“I didn’t do it!” / “Then why are you laughing?” / “Because whoever did it is a freaking genius.” for rowaelin :)
Rowan woke up to the quiet laughter of his wife and the pressure of her straddling his waist. Her fingers were tracing down the sides of his face in whorls and swirls all the way down his neck, eventually tracing over his tattoo that covered his arms and chest. With a slight groan, he ran his hands up her thighs, over her hips and slipped them under the silk nightgown she wore. She was so warm, so soft, that he gripped her hips in a way that had her leaning down to press soft kisses to his lips over and over.
“It’s early, fireheart,” he grumbled, rolling them so he was on top of her, hips nestled between hers. Aelin was still laughing to herself as she caught his lips with hers, once again swirling her fingers in a specific pattern along his jaw, over his ear. Soon, her laughter became too much to contain and she dropped her head back.
“It’s - I can’t. You have to look in the mirror, I can’t handle it,” she said between giggles, leading Rowan to narrow his eyes at her and roll off her body. He sauntered to the bathroom, sweats low on his hips while he rubbed the back of his head.
“Are you kidding?” He hissed, poking his head back out of the bathroom. Aelin’s laughter grew louder.
“I didn’t do it! I swear!”
“Then why are you laughing?” She was more than laughing. Aelin was laughing so hard that she was snorting, covering her mouth and nose with the back of her hand while she looked at her husband. Rowan had multicolored swirls all over the left side of his face and over his ear. The swirls were lumpy and bumpy, the lines not at all smooth but they did their best to follow the pattern that took up his arm and chest.
“Because whoever did do it is a little genius,” she snorted again, tears slipping down her cheeks. She held up her left hand which was covered in equally colorful but far less elegant scribbles that more so resembled cat scratches than anything else. Rowan huffed out a laugh and rubbed his hand down his face, taking note of the Sharpie markers that were strewn across the white duvet: some of them without lids that were leaving trails of colors behind as they rolled around when Aelin moved. Rowan poked his head out of the bedroom door and yelled for their kids, one eagerly running into the room and launching her small frame onto the bed, the other three padding in quietly and crawling up beside their mother.
“Who decided to be an artist this morning?” Aelin asked, smoothing her hand down the silver hair of her youngest, Genevieve. Evalin, the oldest, shook her head and shrugged. She was nine and clearly over this conversation. As a nine year old, she had far better things to be doing than getting blamed for scribbling on her parents.
Arden, age seven, merely shrugged his shoulders, “It wasn’t me,” he said honestly, folding his hands into his lap. Declan, five, followed his brothers movements to a T, even going so far as to punctuate his innocence with a sharp head nod.
The culprit, Aelin and Rowan knew, was their youngest. Her hands were covered in as much marker as Aelin’s were, and even as she sat on the bed with her mother she had picked up one of the lidless markers and mumbled a quiet, “oopsie,” to herself as she recapped it.
“You three can go. Genny, my love, stay right here,” Aelin said, sitting up and pulling her three year old into her lap. The other three kids ran out of the room, Declan shouting something after Arden as they ran down the hall, and Rowan shut the door behind them.
He prowled to the bed, crawling onto it and flopping down on his side with his head in his hand. Genny immediately reached out to trace a little swirl down the side of his face. She was grinning, and widely. An artist proud of her work.
“You look so pwetty, daddy,” she told him, a little fingertip booping his nose.
“And what about Mom’s hand?”
“Julian’s mommy has swirlies on her hand! So I gave mommy the most beautifulest swirlies, too!” It was hard. So, so hard to not laugh. Genevieve was so beyond proud of her work, of the lines that marked her parent’s bodies.
“Lets just…use regular markers next time love, okay? These are really hard to get off and mommy and daddy will have to get a new blanket for the bed,” Rowan told her calmly, tapping the various streaks her uncapped markers left behind. Genevive nodded and took her father’s face between her chubby little hands, squishing his face until his lips were poked out. That was when Aelin really lost it, her head falling back as she laughed and Genny kissed her father.
“We love you so much, little dove,” Aelin whispered, dropping kisses all over Genevieve’s face. “Can we ask next time we get into the markers?” Genevieve nodded, her little lip beginning to quiver with worry.
“Am I in twouble?” She asked, little brows furrowed together as her sniffled. Aelin frowned when her chest heaved a bit. Something that had always plagued their youngest was and extreme amount of worry, of anxiety that they had no idea where it came from. Aelin looked over at Rowan, who sighed and pulled Genevieve into his lap. She immediately buried her little face into his chest.
“No, no,” he said softly, rubbing his hands up and down her back. “Not in trouble.” Still, when she let out a little sniffle Aelin curled up in Rowan’s side and laid her head on Rowan’s chest, nearly nose to nose with Gen. And then Rowan began to sing softly, songs in a language long since forgotten, the low timbre of his voice soothing Genevieve until her tears had dried up and her cheeks were no longer flushed.
@starseternalnighttriumphant @musicmaam @city-of-fae @rowanwhitethornss @awesome–username @westofmoon @myfeyrelady @kandasboi @nalgenewhore @tangledraysofsunshine @the-regal-warrior know i’m forgetting people i’m tired i’m sorry
Also biggest of shout outs to @musicmaam bc Genny wouldn’t exist without her 🤷🏻♀️