IDOL (Yandere Male x Male Reader)

ACT 4: Cat

TW: None

Status: Unedited

The pinked hair adolescence bolted out of the studio as the last camera flash exploded in his face, leaving his vision flickering with ghostly afterimages.

"Hey, wait! We still need to finalise the brand deals for tomorrow!" a woman in her mid-thirties called after him, her voice sharp with urgency. But the pink-haired adolescent paid no heed, bolting out of the studio without a backward glance, leaving his co-workers and managers scrambling behind him, shouting his name in vain.

His footsteps echoed down the stairwell as he sprinted out into the bustling city streets, shoving his phone in front of his face. His thumb frantically scrolled through headlines and forums—reports of missing people, mysterious deaths, and unexplained disappearances flooded the feeds.

His search history read:

🔎(H/c) (E/c) Guy in Prismara.....

Recent search:

🔎Body found in Prismara City

🔎Private investigator delayed result

🔎(S/n)'s location now

🔎Why do people disappear without warning

🔎 Missing: (M/n) (L/n)

🔎Unsolved celebrity disappearance 2050-2054

Desperation gnawed at him as he scoured the internet for any trace of his friend. He had even hired private investigators, but they came back empty-handed, offering no leads, no breakthroughs. It had been nearly two years since (M/n) vanished without a trace, leaving behind only silence.

"Fuck. If he's dead... there has to be a body. Damn it, (M/n), I just hope you're not dead." He bit down on his thumbnail, gnawing anxiously. "But if you're alive, I swear I'll beat the hell out of you for making me worry like this."

He chewed harder, lost in frustration, until the sting of his own teeth brought him back. If his stylist saw him now, she'd smack him upside the head for ruining his nails again.

Every search on his mobile phone only dredged up unrelated tragedies—other celebrities either missing or found dead, one after another. Though he felt a pang of sorrow for those he'd once worked with, they weren't his priority. His only focus was finding (M/n).

The reports grew stranger with each discovery, as if pulled from the pages of a macabre fairy tale. But one detail united them all: at every scene—whether in dazzling metropolises or the latest viral hotspots—black and white feathers tipped with golden stems were found scattered like a calling card.

The tabloids buzzed with outlandish theories: whispered rumours of cults, occult rituals, or twisted divine retribution. Each story seemed more surreal than the last, but the unsettling pattern chilled him to the core. And as the mystery deepened, so did his obsession.

All he wanted—needed—was to know one thing: Where is (M/n)?

Each story he encountered was stranger than the last, yet an eerie commonality chilled him to the bone: black and white feathers tipped with golden stems appeared at every prominent location, from glittering metropolises to viral hotspots. What unsettled him even more was the almost uncanny timing of these findings, coinciding perfectly with the deaths and disappearances of celebrities. The synchronicity felt far too deliberate, too sinister.

'What the hell is going on with all this cult shit?' he thought, a cold shiver racing down his spine. The tabloids buzzed with whispers of cults, rituals, and twisted divine punishments, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something dark lurked just beneath the surface of the city's glitz and glamour.