The Beautiful Time With You - Chapter 87: I’ll Complement Her, So It Won’t Affect the Intelligence of Our Children (1)

I became an extra who confessed to the main character in a female-oriented romance novel but was rejected – an embarrassing history. However, I tried to brush it off as no big deal, until… “…Didn’t you say you liked me?” After you rejected me, why are you now clinging to me…?

Liu Feng unexpectedly possessed the ability to travel between two worlds. He also has a storage space and became a second-hand dealer of the two worlds.He began his life as a city lord in the other world when he used a glass from earth to purchase a city.This is a wonderful world in the cold weapon era. In this world, Liu Feng can see catgirls, fox girls, rabbit girls, and elven princesses any time he wants.Princess: Liu Feng’s city is the world’s most fortunate city.Princess: I will definitely move in and live there, even if I have to ** the status of a princess.Graduate: The technology and ideas used by Liu Feng’s city surpass this world by a thousand years.King: That place has the world’s tallest buildings and has the world’s strangest things. That place is the world’s wealthiest and most magical city.

Xie Lanyin has a beautiful face with white skin so relying on her face to live is no problem. Furthermore, the prince that she marries is a phonophilia (someone who loves voices/sounds).

A handsome man saving a beauty, he lets her sing songs to repay him.

Getting angry and yelling at him, he’s intoxicated.

At night when he wants to sleep, her words are hypnotising.

When he doesn’t want to sleep, her words become the best ……

Qin Wang: You think too much, the thing I like best is you as a person.

This is a story of a prince spoiling his wife, until even when he becomes a king, he’s willing to bend back so far that he could even break his waist – it’s that kind of story.

- 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.