Imagine you’re out on a Saturday night working, coming back from a botched pizza delivery where they skimped you on the tip when Yandere!Mafia Boss mistakes you for their new hire hacker and drags you inside HQ.
You’re a lil bit confused but one look at the coffee table filled with weapons displayed like they’re decorative center pieces and you figure maybe it’s best not to say anything.
Except suddenly they’re plopping you down in a chair and saying something about a test run to try out your skills. That’s when you finally break and calmly suggest that maybe they have the wrong person.
But Yan!Mafia Boss doesn’t even hear you as he stares at you with hearts in his eyes, letting out an empty laugh like you’d just told the most hilarious joke. From the moment he saw you idly standing by outside he knew you were the one, you had to be. His gut was never wrong.
So you really didn’t have much of a choice. They said something about hacking into a police station to free some of their guys but next thing you knew the computer was blaring loud, flashing red, and tell you your signal was being traced.
Yan!Mafia Boss didn’t seem as bothered by it as you were, simply asking what could’ve gone wrong.
“Sir, I just work at a Dominos,” you reply.
Yan!Mafia Boss throws his head back, releasing a hearty string of laughter. He claps you on the back so hard you jerk forward and sputter over your pleas for release.
“That's brilliant! Make sure to stick to that story when the police arrive,” he says through his laughter, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world now that he’s got you on his team.
Yandere that’s in LOVE with the idea of knocking you up and watching your belly swell with his seed, but loathes the idea of a little parasite growing inside his darling and stealing precious attention away from him.
Yandere!Popular Animator that's constantly slipping you and him into any project he works on.
♡♡♡♡♡
[18+ Only; some offhanded mentions of bodily fluids]
♡♡♡♡♡
You think it's his OCs at first... until you notice it's always outfits you wear. Accessories you have. Every single thing that could make it identifiable, it has.
Constant romantic pieces of art, even a nsfw Twitter, always being shoved in your face- all of you. All scarily accurate. How does he even knew what you look like naked-?? Shivers down your spine.
You try to confront him in the DMs once. How you don't even know the guy but he clearly knows you- Who the hell even is he??? He never posts his face and his sona is always wearing a stupid fucking face mask- Who are you??
But he just makes an animation meme on the NSFW twitter the next day that includes every single one of your messages being texted by an angry doodle of yourself and a drawing of his sona sniffing your underwear and jerking it while reading your desperate spam. You about threw your phone at that one.
Hash-tag yandere and yanderecore on every one of his little videos he posts, as if it's some aesthetic. As if every post isn't about a real person. As if he wasn't torturing you.
You weren't even sure if you WANTED to call him out... the millions of followers were a wall that you just couldn't make yourself get past. Even if you did confront him, there were surely still going to be fans of his that just don't believe you, and then what? You're just going to be harassed every day?
At least this only effected you mentally- until you started getting hand drawn art shoved inside your mailbox every morning. Explicit drawings delivered, covered in doodles of hearts... the paper a weird texture like something wet got on it. You didn't even want to hold it, coming back out with gloves and taking it straight to the garbage.
But they just kept coming.
Even presents. Notes attached saying they were bought with the money you helped him earn. Plushes. Treats. Things you'd whined about wanting when you thought you were alone. All bought straight from the creator funds from each platform, even collabs and commissions- straight to your mailbox they went.
The police brushed it off when you tried to tell them it escalated, as they had the first time you tried to privately approach. So what, you want them to investigate some sort of secret admirer?
Their lack of care pushed you even stronger in the don't post about it camp- if even the cops wouldn't believe you, wouldn't care, why would the greater internet?
He still would just keep spamming post after post. And you still would have no idea who he even was.
Even as you slept deeply in your bed at night and he looked down at you, still looking just like his sona, heavy breathing as he admired every line that put together your face. Every contour. Every lash on your eyelids. The way you breathed. Noting down every single detail.
He hated how hard it was to live up to your beauty. Breaking into your house was nothing, the spare key he found before ever making his first post made it ridiculously easy- the copy of it he made a staple on his keychain. But he could never match your beauty through his art. No matter how hard he tried.
He gripped his hands and gritted his teeth, bending down above you and trying not to breathe as he leaned forward over you. Silent as a snake as his discerning eyes washed over you.
This. This was better than peering though the cameras he installed.
He yearned to touch but he had to be patient. Already pushing it as he breathed the same air as you while you were left unaware.
He couldn't just yet.
Not until he made enough money for his biggest project yet.
You didn't think he spent all of it on you, did you...? Thousands of dollars a month on some little presents?
No, he was setting up his own personal art studio.
Chains to tie you down already installed. Basement prepped with the perfect lighting. Light you up like an art piece. The only muse in his life.
He just hoped you wouldn't struggle so much but well...
Bruises could be beautiful too.
Besides- giving you even more details to put into his work sounded like a dream. Bruises his followers would never know were real. That they would never know were his.
He couldn't push down his bodily reaction to the thought. Having to back away, fearing his breath would be too hot and wake you.
Fearing he might just blow this whole thing up too soon.
Temptation was a drug he needed to resist until the final last moment.
Take everything out in his work. Draw his every dream.
noble yandere big brother and father and twin brother… drools…
pairings: yandere! noble! male family members x reader
tw/cw: yandere, incest. readers actions are less emphasized in comparison to the original fic and is more reactive than proactive.
spin off to platinum trophy.
yandere father
You were never allowed to leave the manor unchaperoned.
Not because of danger, but because your father hated the way the world looked at you.
“They don’t deserve to see you smile,” he murmurs one evening, brushing your hair as you sit on a velvet stool before the hearth. “Let them write letters. Let them beg for your hand. You don’t need them. You have me.”
He says it like a prayer. Like it’s a truth older than time.
Your gowns are custom-made—never revealing. He screens every servant who speaks to you. No tutors under thirty. No suitors permitted past the gate. You live in a palace of soft hands and quieter threats.
And yet, he’s gentle. Obsessively so. He remembers what sweets you like. What books you hide beneath your pillow. What scent you wore when you smiled for the first time after your mother’s death.
You once asked why he never remarried.
He just looked at you.
And whispered, “Why would I ever look at anyone else?”
Tonight, he kisses your forehead too long. Tonight, his hands linger at your waist.
You were raised to be the jewel of the house. But he wants you as the ruler of his heart.
And the crown he offers glitters with blood
yandere older brother
You were the little star of the household.
And he was the heir. Cold. Composed. A soldier-prince carved of marble.
To everyone else.
But never to you.
To you, he was the boy who’d braid your hair before royal ceremonies. The one who held your hand when the tutors frightened you. The one who beat a servant bloody for letting you cry.
And now?
Now you’re of age. Beautiful. Handsome. Sought after.
And he hates it.
You catch him burning a letter from a foreign prince. You hear rumors of a courier who vanished en route to your debut ball.
He denies it all.
But his smile grows thinner with each day.
“I’ve given up everything for this family,” he tells you one stormy night, grabbing your wrist as thunder shakes the keep. “Father’s love. My own future. I gave it all up for you.”
You try to speak—but he silences you with a trembling hand.
“I don’t want to be your brother anymore,” he says, voice raw. “I want to be the man you wake up next to. The one whose name you scream when you—”
You slap him. He doesn’t move. Just bleeds a little from the lip.
And then whispers, “You’ll come to me. You always do.”
yandere twin brother
The worst part is that he never had to chase you.
Not like your suitors do. Not like the other nobles whispering your name between banquet courses and behind fan-veiled smiles. No—he already has you. Always has.
You were born minutes apart. His fingers were the first to grasp yours. Your cries rose together, in perfect harmony. You learned to walk beside him, to sleep beside him, to breathe beside him. You were taught to call him your other half.
But he calls you something else. Something more private.
“Mine.”
It begins with glances.
He watches you as you speak to the Baron’s son. Not with jealousy, but with certainty—like he’s already decided how this ends.
He always knows where you are. Who you spoke to. What you wore.
He tugs your sleeve one day after fencing lessons. “That silk’s too thin,” he murmurs. “I don’t like how he looked at you.”
You smile, because he says it with care, like he’s worried.
You don’t realize it’s a warning.
It deepens when you try to make space.
A different wing of the estate. A new maidservant to attend you. Fewer shared classes. You tell the court physician you’ve been having nightmares—ones with heat and breath and guilt.
But the dreams never end. And your twin never leaves.
He finds you every time. In gardens. In study halls. At dusk, he knocks at your door.
“I missed you,” he says softly. “Do you know what that feels like? To miss something that was once always beside you?”
You don’t answer. You don’t breathe.
And he smiles like he already knows what you’re thinking.
Then comes the night of the suitor’s ball.
A foreign prince—strong, charming, clever—takes your hand in the dance.
You laugh for the first time in weeks.
Your twin leaves before the music ends.
By morning, the prince has fallen ill. By noon, he is dead. Poison, they say. From his own chalice.
You find your twin in the east garden, brushing snow from a carved bench. He doesn’t look up.
“You laughed for him,” he says quietly.
You take a step back.
“I wonder,” he continues, “what it would take to make you laugh like that again . . .”
You whisper his name.
He finally meets your eyes.
And his are filled with something ancient. Something terrifying.
“Don’t make me kill for your affection,” he says. “Just give it.”
That night, you wake to find him in your bed.
Not touching. Not even speaking.
Just watching you sleep, his expression heartbreakingly soft.
“Do you remember when we were little?” he whispers. “We’d pretend we were the same person. I spoke, you moved. You blinked, I breathed. And everyone said we were uncanny.”
You nod. Slowly.
He brushes your hair back. Fingers trembling.
“I don’t want to be separate anymore.” Your pulse quickens. He leans closer. “I want you back. I want the part of me that only lives inside you.”
And when his lips brush your forehead—then your cheek—then hover just shy of your mouth—
You realize:
This was never about love. This was always about wholeness.
And in his mind, that can only happen if he consumes you—heart, body, and soul.
Description: In an alternate universe where Paul never dreamed and fell in love with Chani, he becomes a tyrant feared throughout the universe, being a sadistic maniac whose power is worshipped as that of a god. The Brotherhood sent you as Muad'Dib's concubine to try to manipulate him, but all you want is to live free, so you don't try to persuade him, but to escape. But your unexpected twist in fate makes Atreides start to love you, his obsession growing without you realizing it. So when you finally escape, Paul is not accepting it.
.
Warnings: possible spelling mistakes (English is not my first language), bene gesserit!Reader, nsfw, afab!reader, obsessive and possessive behavior, Dark!PaulAtreides, slavery (not sexual), child abuse, mentions of torture and blood, swearing, mentions of ideas like suicide, use of Voice, sexual content sexual scene here (not recommended for minors, read at your own risk), obscenity, (Spoiler: Corrino!Reader), everything is fictitious and false!
You didn't care about this marriage, you didn't even care about Paul Atreites.
So why the hell are you trembling so much?
Two months have passed since that day, things have moved…slowly.
You had a month of "preparation," being cared for by the emperor's Fremen servants to become "worthy."
The wedding was reasonable, to tell the truth.
You were dressed in green, the color of House Atreides, in a rich dress, a dress a slave wouldn't wear. The ceremony was in the Palace itself, broadcast to the great houses—a request from the Reverend Mother.
The emperor was…kind.
He walked beside you and offered his hand to lead you to the altar. Throughout Stigar's speech, he looked at you harmlessly.
You don't know what to think of it.
Paul Atreites had several concubines, but accounts say they died before consummating their wedding night. He was never kind to his companions either. You don't know if this is a game he's playing or a test, but you're going along with it.
This should have been the biggest highlight of the last month.
But then, you cut ties with the Reverend Mother.
The fight between you and her happened days after your wedding; the emperor couldn't fulfill his wedding night that month due to political issues. This left you alone, giving her an opening.
You ended up exploding.
That crazy woman tried to get you to poison the emperor with some damn aphrodisiac, so he would be vulnerable and you could use him. You weren't going to do that.
No matter how bad Paul Atreites was, nobody deserved to be sexually used against their will. You refused to do it, and she tried to use her voice, her damn voice, on you. You snapped.
This led to the situation where you haven't seen her since, asking them not to let her speak to you (it wasn't difficult, you learned that nobody in this palace liked her). You weren't going to put up with her anymore, screw the mission, you're leaving anyway, you just have to go with the flow for now and then get out.
There's only one problem.
The wedding night.
Like every marriage, you and Paul must have… intimate relations. It was expected of you.
But you didn't know how to satisfy a man.
Of course, you were taught about sex, the process in this case. But as a slave you weren't taught about pleasure. Damn, you never even got to touch yourself!
So now, while the maids dressed your body in a beige silk dress, loose-fitting and easy to remove, you were sweating cold. The emperor decided today was the fateful day.
You won't lie, you're nervous.
What if he's rough? Maybe he's sadistic? Will he hurt you?
There's also the possibility that he doesn't even want to lie down, but you don't know.
You were wearing nothing but the dress, no accessories, hair loose, subtle perfumes, something easy to remove. You were led to his room, your hands trembling with an emotion you couldn't define.
You took a deep breath when you were left there.
It's okay, just go with the flow.
It will pass soon.
Paul felt something he couldn't quite define.
You were, at the very least, interesting.
Since the ceremony, Paul hadn't seen you, and yet you remained in his thoughts at various times. He has to admit, when Gurney warned him of your conversation with the old witch, he was surprised that you refused to sedate him.
It would have been a good chance, although Paul doubted he would have succumbed to the poison; he wouldn't have seen the situation coming, just as he doesn't see you.
So, why didn't you accept?
It seems that with each passing day you spend in his palace, you stir his mind more and more. To the point that even his mother noticed.
What were you?
He didn't bother to wear the ceremonial wedding attire given to him, although he knew you would be wearing it; he saw no reason to wear it, he would take it off anyway.
Paul was still wary of you, but as he walked to the room he realized that this would happen somehow. He would decide how that night would end.
Imagine her surprise when she came in and found you at the window.
Process him, but he thought he'd find you lying seductively on the bed or in the center of the room, not engrossed in the outside world. What an interesting little thing you were.
You noticed his presence and bowed, not rising as he walked toward the bed.
"So?" he asks, taking a sip of water from the glass beside him, "do you want to say something?"
You stare at him for a while, until your expression becomes determined, "Actually, I want to."
"I was sent here to subdue the Emperor for the brotherhood, but I suppose you already know that," Paul gives you a small smile; he's known this for a long time, little one. "And I know you don't trust my word."
"But I don't want to be a part of this. I hate Reverend Mother as much as you do, and I won't be a pawn in her game." You sigh, the tremor in your lips revealing your nervousness. "So if the Emperor doesn't wish it, we can… each stay in a corner. We'll just follow appearances and… we don't need to put on this charade here."
…
Paul is surprised.
He's changed his mind.
"I understand," he says softly, and a tense minute of silence stretches between you two, lost in thought. He's the first to break it. "You know…you're not the first concubine the Reverend Mother has sent me to try and subdue me… But you're the first one who's truly honest with me."
He approaches, and you raise your head to meet his, his height towering over yours. "You're really different."
Confusion spreads across your face. So cute. So captivating. "Thank you, your deity—"
"But even if we're actors, we must perform the wedding night." You freeze, not expecting him to actually follow through.
"Are you sure, my lord?"
The blue Fremen eyes look at your face, knowledge swirling in his irises. "What are you so afraid of? It doesn't seem like it's just because of the situation with the old witch."
Not knowing what to say, you tell him the truth. "I wasn't taught to…satisfy a man, my lord?"
"What do you mean?"
"I wasn't sexually educated, sir."
"…Wow, I thought all Bene Gesserit had that education."
You get excited, since he possibly doesn't know who you are. "I am…different, my lord."
Paul stares at you, his eyes traveling over your face, the face he was so fascinated by, the face that was so nervous in front of him now, and a hint of affection surged in his chest. He lifted your chin with two fingers, just as he did before, and asked, "Do you trust me?"
"What do you—"
"Do you trust me?"
Your eyes meet his, and for some reason, you feel safe there.
"Yes."
Paul smiled. And this time, it was with affection.
Shit.
How can a man be so relentless ?
Her fingers gripped the pillow as the emperor fucked her pussy. The impact of his pelvis against her ass made the stars dance forcefully between her eyelids, tears welling in the corners of her eyes as his glans kissed her cervix.
Her moans were muffled by the pillow in her mouth, but Paul could feel the vibration in her intimacy every time he tenderly caressed her waist. He thrust hard and deep into her preciousness, the juices from the mess he made earlier running down her legs, Paul drank from her like a man dying of thirst in the desert.
At some point, he began to kiss her back, increasing the speed as she trembled on top of him. She was short-circuiting, trying not to make so much noise, but the sound of her pussy sucking his cock didn't help, the sound of the kisses and the emperor's touches on her body didn't help at all.
Oh my God, how good that felt.
How many hours had you been at it? You don't know, but your intimacy was VERY heightened, you lost count of how many times you came on his cock and how many times he filled you with his load, but you know you'd been at it for a long time.
The sun will rise soon.
"Look at you, receiving me so well," Atreides squeezed your hips as he plunged his cock into your cervix and left it there deliciously pressed, the action eliciting a loud moan from you and a heat rising in his chest. "It's like you were made for me, huh?"
Increasing the speed, you felt him kissing your neck while fondling your breasts, the tearful mess you were would embarrass the noblewomen of the great houses, but you couldn't think about that.
Paul pulled your chest up, hugging you against his own chest, the angle making his penis fuck you faster, he turned your head and you stared at each other. Paul smiled. "Name"
"No…I can't—"
"Yes, you can, darling, come on, give me another one, please?" He turned you to face him and lifted your legs, one of his hand going to your sensitive clitoris. "Please, come on, beautiful, give me another one? The last one?"
You moaned.
He increased the pace.
"Lord—Oh Creator—"
"Paul," your eyes widened, and he smiled as the familiar pressure in your stomach approached again. "Call me Paul, love."
"Now, come for me."
The permission of your name along with the use of his voice made you arch your back, your body filling you as Paul fucked you between his legs, increasing the speed so you could finish together.
He came with a strong push, burying his face in your neck as his balls trembled, when a jet of hot sperm filled you, your body – which had already finished – started again, making your vagina milk the emperor's thick length.
You both simply lay there, embraced, panting and tired. Paul hugged you with a tenderness you hadn't expected from him.
He rose to your face, two souls gazing at each other with feelings deep inside. "Promise you'll stay by my side?"
His voice came out weak, a small laugh. "I think we already made our vows at the altar, Sir."
Instead of getting angry, he kissed your lips, soft and delicate. When he separated, he asked again, "It's Paul, princess. Promise you'll stay by my side?"
You looked at him. He looked at you. The sunlight began to appear in the windows, illuminating your face and his.
A yandere ex is dumped by his girlfriend, (Y/n), because she caught him cheating. The yandere is quick to chase her around begging for forgiveness while she's heartbroken. He basically stalks her to the point that (Y/n) had to put restraining orders on him and change her city and number. Years later, he finds her about to marry her yandere fiancé (who is secretly MUCH more yandere than him) to whom (Y/n) gave her heart. The yandere fiancé knows about the yandere ex's existence, and constantly watches him; he mocks and rubs it in his face that (Y/n) will never be his to the point of secretly inviting him to the wedding and watching him mockingly and scornfully from the audience from the altar, after kissing his beloved.
reader steals from her richie rich friends, yandere male, manipulation, subtle blackmailing, class distinction, 4.4k wc.
you had always wondered how it felt to be a rich kid. a real rich kid. not the upper middle class, i mean, rich kids whose parents could afford anything and everything for them. kids whose parents invest in their children’s education, their passions and aspirations without having to worry about paying the bills.
growing up you met a handful of them, and you even befriended some. you witnessed the fact that everything they -and you, for that matter- ever wanted had always been between their lips.
you were envious, even when they were certainly generous to you. why would they not be? they always had more. they could’ve always had more. and it pissed you off. the fact that you were never, no matter how hard you tried, on the same level as them made you turn into a grumpy kid most of the time. you wanted that one toy eliza had, and you didn’t want to play with it and give it back to her when the playtime was over. you wanted it to be yours. a belonging of yours.
your mother wasn’t happy in the slightest when she found the toy in your backpack. she was angry, for sure, but there was a different kind of emotion in her face; disappointed and embarrassed. still, you could only assume how much patience she needed to have to be able to have a normal conversation with you. she tried to seem understanding, and did her very best to explain what you did was not acceptable, and how eliza must’ve been very upset that her favorite toy was gone. you remained still, but your mother could see the way your upper lip was quivering.
“eliza’s mom can buy her a new one.” you said right before bursting into tears. what was the big deal? why did she have to ruin everything for you?
“that doesn’t mean you can get your hands on their belongings.” she replied, her voice sharp and stern this time. “i’m sorry.” was all you managed to let out. she gave you a sympathetic look. then she talked a bit more, and you agreed you’d give it back to her tomorrow.
“you shouldn’t do that again.” she reminded you once more. you hummed quietly. however, you still couldn’t quite understand what was truly wrong with it. even so, you did as your mother told you. but when you saw eliza with such big surprised eyes, full of joy and a beaming smile on her face, you could finally see why your mother was so upset with you.
you were happy she didn’t try to ask questions. where did you find it? why didn’t you tell me? were you the one who took it? no, none of them had crossed her mind. “thank you,” was all she said. “mom bought me a new one,” she added. “i can give it to you if you’d like.” she said while playing with the toy. you didn’t answer. you couldn’t find the right word. you were ashamed—a new emotion you’d learned very recently.
“i don’t want it.” you mastered up all your courage. the desire was always bigger. it was bigger than shame, or wrath, it was bigger than any emotion you could ever describe. but you didn’t want someone to give it to you just because it was something they wanted to get rid of.
you wanted to conquer it instead. you wanted to get your hands on it forcefully, by grabbing it and making sure that you were the one who took it.
you ended up stealing it, told your mom she gave it to you because “her mom bought her a new one.”
soon it had become a habit. you knew how wrong it was, and you knew the consequences you had to face in a scenario where you were caught. you knew you weren’t worthy of having any friends, and the excuse of “their parents can buy them a new one.” didn’t work on your conscience anymore.
but, you couldn’t stop.
you tried your best to surpass the desire. the desire to have more, to own more, and to get to have a say in what you truly wanted in this life. you tried your hardest, so much that you even avoided rich kids like the plague.
but then he came into your life with classy clothes and a car you would have only seen in your dreams.
materials don’t mean anything to me, you reminded yourself. sure, they didn’t; what got on your nerves was the fact that they had the chance to have it, maybe. maybe it was the only reason you were angry.
none of it means anything to me. you reminded yourself.
but it was hard to do so when he was there. he was kind, charismatic and intelligent. truly an overachiever, and he certainly got it all.
you have never had such desire in a long time. the last thing you had craved something so painfully was eliza’s toy.
when you ran out of patience, you already found yourself seated next to him, glancing at the notes he took in class. first it was small remarks. then you became a familiar face for him. then you were talking to him, sharing stories and making stupid jokes, asking stupid questions.
you were weird. he could almost sense something was off with you. acting sweetly and bubbly all the time, yet he could see your eyes were dull when you looked at him. it was nothing he hadn’t seen as he had always been surrounded by people like you. sly and ready to fake any kind of demeanor.
no,
what he didn’t understand was you were still trying your best to do as your mother said. just because someone is rich doesn’t mean i can get my hands on their belongings. you reminded yourself as you found a better place for your -eliza’s- toy. more than a decade had passed, and you still didn’t grow out of it.
how laughable you were.
you observed the toy very carefully, adjusting its position and rechecking again.
as i said, the desire to own something was bigger than any meaningful sense of accomplishment. and, fairly enough, rich kids could never make sense out of something so sentimental. he could never understand such emotion. he never truly craved anything. nothing ever was over his reach, which is why he could never figure out motivation of people with tenacity.
he always knew he could get whatever he wanted. his parents didn’t hesitate to spend hundreds on toys he would play with only once. he didn’t have a favorite toy, because at the end of the day, none of them was special.
he didn’t have close friends that would truly care. he didn’t know how to forge unbreakable bonds with people, because at the end of the day, he didn’t crave anything including meaningful human connections.
he didn’t have a life-time goal. sure, he had got the best grades, but it wasn’t truly because he had the motivation. he simply had endless opportunities and didn’t have anything better to do than learning new stuff that seemed somehow entertaining.
an overachiever with no real ambition in his life.
how laughable he was.
and yet you were really getting on his nerves. it was nothing new for him really, being surrounded by girls who didn’t know how to take no as an answer. girls who wanted to taste how it felt like to be with him, to be him. girls who wanted pretty boys with a lot to share.
he hated people like you. he hated that he was only a symbol of achievement and acceptance to people with materialistic values. that was exactly when he decided to go along with you. he started agreeing with whatever you wanted to do. you had a stupid idea? all ears. you wanted him to be your project partner? sure thing. you had seen a funny video? show him.
because he really wanted to see where this was going for once. he wanted to see how much you were willing to go just so you could get what you wanted. you couldn’t decide if the change was good or not. it was unexpected, and unexpected things would make your stomach upset. you enjoyed his company, true, yet you still couldn’t get your eyes off of eliza’s toy. and you sure wouldn’t try to avert your gaze on his belongings. he should’ve known better, but you could still hear your mother’s voice in your head.
hanging out with him was fun. he was only there when you actually asked him to. he didn’t need you to check up with him because, fairly enough, he couldn’t care less about you. he didn’t consider you a friend, and he most certainly had lots of things to do. the comfort of such dynamic made you feel lighter. he made you feel comfortable unlike eliza and your other friends who found you distant the moment you tried to have some time by yourself.
hanging out with you, although hard to admit, was fun. you didn’t ask about his ambitions and such topics he wouldn’t want to answer. you were just so busy with telling him how much you hated your boss and your family matters you weren’t supposed to tell anyone. you had a lot to share. you had funny stories about high school. you had recommendations on books and songs about love. you had laughs and joy to share, even when it didn’t seem genuine to him at all.
“my friend made it, wanna taste it?” you told him. he didn’t answer. you still gave him a small piece of it anyway. he could see you actually liked sharing, and it wasn’t special to him. you were annoying, sure, but you still had qualities he liked about you.
he liked not having to talk about serious matters. he liked he had someone he could be stupid with.
and unlike he had assumed, you weren’t trying to pursue him romantically. you weren’t flirting with him, and you weren’t interested in knowing his current relationship status. some compliments here and there, small jokes about how your eyes were blinded by his light, and that was pretty much it. and weirdly enough, you didn’t appreciate it when he tried to treat you to your favorite dessert.
“how do you even call this shit a dessert?” you asked him while tasting what he had. he frowned for a second. “you’re jealous it tastes like heaven.” he said. you grimaced at him before tasting it again.
you had gotten even closer by the following months. he wasn’t quite sure if he still didn’t consider you a friend. and you were happy you didn’t catch anything you wanted to own. except his car, of course, but you didn’t want to play GTA in real life anyway, so you were good.
“are you going to come to the library tomorrow?” he asked, “for the project, remember?”
you checked the date. you rechecked it.
“i’m ditching school, can we do it the day after tomorrow?” you answered.
“oh, sure. did something happen?”
“it’s my birthday tomorrow.”
he frowned. then he also checked the date. turned out, you’d never talked about the dates of your birthdays. but he was still… annoyed for some reason. the fact that he learned about it just before the day made him uneasy. why did you not tell him? who were you going to celebrate it with? why wasn’t he invited? why was he upset over it?
mom makes a big deal out of birthdays, that must be the reason.
“okay, that’s good. what are the plans tomorrow?” he tried his very best to seem uninterested. so much that he hadn’t even said ‘happy birthday in advance’ or ‘ why didn’t you tell me?’ he was unbothered. he was completely fine.
“well, i’ll just celebrate it with my friends.” you replied. he still couldn’t hear what he wanted yet. you still didn’t offer him to join. not that he cared, no, he just. it was just an old habit from his mom. that was all. yeah. nothing else.
“oh. cool.” he said, the awkwardness taking over you thanks to his 2 worded answers.
“wanna come?” you doubted he would say yes as you remembered him talking about how much he disliked such concepts due to his mom’s exaggeration.
“yes,” to your surprise he didn’t hesitate, “sure,” nor did he waste a second. you couldn’t really hide your surprise, and he felt like he was supposed to disappear from the earth for a while.
“what? was i supposed to stay and do your stupid part too?” he laughed.
“oh and, you don’t need to bring a gift,” he lifted his eyebrow as you continued, “i mean, i don’t accept gifts. so just, bring your shiny self, okay?”
he looked at you with pure terror. no gifts, on your own birthday? his mother would’ve gone crazy. but he didn’t persist. it wasn’t easy for him to understand your perspective in many cases anyway.
the next day he truly felt bad for listening to you, because even though none of the guests had any gift for you, you truly deserved anything you wanted with that elegant outfit and your lovely smile. well, not anything. the exaggeration of birthdays was passed down to him from his mother. yeah. surely that was it.
your friends wouldn’t stop asking who he was and where you met him. was he single? wait, were you seeing him? no? good. well, happy birthday, dear.
the day ended with peace and happiness. you were thankful to your friends for being there and sharing the joy. the guests were leaving, and they didn’t forget to wish you the happiest birthday one last time. everyone left, everyone except him since he needed to answer a phone call real quick.
when he was done with it, he made his way to the kitchen to let you know he was ready to leave. that was the moment he saw it: a box wrapped in glossy yellow paper, tied with navy ribbon.
“so you accept gifts?” his voice was stern, for the lack of a better word.
“uhh, i don't,” you glanced at the present. “it’s from eliza.”
“so you accept gifts,” he said once more.
“well, what, are you jealous?” you grinned. that wasn’t the deal. his mother’s weird habits were — whatever.
“of what?” he sounded defensive, “anyway, nevermind, do you want to open it?” now he was like a little boy asking his friends to open their gifts out of curiosity. “let’s see what she got.”
you nodded slowly, gently unboxing it as he watched your hands. his gaze shifted to your expression once you were done—your mouth shaped like the letter o, your eyes glossy almost like you were crying.
he had never regretted anything as badly as not getting you a present. he knew there were times his mother was right, and yeah, he really should’ve known better.
he came up with a solution the next day: another package for you. and he certainly wasn’t any different than eliza, if not worse. even though you loved him and eliza, you still didn’t want expensive stuff from them. the little kid in you still thought it wasn’t truly yours if you weren’t the one who wanted it. when he saw you hesitate, he rested his hand on his chin. “i know you accept gifts,” he said with a faint smile.
his sharp gaze was lingering in the eyes of yours. you did your utmost to get it over with as quick as you could.
you didn’t have to know how hard it was for him to pick the ideal gift out there. you didn’t have to know he went as far as asking his old classmates from highschool to help him out. he didn’t have to tell you he kept annoying his mother—telling her she was the only one he could trust on this. she was taken aback by the sudden request as she had never seen him this excited for such occasions before. normally, he would buy whatever that seemed decent enough.
it was the prettiest bracelet you had seen. simple, and very elegant in its simplicity.
it wasn’t a gift you would -or could- buy your friends, to be honest. it was probably something you could only see on top of the counter. but, you knew rich kids had a different view on such matters. eliza never hesitated to get you such presents too, and she didn’t care which brand it was (or if it even had a brand, for that matter) as long as it seemed to look good on her.
you contemplated selling the bracelet before even getting to wear it. but his eyes were focused on your wrists, leaving you little to no choice.
you wore the bracelet, gently shaking your hand to make sure it wasn’t too loose.
“it’s pretty,” you said, still ashamed of the attention from him. you couldn’t find the correct words, and you hated the awkwardness of such words, “thank you, it’s… it’s so beautiful.” you said while looking at your bracelet. he liked your expression, and was most certainly satisfied with the reaction.
“of course, i picked it, after all,” he said with a boyish grin, certainly proud of himself.
the next day he couldn’t see the bracelet on your wrist.
did you not like it? that couldn’t be it because there was no way you could fake that type of expression. you liked it, no, you adored it, there was no way you didn’t. his eyes were on your bare wrist the whole day. the day after that, and the next day too. he hadn’t said anything, but his eyes were still.
“you think she didn’t like it?” he asked his mother. she was truly confused. there was no way her son, of all people, was nervous over a birthday gift.
“she probably just doesn’t like wearing bracelets.” she said with indifference. “some people are sensitive to how things feel on their skin.”
“she could’ve just told me.” he mumbled. he would’ve get you another gift if you asked him to. it was stupid of him, really, thinking too deeply over a stupid bracelet. but, in his defense,it was for you. from him.
even though you considered selling and getting rid of it, you couldn’t get yourself daring it. you knew he had tried to play it off, but you were able to see his content expression. and just because you felt awkward wearing it, you wouldn’t just do that to him. turned out even you had principles and some ethics. you put the gift right next to eliza’s toy as they brought a similar type of discomfort to you.
he had started to pay more attention to your sense of fashion. noting what you had wore and how you styled your hair, what accessories you wore, if you did. he tried to understand your preferences in perfumes and shampoos. you -and even he himself- didn’t even realize he did it. he kept asking his mom what type of gifts girls would like. he kept keeping track of every single piece of clothing you had. but there was still no trace of the bracelet. it was completely gone. he didn’t care if you wore accessories or not, all he cared was whether you wore that one single item he had for you.
“oh, it looks so pretty,” your friend pointed at the bracelet. “is it new?”
“oh, well, it’s been a while, my friend’s given it to me as a birthday gift.” you said, looking at the accessory.
“you should wear it,” she suggested. “it’s soooo beautiful!”
you didn’t answer. the weight of the item -of the feelings included in it- made it unable to lift your arm. but, you acknowledged you were making it a big deal. nothing wrong with using what your friends gave you, no?
no one including you could find out the reason he was so cheerful and ecstatic that day. not even his mom. he kept giving kind words to his friends whenever he had the opportunity— not something people caught him doing often. he even offered help to troubled people whose assignments were due. he greeted his mother so enthusiastically that she was almost 100% sure her son was finally losing it.
he was finally losing it, but your wrist looked so pretty with his gift on it. he couldn’t shake off the feelings of craving. he wanted your attention. he wanted you to think of him whenever you looked at your wrist. throughout his life, he finally had something to hang on to, to want, to desire. and it finally made sense to him when people had their lifetime goals they wouldn’t stop thinking about. people with undying ambitions and their dedication to do whatever it would take.
he wanted to be the subject of your attention. he wanted it bad.
you were finally losing it. because the more time you spent with him, the more you realized all that character development had gone straight into the trash—and that you weren’t fixable by any means. his company was comfortable, and you liked being around him. but, still, you could sense how envious you were. how jealous you were of his stupid car, his classy outfits, his big house and his mother who had mesmerizing eyes that were identical to his. you were upset he had everything, and you were upset there was no way you could drive that stupid car once your little hangout time was over.
you were finally losing it, because he had everything you had ever dreamed of. because he had everything, and the desire made your soul rotten.
it had started off slowly. like an old crow who adored shiny objects, you started off with a glamorous ring. it was his favorite, as you recalled correctly. and then it was his pretty bracelet, though not prettier than yours. then it was the jacket from that one luxury brand. and the list was getting longer. normally, you wouldn’t go as far as this because normally, people would start grumbling about how their stuff kept getting lost.
he was confused at first, though not exactly upset. he didn’t understand your motives as he had made it clear he was okay with sharing pretty much everything he had. he liked it when you had stuff that would remind you of him. why… did you feel the need to do that? was he not clear enough?
you didn’t accept his gifts, but you were completely okay with taking whatever you liked that belonged to him. you didn’t want gifts, but you didn’t stop pocketing his stuff. he was confused, but maybe, just maybe, you wanted little things in your house that’d make you think of him? maybe you were just too much of a loser and lacked good manners to ask like a normal human being.
no matter what the case was, he wasn’t bothered at all. even if you had ill intentions, it was no big deal, because at the end of the day, it wasn’t stealing if he was aware and okay with it.
he kept getting new jackets that seemed to fit your style. he got new bracelets and made sure you saw them.
the fact that he was totally unaware made you wonder if he was truly stupid, or just richer than you had imagined. he kept getting more and more stuff, and never mentioned anything getting lost. you were completely lost because… because it didn’t make sense at all. it had started to get annoying for you. that there was no way this man wouldn’t look for his items, nor was he even aware they were gone.
it started to piss you off. and you could feel your body getting tenser whenever you glanced at his figure. there was nothing you could do that’d affect this guy. you felt yourself distancing yourself from him. at the end of the day, the only person who was losing it was you. there wasn’t a single thing he would care about losing.
well, the only exception being you.
he could see you were annoyed, though not entirely able to tell the reason. he could see you drifting apart. and worth mentioning he didn’t take it well. things were getting more complicated day by day, and understanding you had never been harder.
there was no way you could walk away. not when he finally had someone to hold onto.
“my ring got lost again,” he mumbled while you two were working on an assignment together. you looked up at him, panic in your eyes lasted only a millisecond.
“oh…” you said, not managing to form a coherent sentence.
“it’s like… the third time this has happened in two weeks.” he peered at your wrist, the bracelet was still there. he smiled softly.
“you should’ve just told me if you had wanted a ring.” his voice was warm. it was genuine, and made you terrified of such warmth.
you didn’t answer, mouth going completely dry.
“you know how hard it is to deal with authorities, right?” he asked, but his voice didn’t sound threatening at all—he was still smiling, and his voice was still the softest you’d ever heard from him.
“i…” he didn’t let you finish. “it’s okay, dear,” reassured, “sharing is caring, y’know,” you looked at his expression to catch a glimpse of contempt— to your surprise, there weren’t any.
“i just… don’t think you should be distant to people when you have their ring,” he cooed, “isn’t that right?”
he made it sound weirdly romantic. like he was the one who gave it. you had his ring, that was true, and it was almost like he was happy you did.
“i’m sorry,” you finally managed to speak up. he shook his head. “nothing to apologize, dear, the only problem we have is,” he gazed at your hands—stripped of any jewelry, “we need to find a ring that actually fits your finger.” he smiled.
you didn’t know how it came to this, but it was too late to reject any gifts.
