Is Scrawl Suitable For Young Adults?

What happens when innocence is completely, deliciously ruined? Dive into Ravished: A Collection of Sin, with a scorching lineup of forbidden short stories that shatter every boundary: Eager students seducing their stern professors… Innocent maids bent over by their ruthless billionaire bosses… fierce mafia bosses claiming what's theirs in blood-soaked deals and hidden rooms… ambitious interns flipping the power on ruthless CEOs… massive age-gaps that cross unforgivable lines… stepdads claiming teasing stepdaughters… good girls surrendering to strangers in dark clubs… blistering MxM, dripping F/F, wild group scenes, and every twisted shade of taboo that leaves you breathless and aching. These aren't gentle teases. They drench you in sin, wreck your composure, leave you burning with shame, and craving more. One click is all it takes. One forbidden read that will leave you absolutely consumed by desire.

⚠️ CONTENT WARNINGS: Explicit sexual content. Taboo and forbidden relationships. Stepfather/stepdaughter. Stepbrother/stepsister. Father-in-law. Age gap. Dubious consent. Possessive and controlling men. Stalking. Dark obsession. Power imbalance. Boss/employee. Mafia. Enemies. Jealousy. Degradation. Praise kink. Rough sex. Multiple partners. Cheating (not between main characters). Morally grey everything. This is not for good girls. Good girls don't read this. Good girls don't wonder what it would feel like to get caught, pinned, owned. Good girls don't lie awake thinking about the man they're not supposed to want — the stepfather who looks at them like a problem he's decided to solve, the stepbrother who knows exactly what he's doing, the boss who makes the air thin every time he walks into the room. If you're a good girl, close this now. Still here? Good. Make Me Scream, Daddy is a collection of filthy, unhinged, no-apology erotica for the woman who wants it wrong, wants it rough, and wants it with a man who has absolutely no business giving it to her. These are short stories, not slow burns. There is no waiting. There is no fade to black. There is only the moment things tip over the edge — and then everything that comes after. Stepdads who stop pretending. Stepbrothers who don't. Dangerous men who decided you were theirs before you even knew their name. Bosses who ruin the professional relationship on purpose. Stalkers who make you feel seen in ways that should terrify you and don't. These men are not good for you. That's the point. 100 chapters. Zero remorse. Read alone. Or with your little Rose.

Welcome to the anthology that will leave you soaked, shaking, and begging to be next. Twisted women who thought they could walk away untouched. Possessive, unhinged men who made sure they never would. These men come for you in the dark corners of your life. These men don’t ask. They take. They take you until your thighs shake and your voice breaks. They edge you with filthy touches until you’re begging for the penetration they withhold just to watch you break. And the women? They’re not sweet innocents anymore. They’re bad girls who teased too hard, virgins who secretly ached to be wrecked, heartbroken sluts who spread for revenge, secretaries who sabotage just to feel the whip of punishment, students who hack grades to earn a professor’s cruel cock. They fight. They curse. They hate how much they crave it. Then they shatter—screaming, dripping, marked, owned. Every story drips with taboo heat: Men that don’t share unless they decide you’re worth passing around. Women that don’t escape, but beg to be ruined again. Warning: If you like romance with feelings and fade-to-black, run now. If you want to be left soaked, aching, and haunted by possessive daddies who wreck you senseless and call you their filthy little slut… Open the book. Spread your legs. Let them ruin you. One touch. One bite. One night… and you’re ruined for anyone else. One page in, and you’ll be touching yourself like the desperate slvt you were born to be. EXTREME CONTENT WARNING!!! This anthology is pure, unfiltered dark erotica. If you are triggered by any of the following, STOP READING Dubious/non-consensual consent Age gaps Voyeurism Step-family/taboo Daddy kink & heavy degradation Public sex Gangbangs, double/triple penetration, reverse harems BDSM

Not every fantasy is gentle. Not every desire plays by the rules. Some pleasures are dangerous. And these stories? They come with teeth. Behind closed doors and under tight sheets, women surrender to the hunger they’re not supposed to have… and the men who know exactly how to feed it. From a gynecologist who crosses the line with a patient who wants more than a check-up… To a reverend’s wife who falls for a man she sees every Sunday and sins with every chance she gets… To a virgin student who learns her first lesson in the back office of her lecturer… To a nanny who becomes the one thing her boss can’t resist… This isn’t about love. This is about lust… raw and dripping. Forbidden romance. Unholy cravings. So if you’re looking for soft kisses and fairy tale endings… Turn back now. But if you’re ready for something that makes you squirm in your seat… If you want stories you’ll replay in your head long after the last line… Then go ahead. Open the book.

At nineteen, you're expected to have the perfect blueprint. To navigate university effortlessly and finally act like a real adult. ​Kelsey Vance is ready for it. ​But reality doesn't care about blueprints. When the illusion fades, nineteen becomes less about having the answers, and more about the beautiful chaos of who you become when the expectations vanish.

Crimson Bloomed: Ascend Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | Coming - of - Age | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Burn The city looked like it had been devoured — chewed up by fire, time, and whatever came after — then spit back out in jagged pieces. Dead drones dangled from power lines like rusted ornaments. Neon signs flickered above fractured pavement, their broken scripts glitching into gibberish. Down the block, a half - melted smartcar burned slow, casting warped shadows across the skeletal remains of a coffee bar. Behind a crumpled tram car, someone crouched low, breath tight in her lungs. The shrieking hadn’t stopped. It came again — sharp, bone-deep, the kind of sound that latched onto your spine and refused to let go. She checked the signal jammer at her hip. Still blinking. Still active. Not for long. They were tracking her. She moved fast — boots silent over broken glass, slipping through the breach in an old laundromat’s wall. Her body moved from muscle memory now: slide through, duck left, over the washer, don’t look at the corpse slumped by the dryer. Out the back. Up the fire escape. On the rooftop, she halted. Not alone. Someone was already there — silhouetted against the bleeding sunset. Combat jacket. Short - cropped hair. Pulse rifle slung casually over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. Like this was just another rooftop, just another war. “Don’t move,” the voice snapped. She lifted her hands slowly. “I’m clean.” “Everyone says that.” “Scan me.” beat. Then the girl stepped forward, rifle still raised but gaze locked in. Dark eyes, sharp, searching — not just for weapons, but tells. Fear. Lies. She lowered the rifle half an inch. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” That wasn’t the line she expected.