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leiawritesstories · 5 days ago

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I Forgot

@rowaelinscourt Rowaelin Month 2025, Day 4: Amnesia

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: references to injury, swearing

enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room was bright and spinning. Rowan blinked slowly, his eyelids weighing a thousand pounds each, and tried to focus on the vague, blurry wave of walls and faces that seemed to be surrounding him. His head throbbed dully, an underlying pain trying to break through the thick haze of whatever painkiller was dripping slowly into his veins through the IV he could feel taped into his hand.

"He's waking up," someone said, their voice banging far too loudly against his fragile eardrums. He screwed his eyes shut, blocking out the confusing wash of light and sound, and the person who'd spoken let out a soft chuckle. "Never mind. It'll probably be another few minutes."

"Could you turn the lights down?" someone else asked, and the voice tugged some kind of thread in Rowan's tangled mess of a mind.

The next time he opened his eyes---it had probably only been a handful of minutes, but it felt like days---the room was blessedly darker, only illuminated by a soft orange-yellow lamp in the wall. He blinked several times, waiting until the fuzziness of the pain meds drifted to the edge of his vision and he registered the woman sitting in the armchair a few feet away from his bead.

Her eyes scanned him head to toe. "Are you awake now, Rowan?"

She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Speechless both from the medicine and the shock of waking up to a face crafted by the gods themselves, it took him a good two minutes to muster up a half-coherent response. "Huh?"

The woman laughed softly, hiding the sound behind her hands. Fuck, even her hands were beautiful. "I think the medicine they gave you hasn't quite worn off yet, love."

Love. The beautiful woman called him love. "I dunno," he mumbled, not quite sure what she meant. And then it hit him.

He was married.

And a beautiful woman whose name he didn't know was sitting in a hospital room at his bedside.

This had to be a nightmare.

Rowan shook his head. "No," he whispered.

The woman's brows scrunched together. "What's wrong, love?"

"Don'call me that," he said, the words half speech and half tormented moan. "I...I'm...you..." He managed to take a deep breath. "I gotta wife."

The woman folded her arms across her chest and gave him a flat look. "Rowan Whitethorn, I'm your wife." She watched the shock ripple like a tidal wave across his drooping face. "I'm Aelin."

Although the name Aelin made his heart flutter in his chest, Rowan was still fighting through the haze of the medicine dulling his mind. He stared at Aelin, still mulling over her words. "You so pretty," he finally said, the words slurring together.

Aelin let out that soft, rasping laugh again, and her eyes flicked to the bag hooked up to his IV. "I think I should ask the nurse about your medicine, love. You're still pretty loopy, and it's been two hours since you woke up."

"I sleepin'?" he asked. He didn't remember falling asleep. He remembered playing a pickup soccer game with some friends out in his expansive backyard. It was the first truly warm day of early summer, and he didn't exactly recall how it started, but he, Lorcan, Fenrys, Connall, and Aedion had somehow found themselves outside without any level of female supervision. Fenrys had produced a soccer ball from gods only knew where, and almost instantaneously, five grown-ass men had reverted to unruly schoolboys at recess. "We were playing...I forgot."

"Something that vaguely resembled soccer, yes," Aelin said. "Ells and I left you boys alone for five seconds because one of you big babies wanted something to drink, and you all went from behaving like grown men with jobs and mortgages to acting like the kids Elide has to put in time-out for climbing on top of the playground."

Rowan grinned. "We had fun!"

"Mm-hmm. Until you scored a goal that Fenny decided was unfair."

"Oh." As his mind cleared, Rowan suddenly remembered how he'd ended up in the hospital. "It wasn't my fault."

After that goal, Fenrys had decided he didn't like losing---even though there were neither teams nor competition in the game---so he'd made it his objective to defend Rowan as closely as physically possible, which had resulted in Rowan trying to use the terrain of his yard as an advantage. That strategy had worked fairly well until Fen chased him around a tree, hid behind the tree, leaped out as Rowan came around the tree, and sent Rowan stumbling backwards. He'd regained his balance, and he tore across the yard with Fen hot on his heels, shrieking like a banshee, and just as he was about to drop-kick the ball in for another goal, Fen had the brilliant idea to cross rugby with soccer.

And he leapt at Rowan in a flying tackle.

But Fen's calculations had been off, and instead of tackling Rowan to the relative safety of the grass, they'd gone tumbling into the goal, and Rowan had bashed his head against the goalpost and immediately passed out.

"Someone needs to put a shock collar on Moon Moon," Aelin sighed. She got up and came over to Rowan's side, and her fingertips gently skated over the bandage wrapped around his head. There was a lump the size of little Evie's fist on the side of his head, and he could feel it throbbing through the protective layer of the painkillers. "I'm just glad you're okay, love."

A thundering, rapid-fire knock on the door broke through their little bubble of calm. Rowan's hands went to his head, cupping his ears to drown out the noise. Aelin sighed and went over to the door.

"He has a concussion, you imbeciles. That means, for the love of the gods, no beating down the doors."

"The proper words are 'I'm sorry,' Moonbeam," Lorcan said dryly, jabbing his elbow into Fenrys's side.

Fen yelped. "Ouch! I'm sorry, Ae." He shoved the obnoxiously huge, blaringly bright bouquet of flowers he carried towards her. "Can we see Rowan? Pretty please?"

Aelin took a slow step away from the onslaught of the bouquet. "Do you promise not to speak any louder than a whisper?"

"I have duct tape," Lorcan offered.

Aelin snickered. "I hope that won't be necessary. Fen?"

"Promise." He flashed her his biggest, brightest grin.

"All right. Come in, you hooligans, and be careful."

"None of those overgrown children knows what that word means," Elide said under her breath as she walked in the door, bringing up the rear behind Lorcan, Fen, and Connall. "Aed and Lys are at home with the kids. They offered to host a sleepover if you need quiet when Rowan gets discharged."

"We might just take them up on that." Aelin pulled her phone out of her pocket and sent a quick thank-you text to her cousin. "I---oh, for fuck's sake, Fen, put them on the table like a normal person!" She let the door close and strode across the room to Rowan's bedside, where Fen was down on one knee presenting the bouquet to Rowan like some sort of knight in grass-stained armor.

"Love?" Rowan met Aelin's unamused gaze. "I liked this better when I didn't remember who he was."

Aelin hid her laugh behind the bouquet. "I'm sure you did." She pushed her foot into Fen's side. "Get up, Sir Moon Moon of the Clumsy Limbs. Your apology is accepted."

Fen got up and pretended to blow Rowan a big kiss. "Get better soon, Whitethorn."

"Never do that again," Rowan groaned.

Lorcan shouldered past Fenrys, blocking him from Rowan's view. "We couldn't convince him to stay at home."

"I had to apologize for being a dumbass!" Fen yelped, trying to peer over Lorcan's shoulder.

"Well, you have, and thank you for that." Aelin slipped her hand into Rowan's, squeezing once. "And I think Ro has had enough overstimulation for his first few hours awake, so we'll see you at home when he gets discharged."

The visitors trooped back out the door, with Fen at the front for safety reasons, and Aelin waved as they left. It wasn't much longer before a nurse came into the room, checked Rowan's vitals, and unhooked the IV, saying that he should be cleared for discharge once the doctor on call signed off on the imaging. Shortly later, he was sitting in a wheelchair as a tech pushed him out to the parking lot, despite his grumbling about how he was fine to walk.

"We're not risking you falling on your head again," Aelin said firmly.

Rowan grunted. "I feel fine."

"Do you?" She put three fingers in front of his face. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Four."

"Nope."

"Fuck."

Aelin chuckled softly, and she helped Rowan climb into the passenger seat when they reached the car. "Here," she said, setting the flowers in his lap. "Keep them safe on the drive." She winked. "Moon Moon would be devastated if they got crushed up."

Rowan huffed in an unsuccessful attempt not to laugh. "Why did he go and buy the entire florist shop?"

"Because he's a drama queen." Aelin leaned over and kissed her husband's forehead. "And he cares about you, even if he doesn't stop to think before he acts."

Rowan's eyes drifted shut. "Love you," he mumbled, the sleepiness side effect of the medicine kicking in.

Aelin smiled. "Let's get you home, love."

~~~

TAGS:

@rowaelinscourt

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@renxzs

@arialovesyou

@sirius-blacks-official-girl

@mysterylilycheeta

@mis-lil-red

@aelinchocolatelover

#my writing #rowaelin month 2025 #rowaelinmonth #rowaelin #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass #rowaelin au #throne of glass au #throne of glass fanfiction

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leiawritesstories · 6 days ago

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First Dates & Playmates

Rowaelin Month, Day 2: Accidental Humiliation @rowaelinscourt

word count: 1.3k

warnings: none hehe, it's cute and fun (i swear)

enjoy!!! and thank you so much to @rowaelinscourt for organizing this wonderful event again!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aelin didn't know why she was so nervous to get out of her car and go up the short walkway to the pine-green front door tucked into the house's cozy-looking porch. It's just a casual date, she told herself, taking a steadying breath. One step up from where we've been.

She had met Rowan Whitethorn at her favorite coffee shop several weeks ago, on a calm Monday morning with the first faint crispness of autumn in the morning breeze. He was wearing a suit and tie, but the tie was loose around his neck as if he'd left his home in a rush, and he kept glancing at the clock and tapping his foot like he was ready to bolt at a moment's notice.

"Important meeting?" she'd asked, trying to cover up the sound of his shoe striking the tile floor.

He'd swung around to look at her, and his bright pine eyes had widened. "Yeah. Nine o'clock. I can't be late."

Aelin glanced at her watch. "It's seven forty-five, and there's hardly a traffic jam here. I'm sure you'll make it with plenty of time." She darted a glance at his loose tie. "But you might want to fix that before you head into such a big meeting."

"I was in a rush," he admitted, a slight flush coloring his sharp cheeks. "My daughter was...well, she needed to wear her princess dress, and that took longer than I expected, and we were almost late to school, so I've been flustered all morning." His explanation spilled out in an adorable rush, and he caught himself with a wry chuckle. "Sorry for dumping that on you. I'm Rowan."

"Nice to meet you, Rowan. I'm Aelin." She shook his hand. "And your daughter sounds precious."

He smiled. "She's a handful, but I love her more than anything."

"Rowan, hot Americano!" the barista called, breaking their little bubble of conversation.

Rowan gave Aelin a half-grin. "Got to hit the road, but I have to ask. Are you here often?"

"I'm a regular," Aelin laughed. "They hardly even ask what I'd like when I walk in."

"Good." He picked up his coffee and waved at her with his free hand. "Then I'll be back."

Over the next several weeks, they had run into each other on purpose almost every other day. Sometimes, their conversations were brief, stolen in the few minutes while they waited for their coffees before heading their separate ways. Other times, they'd lingered over coffee and (at least for Aelin) a pastry, savoring the giddy rush of the space between meeting and dating.

And then he'd invited her over. "I'd love to take you out to dinner," he'd said, rubbing the back of his neck, "but my little girl has to come first." He smiled. "But I'm told I make edible spaghetti."

"I'd love to," Aelin said with a grin. "And Rowan, it's alright if you're not ready for me to meet her. I understand."

He had been nothing but charming, a gentleman down to the polished way he dressed---suits and ties or trousers and ironed shirts, the kind of workwear that made her think of glass high-rises and conference rooms full of board members nodding along to every word that came out of his mouth. She felt like her jobs as a consultant and part-time dance teacher left her far below his league, but since the day they'd met, his eyes hadn't been anywhere but on her.

So stop dallying and go up to that door, Galathynius, she told herself. With one last fortifying breath, she got out of her car and walked up to the front door. She hadn't even knocked twice when the door swung open, revealing Rowan in a long-sleeved henley and a pair of jeans that had no right fitting his legs so well.

"Hi," he breathed. Then he cleared his throat. "Hi."

"Hi," she said, taking in the mouthwatering scent of tomatoes and basil wafting out of the kitchen. "That smells heavenly."

He chuckled as he closed the door behind her. "Like I said, my critic tells me it's the best."

"And I'm sure she's not too easily impressed," Aelin teased.

"Well, her favorite lately has been toaster waffles, and I can't beat the ones that are made with sprinkles." Rowan looked briefly over his shoulder, then slipped his arm around Aelin's waist and pulled her against him. "I've been wanting to do that for a while."

She grinned up at him. "Same here."

He showed her into the kitchen, which opened into a cozy dining room on one side and a somewhat rumpled living room on the other side. A plastic sheet was spread out on the living room floor, and from the papers scattered on one side of the sheet, Aelin thought it looked like an art station.

"Flora, honey?" Rowan called. Aelin swore her ovaries leapt at the softness in his voice. "It's time to put the paints away and wash up."

"I almost done!" a little girl's voice yelled in reply, and Aelin blinked. She could have sworn that voice was...familiar? A moment later, the plastic sheet rustled under a pair of little feet, and an adorable five-year-old with mussed light-brown curls and big green eyes pattered into the kitchen, bright splotches of color staining her hands and the worn-out shirt she wore like a smock. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Aelin standing in the kitchen next to her dad. "Daddy, you didn't tell me Miss Aelin was your girl!"

Rowan's head swiveled slowly between Aelin and his daughter. "What?!"

"Hi, Miss Aelin!" Unfazed, Flora Whitethorn waved her paint-splotched hands in excitement. "Are you gonna marry Daddy?"

"I--we---Flora---" Rowan spluttered, his face redder than the sauce simmering on the stove.

Aelin laughed and beckoned to Flora. "How about you come and wash up, and we can answer your questions while we have spaghetti?"

"Okay!" Flora skipped over to the kitchen sink, climbed up on the stool that was clearly there for her, and washed the paint off her hands. "Miss Aelin, can I show you my dance? I been practicing!"

"Of course you can." Aelin passed the little girl the towel. "How about after dinner?"

"Yeah!" Flora ran off to put her smock away, and Rowan finally recovered enough to look at Aelin with open shock on his face.

"I have to be missing something." He checked the pasta and the sauce and turned off the burners on the stove. "I know you're Aelin, and you work as a brand consultant, and I know my daughter's ballet teacher is called Miss Aelin. I never thought..." He trailed off. "Am I an idiot?"

"Not at all." Impulsively, she went up on her tiptoes and kissed his heated cheek. "I teach ballet classes at Orynth Ballet School in the evenings a few times a week, and I happen to be your daughter's teacher. I'm sorry I hadn't told you---that kind of slipped my mind. Every time we talked, I got lost in whatever we were discussing." It was true---they had somewhat skipped the "first-date" questions and gone straight to deeper topics.

"All those times I've picked Flora up, and I've never realized." Rowan laughed under his breath.

"I teach back-to-back classes when I'm in the studio," Aelin said, "so it's not like I can go out with my little ballerinas and say hello to their parents."

"I guess that makes sense." Rowan heard Flora hurrying back towards the kitchen and tossed Aelin a smile. "Ready for the interrogation?"

"I hope so." She picked up the bread basket and followed him out to the table, where she barely managed to balance keeping up with Flora's rapid-fire questions and the incredible pasta she wanted to drown in.

By the end of the evening, the only question Aelin hadn't answered was Flora's first one: "Are you gonna marry Daddy?"

Aelin had never been one to fantasize, but the thought of walking down an aisle with Rowan Whitethorn at the end of it sounded like a dream come true.

~~~

TAGS:

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@renxzs

@arialovesyou

@sirius-blacks-official-girl

@mysterylilycheeta

@mis-lil-red

@aelinchocolatelover

#my writing #rowaelinmonth #rowaelin month 2025 #rowaelin #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin au #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass au #surprise appearance from the law school trenches lol

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leiawritesstories · 6 days ago

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catch me CACKLING 🤣🤣🤣

i love love love love them and this au

~ Rowaelin Month Day 2: Accidental Humiliation ~

Guess who's back?! Thought I might bring back one of the classics because I missed them so much. Striking Matches strikes again!

Striking Matches Masterlist

@rowaelinscourt

~~~~~

Rowan slammed the door of his truck, a basket of dirty clothes on his hip. What a time for the washing machine at their apartment to break. Aelin had just returned from a two week trip in Anticia and Rowan had fallen behind on their laundry after a series of hectic shifts, one right after the other. When they went to put a load in last night and the drum just wouldn’t turn. So, Rowan had gathered the essentials to bring in to wash at work.Lorcan might pretend that he’s pissed about the unprofessionalism of it, but they had all done it at one time or the other. Firehouse equipment was for firehouse use only, was his motto. Then Lorcan would put up a front and not actually care in the least.

Not to provoke the beast, Rowan came in just a little bit earlier than his shift started so that he could get the washing in before he was officially on the clock. There was a mix of his duty uniforms and some of Aelin’s things from her trip. It all went into the machine along with a capful of detergent. It was a little disappointing that this round of uniforms wouldn’t smell like the stuff they used at home, mainly because they wouldn’t smell like her.

It had been six months of loving Aelin and Rowan had to admit to himself that he was still embarrassingly obsessed with her. And having his clothes was just one of those little luxuries he allowed himself to enjoy. Rowan shook his head at himself while he chose the right settings and started the cycle. His shift mates would tease the ever living shit out of him if they fully understood how down and out he was for his girlfriend. They had their suspicions, and they liked to tease him, but none of them knew the full extent of Rowan’s infatuation.

By the time the drum on this functional machine began to spin, the rest of his team was starting to arrive. Hellos were exchanged as was the obligatory explanation of why the washing machine was in use. As expected Lorcan grumbled something about using firehouse resources for personal use, but it didn’t go beyond that.

The day wore on and was uneventful with no major emergencies calling them out from the station. These days were good, it gave the team time to potter around and get the little jobs done that were overlooked on the busy days. It gave Rowan a few free moments to throw the clothes in the dryer once they were done in the washing machine.

“Is Aelin back yet?” Fenrys asked, leaning on the doorway of the small and austere laundry room.

Rowan made a quick sweep for smaller items still in the dryer. “Yeah, she got back yesterday.”

“Good,” Fenrys said, a lopsided grin on his face. “You’re such a grumpy bastard when she’s not around.”

“More of a grumpy bastard,” Connal added as he walked past the door. Fenrys snorted and raised his hand for a twin high five.

The clap sounded and Rowan rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything in his defense because they weren’t wrong. Aelin made everything better, and that included his usual bad attitude. “If it comes up, I’m just taking this to my truck.”

“Watch out,” Lorcan announced, moving past Fenrys and manoeuvring around Rowan. Part of Lorcan’s pottering around was doing a load of tea towels from the kitchen, and they were finished washing.

“Just taking this to my car, Boss,” Rowan said, lifting the basket as indication.

“I don’t care,” Lorcan replied, not even glancing his way.

“Now there’s a guy who could use a little—“

“Wherever that sentence is going, Fenrys,” Lorcan barked, tossing the tea towels from the washer to the dryer, “don’t finish it.”

“You two are no fun,” Fenrys bemoaned and walked away.

Rowan took his loaded basket out to his truck, texting Aelin about his progress as he walked back into the station. Her reply was just a thumbs up and a yawn emoji. The fact she had sent a reply was surprising. Rowan had expected her to be asleep, exhausted after 2 weeks away and a gruelling travel day. That meant they hadn’t spent too much awake time together in the past 24 hours, but a sleepy Aelin was a snuggly Aelin, and Rowan loved that.

When shift change was only about fifteen minutes away Rowan headed to his locker to pack up his things so once the night shift arrived he could head off straight away. The pleasantly average and uneventful day flipped in a millisecond. There was something hanging from the door of his locker and his stomach sunk as he realised exactly what it was. It was white and fluffy, with a touch of rainbow thrown in. Rowan hoped that he was the only one to see it. He could never be so blessed. From the suppressed laughter that was echoing around him he was sorely disappointed.

Rowan tried to lessen the embarrassment by snatching the item away, but the elastic caught on the locker door, making a loud snapping noise as it recoiled out of his hand. Desperately, Rowan yanked upwards, stuffing it deep in his pocket. With heated cheeks, Rowan turned around to see the damage, and just his luck, everyone was there except for Lorcan.

“It was a gift.” Rowan didn’t know why he thought that would make it sound better.

“Something you’ve always wanted, huh?” Vaughan deadpanned.

“I always knew you loved unicorns,” Fenrys chimed in.

Rowan held back his groan. “Very funny.”

He didn’t understand how it had got here. While she was away Aelin had bragged about finding the perfect gift for him and he hadn’t trusted her enthusiasm one bit. It turned out to be a pair of novelty underwear, a white fluffy unicorn head with rainbow hair, and a horn that allowed for… growth. When Aelin had presented the gift to him, Rowan had appreciated the joke and stuffed the underwear in his pocket before showering her with thankful kisses. That had been the pocket of his work pants. The ones he had just put through the wash. But that didn’t answer the question of how they ended up hanging on his locker.

“That’s what you get for using firehouse resources for personal use,” Lorcan said, and Rowan swore he saw a godsdamned smile on his face as he delivered the traitorous blow before walking away.

Fenrys laughed like it was the greatest day of his life and all Rowan could do was stand there in his humiliation.

“I take back what I said before,” Fenrys said. “He’s fucking hilarious.”

~~~~~

“How was your day?” Aelin asked through a yawn as Rowan walked through the door.

Rowan didn’t reply right away, he just walked into the living area and dropped the basket on the couch. Aelin watched him, taking a sip of what he assumed was coffee even though it was 5 pm. Walking to the kitchen, he dipped his hand into his pocket and retrieved the godsdamned unicorn. Aelin’s eyes dropped down to what he’d put on the counter and then back to his.

“Got desperate in the underwear department, did you?” She said, not even cracking a smile. “I didn’t know the clean clothes situation was that dire.”

As Aelin took another sip of her coffee Rowan saw her eyes sparkle and the corners of her mouth tip up.

“No,” Rowan said evenly. “These were in my pocket of pants that went through the wash, then the dryer. Then somehow I missed putting them back in the basket.”

To try and hide her growing amusement, Aelin's bottom lip tucked into her mouth. “How’s you end up finding them?”

“Lorcan left them hanging from my locker.”

“Oh, no,” Aelin said, the words muffled through the hand she had clamped over her mouth. “And it was just you who found them, right?”

“If I could be that lucky,” Rowan replied.

Aelin made a wheezing sound as she tried so hard not to laugh. As Rowan expected, it was a lost cause. She laughed so hard for so long that she was wiping tears away when she finally stopped.

“I’m sorry.” Aelin’s voice squeaked right out of her.

It was getting harder for Rowan not to react to Aelin's amusement with his own. “No you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not,” Aelin admitted. “And I’m actually sorry about that.”

“I love your honesty,” Rowan said, crossing his arms.

“Aw, Buzzard,” Aelin cooed, coming up to him and rubbing his hands over his biceps. “I didn’t mean to humiliate you, I swear. They weren’t meant to leave the apartment.”

“Well, now the team thinks I like to dress my dick up like a unicorn,” Rowan said, dropping his arms in front of him hoping Aelin would take the bait.

She did, stepping right into his space and wrapping her arms around his waist. “Maybe you do.”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Rowan said.

“There’s one way to find out,” Aelin shot back, waggling her eyebrows.

Rowan finally cracked, a low chuckle sneaking out of him. “You’re a menace.”

“But you love it,” Aelin squeezed him tighter.

Rowan leaned in. “I love you.”

Aelin was smiling when he kissed her the first time, by the second she melted into him, their meeting with the same fervor. That was until Aelin’s amusement crept right back in.

“Will you wear it for me?” Aelin teased, her words shaking with laughter.

“Absolutely,” Rowan said, watching his girlfriend’s eyes widen, “not.” Aelin tipped her head back as she cackled. Her unfiltered glee had him smiling too as he carried her to the bedroom for some much needed awake time together.

~~~~~

I love them and I miss them, that is all

#rowaelin month 2025

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leiawritesstories · 11 days ago

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4: Poison Plans

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: depictions of a d3@d body, references to poisoning, Arobynn ;)

masterlist

Read on AO3

enjoy!! and a shout-out to @mariaofdoranelle for being the best beta reader 🥰🥰

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The siren’s body washed up on the south shore of the bay, barely a half-mile south of the sprawling grounds of the redbrick manor that sat on the southern edge of the city. Her tail, splayed limp on the sand, had gone a dull gray, and her shoulder blades and spinal ridges jutted through the near-translucent skin of her back. Dark strings of hair were plastered to her head and back, still damp as if her body clung onto the sea in some way. In the pale, foggy grey light of the dawn hours, she seemed little more than a skeleton wrapped in gauze, all sharp angles and crooked lines, none of the fluid grace Rowan expected of a siren.

One of Rolfe’s runners had knocked at his door when it was still dark outside, bearing a short, simple note telling Rowan that there was a dead siren on the south shore. He hadn’t expected to hear anything from the Lord of Skull’s Bay—let alone anything regarding siren activity—after the useless meeting, so he was floored when the note arrived. His body had taken over, and he’d thrown on plain clothing and strapped a few blades to his body and followed the boy down the silent, fog-clouded streets of the city, hiking all the way out to where the siren’s body lay limply on the damp sand.

Cautiously, Rowan crouched down and nudged the siren’s bony arm. It moved a few inches, nothing more than dead weight. Satisfied that the creature was truly dead, he eased his hands under the body and carefully turned it over onto its back. The siren’s shoulders were bony ridges in the front as well, and her collarbones protruded at sharp angles, her skin clinging to her bones as if there was nothing beneath, as if the life had been drained from her body long before she died. Rowan frowned, his gaze moving upward to scan the sunken hollows of the siren’s face, noting just how emaciated her whole frame appeared.

It almost seemed as if she’d died from the long-term effects of a potent poison like nightroot or faebane, both of which slowly starved the victim to death, but he had no knowledge of sirens or any other creature being susceptible to the effects of human poisons.

Behind Rowan, the boy cleared his throat, his feet shuffling in the sand. “If you’ve finished, sir, the lord wants to speak with you.”

Rowan blew out a long sigh and stood back up. “Very well. I’ve seen all I need to see.”

Far up on the hill, a redheaded man with frigid steel-gray eyes folded up the long spyglass through which he’d been watching the beach and signaled to the pair of black-clad men behind him. “Once the boy and the siren hunter leave, bring in the body. I’ve observations to record regarding her death.”

Rowan followed the boy back into the city, down a winding maze of streets and alleys until they reached one of the sandstone buildings marked with Rolfe’s insignia. The boy opened a side door and led Rowan up two flights of stairs and down a hallway that bent around more corners than a four-walled building ought to have and finally stopped at an unmarked office door and rapped his small fist against the polished wood.

Rolfe opened the door mere seconds later. “About damn time.” He nodded to the boy, who disappeared down the hall.

“We do not all have the luxury of keeping nocturnal hours,” Rowan snarked.

To his shock, Rolfe let out a short, dry laugh. “I knew there was a sense of humor hiding somewhere behind that stone-faced courtliness of yours, siren hunter.”

“You can call me Rowan.”

Rolfe sat down at his desk, folded his hands, and smirked. “Avoiding the Whitethorn name, are we?”

“You—yes.” Rowan cut himself off before he could spew any babbling about how Rolfe could have figured out his identity. The man knows things no other person ought to know. Of course he’d know exactly who’s in his city, you feather-brained idiot.

“I’ll admit, it took me half the day to match your name to your face,” Rolfe said. “You’ve clearly taken precautions.”

Rowan shrugged, sitting down opposite the Lord of Skull’s Bay. “To the public’s general knowledge, I’m not here.”

“Hmm.” Rolfe leaned back in his well-worn, cushioned chair and kicked his dusty boots up onto the desk. “At our first meeting, you informed me that King Rhoe and Queen Evalin had sent you here to look into the sirens’ activity, with special regard to potential involvement on the night of Princess Aelin’s presumed death. Why?”

“Because Terrasen deserves more than a replacement heir,” Rowan said, the words harsher than he meant them to be. “If there is any evidence, any indication that Princess Aelin could still be alive, I am going to find it and bring it home to the people.” He met Rolfe’s level gaze across the desk. “I may be insane, but I refuse to believe she died two years ago.”

“I thought she told me you’d met her already,” Rolfe drawled. “Twice now. Three times?”

Rowan’s jaw just about hit the floor. “You know?”

Rolfe arched one dark brow and wiggled his fingers. “I’ve got a tattoo that maps the location of every siren in the sea, Whitethorn, including the princess. Though she isn’t fully a siren—she was transformed.” He set his hands back down. “Furthermore, Aelin sought my help once she’d learned to control the siren form. It seems there’s something more than just wicked sirens at play here.”

“Explain.” Rowan leaned forward, bracing his palms flat on the desk, the single word packed with royal command. He paused, then softened his tone. “Please.”

One Year and Six Months Ago

The last person Lord Rolfe of Skull’s Bay expected to see sitting in his office in the middle of the goddamn night was a woman presumed to be dead. But there sat Princess Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, clad in a loose gray blouse and brown pants probably stolen from some family’s washing line, lounging in his godsdamned chair with her dirty boots irreverently propped atop his godsdamned desk, idly flipping a knife across her knuckles.

“What in the seven hells…” Rolfe breathed, frozen stock-still barely two steps into the office. “You…they said you’re dead?”

Aelin rolled her eyes, a movement he could see even in the darkened room. “At least try to shut your mouth, Rolfe. You look like a pufferfish.”

“You’re the embodiment of wit, as always,” he retorted, getting ahold of himself enough to walk over to the desk. “And you’re in my seat.”

“You always were sensitive about maintaining your image of authority,” Aelin drawled, chuckling a bit. “Good to see you, pirate.”

“Good to see you’re alive, princess,” Rolfe deadpanned. “What the hell happened?”

Aelin shrugged. “I followed a siren’s voice to see if I could chase her off. She turned out to be drugged by some kind of poison. She bit me, which apparently has the consequence of turning women into sirens, and it took me until about a week ago to learn about the siren body, abilities, and instincts.” She paused to take a breath, savoring the inhale and exhale like she hadn’t tasted seaside air for months. Which she hasn’t, you dimwit, Rolfe reminded himself, because she’s been trapped underwater in a siren’s body. “During that time, I discovered that a small number of the sirens have been experiencing a strange illness, which seems to be caused by exposure to a slow-acting poison. I do not know how they were exposed or what the poison is.” She stood up. “But I intend to find out, and that’s where your help would be invaluable.”

Rolfe sank slowly into the empty chair. “How in the world can I discover anything about an unknown poison that seems to only affect sirens?”

“You know Skull’s Bay better than you know your own damn head,” Aelin said. “If the poison is coming from here, you will be able to find it.”

“Over the next six months,” Rolfe continued, “I did in fact discover that the poison was coming from Skull’s Bay, and I tracked the paths of the sirens to see which of them came to the city more often. There were a few, perhaps six or seven, who came to the shores weekly, but there were no reports of dead sailors being discovered after the sirens’ visits, which I did not expect. Frequent visits should indicate an increase in their hunting.”

Across the desk, Rowan had recovered from the initial shock and was listening intently, his brows furrowed in concentration. “Did the sirens congregate in any particular part of the bay, or did they spread out?”

Rolfe’s expression went hard. “They congregated.” He tugged the glove off his left hand and watched one of the siren markings—the one that had faded from deep cobalt to pale cerulean early that morning—vanish from the tattoo. “They congregated at the far southern shore, just past the edge of Arobynn Hamel’s manor property.”

Rowan sucked in a gasp. “That’s where the siren body washed up this morning.”

“Last night, more likely,” Rolfe said. “My runners brought word just before the second bell. As fate or the damned gods would have it, I’d been thinking over what you told me when you brought your tight-laced ass into my office the first time, so I decided it might be useful if you had a look at the corpse before I had my men dispose of it.”

“Did your runners inform you that the body was desiccated?” Rowan asked. He leaned forward, bracing his hands flat on the scarred desktop. “Did the boys tell you that the siren was barely more than skin and bones? Did they mention the starvation? The way it looked—and smelled, gods above—like the life had been sucked out of it?” His breathing had gone shallow by the time he finished his tirade, his emotions a tangled storm of confusion, anger, horror, and bone-deep fear. Fear for the sirens, for whatever or whoever was poisoning them. Fear that the good people of Skull’s Bay might be suffering the unseen effects of a slow-acting poison as well.

Fear that the princess who’d become a siren languished somewhere in the depths of the ocean, the poison eating her life away.

Rolfe’s grave expression betrayed none of the emotions Rowan felt. “Yes. They told me that the siren corpse appeared unnaturally hollow. Based on their reports and what you’ve now said, I suspect some sort of poison. Are you familiar with this occurrence in any other clan of sirens, Whitethorn?”

Rowan shook his head, easing back into his seat. “No.”

“Tell me—you mentioned a smell. What kind of smell?” Rolfe retrieved a pen and a sheet of paper and tapped the pen’s tip against the page. “Was it recognizable as a poison?”

“I did not recognize it as a poison, but it was…wrong,” Rowan said. “It was a scent like decay, but there was a layer of sweetness hiding beneath it. Have you ever come across a beehive in a deer’s carcass?” Rolfe looked sharply up and shook his head. “That might be the closest I can come to describing it. Rot, death, decay, charred wood…and sweetness.” He swallowed. “I wonder, almost, if there is a poison at work, could the siren have been addicted to it?”

Rolfe’s scratching pen went silent. “By the gods, I fucking hope not.”

Some few miles to the south, Arobynn Hamel strolled a slow, deliberate circle around the emaciated siren corpse lying atop the canvas-covered table in his basement workroom. His gaze flicked between the body and the series of pages tacked to the far wall, a line of charcoal drawings of sirens whose figures ranged from lushly feminine to unearthly slender. Below each sketch, there was a second page of notes, observations tracked in chronological order over the last twenty-six months.

His greatest project to date.

Arobynn’s left hand slipped into his pocket, his long slim fingers withdrawing a simple glass vial with a small cork stopper. The liquid inside was slightly foggy, like salt not yet fully dissolved into water. He half expected the siren to jerk at the sight of it, to claw towards the dose of sweet poison that had taken over her mind.

Gloriella.

The product of many years’ study, development, and distillation of rare poisons, the opaque liquid was just diluted enough to only slow down a siren’s predatory mind and just potent enough to make her crave each successive dose. Arobynn had been fascinated by sirens since he was a young boy, and during his many years sailing the sea, he’d learned to maintain both a fear of the ocean’s deadliest creature and a primal urge to subdue the beasts, to bend them to his will. He’d developed gloriella at first only to slow down the sirens, to make them docile enough that he could study their reactions and figure out the source of their ungodly abilities and map out the effects their cunning magic had. As he was drawn deeper into the study, though, that desire to control the sirens began to dominate, and he began to experiment with the dosage to discover how much it took to make the sirens come willingly to his doorstep, craving the sweet high of the poison that both incapacitated them and heightened their predatory instincts.

Of course, a handful of the creatures had died in the process, but their deaths afforded him valuable information—how much gloriella a siren could tolerate before it killed her. It had been several months since the last dead siren washed up on his property, and that one was not nearly as desiccated as the one he now observed.

Then again, this one he’d been giving this one gloriella for several months longer.

“Interesting,” he murmured, stepping away from the table to jot down his observations and thoughts on the sheet of notes that laid on his work desk. The last siren to wash up on his shore had been bony, but she was not skeletal like this one. The last body had that same strange gaunt hollowness to its face, but this one looked even more hollow, as if the poison had eaten away her flesh. Rolfe’s boy and the cloaked man with him hadn’t disturbed the body, and it had been rearranged on the table in the same position as it was on the shore—face-up, tail limp, one arm barely gesturing outwards. Perhaps she was trying to turn herself around. Or perhaps she was reaching, reaching, reaching for one more taste of gloriella.

“Addictive quality confirmed,” he said softly, echoing the freshly inked words on the page. “Possibly intensifies towards end of life expectancy. Further inquiry to follow.” He looked back at the siren body, sweeping a cold, detached gaze over it. There was nothing remarkable about the corpse, nothing more than another dead siren on the table in his workroom.

He crossed the room and pulled open the heavy oak door. “Dispose of it,” he told the two bulky men standing sentry in the hallway. They nodded in unison and went into the workroom, the pair uncannily silent as they always were. Their muteness was half the reason Arobynn had hired them as guards in the first place—they never spoke, so his research remained secret.

As he climbed the stairs and strolled down the halls of his manor, Arobynn’s thoughts drifted to the one rogue variable of his gloriella equation, as they often did. Two years ago, only a few months into his research project, he had made a visit to the docks to bring a fresh dose of gloriella to one of the sirens he was observing at the time. She had taken it greedily, primal hunger flashing bright in her cesspool-dark eyes, and he had tucked himself into a shadowed corner to watch the aftereffects. Almost immediately, the siren started to sing, and it was not long before a cloaked figure came into view, walking slowly down the dock.

To his surprise, it had been a woman, a sharp-tongued woman who had taunted the siren into speaking human words in a hissing rasp. The woman had noticed the siren’s sharp frame and heightened hunger, and she had drawn closer, trying to puzzle out the cause. From his corner, Arobynn had watched as the woman faced the siren, dropping her hood. He had watched as the siren lunged for the woman. He had watched the woman thrash and scream as her legs fused into a silver-scaled tail and the call of the ocean mercilessly invaded her head.

He had watched his poisoned siren turn the crown princess of Terrasen into a siren.

And he had known then that his gloriella would make him a conqueror.

~~~

TAGS:

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@mariaofdoranelle

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@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

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@silentquartz

@renxzs

@arialovesyou

@sirius-blacks-official-girl

@mysterylilycheeta

@mis-lil-red

@aelinchocolatelover

#my writing #rowaelin #siren au #rowalein siren au #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin au #layered lies guarded hearts

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leiawritesstories · 12 days ago

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hehehehe i'm excited for you to get to the part that frederick added and give me even more screeching (it's the best kind of feedback!!!!!)

when you & your bestie have different ideas about the villain:

best beta reader ever @mariaofdoranelle

#rowaelin #my writing

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leiawritesstories · 12 days ago

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when you & your bestie have different ideas about the villain:

best beta reader ever @mariaofdoranelle

#my writing #rowaelin #rowaelin siren au #throne of glass

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leiawritesstories · 13 days ago

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teeheehee welllllll let's just say that a certain Someone we all know and HATE might be involved 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

(@mariaofdoranelle knows heheh)

3: Two Years Ago

oh hi there! please enjoy this very fun and not at all angsty little update! life is a little chaotic right now as i've just moved into my law school apartment and am starting classes (!!!!!!) but i am trying to find a few bits of time to write little stories about my fave TOG babies

Word count: 2k

Warnings: implied violence, implied Arobynn

masterlist

enjoy!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two Years and One Month Before Rowan's Arrival

The offices that Lord Rolfe of Skull’s Bay preferred to use sat in an ordinary sandstone building tucked into an ordinary street just west of the market quarter of the bustling seaport city. This late at night, the building had long since gone quiet, all the secretaries and scribes and errand boys gone off to their homes. Only a soft slant of wavering lamplight spilled out from beneath Lord Rolfe’s office door, which had creaked open when a particularly sharp gust of wind sliced in through his open window.

Seated across the wide, much-scarred pine desk, Crown Princess Aelin Ashryver Galathynius of Terrasen tugged her plain dark-blue cloak closer to her shoulders. “I’ll never understand why you insist on keeping that damn window open, Rolfe.”

Rolfe shrugged. “It’s convenient when it needs to be.”

“For shooting thieves and smuggling jewelry, no doubt,” Aelin deadpanned. Like any other visitor to Skull’s Bay, she knew all the rumors about Rolfe’s alleged pirate background. Unlike all the other visitors, though, she knew the truth that had planted the rumors—the scarlet-sailed ship Rolfe had once commanded, the legendary map tattooed onto his hands, and the rare treasures that passed through Skull’s Bay undetected.

“And it’s a quick way outside when the creatures stir,” Rolfe added. He glanced down at his bare hands, a wrinkle digging deep into his forehead. He wore leather gloves to cover the map nearly all the time, save when he was alone or with a close ally. “They’ve been coming closer lately. Much closer.”

“Have there been any reports of a sighting?”

“Only from a navy patrol ship, and they’d been on station long enough for it to be passed off as a hallucination.” Rolfe tapped two fingers against the knuckles of his left hand. “But that ship entered from the south, and the sirens have their lair up north.”

The map tattooed onto Rolfe’s hands, its vibrant colors oozing up past his wrists, charted the locations of every known magical creature in the Great Ocean—kelpies, sea dragons, sea nymphs, and sirens. When the creatures moved, their markings moved on Rolfe’s skin.

“Odd.” Aelin shifted in her seat. “What of their activity—is anyone missing?”

Rolfe shook his head. “No. But about a week ago, a fishing boat capsized in the middle of the night in completely calm waters. Reports from the next morning said all that was left was scraps of wood and bits of sail. The fisherman’s boots turned up the next day in someone else’s net, near about torn to shreds by something with claws like swords.”

“Sirens,” Aelin murmured. “I’d say it could be sea dragons, but they’re cold-water creatures; they don’t come any further south than the Iron Isles.”

“Aye.” Rolfe glanced at the map again. “There’s a small pack of ’em by the south shore of the bay, just lingering there. I’ve got no fuckin’ idea why, but they’ve been there for a day or two now, and I’m damn lucky nobody seems to have seen ’em.”

Aelin’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Strange. The docks are up north, and as far as I know, all that’s near the south shore is the brick house, and I can’t imagine any siren worth her fangs would want to take a bite out of Hamel.”

That drew a dry chuckle out of Rolfe. “All I know is that I’ve never seen this pattern before, and it’s beginning to seem like a threat, whether or not Hamel has anything to do with it.” The man who owned the brick manor house was named Arobynn Hamel, and he was well-known to Rolfe as a drug smuggler. In his pirating days, Rolfe had waylaid a good number of Arobynn’s ships, and although the smuggler had never said it outright, he seemed to harbor some kind of vendetta against the Lord of Skull’s Bay.

“What shall I do, then?” Aelin leaned forward, propping her elbows on Rolfe’s desk. “I can’t call in any soldiers unless there’s a clear threat, and I can’t exactly just stroll down and chat with the sirens.”

Rolfe sighed. “I was hoping you could try to negotiate with Hamel. If you’re in disguise, he won’t know who you are, and even if he does piece it together, your presence ought to indicate that the crown knows who he is. Find out if he has any involvement with the sirens. If he does, then I’ll have to sever it somehow. If not, then there must be something else at work.”

Aelin nodded, already thinking of ways to approach the drug smuggler. “I’ll send word once I’ve met with him.” She stood, clasped Rolfe’s hand, and left his office, her dark cloak blending her figure in with the shadowed streets.

As she wove through the fog-shrouded streets, Aelin heard a faraway breath of a song, as if the late-night breeze had blown the music out of some tavern. The singer’s voice was high and delicate, definitely female, and it grew stronger when Aelin passed an alley that cut through to the docks. She paused, turned around, and ducked into the alley. The song strengthened, and her eyes widened, recognizing the alluring, otherworldly melody.

Siren.

On catlike feet, Aelin made her swift, silent way down to the docks, tracking the siren song to an empty pier at the southern edge of the district. She shifted her stride as she stepped onto the pier, letting her booted feet drop heavily against the wood. As she’d hoped, the siren gushed forth her song with renewed effort, seeing someone who looked like prey approach.

Halfway down the pier, Aelin stopped and tossed back her hood. “I’m afraid that pretty song won’t work on me.”

Silence. Then the siren rose partway up out of the bay, her dark hair sticking wetly to her pale, almost translucent skin. Her dark eyes went wide at the sight of a woman standing on the pier, then narrowed in irritation. She hissed at Aelin, her fangs peeking through her thin lips.

“Go back to the depths, siren,” Aelin said. “You’ll find no prey here.”

The siren hissed again, but instead of retreating, she slipped closer. It was then that Aelin noticed the siren’s hollowed cheeks, jutting chin, sharp collarbones, and bony shoulders. The siren looked…starved, somehow. Her figure should have been lithe, filled out, designed to pull men into her spell. And her eyes…sunken into that gaunt face, the siren’s eyes darted around rapidly, as if she were seeking something, craving something.

Aelin walked closer to the end of the pier. “You look too hungry,” she muttered, half to herself. “Could something be starving you?”

The siren hissed sharply, clawed hands reaching up out of the water. She opened her mouth and let out another burst of song, but the thrall of a siren only worked on males, and Aelin remained immune to its charm.

Two paces away from the pier’s end, Aelin stopped and crouched down, eyes narrowed as she scrutinized the jutting hollowness of the siren’s face, neck, and shoulders, the parts of her that were exposed above the water. “What kind of illness could possibly ail a creature of the sea?” she mused, mostly to herself.

“Nnnnot…ill-nesssss.” A harsh, grating rasp.

Aelin’s head jerked up, her eyes locking onto the siren’s sunken ones. “You speak.”

“Notttt off-often in thissss t-ton-tongue,” the siren rasped, the words clawing their way through her thin, pale lips. The gills in the sides of her neck fluttered, as if they too reacted to the use of humanlike speech. “It…liesssss.”

“True enough.” Aelin kept her stare on the siren. “If not illness, what is it?”

The siren’s frame shuddered, the water beneath her rippling with the movement of the tail Aelin knew the siren possessed but could not see beneath the darkened waves. “Hunger.” Before Aelin had time to process or react to that statement, the siren thrashed upwards with a powerful stroke of her tail, propelled herself out of the water, and latched her skeletal arms around Aelin’s body with a strength she didn’t seem able to possess.

And she stabbed her fangs into Aelin’s neck.

Aelin awoke to darkness, the stench of salt brine, and pain dancing like lightning along her limbs and in the corners of her vision. Her head thundered with dull blows, like a padded hammer was beating at the confines of her skull, and she closed her eyes again, willing the pain to disappear. Ever so slowly, the lightning flashes in the corners of her eyes faded and the sharp pricks dancing along her arms eased, and she pushed her eyes open slowly, her vision gradually adjusting to the craggy darkness around her. It looked like rock, like some sort of seaside cave.

Perhaps she’d dreamed the encounter with the siren. Perhaps she’d dreamed the whole night. Perhaps she’d passed out facedown in some alley and a kind sailor had carried her to this cave, giving her enough privacy to recover. She had almost convinced herself that such was the case when a blur of vivid color drew her gaze to the left, and as she watched the pair of crimson- scaled sirens shoot past the cave opening with a few powerful flicks of their tail fins, the memories of the night before burst back into her mind. She screwed her eyes shut and clenched her fists, willing the horrifying pain of her body morphing to vanish, and when she felt like she could breathe again, she forced her eyes to open and look down.

Despite the sharp sting of the pinch she gave her forearm, Aelin could hardly believe that the sleek, silvery-scaled tail that flared out from her waist was attached to her body.

Not a dream.

She gave the tail an experimental wiggle, imagining she was kicking her legs, and the new muscles moved, the tail shifting in a gentle ripple in the stillness of the underwater cave. Although the pain of the shift still lingered, blurring the edges of her consciousness, she found it more fascinating than anything to watch her tail move, as if retraining herself to walk.

She had almost begun to adjust to the shock of this new form of her body when the other piece of the transformation—which she was still trying to shove out of her head forever—ripped open the semblance of peace she’d just settled upon. The other piece—the voices.

Welcome, sister. The female voice oozed into her mind, soft and sibilant. Aelin’s head jerked around, trying to find the source of the words, and an almost gentle laugh sounded in her head. We do not speak to each other as you are used to doing.

Where am I? Aelin formed the question in her mind, directing it to whoever—or whatever—was listening.

Home, of course. This is where our new sisters awaken. There was a pause, and then the unseen voice turned dry. Though of course we were not expecting our…sickly sister to bring a new sister home. She is not herself.

I am not your “sister,” Aelin thought, glaring into the craggy rock walls of the cave.

Ah, but you are now. Sister. There was a ripple of movement by the cave entrance, and a siren with dark hair, onyx eyes, and a black-scaled tail that flickered deep burgundy in the occasional slants of light from far above drifted into Aelin’s sight.

Aelin narrowed her eyes at the new siren. Who are you?

You may call me Kaltain. The new siren—Kaltain—drifted up to Aelin. And who are you, my new siren sister?

Aelin’s mind spun. The sirens likely knew of Aelin Galathynius, and she was already in Skull’s Bay under the pseudonym she used when she traveled alone. My name is Celaena.

It is not, but very well. Kaltain extended one pale hand. Come, Celaena. Let me show you your new home.

It is the name I choose, Aelin returned, a jumble of stunned questions scrambling her mind. Kaltain smiled, all politeness and sharp fangs. As you will soon learn, sister, we sirens can scent the taste of deception, even among each other. Her pale, cold fingers wrapped around Aelin’s hand. Now come. Let me show you our home.

~~~

TAGS:

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@renxzs

@arialovesyou

@sirius-blacks-official-girl

@mysterylilycheeta

@mis-lil-red

@aelinchocolatelover

#rowaelin siren au #unrelated but i'm working on the next part rn #and i've had the most wonderful idea #that definitely doesn't involve unaliving a side character #idk what it is but my writing mood rn is just PAINNNN #*checks cycle tracker* oh wait it's pms lmao #the angst monster tag

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leiawritesstories · 20 days ago

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3: Two Years Ago

Word count: 2k

Warnings: implied violence, implied Arobynn

masterlist

enjoy!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two Years and One Month Before Rowan's Arrival

Rolfe shrugged. “It’s convenient when it needs to be.”

“Have there been any reports of a sighting?”

“Odd.” Aelin shifted in her seat. “What of their activity—is anyone missing?”

“Sirens,” Aelin murmured. “I’d say it could be sea dragons, but they’re cold-water creatures; they don’t come any further south than the Iron Isles.”

Siren.

Halfway down the pier, Aelin stopped and tossed back her hood. “I’m afraid that pretty song won’t work on me.”

“Go back to the depths, siren,” Aelin said. “You’ll find no prey here.”

Aelin walked closer to the end of the pier. “You look too hungry,” she muttered, half to herself. “Could something be starving you?”

“Nnnnot…ill-nesssss.” A harsh, grating rasp.

Aelin’s head jerked up, her eyes locking onto the siren’s sunken ones. “You speak.”

“True enough.” Aelin kept her stare on the siren. “If not illness, what is it?”

And she stabbed her fangs into Aelin’s neck.

Despite the sharp sting of the pinch she gave her forearm, Aelin could hardly believe that the sleek, silvery-scaled tail that flared out from her waist was attached to her body.

Not a dream.

Where am I? Aelin formed the question in her mind, directing it to whoever—or whatever—was listening.

I am not your “sister,” Aelin thought, glaring into the craggy rock walls of the cave.

Aelin narrowed her eyes at the new siren. Who are you?

You may call me Kaltain. The new siren—Kaltain—drifted up to Aelin. And who are you, my new siren sister?

Aelin’s mind spun. The sirens likely knew of Aelin Galathynius, and she was already in Skull’s Bay under the pseudonym she used when she traveled alone. My name is Celaena.

It is not, but very well. Kaltain extended one pale hand. Come, Celaena. Let me show you your new home.

~~~

TAGS:

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@renxzs

@arialovesyou

@sirius-blacks-official-girl

@mysterylilycheeta

@mis-lil-red

@aelinchocolatelover

#way way later reblog #siren au

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leiawritesstories · 20 days ago

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writing tip #3911:

it doesn't matter if your story has a happy ending or a sad ending. all readers care about is which of your characters got the highest number of points at the end (they get a point every time they suffer)

#no i am definitely not planning ANYTHING sad heheh

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leiawritesstories · 24 days ago

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Current WIPs

**updated 08/2025**

Layered Lies, Guarded Hearts

--- a Rowaelin siren x siren hunter au

Rowaelin Month 2025

Coming Soon...

Stick Season

– Rowaelin second-chance romance inspired by “Stick Season” by Noah Kahan

-- possibly on hiatus ;)

#my writing #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #my wips

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leiawritesstories · 24 days ago

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updated & now on ao3 :)

Layered Lies, Guarded Hearts

A siren hunter takes on a covert mission to hunt down the siren who killed the princess of Terrasen two years ago. But the more he searches for the elusive siren, the more details he uncovers that just don't line up. Perhaps the princess lied about her death. Or perhaps there's some other creature at work behind the princess's disappearance--something that wants the sirens extinct even more than the hunter does.

TW: depictions of violence, poisoning, minor character death, angst

In Progress

Read on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prologue: Guarded Hearts

1: Three Weeks Ago

2: The Walking Siren

3: Two Years Ago

4: Poison Plans

5: The Dead Princess

6: One Year Ago

TBD....

#my writing #rowaelin siren au

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leiawritesstories · 26 days ago

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3: Two Years Ago

Word count: 2k

Warnings: implied violence, implied Arobynn

masterlist

enjoy!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two Years and One Month Before Rowan's Arrival

Rolfe shrugged. “It’s convenient when it needs to be.”

“Have there been any reports of a sighting?”

“Odd.” Aelin shifted in her seat. “What of their activity—is anyone missing?”

“Sirens,” Aelin murmured. “I’d say it could be sea dragons, but they’re cold-water creatures; they don’t come any further south than the Iron Isles.”

Siren.

Halfway down the pier, Aelin stopped and tossed back her hood. “I’m afraid that pretty song won’t work on me.”

“Go back to the depths, siren,” Aelin said. “You’ll find no prey here.”

Aelin walked closer to the end of the pier. “You look too hungry,” she muttered, half to herself. “Could something be starving you?”

“Nnnnot…ill-nesssss.” A harsh, grating rasp.

Aelin’s head jerked up, her eyes locking onto the siren’s sunken ones. “You speak.”

“True enough.” Aelin kept her stare on the siren. “If not illness, what is it?”

And she stabbed her fangs into Aelin’s neck.

Despite the sharp sting of the pinch she gave her forearm, Aelin could hardly believe that the sleek, silvery-scaled tail that flared out from her waist was attached to her body.

Not a dream.

Where am I? Aelin formed the question in her mind, directing it to whoever—or whatever—was listening.

I am not your “sister,” Aelin thought, glaring into the craggy rock walls of the cave.

Aelin narrowed her eyes at the new siren. Who are you?

You may call me Kaltain. The new siren—Kaltain—drifted up to Aelin. And who are you, my new siren sister?

Aelin’s mind spun. The sirens likely knew of Aelin Galathynius, and she was already in Skull’s Bay under the pseudonym she used when she traveled alone. My name is Celaena.

It is not, but very well. Kaltain extended one pale hand. Come, Celaena. Let me show you your new home.

~~~

TAGS:

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@renxzs

@arialovesyou

@sirius-blacks-official-girl

@mysterylilycheeta

@mis-lil-red

@aelinchocolatelover

#my writing #rowaelin #siren au #layered lies guarded hearts #aelin galathynius #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass au #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin siren au

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leiawritesstories · 27 days ago

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sneak peek!

hello from law school!!! working on a little bit of writing before my classes start next week just for fun :)))) hehehehe @mariaofdoranelle you know what's coming

~~~~~~~

Rolfe sighed. “I was hoping you could try to negotiate with Hamel."

#my writing #sneak peek #aelin galathynius #siren au #throne of glass au #now who could THAT be heheheheheheh #me??? writing angst??? never mwahaha

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leiawritesstories · 28 days ago

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i don't care that this is remelle's last appearance, i WILL STRANGLE HER UGHHHHHHHHH

BUT MY BABIESSSSSSSSSS AHHH THEY'RE SO CUTE

Look at Us Now - ch. 30

Fic masterlist

Okay guys so my computer or Tumblr is acting out or maybe I'm just dumb idk but I had a really hard time getting the text from Scrivener to this post. I handled it but the italics died before the battle was over. Sorry! I'll fix it tomorrow (hopefully)

Update: I fixed it!!

Warnings: NSFW, Rowan at work, Remelle's last planned appearance

Words: ~7k

“Oh, hi, fiancé,” Aelin greeted him. Someone shouted their congratulations in the background. “I am knuckles deep in Major Yellowlegs’ necrotic tissue, and you’re on speaker. Say hi to my OR.”

Fiancé. The word still astonished him. It took a running nurse along the hall to remind Rowan he also had a purpose with this call.

“Hi,” he awkwardly greeted her co-workers, unused to it. Before they got together, Aelin would ignore his calls for hours and tell him it’s forbidden to answer them in the OR. It’s been a few months since he learned it isn’t—at least not when you’re an attending surgeon. “How’s the Major’s leg?”

Her sigh came out muffled, likely because of her face mask. “Please tell me you won’t ever get a motorcycle.”

With the amount of riders she patches up? A hard pass.

“Even if I wanted to, you ruined them for me. I have kids to raise.”

Then, remembering he wasn’t yet supposed to mention children in the plural, Rowan cursed internally. He cleared his throat and went straight to the point. “I’m at the hospital with a newbie; we came here in an ambulance and I need a ride to get my car back at the training center. Your shift ends soon, right?”

True, but a lame excuse that truly meant: I’m already here for our ultrasound appointment. Word would get out as soon with this hospital’s gossip track, but Aelin asked him to be discreet.

“Actually, when my shift ends depends on the kid. What happened?”

“That—” fucking dumbass is what Rowan held back from saying. “—trainee decided to… cook his ration by the campfire. Now he’s got some ugly burns and a bit of molten plastic all over his arms.”

Aelin cursed under her breath—or that mask, he’d never know the true cause of her muffled voice. “His bones okay?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Good. Just hang on and I’ll call you as soon as I’m done with the major.”

After hanging up the phone, losing Aelin’s voice brought back the heaviness that came when you had to accompany a terrified nineteen-year-old to the hospital. At least he had his own room now. The pale walls and sanitizer smell matched the odd silence that fell over this wing of the hospital.

However, when Rowan entered the room again, he heard giggles coming from the two nurses that were previously soaking his arm with saline. An odd choice of sound to make, given that the boy, Ress, almost split his lip open, biting it viciously so he wouldn’t cry.

“What’s the joke?” Rowan barked while entering the room.

The nurses gawked at him, gauze in hand and eyes wide, motionless. His trainee turned his face around, staring at the wall.

“Come on.” Rowan jerked his head towards the hallway outside, inviting them out. “I wanna laugh too.”

He held the door open for both women, closed it and led them out until they were at a safe distance, out of earshot.

With both hands on his hips, he stared them down. He recognized the younger pain in his ass from basic training a few years back, and the other one must be working here for longer than he became an instructor.

“Are you telling me what’s so funny or not?”

“Oh!” The older nurse smiled at him, somewhere between smug and matronly. Patronizing? “That was such a foolish way to get hurt, and being made fun of is a kind of rite of passage in the DAF, don’t you—”

“Captain.”

“What?”

“You may address me by Captain, Lieutenant.”

The woman straightened, sensing she wouldn’t talk herself out of this. The other one must remember him enough to keep quiet.

Addressing the younger nurse he recognized, he said, “You don’t get to mock any trainee, ever. You’d gloat to your classmates that Major Salvaterre wouldn’t stop staring at you because he was interested, but he told me himself it was because your push-ups were so lousy you looked like a dying fish.”

“And you,” he turned to the older one. “You’ve been here for so long I wasn’t even your instructor. Have you not learned anything about professionalism?

“You don’t get to teach him a lesson, much less bully him. My job is to turn inept kids into fine airmen. Punishing them? Also my job. Don’t. Try. To do it.”

With the tense look on the women’s faces, Rowan ground his jaw and smoothed the sharp edges of this tone, willing his voice to sound calmer. Technically, he was still right, but even if Rowan outranked them, he tried not to snap at people whose work he didn’t supervise.

“Now, next time one of my kids comes here injured, I don’t care if they did a hula dance in front of a cannonball. You will keep a straight face and respect them as you’d do a colonel. Are we understood?”

“Yes, Captain,” they said in unison.

“Good,” he said in a softer tone, relaxed his shoulders, then nodded at them. “Have a nice shift, Lieutenants.”

Inside the room, Ress was alone at once, and smart enough to not ask him what happened outside.

“Did you call your parents?”

“Nope. I can handle this.” His chin was as high as his idiocy.

Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose. Was this a failed display of bravery? This kid was dumber than he thought.

“It doesn’t look like you’re leaving this place any time soon, Kid. You need to tell your parents you won’t be home for dinner,” Rowan said while moving towards Ress’ backpack to fish the phone for him, sparing the boy’s injured hands.

“How’d you know I live with my folks?”

“You leave base covered in mud and comes back the next day with your clothes all ironed and the shiny shoes.” Rowan lifted a brow. “Is that your doing?”

For the first time since he got hurt, Ress smiled—albeit a small, closed-lipped near-imperceptible thing. And while he called his parents and answered their millions of questions, Rowan thought of Maisie and the little one on its way.

First, fatherhood made him too soft on these kids at work. Also, it wasn’t his business, but pushing them to call their parents when the injuries inevitably happen was something he’d only start doing when he understood what it was like to be a worried, waiting parent at home.

His students were legal adults—though barely—but it took having a kid himself to realize that by the time Maisie turns fifty, he’ll be an eighty-year-old time-bomb, each of her shenanigans bringing him closer to an impending heart failure.

“Hey, ‘Cap,” Ress called, covering the phone mic. “Are my parents allowed inside the hospital?”

Obviously, but it was a sensible question, since everything in the Air Force was restricted area. “I’ll be here until they arrive.”

Ress soon wrapped up the conversation with his parents and reassured him they’d arrive soon.

“Good. You kids try too hard to look tough.” Rowan lifted his index finger for emphasis. “A real man never leaves his mum worried if he can help it.”

Silence, followed by a long sigh. “You can say it, you know.”

“Say what?”

“That I was dumb.”

He chuckled. “Boy, I’ll give you so much hell, you’ll wish you were there instead.” The faintness of his closed-lipped smile didn’t match the kind of punishments he had in mind. Ress was smart enough to understand and keep quiet.

“You know, I have a little girl. She’s five, and—“

“Are you about to say your legal adult trainees are as sharp as your five-year-old?” Ress’ face lit up with amusement, a small curve on the corner of his lip.

Well, yes, but not anymore, now that he mocked Rowan’s moment of wisdom.

“Gods, no,” Rowan replied instead, “I’d never do that to my Maisy Daisy. She’s way smarter than you lot.”

Ress’ spine bent forward with the force of his cackle.

“It’s not a joke!” Rowan said as Ress wheezed beside him, “That kid’s a real genius! She’ll end up with a Nobel Prize or something.”

“I bet she will, ‘Cap.”

A different nurse came in, checking the monitors and injuries while writing things down.

“The ER doctor said another one would come soon.”

He nodded. “Someone from the pain management team, Captain.”

Rowan’s recently lightened mood turned sour. “What about the skin people? Are there no dermatologists or plastic surgeons here?

“I’m afraid our dermatologist, Dr. Wiselheade, is preoccupied with her scheduled appointments at the moment, but she’ll see him in the morning.”

Her scheduled appointments. “You mean the people who did not arrive in an ambulance, because they could not only wait for days to see her, but also drive their own asses here?”

The nurse swallowed. “That is the overall public of her afternoon appointments, Sir.”

Rowan got up, and his voice came out slow and lethal. “You’re telling me the doctor is too busy popping pimples to treat a burn injury?”

The man opened and closed his mouth, unsure o what to say.

Rowan turned to leave and gestured so the man would follow him out of Ress’ room. “Come on. Show me where this doctor’s office is.”

“I need to speak with Dr. Wiselheade.”

The sergeant looked at his name tape and checked the agenda once. Twice. Then she asked, “Sir, do you have an appointment?”

“I’m not a patient, I’m a visiting officer from base. I need to speak with Dr. Wiselheade.”

“I’m sorry, Sir, but you need an appointment to speak with the doctor.”

“Do I, now?”

“I’m afraid so, Captain.”

Rowan leaned over and kept his tone conspiratory. “I don’t have an appointment, that’s true, but what if I told you I have a pimple?”

“Really?” She paused to examine his face and noticed his lack of acne. “Where is it?”

“It’s up my fucking ass, Sergeant.” He intensified eye contact to say, “Listen to me, this is not Dr. Wiselheade’s private office, nor can she make any rules. When a superior officer tells you they need to speak with her, not only do you go immediately, but you also do not—under any circumstances—ask them where their pimples are. Do you understand?”

“Yes, S-sir.”

He schooled his face back into an amiable expression and gestured at the door. “Now, would you please inform the Doctor that she has a visiting officer waiting—a mandatory meeting?”

Rowan should have counted the time, because it felt like less than a minute until the Sergeant was back and asked him to wait until the doctor’s current appointment was over.

In the meantime, he concluded that this hospital was a disgrace. Did people forget everything Rowan taught them after basic training was over? It seems like they lost all sense when it comes to conduct, uniform, every guideline they chose to abide when joining the military.

When the patient left, he was immediately asked to come in. He opened the door, ready to—

Grabby Blonde from the supermarket?!

“Oh, hi, Captain.” She tilted her head, smirking. “There’s no need to fight my secretary, I’ll always make time for you.”

“Except she’s a sergeant assigned to manage your agenda, not your secretary, Doctor, because this isn’t your private practice.”

Rowan wasn’t too bad at remembering people. His trainees, Maisie’s classmates, the oldest employees at the convenience store—he remembered all their faces and names. However, he’d completely forgotten not only her name, but her existence altogether.

Something about Grabby Blonde felt very… forgettable. Despite her being annoyance embodied.

“Why don’t you sit down and call me Remelle?”

“I’d rather not.” Knowing he was in treacherous territory, Rowan leaned against the wall and crossed his arms before himself. “I’m retrieving you to treat a nineteen-year-old burn victim. The sooner you come with me, the sooner you can go back to your appointments.”

She got up from the desk, movements feline as she sat on it, in front of him, and crossed her legs. “That’s not much of an incentive, is it? I’m not even part of the primary burn management to need to go in there this soon.”

She was just begging for him to be an asshole, wasn’t she? “If actually practicing medicine isn’t incentive enough, I’ll have to remind you, Lieutenant, that you do not have a choice whether to come or not.”

Wrong choice of words, Rowan realized too late.

“You sound so dirty when you order me around, Captain.” She licked her lips, arched her back and failed to draw his attention to her cleavage. “Are you always this bossy?”

Ress was scared, and alone. Rowan wasn’t supposed to leave him there for too long, and it was obvious where Dr. Wiselheade, Remelle, Grabby Blonde—whatever she liked to be called—would try to run circles around him until she used this “opportunity” to get what she wanted, so Rowan decided to cut this short.

“I’m spoken for, Lieutenant.” He sent a disgusted look towards the wedding band on her left hand. “And so are you.”

The next best argument, since his lack of interest wouldn’t deter her.

“Yes, that’s why I think we have a lot in common,” she said in a sultry tone, sliding her hand up his arm. “We both know how hard it is to fight temptation.”

Rowan didn’t. The only temptation he faced these days was trying not to jump on his fiancée in front of the kid.

He quickly retrieved his arm from her grasp. “What I’m feeling tempted to do is paying a visit to your husband, Doctor.”

“I’m sure he won’t mind if you bring your… her. Benson has very poor standards, I’m sure he’ll love to switch for an evening.”

With that, Rowan saw red.

Scratch that, he didn’t only see red. Red pumped through his veins, tightening his muscles in a way that was not healthy for a workplace, emptying his head into a fight or fight mode that his remaining scraps of reason urged him to depart.

“I am leaving this room right now, and all disciplinary measures will be applied if you don’t show up at Ress’ room in ten.”

He touched the doorknob, and she placed her hand over his to stop him.

Do not grab and toss her wrist with your other hand. Do not show any sign of aggression.

Rowan pulled his hand from under hers, freeing it from her grasp.

“I’m not saying I won’t go, I’m just proposing an exchange of favors. I know you want to.”

Unbelievable. Doing her own job—a favor?

“Believe me, Dr. Wiselheade, I don’t. You think I’m tempted, but I don’t see anything tempting here. In fact, I wouldn’t describe your looks or personality even as pleasant—if I must be honest, I find you deeply annoying.” He crossed his arms, looking down at her in the grimmest way he could muster. “Now, I have a counteroffer for you: you leave this office right now and give my trainee the best treatment you can, and in return I won’t file a formal complaint for sexual harassment. How do you feel about that?”

Mala bless his fiancée, she’d pay good money to witness the way Remelle Wiselheade’s eyes lost its spark.

“That bitch!” Aelin exclaimed, a bit too loud for the restaurant they were in. The sea of white tablecloths might give the idea that this place would be loud, but the murmurs were oddly soft for a full house. Aelin focused on his story from earlier today in a way that made her miss out on the piano music she loved so much.

Aelin convinced him to go out more than they usually did so she could wear all her fancy outfits while she could, and there was no better occasion than Baby #2’s sonogram. And when she inquired of him about his day, he decided it was best not to lie about his encounter with Dr. Wiselheade, even if it had the potential to ruin their special dinner.

“I handled it.”

“Yeah, I bet you did.” She cut her trout more forcefully than it demanded. Since when has Aelin liked fish? He stopped questioning ever since she showed him the pregnancy blood test with the most adorable White Hawks onesie. She continued, “If you didn’t, I’ll handle it just fine.” Another minor attack on the fish’s corpse. “I’ll handle her so fine that fake boob of hers will be flying off her mouth,” his lovely fiancée said.

“Aelin.”

“What? You think I can’t start a fistfight just because I’m pregnant?”

“Not the sole reason, but yes. You summed it up well.”

Aelin’s shoulders dropped, and she focused back on her meal. The crumpled look on her face was the exact reason he didn’t want to tell her about this. However, it was one thing to dismiss phone numbers he was given or random people on the social media profiles he scarcely used, but this was her co-worker—and a recurring annoyance rather than a fleeting one. Rowan didn’t want to bother his pregnant fiancée with it, but something told him he should make her aware of it.

“But, hey.” He caressed her wrist with his thumb, an attempt to cheer up his Fireheart. “We just made it out of the first trimester. Don’t you think that’s exciting?”

With that, she smiled. In sync, both of them looked at the representation of this dinner's special guest—today’s picture of Baby #2, leaning against a wineglass in front of a vacant seat. If this one ended up being as well-behaved as Maisie, this might be their only time at a place like this in the next decade.

He squeezed her hand. “How do you want to tell people?”

She was the one to suggest they should wait before telling people, and Mala knows how many times Rowan almost broke that promise despite himself. Big mouth aside, after all the chaos and drama surrounding Maisie’s birth—no matter how rewarding—Rowan decided he wanted Aelin to be in charge of decisions like this.

His parents figured out about Maisie’s pregnancy by themselves while Rowan was incarcerated? So this time she’ll get to pick when, where, and how they get to know. As long as she was happy and still wanted to marry him, Rowan would happily follow his fiancée’s lead.

When Rowan asked if she minded the mental load, she quickly brushed him off. Aelin also wanted Aelin to be in charge of all decisions.

“I want to tell Maisie first.” Her voice was firm, as if she’d thought this over before, so Rowan decided not to argue.

“And then our work is done, right? You know she’ll tell everyone and their mothers before we have the chance to.”

Aelin giggled, her laugh lighting the dimly lit room they were in. “Less work for us, and a much cuter reveal.”

“Okay, then.” He kissed her knuckles, chest molten. Rowan was so ecstatic about her and this baby, he couldn’t think of a single request he wouldn’t fulfill for her right now. “Shall we go before she falls asleep at Sellene’s?”

“What?” She removed her hand from his grasp. “What about dessert?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Weren’t you complaining that the dish was big enough to feed a woman pregnant with quintuplets?”

Her exact words, if he remembered correctly.

Aelin placed a hand over her stomach, affronted. “Well, yes, but dessert is a different compartment entirely.”

“Like a secret pocket for treats?”

“Exactly.”

“And you’re telling me that because you went to med school, and I didn’t?”

“Precisely.” She looked away, trying to catch a waiter. “The dessert compartment is real and very scientific. Please, know your place.”

Rowan didn’t need to be told twice. He looked down and chuckled while the server came over, then happily watched his fiancée’s excitement over her key lime pie—to celebrate the baby’s current size.

A while later, while they waited for the valet to bring back his car, Rowan took Aelin in, and the effort she’d put into their night out despite having a long day at work. As much as he loved taking her out as a farewell to her nice clothes, this was coming to an end soon.

He wasn’t sure she’d realized it, but Aelin was showing already, and her belly was bigger this pregnancy. He loved it. Right now, the deep blue satin of her dress draped between her lower belly and her hips—a new effort to hug her growing stomach—and it was easy to tell it wasn’t exclusively due to the insurmountable amount of food Aelin tackled; that it was mostly because of his baby.

Once she realized he was staring, she slid her hands over her sides and let out an awkward chuckle. “I was fighting for my life to get into this thing earlier. Didn’t calculate how much worse it’d get after dinner.”

He pulled her to his front and hugged her from behind, kissed her on the cheek, and murmured, “You look stunning.”

Aelin didn’t argue, settled instead into his embrace and soon their car arrived.

The city lights became a blur now that traffic had died down after rush hour, and they decided to call and check if Maisie was still awake.

“Hey, Sellene. How are you three? Are the girls behaving?”

His cousin chuckled. “Surprisingly so, yes. You’ll learn why in a minute.”

The red light allowed Rowan and Aelin to exchange a look. A quiet Maisie was her most dangerous version—it meant she was onto something. When the little girl took her aunt’s phone to speak with them, she didn’t spare a single pleasantry before letting them learn why.

“Can Bree and I have a sleepover today? Pleeeease pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease?”

Breanna soon joined her on the ‘please’ chorus.

It was Rowan who said, “I’m not sure, Mais.”

His chest tightened with the request, the reminder of the bedtime story he’d picked to read her tonight on the back of his mind. How silly was he being right now? Not so long ago, Rowan used to spend two or three days at a time without physically seeing Maisie, but the thought of it was now unfathomable.

“Can I speak to Sellene again?” he said without changing routes.

“Uncle Ro, please!” Bree shouted while the phone was passed over.

Aelin snorted, eyes widened in a can-you-believe-them look.

“Are you on speaker?” Rowan asked when he was sure it was Sellene on the other end.

“Not anymore.”

Good. “How do you feel about this? I don’t mind being the bad guy if you want to postpone the sleepover.”

He switched lanes to enter the street that led to Sellene’s neighborhood, not buying the sleepover idea yet.

She chuckled. “It’s fine, really. It’s been moderately chaotic so far, and we’re all having fun. You two should take the night off and have a few drinks or—oh!—go celebrate your engagement! I’ve got them.”

His cousin had no idea how off-limits alcohol was.

“I don’t know, I—“

As he trailed, Aelin sneaked her hand over his seat and cupped his cock.

Rowan almost hit the brakes.

“Are you sure?”

The question slipped his lips without conscious approval, and it was hard to focus on the traffic instead of Aelin’s come-hither look.

“Of course!”

“I think—I…”

Rowan was cut off by Aelin’s squeeze on his cock, followed by the harsh strokes of her hand, wiring his body despite the clothing he still wore.

“We’ll pick her up in the morning, then.”

He made a turn and sped his way home, the path to Sellene’s forgotten. Aelin’s hand didn’t leave its spot until they arrived.

Rowan almost fucked his fiancée in the garage.

And she didn’t help his efforts to carry her to the bedroom, teasing his neck and increasing friction by pushing their hips together.

In the hallway, he pressed her against the wall and nipped her jaw. “You want to make it to the bed or not?”

Her teasing smirk was enough to tell him that he didn’t need to hear an answer from him—she’d run circles around him, an usual occurrence.

He kissed her. If he used it as a way to avoid her snarky retorts or teased her purposefully to achieve this result, he’d never tell.

Aelin’s softness as she opened up and allowed him to take charge nearly broke him. Rowan’s tongue met hers with possessive sureness, taking what was meant for him. The soft and pliant sounds Aelin filled the hallway with drowned him, making his cock’s ache much harder to bear.

Their bed was much needed, now more than ever.

When he finally arrived there—delayed by Aelin’s toying with his neck—he reverently placed his fiancée atop the bedsheets, pressing their foreheads together and breathing each other’s air. Aelin smiled and flung him into bed with her.

“How do you want me?” Her breathlessness reduced her voice to a whisper.

Rowan threaded his fingers with her hair at the base of her skull and pulled, baring her neck to him.

“Just the ring on,” he growled before kissing her neck, insatiable as he sucked its skin into his mouth.

“Good.” Aelin shuddered under his attention. “I refuse to take it off.”

What they did take off, quite clumsily, was the outfits for the fancy restaurant of Aelin’s choosing, and both of them fumbled to undress each other in a way that never happened with her—his—t-shirts or his sweatpants.

When all that dreadful clothing was dealt with, he climbed on top of Aelin and directed himself to her breasts. He cupped the side of one and trailed pecks from the valley between them to her inner boob, but stopped himself.

“Are they sensitive?”

“Good sensitive,” Aelin rasped as she took hold of the roots of his hair and directed Rowan’s ministrations herself.

Not knowing when would be the next time they’d be good enough to eat, he dived into her tits like a starving man. The gentle biting on the outside soon turned into him sucking her nipple into his mouth and flicking his tongue against it, which drew out a loud moan from her.

The first of many. Rowan was intent on making the most out of their empty house.

He could’ve spent the entire night lost between her breasts, but his Fireheart pulled him by the hair for a sloppy, wet kiss.

Rowan hadn’t bothered with the lights, but the moonlit interior of his house allowed him to take in Aelin’s ethereal features. Not only her lovely, regal face, but also those mouth-watering tits, the peaks glistening from his kisses. It was something that often rendered him speechless, how enthralling were her beauty and personality both. It seemed unfair to other people—not only that someone such as his fiancée existed, but also that Rowan got to have her all to himself.

He’d never dare change a single thing about it.

With both hands pinned by him above her head, she squirmed under his grasp, and the diamond on her finger glinted with the movement.

He was about to marry her, wasn’t he? The reminder left him speechless every time.

The downwards trail of kisses he started was soon interrupted by Aelin. She cupped his jaw, tugged his face closer, and hooked her leg around his hips to lock it over hers.

“I need you. Now.”

When he dipped the pads of his fingers on her sex, Rowan’s dark chuckle was engulfed by Aelin’s moan.

“I didn’t think you’d be this wet for me by now, honey.”

“I—“ She arched her hips once he pressed against her clit. “You’ve been teasing me since you put that shirt on.”

His dress shirt? He needed to save this information for later.

“And now you need my cock, and this is all my fault?”

“Precisely.” A pause. “Please,” she added when he didn’t move.

A dark chuckle. “So polite.”

Rowan aligned himself between her thighs and slowly pushed in, her warmth maddening with a tight grip on him.

Her breath hitched, a breathless plea between parted lips.

His muscles tightened at the languid pace, but Aelin pushed against his thrusts, asking for more.

The increase in rhythm turned his thrusts deep yet not frenetic, but that seemed to satisfy Aelin, by the way she cried out and maimed his back with her nails. Her enthusiastic response turned his blood into lava, and his pleasure built in the base of his spine.

She stopped him and, with one deft motion, switched their positions.

He was doomed.

If Rowan had very little control as it was, he was completely at her mercy with her tits bouncing on his face and a clear view of her body and where they joined.

Aelin rode him ravenously, thighs working hard so she could pound her hips to properly bury him inside her. Tension coiled inside him as his pleasure built to an impossible degree under her merciless pace, so Rowan decided that if he must go, he should do it with dignity.

He leaned on an elbow and snapped his hips up, earning a booming string of curses from Aelin, his name falling from her lips in the foulest way. Digging her fingers into his chest, she clenched his cock with her inner walls before collapsing on top of Rowan. Once his Fireheart was sated, he allowed himself to climax, and watched the heat in her eyes as his cum filled her.

After being Aelin-starved for so long, he got drunk on the sensation of claiming, or even branding her.

Mine.

She excused herself to clean up, and watching his load drip down her thighs sent a wave of heat down his body, readying him for the next round.

He'd also never take it for granted, her trust in him. Rowan himself had never been so unbridled in bed with anyone else, but it was Aelin, so that one life-changing consequence just added to the appeal.

Aelin darted from the bathroom and laid her head on his chest, letting out a small groan of appreciation as she relaxed into him. “It’s been forever since we last had sex.”

Because she hadn’t been feeling good with all the pregnancy symptoms, but he refused to point it out and risk her feeling bad about it. “We had sex earlier this week.”

“Forever.” Her whine and pout were so adorable, Rowan couldn’t help but kiss her frown. “Aren’t you worried about our sex life with this pregnancy?”

No. Rowan narrowed his eyes at her. He went from occasional mediocre encounters with women he couldn’t care less about, to mind-blowing chemistry with the love of his life. His sex life was peaking big time.

“Honey, is something bothering you?”

Aelin sat with her back on the headboard. It was that kind of conversation, then. Rowan mirrored her and waited.

“I mean, I’m so freaking excited for this baby, but our frequency went downhill because I’ve been tired. And then I’ll be all sensitive and achy and swollen, and don’t get me started about after.”

“What about after?”

She gave him a pointed look.

“You mean another baby?” They could wait before the third one, or even stop at the second if it was what she wanted.

“Are you really gonna make me spell it out?”

Rowan’s mouth opened, but no words came out as he stayed confused. There was only one other option, but she couldn’t possibly mean—

“My postpartum body, Rowan.”

Oh, please. He looked at her dead in the eye and said, “Hot. Go on.”

Aelin’s shoulders dropped, and she gave him a pleading look, as if he was joking.

He was not.

“After Maisie, I spent years trying to get back in shape, and I didn’t. I just reached a point in which I decided that my body as hot as I was willing to work for, and there was that. And I’m not even mentioning the parts that won’t ever go away, like my stretch marks.

“Part of sex is feeling desirable, and I’m afraid that’ll be just…” A sigh. “Hard.”

As his fiancée listed her worries, Rowan had to force his mind into a self pep-talk that went along the lines of: Listen to her. Be patient. Do not be insensitive or invalidate her concerns. And do not, under any circumstances, tell fiancée her concerns are gibberish.

But truth was, no straight man would ever think about stretch marks with his face pressed against a pair of tits.

Also, Rowan wasn’t a doctor, but he was pretty sure women can’t help cellulite—if it bothered him, he’d be sucking cock by now.

He cradled her face between his palms and said, “Aelin, you’ve consistently been breathtakingly gorgeous in every version I’ve known of you.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded. Stroke her cheek with his thumb. “You did have a god-like body before Maisie, but that’s impossible to maintain with the amount of responsibilities you have.”

“You think so?”

“Of course, between Maisie and your work hours—“

“No! Not this. You really think I was so hot I looked like a god?”

Praising her old body was definitely not his point, but whatever makes her feel better.

“I still do. But I’m not talking about personal taste, I’m talking about unrealistic—“

She pressed their foreheads together. “I get it. You’re the perfect fiancée who doesn’t mind a belly pouch. Just answer me.”

He closed his eyes and chuckled. “I did go to extreme lengths to get you naked back then, so yeah.” He briefly kissed her lips. “You went from an unrealistically sculpted body to merely having an insanely hot body. Big deal. I’m still winning, babe.”

They collapsed onto the bed, a tangle of laughter and kisses—though, really, he was the one kissing her silly, until she couldn’t remember why she’d been upset in the first place.

She licked her swollen lips, looking up as he hovered over her. “You really mean all that? I don’t want you to say things to humor the pregnant lady.”

Without changing positions, his expression was earnest as he said, “You talk about this like I’ll be stuck with you and your mom bod.” His expression melted, giving way to a mushy smile as he tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear. “Honey, I chose you. I’ve waited my entire life for you.”

But Rowan was tired of speaking. He’d much rather make his point by kissing down her body, starting with her neck and torso.

“I like to feed you,” he said before kissing the freckles over her hipbone. The path down her legs was slow and torturous, stopping only at her ankle. “I like that after I feed you, you let me fuck you rough and raw until you’re full with my babies.” Something else he also liked was the eager look in his Fireheart’s eyes. After making his way up her inner thighs, he kissed a spot on her lower belly. “And I love each and every mark that proves it.”

When he mouthed her sex, Rowan was too lost in her to focus on words anymore.

Aelin and Maisie seemed to be deep in conversation, Rowan noticed from the counter, and he hoped his fiancée wouldn’t breach the subject without him there. He wasn’t far from them, but the loud chatter from Stone Villa’s Creamery made it impossible to hear a single thing from their table, just see his daughter engaged in an excited conversation with her mother, who had her back to him.

It was Saturday morning, which meant Maisie was currently missing soccer class. They decided to never mention they completely forgot about it before agreeing to the sleepover.

The clerk cleared his throat, snapping Rowan’s attention back to him. “One strawberry with bubblegum, one…” A well-deserved pause and frown. “Basil and lime with M&M’s, and a black coffee with no milk?”

He nodded. Ice cream at morning wasn’t done in his house, so Maisie better enjoy the opportunities that came with her mother’s pregnancy and odd cravings.

When he approached the table with everyone’s order, the tiny yapper was in the middle of yapping about her sleepover at Sellene’s, where they’d just picked her up from.

“…Bree has a big, big poster in the kitchen with all the letters and numbers, so we were laying on the floor and creating a secret code for when we have our own phones.”

“Oh, yeah? What did you come up with?”

“It’s a secret, Mom!”

“You’re right, honey, I’m sorry.” The quickest of twitches in Aelin’s lips told him all about how much she was struggling to take her daughter seriously at the moment.

Rowan cut in, “And how was school yesterday?”

“We learned letters and numbers.” A sigh too weary for a five-year-old. “Again.”

“Is that so?” The hardest part about parenthood might be keeping a straight face. “Are you implying that you don’t need school anymore?”

“Yes! We’re not even learning new things, we just mash all the letters and numbers we already know to make bigger words and bigger numbers.”

“Sorry, Mais. You have to study letters and numbers for 12 more years, and then pick the one you like the most to study for at least four more.”

The little girl narrowed her eyes at him, unsure whether she should take this news seriously or not. “Except Mama, because she chose bones.”

“Also a good option.”

"About bones…” Aelin cleared her throat. “The endochondral ossification is already in progress within the fetal skeleton, and your father and I decided that the transition from cartilage into mineralized bone would be a good point to tell you the news.”

‘Your father and I’ implied that Rowan participated in the decision-making process, but not a word passed his lips as he broke the news.

Maisie frowned. “That’s too many words.”

Understandable.

“Your mom was telling you about our new family member.”

“Fleetfoot’s becoming a sister?”

“No, honey, you are.”

“What.”

“Your mom is pregnant. With a human baby. You’ll be a big sister soon.”

Maisie’s jaw dropped. Her wide green eyes darted between her parents, waiting for a punchline, perhaps, but the news were very real. Slowly, she mouthed a spoonful of her ice cream.

“We’re having a baby,” the little girl murmured.

In Maisie’s head, the baby must be as hers as Aelin’s and Rowan’s. He made a mental note to check with her what she meant by ‘we’, but if her ‘mothering’ of Fleetfoot was any indication, he had nothing to worry about her taking more responsibility than necessary.

Still, the news seemed to shock her.

Aelin squeezed his hand under the table. “How are you feeling about this?” she asked Maisie.

“Noah—not from school, the other Noah from soccer—has a baby brother. He says they’re really dumb. Maybe his is dumber because it’s a boy, but later they all get smart enough to play.” She took another spoonful of ice cream, deep in thought. “At least I won’t need other moms to let me play because their kids are doing other things. Same mom, same rules, same time to play.”

Aelin grinned. “You’ll get a new playmate, yes.”

“And I’ll teach her all the cool things the teachers at school don’t know like drums and how to whistle.”

Rowan kept his tone challenging when he teased, “Do you know how to whistle?”

Maisie’s big green eyes narrowed—the little girl loathed being questioned. “Not yet, but I’ll figure it out. And next time I need you to tell me about the baby before.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to know when you call the stork, not when the baby’s already in your belly. I need time to get ready.”

Rowan refrained from pinching the bridge of his nose. This phrase had so many layers, so much to analyze and discuss later, it almost have him a migraine. Instead, he said, “But are you happy with this news? It’s okay if you’re not; we just need to know.”

Maisie didn’t reply instantly, and Rowan liked that she looked for an answer within herself instead of immediately saying whatever would please her parents the most. Then, her pursed lips slid into a wide gap-toothed grin.

“I’m having a sister!”

Aelin opened her arms and waited for her squealing daughter to round the table and sit on her lap to hug her. Rowan was halfway melted by the sight when it came to him…

Wait a second.

“Maisie, you meant having a sibling, right?”

“Samesies!”

No. Nonono— “That is very much not the same. A sibling means it could be a girl or a boy. Which is what you’re getting: a sister or a brother.”

“What?” She left her mother’s lap, sending her a betrayed look. “You didn’t tell the stork we want a girl?”

“No, honey,” Aelin said, as patient as she could be. “We wouldn’t do that, even if we could. The stork always sends the baby we need, not the baby we want, okay?”

“Fine,” Maisie huffed and returned to her chair. “At least we’ll get a pink and blue party.”

A pink and blue… Rowan’s brows went up. “You mean a gender reveal party?”

“The pink and blue party! Like the one Auntie Elide and Uncle Lorcan had to find out they were having another…” Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “…boy.”

“Honey, I don’t think that’s your father’s or my thing. We didn’t throw one when I was pregnant with you—never felt like we missed out.”

“Mom, Dad, you don’t understand.” Maisie returned her spoon to the cone to brace both hands on the table, looking as serious as a five-year-old girl could.

“We need a pink and blue party.”

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