MTL - Breaking up, No Joke - Chapter 150

Reincarnated into his college days. Zhou Yuwen knew the importance of a persona. In this life, Zhou Yuwen’s labels were aloof, mature, and exceptionally talented! “I’m quite traditional, I believe that if you’re in a relationship, you need to be responsible, so one must be extremely cautious about dating.” “Zhou Yuwen, let’s get remarried!” “Damn it! Are you poisoned or something? I haven’t even been married before!” “Stop talking nonsense! We were married in our last life!” “That was in the past life!” “Remarry!” “Go away! I have a girlfriend!” He fled, she chased! He couldn’t escape, even if he had wings!

One day, Song Shuhang was suddenly added to a chat group with many seniors that suffered from chuuni disease. The people inside the group would call each other ‘Fellow Daoist’ and had all different kinds of titles: Palace Master, Cave Lord, True Monarch, Immortal Master, etc. And even the pet of the founder of the group that had run away from home was called ‘monster dog’. They would talk all day about pill refining, exploring ancient ruins, or share their experience on techniques.

However, after lurking inside the group for a while, he discovered that not all was what it seemed…

Twin Brother & Sister died after experiencing the acrimony of the World.

However, fate had something else stored for the pair. Somehow a God name Lust God was mysteriously reborn within the Boy's body and discovered something which left him awestruck!

Completely forgetting about the mystery of his Rebirth the Lust God then discovered another anomaly within the dead body of the Boy's twin Sister.

Afterward, it finally stuck him...

This is the Story of the Lust God who was born into a world that was filled with real monsters and in human clothing!

Follow him throughout his journey which is filled with Blood, Debauchery, Schemes, and most importantly Lust...

“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.