Hiiiii may please write rowaelin x reader where she gets injured and they get like rlly possessive over her
we know how protective Mr. "you're sleeping in my bed until you're better" is when you're hurt 😏 lmao love this
Protective Instincts
Rowaelin x Reader
Warnings: mention of battle/injury
Head pounding, you groaned in pain, groggily blinking awake as you took in your surroundings. A warm fire roared from a hearth across the room, situated next to the chairs and couch that made up the seating area - Aelin asleep in one of the chairs, curled in an awkward position with her legs swung over the armrest so that she was facing you.
You registered that you were in a guest room of the Lochans’ castle, where you’d been staying during your meetings with Aedion, Lorcan, and Elide over barrier precautions. Memories flashed in your mind as you fell back weakly against the pillows - you recalled the sudden attack, raiders from the Frozen Wastes who had somehow crossed the mountains in an attempt to overtake Perranth.
Recalling the injury in your side from one of the raiders, you instinctively reached for the wounded area only to release another loud groan at the pain. In the corner of your vision, Aelin stirred, eyes widening as the two of you made eye contact. “You’re awake,” she cried, voice choking on the words. You smiled softly at her, your own voice scratching as you attempted to speak to her.
Aelin leapt from her chair as you sputtered out a cough, bringing a glass of water from the nightstand to your lips. Putting the glass back down, she stroked your hair softly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?” You took a deep breath, still coming back to your senses. “I’m in pain, but-“
You were interrupted by Rowan opening the door, a tray with two plates of food in his hand as he noticed your wakened state, tension visibly dissipating from his shoulders as he did so. “Hi,” you whispered at him with a small smile. Rowan sat down the tray next to your water, rushing over to take your head in his hands, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. He maintained that stoic expression he usually did, but a torrent of emotions swam in his eyes, filled with concern.
Aelin reached up to take your hand in hers. “You were saying?” Refocusing your attention to her, you nodded. “I’m in some pain, but it’s manageable. I’m just trying to remember what happened.” A muscle ticked in Rowan’s jaw. Barely keeping a leash on his anger, he directed the question at you, “you don’t remember how you rushed into battle? How you jumped in front of a blade meant for another soldier?”
A flurry of guilt, grief, and other emotions overcame you as your lip wobbled under Rowan’s intense gaze. Aelin held up a hand, silencing him before he could lecture you further. “You were the kind, brave person that we know and love.” She glanced at Rowan pointedly before continuing, “we’ve been very worried. You were mostly unconscious for nearly a week.” Your eyes widened, jaw slack as you registered her words. A week? You must have been close to death’s door for an injury to take you out for so long.
You held back tears, looking at Aelin and then Rowan. “I’m sorry, I know that must have been scary for the two of you,” you whispered. Rowan’s eyes softened then, and he crouched down beside where you laid as he took your hand, pressing a kiss to it. “You have nothing to apologize for, love. Here, try to eat some of this food while it’s warm.”
He turned, picking up the tray as Aelin crawled into bed beside you, taking a plate for herself as Rowan sat on the other side of you, helping you eat the warm soup and bread. A knock on the door sounded before Aedion entered, “I just wanted to check and see how you’re do-“
Rowan cut him off with a growl, Aelin flashing her canines as their protective instincts took over. Aedion held up his hands in a placating position, giving you a playful smile as he retreated out of the room. “I’m glad you’re okay. They’ve been like this all week,” he teased with an eye roll as Rowan snarled once more in warning.
The door clicked shut, the three of you alone once more as Aelin finished her food, snuggling into your side as you put an arm around her and leaned your head on Rowan, eyes drooping once more now that you were sated with food. “Uh huh,” Rowan tsked, helping you sit up. “No falling asleep yet. You’ve been asleep for days, and need a proper bath. I’ll be back for you in a moment.”
You scoffed softly under your breath, turning to Aelin as he left the room. She smirked at you, flicking your nose. “He is right, you know. You do stink.” Leaning in to press a kiss below your ear, Aelin murmured against your neck, “but I’ll help you clean up.”
I LEGIT LAUGHED SO HARD MARIA BAHAHA here you go love <3 ;)
word count: 611
warnings: swearing, innuendo, artistic depiction of 🍆
let's add this to the @throneofglassmicrofics March challenge! using the prompts "Accident" and "Chaos" hehe enjoyyyy
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Snatching a few seconds to gasp in a breath as the madness of the morning rush died down, Aelin wiped her hands on her apron and brushed loose strands of hair away from her face. She washed her hands quickly and returned to the coffee bar just as Lysandra stuck her head into the back room and hollered for her.
"Calm down, Lyssie!" Aelin yelled back, laughing. "I'm right here."
"Someone asked for you," Lys singsonged, wiggling her brows aggressively.
Aelin rolled her eyes. "You'd think we were fifteen, not twenty-three."
"We're so mature." Lys smirked and bumped her hip into Aelin's. "Now go take your man's order."
Aelin strolled up to the counter, grinning as she met Rowan's bright, amused gaze. "Hey. What can I get you?"
"Well, since you aren't on the menu, I'll take a cappuccino." The slow wink he gave her did bad, bad things to her heartbeat.
She lowered her lashes and peeked up, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth the way she knew drove her boyfriend wild. "I'm all up for grabs at four, you know."
"Oh, I know." He smirked as he pulled his credit card from his wallet. She tapped in his order, and he paid and sauntered down to wait by the pick-up window.
"You should put special art on his cappuccino," Lys said as she finished up the iced lattes she was working on.
"Like a heart? Bitch, please."
"Oh no." Lys's smirk turned positively wicked. "A dick."
"Lysandra Ennar!" Aelin yelped, swatting the brunette with a towel. "What the hell?!"
"Bitch, you know you want to." Lys's eyebrow wiggle returned, even more aggressive than earlier. "You could even draw it to scale."
Aelin laughed so hard she had to brace her hands on the countertop to keep herself upright. "Holy shit, Lys!" She wheezed as she caught her breath. "Alright. Watch this." She sped through the motions of pulling the espresso shot and steaming up some milk, and then she carefully cradled the ceramic cup in her left hand and began pouring the steamed milk with her right.
When the foam rose to the top, she carefully turned the mug, made a sort of sideways heart shape, and dragged the point of the heart downwards. Then she rotated the mug, and, starting from the point of the upside-down heart, poured a careful pattern of foam in a precise, nearly straight line with a slight wobble. She finished off the crown with a little blob, artfully smearing it so it looked like, well...
"Someone's happy to see you," Lys snickered.
Aelin cackled as she set down the cappuccino. "Ro, love, here's your drink." She spun the cup so that the thick, long dick painted in white foam stood erect.
"Thanks, Ae--what the fuck?!" Rowan spluttered, gaping at the drink. His tan face flushed an endearingly bright shade of crimson, his eyes darting rapidly between the dick-uccino and Aelin's bright, wicked grin.
"Not quite large enough for you, love?"
"Aelin," he groaned, dropping his head into his hands and scrubbing at his blushing face. "No, it's the perfect size."
She snickered. "Good to know. I have quite the model." Her gaze flicked south.
He laughed as he grabbed a stir stick and stirred his cappuccino, dissolving her work of art. "Don't think you've heard the last of this, love." Heat simmered in his eyes.
"Is that a promise?"
Rowan's stare, blazingly hot, snapped to hers. "When you're begging me to let you come, love, just remember this--you got me hard in a very public place." He strolled off to a table, leaving her flushed and speechless behind the bar.
a/n: i know what we’re all thinking: em, you really don’t need ANOTHER multichapter fic going. but you know what? suck it. this is fun to write and i’m having a good time so you’re getting another one goddammit. and guess what! nobody dies in this one! i hope you like it <3
When it rained in Wendlyn, it really fucking poured.
Most of the first week she had spent in its coastal capital city of Varese had been spent in tank tops and shorts when she wasn’t in the office. Each day was bright and sunny, the late August sun turning her skin a golden hue that she couldn’t quite achieve in Rifthold or Orynth. Back in either of her home cities it was always a little too overcast to really enjoy the sunshine. In Wendlyn, she woke up sticky with sweat if she forgot to turn the AC down while she slept.
Today, however, the sun was hiding behind a dark gray sky as the clouds opened up in a nearly torrential downpour. While Orynth produced rolling thunder storms and Rifthold was in a perpetual state of drizzly and wet, Varese liked to bottle up its feelings and let them all out at once.
Never having been to the country before, Aelin didn’t know that an overcast sky more often than not meant that a wyrd gate was going to open in the sky and dump an ocean onto the city all at once for several hours at a time. It was how she ended running down the sidewalk, yanking at a rusted door knob until she escaped the rain and found herself standing inside a dimly lit pub.
With every, step water sloshed in her running shoes causing her to wince at the trail of prints she left behind. Gods, the barkeep would probably want to throw her out for tracking in such a mess. That thought alone gave her pause while she scanned the mostly empty pub, her eyes finally finding the door for the gender neutral bathrooms in the back corner. Perfect. She could wring her hair out in the sink and try to get some of it out of her shirt, maybe her shorts, too, before she made herself at home on one of the barstools.
A few snickers followed her through the pub, her body weaving through the tables until she was safely locked in the bathroom and peeling her shirt from her body. It took three or four tries, but she managed to get enough water squeezed out that it wouldn’t be totally plastered to her torso. She followed suit with her shorts, thank the gods she had been out for a jog when the sky opted into a meltdown, and finally went to work on her ponytail.
“This is as good as it’s going to get,” she mused, adjusting her hair into a messy bun on the top of her head. Aelin took a brief moment to swipe at the mascara that had gathered beneath her eyes. There had been times she looked worse. Now she just looked like a tourist that got caught in the rain. Which she kind of was.
Not that it mattered– Aelin knew a grand total of about ten people on a personal level in the city. The chances of her running into anyone that she really knew were slim, and if she did they would laugh with her about it. Even if she ran into some of the employees from her family’s charity that she didn’t know quite as well, it would just become another silly story of Aelin outside of work. Did she really need more of those on the roster? Not really, but she also didn’t take herself so seriously that she cared.
By the time she made her way back into the main room of the pub, a handful of others caught in the storm had stumbled in. It was nicer now that she was actually looking around. The lighting cast a warm glow over the worn furniture and walls, soccer jerseys and memorabilia covering every available inch. Behind the bar itself, shelves went to the ceiling boasting various types and flavors of alcohol. A neon sign hung in the center of it all that read The Neon Moon, blue light reflecting off all the bottles and glasses. It reminded her of her favorite bar in Orynth, the Staghorn, and she made a mental note to bring Lysandra here when she came to visit in a few weeks.
By the time she made it to the bar and slid into the seat, a stunningly handsome man with long black hair and bronze skin had appeared. A white dishrag lay over his shoulder as he came to a stop in front of her, bracing his forearms against the edge of the bar. A smirk tugged at his lips as he looked over at the door and then back to her, onyx eyes meeting hers. Aelin held up her hands in apology.
“I’m clearly not from around here, and had no idea that that,” she pointed toward the window, “was going to happen today.”
The man chuckled, “If it makes you feel any better, we barely know when it’s going to happen, either.”
Aelin was a simple woman: accents got to her. The Wendlyn accent was a lovely, lilting one, and she was already enjoying her time here immensely because of it. It made her swoon, even if the beautiful man before her wasn’t exactly her type.
“What can I get you to drink?” He asked, placing an empty glass between them as the bell above the door sounded at the arrival of another patron.
“Surprise me.”
“Make her a whiskey sour. And me one while you’re at it.” The voice came from behind her, and her stomach flipped at the sound. His accent was a little different, his tongue rolling through the r sounds, lips hugging every letter in between.
When Aelin looked over at the man sidling up to the bar, she almost wanted to get up and leave. To come back when she didn’t look like a drowned rat. He wasn’t as soaked to the bone as Aelin had been when she first ran in for safety, but his t-shirt was just wet enough to really show off his deliciously muscled chest. The short sleeves were bunched up just above his bicep, revealing golden brown skin and a tattoo that swirled elegantly all the way down to his fingertips. The same tattoo appeared to crawl up his neck, adding definition to his jaw that he didn’t need, but gods it really did him favors.
Unfortunately, his body had nothing on his face. From the sharp jaw and prominent cheekbones, to his perfectly straight nose and full lips. It was difficult to pinpoint the shade of his eyes with the pub being so dark, but she was certain they were green, maybe hazel. By the time she met his gaze, he was combing his fingers through his long, silver hair and working it up onto the top of his head similar to the style she had her own in. Gods damn him, but it looked way better on him than it had ever looked on her.
“Anything for you, captain,” the barkeep drawled, causing her new friend to roll his eyes as he slid onto the stool beside her. Out of her peripheral vision, she caught the dark-haired man giving a mock of a two finger salute before getting to work on their drinks.
“Connall’s surprises are usually accompanied by a vicious hangover the morning after,” the man said, leaning toward her like they were sharing a secret. “It would be a pity for that to happen to you.”
“Thank you for looking out for me, but I can usually hold my liquor pretty well.”
The man laughed, a deep rich sound that she felt in her bones. Maybe it was the lack of any romantic interest in her life for the past two years, or maybe every sound he made was really that perfect, but Aelin wanted to wrap his voice around her like a cocoon.
“So can I, but that last time we left our drinks wholly up to him, I couldn’t get out of bed for nearly thirty six hours unless it was to be sick.” Aelin’s nose wrinkled, incredibly thankful that someone had intervened on her behalf.
“I don’t have time to be bedridden for any number of days,” she conceded with a nod, looking over at the bartender– Connall. He sent a wink in her direction while he finished up their drinks, sliding hers a few inches down the counter until it was nestled in her hands.
“Nobody does,” the man beside her replied, tapping the lip of his glass against hers. “I’m Rowan, by the way.”
“Aelin.” He nodded, eyes tracing over her face before moving to one of the several televisions above the bar just as a soccer game between Orynth and the Red Desert. His eyes followed the happenings on the screen, never moving from the ball that was juggled from player to player. When one of the Staghorns made a goal, she didn’t miss how his hand clenched around the tumbler in his hand. “You really like soccer, huh?”
“Football,” he corrected, giving her a look from the corner of his eye, “But yes.”
“And who are you rooting for in this match?” Aelin brought her own glass to her lips and sipped through the two tiny straws. She was no novice to the game, in fact she had been raised around it. Aedion, her cousin, played the sport from the time he could walk until he tore his meniscus and ACL in one go his first year as a professional in the league.
Sports had never quite called to her the way the arts did. Growing up she had danced, and still did occasionally, played piano and guitar, even dabbled a bit with painting when she was in the mood for it. Fine arts didn’t hold her attention as much as the performing arts. She just wasn’t as skilled with a paintbrush as she was on a grand piano or with pointe shoes on her feet. As much as her father would have loved for her to chase a ball around a field, she just didn’t care to. The single year they’d tried to get her into a kids league she had spent her time practicing turns on the sidelines. After that, they’d given up on her potential soccer career and let her do what she loved most.
“My money says he wants Terrasen to lose,” Connall said, pointing at Rowan with squinty, accusatory eyes.
“As a Terrasonian, I take wild offense to that.” The irony made her want to smile, but she ducked her head down for another sip of her drink instead to stay aloof.
“It’s nothing personal, lass,” the bartender chuckled. “He’s got personal interest in the game is all.”
“And that involves hoping my home team loses?” Aelin’s brows rose and her hand fell over her heart as if she were wounded while she swiveled to look at the man beside her just as he stood and moved into the barstool directly next to hers. Their shoulders were nearly touching, warmth radiating off of his body. It might have been warm outside, but sitting indoors with air conditioning in damp clothes made her want to lean into him to steal his body heat.
“As he mentioned, it’s nothing personal,” Rowan told her, eyes drifting from the tv to her face as it cut to a commercial break.
“Besides, they won the world cup last year.”
“You watch the games?” Aelin snorted, occupying her mouth with her cocktail to choose her words carefully.
“Gods, no. But it’s hard to miss something like that when the entire city is in full on celebratory-party-mode for an entire month afterward. I do not get the hype of watching grown men perform cardio for several hours. I mean, that’s all it really is, right? Kicking a ball from one end of the field to another, dramatically collapsing when the opponent’s elbow hardly grazes a shoulder.” Aelin shrugged. All of it was true. Of course when it had been Aedion on the field, she had screamed until her lungs wanted to give out. But now that she didn’t have any personal ties to any players, it was so boring. The games lasted for hours and once Terrasen entered mid-November, it was entirely too cold outside to enjoy, anyway. Aelin had priorities, like keeping her fingers on her hands and not losing them to frostbite.
“It’s a bit more than that, don’t you think?” Rowan inquired, his–definitely green– eyes dipped down to her lips before coming back up to hers. A loose strand of hair fell from his bun to dangle over his cheek when he turned on his stool to face her completely. With one elbow he was leaning against the bar, his fingers loosely laced together in front of his stomach. His knee grazed along her upper thigh with the movement, and gods above she needed to get laid if something so small and insignificant was lighting fires in her blood.
“No.” She said it flatly, trying not to smile when he leaned forward to be just a little closer to her. Again, his eyes trailed over her body, all the way down her legs to her toes and back up again.
“You look like a dancer,” he said softly, head tilting slightly. “I want you to watch their feet. The way they can sprint up and down the field, juggling the ball from foot to foot without the slightest stumble. Watch the way that they spin around one another, the lines their body’s make when they pass the ball or shoot a goal. It’s a fast paced dance.”
Soccer had never sounded as sexy as it did when this man spoke about it. And sure enough, when the game was back on the screen she leaned forward and watched, looking for the things he’d said to her. More than once Rowan pointed things out to her, tilting his head so his lips were near her ear. Like he was telling her a secret that nobody else knew. Goosebumps erupted over her arms and legs and she didn’t think it had much to do with the chill of the room and her wet clothes.
By the time the next commercial break came around, she was ready to concede and agree. What the men on the field did was, in fact, a form of art. Not the kind that she loved, but she could see it still. The grace the men possessed, the way they looked like sculptures of ancient civilizations when their muscles flexed beneath their clothes. Just this once, she would admit defeat. Nothing would make her care that much about soccer, but she could appreciate the artistry they made with their bodies.
Rowan’s eyes had just met hers again, taking a brief vacation first to watch her lips part in anticipation of an answer, when something ice cold and wet hit her hands and then flooded from the bartop down onto her lap. Aelin shrieked in surprise, the cold shock of the ice against her skin jolting her off her seat and yanking a sharp, deep breath into her lungs.
“What the hell?” She all but shouted, immediately glaring at the friendly bartender she was becoming acquaintances with.
“Oh, shit,” he said loudly, throwing the towel from his shoulder on top of the puddle. Napkins appeared in Rowan’s hands as he pressed them into hers so she could press them to her lower abdomen. Instead of just watching, he bent down and began to press more against the rivets of water than ran down her legs. Connall, instead of cleaning up the mess he’d made, was watching the pair of them with a small smirk on his lips. If Aelin didn’t know any better, she would swore the bastard did it on purpose.
“She really didn’t need your help in the wet clothes department,” Rowan growled, standing to his full height and dropping the paper towels onto the wet counter.
“Perhaps she needs yours,” his friend fired back, and Aelin was positive her eyebrows had shot well into her hairline as he tossed Rowan a set of keys. “There are dry and clean clothes upstairs.”
“I’m going to kill you one of these days,” Rowan grumbled, his hand sliding into hers with ease as he led her around the back of the bar and through a door she hadn’t noticed before.
“You’ve been telling me that for years!” Connall shouted after them, but Rowan was already slamming the door shut and guiding her up the stairs. He paused on the top step, keys jingling as he worked the lock. Before she knew it the door was swinging open, Rowan tugging her up the last few steps. As soon as she was inside he closed the door and sidestepped several boxes to flip on the light.
It was a small room, clearly used primarily for storage. Boxes and crates were stacked in the first half of the room. From the look of it, most of them contained paperwork and several years worth of receipts. Two dark wooden doors were on the wall to her left, and what remained of the room was taken up by a queen-size daybed with a nightstand on each side. It didn’t look like anyone lived up here, more like it was used as a place to crash when they got too drunk to stumble home after closing.
Rowan was moving around the space with ease, going through the second door. Light from the setting sun illuminated it just enough that she could see it was a bathroom. He emerged moments later with a towel that he handed to her to really get her legs dry. By the time she was as dry as she could get while still wearing her clothes, he was walking out of the first door with a bundle of cloth in each hand.
“You’ll be swimming in these since they’re mine, but better my clothes than one of the other’s.”
Aelin took the shirt and pair of shorts from him looking from the door to the bathroom and back to the bed. After spending the entire summer surrounded by a schedule that gave her no wiggle room for fun or spontaneity, the choice was obvious. All summer long she had been working her ass off, and while she loved what she did and wouldn’t change a second of the time she had spent here, she needed a few hours of fun. If this was the only chance she was going to have for the rest of her stay in Wendlyn, she was going to let Rowan see what he would be missing if he played the role of the gentleman and waited patiently for her to change in the bathroom.
Maybe she was feeling reckless because she hadn’t had the chance to let the wildfire that fueled her soul burn. Maybe it was because she hadn’t had a single orgasm gifted to her by a man in two years. It was definitely Lysandra’s voice in the back of her mind, urging her to live a little and experience what Wendlyn had to offer. It had been said with a waggle of eyebrows and she knew she didn’t mean the sights or food. Lys meant the men, and she had one hell of one standing in front of her, his tongue wetting his bottom lip and eyes full of hunger. She may have been taking the advice that a little flirting never hurt anybody to an extreme, but she had the feeling that her best friend would approve. Whatever the reason, she found herself walking over toward the bed and laying the fresh set of clothes on the corner while she raised her arms to pull her hair free.
Long, golden strands tumbled down her back in messy waves, stopping at the curve of her lower back. When she turned to face him and boldly pulled her shirt over her head, Aelin was pretty sure she could hear him trying to swallow from across the room. As a beautiful young woman, she was used to being looked at with desire. But the way he was looking at her was different. Gone were the sparkling green eyes she’d seen downstairs. Now his pupils were so dilated that there was hardly any green left and his fingers twitched against his thighs.
“I think he did it on purpose,” she whispered conspiratorially. “He didn’t sound very sorry.”
“No,” he swallowed, “he didn’t.”
“Maybe he thinks you need to loosen up. And that I would be perfect for the job. Would you agree?” Aelin toed off her running shoes, peeled the socks from her feet. If the tension in the room hadn’t been so thick it could be cut with a knife, she probably would have winced at the slapping sound they made when they hit the floor. It didn’t seem to deter Rowan, though. He had only taken a step closer.
“Aye.” Just in that one syllable, his voice was deeper and far more gravely than it had been at any other point in the evening. Aelin shimmied out of her shorts, letting them slip down her legs and pool around her feet on the floor. Rowan was close enough for her to touch, so she did. Her fingers ran a straight line down his torso to the hem of his shirt.
“It’s your turn,” she whispered, fingertips grazing against his skin. He was quick to oblige her, grasping his collar at the nape of his neck and pulling his shirt off in one easy motion.
The audacity he had to stand in front of her looking like he was handcrafted by the gods themselves was going to kill her entirely. The tattoo that covered his left arm swirled over his chest and up his neck. Aelin wanted to follow those lines with her tongue, memorizing every dip and curve, every muscle along with the taste of his skin. That was a goal she would definitely achieve by the time they went their separate ways.
With a slight tremor to her hands, she brought her fingers to the zipper that held her sports bra to her body, but Rowan was quick to stop her. With hands that dwarfed her’s, he gently removed her fingers from the zipper and replaced them with his own.
“I want to do that.” So he did, slowly pulling it down until it fell open. Aelin shrugged it off, and before it even hit the ground his hands were on either side of her face, his lips pressed fully against hers in the hottest kiss she’d ever had. It was the kind of kiss that made you forget about everything. Where she was, who she was, who he was? None of it mattered anymore, not as his tongue swept into her mouth and claimed her as his.
It didn’t take him long to lift her by her thighs, Aelin’s legs wrapping around his waist on instinct, and carry her to the bed. Though she expected to be dropped, he lowered her carefully, crawling over her body until he was flush against her. They touched everywhere; their chests syncopating to the other’s breathing, one of his hands pinning both of her’s above her head. The fingers of his free hand grazed her inner thigh and she was spreading them wider for him, a sound coming from her throat that she would swear on anyone’s grave she’d never made before.
Despite the bar downstairs, he took his time, pulling not one, but two orgasms from her before he even got her panties off. Rowan made quick work with a condom he’d fumbled out of his wallet, ripping the foil with his teeth so he never had to stop touching her.
And then he was sinking into her, hitting places she thought were only a myth. Being substantially larger than anyone else she’d ever been with, than any of her toys even, Aelin was nearly overstimulated by how good everything felt. The ache between her legs soon dwindled to nothing but sheer pleasure as he took her, unraveling her until she had nothing left to give.
When he went over the edge, she followed him one final time, her thighs and hands shaking. It seemed like they were both trying to fuse their bodies together, Aelin pulling him into her while he chased his release as deep as he could possibly be inside her. After, he collapsed on top of her. Both were covered in a sheen of sweat, his hair spread out across her skin as he placed tired, sloppy kisses across her chest.
The next thing she knew, she was blinking bleary eyes and trying to make sense of where she was. At some point they had both fallen asleep, Rowan’s arm slung over her waist and his face pressed against her naked back. Soft light was beginning to creep through the window and she knew they had slept blissfully through the night.
Not wanting to wake the man behind her, she carefully slipped out of his arms, quietly tugging on her undergarments and then the fresh change of clothes he’d grabbed from the closet hours ago for her to wear. She skipped socks, pulling her shoes on and wadding her now dry clothes into a ball in her arms. As much as she hated to leave, she didn’t need to be one of those clingy one night stands, no matter how much she would like a repeat of the night.
As she was tiptoeing to the door, one of those old receipts caught her eye. A cup of pens was nestled in the box next to them and she took a short moment to scribble out a message before tucking it into the pocket of Rowan’s discarded jeans. He didn’t move or make a sound, his breathing still deep and peaceful. Long silver hair fanned out over his pillow, the hair tie he used around his wrist while he slept. The man truly was a work of art, she thought to herself as she slipped out the door.
Before it closed all the way, she took one last moment to get a tiny peek of his too-handsome face and that god-like body. Lysandra was going to absolutely die when Aelin told her about this one. She was pretty sure she had died at one point or another last night. Even now, her legs still shook from the force of all five orgasms he’d coaxed from her, his whispers of “Just one more for me, love,” branded into her mind forever. With any hope, she would see him again.
Their suspicions from last night about Connall not being at all sorry were confirmed when she stepped into the bar. He was already awake and tending to something on a computer, or perhaps he’d yet to get home after a night of running the bar during a game. A smirk spread across his lips as he took her in, eyes catching on the clothes she wore that were most certainly not hers, her golden hair that was surely a mess, and the healthy blush her cheeks sported. Nobody looked the way she did without having had the absolute best sex of their life. Connall winked.
“You so did it on purpose,” she whispered, not wanting her voice to carry up the stairs and wake Rowan. Instead of responding, Connall let her out the door.
“Terrasen won, by the way,” he told her, causing a laugh to bubble out of her as she stepped out into the early morning, a cool breeze kissing her skin that the rain had ushered in.
The world is large and time may be endless, but it's all an exciting adventure with the right person beside you. Inspired in part by Timeless by Taylor Swift, Immortals by Fall Out Boy, and by my own historical research fixations. Also a tiny bit of Istanbul by They Might be Giants
A/N: I will say I wanted to flesh this out a bit more and had a whole plan on how to, but I started a new job recently and I haven't had the energy to keep writing during my free time, so I edited what I had and have it here for you to enjoy. I also wanted to write for a bunch of Rowaelin month days but I think this is all I have in me for now.
Finally, I just have a fair warning: I got really into slang words in this. i had way too much fun with them, so hopefully its understandable lol
Masterlist | Rowaelin Month | Read on Ao3
6494 words
Written for Rowaelin Month 2023 - Day 1: SongFic
*******
Morning light peeked through the curtains fluttering around the open window of their living room. She could faintly hear the sounds of the neighborhood filtering through – cars cruising by, a riding lawnmower cutting clean lines into the grass, a couple of kids out riding their bicycles, and the steadily growing music of an ice cream truck.
“Rowan, have you seen the…” Aelin trailed off as she realized her husband wasn’t in the room with her anymore.
He chose to go by his given name nowadays, reminding her again of their youth and all the best parts about learning how to grow up before the reality of time set in.
She was sitting cross-legged on the plush rug, combing through a box of mementos she’d found tucked away between stacks of old books.
She must’ve been more distracted by them than she had thought because when she looked at the clock, nearly two hours had gone by and Rowan, who had been sitting in the armchair across from her, wasn’t there anymore. She did have a vague memory of a kiss being pressed to her forehead and hearing his muffled voice but she’d been too distracted.
Aelin gathered the things she’d been picking out and put all the photographs, letters, and trinkets back in their box, before getting up and carefully carrying it with her as she went looking for Rowan.
It didn’t take long. The man was out on their back porch, sitting on the wooden swing and using one leg to slowly rock himself back and forth. He wasn’t looking at her but she saw the smile on his face as she approached. He always knew she was there; he could always sense her. Aelin walked towards him and grinned against his mouth when she ducked down to kiss him, before unceremoniously dropping down onto the swing beside him. His rocking didn’t falter a second.
“Is that what’s taken your attention today?” He asked, nodding at the large, well-loved box she placed on the floor in front of them.
“Have you looked through this recently?” She let his question float away and started pulling out some of the forgotten treasures they’d accumulated.
Shrugging, Rowan leaned forward to get a better look and fondly bumped his shoulder against hers.
“Don’t think so,” he rubbed at the stubble shadowing his face as he thought about it. “Probably not since we moved in.”
Aelin hummed in answer and quickly picked through the papers. “I forgot we had all of this stuff.” She paused, thinking, and dove back into the box, this time with purpose. “Do you know where the portraits are?”
A light breeze blew a strand of blonde hair into her face and Rowan reached out to tuck it behind her ear.
“Which portraits?”
“You know,” she waved irreverently, “the ones done by…what’s his name?”
“Oh of course,” he amended seriously. “Those portraits.”
Huffing a laugh, Aelin fell back against the swing and swatted his shoulder as he chuckled. “You know who I’m talking about,” she insisted.
Truth be told, they’d had so many pictures taken and portraits painted that he didn’t know where to start with his guessing. His wife could be referring to anything.
“Leo?”
“No,” she shook her head.
“Johannes?”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Vincent?”
“Ugh,” she groaned, rubbing her hand down her face, “this is going to bug me all day.” A second later she popped back up and turned towards him with wide eyes, “Oh! You know what I really wish we still had?” she asked.
He wished they could have saved all their keepsakes, but that would’ve been impossible. “Not a clue.”
“Those busts we had back in Ἀθῆναι,” She said, her eyes growing distant as she fell back into a memory from their younger years.
He hummed, knowingly. “Those were nice. But I doubt they’re in Athens anymore.”
“No, I know that.” She said sitting back and leaning into him, getting closer as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I think the last time I saw them was in Constantinople.”
“Istanbul,” Rowan corrected.
“What?” she turned her face to see him from where she’d tucked herself into his side.
“It’s Istanbul.” He said again.
She blinked and then rolled her eyes as she understood what he was saying. “Well, it was Constantinople.”
“And now,” he poked her, earning himself a startled laugh, “It’s Istanbul.”
“Whatever,” Aelin snorted. “I still miss those statues.”
Rowan kicked one leg out and began rocking them again, careful not to overturn the box. “You know where they are,” he reminded her, “we could always go see them.”
She scrunched her nose up. “Yeah, but I don’t like paying an entry fee to see myself.”
The breeze picked up and the pair enjoyed a few minutes of quiet, broken only by the faint creaking of the swing and the birds and insects outside. She absentmindedly took his other hand in hers and couldn’t help but think back –
Back to when they were young and naïve and had no idea what sort of life they would have ahead of them.
Back to their beginning.
The land of their childhoods was rich, and their life a simple one. Most everyone around them were farmers or fishermen, soldiers or tradesmen. There were scholars, artists, and builders.
Aelin learned stories of gods and heroes and gave tribute to Athena, the patron goddess of her home. She learned how to weave from her mother, and waited for the day she was set to marry the son from a family her father wanted ties with.
Rowan worked and studied and then became a soldier, fighting in bloody battles across the city-states before he returned to wed.
The two had always known they would be married. Their families arranged it long before either Aelin or Rowan were old enough to offer their thoughts. But they were happy. It was well.
For a while, their life was as ordinary as any others in their Polis.
It wasn’t until the two of them had watched their families grow old that they realized their own lives were different. Unchanging. Everlasting.
They learned how to adapt.
The armor Rowan wore became stronger; the language of the orders being shouted changed; Democracy, philosophy, and art flourished. Wars raged. The land they lived on changed names and changed again.
Sometimes years passed when Aelin and Rowan were apart, separated for one reason or another. Other times, decades went by without notice, time losing the meaning it once had. But they always gravitated back to each other.
They met as Aelin Galathynius and Rowan Whitethorn.
They reunited as Aeliana Galanis and Romulus Whitheia.
As Eleyn Galliano and Rowland Whitton.
As Astrid and Warin.
As Alana and Royce.
There were some names they liked better than others.
They saw empires rise and fall. A world they once called home became ancient.
And as the world became more complicated – as royalty and religion shaped the nations, conquering and separating territories, as battles waged and revolutions erupted, as explorers flung themselves to the far reaches of the earth – Aelin and Rowan found their lives drifting apart from one another until they only had their memories and a knowing sense that someday they would find each other again.
"Whiskey. Neat." He drawled, dropping his dusty hat onto the bar top. The wood was scratched up from too many glasses missing their mark. And sticky, too. Not that he'd say so. He was a smart enough man not to complain to the lady behind the bar. Even it meant swallowing back a grimace at the thought of putting that hat back on his head. "Ma'am."
The woman was already halfway finished pouring the bottle. She had known it was him before he’d opened his mouth; but she smiled when his voice hit her, having recognized the sound of him walking ‘cross those old floorboards and taking a seat at his usual stool – the one right in front of her.
She’d had lifetimes to recognize him.
Still turned away, she shelved the dark bottle of booze back where it belonged.
For a moment, it reminded him of the day he found her here.
He’d been up in Oregon near the California border, following a late wave of gold seekers when he caught whispers of a town a few days south of him, where a woman was holding down a claim to the saloon. A real Calamity Jane if there ever was one.
He knew she was somewhere out here, that she’d ventured west at the call of adventure. Hell, he’d braved across the frontier too, slowly working his way from ranch to ranch and crossing lands that didn’t exist on the maps he’d once held.
But knowing there was a chance of finding her again, and actually hitting pay dirt were two very different things. He had ridden into town knowing not to get his hopes up, but when he stepped into that saloon, heavenly shaded and cool from the high-noon sun, he knew it was her.
She’d been standing behind the bar with her hair woven into a loose braid tossed over one shoulder. Her well-worn clothes somehow suited her just as well as laced-up gowns, pirate’s trousers, or peploi of their youth. Her skirts were long but didn’t look heavy and she had pushed the sleeves of her blouse up to combat the heat. Around her waist, she wore a holster which didn’t surprise him one bit and he supposed running a saloon warranted the pistol that she’d slotted in there.
He was walking towards the bar before he knew what he was doing, and when she lifted her arm to count the bottles she’d lined up on the shelves, he caught sight of the small scar on her forearm. If he still had any doubts, seeing that blew them all to the wind. He could recall with deafening detail the day she’d gotten that scar, the spatha blade that gave it to her, and the Roman general he’d killed for it.
Her back was still turned towards him when he slowly sat down on the stool across from her.
“Aelin.”
In an instant, she went completely and utterly still.
She would know his voice anywhere. Know him anywhere. And even if she hadn’t, there was only one person who would ever call her by that name.
Lifetimes worth of memories flashed behind her eyes as her heart began pounding a thunderous beat. She felt like all the wind had been knocked from her, yet also it was the first time she could breathe in years. She wasn’t sure how that was possible. But then, she’d long since given up deciding what was possible and impossible when it came to him.
And her mind was putting in the licks like a six-shooter horse; like she was electrified.
Carefully setting the bottle in her hand back down on the countertop, slowly, so slowly, she turned to face him.
As they locked eyes a million different emotions flew across her face and he was sure as a gun his was looking the same.
She smiled, wide and bright, and her eyes lined themselves with silver.
“Linny,” she breathed, her first word to him in over half a century. “It’s Linn, actually, but everyone ‘round here calls me Linny.”
Her voice was dipped in that sweet, honeyed drawl they’d been surrounded by. And he laughed, feeling like the years just melted away because she did too. The kind of laugh that said more than words ever could.
A few men at a nearby table looked over to see what all the fuss was about, but it was a joke that only the two of them knew the punchline to.
And then, having been reminded that they had eyes on them, she was reaching across the old wood bar holding out her hand. “Linny,” she said again, still beaming at him, “Linny Gale. It’s a pleasure to meet you…” she trailed off with a knowing smirk.
He remembered every instance in which she had looked at him with those same twinkling eyes, and by the growing elation of her face, so could she. He cleared his throat and took her hand in his, smiling even broader when his roughened skin met hers. “Roe Wyatt.” Her smile softened into something special. “At your service, ma’am.”
Roe hadn’t known what came next for him, but what he did know was that she was here – staying. So, he stayed, too.
As she set the glass of whiskey in front of him, that day from almost a decade prior faded away and she brought him back with the small curve of her lips as she greeted him, “Sheriff.”
At least here, in this dusty town on the far side of the world, filled with desert rats still scrounging for that elusive gold, and where he's wearing the badge instead of running from it...at least here he gets to see her face every day.
*****
Life out here was tough, Linny knew that, but she liked it. And she liked it much more now that Roe was back in her life. Point is, she knew folks made their money any way they could, especially the women.
She’d seen enough life to know what it’s like when you don’t have the resources you need. So for every working woman who found herself under Linny’s roof, she’d be offered a spot as a barmaid, pulling in the pieces so they wouldn’t feel like they needed to work upstairs. But if they did, they wanted to - and for that, all the power to ‘em. Everyone who frequented her saloon knew that if they misbehaved themselves with those women, they’d be looking down the barrel of her shotgun.
The first - and last - unlucky man who mistook her for a painted lady didn't make it back out that door.
Linny knew her way around a broken bottle well enough that the Sheriff ordered another round and watched two of the regular old boys clean up the mess. Most of it, anyway. He knew there was still a spot near the end of the bar where the wood’s stained darker than the rest. She thanked him mighty finely for turning a blind eye, too. She was sweet on him like that.
To everyone else in town, it was a mystery why they ain't gotten hitched yet. They all saw the knowing glances and conversations with so many in-jokes it sounded like they were speaking a different language. She never accepted any other man’s courtin’ and folks from around these parts knew not to try anymore, especially when the Sheriff only ever had eyes for her.
They knew not to mess with Linny Gale, too, because if she didn’t get you first, the Sheriff would make sure you never stepped foot in town again; and if some Hay Seed thought he was quicker to the draw than Roe Wyatt, he either ended up food for the buzzards with a lead plumb between his eyes or was found crawling out the back of the saloon while the arsenic-flavored whiskey he got served hit its mark.
To everyone else, his calling on her was moving slower than molasses in January.
They didn’t know the half of it.
*****
“Howdy, Miss Linny. Sheriff.”
She half smiled at the old man taking a seat on a bar stool two over from Roe. She was already grabbing a glass and pouring as she asked, “What can I get’cha for?”
He chuckled when he saw she’d already poured his whiskey. “You know me too well.”
“And whose fault is that y’old honeysop,“ she laughed.
He’d gulped down half the drink and the skin at his eyes crinkled. “My mammy used to say that…honeysop…I ain’t heard no soul say that since ‘fore I could look over the dinner table.”
Her small smile was wistful as she wiped down the countertop and grabbed another glass, using a different rag she’d slung over her shoulder to give it a good wiping down.
“I’m an old soul.”
He chuckled; eyes distant, lost in a memory. “Yeah, m’ mammy was too.” He looked up and smiled the way he did at his little grandbabies, “A sweet thing like you is too young for that.”
Linny kept wiping down glasses sharing an automatic glance with Roe. A small smile graced her face as easily concealed mirth danced across his.
Setting the last glass down, she tossed the towel back over her shoulder and leaned closer to the older man. “Sweet talking me ain’t gonna pay off your tab, Rolph.”
“Always gotta try, ma’am,” he huffed a laugh and stood, finishing the last of the amber liquid.
Linny shook her head fondly and Roe lifted his hand in a wave. “This is the last one, ya hear?” The old coot held his hand over his heart and smiled before walking out into the blaring sun.
“How many last ones ‘ve you given him?” Roe asked, still nursing the drink she’d poured him a while ago.
A huff of air blew a stray blonde lock out of her face. “A few.”
“You’ll run this place out of business ‘f you keep doing that.”
“He’s sweet,” she rested her elbows on the bar and leaned in, “He’s been taking wildflowers up to Madam Briar’s twice a week. Sometimes I see them ambling together down by the general store.
“He don’t mean no harm. He calls me young and sweet; I like it.” She laughed and he smiled. “And don’t you be worrying about this place. She ain’t in trouble yet. I always overcharge those rowdy boys that breeze in from the next town over. Don’t know why they keep coming back, sure as hell not for my welcoming, not after one couldn’t hold his booze and was sick as a horse all over my floor.” She huffed indignantly but then shrugged. “But I’m keeping my shutters painted and bottles full ‘cause of them so they ain’t so bad.”
Most days were right as rain. Linny handled her saloon with little trouble, but if there was any left after she was done, Roe used his badge to finish it.
So, when some fella too big for his breeches moseyed on in, you could cut the tension with a knife.
The saloon fell silent, something Linny might’ve marveled at if it weren’t for the no-good Saddle Stiff who’d sauntered in looking for hell to pay. The man took one long look around the room until his eyes landed on Roe and the star-shaped badge on his chest.
“You the gunslinger ‘round these parts?” His voice was rough and hard when he stepped in front of the Sheriff.
Barely blinking, he eyed the newcomer up and down, then he took a long sip of his drink and looked him square in the eye before gesturing with his half-empty glass to Linny. “You best be taking that up with her.”
Scoffing, the man didn’t even look at her. “You that cowardly a Sheriff you’ll let some hussy take your beatin’?”
Any lingering whispers went completely quiet as Roe slowly stood from his stool. He had a few inches on the man and didn’t bother fighting off a smirk when the newcomer tried squaring his shoulders to look as big as him. The Sheriff held the man’s gaze as he finished the rest of his whiskey before stepping closer and looking down at the lunkhead.
“First off, partner,” Roe drawled in a low voice. “I don’t let her do anything. Second,” he stepped closer, forcing the other man to falter before regaining the ridiculous bravado he walked in with. “You come in here, rilin’ everybody up, hollerin’ for the man in charge, I’ll tell you this – you’re in this town, in this saloon – she’s in charge. And she don’t take well to outsiders walking in here acting like they know their ups from downs.
“Finally,” Roe took another step into the man’s space and shoved his chest with one hand before gripping the material in his fist and hauling him up. “You ever call her that again, you’ll really have to deal with me, and you don’t want to deal with me after spitting on this here lady.” He leaned closer and practically growled, “You won’t be walkin’ ‘way from that.”
Roe let the man drop back down flat-footed and watched as he stumbled but looked between the Sheriff and Linny who’d been watching the scene. He made some sort of decision and went to open his mouth trying to say shit nobody wanted to hear but before he could get two words past his gullet, Linny reached into her skirts, pulled out a loaded pistol, and aimed it straight between his eyes.
“Get your lousy ass outta my establishment.” She cocked the gun, not batting an eye. “Or I’m ‘bout to have another dead body on my premises. That ain’t gonna look so good to the Sheriff.”
Said Sheriff caught the bead of sweat finally dripping down the man’s face and shrugged. “Don’t know nothing ‘bout no body.”
Linny smirked and flashed him a wink before refocusing on the man standing on the other side of the bar. “Now, you gonna get back on that ruddy horse of yours that’s scaring all the fillies outside?” she asked. “Or are you gonna make me get my floors dirty?”
Having no sense of what he’d walked himself into, the man looked her up and down holding that pistol with a steady hand, and scoffed. “That supposed to scare me, Calico Queen?”
Roe slammed his fist on the bar and gripped the man’s shirt again, but Linny’s brows just shot up.
“Oh, you ain’t scared of this old thing?” she asked airily. One second the pistol was pointed at him, the next the flickering gas lamp in the corner of the saloon shattered in a rain of broken glass as a bullet lodged itself in the wood directly behind it. “That was giving me a damn headache anyway. What about this one?” she set the pistol on the bar and reached below it, pulling out a long shotgun.
The front doors came swinging in hard enough to crash against the walls as they pivoted on rusted hinges. Another man, a local who helped tend the horses, ran in breathless unaware of what he’d walked himself into.
“Sheriff!” he panted. “Need your help breaking up a brawl out front.”
Roe looked at Linny who had the situation very much in hand and let go of the scamp who wouldn’t be breathing much longer. Adjusting his hat, Roe nodded to her. “Duty calls, ma’am. For both our sakes, when you pull that here trigger, at least corral him outside will ya?”
“Fine by me, poppet. Less mess in here for me to clean up.” She smiled at him. “That’d be all yours to handle, Sheriff.”
And it was.
And they stayed in that town until they couldn’t.
And then they left. Together.
“Where do you want it, Ace?”
Annie – Ace – pulled out her deck of luckies and lit up a butt, inhaling and blowing the smoke out in a practiced ring. The alley she was standing in was blocked off from the main road and, for extra precaution, always had a protective pair of eyes on the entrance; not that anyone would notice the guards, she was too smart to orchestrate anything so obvious.
Keeping her face neutral, she surveyed the haul of smuggled liquor brought to her by one of the active bootleggers in their employ. The two men behind her stayed quiet; stoic, as she blew another smoke ring. She spotted in a second that the poorly concealed unease radiating off the man wasn’t because of the loaded weapons either of her boys was carrying. She looked the bottles over once, twice –
“You’re just the bees’ knees, Cal. Always bringing me the best.” She indulged him a bit, pulling the cigarette from her mouth, and watched the tension ease out of his shoulders.
“Anything for you,” he grinned shakily and kept fidgeting. The damn sap was sweating bullets. He tried making small talk and she let him think he was getting away with it for another minute before she stopped him from lamming off.
“One thing, you old Mug,” her voice dropped all sweetness, and as she stared him down, all the blood drained from his face.
Jerking her head at one of the trouble boys behind her, he wasted no time in pulling out a gat and pointing it at the idiot who thought he could fool her.
“Do you take me for a Dumb Dora? A patsy?” She asked steadily, smirking when she heard the trigger being cocked. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I know the fucking difference between profitable giggle juice and piss-poor hooch.”
The man was shaking now but she had no patience for disrespect. Not here.
“I—I don’t, I don’t know what you’re spittin’ about, Ace.” He stammered.
“That’s Mrs. Thorne to you.” She corrected him, arching a brow. Turning on her heel she ignored Mr. Weston’s pleading and said to her trigger man, “Don’t make a mess. This damn alley smells bad enough.”
The other man who’d been standing behind her reached for the door holding it open for her without a word. She flashed him a smile and walked back into the speakeasy. Annie was immediately surrounded by raucous laughter and brassy jazz music, it was just enough to drown out the shot fired behind her and the thud of a body hitting the ground.
*****
Owen loved the sound of the big band. It never got old, no matter how many nights he spent sitting in this drum, putting down glasses of champagne. He liked even better, that no one bothered him at his table in the corner – no one he didn’t want bothering him, that is.
He especially liked it because he had a clear sight of both doors, the stage, and the bar. Not to mention he never had a problem picking his Ace out of the crowd. The club may have been bedecked in lights and gold, but his wife always shined brighter.
Tonight, he spotted her standing next to a young doll who looked scared enough just to be standing in a juice joint, let alone able to enjoy herself. But the longer he watched them, the more at ease the girl looked in Ace’s company.
“Don’t be getting the jitters, now,” Annie rubbed a comforting hand down the girl’s arm. She couldn’t have been older than twenty, and it was obvious she’d never been in a place like this before. “You see those fellas in the corner there?” she nodded towards a pair of men halfway through a bottle of gin, each with a fine damp on their laps. “Those boys are coppers.”
When the young girl looked back, startled, the blonde laughed and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Lose those heebie-jeebies. You’re safe here.”
Annie looked over the girl’s head and saw that her man was already looking at her. Like always. She gave him a subtle nod, which he immediately returned, setting down his glass and gesturing to one of the men standing to the side of his table. Ace didn’t need to hear him to know what her husband was ordering.
“No one in this joint is a danger to you, you have my word.” At the girl’s still skeptical look, Ace smiled conspiratorially at her. “Take another look around, you see that handsome guy sitting there – no don’t stare – people in here listen to him. And he listens to me.” She leaned in closer and the girl finally smiled, making Ace’s smile wider. “He is absolutely dizzy with me. Now, let's get you a delicious glass of bubbly,” She snapped at one of the nearby waiters who came by and handed the girl some champagne. “Relax here at the bar and listen to our sweet canary sing. I heard her practicing her verses earlier and she's lovely.”
Leaving the girl in good hands, Annie snagged her own glass of champagne off a passing waiter and strutted across the dancefloor towards Owen. Her dress shimmered under the lights as she flounced to her husband’s table which was now occupied with a couple familiar faces. He didn’t falter in his conversation as she gracefully draped herself across his lap and wrapped an arm around his neck, carding her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Ace,” he squeezed her hip in greeting, “you remember Lore and Fen.”
“Ain’t you a looker,” Fen winked, and Annie smirked, feeling her husband’s grip on her hip tighten.
“Down boy,” she chuckled, crossing one leg over the other and subtly leaning closer into Owen’s embrace.
“They were just telling me,” he explained to her, “that our buddy at the station got word some Dry folks want to take matters into their own hands.”
“They don’t think the coppers are doing their job,” Fen leaned back, smirking. “Not finding and shuttin’ down all those corrupted, underground joints.”
Annie snorted and turned over her shoulder to look at the two Johns drinking away with badges hidden somewhere in their jackets. “I think they’re doing a swell job.”
Her laughter was echoed by Owen and Fen, but Lore just rolled his eyes at her flippancy.
“Those damn teetotalers think they’re so high and mighty,” The man gritted out, glaring daggers at the policemen in the corner – darkly enough Annie was surprised the boys didn’t drop dead on the spot.
“Cut it out, Salterre,” Annie chastised. He redirected his glare to her and even though she felt Owen stiffen, she merely smirked at the glowering man. “If you keep up looking so sore, people are bound to notice, and then those fellas will get made. It won’t take a genius to figure out why a man sitting comfortably at this here table is looking to pop one of them off.”
“I don’t think Salterre has ever sat comfortably.”
None of them paid Fen’s comment any head, but Annie’s smirk widened just a fraction.
“Yeah?” Lore goaded, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it between his teeth. “And why would that be so bad?”
Before she could answer, Owen beat her to it.
“What, you killing them? Or someone noticing you want to?”
“Both?” The dark-haired man asked, unconcerned. “Either? No one’s gonna be crying over a couple less coppers.”
“Get your head out of your ass, Salterre.” Annie snapped, staring hard at him. “You kill them? That comes back to bite us. I wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re smart, but I know you have eyes.” She ignored his sneer. “Look around and tell me how many people are in the club? Tell me how many people would be able to say that they saw those boys here.”
“So? That’s bad for them, not us.” He shrugged dismissively.
Annie downed the rest of her champagne and wished for strength. “No one in here but a few of us,” she looked pointedly around the small circle, “know they’re coppers. Anyone else would just know that they recognized those two goddamn faces in here before you supposedly cut ‘em down. That leads questions coming back here, to our establishment, to you, to us. That is not what we fucking want. It's the whole fucking reason we pay those boys off in the first place – so that they won’t be bringing questions around here. We help them, they help us. That’s how this works, rattlecap.”
Annie snapped her fingers and a fresh glass of champagne found itself in her hand. She took a long sip before threatening, “If you think you’re above all that, then I’ll be handling you myself.”
Lore didn’t say anything when she raised her brows at him, he just shifted his gaze to her husband as if he would contradict or chastise her. Owen leaned back in his seat, pulling her with him as they settled into the plush cushion.
“You heard the lady,” Owen simply said, instead.
And with that, Fen started snickering and Lore stretched his arms out on the edge of the booth as he silently seethed. The band picked up the first notes of a new song that had Annie twisting on her husband's lap to listen to the music.
When she rested her head against Owen’s he squeezed her hip again and fondly muttered, “Ace.” Some days it was her sweet nickname, on others it was a curse, and sometimes, like right now and said in a way that made her turn to press a red-lipped kiss to his cheek, it was a prayer.
*****
The wind roared around them as their car sped down the road. Owen was driving with one hand on the wheel and the other half-hanging out the window. Annie smiled as the scenery flew by in a blur. Tall buildings and crowded streets gave way to green foliage and open land.
The engine purred and she couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. She’d seen a lot of discoveries and creations, and she always wondered how they could ever get better, but they usually did - things always evolved and spurred the invention of new things. She remembered the journeys in horse-drawn carriages and knew that back then she wouldn’t have been able to dream of a day like today, flying down the roads in a beautiful car, the engine powering them to its limits.
Getting close to the house, Owen pulled off the main motorway and took a winding, private road that wound them beneath blooming trees, their canopies painting the pavement in shade.
The house wasn’t extravagant; in fact, it was incredibly modest. It was something her husband had built in his early days on this continent. Long before the Great War, before the Gold Rush, before the Civil War, and revolutionary battles. Back when they both were searching for something new and took those leaps, journeying across the ocean.
Their lives sometimes felt like swinging pendulums, positioned closely enough to intertwine, drawing them together indistinguishably, but angled just so and pulling them apart when they least expected.
As she reached for Owen’s hands and intertwined their fingers, squeezing once, she vowed to never let that happen again.
It wasn’t long before they’d brought their bags in and decided to take a walk along one of the trails beyond the house.
“Do you think we have to worry about Lore going rogue?” She asked quietly, leaning into Owen’s arm.
“No, I don’t think so,” he shook his head, carding one hand through his un-slicked back hair. “He has a temper but he’s smart. Worst he’ll do is give ‘em some words, but he wouldn’t do worse than that. He knows it’ll only go bad.”
“I think you give him too much credit.”
“I think you give yourself too little,” he countered, and at her raised brow he chuckled. “He’ll put up a fight, but he won’t cross you.”
Annie hummed. “As far as he’s concerned, you’re the one he should be holding back for.”
Owen barked a laugh. “If you honestly think that he doesn’t know who is really calling the shots then you are severely underestimating him.”
“I’m not underestimating his intelligence. I’m insulting his lack of tact.” She told him as they kept walking. “You know we work together; I know we work together; they know we work together; but most of the fellas packing heat and doing the work still think you have the final word. And that works because it allows me to do things I need to do without as sharp an eye watching my moves.
“And if Salterre keeps pushing, then it won’t be long before everyone knows exactly how I can handle things – and that will be bad for both of us.” She pulled back and smirked up at his amused expression. “How do you think our supply is the best in town? Because I go out and make friends with all those grimy bootlegger’s dames; and between us ladies, things get done, arrangements get made, deals get sorted. And then, without watchful eyes on our lovely, delicate selves, we get our fellas to follow through with those deals…and the world goes round.”
“Okay, okay,” he laughed, agreeing. “Enough about that. I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”
“Good.”
“And, Ace?” he laughed again, “You and I both know that every son of a bitch who works with us knows damn well that you’re packing as much heat as any one of them.”
They fell into companionable silence. There was no one in the world she felt as comfortable around.
“Do you remember when we got married?” She asked him suddenly.
“Of course, I do, Ace. It wasn’t that long ago.”
Her dress brushed against her legs as the breeze picked up.
“No, not this time,” she said. “I mean the time during the revolution.”
They kept walking steadily as he thought. “Which one?”
“The European one,” she elaborated.
He glanced down at her again. “Which one?”
“Oh, stop you sap,” she nudged his rib fondly. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Yes, I know what you’re talking about.” He stopped them and turned her to face him. “I remember every wedding I’ve had with you. I remember every ceremony and every dress. Every officiant. Every wedding night. And the only – only – thing that is good about the years when we’ve been apart is that every time we were, I knew I had one thing to look forward to: finding you again and getting to learn who you’ve become.”
“Ἀγαπῶ σὲ,” Annie whispered, silver-lined eyes staring up into his deep green ones.
“Te amo.”
“Ti amo.”
“Je t’aime.”
“I love you.”
**************
Sitting on their aging porch swing, Aelin found herself sorting through faded pictures. There was one of them in a poodle skirt and leather, of flared bell bottoms and disco lights, of wild hair and rock concerts they still sing along to. There was one of them from New Year’s Eve, bedecked in glitter and tassels that had been shot off the moment that the millennium ended. And another one, taken a few seconds later – thank you Polaroid technology – of Rowan dipping Aelin, his arms wrapped around her as they both smiled too hard to really keep up their kiss, as they welcomed a new day, a new year, a new century and millennium. Giddy about what was to come.
“I think that’s enough reminiscing,” she finally whispered, reorganizing the images and replacing the lid on the box.
“Yeah?” Rowan asked, just as quietly.
Aelin smiled, pressed a kiss to his lips, intertwined their fingers so their wedding bands glinted in the fading light, and answered, “Yeah. For now.”
Aelin finds out she's pregnant with their 5th child
Y'all, I'm loving all these baby prompts honestly. Keep 'em coming!
Thanks for sending this in :)
What's Another One?
Masterlist
Word Count: 1.7k
Warnings: none!
Another morning, another trip to the bathroom for Aelin. She hadn’t been feeling well for the past week and her normal morning routine was commonly interrupted by vomiting and sickness that made her feel like all she wanted to do was stay in bed. With four kids, it wasn’t entirely uncommon that someone in her household was sick, though with their fae heritage, these sicknesses were usually few and far between.
But Aelin seemed unable to get over this particular sickness.
She heard rather than saw her oldest, Alma, walk into the bathroom and gently take her hair. Her eldest was nearing ten years old and the girl was gods-sent. She was caring, gentle, and doting on her younger siblings and it was shown in the way she was currently mothering Aelin herself; holding back her hair while vomiting, filling a cup of water to rinse her mouth out, and then gently rubbing Aelin’s back. Aelin couldn’t help but think she’d make a fine queen someday. Hopefully far, far into the future.
Once Aelin felt like she could get a few words out, she turned to her daughter, bringing her into her side for a squeeze.
“Thank you, my sweet. You’re the best.” With a kiss to her hair, Aelin brought Alma’s head to lean on her shoulder, Aelin cuddling up to her daughter as best she could on the cold tile of the bathroom. “Wait, weren’t you with your sister?”
“Yes, but Idalia is fine, Mama. She’s in your room right now playing with her dollies.”
“Thank you for taking such good care of her while I’m sick and Papa is running the kingdom.”
Her daughter snorted, all Aelin through and through. “Papa hates running the kingdom. I’ll bet you ten gold coins that he will walk through that door grumbling about how his tunic itches.”
Aelin was already feeling better since she threw up but her daughter had a way of making her feel lighter. She loved all of her kids equally, of course. But Alma had a bit of a different relationship with her, being the oldest and the child set to inherit the kingdom. She understood that Alma sometimes felt there was a weight on her shoulders, one that Aelin knew all too well herself. Though she tried to bear most of that burden for her, she knew sometimes Alma just had to work things out herself. And of course, manifesting both fire and ice powers was no easy task for Alma to master. Even if she had two of the strongest magic wielders for parents.
Accompanying the pitter patter of tiny feet, her youngest’s screech was shrill in Aelin’s ears as she entered the bathroom.
“Mama!” The one and a half year old reached her arms toward Aelin, running as quickly as she could on semi-steady feet. If Alma was gentle and kind, Idalia was all fire and brute. She did have three older siblings to keep up with, after all. Idalia’s chubby arms wrapped around Aelin’s neck, sending them both flying backwards toward the edge of the tub.
“Woah there, little bug. Be careful.”
“Mama!” Idalia did not have volume control, which was making Aelin’s head throb at the moment. “All better, Mama?”
“Mama is still feeling a little sick. How about we go sit in the bed and read a book?” Idalia started wiggling in Aelin’s arms, desperate to climb into her parents’ giant, fluffy bed.
“Pick book, Mama. Be back.” And with that, Idalia ran her little chubby legs to her adjoining room.
Alma just laughed and helped her mother to the bed. Though Aelin wasn’t feeling incredibly nauseous any longer, she was grateful for the help due to her slight headache. A wave of dizziness passed over Aelin and she almost stumbled when she got to the bed.
“Mama! Are you ok?” Alma steadied her with a hand on her shoulder.
Aelin just placed a hand on her forehead, trying to regain her balance. “Mmhm. I’m ok, sweetie. Can you maybe just run and get Papa real quick? I know he should be done with his meeting soon.” Aelin knew Idalia would come running in any minute and quickly amended her statement. “And take Idalia with you!” Aelin winced. “And maybe Errin and Leven, too.”
Her daughter gave her a strange look before bounding out of the room.
Aelin loved her boys, Errin currently seven and Leven currently four. But she knew that they both had a penchant for getting into trouble when they were together without an adult watching them. Leven was all Rowan and even looked like her mate. He had a gentle, quiet disposition and water and ice powers that greatly outpaced Aelin’s own. But if Leven was his father, Errin was his mother, manifesting fire power at the age of three and being a terror around his siblings. While he may have chased them around, Aelin could see he loved them dearly and would never hurt them.
She decided to nap while she waited for her mate to come back, though she could tell that she was getting hungry if the grumbling in her stomach was any indication. Hmmm, she thought. She could always go for some chocolate hazelnut cake, her usual. But today she was also feeling something salty…or maybe something bitter. Maybe pickled eggs or roasted fish with a heaping of peppers on top. If she was being honest with herself, she didn’t know where either of those thoughts came from. She usually was not a fan of seafood and pickled things typically turned her stomach. Interesting.
The last time she was hungry for either of those things was when….
Shit.
Was when she was pregnant with Idalia.
Aelin hung her head in her hands, eyes wide and mouth hanging open in disbelief.
And that was exactly how her mate found her a few minutes later.
“Fireheart? What’s wrong?” Not only could she see the crease in Rowan’s brow but could feel his anxiety and panic down the mating bond. “Are you alright?”
She looked past Rowan to make sure none of her kids had lingered.
“Fuck.”
Rowan’s hands came up to cup her cheeks. “What? What’s wrong?”
“You tell me.” She waited for him to catch on or scent it on her but he just continued to be concerned. “Whoever said it was hard for fae to conceive was dead fucking wrong.” She could see the moment it clicked in Rowan’s eyes. His green eyes dropped down to her stomach and quickly darted back up to her face. Though the furrow in his brow was still there, it was now tinged with disbelief.
“You’re pregnant?” Rowan’s voice was breathy, unbelieving.
Aelin nodded. “I think so.” She gestured to her stomach, “If you would be so kind as to confirm.”
He pulled her into him gently yet with enough force that she was crushed to his chest. She felt his nose brush between her shoulder and neck, breathing in her scent. He let out a harsh breath that almost sounded like a sob and just started nodding.
They both stayed like that for a while, holding each other while they processed the happy news. Did Aelin ever expect to have five kids, much less five kids within ten years? Absolutely not. Was she still overjoyed at how much love she felt? Yes. She and Rowan already had a messy, chaotic family so what was one more added to that group? Truly, it was everything she ever could have hoped for. To be here with her mate, alive and healthy, and to have this life with him, one in which they could safely raise as many kids as they wanted.
Finally, Rowan pulled back, his eyes puffy from his tears. Yet Aelin thought he never looked so handsome.
“So, my all-knowing mate, what is it going to be this time?”
“I…I actually don’t know. In that dream I had, you were still pregnant with this one. So I’m as much in the dark as you are.” Years ago, talking about that dream would’ve made Rowan sweat with anxiety. Yet now, in the safety of Orynth, and with relative peace throughout Erilea, Rowan felt as though that dream was just that: a dream. Even if he correctly guessed the genders of his children, he knew Maeve was gone. Her dark power could never lash out and hurt his family ever again.
A devious grin crossed Aelin’s face. “So you’re saying there’s a chance that I might be right and you might be wrong this time?”
Rowan chuckled. “Yes, my love. If that’s what makes you happy.” They both embraced the other again, squeezing and holding on for dear life.
A small voice spoke up from the hallway. “Mama? Papa? Are you okay?” Alma’s arms were wrapped around a dozing Idalia, who was entirely comfortable in her sister’s arms. Errin was standing next to his sister with his arms crossed, a warrior guarding his precious family. And Leven stood to Alma’s other side, holding onto her pants and looking at Aelin and Rowan with concern.
Aelin stretched her arm out to her children. “Come here, my loves.”
Rowan gently took Idalia from Alma, the girl letting out a small huff of breath before settling into her father’s arms. The other three gathered in front of Aelin, all of them looking at her with bated breath.
“How do you guys feel about having another sibling?”
It was Alma that squealed first. “I knew it! I knew you were having another baby!”
“You knew?”
Alma shrugged. “You smelled different today.”
Aelin chuckled and smiled up at Rowan. Then she looked to her boys. Leven stayed quiet but looked thoughtful. However, Aelin didn’t expect Errin’s reaction, the boy usually not emotional nor sentimental. His little hand reached out to her still flat stomach and gave it a pat.
“I hope it’s another brother.” Aelin laughed and pulled her son into her arms, still small enough that he was easy to pick up. The other two piled in and soon the hug became a family embrace, Rowan with his arms full of Idalia joining the fray.
Aelin couldn’t help but think that this was one of the best moments of her life, here with their perfect little family. And she couldn’t help but think that the new baby was going to have so many people that loved them. They would never know what it’s like to be alone, she would make sure of that.
A/N: I hope you enjoy all this fluffiness! I adore writing baby fics and I know this fandom loves reading them so enjoy :)
here I am with another Rowaelin based on the foilowing prompt:
Rowaelin son, age 5/6/7 or so sees his big sister wearing a pretty dress and nail polish and asks dad if he could look pretty too??? and Rowan paints his nails
@rowaelinprompts
I have been eying that prompt for ages and today inspiration finally struck. it was fun to write and I hope I did it justice.
As usual I am bad at titles so apologies for that.
1.7k words
No warning, just pure undiluted Rowaelin fluff with their kids and Rowan being the most amazing dad that all the in the universe deserve.
Enjoy
----
Rowan loved weekends. He had a Monday to Friday corporate job, while his wife Aelin was a surgeon and could not always have that luxury.
Those two days at home gave him the opportunity to spend time with his kids. Maya was fifteen and growing way to fast for his taste. Freyja was eight and a little tornado. Thomas was the youngest at five and now he and Aelin were expecting another child. Having a big family had been their dream from the start. Their friends called them crazy but they did not care. They had desired a house full of laughter, screams and in perpetual chaos. Adjusting the work balance to an ever growing family had taken some adjustments but in the end they had made it work and the kids were thriving.
Rowan was in the kitchen tidying up after lunch, Freyja at his side helping him placing crockery in the dishwasher which he then had to reshuffle. She just loved to dump things randomly so then he had to move everything again according to his very highly tested stacking plan. Truth was, he did not care. Having his daughter’s company was precious to him.
“All done!” Freyja had raised her arms in celebration.
He chuckled and closed the door “yes, my love, now, do you want to press the button?”
“Yes!” Freyja pressed the button that her dad had indicated and sat down in front of the machine that had a glass window allowing them to see inside.
“Wash!”
Rowan lifted his daughter in his arms “let’s go and see what your sister and brother are doing.”
They walked to Thomas’ room and found it empty until laughter reached them from the room at the end of the corridor “let’s go and see what they are up to.”
Maya’s room was chaos. It looked as if his daughter’s room had suffered a wardrobe explosion.
“Did you have a fight with the closet?”
Freya squirmed in his arms and he let her go and his younger daughter ran to her sister’s bed and started trying on clothes that were far too big for her. Thomas in the meantime was sitting on the carpet and stared at his two sisters in fascination. He was a very quiet boy and Aelin kept telling him that he was a little Rowan.
“Mum did tell you that I am going to Aidan’s birthday party later on, right?”
“Yes Maya, she did and I know that auntie Elide is picking you up.”
Maya sat frustrated on the bed after throwing another dress on the floor “I look horrible in every dress.”
Rowan sighed. He and Aelin were getting used to a teenager daughter and all the drama that came attached with it. Luckily their circle of friends was more or less in the same situation so they had been exchanging tips on how to deal with angry, stressed and frustrated teenagers.
“There is this girl from my class that I really like and I just want to look nice but…” a loud groan left Maya’s lungs.
His eldest was all Aelin. Fierce and hot tempered just like her mother. Six months before, Maya had gone to her mother and confessed she thought she was interested in both girls and boys. She hadn’t said anything to him because she was afraid to disappoint him, but when Aelin told him he had gone and spoke to Maya offering all of his support. His daughter happiness was all that mattered. He had only told her that no matter whether she brought home a woman or a man, he was still playing jealous dad because she was and would always be his princess.
Rowan walked to the bed and picked a nice green dress “what about this one? It matches your eyes.” Maya was his clone. Same silver hair and same pine green eyes. The other two were a mix of both parents’ traits.
“What do you think kids? Does Maya look nice in this one?”
Freyja and Thomas approved loudly and Maya smiled.
“Fine, family approval. I guess I can try this on.”
While Maya disappeared to get changed, Freyja had sneaked in the open wardrobe and started taking out all of her sister’s remaining dresses and when Rowan turned he saw her with a red wig that her sister had used for Samhain a few years back.
“Looking good Freya.”
The girl giggled and in that instant Maya came back and Rowan turned to her. The dress suited her perfectly and hugged her in the right places without being too sensual. She looked beautiful and a part of him ached at the idea that her daughter would start to date soon and he was not ready to see her going through all of the heartache in the process. Not everyone was as lucky as he and Aelin had been. Not everyone got to marry their best friend and soulmate.
“Baby, you are stunning and I hope that girl will see it too.”
“You are so pretty,” added Freyja hugging her sister at knee level.
“Tom, what do you think?”
“I like green.”
“Well, you have the family approval and I am sure mum would agree too. I just texted her.”
Maya started to get ready and Freyja kept playing with her sister’s clothes. Rowan then noticed Thomas trying to wear a nice blue dress.
“It’s too big, Tom.”
“But I like it.” Hurt thick in his voice.
Freya looked at her brother and disappeared away, probably to her room. When she came back she was carrying her little suitcase which was full of a lot of her princess dresses and accessories.
Thomas looked at his sister with joy and the two young ones started rummaging in the suitcase.
“We can have a parade.” Added Maya, looking at her siblings with delight.
Maya helped Freyja and Rowan sat on the floor and he and Thomas went through the clothes until the boy settled on a nice sparkly princess dress.
Thomas’ gaze then landed on Freyja wearing a tiara and then Maya painting her nails “Dada, I want to look pretty too.” He added, while pointing at his sisters.
Freyja walked to her brother and placed her tiara on his head and the boy smiled.
“Do you want to paint your nails too? Like your sister?”
The boy squealed in delight and ran to Maya who at the question had sat down on the floor and took out her box with nail polish “which one do you want?”
Thomas looked at his father and Rowan nodded “you have a light blue dress, do you want blue nail polish too?”
“Green.”
“Green it is.”
Maya was about to start painting her brother’s nails but Rowan stopped her “I got this, finish getting ready. The little ones and I will get ready for our party tonight with mum.”
“Yes. Can we party with mum?”
“She is coming home soon, we need to get ready for her.”
Rowan sat on the bed and asked Thomas to kneel and place his hand on his thigh “now you need to sit still.”
One by one he painted all the nails and then Maya showed him how to blow on them to dry faster.
In the meantime, Freyja had finished dressing up and was wearing one of her favourite Disney princess costume, her sister’s red wig a set of bright yellow sunglasses and a plastic sword in her hands. It was the weirdest combination but he and Aelin had always allowed the children to express themselves freely.
“Dad, am I pretty too?”
“Absolutely dashing, my love.”
The girl preened just like her mother would do.
Once Thomas’s nail were dry he just started jumping around happy “I am pretty.”
He took a picture of all of them when Freyja walked to him and pulled his hand for attention “dada, you need to look pretty too.”
“Do I?”
“Yes,” Freyja gave him wide grin showing her missing tooth. He sat back down on the floor and Freyja placed a bright pink boa feather scarf around his neck, Thomas gave him another of the many tiaras and Freyja then added a pair of big clip on earrings.
“Dada, you are pretty too now.”
Rowan stood and walked to the mirror and laughed.
In that instant Aelin’s voice reached them all and the two wee ones started screaming in happiness.
“Slowly, we will parade down the stairs and surprise mum.”
Freyja was the first one out of the room and Thomas followed holding her hand.
“Dad, you look dashing too. Does mum know she married a pretty princess?”
Rowan grinned and flicked his long hair and adjusted his tiara “Maya, your mum is the warrior who slays dragons for me.”
They both laughed and then Rowan offered his arms to his daughter “let’s go.”
Together they reached the living room where Thomas and Freyja were parading in front of Aelin who was sitting on the sofa.
Rowan saw her face restrain a laughter as soon as she spotted her husband and his current attire.
“You make a good princess, dear husband.”
“We had the best stylists.” Added Maya with pride.
Aelin looked at her daughter with love “you are beautiful, my love.” She then placed her hands on her hips “now I am the boring one and we can’t have this.”She disappeared upstairs and came back ten minutes later among laughter from the rest of the family. She was wearing her koala pyjama a green wig and a sword attached to her hip “Baby and I went for comfort.”
“This definitely deserves a photo.”
Rowan went to grab the camera and set it on a timer and ran back. He took a spot beside Aelin, his arms sneaking around her waist while the other landed on her baby bump. Maya was at her mum’s other side. Aelin had a hand on her sword, Freyja was in front of her and had her own wielded and in an attack pose. Thomas’s face was morphed in a grimace and pretended to be a monster scaring his sister.
Rowan went to retrieve the camera and together they looked at the photo “well, no one can say that we don’t know how to have fun.”
“Buzzard, we are the Whitethorn-Galathynius, we are awesome.”
The kids roared their approval and the party began.
The photo became a permanent fixture on top of their mantlepiece framed in the sparkliest frame Freyja could find.
Rowan and Aelin love the Elf on a Shelf tradition. Because isn't life more fun when you make everything a competition?
Warnings: None | Word Count: 2,485 | Read on AO3 | ToG Masterlist
Happy Yulemas @julemmaes!!! Hope you enjoy! 💕 Your comments on what you like were really helpful! Though, admittedly, I did actually start an entirely different story that, after about 2k+ words written, I realized was not going to hit your asks as much as I wanted to. 🙈 I so rarely write established relationships and stuff with kids, so really hope I did it justice here for you! 💕
Rowan paused to admire the bouncing locks of golden hair. Their soft curl swayed with Aelin's head as she finished cleaning the dishes.
It was the perfect view after the struggle of putting their girls to bed.
He'd literally had to fight Ollie into her pajamas, and Ellie refused to leave the bathtub until the water began to chill. And then came the saga of the prune-fingers. It took the promise of an extra story to keep her from screaming and sobbing about the wrinkles until Aelin came up.
For such an ardent believer of Santa Claus, she sure was skeptical when Rowan promised her fingers would be back to normal in the morning.
But, after two stories and extra bedtime kisses, the twin girls were snuggled in their beds, silver-star night light on, and a bell hung on the shut door to ensure they didn't sneak out again.
That was something they'd started the year before, after one too many nights catching their girls sneaking down stairs to try and catch the elf leaving to report to Santa. It worked most nights, though on Christmas Eve all bets were off. Last year they told the girls that Santa would take back the presents if they caught him - it didn't stop them. Rowan and Aelin still hadn't figured out what they'd try this year to keep them in their room.
Smiling to himself, Rowan tiptoed toward his wife. Ever so carefully, he wrapped his arms around her waist and bent down, resting his chin on her shoulder.
"Surely the dishes are clean enough," he sighed, giving her a quick kiss on the neck.
Aelin chuckled softly leaning back against him. "Blame the man who cooks using a thousand pots and pans."
"You weren't complaining when you helped yourself to seconds of tonight's pasta."
Finishing with the last dish and turning off the sink, Aelin pivoted in his arms and breathed, "Well, it was very good." She grinned widely at him and brought her arms up to his shoulder, linking her hands behind his neck.
Aelin leaned in closer and a tingle traveled down Rowan's spine. "Are you ready?" she whispered into his ear.
Rowan grinned widely at her. "Close your eyes." She gave those bright, turquoise irises a big roll before adhering to the request.
They detached and Rowan went to grab the elf. The silver-haired elf - bought by Aelin specifically for him because it matched his hair - was still laying in a banana suit by the bananas. A masterful placement. It had taken the girls all morning before school to find him. They were actually almost late because of it. But that always seemed to happen when it was Aelin's turn to hide the elf.
No matter what, his wife always thought of the perfect spot to place the elf. Each one harder to find than the last. They'd been timing every morning, and literally each time she hid the elf, the time to find increased. Rowan's, on the other hand, had been decreasing.
Ollie found it in less than five minutes the day before.
He thought he'd been so clever, hiding the elf in plain sight, but not in a typical spot. The glass cabinet where they keep their glassware seemed perfect. It only holds the fancy glasses, and sits over a part of the kitchen counter only used when he's using the mixer. No one spends much time over there. He'd snuggled the elf comfortably into a crystal bowl they had, making him look like he was laying in a tub, and that was that.
Aelin still wasn't letting him live it down.
"I don't know why you bother!" she called from where she stood in the kitchen, a hand over her eyes to keep her from peeking. "You'll never find a better hiding spot than me."
"Yeah, yeah," Rowan mumbled as he made his way toward the tree.
There was a good chance Aelin was right. She was a genius at this, especially considering their main rule: the elf's face - at the least - must be visible without moving or needing to open any items. No hiding him in the refrigerator or the stockings, or underneath the mail. It made the task exceedingly difficult, as every idea Rowan came up with seemed obvious to him.
But not tonight. Tonight he was sure he had the right idea.
Getting on a step stool and reaching up, Rowan adjusted the elf so that it was hugging the star atop their tree from behind, the little head poking out between two of the points. It took him a minute to get the arms and legs just right, but when he stepped back it looked perfect.
The tree was large enough that, even with a stool, only Rowan was tall enough to reach the top. And with the elf having hidden on the tree just a few days before, he was certain the girls wouldn't think to look there again so soon. Plus, the tree was decorated with bright, colorful lights and big, flashy ornaments - a lot of distractions to get past before one's eyes would reach the star.
Ever so carefully, Rowan folded up and put the step stool away. He then tiptoed past the kitchen and began stomping and opening and closing doors loudly on the other side of the house, near one of the powder rooms and his office. Just in case she was listening closely.
Only after he made a proper raucous did Rowan make his way back into the kitchen. "All done."
"You know you don't have to try and trick me. I'm allowed to know where you hid the elf," she teased.
Rowan chuckled softly and leaned his hands on the counter as he threw back, "Alright, tell me where you're going to put it tomorrow night, then."
Her turquoise eyes narrowed at him, marking the shit-eating grin he was wearing. Aelin pursed her lips and crossed her arms like a stubborn child. He only smiled wider, stepping toward her and wrapping his arms around her waist. "I don't know yet."
"I'll make you a deal. You tell me tomorrow night, and I'll tell you the next."
"You're such a child," she sighed. Rowan went to open his mouth, but before he could say anything she added, "And if you say 'takes one to know one', I'm going to eat the rest of the chocolate-hazelnut ice cream and keep you up all night." She held an extended pointer finger toward him to emphasize her point.
Leaning down, Rowan brushed his lips against hers. "That wouldn't be the worst thing."
Slapping her hand lightly against his chest, Aelin groaned, "Then I'll send you straight to bed now. No dessert."
Rowan pushed his lower lip out, but could barely hold the pout, a laugh breaking through as Aelin held her 'stern' face. She was always so adorable when pretending to be mad at him. Actual anger was another story, but this - she reminded him of a kitten. He gave her a quick kiss to the top of her head and then walked to the refrigerator.
"How about we meet in the middle?" he suggested, bending over to open the freezer and pull out the ice cream. "Eat a normal amount of ice cream, and maybe we do some present wrapping. We've got a lot to wrap this year."
"Only because you spoil the girls."
"We spoil them," he argued. "I wasn't the one who bought Ollie that fancy doll house, or that massive track for the toy cars for Ellie."
Aelin shook her head and snagged the ice cream carton from Rowan. "And I didn't buy them each little cars they can actually drive."
"You know as well as I do that I couldn't just get one. Could you imagine the chaos and fighting?"
He watched his wife scoop some ice cream into a bowl as she huffed out a laugh. The corner of her lips curled slightly, a secret agreement. Rowan couldn't help himself. He sidled close to her and stroked her cheek gently. "You gave birth to two little Aelin-clones," he whispered, unable to hide his own smile.
She leaned into the touch, her eyes finding his. As Rowan always did, he dove headfirst into her gaze, into the sparkling waters and golden ring of sand. It warmed his entire body, gazing into Aelin's stare, and by the flush in her cheeks, he knew it was doing the same to her. It was enough to freeze him in place, his mind wandering to all the things he could be doing with and to his wife at that moment. But she'd never forgive him for letting her ice cream go to waste.
"You're right. I would never have let Aedion drive it if we'd been given a car like that as kids," she admitted.
"I know." He gave her cheek one last stroke and then stepped away, putting the carton of ice cream away and grabbing out the whipped cream for her as she grabbed the chocolate syrup from the cabinet. "You know, ice cream can be great without all the toppings."
"Says the man who only ever eats plain vanilla bean. Ice cream is always better as a sundae." She all but dumped the bottle of syrup onto the ice cream, and then topped it with an exuberant whipped cream swirl.
Twelve years together. Nine years married. Aelin still hasn't gotten over Rowan's distaste for most sweets. There was even a moment when they were first dating when Rowan thought it was going to be a deal-breaker…until Aelin told him he was being an idiot and she'd just have to learn how to enjoy all the sweets being for her.
What a sacrifice.
He put the whipped cream back in the fridge and then grabbed the bowl before Aelin could get a bite, eliciting a rather loud protest from Aelin. "In the living room."
Using the ice cream, he led his wife through the house, setting the bowl down on an end table next to their plush sofa. Rowan then got to work, grabbing the wrapping paper and gifts out from the closet under the stairs. They were going to need to find a better hiding spot. Or get a high-security lock for it. Rowan doubted they had more than a year or two before their girls started actively searching for their gifts.
It was slow work, wrapping the gifts. He was never satisfied unless the folds and corners were absolutely perfect. But it was better doing it alone. Aelin's presents always looked like…well, like their daughters had wrapped them. Even when she added a big bow to try and hide the imperfections. Easier to just have him do it, than to end up wasting paper when he'd inevitably re-do the gifts she wrapped.
"What a great way to end the night," Aelin sighed as Rowan cut down a roll of paper. "Ice cream and a view."
"Glad I can entertain."
"Mmmm." Rowan chuckled at Aelin's hum and then looked over his shoulder, his wife's eyes drooping.
By the time he'd finished with the gift, she was fast asleep. A bit of quick cleanup and re-hiding the gifts, and Rowan was holding Aelin close, carrying her up to their room.
He had to wake her up to get her into her pajamas, but within another five minutes she was dressed and in bed, passed out to the world.
Rowan watched her as he brushed his teeth. And when he came back into the bedroom after changing into his own pajama pants, he walked to her side first. Her hair was sprawled out across the pillow, but her features were relaxed. No worry lines or furrowed brows, no noticeable cares in her cheeks, no worries at her lips. He wished he could know what was going on in her head while she slept. It must've been glorious.
He brushed some of her hair out of her face and then walked around the bed to his side. He snuggled in close to her, wrapping his arms around her as he spooned Aelin. She probably couldn't feel him at this point, but that didn't stop him from giving her a quick kiss on her shoulder before resting his head on his pillow and letting sleep take him, too.
Rowan was still heavy with sleep as he made his coffee the next morning.
Half-way through the mug, but it wasn't the caffeine that finally full woke him. It was the pitter patter of little feet running down the stairs.
He smiled to himself, slowly walking to meet his daughters by the stairs. He wanted to watch them frantically search the house. To hear the little complaints about needing to take a break from searching to get ready for school.
It was exciting. And he was getting his lips ready to grin widely at Aelin when-
"Oh my gosh, look how cute!" Ellie called as she stepped off the stairs and into the living room. "The elf is on the star!"
Rowan nearly dropped his mug as his girls crowded around the tree, staring up at the topper and the little elf attached to it. The back of those little blonde heads stared at him, the curls waving as the girls swayed and giggled, waving up at the elf.
He felt delicate arms snake around his waist and a kiss that couldn't hide her smirk against his back.
"How do they do that?" he whispered, still frozen in shock.
Two seconds. It took his daughters two damn seconds to find the elf.
Aelin chuckled against his shirt. "They're clever. Just like their dad."
"Cleverer than that, apparently," he huffed. He glared up at the stupid elf, and he could've sworn it was mocking him. That little smile was just a taunt, reminding him he absolutely sucked at hiding the elf.
Brushing her hands up Rowan's arms, Aelin said, "You'll get them next time."
Rowan shook his head. "Next time they'll probably find it in one second."
Moving around Rowan, Aelin was now in front of him, hands interlocked behind his neck, eyes soft as she looked into his. "Then next year. You have eleven months to plot out your hiding spots."
Rowan huffed out a laugh and leaned his forehead against hers, breathing in her lemon verbena scent like it was his source of life. "Next year. Or the year after that. Or the one after that. I've got all the time in the world to finally beat you at this."
"Our girls are going to grow out of this eventually."
"Then maybe we talk about having another," Rowan suggested softly, only realizing as he said it that it wasn't entirely a joke.
Aelin beamed brightly up at him and pushed herself onto her toes, bringing her lips to his. "Maybe we do."
Au! donde Aelin es una cantante mundialmente reconocida.
Inspirado en Dancing with our hands tied de Taylor Swift.
Es el primer fic que escribo, espero que lo disfrutes ❤
"My, my love had been frozen
Deep blue, but you painted me golden
Oh, and you held me close
Oh, how was I to know that"
Aelin sentía que su reputación moría cada vez más, lo cual para ella es muy grave. Cuando sos una cantante mundialmente reconocida esas cosas suelen importarte demasiado.
Al despertarse se enteró de lo mucho que hablaron los medios sobre ella mientras dormía. Al parecer, era una perra insensible, manipuladora e interesada que usó al pobre Dorian Havilliard, heredero de una de las empresas más prestigiosas del país, para hacer relevante su música horrible y mediocre. Maeve, la periodista con más rating del país, también filtró en su programa de medianoche información de su vida privada y su fallida y caótica relación amorosa con el guitarrista de Two Souls, Chaol Westfall. El desgraciado aceptó una entrevista con la lacra de Maeve para contar lo supuestamente loca y manipuladora que fue como novia. Todo esto a días del lanzamiento del próximo álbum de Aelin, que conveniente.
La ira y vergüenza de la traición, de haber confiado en una persona como Chaol, ardía con fuerza en su pecho.Su celular explotaba de notificaciones que decidió ignorar por su propio bien. Aunque no le gustaba admitirlo, la imagen que los demás tenían de ella era muy importante para Aelin y leer lo que estarían escribiendo en las redes solo la destrozaría aún más.
Le temblaban las manos y se maldijo a sí misma por dejar que estas cosas le afecten. Ya tenía veintitrés años, era una cantante reconocida y respetada, seguramente algunos de sus fans saldrían a defenderla de los comentarios maliciosos ¿No? La gente todavía la apoyaría ¿cierto?
Seguían entrando llamadas a su celular así que sin fijarse en quién era lo apagó. Estaba harta, no esperaba que su día comenzara de esta forma. Hoy planeaba juntarse con su manager para definir los últimos detalles del lanzamiento de Heart of fire and flames y luego salir a festejar con su equipo y amigos. Todo eso se vino abajo.
Un rato después, mientras trataba de mantener su mente ocupada en los últimos retoques de la composición de su álbum, alguien tocó a la puerta. Una vez, dos veces, tres. Cada vez con más insistencia.
Estaba considerando hacer de cuenta que no estaba en casa y esconderse en su habitación, evitando las preguntas y acusaciones que le haría quién estuviese del otro lado, cuando una voz que Aelin adoraba escuchar dijo:
—Corazón de fuego, sé que estás ahí. Solo quiero saber que estás bien.
De repente se encontraba abriendo la puerta de su departamento y, sin darle tiempo a reaccionar, se tiró encima de Rowan mientras lo abrazaba. Su delicioso aroma de pino y nieve la envolvió, reconfortandola. Rowan dió unos pasos hacia adelante sin soltarla y cerró la puerta detrás suyo. Aelin se negaba a dejarlo ir así que la tomó en brazos, las piernas de su novia envolviendo sus caderas, y los guió a ambos hacia el sofá. Sentía que un nudo se tensionaba en su garganta y liberó todo lo que estuvo guardándose en estás últimas horas.
Rowan acariciaba su cabello rubio mientras ella lloraba en su cuello, apretando su camisa entre sus manos. Ver a su Corazón de fuego sufrir de esa forma quebraba algo dentro suyo, se sentía impotente por no poder hacer mucho más que permanecer con ella.
Podrían haber estado envueltos en esa burbuja por ¿horas? ¿Minutos? Pero a ninguno de los dos le importaba el mundo que los rodeaba. Desde que llegó Rowan se sentía más segura. Algo se aflojó y calentó en su pecho al darse cuenta de que, a pesar de todos sus tropiezos desde que comenzó su carrera, Rowan junto a su amor y apoyo incondicional siempre estuvieron a su lado en cada paso del camino. Primero, como su querido e insufrible mejor amigo. Ahora, como algo mucho más íntimo y especial que eso. Aunque todavía no podía definir exactamente qué. Tenía miedo de hacerlo.
— De camino compré una torta de chocolate en el negocio de Lys, pensé en que podríamos comerla juntos.Aelin sonrió por primera vez en el día con su rostro todavía escondido en el cuello de Rowan, ambos sabían muy bien que ella se terminaría sola toda esa torta. Probablemente en un rato estaría quejándose del dolor de panza y Rowan la vería con su mirada de te lo dije, no puedes culparme por esto. Dejó un beso en su cuello como agradecimiento, sintiendo a Rowan estremecerse bajo el contacto de sus labios.
— Eso me encantaría, buitre.
—--------------
"But we were dancing
Dancing with our hands tied, hands tied
Yeah, we were dancing
Like it was the first time, first time
I had a bad feeling
But we were dancing,
I loved you in spite of
Deep fears that the world would divide us
So, baby, can we dance
Oh, through an avalanche?"
No sabía qué hacer con su vida. Luego de unas cuantas charlas con su equipo llegaron al acuerdo de retrasar la salida del álbum. Gavriel, su manager, daría la noticia ya que Aelin no se atrevía a abrir las redes.
La única parte de su vida que le daba felicidad se encontraba durmiendo a su lado, su cabello platinado estaba desordenado gracias a todas las veces que Aelin pasó las manos por el. Era cuestión de tiempo que Maeve se entere de lo suyo con Rowan. Su relación era tan nueva y frágil que Aelin temía que ese día llegue, no quería arrastrar a Rowan a este lío en el que se había convertido su vida, seguramente Maeve los destrozaría al igual que hizo con su reputación. Pero una parte egoísta de ella quería mantener a Rowan a su lado y no dejarlo ir.
Como si pudiera escuchar la tormenta en sus pensamientos, Rowan pasó un brazo sobre su cintura y la acercó a él.
—Buenos días, Corazón de fuego. — Su voz ronca y adormilada provocó algo en ella.
Acarició sus cabellos platinados y volvió a sumergirse en sus pensamientos. Luego de un rato dijo, en voz tan baja que apenas ella misma se escuchó:
—Creo que lo mejor sería que terminemos.
Ante esto Rowan se incorporó de golpe y la miró, su rostro estaba serio y los rastros de sueño ya habían desaparecido.
—¿Qué?
—Con todo lo que está pasando… creo que lo mejor sería que terminemos
.A Aelin le costaba respirar a medida que pasaban los segundos, estaba nerviosa por la reacción de Rowan. Su respuesta fue simple y cortante:
—No.
—Ro, no me estás entendiendo.— un nudo comenzaba a formarse en su garganta, se sentó contra la cabecera de la cama y lo miró a los ojos — Soy un desastre, toda mi vida se convirtió en un desastre. Es cuestión de tiempo para que te arrastre a ti también a esta tormenta en la que se convirtió mi vida. Maeve no va a dejarme tranquila, y lo sabes, nunca lo hará.
A este punto las lágrimas caían con violencia sobre sus mejillas y ya no recordaba cómo respirar. La expresión en el rostro de Rowan se suavizó, puso delicadamente una de sus manos sobre su mejilla y secó sus lágrimas. Inhaló y exhaló junto a ella, ayudándola a estabilizar su respiración. Estuvieron varios minutos así hasta que él respondió.
—No voy a dejar que me alejes a mí también, Aelin. No voy a dejar que te encierres en ti misma. Tal vez estos últimos días hayan sido un desastre pero esto es lo que yo elijo: quiero permanecer a tu lado siempre, ayudarte a superar esta avalancha, al igual que hice todos estos años ¿Sabes por qué? Porque te amo, Corazón de fuego. Y no voy a dejar que nada ni nadie te aparte de mi lado. Vamos a superar esto juntos, hasta cualquier fin.
Rowan apoyó su frente sobre la de ella y Aelin cerró los ojos, se permitió disfrutar de ese momento a la vez que reflexionaba sobre sus palabras. La amaba. La amaba tanto que prefiere pasar por todo este desastre con ella en vez de dejarla ir. Los pedazos de su corazón roto por los hechos de los últimos días comenzaban a repararse de a poco. La tristeza, la ira y el dolor iban desapareciendo para dar paso a estos nuevos sentimientos: amor y gratitud de haber encontrado a una persona como él.
Después de tantos tropiezos a lo largo de los años, de tantas relaciones fallidas, por fin lo había encontrado a él. A Rowan, su igual en muchos sentidos. Iba a ser difícil, muy difícil, lo sabía. Pero tal vez Rowan la ayudaría a salir de esta oscuridad, juntos podrían hacerlo. Y el resto del mundo, Maeve y Chaol, podían irse al infierno.
Abrió los ojos y notó su amorosa mirada sobre ella, el celeste y oro chocando con el verde. Posó su mano sobre una de sus mejillas y unió sus labios en un tierno beso, que duró pocos segundos pero demostró todo lo que Aelin le quería transmitir: que lo amaba, que estaba agradecida de tenerlo en su vida, que él la hacía querer vivir. No sobrevivir, no existir. Vivir.
