MTL - My Wife Is A Princess - Chapter 28 Want to have a baby with me?

“Honey, be good…Give me your phone…”

“No, no!” The internet-addict girl clutched onto her phone, determined not to give him.

The handsome and noble man slightly sighed. He lowered his body to hug the girl.

“You’re not listening again, hm?” She immediately handed her phone over cowardly as he said so in a clear and distinct voice.

He was the eminent and noble Master Li, a powerful figure in the business world.

She was just from a normal family that suffered from her stepmother’s schemes, a pitiful girl.

An accident made him appear in her world.

Since then, everyone in S City knew that Master Li had a treasure and cherished her dearly. He feared that she might be wronged in the tiniest bit. He will personally tutor her in her studies, personally be her training partner in video games, and even reserve the movie theaters for her movies.

- Description from Novelupdates

Wei Huo has been ignored and overlooked by almost everyone his entire life, including God. In a bid to transform the world into a more game-like one, God halted time for all humanity except for Wei Huo, leaving him to fend for himself.

Before her rebirth, Song Ran lived a lone and miserable life. Her innocence and naiveness cost her fortune. Her family assets was wasted by the stepmother, and her man stolen by her very best friend. After she was reborn, having the scales fallen from her eyes, Song Ran learned from her mistakes. The first thing she needed to do was ride on the coattail of her man with a promissing future, Mr. Gu.

“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.