Yandere X Male Reader Novels & Stories

Mabel Landry and I have been in love with each other for ten years. Our relationship has started since our school days, and we've been married for years. All in all, we're the perfect couple that everyone envies. But I get into an accident on our tenth year anniversary. When Mabel arrives at the hospital, she looks at me with pain and sorrow in her eyes. "Why are you this careless, Dustin? If anything does happen to you, I might as well die!" I'm about to console Mabel when I suddenly see two live comments streaking across my vision. "Mabel Landry is nothing but a filthy cheater! Despite that loving facade of hers, the truth is, she's already slept with her side piece behind Dustin's back!" "When will Dustin finally realize that Mabel has already cheated on him with someone else?"

Everyone cheered on the most handsome student in our elective class, Jack Anderson, to reveal his ideal type. “My future wife has to be at least five feet five inches tall, and her parents must be professors. She also has to be beautiful and a top student in her field…” While everyone cheered, I immediately looked up. Why did the description… sound like my girlfriend, Cindy Swift? The next second, the professor standing next to the podium, Liam Swift, immediately smiled obsequiously. “That’s great! If Cindy hears this, she’ll be very happy! “You should meet her so that she wouldn’t go overseas over some silly guy.” Our classmates were roaring with laughter. I lowered my eyes and stared at the text message my parents had sent me. [You rascal! Are you sure you want to accompany your girlfriend overseas? No one will take over our family business, then!]

Three years after I died, my mother sent me twenty dollars for living expenses. Three years before that—the first time I ever asked my family for money—she said to me, offhand, "Sometimes I think you're just putting on an act. What's so unsanitary about a thirty-cent boxed meal? And why can't you wear a five-dollar down jacket? Face it, you're just more high-maintenance than your little brother." Later, when I needed twenty dollars to buy some cheap medicine for my stomachache, she blocked me immediately and cut off all contact—along with every relative we had. "Don't contact me anymore. I'm clearly not a good mother. I can't afford to give my son a life of luxury." But for my younger brother, who had just started high school, she spared no expense—renting him a three-bedroom apartment. Even the family dog got its own room. In the end, on the day my brother became the top scorer in the state, she finally remembered me. She took me off her block list and transferred twenty dollars. "It's only twenty dollars. Was it really worth giving your family the silent treatment for three whole years?" What she never knew was this— On the night my stomach ruptured, three years ago, I had already died. I couldn't afford to go to the hospital. I froze to death in the snow.

While I was eating, I came across a post on X. [Found out my girlfriend has a nasty disease and is pregnant. I want my buddy to be the one left holding the bag. What should I do?] I was just about to comment that the poster was out of his mind when I scrolled down and realized people were actually giving him advice. [That's easy! If you two are close, just invite him on a trip.] [Get your girlfriend and your buddy drunk in the middle of the night, then have them stay in your buddy's room. When the time comes, catch them in the act. You can break up and push the kid onto your buddy to take responsibility…] Reading that comment, I couldn't help but laugh in disbelief. I was about to show my friend this mind-blowing post so we could rant about it together when he suddenly looked up at me and asked, "Tyler, are you free this weekend? How about we go on a trip?"

The seventh time Claire Fisher bailed on our marriage license appointment, I finally cut her out of my life—for good. From then on, if she was at a party, I wasn't. When she was scheduled to perform at our college's anniversary celebration, I made sure to leave early. The moment my company announced a collaboration with hers, I resigned without a second thought. Even on Christmas Eve, when she showed up at my parents' house with gifts, I slipped out with a half-hearted excuse about "visiting a friend." I blocked her number. Deleted her from my contacts. Burned every bridge and salted the earth behind me. No calls. No texts. No social media. I didn't reach out. She couldn't reach me. Simple as that. For the better part of my life, I was hopelessly in love with her—waiting on her, caring for her, putting her first in every way that mattered. I gave her all of me without ever holding back. But after the seventh time she left me sitting alone at the City Hall, something inside me broke. I was done. If that meant spending the rest of my life alone, so be it. Better that than sitting in an empty apartment, listening to the silence, holding on to hope for someone who never planned to show up.

My future daughter-in-law, Chloe Cyrus, knelt on the floor in a deep V-neck lace nightgown, her face flushed with a hint of longing as she looked up at me. "Mr. Edison, let me take good care of you tonight." My eyes fell on the proud, smooth swell exposed at her chest, and I swallowed hard. "This… this isn't appropriate, is it?" The next second, she pressed herself tightly against me and crouched down. My mind went blank with desire…

After the car accident, one of the Laurent heiresses has died, while the other lives. The moment my religious wife, Amelia Laurent, opens her eyes in the hospital, she addresses me as her brother-in-law. Then, she claims that her older sister, Penelope Laurent's soul has possessed her body. I quickly get all the doctors and priests I can find, hoping to swap Penelope's soul out for Amelia's. That is, until I overhear Amelia's conversation with our daughter, Charlotte Robinson, at night. "Mom, you've had a crush on Uncle Samuel for so many years, and you've even gone into abstinence by staying in the monastery for years. Now, you can finally be with him in the open." Amelia pats Charlotte on the head. "If it wasn't for the need to prevent your father from ruining Samuel's relationship back then, I wouldn't have married your father in the first place." As I struggle to register the truth from the shadows, I witness what happens next after Charlotte leaves the ward. Amelia, who has always prided herself on her composure and restraint; who has practiced abstinence for seven long years for the sake of her religion, proceeds to be physically intimate with Samuel Bennett—a fresh widower—on the cramped hospital bed. The next day, I apply for Amelia's death certificate immediately before burning our marriage certificate. On the day Amelia throws a grand proposal banquet for Samuel, I board the helicopter that has flown over to pick me up. But strangely enough, Amelia tears through the streets while chasing after the helicopter.

In the late stages of her pregnancy, my wife slipped away into the mountains with her childhood sweetheart, seeking some reckless thrill under the open sky. Fate, however, had other plans. She suffered a massive hemorrhage, and the two were rushed to the hospital. As a doctor, I took one glance at her condition and instructed the nurse to prepare for the cremation. In my previous life, I had risked everything to save her. On that very operating table, she and the child inside her perished together. Her childhood sweetheart, overcome with grief and fury, rallied others to accuse me of seeking personal revenge. Their rage was relentless, and they broke my hands. "A butcher like you, without medical ethics, deserves nothing less than eternal damnation!" they shouted, their words burning like brands on my soul. Yet I distinctly remembered—the surgery had been a success. Her vital signs had stabilized. Clinging to hope, I begged my in-laws to conduct an autopsy, to uncover the truth buried beneath the accusations. Instead, they called the police, who swiftly charged me with performing surgery under the influence of alcohol. Stripped of my rights, I was thrown into prison, where suffering became my only companion. Years later, upon release, I stumbled across a sight that tore what was left of my heart to shreds—my wife, alive and well, behind the wheel of a luxury car, accompanied by her childhood sweetheart and their child, living off the fortune I had worked tirelessly to build. Their betrayal didn't end there. Coldly and methodically, they lured me into a trap, casting me into a cement mixer to erase every trace of my existence. When I next opened my eyes, time had rewound itself. I was back on that fateful day, the one when her hemorrhage began.

My brother-in-law had a sudden heart attack. The doctor said only my wife could perform the specific surgery he needed. It was a critical situation. By the time I finally managed to get through to her, her childhood sweetheart answered the phone. "We're just about to head out camping," he said casually. "We won't be coming back tonight." My heart sank. "Ryan had a heart attack. He needs surgery immediately. Tell her to come back to the hospital—now." Instead, my wife's irritated voice cut through. "Are you done? How dare you make up a lie like that and curse my brother!" Before I could explain, she hung up. When I tried calling back, her phone was already off. In the end, my brother-in-law died because the window for surgery closed. And my wife lost her mind.

At midnight, the ER receives a pregnant patient with an extremely pale face, and she's convulsing violently at the same time. I lift her shirt on the spot so that I can diagnose her symptoms better. But my wife, Selena Carson, who also works as the head nurse, suddenly berates me angrily. "Do you have any idea that what you're doing is sexual harassment? Can't you spare the patient her pride? "Don't use your treatment as an excuse! I refuse to believe that there aren't any female doctors in the ER at all!" The patient's family members streamed the whole thing live. Soon, everyone was blasting me on the Internet. The hospital forces me to apologize to the pregnant patient. But I decide to tender my resignation the very next day. After all, the patient's disease has a frighteningly high chance of getting misdiagnosed, not to mention it's incredibly difficult to cure. In fact, no one but I can cure her once and for all.