#some kind of drunken soup haze

[jessiesjaded]

mum got drunk and made soup for 6 hours and it is straight up the worst soup ive ever eaten

[fourmarkdove]

Fawn.

Title: Fawn.

Words: 2.8k

Summary: Geralt stops into ye locale brothel expecting one the ladies to soothe his battle weary soul. You aren’t meant to be there and have no idea how to handle his needs.

Paring: Geralt x reader

Warnings/Triggers: Smut.

A/N: This is a multi-chapter beasty. I’m already up to 10k so I’ll be editing and breaking it up into chapters to post in the next couple days. I’ve held onto this for 3 months (?) and I still can’t figure out where I’m going with it past chapter like 8, so I may be asking y’all what you think when we get there. (Also, I need to go back and tag some folks.) Comments welcome. Thanks for reading!

~

It had been weeks since the Witcher had been through town, so when his massive frame darkened the doorway of the inn, the women who worked there scattered to put on their rosy lips and tighten their bodices just a bit more. In truth, none of them would have even asked him for a single coin. Being the one chosen to bed the Witcher later that night would have been more than enough payment for keeping his plate full, his drink topped off, and some easy company with curves to fondle while he consumed and brooded.

By dusk, the leather clad man was served enough of a steady stream of ale to just barely soften the lines across his troubled brow. His demeanor was still altogether sullen, leaning over his mug, shoulders rolled forward, silver strands of hair fallen around his weary features. The hunt had not gone well. 

He needed food, a bath and a hard fuck. Emptying himself out in the tight cunt of a pretty little thing would help clear his head. It might even afford him the chance to get a little bit of rest.

Mathilde, one of the more experienced women, saw Geralt always had proper company to suit his mood. Settling in next to him with a mug, she let out a labored sigh and sipped on her ale. His heavy lidded gaze glanced her way and an acknowledgement “Hmm” rumbled from his chest.

“You look tired, Witcher,” she noted, leaning heavily into his shoulder armor. “Why don’t you stay more than a night or two, my darling? Let Mathilde look after you a bit.”

“Hmm.”

That was usually enough to get him headed into a room upstairs but instead he sat back and downed the last third of his drink.

Mimicking his motions, she sighed and turned away from the room to whisper into his ear.

“Anyone caught your eye tonight, darling?”

Geralt looked in a drunken citrine haze around the room, but took pause at your figure sitting at the hearth, tending to the fire.

“Hm,” he grunted, motioning with his chin, before sipping on the fresh pint just delivered.

Mathilde pressed her lips together and slipped her hand under the table to touch his knee. Lazily lifting an eyebrow at her advances, he waited in silence for more information. 

“She is new since you been here last, darling. Might not be exactly what you’re in the mood for tonight though love. Let’s maybe try Larissa? She can be bent over a sack of potatoes in the kitchen in about two minutes if you want an early night in.”

The slightest downward tick of his mouth indicated he was not pleased with her proposition. Returning his gaze to your outline seated by the fire, he grunted,

“Send the doe-eyed one up with soap.”

You’d barely seen the shadowy figure dragging his weary frame upstairs before Mathilde crossed the noisy room to where you were seated. 

“You’re up, girlie,” the mistress instructed without a drop of honey in her tone. “Take a bar of soap up to the Witcher.”

Willing your hands to stop trembling, you paused and pressed your back against the wall just outside his door. Shaky breaths felt like they could have rattled your body to pieces and left you collapsed on the floor.

You’d been saved the humiliation of participating in the activities all of the other girls were involved with by staying in the kitchen for the last few weeks you’d been at the inn. Knowing absolutely nothing about cooking, you still tried to make yourself useful. Carrots were cut in odd sizes at an achingly slow pace. Onions made you weep so much that you closed your eyes while cutting and sliced your knuckles by mistake. Collecting potatoes, you’d managed to get tangled in a thicket of thistles and stumbled back to the kitchen empty handed and covered head to toe in burrs.

Having absolutely no training about local flora and fauna, you assumed all herbs were created equal. You’d never have known the herbs next to the parsley were in fact poisonous had you not washed and cut them to put in the soup yourself. Just a few sprinkles of green on top of a spoonful of broth made you immediately sick. Your body revolted and cast up everything you’d eaten that day, over and over.

So you were sent out of the kitchen. Potentially poisoning patrons was apparently the last straw. You knew it was only a matter of time before you would be sent upstairs to perform other activities. And it made your hands sweat and breathing quicken so much that you started to see stars.

Just as you were feeling your legs might give out from under you, the door swung open.

The white haired man stood as a broad shouldered wall of muscle, leather pants undone low around his hips, shirt crumpled in his hand.

You were absolutely dwarfed small by his impressive size. Upon one last shallow inhale, the soap dropped from your hand and your eyelashes fluttered closed.

Catching your waist, he tossed his shirt at the foot of the bed, swept you over his forearm and sighed. He’d heard your rapid heartbeat, like a frightened deer hiding under a brush pile, from the other side of his closed door. Of course, he was used to a cool reception wherever he went, but making you faint dead away was not his intention.

Dragging you to the bed, he hummed a thoughtful sound. He’d felt the kind of expensive green fabric you wore under his rough hands many times, but never in a place like this. Dresses this soft came from fabric woven from far away places, which meant you’d come from money and belonged in a court somewhere not collapsed on his bed in a brothel in the center of nowhere.

Fortunately, he had more knowledge of courtly dresses than most men, particularly their quick removal.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he let you fall forward so your head rested against his shoulder as he reached for his silver dagger and slipped it right up your spine, slicing the ties laced across your back. Roughly tugging apart your dress, your body responded with a desperate gasp. 

With a shuddering exhale, your fingers grasped onto his thick biceps, trying to ground yourself as the dizzying sensation passed.

He made quick work pulling you free from the binding garment, slipping it down your shoulders, letting it pool around your hips.

“I’m… sorry… I don’t know… what happened,” you stilted, pressing your forehead into the crook of his neck.

“Why you ladies tie yourselves up in these fucking dresses I’ll never know,” he grumbled almost imperceptibly low. Slipping a hand under your hair, he stroked along your jaw and lifted your head with his thumb. “Better?”

You straightened up a bit and released your fingertips from their death grip into his upper arms. 

“Better,” you lied. “How may I… please you?”

Regarding you with amusement, he lifted a brow. “Please me? Keep breathing for a start.”

You bit your lip, and his golden eyes followed. You were uncertain how to say the things out loud that you were supposed to say. Even moreso, do the things you were in his bed to do.

You frowned in confusion when he reached around your hip and pulled back the covers.

“You can stay here tonight,” his voice resonated deep in his chest. “I’m going to wash up.”

“Can I help?” you asked meekly.

He tugged your bitten bottom lip from between your teeth with his thumb. “You can stay right here.”

Decision made, his weight lifted from the bed making the old frame creak. He went to the fireplace to add more wood before heading to the bath in the main part of the room.

Pushing your heavy outer dress down your hips, you remained in your underclothes and slipped your cold feet under the covers, pulling the wool blanket up to your neck. 

Geralt groaned as he sank down into the bath. Every muscle in his body ached.

Resting his heavy arms along the sides of the bath, his tired eyes finally closed and he rested his head back against the hot water basin.

Still alert like a snoozing cat, he didn’t move a muscle when you padded over, undressed and carefully held onto the edge of the bath to climb in with him.

You settled a long moment opposite him, drawing your knees up to your chest in the warm water. Fairly certain he was sleeping, you were allowed a longer look at him without those keen eyes flashing at you. He really was stunningly beautiful. Somehow that made what you were about to do even more difficult.

You were just inches away from touching his large hand holding onto the edge of the tub but he sensed your reach and grumbled, “What are you doing, little fawn?”

You gasped and froze, glancing at his still reclined and resting form.

“I… um…” you stumbled, pushing forward despite your racing heart shooting up into your throat. Wrapping your hand around two of his massive fingers, you pulled it underwater and his palm around your waist.

“You paid for this... room…” came your breathy voice, collecting every last bit of courage left in your body. Slipping over to him, you rose onto your knees before him, letting the water just skim the underside of your breasts.

His gaze became dark, pupils dilated, as he followed the water droplets rolling down your flushed skin.

He licked over his lip and flicked his gaze back up to yours after drinking in all of the soft flesh you were offering. His hand you’d wrapped around yourself flexed and pulled you flush to his chest. You could feel the steady thump of his heart pounding like a horse’s canter under your palms. Nudging his nose to yours, you could feel his warm breath against your lips when he parted his and waited. 

It was so close and quiet and intimate and it surprised you. 

A man like him could take what he wanted. But he was stalled out, stroking your neck with his thumb and the curve at the small of your back, while you decided. Leaning just that tiny bit more forward, you gave his full lips a chaste kiss, long and lingering, before backing off, still just inches from his face, and gazed at him through your dark lashes.

It was more than enough encouragement for him to stretch his long neck and tilt his head just a degree, capturing your mouth with his. He kissed you like a man starved, filling all of his senses with your sweet, soft presence, inhaling deeply your scent and needing to taste your lips, feel your soft tongue, breathe the same breath with each kiss that he dipped to receive from you.

It filled your body with such heat, from your cheeks to your toes, overwhelmed with the sensation.

Dropping his head, he pressed his lips to your neck, leaving little nips down to your collarbone. Nuzzling your chest there he huffed in appreciation and lifted his gaze again, arching a brow. He had a mischievous glint in his amber eyes which you couldn’t help but smile softly at. It was then that you felt him cup your breast, massaging it gently in his strong hand. His thumb found the sensitive nub of your hardened nipple and you bit your bottom lip to stifle a whimper.

Your eyelashes fluttered closed when your foreheads touched. He nudged his nose to yours and told you in a gentle rumble, “I want to hear you.” 

Pawing your fingertips at the rock hard muscle atop his shoulders, you whined and let your head fall back, your hair spreading across the water as he lifted your body inches more out of the bath, kissing down your sternum, delivering hungry kisses to your warm flesh until his mouth finally found that nipple he’d been teasing.

Your whine turned into a moan as he hugged your hips to his chest. He caught behind one of your shaky knees and helped you wrap your squirming legs around his middle, never pausing for a second on the attention his open mouthed suckling kisses were giving your breast. Once it seemed he’d gorged himself on one breast, he shifted your body slightly and dropped his head down again to capture the second nipple in his mouth.

You dug your heels into his muscular back and threaded your fingers through his hair, arching and whimpering sounds you didn’t know you could make. Flattening his tongue along the swell of the underside of your breast, he lifted it past his lips and into his hollowed mouth, drawing you deep into him and suckling at such a slow even rhythm, rubbing your sensitive nipple into the roof of his mouth. Something like lightning shocked from your nipple down to your clit, making your hips jerk foreword violently. 

“Hmm,” he grunted approvingly, feeling the swell of the hood of your clit nudge against his stomach when your thighs tightened again. Even underwater he could feel your slick heat smearing against his taut skin.

The slightest flutter of gentle fingertips near your core made you gasp his name. Wrapping both arms behind his neck, you rutted into him, trying desperately to get more friction. 

Thick fingers slipped along your folds, coating you in your own sex, and a desperate ache pooled in your belly. Your hips rocked making waves in the bath and some spilled onto the floor.

“Careful there,” he teased, spreading two fingers around your core to stretch your center from outside. His thumb pad completely covered and deliciously circled your almost too sensitive clit. It made you cry out when he sped up thumbing over the tip of your swollen nub and then curled a thick finger over your clit hood, drawing down to his circling thumb. It was a motion and sensation and pressure you’d never even thought of to try yourself and it made your inside walls tighten and become thick with want.

Your fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, not meaning to pull his hair hard as you writhed into his hand and panted into his mouth. Your eyes were shut, and an almost pained expression tensed your features as you moved into his rhythmic ministrations.

His expressive eyes never closed for a moment, however. Black dilated pupils caught in the light and he gazed at you like a hunter to prey. He wanted to see the heave of your breasts and how they shuddered against his chest at the pleasure he was giving you. He wanted to see how your eyebrows lifted and furrowed as if you were singing a song of ecstasy whose melody could only be heard by watching your beautiful features as he stroked your most sensitive parts of you. It was a melody you were writing together with every caress, kiss and muscle twitch.

You wrapped one arm behind his neck and pressed the other’s palm to his shoulder, giving you a bit of push and pull leverage against his anchored body. Your core was tightening and not willing to relax even if you willed it to.

“Fuck! Please don’t stop!” you cried trembling all over. 

He growled a pleased sound, snaking his tongue into your mouth which you licked at wildly. He was doing things to your body you’d never felt before. How were you supposed to tell him it felt better than the best feeling ever without having any words fully formed coming from your brain?

“You like that, little fawn?” he purred as your mouth crashed against his again.

“Ah-hah…” you mumbled into his mouth, coveting more of his strong tongue. You wanted to taste him, every inch of him, have his scent all over your body. The need was incredible.

The forearm holding around your hips eased tension and his free hand slid down to caress over the curve of your behind. You cooed and nibbled at his swollen lower lip, still slipping into his thumb and fingers at your front.

His one strong palm pressed under you from behind almost made a seat for you, and you were able to relax your thighs’ grip on his sides.

You gasped and dropped your head down against his shoulder, shuddering when you felt his thick fingers from behind slicking along your tensed up core and began circling with increased pressure where he’d been working to stretch you before.

Falling silent, your hips stilled and warm breath panting against his neck caught in your throat.

He could no longer see the impending orgasm written across your features when you buried your face in his neck, but he could definitely still feel the hard heartbeat between your legs kissing at his bare stomach. 

One slickened middle finger traced your opening, swirling over it gently at first and then pressed his fingertip into you.

His heightened hearing caught your mouse-sized whisper into his shoulder, “Please don’t…”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |  Part 4 |  Part 5 | Part 6 | Masterlist

[stumbling-after-happiness]

You could have been anyone

You could have been the boy with dirty hair and delightfully defined jaw line

Whose memory comes with the tangy teenage cider smell

Red woven oversized jacket

Snuggled up next to me for warmth

In our drunken pocket on some cold hard wet stone steps

While someone pisses behind us

While someone pukes in front of us

While someone cries ahead in their friends’ protective circle.

We’re sat outside someone’s souped up garage

Inside, there’s a manky sofa laden with skinny jeaned teens

The room is curving with smoke

Green and purple neon lights bounce through the atmosphere

Twisting with giddiness

There’s a DIY wooden bar in the corner

Booming music

Dancing

It could have been him, he lived in a mud roundhouse.

A true hippy, he and his family built it from scratch.

He said it was cold and he had to shower at his friends’ house. He was doing A-levels.

I liked him, his name was Billy.

Tanned skin, wild dark hair and a historical mind.

Goofy, different and gave no fucks.

Broke. Would have been good in bed.

You could have been him.

Or you could have been him

Slicked back dark hair

Intentional muscles

The gym gave him functionality that his home life didn’t

Dirty sheets

Half Mexican genes

Amazing in bed. Seriously. It was wild.

Until it wasn’t.

You could have been him, the him that hurt me with gaslighting.

The him that physically abused me.

The him that broke my heart when he snapped our relationship in two on a hill.

The him who drank too much Captain Morgan

Who worked tirelessly to move away from poverty

The him who never got a break.

The him with the alcoholic father.

The him that was sometimes my path to complete safety.

He bought me a panda toy and told me I love you for the first time for a guy.

The him that took my guy virginity.

The him that took drugs and had an anger problem.

The broken home him.

You could have been him.

You could have been the ‘good boy’

The bartender

The Transformers lover

Caught between being macho and being desperately sensitive

The carer for his vulnerable mother

The same mother that abused him.

The cook. The cleaner. The people pleaser.

The driver, the gaslighter, the often quite kind.

The him with the pervy dad

The great older brother

The one who treated being a boyfriend like shift work

The one that was secretly freaky in the sheets

Who matched my teenage hormones

The open and closed minded

The him I broke up with when I needed my freedom.

You could have been.

Or you could have been

The man from the club

The drunken haze

The one night sort of wonder

The Turkish older man

We used Google translate to communicate in bed

It’s funny now

I was angry that he didn’t eat my waffle

I was angry that he tried coercing me in the morning

He was five years older

Or was it six

I blocked him when I realised he’d taken advantage.

Or you could have been the others

Blonde haired, posh, with ego

Or white dreadlocks kiss guy

Or whining spoilt yet sometimes kind woman

Or my closest friend

Or chav with car obsession and massive misogynistic red flags

Or random ginger guy my friend knew

Or a tinder match

Or my sort of girlfriends

Or the dancing fancy dress elf musician woman

Or gorillaz obsessed Mandy’d up boy

Or in a relationship but definitely flirting emo boy

Or virgin flatmate at uni

Or other virgin flatmate at other uni

Or anyone else I missed.

You could have been anyone.

I’m glad you’re not anyone.

I’m glad you’re you.

The you with kind, fanning eyes

The you with protective worldly hugs

The you who makes dinners

The you who helped me shower when i was deeply and dangerously depressed

The you that gives the best cuddles of anyone I’ve ever met

The you that tells the best truth

The you that has never abused me

The you that welcomed me

The you that snuggles into me in your sleep.

I’m glad it’s you.

[shyvioletcat]

don’t touch me for rowaelin

Here you go. I hope this is enough to stop you from ripping our hearts out…

SET IN STRIKING MATCHES AU

Masterlist

~~~~~

Aelin was asleep on the couch when she woke up to her phone ringing on the coffee table. Netflix was still playing so she must not have been asleep that long. She reached for it, blinking away the haze of sleep and saw that it was Rowan calling.

“Hey,” Aelin said as she sat up and stretched.

“Heeeyyyy, babe,” Rowan said on the other end of the phone.

Aelin froze and suppressed a groan. Rowan only ever called her babe when he was drunk. Really drunk. This should be fun.

“You ready to be picked up?” Aelin asked. Rowan had gone out for a boys night for Vaughan’s birthday. Aelin liked him enough but his parties always when a bit overboard.

“Yep.” Rowan’s lips popped on the sound of the ‘p’.

“Alright, I’ll see you in about 15 minutes,” Aelin said.

“I love you,” Rowan slurred into the phone but before Aelin could answer Rowan had hung up.

Aelin stood and stretched out the rest of her body before she grabbed her keys and left.

~~~~~

Aelin had called Rowan five times and still he hadn’t come out the front. The bar they had chosen to come to was a little on the dingier side so Aelin wasn’t too keen to go in and get him. She called him once more and when he didn’t answer she got out of the car and locked in behind her.

She pushed through the door of the bar and the smell of stale beer and sweat was almost so oppressive that she considered walking straight back out. But she wanted to go home and who knows how long it would take for Rowan to answer. So she walked between the tables, looking out for Rowan and his friends. It was Connall she spotted first, he was at the bar ordering a few drinks. When he saw Aelin his face split into a grin, but then it fell slightly a few seconds later. Aelin didn’t like what that boded.

She approached him and said, “Where is he?”

“In the back,” Connall said and started leading the way.

Aelin followed, trying not to bump into or get bumped into by any of the drunk patrons. When she saw the booth they were in Aelin felt her temper rise like a wildfire. She saw the reason why Rowan wasn’t able to answer his phone. It was in the hands of a pretty redhead who was busy taking selfies with it. Aelin pushed past Connall who look down right terrified. With good reason.

It took the table a moment to realise she was standing there and when they did the boys went silent, the redhead and her blonde friend just ignored her. Rowan had enough sense to look a little apologetic.

“I’ve been waiting in the car,” she said.

“Sorry babe,” Rowan said and Aelin brows rose. “I don’t have my phone.”

“I can see that.” Aelin turned her gaze to the redhead who was now pursing her lips like a duck at the camera. “You know if someone is calling multiple times it might be a good idea, maybe if your somewhat a decent person, to give the phone back.”

Now that Aelin had addressed her the redhead looked over, and scoffed. The sound had Aelin’s spine straightening. “Give me the phone and go find someone else to fling yourselves at.”

“Just leave already,” Lorcan said to Aelin, taking a sip of his beer.

“This one here,” Aelin indicated to Lorcan while looking at the girls. “My ex. Gave me herpes.”

To Aelin’s delight the two girls looked horrified.

“Gods, you’re a bitch,” Lorcan said.

Aelin’s head snapped to Lorcan ready to spew fire at him but then someone laughed. Not just anyone. Rowan. It cut her deeper than she was going to admit. Especially here.

“My current boyfriend who’s phone you’ve stolen,” Aelin reached across the table and plucked the phone from the redhead’s hand while she was stunned, “needs to get checked out. Think I’ve had a flare up. I’ll be in the car.”

There was a burst of laughter from Fenrys who looked like this was the most entertaining thing he’d seen in his life.

Aelin left without another word, not waiting to see if Rowan would follow. If he didn’t he could find another way home. She was almost at the car when she heard Rowan’s heavy footfalls behind her, still she didn’t look back. Aelin just got in the car. While she waited for Rowan to get in she unlocked his phone and opened his photos. Those girls had taken a lot of photos. Luckily for Rowan none of them were too incriminating for him. She could say the same for some of the others. Aelin selected a heap of photos and sent them to the trash. By then Rowan had got into the car, he barely had his seatbelt on before Aelin started the ignition. Aelin practically threw his phone to him. It was more like at him.

“Babe,” Rowan said, his accent thicker with his drunkenness.

“Don’t you babe me,” Aelin spat back.

“Those girls weren’t listening when I told them I had a girlfriend,” Rowan said. “I told them over and over but they didn’t listen. When they took my phone I knew they were just baiting me.”

Rowan reached over to place one of his broad hands on her thigh but Aelin flinched away.

“Don’t touch me.”

Rowan recoiled like he’d been burned and the rest of the car ride passed in silence. Aelin didn’t say anything as she parked the car, or when they started to climb the stairs to the level their apartments were on. She only spoke when Rowan followed her to her door and expected to be let inside.

“I think you should go home tonight Rowan,” Aelin said, holding onto her keys. They hardly ever slept apart these days so Rowan looked shocked when those words had come out of her mouth.

“I told you I didn’t encourage those girls,” Rowan said.

“It’s not that,” Aelin said quietly as she tried desperately to keep her voice from rising.

“Is it because I made you wait?”

Aelin shook her head.

“That girl —“

“It wasn’t the girl!” Aelin said her voice louder and higher than she wanted it to be. “You laughed when Lorcan called me a bitch.”

“Well you are…” Rowan realised too late the words that had come out of his mouth.

“You are not staying here tonight,” Aelin said as she turned away from her idiotic boyfriend and unlocked the door. She didn’t look back as she slammed it in his face.

~~~~~

Rowan did not feel good. He felt sick and tired and like someone and smashed his head into a wall. He was a bit surprised to find himself in his bed in his apartment. But then he remembered what he’d said. He slapped his palm to his head for being such a godsdamned idiot. He staggered to his shower, praying he woudn’t throw up on the way. He managed to make it and turn the scolding water on. He tried to keep it short but his body was slow, the only thing that had him moving was that he needed to apologise to Aelin. And fast.

He slipped on a tshirt and shorts and grabbed his keys and wallet. He passed by Aelin’s door. He wasn’t about to apologise empty handed. Even though it almost killed him Rowan made his way down the stairs and to the bakery down the street where he picked up some chocolate filled pasties. Then he climbed the stairs again, resting every few flights to stop his stomach from rising. When he reached their floor he went straight to Aelin’s door and knocked. He could have opened the door with his key but he had a feeling Aelin might turn her kickboxing skills on him if he did. He waited, he could hear her moving around in there, thankfully towards the door. The door swung open and Aelin stood there, robe wrapped around her hiding one of her flimsy nightgowns.

“Can I come in?” Rowan asked, lifting the bag of pastries into Aelin’s eye line.

She eyed him, then the bag. Then she nodded and stepped aside to let him in.

“I’m sorry, Aelin,” Rowan said as he offered her the bag directly. She didn’t take it. Just crossed her arms.

“For?” Aelin quipped.

“Take one, They’re your favourites,” Rowan said as he offered the bag again.

This time Aelin took the bag and walked to the kitchen, Rowan following.

“What are you sorry for?”

Rowan sighed. “I wasn’t laughing at Lorcan calling you a bitch.”

“Certainly sounded like it,” Aelin said as she pulled out a pastry and put it on a plate. She didn’t take a bite, just folded her arms again.

“I was very drunk. I was laughing at you telling the girls Lorcan gave you herpes. It was very delayed,” Rowan explained. He saw the corner of Aelin’s lip quirk up. Good he was getting somewhere.

“What about what you said when we got home?” She asked as she played with the sleeve of her robe.

Rowan moved forward and she let him rest his hands on her hips. “Again I was very drunk. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“If you said that while drunk, there must have been some truth to it,” Aelin said quietly.

Rowan tilted her chin up with his finger, “Well…”

Rowan smiled as Aelin swatted at his arm. “You bastard. You were a little right. I’m not ashamed of it though”

“Those girls deserved your serving of bitchiness, they were awful,” Rowan dropped a soft kiss to her lips. “I also wouldn’t be surprised if Lorcan struggled to get a date for a while. They seemed to be the kind to gossip.”

“Then my work is done,” Aelin said draping her hands around Rowan’s neck.

“I really am sorry, Aelin. I love you. Every part of you.”

Aelin sighed. “I think I’ll love you again after I eat your apology breakfast.”

Rowan pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. “Maybe some dessert after?”

“Only if it’s better than the main course,” Aelin replied.

“Trust me. It will be.”

~~~~~

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