Apocalypse: I Awaken Future Sight in the Zombie Apocalypse - Chapter 21 - - Blurring Lines

[MATURE CONTENT]“Are you mating with someone?”Stunned, she took a step back, widening the space between them. “ Excuse me?”“Ah…” A sigh left his lips. “ Perhaps, I need to rephrase my question. Are you f*cking someone?”She sucked in a quick breath, not knowing what to say. Anger reared itself in her head, mixing with unexpected desire. Sadly, desire was winning.He lifted an eyebrow, and in the next instant, he was already standing in front of her body. Her instincts kicked in. She took a couple steps back until her back hit the wall.The smell of chocolates and almonds rolled between them. Entranced, she thought she smelled the sweetness of the wine but it disappeared as quickly as it came.“I don’t think that is any of your business, Mr. Graydon.” she made a sound of annoyance.“Is it not?” His breath fractured, his eyes darkened with desire.“No.” Her lips quivered at her obvious denial. She mustered all the courage she could, hoping he wouldn’t smell her arousal. She knew it was for naught.His fingers lightly brushed her cheeks, then they trailed down her neck, lingering on her collarbone, the contact sent shivers down her spine. It awakened the primal need she had been wanting to hide since they met.She wanted him.No.She needed him, inside her.Her face flushed at the thought of him taking her, preferably right against these walls.“You want me,” he stated. ““As much as I want you.”Shocked by her own raw and potent yearning, she turned her head away.“I don’t…”“Shhh…” he silenced her with a finger. Then he inched closer, so close his long lashes brushed against her cheek. Her heart pounded like a drum against her chest, fast and hot in anticipation.“Now tell me little one… do I need to get rid of someone before I make you beg me to let you come?”......Is love worth the chaos it brings?.....Tags: #lycans #witch #strongfemalelead #strongmalelead #norape #smut #mates #slowburn

Robin Burton is a young man who grow with everything anyone can hope for, immense talent for cultivation, sharp mind, a wealthy family that will stop at nothing to protect and nurture him

He had everything... except the willingness to take them.

“Why would I take the same route as my ancestors ?

why should I become stronger? to beat this and compete with that..?

At the end of this road what will happen? get a harem then die and be forgotten after a few years?

NO! That is not what I got my talent for... THAT IS NOT WHAT I WAS BORN FOR!

what I want is more... much more.

I refuse... I will not take anyone's route, I will make my own...

I do not want to be a legendary figure, I will be THE Legend..

I.. Robin.. will do it my way, or die trying.”

This is the story of a Researcher, a Warlord and... a God Emperor.

He doesn’t have a name, a face, or a place in the story—except to guide others to their “happy endings.” For thousands of loops, he’s endured heartbreak, despair, and the crushing reset of the world every time something goes wrong. He’s memorized every line, every trigger, every rule: no deaths, no interference, no breaking the script.But Loop 1,204 feels different. The world isn’t punishing him for stepping off the path. Suddenly, he can change things—rewrite relationships, alter destinies, maybe even reclaim his own existence. But with freedom comes uncertainty, and the looming threat of the loop snapping shut once more.Can he finally break the cycle and find his own ending, or will the world reset around him one last, merciless time?

“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.