Plot Stories Novels & Stories

Opening my eyes in an unfamiliar place with unknown faces surrounding me, everything started there. I have to start from the beginning again, because I am no longer Ayla Navarez and the world I am currently in, was completely different from the world of my past life. Rumi Penelope Lee. The cannon fodder of this world inside the novel I read as Ayla, in the past. The character who only have her beautiful face as the only ' plus ' point in the novel, and the one who died instead of the female lead of the said novel. She fell inlove with the male lead and created troubles on the way. Because she started loving the male lead, her pitiful life led to met her end. Death. Because she's stupid. Literally, stupid. A fool in everything. Love, studies, and all. The only thing she knew of, was to eat and sleep, then love the male lead while creating troubles the next day. Even if she's rich and beautiful, her halo as a cannon fodder won't be able to win against the halo of the heroine. That's why I've decided. Let's ruin the plot. Because who cares about following it, when I, Ayla Navarez, who became Rumi Penelope Lee overnight, would die in the end without even reaching the end of the story? Inside this cliché novel, let's continue living without falling inlove, shall we?

Sunday, the 10th of July 2030, will be the day everything, life as we know it, will change forever. For now, let's bring it back to the day it started heading in that direction. Jebidiah is just a guy, wanted by all the girls and resented by all the jealous guys, except, he is not your typical heartthrob. It may seem like Jebidiah is the epitome of perfection, but he would go through something not everyone would have to go through. Will he be able to come out of it alive, or would it have all been for nothing?

My husband, Garrett Kachmar, vanished overseas with his ex, Linda Sharpe. They left me with one thing—an illegitimate, screaming baby. Twenty years later, I posted that my "son" had passed his exams. He was joining the police force. That's when Garrett came back. With Linda. And a lawsuit. At the plaintiff's table, Linda looked polished—soft makeup, perfect posture. Her voice? Pure control. "After Garrett divorced, we got married and had a big, healthy boy. Jemma couldn't stand seeing us happy, so she stole our son. We searched for twenty years. She refuses to give him back. We're his biological parents. We have the right to take him." Garrett shot me a glare. "Jemma, just because you can't have kids doesn't mean you get to steal mine." The trial was livestreamed. The comments exploded. [Can't have your own kid so you steal one?] [You destroyed a family. Sick.] [Give him back to his real parents!] Then my "son" was called into the courtroom. And the whole room went dead quiet.

This book gathers different love stories, yes, love stories. All these stories that I collected over time, that were told to me by friends, acquaintances, relatives and others from my own imagination ink. And perhaps, there is some coincidence.

WARNING SPG‼️‼️ This book contains erotic steamy short stories. Some stories are forbidden and they involve seduction, and cheating. Some characters end up together, some continue their s*xual interaction, and some stop. Either way, the stories can make you wet and hard enough to be pleasured.

Back when I was young and dumb, I slapped some college guy working a side gig at a nightclub. My boyfriend had just ditched me for my best friend, Vanessa Shannon. Then, not even five minutes later, I caught her in the corner, sliding her hand under another guy's shirt. He bit his lip and just took it. Something in my brain short-circuited. I stood up and walked over. If Vanessa wanted him, why couldn't I? But the second I reached for him, he smacked my hand away. Vanessa cracked up. The whole private room turned to watch. Mortified, I slapped him. "You work at a place like this. Don't play innocent." Later, my family went broke, and I ended up working at a nightclub just to get by. The private room was loud as hell. I lost a game, and everyone at the table started chanting for me to take my bra off. My face went hot. I stood there, completely frozen. Then a low voice cut through the noise with a cold laugh. "You work at a place like this. Don't play innocent." I looked up. Our eyes locked. His stare was icy, full of pure mockery. It was the college guy I'd slapped years ago.

I'm reading a book about a boy who bullies a girl, but they end up in love? Screw that; if it were me, I'd ruin the plot.

On our Christmas break road trip, my cousin Felix Lloyd spotted some high-powered speakers at a highway rest stop. He had to have them—said he wanted to "blast it." "It's Christmas. We finally get to see everyone! We need some vibe!" My wife, Lana Ramsey, smiled and helped him pay. "Young people have energy. They know how to enjoy life." I yanked the power cord out. "Those aren't for regular cars. This is an EV. Overload it, and the whole system fries. Then what—just stuck in the middle of nowhere?" Lana's parents, Vincent and Donelia, booed me, calling me a buzzkill. Felix cranked the volume all the way up. Lana glared at me. "Say one more word and get out. I'll drive." Later, the speakers fried the battery system. We were stranded in total darkness on a rough mountain road. They finished the last of the food, then shoved me out to "go find help." I slipped, rolled down the slope, and died. When I opened my eyes, I was back—right when Felix jammed the speaker plug into the charging port. I grabbed a few more subwoofers and handed them over. "One isn't enough. Add more. That's how you really crank it."

This is a book of shifter short stories. All of these stories came from readers asking me to write stories about animals they typically don't see as shifters. The stories that are in this series are - Welcome to the Jungle, Undercover, The Storm, Prize Fighter, The Doe's Stallion The Biker Bunnies The Luna's Two Mates

I wondered if any of them would tell my daughter the truth one day, or if they'd build her a kinder lie the way they'd built one for me, the way this whole family seemed to specialize in kindness that was really just another shape of silence. I thought: *I hope she never has to know any of this. I hope she gets to be born into something kinder than what made her.* The room around me had gone soft and far away, voices folding into one long, indistinct hum. I couldn't tell anymore whose hands were on me, whose voice was counting, whose fear was filling the room like smoke. I only knew the sound beside me. The one keeping time with whatever was left of my heart. A single beep. Faint. Uncertain. I reached for the next one the way you reach for a stair in the dark, certain it has to be there, certain your foot will find solid ground if you just trust the rhythm enough to keep going. It didn't come. Then …. a long, final silence.