I Already Drew Max And Xavier But Thats Cuz I Was Inspired Lol. Idk About What To Do With These Other

@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!

Fanart for @2-dsimp (their OCs)

I took some liberties on their outfits haha.

Ring and chain on Nokka- So that when he goes to workout, he can put the ring on the chain to not harm it. (Also it hurts like hell to lift some heavy weights with rings)

Nokka is supposed to be like gawking at his wifey, blushing like crazy. Maybe she put on like a cute housewife dress?

For Uriel I just wanted to put more details cuz I love putting some details on clothes. I went for like a prince-like aesthetic as he is a romantic at heart and would probably love fairytales.

Me on a science baccalaureate

Holy shit I just woke up its 3pm

I went partying yesterday and came home at 7 am

I currently have a massive hangover

Im ded

First self-indulgent drawing I've done in a while that I don't totally hate :)

@rottpeach come and get y'all juice 🗣📢🏃‍♂️

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

taglist. (join it by commenting under this post)

@leonskenthusiast @universallysoulcreator @devonjs-blog @lacieohlacie @kisswithyoureyesclosed @lovesick-sylus @livonianmaia @hqnge @yuuuumii @mizzfizz @simpfortheseven @nyxthejinx-rantsaboutlads @mariojins @rcvcngers @yizhoupilled @irlsammy @gloomuri671 @risagichi @drinking2nite @seikamuzu @flowers-wilt-on-juniper-lane

@that-one-scoundrel @joy-laufeyson @missaengg @wheatrice @gvenone @desiree-archive @jayhyunglover @flwerie @miffysoo @jijijihanji @ssetsuka @mglwhor3 @sureconfused @vorfreudevortex @honehbee42 @angelbeat994 @codedove @cheesemachine44 @mocha-the-muse @msanimeotaku181 @breadiestpuffs @idkwhatursayinh @hannahchk @rxelarailuj @littlebabyypeach @wooasecret @nikilig @theweevilofsweetreef @etsuniiru

6REEZE Yandere series Part 3

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Content warning(s): Yandere themes (unhealthy obsession)

Let me know if I missed anything.

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Part III: Main Rapper - Xiao

"Good morning. How are you all doing today? I hope you all are well."

Such a simple greeting, uttered so beautifully, so gently, with a voice so sickeningly sweet. Such a simple greeting, yet Xiao's face couldn't help but slowly turn a pink shade upon hearing such an angelic voice from his earphones.

"If you're not doing well, I hope that I can make your day a little bit, if not very much better."

So alluring, so enchanting, that his ears immediately shut out any other sound besides your recorded voice, as well as the thumping of his heart against his chest.

"Come on, let's start the day off energetic."

Every single morning, he turns on his laptop just to listen to the exact same video before he gets ready, it's almost as natural as breathing. It belongs to an ASMR channel, your ASMR channel, the video itself being a sort of "morning routine call".

Being an idol is no easy task. Every single day is practice and practice for the next song, or for the next concert. Sometimes one can get deals to be featured in some reality show or magazine, which requires extra energy and social effort, the latter of which Xiao lacks.

"You can do it, one step at a time." No matter how tired he feels…somehow, just the sound of your breath through his earphones is enough for him to re-energize.

It's because it lets him know you still exist. There's that teeny, tiny chance that you too, are a fan of 6REEZE, right? Though Xiao keeps reminding himself that shouldn't get too ahead of himself.

He is physically unable to get up from bed and do anything productive without hearing this audio recording of your sweet voice assuring him that you will "accompany" him throughout his day. Nothing makes him feel better more than you, asking him how his day has been.

When in reality, those words aren't directed to anyone in particular. But who can blame him? Anyone will be so infatuated with your voice that they'll think you're talking to them only.

…It's a small part of him that makes him wonder whether he is still an idol, or if he has become the creepy fan.

"Hey Xiao, it's practice time," Kazuha told his fellow group mate, who sat quietly in the corner of the canteen.

"Okay," Xiao responded, but his attention was solely focused on his phone screen, "I'll be there in…5 minutes."

"But you and Venti are the main features of this song. We can't practice without you," Kazuha tried to reason with him to be punctual, but was met with silence.

"..." The white-haired idol really wanted to figure out what exactly was on his phone that Xiao was so interested in. Xiao was so focused that he didn't realize Kazuha was taking a small peek at his phone.

"[ Non-ASMR ] Just a chat stream"

That was the title of the livestream Xiao was giving all his attention to.

Kazuha didn't say another word and quietly walked away.

"Hmm…" Xiao watched as you read the live chat with a smile. He didn't dare to touch the chat box, he feels like you're too good to be reading anything he spouts.

Even when it's not an ASMR video, your natural talking voice, too, is too angelic for one to listen to anything else. Your voice is so soft, like a blanket he would cuddle as he falls asleep after another hard day of idol work.

"What do I think of 6 — is it a six?" You stumbled upon a question in the chat, "Oh, it's supposed to be a 'B'...then, '6REEZE'? Aren't they a really popular boy band? I hear my friends talking about them a lot."

Xiao almost had a cardiac arrest when he heard you mention that name.

You won't say anything good about him, will you? No, he's got ahead of himself again. You didn't even know how to pronounce their band name, so you probably won't even know a person named 'Xiao' exists—

"I remember one person in particular that my friend keeps fawning over is the one who always wears that cool looking mask. Can anyone tell me his name?" You asked, recalling the music videos your friend shows you nonstop. Looking through the chat, you hoped to find someone who knows.

As expected, a lot of your subscribers also happened to be 6REEZE fans too. Over and over again, chat messages saying the name 'Xiao' (some are completely capitalized for extra dramatic flair).

"Xiao?" If cardiac arrest wasn't enough, Xiao was ready to drop dead on the spot. There's no way you just said his name. If it was a regular person, something like this would've been completely normal. But this is you we're talking about! The you, who is Xiao's angel sitting on his right shoulder.

"It sounds like a name from Liyue. That's interesting! So the members of 6REEZE seem to be multicultural. Because I also remember there was a guy from Inazuma as well, right?" The words from your mouth keep flowing, but Xiao's mind still lingers on the moment you said his name.

He must be crazy, reminding himself over and over about something so insignificant.

"But yeah, it might be because my friend showed him to me the most, but Xiao looks the coolest to me. His rapping is really clear too, in my opinion," you said, so genuinely and from the bottom of your heart, "Then again, I'm not a boy band connoisseur. Maybe I'll give 6REEZE a try, now that you mention it."

Stop it. Stop it right now. Xiao might actually die. And he still needs to practice soon. You're gonna try listening to 6REEZE music now, and you think his rapping is really neat…?!

Xiao has this sudden urge to get up and practice his ass off. He's counting on that one chance that you watch the upcoming music video he is supposed to practice on, so he can show off to you. He couldn't bear to turn your stream off just yet, but knowing that he now has a reason to put his all into being an idol—

"Xiao? Why do you look so…" Aether saw the look on his friend's face as he finally walked through the doors to the huge practice hall. "Fiery? Up for practice?" Heizou finished the sentence.

"Also, why are you late?" Jean, the manager, glared at Xiao, "It's been 9 minutes past the scheduled practice time." Kazuha whispered to her, "I tried to call him, but…"

Xiao wore his signature cold, nonchalant look on his face,

"That doesn't matter. Come on, let's get this over with."

This would give me a heart attack jesus fucking christ I love it

I have never seen Pokemon this visceral and terrifying, please even if you’re not a fan WATCH HISUIAN SNOW!!!

It’s a beautiful and epic experience!

new follower!

Oooo, I thought of something maybe slightly cute! What about a yan Jing Yuan x Reader, but the reader tends to be much more affectionate with other people, and tends to be pretty formal with Jing Yuan?

Like...reader will hug and ruffle the hair of Yanquing and Yunli (much to their chagrin), but tends to be much more stiff with affection toward Jing Yuan, if showing him any at all. Maybe the reader thinks being affectionate with Jing Yuan would be considered inappropriate, considering he is the general and 'The Divine Foresight.'

The perfect distance

Yandere!Jing Yuan x Reader

The morning sun cast a golden glow over the Seat of Divine Foresight as you stepped through the grand doors, a small satchel of medicine tucked under your arm. Jing Yuan sat at his desk, the usual stack of reports before him, though his gaze lifted the moment you entered.

"Good morning, General." you greeted with a polite bow.

"Ah, if it isn't my diligent healer." he mused, resting his chin on his palm. "Come to check on me again?"

"Of course. The healers at the Alchemy Commission insisted on a follow-up after your last mission." You approached, setting the satchel down neatly before stepping back, hands clasped behind you.

"Always so dutiful. You know, a little informality wouldn’t hurt."

"Respect is important, especially for someone of your standing."

He chuckled, but there was a weight to it. "Is that so?"

Before he could say more, the doors burst open, and Yanqing stumbled in, panting. "General! The—oh, Y/N! You're here!"

Your entire demeanor shifted instantly. A bright smile broke across your face, and before Yanqing could react, you reached out, ruffling his hair with a laugh. "Look at you! Did you run all the way here?"

"Hey—stop that!" Yanqing protested, though there was no real heat in his voice.

Jing Yuan's fingers twitched against his desk.

You only grinned, giving Yanqing’s cheek a playful pinch before turning back to the general—your expression smoothing back into polite professionalism. "My apologies for the interruption, General. I’ll ensure your medicine is properly prepared."

Jing Yuan hummed, his gaze lingering on you. "No need to apologize."

You were warm with everyone else—affectionate, even. But with him? Only proper distance.

-----

The Alchemy Commission was bustling as usual when you arrived, the scent of herbs and medicine thick in the air. Lingsha glanced up at you.

“Back again so soon?” she teased, setting down a mortar and pestle. “Don’t tell me the General’s been overworking himself again.”

You sighed, leaning against the counter. “You know how he is. I swear, if I didn’t bring him his medicine personally, he’d forget it entirely.”

Lingsha chuckled, but then her expression turned sly. “Speaking of the General… anything new with him?”

“New? Well, his recovery is progressing, though he still insists on working through fatigue. His blood circulation—”

She held up a hand, cutting you off. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then…?”

“I mean, anything interesting? You’re around him all the time, and yet you never have anything to say about him besides his health reports.”

You shrugged. “There’s nothing else to say.”

Lingsha gave you an incredulous look. “Nothing? You’re telling me that the man who half of the Luofu sighs over doesn’t warrant any personal commentary from you?”

You frowned, genuinely confused. “I don’t see why it matters. I’m just doing my job.”

“That’s exactly the problem! You treat us like family. But with him, you act like a soldier reporting to a superior.”

Unbeknownst to you both, a certain silver-haired general had paused just outside the doorway, having been on his way to greet you—until the conversation took an unexpected turn. Now, he stood just out of sight, arms crossed, listening with far too much interest.

You sighed. “It’s different with him. It would be improper to act casually.”

“He’s still a person, you know.”

Jing Yuan, still eavesdropping, nodded silently in agreement.

You shook your head. “It’s not that simple. I respect his position too much to overstep.”

“Is that so?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Jing Yuan stepped into view.

“G-General!” you stammered, immediately straightening your posture.

“Speak of the devil.”

“I had no idea my presence was so… intimidating.”

You swallowed hard. “Not intimidating! Just… respectable.”

“Respect is one thing. But treating me like a statue is another, don’t you think?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, unsure how to respond.

“Even he thinks you’re too stiff.”

Jing Yuan hummed in agreement. “Indeed. I was just passing by, but it seems I’ve stumbled upon quite the enlightening conversation.”

Your face burned.

Oh, this was bad.

----

The streets of the Xianzhou Luofu were alive with celebration—lanterns glowed warmly against the dusk, the scent of spiced wine and roasted delicacies filled the air, and laughter echoed through the bustling plaza. It was one of many festivals the Luofu held, but this one was special: a gathering to mark the General’s full recovery.

You hadn’t expected such an event to be held in his honor, much less to be personally invited. But when the summons arrived, you couldn’t refuse.

Dressed in simple but elegant robes, you arrived early, intending to help with the preparations. Yet the moment you reached for a stray decoration to adjust it, a familiar voice stopped you.

“Now, now. Must you always be working?”

You turned to see Jing Yuan standing behind you.

You quickly bowed. “General. I just thought I’d assist—”

“You’ve done more than enough,” he interrupted smoothly. “Tonight, you should enjoy yourself.”

You hesitated, but nodded. “…Understood.”

Jing Yuan lingered for a moment, as if waiting for something more, but when you said nothing else, he chuckled and turned away, disappearing into the crowd to attend to his duties as host.

Left to your own devices, you did what came naturally—you kept busy.

You helped a group of children untangle their kite strings, laughing as they tugged at your sleeves, begging you to join their game. You chatted with the servers, exchanging jokes and lighthearted complaints about the hectic preparations. And when you spotted a young man struggling with a heavy tray of fruits, nearly tripping into a table, you immediately stepped in, steadying him before disaster could strike.

“Careful” you said, helping him adjust his grip.

He exhaled in relief. “Thank you! I swear, these trays are cursed.”

You grinned. “Just take it slow.”

He smiled back, grateful, and before long, the two of you found yourselves sitting at one of the long banquet tables, sharing a drink and easy conversation. He was a junior clerk from the Sky-Faring Commission, you learned, and his stories about bureaucratic mishaps had you laughing into your cup.

You didn’t notice the pair of golden eyes watching from across the plaza.

Jing Yuan stood near the edge of the festivities, a cup of wine untouched in his hand.

How effortlessly you showed warmth to others.

And yet, with him, you still kept that careful distance.

Then, with deliberate steps, he began making his way toward your table.

The clerk noticed first, nearly choking on his drink when he recognized the approaching figure. “G-General?!”

“Mind if I join you?”

You weren’t entirely sure how you ended up being whisked away from your conversation, but Lingsha had appeared out of nowhere, looping her arm through yours with a cheerful, "There you are! I need your help with something!" before dragging you off without another word.

"What’s the emergency?"

She huffed, adjusting the sleeve of her robe. "This sash won’t stay straight. Fix it for me?"

You sighed but obliged, fingers deftly retying the fabric. "You could’ve asked one of the attendants."

"And miss the chance to rescue you? Please. You had no idea what is going to happen next."

You paused. "…What?"

Lingsha waved a hand. "Never mind. Just—try not to look so approachable to random people tonight, okay?"

Before you could ask what she meant, she was already slipping back into the crowd, leaving you standing there, confused.

Shaking your head, you decided to find Yanqing and Yunli instead—familiar faces, easy company. You spotted Yanqing first, the young swordsman grumbling as he tried (and failed) to sneak a pastry from one of the dessert trays. You snuck up behind him and ruffled his hair.

"Hey—!" He whipped around, scowling, but the moment he saw it was you, his expression shifted to exasperated fondness. "Oh. It’s you."

"Miss me?"

He rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away when you playfully tugged at his ponytail.

Yunli, ever the composed one, merely raised an eyebrow as you approached. "Must you torment him?"

"Absolutely," you said, reaching up to adjust the slightly crooked pin in her hair. She sighed but allowed it, her lips twitching in amusement.

Meanwhile, across the plaza, Jing Yuan was surrounded.

People of all kind—all vying for his attention, some with thinly veiled flirtation. He smiled, nodded, gave polite replies, but his gaze kept drifting—past them, past the crowd, to where you were, laughing with his disciple as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The night had been a blur of laughter, music, and far too many cups of Xianzhou’s strongest liquor. You hadn’t meant to drink so much—truly, you hadn’t—but between Yanqing daring you to try the spiced wine and Lingsha cheerfully refilling your cup every time it emptied, you’d lost track.

By the time you realized you were swaying on your feet, it was too late.

The world spun pleasantly as you wandered away from the feast, the cool night air a welcome relief against your flushed skin. The lanterns blurred into golden streaks, the distant hum of voices fading as you found yourself near one of the Luofu’s tranquil ponds, the water shimmering under the moonlight.

You plopped down at the edge, legs dangling precariously over the water, and giggled to yourself.

Oops. Maybe too close.

You leaned forward—just a little—to peer at your reflection, but your balance betrayed you.

For a brief, dizzying moment, you felt yourself tipping—

Then strong arms caught you, pulling you back against a firm chest.

“Now, now,” a familiar voice murmured, “That would be a rather undignified way to end the night, don’t you think?”

You blinked up at him.

His silver hair glowed under the moonlight, his golden eyes crinkled in amusement. He looked unfairly handsome, and in your drunken state, you saw no reason not to say so.

“Wow,” you breathed, reaching up to poke his cheek. “You’re really pretty.”

His eyebrows shot up.

Then he laughed—a deep, rich sound that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Is that so?”

You nodded sagely. “Mhm. Like a painting.”

His gaze softened. “And here I thought you only saw me as ‘The Divine Foresight.’”

You scrunched your nose. “That’s stupid.”

“Oh?”

“You’re Jing Yuan,” you declared, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You laugh at bad jokes. You forget your medicine. You let Yanqing win sometimes even though he definitely doesn’t deserve it.”

“I see alcohol makes you rather… honest.”

You sighed dramatically, flopping back against him. “I’m always honest. You just never listen.”

He hummed, shifting to steady you. “Then perhaps you should tell me something else.”

“Like what?”

“Why,” he said, voice dropping to a murmur, “you treat everyone else with such ease… but with me, you keep your distance.”

You frowned, struggling to form a coherent thought through the haze of liquor. “Because… you’re important.”

“And that means I deserve less of your kindness?”

“No!” You huffed, frustrated. “It means I can’t mess up. If I’m too casual, if I say the wrong thing—what if you realize I’m not as put-together as I pretend to be?”

The confession tumbled out before you could stop it.

Jing Yuan went very still.

Then, slowly, he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “That’s what you’ve been worried about?”

You pouted. “It’s a valid concern.”

He chuckled, thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “Silly thing. Do you really think I don’t know you?”

“I’ve watched you scold Yanqing for skipping training,” he continued, amused. “I’ve seen you trip over your own feet in the halls. I know you sneak extra sweets when you think no one’s looking.”

Your face burned. “You—noticed that?”

“I notice everything,” he said, “Especially when it comes to you.”

Your drunken brain short-circuited.

Before you could respond, he sighed, shifting to lift you into his arms. “Come on. Let’s get you somewhere you won’t drown.”

You whined but didn’t protest, too busy marveling at how nice his chest felt to lean against.

Somewhere in the distance, Lingsha watched the scene unfold—then smirked and turned away, deciding some things were better left uninterrupted.

>The Morning After<

Your head pounded.

Groaning, you buried your face into the pillow, willing the world to stop spinning.

Wait.

Not your pillow.

Your eyes flew open.

This was not your room.

Oh no.

Fragmented memories flashed in your mind—Jing Yuan’s arms around you, his laughter, your embarrassingly honest rambling—

You sat bolt upright, then immediately regretted it as your skull throbbed in protest.

A cup of water and a small vial of medicine sat on the bedside table, along with a note:

"Drink this. We’ll talk later."

Your heart hammered in your chest as you scurried into the Alchemy Commission, still nursing the remnants of your hangover. The moment you arrived, you grabbed the nearest healer by the sleeve.

"Switch shifts with me. Please. I'll owe you forever."

They blinked at your desperate expression but shrugged. "Uh… sure?"

You nearly collapsed in relief. Perfect. Now you could hide behind the counter, avoid all human interaction, and—most importantly—never have to face him again.

-----

The General of the Luofu was distracted.

Reports lay unfinished on his desk, his usually sharp mind clouded with thoughts of you—your drunken confession, the way you'd curled against him, the way you'd finally spoken to him without that infuriating formality.

And then you'd vanished.

His fingers tightened around his brush.

Did you regret it?

Was it just the wine talking?

Or worse—had that clerk from the Sky-Faring Commission caught your interest instead?

The brush snapped in his hand.

"…I see."

He exhaled slowly, setting the pieces aside. He was Jing Yuan, the Divine Foresight. He did not lose composure over such things.

…Yet here he was, standing up, cloak already swinging over his shoulders as he strode out of his office.

Fine. If you wouldn’t come to him, he’d find you himself.

----

You were safe.

Hunched behind the counter, pretending to organize herbs, you let out a slow breath. Maybe if you stayed here long enough, he’d—

"Where is Y/N?"

Your blood turned to ice.

You ducked lower, praying that he wouldn’t see you.

"They, uh… switched shifts?" the other healer said nervously.

Footsteps. Moving away.

You nearly sobbed in relief.

…Until a shadow loomed over you.

"Hiding, are we?"

Slowly, painfully, you turned your head.

You swallowed.

"G-General! I—uh—was just—"

"Crawling away?" he supplied helpfully.

You winced.

Before you could react, his hand shot out, gripping the back of your collar like a misbehaving kitten. "Up."

You yelped as he hauled you to your feet.

You knelt before him in the empty side room, hands raised in surrender, face burning with shame.

"Explain."

You gulped. "I… may have acted inappropriately last night."

"Oh?" He tilted his head. "How so?"

"I—I drank too much. I said things I shouldn’t have. I embarrassed myself—and you—and then I ran away like a coward—"

"So you do remember."

You nodded miserably.

"And yet," he continued, voice dropping, "instead of facing me, you chose to hide?"

You flinched. "I thought… you’d be angry."

"Angry?" He laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. "I was worried."

Your eyes widened.

"Now," he said, stepping closer, "come here."

You blinked. "Wh—?"

"I can’t hear you from there."

You hesitated, then shuffled forward on your knees until you were right in front of him.

He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his voice a low murmur.

"Now. Tell me again—why did you run?"

"I… was scared."

"Of?"

"Of… you realizing I’m not as composed as I pretend to be."

"I already told you—I know you."

You bit your lip.

"And," he added, fingers brushing under your chin, "I rather like the real you."

"So no more hiding," he murmured. "No more formality. Understood?"

You nodded weakly.

"Good." He straightened, offering you a hand. "Now get up. We have work to do."

You took it, your face still burning.

After The Incident (as you now referred to it in your head), things… changed.

Not drastically—you weren’t suddenly clinging to Jing Yuan’s arm or calling him by some ridiculous nickname—but the stiffness in your interactions had melted away.

You still bowed when necessary, still addressed him with respect, but now…When he made a terrible joke during strategy meetings, you rolled your eyes instead of forcing a polite laugh. When he "forgot" his medicine (again), you scolded him openly instead of couching your words in deference. And when he teased you—which was often—you gave as good as you got.

Jing Yuan, for his part, seemed delighted by this shift.

But there was something else, too.

A lingering glance when someone spoke to you a little too familiarly.

A casual step closer when a visiting diplomat eyed you with a little too much interest.

A look—one that had even Yanqing gulping and backing away when he tried to drag you into another ill-advised sparring match.

At first, you thought you were imagining it.

But then Lingsha smirked at you over her tea.

"You really don’t see it, do you?"

"See what?"

She just laughed.

Whispers spread through the Luofu.

"Did you hear? The General personally reprimanded that merchant for overcharging them."

"He reassigned three clerks just because they were rude to Y/N in passing."

"I heard he nearly leveled a training ground because someone accidentally knocked them over during drills."

(That last one was an exaggeration.…Probably.)

It hit you one evening, as you sat across from him in his study, reviewing supply reports.

He was leaning back in his chair, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly mussed from running a hand through it one too many times. He looked… relaxed.

And then it struck you—

He likes having you here.

Not as a subordinate.

Just… as you.

Jing Yuan noticed your stare and raised an eyebrow. "Something on my face?"

You shook your head, smiling slightly. "No. Just thinking."

"Dangerous habit" he teased.

You threw a crumpled piece of paper at him.

He caught it effortlessly, grinning.

No one dared to mistreat you.

No one dared to overstep.

And no one—absolutely no one—dared to flirt with you within Jing Yuan’s line of sight.

(You weren’t sure whether to be exasperated or touched.)

But when you mentioned it to him, he merely sipped his tea and said,

"I have no idea what you’re talking about."

You snorted.

Liar.

-----

I'm currently facing writer's blockkkkkkkkkkkkk.(╥﹏╥)