Arcane Male Oc Fanfiction

My usually cold and distant wife shared a bowl of soup with her newly joined colleague. Surprisingly, I felt calm, even as I brought up divorce. She sneered at me, "Don't be ridiculous. I'm exhausted. He's just a colleague of mine." "Even if we're married, you have no right to interfere with what I do with my colleagues." "If that's what you think, then I can't help you." When I actually put the divorce papers in front of her, she flew into a rage. "Ryan, do you think the Wagners were still what they used to be? You're nothing without me!"

There isn't any cure for migraines. But my billionaire wife, Ashley Weston, has not had a single migraine for years thanks to my daily massage with both hands. On the day I get into a car accident, I beg a passerby to call her to save me. She replies impatiently, "So you're resorting to such shameless tricks just because I won't answer your calls?" Through the phone comes the mocking laughter of her childhood friend, Jordan Hanson. My right hand is permanently fractured, and my left hand suffers from muscle weakness after the accident. A lawyer helps me draft a divorce agreement. With much difficulty, I sign it and send it to Ashley. On the day her head throbs with unbearable pain, she looks at my drooping hands and remains silent for a long time.

My wife was a surgeon. She saved plenty of lives in her career. However, the only person she failed to save was me. When I was involved in an accident with her long-time crush, she immediately saved him instead. I had been dead for three months, and that was when she realized the person who had been messaging her during this time was not me and started to panic.

My wife is the daughter of a top jewelry tycoon. She accused me of pushing her mother down the stairs to steal the family fortune and had me thrown in prison. While I was locked up, her people disfigured my face and crushed my hands—the same hands that once played the piano. After my release, I run from her like a madman. Just like she said I would, I give up and start mooching off a wealthy woman. But then, she clings to me and begs me not to leave.

My cousin, Tiffany Wilkinson, brought her new boyfriend, Isaac Lloyd, home for the first time. The dinner was going great, chatting and laughing like everything was perfect. Out of nowhere, Isaac locked eyes on me, his face lighting up with fake surprise as he practically shouted, "Wait, don't I know you from somewhere? Aren't you in that 'Elite Escort Group'?" He added, "I swear I saw your rate card in the group photos... It was only 200 dollars or something?" He slapped a hand over his mouth afterward, putting on this innocent act like he had just let something slip. The lively dining room went dead silent in an instant. My relatives' looks turned cold and judgmental, making me utterly uncomfortable all over. "He looks so decent on the outside, but he's actually doing that kind of thing behind closed doors." "You're such a disgrace to the Wilkinson family. Don't even tell people you're related to us from now on." Dad was so furious he slammed his wine glass down, and Mom sat there wiping away tears. I calmly dabbed my mouth with my napkin, then looked at Isaac with a knowing smirk. "Makes sense that I look familiar. I'm with the Vice Squad, and I just busted you in a sting operation last month!"

After the car accident, I was gravely injured. I begged my wife, Susie Rogers, to take me to the hospital. Instead, her face darkened, and she ordered someone to lock me inside a sauna heated to 180 degrees. The reason was simple: her brother-in-law, Chester Tucker, was scheduled for an appendectomy that day. To make sure I would not undergo surgery at the same time as him, she had me injected with a hundred coagulant shots. No matter how desperately I pleaded for her to save me, she remained unmoved. Ninety-nine needles pierced my body, each one intensifying the agony of my already severe injuries. The hundredth injection, she administered herself. Looking down at me in my misery, she said calmly, "Chester has had a hard enough life since losing his wife. As his sister-in-law, I'm only looking out for him. You weren't satisfied with driving him overseas; now you even staged a car accident to get surgery before him? "It seems I've spoiled you too much. That's why you dare to pull something like this. "The doctor said that with the injections and the high heat, your pain and bleeding would be controlled. Once Chester's surgery is done, you can have yours." In that moment, my heart turned to ash. When Chester's operation succeeded, Susie burst into tears of relief and even set off celebratory fireworks to mark his 'new beginning.' Later, as she watched him leave the hospital fully recovered, she finally remembered me and ordered someone to take me there. However, before they could, her assistant called. "The hospital has asked you to come and claim Mr. Lynch's…body."

I am not my parents' biological son. When they find their son and bring him back, he looks skinny and malnourished. My parents feel sorry for him, so they offer him compensation. But Kenneth Lawson says, "I am your son. If you are going to compensate me, then give me the company." My family persuades me by saying, "You are not related by blood after all. You should return the position to him." With a smile, I hand everything over to him. The next day, the company's biggest client, core technical team, and all distributors announce that they will only work with me. My parents panic and rush to beg me. I fold my arms and say, "Tell your biological son to come and beg me—the employee—to go back."

The city was overrun by zombies. My girlfriend, Callie Bernson, the team leader, had taken my best friend, Dan Harrington, and fled in our only armored vehicle, leaving me behind in the shelter to die. Outside, the scratching of claws against metal echoed through the corridors. The defensive barricades were already starting to fail. My heart sank into despair. I raised my gun to my temple, ready to end it quickly, when a stream of floating text suddenly appeared in front of my eyes. [It’s hilarious. That cheating couple thinks they’re heading to Paradise, but that place has fallen. It’s packed with high-level zombies now.] [Don’t die, PC! The person in a coma in the shelter—the one your so-called best friend called dead weight and abandoned—is actually the only S-class ability user. Once she wakes up, she’ll wipe the floor with everything!] [Just you wait. When your buddy crawls back here in disgrace and finds the big boss awake, he will go to step in and steal the credit for saving her.] [Hurry up and die already, cannon fodder. I can’t wait for the tragic apocalypse romance between the best friend and the big boss.] I lowered the gun and sprinted toward the quarantine room. Inside, a woman lay on the bed, sleeping peacefully. I strode over and slapped her hard across the face. “Honey!” I shouted. “Time to get to work!”

My mother-in-law, Emerald Jones, had always loved to exaggerate. My wife’s wedding gift for me was worth 8,800 dollars, but my mother-in-law told everyone it was worth 880,000 dollars. We only looked at cars at a luxurious car dealership. But she went around saying she spent over 200,000 dollars to buy me one. I figured that I was going to spend my life with my wife, Emilia, so I put up with her. On the eve of our wedding, I had a small argument with my wife. She blurted out, “My family has to pay over a million dollars for me to marry you. What more do you want? “My wedding gift alone is 880,000 dollars. Anyone who doesn’t know better will think you’re living off a woman!” I was utterly disappointed. She was not directly involved in the discussion on the wedding gift. However, it was something both families had agreed on together. My wife actually believed her mother’s ridiculous remarks and assumed I had received an outrageously expensive wedding gift. After my mother-in-law transferred 1,000 dollars to me for the wedding banquet, she told everyone she had given me 100,000 dollars instead. So, I swapped the luxury wedding feast for instant noodles on the day of the banquet. In addition, I showed a looped display of her stingy transfer of money to my bank account for everyone to see.

I worked overtime until the early morning hours and called my driver to pick me up. She frowned the entire ride. "You go home so late every night, and you always have me pick you up. You have no consideration for others." I found her comment baffling. "Wasn't all of this made clear when I hired you? The job requires you to be available at all times, and your salary is generous." "What exactly are you trying to say?" Chloe Morrison's tone turned reproachful and condescending. "I'm concerned about you, obviously. What good man goes home at dawn every day? You're probably fooling around outside. A man should conduct himself properly. You should get off work earlier and go home to do housework and cook. That's how you win a girl over." Her words irritated me, and my tone turned sharp. "Ms. Morrison, you're just a driver. You're not anyone to me. Don't overstep."