The-lonely-raven - 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐮 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞?

family: “why are you just sitting in ur room smiling at ur phone?”

me who’s been reading smut about fictional characters for the past 6 hours:

Yandere Classmate x you

Rated 18 + — mature short content !

Includes: Headcanons of stalking, obsessive behavior, unhinged man lowkey, sexual fantasies, perverted and lewd behavior, stealing, male masturbation, gender neutral reader, grumpy x sunshine,

*He has no name, and is only referred to as “your classmate” his only existence is to be obsessed with the reader, and without you, he ceases to exist. This yandere classmate is different from the other one I have wrote about. This is purely fictional writing!*

Synopsis: You wish on a shooting star for a boyfriend. Your classmate has an unhealthy obsession with you, he’s almost entranced, and he follows you around like a lost puppy. He doesn’t know what you have done to him, but he won’t let you go. No, he’ll hunt you down and make sure you’ll stay with him forever.

When you wished to be in a relationship with a man that was utterly obsessed with you— joking or not joking— the universe heard you loud and clear.

It was like he was here on earth just to be with you. Every single part of his body was screaming, clawing, and dragging his feet towards you. It was hard to get close, and near damn annoying that you were surrounded by your friends all the time.

Your classmate was entranced the moment you walked past him, and whenever you did and he heard your sweet laugh… his legs immediately made him get up from his spot to follow you.

You were just the sweetest being he has ever seen. Always nice and kind to others, even if they didn’t deserve it. He felt like he had a responsibility to protect you from assholes that would take advantage of you.

He began to follow you around. Listening in to your conversations, and he would take mental notes of what would make you laugh. He was determined to make you smile, to make you laugh harder than that fool in front of you.

He gave up on his education to pursue you. I mean he was learning… just happened to skip some of his classes to sneak into yours. You were a more interesting subject anyways. He would sit somewhat far away, and switch it up every time. He didn’t want you to notice him, not yet anyways.

Your classmate really wanted to sit next you, or maybe offer to buy you lunch. When you went to the bathroom, and left your cup on the table, there was a faint lip mark on it. He gulped, his hand slowly reaching for it. If he couldn’t kiss you soon, this was the next best thing. He pressed his lips where yours were previously, his tongue flicking the rim. He savored your saliva, and out of adrenaline he decided to keep the cup all together.

Whenever you were gone, or didn’t come to school that day, he had to visit your locker. It was after gym class, and no one was around as he leaned in to sniff at the little vents. Your scent had been brewing in there for a couple of hours, and he groaned.

He desperately tried to lap up every scent — he inhaled and licked the air— his hands palming the tent in his shorts. If only he knew your locker combination.

Your classmate pulled his shorts down, and his boxers followed suit. He finally freed himself from his confinements, and he rubbed his hand up and down his length. He masturbated at the thought of you often. He only needed an image of you, a scent, or an item of yours. Either way, his dick would be in his hands, twitching and cumming.

When he wasn’t stalking you and literally trying to learn everything about you, he took the liberty to primp himself. He wanted to look good for you after all. He would wake up early, shave and even wax his body clean of body hair, cut his nails, and do shit to his cuticles. He went to the barbershop and got a new hair cut, and made sure his face was clean and shaven. If that wasn’t your thing he would grow it all out.

He was a bit hesitant to do much with his lower body. But he sucked it up and made sure to trim down there too. He wasn’t used to shaving, and had to buy a couple of bandaids. A sanrio bandaid near his crotch.

And he realized he was deeply out of shape. Shit. When you were running on the tracks, so was he. He had to hold his breath to hide his deep and hard breathing. He soon found out he shouldn’t have done that.

You came over to him after he briefly passed out cold on the ground. He slowly opened his eyes, and you came into the view, and he saw a tiny bit up your shorts. That was enough for him to go into a frenzy.

He bought all of the fruits he could find, he read on the internet that the best way to eat someone out, and practice, was to use fruit. The peaches juices were dripping down his neck as he continued to tongue, and devour the hole. He imagined that he was on the ground and you were sitting on his face, his arms would lock you down onto him, making you put your full weight on him. Suffocate him for all he cares, he just wanted to hear you say his name. Or at least acknowledge that he exists.

He isn’t popular like you are, but he has his own group of friends. And by friends, he means your siblings. The only natural way to get close to you, was through your family after all. Plus, if you two were to get married, he already had an in with the family.

It also meant he could see your room. He snuck away for a minute to examine where you slept. He slowly knelt down, his hips aligned with corner of the mattress, and he digs his face into your sheets. His hands gripped the soft plush of your blanket, his cock rubbing against the corner. He whined as wanted more, he just wanted to bury himself deep inside you, and feel your warmth around him. He bets that it would feel like heaven.

Your classmate quickly retracted as he felt a tiny wet spot growing on his pants, his face flushed as he sat back down onto his ass. When he does so, his hands land on a piece of fabric. Out of instinct his hands curl around it and he picked it up, he inspected it and his eyes widens. Your underwear. In his hand.

His hand was tightly gripped around his mouth and the other was around his cock. His back was arched and he locked himself away in your bathroom. He loved the feeling of your underwear rubbing on his tip, and his hips snapped against his hand. He closed his eyes and he imagined you were giving him a handjob instead. Fuck, he just needed to smell you instead. He smelled your underwear, as he climaxed, his cum dribbling on the floor.

When you applied for college, he did too. He found out every single one you wanted to go to from your siblings. He got waitlisted. You got accepted. It wasn’t even a straight up rejection, it wasn’t a yes, and it was just a damn maybe.

He winced, his eyes almost closing as he smiled for the picture. It turned out alright and he paid the fee. A couple of months later, he got his passport in the mail. He booked his flight, and he lied right to your face. He convinced you to get an apartment with him instead of going to a dorm, and he followed you around campus, even though he doesnt have a single class there.

Allure: This is a bit of a different format from how I usually write, and idk how to feel about it lol!

I LOVE that drawing of Lute and Adam as demons. Could you draw more of them? Demon rockstars!

yandere! rockstar x manager! reader

“on another note, people have noticed your recent music has been quite romantic,” the host states, keen eyes pinned to her guest with an easy smile. “so who’s the lucky person, feroze? your fans are dying to know.”

with soft strands of crimson hair that fall over his flawless brown skin, sharp, stygian eyes lined with kohl, and the sleeves of his black shirt rolled back to reveal prominent muscles — feroze looks gorgeous. he has to, for his first interview of the new year.

“oh, i’m sure they are.” he drawls, crosses one leg over the other. “but that’s a secret i won’t ever tell, i’m not fond of sharing.” the audience, mainly consisting of teenagers who have his posters up on their walls, swoon, and the host laughs politely. “besides, they know who they are, and that’s enough for me.”

but feroze is stupid, you think, if he believes he can evade the host’s intrusive questions. this is her show, and despite his status as a celebrity rockstar — he’s here as her guest.

“not ready to go public just yet?” she asks, her words met with a shrug from the man seated across from her, but the woman persistently presses on, “alright, no names, but can you at least tell us more about this secret sweetheart of yours?”

“they’re the love of my life.” he states simply, expression apathetic. feroze rhythmically drums his fingers on his legs, “i could write a million songs in their name, and none would be able to properly capture the way i feel when i’m around them.”

“it’s something bigger than words can convey.” feroze’s words fall from his lips like a confession. and you notice that every time he talks, his tongue piercing glints under the harsh studio lighting. “in my language, we call it ishq.”

the host is about to say something, presumably ask the musician what he means, but he doesn’t give her a chance to, and you wince. he’ll get backlash for speaking over her, despite all the times you’ve reprimanded him for his impatience, especially in the predatory eyes of the media.

because popularity isn’t enough. no matter how many of his concerts sell out within seconds, or how many weeks his music tops worldwide charts — no limelight hides his brown skin, or his desi heritage. there are always those who lurk, waiting for him to mess up, and ready to tear him apart when he does.

“it’s a connection, a level of adoration that is beyond rationality,” he clarifies, “ishq can be beyond beautiful, or it can be utterly destructive. but either way, it leaves you an absolute mess.” feroze chuckles, the sound low and wry. but it is nothing compared to the approving applause from the audience, who watch the lovestruck star in awe.

“wow, that’s just lovely!” the host gushes, and, you note from your place in the audience of onlookers, glows with the pride of getting feroze to talk for so long, speak more than some simple words.

it’s undeniable that he’s a star, he belongs on his stage, commands attention when he sings with his husky voice and lays his heart bare in the lyrics. but when it comes to interviews or fan meets, it’s almost impossible to get a word out of him.

it’s mildly amusing to watch, the way everybody will try so hard to pry a few short sentences from his lips, when all he ever does around you, much to your vexation, is speak.

“i’ve built a name for myself, from the ground up, for over twenty three years,” his black eyes scan the applauding audience, and find yours, lingering there when he speaks. “but if they asked me to — i’d leave it all behind. the fame, this life.” he says, “the music would stay, songs of adoration and sweet nothings, but only for them and nobody else.”

“surely you don’t mean that?” the host asks the man seated across from her, “your fans would be absolutely devastated, to say the very least.” she winks at the audience, who agree wholeheartedly with her words. “and what would music even look like without the feroze khan?”

“if you want me to be honest with you, i simply don’t care.” he shrugs nonchalantly, and all of a sudden, the studio which was previously buzzing with excitement, falls entirely silent. “i don’t care if music falls apart, or if the world hates me for it.”

the host’s grin falters, and your heart skips a beat. he tilts his head to the side. “all of this?” he makes a vague gesture at the studio, the bright lights and dozens of eyes trained on him at this very moment. “it means nothing to me, next to them.”

“i guess you really love them, don’t you?” the host attempts to lighten the mood, but her smile strains the corners of her lips, and her eyes anxiously dart to the camera, ready to wrap up this conversation and move on.

“love is too simple of a word,” feroze muses, twirling one of his many rings between his lithe fingers, looping it around and over them with charming ease. “this is something messy and rough around the edges, but it’s something i want to experience forever, all the same.”

again, his eyes meet yours in the crowd, a slow smile spreading on his lips. meri jaan. he mouths, and you flush, heat creeping up to your cheeks out of embarrassment or irritation, you don’t know. but the words linger in your mind all the same, my love.

but as soon as feroze’s smile blossoms, it withers, and his expression smooths over, back to a bored gaze and his relaxed demeanour. you wearily run a hand over your face, irritation seeping under your skin at the rockstar’s insistence in actively ruining his career.

there’s tension in the studio, a palpable uneasiness draped over the silent audience — but if feroze notices, he doesn’t care enough to show it. the musician is the epitome of ease: arms lazily draped over the armchair he casually lounges in, legs crossed comfortably as he watches the host expectantly, ready for her next question, but not quite interested.

and you decide you’ve seen enough. so with your jaw set, and hands curled into hard fists, you turn on your heels and leave the studio without so much as a backwards glance.

you don’t need to look at him to know that feroze watches you walk out. but what you don’t know is that after you leave, he refuses to say a single word for the remainder of the interview.

by the time you and feroze get back to his place, your anger has twisted itself into a shimmering rage, and you make sure that he knows it too.

“you’re going to ruin your life and destroy your career!” you exclaim, hating the way he regards you with such nonchalance, even now. “i have tried, time and time again, to be patient with you — but telling your fans on live television that you don’t care about any of them??”

“not my fault if they can’t handle the truth” he shrugs, “let them all rot, they’re nothing to me. the only person i need is you.”

“feroze motherfucking khan.” you curse, “if someone hears you say that — you’re over!!” you seethe, grit your teeth and bite your tongue before you can say anything you’ll regret.

coming back from this interview was going to be difficult, but people had come back from worse, right? besides, you could always resort to bribery and censorship, if push comes to shove. but hopefully, if you can do your job right, it shouldn’t.

“why do you insist on making my job so difficult?” you mutter, lean against the wall and close your eyes in resignation, admitting defeat to the stubborn celebrity.

it’s the low sound of feroze’s voice that brings you back to the present.

“i’m making your job difficult, am i?” feroze laughs, the sound dripping with disbelief, you open your eyes, find that his darken. “you make mine impossible.” he narrows his black eyes, “when i see you at my concerts, i forget the lyrics to songs i’ve sang a million times, my hands start shaking, and i can barely hear the music over the sound of my heart.”

you shake your head, don’t trust yourself not to say something stupid, but something twists in your chest.

“even now,” with every word, he takes a step closer to you, until you’re pressed against the wall and he’s looming over you, hands reaching out for yours. “i can barely think straight. here,” he guides your palms against his chest, fingers gentle, even when he feels like being anything but. “can you feel it, what you do to me?”

“you drive me absolutely insane, with your very existence. every song of mine is about you, and whenever i perform knowing you’re watching me, i can barely breathe.” you look up at the musician, your anger giving way to something slightly softer, as you feel the erratic rhythm of his beating heart under your hands. “i love you.”

“don’t.” you manage, “don’t throw away your entire life for me. you’ve got the world at your fingertips, everybody either wants you, or wants to be you.” and it’s true, both of you know it. “you’re a superstar, feroze. music hasn’t seen something like you since cobain, don’t throw it all away for me — i’m not worth what you have.”

“not worth it?” feroze echoes, shakes his head as he wraps his fingers around your wrists, “then tell me why i go to sleep and wake up with my mind and body thinking about you. tell me why i want to devour you, one kiss at a time, and memorise the dips and curves of your body underneath mine.”

his voice is barely above a whisper as he lays his desires bare before you. “go on, use your words and tell me.”

but you have no answer for him, couldn’t think of one even if you tried, because the only thing on your mind is how close he is, how his lips ghost the shell of your ear and graze your own with every word.

“that’s what i thought,” feroze says, he considers something for a moment before continuing, “and forget my being a superstar, that’s not what i want, and it never has been since i met you.”

the limited space between you is heavy with desire and promises of debauchery, and you want nothing more than to let yourself sink into it. so, even when you know this is unprofessional, know you could lose your job for this — you can’t help yourself.

your anger is washed away by something warmer, something that leaves you wanting for more. “then what do you want, feroze?”

“i thought you’d never ask, meri jaan.” feroze breathes against your jaw, curls a hand around your throat.

“how about you let me show you exactly what i want,” his other hand holds your wrists, bound by his fingers, over your head. the man pushes his knees between your thighs, and finally smiles. “be mine, just for tonight — say yes, and i’ll show you what ishq means.”

something inside him comes undone when you press your lips against his, burning with want.

he knows. he knows he’s a handful, your rockstar always saying the wrong thing and giving you headaches, leaving you with yet another mess to deal with.

throughout the night, he realises that even his best music has nothing on the mellifluous sounds of you whimpering his name, all breathless. your anger dissipated and replaced by raw need.

he swears he’ll make it up to you. he’ll treat you so well, that you’ll never want to leave. besides, it’s not like you could, even if you tried — he wouldn’t let you. what’s a rockstar without his manager?

This is adorable!

Platonic Soulmates Headcanons

Posted:08/02/23

Title: Platonic Soulmates

Yandere Ken x GN Human Reader

[Platonic relationship]

Author's note: Ken meets the human who used to play him. [Headcanons]

Word count: 1107

Barbie Story List/ Master List/ Requests Here

Warnings: yandere

🔞18+ page due to dark and adult themes. Minors will be blocked 🔞

He met you in the real world when Barbie said he could go for a walk. Ken's eyes meet yours and had a subconscious understanding of who you were.

"BARBIE! LOOK WHAT I FOUND!" He shouts, running back to where Barbie sat. She looks over horrified to see Ken carrying a human over his shoulder. "Ken! Did you just steal a human?!" He shakes his head. "I'm okay!" You say. "While you were trying to think of a way to find your human..." He pauses to set you down carefully. "I found mine!" You waved shyly. "Hi..." Barbies shocked. "How...are you sure?" He nods. "That name on the bottom of my foot." Ken points at you. "It's them!" Barbie's jaw dropped. "You're y/n?!" You smile. "Yep!"

You wrote your name on the bottom of his foot. He likes to think of it as a cool tattoo.

Walking around the real world, Ken can't stop telling very passing strangers. "They're my human." Or "That's my human."

If Ken lives with you in the real world, he unintentionally becomes like a house pet. Which was his doing.

He'll never leave the house without you, then beg and complain when you won't take him outside.

"Ken, you're a grown man. You can leave the house without me." Ken hugs your legs as you cook dinner. He shakes his head into your legs. "No, I can't! What's the point? I wanna see everything with you."

Ken excepts you to not only pick out all of his clothes but to dress him too. "Ken, you can put on your own damn clothes!" You shout over your shoulder, leaving his room. "I don't get it. You used to dress me all the time. What's the difference now?" You stopped to face him. "Because back then you were a doll, now you're..." You trail off gesturing to him. Ken looks like he's about to cry. "Aren't I still your doll?" His bottom lip is fat as he pouts. You sighed. "Of course, you're my doll -" He cuts you off. "Then why don't you love me?!" You wear a confused look. "I never said I didn't love you..." He points to his new outfit laying on the bed. "Yes, you did. You said you wouldn't dress me!"

Ken loves it when you take him to the zoo. He's never seen real animals before. "Is that a horse with strips?!" Wait till he finds out about fantasy horses like unicorns, pegasus, and centaurs.

"There are horses that are half man AND half horse?!"

Platonic PDA 24/7

If Barbie were to make him come back to Barbieland, he would beg you to come with him because he doesn't want to be alone again.

"Fine. I'll go -" He begins to cheer, to which you interrupt. "But I can't stay for long. I do have a life here." Ken nods, understanding. However, when you get to barbieland he pretty much never lets you leave again. Of course, you don't know that right off the bat.

He's your best friend. Ken has forgotten about constantly getting regretted by Stereotypical Barbie and pours all of his love into you. His human.

Other Ken's are jealous, which makes your Ken happy but very overprotective.

"This is my human, y/n." Your Ken says to another Ken. You both reach out to shake hands, but your Ken stops you.

He can never just say your name when talking about you it's always "my human, y/n."

You two are very cuddly with each other. Ken loves to carry you around in his arms, piggyback rides, and riding on his shoulders.

He loves to rub your head to mess up your hair because he thinks it's funny.

Even though Ken is very overprotective of you when it comes to others Ken or even the Barbies, he needs you to protect him for a lot of things.

When he gets a little scratch his very dramatic. "I'm gonna die!" He cries, falling in your arms pretending he can't walk.

You have your own sleepovers, where you show him human TV shows, make friendship bracelets, play truth or dare, etc.

Ken has a hard time understanding truth or dare. "Okay y/n your turn. Truth or Dare." You think about it for a moment before picking dare. Ken smiles and bounces a little, trying to think of something. "Oh! I dare you to... hopping on one foot!" You pause. "Um, Ken... that's not a dare..." He looks confused. "If that is not a dare, then I don't know what is." You look at him again. "You don't know what a dare is do you." His body slumps while he shakes his head. "It's okay a dare would be like... I dare you to take something from Barbies house without getting caught or... I dare you to jump off the roof into the pool..." Ken, process what you say. "But why would I steal from Barbie? I love her." You shake your head. "It doesn't have to be that. A dare is just something you wouldn't normally do but do because it's part of the game." Safe to say, Ken doesn't like truth or dare, so it just turns into truth.

Ken doesn't have a birthday, so he claims you share the same birthday. "We're like twins! We can share your most special day together!"

"Okay, Ken, it's time for me to head home. I can't stay any longer -" Before you could finish, Ken is on your foot, hugging your leg like a child trying to get a free ride. "NO!" He pouts. "You can't leave me!" You try to shake him off. "Ken! We had a deal! Now, let's go!" Ken shakes his head violently. "Please, y/n! Please don't leave me here all alone!" He cries. You take a breath trying to calm down, knowing if you're panicked, then he will be too. A gentle hand runs through his hair. He sniffles and then wipes his nose on his arm. Puppy dog eyes look up at you. "You can't leave me..." Ken mumbled. You move his blonde hair from his puffy wet eyes. "I'll always come back for you, Ken. I just can't stay here forever. I have a life." You sit on the ground, letting him cuddle into your leg. "Why can't we have a life here?" Ken asked, resting his chin on your knee. "Because I'm human. I can't survive here. There's no food, water, basic plumbing..." He kisses your knee before turning his face away, letting his cheek rest on it. "I'm sorry, Ken..." He doesn't look at you. "You can't leave me..."