Kiss Goodnight, Mr.Ji - Chapter 1618

The number one swordsman Zhao Jiangui is the martial world’s best hope for peace: All he has to do is seduce the Demon Sect Leader.

(Basis for the web drama “The Birth of the Drama King”)

- Description from Novelupdates

In her past life, Lu Zhaozhao placed her trust in the wrong people, inadvertently causing the death of the man who deeply loved her.Reborn on the first day she met him, Lu Zhaozhao decisively dragged Song Si Nian to register their marriage. As she busied herself with dealing retribution and slapping faces, she had only one principle regarding her husband, who suffered from emotional expression disorder: to love him.What Lu Zhaozhao did not know was that she was Song Si Nian's only light. His illness made him paranoid and obsessive, yet he dared not reveal his true self to her.But the truth cannot remain hidden forever. When everything about him was laid bare before her, Song Si Nian held her tightly, tears reddening his eyes, and with a timid voice asked while buried in her neck, “Zhaozhao, do you not want me anymore?”

When Mikel opened his new eye, the dead opened their doors.Mikel was just an ordinary, troubled teen until an accident stole his sight.When an experimental surgery gives him a strange new eye, he begins to see more than just the world of the living... and the dead.Haunting visions, ghostly figures, cursed relics, and a mysterious blue interface named Doom — speaking in glowing symbols and shifting data — start to rewrite everything he thought he knew about reality.And as the truth comes into focus, Mikel realized he might be a part of something bigger and far more dangerous than he could’ve imagined.Standing between these worlds, survival isn’t guaranteed. Sanity, even less so.[Welcome to Shaman Protocol.Terms and Conditions (and sanity) not guaranteed.]

“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.