Batman Scream Novels & Stories

Near the end of the year, my best friend, Bethany Greer, and I decide to buy matching gold-plated bangles from Temu for ten dollars just to keep up appearances. The moment we open the package, we both freeze in shock. The heavy weight in our hands and the dazzling shine of pure gold practically scream luxury and authenticity. My hands tremble as I quickly snap a photo and message the seller. I text, "There seems to be something wrong with this order." The seller replies instantly, sounding incredibly arrogant. "Why did you only say something is wrong only after you received it? What were you doing earlier?" I try to send photos as proof. "No, seriously, look at what I'm holding first. I ordered fake bangles..." The seller does not even look at the pictures and immediately sends a voice message in an incredibly rude tone. "I don't care what you order! Once the package is opened, there's no seven-day return policy! Even if it rots in your hands, that's your problem! Don't try making excuses to scam stuff for free. Once the packaging is opened, it belongs to you. Not even the Almighty can help you return it! "And if you dare spread nonsense, I'll report you for posting malicious reviews!" I stare thoughtfully at the gold bangle on my wrist that is worth thousands of dollars. Well, since he insists so strongly, I guess I'll reluctantly keep it. I just hope he doesn't regret it when he realizes the real bangle is missing!

Charles’ breath quickened, and his movements became more urgent. “I’m close,” he gasped in my ear, his voice breaking between moans. My own pleasure surged, and I couldn’t hold back the scream that tore from my throat. A wave of electric tingles swept through me, my temples throbbed, and the world around me faded into white… Every pore on my body felt wide open, heat radiating from me in waves. It was surreal, as if I were in a dream, feeling everything but grasping none of it… I could hardly believe it—I had married this man, the infamous Alpha of the Black Valley Pack, Charles McLean, and I had just slept with him. But there was no love between us. We weren’t fated mates. Since his first shift at eighteen, Charles McLean had never found his fated mate. And after one engagement after another, each of his fiancées had died under mysterious circumstances. Rumor had it that he wore a mask to conceal his hideous face and that he was a cruel, violent man who would kill without hesitation. People whispered that he had murdered his previous fiancées. His last fiancée—my sister—was terrified of him. Horrified by the stories, she had vehemently refused to marry him. And just before the wedding, she found her fated mate. So, without warning or preparation, I was forced to take her place, pushed into marrying Charles in her stead, to stand as his wife in name only and the unacknowledged Luna of the Black Valley Pack…

Lucia had never believed in rebirth. She had read about it a few times in books tucked away on her shelf, but she never imagined it could be real. Yet, here she was—reborn. This time, she swore she wouldn’t let kindness be her downfall. She would make them pay. Her so-called best friend and husband had used her, drained her of everything, and left her with nothing. They manipulated her, deceived her, and when they had no more use for her, they poisoned her—leaving her to suffer in agony for over a year. What a vile couple. On the night of her death—her own birthday—they stood before her, laughing as they confessed their betrayal. They had taken everything from her, and now, they wanted her to know the full extent of their cruelty. Her husband and best friend, her supposed confidants, had been lovers all along. Worse, they had killed her true mate. Lucia had wept until there were no more tears left to shed. Too weak to fight, too broken to scream, she watched as they reveled in their wickedness, even making out right in front of her as she lay dying. That night, amidst a raging storm, Lucia took her last breath. But when she opened her eyes again, morning light streamed through the window. "Is this heaven?" she whispered, confused. A familiar voice answered. "Lucia, you’re awake! Let me get the doctor!" Brittany exclaimed before rushing out of the room. In that instant, Lucia knew the truth. She had been reborn. And this time, she would make them pay—for everything they did to her and her family.

I've been married to the prince of the underworld for ten years and have endured countless life-or-death situations by his side. My hands, once trained to play the piano, are covered in calluses from holding guns and stained with blood. But at 28, my husband ends up falling for a young woman from the slums. She's as delicate and pure as a chamomile. She's his well-kept little secret—until I run into them at the woman's prenatal appointment one day. I storm up to him, demanding an explanation, only for him to nonchalantly hand me divorce papers. "Sonia is a devout follower of the church and can't have a child before marriage. I must make an honest woman out of her. Sign these, and you'll get 40% of the company's shares." I refuse to do as told, so he corners me. In the end, he has my crippled younger brother tied up and forced under a hydraulic compression machine. "Sign the papers, Maeve, or watch your brother become a human mince pie. The choice is yours." I fall on my knees and beg him to stop. As the machine turns on, my hands fly to my aching lower belly, and I scream as I lose consciousness. When I wake up again, I'm back in the hospital, in the same spot where I ran into my husband and his mistress at her prenatal appointment. This time, I don't confront him. Overnight, I make arrangements with a sanatorium abroad, get divorced, and run away from home. Yet the moment I truly disappear, my husband loses his mind.

BASTARD SON OF THE VIKINGS Palermo does not forgive. Neither does it forget. When Guerrero Valenti, the feared leader of the Vikings, vanished, the city exhaled a dangerous calm—but only for a moment. In the shadows, enemies waited. Rivals sharpened their knives. And one woman bore a secret that could ignite every street in the city. Lucia Romano carried the child of a man who had disappeared into legend and rumor. A son who had not been claimed, not protected, not named. The city whispered of him with venom: the bastard of the Vikings. The boy was fragile, but he was a storm waiting to erupt. And every night, Palermo tested him. Masked men tried to snatch him from his crib. Fire, steel, and blood became his lullabies. Yet he survived. Every threat only sharpened his instincts, every scream hardened his mother’s resolve. But whispers spread faster than steel through the night—rumors of a man returning. A shadow that would claim everything, sparking fear in every heart: Guerrero Valenti. The father who abandoned him. The legend whose name alone commands obedience. The storm that will rise, carrying vengeance, blood, and fire. And when he comes, Every man who dared call the bastard his enemy will fall. Every street, every roof, every whispered corner will bow to the son of Guerrero Valenti or be washed in blood. This is the story of survival. Of fire and steel. Of a mother and her son. Of a father’s return. Even the earth is getting ready to absorb blood … the blood of those who call the legitimate son of the Vikings a “BASTARD", and collect necks........the necks of those fallen by the sword of GUERRERO VALANTI. And upon his return Heads will bow to the one they called a BASTARD .

Sweet warning, my darling sinner… These pages are dripping with the kind of temptation that will make your thighs clench and your prayers turn filthy. Once you start reading, you won’t want absolution—you’ll beg for more sin. Reader discretion is strongly advised. In shadowed confessionals and candlelit cathedrals, forbidden desire ignites again and again… She kneels in nothing but a sheer black lace nightdress that barely hides her hardened nipples, wrists bound in leather and silver chains. “Forgive me, Father,” she whispers, voice trembling as the cold rosary beads slip between her slick folds. His deep voice answers from the darkness: “No forgiveness tonight, little lamb… only my cock teaching you how to worship.” Another night, another altar. A different priest’s strong hand slides under her nightdress, fingers circling her swollen clit while his lips brush her ear: “You came here to confess your sins… but your dripping pussy already told me everything.” And in the moonlit sacristy, she’s bent over the holy table, nightdress hiked up, collar tight, as he growls against her neck, “Every time you moan my name, another angel loses its wings… now scream for me, baby girl.” Ten scorching stories. Ten powerful priests. One deliciously wicked collection of priest-sinner BDSM romance that will leave you wet, breathless, and aching to be ruined. Leather. Chains. Rosaries used in ways God never intended. Unholy pleasure has never felt so heavenly. **Indulge. Submit. Sin.** Ready to kneel for every single story? Turn the page… and let them all ruin you.

My sister was autistic. The doctors called it "severe sensory overload." The rule was simple: No sudden noises. Ever. So my whole life was set to mute. I never wore heels. I never raised my voice. I wasn't even allowed to laugh. It was all to keep her from having a meltdown. My father, Victor, the Don of the Castellano family, would grip my shoulder. His face was a mask of apology. "Sera, you're my good girl. Protecting your sister is our duty. You're healthy and strong. You can sacrifice a little for her, can't you?" That day, I was on the second-floor terrace and accidentally knocked over a pot of white roses. The sound of it shattering sent my sister, who was sunbathing in the garden below, into a meltdown. For the first time, Victor glared at me like I was the enemy. He roared, "Can't you just be quiet? Do you want to drive her insane?" My sister backed away in terror, right into a glass table, and let out a piercing scream. Victor charged past me, a blur of rage and panic. He slammed into me on the stairs as I was running down to help. I lost my footing and crashed chest-first into the sharp corner of a wrought-iron banister post. Pain exploded in my chest. I opened my mouth to scream, but only silence came out. My family swarmed around my shrieking sister. No one even glanced at me. My lungs filled with blood. I was drowning on the floor. They all thought my sister, the one with autism, needed the family's comfort. They thought I just took a fall. That I could wait. They were wrong.

I was supposed to call him Daddy out of respect. Now I scream it while he uses me like his personal fuck toy. After my mother’s sudden death, I had nowhere to go until my devastatingly handsome and wealthy stepfather, Alexander Voss, offered me a home. What began as innocent dependence quickly turned dangerously addictive when he caught me with a toy and decided I no longer needed it. From that night, he claimed me completely. “You’re Daddy’s sex toy now,” he growled, his hand around my throat. “Every hole belongs to me.” Twice my age, filthy rich, and dangerously possessive, Alexander dresses me in nothing but a collar and heels, makes me wear vibrating plugs in public, and takes me whenever he wants even during important business calls. I know it’s wrong. I know I should run. But every time he calls me his good little toy and fills me with his cum, I crave more. As our forbidden relationship deepens, Alexander’s obsession grows darker. He moves us to his private island for total isolation and gives me one final ultimatum: fully submit and carry his child. Trapped between guilt over my mother and my addiction to his dominance, I must decide if I can truly become Daddy’s forever. Warning: Extremely explicit. Contains heavy daddy kink, age gap, breeding, free-use, degradation & praise, and taboo stepfather/stepdaughter themes. For 18+ readers only.

“You’ve spent seven years running from my scent, Madeline, but you’re still wearing the bruises I gave you like jewelry. Did you really think I’d let you come home without putting you back on your knees?” The North Reach is a kingdom of ice, iron, and ancient blood, where the weak are exiled and the strong are hunted. Seven years ago, Madeline Cruz was the disgrace of the pack—a girl with a sharp tongue and a wooden bat who broke the arm of the Alpha-heir and was cast into the sun-bleached purgatory of Los Angeles. She returns not as the girl they broke, but as a woman forged in fire, hiding scars that run deeper than any claw mark and carrying a family heirloom that marks her for a destiny she never asked for. But the Reach hasn't forgotten her. Harrison Cole, the boy she once leveled in the dirt, is now a man of lethal ambition and predatory grace. He is the future Alpha, a king-in-waiting who views Madeline’s return as a challenge to his crown—and a feast for his wolf. He doesn't just want her gone; he wants her ruined. He wants to hear her scream his name in the dark and watch her defiance shatter under the weight of his command. As the Cruz family’s dark secrets begin to bleed through the polished floors of their estate, Madeline finds herself caught between a father who sold her out and a lifelong enemy who tastes like woodsmoke and danger. In a world where wolfsbane and silver are the only laws, Maddie must decide if she’s back to reclaim her throne... or to burn the entire pack to the ground.

"You really want me to worship you? well guess what? When I get on my knees, spread your legs apart, and dive into your gushing core with my tongue, and you grab my hair from behind, screaming, oh God! That is worship!" Vlad bellowed. For the first time ever, Ivy went tongue-tied. Ivy Greene hates men. It's not just a phase, or a front. She actively hates them. All her life, she has lived, surrounded by women. Most importantly, her grandmother who taught her to hate men. So when she finds a man in her living room, and her grandmother tells her he is her betrothed, her first reaction is to faint. She wakes up in a wedding gown, all dolled up, with a note plastered on the mirror in the strange room. The moment she crosses through the door, her entire life changes as she steps into the world of Vladimir Bratva, the youngest, yet most feared mafia lord in the world. Vladimir is taken aback by her venomous tongue she wastes no time using to show him just how little she thinks of men. He's only used to men hating him, so she's an amusing development. Both strong-headed, they clash in every way. But the most explosive way is between sheets, where Vladimir shows Ivy the kind of results passionate hate can produce. Her perspective starts to shift. Because how can the same kind of person she has been groomed to hate, make her scream so much, and not in anger? Just when she begins to rethink her orientation, the ghost of their ancestral past, intertwined in the most toxic way, resurrects. Sending them on a ride that changes everything.