#possessiveness

✦ : verity x gamer!gn reader , up to you if reader is amab/afab (it’s not plot relevant), r/n is over eighteen, unestablished relationship, non-physical physical touch

★ : synopsis: reader plays other games with friends, causing verity to feel as though they're “cheating on him”.

⚠︎ : warnings: this was written before pt. 3 released. if any of the content in the fanfiction is inaccurate, don't publicly execute me. angst, swearing, heavy arguments, verity having attachment issues (as per usual)

❖ : a/n: you guys REALLY liked the first verity fic i posted holy shit um here's the link to that first one if you’d like to check it out, thank you all for your support LOLOL i promise more oneshots will be published by me

“what do you do when you're offline?”

it seemed like such an innocent question back then. despite it sounding like a harmless inquiry, the instances where verity™ casually demonstrated his omniscience slipped r/n's mind. they formed an enthusiastic smile, their heart beaming at the opportunity to rant about their interests.

“ah, well, y'know. i play other games with my friends! hero shooters, low-quality horror games, multiplayer stuff, fighting games, things like that.”

“really?”

“uh huh!”

“that sounds like fun!”

his voice was deceptively chipper—and by god, did r/n fall for it. they couldn't see the fog past verity’s facade, not until it was far too late. throughout their bond, r/n would hop off minecraft for long periods of time, spending a couple of hours playing something other than their blocky world.

they always came back, though! they’d talk about what happened while they were out for a while, verity would internally seethe, and then they’d move on to continue playing minecraft. it was incredibly bittersweet. each time it happened, the tension in verity’s voice only rose more.

more often than not, they logged off to play something else rather than logging off for other things—like sleeping, showering, eating, and any real-life necessities in general. verity never said it out loud, but he didn't think playing other games was a good excuse to log off.

but that didn't matter anymore. none of it did. not since verity tried to pop r/n's head off when he was taller and lankier and a fucking freak. how does that even work, anyway? does r/n die in-game, or do they die in real life too? either option didn't sound pretty—and they weren't having it with verity much longer.

whenever r/n would leave, the gap between leaving and returning was much larger. the growing distance was so palpable, one could almost taste it—and in turn, it resulted in verity urgently trying to salvage what they had. in all the wrong ways. he couldn't lose another one.

“don't you love minecraft?”

verity quietly questioned, his shaky voice laced with a desperate need for reassurance as his facial expression shifted into one of acrimony. r/n paused, not expecting verity to show such vulnerability all of a sudden. they leaned forward and took a better look at their monitor, their eyebrows furrowing in prudent confusion.

“…i… i do, i just—”

“then why? why do you go out there, playing all those other games instead of being with me?”

r/n physically stopped and listened to verity’s darkened, venomous voice. in truth, they were stunned by the latter’s possessive true colors. they felt as if this had come out of nowhere, let alone with him being this disdainful. sure, he was always annoying about them leaving, but why was he acting so… so…

“you don’t need the others! you don't need your friends, you don't need other spaces—you have me.”

“…verity—”

“promise me, r/n!”

verity’s eyes widened into something more dangerous. r/n interpreted it as hostile—but in reality, it was desperation. fear mixed with frustration, and that led to the worst outburst.

“promise me you won't play any other game. promise me that you won't leave. say that you won't get bored with this world and won't leave me—”

“verity!”

r/n slammed their hand on their desk, their voice becoming louder and more firm. verity grew quiet after r/n demanded his attention, though that didn't mean the yellow ball’s bitter expression grew any softer.

“i can't promise you that, verity. sometimes, i feel like playing other types of games. i have needs, and cravings, and responsibilities, and–and—”

“why can't you stay with me?!”

“for the love of fuck, verity, it’s because you’re suffocating!”

the admission made the digital world and the real one go dead silent. r/n heaved, their fingers grasping the edge of their table as their shoulders tensed. saying it out loud, even directly to verity, it felt like a weight had been lifted from their shoulders. by then, they couldn't help themselves.

“i loved playing with you, but after you—showed me your… other form, you’ve been a—a-a disaster! i feel like i’m walking on eggshells every time i talk to you, so i use my friends and the other games as breaks from you!”

r/n gesticulated along with their words, their heart pouring out as they glared at the screen.

“those other games? being with my friends? when i’m off minecraft? i can finally breathe without feeling like you’re all up on me. and yet, somehow, somehow, you still manage to know what the fuck i’m doing! it–it’s ridiculous!”

“i just need to know if you’re okay, r/n.”

verity’s voice wasn't as cheerful as it usually was—nothing had been the same with him since… the incident. he wasn't yelling anymore. worse, his voice lowered. dangerously so. r/n wasn't able to push back the pent-up rage, and they found themselves spilling out what's been weighing on their shoulders for weeks—maybe even months.

“no! no, it’s not just about you needing to know if i’m okay, you—you’re being a fucking creep! i can't even take a shit without worrying you’re spying on me!”

“it’s not—”

verity stopped, the imperilment within him gnawing at his sentient mind to come out. but he wouldn't let his hunger get the better of him. he’s left far too many humans in his wake for him to risk making the same mistakes again. but the lurking, the watching? that wasn't a mistake. that was only a necessary precaution to make sure r/n didn't forget about him.

“…why can't you understand? why would you leave me for them, when you have me right here?”

r/n gawked at their monitor incredulously. seriously? what the fuck is it with this dude? he’s not even a dude, he's just a… thing! why was r/n letting a clingy talking ball hold them back? soon enough, r/n rolled their eyes and clicked their tongue, grabbing their mouse in irritation.

“tsk—whatever, dawg.”

r/n brought up the minecraft menu, likely intending to leave the world all in all… maybe even forever. wait–forever? verity couldn't have that, he couldn't live with that! he had to stop them!

before r/n could even press the glorious button that’d so graciously give them the freedom they desired—they heard the familiar sound of bones crackling in their headphones. their eyes immediately widened, unable to help darting their gaze to the darkened area of their screen that still displayed the minecraft world.

“no–no, no, no, NO!” 

shit.

verity had turned into… that again. r/n rushed to leave the minecraft world—fuck, they should've just used alt f4—but verity had somehow managed to close it before r/n could do anything about it. his large, horrifyingly slender hand grabbed a hold of r/n's in-game character—slamming it to whatever surface was behind them.

the weirdest part was—they felt it. they felt the impact from their digital vessel getting hit. what was even worse, their back was alarmingly bound to their chair, verity’s voice still blaring in r/n's pounding ears through their headphones. they squirmed, but ultimately couldn't… move. what the fuck was going on???

they were pinned to their chair, their in-game model was presumably pinned to the wall, based on what r/n could see behind verity’s head. they didn't have much to work with, since verity was practically “nose-to-nose” with the perspective of r/n’s digital eyes. with verity’s hollow stare so intense, r/n wasn't sure if verity was staring at their model or at them.

“you can't leave, you won't leave! you are mine, you hear me, r/n?? mine!!”

“htck—verity–verity, what the fuck???”

“they’re not as faithful to you like i am, r/n! they don't know you like i do, they don't see you like i do, they don't care about you like i do!”

beads of sweat formed on r/n's face as they were forced to stare at their monitor in wide-eyed horror. their heart raced in their chest, the irregular, almost supernatural sensation of being held down by an unseeable force not helping with their already freaked-out mind.

all this because they just wanted to play other games. fuck their life.

r/n had been bracing themself for impact, pain, or even a sliver of a chance meeting with death—but strangely enough, nothing all that physically harmful came. either because this entire “pushed-back” ordeal was r/n experiencing the placebo effect at the worst possible time, or because verity just didn't want to hurt them.

soon enough, when r/n tuned back into reality, they heard faint sniffling. shit, was verity crying right now? r/n was frozen in place, unable to speak or move—not like they were able to move in the first place—as they watched tears well up in verity’s unnerving eyes.

“…please.” 

verity’s eyes had closed, his once semi-distorted voice now softening to something more broken. his head leaned on r/n's character’s head, causing r/n themself to lean their head back and feel the indescribable intimate contact on their forehead. they looked up at their ceiling in confusion, their lips parting as their heart continued to race.

what the fuck was going on?

“please–i don’t want to lose you, r/n…”

they listened to their headphones, hearing the plea in verity’s voice. bones crackled again, and the sound of verity bouncing against the floor perked up shorter after. as verity transformed back, the unseen force had retracted, allowing r/n to exercise their freedom to move again.

but for a while, they just… didn't move. they were still in shock about what had just happened. they sat there in their chair, gazing up at their ceiling while their shoulders drooped from being previously squished up. they were gonna be haunted by this forever, now.

when r/n finally lowered their head to look at their screen, they saw nothing but their own house. that only confirmed the fact that verity converted back into a ball. they shakily reached out for their mouse, their chair creaking as they leaned forward to sit properly again.

they shifted their mouse to look down at the floor. lo and behold, a verity full of sorrow was looking up at them on the floor. they couldn't even be bothered to move their other hand for their keyboard—what was the point of movement, when verity could easily have them wrapped around his finger again?

“…you…”

r/n leaned back, raising their hands to run them through their scalp, not caring about avoiding their headphones anymore. they needed all the solace and comfort they could get—and right now, verity’s presence wasn't making them feel very comfortable. knowing him, would they ever feel comfortable again?

would they ever feel safe again?

“…you got that, ver.”

★ : shout out to:

…no one.

okay look guys ima be real witchu my discord nitro expired and ion got nun in my apple store account rn so if any of you want an illustrated piece or wanna request a fanfic of a certain fandom/character/x reader whatever you gotta ask me b4hand tho to see if im in the fandom you can hmu at @angywangy. on discord 🙏🙏

i also accept marvel rivals skin gifting as payment for illustrations 👀👀 you can check out my pinned intro on my blog if discord doesn't work as a communication platform for you

okay that's it i’m gonna stop being a bum bye thank you for reading LMAOOOO

YOU DON’T CARE?

Michael Jackson x Female!Reader

Summary: Michael tries to make reader jealous, but it ends up backfiring.

warnings: arguing, angst? Jealousy, possessiveness.

part 2 here

The heavy velvet curtains of Hayvenhurst were drawn tight, shutting out the night and the ever present hum of the outside world. Inside the living room, the universe shrunk down to a warm room illuminated by the warm glow of the television and a few expensive lamps.

A massive fort of silk pillows and quilted blankets occupied the centre of the room, a stable of these rare, quiet sleepovers. For anyone else, a sleepover was a casual weekend plan. For Michael, it was a fortress. It was one of the very few places where the crushing weight of fame, the record breaking charts, and suffocating madness of his global celebrity couldn’t reach him. Here, he wasn’t was a phenomenon. Here he was just regular Michael.

You were sitting crossed legged on a pile of over sized cushions, wearing a pair of shorts and a vintage t shirt, idly flipping through a music magazine. Across from you, Michael was stretched out on his stomach propped up on his elbows. His curls framed his face perfectly, free of hairspray and styling that defined his public image.

The television hummed quietly in the background, playing an old cartoon on low volume, neither of you were really paying much attention to it. A large bowl of half eaten popcorn sat between you, along with empty glasses that used to filled with orange juice.

On the surface everything was how it exactly usually was. Peaceful. Quiet. Safe.

But beneath it, a strange, restless energy was humming through Michael. You could sense it in the way his fingers tapped an erratic rhythm against his leg. His wide eyes kept tracing back to you, tracking your expressions, waiting for a reaction that hadn’t come yet.

"You're weirdly quiet tonight," Michael murmured, shifting his weight. He picked up a piece of popcorn and tossed it into the air, catching it expertly in his mouth. "Usually, you'd be rambling about something by now. Did I bore you with that new demo?"

"Not at all," you said without looking, your eyes scanning the magazine, yet you weren’t really reading the words on the pages. "The demo is brilliant, Mike. You know that. I'm just reading."

Michael frowned slightly, his lips pressing into a pout. He didn't want you to just read. He wanted your full, undivided attention. More specifically, he wanted a very particular kind of attention he’d been chasing. He had been feeling a nagging, persistent ache in his chest for months now, a deep, terrifyingly intense affection for you that went far beyond friendship. But Michael was terrified of rejection, and even more terrified of ruining the one safe haven he had left. So, instead of being honest, his brilliant mind had decided on a foolproof, albeit disastrous, plan to test the waters, by make you jealous.

He cleared his throat, adjusting his position so he was leaning a bit closer to your side of the blanket fort.

“So…” he started, his voice dropping into a casual conversation tone that was totally not forced and not obvious. “I had that big interview yesterday afternoon. The one with that European network.”

“Oh, yeah?” You replied, your tone perfectly pleasant, entirely detached. “How did it go? Did they ask you the same five questions about the moonwalk?”

“No, actually,” Michael said, a small, sly, smile playing on his lips. He leaned his chin against the palm of his hand, his eyes watching you carefully. “It was… different. The interviewer, her name is Cynthia. She flew all the way from London. She was incredibly smart. Very well spoken. And, uh… well, she was also really beautiful.”

Your heart did a sudden, unexpected, violent flip in your chest. The words you were pretending to read seemed even more meaningless than they had been before. A cold prickle of jealousy flared to life in your stomach, sharp and uninvited.

You kept your eyes glued to the magazine, your face a mask of absolute, serene indifference. You knew if you made eye contact Michael would instantly be able to read you like an open book.

You had spent years mastering the art of hiding your feelings around Michael Jackson. When a man is chased by millions of screaming women every time he steps out of a building, you learn to build a very thick wall around your heart just to survive being his friend, but that didn’t stop the nagging feeling of wishing you were more than just a friend.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Mike,” you said, your voice smooth, and light, and the exact opposite of everything Michael had been secretly hoping for. “It’s always nice when you get an interviewer who actually treats you like a human being instead of some zoo animal.”

Michael’s smile faltered slightly. That wasn’t quite the reaction he was looking for. He needed more. He needed a spark.

“No, it was more than that,” Michael pressed on, his voice taking on a certain edge that you couldn’t describe. “We ended up talking for hours after the cameras stopped rolling. She had this incredible laugh, you know? And she kept touching my arm when I made a joke. It was… I don’t know, there was a really strong connection there.”

He watched you like a hawk, waiting for the telltale signs. A tightening of your jaw. A sharp intake of breath. A snappy, possessive remark. Anything to show that the thought of another woman holding his attention tore you apart the same way the thought of another man tore him apart.

Instead, you finally closed the magazine, placing it neatly on the floor beside you. You turned your head to look at him, your expression entirely open, warm, and encouraging.

"Michael, that is amazing!" you exclaimed, forcing a bright smile breaking across your face. "Wow. You rarely ever click with people like that outside of work. I'm so happy for you."

Michael blinked, momentarily stunned. "You... you are?"

"Of course I am!" You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, entirely playing the part of the supportive, enthusiastic best friend, even as a small, bitter knot tightened in your throat. "You're always saying how hard it is to meet genuine people who see past the fame. If this Cynthia girl connected with you like that,” you struggled to get the words out as your throat tightened “and she's beautiful and smart? Mike, that’s a special find."

"Yeah. Special," Michael echoed your words, his brows furrowing. He sat up fully now, crossing his legs, his eyes locked onto yours, trying desperately to read between the lines. There had to be a catch. You couldn't possibly be this happy about it. "She, uh... she gave me her personal number. Written on the back of her itinerary. She told me to call her at her hotel before she flies back to England at the end of the week."

"Well, what are you waiting for?" you urged, your smile widening, though it felt like a heavy weight was pulling at the corners of your mouth. "You should absolutely call her. Better yet, you should take her out on a proper date."

Michael froze. The words hung in the air between you, heavy and entirely wrong. Take her out on a date.

"A date?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly before he caught himself. His tone sharpened, a sudden prickle of irritation breaking through his exterior. "You think I should take her out?"

“Yes! Why not?" you exclaimed, keeping your tone casual and entirely logical. Inside, you were screaming, but you would rather die than let him see you cry or hear a tremor in your voice. If he liked this girl, you were going to be the perfect friend. You were going to push him right into her arms, because that’s what friends do. Even if it hurt. "You've been working yourself to death lately. You deserve to have some fun, go out, get dressed up, and enjoy the company of a beautiful woman."

You were too scared of being rejected by Michael, you figured it would break your heart completely. If you couldn’t keep Michael to yourself at least you could keep parts of him. It was enough to keep your heart at bay.

"Go out?" Michael questioned, his jaw tightening. He ran a hand through his curls, his frustration finally beginning to bubble to the surface. He shifted restlessly on his cushion, his eyes dark and intense. "So just like that? You're just throwin’ me at her?"

"I'm not throwing you at anyone, Michael," you said with a soft, amused chuckle, though it felt hollow and confused. "I’m just encouraging you. You're Michael Jackson. If you want to take a pretty interviewer out on a date, you should do it. I think it’d be great for you."

Michael snapped. He stood up abruptly, abandoning the comfort of the blankets, and began to pace the length of the living room carpet. His hands flew to his hips, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. You stared at him confused.

"I can't believe you," he muttered, shaking his head, looking up at the ceiling as if asking the Lord for strength. "I really can't believe you right now."

You blinked, genuinely taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanor, though you maintained your calm facade. "What did I say? I'm trying to be supportive!"

"Supportive?!" Michael spun around to face you, his eyes blazing with a mixture of intense frustration and hurt. He gestured wildly with one hand. "I come in here, and I tell you that there's a woman, a beautiful, smart woman, who is actively pursuing me, who gave me her number, who I had a 'strong connection' with... and your immediate response is to tell me to go date her? To walk out the door and go be with someone else?!"

"Well, yeah!" you said, standing up directly across from Michael, defensively crossing your arms over your chest. "What else am I supposed to say? 'No, Michael, lock yourself in here forever and never talk to a woman again'? You’re a grown man. If you like her, go out with her!"

"But I don't want to just go out with her!" Michael burst out, his voice rising, filled with a desperate, agitated energy. He stopped pacing, looking down at you, his shoulders tense. "That's not the point!"

"Then what is the point, Michael?" you asked, your own frustration starting to leak through your carefully constructed walls, though you kept your jealousy fiercely under lock and key. "Why are you getting mad at me for wanting you to be happy?"

Michael bit his lip. He was practically vibrating with a frantic, boiled up energy. He couldn’t tell you the truth, that the whole story had been over exaggerated, that Cynthia had been averagely nice and he hadn’t felt a single spark, that he had only told you to see if you would show any possessiveness, the same possessive, consuming hunger that he felt whenever anyone looked at you.

The sheer unfairness of it all was driving him insane.

If the roles were reversed, if you had come into his living room and started talking about some handsome interviewer, some guy who had flown into London, who had touched your arm, who had given his number to you-

Michael’s stomach dropped into a dark bottomless pit just thinking about it. A cold suffocating wave of jealousy washed over him at the mere thought of another man holding your attention, making you laugh, looking into your eyes. If you had mentioned another man tonight. Michael knew exactly what would’ve happened. He would’ve lost his mind. He would’ve spiralled. He would’ve been miserable.

And yet here you were, standing right in front of him. And showing the exact opposite of how he would’ve reacted. You weren’t spiralling. You weren’t angry. You were instead, encouraging him which just made it all so worse. It made him feel like he was the only one drowning in the ocean of his feelings, while you were on the shore happily waving him off to another ship.

“You’re just so casual about it. You’re just standing here telling me to go take Cynthia to dinner? Like it doesn’t matter at all?”

“Of course it matters!” You argued, maintaining your ground, your heart breaking a little more with every word you spoke yet you refused to show it. “It matters because you are my best friend Michael. Because if you find someone you connect with, you should pursue it! Why does this make you so angry?”

“Because it shouldn’t be that easy for you!” He immediately closed his mouth. His eyes widening as he realised how dangerously close he was to coming off the ledge. He turned away from you quickly. His chest quietly heaving as he struggled to regain control of his violently thumping heart.

The silence in the living room became deafening. You hid your hands behind your back, trying to hide that they were trembling.

What did he mean by that? Did he suspect? Did he notice how much it hurt your soul listening to him talk about another woman? Were you slipping?

You took a deep, steadying, breath forcing your heart to slow down, forcing your voice into that calm, steady rhythm. “Michael,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the quiet room.

He didn’t move. He kept his back to you, his shoulders still tense. “Michael,” you repeated. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned around. His arms slowly crossed over his chest, his chin tilted down. He looked vulnerable, frustrated and deeply exhausted.

“If I crossed a line I’m sorry,” you spoke gently. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like it was easy or like I don’t care. I know how complicated your life is. I know that dating, or even just going out for coffee is a nightmare for you. If this Cynthia girl is someone you like, I just want you to have a chance at something normal. That’s all. I’m on your side. Always."

Michael stared at you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. Every single word you said was perfect. It was logical. It was sweet. It was exactly what a perfect, loyal, caring best friend would say.

And it utterly destroyed him.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting out a shaky, long sigh that sounded dangerously close to defeat. He had tried to spark a fire, and you had completely extinguished it with pure, terrifying kindness.

He let his arms drop to his sides, the angry, frantic energy leaving him. He looked quieter. He walked back and sinked down onto the cushions, a few feet away from you, dragging a hand down his face.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice dropping back into its usual soft spoken register. He couldn’t look you in the eye, instead focusing intensely on a loose thread. “I didn’t mean to yell… I’m tired. Work has been a lot lately. My head is all over the place.”

“It’s okay,” you said softly, “you don’t have to apologise to me. You’re allowed to feel stressed.”

“I don’t think I’m going to call her,” Michael said quietly, his voice flat. “Cynthia. I don’t think I’ll call her. It’s too much trouble. Don’t think it would work out anyway.”

A wave of intense, overwhelming relief washed over you, so powerful it almost made you dizzy. The suffocating knot in your chest loosened just a fraction. You kept your expression perfectly neutral. “Whatever you think is best, Mike.”

Ren/ AFAB reader

-

Ren's eyes flicker across the screen, taking in your messy hair, your slightly exposed chest and hardened nipples that he could see through the thin fabric of the tank top you were wearing. His beloved angel, innocently enjoying a new episode of one your favorite shows, while he was shamelessly rubbing his hardened cock through his jeans as he was spying on you through your webcam. His hand moves up and down slowly until his erection is uncomfortably straining against his pants. He moves to unbuckle his belt, eyes still locked onto his screen, onto you. He takes out his cock, letting out a groan.  

Obsessive!Yandere!Arranged Husband!Malleus Draconia with a Sweet!Shy!F!Arranged Wife!Reader:

#Tags: Obsessiveness, possessiveness, he's your arranged husband, arranged marriage au, he's a Faerie High Lord, he's obsessed with you, you're shy, nervous, innuendo, right after marriage

Dividers by @angeliicide !

Twisted Wonderland:

You gulped, toying with a strand of your hair as you calmed your breathing, pacing outside the door of your marital chambers. It's alright, Y/n. You promised your father you'd marry this Draconian Faerie High Lord and secure your family's future. You were ready for it when you signed the marriage documents. You were ready for it when you swore your oath to him. You were ready when your lips met his colder ones. You. were. ready.

If so, then why did you find yourself shivering under the intensity of this Fae Lord's gaze, as soon as you entered the chambers? It didn't make sense. The sound of your heartbeat was a little too loud in the silence that had filled the air. The candles illuminating every corner of the room flickered with green fire, resembling those omniscient eyes belonging to your husband you tried to escape the scrutiny of. Deciding to break the tension in the air, you decided to speak first.

Though, how could you? The moment your eyes landed on his form, it was as if time had stopped. His tall form was shrouded in darkness despite the glow from the fire, his lime eyes sharp and fixing on you with obsessive intensity. He had changed out of his wedding attire, now clad in a black robe loosely tied at the waist. Water droplets raced down his firm chest and handsome face, his hair damp around his neck. He was a vision. A reverie you dared not entertain.

"Oh. Um. I'm Y/n. Your new bride. And, erm, yeah. Please treat me well," you murmured, playing with the hem of your night dress as you looked away, unable to look at this mesmerizing man for a minute longer without giving your feelings away.

A chill ran down your spine as you felt your husband intensely examine your body from the armchair. Head, neck, then your torso, legs, repeat. As if you were being auctioned. And the most dangerous part? You weren't sure you hated the feeling. His eyes zeroed in on the wedding ring he had slipped onto your finger during the ceremony, an intricate design of white gold, peridots and moss agate. And then, a devilish smirk graced his lips.

"What makes you so hesitant to meet my gaze, oh fair lady?" Malleus' sonorous voice echoed in the empty room, as if imbued with smoky timber, his lips curled into that sharp smirk. "I do not bite."

"No— I! It's just..."

"Just what? Articulate."

"It's just that I'm unused to being with a man, so..." You sighed, looking past his head in a weak attempt to avoid eye contact. It wasn't a complete lie, you see! While it's true that your father had not allowed you to pursue relationships, which the girls your age did, you also couldn't tell Malleus that his sheer beauty was what had left you speechless.

The dragon lord scoffed, "that is no reason to avoid the gaze of the man you shall be serving for the rest of your mortal life, lady of flowers. Look at my eyes."

"Lady of flowers? Why are you calling me that?" You questioned, slowly backing away upon noticing his towering figure rise from the armchair. Now standing, he seemed every bit the Lord of the Unseelie Court as the rumours preceding his reputation had whispered about.

"Precisely because I can," Malleus' darkened lime green eyes bore into your face as he advanced, "and since you smell like the finest roses in Briar Valley. The scent of purity emanates from you like the way light emanates from the sun. Argue with me, why shall I not call you lady of flowers, darling?"

You blushed at the proximity, gulping, "that's not—"

"Have I not made myself clear that you are to look into my eyes when you address me?" His fingers shot out to grasp your chin with enough strength to ground you into place, yet not hurt you, his face unreadable.

"I do not wish to," you softly responded, looking at his lips instead of his eyes.

"It was not a matter of choice, sweetheart," with a threatening chuckle, Malleus pulled your face closer, his cold lips brushing against the soft curve of your jaw, his arm wrapping around your waist like a strong iron band, "eyes. on. me."

"I am looking at you. Just not at your eyes," with a gulp, you shut your eyes closed, a rosy hue spreading across your cheeks. This man—!

"Very well, then. I suppose I'll just have to kiss every part of you which you look at on this body of mine in a poor attempt to evade my gaze."

"W-What?" You gasped, squirming.

"Yes. You stare at my lips far too much for a woman who claims to be shy. I suppose you desire them. Shall I start with them, first?" his lips brushed against yours, his heated eyes scrutinizing every expression of yours.

A yelp escaped your lips as your eyes fluttered shut, cheeks reddened. You couldn't. You couldn't look at him when he was uttering such... such shameless words!

"Oh, darling," his voice transformed into a rumbly murmur as he pulled you flush against himself, his head dipping low to bury itself in the crook of your neck. His horns tickled the side of your face as you blushed.

"U-Um, I..."

"Shh. Bask in the moment."

With that command, his lips descended into yours fervently, his large hand tangling in your hair to keep you in place. His free hand pressed against your back, pushing you further into himself. The taste of dark coffee and cream filled your senses, alongside his strong scent of Lily of the valley and sandalwood. Pulling away, he kissed a trail down your jaw to the hollow of your throat, lifting you up into his arms.

"S-Sir Draconia!" You gasped out, trying to comprehend that you had just been kissed stupid by your husband.

"I shall not grace those words with a response unless you use my name. It's Malleus to you," he rasped against your ear, "Sir Draconia to others."

"M-Malleus," you exhaled, catching your breath.

"There's a good girl," dark amusement laced his smooth voice as he pecked your temple with gentleness unexpected from a man who had nearly stolen your soul from the force of his kiss, "see? You have always been such an obedient woman for me."

"You talk as if... as if you've known me for so long."

"Oh, but I have, darling," his eyes darkened as he hovered over your form, "do you think our marriage was purely arranged? I was the one who told your father to preserve you for me. I was the one who admired you at every ball. I was the one who freed you of pests and vermin. So yes, sweetheart, I have known you for far longer than that pretty head of yours can comprehend."

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked this. Malleus sends you some coffee to enjoy ☕ Do send requests for more! 💚

Find Part 2 here!

PAIRING: jey uso x black!fem!plus-sized!reader

SUMMARY: in which you had a night out with your friends and you come home to an unpleasant Jey who doesn’t find your outfit very appropriate. 🩷

AUTHOR’S NOTE: y’all, it’s this one Jey edit on TikTok… that’s all i’ll say. 🫦