Lirik Lagu Psycho Post Malone

NOTE: MATURED CONTENT. Excerpt. "On your knees," he commanded, his voice dripping with dominance and lust. "Now." "Please," I whimpered, but he silenced me with a swift slap across my cheek. "Silence!" he barked. "You know what I want. Now open your mouth and take it." As I unzipped his pants and pulled his hard dick out, My lips parted as he shoved his hard cock between them, his hand tangled in my hair as he guided me. "Suck it!! Suck it slut!!" He slapped me again, making me feel more wanted. I loved the pain because I was used to Noah spanking me so hard. "Suck it you little bitch!!" He stroked my hair, his eyes shut as he thrust so hard and fast that I could barely breathe. ************** Britney Williams, the pack's Omega gets married to Alpha Liam Michaelson, a successful billionaire in New York City but she never had enough in bed and the sex he gave her. It happened that Britney's past life wasn't just the type a regular kind of girl would have. She was a Nymphomaniac, the sex freak. It was all about fun and that meant mad, Psycho fun with her first Alpha. Things were going well in her marriage until she couldn't cope with the fact that her husband wasn't satisfying her so hard in bed like "HE" did in the past. When I say "HE?", I mean Britney's ex boyfriend, Alpha Noah Lex. What happens when the beautiful and most elegant but sex driving Britney gets to find out that she just can't go a day without thinking about Alpha Noah's touch? Or the fact that she gets to meet Noah at a store which led to something crazy...... Find out more on; BITTEN BY THE DOMINANT ALPHA:

Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | 18+ | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Pace It started with a kiss I don’t remember giving. A rooftop. A moan. Someone’s fingers buried in my hair like they belonged there. A mouth on my throat that said I tasted like something they lost in another life. I wasn’t dreaming. The city was already cracking beneath me. Power grids flickering like dying stars. Tech failing. Screens static. The sky bruising in strange new colors. Everyone said it was coincidence. Collapse. Noise. But I knew better. The moment I felt her breath on my skin — even if I couldn’t see her — I knew the end had already arrived. And I had something to do with it. Ten butterflies followed me after that. Not literal ones. Not always. They shimmered in my periphery. Each the wrong color. Each too vivid. Each drawn to me like heat to blood. They touched me in dreams. They watched me when I undressed. They whispered without words. I could taste their want. Some called me cursed. Broken. Unstable. But the truth is simpler. I’m blooming again — and they all feel it. They don’t love me. They remember me. They remember what I used to be — what I still am, underneath the silence. One of them burned me with just a kiss. One broke my spine with kindness. One slid her hand under my shirt like it was always hers. One cries when she touches me. One never speaks, but her eyes dig. One wants to keep me. One wants to ruin me. And one just wants to finish what we started. They think I’m choosing. I’m not. My body already did. And now the bloom inside me is turning darker.

Crimson Bloomed: Ascend Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | Coming - of - Age | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Burn The city looked like it had been devoured — chewed up by fire, time, and whatever came after — then spit back out in jagged pieces. Dead drones dangled from power lines like rusted ornaments. Neon signs flickered above fractured pavement, their broken scripts glitching into gibberish. Down the block, a half - melted smartcar burned slow, casting warped shadows across the skeletal remains of a coffee bar. Behind a crumpled tram car, someone crouched low, breath tight in her lungs. The shrieking hadn’t stopped. It came again — sharp, bone-deep, the kind of sound that latched onto your spine and refused to let go. She checked the signal jammer at her hip. Still blinking. Still active. Not for long. They were tracking her. She moved fast — boots silent over broken glass, slipping through the breach in an old laundromat’s wall. Her body moved from muscle memory now: slide through, duck left, over the washer, don’t look at the corpse slumped by the dryer. Out the back. Up the fire escape. On the rooftop, she halted. Not alone. Someone was already there — silhouetted against the bleeding sunset. Combat jacket. Short - cropped hair. Pulse rifle slung casually over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. Like this was just another rooftop, just another war. “Don’t move,” the voice snapped. She lifted her hands slowly. “I’m clean.” “Everyone says that.” “Scan me.” beat. Then the girl stepped forward, rifle still raised but gaze locked in. Dark eyes, sharp, searching — not just for weapons, but tells. Fear. Lies. She lowered the rifle half an inch. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” That wasn’t the line she expected.

On my wedding day, I jumped from the 38th floor of the hotel. It all started when I got together with my first love, Colin Frey. My best friend, Alice Manning, came to me and said she had bound herself to some kind of love system. She claimed that every guy I dated would fall for her and dump me. I thought she was just messing around and did not believe her. However, just a few days later, Colin came to me and confessed that he wanted to break up because he had fallen in love with Alice. After that, I got smart about it. I stopped telling anyone about my relationships and did not even post anything on social media. Yet, somehow Alice always knew. It was as if she had installed some kind of tracking device on me. No matter who I dated, she would find out. Then, within days, they would all fall head over heels for her and leave me behind. I was completely heartbroken, so I moved back to my hometown to get as far away from Alice as possible. Through my parents' arrangement, I was set to marry a guy through a blind date setup. Yet, on the actual wedding day, he stood up in front of everyone and confessed his love to Alice, saying he wanted to marry her instead. My parents, who were sitting in the audience, were so furious and devastated that they collapsed on the spot. They were rushed to the hospital, but it was too late. They were gone. Meanwhile, Alice was wearing the ring that was supposed to be mine, looking absolutely smug as she boasted, "A man this amazing? As if you deserve him. Now he's mine, so why don't you just step aside like a good girl?" I could not take the blow, so I climbed to the hotel rooftop and leapt off without hesitation. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the very moment before Alice had ever mentioned that so-called system.

Le jour de notre anniversaire de mariage, la « muse » de mon mari a posté une échographie d’un fœtus sur Facebook, accompagnée d’un texte : « Merci à cet homme extraordinaire qui m’a soutenue pendant dix ans et m’a offert un fils. » J’ai failli m’évanouir en voyant ça, mais j’ai quand même laissé un commentaire : « Tu as eu un fils avec lui tandis que tu sais qu’il est marié ? » Quelques minutes plus tard, mon mari m’a appelée, furieux : « Tu vois le mal partout ! Je ne fais que lui prêter mon sperme pour une FIV. Elle voulait juste être maman célibataire. » Puis il a ajouté : « En plus, Réa est tombée enceinte du premier coup. Toi, tu as essayé trois fois et toujours rien. Ton ventre ne sert à rien ! » Trois jours avant, il m’avait dit qu’il partait à l’étranger pour affaires. Il ne répondait ni à mes appels ni à mes messages. Je pensais qu’il était occupé. Mais non. Il était avec elle pour son rendez-vous de suivi de grossesse. Une demi-heure plus tard, Réa a partagé une photo d’un festin. « Marre de la cuisine au Pays M. Et Luc a cuisiné pour moi, tout ce que j’aime ! » Je regardais les résultats de ma prise de sang confirmant ma grossesse, mes mains tremblantes, alors que ma joie se transformait en désespoir glacé. Huit ans d’amour fou. Six ans de compromis douloureux après le mariage. Cette fois, c’est fini. Je lâche tout.

Kota Manhattan gempar. Di musim semi yang cerah, mayat seorang gadis ditemukan dalam kondisi mengenaskan. Tangan dan kakinya terikat, sepasang kakinya yang dibungkus sepatu berwarna merah hancur tak berbentuk menyisakan tulang kaki yang remuk. Tak terbayangkan betapa besar rasa dendam yang dimiliki pelaku terhadap korban hingga ia berbuat sebrutal itu. Sebuah misteri terpahat di tungkai yang tersisa, berupa angka tiga yang dibuat dari darah. Tidak ada yang bisa mengerti makna angka yang tertulis itu. Apakah korban ke-3? Atau ... tanggal pelaku membunuh korban? Atau ... sebuah isyarat akan ada korban berikutnya dalam waktu tiga hari? Kent Bigael, detektif dari unit pembunuhan langsung turun ke TKP. Pria yang terkenal temperamental itu tidak bisa menyembunyikan rasa kagetnya. Dalam 20 tahun karirnya sebagai polisi, baru kali ini ia melihat korban dengan kondisi begitu. Korban yang dibakar ada, yang tusuk dan dimutilasi pun banyak. Namun, korban dengan kaki remuk baru kali ini ia temukan. Bersama partnernya, detektif Joey, Kent berusaha menemukan pelaku. Ia mengumpulkan bukti-bukti lalu menyusuri satu persatu jejak yang ditinggalkan korban. Namun, baru saja memasuki hari ke tiga, korban yang lain kembali ditemukan. Ciri-cirinya persis sama. Kent terdiam, udara di sekitarnya terasa membeku. Ia sadar saat ini sedang berhadapan dengan seorang psycho, pembunuh berantai yang saat ini sedang melakukan permainan yang menantang penegak hukum kota Manhattan bermain adu tangkas. Lewat sikap brutal yang ia tujukan pada pemakai sepatu merah, ia ingin menunjukkan bahwa gaya hidupmu bisa membawamu pada kematian. Lewat angka-angka yang terukir ia berkata, jika kalian pintar temukanlah aku dalam waktu yang kutuliskan. Ada apa dengan sepatu merah? Mengapa pelaku hanya mengincar korban yang memakai sepatu merah?

On Christmas Eve, my father got the man I had secretly loved for ten years drunk and sent him to my bed. When I woke up the next morning, Roy pulled away from my attempt at a good-morning kiss. His voice was cold and distant as he agreed to marry me. After the wedding, Roy wasted no time submitting a transfer request. He took an overseas post and left. He did not return for five years. I gave birth to our daughter, Eve, alone and waited for him to come back home. When I heard that Roy had finally applied to return to a domestic position, I was overjoyed. I spent days preparing, imagining our first reunion as husband and wife. But even when the clock struck midnight, he still hadn't come home. Our daughter, ever so thoughtful, placed her most treasured possession—a photograph of Roy—into my hands. "Don't cry, Mommy," she said softly. "Look, Daddy's right here." I tried to convince myself that his absence was due to a delayed flight. But later that night, while watching the news, I saw him. He was on a crowded city street, holding a young girl in his arms. Beside him stood a woman, her smile soft and warm. Facing the camera, Roy said, "Being with them is my greatest wish." At that moment, something inside me broke. I wrote up the divorce papers, packed our things, and planned to take Eve to change her identity. I didn't want him anymore. The day before we left, a man I had never met came to see me. He was Roy's father. "You could call me Dad," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But I'd rather you call me Ryan." I told him everything about the past five years—how I had waited, how I had hoped. When I finished, he laughed softly, an unusual warmth in his voice. "If it was just business," he said, "perhaps your father should have tied a bow around me and sent me to your bed instead. But I hold my liquor well—if I ever end up wrapped in a bow, you can be sure it's by choice."