Something’s Wrong With My Wife - Chapter 106 - : A Good Match for Miss Lin 3

Young Chen Xiang had a fateful encounter with a goddess & demoness and received their peerless heritage, divine pulses, ultimate martial arts, and transcendent alchemy techniques, which gave him an easy ride in his journey of cultivation.

Li Yi once lived the dream of every pro gamer. He was at the top of his game with the best equipment, the highest stats, and everything a gamer could ever hope for. However, he soon realized that none of his ill-gotten gains for his to keep when he was branded Public Enemy Number One and killed in the biggest battle of the ages.Now, he has the chance to turn back the clock and return to a time before his first mistake put him on the path of no return. This time, Li Yi will make different choices. With that, comes many interesting encounters — like saving a woman in distress then making love to her seven times in a row while her child slept in the next room. However, will he get back to what truly matters?One thing is for sure, with the memories retained from his past, he will become King of this game.

Explore the Universe through the hardest, truest weapon: the Fist.

Jack Rust was a disillusioned biologist with a PhD—almost. When an extraterrestrial AI calling itself the System invaded Earth and thrust it into a world of aliens and violence, the least Jack hoped for was magic. Unfortunately, the System decided to spawn a forest dungeon around him and a goblin in his face, which left him little choice.

Armed with nothing but his fists, Jack must grow strong enough to survive entire menageries of monsters. He needs to return to civilization and find out what the hell is going on. He might also get magic—or not. Surprising himself, Jack discovers that violence is fun.

In this battle-ridden new world, Jack finds the life he always dreamed about. He won’t just survive. He will thrive.

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“Villains aren’t born, they’re made...blah...blah...”Cute quote. Stick it on your Tumblr header next to your anime pfp.You boys love your villain stories, don’t you?You want carnage. Chaos. Control. You want a dark throne, a cold smirk, and a woman kneeling at your feet begging for mercy.But you?You don’t want to lift a damn finger.You’ll cheer for the villain as he kills a god, but cry when he gets betrayed.You call it “plot armor” when the hero survives—but call it “art” when the villain does the impossible.You’re not fans of villains.You’re fetishists.You want the violence, but not the silence after it.You want domination, but not the burden of being hated.You want power, but only if the story forgives you for it.You don’t read these stories to understand evil.You read them because you think you're too good to win the normal way.“Villains don’t play fair.”Exactly. That’s why you love them.Because you wouldn’t last a day in a world where strength mattered and excuses didn’t.You don’t want a villain’s life.You want his results.You want to watch him burn the world for a woman.But you’d cry if a girl left you on read.So tell me—What exactly are you rooting for?At least unlike you, I support heroes—the ones with boobs.You know the type.Tits squeezed into latex, thighs tight in spandex, preaching virtue with cum-drunk eyes the moment they fall into my arms but always end up screaming my name instead.She flies above cities, saving lives like it’s her job.But at night? She crashes into my arms, trembling, moaning, clawing at my back like I’m the only real thing she’s ever touched.Her cape drops before her guard does.But I don't need to tear it off.She hands it over herself—bit by bit, kiss by kiss, lie by beautiful lie.You ever felt a heroine's breath hitch in your ear as she begs you to stop pretending you're the bad guy?Ever watched the symbol of hope ride you like you're the last man left after the world ended?That's not conquest.That’s devotion, baby.Unfiltered. Undeniable.And the irony?They fall the hardest.Because no villain ever tried to understand them. No hero ever dared to see past the shine and into the ache beneath.But I do.I whisper into the cracks of their perfection.I plant kisses where they hide their pain.I fuck them where they forget to wear their strength.And when they break—when their moans turn to prayers, when their strength melts into submission—That’s when I rise.I’m not just some brooding misfit out for revenge, or a misunderstood loner sitting around hoping for a shot at redemption.I’m not a villain.I’m the SUPERVILLAIN—the kind your heroines moan for when the cameras are off and the capes are crumpled on my floor.