The Villains Must Win - Chapter 91: Valerian Cross 11

Above lies the Nine Heavens Galaxy, with its awe-inspiring celestial power, and below lies the vast earth, where ants gaze at the sky.Martial artists can communicate with stars, awaken the power of the stars, and embark on a path against the heavens.Stars can be divided into beast types, artifact types, and miscellaneous types. Among them, beast types are led by dragon stars.“You... you are actually a dragon-type star? How is this possible?” a peerless genius exclaimed in shock.Lin Feng smiled calmly, “I'm sorry, I have eight more like this!”

Lin Lan woke up and transmigrated into a shrewish wife who drank pesticides. The original owner ruined her husband’s promising future, and all five of her children became villains in the end.

Her in-laws are biased. The uncles and aunts are insatiable. She has five bear children and a cold-faced husband to take care of. . .

Lin Lan: Trying to take my money? We’ve already separated. I’ll take it back!

My husband dares to run wild? I’ll teach him to be a new man!

It’s difficult to discipline wild children? That is due to the lack of love! Shower them with love!

What’s the matter with that cold-faced man?

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“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.