The S-Classes That I Raised - Chapter 205 - 205 Gaze (3)

Perdi, known widely throughout the continent, is a very famous author of adult novels. But Perdi’s true identity is actually Vivian, the Imperial Night Librarian.

Vivian sends over the fourth draft of her latest novel to her publisher to be reviewed, but her work is criticized because the way she writes hetero s*x scenes isn’t erot*c at all.

“What? So you’re saying I’ll only know what sexual relationships are like after I experience it myself? But what can I do when I’m bound to a chastity contract?”

Unfortunately for Vivian, she had to sign a chastity contract in order to be hired as an imperial servant, and has been forced to remain a virgin ever since. Worse still, only a member of the imperial family could break the contract … but Vivian only has eyes for Ray, a mysterious man who visits the library every night.

But as it turns out, Ray is the imperial archduke and the emperor’s brother! One day, he approaches her with a sweet offer that she can’t resist …

The story about a family's struggle to ensure that, above all else, their youngest escapes from the mines where he was born into slavery. Follow Alistar as he struggles through terror and tragedy, embarking on a road to discover himself and his heritage.

He was the youngest guru of martial arts as well as the perfect Mr. McDreamy of the most girls. He had mysterious absolute touch, clear-sighted observation ability and various outstanding talents.

“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.