Chapter 2 #2
It started innocently enough. Two months ago, I was doing legitimate research on the official Villain Watch database. It was a perfectly reasonable, mundane activity for an Alliance Keeper.
Then I hit a rogue sidebar link labeled BadGuysDoItBetter.
Turns out, a massive community existed to appreciate the League’s worst offenders.
They didn’t give a single damn about respecting tactical abilities or analyzing match statistics either.
They cared about slow-motion combat footage set to heavy, sultry bass lines.
They obsessed over the flex of a bicep or the swagger of a Villain walking away from a burning building.
Before I registered the danger to myself, I fell headfirst down a digital rabbit hole.
Suddenly, I was spending hours scrolling endlessly through the #MaskedTemptations tag on both Villain Watch and it’s corresponding app, ShadowSnap.
I consumed hundreds of fan edits highlighting Villains looking particularly… Villainous.
And one masked Villain in particular hijacked my entire algorithm.
Cipher.
He was the League’s number one star. His fame, or infamy, depending on who you asked, only kept rising.
The world only ever saw his iconic half-mask visor, a featureless black mask that came to a subtle point just above his lips. leaving nothing but his mouth and jaw visible.
God, what a mouth it was. It was always caught in a cruel smirk, like he knew something the rest of the world didn’t.
Every time a new video of him appeared, my eyes instantly went to his mouth. I’d watch his lips curve into that infuriating half-smile that had taken up permanent residence in my most humiliating fantasies.
His personal absence from social media only fueled the community’s obsession. He didn’t post manifestos or taunt Heroes online. That silence created a vacuum that his fans filled with explicit theories and elaborate, filthy fantasies.
And I let myself be sucked right into the center of the madness. I read the theories. I watched the looped edits of his bare hands wrapping around a Hero’s throat. I sat in my sterile, rule-bound world, consumed by one of the very monsters I was supposed to condemn.
“Annie.” Havoc was staring at me, his eyes too perceptive. “Go home. That’s an order, not a suggestion.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he shook his head.
“I won’t force you to miss the match between Dread and Obsidian tomorrow, but you’ll only be there as an observer, not my Keeper,” he continued, his tone softening. “But you need to seriously think about taking a vacation. A real one. Before you burn out.”
I recognized a losing battle. “Fine.”
On my way back down to the lobby, I pulled my phone from my pocket and immediately regretted it.
My screen was a solid wall of Alliance notifications. Dozens of urgent messages stacked over each other. A dull ache at the back of my neck transformed from uncomfortable tightness into excruciating tension.
I swiped the entire cluster of notifications away without reading a single word and shoved my phone deep into my bag.
Thirty minutes later, I was fumbling with my keys outside my apartment door. My neck felt like it was in a vice, the pain radiating up my skull. If I didn’t deal with it soon, I’d be puking from a migraine.
“Dawn?” I called out as I stepped inside, already kicking off my shoes. “You home?”
Nothing but silence answered me, thank god. As much as I loved Dawn, I couldn’t handle her boundless energy just then.
I made a beeline for the bathroom, peeling off my clothes and leaving them in a sad little heap on the floor as I jumped into the shower.
The hot water scalded my shoulders, needles of heat digging into knotted muscle.
I moaned and didn’t care who heard. For the first time all day, something hurt good.
I emerged feeling semi-human again, wearing my oldest, softest pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt that read “I Survived the Battle of Pheonix Bridge,” merchandise from one of Havoc’s more publicized street clashes.
I piled my wet hair on top of my head in a messy bun; future Annie could deal with the resulting weird flat spots because current Annie didn’t have the energy to give a single fuck.
After I poured myself a glass of wine, I settled onto my bed.
My phone buzzed again. Another Alliance alert, another demand, another reminder that I was always on. Always the responsible one.
I ignored the phone as I looked toward my laptop. I knew what I’d find there.
Him.
I set my wine glass on the nightstand and opened Villain Watch. The underground feed was already a mess of uploads and encrypted tags.
Holy hell.
An account had just dumped a fresh batch of images from the museum heist earlier today. Cipher dominated every single frame in all his glory. The first few shots were chaotic blurs of his black armor, capturing the precise moment he encountered the security team.
Then they turned into something that made my heart beat faster.
In one, he was turned directly toward the security camera.
Of course his mask revealed nothing, but that devastating mouth was perfectly framed.
His lips were curved into an arrogant smirk that promised the exact brand of trouble that started with a whispered dare and ended with you begging on your knees.
His hand rested casually on a bit of railing. His long fingers curled slightly inward. I was already imagining those fingers wrapped around someone’s throat.
My throat.
This was the part of the evening where I was supposed to close the laptop. I needed to walk away, take another gulp of wine, and pretend I wasn’t getting wet just looking at a man’s hands and mouth.
My pussy throbbed and ignored the rational, rule-following Alliance Keeper in my brain.
I reached blindly into my nightstand drawer, shoving aside charging cables until my fingers locked around the smooth, cold silicone of my vibrator.
The laptop stayed open because I needed to see him.
I studied his hand in the photograph, the way the railing was actively buckling beneath his grip. He broke people as easily as he broke the law.
I wondered if I would break, too.
I parted my thighs and kept my gaze locked on his mouth, pressing the vibrator firmly against my clit. I squeezed my eyes shut, letting the darkness swallow my bedroom, as the fantasy took over.
In my mind, Cipher materialized out of the shadows of my room.
He slammed me back against the mattress. He was massive, his body a perfect, suffocating weight as he pinned me in place. One hand clamped around my throat, just like the picture, his fingers digging in tight enough to bruise.
“You spend all day leashing monsters, but you’re begging to be devoured by one,” he murmured, his voice a dark rasp right against my ear.
I arched into the phantom weight of him. I imagined him tearing my clothes away, his movements ruthless. He didn’t prep me. He didn’t care that I was trembling. He just forced my thighs apart and drove his cock deep into my aching pussy.
He filled me, stretching me out with a punishing rhythm I couldn’t get enough of. He leaned down, pinning my wrists above my head, and spoke absolute filth into my ear. He detailed every degrading way he was going to use my body.
My breath hitched and my hips jerked as pleasure wiped my mind blank. I rode the agonizing waves until the climax left me tangled in my own blankets.
When my eyes finally fluttered open, they landed on Cipher’s image. His smirk was frozen in time. He looked like he knew exactly what I’d just done.
Like he was daring me to do it again.
I was everything I professionally despised, a Super-obsessed fangirl with too much time on her hands and not enough shame in her heart. A fangirl who followed twelve ShadowSnap accounts dedicated to Cipher.
Twelve accounts dedicated to a man I was supposed to hate on principal. A man whose files I’d memorized, whose fights I “reviewed” under the guise of professional responsibility, whose mouth I’d traced with my finger on my phone screen more times than I could count.
I rolled onto my side as the laptop’s screen dimmed.
My body was boneless, my mind finally quiet now that I’d just come harder to a fantasy than I ever had to a real man.
I should delete the accounts and pretend my obsession never happened.
Instead, I pulled the sheets higher, as if they could hide me from myself.