MTL - The Concubine is Covering the Vest Every Day - Chapter 116

Every drop of this family bloodline is stained with sin. They are the embodiment of contradiction; calm yet maniacal, with great memories yet often forgetful. They pledge themselves to their dreams yet often compromise, are angels that are also devils… It’s why I hate them. And also love them.

I do not own anything from Marvel or Naruto. I just enjoy both universes.So content warning first, this is a fanfic of hot steaming garbage. I hope you enjoy it. I will most likely put in bad words, fights, gore and maybe some smut. Or maybe I won’t, we will see how this goes. This story is my attempt to write some fanfiction that I won’t hate, which is still up for debate.------------------------------Let us follow the MC as he is pushed into the world of Marvel with his own special super power made up from the world of Naruto. This will be close to the MCU, but let's call it Earth-199999-AU. AU is for the author's universe. MCU, check. X-Men, check. Doom and the fan-4? Double check. Other stuff from comics, also check. From Naruto, eye powers? At some point, so check. Tailed beasts and summons? Nope. Chakra and ninja powers? Check and check.------------------------------At least one chapter will be posted weekly, possibly more if I write enough.This is posted on RoyalRoad, Scribble Hub, Fanfiction and now Webnovel.I also now have a p@treon set up under Pewpewcachoo go check it out if you want.

“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.

During a party one evening in the royal palace, Rachel, the eldest daughter of Duke Ferguson, was reproached by Prince Elliot for sins she didn’t remember committing and their engagement was abandoned. Rachel informed everyone she had not committed the acts they were accusing her of, but she was dragged away out of the party venue and thrown into the palace dungeon.