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leiawritesstories · 2 months ago

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*incoherent screeching*

i love love love LOVEEEE this fic so so much maria

Look at Us Now - ch. 29

Fic masterlist

Guys it's 3am five hours past my bedtime I'll do the header tomorrow lol

HAPPY FAKE BIRTHDAY @sirius-blacks-official-girl who 100% came up with a fake one to milk this chapter out of me.

JOKING love you Flora this chapter was so overdue I'm actually a little embarassed. But I DID write most of it on my notes app in ubers and in between classes because my studies are killing me so..

Warnings: mentions of inflation

Words: 7k

“The kids did say you have a bug up your ass today,” Fenrys said from his doorstep, somewhere between frowning and laughing at Rowan’s frazzled look.

Perhaps he did. He did snap at the recruits more often today, and it was naive of him to think people wouldn’t notice or comment. Thankfully they had a gap in their schedule this month, hence why he and Fenrys were at Rowan’s and Aelin’s place mid-afternoon on a work day.

Rowan was well aware that soon Maisie and Fleetfoot would arrive like a tornado—one from preschool and the other from daycare—and Aelin… he didn’t even know. What he did know is that she’ll be more willing to talk about whatever she’s going through if Rowan isn’t looking like a truck just ran over him—his current state.

His friend eyed him warily and stepped in. As annoying as Fenrys could be when he assumed his life-of-the-party persona, it didn’t get on Rowan’s nerves like when the man was being perceptive.

He didn’t feel like talking yet and, at that moment, it was hard to tell something more unsettling than when his lifelong friend scanned his soul with bottomless onyx eyes.

“How 's Aelin?”

Rowan didn’t answer. He didn’t know it himself.

Tired.

Those are the only five letters he gets to hear after asking her the same question.

His Fireheart seemed so tired these days, it was hard to discard a depressive episode. He even asked her if she was pregnant when Lorcan joked about it last week, but she said it was unlikely, and Rowan was getting ahead of himself.

He wouldn’t dare hope. It was too soon, and Maisie was a handful already. As much as he wanted more children, they had more things to do before that—actually, just one specific thing that required something shiny to bribe her with.

If Aelin was pregnant, she’d tell him. She told him without any delay and in worse circumstances last time, so he knew she would. What unsettled him was her history of not telling him when she was struggling.

Isn’t this why they parted ways, after all?

Her being too closed off while he was too dumb to pull his head out of his ass and see her? Well, Aelin’s still clinically depressed, and Rowan’s still an idiot—they just have it more under control now.

Instead of explaining his inner turmoil, he said, “Your old room is hers now. You’re getting your shit out of there while I remodel it.”

This being the reason why Fenrys was summoned here in the first place. Rowan needed more room for Aelin, and his ex-roommate’s was five years too late to get the rest of his things.

Fenrys mock-flinched, his hand on his chest in a wounded gesture.

Rowan hardened his expression to get the message across. He wasn’t kidding. For the past years, he’d been asking Fenrys to finish moving out and change his address everywhere that mattered—not only his delivery app.

“I live here with my daughter, and now I’m making room for my…” Girlfriend? The word didn’t feel like enough. “Life partner. I don’t have room for your birth certificate anymore, neither for those old, hideous pants you swear will be trendy again.”

Fenrys squinted at Rowan, common sense fighting the man’s stubbornness until he said, “Fair enough.”

His former roommate whistled when he saw Rowan’s work. “I don’t remember this room being quite this nice, Rowie.”

He shrugged. “That’s just me stress-building.”

Rowan has been not-so-secretly working on a room for Aelin ever since she started showing signs of depression again. He’s keeping it locked so as to not spoil the surprise—she hasn’t commented on it, so neither did he.

It was the very least he could do. They’ve had the conversation where she asked him to take their relationship slow millions of times, and as much as Rowan respected her decision, he didn’t work hard enough to respect this boundary of hers, even if he did know that routine changes can trigger a depressive episode.

Moving in together after barely four months. Who does that?

Rowan used to feel like everything would be fixed if he managed to rekindle his romantic relationship with Aelin. It’s a bitter realization that they’re still the same flawed people that tore each other apart.

He was supposed to be working through and letting go of his guilt, but how could Rowan do that if his failings kept creeping back into the present like this?

But he had furniture to assemble, and that’s what he wanted to focus on for now—at least until he and Aelin could find some time to talk.

Fenrys’ whistle snapped him back into reality.

“A bookcase, huh?”

“Yep.”

His friend smirked. “Because she made you?”

“No, because she’ll like it, and now I’m making you help me with it.“

Fenrys cackled. “I was called to retrieve my things, now I’m helping with the room too?”

Rowan meant business when he texted his friend, but now he was glad Fenrys was here.

“How long will it take to empty half a closet into your car?” Rowan taunted with a raised brow.

A playful sigh while the man unlocked his phone. “I guess Dorian can walk Calvin and Klein alone.”

All of Rowan’s problems evaporated with Aelin’s cheek pressed against his shoulder blades, her arms wrapping his torso from behind while he mixed what was about to become some veggie-loaded chicken nuggets for dinner.

His girls weren’t good at eating their vegetables, but that just meant he needed to be creative at hiding them in the dishes—a practice he mastered a while ago, when Maisie was a toddler.

Aelin leaned on the kitchen island and looked over at where Maisie hung out with Fleetfoot, making a mess under the kitchen table because both parents were too tired to argue.

“Should we have that talk now?” She asked, dreading to leave their frail happy bubble.

“I think we’ve delayed it enough.”

Aelin nodded. “Should I start, or…?”

“Go ahead.”

She detangled herself from him and said to Maisie, “Honey, can you come here for a sec?”

“I can’t! I’m busy playing,” the little girl said without taking her attention off Fleetfoot.

“Maisie,” Rowan dragged out her name in a stern tone, his patience thin with everything going on these days. “Your mother gave you an order.”

His daughter’s spine straightened. Sensing they meant business, she crawled from under the table and approached them with her arms crossed, not quite looking them in the eye.

Rowan had no idea where Maisie learned that grumpiness from. Aelin kissed the top of her head to lighten the mood, a silent sign of appreciation for the reluctant compliance.

She asked, “How’s that teeth looking, hun?”

Maisie was about to lose her first baby tooth, and it’s been quite the event at their home. Aelin was weirdly excited about it, and he let her take the lead in this.

Rowan had barely gotten over her first baby tooth growing—his throat swelled every time he thought too hard about the fact that enough time had passed for her to lose it.

The little girl opened her mouth wide and aaahed obediently.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to pull it out?” Aelin asked while gently wiggling the tooth to inspect it, her body vibrating with the need to yank that tooth off Maisie’s head.

The tooth was—quite literally—hanging by a thread, but Maisie didn’t want to pull it out yet. While parenting sometimes meant ordering, they did their best to honor her consent regarding her own body. Maisie didn’t have the authority to decide when she could brush her teeth, but she’d decide when to yank them off.

On the other hand, there was Aelin. A little butcher lived inside his Fireheart—one that cuts people open for a living—and she was itching to rip that tooth off. If Rowan had any to spare, he’d let her take it off just to see that special glimmer her eyes get when she’s thrilled.

At her mother’s suggestion, Maisie took a step back and frantically shook her head, eyes wide and mouth closed.

“Today at school Bree said she ripped it out too soon because she wanted the money, and it hurt a lot and she only got the money three—” Maisie held up three fingers as close to their faces as possible for emphasis. “days later because the tooth fairy got mad at her for it.”

Aelin’s lips thinned. Rowan couldn’t tell if Sellene was a genius, or if he wanted to throttle her for being behind the reason Maisie was scared to pull out her tooth.

He crouched to reach his daughter’s eye level and explained that her tooth was loose enough, so she wouldn’t be pulling it just for the money. “I’m sure the tooth fairy will understand. I used to yank out my own teeth when I was your age and she never delayed my pay.”

Aelin enthusiastically endorsed everything he said.

“The rules aren’t the same anymore, Daddy.” Maisie frowned, as serious as she could be. “You were a kid, like, at least a hundred years ago. The Tooth Fairy probably had to ride a dinosaur to your house.”

He blinked. Did his five-year-old just call him old? Aelin’s cackle in the background confirmed it.

Mid-thirties wasn’t that old, right?

Rowan went back to making dinner before it got too late, and the girls decided to help him to roll the mixture into a ball and flatten it into a nugget shape.

Aelin continued, “I can write her an email clarifying the situation, how does that sound?”

Maisie took a moment to think, rolling the soon-to-be nugget from hand to hand and nodded. “Can you ask her how much I’ll get? Because she’s not paying the same to my friends at school.”

“The amount she gives you depends on how well you take care of your teeth for her,” Aelin said with a pointed look, the implication about the fact that Maisie doesn’t like to brush her teeth hanging in the air. His Fireheart was a genius.

“How do you know this?” Maisie squinted her eyes at her mom.

“I’m a mom. I know things you don’t.” Aelin nonchalantly shaped the nugget, pretending she wasn’t aware she just posed herself as a mysterious source of wisdom in all things childhood folklore.

“Okay,” Maisie dragged out the word while giving her mom a skeptical look. “Do you know how much she’ll give me?”

“It slipped my mind.” Aelin asked Rowan, “Do you remember it?”

“Huh,” he mused while putting the nuggets into the air fryer. “I’m pretty sure it was $1.”

“$1!? But… but in-flay-shun!” Maisie exclaimed, carefully wording the next word as she struggled to pronounce it.

Inflation coming out the mouth of a 5-year-old. What the hell.

Aelin tried and failed to muffle her laugh into her hand, and Rowan’s eyes bugged out of his skull.

“How on earth do you know what that is?” he asked, wide-eyed.

“Uncle Fen said the Tooth Fairy would give me more money if I said this word,” the little girl said sheepishly.

Of course. Fenrys didn’t bother staying for dinner, but he made sure to bring trouble regardless.

“You wanna add inflation? Let’s calculate this like adults, then. I’m gonna need a piece of paper for this.”

Maisie ran to fulfill her dad’s request, her little body bouncing with excitement when she came back… with her pink dinosaur-themed magnetic doodle board.

That’d do, he supposed.

“Now, the last time I got a raise because of it—“ not that Maisie would know what inflation is and why it made her parents earn a raise, “I got a 9% adjustment, but I’ll add 10% to yours.”

Wide-eyed, Maisie squealed. “I’ll get $11?”

Under his dead body. Sellene laid a good foundation to stop Maisie and Bree from starting a self-mutilation business because of Tooth Fairy, but he didn’t trust his daughter enough to give her this much. When Maisie has money, she’s no better than Scrooge McDuck.

“No, for you it means more 10 cents. You’ll get $1,1.”

The little girl pouted. “Uncle Fen made it sound nicer.”

“Sorry, hun.” Rowan gave her a sympathetic look. “And you know what other thing adults have in their salaries?”

“What?” Maisie asked, sat on the edge of her stool, hands sprawled on the kitchen island with the hopes to cash in more money.

“Taxes.”

“You wouldn’t,” Aelin cut in, her tone low and disbelieving.

“She wants it the adult way.”

“Rowan Whitethorn, you are not taxing Maisie’s tooth money!”

“Would you listen to me before we—” a pause because his big mouth almost ruined Maisie’s childhood, “before we email Tooth Fairy with the final tooth cash decision.”

With a pinch to her nose, she relented, “Go on, then.”

He continued to Maisie, “I pay about 30% in taxes, but I’ll make yours 20% because your income is lower.”

The little girl frowned, sensing she wasn’t gonna like what was coming next—no tax-paying citizen did.

“And according to my calculations, your after-tax tooth income would be about… 88 cents.”

“WHAT?” Maisie shouted, grabbing the doodle board to see it for herself—not that she’d understand the rates and percentages, but it was indeed pretty infuriating stuff.

“So…” Rowan continued, “You can have the adult way with inflation, or you can take the $1 the Tooth Fairy is offering and let your parents take you out for ice cream when the tooth falls.” A brow raise. “What do you want?”

“The adult way sucks. This is why you have grey hair.”

“Maisie,” Aelin reproached, “that’s not nice.”

The timer beeped, telling him it was time to turn the nuggets in the air fryer. “Let’s go set the table, Mais,” Aelin said while he finished cooking.

The gentle rain outside chilled the mid-spring evening, something about the sound of the water falling against the large glass window adding a cozy factor to their dinner night.

They would’ve started eating sooner if Maisie hadn’t decided she’d only eat if her plate was the same color as Fleetfoot’s bowl, so it was another five to ten minutes until they found the girl’s lilac plate and the four of them were all set.

Which didn’t make much of a difference for Aelin, since she was practically pushing her food around.

Rowan tapped her foot with his under the table. “You good?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Not great.” A shrug. “Just a bit bloated. The nuggets are great, though.” Aelin said with a weak smile she put on to soothe his worries. His Fireheart knew him well, but he knew her just as well.

“I’m sorry, Mama. Maybe your tummy needs a nap.”

Rowan relaxed his shoulders, melting. Maisie was such a thoughtful little—

“Are you gonna eat all your nuggets?” she asked, eyeing her mother’s plate as if she could eat the whole table on her own.

Well, she can be exclusively a thoughtful little girl. Right now, she was a thoughtful little girl with ulterior motives.

Aelin’s lips twitched with suppressed laughter. “You do know there’s more in the tray, right?”

“I’m saving them for school tomorrow. Can I eat yours or not?”

Rowan frowned. “Maisie, there’s no need to ration food. We have a full fridge.”

“A full fridge of fruit! Not nuggets,” she said as Aelin gave her two from her plate. The little girl grinned, kicking her feet under the table before she chomped down—

Maisie froze mid-bite, green eyes nearly bulging out of her skull as she sent them a panicked look.

“What happened?”

She grabbed a napkin—thank the gods—and slowly spat the contents of her mouth on it.

“The nugget yanked my wiggly tooth.”

“That’s…” Rowan grabbed the napkin, smiling at the gross mixture of saliva and chewed food that nestled Maisie’s tiny tooth and its even smaller bloody root. “That’s disgusting, actually. Are you okay?”

She nodded, still looking shocked. “I thought it’d hurt more, but it was just a little pop and it was gone.”

“Good. That’s—“

He looked over at Aelin and saw her wipe off a tear. She cupped both hands and asked, “Can I see?”

Rowan handed over Maisie’s soggy napkin, and Aelin’s laugh trembled with emotion. “So gross.” She rounded the table and hugged her very confused kid, who was still sitting.

“I’m so proud of you, Maisy Daisy.”

“Mom, you’re being weird.” A pause. “Are you sad you didn’t yank it?”

“Nope, not sad at all.” Aelin wiped another tear off with her thumb and kissed her daughter’s forehead. “I’m just a little emotional today. Let me be.”

Aelin wasn’t a crier, but Rowan wasn’t either, and he did unexpectedly tear up on Maisie’s first day of school, leaving his estranged co-parent to awkwardly comfort him outside the classroom. When it came to parenting, he stopped judging a few tears a long time ago.

“Let’s get this ready for Tooth Fairy, shall we?”

Aelin opened an upper cabinet, then another box that was inside it, and retrieved delicate-looking pliers.

“Baby, I didn’t know you were still keeping surgery… things around the house.” He hinted at their old disagreement, not wanting to fight with her in front of Maisie.

Aelin has a rather unorthodox way to prepare food—one of the reasons why he took over kitchen duties. She might not know how to season and fry the food well, but that woman can cut and debone meat like a pro. Rowan still wasn’t comfortable about having tools designed to cut flesh and bone anywhere near their very mischievous five-year-old—no matter how well Aelin hid them.

The wave of uneasiness that haunted him today returned—the reminder of how good she is at keeping things hidden when she wants to.

“S’just a Kern Forceps, babe,” she replied with a grin, sprawling her hand over the kitchen island and stabbing it with the instrument, then made a point to show off her unharmed hand to him.

Fine, but this isn’t over, was the message he attempted to send by squinting his eyes at her.

Hours later, he completely forgot to bring it up.

Fleetfoot’s paws against the hall’s wooden floor made Rowan jump, hyper aware of any sounds that came from outside their suite bathroom, where Rowan and Aelin lurked inside, sat on the floor.

Rationally, he knew that the broom that leaned against the outer side of Maisie’s bedroom door—a noise trap—would alert them if she woke up. Still, every noise put him on high alert because of their current, deeply covert activity.

They’d just brushed the two coins with a mixture of detergent and vinegar and rinsed it, now it just needed a bit of polishing and a coat of transparent glitter nail polish to make it look like an authentic Tooth Fairy token.

“Do you think Tooth Fairy would use chunky glitter in her coins? Or you think she’s a subtle-sparkle kind of girl?’

He narrowed his eyes at Aelin. “Explain.”

She sighed with such tiredness as if what she’d said was obvious and painted a sample of each nail polish over a sheet of paper towel. “Our options are: transparent with tiny pink glitter or transparent with silver holographic flakes of glitter.”

“I see…” Rowan hummed thoughtfully, even though he did not see. “Let’s go with… pink.”

When it came to Maisie, pink was always a safe choice–and, as a girl dad, Rowan relied on safe choices.

“I don’t know… I’m just not feeling it with this tiny pink glitter.”

He wondered why she’d even asked. “Of course, I mean…” Rowan took back the sample as if squinting at it would give him any answers. “Well, technically the silvery one has the smaller grooves because the structure allows light to diffract and interfere better. Maybe you think this prismatic iridescence looks more fairytale-ish for the coin?”

Looking up, he faced a heavy-lidded Aelin. She licked her lips. “You know, it’s kinda hot when you remember you have a college degree.”

He grinned and gripped her chin. “I’ll save the dirty talk for later.” He wiggled his brows. “Maybe not.” A gentle, playful kiss. “Maybe you just can’t help yourself around my expertise in optical phys–”

“Alright!” She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck despite the rude interruption, the softness of her lips spurring his own into action. Four months, and it still struck him stupid every time Rowan took in the fact that he got to old Aelin like this, and the contradiction wasn’t lost in him–how he hadn’t gotten used to being with Aelin, yet she felt like home in such a way that made him feel like both their souls were intrinsically intertwined.

Rowan broke the kiss and bit her lower lip. In retaliation, she nipped the tip of his nose and left a feather-light kiss on his lips. Another. And another. Ever so playful, Aelin left a string of quick pecks that left him chuckling between them, but when she moved to kiss his cheek, he held her face and took hold of the situation.

“I love you.” He was the one to initiate the kiss this time. “I love you so much.”

“Love you.” She held his wrists that cradled her cheeks. “And there’s something I need to tell you.”

When he registered the serious tone in Aelin’s voice, that dark cloud that loomed in his afternoon crept back in.

Rowan’s shoulders slumped, dreading the conversation before them. “I know.”

She reared back. “You know?”

“It’s pretty obvious, don’t you think?”

“It wasn’t obvious to me.” A dark chuckle. “I guess I miss the signs every time, huh?”

Guilt clogged his throat like a rough rock. He looked away and busied his hands with the next task of polishing those two coins, but it didn’t stray his mind from the issue at hand. Aelin had a chronic condition and, as much as she tried to shield her family from it, it was his job to look after her—one he was failing terribly at, despite his efforts.

“Gods!” Aelin got up and left the bathroom, fanning the air in front of her while she ran towards the suite’s open window. Rowan went after her.

His hands were all over her, checking if she was alright. “What happened?”

“Sorry, baby.” She said between slow breaths, a hand on her stomach to steady herself. “I didn’t know that polish would smell so bad.”

“It’s okay. I can do it somewhere else. Or we can not do it. Why would Tooth Fairy’s coins look so shiny with all the traveling she does, anyway?” He kissed her forehead. “This is a symptom too?”

Aelin’s been struggling with nausea as a withdrawal symptom after switching from her previous antidepressant to a new one, and things were looking pretty bad. Maybe strong scents triggered it?

She nodded. “It is.”

Rowan took a deep, pained breath. “I can’t help but think that the reason behind all this is my fault.”

A snort. “It’s definitely your fault.”

He grimaced. “I’m so sorry, I…” Rowan crossed his arms and looked out the window while he said, “I made something to cheer you up. It won’t make that much of a difference in the big picture, but I hope you’ll… you know… cheer up.”

“Okay.” She ran a hand from his shoulder down his arm, until their fingers were intertwined. “Show me.”

He grabbed the key and led her out of the room into the one they shared a wall with, Fenrys’ old bedroom.

“You made a renovation? Is this why you kept this door locked?” Aelin said, suspicion coating her tone as she studied him with narrowed eyes.

“It’s not ready yet,” Rowan defended his work before she even saw it, anticipating a poor reaction.

“It’s too soon to even start thinking of a new room, Buzzard.”

She hadn’t even finished moving in, but doing it felt right. He said so to her.

“And before I even told you anything. You were really sure of your… potency, weren’t you?”

“It’s kind of my job to read the signs, isn’t it?” Rowan said as he opened the door and turned the lights on.

Rowan would love to brag and say that he did a full renovation, but it’d be a lie. He’d just emptied most of it out and filled it with things Aelin would appreciate—not that figuring that out was a hard task. A floor-to-ceiling bookcase that took over an entire wall became mandatory ever since Maisie got the idea that a couple of walls at her mother’s house were made of books instead of bricks. Another wall just for books, but this one got interrupted by the window, which he took advantage of to get a dark blue couch and make it a ‘reading nook’, as some folks on the internet call it. Apart from that, he just got a new desk—that matches the bookcases, since Aelin cares about this stuff—and fully emptied out Fenrys’ closet, since Rowan would have to own a total of half a shirt to make the one in the master room fit all of her stuff, from several work uniforms to the cocktail attire she wears once in a blue moon.

Rowan was pointedly not looking at Aelin, and taking a second look at his work could only distract him so much from the fact that she was awfully quiet. Shit. Did he not get enough bookcases? Rowan was afraid that might happen.

When he dared take a look, her expression put him off. Aelin’s eyes looked unusually shiny, and her chin wobbled in a way that sent a jolt of fear through him.

“I got the wrong shade of wood, didn’t I?”

“No! Baby, I love it.” Her chin wobbled. “I love it so much. Everything, really. It’s just…” she quickly dabbed at her eyes with her fingers and cleared her throat. “Sorry, hormones.”

Aelin finally looked him in the eye and said, “I just had other plans for this room.”

“Like what?”

She stared at him like he was the one being unreasonable. “Like a nursery, Rowan.”

In a way, she was right. Eventually, when the time was right, they’d need a nursery. But right now, they had an empty room and a lot of books in need of one.

“I know.” Rowan squeezed her hand, a flicker of excitement running through him at the mention of his future with Aelin. “But we have time before that.”

“Does less than seven months feel like a long time to you?”

Rowan felt his brows creasing. Less than seven—

His eyes widened.

The speed in which he took a step back to examine the seriousness in Aelin’s expression was nothing compared to his heartbeat’s pace.

“You’re not.”

“Rowan, you just told me it was pretty obvious—not ten minutes ago.”

“I was talking about depression!”

“Depression!?”

Rowan paused. Tentatively, he added, “Your depressive episode…?”

“Honey, why on earth would you think I’m depressed?”

“You’ve been so tired.”

She pointed at her lower belly. “Exactly.”

“And you changed all your medication.”

“Exactly!”

Rowan blinked.

Oh, shit.

He took a step back. And another.

“Rowan? Are you alright?”

Not again. He was absolutely not doing this shit again. Blindly, he opened the door behind him.

“Rowan Whitethorn, you are not leaving this room right now. This is so not the response you’re giving me after I tell you I’m preg—“

“Wait. Just—” he gave her a pleading look “—wait a minute. You didn’t tell me anything yet.”

She crossed her arms, eyes hard. “I’m pretty sure I did.”

“You want to trust me with this. You didn’t tell me anything yet. You’ll agree with me when I come back.”

“You have five minutes to put yourself together before I kick you out for the night.” When Aelin checked the time on her phone, her movements were as stiff as her jaw.

And then he ran.

First to the garage, where the ladder was. He did stumble over a box or two and made too much noise for the late hour, but Aelin’s clock was running. Then, he took it to their bedroom, thankful that she decided to stay in the spare room for what he was about to do.

Rowan set the ladder next to the curtain and climbed it until he could reach the top. He unscrewed the finial at the very end and checked the curtain pole—more precisely, the jewelry baggie he hid inside it. There, laid the not-so-new possession that could bankrupt a small country—or at least Rowan’s bank account.

After that, he kneeled before the bottom of his closet and retrieved the red velvet ring box, since it didn’t fit inside the curtain rail. Rowan had no idea how Aelin believed him when she learned he was using a fancy jewelry box to keep his spare keys, but he was glad the small white lie worked in his favor.

When you share a closet with someone as clever as his Fireheart, doing a task such as hiding a wedding ring forces the mind to chew through its own skull to gouge out creativity.

Checking his phone, his five minutes were almost out.

Once again, Rowan ran. He yanked the bedroom door open, and took a sharp turn to meet her by the couch where she sat. However, the mix of his speed, spin and fuzzy mind was the perfect combination to send him tumbling towards the ground before he reached her.

“Rowan!” she shouted as soon as his hip hit the floor, standing up to aid him.

“Stay there,” he said with one hand up and another clutching at his side as he sat on the floor, wincing at the bite of pain.

She stood before him as he commanded, but still studied him carefully, watchful. “Does it hurt?”

“It 's nothing.”

“Honey, you need to be more careful. Your bones aren’t getting any stronger at this age.”

A bark of laughter. “Did you just call me old?”

She shrugged. “Just statistics.”

Rowan abandoned his post-fall sitting position and got on one knee, retrieving the small velvet box from his sweatpants’ pocket, heart on his throat.

When he dared to glance at her, Aelin looked exactly the same as she did a second ago—frozen as a picture. Her lack of reaction freaked him out, but it was too late to retreat.

“Aelin,” he started, then swallowed the lump in his throat. He tried again, “My beloved Fireheart…”

Her mind must’ve catched up with her surroundings, because she straightened herself and stared at him expectantly.

Rowan’s mind went blank.

“Is it a surprise that I’ve kept this ring for months, but couldn’t come up with a speech?”

She shook her head to confirm her lack of surprise, giggling, but it was cut short. “Months?” she asked, frowning. “How many months? We’ve been together for four.”

“Fireheart,” he continued and cleared his throat, not willing to answer her.

His nerves got the best out of him and he let out a frazzled chuckle. “This is so soon.”

“Time’s a social construct, no need to restrict ourselves to that.” Aelin aimed at a joke, but the emotion welled in her close-lipped smile betrayed the levity behind it.

Rowan placed a brief kiss on her knuckles. “I have this… longing for you. It’s soul-consuming, and there’s no time barriers to it. I’ve longed for you since before I met you. I longed for you when you hated me, I long for you every hour you’re not by my side. But right now, even together, ‘longing’ doesn’t even scratch the surface of how I feel about marrying you—which is why I’m beginning to accept that it won’t ever stop. The more this yearning shifted from an emotion I once ran from into one I now cherish, the more certain I became that this longing for you is my fate, Aelin.”

He supported the hand still holding the box on his knee and leaned to grab Aelin’s hand with his free one. With his eyes closed, Rowan summoned the endless reverence he felt and poured it into kissing her knuckles, head bent.

He looked back up and, without releasing her hand, continued, “I might not be the best man you’ll ever find, but I’m the one who’ll try the hardest to do right by you. I love you. All day, every day. I loved you when I couldn’t tell love was right in front of my face—but now that I know it, there’s no limit to what I can give to you, no time I need. Even when this world is a forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, I will love you.”

“Fireheart, will you allow me the honor of becoming your husband, to serve and love you for as long as I live?”

A quick blinking and the slight, soundless motion of her agape mouth were the only tells she was conscious.

The short air supply he was getting was probably the reason behind his lightheadedness. If this stretched for any longer, he might need a heart monitor and a cardiologist before Aelin gave him an answer.

Rowan cleared his throat. “...Please?”

It took a second longer before she snapped awake. “Don’t say that!”

Rowan begged Mala this wasn’t a ‘no’. He might need an ambulance for real.

“Don’t say what?”

“Please!”

“Please what?”

“Don’t say that!”

Rowan frowned. Her cryptic blank expression was easier to understand than this. “Why are you mad?”

“Because of course I’ll marry you! Saying ‘please’ is just—that’s ridiculous.” Aelin said while dropping to her knees before him, then yanked his face to hers and kissed his lips in a near-violent caress. “I—” Another aggressive peck. “—I love you so much. I’ll marry you a million times over.”

Ease came before joy—Rowan’s entire body relaxed. He wished he could give her a post-proposal movie-worthy kiss, but it wouldn’t work with all that relief rushing out of his lungs and mouth right now.

“Good,” he said, nodding. “Good.” While putting the ring on her finger, he joked, “That was just a formality, actually. It’s not like I’m letting you go anywhere, love.”

She laughed. “So possessive.”

“You better think this through, Fireheart. I won’t get any better once I make you my wife.”

She let out a mocking resigned sigh. “I guess I can live with that.”

Aelin’s new reading nook had enough space for one and a half to cuddle, so she led him there, made him lay down first and set herself on top of him. She hovered over him, forearms braced on each of his side, and it only took him half a mind to cup her face and kiss her.

His entire existence narrowed to Aelin, her thighs straddling his and their tongues tangled as his chest heated and melted, overwhelmed with one of the most vital half-hour spans of his life.

Their millionth kiss. The first of the rest of their lives, executed as urgently as if it was their last.

He loved her.

Aelin caressed his cheek and peered at him, eyes shiny and her gorgeous, swollen lips twisted into a watery smile. That look on her face—it made him more silly than any love declaration she could ever make.

They held each other’s gazes in a silent conversation, soliloquies and odes and oaths translated into the flow of photons that passed between them and allowed the conversation between turquoise and pine-green irises.

She stroked his cheek and something caught her eye. Aelin giggled.

“You’re quite the decent jewel shopper, Whitethorn.” She kept smiling at her ring, then laid her head on his chest to comfortably move the diamond on her finger and watch it catch the light.

Rowan was merely window-shopping wedding rings—a pastime he did to try to resist the urge to buy one when it was soon—when he saw it. An emerald cut diamond, as they call it, with an extravagance in its size that balanced the tastefully minimalistic design.

“You know I’d marry you if you proposed with a cereal box ring, right? I had my answer ready before you bought this tectonic plate.”

Rowan snorted. And she had the gall to say that he was the dramatic one in this relationship.

This engagement.

Truth was, Rowan knew he didn’t have to—the way he gleefully mangled his savings shocked him more than the price itself.

He’s always had the habit of saving money, but even though it was natural for him, there’s always been plans for it as well. The list grew and changed as Rowan did, going from buying gym supplements—that he hid from his mother—in his teenage years to buying a house once free military housing isn’t an option for him anymore, and it was safe to say that spending so much—an amount that symbolized enormous time and effort from him—into an overpriced stone has never made it into the list.

Until her.

That was just a small one of the several ways Aelin changed his life and worldview.

Rowan kissed the top of her head. “I only care that you’re my wife now.”

“I’m not!” she said, laughing.

“You are. We already agreed to it, and I don’t think letting the government know is more important than that.”

“I’m glad I enjoyed my half-hour engagement, then. Shortest in history, if I had to bet.”

“I told you I’m not good with the timing thing.” Rowan didn’t sound apologetic in the least.

Aelin chuckled and buried her face in his chest, grinning against it. His body was half into cozy mode when she perked up, jumping in a way that she was still side-lying, but now with her forearm supporting her torso raised beside him.

“Oh! There’s something I have to tell you.”

“Okay?” Rowan’s tone portrayed his confusion.

It took her a second as she regarded him while biting her lip before Aelin said, “I’m pregnant.”

His grin was slow and immediate. “By Mala’s embers!” Rowan exclaimed, feigning surprise. And then he decided to just blatantly go with it and added, “What a surprise!”

Aelin threw her head back, her loud cackles filling the room in the most overwhelmingly fulfilling way.

When she first told him, Rowan felt frustrated he didn’t get to execute the plan of marrying her before getting pregnant again, hence his odd first reaction. However, now he realized how silly that was, even if he still appreciated Aelin pretending to tell him after.

Emotion melted his features into a soft smile. “A really damn good surprise.”

“We didn’t plan for it.”

“We also weren’t actively avoiding it.” A pregnancy so soon was surprising, but Rowan wasn’t about to play dumb. They did treat condoms as an afterthought to the point in which it was just a matter of time. Especially with their frequency, he recalled with no amount of male satisfaction. “Maisie was a surprise too, and having her is pretty amazing, right?”

“Yes,” she said with a chuckle. “And Maisie was a whole different level of unplanned.”

Having a baby (1) with a man she worked with, (2) that she wasn't supposed to be sleeping with, (3) while being in a relationship with another man—Rowan didn’t think a baby could be more unplanned than Maisie, and look at them now.

She hummed. “I might be getting on birth control after this one. I don’t want to be that couple with 11 surprise babies that weren’t really a surprise.”

“Gods,” he cursed while protectively holding her belly. “Will you at least let this one come out before deciding on the sperm cell genocide?”

Aelin’s quivering lips betrayed her seriousness. “I mean it.”

“All right, no 11 kids. Got it,” he agreed, as serious as he could be. “But if you want twelve, I can make it to major before kid #5. That’s a big paycheck, baby.”

She bumped his nose. “In your dreams, Not-A-Major Whitethorn.”

“You think I’m joking?” he challenged, joking. “Just you wait until the 12th Galathynius-Whitethorn comes and I’m lieutenant colonel. I’ll fit 12 more in my pocket.”

Aelin leaned down to kiss him, but it got messy due to their laughing, so they resigned to a few pecks.

“I love you,” she said, placing a trail of kisses on his lip, cheek and nose.

“I love you.” Rowan tilted her face and kissed her thoroughly now that the mood had sobered. “And two or twelve, you call the shots.”

She raised her brows. “I never thought I wouldn’t.”

Mala forbid a man tries to show some support.

A loud clatter echoed over the silent house, alerting both of them, and it sounded a lot like the broom they placed outside Maisie’s door as a noise trap.

A softer, squeaky sound followed, the confirmation they needed—the typical sound of a door hinge that was purposefully left unoiled.

Maisie was awake.

Both of them jumped off the couch to find Maisie in the hallway, right outside their bedroom.

“Did you have a bad dream, Mais?” Rowan asked.

She looked between their bedroom door and the spare room’s, likely confused about their location, but she had more pressing matters to discuss.

“Tooth fairy is late.”

Shit. Between a new baby and the proposal, he completely forgot about it.

“Maisie,” Aelin warned in her soft mom tone. “Were you trying to catch Tooth Fairy?”

“No,” the little girl blatantly lied.

Rowan walked into her room and found a stolen Alexa from the kitchen. When he opened his phone to check the history? A request to be woken up in the middle of the night.

“Tooth Fairy isn’t late, you wanna know why?” Aelin asked their sheepish-looking daughter. “When she visits kids, she starts with the ones who don’t make a fuss when it’s time to brush their teeth—and you, Maisie Whitethorn, are at the very bottom of the list.”

The little girl’s eyes widened, as she probably reconsidered the last five and a half years of her life—or whatever she could remember of it.

“But she’ll still come tonight, right?”

Aelin regarded their overeager daughter and softened. “Of course she will,” she confirmed with the satisfaction of someone who not only got away with their own slip, but also turned it into a learning opportunity for Maisie.

Evil genius.

He couldn’t wait to marry her.

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leiawritesstories · 2 months ago

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oh hi there

oops so sorry I disappeared for literal weeks! big big things have happened....tons of writing papers, finals, presentations, more finals, and....well. ya girl graduated!!! with honors too 😌

i'm home for the summer to work as much as i can before i start law school in the fall 😱😱 big things are happening! my goal is still to write as much as possible, but my writing might get slower as i transition into this new and exciting phase of life

**also be on the lookout for a fun little project i've been cooking up recently ehehe

#personal #life updates #leia graduated college omg #writing things

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leiawritesstories · 2 months ago

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hiiii!!! do you have any idea who wrote the one shot (i think) of rowaelin like 10 things i hate about you, i have been looking for it but cant find it 😣

omg i'm so sorry i didn't see this! life got a lil crazy for a bit. i think that might be an @morganofthewildfire fic or an @charincharge fic but i'm not entirely sure

linking morgan's hugs Rowaelin masterlist if it helps: HERE

#ask #rowaelin #find a fic

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leiawritesstories · 3 months ago

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@morganofthewildfire sent me the BEST surprise today....an ARC of her book, The Twelve O'Clock Bookshop!!!!!!!! catch me giggling and kicking my feet over here teehee

thank you so so much morgan!!!!

#friends!#personal #i'm two chapters in and already SCREECHING #this book is so so SO GOOD

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leiawritesstories · 3 months ago

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EPILOGUE: UNTIL PROVEN GUILTY

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: swearing, graphic torture, scheming, horny Rowaelin

Masterlist

Read on AO3

A/N: you guys....this is the end 🥹😱😭😭😭 (or is it mwahaha) thank you thank you THANK YOU for letting me share this work with all of you!! it is the biggest fanfic project i've ever taken on, and I'm both awestruck and deeply sad that it's finally reached its end. but!! keep your eyes open ehehe, there might be a little something *else* coming!! ;))

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

Three Months Later

The early spring night was cloudy and crisp, a biting breeze curling in from the mountains and slicing into Aelin’s bones even through the layers of her clothes, her protective vest and thigh guards, and the almost ridiculous amount of weapons concealed on her body. She narrowed her eyes and shot a withering glare through the thick darkness, her vision cast in stark green lines through the night-vision lenses built into her helmet.

“How much longer do we have to freeze our tits off?” she muttered into the mouthpiece.

Rowan’s husky chuckle crackled through the earpiece. “It’s not that cold, Fireheart.”

“You soldiers and your stupid cold tolerance,” she griped. “Not all of us are built to stand around in the mountains for hours on end.”

“Not all of us are built for climbing around rooftops in the middle of winter either,” he drawled.

“Fair enough.” A smile flickered across her face, concealed beneath the helmet and half-mask. A moment later, something shifted in the corner of her vision, and she turned her head slowly to catch the movement. In the half-hidden cabin tucked into the forested foothills, a door cracked open, and a male figure stuck his head through the space. He waited, and after a tense, breathless stretch of silence, he opened the door all the way.

“Now,” Aelin hissed into her mouthpiece, not waiting for Rowan’s confirmation before she uncurled herself from her crouch and darted across the clearing, little more than a shadow bouncing between the towering pines under the cover of the thick darkness. In a handful of seconds, she was at the cabin’s steps, Rowan at her side, and the two of them charged up and burst into the cabin and came face to face with the barrel of the smuggler’s gun.

He was a small man, barely Aelin’s height, and the shotgun aimed at her face was nearly half as heavy as he was, if the shaking strain in his arms was any indication. “Down,” he snarled, lips peeling back from his teeth in a vicious parody of a smirk.

“I don’t fucking think so,” Aelin crooned. In a single swift instant, she’d buried a blade in the smuggler’s thigh, causing him to howl sharply in pain and drop the shotgun with a rumbling clatter.

“Bitch!” the smuggler swore, following it up with a string of swearing in his native tongue.

Rowan kicked the man in the back of his injured leg, sending him crumpling to the floor. “Watch your filthy fucking mouth around my wife.”

Aelin smirked, pushed her helmet back, and tossed Rowan the coil of rope that had been looped onto her belt. “Is now a bad time to mention how hot that was?”

Her husband made quick work of tying up the struggling, cursing smuggler, pushed his own helmet back, and shrugged. “I didn’t mind.”

“Gods almighty, you two!” a different voice groaned. “I’m gonna need to scrub my eyes out with bleach.”

“Oh, calm down, Cass,” Aelin snorted. “Ro and I have both seen how you are around your wife.”

Cassian Ilnair, special agent with Prythian Interpol, grinned wryly. “Touché.” He turned his attention back to the now-compliant smuggler tied up on the ground, Rowan’s boot still pressed into his back. “Evening, Koschei.”

If looks could kill, Koschei’s murderous glare would have put Cassian six feet under. He garbled out something unintelligible through the gag stuffed into his mouth and flailed as best as he could with his limbs restrained.

“I’m sure he’s happy to see you too,” Aelin said dryly. “Did you find the stash?”

“Follow me.” Cassian turned on his heel and headed into the back of the cabin.

Rowan and Aelin shared a look, and Rowan hoisted Koschei over his shoulder and followed Aelin and Cassian. They went down to the cabin’s basement and found a plain black steel box sitting on the concrete floor, and when Aelin opened it and catalogued its contents, every carefully packaged sheet of SecondSkin was intact and in place.

“All in order,” she said. She gazed thoughtfully at Koschei, whom Rowan had placed in the single chair in the basement. “I should’ve known you Middengard bastards would be the first ones to try and steal my tech when it went public.”

Koschei spat the gag out of his mouth—Rowan had loosened it—and jerked his arms vainly against the very secure knots. “You fucking bitch,” he spat.

Aelin’s eyes cooled to icy steel. “Cass, we’ll take it from here.”

Cassian closed the box with a crisp click, stood up, and nodded. “The delivery was recovered successfully. No further notes.” He closed the solid, fireproof door to the basement behind him as he left.

“I’m starting to think you could use some new vocabulary,” Aelin mused, tipping her head to the side as she leveled an assessing look at the smuggler. “Ro, love. If you would?”

“Of course.” Rowan handed her a pair of black latex gloves, and she snapped them on over the flexible leather gloves already on her hands.

“I thought I was clear,” Aelin began, slowly circling the chair, “when I said that SecondSkin would never be used for evil.” She clicked her tongue. “Not even two months later, some tricky little bastard steals a case.” Koschei’s mouth formed the start of something nasty, and she struck, dragging a slender, wickedly curved little blade down his collarbones, slicing his dirty shirt open and raising a bright little trail of blood.

He let out a shuddering breath. “You…you say this?”

“Of course I did.” Aelin sketched an elaborate bow in front of the smuggler. “Haven’t we been introduced? My name is Celaena Sardothien.”

Koschei’s eyes widened in sudden, fearful recognition, and Aelin chuckled darkly as she slid that blade down his stomach, just barely breaking the skin. “Boss,” he gasped, his skin going ashen.

“That’s me.”

His glare was venomous. “You kill my top supplier, Arobynn.”

Aelin raised a brow. “Supplier? That’s a nice way of describing what Arobynn trafficked, you slimy piece of rat shit.”

“Heartless bitch,” Koschei snapped.

Aelin exchanged her blade for a scalpel and drove it into Koschei’s knee, just below the joint. His face went white, and he yelled out something garbled. She jerked the blade out and slid it into the other side of his knee, slicing through the tendons with a tidy little flick of her wrist. “Nobody ever said anything about the Boss having a heart, smuggler.”

“And nobody gets to call my wife that,” Rowan added, slamming his brass-knuckled fist into Koschei’s side. Deep blue bruising bloomed out from the impact, and Koschei howled.

Aelin smirked at her husband over the smuggler’s thrashing body. “Should I mention how turned on I am right now?”

Rowan raised a brow. “We’re in the middle of something, love.”

“I can fix that.” She walked one gloved hand up the side of Koschei’s contorted face, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and jerked his head backwards. “You got lucky, smuggler.” His mouth opened to bite out a question, but she silenced him with a swift, precise slash of her knife across his throat.

Two muffled gunshots cracked through the suddenly still air at the same time.

“Was that really necessary?” Aelin drawled, releasing the smuggler’s limp head. It tumbled forward, hanging loosely over the blood still spilling down his front.

Rowan shrugged as he holstered his gun. “You can’t be too certain.”

“True.” She stripped the bloodied gloves from her hands and tossed them into the corpse’s lap, then tapped one finger against the tiny device nestled into her left ear. “You there, Con?”

After a moment of crackling static, Connall’s voice sounded. “Took you long enough, Boss.”

“Smartass,” she grumbled. “We’re bringing up the smuggler’s worthless corpse now, if you care.”

Con chuckled. “I’ll be outside the cabin.”

Rowan cut through the zip ties around Koschei’s body’s limbs and almost effortlessly kicked the body from the chair into a black plastic tarp spread out on the floor. He made quick work of wrapping it up, and he threw the whole bundle over his shoulder. “Ready, Ae?”

“Yeah.” She finished tucking the blades she’d sanitized into various sheathes on her vest, and she followed him up the basement stairs. At the top, she picked up the hose that was coiled up next to the door, turned it on, and doused the whole concrete-walled basement in the bleach solution they’d loaded into the tank that the hose connected to. “All clean,” she said after the flow to the hose dribbled to a stop.

“Good.” Rowan led the way out of the cabin, pausing once he got to the door to scan for any signs of backup.

“Is he always this paranoid?” Con mused, appearing from behind a cluster of pines.

Rowan scowled and flipped off the other man. “Dick.”

“He calls it being vigilant,” Aelin snickered, enjoying the irritation that flickered in the corner of Rowan’s jaw.

“And it’s saved my ass multiple times,” he added dryly.

“Sure,” Con agreed sardonically. He turned and started walking through the forest. “This way.” He led them to a waiting helicopter stationed in a wide clearing, and he shoved open the side door and retrieved a box filled with heavy rocks. “We’ll dump the body over the bay,” he said, and he helped Rowan and Aelin load a number of rocks into the zipped-up tarp bag.

They climbed into the helicopter, and Con settled into the pilot’s seat, secured his headset, and had them lifting into the air within minutes. He flew low over the bay, and when he gave the nod, Aelin placed one boot on the smuggler’s body and kicked it out the door. It tumbled into the bay with a heavy splash, immediately sinking far below the surface.

“Rot in hell,” she muttered, and she shoved the door closed with a satisfyingly final thud.

The rest of the flight passed in silence, and Con brought the helicopter expertly down at the Interpol airfield next to the seaport. Aelin and Rowan had both changed into clean, non-bloodied clothes during the short flight, and Aelin strapped her vest back into place, comforted by its weight. Under the cover of the darkness, which was just beginning to edge towards dawn, the three of them crossed the airfield, entered the seaport docks, and wove their way across to a nondescript steel transport ship. Rowan went up to knock on the boarding door.

Aelin ducked under a barrier, grabbed a rope ladder swinging off the side of the ship, and swiftly scaled it, landing on the main deck. “Morning, pirate.”

Rolfe rolled his eyes. “If you’d just waited ten seconds, you could go through the boarding door like a normal person.”

“Ah, you forget, Lord Pirate Rolfe.” She chuckled. “I’m not prone to waiting or normalcy.”

Two weeks after returning from the Prythian op, Aelin left the Staghorn labs at the very end of the day and inhaled a massive, relieved gulp of fresh air. As much as she loved working as a chemical engineer, the labs got stale and monotonous after such a long day, and she needed Orynth’s crisp breeze in her lungs.

She drove through the darkening but blessedly traffic-free streets, left the city, and rolled down her windows as she headed towards the Oakwald. Towards her home. The scent of pine curled into her car, and she grinned, her heart full and light. It was only a short time before she turned down a now-familiar gravel path and followed its gentle curve up to the house. Golden warmth spilled from the wide windows, and she caught a glimpse of Rowan’s form moving around in the kitchen. She parked, locked up her car, and slipped around the side of the house to enter through the side door. He was absorbed in his cooking, and she successfully crept up behind him on criminally silent feet, released a tiny blade from her sleeve, and hooked a leg around his waist and tucked the blade against his throat in one smooth, swift movement.

He froze, the spoon clattering from his hand to the tile floor, and she felt him stiffen in his pants. “Hi, Fireheart,” he whispered, his throat barely moving against her blade.

She brushed a featherlight kiss against the back of his neck. “Hi, love. Miss me?”

“Always.”

“As do I.” Aelin retracted her blade, and she barely had time to draw in a breath before Rowan spun her around and caged her in against the counter.

“Welcome home, love,” he murmured, dipping his head so his lips were a breath away from hers. “Did you have fun making my heart almost jump out of my chest?”

“Of course I did.” She grinned. “I thought your supersoldier reflexes would catch me, though.”

“I seem to have a blind spot for you,” he said, mirth softening the heat blazing in his eyes. He kissed her slowly, savoring the taste of her lips, and she sighed into it, curling her fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt.

“I love you,” she whispered against his lips.

“I love you,” he returned. “To whatever end. Crime record and all.”

She beamed up at him. “To whatever end,” she echoed, voicing the words engraved into their wedding bands. “And as for that record, don’t you remember? Mrs. Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius was pronounced innocent…until proven guilty.”

~~~

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#“next day” reblog #until proven guilty

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leiawritesstories · 3 months ago

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yes yes YES

canon adjacent rowaelin one night stand slightly inspired by venice carnival

warnings: sex | word count: 2.7k

masterlist

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Rowan woke with the first rays of the rising sun, sighing discontentedly. His body was still entangled with another and the bedsheets. It wasn’t the first time last night’s events had occurred, but he could count on one hand the number of times it had happened over the centuries.

With the nimble agility of a man all too experienced with fleeing before his lovers woke, Rowan slipped from the bed. He tugged on only his trousers before making an escape, bare feet padding on cold stone floors. The bathwater was almost too hot to bear. Scouring his skin with the bar of soap, he tried his best to wash every trace of last night away. The bruises would fade in a few hours time, but not the memories. Never the memories, no matter how locked away and compressed they were.

There was a haunted look in Lorcan’s eye later. The twins noticed, said nothing. The cadre, all seven of them that there were, stood before their blood-sworn queen and waited to be commanded.

“I will be hosting a fête at month’s end,” she declared. “A masquerade.”

———————————

“A masquerade!” Aelin cried joyously. She continued reading the invitation aloud to her family at the breakfast table. “Oh, Mama, please may I go?”

The king and queen shared a look, in it a conversation she couldn’t quite decipher. “Only if your cousin agrees to go with you. As chaperone,” her father decreed.

“My first-and-twentieth birthday was last week! I don’t need a chaperone anymore!” Aelin protested.

“With Aedion, or not at all.”

“Fine,” she huffed, crossing her arms with a petulant pout. “Cousin, what say you?”

Mid-chew, Aedion shrugged. He swallowed before answering, knowing otherwise he would be admonished by her parents for a lack of manners. “I’ll go. Her cadre is legendary, and I suppose since she’s hosting, they’ll be there as well.”

“That’s settled, then,” Evalin said, slicing the breakfast sausage on her plate. “I expect you two to be on your best behavior. Understood?”

The cousins chorused their agreement, sharing a brief look. Though she Aedion could pass for twins, Aelin bore the brunt of her ancestry’s powers and the fae attributes that came with them. Unlike the rest of her family, her ears were pointed and the gold in her turquoise eyes seemed to burn like the fire she wielded.

———————————

Lorcan’s scowl seemed permanently etched onto his features, the simple black mask he wore hiding the upper half of his face. They were both dressed in deep purple doublets with silver stitching, markers of the queen’s property. She might as well have collars ‘round their necks. Rowan sipped from a glass of richly flavored wine on the other side of the ballroom, the floor between a riot of color. Oh, how he wished to shift in this moment and fly far, far away.

The glamour that hid the ink on his skin hummed irritatingly, like a buzzing fly just out of reach. For once, though, their invisibility made him anonymous. Just another masked face in the crowd. Gavriel chose to forgo the route of subtlety and wore a lionskin draped from his shoulders, a bronze snarling lion his mask. The twins wore the same clothes down to the gleaming black boots; the only way to tell them apart was by the color of their hair. Where the others were, he didn’t know.

Maeve oversaw it all from her throne, dressed in a gown of glittering black. As host and queen, she wore no mask. Rowan looked away before those violet eyes could find him in the crowd.

Masked face upon masked face was all he saw as he navigated the dance floor. There were those who showed not even a sliver of their skin, identities a secret to be discussed in hushed whispers. Others wore half-masks, happily identified by friends and lovers and glad to be strangers of the rest. Some wore scraps of silk or lace that did little to hide who they truly were, here to enjoy the party and be seen doing so.

Illicit liquor confiscated from one of the servants warmed Rowan, much stronger than the wine they served. From the sips that burned and left him spluttering and looking a fool, this must be the humans’ moonshine. It didn’t taste like the moon’s silver glow, that was for sure. He found the offending servant and returned the flask along with a warning to keep it better hidden next time. Dumbfounded, the young man could only nod.

A soft touch on his elbow had Rowan wheeling with a snarl on his lips.

“A dance, my lord?” she asked politely, hand out for him to take. The baring of teeth had not deterred her. If anything, it emboldened her. Turquoise eyes sparked with gold that seemed to blaze like wildfire. Loose golden waves fell to the woman’s waist, contrasting with the velvety green gown she wore, its skirts not nearly as full as other styles on display tonight. A cream mask detailed in gold shielded her identity, leaving free plush lips curving in a smile.

Rowan bowed, kissed her bare knuckles, and allowed his lips to linger. “Of course, my lady,” he answered. “Lead the way.”

The musicians wound down their previous song, then began a stately waltz. If she knew who he was, she didn’t say. Surely, his silver hair had given away what his hidden tattoos did not. Nevertheless, he basked in the temporary anonymity and the lack of fear it brought. They waltzed, commanding the attention of the other dancers.

Rowan tucked his cheek to hers mid-song, murmured, “May I have your name, my lady?”

She smiled coyly. “Nameless is my price.” And that was that, until the end of the song. “My cousin will surely be looking for me,” she said by way of parting. A flush colored her cheeks, a twinkle in her eyes. She hesitated before leaving, little more than a heartbeat.

Then she vanished into the sea of people, another blonde in a mask. Rowan could have easily followed, yet he refrained.

As he walked away, all he could think of was her waist warm beneath his hand even through the layers of fabric, the grace in her limbs as they danced, how beneath her floral perfume there whispered the scent of autumn bonfires. Rowan knew there was no such thing as love at first sight, but there was lust.

Perhaps she felt it too, the way she lingered.

———————————

Aelin clung to her cousin’s arm, still drunk off her dance with the handsome stranger whose name she knew not.

Aedion wheeled them about the edges of the room, greeting those new and familiar. It paid to be polite. Twinges of guilt slithered like serpents in her gut, for this should have been her responsibility as heir to the throne. Instead, she had been daydreaming.

Kisses of greeting were exchanged with Princess Nehemia, a curt bow extended to her betrothed. Aelin heartened to see her friend, and she fawned over Nehemia’s attire. At her side, Aedion laughed at a joke the princess’s betrothed told. Two became four as they shared desserts and stories, at least until their socializing duties once again called.

Then her cousin deserted her, having seen the lion of the queen’s cadre and wishing to meet him. All alone on the edge of the party, Aelin sipped her sparkling wine and popped the infused raspberry at the bottom of the drained glass into her mouth.

“You again,” a male voice said. There he was, hands behind his back as he bowed. Silver hair cascaded over his shoulder with the motion. Green eyes glittered from the shadows his mask cast. “Another dance, my lady?”

Was it fate or luck? Either way, she didn’t care. “I’d be honored,” Aelin responded, taking his offered hand and following him to the dance floor.

This one was faster, more lively. Skirts swished and twirled, boots and heels thumped the marble floor. His hands landed on her waist, stopping her spin before lifting her high. Hands on his shoulders, Aelin tipped her head down to find him watching her with the intensity of a hawk. Feet on solid ground again, she found herself short of breath.

Tension hissed and sparked as they stood motionless, staring at each other. Their fellow dancers and partygoers swirled around them. Another song began, with it the onslaught of dirty looks.

Wordlessly, she and her dance partner made their escape. Two glasses of wine were snatched from a passing servant’s tray and downed. It did little to cool the heat in her chest or soothe the flush in her cheeks. Her hand in his sent sparks alighting up her arm to the rest of her body.

A shadowed alcove was found, apologies hastily murmured as they interrupted a couple in the midst of kissing, hands roving, clothing and masks askew. In an empty hall lit only by flickering wall sconces, Aelin yanked him backwards. She surged upward, crashing her lips to his in what could loosely be called a kiss. He returned it with a fervor, a hunger that matched hers. Aelin’s back hit the wall and she arched against the cold stone, hands tangled in silky silver hair. She had practically thrust her chest in his face. His body pinned her to the wall, her knee hitched up over his hip and her skirts hiked up scandalously. Lips trailed from her own to her jaw to her throat to the heaving expanse of her chest where it threatened to spill free of her corseted bodice. Pathetically, she whimpered as he bit hard enough to leave an indent but not break the skin.

“Oi, you two!” a passing guard shouted. “Get a fucking room.” As he and his partner walked past, he shook his head. “For fuck’s sake, have some decency.”

A chilled wind raced through the hall, sending the flames guttering and the guards’ eyes widening in terror. “Apologies, my prince,” the second stuttered. “The drink has made my companion’s tongue loose. Please, forgive him.”

“Go,” her lover growled, “before I change my mind.”

They fled.

Aelin’s mortification had turned to a slick heat in her core. She ran her fingers over his mask and what features of his face were left uncovered, drawing his attention back to her where it belonged. “Who is this man behind the mask, I wonder?” she whispered.

Sharp canines gleamed in the flickering flames as he grinned. There was no answer, none but a guttural groan as she bucked her hips into the pressure felt on her lower stomach. Patience was not one of her strong suits. Their kisses were rough and greedy, his hand callused where it dragged up her thigh.

“I don’t care who sees,” he said low and dark. “I want you.” She cried out as he found her hot and slick and wanting. As he played with her, teasing and teasing and never giving her what she wanted, he whispered, “I’ll make sure they can never speak again.”

Gods help her, Aelin moaned, clenching around nothing. The fires lighting the hall flared.

———————————

Firelight caught in her golden hair, turning it a thousand shades of red and gold. Plush lips were kiss-swollen, a flush darkening her cheeks and her chest. Black swallowed the turquoise of her eyes.

Common sense had burnt to ashes the moment he saw her again. Now that he had her against the wall, knuckle deep inside her, he wanted more. Her hips undulated into his hand, the hand not clinging to his nape trying to find purchase in the stone wall at her back. Rowan’s cock was achingly hard, throbbing in his trousers.

“Burn for me,” he crooned, coaxing her ever-closer to a climax. When she did come, the wall scones burned blindingly bright, bathing them in white light. Darkness returned, his eyes slowly readjusting. He was gentle with her while she caught her breath, taking his time to suck his fingers clean.

Kissing her again was like jumping the bonfires at Beltane. The soft moan in her chest emanated through him as she tasted herself on his tongue. Rowan rolled his hips. From there, their passion skyrocketed until they could bear it no more.

Rowan stroked his cock with a hiss, readying himself. She watched, tongue darting out to wet her lips. As he pushed inside her, they both hardly breathed. The spell broke with her muffled noise once he had bottomed out, teeth sunk into her bottom lip. Quick was the rise and fall of her chest, the imprint of his bite still faint on her skin.

Hips rolling languidly, Rowan kissed her long and slow. Fed up with his too-lax tempo, legs wrapped tight around his waist and she used their power to thrust him harder and deeper. Rowan got the message, rucking up her skirts to get a better grip on her thighs, spreading her legs wider and fucking her harder, deeper, faster. A litany of sounds spilled from those swollen lips. None of which were his name, a thing he sorely regretted.

But they had agreed to be nameless. The masks stayed on.

———————————

Filled near to bursting, Aelin wanted to shred her bodice and the corset involved. She could burn it off, but what a waste of a pretty dress that would be. And then she would be naked for the rest of the night.

“Fuck,” he rasped, hips jerking. Aelin shook her head as he tried to pull out, locking her ankles. He shuddered, looking up at her through thick silver lashes. “My lady,” he pleaded, voice rough in a way that had her clenching around him. “I can’t, I shouldn’t.”

Groaning, Aelin reached between them, so close and yet so far, making circles on her clit. Green eyes tracked her every movement. “No baby,” she confessed in haphazard pants. “Not with the tea.”

The noise he made was strangled. Then, he shifted the angle of her hips slightly, that new position hitting a spot that had Aelin raking her nails across his shoulders with a moan. She could feel his smile against her throat, the sharp points of his canines pressing into her skin. His hand replaced hers, edging her closer and closer.

It hit her like a crashing wave. Aelin’s cry echoed in the hall as the fire burned white hot. With one last thrust, he buried himself to the hilt. His breath was hot in the crook of her neck, her own ragged. Their hearts raced in tandem, taking their time to slow.

After he let her down, her legs so weak she relied on the wall to stay upright, a cool breeze ruffled her hair and dried the sweat on her skin. Aelin fixed her skirts and finger-combed her hair, vainly attempting to look somewhat presentable again. Like she hadn’t just been fucked against a wall and enjoyed every second of it.

“Here,” he said, startling her. A handkerchief dangled from his outstretched fingers. Cheeks burning, Aelin turned to lift her skirts and wipe up the sticky mess dripping down her legs. She tried to hand it back, being waved off. “No, no, you keep it.”

So she folded it so the soiled part was hidden away and tucked it into a pocket of her gown, taking his arm and walking back toward the music.

They returned to the ball, parting ways politely. The farewell kiss he pressed to her knuckles was chaste and gentlemanly. Nothing at all like the kiss they shared just before the threshold, her blood still thrumming with it. As he had cradled her face in one hand, she couldn’t help but lean into it. Thumb dragging on her bottom lip, he then replaced it with his own lips. Aelin opened for him, tugging him closer with fists in the front of his doublet. The soft noise she made was involuntary, and he only redoubled his efforts. At last, when her lungs were screaming and surely his were too, they finally separated.

Little was said before they parted. What could one say in a situation like this? The likelihood of seeing each other again was so small it was practically zero. Their brief stint as lovers had ended, and they were back to being strangers, not that they’d ever really been anything else.

———————————

just a brief interlude to my semester-long writing hiatus (if i don't use the not-math side of my brain i'm gonna go insane). the plot is like nonexistent in this and half the pretense would go poof! if aelin used her critical thinking skills for two milliseconds

@nalgenewhore ✧ @screamingwines ✧ @shyvioletcat ✧ @sassyhobbits ✧ @destinysbullshit ✧ @goddess-aelin ✧ @illyrianbeauty ✧ @rosalineroses ✧ @elentiyawhitethorn ✧ @babipotato ✧ @dreamingofalba ✧ @waternymphia ✧ @fancysludgeshoelamp ✧ @i-am-a-lost-girl16 ✧ @1islessthan3books ✧ @leiawritesstories ✧ @miceenscene ✧ @queenophelia

#rowaelin

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