forever a king

Obsessed

Notes: Inspired by Dan+Shay’s Obsessed song. I love it. Reminds me of Liam and Riley. Oh, I can’t do smut and this fic is proof. I’ll leave that to your imaginations LoL. I need more Liam fics in my life. *sigh*

Super short. Meh. 

Pairing: Liam x Riley

Originally posted by lovetheworldlife

Riley looked over her itinerary for the day. Her eyes grew wide in excitement upon seeing only a couple appointments in the morning with nothing else for the day. Down time was a rare and cherished commodity for her and she treated it as such.

“Do you know of the King’s itinerary?,” she eagerly asked her assistant. The wheels in Riley’s head started to turn.

“Yes. King Liam will be in meetings all morning. He is also attending a luncheon at noon with local dignitaries.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes. I believe the both of you will be free in the evening and the rest of the night, your Majesty,” Ethan said with a knowing smirk.

Ethan had been her assistant since she was crowned Queen. He came highly recommended by Olivia. Riley knew if he had earned Olivia’s praises, he must be pretty good, and she was right. Ethan had become an instrumental part of her transition from commoner to Queen. She had grown to consider him a close friend.

Riley’s cheeks turned a light shade of red at his subtle innuendo. The last time her and Liam had a free evening they had neglected to fully shut their bedroom door, too caught up in the moment and too eager to undress each other. Bastien was the one who notified them of the oversight when they both heard him secure the door closed…after they were done. She still remembered avoiding eye contact with the castle staff the following morning.

“I told you to call me Riley,” she said, trying to distract him.

Ethan laughed, knowing she was trying to change the subject before he finally spoke.

“Okay Riley…,” he began to fill her in on the meetings scheduled for the day.


Riley hurriedly placed the remaining candles on the window sill. She looked around the bedroom, slowly inspecting her work. Candles were sprawled along the bedroom floor, bedside tables, and any other flat surface she could find. Rose petals were thrown around the room, including the bed. She drew the curtains closed before grabbing the boutique bag on the bed and headed towards the bathroom. She was determined to make the most of their free night.

She carefully looked into the full length mirror of the bathroom, now wearing the deep plunge white lace teddy she had bought earlier with the matching garter set. Riley slowly turned to her side, making sure the teddy hugged her curves just right before pulling on the black satin robe. Letting her hair down and smiling at her reflection, she made her way into the bedroom once again.

Riley was lighting the last of the candles when her phone chimed in with the message she had been waiting for: Liam was on his way up. She quickly checked her hair and makeup in the mirror of the vanity set before positioning herself on the bed. Opening up her robe and letting it hang slightly off her shoulders, she leaned back on her hands while crossing her legs and waited.

“My lo–…,” Liam’s words trailed off at the sight of her.

“Welcome home my King,” Riley said with a devious smile.

His eyes hungrily looked over her, deliberately taking in the sight before him. Barely acknowledging the candles or the rose petals, Liam hurriedly made his way towards Riley, his body aching to make contact with hers.


Candles burnin’, ruby red

Sheets are fallin’, off the bed

Run your fingers, through my hair

Most of the candles are burned out by the time they both catch their breaths. Liam’s back is against the headboard of their bed, one leg hanging off the side of the bed as he caressed Riley’s naked body laying across his chest.

You hypnotize me with your touch

And I can never get enough, of you, it’s true

And anywhere you wanna go

My hand is only yours to hold

He takes her hand, kissing the back of it before placing it on his chest. Riley looks up at him, a content smile settling on her lips. Liam kisses her forehead, smiling as he tastes the bitterness of perspiration on both her skin and his.

I’m so obsessed with the way that your lips

Kiss me like crazy, you amaze me

When you walk in the room

You got me losin’ it

Yeah, I’m a mess

I confess, I’m so obsessed

Riley tries to move from his hold but Liam’s grip tightens. She chuckles, attempting once again to remove herself from his grip, but upon seeing the look in his eyes, she knows Liam is ready for her again. Liam’s lips are on her neck as his tongue massages her neck. She slowly closes her eyes, as he moves his lips further and further down.

Everytime you, walk away

I guess your perfume, likes to stay

On my pillow, on my shirt

For what its worth

I’m so obsessed


They both fall back onto the bed, panting, their bodies covered in sweat. It takes several minutes before they can come down from their high. Liam pulls Riley close to him, placing a kiss on the side of her temple.

“I love you.”

“Mmm. I love you too, my King.”

Not long after, Riley heard Liam’s breathing slow down, signaling he had fallen asleep. She smiled as she got up from bed, careful not to wake him. Grabbing her lingerie and robe off the floor, she shakes her head at the realization that she barely wore it for five minutes before Liam ripped it off.

That’s when she saw it.

LIIIIAAMM!?!”

He shot up from bed in a panic, fully awake now.

“What?! What happened?!”

“You left the bedroom door open again!?!”

shakespeare aesthetics

romeo and juliet: suburban july. scraped knees, bruised knuckles, blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in a breeze. burning inside. an ill-fitting party dress, a t-shirt you cut up yourself, the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friend’s house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn-looking basketball hoop at the end of the cul-de-sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip-flops. a eulogy written on looseleaf. the merciless noontime sun.

hamlet: speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half-remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn, mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins, books with cracked spines, books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. a big black t-shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil under your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

twelfth night: wicker deck furniture. new england summer. big dark sunglasses and a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean, patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. chlorine smell. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love, love for the idea of love, love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar, a crab fisherman with tattoos, a pretty boy with a slackened tie. a light house. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. finger guns. big floppy sun hats. double-speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drunk on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for, hope you weren’t expecting, pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. pool noodles. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth: the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat, the stillness after battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. a sulfur smell. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12:00. a snake that crosses your path, an owl that watches you, a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke. dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now. 

much ado about nothing: the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck, military supply duffel bags in the hall, hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch, a pitcher of iced tea. barbecue. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. indian summer. ill-timed proclamations. stomach-clutching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down and thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen, a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her. a dog-eared rhyming dictionary. camomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you have a home until you’re there. 

king lear: cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lightning, a too-big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red-black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the tips of your teeth. the blown-out windows of skeletal houses. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes, shutting up, holding your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods, wondering if the gods are listening, wondering if the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

a midsummer night’s dream: wet soil/dead leaves smell. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill somebody slipped you. fear that turns to excitement, excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hollow in an old tree. glow-in-the-dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

8

“But down in the Underground

               you’ll find someone true

Down in the Underground ..”


Labyrinth songs aesthetic  #1: “Underground” - David Bowie

Yet another preview thing, since I’m incompetent with finishing things lately. I’m trying to finish things up, but midterms is coming pretty soon and I might not be as active for the next week, so don’t expect much from me.

Goes with this.