Invincible X Male Reader Wattpad

[This month’s property management fee is $1,500. Please make the payment on time.] My wife, Grace Anderson’s phone screen lit up. I glanced at it and then took the phone. “Did the management office miscalculate this? Our management fee should only total up to $28 a month.” Grace stood up abruptly and tried to snatch her phone back. “He must’ve miscalculated! Let me talk to him.” However, I had already clicked on the link and read the page. [Cloud Mansion, property owner: Ken Smith.] The young male nanny cooking in our kitchen had the same name. Something snapped in my brain. The three of us were living in a very small house, but Grace had bought a mansion for our manny!

In the fashion industry, I was known as the most mysterious designer. I worked hard to keep my identity from the public. As I stood at the top of business, I was invited to be the secret judge of the Innovating Design Competition’s final round. The organizer reserved a VIP seat for me in the middle of the front row and ensured that my presence would not be revealed. Just when I was about to sit down, a new male influencer pushed me aside and threw his hand bag onto my seat. “What are you looking at, bumpkin? How dare you show up at the VIP section dressed like a beggar? Where’s the security? Throw this person out!” I swallowed back my anger and replied coldly, “This seat was reserved for me.” The influencer laughed. “Yours? Do you know who I am? Ms. Reid spent eighty million dollars in sponsorship to get me to come here! Ms. Reid has the final say in this industry. Do you understand me?” I could only scoff at him. How bold of the Reid family! Did they really think they could make this kind of decision without consulting me?

Love was never safe. But with him... it’s beautifully dangerous. Soren has never known peace—only pain. Abused by a father who broke him. Abandoned by a mother who vanished without a backward glance. And betrayed by the man he once called home. Now, he doesn’t believe in love. Doesn’t believe in rescue. He survives. That’s all. Then Travian enters his world. Cold eyes. Quiet power. A patience that feels like a threat. He doesn't ask for Soren’s trust—he claims it. Slowly. Roughly. Completely. Travian sees the fire beneath Soren’s scars. And he wants it all. But just as Soren begins to let him in, the past strikes back—vicious and unforgiving. Kidnapped. Caged. Forgotten. Soren is thrown into the hands of the monsters he thought he escaped. But Travian isn’t the type to walk away. He’ll rip through hell, drenched in blood, to bring Soren back. Because Travian doesn’t just want his heart. He wants his rage, his darkness, his surrender. And this time, love won’t save them. It’ll destroy everything in its path.

My wife, Violet Miller, was obsessed with cleanliness. Yet I caught her peeling shrimp for a male intern at a dinner party. I demanded a divorce on the spot. Violet stared at me in disbelief. “Daniel is like a younger brother to me. What’s wrong with looking after him? Are you really divorcing me over this?” My heart ached. Maybe... it was time to let go.

Dans l’ombre d’un empire bâti sur la drogue et la peur, Don Alexandro Cruz règne sans partage. Maître d’un vaste réseau, il contrôle la ville grâce à une seule règle : le pouvoir avant tout. Mais tout bascule le jour où Marco Veltrano, un trafiquant aussi discret que redoutable, s’installe sur son territoire avec une marchandise différente… une drogue pure, irrésistible, qui attire rapidement les clients les plus puissants. D’abord alliés par intérêt, les deux hommes scellent un accord fragile. Mais lorsque l’ambition d’Alexandro se transforme en avidité, la confiance se brise. Ce qui n’était qu’un partenariat devient une guerre silencieuse, puis une lutte sans merci où chaque coup est calculé, chaque trahison fatale. Dans l’ombre de ce conflit, Marco prépare son arme la plus dangereuse : Yvana Talata, une femme aussi belle qu’insoumise, prête à infiltrer l’univers d’Alexandro. Sa mission est simple : le séduire… et le détruire. Mais rien ne se passe comme prévu. Car face à elle, le puissant Don chute là où il ne s’y attendait pas : dans les pièges de son propre cœur. Obsession, désir, faiblesse… Alexandro s’égare, aveuglé par une passion qu’il ne contrôle plus. Et dans un monde où l’amour est une faiblesse mortelle, une seule question demeure : Qui trahira en premier… et qui survivra à cette guerre où le cœur vaut plus cher que le sang ?

I was only eleven when my life changed. My parents were gone, and my innocence was taken away. I grew up in a world where danger wore a suit and love felt like power. I learned to guard myself. But nothing prepared me for him, Lorenzo Vitalio. He is my guardian’s stepbrother. He watched me grow up. He is the man I shouldn’t want. Yet he is the only one I do. He’s 32, and I’m 20. The age difference is wrong. The feelings? Right—so painfully right that it hurts. I’ve loved him for as long as I’ve known what love is. But to him, I was just the girl he had to protect, not the woman he could claim. So I did what any heartbroken girl would do—I pushed him away. I made him notice me. I broke rules, crossed boundaries, and opened up the cracks in both of us. Just when I thought I’d finally lost him, he came back. Now the question is, can love survive the burden of secrets, danger, and years of denial? Or am I doomed to suffer for a man who knows how to protect but not how to love? This is the story of Evelyn Rose and Lorenzo Vitalio. A love too forbidden to begin. Too deep to end. And far too reckless to ignore.

I had been married to Natasha Bates for ten years, and not once did she ever join me for our family's Independence Day cookout. This year, on the night before the celebration, I finally gathered the courage to ask if she wanted to come. She scoffed and said, "What are you, stuck in the past? Who even celebrates the Fourth with a family dinner anymore?" Yet that very evening, I saw a social media post of Natasha with her male best friend, Stanley Rogers. They were quite intimate in the picture, and the caption read: [True happiness is celebrating Independence Day with your bestie!] I commented back: [Hope you two lovebirds make it official soon.] Stanley did not hold back. He messaged me a bunch of intimate photos of the two of them. Then, he added, [You're just a leech living off his wife. What right do you have to question anything about Nattie?] Everyone always thought I was a gold-digger living off Natasha's success. However, they all forgot that I was the sole major shareholder of the company. This time, I’m done staying silent.

We’d been together for seven years, but during that entire time, my fiancée rejected the idea of getting married ninety-nine times, all because of a male intern. The first time, she canceled our vacation at the last minute, saying the intern was stuck on a night shift and afraid of the dark. She got on a flight that very night and rushed back to the hospital. The second time, we were already halfway through the doors of the courthouse to get our marriage registered. But just then, she got word that the intern had collapsed from exhaustion. Without a second thought, she left me standing alone in the snow for the entire day. After that, it became a pattern. Every time we were together, the intern would find some excuse to pull her away. Eventually, I made up my mind to let go. I stopped dreaming about a happy marriage with her. However, just when I announced I was transferring to another city, she broke down, begging me, almost hysterically, not to leave.

"This feels… incredible… you really know how to handle women…" I'm a figure photographer. Through my lens, I had handled countless women in their most seductive and lascivious moments. The women in my lens, no matter who they were before, always became top-tier models, because I trained each and every one of them. In a dimly lit room, a woman knelt on the bed, completely exposed. Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, her cheeks flushed and her eyes hazy. The only thing still held high was the curve of her hips, lifted firmly in my grasp…

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.