Locks the Door Too Late [18+]
Stalker Liam Gallagher x fem!reader
Chapter 1
Synopsis : liam becomes obsessively possessive over her, controlling her life and eliminating anyone in his way.
Warnings : obsessive stalking, psychological manipulation, implied murder, and details about a murder. If you are not comfortable with this, donāt read it !
She woke slowly. The light was grey and thin through the curtains. For a moment she didnāt move. She could feel him behind her, the steady weight of his arm thrown across her waist, his chest warm against her back. He held her even in sleep. Securely. She shifted. Just enough to test the hold and his fingers tightened instantly. He wasnāt asleep.
Her lips twitched faintly at that. She didnāt call him out on it. Instead, she slid from under his arm slowly, deliberately, as if giving him every chance to stop her. He didnāt. But she felt his eyes open before she even reached the edge of the bed.
āWhere you off to?ā His voice was rough.
āBathroom,ā she answered, not turning around.
She could feel him watching her the entire way.
In the bathroom, she locked the door. She leaned against the sink and studied her reflection. There were faint marks along her collarbone, the kind that would fade in the week.
When she returned to the bedroom, he was sitting up, cigarette between his fingers despite the cracked window.
āYouāre smokinā in here now?ā she asked.
He didnāt apologize. āYou mind?ā
She held his gaze a second too long. āNo.ā
She moved past him into the kitchen without asking if he wanted tea. She knew heād follow and he did.
He leaned in the doorway while she filled the kettle, arms crossed, watching her with that steady, unreadable focus that never quite felt casual.
āYouāre quiet,ā he said.
He shrugged slightly. āThinkināā
He didnāt answer immediately. His eyes tracked the movement of her hands instead, the way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
āAbout that bloke,ā he finally said.
She didnāt turn around. āWhat about him?ā
His jaw tightened, subtle but visible. āYou brought him home.ā
He stepped further into the kitchen. Not close enough to touch her.
āYou knew Iād see.ā
That made her pause. She turned then, slowly. āWould you?ā
Something flickered in his expression.
āDonāt play games,ā he said quietly.
āYou laughed with him.ā
āAnd you donāt laugh like that with everyone.ā
Her lips curved slightly. āYou notice a lot.ā
āI notice whatās mine.ā
She stepped closer instead of backing away. āIām not yours.ā
āYou came home with me,ā he said evenly.
The kettle clicked off, the sharp sound breaking the tension for half a second. She reached past him to grab two mugs.
Her shoulder brushed his chest.
āYouāre jealous,ā she said quietly.
āYeah,ā he admitted. āI am.ā
The honesty hung between them.
āYou donāt get to tell me who I see,ā she said, but her voice lacked the firmness the words suggested.
He leaned down slightly, just enough that his presence felt heavier.
āI donāt tell you,ā he said. āI just donāt like it.ā
āAnd what happens when you donāt like something?ā
His thumb brushed lightly against her hip.
His gaze dropped to her mouth briefly before lifting again.
āAre you gonna bring him back?ā
His shoulders loosened slightly, almost imperceptibly.
She hated that she liked the approval in his voice.
He stepped back finally, giving her space.
āI donāt share,ā he added casually, as if discussing the weather.
She handed him his tea. āYou donāt own.ā
He took the mug from her, fingers brushing hers deliberately.
āDonāt need to,ā he replied.
They stood there in the quiet kitchen, steam rising between them, both pretending the balance hadnāt shifted.
He watched her sip her tea.
She watched him watching her.
Neither of them stepped back.
The days after that morning did not calm him.
On the surface, nothing changed. He still met her for drinks. Still walked her home. Still leaned close enough for his breath to warm her ear when he spoke. Still played the role charming, blunt, territorial in a way she pretended to resist but never truly rejected.
But underneath, something had shifted.
He didnāt say his name again.
He saw him, three days later, outside the work. Tall enough. Clean haircut. Laugh too easy. Liam stood across the street, cigarette burning to the filter between his fingers.
The bloke touched her arm when he laughed.
Liam didnāt approach them. Didnāt cause a scene. Didnāt glare like some jealous teenager. He just watched.
Clocked the way the man left. The route he took. The car he unlocked. The street he turned down. By the end of the week, he knew the manās schedule almost as well as he knew hers.
Always parked two streets from his flat because he was paranoid about scratches.
The night it happened, the air was thick and damp.
She thought he was out with mates. Heād kissed her cheek earlier, casual.
She let him go out without asking any questions.
He told himself he wasnāt doing this because sheād laughed too hard at someone elseās joke.
He told himself it wasnāt jealousy.
Liam stalked him. His heart pounding with a dark intensity as he followed the man he now considered a rival. That wanker. Heād seen them together, seen the way he looked at her. Like she was a piece of meat.
Liamās jaw clenched as he remembered the way she had laughed, too loudly, too forced, when stepped into her flat with the bloke. He knew she was trying to hide something. And now, he would find out the truth.
He followed him keeping a safe distance as he walked home from the pub. The bloke was drunk, stumbling and laughing loudly, drawing the eye of passersby. Liam felt a surge of disgust. Did she really find this twat funny ?
As they approached his building, Liam made his move. He stepped out from the shadows, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him into an alley before he could react. He stumbled and fell.
āWhat the fuck?ā He slurred, looking up at Liam with bleary eyes. āWho are you?ā
Liam didnāt answer. He couldnāt speak. The rage that had been building inside him for weeks now consumed him, and he acted on instinct. He grabbed the man by the throat, squeezing hard, feeling his windpipe compress beneath his fingers. The man gasped and choked, his hands scrabbling at liamās wrists. But Liam was too strong. He squeezed tighter, watching with cold satisfaction as his face turned red, then purple. He could feel his pulse fluttering wildly beneath his thumb as his airflow was cut off. It took a minute. And then, it was over.Liam released his grip, letting his lifeless body slump to the ground. He stood over him for a moment, breathing hard, his heart still pounding with adrenaline. He knew he had to act fast. He couldn't let her find out about this. She could never know what he'd done. For her own good.
He arrived at his house. Letting himself in, he pulled the body down into the basement, the cold air hitting him as he descended the stairs. The basement was a dank, cramped space, filled with old furniture and boxes of junk he'd accumulated over the years. Perfect for his purposes.
With energy, Liam set to work. He grabbed a hacksaw from a dusty shelf, the metal glinting in the dim light filtering down from the open door above. He started with the man arms, sawing through skin, sinew and bone until the limbs fell away with sickening, meaty thuds. Blood splattered the stone floor, pooling around his bare feet.
He worked quickly and methodically, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he dismembered the body. His legs were next, each one taking more effort as the saw blade grew dull with use. But still, Liam persevered, driven by a desperate need to conceal his crime.
And then he stood back, looking at the hacked up remains of the man who dared to covet his girl. He felt no remorse, only a grim sense of satisfaction. This wanker would never touch her again.
He had one more task left. The hardest one of all.
He took the man corpse, limb by limb, and fed it to the old meat grinder he'd found in the corner of the basement. It protested and groaned, the motor whining in protest as he forced the grisly remains through the machine. But inch by inch, his body disappeared, reduced to a thick, dark sludge. It took hours, and left him drenched in sweat and splattered with blood and sinew. But when he was done, everything was gone. He had vanished without a trace. Liam stood over the pile of dark, churned meat that had once been his rival. He felt no guilt, no shame. Only a sense of grim determination. She was his, and his alone. No one would ever come between them again.
He cleaned up the scene, scrubbing the blood from the floor and walls until there was no trace left. Then he climbed the stairs, his body aching and weary, but his heart light with a newfound sense of possessive love. He knew he would have to be more careful now. More discreet. He couldn't let her suspect a thing. But he also knew that he would do whatever it took to keep her. No matter what it cost.
Because in his mind, she belonged to him. And he would never let her go. Not for anything. Not even for this corpse.
He went to her home this night after a good shower. She had given him a duplicate set of keys. She was already in bed, awake, He lay down next to her. He pulled her close, breathing in the sweet smell of her hair, unaware of what he had committed. He knew he would have to be more cautious now. More clever. He couldn't let his obsession consume him. But he also knew that he would never stop loving her. Never stop protecting her.
"How was your day?" she asked him, her hands playing with his t-shirt.
"The best day in a long time."
"Hmm, cool then," she said in return, before kissing him and turning off the light.