Adventures Of The Ero Bunny - Chapter 8: Thanking My Saviors

Vegeta travels to the Marvel Universe.

For more than ten years, Vegett has grown from a young man who first came to the universe to survive among the major forces to become the only god among the six gods in the universe who is not the innate god – the God of Destruction.

Along with eternity, swallowing stars, death, infinity, and annihilation, they are called the six true gods of the universe. Title – Destruction.

The universe is far more complex than imagined. Not only the local gods of Marvel, the god group, the eternal titans. There is even an angel civilization, a demon civilization, and even Karl, the god of death in the Styx galaxy. The sun god of the heavenly civilization.

Devil Death, but his subordinate gods, Keisha, Thanos, you need to be respectful when you see him.

- Description from novelbuddy

Chosen by the System, Jing Ling, each time she was completing a task would harvest a bunch of scum males.

The accumulated grievance caused her to have an accident while performing the task. Reborn in a parallel time and space to a seventeen year old body, although the gender has changed from female to male, the various attributes and skills that were redeemed from the system were still there.

Looking in the mirror at a face that could cause the downfall of a country and its people, Jing Ling’s infuriatingly arrogant smile emerged.

—

Don’t be afraid, this time I don’t want you. Change your girlfriend 🙂

- Description from Novelupdates

Li Tianyan accidentally found himself in the Hengwu Continent as a Concubine’s son from a family of warriors. Not only did he lose all his cultivation, but he also became a waste bastard with five spiritual roots. Since the accident, Li Tianyan had an aunt and uncle who were eyeing him, and brothers who wanted him to fail. There was an ugly wife in the house who was married back.

“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.