ROs reaction to the MC being jealous? 🙏🏻 Would anyone enjoy it? 👀
Hadrian wouldn't believe it at first. It's simply out of the realm of possibility. He's the one who feels insecure. He's the one who doesn't deserve you. He's devoted to you, body and soul, and Hadrian simply assumes that you know it — he can't phantom you not knowing it.
He wouldn't get it for a while. If you kept your jealousy subtle, Hadrian would never get there, and would just be confused when you'd act colder or more aloof. But if you make it obvious?
The moment that realization hits that, no, you're actually jealous, Hadrian would enter panic mode. Immediately rushes to your side, trying to reassure however way he can — tries not to use words because he'd blunder and make even a bigger mess of things. If you let him, he wouldn't leave your side for the rest of the day. Eyes on you only.
There's only you. Please, never doubt it.
Alessa would secretly enjoy it. Much more than she admits even to herself.
Outwardly, she'd raise an eyebrow, maybe call you a fool, but she'd be biting her inner cheek to stifile a smile, and those glacier-blue eyes would shine brighter for a few hours. She scoffs at the notion, of course, but still...
Alessa enjoys this side of you. "Retract your claws," she says, while gripping your arm closer.
Jealousy isn't a novelty for Alain. It's unfortunate, but it's a sentiment he's been on the receiving end of more times than he'd care to count.
People have tried to claim him, to control him, to chain him, and, honestly, it just leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He gets bored. Distances himself from the scorned lover.
What is novel is this need to soothe you when Alain realizes that you are insecure about him. He does it while grinning, almost teasing you, "Afraid I'll get myself another bird?" he asks, but when you don't smile back, he leans over and soothes a finger down your furrowed brow.
"You shouldn't be," he murmurs, his voice surprisingly gentle.
Ysabella would be saddened by it. Not because of you, not even because of herself, but because of Fate itself. Because, as she sees you gritting your teeth, trying to pretend you're not affected by the thought of her being sold into a politically convenient marriage, Ysabella feels her heart breaking.
But only a little, because she cannot afford to fall apart. Not now, perhaps not ever.
So, she'd smile, and pray you don't notice how it doesn't reach her eyes. "Hush, now," she'd say, hand finding yours, fingers interwining together. "You shouldn't put so much strain on your jaw, darling. It ruins those lovely features."
The Pirate King would be amused by it. He'd chuckle wryly, which would only infuriate you more. And the more agitated you'd get, the more he'd be entertained. It wouldn't be until you're spinning on your feet, prepared to storm away, that he'd reach out, loop an arm around your waist, and pull you to him.
Just to kiss you in front of whoever it was that's making you doubt that you'd won his heart long ago.
You'd stomp his foot, or push him away, and the Pirate would chuckle lowly into the kiss. "That's my spitfire."
Neia, like Hadrian, would probably not realize it 😆. But it's not because she thinks it impossible — Neia just wouldn't be paying attention. She speaks only to bark commands, spit orders, or let out grunts.
Who the hell are you jealous of? The wench cowering in the corner?
But people admire her from afar, and that could get to you. Neia wouldn't realize it until you've been silent for a few hours, now. She noticed the change in mood immediately, but she gave you space. Now, you're back in your quarters, and you're still silent, and Neia's patience runs out. "What is it?"
"Have I done something? Spill it out, sweetling, I'm not playing a guessing game."
And you tell her, and Neia simply stares at you. Silence falls for an uncomfortably long time, until...
"Seriously?" You scowl at her.
Neia throws a blanket at your head. "Go to sleep," she says, voice still rought with amusement. "You've clearly lost your mind."
Lance would honestly be a bit lost. Did he... do something to merit this? Did he fail to make you feel assured? Perhaps he shouldn't have bowed at that patron who tipped him generously earlier.
The problem was that Lance Silverthrat would have no idea how to fix this. So, masking his uncertainty with a plastered smile, he'd loop an arm around your shoulder. "Did you enjoy the song, Starlight?"
You'd shrug, and Lance would feel the sweat at the back of your neck. "It was for you," he says, using that tone he knows you like.
You don't look at him. "Was it?"
Oh, there it is. Lance can feel the stiffness in your muscles. "Of course it was," he says, gold tooth glinting. But his eyes eagerly search your face, all smoothness tossed aside.
Lance would then drag a hand down his face and do what he so rarely has ever done: open the game. "I am not interested in that woman."
"She sure looked interested in you, what with the long talk afterward—"
Lance would gently grab your chin to make you look at him. And the solemness in his gaze would snap you out of it. "And I've yet to hear praise from the only audience member I care about." The pads of his fingers softly brushing your cheek. "Will you not give it to me?"
Vallen would delight in it.
She'd smile, a kind of curling, self-satisfied smile that bares the points of her teeth. Her hand would close around your wrist as she peered at you through her eyelashes. "Are you jealous?" she'd ask in a breathless whisper, knowing the answer already, but wanting to hear it from your tongue. "Is that why you're gripping me? Want to keep me from running away?"
It's not that she wants you to be insecure. It's the very nature of it. You want to claim her, maybe as much as she'd like to claim you, and that —that sends a thrill down her spine.
So, when you look into her eyes, that gaze of yours carrying a storm within, and say, "You wouldn't dare."
Vallen is not a woman to coo, but she does the next best thing. She lets her smile grow wider. "Nor would you."
Rafael, much like Alessa, would enjoy it. Unlike Alessa, however, he'd have no qualms about admitting it.
He'd be grinning from ear to ear as you clung to him, one hand locked tight around his bicep, the other firm on his thigh. Rafael would drink in the sight of your deadly scowl, the way your fingers would tighten just the slightest bit whenever the person from across the table complimented him.
He would let you do whatever you wanted, push him on top of the table, and claim him right there, if that's what you needed. He'd just grin, face flushed bright red, and follow along, drunk on your jealousy, on the way you're staking your territory.
Rafael has never been treasured, not like this. Never by someone like you. He doesn't know what you see in him, but by God, he ain't about to question it. Never look a gift horse in the mouth and all that.
Rafael would never dream of anyone else. He could never even imagine touching another. Not after knowing the texture of your skin, the scent of your hair, the taste of your kisses.
But you like this? Well, damn. Rafael supposes you can still surprise him. When you're alone again, back in your room, he'd just keep grinning like a fool in love. "Hey," he'd say lamely. "That got me goin'."