Pain Naruto Ripped Cloak

My childhood sweetheart and my older brother both fell in love with Rose, the Omega who had just sought refuge from the Northern Pack. The one who broke our engagement said, "Grace is the kind of Luna who was born to stand beside an Alpha. I’m just not worthy of her." The other had forgotten our mother’s dying words. "Rose has suffered so much. If I share half the love I gave you with her, that wouldn’t be too much, would it?" On the day of my birthday, my mate chose to throw a party for Rose instead. On the anniversary of our mother’s death, my brother was happily celebrating with Rose and her mother, helping deliver her kitten. They went with her to the Snowpine Pack to take part in the Royal Totem Insignia Design Contest and personally draped the cloak of honor over her shoulders. And me? I set fire to the house that held all our memories. I drank a potion bought from a witch, severed every mind-link I had, and faked my death in that fire, then left the Northern Pack without a word. When news of my death reached Snowpine, those two men, who had already cast me aside, went mad with grief. They rushed back to the Northern Pack overnight and collapsed in front of the burned-down house, crying like their hearts had been ripped out.

Warning: This book is fucking disgusting. If the thought of getting your tight little holes stretched, used, and ruined makes you uncomfortable, close it right now and go read something vanilla. But if your pussy is already dripping and your thighs are squeezing together… keep reading, you filthy little slut. Throw away every safe, sweet romance you’ve ever touched. This collection doesn’t ask permission. It kicks the door down, grabs you by the hair, slams you face-down, and fucks you raw until you forget your own name. No slow burn. No gentle teasing. No fade-to-black bullshit. Every story starts fast, hits harder, and doesn’t stop until she’s spread wide open, stuffed full of thick cock, leaking load after load from every hole, and begging like a desperate whore for more. Stepdads and stepbrothers who double-team her while Mommy sleeps ten feet away, pumping her full of forbidden cum. Daddy’s closest friend blackmailing her with that slutty nude she accidentally sent, forcing her to cum on his fingers while Dad cheers at the TV inches away. Being gangbanged by drunk older men in the bar —every hole used, every load swallowed or pumped deep until cum runs down her thighs in thick rivers. Choking. Breeding. Gangbangs. Triple penetration. Degradation. Face-fucking. Raw, unprotected creampies that ruin you for any other man. If the thought of being held down and used without mercy while you cum so hard you see stars makes your cunt throb… You’re exactly where you belong. Turn the page, baby.. Your men are waiting. And they’re starving to wreck you...

The day I went to try on my wedding suit, a stranger stormed into the VIP fitting room and drove a knife into my gut. "Sleeping with my woman, and you dare wear a suit this expensive?" He ripped my shirt into ribbons with a wild grin and threw sulfuric acid straight at me. The knife was buried deep in my abdomen. Pain ripped through me as I collapsed. He yanked my hair, forcing my head up. "Susan Lefebvre is my wife. What the hell are you? Just some filthy side piece hiding in the shadows!" Blood dripped from my fingertips as the truth sank in. The fiancée I'd loved for seven years had been cheating on me all along. "What are you staring at?" He sneered. "Even if I kill you, no one can touch me. My wife runs this city!" Watching that arrogant face twist in triumph, I took out my phone with a trembling, blood-soaked hand and dialed my sister. "Allison," I said, my voice cold and calm. "Come pick me up at the bridal salon. And tell the Lefebvres that the engagement is off."

“Contract or not, you will always be ours.” They say that all wolves have fated mates, but not everyone is so lucky. Elena is one of the unfortunate ones - her previous fated mates all died mysteriously, and the rest of her potential mates have rejected her out of fear of sharing the same fate. "She is cursed," they whisper behind her back. The words sting, especially when they come from someone she loves, but Elena slowly grows accustomed to the pain of loneliness and betrayal, wrapped up in a cloak of anger. She knows she can never escape it, that it is a cross she must bear for the rest of her life. But when faced with death, Elena realises that there might be a light at the end of the tunnel. And so, she makes a life-changing decision to enter into a contract with the two most feared twin alphas, becoming their mate. Is this the beginning of the life she's always dreamed of, or the start of a living nightmare with the devil? Elena can only hope that this decision will bring her the love and acceptance she's always longed for.

On the day of Zephyr’s art exhibition, I saw people stand around a portrait of myself. My cheeks were flushed, and I was bare. My posture was the one we used in bed last week for fun. Zephyr even got the mole on my chest right. As people stared at me mockingly, I demanded, “Why did you do this to me?” He was unbothered. “It’s not as if I asked you to sleep with someone else.” But he did let people see how I looked when I was having an intimate moment with my own boyfriend! “It’s just a painting. Why are you being so petty?” I was stunned by the mockery in Zephyr’s gaze. Then, I called my assistant. “I’m attending the international art festival as the organizer.”

As the most well-known weather forecaster in the city, my forecasts were always wrong. Over time, everyone caught on. In this city, whether it rained or snowed depended entirely on the emotions of Cody Harper's lover. One moment, I'm on air announcing "moderate to heavy snow," but the next, the clouds in the sky parted and cleared. My boss openly mocked me. "You used to be the most popular presenter at our station, but not anymore, huh? Your husband’s throwing money around to manipulate the weather. What's the point of you reporting the forecast?" A coworker ruthlessly added, "I heard her husband's new lover doesn't like the cold, so there probably won't be any snow in the city for half a year. I think she's gonna be hit with a lot of fines." Clutching over a dozen penalty notices, I remained silent. When I got home, I tossed the penalty notices at Cody expressionlessly. "Clean up your own mess. I'm tired of being Mrs. Harper. I quit."

I married my vampire husband ten years ago and gave him a half-blood heir, abandoning my career as a painter to become a full-time mother. Fortunately, my son inherited my talent. At just six years old, he held his first solo art exhibition, inspired by the theme "My Mother." But he never let me attend, and he never let me see his paintings. My husband said my presence would make Luke nervous---that I should stay home and do the housework as a good wife and mother, and wait for them to come back. I told myself he was just young and didn't know better, that he was only pushing back against my discipline, not truly rejecting me. Until the day I snuck into the gallery wearing a surgical mask pulled low. In the center of the crowd, my husband held our son's hand while tenderly pulling a woman in a red dress into his arms. He turned to the guests and announced: "This is Luke's mother---my wife." The three of them stood together, beaming with perfect happiness. And I---the one who'd stayed up all night setting up this exhibition---stood before the paintings while not a single person recognized me. That was when I finally understood. My seemingly gentle, caring vampire husband had long ago given our son a replacement mother. And I was nothing more than the human nanny who'd served her purpose by producing an heir.

As you know, angels are at the head of the good mortal world, and demons rule the ball in hell. But the angels are not as kind as the people of the church have always made them out to be. The human race is not so important to them. And now, in their wars for our souls, they have completely forgotten about us. But people like me don't consider themselves to be ordinary people. We live twice, and sometimes three times more than ordinary people are allowed to live. Our society is called the priests of Ultima. That's all we want to tell about our world...

Found in the marooned ruins of Chavand was a book ripped and torn. Its yellowed pages eaten up and coiled. Forgotten and unheard about was this book until it came to light. His legends lived on, his tales of valour prevailed. His glory seemed enternal and he was worshiped and adored. But his heart remained shrouded in a cloak of mystery. His emotions, his turmoils went unnoticed in an attempt to make him great. Seen as someone who was invincible and immortal, the Rana changes your perspective from his greatness to his soft heart. Written across the pages during his last moments, he wrote his own life. Where bards would be at a loss and poets were simply lost in his glory and valor, the Rana is said to be the only one who could write about himself.

My boyfriend said that art held no restrictions, so he used my provocative paintings to enter a competition. Amidst a row of classic ceramic figurines, I became famous. He shot to fame, landing in the top ten of trending searches, while I was humiliated by the entire internet and mocked as a “ceramic influencer.” When I confronted him, he looked at me with disappointment. “They don’t understand art, and neither do you? I thought you would support my work, but I didn’t expect you to stir trouble! You’re so immature!”