#throne of glass modern au

[houseofhurricane]

I am so excited to read this! Thank you for the rec, @highladyofillyria 🧡

'Til Death Do Us Part {Masterlist}

Elide x Lorcan. Modern AU. A Throne of Glass Fanfiction.

Collab with @theladyofdeath.

Summary: Lorcan Salvaterre had it all. The money, the fame, crowds of adoring fans screaming his name. But somewhere between playing house shows to get their name out and putting out their second platinum record, that sort of stuff started to not matter as much. Seeing his best friend in a happy relationship made him realize how much he hated the groupies and random hookups. But how do you get out of a cycle you’ve been stuck in forever? Elide Lochan had…nothing. Her entire apartment was the size of most comfortable bedrooms, her savings were starting to dwindle after her small business had a drop in sales, and she hadn’t been on a successful date in years. She was getting ready to accept her fate as a cat lady when her best friend offered her a chance to change her life. It would take the world’s biggest leap of faith, but what did she have to lose? What would you do if someone told you they could find your perfect match and all you had to do was marry them?

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

[leiawritesstories]

Stunning

Rowaelin Month 2024, Day 7: All Dressed Up @rowaelinscourt

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: flirting, swearing, rich people talk, badly concealed horniness, NSFW content, a few fun little hidden jokes teehee

A/N: hi hello this is technically for tomorrow BUT it's getting posted now because i'm taking the LSAT tomorrow and i'm going to be way too mentally exhausted to function, yayyyyy 😃 also, i might disappear for a little while after the exam, bc i also just started my senior year of college and it's a bit busier than i thought lol. anyway.....enjoy!!! at your own discretion please :)

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

If the club was fancy, its VIP lounge was a study in luxury. A pair of black-suited bouncers flanked the door, their dark-shaded eyes constantly scanning the club, scrutinizing each and every person who approached the lounge doors. Rowan handed over the thick square of embossed ivory paper from his tux jacket pocket and nodded amiably at the bouncers as they checked his invitation and waved him in. Conspicuous as he’d felt before, when he was walking through the club in a custom three-piece designer tux, he felt positively unremarkable among the sea of haute couture that thronged the VIP lounge, all of them centered around a tall, elegant woman in a fitted sheath dress of molten gold with a slit that crept dangerously high up her right leg. Her head tipped an inch sideways with the echo of her laughter, and she rested one graceful hand on the forearm of the handsome man she was talking to, crimson-tipped fingernails contrasting sharply with his black jacket. 

Aelin Galathynius. 

The only daughter of perhaps the most influential voices in Terrasen’s political scene, Aelin filled the spotlight like she was born to it. Which she was. She’d been appearing in front of press cameras and journalists practically since her birth because Evalin Ashryver, the first female secretary of state, had wanted to show the world that a woman could have both a successful high-profile career and a family. Furthermore, her father was Rhoe Galathynius, the deputy prime minister, and he had personally taught his only daughter how to handle the press. 

At twenty-nine, Aelin was one of the most recognizable faces in Terrasen, though that was mostly due to her success as a former professional volleyball player and current coach, as well as an incredibly generous philanthropist, rather than her parents’ collective renown. Rowan had known Aelin since high school, had harbored a crush for her practically as long, and since he was also a retired athlete and the head of a foundation that supported talented young athletes whose families couldn’t afford their sports, he often crossed paths with Aelin at events like this one. 

She was chatting with Dorian Havilliard, the oldest son of Prime Minister Havilliard and a childhood friend of hers, when Rowan strolled over and nodded cordially at the dark-haired man. “Good to see you again, Havilliard. Do you mind?”��

“Not at all!” Dorian air-kissed Aelin’s cheeks. “Whitethorn, good to see you as well. I’ll have my assistant reach out to yours to schedule a proper meeting, yes?” He had recently indicated his interest in sponsoring one of Rowan’s foundation events. 

“Sounds perfect.” Rowan shook Dorian’s hand and pretended not to notice as the other man stage-whispered “he’s so hot” to Aelin before he left the two of them alone. 

“Rowan.” Aelin’s crimson lips curled into a smile. “What brings you here? I thought you usually avoided these little parties like the plague.” 

“I try,” he said dryly. “Unfortunately, there are several key donors here, and my VP practically threatened to strangle me if I didn’t show up and have a drink with them.” 

She chuckled and took a delicate sip of the champagne in her hand. “I wasn’t aware I was one of your key donors, Rowan.” 

“Maybe I’m using you as a human shield,” he teased. 

“I’m afraid I’m more of a spear than a shield,” she said with a wink. “That means I’ll charge at your big scary donors with you if you can work up the balls to ask.” 

“Can you blame me for hesitating?” He swiped a glass of champagne from a passing server’s tray and locked his gaze onto Aelin as he took a deep sip. “You look stunning in that dress, Aelin, and I’m afraid that’s all anyone will see.” 

“Ah, stop it.” She swatted his arm. “I’ll get their attention, and you’ll capture it like you always do with your cute little big-old-shy-guy smile and blush.” His cheeks heated, and she grinned. “There, you see? One of your usual protests that you ‘don’t do as much as you want to do’ and you’ll have those donors eating from the palm of your hand.” 

“I’d like to eat you from the palm of my hand,” he mumbled, mostly to himself. “You’re sure?” 

“Of course.” She set down her champagne and looped her arm through his. She lowered her voice to a throaty whisper. “And if you want to eat, Whitethorn, all you have to do is ask.” 

His pants tightened. He swallowed thickly, forced himself to think about the donors in order to control his traitorous body, and covertly poked Aelin in the ribs. “Quite a naughty thing to say, Aelin.” 

She winked lazily at him. “We’re at a club, Rowan. Certain things happen at clubs.” 

“Such a brazen woman.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear, and his lips just barely brushed her neck. “What kind of things are you thinking about, hmm?” 

“Schmoozing with donors, for one.” She laughed softly at his disgruntled expression and brushed a megawatt smile across her face as they approached one of the couples who were frequent donors to his foundation. “Connall, Sorscha, delighted to see you here!” 

Connall had been one of Rowan’s teammates, and he’d retired a year before Rowan so he could spend more time with his wife, Sorscha, and their family. “Surprised you made it, old man,” he joked as he clasped hands with Rowan and affectionately thumped him on the back. 

“Trust me, we both are,” Rowan deadpanned. “Sorscha, you look lovely as always. How are the little ones?” 

“Growing up too damn fast,” Connall sighed. 

Sorscha nodded in agreement. “Lyla started walking the other day; I turned around for five seconds and she made it into the other room. I almost had a heart attack.” She laughed. “And Gray has been obsessed with taking care of the garden, except that he doesn’t know the difference between the weeds and the herbs.” 

“Little guy brought his mama a fistful of ‘bad weeds’ that were actually dill,” Connall added, snickering. “Oh, and James is doing fantastic at the football camp.” 

Rowan smiled. “That’s amazing! How is it having him stay with you?” One of the projects he was trying to start involved pro athletes having orphans and foster kids stay with them when they participated in training camps for their sports. 

“We love it.” Con grinned down at his wife. “He’s still a little shy with the kids and he basically lives out of his duffle bag, but he’s a lot more talkative now.” 

“He seems more at ease,” Sorscha said. “It could be that he’s made friends at the camp, or that my son pretty much idolizes him because he’s a big boy who plays sports, but I think he’s also just more… comfortable.” 

“That’s almost exactly what we were hoping would happen.” Rowan squeezed Aelin’s hand, and she beamed up at him. “Good. Well, I hope this helps convince the board.” 

Con thumped Rowan’s shoulder. “We’re in your corner, man. I’d be happy to tell the board about our success if you need.” 

“I just might take you up on that.” Rowan shook Con’s hand and accepted Sorscha’s hug. “Thank you so much.” 

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Aelin teased as they walked away, heading for another donor that Rowan had spotted. “You’re a natural—just get them talking about how much they want to help these kids or how much they love what they’re already doing, and they’ll give you their support.” 

His hand slid to her lower back, guiding her through the throngs of people. “Wish I had half as much confidence as you have, Ae.” 

“Stop that,” she chided. “Rowan, your foundation is hugely successful because of you. That much is evident, and I’ll keep trying to convince you of that until you accept it.” 

“I know a few ways you could convince me,” he murmured, half to himself. 

Her smile melted into lazy dangerousness, and sparks kindled behind her stunning turquoise eyes. “Do you, now?” 

His hand curled possessively around her hip. “I do.” Heat raced through her blood at the weight of his touch. “Dance with me.” 

“Of course.” 

They stepped into the swirl of couples dancing in the middle of the lounge, and Aelin gasped quietly when Rowan pulled her so close that she was almost flush against him, wrapping one arm around her waist with his hand on her hip and lacing his free hand with hers. So close she could feel the thrum of his heartbeat, she draped her free arm around his neck, fingers toying with the collar of his pressed black shirt. The song changed, shifting to a deep, pounding bass and sultry vocals, and her body moved in near-perfect tandem with his as he led her through the dance. 

“All that hockey training certainly gave you good moves, Ro,” she teased, flicking her gaze up to his through her lashes. 

He smirked languidly and rotated his hips in a borderline lustful circle. “And all your volleyball training probably gave you strong legs.” He tipped his head down and purred his next words into her ear. “But how long until they start shaking?” 

“Dream on, hockey boy,” she whispered, even as desire uncoiled between her legs at the sinful rasp of his voice. 

“Every night.” Her breath caught at the admission in those words, and when he brushed a thumb across her lips, she leaned into the touch. Her nod was confirmation enough, and he replaced his thumb with his lips, kissing her softly at first and then deeper, slower, the stroke of his tongue almost too slow for the heat pounding in her blood. 

In a hazy blur, they were in the club’s bathroom, Aelin sucking in a sharp breath as Rowan yanked her dress up around her waist and planted her bare ass on the marble countertop. He chuckled, a low dark gravelly rasp that curled up her spine like smoke, as his eyes traced down her body and discovered her lack of underwear. “Dangerous move, darling,” he murmured, attaching his lips to her neck and pressing his calloused thumb directly onto her clit. “No panties? Anyone could see you, Aelin.” 

“Anyone—ahh, Rowan!—isn’t going to see,” she panted, her words broken up with gasps and hitched breaths. “Just…fuck, just you.” 

“That’s what I like to hear.” Free hand reaching down the front of her dress to tease her hardened nipples, he thrust three fingers into her, reveling in her broken moan and the way her eyes scrunched shut in pain-edged bliss. “Hold still for me, pretty girl.” Wordlessly, she nodded, bracing her hands on the countertop to stabilize herself. He smirked and kissed her hard, swallowing her moans, and pumped his fingers roughly, bringing her to her first orgasm of the night within a few minutes. He worked her through the high, teasing her sensitive clit just enough to make her whimper when he withdrew his glistening fingers and licked them clean, gaze locked on her the whole time. 

“Please, Ro.” She whispered his name, her plea a raspy breath. “Need you to fill me up.” 

“Good girl.” He pushed his trousers and boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free, and her eyes went wide and dark as she stared at his size. 

“Th-that…” Her mouth went dry. “That’s not going to fit.” 

He brushed his thumb over her kiss-swollen lips. “It will, pretty girl. Trust me, it will.” He pushed one of her dress straps off her shoulder and palmed her breast. “Your pretty pussy took my fingers so well, Ae, getting all ready for my dick.” 

Her breath escaped in a shuddering groan. “How is it so hot when you say filthy things like that?” 

“Because you’re my dirty little good girl.” He smirked and tilted her chin up to brush a bare feather of a kiss over her smudged lipstick. “Can you stay quiet for me?” She nodded, and he kissed her as he dipped his fingers into her cunt again, working her in long slow strokes. When she wrapped her hand around his wrist and whispered that she was ready, he lined his cock up and pushed into her slowly, savoring the tight grip of her pussy around his dick and the muffled whimpers she made as she struggled to stay quiet while accommodating the size of his velvet steel schlong. 

“Rowan,” she choked out, near desperate. “Please!” 

“Good fucking girl,” he groaned, and he rocked into the cradle of her hips, thrusting with increasing force. Gripping her waist, he pinned her to the counter and fucked her hard, and she buried her face in his shoulder to muffle the uncontrollable moans that tore from her throat. The soap dish clattered to the floor, and he just kicked it underneath the sink and thrust harder, hurtling them both towards climax. Aelin tipped her head back and rasped out his name as she came, ecstasy written all over her features, and he groaned her name as he came inside of her. As their bodies stilled, he gently pulled out, smirking at the sight of his rowillymilk dripping down her legs. 

She trailed a finger between her thighs and lifted it to her lips, licking their cum off and humming softly in pleasure. “Delicious.” 

He growled and pulled his pants back up and lifted her off the counter, stopping to fix her dress before he laced his fingers with hers and led her out of the bathroom and back through the flashing strobe lights of the lounge and out a side door. “Your place or mine?” 

“Mine.” She flicked a heated glance at him from under her darkened lashes. “Got a few toys I like to use in my bedroom.” 

“Get in the car.” Rowan pulled the passenger door of a sleek black SUV open with more force than strictly necessary, the muscled lines of his body tense, the gleam of his eyes predatory. Aelin touched the smudged lipstick at the corner of her mouth, wiping it away as she slid gracefully into the car. He closed the door and went around to the driver’s side, and she sucked in a half-surprised, half-aroused gasp when he accelerated down the dark, empty city streets with a hand splayed on her thigh. Heat pulsed between her legs, radiating outward from the warm, firm weight of his palm atop her leg. 

She at least had enough of her wits to direct him towards her townhouse. “Turn left here,” she directed, guiding him down the familiar path to her home. “First right, then second right.” He navigated the turns with expert precision, and it was only minutes before he’d pulled into the single parking space marked out in front of her property. 

A sudden, thick silence blanketed the vehicle, and Aelin had the urge to caress Rowan’s face when she caught sight of the faint uncertainty nearly buried in his fiery gaze. So she did, gently tracing her fingertips across his cheekbones. “Welcome to my home, Ro.” She winked lazily. “Want me to show you my bedroom?” 

His lingering hesitation melted into molten, commanding desire. “That’s my good girl.” The praise flowed over her like sunlight. “Can you get out of the car, Ae, or do you need to be carried?” 

“Someone has a high opinion of himself.” She clicked her tongue and smoothly climbed out of the car. He prowled around from the driver’s side, banded one thickly muscled arm around her waist, and pressed her back against the door. 

“Still so naughty,” he murmured. “What should we do about that, hmm?” 

“Why don’t you come inside and show me?” she whispered right back. 

He kissed her, and it would have been sweet if not for the cum sticking to her thighs. “Good girl.” Hand in her hand, he followed her into her townhouse, locked the front door behind them, and waited all of twenty seconds for her to drop her small purse before he hauled her over his shoulder and stormed up the stairs. She managed to point him towards her bedroom door, and he set her onto her bed with uncharacteristic gentleness. 

And tore her dress down the middle. 

She was halfway through an outraged gasp when he yanked her hips to the edge of the mattress, dropped to his knees, and licked her dripping pussy. Her outrage kindled into lust, and she plunged her fingers into his hair, shoving him closer as his tongue drew harsh patterns on her needy clit. Through the incoherent, garbled whimpers and moans streaming from her throat, she managed to reach sideways and grab her wand vibrator from her bedside table and switch the toy on before tracing the buzzing tip around her stiff, aching nipples. 

“What,” Rowan growled, “do you think you’re doing, hmm?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just took the vibrator from her and replaced his tongue with the toy, teasing her cunt with too-light touches and biting kisses, ignoring her breasts altogether. “Did I say you could touch yourself, Ae?” 

“N–no, sir,” she whispered. Calling him sir had been impulsive, but it felt so right. 

He swore filthily and shoved his pants off, letting his massive meat pole spring free. “That’s correct. Now be a good girl and put your hands above your head.” The vibrator skimmed her throbbing pussy and dipped farther back, circling the rim of her ass, and her fists curled into the pillows above her head as words failed her. He seemed pleased with her obedience, because he kept the toy there as he returned his mouth to her cunt and devoured her, tongue spearing into her and teeth scraping her most sensitive parts. It couldn’t have been more than two minutes before stars exploded across her vision as she came so hard she shook with the force of it. 

He turned off the vibrator, threw it across the floor, stripped out of the rest of his clothes, and hauled her up the bed, kissing and nipping up her body as he went. “Don’t hold back,” she breathed, the words shaky from the last waves of her orgasm but no less confident. 

“Scream for me, pretty girl,” was all he said in response, and he flipped them over and pulled her down onto his cock. She was so wet that her cunt slid down effortlessly, and he didn’t give her any time to adjust before he lifted her hips up and down, helping her ride his dick at a frenetic pace. “Fuck, Aelin!” 

“Fuck, Rowan!” she screamed in tandem, head falling back in bliss. He sat up, deepening the angle, and fucked her relentlessly, until she was a mess of broken cries of his name. 

“Come with me,” he ordered, and he pinched her clit sharply. She screamed his name to the gods as she shattered, and he came with her, burying himself deep. He rocked his hips gently as she shook, working her through every last second of the drawn-out orgasm, milking his own pleasure. As she calmed and rolled off of him, sprawled onto her stomach, he ran his fingers through her hair, smoothing the mussed strands. “So fuckin’ good, Fireheart.” 

She turned onto her side and grinned, linking her fingers with his. “Happy anniversary, my love. Should we do that again next year?”

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@renxzs

@anarchiii

@fauna-flora11

[lyssasdrafts]

born to say “i’ll bleed any color you tell me to,” forced to say “wyd”

[writtenonreceipts]

AO3 Link // Masterlist

A little Elorcan thing. I initially wrote this for sjmromanceweek way back in February but then went on my little hiatus instead. Just found it again and decided to finish it up with an edit.

Summary: After a winter storm blows through the city, Elide has to figure out the best way to get to work. Lucky for her, her boyfriend is a bit overprotective.

Warnings: none! ~1.5k words.

.*.*.*.*.*.

The Little Things

As it was—things could have been worse.  Maybe Elide shouldn’t look at things like that, always noticing all the ways life hadn’t yet screwed her over.  Instead, she tried to put a positive outlook on things.  But sometimes it couldn’t be helped to be a bit negative.  It was actually cathartic.

Today things just continued to pile on top of her.  She’d woken up late, even her back-up alarms failed to go off.  It left her to scramble out of bed at eight-fifteen and throw herself together.  She would pride herself on the fact that she still had time to shower and fix her make-up look somewhat like a normal human being.  Even if her hair was piled into a top knot and her foundation was on its last dregs.

However, she was forced to skip breakfast and only grab a granola bar for her lunch, and then wear a blouse that definitely had a stain on the left boob.  Because of course, of course, she hadn’t swapped her laundry to the dryer.  That was the thing about living alone—she had to remember to be responsible instead of waiting for someone to actually be an adult and hey, maybe finish your laundry.  Maybe she could use that as a reason to convince Lorcan to move in with her: live with me because I am a disaster human, thanks.

She’d work on it.

“It could be worse,” she told herself as she dumped creamer into her coffee. “It could still be worse.”

Which was when she saw the flurries of white between the kitchen window blinds.  Elide swept the blinds up and saw the mess of snow falling outside her apartment.  It was a near winter wonderland with the gray clouds and the heavy snowfall.  Near as Elide could tell a good four inches had already fallen, maybe more.

She groaned.  She hated winter.  She hated the cold and the ice and driving in the snow and she hated the fact that her work was full of people who apparently would rather die than miss work.

Her phone dinged from the counter but she ignored it.  She was already late and would have to hurry to get her car warmed up and scraped properly.  Besides, it was probably Lorcan.  He always texted with a good morning message or complaint about how much Terrasen traffic sucked.

She missed him.

They’d spent the entire weekend together and still: she missed him.

I’m clingy as hell, we should live together.

Not that much better on the delivery but it would get a smile out of him.

Elide cursed as she dumped her coffee into a thermos and shoved her granola bar into her purse.  Coffee counted as breakfast, didn’t it?

She opted for the elevator instead of the stairs, knowing her ankle would protest any overexertion.  The injury would never be the same no matter how much physical therapy she put into it.  So, Elide made the best of things only pushing herself when she thought she could or she knew she had plenty of time to rest.  But with the snow and certainty of ice, she was not going to take any chances.

The elevator slowly crept down the shaft, shaking as it went.  If anything, this building was going to kill her.  It could still get worse.

When she finally made it to the first floor, Elide braced herself for the inevitable.  Her tiny car would be covered by the snow.  And given that it was nearing on ten years old the heater would take forever to kick in.  

It wasn’t until she’d taken a few steps out into the fierce cold that Elide noticed it: the large black truck sitting in the lot and the mountain of a man leaning against the passenger side door.

As though sensing her, the man looked up from his phone.  He tucked the phone into his pocket and, so small that it was hardly there at all, a smile flashed across his features.  He was handsome in an unconventional way.  Dark and a bit harsh with the way a scar bit across his nose and another through his lower lip.  His black hair hung to his shoulders which didn’t help anything as it often cast dark shadows across his face.  But she didn’t mind it.  She didn’t mind any of it.

“What are you doing here?” she called out as she carefully picked her way through the snow towards him.  Flurries still fell from the sky, thick and heavy and promising this was just the beginning.

“It’s snowing,” he said, opening the passenger door as she got closer. “You hate the snow.  And your joke of a car can’t drive in this.”

Elide glared up at him as she came to a stop just before him. “My car is perfect, thank-you.”

Rolling his eyes, Lorcan pulled her bag from her shoulder and tossed it in the truck. “The heater is broken and it’s currently buried under half a foot of snow.”

She would have protested further, but Lorcan was already ushering her to the truck and boosting her into the giant machine, hands firm on her waist.  He afforded the opportunity to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Mother hen,” she said, even though he was already shutting the door and rounding the truck.

Elide had to admit, she loved his truck.  It was already warm and toasty inside and the seat warmer was going.  It smelled like leather and oil and Lorcan.  Even Elide wouldn’t have tried to give him fluffy car scents or fruity sprays to keep the clean scent.  Besides, she preferred this muskier scent, it made things feel like home.

It was then that she noticed the extra coffee in the cupholder and the breakfast sandwich on the dash.  She reached for the coffee first as Lorcan got into the driver's seat.

Lorcan smirked at her as she took a long sip of the coffee.  So much better than her home brew.  He’d gone to the shop her cousin owned if the note in silver sharpie was any indication.

Ornery Bastard

“Your coffee maker sucks,” he said, by way of explanation.  He shifted the car to gear and headed out of the parking lot. “Get some real food in your stomach.”

“Coffee is real food,” she said, though she did grab the sandwich before it went flying from the dash.  She took another long sip of coffee, the perfect balance of creamer to coffee, before taking a bite of the bacon and egg croissant.  “Mmmm.”

“You didn’t eat a real breakfast, did you?” Lorcan asked, though Elide knew he already knew the answer.

“Toast with butter,” Elide said.  She smiled sweetly at him before taking another bite.

“Mala above.” Lorcan shook his head even as another smile threatened to upturn the corner of his lips.

Humming happily, Elide settled into her seat.  The croissant was a perfect balance of buttery flakes and salty fat from the bacon, a small smear of chipotle sauce added a little kick that tied everything together perfectly.

“You didn’t have to pick me up, you know,” she told him after a minute. “I would have made it safe.”

Or relatively.  The roads did still look a mess of snow and poor attempts of salting.  But Elide was always careful in this sort of weather.  It might have taken a little extra time but she could have done it.

“I don’t mind,” Lorcan said.

Elide raised a brow. “You work on the other side of town.”

“It’s fine.”

“Cairn’s an ass.”

He snorted. “Like Cairn’ll even come in today.”

“Lorcan.”

“Elide.”

He fixed her with a long look when they came to a stop light.  His eyes, onyx black but still filled with light, bore into her.  Elide took another bite of sandwich.  She wasn’t mad at him, really.  Bemused, more like it.  And intrigued.  In the beginning, back when they’d hardly known each other and even into the early throws of their relationship, she’d had a difficult time reading him.  Over time, she’d gotten better.  And now it was simply funny to her to know that he cared.  Especially when everyone else just thought he was the cold, heartless bastard he appeared to be.

“Thank-you,” she said.  She’d never had anyone look out for her the way Lorcan had.  No one who put so much effort into making sure she had what she needed, that she was safe, that she even had a decent meal.  

And then he had to go and do something as simple as getting her coffee and a decent breakfast and she was an emotional mess.

Case in point: tears started to prick at the corners of her eyes.

Elide blinked quickly, not wanting them to fall.  Not that Lorcan would have said anything or judged her for it.

As the car moved forward when the light changed, Lorcan reached over and took Elide’s free hand in his.  He twined their fingers together before bringing the backs of her knuckles to his lips to press a kiss to her skin, the scruff of his unshaved beard scraping gently.

“I love you,” he said, as though that were explanation enough.

And maybe that’s what she would use as evidence in her case for moving in together.

I love you.

Because really it was as simple as that.

But she would wait a little while yet before bringing it up.  Driving during a snowstorm was chaotic enough and she still had an untamed flock of butterflies wreaking havoc in her gut.  So she only smiled fondly back and returned to her coffee.  

.*.*.*.*.

Going to be focusing on Rowaelin Month after this and finishing up an Elucien project! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed this one!

[malulls]

We'll see

Manorian modern au

Nsfw

It was with a bit of psychological torture, a lot of insistence, and a little blackmail that Asterin convinced Manon to go with her to a crowded nightclub. She still wasn't sure why she had agreed, since she knew that her cousin would leave her alone the moment she laid eyes on the blond guy she was hooking up with. All she wanted was a bottle of wine and to sleep in the peace of her room. 

However, that was how she ended up with one of Fenrys' friends — one who had silky black hair, blue eyes that looked like sapphires, and a smile that made it impossible to take eyes off his mouth. From the moment he saw Manon, his eyes stayed on her. And Manon would be lying if she said she hadn't stared at him too. A few shots, a lot of flirting, and he was pressing her against the nearest wall, kissing her in a way that made her forget everything around. Mainly when they started running their hands over each other, probably a little more than they should have been doing in public.

And that was how, two hours after she had arrived at the nightclub cursing Asterin to her seventh generation, she was on his lap, kissing him on the edge of his bed. Manon had barely been able to pay attention to anything on the way, not until the door of his apartment was closed and locked, and her legs were wrapped around his waist.

He placed a kiss beneath her ear, nothing more than a tease.

They had been like this for a few seconds, catching their breath. Suddenly, Manon realized just how many people were around them and how far those kisses were going. As if reading her mind, Dorian asked:

— Do you wanna go somewhere else, witchling?

That fucking nickname. 

— Depends. — Manon said. — Will you stop calling me that? 

He just smiled.

Dorian ran his hands from her thighs to her waist, making Manon shiver as he continued on his way until he reached her top. One by one, he opened the clamps, her jacket had already been pulled off in the nightclub, when they were seeking every inch of bare skin possible.

With the last clamp of her black top open, the bra followed soon after, freeing her heavy breasts. Dorian then pulled back, both to look at her bare chest and to allow her to remove his shirt. Manon did the same, taking her time to look at the muscles and skin she had been running her hands over for the last hour. He looked even more handsome this close, with those blue eyes dark in the dim light of the room and his full lips swollen.

Dorian pushed her hair away and lowered his mouth to her neck, kissing and adding new marks to those he had already left. Manon dug her fingers into his shoulders, her eyelids fluttering as his thumbs circled her nipples. She pressed her lips together as he pinched them between his fingers, his touches making her core throb in a way that had her closing her legs around his hips to stay still.

Manon buried her fingers in his hair and pulled his head up, biting his lower lip and bringing him back to her mouth. The kiss muffled her moans as his hands cupped her breasts, before his touch suddenly disappeared. She complained internally, but soon Dorian moved his hands to her ass to hold her as he stood.

Slowly, he laid her down on the bed, never breaking the kiss. Manon spread her thighs to accommodate his body, heat pooling between her legs. Leaving her impatience win, she ran her nails down his abdomen until she reached his belt, making him shudder, then opened it and unbuttoned his pants. But before she could do more than that, Dorian finally pulled away from the kiss. He ran his fingers down her waist, stopping at the hem of her pants to unbutton them. Seeming to surrender to an eagerness of his own, he pulled the pants down her legs — her socks and boots were probably still lost in his living room. His eyes followed all the way up her bare body, each look like a caress itself.  

Before she could blink, Dorian tilted his head and caught one of her breasts in his mouth. Manon gasped and buried her fingers in his hair. He moved to the other, the warmth of his mouth making her shiver as he flicked his tongue on her nipple. Dorian started moving down her body, left kisses on her belly, on her hips, leaving a trace of fire and ice on her skin that made the throbbing between her legs almost unbearable.

He spread thighs legs when his face reached between her legs. Manon kept her eyes on him as he left soft kisses on her core, giving just a flick of his tongue before pulling away to kiss her thighs. Teasing her until she could barely think straight and was pulling his head where she needed it. And it seemed that was what he wanted — to tease her to the edge like he had done all night. With his blue eyes burning into hers, his mouth finally moved back to her core. Manon threw her head back, her eyes rolling back at each caress of his tongue, every sound he made against her.

Dorian gripped her thighs, opening her wider so he could move his mouth to her clit, running his tongue around it, kissing it lightly as her body started to tense. It only took a few more flicks of his tongue, and she was arching, too lost in pleasure to care about the noises she was making. He didn't stop until Manon was trembling, and when she started to think she couldn't take it anymore, she felt him pull away.

With her head still tilted back, it took her a moment to open her eyes. She took her time to recover, more than she was used to. The sound of a drawer opening caught her attention, and as Manon opened her eyes, she found Dorian putting on a condom, his clothes already on the floor. A ghost of a shiver spread through her legs, making her press them together in anticipation. Soon he was on top of her again, and Manon found a silent question on his face, which she answered by pushing his chest lightly.

Dorian gladly lay down beside Manon to let her climb onto his lap, not a hint of objection in his eyes. His gaze swept her from top to bottom, and his fingers immediately appeared on either side of her ass. But she didn't move, enjoying the sight of him beneath her. Instead of giving them what they both wanted, she lowered her lips to his neck. Dorian moaned softly, grabbed her hair in a fist, and pulled lightly. When she didn't complain, he tightened his grip, making her groan against his skin. Manon slowly dragged her slit on his cock and he cursed. 

— Having fun, witchling?

She bit his neck for the stupid nickname he had given her in the bar.

— Ain't I here for that, princeling?

It was good to know that he was as taken as she was, it felt like she was recovering a bit of control. But thinking about the intensity of everything she had felt that night, her feelings and all the effort she wasn't making to keep them to herself as she always did, made Manon wonder if she really wanted to keep what was left of that rope so tight around herself. If letting go of that need of control for a moment would be a relief... a freedom.

She continued to slide her mouth over him, shifting her hips at every sound that came from his throat. It wasn't often that she wanted to use her mouth on someone so much, but tasting his skin like that made her want to taste him everywhere. Her kisses reached his jaw, then his mouth, and Manon nibbled his lip once more before finally starting to lift her hips. 

She leaned on his abdomen and lowered herself, the felling of him inside her taking the air out of her lungs. She heard from far him cursing underneath her, just as much as she was swearing in her mind. Dorian stood still for a moment, waiting for her to adjust. 

As they moved, Manon was divided between watching the lost expression on his face, his head threw back, and not being able to keep her eyes open every time his hips slammed into hers, reaching a point that made her legs tremble. Dorian held her, helping her to move and pulling her down every time she lifted herself. Doing every single dirty thing he had whispered to her earlier.

His body tensed, his grip tightened around her hips, and he brought his thumb between her legs, making slow circles over her clit. She dug her nails into his chest, and it took a few more movements of his hips and finger to have her eyes rolling back as he brought her over the edge again. Dorian followed her soon after, her name a breath on his lips.

After a while, still moving slowly, they stopped, breathing heavily and watching each other. Slowly, Manon pulled away and lay down next to him. His fingers caressed her cheek, and she opened her eyes, just enough to see that he was brushing the messy strands of hair away from her face. Her eyelids were heavy, heavier than they should have been, a sign that she should get up. There was no way she would sleep there. As much as she had enjoyed it — probably the best sex of her life — that was too much.

When his hand left her skin, Manon sat up, pushing her hair over her shoulder.

— I should go now.

Dorian sat up as well, looking at the clock on the bedside table. She did the same. Almost four a.m. 

— Are you sure? It's late, and you look tired. You can stay if you want. — he added.

She shook her head.

— I'm fine.

The corner of his mouth curved in a way that could only be read as trouble, matching a glint of amusement in his eyes. 

His fingers appeared on the side of her thigh, a soft caress.

— Can I convince you to stay five more minutes, then?

Manon should have said no. She was going to say no. Then she had no idea why, instead, what came out of her mouth was... 

— You can try.

One second, and she was lying on her back on the bed. His hand made a complete show of moving up her thigh, and with the lightest of touches, he was rubbing her clit again. Manon's eyes closed of their own accord, her teeth sinking in her lower lip. She was sensitive, enough that his caresses almost hurt, but she didn't want him to stop. Quite the opposite, it was weirdly good. When she was wet and panting again, he put one finger inside her. And a second. And a third — Gods, it was too much. Every thrust made her nails dig into his back, her fingers holding tight on his hair, and she couldn't help but think what it would have been like to have him on top of her. How it would have been if he had been in charge. He curved his fingers, and that, added to the filthy things that filled her mind, made her clench around them. This time she was a little more aware and bit Dorian's shoulder to not wake his entire damn floor when she came.

When Manon fell on the bed this time, she was exhausted. She took a deep breath to recover from that intensity she had never felt before.

— Convincing enough? — Dorian asked, his voice rough again. 

She slowly opened her eyes. Idiot.

— Sort of, princeling— Manon answered, still out of breath. Maybe she liked the ridiculous nickname thing. Or she had got dumb, she didn't like either of the options.

He raised an eyebrow, not looking away from her face. His eyes were still dark. If Manon weren't so tired, she would have gotten on him again. 

Dorian went to the bathroom while she tried to find her clothes around the bedroom, and came out wearing pajama pants when she was trying to get her top from his shelf. Whatever way it had gotten there. He only had to stretch out his arm to pick it up, reminding Manon of how much taller he was than her. How she'd had to stand on her tiptoes to kiss him when they'd arrived at the apartment, and she'd taken off her heels. How he had carried her to bed, picking her up so easily. She blinked, trying to clear away the flood of thoughts. 

— Do you want help to dress it? — Dorian asked. 

She pushed her hair aside as he closed the top around her torso. He moved a little closer, enough for his breath to caress her neck. Manon tilted her head when she felt it, just a little.

— We're not done, you and I... — he said, making sure to touch every bit of her skin as he closed the clamps. Dorian brushed his lips against her neck, the touch so light that made her fingers curl in the carpet. — Are we, witchling?

She should have said yes just to drag that attitude out of him. But there was amusement in his voice, and it would probably be an endless battle if she tried to fight Dorian every time he was like that.

That was the last thing Manon expected from that night. She wasn't waiting for this, for him. For enjoying his touches so much, to still be wondering what the hell he had done to her. Once again, she should have said no, but she didn't answer. 

Manon could count the times she'd slept with the same man more than once, and she didn't want the headache of one of them wanting more than sex. But she could still feel his lips hovering above her neck, his fingers on her back, and the mere thought of his hands on her was enough to make her heart beat faster and her blood heat up again. The thought of what it would have been like if he'd stayed on top, how much she'd wanted him to fuck her against the wall earlier, the fact that she still wanted to taste every inch of his skin... She was used to being the one who disappeared and left men wanting more and never having it, and it could have been the alcohol or the tiredness talking, but for the first time, Manon wanted more. 

So, as he closed the last clip, she turned partially towards him, lifted a shoulder and said: 

— We'll see.

————————————

Masterlist

It wasn't that bad at all? I'm almost proud of it

[pergaminaa]

Manorian baby is literally a Manon mini-me except for her eye color and Dorian loves it and always finds a way to bring it up he is literally so in love with his small family and can’t keep quiet about it

[highqueenofelfhame]

playlist // book cover

one two three four five six seven eight nine ten

[shadowsxgwynriel]

Welcome to the last day of Kinktober 2023! We’ll be ending with Elorcan, and I really hope you all enjoy their sexy times!

Eyes on Me, I’m in charge - Rated E - 3.6k

While on their yearly vacation, Lorcan desperately wants to fix things between him and Elide. What he hadn’t planned on, however, was for Fenrys to book the group a sex cabin.

But when Lorcan discovers a surprising kink that Elide has, maybe the cabin wasn’t such a bad idea after all . . . (Not that he’d ever tell Fenrys that)

This was written for Kinktober 2023, so of course there will be explicit sex in this story. Please check out the stories for the other couples down below. All of these ladies are very talented writers and you won’t be disappointed! 😉

A Kink in Our Plans - Throne of Glass Kinktober 2023

10/25 - Introduction

10/26 - Chaol/Yrene by @headcanonheadcase

10/27 - Dorian/Manon by @hlizr50

10/28 - Rowan/Aelin by @thelovelymadone

10/29 - Nesryn/Sartaq by @sunshinebingo

10/30 - Lysandra/Aedion by @vikingmagic33

10/31 - Elide/Lorcan by @shadowsxgwynriel

Big thanks to @hlizr50 for helping me narrow down a title. And thank you @headcanonheadcase for creating this beautiful title poster for me.

Happy Halloween! 🎃👻

[manonslayme]

I am thinking about Abraxos and Manon again and the fact that he was DEFINITELY ONE OF THE FIRST THINGS TO KICKSTART MANON’S STORY ARC

SHE WOULD BE A HOT MURDER ASSHOLE FOR A LOT LONGER IF HE WASNT THERE AND I STAND BY THAT

[shadowsingerdraco]

absolutely losing my mind over thinking about modern au where all of the sjmu is in a club and katy perry’s peacock start playing and all of the girls start dancing/singing it for their men (after a couple shots i’m assuming) (bryce and aelin don’t require any alcohol to go full out)

[azrielsshadows13]

the lack of rlly rlly good (or like any actually existing at all atp) throne of glass fan fics is actually tragic

[theladyofdeath]

500 words or less prompt: Elide walks in on Lorcan taking a bubble bath. There are candles.

A/N: There's something about fluff in a bathtub that just...gets to me. I hope you enjoy!

It was dark when Elide got home.

She had promised to be home hours ago but had to stay late at the bar. Her replacement had been running behind, their car battery dying, which led to Elide's early night off becoming just the same as every other night.

She came into the kitchen through the garage, seeing a cleaned plate on the counter. After looking in the fridge, she saw that Lorcan had made her a plate and set it in there after it was clear she wasn't coming home any time soon.

"Lor?"

He didn't answer.

The house was dark and silent, but his truck was in the garage so she knew he was home. After slipping off her shoes and hanging her keys on the hook, Elide made her way through the house. A candle was burning in the living room, and the t.v. was on but paused, halfway through a movie that Lorcan had apparently been watching.

"Lor?" she called again, in a sing-song voice. There was still no response as she began making her way upstairs. The house was old, each step creaking as she walked up the stairs. They'd gotten it cheap, as a fixer upper, and it was now the epitome of comfy and cozy.

As she made her way down the hallway, the softest of relaxing music filled the space.

Suddenly, Elide knew exactly where she would find him.

Through the master bedroom, Elide gently pushed open the door to the master bathroom and chuckled at the sight of Lorcan. His massive frame was submerged beneath a heap of bubbles in the tub. It smelled like lavender and vanilla; candles were strewn all around the bathroom. Soft, Celtic music played. Lorcan's eyes were shut.

Seeming to sense her presence, he said, "It's been a long day."

"People piss you off?"

"People always piss me off."

"Do I need to kick someone's ass?" Elide offered, still keeping her voice quiet.

Lorcan chuckled as he opened his eyes and looked at his wife. "I'll never say no to that. You're late."

She frowned. "I know. My replacement ran late. I saw my dinner in the fridge. Thank you."

He nodded, his eyes soft. He was clearly exhausted. "If you can wait to eat..." He gestured for her to join him.

Elide suppressed her grin. Lorcan was not a small man, but in contrast, Elide was a small woman. Even if he took up eighty percent of the tub, Elide only took up the other twenty.

"I don't know," she teased. "I'm pretty hungry."

Lorcan snorted as his eyes closed, once more. "I promise it'll be worth it."

Elide couldn't deny that. She stripped off her clothes and meandered into the tub, sitting idly on Lorcan's lap. He wrapped his arms around her and laid his chin on top of her head as the music played around them.

There was nothing sexual about it, only comfort. He rubbed her back gently, his fingers dancing across her skin smoothly, and just as Elide closed her eyes and began to drift into a state of utter calmness, Lorcan chuckled.

She opened her eyes and glanced up at him. "What?"

"I just imagined you kicking the ass of the sixty-year-old woman that made me want to quit my job today," he said, quietly. "It was satisfying."

Elide laughed quietly as she snuggled up against him, breathing him in. "Your twisted mind would find joy in that."

"If my mind is twisted, yours is just as bad."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Elide said, fingers trailing down his chest. "I'm nothing but pure and innocent."

Lorcan took her fingers and made them still before bringing them to his mouth and kissing each fingertip softly, teasingly. His tone set her on fire when he said, "You are not pure or innocent."

Elide grinned, refusing to correct him, because they both knew it was true. Their hands wandered one another until simple touches became unbearable. They made love to one another until the water ran cold, and it was nearly midnight before Elide got around to her dinner.

But she didn't mind.

[leiawritesstories]

rowaelin fic with aelin as a model? youre such an inspiration!!💞

AWWWWWWW THANK YOU SO MUCH 🥺🥰 also HOW did i never see this??? stupid inbox 😠

i love this!! let's see.......

word count: 2.1k (whoopsies)

warnings: none!

enjoy!!

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

The metro was late.

Aelin was already running a few minutes behind thanks to an unexpected Fleetfoot accident that had required her to change her clothes while soothing the golden retriever puppy, and she'd practically run the whole twelve blocks from her apartment to the metro stop. Of course the damn train would be late on today of all days, the one day in her calendar that she couldn't afford to miss except for death or grievous injury.

The characteristic screech of train brakes yanked her out of her thoughts, and she stepped to the edge of the platform and hurried onto the train as soon as the doors swished open. She clutched her small leather mini tote against her chest and grabbed onto a bar for stability, planting her heeled boots solidly against the floor and adjusting her stance as the train moved.

Twenty minutes later, she hurried off the train, half-sprinting through the station and barely registering her frantic pace until she was out on the street. She glanced at her smart watch and released a short breath when she saw that she still had adequate time to get to her agency before she would be considered late. Smoothly, she joined the people moving along the sidewalks, her long slender legs taking fluid, easy strides as she slid through the crowds. It was a little less than ten minutes until she reached a sleek modern high-rise, all black glass and unbroken lines, strode through the front doors, and waved at the security guard by the elevator.

"Morning, Phil!"

The middle-aged man's solid face creased into a tiny smile. "Morning, Miss Aelin." No matter how many times she told him she was just an ordinary woman, he refused to call her anything else.

To the world, after all, she was Aelin Galathynius, famed for her runway walk, magazine cover model, and face of the wildly popular brand Ennar.

"You're still early, Miss Aelin," Phil said quietly as Aelin stepped into the elevator. "Good luck."

"Thank you," she murmured, throwing the kind man a grateful smile. The elevator doors slid closed with a soft chime, and she closed her eyes and took deep, measured breaths as she traveled up to the twenty-first floor.

Ding! The sleek steel doors slid open, and she released her breath, opened her eyes, and strode out into the minimalist-modern offices of the Blackbeak Modeling Agency. The familiar ivory walls, marble, neutral-toned artwork, and black-and-white photographs blurred past as she headed for her agent's office.

She knocked twice and the door popped open. "Personal service? I thought you had interns for that, Blackbeak."

"Funny," deadpanned Manon Blackbeak, a former international supermodel and a hell of a terrifying woman. She'd been Aelin's agent since Aelin entered the professional modeling world at eighteen. "You made it just in time, Galathynius."

"What's with the call time?" Aelin inquired. She took her usual seat in the ivory wingback chair across from Manon's. "It seems like an odd time for a shoot, fitting, or casting. Is it something with Ennar?"

"It's a new opportunity." Manon reached into her desk and pulled out a portfolio, which she slid to Aelin. "They reached out to us yesterday hoping we'd be interested in setting up four contracts with their brand--short-term at first, but with the potential of extension."

Aelin opened the file and skimmed through the series of glossy photos of clothing--all on mannequins. Each piece was beautifully crafted, showcasing the designer's obvious attention to detail as well as their undeniable artistry. "These are incredible," she murmured.

Manon nodded. "The last few pages are the proposed contract."

"Hmm." Aelin flipped to the draft contract and skimmed through the now-familiar pages of legal and technical jargon. "This almost doesn't seem real. Set my own hours? My own compensation? There's a 'within our schedule parameters' stipulation, but my own pay rate?" Her perfectly shaped brows furrowed. "It seems too good to be true."

"What do you initially think?" Manon drummed her fingernails against her desk. The question seemed brusque, but that was how she operated. She didn't coddle. "Part of the reason you got called in at this time was because the designer is interested in meeting with you. He's here right now."

"What?"

"I'm not a parrot, Galathynius," Manon drawled. "You'd think you were a newbie model with that big-eyed stare on your face."

"Piss off," Aelin snorted. She rearranged her shocked expression and glanced down at the portfolio. "This Mr. --"

"Just Rowan."

"Another single-name designer, then," Aelin mused. "Bold, considering this would be the debut collection."

"Indeed. Are you interested?"

"Yes." Aelin closed the portfolio. "I am."

"Good, because you'd be meeting him anyway." Manon stood and opened her office door. "Let's go, Galathynius. We should get to the meeting room before Rowan and his people do."

"Good idea." Gracefully, Aelin collected the file and her bag, stood up, and followed her agent out of the office and down the hallways to the smaller, cozier conference room. Manon flicked on the lights as they entered, illuminating the warm-toned chestnut table and plush chairs facing the presentation screen. They were the first ones there, so Aelin dropped into a chair that faced the door and waited as Manon sent off a text to the agency head.

"They'll be here in five," the platinum-haired agent said, seating herself next to Aelin. "Sorry for the short notice."

"It's just part of the job, Blackbeak." Aelin waved off Manon's uncharacteristic apology. "And there's certainly no need to say things you don't mean."

"You're right." Manon flashed her a smirk. "In that case, bundle up, because I hear this designer is cold."

Aelin rolled her eyes. "If I can deal with Maeve Bitchface, I can deal with a single-name guy who doesn't have emotions."

"Bold of you to make that assumption before we've even met," interrupted a deep drawl. Filling the doorway stood a tall, fit man with a shock of colorless hair, piercing emerald eyes, and a thick manila file tucked under one muscular arm.

"With all due respect," Aelin deadpanned, fixing her unflinching stare on the man, "you don't work in this industry for years without developing the ability to categorize designers based on what's known about them."

"Fair enough." The man walked into the room, set the file on the conference table, and took the seat directly opposite Aelin. "I'm Rowan."

"Pleasure to meet you in the flesh. I'm Aelin Galathynius; I have a last name like all normal people." With a saccharine smile, she shook his offered hand.

Rowan cracked a tiny grin. "I'm well acquainted with your profile, Miss Galathynius."

"You sound like an FBI officer." She regarded him skeptically. "Am I sure he's a designer and not an undercover cop, Blackbeak?"

Manon snorted. "I'm pretty sure he'd have to kill you if he told you that, Galathynius."

"That's correct." Rowan leant back in his seat, humor lighting up his eyes. "So why don't we assume I'm just a designer who wants to work with you, at least for now?"

"I suppose that's safe enough, at least for now." Aelin steepled her fingers. "I've seen your sample file, Mr. Rowan, and I have to say, I'm impressed. Yours might just be one of the most aesthetically pleasing lines I've seen, and if would be a true honor to wear it."

"Just Rowan, please, and thank you." A soft hint of pink colored the edges of Rowan's cheeks. "My mother used to design clothing, and it's become my passion as much as it's her legacy."

Aelin smiled, softly. "I repeat, it's beautiful."

"Thank you." He cleared his throat and nodded at the dark-haired, stone-faced man next to him. "Since I've decided that you are the model I'd like to work with, my attorney here has brought a preliminary contract." The dark-haired man slid a handful of papers over to Aelin. "Please, have a look, and we can discuss terms."

"Thanks to my agent, I've already been able to look at a draft of the contract." She flipped it to the compensation page. "Set my own pay rate? Is this some kind of trick?"

Rowan exhaled a controlled breath. "No. It's my personal policy that every model I work with sets their own rate of pay."

"Why?" Aelin was genuinely confused--the modeling world didn't run on compassion.

"I've found that the benefits--retention, quality of work, satisfaction, and all of that--outweigh the cost, and not as many people as you may think actually set an outrageously high rate."

"Hmm." She tapped her chin. "That's a surprisingly shrewd decision, Rowan. I wouldn't have expected that in this cutthroat industry."

He shrugged. "I like to think that I'm one of the good guys."

"I'll take you up on that." She penciled a number in the open pay line--a fair bit higher than her usual rate, but not outrageous. "Could you elaborate on what, exactly, my contract includes? The actual details were vague."

"Of course." He opened the folder on the table and spread out a handful of images and sketches. "I'd like to hire you as a brand ambassador. The position would entail walking in my major shows as well as wearing and promoting my brand on your social media accounts and in public. Yes, I'm aware that you work as the brand ambassador for Ennar, and I've spoken with the legal team there. This job shouldn't conflict with your role with Ennar."

"Even though it's essentially the same position?"

"I'm not asking that you focus in my line as intensely as you do with Ennar. Also, my brand is currently only clothing, while that designer is clothing, accessories, and beauty products."

"Indeed." Aelin scribbled on her small notepad. "Well, my initial response to your offer is yes. However, I have a number of personal stipulations that I am unwilling to give up for any job."

"Go ahead." He pulled out a notepad of his own and waited for her to list her rules.

"First, I will not model undergarments."

"That won't be an issue; I have no intention of venturing into that business."

"Good. Second, I have both public and private social media profiles. My public ones are managed by my team, but I have the final say in what gets posted and when, and my brand deals are strictly limited to my public profiles. So, although I'll be wearing your line, it won't be mentioned anywhere on my private pages."

"That shouldn't be a concern, as long as you aren't using your private pages as some kind of undercover scheme where you claim credit for what you're wearing." His voice was carefully controlled, but she detected the tension beneath the control. Someone had done that to him, no doubt.

She fought the unprofessional urge to hold his hands in comfort. "Rowan, I can assure you that my job takes enough of a toll that I need to keep it off my private social media. Also, my private pages are only followed by people that I personally know, and people that know me personally know full well that I can dress, but I'm hopeless are design."

"Okay." Some of the stiffness in his posture melted. "Call me paranoid, but I have to make a living somehow."

"I understand." A reassuring smile flicked over her face. "Thirdly, I don't care what kind of emergency comes up, I don't work Sundays. Ever."

Rowan glanced to Manon. "Ever ever?"

"Never," Manon confirmed. "In the eight years that I've worked with Galathynius, she's never once strayed from that stipulation. I thought it would be a deal-breaker, and it has been at times, but she never works on Sundays. No content, no shows, nothing."

"It's a...personal day," Aelin explained. Unwilling to mention her dad's illness, therapy, or anything else so close to her heart, she left it at that.

"I can work with that." Rowan wrote something down on his notepad. "It shouldn't be frowned upon to try and maintain some normalcy in this hectic world."

"Thank you," Aelin murmured. "Finally, my last stipulation is that my assistant attends every shoot and brand event with me, as I rely on her advice in public situations."

"Of course." He nodded. "Far be it from me to push anyone I work with into a situation where they feel they've been denied the chance to consult someone they trust before making a decision."

"Wonderful. Those are all of my conditions."

He nodded thoughtfully. "All right, Miss Galathynius. Do we have an agreement?"

"Just Aelin, please, and I believe we do."

"Excellent." Standing, he reached across the table and shook her hand. "I look forward to working with you, Aelin."

"As do I."

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

[sunshinebingo]

Welcome to Kinktober 2023! Today it’s time for Nesryn/Sartaq. I hope you enjoy! This is making me nervous ngl

Set My Eyes On You - Rated E - 4k

Nesryn is determined to find out if her feelings for Sartaq are mutual on their Fall Friends Trip. But when she finds herself sharing a room with him in a sex cabin, she soon realises that confessions through words is not the only option.

Listen, I know this was supposed to be kinky. But these 2 wanted to take the cute friends to lovers route. Not my fault sorry. It's still very smutty though.

A Kink in Our Plans - Throne of Glass Kinktober 2023

10/25 - Introduction

10/26 - Chaol/Yrene by @headcanonheadcase

10/27 - Dorian/Manon by @hlizr50

10/28 - Rowan/Aelin by @thelovelymadone

10/29 - Nesryn/Sartaq by @sunshinebingo

10/30 - Lysandra/Aedion by @vikingmagic33

10/31 - Elide/Lorcan by @shadowsxgwynriel

[writtenonreceipts]

Rowaelin Month Day Six: Forced Proximity @rowaelinscourt

link to masterlist here

She is a mess because I wrote her in one day between doing my real job and trying not to cry xoxo

Warnings: mild covid references/quarantine days, very poorly edited

level of concern (tell me we're alright)

The apartment was too small.  Aelin hadn’t noticed it until now, but two rooms and a single bathroom with a kitchen that easily melted into the living room was hardly enough space for two people.  Two people who hated each other.

Aelin threw herself down on the couch, gripping her coffee in one hand.  She’d long ago mastered the art of equilibrium where any sort of caffeine was involved so she didn’t spill anything as she sprawled across the plush cushions.  Groaning, she leaned her head back and tried, so very hard, not to lose her ever loving mind.

It was only week three of quarantine and she was going insane.

She missed going outside whenever she felt like it.  She missed going shopping.  She missed her friends.  She missed people.  Instead, she was trapped here with the one person she did not want to be.

“Do you always have to sound like a dying whale?” A very unamused voice called from the kitchen table, a grand ‘ol four steps away.

Aelin flashed a single finger over the top of the couch.  She got a grunt of disapproval in return.

“It’s eight twenty-two, well outside of your precious quiet hours,” she informed her roommate. “I can do whatever I want.”

Another grunt.

Aelin shifted to peek over the couch to glare. “You sound like a dying walrus.”

And Rowan Whitethorn promptly choked on his cereal.  Two days in a row—Aelin was on a winning streak.

When Aelin first moved to Doranelle three months ago, her plan was to have her own apartment, a dog, a perfect new job, and a social life.  What she got was a crash landing with her nemesis, no dog, the worst job known to man, and quarantine.

She and Rowan had been at each other's throats since they met one fateful night at a bar.  Rowan spilled beer on her, an accident, and promptly insulted her two minutes later after trying to hit on her.

As it turned out, he was friends with Aelin’s old roommates' boyfriends.  She should have known he was the worst considering he and Lorcan Salvaterre got on.  

The bar scene ended with a fight, more beer spillage (on purpose), and a promise of vengeance.

Unfortunately for Aelin, her prospective lease fell through and she would have been homeless if not for the extra room in Rowan’s apartment.  And then covid struck and Aelin was trapped.

Hence, her beached whale position (and sounds) from the couch.  Life was one cosmic joke after another.

“You don’t always have to make your presence known, y’know,” Rowan commented as he pretended, he hadn’t almost had multi-grain Wheaties shooting out of his nose.

“Of course I do,” Aelin argued, “how else can I annoy you before quiet hours begin?”

His green eyes flashed and he rose from his seat at the table, already dressed in a button up and slacks.  For Zoom meetings.  Like a lunatic.  If he’d been wearing a tie she would have teased him for it.  Of all things the man should still be in shorts and a t-shirt.  At least the button up stretched in interesting ways over Rowan’s broad shoulders.  He might have been the bane of her existence but he was nice to look at.

“Don’t you have a job?” he asked, putting his dishes in the sink. “Ah, I forgot, you don’t.”

“Freelance writing is a job,” Aelin said.  She sat up straighter so she could better glare at him. “It’s not my fault things have slowed down.”

Indeed, Aelin’s literature degree had taken a hit given the state of the world right now.  She’d hoped she would have a job at a major publishing company or magazine or something.  Instead, she’d been rejected from job after job and was trying to write freelance articles to keep up on rent.  It…wasn’t going well.  Which had led her to content creating for Instagram.  She read books and talked about them and it kept her somewhat sane.  Until Rowan mocked her for it.

“Rent’s due on the fifth!” he called as he disappeared down the hall to his room to shut in for his work day to begin.

Aelin had no idea what he did, only that it involved not having a sense of humor.  Something with marketing?  But his degree was in history if Elide was right…

She shrugged and took a long sip of her coffee.  She had less than twenty minutes before quiet hours started at eight-forty and ended at five thirty when the work day ended and she had every intention of making as much noise as possible.

…

Rowan knew he was an ass.  He’d always been known as the asshole throughout high school, college, the steps in-between.  Even his friends often thought he was worse than Lorcan.  Lorcan of all people.

Granted, ever since Elide came into the picture, Lorcan had mellowed out and even smiled once a week.

Rowan found scowling to be more beneficial.  Especially when it came to getting Sam Cortland to shut up in the daily staff meetings they had over Zoom.

His degree was in art history and appraising--a limited degree where all he’d wanted to do was work in a museum organizing exhibits.  Not writing legal documents for rich men to take art from their rightful owners.

The irony was not lost on him that perhaps he shouldn’t give Aelin such a hard time about her job and the fact she wasn’t using her degree very much.  

The only problem was he’d dug himself into a hole and now he had no idea how to get out.

Aelin, for all eccentricities, was smart and did work hard.  She was doing everything possible to stay afloat--sarcasm included.

Their first meeting at the bar had only gone so miserable because Rowan didn’t know when to shut up and apparently had a unique skill of insulting beautiful women.  What a time to learn that.

English?  Isn’t that the easiest thing to study?

She should have slapped him and not just dumped beer in his lap.

Rowan leaned back in his seat as the project manager started talking over the new contract that would be drawn up between a client and their acquisitions.  It continued on for too long and Rowan just wanted to get back to his own assignments.  By the time late afternoon rolled around, he was ready to log off and be done for the day.

He’d always considered himself to be a homebody, but this was getting ridiculous.  He wanted to be out doing things.  But the trails were closed, his friends were spread out over the country, and there was the risk of a disastrous illness running amuck.

So he was trapped in an apartment with Aelin Galathynius.  The place had always felt enormous until she’d moved in.  But she had a way of filling every space she occupied.  Other than the various bathroom accouterments she had there were the dozens of fleece blankets, the books, the personality.  Even he had to admit she was different from anyone he’d met before.

Unfortunately, she was very good at holding grudges.

He’d tried apologizing for getting off on the wrong foot when she first moved in, but her mind was already made up.  Then came the way she was loud, talkative, rambunctious.  Quarantine was not meant for her.  After one day he’d realized that she needed space and freedom and the ability to do whatever she wanted.  The jury was still out on how he felt about that.

He was finally able to mute his other coworkers when a loud crash echoed from the kitchen.  Rowan rolled his eyes.  It was two, so of course Aelin was getting snacky.  He’d clocked her eating habits and quickly learned she needed to eat at least eight times a day to be in a good mood.  Seven of those times had to involve chocolate.

She had been doing better at keeping quiet while he was in his zoom meetings so Rowan tried to control his ire.  Really, she hadn’t been a bad roommate.  She’d tried to keep the peace between them and even offered to include him on DoorDash orders.  All of her orders were from the local dessert shop and Rowan didn’t eat much sugar so that didn’t help matters.   

Another crash from the kitchen followed by the patter of feet to the linen closet.

“Damndamndamndamn,” Aelin chanted as she went.

Rowan froze.  She’d broken his sink again, hadn’t she?  He glanced at his computer but no one was paying attention, all engaged in their own work.  Besides, he could step away from a minute if he needed to.

Standing, Rowan slipped into the hall and down to the kitchen.  He braced himself for anything and everything.  Knowing Aelin there could be a dead body.

What he was completely unprepared for was the settling plume of flour and mess of various baking items scattered around the kitchen.

“What the hell are you doing?” he blurted before he could stop himself.

Aelin turned from the counter, her blonde hair spilling out of a messy bun.  Her t-shirt and shorts (that showed off her lean legs) were covered in a mix of flour and butter, her face smudged too.  He knew he should stop staring.  Really, he’d seen her first thing in the morning looking like the walking dead and in the middle of the night crying to Taylor Swift.  And now, covered in flour, eyes wide with panic.  He would admit it only to himself and deny it if anyone asked him--but she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“It’s cookie Friday,” Aelin said, she had a towel in one hand, spatula in the other.  A bottle of vanilla was tipped over as she was trying to mop up the mess. “Sorry.”

“You hate cooking, or baking, or anything involving an oven,” Rowan reminded her.

“Which is why I’m only going to eat the dough raw,” Aelin said, voice growing quieter with each word.  Her blue eyes were comically wide as she gestured around the kitchen. “Then the thing exploded and the other thing tipped over and it turned into a mess and I was trying to be quiet because you are a grumpy buzzard, even on Fridays, and I know you’re at work but I really needed cookies.”

Aelin continued to look at him with her large eyes as she offered a sympathetic shrug of her shoulders.  

"Sorry?"

Rowan didn't know if he should laugh or be irritated or something else.  But all he really could do was stare at her.  It was such an Aelin thing for her to do that really, he couldn't be mad.

"You know raw cookie dough is bad for you right?" He asked.

"No, it literally feeds the soul," she set.

With a wet thwack, she dropped the towel in the sink and righted the vanilla bottle.  Most of it had spilled out leaving a sickly-sweet scent cloying in the air. "And I don't care what scientists or other miserable things you read say."

Rowan rolled his eyes. He should have known better than to try and reason with her. "Alright fine.  Eat your salmonella."

"I will, thank you," she said.  A patch of flour still clung to her cheek giving her bravado a little less umph than he was sure she wanted. "And I'll clean up, no need to worry your poor old heart about that."

"I'm not old," he said.  Thirty was a perfectly reasonable age.

"Yeah, yeah."  She patted herself down, sending little plumes of flour all over the place.  She tried righting her hair, but it seemed to be of no use—most of the tendrils had broken free and she was stuck with a curling mass in the nape of her neck. "Go back to work, I'm sure nothing will get done without you."

And Rowan in a bought of what had to be pure reckless abandonment shook his head. "Nah.  I'm not that important."

Aelin raised a brow. "Really? Even with your real degree and real work you put into college."

Well.  He deserved that. 

"Yeah?"

Aelin eyed him skeptically before tossing another clean towel at him. "You get the floor I'll get the cabinets."

And then because the apartment had somehow shrunk in the last three months—they were continually in each other’s way.  Rowan brushing her leg, Aelin grabbing his shoulder when she nearly fell over while reaching for the top cabinets, both going for the sink at the same time.  It was chaos.  And because Rowan didn't know how to sort out his own feelings, he found his skin heating at each touch, his heart race at each glance.  And he knew, he knew he was a fool.  But if the past three months had taught him anything—it was that he could be very wrong about a great deal of things.

When the kitchen was somewhat restored to order.  Aelin sighed. "I guess that'll have to do.  I'll dig out the real cleaning products in a minute, I have to meet with one of my editors.  Hopefully one of my articles was accepted this time."

She said the last part flippantly, but Rowan could sense the tension rolling off of her.  She wanted that job to go through, needed it.  

"I'm sure it will," he said.

Aelin rolled her eyes. "You don't have to offer a pity compliment buzzard; I know it's not your style."

“It’s not--” Rowan cursed and looked away, running a hand through his hair anxiously. “We both know what I said back then wasn’t true.  I know it must have taken work and dedication to get your degree.”

“Thanks.  It did.” She was unapologetic with her bold words, just as he would expect her to be. “I won’t keep you.  I promise I’ll have the rest of this cleaned up before bed.”

“It’s fine,” Rowan said. 

Aelin grabbed the dirty towels to take to the small laundry alcove but Rowan stopped her.

“You’ve got flour,” he tried to explain that there was still a steak of flour on her cheek, but he was already reaching out, brushing it away with a quick swipe of his thumb.

Aelin froze, watching him as if she didn’t recognize him.  Not that he could blame her, he was actually being nice.  Her lips parted as if to say something, but Rowan’s phone gave a loud ping from where he’d left it in his room.  He’d hooked his notifications onto a larger speaker setting so he wouldn’t miss anything during the day if he got up to leave his desk.

“Work calls, right?”  Aelin joked with a small, half smile.  And then she was gone down the hall.

Rowan cursed again, running a hand over his face. 

“Get it together, Whitethorn,” he muttered, before he too returned to his room.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

tags are a joke rn. please consider reblogging?

love yall

[malulls]

The bet

Manorian hockey au

The high-pitched sound of the alarm began to ring through the room, waking Dorian so suddenly he felt like he had been hit in the forehead by a hammer. His eyelids fluttered, before slowly opening. Manon moved from where she was lying on top of him, and sat up in bed with a frown on her forehead. They both looked at the clock, marking six hours in the morning. Gods, he still hated waking up so early.

—Sorry. — Dorian said, sitting up to turn off the alarm and stop the noise. — I have a game today.

She rubbed her face and brushed her hair out of her eyes, muttering a curse.

— Is that why you were sleeping like a baby at eight?

Her voice was still hoarse with sleep, and Dorian felt every inch of his body want to lie back on the pillow and pull her with him. Instead, he leaned forward, in the opposite direction, and bit her lower lip.

— That's not what I remember to be doing at eight.

Manon rolled her eyes and sighed, knowing that they couldn't go on with that, at least not now. He got out of bed and went into the bathroom.

— You can stay and sleep until you have to go to class, if you want.

— It's fine. — she said, and rose to look for her clothes around the bedroom. — I need a ride to the campus anyway.

Dorian tried to get ready as quickly as possible so she wouldn't be waiting and he wouldn't be late, but it took a few minutes for sleep to leave his body completely, and to fix the mess Manon had made of his hair. When he left, she was already dressed in front of the mirror that stayed on the wardrobe door, pinning her hair into a ponytail, looking at the bruises on her neck that the white T-shirt she wore the night before did nothing to hide. She showed her middle finger when she saw him.

— I told you not to leave anything where the shirt wouldn't cover it. — Manon complained.

She let her hair down, which hid the marks, but the white strands were too tangled and messy to leave like that.

— Surely that's not what you said when I was putting them there.

A shoe flew past his head, and Dorian hid his smile so that she wouldn't throw the other one too. He finished dressing, and was putting on the jacket of the hockey team, but stopped halfway through the movement. The collar was high enough to cover her neck, and it would certainly be loose on her, but it would work until she could change clothes. He took it off and threw it to Manon.

— I think it'll solve the problem.

She looked from the coat to him like she was going to give it back, but took it with her when she went to the bathroom. Dorian went down the stairs that led to the living room, and found Chaol and Fenrys already awake in the kitchen. The first one holding a coffee mug, the second with his head resting on his hands and looking as if he had been hit by a truck.

— You look like shit. — Dorian said as a good morning, and opened the fridge to look for something to eat.

— Good morning to you too, Havilliard. — he murmured, and laid half his body on the counter. — Rowan is going to kill me.

— And we're going to make popcorn and watch. — Chaol replied, placing a glass full of water next to his head. — I don't know why you insist on drinking when there's a game the next day.

— The problem wasn't the drinking. — he grumbled, closing his eyes. — It's what came after. I barely slept.

— Who was the lucky lady this time? — Dorian asked, taking a seat beside Fenrys.

— One of your girlfriend's friends. The red-haired. Vesta.

He blinked, surprised, but not that much. At least it explained the sorry state Fenrys was in.

— Explains a lot. And don't say that Manon is my girlfriend. She'll rip your balls off if she hears that.

She chose that moment to appear on the stairs, looking more awake, with her hair pinned up and so beautiful in his jacket that it was ridiculous. Dorian looked away so that at least he wouldn't look as stupid as he was feeling. Fenrys suddenly came back to life when he saw her wearing the red coat of the team.

— Let's go? — Manon called out.

— I'm finishing - Dorian tossed her the car keys. — You can wait there if you're not going to steal my car and leave me behind again.

— It's been weeks ago. Get over it. — she paused in the doorway before closing it. — And I won't have to steal anything if you don't take too long.

The white door slammed shut and she left after the implied threat, ignoring the stares of the two curious men behind him. Dorian stared in the direction she had gone until Fenrys lifted his head, smiling in a way that totally justified the wolf nickname he had won on the ice.

— You were saying? - he began, in the most teasing and irritating voice possible. — Or were your thoughts interrupted by the thousands of pink hearts that appeared in your eyes when she showed up with your last name on her back?

— If you don't shut up, I'll tell Rowan that you not only drank, but had sex until three in the morning before you can defend yourself.

— It was until two in the morning.

— It won't make any difference to him, you can be sure.

Dorian put his plate in the sink behind Chaol when he finished, and said goodbye to both of them, ignoring Fenrys' mumbling. He stopped at the cupboard by the stairs to get his things while the rest of the boys went downstairs.

— See you all later. — he shouted before closing the door.

He felt a spark of electricity run through him as he stepped out into the cool morning air and walked to his car — and to the girl waiting inside. Suddenly, it didn't matter that much that the sun had barely risen. A good kind of anxiety that always preceded the games took over him, it was what happened when he put into practice everything he had worked so hard to train for.

Besides, now there was always the certainty that when he looked at the bleachers, Manon would be there. Dorian sighed, but ended up smiling. Maybe Fenrys was right about the hearts in his eyes. No matter how much Manon said against it, he knew that she had started watching the games because of him before she became obsessed with ice hockey. And Dorian would be lying if he said he wouldn't like to see her in the crowd wearing his jacket, or that she wasn't the one he looked for when they left after the game was over. Every single time.

But he didn't have time to dream about that — or about her — not at that moment. He had a game to win. And when he did, it always made anything else worth it.

—

Elide's surprised squeal could have woken a sleeping monster on the other side of the world and underground, Manon thought. It certainly had woken her. She stretched and sat up in bed for the second time in the day, at least now at a more acceptable hour. The alarm on her cell phone that normally woke her up began to ring seconds later.

— What? — she asked.

Elide didn't answer. She looked like a small animal excited and surprised by... ah. That. Manon hadn't bothered to change after Dorian had left her in front of the dorm. She had just taken off her pants, closed her eyes as quickly as possible, and blacked out. So she was still wearing the damn jacket. She hadn't even thought about taking it off. It was comfortable. It had nothing to do with being Dorian's, or his smell, or the "Havilliard" written in white on the back, just above the number 13.

— So — Manon's friend began, turning around both to hide a smile and to pick up whatever she had gone to her room to get. — When did he give you this?

— He didn't. — Manon answered, rolling her eyes. She got out of bed and went to the closet to start dressing. Gods, she needed a bath. — He borrowed it because the shirt I had didn't cover my neck, and I wasn't going to walk around the campus like this. — She lowered the jacket to the level of her elbows. Elide blushed when she saw the situation. — I'll give it back tonight at the game. And stop acting like you're pure. I'm the one who stays awake till the middle of the night with you and Lorcan wrecking the room.

— Manon!

She blushed harder and went to the doorway while Manon went to the bathroom. But Elide stopped before she left and called her again.

— Dorian would be glad to see you wearing this tonight. He could have borrowed any other coat. But he gave you this one.

The black-haired girl shrugged and said nothing more, as if she had left the sentence incomplete so Manon could think about it and get to some conclusion. But she decided just to ignore what Elide said, and went into the bathroom they shared. She had already had to deal with the stares of Fenrys and Chaol, and it was too soon for all that drama.

Of course it was important to Dorian, it was the fucking team jacket. But that meant nothing. It was just the first thing he saw. She sighed as the warm water began to fall over her body, soothing her tired muscles from the night before. They were sore, like wanting to throw in her face how much she had exaggerated with that "eight".

Anyway, she wasn't Dorian's girlfriend to walk around the arena in his coat while he was on the ice. It didn't matter either that she knew Elide maybe was right about him being glad to see her wearing it. Manon groaned, resting her head on the glass.

She was just going to give the damn jacket back.

—

Manon: where are you?

Dorian: locker room.

Manon: Already? Did you have to go on the show without your gala outfit matching the rest of the models?

I brought your coat

Dorian: The lack of the outfit didn't affect my impeccable performance for your information

And you can keep it if you want

You know that

Manon: and be attacked by 15 different girls who will be heartbroken if they think you're dating?

No, thank you

Dorian: has anyone ever told you that your sense of humor is a jewel?

Manon: Go put your skates on Havilliard

—

Manon looked anxiously at the scoreboard for what seemed like the thousandth time in the last minute, while Vesta and Elide were swearing beside her. They were losing. A curse escaped her mouth as well. Maybe, initially, she had started watching the matches and had become curious because of Dorian, but Manon had discovered that she really liked the adrenaline of hockey.

And if she wasn't lying, she enjoyed watching him play. If there was any way for Dorian Havilliard to be hotter, it was when he was on ice. There was a contagious tension and excitement before playing that was almost visible in the boys. Then, if they won, they had a huge party that was almost as interesting as the game to celebrate the victory. And when she and Dorian got tired of the party, they disappeared upstairs and he fucked her even better than he normally did. If he loved the games, she had learned to enjoy them too.

And she hated losing to the arrogant assholes from the other universities. Not that the boys on the Orynth University team weren't, but as Aelin Galathynius liked to say, the only arrogant assholes she would bother to tolerate were those, and that was enough for a lifetime.

But it wasn't just because she was competitive that Manon hated to lose. She knew how hard Dorian worked, and how down he got when the team lost. That match was being hard.

The boys came skating back onto the ice at the end of the break, and their half of the crowd screamed, trying to get them excited again. It was clear how tired they were. The other team was good. Really good.

She looked for the number 13 on Dorian's uniform, at the same time that he found her in the bleachers. They looked at the scoreboard at the same time, and she reprimanded him with a look.

We're trying, he said, just moving his mouth.

Try harder then.

Dorian rolled his eyes at her answer. They evidently had a disadvantage, and though it was not so great and they did not seem to have given up yet, it would be difficult for them to win. A silly idea popped into her mind, one that would surely take away at least some of Dorian's worry. Manon looked at the scoreboard again, biting her lip. Well, fuck it.

Do you want to make a bet? , She asked, and Dorian frowned.

What?

She lifted the jacket in her hand. If you win, I'll wear this.

Dorian blinked, surprised, and then smiled.

Deal

Before the two of them could say anything else, the coach called out, he put on his helmet, and seconds later was in position with the rest of the team, getting ready for the last chance to win. And now, there was no way he was going to lose.

—

The rest of the game seemed to happen at light speed. Dorian had the audacity to score two goals. The first was enough to make the boys recover their confidence and turn the game. Chaol managed to get the defense better and didn't let the disc pass once again. It was Rowan Whitethorn who scored the winning goal. The crowd went a bit crazy, and even Manon screamed a little, infected with the cheer. It was one of the best games she had ever seen.

She, Vesta and Elide went outside the doors, waiting for the boys to come out. She was surprised to see her friend there, and even more surprised when she said she would go to the party to see Fenrys. She would need a report later about when that had happened.

The two had both widened their eyes when they saw Manon putting on the jacket, as did half of the people in the arena. She only explained the bet, like it was nothing. They were not alone, Aelin and Yrene Towers met them at the exit to wait for Rowan and Chaol.

With many celebrating shouts, the doors opened and the team exited, half of them going in their direction. Manon's heart raced. Dorian was looking straight at her, with a smile so large on his face that she felt her mouth curl up at the corners.

— You lost — he joked, standing in front of her.

— You didn't. — Manon replied, crossing her arms.

He slipped his arm around her waist, and she didn't even think to resist when he pulled her into a kiss. She buried her fingers in his hair, still wet from the shower, ignoring the screams that began around them. Neither of them cared about the scandalous idiots. She could feel how happy he was, as if he was still smiling even as he kissed her. They were breathless when they pulled back, still ignoring everyone.

— I'm proud of you, princeling — she whispered into his lips, low enough so only he could hear.

He kissed Manon again, slower that time.

— Let's go. — Dorian pointed as they separated, and was quick enough to steal a kiss on her cheek before Manon could get away. Then he laughed at her scowl.

They both finally started to follow their friends, who were already shouting at them to leave the kissing for the bedroom. Dorian didn't try to hold her hand because he knew better than that, but he put an arm around her waist, and as they walked he pulled her closer. Manon let him.

That night, she would let.

—

🎨: @mellendraws

commissioned by: shavanreads

I LOVED writing manorian with that off-campus vibe, mostly because I re-read The Deal at the end of last year and I was obsessed with this fanart (as always)

This fic should've been posted in january but the tags weren't working 🙄, after three fucking months they're finally working again

Anyway, I hope you all like it 😘