leiawritesstories - Tumblr blog

[leiawritesstories]

sleepless in terrasen

@throneofglassmicrofics instead of final papers i wrote...this 🫣

prompts: Sleepless & Rapture & Elixir

word count: 1,059 (whoops)

warnings: NSFW CONTENT OOPSIES

enjoy!!!

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

She hadn't been able to sleep.

After two hours of tossing and turning, silken sheets rustling in agitation beneath her flushed skin, Aelin groaned in frustration and rolled out of her bed. Damn the man sleeping one door away from her. Damn his stupid sexy smirk and his stupid hot lips and his stupid big hands. Damn Rowan Whitethorn for kissing every coherent thought out of her head and locking the door behind him as he went to his own damned room.

Damn that gentlemanly tendency of his.

With a half-grunt, half-moan of frustration, Aelin reached for the small vial of medicine that she always kept with her whenever she traveled. Whether it was a long business trip with her parents and the rest of their government staff or a trip like this, a simple two-day drive from university back to her home, she always kept some sleep medication on hand. After nearly a decade of chronic insomnia, she knew how handy even a single does of that elixir was.

Fumbling in the dark, her hand soon closed around the familiar bottle. She quickly unscrewed the top, lifted the tiny glass bottle to her lips, and drank down the slightly-sweet medicine. After she placed the empty vial back on the nightstand, she tucked herself back into the very comfortable hotel bed, rolled onto her side, and waited for the familiar drowsiness to wash over her body.

Instead of sleepiness, though, a powerful wave of heat spread through her.

Shocked, Aelin flipped on the bedside lamp and grabbed the tiny glass bottle, squinting at the tiny print. Slowly, the words became clear.

Oh, fuck.

"Intensify Her Pleasure!" screamed the crimson lettering on the small black label. That wasn't her sleeping meds--it was a goddamn aphrodisiac.

And the need pulsing through her veins reared its head in full force, her nipples peaking to stiff little points at the thought of needing stimulation. Craving stimulation. From a certain pair of rough, calloused hands that had just recently gripped her hips as the man who owned them pressed her back into the wall and kissed a fire into her blood.

Gods. Aelin flipped the light off, dropped the bottle, and curled herself into a tight little ball under the sheets, willing the lust to calm itself down. Willing the image of Rowan's shirtless chest out of her--holy gods. Against her will, that image suddenly lost its pants.

And the fire in her veins burned brighter, demanding attention.

She stretched out, sliding the worn cotton shirt off her body. His shirt, its pine scent warm, comforting, familiar. Even the gentle rasp of the fabric against her peaked nipples sent a shudder through her body, and she lowered her hands to her breasts, gently circling the hardened buds. Harder. Rougher. Like she imagined Rowan would do if he wasn't so insistent on being a gentleman.

She didn't need him to be gentle with her.

As she slipped one hand between her thighs, Aelin couldn't muffle her soft moan. Fuck, she was so wet, turned on by the heated kiss, her need intensified by the damn aphrodisiac. Her fingers found her needy, throbbing clit, and she groaned, then grabbed a pillow and pressed it over her mouth, muffling her sounds. She should have been embarrassed that Rowan's name left her mouth in a broken moan as she slid two fingers into her pussy, but she wasn't. She wanted that man. Needed him.

And her fingers weren't nearly as good as she dreamed his thick, rough ones would be. Fuck. Breathing heavily, she reached her free hand into the nightstand drawer and grabbed her vibrator, switching it on to the lowest setting and trailing the bright blue toy over her nipples. She moaned louder, the sound muffled by the pillow, and slid it down her stomach, replacing her fingers with the vibe and flicking up the speed of the toy.

One more speed, love. Rowan's imagined voice filled her ears. That's a good girl.

"Rowan," Aelin moaned, pushing the vibrator harder against her clit and flipping on the suction as she flicked it up to its highest speed. "Oh my god, Ro!" Eyes closed, legs spread, fingers twisting her nipples with just the right amount of roughness, her body shook as she fractured, her orgasm tearing through her like wildfire as she pictured Rowan's darkened eyes gleaming up at her from between her legs.

Too slowly, she turned the vibe down and pulled it away, chest heaving as she caught her breath from the powerful orgasm. From the dream that had fueled it.

She really didn't know how she was going to manage spending six hours in a car next to Rowan tomorrow, as if she hadn't just pictured him devouring her pussy while she used her favorite vibrator. On the other side of the wall, she heard a faint shifting of sheets, as if Rowan was just as sleepless as her.

Though that couldn't be possible, since she was the one who'd just gotten off thanks to taking the wrong medicine.

"Aelin..." She jerked upright, half believing she was dreaming. As silently as she could, she pressed her ear to the rather thin hotel wall, listening carefully. On the other side of the wall, Rowan's bed creaked, and he groaned. "Fuck, Aelin!"

Holy. Fuck.

In a split second, Aelin made a Very Bad Decision. She pushed herself out of bed, tugged Rowan's shirt over her bare body, and went to the door that separated their two rooms. Knowing Rowan had left it unlocked, she turned the handle and quietly opened the door and stepped into his room before the embers still sparking in her blood could cool her impulsiveness.

In his bed, Rowan yanked himself upright, his sweaty chest glistening in the slivers of moonlight that spilled in through the gauzy curtains. His eyes widened as he took in her flushed, wild-haired appearance, her parted lips. Her breathing hitched as she drank in his bare skin and the bulge barely hidden beneath the sheets.

"Aelin?" he whispered. Rough, jagged, hopeful.

"Rowan," she breathed. Rough, jagged. Needy.

He pushed the sheets aside and stood, and her knees weakened even as the fire in her blood roared right back to life.

"Come. Here." A demand. A promise.

She dropped her shirt to the floor and did just that.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

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

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@aelinschild

@renxzs

[leiawritesstories]

luv yall @elentiyawhitethorn @mariaofdoranelle ❤️

Last song: Empire Now by Hozier

Favorite color: aqua

Currently watching: The Buccaneers and weirdly really enjoying it lmao

Sweet/Savory/Spicy food: savory all the wayyyyyy

Relationship status: chronically single 🫡

Current obsession: my grades and getting these dang final papers done on time (*cries in academia*)

Last thing I googled: endometriosis symptoms "Minnesota hotels" for my friend's wedding in july

Currently reading: rereading An Ember in the Ashes quartet in preparation for sabaa tahir to hurt me again in october

tagging (no pressure ofc!): @tomtenadia @goddess-aelin @golden-kingdom @sassyhobbits @renxzs @autumnbabylon @house-of-galathynius @wordsafterhours @writtenonreceipts

9 people you'd like to know better

thanks for tagging me @castielspelvis!

last song: Lady May - Tyler Childers

favorite color: green

currently watching: embarrassingly - reaction videos to Game of Thrones. LOL, i haven't watched a new show in a bit

sweet/savory/spicy: savory

relationship status: married

current obsession: This fandom and writing fanfiction. It's all I do in my free time and all I'm thinking about.

last thing you googled: Robert Mapplethorpe

no pressure tagging @crazy-ache @starsreminisce @works-of-heart @goghwilde @bettdraws @animezinglife @olenvasynyt @wishfulimaginings @tilseptemberends

[leiawritesstories]

and the water creeps to my chest

oh no i got really into Mumford & Sons during finals and accidentally wrote some slight angst for @throneofglassmicrofics 😂🫡

basic premise: canon AU where fae/mythical creatures don't exist but magic and arobynn do ;)

Prompt: "Deep End" // song: "Thistle & Weeds"

word count: 574

warnings: slight angst

enjoy!!

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

The fire wouldn't come.

Aelin knew it could, and she knew that it had, and it wasn't. It wasn't coming. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how many breathing or grounding exercises or how many mental doors she unlocked, her fire would not come.

Perhaps it sensed the danger lurking in the red-haired man across the training yard and refused to bend to the cold cunning in his eyes.

Aelin had been sixteen years old when Arobynn Hamel became the weapons master, and he'd been trying to train her in magic ever since, even though he had no magic and knew nothing about the finicky, delicate art of magical training. He'd seemed content to put the Crown Princess of Terrasen through grueling physical training instead for the last four years.

Until he got too greedy.

Until the whispers started.

Until the Crown Princess unexpectedly became Queen and the whispers broke into shouts.

"It's simply...not budging," Aelin called across the training yard, weariness weighing down her voice.

Arobynn's lip curled in badly veiled disgust. "Disappointing, Aelin. Simply disappointing." Ordinarily, the insult would be enough to push her into a tidal wave of wildfire, but all it did was drop heavily upon her weighted shoulders. "Disappointing." He left, boots clicking against the stone steps.

Aelin let her sword tumble to the ground with a dull clang and made it a few jerky strides before she crumpled to the ground, her back flush against the sun-warmed stone of the far wall. Dark, shadowy clouds obscured the sunlight, and the summer air thickened to bursting, becoming heavy with the coppery scent of a storm.

She didn't have the strength to move.

Fat, lazy raindrops dripped slowly from the sky, plopping against the worn gray stones and sand of the training yard and the sweat-soaked material of Aelin's tunic and pants. She cupped her hands, catching the drops, overpowering grief crashing into her as she remembered her mother teaching her to catch the rain.

You may not have all of the water gift, my Fireheart, but anyone can hold the rain.

The queen tipped her head up to the sky as the rain thickened, its rapid patter splashing onto her face, mingled with the tears that slid down her face like the summer shower. I miss you, Mum. So much.

Eyes closed, the storm soaking through her clothes, Aelin felt the darkness close in on her, battering the wavering shreds of her faith. First the crown, now the wildfire--everything was being ripped from her fragile grasp. Even though it was late summer, even though the rain could barely touch the sand and stones before it soaked into nothing, she felt like the water was creeping up her chest, inexorably pulling her into its dark depths.

She was so...alone.

Unbidden, unprompted, heat rose up through Aelin's cupped hands, tiny sparks dancing around her fingertips. She cracked open her heavy eyes, released half a shuddering breath, and watched as the sparks kindled into tongues of flame, tiny dancing flickers of light and color amid the pouring rain. We are always with you, Fireheart, whispered a pair of voices in the depths of her heart.

The wildfire brightened, dancing higher, stronger, mirroring the hope that the queen grasped ahold of as she tugged herself to her feet, flames wreathing her hands and her brow, and picked up her sword.

She was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.

And she would not be afraid.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

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

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@aelinschild

@renxzs

[leiawritesstories]

heyyy sorry to bother you, i was trying to find the post where all rowaelins fics are but i cant find it and i dont remember who posted it, i wanted to know if you have it and could pass it?? <333

yes of course!! it's from the lovely @morganofthewildfire and i will link it below!

Rowaelin Fics

[leiawritesstories]

TikTokers are such pussies when it comes to ships. “B-but they’re not canon 🥺🥺🥺😭😭😖😖” honey back in my day we shipped characters from entirely different medias uphill both ways in the snow

[leiawritesstories]

heyyy sorry to bother you, i was trying to find the post where all rowaelins fics are but i cant find it and i dont remember who posted it, i wanted to know if you have it and could pass it?? <333

yes of course!! it's from the lovely @morganofthewildfire and i will link it below!

Rowaelin Fics

[leiawritesstories]

Just swinging by to say I hope you're doing well and that you are making it through school this semester. <3<3<3

awwww thank you so much 🥹😭🥹

actually i'm kinda demoralized and sort of want to scrap everything i've done for my capstone research bc i got shitty feedback on a piece of the project that's been in progress for a MONTH so thank you for your kind words <3<3

[leiawritesstories]

building and building and building

@throneofglassmicrofics April prompts: "Crescendo"

word count: 821

warnings: i'm sorry in advance 🫡

enjoy.....

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

At the far end of the long, darkened hallway, a slightly-cracked door released a narrow spill of pale light across the floor. This late at night, all the overhead lights were off, the faintly musty-smelling hallway of the lower level of the music building lit only by a few dimmed panels so that anyone passing through didn't get lost in the dark. Through that cracked door, if one listened closely enough, there came the gentle sounds of a piano, bars of music escaping the room's soundproofing through the slight tilt of the door.

Aelin always came to the piano when she'd had a particularly rough day.

That night was no exception.

An endlessly long day of classes, two meetings that she was late to, critical comments on her latest research paper, spilling her coffee all over the sidewalk because some egotistical freshman hadn't been watching where he and his broccoli hair were going, and as the sour cherry atop her shit milkshake, she'd caught her boyfriend of eight months with his tongue down some other blonde chick's throat.

He hadn't even looked guilty when she caught him. Then again, she hadn't stopped to look, just slapped the shit out of him and left.

It was nearly midnight before she closed her laptop, left the library, and dragged herself over to the music building, descending the stairs and heading to her favorite practice room on muscle memory. Backpack abandoned on the floor, she switched her phone off and tipped her head forwards and rested her hands above the familiar worn ivory and ebony keys, letting the soft rush of the room's fan system push all of her cacophonous thoughts out of her head.

The concerto came easily to her fingertips, its opening chords slow, majestic, dipping from deep and solemn to higher, lighter. Like her mind--except it was still stuck in the low tones. Stuck in the deep, discordant ruts of exhaustion, doubt, and fear.

Her thoughts struck an endless incomplete minor chord, hollow and strained, missing a crucial piece.

At the far end of the hallway, a male figure paused, captivated by the gentle faraway spill of light and sound. Hesitantly, he placed one foot in front of the other, one cautious step at a time until he was nearly at the door, nearly in the light. The piano seemed to mimic his movements, the notes of the concerto building and building and building as he approached--breaking into a crescendo as he stopped, one hand almost at the door, some unseen force stopping him.

A brief beat of silence, and then the beginnings of a gentler melody, a second movement, a mournful, hauntingly beautiful, achingly soft music that ascended slowly, a lover shyly approaching the beloved. The man in the hallway felt tears prickle at his eyes, a rise of emotion drawn both from the heart-tugging tenderness of the piano and from the thick oily weight upon his heart.

The gentle melody intensified, weaving the melodic line into a cascade of rising arpeggios, a wave that built and built and built until it released in a drawn-out trill that trickled into silence before it returned to the initial theme--lingering, longing, a gasping reach across time and space. Another brief silence, and then the explosion of a final movement, sharp and light and dancing, as if the lover from before had turned headlong into another pursuit in attempt to distract from the heartbreak of the earlier movement.

He pushed open the door, let the soft light and grand music spill over him, but found himself rooted in place just inside the doorway as the woman at the piano, her eyes closed and her head tipped back and salt tears tracked down her cheeks, poured the ruins of her soul into the concerto. Her fingers flew over the keys with the lithe grace of a bird in flight, a glorious tidal wave of a crescendo building and building and building and cascading into a bursting crest, one last majestic return to the theme that ended in a single chord, struck five times in close succession, its finality echoing through the space.

Aelin's hands fell limp to the bench, fingers curling around the worn, threadbare cushion and weathered wood as her head tipped back, such unspeakable pain writ large across her features.

Rowan's heart cracked in the key of C minor, a darkly ironic echo of the final notes of the concerto his love had poured out. A plea, a cry, a voice from across an infinite rift, her music flooded his soul with an incommunicable sense of loss.

Knowing that the concerto was a farewell--the barely-open door was a sure sign she wanted him to hear it--he slowly crept backwards, his sneakers silent on the carpet, until he was no more than another blur in the shadowed darkness of the empty hallway.

Until he was completely beyond the reach of his Fireheart's love.

~~~

TAGS: please lmk if you want to be added/removed :)

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

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

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@aelinschild

@renxzs

[leiawritesstories]

building and building and building

@throneofglassmicrofics April prompts: "Crescendo"

word count: 821

warnings: i'm sorry in advance 🫡

enjoy.....

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

At the far end of the long, darkened hallway, a slightly-cracked door released a narrow spill of pale light across the floor. This late at night, all the overhead lights were off, the faintly musty-smelling hallway of the lower level of the music building lit only by a few dimmed panels so that anyone passing through didn't get lost in the dark. Through that cracked door, if one listened closely enough, there came the gentle sounds of a piano, bars of music escaping the room's soundproofing through the slight tilt of the door.

Aelin always came to the piano when she'd had a particularly rough day.

That night was no exception.

An endlessly long day of classes, two meetings that she was late to, critical comments on her latest research paper, spilling her coffee all over the sidewalk because some egotistical freshman hadn't been watching where he and his broccoli hair were going, and as the sour cherry atop her shit milkshake, she'd caught her boyfriend of eight months with his tongue down some other blonde chick's throat.

He hadn't even looked guilty when she caught him. Then again, she hadn't stopped to look, just slapped the shit out of him and left.

It was nearly midnight before she closed her laptop, left the library, and dragged herself over to the music building, descending the stairs and heading to her favorite practice room on muscle memory. Backpack abandoned on the floor, she switched her phone off and tipped her head forwards and rested her hands above the familiar worn ivory and ebony keys, letting the soft rush of the room's fan system push all of her cacophonous thoughts out of her head.

The concerto came easily to her fingertips, its opening chords slow, majestic, dipping from deep and solemn to higher, lighter. Like her mind--except it was still stuck in the low tones. Stuck in the deep, discordant ruts of exhaustion, doubt, and fear.

Her thoughts struck an endless incomplete minor chord, hollow and strained, missing a crucial piece.

At the far end of the hallway, a male figure paused, captivated by the gentle faraway spill of light and sound. Hesitantly, he placed one foot in front of the other, one cautious step at a time until he was nearly at the door, nearly in the light. The piano seemed to mimic his movements, the notes of the concerto building and building and building as he approached--breaking into a crescendo as he stopped, one hand almost at the door, some unseen force stopping him.

A brief beat of silence, and then the beginnings of a gentler melody, a second movement, a mournful, hauntingly beautiful, achingly soft music that ascended slowly, a lover shyly approaching the beloved. The man in the hallway felt tears prickle at his eyes, a rise of emotion drawn both from the heart-tugging tenderness of the piano and from the thick oily weight upon his heart.

The gentle melody intensified, weaving the melodic line into a cascade of rising arpeggios, a wave that built and built and built until it released in a drawn-out trill that trickled into silence before it returned to the initial theme--lingering, longing, a gasping reach across time and space. Another brief silence, and then the explosion of a final movement, sharp and light and dancing, as if the lover from before had turned headlong into another pursuit in attempt to distract from the heartbreak of the earlier movement.

He pushed open the door, let the soft light and grand music spill over him, but found himself rooted in place just inside the doorway as the woman at the piano, her eyes closed and her head tipped back and salt tears tracked down her cheeks, poured the ruins of her soul into the concerto. Her fingers flew over the keys with the lithe grace of a bird in flight, a glorious tidal wave of a crescendo building and building and building and cascading into a bursting crest, one last majestic return to the theme that ended in a single chord, struck five times in close succession, its finality echoing through the space.

Aelin's hands fell limp to the bench, fingers curling around the worn, threadbare cushion and weathered wood as her head tipped back, such unspeakable pain writ large across her features.

Rowan's heart cracked in the key of C minor, a darkly ironic echo of the final notes of the concerto his love had poured out. A plea, a cry, a voice from across an infinite rift, her music flooded his soul with an incommunicable sense of loss.

Knowing that the concerto was a farewell--the barely-open door was a sure sign she wanted him to hear it--he slowly crept backwards, his sneakers silent on the carpet, until he was no more than another blur in the shadowed darkness of the empty hallway.

Until he was completely beyond the reach of his Fireheart's love.

~~~

TAGS: please lmk if you want to be added/removed :)

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

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

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@aelinschild

@renxzs

[leiawritesstories]

queen's crown

rowaelin + kiddos // written for April microfics @throneofglassmicrofics using the prompt "Crown"

word count: 725

warnings: none :)

enjoy!!!

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

The Staghorn Crown of Terrasen sat atop its emerald-green velvet pillow, the gold spires that resembled antlers jutting proudly up into the still, silent air of the throne room. At its center, the kingsflame bloom encased in crystal seemed almost to glow, the scarlet and crimson and orange of its petals radiating warmth and light.

The princess rose onto her tiptoes and fixed her wide-eyed gaze upon the crown, the pedestal just barely taller than her head. At the sound of footsteps entering the throne room, she startled, and her elbow knocked into the pedestal as she wobbled, trying to keep her balance.

She stared, her wonder turning to horror, as the crown tipped off of its cushion and tumbled towards the floor.

But a swift, wintry wind brushed through the throne room, caught the crown, and deposited it neatly back on its cushion, its tendrils wrapping carefully around the princess as she wobbled on the steps.

"Are you alright, little love?" Her father's voice, her father's wind.

Six-year-old Alanna Whitethorn Galathynius felt her lower lip shiver as the tears slowly spilled out of her eyes, the same bright pine as her father's. In an instant, her father was there, scooping her up into his arms, soothing her.

"I--I almost broke Mama's crown," Lana half-sobbed, burying her face in her dada's warm shoulder.

"Shh, little love, it's alright." Rowan carried Lana back to her rooms, where her mother was waiting, concern on her face. He kissed the top of his daughter's blonde head. "You know Mama and I would never let anything happen to you, Lana."

She sniffled. "I sorry, Mama."

Aelin took her daughter from her mate's arms, giving him a brief, tender look. "Lana, lovey, you mean so much more to me than that silly old crown." She cupped the little girl's face, meeting Lana's teary gaze with her own steady one. "Were you trying to see Mama's crown?"

Lana nodded. "Auntie El said you used to try and see it all the time when you were my age."

A distant, yearning smile slipped across Aelin's face. "That was...a very long time ago. I'm surprised she remembers." When she was a child, Aelin had often slipped into the throne room to stare at the crown from a distance, a memory she'd almost forgotten until her daughter brought it up.

Calming, Lana touched the bracelet that curled around Aelin's wrist, a smaller version of the crown with golden prongs like antlers. An everyday crown. "It matches."

"Yes, it does." Aelin kissed Lana's forehead. "Do you want to go see the crown, lovey?"

Lana's big green eyes lit up. "Yes!"

"Alright, then." Aelin stood up and took Lana's hand, and with Rowan at her back, ever the hovering buzzard, she led her daughter down to the throne room. Together, they walked across the quiet, shadowed expanse of the room, its soft darkness broken by the sunlight that streamed in through the arched windows along the walls.

At the front of the throne room, she lifted the crown's cushion off the pedestal, slowly knelt down in front of her daughter with a flicker of a grimace of discomfort, and set the cushion on the ground. Lana's expression widened with wonder as she clung to her mother's hand and stared at the crown.

Rowan knelt next to Aelin, concern creasing his face. "Are you sure you should be--"

"I'm fine, you overbearing buzzard," she sighed, one hand drifting to her very rounded stomach.

A tiny mirror of her father, Lana pressed both of her small hands to Aelin's bump. "Mama, baby?"

"Baby is just fine, lovey," Aelin promised. Gently, reverently, she lifted the crown from its cushion and raised it into the shaft of sunlight, causing light to radiate off of the kingsflame bloom. As her daughter and her mate watched, she carefully lowered it onto her head, feeling its familiar weight settle over her.

Lana stared raptly. "Mama so pretty," she murmured.

Aelin smiled as she lifted the crown off her head. "One day, my daughter, this will be yours." Lana held very still as Aelin placed the crown atop her small head, holding it in place so it didn't slip down the princess's face.

And the Queen of Terrasen looked at the future queen, her heart full to bursting at the sight of her family.

~~~

TAGS: please lmk if you want to be added/removed :)

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

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

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@aelinschild

@renxzs

[leiawritesstories]

Throne of Glass Microfics!

Welcome to another month of microfics! How it works:

You can write for everyday or just one.

Combine prompts or not, interpret as you want.

Write the story in less than 1k words.

Write for whichever ship you want.

Be sure to @ us and we'll reblog your work here for all to see!

Be sure to add triggers if/as needed :)

Any other questions? Send an ask or dm!

FAQ // Intro Post

Text of prompts:

Grass Stain

Bubble

Bamboozle

Family

Spellbound

Crown

Gentle

Crescendo

Grounded

Dancing

Evolve

Warmth

Elixir

Elated

Photoshoot

Windmill

Deep-End

Escapade

Message

Countdown

Bargain

Impress

Blossom

Change

Rapture

Witness

Blindsided

Show-Off

Advice

Sleepless

[leiawritesstories]

WIP Wednesday:

“Well, turn me over and fuck me raw,” Lorcan drawled. “Whitethorn’s in love."

@sassyhobbits we know its canon

[leiawritesstories]

A Door Opened

written for @throneofglassmicrofics using the prompt "Rain"

word count: 965

warnings: negative thoughts, some angst, hurt/comfort

enjoy!

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

As if the universe truly hated her guts, the moment Elide stepped out of the office building, she was faced with a spring downpour. These passing showers were typical of Perranth, usually lasting anywhere from three to thirty minutes before they blew through. With a deep, exhausted sigh, she pulled her old umbrella out of her bag, opened it up, and prayed to Anneith that the busted old thing would last until she was home.

She was a block away from her apartment building when a gust of wind flipped the useless piece of junk inside out, thoroughly drenching her.

Elide ducked her head and trudged onwards to her building, thankful that the pouring rain obscured the tears dripping slowly down her cheeks, hiding her soul-deep exhaustion. She pushed open the doors and stepped into the mercifully warm lobby, taking a few minutes in the coatroom to wring out her blouse and skirt as best as she could and shake the excess rain off of her short boots. Her old ankle injury throbbed, screaming for her to kick off her shoes and elevate it, but she had five flights of stairs ahead of her before she could do that.

At the top of the last flight of stairs, Elide stopped, head drooping as she braced herself on the stairwell door, her whole body protesting with aches. There were days when she cursed her uncle for inflicting the injury, when she raged against Vernon--who was long since dead--for crippling her both literally and figuratively through his vile, poisonous words. The only reason she'd been hired at the marketing firm she worked at was because her few good friends had worked tirelessly to dismantle the lies Vernon had spread.

After a long moment, she pushed open the stairwell door and trudged, sodden, down the hallway to her door. She pulled her keys out of her bag and pushed the right one into the lock, wriggling it around and around. Her door was notoriously finicky, and it often took several tries before the key clicked.

Today, though, nothing worked.

Defeated after what felt like an eternity of trying to wrangle her key into the godsdamned lock, Elide slumped to the floor in front of her door, past caring who happened to see her sad, crumpled figure, and let the hot tears drip down her cheeks.

Days like these were the worst--they had a way of letting in the dark thoughts that she kept locked up at all times. When her mental guard was this weakened, it became so easy for all the years of her uncle's insinuations to slip in and wheedle sweet poison in her ears, in her heart.

Maybe he was right.

Across the hallway, a door opened, the soft swish of wood against carpet brushing faintly across Elide's hearing. Heavy footsteps crossed the hall, pausing directly in front of her, and a broad shadow descended across her as the inhumanly tall man from across the hall crouched down in front of her.

"Li?" Lorcan Salvaterre's deep rumble poked through the thick fog of her thoughts, its familiarity like a breath of sunlight amid a rainstorm. Ever since she'd moved into this building just over a year ago, she'd had a sort of casual friendship with the solitary, brooding man, a kind of mutual partnership where they would bring each other little things on bad days.

She couldn't find the strength to lift her head. "Go away."

"Nope." Carefully, Lorcan reached out and tucked the fallen hair away from her face. "Come to my place, Li."

"Don't need your pity," she muttered.

He glanced from her slumped position to her locked door. "It's not pity, it's just what friends do. C'mon. I'm not gonna let you stay out here all night."

"Make me."

"Fine." Effortlessly, Lorcan hoisted both her and her bag into his arms and carried her across the hallway, into his apartment. He set her down on the kitchen counter, knelt down, and tugged her boots off, being extra gentle with her bad ankle.

Elide hissed as she flexed her ankle. "It's fine, I just need ice." She waved off his concern. "Gods, Lor, I'm dripping all over your counter."

"Not a problem." He went over to his freezer and returned with an ice pack. "Here. Wanna dry off in the bathroom?"

"I...I don't have a change of clothes." Her voice wobbled.

"Li, you've left so many sweat sets at my place that I practically have your whole closet." Lorcan braced his arms on either side of her, lowering his head to eye level with her. "I'm not gonna pretend to know what's going on, but you've clearly had a shit day, and I want to make it better."

Drawn to his comfort, the side that he rarely showed, Elide leaned forwards, her wet head dropping against Lorcan's shoulder. "I just want to sleep."

His arms wound around her, enveloping her in warmth. "And I want you in dry clothes first, okay?"

"Okay." She relaxed into his hold as he carried her to the bathroom, where a short stack of fresh towels and a neatly folded sweat set of hers waited on the countertop.

She emerged shortly later, dry and in clean clothes with her hair in a braid, to the enticing smell of Lorcan cooking dinner. Too tired to eat, she just went to the sofa and bundled herself into a blanket, curling into the small cocoon of warmth. He finished up cooking and padded over to the sofa, lying down and tugging her into his arms, her body curled against his beneath the blankets.

He didn't say anything, but the barely-there kiss on her forehead and the familiar comfort of his hand on her back said everything.

I am here for you.

~~~

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[leiawritesstories]

i am SO NORMAL about hozier's new songs

[leiawritesstories]

Oblivious Enemies to Lovers Prompts

Dialogue for that one couple who has this attraction between them, but who would do anything to not admit it by acting like they can't stand each other.

"You're so annoying!" "Well, you're still here."

"I don't like you!" "Finally something we can agree on."

"Wow, you're actually nice to me for once." "I won't make a habit out of it."

"I'm always happy to be your punching bag." "Urgh, that sounded so cheesy."

"I definitely don't like you. I just love to hate you."

"Are you jealous?" "No, I'm not!" "Oh, you really are jealous! Wait, why would you be jealous?"

"I would definitely not miss your stupid face."

"I'm going on a blind date." "In hopes of them actually being blind?"

"It's not like you like me or anything." "Yeah, definitely not."

"Can you imagine us being together?" "Pfft, nightmare material."

"I would never date someone like you." "And I would never date someone like you."

"Just because I like torturing you, doesn't mean I like spending time with you."

"I will not ever say this again, but... you're my favourite enemy."

"I really dislike you." "Oh, so you don't hate me anymore?"

"Even if we were the last two people on earth I would never go even near you." "I would die happily as the last single person on earth."

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee or become a member! And check out my Instagram! 🥰

[leiawritesstories]

IMMEDIATELY YES TO ALL OF THIS

Hockey romance has been my kryptonite lately (as in, I read it when I'm supposed to be working on research for my capstone and other school stuff...oops) and this HAS ME BY THE HEART OH MY LORDY

anyway whatever you write and whenever you write it I will be here waiting with open arms and an open heart

@tomtenadia you are SO TALENTED please don't hurt me.....

My new fic

Hi all,

So, I am trying to gather all the possible courage and post the Prologue of my Hockey fic. I still don't have many chapters, but I am hoping that posting it for the public will give me the push I need to write more.

So, Rowan is a Pro Hockey player in the THL (Terrasen Hockey League) and Aelin in an ex pro figure skater now working as instructor. Rowan has suffered a serious head injury in a game and has been off for a few months and is now dealing with his healing. Aelin plays tough girl but she is still dealing with the accident that destroyed her career.

A very small part of Rowan's injury and recovery is inspired by "Unsteady" by Peyton Corinne (which I recommend to everyone if you love hockey romance) and also just a smidge of Icebreaker.

Also, Rowan is a single dad to a lovely 5 years old tornado called Maya (yes, I know always the same but I love it.)

The title.... Check my heart.... a play on the concept of cross check. Not the greatest but I am bad at titles.

Anyway, I will leave you to it.

CW: mention of injuries, panic attacks

PROLOGUE

The ice rink was empty and quiet on a Saturday afternoon.

Rowan slowly walked the familiar path that took him from the changing rooms to the ice, the feeling of walking in skates still strange after two months off.

As he finally exited the tunnel, the coolness of the stadium hit his face as he sat down on the home team bench. His team’s bench. Hockey had been a huge part of his life. He had started playing as soon as he had learned to walk. His dad had been a great champion in the Wendlyn Hockey League, leading his team to many championships and countless other major victories. His dad, Alasdair Whitethorn, had been the hero for many kids. Under his guidance, Rowan had learned to skate, and to get better. He trained, he played, he breathed hockey. In high school people had started to call him his father’s heir. He signed up for uni and graduated in aeronautical engineering. Aircrafts being another passion of his. At uni he played in the team and made captain and in his final year the offers from pro teams started to rain.

His first year as a pro in Doranelle he showed the world his skills and lead the team to a cup victory. Rowan thought he was at the top of the world, until the THL, the Terrasen Hockey League, found him and got his first offer. After three years in Doranelle, Rowan was called by Perranth with an offer that was impossible to turn down. Rowan’s career exploded, brought him across different teams in Terrasen until he landed in Orynth as captain for the Hawks. Together they won a cup and other teams kept begging for trades but Rowan always refused saying that he had finally found his team.

His career had been on a trajectory for more success until the last season. 

Until the final game in the championship when they battled the Skull’s bay Pirates for the cup.

Until…

A deep breath and he stopped as the usual wave of nausea hit him and the fuzzy memory of that night threatened to surface and break him.

If he closed his eyes he could still hear the sound of his body colliding with violence against the boards. The pain. The terror and then the darkness.

Still on the bench, Rowan shook his head, trying to chase away the memory. His team had won, after Lorcan had led the Hawks to the triumph while seeking revenge for his captain.

Even with his team mates chasing minor penalties to avenge him. Even with Lorcan getting a five minutes major for roughing after he thumped Rolfe, they still had won.

Rowan had been in a hospital bed when they told him. He should have been elated, but all he had felt was emptiness.

He blamed it on the bad concussion. His team had explained him that Rolfe had checked him from the back, pushing violently against the boards. His head had taken a bad hit as he collapsed on the ice.

All Rowan remembered was the sound of Lorcan’s voice calling for a major penalty on Rolfe, the feeling of ice under him and the taste of blood.

Another shake of his head to clear his mind and finally Rowan stood, gripping the edge of the gate. That was progress. He had made it a bit farther than last time. This time, the gate was actually open and his right foot was on the ice. He took a deep breath and the left foot joined his companion on the ice. Gently, he pushed himself away from the boards and stood there. He stared at the Hawk logo painted under the ice and then took a tentative skate towards the middle. But when he paused and took a look at the empty stadium, memories betrayed him and the screams and the noise of a game hit him. His head started pounding and a moment later he found himself sitting at the centre of the rink, his chest tight and his breathing laboured. A panic attack.

“Are you okay?” A voice called behind him.

He heard the distinctive sound of blades scraping the ice but did not turn until he saw a woman kneeling in front of him. Even in his confused state he could not fail to notice that she was the most stunning creature he ever saw. Her hair was blonde and tied in a tight high bun and her eyes. The woman in front of him had deep blue eyes with a ring of gold in them.

Was he dead? Had he actually died on that hockey game and this was finally heaven? Was she an angel?

“Hey, you okay?”

She touched his shoulder and felt real. No. He was still alive.

“You fell?”

He nodded lightly.

“Come on big guy, get up, I need the ice.”

“Oh.”

“I have a class coming and I have the rink booked up.”

Rowan stared at the woman, she had black leggings and a jumper. Her body was definitely the one of an athlete but at the same time he could see elegance in the way she stood on the skates in front of him.

“Come on, off the ice.”

“Hey, I can use the rink too. How much space are you going to need?”

“The whole of it?”

He scoffed “I just need a small part.”

Aelin snorted “The ‘learn to skate’ class is tomorrow morning.”

Rowan stared at her aghast. Did she have no idea who he was?”

“I can skate.”

“You fell and look unsteady. I doubt it, big boy.”

“What, you never fell in your life?”

Something strange passed in her eyes and Rowan had a feeling it was hurt.

“You really have no idea who am I?”

The woman folded her arms at het chest “Should I?”

“Captain Whitethorn of the Hawks.”

She snorted loudly “a hockey barbarian, I should have suspected.” Her tone dripped disgust.

“I assume you don’t follow it.”

“What, watch a game where ten men skate on the ice like brutes and pound each others just for the sake of it?” She protested, not moving from her stance “the only thing I know is that you oafs destroy my ice and it takes the Zamboni a lifetime to repair the mess you make.”

He was about to reply when he heard voices and saw a group of kids entering the ice “Well, princess, your class is here,” he touched his head in salute and in a powerful move he skated to the opposite side of the rink, well far away from the woman.

*

It was later on when he finally left the venue with a sliver of hope. It had been his first day out on the ice since the accident and he had gone through some basics exercises that coach Gavriel had recommended. It had not been easy and being back on the ice had felt alien all of a sudden. A few times he had stopped to watch the strange woman teach young kids figure skating. He had watched her demonstrate some basic moves and he had been totally enthralled by her.

Now he was finally home and a smile appeared on his face when a little tornado crashed against his legs “dad, you are back.”

Rowan kneeled and kissed the girl who was his clone “I am, muffin, did you have a great time with grampa and nana?”

“Yes, we baked.” She grabbed his hand and dragged her father in the kitchen where on the table lay numerous trays of chocolate biscuits.

“Did you bake for an army?” He asked his mother.

“We are taking some of them for her friends at skating classes.”

Aside from hockey, Rowan had another big love in his life. His daughter Maya. His life. His everything. Maya had been born five years earlier from his first marriage. He had met Lyria still back in Wendlyn. Lyria was a rising star in the world of figure skating. He had fallen hard for her and a year after dating he had asked her to marry him. Not long after they got married he got drafted in the THL and Lyria refused to move due to her busy competition schedule. One of the biggest championship was happening in Wendlyn that year and Lyria wanted the win. 

Lyria’s dream got destroyed when she discovered she was pregnant. Rowan had gone back to Wendlyn to watch one of her competitions but Lyria never turned up. She gave birth to a baby girl a month before the world championship.

The day after she had been discharged she had served him the divorce papers and a letter in which she renounced to all her rights as mother. Lyria had left the house the following day. No goodbyes, no last words. Just a a note on the bed reading You ruined my dreams.

Two days later he was back in Terrasen with a newborn baby and a career as pro hockey player. He had tried to find some information on Lyria after he was back. She had moved to a land very far across the ocean and had tried to restart her career but eventually gave up and became a trainer.

“Were you on the ice?” Asked his father sitting at his side on the sofa.

Rowan closed his eyes and nodded.

“How did it feel?”

“Alien,” the answer barely a whisper “I hated being on the ice, dad.”

“It takes time.”

“The team will be back from summer training camp in two weeks and then we need start preparing for the season. We have the first friendly game at the beginning of September against Perranth. I don’t have much time.”

Alasdair placed a gentle hand on his son shoulder “I know, but recovery takes time. Especially after such trauma.”

“I am the captain and I am letting my team down.”

Alasdair was about to reply but Maya came running and screaming for her father’s attention. “Dad, nana says that dinner is ready. Wash your hands.”

The girl was about to run away but Rowan stood in a powerful motion and lifted his daughter upside down on his shoulder. Maya laughed freely and patted his back screaming to be let free.

Rowan deposited his daughter on her chair and inhaled the scent on his mother’s cooking.

Being a famous THL player came with perks. He had signed a very good contract with the Hawks that allowed him to live a very comfortable life. He had bought a beautiful house in the outskirts of Orynth near nature. While all of his team mates had modern luxury mansions in the centre, he had gone for a cottage that he had slowly expanded and fixed up. It was cozy and, most of all, Maya loved it. They had a lake at the back that in summer was used for swimming and in winter they would use to skate together. Most of his money went to make sure his daughter had a good life. When he came back from Wendlyn with an infant, his parents had flown to Terrasen to help him and Rowan would be forever grateful to his parents for the help they had given him especially when he was away for his games. 

His mother’s voice woke him from his thoughts “Are you taking Maya to the rink tomorrow morning? It’s her learn to skate class.”

“Yes. I need to go and train anyway.”

“Rowan, you should not push yourself too much.” 

He sighed. His mum was a sports doctor and she saw his situation from the point of view of a physician. His hand curled in a fist and took a deep breath, he knew his parents were just looking after him “Mum, I am just getting again familiar with the ice.”

“Nana, can you skate?”

Rowan mentally thanked his daughter for the interruption.

“Yes, my love. Your grampa taught me to skate a long time ago.”

Maya smiled happily.

“Once the lake is once again frozen we can go you and I so you can show me all you have learned.”

The girl’s grin spread and her green eyes brightened in happiness “my teacher said I am good.”

Eiddwen lifted the girl on her legs and stamped a kiss on her cheek “of course baby, you are a Whitethorn.”

The dinner eventually finished and after his parents left, he took his daughter upstairs and helped her get ready for bed. 

She climbed in bed and grabbed her soft toy “dad, can you tell me a story of when you won a cup?”

Rowan smiled and sat at her side. Maya had grown surrounded by hockey. Her grampa, although retired, was still an important personality in the hockey federation. He would take Maya to the games if possible and would explain what was happening. She loved listening to some of the stories of his victories from both her dad and her grampa. 

“You don’t want a story from the last book we bought?”

Maya shook her head “not tonight.”

Rowan sat properly with his back against the board of the bed and pulled Maya against him “It was the third period of the cup final and we were down by one and down one man….”

taglist

@rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @whimsicallyreading @elentiyawhitethorn @aelin-bitch-queen @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity  @mis-lil-red @thegreyj @sailorsassley @leiawritesstories @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire @sv0430 @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon @rowanaelinn  @susumaus98  @gracie-rosee @mybloodrunsblue @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah @whoever-you-choose-to-love  @theywillnotsingforme @universallytreepost @black-daisy-water @goddess-aelin @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @lovely-dove-zee @athena127 @mariaofdoranelle

[leiawritesstories]

I AM SCREAMING

"I’ve been traveling a lot, but the family thinks it’s time for me to settle down.” Not a complete lie. He had an entire history of mostly unanswered calls from Sellene and Enda. this is so funny to me, of course Rowan never answers his phone lmao

Our family has a history of infertility issues, but it’s nothing Doranelle’s very famous healers can’t fix. rhoe i normally love you but what in the misogynist fuck is this

Like Rowan predicted, Rhoe did not fix it. YEAH NO SHIT

“No!” She shouted, “I would rather die—"...“But if you insist, I can marry him next week.” AHAHAHAHAH THE TURNAROUND

👀😍👀

so..................when do they get married...............

The Courtship Deception - Part 9: Refresh

Fic masterlist

Written for @throneofglassmicrofics

You should know I have a rough draft of this chapter written since last year!! I had the fic idea for last Rowaelin Month, but I had very little time to write it then 🫣

Warnings: none?

Words: 791

“I’d like to introduce you an acquaintance of mine, suitor for Aelin’s suitor.” Fenrys said from the other side of the door, inside Rhoe’s office.

The weight of Rowan’s suit on his shoulders felt heavy in a way he hadn’t felt in years. He decided not to wear a tie, but it didn’t help the gnawing feeling of claws crawling up his neck, constricting it constantly as Rowan couldn’t forget that he was about to claim a family he swore to never relate to again.

“He has to be either a prince or a billionaire,” Rhoe’s reply was firm.

“I guess you’re in luck, sir, because he’s both.”

Lies, lies, lies.

Some hushed conversation Rowan couldn’t understand from where he was, then, “For Mala’s sake, Fenrys, you left a prince waiting outside?!”

“Should I bring him—“

“Obviously! Bring Aelin too.”

Immediately after, the door opened to Fenrys’ shit-eating grin. “Your Highness,” he teased.

He nodded, his chest heavy in a way he hadn’t felt in years, and his friend’s smirk faltered when he saw Rowan’s expression.

He’s doing this for Aelin, is what he had been telling himself since overhearing that phone call between her and Rhoe. However, since then, the butterflies she’s been growing in him have been replaced by a nauseating feeling.

To be fair, this decision was 75% because of Aelin and 25% because he’s a jealous bastard. Still, even if she decides to go her own way after the wedding, he’ll let her. Rowan’s fascinated by her soul, and he can’t imagine letting her fire be dimmed by a loveless marriage and a controlling royal family. He’d marry her as her way out, and whatever happens to him after is up for her to decide.

Though the idea of calling her his gets more appealing each day.

“Prince Rowan,” Rhoe called, making a small curtsy that almost made him puke his breakfast.

A strained smile. “There’s no need for formalities.”

“Very well then.” He gestured for them to sit. “I’m surprised to see you here, Rowan. Your last public appearance was at…”

Fucking Mala, he must be a real royal aficionado if he knew about Rowan’s life. He was one of the least known Whitethorn cousins.

“My parents’ funeral, yes. I’ve been traveling a lot, but the family thinks it’s time for me to settle down.”

Not a complete lie. He had an entire history of mostly unanswered calls from Sellene and Enda.

“That’s perfect, then.” Rhoe smiled at him, leaning closer from the other side of his desk. “I’m sure you’re making the right choice. Look, before we go through this, you should know that Aelin has some… issues. With her temper, sometimes. She can be a bit of a rebel without a cause, but she’s mostly pleasant to be around. Good on the eyes, fun company, plays the piano beautifully, instructed in courtly manners and diplomacy. Our family has a history of infertility issues, but it’s nothing Doranelle’s very famous healers can’t fix.

He blinked and nodded, not knowing what to say.

Rhoe opened a binder. “Now, you should know I have some requirements for giving her hand away in marriage…”

Rowan’s quivering stomach got worse each word the man spoke. Because there was absolutely no way he could afford those requirements, yes, but mostly for how Rhoe dealt with this. The way this man talked about his own daughter, an unadvised person could think he was trying to sell Rowan a herd of cattle.

When Rhoe was halfway through his requirements, loud shouting stopped them short.

It was Aelin, screaming something about human rights he couldn’t quite discern from this far.

Her father winced. “Let me fix this,” he said before leaving his office in a hurry, leaving the door open.

Like Rowan predicted, Rhoe did not fix it. Instead, father and daughter talked in circles.

“You don’t need to marry me off to find a good investor, Father, we can—“

“Come. Meet. Your fiancé.” Rhoe’s voice was hard and reprimanding.

“I’ve already met someone! He’s broke, but he’s honest and reliable and—“

“Mine won. He’s a prince and a billionaire.”

“No, he didn’t! I can’t control my heart!”

“Well, I can. You have a week to forget about whoever this dickhead is and start liking your fiancé.”

“No!” She shouted, “I would rather die—“

When Fenrys pulled her inside the office, Aelin’s words died on her throat. She blinked. Opened her mouth, then closed. She turned to her father and shrugged. “But if you insist, I can marry him next week.”

“There you go, Mr. Galathynius,” Fenrys teased, “She’s tamed already.”

“Yeah, that was fast,” Rhoe said, eyes narrowed at her.

Aelin sighed. “What choice do I have other than obey you, father?”

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I couldn’t tag the people in bold, sorry!

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