could you do a feysand fic where feyre gets really jealous/possessive of rhys talking to this girl at a bar and rhys thinks it’s hot that she’s mad and they have sex where feyre is kinda slightly dominant? i love your writing btw <3
I had this written in my drafts and forgot to hit post?? For like a year?? I'm so sorry.
Prisoner's Game update tomorrow for those still reading!
~~~~~~~
Rhys leaned his head back and laughed, turning to Feyre and smiling. "I'm glad we came, aren't you?"
She smiled, but it wasn't the smile he was used to. "Mmhm."
His eyebrows furrowed, but before he could read into her reaction, Amren slid another tumblr of whiskey in front of him.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" he asked his friend with a grin.
She nodded seriously, not even bothering to lie. "You're least annoying when you're intoxicated."
He laughed and started to respond when Feyre glanced between them and asked, "How do you two know each other again?"
"We worked together a few years ago," he told her, sipping his drink. "Back when I was with the FBI."
They'd been partners in the covert operations unit for a long time, until he'd decided he wanted to settle down. Apparently, she'd quit the year after and had opened up her own bar.
"We did all sorts of stupid shit together," Amren told Feyre, laughing as she grabbed a beer for another customer.
He nodded his agreement. "Remember in Budapest, when you thought we were made, and we ended up stuck in that nasty hostel for like two weeks?"
Amren grimaced. "How could I forget? That place smelled so bad the stench is stuck in my brain forever."
He laughed, then laughed harder when his friend pointed out, "Wasn't as bad as Moscow."
could you do a feysand fic where feyre gets really jealous/possessive of rhys talking to this girl at a bar and rhys thinks it’s hot that she’s mad and they have sex where feyre is kinda slightly dominant? i love your writing btw <3
I had this written in my drafts and forgot to hit post?? For like a year?? I'm so sorry.
Prisoner's Game update tomorrow for those still reading!
~~~~~~~
Rhys leaned his head back and laughed, turning to Feyre and smiling. "I'm glad we came, aren't you?"
She smiled, but it wasn't the smile he was used to. "Mmhm."
His eyebrows furrowed, but before he could read into her reaction, Amren slid another tumblr of whiskey in front of him.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" he asked his friend with a grin.
She nodded seriously, not even bothering to lie. "You're least annoying when you're intoxicated."
He laughed and started to respond when Feyre glanced between them and asked, "How do you two know each other again?"
"We worked together a few years ago," he told her, sipping his drink. "Back when I was with the FBI."
They'd been partners in the covert operations unit for a long time, until he'd decided he wanted to settle down. Apparently, she'd quit the year after and had opened up her own bar.
"We did all sorts of stupid shit together," Amren told Feyre, laughing as she grabbed a beer for another customer.
He nodded his agreement. "Remember in Budapest, when you thought we were made, and we ended up stuck in that nasty hostel for like two weeks?"
Amren grimaced. "How could I forget? That place smelled so bad the stench is stuck in my brain forever."
He laughed, then laughed harder when his friend pointed out, "Wasn't as bad as Moscow."
To leave this island forever and not have to worry about being discovered anymore.
I wasn't always this macabre, but two thousand days of checking over my shoulder and wishing for a man's murder has dulled the wishful excitement I felt when I first got here.
Five years ago, I was grateful to even be alive.
I couldn't believe a stranger give up everything for me and the others--couldn't believe she'd agree to fight this battle because of my decision.
I have to actually remind myself to still be grateful to her, if I'm being honest.
Because sometimes I think about that night all those years ago, when she showed up in the darkest part of the night to kill me. When she'd held the knife with a trembling hand and told me that the price for betraying Arobynn Hamel was my life. When we discovered together that she couldn't bring herself to kill me.
Sometimes I think it would be better if she would've just done it.
At least it would've been over.
At least I wouldn't have to spend years on an island, living the same day over and over again. I think that's what's driving me mad, beyond anything else.
The predictability of my time.
Every day, I follow the same routine. The routine she laid out for me in a hushed whisper.
I wake up and go to the small café a mile down the road to watch the news. And every day, I pray to see Arobynn Hamel's face next to to the words, "Breaking news: billionaire crime boss found dead."
Because that was her only stipulation.
That the ten of us would stay on the island, hidden from sight, until news of his death was announced. In exchange, we got to live.
She'd warned me it would take a long time.
She'd told me to not get complacent.
And then she'd whispered what she planned to do.
Even now, over five years later, the words she'd whispered while shoving a plane ticket and a new passport into my hands were crystal clear.
There was something decidedly pleasant about sneaking out of prison.
It was the thrill, she supposed.
She'd always been a bit of an adrenaline junky, and there was nothing that matched up to the excitement of breaking out of a maximum security prison with no one being the wiser.
Aelin ran through the tunnel, her steps sure and soundless, a smile blooming on her face. What she was doing shouldn't give her such joy, but along with being a thrill seeker, she'd always been just a little bit vindictive.
Or maybe a lot.
The map of the tunnels was still crystal clear after all this time, and she had it memorized down to the number of steps it took to get to the right turn.
It was a three hour run. Two underground, then one through the city out into the suburbs.
While the first two hours were definitely not fun, it was the last hour that was tricky.
Avoiding cameras, not drawing any unwanted attention, dressing so no one could see her face without looking too much like the criminal she was.
It was also more exhausting.
It was an hour of sprinting across rooftops, sprinting through town, then sprinting some more.
It was a little funny to her that the journey to where she needed to go was more difficult than actually breaking into the building.
She had a set of scrubs stored in a nearby lockbox, along with a wig and a few prosthetics to make her look more like Ansel, one of the nurses working the night shift.
The security guard, Shelly, was prone to reading romance novels during her shift and never questioned why she occasionally thought she saw two of the same person wandering around.
It was no different tonight.
Once she had everything in place, Aelin strode confidently through the halls, grabbing charts and nodding like she knew what the hell she was looking at.
No one stopped her, no one questioned her.
When she got to the room and chart she wanted, she slipped inside soundlessly and crept up to the bed.
Despite the ever-present urge to hurry things along, she stuck to her plan and kept the dose the same.
The person on the bed never woke up, never noticed her slip an extra drug into the IV bag hanging on the wall.
Silent, efficient, traceless.
Just like she'd been taught.
Leaving was even easier than entering.
She waited until real-Ansel had been out of the guard's sight for a while, then walked out the back door of the facility like she hadn't just committed a felony.
One of the few crimes she actually deserved to be in prison for, ironically.
Then she ran back, hiding in the traffic camera's blind spots and ditching the wig along the way.
It was a little stupid and drawn out to do it this way, not to mention unbelievably cruel, but Aelin had always had a flair for the dramatic.
Rowan didn't think he'd ever been so pissed off in his life.
The only time that even came close was when he lost his first and only court case, but over the years he'd come to live with that.
This though?
This immature, childish, irritatingly clever woman... he had a feeling he'd carry the rage he felt against her until the day he finally died of it.
Although, if he was honest, his returning move had been a little childish, too.
He'd ordered one of the guards to strip her cell of everything except the chess set. Her mattress, the makeshift knife he shuddered to think she'd had in the same room as him, her pillow.
If she wanted to steal his shit, he'd steal hers, too.
He'd also had the guard move one of his pawns forward on the board.
Not the most creative, but he didn't have many options.
What did you take from a woman who had nothing? How did you punish someone who was already serving the longest punishment available?
The bank had seized her assets when she'd been locked up, and the lease on her apartment had long since run out. She didn't have any personal items with her, didn't seem to even care about anything besides making his life hell.
Case in point, when he got home that night, exhausted from dealing with Aelin and spending a long day at the office, he'd discovered her retaliation.
She'd stolen his bed.
The whole goddamn thing, frame and all.
How she'd managed to get it out of a penthouse condo with security not realizing a thing, he had no idea. He knew from experience it wouldn't even fit through the door.
It'd seemed if she was going to be uncomfortable, so was he.
Steaming with anger, he'd showered and flopped on the couch like an idiot, not even able to sleep thanks to the rage she'd worked him into.
She was completely kicking his ass. From the inside of a jail cell.
He hadn't gotten more than a few hours of sleep before giving up on even trying. At six, he'd dressed and driven to Whitehorn and Salvaterre, the law firm he was a partner at.
If he couldn't sleep, he'd at least figure out how the hell she was pulling this shit off.
Looking through her folder, he went through her daily schedule, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.
Eight am wake-up, breakfast, shower, lunch, yard time, dinner, lights out at nine. Between activities, she worked out in her cell or read a book from the run-down prison library.
In the eight years she'd been in prison, she hadn't had a single visitor. Her cousin Aedion--a playboy Rowan couldn't be paid to associate with--delivered a care package on the first of every month.
Strange, considering nothing of the sort had been in her cell.
She'd been in solitary confinement ever since randomly attacking her cellmate a little over a month ago. She was still allowed yard time and meals with the other prisoners, but she was chained at all times.
Also strange, considering Aelin wasn't the type to do anything randomly.
Rowan watched the security tapes he'd strong armed the guards into giving him, going through the past few days to see how she'd gotten out of her cell to rob him.
He watched as she was escorted to the yard, watched as she ate breakfast and lunch and dinner alone, watched as she put herself through vigorous training in her cell.
Days of footage, and he didn't find anything.
Feeling like a bit of a creep, he watched the nighttime footage of her sleeping, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.
She didn't move too much or too little--both of which would indicate it wasn't really her under that thin blanket. There were no attempts to pick the locks in between her wrists and ankles, no digging into the wall behind her toilet.
Nothing.
Which meant someone was helping her.
He could go through the official channels and ask the police for her known connections, but he hadn't reported either of the robberies yet.
Partly because he wanted to deal with her himself, partly because he felt a bit stupid getting robbed from a woman in the most secure prison in the city.
Which means he'd have to go about it a different way.
Grabbing his keys from his desk, he debated how else he could make her miserable, unfortunately finding nothing else he could do to her, no revenge he could get from robbing her tiny little cell.
No, he'd have to try something new.
Maybe he could bribe her into confessing. She didn't have anything right now, but maybe he could give her something to lose.
He'd bring her lunch, force himself to apologize for yelling at her, and just politely ask who her accomplice was.
He thought on it as he rode down the elevator to the garage. It probably wouldn't work, but he didn't know what else to do.
And besides, he knew from experience Aelin didn't respond well to his anger.
Checking his email to make sure he wasn't missing any important meetings, he pressed the button on his car fob, expecting to hear the resounding beep from his designated parking spot.
Except the beep never came.
Slowly looking up, Rowan had to amend his earlier statement.
Now he didn't think he'd ever been so pissed off in his life.
He stormed over to the security booth, hardly refraining from grabbing the man inside and throwing him to the ground.
Synopsis: Aelin Galathynius never thought of herself as a vengeful woman. Until her boyfriend not only testifies, but leads a case against her that lands her in prison for the rest of her life. Post I-Love-You's. He didn't believe her, and she's about to show him that not only is she innocent, he made the worst mistake of his life betting against her. To a woman with nothing but time, life's just a game, after all.
The cinderblock wall dug into her back uncomfortably as she reclined against it, the air in the room was stale, and she hadn't showered in two days. By any measurement, Aelin Galathynius was far from her best.
And yet she somehow managed to look perfectly at ease--happy even--as she lounged in her cell, toying with the ends of her too-long hair.
It was a ruse, of course, just a little trick to piss off the man currently stomping into her space. By the flare of Rowan Whitehorn's eyes, it worked.
"Hello, Rowan," she greeted pleasantly, giving him a little smile and acting like it wasn't taking everything in her not to use the makeshift knife under her pillow to gut him like the spineless coward he was.
She could tell, even across her 8x12 cell, that he was gritting his teeth and fighting a similar action.
The heel of his expensive Italian loafers clicked as he walked across the space to the small table and took a seat at the steel chair in front of it. He tried to push it out further, but stopped when he realized it was bolted to the floor.
"Aelin," he said back, none of the so-obvious anger he was feeling present in his voice. "Been a long time."
Eight years, six months, three weeks, two days, and thirteen hours.
Not that she was counting or anything.
She nodded her agreement, reclining further on the bed and crossing her legs as if she was in the finest dress she owned, not a faded orange jumpsuit.
"What brings you to my side of town, Rowan? Here to finally switch sides and represent me?"
Dressed in a two-thousand dollar suit and tie, hair perfectly gelled back, he looked like he was successful a lawyer meeting with a wealthy client, but they both knew the last thing he'd ever do was work for her.
"You know why I'm here."
She did indeed, but she still said, "I must be exceptionally smart to know why you've come all the way here-"
"Cut the shit," he snapped, finally losing a bit of his cool. He regained it quickly, though, and continued, "I want to know how you did it."
She frowned at her split ends. "Did what?"
Rowan waited until she looked at him to respond. "You know what."
Sighing so deeply it should've rattled the walls, she said, "I can't believe I've spent the last eight years thinking you underestimated my intelligence. You clearly think I'm some sort of oracle genius."
Rowan mimicked her sigh, and she bit her lip to stifle a laugh.
Probably trying to stall, he spent a moment looking at her cell, at the completely bare walls and lack of photographs. All she had was the tally marks drawn in pencil on one wall and a dusty chess set sitting on the table.
When he'd taken inventory of those two things, he sat and just looked at her.
It was clear she wouldn't admit to knowing exactly why he sat in front of her, and he was simply putting off being the one to fold.
Predictable, proud little man.
Eventually, he took his loss and said, "I want to know how you managed to rob me from inside the most secure prison in Rifthold."
Can you add me to the damnation tag list please? Thank you!! Also if you’re taking prompts: the song partition by Beyoncé, specifically the line “took 45 minutes to get all dressed up / and we ain’t even gonna make it to this club” for nessian or rowaelin
Rowan pulled at the collar of his shirt, frowning. He was already hot, and they weren’t even at the goddamn club. Hell, they hadn’t even left yet.
He was sitting in the car waiting for his wife, scrolling through his email and trying to resist the urge to back inside and throttle her. "Five minutes" his ass.
Even though he was irritated, he was used to this behavior. So was their driver, Ricky. When he'd told the stout man Aelin said she was almost ready, he'd just given Rowan a knowing smile, pulled out the newspaper, and rolled up the divider to give him some privacy.
Something he was very grateful for when, twenty minutes after she'd said she'd be ready, Aelin opened the back door and slid onto the seat across from him.
The phone fell from his hands, emails suddenly the last thing on his mind, as he took her in all the way from her curly blonde hair to her painted red toenails.
"What... what are you wearing?" he asked, voice embarrassingly raspy.
“A dress,” she replied simply, knocking on the divider between them and the driver to signal they were finally ready.
He scowled, because duh, but he’d never seen anything like what she was wearing.
First of all, it was fucking sheer.
Thin layers of black tulle wrapped around her frame, creating a see-through illusion that was messing with his mind. He guessed she was technically covered, but not enough he couldn’t see the outline of her high-cut black panties and bra. A lot of skin was showing.
Skin everyone in the club she was dragging him to would see.
“Aelin.”
“Mmm?”
“How many people are you trying to make me kill tonight?”
He wasn't a necessarily territorial man--at least he didn't think so. And the logical part of his brain told him that his wife loved him. He had nothing to worry about.
The not-so-logical part told him to not let her out of the car. Or to start cracking skulls.
His eyes finally figured out how to move off her breasts and as he looked at her face, she smiled at him knowingly. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Rowan growled, trying to discretely shift himself in his pants.
She noticed, of course, and her grin grew. “Rowan, get it together. If you can’t even make a twenty minute car ride, how are you going to deal with me dancing on you tonight?”
“I’m not,” he gruffed, looking at her innocent little nose. “I’m going to stand at the bar and glare at anyone who tries to get close to you.”
She tilted her head, considering this. “I don’t think so. I want to dance with you."
"Then you should've worn something less... tempting."
"Tempting?" Aelin asked, pulling her bottom lip through her teeth slowly. "What do you mean?"
"Stop acting innocent. You wear a dress like that, and you're going to get my attention."
She leaned back, hips sliding down the seat and thighs falling open.
Skulls. Cracking.
"What are you tempted to do?"
It was a breathy whisper, one that told him she was just as hot and bothered as him.
Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees and his hands on hers, edging her thighs open a little further. Running his thumbs across her soft skin, he grinned when he felt it pebble and her breathing grow shallow.
"Currently," he began, running his hands down her calves, back over her knees, up her thighs. "I'm tempted to get on my knees before you and worship you. You look like a goddess, Fireheart."
She grinned, opening her mouth to respond, but he brought a hand up and brushed a finger down that bright red lip. "And then I'm tempted to fuck your mouth for messing with me in the first place."
Her lips parted, drawing his thumb inside her mouth, and he almost came at the sinful lap of her tongue. He pushed it deeper, eyes drifting closed when she moaned.
"But, you've been waiting for this opening for a while," he said, acting unaffected despite the tent in his pants and sitting back. "And you've obviously spent a while getting ready. I can wait."
She made an angry, frustrated sound and flung herself on him, somehow ending up on his lap, her knees by his hips. "I lied," she breathed, pushing herself down against him. "There isn't a club opening tonight. It opened last week, and I went with Lysandra. I just wanted-"
He knew what she wanted. And like always, he gave it to her.
A hand on the back of her neck pulled her mouth to his, and Rowan kissed her desperately, deep and searching and thorough. He met her tongue with his, sucked on her lips, kissed her the way he would if he got between her thighs. If the way she was moving on him was any indication, she knew exactly what he was doing and was enjoying it.
His hands pushed up the thin material, and then he was gripping her ass, growling at the fact that she'd been about to wear this in public.
"I'm going to kill the neighbors," he told her, realizing they might have seen her walk to the car.
"Okay," she agreed, tilting her head back as Rowan kissed her neck. "I hate them anyway."
He was too hard, too desperate to be amused.
The desperation led to him ripping her panties off, something he knew she'd give him shit for later. But it seemed she was too far gone to care much, especially as he slipped two fingers up her thigh and pushed them into her. She sucked in a sharp breath, eyes drifting closed and head falling back.
He groaned at how tight and wet she was, clenching his jaw. The way she moved her hips gave him just enough friction that he couldn't think, and he fucked her harder with his fingers in retaliation.
His thumb drew small, quick circles on the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs, clenching his jaw and going faster when she tightened around him.
"Ro, I'm going to-"
She cut herself off and released a curse that would make even the most seasoned sailor blush as the car slowed to a stop, making him chuckle.
Aelin leaned over and slapped the intercom button to connect them to the driver. Right as she opened her mouth to speak, Rowan curled his fingers and pushed his thumb against her clit in a way he knew would drive her wild. She gasped, trying to hide it under a cough. "Um, fuck, just- just drive around, Ricky!"
The amused response came through a second later. "Of course, ma'am."
He likely knew exactly what they were doing back here, but Rowan didn't have half a mind to care.
As the car started moving again, Aelin sat back up and slapped his chest. "You're such an asshole."
He made another circle with his thumb. "Am I?"
She trembled, shaking her head, and he gave her a slow smile.
One hand buried between her thighs, he used the other to tug down the front of her dress and bra. His mouth came to her breast, and he swirled his tongue around her nipple in time with the movements of his thumb.
Aelin groaned loudly, fingers digging into his shoulders and hips churning sloppily.
"That's it," he encouraged, tugging on her nipple with his teeth. "Ride my hand, Fireheart."
He knew she was getting close from the way she tightened around his fingers, so he released her breasts and licked a line up the column of her throat. Her head was thrown back, giving him plenty of access, and he made use of it, sucking and licking and biting at her skin until he knew he'd leave a mark.
She cried out as she came, loud enough he hoped Ricky had a serious hearing problem.
Her legs shook and she trembled, but he kept going until she stilled and collapsed into his chest. Then he pulled them out and licked them clean, eyes rolling back at the taste of her.
After three years of marriage, she was still the hottest thing he'd ever seen.
Not that he was surprised--she constantly did things like this that made him burn hotter and hotter for her as the years went by.
Apparently, the sentiment was requited, because before he knew what she was doing, his wife slid to her knees before him and flicked open his belt.
She met his eyes as she freed him, running a finger slowly down the length of him.
"Aelin," he warned, not in the mood to be teased. Normally, he'd sit there all day and let her fool around, but he wanted her--needed her--now.
She rolled her eyes, but gave him what he needed, leaning down to put her mouth on him.
A muttered "fuck" fell off his lips, his hips bucking slightly at the sudden sensation.
Her hands were running over his thighs and up his abs, like she relished the feel of him as much he did her.
Pulling back, she hollowed her cheeks and circled her tongue around his tip. Rowan's hands were fists at his sides and his jaw was clenched tight. She's been down there for ten seconds, he reminded himself, trying not to be a chump.
Except it felt too goddamn good.
She knew exactly what he liked, and she gave it to him so fucking well he could do nothing but sit there and try not to act like a wild animal.
His hands found their way into her hair, holding it back to give him an unobstructed view.
Her full lips enveloped him, staining his cock red, and he almost came at the sight.
"Look at me," he rasped, groaning when she opened her eyes to meet his. "Fucking hell."
Those eyes undid him, and he didn't care if it made him a chump or not.
"I'm close," he warned her, pulling out a little.
But she was having none of that and dipped her head to take all of him again.
With another muffled curse, release found him, and if there was ever any doubt as to if she was the perfect woman for him, it was gone the second she moaned as he came down her throat.
His head hit the seat behind him as he breathed and breathed and tried to not pass out.
Sitting up on her knees, Aelin licked her lips and looked him over slowly.
Rowan tucked himself back into his trousers, then grabbed her arms and pulled her up onto his lap. He tucked her into him, fixing her clothes as best he could. She'd definitely have to wear his jacket when she got out, considering he'd torn her underwear off, but that was a problem for later.
He kissed her brow, smiling. "Happy anniversary, Fireheart."
Her head tilted back, those eyes meeting his again. "Happy anniversary, Buzzard."
Azriel stared at the person across from him, narrowed his eyes, and swore the chunky little toddler narrowed his back.
“Why won’t you go to sleep?” he asked seriously, not understanding the child’s aversion to the concept.
If he could, he sure as hell would be sleeping right now.
“I fed you,” he pointed out, listing everything off on his fingers. “I let you play with your toys. I even cleaned you, and let me tell you, in five hundred years, I’ve never seen someone as small as you shit so much.”
Nyx just tilts his little head, not comprehending.
“It should be physically impossible, man.”
The little thing just rolls his eyes.
“No wonder your father blackmailed me into keeping you tonight.”
Rhys and Feyre had teamed up on him, adding together all the collective favors Azriel had owed them. He knew as soon as Rhys brought up the time he’d saved him from drukenly falling out of the House of Wind’s windows two-hundred years ago that he was in trouble.
There was no way Rhys would cash in all his favors at once if it wasn’t for something horrible.
The suspicion had proved correct.
Feyre dropped the tot off, and as soon as the door had shut between him and his mama, he’d lost it.
If the shitting was impressive, it had nothing on the screaming.
He thought the kid might be an opera prodigy, with the way he could continually holler for hours on end and not grow tired.
It had only stopped when Azriel had put the child on his shoulders, let him rip his hair out with his tiny hands, and had walked him around for a while. They’d played, and ate, and everything else you were supposed to do when you had a child. Now it was time to sleep.
Azriel wasn’t that lucky, though.
It was the middle of the night, yet Nyx thought it was time for toys. He tugged on Azriel’s hand, giggled at nothing, banged his tiny fists against everything in sight, tried to eat whatever he couldn’t smash.
Basically did everything but sleep.
Azriel was out of his element.
He avoided children like the plague, a deal that had systemically worked for both him and the kids.
He hated dealing with their crying, and they were usually squeamish around his shadows. Not Nyx, though. He was endlessly amused by them, always reaching out and trying to grab them in his hands.
It was exhausting. He was exhausting.
It was honestly a fucking miracle he hadn’t started to fly yet. He’d be unstoppable when he did.
“You know, I think it’s time for at least a quick nap-” The toddler opened his mouth and took a breath, preparing to scream, and Azriel quickly backtracked. “No, no, no, I was just kidding. Let’s play some more.”
The mouth closed, and Azriel let out a relieved breath.
He loved the kid, but if he started screaming again, he wouldn’t be held responsible for what he did.
“I’m going to get you to sleep one way or another,” he warned him, putting his elbows on his knees and leaning over.
He should’ve known better than to even try intimidating the kid, considering his parents were. Rhys probably tried that route on the daily.
So he did what he always did when facing an opponent he’d underestimated. He analyzed him.
He watched the way he bounced his chunky little legs, the way he fluttered his tiny wings like he wanted to take off but didn’t know how. The toy in his hand seemed to be an afterthought.
Inspiration struck.
Before he could second guess it, he grabbed Nyx, wrapped him in a blanket to keep him warm, and dove out the window at a run.
Nyx opened his mouth, and he tensed, but instead of screaming, the baby squealed. A huge, toothless smile pushed his plump cheeks up, and Azriel huffed a laugh at the joy on his face.
The toddler’s head turned back and forth as he looked out at the sky, and he swear he heard a small sigh.
“Oh, thank the Cauldron,” he groaned, beating his wings hard to bring them above the cloud line and coasting.
For the first time all night, the child seemed to be at peace. Instead of chaos in his violet-blue eyes, there was pure contentment.
“Flying relaxes me, too, buddy,” he murmured, tucking Nyx deeper in his blanket and angling him to see the night sky better.
Especially since the child was out in five minutes flat.
They flew down the coast of Velaris and over the city, and he had to admit that despite the hell he’d been through tonight, he felt pretty content, too.
He was definitely never doing it again, though, and definitely not with Nyx.
Now, with his own-
No.
Not going down that path.
Especially as a certain set of brown eyes, full lips, and honey-blonde popped into his head.
Shaking his head, Azriel made his way back to the House, taking his time and making sure Nyx was sleeping soundly by the time he landed.
Then he moved so slowly it was laughable, ensuring to not jostle him as he went into the room and lowered him into his crib.
There was a second where he swore he’d wake up, but he just turned his head and let out a non-surprisingly loud snore.
Locating Rhys, he said into the link between them, I am going to kill you the next time I see you.
It only took a second for the amused response to come. I don’t know what you’re talking about.
I haven’t slept in three days. You could’ve suggested the flying.
There was no way he hadn’t figured it out, but he hadn’t said a word.
We needed this vacation, Feyre cut in, sounding less amused and more grateful. We know he’s a handful. Thank you.
Rolling his eyes, he said back, You’re welcome, Feyre.
What about me? Rhys asked. I’m grateful, too.
You owe me.
And who knew? Maybe one day, he might actually cash in on that favor.
Last part! I know I said this would be 6/7 parts, but I realized I have no idea what the fuck I had planned to write in those parts, so it's 5 instead hahah. didn't edit the ending whoops
We're laying in bed, and even though I should asleep like the man next to me, I can't stop thinking about how little time we have left.
How has the past month gone by so fast?
It feels like yesterday I was standing on my stoop, watching Azriel open up and tell me things he's since admitted he's never told another person.
It feels like yesterday since I decided that I care for him more than I care about what he does.
But it wasn't yesterday; it was a month ago.
A month that's been filled with dinner dates, soft smiles, laughter, and enough tender moments my heart feels full. He's a
The plane ticket hidden in the bottom of my purse is a constant reminder that this is just a summer fling, that it isn't supposed to mean anything. Two weeks from now, I'm supposed to get on that flight and never look back.
Except it feels impossible.
It broke my heart when I walked away from him a month ago, and that was before he told me the details of his life.
Now I know him.
I know about the way he smiles in the morning and how he shakes his head when he laughs, like he can't believe he's doing so. I've learned how ticklish his ribs are, how he likes his coffee, his favorite type of cigarettes.
I know about his family, how his mother died giving birth to him and his father resented him from the day it happened. I know about the first man he killed, how it made him sick. I know what his tattoos really mean.
And what I never could've expected is that everything I've learned,the good and the bad, have tied me to him in a way that feels permanent.
How am I supposed to just walk away from that?
The thought of never seeing his smile, never feeling his rough hands cup my face with a gentleness he doesn't show the world... it feels like missing a part of me.
And it worries me enough I haven't been able to sleep for the past two nights. Like I'm incapable of wasting a minute, I spend the nights watching him sleep.
Which is why I'm perfectly awake when he pulls me close in his sleep and whispers two words that ruin me.
That’s what I’m supposed to say, right? That’s what they say in movies, I think. Does it count if it isn’t in Italian?
I rub a hand across my forehead, shaking my head at myself. I’m not even religious. I haven’t been to church since I grew out of the pastel pink Easter dress my mother used to love forcing me into.
Yet here I am, sitting in a dark, hot box, attempting to confess my sins.
I think I’m losing it.
Five days with no Azriel, and I’m turning to religion.
The dark shadow on the other side of the confessional doesn’t help me in the slightest or even tell me if I’m doing this right. He just sits in silence and waits for me to pour my heart and soul out.
So I say, in an embarrassingly shaky tone, “Well, I... I’ve been sleeping with someone.”
That gets me a low hm.
“Someone I shouldn’t have.” Before he can get the wrong idea, I blurt, “He’s not married or anything. At least, I don’t think so. God, what if he’s married? Oh, I probably shouldn’t say God’s name in vain in church. Sorry.”
Father gives a deep sigh, and I take that to mean I should hurry up. “Anyway, he’s just... not a good guy. I won’t confess his sins for him, but believe me, he’s committed his fair share.”
Still nothing.
I think he’s waiting for the actual confession part of this thing.
So I say the words I’ve been trying to fight for the last five days. “I told him I don’t want to see him anymore, but I don’t think... I don’t think that’s really true.”
Another hm, this time more thoughtful.
“I keep thinking about him, all the time. Even though I know it’s wrong. He’s like a tumor.”
There’s a huff, like he’s amused.
“I’m worried I’m not a good enough person to say away from him,” I murmur quietly, which is the understatement of the century.
I know I’m not, which is why I’m here.
I’m pre-confessing, because if the way Azriel’s been on my mind the past couple of days is any indication, it’s only a matter of time before I get desperate enough to call him and tell him his... occupation doesn’t change things.
There’s a bit of a pause, like he doesn’t know how to reply, and then for the first time, I get an actual response. In a very thick, very German accent, the... priest? replies, “His sins are not yours.”
He’s taking the stance opposite of what I thought he would, but that’s a good point. Good enough I don’t bother asking myself why a German priest is in an Italian church.
“True, but if I stay with him, aren’t I condoning them? Don’t they become mine?”
“His sins are not yours,” he repeats.
Helpful.
I’m about to ask for a little bit of actual advice when he asks, “Do you regret it?”
“No,” I answer almost immediately, knowing that no matter how much I hate what Azriel does, I could never regret the time I spent with him.
He’s silent, probably thinking of my punishment for being such a scheming harlot.
I’ll likely have to do a million hail Mary’s once this conversation is over.
But instead of telling me I’m going to hell, he surprises me by asking, “So you plan to sleep with him again?”
There was something familiar about the tone of his voice, but I don’t know anyone German, so I don’t ponder it for long. His question doesn’t require pondering, either.
“No,” I answered with fake certainty, even though the thought of never having Azriel’s calloused hands all over me makes me unspeakably sad.
“Are you sure? Forgiveness from the Lord requires... repentance.”
I sigh at that, hesitating even though I shouldn’t. “I’m sure. No matter how much I want to or think about it, I can’t.”
“I think you should.”
My mouth drops open, not only because the words he just said or the sudden disappearance of his accent, but because the screen separating me from the man on the other side of the confessional drops, revealing the bane of all my problems.
Azriel sticks a cigarette between his full lips, lights it casually, and smiles the devil’s smile.
God help yall this shit was a rollercoaster to write
________________________________________________
~Elain~
For a second, no one breathes, let alone moves.
Azriel’s hands are steady as he grips the gun, body lined with tension, eyes so cold I shiver. The barrel’s close enough that if I leaned forward an inch, it’d brush my forehead.
The man next to him holds a cigarette halfway to his mouth, looking at me like he’s never seen a woman before and has absolutely no idea what to do.
And me? I’m frozen in place, horror rushing through my veins and mixing with the shock to create a nauseating cocktail I’m not sure I’ll survive.
It’s the brutalized man in the chair slumping over and hitting the floor with a loud thud that finally snaps us out of our momentary haze.
Azriel blinks and throws the gun to the side so hard it makes a dent in the wall, the stranger drops his cigarette and reaches for me, and I sprint like my fucking life depends on it. Because at this point, I’m pretty sure it might.
What the hell did I walk into?
I race up the stairs toward the garage, where less than a minute ago, I’d heard Azriel’s voice and gone to surprise him. By the look on his face when he turned around, I’d at least succeeded in that.
I can practically feelthe man behind me, can tell he’s reaching a hand out to grab me.
I’ve never been a violent person in my life, but with the amount of adrenaline coursing through me, I don’t even question the urge to use the wine bottle in my hands as a weapon.
It breaks over the man’s head, but unlike in the movies, he doesn’t go down immediately. However, he does lose his balance enough that with a firm shove to his chest, he goes crashing back down to the hellhole I’m running from.
I make it to the garage and slam the door to the basement closed, locking it for good measure. Then I drag the heavy workbench next to the line of pristine cars over in front of it for even better measure.
I refuse to let myself stop and think, because I’m pretty sure if I do, I’ll break down into a pool of tears and never get up. I’m running on nothing but adrenaline, and I know I’ll crash soon, but I force myself to keep going.
For a moment, I’m tempted to steal one of the cars to get away, but the sound of angry Italian shouts behind the locked door makes me hesitant to waste any more time.
I also definitely don’t have time to call the cab driver that dropped me off and beg him to come back.
The fear and terror don’t give me time to doubt myself as I take my heels off, take off up the driveway, and pray I’m fast enough to escape the devil on my trail.
Lorcan remembered the exact moment he first saw Elide Lochan.
He’d been on his way to his last class of the day, senior year exhaustion weighing heavily on his shoulders, and had looked up from his phone to see her standing at the other end of the hall, talking animatedly to a professor.
She’d been wearing dark slacks and a pale, soft looking sweater that contrasted against the silky black hair hanging down her back. He could tell that even with the heels, she wouldn’t even reach his shoulders, and not a small part of him enjoyed how small she was in comparison to him, even though it also made him feel like a hulking brute.
The same part of him took one look at her and said Yes.
He’d made his way over, planning to totally interrupt her conversation and ask her out, and she’d looked up as she saw him coming, wide brown eyes meeting his.
A rush of heat went through him as she’d tilted her head and took him in from his too-long hair all the way down to the dusty boots he’d never cared to clean.
And then she’d done something that’d been a prominent player in his dreams ever since: she bit her lip.
That goddamn beautiful, blush pink lip that doubled as the most tantalizing thing he’d ever seen.
His imagination had immediately run wild.
He’d wanted to draw that lip into his mouth, nibble on it and soothe the ache with his tongue. Wanted to taste them both as he pushed into her. Wanted to see them wrapped around his cock as she looked up at him with those big, beautiful eyes.
And that was just her lips.
The rest of her was almost too much for him, even in his fantasies.
Full hips; slim thighs that would feel too good parting for him; heavy breasts he wanted to taste.
She was a fucking wet dream. He’d never been so attracted to a woman, much less one he’d never met.
As he’d drawn closer and closer, she’d bid farewell to the professor and turned to him with a wide smile that made him almost trip over his own fucking feet.
And then she’d asked: “English 135?”
His sex-foggy train of thought had come screeching to a halt, and he’d raised a brow. “What?”
She’d nodded toward the classroom they were standing outside of. “English 135. Creative writing. Are you in this class?”
It’d taken him an embarrassing amount of time to realize she was a TA.
And an even more embarrassing amount of time to realize the fact that she was his TA.
Because he was, in fact, enrolled in creative writing.
He’d chosen the class at random since it fulfilled his last general education requirement, and he’d been dreading it all week, but now... now it didn’t seem so bad.
Especially as she looked up at him, the heat in his eyes reflected in her own, and said softly, “Welcome to class.”
can you write a canon rowaelin oneshot where aelin’s pregnant and it’s nighttime so while she’s sleeping, rowan talks to the baby through her stomach and sings a lullaby? and maybe add a scene where aelin’s water breaks and rowan freaks out or something?
It was about two minutes before Aelin’s favorite part of the day.
She could hardly wait, but she had to remember to stay calm and still and everything else someone who was asleep would be.
Luckily, she knew she didn’t snore, so all she had to do was stay quiet and keep her eyes shut.
A small task that became so much harder when--two minutes later, at exactly 10:30 like always--she felt her husband slip into bed next to her.
It’d been getting harder and harder to actually stay awake this late as her pregnancy developed, but she still found herself fighting the fall of her eyelids every night, despite knowing she should sleep.
Cool air kissed her skin briefly as he settled next to her and kissed her cheek. Like she’d done even before getting pregnant, she turned on her side so he could snuggle her from behind and wrap his arms around her.
This was home to her, here in his arms.
Rowan’s head tucked into her neck, and she sighed sleepily, something she didn’t even have to fake.
After a few moments, her husband’s hands began to rub over her stomach lightly.
She was wearing one of his t-shirts, one that barely fit over her anymore, and hadn’t bothered to wash her hair that day, but she’d never felt more beautiful than when he smiled against her neck and started to talk to the child they’d created together.
He silently slipped further down the bed, resting his head on the curve of her hip, but kept himself wrapped around her so she could continue stealing his warmth.
Aelin’s ears strained to hear as he started whispering, but she resisted the temptation to move closer, knowing it would give her away.
“Mommy’s sleeping right now, so we have to be quiet,” he murmured, big hands cradling her even bigger belly. “But soon, we’ll be able to do this in person. You’ll be here by the end of the week, from what they tell us.”
Tears burned in her eyes at the excitement in his voice as he said, “I can’t wait to meet you, Firefly.”
They’d found out they were having a girl two weeks ago, and he’d been ridiculous ever since, buying pink onesies, hanging matching twinkly lights in the nursery, reading a how-to book about raising girls.
But the one thing they hadn’t prepared for was what they were going to name her. They’d argued about it, and then one day he just started referring to their unborn child as Firefly.
It was a nickname that stemmed from him calling her Fireheart, and it made her almost cry every time he said it.
“Your mother’s the most important woman in my life, but you... you’re my baby girl.” She could hear his smile. “You’re going to be just like her. You’ll be strong, and beautiful, and will drive me absolutely crazy.”
Silent tears escaped, even as she remained perfectly still.
“But I can’t wait to see what traits of mine you have, too.” He pressed his lips to her stomach in a feather-light kiss, then whispered, “I love you so much, little Firefly. Now go to sleep.”
Rowan resumed his big-spoon position and pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her to cradle both her and their child.
“That goes for you, too, Fireheart.”
Aelin grinned and snuggled further into him, murmuring, “I love you, Ro.”
He kissed her cheek. “I love you, too.”
~
“Are you serious?”
She nodded.
“You want lemon gelato for lunch?”
Rowan’s brow furrowed, prompting her to ask, “Why not?”
He looked at her like she had two heads. “You hate lemon, babe.”
Aelin groaned, rubbing a hand over her stomach. She’d forgotten about that. “Take it up with her. She’s the one demanding it. Little brat.”
He scowled. “She isn’t a brat. And she can have as much lemon gelato as she wants just as soon as she’s born.”
Her stomach reminded her once again how empty it was.
“Rowan, I swear I’m going to stab you if you don’t go get me something to eat.”
Her husband just smiled. “It’s moments like these when I’m reminded why I agreed to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“A very short life, if you don’t-”
A container of gelato landed on the counter in front of her, along with a spoon.
With narrowed eyes, she checked the label, then demanded, “How did you know?”
He laughed. “You talk in your sleep.”
“Eavesdropper,” she mumbled, ripping into the container and taking a huge mouthful.
See, this is why pregnancy was strange to Aelin. Nine months ago she’d hated lemon, and now this stupid container of gelato was the best thing she’d ever eaten.
“I love you,” she said around a mouthful, grinning when he came to press a kiss to her cheek.
“And now she’s sweet,” he teased, brushing her hair off her forehead.
Then he went tense, and every bone in his body seemed to still as he said seriously, “Aelin. Look down.”
“I can’t see past my belly, dummy. Just pick up whatever I dropped.”
His mouth opened and closed for a few seconds before he spit out, “You... your water broke.”
She leaned over slightly to look at the floor, seeing that there was in fact a wet spot beneath her. “Huh.”
She took another bite of gelato.
“Huh?” he asked incredulously, leaving the kitchen and starting to run around the house. He threw things in the bag he’d affectionately deemed The Baby Bag, yelling at her to get ready.
She rolled her eyes and continued eating, only pausing when Rowan burst into the room and demanded breathlessly, “What are you doing?”
“Eating. Can you hand me the pizza from last night?”
Because who was she to question her daughter’s cravings?
“Aelin, we have to go! You’re in labor.”
Reaching the bottom of the container, she sighed. Why did they make pints so small these days? “I’m aware.”
“So then get in the car!”
Her always calm and collected husband looked about ten seconds away from ripping his own hair out, which made her smile. “Labor lasts hours, Rowan. I assure you, I have time to eat a slice of pizza.”
“I’ll order you a whole, brand new, hot pizza at the hospital.”
She considered this, tapping her chin. “Fine.”
Then she turned and waddled down the hallway to their room.
“Wait!” he called out, coming after her. “What are you doing? The door is the other way.”
“I’m not going to the hospital in a wet dress, Rowan. It’s called standards.” Ignoring his angry little growl, she changed into a clean dress. “Zip me up, please.”
He zipped the dress in a flash, almost ripping it, then grabbed her hand and started pulling her towards the door.
“Wait, I need shoes!”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, green eyes bright with panic. “Babies don’t care if you wear shoes when you birth them.”
“If you think I’m walking across a hospital floor with no shoes on... grab those, will you?” She pointed to a pair of sandals, not feeling like bending down to get them herself.
Rowan roughly put her feet in them, making her frown. “I’m not really appreciating this attitude, you know. You don’t need to manhandle me.”
His jaw was tight from where he was grinding it, but he still sounded perfectly civil as he said back, “I just want to get to the hospital.”
Aelin sighed, patting his shoulder. “It’s been five minutes. We have time.”
He looked a little relieved... until she said casually, “Plus, worst comes to worst, you deliver her in the tub. All doctors really do is stand there and catch the kid.”
His mouth fell open, and the attitude came swooping back in. “I am not birthing this child in our bathtub, woman. Now, you can walk to the car yourself, or I will carry you, but either way we are leaving right the fuck now.”
Rolling her eyes, she turned and slowly made her way to the door, pausing when she came back into the kitchen. “You know, cold pizza actually sounds better-”
Rowan swooped her up, the ten pound bowling ball in her stomach seeming to be no issue, and walked toward the front door.
“Rowan! Put me down, you buzzard!”
He set her in the passenger seat, gripped her chin, and set a serious kiss to her lips. “You’re so sweet.”
Her hands fisted in the hem of her dress. “I don’t want to go yet.”
“You’re going.”
“No!” she exploded, pushing him away and trying to get out of the car. “No, no, no. I can’t go yet, I need more time, I-”
Understanding dawned in his eyes, and he slipped a hand over her mouth to shut her up. “You can do this, Fireheart.”
She was crying, although she wasn’t sure when that had even started.
She shook her head.
“You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met. You can do this. You’re going to be a great mom. I may be freaking out about actually getting to the hospital, but I’m not scared about what follows.”
Aelin gave him disbelieving eyes.
"If I wasn’t sure, one hundred percent positive, that you could do this, then yeah, I’d be scared. But you’re going to do great. I know that, and so do you.”
He took his hand off her mouth, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Sweetheart, you’re great at everything. This won’t be any different.”
That made her smile, even as she rolled her eyes.
“I am pretty amazing,” she agreed softly.
“Yes, you are. But I’d really like to do this in a hospital room instead of our driveway, and you’re probably half-way dilated by now, so-”
It was Aelin’s turn to cover his mouth with her hand. “Let’s go meet Firefly.”
She didn’t even know the name of her child or how the hell they were going to pull this off, but under the steady weight of his gaze, Aelin knew that no matter what, they’d figure it out together.
can you please write more rowaelin? maybe some fluff or this prompt: “i went over to your room because you were blasting music to find you lying in a pile of pillows sobbing and listening to some love song and now i don’t know what to do” but make rowan be secretly in love with her 🤭
Rowan didn’t know why exactly why he couldn’t sleep.
Well, yes he did.
He couldn’t sleep because the obnoxiously loud music coming from the dorm next to his was keeping him awake.
But despite the noise, he should’ve still been able to fall asleep.
He’d run himself ragged at practice today, doing extra laps around the rink, then staying to lift afterward. He’d skipped his morning coffee, even drank a fucking cup of tea an hour ago to “calm” himself, or whatever.
All things that should be able to allow him to ignore the music--and the woman playing it--and fall asleep.
But nope. No such luck.
With anyone else, he’d go over, pound on the door, and demand they shut it off. But with his neighbor... that wasn’t exactly an option.
Because his neighbor was Aelin Galathynius, aka the only woman Rowan had never been able to ignore.
A cheerleader with an obnoxiously addictive personality, she’d burst into his dorm two months ago, asking to borrow his stapler. Didn’t even knock.
He didn’t know if it was her smile, sense of humor, or complete lack of boundaries that drew him to her, but as soon as she stormed in, he was under her spell.
Which was unfortunate, considering she had a boyfriend.
Ever since then, every run in with her was like rubbing sandpaper over a burn.
He was on edge, completely fucking whipped, and unable to do anything about it.
Which is why he couldn’t go over and ask her to turn the music off, which in turn was why he hadn’t slept in two days.
He ran a hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut.
Twenty minutes later, when he was almost out of sanity and completely out of patience, he threw himself off the bed, stormed next door, and knocked hard enough his knuckles would probably bruise.
The music cut off, and he tried to brace himself for her little smirk, bright blue eyes, and body he’d had one too many dreams about, but no amount of preparation would’ve prepared him for what he saw when the door swung open.
Cloudy blue eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, rumpled clothes.
He’d never seen her look anything but put together, and his chest clenched in response to seeing her upset.
“Are you okay?” he asked, immediately forgetting the reason he’d come over at the sight of her tears.
She nodded, putting on a decent show of acting unaffected. “I’m fine. Need to borrow my stapler or something?”
He didn’t laugh at the poor attempt at a joke, too concerned. “Aelin, you can talk to me. What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, messy blonde hair falling in her face. “It’s stupid.”
Rowan leaned a shoulder on the doorframe and said honestly, “Nothing you could say would ever sound stupid to me. I promise.”
If she was this upset, he damn sure wasn’t going to tease her about the cause.
“I dumped Chaol,” she murmured.
His brows shot up, and despite trying to stomp it out, hope bloomed in his chest.
She’s crying, you jackass.
And even though he shouldn’t, even though it would just make him more in love with her, he knew he couldn’t leave her like this.
“Come with me.”
Grabbing her hand, he pulled her outside and closed her door behind her, leading her into his dorm.
They lived in the athletic dorms, meaning they both had their own rooms, but he didn’t want her to be alone, and he didn’t want to invite himself in her place.
He gestured for her to sit on the couch, then sat as far away as possible.
“Pizza?” he offered, opening the box he’d ordered earlier for dinner.
Aelin shrugged, taking a slice. She took in the hockey posters, game set, and bare-minimum décor, snickering. “You are such a guy.”
“I’m aware,” he laughed, frequently catching shit from his friends about how stereotypical he was. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She shook her head, even as she pulled her legs underneath her and got comfortable.
“Do you want me to beat the shit out of him?”
She grinned. “No, but thank you for the offer. He didn’t do anything. I just... don’t love him anymore.”
Rowan asked, “Then why are you upset?”
“I don’t know,” she groaned, taking a bite of pizza. “We were just together for so long, you know?”
He didn’t, but he nodded in agreement anyway.
“He was such a big part of my life, and now I feel like he won’t ever speak to me again. It’s why I waited to break things off. I knew he’d push me away.” She played with the hem of her sleep shirt. “I’m sad about losing a friend, not a boyfriend.”
That, he understood.
“When I was in high school, I moved all the time because my dad was in the military. I felt like I lost friends all the time. But my mom always said friendships are cyclical. People leave your life, others come in. You’re never alone.”
A tear fell down her cheek, and she brushed it away with a sniffle. “Yeah, but he was my best friend.”
Rowan’s heart hurt at how small her voice sounded. “I don’t know anything about the guy, but I can tell you one thing.”
She looked up from her lap and raised a brow.
“If he never talks to you again, he’s a fucking idiot, and he didn’t deserve you in the first place.”
The corner of her lips turn up. “What do you know? You avoid me like the plague.”
Fuck. He didn’t think she’d noticed.
He felt the tip of his ears go hot, so he ducked his head and mumbled, “I don’t avoid you. I’m just busy.”
“Mmhm,” she mumbled unbelievingly, finishing off her slice of pizza.
There was still a bit of lingering silence in her shoulders, so he offered up another piece of his heart. “Even though I don’t see you a lot, Aelin, I can tell you you’d be hard to forget.”
She looked at him, eyes going a bit misty again. “Thanks, Ro.”
His chest warmed at the nickname, even as he shrugged in answer. He needed to do something to clear the air, so he grabbed an X-box controller and tossed it to her. “Call of Duty or Grand Theft Auto?”
Aelin smiled, and it looked genuine enough he finally relaxed. “Call of Duty. I’m going to kick your ass, Whitehorn.”
“No,” I emphasize, shaking my head to further get the point across. “I’m not getting on that thing!”
Azriel tilts his head, still leaning against the motorcycle with casual arrogance and twinkling hazel eyes. “It’s perfectly safe. And we both know you love to ride.”
My face heats at that little joke, but I hold firm in my convictions. “Can’t we just walk?”
We’re going to a beach on his recommendation, but apparently, the one right behind us isn’t good enough. “No.”
“Okay, then why don’t we take the bus?”
He looks at me like I just suggested we crawl all the way their on our hands and knees. “No.”
He offers no other option, just looks at me and waits patiently.
“Don’t you trust me, dolcezza mia?” he purrs, sliding his hands in the pocket of his dark jeans and smiling.
The walls of my refusal start to crumble, because I’m such a sucker for that smile. I’m starting to think he knows it, too.
“I’m in a dress,” I point out weakly.
“With a swimsuit underneath.”
I try again. “My hair will get tangled.”
Azriel sighs like he’s over my shit, lips twitching. “You and I both know you’re dying to put a scarf over it like one of those cliché movies you love so much.”
Thelma and Louise is my favorite movie...
And he does look criminally handsome leaning against the motorcycle, dressed in black like always, sunglasses low on his nose.
An image pops into my mind of me, riding behind him with the sea a landscape behind us, scarf and red lipstick on, the sun high in the sky.
I purse my lips, and because he can tell he’s winning me over, his eyes turn amused and victorious.
What cements the deal is him saying, “I’d never let anything happen to you, Elain.”
His voice is so serious and deep, it sounds like he’s making a solemn vow to me. So I give in.
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