Extreme Pampering - Chapter 59 - Persuade me with just a kiss

A struggling businessman on the verge of bankruptcy finds himself drunk one night, only to wake up in the past—specifically, in 1943 London, amidst the chaos of World War II.This is an era of both immense danger and unprecedented opportunity. It is a time when the British Empire, once the unrivaled superpower where the sun never set, is finally witnessing the dusk of its dominion. Meanwhile, the United States is rising to claim the mantle of global leadership, reshaping the world's balance of power.This is the era where everything begins—where old rulers step down and new powers rise to take their place. This is the era where Pierre finds himself, an era filled with the kind of opportunity he never had before. A small, precious chance to rise, to become a giant, to seize the throne of power, to become a ruler, a world hegemon.

Su An was thrown into a world of quick transmigration by his suitor, who attempts to approach him with a different identity.

Hidden dangers can not be prevented, but fortunately, with sweet words and beauty, Su An has won the love of the big bosses from each world.

An indifferent painter suffering from mental illness, a flirtatious bandit young master from a wealthy family, a demon monk with powerful martial arts skills…

To Su An’s surprise: Every big boss is poking my appetite!

The big bosses who got hooked up: …

They all gave a meaningful smile.

- Description from Novelupdates

“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.

On the wedding night, when the bride hung herself, the handsome husband was sickly, the concubine was glaring like a tiger to see what her best next move would be. Shu Huan who time-travelled to the ancient times encountered such a mess.