In your room,” he said gently. “When you get in bed… do you curl to the wall? Or leave the space beside you open?”

“I—I guess the right…”

He smiled slowly, nodding like he was memorizing her. Etching her answers into stone.

“I sleep on the left,” he said. “Perfect fit.”

Her thighs tensed under the counter. She looked away, pretending to study the glass in her hands.

He didn’t stop.

“What’s your favorite kind of flower?” he asked next.

“I—I don’t know…”

“You’d like tulips,” he decided. “Soft pink ones. You’d keep them in the kitchen. Or in the bedroom window, right next to where you sleep. They’d suit you.”

Her eyes burned, chest rising and falling unevenly.

He tilted his head.

“Do you want a daughter?”

Y/N froze.

Liam’s voice dipped low. Intimate. Dangerous.

“Not now,” he clarified. “Later. When you’ve settled into something safe. Something real. Would you like a little girl who looks like you? Big eyes. Soft smile. Someone you’d raise to be obedient. Gentle.”

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

“I’ve thought about names,” he murmured. “Eden. Or Noelle. Something sweet.”

He stepped forward now, just one slow step closer.

“I think you’d be a wonderful mother.”

She shook her head, tears slipping free now. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I know you,” Liam said, coming around the island until he stood directly beside her. “Because I’ve seen what you look like when you come undone. Because you’re already mine in all the ways that matter—and this…”

He gestured between them. The wine. The food. The silence.

“This is just practice for forever.”

He leaned down slightly, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“Don’t cry, baby. This doesn’t have to be hard.”

His hand grazed her shoulder lightly, fingertips running down her arm. “You just have to stop pretending you don’t feel it too.”

Y/N’s chair scraped back sharply.

She stood so fast it nearly toppled, heart hammering against her ribs. “I can’t—I have to go,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “I shouldn’t have come. I need to leave—”

But Liam moved faster.

He stepped in front of her, cutting her off with a smooth, practiced grace. He didn’t grab her. He didn’t shout.

He simply was there.

Tall. Unyielding. Smiling faintly.

“Leaving?” he asked, eyes scanning her face. “You haven’t even tasted dinner.”

Her hands shook at her sides. “Move.”

His gaze darkened—not angry. Just… disappointed.

Then came the voice.

That low, condescending calm that made her skin crawl.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, “you can’t even get through a meal without trembling like a scared little thing, and you think you’re going to walk out of here?”

Tears welled instantly.

He stepped closer. Not touching. But close enough she could feel the warmth of him bleed into her skin. Her breath hitched. Her legs refused to move.

“Pathetic,” he whispered, so soft it almost sounded kind. “You cry like someone who thinks she still has choices.”

The first tear fell. Then another.

He reached up—gently—cupping her cheek.

And licked the tear from her skin.

His tongue moved slowly, deliberately, just under her eye, before he pulled back and sighed.

“You taste like surrender,” he murmured, eyes fluttering shut for half a second. “Sweet and scared.”

Her knees buckled slightly, but she caught herself against the counter.

He watched her a moment longer—then spoke again, tone lighter, like they were making plans.

“I’ll let you stay with your mother,” he said. “For now. You need time to adjust. To realize what this is.”

She stared at him, trembling, lips parting in disbelief.

“You think you’re going back to normal? To walking parks and public gyms?” He chuckled, stepping aside now. “You can play pretend. But I’ll be watching.”

Her pulse thundered in her ears.

“And when the time’s right,” he said, walking toward the kitchen again, “you’ll come home.”

He poured himself more wine.

“Not because I’ll force you,” he added, raising the glass to his lips.

“But because you won’t have anything else left.”

Three Days Later

Y/N had gotten good at pretending.

She got up early. Went for her walks. Made coffee she rarely drank. She kept her phone charged and nearby—not because she wanted to—but because he expected it.

Liam.

Every morning like clockwork:

“Good morning, baby. Did you dream of me?” “Wear something soft today. I’ll know if you don’t.” “Two more days until the weekend. I can’t wait to have you to myself.”

She didn’t always reply.

Sometimes she just stared at the screen, paralyzed, fingers trembling over the keyboard. But she had learned—if she ignored him too long, the messages got worse. Sharper. Sometimes he’d send photos of places she’d walked that day. Ones she hadn’t noticed him taking.

So now, she answered with what she could manage.

Okay. Yeah. Sure.

And that was enough—for now.

But the weekend was closing in. He had already made her choose a dress. A color. A place. “I want you to feel like it’s your idea,” he’d said.

She felt sick every time she thought about it.

She hadn’t seen her friends in almost two weeks.

They’d been texting, trying to call, but she kept putting them off.

“Sorry, not feeling great.” “Busy with stuff.” “Next week for sure.”

Until that Thursday afternoon—when the doorbell rang.

She opened the door to see both of them standing on the porch: Mia and Harper. One holding a takeout bag, the other holding bubble tea.

“Surprise!” Harper grinned. “We’re not taking no for an answer.”

Y/N froze.

Mia’s smile faded slightly when she saw her face. “Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” she said too fast. “Just… tired.”

Harper didn’t wait. She walked inside like she always had, heading straight for the kitchen. “You’ve been ghosting us, and not to be dramatic, but I was one day away from calling the FBI.”

Mia followed slower, watching her.

Y/N tried to breathe normally, act casually, but she felt raw. Exposed.

The texts from Liam were still open on her phone. The outfit he wanted her to wear that weekend was folded in her closet. And deep down, she knew—

If he found out they were here, he’d be angry.

Very angry.

They gathered around the living room table, the takeout containers spread out like a makeshift picnic. Harper put on a playlist. Mia opened the bubble teas. They laughed. Talked. Caught Y/N up on gossip from work, from school, from everywhere that suddenly felt like a world she no longer belonged to.

Y/N smiled.

She nodded at the right moments. Laughed once or twice. Took tiny bites of food she couldn’t taste.

Her hands never left her lap.

“You’ve lost weight,” Mia said suddenly, halfway through a story.

Y/N froze, then forced a smile. “Stress, I guess.”

Harper leaned in. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been… kinda off.”

“I’m fine,” she said. Too quickly. Her voice light, too light. “Just tired. Haven’t been sleeping great.”

Mia frowned. “Did something happen?”

“No. No,” Y/N insisted, her tone too bright. “It’s nothing like that.”

But her knee bounced.

Her phone, face-down on the armrest, vibrated.

She didn’t move.

Harper’s eyes flicked to it. “Aren’t you gonna check that?”

Y/N shook her head, trying to brush it off. “It’s probably just… nothing important.”

The phone buzzed again.

And again.

Three times in one minute.

Mia leaned forward now, tone softer. “Y/N… who’s texting you like that?”

“I said it’s nothing,” Y/N whispered.

Her voice cracked.

Harper exchanged a look with Mia.

“You’re scared,” Mia said gently. “You’re acting like someone’s watching you.”

Y/N’s chest tightened.

Harper’s voice dropped. “Is someone hurting you?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, it’s not like that—he’s just—he’s complicated—”

“He?” Mia echoed. “Y/N, who?”

Y/N finally looked up.

And they both went quiet when they saw her eyes—shiny, glassy, filling fast with tears.

Harper reached for her hand.

The silence that followed was enough.

Y/N looked down.

Didn’t speak.

And then her phone buzzed again.

Louder this time.

All three of them stared at it, still face-down, the sound vibrating against the cushion like a warning.

The phone buzzed again.

Harper reached for it.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Don’t—”

But Harper had already picked it up.

She turned the screen toward herself. The lock screen lit up.

Six unread messages.

From Liam.

Mia leaned closer, reading over her shoulder. Her breath hitched.

The most recent message still sat at the top:

“Counting down, baby. I can’t wait to see that pretty little dress on the floor.”

The air in the room turned cold.

“What the fuck,” Harper whispered, her face draining of color. “Who is this man?”

Y/N said nothing. Her chest was rising and falling too fast. Her arms wrapped tight around herself, like she was trying to hold her body together.

Mia’s eyes narrowed. “How old is he?”

Y/N hesitated.

Harper looked at her. “Y/N. How old.”

She swallowed hard. “Thirty-nine.”

Silence.

Mia stood abruptly, pacing. “No. No, no. He’s what? You’re barely twenty!”

Harper was already scrolling. “How long has this been going on? What did he do to you? What has he said? Has he hurt you—”

“I said it’s fine!” Y/N snapped, her voice cracking into a sob.

Mia froze.

Y/N trembled. “It’s complicated. You don’t understand. If I say something, he’ll—he’ll make it worse.”

Harper’s voice was shaking now. “This man is a predator, Y/N. He’s grooming you. Controlling you. He’s probably watching you right now!”

“I know,” Y/N whispered. Her eyes spilled over again. “I know what he is.”

Mia came closer, kneeling in front of her. “Then let us help you. We need to go to the police. Or at least tell your mom. She’d die if she knew—”

“No!” Y/N said quickly. “Please. No one can know. He said he’d ruin me. He said no one would believe me. That he’d… take everything.”

Harper stood now, pacing too. Her hands were shaking. “Then we make them believe. We show them the messages. We go to the police—”

“He knows where I walk. What I wear. When I’m alone,” Y/N choked out. “You don’t understand. If I poke the bear—he’ll snap.”

The girls were silent again. Hearts breaking in real time.

Harper sank to the couch beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

“You’re not alone,” she whispered. “But you have to let us in. You can’t protect him. Not at the cost of yourself.”

Y/N sobbed into her sleeve. “I’m not protecting him. I’m protecting you.”

And that, more than anything, shattered them.

Because she meant it.

Y/N wiped her tears with the sleeve of her oversized hoodie, fingers shaking, eyes red and swollen.

“I’ll tell you,” she whispered, voice hoarse. “Just… don’t interrupt, okay?”

Mia sat back on her knees, nodding quickly.

Harper reached over again, holding her hand this time, gentler.

Y/N stared ahead. Not at them. Not at anything.

“He was my yoga instructor,” she began. “My mom signed me up for the classes. I didn’t even want to go, but she thought it would be good for me. I liked it. It was quiet. Focused. And he…”

Her voice faded, throat tightening.

“He didn’t seem creepy at first. Just calm. Confident. Older, yeah—but I thought he was just… professional.”

Her grip on Harper’s hand tightened.

“Then one class… he touched me. Too long. Too close. I thought it was a mistake. But it kept happening. Hands on my hips. My thighs. Whispering in my ear.”

She closed her eyes.

“One day he… he pressed up against me. In front of everyone. During class. I froze. I didn’t know what to do. And when I ran to the locker room to get away—he followed me.”

Mia covered her mouth.

Harper’s eyes were wet now, too.

Y/N’s voice broke. “He locked the door.”

She wiped her face with both hands, breathing shallow.

“He touched me. He said I wanted it. That I was wet, so it wasn’t wrong. And then he… he forced me to my knees.”

Her friends said nothing. No pity. Just devastation.

“I didn’t tell anyone. Not even my mom. I went home and scrubbed myself raw. I didn’t go back to the studio after that. He started messaging me. Every day. I ignored him, but he’d say things like he knew where I was. What I wore. He knows things.”

Mia reached out, gripping her leg gently. “You shouldn’t have gone through that alone.”

Y/N sniffled, tears fresh again. “I told myself it would stop. But then he showed up. At the grocery store. Talked to my mom. Acted so normal. She invited him to dinner. And I couldn’t say anything without ruining everything. I didn’t want her to think I was dirty or broken or…”

She trailed off.

Harper finally whispered, “You’re not broken.”

Y/N just looked at her. “He made me meet him again. He sent me a dress to wear. Picked me up in some expensive car and took me to his penthouse. Said he missed me. Asked me what side of the bed I sleep on. What I’d name my future daughter.”

Her voice went flat.

“He said I’m his.”

Mia’s eyes filled again, face flushed. “You’re not. You’re not.”

Harper held her tighter. “That wasn’t love. That wasn’t care. That was control.”

Y/N finally looked at them.

“I know that now,” she whispered. “But I don’t know how to stop it.”

The silence after Y/N finished speaking was heavy. Sacred.

Harper was the first to move.

She stood slowly, walked across the room, and grabbed Y/N’s phone.

Y/N flinched. “Wait—what are you—”

“We’re not asking anymore,” Harper said, voice tight. Fierce. “You’re not going back to him. You’re not meeting him this weekend. I don’t care what he planned.”

She turned the phone off before Y/N could stop her. “He doesn’t get to touch you ever again.”

Mia stood too, already walking to Y/N’s closet. “You’re going to pack a bag. A couple nights. Toothbrush, pajamas, your comfiest sweatshirt. Now.”

“I—what about my mom?” Y/N asked, her voice cracking. “She’ll freak out.”

Harper was already typing. “She won’t. I’m texting her from your phone. Telling her you’re staying with me and Mia for the weekend to decompress. Spa weekend. Girl time.”

Mia reappeared with Y/N’s tote bag. “We’ll bring you back before she even notices you’re gone. But he’s not getting near you. Not one more time.”

Y/N just stared at them, heart pounding.

“But what if he shows up?” she whispered. “What if he finds out where I’m staying—”

Harper knelt in front of her, placing the now-powered-down phone gently on the table. “Then we’ll be ready. And he’ll learn we’re not afraid of him anymore.”

Y/N’s hands trembled in her lap.

She wanted to argue. To say they didn’t understand. That he always found a way. But instead, she stood up slowly and nodded.

Because for the first time… someone else was carrying the weight for her.

And she could finally breathe.

The door shut behind them a few minutes later, the house left silent.

Her phone sat on the coffee table—off, unread messages waiting in the dark.

And miles away, Liam was still typing.

“Wear the dress, sweetheart. Don’t keep me waiting.” “You know what happens when you disappear.” “Baby?” “Y/N.” “Y/N, answer me.”

But there was no reply.

Because for the first time…

She was gone.

Liam – The Studio, Friday Evening

The studio was warm. Dim lights, soft music, polished floors.

Liam stood at the front of the room, barefoot and perfectly composed, arms raised as he demonstrated a pose.

“To find balance,” he said, voice smooth as ever, “you have to release control. The body must soften. The mind must quiet.”

The women in his class mirrored his movement, their bodies stretching in silence. Most of them adored him—hung on his words, watched him like he was something holy. One even stayed after class regularly, trying to flirt in soft, breathy giggles.

But Liam’s smile tonight?

Was painted on.

Behind his calm tone, his jaw clenched every time he checked his phone and saw nothing.

Still nothing.

Still no reply.

Still gone.

Y/N.

She was supposed to show up tonight. In the dress. With that look in her eyes—frightened, obedient, perfect.

But instead?

Silence.

He adjusted a student’s pose. Said something soft. Made her blush.

But his mind was miles away, locked on her last message: “Okay.”

That was days ago.

His phone stayed in his palm as class dismissed.

He didn’t look up when the same girl from last week lingered behind.

“Do you need help locking up?” she asked sweetly.

He finally met her eyes—and smiled.

“No. I’m good. Thanks.”

She left. The door shut behind her.

The smile dropped.

His hand gripped the back of a chair, knuckles whitening.

Where the fuck was she.

He opened his phone.

Typed quickly.

Liam: I need to find someone. Quietly. She’s not answering her phone. She’s been gone since yesterday. I think she’s with friends. I want everything. Where she’s staying. Who’s around her. If anyone’s helping her hide.

A moment passed.

Then the reply came in:

Grant: Damn. She ghosted you? Want me to pay her a visit or just dig?

Liam: Start with info. I’ll handle the rest. I don’t want fear. I want compliance.

Grant: Copy that. I’ll text when I have a location.

Liam locked the studio door, the streetlight casting him in sharp contrast as he walked to his car.

His mind had gone very, very quiet.

She thought she could run.

But she’d already proven how much she could bend.

And soon, she’d be bending again.

Y/N – Later That Night

She sat curled on Mia’s couch, wearing Harper’s hoodie and fuzzy socks, a hot cup of tea cooling in her hands.

The windows were closed. The doors locked. Her phone still off.

No buzzing. No watching.

Just silence.

And yet, every time the floor creaked, every time headlights passed outside the window—she flinched.

Harper returned from the kitchen with popcorn, tossing a blanket over her legs.

“You’re safe,” she said again, gently. “He doesn’t know where you are.”

Y/N tried to nod.

Tried to believe it.

But somewhere far away…

She knew he was looking.

Grant – Saturday Morning

Grant liked his work quiet.

No fuss. No mess. Just information.

He sat in his car across from Y/N’s street earlier that morning—not her house, but her friend’s. Harper and Mia. One of them had posted a Boomerang the night before on Instagram. A clink of bubble tea cups. A caption that read: “Finally got her out of the cave 🖤”

The location tag had been public.

Amateurs.

He didn’t need much more than that.

Now, with sunglasses on and a coffee in hand, he watched the apartment building. No pressure. Just time. Just patience.

He saw Y/N through the second-floor window around 10 a.m.

Messy bun. Harper’s hoodie. Laughing nervously.

It was her.

Bingo.

He snapped a photo—zoomed in just enough to show her profile—and sent it to Liam.

Grant: Found her. Second floor. Staying with her friends. Nice little place. Easy in, easy out. You want just surveillance or pressure?

He waited. No reply right away.

Until his phone lit up:

Liam: No pressure. Just eyes. I’m coming to get her myself.

Liam – Later That Day

The moment he saw the photo, something settled in his chest.

Something dark. Still.

She was laughing.

Not crying.

Not begging.

Not broken.

Laughing.

Liam sat behind the wheel of his car, parked in his underground garage, fingers wrapped tightly around the steering wheel.

It was quiet.

His phone buzzed again. Another message from a student. Someone wanting to reschedule a session. Someone calling him “inspiring.”

He ignored it.

His eyes were locked on the image of her smiling in someone else’s sweater—wrapped in someone else’s world.

No. Not acceptable.

He zoomed in, studying the windows behind her. The curtains. The angle. The shape of the building.

She thought distance would save her.

But all it did was make him hungry.

Liam: I’ll give her the weekend. Let her feel safe. Then I’ll bring her home.

He scrolled back to the earlier messages she had answered. Her voice in his head, so soft and pliant.

He smiled.

Because now, it wasn’t about chasing her.

It was about reminding her.

Reminding her who owned her peace.

Who allowed her silence.

And who would take it all away… if she didn’t choose him.

#yandere #dark fantasy #x reader #fantasy #tw noncon #sfw noncom #dark romance #power dynamics #age g4p #breeding k1nk #twistedheartsclub

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louisrarepairfest · 3 months ago

Text

LOUIS RARE PAIR FEST 2025

— Prompts —

[Submit a prompt you'd like to read or write here!]

🪐 The prompt can specify a particular pairing or can use Louis/Character B as the pairing.

🪐 Writers can sign up with one of these prompts or sign up with their own prompt not on this list.

🪐 Prompts will be crossed off as they are chosen during sign ups.

⬇️ Possible prompts below ⬇️

(A) Louis/Character B are uni roommates

(B) Louis/Greg James - Louis takes Clifford to a secluded park and lets him run free for a few hours. A few weeks into going to a park, a friendly dog (Barney) Louis assumes is a stray comes over by him with a stick in his mouth and Louis plays fetch. This becomes a Thing every time. Louis notices Clifford has been gaining weight and can’t figure out why. One day, Clifford doesn’t come back like he usually does. Louis goes looking for him with (Barney) trailing on his heels. He’s just about to give up when (Barney) sprints away and Louis can’t stand the thought of losing two dogs in one day so he runs after him. Cut to…Louis finding a very tall, very handsome man, very excitedly welcoming Barney back with Clifford barely looking up from the almost gone bucket of dog food said very (very) handsome man clearly brought to the park. Confusion ensues since each thinks the other’s dog was a stray. Wild accusations from Louis about Greg making Clifford fat, jokes from Greg about how Barney has taken up finding perfect sticks and running away with his best one. They fall in love and become one big happy family.

( C ) Louis/Character B are musicians vying for the role of band leader at their former high school. They went there at the same time and were rivals then too, though for a totally different reason: they both had secret crushes on one another. When I've of them learns this, it changes everything.

(D) Girl direction! Louis/Character B are star athletes on the college (you choose the) sport team. They're both on the butch side, and it takes them a while to figure out that they're into one another and don't need to femme it up to get the other to like them.

(E) Omegaverse: Alpha Louis has never questioned who he is, a strong Alpha loving Alpha who defies stereotypes. When he meets character B, a beta, he certainly doesn't expect to fall for him (and hard)

(F) Famous Louis returns to his home town for his sister's wedding. When he sees his non-famous ex-boyfriend at the first wedding event of the weekend, sparks fly. Cue a whirlwind romance and a lot of big decisions about what they're both willing to do for love.

(G) Louis is a werewolf who's gotten good at hiding his nature in order to make a quiet life for himself in a small town. Character B is the vampire whose arrival coincides with a couple of murders that threaten his peaceful existence. When it becomes clear that B isn't behind the murders, he and Louis team up to find the real culprit (and maybe accidently fall in love along the way).

(H) Louis/Liam - Bros who get married for insurance purposes and then decide divorce isn’t worth the hassle.

(i) Louis/Charlie Lightening…no plot but sex on the ping pong table. Obviously.

(J) Louis and his bandmates/opening band let off some steam by having a circle jerk. It might turn into more for some of them.

(K) Ever since Character A was a kid they wanted to climb on a fire truck and one day they decide to just walk over to the fire station and ask if they can get on the truck. Character B is one of the firefighters.

(L) M/M Louis and Taylor Swift are rival quarterbacks for their town's 2 high school teams. Nobody knows that they've been secretly dating since sharing a NYE kiss.

(M) Louis/Liam - everyone thinks Louis and Harry are together but it’s actually Louis and Liam

(N) Lilo hot water maintenance au based on this tumblr post

(O) Lilo Robin Hood AU

(P) Lilo Howl’s Moving Castle au

(Q) Louis and either Charlie or Nick from Heartstopper (the Netflixshow), friendship fic. Would love Louis either helping Nick through his sexuality crisis or Louis being there for Charlie through the events of the first season

(R) Omegaverse: Louis is about to turn 25 without having presented. As he debates undergoing the risky process to force a presentation, he meets Character B who helps him realize he doesn't necessarily have to "present" to be the alpha he know he is. (Omegaverse but make it trans and powerful!!)

(S) Bread van fic reimagined with all the guys in Louis' band

(T) Louis plays on the uni football team and Liam is on the athletics team. they pass each other to and from training all the time. cue attraction. they are or become friends and are secretly pining for a while before they eventually start dating

(U) Edwardian era Lilo au where they’re both working class. maybe one is a servant and one is a shop assistant, or both servants.

(V) Louis and David Dawson bond over their time with Harry

(W) Louis/Oscar Isaac- edwardian AU where Oscar is a poet and Louis is his muse

(X) Louis/Pedro Pascal AU where Louis is exploring in the arctic and needs a guide

(Y) Louis/Pedro Pascal Gladiator AU

(Z) Michael B. Jordan as a boxer and nurse Louis

(AA) Louis/Sebastian Stan arranged marriage royalty AU. Louis is betrothed to King Sebastian Stan, a widower with two kids who aren't to keen of the King's fiancé.

(BB) Louis/Sam Claflin - something based on the interview where Sam says Louis follows him on Twitter and that they've had a conversation but he doesn't want to get into it.

(CC) 27 dresses take off where Niall is always the best man, never the husband, and Louis is the snarky reporter.

(DD) Zouiam, uni AU - Zayn meets Liam at the library and falls halfway in love during a single conversation. It’s a fairy tale, only back home is Louis - his FWB, the most important person in Zayn’s life, and someone who doesn’t take well to losing out on attention. Louis' a bit put out when he meets Liam at football practice and this annoying, bossy, fit as all hell guy slides right in under all his defences. It could be the start of a beautiful term of fighting and fucking, only back home is Zayn. Zayn not only needs Louis - he’d become a full-time hermit otherwise - but it’s damn convenient having sex on tap right there in his own flat. And, oh yeah, Zayn’s like, his reflection or his shadow or his other half or something. Liam’s quite confused by having two drop dead gorgeous guys alternately sending him go signals, then just as quickly, stop. He figures if either of them settle on go, he’ll be batting a thousand. Then he realises they know each other. Biblically.

(EE) Louis is an actor in a murder mystery troupe. Character B (maybe Nick Grimshaw...?) is the audience member who’s clearly too cool for all this but giving joining in his best shot anyway. Louis is distracted by him all night, and then after the denouement they meet in the bar.

(FF) Louis/Greg James - Louis won’t stop whanging on about not getting to do the breakfast show with his new album, and character X (maybe Niall, or Oli?) eventually realises it's less career-related jealousy and more about who sits behind the mic. He hatches a matchmaking plan.

(GG) Character A does embarrassing things when interacting with Character B because of their massive crush. Like Character B reaches out to do a fist bump and Character A thinks it's supposed to be a microphone and says hello into their fist.

(HH) Character B joins local amateur dramatics society and suddenly Louis is no longer a shoo-in for every lead role. Cue the drama!

(ii) AU. Preschool teacher Louis / Boxer Sebastian Stan

(JJ) Yellowjackets AU! Girl direction, any pairing from the show, cutting from 1996 to present.

(KK) Louis/Cillian Murphy - 1970s criminal au (preferably with Louis as the criminal), based on this photo: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/FvyDkCnWAAk1UwS?format=jpg&name=4096x4096

(LL) Louis/Isaac: Louis and his band Rogue Direction are doing their first tour in their beat-up van at questionable bars across the country. One night, Isaac is hurled into his life, fleeing from an abusive boyfriend in parking lot of the band’s gig. Louis can’t help but feel..protective of the scrappy tagalong who’ll do anything to earn his keep.

(MM) Louis/Isaac: Louis fucks Isaac’s gauged ears.

(NN) Omega Louis / Male Alpha / Female Alpha polyamorous relationship

(OO) Louis/Patrick Dempsey. AU Patrick is Louis’ dad’s best friend. Possible tags: age difference, secret relationship, feminine Louis, hung Patrick

(PP) Louis Tomlinson/Alex Turner AU. Is basically based in the Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino where Louis and Alex are imprisoned together; so they must find a way to escape. But while they try to escape they begin to fall in love with each other however it will be difficult for both of them to escape.

(QQ) Louis and Rob Pattinson are in a secret relationship during the 1d days (around 2014 or 2015) unknown to everyone but then louis gets pregnant.

(RR) Beta Louis with alpha whomever, not established relationship.

(SS) Louis and Michael are secretly dating and navigating the resurgence of the Larry rumor mill. Larry was once real, Louis has insecurities about secretly dating another band mate, and Michael has some insecurities over Harry being Louis ex. Maybe an awkward run in or two with Harry trying to get him back but Michael and Louis being endgame.

(TT) Louis tomlinson/Dev Patel- second chance romance

(UU) louis/charles Leclerc, could title the fic as -my good luck charm- (or some such since charles won the race when louis was there etc) and or u could have charles say that to louis and louis getting smug and or bashful & giggly!

(VV) Charles Leclerc at one of Louis gigs? Or him joining the band onstage?

(WW) Louis had to wear multiple badges to have F1 access, so Louis makes Charles wear multiple badges to have VIP access to his concerts. All’s fair…

(XX) Louis/Taylor Swift - 2014ish. They commiserate over Harry not being able to make up his damn mind

(YY) Louis/Character B are the only single parents in the PTA, and everyone keeps trying to get them together.

(ZZ) Louis/Nick Grimshaw (or Greg James, I just want someone from 1D era but not someone in 1D). Nick run into Louis when he's on a vacation to the USA and Louis is there for his work. Maybe Nick goes to a park and see Louis sitting on a bench. He is hesitated at first whether he want to go and greet Louis or not because they weren't best friends back in the days, even though they didn't hate each other like some fans imagined them to be. Eventually Nick goes to greet Louis and Louis seems very delighted to see Nick, like he has the brightest smile on his face or something and that makes Nick's heart skip a beat. They catch up and go for coffee/lunch/dinner while Nick is in the US. Nick doesn't think they will keep in touch after he flies back to the UK but to his surprise, Louis textes him when he gets back and they hang out more. At one point, Louis comes out as gay to Nick. He is happy that Louis trusts him enough to come out to him. The relationship develops. You can be creative with this. I want it to be slow-burn, fluffy, and spicy.

(AAA) Sebastian Stan/Louis Police Officer AU with omegaverse. Omega Louis is a rookie detective in crimes and investigations division. He's paired with Alpha Sebastian whose old partner just resigned. Louis is a loud and bratty omega who often gets himself in danger at work. Sebastian tries to keep him safe while solving crimes and somehow falls in love in the process.

(BBB) Louis Tomlinson/Sam Thompson Since Louis and the love of his life split a few months ago, before their joint coming out, he’s been utterly rudderless and destroyed. With his third album only partially completed, but full of love and life, his manager has organize a PR stunt to smooth over any inquiring minds and fill in the gaps while he finishes his album, which seems to be taking a turn for the worse. He’s absolutely bored with the gal chosen, and luckily they’ll be spending very little time together. However, a quick meeting with all parties involved includes her closeted gay “ex” and Louis couldn’t be more intrigued with the guy. Could he be the one to help ease Louis’ broken heart and become his muse? Is it too soon for Louis?

(CCC) A bouquet of flowers arrives backstage with the note “for the most beautiful”. All the members of Louis' band think it's for Louis, but Louis sent the flowers to (band member of your choice).

(DDD) Louis is a cowboy along with Character B out on the range, and they come back into town to find that the apocalypse has happened.

(EEE) Louis is too polite to say no. This leads to increasingly weirder situations.

(FFF) Louis and Character B work for the same company and have the same job position but they hate each other because the first time they met there was a misunderstanding or something. But all their coworkers think they would make an amazing couple so they try to get them together.

(GGG) Louis/Simon or Louis/Robbie Williams, x-factor judge era

(HHH) Louis/Robert Pattinson exes to lovers. Louis and Rob broke up for a while, as in months, but they hadn't really moved on from each other. One night Rob got a call telling him that Louis was in an accident and Rob was his emergency contact.

(iii) Kevin Kaarl/Louis. Could be canonish. In a serious way or in a crack way. During the AFHF 2024 Kevin, one of the acts, dedicated his song "San Lucas" to Louis. (Your eyes shine brighter than the moon, the sea and the sun. I want to bare your soul and dedicate it a song.) Later in an interview, he said, "I was giving my all, and then when I left the stage I saw they were shipping me and Louis on twitter. So, I said, 'Oh well, I'm going to go and give bro a little kiss'."

(JJJ) Louis/Pedro Pascal - Pedro's friends order a "bunny boy" stripper for his birthday party as a joke. He meets bunny boy Louis and falls for him fast.

(LLL) Louis spends countless nights not sleeping so he doesn't have nightmares but character B starts to notice. (Or vice versa with the characters)

(MMM) Louis asks Character B if they want a kiss and Character B blushes and says okay, but Louis meant Hershey's chocolate kisses and holds out the candy. Character B is super embarrassed and runs off and Louis runs after them because he really does want to kiss them and not just give them chocolate candy. Could switch the characters around too

(NNN) This is from a social media post I saw once that said something like these two people were friends and they knew their friend had feelings for them after they were at a party and went to leave and their friend kissed them on the forehead unexpectedly and they both just froze. But their mutual friend was standing there with them and realized what had happened and so also kissed them on the forehead to try to make it less awkward. And I just thought that would be so cute for a fic.

#prompts #lrpf25

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