Yandere Rwby X Male Reader Wattpad

To "fix" Leonard Rinehart's oh-so-tragic depression, Naomi Gaffron—yeah, the same girl who once swore she'd only ever marry me—secretly tied the knot with him. So I gave in. Played along with the family's little matchmaking stunt. Married Aurelia Spencer—Brieton City's golden girl who'd been obsessed with me since forever. For seven years, she clung to me like I was oxygen. Every night, curled up like she'd break if I moved. I thought that was happiness. Then one night, I caught her whispering to her best friend: "Leonard's already got international awards. When are you dumping Leone?" "Whatever—I'm stuck with someone I don't love anyway. Doesn't matter who I married. Someone's gotta keep an eye on Leone so he doesn't screw up everything Leonard built." I checked her study. Found a hidden folder—over 100,000 photos of Leonard. A hundred unsent love letters. Even I couldn't fake it anymore. Bought a silicone dummy. Laid out the plan. The fire would be step one. Dead or alive—we're done.

I find cigarette ashes on the passenger seat of my wife's car. She brushes me off, saying, "My new assistant left it there. He's not the most sensible." When I ask for a divorce, she stares at me in disbelief. "Just because of that?" "Yeah. Just because of that!"

Anya Sawyer and I have been married for eight years. In that time, she brought 99 men back home. One day, I found myself looking at the 100th young man she had brought home ever since we got married. He shot me a taunting look before turning to Anya. "Ms. Sawyer, is this your useless husband?" Anya leaned into her seat and replied with a lazy yes. The young man patted my cheek with a grin. "Tonight, I'll show you what a proper man is capable of." … That evening, I was forced to sit in the living room and listen to their moans all night long. The next morning, Anya ordered me to prepare breakfast for her as usual. I refused. She seemed to have forgotten our marriage was by contract. That day just so happened to be the third-to-last day of our contract.

My younger brother had stage four kidney cancer. Our parents demanded that I donate a kidney to save him. I told them I only had one kidney left. The transplant would kill me. Instead of listening to me, they forcibly strapped me to the operating table. “It’s just one kidney! Stop being so selfish!” they yelled. They did not care that I was telling the truth. Years ago, I had given my other kidney to save my father after his car crash.

Eight years married, and my wife? She asked for a divorce 99 times. I thought it was just her usual drama—testing me. Then I found out she'd been wiring half a million every year to some dude. Always with the same note: ILU. When she hit me with divorce number 100, I finally signed. I pulled my money out of her little passion project and ghosted—moved my company overseas, wiped my tracks clean. Now she's out there losing her mind, trying to find me.

My girlfriend is an heiress from the upper class of Jetland, and she is worth tens of billions of dollars. In order to test me, she has never spent a single cent on me, nor given me any presents during the seven years that we have been together. She even splits the bill with me when we buy rubbers. After my mother falls severely ill, I borrow all the money that I can from all my family and friends. I only need two thousand dollars more to afford my mother's operation. However, even when I beg my girlfriend to lend me money, she refuses. After my mother passes away, I take care of everything on my own. When I go home to pack my things, I accidentally come across a list of presents that she has bought for our neighbor, whom she treats like a younger brother. These gifts include a luxury villa, a designer watch, and haute couture suits. There is also an audio recording of her conversation with her best friend. "Tessie, I heard that Ethan begged you so he could borrow two thousand dollars from you. Is that true?" Tessa Seinfeld snorts, and her voice rings out carelessly. "Zeke's right. Only a leech would go down on his knees just for two thousand dollars. We've only been together for seven years, and he's already so eager to get money out of me." In the end, our seven years of relationship mean nothing. It only takes a provocative comment from her neighbor, Zeke Palmer, for everything to fall apart. But it doesn't matter. From the moment my mother died, I have already decided to leave Tessa.

On my birthday, Heather Pond’s lover posted a sonogram on his social media account and captioned it, [We’re going to be parents!] I commented, [Congratulations. You can have the baby cot from my place.] The next second, Heather called me to give me a warning. “Brandon Smith is dying. I’ll come back to you once I give birth to his child. Please don’t trigger him any further!” I remained calm and collected when I served her the divorce papers. Then, I packed my bags and went on a vacation in Europe.

I'm on my way to get married when a truck slams into my car from behind. After being unconscious for a long time, I hear the doctor telling my fiancee that I might lose my memory. I decide to have a little fun and open my eyes, pretending to be confused. "Who are you?" My fiancee goes completely still. I'm about to admit I'm only teasing her, but before I can, she grabs my best man's hand without a second thought. "I'm Janice Lloyd, your best friend's fiancee. You got into a car accident on your way to our wedding."

The day before our wedding, I received an expensive suit from my wife. Not long after, her young lover called me, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry. It was my fault. My bad for mixing up your size. Please… please don't blame Sylvie." On the other end, I could hear Sylvie soothing him gently, patiently, until he calmed down. I stared at the plane ticket in my hand—a one-way trip out of the country—and calmly asked her for a divorce. Then, as if I no longer mattered, she left me with a single, cold sentence. "Just don't regret it."

I head to a real estate sales office with my fiancée to purchase a marital home, where we meet a two-faced realtor. He starts off by complimenting my fiancée for everything she's achieved at her young age, especially since she can afford to drive a Rolls-Royce. Then, he hints that I'm wearing a fake watch and pretending to be rich so that I can live off her money and get a house without paying a cent. When he learns that we're buying our marital home, he raises his voice and says to me, "I think the sugar mommy who bought you two houses the last time was pretty nice. Oh, wait—I forgot that you have more than one sugar mommy, Mr. Bellway. Do they know of one another's existences?" I smile. My so-called sugar mommy is my actual godmother, but there's no denying that she's rich. Unfortunately for this realtor, my fiancée is nothing but a poor student whom I sponsored back in the day!