Guide to Stabilizing the Blackening of the Villainous Husband - Chapter 115

While I was reading the first volume of “Danmachi,” I suddenly felt my cock grow. It grew so much that it started to hurt.Suddenly, my sperm gushed out. Before I could understand what was happening, I realized I was in a familiar place.

Song Zhong’s parents were the geniuses of the sect. But they were apparently killed while on a mission when he was barely 6. As he apparently did not excel in any of the 5 elements, in fact, all 5 elements are in balance in his body. Thus, our fatty is deemed to be trash and does not deserve the respect his parents had.

What if the president always coerces her to do “hard work” on the grounds of deducting her salary?
To do or not to do?
After finishing the work, Lin Sheng silently took out his mobile phone, opened the circle of friends, and pressed down word by word:
The president asked me to work at her house again!
President, she has a little white face!
The woman behind the successful woman is me! it’s me!

Domineering domineering president X small staff
The daily life of the president and the staff is so sweet and sweet~

- Description from novelbuddy

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”