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im crying thinking theres no way toxicreader and sukuna will ever change🤣 theyll still be pulling this shit in their old age. ‘screw this im leaving’ sukuna takes his walker and tries to leave the home. toxic readers like ‘i got men lining up down the block who needs you’. its slightly better because they forget why theyre fighting so the break up period is shorter. theyre neighbors are always entertained
while this is absolutely true and they would be two toxic mfers even in a nursing home, it did make me ask myself what WOULD it take for toxic!reader to change her ways
like imagine if toji didn't give into her toxic ways and she doesn't have anyone to feed into the cycle with. eventually she'd probably get bored and try to fake a pregnancy scare to actually scare him away but he's just like okay cool we can have a kid if you want one and she is so stunned she doesn't know what the hell to even do
and then if he ends up making her more normal, just IMAGINE how catastrophic sukuna's crash out would be the moment he realizes someone else is trying to fix HIS girl when he loves her just as insane as she is
the LENGTHS he would go to just to get her back would be unfathomable
older boyfriend simon who loves treating you like his lil baby, cooing at you every time you try talking to him, holding your jaw with a gentle touch and pulling your chin up to tell you you’re his pretty little thing
loves pushing his chest against your back, slotting his half hard cock against your back, when you try to reach for a cup or something on a cupboard, tells you it’s “too risky for a small baby like you, let daddy do it”
adores how you flush and squirm when he tells you to listen to daddy and go brush your teeth, wear your cute pj’s, patting your head and calling you his “good little kid” when you do. tells you to respect your bedtime or you’ll be all grumpy tomorrow
tucking you in for bed, surrounding you with your cute plushies and wishing you lovely dreams
and then coming back while you’re sleeping to grope at your body, rough hands pinching and squeezing your flesh as you sleep, shushing you when you squirm and stir, soothing you by saying “daddy’s here, you’re safe, go back to sleep”
simon pulling down your underwear and pushing the head of his hard cock against your hole, hand jerking off himself while the tip stays nestled in your hole
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Synopsis: What happens when a duke drinks one of your fake love potions and blames whatever he feels for you on it? Presuming you cursed him instead, he drags you back to his mansion and refuses to let you leave until you reverse the spell.
You’ve now been working for four months to cure a curse that doesn’t exist, and the duke has somehow become even more obsessed with you.
…At least you’re finally getting paid.
The duke has gotten moodier.
Like he wasn’t moody enough, he was now as annoying as a pesky fly. Always hovering around.
And it’s unfortunately interfering with your ability to work. (You’ve become a workaholic ever since you stepped foot on his mansion, just so you could leave sooner.)
He’d sit by your table, head propped lazily on his hand, and with the other he’d play with your hair.
“Your hair is weird.” He’d comment casually, pointing out your hair type. It doesn’t matter if other people also had straight, wavy or curly hair. Yours was still somehow the weird one.
It’s become a routine for him to nitpick something about your appearance, habits, or personality whenever he could.
“It’s just hair, Your Grace.” You say with gritted teeth, his hand still stroking your hair distractingly.
“Hm.” He’d simply hum, and go to another strand, feeling the texture between his fingertips.
“Is it because you’re a witch you look like this?”
You pause the work in your hands, glancing up at him with squinting eyes. Is he saying that because of the rumors calling witches ugly?
“Like what?” You ask, trying to see where this was going.
“Pretty.”
His answer came immediately, simple and clear. His face not changing one bit.
You stared at him dumbfounded. Somehow, he’d managed to call you pretty while making it sound like an insult at the same time.
You worried all the antidotes he’d been drinking were giving him such strange side effects.
Or, the other possibility is that someone must’ve hit him on the head. You wouldn’t be surprised if he’d angered anyone by now with his prickly demeanor. Actually, you pray someone hits him just to satisfy your own desire.
His hand continued playing with your hair, while his eyes watched you languidly without shame. You hoped he could see the tick mark appearing at your forehead from anger, because you were this close to actually causing him brain damage if no one else does it before you!
Just one comment, I dare you! You glared at him. And he caught it, eyes widening for a bit.
“Even your eyes are weird.” He leaned closer, examining your eyes and pointing out their color like it’s something unnatural. But he doesn’t stop there, gaze dropping down to your hands now.
He wrapped two fingers around your wrist, frowning.
“And what kind of wrist is this small? You’re so weak it’s alarming— ACK.”
His comment was cut off by a hard bonk to the head from you, making him bite down his tongue.
“GET DOWN!”
The servants standing aside immediately duck on instinct, waiting for the splash of red to paint the room.
…
A few seconds of silence passed before they finally dared to peek open their eyes. To see you were still… intact? And without a single scratch even.
Instead, they find it was the duke who looked harmed, rubbing his head with a sulky expression.
“Why do you look so angry? You’re supposed to be smiling like what the books said…” The duke looked down glumly, and the servants couldn’t believe their eyes. Was the duke pouting?
You, however, didn’t look fazed by the sight. “I don’t know what you’re talking about but you should know better than to talk about a woman’s appearance like this!”
The duke stared back at you, his lips pressing into a thin line.
“Look, I don’t understand why you’re even here but—“
He stood up straight, making you pause your words to crane your neck back up at him. His height even more intimidating with you still sitting down in front of him.
“You… You are a violent woman. I can work with that.” He muttered the last part to himself, hand going under his chin to contemplate something.
Another vein popped up at your forehead. “The only one trying to work is me! MEEEE!”
In return, he’d also frown at your words. A vein matching your own popping up his forehead.
“Work, work, work. All you do is work, maybe that’s why you’re so prickly, woman!” He pointed accusingly.
Your lips parted in disbelief. “YOU brought me here to work, why are you getting irritated? And who are you calling prickly!”
Cue another banter followed between you and the duke, while the servants standing by watched you both bemused.
Two maids shared looks between each other, blinking a few times.
“Do we… Do we stop them? Or her at least?”
“No… Just, leave them be.” The older maid sighed, shaking her head at the image of the most feared duke currently acting like an idiot. “I’ve seen this happen four times already yet still cannot get used to it.”
When will the duke finally realize why he’s being so clingy?
It’s been four months.
Four months since you were brought to this mansion, working day and night to reverse whatever spell he’s convinced you have on him.
You don’t care anymore if his claims are true or not, just working to figure out whatever the hell he was complaining about and cure him.
And you were sure that at some point, he’d realize that you weren’t behind anything. Maybe grow tired of you and have an ounce of mercy to let you go eventually. Or by a silver of luck, you might finally find a working antidote that will do the job instead.
But no. The man’s very stubborn, and he was adamant on keeping you chained to his mansion.
And luck wasn’t on your side either, no antidote working so far in curing this mental illness of his.
“How much longer…” You sniffled, curling up your knees to your chest.
Rarely did you have any time to yourself without the duke by your side. Though, whenever you did, you’d quietly curse him (not literally) to empty some of your frustration.
Other times you’d cry from loneliness. Just like right now, heart swelling in longing.
It’s been months since the last time you’ve been outside. Oh how you miss the strolls you’d take in forests, collecting herbs for your potions, talking with other fellow witches, and most importantly…
“Money!”
When was the last time you’ve smelled the sweet unmistakable scent of gold coins? Four months!!!
This heartless duke’s been keeping you under his thumb without any compensation or proper employment. You’ve been basically working underneath him for free, all labor and no reward.
“Damn you, duke…!” You mumbled, burying your face further between your arms.
“Witch!” An annoying voice echoed in the hallway, halting your sniffs. Followed by the undeniable footsteps you’ve grown accustomed to, belonging to no one else but the duke.
Dang it, he finished sword training early today. You scramble off the floor quickly to find a new hiding place further from here.
Maybe the servant’s kitchen area will work—
Slam, the door opened. Revealing the duke at the doorway, water still clinging to his hair from the rushed shower he’d taken. All to find you quicker.
“Witch, I’ve been looking for you everywhere—“ His words die out once your eyes meet his own, still glossy and with cheeks tear-stained.
A sniff escaped you before you could even greet him, confirming the man’s dread that you were indeed crying.
“You… What happened to you?” He crossed the room in seconds, leaning to take a closer look at you.
“What? Nothing!” You looked away, realizing the mess your face must look like right now. You’d rather die than ever show this man a vulnerable sight, though you’ve showed that sight to him a few times at the start…
“Nothing?” He frowned, stepping closer with a stomp. “Your eyes are puffy and red from crying yet you still dare lie to my face?”
You still didn’t face him, his lips drawing a firm line at the avoidance of your gaze.
“Duke, you should go dry your hair first. Or you’ll catch a cold.” You gritted out, the last part more of a threat than a worry for his wellbeing, the urge to curse him for real this time emerged.
“Are you changing the subject? Do not test my patience and explain.” His words seemed desperate, angry and frustrated for a reason you did not care enough to understand.
“It’s none of your concern, Your Highness.”
Can he not get a hint? You just really wanted to be alone right now, from him especially.
“…”
The man did not budge, though his gaze lowered a little in contemplation.
Your words had irked him, none of his concern? How ridiculous.
You lived under his roof, ate the food he provided, and spent every waking hour in his manor… Whose concern would it be if not his?
“It does concern me, actually. Now tell me, what… caused this?” He pointed awkwardly, unsure of how to address the state he found you in. And comfort was a subject he was not familiar with at all.
“I said, nothing.” You repeated, but it did nothing to convince him.
“…Was it someone?” He frowned, changing the question into a “‘who’ did this” instead. That earned a scoff from you, giving him the wrong impression.
“Someone from the staff? One of the guards who harmed you? Give me names, now.” He ordered, hands crossed in front of him as he awaited a hit-list to be given. If only he knew the first name on that list was his own…
“No, and no. They did nothing wrong, don’t accuse innocent people!”
“Then was it the gardeners? Just tell me which bastard was it, I’ll have their heads rolling in minutes—“
“AGH! It’s no one, okay?” You covered your ears at the violent words he was spewing, enough to draw a disturbingly graphic image in your mind that had you feeling queasy.
Still getting no answer from you, the man’s lips turned into a straight line again.
“…You’re my employee, so I have the right to know what has you slacking off work.”
You broke whatever personal rule of not showing him your face, turning around with a whiplash at his words.
Because this was exactly what you’ve been tearing about earlier. How dare he bring that up so naturally without any shame!
“Employee? Me? Since WHEN?” You threw your arms open in outrage, utterly offended by his words.
He just stood there confused. His crossed arms falling limply to the side.
You were sad, terribly. And he was just twisting the knife at the wound that had you down. “I am an undocumented slave at your hands! And slavery was banned years ago, you stupid Duke!”
He raised a finger to speak, lips parting to get a word out, but you weren’t done yet.
“Listen, we’re in a modern society now. There’s nothing wrong with seeking a therapist! Mental health is important, ya know?”
It’s been on your mind for a while, a suggestion you were about to bring up naturally had he not forced you into this conversation.
Seriously, the ‘love potion’ you brewed months ago must’ve already passed his system. And with little to no information about his symptoms, you had no idea what to do anymore.
You sighed pitifully, the man getting more confused by the second.
“I mean, like… Maybe you should seek a different method of treatment, yeah?”
He did not answer, pushing you into speaking further.
“I think it’s about time you let me go—“
Your words don’t even get to finish before two rough hands latched onto your shoulders, making you wince.
“No. You… What kind of suggestion is that?” His voice wavered, before he gruffly voiced the very thing he hated to presume you were saying. “You dare try to leave?”
The way he said that had you glance up at him in confusion. His eyes stared back dilated, and the hands on your shoulders gripped harder, attempting to squeeze out an answer from you.
“You’re the one who cursed me, and you’ll stay right here till the curse gets reversed. Until then, I won’t let you go.”
His frown twisted further, just the thought of you leaving making him sick.
…Oh. Your lips formed a small circle, parted helplessly without any words to respond back.
You’d been too comfortable lately. Too confident in the fact that he’d never try to hurt you, and you’d completely forgotten about his true image as a feared duke.
But now you weren’t sure anymore, that confidence you had which allowed you to speak freely weighed down on you belated.
Damn it, and you’d just called him a stupid duke earlier.
It reminded you once again that you were only here because of a misunderstanding—breathing and alive because the man genuinely thinks you’ve cursed him.
You didn’t dare break eye contact, his red eyes never allowing you a glance away, and it had your fear skyrocket at once. All that sass you’ve shown so far swallowed deep in your throat.
But then you felt it. Beneath your own shaking shoulders were the tremors of someone else. Him.
The fingertips of his hands—still gripped uncomfortably on your shoulders—were trembling.
“…”
What was he afraid of…? You dared not voice out your question, continuing to stare back at him in a frozen state.
The excruciatingly long silence finally broke when the duke spoke first.
“…So it’s just about the employment? Is that why you’re upset?” His voice came out softer than before, the frown on his lips easing a bit into a straight line.
You slowly nodded, no use in denying it with him holding you hostage between his arms.
Though you weren’t sure who was the hostage anymore. The way he looked at you wasn’t that of a man holding someone captive, but one who had become captive himself.
“…Very well.” His answer came after another pause. “I’ll have a proper employment contract drafted in no time.”
You blinked up at him a few times. This easily?
“Really?”
“Mhm.” He nodded, the grip on your shoulders relaxing at the glint in your eyes.
“And… I’ll get paid?” You asked, just to double check.
“Obviously.”
You squint at him for a long moment, trying to see what was the catch.
“…You’re actually agreeing?”
His brows furrowed, lips pulling down a bit at your distrust.
“You’ve only made one request so far. Continue.” He nodded curtly for more.
Permission was all you needed, not waiting any longer to ask.
“Then I want weekends off.”
“Granted.” His hands left to cross in front of him, satisfied at your compliance.
“…With paid leave.”
“Done.” Suddenly, a steward stood beside him noting down everything with a flick from the duke’s finger. (…Since when had there been a steward in here?)
“…Lunch breaks.”
“Alright.” He nodded with his chin, the steward working double to keep up everything.
“Plus monthly bonuses!” You pointed with a finger enthusiastically.
“If your performance is satisfactory.”
Your jaw nearly hit the floor, but one last request still needed to be made.
“Oh! And—“ You cleared your throat, hiding a smirk behind your hand.
His foot tapped impatiently. “What else?”
You couldn’t forget the most important one of all.
“I want my own bedroom.”
A moment of silence from everyone in the room took place.
One maid quietly covered another servant’s mouth before he could laugh.
Even the steward stopped writing.
The guards suddenly found the opposite wall incredibly interesting.
Simultaneously, they all finally remembered you never had a proper bedroom assigned to you. Usually staying up all night working in the duke’s bedroom or sleeping in the servant’s quarters.
“…Done. Guards?”
Everyone relaxed at the duke’s words, you especially.
The agreement brought you great relief, placing a hand over your chest to sigh. Finally, all problems solved—
Until he casually turned to the guards, one hand raised up for the closest to approach him.
“Move the finest bed in the manor beside mine.”
The guard bowed immediately. “At once, Your Grace—“
“NO!” You yelled, pausing the duke in his place to stare confused.
“I said my own bedroom! Bed. Room.” You repeated twice, but the duke only looked back annoyed.
“You will have one, as I just said.” One of his brows raised up, still not getting your point.
“Uhh, yeah? One with four walls and a roof, all to myself!” Your hands moved to draw a box shape midair.
“…”
The duke was quiet then, a hand came up his chin to contemplate something.
“…Three walls and no more.” He held up three fingers, and you stared back at them blankly.
“…A what now?”
“Compromise.”
Haaah, after thirty minutes of negotiating, you ended up being granted everything but the last request.
You mumbled a few incoherent phrases as you signed the employee contract, one that was quickly whipped up and waiting in the hand of the steward.
True to his words, the duke builds a room for you with three walls.
…Located in the corner of his own bedroom.
You were basically roommating with the man, and he dared look satisfied about it.
An infuriating smirk played on his lips as he exited the bathroom, dressed in a silk nightgown heading to his bed.
You face the wall to hide your scowl, listening unintentionally to how the bed rustled from his movement.
He made himself comfortable under the blankets first before finally addressing you out, rather cheerfully.
“I’m going to sleep.” He peeked an eye at your figure, back facing him.
“Congratulations.” You uttered dryly. The flat response visibly irked him, as he called out a moment later to ask.
“…Was that sarcasm?”
You didn’t acknowledge him with more than a hum, annoying him further.
“…Turn off the lights.” He ordered, a frown you couldn’t see was pulling his lips down.
You still don’t reply, just getting up to extinguish the lamp as instructed. Not the response he was awaiting.
“Tch… Don’t you dare leave the room. Got that?”
“Yeah, yeah. Go to sleep now!” You waved him off, kicking the blankets annoyed.
“Good.” He huffed, sounding oddly satisfied despite having run out of excuses to talk.
Silence engulfed the room, the only noise coming from the hooting owls outside and rustling leaves.
You laid on the bed facing the wall, never turning around to see if the duke was doing the same or not.
And just as you were about to fall asleep, a hushed voice called out softly.
“…Good night.” He murmured, never awaiting for you to say it back. Already succumbing to sleep with the soft snores that followed after.
You stilled in this new bed, the frown on your face easing a bit at the awkward gesture.
Though the anger in you still didn’t subside completely, you did feel a toll of it leave you in a sigh.
“…Well,” you pulled the blanket over your head. “At least I’m getting paid to deal with him now.”
You then followed him into dreamland. No other thought lingering in your money-crazed head.
Zzzzzz.
.
..
…
Hmm… But wait, aren’t you forgetting something?
Likeeee reading the employee contract twice before signing?
Or, hey, did you even receive a signed copy of the contract?
Who knows what you just signed away. Maybe you should’ve thought twice about calling yourself ‘a slave’ in this man’s presence.
…
Might’ve just given him ideas.
Tag list: @musicalfan2026 @violetvase @justatimidcreator @aluvrina @dearlyhyeon
you were a gnat that buzzed around him. at first, you were so miniscule to him. nothing more than the omega to the "alpha" that blared sirens in his head. something in his instincts that screamed the other alpha was an imposter, an intruder threatening the order of things. he had brushed it off. so what the other alpha was more beta than anything, it was inconsequential. but then you started to come around more often.
at first, it was just the other alpha bringing you around to company parties. it was quite common for alphas to showboat their pretty omegas, draped under their arm. though, there was something so... superficial to how the other alpha showed you off. it felt less like typical alpha preening and more so like there was a charade you two were trying to set up. like you two masquerading as something you weren't.
sure the love was there. the way you two stared at each other so sickly sweet, its nauseating. the other alpha held you with such grace and respect, like you two were equals and not something the alpha possessed. you were a car crash he couldn't look away from and he was the only one rubbernecking to get another glance at the growing fire.
what really solidified to him that the other alpha may not be what he says he is, was you getting a position at the office. he's not sexist, he thinks omegas have ever right to work, but it wasn't typical for married omegas to work. alphas were usually too possessive for that. but the pseudo-alpha beamed every time he got to run into you.
you two would bump shoulders and tease each other like pups playing. more hints laid out in front of him when you and the pseudo-alpha would play when you thought no one was looking. he heard your sweet giggle from around the corner and decided to watch from around the bend. he got the end of you running away from your pseudo-alpha (something omegas never did in public as it would trigger an alpha's prey drive and hunting down your omega always lead to something definitely not work appropriate). and the pseudo-alpha just smiled and shook his head and calmly walked after you. there was no sexual charge in the air, just love filled with content.
the pseudo-alpha also always fussed over you like an omega. he adjusted your clothes and fixed your hair with calming pheromones permeating through the air. during lunch, the pseudo-alpha would have you in his office, feeding you himself. even when you fussed that you were an adult, the pseudo-alpha would shush you and say how he likes taking care of you. you would curl your shoulders in the way you do when you're embarrassed and you would bump your forehead to his. your silent way of saying i love you, the true alpha has learned.
and you? you didn't act like an omega either. you were combative and protective. more often than not your pseudo-alpha would have to lay a calming hand on your shoulder to stop you from growling at one of his colleagues. a offhand comment was made about the pseudo-alpha competence since everyone knew he was sterile (which the true alpha is now realizing was just another lie to get everyone off your back about not having pups). hell, you had even growled at him when he got a little too close to your pseudo-alpha. you did not like him and it just made him grin wide. what a vicious little thing you were.
there, in that moment, he started to laugh. how could he be so stupid? your alpha was never an alpha but just a beta with stronger pheromones than others. he could easily pass as an alpha and you, conniving omega was using that to your advantage. you were smart, he will give you that. you were an unconventional omega from what he could gather from the lack of pups and you wanting to work. and you had found the perfect solution. a beta charading as an alpha to also get more opportunities as well.
he wanted to know more, poke holes in your little bubble. he knew you were suspicious of him from the very beginning. could sense him lurking like a good prey.
the alpha would blatantly stare when your "mating mark" was fading. beta's could make a mating mark, but it would only hold for a couple months. and brave little omega, you would met his gaze. your own way of saying "i'm not scared of you and i have nothing to hide." it just made him want you more. both of you fascinated him.
he wanted you both. and he knew you two would never agree to him ruining the guise you had built up for the sake of each other. so like a true alpha, he was going to take what he wanted.
play into your little game. either let him into whatever you two have or he's telling everyone that your precious "alpha" is actually a beta.
locking him out after boy's night | him eating out a pudding cup goes viral
"she was hitting on you."
and you looked sorta like you wanted to hit him, brows pinched together tight and lips pushed out in a familiar pout.
"she asked what time it was," sukuna grimaced, holding up his wrist like his watch was proof. heat already coiling in his stomach at the idea of how hard you'd probably fuck him later, nails dragging down his shoulder blades as you bounced on his cock to claim him as all yours.
"she just wanted an excuse to touch your arm," you scoffed, flicking him in the forehead before picking up the full shot the bartender just slid over, bringing it up to your lips and swallowing the acrid alcohol without so much as flinching.
"did you have to bring her tonight?" gojo whined on his other side, tugging on the hem of his shirt and rolling his eyes while you cut him a sharp glare. as much as he previously enjoyed breaking up your bar fights, he didn't want gojo so much as touching you.
"i'm going to the bathroom," you surprisingly muttered, more mature than he expected as you sat the empty shot back down and shoved your purse into his arms.
he should've known better.
because ten minutes later, he was pushing through the packed club to find the bathroom - and found some dipshit dancing with you instead.
his hands on your hips as they swayed in time with the music, your tiny little red dress rolling up high on your thighs as you leaned back against him, that annoying little smirk on your lips like you were just waiting to be discovered. batting your lashes up at him when you looked up, pushing out a glossy bottom lip as you said something soft enough for only him to hear.
and that asshole just ate it up.
blissfully unaware he was just a pawn being played with.
besides, who wouldn't want to be your toy? it was the only thing you ever made easy.
your eyes locked onto his, glittering mischievously before you ran your hand down his forearm, tapping twice on his watch as your mouth started to move again.
asking him for the fucking time.
all of sukuna's sensibility sucked out of his head as he stormed over, grabbing you by the wrist and tugging you against his chest as you scoffed at him like he was the crazy one here.
"get your hands off my fucking girlfriend."
"chill, dude," the loser huffed, holding his hands up defensively. "i didn't know she had a boyfriend."
sukuna made a sound, gritting his teeth as he started to step back.
"fuckin' slut."
sukuna blacked out.
and the next thing he knew, he was being pried off of him in the middle of the dance floor, knuckles dripping with blood as his fist connected one final time with his busted lip.
shit.
"lucky i didn't knock out your goddamn teeth," he spat at him, shrugging off gojo's hands as he felt himself being pulled back by his clothes.
a bouncer was there two seconds later to yank him out anyway, but he was focused on you, making sure you were by his side while he got screamed at for starting a fight.
he was sick of this place anyway.
grinding his back molars as they pushed both of you out the side exit, shouting to not come back or they'd call the cops, the same blah blah blah he'd heard too many times before.
"kuna," you whined, leaning your head against his shoulder as he flexed his bruised fingers. "did you have to get us kicked out?"
"he called you a slut," he grunted.
"i think you were just jealous," you hummed, the corner of your mouth curling up a tiny bit as he slung an arm around your shoulder.
"yeah right," he sarcastically muttered, lying through his teeth as someone called his name. glancing over his shoulder to see gojo throwing a hundred dollar bill at the bouncer, probably bribing him not to call the police before jogging to catch up. "let's just go home."
"oh?" you pouted again, lips pursed together as you followed his attention back to where gojo was standing. "maybe i should ask gojo if he wants to keep the night going."
"don't even think about it," he grumbled.
"don't think about what?" the idiot in question asked as he caught up.
"you wanna be the one to take me home?" you purred, deceptively soft and sweet as you smiled at gojo.
"if you say yes, i'll have to kill you," sukuna deadpanned, staring him down as he squeezed you closer.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Warnings: discrimination, violence, descriptions of illness and injuries, death and violence on the basis of descrimination
Summary: you never planned to reveal your identity to your team, however being trapped in a safe house with them for over a week may not allow you to keep your secrets hidden for much longer
A/N: it was so interesting how everyone had different opinions on who of the team would be the best choice lol i very much enjoyed reading all the comments about it on the last chapter. also apologies I haven't writing at the speed i normally do, i have started playing bg3 and i am a bit obsessed
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“Alright, you heard them Soap,” Price begrudgingly steps aside to allow Soap to take his place helping you into the doctors office. It was a snap decision to pick him, a knee jerk reaction when put on the spot. None of your team truly feel like a safe choice, but this seems to be the lesser of all evils. Gaz would tell Price immediately, too loyal to the captain and the mission to allow any grace. Ghost is too wary, selective about when trust is given and quick to take it away. Price is…. Pragmatic, too pragmatic. He makes calls quickly and enacts them without hesitance, if he saw you as a threat, you have no chance to dissuade him from taking action. So that leaves you with Soap, who you have no doubt will inform the rest of the team of your status, you just hope he allows you a chance to explain first before airing out your secret.
The room you are led into is confiningly small. A treatment bed along one wall with a desk and chair against another that the doctor is perched at. Soap helps you to sit on the bed, before moving to stand by the closed door as to be out of the doctor's way. Your feet tingle as they hang over the edge, pins and needles creeping up along your calves.
The doctor offers a polite smile, tilting her head slightly as she takes in your appearance, a sight you can only imagine is an unpleasant one. “So what brings you in today?”
Soap talks before you have the chance to, “they got sick all o’ a sudden, fever, sweats, chuckin up all o’er the place.”
The doctor hums, eyes flicking back and forth between the two of you for a moment before settling on your face, “is that correct.”
You manage a small nod, trying to keep the movement to a minimum to keep the vertigo at bay. The doctor snaps on a pair of blue gloves, rolling her chair directly in front of as she begins checking over your form, hands carefully titling your head from side to side, pressing along your throat, checking your eyes. All you can do is sit and allow her to assess you, complying as best you can with each movement she gets you to do.
“Have you been getting any vertigo? Light sensitivity?”
You let out an uncomfortable grunt when she presses a firm hand to your stomach, “yes.”
She hums, “what about a headache? Is it persistent or comes and goes?”
“Persistant.”
Her hands move back to your skull, palpating over your forehead and temples, “on one side or both?”
“Both.”
With that she pushes her chair back, reaching for a stethoscope and thermometer on the desk. She doesn’t ask anymore questions, just completes her checks with quiet precision. When she’s done she snaps off her gloves, tossing them in the small waste basket beneath her table.
“Well symptomatically there are two likely explanations, meningitis… or shifter withdrawal.”
Soap steps closer, arms crossed over his chest as he takes in your pale complexion with increasing concern, “meningitis? Shite won’t they need a hospital for somethin’ like tha’?”
The doctor ignores his questions, her eyes staring firmly into yours with a quiet accusation, “I’m only going to ask once and I expect an honest answer. Is this shifting withdrawal?”
Soap scoffs, shaking his head in frustration, “how can they have shiftin’ withdrawal when they aren’t a shifter-”
“Yes,” your voice is quiet, but it silences Soap almost instantly, his expression morphing into a state of disbelief. You can almost feel the heat of his stare as he tries to meet your eyeline, but you avoid looking toward him, instead maintaining your attention on the doctor.
“How long has it been?”
“Nine days,” you say, throat tight. It’s hard to force the words out as the room starts to shrink toward you, walls closing in as you wish the ground would split open beneath you.
The doctor tuts with disapproval, pushing up from her seat and reaching for a cabinet on the wall, beginning to sort through various bottles of medication, “It’s extremely reckless to allow yourself to get to this state. If this had gone on much longer you would put yourself at risk of seizures, permanent neurological damage and could have even fallen into a coma.”
Soap finally snaps his stare away from you, his tone completely void of its prior worry, now flat and even, straight to the point, “what’s the treatment.”
“Simple, they need to shift,” the doctor sits back down in her chair, a bottle of tables now in her hand.
“And they’ll get better? Just like that?”
She nods, “the body will need time to recover, but yes, they should be back to feeling normal relatively soon.”
With that she tips one tablet into your palm, gesturing for you to take it, “this medication will help reduce some of the symptoms long enough to get somewhere comfortable. Let me clear, this is not an excuse to hold off shifting longer, I am honestly surprised you have made it this long without serious repercussions.”
You pop it into your mouth, hands trembling enough that you almost drop it. The doctor seems satisfied after watching you swallow, turning to type a few notes on her computer before standing up, “you can check out at the front desk when you’re ready, I’ll allow you two some privacy.”
She’s steps past Soap out of the room, shutting the door behind her with a sharp click. Soap doesn’t look at you, just stays staring at the space the doctor just occupied, his fingers digging firmly into the flesh of his biceps. It should bring you some comfort that he is currently unarmed, but if anything you feel more trapped than if he had his gun. At least a shot to the head is over quickly.
“Soap-” your voice cracks, forcing you to swallow hard to steady it, “Soap please-”
“I dinnae have anythin' to say to you,” he finally looks at you, and you find an expression you have never seen him wear before. Stoney, completely unreadable with a tone to match.
Your hands grip at the edge of the bed, nerves buzzing with adrenaline that urges you to run, “please just… don’t tell the others.”
He scoffs, shaking his head, “I won’t lie to ‘em.”
“I’m not asking-” you bite your lip to swallow down the wetness you can feel prickling behind your eyes, “let it come from me at least.”
The room falls silent as he holds your stare, turning over the request in your mind before finally offering one sharp nod, “... you tell ‘em today, or I will.”
The first thing that registers is the absence of pain, which, frankly, should have been the very first red flag that something wasn't right, because falling from the roof of a forty-story building should have resulted in something far more catastrophic than the gentle, almost tender surface he currently found himself resting upon — a surface that, even through the haze of confusion clouding his thoughts, felt suspiciously like a mattress, soft and familiar in a way that made absolutely no sense given what had just transpired.
There was absolutely no way he could be mistaken about what had happened, because [M.Name] remembered everything with the kind of vivid, crystalline clarity that only came from experiencing something truly traumatic; the way the wind had whipped violently against his face as he stood on the edge of that rooftop, the familiar weight of the cigarette between his slender fingers that had been his only comfort after yet another exhausting day of grueling practices and endless schedules, the way his mind had been so completely lost in the void of his own exhaustion and loneliness that he hadn't even registered the presence of another person behind him until it was far too late.
The memory of those hands pressing firmly against his back, shoving him forward with what felt like deliberate, malicious intent, sent a cold shiver racing down his spine even now, and [M.Name] could still feel that brief, terrifying moment of weightlessness, that split second where his brain had failed to process what the hell was happening, followed by the horrifying realization that he was falling, tumbling through open air with nothing but the distant, unforgiving ground rushing up to meet him.
Holy fucking shit, someone had pushed me!
Someone had actually pushed him off that roof, and [M.Name] had absolutely no idea who could have possibly harbored such hatred toward him that they would resort to something so final, so violent, so utterly devastating, and the possibilities that raced through his mind were almost as terrifying as the fall itself;
Perhaps it was someone within the agency who had grown tired of him, some jealous rival who saw him as an obstacle to their own ambitions, or maybe it was one of those obsessive fans who had taken their idolization to a dangerous, pathological extreme, or perhaps it was someone else entirely, someone he had wronged without even realizing it, some grudge he had unknowingly cultivated through years of navigating the treacherous waters of the entertainment industry.
But those questions, as pressing and urgent as they were, would have to wait, because [M.Name]'s most immediate and confusing problem was the fact that he was very clearly, undeniably, and inexplicably alive, which made absolutely no sense whatsoever when he considered the physics of what had just happened to him.
How was that even remotely possible?
He had felt the air rushing past his ears, heard the distant screams that might have been his own or might have been the wind playing cruel tricks on his senses, seen the ground growing larger and larger beneath him with each passing millisecond, and yet here he was, lying on what felt like a bed, completely intact and without so much as a single broken bone to show for the experience.
Barely an hour ago — or at least, it felt like barely an hour ago, though time had become a rather slippery concept in the wake of everything that had happened — [M.Name] had been plummeting toward his death, and now he was sitting on a bed that felt far too familiar, a bed he hadn't slept in for long years, a bed that belonged to a dorm room he had long since left behind, and the sheer impossibility of the situation made his head spin with a dizzying intensity that threatened to pull him under.
What the actual fuck is happening?!
The thought exploded through his mind with the force of a bombshell, and [M.Name] found himself scrambling upright, his body moving on pure instinct as his eyes darted frantically around the room, cataloging every single detail with the desperate precision of someone trying to make sense of a reality that had suddenly become completely nonsensical.
The walls were painted that same soft, neutral color he remembered from his early days with the group, the posters of various artists and groups that had inspired them during their trainee years were still tacked up in the same haphazard arrangement, the cluttered desk in the corner held the same collection of notebooks and random items that he had accumulated during those first hectic months after debut, and even the faint, familiar scent of the fabric softener they had used back then lingered in the air like a ghost from the past.
This was the dorm room he had lived in five years ago, back when NOVAE had just debuted and everything had felt fresh and exciting and full of possibility, back when the four of them had been inseparable, practically attached at the hip, staying up late into the night to practice choreography or just talk about their hopes and dreams for the future, back before the relentless demands of the industry had slowly but surely eroded the bonds between them, turning what had once been genuine friendship into something far more transactional and distant.
But that was impossible, because they had moved out of this dorm over a year ago, trading it for something bigger and more luxurious as their success had grown, and [M.Name] should absolutely not be here, in this room that belonged to a version of himself that no longer existed, a version of himself that had been so full of hope and optimism and naive dreams that had eventually been ground down by the harsh realities of the idol industry.
So why the hell was he here?
Is... is it that I've gone back in time...?
The thought was so absurd, so completely and utterly ridiculous, that [M.Name] nearly laughed out loud at his own foolishness for even entertaining it; time travel was nothing more than a convenient plot device in the novels and manhwas he read during his rare moments of free time, a fantasy that allowed characters to fix their mistakes and rewrite their destinies, and there was absolutely no way on earth that such a thing could actually happen in real life, because the universe simply didn't work that way, reality didn't conform to the rules of fiction, and he was being absolutely insane for even considering the possibility.
"This is a dream," [M.Name] said out loud, his voice sounding strange and hollow in the quiet of the room, as if he was trying to convince himself through sheer force of will. "It has to be a dream. That's the only explanation that makes any sense."
But even as the words left his lips, he knew they weren't true, because dreams didn't feel this real, didn't carry the weight of physical sensation and emotional truth that this experience carried; he could feel the soft cotton of the sheets beneath his fingers, he could hear the distant hum of the city outside the window, he could smell the faint traces of the cologne he used to wear back then, he could feel his heart pounding against his ribs with a desperate, anxious rhythm that was far too visceral to be anything but genuine reality.
"It feels way too real to be a dream," he muttered, shaking his head slowly as if trying to physically dislodge the confusion that had taken root in his mind. "This is... this is actually happening. I think. Maybe. I don't know anymore."
[M.Name] pressed his left hand against his hip, the familiar gesture grounding him somewhat as his right hand came up to push his hair back from his forehead in a nervous, habitual motion that he had performed countless times before; but as his fingers threaded through the strands, he froze, his eyes widening slightly as he registered something that sent another wave of shock rippling through him.
His hair was longer than it should have been, noticeably so, the ends brushing against his shoulders in a way that he hadn't experienced in years; he had cut it short a while back, preferring the cleaner, more manageable style that required less maintenance during their hectic schedules, but now it was back to the length it had been when he was younger, when he had been experimenting with different looks and hadn't yet settled into a consistent style.
A long, shuddering sigh escaped his lips, and [M.Name] felt his shoulders slump forward as the weight of everything that was happening crashed down upon him with the force of a tidal wave; he didn't understand any of this, he didn't know how the hell it was even possible or why it was happening to him or what it meant for his future, and the uncertainty was absolutely maddening, gnawing at his thoughts like a persistent, unrelenting ache.
My phone.
The thought cut through the chaos of his mind like a beacon of clarity, and [M.Name] latched onto it with desperate determination; his phone was the one thing that could potentially answer at least some of his questions, the one tool that could confirm or deny the impossible theory that was slowly taking shape in his mind, the one object that could tell him what day it was, what year it was, whether he had truly traveled back in time or whether this was some elaborate, cruel hallucination spawned by a dying brain.
If he could just check the date, if he could just see for himself whether it was really five years ago or whether his mind was playing tricks on him, then maybe he could start to make sense of this situation, maybe he could find some grounding in the chaos, maybe he could figure out what the hell he was supposed to do now.
"Where the hell is my phone?" [M.Name] muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the room with renewed urgency as he searched for the familiar device.
His gaze swept across the desk, the bedside table, the cluttered shelves, and the various surfaces where he typically left his phone when he wasn't using it, but the device was nowhere to be found, and a flicker of panic began to stir in his chest as the seconds ticked by without success; he needed to find that phone, he needed to confirm what was happening yo him, he needed to have something concrete to hold onto in this sea of uncertainty.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few moments, [M.Name] spotted the familiar shape of his phone lying on the floor near the edge of the bed, as if it had been dropped or knocked aside in the chaos of his awakening; without hesitation, he crossed the small room, his bare feet padding softly against the cool floor, and reached down to retrieve the device.
But as his fingers closed around the phone, something caught his attention, something that made him stop dead in his tracks with his heart lurching violently in his chest.
"What the..."
There was a mirror directly in front of him, hanging on the wall where he had always kept it back in those early days, and the reflection staring back at [M.Name] was undeniably, unmistakably himself, but that wasn't what had caused his breath to catch in his throat, that wasn't what had made his blood run cold with a sudden, bone-deep shock.
The reflection was him, yes, but it was a version of him that shouldn't exist anymore, a version of him that belonged to a different time, a different life; his face was younger, softer, lacking the subtle lines of exhaustion that had etched themselves into his features over the years.
His skin had that healthy, vibrant glow that came from youth and hope and the belief that the future held nothing but good things, and his eyes — God, his eyes — held a brightness, a spark of something that he had long since lost, something that had been extinguished by the relentless pressures of the industry and the gradual dissolution of the bonds that had once meant everything to him.
He was twenty years old again.
The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow, and [M.Name] staggered backward, his hand releasing the phone as he stumbled away from the mirror, his heart racing wildly against his chest as the implications of what he was seeing crashed over him in wave after wave of overwhelming shock.
Twenty years old.
He was twenty years old again, which meant that NOVAE had just debuted, which meant that everything that had happened in the past five years — every success, every failure, every moment of joy and every moment of heartbreak — had been undone, wiped away as if it had never happened, leaving him with the daunting, terrifying prospect of having to live through it all over again.
The good times, the bad times, the gradual drift that had turned his bandmates from brothers into mere coworkers, the loneliness that had crept in like a slow poison, the sense of isolation that had become so familiar that he had stopped even trying to fight it — all of it was going to happen again, and [M.Name] would have to sit back and watch as the people he had once loved like family slowly slipped away from him, becoming strangers wearing familiar faces.
"I can't do this," [M.Name] whispered, his voice cracking slightly as he pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to block out the image of his younger self that still haunted his vision. "I can't go through all of that again. I can't watch them drift away again. I can't—I just can't."
His hands found their way into his hair, his fingers gripping the longer strands with a desperate, almost painful intensity as he tried to process everything that was happening; the familiar ache of his scalp provided a small, grounding sensation, something to focus on besides the overwhelming chaos of his thoughts.
"How is this possible?" he muttered through gritted teeth, the words barely audible even to himself. "This doesn't make any sense. This isn't supposed to happen. This only happens in stories, in fiction, in—"
Lowering his hands slightly, [M.Name] couldn't help but steal another glance toward the mirror, despite knowing that doing so would only confirm what he already knew to be true; the reflection stared back at him with those bright, hopeful eyes, that younger, softer face, that slightly longer hair that he had almost forgotten he ever had, and the sight of it made something twist painfully in his chest.
Holy fucking shit, I'm actually twenty years old again.
The thought was both terrifying and strangely liberating, a paradox that [M.Name] didn't have the emotional bandwidth to fully process at the moment; he was younger, healthier, full of potential that he had long since squandered, but he was also being given a second chance, an opportunity to rewrite the script of his life in ways he had never even imagined possible.
At this point, absolutely nothing could be worse than this current situation — or so he tried to convince himself, because if he was twenty again, that meant he and his group were at the very beginning of their career, teetering on the edge of everything they had ever dreamed of, and they were going to have to start all over again from scratch, rebuilding everything from the ground up, navigating the treacherous waters of the entertainment industry with the knowledge of what lay ahead weighing heavily on his shoulders.
And that wasn't even the worst part.
Because the worst part was the distance that had grown between them over the years, the way they had gone from being inseparable brothers to polite strangers who happened to share a stage; the bond that had once seemed unbreakable had slowly, inexorably crumbled under the weight of success and pressure and the simple passage of time.
[M.Name] would have to watch it happen all over again, he would have to experience the slow erosion of their friendship, he would have to—
【 Welcome, Player! 】
"What the—"
[M.Name]'s eyes snapped wide open as a brilliant blue screen materialized directly in front of him, hovering in midair with an impossible, otherworldly presence that made absolutely no sense in the context of his normal, mundane reality; the text was crisp and clear, almost glowing with an ethereal light, and for a long moment, [M.Name] could do nothing but stare at it with his mouth slightly agape, his brain struggling to process what he was seeing.
Are you fucking with me right now?
The thought was equal parts incredulous and furious, because seriously, was the universe playing some kind of elaborate joke on him? First he got pushed off a roof, then he woke up in the past, and now he was being greeted by what appeared to be a video game interface? What was next, a tutorial level? A pop-up explaining the controls?
This was absolutely ridiculous, and [M.Name] found himself torn between the urge to laugh hysterically and the urge to scream in frustration.
He had really thought things couldn't get worse than they already were, that the situation had reached its peak of absurdity, but apparently [M.Name] had severely underestimated the universe's capacity for fucking with him, because how in the name of all that was holy had a blue screen just appeared before his eyes like something out of a sci-fi movie or a video game?
【 A mission has just been assigned to you! 】
"You cannot be serious," [M.Name] said, his voice dripping with dramatic disbelief as he grabbed handfuls of his hair between his fingers, the familiar sensation of the strands slipping through his grip doing little to calm the rising tide of panic and frustration that was building in his chest. "A system? A mission? Are you actually kidding me right now?!"
Because this was insane, absolutely and completely insane; [M.Name] was just a k-pop idol, not some fantasy hero destined to fight monsters or save the world, so why the hell would he need a system giving him missions? What kind of cosmic joke was this? What had he ever done to deserve this level of absurdity?
His mind raced with a thousand questions, each one more frantic than the last, but before he could fully articulate any of them, the screen before him shifted, new text appearing in that same ethereal glow that made his skin prickle with unease;
【 MAIN MISSION #001 :
Share a true friendship with the members of NOVAE.
Time: Indefinite.
If failure: Death.
Reward: ??? 】
The words seemed to burn themselves into his retinas, and [M.Name] found himself reading them over and over again, each repetition driving the gravity of the situation deeper into his consciousness.
'Share a true friendship with the members of NOVAE.'
The sentence echoed in his mind like a mantra, and he stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, his thoughts spiraling in increasingly chaotic directions as he tried to parse the meaning behind the words, tried to understand why such a mission had been assigned to him, what it meant for his future, and what the hell he was supposed to do about it.
If he remembered correctly — and he was fairly certain he did, given that the memories of those early days were some of the few that had remained untainted by the bitterness and distance that had come later — the four members of NOVAE, himself included, had already shared a close and sincere friendship when they first debuted; they had been inseparable, united by their shared dreams and struggles, bonded by the grueling years they had spent training together, and their friendship had been one of the things that had set them apart from other groups, that had made fans fall in love with them.
So why was this his mission? Why did he need to share a true friendship with them when he had already done exactly that?
Unless...
Is it because of the fact that we drifted apart over the years?
The thought was like a knife to the chest, sharp and painful and unavoidable, because it was true, wasn't it? They had started out as brothers, as close as close could be, but somewhere along the way, the demands of their careers had taken their toll, the relentless schedule and constant pressure had worn them down, and the bond that had once seemed unbreakable had slowly, inevitably eroded into something far less substantial.
They had become coworkers, professional acquaintances who happened to share a stage, and the friendship that had once defined them had faded into nothing more than a distant memory, a ghost of what it had once been, and the realization of how much they had lost hit [M.Name] with a force that left him breathless.
"Ah, seriously..."
[M.Name] no longer thought this whole situation was a dream — the evidence was far too overwhelming, far too concrete to be dismissed as a product of his imagination — and that realization was far worse than everything else that had happened to him, because it meant that this was real, that he had actually traveled back in time, that he had been given a second chance, and that he now had a system giving him missions with the threat of death hanging over his head if he failed.
For God's sake...
He had died, he had been pushed off a roof by some unknown assailant, and instead of simply ceasing to exist, he had been thrust into this impossible situation, given a second chance at life with conditions attached, and now he had to navigate this new reality with the knowledge that failure meant death and success meant... what? What was the reward? The question marks that had appeared on the screen offered no clues, no hints, nothing but the promise of something unknown, something that could be anything from wonderful to terrible.
It looks like this new life is going to be very, very complicated and full of surprises.
The thought was laced with a dark, bitter humor that did little to alleviate the weight pressing down on his shoulders, but it was better than despair, better than panic, better than the overwhelming confusion that had threatened to consume him in the wake of everything that had happened.
[M.Name] was alive, he was twenty years old again, he had a second chance to fix his relationships, to rebuild what had been lost, to maybe, just maybe, find a way to preserve the bonds that had meant everything to him before they had slipped through his fingers like grains of sand.
And maybe, just maybe, that was worth fighting for.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, [M.Name] forced himself to meet his own eyes in the mirror, to really look at the younger version of himself staring back, and he made a silent promise to that bright-eyed boy, a promise that he would do everything in his power to protect him, to guide him, to make sure that this time around, things would be different.
"I'm going to figure this out," [M.Name] said aloud, his voice firm despite the lingering tremor of uncertainty that ran through it. "I don't know how this happened or why, but I'm going to figure it out, and I'm going to make sure that everything turns out differently this time. I swear it."
The words hung in the air like a vow, and for the first time since waking up in this impossible reality, [M.Name] felt a glimmer of something that might have been hope stirring in his chest, fragile and tentative but undeniably present.
He didn't know what the future held, he didn't know how he was going to accomplish the mission that had been set before him, and he didn't know who had pushed him off that roof or why, but he knew one thing for certain; he wasn't going to give up without a fight.
This time, he was going to do things differently.
This time, he was going to hold onto what mattered.
This time, he was going to save his friendship with the members of NOVAE, no matter what it took.
The blue screen flickered once, twice, and then faded away into nothing, leaving [M.Name] alone with his reflection and his determination and the knowledge that his new life was about to begin.
And it was going to be one hell of a ride.
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note ∘ ∘ ∘ i’ve always wanted to write an original book but i was way too lazy to actually do it because wdym i have to create an entire universe, the lore AND all the characters??? 😭 but after rereading DEBUT OR DIE for God knows how many times i got violently hit by this idea and … well, here we are!
so i genuinely hope you’ll enjoy reading MIDNIGHT FICTION as much as i love writing it 🫶🏼
taglist ∘ ∘ ∘ @suunani @kashun @b0orf @salty-potato-couch @6x-x9 @blueheadache @ilovenag1i @snowfallshibuyawriter @nikomenom ( please comment or send me a message if you wanna be added! )
‧₊˚ ⋅ TWISTED LITERATURE CLUB ── yandere twst ╱ reader.
PILOT (part one) . . . everyone knows you always fall victim to your best friend’s demands. this time it comes with the price of being the focal point of a bunch of cute boys! welcome to the literature club!
based on . . an anon’s request.
before you read. inspired by doki doki literature club, by definition alone the content warnings are as follows: dark themes, violence / gore, suggestive content, suicidal ideations & reality glitching. the depicted characters are malleus, ace, kalim and jade (only these four will get a proper ending) but this is still an all x reader. this is also more of a choice-based fic where you have multiple options that lead to multiple endings.
♡ The dorm is still asleep, though if you crane your ears just right, you can still hear a kettle whistling and someone’s alarm that’s been blaring for the past three minutes to absolutely no avail. Warm enough to lure even the sleepiest students from bed is the aroma of freshly baked bread— well, most students, that is, because for the past few years, rousing your ride or die from sleep has become routine.
♡ Well, in actuality, the route to Kalim's room had become muscle memory years ago. You doubted you could forget it even if you tried. Blindfolded, half-asleep, upside down, you could probably still find your way even through the winding halls of his parents’ mansion without much trouble. The servants had stopped questioning why you wandered in and out of the house long ago. Those were the perks of growing up together, you supposed.
♡ Not that the title of childhood friend ever really fit, but you digress. If someone were to ask you of its genesis, you'd have said some memories fade — after all, you couldn't remember what your favorite toy looked like, the first book you'd ever read, or what you had for breakfast three days ago. But you remembered meeting him, and looking back, it felt nearly impossible to imagine the bygone, gray days of your childhood without him already standing somewhere in the background, grinning like he'd always belonged there.
♡ Ugh! You stop outside one particularly familiar door, knuckles already rapping against the wood. Three knocks are flanked by another two before your face is sundered by irritation. You'd think after all those times of you lashing out at him for purposely ignoring your knocks would have drilled some sense into him, but no, he still — as he puts it— wants to be greeted by you in the morning, no matter how angry you may seem.
♡ Sunlight meanders down gauzy mounds of curtains, painting everything in liquid gold. Rich rugs stretch across the floor and cushions have been turned upside down— that leaves you to ponder over one culprit: the mountain of blankets suffocating his bed! Shaped too much like a particular boy, you narrow your eyes at it, wondering how he could have possibly stooped so low.
A sigh is expelled. “Kalim, you know I can see your hair sticking out, right?”
The lump freezes, then comes a bashful voice.
“I swear I was almost invisible..”
“There are feathers in your hair.”
“Really?”
“No.”
♡ Peeking out from the fort are twin pairs of garnet irises, veiled by pale lashes, limned by the sun-struck light and drinking in the sight of you. You doubt you look any good with your hair unkempt and tie askew, but he always manages to make you feel as though you do. When he’d moved out of the Al-asim mansion and huddled into the dorms instead (just to be close to you), you’d rolled your eyes. Presently, that sticks true. He’s always late, always dependant on you, always hounding you, but he’s resolute that he made the right choice. So you believe him for a while longer.
♡ Ouch! It doesn't take long for him to tackle you, and for the millionth time you find yourself ensnared within his embrace, arms winding around you as you both topple over the other. He’s laughing, infectious and all-encompassing, not as much as you, though— and when he finally lets you wiggle free from his hold, you smack him across the head.
“Seriously..” you grumble, though you feel your face flourish warmly. He tries to soothe the possible bump you’ve left on his head. “You haven’t even gotten up properly yet. Go take a shower or something, I don’t know.”
“Good morning to you too.”
“What? Hey, don’t give me that look! You tackled me before I could say good morning.”
“And you said good morning in your head, didn't you?”
♡ You pause. Stretching over his lips is a grin that belies one fact. He’s never been particularly good at reading the room, but somehow, he’s always been good at reading you. Between the lines, within the confined space of your head, you’d like to believe it’s something natural that happens to two friends who’ve been attached to the hip invariably. He knows when you’re annoyed enough to want space and when you’re annoyed enough that you’re only pretending to want space. He knows the difference between your real complaints and the ones you make because you’re too stubborn to admit you’re worried.
“Don’t look so proud of yourself.”
“I knew it!”
“You guessed.”
“I knew it.”
“You got lucky.”
“I knew it! Why’s it so hard for you to believe I know what you’re thinking about?”
You roll your eyes, though the corners of your mouth betray you. Some things never change. Kalim has always been like this.
“Also,” he adds, sitting up and brushing the wrinkles from his pajamas, “I already took a shower.”
You stare at him. “I don’t believe it. You look like a mess.”
“Really?”
♡ When his face falls into a petulant moue, you sigh and check your watch.
Yandere! Footballer who uses his fame to get you. He makes subtle hints that he's dating someone. But who?
You, of course!
He makes subtle slip ups in an interview, cryptic Instagram posts and other things that lead fans to your Instagram. All of a sudden, hate comments flood your notifications.
"How dare you get with him?"
"Is it true you hunted him down just to fuck him for some clout?"
"I can't believe you're in it for the money."
Those are the tamer ones. The other comments/dms you would get include calling you mean names like "whore", "bitch", and other depravity you would not ever talk about.
You're a normal person that posts once in a while, or every so often, not because you have fans to post for. You try to push it off and convince yourself it's all going to die down soon enough but he doesn't let it. There's posts that fans psychoanalyze for no reason and somehow it comes back to you?
It's all alleged until he starts following you, and all hell breaks loose.
Being the gentleman that he is, he finally appears at your doorstep with flowers. He gives you that empathetic look and asks, "do you wanna talk?"
Biting your lip in hesitation, you agree to let him in.
"I don't want this," you start.
"I know you don't, but I want to give you a choice," he elaborates.
You take a deep inhale, ready for whatever he's about to propose but you don't know the true weight of the future.
"It's either you bear being known as a "slut" to everyone, or you actually come home with me and we sort things out," he watches you in amusement. "I can make the parasocial fans disappear with one story, as long as we make it official."
"I-" you want to say something, to fight back, but nothing goes past your lips.
"So?" he uses one finger under your chin to make you look at him.
"I-I don't know what to say..." you mutter.
"Just come with me, it's the safer option of the two, no?" he asks, a spark in his eyes that sends shivers down your spine. Possessiveness? Lust? Control? You have no idea, but what you do know is you never wanted this.
"A-are you kidding?" you blurt out.
His expression turns dark. "Do you think I'm joking about this? Is me soft launching us a joke to you?"
"What— no!" you exclaim.
"Alright then, what's your choice?" he asks. "I'll give you some time to think about it."
He leaves you alone in your apartment— thinking and confused.
in honour of the world cup except this is not about a certain football player. also i fucking hate argentina & messi so merino better not mess this up.
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in which ∘ ∘ ∘ the murder that ended [m.name]'s five-year journey with NOVAE; a group that had eroded from genuine brotherhood into a mere stage-sharing arrangement of hollow smiles and clipped exchanges; should have been the final curtain, yet instead of oblivion, he gasps awake at twenty, back in that familiar cramped dormitory on the eve of everything he already knows will unravel. haunted by every regret, friendship he let wither, and word left unsaid until too late, [m.name] carries the weight of a future that ended violently, and now with desperate clarity, he vows to shield the bonds he once lost, unmask the truth behind his own death, and challenge the grim certainty of fate. but if he falters and lets history replay its cruel script, he knows this second chance might well be his last.
⟡ pairing male!obsessed!idols x male!idol!reader
⟡ content isekai & transmigration, system, explicit sexual content (bottom male reader), romance, BL, friends to lovers, found family, fluff & angst, obsession, a lots of jealousy, swearing, crack, panic attacks, obsessive behavior, my poor attempts at humour, toxic entertainment industry, possessiveness, codependency + more.
⟡ status ongoing
⟡ wordcount ( 8,495 in draft )
⟡ taglist OPEN ( let me know if you wanna be added! )
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
turnnoffyourmind
gracieabrams
gummygunk
