Nori Michaels has heard horror stories about the south from every family member possible. They were even more appalled when they were informed that Nori managed to get a very well paying job in Texas for a very influential white family. They saw it as a death sentence. Nori saw it as an opportunity. She was too ambitious for her own good. Nori thought she could handle anything thrown at her until the house owners brute of a son comes to stay for while. Oh Nori was not prepared for him...

love • /ləv/ an intense feeling of deep affection.

©- 𝙰 𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙴𝚈𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚂𝙴𝚁 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙳𝚄𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐓✍︎︎

sevyn & mir loves story ♥️

will yari be able to get away from her abusive boyfriend, can her friends save her and her baby or will yari die trying to get away from the 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 that cost her the most pain. not a poly book. COMPLETED

"So when you gon' stop playing and let me hit that shit, Zuria?" Mitch asked while he smoked a blunt in my mother's living room and we both sat on the floor. "Let you hit this?" I asked, raising an eyebrow as I watched him blow smoke into the air. "Yeah." He smirked, cockily. "How about when you learn how to talk to your girlfriend?" I took the blunt out of this hands and smashed it on the ashtray that was on the coffee table. "Whatchu do that for?" He bit his bottom lip, leaning into me. "Hm?" He went on, softly biting my neck. "I've told you, you can't smoke in here, Mitchell." "You're really not even supposed to be here." I said to him, considering my mother did not condone boys in her house but here he was. He'd completely ignored me though as he mushed his head into my neck, leaving small kisses. "Stop." I whined playfully as he pushed himself up onto me and kissed my lips, pushing me backwards with our lips still attached. "Mitch." I spoke nervously as he climbed on top of me while I now laid my back onto the carpet. "Let me hit that shit, ma." He spoke softly into my ear as he continued leaving kisses on my neck. "Mitch, we cant. My mom will be home from work soon." I expressed to him but he ran his hands up my school skirt anyway. "Stop bitchin'." "Let me finally pop that cherry, Z." He spoke, putting his lips on mine as he slowly moved my underwear aside and rubbed his fingers against my Girl. "Mm." I moaned, unfamiliar with this feeling but it felt great. And though I knew my mother would be here soon, I no longer wanted to stop. He continued rubbing it as I laid there, looking up into his eyes. As I did, he smirked down at me and I smiled small, rubbing a hand down his cheek. I was so in love with this boy.

"I hate you." "Are you sure? I don't think I got a fair chance." "I am." "Are you very sure?" "Has anyone ever told you that you're full of yourself?" "No." "Well, they should." ·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ Her definition of perfect was quiet and dull. He was anything but. Theo Parker was full of life; smiles always lighting his face and a camera on him, ready to snap a photo at any given moment along with almost living at the basketball court. Smiling at anyone who looked his way. She wanted to hate him, but she couldn't find it in her to do so. He defined perfection as impossible. Until he met her. He was aware of the glares and harsh words she sent his way, but under what seemed like not so subtle hatred she was smart and caring. Camilla Moretti didn't need anyone's approval or cared about their opinions. She didn't need anyone, and he admired that. Sometimes staying is easier than leaving; but maybe leaving would've been more simple. ·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ I just wish someone would stay

"You're atheist," I remind him. "You don't believe in god." "I believe in you," He murmurs, letting the cigarette hang from his lips. "I believe in whatever you believe." He says, letting the confession roll off his tongue as if it were that simple. As if god, the devil, heaven, hell-as if none of it really had meaning to him. "That's not how it works," I mutter as we walk down a few more alleyways-the city of Manhattan coated in a light blanket of snow. Henry Vitiello had never had anything to pray for, that is, until he met me-the only thing that had ever opened his mind up to the possibility of religion "Isn't it?" He argues, taking the cigarette by his middle and pointer finger before blowing the smoke out. "I'II dip my hands in holy water if it means I could touch you." "You'd probably burn." 𓆩♡𓆪 𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐘 𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎, the reaper. He's a prick. An asshole. A pretentious son of a bitch. He's not perfect. He's not even decent. But he's hers. She could be a bottle labeled poison but he was an alcoholic, and he had drunk her empty. Now he was hungover. 𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒, the healer. She's known to be the perfect good girl, with perfect grades and a perfect life with a perfect family. They didn't know that behind the gated doors of their billion dollar estate, she was strapped down to a chair every night and picked apart just to be put back together in time for supper. 𓆩♡𓆪 star-crossed; adjective (of a person or a plan) thwarted by bad luck. 'star-crossed lovers' and that, they were. So they fucked under those very stars that tried so desperately to break them apart. 𓆩♡𓆪 ‼️DISCLAIMER ‼️ BOOK REFERENCES TO MARA DYER, SHATTER ME, MIND FUCK, ETC ARE ALL INTENTIONAL SO DONT BE RUDE. AS FOR TRIGGER WARN

━━━━━━ "y'all suck" completed. fluff. smut. chat-fic. crack. ༉‧₊˚✧

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐧𝐚𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭...