#tog fanfiction

[nicolos]

stew

The sad part of it is really that it takes Nile two months to realise she’s never seen Andy cook.

“Wait,” she says, “what do you mean she’s not allowed to cook?”

Andy just shrugs, perfectly unhelpful as she loves to be. The Andy sitting across the kitchen table from Nile is a far cry from the woman who shot her in Afghanistan, and not just because she’s now mortal and prone to problems like hangovers that last and back pain. More importantly: she looks less tired, somehow, hasn’t made fun of Nile about her Cross again, and gets a sick sort of satisfaction from watching Nile flounder over the important things, like which famous historical figures her new friends-slash-family-slash-anti-dying-club had slept with or the weird set of unspoken rules and laws and tripwires they all have built in that everyone else can see and Nile can’t. Yet.

“It means Andromache has been banned from our kitchens,” Nicky says coolly. Joe raises his brows, probably at the full name, but he’s grinning.

Nile ignores him, because he’s an instigator, and says, “Why not? Andy, what’d you do?”

“Who said I did anything?”

Nile narrows her eyes at her. That tone of voice elicits many things: trust is not one of them. Joe outright snickers.

Nicky says, voice low, “You know what you did.”

Joe mouths, “She does,” and then says out loud, “It’s not so bad, Nile. Nicky’s banned from football. And I’m not allowed to do any plumbing.” He says this like it’s a bad thing.

Nile suspects that they’ve also put an unspoken ban up against her audiobooks. Every time she puts one on doing her laundry, somebody comes up to speak with her, until she’s forgotten all about it. She also keeps losing the old iPod she found with the books on it, and whenever she finds it, it needs to be charged.

It’s ridiculous is what it is. She says so. “Andy is four thousand years old.” Andy raises her brows but doesn't comment one way or the other. Joe makes a so-so face, which really just means Nile’s wrong. She soldiers on. “I don’t care how bad she is, she should be able to cook!”

Andy shrugs around her bowl. “I can cook.”

“We’re all adults. We should have a roster. It’s not fair that it’s just Joe and Nicky.” Of them, Nile herself is probably the weakest: she can make a few comfort foods, but she’s never mastered the art. She’d like to, though. Part of it is wanting to hold onto the food she remembers before she can’t get it anymore and she’s forgotten, and part of it is that it’s just practical. But left to her own devices, she just eats whatever’s there. A roster will help.

And it wouldn’t feel right to leave Andy off it. Nile tells herself this is about fairness and house chores and not about the strange panic that takes over her whenever she imagines never eating her mom’s good again and then remembers that (a) Andy looks like she's maybe five years younger than her mom, and (b) she, too, is mortal. Which is dumb. It’s not like she thinks of Andy as anything like her mother. If anything she’s the bad influence friend everyone’s mom warns them about, but who everyone wants to—

Anyway.

“I don’t mind,” Andy says. Nile turns to Nicky.

Nicky says, “If you wish,” and then looks at Joe like he’s expecting Joe to speak up on his behalf.

Joe grins. “I have no objections.”

Andy’s turn on the roster comes up two days later. She spends the morning out of the house and comes back with two bags full of groceries. When Nile goes to help her with it, bewildered, it turns out one of the bags is half filled with low shelf life candy, and that Andy doesn’t need help, though she looks amused that Nile would offer.

Then she gets to it. She’s not what Nile was expecting, which was someone a little unsure of herself in the kitchen. She chops fluidly and fast, as good with a knife on meat and veg as she would be with it as a weapon, and she moves like she knows what she's doing.

But what she’s doing is—strange. At first glance, the dish is beef, with thick chunks of meat cooking in enough oil to thrill her grandma. But then she throws chunks of apple in alongside the potato. As it cooks, she starts rolling out some dough, with more eggs than make sense. Pie, Nile thinks, even if it's not a pie she knows of, but she rolls it out by hand into sheets of pasta, all while stirring the beef concoction. A bar of the dark chocolate she's munching on goes into the pot, followed by a concerning quantity of nuts. When she grabs an orange, Nile thinks it's for a snack, but she peels the whole rind into a neat spiral and tosses the rind into the pot before offering Nile a slice. When the pasta is cut, she just—starts flipping the sheets into the pot.

Nicky looks into the kitchen as he passes by and starts muttering to himself in Italian. When he opens his mouth, Andy only says, “If you’d rather do it yourself,” and Nicky walks away.

Oh, Nile thinks. “You won’t get out of the roster just by making bad food, you know,” she says, though she suspects she probably will. If it's terrible, she figures she’ll get takeout. She already saw Joe surreptitiously hide a bag of something in the back of the fridge. She hopes he got enough for her.

Andy only winks at her. Nile sits down.

In go raisins, cashew nuts, sticks of cinnamon, the stalk of some plant she doesn't even recognise, more garlic than even Nicky uses, and a whole tablespoon of turmeric. Then come the chillies: long, with the heads sliced off, thrown in whole. When the room starts smelling like heat, she cools it with cups of milk. More vegetables follow: large chunks of carrot and beet, strips of cabbage and slices of—ugh—eggplant go in along with a store-bought sauce she can't read the label of, spoons of cream, a quarter of a bottle of alcohol she's pretty sure isn't meant to be used to cook with, and—somehow—even more chocolate, and some of her favourite morning cereal.

This is the point at which Nile decides to stop watching. It feels a little like tearing herself away from a car crash, but she makes herself go look for her iPod. She finds it between two cushions of the sofa twenty minutes later, at 3%.

Andy calls Nile in to help carry the food out when she's done, half an hour later. Nile’s a little bit afraid of the monster she's created as she looks into the pot. It looks less than appetising, a deep brown that looks thick and has things floating in it and cheese melting on top. On the sides of the pot, she can see bright red oil floating in place.

When she carries it out, her iPod is already gone from where it was charging by the kitchen table. Nile glares at Joe and Nicky, who look back innocently (Joe) and distractedly upset (Nicky). It has to be Joe, she figures.

Andy serves them the frankenstew in deep bowls with toasted slices of Nicky’s last sourdough next to it. With no ceremony at all, she grins and says, “Dig in.”

Then, without waiting for the rest of them, she starts eating.

A little relieved that Andy isn’t going to leave them to eat it alone, Nile takes a small, tentative bite.

The dish is—not bad. She takes another bite, and then another.

The stew is delicious. Nile can feel her arteries clogging with every bite, immortality or no immortality, but she thinks she doesn't even care. It's hot enough to leave her tongue prickling after just a couple of bites, but she wants to keep eating it. It's sweet and salty and sour; the meat falls apart in her mouth but the nuts crunch. The pasta is not really pasta at all, thicker and softer and melting in her mouth like soft bread. The broth is creamy and thick, and none of the vegetables are too mushy or draw too much attention to themselves. It's the best thing she's ever eaten, she thinks. She never wants to eat anything else again.

When she looks up, she must look a little guilty, because Joe pats her arm comfortingly. “I know,” he says.

Andy hums around a mouthful and says, slowly, “It’s not as good as I remember it.”

Nicky looks despairing. He’s staring into the bowl like it insulted his mother. Maybe it has. “That’s what you said last time,” he says.

Nile considers things like nostalgia and pride and cholesterol and having more of the pot for herself, and slides Andy’s half-full bowl towards herself. “You’re off the roster, Andy. And you’re banned from cooking again,” she says authoritatively.

“I thought making bad food wouldn’t get me off the roster?”

Nile nods. This is worse.

Joe grins, ducks into the kitchen, and comes back with the box he had hidden in the fridge, which now that Nile looks closely says Andy Dinner. Andy laughs at her as she eats it.

Nile decides to stop looking for her iPod.

#the old guard #tog fanfiction #mine. #minefic #nile freeman #andromache #i like this one. idk if the characters feel Quite right. but this particular evening i dont care if they dont

[shallyne]

I Was Reminiscing Just The Other Day

Another fic for @throneofglassmicrofics!! Thanks to my mom this time fore choosing the prompts: Hope and Luck.

Words: around 500

It's been four hours and Aelin was far from tired. When she had awoken that morning, the urge to go shopping in the shops of Orynth had overcome her. So naturally, she had dragged Rowan out of bed, baited him with the best coffee the city had to offer and went on her way. He had barely uttered more than 10 words until Aelin had pushed the coffee in his hands and although Rowan wasn't a very talkative person at all, it finally hadn't felt like she was talking to him in his hawk form, when he couldn't reply at all. 

The weather mirrored Aelin’s mood, it was warm and the sun was shining brightly, no cloud in sight. She was just finishing the last of her chocolate croissant, happily humming to the tune of a street musician as she wiped crumbs from her blouse. 

After being parted from her home for over a decade, this morning had felt the closest to normal since she took her place as the rightful Queen of Terrasen. The city was abuzz with life and laughter, bustling with her people. 

A look to her right told her that Rowan was watching the city around him, too, with his second cup of coffee in one hand and her shopping bags in the other, and she would have thought he was trying to be alert for any danger if it wasn't for his expression. Calm. Serene. Full of wonder. And when three kids ran past them, only avoiding a crash because Rowan sidestepped him, he chuckled, his eyes shining brightly. 

“What are you thinking about?” Aelin asked curiously. 

Rowan turned his head towards her. He sighed and looked away, scanning the crowd they walked through. Aelin didn't expect he'd answer, giving him space with whatever he was thinking about, when he replied, “I'm thinking that we are very lucky to be able to walk these streets. Together.”

Aelin hadn't expected that answer, although she should have. Chuckling, she lightly punched his arm, “Are you getting soft with old age?”

Her mate rolled his green eyes, looking down on her with his grumpy fae male expression, “You're lucky I have my hands full or I'd help that attitude.”

Linking their arms together, she leaned closer and said silently, so only Rowan could hear, “If you check your attitude, maybe you will get lucky later.”

1:0 for Aelin, she thought when his eyes darkened, the words landing with their intended effect. She wriggled her eyebrows when his steps became slower. 

“Let's get chocolate cake, then we go home.” she said. 

“You just had a croissant.” Rowan complained. 

Aelin shrugged, “You're never too full for chocolate cake.” she replied, taking his hand and pulling him into the next bakery. 

She hadn't told him that he was right, that they were extremely lucky to walk these streets, to watch it being built up again after the war. That she could hear children's laughter in the streets, and music, that she had the privilege to shop with her mate. 

Aelin had prayed for this. 

She had hoped for this, and she was rewarded.

#throne of glass #tog #throne of glass microfics #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #aelin ashryver galathynius #aelin ashryver whitethorn galathynius #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass fan fiction #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass fic #tog fanfiction #tog fan fiction #tog fanfic #tog fic #microfic

[charincharge]

I Don't Want To Wait, sixy-nine

AN: I’ve been waiting literal years to get to chapter 69, but alas. It didn’t work out the way I wanted it to. In fact, I think this chap is going to be split in two. Hopefully the second half will be up by the end of the weekend. Please enjoy and lmk via comment or reblog if you’re still out there.

Aelin leaned her head back into the seat rest and let the wind whip through her long hair, her stress melting away with each mile they drove away from Orynth. In the aftermath of the Evalin debacle, she was more than ready for a full week of nothing resembling schoolwork or stress whatsoever. Nothing but relaxation, sunshine, and sex. She’d even made a special trip to the mall with Manon and Elide to purchase a few new nightgowns for the occasion. And she could not wait to show them off. And honestly, she couldn’t wait to have sex in a real bed. Her knees were totally bruised and red from the back seat of the Jeep. She sighed happily, imagining the week-full of scantily clad moments and couldn’t help but look over at Rowan, who was hyper focused as he made his way through the winding highways at the base of the Terrasen mountains.

She took a moment to truly ogle him. The flex of his forearm as he made his way meticulously around every curve. His furrowed brow and his recently cropped hair showing off the thick column of his throat. One of his teeth peeked from between his pillowy lips, gnawing on the skin there, completely oblivious to Aelin’s lusting.

“Aelin, look away from your boyfriend before he crashes the car,” Lysandra laughed from the backseat, causing Aedion to snort loudly beside her. “Could you be any hornier? Gods.”

“Yes,” Rowan smirked, still not taking his eyes off the road ahead of him. Okay, so maybe not completely oblivious. “You sure your parents won’t care that we’re spending the week at their beach house?” Rowan asked Lysandra for approximately hundredth time since she’d pitched the idea the week earlier.

“They’re on a luxury cruise on the coast of the Southern continent for the rest of the month,” she replied, giving her same answer no matter how many times he asked for reassurance.

The plan had come together fairly last minute, not that Aelin was complaining. She’d anticipated her spring break being a boring (but still delightful) affair of vegging out in front of the television, but this was going to be a whole lot better. Obviously, spring break was a minefield of substance use (and abuse), and Lysandra had pitched the idea of a sober week at her parents’ completely empty beachside mansion. Aelin could tell that Lysandra was feeling genuinely nervous about the prospect of being alone, and Aelin was happy to gather a group of people, who would enjoy a week of sobriety. Manon and Elide had jumped at the opportunity to be unsupervised for a week, while Dorian had pratically thrown himself across the table asking to join. (Apparently his dad had been more annoying than usual as he waited for college apps to roll in). And though Aelin had anticipated Chaol not wanting to participate, given whatever weirdness was going on with him and Dorian, he also seemed exciting to come.

What Aelin hadn’t anticipated, though, was her cousin’s presence. He was waiting at Lysandra’s, suitcase in hand, as Rowan and Aelin swung by earlier this morning. He’d waved her raised brow off with a loud, “Let’s get this sober party started!” And that was, apparently that.

She looked behind her at the pair, wondering what was actually going on between them. Despite the absence of any kind of drugs or alcohol, Aelin had a distinct feeling this week was going to be a wild one.

. . .

The house was… incredible. She’d seen pictures of it before, but Lysandra’s family used it primarily as an event space, renting it out during the summer months. It was still slightly too chilly to utilize the beach, so it sat, dark and empty. But, just stepping into the brightly lit foyer, Aelin felt lighter than air.

“You and Rowan are in the master on the fourth floor,” Lysandra said, pointing to the staircase.

“Really?”

“Aedion requested that you both be out of earshot from him,” she said with a teasing smile.

“And where is my dear cousin going to be sleeping?” Aelin asked, curiosity peaking.

Lysandra rolled her eyes, and Aelin didn’t fail to notice that wasn’t an answer.

“Manon and Elide are stopping for takeout, so text them with your order ASAP,” she said instead.

Aelin was going to push further, but Rowan came sweeping in beside her, their suitcases in hand, and starting running up the stairs.

“Race ya!”

“That’s cheating!”

Aelin tripped over her own sneakers trying to get ahead of him, but the man was built like a tree trunk, and no matter how many times she tried to snake around him, he blocked her again and again.

Finally, as they rounded the corner to master suite, Aelin was able to pull ahead. And the sight that awaited her was even better than she could have imagined.

Squealing, she took off in a run before falling back, full body flopping and bouncing onto the

king-sized bed, which took up the center of the room. She sighed happily as she stared up at the billowy canopy above her, the smell of beachside breeze surrounding her as Rowan cracked open their giant bay window. Behind a set of gauzy curtains was a private balcony, overlooking the beach and the ocean beyond it, and Aelin felt like royalty with how good everything felt. She could get used to this.

With a wide smile, Rowan came and flopped next to her, both of them bouncing in tandem off the mattress and crashing down into each other in a breathless pile of limbs.

“Hi,” Rowan said, curling his body towards hers, his green eyes dark as his hand ran its way under the hem of her shirt. She inched forward in return, leaning into the pads of his fingers as they circled the skin of her back.

“Hi.”

Her voice sounded breathless to her own ears. Although, that could be due to the fact that they’d just sprinted up four flights of stairs.

“Dinner! Text.” Lys shouted up the stairs, breaking the spell between them momentarily. She jotted off a quick text, then resumed her position staring at Rowan. Gods, he was so beautiful. And she was so lucky to have him. His fingers never ceased their movement, delicately running up and down the curve of her side, as his face relaxed into a contended smile. She briefly had the urge to pull her journal from her backpack and record this moment, this prolonged moment of touching between them, as she had before they’d admitted their feelings for each other. The shadow of a past that she barely knew anymore.

She’d brought the journal in hopes that she’d be able to write out any of her feelings regarding her murky future, but with Rowan’s face merely inches away, it all seemed so clear. She’d only ever need him. Unable to resist the pull between them for a second longer, she tugged the collar of his shirt toward her and pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss.

He mumbled something against her mouth, but she was too blissed out to really hear his words.

“Shouldn’t we go downstairs,” he laughed, as she trailed kisses down his throat. “Help Lys unpack the groceries and games and stuff?”

“Mmm, no,” Aelin said, rolling her boyfriend to his back and lifting up his shirt to scatter soft kisses against his abs. She loved the way they clenched beneath her touch. It made her feel so powerful. Rowan snorted loudly, but it morphed quickly into a groan as she fiddled with the waistband of his pants.

“Ace,” he attempted to admonish her. “Friends. Downstairs.”

“Guess we’ll just have to be quiet.”

He flopped back onto the fluffy white comforter with a muffled groan as Aelin tugged on his pants. And as she started to move over him, she errantly thought she should have texted her friends that they would be late to dinner and not to wait for them.

. . .

They were indeed late for dinner. But no one minded. The table was filled with chatter between their friends, who barely spared the freshly showered pair a glance as they walked in. They table was mid-card game already, and Aelin laughed loudly as she figured out they were playing an extremely intense game of Go Fish between bites of their seafood feast.

“Go. Fish,” Aedion said confidently, causing Dorian’s blue eyes to narrow with irritation.

“If you have a three you have to give it to me,” Dorian insisted, causing Aedion to smirk back.

“I know how to play the game, pretty boy.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

A matching smirk appeared on Dorian’s face, and the sudden moment of silence was so charged that Aelin felt herself warm slightly. Looking around the table, she knew she was not the only one who noticed. The tension coming from both Lysandra and Chaol’s tight smiles was palpable.

Well, that was certainly an interesting development.

“Dorian, do you have any fives?” Manon cut in, apparently observing the same situation that Aelin had.

The spark died quickly as the game progressed, but it didn’t escape Aelin’s attention that Chaol’s eyes flicked between Aedion and Dorian a few dozen times. He’d insisted they were fine and that the moment they spent as more than friends was just a blip in the past, but given his furrowed brow and tipped frown, Aelin had a feeling that wasn’t exactly true. Poor Chaol.

The rest of the night followed without incident — they received a full house tour from Lysandra, who showed them how to use the highly complicated smart house settings, which included internet, lights, the thermostat and auto-timed blackout shades. She also led them out to the deck and taught them how to turn on the hot tub, as well as the outdoor lights and music system. After she taught them how to turn on the projector in the theater room, and where everything had been put away in the kitchen, they decided they deserved an evening of rest. They all gathered on the family room the couch to eat copious amounts of candy and popcorn and watch a horror comedy that Aedion had picked. Aelin was glad she and Rowan had gotten in some alone time earlier, because somewhere toward the middle of the movie, she could feel her eyes getting heavy with sleep.

“You okay?” she could hear Rowan ask somewhere just out of reach of the depths of her exhaustion.

She mumbled a soft, “I’m asleep,” as she flopped harder onto his chest, and she could feel the rumble of his laughter beneath her cheek as he stroked her hair, and that was all she remembered.

She didn’t wake until hours later when the first hints of buttery sunlight peaked through the curtains of their master suite. Based on Rowan’s soft and steady breath beside her, she knew it must be really early, and a quick glance at the clock told her it wasn’t even six yet. Despite not being a morning person at all, she felt invigorated and inspired. She crept quietly out of bed, throwing on a pair of sweats and grabbing her journal before heading downstairs.

The delicious aroma of coffee awaited her downstairs, a full pot already brewed from the fancy machine Lysandra had taught them how to use last night in their detailed house tour. She looked around to see who else was awake, but the kitchen was completely empty. Instead of doing further inspection, she poured a hefty amount of hazelnut creamer into her coffee and grabbed a blanket from the stack on the end of the couch to wrap around her shoulders before making her way onto the deck.

The sun was just starting to peak over the horizon when she settled in at the outdoor table with her coffee. Awash in the beauty of the blue waves softly lapping at the shore of the beach, contrasting with the deep purple and pink sky first tinged with the first rays of the firey red-orange sun, Aelin felt like she could finally breathe for the first time in a long time.

Her worn journal was battered and bruised, and she regretted that it had been ignored in the recent months, in favor of her color-coded planner. It was her dad who’d reminded her of its existence, wondering if she wouldn’t feel better if she put pen to paper about how she was feeling. And though she wasn’t exactly sure what was going to come out, she placed her pen against a fresh page and took off. As the words formed in her messy sloping print, she found herself writing about the moment itself. She wanted to remember this sky, the way the sunlight spilled over the darkness like a molten lava, lighting up the horizon like a fire, starting deep glowing red, then turning a burning orange, until it became unmistakably golden.

She didn’t know how long she’d been writing for when the seats next to her started to fill up with her friends, but the sun was firmly fixed in the sky, daylight pouring over the wide expanse of sand and glistening atop the ocean’s placid undulations. She shut her journal and reached for her coffee mug, which had been freshly filled and was steaming again. Her glance drifted next to her where Rowan lifted his own mug, which read “World’s Best Granddad” in a scrawling script, in an air cheers, and they both smiled as they took a sip in unison.  

“So, what’s on the agenda today, Miss Lys?” Aedion asked, clapping his hand loudly on her shoulder.

Lys glanced up at him with a beaming smile. “Glad you asked.”

Lysandra had put in more prep than Aelin had even anticipated, making sure that they had multiple activity options for each day they spend there. Aelin had known Lysandra was nervous about this week, but she hadn’t realized exactly how nervous until she saw Lys’s list for potential activities and which weather they’d be best for.

Since the weather was abnormally warm for this time of year, they decided to take advantage of the sunshine and explore the local town. It was a short walk from the house, and though it was pretty much just two streets of “downtown,” it was fun to look into each of the darkened windows, seeing where tourists would line up to indulge in artisan fudge and hand crafted beach bags, decadent scoops of ice cream, and kitschy beachwear as soon as summer came around.  

“Sup, buttmunch?” Aedion swung a large arm around Aelin’s shoulders as they ambled down the main street.

Aelin’s instinct was to shrink out of her cousin’s arms and tell him to fuck off, but he had the distinct privilege of catching her in a moment where she was trying to relish the moment. She remembered how hard it sucked when he went away to college, how far away he felt, and couldn’t resist leaning into his grasp. It only caused him confusion.

“You good?”

Aelin nodded. But Aedion knew her too well.

“I heard about your mom.”

Well, that caught Aelin’s attention.

“What? How?”

He nodded toward Lysandra. “Don’t be mad if she wasn’t supposed to tell. She was just… worried. If anyone knows about parental issues…”

Aelin shrugged. “I’m okay.” But Aedion wasn’t satisfied with that answer and proceeded to pinch her side. “OW!”

She must have reacted too exuberantly because before she could say anything, Rowan was there, hovering and worrying and asking Aedion what was going on.

“I’m fine, buzzard,” she laughed, shooing him away.

“Sorry I upset your bodyguard,” Aedion chuckled. And it felt so natural to just be with him that she almost cried. She thought about the way their relationship had ebbed and flowed in the last two years, and she regretted… a lot. She loved Aedion. And cutting him out was one of the worst things she’d done in a long list of mistakes.

“He’s fine. And so am I,” Aelin reassured her cousin, who was still peering at her with the eyes she saw in the mirror every day. Damn, it was so hard to lie to him. “Or, I will be.” She took a deep breath. “I’m just looking forward to a week with no drama.”

At that, Aedion snorted loudly.

“I’m sorry, you gathered a group of stressed out couples and almost couples and former couples and expected them not to bring you drama?” he asked, eyes sparkling.

Aelin’s jaw dropped. “And which one are you?”

“I don’t believe in labels,” he replied, puffing out his chest. But his posturing was short-lived as he lowered his voice. “Dorian is… nice.”

“I KNEW IT!” Aelin hissed.

“Shush,” he chastised her, pulling her closer.

“But what about Lys?” she asked.

And she saw the way Aedion’s eyes glazed over with concern as he sought out the brunette in front of them. “She’s an incredible human, and I like her a lot.” He paused. “Maybe more than I should.” He sighed as he looked down at Aelin again. “She’s strong as hell, and she’d straight up die for anyone she cares about. It reminds me a lot of someone else I know…” He chuckled. “But, she’s not allowed to date for at least another six months, according to her sobriety rules. And she said she’ll probably follow it for longer, given how fucked up her last relationship was. And, she’s straight up told me that. And I have to respect that. So, yeah, I’m looking elsewhere.” He paused, his eyes sliding to Dorian’s swaying hips a few feet in front of them. “And elsewhere is cute.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and elsewhere has a former-almost relationship sleeping next door to him.”

“I know,” Aedion laughed. “Which is why I think you should be prepared for drama,” he said, tickling her side. “I know you can’t possssibly understand because you’re in the most incredible amazing relationship ever, but…”

“You talking about my butt?” Dorian quipped, winking over his shoulder, and Aedion’s cheeks had the audacity to turn pink.

Aelin didn’t think she’d ever seen him blush before, and she couldn’t believe the shade of scarlet he turned at Dorian’s attention. Which… was worrisome, given Chaol and Lysandra’s sudden tension in their posture. Drama. Oh dear. Perhaps Aedion was right. Aelin considered herself warned.

. . .

When they got back to the house, everyone was ordered to leave the kitchen. Manon and Chaol (of all people!) had decided to cook everyone a gourmet dinner. Unbeknownst to anyone, Chaol had pursued an interest in the culinary arts and he was enamored by the technology available to him in Lysandra’s parents’ kitchen. And apparently Manon was an excellent chef, according to Elide, who had enjoyed many meals via her girlfriends’ talents. As they had walked by a local grocery, they’d picked up all the ingredients they needed for the most delicious dinner ever. They spent their time walking through the aisles, deciding what to prepare and landed on a multi-course meal that would knock everyone’s socks off. Apparently last night’s takeout was… fine, but they wanted something more elevated. Just from overhearing their planning, Aelin had deduced dinner would consist of several different salads, seared scallops, a complicated steak dish, and a dessert that Aelin would be dreaming about for hours. She thought perhaps they had watched too much Top Chef, but who was she to complain about receiving the fruits of their labor?

Since the group had hours to kill and the sun was starting to sink into the horizon and leave the house shrouded in dark shadow, Lys suggested that they start up the hot tub while Manon and Chaol manned the kitchen. Elide and Chaol had offered themselves up as sous chefs to help with any prep, but they were rejected, leaving them to join the hot tub crew. Aelin felt absolutely great about that. And as soon as she put on her bikini, so did Rowan. His hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her close and nuzzling his face into her neck. “Mmm, you smell so good,” he moaned, and Aelin couldn’t resist smiling widely as she remembered the multiple nightgowns she’d brought and hadn’t taken out yet. Rowan would be dying. And they’d be putting this master bed with its fluffy mattress and even fluffier comforter to good use. She’d specifically bought a few sexy nightgowns in colors she knew he would love – gold, green, and red. But she was careful to push them to the bottom of the suitcase and out of Rowan’s view. After arranging the clothes just so, so everything was out of sight, she placed her her journal on top to and pulled her bathing suit out.

He was already clad in low-slung shorts, which highlighted his abs in an obscene way, and she contemplated saying fuck it to the hot tub and just pulling him into bed right in that very moment, but she also knew that she should be social and that this was not just a sexcation for her and her boyfriend. When she looked at the wide expanse of his chest and thick roped arms that was hard to remember. So she pulled him out of the room quickly, not wanting to tempt herself more than she needed.

In the hot tub, Lys and Aedion were already stewing in the steamy water, seltzers in hand as they tried to control their temperature. Aelin stepped in and let the lapping bubbles overtake her, sliding onto a seat that was right next to a pulsing jet. She couldn’t help but moan, causing all the eyes in the hot tub to slide to her.

“Sorry,” she apologized, causing a round of laughter to take off.

Dorian and Elide slinked in shortly after, and even though Aelin was leaning hard into Rowan’s side, she kept an eye on Aedion and Dorian and Lys, wondering exactly what was going on between all of them at every moment. Rowan definitely noticed at one point, elbowing her side, but she ignored him.

“Ugh, I’m overheated,” Rowan complained about thirty minutes into their soak.

“Really? I’m perfect,” Aelin replied, causing everyone to laugh.

Rowan shook his head, laughing at his girlfriend. “I’m gonna take a cold shower and then I’ll be back,” he assured her, leaving her with a solid kiss that left Aelin breathless.

“Y’all are as disgusting as ever,” Aedion said, causing Dorian to snort loudly.

“That’s nothing,” he added. “Wait until you see them in the minutes before they head to their not-so-secret parking lot spot to fuck.”

Aelin’s cheek’s filled with blood at his words, but she wasn’t ashamed. “Whatever,” she laughed off.

Even Elide joined in the razzing, making Aelin realize that maybe she and Rowan were more obvious than they let on. She was so busy laughing that she barely realized that Rowan hadn’t rejoined them until everyone was getting out of the tub an hour later.

As she walked through the kitchen, she sniffed in the incredible aromas and told Manon that she was looking forward to dinner, to which her friend simply replied, “You better be.”

Dripping slightly, she skipped up the stairs to the master bedroom. Rowan was laid out on the bed, his eyes closed, and Aelin assumed that he was simply exhausted, and walked herself straight into the shower. She showered the chlorine out of her hair and took extra time to shave her legs all the way up to her hips, making sure that she was feeling good and confident about being alone with Rowan tonight.

But when she made her way out to the bedroom, Rowan was staring at her with such vitriol that she was taken aback.

“Uh, hi?” she asked, and he simply scoffed.

“Hi.” She wrapped the towel tighter around her chest and looked at him for real. He did not look happy. His frown tugged down exaggeratedly and his brow was crinkled with stress lines.

“You okay?” she asked, even though the answer was an obvious no.

“Just wondering why you’re with me if you think I’m inconsiderate and emotionally stunted,” he said super casually, as if he hadn’t said something completely insane.

“What?”

He reached for her journal, which she hadn’t even realized was in his grasp, and held it in front of them.

“Apparently you think I’m selfish and horrible and completely unworthy of your attention, so I guess I’m not so sure of what you’re doing with me.”

Aelin was aghast.

“You read my journal?”

He scoffed, as if he hadn’t done anything wrong. “Well, it was out there for anyone to see. I barely had to flip through it to see all the shit you wrote about me,” he said, annoyed as ever. But all it did was spur Aelin’s anger. How…dare he?

She snatched the journal from his hands and clutched it to her still damp chest.

“You’re not even denying it. You read my journal.”

He stuck his nose into the air, not denying a thing, and Aelin’s heart panged with a hurt so large she thought maybe she was having a heart attack.

“That wasn’t okay, Ro.”

“Obviously,” he quipped. “This is where you write how much you fucking hate me.”

She could feel herself vibrating with anger as she opened the journal in front of him. “Oh yeah? I hate you?” she sassed. “Then please tell me why I spent all of the summer between junior and senior year cataloguing every time you touched me? Because I hated you?” she seethed. “This journal is my most private thoughts and feelings,” she admitted. “And most of them are about how in love with you I am.” She took a deep breath, her shoulders shaking with every deep breath. “So you read the one page where I was frustrated that you didn’t love me too? Get over it, Rowan. You put me through hell. HELL!” she shouted. “You didn’t give me any signal that you loved me too, at all. So, sorry if I had one stupid journal entry talking about how frustrated I was with you. If you had turned the fucking page,” she said, turning the page for effect. “You would have seen how stupidly obsessed and in love I was with you, but you don’t deserve to read that either.”

She shook with her anger, unaffected by the change in her boyfriends’ expression.

“Now get out.”

“But—”

“Get out.”

She watched as Rowan gathered himself off the bed and headed out the door, and she chose to ignore the small furrow in Rowan’s brow or the clenching of his jaw, as she slammed the door shut.

How dare he. Like, really. How. Dare. He? He had no right to invade her privacy and then be mad about what he’d discovered. Not to mention, if he’d only skipped ahead a few pages in the journal he would have stumbled on a time stamped record of every time he’d touched her, making her skin light on fire with lust and wanting. I’m fact, nearly 99% of that journal was just wishing and hoping that he’d ever look her way or see her as more than a friend. It was the contents of a lovestruck puppy. But NO. He had to crack open her journal and peer inside the one, single day where she hated the wanting and the pain from wanting so bad that she had to get it out — expel the poison from inside her, knowing that none of it was really how she felt. It wasn’t true then and it certainly wasn’t true now. And he knew that! So, how dare he have the audacity to be upset about her most private painful thoughts when he was the one invading them?

She could feel tears burning the edges of her eyelids but refused to let them through. Instead, she sniffed back loudly and tilted her head to the ceiling. An old fan whirred slowly above her, letting out a soft clinking sound with each rotation. One of the blades was slightly off and kept catching the very top of the chain that dangled below. Her breathing steadied as she watched the fan do its wonky loop again and again, the clinking starting to soothe her and she inhaled and exhaled with each sound. 

What a dick.

“UGH!” Aelin pushed herself up and stalked to the door, swinging it back open.

Rowan stood exactly where the door had slammed in his face, and she watched him take a breath, presumably to say he was sorry, but Aelin didn’t care. “Don’t,” she whispered under her breath. “I’m starving, and this dinner sounds so fucking good, and I don’t want to fight.”

“I just want to talk—”

“Well, I don’t,” she snapped.

To his credit, he nodded succinctly, not pushing for more.

“I’m so mad at you,” she continued. “What you did is not okay,” she said, breathing hard and ignoring the way his green eyes pinched at her words. “That journal is my private thoughts and feelings, and you reading it without me… I thought we had boundaries.”

His eyes looked sad as he said, “But I thought we told each other everything.”

And she took a large breath to reply. Because she understood. She really did. “We do. Now. But Ro, that journal is from years and years of our lives. It starts freshman year, and I still use it today. Do you know how many thoughts and feelings I’ve had about you since then?” she asked. She grabbed the journal. “If you turned the page, you would have seen a detailed time stamped spreadsheet of every time you touched me our sophomore year. Literally time stamped. But there were so many times that I wasn’t sure about us. You were with fucking Lyria! For months,” she shouted. “So, how dare you come and be mad at me when you read how I was feeling during that time? I didn’t know if you’d be with me ever.” She took another deep breath, ignoring Rowan’s pained face. “I’m sorry you got your feelings hurt, but I’m not sorry for writing my feelings down in my journal. It was the only way I was able to survive. And youi peaking into that time without acknowledging how hard you hurt me then isn’t just tone deaf, but it's stupid, Ro. Really fucking stupid.”

“I thought you wanted me to read it…” he said, trying to explain himself.

“Well, that was your mistake,” she said, wiping a rogue tear from her cheek.

Rowan apologized, but Aelin barely heard him. She’d wanted to be apart from the drama, but as she and Rowan made her way down to dinner, she realized that they were the drama. And it was about to be everyone else’s problem.

#idwtw #rowaelin #tog fanfiction #rowaelin fanfiction #tog fanfic #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass

[highqueenofelfhame]

rowaelin // 4.9k words // ciwyw masterlist // masterlist

It was golden light that roused Aelin from sleep, sneaking in through gaps in the curtains and blinds. It took her a moment to remember that it was Rowan’s bed she was curled up in, completely wrapped in his cool pine scent. She inhaled deeply, ducking her nose down into the plush duvet and savored it. Part of her wished he was laying beside her, the sunlight casting soft shadows over his face. With her eyes closed she could imagine it. 

It was better that he wasn’t. She knew that. There was hurt on both sides. Words had been said that cut them both in sensitive places, and the wedge between them was starting to feel like an ocean. Yet being here, in his bed, his house, were the first steps toward reconciliation. They just had to get through the hard conversations first. 

The best part about Rowan not being in bed with her was the smell of bacon, eggs, and something sweet creeping up the stairs and beneath the door. For what felt like the first time in her pregnancy, her mind and body were in agreement: she was hungry. Though she was hesitant to believe her head wouldn’t be in the toilet immediately following breakfast, she slipped out of bed and padded her way downstairs. 

“How did you sleep?” He asked her, eyes roving over her head to toe before he turned back to the pan on the stove. Aelin wondered if it was because she was still in the clothes he’d given her to sleep in, or if it was some instinct of his to make sure she was in one piece. She slid onto one of the chairs at the bar, folding her arms atop it, and laid her head down.

“Like the dead.” A sleepy yawn escaped her before she could finish her response. One of these days, she really needed to take to the internet to see when, exactly, she would stop feeling so wholly exhausted all the time. “Did you sleep okay?”

“I did,” he confessed, the muscles in his back rippling beneath the simple gray t-shirt he wore. “Better than I have all week, actually.” 

Rowan was careful as he deposited an egg onto a plate next to a few pieces of bacon and a cinnamon roll. Aelin thanked him when he handed her the plate and a glass of orange juice. It was freshly squeezed if the notes of orange zest throughout the kitchen were any indicator, but when she lifted it to take a sip, her stomach turned violently in protest. 

“It’s freshly squeezed. No additives or anything.” Two strings pulled the corners of her lips toward the floor. The confirmation that he spent gods knew how long juicing oranges until she had a full glass worth made her feel guilty for the way her body was reacting.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said as she put it back down on the bar, far enough away that her nose couldn’t smell it anymore. 

“It was nothing.” 

“No I mean…” She paused and took a deep breath, eyes closing at the nausea rising in the back of her throat. “Can you put that anywhere else please.”

“Shit. Fuck, Aelin, I’m so sorry.” Rowan was quick to swoop in and pour it directly down the kitchen sink, letting the water chase it down the drain. 

“You didn’t know. I didn’t either until I smelled it,” she admitted, finally opening her eyes and lifting her fork. 

The first bite of the cinnamon roll was heavenly. It was baked to perfection, the gooey texture nearly melting away on her tongue. It was exactly how she loved her cinnamon rolls, but couldn’t remember ever telling him that. Perhaps once in passing. The eggs were scrambled and in a neat pile of soft, pillowy clouds. None of it touched.

“Did your mom teach you to cook?”

“She did. I was hungry just about constantly growing up, especially after practice and games. It’s come in handy now that I follow such a strict meal plan.” Indeed, his plate didn’t have a cinnamon roll. Instead he had two pieces of toast, some bacon and sausage, and three eggs. When he slid into the seat beside her she noticed two bowls, one with oatmeal and the other full of fruit. 

“I was underfeeding you at my house,” she murmured, sitting back and resting her hands on her stomach. The baby, apparently, didn’t want her to enjoy breakfast. She took deep, steadying breaths to keep the food down even as a sheen of sweat started to coat her skin. 

“Are you sick a lot?” Concern swam in his gaze as looked her over head to toe, but she nodded her head.

“Lysandra made me go to the emergency room a few days after I found out, and—” Rowan’s head whipped around, eyes wide and full of concern. Aelin held up a hand for him to wait a moment and continued, “There are days I couldn’t keep water down. That’s what the blood test was from. They gave me some medication to help with the nausea.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Something like devastation flashed across his features, squeezing her heart like he’d squeezed those oranges. 

“Because I was still freaking out about being pregnant and how I was going to tell you, and I didn’t want you to find out because I was in the hospital over it. Imagine your reaction in an ER,  with nothing between us and strangers but—” Aelin was cut off by the all too familiar tell of her mouth watering, head becoming unclear and dizzy as she launched off the chair and sprinted to the bathroom. She barely made it to the toilet before dropping onto her knees and emptying the little contents of her stomach into the bowl. 

Rowan was there, like he’d seen the color of her face drain to stark white. His hand was a steady weight on her back, moving slowly up and down her spine while he gathered up her hair in his other hand. 

By the time she was through, her throat burned from the pure bile that clawed its way out of her body. Aelin’s ribs and stomach ached from the force of it all and Rowan had to help her back onto her feet, gripping her shaky hands and grounded her to earth. 

“Do you want to lay back down?” he asked her, using his fingers to comb her hair up onto the top of her head. Goosebumps erupted over her body when he tugged the hair tie off her wrist and secured the bun into place. 

Aelin shook her head and gestured toward the kitchen where their breakfast grew colder by the second and said, “I’m going to shower while you finish eating. And don’t object to it. I know you’re hungry. So eat.” 

His eyes were wary as he appraised her. They scanned every feature from head to toe like he was cataloging every single thing about her. Deeming her well enough to manage on her own, he led her out of the bathroom and toward the stairs. Even when she protested, he followed her up and gathered towels and the small bucket of necessities that had everything she would need: body wash, shampoo, conditioner, razors, shaving gel. The little box of tampons almost made her laugh. She wouldn’t  be needing those for a while. 

When he finally left her alone, she stared at the bin full of everything she might need for her stay. Aelin didn’t question if it was meant for any female visitors he might have. She didn’t have to. Everything in it was smaller sizes of everything she had in her shower at home. Like he had made a list so he knew what to get. 

It almost made her angry, how thoughtful it was. Simply because it made it virtually impossible to be upset with him. All of her anger toward him was gradually slipping through her fingers, just like the water she gathered in her cupped hands. 

~*~ 

By the time she was done showering and walked back downstairs, Rowan had finished eating and cleaned up the kitchen. It was near pristine. The dirty dishes had vanished from the stove top and sink and an empty trash bag was in the garbage bin. One of his tattooed fingers was just about to mist the room with air freshener to cover the lingering scent of cinnamon and bacon when she stopped him. 

“That’s overkill. I’m fine.” Her polished fingers toyed with the ends of her damp hair as he looked up at her. 

Rowan’s eyes swept over her, lingering on her still flat stomach. There was nothing to see, not yet, not for several weeks, but he looked and looked like he could see the baby through her t-shirt, her skin. When he finally looked at her face again he simply nodded and put the can back under the sink. 

“Come on,” Aelin said after several heartbeats of silence, her head nodding toward the living room while he pulled a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water from the fridge. Once it was in her hands she glanced at the living room again. “We should talk.” 

When she turned her back she heard him sigh deeply. It was strained, like he wasn’t at all looking forward to what was coming, like he dreaded it. Almost like he was scared. She wondered if his heart was racing and pounding like hers as she walked across the room and tucked herself in the corner of the sofa. A blanket is pulled over her legs with hands that have a small tremor. Aelin tucked them between her thighs to make it stop. 

“At the time,” she said slowly, turning the words over in her mind before speaking them out loud, “I didn’t understand why you asked me if it was for money. But now, knowing what you actually do for a living, I understand why you felt the need to ask.”

“That isn’t what it was.” The words were clipped, his jaw clenching as he paced in front of her. Aelin watched him until he finally sat down on the edge of the couch, fingers drumming against his knees to quell his nervous energy. Confusion rose to the surface in her mind.

“Okay. Explain it to me then.” 

“I— fuck. I don’t like talking about this.” The second part seemed to be said more toward himself than to her, so she waited patiently while he sifted through letters and syllables to make words. 

Rowan looked over at her and chewed on his cheek. More than once, his lips parted to try to sew together his words, but closed again. Like he didn’t know how, when, or where to begin. Aelin wasn’t sure either. They both had a lot to say, had apologies to make. There was so much, though, that it was hard for her to find the words, too. 

“I don’t like talking about it because I don’t… I don’t want you to think I’m making excuses about how I treated you. I’m not. But it’s the truth. Any single one of my friends, my family, they can back it up.” 

“Rowan. It’s okay. Just talk to me.” The fingers in her lap ached to reach for him, twitching against her bare legs beneath the blanket. She wove them together to stay put. 

“I had been sleeping with a woman for a while. Nothing serious, just casual when I had the time. She ended up getting pregnant about six months or so into it. I didn’t want the relationship to get serious. She… Lyria and I weren’t really well matched. We didn’t know each other. I found it hard to open up to her. More than that, I didn’t want to open up to her. But I was more than willing to step up where the baby was concerned.” He paused, tongue swiping over his teeth. Aelin’s heart was trying to escape her ribcage. She took a steadying breath, telling herself to listen and not draw conclusions before he finished. Still, she wondered. Did he have a kid already?

“Lyria was pushing for a relationship, to marry eventually. I was 23, still pretty early in my career, nowhere near ready for marriage.  Especially not with a woman I barely knew . Every time it was brought up I shut it down. Not to break her heart,” he added with a swift glance at Aelin. “I don’t think she was ever in love with me. But because it wouldn’t have been a fruitful marriage, we would have been miserable, and I truly didn’t see the point.” 

Aelin nodded in understanding, “You didn’t want to settle.”

“I didn’t want her to settle either. It wouldn’t have been fair for anyone, especially not the baby in a few years time. I didn’t want to raise a child in a loveless home. But all of that isn’t why I reacted so… fucking horribly.” 

“Okay.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but loud enough to encourage him to keep going. After another steadying breath, he did. 

“One night I very firmly shut it down again. I told her it wasn’t on the table. I want to make it clear that she had a good job, she had really good health insurance. But she started asking me for money. Of course I wanted to give the support she needed, so I gave. And gave. And gave. I couldn’t not give her the money. We weren’t close enough for me to know the extent of her income, and I had money I could afford to lose. Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t, but whenever I asked about it she would get cagey. Accuse me of accusing her. It was such a complicated web to unravel and the fighting was so tiring.”

Aelin was nothing more than a concrete statue, her limbs heavy at her sides. She was unable to move while he spoke, eyes focused on the frayed corner of the blanket in her lap. Every sentence was turned over in her mind carefully, knowing that the grief and frustration that marred his face and sharpened his words was absolutely true.

“One day she called me several times in a row. I didn’t answer because our flight got in really late and I was exhausted. There was no energy in my soul to argue with her about money, so I sent it to voicemail. Later she sent me a text that she miscarried and… I didn’t want the relationship with her but I was just getting used to the idea of being a dad. I have always wanted to have kids. The timing was off at the time, but I was excited about it. And then it was just… gone.”

“Rowan,” she started gently, desperate to offer him comfort of some sort. No words would be a balm to that wound, but she couldn’t bring herself to reach out and touch him. Instead of looking at her he held up a hand, silently asking her to wait. Gods, he wasn’t finished. How could it get worse?

“I found out a few weeks later through a mutual friend that she had miscarried nearly an entire month earlier. All through that month I was still sending her money for appointments, for nursery furniture, car seats…” Rowan shook his head, silver hair falling into his eyes. “We stopped talking after I told her I knew the truth. That she was using all the money I was giving her to fund her lifestyle, hardly any of it was going toward anything for the baby, and that she weaponized the miscarriage to hurt me. It was a massive fucking blow out, and we haven’t spoken since.” 

All the letters and words had evacuated her brain. The weight of his eyes trailing over her face made her finally meet his gaze. All the empathy she had in her heart was swimming in the ocean blue of her eyes that gleamed with unshed tears. In his, she saw that he knew the words she couldn’t find to speak out loud. 

“It makes me feel like a massive piece of shite, but sometimes I wonder if she was even pregnant at all or if the whole thing was just a way to get money from me.” His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, green eyes fluttering shut as he took a moment to just breathe. Aelin wondered if he had ever voiced that confession out loud before. 

“I can understand why you reacted the way that you did.” The words swept out of her mouth on a heavy exhale, hands flexing in her lap.

“But?” 

“I don’t fault you for the reasons behind your actions, Rowan. But I also can’t just freely let go with what you said and how you said it. I wish that I could, but I felt like we…” Aelin trailed off, eyes shifting around the room on a scavenger hunt for words she had lost. 

“Like we had something more than what I reflected in my reaction,” he finished. A hand dragged through his hair and down the back of his neck before settling over the mouth that had put him in so much trouble in the last eight days. 

“I thought you trusted and respected me more.”

“I do, Aelin. I– fuck. I do. I am so sorry for what I said, how I said it, what I accused you of, that I hurt you. For all of it, I’m so fucking sorry.” Rowan’s hands flexed against his thighs like he was dying to touch her almost as much as she was dying to be touched by him. They curled into fists so tight she could see his thumb nails turning white from the pressure. 

“I know,” she assured him. “I know that, I just–” 

Her hands moved restlessly in front of her, trying to pull her thoughts into coherent sentences. Trying to fully express how deeply it had cut her for him to react that way was difficult. The empty space in his arms where she had fit so perfectly had started to feel like home. It was the safest she had ever felt and following this path of life had felt so entirely right. But then he opened his stupid, perfect mouth. Those words had been dripping with such a sharp edge there wasn’t a way it wouldn’t have hurt. 

“I think I just need some time. I think we need to slow down. This wasn’t supposed to become anything. You know? It was just meant to be fun, but–” She cut herself off with a shrug, her fingers falling onto her flat stomach. Somewhere in there, a baby that was equal parts of her and Rowan was swimming around.  Those feelings threatened to undo her if she allowed herself to feel them. Instead of letting them bubble over, she shoved a cork deep down into that bottle to avoid it just a little while longer.

Rowan’s inhale was sharp, a blade against its scabbard. A chilly silence filled the room, faint buzzing in her ears like she was on the snowboarding slopes in the Staghorns after a heavy snowfall. His fingers drummed against his thighs, eyes staring straight ahead when he finally nodded in understanding. 

A relationship hadn’t been on her radar. It was why the long-distance nature of it worked out so well. With time between each visit, she wasn’t able to throw herself into his heart no matter how much she may have wanted to. Nevermind that the last time she had dived head first into something it had ended with her broken and bleeding. That relationship left scars that were still tender, still itching as they healed. 

It didn’t matter how badly she was desperate to be curled up against him, feel his skin warm where they touched. How much she craved to taste his lips, to kiss the hollow of his throat and down his chest, to just feel his body splayed beneath her fingers. To know that things would be okay. There was so much more at play here than what she wanted. A little baby was caught in the crossfires, and she has to be sure that going forward their relationship was built on more than a whirlwind romance. 

Instead of reaching for his hand and continuing to let herself fall for him, she carefully constructed a wall around her heart and nodded in return. 

“About me lying to you about… everything,” she began, but was quickly cut off by Rowan shaking his head so rapidly it made her dizzy.

“There’s no need for you to explain that. I do not fault you for wanting to protect yourself, Aelin. I wish we had both been more honest with each other, but, no. You don’t need to explain or apologize. I understand. I did the same thing.” The tightness in her chest eased. For the first time since everything had come out, her ribs weren’t so tightly constricted when she took a steadying breath. They had both lied for similar reasons, and her secrets didn’t seem to change anything for him, at least. 

Rowan’s eyes seemed dark and distant, not at all what she was used to. But the conversation at hand was one of pain and hurt. It couldn’t be easy for him to lay this all at her feet, yet he had, and now they could move forward. He would give her the space she required and after that, they would figure things out. 

A kernel of hope nestled itself into her heart. Aelin just hoped she wouldn’t get hurt this time. 

~*~ 

White noise skittered along his skin, his nerves. The stifling sound of silence filled his ears like cotton as she finally stood and began to gather her things. The minutes ticked by like hours and Rowan hated every single drawn out second of it. He just wanted her to stay despite Aelin admitting that what they had between them wasn’t supposed to be anything. Those words were sure to echo between his ears during every hour he existed for the rest of his life.

Deep down in the trenches of his mind he was aware it was the best option for now. For them to pump the brakes, for him to make it up to her. Rowan understood why she needed time to process. He had assumed the worst of her when in reality, the truth of those pregnancy tests had shaken her to her core, just like they had him. 

Still, he couldn’t deny his excitement. While he had been wholly unprepared when Lyria was pregnant, he was ready this time. Ready in a way that only resulted in happiness buzzing through his bones when he imagined what the child would look like, what they would be like. And if he and Aelin could figure this out and work through the missteps…

Gods. He was going to be a dad. After she took the time she needed and he proved himself, they could be a family. A real family. It wasn’t going to be like last time because he was already tripping and stumbling over the edge of a cliff, his feelings rising as rapidly as the water. He was falling in love with her, and it terrified him. 

Rowan could wait. He would give her all the time she wanted, that she needed, and on the other side of it he would make sure that she was the happiest woman in the world. That their baby had the universe at their feet. Anything either of them wanted, he would ensure they had it. Nothing else mattered like this, not even football. 

A new determination had melded into his bones by the time Aelin came downstairs with her bag over one shoulder. He stood as she slipped on her shoes, then walked her out to her car. Apprehension was all over her face, evident in the way her fingers twisted together when she faced him after opening her door. 

“I’ll give back your clothes soon, I just felt gross putting the ones from yesterday back on.” Aelin gestured to the pair of boxers and t-shirt she wore. Rowan shook his head. 

“I’m not worried about that. Keep them if you wish.” A lock of hair blew into her face with the wind. Without thinking he caught it with his fingertips, grazing her cheekbone as he pushed it behind her ear. 

Aelin stiffened and took a single step back. The emotional distance was wider than the ocean when her head shook, brows meeting between her eyes that didn’t quite meet his. 

“Please don’t touch me like that,” she said quietly, but not weakly. Ice water had been dumped over his head despite the warmth in the air. His fingers clenched into a tight fist as they dropped to his side and he promptly shoved them into his pockets. Rowan took several steps back, jaw wired shut. Uncomfortable. Aelin looked uncomfortable at his touch, and he wanted to slam his fist into the concrete because of it. 

“I’ll text you soon,” she said, and he suddenly remembered  the question that had been floating around in the back of his mind for the last two days. Just as she was about to shut the door, he grabbed the top of it to keep it from closing. Aelin jolted a bit, her  eyebrows rising high as the clouds.

“How did you find out?” She looked at him for a second while she processed the question, and then laughed. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

“My best friend, Lysandra. I hadn’t sent her very many good pictures of your face yet, so she just googled ‘Rowan’ along with soccer and Doranelle hoping for a team photo or something.” Rowan laughed, too. Some of the tension eased from his shoulders as she smiled at him in their truce. 

He nodded after a moment, a small smile still on his face. He stepped back to let her drive away, standing in the mid-afternoon silence while her tires kicked up clouds of dust. It would be a long road to win her trust back, but he wouldn’t stop until he had earned it. 

~*~

The car ride back to Varese was spent choking back tears and forcing air into her lungs to ground her. As soon as she was back in her apartment, however, the dam broke. A tidal wave of emotion crashed down upon her head, and the front door was barely closed before her thumbs were punching buttons on her phone. By the time Lysandra picked up there were sobs violently shaking her entire body. 

Before pregnancy, this wouldn’t have been anything to cry over. She still would have called Lysandra, of course, but it wasn’t something that would wreck her like this. Truthfully, Aelin didn’t even know why she was crying, other than the fact that she just felt alone. No universe existed where Aelin Ashryver Galathynius was alone in anything, much less a pregnancy. But she had nowhere to go to seek comfort in Varese. Two weeks ago it would have been to Rowan, but that was off the table. Now she just had an empty apartment and her thoughts. 

Lysandra listened while she cried and tried to get a deep breath down. Aelin hadn’t been so upset in years and was positive that if she wasn’t pregnant, everything wouldn’t feel quite so out of control. As it was, there were no handholds to grab onto, no footholds to keep her from sliding down the cliff. While her emotions waxed and waned, Lysandra was there to listen to it all, to soothe her anxiety when she started to spiral out of control. 

Part of her wished Aedion knew about the pregnancy because she needed him right now. But Lysandra filled his shoes almost well enough for everything to dwindle to a simmering calm. 

Though she was set to fly out next week, Lys managed to find a lone ticket that would put her in Varese early the next morning. They talked while she packed, the blonde managing to calm down enough to go over everything that had been said between her and Rowan earlier that morning. 

“I want to forgive him,” she said quietly a few hours later, curled up in her kleenex-covered bed. 

“Why can’t you?” 

“I–” Her lips twisted into a knot as she frowned at the floor. “I just need to be sure. You know? I need to… I don’t know.”

“You need to know that if this is going to be an actual relationship and not a co-parenting situation, that he isn’t going to hurt you again,” Lysandra offered, somehow seeing directly into Aelin’s mind and knowing the inner workings better than she did herself. 

“Yeah,” she sniffed, those emotions threatening to spill over once again despite how much she had already cried. Even though a relationship was the last thing she wanted. “I just need to be sure.”

An hour later, Lysandra was ready for her 6:30 AM flight, and Aelin was more than ready to not feel quite so alone. 

When she pulled up to the airport to pick up her best friend in the early hours of the morning, the sun just beginning to crest over the mountaintops to the east, it wasn’t the dark-haired beauty she was expecting. In fact, she almost drove right past the man that shared her eyes and golden hair. The man that could be her twin. 

It was Aedion. 

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

#call it what you want #ciwyw6 #ciwyw #rowaelin #baby fic #tog #throne of glass #writing #my writing #fanfiction #throne of glass fanfiction #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fic #rowaelin baby fic #tog fanfiction #tog fanfic #tog fic #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass fic #modern au #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #aelin ashryver galathynius #lorcan salvaterre #fenrys moonbeam #connall moonbeam #aedion ashryver

[punkassbookjockey26]

Sleight of Hand, Part 4: The Kiss

I wrote this thing in like an hour, so it's probably pretty rough. Enjoy reading! I'm glad I am able to write again.

Rating: T, Warnings: Language

-------

Another week passed, and Aelin was ready to tear her hair out.

Rowan had been at her apartment almost every night since their accidental cuddle sesh the previous Thursday. He didn’t seem to realize what had happened, or if he did, he was taking the “it never happened” route. Which was fine by her. After all, he was the one who wanted to be friends, and friends didn’t have sleepovers that involved cuddling.

But for the past week, it became clear that whatever “just friends” meant to the both of them were two wildly different definitions, and it was slowly driving her mad. He texted her first thing in the morning to tell her he hoped she had a good day at work and punctuated that same workday with jokes, comments, or other silly things that inevitably led them down a rabbit hole of discussion. In the evenings, they watched movies, dissected TV shows, talked about their favorite books, and he even managed to teach her a card game that was somehow more ruthless than ERS.

Aelin couldn’t remember the last time she had so much fun with someone who wasn’t Lysandra and didn’t think she ever had this much fun with a member of the opposite sex. Too often, they were trying to get into her pants to really want to talk about her interests. Still, she and Rowan had settled into a casual intimacy more befitting of a long-term friendship than the brief companionship they had found in each other.

It pissed her off to no end.

They shared so many of the same interests. They could talk for hours, waxing poetic about the intricacies of their favorite books and the utter shit that some critically acclaimed movies were – their only constraint was time, and even then, he would pick conversations back up almost immediately when they were both awake and ready.  

In addition to the ease of their conversations, there had been the touching. So much touching. The soft grazes on her legs when they sat in bed to watch a movie; the hugs he mentioned that he hated but seemed to dole out to her at a whim; the casual grasping of her hands, her legs, her feet, her whatever body part he could get a hand on. Nothing salacious, but every time he brushed against her skin, Aelin couldn’t help the want that bloomed imperiously in her body.

The past week had been excruciating. Aelin felt on edge, torn between running away from him, knowing that devastation lay waiting in the wings, or confronting him about the confusing nature of their relationship, only to get rejected again. Aelin had been all ready to shut down her crush on him. She could respect the boundary he set – nothing said he was required to pursue a relationship with her, even if the feelings were mutual. She had worked hard to ensure she had her heart eyes under control when he was around. But Rowan had the complete and utter audacity to be charming, funny, gorgeous, and totally into her, even if he wasn’t interested in furthering their relationship.

She never stood a chance.

And really, if she spent longer than five seconds thinking about it, the whole situation scared her shitless. Here she was again, careening headfirst into a level of infatuation that was frankly insane. She shouldn’t have been surprised – it was her MO when it came to guys and dating, but she figured after the shit with Chaol that she would have been more discerning. Apparently, all it takes is for a guy to treat her with the slightest modicum of respect, and she was a goner.

That thought plagued her every time she opened his text thread, or he stopped by her apartment. What she had already felt for Rowan had eclipsed her supposed feelings for Chaol, and she had stayed with him for almost two years. All she could see was the end of the summer and the soul-wrenching pain of heartbreak. But she couldn’t stop herself. She found herself obsessing over the slight touches, the warmth of his body radiating into her as they sat next to each other on her bed, the infectious way he made her laugh, and the smiles he seemed to save just for her. It had only been two weeks since he slammed that wall down between them, but to Aelin, it had felt like a lifetime had stretched between them during those two weeks. He made her feel so much that it was already hard enough to walk away at the end of the summer. But right now? Even with self-preservation on the line, she couldn’t make herself do it.

Which was why she found herself standing at the door to his apartment that Friday evening. He had texted her earlier to let her know that his roommates were heading out of town for the weekend, and he had the whole place to himself if she wanted to stop by for a movie marathon. Aelin surmised that he probably didn’t intend the suggestive tone she read from his message, but heat had spread quickly throughout her body at the thought of being truly alone with him. She had her own room that allowed for some privacy, of course, but she was never without company in her apartment, not with the scores of friends who had unfettered access to her home.

Her skin prickled in anticipation as she knocked on the door. She shivered when the breeze brushed over her, definitely due to nerves; Rifthold was experiencing one of the hottest summers on record, so whatever wind was just as warm and sticky as the night that surrounded her. She heard the shuffling of footsteps from inside, a lock that thunked into place, and the whine of older hinges as the door opened in front of her.

Rowan smiled at her brightly, that smile that seemed to be only for her. Aelin hadn’t seen him interact with many people to know if there was a difference between what he gave to them versus what he saved for her, but she had the impression that smiles for him were rare. She savored those smiles. They were precious and, in her mind, meant only for her.

“Hey, Ae,” Rowan said warmly. She swore her heart fluttered at that single-syllable utterance. Two weeks, and he already had a nickname for her. Took Chaol several months into their relationship before he called her anything other than Aelin. Just another obvious tell that Chaol had not been right for her. Rowan’s presence in her life put all of Chaol’s shortfalls on blast, and she may as well have been keeping a running tally every time a new one popped up.

“Hey, yourself.” Aelin found herself returning his smile with a grin of her own and didn’t wait before entering his apartment. It wasn’t as spartan as she had expected – she had seen the interiors of some apartments with nothing but a chair and a TV – but the furniture was sparse, making the transient nature of its tenants obvious. A single couch lay against the wall opposite a TV on what appeared to be a rickety stand. A foldout tray stood beside it, holding up the latest gaming system. It was functional, but it was also evident that Rowan had never intended to put down any roots.

Swallowing the lump that rose unbidden in her throat, she turned back to Rowan. “You mentioned a movie marathon. What are we watching tonight?”

Rowan brushed a hand behind his head, that same nervous tick she had noticed from the beginning. “How do you feel about westerns?”

Aelin tried to avoid making a face, but it was almost instantaneous. Westerns were decidedly not her favorite thing, but they were obviously something that Rowan enjoyed. She knew she had misstepped the second his grin melted away into embarrassment, and he immediately started backpedaling.

“We don’t have to watch them,” he said sheepishly. “We can watch something else instead.”

“No, Rowan,” Aelin stepped towards him, laying her hand on his arm. The heat of his skin scorched her palm, and she felt him take a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry for making a face just now; I wasn’t trying to make any decisions or make you feel bad. What movies did you have in mind?”

Rowan’s demeanor brightened a bit at the concession. “You’ve heard of The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly, right?”

Aelin rolled her eyes. “Well, of course. I think everyone has.”

“Did you know it’s actually the third movie in a trilogy?”

She was surprised, even though there really was no reason for her to be. She didn’t watch Westerns, so why would she know it was part of a trilogy? She only knew of The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly by name.

At her silence, Rowan continued to talk. “It is arguably the best movie in the trilogy, and obviously the most well-known, but The Man with No Name has many stories to tell.”

Aelin started. “I’m sorry, the who?”

Rowan chuckled at her. “Let’s start at the beginning.”

---

Three hours later, Aelin felt herself dozing. They had gotten through A Fistful of Dollars with little fanfare and immediately started For a Few Dollars More. But the second movie was almost twice as long as the first, and while she hadn’t hated the experience so far, it was a bit of a stretch for her to say that she was actively enjoying the movies.

Rowan, on the other hand, sat rapt next to her, his eyes never moving away from the screen. He mainly had been quiet throughout the first movie, only focusing on her when she had a question regarding the plot. Aelin could tell that this was one of his favorites, so she made sure never to give the impression that she disliked it, but after pausing the movie and declaring a need for a break, she found herself curious about something.

“So why Westerns?” Aelin asked. He was wearing a faded Nirvana t-shirt and another pair of ratty jeans. She was pretty sure the shoes next to the door were a beat-up pair of Chuck Taylors. Everything about him screamed alternative, so the Western thing was a bit surprising.

Rowan had paused for a moment, thinking. “My uncle loves them.”

Rowan took a deep breath, almost as if to calm himself down. Aelin prompted him to continue.

“My parents passed away when I was eight years old,” Rowan said quietly. “My dad had a heart attack when he was still young, and my mother followed soon after, consumed with grief.”

Aelin felt the tears welling up. “Oh, Rowan, I’m so sorry.”

Rowan waved his hand noncommittally, but it was evident that he still felt their deaths strongly, even years later.

“Afterward, I went to live with my uncle and my cousins. I have so many of them; having another child in the midst didn’t seem out of place. He watched Westerns whenever he had a chance. When I missed my parents or didn’t want to be around my cousins, I sought him out, and we would watch them together. He is a huge fan of the John Wayne ones, but his favorite is Once Upon a Time in the West. The director, Sergio Leone, also made the movies we’re watching, effectively creating the whole ‘spaghetti western’ sub-genre.”

Aelin wrinkled her nose. “What’s a spaghetti western?”

Rowan laughed. “Literally speaking, they're Western movies made by Italian directors,” he started. “But also as an antithesis to the traditional US Western. Most US Westerns depict a conflict between an incorruptible hero and a diabolical villain. Spaghetti Westerns turn that tradition on its head and are categorized by their rougher, bloodier, and more violent nature. You see that Clint Eastwood’s character isn’t a good guy, right? But he is still very much the protagonist of these movies.”

Aelin thought about the movie for a moment. She supposed that even if the film wasn’t her thing, she could appreciate the storytelling aspect of having a flawed anti-hero as the protagonist.

Aelin turned and smiled back at Rowan. “If Once Upon a Time in the West is your Uncle’s favorite, what is yours?”

Without a beat, Rowan responded. “Also Once Upon a Time in the West.”

“Well, why aren’t we watching that one instead?”

“Because,” he stated. “It’s an almost three-hour movie, and if you’re already fading this much with just A Fistful of Dollars under your belt, you’d never last.”

“I am not fading,” Aelin said indiginantly.

“Sure, you definitely weren’t dozing the twenty minutes before you called for a break.” Rowan’s eyes twinkled in the dim light, his joy illuminated by the TV screen. They commenced in a staring contest, neither one backing down from their asserted position. Time seemed to still in that moment, and Aelin felt like she was drowning in the warmth radiating from his emerald green eyes.

Moments passed before Rowan spoke again, this time softly, and Aelin might have missed it if she hadn’t already been so free with the attention she gave.

“Thank you.”

The soft comment broke her from her daze. “What are you thanking me for?”

“For watching them with me. I know it’s not your thing; your face spoke volumes earlier. But I still appreciate your willingness to watch them with me just because they’re my favorite.”

Aelin felt emotion swell inside, her face splitting into a wide grin. “Of course, Rowan. I want to learn about what makes you who you are.”

“Well, in that case…what is your favorite movie?”

Aelin chuckled. “We’re not answering questions about me right now.”

Whatever shadows had lingered in his eyes from his earlier conversation had cleared, and only a mischievous gleam remained. “But part of what makes me who I am is an insatiable need to know more about you. I actually can’t believe we’ve spent most of the last week watching movies, and this topic never came up once.”

Aelin smiled softly at his antics but quickly sobered as she noticed he was still expecting an answer to his question. “You’re going to laugh.”

“I absolutely will not,” Rowan said, crossing his finger over the left side of his chest. “Cross my heart.”

She sighed deeply before resigning herself to whatever happens.“It’s Beauty and the Beast.”

A deep laugh burst out of Rowan’s chest, and Aelin scowled at him. Chaol had done the same thing, and she supposed it left a sting behind.

“I swear, I’m not laughing at you. Okay, maybe I am, but only because you thought I would laugh at you for liking the first animated film to be nominated for a Best Picture Oscar.”

“Okay, maybe it’s not that embarrassing, but plenty of people have made me feel bad for enjoying a “kid’s movie” so much.” Chaol for sure had, preferring the over-the-top artsy crap that was always in the running for awards.

Rowan immediately stopped laughing and looked at her somberly. “Well, those people are dicks and wouldn’t know good cinema if it bit them in the ass.”

---

Rowan had pressed play on the movie not too shortly after their conversation, but Aelin couldn’t recall much of what had happened. She had tried to stay awake, but the stress of the week and the film that was most definitely not working for her led to her falling asleep. When she woke, the soft grayish light was peeking through the blinds in the living room, letting her know that it was still very early in the morning.

She and Rowan had fallen asleep on the couch together, it appeared. And much like the week before, Rowan had wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her into his body. She marveled at how well they fit together, that even though she was definitely on the tall side, he was still that much taller and broader than she was. She fit perfectly under his chin.

But unlike last week, she had difficulty extricating herself from his arms. She was comfortable, surrounded everywhere by his warmth and that pine/snow scent radiating off him in waves. It made her think of home, of Oakwald forest where she would play with other members of her family who had been lost to time, illness, and more. The forest was so close to the Staghorn mountains that when the wind would come in from the mountaintops, it mixed delightfully with the lush pine scent of the trees.

She would only allow herself a few moments of snuggling, but then she would work on removing herself from his arms again. She got lucky last week in sparing themselves the embarrassment, but she didn’t think she would be so lucky this time.

And she wasn’t. The second she turned her head away from the window, her eyes met a set of green in the dimly lit space. Her breath hitched. Aelin wasn’t sure how Rowan would handle being caught in this compromising situation, and she didn’t really want to stick around to find out.

However, neither of them moved. They both lay entwined, breathing each other in. The couch was not deep, and if not for how close they were laying, Aelin likely would have ended up on the floor at some point in the night. Rowan’s hold on her waist seemingly tightened around her, and Aelin swore he could feel the thunderous beat of her heart against his chest.

It could have been seconds or minutes that they lay there looking at each other, seemingly unwilling to move from this protective haven of warmth and comfort. And just as Aelin decided to remove herself, Rowan reached his hand to cup her cheek.

His palm was warm against her face, his thumb swiping across her cheekbone so softly that Aelin wasn’t entirely sure it was happening. Rowan’s fingers twined with the hair coming loose from the ponytail she wore last night as his gaze turned into something molten that caused a fire to spark to life inside her.

Before she could ask him what he was doing, Rowan leaned forward and placed a soft kiss against her mouth.

It wasn’t anything more than a chaste peck, and it was over before she even fully registered that it happened, but Aelin jumped in his arms at the touch, and without his arm around her, she started falling off the couch.

Rowan immediately shifted, trying to keep her from sliding off the edge, only to end up on the floor in the ensuing scuffle. Rowan’s hand cradled the back of her head as if he were trying to prevent a head injury in the half foot or so she fell to the floor. The other was wrapped tightly around her waist, and with the added bonus of gravity, Aelin could feel all of Rowan’s weight deliciously on top of her.

They both stared wide-eyed at each other – Rowan’s were mixed with a level of surprise and concern, whereas she was confident that hers were just surprised by the unfolding of events that occurred. A moment passed. Another. A third one before Rowan finally put them out of their misery.

His lips pressed against hers once again.

This one was not the chaste kiss from mere moments ago. This one had a hunger to it that left Aelin breathless. She registered his soft, firm, demanding mouth against hers and moved hers in whatever way he directed. She felt the soft slide of his tongue against her lips, and she gladly allowed him entrance to her mouth. Their tongues sensually moved against each other, and his hands tightened around her waist. He had pulled her fully against him, not that there was anywhere else to go between his hard body and the floor. Not that Aelin even wanted to move.

The rational part of her said that they needed to stop and talk about what was actively transpiring at that moment. But the other part of her brain was content to keep this boy in her arms for as long as possible.

Rowan had moved from her mouth down the column of her neck, placing little nips in the sensitive skin before trailing back up and doing it all over again. Aelin carded her fingers through the soft hair at the nape of his neck, the same spot he went to when he was nervous. He sure didn’t seem nervous now. In fact, Rowan seemed completely capable of kissing away the breath in her lungs.

But as he nibbled down her neck, she couldn’t help asking. “Rowan, what are you doing?”

“Kissing you” was the only smart-alec response he got from the man currently ravishing her.

“But…what about…,” Aelin drew in a sharp breath as Rowan found a particularly erogenous zone right at the base of her neck, where it met her collar bone. Aelin attempted to stifle the moan that slid up through her throat, but she was not entirely successful. She heard Rowan groan in response as he continued to place sucking kisses against her sensitive skin.

Aelin tried again to get his attention. “Rowan…I’m-…we’re not supposed to be doing this.”

Only then did Rowan stop. He pulled back from her throat, his arms braced against her head as he stared down at her. She watched as he licked his lips as if savoring the taste of her mouth inside his, and she practically melted right into the floor.

Never in her wildest dreams had a man look at her the way Rowan looked at her then. Like she was fierce and passionate, a warrior, but also someone capable of taking his breath away. He sighed, reluctantly relenting just a tiny bit of space to say his piece.

“We can do whatever we like. And you’re right; we probably shouldn’t. But now that I’ve started this, I can’t seem to stop.”

It didn’t hurt her ego to hear him say that. She had practically been in a whirlwind of emotion for the past week, analyzing and reanalyzing their interactions, and it was nice to hear that he had been experiencing a similar kind of hell.

“We can be friends who kiss, right?” Aelin asked tentatively. She didn’t want to do it, but she also knew that this would only ever be a summer fling, so if she wanted him, she needed to meet him where he was and be okay with what happened after.

She didn’t have to wait long. Rowan quickly returned to what he was doing before she interrupted him. He even responded to the question she asked about friends who kiss. However, despite the shiny golden light unfurling within her like a newborn star, his response to her question left an ominous sense of dread in its wake.

“We can be friends who kiss, but I still have to leave at the end of the summer."

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

Tagging those who might still be interested in this ancient fossil of a fic:

@highqueenofelfhame @shyvioletcat @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading @morganofthewildfire @mariamuses @1islessthan3books @superspiritfestival @jesstargaryenqueen @chieflemming @swankii-art-teacher @rowaelinismyotp @booknerdproblems

#throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #aelin galythinius #tog #aelin x rowan #aelin and rowan #aelin galathynius #rowan x aelin #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin au #tog fic #tog fanfiction #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass au #throne of glass fanfiction #pabj26writing

[peri-helia]

If I can’t dance (I don’t want any part of your revolution)

I hope the song choice isn't ooc for Nile but I was re-watching St. Trinian’s and this happened.

“Are you sure she’s ready for this?”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that” Nicky retorted serenely, not even bothering to look at Copley, as they both watch over the railing as Nile maneuvers herself through the tangle of red wool threads that was doubling for the lasers she would navigate.

Copley sighed, privately wondering if there would ever be a day he didn’t put his foot in his mouth around these people. Probably not in his lifetime.

“I only meant she doesn’t seem happy with the arrangement. I know she’s fully capable, believe me. When –“ he swallowed, unsure of how much Nile had told them of the events preceding their rescue from Merrick Industries, “Nile tracked me down, I offered to come with her. What happened to you was my fault and I was determined to put things right. She just looked at me and said that out of the two of us, she would be the one to walk out of there again”

Out of the corner of his eye, he’s sure he sees the corner of Nicky’s mouth tick upward infinitesimally.

“Technically she jumped out the window” Joe says as he appears behind Nicky, taking a mug of coffee from the tray to offer it to Nicky. Copley’s eyebrows hit his hairline and as he turns to look at the other two men they are both definitely grinning in a mixture of pride and bemusement.

“Faster than the elevator” Nicky quips and it must already be some private joke from the way Joe snorts into his coffee mug.

“Before I forget, Copley, Booker wants you to go over the IDs” Joe tells him

“Again?!” he doesn’t know if it’s the forger critiquing his work or perhaps wanting to be seen as making as much effort as possible as part of re-earning everyone’s trust. Still, given the sharp looks he’s receiving from both Nicky and Joe, Copley decides its probably a smart move. Besides which, it doesn’t look like Joe’s asking.

---

“Thank you, habibi” Nicky sighs as soon as Copley is out of earshot. He takes a grateful sip of his coffee, naturally brewed to perfection. Joe gently presses his hand to the small of Nicky’s back in comfort.

“I don’t like him watching us training any more than you do. Especially when we’re still working through the logistics”

As they watch, Nile’s foot catches in some of the wool for the umpteenth time and Andy stops counting the seconds. Nile gives a shout of frustration and pulls her way free of the strands.

“That’s enough for today” they hear Andy say, passing Nile a bottle of water and patting her on the shoulder for an effort well made.

Copley’s a double-crossing bastard, but he’s not stupid. This way isn’t working for Nile. But she’s so determined to do this part of the job and none of them want to dissuade her. Retrieving the stolen artwork has been her gig from the start, she was the one who brought it to Copley.  If she triggers the lasers, it’s nothing they can’t handle but it’s a challenge she hasn’t had before and Nile is determined as ever to rise to it.

Sure enough, the next thing is Nile saying “I can do this” as much to herself as to Andy.

“We know you can” Quynh unfurls herself from where she’s been watching, “But a break might help. Try again later and it will go smoother for the rest.”

---

About an hour later, the pedestrian access door into the warehouse bangs open and Nile shouts, “ANDY! Andy, I’ve got it!”

Looking up from the mess of schematics, tea things and poker chips, they see Nile striding triumphantly into the space. She hits the loading bay door control panel. There’s a bit of banging of something that sounds heavy and likely expensive, when Booker appears on the other side with a flatbed trolley; two massive loudspeakers precariously loaded atop it.

Nicky wonders briefly what they’ve done with Copley. He’s probably weeping over the budget somewhere, because they definitely didn’t own these speakers this morning.

Something he’s grown to love about Nile, something they all love her for truly, is her innovation. It’s similar to Andy in a way, and maybe in a thousand years they’ll get to know Nile’s way of thinking well enough that they can see her logic but the thrill of the surprise is a treat in itself for the time being.

Once they get the speakers unloaded and set up, Nile walks towards the red string maze again like a gymnast taking first position. She nods at Booker and at her cue, he hits play on her iPod.

A pop song with a heavy beat starts thudding through the warehouse, filling the space so that the room itself thrums with sound. Casting a quick glance at each other, they watch as Nile starts working through the crisscross of threads. It’s…transformative. She’s clearly focused; her jaw set determinedly as she moves through the set-up. But her moves are more sinuous than they had been earlier. The air of distraction is gone and it is like watching a dance; the way she twists and slips through. The threads don’t touch her. Before they know it she’s made it through to the other side of the mats. She’s giving a victory bow as the song fades out.

“Nearly three minutes exactly” Booker announces, pausing the music having evidently been timing her.

Nile beams at them, hands on her hips. “I realized that the counting was putting me off. Sorry, Andy. I train better when I’ve got my music blasting and I suddenly thought what if I can time myself to a song roughly the same time as the we’ve got before the timer on the laser resets. What d’you think?”

It’s clear from Andy’s face that she’s thinking, the world’s best strategist, assessing what she’s just seen. The smile that breaks over her face is like the sun coming up; intrigued and pleased all at once. Something she appreciates probably most of all of them is someone realizing their potential.

“I think we’ll walk it”

---

“The Storm on the Sea of Gallilee by Rembrandt has been returned to the Isabella Stewart Gardener Museum, having been deemed lost after a burglary more than thirty years ago. It was discovered this morning by a cleaner, along with a note that read ‘Thought you should have this back. Thief’s details with Interpol. Love your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman’. More on this story at-“

That piece had been one of his bloody favourites and now all he’s got is a bleached spot on the wall and probably about twenty minutes before the cops show up. What he’d dearly like to know is how they even got in and why his Spotify has a Sophie Ellis-Bextor song in his recently liked that wasn’t there before.

#the old guard #my writing #tog drabbles #its 2am help #tog fanfic #tog fanfiction #I couldn’t think what to call the bad guy so I didn’t oops

[theladyofdeath]

Sooo currently it's exam period in my country at my uni. Which means I need a lot of motivation, something I lack atm. I use my time wisely catching up on fics instead of studying. So I kindly ask you for some motivation, preferably in the form of Elorcan. Preferably them also needing motivation or stress release. I mean I don't really have a preference as long you like writing a little Elorcan. With maybe Elide still studying for her last exam and Lorcan coming home from work and helping her out or something? Idk? I'm bad at prompts? I know it's not summerish but it's sunny outside and hot and I have to study? So that also summerish? Anyways enjoy your free time and have a wonderful day!!

I am always here for fluffy Elorcan! Good luck on exams! x

Everything on Elide's screen had gone blurry. She'd been staring at it for so long that nothing made sense and letters officially were beginning to look like ancient symbols that had yet to be discovered. She knew that she needed a break, but her last exam of the semester was in fifteen hours and if she wanted to get any sleep tonight, there was no room for breaks.

Even if she desperately wanted one.

Just as she threw her head back with a groan, the front door opened and Lorcan trudged inside. With one look at his fiance, he lifted a brow. "How long has it been since you last moved?"

Elide didn't even know. "An hour...maybe five."

He snorted as he kicked off his shoes and walked across the living room to where she sat on the couch, her laptop on her blanket-covered lap. He leaned down and kissed her, slowly. At the touch of his lips, the tension faded from Elide's body.

"Hi."

"Hi," she whispered, and kissed him again. "How was your day?"

"Better than yours, it seems," he mumbled, plopping down on the couch beside her. "You look stressed."

"I am." She had been stressed all week, it was nothing new. Tomorrow was her last final, the final final she would ever take as a student. After tomorrow, she would be finished, and in the matter of a couple of weeks, she would be a graduate of the University of Perranth with a degree in psychology.

"Why don't you take a break?"

"There's no time for a break."

He blinked, surely thinking that answer was ridiculous but Elide didn't care. This was important to her. "Okay, well, can I do anything for you? Help you study? Bring you wine? Strip tease?"

"You were a horrible student, so I can't say that your help in studying is very tempting," Elide chuckled. "The wine and your nudity, however, are pretty tempting, but both are too distracting for my current state of mind."

Lorcan clicked his tongue and sighed. "How about I go pick up dinner and feed you while you cram, then?"

Elide swore she had never been more in love with him than in that moment. There was a little bistro across the street that had soup made by the gods, and in half an hour, Lorcan was back with a giant container of chicken barley soup that had Elide's mouth watering, and a couple of paninis.

She couldn't help but be distracted by Lorcan as he made his way into the kitchen and took out a couple of bowls and plates to fill them with food. He didn't even notice her watching him - he never seemed to - and Elide had always found that charming.

Five minutes later, the coffee table that Elide had been lovingly using as a footstool was covered in food and drinks - wine included, and even though Lorcan claimed both glasses of wine were for him, she knew better.

"You're trying to get me too tipsy to study," Elide muttered, keeping her laptop up and running while she ate.

"No, I'm not," Lorcan said, mouth full. "I'm just trying to give you enough to take the edge off. You're obviously stressed as hell, and if you won't take my cock for twenty minutes, I'm pouring you wine."

Elide lifted a brow. "Twenty minutes?"

Lorcan just narrowed his eyes and took another massive bite of his sandwich. After he swallowed, he said, "Fine. Fifteen."

Elide continued to stare at him.

Lorcan pursed his lips and took a sip of wine. "No need to be rude, damn."

Despite herself, Elide laughed, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Lorcan's lips twitched. He was always trying to make her smile, even when it didn't seem like it.

It was one of the many reasons that she so desperately wanted to marry him. He always made her smile, always made her laugh. It was a side of him that only she saw - well, she and his closest friends. Lorcan wasn't the warmest of men. In fact, he was rather broody, but for her...he made her whole world a hell of a light brighter.

While they ate, Lorcan kept quiet, but when he was done, he pulled Elide's feet onto his lap and rubbed them through her fluffy socks while she scrolled and read and reviewed her notes...and tried her best not to doze off.

She had no idea how much time had passed before his fingers grew weaker, then slowed, then stopped altogether. She glanced over at him and chuckled.

Her future husband had his head thrown back against the couch cushion and his mouth hanging open. His eyes were closed and he was snoring softly.

"Lor."

Nothing, not even a twitch.

"Lor." She nudged his lap with her toes.

He shot up, his fingers resuming their rubbing. Elide laughed, quietly. "Go to bed. I'll be there soon."

"No, you won't," he said, running his hands up her shins. "You'll be here all night. Which isn't healthy, by the way. In fact, you should take breaks while studying or else the information won't fully stick in your brain. Trust me. Your brain needs time to process."

Elide rolled her eyes.

"Hey, I got my degree. I passed my exams. I know what I'm talking about," he defended. "At least take a few minutes. Take a shower. Or a bubble bath. Pee, for the gods' sake."

Elide groaned, closing her eyes, just now realizing how much they ached. "Alright. Fine. Ten minutes and not a second more."

She wanted to finish out her senior year strong and allowing herself to become distracted wouldn't help her do it. Even if she had been studying all day.

All fucking day.

The second Elide shut her laptop, she felt guilty. But, Lorcan was there, taking her hands into his and pulling her onto his lap.

She nuzzled into his shoulder and took a deep breath as he wrapped his arms around her.

"You know that I'm so proud of you, right?"

His voice was quiet, hardly more than a whisper. Elide leaned back. There was nothing but pure adoration and support in his eyes.

"I know," she said, and kissed him, softly. "Thank you."

He nodded and twisted a strand of her long, dark hair around his finger. "I know it hasn't been easy for you to get here, but you..." he shook his head and huffed a laugh. The genuine affection in his gaze had her tearing up. "You made it, El. No matter how tomorrow goes - and it's going to go great, because you've been studying your ass off - but, no matter how it goes, I hope you're proud of yourself. You're going to be a college graduate. Have a degree from one of the best universities in the country. That's amazing."

Elide nodded because she didn't trust herself to speak. She would be the first in her family to get a college education as far as she knew. Her parents died young, but her uncle, who she had lived with after their deaths, hadn't gone to college. No, he had just been a lazy, drunk asshole that Elide tried to ignore as much as possible until she turned eighteen and got the hell out of there.

"I love you," he said, once it was clear that she was getting nothing out. He kissed her forehead. "Pee. Take a quick shower." When she raised a brow, he held his hands up in surrender. "I promise to stay out and not try to steal your innocence."

There was no point in saying that he had "stolen" her innocence at least a million times.

Elide snorted.

"When you come back out, I'll have all this shit cleaned up and I'll let you study the night away."

There was no point in denying his wishes. She did have to pee horribly and knew that her hair needed a good washing. She did it quickly, though, and fifteen minutes later, she was walking back towards her spot on the couch.

Lorcan was in the kitchen, washing dishes, and although the coffee table had been cleared of their dinner, there was a newly filled glass of wine and a full glass of ice water sitting on the glass. She suppressed a smile, checked out Lorcan's ass while he dried a plate and put it in the cabinet, then snuggled back up on the couch to boot up her laptop, yet again.

Once Lorcan was done, he plopped back down on the couch. Elide's eyes left her screen and found his. "Not going to bed?"

Lorcan shook his head as he fought a yawn. "I'm here to keep you company and support you until your beautiful brain can't hold anymore information." He pulled her feet back onto his lap. "Study away. Let me know when you're ready for me to quiz you."

The fact that he was obviously exhausted and was too stubborn to leave her to study alone made her love him all the more. She was truly lucky to have found someone so...so....right. He was different from anyone she had ever known.

He was everything.

Soon, she would be a graduate of the University of Perranth.

Then, she would be Lorcan Salvaterre's wife.

#elorcan #lorcan #elide #lorcan x elide #elide x lorcan #lorcan salvaterre #tog #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass fanfiction #tog fanfic #tog fanfiction #modern au #university au #marriage au #sjm fanfics #fanfic #fanfiction #sjm #tara answers prompts

[justreadertings]

“Promise”

Ok so I was writing Sweet Understanding but I cannot stand Rowaelin seperation so I NEEDED to write this. I think I reread it once? So if it’s iffy that’s why. Beisdes this is more the “I’m zoning out in class and want to think of a Rowaelin hurt/comfort situation” typa thing. This is also my way of saying maybe? another Sweet Understanding chapter this weeked? I think! I’m making progress! Ok I’ll stop rambling, here a canon Rowaelin oneshot for ya- Magee

Masterlist

TW: nightmares, PTSD, slight mention of blood.

Aelin bolted up from bed. Darkness caked their room, but her shaking hands could not light the candles next to their bed. Rowan was immediately up next to her, his reflexes quick as a cat. Light festered in instantly, the matches already discarded by their bedside table, his hands rubbing up and down her back. 

Sweat poured down her face, and she kicked the blankets away as she tried to breathe. Rowan grabbed one of her hands, and placed it on his solid, steady heart. It helped her, even if exhaustion was starting to play tricks with her mind. She could still taste the blood in her mouth, still felt dirty with it.

Her fingernails dug into Rowan’s forearm. “Get him out of here,” she gritted, eyes shut tight.

“Who, Fireheart?” he asked her, voice level. When she felt entirely herself, she would have taken time to appreciate her stony warrior, not fazed by her insanity. But she felt too far from herself. Too out of it. And she could literally smell him from across their bedroom. How did he even get in here?

Nausea crept up in her. “Rowan, get him out of here.”

“No one is here but me and you.”

Tears clouded her vision. “No, Rowan. He’s here. I need-” her voice faulted. She didn’t feel angry anymore, she was just… scared. And she hated being scared but gods, she couldn’t do it again. She couldn’t go through it all again. She wasn’t strong enough. Aelin began crying in earnest. “Rowan, I can't do it. Please get him out of here.”

Her mate’s hands rubbed soothing circles on her back, and she wished she could sink into the comfort of it. “Who is here, Aelin? Tell me and I’ll get rid of him.”

She shook her head, frantically. It was like her past and her present weren’t catching up to her, like she woke up but not quite right. “Cairn,” she told him. “I can smell him- I- I can feel him.” Aelin gagged at the scent clogging up her nose before it was replaced by the intense smell of her mate’s rage. 

It was enough to pull her to open her eyes. She stared at him for a moment, chest still heaving. Aelin placed a hand over her mouth before a wash of calm and exhaustion spread over her. Tears fell from her eyes. The world came back into focus.

“Rowan,” she sighed, leaning to rest her forehead on his shoulder.

Rowan’s fingers drifted through her hair, giving her both the comfort she craved and the space to think. 

“I could have sworn he was at the foot of our bed,” she finally whispered. 

His fingers worked her tense neck. “I know, Fireheart.”

Pure exhaustion weighed on her. “I’m so tired,” she told him.

“I know,” he whispered back, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Her cheek. Her neck. Even if she was damp with sweat.

“I hate him,” she gritted. “I hate that I can even conjure his face. I hate that he has that power.”

Rowan spoke against her forehead. “He’s long gone. Far from this world. Rotting in a hell somewhere.”

She nodded, still trying to catch her breath. Rowan laid back on their pillows, and she crawled onto him, resting her head over his beating heart. Aelin intertwined their legs, not knowing where she stopped and he began. 

“Do you think there'll ever be a night where we’ll just… sleep?” She asked him, breath ghosting his chest. 

Rowan continued to stroke her hair, his other hand banded around her middle. “One day, Fireheart.”

Aelin’s eyes fluttered closed. “Promise?”

The last thing she heard before falling back to sleep was her mate’s soft voice, her comfort in her worst moments. “I promise.”

Taglist

@leiawritesstories

@tomtenadia

@fireheart-violet

@backtobl4ck

@morganofthewildfire

@rowaelinismyotp

@aelinchocolatelover

@thegreyj

@foughtconquered

@swankii-art-teacher

@booklover242

@stardelia

@numbers-colors-fashion

@bookcide

@viajandosinalas

@rowanaelinn

@elentiyawhitethorn

@emily-gsh

@athena127

@captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship

#rowaelin #tog #sjm #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass #sjm fanfiction #tog fanfiction #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius

[golden-kingdom]

Favorite Crime - Chapter 1

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: There will be eventual sexual explicit scenes and there will be violence and blood in most chapters

Author's note: This is my first chaptered fic so please be easy on me. I'll try to update as often as possible, but I can't promise a schedule. I don't have the whole thing planned yet but I know where I'm going.

Masterlist

Read it on AO3

“Terrassen Senator Aedion Ashryver was officially nominated by the Democratic Party as their candidate for President of Erilea in the upcoming election against incumbent President Maeve Valg. Senator Ashryver is the nephew of President Galathynius who, as we all remember sadly, was assassinated by an unknown shooter in 2007. President Galathynius’s wife, Evalin Ashryver, and their 10-year-old daughter, Aelin, were also killed in the event. It remains one of the worst moments in the history of Erilea. In his speech earlier today, Senator Ashryver emphasized the importance of making Erilea a country where everyone feels safe again…”

Celaena took her turquoise eyes off the TV in front of her and downed the rest of her drink. She was looking for the bartender, she needed another drink, when a man sat down next to her and turned to face her.

“Hi beautiful,” he slurred out.

The man was old enough to be her father. His head, almost completely bald, was shining with sweat. He was looking at her with a salacious gaze, his eyes blurry from all the alcohol he had ingested. The man got closer to her and she could smell his breath reeking of cognac. He tried to grope her, and she was ready to tell him to fuck off and hit him in the balls when a strong hand grabbed the man’s arm.

“Leave her alone,” said a deep male voice in a menacing tone.

The creepy man tried to wriggle his arm out of his grip, but the other man wasn’t budging.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he said, trying to sound threatening, but failing.

“I’m her boyfriend. I suggest you leave this bar and never try this again,” the man behind Celaena growled.

The disgusting old man took a step backward, almost tripping on his own feet. He grabbed his jacket and stumbled out of the bar with a frightened look.

Celaena turned to look at the man who had intervened. He was tall, taller than most people, and she could make out the muscles of his body through his fitted white shirt. He was looking with anger in the direction where the man had just left, his features harsh, but when he turned his deep green eyes towards her, his face softened.

“Are you okay?” he asked her.

“I had this under control. But thank you,” Celaena replied, squinting her eyes at the man in front of her.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself when I saw what was happening. I hate those kinds of men,” he explained, looking genuine.

Celaena nodded in understanding. She took in the man in front of her, his silver hair gleaming in the dim light of the bar. He was looking at her with curiosity in his eyes, like he was trying to figure her out. He cleared his throat.

“I’m Rowan,” he said, extending his hand.

“Lillian,” Celaena replied, looking up at him and shaking his large hand. She gave him a charming smile.

“Nice to meet you, Lillian,” he said, holding her hand a bit too long. He dropped it when he realized.

“Can I offer you a drink?” he asked her with a small smile. “As an apology,” he quickly added.

“I have to go, so maybe another time,” Celaena said.

She got closer to him, inhaling his scent of pine and snow, and whispered in his ear.

“I’ll see you around, Rowan.”

She flipped her golden blonde hair over her shoulder, knowing his eyes were on her. She left money on the bar for her drink and headed towards the door, looking back at Rowan, who was still sat on the stool at the bar with his gaze on her. She threw him a wink before leaving.

When she was outside, she smiled to herself.

…

When Celaena arrived at her apartment, she noticed a faint light beneath the door. She reached for the gun in her bag and listened for a few seconds. There weren’t any noise coming from inside. She switched the safety off and held her gun ready to fire. She unlocked the door quietly and, in one swift move, entered the place. There was someone sitting in her living room and she was aiming at their head, ready to shoot, when they turned around.

“Hello darling,” a voice she knew too well drawled.

She pulled down her gun, annoyed.

“I told you not to do this, Arobynn,” she said, putting her gun and her bag on the counter and removing her stilettos.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” asked the auburn-haired man in a sarcastic tone.

“Not when you come into my apartment unannounced when I’m not there,” she replied curtly.

“Need I remind you who this apartment belongs to?” Arobynn said, his face passive, but his gray eyes filled with threat.

“I need to shower and go to bed. Did you need anything?” Celaena asked, impatient.

“Can’t I just come and see my favorite assassin for no reason?” he said with a smirk. “Tell me. How was your night, Celaena?”

“Fine,” she said, too tired to play this game.

“I told you to stay away from Whitethorn,” he said, not playing anymore. His eyes were gleaming with rage.

Celaena stopped in her tracks, composing her face, and looked at her boss.

“I just wanted to see what kind of man I’m going against with,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

Arobynn stood up from his seat and walked up to her.

“You disobeyed me,” he said, his voice filled with violence.

Celaena didn’t see the slap coming, but she definitely felt it. She put her hand on her cheek where he had hit her, trying to contain her anger.

“You know what happens when you disobey me,” Arobynn told her. “Don’t do it again.”

Celaena didn’t say a word. She didn’t trust herself not to say something that would put her into more trouble. She gritted her teeth.

“But this isn’t why I’m here…” Arobynn said, his voice going back to normal in an instant. “I have a new target for you.”

Arobynn handed her a folder and she opened it, looking at the details inside thoughtfully.

“It must be done tonight,” he added in a firm tone.

She was about to protest, her bed was calling her, but she remembered who she was dealing with.

“It will be done,” she replied.

“Good,” he simply said before leaving as quietly as he had come in.

Celaena headed to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Her cheek was red and she probably would have a small bruise, but she had dealt with worse. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her anger, and went to her bedroom.

She unlocked the door to her walk-in closet with a magnetic card and walked inside. She strode past her designer clothes and accessories and went straight to the back. She grabbed a black outfit from the rack where dozens of the same dark clothes were hung.

When she was done changing, she turned around and looked at her stack of weapons. The whole wall was covered with guns, daggers and all kind of tools that helped her accomplish her missions. She grabbed her favorite dagger, holstering it around her thigh, and a gun in case anything went wrong. But nothing ever went wrong, she was the best and she knew it. Putting on her hood to hide her face, she went out into the night.

…

His phone started ringing loudly and Rowan woke up, cursing whoever was calling him. He looked at the clock. 5:30 am. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He grabbed his phone and replied.

“Yes?”

“It’s Salavaterre. We need you on a crime scene.”

“It couldn’t wait until I got to the office in a few hours?” he complained.

“It’s her,” Lorcan said, and Rowan instantly sat up in his bed, now wide awake.

His boss didn’t need to specify who he was talking about.

“I’m on my way. Text me the address.”

Rowan got dressed quickly, grabbing his gun and his badge. Half an hour later, he was parking next to the address he had been sent. There were police cars all around the building. He showed his badge to a police officer and was let inside. The building he walked into was a luxurious one in the richer part of the town. He passed the empty reception and headed straight to the elevator. When he got to the eight floor, he was met with tons of people milling around. He spotted his boss and walked up to him.

“Follow me,” Lorcan simply said.

They passed under the yellow tape the police had put around the crime scene and stopped next to the body of man in his fifties. He had clearly been dead for a few hours. There was blood on the floor coming from where his throat had been slashed viciously.

“Who is he?” Rowan asked, examining the body.

“Erawan Perrington. He was a big-shot lawyer who tended to associate with the wrong kind of people.”

Rowan looked at the crime scene, taking in the details. There were no signs of fighting, the man probably had been taken by surprise and didn’t have the time to do anything before he was murdered. The slash in his throat was deep and straight, like the person who made it didn’t hesitate even for one second. He didn’t have to ask but he knew there would be no fingerprints or DNA anywhere, and that the lock would have been picked.

Rowan put on his gloves and picked up the small piece of paper next to the body. He knew this sign all too well, The Guild’s signature. He put it back where it had been and left without saying a word.

He got back in his car and drove to the FBI headquarters in Rifthold. When he entered the place, he gave a brief smile to the young man at the security who let him pass. He took the elevator the third floor and headed to his office.

He sat down at his desk, quickly opening the first drawer and picking up a thick file folder with “confidential” written in red capital letters on it. He opened it.

Alias: Celaena Sadorthien

Name: Unknown

Date of birth: Between 1990 and 2005

Sex: Female

Employment: Unknown

Address: Unknown

Affiliation: The Guild (see report TG274576)

Physical description: Unknown

Offense(s):

First degree murder of Archer Finn (see case AF588676)

First degree murder of Bill Chastain (see case BC648753)

First degree murder of Ned Clement (see case NC879479)

First degree murder of Cain King (see case CK7663563)

First degree murder of Grave Brown (see case GB789648)

First degree murder of Kaltain Rompier (see case KR783645)

And the list went on and on…

Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose and closed the file. He had been tasked with apprehending Rifthold’s most prominent assassin for six months now. Nobody knew anything about her, it was as if she was a ghost. But Rowan knew all too well how real she was and what she had done. This woman was violent psychopath with no remorse and a taste for blood. She was a threat to this city and to the country. He would find her and put her behind bars, no matter what it took.

…

Mayor Dorian Havilliard approached the podium set up in front of a group of journalists. He cleared his throat and leaned into the mic.

“I am here to address the recent murders that have happened in this city and the rise of criminality,” he started, quickly interrupted by an eager journalist at the front.

“Mr. Havilliard, do we know who is behind the murder of Attorney Perrington?”

Dorian took the time to look at his press assistant to see how much he was allowed to divulge to the public. He turned back to face the journalists.

“While I am not allowed to reveal any name, the FBI has a suspect in their sights. They are working very hard to apprehend this person,” he replied with a reassuring tone.

“Is anyone safe in Rifthold? What are you going to do about it?”

“This why I’m here today. The city is working hand in hand with FBI agents and the RHPD to make Rifthold safe again for everyone. I can guarantee you that it will be handled quickly and that the people who are guilty of those crimes will be arrested soon. You do not have to worry. We have the best people working on this. You can sleep soundly at night knowing our streets are protected,” he replied, giving everyone his best charming smile.

Every journalist started speaking at the same time. Dorian was quickly ushered out of the room. In the next room, councillor Chaol Westfall was waiting for him.

“Do you know if there are any new elements to the murder cases?” the mayor asked him, worry on his face.

“The FBI has a team headed by one of the best, special agent Salvaterre, who is working day and night to arrest the people behind it,” Chaol replied.

“Well, they need to be faster. It has been going on for too long. Everyone is on high alert every day and it won’t be long before citizens start panicking. There needs to be some order restored to this city. President Valg is putting a lot of pressure on me to work this out,” Dorian said with a long sigh.

“Dor, it will be okay. Like you said, we have the best people working on this. It’s not like you can go out there and catch those criminals yourself. You need to let the FBI do his job. And stop worrying so much, you don’t want to look like your father in 10 years,” Chaol said with a mischievous smile.

“Please don’t ever compare me to my father again, Chaol,” Dorian said, disgust in his face.

His friend laughed and patted Dorian on the back.

“Come on. We have a meeting in 15 minutes.”

…

“Wow, I wouldn’t want to be the one who pissed you off,” said Lysandra with a bright laugh, entering the gym in The Guild’s manor. Celaena didn’t live there anymore, but she liked to come to work out in peace.

Celaena gave one last punch to the punching bag she was pounding into and turned towards her friend.

“Who said someone pissed me off?” she asked, taking a sip from her water bottle and wiping the sweat off her forehead.

“The look on your face and the way you are demolishing that poor punching bag,” Lysandra replied, implacable.

Celaena ignored her and started training again. She loved kickboxing, it was her favorite way to clear her mind. And the fact that it kept her body in shape so she could feel sexy in her skin-tight outfits wasn’t a bad thing either.

“What happened to your face?” Lysandra asked suddenly, worry on her beautiful face.

“Nothing,” Celaena replied, kicking with all her strength.

“Did he hit you again?” Lysandra asked, disapproval in her tone.

Celaena didn’t reply, she just kept on offloading her anger on the punching bag. Lysandra knew her too well. And she knew how Arobynn was. Her friend had been on the receiving hand of their boss’ violence before.

“What did you do this time?” the dark-haired woman asked instead.

Celaena finally stopped and sat down on the bench next to her friend. She removed the wraps around her hands, ignoring her bloody knuckles.

“I went to see Whitethorn,” she finally replied. “I wanted to know what kind of man I was up against.”

If Lysandra was shocked by Celaena’s actions, she didn’t let it show.

“And?” her friend said, trying to get her to say more. “How is he?”

“He’s nothing special. Just another cop who thinks he’s better than me,” she simply said, ready to move on to another conversation.

But Lysandra wasn’t having it. She looked at Celaena with a playful smile on her face.

“I wouldn’t say he’s nothing special… I’ve seen pictures of him, that man is definitely something. A filthy cop he is, but he’s hot as hell.”

Celaena snorted at that.

“He’s not my type. I’m not into Government bootlickers who think they are holier than thou,” she deadpanned.

“If you say so…” Lysandra replied mischievously.

Celaena got up, she didn’t need to hear any more of her friend’s insinuations. She grabbed her things quickly, ready to leave.

“Arobynn wants to see you in his office,” Lysandra finally said.

“Alright. I’ll just get cleaned up and change first.”

“Don’t make him wait, you know how much he hates that,” her friend added before leaving.

Yes, she knew exactly how much Arobynn hated to wait. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

...

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@morganofthewildfire

@leiawritesstories

@fireheart-violet

@autumnbabylon

@swankii-art-teacher

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#rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin au #rowaelin #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin smut #tog au #tog fanfiction #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass #rowan and aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fic #celaena sardothien #sarah j maas #sjmaas #aelin galathynius #tog #my writing #favorite crime

[folklorianhaze]

Monster

Pairing: Manon x Elide

Rating: M

Tags: One Shot, Book 4: Queen of Shadows, Character Study, Tumblr Prompt, Rare Pairings, some canon typical mentions of violence, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Implied/Referenced Sex

Word Count: 3k+

Summary: "She had been born with a heart as dark as the thickets of Oakwald on a moonless night. Born into the world wailing and bloodied, tearing her way out of her mother, a true Blackbeak warrior to the core. She could not love, could not care for others as humans could. So why bother upholding a worthless illusion of it?"

--

Written for an anonymous tumblr prompt sent to me! They wanted me to write a Manon/Elide piece based on the line "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you," and I came up with this as a result. Thanks so much, anon, and I hope you enjoy your fic! <3

Read it on AO3 here!

Manon Blackbeak, Wing Leader of the Ironteeth aerial legion for the King of Adarlan and heir to the Blackbeak witch clan, felt an exhaustion like nothing she’d known before settling deep into her bones as she slid into her chambers. Ordinarily, the quiet that greeted her beyond the door would have been welcome, comforting, but today the silence rang decidedly hollow.

She was alone. It had never felt like such a weight before.

Iron nails retracting, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, as if to banish the trembling in her cold fingers. Even here, without eyes to observe and pick apart her every movement, she refused to allow herself the privilege of crumbling. She’d never been one for weeping and wallowing in self-pity, and that would not change here. Not even for Asterin’s sake.

As she strode into the room and swept the bloodred cape from her shoulders — the cape she had won when her grandmother had made her kill that self-righteous Crochan in front of the entire Ironteeth host — her body felt particularly heavy. Part of her debated turning around and spending some more time in the aerie with Abraxos instead, but pride would not allow her to be chased from her own bedchambers. If anyone else were to see, to catch on to the fact that she hardly felt like much of a leader at the moment . . . 

Unacceptable. To present a unified front right now was her duty above all else. And she certainly wouldn’t pick now as a time to fall apart entirely.

Even if Asterin . . . the burning, condemning look in her eyes today . . . 

Manon snarled. It was certainly all well and good for her cousin to judge. She had no idea the pressure Manon was under — that all of them were under — nor did she realize how sticking out their necks any farther could endanger them all. She had seen that little act with the Crochan execution for what it was: a threat from her grandmother, a test to ensure that Manon would remain carefully in line. She knew exactly what she stood to lose if she stepped outside of such a deliberately-laid demarcation, and if Asterin wanted to reproach her for it, if that was how this had to be . . .

A sigh pushed its way out of her. She’d replaced Asterin today as her Second. The ranks of the Thirteen never changed. But the words had been out of her mouth scarcely before she’d even known what she was saying, and now, no matter the way her stomach twisted within her, no matter any misgivings she might have, she could in no way walk back her decision and risk looking weak.

And all the while, the odious Duke Perrington remained on her heels, requesting Blackbeak witches for whatever . . . experiments he and his ilk were carrying out beneath the mountains of Morath. And more and more, she was beginning to feel backed into a corner. The sword hanging over all their heads felt more inevitable than ever. What sort of Wing Leader would she be, to send her Blackbeaks into the arms of that human worm for his petty schemes?

And yet, who would she be if she sacrificed the Thirteen to the whims of her grandmother?

“Oh — W-Wing Leader,” came a low, husky voice from behind her. “I’m sorry, I hope I haven’t interrupted anything.”

Manon turned, silver eyebrows arching as she came face-to-face with exactly whom she’d expected. Elide Lochan’s dark eyes were wide as she lingered in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, studying Manon with a look that seemed to see not just through her, but directly into her. As instinctual as it was for her to flinch away from such a vulnerability, some strange part of her thrilled at the sight of it, at the utter lack of fear in the human woman’s gaze. Not many had been able to stare down the Blackbeak heir like that, so completely undaunted.

Then again, she supposed Elide hadn’t exactly witnessed her at the height of her glory lately.

With a dry, humorless little puff of a laugh, Manon said, “The only thing you have interrupted, Elide Lochan, is an evening spent wallowing.” She ushered the human in with a graceless wave of her hand. “Come in. And close the door.”

Elide obliged, allowing the door to fall shut behind her as she made her way into the room. Her gait was slow, stilted, and though she tried, she couldn’t quite disguise a tiny wince as she put her weight on her bad foot; Manon could only surmise that the bone-deep pain that often plagued the old, poorly-healed injury was particularly harrowing this evening. For some reason, she found herself wondering if asking Ghislaine for any information on poultices or pain-relieving herbs might be an option worth looking into.

“Sit,” Manon said, though it ended up coming out as more of a command than a direct show of hospitality. She’d never been one for idle niceties or platitudes, and in any case, Elide hardly seemed to mind. She gestured to the edge of the bed, somehow not finding it in herself to subject the girl to sitting on the pallet of hay on the cold ground.

With a grateful, relieved sigh, Elide sank down onto the corner of the mattress, closing her eyes as she leaned back and allowed her bad leg to stretch out. Manon’s stomach twisted at the sight of it — the ruin of her pale ankle, the strange angle at which the girl’s foot now sat. She could skin Vernon Lochan alive with only her iron nails for what he’d put his niece through, and take a good long time doing it. Not for the first time since she’d met the oily weasel of a man, she found herself thinking of how deserving he would be of a matching injury to the one he’d left Elide with.

That anyone should suffer like that was abhorrent, even to someone as ruthless as Manon . . . but the fact that a woman with witch blood flowing through her veins had been shackled like a dog, tied to the earth by some sniveling mortal . . . 

Before she realized it, her iron nails punched out, slicing thin lines into her palms. Elide, observant as ever, seemed to make note of it as Manon shook her hands free of their tightly-clenched fists, dark eyes keenly following every movement.

“You seem troubled,” Elide stated, and from anyone else Manon might have bristled at the insolence, the presumption, but the human’s words were frank and undeterred. “Did something happen today with you and the Thirteen?”

Manon looked up from where she’d been examining the small cuts left behind by her own razor-sharp nails. She didn’t dare let the surprise show on her face. “What do you know of it?” she asked, perhaps a shade too sharply. 

She told herself she didn’t care if Asterin had been mouthing off to everyone in Morath about it. Didn’t care if the entire Thirteen had been disobedient and disrespectful of her rank. Manon gritted her teeth until her jaw ached. No, that was just fine. Perfectly fine by her if they wanted to risk all their necks. She’d just punish them in kind and it was . . . absolutely fine.

Elide gave a small shrug, reaching to pull her curtain of thick, dark hair over one shoulder as she thoughtfully cocked her head. “Oh — no, I haven’t heard anything specific. It was only . . . I saw your Second walking past the mess hall as I finished up my kitchen duty and she seemed out of sorts as well. I . . . I did not intend to assume . . .”

Manon gave another hollow little chuckle, shaking her head with disbelief. “For a human, you are far too observant for your own good,” she muttered. Perhaps as much of an admission as she would give Elide, for now. “And in any case, Asterin is no longer my Second. What does it matter?” she bit out.

“Your Thirteen are a unit,” was all Elide said in response, as if that explained everything. “It — the way you all are with each other — I have never seen anything quite like it before.” A faint red flush tinted the human’s cheeks. “It only . . . I only brought it up because it seems a shame to let that all crumble apart now.”

Bold. This little mortal was bold indeed, for presuming to instruct Manon on how she was to deal with her own warriors. The Blackbeak heir lifted an eyebrow, folding her arms squarely across her chest. When she met Elide’s gaze, she expected the girl to blink, to blush and stammer and look away out of embarrassment or fear. Humans typically reacted that way, always so full of bluster until it came time to put action behind their meaningless, frilly words. Therefore she couldn’t help the mildest shock — and perhaps amusement — that rang through her as Elide met her gaze, and steadily held it. And those eyes of hers, so strangely wise and perceptive, flashing with what almost looked close to challenge.

“Hmph,” Manon concluded. The faintest smirk played at the corner of her mouth. “And I suppose a human such as yourself knows so much about leading a coven of witches.”

Elide didn’t shrink from the sharpness of her words the way Manon had anticipated. She merely swallowed — perhaps a touch unevenly, but that was the extent of any nervousness that could be found — and said, “Perhaps not. But if there’s one thing I believe I do know quite a bit about, it is survival.”

Manon snorted. “You think us incapable of surviving some errant duke’s idle threats, Elide Lochan?” She didn’t dare give voice to the secret worry she’d been nursing in the pit of her stomach lately — that those threats might very well turn to reality, especially if her grandmother had anything to say about it.

Indeed, Elide seemed to sense the very direction of her thoughts. Something in her gaze softened a bit as she responded, “No — of course not. Anyone would be foolish to think you or the rest of your Thirteen incapable. But . . . but I have to imagine that division amongst you . . . perhaps it creates too great a risk.”

Manon nodded curtly. “Which is precisely why I enforced rank earlier. Why Asterin —” she cut herself off, closing her eyes for a moment. Collected herself with a deep breath. After a moment, she shook her head and began again, more smoothly than before, “She has grown reckless, and poses a danger to us all. It is best to cut out any dissent before it festers.”

Elide seemed to consider this for a moment. Manon wasn’t entirely certain why she was curious to hear the human woman’s response — why there was a strange part of her that hoped she would see Manon’s perspective and understand it. She had never cared to explain herself before, and certainly not to some mortal who would be nothing but dust and food for worms in a hundred years. So why — why now did she feel so oddly laid bare, so on edge at the thought of what this girl might say?

“Could there — could there truly be so much harm in hearing them out?” said Elide at last, sliding her contemplative gaze back to Manon’s. “Perhaps that might prove a more efficient way to quiet any discontent. A just and fair leader might —”

“Just? Fair?” Manon snarled. With a bark of disdainful laughter, she shook her head. Raked her fingers through the moon-white hair threatening to spill loose from its braid. “Those are naive ambitions of mortals. When you have lived as long as one of us, you realize the world rewards such things as fairness and justice with little more than suffering in the end. Kindness is not enough to save anyone.”

And kindness, she knew, would not shield Asterin, or the rest of her Thirteen, or even Elide, from those who would do them harm. Manon Blackbeak knew very well who — what — she was, and pretending otherwise would only be a waste of everyone’s time. She had been born with a heart as dark as the thickets of Oakwald on a moonless night. Born into the world wailing and bloodied, tearing her way out of her mother, a true Blackbeak warrior to the core. She could not love, could not care for others as humans could. So why bother upholding a worthless illusion of it?

They have made you into monsters. Made, Manon. And we feel sorry for you.

“The world is not one of your nursemaid’s pretty stories,” Manon said again, what little heart she’d been born with wreathing itself in ice.

“Are you truly so averse to the idea of trying a new approach?” Elide asked, her voice more filled with honest surprise than any kind of judgment. No, she didn’t appear frightened in the slightest — and Manon wasn’t entirely certain if that unnerved her or not. “You really believe yourself to be that much of a monster?”

Manon stiffened, the words hitting her like a blow to her unguarded stomach. Monster. Once, that word had been all she’d aspired towards. She’d gloried in bloodshed, roared at the skies alongside her grandmother and reveled in the terror and awe her very name inspired. She and her Thirteen had glutted themselves on mortal suffering, gotten drunk on the heat and chaos of battle. Once, to be called a monster would have had Manon glowing with pride; to be her grandmother’s creature was all she’d wanted in the world. All she’d ever been taught to want.

Her voice went low and cold as she declared, the words wooden and rehearsed as if she’d said them a thousand times before, “I am all I was born to be. Discipline, obedience, brutality. That is the mark we Blackbeak witches must leave upon the world. We do not suffer weaklings.”

For some reason she couldn’t quite name, the words rang hollow within her.

Elide shook her head, glancing up at the low stone ceiling. Something in Manon’s chest twisted strangely at the sight of it, the look on the girl’s face — as if it had been faintly tinged with something close to disappointment. She wasn’t sure why the idea rattled her so. Why she wanted to grab the human woman by the shoulders and make that expression go away, why she felt as if she’d missed some unseen expectation.

“What?” Manon demanded, a knife-sharp edge creeping into her voice in spite of her efforts to remain cool and unaffected.

Elide just said, “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

The silence hung in the air between them, heavy and thick and suddenly much too hard to breathe. Manon took in a whistling breath, and her lungs seemed strangely constricted, her throat tight. Elide’s eyes met hers, so open and free of restraint, so . . . so trusting that they nearly burned Manon to look at. So full of wretched, foolish belief in her that it felt damning.

She had been told she was beautiful before. Human men had complimented her, lavished her with praise before she used them for pleasure and bled them out for the thrill of it afterwards. None of it had ever made her feel anything. None of their empty platitudes had ever been enough to stir something within the dark pit where her heart should be.

But this — Elide’s words, spoken with such sincerity, focusing not on her physical beauty, but upon her character, her intrinsic self . . . she couldn’t quite explain why it threatened the very foundation upon which she stood. Threatened to bring her to her very knees, like the quaking of some great mountain beneath her feet. Or the swell of an approaching summer storm.

It was all Manon could do to pretend to muster up some pride, to regain her composure and give a soft little laugh. She shook her head as if to dismiss the very notion, the very idea that Elide saw her in such a positive light at all.

“Perhaps you are indeed blind, then,” Manon murmured at last, unsure why the thought filled her with the closest thing to sadness she’d felt in a while. “If you truly think so highly of me. Humans do have the unfortunate tendency to trust far too easily.”

Manon strode across the room to where a small, utilitarian mirror had been bolted onto the wall, allowing herself to see her own pale reflection as she made work of unbraiding her hair. Apart from the Thirteen, only Elide Lochan, as they’d been sharing this room to shield her from her uncle Vernon’s threats, had seen her with her hair down like this. Before now, the vulnerability of it had never truly bothered her before. 

“There is good in you, Manon,” Elide said, her resolve unwavering. “I know there is. And it is not how we are born that determines who we are.”

When her hair hung free down past her shoulders, Manon glanced back at Elide, meeting the woman’s gaze through the mirror. And what she saw there . . . in the dim light, the warmth of Elide’s eyes, the smooth sheen of her hair, the delicate curves of her fine-boned body . . . it hit her low in her gut.

She turned back to face Elide. Strode slowly over to the bed, her steps prowling, purposeful. Some part of her remained dimly aware that this was yet another mask, an attempt to chase away how close to striking some painful truth they’d come, but she pushed it away as she sank down onto the bed right at Elide’s side. As she leaned in, and a taunting, smug little smile curved at the edges of her full, red mouth. She savored the flush on Elide’s cheeks as she moved closer, the way her witch’s hearing could pick up on the fluttering pulse in the woman’s neck, the quickening of her breath.

“I don’t want to talk anymore,” Manon said.

And at last, there it was — she got the satisfaction of something finally shattering through Elide’s carefully-maintained composure. Manon watched intently as Elide took a shallow, shuddering little breath,her tongue darting quickly out to lick her lips.

“You’re taunting me,” said Elide, making a valiant effort at refusing to back down from her.

A low chuckle rose from the back of Manon’s throat. “You have absolutely no idea what it would be like for you if I truly wished to taunt you, Elide Lochan.”

The redness on Elide’s face deepened, bringing out the freckles along the bridge of her nose. She leaned in closer, until her nose and Manon’s were nearly touching, until their rasping breaths were nearly one. “Go ahead and tease me, then,” Elide breathed, her words a shaky whisper. “Keep trying to push me away. But you won’t make me believe it, Manon. You won’t change that you’re good inside, and you know it.”

“It’s been a long day,” Manon all but growled, her fingers burying themselves in the fabric of Elide’s rumpled tunic, “and I want a distraction. You can provide it, human,” she said, allowing the implication to sink in as her eyes traveled to Elide’s lips, then back to her eyes again, “or get out.”

And to her surprise, Elide Lochan proved all too eager to rise to the occasion.

Without any further prompting, Elide leaned in and closed the remaining distance between them. The softness of her lips brushed against Manon’s, and a white-hot, urgent need curled tightly within the Blackbeak heir’s stomach. Yes, it had been an age since she’d taken a human woman to her bed, and Elide . . . gods, she just wanted Elide to stop looking at her like that. Wanted nothing but pure pleasure and release to take the edge of their conversation, to make Elide realize that there was nothing more to be had from her.

To make her see that caring . . . it was too much for her to bear right now. The thought of risking Asterin and the Thirteen was hard enough right now without having to make room for anyone else. So right now, it was best to just keep her at an emotional distance.

Elide’s kisses were light, testing the waters. Tentative in a way that came dangerously close to endearing. Featherlight kisses trailed from Manon’s lips to the sharp curve of her jaw, the slope of her neck. Manon’s eyes fluttered and she tipped her head back, gritting her teeth to hold back the moan she felt building in her throat.

Enough of this tenderness. She didn’t need sweetness, didn’t want to be bedded like some blushing virgin — she growled, getting ready to tell Elide just that, and then —

— and then it was Elide pulling back, Elide with the beginnings of a smug, confident smirk on her face. Rising from the bed and moving back from her, an amused glint in her eyes. As if . . . as if she’d been the one to cleverly pull the strings this whole time, to work Manon up into a frenzy and —

“Enough toying around, Elide, and get on with it,” Manon said roughly, her voice betraying her need.

“Perhaps another time,” said Elide Lochan with a chuckle, that beautiful husky voice as smooth and unaffected as Manon had ever heard it.

And before Manon could even protest, before she could bellow and demand that Elide come back here this instant and finish what she started, the human woman had all but breezed out of the room, moving surprisingly quickly even with her bad leg. As if . . . as if this had been a plan she’d formed in that devious little mind.

Perhaps if she weren’t quite so frustrated, she might have found it within herself to be impressed by it. Though Elide was mortal, Manon did have to admit . . . that witches’ blood in the girl’s veins ran true.

Manon sat in bed, staring blankly ahead at the door.

Sat there for what felt like an eternity, cold and empty and aching.

#throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #tog fanfic #tog fanfiction #manon/elide #manon/elide fanfic #malide #malide fanfiction #manon blackbeak #elide lochan #sjm fanfic

[nicolos]

Rate of Interest

The final day of festivities met Yusuf, somewhat unsurprisingly, with far more business than pleasure. One after the other Shamsaddin introduced him to various moneylenders and tradesmen and scribes and academics and politicians, including a handful from faraway countries there for the Ascension and the fair surrounding it.

Despite himself, Yusuf found himself hoping to catch the man with the arresting eyes and sharp tongue somewhere within the crowds, though between the press of the day and the dexterity with which Shamsaddin manoeuvred him from introduction to introduction, it seemed a hint unlikely. The unlikelihood only grew over the course of the morning, as the Doge’s parade came and went, a dazzling spectacle of ships so grand and well-decked they set even Yusuf’s—lavish, he would admit—sensibilities alight.

Even his uncle’s beleaguered secretary had to stop and watch that: stopping his diatribe on Signor Faccioli’s profligate habits to watch the procession with a rapt smile, before then announcing it was not so great as the year before.

“Shamsaddin,” he found himself asking, as they took towards the palace for the evening's celebrations, “how long do the pilgrims remain after the Ascension, customarily?”

Shamsaddin said, “Not long at all, thanking the Merciful. They will be here another week, but the city will be back to its ordinary state in no time.”

Yusuf considered that he had asked the wrong person.

It did not signify, in truth: he had allowed himself much of this week of festivities with a freedom he would not have with their end, and there could be no time spent waiting near the piazza or in the churches or palaces the guides would be taking pilgrims. The next day he was speaking to the customs officials from further west than he, and the day after that mediating and acting a signatory. That he was not looking forward to.

So he had all but forgotten about the handsome stranger he would never see again when Shamsaddin said, well into the evening, “Yusuf—there is the Consul of Genoa.”

It was a close thing that he did not twist his mouth like a child.

The Consul of Genoa was the reason Yusuf would be spending the next week mired in paperwork and struggling to make matters agreeable to all of the lesser merchants who depended upon his uncle’s—and now his—place in this city. He had never before been so given to dislike a man he had never met, but every tale from every man who had run into financial trouble or debts because of the Genoese traders in Venice had made him more and more irritated with his very mention.

“Introduce me,” he said, as befit his position. It would be better to come to know the man he would be spending much of the next week negotiating with. Even Shamsaddin looked unhappy with this, but he did, nonetheless, approaching a tall man draped in the bright red of his city, and clearing his throat.

“Consul di Genova.”

“Signor Al-Wahid,” the Consul said, turning around. He looked up, first at Shamsaddin, and then at Yusuf, his mouth opening just a hint with surprise.

Yusuf’s gut fell towards his feet. He clamped his mouth shut so he would not say something like you! It would, he thought, sound more accusatory than he intended it… and how could it not?

Shamsaddin raised a sharp brow, but said only, “This is Signor Al-Kaysani, the previous Signore’s nephew.”

“Nicolò of Genoa at your service,” he said, nodding politely. “I hope your uncle is well?”

“Yes,” Yusuf said. “Quite well.” He opened his mouth to say and yours, and then realised that was entirely nonsensical, and closed it.

“Signor Al-Kaysani will be acting as witness for the contracts with Signor Faccioli,” Shamsaddin informed him.

Nicolò said, “We will be working together often, then.”

Yusuf forced a smile.

When his uncle had decided that he would make a good replacement in Venice, he had been pleased—but that was before he realised the state of things in the city. Most of the men whose support he would wish to have had little hope in him—and yet he was one of the few who had the weight of their trade behind him enough to negotiate contracts with somebody like Signor Faccioli, and the well-esteemed Consul of Genoa.

“It seems we will,” he said.

Shamsaddin excused himself, clearly sighting somebody else he must speak to. Yusuf stayed in place, twisting the ring around his thumb.

Nicolò said, lightly, “You are a lot less cheerful today than when we first met.”

Don’t, Yusuf told himself. Just because you shared half an hour’s pleasant acquaintance before you discovered who he was does not mean you know him or can speak to him this way.

He opened his mouth and said, “I wonder why that might be.”

Nicolò frowned, and Yusuf found himself regretting it instantly. “Have I done something to offend you?”

The truth was, the man he had met a week ago could have done little that would offend Yusuf. They had met at the piazza on the first day of the fair. Shamsaddin had just given Yusuf a scolding for wearing the Venetian fashion, and Yusuf had responded with some quotation—which had, of course, missed its mark entirely.

“We are not in Milan,” he had said, “we are in Venice.”

Yusuf shook his head. “It is a—oh, nevermind. Look, somebody is calling you!”

And then somebody behind him had said, in Venetian, “They do not fast here on Saturdays.”

Yusuf’s conversation had been primarily in Arabic. Curiosity and a flush of pleasure that somebody had appreciated his joke had him speaking to the man, and they had spent the morning out of the way of the pilgrims and politicians that had flooded the city for the fair, speaking—primarily in riddles and quips. Work—or his uncle’s secretary—had eventually pulled Yusuf away, and it was only afterwards that he realised he knew nothing of the man, not his name nor where he was from… only that it was not Venice.

He had spent the rest of the week motivating himself with the flutter his stomach gave every time he considered once more running into whom he had begun to think of as his stranger.

And now—here he was.

“Of course not, Consul di Genova.”

Nicolò raised one acerbic brow. “Do you give so much credit to old rivalries?”

“You can hardly call a contract we will sign next week cause of an old rivalry,” Yusuf said, twisting his ring.

Nicolò propped his hands on his hips. He was dressed far better for the palace than he had the other day at the piazza—in brocade and a fur-lined cape. When he shifted his hands, his signet ring glinted. “I had not expected you to be so unhappy about an arrangement Signor Al-Wahid and your uncle have spent so long making possible.”

“Not that it exists, certainly, but you must admit the arrangement could be a fairer one.”

Nicolò’s lips pursed. “By my account, when the risk is considered to the bearers of the vessels, it is certainly fair.”

“Is that the rate of interest you call fair, Signor?” Yusuf asked, upset despite himself at Nicolò’s cavalier attitude, though it was precisely what he had expected to see in the Consul of Genoa when he finally met him. “Our merchants must sign away near all of the profits they may make at this rate.”

“We must be speaking of two different things,” he said. “I would not call a sale issued as such a meagre sum as—”

Yusuf named the sum, incredulous at it being named meagre, and Nicolò, abruptly, closed his mouth. His jaw worked furiously for a moment, before he said, stiffly, “It appears I have been misinformed.”

“Misinformed?” Yusuf asked, unimpressed.

Nicolò looked up, eyes sharp. “When I was last involved in the negotiation—when your uncle was still here—we were speaking in entirely different terms. It seems something has changed in between, and Signor Faccioli has neglected to inform me.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I cannot believe this. Pardon me, but this will save me a great deal of trouble.”

Yusuf narrowed his eyes. “Will it?” he asked.

Nicolò looked back at him, then stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I am not entirely ignorant to Signor Faccioli’s wrongdoings, though I did not believe they extended this far.”

“Is that so?”

Nicolò nodded, solemn. “I have heard complaints from some of the smaller merchants who ship to Genoa aboard his vessels of the rates he taxes. And there is the matter of loans to a handful of Venetian officers, who know better than to deal with him without me. They are nowhere near what you say, but I had every intention of looking into the matter once I had something supportable.”

It was almost too good to be true. He shook his head. “And this is supportable? Pardon me if I cannot be certain of your words, Nicolò. I have heard a great deal about your reputation in this city. And Signor Faccioli’s.”

He looked back at Yusuf, considering. “My pardons, Signor Al-Kaysani. I can only imagine the sort of trouble dealing with this as you have just arrived in the city must have been.”

Yusuf rubbed at his beard, hesitant in the face of the unexpected apology. “I—no. You did not know.”

Nicolò said, “And now I do, and will amend this at once.”

He sounded serious and genuine enough that Yusuf bit his tongue, told himself to stay alert, and promptly forgave him. “Everybody I have spoken to regarding the matter tells me that you are Faccioli’s man. His in-law, in fact.”

Nicolò hummed. “My niece’s husband is a man of God… which is why he does not speak to his father. Whom have you spoken to about me?”

“I did not know it was about you,” Yusuf said. He had been speaking of the Consul of Genoa, a figure entirely unlike the one Nicolò had—until minutes ago—cut. He bit his tongue, then said, honestly, “But a number of men. The opinion, I must say, was not a very satisfactory one.”

“I suppose I should not be offended, as it was not me, only my signet you spoke of.”

“Perhaps only a little,” Yusuf allowed, thinking back to the day they had met. Nicolò remembered, it seemed; his eyes flashed with good humour. “I do not intend to offend. The venial sin is common in all manners of men. And rings.”

Nicolò raised a brow. “As are mortal ones.”

For the first time since the morning, Yusuf smiled. “I must say, this is not how I expected it, but I... was hoping I would meet you again. I thought you a pilgrim.”

Nicolò’s answering smile was small, but pleased. “I did not think you a pilgrim, but—somebody I would not find again here, at least. I find I am glad I did… for more than one reason.”

Yusuf said, tentatively, “If you mean what you say…”

“I most certainly do.”

“Then…” he paused, looking over Nicolò’s shoulder, as Shamsaddin’s orange robes appeared in his line of sight. “I suspect I am about to be summoned away rather quickly, and I would rather not have to discuss this with my uncle’s secretary before I know more.” The last thing he wanted to do was get ahead of himself and disappoint him about something that had weighed upon them both for the entirety of Yusuf’s time here.

Nicolò’s mouth quirked. “Are you asking me for hiding places?”

Yusuf said, “Better. Can you talk as you dance, Consul di Genova?”

“Only if my partner is cheerful enough for it,” Nicolò said.

Yusuf raised a hand in offer.

#the old guard #tog fanfiction #kaysanova #joe x nicky #mine. #minefic #mineart

[shallyne]

Daylight

This is my very first tog fic (that isn't a crackship) and my very first rowaelin fic and also my very first entry for @throneofglassmicrofics and for my dearest @timesconvert || I hope you'll like it!

This is a song fic based on Taylor Swift's song Daylight

Words: 818

TW: triggering canon scenes mentioned!

Aelin looked at Rowan, really looked at him as he talked to Fenrys and realised once again how lucky they were to be here. How much shit they went through to even get to this point at all and how far they’ve come since they first met, how fate hat fucked them up so thoroughly that they still healed and Aelin realized right then how lucky she was to be able to heal, right beside her mate. What an honour it was to not only be able to have him at her side but to be there for him, too, at his side. Yes she looked at Rowan because Rowan was what she could look at and what she wanted to look at. She saw him and he saw her, she never wanted anything to change about that.He loved her, saw through all her faults, the lines she had crossed in the past to survive, her saw her and he loved her,

She still felt guilt about how easily she had trusted Arobynn, how trusting Arobynn was her only chance at survival at only 8 years older but especially that she had harboured hope that he wasn’t the cruel man she had witnessed over and over again, how he had failed her last test in trust but Rowan...he still loved her throughout her misplaced hope in Arobynn and every fucked up thing she had to do to get them where they were now, to get to a peaceful life.After they went through so much darkness, through endless nights, he was the light at the end of the tunnel. Rowan was her daylight, the breaking of dawn. He had helped her leave the young assassin behind and step into the role of Queen of Terrasen.

Yes, Aelin finally was out of the dark, thanks to her beautiful mate and she finally had the peace to take the time to look at him and appreciate him and love him.

Although there were nights they took a long, long time to appreciate each other it was something different to look at him now. How his posture had become relaxed, how the darkness had left his eyes, less haunted than ever, and his sassy remarks, Aelin huffed a laugh that had both fae males looking over their shoulder. She waved for them to continue their conversation, a smile glued to her face. Yes, his sassy remarks definitely increased, but she couldn’t blame him, it was the very same for herself.

After what felt like twenty years full of darkness, he was her daylight and Aelin liked to believe he felt the same about her.

The darkness was finally over.

Fenrys sighed after Rowan clapped him on his shoulder, he turned around, mocking a bow and bid her goodbye. Aelin stuck out her tongue before Fenrys had fully turned, and saw a hint of a smirk as Rowan walked towards her, the sun shining behind him, making him look like there was a golden glow around him.

After Sam, she hadn’t believed she would ever find a love so all consuming that her whole body would react to everything, but here she was, her mouth drying up at the beauty of her mate.

“Are you done with your broody male conversations?” she asked, picking at her nails.

Rowan plopped down beside her, his familiar pine and snow scent enveloping them. “You can’t really call two people a club, can you?”

Aelin shrugged, turning her face and cherishing the sunlight. “No but you probably planned another broody fae male meeting where you talk about…well…broody fae male stuff.”

Rowan huffed amused and she felt how he leaned closer. “What have you laughed about earlier?” he asked, his voice quiet and deep,

Aelin hid her shudder at the pleasure that brought his voice and turned her head towards her mate, meeting his beautiful green eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know, buzzard?” Rowan only raised a brow, waiting for her to continue. She sighed, “I was just...I’m happy.” she admitted. Happy that she now could live a life where she could choose what she wanted. That she could be defined by the things she loved, not the things she hated. She wouldn’t be defined by the things that she was afraid of or the things that still haunted her in the middle of the night. They would be defined by the things that they love, they would become the people that made them happy.

“Me too.” Rowan said and although he wasn’t a man of big words, she saw the emotions in his eyes.He knew what she thought and he agreed.

Rowan stretched his hand out, for Aelin to take, and she did. He pulled her up and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Then they began walking, into the bright future that awaited them. Full of laughter and life and light.

#throne of glass #tog #throne of glass microfics #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #rowan whitethorn galathynius #aelin galathynius #aelin ashryver galathynius #aelin ashryver whitethorn galathynius #aelin and rowan #aelin fireheart #rowan x aelin #throne of glass fanfiction #Throne of glass fanfic #Throne of glass fic #Throne of glass fan fiction #Tog fan fiction #Tog fanfiction #Tog fanfic #Tog fic

[slytherhys]

12 Days of Christmas

Hello and happy December!

I'm very happy to say I finally have the time to go back to writing and since it's the Holidays, I thought of doing something a little bit different.

I would love if you would send me your favourite prompts x ship so I could write & share 12 different one-shots with you before Christmas!

I'm open to write about anything - yes, both naughty and nice - if it is within reason.

I'll include 6 prompts myself to give you some ideas but please know you are welcome to send me your own!

I'll do my best to write something you'll all love.

My prompts:

✨ Mistletoe

❄️"Apparently there's a snow storm and we're now stuck here. Together. Alone."

☃️ Ice Skating

🎁 "You got me a gift?"

🎪 Christmas Fair

🎄 "You're cold? Maybe I could help with that."

Happy Holidays!

#elriel #feysand #nessian #rowaelin #elorcan #brycehunt #quinlar #tog fanfiction #tog #fanfic #fic #elriel fic #fanfiction prompts #prompts #christmas prompts #christmas stories

[highqueenofelfhame]

rowaelin // 5.8k words // masterlist // ciwyw masterlist let me know if you want to be tagged in my writing :) i hope you enjoy <3 i can't wait to see all your comments. y'all are kILLING me with them on this one.

As much as he knew he shouldn’t be, Rowan was drunk. Again. 

Tomorrow they had a match against Adarlan on Doranelle’s home field. While Rowan laid on his back,  staring at the ceiling fan above him with a full half-empty bottle of whiskey resting on his stomach, he knew they were going to lose. Not because Adarlan was better or because they wanted it more, but because Rowan was a selfish piece of shit and couldn’t put the bottle down. There was no way he would be in any condition to play tomorrow— at least not well. 

Burying his sorrows at the bottom of the bottle seemed like the better alternative until he could figure out how to repair what he had catastrophically obliterated. It had been a full week with no word from Aelin. Not a single one of those days had passed without him sending an apology text into the void. There had even been a few voicemails Wednesday night that went unanswered. He wouldn’t be surprised if she was erasing them without bothering to listen. He deserved that much. 

Rowan Whitethorn had never had social media. Ever. Not even in high school when it was just becoming a cool thing to do. Nobody needed to know that much about his life. At this point in his career, his agent and PR team begged him to do it because it would garner him more popularity. Even Lorcan posted on instagram from time to time and kept everyone happy. 

The thing that finally drove Rowan to making an instagram account was stalking Aelin Ashryver Galathynius. It was easier for his thumbs to scroll through her feed while nursing sips of whiskey, trying not to double tap on any pictures. He was pathetic enough— Aelin didn’t need to be aware of his sulking and pining. 

This all came after he googled her name paired with various words like ‘spouse,’ ‘husband,’ ‘wife,’ and ‘wedding.’ Nothing came back with a result, but it had been lurking in his mind when she didn’t answer his question earlier. Besides, Rhoe Galathynius very well could have been her father-in-law. As it were, she wasn’t married, and Evalin and Rhoe only had one child: their daughter. At least if she was married, there was no record of it. No photos of her in an elegant white gown standing next to the love of her life. 

Good. He could deal with that. 

What he couldn’t deal with was the photos of her in bikinis, arms wrapped around the waists of other men. She was nestled between the pair on the deck of a yacht all three of them with wide smiles and sunglasses covering their eyes. Her bathing suit looked more like lingerie and Rowan had never wished so hard for summer to come back around than he was right then. 

There were pictures of her with a stunning brunette woman, both of them dressed in finery or night-out attire depending on where they were headed. Aelin with a full face of makeup, with sultry dark eyes and a full pouty lip was enough to drive him into madness. 

He found photographs from holidays with her family, Aelin perched on a couch in comfy clothes and thick socks with Aedion Ashryver standing behind her. Further down her page he found the ones from years ago of her on Aedion’s shoulders after he won some match or another. It was captions Always my hero. 

Lower and lower he went until he finally hit her first post: a simple kingsflame flower from nine years ago with the caption Fireheart. He supposed that was where she garnered the name for her foundation. Gods above, she was incredible. A super-hero amongst ordinary women. 

Rowan scrolled back towards the top of her instagram, all the way back to the most recent one. It was from their day downtown, when they had bought a piece of chocolate hazelnut cake and sat outside the bakery. Aelin was laughing around her thumb that she held between her teeth. At that moment, he had been teasing her about getting the frosting everywhere. Behind the camera he was smiling just as brilliantly as she was. The light in her eyes, her smile, the utter joy that radiated off of her… It was enough to make him breathless all over again. 

“Fuck,” he murmured to himself, heart squeezing and soul dying at how absurdly beautiful she was. It didn’t seem fair. Everything about her was perfect. Not just outside, but inside, too.  Aelin Galathynius was the most selfless and loving person he had ever met. Inside and out, she shone with the light of a thousand suns. It made it impossible to look away and broke his heart that he had driven her away so sharply.

“M’such a bloody dobber,” he mumbled, zooming in on her face as close as it would get, until she was little more than a monochromatic cluster of pixels, none of her features distinguishable. 

The phone fumbled where he held it over his face, falling directly onto it. Rowan swore, the taste of metal blooming over his tongue where his tooth had cut through his lip. Worse than that, though, was when he noticed the giant heart that appeared in the center of the picture he’d been staring at. 

Rowan had accidentally liked it. Just as quickly, he unliked it and tossed his phone to the other end of the couch. Jail. He needed to be in phone jail. 

It had over ten thousand likes and three hundred comments. There was a chance she would never notice the notification appearing and disappearing. She might never notice. It didn’t stop the ice creeping into his veins, though. The idea that she would realize how utterly pathetic he was, as if all the texts weren’t indication enough. 

Rowan swore violently under his breath and grabbed his phone again. With bleary, bloodshot eyes he opened their text thread to send off another message. Just as his fingers started their drunken dance over the letters once again, his phone began to ring loudly. The vibration shook him to his core as he beheld the name flashing on his screen, a photo of the two of them laying on her couch flashing in front of him. The sight of it knocked the wind out of him. 

Aelin. 

Fuck. Shit. Mala fucking fry him. 

“Hello?” he said, breathless like he’d been running a marathon. 

“Hi.” Aelin’s voice was quiet. Rowan could imagine her sitting in the middle of her couch, a tv show paused. 

“I am so sorry, baby,” he began, letters and syllables stringing together with no space between. “I need to explain, to—”

“Did you just like that picture on my instagram?”

“I…” it was long and drawn out as he squinted at the ceiling, trying to find a way out of it. There wasn’t one. Heat crept up his neck and bloomed over his cheeks like rose petals. “Ye-yeah. That was me.”

“Are you drunk?” was her follow up question. On the other end of the phone it sounded like she was rolling over in bed. Gods, he would love to be wrapped up in bed with her. The expanse of her golden skin under his hands wasn’t beat out by anything, not even football. 

“No,” was his quick response. 

“You sound drunk.” It was impossible to tell what, exactly, her emotions were. Rowan swallowed thickly, setting the bottle on the coffee table and nudging it out of reach. 

“I sound like a pathetic bastard that ruined something perfect.” 

“You’re definitely drunk.” If Rowan wasn’t positive that she hated him, he might mistake her tone as amusement. 

“I miss you. And I’m sorry,” he paused to hiccup, “And I want you to tell me what to do to fix what I’ve broken.” A heavy, resigned sigh came through the phone and Rowan froze.

“Start with sobering up–” Fuck. She was going to hang up, and he had blown his only chance at making things right. Shit.

“Don’t hang up,” Rowan pleaded, lip tucking between his bottom teeth while he waited for her to respond. 

“Get some sleep and win your game tomorrow. After that… maybe we can talk.” If that was what it took, then yes. A thousand times yes he would do both of those things. Anything to get her to talk to him, anything so he could hold her, feel her lips on his skin, taste her and feel her beneath him.

“Do you promise?” A schoolyard thing to say, but he couldn’t help it. The gift of hearing her voice again after an entire week of deafening silence was the most beautiful thing he could ever imagine hearing. If he could, he’d bottle it up and get drunk off it. It was better than any alcohol, any drug. 

“I promise,” she replied, and Rowan swore he heard a hint of laughter weaving between each letter of those two, simple words. That couldn’t be right, though. Aelin was mad at him. They wouldn’t be laughing together anytime soon.

“Okay.” It felt stupid to say, but it was the only word he could find. 

“Okay.” Aelin’s voice was still soft and told him nothing of the status of his forgiveness, or if he needed to beg on his knees and worship her as penance. He would never, ever stop if that was what she required. “Goodnight, Rowan.” 

The line went dead before he could say anything else and a new zap of determination electrified his blood. If she wanted a win, she would get it. But he had to get sober first. 

With a pained groan, he pulled himself upright. A few deep breaths later the room wasn’t spinning quite so quickly and he was able to stumble to the kitchen. The smell of coffee made his nose wrinkle when he opened the bag. It quickly filled the space of the kitchen as he dumped the beans into the grinder, wincing at the shriek it made. Coffee and bread would help sober him up, and then he would focus on fluid intake to not be a useless sack of meat on the field tomorrow. 

He leaned against his counter, ignoring incoming messages from his teammates checking on him, and shoved half a piece of bread into his mouth. A cold shower would wake him up, and tons of water and painkillers before bed would help the hangover tomorrow. 

Anything Aelin wanted, he would give her. Starting tomorrow night by defeating the Adarlan Wyverns and handing it to her on a silver platter. 

When he finally drifted off to sleep, his phone screen was still illuminated in his palm: that final photo he’d taken of her at the bakery wearing a smile just for him. 

~*~

As soon as she took one step into the Neon Moon, she found Connall looking over at her with a healthy dose of surprise in his eyes. Aelin moved through the crowd that had gathered to watch the game, managing to snag a single barstool in front of the beer tap. 

“Water, please,” she half-shouted over the loud voices filling the room. As soon as it was in her hands she took a long drink before placing it down on a napkin in front of her. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself.” A crooked grin spread across his face and he leaned forward on his forearms. “Watching the game?” 

“Against my better judgment,” she sighed, ruffling her fingers through her hair. Now that she knew that he played for Doranelle, she just couldn’t miss it. Had she known from the get-go, there wouldn’t have been a single game that she missed. Even if it meant she’d be catching up on work during the short commercial breaks. “How much do you know?”

“Oh just… everything.” 

Aelin groaned and looked up at the ceiling. She wasn’t upset that he’d told his friends, his support system. Rowan needed that, just like she did. Though she had yet to tell her family, she was going to do it soon. Maybe tomorrow or the day after. Some of the dust had to settle with Rowan first. 

Though she was content to let him stew for a few more days, the single like she’d gotten from an account called actuallywhitethorn made her pick up the phone. A result of her doom-scrolling before bed, the notification had dropped from the top of her screen. By the time she clicked her notification icon, that particular like from that specific account was gone. It was like fate, she decided, for her to have seen it in its brevity. If he was miserable and pining enough to accidentally like an instagram picture, it wouldn’t hurt to call him. So she did.

At first, she didn’t know what to say, but as he talked it became more and more clear that he was very drunk. All his words had melded into one long syllable, and the fact that he was likely drinking away his feelings and problems had tugged at her heart. He really was adorable when he was drunk, calling her baby and trying his hardest to apologize, begging her not to hang up the phone. As much as she really did want to talk to him, it wasn’t a conversation to have while he was only half-aware. The apology she deserved needed to come from his sober lips, not drunk, loose ones.

After they hung up, Aelin had decided she would go to the bar to watch the game. It didn’t seem like a feat she could conquer at home alone on her couch. Even with Lysandra a phone call away, it felt too big to do on her own. The bar made sense.

“Congratulations?” Connall offered, and it was the first time she’d really picked up on any shyness or hesitancy from the man. 

“Thank you.” It was still so new, so foreign. The racing of her thoughts hadn’t died down about it yet, her emotions didn’t have a full grasp on the situation. “How is he?”

“I think you already know the answer to that.” Kind of. If his texts were any inclination to his mental state, he was having a rough go of things at the moment. “Feels like a piece of shite.”

“Yeah, well.” That was a little deserved after what he’d said to her. Connall didn’t seem to disagree, merely shrugging as he followed her eyes to the television.

The game had been on for fifteen minutes, and Doranelle had scored one point. Adarlan had nothing. It was a bit of a feat to score so early on in the game, showing just how skilled Rowan and his teammates were. A camera zoomed in on the players, a towering, dark-haired man with a glove tucked under his arm, using the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face. Aelin’s eyes widened and her head whipped toward Connall when the spitting image of him appeared on the screen. The only difference was the color of the curls: Connall’s were black, his brother’s golden. 

“You have a twin?” By way of answer, Connall merely winked and nodded back at the TV where Rowan had come into view. His uniform for home games was navy blue with white letters. Hands braced on his hips, he joined his teammates where they talked. It was only when he turned around that she saw how horrible he looked. 

Though his skin was golden brown as ever, his face was ashen. Dark circles clung beneath his eyes and his bottom lip was swollen and scabbed over. The sweat gathering at his temples didn’t do anything at all to make him look well, if anything he just looked sicker. 

“Whitethorn looks a bit… peaky,” Connall said cautiously, the corners of his lips tugging downward into a scowl.

“As drunk as he was when I called him last night, that makes perfect sense.” She was frowning, too. The most put together part of him was his hair, the single french braid down the center until it all met in a mess of a bun on the top of his head. 

As soon as the whistle blew, he inhaled and exhaled a deep breath. That was when the cameras zoomed back out to take in the entire field, all the players getting into position. Aelin watched closely, one eye on the ball and the other always aware of where Rowan was in the frame.

For a while, it was a lot of passing back and forth, working up and down the field, the ball getting stolen one way or the other. Once, Adarlan got close to scoring but the goalie for Doranelle was quick to block it and pass it back down the field. Another of Rowan’s teammates was quick to get it back toward the Adarlan goal. It was passed back and forth between a few as they worked further and further down the pitch until a pass from Connall’s twin had the ball being juggled between Rowan’s feet.

Watching Rowan play brought back the old feelings she felt watching Aedion. Her competitive temper rose in her chest as he sprinted downfield with the ball between his feet. Somehow, he never tripped or stumbled. When he passed it off to a dark-haired man, Vaughan, Connall told her, it was with tricky footwork that he made look easy. Seconds later and a single pass back toward him, Rowan lunged from behind a crimson jersey. By some grace of the gods he managed to land the perfect kick that arched beautifully through the air. Adarlan’s goalie missed it by a fingertip.

The bar became deafening– some of them rooting for Doranelle, others wanting them to lose for the sake of Varese’s team. On the TV, Rowan’s teammates pulled him off the ground and jostled him amongst them, Connall’s golden-haired brother smacking a kiss to Rowan’s sweaty forehead. 

If Aelin didn’t know any better, she would say his teammates were being a little more gentle with him than they might be otherwise. Rowan’s jaw remained clenched tightly, that muscle feathering as he nodded to the only person on the team that was taller than him where he stood down the field.

“Who is their goalie?”

“Lorcan Salvaterre. Team captain and one of Rowan’s closest friends. My twin’s name is Fenrys.” Aelin nodded and rested her chin on her hands as the next play started, polished blue nails digging into her palms. She knew of most of these names from Aedion’s soccer days and the afternoons at her parents house where her father prattled on about different team rosters.

The minutes ticked by, Rowan fiercely focused on the game. That look of sheer determination never left his eyes, even in the brief moments of reprieve he had to gather his wits. Whenever he could, Connall hovered near her for the moral support she’d come in search of. It meant more to her than she could ever put into words. Being in a new city, far away from her support system, with no one else to lean on? It was really nice to know he was there. Even if they barely knew each other. 

When Adarlan scored, Aelin had over half the pub groaned. The Doranelle players looked beyond pissed. Rowan and Lorcan shared matching expressions, both of their jaws grinding as they shook their heads before getting back into position. 

It led them into more volleying back and forth, the ball little more than a blur between feet. And then it was back in Rowan’s possession. It was like the wind sang for him, pushing him faster as he bolted down the field. Almost as soon as he made his goal, the one that would get them a point ahead though, a whistle blew and a yellow-checkered flag was waving. 

“Shit,” she murmured, closely eyeing the playback. It was a fair call, he had been offside. When the camera showed Rowan again though, he was pointed at the goal, mouth wrapping around words that looked a lot like fucking bullshit. The words weren’t more than a whisper as she said, “Rowan, you stupid idiot.”

Connall chuckled, despite the dire situation at hand. She knew he was only laughing at her, not his friend’s situation. Still, she wadded up a napkin and threw it at his head. It nailed him in the temple.

“It’s not funny,” she hissed, nibbling on the end of her straw, a sick feeling roiling in her gut.

The referee pulled a yellow card brandishing it in front of his face. A spark of anger flickered behind his eyes, mouth opening to spew something else when Fenrys grabbed him by the shoulders and made him turn away. Aelin exhaled a tight breath as Rowan shook his head on screen. Fenrys said something in Rowan’s ear and he nodded, lips thin in a stiff line.. It was enough to make him nod and hustle to his spot on the field, shaking his arms out when he came to a stop.  

Beneath the bar, Aelin’s legs were bouncing. Butterflies flitted their way through her insides enough that she braced her hands against her stomach as though it would calm them. It was impossible to look away as Adarlan took their free kick from the offside, launching the ball halfway down the field and into another frustrating back and forth between the two teams. 

This was always the part of the sport that Aelin hated. No, perhaps hated was too strong of a word. The build up always made her feel nauseous, waiting for one team to make one quick move to kick everyone into high gear to avoid a goal or make one. Being pregnant, it was worse. It felt as though her stomach was in the back of her throat.

Just before the end of the second half, disaster struck. Aelin saw it coming. She was pretty sure everyone watching at home or in the stands did, too. Connall swore filthily as Rowan ran for the ball and dove feet first to knock it away from Adarlan. Except in the process, his cleats clashed into the other player’s feet and they both went down in a heap on the field. 

“What the fuck did you say to him?” Connall asked over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off the screen as a ref jogged across the pitch. 

“I told him to win and maybe we would talk! I didn’t tell him to–” A yellow card appeared in the ref’s hand, followed by a red one and Aelin lost all of her words. Both were for Rowan. 

“I think he took that a little too do or die.” And so it seemed he had.

Distantly, she heard the announcer saying it was the first time he’d ever been red carded in his entire career. The patron’s of the bar murmured amongst themselves, many of them asking what the hell was wrong with Whitethorn tonight. 

The cameras zoomed in to where he walked off the field, sweat trickling down his face. Their coach followed him to the end of the field, the words he muttered only for Rowan to hear. Though he looked ready to hit anyone that was close enough, Rowan simply nodded. Fenrys caught his arm just before he walked off, mouth moving too quickly for Aelin to decipher. 

The last clear shot of him was walking into the tunnel and off the pitch, body rigid and muscles rippling while he pulled his jersey off his body. 

“I… I need to go,” Aelin said to Connall, who only nodded in response. She threw a few bills on the counter as a thank you and pushed her way out of the pub, walking as fast as her feet would carry her to her rental car down the street. 

~*~

Even though his team had another win under their belt by the time the game was over, it had been a fucking disaster. Rowan watched the second half on his phone from the comfort of his car after getting kicked out. 

It was the first time in his eleven year career he’d ever received two yellow cards, and consequently a red card, and been ejected from a game. All that anger and frustration from the week, from his hangover, had boiled to a head and exploded on the field. Next week he would have to sit out, too. 

Failing his teammates didn’t sit right with him. Lorcan was probably fuming and Rowan anticipated a less than friendly visit from him tomorrow. Coach Malakai was mad, too. The last thing he told Rowan was to get his shit together before practice on Monday. Only Fenrys, who never missed a chance to be a jokester about anything, had murmured words of encouragement before he left the field. 

By the time he pulled into his driveway, he was exhausted. His entire body ached from that last dive. There would definitely be bruises on his hips and thighs tomorrow from the way Ress Taylor landed on top of him. All he wanted to do was let his muscles thaw under a shower so hot it burned. A glass of whiskey would be great, too. Not that he deserved it after his performance on the pitch.

The game was… rough.The entire day was rough. From the time he’d woken up his mood had been in the pits of hell. Drunk Rowan hadn’t been able to piece together what Aelin said just before they hung up, but sober Rowan did as soon as his alarm sounded. 

Win your game tomorrow. 

Not win the game, like she used to say when she thought he was the coach. She didn’t ask him to wish the boys good luck like she had in the weeks prior. The words had changed. Win your game. The game he would be playing in, that belonged to him. She had given him a personal goal and though he helped his team achieve it, he still felt like he failed. Especially since he would have to sit out next week, too, because of the red card.

It had been stupid of him to think she wouldn’t find out the truth before he had the chance to tell her. Everything had just gone to such absolute shit before he had the chance. Rowan Whitethorn would be groveling at the feet of Aelin Galathynius for the duration of his life, and then some more after he crossed into whatever afterworld awaited him. 

The news of his career was just another lie he had to make right. All day it sat with him, festering like an open wound. It wasn’t that he suddenly felt bitter about his job. He didn’t. Rowan loved what he did, he loved the sport. It was his greatest passion and love in life. But Aelin deserved to hear about it from him. Not knowing how she found out only made it worse, until everything he felt was bleeding out into the astroturf beneath his feet and getting him thrown out of a game.

Upon pulling into his driveway, something white in front of his house caught his eye. His heart came to a stop as soon as his car did. Rowan didn’t even bother to pull into his garage, just parked beside the white SUV and stared at his porch. It felt like a fever dream, getting home from a hard game and seeing Aelin on his porch swing. The wind slowly moved her back and forth, but when she saw him step out of the car she stood, hands sliding into her back pockets. 

“I told you to win, not get a red card before the second half was up.” The lilting tone of her voice made his knees buckle. It forced him to gather himself before approaching, slowly walking up the stairs until he stood one below her.

“My mouth keeps getting me in trouble this week, it seems,” he said back, mouth completely dry. It was an effort to make his tongue form the words with his lips. “But it got you to my house, so I suppose there are worse things that could have happened.”

“Few things are worse than a red card.”

“Not talking to you might beat out all of them,” he said smoothly, fingers sliding along each of his keys until he found the one for his front door. He held it up between two fingers and Aelin nodded, stepping to the side and gesturing toward the door. 

She wore simple leggings and an oversized t-shirt, a pair of socks and slides on her feet. Though she wore no makeup and her hair was twisted half-hazardly onto the top of her head, she had never looked so beautiful. Lorcan would laugh himself hoarse if he heard the thoughts Rowan had about this woman, yet he didn’t care. Even in her most dressed down and casual state, she was breathtaking. 

He led her inside, locking the door behind them. It was late enough he assumed she would be staying for a while. Few people made a nearly two hour drive to turn around and leave upon arrival. Then again, he hadn’t seen last weekend going that way, either, and it’s exactly how that night ended.

“You played…”

“Shittily,” he offered, hanging his keys on a small hook by the front door.

“Brutally,” Aelin amended, slipping off her shoes and heading to the kitchen. Rowan watched as she grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge and handed one off to him before heading for the couch. “Have you eaten?” 

“No. Have you?”

“Not since lunch.” Phone in hand, she curled up in the corner and pulled a blanket over her lap. “I doubt we have any notable options, but Taco Bell is open and is shockingly one of the few things not making me sick at the moment.”

Rowan watched her from where he stood in the center of the room. It didn’t feel real. None of today did, really. It could be the hangover talking, but the day felt like a horrible dream. He was scared to move, scared that if he sat on the couch with her that she would vanish into nothing and he would wake up alone in his bed. 

“Are you going to just stand there all night?” Her eyes didn’t leave her phone while presumably selecting everything she wanted to eat, eyes narrowing at the screen briefly in thought. A moment later she held it out for him. Rowan stared at her, heart thundering away in his chest. “Rowan.”

“Right. Thank you,” he murmured, taking the phone and trying not to acknowledge the rush he felt when his fingertips grazed her palm. Not big on fast food most of the time, it took him a little longer to pick his dinner. “What do I owe you?”

Aelin just snorted as she submitted the order, eyes rolling slightly before placing her phone face down on the couch next to her, head tilting as she said, “Come to think of it, maybe you do. I think your twenty dollar fast food order might do me in completely. I’ll have to take out a loan.” 

“I can Venmo it,” Rowan said dumbly, reaching for the phone in his back pocket.

“I don’t need your money any more than you need mine.” Once there might have been a teasing edge to her voice. Her delivery was much drier than he was used to from her. But there it was. That stupid thing he’d said before he could stop himself, the words that brought everything they were building crashing down.

“Sit,” she told him, patting the cushion next to her. Rowan was careful to leave plenty of space between them. There were definitely lines and boundaries now. The risk of getting ensnared in one was too great and he had a lot of apologies to make. With his arms elbows braced on his knees and hands clasped loosely between them, he stared at the floor. 

“You’re actually getting a pretty sweet deal.” Aelin sighed, shifting so she was facing him full on. His green eyes didn’t leave the rug. “According to google my net worth is two-and-a-half times what yours is. Isn’t that crazy?”

“I didn’t know,” he finally said. As much as he wanted to look at her, he couldn’t. He was a fucking coward. Guilt was a disgusting, oily thing crawling beneath his skin. It threatened to consume him whole even worse now that he was talking to her than it had the rest of the week. 

Aelin sighed again, finally pulling his attention to her face. She laid her head back against the sofa and a few tendrils of hair fell down to frame her face.  Rowan’s fingers curled into fists to fight the urge to sweep them behind her ear. She must have sensed it because she did it herself. The blue of her fingernails was the same blue as his jersey. Part of him wondered if it had been on purpose. 

“I think tonight we can call a truce.” Aelin seemed to notice his gaze on her fingers because she folded her arms over her chest, curling her hands so her blue nails were hidden. “We’ll eat, sleep, and then tomorrow… Tomorrow we’ll talk.”

“Okay,” he agreed. The word was falling off his tongue as soon as she finished speaking. Her cheeks seemed to twitch with amusement, and if he had reacted differently last week she would probably be smiling. 

“I am curious, though. Did you make an instagram for the sole purpose of stalking me?” 

Rowan cringed. His eyes squeezed shut, lips rolling between his teeth as he looked away. Beside him it sounded like Aelin laughing, though it was little more than puffs of air coming out of her nose. It would have been easy to go on the defensive, to add one more lie to their crumpled house of cards. Instead, he went with the truth.

“I missed you. I just wanted to see your face.” He looked back over at her then, but it was she who looked away now. Her eyes were glassy, the dim lighting making the unshed tears in her eyes sparkle. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s these fucking hormones.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand when he started to reach for her. It stung more than he would ever let on, but he retreated and dropped his hand into his lap while she used the collar of her shirt to dry her eyes. 

It was silent after that, the two of them alternating from staring at nothing to sneaking glances at the other. Rowan only knew because he caught her staring at him more than once when he thought he could take a second to drink her in. It was only when the doorbell finally rang and he stood that she said his name, stopping him when he was halfway to the front door. Turning to look at her, eyebrows raised in question, he watched her lick her lips. 

“I missed you, too.” It was barely a whisper, spoken so softly he might have dreamed it if he was any more tired. 

Still, it was enough to get him through the rest of their silent night. Enough that it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would when he insisted she sleep in his bed without him. Enough to chase him with sweet dreams when he finally slipped into the guest room down the hall and tumbled into a deep sleep. 

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

#tog #throne of glass #ciwyw #ciwyw5 #call it what you want #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass fic #throne of glass fanfiction #tog fanfic #tog fanfiction #tog fic #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan #connall moonbeam #fenrys moonbeam #lorcan salvaterre #aedion ashryver #lysandra ennar #sad boy rowan #soccer!rowan #baby fic

[goddess-aelin]

congratulations on 1200! may i request fluffy Rowaelin where Aelin pretends to be Rowan's girlfriend at a bar because Remelle's trying to hit on him?

Thanks for the prompt! :) You know that I love any opportunity to make Remelle the bad guy. And honestly, as I was writing this, Rowan the Simp just jumped right out and I can't say I'm sorry.

Masterlist

I’m still taking prompts so send them in!

Can I Buy You a Drink?

Word Count: 1.2k

Fluff, fluff, more fluff. ( I think I'm incapable of writing anything but fluff)

Rowan was tipsy. But not tipsy enough for the blonde that was currently draping herself over him. He thought that tonight would be a fun night out celebrating Lorcan's engagement to Elide. The two had been dating for two years and Lorcan finally popped the question. Rowan was actually surprised when his best friend told him. He always thought Lorcan would either be the last of their friend group to get married or just the one to never get married. Before Elide, Lorcan never seemed interested in long term relationships. But Lorcan was a changed man and the occasion certainly called for a celebration.

Which is why Rowan found himself sitting at the bar with Lorcan, Fenrys, Gavriel, Vaughn, and Connall. Elide and some of her friends that Rowan didn't know very well were across the bar on the dance floor, insisting their parties stay separate even though they were at same bar. It's also why Rowan was currently about to flip out on the girl who felt the need to touch him every five seconds. 

Rowan knew Remelle from work, unfortunately. Perhaps that's why she latched onto him tonight. Maybe he was the only person she knew here and she just wanted to feel safe. That's what Rowan kept telling himself to reign in his disgust and anger. If she pet his arm one more time, just one more time, he wasn't sure what he was going to do. Lorcan knew exactly what was going on but Lorcan also knew Remelle. He knew that Remelle didn't understand the word "no" and that no matter of telling her to leave Rowan alone would work. Especially since the victim in question was a single man.

Rowan tried to busy himself in conversation with his friends. He tried to distract himself with bathroom breaks and the excuse of needing to get another drink. But when Remelle leaned into kiss him, that was the final straw. Rowan was just about to storm out of the bar when a gentle hand wrapped around his bicep.

"Hey Buzzard. I was wondering where you went off to." He felt a quick kiss to his cheek and as he looked over, he was met with the most beautiful turquoise eyes. Rowan knew this woman was named Aelin and she would most likely be Elide's maid of honor, being friends with the bride-to-be since they were kids. He had never spoken to her before today, though, which sent him fumbling for an answer. It wasn't every day that Rowan turned into a blushing teenager, but it seemed that the ring of gold around Aelin's eyes took away any of his flirtatious talents.

Rowan had the good sense to at least give her a little smile and her own answering smile was dazzling. It was probably best that he couldn't think of words. Otherwise, he might spit out something completely stupid like "I think I'm in love with you," or "marry me." Rowan's hand came up to Aelin's back and he found only a smooth expanse of skin. Was this girl trying to kill him? The eyes. The backless gold dress. The fact that she was his knight in shining fucking armor.

"Aelin." He heard Lorcan grumble. Aelin's answering smirk to Lorcan was one that could have made Rowan's knees weak if he was standing. Thank the Gods he wasn't.

"My, my Lorcan. I can't say that I ever thought I'd see the day that you grew enough courage to pop the question. I have to say, I'm impressed." It seemed that all Aelin had to do to irritate Lorcan was speak. Rowan couldn't help but smirk at his friend's discomfort.

A throat cleared. Oh yes, Remelle. The reason why Aelin's body was currently pressed into his side and why his hand was making small strokes on her back. If Rowan was being completely honest, he totally forgot about the devil-woman in front of him.

"And who exactly are you?" Remelle asked with a raised brow, as if she owned him.

Aelin, in all her golden glory, smiled sweetly and held out her hand. "I'm Aelin, his girlfriend. Who are you?" Rowan greatly enjoyed Remelle's look of surprise and subsequent open-mouthed stare. Rowan wished she would just take the hint and leave him alone. But of course she didn't. Of course she couldn't.

"All this time working together, Rowan, and yet I've never heard one word about you having a girlfriend."

It was at that statement that Rowan finally found his voice. "Well, we don't really like to flaunt it everywhere. We're both fairly private people." He knew Aelin could tell that he was getting tense if the way she ran her hand up and down his back was any indication. This woman he just met was soothing him. And it was helping. No one was more surprised than himself. Rowan wasn't usually one to let people touch him casually. He'd prefer if people kept their hands to themselves. But with Aelin, it was different.

"Aww. How sweet. I guess you wouldn't mind giving us all a little kiss then? You know what they say, kisses from other couples to give the future bride and groom good luck." Rowan scoffed.

"I don't think anyone has ever said that. That doesn't even sound real." He was about to refuse further when Aelin's hands touched his cheeks and turned his head towards her.

"C'mon Buzzard, just one sweet, little kiss? For me?"

Rowan didn't need to be asked twice, even if he was surprised. His arm around her back pulled her closer to him and his lips met hers gently. Aelin's idea of a "sweet, little kiss," however, turned into the the best kiss of his life. She kissed like she danced, with fire and passion. It was over way too soon for Rowan's liking when Aelin pulled away. He was breathless and all he could do was stare at Aelin with half-lidded eyes. He figured that when they pulled apart, Aelin would turn back to Remelle but her eyes stayed on his. She looked just as wrecked as he felt.

Slowly, they gravitated back towards each other. He was sure that Remelle could see that that had been their first kiss but he didn't care. All he could think about was tasting the whiskey on her tongue again. Rowan lost all sense of his surroundings when his lips met Aelin's again. He was enveloped by her. Her scent. Her taste. The small sounds she was making. He thought at some point he heard Lorcan mutter a seriously? But he couldn't be sure. And he didn't care.

When they finally pulled apart seconds, minutes, or hours later, Rowan Whitethorn was wrecked. Aelin started giggling and it was so damn cute that Rowan did the same. He was sure they made quite the sight for anyone to see, standing at the bar and laughing like teenagers.

Rowan kept his forehead against hers. "I'm Rowan, by the way."

Aelin let out a huff of breath. "I know. I'm Aelin."

"I know." Another round of laughter hit them again.

"I think she's gone." Rowan was about to ask who she was talking about but then remembered the reason why they were flush together in the first place.

"Thanks for that. She's been after me for years and apparently doesn't know how to take no for an answer."

Aelin rolled her eyes but then let out a sheepish laugh. "I'm sorry that I sort of attacked you like that. Elide pointed out what was happening so I just sort of...acted."

Rowan laughed. "It's obviously quite alright. And hopefully I can buy my girlfriend a drink to thank her?"

"I'll do you one better. How about a drink and a date tomorrow night? If you're free, of course." 

With his nod, she hopped onto the stool next to him. Rowan knew that they were here to celebrate his friend's engagement but he couldn't bring himself to regret staying in this little bubble with Aelin. And as they sat there the rest of the night, talking about anything and everything, neither of them saw the secret high five or smirks exchanged by the newly-engaged couple.

#rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan whitethorn #Aelin galathynius #tog #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #tog fanfiction #throne of glass fanfic #rowaelin fic #rowaelin au #elorcan #my fics

[bellasbookboyfriends]

Take Two

Fans are elated to see Miss Aelin Galathynius return to the public eye after three long years spent grieving the loss of her late fiancé. She began her acting career at the young age of 16 as Celaena Sardothien, opposite Mr. Dorian Havilliard, in the internationally acclaimed Throne of Glass saga. Now 28 years old, she’s stepped back into the spotlight to find love again. Miss Galathynius is opening up her heart and her home to eight of the most eligible bachelors across the country. Our network consulted relationship experts, influential Hollywood figures and the Booktok community to put together this perfect group of gentlemen that promises edge-of-your-seat drama, otherworldly sexual tension, and the ultimate second chance at happily ever after.

**Production is not responsible for the reopening of any murder investigations, the inadvertent cockblocking of any hyperactive emotional support floofs that answer to the name Fleetfoot, or the intimidation and/or inquisition of any eligible suitors by angsty 13 year olds**

#rowaelin au #throne of glass #rowaelin #manon x dorian #elide x lorcan #celebrity au #aelin galathynius #sjmaas #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #rowan x aelin #rowan whitethorn #elide lochan #lord lorcan lochan #lorcan salvaterre #fenrys moonbeam #lysandra #tog fanfiction #dorian x manon