Decided to reread “How to win my husband over” from season 2 (ch58). I’ve always been very normal about Izek, but now I’m even MORE normal about him after this.
Help I Reincarnated as the Female Lead’s Sister-in-Law!
Story Masterlist
Chapter 12
‘Slight’ Yandere! Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader
Arranged marriage AU
WARNINGS: consumption of alcohol, Reader gets drunk, mention of self-harm (wanting to bite thumb, along with wanting to make herself pass out via smashing her head), probably near panic attack(s), one (1) tiny undescriptive vomit scene, kind of implied death threat/threat(s) in general (?), slight obsessive and possessive themes, overall slight yandere themes, toxic relationship/marriage, underage drinking (Zac, but it’s only a small sip, and depending on where you live, the reader too. However, considering Roxana drinks at 19 at Yggdrasil, I’m assuming that in the story the legal age is 18).
Not exactly NSFW warnings: encouraging implied non-con
NOTE: if he’s completely out of character, just pretend Dion’s sleep deprivation is finally catching up to him. That or he’s slowly losing it.
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS ACTIONS AND/OR BEHAVIORS THAT MAY TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANIZED AS THEY ARE BOTH EXTREMELY DANGEROUS AND TOXIC.
MINORS/BLANK BLOGS/BLOGS THAT DO NOT INTERACT OR REBLOG ANYTHING FANDOM RELATED (FICW, ART, ETC.) DNI
= = =
The walk to the dining room feels like a death march. Every step makes your legs grow weaker, knees throbbing harder. The echo of your heels sets your nerves on fire, imagining it getting louder and louder as you run away, until you reach the front doors, out of breath. But, of course, you would only get lost in this maze-like structure. And if you somehow manage to reach the front door, you would be killed on sight.
That much is obvious.
The truth of the fact only makes you crave to bite your thumb. Almost giving in until you see Hana shake her head ‘no’ once she notices. You feel like a child.
You wish you were back in the room with Anne and Charis. To hear them gush over ‘girly’ things while Hana scolds them for not doing their job.
You wish you were home.
Your mouth is shut tight, shoulders stiff as your head hangs low. Like you were being led to your own execution, Lant giving the order as Dion carried it out. You wouldn’t be surprised if that were to happen, someday. Sooner rather than later.
The black lace at the hem of your dress covers your shoes, barely grazing the floor. The cold air nips at your exposed skin yet you feel hot. Your bun is starting to feel a little too tight, pulling at your scalp despite Hana being extremely careful with it. The neck piece has been choking you, but now it’s suffocating.
You feel light headed.
You’re on the verge of panting, flight-or-fight response knocking on the door of your sanity. Legs stiff, begging you to stay in place before your heart gives out from the stress, you continue on despite the way you’re starting to become dizzy. No, you think, no.
If you faint, it’s all over. If you faint, Dion may become brasher with his advances on making you as crazy as he is. If you faint, Lant might decide you’re not worth the trouble and give you to someone as a toy.
Or hand you back to your parents in a bodybag.
“-lady? My lady?”
“Huh? Wh-what?” Owlishly blinking, your thoughts are driven away at the sound of Hana’s ‘concerned’ voice - you look ahead of you. A single door.* Wait.
No.
This - this -
“This isn’t the dining room, is it, Hana?” It comes out more as a statement rather than a question, a breathless whisper as your entire body becomes rigid. This looks more like a personal room. Important.
“...yes, my lady. It’s where they hold the grand feast.” You think there’s slight guilt in her voice, and the thought does little to ease your nerves. Well, you think, it’s not like she told you you were going to the dining room. Your idiotic self just assumed so. And perhaps, out of pity, Hana didn’t tell you, giving you the illusion of being in an open space and not in a closed off room with two beasts.
…yeah, God really does hate me.
Then you remember that you shouldn't know what the grand feast was - thus, you ask her about it a moment later.
“It takes place once a month. Each month, the siblings are evaluated based on their accomplishments for the month - there are three top spots. Whoever does the best are evaluated highly, making them the most useful to the Agriche family.”
The most useful to Lant.
She continues, “young master Dion is always in first place, Lady Roxana second, and the third place tends to be a different sibling every other month. I heard a rumor that young master Fontaine may be in third place this month.” Once she’s done giving you information about it, you nod your head, hiding the fact you already knew that with a small gulp.
If anyone were to find out you did, your head may roll off your shoulders. After they question you, of course. Torture you too.
Your heart starts to beat faster, the rhythm imprinting itself into your memory. Fingers twitching, you clasp them together, knuckles turning white underneath your gloves - Hana says nothing. Either she didn’t notice or pities you, Dion’s poor little wife.
“I see. Interesting. I didn’t expect any less from those two,” you lifelessly chuckle out, ignoring the odd look Hana gives you. She doesn’t question you, instead knocking on the door before his butler opens it at his orders. You can hear the pulsation of both your blood and heart in your ears. It almost drowns out all other noises.
The creak of the door freezes you in place.
It feels like you’re walking through knee-high mud as you enter the room against your wishes.
Lant is the first one to make eye contact with you. They remind you of a snake, already squeezing you alive as his presence wraps itself around your body, restricting movement and threatening to choke you. You can barely breathe, lungs working overtime just to take in oxygen.
You feel faint.
“Congratulations on joining the Agrich family,” your twisted father-in-law begins as he stands in front of the window. “I heard you’re adapting rather quickly. An accomplishment, all things considered.” His grin spells egotistical as his hands remain in his pockets.
Go kill yourself.
Too much of a coward to say your true thoughts, you give a wavering smile. Keep your head upright. Straighten your back. Feed into his ego.
“Thank you, father-in-law,” you bow, wanting to smash your head against the floor so hard you’ll pass out. “It’s truly an honor to be here - both as your daughter-in-law and as Dion’s wife.” When you lift your head your smile becomes pretty, just as you practiced. But the corners of your lips threaten to fall into a frown. It becomes more painful as the seconds pass.
This alone reminds you that you are not Roxana. Cunning and manipulative - none of which describe you. You’re nothing more than a rabbit about to be torn into by a hungry pack of wolves.
Your skin crawls when he smiles.
“And you already know your place - I knew I made a good choice in choosing you.” His smugness only adds fuel to your fear along with finding the idiotic fool even more detestable. However, Lant is the one in power here, not you. You have to play under and by his rules.
Even if it means bearing a child you might not be able to love.
Freezing fear starts to collide with heated hatred the longer he fuels his self-conceit, marveling over his ‘brilliant’ idea. Yet when he smiles at you again, eyeing you, gaze scanning your entire body, it makes your hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge. Thankfully, there is no lust in those eyes - rather, pending judgement.
He nods his head in approval as your husband keeps his attention on his father. Quickly glancing over at him in his seat, you notice that his eyes don’t hold indifference as they did in the manhwa - no, rather, it was -
“Come sit down; our introduction as true in-laws is long overdue.” At his command you take a seat across from Dion as Lant sits at the end of the table in front of the window. Any thoughts about Dion are driven away as Lant continues to talk.
His voice makes your head hurt and your ears bleed.
“You were one out of three girls I had my sights on. The first one was too haughty and the second wasn’t even allowed to attend public events more often than not - it was hard to gather any information on her.” He picks up his wine glass and takes a sip.
Three girls…? I didn’t know about this… wait, why is he even telling me this -
Oh.
He’s saying I’m replaceable.
The realization hits you like a truck, leaving you a mental mess as you keep - attempt to - appearance. Your hands shake almost violently in their place under the table and on your lap. Sweat starts to pool on the back of your neck as you pat your temples down with a napkin the second the death flag turns his attention to Dion, your husband staring right back - after he takes a glance at you, and you shudder at the look he gives.
You can’t tell what he’s thinking and you’re not sure if you want to. After all, ignorance is bliss.
And it’s that same ignorance that prevents you from seeing how those scarlet eyes soften ever so slightly, unaware of how beautiful he finds you. Well, even if you did, you would just say it’s part of your imagination.
The idea of someone like Dion harboring any romantic feelings towards anyone - yourself included - makes you sick to your stomach. So, therefore, your truth must be the right one.
You miss the way his gaze had darkened when you glanced at the door - your only way of escape from Lant - from him.
Dion switches his attention to his father when he asks him a question.
“So, son? How well is her training going?” The bastard really did see you as nothing other than a pet. The metaphorical leash around your neck tightens. You can basically feel Lant tugging at it.
You wait with baited breath for your husband’s answer - you weren’t exactly… ‘obedient.’ Avoiding him, refusing and rejecting his advances that took place on the second day, ‘talked back’ during the thumb incident, pretending to be asleep the second you heard and felt the bed creak when he ‘woke up’. Unable to act like the ‘perfect wife,’ shivering in fear even when he’s not doing anything, just laying with his back towards you on your shared bed.
Wait, he’s a sadist, you tell yourself. But he’s also a perverted creep. Wanting to touch you despite knowing your dislike for it and -
“She wouldn’t be here if you didn’t approve of her,” is his answer as he takes a sip of his drink. He doesn’t even bother to make eye contact with him while answering. “She would be dead.”
Your mind shatters and heart drops. You’re forced to bite your lip just so you wouldn’t become hysterical with tears. You already expected this interaction to flow in a similar direction.
Even so, it doesn’t stop your anxiety. It only increases it.
So, he really was only keeping you to study how a sane mind breaks. Little by little, he’ll observe you until the day you either become like them or kill yourself. And then what?
The answer is unknown to you. But did they already have it?
Of course they do.
They’re Agriches.
Out of the corner of your eye you see Lant raises an eyebrow only for his face to draw into a disgusting grin. “That’s an interesting answer. But yes, you’re right; the girl wouldn’t be breathing right now if she disappointed me.” They’re talking as though you were not in the same room as them.
No-one has touched their food, only the wine that was already served. You take a sip yourself, holding back the grimace from the bitterness. They don’t notice, lost in their own little world. But the topic - you - doesn’t change.
“Honestly, I wasn’t sure if it was the right time to wed you off - but I’m glad I did now. The younger the better, right?” Chuckling out the last part, your father-in-law leans over to pat your husband’s shoulder and you swore that he twitched just a bit.
The stress must be making you see things.
But then he continues. “Although, I must admit I was surprised when you -”
Another sip as you slowly start to mentally check out, their conversation fading into the background. If you don’t you really will lose your sanity. After some consideration you start to poke at your food before cutting into the steak and taking a bite. Juicy and delicious, the flavor only reminds you of just how filthy rich this family is - how easy it was for them to handcuff you with a shiny pretty little ring.
Neither you nor your husband wear the damn thing, the cursed item still in the deep blue box in some drawer. The first and last time you wore it was when Dion placed it on your ring finger during the ceremony. The memory of it makes you take another bite, hoping that you’ll be distracted by the delicious meal.
A small urge to cut off your left ring finger forms, but you banish the thought away - even for you, that was going too far.
The pieces threaten to choke you as they stumble down your throat, taking another swing of the bitter, red wine to wash it down. You don’t even notice that Dion was starting to eat as well, leaving Lant the only one who wasn’t.
Drinking some more wine to overthrow the sour taste of vomit as you throw up in your mouth, quickly swallowing it down before it threatens to overflow and drip down your chin. Holding back the gag reflex caused by the repulsive taste, a buzz is starting to fill your head. It’s barely there, faint in the background, your hand wrapping around the glass’s stem, swishing the liquid around, studying the color through the transparent glass.
A rich red.
The wine you drank on your eighteenth birthday was sweeter than this. You also didn’t drink much of it, preferring the tea your father gifted you. The memory of placing it on the table, only for Zac to taste the alcoholic drink which made you scold him as soon as you noticed it resurfaces.
The memory contrasts the current situation so vastly. It only reminds you of how fucked you are, toes curling in your heels. It doesn’t hurt as much as it should.
Blinking, you continue on your journey to finish the drink, keeping your mouth busy before you start to beg and beg and beg for the two men to release you peacefully.
Suddenly remembering there was a plate of flavorful food in front of you, you resume eating it.
Your fork and knife clink against the plate, the sound echoing in your ears as the two male voices drown out in the background further. Stabbing the steak with your fork, you fail to notice your husband taking a quick glance at you only for his eyes to land on his father when he addresses him.
Another sip of wine.
Another bite of meat.
The more you eat the more you drink.
The buzz in your head is only starting to get stronger, accepting a refill a servant offers. While he pours it, the voices of Dion and Lant starts to become white noise, their figures slightly blurry but not by much. Lant doesn’t look your away the entire time, praising his son about a mission he completed not too long ago. Since when did the topic change?
It’s becoming harder not to down the drink, vaguely aware of the confused and concerned look from the servant. However, he doesn’t deny you a second refill much less than a third, keeping an eye on your behavior, worried you’ll act out of line. It wasn’t for your safety but rather his - there’s no telling if your father-in-law would blame him for your drunk behavior. And yet, despite knowing this, the worried man still doesn’t deny you the drink that’s only making the buzz get stronger, cheeks feeling hot and a feeling of relaxation you oh so needed.
It’s a miracle you’re able to lift your fork effortlessly and not choke on your meal.
Their conversation is one-sided, with Lant doing all the talking as Dion listens. Quickly, your eyes flicker upwards and across from you, curiosity biting at your fuzzy mind. It’s almost becoming a need to see your husband’s stoic face, slight amusement at the thought of him not caring for and maybe even resentful towards his father.
Only to be met with scarlet.
How pretty.
Your head tilts, pondering why you’re so interesting to him - always catching his attention these days. Yet before being wed to him, you were nothing more than a plain and common flower in the garden; there, playing your role but unnoticeable. Only noticed once in a while when he had to turn his head.
The more you think about it, the more you question it - was it really only to study how your sanity dwindles?
He confuses you.
He scares you.
He annoys you.
Every emotion he stirs from within you is never positive. You wonder just how aware he is of that fact. If he enjoyed it, even.
You blink once. Twice. A third time brings out a small smile - the alcohol has finally run its course, your judgment impaired, nothing but confusement and pity forming for the monstrous man.
Does he know you’re planning on asking Roxana for help to divorce him? To escape from this torturous place and start a new life, not wanting to drag your family further into this mess?
Does he know that his ‘kindness’ is only driving you away? That you’re so sure he’s only keeping you around willingly to see how you bend and break?
Does he know your ‘affection’ will never be earned if some small part of him is also hoping for that?
The longer you smile the more his eyes widen, surprised you were able to show him a genuine one. However, neither of you keep it up for long, quickly returning to your practice and his default expressions. Lant doesn’t notice this, too busy commanding the servant for a light once everyone is done eating.
The older man puffs it before talking once more. The room starts to smell of heavy smoke. Thanks to your drunkenness it doesn’t bother you as much.
“But yes, that’s what I’m planning. Not anytime soon but in a few months. I expect you to help prepare the preparations before taking care of the vermin once everything is said and done.” His cocky demeanor is gone, serious as he talks about…
Actually, what is he talking about?
Does it involve you? If not, why bother having you here with them? To use it as a scare tactic? If so, it’s not like he needed one - you’re already terrified of them as is.
Feeling eyes on you you turn your head, making eye contact with Lant. Taking in your appearance, he grins, turning to Dion next. You don’t understand what he means with his next words directed at your husband.
“Girls like her are easier when drunk. It’s best to get busy with her already - to get her used to it. We’ll put her on contraceptives for now until it’s time.” Your drunken state entertains him and you’re not sure why.
However, your (e/c) eyes travel to Dion, curious as to why his grip on his fork tightens just the slightest bit. Eyes only narrowing for a split second, a faint scowl across his handsome features. It resembles the expression he made when Roxana teased him with Cassis’ coat. It quickly goes away before Lant notices, the man chuckling at his own ‘advice.’
Oh well, you think. Your glass is almost empty, accepting your last refill for the night. The bitterness doesn’t go away. You only got used to it.
Will it be the same for you towards your husband?
“While it’s amusing to see her get drunk, it’s time to cut her off.” Lant gestures to the servant to put the bottles of wine away after getting his own refill. The dinner is coming to an end, it seems.
At the ring of a bell two maids come in, cleaning up. You take one last swing before they take away the glass from your loose grip. Head softly rocking back and forth, the buzz and warmth of your person starts to make your eyes feel heavy.
When was the last time you got drunk? Probably in your previous life, right before -
“Let’s call it a day.” Both daughter-in-law and son look at the oldest with the highest authority in the room. Facial muscles relaxing, one could almost confuse him for a normal man.
“You’re both dismissed.”
- - -
Hana couldn’t make it - She had other matters to attend to. And thus, the one to escort you back to his - your - chambers was none other than your husband. It’s a secret he’ll take with him to the grave, already knowing you’ll break down if you ever learn that it was him who helped you back.
You can barely walk on your own two feet. Supporting yourself on Dion’s arm, your own looped with his, your vision slightly blurry. Had you been fully aware of your surroundings, you would have noticed the small shudders he would give each and every time your head leans into his arm.
Meanwhile, your husband is having a dilemma. He should carry you. You would weigh nothing to him, and it would be faster. Maybe too fast.
Dion has no intention of sleeping with you in your state, the thought distasteful. But the suggestion from Lant was only to be expected, his morals worse than the majority of the family’s. It wasn’t a surprise but it doesn’t make it any less worse.
Annoyed doesn’t even begin to describe his feelings towards it. His face has been looking rather punchable lately and -
His unusual thoughts are disrupted as you trip on your own feet, and had you not been holding onto him, your face would have kissed the floor. After a blink you look up at him and drunkenly giggle. You reek of alcohol.
In spite of that, he can’t help but to find you cute - his eye twitches. He wasn’t raised this way. He didn’t desire much if anything, going along with the flow - but you, unfortunately, changed him and molded him into something that was weaker.
Even after seeing Roxana cry for the first and only time, the void that is him never truly got filled.
It was simply expanded.
He’s a horrible person. He knows that much, hands stained red and sins etched into his bones, hell already reserving a spot for him. The day he dies will be the day he’ll willingly walk into the fiery pits of hell, expecting to see the rest of his family there.
He’s startled when you nuzzle your head into his arm, looking up at him with such dreamy eyes. But there’s also a hint of something close to resentment, not fully clear as it’s also mixed with something else he can’t put his finger on.
Like you know him.
But it’s not as clear as his own gaze, it’s not as certain whenever he gives into temptation and looks at you. You sigh out his name, breathless but oh so familiar, like you’ve known him for years and not months.
Then, it hits him - you know little bits and pieces about him, but not enough to see the full picture. Aware that something is off despite only meeting him a handful of times. It’s familiar yet so foreign.
That night where your guard was down was already pointing in that direction, but now it’s confirmed. There is no fear inside him at the realization, but rather he grins - how long until you come to accept and acknowledge his feelings?
Or rather, will you be capable of that? To accept everything that is him - the sins, the crimes, the blood and sadistic tendencies that are unremovable from him. To resign to your faith - that you’ll be chained to him in the name of marriage, your husband willing to chase you to the ends of the earth.
He finally decides to pick you up when you start to doze off, your head fuzzy and judgement impaired. Dion thinks about taking a bite when you snuggle into his chest, yawning as you do so.
But then your eyes open again, looking up at him as you say -
“You’re repulsive.”
He’s a horrible husband. For finding your words amusing despite how honestly you say them. He can’t tell if he’s smirking or giving a rather ugly grin, all things considered. Obsession and possessiveness are both dangerous things. Combine the two together and add him to mix, it only makes Dion Agriche all the more detestable.
Even more so when his grip on you tightens, unrelenting, not giving you any room to wiggle out of his grasp, the one and only time he’s able to hold you so close without his lovely wife overthinking his every action. Not that you do, sighing as your eyes flutter close, sleep finally taking over. You look so pretty in his arms and the urge to hide you away gets stronger. The urge to harm or kill others who look at you becomes more tempting - within limits, of course, but words can stab as harsh and sharp as a knife.
And had you opened those pretty eyes to look at your husband, you wouldn’t be able to deny that he’s absolutely obsessed and he’d rather die than let you go, scarlet eyes unblinking as he admires you.
And perhaps that was for the best, the nineteen-year-old male knowing it would only scare you off more.
“That doesn’t and won’t change things, wife.”
Even so, it’s hard to ignore the small sting of your honesty.
===
Note: *in the manhwa it looks like it’s just one door. While I COULD have gone through the novel to check how it actually was, I just kind of… gave up after reading and reading. If I find the chapter where Roxana and Jeremy eat in it (Not for the grand feast) then I MIGHT edit this chapter cornering the room if I was wrong.
Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead’s Sister-in-Law!
Story Masterlist
Chapter 11
‘Slight’ Yandere! Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader.
Arranged marriage AU
Warnings: Obsessive and possessive themes, overall slight yandere themes, mentions of self-harm (referencing of biting thumb), mentions of injury (the thumb + bruised knees), mention of vomit, very slight sadistic themes, implied guilt and maybe implied depression (???), implied coercion, mention of drugs (sleeping pills), almost near panic attack (probably?), toxic relationship/marriage, Reader is barely having a good time but it gets ruined, slight themes of a misogynistic society. Please tell me if I missed any.
NSFW Warnings: VERY SLIGHT suggestive themes.
NOTE: The reader has enough hair to put into a bun.
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS ACTIONS AND/OR BEHAVIORS THAT MAY TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANTICIZED AS THEY ARE BOTH EXTREMELY TOXIC AND DANGEROUS.
MINORS/BLANK BLOGS/BLOGS THAT DO NOT INTERACT WITH OR REBLOG ANYTHING FANDOM RELATED (FICS, ART, ETC.) DNI.
= = =
The first thing you were told about your fiancé was that he was from an extremely well-off family. Deep down you knew your father told you that to give you a reason to look ‘forward’ towards the marriage. He didn’t tell you anything about the man himself and you never asked - after all, he was your father, right? He would only choose the best for you, right? No way he would allow the lowest of the low to even lick the bottom of your shoe.
The ‘fact,’ however, did not stop questions from forming. Never bringing them up, wanting to believe in and trust your father, you covered your own eyes and shushed your own voice. You followed while completely in the dark.
It was expected by society. It was burned into your brain from a young age- and besides, your father had never broken your trust prior to this. He was a trustworthy man.
The second thing you were told about the mysterious man was that he was ‘extremely handsome.’
Your mother had brought him up one evening while taking a walk in the garden. Walking cane in hand, her faint wrinkles started to fade into the shadows as the sun went down. “I only met him once, but he’s an extremely handsome young man.” She smiles when you look at her.
“Oh? What brought this up, mother?” You ask as you both come to a stop. Leaning into her touch as she pushes a few stray hairs back, you notice how dull her (e/c) eyes become. The smile she gives is almost heartbreaking.
Penitent.
“Well, it’s just that… you never asked one thing about him. You accepted the engagement rather quickly, and while that can be a good thing… even good girls should question things and people sometimes.”
“Oh,” you say, blinking as you become wordless. After a pause you resume, “but father was the one who picked him, right? Who agreed to it with my soon to be father-in-law; how could I not trust him?” Despite your own words, a pang of anxiety strikes your heart.
Your parents have been acting weird ever since the news was broken to you.
Your mother never talks like this. She expected you to behave the majority of the time - of course, she also expected you to make mistakes, like any human would. Soft scoldings if they were small and harsh ones if they went too far. She also taught you to have full trust in your father whenever it came to picking out a potential marriage partner.
And yet, now she is indirectly telling you that you shouldn’t have. Like a blotch of ink spilled onto pristine clothing, what was a small ‘mistake’ now ruining the entire product. It was like they were saying they ruined your life.
No - no, they wouldn’t. They love you, they do, but why is your heart dreadfully beating?
The corner of her lips turn downward before quickly settling back into a fine, tight line. “Right,” she strokes your hair, eyes still dull, “you think that.” Her words confuse you but she gestures to continue the walk. You do so, the atmosphere becoming heavy.
You fight yourself to keep your eyes covered, resisting the urge to pull up the wool covering them. Believe in your parents, as you were taught. Ah, but what should you do when your own parents indirectly tell you to question them?
You don’t know what to say, heart beating faster. Teeth begging to chomp down on your thumb, a harmful habit that was forgotten but threatens to return since your father told you about the engagement. The need for control was shoved down, accepting - or at least attempting to - your father’s decision.
The rest of the walk was quiet, both daughter and mother unsure of what to say next.
- - -
“My lady, it’s time to get ready.” Hana informs you of the dreaded event; dinner with your father-in-law, Lant Agriche.
Your chest painfully contorts, mouth becoming dry as two other maids enter the room. They bow deeply and you don’t miss the grave look on their face. Perhaps they were scared of offending Dion’s Agriche’s wife, still unsure of what her standing is within the family.
Still gauging the situation, seeing how it’s been only two weeks. Still observing how the most achieved son treats you, wondering if he secretly holds you dear or if you mean less than dirt to him.
Well, that’s probably part of it - the amount of presents Maria has sent you was mind boggling - it became worse after you gave her a gift as ‘thanks’ for her unwanted ones. How often she invites you to… anywhere, really, made it look like you could rival Sierra in being your mother-in-law’s favorite person. It was clear that the mad woman had already made room for you in her ‘heart,’ thus becoming your guard dog.
But how long until she bites?
However, the fact you were her son’s wife had some still in doubt. Some thought she was merely acting out a fantasy of having a daughter until she becomes bored of you, and secretly, you agree. Others think that they’re just rumors, not bothering themselves with you nor her.
A few wanted to dip their toes in, testing the waters - seeing how far they could go before the third wife would bare her fangs. Or if she would at all, subtle jabs at your character and her behavior behind your backs.
In other words, you were still very much fresh meat.
“Oh, right.” The two new maids look at each other with a knowing look, most likely pitying you. They refuse to help you, however, knowing the price they would pay if you even gave you the idea of running away. Instead, they get your makeup ready, multiple eye shadow shades and colors laid out on your brand new vanity that was gifted to you days ago by none other than Maria. Lipstick was also brought out and organized by color.
Hana starts to help you undress. Temporary physical relief washes over you once the tight dress and corset are taken off. She asks you to step out of the ring they formed once the articles of clothing crumbled to the floor. You hesitate before stepping over it, already dreading wearing that beautiful dress stored in the closet that had the Black Agriche’s family crest.
Just by being stored in it taints it.
“Please bear with the discomfort until you return here, my lady.” Hana brings out a new corset and you eye it wearily. Reluctantly you grab onto the bedpost, mentally preparing yourself for how tight the clothes will hug your body. She almost looks guilty.
“Gah!” Gasping for breath as the brunette tightens the strings, the other two maids only watch on with pity. Pity for the corset? Or for the dinner you’ll have with Lant? Or both?
It doesn’t cross your mind that perhaps they are also including Dion in that list.
“Please bear with it until after dinner, my lady. Master Lant is leaving immediately afterwards.” Hana’s attempts to comfort you are sweet, but they barely help. As in the end, while one threat will temporarily leave, the other one will share this room with you again.
Life sucks. God hates you.
It never occurred to you that you should question why Hana is attempting to comfort you. She shouldn’t, but your mind is about to completely dismantle which prevents rational thinking.
“Y-yes, of course… he’ll leave,” hoping the other two won’t rat you both you out, you shut your eyes until she’s done with the torture device. You take in a deep breath before releasing it, begging your heart to calm down and mind to settle. Your nails dig into the bedpost, leaving marks as your wrapped right thumb throbs in sharp pain.
The maids glance at it, wondering if the injury was on purpose - if you did it in a sad attempt to delay the dinner. Of course, you didn’t, and the thought of harming yourself and masking it as an accident never crossed your mind. And even if you did, it would only serve to make you look weaker, more pathetic in Lant’s eyes.
You can’t stop thinking about Lant’s temperament. His snarkiness and disgusting face. Nails on a chalkboard voice that’s worse than his son’s. The sinister look in his eyes that never seems to leave. That smug smirk he nearly always wears.
You can’t stop thinking about how your faith and livelihood are in his hands. How he’s the true holder of your leash, handing the ‘responsibility’ over to his son for whatever reason.
Your bruised knees start to buck and no-one comments on it despite the way their eyes are glued to it. Hana instructs one of the maids to get that scarlet dress from the closet, a quiet agreement on not to comment on your near broken state. Be it out of kindness or obligation, you’re grateful regardless of.
“Here’s the dress,” the dirty blond presents it to Hana as your eyes zone into the bed - you could be sleeping right now. Reading a book. Instead you’re listening in as the three maids discuss what accessories to pair with the lovely scarlet garment. It only makes you want to rip it into tiny pieces.
“Oh, we should probably put her Ladyship in the dress before deciding on anything,” the black haired maid points out and the other two nod in agreement. The blond helps Hana with dressing you. Hana quickly fastens the button of the neck piece from behind your neck.
It’s choking you.
And so is the form-fitting dress.
Goosebumps form on your exposed shoulders, and you just now noticed that a good portion of your back is also exposed. The cold air nips at the (s/c) skin, making you tremble harder. Taking in a shaky breath, you don’t fight back when they smooth out the dress, making sure it fits you perfectly.
You feel more like a lifeless mannequin than a living, breathing human.
“Please sit down, my lady,” Hana guides you to the vanity seat, and the mirror reflects a fearful lamb. You see the dark circles under your eyes from the lack of sleep, the experience of being interrogated by your husband drilled into your bones and fresh on your mind. You hate how they’re almost dark enough to match his.
“...Hana,” you say, wincing as her knuckles brush against the exposed skin of your back as she gathers your hair. You don’t want to be touched, heart beating against your chest as you get closer and closer to being finished. “C-could you bring me some sleeping pills after dinner?”
“Yes, my lady,” she responds immediately, like she was anticipating your question before it was even asked. “I’ll fetch it as soon as I escort you back here.” Her smooth voice and promise makes your shoulders relax.
- - -
Elena had invited you to an outing, her pregnant belly starting to show. You had accepted, of course, wanting to spend some time with the sister who moved out years ago and visits were sparse.
Plus, it was easier to ask her about married life, too awkward to ask your mother. Their guilty looks were starting to get to you.
“Thank you for inviting me, sister.” Your smile is warm as your sister sits across from you at the bakery table. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other.”
She smiles back. “It has, hasn’t it? I’m sorry for not showing up more often - I’ve been busy with planning for the baby,” she strokes her baby bump, “and preparing for a dinner we’re going to host. Obviously I’m also going to invite you and our family.”
It was nice to see someone who wasn’t constantly on edge. To not have their anxiety transfer over to you, keeping your mouth shut as they close themselves off.
“But that’s enough about me - tell me, any news within the family?” She thanks the waitress as she comes with your orders and you do the same. “Father barely tells me anything as is.”
You blink in surprise - wouldn’t Elena be one of the firsts to be told about the news as she’s the oldest child? You shrug it off a moment later, guessing he wanted to keep it a surprise. Still, you didn’t want to hide it from her. You had no reason to.
“I just got engaged two weeks ago. I’m surprised father hasn’t told you yet.”
She almost drops her tea cup as she processes the information. Confused and worried you ask if she’s alright only to be met with silence. She bites her lip before forcing out a chuckle.
“Is that so? Con… congratulations, (Name). Have you met him yet?” She looks worried, drumming her fingers on the table. Everything about her is tense.
Anxiety starts to swell inside you, concerned about her reaction - just who exactly was your fiance? First, your father was hesitant to tell you, then your mother bitterly accepted - no, acknowledged your own reaction and acceptance of it all.
The only person who has yet to talk about it was Zac.
“...no, not yet. There hasn’t been any news of his portrait arriving, either.” You leave out the part that yours was about to be sent out.
Her expression wavers while your’s becomes concerned. You both hold back your true feelings.
“I see. Well, maybe you’ve seen him once - at a gathering or ball. Just didn’t realize it was him.” Elena quickly says, and it only makes you question the entire thing more. Her fingers keep drumming against the table. “Ah, but, as his wife…” she trails off, looking to the side.
She reluctantly finishes with, “make sure to behave. And accept what he does in bed - eventually, you’ll enjoy it.”
Your heart drops and you have to stop yourself from jumping up from your chair. So far, your family is making your future husband sound like a monster.
“...thank you for the advice,” you say without genuine gratitude.
- - -
“No, we should put her hair up.”
“But if we leave it up, the sight of her back won’t be teased whenever the young master walks behind her.”
“If he walks behind her, you mean.”
“Well, they’ll be returning fairly early once the dinner is ready… it’s only natural to expect something to happen. Maybe he’ll think it’s sexier to have it down.”
“Oh you-! If we leave her hair up, the smaller hairs at the base of her head won’t stay in place, thus making it prettier, and if part of her neck and back is clearly exposed, he might think about taking a bite - any man would. She’s so pretty. Plus, he might prefer undoing her hair himself, enjoying how it flows down.”
The blond woman hums in thought as the black haired one shares her opinion. It seems that they both completely forgot that Hana told you herself that she would be the one escorting you back, not Dion.
It took them fifteen minutes to settle down and gossip like school girls. Quicker than expected, and you’re hopeful that Hana will keep quiet about it to the masters.
Their debate only serves to make heat crawl up your neck and cheeks to feel hot. They don’t even bother to whisper… no, rather, they were lost in their own world, failing to notice Hana’s glare at their unprofessionalism. But it all felt so natural.
You hope they’ll be wrong in their assumptions - you don’t want to be touched by that man again. You hate the way he looks at you. The way he touches you. Just being in the same room as him installs fear and small amounts of disgust in you.
Dion is nothing more than a perverted creep.
“Okay,” the blond claps her hands, “we’ll put it up. Hopefully that’ll satisfy him.” You cringe at her words. You hope he’ll keep his hands to himself.
You hope he’ll leave and won’t return at all tonight.
You keep your true thoughts and feelings at bay, cautious about the employee’s reactions. No matter how natural this setting felt, you were still in enemy territory. Still, the longer this goes on the more your worries fade into the background.
Hana sighs, clearly done and used to their actions and behavior. Just how closely does she work with them?
“You two, hurry up and help me ready her Ladyship - you’re being paid to work, not to yap.” Hana’s uncharacteristic annoyance draws a giggle from you - while embarrassing and unwarranted, the entire exchange felt normal.
“O-oh, right, of course, please forgive us my lady,” closing her brown eyes, the blond maid bows, face beet red. The black haired one follows suit, and despite the topic being unwanted, you can’t force yourself to be upset. They were just normal girls - they reminded you of you and your friends.
“Oh, right. What are your names?” Finally asking the million dollar question, both women snap out of their daze.
“O-oh, right.” The blond introduces herself first. “My name is Anne, my lady.”
“And I am Charis,” the black haired one says next.
You nod your head. “What pretty names - it’s a pleasure to be working with you.” Hana has started to work on your hair once the style was decided on. It’s slightly tight but it doesn’t pull on your scalp.
Anne and Charis stare in surprise before bowing once more, flustered, the tip of their ears pink. You see everything from their reflection in the mirror, ignoring yours. You don’t want to see yourself. You might break if you do.
- - -
Zac was the last to bring up the engagement. However, unlike Elena, he was fully aware of it. Maybe your father or mother told him before you. If so, it stings a bit.
Shouldn’t you be the first to know? To know the full details? Since it was your marriage, and all.
“Let me guess, father said he’s rich and mother told you he was handsome.” He scoffs as he sits on your bed, playing with the bug he captured from outside. Despite your discomfort with the big beetle, you leave it be - as long as he doesn’t shove it in your face you’ll let it slide.
“Yes. But how do you know that?” You question him while brushing your hair, getting ready for bed, nightgown already on. Your younger brother has yet to change into his own nightwear, still wearing the button up shirt and knee length shorts he was recently given.
“Because it’s them.” He answers causally. There’s a hint of annoyance in his tone, but he doesn’t show it fully. “They’ll say anything to make you accept it. Not that I completely blame them, but it’s still stupid and sad how easily they gave in.”
There it goes again - your own family making your future husband and in-laws sound like monsters. You frown. “I’m sure he’s a decent guy - father wouldn’t pair me up with anyone less.” Despite your faux confidence you can’t help but to feel uneasiness rot you from the inside out.
“Do you believe that yourself, (Name)?” He looks at you through the mirror, the beetle crawling up his arm. The eleven-year-old boy stares at you like a grown man.
“...of course I do. Our parents would never knowingly and willingly put me in danger.” Your fingers start to tremble as you put the brush down. It’s getting harder to keep your eyes covered and your lips shut.
When you look down he starts again.
“We both know that’s a lie. You can’t keep lying to yourself forever.”
You hate how he says nothing but the truth.
Even so, you’ll live in denial until the day you meet your fiance. If you pray enough to God, your husband will be decent.
You fail to consider that maybe, God held no love nor mercy for you.
- - -
“No, don’t choose butterfly theme accessories - that’s Lady Roxana’s signature look. She will be looked down upon, with everyone thinking she’s copying her.” Anne scolds Charis when she suggests black butterfly earrings. Hana nods her head as she does your makeup. This time around, the foundation hides your dark circles perfectly.
“What about dew drops, then? It’s simple but elegant.” Charise presents a pair of gold rimmed ruby earrings in the style she mentioned. Anne thinks for a moment before agreeing.
“Should we add a necklace?” Anne looks through the options displayed on the vanity’s surface. So many options, so little time.
“Of course! A small and simple one, though. Hm. It should be gold to bring out the color more. How about adding a flower hair clip?” Charise picks up a black and red clip and holds it up, inspecting the expensive looking item.
Their investment in your outfit distracts you from the urge to throw up the closer they get to finishing. For a moment, you forget why they’re dressing you up in the first place. You felt at home in their care. Including Hana’s, of course.
“Make sure it’s not too similar to one of Lady Roxana’s.”
“Obviously.”
Once everything is said and done with, you don’t look like yourself. You don’t look ugly, but as all three maids admire their handiwork, the urge to puke worsens. You don’t look like yourself, this outfit doesn’t suit you, and you’re reminded of the reason for this when one of them says Dion’s name. You feel gross.
“Oh, her thumb… we can’t let her show up with it wrapped.” Anne brings it up as Hana goes to your dresser to pick out a pair of satin black gloves - they reach a bit above your elbows. After she slips them on, the look is complete.
They all call you beautiful, a sight for sore eyes - you feel out of place. Even so, you thank them, reality crashing down any of the remaining enjoyment and peace for this moment. You’re about to enter the battlefield that is the dining room - with your opponents being Lant and Dion Agriche.
Hana escorts you out while the other two tidy up the room. They wished you luck before your departure. It feels like you’re being sent to war.
- - -
The day to finally meet your fiance has come.
Dressed in a dark navy blue dress, a black mesh covering part of your neck and cleavage, hair curled and tied in a half-do, anticipation won’t escape your chest and head. Your hands are clammy as your father helps you out of the carriage - both families agreed to meet at the venue where the engagement party will be held. A venu that was chosen by your future in-laws without the opinion of your family, which was concerning.
However, you didn’t question your father on it - he looked worried enough as is. But so are you. The wool over your eyes is finally slipping off.
“Okay, (Name), remember to behave yourself.” Your father reminds you as your mother frets over your appearance, smoothing out your dress and hair. He doesn’t let go of your hand despite both of your feet on steady ground. He tightly squeezes it instead.
“Of course, father.” Nervousness is written all over your face but no-one comments on it. Instead of excitement you’re scared. Instead of a relaxed smile it’s wavering with each step towards the venue. Your knees threaten to buck as your heels dig into your feet.
Your mother speaks up before opening the doors. “Remember dear to listen to him - it’s your duty as his wife. It will make everything easier.” This should be the part where she encourages you to be yourself. To say that hey, maybe a love will eventually blossom between the two of you.
It’s clear that she can’t force the words out.
Everything is setting you on edge. Your legs feel weak and the heels aren’t helping. Your heart is threatening to explode as a servant opens the doors of the venue. Every bone in your body is screaming at you to run away and start a new life.
Footsteps echoing in the hallway, you make a right turn before reaching the room. Time stops and your heart drops as you catch sight of familiar hair that resembles dark ink and glowing crimson eyes, the man dressed in a black uniform with red rimmed shoulder pads that has skulls engraved into them, the Agriche family crest proudly imprinted on the back of the shirt that splits at the hips, tied together with a brown belt. Blanks pants that disappear into nearly knee-high brown boots with long, tied laces that make his long legs look even longer.
You’ve only seen him a handful of times - in the distance of balls and banquets, the man keeping to himself while you stayed far away from him and his family. Only ever meeting eyes once, tearing your gaze away immediately to focus on your friend.
He looks at you with disinterest while you stare in horror.
Then, an older man who looks exactly like him turns around to face you and your parents. A sinister grin on his disgusting face makes your skin crawl as he greets you. Your ears bleed at the sound of his smug voice.
“I see that you’ve arrived,” he says with a cocky smirk as your father besides you winces. Your mother holds her breath as both men walk towards you, fully aware that all three of you are stuck in place. His red eyes are filled with glee at the fact.
Then, he introduces himself.
“I believe this is the first time we have formally met. I’m your future father-in-law, Lant Agriche - you don’t have to wait to call me that. And my son here is your future husband - Dion Agriche.”
A black gloved hand reaches out to shake yours and you can’t breathe during the exchange as your fiance takes your shaky hand. Boredom is plastered on that handsome face of his, and he’s not even looking directly at you - no, he’s looking at the hallway, like he was expecting something. Someone.
You pray to God with a heavy heart that this engagement will be broken. As later learned, he did not listen to your desperate prayers.
A forced and painful strained smile, you introduce yourself, voice threatening to disappear.
“Hello, I’m (Name) (Last Name). It’s a pleasure to meet you, father-in-law and…”
His name won’t leave past your lips. You don’t want to utter it and -
“Dion,” he finishes for you, eyes flickering to your face before they land on something behind you once more. His voice is low and deep, a hint of tiredness in it. Had it been anyone else, maybe you would have found it attractive, sexy even.
“Ah, yes. Dion. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” His name tastes bitter on your tongue as you lie.
“Likewise.”
He sounds bored and clearly not interested in you nor this meeting.
However, the eyes of his father burn you as the older man pats his son’s shoulder. “He won’t bite.” Yet, he leaves out, but the simper airs it out in the open. Lant then proceeds to shake your hand as well, relishing in how your expression becomes grave.
Still, you smiled at him, forced or otherwise. You’ll listen to your parents - you have to. When he lets go you resist the urge to wipe off the grime his touch left on you. You want to cut this hand off.
“Why don’t we leave them alone for a bit? They should familiarize themselves with each other before the wedding.” His ‘advice’ drips with sinister intentions as he shoo you and Dion away to a corner with a victorian style loveseat.
It dips under your combined weight. Your gaze is glued to your lap, fingers laced together as you rest them on your lap. Words don’t form inside your head much less on your tongue. Sweat builds on your temples and the back of your neck.
Your thumb is starting to look biteable. Fingers twitch as your fiance shifts in his spot, your brain screaming at you to run. You almost do, legs straightening only for you to force them back down. You feel like you’re about to have a heart attack, your hands are clammy and it’s hard to breathe, biting the inside of your cheek just so you won’t scream or cry.
The silence is deafening.
Your parents are too far to hear what they’re saying. But every now and then you can feel eyes on you and curiosity and wariness overtake you as you lift your eyes, only to meet your father’s. He quickly looks away after a nod of his head and an apologetic smile - guilt was clear but responsibility wasn’t taken.
Whenever you feel like someone’s looking at you, you just assume it’s your father checking in on you. It was the only reasonable explanation. So, you kept your head down.
However, had you looked up from your lap, you would have seen scarlet eyes boring into your form, taking everything about you in - from your anxious look to the color of your dress, how your chest raised with every baited breath, your nose cutely twitching as you kept tears at bay.
Tapping your foot against the tile, hoping time would fly by fast, you can’t bring yourself to look up at the handsome man next to you. You’re vaguely aware of his head staying in place, looking ahead and not sparing you a glance.
It makes you feel relieved a bit, but you’re unable to see how he looks at you just by moving his eyes. And to think, the entire time you had thought it was your father.
You don’t see how his fingers twitch as you shift to get more comfortable, leg accidentally bumping into his before you cower into the side of the armrest, further away from him. You apologize with a hushed whimper.
“S-sorry…”
Dion doesn’t say anything.
And you fail to notice how close he was to grabbing you, bringing you closer, onto his lap until your scent threatens to drown him as he nuzzles his nose into your neck. Arms tight around your waist, not willing to give you an inch to escape. Of course, he doesn’t act on these urges, knowing that the better choice of action was to leave you to your devices. Driving you away wasn’t an option.
These desires confuse him - they’re not like him. He wasn’t raised to be like this. But you’re the forbidden apple he took a bite from, and you’re sweeter than sweet. He almost scoffs at himself but his stoic demeanor remains.
Meanwhile you’re begging to God that somehow, someway, this engagement will be broken off peacefully, that you will never cross paths with the Agriches ever again. That you’ll split ways without a word, a mutual agreement that no-one would benefit from this marriage.
It never occurred to you that your future husband would do anything to prevent that.
The ‘chat’ ends with your father looking your way once more, only to realize with horror that Dion Agriche was already attracted to you, a hint of obsession in those red eyes and his hand threatening to grab your arm possessively as you turned your back towards him, excusing yourself to gather your thoughts in the restroom.
Upon turning his head at the feeling of eyes on him, your groom-to-be smiles eerily once he makes eye contact with his future father-in-law. The sight made your poor father nearly faint, and yet, it felt warmer than Lant’s. But horrible regardless.
This entire time, you had thought that the beast held no interest in you, not realizing you were the lamb he had his sights on.
Not once realizing and noticing how he watched closely at your interactions with other people, other men after that split second of accidentally making eye contact with him at a ball that took place over a year ago.
And now, in the present, you’re starting to realize things a little bit too late.
Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead’s Sister-in-Law!
Story Masterlist
Chapter 10
‘Slight’ Yandere! Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader
Arranged marriage AU
Warnings: slight blood, mention of past self-harm (biting thumb on purpose), accidental self-harm(? + biting thumb without meaning to, biting lip hard enough to make lip bleed without meaning to), mention of injuries (thumb, bruised knees, knee injury from falling off a bike with a rock lodge into it because of horrible luck), near panic attack(s), one or two (1 or 2) suggestive lines but not for sexual gratification, Zac making fun of the Reader in the stereotypical sibling way, Reader is NOT having a good time, slight sadistic themes, implied/slight themes of possessiveness and obsessiveness from Dion, Dion sucks at causal and healthy communication do not be like him. Please tell me if I missed any.
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS ACTIONS AND/OR BEHAVIOR THAT MAY TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANTICIZED AS THEY ARE BOTH EXTREMELY TOXIC AND DANGEROUS.
MINORS/BLANK BLOeGS/BLOGS THAT DO NOT INTERACT OR REBLOG ANYTHING FANDOM RELATED (FICS, ART, ETC.) DNI.
NOTE: work got canceled due to snow so I was able to work on this for almost an entire day (5pm to 11:38 pm at the time of writing this).
= = =
“What happened here?”
His tone is demanding for an answer, not asking for one. His grip is tight and you can’t help but wince as he squeezes it further. Should you answer him? Or change the topic?
Lie or tell the truth?
Hide or stay?
Gulping, you weakly try to pull your hand back, averting your gaze as your voice disappears.
You hate the color of his eyes, they remind you of the blood you drew from your own person hours ago. You hate the blackness of his hair, it reminds you of the last time you closed your eyes in your previous pathetic life. You hate his figure, it makes you feel small.
“I accidentally cut it on a letter your mother gave me.” Mentally cringing as you both lie and bring up Maria’s little ‘gifts,’ you offer an answer. A fake one, but an answer regardless. The question is, would he believe it? Or rather, accept it?
“Bad enough for it to be wrapped up?”
The answer is no.
“Yes. You don’t realize just how sharp paper can be.” When you wearily look at him again, you’re met with an expressionless face. Eyes that hold no joy nor sorrow nor anger. Lips drawn in a relaxed line as he just stares. It’s scary. He’s scary.
Where’s that look he gave you mere minutes ago? The change, no matter how slight, sets your nerves on fire as you rack through your head for any type of solution. None appear.
Did your mother and sister give you advice for a situation like this…?
Ah, but how could you go against a man who’s hand easily closes around your wrist?
…you could offer yourself, but…
Your husband’s eyes leave your face and travel to your thumb, his pointer finger tapping where your nail would be. Just how long are his fingers…?
The question quickly leaves your mind as he slightly bends, free hand tangling itself in your hair as he holds the back of your head. Eye to eye, you fear that the grim reaper is just around the corner, heartbeat loud enough that he could probably hear it. Your hand starts to jerk uncontrollably as your body shudders.
“Then unwrap it. If it’s just that, then it’s nothing to hide.” It’s said plainly, composed as Dion’s crimson eyes swallow you whole. You miss the faint edge to it, too concerned with living.
“...wha… it’s - it’s late - why don’t we just sleep…? You look tired. Really tired.” Just as you practiced, you offer a smile, a wavering one, but a smile regardless. You pull your hand again and this time he releases it. Rubbing your poor wrist with your left hand, body shaking as he continues to stare you down, still holding the back of your head.
Still in close proximity.
His gloved hand cups your cheek, and instead of a fluffy feeling you’re met with terror, lips quivering as your smile fades away. Eyes shaking in their sockets, head slightly shaking side to side, bruised knees that seemed to remember they were injured in the first place.
The pain meds you took twice wore off.
Your thumb and knees start to ache as your breathing becomes shallow. You should run.
You should run.
“You’re crying again,” he wipes away a tear that nearly rolls down your cheek with his thumb. You’re crying? Since when?
“...let go…please.”
You beg and your lungs only relax when he does as you plead, but not before swiping your bottom lip with his thumb. But the fear doesn’t leave you. Your survival instincts are still telling you to run. Your injured body parts still dully ache.
Your hope continues to dwindle.
Dion stands tall once more, watching you, his wife, fall apart mentally as you fail to collect yourself. You don’t break down crying but tears still form. They blur your vision.
“I heard that Hana gave you pain medication. Twice. Was the cut that bad?”
Your mind lags, not understanding his words. It catches up a minute later, slowly nodding your head ‘yes.’ Questions and thoughts swirl in your mind, blinking as he asks you this.
Did Hana tell him?
Did he ask her?
Maybe she was obligated to inform him the moment he returned.
Or maybe she was spying on me after all.
“I’m…weak to pain. You - you know that…” Your throat is parched as you answer him meekly. Your skin becomes damp from sweat and cold, fingers and toes curling the longer he keeps up the integration. For fucks sake, were you his wife or prisoner?
“I’d imagine that losing your virginity is a different type of pain.”
“I-it doesn’t change the fa-fact I’m weak to it… oh, where, um, did the blood come from?” A weak and stupid attempt to change the topic, tilting your head as your eyes zone in on the blood splatter on his cheek. It’s a miracle that you haven’t lost your mind by now.
That you’re able to talk without becoming a total mess.
You prefer the perverted Dion from the night before yesterday compared to this Dion who does nothing but integrates you.
How funny.
“Work.” Is all he says before wiping it off with the back of his hand. It only serves to smudge red across pale skin. “Where did the bruises on your knees come from?”
How… How did he know about that?
Oh -! Right. Hana saw them after checking your body once she noticed you limping. You lied about how you got them - merely acting out your wifely duties, as you told her, unable to make eye contact. She must have thought that the puffy eyes were from the disgust you felt the second you woke up.
She probably told him.
“I-I… fell off the bed while asleep.”
“That hard? And perfectly on your knees?”
Why was he questioning you? To further your suffering, sainty dwindling away the longer he keeps at it? To enjoy how your body stiffens which each word that leaves his mouth? To tear you apart, to see what makes you tick, to see how far he could push you until you lose your mind?
…yes to all of them.
He was an Agriche.
“You left… bruises on my hips… they’re still healing. It’s not odd to assume I bruise easily after that.” Unable to keep eye contact, you look past him, at the doors. Could you outrun him? No. But if you try, would he let you?
No. Not when the look he gave you upon entering the room spelled out imprisonment for your future. But for how long?
Your husband has different thoughts.
Dion considers lifting up the blanket, shoving up the hem of your nightgown to see the purple blobs on your knees himself. He also considers taking your hand and forcibly unwrapping the bandage around your thumb to see if it really was a cut caused by paper… or rather, to expose your lies.
Ah, but when you look at him like, like a rabbit shivering in front of the predator like the prey it is, how could he? It should have been a nice sight. Encourage him to take a bite like how he was trained to.
But it’s hard when it’s you.
He scowls. The facial expression makes you shudder with dread, thinking he’s mad at you. In reality it’s because he’s disgusted with himself - this isn’t acceptable. He’s too soft with you.
He craves for your gentleness while installing fear into you, be it intentional or not.
The night before yesterday had you both acting out of character. True feelings out in the open only to be canned the next day. The cycle always repeats as such. A cycle you’re unaware of and one he can’t forget.
Even so, he can’t help but be gentle with you.
As gentle as he could and can be.
He should drop the conversation.
But curiosity prevents him from doing so, knowing, your thumb had bite marks, that your knees were badly bruised, with Hana telling him with a small flush on her face that your explanation was that you ‘performed your wifely duties,’ despite nothing escalating between the two of you.
It must have slipped your mind that if asked, she, a maid of Agriche, would report everything; your actions, your behavior, your words if deemed important enough.
But he didn’t ask her, she told him of her own volition - most likely concerned that Dion was pushing you past your limits. How sweet of her.
He wonders why you’re so insistent on lying to him.
“If it’s nothing then it shouldn’t bother you to show them.”
Meanwhile, you’re crying on the inside. Sure, the tears are only building up and not rolling down your cheeks. Sure, he’s not holding a sword to your throat. Sure, he’s not choking you. And sure, after a quick glance at his crotch, there’s no boner meaning that he’s not gaining some twisted sick sexual pleasure from this.
But it’s - he’s - still threatening all the same.
The husband from the night before, the one who teased you, the one who was far more lax - you’re starting to miss him. Not out of affection but because he stopped when you told him to.
“Since it’s nothing it shouldn’t matter if I show you or not.” An argument that’s barely above a whisper. Why can’t he just drop it? From the deep and dark circles under his eyes it’s clear he’s tired - shouldn’t he use this opportunity to get some sleep?
Unless… he can’t?
“S- so, let's just sleep. Please?” Maybe if you cry harder he’ll grant you mercy. “Pl- plus the dinner with father-in-law… it’s best to get enough sleep so we - I mean I won’t feel like a zombie, haha…,” you wipe the tears away before he could even think about doing it.
You can’t fake a smile and your laugh was so clearly forced. Your blood still feels cold, hands clammy as you interlock them on your lap. Your knuckles turn white from the force, discomfort ignored.
Your knees and thumb won’t stop aching. Your heart won’t calm down and your mind refuses to stay still. It’s still hard to breathe, lungs working overtime as you force your breath to stay somewhat steady. Time isn’t moving.
Your concern isn’t necessary is on the tip of your tongue, so close to being said. Courage is only gained when you’re too tired to feel the fear.
So leave me alone satan.
As a little girl, you wanted a prince. As a younger teenager you wanted, no, hoped for a decent husband.
Your wishes were denied in the worst way possible as Agriche set their eyes on your family. Denied once you somehow caught Dion’s attention, no matter how fleeting it might be. He considers you his, but it’ll only last for a bit.
It has to.
You don’t look at him. “Arguing about this… it’s only wasting time, n-no?” You’re not calm in the slightest - simply weakly adjusting to the situation. You still want to run and you’re still on the verge of having another panic attack, eyes swirling as Dion takes a seat near the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight.
Instead of taking off those ridiculous boots he stares at you. Instead of getting ready for bed, like he should, he stares at you. Instead of leaving you to your own devices, he stares at you.
It’s unnerving.
“...um, you should get some rest…,” you feel naked under his gaze, deciding to get up from the covers and go to the nightstand, blowing the candle out. Now it’s only moonlight that beautifully illuminates the room. If not for your circumstances, you would have viewed the scenery as romantic.
Your legs shake under your weight as you aimlessly walk to the dresser, knees begging for rest. Fingers tap against the black surface. One foot tapping on cold tile as you listen for the bed to creak, scared he’ll corner you right here, the possibility of Dion caging you with his arms against this piece of furniture far too real. Subconsciously you bite your thumb hard only to immediately let go once you hear the bed creak.
“So,” you can feel him closing in on you, skin crawling as a violent shudder overtakes your body. Grabbing your right wrist with his larger hand, you look at him from the side of your eye as he stands to your right. “That’s what happened.”
You already knew he wasn’t stupid, that he was smart and cunning. Why is he bothering himself with you instead of using that mind of his to fuck with someone else?
Is this how Roxana felt when he grabbed her bandaged wrist tight enough for the bandages to come loose and make the wound bleed again? Cornered like a rabbit?
“...you’re overthinking this.” You fail in jerking your hand away, your husband’s grip firm. He squeezes your wrist before lessening the pressure. You feel like a child being scolded, but instead of being sent to the corner, you feel like you’re going to be sentenced to death.
A small grin and scarlet eyes filled with amusement as he says, “Am I?”
Oh. He’s enjoying this.
You pull again. He still doesn’t let go. Only tilts his head as he observes your reaction. Like he was confused with your behavior.
Oh, you think, he’s not used to this, is he? Lying to appear strong or get the upper hand has always been normal for the Agriche family, but lying to a husband? None of his stepmother's dared to lie to Lant unless they were stupid or had a death wish.
Your toes curl, the urge to kick him stronger than what it should be. Assuming he wouldn’t punish you for it, your knees would - stinging in worse pain as you made an unnecessary move. You don’t want to kick him out of anger - you just want some space between you.
“What about your knees?”
God, must I pay for my sins like this? Did you make this childhood so innocent and sweet so you could make the impact of this worse? Is my punishment going to last forever?
“Nothing. Just an accident, really.” Words leave your mouth so quickly that it takes him a moment to process what you said. You’re not looking at him anymore, face grave and breathing becoming pants. He sees the way your eyes become saucers and fingers twitch.
How hard you bite your lip to keep quiet. As the taste of iron spreads on your tongue he sees the red liquid dribble down your chin.
He considers it for a moment - he had no intentions to scare you. While he knew that the you from last night wouldn’t show, this you isn’t what he wanted to see. Face becoming neutral, he decides to let you go, already missing your warmth but doesn’t blame you when you immediately walk past him and return to bed.
You wipe your chin off. But like with your husband, the action only serves to smudge red across (s/c) skin. The sight makes him smile slightly; you were matching.
His faults and flaws are too severe for you to adjust. Yours are innocent and child’s play compared to his - but that difference only serves to make a connection difficult.
“G-good night,” quickly stumbling out the phrase as you hide under the covers, unwilling and unable to look at him for another second.
- - -
You’re back to being thirteen in your previous life.
“Ow!”
“Careful, silly!”
Falling off your bike, you skin your knee, jeans ripping at the area of impact. There isn’t much blood but it hurts enough for your eyes to water. Bending it hurts, so you choose to sit down flat on your butt instead, laying your injured leg straight.
Your eyes become wide before returning to their normal size after the sight registers in your head. There’s a pressure in your eyes that burns. Your leg twitches.
Oh. Is that a rock sticking out…?
The pain is sharp, and when you talk it’s with a small gasp. Blinking, you observe the wound, mentally noting that the rock is a bit smaller than your palm - and it’s ledged into your knee. This - you’ll be fine, right?
Even as the blood starts to soak blue demi, right?
“Um…,” you start, gently poking the intruding and foreign object only to grimace as it moves against and within the wound. “There’s a rock in my knee.”
“...What?”
Your friend laughs, thinking you’re playing around. Only to hop off their bike when you look at them blankly from over your shoulder, a lone tear rolling down your cheek. When they reach you, they suck in a breath through their teeth, kneeling so they could get a better look at it. With your permission they slowly and gently sway the tip of it back and forth, stopping once you yelp in pain. Your brows furrow as the pain slowly starts to worsen.
It burns, it cuts, there’s a need to cry - you hold back a sob. Sobbing means it’s worse than what it should be - you, you’re not like that. You’re strong so why -
“I uh… I think this might be an ER visit…” their suggestion you rapidly shake your head.
“I am NOT paying six grand just to wait for hours on end.” You remember your mom commenting on the price after bringing your dad back home for a broken leg. You don’t want to add another unneeded bill. Even when it feels like the rock is sinking into your flesh, you don’t want to be responsible for the loss of more money.
You don’t want their attention because of this.
“Well, seeing as how it’s quite literally sticking out of your knee… and that it’s a decent size, you might have to, (Name).”
“I refuse. I can just pull it out.” The rock starts to dig deeper when you slightly shift your body to get more comfortable. You keep quiet. Iron soaks into your tongue as you bite your lip, body shaking and more burning pressure builds in your eyes.
Your vision starts to blur with something wet and hot - quickly you wipe it away with the back of your hand. No.
“And if it gets infected?”
“I’ll just die.”
They flick your forehead. “Dying isn’t an option, especially over this.”
“How about we hire an underground doctor?” You suggest, eyes glued to your knee and how it’s starting to bleed more. Deep red soaks into demi blue further, the sight making you queasy. Were you always this weak at the sight of blood? It’s getting harder to stay calm.
The repressed sobs are making you shake and your friend chooses to ignore them - they continue on like you’re not becoming a mess.
“Underground doctor? Do you, my sweet friend, even know one?” They inquire, raising a brow in mild amusement and annoyance.
“Well… no. But-!”
“But you’re going to the ER since you don’t.” Their decision is final as they call their older sister. It would take her thirty minutes to get here. Enough time to change your friend’s mind.
But the pain is smothering and you finally, finally let out a sob - they hear it. They hear it and sit next to you, rubbing your back in an attempt to soothe you. Their touch is warm, too warm.
Everything after that is a blur - but vaguely you do remember waiting for your parents to finish their conversation with the doctor as you sat on the uncomfortable bed. Vaguely, you remember their glances that made the atmosphere heavy.
- - -
‘Dear (Name),
I know it’s only been two weeks since you got married and moved out. But I miss you. Father and mother have been busy lately; Father striked a business deal with someone. I heard a rumor that it’s someone from one of the five ruling families, most likely your new in-laws.
Guess that means you’re super important or your war dog of a husband fell in love at first sight.
Just kidding.
I can’t see anyone falling for you. But hey, maybe that’ll mean you can get a divorce sooner or later! While it might make you less than desirable to others, or make it harder to get remarried, at least you got to experience being loaded for at least seven lifetimes! Maybe even eight!
Anyway, as promised, I’m not skipping any of my classes. They’re so boring and I have a hard time staying awake. I wish they would give me new lessons and not these, I’ve memorized them to the point I could recall them in my sleep.
My grades are also good. The best. I mean, it wouldn’t make sense otherwise - after all, I, the great Zac, am too good to perform below average. I refuse to tarnish my good name with something as a measly test tries to break me down.
I’m going to get smarter than that ‘husband’ of yours too.
Speaking of which, I’m sure he’s taking decent care of you. And I’m sure that in spite of that you’re crying your eyes out every night, missing us and wishing you would wake up to another bug on your face. Come on, you have to admit it was pretty funny.
How does he wake you up? Or do the servants do it? Oh, or maybe you sleep in until midday?
Don’t turn into a bum just because you’re extra rich now.
…I do miss you. I wish I could see you, but the journey is kind of long. If I was older or didn’t have class, I would have visited you earlier. I overheard our father tell our mother that we might attend an event near the Agriche’s. Maybe.
P.S: Father cried for two hours after you left for your new place. There was a lot of snot and he could barely breathe. Oh, mother and Elena didn’t get to see it - he only broke down once the two of them went to speak with Maria Agriche.
I only know because I walked in on him while finding a place to nap. I stayed the entire two hours in the corner since it didn’t feel right to interrupt him.
I’ll sound horrible saying this, but; his reaction after seeing me was funny. Maybe I’ll tell you all about it if you beg in your reply letter. '
“...Did Dion read this?”
“Yes, with your permission that you gave earlier, my lady.”
i think a dion who was raised to be more similar to maria would be scarier than the dion primarily raised by lante, he's already unpredictable in canon but you give him maria's type of unpredictability and you get. uh. well.
I remember seeing you and snail talk a lot about Dion. Have you guys ever talked about a maid reader?
Hello!
Honestly, it’s been so long that I only sort of remember talking briefly about a maid!reader due to the fact I wanted to write an entire fanfic about it before it kind of turned into something else. But, it’s very likely that there’s a comment section or a post tucked in somewhere about a scenario where the reader is a maid. :D
As I plan to reread her HIRATFLSIL series, I’ll tag you if I find anything! (I’m still really sad that I can’t reactive my old account for the replies to be visible.)
tangentwithtanner
areudirty
dailybridgerton
stormborns
