Murder Drones X Male Reader Novels & Stories

In order to take care of my wife, Mildred Dale, who kept going into lunatic episodes thanks to the side effects of a car crash, I spent all of my assets and ten years of my life taking care of her. Whenever Mildred went into an episode, she'd hurl everything she could get her hands on at me. At the same time, she'd scratch every inch of my body with her nails. But when she sobered up, she'd hug me while wailing at the top of her lungs. All of my friends advised me to file for a divorce, yet I'd always remember the fact that Mildred had pushed me from the incoming car and hit her head, resulting in her current condition. But everything changed when Mildred beat me up to the point that I sustained grievous injuries. Heck, my soul was already floating near the ceiling at that time. That was when I saw Mildred arranging her childhood friend Hank Weaver's collar carefully. "Why are you crying? He's already dead. Shouldn't we celebrate this occasion instead? "But my heart breaks for you, Mildred. You've pretended to be a lunatic for ten whole years just to swindle every cent out of his account!" Mildred kissed Hank on the lips. Then, she uttered icily, "I've been enduring that cowardly fool for ten long years. Now, I no longer have to be with him." It turns out that Mildred and Hank had painstakingly staged the car accident just so they could put on such a perfect act. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day Mildred is diagnosed with mental health issues.

My adoptive younger brother, Jonathan Arden, is getting married soon, so he has invited me to his wedding. It turns out that the bride is Charlotte Vaughn, my childhood sweetheart-slash-fiancee. My parents think that I'm going to steal Charlotte from Jonathan and cause a huge ruckus at the wedding. That's why they've hired 100 bodyguards, who soon have me surrounded. When things are getting tense, Jonathan rushes down the stage and starts pleading with me. "Mom, Dad, I'm sure Harrison showed up without an invitation just so he can give me his blessings. Please don't blame him." Charlotte takes my hand and says to me pleadingly, "Jonathan is diagnosed with cancer. He's afraid that you might be worried about him, so he's hidden his condition from you. I'm pretending to marry him just so he won't die single." I express my understanding toward the couple before giving them my blessings. Delighted, Charlotte promises me, "Don't worry, you're the only one I view as my actual husband. Once the wedding is over, we'll register our marriage right away." What she doesn't know is that I've already booked an appointment in a fake-death program. A week later, I will leave this place for real. After all, I don't want anything to do with my parents and Charlotte anymore.

On the day of our ninth wedding anniversary, I sat in the empty living room and summoned the system I had not contacted in ages. "System, help me submit an application. I've decided to leave this world." The cold, mechanical voice came through, and somehow it sounded comforting. "Understood, Harry. Your departure application has been received. The space-time corridor is being constructed. I will come to retrieve you in one week." I hummed quietly and stared at my phone screen. A family photo of three stared back. In the photo, I stood in the center holding an adorable little girl. A beautiful woman stood beside me, kissing my cheek.

I work as a security guard at a luxury residential complex.

There's an unspoken rule in my household—everyone has to engage in a drinking competition during the holidays. Whoever gets wasted first will have to pay off one year's worth of house and car mortgages for the other two siblings. In the first year, I collapsed after my first glass of alcohol. I had to pay the house mortgage for my oldest sister, Dahlia Zeller. In the second year, as soon as I picked up my glass, I fainted right away. Since then, I had to pay off Jasmine Zeller, my second sister's car loan. For the next 20 years, I've always been the loser. In the end, my wife, Jean McCarthy, is forced to jump off a building because of the huge debt I've racked up. The debtors keep dumping paint onto my residence, forcing me to deter away from it. Ransacked by guilt, I end up damaging my stomach from overdrinking when I attempt to train my alcohol tolerance. As a result, half of my liver has gotten removed. When I'm on the verge of death, I hear my parents snickering outside my ward. "Don't you think we've laced too many sleeping pills in his drink? He almost didn't wake up back then!" "It's fine. He's an idiot who merely thinks he has a low alcohol tolerance. Our family still relies on him for financial survival, you see. We can keep drugging him so that he'll keep getting wasted." When I open my eyes again, I've already gotten reborn in the timeframe when I'm sitting at the dining table in the 20th year.

I had just returned from a business trip. The moment I stepped through the door, I scooped my wife into my arms and rushed her straight to the bathroom for a steamy shower together. We were kissing passionately when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something: the toilet seat was flipped up. I froze. Seven years ago, my wife had read a post online claiming that when men pee standing up, bacteria splash onto the seat. She begged me to sit down to pee for the sake of her health. I have kept that promise. For seven years of marriage, that seat has never been up. A knot formed in my stomach, but the bathroom was spotless, so clean it looked staged, not a single stray hair anywhere. Then I noticed the shower temperature. It was set five degrees lower than her usual 43°C. Men like cooler showers. Women like them hotter… At that moment, I knew, Ruby Lynch had cheated on me.

On the eve of the National Robotics Championship, I smashed my carefully designed bot to pieces and announced my withdrawal. Everyone said I was a fraud who was quitting out of fear of being exposed. Online, the netizens mocked me relentlessly. Only one person, Adrian Cross, the so-called genius of the century, spoke up in my defense, his voice dripping with false sincerity, "I believe in River Lowell’s skills. Only he deserves to be my opponent. No matter what setbacks he’s facing, I hope he comes back to the arena and proves himself." In my previous life, the robot I built was identical to his. No matter how I tried to prove he had copied me, Adrian stood before the cameras, wearing his benevolent mask, and said, "It’s fine. This robot can go to River. I can always build something even better." His fans swarmed me, tearing me apart online, and no one believed in my talent. I swallowed the humiliation and vowed to rebuild my robot from scratch. However, when I was assembling it, the Power Core in my kit exploded, shattering my skull. That same night, I was rushed into the ICU. Netizens clapped and cheered, saying I got exactly what I deserved. That night, my girlfriend, Lila Hart, signed the hospital’s DNR consent form without hesitation. Until the day I died, I never understood how Adrian had gotten my robot’s data or why Lila had joined forces with him. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day of the competition.

“ꜰᴜᴄᴋ ᴍᴇ ʀᴀᴜʟ" ɪ ᴡʜɪꜱᴘᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ʜɪᴍ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴍʏ ʟᴀꜱʜᴇꜱ. Angel's life has been quite a roller coaster ride since she graduated with an exceptional degree from one of the finest schools in her hometown. Securing employment proved to be challenging, and her responsibilities as the primary provider for her small family added to her burdens. She had to support her brother's education as well as cover expenses for her mother's medical condition.She resorts to becoming a stripper out of desperation, ensuring her religious mother remains unaware of her shameful occupation.Her life takes a surprising twist when she is presented with a great chance to become an actress. The main male character, Raul D'Amano, is incredibly attractive and despite being married, the protagonist cannot help but feel drawn to him.✩░▒▓▆▅▃▂▁ ⚠️ Content Warning: This story contains explicit sexual content, strong language, and adult themes including infidelity, power play, dominance/submission, and emotional manipulation. Reader discretion is advised. Recommended for 18+ audiences only. If you’re sensitive to themes of morally gray relationships or taboo dynamics, please proceed with caution. ▁▂▃▅▆▓▒░✩

Five years ago, I lost my memory in a car accident. Eira Jones had claimed she was my beloved. She saved me, cared for me, and we naturally got married. For five years, I managed every aspect of our home for her. As I tended to her every need with unwavering devotion, I was convinced I was the happiest husband in the world. But as I was about to tidy up the study, I overheard Eira and her childhood sweetheart talking. “Eira, these past five years, Vedran Clarus has been utterly devoted to you. He just hasn’t chewed your food for you! I’m getting jealous.” Eira kissed his cheek affectionately. “Silly boy, those chores are his responsibility. I’d never let you do them.” Furious, I burst through the door and accused Reed Harris of being a shameless homewrecker. But to my shock, he showed his marriage certificate to Eira. He declared that I was the third wheel in their relationship. As we shoved each other about, my head slammed into the bookshelf, and my memories returned. Apparently, I was the sole heir to the city’s wealthiest, the Grant family. I watched as Eira ranted accusations at me, and the fair-faced, pretty boy in her arms feigned hurt. I turned and dialed my childhood sweetheart’s number. “Elena Gibson, your fiance is being bullied!”

Jessica Morrison had been divorced from her ex-husband, Mark Tatum, for five years, yet they still shared a joint bank account. She made over six figures a year, but every time her salary hit her account, she transferred every last cent to him. "Even though we're divorced, we still have a child together. I can't just turn my back on him." For years, she used that as her excuse. She went to take care of her and Mark's son while her own water had already broken. Because of that, our daughter, Emma, was born with health issues. Later, when Emma had a medical emergency and needed surgery, Jessica gave all the money to Mark's son instead. That time, I asked for a divorce. But she begged me through her tears. "They're both my children. You have to understand—I'm a mother. I promise it will never happen again." For the sake of our young daughter, I gave in. But this time, Emma got sick with a high fever and was diagnosed with acute leukemia. When I went to pay the bill at the hospital, I was told the card had been declined. The bank account that should have had hundreds of thousands of dollars was completely empty. That's when I found out Jessica had transferred all the money again. Our daughter was delirious from the fever, holding my hand. "Daddy, does Mommy not want me anymore?" I comforted her as best I could, but deep down, I knew—maybe it was time to find my daughter a new mother.