#obsessiveness

[marianne-in-wonder1and]

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!

[darlingweareatragedy]

ruthless desire

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.”

The court may call you cruel, may call him golden but here, in the confines of his chambers and the heat of your own surrender, you were both undone, both claimed, both irrevocably bound.

[hawkins-batman]

I debated posting this on Twitter; but decided instead to post it here. The person this is about is symptomatic of a larger problem in the Byler fandom right now, and it's clear that they don't care—so I'm using this as a way to raise awareness here instead.

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?

If you have a Twitter account, I strongly encourage you to report tweets and accounts that do this (especially the death threats); and block them. These people have no place in the Byler community and give it a bad name.

[yandere-herrscher]

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...

[basement-student]

'Mutually obsessed with eachother but in a healthy way' kinda relationships>>>>>>

[possesive-love]

She wants to be owned. She wants to be desired. And I desire her. I crave her-like a hunger that will never be fed. I crave the sound of her voice, the sweetness of her laugh. I crave the sight of her dazed, helpless eyes. I crave the softness of her skin, the sound of her moans at night. I crave the flicker of fear when she finally understands there is no escape from me tonight. I crave her-and I will dig graves for anyone who dares to come near her.

[yytwowolves]

Royal x Knight

Knight was first assigned to Royal when they were both children. Knight came from a long line of guards, and they were expected and trained to know their charge better than themselves.

Knight is stoic and silent, always at Royal's side. Knight knows every little detail, more than Royal knows themself. They know Royal's likes and dislikes, how they fidget when nervous, their childhood fears and their hopes for the future.

Knight is consumed by their duty, their vow having silently blossomed into something more, something possessive, desperate. Royal is their beacon of light, the center of their world, their very purpose. They believe in the future that Royal works for, they want to support them in every possible way.

Knight will protect them until the very end and even in the beyond.

----------------

As Knight is sworn to protecting, Royal is sworn to their duty to serve their kingdom and their people.

Royal is dedicated to that purpose. Every banquet, every ball, every meeting and hearing, they put all of themself into it. Even as it takes its toll, year after year of learning proper etiquette, negotiations, how to present themselves with not a crack in their mask.

The rare moments they had in free time growing up, Royal would observe Knight at combat training, curious, as they practiced a style of fighting much more ruthless and merciless than the more showy and proper style Royal was tutored in.

Now, Royal's days are filled with endless counsel and foreign envoys. They are never free of patterned silks and strings of precious jewels. They are trussed up for presentation to the kingdom, to smile and wave and offer compliments to smooth over relations.

----------------

And in every obligation, Knight is never far from Royal's side. A steady presence, they're always alert, aware of every movement, of every small change in Royal's features.

And their gaze is hawkish and suspicious at everything surrounding Royal, ready to usher them to safety at a moment's notice. Their uniform is like a second skin to Knight, the metal plating durable and solid at their vitals but flexible around joints for movement and reaction. They have fashioned themselves into a living shield for Royal.

As they keep watch in the ballroom, sometimes Knight's eyes can't help but catch on how candlelight flickers across Royal's face and the symphony of silver and gold that clings like spiderwebs to their body.

But they always snap out of their trance to resume guard, reminding themselves of their foremost duty, protecting Royal before all else.

----------------

Royal is secretly in love with Knight, though they're barely aware of it themself and would never admit it even if they were. It's the sort that exists subconsciously, easy as breathing, not needing to be spoken aloud.

Knight has been by their side all their life.

Knight has been there to protect them in every way, to skillfully usher them away from pushy dignitaries encroaching on their space and know when it all becomes too much.

When Royal thinks of Knight it's of their constant presence, of constancy. Knight can anticipate their every move, and it's like a safe haven for them.

Knight's stoicism is a wall, one always there for Royal to take shelter behind. Royal can't help noticing the way Knight's brows furrow and their eyes narrow as they survey threats, how their hands are home to decade-old callouses. How Knight always situates their body at the most vulnerable sides of Royal subconsciously, like it's just second nature to them.

So Royal can't help a sort of possessiveness over Knight, they are their sworn protector after all, their vow was to them, it ties them inseparably together.

Knight's devotion is like armour to Royal, it gives them strength to do what is necessary.

Wherever they go, Knight will be by their side. In every council, on every battlefield, through every sickness and at each victory and every loss. Even when Royal eventually marries, likely in a political alliance, Knight will be there all the same.

After so long, Royal cannot imagine a life where Knight is not there. They're too intwined, an extension of the same existence.

And so Royal tries to mask the jealousy when Knight, when their protector, interacts with other guards, even if its required for assignments, it's a sort of casual intimacy that Royal feels is denied to them.

It's one that Royal tries to fill through small touches on Knight's arm or holding their arm because 'they need the support, they're so very tired.' They're small and infrequent but Royal relishes in them, the way that Knight seems to become even more statuesque than usual, more guarded. But Royal can see the cracks in Knight's facade, how they never complain about their treasured propriety and masquerade necessity same as Royal.

So in the courtyard, when a lowly, starry-eyed trainee leans too close into Knight's orbit, Royal seethes. How dare they disrespect their superior like that? Royal can't help their pettiness. They abruptly turn to leave the area, knowing it will force Knight to end the exchange. Knight always immediately follows after them, loyal, closing the distance in easy steps to Royal's side. Where they belong.

----------------

And Knight knows they belong by Royal's side, believes in their heart that it's their place. After all, who are they without Royal?

Royal's coming of age ceremony, Knight was right there alongside them. Their coronation, each name-day, each milestone, every struggle and every inevitable triumph. Knight is witness, an ensurer of things that they believe must come to pass in Royal's path to rightful glory.

Knight is ever watchful. Every late night Royal has spent looking over new proposals for the council until the sun begins to rise, Knight is there to lay a blanket gently over their shoulders when they fall asleep at their desk.

But even then, Knight has always been careful not to touch Royal unless necessary. Not just for decorum's sake, for how could they dare to casually touch royalty? But also because they regard Royal with near reverence, as someone to be worshipped, a being finally worthy of the admiration their rank demands.

So Knight can't help how their nerves bristle when a visiting noble is too intimate with Royal at a ball. Their hand resting too heavy on Royal's shoulder or when the dance ends but they don't let Royal go immediately, Knight feels anger simmering beneath their skin.

So when that noble is stumbling drunkenly through an empty palace corridor late in the dark night and suddenly finds themselves slammed up against the wall, an unknown arm pressing at their throat, who can blame Knight for their reaction? The noble needs a lesson in manners after all, a reminder in the respect that is owed to royalty, especially to one such as Royal.

Knight lets the noble go after they beg for forgiveness, swearing not to do it again after they darkly promise a painful fate if they forget. Knight watches them stumble away, choking for breath, and Knight is assured that they'll keep their hands to themselves for the remainder of their stay.

Knight's reaction is part for the sake of Royal's safety, part out of envy. It's the noble's disrespect towards Royal but also Knight's jealousy at their self-imposed inability to do the same.

After all, Knight can only see their hands as soiled, blood-soaked from killing, even if it's in the name of duty. It's why Knight stiffens whenever Royal touches their arm or offers their hand for Knight to kneel before and press their lips to gloved skin. Knight is too tainted, undeserving of Royal's touch.

But, even so, Knight would gladly do every darkness over again. To take all the worst of the world onto themselves. To do every dirty thing necessary to ensure Royal's life and safety and carve a path for them. Let Knight damn their soul to hell, if only to spare Royal from the same fate.