I Treat You as My Sister, But You Want to be My Wife?! - Chapter 69 - Eating is a Gesture of Goodwill_1

Maya prophesied that December 21, 2012 would be the end of the world. On this day, some people were anxious and afraid of not seeing the sun the next day. More people held a playful attitude and celebrated with their loved ones in the early morning night, waiting for dawn to celebrate their safe passage through the end.The next day, the sun rose as usual, and people only thought that God was joking with everyone, working and living as usual.But they were too happy too early.The end has already quietly arrived, but they have been adapted to the harsh environment, unable to see the green mountains turn into yellow soil, and flowers and birds disappear; Unable to see the clear river turning into a foul smelling canal, fish and shrimp are dying; Unable to see grassland turning into desert, land howlingAccording to the Observatory, there was a once-in-a-millennium meteor shower in the early morning of December 21, 2020. Many places can be seen with the naked eye, with young men and women rushing to tell each other, eagerly anticipating this romantic meteor shower.At midnight, the long-awaited miracle finally appeared. The moon, which had been hard to see for a long time, descended like a silver plate, clear and bright, right in front of meBut then people were extremely frightened. According to the lunar calendar, this day is the Winter Solstice Festival on the seventh day of the winter lunar month. How could there be a full moonThis is a beautiful miracleIt's still the beginning of the nightmare

Since I’m good-looking, I might as well become an actor.

“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.

Ein was a hitman on hire. A killer, a shadow, a death with insomnia, if you may.He had witnessed countless pairs of eyes dim as the light of life faded, leaving nothing but vile hollowness. Needless to say, the sight of a soul popping out of the dead body was a first.And it wasn't just any soul. It was the dead heir of Byers Holdings, the same guy he killed with his own hands. Turns out the rich boy Adriel had a horribly irritating and loud soul, but worst of it all - impossible to get rid of.Who would have thought that killing on a blue moon night could lead to being haunted?