Love & Deepspace - Blog Posts
the spider’s sense! a spidercaleb series.
♥︎ spider-man!caleb 𝑥 fem!reader
synopsis. ┆ caleb’s life was perfect—until it wasn’t. a radioactive spider bite turned him into linkon’s friendly neighborhood spider-man, the daily bugle started hunting for the man behind the mask, and to top it all off, he was forced to partner up with you—his smart, competitive, and infuriatingly perfect classmate who threatened his spot as number one in the class rankings.
tags/warnings. ┆ college/modern au, academic rivals to lovers, fluff, angst, eventual smut, gran isn’t evil in this LOL, the canon event, college parties, alcohol consumption, cliches, depictions of serious crime, references to the spider-man comics and movies, mdni
a/n. ┆ fanart art is by 长白山小葱头 on weibo. this is my first series on this app to celebrate hitting 1K! if you want to join the taglist, comment on this post or send me an ask.
main masterlist. ┆ talk to me!
chapter one ┆ pest control. (coming very soon)
caleb's worst fear comes true when the two of you are assigned as lab partners, especially after your first experiment together goes horribly wrong in more ways than one. (4.2k)
He knows he's a liar but I respect the fact that he's not a bragger at least
Character customization can only do so much so I drew her
My LADS MC cause why not
(0$ if you can guess who my fav guy is)
Unfortunately for now that's all what i'm gonna contribute to this fandom
making up a fic in my head with sylus × mc and in this reality their relationship is insaneee
like, please, they are so unhinged together. but imagine a slowburn where with each chapter it just goes downhill. like at first mc would undeniably call sylus a "winged freak" and they would bicker nonstop (sy loves to mess with people). and then as their relationship slowly evolves into longing it progressively gets worse because now everyone has to tolerate how bittersweet those two are.
on top of that imagine the silly nicknames. i just wish there was a fic where all the characters have to team up and by that time sylus and mc are together and everyone else is just so done with it.
if mc called sy a winged freak before now it's caleb who picked up that habit because he lowkey jealous and overprotective and sylus is having so much fun watching him fume with anger but unable to do shit because mc picked him and not caleb. and sy would smirk and use all kinds of mockery to fume caleb more. his favorite is "gear head" but, oh, "swiss army man" rocks too.
zayne trying to deescalate things and calling sylus mc's "feathered friend" to which sy snorts and responds with yet another nickname making zayne frown. because "frosty the snowman", really?? XD
rafayel who obviously called sylus "the dragon prince" more times you could count and sylus who always mocks him back with "drama queen". on rather pissy days sylus uses "merman" and it immediately makes his day 10 times better.
with xavier it's easy as day - the "sleeping beauty". even mc jokes the same and xavier doesn't mind much because he's the most calm and collected out of them all. he doesn't even have a nickname for sylus which at first weirded all out. but the way xavier says his name makes it clear he's degrading the man and sy got used to it pretty quickly and learned to distinguish between annoyed xavier and calm xavier by just his tone of voice.
and now imagine a scene where they're all together and have to team up. they can't stop bickering and mc tries to reason but sy just goes "i'm not working with your disney princess squad". because, again: xavier - sleeping beauty, zayne - elsa, rafayel - ariel. "and the ugly beast" sylus adds, staring caleb dead in the eyes with a shit eating grin.
deescalate the fight, my ass.
i just think it's really funny, i wanna do it :(
ུᩧ LADS TWITTER LINKS !
৻ꪆ instructions. before clicking, you must be logged into your acc and have twitter open in order for these links to function .
XAVIER. ꒱
lazy humping. ⋆ grinding yourself on him. ⋆ missionary w your legs closed. ⋆ freakydeaky. ⋆ thigh fucking. ⋆ kissing & eaing you out. ⋆ to your satisfaction. ⋆ backshots. ⋆ exhibitionism.
SYLUS. ꒱
taking it w no complaints. ⋆ handsy when handling you. ⋆ size kink. ⋆ using your throat to his liking. ⋆ backshots. ⋆ cute girl treatment. ⋆ chained & ruined. ⋆ had to add this in.
ZAYNE. ꒱
riding him in the bathtub. ⋆ tease me, baby. ⋆ clit rubs. ⋆ lingerie fucking. ⋆ late night heat. ⋆ in the shower. ⋆ undressing & stripping you down. ⋆ blowjob in cute bunny ears.
RAFAYEL. ꒱
stay still. ⋆ kitchen counter. ⋆ backshots & the plushies witnessing. ⋆ fucking you into the mattress. ⋆ fingering selection. ⋆ stretching your holes out for fun. ⋆ a wins a win.
My Dad!Raf fic, as promised☺️
No Harm Done
cw// fem!reader(referred to as wife, mama, mother, etc), tooth rotting fluff, toy/bubble gun, some injury(soap in eyes and falling on soapy floor >:)), FLUFFFFF
wc; 1355 | proofread by the lovely @grievetheliving3311 | I'm calling the daughter Pearl bc I saw hc about Raf's first daughter being named Pearl and couldn't help myself☺️
A little girl really, absolutely, couldn't possibly do that much harm. Right? At least, that's what you assumed Rafayel must have been thinking when he gave your 5-year-old daughter a bubble gun.
You were simply sitting at the desk you had managed to cram into the bedroom, when you moved in with Rafayel. The desk was simple, wooden, not too tall, and not too short. Your laptop was propped comfortably in the rough middle of the desk, and there were various messy drawings, small paintings, and files scattered amongst the rest of your stationary. Your chair was soft, with a backrest that barely passed your head, and armrests at the perfect height. Not to mention how warm it was from the advancing dusk that infiltrated your pretty, white, curtains.
You weren't doing anything in particular, just scrolling on social media after a long day at work. You thought your husband was painting in his studio, letting your dear little gremlin run around and play. Yeah, you thought. Although, once you heard two sets of giggles, it became increasingly clear that you were wrong.
You decide to believe that Rafayel simply took a break to play with your daughter, and go back to what you were doing, when…
“Mama! Put yer hands where I can see ‘em!” The little girl bursts in with a huge grin on her face.
You can't help but smile as well, at the sight, until you see what she's holding.
It's hard to see in the dim, dusk lighting, but it looks somewhat like the weapon you use for work! Reasonably panicked, you quickly stand, and rush over to her.
“Sweetheart, where did you-” Relieved to suddenly find it isn't actually your gun, you wonder where she got a bubble gun from… Or rather, who.
“Baby, did Papa give you this?” You ask softly, tapping your index finger on the semi-hexagonal shape of bubble wands on the end of the ‘barrel’.
Pearl lets out an excited ‘mhm!’, and you can see where she previously lost one of her back teeth purely from how big she's smiling. It's kind of somber to see how fast your little girl is growing up, but, nevertheless, you have a culprit to catch.
You think for a moment…, how to scare your husband? Hmm… Aha!
“Do you wanna sneak up on Papa?” You propose, already preparing to let your little troublemaker climb onto your shoulders.
She beams, “Can we!?” Her eyes absolutely light up like the sea you swear is hidden in them.
You smile warmly, “We can,” You turn her around so you can pick her up and plop her on your shoulders.
Slowly, you stand up, a smirk playing on your lips. You secure the dear girl by gently holding her ankles, slowly creeping down the hallway. Quietly(though not quiet enough), you giggle, but Pearl playfully shushes you, and rests against the top of your head.
She holds the bubble gun so that your head acts as a stand for it. Your little shrimp giggles, gasping afterwards as if she'll shush herself.
Once you reach the end of the hallway, you hug the wall, scanning the living room-turned-art studio for your husband. You can hear the ticking of Rafayel’s analog clock, and the soft classical music he has playing.
Eventually, you find the chance to sneak up on him. Watching as he sits on a low stool to work on a smaller painting, you begin to creep forward with a big grin on your face. Slowly, once you might as well be breathing down his neck, you trail your right hand from your daughter's ankle and jolt! Rafayel’s shoulder with it.
“Hands up, Papa!” Your baby girl giggles.
Thinking nothing could happen, little Pearl pulls the trigger of her toy… just as her father yelps and turns around to face you…
“Oh! Raf, are you okay!?” You quickly, and gently, place the new culprit on the nearby couch.
You hurry back over to your husband, but…, you underestimate how slippery your daughter's earlier playtime has made the floor. You slip, clattering to your butt, right next to where Rafayel is wincing on his knees.
You can't hold back your laughter, but Pearl breaks first. She's giggling and writhing on the couch, while you and Rafayel begin to double over in laughter instead of pain. You're pretty sure the soap bubbles are making his eyes water, and despite the sting, and the soapy-salty tears on his cheeks, it's obvious his two guppies are his favorite people in the world. But you do have a mess or two to clean now…
Your daughter gasps loudly, “Mama! Papa! It got painted!”
The two of you look over in confusion, laughing when you see the tiny bit of paint that got on the toy. You look back at each other and your hand reaches out to brush some bubbles away from Rafayel's cheeks.
“Thank you, Treasure,” He smiles.
You had always liked the nickname. Though he wasn’t a pirate or anything, being the God of the Sea was close enough for you.
With a content sigh, you plant a chaste kiss to your husband’s lips, sneakily ruffling his perfect hair, “Let’s get all this cleaned up, yeah?”
You help Rafayel to his feet, moving to snatch your daughter up onto your hip. You guide Rafayel to the bathroom, letting him wash his eyes as you wander to the kitchen to take care of Pearl’s dilemma.
Kissing her forehead, you set the small girl down on the counter beside the sink. You start humming a soft tune, the one you always hum to help your mischievous guppies fall asleep. You turn on the faucet. She hands you the bubble gun, smiling giddily at the thought of it being cleaned.
You run the spot of paint under the warm water, figuring it'll get the paint off faster than cold water can. Pearl watches, mesmerized by the water whirlpooling in the drain as her father quietly approaches.
Much to your surprise, Rafayel gets his revenge. Sneaking up to hug you from behind, he lets the remaining water on his face drip down your nape. Out of surprise, you jump and end up letting go of the bubble gun. It hits the bottom of the sink, knocking the soap cartridge loose. You giggle obliviously, turning your head to receive another innocent kiss, as your beloved wipes away a few drops of water from your neck.
“Mama, look!” Pearl squeals, pointing at the sink.
And that's when you notice the sink is filling with bubbles, all thanks to the warm water and loose bubble cartridge. You let out a surprised yelp, quickly turning off the water.
“Oh…, Raf, ‘m sorry; lemme-”
“No, let me,” He interrupts, “You go lay down with Pearl.”
With a sigh, you wrap your husband in a grateful hug. Lifting your daughter into your arms, with a small ‘c’mon, sweet-pea', you wander back down to her bedroom.
After putting her into her favorite mermaid pajamas, you shuffle off to yours and Rafayel's bedroom. You lay down with her, humming as the two of you cuddle up under the huge blanket.
Without much effort, you both drift off as quickly as all this fun unfolded. Like a typical little kid, Pearl snores softly in your hold, safe in her mother's embrace. Rafayel’s pillow is soft beneath your cheek, justifying your habit of stealing his half of the bed.
Soon he comes back, figuring he could watch a movie with his wife and daughter, only to find you both out cold… on his pillow.
He sighs, shaking his head with a soft smile. He climbs into bed to face you, one arm sliding under you to rest your head on his toned-yet-cushy bicep. Rafayel wraps his other arm over your waist, trapping Pearl between your chests, rubbing your back while your mini-me curls up against her parents’ chests like a baby shrimp.
With the messes cleaned, and a happy sleeping family, the night goes off without a hitch; your dreams intertwining and your smiles softer than the pillows beneath you.
© a-yciecat
Fandoms and No-No's for requests!
The Rafayel fic is done! I'll be posting it this afternoon, sorry for the long wait everyone!💜💜💜
@grievetheliving3311
I have this one friend who absolutely loves Rafayel. Would you guys like it if I wrote a fluff fic about girl dad!Rafayel's and your daughter where he gave her a bubble gun and all chaos ensued?
Me : *wanting to make a cute gesture that shows trust and affection for each other.*
Sylus: NOMPF
Ya know guys, i’ve been thinking.
All these enemies to lovers tropes with sylus…but what if Mc Was JUST as Unhinged as her man?
should I write that fanfic? Just for fun?
SOMEONE IS GETTING SCOLDED BY HIS WIFEY!!…and the apology pic.
I dunno it seemed funny when i thought about it like that.
Is this scary dog privilege?
I downloaded love & deepspace...
currently lv41 as I talk
XAVIER IS SO CUTE
I just wanna pinch his cheeks and bend him over !! he is so just so loveable !!
I think rafayel is definitely num 2, but he reminds me a lot of marius, they're both so sassy
1) thanks for not giving Sylus a real lynx tail in beige/brown palette. It would have looked so sus at the bottom of his back
2) they probably gave Sylus a lynx because a lynx has the same huge paws as Silus's palms
I laughed so loud that I woke up the neighbors
ok, an idea suddenly came into my head. webtoons/manhwas/comics that associate with guys from "Love and deepspace" [just my opinion]
Zayne - Daytime Star (I LOVE this manhwa it's adorable and the art style is beautiful)
Showbiz, Romance, Drama
Adventure, Comedy, Manhwa, Romance / Comedy, Drama, Fantasy
Rafayel - Siren’s Lament / My Dear Fishmen
action, romance, fantasy, drama, comedy, slice of life, supernatural / Fantasy, drama, romance, comedy
Xavier - Eaternal Nocturnal / False Confession
Sylus- The In-Laws are Obsessed With Me (well...just look at the covers and you'll understand everything. Aesthetic 🤌, FL and ML ❤️🔥) + also the plot and dynamic 🔥
Fantasy, Reincarnation, Romance
I'M LIKE... 99% SURE THAT THESE "MISTY INVASION" CARDS WERE CREATED AFTER READING FANFICTIONS
chapter one ── pest control. the spider’s sense: a spidercaleb series.
♥︎ spider-man!caleb 𝑥 fem!reader
synopsis. ┆ caleb’s life was perfect—until it wasn’t. a radioactive spider bite turned him into linkon’s friendly neighborhood spider-man, the daily bugle started hunting for the man behind the mask, and to top it all off, he was forced to partner up with you—his smart, competitive, and infuriatingly perfect classmate who threatened his spot as number one in the class rankings.
warnings. ┆ college/modern au, academic rivals to lovers, fluff, angst, eventual smut, gran isn’t evil in this LOL, the canon event, college parties, alcohol consumption, cliches, depictions of serious crime, references to the spider-man comics and movies
chapter summary. ┆ caleb's worst fear comes true when the two of you are assigned as lab partners, especially after your first experiment together goes horribly wrong in more ways than one.
series masterlist. ┆ next: soon!
Most days in Linkon City begin with sirens.
Loud, blaring, unmistakable screeches that cut through the early morning quiet like a blade, carving their way through alleyways and avenues alike. They seep into walls, curl beneath locked doors, and coil around the restless minds of those who have long since stopped flinching at their call.
To them, the inhabitants of this city, it is nothing more than background noise—a city’s heartbeat, rhythmic and ceaseless. But to you, it is a warning. A sign that the world beyond the window of your dorm room is a battlefield, and you, a stranger in its midst, are only beginning to understand the rules of this strange place.
Perhaps, in time, you will grow desensitized as they have. Learn to sleep through the wailing cries, to walk these streets without the ever-present weight of caution pressing against your ribs. In a way, they forbade you from venturing out, instilling a fear within you that if you did, you would be the individual these melodies chased—or worse, the victim they had been called for in the first place.
The entirety of the first semester has passed, and you haven’t even finished unpacking. Your suitcase remains half-full, a tangible reminder that you do not yet belong here. That you still have a choice—to do something before this place sinks its teeth into you, before you become just another soul who mistakes chaos for comfort.
But that choice is an illusion.
Here, people like you make no difference. You are not a hero, nor anything close to it. You are just a student who knows better, one who recognizes that the sirens will always be there, a requiem for the city’s unrest. And the crime will persist, as will the men in uniform who fail to stop it.
Somewhere beyond the blaring wails, beyond the tangled skyline and shadowed alleys, someone is fighting a battle you will never quite understand.
And for now, all you can do is listen.
Yet, in a way, you know that this was exactly where you wanted to be.
Despite its rapidly deteriorating surroundings, Linkon University remained a place of prestige. Young children dreamed of acceptance into its ranks, babbling to their parents about how they, too, would one day make these halls their stomping grounds. Maybe it was naivety that brought you here. Or maybe it was the last remnants of a dream that hadn’t yet died on your tongue.
Or perhaps, it was the medical journalism program—a rare gem, dwindling into obscurity at every other university.
You were lucky to be accepted. But humbly speaking, luck had very little to do with it. Your stats spoke for themselves: a 1540 SAT, a 4.98 weighted GPA, more extracurriculars than you could count on both hands. A smart cookie, as written in the shining letters of recommendation that paved your way here.
And yet, imposter syndrome festered like a quiet disease, creeping into the spaces between your confidence. You have spent your entire life at the top. Always number one.
Here? You were number two.
Number two to whom? You did not know. Not yet, anyway.
♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎
Caleb’s perfect life has unraveled in the span of a week and a half, but he positively swears it’s not his fault.
It’s yours.
Ten days ago, at precisely 12:57 PM, he endured the worst torment known to man: his seat in the lecture hall was stolen. A cruel move, truly. Class had been in session for four days, he’d claimed that seat twice—twice—and by the unspoken law of university students everywhere, that granted him full ownership. So why, then, were you sitting in his allotted property?
Looking back, Caleb sees only two possible explanations. The first: you had unknowingly taken the seat after enrolling just before the census date. The second: you were out to get him from the very start.
And personally? He’s convinced it’s the latter.
But alas, he hadn’t made a fuss about it then. It wasn’t like he’d just lost the single best seat in the entire hall—the one with perfect access to the exit, the projector, and the professor’s desk. But hey, he could be cool about this, right? Yeah… totally cool. So cool. The coolest.
Days passed, and everyone seemed to be settling into the spring semester just fine. The weather was getting warmer, flowers on the great lawn were blooming, and Caleb was thriving.
That was, until the unthinkable happened.
Time? 2:19 PM. Class? CHEM 001 AH. Location? The Grand Hall.
Caleb sat directly behind you, having resigned himself to the second best seat in the room, as the sound of pencils scratching against paper filled the otherwise quiet space.
Taking practice exams felt pointless. A waste of time, really. His efforts could be better spent elsewhere—like taking the real exam or absolutely demolishing his roommate Zayne in Apex Legends yet again. But instead, here he was, surrounded by classmates diligently scribbling away as the session inched closer to its eventual end.
And when it did, Caleb would have simply packed up and gone on his merry way—if not for the single most bone-chilling sentence he had ever heard in his entire academic career.
You were chatting with the girl beside you, talking about things he had zero interest in. Your shared biology class at 3 PM, your dorm building, plans to meet up at the dining hall later… blah blah blah. But then—an acronym. A single, horrific acronym triggered him like a sleeper agent.
“My GPA? Oh, it’s… 4.30. I think. To be honest, it’s been a while since I checked.”
His jaw went slack. His eyes widened. The color drained from his face.
A 4.30 GPA? No. No. That couldn’t be real. That could not be real.
But as his gaze flickered between the back of your head and your friend’s, he came to the most horrifying conclusion of all.
You weren’t lying. And if that were true… then that meant you had the same GPA he did.
Which meant that, depending on your course load and how well you performed, you could take his spot as number one in the class rank.
♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎
Caleb burst into his dorm room, slinging his backpack onto his mattress before face-planting into it with a sound somewhere between a groan and a hmph.
Across the room, Zayne didn’t even glance up from his desk, fingers tapping away at his mounted laptop. Click, clack. Click, clack. For a stretch of time, that was the only sound in the room—until he finally exhaled, the kind of quiet sigh that could only mean here we go again.
“Rough day?”
Caleb didn’t even hesitate. “The worst day.”
Zayne closed his eyes for a moment, like he was mentally preparing himself, before pushing away from his desk and turning his chair just enough to look at his roommate. “What happened?”
Still face-down on the bed, Caleb let out a long, exaggerated sigh—nowhere near as silent as Zayne’s. “I think I have to take trig next semester. Honors.”
That made Zayne pause. Brow quirked, he leaned back. “Why? Your counselor quite literally said you’re already on track to graduate with honors and as one of the top-ranked students in our year.”
That was the problem, though. Caleb wasn’t satisfied with being one of the best. He wanted to be the best—and now, that source of pride was under attack.
“Well, that was before I found out I’m sharing a GPA with some girl in my chem lecture,” he said, rolling onto his back to stare blankly at the ceiling. “Which means if I don’t get my shit together and pack on a few more honors courses, I’m cooked.”
Zayne laughed. Actually laughed. Shaking his head, he turned back to his desk, plucked his glasses off the mousepad, and slid them on. “You should hear yourself right now.”
Caleb’s head snapped to the side, eyebrows pinching together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s just amusing, is all.” Zayne smirked. “I find it endearing that you, Mr. ‘I can skip the final and still pass with a 94%,’ Mr. ‘I think I might take astronomy honors for fun this semester,’—”
“All riiight, I get it,” Caleb cut in. “What’s your point?”
Zayne snickered, amused. “My point is that if you of all people feel threatened by a classmate you hardly know, maybe there’s a reason for that.”
Caleb hated that there was probably some truth to that. Not that he’d ever admit it. Being threatened by a classmate he barely knew? Please. He knew enough. (And yes, he had meticulously sifted through the entire roster of his chemistry class to stalk your Canvas profile. What? It’s… field research.)
“Y’know, you’re terrible at pep talks,” he muttered, folding his hands behind his head.
“I’m not trying to be,” Zayne replied easily. “But if you want my input—take the trig course next semester. Something tells me you’ll need it.”
Caleb rolled onto his side, fishing his laptop from his backpack as the weight of his evening workload settled in.
And maybe Zayne was right.
Maybe he would need all the help he could get.
♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎
It wasn’t until six days later—today—that Caleb knew for certain fate was no longer on his side.
The professor’s voice cut through the shuffle of students packing up their belongings, all of which were currently praying that their first lab of the semester wouldn’t be a complete and utter disaster. It was a well known fact that Dr. Rappaccini was quite the harsh critic, and an even harsher grader. Her score on Rate My Professors was a whopping 2.8/5 for crying out loud.
“Alright, it’s time for you all to receive your lab partners for the semester. Before heading to the lab next door, please check the list of pairings at the front.”
Luckily, Caleb had committed the syllabus to memory and knew that each person was scored individually no matter how their partner performed, but it was recommended that the pair conduct their experiments together to save time and... okay, maybe he hadn’t memorized it as well as he thought, but at least he knew the core details, right?
Scanning the list, his blood ran cold. He squinted, hoping that the prescription of his glasses had failed him, but of course, it was unmistakable. Your name was printed next to his. Emboldened, unignorable, in a perfectly neutral 12 pt Times New Roman font.
The walk to the laboratory was a quiet one, and you were walking a few feet ahead of him without a care in the world. Reaching for the door handle, he twisted the metallic lever and gestured for you to enter ahead of him with a single nod of his head. It was a force of habit. He may not care for you as an academic peer, but you didn't directly wrong him in any way. Not knowingly, that is.
With a curt nod of your own and a sliver of a smile, you entered the class with a quiet “thank you.”
And before he could follow in step behind you, the neverending line of your fellow classmates began to flood into the room, leaving him to stand idle while offering each of them a thin-lipped smile. It felt like an eternity before he was able to step inside of the laboratory too, and his first instinct was to map out the classroom to find the best possible seating arrangement.
To his surprise… you’d already claimed the most optimal lab station, and as he approached, you made the first move to speak.
“I hope you’re okay with sitting here,” you say, fishing out your sleek notebook and a bright blue pencil. “It’s the only lab station with equal access to the exit, the supplies cabinet, and the professor’s desk.”
Caleb raises an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side as bewilderment etches into his features. Were you inside of his brain? He clears his throat, shaking away his confusion as he nods. “Yeah, I’m alright with this spot. Good choice.”
Smiling, you nod too. “Cool.”
A beat of silence passes, and you smooth your hands over the black resin material of the table, a movement that his eyes instinctively follow. Then, your hand raises and extends out to him, forcing him to blink himself out of his state of daydreaming.
You say your name while tilting your head with a smile—this time, a smile with teeth—as you wait for his hand to take yours. “And you’re… Xia?”
Raising his eyebrows, he shakes his head while a chuckle slips through his carefully crafted exterior. “Caleb,” he corrects, his firm grasp enveloping your hand as he gives it a shake. “Caleb Xia.”
“Ah, got it,” you remark, an epiphany dawning on you as you slip your hand from his hold. “Well, I’m going to go get our safety goggles.”
But before leaving, you straightened, eyes glued to him—or rather, his head.
Huffing out a laugh through his nose, Caleb’s lip tugs up in the corner. “What are you doing?”
Tapping your chin, you sigh. “I’m trying to see if you have a big head. If you do, I’ll have to go fight tooth and nail for one of the ones with adjustable straps.”
Rubbing his eye with the heel of his palm, he rests his elbow on the edge of the table before leaning his cheek into his hand. “Well, lay it on me. What’s your diagnosis?”
Humming, you tilt your head back and forth before nodding your head a single time. “Big-head syndrome. I’m positive.”
Caleb’s eyes crinkle as he laughs. “I should take that as a compliment. Big head means big brain, you know.”
“Or a big ego,” you retort with a shrug, giving him a once-over with raised brows before whisking away towards the horde of students currently going to war over the remaining pick of the litter.
Yeah, that too, he thinks.
In your absence, he takes the liberty of prepping the lab for the both of you. Beakers? Check. Random substance that the two of you were going to be experimenting on? Check. Hydrochloric acid? Check. Sodium bicarbonate? Check—
“Safety goggles,” you state, plopping down on your stool and handing his pair to him.
Without missing a beat, he speaks. “Check.”
Drawing back slightly, you turn to look at him with an arched eyebrow. “Uh… yeah. Check.”
Faltering, Caleb slides the item onto his face as he stammers through his words. “I was just… never mind, let’s start.”
The class had settled into a low hum—the murmur of newly paired partners, the scribbling of notes, the soft hiss of chemicals reacting.
As the two of you began the experiment, an incredibly prominent conclusion dawned on him: Disliking you as a person wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped. As a competitor? You were treacherous. As a lab partner? You were… tolerable. Efficient. Annoyingly easy to work with.
It wasn’t the end result that he was hoping for, if he were to be entirely honest with himself. He wanted you to be difficult to be around, he wanted you to be stuck up, he wanted you to give him a genuine reason to dislike you apart from being the root of his newfound insecurity. But you weren’t, and that was a problem.
“Pass me the baking soda?” you ask.
“The sodium bicarbonate?”
“Yeah. The baking soda.”
Caleb tilts his head with a smile. “Also known as sodium bicarbonate.”
You glance his way, and your eyes met. “Congrats, big guy. You know big words. Now pass it.”
“Sure thing, boss.” Biting back a smile, he hands it over, only to retract it at the last second. “Wait. What’s it called again?”
Your force smile was all teeth. “Sodium bicarbonate.”
Finally relenting, Caleb places the bowl in your orbit with a triumphant grin.
He was smart enough to know that this was a bad idea. Despite how easily the two of you worked together, he knew that he couldn’t entertain this any further. You weren’t just his classmate, his peer—you were his competition. And while he’s heard the saying keep your friends close, but your enemies closer just as many times as the next person, he knows that mixing any ounce of developing friendship with his pursuit for greatness would be wrong.
It would work best that way. You can’t be friends, and that’s okay.
And for the first time in what felt like ages, fate seemed to agree with him.
“Hmm,” Caleb soon rumbles, squinting at the beaker. “This isn’t lookin’ too good. You said you added the sodium bicarbonate, yeah?”
You frown, glancing up from your notes. Your stomach twists at the sight of the clock—barely any time left before the lab ends. The professor would be making her rounds any second now.
“What? I didn’t add it. You said you added it.”
Caleb flits his gaze to the side of your face. “No, I added hydrochloric acid.”
Your head snaps toward him so fast he was surprised it didn’t snap right off. “No, I added hydrochloric acid.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.”
“No, you didn’t.”
You exhale sharply, frustration creeping up your neck. “How are you gonna tell me what I did or didn’t do?”
Your pulse ticks up a bit faster than it naturally should, and your eyes rose up from the glass cylinder. Around the room, students were already wrapping up their conclusions while the two of you hadn’t even finished the experiment. You suck in a breath and push up from your stool.
“Fine. Fine. Can you just pass me the baking soda?”
Caleb nods, handing over the pre-measured bowl of sodium bicarbonate. While you worked to fix the mess, he jotted down a few quick notes. You added just enough of the powder to neutralize the acid—but not smother it completely.
And then? Silence. The two of you sat. Watching. Waiting. Hoping. Praying.
Then, miraculously, the beaker decided to behave and the fizzing subsided.
Like clockwork, you both exhaled, shoulders slumping as small, victorious smiles tugged at your mouths—
Until yours vanished entirely. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Caleb falters, eyes narrowing. “I didn’t say thank you.”
“Well, you should have.”
“Why? If I hadn’t pointed out the weird reaction, we’d have been screwed.”
“Oh? If I hadn’t realized neither of us added the sodium bicarbonate—which was your responsibility, by the way—we would’ve actually been screwed.”
Tension thickened between you like a drawn bowstring. You clench your jaw and look away, scribbling down your final observations. Stupid man, you thought to yourself. And here you were, actually believing that this semester wouldn’t be a total shitshow, that maybe, just maybe, you’d gotten lucky.
Unfortunately not.
Then, your attention was caught by something out of the ordinary. Your gaze lands on his neck, and your breath hitched. Staring back at you was a small, multi-legged beady eyed monster. Sticking out your pointer finger, you still find yourself instinctively drawing back, as if it were out to get you next. “There’s a spider on—”
But before you could finish your sentence, Caleb winced, his veins tightening as he instinctively flicked the eight-legged menace off. You sucked your teeth, drumming your fingers on the table. So much for your timely warning.
Glancing his way, your brows elevate as you see the already forming bite mark on his neck. “Yikes. It got you good.”
“Did it?” he asks, raising a hand to rub over the mark with narrowed eyes. “Hm. Guess so, yeah.”
Reluctantly, you ask, “Are you okay?”
With a nod, he picks up his pencil once more and works on finishing the last of his lab report. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Sighing airily, you can’t help the smile that tugs on your mouth. “Poor spider, being flicked through the air like that.”
Like routine, Caleb shot a glare your way. “Funny.”
“Thanks.”
With that, you left for the washing station. Meanwhile, Dr. Rappaccini stood from her desk, making her rounds. It was in that moment that a shrill of panic shot up his spine—the stimulation foreign, unfamiliar, and… terrifying.
He could feel his heart rate shooting through the roof, a sweat break on his forehead, and his fingertips flex at his sides—all things that he wasn’t even conscious of. And before he knew it, he was glancing in your direction, noting that you were distracted. Good.
With a quick ease, he snatched up your notepad and erased a few numbers, replacing them with subtle, logicless mistakes. 34? Now a 26. 32 to the power of 5? Not anymore.
It wasn’t his proudest moment. Sabotaging his own lab partner’s work? Definitely not.
Ten seconds. That’s all it took to ruin you just enough. He slid the notepad back into place, brushing away the eraser shavings. Like clockwork, you returned, none the wiser.
Exhaling softly, you turned to him. “Look, I just wanted to say that—”
“Now, you two,” Dr. Rappaccini’s voice cut you off.
You both turned as she scanned and picked up Caleb’s report, making a few marks with her fine-pointed marker before sliding it back into place. You glanced over, making note of his grade. 94.
Then, she picked up yours. A moment later, she handed it back. Your professor held up a roll of stickers, tearing two off before setting them down on the table.
Despite the vibrant designs on the stickers, your stomach dropped. Your grade was big, bold, and unmistakable. 82.
“Wait—Dr. Rappaccini,” you call after her, staring at the page with widened eyes of shock. “I… I don’t understand. What did I do wrong?”
“Well, your experiment was solid—your observations were well-written, and your documentation was precise. But your math?” She sighs. “Completely off.” A beat of silence. Then, a smile. “Don’t feel discouraged. You’re a good student as you are—no need to compare your scores to others.”
The implication was clear. She thought you were smart—just not as smart as Caleb.
Huffing, you toss your notebook onto the table, fingers curling against the edge of it.
“You got cut off earlier,” he says casually, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “What were you sayin’?”
Blinking, you tried to retrace your thoughts. “Oh, yeah… I was just saying that…”
Your voice trails, eyes drifting to your lab report. Caleb caught the flicker of realization dawning on you—and when you turned to him, his not-so-hidden grin said it all.
“I was just saying,” you snap, “that you’re an asshole whose handwriting looks like a drunk chicken clawed at my report.”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he says with a shrug, peeling off his sticker to plaster it onto your shoulder. “Good luck on the exam tomorrow morning.”
And with that, he walks out of the lab.
“Yeah, you too,” you murmur, though he was already gone before he could hear the hissed “bitch” that followed.
Irritation pricks at your skin as you stuff—more like shove—your belongings into your backpack. Prick. So much for not knowing the single person you were beneath in the class ranks.
Guilt stirred in his chest as he walked towards his dorm building… but only a little.
♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎
By the time Caleb stumbled back to his dorm, he felt like he’d been hit by a freight train.
He barely managed to push the door open before kicking off his shoes, letting his backpack slump to the floor with a heavy thud. His head swam, his breath uneven as he widened his eyes in a feeble attempt to stay awake. Slapping himself on the cheek, he quickly realized it was no use. His neck stung worse than it had when the spider first bit him, the dull throb pulsing beneath his fingertips as he rubbed over the puncture point.
"Are you drunk?" Zayne’s voice drifts from across the room.
"No," Caleb mutters, face buried in his pillow. "Just… tired. Really tired."
He sank into the thin mattress like dead weight, the springs groaning beneath him. With sluggish hands, he pulled his glasses from his face and tossed them onto the bedside table, missing by an inch. His breathing grew heavier, his skin slick with cold sweat. His pupils—blown wide as saucers—fluttered shut as he barely mustered the strength to tug his shirt over his head and toss it aside.
And within seconds, he was out like a light.
♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎
The morning sun sliced through the blinds, painting golden stripes across Caleb’s bare back as he jolted awake.
His chest rose and fell in sharp, erratic breaths, but despite the abruptness of it all, he felt… alert. Fully awake in a way that didn’t exactly make sense.
Blinking rapidly, he reached for his glasses and slid them onto his face with a groggy groan. And then—he froze.
His vision was still blurry.
Frowning, he pulled his glasses off, breathed onto the lenses, and wiped them against his bedsheet. When he slid them back on—blurry again. He pulled them down. Clear. Glasses up. Blurry. Glasses down. Clear.
He stares at them in his hands. “...Weird.”
Setting the frames down, he threw his legs over the bed and staggered toward his closet—only to catch sight of his reflection in the mirror. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head.
Since when the hell did he have abs?
He flexed instinctively, stomach tensing under his own scrutiny. Then his gaze trailed up—to his arms. His biceps. His shoulders.
Turning, twisting, he inspected every angle of himself like a stranger in his own skin. He’d been in shape before, sure, but this? This was different. He would’ve noticed this.
Knuckles rapped against the door, making him flinch.
“Caleb? Are you awake? I forgot my key.” A pause. Then, “Are you feeling any better? You slept like a log last night—perhaps you’re catching a bug.”
"A bug?" Caleb echoes under his breath, flexing again just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. “Holy shit… Uh, yeah, man, I’m good. Just—gimme a sec.”
Turning back toward his desk, he reached for his chair, only meaning to push it aside—but the moment his palm touched the wood, it stuck.
His brows furrow.
He yanks once. Then again.
Nothing.
His heartbeat quickens as he curls his fingers, attempting to lift his hand—and instead, he lifts the entire chair clean off the ground.
“What the—” His stomach drops. He waved his hand. The chair waved with it. Up. Down. Side to side. Still stuck.
“Caleb?” Zayne calls from the other side of the door.
Caleb whips his head toward the sound, panic tightening in his throat. Shit. He bolted across the room—chair still attached to his palm—and somehow managed to unlock the door just as Zayne strode in.
Zayne, clearly in a rush, barely spared him a glance as he grabbed a stack of papers from his desk, clipped them together, and breezed back out with a nod.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Caleb exhaled sharply—only to realize his hand was still stuck… to the doorknob.
Huffing, he gave it a firm tug, expecting it to pop free. Instead, the entire knob wrenched out of the door, hinges snapping with a loud crack.
"Shit."
He barely had time to process before his body betrayed him once again—this time, with a sharp thwip.
A thick strand of silk shot from his wrist, attaching him to his bedpost.
His pulse stuttered.
"What. The. Fuck."
Another sharp tug. Another web. More panic. Before he knew it, his dorm room looked like a crime scene from some horror movie—threads of silk stretching from walls to furniture to the ceiling.
His gaze snapped to the clock on his desk. 12:56 PM.
"Alright," he mutters, inhaling deeply. "Exam starts in four minutes. I’m sticking to everything I touch. I’m half-naked. Cool, cool, cool."
But nothing about this was cool.
If anyone in the history of Linkon University could take an exam like this, it was going to be him.
series masterlist. ┆ next: soon!
a/n like & reblog if you enjoyed!! this was really fun to write :) also i should’ve mentioned it rly isnt specified how old reader is, just that she’s in college and just starting her second semester at linkon university :) she can be a transfer student (which is kinda what i had in mind), a first year, etc lol it doesn’t really matter bc i’m fine with that being a “plot hole”
i could not stop laughing while writing this at 4am bc i was just imagining caleb coming up with an elaborate ass internalized beef with reader and she’s just sitting in her chem lab like
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