| C O M P L E T E D | Subject Six is a genetically advanced human. Created in the new world of science, there are only four of her kind. Humans designed to be weapons in the new age, created with similar a DNA structure as animals. Raised in isolation, with no one but her Handler, she soon discovers that she is the only female that survived creation. Which means she is the only female, among three fully grown males, And she has to fight for her rank in the pack. Top Rank: #7 in The Best 1000: Science Fiction Stories (26/03/2017) Top Rank: #6 in The Best 1000: Science Fiction Stories (24/05/2017) Top Rank: #5 in The Best 1000: Science Fiction Stories (14/06/2017)

"Make me a woman...your woman," she whispered so innocently. I had waited for this moment for so long and had planned every detail in my mind, but all of those details were lost now. I wanted to use foreplay just to get her ready. she was already slick, but it wouldn't be enough "Do it Blake...hurry," she whispered before her small tongue darted out and licked my lips.I groaned at the innocent look in her eyes, it always drove me wild. Her fingers found his hard shaft and guided it to her virginity.......... Meet Angel, Angel is the innocent, red head, sixteen year old youngest daughter of the Beta. She is unable to shift due to certain factors and has a troubled past that seems to be coming back to life once more, but one would never know from her crazy antics, naive mindset and immature ways. She is occasionally bullied, but manages to keep her smile through anything and everything. She has overprotective best and only friend, Ashley, who seems to be the only one who can tolerate Angels antics and who will protect her in a heart beat from guys and girls. Now throw in Blake, the soon to alpha, he's relaxed, down to earth and completely clueless about Angel being the betas youngest daughter. So what happens when he find out they're mates. Watch Angel grow throughout the pages and confront her past, present and future with the help of Blake. So join Blake and Angel in their crazy, funny and completely ridiculously journey of love and acceptance. *Warning Angel is a fun, loving, immature characters, it will take awhile to get her mature it does't happen overnight*

|18+| In one night of drunken, post-breakup passion, Lizbeth manages to hookup with the dominant boy of her dreams. It was supposed to be a one night stand, one and done, never seen again. Until she does see him again, as her professor. Private tutoring sessions never sounded so good. |This is a BDSM-themed, erotic romance. If that and other assorted pervy things do not appeal to you, take this as your warning.| × Highest Rankings × #1 in Breakup #1 in Kink #1 in Passion #1 in Professor #2 in teacherxstudent #32 in Romance

In which a girl can't go a day without an anxiety attack and a boy can't go a day without noticing

I sat behind the couch, scrunched in a fetal position, hiding from the sliver of sun which managed to squeeze its way out from behind the drapes. My tormentor. Once a beloved friend, now it holds me captive behind this couch with nothing to keep me company but some cobwebs and fuzzy dust-bunnies. My newly improved eyes spotted a small, dark colored circular disk amongst the shag carpet. Slowly I eased my way over to it. Score! It's a brown M&M. Popping the tiny sweet treat into my mouth, I carefully chewed...trying not to puncture my lips with my freshly acquired fangs. I smiled. Today is looking up.

This is a book filled with poems, short stories, songs, and writings about the silent addiction that is self harm. Some are written by me, some are some I found on the Internet, and others are some that people sent.

(The sequel to Inamorata) Death has long been a subject that preys upon Nightingale's mind. Her life has never been a safe one, not with her past in the bordello and her occupation as a government agent. Death has always been close to her; she used to long for it in her suffering, and now she fears that it will take away her happiness, but it has always been her own life she has worried for. But when the life of someone else suddenly hangs in the balance, she will be forced to choose between love and morality.

Lexie is not a warrior. In fact, Lexie is a painter. Her hands are always covered in paint. Never coming off. Always there. For Lexie, painting is an escape. An escape from her pain. She paints to avoid the darkness that is in her soul. She paints to avoid looking at the bleeding wound inside her chest. She paints. To forget. But then Lexie meets someone. Her mate. He also hides a dark anger inside him. An anger at everything and the world around him. When two souls collide, how do you fix each other? Atlas isn't looking for a mate. He's seen the effect of women within his life, and how cruel they can be. But then he meets someone. Someone he doesn't want to meet. A painter soul. And a warrior's heart. How will the two collide? ***Note this can be read as a stand-alone story. Moon Child can be found on world_joy_ bio page - feel free to read it to get other characters background story. Highest rank #1 in werewolf Thank you for reading Copyright: ©Joy (world_joy_) All rights reserved

"What the hell?" I took a step closer to the mirror, staring at my reflection in disbelief. The person looking back was still me, but at the same time it wasn't. I had the same thick, dark, curly hair. The same hazel eyes. The same olive skin with a light dusting of freckles (ugh) scattered across the bridge of my nose. But my curls were now streaked with highlights. And not the subtle, golden-brown ones that sometimes appeared during the summer. No, these were an aggressive, dazzling blond that went from the roots of my hair all the way to the tips. It looked like I had spent a full day getting my hair done in some upscale salon. Never mind that I had never set foot in such a place since the day I was born. My eyes appeared somehow wider and more luminous. The colour brighter, my eyelashes darker up against them. And, when I looked closely, my pupils seemed to be slitted almost like a cat. I looked down at my body. My skinny arms-which had always refused to gain any definition no matter how hard I exercised-were lined with flat, wiry muscles. My bony shoulders were now curved and smooth. My scrawny legs were toned like a dancer. I reached down and lifted my shirt, revealing two subtle lines running vertically down my perfectly flat stomach, hinting at the rock-hard abs underneath. My whole body was rippling with strength. Like liquid steel.