The Divine Nine-Dragon Cauldron - Chapter 2195: Chapter 2086, martial arts competition

[SLOW BURN} (CHECK OUT MY NEW MAFIA ROMANCE. OUT NOW!)“You can't hurt me anymore, Ace. I'm not that crybaby you used to know,” she warned, taking a step back.“Who said anything about hurting anyone, darling? There's only one place I need to cry for me. One very,” his eyes trailed down her body, and stopped between her thighs. “Very moist place.” He took two steps forward, and closed the gap between them.Ace is the legitimate heir to the Atticus dynasty, but there's a condition. Grandpa before his death says he cannot fully inherit everything until he gets married, and stays married for at least a year.Quick to think, he finds a solution to his dilemma; A contract marriage. With the help of his personal assistant, Grant, He finds Fay Landon.Dainty Fay that cries a lot, and can talk a storm. He vows it's only a marriage of convenience, until the redhead let's her hair down, and shows him the woman behind the tears.She falls first, but he falls harder.In the middle of the war for a billion dollar empire, heartless Ace Atticus will learn that to come out victorious, he needs a Fay up his sleeve.THIRD MONTH OF WIN-WIN. PLEASE SUPPORT ME WITH YOUR VOTES, COLLECTIONS, REVIEWS, COMMENTS, AND GIFTS. THANK YOU.

Behind the calm smile lies a heart riddled with scars.Beneath the weight of fate burns an unyielding gaze.A body trapped in the abyss of despair—if it reaches out, can it grasp the light called hope?A soul locked upon the rack of destiny—if it prays sincerely, can it embrace the future called redemption?

An Extra is a minor background character with little to no influence on the main story. Their purpose is to fill out scenes and represent the larger world in which the story takes place.Yet,One Extra defied its existence. One Extra destroyed the story.********Luke, an editor, was transmigrated into the story with one goal:“Kill The Extra.”

“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.