#twelve days of rowaelin

[llyncooljones]

who is he? - twelve days of rowaelin '22.

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

prompt: fake dating because ex will be there.

word count: 1118

trigger warnings: language, sexual themes

tag list: @live-the-fangirl-life  @rowaelinismyotp  @fireheartwhitethorn4ever @elentiyawhitethorn @rowanaelinn  @autumnbabylon @leiawritesstories @backtobl4ck  @letstakethedawn @rowaelinscourt

“Elide, no. Please. Don’t—don’t make me go over there. I will embarrass myself, truly. Don’t make me do this, I’m begging you, one spoilt rich girl with a secretly traumatic past to another spoilt rich girl with a secretly traumatic past. Don’t. Make. Me. Do. This.” Aelin tried to turn, but both of Elide’s—admittedly small, and yet so super strong—hands were pushing her forwards. Not allowing her to turn, nor twist.

It was rather annoying given the nine-inch height difference between the two of them.  But maybe their weights were more evenly matched—or maybe Elide’s was higher, due to those big ol’ tits of hers.

“Alright, so if you’re such a coward that you can’t go up to the hot man, whom you’ve been staring at for half an hour, we need to come up with a plan of action. By the way, I want full credit at your wedding for getting the two of you together.” Elide’s smile was wicked and cunning, and she put her index finger and thumb on her chin, and stroked like she had a beard, and some crazy science machine.

“I don’t know, Elide, don’t think that if I knew, I’d be over there scoring myself a Christmas-tree-farming husband, who’s tall enough to put the star on my tree without a ladder.” Elide’s eyes sparkle, and Aelin does damage control, “And that was not an innuendo nor a metaphor for him being able to find my clit, or g-spot, without a how-to. Get your mind out of the gutter, Lochan.”

A fake gasp from her best friend, and then an evil laugh. Aelin truly did consider the likelihood that her best friend was the wicked witch of the west. She decided not, but Elide interrupted her thoughts with a shriek (again, with or not?) and a hand wrapped around her bicep. “I know how you’re going to get with him.”

“Oh, do you now. Let’s hear it, then.”

“He’s gonna be our fake boyfriend to the party that Dorian’s hosting for Christmas eve. It’ll be perfect. You’ll tell him that Dorian’s your ex, and you’ve told him you have a new boyfriend, for the party and therefore you need a fake boyfriend. Christmas Tree Man is perfect for the job because he’s independent, tall, and muscular. Whilst Dorian, who’s your fake ex-boyfriend, is short, lanky and still on his father’s tit. And insecure about it. Christmas Tree Man will make him jealous, and you want that because he hurt you.”

“Let me get this straight: he’s going to be my fake boyfriend, to a party hosted by one of my best friends who is going to be my fake ex-boyfriend, who I’ve fake-told I’ve got a new boyfriend, because he is the epitome of everything my ex is not, and that’s a sore spot for him. Which means my presence with Christmas Tree Man will hurt and offend him, which I want to do because my fake ex-boyfriend hurt me, and I now want to hurt him.”

“Yeah, wow. You’ve caught on quickly. So, down this,” she said pushing a recyclable cup of mulled wine towards Aelin, “for liquid courage and go get your man.”

“Elide I was fucking pulling your leg. I am not going up to some man who I find attractive and lying to him about relationships I’ve never had, and then cornering him into being my fake boyfriend. I refuse. That is, just so wrong on so many levels. If I can’t gather the courage to go up to him, and ask him out for drinks like a normal person, maybe I shouldn’t be going with him.”

Elide’s face crumbled, like a high school note they had passed, and she pouted. “Aelin, you’ve not taken your eyes off that man for a second—not even during this conversation. You need to go up to him, ride the horse, and go! We’ll put aside this whole lying thing, just be honest and tell him that he’s the most attractive guy you’ve seen in years, and that you’d like to go out to dinner or drinks or party with him.”

Aelin shook her head but was secretly considering it.

“Aelin, if not for you, do it for me. I’ve found that tall men group together. So, he will likely have a tall friend whose size will directly correlate to his size. If you know what I mean.” She winks, and Aelin had to laugh, she couldn’t not, “I’ve not had good dick since freshman year of college—and I’m twenty fucking four. I’m desperate.”

“Fine, I don’t think I’ve had good dick ever, so maybe Christmas Tree Man won’t disappoint, if everything is proportionate. But he does still have to know how to use it. What if he doesn’t, Elide, what if he thinks having a big dick is eno—”

“—Aelin, I swear, go to that man, and find us both a big dick, and hopefully a relationship. Love you, Bye!”

She unfolded herself from the picnic table, and shook off her nerves—mentally, she can’t be seen jumping around by her future something. Her eyes settled on Elide still, whose eyes she noticed were large and round and surprised. Instead of questioning her clearly crazy best friend, she turned, only to bump into the chest of a rather tall man.

Tall.

No, she thought. It can’t be, she wondered. No way, she placated.

“Firstly,” he said, in a voice that had her panties wet already, “I would’ve agreed to your crazy plot, princess. I would have doubted it, but I would’ve agreed, and gone to your fake ex-boyfriend’s party, on Christmas eve which I normally spend with my friends and not a random but gorgeous blonde, as the epitome of his insecurities. Just to hurt him, because I knew the second I saw you, that any man who hurt deserved to be hurt right back. Where it hurt the most.

“Second, I could put the star on your Christmas tree without the help of a ladder—and I mean that in both possible ways. This means that, third, I know how to use my dick, even if I do consider myself to be proportionate. On that topic, apparently tall men do group together because I’ve got a friend taller than me, for your friend who’s shorter than you, who I believe is also proportionate but in the same boat as me when it comes to Christmas trees and stars.

“And finally, whilst I don’t mind Christmas Tree Man, I have just told you that I’ve got a big dick, know where your clit is, and can give you g-spot orgasms, so please, call me Rowan.”

#12 days of rowaelin #twelve days of rowaelin #rowaelin #rowaelin fic #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #tog #tog fic #throne of glass #throne of glass fic #llyncooljones' writing #my fic #my writing #wih? #who is he?

[leiawritesstories]

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

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

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

word count: 2.1k (whoopsies)

warnings: none!

enjoy!!

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

The metro was late.

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

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

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

"Morning, Phil!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

"Just Rowan."

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

"Indeed. Are you interested?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"First, I will not model undergarments."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rowan glanced to Manon. "Ever ever?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Wonderful. Those are all of my conditions."

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

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

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

"As do I."

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

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

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

#my writing #answered prompt #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin au #rowaelin modern au #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass fanfiction

[renxzs]

Aelin Week - Day 6: Rowaelin | @rowaelinscourt | AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: Aelin is having a very bad day… or week. Okay, more like a very bad year. She’s in dire need of a little kindness and comfort. Although she tries to deny herself of it, feeling utterly undeserving—Rowan Whitethorn will deny her none of it.

Word Count: 3.5k

CW: basically shameless smut (18+ only), hurt/comfort, mutual pining, depressive thoughts, Aelin desperately needs a hug, mention of parental deaths, coworkers who become..a bit more, modern au

I won't always have the words  to pull you back from the dark.

But I will always be here  to sit with you in it  and take your hand or wrap my arms around you  until it passes.

For every day of sunshine  there will be a night of darkness, 

but I want to spend  both of them with you.

—S.K. Williams

Arobynn Hamel, her prick of a boss, slowly shook his head as the crease between his brows deepened. He flipped harshly through the pages of the case folder she had handed him moments ago.

Aelin’s body went rigid, preparing for whatever verbal lashing he was about to spew. Entirely negating the amount of time and effort she poured into this case over the last two weeks, discounting hard work she was actually proud of. 

She would not allow him the satisfaction of seeing the effect his condescension had on her, how truly deep it sometimes cut. She maintained a look of impassivity and waited.

“This is your best work? Really?” Arobynn scoffed derisively and leveled her with a hard stare, contempt rolling off him. Aelin focused on breathing steadily through her nose.

“If this is it, then I need you to do the fucking best of someone better.” His words were small glass shards being hurled at her, slicing and stinging upon contact. She curled her shaking hands into tight fists on her lap, nails digging into the flesh of her palms. 

Today had been shit, the general week a living hell. 

Then again, Aelin couldn’t honestly say many of her weeks spanning the past twelve months have been much different. 

This weekend marked the one-year death anniversary of her parents. One year since the tragic accident that  had left her entirely alone in this world. One year since unwavering guilt and shame had settled and made a home in her chest. 

Spoken out of hurt and anger amidst a heated argument, those final words to her parents only a handful of hours before they were just… gone would haunt her until the dark god came to claim her. 

Aelin could usually endure Arobynn’s volatile mood swings and mistreatment—weather the rage storm and emerge from his office relatively unscathed.

But this particular week…?

The very moment consciousness had greeted her this morning, she knew she should have stayed curled under the blankets and out of reach from the rest of the world.

Aelin expelled a long breath. It did nothing to relieve the heaviness twisting in her gut and weighing in her bones. It was a marvel how one could feel so heavy yet utterly empty at the same time.

She tipped her drained glass towards the nearby bartender. “Another, please.”

A moment later, a new glass was slid in front of her and her eyes fell to the sloshing liquid. She must look as pathetically dejected as she presently felt, considering the very generous pour. 

A chill of awareness pricked across her nape and skittered down the smooth curve of her spine as a presence sidled up next to her. Quiet flutters stirred low in her belly, and Aelin cursed her traitorous body’s response to his proximity.

Because of course it was him—she knew it was him without needing to look. It was as if she had a preternatural sense specially tuned to him. And she’d been more than aware of his presence across the room—felt him all evening. Those piercing green eyes boring into the back of her. 

Aelin refused to look at him. “Can I help you, Whitethorn?”

“You know,” he drawled, leaning his forearms onto the bar top next to her. “Agreeing to drinks after work typically entails actually sitting within the remote vicinity of those who extended the invitation.”

Aelin lifted the glass of dark amber liquid to her lips and took a long, pointed sip before speaking cooly, “I’m here for the drinks, not the company.”

Rowan slid into the vacant stool next to her. 

Not easily deterred, then.

A few silent minutes passed between them. Rowan patiently waited, watching her still. Aelin inhaled a long breath as frustration started to build. Couldn’t he just leave her alone to sulk in solitude? 

“What do you want, Whitethorn?” 

She couldn’t fully tamper the edge in her voice. All the better though. Maybe he’d take the hint and finally rejoin his rightful group of coworker-turned-friends.

The heat of Rowan’s gaze flitted across the side of her face. She took another drink. 

“Are you okay?” His soft sincerity caused her chest to constrict.

“Christ, Aelin—what do I even pay you for?” Arobynn flung the heavy file folder back across the desk at her. “Being a pretty face around the firm? You barely manage that lately.”

Her eyes closed against the resurfacing memory. The slight burn of unbidden tears pricked in her nose. Aelin sniffed then cleared her throat before speaking. “I’m fine.” 

Aelin met his stare in challenge, to show just how fine she was. But her voice had sounded strained, even to her own ears. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by Rowan either, if the gentle look of disbelief and concern were any indication.

Her chest felt like it was going to cave in. She couldn’t stand him looking at her like that. She didn’t need his kindness or concern. 

Didn’t deserve it.

Yet Rowan is always so fucking nice to her. Checking in during the day and inviting her to outings with their coworkers. Most recently, he’s started bringing his lunch over to eat at her desk once he realized she was never going to take him up on the invitation to join him and the others in the break room. 

Time and time again, he has tried to scale the icy fortress she’s spent years carefully constructing around herself. Yet his efforts seemingly remained undeterred, even with her doubled efforts to keep all others out throughout this past year of hell. 

Aelin threw back the last of her drink. She needed to get away from him before he made a crack in her barrier. Only the gods know he’s come close before. And something deep, deep down screamed at her to let him do it.

But once he did crack her open, only to find cold, ugly darkness seeping out—what then? He’d inevitably discard her like everyone else. Because why would he want that? Why would anyone? 

She couldn’t bare it. Couldn’t risk the hope of maybe having him just to lose him and have her chest hallowed out once more. 

Aelin slid from her seat and threw a few bills onto the bar top.

“Hey, hey—Aelin.” Rowan reached for her arm.

She whipped towards him with a withering glare that could usually send anyone running. Rowan didn’t falter.

“Talk to me,” he implored. 

“Why do you even care?” She demanded. 

Still seated, Rowan tugged her into the space between his legs. A quiet sadness swirled with the flecks of deep green in his eyes. 

“I just… do.” 

Aelin’s heart felt crumpled and emotionally stripped. 

Home. She just wanted to go home and curl up in her bed. Wanted to be done with this day—this dreaded weekend. 

“You shouldn’t.” 

Her lips pressed into a firm line to keep from wobbling.  Her gaze lingered in the direction of their coworkers huddled together in a circular booth. Laughing and joking and clinking glasses. Rowan should be over there with them, not here attending to her mess. 

She averted her eyes upwards, blinking a few times to keep impending tears at bay. A calloused hand smoothed down her arm until he wrapped his hand around hers. He squeezed gently.

“What do you need?”

A single tear streaked her cheek. Rowan’s free hand gently wiped it away. He kept quiet, but she didn’t even know what to say. What did she need?

So many things, all seemingly out of reach. 

So often the silence was deafening and the loneliness gutting within the dark place she’s locked herself, behind the icy fortress wall. Numbed for so long, she’s forgotten what it feels like to live. 

The silence stretched between them before she finally rasped, “To feel something.”

Rowan traced a thumb along her cheek. “Then let me help you feel.”

His words hung between them, their implication glaring and heavy. Every nerve in her body roared for his touch, his kindness, his comfort. Him. 

Aelin’s denied herself of all of it for so long, from anyone. Let alone from this beautiful man who refuses to let her fade to the black nothingness constantly on the brink of consuming her whole. This man who has unknowingly taken hold of her beaten down heart, bit by bit. 

Just this once. 

Just this once she could allow herself to give in, to  want him. Just for tonight. 

Her voice barely a whisper above the din of the bar, “Yes.” 

His small answering smile so soft, so warm, it made her chest ache. 

~

Aelin toed off her heels before stepping past the entry way. Her eyes flitted around the apartment, tidy and warm. Her focus snagged momentarily on a bookshelf nestled against the far wall. The spines a variety of colors, sizes, and conditions of wear. She was inclined to step closer and nose through what kinds of books filled his shelves, to gain a small insight into his mind—

Rowan moving deeper into the living room caught her eye though, and she turned to watch him ease onto a plush sofa. He offered her one of his rare soft smiles, then reached a hand out. 

“C’mere.”

Aelin approached him slowly until she stood between his parted legs. He looked so good like that, splayed out lazily. Lap and warm smile more than inviting. Heat emanated from his large hands as he gently gripped her hips. She didn’t resist, allowing him to settle her astride his muscled thighs. 

Her form-fitted work skirt rucked up to her hips so her legs could accommodate his width. Deep green eyes devoured the newly exposed skin, tracing calloused hands up the soft flesh before hooking behind her to pull her impossibly closer. 

Aelin’s stomach curled and skin pricked with the intimacy of their position. Never imagined they would ever be this close—never allowed herself to.

Rowan ran a hand up her back and she arched gently into the touch, chest pressing into his. It’d been so long since she was last touched like this. Her body craved it. 

So did her heart.

She closed her eyes against that thought. 

“This is just sex.” 

Rowan hummed noncommittally. He brushed loose tendrils from her face and smoothed them behind her ear. Her chest tightened as she settled her gaze back on him. 

“I’m serious, Rowan,” she hedged. 

He nodded softly, running a thumb along her jawline, over her bottom lip. “Is that truly what you want?” his voice hushed.

Was it? No. At least she didn’t think so. But…

“It has to be,” she whispered, resolute. 

His eyes pierced through her, burned to her very soul. As if he could unearth all of her darkest thoughts and secrets and turn them to ash.

“Why?”

Because I am nothing. Worthless. And you should be running—away from this, away from me. 

She wanted to push him away, protect him from herself. Instead her fingers flexed in the soft silvery hair at his nape. The tightness in her chest splintered out as unwanted emotions and thoughts bubbled to the surface, a familiar numbing ache seeping into the hollow parts.

A slow, sad shake of her head. “I have nothing to give.”

Something crumpled behind those pretty green eyes. Then Rowan pulled her face closer, grazing his lips over hers. “I don’t want anything.” The featherlight touch of his lips as he spoke sent a chill up her spine. “Just you, Aelin.”

His words… the way her name sounded on his tongue—it fractured something deep within. And she was helpless to the sob that racked up through her body. No one has ever wanted her before, not for just her.

“Shhh,” Rowan soothed. “I’ve got you.” He gently wiped the salty streaks from her flushed cheeks. Ran soothing fingers through her long golden waves. Held her so close to stave off any fears that he’d let her go. “I’ve got you,” he repeated.

Aelin nuzzled into the crook of his neck, too far past the ability to feel embarrassed over her tears seeping into his shirt collar and skin. Rowan didn’t seem to care anyways. So she sunk into him—reveled in the strength and warmth of his arms wrapped tightly around her. Tentatively allowed herself to be comforted by his unyielding presence. 

It wasn’t until her breathing had steadied and the dampness on her cheeks nearly dried that she pulled back to find eyes open and searching, a gentle caress across her face. 

She stared back, in disbelief of this man and his kindness and his heart. Always so stoic and broody to the outside world… but for whatever reason she’d always had a special pass to the softer, gentler parts of him. Gods knew she’d done nothing to earn that trust of vulnerability.

But she was… thankful, anyways. And she wanted him to know. She could at least give him this. 

Aelin swallowed then placed a gentle hand along his jaw. “Rowan…” she rasped, voice not sounding like her own, hoarse with spent emotion. 

The rest of her gratitudes died on her tongue. She wasn’t any good at these kinds of things. Aelin resolved to showing him then.

His eyes didn’t leave hers as she shifted on his lap, tilting his head back so she could lean over him. Their breaths mingled in the space between them, then Aelin pressed her lips to his. Rowan didn’t hesitate in returning the kiss, slow and deep.

Her mother used to always say Aelin was born with wildfire in her heart. Burning bright and wild, yielding to nothing and no one. Always one to unapologetically blaze her own trail. And oh, how far Aelin has fallen from that little girl once with wildfire. Her heart has been cold and shrouded in darkness for so long, she didn’t remember what it felt like to burn.

Until now. As Rowan breathed flame back into her and it crackled through her blood with every touch and brush of lips. This single kiss fractured her very foundation and reforged her anew. 

A prolonged moan fell from her lips as Rowan’s hands ran down her body then back up her bare thighs, smoothing around to knead and cup her ass. Using the leverage, he ground her thinly cladded core against his straining arousal and devoured the little gasps and whimpers coaxed from her. 

Aelin broke away and pressed open mouthed kisses along his strong jawline as deft fingers worked the front buttons of his dress shirt, only pausing for him to yank hers overhead. The second it was off, her mouth and hands were back on him—touching, licking, tasting. 

Her bra was next to go and Rowan soaked in the sight with pupils blown wide. He almost looked crazed with want, and hell—maybe he was. She surely was. 

The corner of her mouth tugged into a small smirk before tangling her fingers into his hair and guiding him back to her in a messy kiss. Rowan licked into her mouth and greedily swallowed her moan when his fingers slipped beneath the hem of her underwear. And he was so good.

All coherent thoughts fell away. Leaving her with just the feel of him beneath her—of them, moving together.

“Rowan,” she panted, hips rolling against his very skilled fingers. 

Small hands flitted over broad shoulders, across the expanse of firm chest, over thick biceps, into silvery tendrils—unable to decide where to land. Entirely overwhelmed with an incessant need for him—for more. 

Finally her hands landed on his belt buckle, then the button and zipper of his slacks. Shimmying them and his boxers down just enough to free his cock. Her mouth went dry at the sight of him, jutting proud and  head glistening with his desire. The urge to wrap her mouth around him pulsed through her. But first—

Aelin rose on her knees to align herself above him. Rowan’s eyes widened slightly and gripped her hips to keep her from sinking down.

“Aelin… like this?”

His eyes darted over their still half-clothed bodies then back up to her face as if he were asking, Here? She was sure he had a perfectly fine bed somewhere but Aelin swore she was going to die from scorching need if she didn’t have him in the next five seconds.

She didn’t need romantic gestures and soft mattresses. Just to be filled with him, consumed by him.

Aelin nodded emphatically. “Please.” Desperation to feel something—to connect—threatened to swallow her whole.

A look passed through the green depths of his eyes and she knew he understood. Rowan pressed a kiss to her sternum. “Okay, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Tell me how you need it.”

“Hard.”

Mischief glinted in his eyes as he smirked up at her and her stomach flipped. “As you wish.”

Rowan’s mouth crashed against hers in a bruising kiss—demanding, claiming. His thumb hooked and pulled aside the dainty lace that still covered her core, and guided her down onto his cock. 

A throaty whimper fell from her. The way he stretched her open fell just on the side of painful, stealing the breath from her lungs.

“Fuuuck, Aelin,” he groaned. “So fucking tight.”

Before she could fully adjust to his size, Rowan snapped his hips and set into a punishing pace. And she was glad for it—eager to be ruined by him.

Aelin’s head fell back with a cry.

All she could do was hold on, nails digging into beautiful bronze tattooed skin, and lose herself to the burn building within her. Nothing else mattered outside this moment, outside of them and the way he made the flames flicker and dance in her soul.

Rowan wound long gold tresses around a hand and tugged to draw her head back, keeping the hold on her hair taught. Aelin moaned and arched just as he nipped at the exposed skin before licking up the length of her throat.

“Rowan, please,” she begged. Desperate for a release that dangled just out of reach.

Rowan latched on to her pulse point and pressed a thumb to her clit, the added sensations just what she needed to be sent hurtling over the edge with his name singed on her lips.

His breaths turned jagged while he shook with restraint. “Again,” he ground out. Molten pleasure sparked through her core in response to the command. 

Aelin rolled her hips into his, milking the drag of his swollen cock along her oversensitive inner walls. All the while his ministrations didn’t falter, thumb still pressing tight circles against her clit. The the pleasure sharp and bordering too much.

Her nails dug deeper into his heated skin, she wouldn’t be surprised if she drew blood and— 

O-oH, gods!

Rowan grunted as her body began contracting around him again, and a prolonged moan fell from her lips as she drowned once more in a blanketed wave of pleasure. He thrusted one final time before spilling deep into her and joining her in bliss.

Golden waves tumbled down her back as Rowan finally released his hold. He sagged against the sofa cushions, bringing Aelin with him, both of them panting and boneless.

Minutes ticked past, maybe hours. It didn’t really matter as she’d lost all concept of time. Only aware of the warm drag of his fingers up and down her back; of  the soft brush of his lips against her temple. 

Rowan shifted beneath her, slipping out, then effortlessly hauled them both up from the sofa. Aelin’s legs wrapped around him as he carried her deeper into the apartment. 

A mattress gave way at her back as Rowan gently lowered her to the bed. He looked her over for a moment with shining eyes and a soft smile before wordlessly removing her remaining garments, leaving her fully bare before him. 

With eyes glued to her lithe body sprawled out across his bed, Rowan groaned in appreciation while discarding the rest of his own clothes. 

Aelin sucked in a breath. 

He was glorious standing there in the nude—all corded muscle, bronze skin, and tattoos. 

Heat reignited in her core. 

Rowan eased onto the bed and crawled slowly up her body, kissing and nipping along the way. Aelin stretched beneath him and arched into his touch. His hand ran up along her ribcage, thumb brushing the  underside of her breast.

“Gods, Aelin, you’re beautiful.” His reverence washed over her with gentle warmth.

She smiled lazily. “I know.”

Rowan snorted, a broad grin stretching across his handsome face. “There you are,” he murmured. 

Yes, there she was. With the whisper of a flame finally flickering back to life in her heart. 

The smile remained until Rowan leaned down to capture her awaiting lips once more. 

--

Masterlist

#aelinweek #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin smut #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan whitethorn #throne of glass #throne of glass fic #rowan x aelin

[writtenonreceipts]

Rowaelin Month Day Three: Rowaelin as Teens @rowaelinscourt

This is a prologue of sorts, the rest of the fic will come closer to the holidays, hopefully—unfortunately my fic writing will be slowing down massively here in the next little bit.  But, I’ve had this idea on the brain for a year now, so here we are!  I’m hoping this’ll only be 3 parts total, depending on how part two goes…

Rowaelin Month Masterlist Main Masterlist

Warnings: mild (teenage) angst, references to parental death. 

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

Like Best Friends Do—Part One

It was December eighteenth and the first snowfall had finally come to Terrasen.

Usually, the snow was a perpetual problem for the city beginning in late October and not slowing down until mid-April, at least.  This year was different.  And Rowan didn’t know how he felt about that.

He’d never been one for change if he were being honest with himself.  Even at eighteen years old (his birthday only occurring a few weeks ago) Rowan had learned that change incited problems.  Problems led to conflict.  And conflict made way for misery.  He knew the path quite well and was not welcome to any sort of change.  Ever.

Which was why he sat in his beat-up Honda just outside of his best-friend’s house.  Tradition demanded it.

He wasn’t waiting long when a shape dashed across the sidewalk toward him.  With far too much energy and fervor, Aelin Galathynius threw open the passenger door.

“Sorry, sorry!” she said as she tossed a grocery bag across the console at him. “I know I’m late.”

Rowan caught the bag easily and shook his head. He couldn’t be mad, not at her.

Aelin stuck her head in the car and scowled.  She wore a ridiculous winter hat with ear flaps, her blonde hair in a wild mess of waves beneath it.   “I couldn’t find any marshmallows because I live with a bunch of heathens apparently.”

She then eased into the car taking care to balance two steaming thermoses in her hands.  With her blonde hair flying about her face and the pink tint to her nose and cheeks, she looked far more angelic than he knew she felt.  Though, Rowan wouldn’t say anything of course.  He couldn’t.

As Aelin settled the thermoses between her legs, she closed the car door and buckled up.  Then she grinned at him with that reckless abandon he was so accustomed to seeing.

“I am ready.”

For as long as Rowan could remember, he and Aelin had spent their Christmases looking at the lights.  At first, their parents would make a carpool even of it.  Holiday music blaring from the stereo, hot cocoa freshly made, and windows rolled down for the best view.  For the young, impressionable kid in the prime of childhood: it was magic.

Then of course, Rowan’s dad died.  That had taken some magic out of things.  He’d been twelve and an only child.  His mother, brilliant woman that she was, persevered.  She ran the small family farm with grace and dignity, never once thinking about letting it go.  She always insisted that change was just an opportunity to grow and she would grow right where she was, thank-you very much.

Still, Rowan had always hated change.

But even as Rowan struggled with grief over his dad—some things remained the same.

Ever since he’d gotten his license at the tick of his sixteenth birthday, he and Aelin often escaped on adventures of their own.  During the holidays it meant it was just him and Aelin going around to look at the lights.  It was always at her insistence and Rowan found it impossible to say no to her.  The music and cocoa remained even when their parents no longer took them out themselves.

“What is all this?” Rowan asked.  He poked at the plastic bag and sighed.  Sitting on top was a giant bag of chocolate.  Below he could see a baggie of baby carrots.  Just for him.  “Seriously?”

“Snacks!”

“I don’t like food in my car!” He knew it was a weak argument, the weakest of all arguments that could possibly be made.

She blinked at him with her big blue eyes and pouted.  The streetlamps filtered through the windows creating a halo around her.  It was impossible that one person could be so beautiful.  

“Please?  It’s Christmas!”

And Rowan, being in love with his best friend, sighed. “You’re insufferable.”

Aelin beamed at him and leaned across the center console to smack a kiss to his cheek. “I won’t make a mess, I promise.”

It was a lie and they both knew it.  Aelin wasn’t the best at remaining organized even when she did try her best.  To be honest, that combination was one of her most endearing attributes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rowan said, though he couldn’t help the small smile that escaped him.

He pulled the car out onto the road and headed down the street to the first neighborhood.  

They were seniors in high school and had spent the last two weeks busy with finals and essays.  This was going to be a fun, easy way for them to relax before Christmas.  And Rowan, knowing Aelin was also stressed out over basketball, wanted to make this the best round of Christmas lights possible.

He’d already done some scouting earlier in the week.  He didn’t care as much about the lights himself, but there was something about watching the joy and wonder on Aelin’s face that sent flutters to his gut and brought a smile to his lips.  

She always found joy in everything.  She was someone who wanted to see good, to be good.  He’d admired it about her for ages now and was on the list of reasons why he loved his best friend.

Not that he actually wrote anything on that list down.  He wasn’t an idiot, anyone could come across it.  But he kept a mental tally of all the things.

“How’s your mom?” Aelin asked as they drove.  She sipped her cocoa and hummed happily. “Is she making it through alright?”

“Yeah,” Rowan sighed. “Summer was a good season, so we’ve got hoards of lavender and honey stored up to sell, so she’s happy about that.”

The farm had a few acres of lavender plants and three beehives which kept them busy during the summer months.  Winter, however, was where the Whitethorn homestead made its money.  Starting in mid-November the farm turned into a certified Christmas Wonderland.  For the last fifty years it had been dedicated to growing Christmas trees.  Something Rowan did not understand, but his mother loved it.  Tradition.  And Rowan was not one to step on tradition.

“You know, it’s kinda funny that you hate Christmas as much as you do,” Aelin mused.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “I don’t hate Christmas. I hate snow.”

“Which is even more funny, you were born on the coldest day of November, Buzzard, you should be thriving in this weather,” Aelin reminded him, as she so loved to do.

There was no arguing with her so Rowan only rolled his eyes and kept driving.  His phone lit up with a text message but he ignored it.  For just a little bit, he wanted to remain in this moment with his best friend.  And maybe then it would imprint upon his mind for years to come.

“Oh, I love this song,” Aelin said suddenly.  She turned the volume on high as Michael Buble began singing one of his famous Christmas songs.  

“You say that about all the songs,” Rowan pointed out.

Aelin grinned at him. “Because it’s true.  All the songs are the best.”

Rowan couldn’t help but return the smile.  

As Aelin hummed along to the music, Rowan turned into the first neighborhood he’d found the other night.

Immediately, they were flooded with bright lights and inflatable machines.  Aelin squealed and rolled down her window so she could lean out and get closer.  She pointed everything out to Rowan as though he couldn’t already see it himself.

But he didn’t care.  Not as she was singing along and laughing as she was.

They continued for over an hour going to as many different neighborhoods as they could.  As it crept closer to ten and some houses began shutting off their lights, Rowan pulled them off in front of Aelin’s house, knowing that her dad would be watching for them.  Best friends or not, the man had firm rules of where his daughter was and who she was with.

“What happens next year?” Aelin asked as a Nat King Cole song came on.  She turned the volume down so it was a low rumble in the background.

“Next year?” Rowan frowned.  Why would next year be any different?

“I’m going to Adarlan, you're going to Doranelle,” she reminded him.

Rowan sighed.  He’d forgotten that.  Different colleges practically at opposite ends of the continent.

“We’ll figure something out,” he said with a shrug. 

Aelin sighed and hunkered down in her seat.  She held onto her thermos, though Rowan was certain she’d finished her cocoa ten minutes into their drive.

“I don’t know,” she murmured. “I don’t like it when things change so much.”

Rowan reached over and took her hand, twining their fingers together. “I know.”

“You’re my best friend, Rowan,” she said looking up at him.  There was panic in her eyes, Rowan could see.  It was strange seeing something so out of control in a gaze that was usually so calm and confident. “And I don’t want to lose you.”

Rowan’s chest gave a painful tug.  “Aelin--”

He cut himself off before he could say what he wanted.  Because really, he knew that he’d never be able to tell her how he really felt about her.  Though, maybe that was for the best.  After all, if it came to having Aelin in his life versus not--he’d always chose the first.  

His phone went off then with an incoming call before he had a chance to debate his inner thoughts further.  Before Rowan could reach for it, Aelin snatched the phone up.  They always shared their phones that it shouldn’t have been an issue.  But Rowan knew who was calling him.

“Cairn?” Aelin asked, looking up.  Her face was illuminated by the pale glow of the screen as the call continued to ring through and the dim green and red that bounced off from the lights on her house. “Why would he be calling you?”

Rowan turned away, out toward the street where snow was beginning to accumulate.  The truth burned like acid in the back of his throat.

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, “he needs help in history.”

“Finals ended last week.” Aelin practically threw his phone at him.  He could hear the displeasure dripping from her voice. “Seriously, Rowan?  He’s an asshole.  You can’t be friends with him.”

“We’re not!” Rowan dropped his hands from the car wheel and slouched in his seat. “C’mon Aelin, you know I don’t like the guy.”

“Then why’s he calling you?  You know what he and Erawan said about Elide, what Cairn tried with her.”  Aelin leaned back in her seat, simply staring at him.

“Which is why we’re not friends,” Rowan insisted.

The only reason Cairn was trying to call him was for something stupid, Rowan knew.  They played basketball together which supposedly curated comradery between them.  But Cairn wasn’t a nice kid.  They way he talked about the girls in their class and they had tried to spike Elide’s drink at a party a few weeks ago.  If Chaol Westfell hadn’t been the only sober one that night no one would have known…

But then Rowan had helped Cairn cheat on an exam so he could pass.  If he’d flunked, he wouldn’t have been able to play in the state finals…and…well.  Rowan never said he was a good person.

“Aelin,” he began.

But she was already throwing open the door, grabbing the empty thermoses and stuffing them into the now empty grocery bag.

“I gotta go, Rowan,” she said, not bothering to look at him.

“Aelin!” he yelled after her.  She slammed the door and trudged back up to her house.  

Rowan could only watch.  He waited until she was inside and he saw the shadow of her silhouette pass the front window, followed by the outline of Rhoe rising from the living couch.

Only then did he start up his car and drive away.

It wasn’t thirty seconds later when Cairn called him again.

“What do you want?” Rowan growled.

“Easy Whitethorn,” Cairn said on the other end.  He chuckled lowly and Rowan felt his hackles rise. “I just need a favor.”

“No.”

Another laugh followed by a shout from another person in the background.  Probably Erawan.

“What else are you doing tonight, Whitethorn?” Cairn asked. “Damn, boy.  You just wanna sit at home with your mama?”

The voice in the background spoke up louder. “Punkassbitch!”

Definitely Erawan.  Another, cruder, stream of expletives trailed after.

“It’s almost Christmas, man,” Rowan said.  He pulled his car over again, not wanting to drive and have this conversation.  His ma would kill him if he got into an accident. “So, yeah, I wanna be at home.”

“I’ll bring you a blankie to practice,” Cairn said.  Something clinked in the background; metal against metal that grated just a bit.  “You owe me.”

Rowan cursed to himself.  He wanted nothing more than to go back to Aelin’s, to pound on her door and beg her to let him in.

“Mr. Clark don’t like cheaters very much,” Cairn continued, “be a shame if someone told him what happened.”

“You’d be in as much trouble as me,” Rowan said.  He shut off the radio as his skin grew hot and panic began to swirl in his stomach.

“You wanna bet?”

It took too much effort for Rowan to ease his breathing.  Too much effort for him to calm down.  Hell.

“What do you want, Cairn?”

…

The warehouse seemed familiar to Rowan but he couldn’t quite place it.  They were in the cheaper side of the city, the side where everything was in disrepair and the video cameras were just for show.  The cops didn’t care what happened and the citizens knew their voices wouldn’t actually be heard.

Only recently a few local politicians had been making an effort of improving the area.  A few businesses had even tried moving in to give the lonely streets new life.

Hence the warehouse.

Why was it so familiar?

“Let’s go!” Cairn hissed.  He prodded Rowan sharply in the back.

They snuck down a shadowed alleyway around the back of the warehouse.  There was only one singular lamppost in the distance, but it kept flickering as though it would die at any moment.  Snow fell from the sky in lazy flurries, barely coating the ground.  The one time he would have actually been grateful for a snow storm.  Maybe that would have driven Cairn and Erawan back home.

Rowan gripped a flashlight in one hand and a pair of heavy bolt cutters in the others.  This was not going to end well.  He already knew it.  A chill swept through him in a mix of the actual cold weather and trepidation. 

Erawan led the way to a chain link fence, cutting along one of the poles and yanking the metal back.  Cairn ducked through the opening first, his own flashlight bobbing along.  The two had come prepared for this.  They’d planned it well too given how they moved.  Rowan was just a random extra body.  Someone to potentially blame this on if it all went sideways.

Erawan shoved him through the fence hole when he hesitated.

“Get off me,” Rowan hissed. 

“Then move!” Erawan snapped.  The stench of cigarettes and stale coffee wafted off of him.

Knowing better than to ignore the order, Rowan took off after Cairn.

“What’re we even doing?  You can’t think breaking into a warehouse is a good idea.” Rowan tightened his grip on his flashlight and wondered how much trouble he’d actually get in if he decided to whack Cairn over the head with the bolt cutters.  He was pretty sure he could out run Erawan if it came down to it.

Cairn didn’t answer, only led them to the side of the warehouse.  When Erawan reached them, he dropped the bag he was holding, it rattled with a messy noise of battered abuse.

“Just having fun.”

Which was how Rowan found himself gang tagging the side of a warehouse at one in the morning.  He shouldn’t have come, he knew.  The reality of the situation was beating relentlessly against the side of his skull with each pass he made of the green spray paint.  He should have told his mom what happened.  Should have gone to Coach Brullo who trusted him.  Should have—should have—

Erawan muttered under his breath as he spelled out a curse word in red paint, the c-u bleeding against the wall like a wound.  Cairn was practicing his anatomy skills and doing a terrible job.  And Rowan…Rowan just made splashes and slashes where he could.  That didn’t seem to offend the others, just as long as he did something.

“We should go,” he said after nearly half an hour.  A car drove by on the streets, slow and deliberate.  In the darkness he couldn’t tell the make or model and it only added to his panic.

While this side of the city was sketchy at best—people still talked and eventually the cops would show up.

Cairn scoffed and was about to say something—likely a mockery of Rowan’s want to get the hell out of there—when a burst of red and blue lights erupted across the street.

Rowan dropped the spray paint he was holding.  His mother was going to kill him.  He looked around, desperate for an escape while Cairn and Erawan were already halfway across the abandoned lot.  They didn’t get much further when a few uniformed officers flashed lights and their guns yelling for them to stop.

“On your knees!” One officer shouted.  It took Rowan a moment to realize the order was directed at him.  Coming up on his left was an officer, perfectly poised to take any necessary action.  

Falling to his knees, Rowan’s mind blanked out.  He did everything he was told to do, barely registering anything other than a muffled curse and an exclamation from one of the officers.

“They’re just kids.”

“Damn.  Just get ‘um cuffed.”

It wasn’t until Rowan was hauled to his feet that he managed to catch a look at the messy display of vandalism they’d created.  Only…Rowan finally latched onto the logo he’d noticed etched onto the metal door of the warehouse bay and his heart froze before his entire body seized up.  He knew that logo and he knew the name attached to it.

Galacorp.

Aelin’s father’s company.  That he’d just helped to vandalize.

“Let’s go kid,” the officer next to him said, guiding Rowan to his feet as he began to recite Rowan’s rights.

Rowan hardly listened.  Couldn’t.  Because in just the span of an hour his entire life turned over on its head.  He let the officer guide him to the police cruiser only tripping up when he caught sight of a familiar black SUV with tinted windows and sleek specially ordered rims.

Rhoe Galathynius leaned casually against the back of the car, arms crossed over his wool coat.  He watched Rowan closely with an unreadable expression.  And Rowan knew that nothing would ever be the same after this.

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

will reblog with tags. Please consider reblogging so others see it! <3

thanks for reading.

#rowaelin #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin month #throne of glass #tog

[tomtenadia]

"Our friends set us up under the mistletoe" (with firefighter Aelin would be amazing😍😍)

Thanks for the prompt!!!!!

Ok, so I wrote this tonight. I am not sure if it's any good but hey, it's cute Rowaelin (I hope).

Hope you will like it.

Word count: 1.2k

---

Station 5 loved the Solstice. Even when they were on shift they loved to have a huge celebration at the firehouse and Aelin, their captain, was the biggest fan. A few days before the longest night, she would drag the enormous box containing the decorations and, as soon as all the drills were over she would round up her team an decorate and they would decorate in-between calls. They had their traditions and they were followed like a religion. That year though, they were off as second shift was working the solstice shift and Fenrys, her lieutenant on engine, had organised a big party at his house. 

She was looking forward to it since Fen had the reputation of being a master at throwing parties and he was bragging that he had invited as many all the teams at the other five firehouses that were off shift for the day. Which meant only one thing: station 6 was going to be there and there was a change that the paramedics would be too. Knowing her luck Rowan, the PIC, would be there too.

Rowan Whitethorn, the senior paramedic at station 6 was her gigantic secret crush. They had met on calls and the man was hot. He was a good 1,90 of tanned muscles, with the most stunning arse she could imagine all adorned with a head of silver hair. But the most striking figure, butt aside, were his eyes. Rowan had the most beautiful pine green eyes. Hellas, the man was sex on two legs and she was a weak woman. Maybe he was on shift and she might be able to keep her dignity.

She really begged Mala that it was the case.

*

The solstice arrived and Fenrys’ house had been invaded by first responders eager to have a wild night and celebrate the winter holiday.

The blonde lieutenant stood on the table and called everyone to attention.

“You know that it’s not safe, right? And the paramedics in this house are off shift, so be careful Moon Moon.” Shouted Aelin, lifting her bottle of beer.

“Oh captain, my captain, thank you for your concern,” added the man winking “welcome all to this solstice party. Be happy, be merry and if you need it, the fire extinguishers are in the cupboard in the kitchen together with two first aid kits,” a deep grin “my parties are famous for turning wild.”

Two hours later Aelin had walked out on the porch with a mug of green tea. She enjoyed the occasional beer but her limit was two, her job had shown her what alcohol could do, plus she had to drive home. 

It was a chilly night and she huddled in her hoodie and sat on the chair on the porch. The sky was clear and the stars blanketed the dark sky. It was a beautiful night and she felt sad that she preferred spending it outside alone rather than inside with a crowd of unhinged adults.

She was enjoying the peace when a figure joined her on the porch. Aelin turned her head and froze when she spotted the distinctive figure of Rowan Whitethorn.

Why was he outside and not inside playing strip poker?

“Uh, sorry…” he muttered.

“It’s okay.” 

Rowan paused and leaned against the rail “too much madness inside?”

Aelin chuckled “I see them in various state of undress few days a week when I am at work and we are all sober. The drunk effect might be a bit too much.”

He was silent and she had the feeling she had said the wrong thing.

“Finished your beers already?”

“I don’t drink.” He added darkly.

Rowan was a colleague, all their past interactions had been purely work related. She knew nothing about him. 

“My parents died after their car got hit by a drunken driver when I was twelve.”

Aelin stood and walked at his side “Rowan, I am sorry.”

He leaned forward and this face turned up, staring at the sky “it’s the reason I became a paramedic. To help people like the ones who tried to save my parents.”

Without realising it, her hand brushed his arm “I am sure they are proud of you.”

“And you? Why tea?”

“Two beers, that’s my maximum.”

He nodded and gave her a weak chuckle.

Aelin smiled took another sip.

Screams came from inside the house and they both turned.

She walked back to the comfy bench and sat down pulling the blanket on her legs “What do you think happened?”

Rowan moved closer to the window and peeked inside “You don’t want to know.”

As long as nothing is on fire, I am happy.”

“Why firefighter?” He asked, turning towards her. His green eyes on her.

Aelin chuckled “because it’s the best job in the world?”

Rowan gave her a soft smile and she almost melted on the spot. The man was stunning and all she wanted to do was to run her hand through his long hair.

She stood and that’s when she noticed it.

Mistletoe hang from the ceiling. She moved quickly aside hoping to prevent Rowan from noticing it. She thought she was safe until the man lifted his head and he spotted the plant hanging. He was so tall that it was almost in his face.

“Uhm.” He said looking at her with a strange expression.

Aelin played dumb and tried to walk away, but his hand landed on her arm.

He pulled her closer “we can’t ignore traditions and displease the elves.”

She looked up at him and the smile he gave her almost left her breathless.

“Oh no, it would be very rude of us.”

Rowan stepped closer and his arm sneaked around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

Pine and snow. He smelled like winter and home and she basked in his scent. Her hand found the back of his neck and a moment later his lips were on hers.

The kiss was soft and tender to begin with and then something happened and it became more. He removed the little space that was between them  and Aelin placed her other hand on his heart.

She was kissing Rowan. 

Aelin arched her body into his when screams reached them and they both pulled apart.

“Oh my god!” Shouted Ansel.

“I told you!” Added Asterin.

“Ok guy it’s pay out time. Who had the solstice?” Shouted Fenrys while waving some bills in the air and dragging the crowd back inside.

Both Rowan and Aelin stood silent in front of each other, still reeling from the kiss.

“So that happened.”

“What, our friends betting on us kissing?”

Rowan smiled “no, the kiss,” he added softly “but yeah, the bet too.”

“I have a feeling that this is the only mistletoe in the house. Fen is a sneaky bastard and knows that we are not great fans of parties.”

He nodded “Oh yeah, that is something that he would definitely do.”

Rowan sat beside her and grabbed a corner of the blanket “I am not complaining, though.”

Aelin looked at him stunned then she moved forward and kissed him and a moment later Rowan responded to the kiss.

“Well, paramedic Whitethorn, I hope you enjoyed my rescue breaths.”

He kissed her gently again “I would stick to fighting fires, captain.”

Aelin hummed against his lips “You are welcome to set me on fire any time you want.”

They both paused and then burst out laughing.

“So Rowan,”Aelin stood and offered him her hand “aren’t you curious to see who won the bet?”

Rowan took her hand and walked back inside the house with her.

Inside, Aelin smiled at the elves and thanked them for making that solstice super special.

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#ask #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan #rowan whitethorn #throne of glass fanfiction #rowaelin

[golden-kingdom]

And the Season Feels New to Me Because You're Here - Part 2

Written for the 12 Days of Rowaelin: First Holiday Season Together (@rowaelinscourt)

Summary: A month before Christmas, rich hotel heiress Aelin Ashryver Galathynius is running away from her future after a fight with her father and hides at a resort in the Staghorn Mountains. When she has a ski accident and hits her head, she loses her memory and nobody knows who she is. Rowan Whitethorn is a widower who owns a small inn in town and father to 6-year-old Thalia. When, after much insistence from his daughter, Rowan offers Aelin a place to stay, the two have to spend time together against their will. Rowan cannot stand spoiled and self-centered Aelin, and Aelin hates how cold and guarded Rowan is. Thalia thinks it would take a Christmas miracle for them to finally get along.

Inspired by Falling for Christmas (2022)

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Some language

Note: This chapter was heavily inspired by the movie, but I promise the rest of the story will not be as similar.

Masterlist

Read it on AO3

Aelin woke up and stretched out. She reached for her phone on her bedside table like every morning. She opened her eyes to check the time, but realized she was holding a TV remote instead. What the hell? She looked around and didn’t recognize the room she was in. It was modest and simple, far from the luxury she usually preferred. She was laying in a double bed which was far too small for her taste. The sheets were a bit scratchy and the mattress was way too firm. Where was she? 

Then, it all came back to her. The accident, the hospital, the amnesia, Rowan and Thalia… She realized this wasn’t a bad dream; this was all real. She sat up in bed and put her face in her hands, sighing deeply. She stayed there for a few minutes, wallowing in self-pity. Then she forced herself to get up and get dressed. She picked the least ugly sweater out of the pile and found some pants that kind of fit her. She really needed new clothes she thought as she looked at herself in the mirror. She washed her face and brushed her hair, groaning about the lack of skincare and make up in the bathroom. She put her long golden hair in a high ponytail and figured this was the best she could do with what she had.

She checked the time on the clock and realized it was already 10:30am. She had slept more than twelve hours. Fortunately, her headache from yesterday was gone and she felt overall better physically. Her stomach grumbled. She left her room to look for Rowan.

She found him quickly. He was at the reception desk with two guests. She waited until he was done and walked over to him.

"Well, look who decided to show up. Did you sleep well?" he said as he noticed her.

"I would like to remember you I had a terrible accident yesterday and the doctor said rest would help me recover faster," she defended herself. "But if you really want to know, no, I didn’t sleep well. The bed is uncomfortable."

He mumbled something she couldn’t hear and gave her an annoyed look. He went back to working on his computer, ignoring her. She cleared her throat, trying to get his attention again.

"I’m hungry," she declared. "Could you make me breakfast?"

"Breakfast is served until 9:30am. I’m afraid you’re gonna have to make it yourself or wait until lunch," he replied, not even bothering to look up from the screen.

When he noticed she wasn’t moving, he remembered she didn’t know where the kitchen was.

"Come, I’ll show you where the kitchen is," he said as he left his desk and walked towards the back.

She followed him through a door that led to a room with a few tables made of wood covered with checkered tablecloths.

"This is the dining room," he explained.

Then he walked through another door to his right.

"And here’s the kitchen."

The kitchen was pretty small, but well furnished. There was a large opening in the wall, and you could see the dining room through it. They heard Thalia arrive and she sat at the bar in the dining room, across the kitchen counter. She didn’t have school today because of yesterday’s events, but she would have to go back tomorrow.

"Celaena!" she greeted Aelin with a big smile.

She smiled back and waved at the young girl. Then she went about making breakfast. If only she could figure out how to turn on this damn stove. She groaned.

"Here, that’s how you turn the stove on," explained Rowan, doing it for her.

She mumbled an embarrassed thank you. She went to the fridge and took out two eggs. She walked back to the stove and cracked them open in the pan. Although it was more like crashing them. Bits of the shell were mixed with the eggs.

"Have you ever even cooked eggs before? You’re destroying them," Rowan said, exasperated by her incompetence.

Aelin turned red. She felt like an idiot, and she was infuriated by his tone.

"Never mind, I’ll do it for you," he said as he took her place in front of the stove and removed the bits of shell from the pan. "Go sit with Thalia. Watch and learn."

Aelin left the kitchen and went on the other side to sit at the bar. She watched Rowan move around the kitchen with the skills of someone with years of practice. As the eggs cooked, he went to get bacon from the fridge. He put it in a frying pan on the stove. When everything was cooked, he served a plate and put it in front of Aelin. She looked down at the food and frowned.

"I don’t eat bacon," Aelin said.

"What? Bacon is so good!" Thalia exclaimed. "Have you tried it before?"

"I don’t know," Aelin admitted.

"How can you know you don’t like bacon if you don’t remember anything?" asked Rowan pointedly.

Thalia looked up at her with an expectant and encouraging look, so she took a bite and gave it a try. The girl was right, it was delicious.

"It’s delicious!" she said as she took another bite and then another. She hummed in contentment.

Thalia laughed good-naturedly and Rowan rolled his eyes.

"Were there any call asking for me this morning?" she asked as she was eating.

"I’m afraid not," he replied, feeling sorry for her all of the sudden.

"I don’t understand why no one is looking for me," she uttered in a sad voice.

"Were you able to remember anything?" Rowan asked.

"No, but the doctor said if I did normal things, my memory might come back."

"Well, we definitely could use some help around here," he said.

"Like what?" she inquired, unsure.

"Just simple chores around the lodge, nothing too difficult."

"Alright, I guess. If there’s a chance it can help me remember," she conceded.

…

They were standing in one of the guest rooms of the lodge. Rowan had told Aelin to follow him after she was done eating, and here they were, staring at an unmade bed.

"So, this should be simple enough. I want you to undo the bed and remake it," he explained as he handed her fresh sheets and pillowcases. "You think you can manage?"

"Of course, I can. I’m not a child," she said.

"Then I’ll leave you to it. Come find me when you’re done. I’ll be in the next room."

He left her to her own device, and she started undoing the bed. She had no memory of ever doing this, but the doctor said she should remember how to do normal things. When she had removed the dirty sheets and pillowcases, she put them in a pile on the floor. She grabbed the new fitted sheet and tried to figure out how she should go about putting it on the bed. She got onto the bed and pulled one corner of the sheet and tucked it under the bed. She went to grab the opposite corner of the sheet and pulled it, but the corner she had already tucked under the bed got undone. She groaned and tried again. And again. It wasn’t working. There had to be something wrong with this fitted sheet; it couldn’t be that hard. After another failed attempt, she let out a small scream of frustration.

Rowan appeared in the doorway to see what was happening and chuckled when he saw the state of the bed. She gave him an annoyed look.

"There’s something wrong with this sheet. It won’t stay put," she said.

He walked over to the bed and took the sheet from her. In a minute, he had tucked all four corners properly under the bed.

"Have you actually ever made a bed?" he asked her.

"I don’t think so…" she replied, embarrassed.

He sighed, but he gave her a small encouraging smile.

"Let’s try something else," he told her.

He left to grab some stuff to clean the bathroom in a closet and then came back. He motioned for her to follow him inside the bathroom adjacent to the room. She made a disgusted face but entered anyway.

"You can clean the sink and the shower with this product. This one is for the mirror. And this is to wash the toilet," he explained.

She made a note of his instructions in her head. He went back to what he was doing, and she was left alone in the bathroom. She took a deep breath and went to work.

Twenty minutes later, she was deep into cleaning the bathroom. Everything was going well so far. She only had the toilet left to clean. She pushed aside her revulsion for the task and grabbed what Rowan had told her was a toilet brush. She poured the cleaner inside and started scrubbing. She put the brush down the lip and into the drain to clean it, but it got stuck. She tried pulling it out, but it wasn’t budging. 

"Damn it."

She pulled on the brush with all her force and it finally came out, but apparently it broke something inside the toilet because water came gushing out, hitting her in the face. She stepped back in shock and screamed. There was water everywhere and the toilet was still spurting more. Rowan ran into the bathroom and looked at the scene with horror and shock.

"What the hell did you do?" he exclaimed, reaching for the valve to shut off the water. Water finally stopped gushing out. He looked around the bathroom that was now flooded in dismay.

"I’m so sorry," said Aelin, tears pooling in her eyes. "I didn’t mean to, I swear. The brush got stuck and I pulled hard and then water started spurting out of the toilet and I didn’t know what to do. I’m really sorry."

Rowan looked furious. She was expecting him to scream at her, but he breathed in and out, pinching the bridge of his nose, and said: "Just- just go take a shower and change your clothes, I’ll take it from there. And for the love of gods don’t touch anything else."

Aelin sniffled loudly and exited the bathroom, not looking back at the mess she had made.

She went back to her room, removed her wet clothes, and took a long warm shower to clean off everything. When she got out, she picked some new clothes and got dressed. She grabbed her dirty clothes and walked to where she knew was a laundry room. She put her clothes inside the machine, poured some detergent and closed the lid. She made sure to click on the right buttons.

She went back to her room to look for a hairdryer but couldn’t find any. She decided to ask Thalia, not wanting to bother Rowan any more. She went to the girl’s room and found her playing quietly with her dolls on her bed.

"Hey Thalia. Do you know where I could find a hairdryer?" Aelin asked.

Thalia looked up at her, a smile on her face as always.

"You can use the one daddy dries my hair with. Sharing is caring," replied the girl.

She hopped off the bed and led her to a bathroom that must be hers and Rowan’s. She pointed to a cabinet and Aelin found a hairdryer inside. She thanked Thalia, who went back into her room.

After she had dried her hair, she walked back into the child’s room. Thalia was still playing with her dolls.

"Are those the dolls you mentioned yesterday?" she asked her.

"Yes, this is Celaena. Look she has long blonde hair like you."

Thalia handed her one of the dolls and Aelin took it in her hands, examining the doll.

"She’s very pretty," she said with a smile as she gave it back to the girl.

"Thank you. Santa gave it to me last Christmas. He always knows exactly what I want. He’s smart."

Aelin chuckled at that.

"What did you ask for Christmas this year?" she asked Thalia.

"A puppy!" the young girl exclaimed.

"Well, that’s a big gift. But I hope Santa brings you what you want."

Aelin looked around the room. This was a young girl’s dream bedroom even though it was quite small. The walls were painted a light pink and the four-poster bed was covered with a fluffy duvet with fairies on it. There were tons of plush animals and dolls on display. She noticed a picture on the girl’s desk. It was a picture of Rowan holding a beautiful woman with brown hair and chestnut eyes in his arms. They seemed happy and in love.

"Is that your mom?" Aelin inquired.

Thalia nodded sadly.

"She died when I was born. I never met her."

"I’m sorry, Thalia," Aelin said, sitting down next to her on the bed.

"I wish I had known her… Daddy talks to me about her, but it’s not the same," she admitted. 

"I understand," Aelin replied genuinely, squeezing her small shoulder.

Thalia jumped off the bed and went to grab a hairbrush on her desk.

"Will you brush my hair, Celaena? I can’t do it because of my arm and daddy is busy."

"Yes, of course. Come here."

Thalia walked back to the bed and sat in front of Aelin. Aelin started brushing her brown hair softly, making sure to get every knot, but never to hurt her. She suddenly had a vision of a blonde woman doing the same to her when she was a child. Maybe it was just her imagination playing tricks on her, but it seemed real.

"I think… I think my mother used to brush my hair like this," she whispered to Thalia.

"You remember your mommy?" the young girl asked with wide eyes.

"I think so."

Aelin continued brushing Thalia’s hair, trying to hold on to the vague memory, but a scream brought her out of her daydream.

"THALIA!" shouted Rowan.

Aelin and the young girl quickly stopped what they were doing and made their way to where the voice was coming from. As they arrived in the laundry room’s doorway, they both noticed the room was covered in soap bubbles. Rowan looked like he was on the verge of a break down.

"I didn’t do this," said Thalia vehemently.

"It’s my fault," admitted Aelin. "I must have put too much detergent in it. I’m really sorry."

"This is the last thing I needed today," he said, exasperation clear in his voice. "You’re worse than a child; I can’t leave you alone two minutes without a disaster happening!"

Distraught, Aelin ran off the stairs and dashed outside the lodge. She was on the verge of tears again. It wasn’t enough that she couldn’t remember who she was. No, she also had to be useless. She couldn’t do anything right. She was a mess and an inconvenience. Tears fell down her face. She wiped them off furiously before they could freeze in the cold air.

She had come outside in a rush and hadn’t bothered putting on a coat. It was freezing. She rubbed her hands together and breathed on them to warm them up. She knew she should go back inside, but she couldn’t face Rowan. Not yet. She found an old wooden shed and went inside. She sat down in silence. She felt so alone and lost. Where was her family? Where were her friends? Surely, she must have some. Were they looking for her? She wished she knew who they were. The doctor had said her memories could come back at any time, but she was already losing hope. If memories made us who we are, who were you when you lost them all? Who was she now?

When she felt too cold to stay outside anymore, she walked back inside the lodge. There wasn’t anyone in the lobby. She didn’t risk waiting for Rowan to walk in and headed straight to her room. She got into her ugly granny nightgown and sat in front of the fireplace, trying to warm up. She would do better tomorrow, she told herself. 

…

The next day, she stayed locked up in her room all day. Eventually though, she started getting hungry. She peaked her head out of her room to see if anyone was around. Lucky for her, the corridor was empty. It was already late in the evening, and everyone would have been done eating dinner by now. She would just grab something in the kitchen and head back to her room.

But when she got to the kitchen, she found Rowan doing the dishes and cleaning up. He turned around and looked at her, a dish towel thrown over his shoulder. She couldn’t tell if he was still mad. He grabbed a plate of food and handed it to her.

"I saved you some. I thought you would be hungry," he said in a blank voice.

"Thank you," Aelin replied warily as she took the plate.

She sat down at the bar and ate in awkward silence while Rowan continued cleaning the dishes. When he was done, he looked at her.

"We need wood for the fireplaces. Do you think you could fetch some in the backyard? I would do it, but it snowed and I need to shovel to make a path of access to the door."

She swallowed her last bite before replying.

"Yeah, okay."

She could do this. She wouldn’t make any mistake or cause any accident this time. She would prove Rowan wrong. She stood up and went to her room to grab a winter coat Rowan had lent her. It was way too big for her, and she floated in it, but it was better than freezing her ass off.

It was dark outside, the backyard only illuminated by a few lights. She walked towards the place where wood logs were kept. She took as much of them as she could in her arms and made her way back. The ground was icy, so she walked slowly. She felt her foot slip, but she was able to get her balance back. She was close to the door when she slipped again, and this time, she landed hard on her butt. The logs went flying behind her and made a loud noise as they hit the ground.

Rowan came running up from where he was shoveling snow. When he saw her on the ice, he kneeled next to her. 

"Are you okay?" he asked, worried.

"Yeah, I’m alright," she replied, rubbing her butt and groaning.

She made to get up and grab the logs back, but he stopped her.

"I’ll get it. Can you walk?" he asked.

She didn’t reply, but she stood up and walked slowly to the door. He grabbed the logs on the ground and followed her inside.

"Are you sure you’re okay? Did you hurt yourself?" he asked again, putting the wood down next to the fireplace in the lounge.

"I scratched my hands and I will definitely have a bruise on my ass, but other than that, I’m good. Don’t worry."

"Let me take a look at your hands," he pleaded.

He motioned for her to sit down on the couch. She took a seat and he did the same. He took her hands in his and he examined them.

"You’re bleeding! Wait here. I’ll go get something to clean it up and bandage it."

He left and came back seconds later with a first aid kit. He pulled a rubbing alcohol bottle out of it and poured some on a cotton ball. He took her hands in his hands again. 

"It’ll hurt a little," he warned her before applying the soaked cotton ball on her scratches.

She hissed in pain, and he apologized. He cleaned the wounds thoroughly and then bandaged both her hands delicately.

"Here you go," he said when he was done.

She removed her hands from his as soon as he was done.

"Thank you, but you didn’t have to do this. I’m fine," she reiterated.

"You’ll thank me again when your hands heal appropriately and you don’t get an infection."

"Fussy buzzard," she murmured under her breath.

"What did you say?" he asked, perplexed.

"Nothing. Good night," she said as she got up and headed up the stairs to her room.

"Good night, Celaena."

Tag list:

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@rowanaelinn

@morganofthewildfire

@leiawritesstories

@fireheart-violet

Tell me if you want to be added or removed!

#12 days of rowaelin #my writing #and the season feels new to me because you're here #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin fic #rowaelin au #rowaelin fanfic #rowan and aelin #rowan x aelin #aelin galathynius #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan whitethorn #tog #tog fanfiction #tog au #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #sjmaas #sarah j maas

[julemmaes]

Like I'm Drowning

Rowaelin Month, Day Twelve

A/N: Sorry about this, blame @thewayshedreamed, she's the one who wanted more angst.

This will have a fourth part, for obvious reasons;)

part one, part two

Word count: 3,874

It was two days after Aelin had left their home. It was about eleven o'clock in the evening when the walls of what had once been his favourite place had shaken with the force of Lorcan's fists on the front door, shouting at Rowan to let him in.

He had not answered.

He couldn't have done so even if he'd wanted to because his legs had stopped working and the muscles in his neck had been reduced to jelly over the last forty-eight hours, sip after sip of whatever alcohol he'd found in the cabinet.

He lay on the floor, his face in a pool of his own vomit, too heedless to care, too sore to move. In any case, he had stopped smelling the stench hours ago.

Another ten minutes had passed, in which his best friend had threatened over and over again to call the police if he didn't open the fucking door, before Lorcan had slammed his shoulder into it.

He hadn't been able to move in time when the door unhinged from the wall fell partially on him, hitting him in the head with one of the now splintered edges. He grunted in pain and could smell the blood as it began to trickle down his forehead, onto his nose, and he was relieved - he wasn't dead. Rowan had not been sure of it until that moment.

The other was there an instant later, taking the door off him, leaning it against the wall.

And the sharp breath he took was a dagger straight to Rowan's heart.

He didn't want him to see him like this.

He had never heard Lorcan's voice like that. So shocked, so worried. Whatever emotions he was feeling at the moment were blocking him from approaching him. Almost as if he was afraid of scaring him. Of breaking him more than he already was.

Rowan shook his head what he could, he didn't want him to see him like this. He didn't deserve his help.

"God, Rowan, what have you done?"

The relief at finding out he was still alive lasted a moment though, as the pain in his chest hit him so hard it took his breath away and he pulled himself up onto all fours before yet another wave of gags shook his body. He opened his mouth, hoping that this time something would come out, but he choked on nothing. His eyes filled with tears and Rowan wondered how that was possible.

There should have been nothing in his body.

He’d been in this conditions since the day before.

He felt a hand settle on his back, rubbing up and down as Lorcan tried to figure out what was going on, and his brain betrayed him, showing him images of a life he had taken for granted all along, from the second she had been his.

Him on the bathroom floor a few months earlier.

A box of somewhat-too-spicy Chinese food on their coffee table.

And Aelin.

Her hands on his back.

He shook off Lorcan's hand, "Don't touch me."

The words burned his throat and another gag went up his esophagus.

He stayed in that position for a few minutes, his back rising and falling frantically with each breath where he seemed to be unable to get enough air in.

"Rowan."

He didn't look at him. He couldn't.

"Rowan, you hear me?"

Lorcan ducked down, crouching beside him, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder, but he seemed to remember what he'd just asked him not to do as soon as he gave him a startled look. If he touched him again, he didn't know what his broken mind would show him. He was terrified of it.

With a grimace, Lorcan clenched both hands into fists and took a deep breath, closing his eyes as the sour smell of vomit and what Rowan was ashamed to admit was his own piss reached his nostrils. When he opened them again there was a distinct determination in his gaze and Rowan had to pull his eyes back to the floor.

He thought he had found a sort of calm in which he might even be able to answer Lorcan's questions, but he was wrong. He was so wrong.

"What happened?”

“I feel-” he tried to speak, failing, “I feel like I’m drowing.”

“Why? What happened?” he asked again. And then the final hit, “Where's Aelin?"

There was no stopping the first sob. His vision went totally blurry, blackening everything in front of him until all he could see was the image of her, and his chest constricted to the point where breathing was no longer even an option. He fell to the side, against the wall, and there was no stopping the desperate crying that washed over him.

***

It was three days after Aelin had left their home. It was eight o'clock in the evening when Elide and Lorcan had asked him if he would like to go back there after leaving the hospital. It was twenty past eight when they had reached his street and he was counting down the seconds till he got to smell her perfume in the air again.

He had entered the house and tried not to breathe through his nose, realising he was not ready to remember what her scent was. He noticed how everything had been cleaned, tidied up or fixed and he didn't have the mental or physical trength to turn around, hug his friends and thank them.

He looked towards the kitchen, on the table. The letter was no longer there.

"Where is it?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

He hadn't spoken in the last few hours. Not to the couple he knew was staring at him from the doorway.

He'd been forced to answer questions from the doctors, from his coaches asking him how much time he needed. Lorcan had warned him that he'd lied for him, that he'd told them someone dear to them both had suffered a serious injury and died.

Rowan had looked at him and said a simple thank you while he lay on his hospital bed, despite knowing how much a fuckup of that magnitude risked not only his career, but Lorcan's as well.

It was Elide who had the courage to answer him, "What?"

"The letter."

"Oh." she whispered, "I put it in your room."

He nodded. Running a hand over his face he turned to them, noting how they both looked ready to launch themselves forward if they thought Rowan was going to crumble once more time.

He saw Lorcan clench his jaw and then look away before saying, "You won't find any alcohol, I threw away what was left."

Elide smiled at him with watery eyes, trying to change the subject as fast as possible, "If you need anything, you can always come to our place. You know that. We have-"

He interrupted her abruptly. He didn't look at her as he said in a harsh tone, "Thank you for everything, you can go now."

She took a sharp breath, nodding dryly and turning, hurrying out of the house. Lorcan followed her with his gaze the whole time, telling her he would join her in the car in a moment.

When he met Rowan's gaze again, the voice was the one he'd used all the years in high school when he'd been his captain. It gave no room for argument.

"I don't know what you're going through. I don't even want to begin to think about how painful it is to lose someone so important."

She didn’t die, he wanted to say. She left me.

I gave up on her. I don’t deserve her.

The steel mask Rowan was wearing seemed to be already starting to crack. He needed Lorcan to leave before he couldn't control his emotions.

He had already done too much for him.

He didn't deserve any of what they were offering him. He didn’t deserve anything.

"I can hardly imagine what I would do if I were in your position. If Elide-" he paused, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry, for what's happening. It's not easy, I understand, but whatever you're doing right now, it's not the solution. Treating me and Elide like this isn't going to drive us away, and before you tell me you don't need anything, let me just say that finding you lying in a pool of your own vomit completely hammered, out of your mind was one of the most horrifying things I've ever had to see." he took a step forward, placing a hand on Rowan's shoulder.

He had the instinct to pull away, but the grip on his jacket tightened, pinning him in place.

"I'm not letting you go, okay? I'm not going to let you throw away your career like this," he told him, looking him straight in the eye. "I'm not going to lecture you about what happened the other day. I know I would have done a lot worse, but you have to promise me that it won't happen again."

Lorcan's voice faltered at last and Rowan was surprised to see his eyes glaze over.

He nodded, his mouth slightly open, shocked at his friend's reaction.

"Promise me."

He hurried to whisper, "I promise."

Lorcan nodded, pulling Rowan to him and hugging him. He closed his eyes as the man in front of him held him together without even realising.

When they pulled away, they pretended not to hear the way they were sniffing, or the tears on both men's cheeks. They said a simple goodbye and then Rowan was alone.

Again.

He climbed the stairs slowly, walking like a dead man down the corridor filled with memories of him carrying Aelin in his arms on that very floor, and when he reached the door to their room, he hesitated.

He brushed against the knob, gripping it in his hand.

He stared at the wood in front of him and felt panic assail him.

Rowan turned on his heel, running for the stairs, the exit, hoping that Lorcan had not already left.

He threw open the door of the ghost-filled house and ran out, intent on never returning.

***

It was two weeks after Aelin left their home. Eleven days since he'd run away in a panic. Ten days since Lorcan had convinced Rowan to go back there, at least to pack up his things.

Nine days since Rowan had destroyed their room, screaming and sobbing as he tore the curtains from the windows and threw what little of her he had left against the wall.

Every ornament, every picture frame.

He'd screamed at Lorcan when he'd tried to stop it.

He hadn't succeeded. Rowan had razed their home to the ground, shattering every happy memory they had created over the years in those four walls.

Only when he'd found Aelin's ring had he stopped, bursting into tears so loud that the first sob had startled Lorcan, holding the small object to his chest.

They had gone back to Lorcan’s, and Elide had stood there looking at him with wide eyes, before running to get the first aid kit to clean the wounds Rowan had caused himself. More or less deep cuts, which his friends said should have been stitched up by actual doctors, but Rowan doubted they wouldn't lock him up in the psychiatric ward if he went to the emergency room for the sixth time in such a short time.

Especially if he came in with shards of glass between his fingers.

He hadn't kept his promise to Lorcan.

He'd drank again. He'd gotten into a couple of fights. He hadn't been back to the rink.

He hadn't skated in a fortnight. Longest period of his life off the ice.

But he couldn't do it.

He couldn't do anything. And it was all his fault.

***

It was three months and one day after Aelin had left their home. He had called Lysandra every day since Lorcan had forced him out of his and Elide's house, finding him a place right outside their team's arena. The woman had never given him any real answers, only reassuring him that Aelin was fine and that he should start moving on, too.

That too had broken something inside of him. The implications that Aelin had found someone else.

He couldn’t even bare being in the same room as another woman knowing they’d all be looking at him trying to get in his pants.

Aelin had always been the only one who wanted him for who he truly was, not his money. Not his status.

She had wished all those things gone so many times.

And she had left him.

He had let her go.

The team had sent a physiotherapist to his house every day for the first month, and then every week, accompanied by a shrink. Rowan had managed to drain them all. One after the other.

He was sure Lorcan had lost all hope too, but he continued undaunted to help him, going to his house every day after practice, without ever missing one day.

Rowan knew that Aelin had called him one night, almost a month before. Lorcan had told him, how she had begged him to tell her that he was alright, even though it wasn't true. His friend had also told him that she'd seemed to be drunk, and when she had hung up and both he and Elide had tried to call her back, Aelin had blocked their numbers.

From what he knew, she'd only unblocked Elide's, but she hadn't given him any kind of information about Aelin and he knew she'd never say anything.

He had hurt her - Elide. Rowan knew he'd treated her like little more than trash, both her and Lorcan, but however much he'd hurt her, it didn't seem to bother him in the slightest.

He should have felt something for his friends who had given him everything in the last period, but Rowan could not care less than what they had to go through for him.

Now he was waiting for Lorcan, sitting at the table, to show him he was alright. Putting on his daily show and reassuring his friend that everything was going great, he just wasn't ready to skate again yet. The other one would look at him, yell at him a few minutes before walking out of his miserably empty flat slamming the door.

Rowan was just waiting for the day when he wouldn't show up or when he would tell him he wasn't coming, saying goodbye one last time.

He knew it would happen, one way or another, and Rowan didn't know how to stop the mess that had become his life.

That day it wasn't Lorcan who entered his house, but someone else. Rowan opened the door and saw his agent, his team president, and his coaches, along with the athletic trainers.

They had given him an ultimatum.

Either you go back to slacking off after Christmas break or we break your contract, you're off the team and you lose lots of money.

The president had been particularly emphatic on the subject of money, but for Rowan that would be the least important thing.

It wasn't until the evening after New Year's Eve that he had made a decision.

Lysandra, whom he hadn't seen in person in more than two months, had entered his house looking like someone who hadn't slept in years. She had forced him out of bed, shouting at him to wash up, to clean his house. She had made it so Rowan couldn't talk back, never letting him speak, pushing him left and right.

She had taken him outside, something he hadn't done in weeks, so much so that the sun had hurt his eyes for the first two hours. She had forced him to buy new clothes and all the missing furniture in his house.

She had stayed with him for three days.

Three extremely long days in which she had swore at him, insulted him in every possible way imaginable by the human mind. They'd nearly come to blows when she'd touched a sore spot and Rowan had threatened to call Aedion to haul her away.

She'd dragged him to the party Fenrys had thrown for the New Year and for the first time in months, Rowan had smiled.

Elide had started crying when she'd seen him, Lorcan on the verge of tears as well. They had both hugged him and Rowan had begged for their forgiveness.

That night, Rowan thought things would be different for him for the first time.

He'd been wrong.

Again.

***

It was four years and twenty-seven days after Aelin had left their home. Four years since he had received no news of her. Three years since he stopped asking.

Rowan had been zapping through channels for so many hours now that the glaring light of the TV didn't even bother him anymore. His eyes were slightly glazed over as he stared at the screen, not really looking at the images in front of him. He caught a glimpse of a sentence here and there, ignoring the constant tinkle coming from his phone that warned him that Lorcan still didn't give up on talking to him every day from the moment he woke up to the moment he went to sleep. Even when he was on holiday with his now wife.

They had won yet another cup. The third win in a row.

Sometimes Rowan could hardly believe it.

Three Stanley Cups.

On his dream team.

He should have been excited. No, not excited.

He should have been the happiest man on earth. He should have been out celebrating with his teammates, vacationing on a tropical beach like Lorcan was doing, surrounding himself with girls ready to offer him anything to spend even just one night with him.

But Rowan didn't want to.

Rowan felt nothing – he had not felt anything in the last few years of his life. How did he expect to start now? For a measly win.

He hated hockey. He hated the sport. Hated the fans, his teammates.

He hated his life.

He was about to turn off the TV, confident that he would be able to sleep tonight without the help of the meds the team kept giving him to keep him from collapsing during the games, when his finger froze on the remote.

He didn't know what he was watching, but it seemed to be a channel about gossip, and Rowan felt a pang of anger well up in his chest. It seemed to be the only emotion he still felt from time to time.

Shocked and pissed that someone had felt the need to devote an entire channel to minding other people's business, he stood up, ready to pass out in his cold bed, when the words of the man on the screen stopped him in his tracks.

"And now to the latest news, straight from the social of the Toronto Maple Leafs' rookie player, Chaol Westfall, who has announced his marriage to the stunningly beautiful girlfriend, Aelin Galathynius. She has never been very active on social media, in fact, for somebody with such a charm, she'd be perfect in the role of influencer, but-"

Rowan stopped hearing.

He felt his body's reaction in time, and rushing to the kitchen, he managed to get everything his body was rejecting in the sink. He heaved in there till the last bit of what he’d eaten a few hours ago.

His heart was racing and he had to grip the counter to keep from kneeling on the floor.

That couldn’t be true.

Aelin was getting married.

Aelin was getting married to an hockey player.

The anger blinded him as her words flashed before his eyes.

I can’t do this anymore.

I’m weak. I’m so tired.

This isn’t the life I wanted for us.

I wish I could be your “’till death do us apart”, but I can’t.

The sound that came out of him was not human as he ran to his room and snatched the ring from the drawer next to his bed, the letter that just went wherever he went and raced out of the flat that never felt his own anyway.

***

It was four years and thirty days after Aelin had left their home.

Rowan stood in front of the journalists. Everyone was gaping at him, his teammates on the sidelines were looking his way as if he’d grown three heads.

And he couldn’t blame them, but he had needed to do this a long time ago.

He’d talked to his agents, the team’s president, everyone he had needed to to make this happen and he hadn’t felt such freedom in so long.

The questions just kept on coming and coming and he couldn’t distinguish the words. But he didn’t care.

He only needed to make this statement in front of everyone.

“I’m aware that leaving this team right now is a foolish and completely insane idea, but this world has taken too much from me already. My contract with the Senators ended with this season and I know everyone was expecting me to say which team I’m heading off to, but I’m quitting.

“I should have done this a long time ago and I’m sure the person this is for won’t even see this interview, but I love someone who thought she wasn’t enough for me. She told me four years ago her love wasn’t enough. I’m leaving cause hockey has not been a source of happiness in a very long time and it ruined everything good I ever had.

“I thought I loved playing cause of the adrenaline. The pride in a win. The chills when you score. But no, it wasn't that.”

I loved seeing her smile whenever I scored for her. The way she used to put medications on my wounds and bruises whenever I got hit too hard. Or the way we used to get all cuddled up after a long flight, after weeks of not seeing each other. I loved how my jerseys fit her – the way my clothes fit her.

He turned to his teammates, the people he owned a lot but couldn’t bring himself to care enough of to stay with them, “Being on this team would only make it worse. I’m sorry guys, I hope you can understand. This isn’t what I want right now.”

And right before he could get off the stage that had been set up for him, someone screamed from the crown.

“What are you going to do now?”

He didn’t stop to reply, avoiding everyone’s gazes and keeping on walking until he reached the exit of the arena. The chill air hit him hard as he went out on the street and got on the car.

This was the last time he’d be able to use one of the team’s cars.

The driver looked at him in the mirror, “Where to?”

“The airport, please.”

The man nodded and started the engine and Rowan felt something he hadn’t felt in years.

Hope.

Now, I’m going to get her.

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#rowaelinmonth #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #lorcan salvaterre #rowaelin month day twelve #angst #tog #throne of glass

[lemonade-coolattas]

glitter

rowaelin month (!!!!!) day 1, prompt: “I just realized I’m desperately in love with you.”

modern au, very heavily inspired by taylor swift’s “new year’s day”

wordcount: ~3.9k

tw: language

It’s an hour till midnight, and the hostess of the party is nowhere to be found. 

Nobody seems to notice, though, with the alcohol flowing and music blaring.

No one except Rowan.

“Hey, man.” He ducks into the kitchen area of the hotel suite that Aelin had rented for the night. He finds Lysandra leaning against the fridge with one leg propped up, and Aedion has one hand wrapped around her waist, the other braced on the fridge above her head. 

Considering he and Aelin have had a bet going for months, years on how long it would take Aedion to make a move, Rowan’s loathe to interrupt whatever they have going on, but he’s also been looking for the golden-haired man’s cousin for ten minutes with no luck. 

“Have you seen Aelin?”

Aedion doesn’t peel his eyes from Lysandra as he answers. “You know, I kinda miss when you two hated each other. Now whenever I hang out with either of you it’s ‘Rowan this’ or ‘Aelin that.’”

Lysandra pretends to pout up at Aedion. “Poor baby. You’re just mad that your cousin stole your best friend for herself.” 

Aedion scowls down at her, and there’s a beat where they just stare at each other while Rowan shifts back and forth on his feet, praying that the Aelin will somehow miraculously sense his discomfort and come rescue him.

No such luck. 

It’s their friend group’s yearly tradition, renting out a block of rooms at the downtown hotel for New Year’s Eve, and Aelin, who insists getting on the biggest and most lavish room of the lot, always hosts.

Usually, he can find his best friend at the center of it all, her laugh recognizable from any corner of the suite as she takes shots with Fenrys, or challenges Lorcan to a game of beer pong that he’ll inevitably lose, or sets up a makeshift photobooth with Elide. And at midnight, she’ll be the loudest person counting down and screaming when the clock strikes twelve. 

Not this year. 

This year, even before disappearing, she was distant, her smiles coming a beat too late, her shoulders slumped when she thought no one was looking. Even in the taxi on the way over, she was quiet, not even noticing when he squeezed her hand to announce their arrival. And now, she’s gone. He’s checked the bathroom, the living room, the balcony, the pong table, under the pong table (three years ago things got a little out of hand), and he’s about the venture into the hallway when Lysandra finally remembers he exists and chirps, “I thought I saw her head into the bedroom.”

He nods in thanks, darting out of there as quickly as possible, cursing himself for not thinking of it himself. 

He strides across the living room, dodging a tipsy Elide and an absolutely shitfaced Dorian until he reaches the bedroom door, knocking once before opening it and slipping inside.

In the room, all the lights are off, but the curtains are open, letting in light from the streetlight outside that is just enough to illuminate the figure perched at the edge of the bed who’s clutching her knees to the chest.  

“Aelin?”

She straightens and wipes at her eyes, and when he realizes she’s crying, he locks the door behind him and crosses the room, kneeling at the foot of the bed in front of her. 

She bites her lip. “Hey, Rowan.” 

He braces his hands on either side of her on the bed, not touching, but close enough for her to reach out if she needs to. 

“What’s wrong, Aelin?”

She juts her chin, stubborn to the end. “Nothing.”

He pins her with a look and waits. 

When she cracks under his stare, she laughs, and it sounds like it hurts her on the way out. She brushes her eyes with the back of her hands and plasters a wobbly smile on her face. “I’m fine. Just a sappy drunk, you know me.”  

And he does, he does know her, which is how he knows that not only is she only a sappy drunk when she’s drinking wine, but that’s she’s been nursing the same beer all night, so she’s not drunk at all.

So it’s something else, then, but he also knows not to push her. 

He just wishes she knew that she doesn’t have to pretend in front of him, wishes she would let him shoulder it. Whether it’s sappy or messy or angry, he’ll take it. And he knows she has her issues, just like he has is, but he doesn’t care—he just wants it all, wants everything she’ll give to him. 

What else are best friends for?

He can’t place the sour taste in his mouth at that thought, so he ignores it. 

“It’s just…” Her shoulders slump, like she’s just lost some internal battle with herself. “It’s been a really rough year.” The words are barely more than a scraping whisper, and her voice wobbles halfway through, so far from the fierce woman he knows, who’s passion and fire burns so bright, and his heart breaks, because he knows how hard of a year it’s been for her, and he should’ve thought of it, should have realized that maybe she’d have mixed feelings about celebrating the year when it had brought nothing but hardship for her.

First, her parents had passed unexpectedly in a car crash in the spring. And when she had finally put her self back out there after Sam had left three years ago, things with her and Chaol had ended in an absolute shitshow. 

“I know,” he says, instead of I’m sorry, because she doesn’t want his pity. “I know.” 

She nods, like it’s what she needed to hear. 

“I’m…” She coughs, turquoise eyes still red-rimmed, and he knows whatever she’s going to say next is important, so he leans in, so she doesn’t have to say it too loudly. “I’m grateful you were there for it all, though.”

Something flutters in his chest at the words. Of course, he wants to tell her. Of course I was there.

And then another thought, quiet, but just as persistent. 

I always will be, because I am desperately in love with you. 

The realization should scare him shitless, should strike him like lightning and render him speechless. 

Instead, it just makes sense. Instead, it blooms in his chest, unfurling slowly until it wraps around him like a second skin that’s always been there. It’s a truth so fundamental and familiar to the core of who he is that he can’t believe he didn’t realize it earlier. 

My name is Rowan. 

My eyes are green.

I am in love with you. 

But he can’t put that on her, not yet, so he just nods his head, letting his fingers brush against the outside of her legs, rubbing soothing circles in the silky fabric of her dress. A little of the tension seems to drain from her shoulders, and she relaxes into his touch. 

“Hey,” he whispers, a smile creeping across his face, which she eyes in suspicion. “How bout I go steal the last of the chocolate-covered strawberries, then we can watch Netflix?”

She brightens. “Only if it’s the Bachelor.” He rolls his eyes, but pushes to his feet nonetheless.

Twenty minutes later, he finds himself curled up on the bed with her under his arm, his hand on her chest, a Bachelor rerun playing in the background. He’s not paying attention though, too busy relishing the feeling of her next to him, pressed against his side.

“Hey,” she says again, softly, breaking the silence. 

“Mhmm?” He looks down at her. 

She smiles, and it’s genuine and bright, and some of that fierceness is back in her eyes, and his relief is so palpable he could cry. “Thank you.” 

He leans down to kiss her forehead, even if his heart kicks at her nearness. “Anytime.” When he pulls back, he just stares at her for a second, taking her in, and he wonders how he could ever be so stupid to think that he didn’t love her as more than a friend. 

The hollers and cheers from the next room over snap him back to reality. Somehow, in their discussion and the show that followed, they had missed the countdown.

It’s midnight. 

Aelin says as much. 

“Happy New Year, Fireheart,” he murmurs. 

“Happy New Year, Buzzard.” He cracks a smile at the nickname she gave him all those years ago, when they couldn’t stand each other. 

It’s then he realizes how close they’re sitting, his arm still wrapped around her, her fingers still knotted in the fabric of his t-shirt.

She realizes it, too, and her gaze darts to his lips.

Rowan is suddenly aware of every single place they’re pressed together, aware of the warmth of her bleeding like ink through his t-shirt.

Then, she leans forward and kisses him. 

He freezes. 

It’s nothing more than a light brush of her lips on his, but he still freezes. 

She feels him tense and yanks back from him as if burned. Panic, then absolute terror, flares on her face at his stunned expression, and she slides further back. His heart is beating an unsteady rhythm in his ears. 

“Oh, gods, I’m so sorry—”

He doesn’t let her finish, surging forward to capture her lips with his own. It takes a few seconds, but then she melts against him, hands tentatively reaching up to run her fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at the scalp, and the sound he makes in the back of his throat escapes without his permission. It’s careful at first, gentle, but then she runs her tongue along the seam of his lips, once, twice, until he opens for her, and it turns heated, teeth and tongues and it’s everything and he thought he wanted her before, but it’s nothing compared to now. 

It’s midnight, and he’s kissing Aelin, and he can think of no better way he’d want to start the new year. 

*

When Aelin wakes, Rowan’s arm is slung across her waist and his breath is steady on the back of her neck. 

She’s also wearing Rowan’s t-shirt, and his chest is bare. 

They hadn’t done anything besides making out and some heavy petting before they had both dozed off, but she hadn’t wanted to go to bed in her dress and risk wrinkles, so he had lent her his shirt, rolling his eyes as he pulled it over his head, like he knew she was just trying to get him shirtless, which she totally was. At one point, she had reached for the waistband of his jeans, and he grabbed her wrists to stop her, pressing his mouth to her ear to murmur, ever so eloquently, that when he fucked her, it wouldn’t be in a room where their dumbasses of friends were only next door.

She had squeezed her thighs together at that, and judging from his smirk, he knew it, too. 

The memory causes her cheeks to heat even now, and she wants to hold it close, lock it somewhere in her chest where it can never be tainted, where it can stay shiny and washed in the warm light from the streetlights filtered through gauzy curtains.  

She smiles, and allows herself exactly three more heartbeats to bask in the warmth of it all before the panic sets in.

Because holy shit.

She scrambles out of bed as gingerly as she can, careful not to wake him, and darts into the living room. There, she’s too busy trying not to hyperventilate to realize the disastrous state their friends had left the rest of the suite in. 

Kissing him had been perfect in the moment, serene, the most alive she’s felt in a long, long time, and she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t imagined doing it before. 

But once they leave their little bubble of a hotel room and the real world crashes back in, it’ll change, and he’ll realize what a mistake it was, and he’ll leave, like everyone else has left, one way or the other, and she doesn’t know why she did it and she also doesn’t know what to do. 

Almost absentmindedly, her feet take her to the kitchen, where she finds a roll of trash bags in one of the cabinets. She stumbles to the sliding glass door leading out to the balcony, where there’s streamers and a feather boa of all things draped along the railing. She tears them down, letting her body take over so her mind can go blank as she cleans the small area, before going back inside and beginning to clean the sitting area.

As she works, she finds a polaroid of Fenrys and Lorcan—taken by Elide, no doubt—where Fenrys is sprawled on Lorcan’s lap while Lorcan tries (and fails) to look pissed off about it. From their slightly glazed expressions in the photo, there’s no way that either them remember this. She can’t help but smile, and tucks it in her bra, for safekeeping.

(Or blackmail.)

She moves to the pong table, pinching empty beer cans and wrinkling her nose at the way her bare feet stick to the hardwood as she tosses trash in the bag. 

She frowns at the clumps glitter splattered on the carpet near the loveseat, but she’ll figure it out, might even welcome the task, anything to keep her mind off how royally she had fucked up her relationship with her best friend. 

She���s walking towards the kitchen when she hears movement from the bedroom, and she pauses. There’s the padding of the footsteps that stop in the entry to the living room, and she bites her lip, keeping her back to him. 

There’s no telling how he’ll react now, when last night, everything was glittering, edges gilded in silver and gold in the hazy light of a hotel room at midnight, when the space between them was warm from shared confessions and everything was sweet like chocolate. In the morning light, all the cracks she has so desperately tried to patch together are visible, and she knows he saw some of them last night, but who’s to say he’ll want them now that he’s had a chance to think about it? She waits for him to stumble back to his room down the hall, or for him to transform into a stranger before her very eyes, which might be worse, when he decides to tell her that last night was a mistake, that their friendship has been nice, but anything more than that isn’t worth it, that she isn’t worth it. She knows that neither of them were drunk enough to pretend that the alcohol had lowered their inhibitions, so there’s no way around it, no way this will end well.  

Stupid.

She can feel him watching her, waiting for her to look at him, to say something, so she forces herself back into motion, carefully keeping herself turned away from him as she continues to pick up streamers and plastic champagne flutes and shove them into the trash bag. 

Maybe he reads the tightness of her shoulders, the rigid line of her spine, because he sighs, and this is it, this is where he leaves—

She hears rustling near the couch, on the opposite side of the room from the door, and she whips toward him to find him still shirtless, silver hair disheveled, on his hands and knees, grabbing several plastic cups that had rolled under there sometime last night. He stacks them before standing and carrying them over to where she’s still standing, frozen, and drops them into the bag without saying a word, then retreats back to a different corner of the room to clean there.

She releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

They work like that for what might be minutes, might be hours, him picking up discarded bottles and scraping candlewax from the hardwood while she holds the trash bag open for him. He chuckles once when he finds another discarded polaroid, this one of Manon and Aedion, the white-haired woman on her cousin’s shoulders for gods-know what reason, but that’s the only sound either of them make until they finish scouring every inch of the living room, and the bathroom, and the kitchen, until the entire suite looks cleaner than it was when they arrived. 

It’s then she takes a step back from him, tying off the handles of the trash bag, and heads toward the door to bring it to the disposal down the hall. He’s watching her again, and she can sense him working up the nerve to say something, and she quickens her pace, hoping she can get into the hallway before he figures out what he wants to say—

He clears his throat. “Aelin.” His voice is rough, scratchy, and she wishes it didn’t cause heat to coil low in her gut, and gods damn her, but she pauses feet from the door and closes her eyes. 

He crosses the room to her, reaches for the trash bag and gently detangles it from her fingers before setting it aside, then places his hands on her shoulders to turn her to face him.

“Aelin,” he says again, dropping his hands to his sides, and where he touched burns like a brand under the thin fabric of his t-shirt. 

She keeps her eyes closed, still unable to look at him. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

He sighs, and she thinks she might be a masochist, because she opens her eyes at the sound to peek up at him.

He’s focusing on a spot above her head, face carefully blank, and that’s exactly what she was afraid of—that she wouldn’t be able to read him when his face is often as familiar to her as her own. 

The silence between them stretches a beat too long, and she’s getting ready to bite the bullet and tell him she’s sorry, lie and brush it off and say that it was a mistake, to save some semblance of her pride, when—

“Do you regret last night?”

She stares at him. He think she regrets last night?

At her lack response, he starts rambling. “Because if you do, I understand, and I’m sorry. I know you were in a vulnerable place, and I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that, and—”

She cuts him off. “Rowan.”

He snaps his mouth shut, still refusing to meet her eyes. The few inches between them feel like miles as he works his jaw. 

“Do you think that I kissed you just because I was lonely? Because I was sad?”

Part of her still isn’t really sure why she kissed him herself, just knew that in the moment she had to, or she might’ve died, but she knows for sure it’s not because she was sad. 

He runs an agitated hand across his face. “I don’t know. No? I just don’t want you to think—”

“Rowan,” she says again, deciding to toss all caution to the wind, knowing there’s no going back, anyway. “No, I don’t regret last night.”

He lets out a shuddering breath and closes his eyes, and when he opens them, it’s not that unreadable Rowan, that stranger Rowan that she was terrified of, but her Rowan. Her heart lurches at the relief on his face, the quiet joy, and—

And she loves him, she thinks, and the thought is as easy and expected as the next breath she takes, like her body doesn’t know how to do anything else beside love him.

“Good.”

And that’s all he has to say for her to know his feelings on the matter. Good. She feels so, so light, and the relief crashes into her like a wave. 

She quirks an eyebrow. “Good?”

He nods, a small smile curving his lips, and reaches out to run his hands up and down her arms in soft, soothing strokes. “Good.”

And then he’s pulling her to him, and she’s wrapping her arms around his waist, squeezing like she can pull him so close that no one will be able to tell where she ends and he begins. 

It takes her a minute of them standing like that to realize she’s crying again, and she doesn’t really know why—relief, maybe, that she hasn’t screwed things up between them, and hope, that he wants her as more than a friend, too. 

He feels her shaking, and pulls back, tensing, but she holds him in place. “Sorry,” she mutters into his chest, words muffled against his bare skin. “Sappy drunk.”

He laughs, the sound familiar and comforting, and she can feel the sound rumbling under her ear, and she thinks it might be the best thing she’s ever felt. 

She loves him. 

She wants him to stay, today and everyday after. 

Staystaystaystaystay. 

Please stay.

And maybe she whispers the last part aloud, because he pulls her impossibly tighter to him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She clutches at him, nodding into his chest. 

He speaks again, softly, and she’s not even sure she’s supposed to hear this part but she does anyway. “You have me. You always have me.”

A sob gets caught in her throat, and she thinks if she could freeze this moment forever, she would. 

Of course, her idiot of a cousin has to ruin it. 

“Hey, Ae, have you seen my phone—?” 

Aedion slams to a stop in the doorway before the door has even swung all the way open. Her and Rowan’s heads whip towards the entryway, and they freeze. 

Aedion stares at them for a moment, slack-jawed, and she knows how it looks—her and Rowan a tangle of limbs, Rowan’s bare chest and her in his shirt. “Nope.” Aedion says, clapping a hand over his eyes. “Nope!”

“What?” Lysandra pokes her head over Aedion’s shoulder, and Aelin curses internally as the other woman’s eyes widen and she shoves Aedion forward, causing them both to stumble further into the room, Lysandra’s heels dangling from one hand. The four of them stare at each other for a moment, waiting for someone to break the tension that is suddenly making it hard to breathe.

Lysandra backhands Aedion’s chest. “I knew it!”

Aedion groans, and Lysandra squeals while clapping her hands together. “You owe me fifty bucks!”

It appears they’re not the only one that had a bet. 

Aelin’s still frozen, and she’s sure her nails are digging into Rowan’s shoulders, and a small, shriveled part of her expects him to pull away despite everything, knowing that whatever is going on between them, it might be too uncertain, too fragile to be subjected to the scrutiny of their friends.

As if hearing her thoughts, Rowan tightens his hold on her, drawing her closer to his chest.

She exhales a shaky breath and dares a look up at him. His eyes are soft, but bright. I told you, Fireheart, she thinks his face says as he bends down to brush his lips across her forehead, ignoring Aedion’s gagging in the background. I’m not going anywhere.

And—

She believes him. 

#sneaking this in under the wire #rowaelin month #rowaelin fic #is every rowaelin fic i write in the foreseeable future gonna be inspired by a taylor swift song? more likely than you think #no one does it like ts does #this is really two stories in one and I really should have cut it in half but I DIDN’T bc ~self-care~ #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #a smidge of #lysaedion #tog #tog fic #throne of glass #rowaelin au #i literally wrote all of this today bc the idea has been kicking around my head for weeks and today's prompt was too perfect to pass up #rowaelinmonth #aelin ashryver galathynius #aelin x rowan #rowan x aelin #aelin #rowan #rowaelin ff #aelin and rowan #rowan and aelin #aelin galathynius

[shyvioletcat]

Masterlist for all my fics posted for Rowaelin month.

Day One: I just realised I’m desperately in love with you: Made of Ashes - Aelin Before POV

Day Two: College/University AU: Laundry Room - Part 2

Day Three: A secret relationship: Fire and Ice

Day Four: Libraries/Librarians: Schoolyard Shenanigans - Library Laughter

Day Five: I accidentally hot you with my car: How’s one to know? - One

Day Six: The Firstborn Arrives: Perfect - Canon-verse

Day Seven: Fairytale Au: Once Upon A Dream - Snippets and Moodboard

Day Eight: A Blind Date: How’s One To Know

Day Nine: Co-stars/Co-hosts/Guest Stars with Chemistry: Dressing Room Drama

Day Ten: Single Parents: How’s One To Know? - 240

Day Eleven: Surprise Kisses: It Takes Two - The Incident

Day Twelve: A delayed love confession: Smile - Part 5

Day Thirteen: A flower shop owner & and a tattoo shop owner

Day Fourteen: Skinny Dipping: Touch & Go - Part 6

Day Fifteen: A bad day: Long is the road that leads me home: Part 1

Day Sixteen: You accidentally walked into my dorm or apartment: Striking Matches - Shirtless Mishap

Day Seventeen: Bodyguard AU: Don’t Fail Me Now

Day Eighteen: You’re my work rival and we’re stuck in an elevator: How’s One To Know?

~ CANON WEEK ~

Day Nineteen: A sick day

Day Twenty: Playing with Magic

Day Twenty One: Rowan, Aelin & their toddler princess

Day Twenty Two: Rowan Singing

Day Twenty Three: Pregnancy

Day Twenty Four: A missing scene from canon

Day Twenty Five: Wedding or vow renewal

~ CANON WEEK ~

Day Twenty Six: You’re seeing mu roommate and you accidentally walked into my shower: Awash With Embarrassment

Day Twenty Seven: You and I are rivals who keep making out: How’s One To Know? - 135

Day Twenty Eight: Bookstore AU: How’s One To Know? - 143

Day Twenty Nine: A work based on a song: Good Angels, With Bad Wings

Day Thirty: Heir of Fire AU or Telling our children how we first met: Tell me a story...

#added some little sneak peeks for you #rowaelin month

[llyncooljones]

call me sir - twelve days of rowaelin '22.

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

prompt: christmas activity gone wrong. series: part two to who is he? word count: 1300 trigger warnings: language, smut, sexting tag list: @live-the-fangirl-life @rowaelinismyotp  @fireheartwhitethorn4ever @elentiyawhitethorn @rowanaelinn @autumnbabylon @leiawritesstories @backtobl4ck  @letstakethedawn @rowaelinscourt

hi.

this is aelin. galathynius.

from the xmas fair. last week, at the weekend. and you overheard me, and i bumped into you?

Hi.

This is Rowan.

From the Christmas Fair. And I knew it was you, you’re literally the only person I’ve given my number to in the last year. Plus, I don’t know many Aelins. No need for awkward introductions—a pet peeve of mine.

well, good to know you gave me the right number, lol. was kinda worrying abt it. couldn’t believe you’d actually wanna get to know someone who was plotting an entire book to have an excuse to go up to you.

figured you might like brave girls, or some shit.

Not to be crude, but I do believe that openly, and really quite loudly, discussing the frequency and quality of dick you and your friend were getting was quite brave. As was discussing the size of my dick, and my possible friend’s dick sizes.

I don’t know anyone else who’s quite brave enough to do such a thing.

You have that going for yourself.

what i’m hearing is that you do like brave girls.

what does ‘at least you’ve got that going for yourself’ mean? i’ve got tons going for me.

No. I like girls with blonde hair, the most unique eyes I’ve ever had the pleasure of staring into, who come up to my chin. And for the record, you’ve got everything going for yourself. You are singlehandedly just everything.

Don’t go fishing for compliments. I know that you know that you’re fucking gorgeous. Don’t play games with me—I won’t play nice, nor fair.

i’ve come to realise you won't play nice or fair.

i’ve now learnt my lesson, teach.

and thank you for the compliments.

i get off on them.

If I’m going to be your teacher, and I’m going to have to teach you your lesson, you will refer to me as ‘sir’. That is, if you’re game?

I could have sworn it was big men, big hands, and big dicks you got off on. Not compliments. correct me if wrong of course.

maybe you will have to teach me my lesson. sir.

and of fucking course i’m game, didn’t you overhear me saying that i was a spoilt rich girl with a secretly traumatic past. if that means anything, sir, it means i’ve been having teacher x student fantasies since i was fifteen. sir.

i get off on all sorts of things—part of being a spoilt rich girl with a secretly traumatic past. we always have the craziest kinks. compliments and praise because my parents neglected me. similarly, some sort of teacher fetish. big men, big hands, big dicks—because we feel like they can protect us, keep us safe, complete us, which has previously never been felt by us before.

and so many more—you’ve barely scratched the surface, sir.

I can hear your evil laughter, Aelin, and I’ve never heard you laugh.

I’m always up for being your senior-year English teacher, call me Mr Whitethorn.

And trust me, I look forward to diving into the very depths of your sexual deviancy.

mr whitethorn. i like it.

you would’ve been a hit at my high school—so many spoilt rich girls with secretly traumatic pasts.

and, sir, it makes me wet when you use phrases like ‘sexual deviancy’

It gets me fucking rock hard when you call me Sir, or Mr Whitethorn. you have no idea how so.

in that case…

mr whitethorn? what’s today’s lesson on?

I think apt place to begin your education, would be with one’s own pleasure. In my experience, people put so much pressure on the idea of perfection when it comes to sex, and such acts between two people. So much so that the pleasure is slowly stripped away, and replaced with worries that won’t stop, creating a wall between yourself, and your pleasure.

Today, I’m going to focus our lesson on touch yourself, Aelin.

and what are you going to teach me, that i don’t already know? I’m in my twenties, I’ve gone to college, and i’ve been coming by my own fingers since i was fifteen. (clearly there is a correlation between teachers and me coming)

plus, and I mean this with the utmost respect, what are you—a man—going to me—a woman—about my body—a woman’s body—mr whitethorn.

If you want to doubt me, go right ahead, but know Miss Galathynius, it’s not what I can teach you, it’s what I can do to you.

I recall my language making you wet, I can’t teach you that. I can do it to you though, I can make you wet when I use long, sophisticated words, confuse you a little. Make you feel both insecure, and so very, very safe. I can manipulate your body simply with typed words.

You’d do well to remember that.

sir?

mr whitethorn?

excuse me, i’m texting you. where the fuck are you? are you fucking kidding me, right now?

Are you ready to apologise, Miss Galathynius?

for fucking what? get real.

For making assumptions about me. You seem to be under the impression that you can get away with being rude to me. You can’t, I’m unlike any teacher you’ve encountered before.

And you ‘get real’, Miss Galathynius. You can try and convince yourself that you aren’t soaking through your panties, you’re so turned on. But I know you are. You can tell yourself you aren’t going to touch yourself when you set down your phone. But I know you are.

I’ll make a deal with you, Miss Galathynius, if you message me how wet you are, and whether or not your fingers are too, I’ll continue the lesson. We’ll forget all about the fact that you swore at me no less, and that you were insolent and bratty, and you can come as many times as want during this text chain, but not afterwards.

You understand?

yes, sir.

my panties are so wet, my skirt is too.

and my fingers are fucking coated.

Take your panties off.

In fact, Miss Galathynius, get naked. Lock the door. Get comfortable. Tell me, ‘yes, Sir’ when you’re done.

yes, sir.

Put your fingers—the wet ones, before you ask—in your mouth. Fucking suck on them.

Have you got your fingers in your mouth, can you taste yourself? Fucking wish I could taste you.

yes.

what about you, sir?

You can bet your life on the fact that I’m touching myself.

That got you hotter, wetter. More desperate. Want me there, don’t you? I want you here.

im close. keep telling me what ur gonna do

You want to know what I’d do to you if I had you in my bed? I’d strip you, peel away every scrap of clothing you had on, until I could see every inch of your skin, until I can mark out every blemish with bite marks.

I’d bite your nipples, soothe them with my tongue, and then I’d bite them harder. Harder until you’re screaming, and I won’t know if it’s in pain or pleasure. Maybe I’d make them bleed. All depends on whether or not you were a good girl.

It would have got you wet, you’d be dripping all over my sheets. Your cunt would be throbbing it’d be so desperate for me. I’d treat it to a lick, lave my tongue over your clit, edging you towards your orgasm. When you’re right there I’d slide a finger in, tease you from the inside, and give you the best orgasm of your life.

And then I’d do it all over again.

holy fuck. oh fuck, i just came so hard.

fucking what?

i literally messaged you to ask if you wanted to grab a hot chocolate or something or see if you were available for a date or something. pre-dorian’s party.

And instead, you got this, huh? Regretting it, yet?

that was arguably the best orgasm i’ve ever had—and we’re in different postcodes. so, no. and i don’t think i’ll ever regret this.

And I’d love to grab a drink with you.

#twelve days of rowaelin #12 days of rowaelin #rowaelin fic #rowaelin #llyncooljones' writing #my fic #my writing #my smut #tog #tog fic #throne of glass #throne of glass fic #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #wih? #who is he?

[leiawritesstories]

The Only Option

Rowaelin Month 2022, Day 4: Royalty/Modern Royalty AU

Word count: 1,035

Warnings: uhhh...none ;)

Enjoy!!

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

Aelin’s heels clacked angrily against the marble flooring of the palace as she strode through the halls, completely ignoring the way her PR assistants practically chased after her, babbling about all the press opportunities this would entail, all the ways she could use her expansive platform to promote this--this news. All in her parents’ favor, of course. 

In Terrasen’s favor. 

Fuck Terrasen’s favor. 

This was anything but an event Aelin wanted to publicize. But being the crown princess of Terrasen meant that she had very little if any say in what she did and didn’t publicize on her carefully curated public Instagram account and to the news outlets. 

Successfully outdistancing the chattering PR team--as much as she deeply appreciated everything they did for her, she couldn’t stand to be around them a second longer--Aelin ducked through the doorway that led to the back stairs, kicked off her heels, and stormed up the stairs two at a time until she reached the top, where she pushed through another door into the royal family’s private wing. She flicked a glance around the hallway, a tiny piece of herself relieved to find it empty, rushed into her rooms, making sure to close and lock the door behind her, and sank down onto the plush carpet, flinging her heels halfway across the space, face in her hands. 

Fuck. 

The absolute last thing she wanted to do this year was get married. 

She’d had a hectic enough day, what with being hounded by her publicist to set an actual date to appear on national TV as a guest on The Dorian Havilliard Show on top of the upcoming visit from the Eyllwe diplomats, the rapidly approaching fall elections, and constantly worrying that she was both overtaxing herself and not doing nearly enough to fulfill her role as crown princess. Every time she turned around, it seemed, there was someone else either shoving a clipboard in her face or badgering her with endless inane questions, and she’d just about had it. 

And she’d barely had a spare second that day to see Rowan, to spend even a few seconds in his presence. Gods, she needed him and his eternally-present calm, needed him to pull her back to reality. 

Then her parents informed her that they were calling a private meeting after dinner, and her mind started churning with all the possibilities of what could be wrong. War? Stock market crash? Drought? Famine? Epidemic outbreak? Death? 

None of her worst-case scenarios included the night’s heart-stopping news. 

“We don’t want to do this either,” Evalin said softly, worry lines creased into her forehead, “but Fireheart, I--” The queen of Terrasen drew in a shuddering breath. “I don’t know if we have any other options left.” 

Rhoe laid his hand atop his wife’s, the lines etched around his exhausted eyes deepening. “We aren’t going to force you two to jump headlong into a proposal,” he added. “I promise, Fireheart.” 

Aelin’s lips were pressed into a flat, tense line. “Dad!” she burst out, bracing her hands atop the table. “Don’t I get an explanation?” She raked her hands through her loose hair, her claw clip long since discarded. “I’m twenty-two, Dad, not twelve. I’m an adult and perfectly capable of comprehending the reasoning behind what you say. And if you don’t offer an explanation, I’ll be forced to make my own.” 

The king of Terrasen whooshed out a deep sigh, exchanging a loaded stare with his queen. 

Aelin bit her lower lip. “I hate it when you two do that.” 

“Read each other’s minds?” Evalin quipped, trying to ease the tension. 

Aelin cracked a hint of a grin. “Or something. It’s honestly a little bit creepy.” She dropped back into her seat. “Talk to me. Please.” 

“The Revisionists are clamoring again,” Rhoe began, tapping on the tablet that laid atop the table in the small, private conference room where they were. 

“They’ve always been all talk and no action,” Aelin said skeptically, arching a brow.

Her father’s eyes seemed to age ten years. “Not this time.” He swiped a set of images across the screen, rotating the tablet so Aelin could fully see it. “These were captured on various cameras and cell phones two nights ago in the northeast districts, near the…well, the seedier parts of town.” Aelin nodded, she knew exactly which part of Orynth her father was referencing. “This is more than talk, Fireheart.” 

The images burned into Aelin’s eyes, her mind. Raised fists, explicit signs, torches and fireworks and even a few homemade weapons of other sorts, violent graffiti on alley walls, a crowd of shouting people clustered around a man in dark clothing with his hands cupped around his mouth. Movement through darkened streets, hurled bricks, shattered windows, slurs painted across businesses. 

“They are inciting people towards outright rebellion,” Rhoe whispered, all the strain of the crown weighing heavy in his words. “And if we do not prove the monarchy can hold, can adapt with the times--” 

He didn’t have to finish his sentence. 

“They’re coming for us.” Aelin’s voice was hollow. 

“Yes.” Evalin didn’t bother to sugarcoat anything. “Yes, they are.” 

Aelin shook her head slowly. “Here’s what I don’t understand. What the hell is a royal wedding going to do to combat the Revisionists?” 

“Language,” her mother chided automatically. 

“Situation calls for mild swearing.” 

“Fair enough.” The queen pursed her lips. “The Revisionists are all about removing what they see as the elitist nature of the monarchy. Something about needing people not born royal as their leaders.” 

“The fact that this is a constitutional monarchy apparently being discarded,” Rhoe scoffed. “We try over and over to emphasize how the royal family does little more than sit in on Parliament’s meetings, yet we’re still the scapegoat.” 

“That notwithstanding,” Evalin continued, “if we were to have a royal engagement, the crown princess and her well-known, generally beloved boyfriend, who was very much not born royal and holds quite a lot of popularity for it, well…” She trailed off, the conclusion apparent. 

“I am not going to--to use Rowan like that.” Aelin’s voice was pure steel. 

Her parents exchanged another silent, loaded glance. 

“Fireheart,” her mother ventured, cautiously, “Rowan has already agreed.”

~~~

TAGS:

@charlizeed

@cretaceous-therapod

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@nerdperson524

@claralady

@fireheartwhitethorn4ever

@morganofthewildfire

@rowanaelinn

@wesupremeginger

@story-scribbler

@nicolivesinbooks

@mackenzieclutt

@stardelia

@shanias-world

@mybloodrunsblue

@swankii-art-teacher

@wordsafterhours

@cookiemonsterwholovesbooks

@violet-mermaid7

@holdthefrickup

@goddess-aelin

@rowaelinismyotp

@dealfea

@irondork

@elentiyawhitethorn

@live-the-fangirl-life

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

@chronicchthonic14

@whispers-in-the-darkest-heart

@sweet-but-stormy

@hanging-from-a-cliff

@jorjy-jo

@rowaelinrambling

@thegreyj

@silentquartz

@backtobl4ck

@throneofus7

@elizarikaallen

@llyncooljones

#my writing #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #modern royalty au #rowaelinmonth #rowaelin month

[manonblaqkbeak]

Dating and Goodreads

Back for Day 8-Blind date (how the hell do u guys come up with good title fics i struggle so bad lol). I wasn’t really going anywhere with this one, but when i read all of the others and saw how fun the fics were, i decided to finish this one.

also for Summertime and Fresh Strawberries, I deliberately left it blank but I can’t hold onto the secret bc two people were curious as to what happened, so i’ll let the rest of you know that aelin and rowan decided to keep summer and be a cute little family, bc im a sucker for happy endings lol (unless its angst, it’s safe to assume that all my rowaelin fics have happy endings bc they’ve all ready been thru so much and even in alt fics i need them to be happy lmao)

anyway, on to the next one. hope you enjoy!

1.8k words

cw: none

Aelin was a confident woman, something that she was proud of. But that didn't mean that there weren't times she didn't feel self-conscious or awkward and full of doubt.

Because right now, all those negative feelings were swimming inside of her.

And those feelings were just magnified today, especially since she had gotten fired only a few hours beforehand. It was utterly unexpected, she had never received any prior warnings, and while she was a fighter, Aelin didn't feel like stepping into the ring for this one. Not when her boss was a demon from hell that made life unbearable and she had to physically push herself into entering the work building.

Aelin told herself that it was for the best. She was miserable there and hated working in an office typing up the worlds most boring reports and working in a space that was entirely too drab.

But she wasn't looking forward to job hunting. Aelin was aware that she could ask her friends for favours, but if Aelin did something wrong, she didn't want it reflected back onto whoever helped her.

And she was still a little peeved over the damned argument she had online again with that haughty prick on Goodreads. Aelin wasn't sure why those arguments kept going, but each time she would post a review, White Tailed Hawk would respond, telling her that she read the book wrong and this and that and blah blah blah.

Aelin repaid the favour each time, telling him how he was wrong and he had no reading comprehension skills. And on and on it went until Aelin or whoever the fuck that guy was went back to their own lives.

Depressingly, it was the most fun she had some days.

Shaking her head, Aelin forced herself to think of the now and not of her shitty day. Still she sighed, not quite believing that she had agreed to this blind date. Couldn't believe that she had let Aedion convince her it was a good idea.

Aelin had said no at first, after Aedion had voiced his offer, and her cousin left it at that. But days went past, and he would bring up the topic of Rowan, about the things he had said that day, how his dry sense of humour took some time to get used to but once you figured it out, he was actually pretty funny, how he had finished a project perfectly and this and that.

But it got to her, annoyingly. So the other day when he was helping her out with some housework that was a two person job, Aelin told him to set up this date. Aedion cheered as if it was the best thing he had ever heard, telling her how she and Rowan were the perfect match for each other.

Aelin rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything of the assessment.

She had only agreed because it was getting frustrating being asked at every family event if she was dating someone, when she was going to give her parents grandchildren (that question pissed her off the most, as if Aelin was nothing but a birthing machine and that was all Aelin could contribute to society), and who was going to look after her when she was old if she didn't have children (because apparently carers didn't exist).

Aelin was also lonely—she could entertain herself just fine, but she did like the idea of coming home and talking to someone that could respond. She loved Fleetfoot and her enthusiasm when Aelin came home, but human companionship would be nice.

But Aelin didn't have high-hopes for this date because the universe liked to kick Aelin's ass from time to time, she suspected that they were going to hate each other.

Taking a deep breath, Aelin got out of her car, smoothed down her romper and went inside the restaurant, head held high.

X X X X X X

Rowan couldn't believe that he was about to go on a blind date. That Aedion had convinced him to go out with his younger cousin. He hadn't dated anyone since Lyria and he knew that his dating skills were going to be rusty as hell. He had been with Lyria since they were nineteen, married at 23 and divorced at 31; he had been single for the last two years.

It had been...fine, a little strange, after being with someone for so long to find himself a bachelor. Rowan never thought that he would apart from Lyria, but their relationship had just faded. Long before the divorce, it had been more like a housemate relationship than a marriage. He wasn't surprised when his ex-wife had come home after work with divorce papers. He had only stared at the paperwork for an hour before he signed the forms. Truthfully, Rowan was just glad that he was still on good terms with Lyria, that they could still talk to one another from time to time.

Rowan had almost called her earlier today, to ask how the hell dates went, but felt that it would have been crossing some invisible line, so he didn't call and instead had Googled the questions instead.

They didn't really help.

Rowan drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, telling himself that if things went wrong, then it wasn't the end of the world. That if he had to be a bachelor for the rest of his life, then that was fine. He had plenty of ways of keeping himself busy—he had a good career, a nice house, plenty of books to read and to argue online about them with.

He had one earlier today, actually, with Queen of Wildfire about a new release that Rowan had eagerly read within days of its release. And once again, he ended up with an argument with the woman about the messages and themes within the book.

It was stupid, he knew, to be at his age and to be fighting online with a stranger, but something about this woman just had his fingers flying over the keyboard.

Some days he looked forward to it, as embarrassing as that was to admit. He didn't really want to look into himself to figure out what it all meant.

Eyes drifting to the dashboard, Rowan realised that his date was about to start. Popping a mint into his mouth and smoothing out his clothes, Rowan took a deep breath and left the car and went to his first date in twelve years.

Hopefully, it wouldn't be too bad.

X X X X X X

The date had started out a little awkward, but that wasn't a surprise to Aelin, because what blind date started smoothly?

It picked up after Rowan admitted that he was divorced and that he had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do. Aelin appreciated that stark honesty and admitted that she too had no idea what to do.

Since then, the conversation went well, the food was good and Aelin had even swiped a few bites of his dinner because it just looked so much better than hers. Rowan had playfully grumbled underneath his breath, but smiled as he said it.

It was going really well. Maybe the universe had decided to give her a break for the rest of this evening. There was a part of her that maybe wondered if they would have sex, because the man did look fucking fantastic, but at the same time, she didn't want to rush anything in case this actually turned into something more.

“What's the dumbest thing that you've done recently or in the past?” Aelin asked. There was no such thing as small talk between them—Aelin had all ready asked if he believed in aliens and was glad when he said yes, because “it's ridiculous to think that we're alone in this wide universe of ours. It makes sense that there'd be other lifeforms out there.” Which was pretty damned close to Aelin's reasoning as well, so asking him about stupid moments felt like nothing in comparison.

Rowan smirked at the question and took a moment to think before answering. “I engage in online arguments.”

“Really? About what, exactly?”

“It's stupid. But my all my arguments occur on Goodreads of all places. Not Facebook, or YouTube, or Twitter, but Goodreads. It's never anything insulting but just arguments about how wrong some people's in depth reviews are.”

“Fair enough,” Aelin said, “I've been known to do the same thing as you. There's this one user on there, White Tailed Hawk—a stupid name if you ask me—and he just never...” Aelin stopped when she noticed that he stopped eating and was just looking at her weirdly. “Rowan? Are you okay?”

“Do you, by any chance, go under the name of Queen of Wildfire?”

Aelin blinked, and then blinked again, and once the pieces fell into place, she knew right then and there that the universe really hated her. She let out a harsh laugh, the sound echoing throughout the space. Aelin wasn't really sure what to say, because it was true what he said; it had never been insulting, but ending up on a date with the man she had regularly arguments with was just...she had no words, other then, “It really is a stupid name.” She took a sip of her wine, needing to do something other than wanting to bang her head against the table.

“I couldn't think of anything else to write.” And it wasn't also his favourite animal, he had told her that earlier.

They lapsed back into the awkward silence of earlier, both picking at their food.

But Aelin didn't want this night to go to waste. “It'd be stupid to let something as small as this get in the way of whatever this could be,” Aelin said, deciding to be blunt.

Rowan nodded. “It would be. Although I have to be honest, you really have no idea what you're talking about when it comes to Call of the Wild Winds.”

Aelin just about stormed off when she noticed his playful smile, his eyes sparkling bright. Laughing, Aelin threw a bread-roll at his handsome face, and once he caught it and split it in half for them to share, they went back to their earlier conversation.

And when Rowan walked her to her apartment door and kissed her on the cheek goodnight with a promise to text her later, Aelin couldn't help herself by telling him that all his opinions sucked and that he had no idea what he was talking about—all with a big smile on her face as Rowan sputtered as she closed the door on his face.

They spent the rest of the night texting, and all of Aelin's earlier woes faded away. And she looked forward to tomorrow, despite the horror of job hunting. Maybe the universe will finally let things turn around for the better for her.

Aelin went to sleep with a smile on her face, all because of White Tailed Hawk.

And on the other side of the city, Rowan also fell asleep with a smile on his face.

#rowaelin #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelinmonth #my work

[writtenonreceipts]

Rowaelin Month 2022

Day One: Annie Day Two: Triple Threat Day Three: Where We’ve Been, Where We’re Going Day Four: The Sword in the Stone, snippets Day Five: hollow. Day Six: Delightfully Annoying Day Seven: Treat Me To A Memory Day Eight: The Heart of a Lord Day Nine: Where We’ve Been, Where We’re Going Part 2 Day Ten: The Perfect Act Day Eleven: Work Rivals Day Twelve: In the Library, Canon Day Thirteen: Post Canon Day Fourteen: What If...?

link back to my main masterlist

#rowaelin month 2022 #writtenonreceipts masterlist

[cloudywriter]

the lost princess of terrasen

rowaelin month - september 7th 

prompt: fairytale au - (an anastasia au in this case)

important: okay y’all so i went way overboard with this entire au and it got out of hand so now this might just be a full-blown thing. however, with that whole releation and me going crazy with outlining and writing i could really only have this much of the story out and ready for today but i plan on continuing it!! hopefully after rowaelin month. enjoy this little introduction :)

(cw: brief descriptions of violence) 

masterlist, AO3

~~~

At freshly 18, Celaena Sardothien was free. She’d aged out of the orphanage and was finally released to go live her own life, no longer held down in the outskirts of Rifthold. Celaena didn’t want to wait a second longer, the need to leave the horrid place she’d lived the last ten years was ingrained in her bones. 

The woman who ran the orphanage, Clarisse, was cruel. From a young age, she poked at Celaena, commenting constantly on her weight or how she didn’t act like a proper young lady. Her entire life up until this point was spent at the mercy of Clarisse and her stern ways. All the girls in the orphanage were treated as maids and dolls for Clarisse to manipulate. But, Celaena made it, counting down the days until her birthday. 

Now, here she was, stuck out in the cold. She’d imagined her freedom to be more alluring than this instead she was shaking as she wandered through side streets that led to the heart of Rifthold. She carried with her a backpack barely full of her meager belongings and the too-thin coat on her back. Clarisse didn’t even spare her a hat to keep out the cold so she moved her hair to shield her freezing ears the best she could and waddled along the snowy pavement. 

She still had her kingsflame necklace around her neck, though, and that’s all that mattered. Where she had gotten it from she hadn’t a clue. The first memory she possessed was waking up in the very orphanage that would become her prison. Clarisse explained to her that she’d hit her head and a nice man named Arobynn had brought Celaena to Clarisse to be cared for. Clarisse questioned her about her family and upbringing relentlessly but Celaena could not recall a thing. Her mind was blank. For many nights as a young girl, she’d sit upright in the creaky, lumpy bed she occupied and willed herself to remember. She’d cry and scream, banging her fists into her head in frustration when nothing ever surfaced. 

The only connection she had to whatever life she lived before was her kingsflame necklace. And she’d follow that kingsflame to the ends of the continent if it meant she’d one day solve the mystery of her existence. 

Which led her to the first stop on her journey of discovery, Terrasen. Once Celaena had accepted that her memories weren’t coming back and this was the life she’d have to lead she adjusted. She served Clarisse and went to the small, dilapidated school down the street with the other orphans. There she discovered her love of books and the meager library the school offered became her sanctuary. It was there while she read a book on the kingdoms on Erilea, hoping something would strike her familiar she learned that kingsflame flowers only bloomed in one place, the capital of Terrasen, Orynth. 

As a child that discovery was a revelation. Terrasen. Maybe she was from Terrasen. 

As Celaena walked she felt her toes growing increasingly numb, Adarlan’s winters were bitter and she was not equipped with the proper wear. Her teeth chattered but she pushed forward, she needed to get passage to Terrasen. 

She drew the map out of the pocket of her coat once again and checked the status of her journey. Only a little longer until she was at Rifthold’s main dock station. 

The city of Rifthold was big and Celaena felt out of her depth as groups of people swarmed the streets walking to and from their different destinations. It was overwhelming, the smells, the tall buildings, the weather, the noise, the sheer number of people, everything. 

Eventually, she saw the lights of the station and she blew a sigh of relief, she hadn’t been very confident in her ability to read a map. She approached a man sitting in a booth behind a sheet of glass, smoking a cigarette. 

Celaena stepped up to the counter. 

“Hello, sir, I’d like to buy a ticket to Orynth,” she gave him a smirk, leaning casually on the box. She’d learned from many years of coexisting with Clarisse and a revolving door of people that to make it through life you needed a mask. Celaena had crafted her mask carefully and had perfected her act after so many years. She exuded arrogance and confidence so that another soul would never see the scared, lost little girl she truly was. 

The man grunted, blowing a puff of smoke from between his cracked lips. “Do you have your papers, girl?”

Her brain stalled. Papers? She cleared her throat, “papers?”

“Yes,” his scratchy voice replied, “you need papers to cross the border.” 

Celaena’s heart sank but she kept her expression neutral. “Well, I-”

“Listen, girl, I’m not going to sit here and waste your time so don’t sit here and waste mine. If you don’t have the right documents then I can’t sell you a ticket, simple as that,” he held the cigarette between his teeth. 

She searched for some way to turn this situation around, chewing on her bottom lip. 

From the shadows a little ways into the dark alley adjacent to the docks, she heard a hissed whisper. “You, blondie,” an old woman emerged slightly from the shadows, beckoning Celaena forward with her index finger.  

Celaena looked around, the man in the booth was already back to ignoring her, his nose stuck in a newspaper so she decided to approach the woman. She didn’t have much to lose and Celaena thought if it went south she could take her. 

Celaena crept closer, tightening her grip on the strap of her backpack. 

“You need papers?” Her voice was hoarse as if her throat was made of sandpaper. Celaena nodded her head keeping her guard up, watching her surroundings out of her peripheral. 

“I know who can get you some,” her face morphed into a slight smile that unsettled Celaena more than anything. Celaena furrowed her brows, “who?” The woman tsked at her, her hot breath forming a cloud in front of her face. 

“That kind of information isn’t free, my dear.” Celaena had to resist the urge to roll her eyes, everything came with a price in this world. 

Celaena reached around to the side pocket of her backpack, fishing out a few coins she had to spare. She’d saved just enough from doing odd jobs to pay her fare to Terrasen. She deposited the coins into the palm of the old woman’s hand, her knobby fingers running along their smooth edges. 

“Go a few streets north and into the red brick warehouse with the large windows, you can’t miss it. Ask for a Mr. Rowan Whitethorn, he’ll get you the papers,” she instructed, hoarding the scant sum of money she was given as though they were priceless heirlooms. Celaena turned her head in the direction the woman directed as if she could spot the warehouse from here and by the time she rounded back the woman had disappeared once again. 

Celaena huffed and shot another glance at the ticket man, he was still paying no attention, tapping his cigarette out with his finger. She didn’t necessarily want to go on a wild goose chase to obtain these papers but she had no other way of getting them so she breathed deeply and shoved her hands into her pockets and twisted north. 

The woman was right about not being able to miss the warehouse. It was a large, old, imposing structure, clearly, it had not been in use for some time now. Celaena crept closer peering into the foggy windows as she passed the front of the building. She couldn’t see anything and was unconvinced she’d find the elusive ‘Rowan Whitethorn’ inside. 

Nonetheless, she approached a rusting metal door on the side and pushed it open with her gloved hand. The door protested but it miraculously opened revealing a wide area stacked high with boxes along the walls and corners.

She ventured further into the space, dust and broken glass crunching beneath her boots. She didn’t see any signs of life besides maybe some rats. As she neared the opposite corner what could’ve been a makeshift sitting area came into view, blocked from view initially by a stack of boxes. She approached noting the circle of crates, a dusty blanket, and a few books piled on the side. 

She peered at the title of the book on the top of the stack. 

The Royal Family of Terrasen. Mixed emotions surged through her body. 

“Who’s in here?” A male voice boomed nearly rattling the windows. Celaena shuttered, letting her bravo fill her bones as she heard a set of footsteps enter the space. 

+++ 

Rowan Whitethorn’s life since the fall of Terrasen and the reign of the Valg had been a hell-hole, to put it bluntly. His family fell out of status, his parents were slain in the ambush on Orynth’s castle, and Rowan was left in an unfamiliar land at twelve years old. 

A sect of the Whitethorn house had been visiting Terrasen’s court for the holidays when Maeve made her move against the continent. Doranelle crumpled first to her rule and Terrasen followed, the army of Valg she’d amassed was too large to stand against. Adarlan only survived because King Dorian bowed down to Maeve. 

Even now at twenty-two, he has nightmares about that evening. The terror he felt as Valg poured into the ballroom and slaughtered the royals. The terror he saw in the princess of Terrasen’s eyes as she was shoved into the kitchens by her nursemaid where Rowan had happened to take shelter as well. He was scared too, running as soon as his father screamed at him to as the Valg slit his throat. He regretted it deeply, leaving like a coward when the palace was invaded. He regretted the cowering he did in the kitchens as well but when the young princess had burst in the doors, tears flowing freely down her cheeks something had come over him. He had pushed her out into the snow yelling at her to run and she did, scrambling to find her footing.

The rest was a blur, the Vlag hurried into the kitchens soon after but somehow Rowan made it out with his life. The same could not be said for many people in the castle that night. 

Now, Rowan lived in Rifthold as a thief and doer of other’s dirty work. He longed for the day he could get out of this city of nightmares crawling with Valg. One day, he promised himself, one day he’d have to funds to make it back to Wendlyn and witness what had become of his home. 

There was an opportunity, though, that’d heard about from whispers on the streets. Aedion Ashryver. One of the few survivors from Terrasen’s downfall. He chosen to stay in Terrasen’s territory afterward, the country had no real structured ruling now. The old King-Consort Darrow was the closest thing there was to a king but from what he’d gathered the man is old and weak, not the same after the death of his husband, King Orlon. Terrasen had virtually crumbled. 

Somehow, Aedion had built up the Bane and gained standing for himself. A standing he was using to campaign to find his long-lost cousin. How Maeve hadn’t gotten wind of Aedion and his plotting and squashed him, Rowan wasn’t sure. Nevertheless, Aedion was offering a hefty reward for the return of his dear Aelin, the nation’s true queen, convinced she was still alive.

Rowan thought the operation was useless. Her body was never found, that was true, but he imagined she’d likely fled into the Oakwald forest and perished from hypothermia not long after. If he could make a pretty penny from returning the ‘princess’ to Aedion, though, he wasn’t above doing so. 

All Rowan needed was a young, blonde, and blue-eyed woman he could convince to join his cause and he could coach her to be the perfect replacement for Aelin. Truthfully, he wasn’t convinced this could ever be achieved but it was something he’d contemplated. 

Rowan was making his way back to the warehouse he liked to operate his more shady business out of, the biting cold seeping into his clothes. The looming, muddy red-brick building came into view and he pushed the frosted metal door open. Immediately, he was aware that someone had invaded his space. 

Small footsteps had disrupted the layer of dusk along the floor. His hand flew to the dagger strapped to his chest as he prowled further inside. 

“Who’s in here?” he called out, gripping the dagger tightly by its handle. Once he got far enough into the space he could see a young woman was standing near his makeshift seats.

The first thing he noticed was she was beautiful. Long, golden blonde hair flowed down her shoulders, her skin was pale and her lips had a blue tint to them. Rowan pushed aside all those unsavory thoughts, she was an intruder after all. However, he couldn’t help but study her, she was dressed far too light for the dead of winter, not even a hat on her head. 

She looked right back at him, accessing him as he was her. She didn’t look scared to have been caught trespassing, no, honestly, she looked annoyed as if he was interrupting her. 

“Who the hell are you?”

~~~

let me know if y’all like it so far and would like to see more, xoxo

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

[charincharge]

I Don’t Want To Wait, Masterlist

Rowaelin High School Best Friend AU

Summary: Aelin decided that this was the year she was finally going to kiss her best friend. She just hoped it wouldn’t ruin everything.

AN: Rated M for swearing, underage drug use and drinking, and all kinds of sexual experimentation. Slow burn as hell. Always accepting prompts for this one.

Chapters:

one // two // three // four // five // six // seven // eight // nine // ten // eleven // twelve // thirteen // fourteen // fifteen // sixteen // seventeen // eighteen // nineteen // twenty // twenty-one // twenty-two // twenty-three // twenty-four // twenty-five // twenty-six // twenty-seven // twenty-eight // twenty-nine // thirty // thirty-one // thirty-two // thirty-three // thirty-four // thirty-five // thirty-six // thirty-seven // thirty-eight // thirty-nine // forty // forty-one // forty-two // forty-three // forty-four // forty-five // forty-six // forty-seven // forty-eight // forty-nine // fifty // fifty-one // fifty-two // fifty-three // fifty-four // fifty-five // fifty-six // fifty-seven // fifty-eight // fifty-nine // sixty // sixty-one // sixty-two // sixty-three // sixty-four // sixty-five // sixty-six // sixty-seven // sixty-eight // sixty-nine // seventy

AO3 Link

Rowan POV:

20-22

Outtakes:

sixth grade seventh grade eighth grade

Musical Inspo:

IDWTW Writing Playlist IDWTW 2 Writing Playlist IDWTW 3 Writing Playlist Rowan’s Game Day Playlist Aelin’s First Day Of Junior Year Playlist Rowan’s Apology Playlist Aelin’s Valentine’s Playlist Senior Year: A Rowan and Aelin Collab

Fan Art:

Sad/Happy Aelin (by @gracie-rosee) Teenage Rowan (by @laraexia) Pink Haired Aelin (by @laraexia) Rowaelin Kiss (by @gracie-rosee) Game Day with The Babes (by @artbycharlizeed) Badass Aelin (by @artbycharlizeed) The Babes At Halloween (by @artbycharlizeed)

#high school au #best friend au #coming of age #charincharge writes #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #aedion ashryver #lysandra caverre #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #dorian havilliard #chaol westfall #there will be some pairings of couples that you are going to be confused about #i'm only slightly sorry

[house-of-galathynius]

Only You ~ Rowaelin

A Rowaelin fanfic, set if Aelin’s parents had lived and she had met Rowan under normal circumstances, if Erawan and Maeve weren’t threats. Hope you enjoy!

@jesstargaryenqueen @sailorsassley @sjmships @tomtenadia @endlessdaydream @aflickeringsoul @tillyrubes10 @fredweasleyhasadhd @rowaelin-cressworth @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @rowaelinismyotp @rosegoldannie @maryberry @viajandosinalas @becarefuloflove @allthebooksunderthemoon @sheharahu @swankii-art-teacher @superspiritfestival

Chapter Thirteen ~ Burning 

Chapter Twelve ~ Chapter Fourteen 

“We need to make sure invitations are sent to all royal families across the continent. If we send them now we should receive answers in enough time.” 

Aelin had been sat at the table with her mother, Lysandra and Elide for over four hours. Her mother had requested she join her for tea in the morning room, Aelin had happily agreed, hoping that maybe they could talk over everything; but when she had entered the room she immediately wanted to leave again. Strewn over chairs, tables and any workable surface were swathes of fabrics, utensils, flowers and cakes— you name it and it was probably there. She had known this would be something that had to be done… but Gods above. She had been too slow to march out of the room again; her mother had spotted her too quickly and a smile had lit up her face as she gazed upon Aelin. She had ushered Aelin into a seat and declared that now was the perfect time to organise everything. Lysandra and Elide had joined an hour later, managing to escape the worst of her mothers excitement. 

“Perhaps we should send invitations to the Southern Continent too? They are never too bothered with the goings on here, but it would be polite.” Her mother was scrambling for the ink and paper, adding to the ever-growing list of people she wished to invite. 

“Mamma, is this really necessary?” Aelin picked at the lavender fabric that had been placed on her lap, waiting for her to inspect it and share her opinion. 

“I know you would rather go down to the priest in your fighting gear and be done with this all, but you are required to have a wedding fit for a queen, so we shall give you one.” Her mother lent over to Elide who was studying a selection of flowers. 

Aelin brushed the fabrics from her lap and stood, pouring another cup of herbal tea. “I’m just saying that we don’t need to invite everyone for both a mating ceremony and a wedding. Rowan and I would much rather have a mating ceremony just the two of us.” She assumed anyway. The two of them hadn’t discussed any of it in great detail. 

The three women looked up at her. 

“I just—“ she picked up then dropped a rose. “It’s all a bit much, no?”

“I think it’s exciting. We haven’t had a mating ceremony in years.” Elide was clasping a bunch of the flowers in her hands as she spoke. 

Lysandra said nothing and instead went to sit in one of the armchairs, her hands playing with the ends of her sleeves, being unusually silent.

Aelin tore her eyes from Lysandra and back to her mother and Elide. 

“I’m not sure Rowan is one for big displays of… well anything.” 

“I’m sure he’ll do whatever needs to be done, Aelin. Now sit, I want to see which colours are best.” 

Aelin was saved when someone cleared their throat at the door. She could’ve sighed in relief as she eyed Rowan. 

“Sorry to interrupt; but I was hoping to steal Aelin away.” 

Aelin took three steps when her mother stopped her. “We will be finishing this later. Don’t think you can get out of it.” 

She grinned at her mother and hastily exited the room, joining her hand with Rowan’s and heading into the crisp winter air. 

“Thank you for saving me. I was about to go crazy in there.” 

“Don’t thank me quite yet. I told your father and Orlon we were going to pick a place for the ceremony.” 

She groaned. “Why would you say that? I was hoping you were going to steal me away so we could hide in my rooms until dinner.” 

He nudged her side. “I needed an excuse to leave and I don’t think they would appreciate me telling them I was going to spend the rest of the day in your rooms with you.” 

Aelin blushed at that. 

“I also thought that we should get outside whilst we could. I was warned of the winters here, and if the storm last night is anything to go by...” 

She hummed in agreement. The two of them walking in comfortable silence. 

It wasn’t long before Aelin began to speak again. “I don’t see why we need two big celebrations.” She groaned. “A mating ceremony, to me, is meant to be private.” 

He squeezed her hand. “When I was younger—maybe two hundred years ago— mating ceremonies were one of the biggest celebrations. Whole towns would congregate, light huge bonfires, have feasts and dance until dawn, just to celebrate a couples mating.” They continued walking into the forest, “my mother used to tell me stories of her and my fathers. My mother came from a small village outside of Doranelle, when she mated with my father they had a party lasting four days.” 

“Four days?” 

He smiled. “The village was so small that it was rare for the people there to find a mate. Rarer than it is normally, at least.” 

They stopped to sit on a fallen tree overlooking part of the river.

“How did your mother and father meet?” 

“My father lived in Doranelle with the other Whitethorns, he was in charge of Doranelle’s army at the time. He had been sent on a mission to recruit more Fae soldiers. He found his way to my mothers village and knew right away that she was his mate.” 

Rowan’s face fell as he talked about his parents. She did not know where they were or what had happened to them, but seeing the anguish on his face made her heart break. 

“You don’t have to tell me.” 

He shook his head. “It’s fine. I just haven’t told the story in a long time.” Rowan shifted to face Aelin, her body twisting to face him as well. 

“My father stayed in the village, meeting my mothers family, managing to recruit a couple of Fae to join Doranelle’s army— training them whilst he was there. They were mated there and then moved to Doranelle shortly after.” 

“How long after mating did they have you?” 

“It was well over two hundred years. Full-blooded Fae find it difficult to have children. My parents tried for a long time. By the time they had me…” 

She kissed his hand. “I’m sorry.” 

“We got to be a family for fifty years.” His voice cracked. “My father faded first. My mother— she couldn’t cope with the pain of losing her mate, so she faded a year or so after.” 

Aelin felt a tear fall. Seeing him so vulnerable— it broke something inside of her. She didn’t know what to say, she hadn’t realised they had faded so soon. 

“It was a long time ago.” He wiped the tear that was rolling down her cheek. 

“I didn’t know you had such little time with them.” 

“I had enough. And the time we did have together was happy, so I cannot complain.” 

Rowan stood, extending his hand to her. She took it and they continued on their way. The forest had changed dramatically in such a short time, autumn had come and gone in a blink of an eye, the leaves now frozen and crunching beneath their feet. The trees bear as winter embraced the land. They zig-zagged through the forest path, turning down small tracks that had been forgotten for years, enjoying the peace that nature brought. 

The two of them walked in silence, Aelin thinking about Rowan’s family as they went. Rowan deep in his own thoughts. 

They followed a tall hedge that lined the side of the path, the branches thick. As they strode further along Aelin noticed an opening, big enough for someone to fit through. 

It was then that she remembered she had been here once before. She beckoned for Rowan to follow as she once again slipped through the gap. She had been here when she was fifteen. She had stumbled across the clearing by accident; she had been walking along the trail in the forest when she spotted an opening in the bushes. She had slipped through the gap and found herself in awe at the scene before her. 

The clearing had been small, but it had held such beauty that she could do nothing but take it in. Surrounding the clearing had been bushes displaying little white flowers, the floor made up of colourful wildflowers that swayed softly in the balmy summer breeze. To the right was a pool of shimmering water, stones lined the edges— like they had been carefully placed there by someone. The whole area had been bathed in streams of sunlight that filtered through the canopy of trees above; birds flittered from branch to branch, singing their melody as they did. Aelin had never seen anything like it. 

And even now, in the dead of winter; when the flowers were withered and the leafy canopy above gone, only the skeletons of the trees to be seen, she could still see that beauty. The winter sun still bathing the clearing in light, the water crystal clear and sparkling like a thousand little diamonds. 

“How did you find this?” Rowan asked. 

She shrugged. “I accidentally came across it a few summers ago. It became a sort of sanctuary then, somewhere to go when I wanted to be alone. I’d forgotten about it actually. I only remembered it when I saw the opening in the bush.”

She watched as he surveyed the space around them. 

“And you wanted to share it with me? Even though it had been somewhere secret?” He looked to her, eyes shining. 

“Of course.” She smiled. 

Rowan bent down to kiss her, her toes curling at the contact, her body warming. “Thank you.” 

She kissed him again in reply. 

They stood there for a moment longer, both enjoying the warmth of the winter sun on their faces. Aelin slipped her hand from his and walked towards the pool— which she had realised was magical after getting in and all her injuries had healed. She dipped her fingers in, dragging them in the water. 

She turned to Rowan. “Would you like to go in?”

“It has to be freezing in there Aelin. I might have ice as a power, but I’m not so keen on bathing in it.” 

She chuckled as she summoned her flame. “It’s a good thing your mate has fire powers so she can keep it warm.” 

“I like it when you say you’re my mate.” 

He came towards her, the bond tugging between them. 

“I’ll go in with you if you do something for me.” 

“Anything.” 

“Promise me you’ll stop trying to get me into your bed.” 

Aelin stepped out of his embrace and let out a laugh. “That’s your condition?” She laughed again. “I’ve done it once.” 

“You’ve done it more than that, Aelin.” He laughed along with her, stepping toward her and taking her in his arms. “I want to.” He placed a kiss on the top of her head. “I really want to. But I want to wait. I want to be able to enjoy you, to take our time. I want to be somewhere where we don’t have to hide or be quiet.”

She couldn’t help the heat that spread through her. “If you keep talking like that Rowan, I will have no choice but to start something right here.” 

“Don’t even think about it. Otherwise I will change into my hawk and fly away.” 

Aelin pinched his side then swatted his head, laughing as she did. 

“So going for a swim is off the cards?” 

“Maybe when it’s not the middle of winter… and when you can control yourself.” He winked. 

She stepped back into his embrace, her arms going around his middle as she laid her head against his chest; listening to the steady beat of his heart. The two of them enjoying the warmth of each other, listening to the quiet singing of the birds. 

“I understand why my mother couldn’t stand to be here without my father.” He murmured, resting his chin on the top of her head. “I try to imagine a world without you and it terrifies me. I try to think about what I would do, how I would begin to live without you here…” He pulled away to look at her. “I would walk through the burning heart of hell itself to find you.” 

She shuddered at his words, she wanted to reply— to say something— but all she could do was reach up on her toes and kiss him. Their lips melting together, their tongues finding each other and she moaned at his taste— better than anything she could ever imagine. The kiss full of love and of promises— of things to come. 

He would walk through the burning heart of hell itself, and she would do the same. Wherever he was, she would go, she would find him— in this world and the next. 

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