#obsessiveness

Obsessive!Yandere!Arranged Husband!Malleus Draconia with a Sweet!Shy!F!Arranged Wife!Reader: (Part 2)

#Tags: Obsessiveness, possessiveness, he's your arranged husband, arranged marriage au, he's a faerie high lord, he's obsessed with you, you're nervous, shy, implied nsfw, morning after wedding night, he draws you a bath, you meet his grandmother, jealousy, kissing

Dividers are by @angeliicide!

This is the second part of "Obsessive!Yandere! Arranged Husband!Malleus Draconia with a Sweet!Shy!F!Arranged Wife!Reader". Please read it before continuing this!

Twisted Wonderland:

Your legs hurt.

As if... staying awake the entire night wasn't enough, the bruises from your husband's hands decorated your hips and waist, hickeys littered over your neck. Malleus stirred beside you, the sunlight from the large windows making his aristocratic features glow. His horns shone under the golden light, his pale skin nearly translucent. His strong arm rested across your chest, pulling you against himself with strength that belied his slumbering beauty. You found yourself examining his features. In this rare instance of relaxation, his hair was tousled, his forehead scales catching the light. He truly was a mesmerizing man.

You sat up slowly, careful to not awaken your sleeping husband. However, his arm was like a band of iron! Unmoving. As you attempted to move again, a grunt escaped Malleus as he crushed you against his form, resting his chin on top of your head. "Good morning, my beautiful wife. Was last night so unpleasant that you find yourself eager to escape my embrace?"

"N-No, I—," a blush fought its way onto your cheeks as you squirmed against him," I have to get ready for the day. Please release me..."

Sitting up, the Draconian High Lord barked out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Fair enough. I'll take my scratched up back as a sign that last night was, to some extent, pleasurable for you as well, oh fair maiden." Leaning in to kiss your cheek, he chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the bed frame, his eyes roving over your form.

You stood up, hugging the sheets to your torso in a makeshift dress as you meandered over to the bathing chambers to freshen up, stopping to see your reflection in the glass mirror which was kept adjacent to the bed. Flushed cheeks, bed hair, a pink neck and a sore body. You gasped, realizing the extent of the marks Malleus left on you. How would you cover this for the family breakfast, and not to mention, the ball happening tonight in honour of Malleus' marriage?!

"What's the point of hiding, now? You possess nothing which I have not seen before, Y/n," his lime eyes bore into yours in the mirror as he smirked devilishly, making you blush even more.

"Still! I should maintain my, erm, dignity!"

"Cute. Now, don't keep me waiting, darling," he purred, rising to follow you to the bathing chambers, "we have a breakfast to attend. Unless you'd rather..."

You felt your face become even redder, if that was even possible, at his grin. "No way!" This man...!

His eyes tracked the maids who had entered invisibly to arrange the bathing supplies, hardening. "You are all dismissed for the day. I shall tend to my woman myself."

Not risking their master's fury, the servants scattered as quickly as they had arrived, their gazes lowered. You felt his arm wrap around your waist as he pecked your temple, entering the bathing chambers to check the water.

"Why is the water so cold?" Malleus growled, clearly angered. "Shall I have my servants whipp—"

"No, no, Malleus," you quickly calmed him down, gently holding his arm, "it's fine."

"It is not," in an instant, your Fae husband conjured green flames in his palm, condensing them into a perfect green orb. As he tossed it into the bathing tub, the water began heating up, "there we go. You deserve perfection. Nothing less."

Smiling at his concern, you sat in the tub, feeling your muscles relax. A warm bath truly was the best! Suddenly, the water rippled and, before you knew it, Malleus was seated right behind you, his arms wrapped around your form like a belt.

"Is the water to your liking?" He murmured against your ear. "I can heat it up more, if you wish for it to be that way."

"It's perfect, thank you."

The rest of the routine happened in a blur, the scent of fresh lilies from your body gel and Malleus' aftershave ointment hanging in the air. As you dried your hair off, you couldn't help but feel a wave of nervousness within you. Today was the morning after the marriage. Meaning, it was also the day of two significant events. First was the breakfast with Malleus' grandmother, Maleficia. Second was the Draconian ball held the day after marriage.

You needed to appear proper in front of his grandmother. The face of the Draconia family. As you fussed over your appearance for the day, Malleus appeared from behind the divider, dressed in a regal black attire with dark green highlights, making his aristocracy prominent. Hair slicked back to show his scales, polished shoes, black gloves, the matching cloak pulled the look together. Anything would appear flattering on this man. Seeing your distress, he smirked. "Like what you see?"

You blushed. "Oh, Malleus! You look..."

"Delicious?"

"H-Handsome is what I meant!"

"Thank you for your praise," with a chuckle, he straightened up, running his hand through your now dry hair, "have you decided on your attire?"

"Oh, I was just... confused. I'm not sure what's the better option," you sighed, examining the two shortlisted gowns you brought along your items. A velvet gown, simple and viridian in colour, while the second was a black gown, embellished with diamonds to finalize the look, "I was thinking the green dress would be a good option, as it's just a breakfast. However, Lady Maleficia is the most influential lady of High Society, so maybe a more extravagant look would appear more proper in her eyes..."

"I do not deem your initial choice as anything less than perfect," Malleus murmured, his hand reaching to move a few strands of your hair behind your ear, "the second choice may be a little too flashy for my grandmother. She is but a mature woman who appraises elegance and simplicity. The second gown can be saved for another occasion."

"Thank you! I'll wear the green one, then," you smiled brightly, changing into the gown. Suddenly, a flush spread across your cheeks as you gulped. Oh, shit.

"What is the matter, Y/n? Why has your gaze become downcast?" Malleus' alarmed voice filled your senses as you shook your head.

"I-I forgot that the green dress is off shoulders," looking at your reflection in the mirror, you pointed at the kiss marks he had left on your neck, "I'll need to conceal these."

A sharp laughter exited Malleus as he kissed your lips firmly, pulling away to move your makeup products out of the way. "So? I will not allow you to conceal these marks. They are a proof of our union. A proof which shall silence my grandmother from asking unnecessary questions regarding our consummation. Additionally, I find myself quite... ecstatic to see you bear marks of my own doing."

"Still, it's unbecoming!" You protested, only to be pulled closer towards him by the waist.

"Unbecoming? My grandmother is but a woman herself. She will understand," your husband grinned, his hands already reaching for your malachite jewelry set, "now, turn around and let me adorn you further."

Sighing as you relented under his persuasion, you felt him gather your hair in a ponytail before clasping your necklace with deliberate slowness, as if savoring every moment of contact with your form.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are the most exquisite of species?" Malleus grasped your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles as he maintained eye contact, using that hand to twirl you. "Somehow, you make every single thing look amazing on you."

"You're too nice to me," you chuckled, fixing your dress. You felt Malleus' arm wrap itself around your waist, pulling you close to his side.

"Shall we?"

Upon your nod, the Draconian High Lord led you out of your shared chambers, the servants bowing to his presence. You couldn't help but feel a sense of nervousness hit you again as you neared the large gates separating you both from Lady Maleficia. The first impression is the last impression, as the noble ladies say.

Let's get it over with.

"Child, turn your head to the left. "

You gulped, obeying Maleficia's command. This movement bared your reddened neck to her scrutiny even more, a low rumble escaping her chest.

"You dare sit in my presence with such a condition of your form?" she growled. "With these marks marring your skin, I would doubt whether you are meeting your husband's grandmother or a common consort! This behaviour of yours is so..."

"Y-Your Grace, I—" You spluttered, shrinking under the intensity of her gaze. A rumbling noise escaped Malleus, who had tightened his grasp on his cutlery.

"Do not scold my wife, grandmother," he spoke, his plate forgotten in front of him, "I respect you and feel affection towards you to a great degree, but even so, I shall not tolerate any disrespect towards her. It is a blemish to my authority as well."

"This behaviour of yours is so... welcomed!"

A resounding laughter escaped Maleficia as she smirked at both of your dumbfounded faces, her fangs visible. "It is extremely rare to find a young lady to tease as such these days. Every woman is so focused on appearing prim and proper, concealing the very marks we Draconians pride ourselves on giving to our mates, that this old woman yearns to find a refreshing soul as yourself. I thank you for being such an easy girl to tease, child."

Exhaling in relief yet embarrassment, you blushed, "oh, um. That's not... I— My husband told me to not hide the marks!"

Maleficia's serpentine eyes, resembling her grandson's, lit up, a chuckle escaping her as she reached over to fix a strand of your hair behind your ear. "It seems I have raised you quite well, Malleus. Very well, then. Child, how has Malleus been treating you so far?"

"He's been, erm, really good to me," you mumbled out, intimidated by the two Draconian nobles, your hand automatically shooting to touch your neck in an attempt to soothe the hickeys, "and he takes care of me."

"I am glad to hear that," the older woman sipped her wine as she examined your form, "when I heard that Malleus had insisted upon marriage with you, I could not comprehend what had hypnotized my otherwise level-headed grandson to do so. I must admit, I was hasty in departing from the main Draconia residence to attend the breakfast today. Now that I have interacted with you properly, I can see exactly why he was so taken with you."

"I see!" You find yourself smiling at her words. "You're too kind to me, though."

Maleficia's stern features melted into a smile as she ran a hand through your soft hair. "Nonsense! You are a child not simply of outer beauty, but of inner beauty as well. Your meekness has pleased this old woman."

"As it should. My wife was very worried about meeting you officially," A loving scoff exited Malleus as he took another bite of the steak in front of him, "I had to convince her that my grandmother cares less for vague appearances and more for intellect."

"Ever since you were a child, you have been one territorial dragon," the Draconian Lady sighed, her hand brushing over Malleus' forehead scales in a loving manner, "I cannot help but feel proud of this young lad I have raised you to become."

Malleus' elven ears twitched imperceptibly as he wiped his lips with a napkin, his hand reaching out to grasp hers before kissing the back of it. "You should most definitely feel pride for raising me as such."

"Speaking of which, for tonight's ball, have you both decided your attires?" Maleficia questioned, her focus shifting back to you.

"I have a few options, Your Grace," you smiled, "but I am yet to decide."

"Do not decide, then. I have already sent for a designer to come and make a dress for you," she chuckled, "if only you saw the way Malleus had wrecked havoc in the weekly Unseelie meetings to fetch the best designer of Briar Valley to come sew your outfit."

A rare flush settled on Malleus cheekbones as he cleared his throat, his hand automatically reaching to pull your chair closer. "Do not mind my grandmother's words. She has gone senile."

"Senile? You offend me greatly!" Maleficia laughed, rising. "How well. This senile woman has gotten the best designer in Briar Valley for you. Think of it as a present from me. He's amazing at his job."

Silence settled over the hall as Malleus' eyes hardened, flaring. "He? I think I asked for a woman to assist my wife."

"Too bad, then. He shall be arriving today," with that, Maleficia took her leave!

As you turned to face Malleus, a strong band of iron wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. "Y/n. You must hear me loud and clear. I am not pleased that the designer is a man. Therefore, you are to maintain distance from him. Understood?"

"And if I refuse?" You found yourself testing the limits of his patience, your hands reaching out to toy with his bolo tie. "I'm not obligated to listen to you, am I?"

"Oh, darling," his words dripped with menace as he captured your chin with two fingers, forcing you to maintain eye contact, "you wouldn't want to disobey me in this matter. I do not take lightly to anyone threatening my claim."

Leaning in, you stole a kiss from him, your cheeks flushing at your own audacity as you rose, lifting your dress slightly before running off, "I'll think about it!"

Malleus sat, dumbfounded yet again, as he touched his lips where you had left a lipstick mark, a sly grin pulling on his lips.

"Think about it? Just wait for tonight, my love."

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this. I was thinking of making this into a mini series of a few parts! Malleus sends you some shaved ice 🍧 Do send requests for more! 💚

Warnings: Smut, Dark Peter Parker, Jealousy, Angst, Possessiveness, Dark Romance, Power Dynamics, Violence, Yandere, Obsessiveness, Dark Royalty AU

Summary: They call you a villainess, a serpent in silk, but he wants you, all of you, even the parts you hide.

You were not born with a golden spoon. Your mother had not whispered lullabies while swaddling you in silks. She had sung the sharp truths of survival instead, her voice not soft but unyielding as she taught you that the court would not coddle you, that the world would step on the weak and crush them like insects beneath polished boots. She had been nothing once: a seamstress whose hands bore the scars of years spent stitching gowns for women who mocked her behind fans and embroidered insults into the seams she could not remove.

And yet she had risen. She had clawed herself into influence, sewn herself into power stitch by stitch, whisper by whisper, until even nobles bowed in her presence and feared her cunning more than they did the king himself.

From her, you learned the law of the world: climb, or be trampled.

You learned that kindness was a weapon only if wielded like a blade, and cruelty could be a cloak as warm as the most expensive furs if one knew how to wear it. By the time you arrived at court, you were no naive girl to be molded; you were a weapon sharpened, a venomous jewel, a blade wrapped in velvet.

They called you villainess, temptress, serpent; they whispered of your cruelty, and it pleased you. You were admired, feared, and utterly untouchable, and you intended to keep it that way.

Then there was Peter Parker.

Crown Prince, golden boy, darling of the court. He was everything you despised: born to privilege, adored without effort, his path smoothed by titles and his smile.

And yet he looked at you as though you were the only thing in the world that mattered. At first, he had thought you a puzzle to solve, a curious creature to be unraveled by wit and charm, and he had tried. Flowers, jewels, falcons, playful banter, he had offered them all.

But nothing worked. You had never laughed for him, never smiled with ease, never allowed yourself to falter in the smallest way before his gaze. You could see his desperation flicker and grow like a candle flame, and it amused you to leave it smoldering.

He thought it was curiosity at first, then obsession. He watched from the gallery as you went about your deadly game of manipulation, your gaze sharp, your movements measured. But it was the day of the hunt had changed him forever.

𓆩༺𓆪

The boar had come charging out of the bush, teeth bared, hooves pounding the dirt in a furious rhythm. Women screamed, horses reared, and all eyes turned to see if the golden prince would be able to save the unworthy lady.

But you were no one’s damsel. You drove your spear through its thick neck, twisting it until the beast collapsed with a wet, sickening thud. Blood spattered your hands and white gown, and you stood over it, unflinching, the tip of your spear dripping scarlet, and Peter knew in that instant that he would never be able to think of anyone else. He will always love you.

𓆩༺𓆪

After the kill, when the nobles whispered of your ruthlessness, Peter’s obsession with you only grew. Even though the other nobles shunned you for your brutality Peter was drawn to you even more like a moth to a flame. It was inevitable for him to notice how your gaze softened however fleetingly, toward the young guard at your side, the orphan your family had taken in. Your hand brushed his cheek with gentleness, fingers lingering, and he leaned into you as though the touch were a balm. You smiled softly at him in a way you never did for Peter. And Peter… he could not endure it.

Jealousy burrowed into him like a worm in wood, twisting and gnawing at his restraint. He did not hate the guard; he barely considered him a threat. But the sight of you giving warmth to another, softness that he had longed for, ignited a fury so intense he thought he might tear you from the world just to claim the right to your attention.

Days passed, and he watched from shadows. He followed you to the gardens, the halls, the library, always close but never close enough. Every smile you gave to the orphan, every laugh you allowed yourself to release for someone other than him, fanned the fire of his obsession. And you… you knew. You had always known. You could see the way his jaw tightened when your hand lingered on the boy’s arm, the way his shoulders tensed like a predator ready to strike. It made your chest thrum with perverse satisfaction, the thrill of control curling in your belly.

The moment came in the eastern garden, a hidden nook where the roses grew thick and the scent of jasmine clung to the air. The guard was beside you, laughing low, hand brushing your cheek. You leaned into it, giving him the gentleness you had denied the prince, and Peter saw from the shadows, body rigid, every muscle coiled, heart hammering in a rhythm fueled by want and rage.

He could no longer wait, his hand gripped your wrist with a strength that made you gasp. Your guard tried to protest as he pulled you down the corridor. But Peter was the crown prince and a lowly guard would not stop him.

“You dare challenge your prince ” he hissed, and the command left no room for argument. With one forceful tug, he tugged you free from your knight’s grasp, the torchlight flickering against the cold stone walls, your skirts rustling like whispers of resistance.

Every step toward his chambers was measured, deliberate, and full of intent. Peter’s hands did not waver, one holding your wrist, the other tracing along the curve of your spine as if to remind you that resistance would not be enough to save you. You tried to pull away, tried to twist and hiss sharp words, but the crown prince was relentless. The heat emanating from his body pressed into yours, the rhythm of his footsteps syncing with the frantic hammering of your heart.

When he finally slammed the door behind you, his lips collided with yours, rough, bruising, urgent. You tried to pull away, but his body pressed against yours, hot, hard, unforgiving. His teeth caught your lower lip, tugging, biting, claiming, and you moaned despite yourself, a sharp, frustrated sound that only fanned his need.

“You touched him,” he growled into your ear, voice low and ragged, “you smile for him, and you’ve denied me for months, for years, and I’ve been patient, dammit, patient, and now...now I will not wait any longer.”

You struggled, clawing at his chest, ripping the silk of his tunic with your nails, tasting the iron tang of his frustration on your lips. “You think you can claim me because you’re desperate?” you spat, venom laced with desire. “You think your crown makes you anything more than a greedy boy?”

He laughed, a low, harsh sound, and slammed his body against yours again, forcing you to the wall. “I am a greedy boy,” he hissed, “who has wanted you since the first time you walked into the court. Who has bled silently for months trying to earn a glance, and you...” His hand gripped your own as he forced your fingers to meet his hardness, the heat and weight of his desperation. “You’ve made me ache like this, and now, I’ll take you. I’ll take you until you can’t stand straight without remembering who you belong to.”

His hips pressed into yours, hard, relentless, and your breath hitched, sharp and ragged. You tried to maintain the cruel remnants of your pride, to sneer, to bite, to scratch, but your body betrayed you, quivering at his touch, soaking through your undergarments.

His fingers pressed into your wetness, sliding and probing, teasing, driving you mad with the knowledge that he had waited, watched, hungered for this exact moment, and now he had you entirely.

He groaned, his teeth grazing your neck, and thrust into you in a movement that was desperate, possessive, rough. You gasped, a strangled, heated sound, as he slammed into you again and again, rutting with an intensity born of jealousy and aching obsession. His hands fisted the elaborate skirt of your gown, his body shivering against yours with need, marking you, claiming you.

You moaned loudly this time, letting the sound escape, letting him hear how his desire controlled you. You tilted your hips, grinding back against him, nails digging into his shoulders, pulling him closer even as he dragged you into the wall. The garden was scented with roses and heat, the night alive with your mingled cries and gasps.

“Say it,” he rasped, voice thick with hunger and dark obsession, teeth grazing your jaw, “say my name, tell me you’re mine, or I swear…” His hips snapped harder into yours, each thrust sending shivers and heat coursing through your spine, making your nails dig into his shoulders. “…I will leave no one standing in my path. Perhaps I should start with that insolent guard of yours, mount his head on a spike, let it serve as a warning to anyone who dares to touch you, to come between us.”

You bit down on his shoulder to stifle a moan, your hands clutching at him, body arching impossibly against his, and for a heartbeat, you almost surrendered fully to the madness of the moment, the way his desperation had broken through your cruelty. “Peter…” you gasped, voice trembling between command and surrender, “yours.”

That was all he needed. He thrust into you deeper, harder, shoving all the aching months, all the jealousy, all the obsession into each frantic, rutting movement. You were slick, tight, welcoming him despite your own resentment, despite every bitter thought you had ever held against his privilege. He groaned loudly, his seed spilling inside you, filling you, marking you as his in the rawest, most possessive way imaginable.

When he finally shuddered and collapsed against you, body shaking with release and triumph, you leaned against him, breathing hard, slick and bruised, aware of how completely he had taken you, claimed you, made you his. You should have hated him, cursed him, spat at him for breaking the iron walls you had built around your heart. But you didn’t. Instead, you let him rest against you, feeling the tremors of his need, feeling your own body still warm and shivering from the cruel, desperate pleasure of it.

“Mine,” he whispered again, his lips brushing your ear, “no one else. Never again.”

This behavior is a sign of very deep unwellness and obsessiveness.

You really have the full package here. Hate, death threats, and a particular behavior that really disturbs me: hunting down and saving Noah Schnapp's baby pictures to be used as profile pictures or for head canons about Will while posting said hate and death threats about Noah Schnapp.

This is a single account. It is far from the only account that does this on Twitter (and on tumblr frankly). But it's becoming increasingly more common and it's high time more people started pointing out how obsessive and creepy it is.

Here's another example of TWO accounts—one who just hates Noah and the other who says no one should support him because he's "genocidal"—posting and retweeting respectively his baby pictures:

It would be odd behavior even without the hateful element. With it, though, it is flat out creepy. If you are someone who "does not support" Noah Schnapp and thinks he is evil—what business do you have stealing family photos and baby pictures of his to use for content? Do you not understand how many boundaries that crosses? How would you feel about people who hate you rummaging through your family's socials, screenshotting pictures of you, and posting it all over their socials?

I'd let you carve your name into me so everyone knows who it is I belong to..it doesn't even have to be your name you could just give me cuts wherever you want and I'd adore every single one of them because they were given to me by you..I don't care if it hurts or leaves a scar just show me how far you're willing to go, for me to know you love me...

Reminder that my DMs are always open to those who’d like to talk,, I promise I won’t bite ! I adore talking to people, so don’t be afraid to interact with me at all. ^_^