Tanky Mage System - Chapter 422

(Genderbender + Yuri + Smut*ch43+)“…Adrei, this old man requests that you to feed me properly.”“Oh? Is it not a request from your daughter to ‘properly’ take care of your…unique needs?”“I get it, but my mouth is up here, you perverted dragon!”“Ah it seems the wind is blowing quite nicely today…”

Charles Manson was just another broke university dropout grinding night shifts at a city bar—until time froze, and a seductive voice whispered into his mind:> “System initialized: Lust Sync. Welcome, Master. Your desires will shape the world.”Suddenly, women around him begin to act strangely—flushed cheeks, lingering stares, unexplainable obsession. It wasn’t luck. It was the system.Lust Sync doesn’t just make women fall for him—it binds them, body and soul, through supernatural “Sync Levels” that unlock hidden power, twisted love, and lust-fueled abilities. The more intense the relationship, the stronger Charles becomes.From seductive professors to dangerous yanderes, spoiled heiresses to lonely MILFs—every woman he touches begins to change… and some don’t want to let him go.But Lust Sync comes with rules, quests, and consequences. The more women he Syncs with, the closer he gets to uncovering the dark truth behind the system—and why he was chosen.Can Charles handle a world where every woman wants him—and some would kill to keep him?> “Desire is power. Power is dangerous. And now, I have both.”

Tian Mi, a single mother with two children, has finally gotten her life under control… that is, until a handsome VIP at the hotel where she works claims to know her and is somehow in possession of her wedding ring from her former marriage. If that wasn’t enough, her ex-husband, now a successful entrepreneur, has also shown up, and is looking to rekindle their relationship. Who is this stranger? Why has her husband returned? Will she choose new love over an old flame?

“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.