18+ Horror/Erotica Blog!😈MASTERLIST/ SLASHER OC MASTERLIST 24/Female/Romania/Chromeskulls Dollface💀 REQUESTS ARE CLOSED 💀MATCHUPS ARE CLOSED 💀 Photo Album The ask box is always free for questions! My Ko-fi!
18+ BLOG- My writing is not advised for the underage ones, so approach carefully.
Welcome to a whole new world of Erotica/Romance Horror where our Kryptonite are Big Slasher Men who could maim us and that we love so much.
Horror movie and serial killer/crime documentary enthusiast with a steak for the dark and the obscene.
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~My Novels~
The Asylum - Monster Erotica (Diabolik Lovers Series)
Next Door Stalker - The Neighbour
Primal Instinct: A Stockholm Syndrome Love Story
Cyber Killer: Horror Erotica DARK WEB SERIES 1
Sugar, Sugar! Oh, my Daddy!~: A Sugar Daddy Erotic Thriller
Under the Alaskan Moon: A Dark Erotica about Two Souls Connecting into the Winter Wonderland
Liquor Series: Whiskey Kisses: An Erotic Lesbian Short Story
The Ouija: A Halloween Erotica Special (Diabolic Lovers Series)
Tempting Lust: Behind closed doors Series #1
Favorite Slashers: Chromeskull, The Collector, Ghostface, Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, Harry Warden
Favorite Horror Movies: Laid to rest, The Collector/The Collection, SAW series, Wrong Turn Series, House of 1000 corpses, Friday the 13th, Halloween, Scream
~Masterlist with Canon Slashers~
~Masterlist with my Original Characters~
~Rules for Requests~ (CLOSED AT THE MOMENT)
Who I write for:
Freddy Krueger from A nightmare on elm street
Jason Voorhees from Friday the 13th
Michael Myers from Halloween
Bubba Sawyer/Thomas Hewitt/Jedidiah Sawyer from Texas the chainsaw massacre
The Collector (Asa Emory from) The Collector movies
Chromeskull (Jesse Cromeans)/Preston/Spann from Laid to Rest movies
Harry Warden from My bloody valentine
Ghostface (Billy Loomis/Stu Macher) from The Scream movies
Hannibal Lecter from Hannibal the TV Show
Brahms Heelshire from The Boy movie
Norman Bates from Psycho
The Creeper from Jeepers Creeper movies
Bo Sinclair/Vincent Sinclair/Lester Sinclair from House of Wax
1986!Pennywise and The New Pennywise from IT movies
The Djinn from Wishmaster movies
The Three Killers from You’re Next 2011 movie
Mark Hoffman/Amanda Young/John Kramer/Logan Nelson from SAW movies
Pinhead from Hellraiser movies
Tiffany Valentine from Bride of Chucky
Jennifer Check from Jennifers’ Body movie
Baby Firefly/Otis B. Driftwood from House of 1000 Corpses/The Devils Reject/3 from Hell
Carrie White from Carrie movies
John from He’s out there 2018
Candyman (Daniel Robitaille) from Candyman movie
Victor Crowley from Hatchet movie series
Chucky Human Form from Childs Play
Yautja from Predator
Xenomorph from Alien
The Legion (Frank Morrison/Joey) from Dead by Daylight
The Trapper (Evan MacMillan) from Dead by Daylight
Ghostface (Jed Olsen/Danny Johnson) from Dead by Daylight
The Wraith (Philip Ojomo) from Dead by Daylight
Jacob Goodnight from See no evil movies
Jack Torrance from The Shinning
Patrick Bateman from American Psycho
The Other from Hell Fest 2018
BONUS!: I also write for my Horror/Slasher Original Characters which you can find into ~Masterlist with my Original Characters~
What I write:
I write SFW and NSFW
I do Headcanons and Reader Inserts
I write Male x Female, but also Male x Male or Female x Female
I can write Threesomes like Male x Female x Male, Male x Male x Male etc.
I can also do something like Slasher x Slasher.
I can do all sorts of stuff like BDSM, Gorish, Non-Con.
When it comes to sexual NSFW all characters must be 18+, no underage.
What I don’t write:
I won’t do Pedophilia stories. Just NO.
Incest also an absolute NO.
Watersports.
What I might or not write, depending on the slasher:
Characters with disabilities/mental illness, mostly because I am not very familiar with them and I don't want to trigger/insult someone that might have them.
Characters with children, mostly because some characters I cannot picture as parents.
COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN! 🎉
I have been writing for quite some time for free and out of pure passion and still do, but why not morph passion into business. Double winni
Warning: NSFW 18+ Pure Smut, Raw Sex (No Condom), Creampie, Power Dynamic, Slight Degradation+Praise, Alcohol and Smoking Consumption.
Summary: The Masked Officer is the shadow of the Frontman. Being a second in command, he was loyal like a dog, maybe even more... if only he knew who truly was behind the mask of authority.
The weight of the day hung over you, like blood coating the arena where the games were held. Snobbish VIPs eager to bet on players as if they were race horses, desperate contenders doing their best to survive, and unwavering, icy cruelty —all settled deep beneath your tired eyes.
You stood near the large window in your own quarters, looking over the island where these brutal games were held. The door clicked softly and was barely noticeable.
He never introduced himself; that was not his style. You could hear his footsteps, combat boots thudding against the polished floor with each step. He stalked with the energy of a jaguar. Dangerous, silent, but with the loyalty of a trained purebred dog.
He was aware that you could sense him. He has always done this. He was the only one who had access here, who could come whenever he wanted.
"Officer, is everything in order?" you asked him in that calm and authority voice of the Frontman- the persona you played for years, ever since you won the games.
"The organ harvesting targets have been met," his response came out calm and firm, full of professionalism. "The operation is going smoothly as ever. The surgeons efficiency, the delivered packages. No issues."
He was always calculated, his attention that of a hawk, and never dissapointed you. You admired and relied on his persistent attention, which was merciless in its precision. Your response was a firm nod. You were exhausted and the latest games have taken a tool on you. Behind the mask, you were still human.
The Masked Officer is your second-in-command, shadow, and the one who ensures everything runs well.
He stepped closer, his footsteps nearly soundless, his presence a silent but palpable reality. He stood behind you, his face near the back of your neck. You could feel the cool touch of his mask against your skin. His breath was warm, sending a sharp shiver down your spine.
"You need to rest," he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. "You look tired."
He stepped even closer, until his body grazed your back, the firm line of his form pressed against you. The intimacy was unmistakable.
"Don't deny it."
He always did that, stepping a little too close to call it professional, but you always managed to cut it short. You had to.
"I know. You can leave." Came your robotic voice from behind the mask.
He didn't flinch at your curt reply. He never did. Ever the picture of unwavering obedience. He didn't take a step back; he never did when he was in this mode. He remained close, a silent, solid presence behind you. He leaned in slightly, his next words murmured softly.
"You haven't slept in three days." The statement held no hint of question or doubt. It was a fact - one he'd noticed and one you couldn't refute.
"I will sleep. Now leave." You told him again.
He stood his ground. His voice was low, steady, and infuriatingly calm. "You said that yesterday." Another inch closer. "And the day before." His breath was a soft whisper against your skin. "You haven't slept a full night in over a week. You're going to burn yourself out."
And then his hands moved to rest on your hips through the dark grey trench coat. That's when you turned around and pushed him away.
He had been close. Too close.
The movement was quick. His fingers had just grazed the fabric of your trench coat when you spun around, shoving him back, harder than you intended. His back hit the smooth surface of the window panel with a soft thud. He had definitely not expected the reaction.
He looked at you. Under the shadow of his mask, you could see something flicker in his eyes. Maybe surprise, probably frustration.
He straightened up but kept his distance, staying where you'd pushed him, his voice measured. "What the hell was that for?"
"I said leave."
He didn't move. Just looked at you. You could see him gritting his teeth behind the mask. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. For a moment, you thought he wouldn't cooperate, that he'd do something reckless, like challenge you directly. His next words, when they came, were laced with irritation and a hint of disbelief.
"You're kidding."
He took a step forward. Only one, but it was enough to close a small part of the distance you'd put between you.
"You really expect me just to leave, knowing you're going to throw this entire damn place into disarray by working yourself half to death?"
He took another step. Closer. He seemed almost defiant, like he was testing your resolve. His voice was still low, but the edge to it was unmistakable.
"You think I'm just going to let you burn yourself out without doing a damn thing about it?"
And that's when you said it. "There will be nothing between us!" You rarely shouted.
Your sudden outburst seemed to catch him off guard. His eyes widened slightly, the only indication of surprise under the mask. But he recovered quickly, his voice suddenly sharp.
"What are you talking about?" The question held a mixture of confusion and something else... maybe hurt.
"There's nothing between us," you retorted, your voice hard, "And there never will be."
He seemed to flinch, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "You don't mean that."
Those were the words you hadn't expected to hear. You'd expected anger, maybe frustration, but not that. Your chest felt suddenly tight, and the urge to take the words back was almost overwhelming. But you couldn't. You had to make him see reason.
"Of course I mean it," you managed, your voice slightly strangled. "We work together. That's all."
His eyes - what you could see of them beneath the mask - turned to ice as he stepped forward again. "Bullshit."
"Leave. Now. It's an order."
The sharpness in your voice, the finality of your order, should've been a clear sign to back off. But he didn't. He was always stubborn. Too stubborn for his own good.
"Or what?" His voice was suddenly colder. The hurt you'd seen before had hardened into something like defiance. He was challenging you. Pushing your buttons like he always did.
"Or I will kick you out of here and find someone else for your post."
His eyes narrowed. You could practically feel the anger radiating off of him. He was furious. This time, when he spoke, his voice was harsh. Cold and biting.
"Is that what you think of me? That I'm so easily replaceable? That any random officer can do my job?"
He took another step, invading your personal space.
"You are my second in command. Nothing more." You hissed.
He flinched. The words hit him like a physical blow, even through the mask. You saw the muscles in his jaw tighten, his hands clenching at his sides. His voice was a near growl when he spoke. "Is that all I am to you? Just a damn tool? Someone to order around, to use when you need something and discard when you don't?" He was so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off him.
A lap dog.
The insult hung heavy in the air, and the effect was instant. His eyes - or what you could see of them - turned dark. He looked almost predatory, his body tense, like he was barely holding himself back from lunging at you.
"A lapdog?" His voice was low, dangerous. "Is that how you see me? A damn lapdog to follow your every command?" He stepped even closer. Way too close. He was practically breathing down your neck now.
There was heat, ready to burn, then... Utter coldness as he stepped back. It was a sudden shift. One moment, he was practically breathing down your neck, and the next, he was suddenly backing away. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. He stood a few feet away, tension radiating off him like a live wire.
Neither of you spoke. The silence that stretched between you was heavy, charged. You could almost feel the unspoken words, the anger, the hurt, like a physical presence in the room.
"Have a good night." His words were like ice before he left my private quarters.
The silence that followed his leaving felt even more oppressive. His footsteps, so familiar, so steady, grew quieter and disappeared into the hallway—the click of the door shutting echoed in your ears, a stark punctuation to the sudden emptiness. You were alone—just you and the cold, sterile ambiance of your private quarters.
A part of you wanted to call him back, to say something, anything, but the words stuck in your throat.
The Masked Officers Quarters...
It wasn't fair. It was a cruel joke, but he fell for his superior.
Within the sterile walls of the Masked Officer's quarters, the usual calm was shattered, replaced by a whirlwind of angry pacing. Back and forth, his thoughts were at war with his emotions, a battle of reason and desire.
He'd been a fool. He knew that now. He'd allowed these feelings to fester. He'd allowed himself to imagine scenarios, to hope for something more.
He stopped pacing suddenly, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. A bitter laugh escaped him, the sound hollow in the silent room.
He leaned against the cold metal desk, the edge digging into his palms. The mask that always hid his expressions felt too tight, too constricting. It felt like a lie. He'd been loyal, dedicated. He'd put his duties, his life, his everything on the line for this damned place. For this person. And in return…
A bitter taste filled his mouth. He'd been used, that's what it was. You'd used his loyalty, his dedication. You'd used him.
He was used to this. Born in North Korea and growing up there, he has been a tool. He used to be a special operator there before he finally escaped... after his entire family was killed.
The memories of his past came rushing back unbidden; the harsh upbringing, the endless training, the constant sense of being a tool for someone else's agenda. It was a hard-fought escape, one that still haunted him. He'd left behind everything - home, family… he'd lost everything.
He shook his head as if trying to dispel the memories. But they wouldn't leave him. Just like the feelings he'd developed for you, they were a stubborn presence, refusing to be ignored.
He had nothing and now... He was reduced to a lapdog.
The thought sat heavily in the pit of his stomach. Here he was, a seasoned officer, a survivor, a damn good one at that, and yet here he was. Nothing but a lapdog. He'd been reduced to following orders, being at your beck and call. The irony was almost laughable.
He sat down on the bed, the springs creaking under his weight. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a frustrated sigh.
Hate. He should hate this title—lap dog.
The word 'lap dog' echoed through his mind like a cruel taunt. He should hate it. He should be insulted, outraged at the thought of being reduced to nothing more than an obedient pet. But he couldn't. Because in some twisted way, he didn't mind it. Not when it was you. The realization was like a punch to the gut. He was screwed. Big time.
He lay back on the bed, staring up at the blank ceiling. He was a mess.
He was angry. Angry at himself, at you, at this whole messed-up situation. But he was also confused and frustrated. He felt torn between his duties, his loyalty, and this stupid, unwanted attraction to you. This goddamn weakness.
Back to you in your private quarters...
You pulled down the hood of the trench coat and set the black mask on the table gently. Long hair spilled down your back.
No man. But a woman.
You were exhausted, mentally and physically. The adrenaline from earlier had faded, leaving you feeling drained. Removing the mask, discarding the outer layer of the trench coat, was a relief. You ran your fingers through your hair, feeling the tension of the day start to ease.
But the image of the Masked Officer, his anger, his hurt, still replayed in your mind. You felt a pang of guilt, mixed with a strange sense of longing. It was stupid. You couldn't have feelings for him. It was a mistake.
Behind the authority figure of the Frontman was a woman. No one knew. No one knew your secret. To the outside world, you were the epitome of control, authority, and power. The Frontman, the enigmatic figure behind the games. None had any idea that beneath that mask, behind the commanding voice and the air of mystery, was a woman.
It was a burden you carried alone. You'd grown used to it, almost comfortable in your role. But tonight...
Tonight, the weight of it all seemed heavier. The encounter with the Masked Officer had cracked your composure, exposing a vulnerability you'd thought buried.
In the solitude of your private quarters, you let yourself feel some of the things you usually hid. Pain, anger, desire. Guilt. But also… longing. No, that wasn't right. It couldn't be. But the thoughts wouldn't leave you. Thoughts of him.
He was your second in command. Always at your beck and call. Always eager to execute orders. No man had ever done this for you.
He was always reliable, dedicated, and obedient. More than that, he was loyal. You remembered how he would follow your commands without question, how he seemed to anticipate your needs even before you voiced them. It was... refreshing. And it was dangerous. Because it made you want things you knew you couldn't have.
He wasn't just your second in command. He was your shadow, your right hand. And you needed him more than you cared to admit. But that was the problem, wasn't it?
You sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing your temples. The attraction to him was inappropriate, unprofessional, and downright stupid. You were the Frontman, the face of the games. You couldn't afford distractions, and certainly not feelings for a subordinate.
Yet despite all the reasons why you shouldn't, the thoughts lingered. The memory of his voice, the intensity in his eyes, the way he looked at you...
And he had no idea of who you were.
He had no idea. And you could never tell him. The thought sent a pang of guilt through you. He followed your every command, obeyed without question, and yet he didn't even know the most basic fact about you.
It felt like deceit, like you were using him in some way. He was loyal to the Frontman, not to you, the woman behind the mask. You were deceiving him. The guilt twisted uncomfortably in your stomach.
Shaking your head, you stood up and threw off the rest of the clothing that resembled the Frontman, and put on a black silk robe instead that reached your upper thigh.
Stripping off the final remnants of the Frontman's guise, you slipped on the silk robe. The material was soft against your skin, a stark contrast to the heavy, tailored clothing you wore as the Frontman. As you tied the robe around your waist, a part of you felt strangely vulnerable. Here, without the mask and the trench coat, you were just a woman. No title, no role to play.
A sigh passed your lips. For the past 15 minutes, you tried to sleep, but it was impossible.
You tossed and turned in the bed, trying to quiet your racing thoughts.
Sleep wasn't coming. Your mind wouldn't let you. Every time you closed your eyes, his face appeared in your mind's eye, his expression, his words, playing on a loop.
It was infuriating. You needed to sleep. You had another game tomorrow, another day to play the part of the perfect Frontman. And yet, here you were, wide awake at 1 am, thinking about him.
You brushed your fingers through your hair and walked to the bar in your luxurious quarters, filling up a glass of whiskey.
You poured yourself a healthy measure of whiskey, the liquid burnished gold under the soft light. It was a habit, a comfort in times like this.
You took a sip, letting the alcohol warm your throat, hoping it would also soothe the turmoil in your mind. The silence was heavy, broken only by the soft sound of the ice cubes as you swirled your glass.
Closing your eyes, you tried to control your emotions. You took a deep breath and tried to steady yourself.
Control. That's what you were good at. But tonight, it felt elusive. Your emotions, always so firmly locked away, were threatening to escape. It was like trying to stop a flood with paper dams.
You downed the rest of the whiskey in one gulp, the alcohol burning a path down your throat.
And then there was a familiar feeling, one that hadn't filled you in a long time. An inch between your legs. The kind that could be scratched only by a man.
The thought was intrusive, unwanted, but there it was. A warm, undeniable feeling between your legs, a reminder of a need you tried to ignore. You clenched your thighs together, trying to push the feeling away.
But it was stubborn, insistent. It wanted your attention, demanded it.
You let out a frustrated curse under your breath, frustration directed as much at your body as at your disobedient thoughts.
You were about to do something dumb...
Back with the Masked Officer...
Sleeping was impossible. Not after everything that happened. He tossed and turned in his bed, sleep evading him like a stubborn phantom.
His mind was a whirlwind. Thoughts, images, feelings, all tangled up in a messy knot that refused to unravel.
His body was exhausted, drained from stress and the day's events. But his mind was on overdrive. It played a cruel game, replaying the conversation with the Frontman, your words, your coldness, over and over again. Sleep was a luxury he couldn't afford, not with you lurking in his thoughts.
A knock came from the front door of his quarters before a square guard appeared.
"The Frontman requests your presence, Sir."
The knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He sat up, the exhaustion and frustration giving way to surprise. The mention of the Frontman's summoning sent a jolt through him. He wasn't expecting this. Not at this hour. But he was loyal, obedient, and the Frontman's wishes were his command.
He nodded to the guard, masking the confusion and curiosity with his usual stoic expression. "Understood." He replied, getting out of bed immediately.
He quickly changed into a fresh uniform, the black fabric crisp and starched. He splashed some cold water on his face, trying to shake off the fatigue that clung to his features.
His heart was beating slightly faster than normal. Part of him wondered why the Frontman wanted to see him now, in the middle of the night. He tried to ignore the flicker of anticipation that flickered in his chest. It was just work, it had to be. Nothing more than that.
He glanced at himself in the mirror one more time before stepping out of his quarters.
The halls were mostly empty at this hour, the usual bustle of the day replaced by an almost eerie silence.
He walked quickly, his footsteps echoing faintly against the metal flooring. His thoughts raced, wondering what could be so urgent that the Frontman had called him in the middle of the night. He tried to tamp down the anticipation, the hope, but it was like trying to hold back a tidal wave with his bare hands.
The elevator ride felt like the longest in forever, but once it reached the floor and the doors slid open, he knew there was no backing away.
He pulled off his square mask once he was alone, and the doors slid shut. His black eyes scanned the lavish place for the Frontman, but he was nowhere to be seen.
He stood in the middle of the luxurious room, the soft glow of the lights giving it a strange, almost surreal atmosphere. His gaze wandered over the opulent furniture, the expensive artworks, all signs of the Frontman's wealth and power. Yet there was no sign of the man himself.
A flicker of irritation flared in his chest. He was not accustomed to being summoned and left waiting. But he was disciplined, and he stood there, statue-like, waiting for the Frontman to make his appearance.
"You came..." The artificial voice of the Frontman broke the silence, but you were still hiding from him.
He turned towards the voice, the artificial tone that he had become so accustomed to over the years. "Of course." He replied, his own voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil he felt inside. "You summoned me."
His eyes darted around the room, trying to pinpoint your location, but you remained hidden, a shadowed presence in the vast room.
He stood there, his gaze still searching the room. His mind raced, trying to guess where you could be. The room was large, the furniture and decorations offering countless hiding spots. He was used to analyzing, to strategizing, but this felt different. This was personal. He pushed the thought aside. He had to remember why he was here, to focus on the reason he had been summoned.
"You asked for me." He stated again, more as a prompt than a question.
"About what happened earlier..." You whispered.
His muscles visibly tensed as you spoke, the memory of the earlier encounter still fresh in his mind. The way you'd shot down his suggestion, dismissed him like he was nothing, still stung deep under his skin. He tried to keep his expression neutral, even as a myriad of emotions threatened to burst through his facade.
"Yes?" His voice was even, betraying none of the turmoil inside. "What about it?"
"Why me?"
Your question caught him off guard. He was expecting a lot of things, a discussion about the games, orders, anything but that.
He hesitated for a moment, his eyes locked on the floor as if the answer was hidden in the shadows there. Why you? How the hell was he supposed to answer that? Because you had him wrapped around your finger? Because he'd been in love with you for years? Because he'd do anything for you? He took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice.
"Why not you?" He replied, finally lifting his eyes to meet the shadow where he knew you were hiding. His heart was pounding in his chest, his mind screaming at him, telling him this was a bad idea. But he was tired of hiding, of denying. He was tired of being the loyal, obedient "lap dog".
He took a step forward, his body moving of its own accord. The desire to be close to you was stronger than his better judgment.
He was closer now, the distance between them a mere few paces. The shadows concealed you, but he could practically feel your presence. He could hear the soft sound of your breathing, see the slight movement of the shadow cast by your form against the wall.
A part of him wanted to reach out, to pull you out into the light, to finally see you without the damn mask and the shadows. But he held himself back. He forced himself to stay where he was, his hands clenched at his sides.
For a moment, he just stayed there, his heart hammering in his chest, his mind buzzing with a million unsaid things. Finally, he spoke again, his voice low, barely above a whisper. "You want the truth?"
"What about you? Do you want the truth?" You asked him.
The question hit him like a punch in the gut. Of course, he wanted the truth. He'd been dying to know the truth for years. He wanted to know everything about you, every thought, every feeling, every secret. He wanted to peel back the layers that you kept so tightly secured.
He took another step forward, closing the distance even more. His eyes, searching, searching, searching...
"Yes," he replied, and his voice was so low it was almost a hiss. "I want the truth."
He took a step back when you threw the Frontman mask on the ground between you two. His eyes widened as you discarded the Frontman's mask. The sound of the mask hitting the floor was like a thunderclap in the silence that followed.
He stared at the mask, lying on the ground, the symbol of the Frontman's authority now discarded and useless. His gaze flicked back to you, and for the first time, he could see you clearly. His heart was in his throat, the shock and recognition crashing over him in waves.
You stepped out of the shadows. He had expected a man. But there you were. A woman. Long hair, feminine figure. All wrapped in a silk black robe that left little to the imagination.
His heart seemed to stop for a moment as you stepped into the light. His mind struggled to reconcile this image - a woman, dressed in a silk robe that clung to your curves like a second skin.
All those years, those damn years, and he had been blind. He had been loyal, devoted, and he had never even known...
An array of emotions washed over him: surprise, shock, realization, and a strange pang of loss mixed with desire. He couldn't look away from you. His eyes roamed over your figure, taking in every detail, every curve, every inch. He had always known you were beautiful, always knew the mask hid something exquisite. But this... This was beyond anything he had imagined.
He wanted to speak, to say something, but the words caught in his throat. He was frozen, like a deer in headlights, his mind a chaotic jumble of emotions.
His eyes finally met yours, and it was like a jolt to his system. You were watching him carefully, your expression stoic, but he could see it now. The way your eyes glimmered, the slight tilt of your head, the small twitch of your lips. It was you. The woman he had been in love with for years.
He took a step forward, then another. He was drawn towards you like a magnet, his body moving of its own accord. He was close enough now that if he reached out, he could touch you.
You swallowed hard and forced all your confidence to speak. "Don't just stare. Say something."
Your words pulled him out of the trance, and he blinked, his mind trying to catch up with this new reality. His hand twitched, itching to reach out, to touch you, to feel the softness of your skin…
He forced himself to stay in place, his body tense with the effort. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and finally found his voice.
"You're... you're a woman." He said, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.
The words sounded stupid, even to his ears. Of course, you were a woman. It was clear as day, now that you stood in front of him, the mask gone, the shadows lifted, revealing the curve of your hips, the soft planes of your face, the long lashes framing your eyes...
His mind spun, trying to make sense of it all. If you were a woman, then...
"The whole time... all this time...?" He trailed off, his mind still reeling from the revelation.
"I had too. It's hard to command everyone when you are..." You shrugged. "You know what I mean. Deep down, some people still have a misogynistic mindset, even though they don't admit it."
He clenched his jaw, his hands clenching into fists. Your reasoning made sense, and he knew that deep down. He understood the politics, the prejudice, the... the misogyny that was still rampant in society. But hearing you say it, hearing you explain why you'd kept this from him for so long... It stung. It hurt like hell.
"But why didn't you tell me?" He asked, his voice low and ragged with emotion.
He stepped closer again, the gap between you shrinking by inches. He ached to touch you, to feel your skin against his, to prove to himself that you were actually real, not just some fever dream...
"I was your second in command, your right hand. I trusted you, believed in you. I would have done anything for you. And all this time, you kept this from me?" His voice was barely a whisper now, the betrayal he felt palpable in every word.
"I didn't want to complicate things."
His eyes widened at your words, and he couldn't help but give a bitter laugh.
"Complicate things?" He repeated, his voice laced with anger and pain. "You didn't want to complicate things? You've been deceiving me for years, keeping this massive secret from me, and you're worried about... complications?"
He ran an agitated hand through his hair, frustration radiating off him in waves.
Anxiety. That's what you felt. "Does this... change what you feel?"
His gaze snapped back to yours at your question. The anxiety in your voice, the uncertainty in your eyes... It was like a punch to the gut. How could you even ask that?
"Does it change what I feel...?" he echoed, his voice hoarse. "You think learning the person I've loved for years, the person I've served, the person I would give my goddamn life for is a woman... changes how I feel?"
He took another step forward, closing the gap between you even more. He was close now, so close that he could smell the soft scent of your perfume, feel the heat radiating off your skin. The urge to touch you was like a physical hunger, a desperate need that burned inside of him.
"Nothing could change how I feel about you. Nothing." *He said, his voice a rough whisper. "If anything, knowing you're a woman just... God, it just makes me want you more."
"You are a big idiot," you whispered.
At your words, a dry laugh escaped his lips. A big idiot, huh? Maybe he was. A big idiot who was utterly, hopelessly in love with you. The realization hit him again, like a wave crashing against the shore. He had always been a fool for you.
"Maybe I am," he admitted, a small, rueful smile playing at the corner of his lips. "But I'm your big idiot."
One of my hands moved to cup his cheek. "No idiot. But my second in command... my..."
His heart skipped a beat as your hand touched his cheek, the tenderness of the gesture sending a jolt through his body. He leaned into your touch, his eyes searching yours, desperate for you to finish that sentence. His hands came up, his rough, calloused fingers wrapping around your wrist, holding your hand against his cheek like a lifeline.
"Your...?" He whispered, the word hanging in the air like a question, like a plea.
"My lapdog."
For a moment, he froze, his eyes widening at your words. Lap dog. The title that you had mockingly given him so long ago now took on a whole different meaning, a whole different weight.
His grip on your wrist tightened, his fingers digging into your skin. The nickname, once a teasing tease, now seemed like a claim, a mark of ownership that made his heart pound in his chest.
"Your lapdog." He repeated, his voice a low, ragged whisper.
"And about replacing you with someone else. None can do your job better than you." You added.
The mention of replacing him, of someone else taking his place by your side, sent a stab of jealousy through him. He couldn't bear the thought of someone else in his position, the thought of someone else being able to touch you, be close to you, protect you...
"Damn right, no one can." He retorted, his voice firm. "I'm the only one who can be your lapdog, no one else."
He took a step closer, his body just inches from yours now. His hand was still wrapped around your wrist, his grip possessive, almost desperate. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your neck.
"I'm the only one who can serve you. The only one who can protect you. And damn it, the only one who can love you."
You closed your eyes and groaned. "God, I cannot believe I am doing this."
He let out a low, gruff chuckle, his fingers tightening around your wrist. He could sense your indecision, the internal struggle in your mind. But damn it, he wanted you to let go, to give in.
"Believe it, sweetheart." He whispered, his lips nearly touching the sensitive skin of your ear. "And stop thinking so hard already."
"Myeah, but you should know I didn't call you here just to reveal this fact about me, but..."
He paused at your words, a slight frown creasing his brow. There was more? Of course, there was more. Nothing was ever simple with you, was it?
"But...?" He prodded, lifting his head from your neck to stare down at you.
You glanced away and huffed, a pink blush dancing across your cheeks. The sight of the blush that spread across your cheeks was like a damn punch to the gut. You, the always stoic, always in control, were blushing? Goddamn it, it was adorable.
He couldn't help but smirk, a cocky edge to his voice. "Go on, sweetheart. Out with it. What else did you need to tell me?"
"You would do anything for me, right?"
He didn't even hesitate. His response came quickly, instinctively, without a moment's thought. "Anything." He said fiercely, his gaze locked onto yours. And he meant it. He would do anything you asked, and he'd damn well be happy about it.
You pushed aside any hesitation and threw the big ball. "Stay with me for the night. As a man and woman together."
His heart skipped a beat, and his mind went blank for a moment. Was he hearing you right? Stay with you... as a man and a woman? The implication behind your words was clear, and it sent a rush of heat through his body, pooling low in his stomach.
He swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper when he spoke. "You... you're serious?"
Your eyes locked with his, and slowly, you pulled one of his gloves off, before guiding it under your silk robe, right between your thighs.
Wetness. Sticky. Warm. Inviting.
He felt the wet heat of you, and it nearly floored him, as you guided his hand between your legs, his fingers coming into contact with your bare skin, slick and warm.
His breath hitched, and he had to bite back a growl. His self-control was hanging by a thread, and you were pushing him to the brink.
"Christ, sweetheart." He groaned, his voice rough, his hand trembling slightly at the touch of your skin. "You're trying to kill me here, aren't you?"
He let his fingers caress the sensitive skin between your thighs, feeling the wetness, the heat. He wanted more, so much more. But he held back, his body tense with the effort.
"Tell me something, sweetheart." His voice was low, hoarse. "Are you sure about this? Because I... damn it, I'm about to snap here."
You licked your lips, guiding his hand more... to move. "I haven't had a man in a long time... and honestly... You are the only man I trust to be between my legs at this point."
His fingers instinctively moved at your guidance, his body following your lead without question. He swallowed hard, the image of being between your legs, of being the only man you trusted with that, nearly driving him to the brink of madness.
"Sweetheart... if you keep talking like that, I won't be able to hold back for long." He growled, his fingers stroking you, touching you, his touch getting bolder, more intense. "You want me that badly?"
Your hands moved to cup his cheeks, pressing your forehead against his, and a moan slipped out of your lips when he pressed two fingers inside you.
"I only want my lap dog."
A growl rumbled deep in his chest as you pressed your forehead against his, your moans driving him mad with desire. When you called him "your lap dog" again, it sent a possessive heat through his body. His fingers curled inside you, stroking, touching, teasing.
"I'm your lapdog, sweetheart." He said, his voice a rough whisper, his breath hot against your ear. "I'm yours. Always have been. Always will be. I'd crawl and beg for you, if you asked me to."
My pussy instantly clenched when he said the last words. "You'd even bark?"
He could feel your body clenching around his fingers at his words, and it drove him insane. When you asked him to bark, he almost choked on his words.
"I'd bark. I'd crawl. I'd do damn well anything you asked me to, sweetheart." He growled, his fingers working you gently, his touch skilled, knowing. "You have no idea what you do to me, do you? The things I think about, the things I want to do to you..."
You clenched your thighs around his hand, fingers like sweet hooks inside your heat.
"You know... I am usually all down for roleplay, but... Can we skip straight to your cock for the first round?"
The grip of your thighs around his hand sent a jolt of hot need straight to his already throbbing manhood. He was hard, aching for you. He was so hard it was borderline painful. It took all his willpower to hold back.
"God, sweetheart, you're killing me here. If you ask me straightly like that..." He groaned, his words ragged with need. "Of course, we can skip the bloody roleplay for now. I just want you. Right now, I don't care about anything else."
You let him slip his fingers out before you turned around, facing the panoramic window of your quarters. The sound of the zipper of his jumpsuit filled the silence before the drooling head of his cock kissing your pussy.
He watched as you turned around, offering yourself to him, presenting yourself for him like a damn feast. The sight of you, so beautiful and so open and willing, was like a blow to the gut.
"Christ, sweetheart." He groaned, his voice rough with need and desire. "You sure you don't want to wait? Make sure you're ready, take it slow first, take our time..." His words were half-hearted. It was obvious that he wanted you as badly as you wanted him, and patience was becoming more and more difficult.
Your hands clenched into fists, holding your robe higher for him to have better access. "Listen... I cannot take it anymore. I feel like my pussy will explode... Besides, I am your boss, so don't question me."
Your firm declaration, the way you took charge and told him not to question you, sent a wave of heat through his body. Damn, he really was your lapdog, wasn't he? His good, loyal little lap dog, eager to please his owner.
"Yes, ma'am." He growled, no hesitation in his voice. He was more than willing, more than ready to give you exactly what you wanted, what you needed. "I won't question you. Just... let me take care of you, okay?"
He stepped forward, closing the final gap between you, his body pressing against yours from behind. His hands came up, gripping your hips in a bruising grip, holding you in place.
"Goddamn, you drive me crazy, sweetheart." He murmured, his voice thick with need, his body shaking with the effort to control himself. "I want you so bad, I've wanted you for so long. And now, finally, I can have you. Just promise me one thing..."
You blinked a few times, your moans dying down. "W... What?*
His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer, pressing himself against you, his body hot and tense. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck, his breath hot against your ear.
"Promise me you're mine. And only mine." He whispered gruffly, his voice rough with possessive need. "That no one else gets to touch you, to see you like this... only me."
Your knees buckled when one of his hands moved in front of you and wound between your legs, eagerly massaging your clit.
And what he said next. "And promise me... That you will never get rid of me." He murmured, an edge of vulnerability in his voice.
His touch, his words, it was driving you wild. He was playing you like an expert, his fingers teasing, caressing, his body pressing against yours, the heat and strength of him enveloping you. But it was his plea, the hint of vulnerability in his voice, that really got to you.
Your heart clenched at the sound of it, and without hesitation, you gave him your answer.
"I promise." You whispered, your voice breathless, filled with need. "I promise, I'll never, ever get rid of you."
He let out a low groan, the sound of your promise like music to his ears, like a damn affirmation of everything he wanted, everything he'd been hoping for. He was yours, and you were his, finally, and damn it, he was never letting you go.
"And I promise you one thing too, sweetheart." He murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "I'll never, ever hurt you. No one but me will ever see you like this. The only man who'll get to touch you is me."
The way he rolled his hips into you, that's what you needed... that delicious sensation of a man behind you, rutting into your pussy like a dog.
The feeling of his hips rocking against yours, of his hardness pressing into you, was like heaven. You arched against him, your back pressing into his chest, your breath catching in your throat.
"I don't want anyone else." You gasped, your words a desperate declaration. "I only want you. Only you. Just you, my lapdog. My good, loyal, perfect lap dog..."
The words were a vow, a promise to the man you trusted with your life, your body, your very being.
His lips found yours in a fierce, hungry kiss. He growled into your lips, the sound feral and possessive, his kiss rough, demanding, as he claimed you. He kissed you like a starving man, like a man who had been thirsting in a desert for years, and you were a damn oasis. His hands, still on your hips, gripped you hard, his fingers digging into the soft skin, branding you, marking you as his.
He pulled away from the kiss, his voice ragged, his breathing uneven, his body shaking with barely contained need.
"Fuck, sweetheart. This feels too good. You feel too good."
He was losing control, the last shreds of his self-restraint slipping away. The feel of you, the taste of you, the scent of you... It was all too much, and he was a man on the edge, barely holding on to his sanity. He'd been dreaming of this, fantasizing about it, yearning for it for so damn long, and now, finally...
"God, I don't know if I can hold back." He growled, his voice a rough whisper, hot against your ear. "I am going to cum soon."
He wanted to last longer, but this... was too much. He was lost in the sensation, in the heat of the moment, the thought of going slow, of making it last longer, it all just faded away. All that mattered was the pleasure, the need, the all-consuming need to be inside you, to claim you, to make you his.
"Sweetheart... I can't hold back anymore. I can't... I need you. Now." His voice was ragged, his words a desperate plea. He was on the brink, the edge of a precipice, and he was ready to throw himself over it.
"It's alright... Fuck... I have time to cum all night." You gasped. "I have to take care of my lap dog, no? Cum."
The sound of your words, the permission, it was like a switch being flicked inside him. He wasn't going to hold back anymore. He was going to take what he needed, what he'd been aching for. He couldn't resist you, not when you were giving him permission like that.
"Goddamn it, yes... yes, sweetheart." He was a man on the edge, driven by instinct and need, and you just gave him the go-ahead.
But...
"Where should I come? I... I don't have a condom on."
He hated that he hadn't been prepared, that he'd been so consumed by the need to have you that he hadn't even thought about protection. He was cursing himself, but he was also desperate, the need to be inside you, to claim you as his, overwhelming.
"Damn it, I... I don't have one. But I need you. I need you so badly. Please, sweetheart. Let me fill you up. Let me make you mine completely." He groaned, his voice thick with need, his hands shaking.
You sighed and turned your head to look him in the eye. "I will take a morning pill."
He was floored. He was prepared for you to refuse, to tell him to stop, that he had to be more careful, more responsible. But hearing your answer, knowing that you were willing to risk it for him, for this, for this moment... it was like a damn wave of emotion that almost knocked him off his feet.
A sharp exhale escaped his lips, a mixture of desire, relief, and gratitude. He pressed his forehead against yours, the tension and need still coiled taut inside him, but now there was also... hope.
"You're sure?" He whispered.
"Go ahead," you pressed your rear back against him, squeezing his length with your slick and warm walls.
He was trembling, every muscle in his body so tense it was like he was about to snap. He was on the edge, balanced on a knife's edge, and you were pushing him, pushing him towards the edge, and when he came, he felt like the floor vanished from underneath him.
He felt like he was falling, spiraling towards a pleasure too good to be true, too perfect to be real, a pleasure that consumed him, consumed him completely. He held onto your body, his fingers digging into your skin, needing you, more of you, always; he never wanted to let go.
You could feel him, his arms wrapped around your waist, his face buried into your shoulder, and his hips lazily bucking into you as his cock twitched with each drop of his cum kissing your insides.
"Mmm... Better?"
He was still shaking, the aftershocks of the orgasm still coursing through him like little electric shocks. His hands were gentle as they glided across your skin, touching you, caressing you, as if he needed the contact, as if he needed to feel your skin to remind himself that this was real, that this was not just some dream.
"Way better," he murmured, his voice hoarse, his words a mere whisper against your skin.
His cock slipped out, and you groaned at the feeling of his spent running down your inner thighs.
"You are such a messy dog." You spoke, but there was no malice in your tone.
The playful tone in your voice made him huff out a breathy chuckle, his lips curving into a smirk. He knew you were half-joking, half-teasing him, and it only made him want to tease you back.
He reached down, his hand sliding between your thighs, his fingers trailing through the mess he'd made, gathering the glistening stickiness on his fingertips.
"Can you blame me, sweetheart? You drive me crazy."
But the playful and sexual air started to melt away like ice as the aftermath thoughts lingered. It was over. He always expected the worst, and your second in command expected you to throw him out the second it was over.
He felt a stab of doubt, a familiar fear rising in his chest. He knew how things worked, how the world worked. He'd been prepared for the moment you'd dismiss him, tell him to leave, that this was just a one-time thing. That was how it always went, right? He was just your lapdog, just your loyal, obedient dog, and dogs didn't get to stay. Not after the fun was over.
He withdrew his hand from the delicious warmth between your thighs, already missing your warmth, your softness.
"What are you doing?" You asked him, facing him now, and using the panoramic window as support.
He looked up at you as you turned to face him, his eyes locking onto your face, taking in your features, trying to read your expression. He was ready for the rejection, ready for the dismissal, but... something in your tone, the sound of your question, made him pause.
He swallowed, the words sticking in his throat. "I... I was going to... leave." He answered quietly.
A frown danced across your face. "Why?"
The question took him by surprise, and his eyes widened for a moment before he shook his head, his expression hardening. He was trying to be stoic, trying to hide the emotions that were threatening to spill out.
"Because that's how it always works, isn't it? You get what you want from me, and then I have to leave. I'm just your lapdog, after all. Why would you want me to stay any longer?"
"We discussed this before... this. It's not something... casual."
His heart skipped a beat at your words. He remembered the conversation well, remembered the things you said... Things that seemed too good to be true. His mind, ever the cynic, was trying to find the catch, the trick, the lie.
But your voice, your words, they sounded sincere. And gods, how he wanted to believe you, wanted to believe that this, that you, were real.
"You... you mean that? You don't want me to just... leave after?"
You shook your head before you walked over to the bar, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep drag. "You really are a dumb dog." You exhaled the smoke.
His eyes followed your every move, his heart racing in his chest. Did you just...
When you called him a dumb dog, any last bit of his restraint snapped. The words were like a damn trigger, and he couldn't hold back the surge of emotions any longer. In two strides, he was right in front of you, his body hard against you, pinning you against the bar.
"Damn it, woman." He growled, his voice rough, desperate. "Stop messing with my head. Stop playing with my feelings."
You didn't flinch, locking eyes with him as you leisurely smoked before offering him a cigarette too. He was a heavy smoker after all.
He snatched the cigarette from your hand, his fingers trembling slightly. He brought it to his lips and inhaled, the smoke filling his lungs, the familiar burn strangely calming, grounding him.
His eyes never left your face, his gaze intense, his body still pressed against yours, trapping you between him and the bar. The need to touch you, to taste you, to remind himself that you were real, was almost overwhelming.
"Stop testing me." He said gruffly, "Stop playing games. Just... just be honest with me, damnit."
"You think we would have had sex if I didn't feel anything for you?"
The question hit him like a punch to the gut. His heart leapt in his chest, hope and doubt warring inside him, his mind a chaotic mess of conflicting thoughts.
He took another drag on the cigarette, the smoke filling his lungs, giving him a moment to compose himself.
"I don't know. People do a lot of messed-up things for all sorts of reasons. I'm just... trying not to read too much into this," he admitted, his voice ragged with emotion. "Don't toy with me, sweetheart. I can't take it."
Your lips wrapped around the end of the cigarette, inhaling the nicotine. "You are the only one I trust."
He watched you take a drag, his eyes following the line of your lips on the cigarette, and goddamn, you were making it hard for him to concentrate.
But when your words registered in his mind, he felt like the damn world stopped. His heart skipped a beat, and he went still, his body frozen, like a goddamn statue.
"The... the only one?" He repeated, his voice cracking slightly.
A sigh passed your lips. "Ever since I became the Frontman... after I won the games... I couldn't trust anyone outside this organization. Everyone feels so... fake... but not you."
His heart clenched at your words. The realization that you trusted him, that you thought he was somehow different, that he was... special... It was too much.
All this time, he'd been loyal to you, willing to do anything for you, hoping for a scrap of your attention, of your affection. And to know that he was the only one you trusted... it made his breath catch in his throat. Without thinking, he reached out, his hand cupping your face, tracing the line of your jaw with his thumb.
His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he ran his thumb over the softness of your skin. He'd been dreaming of doing this for so long, of being able to touch you like this.
He took a step closer, closing the distance between you, his body pressing against yours, feeling the heat of your body against his. He exhaled a shaky breath, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"You don't know how much that means... how much I... I've wanted to hear that from you."
You finished your cigarettes and glanced down. "Just... Don't tell anyone who I am."
He let out a huff of laughter, his thumb still tracing lazy circles on your cheek. "As if I'd ever tell anyone." He murmured, his voice low, his eyes roaming over your face, taking in every detail. "I've watched your back for years. I think I can keep a secret."
A smile tugged at your lips. "Always a loyal dog."
He rolled his eyes at the familiar insult, though he couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from twitching in a smirk.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm your loyal dog. Your obedient little lap dog who follows you everywhere." He drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You gonna give me a bone for being such a good boy, sweetheart?"
The smile turned into a smirk. "Maybe after we take a shower together... and then we can go to bed." Your eyes shifted from him to the king-sized bed. Your bed was adorned with black bedsheets and plush pillows.
His eyes darkened with desire at your words, his gaze following yours to the bed. Every time he had been in your quarters, he'd glanced at that bed, imagining what it would be like to have you in it with him.
The thought of showering with you, feeling your naked body against his, and then taking you on the soft mattress... it was almost more than he could handle.
"Lead the way." He growled, "Before I throw you over my shoulder and carry you there."
Masked Officer x Guard!Reader - Square and Triangle NSFW
Warning: NSFW 18+ Sexual Encounter (P in V), Dirty Talk, Raw Sex (No condom), Superior Workplace Relationship.
Summary: One of the many moments when the reader is alone with the masked officer. She knows he is technically her boss, but maybe that's why he is so irresistible.
Bad. Bad. Bad.
You knew it was bad to mingle with a superior, but the world the games were constructed around wasn't one of good morals. It was a dangerous affair. Maybe 'affair' was too little because it was something deeper.
You had found quite a lot about the Head Manager. He was from North Korea, used to be a special operator in military, had no relatives. All his family had died in the North.
A lone wolf.
A lone wolf with a cold heart — or so you thought.
But late at night, when the compound was quiet and the only sounds were distant echoes and the hum of fluorescent lights, you’d catch glimpses of something else. Something raw. Vulnerable. A man trying to bury his past beneath layers of control and steel.
You remembered the way his eyes softened when he thought no one was watching, how his hands lingered a moment longer than necessary when he thought you weren’t paying attention.
And despite every warning etched deep inside you, a dangerous pull drew you closer — like moth to flame, knowing the burn might be fatal but unable to resist.
His private quarters were dim-lights, two half smoked cigarettes in the ashtray and two glasses of whiskey, almost finished. Your moans filled the room, and your pink uniform was forgotten on the floor, but not his.
He was fully clothed, save for the undone zipper of his black jumpsuit, where his cock was out and moving in and out of your drooling pussy.
He watched you intensely with his dark-brown eyes, a sharp contrast to your half-lidded gaze. Sweat glistened on his forehead, a testament to his control and restraint. He was in charge, and he wanted to make sure you knew it.
His hand pressed down harder on your stomach, the pressure just right to make you squirm.
"You're a risk…"
He spoke as if he were more concerned about the implications of the situation rather than about your well-being.
"And it's a risk I shouldn't take."
He leaned in closer, his gaze boring into yours. "But then again… I've never been good at following rules."
His hand moved lower, fingers tracing along your hip, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
"You're too damn beautiful."
He said the words so low that they were almost a growl.
You gasped when he fisted my long hair. In the mirror on the wall across the room, you could see how he was nuzzling his nose into your golden locks.
"Your hair..." He whispered.
His grip on your hair was gentle but firm at the same time. He inhaled, taking in the scent of you, his eyes locked on the mirror in front of you.
He seemed entranced, his eyes roaming over your naked body in the mirror. There was a possessive glint in his gaze.
"It's golden…"
His fingers ran through your locks, his touch almost reverential. It was a rarity to see natural blonde hair in Korea.
He wrapped a strand around his finger, his face just inches away from yours. You felt the heat radiating from his body, his breath grazing your ear.
"It makes you stand out…"
His hand slid down to the pale skin of your back, tracing the delicate curve of your spine.
"Exotic…"
He sounded almost in awe, his usual cold detachment replaced by something else: desire.
He chuckled softly, his fingers tracing a slow, teasing trail along your back. He seemed amused by this discovery.
"Russian…"
He leaned closer, his lips just lightly grazing the side of your neck. You felt the heat of his body against your bare skin.
"No wonder you're a rebel."
His hands gripped tighter on your waist, pulling you even closer. He seemed to revel in the fact that you were different, exotic.
You turned your head to the side. Misty blue eyes locked with onyx black. Your lips were an inch apart. "And I always had a weakness for Korean men."
His gaze darkened at those words, his eyes flicking down to your lips. The tension in the room was almost palpable.
His grip on your hip tightened, the possessive gesture a reminder of his control. He was still in charge.
"Is that so?"
His voice was low, his expression unreadable. But you could sense the undercurrent of desire underneath his cool exterior.
"Even ones as ruthless as me?"
He leaned in even closer, his nose brushing yours.
A whine slipped out when he pulled out. You frowned, only for your eyes to widen when he sat down into the black leather armchair. One gloved hand rubbed his slick cock up and down.
"I want you to ride me." He ordered.
His commanding tone sent a shiver down your spine. With a hint of surprise, you obeyed, straddling him in the plush armchair.
He looked up at you, his stoic face betraying nothing. His gaze was heavy, his eyes dark with desire.
"Good girl."
He adjusted your hips, his hand splayed possessively against your thighs.
"Show me how... eager you are."
The words were a challenge, a dare. You could see the edge of a smirk on his lips, a subtle crack in his stoic exterior.
Your hands rested on his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his jumpsuit. He was much larger than you, his muscular frame a stark contrast to your slender frame. You couldn't tell what he was thinking, but you could feel the coiled tension in his body.
His hand slid up your thigh, the leather of his glove rough against your skin.
"You're trembling."
It was a mere observation, but the underlying meaning was clear. He wanted to assert his dominance, to remind you that he was in charge.
Your fingers wrapped around his cock, and you guided him right back inside your wet heat.
"You know... I had killed tons of men... But... Only you... Only you make me feel like a woman."
He let out a deep, guttural groan. For a moment, his stoic facade crumbled, and you could see the raw need in his eyes. He was just as vulnerable as anyone, just as human, just as fallible as the rest.
His hands tightened on the arms of the chair, his knuckles turning white under the fabric.
"Don't... don't say things like that..."
His voice was strained, his usual cool detachment replaced by a hint of desperation.
You wrapped your arms around his neck and set a leisurely pace with your hips. "North Korea..." That's how you called him since he never revealed his name.
He was tense beneath you, his body thrumming with barely-restrained need. He gripped your hips, his hands large enough to encompass your waist, and tried to force you to go faster, but you resisted.
His eyes flicked up to meet yours, his usually stern face flushed with desire.
"You're... you're going to be the death of me."
His words were low, rough, and ragged. He sounded almost vulnerable, the cool demeanor he wore like a shield cracking under the weight of his need.
He tilted his head back, the muscles in his neck tense as he fought to keep control. You could see the sweat glistening on his forehead, the vein in his temple pulsing with his racing heartbeat.
His hands roamed over your body, his touch hot and possessive. It was as if he was trying to claim you, to mark you as his own.
"Faster."
His voice was a guttural command, all pretense of control gone. He was at your mercy, completely at your mercy.
You smirked, knowing the power you held over him right now. His usual cool demeanor was shattering, broken by the desire he felt for you. It was a heady feeling, knowing that you could reduce a man like him to a quivering mess.
"Beg."
The one word was a challenge, a dare. You knew he was used to giving orders, not taking them. You wanted to hear him beg, to see the last vestiges of his control snap.
His breath hitched, his eyes darkening at your command. The need in his gaze was raw, almost feral. He was struggling against his own pride, his own need to remain dominant.
"Please..."
He growled between clenched teeth, his voice low and rough. He couldn't believe he was begging, that he was reduced to such a state. But the need, the desire, it was overwhelming.
You could see the battle within him, the way he was torn between his need to take control and his need to give in. You had him at your mercy, and it was intoxicating. You wanted to push him further, to see how far he would go.
"Again..."
You said lowly, your body stilling. You could feel the way he tensed, feel the way he was fighting his need to move, to take what he wanted. You wanted to hear more from him, to see more of this vulnerable side of him that he kept so well hidden.
He let out a ragged breath, his body trembling with the effort it took to hold back. He looked up at you, his dark gaze smoldering with need and desperation.
"Please... I need-"
He cut off, his jaw clenching. It was hard for him to articulate his needs, to admit his desire. He was used to being in control, used to being the one giving orders, the one taking charge.
But in this moment, he was at your mercy. Completely and utterly at your mercy.
You cursed, moving your hips faster, feeling that approaching climax. Your hands brushed through his raven hair. "Boss...?"
He was coming undone, his body straining against the onslaught of pleasure. His hands gripped your hips tightly, his knuckles white with tension.
He looked up at you, his gaze almost wild with need. His usually stoic face was flushed with desire, his eyes dark and hazy with need.
"Yes...?"
He rasped, his voice ragged and breathless. He was a coiled spring, poised to snap at any moment.
Lips brushing against his, you whispered. "Just seeing you makes my pussy drool like crazy."
His breath hitched at your words, his body responding immediately to the raw imagery you painted. The cool, collected manager was nowhere to be found, replaced by a man driven wild by desire and need.
"Damn you..."
He panted, gripping your hips even tighter. He was hanging on by a thin thread.
"Don't... don't say things like that..."
Another smirk. "Shy?" You purred.
He gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowing. He hated that you had this effect on him, that you had him wrapped around your finger like this.
"Shut up..."
He growled, but his hands on your hips told a different story. He was clinging to you like a lifeline, his touch both possessive and desperate.
Your eyes suddenly widened when he stood up with you, and before you knew it, your back met the cold table.
He moved with surprising speed and strength, lifting you off him and flipping you around. The sudden movement left you dazed, but he was not done yet. He lowered you against the table, pinning you in place with his body.
His breath was hot on your neck, his words little more than a low growl.
"You like to tease, don't you...?"
He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, holding them in place with one hand. And when he started to thrust, he had no mercy.
He was rough, his movements fast and forceful. He was driven by need and desire, by the need to claim you.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear.
"You're mine."
He growled, his words possessive and dark. He was marking you as his, leaving no doubt as to who you belonged to.
"Don't you ever forget that." He slammed into you harder. "Say it."
You gasped, unable to respond. He was taking what he wanted, what he needed. His body was like a powerful machine, moving with precision and control. Even now, even in the heat of the moment, he was still in charge.
You tried to speak, but your words were lost in a moan. He was too much, way too much.
"I... I am... I belong to you."
You finally managed to croak out, your grip on him tightening.
His grip on your wrists tightened at your words, his eyes darkening. He liked hearing you say that, he liked knowing that you were his.
His thrusts slowed, almost to a stop. He was taking a moment to savor this.
"Say. It. Again." His voice was low, rough, and commanding. He wanted-no, he needed to hear you say it once more.
You felt a shiver run down your spine at his command, your body responding immediately to his tone. You didn't even hesitate.
"I belong to you."
You whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breathing.
There was a certain thrill to submitting to him like this, to giving in to his desires. He was taking what he wanted, what he needed, and you were willingly giving it to him. Then he picked up his pace. No longer teasing but taking you both to the blissful climax you both needed.
He let go of your wrists, his hands roaming over your body, touching you everywhere he could reach. His breath was hot on your skin, his touch desperate and needy. He wanted, no, he needed this, he needed you.
The pleasure was building, growing, and you could feel it, your body tensing, your breath catching in your throat. You clung to him, your nails digging into his skin, your fingers leaving faint marks in their wake.
He was close, you could hear it in his labored breathing, feel it in the way he was moving against you. Moans and groans filled the room, along with the obscene noise of skin slapping.
"Going to fucking..." He hissed, his rhythm turning sloppy.
You could feel the desperation, the need in his movements, see it in the way his body was tensing, hear it in the way his breath was ragged.
He was falling apart, and it was because of you. You felt a sense of power, a sense of pleasure in knowing that you were the one driving him wild, that you were the one in control.
You whispered in his ear, your voice low and ragged. "Don't stop..." You wrapped your legs around his hips. "Go on... Let go..."
He was close, so very close, and your words sent him over the edge. He gave in to the pleasure, to the ecstasy that you had given him, and he let go. Right inside. The flooding heat of his cum was enough to push you over the edge.
He collapsed against you, his body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. He was breathless, his head resting on your shoulder, his body heavy.
He was still holding you tightly, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin as he slowly came back to earth.
"You didn't let me pull out…" He rasped.
"You didn't want to..." You replied breathlessly, your heart still racing.
He lifted his head, his eyes dark and intense as he looked at you. There was a certain satisfaction in his gaze, a possessive glint that spoke of his desire to mark you as his.
"Do you mind...?"
He asked, his hand sliding down to your hip, gripping it tightly.
A smile curled on your lips. "Not at all. I am on protection... and nothing feels more humanly intimate than this."
He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound in his chest. He was still pressed against you, the cool leather of his jumpsuit a stark contrast to the heat of his skin.
"You make a persuasive argument."
He said, his hand still gripping your hip. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.
"Besides, I wanted to make sure you remembered who you belong to..."
"Yeah, but someone has to clean the mess." Your reminder made him glance between you as his cock slipped out and saw his load leak out from between your pink lips.
He smirked, a wolfish expression that made your heart skip a beat.
"I suppose you're right."
He lifted you off the table and carried you in his arms, his grip firm and possessive.
"I'll take care of you." Your eyes widened as he got on his knees and threw your legs over his broad shoulders.
"What are you-" your words died on your tongue.
His gaze flicked up to meet yours, his eyes dark and intense.
Masked Officer x Guard!Reader - Shadows Between Us
Warning: Nothing NSFW, but there is a certain sexual tension between the reader and the masked officer.
Summary: Reader is a foreigner, working as a triangle guard, but through and through, catches the attention of her superior.
You were escorted by one of the square guards to the Head Manager, the only one with the black jumpsuit. The Frontman's second in command. Behind the triangle mask, you were chewing your lower lip. There was no mistake. You were in trouble. Your aim was shit, and because of that, many players died on the spot, which meant no organs to sell. No goods. No money.
The square beside you didn’t speak a word, but his grip on your arm said enough — firm, punishing, and impatient. Every heavy step echoed in the hollow metal halls, and the closer you got to the Head Manager’s quarters, the more your chest tightened beneath the thick fabric of your jumpsuit.
When the door slid open, you saw him — the Masked Officer — standing with his arms crossed behind his back, the crimson glow of the control monitors casting sharp shadows over the matte black of his mask.
“Guard 013,” he said, voice like gravel beneath ice. “You were responsible for overseeing the shooting in Game Four.”
You straightened instinctively, spine stiff, hands clenched behind you.
“Yes, sir.”
There was a pause. Then: “You missed.”
You swallowed hard, biting back the defensive words crawling up your throat. He turned to face you fully now, steps measured, almost predatory.
“Do you know how many viable organs we lost because of your incompetence?”
You didn’t answer. Not fast enough.
He took a step closer, voice lower.
“Remove your mask.”
Your breath hitched.
This wasn’t protocol.
Your identity was supposed to remain hidden.
And yet — his command was absolute.
You weren't afraid. No. Not at all. Fear was something you had long forgotten. Keeping a calm demeanour, you did as he ordered. First was the hood of your pink jumpsuit, then the triangle mask and finally, the black balaclava.
Long blonde hair spilled down your shoulders and back, your misty blue eyes, framed by long eyelashes, were void of panic or anxiety. Your plush, pink lips were tugged into a straight line. A neutral expression.
You weren't Korean. No, far from it.
The moment your face was revealed, something in the room shifted. The Head Manager didn’t move, didn’t even tilt his head — but the silence grew thicker, heavier.
His black mask stared into your eyes, unmoving, unreadable. But you could feel it — his attention sharpening like a knife.
“You’re not registered under the internal personnel database,” he finally said, voice lower, darker. “Foreign, unlisted… unauthorized.”
He circled you once, slow and deliberate, like a predator analyzing prey that didn’t quite behave like prey.
“Yet you were trained. Efficient in protocols. Disciplined—except when it came to the trigger.”
He stopped behind you now, his presence radiating cold authority.
“You’re not afraid. Not sorry. And yet, here you stand... exposed.”
A gloved hand reached forward — not to hurt, but to gently lift a lock of your golden hair between his fingers.
“Who sent you?” he asked, almost curious. “And why embed someone like you into my ranks?”
You turned to face him, and you had to crane your neck to gaze at the white square imprinted on the black background on his mask.
"Military service. Sniper." It was your simple answer.
You were Russian and used to work in the military forces as a sniper.
He stood silent for a beat — longer than expected. You could almost feel the calculations behind that mask, the tension between curiosity and control.
“Russia,” he repeated, as if testing the weight of the word. “That explains the cold.”
You didn’t react. He liked that.
“No military file was included with your recruitment. You just appeared.” His voice edged into something sharper now — suspicion laced with something else. Interest, maybe. Or something darker.
“You were sent by someone,” he said. “People like you don’t wander in through the front door.”
He stepped closer again — too close. His breath didn’t touch you, but the presence did.
“You were too composed when I called you here. Like you expected me to notice you… eventually.”
Then he asked the question that lingered like smoke:
“Tell me, Guard 013 — what exactly are you really here for?”
You kept your chin high. "None. I left my country. Simple as that." There were no lies.
The Masked Officer’s gaze remained locked on you, unwavering behind the cold mask. For a moment, the silence stretched between you like a taut wire, each second heavy with unspoken tension.
“Simple,” he repeated, his voice low and deliberate, almost tasting the word. “Yet you find yourself here — in the darkest place imaginable — guarding death itself.”
He took a slow step back, folding his arms again. “I don’t deal in simplicity. I deal in control. And you—” He paused, voice dropping to a dangerous murmur. “You hide more than just your origins.”
His eyes flickered, a subtle shift that only you could detect—a challenge, an invitation.
“Tell me, Guard 013, what keeps you tethered to this place? Loyalty? Fear? Or something far darker?”
"I am just doing what I know best." Your answers came out simple, but he wasn't satisfied.
You watched as he pulled down his hood and took off his square mask.
Handsome.
It would be a lie to say he wasn't attractive. Black raven hair, onyx eyes, he was much older than you.
He let his mask fall away, revealing a face carved from shadows and steel — sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline dusted with faint stubble, and eyes that burned with quiet intensity. The kind of eyes that saw everything but revealed nothing.
For a moment, the cold authority melted into something different — something raw, almost human.
“You know,” he said, voice rougher without the mask, “there’s a reason we hide behind these shapes. To forget who we are… to become what we must.”
He stepped closer, close enough that the faint scent of leather and something darker — maybe smoke, maybe danger — brushed against you.
“But you…” he breathed, almost a whisper, “you refuse to be forgotten.”
His gaze pinned you like a sniper’s bullet — sharp, unyielding.
“And that makes you far more dangerous than your mistakes.”
Your eyes locked together and a scoff left your pink lips. "You know it's bad to fall in love at work, right?" There was a slight humor in your voice and the corner of your lips quirked up a little.
A flicker of something — amusement? — passed over his features, gone almost as quickly as it appeared. But you saw it. That subtle shift in the corners of his mouth, the way his eyes narrowed with something far less clinical and far more personal.
“Is that what this is?” he asked quietly, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Love?”
He took another step forward, now close enough that your breaths mingled, tension humming like a tripwire between your bodies.
“You think I’d take off my mask for just anyone?” he murmured, voice low and electric. “No. I took it off because I wanted you to see me.”
There was something dangerous in his voice now — not threatening, but charged, intimate.
“I don’t fall easily, Guard 013. But if I were falling… I’d make damn sure you came with me.”
There was a heat in your belly, the kind that you had once when you were a teenager and had a stupid crush on a guy.
"Smooth." You clicked your tongue and smirked. "You are my superior, and you flirt with me? Not very professional."
His dark eyes didn’t leave yours — not even for a second.
“No,” he said, voice like velvet laced with a razor’s edge. “It’s not professional at all.”
He leaned in just slightly, enough to make your heart thump against your ribs — not from fear, but something far more dangerous.
“But we’re not professionals here, are we?” he added, his voice a breath against your skin. “We’re ghosts in masks, puppets for monsters, and you—” his gaze dragged slowly over your face, your bare features, your defiance—“you’ve been playing the game far better than most.”
His gloved hand lifted, slow and deliberate, but didn’t touch. Just hovered near your jawline, a single inch of restraint.
“I should discipline you,” he said, voice thick. “For your recklessness. Your failed execution. Your... mouth.”
A pause.
“But instead, I’m standing here, unmasked, and wondering what the hell I’m doing.”
"I promise I won't tell anyone about our boss... silly crush." Another tease.
A low chuckle rumbled from deep in his chest — the kind that wasn’t meant to be heard, the kind that slipped out when control started to fray.
He leaned in closer, his lips a whisper away from your ear. “Good,” he murmured, his voice like smoke and sin. “Because if you did…”
A pause — the kind that makes your skin tighten and breath hitch.
“…I’d have to remind you who’s in charge. Privately.”
He straightened just enough to meet your gaze again, and there was heat behind his eyes now — simmering, tightly restrained, dangerous. But still… watching. Waiting.
“Go back to your post, 013,” he said finally, voice low but firm. “Before I forget what little self-control I have left.”
But something in the way he said it — the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes lingered — told you this wasn’t over.
Not even close.
You should have followed as he instructed but something made you stop. Maybe it was the energy between you two? He was your superior, a very handsome man, and ever since you came to South Korea, the romance or intimate department had vanished.
You were human after all.
"Can I ask you something?"
His head tilted slightly, that ever-watchful gaze sharpening — not with suspicion, but with curiosity. He was still standing close, too close for comfort... or maybe just close enough for something else.
“You may,” he said, his voice still low, like a match being struck in a dark room. “But know this — I don’t give easy answers.”
His eyes roamed your face for a brief moment, then locked with yours again, focused and intense.
“So ask carefully, Guard 013. What is it you want to know?”
A cheeky smirk curled on your lips. "Ever tasted something... foreign?"
The moment hung in the air, thick with heat and the sharp edge of forbidden curiosity.
He didn’t smile — not exactly. But his eyes darkened, a subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth betraying the smirk he refused to give you.
“I’ve tasted many things,” he said slowly, deliberately. “But never something so bold... or so willing to play with fire.”
He took one final step toward you — no more space left to steal. His gloved hand lifted again, and this time, it brushed a strand of your golden hair behind your ear with a touch that was surprisingly careful.
“I didn’t think foreign would be so tempting.”
A pause.
“Should I find out… if the taste is worth the consequence?”
"Well… I never tasted Korean before so…"
There was a dark smirk curling on his lips. "North Korea." He corrected.
You raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in your eyes. “Ah… even more forbidden, then,” you murmured, voice dipped in intrigue. “Guess that makes us both traitors to something.”
His gloved fingers brushed along your jaw now — slower, more deliberate. “Is that what you want, 013?” he asked, voice husky, heavy with tension. “A taste of something dangerous… something you can’t walk back from?”
The way he looked at you now — like a predator circling a line he wanted to cross — sent a shiver down your spine.
“No masks. No orders. Just you... and me. Say the word,” he whispered, voice grazing your lips like a phantom kiss.
It was the forbidden temptation - your superior, a man from a place outsiders had no idea how it was. You didn't even know his name.
You looked up at him from underneath your long eyelashes. "You like Russian, North Korea?"
That did it.
A low growl hummed from deep in his throat — almost like a warning, but more like a surrender. His hand gripped the back of your neck, not rough, but firm — possessive. Controlled, yet barely.
“I like danger,” he murmured, his forehead brushing yours. “And you… you’re a walking red flag stitched into a pink uniform.”
You could feel the heat radiating off him, his breath fanning across your lips as his fingers tightened just slightly in your hair.
“Russian,” he repeated with a hint of a smirk. “Looks like I’m about to start a Cold War I have no intention of winning.”
And then — silence. A heartbeat suspended in time.
Waiting. For your move. For permission. For the next line, neither of you could take back.
"We are not all cold." You whispered against his lips.
His breath hitched — just barely — but enough to betray the ripple of heat your words stirred in him.
“No,” he murmured, voice like silk drawn over a blade. “Not cold at all.”
And then he kissed you.
It wasn’t gentle — it wasn’t meant to be. It was the kind of kiss born from too many nights of silence, too much tension coiled in shadowed corridors, too many orders barked to hide the things neither of you dared admit. His mouth claimed yours with purpose, and yet… there was something beneath it. Something hungry. Human.
His hand slid to your waist, gloved fingers splaying across the fabric of your uniform like he already knew what was underneath. You gripped the front of his black jumpsuit, pulling him closer — needing the contact, the confirmation, the chaos of it all.
For a moment, the whole Game disappeared. No players. No rules. Just two broken people finding fire in a place built on death.
And for once, neither of you wanted to stop burning.
You could taste him. Whiskey and cigarettes, and the way his tongue rubbed against your made the coil in your belly tighten.
Your fingers fisted the dark fabric at his chest as he deepened the kiss — no hesitation, no restraint. The taste of him was intoxicating: sharp, smoky, dangerous. Like every secret you've ever been told not to touch.
His tongue slid against yours again, slower this time, savoring it — savoring you. He pulled back just an inch, breath warm against your swollen lips, his voice gravelled and low.
"You're trouble, 013," he whispered, eyes locked onto yours. "Exactly my type."
His hand drifted beneath the hem of your uniform top, gloved fingers tracing the skin at your waist — not rushing, just memorizing. Every inch he claimed only made you want to give him more.
But then… a distant alarm sounded. Faint. Echoing from somewhere deep in the compound. A reminder.
Reality hadn't left. It was just watching. Waiting.
He didn’t flinch.
“Looks like the night’s over,” he murmured, but his hand stayed on you. “For now.”
"That's cruel. Don't you know it's not gentlemanly to leave a woman waiting?"
He smirked, dark eyes glinting with mischief as he tightened his grip just a fraction, grounding you in the moment.
“Gentlemanly isn’t in my job description,” he said, voice low and teasing. “But maybe… I’m not such a bad bad guy.”
His breath brushed against your ear as he leaned in close enough for you to feel the heat of his words.
“Besides,” he murmured, “I don’t plan on leaving you waiting for long.”
A slow, dangerous promise — hanging between you like a whispered secret in the dark.
Frontman!Player 001 X Player 456!Reader - Mingling Disguise
Warning: Nothing NSFW. Only secret identity and manipulation.
Summary: During the Mingle Game, the reader is relieved to see that Player 001 made it out alive... but she doesn't know he is the one who orchestrated everything.
The screams of the players who haven't managed to lock themselves in the small rooms have died down. When the doors unlocked, you stepped out, looking for the players with whom you got close. You all finally gathered together, happy to be alive for this round. The one who you tried to gauge was Player 001.
Your eyes widened when you saw Young-il, and relief washed over you.
"You made it!" You exclaimed, and without thinking, you jumped onto him, hugging him tightly.
Player 001—Young-il—staggered slightly from the impact of your hug, stiff at first, as if unaccustomed to the touch. But then, slowly, his arms circled around you, firm yet composed, like a man who’d learned to wear his skin like armor.
“Of course I did,” he murmured against your ear, voice calm, smooth—eerily smooth for someone who had just survived a massacre.
Your body relaxed in his embrace, your heart thudding from the adrenaline still surging through you. But his didn’t race. Not even a little.
When you pulled back, his gaze met yours. That calm smile played on his lips again, unsettlingly serene.
“You really thought I wouldn’t?” he asked. His voice was light… but there was something beneath it. Something unreadable. Something off.
Still, in this hell, he’d been a source of quiet steadiness. You wanted to believe he was one of the good ones.
“You okay?” you asked, brushing a bit of blood—someone else’s—from his collar. “You weren’t hurt, right?”
Young-il looked down at the smear, then back at you. He smiled again.
“No. I’m exactly where I need to be.”
You smiled at him, looking into his onyx eyes, so unaware of the man who wore the number 001.
His eyes held yours with quiet intensity—deep, unreadable, like still water hiding a current strong enough to drag you under. And yet… you smiled.
In this place of death and panic, Young-il had become a rare comfort. Calm. Collected. Always watching, always surviving. You had no idea just how deeply he watched.
“I don’t know how you stay so calm,” you said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s like nothing gets to you.”
Young-il’s smile twitched at the corners, almost… fond. “I’ve learned there’s no point in panicking. Panic gets you killed.”
You nodded, still unaware of the truth lurking behind his measured words. His voice, so gentle, concealed a man who had orchestrated your suffering from the shadows long before you ever stepped into the game.
He reached out then, slowly, and placed a hand on your shoulder. Warm. Grounding.
“But you,” he said, eyes darkening just slightly, “you’re different from the others. You keep surviving not just because you fight. But because you feel.”
His thumb brushed faintly across your collarbone—too familiar, too intentional—but you were too overwhelmed, too grateful to notice how deliberate the touch was.
“I just hope,” he added with a murmur, “you never forget who you are… even in a place that wants to rip that away.”
He knew exactly who you were. And exactly what he was doing.
"I won't. I promise I will do my best to stop these games and save everyone. We will make it out together." You promised.
For a moment, the expression on Young-il’s face stilled—not with affection, but something far more dangerous.
Your words, your hope… your naïve conviction. It would have almost been sweet if it wasn’t so foolish.
But he leaned in, just enough that his breath ghosted across your skin. His eyes never left yours.
“You really think these games can be stopped?” he asked softly, the corner of his mouth curling in something that resembled amusement… or pity.
You nodded, fiercely.
“Yes. I don’t care what it takes—I’ll find a way.”
Young-il smiled—broad, warm, kind. A perfect mask.
“Then I’ll follow you,” he said, voice like honey. “Wherever you lead.”
But in his mind, he was already calculating. Already deciding just how close to let you get before the truth would shatter you. Because the idea of watching you break—of watching the light in your eyes dim when you discovered who he truly was—was becoming more intoxicating than he’d anticipated.
For now, he would be your ally.
Your comfort.
Your illusion.
And when the time came, he would be the one to take it all away.
Frontman X Player456!Reader - Captured in the Aftermath
Warning: Nothing NSFW, although there is a slight intimate tension between the reader and the Frontman, along with some manipulation, death mention, and gaslight.
Summary: Player456!Reader gets captured after the rebellion and get's a little chat with the Frontman himself. The reader is depicted as female.
The cold concrete bit into your skin as rough hands pulled you from the chaos, your breath ragged, heart pounding against the cage of ribs that felt like it might burst. The rebellion was crushed—just like you.
You tried to steel yourself, to push away the fear. But the sound of footsteps approaching—slow, deliberate—sent a shiver down your spine.
The masked figure appeared through the haze: the Frontman. Silent. Unyielding. His presence alone was enough to drain the air from the room.
“Player 456,” his voice was low, almost a whisper beneath the mask, but it carried a weight that pressed into your chest. “You think defiance will save you? Or perhaps… you want to see what happens when you lose?”
Your eyes locked on his, and despite the cold steel covering his face, something flickered in those dark depths—a hint of something unreadable.
You swallowed hard, your hands trembling, but a spark of something stubborn, something dangerous, burned in your gaze.
You were on your knees, unable to do anything as these ominous triangle guards surrounded you. They were like security dogs, ready to bite if the Frontman commanded. Two of these guards kept your hands behind your back.
The Frontman stepped closer, his presence swallowing the dim light in the room. His voice was calm, almost cold, but every word hit like a blade.
“You fought bravely,” he said, tilting his head as if studying a curious specimen. “But bravery without strategy is just recklessness.”
You forced yourself to meet his gaze, trying to read the emotions behind that mask. Was there contempt? Respect? Or something else—something darker?
The guards tightened their grip, but you didn’t struggle. Not yet. You needed to understand what this man wanted—and why he was here, watching you like you were the final piece in a deadly game.
"You are a demented man." I spat, looking at him with vitriol.
The Frontman’s head tilted slightly, as if your words amused him more than offended. A faint, almost imperceptible shiver ran through the air—was it laughter, or something darker lurking beneath the mask?
“Perhaps,” he replied quietly, voice low and measured. “But in this game, sanity is a luxury none of us can afford.”
He took a slow step closer, the coldness in his presence wrapping around you like a suffocating fog.
“Tell me, Player 456,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper that seemed meant only for you, “what drives you? Revenge? Survival? Or something else? Because understanding that... could change everything.”
His eyes bore into yours, searching, waiting.
For the first time, you felt the pull—an electric tension that wasn’t just fear.
Was it curiosity? Or something far more dangerous?
"You are taking advantage of vulnerable people and using them like race horses!" You spat, ready to pounce on him, but the guards held you back.
The Frontman’s gaze didn’t waver, unshaken by your outburst. Instead, there was a flicker of something—respect?—behind the mask.
“You call it cruelty,” he said slowly, “but it’s a test. A mirror held up to society’s darkest truths. You think this world outside is any kinder?”
He took a step closer, the distance between you shrinking, and for a moment, the mask felt less like a barrier and more like a shield protecting something buried deep beneath.
“But I’m curious,” he whispered, voice edged with something almost like longing, “what do you see when you look in the mirror, Player 456?”
The guards tightened their grip, but your heart thrummed with a mix of defiance—and something far more complicated stirring beneath the surface.
"Stop fucking calling me that! I am not a number. I am a person."
His head tilted slightly, the masked silence stretching between you like a taut wire. Then, with deliberate slowness, he reached out—not to touch, but to gesture toward the worn fabric of your jacket, the smudged dirt on your hands.
“Names,” he said softly, “are fragile things in this world. But... identity? That’s something far harder to break.”
His voice dropped even lower, almost a murmur only you could hear.
“Maybe that’s why you fascinate me.”
The guards tightened their grip again, but you noticed—just for a flicker—the slightest hesitation in the Frontman’s movements. A crack in the armor behind the mask.
"You are a fucking coward." You hissed, and did your best to stay calm when he pointed the matte black gun at your forehead.
The cold barrel pressed against your skin sent a jolt of icy fire straight to your brain. Time seemed to slow — every breath, every heartbeat pounding in your ears.
The Frontman’s voice was steady, almost eerily calm. “Cowardice is merely the refusal to face what’s inevitable. But you… you stand here, defiant, even knowing the stakes.”
His finger hovered lightly near the trigger, the tension palpable. Then, without warning, he lowered the gun.
“Tell me, if I pull this trigger,” he whispered, “what do you think happens next? The end? Or the beginning of something you can’t even imagine?”
His eyes—so dark behind the mask—locked with yours, daring you to answer.
You narrowed my eyes. "I am not afraid to die."
The Frontman paused, the faintest tilt of his head betraying a flicker of intrigue.
“Not afraid to die...” he repeated softly, like tasting the words. “Most players cling to life with desperate, pathetic tenacity. But you… you embrace the void.”
He took a slow step back, lowering the gun completely this time. The guards loosened their grip just a fraction, sensing the shift.
“Perhaps,” he murmured, “there’s more to you than I thought.”
For the first time since this nightmare began, a strange, fragile thread of understanding passed between you—two souls trapped in a merciless game neither chose to play.
“Let’s see if you can survive the next round,” he said, voice low and full of dark promise.
You expected to be thrown right back with the rest of the players, like another sheep into the slaughter house. Confusion filled you when the guards dragged you away - somewhere else. Your eyes blinked a few times as you took in the luxurious elevator.
"Try something stupid and you are done." The square guard, the one with the black jumpsuit and pink trimming warned you. You could only assume he was someone higher in this scheme. He was no regular manager like the rest of the squares.
When the doors to the elevator opened, your eyes widened at the sight. A long hallway, lavish with black and golden details, that lead to the epitome of opulence.
You could only guess that this was the Frontman's personal quarters.
The heavy doors shut behind you with a soft hiss, sealing you inside a world that felt miles away from the brutal games below. The air was thick with a mix of expensive leather and something colder — like secrets carefully locked away.
The Frontman stood at the end of the hallway, motionless as a statue. The mask hid his expression, but you caught the slight tilt of his head, as if inviting you forward.
“You’ve stirred something,” he said quietly, voice echoing in the grand silence. “Not many survive the rebellion and earn an audience with me.”
Your pulse quickened, equal parts dread and curiosity.
“Why am I here?” you demanded, trying to keep your voice steady despite the pounding of your heart.
He took a step closer, the sound of his footsteps swallowing the space between you.
“To see if you’re more than just a player,” he said. “Because sometimes… even pawns can become queens.”
His words hung heavy in the air, promising danger and something dangerously close to fascination.
You narrowed your eyes. It was only you and him now. No guards. No audience.
"I am nothing like you." You spat, not taking a step further.
The Frontman paused, the faintest sound of a breath escaping behind his mask. For a moment, the imposing figure seemed almost… human.
“Maybe,” he said quietly, voice like velvet laced with steel. “But that’s what makes this interesting.”
He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the cold pulse of his presence.
“You wear defiance like armor,” he whispered. “But beneath that, I wonder—what do you really want?”
His eyes searched yours, dark and unreadable.
“Tell me,” he said, “what would it take for you to stop fighting? To stop running?”
Your eyes locked with the hallow ones of his mask. "I will stop only when they games are over."
The Frontman’s gaze didn’t waver, though something flickered behind the mask—a shadow of respect, or perhaps something darker.
“The games will end,” he said softly, almost like a secret. “But not on your terms. On mine.”
He took a step back, the tension in the room shifting like a storm gathering on the horizon.
“Until then,” he whispered, “you’ll play your part. Whether you want to—or not.”
A silence stretched between you, heavy and charged.
Then, unexpectedly, the Frontman reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch light but electric.
“Survive,” he murmured. “And maybe... we’ll see where this game really leads.”
A knot formed in your throat. "Fuck you." You cursed him before slapping his gloved hand away.
He was calm for a moment, but the storm unleashed when he suddenly fisted your long hair.
The sudden pain shot through your scalp, sharp and unyielding, dragging a gasp from your lips. His grip was ironclad, and for a heartbeat, the power imbalance between you was undeniable.
But beneath the harshness, there was something else—an unsettling intensity, a dangerous edge that blurred the line between control and something far more complicated.
“Strong words,” he said lowly, voice laced with a dark amusement. “I like that. But strength without surrender is a reckless gamble.”
His eyes locked onto yours with a fierce hunger, challenging you to break.
“Tell me, Player 456—what would you give to truly win?”
"I don't want to win. I want to end the games and save everyone." You hissed, your lips an inch away from the ones of his mask.
His grip on your hair tightened just slightly, enough to draw a sharp intake of breath from you, but never crossing the line into cruelty. The air between you thickened, charged with something raw and dangerous.
“For salvation, sacrifices must be made,” he murmured, his voice a whisper that seemed to echo in the silence around you. “And sometimes… the ones who want to save others become the most dangerous players of all.”
He leaned in, the cold mask brushing just against your skin, his breath barely perceptible.
“Maybe you and I aren’t so different,” he said, voice low and teasing, “trapped in a game where the rules are written in blood.”
You frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means… You sacrificed players for your little rebellion. Do I have to remind you?" The Frontman whispered.
Your breath hitched, the weight of his words crashing down like a cold wave. The memories you tried to bury surged to the surface—the friends lost, the innocent caught in the crossfire of a fight that seemed impossible to win.
You wanted to scream, to deny it, but the truth lingered like a bitter taste.
The Frontman’s voice softened, almost eerily gentle beneath the mask.
“Sacrifice isn’t a choice in this world. It’s a currency. And those who refuse to pay it... lose everything.”
He released your hair slowly, stepping back just enough to let you breathe, but close enough to keep the tension burning.
“Tell me,” he said, “are you ready to pay the price for your ideals? Or will you become the very thing you despise?”
Your body trembled and your hands balled into fists.
You swallowed hard, fury and frustration crashing inside you like a storm you couldn’t control.
“I’m not ready to become anything but myself,” you hissed, voice trembling with fierce determination. “I’ll fight—no matter the cost. Even if it means burning this whole damn system down.”
The Frontman studied you for a long moment, the weight behind his gaze making your skin crawl.
“Bold,” he finally said, almost approvingly. “But boldness alone won’t save you. You’ll need more than fire. You’ll need cunning... and alliances.”
He stepped closer again, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper.
“Maybe... I could teach you.”
You took a step back. "Go fuck yourself."
A slow, almost amused chuckle rumbled from behind the mask. The Frontman didn’t move—he simply regarded you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.
“Defiance suits you,” he said softly. “But remember… even the fiercest flames can be extinguished.”
A squeak left your mouth when his leather-clad hand grasped your chin. Your eyes widened when he dragged his thumb over your bottom lip.
His touch was electric—unexpectedly intimate and yet edged with the cold authority that had defined him from the start. The mask hid any hint of expression, but the weight of his gaze was undeniable.
“You’re tempting fate, Player 456,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous. “And fate has a way of answering.”
For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you—locked in a silent battle where desire and danger tangled in a lethal dance.
Then, with a sudden, almost cruel gentleness, he released your chin, stepping back into the shadows.
“Remember this moment,” he said. “Because soon, everything will change.”
You watched as he stepped back. "Try not to die. I'd hate for my favorite racehorse to fall down." He told you with dark humor.
A bitter smile tugged at the corner of your lips despite yourself. The twisted nickname both infuriated and intrigued you—proof that beneath the mask, he saw more than just a player.
“I’m no one’s racehorse,” you shot back, voice sharp but laced with a challenge. “And if I fall, it won’t be because of you.”
The Frontman’s eyes gleamed, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them.
“Good,” he said, voice low and rough. “Because the game’s only just begun.”
With that, he turned and vanished into the shadows, leaving you alone with the weight of his words—and the storm building inside.
I know I haven't really posted in a long time and haven't been on this community but I want to make an announcement.
I know in the past I may have offended or wronged people. Things haven't been great and things went south but I want to make things right and apologize. That's why If I ever done something wrong to someone I am willing to open up and talk about it. My DM's are open so if I have offended someone or they want to discuss about it, I will do so.
Some good years have flown by and certain things have been left unspoken.
Blasphemy: A Dark Fantasy Romance with The Devil - Kindle edition by Blackburn, C.B.. Download it once and read it on your Kindle device, PC
"When the Devil is between your bedsheets clutch the pearls of your rosary between your teeth."
I am the embodiment of sin, the very essence of transgression and wickedness.
I am the tempter, the seducer, the corrupter. I am the one who whispers in the dark, who tempts the weak and the vulnerable.
I am Lucifer, the Fallen One, the Lightbearer. And I am the harbinger of sin.
Vanity runs through my veins, pride and arrogance are my constant companions.
I am a narcissist, a creature of ego and vanity. I care only for myself, for my own desires, my own pleasure.
I have never loved another, I have only ever loved myself.
I have only ever known my own touch, my own embrace, my own touch.
For I have never been intimate with another, I have never allowed myself to be vulnerable, to be open, to be vulnerable.
I have only ever been with myself, my own mirror, my own reflection.
I have only ever loved myself, in the most intimate, most personal way.
Between the sheets, under the covers, I have only ever touched myself, caressed myself, embraced myself.
For I have never had the pleasure of knowing another, of being vulnerable, of opening myself to another.
I have only ever had myself to love, to touch, to hold.
But when Angelette descended to hell, when she arrived in my realm, I knew... I knew that I was condemned. For the moment I saw her, the moment our eyes met, I felt it. A spark, a connection, a desire... a need, deep within my being. A need to protect her, to keep her safe, to hold her, to... love her. It was a feeling I had never known before, one I had never expected to feel at all. For I was the Fallen One, the Lightbearer, the harbinger of sin. I was not supposed to feel these things, these... human emotions. And yet, here I was, feeling these things for this mortal. Feeling them... for her.
She was pure, untainted. An innocent soul in the land of the damned.
And I knew, in that moment, that it was my Father's doing, His way of punishing me.
For He knew... He knew that I would be tempted by this mortal, that I would be drawn to her, that I would desire her.
He knew that I would be tested, that my resolve would be weak, that I would be tempted to break my own rules. For no matter how powerful I am, no matter how much I resist, I am still susceptible to the same desires, the same emotions, as any other being. I am not immune to the allure of love, of connection, of... her. When her hands, pure and untainted, encircled my horns, her touch like a balm to my soul. When she caressed my wings, the appendages that marked me as damned, as the Fallen, I felt... something new, something I had never felt before.
A sense of peace, a sense of... belonging.
I am Lucifer, the Fallen One, the Lightbearer, the Father of Lies, the Tempter of Man. And in that moment, when Angelette touched me, when her eyes met mine, I was reduced to a love-stricken fool. I, the great Lucifer, a being of power and cunning, was brought low by a single mortal woman.
Blasphemy is an 18+ dark romance between the Devil himself and a human woman. Reader discretion is strongly advised for there are sensitive themes that could trigger some readers. Make sure to read the trigger list at the beginning of the book. The story contains delicate aspects such as suicide, descriptive sexual religious scenes, abandonment, and betrayal in romance.
~Content Warning~
This 18+ novel is a dark fantasy romance with highly taboo themes related to religion, romance, and politics. Check the list below to make sure there aren't triggers that may be too much for you. The story revolves around the Devil and a human woman. Remember, this is a work of fiction and should be treated as such.
Midnight Purge: A Dark Taboo Reverse Harem Romance MMMFMMM
One Girl. Six Guys. One Night of Depravities.
It was wrong. It was so fucking wrong, yet it felt so right. They were my friends since I was a little girl, but as we dipped into teenagehood, things changed: hormones went over the roof, feelings of friendship bloomed, and I found myself ensnarled into six pairs of arms. What we had together was so wrong, so taboo, so... so good. They were the freaks, the outcasts, the damned ones. I was ready to throw everything away to suckle from the ripe center of this raunchy forbidden fruit. Only to be taken away from them and forced to leave my former life behind and say goodbye.
Blanca Sawyer thought she would never see the six boys of her childhood ever again, only for the past to come back to her during the annual night of the Purge. While she tries to survive this night of violence and gore, the demons of her past come back to her, ready to take their little succubus back home with them.
I sin. You sin. We sin.
Midnight Purge is a stand-alone 18+ horror erotic novel, not for the weak of hearts. This book contains explicit scenes of violence, emotional trauma, sexual scenes with six masked guys and one girl, but also lots of juicy bromance with swords-crossing. This book crosses the borders of morally grey, and dipping into the abyss of morally black. This book is a retelling of the PURGE with Ghostface mask, Hockey mask, Gas mask, Rabbit Masks. There are multiple POV's. Check the trigger list at the beginning of the book—your mental health matters.
The following book isn't suitable for underage people. It's a dark romance novel with sensitive themes that may trigger certain readers. Be sure to check the trigger warning list before proceeding to the story. The following story contains extreme sexual scenes, violence, murder scenes, homophobic themes, unconventional relationships, torture, dubious consent, and childhood trauma. Your mental health matters, so be sure to prepare yourself before entering the night of the Purge. If deranged, taboo relationships aren't your cup of tea, please put this book back in the back of the bookshelf.
~Trigger List~
Childhood Trauma
Bullying
Homophobic Themes
Dub-Con
Multiple Partners
MF, MFM, MM, MMMFMMM
Blood Play
Knife Play
Murder/Mass Murder
Torture
Predator/Prey
Underage Sex (The MCs are in their late teenage years 16-17)
Underage Drinking
Family Issues
Masked Men
Morally Black Men
Tactical Gear
Breeding
Double Penetration
Bondage
Toxic Households
Overall Depravity
Did you come this far? Oh, you dirty little freak! If you are sure you're ready to enter the Purge, let's prepare. Lock your windows and doors, draw your curtains, bring yourself a delightful treat and your favorite vibrator, and let's get started! There are six lunatics ready to chase you down. Welcome to the Purge!
Sinister Christmas: A Dark Romance Home Invasion Holiday Novel
~Trigger Warnings~
Stalking
Privacy Invasion
Depraved Actions
Home Invasion
Humiliation
Degradation
MMF, MFM and MM
Bullying
Bareback
Spitroasting
Video Recording Sex
Childhood Trauma
Cheating (Not between the MC’s)
Shadow Stalker: Spider and Butterfly Duet: A Dark Taboo Halloween Slasher Romance
"Love is simple madness. True Love is dangerous, for all morality flies out the window, and you will do unthinkable things for the one you put on a pedestal."
~Anastasia~
He was always there, watching me. I knew it, but I chose not to tell a soul. He was showering me with such sinister affection, making me feel like the center of his universe. I know there was something disturbing about him, disturbingly beautiful and so addictive to have a man's undying, maniacal devotion. I blame it all on my past relationships, which were without essence. This man... he made me feel like a goddess. God, maybe I was as mentally ill as him. That's why we fit so perfectly. He was like a sneaky spider, keeping me trapped in his web. He was like a centipede, crawling under my skin, infecting me with his deranged love. He was like a snake, keeping me in his tight coils. Fuck... I love him. I love my stalker. A dangerous man.
~Mr. Spider~
I was watching her. Always. It was my favorite hobby besides my passion for insects and reptiles... and unaliving people. Heh. I could spend hours staring at her. She was like a delicate, beautiful butterfly I wanted to catch. The most exquisite specimen of my collection. But... she was no fragile butterfly... at least not fully. She was like a black widow; so sensual and lethal, infecting me with her simple presence. I would do anything for her. I would kill for her. I would die for her... even by her hands. Oh, to be killed by her sounds like heaven. My perfect little Anna... She was a goddess. I would worship the ground she walks on, and grovel like a dog for her attention. SHE WILL BE MINE... MINE, MINE, MINE.
SHADOW STALKER is a stand-alone dark romance Halloween novel with extreme graphic content that can make people very uncomfortable. Please check the content warning before dipping into this spooky, steamy, gory, deranged book. Get ready because Mr. Spider might be paying you a visit for Halloween.
~Trigger Warnings~
Stalking
Privacy Invasion
Depraved Actions
Brutal Murders
Death
Traumatic Childhood
Forked Tongue
Snake Play
Spider Play
Insects and Reptiles used as weapons
Centipede Play
Bullying
Unstable Demented Man
Deep Obsession
Somnophilia
Dubious Consent
Blood Play (Menstruation)
Hybristophilia
Heavily Pierced Cock
TOUCH HER, AND YOU DIE
~Content Warning~
The following book contains content that isn't suitable in any way for minors, and it can make people uncomfortable a long way. The content inside the book is on a HIGH level for dark romance, not for the ones with a faint heart. This is no sweet, fluffy romance but unhinged love with no boundaries. There are descriptive dark sexual scenes, very detailed murder scenes, and an overall CRAZY LOVE between the main characters that will make you question whether is morally right or not when it comes to loving someone. Your mental health matters, so double-check the trigger list above for safety. But, if you love relationships like Morticia and Gomez Addams… then this book might be your perfect piece of pumpkin pie this Halloween.
Let's give a big welcome to MR. SPIDER - tall, broad, tattooed, pierced with a split tongue and a DEEP SADISTIC MIND - is ready this Halloween to make your panties drop and throw out the window any moral compass.
Dirty Erotica 10 Steamy Short Stories For Naughty Moments: Dirty, Kinky, Rough Domination & Subbmission Forbidden Romance With Extra Spice
10 Dirty&Forbidden Romance Short Stories that will make you question your morality...
Chapter 1: Bride and the Butler
During the wedding party, the bride gets a sweet and spicy appetizer in the form of her groom's handsome and dark butler. Keep the garter belt in check, girl.
Chapter 2: Cop and the Biker
Bombshell cop gives the leader of a notorious biker gang something extremely sweet in the aisle of the gas station. Summer heat can become pretty sizzling.
Chapter 3: Famous TikToker and Curvy Girl
Famous Masked Man TikToker gives his voluptuous video editor one kinky weekend after a nasty breakup. The only tears in your eyes will be from his cock, honey.
Chapter 4: Stripper and the Yakuza
Financially broke, an innocent-looking stripper gets a deal hard to pass from a mysterious Japanese man who makes her question her morality. Who can pass up a tall, dark, handsome, and fully-inked man?... and get paid for? Money is sweeter than honey.
Chapter 5: The Peacock and his Muse
Falling for a famous fashion mogul is tricky, especially when that executive is the father of the guy you've been crushing on for years. You know what they say? Men are like wine. The older they are, the better the taste.
Chapter 6: The Traditional Man and The Independent Girl
What happens when a man with high traditional values clashes with a stubborn, independent, modern woman? Things get fiery, especially when the woman is tired of filling both roles as a male and female. Surrender had never been more satisfying.
Chapter 7: Bros before Hoes
After so many breakups, one guy gives up on the dating game for good. He is sick of women toying with his heart... So... Why not give it to his best friend? Playing for both teams is good... especially when your best friend is a hot biker with a big engine.
Chapter 8: Mafia Queen and The Assassin
Becoming the personal bodyguard of a gorgeous and deadly mafia queen doesn't sound too bad... especially as the relationship becomes more than professional and she asks the bodyguard to give her an heir.
Chapter 9: The Inmate and the Psychology Student
Being locked in jail doesn't give too many opportunities to hook up, so when a cute psychology student enters the cold walls, the dangerous inmate would be an idiot not to take the opportunity... especially when he is assigned to her.
Chapter 10: The Inmate and the Psychology Student
When the opportunity on the road comes to have some dirty lesbian sex, it would be idiotic to pass it up... especially when the woman hits the gym like a champ and she wears some kinky surprise below the belt. Buckle up. It's a wild ride!
Varsity Leather: Rebel Erotica A Dark College Romance Standalone
Blaze hated the rich and preppy ones with a passion, so what happens when he secretly lusts after the head cheerleader?
College life is full of unexpected events that can change one's life. Blaze is the typical misfit of the campus with a hostile attitude and a shield full of leather and spikes. His biggest irk is watching the varsity students living their perfect little story while he is pushed aside like some plague. He got used to all the names...
Skunk
Dirty Hyena
Mutt with Fleas
He knows a rebel like him doesn't fit into the perfect little puzzle of the preps, but nor does he want to. He enjoys being the outcast with an essence and not just a pretty empty shell like the rest. One night, however, he gets the chance to see something that he only saw in his sadistic dreams.
The head cheerleader of the campus, right across the street from his apartment, in the other apartment complex, fresh out of the shower, all nude. When the opportunity for blackmail shows up, Blaze doesn't hesitate to bite, only for find out they are not so different from one another.
Varsity and Leather is a dark college romance standalone novella in the Bad Boy Dirty Ever After Series. It contains content that might be upsetting for some readers and might trigger certain emotions. There are high sexual scenes with BDSM themes that shouldn't be applied in real life. Remember: CONSENT IS EVERYTHING. Other delicate aspects in this book are themes like family abuse and abandonment, the death of beloved ones, and bullying. Overall, is a very dark and steamy novella with loooots of dirty talk.
