Arcane Male Oc Fanfiction

After returning from my business trip, I saw my wife lying on the couch in an alluring position. I initially thought it was a surprise, but the next moment, I spotted a hidden camera in the corner of the TV cabinet. It turned out that my wife had been secretly...

A blizzard is approaching. Yet my mountain guide girlfriend, Clover Ainsley, insists on waiting for her childhood sweetheart, Elliot West, to return to the group before leading everyone down the mountain. In order to save everyone's lives, I keep pleading with her to take us down the mountain first. Finally, she reluctantly agrees to my pleas and takes us home. Unexpectedly, Elliot is trapped in a cave afterward. He ends up freezing to death because help never comes to him. Clover claims that she doesn't regret saving me and the rest of the group. In fact, she even proposes to me afterward. But on the night of our engagement, she poisons me and drags me to the snow mountain. "If it wasn't for you demanding me to leave the mountain, Elliot wouldn't have died! He was the billionaire's son, you know! You can't even compare to him at all! "He had died naked, and his stomach was filled with snow! I want you to suffer the same way he did!" After that, Clover strips me naked and pushes me into a snow mound. When my body goes all stiff from the cold, she drags me to a high ledge before throwing me off the ledge. Just like that, my body shatters into pieces because of how brittle I've become. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day the blizzard is about to come. If Clover wants to wait for Elliot, who's taken on my identity as the billionaire's son, then she can go ahead and do that. I'm not going to meddle with their fate this time.

Late one night after getting off work, I was scrolling through my company group chat when a colleague shared a piece of news. The headline was horrifying. "Night-Shift Courier Murdered During Delivery, Police Suspect Robbery." I zoomed in on the crime scene photo that had been partially pixelated, and a chill ran straight down my spine. Lying in a pool of blood, the courier who had been hacked to death was unmistakably me. I had scrolled into news of my own death. Almost at the same time, my delivery app began vibrating violently. "Urgent pickup! Destination: Unit 704 Hawthorne Ridge Apartments, Building 7. Time limit: 15 minutes. Penalty for timeout: Death." As I stared at the notification that read "Pickup failed three times", the searing pain of my brutal death surged through my body. So that was it. I had already died three times. When I forced open the half-closed security door of 704 for the fourth time, a thin delivery envelope lay quietly inside. I tore it open. A photograph slipped out. It was a picture of my dismembered body. The timestamp showed tomorrow at 7:00 a.m. On the back was a single line written in fresh blood: "Next time, remember to pick it up on time." At that moment, the red indicator light on the hallway surveillance camera suddenly went dark. I looked up. From the ventilation opening in the exact same spot, a single eye was staring straight at me. The mole at the corner of that eye was identical to mine.

When the Earth slipped into a relentless, record-breaking heat, I exhausted everything I had to develop a constant-temperature shelter. Yet, my fiancée, Janine O’Connor, insisted on wearing a bikini and going out to sunbathe with her personal secretary. In my previous life, I stopped her. I warned her that an apocalyptic heatwave was coming, and that countless people would be burned to death simply by being exposed to the heat. However, her personal secretary looked as though he had suffered a great injustice. “I’m sorry, Will,” he said. “But I can’t bear to see Miss Janine stuck in a shelter for the rest of her life. I’ve done my research. This is a period of natural selection for the Earth. Only by adapting quickly to the environment can people truly survive.” Even so, I threatened my own life and forcibly brought Janine back into the shelter. Relying on the shelter I built, Janine survived the apocalypse and rapidly built a survivor base. However, on the second day after she became the base’s leader, she had me hanged outside the shelter and burned alive. “If you hadn’t forced me to come back, Mark wouldn’t have been devastated and killed himself in the heat! He was about to develop a new type of shelter, yet you stole all the credit! I’ll make you pay with your life!” Even after my death, her hatred didn’t fade. She ordered someone to skin me and turn my hide into a rug, stepping on it every day. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day I tried to stop her from sunbathing with Mark Davis.

I picked up the top university admission slot that the real heir didn't want. Horace Clark had gone crazy for love. He ran off with a failing student and dropped out, smashing the perfect life he had been handed. Meanwhile, I carried the label of an impostor who stole someone else's place. Step by step, I clawed my way up, became a rising name in the business world, and even married his childhood sweetheart. At the peak of my life, I opened my eyes again and found myself back in senior year, on the day we were filling out our college applications. And floating in front of me were lines of strange comments. [Brian, the fake heir, is a straight-up thief. He stole the life that was supposed to belong to the real heir, Horace!] [In his last life, the real heir completely lost his head over love. He dropped out of school, ran off with that rebellious troublemaker to start a business, and even handed his childhood fiancée to someone else. What a disaster. The guy was a total idiot!] [Good thing he gets a redo this time. The real heir has finally woken up. Now I really wanna see how the fake heir who stole someone else's life ends up crashing and burning.] I watched the comments quietly and sneered. Hate to break it to them, but the road I walked was carved out with my own hands. Even if Horace were reborn a hundred times, he still wouldn't be able to stop me from reaching the top and claiming my glory.

A while ago, my sister-in-law, Annie Larsson, who is in her senior year of high school, came over to stay with us during her summer break. The well-developed young woman's daily outfit consists of a camisole and tiny shorts. She doesn't even wear a bra. When she walks or sits, her bust always looks perky. She has a slim, curvy waist, and her butt is always arched alluringly. Any man would have dirty thoughts about her, especially me, her lecherous brother-in-law who dares to act on his lewd impulses. The term "sister-in-law" is simply too tempting to me.

My wife, Alisha West, has always been obsessively frugal. After marrying her, my single guilty pleasure became blowing money on luxury watches—almost like revenge for how absurdly tightfisted she was. By the time our daughter, Elyse Day, turned 7, she had inherited every bit of her mother’s penny-pinching nature. The two of them looked completely out of place in our sprawling mansion. And I loved it. I’d slip into my latest custom-tailored suits and watch them wince at my credit card statements, their expressions twisted in quiet pain. Until one day, lines of floating text suddenly appeared before my eyes. [This spendthrift idiot is still shopping? Doesn’t he know his wife’s company is about to go bankrupt?] [She’s been drained dry supporting this parasite. Her T-shirt collar is practically worn out from washing. Good thing the financially savvy male lead is about to show up and save her.] [Can’t wait for Alisha to file for divorce and kick this useless freeloader out. Let’s see how he survives fighting stray dogs for scraps under a bridge.] I slammed the limited-edition Richard Mille watch onto the table. Alisha, who was crouched on the floor breaking down delivery boxes for recycling, and Elyse, who was helping stomp them flat, both jumped in shock. A chill ran through me. I lunged forward, snatched the battered cardboard box from Elyse’s hands, and held it tightly against my chest. "No… no more buying. I’m returning this watch. "And these boxes… don’t sell them. I think we might need them someday… to lay out under a bridge when we’re sleeping outside…"

The night I confessed my love to my girlfriend, she wept so hard she could barely breathe. She said she had seen the future, and she wanted to make a promise with me. I asked her why. She only shook her head and said, "I don't remember… all I know is that in the future I regret something terribly. Frank, no matter what happens, you must give me three chances. Will you?" I was deeply in love with Agnes Grey, so I agreed without hesitation. But later, it was as if she had forgotten all about that night—forgotten it when she clung so intimately to her male assistant. Only then did I understand why she'd made me promise that all those years ago. Because the moment I signed my name on the divorce papers, I heard a familiar voice. It was Agnes at nineteen. Through her sobs, she pleaded, "Frank… you promised me, didn't you? You said you'd give me three chances."

"W-Well, that part is very dry. When I'm doing it with someone else, it's very dry, chapped, and it hurts a lot too. I can never get it to lube up even after a long time…" I gaze at Audrey Lawson, whose beautiful face has gone red from embarrassment. Then, I glance at her smoking hot body. After gulping quietly, I tell her with a smile, "Ms. Lawson, your problem seems a little complicated. I dare not give a verdict right away… "Why don't you go behind the curtains right now? I'll use a device to check what the problem exactly is. "Ah, and by the way, remember to take off your pants."

I cooked up a storm for our seventh wedding anniversary. However, my CEO wife took a couple of bites before leaving in haste for some work emergency. I trailed behind her, only to find her entering an upscale event space where she held a sip-and-see event for the twins she had through surrogacy. Pulling out a centurion card, she handed it to her male secretary and uttered solemnly, “You’ve done well, Dale. Everything I own will go to the children.” Dale, his eyes sparkling, pressed his lips against hers. “Ms. Markham, it’s my honor to have children with you.” With a scoff, I pushed open the door to the hall. I’d like to see how the guy managed to have children with a woman who was born with underdeveloped ovarian follicles.