Yandere One Shots

Yandere Male Nerd x Female Reader

Your hands tremble as you flip the pages of your textbook, eyes scanning over the equations that mean nothing to you right now. The hum of the lecture hall, the murmur of students talking in hushed tones, it all fades into the background. You bite the inside of your cheek, your mind elsewhere, lost in the vortex of thoughts about the strange boy who always sat two rows behind you.

He's a shadow in your life, unremarkable and yet unsettling. The first time you noticed him was because you felt it—a gaze, like prickles on the back of your neck. His eyes are always on you. Always.

It started innocuously enough. At first, he was just a name on the class list—Eliot Gray. He sat alone, a nerdy type with wire-rimmed glasses, lanky build, and a penchant for solving problems before the professor could finish writing them on the board. He wasn’t popular, nor did he care to be. The girls didn't swoon over him, and the guys barely noticed him. But you did.

And now, he’s all you can think about.

You didn't want to get close to him, not really. But fate has a way of pulling threads together, and it was a simple coincidence that you ended up being paired for a semester-long project. Your professor smiled as she made the assignments, oblivious to the creeping sense of dread that washed over you.

When you first met Eliot outside of class to discuss the project, he seemed...normal. Timid, even. He stuttered when he talked, his eyes flickering nervously behind his glasses, and he avoided eye contact like it burned him. You convinced yourself that you had overreacted. Maybe he was just socially awkward, a typical nerd. But something about the way he always seemed to know exactly what you were going to say before you said it, how he completed your thoughts, your ideas—it felt off.

He had this habit of standing too close, of watching your every move. His gaze wasn’t shy, it was intense, dissecting, like he was cataloging every detail about you for future use. The hairs on your arm would stand on end, and the air would feel thick with tension whenever he was around. But you couldn’t shake him off. After all, you needed this project to pass, and Eliot was brilliant. If you were going to ace this, it would be because of him.

---

Weeks pass. You try to brush off the odd feeling in your gut every time you're alone with him, focusing on the work instead. But little things keep happening, strange coincidences that start to pile up.

You lose your favorite pen, the one you’ve had since high school, only to find it neatly placed in your bag the next day—despite being certain you hadn’t put it there. Your phone, which you could’ve sworn you left on your nightstand, appears on your desk in the library, unlocked. The messages you hadn't sent—nothing too suspicious, just things you might say—already there in your drafts.

And then there are the notes. They appear in your textbook, written in the margins in neat, precise handwriting that isn’t yours. At first, they seem like helpful comments on the material, little insights to guide you through the chapters. But then, they start to get personal. Questions about your life. How you’re feeling. What you’re doing after class.

One night, you return to your dorm after a late study session. The room is dark except for the soft glow of your laptop, the screen left on from earlier. When you approach it, a document is open. It’s a letter.

“I’m sorry I’m not brave. I’m sorry I can’t tell you how much I think about you, how much I want to protect you. I see you, even when you think no one does. You’re not alone. You’re never alone.”

Your heart races. The letter is unsigned, but you don’t need a name. You already know.

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The next time you meet Eliot, it’s hard to act normal, like everything is fine. You sit across from him in the library, your textbooks open between you, and you feel his gaze on your face, unblinking, like a predator watching its prey.