Booktok Account Novels & Stories

My once best friend posted a photo on her social media account on the tenth anniversary of my marriage. In the photo, her daughter and my son were wrapped in my husband's and her arms. The caption said, 'The perfect pair.' I commented, 'Perfect indeed.' Soon, the post was deleted. The next day, my husband rushed home and asked me, "Sophie is finally recovering. Why are you provoking her?" My son even pushed me and accused me, "It's all your fault for making Tammy cry." I took out the divorce papers and threw them in their faces. "Well, it's my fault, so I quit your perfect family of four."

A young black girl with silver hair, who was raised by her loving mother until the age of 12, has been thrusted into the world of werewolves, on the account of her father being an Alpha. He only finds out about this daughter once her mother dies. But the strangest thing is, she has no wolf. She smells human, but she's definitely his. The alpha brought her to live with him, and during that time, they both discovered things about themselves that neither knew existed. She was never just "human," and his "mate" was never his to begin with. This human girl was, in fact, a long, foretold gift to the wovles and a destructive force on those who waged war on good.

"You drugged me and fooled me into your room. I know exactly what you want." Oh, honey, if only he knew the chaos that paraded through my mind on a daily basis. But I swear on my bank account that I have done no such thing. Drugging him? Oh no, I’d drug people for their money, but not for their dicks. -- "I don't think you can pay off your family's debt, even if you work day and night, for the next ten years, Ms. Lane." "What do you suggest, Mr. Anderson? I'm not following." "Marry me, Mellisa Lane." He leaned in close. His hand lifted my chin, so my eyes looked straight onto his.

A week before our engagement, I finally learned that the man Madison Clarke had always secretly loved... was me. Overjoyed, I hurried to sign to her, wanting to tell her that I was LeoWinter—the gaming partner she'd been coupled with online. What I got in return was ridicule. "Charlie, how does a mute guy like you manage to pull so many tricks?" "LeoWinter already told me his account got stolen. He switched accounts ages ago. And you still want to pretend you're him?" It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. My entire body went rigid. She had forgotten that this game ID was permanently bound to the account. It was impossible for it to be stolen.

Priscilla is a new student at a well-known campus and immediately falls in love with her senior named Declan Mashii Jackson. He is one of the handsome students on campus and also works as a disc jockey. He also has a girlfriend named Selena. Initially, Priscilla just admired her to find out all her social accounts about her intimacy with her lover. Until finally Priscilla followed Declan's Instagram account and followed whatever Declan posted. Even on purpose, he also gives heart to every Declan post. Until in the end, by accident, Priscilla entered a club to meet Declan there. Everything changes when Declan enters Priscilla's life. Knowing extraordinary happiness, knowing unlimited love, to unforgettable pain.

Reyona's world shattered when she learned that her husband of eight years did not only have a mistress, but they had three children together! To top it off, her husband had been stealing from their joint account to leave the country with his other family! Reyona threw all her beliefs out the window as she set out to take revenge on the man who took her for a fool and everyone involved. Her plans got glitched when she became involved with Maxwell Rohan, the roguish stepbrother of her husband's mistress. Will Reyona see her revenge through, or will messy feelings hinder her? Found out as this hate-at-first-sight story unravels with lots of intrigues and unexpected plots, peppered with the antics of an entitled, shameless man!

I logged into my girlfriend's account to sell her DSLR camera on a secondhand marketplace. The transaction went through fine. The next morning, the messages started showing up, and they were nothing I was ever meant to see. "Great shots this time. What's the rate for the outfit in the middle?" That’s when it hit me–the camera's memory card had not been wiped. However, the photos inside… were nothing I had ever seen before. Revealing shots. Intimate poses. Not meant for me. I forced myself to stay calm and tried to explain the situation to the buyer. His reply stopped me cold. "Drop the act. It’s not like this is the first time I've bought from you."

On the day we decided to get a divorce, I saw Miranda’s account book while I was packing up my stuff. Aside from our daily expenses, Miranda had also set up a scoring sheet for me. Miranda had taken notes of all the things I had done ever since we started dating. Some of them were such miniscule things that even I had forgotten. She took note of them all with a red pen, and she scored them by either awarding me points or deducting them. However, the further down the sheet, the more points were deducted. In the end, I saw Miranda add one line in black ink. [He’s no longer the Henry Jones who used to love me: -100]

My husband's childhood sweetheart took the Cullinan I gave him for a midnight joyride. One person ended up critically injured. He wired half a million euros from the family account to hire a fall guy, then flew her to Switzerland for a ski trip. I called him from outside the operating room, desperate. "Your father is dying. Authorize the surgery, now!" He laughed, her head on his shoulder in the video call. "Using my father's health to lie? Sofia, you've crossed a line." The line went dead. The heart monitor flatlined. Later, at his father's funeral, he raged, swearing to find the killer and make them pay. I looked at the gathered family elders, then pointed at the trembling woman behind him. "The killer is right there. The one you paid to protect."

On day two of Matthew's so-called business trip, I was wiping down the counter when I said, "Auri, play some music." Instead of music, a syrupy voice chirped, "Sure thing, my Baby Moon. Oh, and Matthew, don't forget Bibi's birthday surprise tonight." I froze. The speaker blasted some random playlist, but all I heard was 'Bibi.' Matthew Kein was my husband. So who the hell was Bibi? I called him. "Did you mess with our smart speaker?" A beat of silence, then his fake laugh. "Oh, a buddy dropped by. Probably logged his account in. Why?" I laughed back like I bought it, then hung up. Two taps later, I was scrolling the login history, already hailing a cab to the company tied to that mystery account.