❖1950's❖ It was wrong, so very wrong. I knew that I shouldn't have felt the way I did towards him, but I did. I couldn't help it. No matter how inappropriate and corrupt our relationship was, I could not let go. He had my heart and soul, everything really. The only problem was he worked for my father. He was a servant. A worker. A laborer. Highest rank: #185 in Fanfiction *One of my first stories so please don't hate on it too much!*

Elle ne s'appelait pas réellement Lolita mais déambulante tard le soir sur son trottoir, elle en était bien une, de traînée. Malgré elle.

[ONGOING ✓] A story about a dying girl and a devilish boy who must work together to ensure her survival. Copyright © 2021 mesmereyes All Rights Reserved [Cover by: Myself]

[Edited Version] “You ever think about letting your hair loose?” Ashton asked, his breath kissing Amor’s neck as they waltzed. “My hair’s fine,” Amor snapped in annoyance. Ashton chuckled. “That’s not what I meant.” His hands slowly hiked up the hem of her dress and her breath caught. “What are you doing?” She uneasily glanced around at the dancing couples. “Giving a new meaning to dirty dancing,” he replied quietly. And he entered her. [Cover by @zarawhite]

Arrachée des rues, Abby est vendue à l'un des hommes les plus riches, les plus puissants et attirant dans le monde, Zayn Malik. Abby aurait facilement été une autre esclave, forcée d'exécuter tous les ordres de Zayn. Excepté une chose. Abby possédait quelque chose de sacré. Quelque chose à laquelle, même l'homme le plus puissant, manipulateur, et beau ne pouvait jouer avec.

"I'm a monster!" he shouted in my face, his veins popping out on his neck. I tried to hold my tears but failed, all these months of patience and anger caused my body to shake, my heart was pounding so loud in my chest that my blood was boiling in my veins. "No Harry! You're not a monster!" I cried out loud, my chest rising and falling from my heavy breathing. He clenched his jaw and fisted his palms and in seconds, he punched the wall that was behind me right next to me, making me gasp for air. All the anger that built inside me was now replaced by fear as his piercing green eyes turned to a darker shade. "How can you say that after what I did to you?" he hissed, his hot breath hitting my swollen lips, his nostrils flaring. I took a deep shakey breath before I parted my lips to answer him. "Because I can see through you, Harry. I can see your innocence."

"It's hard letting go. I'm finally at peace but it feels wrong." {Under going editing. It's being rewritten from the beginning, grammatical errors are being fixed. Should be completely edited and polished by December}

Dans le lycée d'Oxford, un garçon de terminal s'amuse à draguer des filles par message et à les faire tomber amoureuse de lui. Il leur promet cependant une chose : Si l'une d'elles découvre qui il est, il sera à elle et devra réaliser toutes ses volontés. Mais jusque là, personne n'est parvenu à découvrir son identité. Un soir, ce garçon décide d'envoyer un message à Alyssa, une fille de première, à qui il n'a jamais parlé... "Si tu découvres qui je suis, je serai à toi." Que se passe-t-il lorsqu'un jour, un mystérieux garçon vous propose de jouer à un jeu sordide dont vous ignorez les proportions ? © CETTE FICTION EST DISPONIBLE EN LIVRE DEPUIS 2016. Plus de 100 000 lecteurs !

A mysterious tunnel stands in Carter's town. Ever since a little girl, she was told to always stay away from the tunnel. Danger lurks inside of it, and that scared Carter. No one was ever able to see the very end of the tunnel; even daylight couldn't shine through it. Now, 19 years old with such curiosity, Carters friends drag her back to her childhood memory, pushing her into peer pressure and forcing her to see what's really in that tunnel. But, little did Carter know, in the tunnel, there lies a deranged and messed up boy waiting for the next one. » Many fictional and creepy sounding creatures. Do not read in the dark and or if you do not favor horror. * REWRITTEN VERSION UPLOADED NOW *

What would you do if your best friend committed suicide? What would you do if there was no way that you could help them? All there is left, is 199 letters. The only thing they left behind for you. © 2014, Ashley (larrystyIinson), All rights reserved