when the agriche mansion burns, everything you once knew turns to ash, including the future you thought youβd have.
engaged to jeremy agriche since childhood, you always believed you understood your place in his twisted world: second to roxana, second to his obsession, second to the family that devoured him whole.
but when the flames rise and the dynasty collapses, the cruel boy you grew up with becomes something else entirely, a man standing in the ruins, choosing you as the only thing he refuses to lose.
now reluctantly crowned the head of a dead house, jeremy clings to you with a devotion as frightening as it is tender.
you try to walk away.
he tells you you canβt.
because the world may have taken the agriches⦠but it cannot take his bride.
ik i said i was gonna make another dion agriche series on my old account a few days ago, but i remembered i have a jeremy one collecting dust in my google docs so i'm gonna heavily edit it and post it instead
i'm very surprised that 2022 me cooked this hard (on the idea, not the writing...) and for some weird reason i didn't post it
so when season 1 of my current series ends, i'll probably have some time to edit and post these chapters yum
hoping this series will get people to read "the way to protect the female lead's older brother" because the novel is amazing and the manhwa does it so much justice
i haven't read the novel in a hot minute so i might actually read the chapters around the bit i'm writing on, cause i want it to be as canonically accurate as possible because i'm a loser with nothing better to do (i have exams in two weeks)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
β Live Streamingβ Interactive Chatβ Private Showsβ HD Qualityβ Free Actions
Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming
synopsis: As an Agriche maid, it's a responsibility and expectation to follow and serve your master, even if that means indulging in the desires and whims of Dion Agriche.
Content. mdni afab + f! reader, master and maid relationship so power imbalance, ngl dubcon if you squint but only bcs it's dion, fingering (f! receiving), edging, overstimulation, dacryphilia (duh it's dion), pussy slapping, choking but itβs like one sentence, vaginal penetration, oral (m! receiving), deepthroating/facefucking, dion bites you and then licks your blood, reader is a little iffy abt dion bcs it's dion, no aftercare bcs dion is dion.
a/n: this is me going back to my roots for the small dion community since i never got over him, and he's the toxic ex i run back to. dw dion i love you though. i tried to do him justice.
Dion Agriche is a kind master.
Somewhat.
Dion Agriche is a kind master when he's not present. It's in your fortune that the coveted son you are assigned to is usually sent away on missions by his father; being Dion's maid is easy when your master, known for being ruthless and bloodthirsty, isn't home for weeks at a time.
It's no secret that Dion's family is, well, insane. The Agriches aren't exactly known for their hospitality or kindness, and it's a trait that Dion has taken in, raised in such an environment, with even harsher rules as the favored son. No warmth or kindness from the man you serve.
To you, Dion is the same way. Cold, ruthless, a predator to prey.
Which is why you don't even quite remember why exactly your little physical relationship with your master came to be. For months, you served as Dionβs maid (who knows why you were even assigned to him), mostly cleaning around the estate because he was never home to even tend to or go through the familiar routine of tidying up his untouched room. But you never wouldβve expected Dion to take a sudden interest (if you could even call it that, for interest is far too kind a word) in you that particular day he came home months ago.
Perhaps it was because he came back from a longer mission or because Dion is your master who had the sudden realization that he could torment you all he wanted and you could never retaliate lest you meet your death (probably by his hand), but you distinctly recall that day, a few months ago, greeting him properly and primly as you always had.
Back then, months ago, his hair had grown longer, and his eyes somehow even deader than before, stared down hard at you, an insignificant little thing in his eyes, before he simply walked past you. Typical behavior for the man, as you have come to learn.
That day, diligently, you trailed after him to his room to prepare his bath as you had always done. And somehow, that very same day, you found yourself sat on your master's cock. His cold hands latching to your waist in an iron grip, bouncing your pliable body on top of him, and filling you up full. Hot, thick cock drilling into your gooey walls and your nails raked down his skin, red welts carved in its wake against pale skin.
You remember that evening clearly, since after that, Dion just... left you alone, returning to the normal relationship between master and servant. As if he wasnβt bucking his hips up to meet yours, sloshing water around in his ridiculously large tub, as if his hands didnβt leave bruises on your hips that stained for days, or that he didnβt shoot loads of his sticky cum over your stomach before looking at you expectantly to wash him off.
That day was months ago, and since then, you've found yourself tangled up in the devil's web that comes in the form of Dion Agriche too many times for it to be a fluke or a dream (rather a nightmare) like you once thought it was.
Somehow, your coupling almost becomes routine when he comes home. Undressing him while tension crackles through the dead air, a bath, in that very same tub months before, where your hands explore his scarred skinβfeathery, light, almost too delicate to be considered a wash, yet too meek to push furtherβand then his bold look up and down your body when you dry him off in his room.
A look not even like property, but like a slab of prime meat, searing you alive with a smoldering gaze that injects hot and reluctant shocks of arousal and fear through your veins.
And now, you find yourself in the same position when he has, once again, returned from a successful mission.
Like every other evening, you cleanse the young lord of the iron scent that always seemed to cling to him, toweling him dry before robing him in dark silk as you attempt your best to shrivel into nothing beneath his scorching glare, looking away only to meet his pale and hardened torso that youβve become quite acquainted with, scarred after years in battle. In his presence, your senses know only him.
βBed.β He utters, raspy voice cleaving through the tension. Well, adding to it, really.
Like routine, your footsteps are silent as you step away from him. Slow. Steady. Calculated. The air in the chilly room seems to heat and shift with every step that you force yourself to haul, taking utmost care not to trip or stumble. Even with the small distance between your two bodies, Dionβs eyes carefully track your movements, deliberately picking you apart piece by piece as he follows you to the silken bed you made just earlier that morning.
He makes it hard to breathe. Hard to stand still and relax as he presses up behind you, towering over your rigid frame. His breath beats hotly against the helix of your sensitive ear, and it makes you want to turn away. Rough hands easily find the curve of your stiff torso, trailing up and up until his large hands are cupping your breasts through your uniform, lithe and familiar fingers tweaking your nipples through the fabric, pulling and teasing whilst his crimson eyes stare intently down at your contorting features.
Dion Agriche has long decided that he likes watching you squirm.
Like a patient hunter, he enjoys watching your expression warp with the different pressures and textures of his hands. What touches will make you want to buckle and fold? Which sensations he dances onto your flesh will have pearly tears welling up in those eyes of yours until you let them fall? Dion wants to see it all, play the role of some twisted and magnificent conductor that can maestro the symphonies of your body and hear what sounds you can sing.
Now, you wouldnβt say you particularly like Dion Agriche. No, anyone in their right mind with any sense would keep far away from the Agriche lineage, polluted blood and pure venom in their souls, haunted by the dreadful actions of their forefathers and their present misdeeds. You only comply with the pleasure his body provides because he is your masterβa collar on your honor and name, a shadow that gropes your future like a toy. Youβve fallen far too deep in his netting to leave now.
So no, you do not like Dion Agriche. Therefore, you should not like how he makes you feel. Which comes to your misfortune, the small, numbingly irritating fact that you do like how he makes you feel.
Some cruel and visceral part of you likes his touch.
The way his rough and calloused hands that've reaped souls glide over your skin, because no matter how high and mighty he reigns, the favored son and sword of his father, Dion Agriche chooses you.
Out of any servant in the estate, any noble or civilian, Dion chooses you to sear his touch into. Itβs you he brands and touches. And in a ruthless world that you've been fighting in for the entirety of your seemingly insignificant existence, it makes you feel good. It makes you feel wanted by the untouchable man, riddled in blood and fury, and it numbs you to the reality of life.
While Dion is your collar, he is also your escape.
So, you let him slide his hands around your body, slowly popping the buttons of your dress off. Each button undone is like a sentence, a verdict hanging heavy on the weight of your soul. The articles of clothing slip flimsily off, bare skin exposed to the cold temperature. First, your shoulders, further down to your torso, until your dress bleeds into a pool of black and white at your feet, clad in nothing but undergarments that serve no purpose in hiding you from Dionβs gaze.
The moment is quiet and mechanical. Itβs always quiet. You, too wary of making any sudden movements, like any breath too loud or shuddery, will morph you into more of a target than you already are. A mixture of heady fear and arousal settles in your veins because while you may not be pleased that it is Dion who makes you burst with euphoria, you cannot deny his attractiveness, nor can you deny how he makes you feel. And Dion, well, is always quiet.
He's quiet even as he motions you down on his soft sheets with surprising gentleness, the very ones you made this morning before he came back from his mission. It crinkles under your combined weights, his arm coming up beside your head, enclosing you within his presence while he peers down at you, his potent gaze running down your body in a way that makes goosebumps dance along your exposed skin, arousal simmering within your body, settling into the rushing web of blue and red underneath your skin.
His toned torso looms over you as he moves silently, too silently, sitting on his heels as his hands round the tops of your thighs and down under, hooking your legs atop his lap. Though his body is cold, his touch burns, and it makes you gasp, a sound that has his crimson eyes meeting yours. His robe has practically fallen from his body at this point, hanging precariously, one shoulder already exposed to the cold airβs touch whilst the other slipped dangerously yet covered him decentlyβa mock to your nude state. Tendrils of ebony hair curled lightly downwards with gravityβs embrace, catching the glints of moonlight.
Youβve seen him like this plenty of times, more than you would have liked. Some nights it would be in the bath, his skin glistening with rivulets of water that slither down every scar on his built body while he took you fiercely until the water ran cold and mixed with your tears. Or like now, towering over your supine form, red eyes gleaming with something you canβt pinpoint on his features as his hands meet your skin, calloused touches that slip you completely out of your undergarments.
Either way, it makes searing shocks of concentrated heat melt into your traitorous body like silky nectar.
In this way, Dion finds himself almost amused. Almost. It's a twisted satisfaction that finds gnawing within his chest whenever he has you in this vulnerable position, propped under him and so hesitant to move. He's not sure if you're even aware that you act this way. First, shy. Then, writhing, moaning, and crying from his touch. And while those reactions come as a familiar stranger from others, he finds it subtly different when he wrenches it out of your body.
He's had people quiver before him many times: his own family, his targets, monsters, and humans alike. But it's a distinct pleasure with you. He doesn't dwell on it. Dion Agriche never dwells on anything; he wants it, he takes it. The same way he takes you, because he wants you. He discovers some mangled beast in him when tears bead at your eyes, finds his lips curling upwards when those pearly tears of pained pleasure fall down ruddy cheeks.
"You've done this quite a lot," his voice breaks through your senses in a stoic murmur, "Yet, you quiver every time."
His words pull a grimace from you, shame oozing from every one of your pores when you look away.
His touch traverses down the planes of your body, cold hands slipping into the wet fabric of your panties, pulling the clothing off before his hardened glare finds your spread cunt. Soft, soaked, silky with arousal. Youβre perched so meekly on his lap, legs stretched out and face flushed with that coyly shy expression he just canβt put a finger on. The contrast presents itself starkly, registering briefly in his mind. You, with your legs splayed on his in a lewdish manner, yet your expressions quiver and shake, unable to even look at him.
Not that he cares much. It's better for him, really. Makes it more enjoyable to see you lose yourself when buried in your contorted emotions wiggling inside you.
Dion lets his thumb glide along your slit, dragging his calloused digit slowly through, taking in the way your slick gathers on the finger, catching on your achy clit before he presses down, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves just to see how your back domes off his sheets. With his other hand, his lithe fingers tweak your nipple harshly, such contrasting pleasure has you crying out a meek noiseβhalf mewl and half gasp.
The quiet sound sends a tremble of delight over his body, and it triggers him to repeat the action again and again. It pleases him immensely when you respond, gasping like a frail doe, eyes squinting shut when his thumb rolls your sensitive clit.
One body, writhing in the moonlight. Another, gazing down with such intensity, crimson eyes burning into squirming flesh.
His thumb eventually drops from your raw clit, earning a soft cry from you that trails into a desperate gasp as his middle finger prods at your tight heat, breaching the resistance. Slow. Slow. Slow. Almost gentle, even though itβs anything but. Slow enough that you can feel every thick inch that invades your sensitive walls, stretching you full. Slow enough so Dion can etch every contortion of your face into his memory.
He goes steadily, almost gently. Not for you, but for him. Gods, it almost makes you wish heβd go faster, just to get it over with, maybe it wouldnβt make you feel so good. But it does, it feels so horrendously good.
Your pussy is so wet for him. Silky and soft like youβll melt in the watchful moonlight, ice under the blazing sun, he finds that he wants to grope and squeeze and knead your body until youβre disintegrated into nothing but a mess of tears and soft cries. Within his chest, a black pit of nothingness, he likes feeling you like this, molding you from the inside out. Vocal cords tightened with his title hung on your lips as he adds in yet another finger. Too full.
Just earlier, you were so hesitant to even look at him, tense like a doe caught in headlights. Now, youβre twitching with every smooth pump of his thick fingers in your gummy walls, thumb back on your sticky clit as he intently watches you convulse under his touch.
Your cries and moans fill the air, thighs threatening to shut around his hands, back arching off the bed; into his hand, away from his handβyou canβt even tell anymore. Anything to stop the overwhelming pleasure that suspends you in the hazy mist of want and need. God, itβs just too much. Itβs too much, too fast, too stimulating, and you canβt do anything but take it. His fingers are long and thick, filling you up so well. Cunt weeping in obscene squelches every time his digits go in knuckles deep, erotic webs of slick cling to the heel of his palm as it meets your clit in wet plaps.
"You're crying," Dion states with the slightest curl of his lips, his words barely audible over the filthy sound of flesh on flesh. "You're crying, but youβre enjoying it. Enjoying it so much that youβre about to cum, no?β
An enigma, Dion thinks. He knows youβre feeling good, really good. With the slick dripping down his wrist and the tips of his digits repeatedly kissing that spongy spot in you that makes you keen, he knows well what heβs doing. Velvety walls flutter sensitively around his fingers; he knows youβre close. Mouth open in pleasured cries, body tensing and twitching under his onslaught of pleasure, itβs like youβre trying to run away, yet your own hips pump sloppily over his fingers. And your tearsβ¦ pretty rivulets of ecstasy slipping down ruddy cheeks.
It makes his cock hard, bobbing free against his toned stomach, leaking. More. He wants more from you.
His fingers curl just right, pressing against that sensitive spot in your pussy. It hurls you towards your orgasm, pressure building and coiling deep in your lower organs. Dionβs digits thread you right on the precipice of delight that simmers in your rushing veins. You're close. So, so devastatingly close with your features scrunched, droplets of pleasure dripping from your pretty eyes and onto the pillow, his title falling from your lips in hoarse, broken pants.
Until youβre not.
His hand suddenly retreats from your core with a sob from you. The loss of the satiety sensation of his fingers leaves behind an agonizing emptiness that futility claws your orgasm back. It tears a cry from your throat, barely recognizable to even yourself. You're left pathetically yearning, aching for more, and youβve been mercilessly cut from the mesh of pleasure by a man with too much power over you, extinguishing the flames of ecstasy rushing in your ears.
"M-my lord...β You hear yourself whimper out, hips jerking in retaliation of the sudden denial, thighs attempting to flutter shut around his hand (though you don't prevail). "Please... Why?"
Amidst your helpless babbles, you brave a look at the man whose palm your pleasure resides in.
And illuminated by the aching gleam of the silver, watchful moon, crimson eyes shining with what you can only identify as amusement, he answers with a smile. Dion Agricheβs lips curl into a damned smile, blessed by divine sin incarnated into whatever soul harbors his body.
Bastard. The thought runs briefly through your mind at his expression. Beautiful bastard.
"You give reactions such as these," he muses quietly, swiping a wet thumb past the rivulet of pleasure slipping from your lachrymose eyes, thumb no doubt slick with your arousal, "it puts me in a good mood."
His words do nothing to soothe the raging plea in your body. As if such condescending speech could comfort something so cruelly stolen.
You can only haphazardly imagine what goes through his mind, how you must look to him. You feel ruined, and youβre sure you must look it too. Clit throbbing, pussy clenching around the gaping emptiness of your core, and the orgasm that was so close, slipping away. Your cheeks feel wet, whether with sweat or tears, you can't tell.
What you don't expect, though, is for Dion to lean in, pushing even deeper into your space, his tongue simultaneously darting out to lave at the streaks of salty tears, adding to the dampness pooled on the apples of your cheeks. Itβs sudden. Hot and warm and smooth is the sensation of Dionβs tongue on the corners of your eyes, how they mop up the wetness of pleasure and frustration like he isnβt the one inflicting such onto you.
And itβd be almost comforting, almost gentle. Almost. If he werenβt doing it for himself. Cleaning you up only to ruin you again.
Dionβs smile remains on his lips as his middle finger taps gently against your honeyed folds, eliciting a light whine from your lips, swollen from your own incisors. His large hands easily part your cunt once more, index finger tapping lightly against your clit, feeling the little pulse in your hypersensitive bundle of nerves respond to him. His eyes never leave your face. Ever watchful, ever overbearing. Just the slightest touch and he can tell how your climax trembles through your bones again, rising steadily through frayed nerves.
Your pulse races under his palm. So alive, so very alive with a heartbeat that jumps and quivers in time with the jerk of your desperate hips, eagerly meeting his fingers that dance along your clit. Open-mouthed moans that trail into a surprised gasp when he suddenly delivers consecutive smacks on the soaking folds of your sex.
A sharp yelp leaves your lips at the stinging contact, simmering into pleasure when the sensation seeps deep into your pounding veins. Despite your whimpering cries, Dion doesn't let up. He spanks your pussy again, once, twice, a third time for good measure as you sob. Tears stream down your face, merging into fat globs and flowing in heavy currents, distorting your vision while you tuck your head away into his ruined pillows (youβll have to wash them tomorrow). From the overwhelming sensations, the denial, Dionβs piercing gaze and amused smileβ¦ it all hurls your traitorous body back to the precipice of pleasure.
βPleaseβ¦β You sob, βPlease, please, pleaseβ¦ give it to me, please.β
Mind muddled into a tensed pool of desire and need, body taut with the promise of release, you barely make out the widening of Dionβs smile. Only his presence invades your muddled perception of the world, narrowed down to only him, a hot overindulgence of a man enjoying your misery. You feel his slick tongue sliding up your cheeks, hand wrapping around your throat with the lightest squeeze to make your whimper dwindle in hoarse, broken whines. Thankfully, he doesn't stop.
Itβs one sloppy slap to your raw clit that sends you hurling over the edge. The impact makes the tight knot in your belly coil and crease over itself, winding tight until your body quakes and folds with exaltation. Helplessly, you wither away from Dionβs touch, scampering to the pillow to bury yourself from the euphoria, which he, surprisingly, lets you do with a riveted grin. The intense climax blurs with what you think registers as over-sensitive pain, crawling in a haze of ecstasy and into the void of hot shocks of pleasure which linger through frazzled neurons.
Your limbs fall lax as the seconds, or minutes, or hours pass by; honestly, you can't even tell. Time seems to stand frozen as your body recovers as best as it can, but it's Dion nudging your legs apart once more that brings you back to reality.
βWa-wait, my lordββ
βDonβt.β His cold voice suddenly slices off your sentence, no words for anything else. βWe both know what you want, and we know how this ends. No need to delay.β
His quip words are sharp, rendering you hushed as he makes himself at home between your thighs once more. His hands find your knees, and thereβs a quick passing thought pressing into your head to instinctively squirm away despite knowing itβll do nothing. You fight the urge, choosing to lie compliant as he opens your legs, encasing himself between the empty space, and allowing the cool air to kiss the dripping folds of your pussy as well as the drying tears on your cheeks.
Your eyes follow his other hand, watching it wander down his body until his lithe fingers fold around the thick girth of his cock. You've seen it before, had it inside you on multiple occasions, but, as always, there's a biting anxiety eating at your mind. Just the sheer size and look makes you think itβll break you. Itβs heavy in his hand and dribbling more beads of pre that roll down the course of veins along the underside with every slow drag of his large palm.
βStay still.β He murmurs, hands in an iron grip on your hips as he pulls you closer.
Your breath hitches when his leaky tip notches against the rim of your entrance.
He doesn't give you time to process the swiftness of his movements, pulling your legs over his shoulder, and swaying his length into your heat in a single snap of his hips. The sudden stretch makes you hiss and squirm, nails digging into the poor pillow's flesh as your velvety walls part way for the burning intrusion, body coiling up as he sinks his cock all the way down to the hilt.
"Oh, fuck..." You moan out loud, sounds of pleasure when the blunt crown of Dion's cock kisses that sweet spot inside you, flickers of white bursting behind your watery lids because you swear, you swear he tries to fuck a hole through you. All of a sudden, it's like your last orgasm comes creeping back through hypersensitive nerves and blends into an intoxicating puddle of lust, festering in your blood.
The full feeling of him sits deep in the well of your gut, earning a myriad of whines and pitiful babbles from you into the sizzling air. It's not the first time you've taken him in so deeply, hell, you've had him stretching the flesh of your mouth too, but he makes sure the sting of his bulging veins squishing into your cunt is one you never grow used to. His hips sit snug against your thigh's underside, balls resting on the curve of your ass. Filthy slick mixing with filthy slick, a low, raspy groan crawling from the depths of his throat when he looks down at the mixture of expressions flitting over your face, and he feels something deep unfurl and condense tight in his gut.
His hips begin moving before you can fully adjust, pushing somehow deeper before swiftly pulling back with a smooth sway of his hips, barely pulling out before he plunges right back in. The large bed underneath you two groans in protest, falling in time with every lunge of his cock as he fucks brutally into your sopping sex, intent on pulling out more tears, more cries, more of anything he can carve out. Skin on skin colliding in loud slaps of wet flesh that reverberate throughout the chambers, melding incomprehensibly with the loud moans and sobs of your own voice. Dion Agriches fucks mean.
"Look at you." He groans out, his low voice barely audible over the obscene sounds of your bodies mingling passionately. "You're crying again, for what?β
Just to prove a point, his hand snakes between your two bodies, swiping a finger over your sensitive clit, relishing in the way your stuffed pussy flutters in reply, and your eyes squeeze out more tears. How could he stop when you give him such responses? He's had many people cry before himβfrom pain, for mercy, love. But none quite so as you, who always seems to cry so pitifully when he hooks your legs over his shoulders, digits digging deep into the plush flesh of your thighs, mounting himself above your body and stuffing you so deeply that you can feel him fucking the air out of your lungs.
Gazing up at him from below, through teary eyes, Dion is⦠certainly a sight. Sweaty and flushed, the lightest pink on his pale skin.
For a man used to long endurance and stamina, he pants softly into the air, beads of sweat building on his dark, furrowed brows. Quiet and heavy groans fly from his throat to blend with the cacophony of wetness and heated pleasure. Ruby red eyes keep trained on your pinched features as he releases your straining legs from their throne atop his shoulders, letting you drop the aching muscles to his waist, where you curl your legs instinctively, pulling him impossibly closer.
Slick oozes out from the squelching seam of your pussy, coating his thick cock as he bends himself over your body. One strong arm serves as a pedestal beside your head to support him while he covers your sweaty torso with his, leaning down to run his hot tongue over the bands of briny tears. The proximity makes it so you feel his feverish body, though, he doesnβt touch you, only his slimy, scorching muscle licks up the pillar of your slickened neck that tears trickle down, tasting the evidence of pleasure whilst you turn and twist away from him, body wrecked with fiendish bliss.
And Dion doesnβt really care. Doesnβt really care that you seem so keen on trying to act like he isnβt the one making you feel good. Doesnβt really care that you try to squirm away, even though your body betrays you with fervid hips bucking to meet his and tears that sprout from euphoria blooming in your brain. It only makes him harder, makes him fuck you faster into the mattress until he can feel the familiar flutter of your walls mouthing and milking at his shaft. Youβre close, really close.
His cock just feels so thick and filling in your walls, lewd and obscene and hot. God, youβre close, so close. So close and you can only hope he doesnβt deny you of it. Warm tears and syrupy thighs meeting sweaty flesh in loud, resonating claps of detached passion. Youβre close, you want to come, bad. You need to come, desperately.
βDion, please! I need it, donβt stop! Please, gods, please donβt stop!β You wail out, not caring any about propriety or titles at the moment of tipping release. Your nails carve into the muscle of his built forearm, drawing blood that neither you nor he seems to care about, both chasing after the rapid unraveling in your organs.
A sharp pain in your neck is what sends you over the edge. The piercing of his canines through the tender skin of your throat, pointed pain dissipating into bliss, and the roll of his tongue collecting orbs of your lifeβs essence make you shake. Itβs all too much upon the onslaught of your body, and you come with a shuddering cry of his name. The pleasure ripples and expands across your body, the light flaring behind shut lids and the sound spewing forth, dunking your senses in an ocean of ecstasy.
In the midst of rolling waves of euphoria, you hear what sounds like Dionβs voice, muffled like cotton pushed into your ears. For a moment, you see Dion, smiling like the goddamned devil. You feel him still pistoning into you, the sudden overwhelming and prickly sense of over-sensitivity seizing your body when you realize he isnβt stopping. Determined to reach his own end and perhaps end you in the process.
Dion's rocking maintains its pace, pushing deep into you without slowing down. Your attempts to squirm and crawl and retreat from the overstimulation are pathetic, only causing the intensity to escalate as you catch a breathless whisper of what sounds like Dionβs remark about your pitiful sniffling. Pleasure seeps and swirls with the biting, sensitive ache of your spent body, voice hitched, caught in your throat and gasping out at the overtake of that delicious pressure. Caught in the torrent of his punishing hips, you can only sob his name and take what your uncaring master so generously gives.
In the overwhelming barrage of sensory overload, you cry out Dionβs name, mingling with whimpers and moans that are sure to leave your throat sore tomorrow. Unfazed by the flurry and babbling of your noises and sensitivity, Dion profusely continues with his deep strokes, sprinting for his own climax. His powerful strokes make you tremble furiously underneath him, silver drops of liquid pleasure and sensitivity slipping from your eyes and onto his pillows.
Itβs not enough, not enough for him.
And in a single motion of his hips, Dion pulls out, leaving you gasping for air from the sudden loss of fullness. But you donβt have time to even think about the aching emptiness as his hand finds the nape of your neck, practically scruffing you and pulling your trembling, limp body onto your hands and knees, ultimately coming face to face with his raging cock. Still hard. Still aching. Still throbbing.
The man doesnβt think twice before pushing the head of his member past the barrier of your lips, groaning lowly when he slides into your warm cheeks, moist and slick, molding your throat to the ridges of his dick.
You taste yourself on his shaft, your arousal, your cum, and his all swirling together in the tightness of your throat, stretched wide to fit him all the way down to the thick base. His hand buries into the tendrils of your hair, pushing you down until your nose smushes against his pelvis and the blunt head of his cock tingles against the back of your throat. Too big, too wide for your poor mouth, that it makes you want to gag, choke at the sudden intrusion, despite having been in this position before. Though you try to accommodate its thick girth, letting your jaw fall slack as much as possible, thereβs a familiar ache that forms when he begins to move, humping his hips against your slobbering mouth, thick webs of spittle connecting him to your swollen lips.
He pounds away at your raw, moaning throat, hot groans escaping him as fucks and fucks and fucks, sharp snaps of his hips like heβs fucking your pussy. For a moment, Dion turns his ruby gaze downward, cursing under his breath at the sight of your sloppy maw stretched wide and tears dripping down your stuffed cheeks, escaping down to the pillar of your bitten neck. Mouth full of cock and eyes full of tears; Dion doesnβt keep pets, but for a moment, he might just consider it now.
And Dion never loses control. But as the corners of his vision pulse a static white while he ruts into your mouth, he finds that his hips buck uncontrollably, veins pulsing frenziedly against the slope of your tongue, each sway of his hips pumping liquid bliss through his limbs as he chases to unfurl the tight gnarl sitting in the pit of his stomach.
You feel it before you can rationalize it (if you could rationalize anything now). Thick and hot torrent of salty bitterness floods your throat, gooey ropes of cum sliding down your esophagus that makes your watery eyes squeeze shut, trying your best to breathe through your nose while your masterβs hand collars you down to the base of his throbbing length. You want to gag, to cough up at the globs of semen and the pulsing veins that match the cadence in his heart, thumping on your wet muscle (much too slow, almost inhuman, for someone who was panting and shooting ribbons of semen down your throat, but itβs Dion, so you donβt question).
His voice is strangled from above you, a series of curses leaving as the last few spasms of bliss tear through him, and it feels as if the moment stretches out indefinitely, his body winded like a taut string and heaving, release seemingly endless, shuddering gasps rattling his ribcage.
He keeps you against his cock for a few seconds longer, just watching you from above. Itβs always his preferred sight of you, even more than when he has you bent over yourself or crying from his touch. He observes you intently, vermillion eyes trained on your mouth and clumped lashes before he speaks, voice raw and strained.
βLook at me.β
You do.
You look up at him through blurry eyes, making out his tall figure and familiar crimson irises, light-headed, half from exhaustion and half from a lack of oxygen. Your sore throat milks his cock as a reflex of trying to force out the thick appendage in vain before he finally, finally releases you with a slick βpopβ, granting sweet permission to pull your mouth off, salacious strings of saliva, cum, and everything else still attaching your lips to the shaft.
Your lungs expand in your ribs, intaking heaps of needed oxygen, eyes fluttering shut as your hands wipe the mix of slimy liquid off your mouth. Itβs sore, everything is sore and wet and sticky. Your body trembles, jaw aching, and cunt spent. The sensation of his rough thumb swiping the last stray ribbons of tears down your cheek is felt before he backs off completely, letting you sit back limply on his bed.
Dion spares you a final look beneath the sweaty mop of raven hair, deep pools of crimson blood bear into you, another devilishly stoic yet ethereal smile of condescending amusement, akin to a predator full from prey, standing to reach for his discarded robe and speaking as he slips it on like he hadnβt just fucked you within an inch of your life.
βDraw another bath.β He murmurs, walking away into the deeper shadows of his chambers.
Indeed, you think, tuckered and shriveled on his bed, your eyes trailing after his blurry figure, Dion Agriche is a cruel master.
Hello!i do not know if requests are still available,but is it alright if i ask for yandere!dion with a very kind and soft reader?like she is always giving dion compliments and hugging him,even patting his back.giving him sweets after he came back from a mission,u know?
ββ β§ ππππ πππππππ who was unfortunate enough to be born as one of the black agriches notorious for their atrocities, yet he was also just a callow child with twinkling ruby eyes and a cheeky smile and no child has the capacity to be inherently evil. dion was not born a monster, but being a monster was all heβs ever known; becoming a monster was how that young child survived his bloodline, and somewhere along the way, his emotions had died along with the child he couldβve been had he been born into a normal family.
ββ β§ ππππ πππππππ whoβs never known the gentleness of a motherβs touch nor did he ever get to experience the warmth of a true family. all his life, death creeps in his shadow with stygian tendrils that wreath around his ankles β his hands tainted with so much blood theyβve turned black. he is convinced that his heart has been frozen, and yet somewhere inside the uncharted corners, there is a forsaken child that heβs rejected for his own sake, desperately crying out for someone to pacify his visceral yearning.
ββ β§ ππππ πππππππ who notices your eyes first. most people look at him with fear, contempt, disgust, or they wholly delude themself of the part of him that is a murderer seeking blood. you are not most people. when he first meets your eyes, there is nothing but serenity and warmth. your pupils are unclouded and he can almost see his own reflection in them β you donβt reject the part of him that is sinful and a killer. instead, you accept him as he is β flawed and tainted and pathetic β and deign him with your kind smiles anyways.
ββ β§ ππππ πππππππ who doesn't understand the new emotions festering within him after meeting you. the mere thought of you intoxicates him, and itβs even worse when he recalls your affectionate gestures in his presence. youβre just so dizzyingly sweet β too sweet that he could taste you on his tongue and feel you ballooning in his chest and coiling around his cold heart, squeezing and squeezing until heβll unfold in your grasp.
ββ β§ ππππ πππππππ who doesnβt know how to receive your affection at first, and instinctively finds himself pondering about your ulterior motives. heβs never been treated with such gentleness and endearment before, and whatever crumbs of familial affection he could get out of his half-sister, it all came with a price. so, what was your price? perhaps you required his expertise as a killer, perhaps you wanted to use his status to get to his family, perhaps you wanted to exploit him for all he was worth β or, perhaps, you just wantedβ¦him.
ββ β§ ππππ πππππππ who was at an utter loss when you confessed this truth to him. the sincerity in your eyes betrayed no deception, yet how is it possible for someone to love him? how could someone like him be loved? dion agriche, convinced of his incapability to be loved, was unconvinced of your love for him. he sternly rejects you, because behind an expressionless face, he fears what heβs known all his life would only further be confirmed when you ultimately realize heβs unlovable.
ββ β§ ππππ πππππππ who becomes baffled by your persistence after his rejection. he expected you to crumble and concede after being the subject of his callousness, yet you remained unfazed. you were undeterred in your mission to βloveβ him, and witnessing your resolve β like a rock worn down by the waves β dion made a decision that would change his life; he chose to let you love him.
ββ β§ ππππ πππππππ who becomes flustered when you amped up the affectionate gestures to the max after receiving his reluctant blessings. typically, your touches would only be limited to fleeting pats on the back or the handshakes that you insisted on for a bit too long. but now, the gestures has become full-on embraces whenever you catch sight of him, long hand-holding sessions as you drag him around the garden, or the occasional moments when your touch would flutter over the arch of his cheek as you admired his eyes.
ββ β§ ππππ πππππππ who, with his high walls and guarded heart, finds himself completely unraveling at your touch. in his turbulent and bloody life, you become a solitary sanctuary where he can let down his guard and shed the ruthless mask of an agriche. perhaps it was something about your mollifying presence, or the way your smaller fingers would distractingly trace shapes on the back of his han, and of course, the way your embrace always smells sweetly of you and whatever tea you indulged in that afternoon.
ββ β§ ππππ πππππππ who finds himself getting comfortable β too comfortable with being treated delicately and spoiling himself in the limitless shower of your affection. by now, heβs finally admitted the fact youβd weaved your way into his heart and snuggled into the corner youβd created that just seems to continue growing. and now that heβs had this realization of just how significant youβve become to him, he begins to feel the creeping fear of his life without you in it. dion finds himself desperate to have you finally see him for all that he is and bind your very soul to him before you could have the chance to run away, and this thought gnaws at him.
ββ β§ ππππ πππππππ who stumbles into your chambers late one night, the blood of his latest targets splattered across the pale canvas of his skin. his inhuman appearance was purposeful, for he had intended to test you one final time; to see if you could love even this pathetic side of him that was nothing more than a weapon of bloodshed at the whims of his family. however, when you merely wipe the blood from his face with eyes shining with concern for him, he watches as the blood smears across your skin, yet you make no comment of it. even as he laid vulnerable in your arms in his most wretched form, you donβt push him away, and only hold him dearer.
ββ β§ ππππ πππππππ who realizes that although he might be an incorrigible monster in the agricheβs hand, in your gentle hands, he is worthy of love, and he finally shed tears while enveloped in the softness of your embrace.
ββ β§ ππππ πππππππ who learns about love through you; love is the murmuring and crooning voice that sings him praises and admiration, the small hand that massages his scarred and burdened back like a soothing balm, the same hand that combs carefully through his hair, and the heartbeat that puts his mind to a peaceful sleep when you cradle him against your chest. for the first time in his desolate life, dion agriche discovers what love is instead of what it isnβt.
ββ β§ ππππ πππππππ who learns that he too can be loved thanks to you, and who learns to love you just as utterly.
Scenario:he is engaged by the one they love(and obssesed)the most :reader...but reader have a clingy bestfriend (she's a female) and when i say clingy...i mean...VERY CLINGY
Her and her Best friend grow together and of course the Best friend and the yandere we will not like each other. And... so that happen that reader Best friand Come to see y/n(even whihout the permission of the yandere)
(I wasn't sure what you wanted, so I made small scenarios since I wasn't sure what to do and headcanons might've been too much for me for the while)
"Mrs Eckhart!! Your friend, Lady Aurelia is here!!" A maid softly announced as you perked up. Your hand gently pushing down Reynold, lips and lipstick smudged with the top of your dress torn and your corset being undone until the news came.
Reynold annoyedly glared at the maid, "I thought I said the Ekcharts weren't accepting visitors.." he hissed softly, "Oh, it's fine!! Tell her to wait in the tea room. I'll be right there." you smiled brightly, getting off your husband's lap.
Reynold immediately missed your warmth on his thighs as he squeezed your hips one time before letting you go, anger and annoyance pooling in him. Gods, your stupid best-friend..
Reynold sighed, face palming as he felt his lips. His lips flushed and slightly swollen with lipstick also smudged as you hurriedly walked around, trying to fix yourself.
You quickly wiped your lips, applying a normal tint. Grabbing a normal but casual dress and brushing hair quickly, before you hurriedly walked out. Excited to see your best-friend.
Reynold sighed, following you after he wiped his lips, and buttoning his shirt again, hook your arm with his, "Does your friend have no decorum? We clearly stated no visitors without prior notice." he hissed.
"I know..But just, let her. She's my best-friend, we grew up togeβ", "Yes, yes..You two grew up together, she set you up with your first crush, she designed your debut dress and she comforted you after your lover back then went missing"
Reynold sighed as you looked up, pausing but smiled nonetheless. Gods, Reynold seriously should've been smart back then when he got your lover killed, your best-friend now knew what he did. And of-course, your best-friend's glare was placed on him as you hugged her tight.
"Aurelia, how lovely to see you!!" you hummed, snuggling against her, head buried in her shoulder, she genuinely smelt of strawberries and soil after rain, you liked it.
Reynold silently watched, his fingers trembling against the teapot he picked up to pour himself some tea, wanting to bash it across Aurelia's head, gouge her eyes out, watch the blood seep down into your gorgeous gown, let it smother across yoβ
Aurelia hummed, patting your back, her smirk and eyes trained on Reynold, as he blinked and composed himself. An obvious threatβ
Any disrespect from him, secrets will be torn apart by her to you..
Callisto Regulus
Callisto stood silent, helping you pick out clothes as you left to change in them for fitting as Aurelia hummed, fanning her face, "So, crown prince Regulus. How have they been?" She asked lovingly, but obvious mocking which Callisto pretended to ignore,
"Delightful, we're been becoming friends aside from being lovers." he said softly, his ruby eyes glaring down at her as she fiddled with her fan. She stopped fanning herself, gently drawing it through her left hand silently, repeatedly.
Clearly meaning to say 'disgusting' or 'I hate you' in the fan language that Callisto knew Aurelia would know. Callisto obviously thought of her as a pompous, bimbo and dumb rich girl, trying to be all coy with her action with her fan.
Callisto's blood red eyes glared at her, wanting to draw out his sword and tell her why she shouldn't cross a member of the Imperial family or why she shouldn't be bothering you with trivial things when you could be with HIM!
But she put down her fan on her lap as you walked out, showing the clothes you wore, no matter a dress or suit Callisto's glare still would soften as he put them on you. Gods, he wanted to get down on his eyes and let you have your way with him.
But he smiled,
"You look lovely, darling." He smiled, as he walked close and reached out his finger to let you twirl gently to show off your clothes. You smiled brightly, oblivious to the tension as Aurelia tightened her grip on her folded fan.
Callisto twirls you and pulls you close, as he hums in approval, "You like nice in this colour, brings out your eye." He whispers, pressing a kiss to your head as Aurelia cleared her throat, holding up luxurious fabrics for you to choose from.
In styles you had an interest in, in trends you'd make with every clothing or accessory you wore to any place you went to as the spouse of the heir of the Eorka empire.
And they'd both make sure no one would be above them in your terms of affection, not even each other.
Dion Agriche
Dion silently watched, twirling his dagger in his hand, his blood-red eyes trained stoically and calculated on Aurelia. All it would take was one sharp throw....
It would go across her jugular making your so-called 'best-friend' choke on her own bodily fluids and blood. But no matter how much he loved your emotions, he wasn't willing a whole silent treatment from you.
You talked to her brightly, gossiping silently as to not bother Charlotte, who just so happened to be at the other end of the tea-room doing some 'work' as she claimed. You figured it was because she wanted dirt and blackmail, since even when you and Aurelia didn't talk, Charlotte hissed silently about your voices 'being too grating on my damn ears!!'
But a look form Aurelia and Dion shut her up, making her go back to her books and 'work'β
"I told you, you can always propose the idea to the Southern grand duke. I heard he is fond of artists such as yourself" You said softly, holding Aurelia's hand as Aurelia nodded, sipping her tea with her other hand.
"Of-course, I'll take your word for it." she smiled sweetly before turning to Dion, his blue-white tea cup left deserted with the tea already going coldβ
"Dion, dear? You've not touched your tea, why..?" You asked with soft concern as Aurelia hummed, motioning for him to but he simply gritted his teeth, his dull-red eyes glaring back at Aurelia who used her tea-cup as an excuse to hide her smile, before she pulled your attention back to herβ
"Did you hear what happened at the last banquet my father put on? Some lady and her husband ended up meeting with the mistress and-" She spoke brightly, weaving a gossip story to put you on the edge of the seat, pulling off any attention from Dion or the tea cup she could.
Of-course he didn't touch it, he could see assassination attempts and poison laced paints anywhere from a mile away. It was just subtle enough that he couldn't really claim she tried to poison him but strong enough to end his life and have it be celebrated as 'Black Agriche's freak accident' with the paint.
It could have multiple symptoms using it, death one of them, but with him and Aurelia's despisation for each other. He could easily tell death would be his main symptom.
Your purple-brown tea cup on the other had your and Aurelia's inside joke carved in it and you promised her you'd use it everyday for tea, so you were using it, perfectly safe paint, tea-plate shaped like a soft shell with purple-brown and grey checked patterned glazed in the prettiest patterns.
It brought life to the dull Black Agriche household and you knew better than to have it saved in the kitchen with Dion's because one or the other reasons, it would end up breaking... Gods, how sweet of Aurelia to do so!!
Caelus of Vrandt
Caelus sat silently, fixing a bouquet in the gardens as he watched you and Aurelia talk brightly. She spoke of her admirers as always, which Caelus would not help but roll his eyes at, such obnoxious bimbos like constantly try to suck up to you..!
"Oh come now!! A whole 143 flowers to proclaim love to me. Dno't you suppose you deserve something like it..?" Aurelia asked sweetly, putting her huge bouquet down with 143 different types of flowers with exactly 520 flowers.
As you focused on the flowers, Caelus' hand tighten around the vase and scissors as he took in a breathe, he couldn't kill her off. Not unless he wanted you to run away like Diana, his best-friend, did. Why was Aurelia implying he didn't give you enough?
Sure, in his head nothing was ever enough for someone like you..But he knew from a rational point of view that he spoiled you rotten, no person was more pampered than you. And he's made sure of it.
"Uh, I don't need that many flowers all together, Aurelia." You hummed, but plucked off a leaf, tearing it as she softly ate some sweets you'd gotten her. Aurelia hummed, softly and Caelus could feel her eyes on his backβ
"But if you ever do feel slightly unloved, just tell me. I'll fix your husband for you, right up! Can't have my favourite person upset now, can I?" she cooed in a playful and almost sultry manner, as you giggled.
You and hers fake-flirting was another reason for Caelus' migraines, he swears he could see Aurelia and her stupid face whenever he hears you giggle, unless it's at him... Gods, horrible.
Aurelia talked on her recent 'paramour' and how many gifts she's been given, admired by all. She was a society jewel. "And he allowed me to gift my friends so many things. Gods, just come visit whenever!!" she said so brightly.
It was like how Caelus would also gift things for you to give to your friends if you want.
You smiled, wanting your husband to join as you gently called out, as Aurelia's fingers tightened on her tea-cup's handle, "Caelu-" Caelus perked up, a smile gracing his lips at hearing you call his name.
He could just lay down in your lap, letting you call his name for an eternity if he could, but sadly a little pinprick stood at his side β
"Oh, no matter. Don't invite him, it's OUR friendship time." Aurelia said, dismissed Cael who turned to you with a wave of her hand, as if asking him to get back to his bouquet he was fixing as you sighed, nodding to your friend.
"Sorry, never-mind dear." you called to him as he grumbled, accidentally snipping off a pair of perfect blooms before he picked it up and held it tightly, subconsciously squishing it to a pulp and dropping it on the grass.
Fucking bitch..
Benjamin Lemberk
"And how has married life been treating you..? Regrets?" Aurelia asked sweetly as you sat with her, a new sort of glow after your marriage to Lemberk was surprising. You shook your headβ
"It's been pretty fine, actually lady Aira-" Benjamin began but Aurelia cut him off, "Whatever it may be, you're just getting prettier these days!!" Aurelia smiled brightly, pulling you close to her as she spoke brightly, ignoring Benjamin, not that you noticed. He did..'
He always did..
Benjamin sighed out, his smile tight and he was livid, but you'd ask him to be civil with her and you'd ask her that too for today's outing. Aurelia gushed over your hair and clothes, admiring the shoes and the jewellery you adorned all the while telling you about people she's heard had an interest in youβ
"Hm..That low viscount, I think..Acesius? I'm not sure if that's his name, but apparently, he had his eyes set on you since your debut!" Aurelia said brightly as you giggled, you were out of commission for life now..But it's always fun to gossip around!
"Oh come now, you'll upset Benjamin. Be nice!~" You smiled, rubbing your husband's back as he gave you a smile, "No worries, darling..I knowβ" he gave Aurelia look, "βhow people are desperate to be around you."
He said as Aurelia looked away, gritting her teeth to the point she was sure they'd break, how dare this bastard insinuate Aurelia was only around you for desperation of attention, she GENUINELY loved you!
And she's seen what this bastard has done..Killing off some of your male family members during a house fire, which wasn't an accident, but all his planning.
But Aurelia wouldn't say it lest Benjamin reveal why your aunt, the one who made you feel bad about a previous breakup, was taken by an 'illness' rapidly. Aurelia wouldn't tell you why she poisoned girls who tried to be your friend for the sake of it..
And most of all, neither Aurelia nor Benjamin would reveal why the two seem so tense around each other. Aurelia could feel her throat constrict and hurl if she saw how nicely Benjamin treated you..He didn't deserve that!
And Benjamin couldn't stand to look of that pompous bimbo Aurelia around you, influencing you to do things you might not want..Neither could handle it!!
Oh how gross you got stuck with that person as someone you trusted..
Claude De Alger Obelia
Claude looked up, his head in your lap as the emperor silently relaxed the solitaire of the imperial palace gardens with you. You hummed softly, running your fingers through his hair. The silence and soft humming from you was perfect to removing any tense or stress the emperor may have accumulated from his duties..
You gently put flowers in Claude's short blonde hair, admiring his face as if it was like a painting.. Claude's eyes closing between consciousness and sleep, wanting to hear you hum longer and as much as he could as he finally got your attention to himselfβ
"Your highness. Your friend, Lady Aistara is here to see you, may I bring her here?" A maid asked sweetly as you grinned brightly, much to Claude's chagrin, and nodded.
Claude silently turned on his side in a way he wouldn't face Aurelia when she came and your best-friend's sharp voice did come in a bright, almost boastful greeting,
"Ah! There you are, my imperial highness. You seem rather content. A bit too much content that you've not written letters?~ How sad!" Aurelia smiled brightly as Claude clenched his jaw, his hand holding your luxurious clothes tightly, not wanting to start a scene as the emperor..
"Oh, asleep, is he..? Oh, you always said he's so tired. I'm surprise you don't feel neglected these days with him doing his imperial duties." Aurelia hummed, sitting down beside you as you gently nudged her and hit her shoulder as she giggled,
"Okay-okay! No guy can neglect you, got it!" she giggled as you smiled, gently pushing Claude's hair back as he sighed silently, "You know, I'm surprise you both held on so tightly. I'm glad." Aurelia hummed, Claude still somehow noticed the strain in her voice.
Gods, can she never leave you alone..? Even during your honeymoon she accompanied the pair of you...
Forgetting that for now, Claude silently huffs before turning over and choosing to block out the noise and sleep.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
β Live Streamingβ Interactive Chatβ Private Showsβ HD Qualityβ Free Actions
Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming
unhinged gen z!reader with platonic!agriche family i beg i need to see their reactions to trying to square up against the monsters bc it was not very mindful, very demure, or very thoughtful to wake them up in the middle of the night to deal with this batshit insanity
TWTPTFLOB WITH A GEN-Z READER
AUTHOR'S NOTES: THISSSSS I love this and I love you. I made these platonic but then I realised I should make it into relationship headcanons
I. ROXANNA AGRICHE
Since she's also ikesai'd into the manhwa I'm guessing she also used slang in the way you do, but since she's growing up in a historical setting she can't use slang so forgot basically everything
Actually spits out her tea when you say something genz-y
"What do you need?"
"I need a tailor for-"
"OKAY PULL UP HOE π£π₯π₯π₯"
Asks you for the posh-y slang, like "paint me like one of your French girls" or "very demure, very mindful" so she can use in front of other Agriche's and see thier reaction
Will pull you by the collar if you square up dead in the night to fight some monsters because they interrupted your sleep
"COME HERE! YEAH YOU FUCKING PUSSY, TRY THE FUCK AGAI-"
"You have to be kidding me..."
Tries to get you out of trouble if you say things that others won't understand and gives you a little kiss on the cheek if you somehow make up a massive save or you start a trend
II. JEREMY AGRICHE
Doesn't know what the fuck you're saying like HUH???
Finds your vocabulary interesting, will accidentally pick up some things from you but he uses it in the wrong setting so you just stare at him like ???
"That pie was good actually. I liked the consistency and-"
"You ate and left no crumbs"
"...thanks pookie"
Because he loves you he will learn ALL the gen z shit you know and will achieve it to maximum potential to the point where if he ikesai'd into our world he'd fit right in
If this delinquent sees you trying to start a fight with a monster because it interrupted your sleep he would start laughing lmao
Then he'd realise you can't fight for shit and quickly comes to your rescue
III. DION AGRICHE
Doesn't care enough to ask you what you mean. Has though of using your vocabulary as a code signal, or to communicate similar to learning a different language
Will start bugging out if he asks what something means and you just won't say
"Skibidi toilet rizz!"
"What"
"Sticking out your gyatt for the rizzler π"
"What does it mean"
"You're so sigma"
"..."
Babes if you wake up to a monster you're not even leaving the room. This lunatic will pull you down back on the bed, leave the room locking the door and come back five minutes later with some blood on his cheek
Actually finds you funny but on everyone's soul he will not crack a smile
IV. LANTE AGRICHE
Kinda starting to regret marrying you. But you're his favourite wife so he'll let it slide
Enjoys how humorous you are, has no idea what you're saying but you laugh at your own jokes so there's that
"...and I gotta say, thy neighbour does not feel very loved right now" *laughs*
*let's out a chuckle*
If this scallywag sees you tryna box a monster because if interrupted your beauty sleep, he will kill that thing faster than you can finish your complaint
"YOU WANNA GO BRO??? YOU WANNA GO??? NEVER BACK DOWN NEVER WHAT- oh thanks dear"
Randomly gets hit with a wave of nostalgia on how you first met, you yelling at him to go suck his mum, while him trying his absolute best not to feed you to the monsters in the breeding grounds
To have the Agriche males vying for your attention? That was something entirely different and something dangerous.
DION AGRICHE loves you, although he does not express it. Nor will be probably ever due to his inability to express most of his emotions. Perhaps he'd show it in a subtle way, but he would never make it fully known to the public. He watches your every move, obsesses over every little thing you do.
If someone tries to take you away? He will shove them, beat them up, or even kill them on some instances where the male found the admirer very irritating. It was not irrational, not at all. You were his, and whether or not you knew so did not matter to him. He will make sure no one dared take you away.
JEREMY AGRICHE would be very open about his love for you. There is no denying the way he'd flirt in front of the people who he knew would like you in a sense. Men and women alike. He'd hold your hand, grab your waist, and pull you close to him just to make it know that you were his territory.
If anyone badmouthed you, they'd receive the same fate or worse. After all, torture was nothing new to the Agriche son. He would very much torture just about anyone who dares wrong you in any way. His darling did not deserve such treatment and never will. He is hell-bent on making that known and assuring that that will never be a situation deigned on you.
LANT AGRICHE, the head of the Agriche himself, obsessed with you? It was unlikely that he'd hide it. Not at all. He'd ask for your hand on the spot, buy you from your prestigious but greedy family, or perhaps he'd kidnap you instead. The man seemed to have a liking for this sort of violent and forceful act.
He would shower you with gifts, try to keep your mind off the fact that he'd taken you away from your family to be his instead of being married off to an old man, a suitor way over your years. He would keep you close, but not close enough to let his guard down and relax his ways with you.
He'd be very firm. Firm enough and strict. Strict enough to punish you, or threaten to, for even thinking of running away or proposing an idea he did not like. He'd also urge you to have his children, urge to breed you. Reason and convince with ease.
In the end, you were theirs, and they enjoyed that idea. Relished the thought of you wrapped around their finger. It made them happy and so much so.
