#forced to use the mind for academic papers

[aureatchi]

in another world, i’m on fyodor’s lap abt finished deciphering his 3pg’d interpretation in russian annotated on his copy of metamorphoses: orpheus & eurydice. in reality, i js finished writing three essays. no fedya btw. 😔

[fangdokja]

🔞You’re his project, and he’s determined to get you right.

❤︎ Synopsis. A quiet genius watches from the shadows, studying every detail of your life with obsessive precision—until one night, his fixation turns darker, and you become the subject of his twisted, unrelenting experiment. In his world, nothing is left to chance, and you’re the only variable he can’t control.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Nerd x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanon. Beyond the Data - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 4,939

♡ TW. dom + top + older + sadistic yandere, general non-con + manipulation, rape, BDSM, somnophilia, drugging, stalking, forced oral, invasion of privacy, non-con photography and filming, intoxication kink, dumbification, slapping, degradation, humiliation, forced penetration, forced anal, name calling, slut shaming

♡ Yandere! Nerd who is the last person you’d expect to command fear—or obsession. The invisible boy in the corner of the lecture hall, whose name you can never seem to remember. Just another cog in the academic machine, unnoticed and unremarkable.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who didn’t always hate you. At first, he didn’t even notice you. Why would he? You were a speck in his meticulously ordered world of formulas and research papers. He’d glance over you like a book’s preface—skimming, dismissive, uninterested. You weren’t worth his attention, and he wasn’t one for distractions.

Until you were.

♡ Yandere! Nerd whose hatred began with quiet disdain. He couldn’t stand the way you disrupted the sanctity of his intellectual space. Your kindness was a flaw, a weak and irritating crack in the facade of academia. The way you lent your notes to struggling classmates, stayed late to tutor those who would never return the favor.

“Naïve,” he muttered once under his breath, watching you push a stack of papers toward a crying peer. “They’re just using you.”

But you didn’t care. You never did.

♡ Yandere! Nerd whose resentment festered in the shadows. Watching your muted empathy, your small, unnoticed acts of kindness, twisted his stomach in ways he couldn’t understand. You were supposed to fail. You were supposed to get crushed beneath the weight of your own optimism, yet you didn’t.

And that infuriated him.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who told himself he hated you because you were soft, too forgiving, too simple. But the truth was far darker. You represented something he’d never had—a warmth that lingered in the spaces between your quiet gestures. A kindness that was not weakness, but strength. You had no armor, and yet you thrived.

It fascinated him. It enraged him.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who lived a life of quiet detachment. He wasn’t bullied in school—no, he was too invisible for that. Teachers praised his brilliance, but no one remembered his name. His height, his looming presence, the stretch of taut muscle beneath oversized sweaters—they didn’t matter when he kept to himself, a ghost haunting the edges of the classroom.

Invisibility was his refuge, and he sharpened his mind in its silence.

♡ Yandere! Nerd whose physical strength was a quiet secret. Long hours spent weightlifting in the dim light of the university gym weren’t for vanity—they were an escape, a distraction, a way to channel the dark energy gnawing at him. But he never cared about the results.

The thick-framed glasses, the slouching posture, the ill-fitting cardigans—these were his camouflage. No one saw him. No one looked past the surface.

Except you.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who begins his descent like any good scientist—methodically. It starts as observation, the kind you’d expect from someone who’s spent his life reducing the world into formulas and equations. You are a variable, an anomaly, something he must decode to restore order to his meticulously organized life.

But the more he observes, the less he understands. And the more it drives him mad.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who tells himself it’s harmless at first. Watching you from across the library, tracking the soft scratch of your pen as it glides over your notebook. He doesn’t even realize he’s memorized the way your eyebrows knit together in concentration, or how you chew the corner of your lip when you’re stuck on a problem.

It’s data. Just data.

But the data begins to haunt him.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who begins cataloging you like a research subject. He keeps a notebook tucked into the bottom drawer of his desk, hidden beneath a pile of unfinished assignments. Every detail about you goes into it: the time you arrive at class (always ten minutes early), the number of steps you take to reach your favorite seat, the precise way the sunlight catches your hair at 3:17 p.m. on the third floor of the library.

He calls it fieldwork to justify the growing obsession.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who found himself lingering at the edges of your world, desperate for scraps. The smell of your shampoo as you walked past. The faint imprint of your handwriting left on discarded papers.

You didn’t notice the way his hands flexed when you leaned too close to another classmate, or the way his jaw clenched when someone touched your arm.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who is painfully aware of how wrong it is. He’s not stupid. He knows that following you home, counting the number of locks on your door, isn’t something a sane person does. But logic isn’t enough to stop him.

You’re a virus in his brain, disrupting his calculations, infecting his thoughts with something he doesn’t know how to purge. You grate on him in all the wrong ways, the way a scratch disrupts a perfect vinyl record. He hates you for it. He hates you because he can’t stop.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who turns his obsession into an experiment. He programs an algorithm to track your social media activity, compiling your posts, photos, and even deleted comments into a neat timeline. He bookmarks the articles you share, cataloging your interests, your values, your humor.

It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who upgrades his methods when simple observation no longer satisfies. He rigs a tiny camera outside the lecture hall, angled perfectly to catch the way you sit, the absent way you tap your foot when you’re bored. He sets up a recording app on his phone to capture the sound of your voice in class discussions, replaying it later as though decoding a foreign language.

He tells himself it’s for research. He just needs to understand you.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who learns your patterns better than you know them yourself. He can predict where you’ll be at any given time—your favorite coffee shop at 8:43 a.m., the library desk in the northeast corner by 6:12 p.m., your solitary walks through the park on Sunday mornings.

He times his own movements to yours, ensuring you never notice his presence, never feel the weight of his gaze. It’s a game to him now—a test of his own skill.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who hacks into your student profile. It’s easy, really, a puzzle too simple to satisfy his intellect. But he doesn’t do it for the challenge; he does it to see your schedule, your grades, the tiny notes professors leave about you.

“Exceptional work ethic,” one professor writes, and he feels a strange swell of pride, as though your achievements are his own.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who begins collecting physical traces of you. A pen you leave behind in class, its cap chewed and frayed. A receipt from the coffee shop, crumpled and discarded. A strand of hair caught in the strap of your backpack.

Each item is cataloged and stored in a small box beneath his bed, a grotesque shrine to the person you’ll never realize he’s built.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who upgrades his “research” to something darker. He creates a fake identity to join your online study group, posing as a fellow student struggling with the material. It gives him access to your unfiltered thoughts, your casual messages and inside jokes.

The first time you reply to his fake account with a laughing emoji, his heart races. He hates himself for it, for the pathetic thrill it gives him, but he keeps going.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who hated you because you didn’t need him. You were brilliant in your own quiet way, a top student who never flaunted your achievements. You had what he lacked: empathy. Warmth. The ability to be seen without being scrutinized.

But the more he learns, the more he realizes something crucial:

He doesn’t want to study you anymore. He wants to control you.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who justifies it all as self-preservation. You’re the one invading his mind, disrupting his focus, ruining his carefully constructed life. If he could just fix you—if he could break you down into something manageable, something his mind could dominate—then he’d finally have peace.

But until then, he’ll keep collecting his data, keep tightening the web around you. Because in his world, nothing is left unresolved.

And you, his most maddening equation, will not be the exception.

———

♡ Yandere! Nerd who loathes admitting weakness—especially emotions as primal and irrational as jealousy. To him, emotions are nothing but noise, disrupting the signal of his perfectly calibrated mind. But when he sees you with the student council president, laughing, leaning close, sharing those little stolen moments, that noise becomes deafening.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who bristles at the mere sight of him. The president, all polished charm and perfect manners, standing too close to you, lingering too long in your orbit. It’s infuriating how you light up around him, your shy, carefully guarded smiles breaking into easy laughter. It’s infuriating how he can’t simply classify this feeling as irrational anger.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who watches the subtle chemistry between you and the president unfold like a slow-motion car crash. The president’s hand brushing yours as he passes you a folder. The way he leans in slightly when you speak, as though hanging on your every word. And worst of all, the way you don’t pull away.

♡ Yandere! Nerd whose jealousy turns into something darker when he overhears the president call you “special.”

It’s a simple word, tossed casually into a conversation, but it ignites a fire in his chest that he can’t put out. Special? You’re special to him? No, that’s wrong. That’s his word for you, even if he’s never dared to say it out loud.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who recognizes his jealousy with clinical detachment. He hates you for making him feel this way—off-kilter, vulnerable, human. He hates the president even more for daring to tread on what’s his, for invading the carefully cultivated space he’s built around you.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who tells himself it’s not jealousy—it’s concern. He’s only protecting you from someone who might not have your best interests at heart. After all, the president isn’t as perfect as he seems. He’s seen the cracks in that polished facade, the weaknesses he could exploit if necessary.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who begins to sabotage the president in small, insidious ways. A corrupted file here, a misplaced document there. Minor inconveniences that disrupt the president’s perfect image, planting seeds of doubt in those around him.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who knows this isn’t sustainable. The jealousy, the hatred, the dark fantasies that creep into his mind every time he sees you with the president—it’s all spiraling out of control. He needs to act, to take back the control that’s slipping through his fingers.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who tells himself he doesn’t need you to love him back. He just needs to remove the variables—the distractions, the threats.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who begins plotting his next move with the cold, calculating precision of a scientist. Because if he can’t have you, no one else will.

———

♡ Yandere! Nerd finally went through with his main plan, a way to make you see him, to make you need him. He pulled out a small vial of clear liquid, his heart racing as he approached you. "Tonight," he murmured to himself, "I'll finally get what I deserve."

With meticulous care, he mixed the potent sleeping agent into the cup of drink you'd left on your nightstand. It was your favorite. He knew it was your go-to drink for winding down after a long day.

As your eyelids grew heavy and your breathing deepened, he approached you, his steps silent on the plush carpet. He set the drugged tea aside and gently lifted your limp body, placing you in the center of the bed. He couldn't help but admire you, the way you looked so innocent, so vulnerable.

It was intoxicating, and he felt a perverse sense of satisfaction knowing he was about to shatter that purity.

♡ Yandere! Nerd undressed you with trembling hands, his eyes greedily taking in every curve and line of your body. You stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent under your breath, but the drugs held firm. He took his time, savoring each moment as he stripped away your layers of clothing. When you were bare, he stepped back to appreciate his handiwork, his erection straining against his pants. He felt like a sculptor revealing a masterpiece hidden beneath a layer of marble.

With a predatory smile, he unbuckled his belt and stepped closer to the bed. He leaned over you, his breath hot against your neck. "Do you know how much I've wanted this?" he whispered, his voice thick with lust. You murmured something indistinct, lost in the fog of the drugs. "No," he chuckled, "you don't. But you will."

♡ Yandere! Nerd grabbed a handful of your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat. His teeth grazed your skin, sending a shiver down your spine that you couldn't control. You whimpered, a sound that only served to excite him further. He didn't need your consent—not really. You were his to use, to break, to shape into the perfect specimen. His hands roamed over your body, leaving bruises in their wake as he explored every inch of your skin. Each touch was a declaration of ownership, a promise of what was to come.

He positioned himself between your legs, his eyes glittering with a dark excitement as he took in your unconscious form. His hands, rough and calloused from countless hours in the gym and lab, caressed your inner thighs, spreading them apart with a gentle cruelty.

You were his now, a blank canvas for his twisted desires. He didn't bother with foreplay; your pleasure was inconsequential. It was all about the thrill of taking what he wanted.

With a grunt, he plunged into you, his thick cock stretching your sleep-loosened pussy. You gasped, a sound that was half-moan, half-whimper, as he filled you completely.

♡ Yandere! Nerd didn't bother to hold back, his hips slamming into yours with the precision of a machine. You were just a receptacle for his lust, a means to an end. Each thrust was a declaration of dominance, a silent claim that you belonged to him and him alone.

As he fucked you, he whispered sweet nothings into your ear—degrading names that made your skin crawl.

"Dumb fucking slut," he murmured, his voice a dark symphony that seemed to echo in the quiet room. "You're mine now. No one else will ever touch you like this." His words were a blend of anger and adoration, a twisted love letter to the girl who'd unwittingly captured his attention.

Your body responded despite the haze of the drugs. You arched your back, the sensation of him inside you overwhelming even through the fog. Your mind was a whirlwind of confusion and fear, but your body was his plaything, reacting on instinct alone.

♡ Yandere! Nerd noticed your involuntary movements and smirked, his strokes becoming more deliberate, more punishing.

"That's it," he cooed, his breath hot against your skin. "You love it, don't you? Being used like a cheap slut."

As he pounded into you, he reached for his phone, the screen casting a harsh blue light across the room.

♡ Yandere! Nerd began to record, capturing every moan and whimper, every tear that slipped from your closed eyes. He'd study this footage later, memorize your reactions, learn what made you squirm and beg.

It was all for science, for understanding. But deep down, he knew it was more than that—it was about power.

Your legs trembled around him, a silent plea for mercy that went unheard. You were lost in the haze of the drugs, unable to form coherent thoughts. The only reality was the relentless pressure building inside you, the way his cock filled and emptied you with a rhythm that seemed to echo through your soul. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once, a nightmare wrapped in the guise of pleasure.

♡ Yandere! Nerd reached down and pinched your nipples, rolling them between his fingers as he watched your face contort with pain.

"Look at me," he ordered, his voice low and commanding. You tried to focus on him through the fog, your glazed eyes fluttering open to meet his. He was so close, his face a twisted mask of desire and something else—something darker.

"You're mine," he said again, his voice a hiss in the quiet room. "You're mine to fuck, to use, to break."

♡ Yandere! Nerd grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his as he continued to fuck you with a ferocity that seemed to come from a place beyond obsession. His hand was slick with the sweat that coated your body, his grip tight as he held you in place.

The camera's cold eye recorded everything, the unblinking gaze of his twisted love. He leaned in closer, his breath hot on your face as he whispered, "Look at how much I own you, bitch."

Your eyes rolled back in your head, a silent protest to the waves of pain and pleasure that crashed over you. His other hand reached down to rub at your clit, his movements rough and unyielding.

♡ Yandere! Nerd watched with clinical interest as your body responded, his own pleasure mounting with each twitch and jerk of your hips.

"You're going to cum for me," he said, his voice a dark promise. "You're going to cum and show me how much you love being used."

You feel his hand leave your chin, instead wrapping around your throat, squeezing just tight enough to cut off your air, but not enough to cause you to pass out. His eyes bore into yours, demanding your full attention. your vision swims, and your breath hitches as he continues to thrust into you.

His other hand is still on your clit, the harsh strokes matching the rhythm of his hips. Each time you're about to slip away into unconsciousness, he loosens his grip slightly, allowing you to gasp for breath. The mix of oxygen deprivation and intense pleasure is a heady cocktail, making your body respond in ways you never knew it could.

The drugs he'd administered had reached their peak effectiveness, plunging you into a state of absolute vulnerability.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, and your body went slack as he continued his brutal assault, his cock hammering into your swollen, abused pussy with a merciless rhythm. Each thrust sent waves of agony crashing through you, but your mind was too far gone to process it as anything other than a distant sensation.

You were nothing more than a ragdoll in his grip, a toy for his sadistic pleasure.

♡ Yandere! Nerd whispers lowly, "You're so fucking beautiful like this," his voice thick with lust as he watched your body spasm beneath him.

"So dumb and helpless. It's like you're begging for it." He leaned in, his teeth grazing your ear as he spoke, his breath hot and moist.

"You love this, don't you, bitch? Being fucked by someone who sees through all your bullshit?" His hand tightened around your throat, cutting off your air once again.

Your body succumbs to the overwhelming stimulation, a series of intense orgasms rip through you, one after the other. You're too high and too intoxicated to fully understand what's happening, but the raw pleasure is undeniable.

You feel like a marionette with cut strings, your body responding to his touch without thought or resistance.

Each time you climax, a strangled gasp escapes your throat, your eyes rolling back in your head as your back arches off the bed.

♡ Yandere! Nerd watches with a mix of triumph and fascination, his own pleasure building as he takes in your complete and utter surrender.

"Good girl," he murmurs, the praise sticking in your throat like a knife. "Take it all for me." His strokes become more erratic as his own orgasm approaches, his breath hitching in his chest.

The hand around your throat tightens, the pressure increasing until your vision starts to fade. Just when you think you can't handle anymore, he slams into you one last time, his body stiffening as he cums deep inside you. He holds you there, his cock pulsing, his grip on your throat unyielding until he's drained himself completely.

With a sick sense of satisfaction, he watches the last twitches of your body as the drugs overtake you fully.

♡ Yandere! Nerd withdraws his cock, already planning the next round of his twisted experiment. His eyes rake over your limp form, noticing the way your breasts rise and fall with each shallow breath, the way your pussy glistens with his cum and your own juices.

He can't resist the urge to touch you, to play with his new toy, so he starts snapping pictures and recording videos, capturing every inch of your exposed flesh from various angles.

♡ Yandere! Nerd positions your unresponsive body into various degrading poses, each one more obscene than the last.

The camera clicks away, capturing every angle as he spreads your legs wide and fills your pussy with his cum. His eyes never leave the viewfinder as he watches the white fluid ooze out of you, painting your thighs and stomach with his ownership.

He's methodical in his approach, treating you like a living, breathing doll. With each picture and video taken, his arousal builds, his cock swelling and pulsing with the need to claim you again.

"Wake up," he whispers, his voice a dark promise.

♡ Yandere! Nerd slaps your cheek harshly, leaving a vivid red handprint, before he waits for any sign of consciousness. When you don't respond, he sighs and shakes his head.

"Too much, huh?" He reaches down and slaps you again, this time harder. "You're going to learn to wake up for me." His hand travels down to your clit, giving it a cruel pinch that makes your body jerk despite your unconscious state.

With your unconscious body still splayed out before him, the his hunger is far from satisfied. He takes a moment to appreciate the scene, his cock standing erect and gleaming with lust.

♡ Yandere! Nerd shifts you onto your stomach, the soft curves of your ass begging for his attention. He lines himself up with your wet, puckered hole and slams into you without warning, the sound of his hips slapping against your flesh echoing through the room.

He groans in pleasure as he feels the tightness of your ass clench around him, the drugs in your system making you even more pliable and responsive than usual.

"You're going to love this," he murmurs, his voice low and menacing as he starts to fuck you roughly. Each thrust is punctuated by a smack to your ass, the sound of his hand connecting with your flesh filling the room.

You whimper in your sleep, the pain and pleasure mixing together in your hazy mind. He reaches around to play with your clit, his rough fingers bringing you closer to the edge of consciousness with each pass. "You're so tight," he grunts, his teeth gritted with effort. "So fucking tight."

♡ Yandere! Nerd flips you over again, your limp body now lying on your back, your legs hanging over the edge of the bed. He takes a moment to capture the perfect shot of your exposed pussy, the way your swollen lips are parted and dripping with cum and your own arousal. He's in no rush; he's got all night.

For hours, he treats your body like a fuck-toy, his cock sliding in and out of you in a series of depraved positions that he's been dreaming about for so long.

The camera captures everything—the way your breasts bounce with each thrust, the arch of your back as he takes you from behind, the way your eyes roll back in your head even in your drug-induced slumber.

♡ Yandere! Nerd continues to whisper degrading names in your ear, calling you his little fuckdoll, his rape toy, his property. His hand tightens around your neck, his other hand playing with your clit, your body responding to his touch despite your lack of consciousness.

♡ Yandere! Nerd takes you in every conceivable way, his cock a blur as he snaps photos and records videos for his twisted collection. He loves the way your body reacts to him, the way your pussy clenches around him when you're on the brink of an involuntary orgasm.

It's like watching a science experiment unfold before his very eyes, a symphony of pain and pleasure that he's orchestrated to perfection.

And the best part? You'll never remember a thing.

"Mm, you're so obedient when you're like this," he says, his voice thick with lust as he pulls out of your ass and flips you onto your stomach again.

♡ Yandere! Nerd spreads your cheeks wide, his cock sliding through your folds as his hand grips your mouth. "Open up, bitch. Time to swallow your medicine."

With a sadistic smirk, he positions his cock at your open, drooling mouth. He's already painted your cheeks and chin with his cum, a grotesque mask of his dominance. Your eyes remain closed, lashes fluttering with the fading aftermath of your forced orgasms. He pushes the tip of his cock past your lips, watching them stretch around his girth.

♡ Yandere! Nerd films as he slams his cock down your throat, watching the way your cheeks bulge with each thrust. Your tongue is limp and unresponsive, but it doesn't matter—the sight of your mouth filled with his cum is all he needs.

He holds your head steady, pushing deeper and deeper until he hits the back of your throat, making you gag around his length. He loves the sound, the way your body fights against his intrusion even as you lie there, helpless and drugged.

"That's it," he croons, his eyes glinting with malicious pleasure. "Swallow it all for me. Show me how much of a good rape toy you can be." He keeps fucking your mouth, his hips snapping against your face with increasing ferocity. You're just a vessel for his pleasure, a receptacle for his anger and frustration.

♡ Yandere! Nerd pulls out with a wet pop, leaving your mouth gaping and coated in his seed. He takes a moment to admire the view before sliding his cock back into your pussy, groaning as he feels your wet warmth envelop him once more. He's lost in his own depraved world, the camera capturing every sickening detail of his violation.

"Look at you," he says, his voice a mix of disgust and admiration.

"You're just a mindless fuck-doll when you're like this." He fists your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat. His teeth graze the sensitive skin there, leaving a trail of bites that you'll feel tomorrow, a constant reminder of his power over you.

"But tomorrow, you'll go back to being the perfect little student, won't you?" He bites down harder, making you whimper in your sleep. "You'll sit in class with no idea that you're mine."

His camera clicks away as he captures every depraved moment of his violation. Your unconscious moans and whimpers fill the room, a testament to his cruel touch.

♡ Yandere! Nerd records from various angles, making sure to get close-ups of your gaping mouth and the way your eyes water around his cock. His hands are rough, holding you in place as he uses your body for his own sick pleasure. The camera zooms in on your throat as he fucks your face, the veins bulging as he forces himself deeper and deeper.

He pulls out of your mouth with a wet, gagging sound, your saliva and cum dripping down your chin. He smirks at the pathetic mess you've become under his control.

Grabbing a back-up phone, he takes several more pictures of your face—your swollen, bitten lips, your tear-stained cheeks, the drool pooling around your chin. Then he moves lower, taking shots of your bruised pussy and asshole, both gaping open and leaking his cum. He zooms in on the mess he's made of you, capturing every detail with a disturbing sense of pride.

♡ Yandere! Nerd continues his sadistic play, his hand moving to your throat once more as he whispers his degrading comments into your ear. "You're nothing but a damn pornstar, aren't you?"

He leans in closer, his hot breath tickling your ear. "Look at you, trying to wake up. Don't worry, I'll make sure you won't remember a thing, prostitute."

With a chuckle, he slaps you across the face—hard enough to leave a red handprint, but not hard enough to rouse you fully. The sound echoes through the room, a stark contrast to the muffled squelches of your forced union.

———

♡ Yandere! Nerd who finally admitted it to himself in the aftermath of this night, in the suffocating silence of his apartment. It wasn’t hatred. It wasn’t admiration. It was possession. You didn’t belong in a world that appreciated you.

You belonged to him, as a dumb fuckdoll for him to use and discard as he pleases.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who never intended for it to go this far. But as he crouched over your crumpled form, his hand brushing the soft curve of your cheek, he realized there was no going back.

“Do you see me now, fuckdoll?” he murmured, his voice growling with a strange mix of triumph and obsession.

And, he was still far from done. He has all night, and more.

♡ His Story. No one else noticed the quiet boy in the corner, but he’s all you’ll notice now.

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Disclaimer. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution—these tales explore obsession, madness, and devotion in their rawest forms.

[supernovalcholism]

Academic rivals Viktor and reader who do not like each other at all but have a strong sexual tension that neither of them wants to admit. Plzzz🙏😭

Absolutely babei love this idea sm heres a small portion cus I'm drunk and if yall hype it up I'll make a part 2

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Unspoken Rivalry

ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ x ɢɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄᴡ: ɴᴜɴ ᴇxᴛʀᴇᴍᴇ, ʜᴏꜱᴛɪʟɪᴛʏ????. ɪᴅᴋ

The library buzzed with the low hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional rustle of paper. Viktor sat at his usual table, hunched over a stack of notes and textbooks. He was the definition of composed—sharp cheekbones, immaculate posture, and an air of self-assured arrogance that grated on your nerves.

And, unfortunately, he was the only other person in your advanced theory seminar who matched your academic prowess.

You strode into the library, your eyes narrowing the moment you spotted him. He glanced up briefly, his icy blue eyes meeting yours with a flicker of annoyance before he returned to his work.

"Didn’t know the library allowed distractions," he said smoothly, his voice laced with faux politeness.

"Funny. I was just about to say the same thing," you shot back, taking the seat directly across from him with more force than necessary.

This was your dynamic—constant barbs, veiled insults, and an unspoken competition for every academic accolade. You couldn’t stand him, with his perfect grades and that maddening smirk he wore whenever he outperformed you.

But what was worse? The way your stomach flipped every time he leaned closer to point out a flaw in your argument or the electric heat that sparked whenever his hand accidentally brushed yours during group discussions.

The tension crackled between you now, thick and undeniable. You opened your laptop, pointedly ignoring him. Except you couldn’t. Not when the subtle scent of his cologne drifted across the table or when he leaned back in his chair, stretching slightly, exposing just a sliver of toned skin beneath his sweater.

"You know," Viktor said after a moment, his voice quieter, "if you spent less time glaring at me, you might actually win the next debate."

"Bold words coming from someone who barely edged me out last time," you snapped.

His smirk widened. "Barely? I seem to recall the professor using the word resounding."

You clenched your jaw, hating how much you wanted to wipe that smug expression off his face—and hating even more how your mind wandered to other ways to shut him up.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t comfortable. It was charged. Your eyes met his again, and for a brief second, something flickered in his gaze—something raw, intense, and far too dangerous to acknowledge.1all

You broke the eye contact first, heat rising to your cheeks. Viktor didn’t look away, though.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "You’re starting to look at me like you don’t hate me."

"Don’t flatter yourself," you snapped, hastily gathering your things.

You stormed out of the library, your heart pounding. Behind you, Viktor chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

You didn’t go back to the library for the rest of the week. Not because you were avoiding him—of course not—but because the thought of seeing Viktor again made your chest feel too tight, your thoughts spiraling into places they shouldn’t.

Unfortunately, fate wasn’t on your side.

The next seminar session started with the professor announcing a new assignment. “A research paper, due in two weeks. To make things more interesting, I’ll be assigning partners.”

You stiffened in your seat.

“Viktor and—”

No. Please, no.

"–you—"

Your stomach plummeted. Across the room, Viktor glanced over at you, an infuriating smirk playing on his lips. He gave a little wave, clearly reveling in your discomfort.

After class, you cornered him in the hallway.

“We need to set boundaries,” you said sharply.

“Boundaries?” Viktor tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “Is that what we’re calling the tension between us now?”

You bristled. “There is no tension.”

“Hmm. If you say so.” He leaned against the wall, entirely too close. “But I hope you don’t mind working late. I find I’m most productive at night.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but no words came. His gaze was locked on yours, his expression a mix of challenge and something else—something darker, something that made heat rise to your face.

“Fine,” you snapped, stepping back before you could betray yourself further. “Tonight. My place. Seven."

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Hype it up soon and I'll drop a pt2 for yall XPP

- enya

edit [12/12/24] heres the 2nd part!!

[reiding-writing]

Can i get a workshop session? How about spencer with a reader who's actually smarter than him? Maybe she's younger too, thanksss

GENIUS² — SPENCER REID!

working alongside another genius was a blessing, in more ways than one.

early!seasons!spencer x reader | fluff | 1.3k | event masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n— the genius x genius trope is great i love it

Spencer Reid prided himself on being one of the smartest people in the room.

At 24 years old, he was a genius with an IQ of 187, three PhDs under his belt, and an eidetic memory that made him practically a walking encyclopaedia.

His mind moved faster than 99.7% of the world’s population, processing information, analysing patterns, and solving puzzles with ease.

But none of that prepared him for you.

You were younger than him by two years, and while you didn’t have a wall lined with degrees like Spencer, your intelligence was undeniable.

A bachelor’s degree in Theoretical Physics had been enough to earn you a spot in the BAU, something that had surprised even you.

Hotch had seen something in you—your ability to not only understand the unsub’s behavior but to intuitively connect pieces of information in ways most people couldn’t. It was something the team found invaluable.

And it didn’t take long for Spencer to notice.

Where Spencer excelled in academic brilliance, you had a talent for thinking outside the box. You connected dots faster than most people even realized there were dots to connect.

Spencer was used to being the one with all the answers, the one who could solve problems others struggled with, but you? You were different. You weren’t afraid to speak up, even if it meant contradicting his carefully constructed theories. You didn’t care about bruising egos, least of all his, and it fascinated him.

The first time Spencer realised you were special was during a particularly tough case.

The team had been chasing down a serial killer for weeks—a cryptic unsub who left strange, undecipherable messages at each crime scene.

Spencer had spent hours poring over the notes, scrawling down numbers, symbols, and trying to make sense of the pattern, but nothing clicked. His frustration was palpable; his fingers were tapping restlessly on the desk, and his usually sharp mind felt like it was hitting a wall.

An iron wall, covered in spikes and barbed wire.

Then you had walked in. Quietly, unassuming, you hovered over his shoulder for a moment before making a suggestion that cut through his fog of confusion.

“You might be thinking about this too literally,” You said casually, your voice breaking through the silence.

Spencer looked up, frowning slightly, both intrigued and a bit defensive. “What do you mean?”

You slid into the chair next to him, your eyes scanning the pages spread out across his desk. “You’re trying to solve this like a mathematical puzzle, but uh— the letters in the corners of his notes are literally just spelling out ‘library’, so I went to the nearest library and spoke to the librarian on staff, she gave me this,”

You pull out a scrap piece of paper from your pocket and hold it out towards him, a handwritten poem.

Spencer blinked, the pieces clicking together in his mind with almost audible force as he took the poem from you.

You’d identified the connection instantly, something Spencer would have done himself had his mind not been knotted up in frustration. But instead of feeling defeated, he was astonished.

“How did you-?” He asked, genuinely curious.

You shrugged, as if it were obviousLooking at the bigger picture can be really useful sometimes,”

Spencer stared at you for a moment longer, watching as you calmly began jotting down more notes, your mind racing ahead as if you’d never even paused for breath. He realised, in that moment, that you weren’t just another member of the team. You were his equal—possibly even more than that.

From then on, Spencer found himself constantly intrigued by you. The two of you often ended up working side by side, bouncing ideas off each other in a way that was both exciting and intimidating for Spencer.

You were quick, your mind moving in a different way than his, and he found himself almost eager to keep up with your train of thought. You saw things he didn’t, caught details he might have missed, and he wasn’t sure how to handle that. No one had ever made him feel… not inferior, but challenged in such a unique way.

The conversations between you were often odd. Both of you were too intelligent for typical small talk, so you found yourselves discussing obscure facts or debating over scientific theories in the most random of moments.

Spencer would mention something about a 14th-century mathematician, and you would immediately counter with a parallel discovery made in physics centuries later. Neither of you really knew how to navigate personal conversations, so you stuck to what you both understood—facts, theories, and knowledge.

One evening, after a particularly long day spent on another complex case, the bullpen was empty except for the two of you. The team had gone home, but you stayed behind, just like Spencer always did, combing through the evidence again, searching for a missing piece.

You were seated across from him, your brow furrowed in concentration, scribbling notes onto a pad of paper.

Every few minutes, Spencer found himself glancing at you. It wasn’t something he could control—his curiosity about the way your mind worked was something that pulled him in, a constant mystery to unravel.

You were focused, absorbed in your task, and Spencer couldn’t help but admire how quickly you picked up on things. Sometimes, you were faster than him, and that realization both thrilled and unnerved him.

“You’re staring again,” you said, your voice breaking the silence without even looking up.

Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise. He wasn’t used to being caught off guard, and you did it effortlessly. “I—I wasn’t staring. I was just… thinking.”

You finally looked up, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “What were you thinking about?”

He swallowed, his brain scrambling for an answer that didn’t sound ridiculous. “You’re really good at this,” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Your smirk softened into something more genuine. “You are too.”

Spencer opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to respond. Compliments weren’t his strong suit, and he wasn’t used to receiving them either. “I mean, you’re younger than me, but you’re just as—no, sometimes more—effective than I am. It’s… impressive.”

For the first time since he’d met you, you looked almost shy. “I’ve always looked up to you, you know,” You admitted quietly. “When I first started here, I thought you were kind of untouchable. Like, how could anyone keep up with a guy who knows literally everything?”

Spencer stared at you, speechless. The idea that you—someone he viewed as his intellectual equal, if not superior—had once looked up to him was almost unbelievable. It made him see you in a different light.

“Well,” he said, after a long pause, “I guess we keep each other on our toes.”

You smiled at that, leaning back in your chair. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. It was a strange dynamic—two people too intelligent for normal conversations, yet too awkward to fully acknowledge the unique bond that had formed between you.

But it worked. You pushed each other, kept each other sharp. Whenever Spencer stumbled over an obscure reference, you were there to catch it. When you went too far into the realm of abstract thinking, Spencer reeled you back in with hard logic.

You were a perfect balance—an unstoppable team, even if neither of you would say it outright. And in a world where people rarely understood either of you, you had found something important in each other, an unlikely equal.

[tofu83]

What men bred for

5.SAD and PAD

The two Temporary Drones were testing the male milk, and their movements were very smooth, not as stiff as when they were first put on the helmet 2 months ago.

It means that they have completely complied with the programming and will no longer resist. The R&D director was very satisfied with this and thought it could proceed to the next stage.

He also found that the two feral species showed individual differences. Subject No. 1 showed a strong desire for men's milk, but would stop in time before committing any transgressions. Brain wave scans showed that this was completely spontaneous and not forced by the helmet. However, Experimental Subject No. 2 showed no material desires. Simply executing orders can greatly increase its endorphin secretion to produce a euphoric effect, which is somewhat similar to the soldier-type variety, but this needs further confirmation.

The Director ordered the guard drones to remove their restraint armor and mind-control helmets. There was a huge difference from a month ago. The two Earthlings no longer showed signs of panic, but looked very happy instead.

The Director then asked the two humans, "How do you feel now?"

Subject No.1, "The feeling is so wonderful, this place is full of masculinity. The air, scenery, and work are all what I dream of. I was so stupid before, and this is my real home!"

Subject No.2, "It's so comfortable, with unlimited food, a comfortable temperature even when naked, exciting smells, and the pleasant moaning sounds. I don't need to think, I can get so much just by obeying every commands. Is this paradise?”

"But you have been left in the wild for too long. If you want to continue to stay, you have to go through painful transformation. Are you willing?" The Director asked.

"Of course! Please, Master, please keep us! This is what we men bred for! Please let us return to live a normal men!"

The director is very satisfied. The research on earthlings has made the latest progress. When his paper is published, his status in the academic community will be further improved, and he will be able to earn more funds for the next step of his plan.

He ordered the guard drones to place Subject No. 1 into the Guard Converting Chamber, but he modified the programming to include part of the bellwether's program, as well as a few fragments he had never used, and then pressed the "Start" button.

No. 1 felt that tubes were being forced into his mouth and anus and filled with delicious sticky salty wet liquid. He knew these were the men milks he longed for every day, and he was extremely excited. But he didn't know that this was also a new formula with the director's added ingredients. Soon he felt that his whole body was numb, as if his whole body was about to explode, but the desire to be a new person overcame the pain. Eventually, the pain subsided and the two tubes left the body. Then another goo was sprayed all over him, drying and blending into his skin. Finally, a hard object was put on his head, flashing lights appeared in front of his eyes, and white noise filled his ears.

When the door opens, what comes out is the Special Assistant Drone (SAD for short)specially made by the director for himself: it has the functions of a bodyguard, a housekeeper, and a farm worker. SAD has permanently lost the ability to produce male breast milk, but has gained a permanently perfect body in exchange.

No. 2 was put into the Soldier Converting Chamber, and the director added fragments of cows into the programming. Of course, there were also the director's innovative ideas.

The pain No. 2 felt was different from that of No. 1. He felt that his whole body was hot and sweating profusely. The tubes inserted into two holes in his body and the catheter inserted into his blood vessels were forced to infuse unknown liquids. After an unknown amount of time, the uncomfortable situation suddenly dissipated. His body was wiped clean with furry things, and he no longer sweated. There is only one place in the body where mucus is constantly secreted: the anus. Then a hard object was placed on his lower body, and another object was placed on his head. The stimulation and resetting of the senses began.

When the door opened, out stepped the Director's third Product Analyzer Drone (PAD for short). Humans with a low desire for sex are best suited to be transformed into analytical tools because their attitude towards products is absolutely impartial. They also lose the ability to produce male breast milk, but instead their anuses secrete a high-grade lubricant, allowing them to be used an unlimited number of times without taking a break.

When the men’s milk product is injected into their anus through the tube, the machine installed on their body will analyze and transmit it to the director's computer through the head device. After the director presses the confirmation button, the drone will feel pleasure.

The alien director was now in a very happy mood. He decided to enjoy the special functions of the two drones before putting them to work. He directed them to the private room upstairs while thinking that there was so many wild male Earthlings waiting for his rescue. He couldn't help but feel that it was time to call for the establishment of an "Association for the Protection of Male Earthlings."

[cottonlemonade]

Alone At The Library

word count: 2342 || avg. reading time: 10 mins.

pairing: university AU rival!Akaashi x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, rivals to lovers

warnings: implications of financial struggles

request: small pineapple lemonade with extra ice for Akaashi || fluffy accidental confession with rival Akaashi

In desperate need of escaping the academic and social pressure of a top university, Akaashi convinced his parents that it would not be the end of the world if he went to one a little outside of Tokyo instead. It was far less prestigious, of course, and few people had ever heard of it. But in the end, his air-tight argumentation had won them over and he had moved into his dorm in a neighboring prefecture. The university he chose had a surprisingly good literary program with shockingly bad libraries. For months now the main library on campus was under construction with no indication of anyone ever working on it and so the students were forced to fan out to the smaller libraries in the surrounding neighborhoods to find the volumes necessary for their field.

Akaashi stretched his neck and winced when it popped. He would have loved to take the stack of books next to him to the dorms but the small town library he had chosen was so miserably equipped that they couldn‘t afford to let the few academic publications they carried leave the premises. The essay he was pondering over was a lot trickier than he had anticipated and if he didn‘t hand it in by tomorrow he‘d get a failing grade by default. And so, resigning himself to his fate, he shuffled to the lobby to get a paper cup of watery coffee from the old vending machine, ready to make the most of it until closing time.

When he returned to his spot at the long, somehow always mysteriously sticky table he frowned. He could have sworn there was a book missing. Confused and thinking his exhausted mind must be playing tricks on him he looked around but besides the elderly woman at the reception, deeply engrossed in a well-read paperback with a questionable title, there was no one else around. Akaashi bent down to look through his bag, considering he might have absently put it away, and shot back up a moment later when a pair of chubby legs in very familiar, frayed sneakers walked past on the other side, heading towards the opposite end of the table and he heard the unmistakable sound of books being somewhat carelessly dropped onto the surface.

His mood darkened. Pretending you couldn‘t see him, you placed your backpack on the chair next to you and withdrew a tattered notepad, pencil case, and water bottle, reaching for the first book. Once you opened it, he noticed the cover.

You didn‘t even have the decency to look ashamed when he came over. “What do you think you‘re doing?“, he asked.

“What does it look like?“, you replied, your tone pointedly bored as you flipped through the pages.

“I was working with this book.“

“Really? Looked to me like you were done with it.“

“I only went to get a coffee.“, he pressed out through his teeth, “And it lay open next to my paper. How much more in use could it have been?“

“Listen, you have a whooole stack next to you. Why don‘t you use those until I‘m done, hm?“

You had the audacity to give him a very fake bright smile.

He hated that he didn’t immediately have another comeback. Biting the inside of his cheek he thought but ultimately knew there was no point in arguing with you. Any wall would be more susceptible.

“20 minutes.“, he said coldly, “Then you‘ll give it back.“

“Sure thing, pretty boy.“, you said sarcastically, placed the book demonstratively in front of you, and began taking notes. As he walked away you added lazily, “You misspelled “embarrassing“ in your second paragraph. - Ironically.“

As he sat back down, feeling his blood pressure steadily rising in your presence, he felt a pang of annoyance when he saw you were right.

“Time‘s up.“ Exactly 20 minutes later, Akaashi stepped next to you once again. He reached out for the book but you held it tightly, scribbling away. “Just take a picture and work with that.“, he suggested irritably.

“Battery died.“, you only replied without taking your eyes off the paragraph or stopping to write.

For a couple of moments he just stood next to you, hoping to bring you out of context for one, but also maybe come up with a solution for your problems. There was a lot of cross-referencing involved in his paper. Taking pictures would most likely take longer than just looking it all through in his case.

“Maybe we can share it.“, he said eventually.

You looked up and raised a highly doubtful brow.

“I know,“, he suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, “but if we both need it right now that feels like the only way.“

After a moment‘s thought you moved your backpack from the chair to make space for him and continued your work.

He scoffed inwardly. Obviously, you expected him to move to you, but not wanting to risk another argument he gave in and went to collect his things.

It was by no means a perfect solution but at least there was minimal fighting. You were even considerate enough to only hold the page open at a 90 degree angle so he could continue reading on the page he was on, which he conceded was rather civil of you.

The late summer sun was ready to turn in and through the windows offered little support with grayish golden light.

“Okay, you two. It‘s time to pack up for today.“, the elderly woman announced. Instinctively, Akaashi checked his phone for the time. It made sense that the small library closed at 6 but he was so used to the convenience of the business hours of Tokyo’s city center that it caught him off guard nonetheless.

“Just another hour?”, you pleaded from the seat next to him, your voice sweet and genuine. He never heard it like that before.

The elderly woman pursed her lips apologetically, “I’m sorry, dearie. But we open tomorrow at 9, you can come straight back then.”

Akaashi looked down at his unfinished paper. 9 a.m. was his deadline. And judging by your barely legible notes, you were also in a hurry to finish up an assignment. You began putting your things away and looked confused when he grabbed your wrist to stop you.

“Gimme a moment.”, he said and got up.

You watched with rising curiosity how he rounded the corner of the table and began talking with the woman. They were too far away to hear clearly but she laughed and playfully waved him off. He kept on talking for about another thirty seconds before she laughed - no, not laughed. Giggled. Then she rummaged in her purse, produced a set of very jangly keys, and, unclipping one of them, handed it to him. Your jaw dropped when she waved Goodbye to you past his shoulder. With a small satisfied grin, he returned to you and plopped down on the chair, going back to the book as if nothing happened. Evidently, you weren’t gonna let it slide and stared at him until he talked.

“Don’t look at me like that. I just got us VIP access.”, he held up the key, “We can stay as long as we want. Just have to lock up after and leave the key under that clay owl at the entrance.”

“How did you even…?”, you asked, impressed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just asked nicely, that’s all.”

“Uh huh.”

“You have your ways,”, he pointed to the book you previously swiped from him, “and I have mine.”

“Whatever you say, pretty boy.”

As a child, Akaashi would have done anything to spend a night alone in a manga café. He would have practically glowed at the prospect of squinting for hours at the text bubbles and admiring the details in the panels. Now that he got glasses, the squinting was gone, but his love of reading was still as strong as ever and even though it wasn’t an exciting manga in front of him or a café that kept him fed with ramen and other junk food he still felt a deep sense of joy to spend time alone in a library. Well, almost alone. A loud growling of your tummy ripped him from his nostalgia.

He had completely forgotten about the time. “Maybe we should order some food.”, he said, reaching into his pocket and taking out his wallet to check how much cash he had. He doubted the delivery services this far out all came equipped with card readers. Scrolling through the handful of delivery services in the area, he asked, “What are you in the mood for?”

He was about to lay out your options when you shook your head. From somewhere in your backpack you produced a slightly squished onigiri. It was from a convenience store with a bright red sticker announcing that it had been on sale due to the close expiration date. His eyes fell onto your notepad once again, densely covered in scribbles, not wasting a single centimeter of space. The scratches and dents in your metal pencil case suggested that it had been with you for a long time. He tried to remember ever seeing you during the many social events the university offered. But whenever the class suggested going out for dinner you made excuses of studying or having to part-time. He knew you were a scholarship student but he just figured it was because of your excellent grades since you two usually fought for the top score of the year, not for a lack of money.

Akaashi looked down at his wallet again.

“I can just pay for both of us, no problem.”, he offered and was shocked when that earned him a dagger-filled glare.

“No thank you.”, you said sharply and bit into the rice ball.

He shrugged. “Fine. Suit yourself.” After ordering a large pizza for himself, he put his phone away again, going back to working silently by your side. The book that had started the alliance was pushed out of the way at this point and you were each going through separate materials.

About half an hour passed before his phone buzzed, letting him know the pizza was waiting out front and when he returned the tempting smell of cheese and freshly baked bread filled the air. With a slice, heavily laden with different toppings, in one hand, Akaashi went back to checking the notes he had taken since his arrival, sifting out the truly important and highlighting the ones he wanted to add to his paper. Your stomach grumbled again and your hand automatically went to cover it. He pretended not to notice it, but a grin slowly formed on his lips with each new noise coming from you. He heard you swallow quietly and caught you glancing at the pizza every so often. He took his second piece, adding a little hum of culinary delight to the mix.

Once a third of the pizza was gone and you still hadn‘t said anything he was beginning to worry his idea hadn‘t worked, so he swerved to plan B. Leaning back in his chair he patted his stomach, a small bump indicating he was stuffed. “Hey, can you do me a favor?“

“When have I ever been known to do that?“

Akaashi ignored your comment.

“I think I was being too greedy. There is no way I can finish this thing on my own.“

With a sidelong look at him, you raised a brow. “I‘m not a child. I know what you‘re doing.“

“And what is it that I‘m doing?“, he asked, innocently but with a definite challenge to his voice.

You were about to call out his obvious scheme when you wondered if it wouldn‘t sound too egotistical to say that he wanted to share from the beginning. What if he really only miscalculated his hunger? And letting a fresh (and free) pizza go to waste was basically a crime.

Wordlessly, you reached past him and pulled the box over so it was sitting between you. The first bite was heaven and you chewed carefully to savor the taste. Very satisfied with himself, Akaashi began adding his notes to his paper. Whilst nibbling at the crust you slid a book to him.

You tapped a paragraph near the bottom of the page. “Here, this is your topic, right?“

He quickly skimmed it and nodded. The title of the book didn‘t suggest that it had anything to do with his research.

“It seemed promising, maybe it can give your paper that last little bit of extra.”

He wanted to thank you out of reflex but instead said with a teasing tone, "What, you like me now?"

“I tolerate you.“, you said loftily, taking a second slice.

Akaashi mimicked you under his breath, of course still loud enough for you to hear, “I tolerate you.“

You both laughed.

“Can I ask you something?“

You nodded and took another bite.

“Why do you hate me?“

“I don‘t hate you.“, you said without wasting a single breath.

“Huh, you sure about that?“, he chuckled.

“Kinda. Like… 80% sure, I‘d say.“

“And what are the other 20%?“

Choosing to focus on the pizza, you shrugged.

“I‘d dislike anyone who is smart, handsome and kind.“

“You think I‘m handsome?“, he asked immediately, making you clear your throat and look away. He was having a great time.

“Oh, don‘t pretend you don‘t know you‘re dreamy.“, you said with playful annoyance, “Why do you think I call you pretty boy?“

“Is that so?“

With your cheeks turning very red very quickly you took a new book from your stack and opened it to a random page. Picking up your pen, you began taking notes again.

He watched you for a bit, impressed by your dedication, then asked, “Interesting book?“

“Uh huh.“

Akaashi reached for it and turned it around.

“Then I bet it‘s gonna be even better when it‘s right side up.“

art: @ui536

a/n: thank you so much for your request and I apologize that it's taking me 6-8 business weeks to reply to requests by now. I hope you enjoyed it @toomanygoldfish

And a special thank you to @haikyu-mp4 for listening to me rant about this piece for way too long.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Professor Miguel O’Hara x Reader Headcanons

Warnings: University Professor Miguel, Implications of Smut, Age Gap, Secret Relationship, Teacher’s Pet Reader, Academic Manipulation, Coercion, Abuse of Power, Miguel Abusing his Spider Abilities for Nefarious Purposes, Slight Yandere Miguel, Implied Obsession, Minor Spoilers for Miguel’s Backstory, Extra Yandere Headcanons, Forced Kissing, No Pronouns Used for Reader Except ‘You’.

Miguel knows it’s wrong to want you in the way he does. You’re his best and brightest student, after all — his magnum opus: his academic pride and joy.

Problem is, that appreciation for your work ethic and your eagerness to take heavy loads of work (and eventually heavy loads of other things) charmed him. Sure, he could label you asa kiss-ass, a teacher’s pet, a sycophant, but ever since the first day he met you, he can’t help but feel your concern for him is genuine.

You always ask him how he’s doing. Every class, without fail, you stop off at his desk on your way to your seat and ask: “How are you doing today, Mr. O’Hara?” Followed by questioning some inane, specific detail he told you off-handedly a day or week prior.

You always remembered the little details. Something even Miguel finds trouble with doing; what, with his extracurricular activities as Nueva York’s one and only Spiderman.

The fact that you’re kind to him, a luxury Miguel had long since lost along with his family, strikes a chord with him.

He’s not sure when his platonic appreciation of such a hard-working student turned to something more — a rogue daydream into the lewd — but once he started, he couldn’t get enough.

Something about your unspoken submission to him – your, dare he say, desire to perform just for him, led his mind and his morals astray, left much room for interpretation and experimentation.

Choosing to believe you liked him — like-liked him — made a brand of pride bubble in his chest that he couldn’t abandon, couldn’t find a potent enough alternative to.

He starts shamelessly, yet restrainedly, flirting with you. In his own way, of course.

“I loved your paper on the configuration of water molecules and their behaviour when observed; very enlightening stuff.”

The way your face would light up, your eyes crinkling while a small, almost relieved laugh escaped you, made his chest flutter.

He thought it was pride. How little he knows for a science professor.

Eventually, this escalated into him asking you to do things for him he “Wouldn’t ordinarily ask a student to do.”

He smiles at you, eyes deceptively kind behind his slender glasses, as he watches you so intently listen, hear, for his commands.

He wonders what other things you’d do — how far you’d really go, stretch yourself (as he hopes you’d let him) — for a good grade and a positive impression.

He has a secret weapon that he knows will work on you, regardless of how momentous the task.

“I’m trusting you because you’re my favourite student.”

There it is. The activation phrase. Your heart rate quickens, your pupils blow wide and he can feel, hear, the blood rush to your cheeks as his confession settles in.

He can expect whatever it is he’s asked you to do to be complete before the time he’s set for you to do it. And all because of your eagerness to prove that you’re worthy of such a title as ‘favourite’. His favourite.

Truly, though, you are his favourite.

He feels his heart prick and his eyes search for you whenever the door to the lecture hall opens.

Only once were you unable to come to class, rendered bed-ridden by the flu, and Miguel’s heart sank.

He thought at first it was because he didn’t have your adoring eyes following him, trailing his every movement, stroking off his ego with how furiously you’d type on your laptop, take everything he said and burn it into your memory with laser-life efficiency.

But, as the lecture drew to a close, Miguel felt…concerned about you. Your well-being.

A dangerous emotion.

He cared about you. More than just an academic plaything, a task donkey; he wanted to visit you, to care for you. In ways he knew only he was capable of.

During his surveillance of the city that night, he paid you a visit as Spiderman.

Nothing so overt as to make himself known to you; rather a sideline visit as he watched you through your bedroom window.

Truly, your physical state reflected how monumental your illness was; you lay in bed, unaware of the world around you as you slept, nose tip red and eyes ringed.

He wanted to come in, to tuck you back under the blankets you’d thrashed yourself free from, to check your temperature, to be with you.

He leaves, hand coming up to the glass, wishing to breach it — and all the rules — to see you.

But alas, the next time he sees you is in class a few days later when you’re fully recovered.

As you sidle into your seat, lecture hall (uncharacteristically) devoid of Miguel, your friends lean in to tell you all that you missed.

Though, to your surprise, it’s not academic material they’re covering.

“He kept looking over here while you were gone,” came one friend, smiling. Knowing.

“Yeah,” chimes another, leaning in even closer. “And he didn’t sound like he usually does — he sounded…” They look for the right word, term, eyes sliding upwards as if the answer lay heavenward.

The cogs click, they look at you, pointing.

“Disheartened!”

Of course, your friends knew of your admiration for Miguel, often construing it as romantic attraction, but their jibes never went past a joke – purely satirical. After all, practically every student fancied Miguel.

But, that was the first indication you’d seen that Miguel didn’t just view you as another of his students. Though, you hadn’t seen the other warning signs.

Not that youd knwo this prior to dating him, but Miguel gets unbelievably hard when you call him ‘Mr. O’Hara’. Or, even better, ‘Sir’.

Something about the way you look up at him beneath your lashes, eyes filled with the desire to please him, to get on his good side and undertake any task he set for you, was akin to him having full control over you — academic and otherwise.

It just reminds him of how much power he has over you; for the first time, he feels that he has control over the elements and objects around him — an agent of fate rather than being a subject of it. 

That, coupled with his secret identity as Spider Man, sends him on a power trip that often leads him to relieving himself of his growing burden in the privacy of his own four walls, your name laced between the groaning, the panting, the moaning; the only comprehensible instrument in his orchestra.

And, when you eventually start dating, he takes his frustrations out on you.

He makes low, raspy threats when he wants something.

“I’ll lower your grade,” he says, sliding his belt from the loops of his trousers.

The blood draining from your face, your widened stare, your mouth dropping open, make his pants feel tight. Tighter. Goosebumps erupt across his skin.

“Or,” he offers, folding the belt and holding it by the ends. He slaps the belt’s body against itself, sending a crack through the room. You flinch.

“You can be a good little student and earn your grade.”

‘Earning’ often ends with you panting and red and wet, while Miguel watches you between half-lidded, reddened eyes, contact lenses long abandoned, his true nature no longer an enigma to you.

Unfortunately for you.

Extra Yandere Headcanons:

Once you discover Miguel’s true identity, both as Spiderman and a monster, you can never leave.

And not just because you’d be endangering both yourself and him if you ever told anyone.

Miguel, quite simply, cannot live without you. And the thought that you would try to escape him is, despite his intelligence, baffling.

His delusion has blinded him, made him privy only to any positive opinion of him you may have, ignoring your reservations. Invalidating them.

If you ever do make the mistake of trying to leave, Miguel knows he cannot let you have the chance of making it again.

“Can’t risk you getting out, Darling,” he says, placing the finishing knots on the threads of his neon web, keeping your arms constricted behind your back. It’s nigh-impossible to breathe; the likelihood of you breaking your ribs against the pull of the web a certainty rather than you managing to burst it open with any manoeuvre.

He kneels before you, taking your cheek in his hand.

With fleeting defiance, you pull yourself from his grasp, only to see him bear his teeth, fangs and all, and growl. His hands snake about your cheek, your throat, and pull you to him.

“No-one will ever love you like I do,” he rasps. Before you can anticipate, his lips are on yours, parted, tongue lapping at the inside of your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut, knowing better than to bite him.

His iron grip on your wrists from last time still haven’t healed.

You daren’t close your eyes for fear that doing so will leave you any more vulnerable than you already are.

Only when he’s breathless does he pull back, eyes half-lidded and gleaming. You can tell he’s angling for something more in the way his hand drops to your shoulder, his eyes sweeping across your collarbones.

But, luckily for you, the two of you know he can’t indulge in you just yet. Not while he has you bound in his basement and a class of students awaiting his arrival.

“I’ll be back for you later,” he says, still panting, forehead pressed to yours. His smile, once pointed and serpentine, is incongruously soft compared to the current circumstances. His lips gentle as he presses a kiss to your forehead. His eyes shimmer with a tenderness that often overtook him in moments of great need – of great “love”, as he’d characterise it.

With a tight, embrace, he parts from you. His shirt is an almost blinding white against the light pouring in from the hallway, the basement door now wide open. He retrieves his glasses from his breast pocket, slips them on. His eyes are unreadable, coloured brown with contact lenses which seemed to conceal his inhumanity from all except you.

“Sit tight, Sweetie,” he tells you. And you are plunged once again into darkness with only the dim glow of his web to accompany you.

And, just like the good, obedient student you are, you obey. For you have no other choice.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[karasuno-planet]

All's fair—Academic Rivals | Tsukishima Kei

Tsukishima x Reader (she/her pronouns used)

wc: 1.1k

genre: kinda angsty but nothing crazy! sfw

warnings: feelings of inferiority, jealousy, slight cursing, calculus 💀

a/n: finally the long awaited academic rivals fic!! sorry I've been MIA for a couple days, I was traveling <3 everyone say thank you to @23starii , @alexaslibrary13 , @nym-blogs , and @h0neymustardwh0re for asking and encouraging me to write this one :)

(gif not mine)

Even after a long losing streak on the boy's volleyball team, Tsukishima always had one thing he believed he could never feel defeated in: his academics. School was just naturally easy to him, but that's not to say he doesn't work hard. It was his innate intelligence coupled with his work ethic that made him an absolute force in the classroom.

So when the calculus tests were being handed back, there wasn't a worry in his mind. The teacher set it on his desk face down.

Tsk, how dramatic, he thought, flipping it over.

In big red pen, he saw 98% written in bold on the top of the paper. Scoring a 98 was certainly above average, but not above Tsukki's average.

Before he could say a word the teacher was projecting at the front of the class, "Sorry, but there's no curve on this one. Somebody managed a perfect score, so it was achievable."

What?

The class murmured, upset with pretty mediocre grades for such a prestigious class. Discontent spouted from all directions. Well, besides directly from Tsukki's left hand side, where you sat. It was silent as a mouse. Awfully suspicious.

He stole a quick side glance at you to see exactly what he feared, a big, bold, 100% at the top of your test.

No matter how hard he tried for the rest of the day, he just couldn't shake that jealousy from his mind— the constant image of your perfect test seemingly ingrained to the back of his eyelids. He was so used to setting the curve in that class, how could he have overlooked competition this whole time?

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Later that day at practice, he tried channeling his emotions into his gameplay, with mild success. He was definitely playing with the kind of ambition he often lacked after long days of school.

When the team stopped for a water break, Nishinoya was quick to chime in, "Hey Tsukki, what's got you so worked up??"

The annoying presence of his pesky teammate irritated Tsukishima, "I doubt you'd even be able to understand it, dumbass."

Noya's face dropped at the outburst, "Sure Tsukki. Just let me know when you've pulled the stick out of your butt!!"

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Days went by, then weeks, and Tsukishima's hunger to match your academic achievement only grew. He became exceedingly obvious about it.

Every time you raised your hand, suddenly he did.

At the end of every test, when you stood up to turn it in, so did he. And his legs were long enough to beat you to handing it in every time.

When the tests were returned, you started to turn and catch his eye as he stared intensely trying to get a peak at your grade. Eventually you just made an effort to show him. After all, you weren't insecure about your grades. They were phenomenal and you both knew it.

The real surprises began when you both started to talk to each other. Suddenly the rivalry was put into words. It started out friendly, asking about when due dates were and simple things like that, but eventually you started to full-on taunt each other. Everything became a competition, and you weren't about to lose.

Even friendship had become a competition, you could feel Tsukishima's glare burning a hole in you when you turned around and asked Yamaguchi for a pencil one time. Not to mention when he had caught you talking to him before class. If only he had known what kind of information Yamaguchi let slip about him.

The final straw was when the teacher called for a group project, and you immediately turned around and looked at Yamaguchi. That was too far. Tsukishima immediately snapped, "Y/n, what do you think you're doing?"

"What's the big deal?"

Tsukki met your resistance with fierce eye contact, "You're working with me."

"huh?"

Yamaguchi's face was just as shocked as yours for a second, but he quickly shook it off and asked a boy who sat near him to work with him.

You pulled up a chair to Tsukki's desk and got to work on the packet of problems you were assigned to complete during the next two classes. You remained mostly in silence, dividing the work equally, but occasionally you shared glances and raised your eyebrows as a way to taunt each other.

As you started to run out of room on your paper and move far to the right side with your writing, your hand bumped Tsukki's. You could feel your heart drop and he quickly recoiled and pulled his hand away.

When you finished your allotment of problems for the day and set your pencil down, Tsukishima quickly grabbed your paper and starting checking over your work as you followed suit, looking over his.

He sighed, setting your paper down, free off mistakes. "Wow, you aren't quite as hopeless as I thought."

"Same to you..." you returned his completed problems, "If only you were as good at volleyball as you are at calculus."

"Like you would know," he returned your banter with a fervor, a quality you caught yourself enjoying a little.

"You'd think with four eyes you'd be a little more observant..."

"What?" He grasped to understand your insinuation.

"Look harder in the student section next time."

He sat in silence, floored, now knowing you had been watching him play. Is this what he had caught you and Yamaguchi discussing before? He felt like a fool, not being able to feel your malicious gaze on the court—not even considering that you might've been there.

Little did he know, it wasn't quite malice in your heart as you watched him play.

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

He left without saying a word when the bell rung, and flocked straight to Yamaguchi to walk with him to practice.

They made sure to walk out of the vicinity of the classroom before Yamaguchi broke the silence, "Tsukki?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not upset that you didn't partner with me, but uh... why her? I thought you kinda hated her."

"Oh, uh... I don't know. I didn't want her to work with you."

Yamaguchi looked Tsukki in the eyes, his curiosity peaking, "Do you have a crush on her?"

Tsukishima was completely taken aback, "A crush??" He hesitated, "Yamaguchi, don't say stuff like that."

[masterlist]

[linkemon]

Romantic tropes headcanons

You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Other headcanons from Twisted Wonderland can be found here.

Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you're interested.

This part contains: Riddle Rosehearts, Silver and Cater Diamond.

Riddle Rosehearts • Academic Rivals

• When he first saw your name on the school leaderboard, he was intrigued. Someone new — a mere first-year — managed to land on the podium, right behind him. That feeling, however, quickly turned into jealousy and then into hatred. You scored higher than him? Impossible! He even went to check his paper twice with Professor Trein.

• At first, he would only give you strange looks from the end of the hallway. It had to be a fluke, a one-time stroke of luck. But when you stuck your tongue out at him the second time, peeking over the results sheet, he thought he might lose his mind. His face turned bright red and his shout could be heard in several practice rooms nearby.

• And so began a battle to see who could achieve higher grades. You were constantly neck and neck, shoving test results in each other's faces. Strangely enough, you often ended up in the same places— whether practicing flying on broomsticks or brewing potions.

• All of Heartslabyul, to put it lightly, was suffering. When their leader is at war, everyone is drafted, whether they like it or not. Riddle became much more irritable. Since he couldn’t use his magic on you, he took out his frustration by closely scrutinizing his dorm members. Desperate to escape this mess, they decided to do whatever they could to ensure your defeat.

• That’s when the sabotage started — throwing obstacles in your way, which at first Riddle had no idea about. He only found out when he caught someone sneaking into the library to steal your books. Despite his fiery temper, his sense of justice demanded fairness. He caught the culprit, punished them and personally returned your books, apologizing.

• He expected you to be furious but your eyes only showed exhaustion. Fed up after a long day of studying, you invited him to sit down since he was already there. At some point, you blurted out that your parents forced you to study and you were tired of it. Riddle confessed that he understood, thanks to his mother. The rest of your study session passed in silence. But that evening, something changed. Riddle began to admire the way you pushed yourself and though his face still flushed red whenever he saw you, it was no longer for the same reasons...

Silver • Damsel in distress

• Silver is a knight through and through. Lilia trained him his entire life for this role. However, his gentle nature and desire to help others shine just as brightly as his combat skills.

• Somehow, he’s always there when you need him. Grim ran off and you need to find him? Silver just woke up from a nap thanks to your noisy companion and assures you he’ll track him down faster than you can.

• You tripped on the stairs? He was right there, catching you by the waist and gently lifting you up. For a brief moment, his face was a little too close to yours, and he apologized profusely but he simply couldn’t help it.

• You were bored and decided to watch the equestrian club meeting? He offered you a ride on one of the horses, which promptly bolted with you on its back. You were terrified but the moment Silver caught up and reined in the horse made it all worth it. Of course, he insisted on taking you back to the stables himself — for 'safety reasons'.

• Not to mention the time he used his magic to shield you from some troublemaking students, then carried you to the nurse when he noticed you’d gotten a small scratch. Sometimes, it feels like the bad luck that follows you around isn’t so bad after all — because it always brings him close. You might as well knight him as your personal protector, always saving you from trouble...

Cater Diamond • Fake dating

• When Cater suggested fake dating, you didn’t see what he could gain from it. That is, until he explained how it would help improve his image on Magicam. You didn’t have much to lose. In exchange, he promised you could keep anything you got from the sponsorships, which were piling up. Free clothes, cosmetics and gadgets were hard to turn down, especially since the headmaster wasn’t exactly helpful when it came to funding for the Ramshackle dorm.

• Your friends couldn’t believe the two of you were together. After the first picture, questions flooded in — especially from first-years and the residents of Heartslabyul. You both decided to be honest with your close friends but agreed not to let the rest of the school know. Most of them thought this was a terrible idea.

• After a while, your friends started to question whether it was really all for show. You held hands during class, gave Cater little kisses in exchange for small favours and spent entire afternoons together doing countless things. You went on 'dates' almost every week. If not for the phones constantly in your hands, they might genuinely believe it was real. Little did they know, they were closer to the truth than they thought.

• During one paid photoshoot, Cater glanced at your smiling face as you proudly showed off to a photographer a stuffed animal he’d won for you at an amusement park. His heart caught in his throat. That’s when he realized things had gone too far. When he asked you to keep your photo from the park just between the two of you, you did as he asked. Now, he stares at it at night, wondering how to fix this. What he doesn’t know is that you do the exact same thing...

[jaikoyaki]

Stop staring, Kang Haerin!

CHAPTER 1:

Love Hate at first sight.

Masterlist - next

SYPNOSIS:Haerin, the vice president of the debate club, always seemed to give you cold, dismissive looks—or at least, that's what you thought. Convinced she couldn’t stand you, you never expected to have anything to do with her. You assumed she just hated you. But when the club loses a key member before an important competition, you—known for your academic excellence—are the obvious choice to step in.

Words: 1.2k

You stood outside the debate clubroom, staring at the door as if it might bite you. You hadn’t expected to be here, let alone as the club’s last-minute solution to their unexpected crisis. It was only a week ago that your best friend practically begged you to join, explaining that one of the club’s key members had transferred schools. She made it sound like the club would collapse if you didn't join, a bit dramatic maybe, but it worked. So, here you were.

With a deep breath, you pushed the door open.

The room fell silent as the members looked up from their seats. It wasn’t a large group, but it was definitely enough to make you feel out of place. You quickly scanned the room and spotted her—the person you had been dreading ever since your best friend mentioned you joining: Kang Haerin. Vice president of the debate club. Everyone knew about her, with her sharp mind and even sharper stare. She sat near the center, her arms resting on the table as she fidgeted with her fingers, her gaze fixed on you in a way that sent a chill down your spine. You had never spoken to her before, but you always seemed to lock eyes with her in the hallways or the cafeteria, only to be met with that piercing stare. Over time, you just assumed she didn’t like you.

Your heart sank a little as you caught her eyes again just like almost everyday. She was staring at you like you were an unwanted intruder, her gaze hardening the longer you stood there. Her expression gave nothing away, but it felt like judgment, and it made you want to turn around and leave.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You’d already committed to this.

"L/N, I'm so glad you could make it!" the club president—Danielle, said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "We’ll start with introductions. Everyone, this is Y/N. She’s joining us to help out with our upcoming competition."

You gave a nervous smile and waved awkwardly, trying not to glance at Haerin again. But it was impossible not to feel her eyes on you.

What the hell did you even do?

You quickly tried to shake the thoughts from your head as Danielle continued to speak, unaware of the growing pit in your stomach.

"Alright, Y/N! Since you’re new here, we’ll just ask a few questions so you can get settled in. Then, we’ll go into some practice."

You nodded, forcing a smile, but your mind was still stuck on the girl. Why did she always look at you like that? Her feline eyes were now focused on something else—thankfully—but it didn’t erase the feeling of being under constant scrutiny.

"How familiar are you with debates?" one of the members asked, pulling your attention back to the group.

"I’ve participated in a few competitions before," you answered, your voice a little shaky but honest. "But not anything on the scale of what you guys are preparing for."

"That’s great! We need all the help we can get right now." Danielle beamed, clearly relieved to have you there.

A few more questions were thrown your way—what topics you preferred, your strengths in public speaking, whether you had experience with research— blah blah blah, and you did your best to answer. Still, every now and then, your gaze would flicker to Haerin, who hadn’t said a word the entire time. She just sat there, fidgeting with her fingers but always watching. Judging. Or at least, that’s what it felt like.

Eventually, the questions died down, and the practice session began. Danielle explained the plan for the upcoming competition while passing out some papers. You tried to focus, but your nerves made it hard to absorb much.

As you shuffled through the notes handed to you, a piece of paper slid across the table toward you. Startled, you looked down.

It was from Haerin.

Your breath caught in your throat as you hesitantly unfolded it, expecting some kind of passive-aggressive note telling you to do better or not screw up.

But it wasn’t.

It was a neatly written list of points for the debate topic.

Confused, you glanced over at Haerin, but she didn’t meet your gaze. She simply stared straight ahead, her expression as cold and unreadable as ever. Was she helping you? Or was this just for the club’s benefit? You couldn’t tell.

You went along with it, following the points she’d given you. As the discussion went on, you occasionally heard whispers from Haerin’s direction, something like, “Mention that stat here,” or “Bring up the counter-argument now.” Her tone was low, controlled. Her instructions were precise, helpful, even. But it only deepened the confusion.

Why was someone who supposedly didn’t like you going out of her way to help?

Still, it all felt... impersonal. Like it wasn’t about you at all. Like it was just for the sake of the competition. There was no way this was personal. Not with how she looked at you every time your eyes accidentally met.

By the end of the session, your nerves had settled, though the weight of Haerin’s gaze hadn’t. You collected your things, ready to make a quick exit.

"Good job today," Danielle called out as you waved a polite goodbye to the rest of the group.

As you stepped into the hallway, you couldn’t help but replay everything in your head—Haerin’s silence, the notes, the whispers. Maybe she didn’t hate you after all. Or maybe she was just doing her job as vice president, making sure everything ran smoothly for the sake of the competition. The two voices debated in your head as you absentmindedly walked toward the exit.

It wasn’t the first time you'd felt this way around her. The memory hit you like a wave, taking you back to that moment in math class last semester—the first time you really noticed Kang Haerin.

Back then, you were seated next to her, and you had felt it from the beginning: that stare. You’d glance over, only to find her already looking at you, her cat-like eyes unreadable. It was unnerving, like she was silently criticizing every move you made.

One particular moment stood out to you. You had been working on a problem in your notebook, struggling with a tricky equation. You glanced over, hoping for some clue that maybe she was having just as much trouble, but there she was, solving it effortlessly—her expression calm, focused, and... sharp.

When your eyes met, it felt like time froze. Her gaze was intense, like she could see right through you, picking apart your every flaw. It wasn’t a glare, not exactly, but it felt just as piercing.

The longer she looked, the more your anxiety built up So you broke eye contact, quickly returning to your own notes, feeling your hands clam up. You’d been so rattled by that stare that you ended up switching seats with a classmate the next day, just to get away from her.

Just then, Haerin brushed past you, heading in the opposite direction. You caught a glimpse of her bag and noticed a small frog keychain dangling from the zipper. It was an unexpected contrast to her sharp, no-nonsense demeanor, and for a moment, you found it oddly... cute. You couldn’t help but smile a little to yourself as she disappeared down the hallway.

Who are you Kang Haerin?

Taglist: @saysirhc

[lamusedhermes]

Academic advices from a (non american) law student.

Premise: I feel the urge to underline the fact that I am not American nor attend any university in America due to the fact that most tips and tricks I found, coming from Americans, were scarce in terms of concrete application. If you found them to be useful, then I am more than glad. All I wish to do is to share different experiences and approaches to the university world that are maybe differing from the usual content.

I. “Time restricted” spaced repetition: the great majority of the subject in my curriculum are quite complex and portray a large number of complex topics, Latin terms, and regulations that are specific. What I suggest here is to write down in a fun colour (to me it is red) the words, terms, names and phrases that are difficult for you to remember. We are not born all knowing, and some terms can be, at first glance, peculiar or unusual. That is completely normal. Therefore, write down anything that you may struggle to remember and every day, you do your best to recall those specific terms, and over the span of even two days you will most likely incorporate even the most difficult words.

II. Repeat out loud: in my university, we do not have written exams. Therefore, practicing your speech for the exam is fundamental for us. However, even if your exams are not oral, explaining out loud subjects helps you remember them better (even if you give a look to your notes from time to time). Do this from day one of preparation. My favourite way of doing so is to repeat everything when outside, while on a walk or at a cafe.

III. Mental connections: chances are, some topics will be repeated in different ways in the same subject. For instance, the concept of inter-subjective laws was discussed three times in this one course, and each time a different aspect was discussed. What I am suggesting is that, when a particular topic or word comes up often, you force yourself to do two things: first, you do a repetition exercise in which you repeat where and when was that topic already mentioned, and second, you differentiate between the two. Why are they different, how are they different and in what ways they are similar.

IV. During the lectures: our professors do not record lectures, nor do they use any platform to “stream” them. If it is possible for you, attend the lectures! Take careful notes and correct them right away, after the lectures has finished! Ask those questions, no matter how “silly” they may be! The professor is right there for you, so you might as well use the opportunity to enrich your knowledge.

V. The notes: print them. Not only will your eyes thank you, but I find studying from paper more effective and it is easier to focus. Call me a grandma, but that is the truth. And if correcting some parts is the reason you prefer digital, try to simply cover the parts tg at you wish to rewrite eight plain paper and write the correction on it. This way the topic will be easier to be remembered.

VI. Audiobook: this may sound unusual, but listening to your notes can be quite beneficial. Due to me being a student, I have free access to the Microsoft package: world has this “read aloud” feature, and I play the audio during the night. The subconscious mind is much more powerful than what you may think of it.

VII. Grades: obviously we all aim for the greatest grades, but often the way we are graded may be out of your control. Sometimes you may get sick right before the exam, sometimes the examiner may be irritated and got up already upset with the world, sometimes we could have given better performances. It happens, and it will inevitably make you feel awful and out of place: please, remember to be kind and gentle with yourself. It will be better the next time, but in that moment remember that you are never alone. If you do not wish to talk it out with someone, ask ChatGPT. It really gives comfort and great advices in moments of frustration and disappointment. Do not ruin your life for a temporary moment.

[charliedaltonswife]

A casual friendship blossoms between Henry and a the bookstore clerk. He starts to visit her semi-regularly and she starts to recommend books. Imagine his surprise and nervousness when she asks him out one day.

idk!! i just feel like he’s so confident all the time that this would throw him for a loop. excited/nervous henry nation stand up!! love your work btw, you are really showing up for tsh fans!! ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Books and Beginnings

Henry Winter x reader (The Secret History)

SORRY SORRY SORRY for the delay, I am knee deep in assignments and writing papers on my least favorite area of law, and thats saying something because I love doing law, ughhhhh

Summary: read the request

Warnings: none

master list found here

“Back again?”

You didn’t even look up as you said it, flipping a page in your book with a casualness that was nearly theatrical. Henry had the distinct feeling that you had been waiting for him, but would rather set yourself on fire than admit it.

He hummed noncommittally, stepping past the threshold and into the warm hush of the bookstore. The place was small, tucked into the corner of a side street, with narrow aisles and shelves that groaned under the weight of their own excess. Dust motes floated in the air, catching in the late-afternoon light, and the place smelled like old paper, vanilla, and something else he couldn’t quite place.

“I wasn’t aware I had a schedule,” he said, pulling off his gloves.

“You don’t,” you replied, at last setting your book aside, “but you show up on Thursdays and Saturdays, usually between four and six, and always head straight to the classics section.”

Henry narrowed his eyes, mildly impressed. “You’ve been keeping track.”

“No, you’ve been predictable.” You tilted your head, lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but had the shape of one. “I take it you’re looking for something?”

He should have been irritated, but there was something about your presence, dry, vaguely amused, like a cat watching a bird just outside its reach, that made it impossible to be.

Henry glanced toward the shelves, scanning the spines of books he had seen a thousand times over. He wasn’t sure why he had come, not really. He had books at home, more than enough, and nothing in particular on his mind. And yet, there was something nice about the quiet here, the way the world outside seemed to shrink when he stepped inside. It was different from the library, less academic, more human.

“I suppose I could use something new,” he admitted.

You tapped a finger against your lips, considering. Then, without a word, you pushed off the counter and disappeared down one of the aisles. He followed - because what else was he supposed to do? - watching as you trailed your fingertips along the spines of books, skimming titles, lips moving slightly as if in silent deliberation.

Then, you stopped.

“This.”

You plucked a book from the shelf and held it out to him. Henry glanced at the cover, then back at you.

“The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge?”

“It’s Rilke.”

“I know who it is.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course you do.”

Henry thumbed through the pages, reading a line at random:

"I have often wondered whether especially those days when we are forced to be idle are not precisely the days spent in the most profound activity…"

It was… an interesting recommendation.

He glanced back at you, but you had already turned away, heading back to the counter with an air of complete indifference. He wondered, not for the first time, whether you were toying with him.

“Let me know what you think,” you said, settling back onto your stool.

“I doubt I’ll have much to say.”

You smiled, just barely. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

Henry exhaled through his nose, resisting the urge to smile back. Instead, he placed the book on the counter, pulled out his wallet, and slid a five across to you.

“Keep the change.”

You picked up the bill between two fingers, holding it up to the light as if inspecting its authenticity. “Generous.”

He gave you a dry look.

You just laughed.

And for reasons he didn’t care to examine, Henry found himself looking forward to the next Thursday.

-

“You’re in a mood.”

Henry glanced up from where he stood, running his fingers along the spine of a book he had no intention of buying. You were behind the counter, as always, propped up on your elbows with the kind of lazy amusement that suggested you were enjoying whatever storm cloud had settled over his head.

“I’m not in a mood,” he said, returning his attention to the shelf.

“You are. You’ve been scowling at that copy of Anna Karenina for five minutes.”

“I don’t scowl.”

You snorted. “You live in a scowl.”

He sighed, closing his eyes briefly. It had been a long day. A long week, really. Charles was being insufferable, Richard was always around, Camilla had left a scarf at his place and casually asked him to return it, he didn’t like when people left things behind, and he liked even less when they assumed he would return them like some errand boy. And Julian, perceptive as ever, had asked if he was feeling “unsettled,” which only irritated him further.

You didn’t ask him things like that.

You just watched him with that small, knowing smile, the one that said I’m not going to ask, but I know anyway. He preferred that.

Henry exhaled through his nose and dropped his hand from the shelf.

“What do you recommend today?”

You considered him, tilting your head. He watched as you reached for something behind the counter, sliding it across to him without preamble.

“The Pillow Book,” he read, raising an eyebrow.

“Sei Shōnagon.” You leaned your chin into your palm. “It’s a collection of observations. Random thoughts, moments. Beautifully detached.”

Henry flicked through it.

"It is delightful to sit alone and look upon the mountains and rivers, thinking over various things."

"One day a man came with a request. I thought, 'It is absurd that he should have such expectations of me' and I felt sorry for him."

He let the book fall shut. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

You grinned. “I think you’d like it.”

“Do you?”

You shrugged, unbothered. “Maybe you’ll surprise me.”

He should have known, then. Should have known something was shifting, that something was unfurling in the space between him and you, something neither of you had quite acknowledged. Because later that night, stretched out on his couch, he found himself flipping through the book long after he had intended to put it down.

And the next Thursday, when you looked up and saw him walk in, your smile was a fraction warmer than it had been before.

-

Henry had always been a man of control. A man of certainty. There were few things in his life that truly surprised him, most things, most people, were predictable if you simply observed them long enough. He could anticipate the shift in Julian’s mood before he spoke. He could hear the hesitation in Charles’s voice before he made a mistake. He could see the exact moment Camilla decided she was done entertaining someone’s company.

But when you asked him out, he did not see it coming.

It was a Thursday, as it always was. He had walked into the bookstore at half past three, nodding at you as you sat behind the counter, flipping idly through a book. It was raining, had been since morning, and the shop smelled warm, like paper and cinnamon tea. The door creaked as it shut behind him.

“Afternoon,” you greeted without looking up.

Henry said nothing, walking towards the philosophy section. It had become a habit, his presence here, one neither of you questioned. He came in once a week, occasionally twice, browsed for an unnecessary amount of time, and left with whatever book you saw fit to place into his hands. Sometimes you discussed it later. Sometimes you didn’t. But you always had something to say.

"You never pick anything yourself," you remarked now, glancing up as he ran a hand along the shelf. "You realize that, right?"

Henry hummed. "Maybe I don't trust my own taste."

"You don't trust your taste?" You scoffed. "Please. The last time I handed you something modern, you nearly threw it at me."

"It was insipid."

"It was beautiful."

"It was sentimental drivel dressed up as profundity."

You rolled your eyes, pushing away from the counter. "Fine, then. Let’s see if I can challenge your pretentious sensibilities today."

He didn’t answer as you wandered towards him, scanning the spines of the books as you went. He was aware of you standing close, of the way you smelled like the pages of an old book, like ink and something faintly citrusy. You reached past him, fingers brushing his sleeve as you plucked something from the shelf.

"Here." You handed it to him.

Henry looked at the cover. Letters to a Young Poet.

He exhaled through his nose. "Rilke again."

"Yes, Henry. Very good."

He shot you a look. You just smiled, a small, knowing thing.

"I think you'll like it," you said lightly, stepping back towards the counter.

Henry considered the book, flipping through the pages. He lingered over one passage.

You must change your life.

Something about it unsettled him so he promptly shut the book.

"Fine."

You smirked. "A ringing endorsement."

He started towards the counter, reaching into his coat for his wallet. The sound of rain thickened outside, tapping against the glass, and you watched as he fished out a few bills. There was something unreadable in your gaze, something that made him pause, fingers resting against the edge of the book.

You hesitated. Then:

"Would you like to get a drink sometime?"

Silence. You wanted to almost swallow your words, tuck them right back in in the comfort and security of your throat. It took a full ten seconds for Henry to process what you had just said. You were forward in certain situations, but you had never done this before, so it is safe to say you weren't quite within your comfort zone.

He blinked.

"You mean,” He stopped. Cleared his throat. "A drink?"

You had to follow through now, stay confident. Don’t back down and make it awkward, you thought. You raised an eyebrow. "That is what I said."

There was a sharp, strange lurch in his stomach.

It wasn't that he was opposed to the idea, wasn't even that he hadn’t thought about it, in some distant, abstract way. It was that he hadn't been expecting it, hadn’t prepared for it, and Henry did not do well with things he hadn’t prepared for.

You were still watching him, actually feeling a little less embarrassed but a little amused by his sudden… nervousness?

"Well?" you prompted, amused.

Henry exhaled, trying to will away the inexplicable rush of something that felt too much like nerves.

"When?" he asked. 

"Tomorrow?" Another pause. 

Then, carefully: 

"Alright." 

Your smile widened. "Alright." 

He nodded once, tucking the book under his arm. 

"Good." 

"Good," you echoed, clearly suppressing a laugh. 

Henry turned, walking towards the door. His hand was on the handle when you called, "Henry?" He glanced back. You leaned forward slightly, chin propped on your palm. "You're blushing."

Henry was not blushing.

Or, at the very least, he refused to acknowledge the possibility. Blushing implied something juvenile, something foolish, and Henry Winter was neither of those things. He was composed. He was impervious. He did not blush.

Still, his fingers tightened on the door handle. The air in the shop felt thicker now, heavier, the faint scent of rain curling in through the crack in the door. The walls seemed suddenly too close, the ceiling too low.

He turned back slowly, expression carefully neutral.

You were watching him with a look of quiet amusement, elbow propped against the counter, fingers curled against your jaw. A picture of effortless ease. It irritated him, how unbothered you looked. As if this was all some great joke, as if you hadn't just asked him out and then proceeded to stand there smirking while he scrambled to formulate an appropriate response.

And now you were taunting him.

He exhaled, measured and slow. “I am not.”

Your smile widened. “You are.”

“I assure you, I am not.”

You tilted your head. “Your ears are red.”

Henry clenched his jaw.

It was a terrible thing, to be perceived like this, to have his internal state, normally so carefully concealed, laid bare by something as treacherous as blood vessels. Worse still was the distinct, creeping realization that you knew exactly what you were doing.

He should leave. He should turn around and walk out the door, leave you to your books and your laughter and the irritating way you noticed things. And yet, he lingered, didn't he.

You studied him for a moment, lips pursed as if in deep, theatrical consideration. Then, with a casual flick of your hand: “You should wear a scarf tomorrow. Hide any type of blushing from your ears.”

Henry stared at you. A long, sharp silence. Then, finally, without a word, he turned on his heel and stepped into the rain, the bell above the door chiming softly in his wake.

You laughed as the door shut behind him.

a/n: thank you for waiting my lovely nonnie!!!! hope you like it.

[featguler]

a home in your mind ────── academic pressure. you are crying. arda tries calming you down.

♡ ────── pairing : arda güler x reader ♡ ────── tags : reader's gender, ethnicity, nationality, and appearance is not specified. reader is a university student stressed out over some assignment!!! hurt-comfort. jude mentioned!!! ♡ ────── wordcount : 812 ♡ ────── notes : struggling doing my thesis proposal... here's some arda lol i so desperately need a study date with him!!!!! title is from on the drive home by niki, but it's not based on the song ♡ masterlist.

“Baby…”

Contrary to popular belief, a lot of footballers are actually not meatheads. Arda knows that it seems easy to equate physical advantage to a generally empty head, but football requires the same amount of mental exertion as it does physical. And, including him, not a small number of his football friends were overachievers when it comes to academic validation.

Arda understands it all too well—the gripping feeling before a test, the anxiety coursing through your veins increasing as the clock ticks by. He understands staying up late before an important presentation, and he understands trying to absorb verses and information into your brain like a sponge, only for it to dry out when left unattended for too long.

“...how can I help?”

He likes to think that his presence will somehow ease your head—that’s what you do to him, anyway. Knowing that you are watching his every move on the field, whether in person or on a screen, eases him. It graces him with confidence, filling him with a sense of force only a romantic would recognise.

But he doesn’t know if you would feel the same thing.

Doing an essay is, after all, different from trying to score a goal.

It’s different from racing past opponent players, it’s different from scanning the entire field for an opening. Football uses your brain more than any other part of your body, yes, but the adrenaline would more often than not make it feel like he is running on autopilot.

He sits next to you, trying not to take in the way your shaky fingers hover above your laptop’s keyboard; trying not to see that even as you are regulating your breath, some quivering sobs would sliver out between your lips.

“I’m fine,” you try brushing his concerns off, and though your eyes are welling up with water, you still insist on reading the same paragraph you’ve been reading for the past ten minutes.

“‘lright,” he mutters, leaning forward to take a look at your face before slipping his hand in one of yours, pulling it to his lips. You don’t resist.

“I just,” you begin after a sigh, “y’know, like none of this is making sense.”

“Uh-huh,” he nods, pressing the back of your hand against his cheek, fully facing you.

“This guy says one thing,” you gesture at the screen of your laptop, “and then says a completely different thing three paragraphs later. I mean” — you cut yourself off with another sigh.

Arda rubs his thumb against your hand.

— “I know he’s probably making sense, this paper’s in the syllabus for a reason, but, shit. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just stupid.”

Arda makes a disgruntled noise, frowning as he kisses your knuckle again. “Hey, don’t say that,” he murmurs, using his other hand to trace his fingers on the high of your cheeks, “you’re just frustrated, right? Don’t say cruel things to yourself.”

The moment he makes contact with your skin, the tear that you have been holding back spills over your cheeks.

“God,” you blow a shaky breath, looking away for a moment, embarrassed at your vulnerability. “I don’t know, I’m just stupid.”

“Come on,” he encourages, keeping his knuckles against your face. “You’re just frustrated. We’ve been at this for so long now, I think it’s time for a break.”

The sun has set hours ago, and Arda’s been there in your apartment since it hadn’t even risen yet. His chest is beginning to feel heavy from being cooped up in your room, but also from seeing you so defeated.

He leans in to press a small peck to your cheeks before standing up, gently tugging on your hand, trying to get you to stand too.

“Let’s get something sweet from the coffeeshop down the street.”

“People are gonna see me cry,” you whine, tugging your hand back to yourself. “And people are gonna think we had an argument.”

Arda laughs, letting go of your hand and then cupping your face in both of his, leaning down as he presses his nose against yours. “What? Who’s gonna say that?”

“I don’t know,” you sniffle, also giggling with him. “Some gossip accounts on TikTok. Remember what they said about Bellingham?”

He rolls his eyes playfully. “No one’s gonna say anything about us. We’re basically perfect.”

“Huh,” you close your eyes. “The perfect couple—a Real Madrid football player and a loser who can’t read.”

“Baby,” it’s his turn to whine. “You’re just tired, I swear. I’ll get you a cake, and you’ll feel better in no time. Come on.”

He stands, tugging you along with him, and you weakly go along. “Fine,” you murmur, “but you’re paying.”

Arda rubs both his thumb under each of your eyes. He leans a kiss on your lips for a moment and let your arms drape over his body.

"Anything for my baby, right?”

[slowd1ving]

ACT II: WITHER ✦ . 　⁺ VIL SCHOENHEIT

Vil Schoenheit and second place aren't supposed to be a thing. He's supposed to be the very embodiment of perfection, so why the hell is someone else's name usurping his crown on the Potions leader board? In which our starring actor cannot quench the flames of academic rivalry and resentment that consume him, nor can he fathom the enigma that you are. gn! scientist! reader warnings: contains nsfw but only later, angst with a happy ending, spoilers for book five, canon-compliant violence

TWISTED WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

BREACH THE IMMEASURABLE CHASM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

PREVIOUS PART ✧ ･ﾟ NEXT PART

Scene I: Rivalry . 　⁺

Vil’s not quite sure when his coldness towards you turns into unadulterated rivalry, but he thinks it started in the middle of the next Advanced Potions class, where Professor Crewel had asked a question and both your hands shot up immediately to answer.

“Shoenheit,” Crewel utters. You put your hand down, shrugging good-naturedly, but Vil can see past that forced body language into the annoyance of that casual gesture.

“The pH in which that particular enzyme denatures should be 2.8. Enzymes after that point should be avoided and Silvertear root is typically added in to continue as the second stage’s catalyst,” Vil’s voice is clear and articulate. Crewel nods in approval and continues the lecture, and he thinks that’s where your feelings of rivalry started blossoming.

He notices the little looks you send his way; the way your eyes are half-lidded in exasperation tell him everything he needs to know. You’ve been goaded into approaching the bait he’s left. No use in crushing you if you aren’t at your full potential, right? That’s the way it should be.

He taunts you with snide comments; you fire back almost immediately. You’re not as bashful as you initially look. This hatred is more cathartic than the deep resentment he has for Neige. It consumes him. It eats at his mind, his heart. When he shoots his movies, you’re always there at the back of his mind, taunting him into becoming impossibly beautiful. Adela’s only got praises for those emerging “fierce eyes” of his.

“What’d you get?” you peer over his papers every time he gets them back. He doesn’t know when sitting next to you becomes a second thought.

“You little fucker,” you always pout in mock-sadness when you see that red circled 100% on his written exams, before showing your 90% on the test that you had to verbally translate for Crewel to be able to mark it.

“You’re always so vulgar,” he scoffs back. He scoffs again when he sees those stupid doodles on the corner of your test paper.

Your remarks only extend to when you sit next to him in the laboratory. Otherwise, you ignore him when walking around the school, always focusing on whoever you’re talking to. It’s always those ruffians of first-years; you’re in the company of that red-haired potato and that dark-haired tuber almost daily. Regularly, you’re seen chatting with Rook. Vil watches from a distance, watching the hunter eagerly discuss the latest scientific theory with you. He watches you accept kisses on the hand from the vice Housewarden with a smile and laugh.

He does not care.

He watches you get along with Leona, of all people. He watches the way the lion actually listens to your suggestions if you have input on Spelldrive practice. Why are you suddenly such a precious commodity? Even the notoriously standoffish Azul makes an effort to at least greet and smile at you if he sees you, even after his Overblot (which you partly caused!). If Vil happens to be walking nearby, you’re always in the company of at least one of your friends, even if it’s only that unsightly cat.

He doesn’t think he cares.

He doesn’t think you care either. If you’re standing next to him in line, or bump into him at the library, you’re always carefully civil. Your eyes slide off him as easily as oil, looking through him. Do you not treat this rivalry seriously? Whatever remark he has always catches in his throat as you act as if he’s nothing more than a goddamn wall. It only fuels his resentment - it has to go somewhere, right?

Adela’s remarked that his eyes, when modelling, have a more wistful quality - nothing like the “fierce” look his fans had come to adore. This new look also garners a lot of popularity, with throngs of fans in his comments expressing their adoration for this newfound look.

Does he not take up your thoughts at all like you take up his?

Scene II: Song . 　⁺

It starts up all over again after the winter break. The sky is grey, peppered with clouds that slowly sprinkle snow all over Night Raven College. Vil’s heard rumours from Rook of you being involved in yet another Overblot; this made four in just as many months. He feels a headache blossoming just thinking about it.

He shivers as he takes his seat in the laboratory. The rankings should be posted within the next three weeks - plenty of time to brush up on his skills for the final assignment. Plenty of time to take back that number one spot. It’s been occupied by you ever since you arrived. Your practical work with potions is always polished to absolute perfection, though your grades with written work rarely ever meet that 100. But when they do, you turn to him with that shit eating grin on your face.

Speak of the devil. The distinct rhythm of your footsteps jars him out of his thoughts. Vil busies himself by looking at himself with his cosmetic mirror. Twice he adjusts his tie, ignoring you all the while. If you want to ignore him, he’ll do the same.

He doesn’t know what he was hoping for. You simply open your notebook while propping your chin up again on your hand, doodling and rewriting your previous notes in your strange Latin alphabet. Vil takes in your tired appearance, how you look more exhausted than usual. A drop of pity splashes into his turbulent mind. Pity. That has no room in his mind, especially with the Song and Dance competition only a few weeks away.

Resentment fuels him to new heights. His dance practice runs flawlessly; spite powers him like an engine. The aches of his muscles leave his mind feeling euphoric as he stretches them out.

It’s only when he spots you and that idiot trio talking to Epel that his good mood shatters instantly. How dare you distract him from singing practice? Vil’s body reacts before he can fully think; he marches himself over to the well with a scowl on his face as he lectures all of you for disrupting such a crucial time. He does not miss the way your eyes smoulder with annoyance - his walk back to Pomefiore is one with a cheerful gait.

To his revulsion, you’re somehow roped into being the manager of the group after the SDC auditions, by Crowley of all people. Even worse, he’s forced to sleep in Ramshackle Dorm with the rest of the team to gain some camaraderie. It’s logical, he can’t help but admit it, but the thought of living in the same space as you makes him shudder. Even worse than that moth-eaten couch he’s currently perching on in the living room after the first day’s gruelling rehearsal. It’s a far cry for Pomefiore, but he’s always been a stickler for routine.

“Hey Rook-” your voice intrudes on his little bubble as you bound into the room, holding what seems to be a microscope and a bundle of mechanical junk, including electrical wiring. Vil swivels his head towards you, but you don’t even deign to look at him. Instead, you approach Kalim who sits criss cross on the carpet in front of the fireplace.

“Have you seen Rook?” you ask Kalim hurriedly. “I need that hunter for an experiment.”

“Nope! He might be in the kitchen though!” Kalim’s enthusiastic voice betrays his excitement. “What kinda experiment are you planning?”

“It’s like you’ve robbed Ignihyde,” Epel comments from behind Vil. “S’full of stuff like that.”

“Just some magic resistivity testing,” you explain, rummaging around in your stash of junk. Your eyebrows furrow and you glance around the room. “Have any of you seen my ammeter?”

As luck would have it, there’s an oddly shaped box lying half-submerged in those ugly rags you’d call cushions on the other end of the couch Vil sits on. A large triangular symbol is painted in black with a circle around it. Vil picks it up wordlessly and clears his throat. Your eyes turn to him finally - finally! - and you snatch the box up eagerly.

“Cool, thanks,” your voice is already slipping away as you turn around, a jive in your step as you seek the hunter.

“Good luck in your experiment,” Kalim calls out after you - with the way you eagerly yell something back indistinctly, Vil is sure you won’t need it.

Scene III: Interlude . 　⁺

Between the constant rehearsing and shaping those potatoes into something somewhat presentable, Vil expects the urge to compete with you to subside. It doesn’t. The fire within his blood isn’t beaten out by the long training he makes himself undertake - it doesn’t rest when he shuts his eyes either. That gnawing feeling of proving himself is fighting to be let out.

“Professor,” Vil’s voice is slightly shaky as he approaches Crewel. Normally he would’ve thought everything out before he came here, but his legs moved before his head had a chance to input anything. It’s been happening more and more lately, and he hates the feeling.

“What is this about? Aren’t you rehearsing for the showcase?” Crewel sounds slightly surprised at Vil’s appearance at his office; it’s very rare, after all, to see him when the SDC period begins.

“I want to hold the poison assessment,” Vil doesn’t need to specify to Crewel what this means. Crewel’s eyes soften with worry, but Vil doesn’t need any of that.

“There’s only one person who could have prompted this,” Crewel murmurs his sympathies to the shaking youth. His eyes flick down to his desk, searching through the schedule for the next few weeks. “It’s unorthodox for a non-Pomefiore student to- but.. if that is what you wish, pup.”

Scene IV: Resistivity . 　⁺

The date for the poison assessment is set for the week before the SDC. Vil receives the missive from Crewel; you, no doubt, have received the same one. For an assessment of this magnitude, there’s several days of waiting for the poisons to be tested and assessed by not only Crewel, but a panel of researchers. It’s a big deal.

It’s how Vil became the Housewarden.

Unorthodox. He supposes this whole ordeal is; the challenger is supposed to be the one vying for the seat of Housewarden. Instead, the Pomefiore Housewarden is challenging someone who isn’t even in Pomefiore. And for what?

It’s the ultimate challenge. The laboratory will be his stage for victory.

You shouldn’t even be allowed to undertake the assessment, but then again, you’re always the exception, aren’t you? Vil chokes back a hysterical laugh. He has to prove himself. One way or the other. He has to beat both you and Neige. Being reduced to second place isn’t an option anymore. At all.

A knock resounds on the wood of his room in Ramshackle. It must be Rook. Surely…

“Come in,” Vil feels as if he’s speaking through water. He doesn’t know why he feels so hollow.

The door creaks open. Instead of Rook, there you stand, holding that damned missive. Your brows are furrowed. You look the part of the mad scientists, with your customised lab coat and goggles still propped up on your nose. The smell of matchsmoke emanates off you in light tendrils. Vil just gazes at you. He doesn’t comprehend you.

“What’s this supposed to be? A duel? Rook just told me to go find you,” you unfurl the scroll again, squinting at the runes before you. With a start, Vil realises that one, he’s not even told you about the assessment, and two, you can’t even read the information anyway. What a fool he’s made of himself.

“Allow-” Vil clears his throat as his voice gives out. “-allow me to explain.”

“Go ahead,” you stride over to him, placing the missive in his outstretched hand. Up close, the coppery tang of wires adds itself to the kaleidoscope of scents he can feel. Underneath all the various chemical traces, clings a pure, unadulterated scent of.. the Dream Flower? Faintly, he remembers eavesdropping on your conversation - les fleurs des rêves. Somniablossoms. That’s what he smells on you, beneath all the conflicting scents.

“Right, the missive,” Vil scans over the parchment; it’s essentially the same letter he’s received, with a few inconsistencies. “It appears you have been selected as the student challenged for the poison assessment. Though you are not a Pomefiore student, your application has been approved by a figure of authority. Your assessment is to brew your most potent poison within a three-hour time limit, supervised by Professor Divus Crewel, alongside your opponent. The poisons are then sent to be assessed across a seven point criteria. May the legacy of the Fairest Queen guide you.”

There’s a long pause. Some rustling. Vil looks up from the letter to see you wiping away smudges on your goggles with the hem of your lab coat.

“Well,” you finally speak. Vil waits. “I’m assuming you’re my opponent?”

You’re taking this differently than he had expected. He thought you’d sneer down on him for this desperate challenge; that’s what he would’ve done had someone challenged him. Deep down, he isn’t surprised by your nonchalance - it’s something that’s intrinsically rooted in your being.

“Yes,” Vil begins to explain himself, but you hold up a hand to silence him. He shuts his mouth.

“Spare me the details,” you shrug it off. Like always. Vil feels a bitter laugh surge within him; it takes everything he’s got to suppress it. “I’ve got interesting news from my findings with Rook.”

The suspense builds. You take your time before your next words, folding your goggles and tucking them into your lab coat pocket.

“Come to my lab.”

Vil blinks, then follows you out the door. It’s a relief. You haven’t yelled at him, cursed him out, or anything someone else in this position would’ve done-

“Look, I really don’t like you,” you mutter, as if you’re deliberating whether you want Vil to hear you or not. “You’re an arrogant prick who picks fights for reasons that are beyond me. But I want to make something extremely clear before we start the assessment.”

You shove open a door before Vil has time to register what you’ve just said. It’s strangely gratifying to be the villain in someone else’s story for a reason other than his beauty.

A gust of warm air barrels past him as you barge into what appears to be your lab. An array of tabletops are arranged in the room, and shoved on top are all sorts of appliances he doesn’t even have names for. He can vaguely make out a fractional distiller perched precariously on the edge of a table, but the clanking and whirring machinery elsewhere throw him for a loop.

Rook stands in the corner of the lab, peering through what appears to be a microscope. He’s also decked out in what appears to be spares of your lab gear, judging by the ugly little doodles embroidered on the fabric. Not drawn on - embroidered. It’s such a waste of thread he almost laughs out loud.

“Welcome to my lab,” your greeting is completely monotone. “Where the equipment here is every scientist’s wet dream.”

Vil ignores this.

“I would know,” Rook chimes in, beckoning you over. Vil also ignores this. You make your way around a table to look at whatever’s on the slide, grabbing your class notepad and scribbling something down.

“The structure’s slightly different,” you murmur, twisting the fine adjustment knob. Vil wants to scream. You’ve invited him here and already you’re sidetracked.

“What’s going on?” Vil crosses his arms over his chest. He feels out of his league here, and as he spots you and Rook sharing a glance that feeling only seems to worsen.

“Magical resistivity,” your pencils scritches the side of your neck as you pull out a stool and sit on it. “It’s the reason why none of your potions or whatever you call it ever achieves that 100.”

“I’ve never heard of that,” Vil scoffs as he stares you down. You meet his gaze.

“Yeah, because I’ve just found it,” you slide your notepad towards Vil across the table. He picks it up, noticing the two diagrams of what appear to be cells drawn on the page. One side is a typical animal cell here, whereas the other… the other appears to be missing a few organelles.

“It’s a side by side comparison of one of my skin cells and Rook’s,” your voice contains an element of barely restrained excitement. “Notice those structures in his? Those magic generator thingies?”

“Yes,” Vil’s heart is slowly starting to race.

“From examining the flora cells here, they’ve got a key difference against the ones in my world. That extra structure is what generates magic power in people here, and it extends to plants here as well,” your eyes begin to light up. “Then, I began questioning why my yield in Potions is so much better than everyone else’s. Rook’s kindly told me that 100 point potions are practically unheard of here, and it occurred more than once so it’s clearly not a coincidence right?”

“Right,” Vil’s mouth is dry.

“So, I ran some magic circuits using some equipment I borrowed, and some stuff I tinkered with, and I used both my hair and Rook’s to test for conductivity of magic. By hooking Rook’s magic pen up to the circuit, he could feed magic directly into the circuit.”

You motion for him to turn the page, where a page of incoherent scribbles meets his eyes. Vil’s eyes almost roll back into his head with exasperation.

“When my hair was hooked up, there was no magic lost - the initial magic was identical to the place where my hair was. But when Rook’s hair was hooked up… the magic output was only around 96%. And when we tested skin cells, his fell to around 94%, whereas mine remained constant.”

A pause.

“So when potions here are made, there’s always a margin of error in the precision, because of the magical resistance in your very being suppressing the natural magic yield of ingredients. Of course, this means I’m more susceptible to the spells here… so it’s not a complete win,” your ramble slowly dwindles out. Vil feels his eyes about to burst from their sockets. Of course. That consistent 100 in your potion work.

“Plus, my refinery skills are so unbelievably sexy,” you puff out your chest proudly. “It’s like those triple threats in theatres.”

So what’s the third skill? Vil almost allows the biting remark to leave his lips before he restrains himself.

“Anyways, I’m going to wear some lab-issued rubber gloves for the actual poison assessment, so that should bring that magic resistivity up, since the gloves are made here,” you stand up from your stool, walking over to Vil. Your eyes are half-lidded with a deep annoyance.

“I’m going to beat you from square one,” you promise. Vil wouldn’t want any less effort from you.

“I adore the tension here; what a truly stunning display of beauty,” Rook chimes in, and Vil can practically hear the stars in his eyes.

“How did you get Crowley to fund all this?” Vil suddenly asks, as if noticing your lab for the first time. The equipment here almost gleams with technological prowess, and he’s genuinely curious.

“He didn’t,” you shrug. “I’ve made a side hustle selling potions, and I buy old equipment from both Crewel and Ignihyde and convert them into models I’ve seen in my world.”

“Don’t you need a licence for potion selling?” Vil frowns.

“I can’t read,” you shrug again. “That law’s irrelevant.”

Before Vil can respond to whatever the hell that response was, you shoo him away.

“C’mon Rook, I’ve gotta show Crewel these findings,” Vil can faintly hear your voice as the door firmly closes in his face.

[opashoo]

staring so kindly at your sluglang post,, as someone working on a language as well this looks fantastic (and is also. super organized compared to mine BHAHAH) Any tips for putting together a language? Like resources on how to go about it, or notes? /genq

You are staring kindly... (thank you)

As for tips... Wikipedia is actually one of my biggest, most useful tools, because I love to read articles about grammatical concepts, and they will usually have a varaiety of examples of use if you can figure out how to parse the academic language. There are some core ideas that pop up all over the place crosslinguistically, like case marking or converbs, and you can get a lot from learning how other languages might parse the same idea, both how they handle the idea grammatically and what kind of metaphorical language might be involved; like how in Scottish Gaelic, to say you have something, you say it's 'at' you, or how it doesn't have an exact equivalent of English's infinitive, or how Mongolian has so many word endings that convey meaning, and a bunch of them are literally endings stacked on top of other endings.

There's also really good conlang youtubers, like David Peterson, the one who made Dothraki and other pop media conlangs, Artifexian, Biblaridion. They have videos on both interesting grammatical concepts that don't exist in english AND how to integrate them into conlangs. Davide Peterson especially has interesting videos on things like sound changes, vowel harmony, phonological concepts that can really help shape your language and bring a degree of naturalism if that's what you're looking for.

Etymology can be extremely informative though, and really help you to understand exactly how creative people have gotten with language over the past thousands of years. Etymonline is a great website for that. Did you know that the word "next" was originally literally "nearest"? Or that that the suffix "be-" was originally "by", so words like "before" actually meant "by the fore", and very often these meanings are metaphorically extended to the way we use them today. It's great for helping to develop very important words that can be structural to your language, so that you're not just trying to raw make up a new word with no basis every time.

Aside from that, there's no single source I go to for making conlangs. Everything is on a case by case basis. Something that has been really helpful for me is constantly writing example sentences and finding things to write about, because similar to translating existing texts, it forces me to reckon with the way my conlang works, figure out how to convey certain ideas (or whether or not the language can convey the idea at all).

Usually I'll have a few languages that I keep in mind for inspiration for any given project and if I'm stumped or need an idea, I'll actually look up learning resources for those languages. My slugcat language has had me looking up a lot of "How to say..." in Korean, Arabic, Japanese Filipino, a little bit of Indonesian? Some Russian for verb stuff. Once I find resources, I spend a bit of time dissecting how it works in those languages and figure out how that can fit in the existing framework of my own project, or if it's something I'd even want in the project at all.

Once I have an idea, I'll just start iterating on it, usually on paper, basically brainstorming how the sentence structure and sounds might work until I find something that is both sonically satisfying and logically sound within the existing framework. If I'm feeling extra spicy, I might try to consider how the culture and priorities of the speakers might shape the development of the language. The important thing while doing this is, just like brainstorming, to be unafraid to keep throwing ideas onto the page no matter how unviable or nonsensical it may seem in your head. You NEED to experiment and find what doesn't work or else your brain will be too clogged to find out what does. Exercising your pen will help you get into the mindset of someone using the language (because you are), it'll help you form connections to other parts of the language you've already developed, and once you've developed enough, the language will almost start writing itself.

I've actually had some really interesting interactions happen my scuglang between the archaic system of suffixes, the position word system, and the triconsonantal root system, which actually gave rise to an entire system of metaphorical extension, letting speakers use phrases like "at a crossing of" or "at a leaving of" to mean across or away and also talk about concurrent events like "He talked while eating noodles" (He, at an eating of noodles, talked).

Anyway, I know I got kind of scattered but these are some of the big parts of how I approach conlanging! If I have questions or needs, I look to other languages, find learning resources, apply it, and then ask more questions. Spend time with your language and get familiar with it. There's the time I read "Ergativity" by Robert Dixon, but reading literal textbooks is not a requirement for conlanging. You just need to chip away at it and keep asking question.

Here's some photos of my own conlanging notes so you can see how serious I am when I say iterating and brainstorming are extremely helpful. You need to be throwing shit on the paper. I will handwrite three pages just to contradict myself on the next because those three pages were important for forming the final idea.

[pedriscroquettes]

awww poor gavi being so stressed i was wondering is the only reason he pushes himself so hard for studying too bc he wants to compete with reader or are there other deeper reasons? you dont have to answer if its spoilery im just curious !

another academic rival!gavi blurb for y’all 🫶🏽

warnings. injury trauma & lowkey suggestive content.

a/n. guys i’ve gotten attached to them i’m afraid…

the bond that had formed between the two of you had caused the two of you to begin studying together. your dad has once walked in on the two of you staring intently at your professor’s old lectures trying to figure out what part of the solution method you had missed. he was so confused but you simply glared at him and he never brought up the topic again. to be honest even if he has asked anyways you wouldn’t have known what to tell him. you couldn’t just tell your father that you were hooking up with the boy next door because it was the only thing helping you from losing your sanity.

currently gavi was trying to finish his research paper for his sports medicine class. he was quite frustrated that his professor had also asked his class to not only write about the physical effects of an acl tear but the psychological effects as well. you were too engrossed in your own work that you didn’t notice how intensely he was looking at images he was using for reference. the picture of the player in pain brought back memories he had hoped to have forgotten about.

for his fifteenth birthday his father had gifted him lower section tickets to a real betis match. he remembered how excited he was to see his hometown team play, to see them on the pitch. he also was looking forward to entering the stadium and getting that fuzzy feeling in his stomach as he analyzed every inch of the stadium hoping to play a match in there in the future.

the game had started off slow with both of the teams not allowing each other to score. that is until things heated up between both teams. one moment the ball would be in real betis’s box and the next in the opposing team. gavi was excited that the game was building up, he just wanted to see someone score a goal already. then it happened a player from the opposing team had finally gotten fed up with the defense and how they couldn’t keep the ball away from their goalpost. so he did the job himself tackling the real betis forward.

the crowd immediately burst out into chants yelling at the referee to give him a red card, which he did. but gavi could only stare as the player lay on the ground screaming in pain. his screams replayed in his mind from time to time. he had never been able to shake off the image of the player being taken away in a stretcher. he thought that had been the worse thing to happen that night but then the next day he saw on the news how it was confirmed the player would never play again. the injury forcing him into early retirement.

that day he realized that if he did achieve his dreams they could always be stripped away from him. so he spent hours studying. he didn’t miss a single class from then on out. fearing that if one day his career was taken from him he wouldn’t have nothing to do. he’d just be gavi the failed football star with nothing to his name except a bunch of “what if’s?”

“pablo?” you called his name for the fifth time.

“huh? oh hmm?” he perked his head up noticing your concerned glare.

“what happened?” you sat up on his bed.

“nothing just daydreaming.” he was lying and you could tell.

you stood up and walked towards his desk. the cold floor making you tingle as you made your way towards him. careful to not cause a mess on his desk you slip into his lap. he welcomes you as he scoots you closer to his body. he doesn’t realize he’s grinning like a little kid until you tease him about it. his cheeks going pink at your teasing.

“nothing? pablo you’ve been staring at your laptop for like ten minutes without writing anything and you’re going to lie to me? yeah okay.” you playfully confront him about his lying.

“really it’s nothing! can’t a boy live?” he smiles up at you.

“okay fine don’t tell me.” his hand begins roaming your back trying to discreetly make its way to your ass. which you simply shove away. “no. if you can’t be honest with me you can keep your hands to yourself.”

“oh so it’s like that now?” he laughs but quickly stops once he realizes you’re being for real. “oh come on!”

“you can do whatever you want as long as you tell me what’s wrong.” you reply.

so he does. he tells you about his fears and you tell him about yours. you assure him that he’ll be fine and he assures you that you’ll eventually figure out what you want to do after school. his kisses change that night, they have feelings to them now. you even stay for dinner, the paéz family happily welcoming you. aurora teases his brother that night but she also notices the way her brother looks at you. with the same look she looks at her boyfriend.