Cregan Stark loves his spoiled, pampered, heavily pregnant wife
cregan stark x wife!reader
cw: (mdni+18), fluff fluff fluff, pregnancy, lactation, banter, crack, cregan is obsessed with his wife, fondling, breast play, slight dirty talk, (2.5kw).
“I curse you.”
Cregan didn’t even lift his head at the words, the only tell that he had heard his wife being the slight twitch at the corner of his lips as he continued to glide ink on paper.
He could hear you waddling, huffing, and puffing up a storm as you closed the door to his solar, making as much noise as possible to draw him to pay attention to you, no matter how much work he had to do.
And who was Cregan Stark if not a mere supplicant to all and any of his wife’s whims?
“Curse me?” He spoke, lifting his eyes towards you, the curl of his lips deepening into amusement as he observed how endearing you looked, heavily pregnant and shooting daggers his way. “To what possible end, my love? You had but seen me for the first time today.” Cregan said, arching one bushy brow, leaning back in his mahogany chair to get a better view of his beloved treasure of the North. “What have I done to earn such a harsh punishment?”
You scowled, stepping closer, your gait more akin to a mother duck than anything else, making warmth bloom in Cregan’s chest, letting his eyes sweep over you from the soles of your feet to the top of your head, taking you in, gorging on the sight of his pretty wife, all plump and heavy with his babe. He will never cease to pray to all the Northern Gods for this blessing, dropping to his knees in front of the weirwood tree, forehead pressed to the cold ground as he thanked them profusely for letting him cast his gaze upon such divinity.
“You have done plenty,” you scoffed, scrunching your nose in his direction. The closer you got to his desk, the more the resemblance between you and a disgruntled kitten became more and more apparent, making him hum. “My feet ache, my belly is too big, I’ve eaten a dozen lemon cakes in one sitting, and I can barely walk.”
Cregan pressed his lips together to suppress a splitting grin, way too amused and enamored with his crimes that he had apparently had a hand in, unbeknownst to him. How can a man like him even dare to stand there and not be swiftly punished for such wrongdoings? Other men were beheaded for less.
“Are all those ailments my doing?” He asked, feigning innocence as he waited for you to approach, letting you decide whether you wanted him near or not right now. “How could I have been such a cruel husband, hm?” Cregan continued, fingers twitching with the need to touch, to pull, to hold, but he relented, knowing the wrong move could earn him an even grumpier wife, and that is not what he wished for at the moment.
“Utterly cruel,” you affirmed, lip curling, baring your teeth at him as you stopped next to his chair, your pregnant belly brushing his arm, making his breath hitch, the wonder of such a miracle never quite ceasing. “You brought this upon me.” Your lips pursed into a pout, indignant and fussy as you continued. “If you weren’t so relentless in giving me your seed, I would’ve never resembled a thousand-pound duckling right now.”
Thousand-pound duckling.
Cregan couldn’t stop the huff of amusement that slipped past his lips even if he tried.
Smack.
“You dare laugh?” You gasped, affronted and utterly offended that your husband was finding your grievances even remotely entertaining, hand making contact with his broad shoulder again and again.
It truly only served to heighten his grin even more, eyes crinkling at the edges for a few moments as he let you hit him to your heart’s content, the slaps no more than a kitten batting its paws at a great wolf, Cregan cataloguing them more as pets than anything that could bring any harm.
“I laugh,” he started, tone woven with amusement, but achingly fond now as he watched you, lifting one hand to clasp yours, bringing it to his mouth to press a soft kiss onto the back of it, halting your fussing. “Because my wife is being ridiculous,” and he could already sense the protest on your tongue at his words, so he was quick to preempt that by continuing, turning your palm to press his lips to the inside of it now. “And she does not look like a thousand-pound duckling, but the most beautiful woman I, and the Seven Kingdoms have ever seen.”
You huffed, your scowl lessening.
Watching you melt gradually from his words was always one of Cregan’s joys in life, chest puffing with pride in being able to will his irritable wife into mellowness, that pretty face of yours warming whenever he “had the nerve,” as you often say, to be tender to you.
“You’re only saying that to appease me,” you protested, but moved closer, nudging him with your knee, indicating that you wished to be closer, to be tended to. A silent demand that your husband knew as well as breathing.
Cregan’s chair screeched quietly onto the hard floor as he made space for you in front of him, broad thighs parting to coax you near. He patted one meaty leg with his palm, head tilting as he watched you, lips softening at the corners, amusement bleeding into fondness. “Come here, to your husband, sweetling.”
“Are you certain you can hold the weight of me, husband?” You challenged, even as you stepped into his space. “Perhaps I am too hefty, even for you.”
Utter nonsense, Cregan thought. He knew you knew how strong he was. How easy it would be for him to hold you and not break a sweat while doing so. As if he doesn’t train and work himself to the bone whenever he is allowed a moment from the droning of courtiers to hone the muscles you secretly favour. Cregan could carry you in his arms through Winterfell’s walls for a handful of hours, he wagers, before the need to stop and take a breather would catch up to him.
“Hm, you reckon?” He rumbled, his hands finding purchase on your hips, smoothing over the flowy material of your dress. Gods, he loved the garments you’ve been adorning as of late—warm colors, soft fabrics, all cascading in rivulets down your soft, lush body. He had given word for more of such dresses to the seamstresses, without your knowledge. You didn’t have to know of his plans yet. Nor were you aware of how he made sure the hearths were lit periodically in every room you frequented, so the need for more than a cloak over your soft silks, satins, and linens was not necessary. It would’ve obstructed his view of you.
You squirmed just a bit, just enough to show resistance, even when he could feel you melting like honey in his grasp as he slowly turned you around, your back to his chest, seating you right onto his lap with a pleased, content groan. The solid weight of you, of the babe you were carrying, leaning back against him, trusting him to hold it all, made something pleased and animal bloom into his chest. If he were any more wolf in anything but sigil and tradition, he was sure he would’ve purred like a content beast right now.
“There you go,” Cregan said, broad palms using their grip onto your soft hips to hike you up higher until you were flush against him from hips to shoulders. “My pretty wife,” he murmured, leaning in to nose at your throat with a satisfied sigh, inhaling the scent of your bath oils, milk and you. “Smelling like a treat here on my lap.”
Cregan knows you would taste even better, but the time for that is not now. He loves to savour you most later in the night, when he has you all pliant and drowsy next to him, bundled up in the furs and pelts from his latest hunts, huffing and whining about all the pains and aches that plague you. And it is your husband’s duty to mend them with his tongue, hands and cock, in any way his lovely wife sees fit.
“I do not feel like a treat,” comes your response, leaning your head back against his shoulder as you grumble. “And it is your doing.”
Ah, of course. Anything that ails you is always Cregan’s demerit, be it truth or fib.
“Apologies, sweet wife,” he whispers against the warm skin of your neck, nuzzling there as a hound would its owner for clemency after being scolded. “How shall I repent for my wrongs at present, pray tell? I am yours to command, as always.”
Truth be told, Cregan could provoke you, could throw your whining and complaining back at you, as he often did, but he had found himself powerless to do such a thing in the moons since you have been with child. How could he muster even a modicum of bravado against the woman who now carried their babe? His heir. His little pup, as Cregan often called them, to your dismay, even tho he knew you did not mind the moniker in the slightest, especially when he was kissing all over the taut skin of your belly in the soft light of mornings, whispering sweet nothings to your stomach, as if the babe could hear him.
"Let me, my love." His broad palms smooth up from your hips, just enough to cradle the bottom of your pregnant, heavy belly and lift, supporting some of the weight himself, holding steady and firm. “There you go.”
The relief is instant.
You melt back into him with a soft sigh, as if a great burden has been taken from you, being gifted a moment of relaxation, where your husband was bearing the heavy load of your unborn babe. He had done this countless times since the nearing of your term, only more than a moon away until you were to be surrounded by midwives and maesters.
“It is a boulder,” you fuss, but your eyes flutter in delight, the ache in your back easing the more Cregan bears the brunt of your belly. “One I shall never have to haul around again, Gods be good.”
He hums at your words, knowing them not to be entirely founded, for he knows you are quite fond of the idea of having more than one set of little legs running around Winterfell in the years to come, but he keeps the quip to himself, mindful of your repose.
“I cannot abide by having to change my garments every few hours because I’m dripping milk like cattle.”
Dripping milk.
Cregan freezes for a moment before tipping his chin onto your shoulder to peer down your chest, and truth be told, there they were, your words sounding truthful.
Pebbled nipples peeking through damp material, where milk had stained the fabric, your heavy breasts full of milk, ready to nurture the future babe.
Your husband’s breath caught at the sight, tongue unconsciously poking out to wet his lips, as if wanting to taste the patches of wet silk and suck them into his mouth so he could relish the flavour of your nourishment.
“My poor, sweet wife,” Cregan crooned, one palm still supporting your pregnant belly, while the other slowly travelled upwards, caressing the soft fabric of your dress, until he could cup one full breast, making you huff. “So full of milk already,” he continued, thumb brushing over the damp peak of your nipple through the silk, eliciting a breathier sound this time, which made him hum. “Ready to feed our babe.”
He expected you to squirm, to fuss again at him, but you arched into his touch, limbs melting onto his lap, as if his touches were the flame to melt wax onto paper, willing you pliant and malleable.
“They ache,” you complained, pushing your chest into his palm, urging him to aid you in your grievance, as any husband should. “They’re too full.”
“Too full?” came your husband’s voice, lower, more gruff, as if your words had affected him more than he wished to admit. “And no one to suckle on these pretty tits yet, isn’t it?” He said, palm shifting, covering your breast fully, fingers dimpling the clothes’ softness as he squeezed gently, fondling the lushness slowly.
Again and again and again.
You didn’t mind the rhythmic press of his palm; on the contrary, you relished it, each one accompanied by one of those sweet sighs of content that Cregan drank in like the finest Arbour gold.
With each squeeze, the material of your dress dampened, your husband drawing out more and more milk, wetting both your dress and his palm. He groaned at the feeling, fingers dimpling the flesh harder, but never enough to hurt. “Gods, sweetling, you’re leaking everywhere,” he rumbled, pupils blown wide as he watched the way the silk darkened as more and more sweetness dripped from your pebbled nipples. “Makin’ me want to suckle at it like a babe.”
You gasped, one of your hands lifting to swat at the one he had around your breast, which only made him squeeze more. “Don’t be dissolute!” You reprimanded, but did nothing else to stop his fondling, weaving your fingers through his against your heaving tit, aiding him as you continued. “Just keep going.”
Cregan groaned, tilting his head to the side to nuzzle into the crook of your neck, the scent of sweet, warm milk already permeating the air around you, making him dizzy with the need to dip his head low and mouth at you until you couldn’t resist any more. “You’re a cruel woman,” he rasped, mouth parting, tongue poking out, as if tasting the air would suffice, as if that would even come close to having your milk on his palate. “All lush and ripe like a summer peach, sitting on my lap, dripping all over me,” he growled, feeling his palm dampen more with each squeeze. “And not letting me put my mouth on you.”
It was torture to sit there and not take what he wanted, but he knew that you’d give in soon. Only a matter of time until Cregan would crawl over you, tugging down at your neckline to slobber and mouth at your milk-heavy tits until he was drunk on the taste and you were pliant and lax under him, mewling and squirming.
And probably offering him your other breast to suckle at as well, if you were in good spirits, and he prayed dutifully to the Gods that day.
bitches be like "i love writing fanfiction" and then constantly second guess themselves because what if they're not good enough what if it's cringe what if no one likes it what if people laugh when they see it what if i mischaracterized someone what if i didn't tag it properly what if what if
Hi I am so looking forward to your THE RAVENS DESIRE series!! I was just curious if the chapters were dropping later, or if there is an issue with the master list post, as none of them are clickable? I think you had to repost it due to a flag issue so want to make sure I’m not missing anything! TY and cannot wait for a down bad Aemond!! 👏😌
hello!!! the chapters are to come out later, for i have not written them yet and am experiencing the worst writers block ever😔 thank you for your support, and i am also so excited for down bad aemond!!!
if there was ever a procedure to inflict inspiration upon your brain, i’d get it over and over again because trying to write this chapter right now is almost like getting lobotomized fifty times in a row
not anonymous, but... i just want to say i'm sending this to the loveliest girl, hope your day is going well, my darling nat 💓💓💓💓!!!
oh theia🥹🥹🥹 you never fail to make me sob pure tears of joy when you come into my inbox!!! my day is going good, just struggling through writing for a series i have planned for ao3… the pressure of being your best yet hating what you write is a curse, and i yearn for it to go away😔 sending all my love and hugs to the loveliest girl i know, which is you my dear💗🫂 mwah mwah mwah 💋
Benjamin Evan Ainsworth is seventeen. Any adult in this fandom even remotely sexualizing him needs to ask themselves why they see a child's face and start lusting. Write an aged-up book Daeron AU if you want to use his storyline, the idea of a Targaryen raised by Hightowers is damn interesting and I might write one myself one day, but let's not use a teen's face while we do it, shall we.
pairing: defense lawyer .ᐟ aemond targaryen x prosecutor .ᐟ reader
summary: you are like a cat and a dog, unable to stand each other's presence. but you can't simply erase each other from your lives. the fact that you prosecute while he defends only fuels your mutual hatred. a chance encounter when the stress of work is crushing you both overshadows the complexity of your cases
word count: 1.3k
tropes: enemies to lovers ⋆ hate to love ⋆ rivals to lovers ⋆ enemies with benefits
warnings: 18+ audiences only ⋆ smut ⋆ sexual tension ⋆ hate sex ⋆ drunk sex ⋆ one night stand
a/n: i just rewatched "the lincoln lawyer" and my brain went crazy. i've had this headcanon for a long time that the hightower family is deeply connected to the law, and aemond would follow in their footsteps and become a lawyer. so yeah, as soon as the film ended i quickly typed this out in my notes, i hope you like it
You and Aemond hate each other, as is fitting for your professions. He is a defense lawyer and you are a prosecutor. You fight for opposite sides.
You clutch the folder with photographs nervously. You can't help but curse that bastard every single time. Aemond is slippery. He speaks with such oratory skill that the jury stares at him with their mouths open. His arguments are always sharp and demanding. He presses the witness hard, and you can't help but feel a strange thrill listening to his deep voice echoing through the courtroom.
You don't greet each other when you pass by. The corner of Aemond's lips twitches upward and he lets out a quiet hum when he sees you lift your chin. You would bump his shoulder if you could, but you hold back. It's shameful how you lose your composure around that damn lawyer.
You wanted to be ruthless as always, but as soon as you learned that your case was also his case, you fell into something close to despair. Aemond kept score, as cynical as that sounds. He clicked his tongue, making a sharp sound. Small wrinkles gathered at the corners of his eyes from pleasure. The Targaryen stepped so close, brazenly invading your space. He always leaned on something, as if he didn't know what to do with his hands. His palm would end up dangerously close to your body. "I won again, sweetheart," he almost sang with smugness. It would cost you nothing to grab the edge of his tie and wrap it around his throat. Or better yet, stand on his toes with your sharp lacquered stilettos. You did none of those things, because if you lost control, you would need a lawyer yourself.
You hated him with an inhuman intensity because he made you look like a fool in front of everyone. You wondered if he was like this with everyone or if he only tried to crush you in the most merciless way. Only to you he said, "this will be easy," with an expression as if you were nothing.
But worse was when Aemond tried to be kind to you. On your birthday, he said your dress was cute. You thought you were dreaming, but the Targaryen looked so friendly. You almost died of embarrassment because your colleagues heard it and later teased you about it. What irritated you most was that this scoundrel needed to be in your life so much, constantly reminding you of his existence.
One day he saw you at a bar. It was a difficult case, with little evidence, but every fiber of your being told you that the defendant was guilty. Almost a hopeless case. That guy was a notorious liar and had already won over the jury. Even the judge dismissed your objections with skepticism. A lost case wasn't a tragedy for you when you knew the person behind bars wasn't innocent. But when the opposite happened, you lost all peace of mind. Your sense of justice wouldn't let you just move on and forget that a criminal was walking free.
Aemond wasn't handling that case. He seemed to have his own complicated and tangled case at the time. You tensed when you saw him sit down next to you. It wasn't the best bar, some forgotten dive, and you came there because you wanted silence and solitude. Aemond didn't say hello. He looked unusually cautious, only occasionally throwing you random glances. The soft light fell on his silhouette, making him painfully beautiful. His lips, finely outlined, didn't spit out venomous words.
"Enjoy it while you can, or why are you here?" you took a defensive stance, shifting awkwardly on the bar stool.
"I came for a drink."
"It doesn't seem like you like places like this."
"The places I like tend to attract people I don't want to see right now."
You chuckled quietly. "I don't think I'm on that list. Looks like you picked a pretty bad spot."
The alcohol in your veins was making itself known. You grew bolder, and all your irritation poured out onto Aemond.
"You'd do better to work as hard as you attack me. Lose another case and what? You should be used to it by now." The Targaryen snapped back, and you kicked his leg with yours. Your eyes burned with indignation. There was nothing you needed less right now than his company. It was so outrageously unfair.
"How primitive. You can't come up with anything better than kicking me with your foot, hmm?" Aemond perked up, turning into the most typical version of himself. You wanted to jump off the stool and leave, but he held you back, wrapping his arm around your waist lightly. What affected you much more was the way his hand gently circled your body. He had never allowed himself that before.
"Stay. You were here first. I can leave." You placed your hand over his without knowing why and shook your head. "Stay. Just shut up for once."
Your head was splitting with pain. The alcohol you had consumed in generous amounts wasn't the best quality. It took you a few minutes to realize you were lying in someone else's bed. You never had silk sheets on your own bed. But the man lying on your chest, hugging your waist stickily and insistently, seemed to have them. Aemond's silver hair was loose and spread across the bed. He usually kept it in a ponytail, so the sight left you with a strange, tender feeling. He held you tightly, so you couldn't just escape, throw on your clothes, and pretend you hadn't drunkenly fucked the person you would gladly send to hell.
Worse still, you remembered everything. How you sat in awkward silence at that damn bar, and then he started complaining about his case. He relaxed and became a little more expressive. You joined the conversation. The heat grew, and you both shared things that people in your positions normally wouldn't. You were still keeping secrets that shouldn't leave the boundaries set by you and your client. Perhaps exhaustion overwhelmed you. When you finished your tirade, Aemond could think of nothing better than to press his lips to yours roughly.
Already in the taxi, Aemond pulled off your panties, and you think they stayed on the back seat. He kissed you wildly, leaving pink marks on your skin. He bit your fingers when you tried to cover his mouth with your hand. Despite the alcohol, you still felt terribly awkward in front of the driver, who had become an unwilling witness to your passion.
But once you were in Aemond's apartment, you held nothing back. You were afraid that if you backed down, you would never get another chance to bring that bastard down. Literally, because you ended up on top of him in the hallway, on the doormat if you remembered correctly. Clothes lay in an indistinguishable heap around you, and your moans, fueled by alcohol, were unrestrained and loud. You lowered yourself onto him with force, as if each time you were driving the word "hate" into him. You came first and decided he didn't deserve his orgasm at all. You rolled off him, but couldn't get up. Your legs wouldn't hold you. Aemond cursed quietly, and for some reason, it made you so amused to see him so pathetic that you laughed out loud. Then you disappeared again as soon as you caught your breath. The bed creaked under your bodies as if begging you to end this torture. How many times he fucked you or you fucked him, it was hard to say. He fell asleep with his cheek pressed to your chest like a damn kitten. Neither of you had any strength left. You fell asleep as soon as you closed your eyes.
You sighed loudly. You still hated him, and now perhaps even more.
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I wonder how ramsay would react to reader going quiet after a bad day... Would he push her to her limits orr perhaps provide distractions such as himself 👀 or perhaps both you know you can never truly guess his next move!
tysm for the ask <33 sorry it took me so long!!
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ cw: mdni 18+ wife!reader dark themes he is generally awful mentions of graphic violence arranged marriage hurt/comfort? reader is kinda into him
ramsay loves reactions. he lives off of emotions, sucks them out dry, using any possible way to feed on his prey. ramsay loves being feared, loves being adored, loves being hated. any strong reaction pleases him, for him, there is no big difference between obedience caused by utter terror and a voluntary wish to please him out if affection.
he also gets bored rather quickly. and when ramsay gets bored, people get hurt. so naturally, he isn’t that happy that his precious suddenly lost her voice. his initial reaction depends solely on the mood he is currently in, driven by the impulses of his dark heart, he can either spare you or make sure you scream for him a little more. just out of spite.
it is quite simple really, he is like a spoiled child, constantly demands your attention. any kind of attention. in his world, silence means loss of control, because if you are not reacting that means he doesn’t have enough power over you anymore. he prefers you yelling at him, crying, screaming and throwing things, than you not talking to him. but if its not him, if something or someone else is the reason of your change in the mood? well, that’s a different story entirely…
ramsay stills in the doorway, not out of politeness, out of curiosity. watching you, back turned to him, gaze fixed on something far out of the window.
“thinking of running away, my lady?” he asked teasingly, stepping into the room. you didn’t flinch, didn’t even turn your head. calm, cold and silent. boring.
he rolled his eyes at your silence, slowly circling your sitting form. “what is it?” ramsay studied your face carefully, the way you didn’t even look at him. “is that because of the guard? was the cutting his hands off too much for you?” silence. “no?”
ramsay stopped exactly in front of you, blocking the view of the window with his body, so you have no choice but to, but to look at him. “you know you shouldn’t keep secrets from your husband, my love.” his hand grazed your cheek gently. “it’s not good for our marriage.” he tilted your chin up with his finger. “is it the stupid maid? are you still upset about… our little game?”
you shook your head, eyes glassy and turned away from him completely, leaving him in stunned silence and utter confusion. “my precious… you know i have a certain soft spot for you,” he turned your head back to face him, hand cupping your jaw firmly. “but it isn’t infinite. do you understand?”
you nodded, making ramsay scoff at your non verbal response again. “then use your words.” he squatted down to be on the same eye level with you “talk.”
and then you tell him. if it’s him, who upset you, he will most likely brush off what you said, calling you too delicate for the north, wrapping his teasing with mock affection and sweet patronising words. if it’s not him, well, gods help the person who dared to hurt the feelings of his precious lady wife, because someone upsetting you, is a direct insult to him. ramsay is very territorial and he prefers being the only person, who occupies your full attention and have influence over your mood. it’s not protectiveness in it’s normal sense, more like jealousy. jealousy and fury that someone out there dared to taint something that belongs to him and only him.
assuming he values you in some way and enjoys your presence, ramsay would be very not happy having ‘threats to your marriage’ come from the outside. if he wanted his darling pet silent and broken, he would have done it himself. so he will poke, almost carefully at first, asking who? and when? ready to walk out of the door and deal with the problem right in the moment, hoping that would fix your rigid state. he will deal with the thing that upset you effectively and probably painfully, but you don’t have to busy your pretty head with such things, right?
if you are still cold and somewhat distant, he will try to draw a reaction. any kind of reaction will do but he uses the one that has proven success the most. seduction.
“still pouting?” his fingers trail down your neck to your collarbones. “didn’t i solve all your problems, my love?” hot breath fanning your throat. “or spilled blood isn’t enough for my precious bird to be satisfied, hm?”
ramsay pulls you into his lap, holding your hips firmly, hand teasingly going up and down your inner thigh. “do you need something else, perhaps?” wet kiss to your pulse point. “cmon, sweetheart, you can tell me, you can tell your husband.” his mouth finds yours in a soft kiss that feels wrong and mocking coming from him, fingers rubbing you through your smallclothes. “tell me,” he murmurs, trailing quick kisses down to your shoulder. “how do you want your lord to make you feel better?
MODERN!AERION who’s the thorn in his families side. the bad seed that’s imbedded too deep to dig out. maekar detests him, the embodiment of targaryen madness. he tries his best to see his sons good sides, yet aerion shows time and time again that he’s too far gone. too deluded to be anything but the psychotic maniac that he is.
MODERN!AERION who has no luck in finding a girl to call his. he’s rude, abrasive, and kicks girls out before they can even warm his bed. it’s not long before his reputation is spread throughout kings landing, and it’s much quicker for girls to scatter away from him like he has the black plague.
SHY!READER who is new to the city, coming from some small town in the reach that coddled her with a warm hand. she has scarce friends to warn her about the prowling beast that sniffs out innocent blood like a hound, already coming towards her with salivating lips and bad intentions.
MODERN!AERION who easily weasels his way into your heart, blinding you with a thinly veiled sense of love and security. in his head, he thinks he’s changing, yet his rotten behaviour is still somewhere underneath, ready to seep out of his pores like poison ivy and wrap around you with thorny teeth.
MODERN!AERION who parades you around his family like a won trophy, smirking at maekar’s shocked face and bragging to daeron that he has the best girl in the world. some would think he’s doing this out of love, but it’s purely possession, something that aerion can keep on a tight leash.
SHY!READER who doesn’t see aerion’s faults until it’s too late. she’s been spending most of her time with him, still too afraid to get out and make friends in the city. when she finally does, aerion’s jealousy starts bleeding into the relationship, his fervent need to control you blinding his senses as you start going out to bars and restaurants with your new companions.
MODERN!AERION whose cruel words cut like a blade, knocking you down and making you feel worthless. he calls you classless, a silly farm girl who’s chomping at the bit to get a taste of city life. he guilt trips you into not going out, starting to isolate you from the little friends you have.
MODERN!AERION who forces you to have your location on for him 24/7, coddling you because he just loves you so much, and he needs to know if you’re safe.
SHY!READER who breaks down in front of daeron one family gathering, crying about how she doesn’t know how to escape aerion’s tight clutches. daeron is drunk, but he still understands his brothers cruelty, sympathizing with the poor girl who thought she found a prince, when in reality she found a craven
MODERN!AERION who walks in on reader confessing her fears to daeron, anger simmering in his blood and boiling over with a hot precision. he drags her away and out the front door, rambling the whole car ride back to their apartment that she’s a greedy whore who wants to fuck with him and get with his brother.
MODERN!AERION who somewhat sees it coming when you leave him, sneaking away in the night and moving back to the reach. this is a cycle for him; seduce a girl, show his true colours, and then they run. he’s mad at first, but then he realizes that there’s plenty of fresh meat out there, and that one single girl doesn’t matter. he won’t admit it, but you meant something to him, and the hole you left in his heart will linger for years.
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