Springtime Farming: A Happy Wife At Home - Chapter 139 - 139 His Own Reasons

Being raised by witches wasn't the end!It was the beginning for Menma's life as he had to deal with humans that hate the witches.And also travel across different dimensions to fight against unnatural beings that threatened his family.----------------------------------------------------Author here : if you enjoy reading a fresh unique new story, give mine a go.If you like it... perfectif you don't... tell me what i can do to improve itenjoy ;)

The emaciated old man with an alien-like appearance grinned maliciously, while the young girl cried and howled.“Worm, worm, worm, worm, worm, worm...”Countless worms surged towards the girl like a tide, seemingly intent on devouring her completely.The girl instinctively closed her eyes and let out a desperate wail.“Someone... save me!”A breathtaking beam of light cut through the dimness, dispelling the girl's fear and the swarm of worms that filled her vision. Accompanied by a voice that was young but carried a hint of sunshine.“It's okay, I'm here. Big brother is here to protect you.”The boy with purple hair and purple eyes held a scythe in his hand, blocking in front of the girl, and issued a declaration of death to the old man.“You deserve to die, Zouken Matou. No, Makiri Zolgen!”

“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.