You and your bestfriend went on a trip together.
She also invited her crush wich resulted in him bringing his friend group with him. Somehow you ended up in the same room as Liam your enemy, everyone wanted to be together so you and Liam were the only ones left. But you don't really mind since there are sepperate beds
You told him that you were going to bed so you went to change before he came back, as you took of your shirt you felt someone's touch on you back it was Liam
"Who did this to you"
He touched a big and long scar that went from your neck to your back , you were surprised that he was actually being nice to you since he usually hates your guts
"Answer me." He said as he grabbed your arm and forcefully pulled you close to him so your back was only a few inches away from his body. "none of your business" my cold reply
Liam scoffed, tightening his grip on your arm just enough to make you wince. "Oh, it's *my* business now," he said with that infuriating smirk. "Because whoever did this clearly didn't finish the job—lucky for them, I don't like leftovers." He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a taunting whisper. "Unless you want me to make it my business?"
His closeness sent a shiver down your spine, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing your reaction. "Let go of me," you muttered through clenched teeth, tugging against his grip. "I doubt you have the guts to even attempt anything."
Liam's smirk only widened at your defiance. He pulled you in even closer, pressing your back against his chest. His free hand came up to rest against your hip, his touch almost possessive. "Oh, doll," he drawled, his voice low and mocking. "You really shouldn't dare me. I love a challenge."
His hot breath brushed against your ear, sending a unwelcome heat rippling through you. Anger surged through your veins at the feeling—angry at him, at the situation, and at your own treacherous body for reacting to his presence. You tried to twist out of his grasp, but he just tightened his grip, holding you firmly in place against him.
Liam let out a low, amused chuckle when you struggled. "Feisty," he murmured, his fingers trailing up your side—slow, deliberate. "Bet the bastard who gave you these didn't expect this much fight in you." His tone was laced with something darkly curious as his thumb brushed over one of the raised scars through your shirt. "...Tell me their name and I'll return the favor tenfold."
It was hard to maintain your facade of indifference with him so close, but you couldn't show him weakness. "Why do you even care?" you hissed out, trying to move away from his touch. "We're enemies, remember? Shouldn't you be gloating or something?"
Liam didn't answer immediately. Instead, his fingers traced the scars on your back with a strange gentleness, almost as if he was studying them. It was an odd contrast to his usual rough attitude, and it confused you more than anything. He was supposed to be a heartless jerk, someone to be despised and avoided, not someone who touched you in a way that made your heart flutter.
"I do like gloating," he finally admit. "Just not about this." His fingers paused at one particularly long scar, his touch light as he ran his fingertips across it.
Liam exhaled sharply through his nose, grip finally loosening—only to suddenly spin you around to face him. His hands landed on either side of your shoulders, caging you against the wall behind you. "Because," he growled, eyes burning with something raw, "nobody gets to mess with what's mine except me. Got it?"
The words hung between you—possessive, twisted... and for some reason, your traitorous pulse spiked.
(You were so screwed.)
Liam's smirk returned, cockier than ever now that he saw the conflicted look on your face. He leaned in until his lips nearly brushed your ear, voice dropping to a taunting purr.
"That's the look I love," he murmured, fingers trailing down your arm teasingly. "Hate me all you want—but admit it." A sharp nip at your earlobe for emphasis. "You like when I claim what's mine."
(And damn him… he wasn't wrong.)
You shoved against his chest, face burning. "Yours? Dream on," you snapped, but your voice wavered just enough for his smirk to widen. "I don't belong to anyone, least of all you."
Liam tilted his head, fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants to yank you flush against him. "Lie again," he dared, voice dripping with amusement. "I dare you." His thumb brushed the scar at your hip—slow, deliberate—eyes locked onto yours like he already knew every unspoken thought racing through your head.
(And the worst part? He probably did.)