Gatherine

I wanna know if Im alone in this lmao

"oh how the tables have turned" ft. aventurine

what happens then, if the chaser becomes the chased? based on @iceunhie post! that fic speaks to me fr

common ratio w

taglist <33

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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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I felt like doing this lmao

Gatherine! I dont know what to ask cuz Im lowkey intimated but I wanna say that ur very pretty!

"That's so sweet of you! What's your address again?"

This made me feel so scared

100% recommended, I loved it

So I hear a serial killer Jade 👀 go on. (Ooh as someone that likes tru crime this gave me an idea but I would love to hear more from u)

I have been watching a lot of true crime lately, so it gave me inspiration. I think Jade would be scarier as a serial killer than Floyd. Jade would tear you apart, piece by piece, slowly and methodically—starting with your mentality and working his way outside. Floyd’s kills would be dependent on his mood swings. Most of his murders would be a spur of the moment thing and they’re all violent and angry deaths. At the very least, you won’t have a chance to feel scared because Floyd’s quick about it (most of the time).

I’ll share my brief thoughts below!

(cw: yandere, female reader, pregnancy mention, unhealthy relationship/behaviors, mentions of murder/death/violence, kidnapping/captivity, mentions of blood/gore, drugging)

Ever since police discovered a body half-submerged in the river, his eyes gouged, face scratched, body bruised and littered with scrapes, people have started wondering who or what could have done such a brutal thing. The man was missing his left arm; it had been seemingly severed with a sharp blade and was wrapped expertly. Dark crimson bled through the bandages. There was also a gaping hole in his chest, exposing pearly bone and strings of tissue. His heart was missing. A few fingers had been chopped off and what remained was bandaged stubs, but other characteristics that may be used to identify the body remained intact. It turned out to be a man with a shady past. He’d had his fair share of run-ins with the authorities, but he had been on track for nearly five years now. Those who knew him claimed he had been working to fix his life.

In other words, he wasn’t anyone special. Just your random citizen stuck in a bad place at a bad time.

As the authorities work to piece together this crime and identify what truly killed the man (because there are so many possibilities as the coroner encounters new findings during the autopsy), the city is gripped with fear, curiosity, and disgust. Just what sick person could be capable of such a heinous crime? And why did they remove the man’s heart? Why was it so violent?

By the time another body shows up—this one is female—and police note that her heart has also been harvested from her chest cavity, along with some other organs (liver and intestines), they’re certain it’s the same person. Interestingly enough, her eyes were untouched, blindfolded with a thick strip of cloth.

Is it a cannibal? Is it a monster? No one really knows, and police haven’t the faintest clue on who to look for. Without a potential suspect, they’re stuck building the list from the ground up. Like the man, the woman was also no one of importance. She was a prostitute who had been disowned by her mother and, according to the autopsy, she had been two months into a pregnancy.

With the careful way the organs were extracted, police begin to wonder if the killer is connected to the organ trafficking business. They certainly seem to know their way around a dissection and human anatomy. Perhaps they’re someone in the medical field? It’s anyone’s guess, really.

But from comparing the bodies, they can see a few similarities. The hearts were removed, the eyes were either gouged or covered, and both the man and woman had been dumped in their respective locations after they had been killed. 

As police tell reporters they’re working to solve this case, someone brings up a valid question. Are there any other bodies out there that have yet to be discovered?

Police don’t want to assume that this killer’s body count is higher than what they’ve already found, but it’s a possibility they can’t scratch off the list. The killer targeted unimportant people, but who knows where and when they’ll strike next. If they can kill a pregnant woman so viciously, what’s stopping them from moving onto children? The elderly? 

They must be stopped. 

- - -

Jade Leech loves humans.

He loves their weaknesses, their vulnerabilities, their anatomy, their taste. There really isn’t anything special about his murders. He doesn’t do it for the thrill or because he’s trying to prove an outlandish point. He does it simply because he’s hungry. Because regular meals can no longer satisfy him and humans are so easy to capture and dismantle. 

Azul and Floyd do not know of his obsession and he intends to keep it that way. Both lead promising lives and his is so shrouded in darkness. Should a day come when he’s caught, it would spell trouble for those around him. Floyd has his face; the amount of hate and ostracism he’ll receive will certainly crush him. Azul’s business might even go down with Jade. After all, no one wants to be associated with a serial killer. Therefore, Jade has resolved to hide this world-altering secret from his brother and friend.

He wears a mask to hide his sharp teeth. He makes sure to take transformation potions so that the effect won’t wear off and his monstrous form won’t be exposed to humans. He is polite and respectful—an upstanding member of human society. He keeps his distance, he blends in with the crowd, and he only ever targets those who have been cast aside by society. Rejects in his eyes—people who are no longer cared for by the world. What poor, fragile things. Jade will be sure their sacrifices are not in vain. He will make an adequate meal out of them, and whatever’s left can serve as fertilizer for his dear plants and mushrooms. 

Although it is comical to throw a bone to the police every now and then. The two bodies he dumped—one in the river and the other in a waste bin in some dingy alley—didn’t taste edible at all. He supposes that’s what happens when humans ruin their bodies with alcohol and drugs and other harmful substances. They were of no use to him. They could not feed him. What sorry lumps of human flesh. They weren’t even worth becoming fertilizer.

He meets you through Azul. You’re Azul’s personal fitness trainer and every morning the two of you set off on your mile run. It kills Azul and he hates it, but he does it anyways because a good businessman ought to stay in shape. You’re so encouraging; you match Azul’s pace, you tell him it’s okay to take breaks, and you praise him for doing well. Your behaviors are genuine and kind; you care for Azul and his health. And after a year of this routine, it seems like Azul cares for you, too. 

Jade accompanies the two of you on your runs sometimes, as will Floyd if he’s feeling it. Azul can’t stand it when the two of them join in and he’ll get quite defensive about his reasoning whenever Floyd pokes fun. Jade finds it amusing to see Azul grow flustered and huffy over something so simple. It’s very cute. What’s cuter, though, is you. You’re not a reject, you’re important, you have connections. You’re conscious of your health, you treat your body carefully, and you’re very capable. You are, in Jade’s mismatched eyes, a premium meal. 

When you reach the end of your run, sweaty and thoroughly energized, and you lift your shirt to wipe at your face Jade can’t help staring at your stomach. It’s cute; you’re cute. Every inch of you, from top to bottom, has him salivating. He wonders what face you might make as he slices into you with deadly precision. What will your blood taste like? What will your heart taste like? What noises will you make? Will you scream and cry? Will you fight him? 

Alas, his interest in you is troublesome. People will notice when you go missing. They will come looking. They care about you. Jade supposes that securing high-quality ingredients will prove to be a challenge. This isn’t like the others he’s killed and eaten. This is different; this is risky. But he can’t stop his thoughts from running wild as he observes you from afar, noting how you move, how you interact with other humans, how you light up when you cheer for Azul.

He must plan accordingly if he wishes to take you for himself. In the meantime, he’ll have to settle for street food. 

Jade will have you. It’s only a matter of time. Patience is key, after all, and a skilled hunter like himself knows how to wait for the perfect opportunity to strike.

And when he does finally steal you away after months and months of preparation and practice, you’re horrified. Understandably so, considering his hobby is not legal or morally correct. He’ll console you in a soft voice, but it doesn’t do anything to soothe the fear. Now that you see him without his mask it becomes clear that he’s not entirely human. No human could have sets of teeth that sharp. His teeth are designed for shredding the toughest of flesh. 

You learn that he’s the serial killer everyone’s been talking about on the news. You also learn that his motive isn’t to kill you for the fun or thrill of it. He intends to dissect you, devour every possible organ and limb he can until all that remains are your bones and gallons of drained blood. He’s insane. And when he forces some strange liquid down your throat and you feel yourself growing numb and tired, you plead with a heavy tongue. He’s looking over you like a butcher readying his knives and, as desperation and fear mount, you blurt the first excuse that pops into your head.

You tell him you’re pregnant.

And why should that matter? Jade does not care about pregnancy or human children. But when he sees the tender way you hold your stomach, tears staining your pretty skin, he feels...something. Perhaps he’s conflicted. Perhaps the sight warms his cold heart. 

“Pregnant.” He repeats the word slowly, testing it on his tongue. “You’re pregnant.”

“I am!” You force your eyelids open, willing yourself to stay awake. The moment you fall asleep is the moment your life ends. You can’t let that happen. “I found out a f-few weeks ago. So please don’t do this. Y-You can kill me if you want, but please wait until the baby’s born. Please...”

Nine months. That’s the normal gestation period for human young. Nine months is a long time to wait for a premium meal. He’ll certainly grow restless within the first few months. What is he meant to do with your child once it’s born? Is he meant to devour them as well? He really has no use for a child, but if it’s yours he can make an exception for you. 

“Who is the father?”

“A-Azul.”

"Hm.” His eyes cloud over with an unreadable emotion. “Is Azul aware of this?”

“Not yet. I... I was going to tell him soon.”

Jade frowns. Things just became far more complicated than he anticipated. 

“Very well.” He sets his tools aside, peering down at you on the metal examination table. “You will live for nine months. I shall care for you up until the day you give birth.” His hand lingers on the largest knife in his collection, a subtle warning. “I’m certain you already know the consequences that come with an escape attempt.”

You nod frantically, weakly struggling in your restraints. “T-Thank you! Thank you so much!”

Jade's scrutinizing gaze travels from your face to your throat to your abdomen, and he lifts your shirt to observe your stomach. And then he looks back at you and, in a gentler tone, says, “What would you like for dinner? I’ll prepare something nutritional for you.”

You list a random food, slurring the words incoherently, before your eyes shut altogether and you succumb to the sedative.

You’ll have a few months to work out an escape—if one is even possible. Pray that Jade does not discover your lie in the meantime. If he learns that you are not truly pregnant...

It’s a race against the clock and Jade’s perceptive intelligence. 

OMG I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!!!!

You absolutely got Eve’s reaction damn

Both of them are bb🥺🥺🥺🥺

@hemlock-haven 's request is done!

Girls Night

A once conversation of hobbies turned into quite the romance talk! Eve and Peony share their love interests with each other while enjoying a warm beverage under a thick blanket.

Peony is such an amazing OC that belongs to @hemlock-haven

Eve is my own OC for BLD

BLD, along with James and Seth are @hotpinkmoon 's creation!

Guess which bitch got the best mark of their whole year group on her IAL?

Hello helloooo!! 👋😊 Just dropping by to say that I hope you have a wonderful day and that I'm so glad we're mutuals 🥰🫶✨️ Good luck on your assignments + make sure to get plenty of rest!! You've got this!! 💪👏💯🙌

Tysm for reaching out! Im starting Uni soon so Im very nervous. I took a small hiatus from Social media on summer and it really helped imo. Ur a beam of sunshine!

Peony being hot is just a fact

Like I will fight anyone who dislikes her

So pretty omg

If only my sketches were half as clean lmaooo

Had an hour between classes yesterday so I decided to doodle my girl Peony super quick bc I missed her 🥲

Based her pose off a VS ad I saw the other day but didn't have access to so I just went based off memory LOL

Hopefully I'll be able to post more sketches soon since my exams/projects should be over with by next week. Only time will tell though :')

Imma become a dilf hunter

What would the guys look like if they were older? I have a hard time envisioning whether or not James would keep his hairstyle the same or go through any drastic changes within the next 10-15 years lol

I think James will cut his hair and keep it short after a couple of years and then eventually stop dying his hair red after the age of 35.

Seth has the most white hair compared to the rest of the guys and Max and Xavier is the least. (Max is cheating because he keeps dying his hair the same ginger color to keep his appearance young.)