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meetmyblondemuffins · 3 years ago

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Movie Antics

Warnings: unprotected sex, exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex

“Tickets for two,” I said enthusiastically to the man standing behind the glass of the old, worn ticket booth. I heard an exaggerated sigh coming from the right of me. Looking over at Sirius, I raised my brows and jutted out my bottom lip, attempting to make him feel somewhat guilty. I squeezed his large hand and further intertwined our fingers. “You’ll live, Siri. It’s only a couple of hours.”

I’d been dying to see this new independent film that had been released a few weeks ago. I had been putting off watching it for some time now because I wanted to watch it with Sirius. I could tell he would’ve preferred being left behind. The entire ten blocks we walked from the cinema he drug his feet like a child who was being forced into a dentists’ office. I was surprised he didn’t throw himself on the concrete; kicking and screaming. Although he didn’t throw a complete tantrum, he did try making up a thousand excuses as to why he absolutely couldn’t bear to see one second of this ‘horrendous-looking film’.

It started from the second we stepped out of the front door and into the chilly breeze of a typical, dreary London day.

“Look how gloomy it is. It’s bound to rain—we should stay in tonight.”

“It’s gloomy every day, Sirius. And besides, I brought an umbrella.”

“But… why walk allllll the way to the cinema in the cold when we could snuggle up in a perfectly warm bed?” I giggled at his suggestion.

“Yeah, I’m sure all you want to do is snuggle up in bed.” I knew that for a fact, Sirius wanted much more than to lie in bed when he’d already try to rid me of my clothing minutes before leaving the house.

He seemed more sex-driven the past few days than I’d seen him before. Everywhere we went, he was ready to go; whether he spontaneously suggested the idea while lounging around at home, or in complete public. Refusing a cluster of his many advances always guaranteed nothing less than spectacular sex later on. It’s like all of his built-up sexual tension was released all at once; It was fantastic.

As soon as we bought our tickets and concessions, we walked into the dimly lit theatre. Scanning the rows of chairs from left to right, I noticed that not a single chair in the entire room was occupied. I supposed nobody was up for a film on a greyer-than-usual Sunday afternoon.

Sirius walked to the first row that was closest to the entrance, leading me with my index finger wound around his. We sat towards the middle of the row.

I would’ve preferred to sit closer to the front, if even just a few rows, but I decided to cut my pouting, child-like boyfriend a bit of slack. Sirius slouched down in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest as the lights dimmed to complete darkness. Immediately following, lights of the previews that covered the far wall flooded the room. It was almost blinding.

Looking over at the silhouette of Sirius’s profile, the glow of the projection outlined the miserable look he had plastered on his face. I almost felt bad for dragging him here, but on the other hand, I think he was being a drama queen about the entire situation.

Reaching over the popcorn that I had resting in my lap, I brought the armrest that was separating us to a vertical position so that I could scoot closer to him. I rested my head on his shoulder and whispered into his ear, his flyaway curls brushing against my cheeks.

“I really appreciate you being here, you know.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, lightly kissed my temple, and rested his cheek on the top of my head. So he wasn’t completely resenting being here after all.

Sirius and I always did things for each other that we didn’t particularly want to do. We wanted each other to be happy, and it made our relationship stronger as a whole. I was awoken in the middle of the night to him leaving to go prank students with the other marauders and he went to nearly abandoned cinemas to watch films that he had no-to-negative feelings towards. It balanced out evenly.

Halfway through the movie (and also the bag of popcorn), Sirius’s arm that was resting across my shoulders made its way down to my hip. He leaned in to whisper into my ear.

“It’s not too late to get out of here. We could go out to a nice dinner, go for a romantic stroll through the park,” he drug out the ‘a’ in park, “anything. Anything you want.” Turning my full torso toward him, I cocked my head to the side as to say ‘why, why do you do this to me, Sirius Orion Black’. His expression was originally full of hope—hope that I thought this movie was as terrible as he’d predicted before we’d gotten here.

“Anything, huh?” His eyes filled with glee. But his face dropped immediately as I said:

“Well, I want to stay here.”

He went back to slouching in his chair, his head meeting the back of the headrest. I couldn’t stand seeing him act like this anymore. There was no way I was leaving this cinema until the film came to an end; but perhaps I could offer him a deal.

“If you stay until the end, I’ll do whatever you want afterwards.” A smirk form across his lips and I knew exactly what he had on his mind.

Moments later, I was once again engulfed in the film. The main characters had defied their near-impossible chances of being together, and the romantic/sexual portion came to its peak. I felt Sirius’s lips sneak below my earlobe and begin a trail to my collarbone. “I said afterwards, don’t be so eager,” I said placing my hand on his chest in an attempt to stay focused on what was happening between the characters.

“C’mon, even these poor bastards on screen are enjoying themselves. It’s like they’re mocking me.”

“Well I’m enjoying myself. And what, is ‘fucking in a movie theatre’ something you were planning to cross off of your bucket list before you die?”

“Well it wasn’t before but,—“ I cut him off with a look of disapproval. “There’s not anybody here, we’re sitting in the back. This is perfect!”

Before I could object, Sirius crashed his lips into mine. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t bring myself to pull away. I’d caused him to suffer—or at least act like he was suffering—for a few hours and I suppose I owed this to him. I wouldn’t be missing out on the movie much. It was like I was experiencing what they were doing, but they weren’t in an empty cinema, it was a bit more romantic on their end. However, I didn’t mind much.

Our kiss deepened as his tongue brushed over my bottom lip before it entered my mouth, exploring every corner. His hand lightly cupped my cheek.

I felt Sirius’s fingertips lightly brush over the slightly thin material of my trousers that separated the pads of his fingers from my inner thigh. In a swift manoeuvre, his fingertips slid under the waistband of my trousers and pulled them down, then danced along my skin, igniting sparks as they made their way to my heat. His middle finger slipped past the side of my panties and made firm circles over my clit.

I’d quickly decided not to make this about me. I’d wanted to show Sirius just how much I appreciated him being there, even if I’d practically forced him to.

I palmed his hardening member through his pants and dropped to my knees in front of him. As soon as I unbuttoned and unzipped his skin-tight black jeans, pulling his boxers down slightly, his erection sprung upright, slapping against his stomach. I bit my lip and looked up at him through my lashes lustfully. He shut his eyes, bracing himself for the warmth of my mouth wrapped around him.

I let the tip of my tongue flick over his slit, tasting the saltiness of his pre-cum.

“Fuck, don’t tease,” he groaned, loud enough for only me to hear over the booming cinema surround sound. The flat of my tongue glided over his head as I took the shaft into my hand and began stroking, feeling the veins on his thickness. With each bob of my head, I allowed him to venture deeper and deeper into my throat, hollowing my cheeks until I felt the need to gag. His fingers became entangled in my hair, but he let me go at my own pace. I altered my speed and pressure often which made it difficult for him to stifle his moans.

His hand gripped my hair tightly and he threw his head back onto the head rest, his mouth hanging open. I could taste the familiar flavor of his cum spread across my tongue and slide down my throat.

I stood up from the floor and lifted the armrest on Sirius’s left, allowing us more room. I straddled his lap backwards, his chest pressing against my back. The only thing separating us was the thin lace material of my panties. His right hand travelled up my torso, grazing my rib cage and kneading my breast gently. His left hand snaked around my thigh and pulled my panties to the side. He traced shapes roughly around my centre as I let my head fall back to rest on his shoulder.

He nipped at the sweet spot on my neck and I let out a light moan. As good as his fingers felt against me, I need more. I lifted myself up a bit and reached between us to position his hard cock at my entrance. Slowly lowering all the way back down, I gave myself time to adjust to his large size as he filled me to the brim. He continued massaging my throbbing nerves and I rested my hand over his, getting him to apply more pressure. Arching my back against his chest, I could already feel myself tightening around him and he felt it too. I could feel every muscle throughout his body contract. Every time I had sex with Sirius, it always felt like the first time.

Slightly angling myself to find my g-spot, I let out a muffled whimper and shut my eyes tight when I felt his head brush my

G-spot . I slowly began going up and down on his throbbing dick, grinding against him every time my ass met his crotch. With every motion, I felt my knees weaken a little more each time.

Sirius’s breath became harsh and uneven on my neck and I could tell that he couldn’t hold it much longer. Every individual muscle in my lower body starting in my toes began to tighten in a wave, one after another. The pleasure crept up into the pit of my stomach and I reached my high, becoming a shaking mess in Sirius’s lap. His warm load coated my walls and his fingers dug into my thighs, leaving light scratches.

Once I recovered from my orgasm, I noticed the credits of the film beginning to roll and the lights were returning to their original brightness. I collapsed back into my seat and Sirius struggled to reposition himself back into his jeans. I laughed at the sight of him.

“What?” he questioned continuing to fumble with his jeans.

“Maybe if your pants weren’t so tight Mr Black, you wouldn’t be having such a tough time right now,” I mocked him.

“Whatever, I just hope I don’t have as tough of time trying to get them off when we get home,” he grinned, “you did say afterwards, didn’t you?”

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mooswords · 4 years ago

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Know him when you see him

Pairing: miya atsumu x reader

Word count: 1.5k

Tags: spy au, atsumu is attractive and he knows it

Ramblings: this was meant to be a short piece to practice writing metaphores and then somehow it ended up a full fic? and i lowkey love it? oops

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They don’t realize how much of an art it is - concealing the everything of what you are and becoming something, someone completely new.

You can paint over an image a hundred times, but the original will always poke through. Somehow, somewhere, if you don’t handle yourself with care, chips of vermillion and kohl will fall away to reveal the canvas underneath.

And the only way to stop your carefully crafted picture from fading is to add more layers, so you thicken the colour of your accent, add an extra layer of velvet under your words, spread a bright shade of allure onto your lips. Because to walk into the White Eagle anything less than a perfectly crafted masterpiece is asking for trouble.

Not to say you weren’t looking for a specific kind of trouble tonight.

(“Oh, you’ll know him when you see him,” Osamu said, lazy eyes glinting with amusement. You had turned to eye Kita, questioning if you really had to take vague orders from the cook of all people.

He has the decency to look apologetic. “Standard protocol for contacting deep cover agents. You know we can’t give you a specific description.”)

The bar is hazy; lavish and warm, the very picture of elegance. Sharply dressed people duck into curtained alcoves, ice clinks in nursed drinks. The woman in the corner of the room curls around a microphone, her low crooning innocently covering the casual threats slipped between wisps of smoke. Someday you'll come back for the blood money being exchanged under the table, but tonight you start your search where every good mission starts.

The ashy haired bartender leans across the bar towards you, resting casually on his elbows. “What’s your poison, sweetheart?”

“Hmmm...” You tuck a carefully manicured hand under your chin. “Something sweet tonight, I think.”

It’s strange, watching this lethal man pour your drink with such delicate care. Idly, you wonder if his work with a sniper rifle is just as captivating. There is a hint of flair in his fluid movements that is entrancing, a performance you can well appreciate. Your own art is similar, a careful dance between too many bold strokes and too little detail - adding enough colour to leave an impression, to draw the eye, but never letting yourself come too sharply into focus.

When he sets the glass on the bar, you create a tantalizing moment of brushing fingers, dusting rose pink over your cheeks. He grins across at you, and you swivel on the stool before he gets too close.

Quietly, you survey the gallery of men laid before you. There’s a solemn man in the corner, his dark quietness offset by the bright splash next to him who lounges with feet propped on a lacquered table; a quiet, dispassionate-looking boy with a fresh scar tearing through his face and hair hanging over his eyes. All eye-catching for sure, but they don’t quite fit the description. And the-

Your eyes meet across the smoky room and oh, this is what they meant by you’ll know him when you see him. You had expected trouble. You hadn’t prepared for bleach-blond hair and a lazy, all too familiar glint in all too familiar eyes.

He meanders over, brazenly eyeing you up and down. You entered tonight with a full coat of armour, but you can feel his raking gaze stripping the paint back, layer by layer.

A hand is presented to you. Arching an eyebrow, all you offer him in return is an amused look.

“C’mon.” His grin is roguish. “What’s the point of lookin’ that good if you can’t be shown off?”

(The true masters know how to blur the line between realism and fantasy; you wonder how many layers deep he had to thicken that smile to make it bleed such confidence. You wonder if he even remembers what his canvas looks like, untouched by false colour.)

“And what makes you think you’re the right person to do so?” You ask coyly, even as you slip your hand into his.

He winks. “Takes one to know one, sweetheart.”

The dance floor is empty as you sculpt yourself against him, following the line of his shoulder a shade tighter than you may have otherwise. Draping an arm around his shoulders, you sweep a soft exhale across the juncture of his neck; just to see what he’ll do.

The arm on your waist tightens, and you smother your smile into his chest.

“Careful, doll. I might think you’re only here for my good looks.”

“Perhaps I am.” Carefully, you lay the first stroke of ink that only he should recognise. “Though, I have to admit - I’m not sure about the blonde.”

“What you got against my hair, huh?”

“Not really your colour,” you tell him, streaking a dusky look up at him through your lashes. “Dye your hair grey and maybe we can talk.”

He returns the look, a hint of reproach and his own shade of intelligence mixed in. “Ahh, and here I was thinking you were a woman of taste.”

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong,” you ask in mock-reproach, tapping a finger against his shoulder, “but it's the other one that knows about taste, right?”

You both take a moment to inspect the recognition, checking the authenticity of the piece before you. There’s mutual acknowledgement in the press of your cheek against his dark suit, in the squeeze of his hand around yours as he dips his head next to yours.

Enamoured as you are by the graze of lips against your ear, you almost miss the first number he murmurs. But you are a professional, so you brush black over the sensation and print the digits into your memory. If you were to hazard a guess, they’re probably coordinates and a time, but Kita never specified and you never asked.

Really, you’re more intrigued by the man in front of you. He’s a mess of clashing colours seamlessly blended into a living sculpture of sly charm and sharp eyes. A different breed to the Shiratorizawa strength to be sure, but he weaves his contrast in among them like his organic nature has always matched with their regimented style.

And then, cold against your back, the barrel of a gun.

“Turn around. Slowly,” the measured voice behind you instructs.

His eyes are wiped spotless in a heartbeat, a perfectly depicted image of shock. A little too perfect if you were going to be critical, but you have a feeling that’s his style - perfection that demands to be admired.

His eyes duck down, barely a flicker, and you almost laugh. It’s cute that he thinks you needed a hint to where his gun is, like you didn’t know the moment you laid hands on him.

All it takes is one clean movement to rip away your carefully crafted layers of guile. You sweep the gun from inside his jacket and whirl around with it pressed to his head. He stiffens against you, and you wonder if he really is surprised this time or just playing the part.

“No-one move,” you tell the room cooly.

“What makes you think he can get you out of here alive?” Mr dark-and-quiet asks.

“Well, you haven’t shot me yet,” you drawl, beginning to back away towards the door with him still pressed into your arms. “So I’m just gonna assume he isn’t disposable.”

You leave a trail of narrowed eyes and pressed lips in your wake. The red head looks especially antsy, you note with a touch of satisfaction, though at this point it doesn't seem like you're going to live to tell the tale.

You are all too aware that your control of the room is fraying at the edges, unravelling with every move you make in their sights. There is a certain thrill that comes in these moments, in finding a way to twist the loose ends back into an advantage, but-

A bullet zips past your cheek.

-rope burn is always an occupational hazard.

The room shatters, and you dive out the door with a snap of silk skirts. He is right there by you, pulling you up by the elbow as the night explodes with revving cars and blinding sparks that skitter across black tar.

You can't find it in yourself to be too disappointed. You may be a master of your performance, a flawlessly choreographed ballet, but you can't deny that improvising is so much more fun. The addition of him - cut from the same cloth as you were, the same medium just in a different colour - only expands your canvas of possibilities.

"What’s the plan?” he calls, nothing more than a blur in your periphery as you streak along the street. His gold frame may be gone, unnecessary now the audience refuses to be blinded by his glitter, but you admire how he still moves in the same perfect lines.

“Don’t know yet," you yell back. He scoffs, and you flick him a grin drenched in adrenaline.

"Don't worry, sweetheart" you tell him, watching your glee splatter against his unconvinced look. "I’ll know it when I see it."

#atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you

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cosmicbash · 4 years ago

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this is hella specific but my personal sadistic liking i guess, but imagine kells and em were rough fucking and em goes too far and kells actually starts to cry in pain and takes a few seconds for em to notice but when he does, his whole personality does a 180° and he becomes the sweetest motherfucking thing

im not sure if u saw my post where i said i like crying kells/ soft em combo

When they first started fucking it was always rough. There was teeth, nails, blood, like the two of them were trying to tear the other to pieces just as badly as they were trying to meld their bodies together.

Eventually things started to even out, their fucking softened the same way their voices and touches did.

Actual feelings blossoming and a relationship rising from the scorched earth they liked to think their original beef had caused.

They couldn't call it hatefucking anymore, not when the hate was gone and something warm and scarily close to love had slithered in its place.

So now their sex was mostly normal, tinted with moments of softness or the rushed clumsiness of some spontaneous hookup. But, that didn't mean the roughness was completely gone.

They'd fucked that way in the beginning for a reason. It was good. Colson's nails cutting into his back or along his scalp to try and futilely pull on his short hair just felt invigorating. Like it lit a fire deep in Marshall's stomach that he'd long thought smothered.

They still fucked hard, and fast, just not as often. Sometimes after a nasty argument to get out the anger, other times just because the blonde came to him with that challenging glint in his eyes begging for a punishment.

Tonight was the latter.

Overall it had seemed like a perfect day, their voices soft and smiles softer over the course of a rare breakfast together and an even rarer lunch. The usually annoying call of a 'required' industry party appearance actually pleasing Marshall for once just because it meant he had an excuse to linger in LA, to publicly visit the same event as his boyfriend with little suspicion. Colson had stayed overnight to steal the whole day together in preparation. It was perfect.

So of course Marshall should have seen the devious little plan of his boyfriends coming. Colson always buttered him up before he got bratty.

It started with batted eyelashes and flirty licks of icing off some silly cupcakes, and ended with some other douchebag snaking his slimy presence into Colson's bubble. Stealing away attention that wasn't meant for anyone but Marshall.

The sparkle in Colson's last glance his way had announced the request for tonight's sex better than any words the blonde could have simply used instead.

So that's what Marshall gave him when they got back to the hotel room, a firm fist in the back of blonde locks. Colson's arrival an infuriating 20 minutes later than his own.

Per usual the younger rapper barely struggled, the glee on his face at Marshall's jealousy so much stronger than any desire he may have had to play along with a few feigned huffs.

It was hot, seeing Colson smile so catlike up at him with every rip of expensive cotton and snapped threads through Marshall's trembling fingers. He honestly didn't know if he wanted to strangle the brat or grab him like something precious. Colson just knew every button to press to get him riled up and angry. Teetering on the edge of real rage and violent jealousy that might have fucked up his marriage but somehow never truly settled here between them. Because looking into those sparkling mischevious eyes Marshall somehow always knew it was fake, that no matter how many times Colson and he played this game the blonde would never actually cross the line and cheat or hurt him.

The fire in his stomach burned white hot on nights like this. Where his hands could curl tight around Colson's wrists and risk leaving bruises both along them and the small of the boy's back where they sat pinned. Marshall's other hand roughly stretching open a hole he can tell has been fingered already in the car or maybe even at the party itself in hopes he would just bend it's owner over and force his way inside the moment they met back up. But that was a risk Marshall wouldn't take, not one where his assumption could seriously hurt Colson, no matter how many times he found the blonde already slick and ready. Because yes it was rough, and they still clawed at one another and bit mutual bruises along pale skin but it was also still more like making love than the angry hate fucking they'd had in the beginning.

Which is why as his hips snap in their rapid pace and his fingers cut into Colson's skin Marshall faintly notes the shift in his boyfriend's spine. Colson's still moaning, still rocking back to meet his harsh thrusts but theirs a silent thought nagging at the back of the older rapper's brain about it. Like there's something right in front of him that he just can't decypher yet.

The sex swamped part of his mind only urges him to go harder, reminds him of how his boyfriend has only come once so far and how utterly beautiful he looks overstimulated and trembling from a second uninterrupted orgasm. Brushing the blip of concern off as a moment of overthinking while he chases down his own release.

Marshall's eyes have slipped closed and his fingers tightened to that nail cutting grip when he hears it. The slight change in pitch to Colson's cries, not enough of a warning for his own hips to slow down. Not with how tight his stomach is getting and ready to burst his balls feel while he somehow finds the ability to speed up his fucking. Thighs clapping loud and fast against Colson's like he's going to fuck his way right through the other man. Increase his tempo until the seperate beats turn into one long ring.

Colson jerks beneath him then, not in his own release but away from his grip like the fire in Marshall's stomach has finally leeched its way outside to burn him. The usual chorus of "ah, ah, ah-" replaced by a wet sounding and higher pitched copy. Less pleause and more pain. Cutting through the older rapper's own roaring pleasure like a hot knife.

He's seconds away from coming. Just a handful more of thrusts and he could be pumping the tight hole clenching double time down on his cock full, but Marshall's heart has already dropped.

He's out of Colson in an instant, not caring how dizzy his own movements make him or how his cock throbs agonizingly for release. The fear bubbling up is too strong for him to care. "S-shit, Col, baby, I-I'm sorry-"

He's on his side, rough fingers now jarringly delicate as he curls around the blonde to pepper a dozen apologetic kisses along his shoulders. Careful as he turns Colson's flushed face to see the genuine tear tracks that have wettened perfect cheeks. A complete contrast to the harsh grab and jut of thumb into jaw hinge he'd done only an hour earlier on in the night.

"Shh, baby, I'm sorry, shh, where does it hurt?" There's a hundred different things rushing through Marshall's mind. Second guesses on how prepped Colson had been, how harsh his last bite was, on the belittling terms his dirty talk had included. What he could possibly do to fix the tear stained mess he's creates on his boyfriend's beautiful face.

"No-" Colson's voice is still tight, his eyebrows scrunched. "Don't-" a hiss and Marshall's stomach can't drop any deeper. But then crytal blue eyes are opening to meet his and the unmistakable sound of a bitter laugh is tumbling past Colson's lips.

The look shot is way sparkling with the request of forgiveness. "Just my hip-" And Colson's smiling at him, weak and sheepish like knows a reprimand is coming his way. The heavy wet weight of tears hanging on his lashes softening his eyes to emphasize that boyish charm the older rapper was smitten by.

His hip. The one he'd injured last week falling off stage and swore up and down to Marshall was fine all week. The brunette wants to collapse back onto the bed in relief and also smack his idiot of a boyfriend aside his head for terrifying him like that.

He settles in the middle with a sigh and soft bump of their foreheads together. Palm cupping Colson's wet cheek and eyes closing to thank whatever deity above exists that he didn't actually cross that invisible line inside himself and directly hurt Colson on his own.

"I love you." Colson's voice is still a little rough, still silently asking for forgiveness, and Marshall can't help but sigh again and try to smother that insecurity with slow kiss. Fingers softly skating through bleached hair and body rolling cautiously close to connect their skin.

"I love you too-" he sweeps away the salty tears with some scattered kisses. Fingers leaving his boyfriends hair to stroke down over the hot jut of unknowingly tender skin he'd been further injuring. "You idiot." The insult could be directed at either of them. Colson for lieing and himself for forgetting how dismissive his boyfriend could be of his own health.

"It- it wasn't that bad-" Marshall finds his mouth smothering an argument. Not interested in hearing the same childish defense from his boyfriend. Mentally he's already searching for the contact of his wonderful chiropractor to schedule Colson an emergency appointment and just how quickly he can get the precious man into a warm bath to soothe the ache.

#im super behind on asks #and falling asleep as i type this #so i hope its good #🥺🥺#emgk #asks #i love asks

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ko-chan-the-blueberry-donut · 4 years ago

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Always Led Back to You Chapter 3, a John Doe/Seraphina from UnOrdinary fanfiction

Hey guys so this chapter is going to be different in some ways to the original episode to suit the story so don’t take this all as canon. I’ve also added some stuff as well.

Trigger warning so slight assault. Nothing major or anything just wanted to put a warning just in case.

Thank you for all those who liked, follow, favored, and commented on the story so far!

Disclaimer: I don’t own UnOrdinary.

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Twelve-year-old Seraphina angrily wiped her tears as she sat on her bed, in her room. She hated it here in this house. Mother and Father were always cold and unloving. They made her feel more like a doll than a person. Someone they can play with how they please and throw away when they were bored.

Her stomach grumbled, and she rubbed it to soothe it. Mother had forbidden her to eat all day, as punishment for getting one point less than a perfect score on her test. She said until Seraphina got perfect scores in everything, she would be limited food.

Seraphina laid down on her bed, curling up to try and stop the incessant hunger. She hoped she would fall asleep soon—then maybe the hunger wouldn’t hurt anymore.

A slight noise caught her attention, and Seraphina crept towards her window where she heard tapping. She opened the curtains and a smile spread on her features.

“Leilah!” Seraphina cried, opening the window, allowing her sister to climb in.

“Sssh Seraphina, not so loud. Mother and Father have ears all over the place.” Leilah whispered. Seraphina nodded, going forth to check if anyone heard her exclamation. Using her ability, she was pleased no one knew of Leilah’s arrival.

“Sister, I’ve missed you.” Seraphina whispered. Leilah embraced her younger sister.

“I’ve missed you as well. Mother has been keeping us apart it seems.”

“She says she’s worried I’m taking after you…” Seraphina confessed. Leilah frowned.

“Yes, God forbid both her daughters are not perfect.” Leilah rolls her eyes.

“I want to leave, Leilah…” Seraphina tells her older sister.

“Soon…. I promise we’ll be gone from here soon and this will all be an ugly memory.” Leilah vowed, gently stroking Seraphina’s hair. “But for now…” Leilah grins, showing her prize, and Seraphina can’t help but grin in excitement.

“Food!” Seraphina whispers in glee. She wastes no time taking the food and consuming it. Leilah watches her sister with a serene smile.

“Ha, if Mother could see you now. She’d be horrified at you eating like a savage.” Leilah teases.

“What Mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” Seraphina talks with her mouth full and Leilah laughs.

“Oh Seraphina, Mother has no idea of what a little gremlin you are.” Leilah grins.

“So…” Seraphina takes a seat on her bed, Leilah joins her. “You said you were talking to some people…”

“Yes, I have to see if they’re willing to take us. I’ll hear from them soon.” Leilah tells her.

“What if they won’t take us?” Seraphina fretted. Leilah poked her forehead.

“They’ll take us. I promise. I’m not leaving without you.” Leilah smiles.

Seraphina clenches her fists, trying to remain calm, but a hurricane was swirling inside her. Leilah sees them and approaches their table, and every step she takes, Seraphina feels more ice run through her veins.

“Seraphina… you didn’t come alone.” Leilah finally speaks. Arlo watches between them, noting his friend’s tense posture and the woman’s sad eyes.

“You know each other.” It’s not a question he says to Leilah.

“Seraphina.” Leilah ignores Arlo, her eyes only for the magenta haired girl. “Your hair’s different. You always used to wear it up.”

“I’m not twelve anymore, Leilah.” Seraphina nearly spat, but she kept her composure, barely.

“That’s true. You aren’t.” Leilah agrees calmly, taking a seat.

“What are you doing here, Leilah?” Seraphina bites. Leilah doesn’t appear bothered by Seraphina’s tone.

“I’m the person who you’re supposed to meet.” Leilah told her. Her eyes then finally drift to Arlo. “Although, you weren’t supposed to bring anyone.”

“He stays.” Seraphina growls. Arlo has never seen her like this—like a wild beast ready to tear her enemy apart. It reminds him of John and his rage.

“What I have to say is for your ears only, Seraphina.” Leilah calmly, but sternly, states.

“I don’t trust you. You’ve broken promises before.” Seraphina hisses.

“Seraphina, calm down.” Arlo advises her, keeping his eyes on everyone else, making sure they are not drawing attention. “You remember what you said about keeping cool? You need to do that now, more than ever.”

“He’s right, Seraphina. If you start yelling, you’ll draw attention, and we can’t be noticed.” Leilah tells her.

“I’m not even sure I want to do this anymore.” Seraphina says firmly. “I have no reason to trust you.”

“Leilah! I’m ready! Let’s go!” Seraphina arrives with her backpack. Leilah had told her before the people were ready to take them. She was finally free of this place! Leilah said to just be in her room at night and they’d leave.

The room was empty. Seraphina furrowed her brow, looking around.

“Leilah? Where are you?” Seraphina whispered. She examined her sister’s room, noticing her belongings and clothes were gone.

A breeze caught her attention, and Seraphina turned towards the window that was ajar, blowing the curtains.

“Leilah…?” she stared at the window, before looking back at the missing belongings. Dread filled her. “Leilah!” she choked, racing towards the window.

She could not see anyone for miles. Dread filled her entire being and she dropped to her knees.

Leilah was gone. And she left without her.

“I wish we had more time, Seraphina.” Leilah said mournfully. “I would tell you everything and tell you I’m sorry over and over… but we don’t have that time.”

“Then why should I stay?” Seraphina asked.

“Because.” Here Leilah was determined. “Because I’m going to get you your powers back.”

------------------

Elaine paced back and forth, wringing her hands together.

“They’re still not back yet…” Elaine glanced at the clock, and her anxiety increased. “What should I do?”

If Arlo and Seraphina were attacked, it would only be Arlo fighting. And if Arlo got defeated, Seraphina would be defenseless.

“I have to do something! I can’t wait here any longer!” Elaine exclaimed. She put on her shoes and began formulating a plan. “I need Isen and Remi! Maybe I can heal Blyke really quick too!”

However, before she could fetch her intended targets, she slammed into someone.

“S-Sorry!” Elaine yelled out, not noticing who she bumped into in her haste. Yet, she was soon sobered when someone grabbed her.

“Oh? Sorry’s not going to cut it, Elaine.” Zeke grinned maliciously. Elaine’s heart stopped. Of all the people she could have bumped into…

“I said I was sorry, Zeke. Please excuse me.” Elaine tried to dissuade him from escalating the conflict. She needed to help her friends. Nevertheless, Zeke tightened his grip, making her wince.

“And I said sorry’s not good enough, Elaine.” Zeke grinned, eyeing her up and down. “I might let it slide if maybe we could spend some time together though.”

Elaine felt her stomach drop, knowing what he really meant.

“Let me go! I don’t have time for this!” Elaine exclaimed. She was then slammed against the wall.

“Rejecting the King’s right hand man, eh? You think you’re too good for me cause you like Arlo?” Zeke growled, readying one of his hands to stroke her thigh. Elaine wanted to throw up. “I’ll show you what happens when you cross the King’s authority!”

However, before Zeke could continue, he was knocked out cold. Elaine opened her eyes, and they promptly widened when she realized who exactly helped her.

“Get out of my sight before I do the same to you.” John told her firmly, malice in his eyes.

“John…” Elaine whispered. She gulped, beginning to shake. John saved her, but he was still volatile. However, John was stronger than Arlo, and Seraphina would need all the help she could get.

“John! Seraphina’s in trouble!” Elaine cried before she could even question the ramifications of her decision. “She’s went to meet some people at a café called Lovun! I think it’s the same people who stole her ability! I tried to stop them, but they wouldn’t listen and they’re still not back!”

“Stop yammering. It’s annoying.” John dismissed her. He turned and walked away. “It’s not my problem.”

Elaine felt numb as she watched him walk away.

“You really don’t care about her, do you…?” Elaine whispered. Her eyes became enraged and she stood up, clenching her fists. “Even after everything you’ve done, she still cares about you! She still sees you as her friend!”

John stopped walking. He still didn’t turn around.

“You don’t deserve it!” Elaine cried angrily. “I remembered how you looked at her! You can’t tell me you didn’t have feelings! You can’t say you don’t still have—”

John promptly punched her.

“You don’t deserve Seraphina’s love!” Elaine coughed. She then brushed past him, nose bloodied, yet bold enough to knock shoulders with him. She refused to be afraid of him. She had to save Seraphina and Arlo.

John stood in the hallway; fists clenched so tight his palms bled.

-----------------------

“Arlo… can you give us a minute?” Seraphina finally spoke. Arlo glanced at her, shocked.

“Are you serious?” he asked her.

“We’re in a crowded area. And like Leilah said, we don’t want to attract attention. She’s not here to fight.” Seraphina explained.

Arlo stared at her, before glancing at the purple haired woman, who appeared solemn, and then drawing his attention to Seraphina again. He sighed.

“Five minutes, and I’ll be at a nearby table.” Arlo acquiesced. He then turned to Leilah. “You try anything, or she looks uncomfortable, I’m coming right back. Understand?”

“Of course.” Leilah replied smoothly. With that, Arlo took his coffee to a nearby table. With him gone, Leilah and Seraphiina were able to give each other their full attention. “Boyfriend?”

“You have no right to ask or know anything about my life.” Seraphina told her. “He said five minutes. Don’t waste it with small talk.”

“Alright, I’m sorry. I’ve just missed you.” Leilah admitted. “I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

“You left me behind.” Seraphina didn’t pull any punches.

“Yes, and if we had more time, I would tell you how sorry I am, but we do not.” Leilah replied calmly.

“Then get on with it.” Seraphina ordered tersely.

“For starters, I called you here today because I’m partially the reason you are now a cripple.” Leilah began. “My organization, Spectre, has developed a drug that robs people of their ability permanently. And, in my lack of foresight, I’ve left you vulnerable to the other half of my organization.”

“You…” Seraphina’s teeth and fists clenched. “You did this to me?”

“This was done to you because I wasn’t there. I was called away on an assignment and in this instance, because our organization has been divided into two factions, I’ve left you a sitting target for our other radical faction.” Leilah wasn’t bothered by Seraphina’s mounting anger, and if she was, she didn’t show it. “When I first found out you were being targeted, I ordered all personal to stay away from you. Sadly, because our organization is now divided and you are now a cripple, that warning was not heeded.”

“So now what? Am I supposed to thank you for trying to protect me?” Seraphina hissed.

“No. I’m here to help you.” Leilah said, she then reached into her pocket and produced a vial. “While the one half of our organization has been robbing those of their abilities, the half I’m apart of has been working on an antidote. This is the first sample we have.”

“An… an antidote?” Seraphina whispered, eyeing the vial is disbelief. Leilah nodded.

“Yes. However, it hasn’t been tested.” Leilah confessed. “I was hoping… if you were interested… if you would partake in testing it.”

“How do I know it will work?” Seraphina didn’t take her eyes off the vial.

“You don’t, but it’s the best chance you have right now.” Leilah told her.

Seraphina didn’t say anything. She couldn’t stop staring at the vial.

‘A chance to get back my ability. A chance to stop John…’ Seraphina thought.

“John’s priority was and has always been you” Arlo’s words drifted into her mind.

‘If I could just talk to him… one on one… no barriers… no fighting…’ Seraphina closed her eyes. ‘If I could just let him know I’m there… would he listen…?’

Seraphina finally prepared herself to give her answer. Opening her mouth, she was about to reply when suddenly she felt something in the air. From the looks of it, Arlo and Leilah felt it too.

“An ability dampener…” they whispered.

“We have to go. It appears I was followed after all.” Leilah was quick to decipher the situation. Arlo joined them quickly but made sure not to make a scene to incite a panic. “Follow me. We have to leave now.”

Seraphina and Arlo quickly followed Leilah to the back where the waitress and a co-worker were chatting. The two employees noticed them quickly and were confused.

“Hi, sorry ma’am, you’re not supposed to be back here.” The waitress voiced out her concern.

“Sorry, we’ll be on our way.” Leilah smiles and the three of them quickly make it to the back door, exiting before the employees of the café could cause a commotion. The door led into a back alleyway. “I have a car waiting for us in the front. Let’s move quickly.” Leilah beckons.

Suddenly, there is a swarm of people surrounding them. Seraphina knows right away this is the radical half of Leilah’s organization.

“You better come with us quietly, and don’t bother activating your ability. This dampener cuts your ability power by half.” The spikey haired guy told them, smirking.

“By half…?” Arlo whispered in shock.

“Yes, it’s one of our inventions.” Leilah confirms. Arlo wastes no time, and activates his ability, enclosing the three of them in a barrier. He could easily tell his barrier was indeed a lot weaker.

“Are you sure you can fight like this?” Leilah asked Arlo.

“As if I have a choice.” Arlo snips back. He and Leilah form a shield in front of Seraphina. Leilah observes her surroundings, trying to find any way they can get out of this. She takes a glance back at Seraphina.

‘Seraphina was a god-tier before her ability was taken…’ Leilah thinks, fingering the vial. A decision is made, and she hastily grabs a syringe, filling it with the vial’s contents.

“What are you doing?” Arlo is confused. Seraphina also wonders what Leilah is up to.

“Leilah—” before she could ask, Seraphina is grabbed by her sister, and injected with the liquid into her neck.

Immediately, everything gets blurry before going black. Seraphina can feel herself collapsing, vaguely registering Arlo catching her before she hits the ground, but it isn’t him she hears before she blacks out.

“SERA!!!!” John’s voice screams in her ears, and she feels a surge of power in the air.

‘John…?’ Seraphina voices in her mind. Everything’s going dark. She feels numb, like she can’t move. There’s an incredible power surging, getting closer and closer.

Then she feels warmth all around her. Someone’s holding her, screaming at her to stay awake.

It’s John. She can’t see him, but she hears him… but why does he sound so far away?

‘John…’ Seraphina finally feels at peace. ‘John, I’m so sorry. If I could do it over again…

…I’d make you my priority too.’

Then Seraphina couldn’t see, feel, or hear anything anymore.

-----------------

There we go! That’s another chapter! Finally we can now get the ball rolling. Also, another fanfiction I have an idea for is a dark Jeraphina fanfiction where Elaine goes to John to help Seraphina during chapter 214 and John asks for a price. Turns out he meant Seraphina. It would kinda be a Beauty and the Beast or Hades and Persephone style kind of thing. Anyone interested?

7 notes · View notes

madaraism · 7 years ago

Text

Algea - Part II of Himeros

Ἄλγεα ; The Algea – the personified spirits of grief, sorrow and distress.

Summary: Following the aftermath of Riley’s departure, Liam has pressing royal duties to focus on – namely, producing an heir.

Part I - Himeros // Part III - Aletheia // Part IV - Apate // Part V - Hestia // Part VI - Achlys

Pairings: Liam x Riley, Liam x Madeleine

Rating: Mature

Words: 4220

A/N: Thank you for all the overwhelming reviews for the first part of this story! Himeros was originally intended to be an angsty one-shot but reading all your replies and thinking back to poor Liam and Riley, I felt like I needed to continue on the story. If you ever feel that Himeros was a good enough ending, that is perfectly fine – I just feel the need to perhaps give our poor King some closure. I have decided to add in Riley’s name, just to make the dialogue easier to understand. I apologise again for the chapter…

Inspirations for this chapter – Dreaming with a Broken Heart by John Mayer and Almost is Never Enough by Ariana Grande.

Tag List: @theroyalweisme @hhiggs @itzmequeenb @alicars @cocomaxley @blackcatkita @trianiasti @viktoriapetit @umccall71 @topsyturvy-dream @kawairinrin @jayjay879 @bobasheebaby @choiceswreckedme @queencatherynerhys @laniquelove @philiasperanza @hopefulmoonobject

“For the love of god, Maxwell, I wish you would just stop doing your childish dance moves at every damn court event we are invited to.” Bertrand starts, and Maxwell immediately rolls his eyes, his face filled with glee.

“Hey, it got gloomy alright? Riley said I had to have fun on her behalf.” He defends.

Bertrand snorts as they make their way out of their car and through the entrance of their home. He masks his obvious disappointment on the lack of Riley’s presence for the past two days by jabbing complaints at his childish brother.

“Riley this, Riley that, think about the reputation you’re setting on House Beaumont for once, will you?”

Bertrand enjoys the impression he leaves on people of being a constantly blunt man.

Luckily, Maxwell can read him like an open book – he sees the worry hidden within his brother’s eyes and the constant distraught hammered into his tense shoulders.

He knows he is referring to Riley’s current predicament with Liam. Maxwell places a hand on Bertrand’s shoulder, voice lowering in concern. He hopes his words can bring him a sense of ease. “We’ll figure something out. All our brainstorming can’t possibly be a waste of time. …We owe Riley this much. Now let’s go see how our honorary Beaumont is doing.”

Bertrand’s grey eyes gazes into Maxwell’s.

He knows and appreciates just how hard they have been working for the past few months, no matter how exasperating – endless frustrated pacing in the study, papers strewn on the floor, books upon books in search of some possible loophole.

He places his index finger and thumb on the bridge of his nose, sighing out deeply before nodding and following Maxwell.

. . . . .

Liam finds out about her disappearance in the early hours of the next day.

He had meant to visit her as soon as he got back, but paperwork had delayed him.

When he arrives at the Beaumont Estate, Liam is surprised to find Bertrand and Maxwell with such neutral faces, welcoming him in.

Bertrand, whose appearance involves his brows slightly furrowed in the presence of Maxwell, showed almost no emotion.

Maxwell, whose appearance beared similarity to a bright sun on a clear day, mirrored Bertrand’s emotionless one.

If Liam didn’t grow up groomed to decipher and partake in the art of body language, he wouldn’t’ve suspected a thing.

Both Beaumont brothers had dark circles under their eyes. With closer inspection, he could see their unshaven faces, the top button of Maxwell’s collared shirt undone, the even more rigid posture of Bertrand.

It appears to him that the brothers had not slept.

“…Bertrand, Maxwell. You two are oddly quiet,” Liam’s eyes trails over to the familiar stairs and hallway that leads to Riley’s room. “I hope you’re not still feeling the after-effects of Adelaide’s champagne?”

“Of course not, your highness. Are you looking for Lady Riley? Unfortunately, she is indisposed for the day-” Bertrand wants to continue but is halted by Maxwell. He gives him a warning look.

. .

“What do you mean she’s gone? She can’t just be gone. If this is some sad game of hide and seek-” His speech is cut short when a panicking Maxwell shoves the note into his face.

He feels the blood draining from his face when his eyes scans quickly across the card.

Bertrand mutters a string of curse words before he clenches his eyes shut, fingers quickly massaging his temple.

“We must not let the King know.”

Maxwell splutters in protest, “What?! Why not?!”

“Think of how he will be, Maxwell. Our people need him right now. He cannot have heartache ruining his role as King.” His voice is grave, hoping that he is speaking reason into his brother’s ears.

“Bertrand, this is crazy. He already married Madeleine when he is so obviously in love with Riley – you’re telling me he can’t function with a heartache?! What has he been doing for the past few months then?! What about Riley?!”

“Please! Maxwell! We will go find her ourselves,” Bertrand tries to persuade him, panic and desperation in his voice, “It’ll be like nothing happened. Think of how heartbroken Liam will be if he finds out.”

Maxwell’s face hardens at his words.

A stiff nod.

Reluctance played a big part in his features.

. .

Trust in our King.

Bertrand is taken back from the intensity of Maxwell’s gaze. His own collected stance from earlier seems to falter just slightly.

“I’m sorry Liam,” Maxwell begins, slightly timid. He runs his hand roughly through his own hair, trying to relieve some of the tension building up. “What Bertrand said isn’t true. I’m sorry Bertrand… I can’t bear to lie to one of my best friends about such an important issue.”

Bertrand had always shouldered everything regarding the welfares of House Beaumont. As the first born, he was always expected to.

Yet in this moment, Bertrand truly witnesses the growth in Maxwell. He sees his little brother standing beside him, poised to tell truth – calm, yet ready for whatever Liam might throw in their way.

He swallows, gaze moving cautiously from Maxwell to Liam.

The King’s jaw was clenched, shoulders squared with his arms behind his back – prepared.

Bertrand couldn’t decipher what his eyes read.

Maxwell finally breaks the silence, his gaze focused on anywhere but Liam.

“Riley… She’s… She left.”

. . . . .

He sits in the armchair in her room, the card that she had left for the Beaumont Brothers in his hand.

His eyes follow his fingers, tracing over every curve of each letter, each stroke, each little indent made from the pressure of the pen.

He imagines her writing the message on the desk on the other side of the room, and he finds himself wondering what emotions could have been going through her mind when she wrote this.

Merely over two days ago, they were sitting here in the very same spot, repeating their love for each other over and over.

Repeated kisses.

Repeated ‘I love you’s.

He finds himself stuck in the chair. Every inch of his body seemed to be tied down by endless bags of solid cement, gravity his worst enemy.

He can’t move.

He can’t blink.

He won’t move.

Perhaps if he stays seated, she will come waltzing through the doors, laughing the situation off as if it was a mere prank.

His stomach tightens painfully when he remembers her laugh.

Where did she go?

Where could she have gone?

He finds his mind racing through countless possibilities that could’ve resulted in her departure – every possible reason, every excuse, every tiny detail that he could’ve done.

Was it something that he had done?

His fingers turn numb when he remembers trailing his hands over her body, touching, feeling, caressing – he can almost feel her skin beneath his touch, ghosting over.

He closes his eyes, body still, as he chases over every minuscule moment that they had shared with each other.

He remembers the way the Cordonian sunset gave her a goddess-like glow when they shared drinks on her balcony.

He remembers how she would let his hand fall into her own whenever he let the back of their hands touch ever so lightly.

He remembers the mischievous glint in her eyes when they purposely got lost in the maze.

And he remembers how her body felt against his the last time they touched, the last time that they hugged – how soft, how warm, how at home, and how at ease she could make him feel just by wrapping her arms around him, a hand trailing along his back and another getting lost in his hair.

He remembers the last kiss that they shared. One that was filled with an overwhelming amount of love, one that reminded him of all the trials and difficulties they had experienced together, how it made his body warm and full, leaving him absolutely breathless.

Yet it was one that made his stomach do flips and turns at the sadness, desperation and regret that lingers on his lips.

He remembers how she looked at him when he told her he would see her soon. He had brushed off the wetness in her eyes as if it was nothing but the norm, but upon recalling, it was everything full of remorse and guilt.

He remembers how oddly calm she had looked.

And he wonders how long, and how much effort she had put into leaving him and his country.

But for what reason?

He drags his eyes across the card.

‘Tell him that he is a loving and generous King.’

But how was he supposed to rule without her by his side, even if it were as his mistress?

Not that it mattered – he loves her as if he was already married to her.

‘Tell him that I love him. That I always have, and I always will.’

He could hear her voice in his head, solemn.

He could see the tears in her eyes, the wetness on her cheeks as she would’ve hastily tried to wipe them away before anyone saw – even if she was alone in her room.

And he finds himself letting out a quiet, broken sob.

“Why, oh why, did you leave?”

He doesn’t know how long he spends with his eyes pressed against the back of his hand.

When he feels the accumulated tears backtrail down his arm, and the wetness on his thigh, he looks up with his heavy eyes, her room a blurry mess of white, creams and golds.

And he realises then.

It was such a meaningless court accessory to him that he hadn’t realised he had been staring at the answer the entire time.

He eyes the innocent wedding band on his left hand.

Oh, how stupid he feels.

How blatantly obvious.

He wonders how selfish he had possibly gotten, to ask her out of desperation to remain in the picture while he created a child with another woman.

She was selfless and loving. But no matter just how selfless and loving a person could possibly be, they would always have a bottom line, he thinks.

And he is positively sure that he had selfishly pushed her to her limit.

“Bastien,” He finds himself croaking out as he drags his heavy body over to where her bed is, curling up with his back facing the door.

He hears it open before he continues.

“Cancel my appointments for today, please,” He mutters with his eyes closed. He trusts his security detail to pass on the message.

“Yes, my King.”

“And Bastien…” Her scent from the sheets and pillows surround him. He wants to let it comfort him, but he knows he is undeserving of peace without her by his side.

“Find where she is… please.”

When the door closes once more, he finds himself letting his tears flow. He places his hopes on Bastien’s networks and database. He hopes and prays to every deity he knows that Bastien will find her, and that she will be willing to return to Cordonia to be by his side.

But until then, he allows himself to do nothing but wallow in grief.

Liam had never noticed how awfully big and cold her room, and her bed is without her presence.

He drifts off into a pitiful sleep while wondering if this was how she lived her lonely life in Cordonia when he is away.

. . . . .

Liam loses himself to his work.

He is oblivious to how much time, days, and weeks have passed since her departure.

The card that she wrote sits in a frame on his desk, face down.

Its purpose was contradictory in itself.

Her words serve as a reminder to him as what sort of King he is. It is a reminder of a love that they shared, one that was warm, comforting and passionate.

Yet her words remind him of her disappearance. Her touches, her smiles, her presence – sudden, fleeting, haunting.

The only thing that pushes him out of bed each day is Bastien’s lead on her whereabouts.

“We have airport records and security footage of Lady Riley leaving Cordonia for New York.”

It was the most that they could do within Liam’s power as King.

His messages sent to her number and email were left unread and ignored.

He weeps as he forces himself to reread the card that she had left.

He hopes she does not hate him.

All that he can do now is wait for further leads from within America before he can go visit her himself.

He hopes she thinks of him.

. . . . .

The next time he sees his wife one on one, they have a discussion that is more one-sided, more persuasive, than anything.

It was tactical and surprisingly civilised.

As expected, it was another business arrangement.

Her green eyes were calm, red lips straight.

“No.” Unamused.

“No?” He questions. Their faces matched each other, both blank and void of any honest emotions.

“No.” Madeleine repeats. “You can’t possibly think IVF is a pursuable route for us to obtain an heir.”

“And why might that be?” Liam allows his back to face her sitting form as he pours himself some scotch. He doesn’t let her realise that his brows are furrowed in frustration and disappointment.

He already knows the reason why, and she knows too.

He had only hoped it could be a beneficial option worth considering.

“You already know why.” She ridicules him. “It’s the perfect excuse for gossip to go around the court, public and press.”

Madeleine eyed his unmoving back.

“The reality of the matter isn’t regarding the amount of money we are willing to give,” She presses on, her voice unwavering, “A risk is a risk. Cordonia will not do well with unwarranted gossip of their King and Queen unable to conceive.”

Liam swallows the hard liquor swiftly, the cup settling down on the table louder than he wanted.

Madeleine was not a stupid woman. She holds herself highly as one who is strategically adaptable to her own advantage – or more specifically, advantageous for the sake of Cordonia.

She treats her relationship with Liam like it is a job, and she knows that he does too.

She considers them highly compatible in the sense that they both knew what was at stake, and what needs to be sacrificed for the greater good of the country they both loved.

She keeps her green eyes on his tense shoulders.

There is no sympathy in her features. All that she sees is a simple roadblock that can be easily overcome.

“I hope you’re not planning to go to New York.” She states simply and bluntly.

Liam’s face is emotionless when he turns around to look at her.

How did she know?

“I am not a fool, Liam. Your emotions are all over the place like some commoner’s department store sale.” Madeleine raises a perfect brow at him, “People gossip. The walls have ears. Lady Riley hasn’t been seen at court for over a month and your paperwork has been completed quicker than before.”

She pauses only briefly to gauge his body language. Tense, exhausted, broken.

“I cannot stop you from flying to America but think about what message you’ll be leaving for the press and court when they find out you’ve gone after a commoner who had brought shame on the Beaumont House, let alone on the crown.”

She sees his jaw tighten at her words. She does not particularly care as she knows she speaks the truth, and that he knows.

Liam pours himself another drink. He is quick to swallow the burning liquid, hoping it would numb him completely.

He keeps his distance between them when he turns around to face her. Shoulders squared, chin up, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

He avoids her gaze.

“Have someone tell me the opportune date for each month. I will meet you in your chambers then.”

He swallows thickly as he looks around the room briefly before walking out.

I’m sorry, my love.

. . . . .

The first time Liam sleeps with Madeleine, he is fuelled by the alcohol in his veins.

He refuses to look at her in the most gracious way possible as they let the darkness in the room surround them.

He refuses to kiss, he refuses to caress.

He realises no matter how much alcohol he took in order to numb the pain, it was rendered useless when he had to perform.

So he lets the thoughts and memories of Riley fuel his actions instead.

Liam remembers how Riley’s body would move against his when he kissed her in specific spots.

How she would sigh in pleasure, how she would let his name roll off her lips like it was second nature.

The first time he sleeps with Madeleine, he finds his tears trailing down her back.

He remembers the knot in his stomach and the bile in his throat, threatening its way up as he pushes on with his duty for his country.

He tries with all his might to think of her, and he can almost see, and can almost feel the way she would’ve arched into him when he makes her come.

“Riley… my love… oh, my love…”

When he finishes for the first time, he sits on the edge of Madeleine’s bed with his head in his hands.

He doesn’t look up as she walks off to clean up.

He cries over the guilt of the sin he feels he has committed.

He cries over the missing warmth of her body in his arms.

He misses every inch of her being.

He misses how her hands would cup his face, and how her fingers could just run through his hair and he would feel so relaxed and at ease.

He misses the way she looks at him, eyes full of love and admiration. Full of luck and pride that they had found each other in such a vast world.

Even with all the difficulties they had faced, just looking at her and holding her hand made everything worth it.

His cries are soundless, yet deafeningly loud.

His body aches and yearns for her touch, her presence, her being.

His heart was empty, yet in so much pain.

When Madeleine returns from her bathroom for the first time with her silk dressing gown hugging her curves, she hands over a glass of whiskey, nudging the cool glass against the hand that covers his face.

She looks at him expectantly when he stares at her, his eyes red, lashes heavy from the tears.

He drinks. She fills his glass up, and he drinks some more.

Once his face is dry, he stands up to put his pants back on and to button his dress shirt.

He bows his head slightly, ever gracious, ever regal, as he gives her a quiet apology for his words.

He thanks her for the night before leaving her room.

During these moments, he never looks at her once, never mentions her name.

And Madeleine feels guilt.

Just a little.

. .

Two years pass as their own arrangement continues.

Twelve times each year, once a month, Liam would have to step into Madeleine’s room.

His legs used to feel heavy, a strong sense of self-condemnation forming in his chest with every step that he took.

Now, he feels nothing but an obligation to get it over and done with.

Liam no longer feels the guilt when Riley’s name forces itself off his lips.

The benefits of the arrangement that they had, he thinks to himself with bitter amusement as he sits on the edge of the bed after another night.

Liam watches Madeleine’s figure walk gracefully over to her en suite to clean up.

He takes his cue to leave.

. .

The Queen Mother was not pleased.

The two years that had passed did not do the crown any favours.

With Constantine’s passing in the last year, Cordonia – and even more importantly the crown, needed stability more now than ever.

She seeks for someone, or something, to blame.

Liam finds the royal physician visiting Madeleine and him more often than he would like.

They tell them that it is normal for some to take a while before they are able to conceive.

The physician is met with a pair of unamused eyes when he tells them to ‘perhaps try to allocate more time in your highnesses’ busy schedules in bed?’.

The King nearly breaks the glass of whiskey in his hand out of pent up rage.

When the physician leaves, he almost immediately follows suit.

Green eyes gaze on the King’s retrieving form.

She knows that their arrangement will remain unchanged.

She surprises herself when she looks down at her lap, finding her hands and nails clenched up and digging into some sorry part of the couch.

She blames the weather for the tears in her eyes.

. . . . .

A year and a half later on a bleak and cold day in New York, Riley receives the dreaded phone call from Hana.

“I don’t know if he has messaged you yet,” She remembers the worry in Hana’s voice, the quiet mumbles as her best friend reasons to herself, “But then again you don’t want to talk…”

She remembers her hesitant pause, “Riley… I don’t know when they will notify the press, it’s very early on, and very, very secretive, but… oh Riley, it’s Madeleine. She’s pregnant.”

She finds herself on the tiles of her bathroom again, hurling into the toilet in front of her. This time for different reasons.

She uses the baggy sleeves of her cable-knit sweater to wipe away her tears and at the corner of her mouth.

She has been waiting to receive this news for years, mentally preparing herself and her stomach.

She doesn’t know why she is still so surprised that he actually went through with it.

Perhaps some part of her had been hoping, wishing, praying, that he would never.

She closes her eyes and leans back into the cold glass door of her standing shower, wrapping her arms around herself.

She shudders and finds a shaky breath leaving her lips as she remembers being in his arms.

From time to time, she allows herself to drown in the memories she had with him – she misses the feeling of his lips against her own, how his eyes were always calm but so full of love for her.

She misses how his voice would sound when he embraced her from behind, whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

She misses the lucky mornings they would get to wake up next to each other. How his eyes would gaze over every inch of her face, taking in the love that she showed to him through her gentle kisses and bright smiles.

She feels a body rest beside her, a small face on her lap.

And she forces herself back into her reality – cold on a tiled bathroom floor in a small apartment in New York.

She hugs the now four-year-old closer to her.

“I’m sorry, Levi. I’m just having one of those moments, aren’t I?” She murmurs, absentmindedly twirling some of his hair in her fingers.

His dark eyes does not meet hers for a while, but when it does, she’s relieved to see a small smile on his lips.

The boy doesn’t say anything, as he doesn’t know what, or who had brought the tears into his mother’s eyes. He was dutifully observant and mature for his age and has learnt that simple gestures like his hugs can bring some mirth back into her eyes.

She sees every bit of Liam in him – from the softness of his hair to the shape of his eyes, the way that his small nose stands tall within the frame of his face, to the way his ears sit on his head. She marvels at how he has the shape of Liam’s lips, but her volume – just slightly fuller than his.

And when she stares into her little boy’s eyes, they remind her of his when Liam isn’t weighed down with the duties and troubles of courtly life and country duties.

She sighs once more and kisses his hair.

“Let’s go get some cronuts, my love.”

. .

Surprise hits her like a truck once more the following week.

Riley stares at the face in front of her, her own failing to mask the shock. Her hand never leaves her door handle as she readies herself to close it in the person’s face at any given second she senses danger.

She couldn’t help herself but to quickly look around the corridor of her apartment building, coming to the educated conclusion that the person was most likely travelling alone.

Without him?

She could recognise those features from a mile away.

Those perfectly styled golden curls. The red lips painted with precision, always in a straight line, unamused. Those intense green eyes, staring right into her very soul as if the pair of sunglasses on her face is not even there. That damned string of pearls around her small neck.

“Lady Riley, what a pleasure to see you again.” The lady starts, her voice not matching her words.

Without Liam?

Riley stares for the longest time before remembering to close her mouth.

“Madeleine?”

Part 3: Aletheia

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