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writtenonreceipts · 1 year

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Rowaelin Month Day Ten: Co-Stars With Chemistry @rowaelinscourt

Find Part One Here Rowaelin Month Masterlist

Thanks for all the kind words on part one! I hope part two lives up to your expectations! Part three, and the conclusion, will come later this month. Bonus points if you spot the "against the tide" reference ;)

Warnings: None, right around 4k words

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The Words We Share-Part Two

<<Welcome to Terrasen! I’m your host Aelin Galathynius and this week we’ve got a special episode coming your way. We’ll be live with none other than Rowan Whitethorn to discuss his new book. Dead Man’s Game is his first step into fantasy and a twisted tale of pirates, curses, and of course a dive into Scottish history. Join us next week in a special LIVE episode. Until next time, readers.>>

It wasn’t the worst promotional Aelin had ever done in her life. But it also wasn’t the best. She’d written and scrapped over a dozen and so far, that was the one that hadn’t sucked the most. Somehow.

Aelin stared at the blinking square on her computer that asked if she wanted to publish the message or not. Technically she could still turn down the interview. She could tell Dorian off and ignore Whitethorn for the rest of his existence and move on with her life. And then she’d probably lose her job and end up homeless.

Wincing, she clicked the button and immediately spun away from her computer.

Her office, big and bright and vibrant, had a large window that overlooked downtown. In the distance the mountains were shrouded in a thick layer of clouds, not surprising but a little disappointing. She much preferred her summer months warm and clear. Still, she let herself admire the view and took a moment to appreciate the stillness of the day.

Until her gaze landed on her phone.

There were a handful of messages from Sam that she’d left unread. He’d tried calling her after she’d returned home, but she didn’t pick up. Rowan was still on her mind. Rowan and his stupid accent and his stupidly large hands. How was it that someone she hated (and who hated her in return) could treat her to the best date she’d been on in months? Years?

She didn’t know. And she didn’t want to call Elide to talk to her about it because Elide was a meddlesome little minx.

Now as Aelin stared at her phone, she found herself wondering if there was anything Sam could say that would have her forgive him.

Whoever stood you up is an idiot, Rowan had said.

And…maybe he was right.

A knock at the door was the only thing that snagged her attention. She looked over to see Dorian leaning against her doorway.

“Aelin,” he greeted. He had his usual grin in place, black hair in an easy disarray. His blue eyes shone with too much placating humor.

“I hate you.” It wasn’t an exaggeration either. He was really good at being annoying.

“Oh, c’mon, I’m doing you a favor,” Dorian insisted. He didn’t look the least bit apologetic. “I guarantee this’ll get your viewership up.”

“Not even Chaol is this mean,” Aelin said. She slumped down in her seat, tilting her head back against the chair rest.

“You only like him because he brings in chocolate cake,” Dorian said.

“Yeah and he isn’t an ass like you.” Aelin continued glaring at her boss and friend, picking up her pen to scratch at the pad of paper beside her desk, just for something to do.

“Aelin, Rowan’s our best-selling author, not to mention the demand of getting more events from him like this.” Dorian picked an invisible piece of lint from his shirt and shrugged. “Hate him all you want, but our readers and your listeners have been begging for this.”

Aelin had seen requests forms on their website, she’d been to plenty of conventions and heard the reviews—she knew that Dorian was right. But…

“I like Whitethorn even less than you,” Aelin said. Though, the words sounded hollow in her own ears.

Dorian didn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll take you out to dinner to make up.”

Aelin had had enough of men propositioning her for dinner. She waved Dorian off.

“Go be the big CEO man, I’ve gotta write this script and get the general outline to Whitethorn,” she said.

Dorian left with a wave of his hand.

Aelin rolled her eyes and pulled up a new document on her computer. A small notification bar in the corner of the screen indicated views on the recent upload. In the span of three minutes there were already over two hundred views and the number was rapidly rising.

She glanced at the large stack of paper still sitting in the corner of her desk. She’d gotten it just last week—the tell-tale mysterious new novel Rowan had written. Even Dorian said it was remarkable. Aelin had yet to view it since it was no longer a part of her job description to edit and critique manuscripts. But since she’d be interviewing Rowan, she got early access to the novel.

In truth, she’d enjoyed Rowan’s work. There was always something about it, even if she did mark up every page with as much red as she could manage. But, really? Most of the comments weren’t negative. Often, she even found herself praising the way a sentence worked or the callbacks he gave to earlier chapters.

Now, having the manuscript before her, Aelin couldn’t help but feel a little excited at having the book before her.

At least this would be enough of a distraction for her.

It wasn’t until the sun began to set and shadows crawled across the walls of her office, that Aelin finally looked up from the manuscript.

And to her phone that lit up with another message.

Cursing, Aelin opened the chat with Sam.

>>Sam: you can’t keep ignoring me.

<<Aelin: I told you I needed time.

>>Sam: It was one night. we’ll have dozens more.

Aelin scoffed at the surety in his words. Shaking her head Aelin sent one last message.

<<Aelin: I’m done. This is over. I can’t keep playing games and being a placeholder.

>>Sam: We’ll talk in the morning.

He could try calling her, but would find it difficult considering she was blocking his number that very moment.

It felt good to set that boundary, to tell him no, to feel like she was in control.

In all honesty, she was still caught up on spending time with Rowan Whitethorn and not tossing her wine on him. He’d been a gentleman, an ass, but respectful all the same. She would have to thank him for helping her that night despite how much she didn’t want to. He didn’t need to step in and give her an excuse to use against Kaltain. And he certainly didn’t need to pay for dinner and make sure she got into a cab safely. He hadn’t needed to do any of it and she hadn’t expected him to. But he had.

She wanted to be irritated at him for it. She wasn’t a damsel in distress for him to take care of or who needed help to begin with. She would have dealt with Kaltain on her own just fine.

Still, it was nice to have someone looking out for her.

Shaking her head, Aelin flipped through the manuscript to the first page once again.

She had a dream, once, years ago, where she would stand out on a rocky shoreline and stare into the ocean as she wondered just how far she could sail before the world swallowed her whole.

…

Between screaming Fall Out Boy lyrics, two impromptu dance parties, and chugging half an energy drink in the parking garage of the publishing building—Aelin finally found herself ready to face the inevitability of the day.

“It’s going to be fine,” she told herself one more time as she fixed her lipstick in the rearview mirror. “Everything is going to be fine.”

It had been her mantra that she prepared for the live podcast she would be filming that day. For the first time in a very long time, Aelin found herself nervous for the day. And she did not get nervous. No, Aelin prided herself on being confident, capable, and being able to keep her head on straight.

That was before she’d read Rowan’s book, though.

She got out of her car, energy drink and manuscript in hand, and headed up to her office to prepare for the interview.

She hadn’t had any issue in reading Rowan's book. In fact, she’d stayed up the entire night just to finish it. Everything about the book had captured her attention. From the magic to the world building to the romance—it had all been just what she loved most in a book. Even if the book wasn’t as spicy as Aelin preferred to get in her books, there had been something real about the way Rowan chose the write this novel.

And now she’d have to tell him.

She was not looking forward to it if she were being honest. For as much as she loved gushing about novels and diving into different worlds and characters…she’d never done so about one of Rowan’s books. And this book was so different from his other books.

Aelin felt far too jittery as she waited for the elevator. The usual crowds all milled about her, all too concerned with their own issues to give her much credence. She didn’t know if that was better or worse.

She hadn’t felt this way about an interview in ages. Only her first real podcast session had been as bad and that was only because she’d gone into in on no sleep and four shots of espresso.

The elevator slowly lumbered up to the proper floor while Aelin paced the small space. Thankfully no one else was in here with her. That would have just been icing on the cake.

“It’s going to be a great day and everything is going to be fine,” she told herself as the doors slid open to the proper floor. Dorian of course was standing right there, leaning against the far wall.

His black hair was styled perfectly out of his face, his smirk ever present. He gave one last twist to the new wedding band on his finger as Aelin stepped out of the elevator and began walking to her studio.

“You ready for today?” he asked, keeping stride with her easily.

“Of course, I am,” she replied. Her confidence was deceiving, but it was something she’d practiced ever since she was a child who wanted to get out of trouble. “It’s just like any other podcast.”

Dorian made a noise in the back of his throat. “This is potentially the biggest release our company—”

“I know, Dorian.” Aelin stopped outside her studio and handed Dorian the mess of energy drink and notes she was carrying so she could unlock the door. “I’m not an idiot.”

Dorian followed her inside and she caught a sheepish smile on his face. “Sorry. I know you know. And I know you’ll take this seriously. Just…try not to hate on him too much, yeah?”

It was no secret really that Aelin and Rowan had a slight rivalry going on. At least, Dorian was the only one really aware of it. And Elide. But Elide was the best at keeping secrets herself.

“Can I tease him about the fated mates trope?” she asked.

“No.”

“Boo.” Aelin took her things back from him and rolled her eyes. “Do you want to read through my notes? Give me your approval, oh great one?”

He was already walking back out of the studio, waving a hand overhead. “Behave!”

Aelin snorted a laugh; she’d been granted honorary approval to go to his bachelor party three months ago; if anyone needed to behave it was him. She wondered partially if his wife actually realized what she’d gotten into.

No matter.

Aelin settled into her usual routine upon arriving at the office in the morning. If she kept things as normal as possible, they were bound to work out, right?

So she bounced between her actual office and the studio for the next hour, running through her questions and side comments she could make about various points and ideas she’d highlighted from Rowan’s book.

Elide stopped by a few times to give her a countdown to when the podcast would air. The other woman was technically an acquisitions editor, but Aelin was going to try and steal her to be her assistant. That would piss Kaltain off.

When there was ten minutes left until they were slated to begin. Aelin went to the studio to make sure everything was ready. She usually made sure the couch and chair were angled properly first with microphones at the ready before ensuring a blanket and a few pillows were easy to reach. Not that she thought Rowan would want to snuggle up with a puppy studded fleece blanket—it was the thought that counted.

She was just organizing her desk with her notes and her copy of Rowan’s manuscript when she heard Elide’s voice down the hall.

“She’s just down this way.”

Aelin gave everything one final look in the studio before deciding that was just as good as it was going to get. After all, everything was neat and organized. Except the bookshelves. Those were pure chaos. But in Aelins opinion, keeping bookshelves looking perfect was a useless task.

Elide rounded the open door, looking far too amused by what was about to unfold.

“Hey Aelin,” she said, leaning against the jam. Her black hair hung in loose waves and her expression was carefully impassive—though that gleam in her eyes was hard to miss. “I found your next interview in the halls.”

Sure enough, standing behind her was Rowan. He was dressed casually, far more casual than she’d ever seen him before. No dress shirt or tie, no slacks, no fancy shoes worth more than her car. It was a startling contrast to when he’d saved her at the restaurant. Even his hair was different. Not that it was bad. The man had good hair.

“Thanks, Elide,” Aelin said with a smile. She hadn’t been staring too much, had she?

“Let me know if you need anything,” Elide said. There was no mistaking her brow raise as she departed.

Oh, Aelin was certainly going to be interrogated later this afternoon. She stuffed that away far in the back of her mind.

“Come on in, Mr. Whitethorn.” Aelin gestured him into the room and swung the door shut behind him. “Have a seat on the couch, we’ve got a few minutes.”

She was going to keep this professional and dignified. All she had to do was get through the next forty-five minutes and then this would be over. Fifty if she took in time for ads and brief intermission in the middle.

“You can call me Rowan, you know,” he said as he took up an easy position on the couch. His silver hair was, as usual, perfectly styled and left his handsome face on display. “After the restaurant and everything.”

Aelin had to fight to keep from glaring too much at him. Though she did end up pursing her lips tightly enough that her lipstick was definitely going to smudge.

“I think we should agree to never talk about that night. Ever.” True nothing that embarrassing had come of it, other than a hit to Aelin’s pride, but talking about it would only lead to more people hearing about it. And she really didn’t trust Whitethorn not to tease her about it. Besides, talking about getting stood up by a guy she’d wasted too much time on, to Whitethorn of all people, was not something she wanted to do.

Especially considering she’d spent a great deal of time in the last week thinking about how handsome Rowan actually was.

Rowan only smiled as he watched her shuffle her notes and papers. Aelin knew if she met his gaze that she would let something slip so she avoided eye contact. She'd gotten good at that.

"If you need water, there's a mini fridge under that end table,” Aelin told him. “Or I can get you a coffee real quick?”

“Water’s fine,” Rowan said. He reached for the fridge and pulled out one of the plastic bottles chilling. “I'm curious though, did you forgive the man who stood you up? Or did he have a reasonable explanation?"

"It's none of your business," Aelin replied stiffly. This was a mistake. Maybe she could call Elide in here to act as a buffer. "Do you want a look at some of the questions I have planned or are you okay going in blind?"

Rowan shrugged. "I'm always up for a bit of fun."

Aelin didn't have a response for that so she spent the last few minutes until airing explaining to Rowan how the microphone worked. He could mute himself if he needed to cough or anything like that, but ultimately, she had control over sounds volume and everything along those lines.

"Do your worst," he told her as she opened the podcast.

"Welcome to Terrasen, listeners and readers alike," Aelin said, still glaring at Rowan. "As you know, today's session is going to be extra fun and special as we have Rowan Whitethorn with us for the first time. I know many of you have asked about having him on the show as well as have been interested in what he's been working on recently, so here we are."

She paused for a brief moment in preparation. "Rowan, thanks so much for taking the time to join us today."

"Thanks, Aelin," he said, leaning into the mic just a little. His accent lilted in that familiar way and he looked far too at ease sitting across from her. His watch clicked happily along on his wrist catching the light as he clasped his hands together. "It's good to be here. I've been a long-time listener."

Liar. "Really? What have been some of your favorite episodes?" She'd catch him out and not feel the least bit sorry for it either.

"Well, the series about what makes a romance book was rather interesting, I have to say. Especially your comments on smut," he grinned at her and Aelin flipped him of. At least this wasn't a video session too.

"I like a bit of fun," she dryly, throwing his own words back at him. "Good to know what keeps you entertained."

"Oh, I like hiking too."

"Right," Aelin snatched on to that with the sole goal of getting out of the current conversation. "Which is something you grew up doing a lot of right? You grew up in Scottland?"

"Aye, just outside of Edinburgh," Rowan said. "Moved to America when I was seventeen, but most of my summers I went back to stay with my cousins."

"Do you miss it?" Aelin asked. "From what I've read in your books the landscape the history, the people, it's all so beautiful and wonderful and rich."

"Aye," Rowan ran a hand over his chin. "It'll always be a part of me. My da taught me everything about the outdoors and nature and adventuring as he could before he passed, that's why I moved to America. So my mum could be near family. And growing up without him just left a hole in my heart, y'know? So writing and research just turned into a way for me to remember him.”

Aelin tried to ignore the effect of his words. She knew what that was like exactly.

“Right,” she agreed, “sometimes telling stories is the best way to remember someone, or something.”

Rowan met her gaze again and something flashed in his eyes as he nodded his agreement.

“Plus, it’s an easy way to relieve stress,” he added. “With all the research I’ve done, y’know I spent every day for three months training with a group of tae kwon do specialists just to learn how to describe one fight scene properly?”

From there, it was easy for Aelin to continue asking him about writing and research and why he’d chosen non-fiction to begin with. Just like the night at the restaurant—it was far to easy to talk to him. Far too easy to have this simple, easy-going conversation with him.

In fact, it had been a long time since she’d been able to talk like this to anyone. Which, maybe wasn’t a good thing. Most of this was scripted anyways not to mention Rowan had done plenty of other interviews and certainly had many of these responses memorized.

Hell.

She’d started reading too much into this.

“So,” Aelin said as they were nearing the end of the segment. “I’m still surprised you actually made the leap in to fiction—fantasy no less. And with a lead character like Celaena Sardothien.”

“You’re surprised I can write a female main character?” Rowan chuckled. He’d rolled up the sleeves to his shirt a while ago, one of his arms in a full tattoo sleeve. She couldn’t understand whatever language the majority of the tattoos were in but she did recognize a few Gaelin words and symbols in the mix.

“Well, yes.”

“C’mon, Galathynius,” he said, “even you have to admit you liked my book. I did a good job. Especially with Celaena.”

“Do I though? You should see all the marks I made on the manuscript.” In truth there weren’t very many, at least not as many as she had given in the past. But she would add some if it would shut him up.

“The book hits all your favorite tropes,” Rowan said. He wore that all knowing smirk of his that had been infuriating (and fine, fascinating) her for the last forty-five minutes.

“How do you even know what I like?”

Rowan chuckled, a sound that hit Aelin like a shot to the heart. “We’ve been friends for five years.”

“We’re not friends,” Aelin corrected, but there was no malice in her words.

“Please Galathynius,” he insisted, “you like me.”

“Shut up Whitethorn.” Aelin muted him as burst into laughter and she had to fight to keep her own voice even as she addressed her listeners. “We’ve just had a great conversation with novelist, Rowan Whitethorn about his upcoming high fantast adventure Dead Man’s Game which will be released on November fifteenth. Thanks for listening friends, we’ll see you next time.”

She made all the necessary clicks and flicks to shut the mics down properly and just like that the segment was over. Looking up, Aelin scowled at Rowan. She’d been doing that a lot hadn’t she?

“Seriously?” she asked.

“Are we really not friends?” Rowan finally leaned back in his seat. Even that small bit of distance was enough that Aelin felt she could finally take a breath of air.

The table between them wasn’t even that big but being close to him had put her heart in overdrive and made her mind feel like a pile of mush.

“Whitethorn,” she said, ignoring his small eyeroll at the use of his last name, “we both know the extent of our “relationship” has been insulting each other.”

That made him pause and another look flashed across his features, one Aelin couldn’t identify. But it made her squirm all the same. So, she launched herself out of her seat. She didn’t want to think about anything beyond being done with this segment and maybe having some peace of mind.

“It was a live session,” she told him, “so you can listen to it whenever. I think Dorian had a few extra things he needed to get you relating to your edits.”

Aelin needed to shut down whatever emotions were cutting through her. It wouldn’t do good to dwell on them or Rowan longer than necessary. This was just a passing occurrence. Eventually he would leave their publishing house—or get so big as a name that he couldn’t be bothered with her silly little podcast.

Not that she cared. Or that it mattered.

Slowly, Rowan stood from his seat, his eyes trained on her. “Do I get your edits?”

Aelin blinked. “What?”

“Your edits? All the notes and thoughts you had on the manuscript?” He didn’t move to leave like she expected him to. He just kept waiting for her answer.

“I—” she paused. “You really want them?”

“Of course,” he said, “your thoughts have always been invaluable to me.”

She’d never really understand that word: invaluable. Oh she knew what it meant and that Rowan said it as a compliment, but it had always struck her as an asinine and bland way of describing somethings true worth. Rowan regarded her with such sincerity that Aelin was already reaching for the giant stack of papers from where she’d left it on the edge of her desk.

For some reason, she was hesitant on giving him the pages. It wasn’t like she’d struggled with this before. As she held the manuscript out for him, however, she felt shy. And Aelin damned Galathynius was not shy. Mala above.

“Ignore what you don’t like,” she said, just as she always did.

“Thank-you,” Rowan said. He tucked the papers into his arm and, finally, retreated for the door.

“Wh—” Aelin paused mentally cursing herself, “Rowan?”

He turned, hand on the doorknob.

“Where did Celaena’s character come from?” she asked, it was the one question they didn’t get into during the interview, but the one that intrigued her most. “She’s brilliant, strong, and has to be inspired by someone. Who?”

A small smile quirked one side of his lips as he pushed the door open. “I thought it was obvious.”

And then he was out the door, swallowed up by a shout from Dorian calling him into his office.

Aelin could only stare after him. And just like the night of that insufferable date—she was left confused and uncertain about what his words actually meant.

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Tumblr is not allowing me to tag anyone right now, so if you could reblog to increase exposure, I would so very much appreciate it! <3

#rowaelin #rowaelin month #rowaelinmonth #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan

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mariaofdoranelle · 1 year

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Daydreaming About You

Rowaelin Month masterlist

@rowaelinscourt

Some of you may know this as the Teacher AU, the first fic I ever wrote! This story has a soft spot in my heart, but not its writing 🤣🤣 so I got tired of complaining and rewrote it. I still feel like something’s off HAHAHAHAH but the rewrite got worth sharing.

Warnings: mature talk, but SFW

Words: 1,6k

Rowan’s ass looked absolutely delicious today.

This classroom had a privileged view of one of the fields he used to teach his P.E. classes, and as the class’ monarch for the next forty minutes or so, Aelin decided to give her students an activity in pairs and subtly enjoy the sight.

His eyes were hidden by the cap, but she knew he was watching the students play like a hawk. The best part was when he ran along with them. His legs, as big as tree trunks, deserved all the appreciation Aelin gave them, and she couldn’t even begin to describe the sinful way his uniform’s trunks hugged his ass. His sweat was beginning to make Rowan’s shirt cling to his torso, defining his big, rock-hard muscles—

A throat-clearing made her jump on her seat, not expecting any student to seek her so soon.

“Sorry to interrupt, Miss G.” Evangeline’s smirk was way too wide for Aelin’s liking.

Feigning neutrality, she took the paper from the girl’s hand. “You finished that soon?”

“Yeah, yeah.” The girl waved her off. “Is it true that Mr. Whitethorn and Mr. Salvaterre are exes?”

“What? That’s ridicu—“ Aelin stopped mid-sentence, squinting her eyes at her student. “You know I shouldn’t talk about his personal life like this, Evangeline.”

She focused on another student who just got there, standing beside his classmate. Luca was looking out the window with wide eyes, his mouth ajar before he said, “When I grow up, I want to be just like Mr. Whitethorn.”

Aelin smiled, always pleased to see how much her students admired him, when she asked, “Reliable and efficient?”

”No. Jacked.”

Her mouth opened, then she snapped it shut, too afraid of voicing the things inside her head.

Aelin didn’t like to show to the students that her and Rowan were friends, let alone that she had a massive crush on him. Still, they caught up on it. Those little terrors always did.

It was no secret that Aelin and Rowan were best friends. Or that there were speculations about them. Some students even called them Rowaelin, for Mala’s sake. Rowan never expressed his opinion on the matter, and Aelin was secretly pleased people could see herself with him that easily, even though that kind of attention wasn’t appreciated.

The limits of what’s accepted inside a workplace gets far more flexible when it’s filled with teenagers, hence why some intriguing things tend to happen from time to time. For example, when they were the talk of the week because some students spread a picture of Rowan making poorly-interpreted heart eyes at her.

Truth was, Aelin’s love life would be a lot easier if Rowan was half as interested in her as people in this school suggested.

After the last class, she found Rowan and Fenrys, a math teacher, talking near the garage.

“Hey!” Fenrys greeted with his trademark grin on. “The Vaults tonight? I need a wingman.”

“You never really need a wingman.” Aelin wrinkled her nose. “And I have a bunch of papers to grade tonight.”

“But we had so much fun last time.” Fenrys leaned against the wall, arms crossed and a teasing gleam in his eye. “What about the guy from last week?”

“What guy from last week?” Rowan cut in, frowning with a strained expression.

"No one," she dismissed him before asking Fenrys about some school gossip. Guy From Last Week didn't get further than texting, and she wasn't in the mood to put up with Rowan's protectiveness over her love life.

Dating was easy until sophomore year of college. More precisely, until The Great Gatsbeer Party, when Aelin offered herself in a platter for him and was brutally turned down. But conversation kept going, and he soon became her best friend and favorite person.

She had been in love with him for years, so what? Aelin adapted, like she always did.

Rowan and Aelin were side by side, walking towards his car in the boisterous garage, loud with the chatter of students and parents who parked to get the little ones.

"I didn't know there was a guy from last week."

Aelin gave him a pointed look. "There was a guy from last week. We texted a little, he told me Taylor Swift is overrated, I ghosted."

"Okay.'" He darted a quick glance her way. "Sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

She snorted, finding some sort of amusement in Rowan's unease. "Yes, you did."

"Wanna grade papers together, then?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Sure. And Mario Kart when we're done."

Aelin wasn't the biggest Mario Kart fan, but it became their thing over time. She was competitive enough to get a thrill when she's playing, and Rowan liked it a lot.

Rowan absolutely hated Mario Kart.

He wasn't as into video games as Aelin, but he loved to watch it when she shouted in front of the screen or threatened to end his bloodline when she's losing.

She's such a sore loser, his Fireheart.

A loud moan coming from the kitchen interrupted his thoughts.

“I love you."

Rowan closed his eyes, trying to calm down his boiling blood. He could deal with the love declaration, but not the moaning.

"Aelin, stop flirting with the cake," he shouted, making sure she'd hear him from the other room.

They'd decided she'd grab something to eat while he got the video game ready, and now Rowan was just waiting for her.

He wandered around her living room, analyzing her decoration for the millionth time, but only stopped when he got to his favorite piece.

A framed pamphlet of the party they met, his housewarming gift to her a few years back. Reminiscing about that life-altering day always brought a smile to his face.

“Aelin Galathynius. Hi.” She was swaying, but found her balance again by supporting herself against the wall. Aelin’s expression was earnest when she said, “I find we’re equally hot, and now I’m yearning to sing the passionate chant of the sacred nuptial rite with you.” Rowan was stunned silent, but she still extended a hand to him before announcing, “And I’d be honored to caress your one-eyed trouser snake.”

Rowan shaked his head, chuckling at Aelin's antics in college.

In his darkest moments, Rowan cursed himself for not making any kind of romantic advance, since he did nothing but talk to her and make sure she didn't do something she'd regret the next day. But at the same time, at least he didn't become one of the many men she got bored of after a few weeks and discarded.

She was so picky with the people she got romantically involved with, letting them go for the smallest reasons such as playing Mario Kart with Waluigi, Rowan probably ruined his chances with her at least twice a day.

He sighed, leaving her bookcase to sit back on the couch. There would be no getting over her with his daily dose of Aelin's tight skirts and sweet smiles, and Rowan was too weak to keep enough distance to not be in love with her.

If Aelin wasn't interested in him sober, he had no choice but to pine after her for the rest of his life.

His attention drifted to her coffee table, noticing her kindle didn't have its case on. Again. Typical Aelin. He grabbed the case to put it back on the device—

Rowan froze when he read the book cover.

Friends with Kinky Benefits.

With an increased pulse, he looked around to make sure Aelin wasn't close and turned the kindle on, curious.

It seemed to be just a story about a girl longing to find the dom of her dreams, who ends up having sex with her guy best friend—and lots of toys—over and over again, for almost 200 pages.

Holy rutting Mala, is this what she gets off on?

Rowan skimmed through the book, electrified with a newfound line of thought.

Is this something she daydreams about? Aelin could ask him if that's the case, no need to be shy. Rowan's feelings for her were deep and romantic, yes, but he was still a man. Even when taking a purely physical step with Aelin would inevitably break his heart

"Buzzard..."

He jerked towards her, barely breathing with the awareness that he was caugh red-handed snooping in her kindle. But Aelin looked stiff, her eyes darting between him and the kindle. "What're you doing?"

Rowan relaxed a little realizing a moment later that in Aelin's head, she's in a worse position than he is.

He smirked. "I always knew your books are steamy, but I never expected them to be so kinky too."

Those words were enough to make Aelin regain her movements, and she flung herself towards him. "Give me that!"

Rowan wasn't quite sure what made her so flustered, but he flailed his arm around, preventing him from getting the kindle back.

"But I was just beginning to understand how a cock cage works!" he mock-complained.

“Fuck you!”

With that, Aelin jumped at him on the couch while Rowan tried to hide the kindle behind him. To get the thing from behind his back, she pulled his hair and that's when time slowed down.

Aelin was straddling his thighs on the couch. One hand connected with his, both holding the kindle, and the other roughly grabbing a fistful of his hair.

Rowan's heartbeat became erratic, and Aelin didn't look much better. Her lips were parted, her skin flushed. She blinked, her eyes searching for him as he desperately looked for any cue in her. A hint, a green light, an invitation.

He leaned in, giving her time to recoil. She didn't.

A tiny bead of sweat broke from her temple, running down her jaw and throat in a path Rowan longed to trace with his tongue.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb, another hint of his next step before he—

The crickets of Aelin's ringtone shattered their moment, and seeing who the caller was made Rowan's muscles tense.

He was going to kill Fenrys.

A/N: @leiawritesstories and I are probably the only people who care about this fic so far, so I sneaked an inside joke ours in there. So this A/N is a little nod to Leia. iykyk. Ily Leia.

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#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver galathynius #throne of glass #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass fanfic #rowaelin month

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leiawritesstories · 10 months

Text

PART FIVE: MAY

First of all: the biggest, most heartfelt thank you to everyone who has been reading this AU. you have my heart, as angst-loving as it is, and your responses are everything to me :))

Second note: this chapter is ridiculously long, and I do apologize for the insanely long chapters... but also there is SMUT AHEAD!!! if you're not here for sexual content, stop at "Their exit from the archery range" and skip down to "It was May 25" and know that not wanting to read smut does not make any difference and i will always appreciate you reading :) okay I will stop rambling now

Word count: 10.4k (whoops...)

Warnings: swearing, weapons, crime talk, made-up police stuff, badly concealed horniness, fighting, flirting disguised as archery, SO much innuendo, and smut! NSFW!!

Enjoy!!

Masterlist

Read on AO3

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

“Happy birthday, boss lady!” Elide cheered, pulling the blindfold from Aelin’s eyes with a flourish. “You can’t run back to your apartment now, so sit on down and enjoy a dinner that you aren’t paying for.”

“You’re the worst best friend, El,” Aelin complained, but she was beaming. “I thought I specifically told you nothing over-the-top.”

Elide shrugged. “You don’t turn twenty-seven every day, Ae, and it’s about damn time you took an evening off. Plus, Aedion would be griping all night if he got dragged out of work for you not to show up.” She wrapped her arms around the taller woman. “Happy birthday.”

“Fine, fine.” Aelin hugged her second-in-command fiercely. “Thanks, El.”

Gavriel was next in line, his hug stealing her breath. “Happy birthday, Aelin. Though I think I’m the one who deserves a present for getting my son here.”

She snickered. “I’ll buy you a drink or something. Thank you for being here.”

“Anytime.” He flashed her a cunning little grin. “I’d never miss a chance to see my beautiful, sharp-witted niece turn my best lieutenant into a tongue-tied mess.”

“Gav!” She swatted his shoulder. “You’re more meddling than Elide, Lys, and Ansel all together, I swear.” He just smirked and returned to his seat, leaving her to be swallowed up by Aedion’s embrace.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you without your lab coat in years, Aedy,” she teased.

“Shut up,” he grumbled. “It’s a special occasion.”

“Mhmmm,” she hummed, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively at Lysandra.

Aedion blushed an endearing shade of pink. “So what if we happen to sit next to each other? It’s a private party, little miss birthday girl.”

“Not that private,” she snickered, dodging his outraged squawk and smack. “Love you too, Aeds.”

“You’re the worst.” He groaned, but he was grinning.

Lysandra raised a perfectly threaded brow. “Do I want to know what that was about?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Aelin smirked. “What? My birthday present can be you and Aedy fu—”

“No!” Lys clapped her hand over Aelin’s mouth. “If you get to say things like that, then I get to ask you when you and Whitethorn are going to bang. If you haven’t already.” It was her turn to wiggle her eyebrows.

Aelin’s face heated. “Pretend I never said anything.”

“That’s my birthday bad bitch.” Lys adjusted one of Aelin’s curls. “Now go say hi to the man who hasn’t taken his smitten eyes off you since you walked in here in a dress to bring him to his knees.” She patted Aelin’s ass as she walked away.

Aelin breathed deeply, closing her eyes for a few seconds.

“Done with the party already?” Rowan’s voice broke her out of her snatch of silence. “We can probably sneak out the staff door.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she replied, finally meeting his appreciative gaze. “Hi, Ro.”

“Hi.” His eyes trailed down her body, admiration lighting his face at the way her tailored gold sheath dress molded to every angle and curve of her frame. “That is one hell of a dress, Ae.”

“Thanks.” Just to tease him, she did a slow spin, reveling in his sharp gasp as he drank in the deep V-cut of the back that highlighted the ink flowing down her spine.

“I didn’t know you had a spine piece,” he said in a soft, gravelly rasp.

A dangerously lazy smile curved across her maroon-stained lips. “I keep it hidden while I’m at work. Professionalism and all that.”

“Oh, you mean the fire-breathing dragon screaming up your spine isn’t professional?” He chuckled. “It’s…incredible. Where’d you get it done?”

“I know a guy,” she said, deliberately cryptic.

He bit back a sigh. “Does this guy have a name and a place of work?”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to arrest my tattoo artist for touching my back with my full consent while he did my tattoo.”

“I’m not.” A grin flashed across his face. “I’m just going to make him squirm a little.”

She chuckled. “You’re impossible. How about we make a deal? You overlook the simple reality that someone had to give me this tattoo, and you can see how lovely of a contrast it makes with my sheets.”

Rowan inhaled sharply, dark flames smoldering in his eyes. “The tattoo, or that dress?”

“I prefer not to wear clothes when I’m in my bed.” She smirked. “Don’t just stand there gasping like a fish, Ro. Escort me to dinner like the gentleman Uncle Gav thinks you are.”

“I think you’ll find that I’m not much of a gentleman, Ae.” His hand landed on the small of her back, its heat rippling deliciously up her spine.

“Good.” She lowered her voice to a whisper only he could hear. “Because I like it rough.”

Aelin barely had a chance to say goodbye to everyone after the absolutely delicious dinner, because Lysandra, Ansel, and Elide clustered around her as soon as she left the bathroom, shepherding her out the door and down the street. She only managed to wave to Rowan as she left, certain that she’d find more than one message from him waiting on her phone when she was able to look at it.

With Elide on one arm and Ansel on the other, Aelin found herself squeezed into an inescapable sandwich of her closest girls, and although she pretended to groan when Lysandra, three steps ahead, pulled open the door to the Vaults, a popular bar, she was beaming.

“Do you really think it’s the best idea to get drunk on a Tuesday?” she called over the thumping beat of the music pouring through the surround-sound speaker system.

Lys rolled her eyes. “It’s your birthday, bitch! You can decide tomorrow is a remote workday!”

“Shots!” Elide squealed, flagging down the closest bartender and rapidly ordering a whole string of drinks. “I’ve got this round, ladies.”

“I’m scared,” Aelin teased, sliding into the closest open booth. “If Ells is buying, I might just pass out now.”

“Fuck off,” Elide laughed, smacking Aelin’s shoulder. “We both know you’re only going to drink enough to get yourself ready to go jump on Whitethorn’s di—”

“Stop!” Aelin squawked, clamping her hand over Elide’s mouth. She composed herself and winked wickedly at the petite woman. “I don’t need liquid courage to do that, Ells.”

“My gods, you are the worst.” Ansel groaned dramatically. “Add that to the list of things your lawyer should never hear.”

“Thought you weren’t my lawyer for tonight,” Aelin shot back, grinning.

The redhead laughed. “Fair enough. Ooh, the drinks are here!” She took the tray from the bartender and passed the cocktails and shot glasses around the table. “Cheers, birthday girl!”

Aelin clinked her shot with the girls and tossed it back effortlessly, only grimacing a little bit at the burn of straight vodka. “Fuck, El! A little warning next time?”

Elide snickered gleefully. “Why?” The song changed, and she perked up, clapping. “I love this song!” She took a long pull of her cocktail, draining nearly half of it, and grabbed Aelin’s hand. “Come on, birthday bitch! We’re dancing!” She tugged Aelin out onto the crowded dancefloor without waiting for her to protest.

“You’re lucky I have alcohol in me,” Aelin giggled as she wedged herself into the sea of swaying bodies next to Elide. “God, I missed being able to do this.”

“All the more reason to—ah shit. Behind you, Ae.”

“What?” Aelin turned, following Elide’s dark brown glare, and found, to her unpleasant surprise, a rather drunk Sam Cortland less than two feet away. Burning hell.

“Hey,” Sam called over the music, surprisingly coherent for the glassiness of his eyes. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Because the stick up my ass is too big?” Aelin asked sweetly.

Sam coughed. “Well, um, because you—because it’s a Tuesday?”

“Liar.” She snorted. “A woman is allowed to go out on her birthday, y’know.”

“Happy bir’day,” he offered, trying his best to disguise his sneer.

“I’d say thanks, but you don’t really deserve my manners.” She flashed him an angelically sweet grin. “Fuck off, Cortland.”

“Bitch,” he grunted.

Aelin’s eyes flashed with a dangerous gleam. “What was that?”

Elide grabbed her arm. “Don’t you fucking dare,” she hissed, her command cutting through Aelin’s alcohol-loosened fury. “He’s not worth it, and you’re Aelin right now.”

Aelin blinked, snapping herself out of the thoughts of violence. “Right. Okay.” She turned her back to Sam—who had wisely chosen to slither away, hopefully leaving the bar—just in time for Ansel and Lys to appear with more shots, these ones electric blue.

“Cheers!” Lys yelled, tapping her small glass to Aelin’s and throwing back the shot. Aelin laughed and followed suit, exhaling sharply at the strength of the tiny glass of alcohol.

“Lyssie, if I’m hungover tomorrow, I’m blaming you!”

“Oh, calm down,” Lys snickered. “It won’t knock you out.”

Aelin snorted in disbelief, then caught Lys’s arm before she could head back to the bar. “It’s our song, Lys! C’mon, dance!”

Lys laughed and jumped into the knot of dancers, shaking her hips the way she used to back in college when she and Aelin would hit five different bars a night on the weekends. “Still got it!”

After so many songs that Aelin’s feet were starting to cramp, the women finally half-stumbled off the dance floor and headed out of the bar, gulping down the fresh night air as they stepped out into the street.

“Fuck, it gets so stuffy in there,” Aelin complained. She shivered. “And it’s cold!”

“It is not, you little wimp,” Ansel said, poking Aelin in the side. “You just wish that man of yours was here to whip his jacket around you like a gentleman.”

“Mmm, I wouldn’t mind that,” Aelin hummed, smirking wickedly. “You know what happens after a man gives you his jacket.”

“You are the worst.” Ansel shoved her lightly. “Again, things you should never fucking ever tell your lawyer: whose bones you plan to jump.”

“If I make it home,” Aelin grumbled.

“You ladies need a ride home?” Out of nowhere, Sam Cortland appeared in front of them, his eyes still glassy with alcohol haze and an oily smirk painted across his face.

“Fuck off, Cortland,” Elide retorted, folding her arms across her chest. “You aren’t anywhere near fit to drive, anyway.”

“And I wouldn’t willingly get into a car with you if it was the last option on Earth,” Aelin added.

Sam scowled. “Have it your way, then.” He stalked off, heading down the nearby alley. “Fuckin’ whore,” he muttered, thinking he was far enough away for her not to hear.

She heard. And she followed him, her heels clicking with dangerous precision against the sidewalk. “Want to repeat that, scumbag?”

He stopped, whirled around, and apparently decided he had a death wish. “I said, you’re a fucking whore.”

Her fist smashed into his smug little grin with an immensely satisfying crunch. “Take that, you sleazy bastard,” she growled.

Sam screeched, pressed his hands into his rapidly swelling face, and moaned pitifully. “You bit–”

She kneed him in the groin, and when he doubled over, whimpering, she slammed her knee into the side of his head. His eyes rolled back, and he slumped to the ground, unconscious. She and Elide—who had followed her, of course— maneuvered his limp, unresisting body into the shadows of the alley and left him there.

“No, Aelin, you can’t kill him yet,” Elide reminded her, catching the taller woman’s wrist.

Aelin sighed dramatically. “But it’s my birthday!”

“So what?”

“So no murder in plain sight.” Ansel cut in.

“You’re no fun,” Aelin sighed. “Fine.” She delivered one last kick to Sam’s groin. “I wonder if he felt that.”

Elide snorted. “And this is where I drag you off before you ruin your life by being hauled off to jail on your birthday.” Wrapping one arm around Aelin’s waist, she directed her back onto the sidewalk and away from the shadowy alleyway. “How about we finish the night at your place?”

Aelin perked up. “I’ll make margaritas!”

She was ordering an Uber before Elide could protest that they’d all already drunk half their body mass in alcohol that night.

Just birthday girl things.

Kaltain Rompier tapped her black acrylic nails against her iPad screen, idly waiting for the guy who’d texted her last night (after weeks of absolute silence) to show up. He said he’d be there right at eleven, and it was almost at the point where she was about to leave.

“Shit, sorry I’m late.” Sam Cortland dropped into the seat opposite hers as her office door closed with a soft click. “Didn’t get out of the damn meeting until ten minutes ago.”

“Mhmm, right, I forgot how important you businessmen were.” Her reply was acerbic.

He sighed, sheepish. “I’m really sorry, Kal.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” She picked up her stylus pencil and tapped it against the blank screen. “You’re here to give me a story, Cortland.” She glanced at him, noticing for the first time since he’d rushed into her office that he looked a good deal worse for wear. “Does your story have anything to do with the fact that you look like shit?”

“It’s because Aelin fucking punched me,” he griped.

Kaltain’s brows shot up. “Aelin…Galathynius?”

“Yeah.” Sam scoffed. “Dressed up like a fuckin’ slut last night. I ran into her at a bar; she was out with some people I didn’t recognize, and when I tried to buy her a drink, she laughed in my face.”

“Laughing doesn’t leave black eyes, Cortland,” Kaltain returned dryly.

“I haven’t got to the part where she punched me.” He scowled, the aggrieved expression drawing attention to the vivid bruising encircling his right eye and the scattered smaller bruises and little flecks of scratches on his face. “I left the damn bar before she did, ended up taking a call outside the place, and I was there when she and her friends left, all drunk and stumbling. So I did what any decent guy would do and offered to drive them home, and Aelin punched me in the goddamn face.” He was practically raving by the end of his little rant.

“You offered to drive Aelin Galathynius home?” Kaltain repeated, stylus flying over her iPad as she took notes. She chuckled. “Cortland, the woman probably has more than one driver. Not to mention that by all accounts, she’s so not interested in you that she bought your company.”

He shrugged. “Sounds like interest to me.”

“Yeah, for her bank account,” she snorted. “Anything else for the story, Cortland?”

“Just that I woke up in a goddamn alley like this.” His frown dug a deep groove between his eyebrows. “That bitch.”

“If you don’t have anything else for the story, get the hell out.” Kaltain set down her stylus, got up, and opened the door. “We’re not spending any more time together, or did you not mean it that way?” Her saccharine smile made Sam cringe.

“Kal–I–I didn’t–”

“Yes you did.” She pointed out into the hallway. “You’ve given me a good story, Cortland. Now get your fancy little ass back to Daddy’s office.” Pissed, Sam roughly stood up and stalked out of her office, muttering something about stupid bitch under his breath.

She almost pitied the man. Someday, his misogyny would get him into a tight little corner that he couldn’t crawl his way out of. But there was a column waiting to be written—a particularly sordid one, just what the public was craving—and she couldn’t let his chauvinism get in the way of her job.

The article dropped late that afternoon, and Kaltain came into work the next morning still grinning, still riding the high of an instantly viral article. Maybe being a gossip columnist wasn’t always the most rewarding job, but the times when she got to see her work splashed all over the internet were…euphoric. The short hallway leading to her office was quiet, as usual, and she was buried so far in the notifications she hadn’t read that she didn’t notice that the whole floor was also quiet.

Only when she strolled into her office and dropped her shoulder bag into someone else’s lap did she realize that she wasn’t alone.

“Good morning, Miss Rompier.” The voice was female, throaty, slightly raspy, and utterly devoid of pleasantry.

Slowly, Kaltain dragged her gaze from her desk to the lean, masked and hooded, black-clad figure lounging in the other chair, black combat boots propped carelessly on the low bookshelf beside the desk. “What is this? Who are you?” Instinctively, she reached for her belt, where she always kept a tiny can of pepper spray.

“Not so fast, Miss Rompier.” The masked woman lifted her chin, and Kaltain felt a hard, heavy hand close around her wrists in a vice-like grip. “We’re going to have a little chat about the article you just posted.”

“I–” Before Kaltain could protest, a needle pricked at the back of her neck, and everything faded to black.

She awoke in a dimly lit room that smelled faintly of mildew, sitting in a wooden chair with her hands bound behind her back. Her head throbbed, her neck was stiff, and her heartbeat raced with adrenaline and terror. Where the hell was she?

“Good to see you awake, Miss Rompier.” The woman who’d had her drugged and kidnapped sat across from her, the dim overhead light throwing shadows across her still-masked face.

“Who the hell are you?” Kaltain snapped.

The woman chuckled softly, a lethal, raspy breath that sent ominous shivers down Kaltain’s spine. “My name is Celaena.”

Fuck. “And why do you give a shit if one of those filthy rich people you supposedly hate is featured in one of my columns, Celaena?”

“Because it’s not time for that quite yet.” Celaena clicked her tongue. “Don’t ask questions you don’t actually want answered, Miss Rompier. Aelin Galathynius needs to stay out of the tabloids for now, but…” She trailed off, absentmindedly dancing a throwing star across her gloved knuckles. “But I rather liked how you didn’t hesitate to drag her through the muck.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Kaltain shot back, feeling defensive.

“It means that when it’s time, I want you to publish every dirty little detail that I send you.”

Kaltain narrowed her eyes, still suspicious. “You’re taking down Galathynius?”

Celaena shrugged. “Again, don’t ask questions you don’t want answered. The wrong things could get you killed, Miss Rompier.” She leaned in close enough for Kaltain to see the glint of steel hiding beneath her sleeves. “I wasn’t planning to kill you, but I’m not afraid to do it.”

“You–you’ll send me everything you want published?”

“Every single sordid detail.”

Slowly, Kaltain nodded. “Alright. What do you want me to do now?”

“All of them?” Rowan dropped his blue-light glasses on his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose in a feeble attempt to stave off the headache.

“All of them, sir,” Luca confirmed. “Three years of tabloid history wiped clean, and it appears that practically every mention of the recent Galathynius article is being scrubbed from the internet.”

“How the fuck is that happening?” Rowan demanded. “The damn column should have left such a large footprint by now that we’d be able to find it even though the original publisher took it down.”

Luca chewed his lower lip. “I…I don’t know, sir.”

Rowan swore viciously under his breath. “Get me Kaltain Rompier’s address, Luca.”

“One sec.” Luca rapidly typed something into his laptop, then scribbled down a few words on a plain yellow sticky note. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Rowan grabbed the note, threw his jacket over his shoulder, snatched his keys from the wall, and strode out to the garage. His mind was whirling with a hundred different theories about why the viral gossip article about Aelin Galathynius’s recent, rather colorful, night out had abruptly vanished from the internet, along with the last three years of the columnist’s history.

Half-baked ideas churned through his brain with dizzying speed, and Kaltain Rompier was a crucial part of all of them.

Within twenty minutes, he had pulled up to the building where Kaltain worked, parked in a visitor spot, and made sure his badge was easily visible. He strode into the office, took the elevator to the floor where her tabloid was located, and pushed open the front doors with little effort.

“I’d like a few minutes to speak to Kaltain, please,” he said to the young woman at the front desk.

The young woman’s huge blue eyes grew wider, and her hand trembled as she pointed wordlessly down the hall. “Th–that way, Officer.”

“Thank you.” He knew he was being a dick, but he headed away without saying anything else.

Kaltain Rompier was sitting at her desk typing away on her laptop when he knocked twice at the half-open door and let himself in.

She muffled a shriek, hands flying to her throat. “What the hell?!”

Rowan raised his empty hands in a show of approachability. “Kaltain Rompier?”

The columnist slowly sank back into her seat. “That’s me.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Are you going to tell me why the goddamn cops are here?”

“It’s just me.” He sat down in the chair opposite hers. “I have a couple of questions about your most recent article, if you don’t mind.”

Her expression shuttered. “I took it down, Mr…what should I call you?”

“‘Lieutenant’ is fine. I’m not police, I’m TSF.”

She nodded. “I took down the article, Lieutenant.”

“Why?” He leaned slightly forward, waiting for an answer to the question that had plagued him ever since PD had received notice that Kaltain had gone missing. That was five days ago. He’d feared that there would be another victim in the never-ending string of homicides, but she was sitting there in front of him, alive and well if a little shaken from his sudden appearance in her office.

“It was…” Kaltain sighed. “I’m a gossip columnist, Lieutenant, which means that my job is to dig up people’s dirty little secrets and make them public. I’ve never seen the true ugliness of it until I wrote that piece on Aelin Galathynius and instantly hated myself.”

Rowan blinked. “You wrote a tabloid article on Aelin Galathynius, based on whatever source you could find, and that made you…guilty?”

“It made me realize how awful the tabloid industry is,” Kaltain murmured. “It’s not like I haven’t seen the tabloids about Ms. Galathynius that have floated around, but she’s so…so highly regarded, and the tabloids have always been obviously contrived. What I wrote…it wasn’t.”

“What was your source?”

“Sam Cortland,” she admitted.

Rowan froze, pieces clicking together before his eyes. “Who?”

“Sam Cortland of Cortland Advertising,” Kaltain repeated, a tinge of bitterness clouding her tone. “He showed up at my office with a hell of a black eye and a hell of a story, and I wrote and sold it without even thinking until it was done.”

“I see.” Closing his notepad, Rowan stood up. “Will you still be working here, or are you going to seek something else?”

“I’m trying to get a real journalist job,” the columnist replied. “I just…I don’t want to feel grimy like this all the time anymore.”

Rowan nodded. “Well, best of luck.” He moved towards the door. “One more thing. You were missing for several days, Miss Rompier. Why was that?”

“Family emergency,” she admitted, a haunted look flickering through her eyes. “I had a friend drive me to the airport. Didn’t trust myself to drive safely.”

“My apologies.” Rowan stepped out into the hallway. “Thanks for letting me drop in on you, Miss Rompier, and good luck with your job search.” With that, he left the office, got back in his cruiser, and headed back to PD with a whole new chunk of information ready to add to his theory.

Sam Cortland.

As much as Rowan wanted to deny the ease of the truth, it made so much sense. Cortland was a petty, unhappy little man who hadn’t taken well to Gal Inc. acquiring his family’s company, and while his father, the elder Cortland and current CEO of Cortland Advertising, was adjusted to the merger, Sam was not. Apparently, he’d deemed it best to go after Aelin like a jilted ex-lover–straight to the tabloids–in a vain attempt to see her thrown out of power and popularity.

It didn’t entirely explain why Kaltain (or someone else) had scrubbed the internet clean of all traces of her article, but it was a start. And if he was correct, Kaltain’s “family emergency” hadn’t been an emergency at all, but an intervention from a certain unseen criminal–the barely-noticeable needle mark on the side of her neck spoke of something other than running to the airport at the last minute.

It seemed that Celaena Sardothien had something to gain from Aelin’s current status, and she wasn’t afraid to resort to violence to keep her schemes running.

Aelin swept one final gaze over her reflection in the full-length mirror mounted on the far wall of her expansive walk-in closet and nodded in satisfaction. Her dress–a casual but classy cap-sleeved sheath of powder-green linen that was perfect for the balmy spring evening–flowed gracefully down the lines and curves of her figure, her light makeup masked the dark shadows smeared beneath her eyes, and her hair was half-up in a wooden clip, the rest cascading in tamed waves down her back. Beige, wedge-heeled sandals added a few extra inches to her height (and cleverly concealed a pair of flat little knives), and a matching beige handbag completed the look.

If she’d agonized over every little detail of this outfit and this night for the last two weeks, it was only because she wanted to properly impress the man who should be about to knock on her door. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the increasingly filthy dreams she’d been having–featuring that very man–nor what she did when she awoke from those dreams.

As if her wandering thoughts had summoned the man, he knocked three times on her door, three firm, authoritative thuds of his fist against the thick, lacquered oak front door, and—though she would never admit it—the scrap of lace between her thighs dampened.

“You aren’t working right now, Lieutenant,” she teased as she opened the door, a grin unfolding across her face as she watched his face flicker through shock, nervousness, and anticipation.

“You’ll forgive me if it’s hard to get out of the work habits, Miss CEO,” he returned, emerald eyes glinting with humor.

“Fair enough.” She stepped backwards into her apartment. “Welcome to my humble dwelling, Rowan.”

“Humble,” he echoed, both incredulous and teasing. “This place’s rent probably costs more than my mortgage.”

Aelin flashed him a grin. “What good is my career if I can’t afford a comfortable place to live and still have some left to donate?”

“You donate?”

“I thought we’d established you weren’t working, Ro.”

He chuckled. “I’m…call it a first-date question or something. I didn’t expect you to say that.”

“Not many do,” she admitted, shifting her gaze out the window, where Orynth’s skyline was washed in gold and copper by the setting sun. “But nothing gives me more genuine pleasure than seeing the faces of every child who gets to go to school because I make more money than I can possibly spend.”

“You set up a foundation?”

“Have you heard of the Fireheart Foundation?”

Rowan’s face slackened in appreciative shock. “That’s you?”

“Well, my parents started it—‘Fireheart’ was Dad’s nickname for Mom—and I continue their legacy.” A soft flush crept up her cheeks, heating her face. “It’s not that big of a deal, Ro.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “And you distracted me so much that it’s after seven-thirty.”

“Hmm, we’d better get going, then. And by the way, it is a big deal, but I won’t bother you with that if you don’t want me to.” Easily, naturally, he laced his fingers with hers, and led her out into the hall, waiting for her to lock her door. “Close your eyes, Ae.”

“In my building?”

“Fine, as soon as we get to the car.” He pretended to sigh at her good-natured giggle.

As she clicked her seatbelt into place, she snickered. “Is it bad that I’m thinking this is some elaborate scheme to kidnap me?”

“I’m offended!” he gasped, mock-theatrical. “I’m the guy who rescues you from the big bad kidnapper, Ae, not the big bad kidnapper himself.”

“You can be the big bad something else,” she mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear.

He spluttered out a cough, his tan cheeks flaring scarlet. “Aelin!”

She just smirked. “You heard me, darling.”

“Dinner first,” he grunted, his voice more raspy than he probably intended. He managed to compose himself, and he shot her a blazingly hot gaze in the rearview mirror as he backed out of the parking garage and drove into downtown Orynth. “Then I’ll give you big bad something.”

“We’ll see about that,” she purred, her voice like silk and sin. Then she closed her eyes, smothering a wicked little chuckle that rose in her at his frustrated, half-strangled exhale.

About thirty minutes later, he stopped. “Open your eyes, Ae.”

She did. “East Orynth Sporting Range? Are you sure this isn’t a kidnapping scheme, Lieutenant?”

“Funny,” he deadpanned, hurrying around the car to open her door for her. “Have you ever done archery before, Miss Galathynius?”

“Drop the title, Lieutenant, and yes. I took lessons when I was younger—you know, like a good little rich girl.”

“Let’s see how well this good little rich girl can still shoot, then,” he murmured, the low rumble of his words dancing deliciously down her spine.

“If I miss every target, I’m blaming the lack of flexibility…in the bow, of course.” She laughed softly at his muted blush. “Maybe you’ll have to come stand behind me and guide my position.”

“Oh, I’ll guide your position, alright,” he agreed, the simmering heat of his gaze searing right through the soft linen of her dress.

“Only if necessary,” she said, taking his hand as they walked up to the entrance. Like the gentleman he was, he held the door open for her. “Thank you, Ro.”

“Anytime.” He strolled up to the check-in desk and waved at the middle-aged woman sitting at the counter. “Hey, Philippa!”

The woman’s kind face split into a crinkled, joyful smile. “Rowan Whitethorn! I haven’t seen you in years, you little troublemaker!”

“He’s a grown-up troublemaker now,” Aelin joked.

Philippa’s smile widened as she took in Aelin’s appearance and closeness to Rowan. “And who might this be, Rowan? She’s far out of your league, that I can tell.”

“This is Miss Aelin Galathynius,” Rowan said.

Philippa reached across the counter and squeezed Aelin’s hands. “Lovely to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” Aelin beamed at the maternal-looking woman. “Tell me, has Rowan really been coming here since he was a mischievous little scamp?”

“I still remember him being dragged away from the rock wall,” Philippa said, eyes twinkling.

Rowan sighed. “I suppose I’ll just go to the range while you spill all my life’s secrets, hmm?”

“I would never miss a chance to show off my little-rich-girl tricks,” Aelin returned. “Shall we?”

Philippa passed a clipboard across the desk. “Sign this, both of you, and then go on ahead. Rowan, you can show Miss Aelin everything; you know where it all is.”

Aelin signed and passed Rowan the clipboard, and he signed and handed it back to Philippa. “I’d be happy to. Thanks, Philippa.”

“Enjoy!” the older woman called, waving as the pair headed for the equipment room.

Rowan’s hand shifted to the small of Aelin’s back. “We have the range to ourselves for an hour; I convinced Philippa to let us in during what’s usually janitorial hours. Don’t worry, they don’t actually clean right now. They just use it as a built-in break.”

“How clever,” Aelin mused. “I…oh, wow!” She turned in a slow circle, sweeping her eyes over every piece of equipment that lined the neatly organized racks and walls of the equipment room. “Why didn’t my parents send me here?”

“Too afraid you’d never leave?” Rowan teased.

She swatted his shoulder playfully. “You think you’re so funny.”

“We’ll see who’s laughing when you shoot the floor.” His eyes glittered with challenge.

Aelin cracked her knuckles. “Bring it on, Robin Hood.” She perused the racks of bows, testing a few before settling on a lightweight but sturdy fiberglass recurve bow. She slung a quiver of the range’s standard blunt practice arrows over her shoulder and joined Rowan, quelling the surge of lust that flared between her legs at the sight of him with a bow slung over his shoulder.

“Satisfied with your choice, Ae?”

“Unless it performs poorly, I am.” She winked, dropping her gaze for a brief moment.

“I’ll show you poor performance,” he all but growled, leading the way into the range.

The expansive, high-ceilinged space stretched from one end of the long building to the other, with several rows of targets lined up at various distances across the turf-floored expanse. There were lines of chalk painted onto the turf, indicating where archers of different ages and heights should stand. Overhead fans blew with a low mechanical whirr, circulating the faint odor of leather and resin through the air.

Confidently, Rowan took a stance at one of the white lines, nocked an arrow, aimed his bow, took a breath, and released the arrow on the exhale. It sliced cleanly through the air and embedded itself in the tiny red bulls-eye of one of the mid-distance targets.

Aelin whistled. “Impressive.” She took her own stance three spaces away from him. “I’d tell you what that sight did to me, but then we’d never make it out of here.”

His next shot, which he’d been releasing as she spoke, shuddered and went wide, landing in an outer ring of the target. “Distraction is a cheap trick, Ae.”

“Who said this was a competition?” With a sweet smile, she shook out her arms and legs, planted her feet in a stance that her muscles had never fully forgotten—hell, who was she kidding? She’d maintained that skill, and it had come in handy more than once as she built the Boss’s empire—fitted an arrow to the taut string of her bow, aimed, and let it fly. The arrow whistled through the air and thudded cleanly into her target, exactly where she had aimed.

“Maybe it really has been too long,” Rowan teased, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes as he looked at where her arrow had landed.

Smack dab in the middle of the wooden crossbeam from which the target hung.

“Aim a little lower next time, love,” he said, low and slow.

“Wouldn’t you like that,” she returned, a slow smirk curling her lips. She nocked another arrow and aimed again, fired on the exhale, and sent the arrow slicing straight into the bulls-eye of the target in the row behind the one she’d just shot into.

Rowan whistled in admiration. “How about a contest, Ae? A real one?” She raised her eyebrows in interest, and he continued. “We take turns picking targets, the one who’s closest gets the point, and whoever has more points at the end wins.”

“And what’s the prize?”

“Loser buys dinner.”

“That’s boring.” Her eyes sparkled with eager challenge. “If you win, you get to see what’s under this dress. Or not under it.”

He inhaled and exhaled slowly. Very slowly. “If you win, I’ll show you what you missed when you left me hard and leaking in that damn hallway at your gala.”

“Deal.” She held out her hand, he clasped it, and they shook hands, the warm heaviness of their contest settling between them with no small amount of tension. “You are going down, darling.”

“If I’m lucky, that’ll only be the beginning.” He smirked at her soft gasp. “Can’t wait to hear that sound again, love.”

“You wish.” She rolled her shoulders. “First target: the bulls-eye of that second-to-last target.” In one fluid motion, she nocked, aimed, and fired, and her arrow speared clean through the bulls-eye she’d pointed at.

Rowan whistled. “Haven’t practiced archery since you were a kid, my ass.”

“You do have a rather fine one,” she said lightly, snickering at his flustered cough.

“If you’re trying to distract me, try again.” Confidently—and dear god, the things that confidence did to her—he fired an arrow, sending it into the exact same spot she had hit. “Looks like it’s my turn to pick a target.”

“Choose wisely.”

His smirk was edged with something wild and challenging and deliciously dangerous. “Bottom left corner of the target at the hundred-meter line. Not the outer ring, the bottom left corner.” He rolled his shoulders, carefully aimed, exhaled, and released his arrow. It sang through the air and embedded into the lower left corner of the farthest target with a muted thunk.

“Impressive,” Aelin hummed. Narrowing her eyes, she carefully aimed, ignoring the sights on the bow and using her instinct to push her bow just a fraction to the right.

“You sure about that position?” Without warning, Rowan stepped up behind her and settled his hands onto her hips. “Looks like you’re aiming too far right, darling.”

She stifled the delightful tremor that shuddered through her at his closeness. “I know the path of my shots, Lieutenant.” With a bright smile, she loosed her arrow, which whistled through the air and cleanly skewered the lower left corner of the hundred-meter-away target, a good inch and a half closer to the juncture of the corner than his shot had been.

He inhaled sharply and stepped back just a smidge, but not before she’d felt the thick, hard evidence of what her shot had done to him. “I’ll have to pick a more difficult target,” he said, though there was no small amount of admiration in his voice. “Your turn.”

Aelin swept her gaze around the range, a wicked grin lifting her lips as she settled on a target. “See that target hanging up on the far wall?”

“Mhmm.” He moved to her side, sharp gaze calculating the distance. “That has to be two hundred, maybe two hundred fifty meters away.”

“There’s a chain at the top that anchors that target to the wall, which has to be padded for safety. Our target is the top link of that chain—land your shot through the chain so it goes into the wall padding.”

He stared at her in shock. “Are you insane?”

“Maybe.” She winked. “Why, are you afraid you can’t make it?”

“Why don’t you let me take the first shot to prove that I’m not afraid of anything?”

“If you want.” She stepped aside. “All yours, big boy.”

“Say that again.” His voice was a soft, gravelly rumble, laced with the kind of command that she’d only ever dreamed of hearing.

Rather than give into her fantasies and jump him right then and there, Aelin just smirked. “Make that shot, and I’ll say it again.”

“Fuck,” he murmured, mostly under his breath. He took his time lining up his shot, carefully aiming just a few inches too high to compensate for the arc the arrow would take at such a long distance. Finally, he drew back his arrow and let it fly, watching it like a hawk as it sliced through the faintly stale air of the range. The arrow arced up, then gently down, and landed with a clean thud three inches to the right of the chain suspending the target from the wall. He grinned, proud that he’d managed to get so close to the almost-impossible target. “Beat that shot, darling.”

She stepped up to the shooting line and rolled out her neck. “Let’s hope I can live up to the way I felt when I picked this target.” She took a good minute to line up her shot, her brows furrowed in deep concentration. After settling on her aim, she pulled back her arrow, took a deep breath, and released on the exhale. Her arrow whistled across the distance in a precise, beautiful arc and skewered through the second-highest link of the chain holding up the target on the far wall.

Rowan’s jaw gaped in complete shock, his eyes wide with incredulity.

Aelin sucked in a gasp, her eyes going wide as she realized that she’d made the shot. Two thoughts raced through her mind—one being fuck, what if he starts suspecting me now? and the other being I can’t fucking believe I made that shot!

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d suspect you of being some kind of archery master,” he said, unabashed appreciation replacing the shock written all over his face. “That was fucking insane, Ae.”

She laughed quietly, still stunned herself. “I honestly don’t know how in the hell I made that.”

“I think that makes you the winner.” He looped his free arm around her waist. “And I recall something about the loser buying dinner.”

“And dessert,” she added, leaning into his side and looking up at him through half-lidded eyes.

Their exit from the archery range was a blur of rapid motion and badly concealed desire, and she only blinked back into reality when they climbed into the backseat of his car and he practically lunged across the small distance between them and crashed his lips into hers.

She threaded her fingers into his hair and angled his head to deepen the kiss, her tongue tangling with his. A soft moan broke free from her throat, and he groaned in response, breaking the kiss and shifting his lips to her throat, tracking a trail of soft, hot kisses down her sensitive skin.

“No…no marks,” she managed to say. He hummed in assent and nipped lightly at her fluttering pulse point before working his way back up her throat and kissing her deeply again. She moaned into the kiss, her hips inadvertently rolling, shifting her body closer against him.

He groaned. “Aelin…” A short pause, their heartbeats so loud they could practically hear each other’s pulses. “I won’t take you in the backseat of a car this first time.”

“Why not?” She dragged one hand ever so slowly down his chest, almost reaching his throbbing erection before he caught her wrist with a growl.

“Because anyone could walk past and see us, and I don’t need an audience when I make you scream my name.”

She went silent, her slightly-swollen lips dropping in aroused surprise. “Then get me home, Lieutenant.”

A dark little smile crooked his lips. “Have I ever told you that I’ve dreamed of you using my title in bed?”

“Now you have.” She climbed into the passenger seat. “Lieutenant.”

He drove back to her apartment building with so little heed for traffic rules that she almost didn’t believe he was a cop. And when he parked and opened her door for her, the promise lighting his eyes made her knees turn to jelly.

“Nervous, Ae?” he asked as they stepped into the elevator.

“Hardly.” She pressed the button for her floor. “I recall you talking some big talk about showing me what I missed, so I’d only be nervous that you won’t last long enough to do that.”

His hands flexed against her waist, the heat of him seeping through her linen dress. “Keep saying things like that and we’ll see who doesn’t last.”

“Ah-ah, big boy.” She clicked her tongue. “Loser doesn’t get to call the shots.”

“Aelin,” he groaned, eyes fluttering closed.

“Rowan,” she echoed, giggling at his evident frustration. The elevator stopped with a ding, its door opening to Aelin’s floor. She threaded her fingers with his and led him down the hallway to her apartment, unlocked the door, and let him in. She’d just finished locking the deadbolt behind them when his hands circled her waist and his lips pressed against the back of her neck, soft but so intensely heated that she drew in a tiny gasp.

“Told you I’d hear that sound again,” he murmured into her ear.

She arched backwards, molding her body against his. “And I told you the loser doesn’t get to call the shots tonight, love.” Smoothly, she moved out of his embrace, bent down, and unfastened her heeled sandals, leaving them on the short shoe rack by the door. She strolled through the living room, mentally counting the seconds until he followed.

Five, six, seven. Seven seconds. Then Rowan kicked off his shoes, crossed the living room in four long strides, and backed her into the closest wall in another two steps.

“This doesn’t look like my bed,” she teased.

“We’ll get to that.” Cupping his hands under her ass, he hoisted her effortlessly up and kissed her, his tongue slipping between her parted lips. She groaned softly and tangled her fingers into his hair, unapologetically ruffling up the short strands as she kissed him harder, nipping at his lips, a challenge and a tease all at once.

“Gods,” she moaned as his lips worked down her neck, her hips grinding into his.

“Just me,” he mumbled into her skin.

She huffed out a breathy laugh. “How are you so funny and so hot right now?”

“Call it a special skill.” He chuckled at her wry laugh and abruptly pulled her away from the wall and down the rest of the short hallway to her bedroom, where he set her down on her feet. “Dress. Off.”

Faster than he could blink, she hooked her foot around the back of his legs and knocked him to his knees. “What did I tell you about giving me commands tonight, love?”

“Fuck me,” he breathed, cock straining at the front of his pants, probably leaving a permanent imprint of his zipper. “I didn’t know you could do that, Ae.”

“Now you do.” Her turquoise gaze trailed lazily down his body. “Clothes off, Ro.”

He yanked his shirt over his head and had his pants down to his knees before he looked up at her with a wry smirk. “Can’t exactly get my pants all the way off like this.”

She chuckled. “Here.” Leaning down, she pulled his belt out of his pants, looped it swiftly around his wrists—deliberately making the restraint very simple so that investigative brain of his wouldn’t suspect anything—and let him stand up. “Now get your pants off, love.”

“I…” His cock was practically shoving through his boxers. “My hands…”

“Don’t tell me you need your hands to get your pants off, my darling Lieutenant,” she hummed. With a wicked half-smirk, she pulled her dress up and over her head, revealing a lacy, golden bra and panties set.

It took him exactly ten seconds to kick off his pants and drop back to his knees, a desperate groan ripping from his throat as he drank in the sight of her in scraps of golden lace.

“Look at you already on your knees for me,” she cooed, sauntering across the room until she stood before him. She trailed her fingers through his hair and down his face, dancing across the intricate craftsmanship of his tattoo. “Good boy.”

“Aelin,” Rowan moaned, desperation bleeding into his tone, “please.”

“Please what?”

“Please,” he said, eyes wide and begging, “let me touch you. Let me taste you. Please.”

“Such pretty manners.” She dropped down on the end of her bed, conveniently stripping off her panties as she did, and let her legs fall open. “Only when I say so, Lieutenant.” He groaned but didn’t move, his whole body tense with the effort it took to keep in place rather than lunge for her and bury his tongue between her thighs. “Good boy,” she gasped, her head falling back as she circled her clit with her thumb, the soft touch lighting a fire in her blood. “Touch me, darling.”

She’d barely spoken the words before he yanked his hands free, launched himself forward, fell back to his knees at the end of her bed, and replaced her thumb with his.

“Fuck,” she gasped, hips jerking. “More, Ro.”

He circled her entrance with one fingertip before plunging his finger into her, the wetness that had pooled between her legs naturally slicking the digit. She moaned with pleasure, guiding him to add a second finger, and reached up to tease her nipples. His eyes went huge and pleading, and he struggled to find words before he managed to choke out a coherent thought.

“Let me taste you, Ae,” he begged. “Fucking please.”

She hummed, pretending to consider it. “Thank you for asking,” she finally said, running her free hand down his throat. “Go ahead, Ro. Put that filthy mouth of yours to work.”

Wisely, he kept his fingers moving, twisting and curling inside of her, as he buried his head between her legs and swept his tongue in a broad, strong stroke up her cunt. He circled her clit with his tongue, sucked the throbbing little bud between his lips, and groaned deeply as the taste of her exploded on his tongue.

Between his ridiculously fucking talented mouth and the headiness of ordering around the gorgeous man she’d been dreaming of since February, Aelin didn’t last long before she clamped her thighs around Rowan’s head and called out his name as she came all over his face. Her body shook as her orgasm subsided, ripples of bliss passing through her.

“Fuck me,” she sighed, her head clearing again. “That was so good, darling.”

Slowly, he lifted his head and withdrew his glistening fingers. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Oh, I want you to do much more than just that.” Languidly, she moved up the bed and stretched out against the multitude of pillows. “Take off the rest of your clothes and come here, love.”

It took him all of five seconds to tear off his boxers, revealing a thick, hard cock that made her pussy clench just thinking about how fucking amazing it was going to feel filling her up, and position himself atop her, his weight braced on his forearms so he wasn’t crushing her. “Here I am.”

“Here you are.” A softer light replaced the commanding glint in her eyes. “And here I am. What you do next is up to you, Rowan.”

He exhaled shakily, a warmth bordering on love suffusing his face. “I’ve dreamed of this since the night of that goddamn gala, Aelin.”

“Me too.” She draped one arm over his shoulder, tracing the defined planes of his upper back. “So do something about it.”

And Rowan did.

It was May 25, which made it, as Gavriel would probably scream, time to stop fucking around and start producing some concrete proof. Rowan knew he’d been putting off actually filing the evidence he’d collected, using the flimsy excuse of the amount of paperwork it would take, and he was finally having a calm enough week at Orynth PD to lock himself in his office and start the task.

He went through the homicide reports mechanically, having filed so many of them during his career that he had the process down to muscle memory. The only thing he had to consciously remember for these reports was to track the consistency of the victims’ MO’s, because that was one of the key things upon which his case rested. If he was going to get Celaena Sardothien convicted for her reign of shadow-cloaked terror—and he swore he would—he needed to make certain that he drove home the point about her preferred mode of torture-to-murder being the same.

The fact that his suspect had never been seen in person would be an obstacle, but not an insurmountable one. He had full faith that when his trap was set and baited, Sardothien would come right into its open arms.

He took a lunch break after finishing the reports, during which he allowed himself to open his personal cell phone and scroll through his and Aelin’s recent texts. He even managed to call and catch her during a break, which meant they could spend a few minutes talking. Which had him grinning like an idiot when he returned to his office.

Turning back to the evidence filing, Rowan picked up the small plastic bag containing the tiny piece of mysterious fabric. Aedion had left a copy of his analytical notes, as his explanation of the material would be just as crucial as the material itself when this case eventually came to court. Rowan flipped through the pages, noting down any key information as he filed the fabric scrap as evidence, when two separate details caught his eyes.

First, early in his initial observations, Aedion had noted that the fabric had “remarkably straight, cleanly squared edges.” Rowan turned over that thought in his head, jaw dropping when he realized the implication��the fabric had not been torn, but cut out of a larger piece.

Which left the distinct possibility that it had been planted at the explosion site.

“Fucking hell,” Rowan swore, jaw ticking as he added that note to the evidence report.

The second thing that caught his eye was towards the end of Aedion’s notes, an otherwise ordinary note about the place of manufacture. Developed at Galathynius, Inc. Laboratories. Rowan shook his head, blinked a few times, and reread the note five more times to make sure he was reading it correctly. Each time, it said the same thing.

The mysterious foreign fabric had been developed at the labs of Aelin’s beloved company.

Rowan’s mind raced a mile a minute through the possibilities of that one little note. On the extreme end, it implied that Aelin had created the fabric—which was impossible, because she’d told him herself that she had an engineering team. So perhaps her engineers had developed it? Without her knowing? But that would make no sense, since Aelin was clearly invested enough in her company to be fully aware of what was developed in her labs. So…a secret project?

Or, as Rowan began to suspect, if Celaena Sardothien was using Aelin Galathynius as a cover-up, it followed that she would have been able to use the lab and develop some kind of near-impenetrable material for her nefarious schemes.

All the more reason to end the Shadow Assassin before she decided Aelin was no longer useful.

On the unseasonably warm evening of May 30, Aelin—clad in the form-fitting black suit of Celaena Sardothien—wove her way through the shipping district, darting from shadow to shadow like a breath of nighttime breeze. A few days ago, Nox had left her a note that there had been a suspicious figure seen lurking around Warehouse 4, and because she needed to let off some steam, she’d decided to go investigate it herself. With the SecondSkin covering her true skin and her suit snug against her body, she blended into the dark little nooks and crannies of the industrial sprawl of buildings, and she made it to Warehouse 4 undetected. At the perimeter of the security cameras’ field, she tapped her boot twice against an innocuous-looking crack in the unkempt pavement, disarming the cameras temporarily.

Footsteps silent, she crept up to the steel-sided building and paced a careful lap around the structure. She’d just started a second lap when there was a faint rustle from the cluster of nearby shrubs, and a knife sliced through the night and embedded itself in her arm.

Or it would have, had she not caught it before it could make contact.

Thick, tense silence stretched across the short distance between her and whoever the fuck was hiding in the shrubbery like a damn coward.

Then, with a muffled “fuck,” a tall, muscled, black-clad male figure exploded out of the shrubs and rushed at her.

She dodged his initial brute rush, kicking out as she sidestepped and managing to get the man in the back of the leg. He grunted, reversed direction, and swung a powerful right cross punch at her, which she blocked with one forearm and returned with a left hook. He swatted away her strike, so she launched into a flurry of rapid-fire punches and strikes, distracting him enough that she was able to get in close quarters and drive one knee into the juncture of his leg and his groin. He swore viciously and retaliated with a brutal punch to her side, which made most of her breath whoosh out of her lungs.

“Dick move,” she huffed.

The man scoffed. “Says the woman who literally just kneed me in the dick.”

“Obviously you have no knowledge of anatomy.” She landed a punch to his shoulder joint and followed it up with a boot to his thigh. “Or you’d know that I kneed you in the thigh joint, idiot.”

“Nobody told me the Boss was such a smart-ass.” He smacked the small knife out of her left hand. “Now who’s not playing by the rules?”

“What rules?” With a vicious grin, she ducked his roundhouse swing and thrust her elbow into his stomach. He folded over with a groan, though he recovered rapidly. Not rapidly enough to fully dodge the high, sweeping kick she directed at his face, hitting his jaw enough to bruise and send his head jerking sideways. “There aren’t rules in this world.”

“No…shit,” he wheezed. He dodged her sudden rush and whirled around to meet her head-on again, flicking open a switchblade.

“Nice blade.” Aelin’s smirk flashed white in the blue-black darkness as she whipped twin serrated daggers from her thigh sheaths. “Little bit thuggish though, don’t you think?”

“Says the goddamn Boss.”

God, but it was fun to go into combat with someone who wasn’t afraid to dish her sarcasm right back at her. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, hmm? Pity I won’t be able to listen to it much longer.”

“That’s what you think.” He swiped at her thigh, gasping shortly when she whipped her leg up to avoid the blade. Gasping in a more strangled manner when she wrapped that leg around his neck and half-threw, half-strangled him to the ground in a single fluid, brutal maneuver that was some kind of unholy cross between martial arts and street fighting. “Fuck!”

She stomped on his wrist, forcing him to release his knife, and swiftly immobilized him, though he was a good deal taller and heavier than she was. “Any last words?” The tip of her dagger touched his pulsing jugular, eager to rip open the skin.

“Only–”

“WAIT!”

Aelin muffled a particularly colorful curse. “What the fuck, Con?!”

“Boss, wait!” Con sprinted around so he was in her view, glancing quickly at the man she had pinned to the ground. “I know him.”

“You have fifteen seconds to explain.”

Con yanked the man’s dark mask and hood off, revealing tawny skin, blonde curls, and an oddly familiar face. “Long time no see, brother.”

“Brother?”

“Boss, this is Fen.”

The blonde–who, Aelin noted, was indeed Con’s mirror image, but blonde–grinned. “Fenrys Moonbeam, at your service.”

She snorted softly. “I’ll be the judge of that. Con, is he safe?”

Con shrugged and addressed his brother. “Where have you been, Fen?”

“Evading authority, like usual.”

The dark-haired twin rolled his eyes. “He’s safe. Good eyes, good ears, talks too much but knows when to shut his stupid face.”

“All right, Fen, you’re hired. I could use another pair of eyes, and your brother could use a break, if he knows what that is.” Aelin released Fenrys and stood up, brushing off her hands.

Fen pushed himself to his feet with a groan, shaking out his cramped, sore limbs. “So the interview consists of almost dying. Got it.”

She threw him a vicious grin. “And if I decide I won’t hire a candidate, the ‘almost’ part goes away.”

“Terrifying.” He gulped. “Well, then I’ll count myself lucky.” He shook her offered hand. “Thanks for the opportunity, Boss.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing how your particular skills can be an asset.” She winked, relishing the way he shuddered ever so slightly at the obvious hint of her scheming. “I’ve been in need of a decent trespasser since the last one had an unfortunate run-in with a bullet.”

“Unfortunate, huh?”

“Very unfortunate.” She chuckled, low and dark. “He went two steps too far.”

Fenrys grimaced. “I’ll be here whenever you need me, Boss.” With a lazy mockery of a salute, he limped off beside his brother, headed for Con’s truck.

Back at his apartment that was little more than a shitty, rundown box with paper-thin walls, tucked into one of many nondescript brick apartment buildings bordering the industrial district, Fenrys Moonbeam stretched his aching body out on his crappy couch, settled an ice pack on his throbbing knee, and picked up the cellphone lying on the side table. Opening the short list of contacts, he scrolled for a moment before tapping on an icon and letting the phone ring.

The call connected just after the third ring. “Moonbeam?”

Fenrys knew better than to waste words. “I’m in, Cap.”

“Wrong title.” Rowan Whitethorn’s grunt dripped with acerbic sarcasm.

“Apologies, Lieutenant,” Fenrys simpered. “Anyway, I’m in.”

“Good.”

Click. The call went dead.

Fenrys sighed. He really should have expected Whitethorn to be as terse as his reputation suggested; the man had sent him an actual paper printout of his instructions, for fuck’s sake. At least the assignment was fairly simple.

Infiltrate Celaena Sardothien’s ring of criminals. Check.

Get into Sardothien’s good graces enough to go with her when she inevitably committed her next murder. Check…right?

Collect as much evidence as possible of the Boss’s numerous heinous crimes so the TSF could convict her and end her rampage of villainy. He was working on that.

And preferably don’t fucking die in the attempt. That last part had been spoken in Rowan Whitethorn’s famously dry voice.

No sweat.

Aching from the unexpectedly brutal fight, Fenrys Moonbeam stretched out on his shitty couch, wincing at the unpleasant feeling of every goddamn spring in the bloody couch digging into his body, closed his eyes, and dropped into shallow sleep, hyperaware that he laid exactly twelve feet atop the equally rundown, mildew-ridden apartment of Boss Celaena Sardothien.

~~~

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#my writing #until proven guilty #criminal/investigator au #aelin the crime boss au #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass au

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highqueenofelfhame · 1 year

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rowaelin // 5.5k words // ciwyw masterlist // masterlist

AN: If your at starts with @secondstartorightand can you please comment on this so i can fix your tag? it somehow got cut off in the creation of my tag list and i can't find your blog lolol. ALSO, i'm sorry i update in the middle of the night. i'm nocturnal i'm sorry.

The car was barely put into park before she was throwing herself out of the driver’s seat and sprinting around the front. Aelin launched herself at her cousin, happy tears sparkling on her cheeks while joyous giggles flowed out of her. Aedion didn’t budge an inch when he caught her. His arms wrapped tightly around her middle and he squeezed so hard she thought her lungs might collapse altogether, but it didn’t matter.

“What the fuck? I thought I was picking up Lysandra!” She cried, scowling over her shoulder at the police officer shouting at her.

“You can’t park here.”

“I’m not parked, I’m picking up,” she argued, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands. Aedion’s hands came down on her shoulders, lightly pushing her toward the other side of the car so they wouldn’t wind up with a ticket thanks to her smart mouth. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

Once they were back in the car, seatbelts on and pulling out of the maze that was the Varese airport, Aelin said, “What are you doing here?”

“Lys said you needed me. She booked my flight instead of hers. I’ll go home when she gets here next week.” Love and appreciation swelled inside her for her best friend. Of course it would have been amazing to have Lysandra here early, but the relationship she had with Aedion… the two were on a different wavelength. Save for finding out about the pregnancy, the first call she had always made upon getting big news was always him. The only reason he hadn’t been her first call when she took the pregnancy tests was because if they were positive, it felt too important to tell him over a phone call. They needed to be face to face.

“I do. I do need you,” she confessed, reaching over to squeeze his hand. Telling him about the baby settled over her body like a heavy weight. It wasn’t that she was dreading it, but she was nervous about how he might react. It could go in a million different ways, starting with Aedion hunting down Rowan Whitethorn and beating him senseless for knocking up his little sister.

“What’s going on, bub?” Out of the corner of her eye she saw him shift so he was facing her more, eyes zeroing in on her face, scanning her body. Making sure she was okay. Strings plucked at her heart like a guitar and she had to swallow the crescendo of emotions that wanted to burst out.

“I’d rather wait until we get home to get into it. But, Gods, I am so happy you’re here.”

“It’s not like, a major illness is it?” The humor was gone from his face, replaced by stern determination to fight whatever it was that plagued her.

Aelin smiled. “No. I’m okay. I’m… mostly good. There’s just so much to catch up on. Apparently a lot can happen when we’re apart for three months.”

Aedion snorted in response as he ruffled his fingers through his hair. “I’ll accept that until we’re home. After that, all bets are off and you better start talking.”

Aelin swore she would, patting his knee to placate him.

The drive back to her apartment was short and quick. Even though she lived in the historic part of downtown, Aelin had quickly discovered that she was no more than twenty minutes away from everything she would need. The airport was the furthest, but all the stores, restaurants, and nightlife a girl could want were in that radius. Not that she was in the market to have a nightlife anymore. These days she found herself tucked into bed by ten or earlier.

After the hike up the stairs to get to her door, the exhaustion from the last forty-eight hours was starting to creep into her muscles, her bones. All of her limbs were made of lead. After she broke the news and they settled in a little bit, she would reward herself with a nap. Aedion wouldn’t complain about it either after she told him about the baby. In fact, he would probably insist on it.

Aelin gave him a quick tour of the two bedroom apartment, showing him the room he would be staying in for the week. They would have to share the one bathroom, but they had shared many spaces over the last decade. It wasn’t anything new.

“Just don’t leave your hair stuck on the shower wall,” was his only request, as if he wasn’t guilty of the same crime. Long and thick hair that had a tendency to shed was hard to wash off when it adhered to her skin while wet.

Evidently, the girls had been a little too tight-lipped. The only thing Lysandra had told him was that he was needed, and Aelin hadn’t given him much to go on. By the time they settled onto the couch, the man looked like he was ready to crawl out of his skin. His hands were constantly flexing into tight fists that relaxed into flattened palms with drumming fingers, then back again. The foot that was on the floor was bouncing so hard it was shaking the couch and threatening to send Aelin into a bout of motion sickness from hell. She put her hand on his leg to make him stop, brows raised pointedly until he obeyed.

“Can you please tell me what the fuck is going on?” Every word was wrapped in distress, the waiting game spiraling him into madness. A million and one scenarios had probably been flying through his mind from the time he found out he was coming to Wendlyn. There was one thing she needed to say first, though. He could wait a few more seconds.

“I want you to know that the only reason you weren’t the first person I told is because you were the one person I needed to tell face to face. Well. There were two of you, but I’ll get to that.”

“Aelin,” he whined, leaning forward and taking her hands in his. When he noticed the tremor in them, his entire demeanor changed. Gone was the impatience, replaced by his protective nature.

Aelin’s eyes were snagged on their hands. Her’s looked so small between Aedion’s, and she wondered how tiny the baby’s would look when he held it for the first time. The thought of him holding something so tiny and pure had her eyes brimming with tears all over again.

“Hey,” he said softly, drawing her eyes back to his face with a knuckle beneath her chin. “Whatever it is, it’s okay. We’ll deal with it.”

Aelin laughed a little because it would be okay. Not just her and the baby, but Rowan, too. All of them would be fine. The road through the woods was just a little scary, is all.

“Okay,” she nodded again, using her shoulder to catch a tear that escaped. Ripping the band-aid off was the easiest route. Dancing around it would only drive them both crazy, and they were each antsy in their own way already. On the exhale of a deep, steadying breath she said, “Aedion, I’m pregnant.”

“Bullshit,” he blurted, jerking back from her. His hands never left hers, if anything his grip tightened. But he was leaning so far away that his back hit the plush armrest of the sofa. Aelin tugged until he was sitting up straight again, mouth parted in a wide ‘O.’ With shaking fingers, she reached over and pushed up on his jaw until his lips were closed.

“You’re going to drool on my pretty couch.” Though she tried to sound serious, there was no bite to her words. In fact, it was getting hard to keep her face neutral.

“You’re– you’re fucking serious?” With eyes wider than the moon he took her in, pulling their arms out to look directly at her stomach.

“You aren’t going to see anything, it’s still stupid early. And I’ve been so sick I’m probably losing weight, but… yes. You’re going to be an uncle.”

The tears he had been trying to hold back broke free of their invisible cage, sliding down his face as he pulled her to him. One of his hands cradled the back of her head as his lips pressed soft kisses to her hair over and over again. Aelin’s arms snaked tightly around his waist, her face burrowing into his shoulder.

Aelin tried not to think about it, but until she met Rowan, nothing ever made her feel more safe than being with Aedion. They grew up so close that half the time they referred to each other as their siblings. Both of them were only children and had been each other’s best friends since the day she was born. According to their parents, the first time three-year-old Aedion held Aelin when she was merely a few hours old, he made her promise after promise to always be there for her, to protect her.

When her dad taught her to ride a bike at age four, Aedion had been there, too. When the training wheels came off, he ran alongside her with one hand on the middle of the handlebars for a little extra insurance. And when she had toppled over a bump in the concrete and skinned her knee, Aedion had picked her up and carried her back to the house while promising she was going to be okay.

At age nine when she was tall enough to ride her first big roller coaster, he was the one that rode with her. The entire time he kept her hand tightly in his, reassuring her that it was going to be so much fun, that she would feel like she was flying, and if she was scared she didn’t have to let go of his hand. They spent the rest of the day running ahead of their parents to get in line for everything she was tall enough to ride and if it only sat two at a time, he sat with her and their parents fell in line behind them.

When she was sixteen and experienced her first heartbreak, he drove home from college that weekend. They laid in her bed until she had it all cried out, Aedion making violent promises to break all of the boy’s bones if he ever so much as breathed in her direction ever again. There was a steady supply of chocolate truffles and popcorn while they watched every silly rom-com she wanted. When he left to go back to school, he’d promised her she was going to be okay.

At age twenty-two, when he found out the depth of her college sweetheart’s mental and emotional abuse, Aedion managed to keep his emotions under a careful lock and key when she showed up on his doorstep with nowhere to go. As she grieved over the loss of herself and the relationship, he was a steadying presence that refused to let her tumble into darkness on her own. On the bad days, he was there to make it better. Nearly every day for several months he promised she was going to be okay.

It took some time, but she was okay. Even on the days she felt like she might completely crumble, his pinky promises when they were children held true. Aelin was going to be okay. It didn’t matter what happened, what life threw at her, she was going to be just fine.

Aelin tried not to think about Rowan, how the safety of his arms had felt impenetrable the way that Aedion’s did. Not even her father had made her feel quite as protected as Aedion had. It wasn’t to say that he wasn’t a good father– Rhoe was the best father a girl could ever dream of having. There was just something different about the connection she had with Aedion. Now it was extended to Rowan, and she didn’t know what that meant.

When they finally pulled away with red faces and puffy eyes, Aedion was smiling so widely it was making her cheeks hurt because she wore a grin to match. His thumbs brushed her tears away, both of them exhaling so shakily it resulted in laughter.

“This is good?”

“It’s good. It’s… scary as all hell, but I think it’s good. It still doesn’t feel real. I haven’t had any scans yet, just a blood test because I was so sick. Lys made me go to the hospital for fluids when I couldn’t keep anything down. Then there’s the two dozen pregnancy tests under the bathroom sink. The throwing up has been the worst, though. Which shouldn’t even be called morning sickness, by the way. This shit hits me at all hours of the day without being provoked.” Aelin hadn’t thrown up since the day before, but she wasn’t going to jinx it by saying so out loud. It had a mind of its own and a vengeance against her.

The depth of how badly she wanted to tell him hit her then. The way the words just poured out of her lips in a steady stream made it so glaringly obvious that this was exactly what she needed. She wasn’t sure she could have gone much longer with a secret so hefty.

The muscles at his jaw rippled beneath his skin from the force of his clenching. Even the grip he had on her hands tightened further, almost to the point of hurting while he made peace with himself that he couldn’t protect her from being sick because of the baby. Something flickered through his eyes and it made her sigh as she said, “Go ahead and ask.”

“Who is the father.” The short, clipped tone had her fighting off another smile as he added, “And what is his degree of involvement, because if he isn’t–”

“Relax, bub. We had a moment after I told him where things were… rough to say the least. Yes, he upset me. No, he didn’t mean to.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” His lips were bracketed with tension.

“You know that soccer player from Doranelle, Rowan Whitethorn?” She tried to make it sound nonchalant and dismissive. Partially because he wasn’t really soccer’s most famous athlete when they were together. He was just Rowan.

“What the hell does a living soccer god have to do with this?” The genuine confusion cloistered amongst his features made her bite her lip to keep from smiling. Gods, it was so good to have him back.

“I’m going to let you sit on that and connect the dots while I get some water.” Aelin patted his knee as she rose and walked to the kitchen. She was halfway there when he gasped.

“No fucking way!”

“Yes fucking way. That’s how it happened actually,” she called, swiping a bottle from the fridge and returning to the couch. His face was torn between pure excitement and disbelief. For the thousandth time in the last hour or so, she laughed.

“Rowan Whitethorn is one of the best soccer players to ever live, Aelin. I know you don’t care about it but he’s– I had posters of him on my dorm walls in college. I met him before the game I played against Doranelle and told him that he’s my hero, and– wait.” The excitement dropped from his face, eyes narrowing slightly. “What the fuck did he say that upset you?”

Aelin sunk back against the cushions with a heavy sigh, taking a long drink before getting into that mess. Her brother’s gaze didn’t once waver from her face, looking for any indication that he needed to get in her car and go kick somebody’s ass. It was sweet. Funny as hell, but sweet. Part of her would pay to see that fight, though. It could go either way depending on who wanted the win more.

“I found out yesterday that he had a situation a while back where someone he was sleeping with got pregnant and tried to milk him for all he was worth. And then told him she miscarried, and he found out weeks later that she lost the baby well before she even told him about it. It’s even more convoluted than it sounds, but when I first told him he asked if I was doing it for money. Whether he meant if I’d gotten knocked up or was lying about it, I still don’t know. He knew the truth when I told him, but went into self-defense mode. Anyway, I–”

“Why the fuck would you be doing it for money?”

“Well… He didn’t know who I was. Obviously I did it on purpose the first few times we hung out, but after that it just got to a point where it didn’t come up? So he didn’t know. But don’t worry, I plan on giving him shit about it for the rest of my natural life. Once I die, I’ll give him the occasional spook, too.”

“This isn’t funny, Aelin,” Aedion said flatly, lips pressed so tightly together they had disappeared.

“It isn’t,” she agreed. “But I’m pretty sure he’s willing to grovel for my forgiveness until we both die. Don’t worry, I’m going to make him work for it.”

“That’s my girl,” he grinned, bumping their knees together.

“I didn’t even know who he was until after he accused me, and–” Aelin was cut off by an abrupt cackle that startled her so badly she splashed water on herself. She scowled at Aedion, smacking him in the shoulder.

“What the fuck do you mean you didn’t know who he was?!” Incredulity dripped from every letter and matched his expression perfectly. Aedion was gaping like a fish. “He’s the most famous soccer player– no, forget soccer. The man is probably the most famous living athlete right now, period.”

“He told me he was a high school soccer coach! I didn’t think we were both lying about who we were!” She cried. Aedion’s whole body shook as he laughed at her. Even as she hit him again, she was fighting off laughter of her own.

“How did you find out the truth?”

“Lys wanted to know what he looked like. So she just googled a few key words hoping for a news article about his team or something. Lo and behold, it was him in his stupid blue jersey looking fine as hell even while drenched in sweat.” Aelin chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m sure mom, dad, and grandpa will all be thrilled I’ve made my way back into the soccer world.”

“If your baby isn’t a soccer prodigy by the time they can walk, Rowan should request a paternity test.” Aelin punched his bicep as hard as she could. Aedion howled with laughter as he rubbed at the hurt. She was hoping to leave a nasty bruise.

“He’s the only guy I’ve been with in…” Aelin puffed out her cheeks, eyes narrowing as she stared out the window to backtrack on her love life. When she came up empty handed on a time frame her lips morphed into a frown. “That’s so embarrassing I’m not even going to go down that rabbit hole.”

“Have you talked to him about Sam?” All of the joy from the morning was blown to tiny pieces. The blood in her veins thickened, turning into ice and making her shiver.

“I’m going to need a nap if we’re going to talk about that,” she declared, rising to her feet and heading toward her bedroom.

“We’re talking about this later,” he shouted after her, and she merely waved him off with the flick of her wrist. For that discussion, she needed to be fully rested with a full belly of chocolate hazelnut cake.

Just before she rolled over to go to sleep, Aelin checked her phone. A text was immediately fired off to Lysandra reading BITCH! I’m too hormonal for a surprise like this!!! Which was quickly followed up with I love you. Thank you.

Before allowing herself to drift into the waiting arms of unconscious bliss, she opened her message thread with Rowan. A text had come through an hour ago, likely just after he woke up. The idea that he texted her to start off his day did things to her that she wasn’t willing to face.

>> Just checking in. You didn’t let me know you got home safe last night.

It was hard to ignore her emotions when he did shit like that. They hadn’t parted on the most outstanding terms. She could have forgiven him and they could have gone back to how things were. Instead she told him she needed space, told him not to touch her in that way because it had sparked things that she wanted to ignore for now. There was so much to process and there was no room for error.

It was such a casual intimacy, him brushing her hair out of her face. In another world where he hadn’t stomped on her trust like a twig, he would have been kissed for it. Everything about the way he just looked at her, for gods sake, sent sparks exploding through her. Aelin knew she couldn’t let her emotions lead her on this. It had backfired before, and she couldn’t let it happen again. Like she had told Lysandra, she just needed to be sure about him.

Still, she felt a little guilty for not telling him she made it home okay.

<< Hi, sorry. Safe and sound, don’t worry. Had an early morning and now I’m going back to sleep for a bit. I’ll let you know if I start dying.

<< That was a joke. I’m entirely fine. Please don’t speed down here like a bat out of hell.

Her thumbs hovered anxiously over the screen, the blinking cursor mocking her. It was weird how quickly things had gone from amazing to awkward between them. Making jokes seemed weird when they still had things to work through and talk about.

Worse than the awkward tension that had settled over them like a fresh winter’s snow, she wanted to tell him that Aedion was in town. That she wanted them to officially meet. Not as two athletes, but just as people. Maybe crowded around a table at the Neon Moon, the two of them spouting off soccer stats and reliving match highlights from World Cup games.

That scared her. It made her stomach turn and her ribs constrict until it hurt. It filled her muscles with sand and made it hard to move. Aelin didn’t want to think about what that meant, so she didn’t tell him about Aedion, didn’t mention how much she wanted them to meet and get along. Instead, she sent a much simpler text before she rolled over and fell asleep.

<< I hope you have a good day.

~*~

The sun was setting and casting a beautiful golden glow over the city as Aelin and Aedion walked arm in arm down the street. What was supposed to be a few hour nap turned into a full seven hour sleep, but her cousin didn’t complain. After freshening up with a shower, she made quick work of a little makeup and an outfit she felt good about herself in. Lately all she had been wearing to the office was leggings and oversized shirts.

Aelin dragged Aedion down the sidewalk with their final location just around the corner. Tonight the pair were taking on the Neon Moon. She knew that he was going to love everything about it. The gritty but slightly sophisticated feel of it reminded her so much of the Staghorn back home, and Aedion loved finding hidden gems like this one. On the rare occasion that they had been able to travel together, their main goal was always finding the coolest bars and cocktail lounges in every city. The only difference was that tonight, and for the next several months, Aelin wouldn’t be running up the tab with him.

It was a good night to be here. The crowd was to be expected on a Sunday evening, but it wasn’t too noisy. There was a small table back in the far corner that she was quick to grab while he gathered their drinks at the bar. Aedion would no doubt come back with some sort of bourbon cocktail for himself and either a water or a mocktail of sorts for her to sip on while they waited for food.

A pretty waitress swiftly stopped by the table and Aelin immediately put in an order for soft pretzel nuggets and beer cheese. It had always been one of her favorite snacks, and over the last few weeks she found that she could almost always keep the pillowy bites down. Baby seemed to like those, which was great, because they were her favorite thing at the Neon Moon.

“You’re right about the Staghorn vibe,” Aedion said as he slid into the chair across from her. “I definitely get that.”

“This is where I met Rowan.” She pulled the fruity looking beverage from his hands, smiling a little when the flavor of lavender exploded across her tongue. It was nothing crazy, just a simple ginger ale with lavender syrup added, but it had become her go-to when she stopped in. Something about the lavender and ginger soda soothed her rioting belly. Plus, it was absolutely delicious. Connall must have seen her come in with Aedion if he knew to make it for her.

“What was he doing in Varese?”

“Friends. He has an apartment here, too. He says it’s easier to be low-key here than it is in Doranelle,” she shrugged and took another drink. “Fenrys Moonbeam’s twin brother Connall owns the pub. We’re friends, I think.”

“You and Fenrys or you and Connall?” Aedion’s eyes were scanning the room, checking out all the decorations that lined the walls.

“Connall. I’m assuming he made the drinks because I ask for this every time I come in.”

“I knew he looked familiar,” Aedion half-mumbled to himself. Aelin smiled, but it faltered when his eyes widened in the direction of the bar. Her stomach flipped and she started silently praying to the gods that she wasn’t going to look over and see Rowan sitting at the bar.

But it wasn’t Rowan that caught Aedion’s attention. It was a golden-haired man who looked just as surprised as Aedion did, though his full lips were starting to twist into a smirk. His long curls were wild, falling around his shoulders in ringlets. One side was tucked behind his ear, completely exposing one half of his perfectly chiseled face. The man was beautiful. There was no other word in the dictionary to describe him.

He looked so much like Connall, Fenrys’s coloring seemed to add a little more life to his face. She had ample time to take him in as he made a beeline for their table, an amber beer bottle in hand. While Connall was all dark shadows and whispered promises in a dimly lit room, Fenrys was life that came directly from the sun. His skin was a darker shade of brown than his brother’s, probably from spending so much time outside soaking up the sun’s rays during practice. And though his eyes were just as dark of an onyx as his twin’s, Fenrys’s seemed to glow as they settled on her face.

Before she had time to fully process what was happening, Fenrys had grabbed a chair and pulled it right up beside hers. He plopped down, their thighs nearly touching. The table shook when he dropped his elbow onto it, his chin resting on his first as he looked directly at Aelin.

“I have been absolutely dying to meet you,” he drawled, eyes jumping over every inch of her face. Aelin couldn’t help it. She started smiling, too.

“Fenrys.” Not a question. This was definitely the fair side to Connall’s dark coin.

“The assistant coach, at your service,” he winked, that cocky smirk never leaving his mouth. Her laugh was involuntary, lighting up the dim corner they sat in. Aedion looked lost, but Fenrys’s dark eyes pulled from her just long enough to look at him and extend his free hand. Everything about the man had a relaxed and almost giddy air about him. “Aedion Ashryver, it’s a pleasure to meet you. How’s your knee these days? I was bummed as hell about your injury.”

Aedion shook his hand, shrugging one shoulder, “Twinges when the weather is bad and gets achy in the winter, but doesn’t give me too much trouble. The pleasure is mine, by the way. Huge fan.”

“And I of you.” The interaction made her feel lighter somehow. There were times when Aedion still got extremely upset about his knee, especially if it was brought up in the context of how great his career could have been. This was one of the times where she didn’t sense an impending doom spiral. She would have to thank Fenrys for addressing it tastefully when Aedion wasn’t listening.

Fenrys’s eyes turned back to Aelin, cheek still squished against his fist. Up close she noticed little wrinkles around his eyes like he spent so much time laughing that it carved little canyons and valleys into his skin. Rowan always called him a pain in the ass, but she had a feeling it had more to do with jokes and teasing comments than anything else. Good. Rowan needed that in his life, even if it was in the form of annoyance.

“Whitethorn has been gatekeeping you. I’ve been begging for an introduction because anybody that can draw him out of his constant state of brooding is worth meeting.” Fenrys paused, his eyes dipping down to her fingertips that rested against her belly. “Congratulations, I think?”

“Thank you. I’m happy about it. A little more every day,” she confessed, brushing her thumbs in abstract shapes over her t-shirt.

“I know he said something stupid–” Aelin cut him off with a snort. Calling it stupid was an understatement, but the mirth in Fenrys’s eyes told her that he was well aware. “How much are you going to make him pay for it?”

“I’m nowhere near done, if that gives you any indication.” It wasn’t that she wanted to be mean to Rowan. It was just that there was no parallel universe where she wasn’t a little brash. Teasing was her second language. Aedion had frequently called it her love language, and he wasn’t wrong. It was almost like a test of sorts. An initiation. If he couldn’t weather the jokes and smart-ass remarks, they weren’t meant to have a relationship beyond co-parenting their child.

One of the biggest red flags she ever ignored was Sam not understanding or approving of her humor. The way he had made her swallow everything down and bottle up her personality until she was merely a shell of herself and couldn’t even pretend around her family anymore had been a mental battle she lost. It wasn’t the worst of everything she went through with him, but Aelin wasn’t going to lose herself again. Not for a man. Not even because they had to raise a baby together. That could be done at arms length with minimal contact unless necessary.

Fenrys was grinning at her, completely ignorant to the dark spiral she had just been on. Something like mischief danced in his eyes as he said, “What would you say if I had an idea to make him squirm?”

“For your own enjoyment, or ours?” Aedion asked warily. Always the protective big brother making sure nobody was laughing at Aelin’s expense.

“Why not both? I’m team Aelin. And if it’s a hard divorce, she wins my custody. Whitethorn was a dumbass and a little joke won’t kill him. It might take a few years but he’ll start laughing about it eventually.” Fenrys gave a dismissive wave through the air. The relaxed nature of him made her lean back a little in her chair. While Connall was easy going in all of their interactions, Fenrys was the amplified version. What would it take for him to snap about something? Going off first impressions, it seemed like a lot.

Fenrys was looking at her expectantly, almost hopefully. Like he somehow knew about the sass and swagger she liked to carry for a security blanket. He felt like a kindred spirit, and Aelin liked it. If things went sideways she just might have a shiny new friend to get her through it when her family couldn’t be by her side.

So Aelin smiled at him and leaned forward, bracing her arms on the table. Across from them, Aedion swore quietly. He’d been on the receiving end of her bullshit for twenty-five years. By the looks of it, she had just met someone that would stoke that fire into a roaring flame. Whether he was cursing the chaos the pair of them would bring upon Rowan, or hoping that it didn’t turn on him eventually, she wasn’t sure.

Either way, Aelin was so in.

“What do you have in mind?”

@elentiyawhitethorn @autumnbabylon @fancysludgeshoelamp @wordsafterhours @live-the-fangirl-life @the-hospitality-of-knives @tangledraysofsunshine @readandlisten @westofmoon @rowanaelinn @morganofthewildfire @writtenonreceipts @feynightlight @emster1622-blog @scarblx @secondstartorightand @thefaetrove @loveyatopluto @actuallybarb @peppermint-fae @the-devils-own @scottmcgivemeacall @livingmylifeforme @wordsafterhours @foreverfallingforthestars @llyncooljones @emily-gsh @loosesimplicity @emilyrose111294 @charlizeed @aelinchocolatelover @cretaceous-therapod @sayosdreams @fireheart-violet @the-regal-warrior @backtobl4ck @shyvioletcat @bellasbookboyfriends

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morganwrites12672 · 1 month

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Request Info

Requests are currently: Open!

All you have to do is send me an ask with your request! I would appreciate if you could include what type of fic you want (angst, fluff, smut, etc) and anything else you want me to include! I do not write certain topics such as SA, rape, or incest.

PLEASE SPECIFY IF YOU WANT A BOT OR FIC

Who I write for:

Dean Winchester (spn)

Sam Winchester (spn)

Jameson Hawthorne (tig)

Grayson Hawthorne (tig)

Dean Redding (The Naturals)

Michael Townsend (The Naturals)

Evan Buckley (911)

Peeta Mellark (thg)

Finnick Odair (thg)

Peter Parker (mcu)

Stiles Stilinski (Teen Wolf)

Characters I ONLY make bots for:

Conrad Hawkins (The Resident)

Carmen Berzatto (The Bear)

Rowan Whitethorn (Throne of Glass)

Dorian Haviliard (Throne of Glass)

Chaol Westfall (Throne of Glass)

Mitch Rapp (American Assassin)

Shows/Movies I've seen:

Supernatural, Teen Wolf, The Resident (S2), The Good Doctor (S3), American Assassin, Stranger Things, The Bear (S1), The Hunger Games, Avengers...

#sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #Morganwrites12672 #Request info #requests are open #Spn #morgan speaks #Supernatural

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dreamingangelwolf · 3 months

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Hello tumblr, I am not dead yet *fist pump*

Finally answering one of two tagging things from @aranict - this is long overdue, to say the least…!

3 Ships:

1. Dabi/Hawks from My Hero Academia. Literally one interaction was all it took for me to go ‘oh god I ship it’ and, damn, I ship it hard. It may not be canon, but the potential for it is unreal - the snark, the parallels, the tension, the drama, that delicious enemies-to-lovers foundation, yesssss. Helps that each of them has a very attractive voice to me, too, haha X) This latest season is going to hurt me, I can tell…

2. Rowan Whitethorn/Aelin Galathynius from the Throne of Glass series. As much as I wanted these two to be much more of a slow burn than they actually were, I can forgive that when they work so well together as a couple. Crying shame also that we never got to see them literally fighting side by side, but we got “To whatever end” instead and y’know what? Iconic.

3. Zack Fair/Aerith Gainsborough from Final Fantasy VII. I have loved these two for nigh on 15 years now. I found FFVII because of them. I love the innocence of their fledgling relationship, I love the tragedy that it fell victim to, but mostly I adore how happy they made each other, and how complimentary their personalities were. (I have just reached Gongaga in Rebirth too and when I say I spent 50% of this part of the game clutching my chest over my heart - augh. The Feels.)

First Ship: Had to stretch my memory back a bit, but I’m pretty sure it would have been Lenne and Shuyin from Final Fantasy X-2. That was my first ever FF game (criminal, I know, but fight me) and their story grabbed my 14-year-old heartstrings like nothing else at the time. In retrospect, it might have been the tragedy of it again, and that was probably the first tragic romance that really resonated with me? Admittedly, ‘1,000 Words’ probably helped with that, heh (still love that song).

Last Song: ‘Choke’ by The Warning, whom I discovered in the last few days and damn. Talk about fresh talent. There are very few bands for me where I prefer the live version of a song to the recorded one but these girls are breaking all my expectations. Will also recommend ‘Hell You Call A Dream’, which is the song I was recommended and that got me hooked!

Last Movie: The Crow (1994), which my local cinema put on now that trailers of the remake with Bill Skarsgård are making the rounds. To my friends’ exasperation, it was a bit lost on me. I like the concept and the basis of the story, but I didn’t quite dig the goth-ness of it (eternal apologies, Brandon Lee - it’s no slight on you, I promise). I can appreciate it as a cult classic, and for its importance at the time, but personally it wasn’t what I want from a film nowadays. Can I still call myself a 90s kid

Currently Reading: House of Earth and Blood by Sarah J. Maas. I’m about 1/3 the way through, off the top of my head, and while it’s not gripping me like ToG (or even, dare I say it, ACOTAR) did, I’m liking it so far. It has, however, spurned a SJM Bingo Card between me and my two friends (who have also read the entirety of SJM’s books and are cheerleading my foray into Crescent City), which is proving to be highly amusing X)

Currently Craving: udon noodles in some kind of broth. Preferably a light, beefy one. Sick as I currently am, I just want the warm, thick, soft noodly goodness as a source of comfort and a way to flush out my sinuses. I curse my lack of takeaway options and my inability to cook one of my favourite foods for myself.

Okay I’m not tagging anyone else because I’m running on my last few brain cells and still need to get myself to bed, so I’ll wrap up with a thanks to aranict for the tag and a promise to get to the next one soon!

#personal me #tagging thing #ships chosen off my last AO3 obsessions lol #I unapologetically love FFX-2 though sorry not sorry #please somebody get me udon noodle soup and a solid non-feverish night of sleep

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acourtofquestions · 3 months

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“Rowan knew most underestimated the sharp intelligence under that disarming smile. Knew that Dorian's value wasn't his godlike magic, but his mind.”

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llyncooljones · 2 years

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one winter's night - twelve days of rowaelin '22.

ao3 || masterlist || twelve days of rowaelin ‘22 masterlist

prompt: a christmas carol-esque retelling. word count: 1302 trigger warnings: language, tag list: @live-the-fangirl-life @rowaelinismyotp @leiawritesstories @fireheartwhitethorn4ever @elentiyawhitethorn @rowanaelinn @autumnbabylon @backtobl4ck @letstakethedawn @rowaelinscourt

downtown orynth, the evening.

Rowan Whitethorn exited his building, a glass and brick masterpiece he’d overseen the design and construction of, it was to a scene out of winter wonderland.

Snow was falling, landing in his hair and melting off immediately, and the streets were turned some idyllic, hopeful shade of white that had every child losing their mind. Smiles had never been so broad as the children’s smiles were as they kicked at the snow under their boots, and Rowan narrowly missed a load of it heading for his shin—and ultimately the three-thousand-dollar trousers that covered his legs.

Some would call him extravagant, too attached to his money, and what it could mean for him, and he would call them naïve, and childlike in return. They’d huff, no doubt, and would sulk on the minutes for but half an hour before they found themselves in front of him—begging for a hug.

Not that he had a specific person in mind, not that the exact scenario had played out more times than Rowan could be bothered to remember.

Rowan shook out his hair when enclosed in his car, pulling down his visor to check over the fine ins and outs of his outfit and hair. He slid the glasses on his nose higher, allowing him to see better, whilst he adjusted his tie—straightening it.

He couldn’t afford to be caught with his pants around his ankles, so to speak. He’d been named Terrasen Magazine’s Most Stylish Man in the last month, which as much he hated the showboating around the fashion industry, he’d appreciated, and made an effort to continue.

His briefcase was lain on the passenger seat, driving gloves bundled inside, being able to have forgone them in his vehicle, equipped with heated seats, and a heated steering wheel. The engine spurred to life, and he was able to pull out of his parking space. He’d moved his driver to a different sector the previous month, after the light of his life, the love of his life, had complained to him about how pretentious it was, how rich it was.

She seemed to be shy when it came to some of the more common aspects of the upper echelons of society, whilst she had no problem accepting some of the more crazy, unexpected, and stupid aspects. He wasn’t sure why, but Rowan was pretty sure Aelin existed to confuse him, to keep his brain working even when he knew and understood most else.

Because he will never understand the crazy, bold, blonde he’d somehow made space for in his life. He’d forever be able to wax poetic about the golden hour sunshine on her hair, or the exact marbling of the turquoise in her eyes, or how he hoped that the gold of the engagement ring he’d chosen somewhat matched with her eyes.

He’d spend forever trying to solve her, in all her gorgeous entirety, only for her to reveal a new puzzle each time he thought he got close. He’d never tire of the surprises and the gifts and the love she granted him with—her whole heart full of love for him, even when each day she decants half of it into her actions towards him.

He’d given up some of the luxuries he most loved, purely because she had expressed an opinion that was decidedly not positive.

Each time he got home, he could barely believe that it was his life that he was living, not some alternate reality, not some dream universe he would wake up from. He never could remember what had been so twisted, so convoluted in his brain, and his heart, that had led to him almost losing her.

What was it inside of him, that had replaced her with money, with the insatiable desire for money, success—everything he could possibly have? How could money ever compare to the heat in his heart, and the warmth in his body she brought on? The sense of home, he’d never felt before.

She was invaluable to him, she always had been, and he would never let her slip from the number one space on his list of priorities (or his to-do list). Which was why he was leaving the office at five o’clock in the evening, saying goodbye to the executives who remained. Which was why he was headed home, an unshakeable smile drawn across his lips, too excited to see his wife, to see the love of his life.

The drive sped by, as he thought of nothing but his wife, of nothing but her hair, and her eyes, and her lips, and her body. The excited smile that shone every time she pulled open the front door pre-emptively, her body curled around it, watching his every move as he parked the car.

And before he knew it, he was pulling into their driveway, his wife was leaning around their front door, smiling the kind of smile that made him smile, and he was throwing the car into park. Grabbed his briefcase, and slammed the door.

The few metres between them were agonising, and each centimetre closer was like a breath of fresher, cleaner air. Her body draped in comfortable fabric, he envied her, sick of the suit he jammed his body into each and every morning. He was sick of the tie that choked him, and the cufflinks which clinked against his desk when he did anything.

He just wanted to be home, with his wife, with his Aelin, cuddled together on the sofa. They didn’t even have to be doing anything, just relishing in the other’s company, the underlying tone of undying love, the atmosphere of ‘to whatever end’. With Aelin, he was absolved of the pressure the world put upon his shoulder, he didn’t have to do anything.

He didn’t have to be some kind, benevolent, CEO; he didn’t have to be cold, calculating, and controlling, the owner and ultimate king of a fucking empire (of his own fucking making); he didn’t have to be anything but a man who loved his wife—and more than anything, that was why he loved Aelin Ashryver Galathynius-Whitethorn.

Because she would love him if he lived in a trailer, she would love him if they lived in an apartment above a Chinese takeaway, she would love him if they lived in a three bed two bath in the suburbs, and she loved him as they lived in an ostentatious monstrosity that satisfied all of his alpha male ego bullshit, that allowed him to sleep at night—knowing there was a state of the art security system protecting them.

His world came together as the front door closed behind him, and he felt complete: stood opposite his wife, he felt everything at once, and for once he wasn’t overwhelmed. He was calmed by the rush of emotion that overcame him as he watched her shift, and saw the fabric of her sweater reveal the bump to her belly.

His heart crumbled and came together stronger each and every time he saw his wife pregnant, each and every time he remembered that this ethereal, this powerful, this crazy, loving, wonderful, amazing, simply majestic woman was creating, was threading together a life. A life made of him, a life made of her, a life made of them.

This amalgamation of the parts of them, the very picture of their love and devotion to one another. He knelt before her, smudging the bottoms of his dress shoes against the seat of his slacks, hitting his knees too hard on the floors, hands flying up to cradle her bump. He pressed a kiss to it, and he was home in a way that could never mean four walls, a roof, and some trick of a mortgage.

#12 days of rowaelin #twelve days of rowaelin #rowaelin #rowaelin fic #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #tog #tog fic #throne of glass fic #throne of glass #my fic #my writing #llyncooljones' writing

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morganofthewildfire · 2 years

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~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After The Rain - Chapter 6

An Interesting Night

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masterlist

~1.5k words

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1923

Cairn had given her a silky skirt and a nice long sweater, with stockings and little black heels, and a hat and jewels to wear to the train station. Her hair was still in its long braid, not necessarily the fashionable style he was going for, but neither of the men knew how to do hair, and she refused to without her proper supplies, so he was just going to have to deal with it.

It was a short walk into town from where they’d left the horses, and Celaena played along with his little scheme, not attempting any sort of “foolish escape” as they headed toward the station. She had a feeling he wasn’t bluffing about hurting Emrys, and she didn’t want to risk it. Not with everything he’d done for her.

Gods, he must be worried sick right now. But there wasn’t much she could do.

She’d find a way to get back there. Even if she couldn’t stay once she’d escaped, it was the least she could do to at least let him know she was alright. If she would be alright.

She glanced at Rowan, who was walking besides her down the sidewalk, a suitcase in hand. Cairn’s horse had been carrying their luggage apparently. And he’d changed too, into a snappy looking suit with a hat, making him look nearly dark and mysterious. Cairn still just looked like a brute.

That man had made her change in front of him, to make sure she didn’t run away, as he put it. Celaena wasn’t fooled by that bullshit, but she couldn’t argue. So she’d just stripped out of her dress and boots snappishly, refusing to be made uncomfortable by his leering gaze. She’d been through worse, her body had already been violated more than his eyes could do.

So it wasn’t a huge deal, but she didn’t appreciate the power play he was attempting.

Rowan had turned away.

But now here they were, Rowan at her side as her apparent “guard”, as they entered the train station, blending into the bustling crowd. It was evening already, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon, but there were still plenty of people on the platform, going about their business. It was only one town over, but it was significantly more populated.

Celaena kept her chin up as they followed Cairn up to the ticket booth. The man in the booth paused as Cairn leaned against the desk, taking off his hat casually.

“One ticket for a Mr. Mallory,” he said, “and two tickets for the Whitethorns.”

The Whitethorns?

Her brows nearly shot up before she could temper her expression, Rowan’s hand sliding around to her waist. Hugging her to his side like they really were a married couple. Undercover she supposed. Fine, she’d put up with it for now. Better than having to pretend to be married to Cairn.

“Here you go,” the ticket attendant said, handing Cairn three papers before leaning forward a bit and pointing down the platform. “Your train is at platform 5. It’s boarding already, so you’ll want to hurry.”

“I can walk myself,” Celaena hissed under her breath as Rowan tried to direct her after Cairn. He didn’t respond, but did lighten his grip, until she barely felt the touch of his hand through her sweater.

She glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to puzzle him out. She just couldn't quite do it. There was something more to him than he was saying, something more complicated than him being a simple runner in a gang.

But she didn’t know what it was.

“Let’s go,” Cairn snapped back at her, and she narrowed her eyes, refusing to even dignify the words with a response. She may be cooperating, but she wasn’t going to give into his dictatorial behavior. She was her own boss.

She didn’t say another word as they headed toward the train, keeping her gaze straight as Cairn handed Rowan their tickets, disappearing onto the train in front of them.

“Two tickets for the Whitethorns,” Rowan said, nearly repeating what Cairn had said. The conductor just nodded, looking at the papers Rowan showed him.

“Your cabin is down in carriage 8,” the conductor said, and Celaena froze. Cabin. As in one singular one. She supposed they were married, it would make sense for them to share.

Rowan seemed to sense her discomfort, letting go of her even more. She wasn’t sure if she was happy about that or not. On one hand, she certainly didn’t want one of her kidnappers to be touching her. Yet, something about his touch grounded her.

She didn’t understand it. Especially not so soon after…

Something in her gut curled uncomfortably, her obstinance at her situation fading as it was replaced by that dark cloud of grief she’d fought off for so long.

Shit. She’d been doing so well. She couldn’t afford to be so off her game; not like those first few weeks after leaving Mistward, when she’d sank so far deep into herself she was barely aware of what was going on outside of her own head. It’d been weak of her, leaving her vulnerable, and she absolutely could not be vulnerable now.

So she sniffed, straightening herself up.

“Let’s go,” Celaena said, stiffly, stepping away from his arm. She stepped up onto the train carefully, walking down the carpeted hallway in her heels. Rowan trailed behind her, and she could feel his presence as she headed down toward their cabin.

It was a fancy train, and she supposed Arobynn was shelling out the money to have her delivered to him in style. She was his protege, his belonging, he wouldn’t leave her in the throes of poverty. No. Just showered her wealth if she obeyed, and left her rotting in a dungeon if she didn’t.

She shuddered at the thought of what awaited her should her kidnappers be successful.

“You’re safe,” Rowan whispered behind her, and she nearly froze at the words. Had he read her mind? Or was he just saying this innocuously to try to appeal to her?

She didn’t respond.

Especially as they neared their cabin, finding Cairn standing outside the one next door. The trip wasn’t really long enough to require sleep if it’d started earlier in the day. But as it was already nearing bedtime, those who had the money for it had the option for a bed. It seemed Arobynn had obliged.

Or Maeve. She wasn’t sure who was funding the voyage. But Maeve had provided the staff, surely Arobynn was providing the capital.

“Get some good sleep, Sardothien,” Cairn said sarcastically, opening the door to his own cabin. “We’ll reach Rifthold in the morning.”

He slammed the door shut behind him.

The silence was thick as Rowan opened the door to their own cabin, as she entered the small room and saw what awaited them inside. The walls were all rich wood paneled, with a sturdy dresser and upholstered chair, and the singular bed against the wall. It was plush and velvet, and looked immensely comfortable, but it was small.

Rowan shut the door with a click behind them, and she stepped forward a little bit, standing in the middle of the room as he went toward the dresser, dropping his hat on the veneered surface.

“I’m sorry about this,” he said smoothly, and she met his gaze in the mirror above the dresser.

“About what?” She asked drily. “Having to share a bed with me or kidnapping me?” He chuckled quietly, a genuine smile on his face. She just blinked at him.

“Is it considered kidnapping if you’re not a kid?” He asked, raising a brow, and she frowned.

“I’m not going to argue semantics,” she said, taking off her own hat. “Not with my kidnapper.”

She stepped toward the bed, kicking off her shoes and sitting on the mattress. “You can take the chair,” she determined. “I know you have to guard me or whatever, but you can do that from over there.”

Despite her matter of fact tone, she waited to see his response. He just shrugged.

“Fair enough,” Rowan said, moving to head toward the chair, setting the suitcase on the ground. “Cairn packed a nightgown for you to wear,” he said, pulling out a bundle of white fabric.

“What are you?” She asked, snatching the nightgown from him. “His lackey?”

Rowan eyed her oddly, and she bristled. “I’m no one’s lackey,” he said, “there’s a lot you don’t know.”

“Then tell me,” she said, crossing her legs. But he shook his head.

“Not yet,” he said. But he reached into his pocket, tossing her necklace her way. She caught it with a hand, surprised. He just grabbed his own change of clothes from the suitcase, heading for the bathroom. “Get some sleep, alright?”

And then he was gone. This would certainly be an interesting night.

----

taglist:

@shyvioletcat

@courtofjurdan

@leiawritesstories

@elentiyawhitethorn

@westofmoon

@mariamuses

@cretaceous-therapod

@rowaelinrambling

@foughtconquered

@swankii-art-teacher

@rowaelinismyotp

@live-the-fangirl-life

@sailorsassley

@claralady

@gracie-rosee

@theinfernalbookworm

@larisssss

@peppermint-fae

@charlizeed

@llyncooljones

@justreadertings

@backtobl4ck

@wordsafterhours

@story-scribbler

@mybloodrunsblue

@sexy-dumpster-fire

@dealfea

@whoever-you-choose-to-love

@tomtenadia

@house-of-galathynius

@1islessthan3books

@fangirlprincess09

@superspiritfestival

@fromthelibraryofemilyj

@rowanaelinn

@gwynethhberdara

@baxian-argos

@thewayshedreamed

@aelinchocolatelover

@emilyoftheshadows

@rhysands-whore

@gigglinggummybears

@shadowwolf777

@fireheart-violet

@firestarsandseneschals

@wishfulimaginings

@thegreyj

@fireheartwhitethorn4ever

@rhysandswingspan

@poisonous00

#rowaelin #throne of glass fanfiction #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass #rowaelin au #throne of glass au #rowan x aelin #after the rain

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live-the-fangirl-life · 2 years

Text

I posted 1,545 times in 2022

154 posts created (10%)

1,391 posts reblogged (90%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@morganofthewildfire

@writtenonreceipts

@shyvioletcat

@live-the-fangirl-life

@talkfantasytome

I tagged 243 of my posts in 2022

#asks - 56 posts

#rowaelin - 46 posts

#throne of glass - 30 posts

#anon - 28 posts

#aelin x rowan - 28 posts

#rowan x aelin - 28 posts

#tog - 28 posts

#aelin and rowan - 27 posts

#rowaelin fic - 27 posts

#rowan and aelin - 27 posts

Longest Tag: 84 characters

#he would grumble and roll his eyes and act annoyed when she introduces him like that

My Top Posts in 2022:

Cusco, Peru

A World Away Part 6

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn - World Travelers AU

Travel Tip #67: Be aware and respectful of the history around you—in the long-treaded paths, the ruins of lost civilizations, and in the people whose ancestry can be traced back to both.

Part 5 | Fic Masterlist | MoodBoard | Read on Ao3

Warnings: Language

11,091 words

*******

The weather was balmy, and Aelin could feel a rivulet of sweat run down the side of her hairline as she kept her phone pressed to her ear.

“I just grabbed my bag. Where are you?” She asked into the speaker, spinning in place as she scanned the small, bustling airport. Without waiting for a response, she followed the flow of people out of the building and towards the eager hordes of taxi drivers, all gesturing to travelers and calling out to say they could drive them wherever they needed to go.

Adjusting the strap of her backpack that was digging into her shoulder, Aelin kept her cellphone pressed close so she could still hear over the hum of chatter around her while she continued to look for a familiar face.

“Keep walking, I see you,” a deep, accented voice responded. “We’re at the end of the row.”

“We?” she asked, confused, carefully avoiding running into anyone’s bags and suitcases.

The sun and heat were welcome changes from the ever-too-cool airports and obnoxious fluorescent lighting that had defined her last day and a half. Not to mention how much she appreciated getting to truly stretch her legs. Navigating the maze-like airport terminals wasn’t as refreshing as stepping out from baggage claim and into whatever world she’d ended up in.

“Luis and I,” he clarified before saying something in muffled Spanish, “He’s the cab driver I got earlier—insisted on coming back when I explained you’d be flying in now.”

Aelin sped up to pass a family of slow walkers, and as she moved around them and back onto the sidewalk, she spotted a tall, silver-haired man with a cell phone pressed to his ear.

The small smile he wore widened into a grin when he caught her eye and hung up the call. Matching that grin, Aelin quickly shoved her phone into her pocket before hurrying over towards him.

Unlike last time she’d seen Rowan in person when he’d been taken aback by her unexpected hug in Dublin, this time he was the one to approach her, wrapping his arms around her before she could barrel into him. Aelin laughed into his shirt, suppressing her surprise at his unprompted show of affection as she returned the hug.

Her brain felt too tired from the exhausting hours it took to arrive in Peru—the flights, connections, and layovers—to think too much about why she suddenly felt so comfortable. She allowed herself another moment to hang onto him before pulling back and grinning again. “Buzzard! Would you look at that, we’re in the same place and not by accident this time!”

His face instantly morphed into that of long-suffering amusement. Rolling his eyes, Rowan carded a hand through his hair and Aelin had to use more restraint than she expected to not stare at the way his sleeves stretched over his muscled arms. Damned travel exhaustion. He chuckled, seemingly oblivious to her momentarily dilemma, “One of these days, I’m going to come up with a name for you that’s just as awful as Buzzard.”

“Promise?” She winked, laughing.

He shook his head exasperatedly but smirked.

Aelin was thrilled at how natural it felt to talk to him. Despite their frequent conversations—after she’d given him her number, he quickly became the person she spoke to the most on a regular basis—it had still been practically four months since they’d seen each other in person.

She kept him updated on where she was headed next, and he told her all about his projects and where he’d be flying to on any particular day. Neither one could be counted on to be in the same time zone from week to week, sometimes leaving hours between the shortest of messages. But, in a way, their disjointed conversations were more reliable than those she had with her parents or friends back home, because she knew that despite unpredictable schedules, she and Rowan could keep a conversation going for days at a time.

“Buenos días, miss. My name is Luis.” The cab driver came around the hood of the car and greeted her warmly in an enunciated, Peruvian accent as he held out his hand for her luggage. “I can put your bags in the back.”

Noticing his dubious expression when all she handed him was her large backpack, she shrugged and explained, “I didn’t want to worry about dealing with a suitcase,” she shared an excited glance with Rowan, “with our plans and all.”

They slid into the back of the small car, Rowan wincing slightly at the way his long legs were squished behind the driver’s seat. Aelin leaned over and playfully knocked his shoulder with hers. “It’s good to see you, Rowan.”

His face softened a fraction, and his smile was small and genuine. “It’s good to see you too, Aelin. Even if you do ridiculously insist on naming me after a bird.”

Her snort was cut off by Luis grinning at them in the rearview mirror as he nodded to the land around them and began driving away. “¡Bienvenido a Cusco!”

***

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168 notes - Posted January 20, 2022

New York City, United States

A World Away Part 7

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn - World Travelers AU

Travel Tip #79: For the best experience in any city, try to pair the excitement of a tourist with the know-how of a local. Both perspectives will enlighten the other.

Part 6 | Fic Masterlist | MoodBoard | Read on Ao3

Warnings: Language

12,010 words

*******

“I’m so excited,” Lysandra beamed giddily to Elide who rolled her eyes but smirked in agreement. “We finally get to meet your mysterious, worldly man.”

The bustling sounds of Third Avenue were quieted by the terrace of flowers separating the outdoor tables from the rest of Manhattan. Aelin looked through the small spaces between half-open petals and watched as dark cars flew by, accented by the tell-tale bright yellow of a taxicab.

She snorted, going back to perusing the brunch menu. “He isn’t my anything. He’s just Rowan.” Aelin didn’t miss the sidelong glance her friends exchanged.

“I didn’t exactly mean it like that, but since you brought it up,” Lysandra drawled, sipping from her mimosa as a sly grin stretched across her face, widening at Aelin’s sigh. “This is Rowan we’re talking about. The same Rowan who met you halfway across the world for a four-day trek through the jungle.”

“It was not—” Aelin shook her head and put her menu down, but Elide cut in.

“The same Rowan with whom you spent an entire day in Marrakesh talking to,” The brunette raised a brow as Lysandra nodded fervently. “Completely blowing off your scheduled bazaar tour.”

“Okay,” the blonde tried to wave them off. “That wasn’t a big deal because I’d already been wandering around the bazaar—”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you spent hours catching up with a veritable stranger,” Lysandra retorted.

“He wasn’t a stranger. And it had been, like, seven months since we’d seen each other at that point.” Aelin argued, picking up her own glass of citrusy prosecco.

“Right,” Elide grinned. “Seven months since the two of you miraculously met in Santorini—”

“Technically we met on the boat to Santorini—”

“Where he was so enthralled by you,” Elide talked over her, trying to prove her point, “that he took your picture and used it as,” she turned towards Lysandra, feigning forgetfulness, and ignored the way Aelin sat back with her arms crossed, staring indignantly at them.

“His Enchanting Moment.” Lysandra finished helpfully.

Right. That had been a surprise. After Rowan had shown her the photo and brief magazine spread, Aelin went searching for the full edition. It wasn’t until a few weeks later while strolling through the streets of Barcelona that she found the magazine at a small roadside stand. She’d made friends with her hostel manager and got her to translate the multi-page article that held her image. Later, Aelin had found an English version which she bought as a keepsake along with a subscription to the magazine.

Aelin was saved from her friend’s prying by the waiter who came to take their orders. Once he’d walked away, she said, “Look, think whatever you want, just please don’t be weird when he’s here.”

Lysandra batted her eyelashes. “Why? Afraid we’ll embarrass you in front of your secret, jet-setting lover?”

Her friend laughed as Aelin threw a grape at her face. “I’m serious, Lys,” Aelin rolled her eyes, huffing a laugh as two of her closest friends teased her. “You too, Lochan. Rowan is my friend. Gods know it took us long enough to even get to that point. I don’t need you two meddling. And I really don’t want to lose my travel partner because you’ve somehow got it into your heads that there’s something between us.”

Her friends’ smirks softened, and they shared another look before Elide asked, “Is there something between you?”

That was complicated. So very complicated.

Aelin scoffed again but this time it felt a little hollow. “I’ve seen him a total of six times—”

“Tomorrow will make seven—”

“—in two years, El. And half of those were just us yelling and arguing with each other.”

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178 notes - Posted March 11, 2022

Lucky Lady

Gwyneth Berdara x Azriel

“Surpri—oh shit, you’re not…” / “Oh my god! What the hell? Where are your clothes?”

Masterlist | Read on Ao3 | Valentines Collection

Warnings: Language, Nudity

997 words

*******

Azriel wasn’t totally sure what he was doing, standing in Gwyn’s apartment without a scrap of clothing, waiting for her to walk through the door.

He glanced towards her kitchen island where he’d placed a bouquet of roses into a tall vase. She had gone out to a girl’s brunch with Nesta and Emerie, letting him know that they’d left the restaurant and she would be free soon.

Azriel had let himself into her apartment with the key she’d given him a few months prior, wanting to be there when she got back so they could have as much time as possible to celebrate Valentine’s Day.

“This is a good idea, right?” he muttered to the stuffed animal perched on the back of Gwyn’s sofa. The light pink Pegasus stared back with unseeing, sparkly eyes as it held a small red heart between its hooves that said Happy Valentine’s Day.

The moment he had seen the toy, he knew he needed to buy it for Gwyn.

He heard the metallic sound of a key in the lock, and knew he didn’t have any more time to second guess himself.

Buck-ass naked, Azriel stepped between the living room and the kitchen, in direct view of the door. He grabbed the stuffed animal in one hand and the box of chocolates he’d bought for her in the other.

Squaring his shoulders, Azriel flexed his muscles and glanced down at himself smugly as he adjusted his stance.

Gwyn’s apartment door swung open.

He cleared his throat. “Supri—" he grinned, before abruptly cutting off in a choke. “Oh shit, Nesta? Fuck.”

He immediately dropped his hands to cover himself, the chocolates and Pegasus falling to the floor.

“Oh my god!” Nesta cried, her eyes flying wide before she clamped a hand over them and spun around so her back was facing him. “What the hell? Where are your clothes?”

His face aflame, Azriel hastily reached for the pillow on the sofa to use as cover. Then he threw himself behind the kitchen island so his lower half was completely out of sight.

“Nesta?” Gwyn’s frantic, worried voice called out as she hurried towards her apartment. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Azriel was speechless, utterly mortified as his girlfriend rounded the door, searching for the cause of her friend’s shriek.

“Nes—what?” She pulled up short as her gaze immediately found his. He watched as Gwyn looked at him, his bare chest—as much as she could see behind the counter—the chocolates and stuffed animal on the floor, and Nesta who still had her back to him.

The longer her teal eyes darted around, the higher her brows rose. When she caught his eye again, he noticed hers were twinkling with barely contained amusement. Then she pursed her lips together as she tried to hold in a laugh.

Gods, she was never going to let him live this down.

Without taking her eyes off Azriel, Gwyn said to her friend, “Thanks for lunch, Nes, but I think you should probably go now.” Her words were steady but he watched as her gaze darkened as she realized he was fully nude behind the counter.

Nesta nodded without turning around so all he saw was the bob of her hair. She took a step out of the apartment but stopped right next to Gwyn. She didn’t bother to lower her voice as she winked at Gwyn, “You’re a lucky lady, Berdara.” Then Nesta Archeron walked out the door.

Azriel closed his eyes in humiliation but couldn’t help the small swell of male pride. It vanished almost immediately though as he leaned forward and let his head fall against the cool marble with a thud.

The door clicked shut and he heard it lock before Gwyn’s bright cackle filled the room. He groaned as his girlfriend seemed to find the whole situation hilarious.

Azriel heard her move closer to him and pick up the gifts discarded on the ground. When he knew she was close he grumbled into the counter, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

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179 notes - Posted January 28, 2022

Fake Fiancé

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn

Prompt from @backtobl4ck : Fake proposals at restaurants to get free food

Masterlist | Read on Ao3

Warnings: None

896 words

*******

“I’ll have a Tanqueray martini, stirred, with a twist.”

Aelin let her long coat rest over the side of the low-backed barstool she perched on as her gaze surveyed the dimly lit restaurant behind her. Everyone was dressed to the nines, draped in designer clothing and bedecked in jewels, herself included, which only exemplified the opulent atmosphere.

Low chatter dissolved within the quiet music filtering through invisible speakers. Candles lined the walls, illuminating the soft-toned paintings placed about.

She crossed one leg over the other, the silt in her dress falling away to expose smooth skin and toned muscle, and tossed her long golden hair over one shoulder. Her heel began to sway to the low beat.

“Thank you,” she murmured to the bartender who handed over her drink. Lifting the chilled glass to her crimson-painted lips, Aelin loosed a small, contented sigh at the velvety smooth cocktail. Her eyes closed for a moment while she sipped again, enjoying the light citrusy flavor of the lemon rind.

A chorus of applause caught her attention and Aelin twisted in her seat to look towards the side of the restaurant where a woman was rising from her kneeling position on the floor, beaming as she slipped a bright engagement ring onto her girlfriend’s—fiancés—finger.

Aelin felt the corner of her mouth quirk up at the obvious display of happiness and lifted her glass in gesture as more applause rang out. She hadn’t yet turned back to the bar when Aelin heard, what had to be the manager, approach the two women and insist their dinner be on the house while also offering a complimentary bottle of wine or champagne with a hearty congratulations.

She huffed out a soft snort and muttered “I’d get engaged right now if it meant getting that lobster tail comped.”

A deep chuckle to her right made Aelin whip her head around to see who had heard her, mouth already open to ask why they felt entitled to react to her obviously rhetorical comment. The words got caught in her throat, however, when her eyes landed on the man sitting two seats down from her.

His thick hair was so pale it looked silver under the glow of the warm lights. He was tall, he didn’t need to get up for her to see that. And muscled. The arms resting on the sleek bar were toned and strong, and a tattoo peeked out from beneath the sleeves of his dress shirt he’d rolled up to his elbows.

Aelin dragged her eyes back to his face and found him staring at her with piercing green eyes. He was smirking, obviously enjoying the way she had hesitated and checked him out.

Blinking, Aelin remembered why she turned to him in the first place. Arching a golden brow and taking a smooth sip of her martini, she asked, “Something you’d like to say?”

His smirk slowly widened and he lifted his own drink, an Old Fashioned by the looks of it, to his lips. She tightened her grip on her glass while he held her gaze before replying, “Only that I would've gone with the Wagyu.”

Her brow rose higher as the hum of chattering continued around them. Aelin shifted again, angling her body more towards his. “Is that so?”

She swept her eyes over him with deliberate slowness and let him see the glimmer of interest on her face. In one smooth move, he stood from his chair, grabbed his jacket, and took the seat directly beside her.

He shrugged with an irreverence that seemed to say, your choice, but tilted his glass towards her and leaned in. “The real question is would you accept the bottle of Zinfandel or Champagne?”

Aelin sat back in her chair, a smirk playing on her lips that grew when she caught his gaze stray towards them. “Well, seeing as the lobster would pair best with a Chardonnay, not a red, and if my fiancé was having the Wagyu steak which would preferably be had with a Barolo or Syrah, and not a Zinfandel,” she paused, sipping her martini and enjoying the slow grin blossoming across the man’s face. “I would opt for the complimentary bottle of Champagne to share.”

Nodding his agreement, he finished his drink and set it on the bar before extending his hand towards her. “Rowan.”

Aelin held his gaze, aware of how he kept his hand out in offering as she sipped the last of her cocktail and set the empty glass next to his. She smiled and placed her hand in his. “Aelin.”

Without breaking eye contact, he shifted their handshake so he lightly held her fingers and brought them to his mouth, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. “Aelin,” he dragged her name out, and she instantly enjoyed the way it sounded coming from him. “How would you like to get fake engaged tonight?”

Her smile broadened and his soon followed. “I would love to.”

Aelin stood from her barstool and discreetly removed one of the rings she wore, sliding it towards Rowan and letting her fingers graze his skin for a second longer than necessary.

Standing to his full height, he pocketed the ring and winked at her. “After you,” he insisted and rested a hand lightly on the small of her back as they walked toward the dinner tables.

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189 notes - Posted February 5, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

ooh what about "I'm not drunk. Can a drunk person do this?" / "You're not doing anything." / "But...I sent you my love. Did you...did you not get it?" for rowaelin? definitely seems like an aelin thing to say 😂

Sending My Love

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn

“I’m not drunk. Could a drunk person do this?” / “You’re not doing anything.” / “But…I sent you my love. Did you…did you not get it?”

Masterlist | Read on Ao3 | Valentines Collection

Warnings: Language

2405 words

*******

“Are you ready for tonight?” Aelin asked, looking in the hall mirror as she put in her sparkling pink earrings.

Rowan grabbed his jacket and walked towards her. “Yes, Fireheart, I’m ready.” He showed her the remaining crumbs from his extra sandwich as proof. “Are you?”

She smirked at him in the mirror. “Of course. A little deception is exciting.”

He arched a brow and held out her jacket for her to slide her arms in, “You have the same look in your eye that you had when you were planning Aedion’s surprise party.”

She grinned, buttoning her jacket and turning towards him, “And you remember how amazing that turned out.”

Rowan snorted as he grabbed the keys and locked the door of their apartment behind them. “I have no doubt in you. Not when it comes to scheming.”

Aelin laughed and flashed him a wink as they got in the car and drove off towards Lysandra and Aedion’s house. Despite her confidence, she couldn’t help the anxiety that bubbled up.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay? Should I have set out a bucket for you by the bed before we left?” She bit the side of her thumb, a nervous habit, and cast him a sidelong glance as they drove towards the house.

He scoffed but took her hand in his and brought their intertwined fingers to his lips, kissing her softly. “No. I can handle my drink. I’ve had a fair bit of practice. Besides, it’s not like we’re going out to a club, it’s just a small party with some friends, I doubt there will be that many drinks.”

She huffed a laugh and nodded. Rowan pulled up into the driveway and turned the car off, leaning over and pressing a firm kiss on her lips, breaking away when their smiles made it mostly teeth on teeth. He followed Aelin up the front steps. She knocked on the door and turned to Rowan. “Then let’s do this Mr. Whitethorn-Galathynius.”

His answering grin was equal parts determined and happy. “After you Mrs. Whitethorn-Glathynius.”

***

“To celebrating love,” Elide toasted, raising her flute of champagne.

Lorcan stood next to her, one arm slung over the petite woman’s shoulders, and muttered, “To overpriced chocolates,” but mimicked her gesture of raising his glass.

Lysandra and Aedion had just moved into their brand-new house and decided to throw a Valentine’s Day party in lieu of a housewarming. Their small group of friends arrived an hour before the party officially started to get the full tour and celebrate before the house would be filled with love-sick and sick-of-love people.

They stood together in the kitchen as Aedion had handed out glasses, Aelin laughing as she leaned into Rowan’s side and snagged one of the chocolate hazelnut candies off the dessert table.

She smiled as champagne was poured and felt the fingers at her waist give a little squeeze. There was the toast to Valentine’s Day, making Aelin snort into her bubbling glass as Elide elbowed Lorcan with rolled eyes.

Rowan turned, masked by the whistles and laughter from their friends, and pretended to glance at the door as he downed his glass, before stealthily swapping his empty one for Aelin’s. When Aedion came to give her a hug, she cheersed the empty glass in her hand with his.

It wasn’t long before more people filled the house, bringing bottles of wine and champagne or plates full of food and treats.

“Ooh, you’ve got to try this!” Elide came over to Aelin and Rowan with two deep red cocktails with sugared raspberries in hand. She handed one to each of them. “Lys calls these Love Potions. Cranberry juice, grenadine, and a shit load of vodka!” Elide laughed, but quickly spotted someone else and hurried away.

“It smells so good.” Aelin groaned as Rowan took a few deep gulps of his, only briefly wincing at the burn. She pulled one of the raspberries off and made sure it hadn’t been soaking in the drink before plunking it in her mouth.

“Trade you,” he took her drink and she grabbed his.

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192 notes - Posted January 31, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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fireheartfaery · 4 years

Note

I’m so glad to see a blog so dedicated to simping over Rowan cause everywhere else all I see is “Rhys this, Rhys that”. I love you and your blog. I also love rowan.

First of all you now officially own my heart because this is so sweet thank you🥺

Secondly: Rowan is just— I'm not even sure I can explain how much I love him. I guess I don't have to since you seem to be as much of a fan but he just did everything right. Even when he did wrong, he did right, because he cared so much.

About his fireheart, about their court, about the cause they fought for, about the people from his own home. He just loved so hard and I saw it in everything.

Rhysand loved don't get me wrong, he loved hard, maybe just as hard as Rowan. But he loved Feyre, and his friends, and his Velaris.

Rowan loved everything, and he protected everything he loved.

That dam scene where Aelin stops the dam. He stops her steam from killing the entire battlefield. Like he didn't just protect her, or his friends. He was exhausted and he protected hundreds of people anyway.

That scene where he teaches Dorian how to control his magic. Aelin just told him to save Dorian. He decided to help Dorian.

That scene where he punches Rolfe for slandering Sam's name. Like yea he did it because he knows how much Sam meant to Aelin but he took that part of her and made it his. He could have given Rolfe a dirty look, he could have let Aelin deal with it, but whatever she is he is too so he defended the honour of someone she loves.

He is so full of love and it hurts me to think about.

I just think Rowans love is limitless in a way Rhysands is not.

Anyway yes friend you are right. I am a Rowan stan blog first and whatever else I am second.

#Rowan Whitethorn #Rowan Whitethorn appreciation #Before the acotar fandom comes for me I'm not bashing Rhysand #He's great and I truly do love him and his story of pain and healing will always be a part of me #My life however belongs to Rowan in a way that nothing else can and will ever match up to #FDS asks #Ciara's Convos #Lovely friends

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aestridashryver · 2 years

Text

Why is it always “I love your smile” and never “They had walked out of darkness and pain and despair together. They were still walking out of it. So that smile…it struck him stupid every time he saw it and realized it was for him.”

#throne of glass #aelin whitethorn #aelin galythinius #rowan whitethorn #Rowan is bae #Rowan is under appreciated #this series has consumed me #i am one with ToG #why can’t men be like this #why is love so hard #beautiful smile

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writtenonreceipts · 4 years

Text

Thank-you for 100+ followers! Here’s a little thank-you fic, I so appreciate the the support. ~5.7k words. Rowaelin.

Sometime Around Midnight

Three years ago when he would have a day off, Rowan found himself hiking in the mountains. Two years ago when he would have a day off, Rowan found himself pacing the hospital halls.

Currently when he would have a day off, Rowan found himself at work.

He no longer knew what a day off actually looked like and that was fine with him.

“What are you doing here?”

Rowan looked up to see his longtime friend and co-bar owner, Fenrys come in from the storage room. He had a clipboard in hand, his gold-blond hair hanging in long, loose curls around his shoulders.

“Working,” Rowan replied. He wiped down the metal table before him where he’d accidentally upended an entire tub of maraschino cherry juice. Thankfully there’d been no actual cherries left so there wasn’t much lost there, but the mess was still annoying.

“Go home, Rowan,” Fenrys said. He jabbed the clipboard his direction as he came behind the bar and examined the on the floor stock. “You haven’t taken a day off in two years.”

“Not true, last week you and Lorcan forced me to go camping,” Rowan said.

“Forced being the choice word of that sentence,” Fenrys replied. He leaned back against the bar and examined his friend. “C’mon man, she wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

Rowan slapped the cleaning rag down on the counter and scowled. “I guess we’ll never know, will we?”

It didn’t take much else for Fenrys to surrender. But Rowan could see the mixed look of anger and disappointment in his friend's eyes. It was easy enough to ignore when one of the regulars came in and ordered his drink.

Rowan poured the man his whiskey, neat, and went back to cleaning up behind the bar. It was only eleven in the morning and it was already proving to be a miserable day. Especially given the fact that Rowan was haunted by that damn piano with it’s strange cadence. And even though Rowan knew next to nothing about classical music there was something about the way that the chords were struck that told Rowan someone one was sacrificing their heart and soul to whatever god might be listening.

And Rowan found himself wishing that he could be the one to say that he was there.

Not long after that, Lorcan came in for the start of his shift. It was a strange time, but he was taking classes at the local community college and the later afternoon and evening shifts worked best for his schedule. Not that Rowan minded working around his friend’s schedule. It was what he did. What they all did for each other.

With his ever-present scowl Lorcan shuffled behind the bar and pulled his shoulder length hair back into a bun. He greeted Rowan with a grunt and started on making sure there were plenty of clean glasses to be prepared for the rest of the night.

“You could go home man,” Lorcan said quietly as he leaned against the bar. “You’ve been working non-stop all week.”

All week. All year.

It all rolled together in one fat miserable existence.

Rowan merely shrugged. “Nah. I can’t leave you here alone.”

“It’s a Tuesday,” Lorcan said. He rolled his eyes. “What’d’ya thinks going to happen?”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. But if Rowan went home all he would do is stare at his phone, the tv, the wall. He didn’t sleep much anymore despite how exhausted he was. Besides, Rowan didn’t want to owe Lorcan anything.

“Shut up and go wipe down tables,” Rowan growled. He leaned down and grabbed a bowl of limes from a mini-fridge beneath the bar. He had a feeling they would need them at some point that night.

And hours later, he was right.

It was near closing time, one in the morning, and a woman with golden hair twisted into an intricate braid atop her head stumbled in. She slid into a barstool with easy grace and immediately ordered an entire bottle of tequila.

Rowan stared at her.

She was beautiful, there was no mistaking it. With her large, golden blue eyes, full lips, and sexy black dress that dipped into a sinfully low v--Rowan had a hard time looking away from her.

“You do know we’re closing soon, right?” he asked even as he lined up a few shot glasses.

“Shut up and pour,” she said.

Rowan was never usually one to take orders from someone else, particularly when that someone was out looking to get blackout drunk. And yet, when she stared at him with those sharp eyes and hard tilt of the chin, he decided that listening to her might not be a bad thing. So, he poured.

The woman slammed back two shots before snatching the bowl of limes he’d cut earlier. Without even hesitating, she began sucking the slices dry.

“Feel better?” he asked.

She flipped him off and grabbed a third shot. She didn’t seem at all affected by the tequila which in and of itself was a phenomenal feat. But Rowan recognized the drinking and the behavior for what it was. She was trying to forget.

One o’clock in the morning in the middle of the week and she was ready to lose herself to anything and everything.

“Riddle me this barkeep,” the woman said as she twirled one of the shot glasses between her fingers. “Why do men make promises they have no intention of keeping?”

Rowan watched her, somewhat concerned.

She truly seemed far to put together for a bar like this, a neighborhood like this. Far too attractive to be alone, even pontificating on the idea of being alone. And yet, as she downed another shot and sucked on another lime--Rowan had a feeling that this was who the woman really was. Confident and self-assured.

He poured her a glass of water just to be safe.

She scowled and glared at the offending drink.

“I do know how to handle my liquor,” she said. She gave him a pointed glare.

“Whatever you say, Princess,” he replied with a growl. “I’d just rather not spend half my night cleaning up after you.”

“You are a cranky old buzzard,” she said. Her full lips jutted out in a scowl and Rowan had a hard time tearing his gaze from them.

He needed to focus on something else. “Buzzard?”

“Your shirt,” she said pointing with a lime rind. “Those look like hawks. And hawks are assholes that pick and mother-hen everything. Buzzard.”

Looking down at his shirt, Rowan frowned. Indeed, the button up had birds in the design, but he didn’t think it was that noticeable. Or at least not enough to comment on. Even for a woman who most certainly was well on her way to getting wasted.

She grinned at his silence and plucked a cherry from behind the counter. Watching him, the woman ate the cherry and kept the stem between her fingers.

“But I really would like to know,” she said, “why make promises that you don’t keep?”

Rowan shook his head. Maybe he should just let her drink herself to oblivion. It would make it easier to call a cab for her. And he had a rule not to get involved in these deep philosophical-like talks. They never served anyone well.

“It’s probably just me,” she said, so quietly Rowan almost missed it.

But her phone buzzed from where she set it beside her. She glanced at it, laughed loudly, and shoved it away.

“Maybe I should try celibacy for a while,” the woman said. She stole another cherry and sighed. “Because this dating thing is not working very well.”

Rowan waited until she’d gulped down half the glass of water before pouring her another shot.

“You don’t talk much do you?” the woman asked.

Rowan noticed then the distinct tint of her eyes. Gold rimmed with blue. Or blue rimmed with gold. One of the two. Whichever it was it was distinct enough that Rowan had a much harder time looking away this time.

“I try not to mingle with the crazy.”

She gave an affronted huff.

“Or the emotionally distressed.”

A snort. She dropped the cherry stems into one of the shot glasses. “Cranky old buzzard.”

“I’m not old,” Rowan said.

She laughed at him, a triumphant sort of gleam in her eyes.

Rowan wished he’d carded her just to prove a point. But he recognized her now, at least partially. She’d come in once before months ago with someone that could have been her brother. Lorcan had carded back then. He carded everyone mostly so he could have a greater opportunity of throwing someone out.

The last time she was here this doom and gloom cloud raging over her had been absent. All she’d been was carefree.

She finished her water and nodded to the tequila.

“I think you’ve had enough,” he said, “besides, I should be finishing closing.”

Rolling her eyes, the woman picked up her phone--a call flashed on the screen and whoever it was had her grinning broadly.

“Dorian!” she cried into the phone with a happy lilt to her voice.

She was definitely drunk.

Rowan grabbed the dirty glasses he’d poured her and collected the lime rinds and cherry stems.

“Where the hell are you?” A voice demanded on the other line. Loud and on speaker. The woman made no effort to take it off speaker.

“Ugh, you’re too loud, asshole,” the woman groused. She tried to snag the unattended tequila, but Rowan managed to slide it out of her grasp. It earned him a pout, but he didn’t really care.

“Where are you?” the man on the other end repeated.

“The Cadre.”

A loud, very crude curse sounded. “Are you trying to get alcohol poisoning? This is how you get alcohol poisoning.”

“Buzz kill,” the woman sang into the phone. She grinned at Rowan. “You should come get me. It’s way past the bartender’s bedtime.”

She hung up the phone without waiting for a response.

“You know,” she said, “this place is so close to my apartment. But I never come here.”

“You must live in a crappy part of town,” Rowan said before he could stop himself. But she didn’t seem to be at all offended. In fact she laughed.

“If only you knew,” she laughed. Her demeanor turned serious and for a moment, Rowan thought that she might say something more profound, something that would help him better understand her. Because there was something entirely different about her. And not just the confident way she held herself or overtook a room. But something.

It wasn’t long after that when the door to the bar opened and a young man entered. He was tall with thick black hair and a lean build. He held himself well though and the well-tailored suit only helped exude more confidence. Or perhaps it was the woman at his side. She was shorter, lean, and had long bone white hair that curled in loose waves. Her golden eyes examined the bar with amusement.

“Dorian!”

Slipping out of her stool, Rowan’s once companion, ran over to the man with surprising agility for how much she’d been drinking the past hour.

“Are you kidding me?” Dorian groaned as he caught the woman. “I thought you were with Sam.”

“Nope,” the woman popped the “p” with a loud smack of her lips and giggled. “But I found another broody man to keep me company instead.”

The woman cast a bright, beaming look over her shoulder to Rowan. And in all honesty, he didn’t know what to make of it.

The man, Dorian cursed, and passed the tipsy blonde over to his companion who rolled her eyes and said something softly to the other woman.

Dorian approached the bar and pulled out his wallet and handed Rowan several bills. More than enough to cover the drinks and a tip.

Rowan glanced at Dorian more than ready to tell him off for whatever statement he wanted to make in front of the women.

“Thanks for letting her in,” Dorian said, his voice soft. There was such sincerity in his words, that Rowan accepted the cash without realizing what he was doing. “And making sure she was safe.”

Rowan shrugged. “I was about to call a cab.”

“Still,” Dorian said. He knocked his fist on the bar and backed away. “You’re a hopeless drunk Galathynis.”

“It fits, seeing as how I have a hopeless fiancé,” the blonde replied. She paused. “Ex-fiancé.”

The doors of the bar shut behind them as they left and Rowan followed after making sure to lock up. It had been a long night and he had no idea what to make of the woman who’d just left.

Once on a dare, Rowan shaved his head. He’d been drunk when he actually did the deed because being sober for the event was not an option. His fiancée had asked him to shave his head for her. No. That was a lie. She would have never asked him to do that for her. But he knew he should have. She would have loved it.

Two years after, Rowan still kept his head shaved.

If pestered about it, Rowan would just say it was easier and more manageable this way. Anything to get out of mentioning Lyria. Anything to get out of thinking back on her.

When he saw the woman from the bar next it was at the bar. At a decent hour this time.

Well as decent as the hours could be for a grunge bar such as The Cadre.

It was nearing ten o’clock on a weekend and all the usuals were there. Rowan expected it to be another regular night without anything exciting happening.

But then he spotted the woman with golden hair and distracting eyes come in. She was alone, again. But this time she wasn’t in a black dress with her hair perfectly braided in that crown along the top of her head. Tonight, she wore black leggings and a long flannel shirt over a white t-shirt. Her blonde hair hung in loose curls down her back.

And again—damn him—Rowan about found himself speechless. It wasn’t something he was used to. Not since Lyria.

“Well, if it isn’t the Buzzard,” crooned the blonde as she sidled up to the bar.

“Are you going to drink me out of tequila again?” Rowan asked warily.

She flashed him a grin. Yes. She probably would.

Because Rowan had learned a long time ago how to read that grin. Ferocious and cold. The kind of grin that would take no prisoners and show no mercy.

As she ordered her drink, Rowan quickly became distracted by the late-night rush. A college game had just finished up and post-drinking was required. Not to mention it was the middle of the summer and everyone seemed desperate for escape. Even to a place like the Cadre.

And still, all through the night, Rowan found his gaze wandering to the end of the bar where the woman had set up. She spent her time nursing a drink, taking shots, and declining any offers to join anyone.

“You’ve been staring at that woman all night,” Lorcan said, coming up beside Rowan. The broad-shouldered man edged a palette of clean glasses onto the bar and began putting them away.

Rowan grunted and looked distinctly away from her. He threw a towel on his shoulder and sidled past his friend to grab a new bottle of vodka from a shelf behind him. Lorcan rolled his eyes but said nothing. Nothing until the woman changed seats and came to an open space near the center of the bar.

She leaned against the bar and examined both men.

“Well you both seem to be enjoying your night,” she said dryly.

“It’s a Saturday with a bar of grumpy old bastards,” Rowan replied. Lorcan snorted back a laugh. Whether in agreement or making a statement, Rowan wasn’t sure. Either way, he’d make sure to punch his friend later.

“Then you’re right among friends,” the woman said. She looked so serious as she said it that Rowan almost missed the sarcasm lacing her words.

It was Lorcan who laughed first and helped himself to a tequila shot before pouring one for the blonde. She offered him a silent toast and downed the drink.

“I’ll get you another drink in a minute,” Rowan told her. He still had to finish a few orders for another table of some ass-hat executives at a table near the back corner.

“Okay,” she said.

And then she was swiping cherries. Again. Perhaps it was Rowan’s fault for leaving the container up on the bar. Rowan narrowed his eyes at her. She smiled; her lips stained with that saccharine syrup.

She said nothing else, but leaned against the bar with nonchalance and yet her eyes seemed glazed over as she watched people slowly filter out. It wasn’t that late, barely past midnight and a Thursday. Yet as the hype simmered out from the baseball game, the bar still remained busy.

As she nursed her second drink--despite the gleam in her eyes at the start of the night, she’d paced herself very well—the woman finally accepted a glass of water.

“I do not need any food,” she told him after he’d asked again. Her lip curled a moment. “Unless you have cake.”

“Cake?”

“Cake.”

Rowan stared at her. She puckered her lips.

“No,” he said slowly, “no cake.”

“Then no food.”

“You’re just going to sit here and drink all night?” Rowan asked.

“I’m in good company.” She turned those brilliant eyes on him and for a moment Rowan felt as though he were staring through the universe as it collapsed in on him and he were left bereft in that unknown sea.

And then she blinked.

“Besides, it’s not like there’s anyone waiting up for me.” She threw a cherry stem down on the bar with a scowled. “Sorry, I’m sure you love hearing about everyone else’s problems.”

Rowan shrugged indifferently, even as she leaned forward on her elbows to watch as he shook drinks for a couple a few spaces down.

“You’re the perfect bartender,” she declared, “you don’t talk, you’re surly, and that whole brooding bastard look is working really well. And I could say anything and not even faze you, couldn’t I?”

“Nothing surprises me anymore,” Rowan said. He delivered the drinks as he finished them and returned to find her with more swiped cherries while texting someone.

She quirked an eyebrow at him before finishing the last of her drink. She slipped out of her stool with much more ease that he would have expected.

“I wonder if you have it worse or better than the rest of us,” she said, smiling around a cherry stem.

And that image of her imprinted its self in Rowans mind long after she left.

Maybe, Aelin realized, she had an addiction. The kind that made no sense. The kind that gripped her with nothing more than coincidences and overthinking. One that didn’t even require her to consume anything other than the sight of one person.

And she did not like it.

She didn’t even know the bartenders name. All she knew was that he worked practically all the time at the rundown bar down the street from her apartment. It made sense that she’d never been there before. Sam didn’t really like the bar scene after all. Said it was just too much. And Aelin had known that. Hadn’t really minded it because they had other ways of spending time together.

But that damn bar was like a stain on her mind. It would not leave her alone.

So yet again she found herself there.

Too late or too early, she didn’t know which. What she did know was that she probably shouldn’t have gone to the bar. It wasn’t anything more than the fact that she really should be sleeping. Or pounding down Lysandra’s door demanding a last-minute slumber party and not taking no for an answer.

But here she was instead.

When he looked up and found her entering the bar, he gave her a trademark scowl. Aelin told herself that there was softness to his eyes. No brief flicker of joy. Just a scowl. Because she was a pain in the ass.

His silvery blonde hair was styled to stay out of his eyes and Aelin found herself desirous to run her fingers through it and see it messed up from it’s usual grace. He wore jeans and a non-descript black shirt. The style, combined with the lighting of the bar made his green eyes all the more vibrant.

“If you’re here to swipe cherries you can leave now,” he said.

“Just as cheery as ever, eh Buzzard?” she said.

He gave her a glass of water and left her alone for a few minutes. It wasn’t much longer until he came back and began slicing limes.

Aelin watched him work in silence. Despite his large hands he handled the knife deftly and cut perfect slices. Aline was tempted to ask him how he’d learned to handle a knife, but figured he’d make her drink more water.

“Can I get a real drink now?” she asked.

“No.”

She scowled at him. “Why not?”

“It’s nearly two in the morning.”

“So?”

He looked up and stared at her. His pine green eyes were unreadable pools.

Whatever he saw in her was enough for him to grab a glass and a bottle of whiskey. He set the items before her silently.

Of course, as soon as she got what she wanted she didn’t want it.

Again.

Aelin stared at the amber liquid in the carefully cut glass jar.

“Do you think we have multiple shots at happiness?” she asked.

The man grunted.

“You’re as interesting as your friend.”

“I’m not having a conversation with a drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” Aelin said defensively.

“You’re in a bar at three in the morning,” he replied, “besides, I don’t do soul searching conversations.”

“Oh of course,” Aelin said, “because that would mean actually connecting with someone. I forgot; men don’t do that.”

He scowled at her. “I barely know you. Besides, I make it a general rule not to cross the bar like that.”

Aelin ran a finger over the rim of the empty glass, eyes still set on him.

“I’m hardly a stranger, I’m here often enough,” she said.

“And yet I don’t know your name,” he said. He tilted his head just barely to the side and Aelin found that the angle exposed his collar bone. Black ink swirled along his tanned skin. She thought she recognized some of the symbols as Celt or some sort, but then he shifted again and her view was lost. Which was highly disappointing. He had nice skin.

“You already act like you do,” she said, finger still gliding over the glass cup. “Princess.”

He snorted, unconvinced and rolled his eyes. Aelin found herself grinning. She didn’t know what it was, but she liked being able to make him break that stoic wall of his.

“Aelin,” she said finally. “My name’s Aelin.”

He blinked those glorious pine eyes at her. When he said nothing, Aelin wondered if he would go back to ignoring her or whatever it was he did.

“Rowan,” he murmured, eyes still fixed on her.

“Hello, Rowan,” she said, “now tell me. What is your understanding of finding happiness?”

For reasons that she could not explain, Aelin found herself returning time and time again. She pried information from Rowan like she was trying to pull lies from a faerie. Impossible.

But how she tried.

She learned his last name was Whitethorn. His tattoos were in fact Celt. He co-owned the bar with a friend. All of his friends worked at the bar at one point or another, one night or another. He didn’t tell her what the tattoos meant—though Aelin had an idea of who they were about. Based mostly on what Rowan didn’t say and how easily he avoided certain conversations.

She learned other things too. He was left-handed. He had a dimple on one cheek. There was a freckle on his ear. He knew the words to most of the 80’s songs that blared on the speakers. He had secrets. He wanted to believe in happiness for one.

And she wanted to know more.

“You jumped out of a two-story window?” She asked in disbelief one night

Throughout the summer when she wasn’t at work or handing out with her friends, this was where she was. Far more often than she wanted to admit. Especially the fact that being here around him made Aelin feel...safe. And far better than that first night she had stumbled across this place.

“You would have done the same thing,” Rowan said. His eyes were far too wide that Aelin couldn’t stop laughing despite the somewhat serious nature of his story. “I’m pretty sure my Aunt has murdered someone before.”

“So you thought it was a good idea to break into her house?” Aelin sputtered. Tears of mirth were brimming in her eyes as she stared at him.

“I really didn’t want to streak through the college quad,” Rowan said with a grimace. “It was below freezing that night.”

Cackling loudly, Aelin took a slow sip of her plain orange juice. It was ten in the morning and she wasn’t needed in work until after noon. Oh the joys of a damned internship. It was better than the old place, but certainly not as reliable.

“Your turn,” Rowan said, pulling away from the bar as he grabbed a clean rag to give a general wipe down to everything. “Stupidest thing you’ve ever done?”

Aelin hummed. “I don’t know…”

He pointed a finger at her. “We had a deal.”

“Well when you put it that way,” Aelin drawled, a faint blush rising on her cheeks. “I accidentally started a brush fire out behind my house.”

“Now the question is if this happened years ago or last night,” Rowan mused.

“Buzzard,” she said.

“Fireheart,” he replied.

She rolled her eyes at him as her phone buzzed with a text and her boss's name popped up on the screen. Aelin sighed, knowing just what it would say. “Well, as much as I enjoy telling you all my darkest secrets, they need me to go in early.”

“Told you the plain orange juice was the better idea,” Rowan said.

“A lot less fun,” she muttered and dug a few bills from her purse. She met his eyes and smiled. “I’ll see you later.”

Her heart fluttered when he smiled, briefly, back.

When Rowan realized that Aelin was probably destined to never leave him alone, he resigned himself to that fact.

Really it wouldn’t be bad.

Not with her smile. Her laugh. Not with the insistence she had that he and Lorcan add chocolate cake to the bar menu or make the bar pet friendly. Not bad at all when she would come simply to talk. Simply to sit. Simply to be.

Until one night she came in, far too close to closing. It was too the point that Rowan had been about to lock up that she came up to the doors, reaching for the handle. They stared at each other for far too long before Rowan let her in.

He said nothing as she made her way behind the bar and grabbed the vodka and went to her usual stool. He said nothing as she took a swing, cursed, and drank again.

Despite everything that he knew about her--she was ambidextrous, her parents were dead, she loved playing the piano, she couldn’t her tongue--despite all of this he had never seen her like this.

This was different from that first night she came tumbling into his life, nearly six months ago now.

“I should be getting married,” she said after a third drink.

She set the vodka down heavily and leaned her head against the bar and sighed heavily. Slowly, Rowan came to sit beside her. The first time really that he had done so. They usually spent their time separated by the bar with enough distance that he could keep his emotions at bay.

Now, Rowan was far too close to her. He could smell the lotion she used, smell the night on her, see tears in her eyes when she finally looked up.

“Or, I would already be married,” she amended. “Married and on my way to Mexico, though I wanted to go to Ireland. I’ve never been and I think I have family still out there, but going to Mexico would be cheaper and warmer. But Ireland has the ocean too, and history, and…well it’s different. Apparently too different.”

Her words stilled as her chest heaved from everything that came tumbling out in too quick in procession like a piano solo that raged out of control and now that she’s finally caught up to herself, she doesn’t know where to go.

So she looked at him.

“He broke off the engagement without really telling me why, other than it was too soon and too much and everything else he could think of.”

The tears rolled slowly down her cheeks and she looked away from him, out over the empty bar with its scuffed floor and mismatching furniture. There was a bulb out over head that cast them in semi-shadows, enough that things feel quieter and gentler.

Rowan waited as she collected her words, her thoughts. He waited and remembered all the questions she’d asked him in the past about broken promises and happiness and everything in between. He wished he’d answered her sooner.

“Aelin,” he began slowly.

“Was I not worth it?” She whispered. Her words were aimed at the empty space. At the nothingness of the bar that reminded Rowan of how long the nights could get. “Was I not worth the fear and change of it all?”

Between the wondering of how they came to this and the wondering why she trusted him with her fragile words, Rowan was convinced he would do something entirely too stupid for words.

But when her gaze returned to his, Rowan found he didn’t care.

So he reached out, cupping her cheek with one of his hands. He could feel her tears on his skin and could feel how her chin trembled with restrained sobs.

“I thought, I thought,” she said. Her voice was ragged, abused and the words fused together. It was enough to make Rowan lean forward, enough for him to lean his forehead against hers.

They sat that way for a long time. Long enough for Aelin to get a hold of her staggered breathing and reign in her thundering heart.

Rowan remained silent not wanting to disturb the silence that settled around them. He ran his thumb across her cheek, catching all the tears that fell from her eyes. Aelin didn’t reply immediately. She merely closed her eyes and learned further into his touch. The soft sigh that left her lips was almost Rowan’s undoing. How long had it been? Only a few months and he was already enthralled by her and the way she had held herself together for so long.

“Aelin.”

Her eyes fluttered open and Rowan was convinced she could have petrified him with that gaze. The tears that lingered there only enhanced the gold rimming her pupils.

For a moment, Rowan thought he had overstepped his bounds, had done something she wasn’t comfortable with. Hell, he was just a bartender. Did she even consider him to be a friend? She probably didn’t even reciprocate the feelings that he had been developing for her. He made to pull away when she snatched a hand up to hold his hand in place where it still rested against her cheek.

Rowan’s heart stuttered in his chest at the movement and continued to stutter the longer they remained there. He wet his lips before speaking, knowing full well that it could potentially be a terrible idea. She’d never talked about that first night she came in. Never explained much about her ex-fiance or why they’d split up. And Rowan never pried. Mostly because he didn’t feel like it was his place.

“You’re worth all of it. All of it and more.”

He watched as the words sunk in, as she slowly blinked.

“You barely know me,” she whispered.

“I know enough,” he answered honestly. “You have a heart of fire. You’re strong. Confident. Unforgettable.”

Still clutching his hand, Aelin turned away from him, gnawing on her bottom lip. When she looked back at him, Rowan could see uncertainty in her eyes. The same uncertainty he felt in his own chest.

Rowan leaned forward, drawing closer to Aelin. They were separated by mere centimeters. All it would take was for Aelin to tilt her chin up and capture his lips with her own.

The uncertainty that had been in her eyes was wiped away with determination and she rose up to meet him with a firm press of her lips. Rowan could still taste the vodka lingering on her mouth as she opened to him.

Her hands immediately went to his hair, pulling through the strands. The touch sent a shiver of pleasure through him as his own hand wandered down her waist. They didn’t break contact as they rose from their seats and in a fluid motion, Rowan lifted Aelin onto the bar top.

Aelin arched into him as Rowan explored the planes of her skin with his mouth. There was something electrifying about this woman, about being so near her, kissing her. And he would be perfectly willing to spend the rest of his life doing this.

When they finally broke apart, both out of breath, they touched foreheads and merely stared into each other’s eyes.

Until Aelin hummed, fingers threading through his hair again.

“You know, you should at least buy me a drink first, Buzzard,” she said.

Rowan chuckled lowly. “Whatever you say, Fireheart.”

thanks for reading dears! my ask box is always open. I’m probably going to try and bust out some holiday drabbles for the next two weeks then move on to my other updates.

tags: @tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire @aelinchocolatelover @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @bamchickawowow@ladywitchling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @courtofjurdan

#aelin #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin au #rowaelin #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #appreciation fanfic #thank-you #aelin and rowan

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