Bad Male Writing Novels & Stories

“Boston wasn’t exactly the clean slate I hoped for.” Sienna glanced at him. “You left the badge?” He gave a humorless laugh. “The badge left me. You can’t keep investigating what the department’s being paid to ignore.” That landed heavier than she expected. They stopped inside a half-collapsed warehouse. Cole pulled a tarp aside, revealing a hidden stash — gear, weapons, maps, burner phones. Sienna stared, then raised a brow. “You keep an apocalypse kit?” “Learned it from your boyfriend,” he said dryly. “Jax never trusted a world that told him to play by its rules.”

I was shaking my head again but he responded by nodding his head and stilling the movements of my head, "it all stops today, right at this moment. I don't have the patience to deal with it, my little star, not even the least bit of patience. I'm not an angel, never have been and never will be. I would hope that you know that much about me but I've kept my true self hidden from your innocent eyes your entire life because I really did enjoy the innocent relationship that crossed those blurred lines." He let go of my face, his hands now on the tray, "I'm a bad man, Nastassia. The kind of bad they write about in horror movies and the kind of bad they have locked up in cells on foreign islands un

Book One: How to Destroy a Badboy Book Two: The Emancipation of a Badboy Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, places, events and incidents are either a product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, places, events and incidents are either a product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

I sighed. I noticed that he was online. I decided to send him a message on I*******m, maybe he'd answer. I did, but no answer. He did see it. What does that mean? I decided to ask ChatGPT what it means when a guy ignores your text after he has sex with you. Well, it didn't turn out nice. My heart started beating when I noticed the bad reviews. 'He doesn't like you,' 'He's using you,' 'He played you,'

I mean, he already towers over me, do you really need the backup dude? I roll my eyes internally, not willing to do it in front of him, and remain quiet. Why speak? It’s not going to help me in any way? It’s not like I’ll be able to form any coherent words, I’m far too intimidated for that. “Still too good to speak to us?” he steps closer. I was at a disadvantage leaning on the wall. I basically cornered myself for him. I look down. I don’t want to see the malicious intent in those brown eyes of his. They might show more than I’m actually willing to see. I flinch and cower further into the wall if possible, when he punches the wall, right beside my head.

"Or would you rather we both ditch everyone and stay in here?" Girls throw themselves at me at every given moment, it was surprising that even though I did like to have a good time with them, I was not the playboy that everyone thought I was. I mean, I am a very bad boy who has done some very bad things…, trust me when I say that I have done some very very bad thing. But I don't just go around fucking everyone because I can. There's class in limited access and I liked to keep it that way but gossips like the Coral Writer, a popular anonymous blogger had painted me black already.

They're actually several types of writers but the common denominator is they make their writing places convulated when they write. It's because their confusion travels and converts into being nasty in their actions while writing. Sometimes, the dirtier the writer becomes while writing the better they write their pieces. You know what I mean. I hope you get the cause and effect I want you guys to picture, because that is what that is. "Whatever, Shee. I got to go, I know it's sunday and I still got hours to prepare for tomorrow's work, but sorry to mess your paper, I still have siblings to bond with. You know what I mean," I shrugged my shoulders.

However what I didn’t expect were the stumbles of anger that flipped me over the next seconds. “I don’t know who the fuck had led you into this jungle full of horny wolves, but I’ll grace you with the count of three to bolt out… Over my bed body would they prey on you.” Is this Jordan-freaking-I-don’t-give-a-fuck exhibiting the possessiveness I can remember coming across in those typical comic books?

I said out loud before slapping myself in the forehead. Why was that any of my business again? I shouldn’t be concerned, shouldn’t be worrying about things that he himself was responsible for bringing upon himself. That’s the thing with bad boys and the rebels. They act a certain way that seems attractive to you and it draws you to them and then you instinctively want to ‘fix’ the problems they have and make them the better person. But what most people fail to realize is that bad boys are just jerks and spoilt brats that blame the society and everyone else around them for the trouble that they cause.

I had written this. I had written this exact moment in chapter after chapter—Grey Writes had described the sudden, uncontrollable throb, the rush of slick heat, the way a woman’s body betrayed her before her mind could catch up. I’d typed scene after filthy scene about a submissive girl standing perfectly still while a dominant man circled her and spoke low in her ear, and my readers had left comments telling me it felt so real they were ruined for real life. I had been writing from imagination. Until right now.