AKOTSK: Rowan the Red x Baratheon!reader (with a side of Lyonel x wife!reader)
Rating: Mature (MDNI)
WC: 2.0
AKOTSK Masterlist
Tags/Warnings: WLW, consensual infedility, Lyonel loves his bi wife, fingering, nipple sucking, oral, erotica, social climbing, mentions of past sex work, power imbalance, reader is kind of a medieval sugar mama, mentions of class division, romance, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader given, no beta we die like Beesbury
A/n: For anon who asked for Rowan x reader WLW smut. Always happy to spread the bi/sapphic agenda. Comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated. Let me know if you'd like to be added to any tag lists! My asks are always open.
Summary: Your feelings for Rowan come to fruition at Ashford.
Rowan had to admit that when she first locked eyes with you, the warm Lady Baratheon, adorned in expensive jewels, lavish garments, and black fur, she fixed herself on finding a patron to help advance her. Ser Manfred was enjoyable enough, but the Baratheon wealth was unmatched, especially when coupled with the Redwyne fortune. Rowan cared not for politics; the smallfolk never seemed to benefit from it unless the wheel be truly broken, but coin mattered. Coin could buy her a better life, so she seeped her way into your favor, like the sweetest honey dribbling into tea.
You were charmed by her when you met her that fateful night in Lannisport, cups overflowing with Arbor Gold. Perhaps you were a bit starved for female companionship. You had your ladies, your young daughters whom you adored, and corresponded with your younger sisters who still lived in the Arbor, but mostly your days and nights were spent among men, especially when you accompanied your good husband to tourneys. Now you had two sons who needed your attention as well. Rowan was sweet with sparkling eyes that reminded you of the sapphires you so loved. You were not naive as to her profession, knowing she was the preferred paramour of Ser Manfred, one of your husband's closest friends. But it did not bother you. Women had to learn many ways to survive in this world.
"Lord Ashford has extended an invitation in celebration of his daughter's nameday. I'm certain Manfred has requested you, but I would like you to accompany me instead," you smiled at her one afternoon on a rainy day in Storm's End, pulling your favored black fur around your shoulders to stave away the chill. She stood on a small wooden stool as your seamstress altered a dress you had gifted her.
"Mi'lady? Truly, I would rather be by your side if that's what you wish," she grinned. The silk hung perfectly on her curvy frame. The violet hue made her red hair even more vibrant.
"It's settled then," you smiled, taking a small sip of Arbor gold. The twins, Flynn and Floris, played at your feet, dark hair gleaming in the firelight. You had done more than your wifely duty by bringing seven healthy Baratheon children into the world, including three sons.
Lyonel entered the room, pulling off his gloves with his teeth before dropping them to the floor. The twins clamored around him, wooden toys forgotten, and he scooped them into his arms, carrying them with ease.
"Ladies," he smiled, giving you each a nod. He never seemed bothered by Rowan's presence or by how much time you spent with her. Though you never complained about Manfred or either of the Humfreys constantly buzzing around him. "Has my wife invited you to Ashford yet?"
"Indeed, mi'lord, she has just mentioned it," Rowan smiled.
"Wonderful," he hummed, and you poured him a cup of wine, placing it in his hand after he placed the twins down, and kissed his cheek before browsing through the small chests that continued your jewelry. You plucked a diamond and amethyst choker between your fingers and walked over to Rowan. Floris peered from behind your golden skirts, dark eyes wide with awe. You procured a golden chain with a stag's head, its eyes set with plump rubies, and draped it over her neck. She twirled around, happy with the little bauble her mother had bestowed upon her.
"I think this shall go nicely with the dress," you said, smiling as you stepped behind Rowan and secured it in place.
"Mi'lady, you are too generous," Rowan gasped.
You could feel Lyonel's dark eyes studying you curiously.
"My station allows me to be. Please, you hardly ever ask me for anything. I enjoy giving gifts to my dearest friends," you assured her, squeezing her shoulders.
Lyonel ducked his head, trying to conceal his chuckle, and Flynn emulated his father's amused sound. Ah, friends? Is that the game you still wished to play? A bit of guilt swirled deep in Rowan's stomach. She had grown closer to you over time, and while she enjoyed the many refinements that came with it, she began to develop a different perspective. You were kind, giving, gracious, and treated her like she was your equal. She long pretended the facade of love when it came to the men she kept company with, but when it came to you, she began to feel the real thing. She suspected Lord Lyonel picked up on such as well, yet he made no attempt to chase her away.
The children were left behind at Storm's End in the care of their handmaidens and stewards. Soon, they would be old enough to join. You and Rowan rode in the wheelhouse with wine, fruit, cheese, and silken fans to keep you cool. Yours was a rich plum decorated with bunches of golden grapes.
"I'm certain your husband will prove champion here," Rowan smiled before sliding a plump red grape between your lips, making your cheeks warm.
"Mmm, he is quite competitive," you hummed before crunching it between your teeth.
"We will have to keep ourselves entertained," she winked. A sudden warmth spread through your cheeks. The beat of your heart quickened in your chest.
"Well, my husband will certainly throw a lavish celebration tonight once the camp is set up. You must dance with me."
"Of course, mi'lady."
Upon arrival, the two of you walked arm in arm, a guard following behind, while the men set up the tents. The stalls were already buzzing with goods to sell. Ser Humfrey Beesbury greeted you both, his golden mustache twitching in the gentle breeze. Soon, the sun became too hot for your liking, and you were thankful to find respite later in your personal tent, shielded from the heat. You studied Rowan as she mended a pair of breeches one of Lyonel's squires had ripped, watching her nimble fingers fly through the stitch in no time.
"I feel you staring, mi'lady," she teased.
"I wish you would call me by my name, we are friends after all," you whispered. Yet that word didn't quite encapsulate your true feelings for her. It was something deeper, something stronger.
"Friends…never thought the likes of me could ever have a friend like you," Rowan murmured, setting the fabric aside.
"Why? Because the structures of society imply that we cannot be? I do not believe in such a thing."
"Because you sit at the top. It is easy to dismiss it when it doesn't impact you."
You pursed your lips. "I suppose you are right."
"I do not mean to ruin the mood." She started to say mi'lady before quickly correcting herself and using your name.
"One of the many things I love about you is that you speak your mind. You could never ruin the mood," you whispered, scooting closer to press a gentle kiss upon her smooth, creamy cheek.
She turned her head at the opportune time, her lips landing squarely against yours. It was now or never, and Rowan never ran from what she wanted. The kiss sent a spark rolling through you, heat coiling tightly in your belly like a snake. You had never longed for another before. Loyal and devoted to Lyonel since you were young, and the betrothal pact long arranged. Trepidatiously, your fingers tangled in her fiery curls while you deepened the kiss, tasting cinnamon and pears. It all spiraled into a heightened desire from there.
The two of you tangled in the bed, shedding shoes and stockings, bare feet sliding over shapely calves, while hungry mouths voraciously smacked in unison. Breasts pressing together, nipples scraping against each other. A sudden warmth palpitated in the air, with fingers grasping at silken fabrics while tearing them from each other's bodies. Rowan's mouth latched around one of your nipples, suckling on the tender bud until it pebbled agaisnt her tongue. Dampness clung to your inner thighs. Her palm skimmed over your cunt, fingertips gathering up your arousal.
"You're so beautiful disheveled," she whispered in your ear.
You chuckled softly, chest heaving gently. "You certainly have me feeling unraveled."
"Do you want me to stop?
"No." You were ready to topple over this cliff with her.
That rosy mouth kissed and caressed the curve of your neck while her fingers skillfully buried inside you, stroking you with expertise. She knew how to make your body sing. Almost as well as Lyonel did, he never left you wanting in bed. Her thumb massaged your swollen pearl, making your toes twitch and curl. That tightly coiled snake in your belly finally sprang free as pleasure wracked your body. You moaned and writhed under her hands, soaking her with your release. After finding your breath again, you pulled her close and kissed her.
"Teach me," you murmured against her warm mouth. Gazing into her sapphire eyes, all you wanted was to pleasure her. You wanted to give her everything.
She guided your head between her plump, splayed thighs before directing you on how to use your tongue to get her off. Her skin was slippery with her arousal, engorged and pink, reminding you of pink roses in bloom. Ever eager to please, you followed her instructions as her sweet taste poured over your mouth and tongue. Almost drowning in her. Your naked body entwined with hers, holding her close with just a thin silk sheet to cover. Lyonel entered the tent, making a beeline straight for his antler crown. His dark eyes landed on you and Rowan after he settled it on his head.
"Is it crooked?" he asked.
You shook your head. "Not at all."
"I see you two finally came to your senses," Lyonel smirked. "Oh, I'm never letting Manfred hear the last of this. My wife stole his paramour."
"Lyonel…"
He raised a hand, his smirk softening into a kind smile. "If it truly upset me, I would have chased her away long ago. Do you plan on running off? Abandoning our children and me?"
Such a thought made you recoil, and Rowan gripped your hand with a reassuring squeeze. Neither of you wished to flee into the night. She would never ask that of you. Perhaps she might persuade you to leave Lyonel, but you could never leave the children behind.
"I do not," you assured Lyonel. He stepped closer, gently taking your chin in his hand. There was no hatred or jealousy in his eyes, no look of disgust upon his face. Mayhaps he always knew the inkling that hid deep inside you. A soft kiss landed on your lips.
"Then I have no concerns. We can discuss specifics later." With that said, he left, no doubt to tease Ser Manfred and get lost in the cups already.
You cupped Rowan's cheek, circling your thumb across her lips. She kissed the ridged pad. The two of you remained entwined, tucked under your black fur, until it was time to dress for the celebrations. A Baratheon revelry was not to be missed. She wore her new violet dress with the necklace you had gifted her, while you wore a shimmering golden samite gown, dripping with pearl jewelry.
Music billowed in the air, food and wine flowed, and many of the guests danced about. You pulled Rowan behind you, both clapping to the beat of the music as you circled each other. Gathering your skirts so as not to trip, you moved your feet, and Rowan matched your steps. Your fingers laced with hers, arms twisting overhead as the two of you danced. Lyonel's cheers and clapping could be heard over all others, and you caught a glimpse of Manfred's sour expression.
Unbeknownst to you, the tourney at Ashford would change the fate of many by the time it ended. But in that moment, all you cared about was her. Eyes locked on hers. The flush of her cheeks spreading out like a pink ink bleeding over parchment. The fresh bloom of love fluttering in your chest. Nothing else mattered.
Your mates are tall and scary to most but to you they're you're big teddy bears.
warnings: very light angst
note: do I just want 2 big, strong, fae boyfriends or do I just want these 2 to be real? the world may never know
When people find out you’re Lorcan and Rowan’s mate the blood drains from their face, get the shakes, and run away from you practically screaming
You never understand why. Your mates are the kindest males you know
Yeah, they’re hundreds of years old warriors who are ripped, tall, and ready for a fight at any moment? So what?
Maybe you get it a little, it would terrifying to see either of them (especially Lorcan with his shadows) coming at you with a sword half your height
But you never picture them that way. They’ve never given you a reason to see them as scary
Lorcan and Rowan would rather drop dead than see fear in your eyes inflicted by them. The males would never forgive themselves
They hate disappointing you too, that’s what really breaks their hearts. The first time they disappointed you was when they had to cancel date night over an emergency in the Wastes Aelin needed Lorcan and Rowan to assist with
You had tried to hold back your tears when they told you but you couldn’t help it. It was the first time in a long time they had to say no to you. While in the Wastes everyone was tiptoeing around them due to their bad mood
When Lorcan and Rowan came home a few days later they more than made it up to you by taking you to all your favorite places in Terrasen and on cute dates (not to mention activities in the bedroom)
Out of the 2 Rowan is the less grumpy of your mates. Rowan is the easiest to snap from a bad or brooding mood into doting on you
All you do is wrap your hand in his and Rowan is looking at you like you’re the reason for the sun rising as he coos at you. “Hi love. How’s your day going? Can I get you anything?” he asks, bring your hand up to his lips to press kisses across your knuckles. “I’m good Ro. I just wanted to say hi.” you smile and Rowan’s heart skips a beat
Lorcan is a little harder to bring out of his brooding and boy does that male looovvveees to brood like it’s his second job
Whenever you enter a room the pair of them light up, the rest of the world fades away and you’re the only person in the world to them
It doesn’t matter who’s around Rowan and Lorcan will always gravitate towards you
Out of the two Rowan always knows the right sweet words to say to you
But when Lorcan dotes on you ooohhhhhh it is sweetness overload
If there’s a threat against you, forget about it. All bets are off. They go from your loving mates to lethal warriors and will kill anyone who tries to cause you harm
At the first sign of danger Lorcan and Rowan are quick to step in front of you to shield you, reaching behind them to hold you and make sure you’re still with them
Lorcan has growled at someone for staring at you the wrong way
Doarian and Manon had uncovered a plot to kidnap you, Aelin, and Lysandra and Lorcan worked around the clock to make sure the threat was neutralized
Selfishly, Lorcan does not care about Aelin and Lysandra. He cares solely about you
One night, long after the threat has been taken care of, Lorcan woke up to find you gone from bed, the sheets between him and Rowan cold as the silver haired male slept
After Lorcan has his freak out moment he follows his shadow and that feeling in his chest that connects the 3 of you, finding you curled up in his usual armchair by the fireplace. One of his daggers laying on the end table next to the chair
Lorcan tries not to make too much noise, the last thing he wants to do is sound threatening to you. You felt him the moment he started to worry. A gentle hand rests on your shoulder but your gaze never leaves the windows
Lorcan wasn’t used to being gentle before you. He was always rough and direct and many people called him blunt and rude. Never you though, you brought out a side of Lorcan he never knew he had
Moments like these with you still trip him up. If you think he sounded rude Lorcan would sew his mouth shut to avoid speaking another rude word to you ever again
“Angel,” he says, resting a large hand on your shoulder. “What are you doing out here? Did something happen?” You shake your head and look up at him with tired and scared eyes. “Oh angel. Talk to me.” Lorcan picks you up so he can sink into the chair, placing you on his lap and holds you close to his chest
“I know you and Rowan will always protect me and that you handled…it. But I’m still scared, Lorcan. What if there are others? What if they come back?” you ramble, wrapping your arms around Lorcan tighter and tighter
He listens and holds you while you list your fears. “You know I’ll never lie to you, y/n,” Lorcan starts. “Threats will always be around. This one just got too close but Rowan and I handled it, like we always do to keep you and the kingdom safe. You have every right to still be scared, I understand. I will always be here, and Rowan will be too. I’d never let anyone get to you, angel, never.” He presses a long kiss to the top of your head before carrying you back to bed
heyyy, im in my ToG era and I’ve LOVED all of ur angst so far 🤩🤩🤩 could you possibly write a rowan x reader-as-aelins-sister fic with heavy angst and no sad ending? thanks 💗💗
Too Late, Almost- Rowan x fem!reader
Summary: She survived the war, watched her sister become queen, and fell in love with a male who would never choose her. Too late, almost, he realizes, just as she’s walking away.
Warnings: angst, tiny fluff in the end
A/N: thank you so much for this request, I tried my best to deliver in the highest standard, lol. Enjoyy🫶
See masterlist
The streets of Orynth were quieter now. No clatter of armor, no shouts from patrols, no distant echoes of war drums rolling over the hills. Only the hum of life returning--vendors calling from their stalls, the soft creak of cart wheels, the laughter of children who had never seen battle.
It should've felt like peace.
But as Y/N made her way through the palace corridors, her heart was a storm--fast, uneven, dangerous in its certainty. She'd fought gods, armies, and fate itself, yet her hands trembled now more than they ever had on a battlefield.
She could still remember the first time she and Aelin stood together after their short but dreadful separation, side by side once more--not as lost girls, but as sisters forged by fire and blood. Through years of war, of desperate fights and whispered promises, that bound had never wavered.
They had been so different. Aelin was a flam--dazzling, reckless, impossible to look away from. Y/N had been the blade hidden in the dark, colder, sharper, with a thirst for blood that Aelin had learned to temper but never silence. The fire had always belonged to her sister, but the shadowed steel? That had been hers.
When Aelin had sacrificed her magic to save them all, Y/N had still kept hers--swearing, with every shred of her power, that she would be the shield their family needed. The shield Terrasen needed. She could not bring their parents back. But she could make damn sure no one ever took their home again.
And for a time, it had just been the two of them. The only family they had. Until Aedion came--tattered, stubborn, and full of a loyalty that had rekindled something she thought long gone. With him came hope, and with hope came the strength to keep moving forward.
Then came the war.
The endless nights on frozen ground, the constant ache of wounds old and new, the quiet moments of laughter stolen between the storms. Meeting the Cadre, standing in awe of Dorian's quiet resilience and begrudgingly respecting Chaol's unwavering discipline.
And Rowan.
Gods, Rowan. She had known of him long before she’d met him, the legendary warrior with ice in his veins and a hawk’s gaze fixed on her sister. At first, he had been distant, unreadable, his every movement purposeful and efficient. But somewhere between shared watches under the stars, between the rare smirks he allowed himself and the quiet way he tended her wounds, the ice began to thaw.
What started as a respect became admiration. And admiration, though she had fought it, became love.
But there had never been time to think about it. Not with war raging, not with the weight of survival pressing on her shoulders. Until now.
She could still see Aelin’s coronation as if it had happened an hour ago--the golden light spilling through the glass, the crown gleaming on her sister’s head, pride burning in her chest. It had been the moment she knew that, for the first time in years, they were truly safe.
And with that safety came the one thing she had never allowed herself before.
Time.
Time to feel. Time to admit that the war was over, that she could want something for herself.
So she had decided--no more silence. No more stolen glances and unspoken words. Today, she told Rowan Whitethorn the truth.
She'd thought it would be the hardest thing she'd ever done. It wasn't.
No, the hardest thing had been standing there after she'd said the words--after she'd told him--the she loved him.
And watching him laugh.
Not a full laugh. A low, disbelieving chuckle.
“As if, with all that’s happened, this is what you’ve been thinking about?” he’d said, as if her feelings were some childish distraction.
She’d blinked at him, stunned into stillness, the confession she’d built up in her chest for months crumbling in an instant.
“What?” she’d managed, her voice little more than breath.
Rowan had only shaken his head, his expression unreadable but for that faint look of pity she would never forget. "I've only ever had one female in my life. And I always will."
She knew who he meant.
Lyra. His mate...at least, the one he’d thought was his mate, the one Maeve had planted in his life like a cruel joke. By now, they all knew the truth. But still, he clung to her memory like a weapon he refused to put down.
And then, as if that weren’t enough, his gaze had swept over her, cool, assessing, as though measuring and finding her wanting.
“You’re too young for me,” he’d added, his tone almost dismissive. As though she were nothing but a girl chasing after a fantasy. As though she didn’t know the taste of blood, the weight of loss, the burn of power in her veins.
Something inside her had snapped.
“I may be younger, Whitethorn,” she’d spat, “but I’ve fought the same battles you have. I’ve bled for the same cause. Don’t mistake my age for weakness. And don’t you dare look at me like I’m some naive little girl.”
His eyes had narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.
So she’d turned on her heel and walked away before he could see the tears burning at the edges of her vision. Walked away before she did something reckless--like beg him to take it back.
Because Rowan Whitethorn had been the first male she had ever loved. The first who’d made her believe love could exist beyond blood and war.
And he’d just shattered it with a laugh.
In the days that followed, she avoided him.
It wasn't difficult--not when the palace had endless halls, and her duties often took her to the city, to the people. She made sure of it. She timed her meals so he was never in the dining hall, took the long way around training yards if she heard the sound of steel meeting steel.
When she did see him--passing in a corridor, across the expanse of the throne room--she kept her eyes forward, her expression carved from the same marble that lined the palace walls.
She told herself she was doing fine. That the sting in her chest would fade with time. That maybe, one day, she'd be able to look at him and feel nothing at all.
But gods, it hurt.
Because his laugh still rang in her head at night, a cruel echo that didn’t match the male she had fought beside, trusted with her life. She’d replayed the moment more times than she could count, wondering if she’d imagined the way his eyes had softened before the words came. Wondering if she’d misread everything.
Even Aelin noticed.
“You’ve been quiet,” her sister said one evening, catching her alone in the garden.
“I’m tired,” Y/N replied, and it wasn’t a lie. Just not the whole truth.
She didn’t tell Aelin that she couldn’t step into the training yard without feeling the weight of Rowan’s gaze on her back, or imagining it, and that was worse.
And if Rowan noticed her absence, if he noticed the way she no longer lingered in conversation, no longer laughed at Fenrys’s jabs when Rowan was near, he said nothing.
Avoiding him had started as self-preservation.
Now, it had become an art.
She knew exactly how long it took Rowan to finish breakfast and leave the dining hall. She knew which routes through the palace would take her to the library without passing the training yard. She could read the cadence of his footsteps from a corridor away.
It didn't matter if it looked ridiculous. It was easier than having to look him in the eye and remember the way he'd looked at her that day--like she'd been foolish to ever think he could feel the same.
And maybe she had been foolish.
Because they’d been close. She thought they had, at least. He’d been her sparring partner, her confidant during the worst stretches of the war. They’d shared jokes under their breath in strategy meetings, laughed, really laughed, around the fire on those rare nights when they all felt almost human again. He’d taught her how to sharpen a blade the way the Fae did, how to read the wind before a fight.
She'd thought those moments meant something. But maybe she'd read it wrong. Maybe he'd just been polite. Or maybe he had given her mixed signals and just decided to pretend otherwise.
Either way, the conclusion was the same. She would speak to him only when necessary. And she'd be fine. Eventually.
It worked well enough--until the day she, Rowan and Fenrys were tasked with overseeing the arrival of a fresh rotation of palace guards.
They stood in the courtyard as the new recruits lined up, Fenrys leaning casually against a pillar while Rowan paced with the easy, predatory grace of someone born to command. Y/N kept her focus on the parchment in her hands, jotting down names and ranks as each soldier stepped forward.
A younger guard hesitated, glancing between her and Rowan before finally approaching her. "Ah- Princess Y/N, should I report to you or...?"
Before she could answer, Rowan's voice cut in. "To me. I'll handle it."
Her head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "I think I'm capable of giving orders, Prince Whitethorn."
"This falls under my jurisdiction," he countered, arms folding across his chest.
The guard looked between them, paling slightly.
"It's a list of sleeping quarters, not a battle formation," she said, her tone icy. "I can manage without your oversight."
"I said I'll handle it."
"No," she replied flatly. "I will."
Fenrys, watching the exchange with an expression halfway between fascination and horror, raised his brows. "Do you two want me to step out so you can settle...whatever this is?"
"Nothing to settle," Y/N said quickly, not taking her eyes off Rowan.
Rowan's jaw flexed. "Exactly."
The poor guard looked as though he wanted to sink into the cobblestones and disappear.
"Right," Fenrys muttered under his breath, glancing between them again. "Glad we cleared that up."
"Send me to Adarlan."
The words flew out of her mouth the moment she shoved open the office doors.
Aelin and Aedion both turned toward her, mid-discussion over a stack of maps and parchment.
"Oh, great," Y/N said, eyeing her cousin. "You're here too."
Aedion's mouth curved into a small smirk. "Always a pleasure, princess."
She ignored him, marching closer. "Aelin, hear me out- "
Her sister leaned back in her chair, golden hair catching the sunlight. "Why do you suddenly want to leave so badly?"
Y/N gave a breezy laugh, waving a hand as if it were obvious.
“Well, Terrasen might be an old kingdom, but you’re a new queen. We’ve got to establish strong connections in your good name. As your sister, I can perfectly represent you.” She smiled sweetly. “Besides, Dorian is king there now. I’m sure he can set up meetings for me with high-ranking, important people.”
Aelin hummed, studying her. “You sure that’s all this is about?”
“Yes?” Y/N blinked, feigning confusion. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
Though in truth, she could still see the image burned in her mind--Rowan leaning down to speak with the pretty female representative from Orynth, his hand brushing her arm in a way that made Y/N’s stomach twist. No, she wasn’t telling Aelin that.
Her sister's mouth curved into the faintest smirk before she leaned forward. "Well then, you can't go alone. Take Rowan with you."
"What?!" The word shot out of Y/N like a lightning bolt.
Aelin pointed a triumphant finger at her. "Aha! I knew it! You and him have something going on."
"What?!" Aedion barked, looking between them like they'd just confessed to treason. "Really?! Why didn't I notice?"
"You're awfully defensive," Aelin drawled.
"Because you're being ridiculous!"
Aelin leaned back, still smirking. "Mhm. Sure."
Y/N crossed her arms. "I'm not taking him."
"You'd be safer- "
“I’ll take my own court and guards,” Y/N cut in.
Her sister studied her for another beat, then sighed. “Alright, alright. Go with your own court, then.”
“Thank you.” Y/N stepped forward, kissed her sister’s cheek, and pulled Aedion into a quick hug. “Love you, my family dearest.”
Aedion raised a brow as she started toward the door. “If you come back married to Dorian, I’m not letting Rowan in the room when he hears about it.”
Y/N waved him off without looking back. “Noted.”
The dining room was warm with firelight and chatter, plates clinking as the conversation wound lazily between stories, trade agreements, and Fenrys' latest ridiculous tale.
Y/N had been content to listen, to keep her eyes on her plate and her smile polite, until Aelin, in that infuriatingly casual tone, dropped, "And I still can't believe my baby sister is going away all on her own tomorrow."
The words hit the table like a stone in water, ripples of surprise cutting through the hum of conversation. "What?!" Fenrys blinked, leaning forward. "You're leaving?"
Lysandra’s lips curved faintly, though her eyes searched Y/N’s face. “When were you planning to share this news?”
Y/N forced a shrug, reaching for her wine. “It’s nothing dramatic. Just a trip to Adarlan.”
But she felt it—the sudden weight of Rowan’s gaze snapping up from across the table, pinning her in place. Sharp. Demanding. A flicker of… fury?
He didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to. The silence from him was louder than anything else in the room.
The meal carried on, though the air had shifted, taut and strange. Y/N kept her eyes away from him.
When dinner finally ended, she was halfway to the corridor before a hand closed around her wrist, dragging her into a shadowed alcove just beyond the door.
“What the- ” she hissed, yanking against his grip.
“Why the hell are you leaving?” Rowan’s voice was low, dangerous.
She glared. “To establish ”
“Don’t give me that same bullshit of ‘to establish good connections,’” he cut in, stepping closer. “Tell me the real reason.”
Her temper flared. “Know your place, Whitethorn,” she snapped, yanking her arm free. “I am the sister of a queen, and I won’t be insulted by someone below me.”
His mouth curved, but there was nothing warm in it. “So this is it? You pull rank on me? All because I rejected you- ”
The sound of her hand connecting with his cheek cracked through the air.
“Don’t think yourself anything special,” she bit out, her voice sharp enough to cut. “You’re just another brooding male with an overinflated ego. The males I take to my bed every night can confirm that.”
For the barest moment, his eyes widened, whether in shock or fury, she couldn't tell. His jaw worked, words forming-
But she didn't give him the chance. She turned on her heel and began walking away, spine straight, pulse roaring in her ears.
It was a lie. Every word of it.
But she didn't care.
Not if it made him feel even a fraction of the sting she'd been carrying for months.
It had been a week since she left.
Rowan told himself it didn't matter. That it shouldn't matter. She was gone on a diplomatic job--fulfilling her duties as a crown princess, representing Terrasen with that steel in her spine and that smile she could summon even in the darkest days. There was no reason for him to care.
And yet...every day, he found himself looking for her without meaning to. At breakfast, glancing toward the seat she usually claimed. In meetings, expecting some sharp remark from her corner. Walking past the training yard and catching himself listening for her voice.
For months now, he'd been trying--like a damn fool--not to be affected by her sudden coldness, by the way she'd started looking through him as if he were nothing more than air.
Though it hadn't been so sudden, had it?
No. He knew exactly when it had started. Why it had started. And he knew--deep in his bones--that he was the core cause of it all.
He just...got scared. Gods, he'd been a coward.
The truth was, he'd loved Y/N from the start. From that first meeting in secret, in Adarlan, when she and Aelin had saved Aedion from execution. He could still see her standing there, defiant and unyielding, her eyes bright with fire. He'd thought then that she was dangerous--to his enemies, to anyone who underestimated her.
He hadn't realized she'd be dangerous to him too. But she was.
From that day forward, he’d found himself drawn to her. Through battles and bloodshed, standing back-to-back against Maeve’s forces, against Erawan’s horrors. In the quiet after the war, helping each other patch wounds—inside and out. She’d been there when he discovered the truth about Lyria, when the grief threatened to swallow him whole. She’d stayed by his side. Always.
And maybe that was the problem.
Because he loved her. Gods, he did. But loving her meant risking the same loss he’d already endured once. And Rowan Whitethorn had decided long ago that he wasn’t meant for a happy ending, wasn’t destined for a mate, for true love.
So he'd done the one thing guaranteed to destroy it before it began. He'd rejected her. Pushed her away. And in doing so, lost her anyway. The past week had been an exercise in restraint. Pretending it didn't bother him that she was gone. Pretending her absence wasn't a gaping hole in every room, every day.
It wasn't working.
With a low, frustrated sigh, Rowan shoved a hand through his hair. He knew what he had to do. He'd fought it long enough, and for what? She was already beyond his reach...and yet, he couldn't stand being apart from her another damn day.
He was going to Adarlan.
The midday sun streamed in through the tall glass windows, spilling over the long table where Y/N sat with Dorian and a collection of Adarlan's finest.
Three lords--Lord Rensworth, Lord Calder, and Lord Taren--had traveled from their various holdings to attend, along with two high-ranking guildmasters who oversaw the city's most profitable trade networks. Wealth and influence dripped from every smile in the room, each one polished and practiced.
"Of course," Lord Calder was saying, "Terrasen's timber supply would be invaluable in the reconstruction of our southern districts. With proper agreements, we could- "
“Proper agreements,” Dorian cut in smoothly, leaning back in his chair, “meaning agreements that don’t conveniently empty Adarlan’s coffers into Terrasen’s hands.” He flicked a glance at Y/N, the corner of his mouth twitching. “My friend here is persuasive, but I assure you, gentlemen, she doesn’t get everything she wants.”
Y/N’s lips curved faintly. “Yet.”
The guildmasters chuckled, and even Lord Rensworth’s stiff mouth twitched at that. The conversation moved forward, Dorian occasionally stepping in--sometimes to bolster her points, sometimes to poke at her just to see if he could get a rise.
It was going well. Productive, even. Until the doors opened.
Her mind marely registered the polite announcement from the guard before her gaze shifted--before her breath caught hard enough to hurt.
Chaol strode in first, all captain's poise and unshakable calm. But beside him...
Rowan.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing that battered leather battle jacket like it had been made for him. His silver hair gleamed in the sunlight, a loose strand falling over his brow, and those pine-green eyes--sharp, unrelenting--swept over the room. His expression was a mask of cool command, but the sheer presence of him filled the space, made it hard to breathe.
The male she had tried--truly, desperately tried--not to love anymore. She dragged her gaze away before he could look at her, focusing on Dorian, who had gone still at her side.
"Well," Dorian drawled, breaking the sudden silence. "I don't recall putting this on the meeting agenda."
Chaol offered a polite bow to the table. “Apologies for the interruption. We have… an unexpected visitor.”
“Clearly,” Dorian murmured, his eyes glinting as they shifted to Rowan. “Care to explain, Whitethorn?”
Rowan’s deep voice rolled through the chamber. “I was passing through on court business and thought it wise to deliver some matters in person.”
Court business. Right. And she was the King of Wendlyn.
The rest of the table shifted uncomfortably at the presence of a Fae warrior among them, but Dorian smiled as if nothing about this was the slightest bit strange. “Well. I do love surprises,” he said lightly, though his gaze flicked between Y/N and Rowan with a curiosity she did not appreciate.
She forced her attention back to the discussion, ignoring the heat creeping up her neck. Ignoring the fact that even without looking at him, she could feel Rowan’s eyes on her like the press of a hand.
For the next several days, Y/N once again perfected the art of pretending Rowan Whitethorn didn't exist. It wasn't easy. Somehow, despite Adarlan's sprawling palace and endless corridors, he had a knack for appearing wherever she was--be it in the dining hall, council chambers, or even the gods-damned library.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. The entire point of this trip had been to get away from him. To breathe without feeling that steady, unrelenting presence shadowing her every step.
But no, apparently the universe--or the Fates--had decided she hadn’t suffered enough yet.
When he approached her after meetings, she would excuse herself with a polite smile to speak to someone across the room. When he caught her in the gardens, she’d pretend she’d just remembered an appointment with Dorian and leave before Rowan could open his mouth. Once, when he tried to walk her back from a late meeting, she had taken a side corridor so abruptly the guard trailing them nearly tripped over his own feet.
He’d tried speaking to her--calmly, patiently--but she never gave him more than clipped replies. Most times, she didn’t give him the chance to get that far.
And now… now it was her final day in Adarlan.
Y/N stared at her reflection in the mirror, letting out a long, resigned sigh. She’d almost made it through without breaking. Almost.
Dorian, ever the flamboyant monarch, had decided her visit deserved a farewell ball. She supposed she should be flattered, though she suspected he just liked any excuse to parade his court in front of half the city.
Her gown was a deep emerald silk that shimmered with each shift of movement, the fitted bodice leaving her shoulders bare. Gold-threaded embroidery traced curling patterns along the skirts, catching the light like sunlight on water. A delicate tiara--gilded leaves with tiny emerald drops--rested atop her hair, the curls pinned in place to perfection.
Tonight, she decided, she would not care.
She would dance until her feet ached, drink until her cheeks warmed, and laugh until her voice was hoarse. She would not glance at him, would not think of him, would not wonder if he was watching.
Rowan Whitethorn could stand in the corner and glower for all she cared. Let him stew in his silence. Let him feel a fraction of what she had felt these past months.
Lifting her chin, she straightened her spine, the tiara gleaming as she turned from the mirror. With that newfound resolve wrapped around her like armor, Y/N swept from the room, head held high.
"...and of course, my ships are the fastest in the Eastern Sea," Lord Varrin drawled, swirling the wine in his goblet as if it were more precious than gold. "Merchants beg for my routes, princess. Beg."
Y/N smiled politely, though she hadn’t heard a single word he’d been saying for the past ten minutes. Her attention kept flicking across the ballroom--toward the corner where Rowan stood like a carved statue of wrath, his arms crossed, his green eyes locked on her like he could burn the smug nobleman beside her to ash.
The satisfaction it gave her was… intoxicating. Let him glare. Let him watch.
She cut off Lord Varrin mid-boast, her tone sweet as poisoned honey. “Aren’t you going to ask me for a dance?”
He blinked, startled, then smirked, leaning just a little too close. “Of course, princess.”
She placed her hand in his, letting him lead her onto the floor. The music swelled, and they began to move through the steps. At first, it was easy enough--until his hand began creeping, fingers brushing just under the edge of her ribs.
Her stomach turned.
By the next turn, his palm slid lower along her waist, pressing her closer until their bodies were almost flush.
She squeaked, twisting slightly. "I- please...space."
“What do you mean?” he murmured, breath far too close to her ear. “It’s perfect this way.”
And then his hand slid further, lower, settling on her backside.
The revulsion hit so fast she barely managed to jerk back before-
The male was yanked away, stumbling.
Y/N’s breath caught as she found herself staring into Rowan’s fury: pure, unrelenting, cold enough to freeze the air between them.
“Hey- ” Lord Varrin began, voice indignant.
Rowan’s head turned toward him, slow as death itself. The look he gave--sharp and lethal--was enough to make the lord snap his mouth shut, paling beneath his tan.
The pounding in Y/N’s chest wasn’t just from disgust anymore. She felt… exposed. Shaken.
Rowan’s eyes flicked back to hers, and something shifted in them. The harshness eased, his mouth tightening in something close to concern.
Without a word, he stepped closer, his hand brushing her arm--gentle, careful--as if asking permission. She didn’t protest when he guided her toward the edge of the ballroom, away from the music and the stares, through a side door and into a quieter, dim-lit room.
The door clicked shut behind them, muting the music and laughter from the ballrom.
Silence.
Y/N stood stiff, her pulse still hammering from the unwanted touch, from the way Rowan had appeared--furious and unyielding--before dragging her away.
And now, without a single warning, he dropped to his knees.
Her breath caught. "Rowan- "
He caught her hands in his, head bowed for a moment before looking up at her. His eyes were a storm--torment, and something rawer, something almost...broken.
"Just- just...listen to me. Please." His voice was low, rough.
She stayed silent.
Rowan exhaled, closing his eyes briefly as if steadying himself. "I was a fool. I told myself I was protecting you. That if I kept you at a distance, you'd be safe from...from the fate that followed Lyria. That loving me was a curse I couldn't let you bear."
His grip on her hands tightened, as though afraid she’d slip away. “So I pushed you away. I lied to your face. And in doing so, I became the very thing I swore I’d never be: the one to hurt you. I convinced myself it was for your sake, when it was really my own fear.”
Her throat felt tight, but she didn’t speak.
“I love you.” The words trembled--not from uncertainty, but from the force of them. “I have loved you from the moment you stood before me in Adarlan, sword in hand, fierce and unyielding. I loved you when we fought back-to-back in war, when we healed together afterward, when you were the only light I could stand to look at. I love you still. Gods help me, I will love you until my last breath.”
Rowan swallowed hard. "I understand if it's too late. If you never want to speak to me again- "
She didn't let him finish.
Dropping to her knees in front of him, she cupped his face and kissed him. Hard.
For a heartbeat, he froze, then his hands slid up to her waist, pulling her closer, kissing her back with a desperation that made her heart ache.
When they finally pulled apart, breathless, she pressed her forehead to his. “You fool,” she whispered. “I never once stopped loving you.”
His lips curved, slow and disbelieving, the beginnings of a smile-
“...but don’t think you’re this easily forgiven.” She jabbed a finger at his chest, her eyes sharp even as they shimmered. “You still hurt me. You still couldn’t be truly open with me. So for now, you can start by trying to earn my forgiveness.”
The smile faded into something solemn, his thumb brushing her cheek. “I know. And I am so very sorry. I will spend the rest of my life making up for this mistake.”
Her breath hitched at the promise in his voice, the weight of it.
She huffed softly, though her lips were tugging upward. "You'd better."
And when he kissed her again, gentler this time, it felt less like an ending and more like the first step toward something whole again.
Summary: Feeling that there's no future for you in Orynth, you attempt to leave in the middle of the night.
Warnings: mild angst
Words: ~2.1k
Author's Note: eeee day 1 is here! I'm so excited for the rest of this week, and I hope you all are too! This is written for Day 1 of @sjmromanceweek. Enjoy and let me know what you think! ☺️
18+ only pls
💚🩵🤍🩵💚
You were a fool. A complete and utter fool.
Nearly a year of pining after Aelin and Rowan, your Queen and King, had led to nothing.
Nothing but one night, months ago in a packed inn when you’d been nestled between them after hours of making you feel pleasure like never before.
Since that night, you’d kept a small flame of hope alive that Aelin had meant that they wanted you, to be with you. They’d asked you to take a room in the castle, only a few minutes walk separating you from their personal tower. Aelin had mention something about saving you the time of fighting the now busy streets of Orynth to reach the castle greenhouses each morning as her reasoning for offering the room, when you had a perfectly comfortable cottage of your own inside the city walls. And you’d continued to visit other towns and cities to help with the ongoing rebuilding efforts, still just the three of you, your magic speeding along fields of wheat, ripening entire rows of tomato plants to perfection as your Queen and King saw to any other needs their citizens might have.
But you’d not shared a room again, no twist of fate forcing the opportunity once more, or the married couple simply asking you to join them. It was glaringly obvious to you now that there was no reason to keep hoping, and that you needed to leave your foolish feelings behind before you were hurt further. Yet… you couldn’t manage to tear your eyes away from their place on the dance floor.
Winter Solstice was here, and a ball had been planned to celebrate the first free winter of Terrasen. You’d tried and tried to keep your eyes from wandering to them, whether they were on their thrones or mingling with the crowd, but you failed all night. And now they were dancing, each movement followed by sparks of Aelin’s fire, sending your mind straight back to the night you’d had with them.
The two of them together were perfect, bodies full of grace and sharp personalities, souls that had intertwined completely, near immortal and everything you’d ever wanted. And you…
You were mortal. Skilled with the plant magic you wielded, but nothing else that would impress anyone, or make you vital to their kingdom. Aelin had called you pretty, but you were nothing compared to her own beauty.
Tonight would be the perfect time to make your escape, to find a town or city that would welcome you, to run away from the feelings that rushed through you at the mere thought of Rowan and Aelin. You’d planned to leave already if the conditions were right, but… you wanted to see them, one last time.
And now that you had, it was time to grab your things from your room in the castle, then from your cottage in town.
You calmly made your way to the entrance of the great hall, taking one last glance at the couple you’d fallen too deeply for when they were completely off-limits. Rowan dipped Aelin in his arms as the song ended, kissing her deeply before pulling her back into a standing position.
A sigh, and then you were gone.
The stairs up to your room were uncomfortable in heels, but you made your way up and back down in under fifteen minutes. Laughter and music poured from the great hall as you passed through a hallway nearby. It was easy enough to slip out the castle doors and through the streets of Orynth to your house, dodging revelers who’d had a bit too much to drink as you did.
Familiar wooden walls greeted you as you shivered in the cold of your house, but you didn’t bother lighting a fire in the fireplace seeing as you’d be long gone in a few minutes. A match lit two candles on your living room table, lighting the room well enough. You sat to remove the heeled boots you’d worn tonight and warmed your toes between your hands, the soft fur lining not enough to stave away the chills that Terrasen’s winters brought.
You reached for your socks, only to pat around on the couch and realize that you hadn’t grabbed a pair of socks, and you rolled your eyes at yourself. A hiss left your lips at the biting cold of the wood floors beneath your feet as you darted to your bedroom, sitting on your bed to tug the wool socks on, and then another pair for good measure. There may be a merchant’s carriage waiting to take you to Rosamel, but the journey would be long and freezing. No use in risking your toes when you had plenty of socks to bring with you.
Your hands set to packing the two other bags you could bring with you, stuffing in as many clothes as you could while your mind wandered, worries piling on one after the other. What if the Lord of Rosamel turned you away? What if you were allowed in, but couldn’t find housing? What if-
An insistent knocking on your front door snapped you out of your thoughts, annoyance flitting through you.
Who would come calling for you at midnight?
You thought about ignoring whoever was at the door, likely a confused drunkard, until the knocking turned to pounding.
“Y/N, please let us in,” a voice called, muffled but familiar. If Aelin was here…
The door swung open, revealing your Queen and King who looked panicked, if that was even possible. “I… What are you doing here?”
“The better question is what are you doing here, Y/N?” Rowan growled before prowling past you, opening each door and checking each room as if he was searching for someone.
Aelin’s hands grabbed one of yours, her warmth chasing away the chill that had settled into your bones. “Why did you take your things from the castle, Y/N? I thought you liked staying there…” Her voice was soft, softer than you’d heard it since that night.
“I did, but I-”
“Why are your bags packed?” Rowan asked after emerging from your bedroom, a furious look on his face. “You were going to leave in the middle of the night, just like that?”
Your heart stuttered as fear swept over you, doubling in intensity when you saw a matching look on Aelin’s face. “I- I didn’t want-”
“What, Y/N? You didn’t want to say goodbye before leaving for some incredibly urgent reason, or you didn’t want us?” The last word was said with such pain, the emotion reflected in Aelin’s eyes. You could hardly breathe as she pinned you to the spot with her stare, the gold in her eyes shining in the candlelight. “Which is it?”
“I…” You couldn’t break her stare, couldn’t escape the want that flooded you whenever you were near them, couldn’t help the tears that fell from your eyes. You didn’t want to confess, but it was the only way that they would let you go. “I want you too much,” you whispered into the space that separated you, resisting the urge to look at Rowan, see the disgust that was likely building in his eyes. “I’ve always wanted you too much, in the wrong way when I knew that you were married, mates.” Your voice cracked on the last word, the knowledge that you could never compete with a bond like that having already shredded your soul long before tonight. “I think- I think I love both of you, but I need to leave Orynth. I can’t… It hurts too much, to be around you.” Your voice had quieted to a whisper before you stopped talking, finally pulling your eyes away from Aelin’s.
You stared at the floor as you waited for Aelin to drop your hand, for the two of them to storm out of your house.
It didn’t happen.
Aelin tugged you closer, only letting go of your hand to wrap her arms around you. “Y/N.” She said your name like a prayer, and a shudder ran through you. “I can’t believe…” she laughed softly. “I want you too much. I can barely breathe without you, barely think around you.”
“We’ve felt for you since that morning in the greenhouse,” Rowan said, his warmth behind you now, his arms caging you between them. “You’re irresistible in every way, Y/N.”
You were silent in their hold, your mind trying and failing to comprehend what they’d just told you. They… Since the greenhouse…? But why wouldn’t they-
“I don’t… You- why didn’t you tell me?” you asked with a frown on your face.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Aelin asked, her eyes meeting yours when you finally looked up again. “We weren’t certain that you truly wanted us, and, well…”
“Aelin’s not the best at handling negative consequences,” Rowan whispered in your ear, the grin he was wearing obvious without even looking at him, and he chuckled when Aelin glared at him over your shoulder with no heat in her eyes.
“You wanted for Y/N to come to us, Rowan,” Aelin said with a roll of her eyes. “I suggested offering you part of our closet and guaranteed snuggles every night, but… I guess we played it too safe, if you thought we were so uninterested that you needed to run away.” There was regret in those stunning eyes as her arms tightened around you. “Please don’t run.”
The words were so quiet, murmured like a prayer into the space between you, filled with the vulnerability that your Queen so rarely showed.
“Stay with us, Y/N. We need you.” Rowan’s words were just as soft, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. “We want you.”
You let out a whimper as you melted into their arms, your forehead resting on Aelin’s shoulder. “You can’t talk like that,” you mumbled into the fabric of her dress.
“Why? Is-”
It was easy to cut Rowan’s worry off as you whined, “You turned my legs to jelly. I can’t go back to the castle if I can’t walk.”
Two chests heaved with laughter around you for a moment, arms squishing you between them more tightly before silence fell again. The three of you stood in the quiet for minutes, listening to each other’s breathing.
“So, you’ll come with us?”
“Mm,” you hummed. “You mentioned space in the closet…”
“I’ll burn all of my clothes if it means you’ll be with us.” Aelin’s lips pressed to the crown of your head as you giggled at her.
“She doesn’t need that much space, Aelin,” Rowan teased.
“Hey!”
“Don’t get rid of your clothes, you look too pretty in them. Especially that pink nightgown you wore,” you sighed, nuzzling into Aelin’s neck. “Definitely don’t burn anything like that.”
Two fingers brought your chin up until you were an inch from Aelin’s face, a pleased look in her eyes and a smirk on her lips. “Oh? Should I take you with me when I go shopping for new ones? I’d love to have your input, maybe buy some pretty things for you to wear, just for us. Does that sound good?”
You couldn’t stop the way your heart thumped harder, imaginings of the silk and lace that Aelin would, without a doubt, look stunning in and out of. You didn’t think you could speak anything but gibberish with how close she was, how tightly Rowan was pressed to you, his arousal obvious against your lower back, but you managed a nod, Aelin’s slim fingers still beneath your chin.
“Good girl.” Soft lips pressed to yours, the contact making your knees go weak. It was a short kiss, full of promises that would be fulfilled later, in the warmth of their- now your- rooms. Once your lips parted, Rowan shifted behind you, turning your head to claim your mouth with his own, more demanding than Aelin. You were breathless when you parted, thankful for the two sets of arms now holding you up. “Now go put anything else you want to bring with you tonight in your bags, we have a warm bed waiting for us.”
Aelin’s smile alone could bring you to your knees, but with their confession and your own out in the open… You nearly fell the moment your Queen and King pulled away, your knees saved from bruising by Rowan’s arms wrapping around your waist. “Are you alright?”
Your cheeks flushed as you nodded. “I don’t know if I can walk,” you sighed, your flush intensifying when you saw Aelin’s grin.
“That’s fine, my love. Rowan can carry you,” she said, grin widening when Rowan scooped you into his arms with no warning. “We’ll come back to get the rest of your things tomorrow, and you can wear something of mine tonight. Or nothing at all.”
You pressed your thighs together, knowing exactly what the look in her eyes meant.
Feeling a little burnt out lately, but I couldn't resist doing one more post with my favorite poly couple. They just have my whole heart.
Rowaelin x reader
This was going to be your thirteenth reason —the final, undeniable proof— that you were absolutely, one hundred percent justified in considering throwing yourself off the battlements next time Aelin or Rowan so much as breathed too loudly in your direction.
It had started that morning. A sniffle. A slight ache behind your eyes. Maybe a little nausea. Minor. Manageable. Nothing worth worrying about, let alone worth the King of Terrasen turning into a hulking, overbearing, mother-hen of a male who hadn't let you out of his sight for more than a few minutes.
And gods, if Rowan's pacing didn't drive you mad first, Aelin's dramatics were sure to finish the job.
"Go away," you rasped from the center of the massive bed you were currently buried under, your voice coming out more of a pathetic wheeze than the fierce snarl you'd intended. You coughed once, squeezing your eyes shut as if that alone would ward them off. "I'm fine."
"You’re not fine," Rowan said without even looking at you. His tone was pure command, flat and emotionless to the untrained ear, but you knew him too well. The steel in it was only a thin veil over the worry thrumming through every inch of him.
Before you could summon the strength to argue, another voice chimed in, light and wickedly amused.
"Yeah, maybe we want to get sick too, just so we can stay in bed with you," Aelin drawled from across the room, where she had just abandoned her chair and the book she’d been half-heartedly pretending to read.
You barely cracked an eye open in time to see her grin. That wicked, golden grin that could unravel kingdoms. You didn’t even have the energy to be properly suspicious of it as she crossed the floor toward you with far too much intent for someone claiming casual concern.
Your brow lifted weakly as Aelin, without so much as asking, climbed up onto the bed and crawled over the covers until she flopped dramatically at your side. Her hair fanned across the pillows, a gleaming river of gold that seemed to catch every beam of light from the window.
"You’re going to get sick," you said flatly, though your heart wasn’t in it. Your body was already sagging toward hers instinctively, seeking the warmth you knew she’d give without question.
"If I get sick, I fully expect royal treatment," Aelin sniffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a theatrical air that would have made any courtier weep in envy. "Breakfast in bed. Daily foot rubs. A personal bard singing me to sleep. The works."
You let out a weak laugh, your chest rattling slightly with the effort, and shook your head. "You’re the worst patient in the world."
"And you love me for it," she said smugly, resting her head lightly against your shoulder. Her hand found yours under the blankets, fingers twining with easy familiarity. You thought you might’ve had a clever retort when the bed dipped again on your other side, and the mattress shifted with a heavier weight.
There was the faint scent of pine and snow—Rowan. Large, calloused hands, so careful for all their strength, brushed over your forehead. Checking for fever. Again. You grumbled weakly and batted at him, your effort about as effective as a leaf fighting the wind.
"I’m not a fledgling," you muttered, glaring up at him.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t smile. He simply pressed the back of his hand to your cheek again, his face carved into that same hard, merciless mask he wore on the battlefield, but the worry slipped through the cracks.
"You’re warm," he said quietly, the words rough against the otherwise soft hush of the room. "Warmer than this morning."
"I’m fine," you repeated stubbornly, though it was clear none of them believed you.
"And stubborn," Aelin added brightly, squeezing your hand for emphasis.
You rolled your eyes, or you tried. Everything felt heavy. Hot. You hated feeling weak. Hated that you couldn’t just will yourself better and put an end to the worried looks being traded above your head.
"You’re both idiots," you grumbled hoarsely, burrowing deeper into the blankets despite yourself.
"And you’re ours," she said, softer this time. She pressed a kiss to your temple, feather-light, the scent of lavender clinging to her hair.
Rowan shifted closer too, pulling the covers higher up your body, tucking them in tightly around you with infuriating tenderness. His hand lingered against the crown of your head, his thumb stroking once, a quiet touch.
"Rest," he murmured, his voice little more than a breath against your burning skin. "We’re not going anywhere."
It was easier to let yourself sink with them there. To surrender to the pull of sleep.
Maybe later, when you weren’t feeling like death warmed over, you’d yell at them for being ridiculous. For hovering like your mere breathing was something fragile and precious.
But for now, you let yourself drift, knowing that if the world dared so much as breathe wrong in your direction, Rowan and Aelin would burn it down before it ever touched you.
Summary: Rowan canonically has a biting kink and I think about it once a week so, I thought I might share with the class 🫶
Warnings: Smut | Minors dni | 18+ | biting kink | oral (f receiving) | p in v | territorial fae bastard | brief fingering | praise | Rowan’s feral for her
Dawn had yet to break over the horizon but I've been awake for at least an hour. I had spent that time silently laying in bed, listening to the sound of Rowan's soft heartbeat, steady and slow beneath my ear, a rhythm I had grown fond of and had slowly become the most comforting sound I had ever heard.
Once my stomach got the best of me—and was grumbling so loud I honestly thought it might wake the silver-haired fae beside me, I slipped from the bed, tip-toeing as I got dressed and despite my mates heightened senses, he didn't stir as I left our bedroom.
I padded into the dimly lit kitchen and fixed myself a simple meal as quietly as I could, making a plate of leftovers from dinner, not bothering to heat them up due to the fact that the smell and clattering of utensils would most likely wake Rowan.
He wasn't a light sleeper by any means, the male slept like a damned log, and I was certain he could pass out anywhere, but, to his core, he was a worrier.
And when I wasn't beside him, he was as anxious as a mother hen. Which meant a rough sleep.
I hadn't known what prompted me to wake up earlier than usual, and I'd most likely be in eager need of a nap in a few hours, but once I was awake, there was no returning to sleep.
So I sighed, stuffing a cold potato into my mouth, quietly eating as I stretched my limbs out, sore from sleep and training yesterday.
A warm breeze twirled around me and I knew it wasn't the wind blowing in from the windows that kissed my face.
I wasn't surprised when a pair of large, muscled arms lazily wrapped around my torso, pulling me back into a bare chest.
"It's too early," Rowan murmured, his voice groggy as he spoke into my hair.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," I lift a hand up, running it through his trimmed, silver locks.
"Then come back to bed," He grumbles and I smile, leaning into his warm and toned chest.
"You used to train from dawn to nightfall right outside my window, where'd that Rowan go?" I tease, raising a brow despite the fact that he couldn't see it, rolling another potato over with my fork.
"Mm, he died from a heart attack when a pretty girl dragged him into her rooms when he was supposed to be training," He explained and I smiled at the memory, still raking my hand through his hair.
"I miss your long hair," I changed the subject and he groaned, stuffing his nose into the crook of my neck.
"How many times do I have to tell you I'm growing it out, just for you?" He huffs and I beam brightly. "I still can't believe you cut it without asking me," I sighed in disbelief as if that day was such a tragedy.
"My gods woman," He hoisted me up into his arms and I squealed. "And I still can't believe you left our bed without asking me," He retorted and I giggled.
"Those are two very different things," I argue while he carries me back to our bedroom, leaving my cold food on the counter, deserted.
He threw me down onto our bed and crawled in beside me. I gripped him by the tops of his shoulders, lugging him upward so he was laying atop me, and he would have been crushing me if his hips weren't positioned between my legs, his head stuffed in the junction of my shoulder and neck.
"I missed you," He sighs and I roll my eyes.
"For the ten minutes I wasn't in bed?" I scoffed and he growled softly, nipping at my collarbone. "Ow!" I yelp, shoving him away but he only looks at me with a feral grin and an amused look in his eyes.
"I love doing that," He hums and I deadpan at him.
"What? Inflicting pain onto your mate?" I suggest and he frowns.
"No, biting you," He explained and I gave him an incredulous look, as if they were not one and the same.
"You have a biting kink," I reiterate and he brushes me off.
"I do not." He huffs while stuffing his head back into my shoulder.
He danced his lips along my collarbone, kissing softly until he found the small expanse of skin that made me tense.
I felt him grin at his realization. His elongated canines brushed over the area just below my pulse point. He ran his nose up the area, entirely drunk on the scent and feel of me beneath him.
He kissed the spot, soft, gentle, something he did every time before marking me. "Rowan," I warn in a stern voice.
"Hm?" He inquires, all too innocently.
"If you leave a mark I'm going to kill you," I warn.
"Is that right, love?" He drawls against the column of my throat and my stomach twists in both arousal and anxiety.
"Yes. We have a meeting with the lords of Doranelle today and I'd prefer it if they didn't know how much you love to claim your territory," I reason but he remains at the area on my neck, taunting the flesh.
"But the looks on their faces," He drawls. "They'll know you're all mine," He grins at the idea and I roll my eyes.
"They already do, remember? When we had a wedding and all of Wendlyn was invited?" I reason but he simply shakes his head.
"Not just Wendlyn, everyone, I want everyone to know," He goes on and I release a long sigh, his grin broadening because he knows he's won.
"Okay, but only if you admit you have a biting kink," I bargain and he chuckles, but he doesn't say it rather than shows it.
His sharp canines brush over my neck, then slowly sink into my porcelain skin, the feeling sending shockwaves of both pain and pleasure throughout my entire body. I melted into his touch as he groaned softly the moment my blood hit his tongue. He bit harder, making sure a mark was left while he pressed his hips into mine, his hard cock straining against his pants but through my thin nightgown there was practically nothing between us.
Rowan's tongue glided over the wound, savoring the taste of my blood as the wound closed. His lips pressed against my neck in a silent apology, though there was no need for one. The bite sent shivers through my body, the sharp sensation of pain melting into the pleasure that followed in its wake. I threaded my fingers through his silver hair, holding him close, feeling the heat of his body radiated through my thin gown.
"You've made your point," I said softly, my voice still teasing, though breathless from the intensity of his bite. "Everyone will know I'm yours."
Rowan's chuckle was low, vibrating against my skin. He lifted his head, meeting my gaze with eyes that were both playful and full of desire. "I'm not quite done proving it," he murmured.
Before I could respond, Rowan shifted, his hands sliding down my body in a way that had my pulse quickening all over again. His fingers trailed over my hips, tugging my gown up higher, exposing more of my skin to the cool morning air. His lips followed the path of his hands, pressing soft kisses to my collarbone, down my sternum, until he reached the delicate curve of my waist.
His mouth was warm, his breath hot against my skin as he continued to descend, leaving a trail of kisses that made me arch into his touch. His lips lingered at the edge of my inner thigh, just before he bit down—not hard, not yet—just enough to tease me, to make my breath hitch.
"Rowan," I breathed, my hand tightening in his hair, pulling just enough to let him know how desperate I was becoming.
He lifted his head, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he met my gaze, pine-green eyes full of lust and devotion. "Tell me what you want, love."
My voice trembled, but the words came easily. "Touch me."
His grin widened, but he didn't rush. Instead, his lips brushed over the sensitive skin of my thigh again, his teeth grazing lightly before he sank them in just enough to leave a mark, making me gasp. The combination of his bites and his soft kisses left my skin tingling with anticipation.
Rowan's hands moved to my thighs, parting them gently as he positioned himself between my legs. His fingers traced slow, lazy circles along my skin, a deliberate contrast to the sharp bites he'd left behind. He didn't say anything—he didn't need to. His lips descended again, pressing a kiss to the inside of my thigh, so close to where I ached for him, yet not quite enough.
I let out a soft whimper, and he hummed against my skin, clearly pleased with my reaction. He kissed me there once more, softer this time, before his tongue finally darted out, teasing me, tasting me. The sensation was electric, sending a wave of pleasure crashing over me, and I moaned, my back arching off the bed.
Rowan's grip tightened on my thighs as he held me steady, his tongue moving with agonizing precision. His lips, his teeth—everything about him was calculated to drive me wild, to bring me to the edge and hold me there. He alternated between soft kisses and firm, lingering licks, his teeth occasionally nipping the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs, leaving marks that would remind me of this moment long after.
My hands fisted the sheets, my breath ragged as I tried to keep control, even if I wanted nothing more than that sweet release. Rowan's pace didn't relent. If anything, the pressure of his mouth increased, his bites becoming bolder, leaving me trembling beneath him.
The tension in my body built, winding tighter and tighter until I was nearly coming undone. Just when I thought I couldn't take it any longer, he withdrew, his lips brushing over my skin once more, this time moving up my body again.
His eyes were dark with desire as he hovered over me, his lips glistening from tasting me. He kissed me then, slow and deep, letting me taste myself on his tongue. "You're mine," he murmured against my lips, the possessiveness in his voice making my pulse race again.
"And you're mine," I teased, though my voice was barely a whisper now.
Rowan grinned, his teeth grazing my bottom lip. "All yours," he rasped before capturing my lips again, the kiss full of a promise—one that said he wasn't done with me yet.
His kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that made my toes curl. The heat between my legs only intensified, my entire body buzzing with need as he pressed himself against me, his hard length unmistakable even through the fabric of his pants. I arched into him, desperate for the friction, desperate for him.
His hands moved with a confidence that only came from knowing me intimately, sliding down my body and pushing my gown further up until he pulled it over my head and discarded it onto the floor. I shivered as his fingers skimmed over the bare skin of my waist, his touch both tender and possessive. He shifted his weight, his hands making quick work of his pants, and I felt him—hot, hard, and ready—pressing against me.
Rowan paused for a moment, his eyes dark as they locked onto mine. "You sure baby?" he murmured, his voice low and thick with need, though there was a tenderness there, too. He always made sure, always wanted me to be in control, even in moments like these.
My response was immediate, my voice breathless as I nodded. "Yes, Rowan. Please."
That was all he needed.
His hand slid between my legs, his fingers finding my slick heat and teasing me with gentle strokes, preparing me for him. I gasped at the contact, my body arching into his touch, but it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.
Rowan grinned, clearly enjoying how desperate I was for him, but he didn't make me wait much longer. He lined himself up with my entrance, his gaze never leaving mine as he slowly pushed into me, stretching me in a way that was both delicious and overwhelming.
I felt him everywhere, I needed him everywhere. It was indescribable the pleasure I was enduring, how he knew exactly how to make me feel good, exactly how much I could take— then pushing me past that mark.
I never got used to the size of him, even after decades of being his mate— he had me satisfied halfway in. “Ro—” I whimpered, my nails digging into his shoulders as I arch off the bed.
“I know baby, almost there.” He leans down and presses a tender kiss to my lips, his arms on either side of my head. “You’re doing so well,” He praises, pulling out and then thrusting in once more, his hips finally meeting mine.
I gasped, my nails now dragging down his muscled back as he filled me completely, his body flush against mine. For a moment, neither of us moved, savoring the feeling of being so intimately connected. His forehead pressed against mine, and his breath came out in a ragged exhale.
"Gods," he groaned softly, his voice a low rumble against my skin. "You feel, so perfect."
My response was a guttural moan, the pleasure of having him inside me stealing my words. Slowly, he began to move, pulling back just enough before pushing back into me, his pace measured, and deliberate. He wanted to make this last, wanted to draw out every bit of pleasure he could give me.
The friction built steadily, a delicious tension coiling in my core as Rowan's hips moved against mine, slow but powerful. He kissed me again, his lips moving languidly over mine, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his thrusts, teasing and tasting me.
Every time he filled me, a wave of pleasure rippled through me, my body tightening around him as the tension built higher and higher. His name fell from my lips in a breathless whisper, and I felt him shudder against me, his control slipping as he gave in to the primal need to claim me.
Rowan's thrusts quickened, his hands gripping my hips to pull me closer, deeper. The sound of skin against skin, of his low, rumbling groans, filled the room, mingling with my own moans. He leaned down, his mouth returning to my neck, and before I could protest, his sharp teeth sank into my skin once more, right where my pulse thrummed wildly.
The bite sent a sharp jolt of pleasure and pain through my body, and my inner walls clenched around him as my climax rushed toward me. I cried out, my body arching off the bed as the intense waves of pleasure crashed over me, my release shuddering through every nerve.
Rowan groaned into my neck as my body tightened around him, his hips stuttering as he found his own release. He thrust into me one final time, his body tensing as he spilled into me, his grip on my hips tightening as he rode out the last of his pleasure.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the heavy panting of our breaths, the two of us tangled together in a haze of post-orgasm bliss. Rowan's weight settled over me, his head dropping to rest against my shoulder, his breath warm against my skin.
I sighed contentedly, my hand threading through his hair once more. "Sometimes I wonder why I put up with you," I murmured with a lazy smile.
Rowan chuckled softly, his lips brushing over the bite mark on my neck in a tender kiss. "Because you love me," he murmured, his voice low and full of satisfaction. "And because I'm great at making all my mistakes up to you."
I rolled my eyes, though there was no real annoyance behind it. "Making it up to me? You mean making me mad then charming you way out of it?"
Rowan grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he nuzzled into my neck. "It's called balance, love." He says against my heated skin.
I roll my eyes, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and pulling him impossibly closer as I mutter, "You're ridiculous."
He stayed pressed against me for a few more moments, his breath still coming out in slow, deep pants. He placed a soft kiss on the bite mark he'd left on my neck, then slowly pulled out of me, the sensation making us both shiver. As much as I wanted to stay tangled up in each other, I knew the meeting was looming.
"I've ruined our schedule, haven't I?" Rowan's voice was low, though I could hear the lazy smile in his tone.
I gave a soft laugh, shifting beneath him. "A little. But I suppose I can forgive you this once."
Rowan chuckled, rolling off of me and onto his side. His arm draped over my waist as he reached up, brushing a lock of hair from my face, his thumb gently grazing my cheek. "You're too kind," he teased, his pine-green eyes warm with affection.
"Only because I'm still basking in the afterglow," I shot back with a smirk, earning another low laugh from him.
But Rowan wasn't one to linger too long in the haze of pleasure, especially when it came to taking care of me afterward. His touch was immediately gentle and purposeful, slipping out of bed to grab a cloth from the basin near the window. I watched him move with that easy grace he always had, even half-dressed and tousled from bed. He dipped the cloth in the water, wringing it out before returning to my side.
"Stay still, love," Rowan murmured as he knelt beside me on the bed. His hands were warm and gentle as he ran a damp cloth between my legs, cleaning me with the same tender care he always did after moments like this.
I sighed, letting my head fall back against the pillow, the coolness of the cloth soothing the lingering heat in my skin. "You're too good at this," I mused, my voice soft with a mixture of contentment and exhaustion.
He smiled, his eyes glinting with humor. "I've had plenty of practice."
"You say that like I'm high maintenance," I teased, though I couldn't help the soft sigh that escaped me as he finished cleaning me up.
He raised a brow, wiping his hands before setting the cloth aside. "You? Never," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm, though the way he looked at me—like I was the most precious thing in the world—softened the words. He pulled the blankets back over me, making sure I was comfortable before leaning in and pressing a kiss to my temple.
I rolled my eyes, reaching up to poke him in the chest. "I don't remember you complaining last night."
Rowan grinned, catching my hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing my knuckles. "I'm not complaining now, either."
With a satisfied smile, he moved to retrieve my clothes. He picked out the gown I had set aside for the meeting, holding it up with an appraising look. "This one will show off all your marks perfectly I think."
I laughed, sitting up in bed, feeling pleasantly sore. "Well, I wasn't planning on needing armor for the meeting, but after this morning's antics, maybe I should rethink that."
Rowan tossed the gown to me with a smirk. "I told you, love. I'm making sure everyone knows you're mine."
I caught the gown and shook my head in mock exasperation. "You are impossible."
"And yet, you married me," he said with a wink, starting to dress himself, pulling on his pants and shirt with practiced ease.
I stood, slipping into my undergarments before working my way into the gown. The fabric was soft against my skin, and Rowan moved to my side, his fingers deftly helping fasten the back without me needing to say a word.
As his hands worked, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "You know, I could help you out of this dress far faster than you got into it," he murmured against my hair, his tone teasing but affectionate.
I elbowed him lightly in the ribs, though the smile tugging at my lips betrayed me. "I swear your mind stays in one place and one place only."
Once the gown was fastened, Rowan turned me around, his fingers brushing over the bite mark on my neck, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. "I really outdid myself with this one." He admires the mark like an art piece.
I snorted, smoothing down the front of my dress as I met his gaze in the mirror. "If you leave any more marks like this, the lords are going to think you're trying to start some sort of territorial war."
His expression turned mock-serious. "I mean, can you blame me? You're worth fighting for."
I rolled my eyes for what felt like the nth time, though the flush in my cheeks betrayed how much his words affected me. "Just behave yourself during the meeting."
Rowan's grin was utterly unrepentant as he reached for his sword, fastening it at his waist. "I always behave, love."
I raised a brow at him. "Uh-huh. And how many times have we been late to meetings because of your 'good behavior'?"
His gaze darkened with amusement. "If you keep talking like that, we might be late again today."
I gave him a playful shove toward the door. "Out. I need to make sure I don't look like I've been ravaged by my mate all morning."
He chuckled, stepping aside but not before leaning in to steal another kiss, his lips soft and warm against mine. "You look perfect," he murmured as he pulled back, his eyes lingering on me with a warmth that made my heart flutter.
I gave him a small, exasperated shake of my head, though my heart skipped a beat at his words. "Flattery won't save you if we're late."
Rowan's grin only widened as he opened the door, slipping out of it— then peaking his head back in to say, "I'll take my chances." With a snarky grin.
Gods, help me, this male was hopeless.
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rowaelin with a mate who is whimsical but really whimsical. i can really imagine them waking up in the morning and reader is praying to the sun and thanking whatever goddess she believes in, and they think she is the goddess they believe in. half of the library they have in common is hers, and she has books of all types, potions, rituals, curses, everything related to the whimsical world (and also romance books she likes to read with aelin).
her wardrobe is MAGICAL. every dress she has is flowy, her shirts have long sleeves and the pants and skirts are also flowy and long, whenever she wears any piece of clothing they are mesmerized by her beauty and the grace like an angel sent to them. out of both of them, i think aelin is the most interested in all of this, yes she is called “the god’s killer” but in a land surrounded by an enchanted forest, the little folk and the lord of the north… her mate being into all this things is the least of her problems right now, so she lets reader bath her with crystals and moon water, she wears a sachet with crystals and trinkets to protect her, she even wears a necklace with both rowans and readers birth stones.
i think rowan would also be interested but is a little skeptical, reader knows this and that’s why she only does something when rowan is the first one to approach but rowan loves his mate and she loves to see her face glow when he ask what potions she is making or anything, so he decides to try and learn more, and be more interested and leave his skeptical side aside.
rituals are something reader only does when she is alone or with her mates. she doesn't have dark magic or any kind of dark power, aelin once described her power as “divine power” or “celestial power” and she really thank her for that because all her life she has been scared of showing someone what she could do and that they ran away or something worse, but since living with rowan and aelin… she has never felt more free, more alive. her power is related to nature, and that also expands to animals. if they are taking a walk through oakwald, birds fly near her, butterflies land on her hair and hands, flowers open whenever she is walking near them, even the sun or the moon light seem to glow only for her.
and then we have tantric sex. to connect with your partner, to connect with their soul and heart on a deeper level. whenever they have tantric sex, first she prepares a warm bath with salts and crystals that are related to love, soft touches and soft kisses, there's no rush, just to connect. they walk directly to bed, not bothering to dry themselves. scented candles, more crystals, the window open to let the moon light enter and then everything flows. like before there's no rush, no pressure, only bodies searching each other for comfort and passion. all is about connection, body and mind. and when the sun is rising and they are all happy and satisfied, they sleep tangled with each other.
