wheatrice

[wheatrice]

If I had a nickel for every time a black boy was terrorized by an Irish vampire I would have 2 nickels which isn’t a lot but it’s weird it happened twice.

[wheatrice]

love how this breakdown is really making me think. especially about Pearline's potential connection to the wild woman archetype

Girl, Woman, Other

We know by now that freedom is one of the central themes of Sinners (2025). Some brilliant analysis so far has connected vampirism to colonialism and all of its subsequent miseries but I want to talk about lycanthropy!! As represented by one cheating ass heffa, Pearline.

In gothic literature, werewolves often represent marginalised identities: the queer, the abnormal, the freaks and the weirdos. In this movie, Pearline does all of those things. On the queer coding in Sinners, this post makes several valid points. Some of the most iconic Black women from this era of the Blues were gay. Think Ma Rainey or Bessie Smith; these were queer artists, vocal power houses and badly behaved women.

Gwen C. Katz discusses how lycanthropy can be a thematic vehicle to explore gender norms, social norms and religious expectations. This essay by Katz really helped me understand Pearline as a supernatural being.

At Clarksdale station, the camera focuses on her. Specifically, her gaze as she eyes up her prey. Ms Pearline stands there like a lioness watching a herd of gazelles. She sees something she likes and we the audience are watching the gears turn in her head. She is a hunter.

A few weeks ago, I gave this commenter a lot of shit for their closed minded, puritanical, holier-than-thou, fucking irritating view on Pearline's dancing. I stand by everything I said with one small addition. That disgust? That shock? That was the exact response her performance was meant to evoke. Equally, my admiration and appreciation? Also by design. I loved the choreography as well as the history behind it. Before, I didn't see it but both me and this commentor were reinforcing Cesar A. Cruz's notion that

'Art should disturb the comfortable and comfort the disturbed'

I have a deep resentment for the ways that gender roles, western culture and Christianity shame women for existing. Let alone expressing themselves artistically. Any form of creative work that pushes back against these forces automatically has my respect.

Pearline thee adulterer comes alive on stage, at night, surrounded by drunks. She swings her hips at a young man she has just met and looks back to check he's watching. She gets ate off the bone with her ring on. She refuses to eat one clove and garlic then insults Smoke when he treats it like a life or death situation. She represents lust, greed and pride in various quantities. But most of all, she represents lycanthropes!

Her hissing, moaning, crawling and howling all speak to her pursuit of freedom! Her song shows this beautifully. In the studio version of 'Pale, Pale Moon' we hear all manner of creepy sounds. From bats screeching to evil ass laughter, her song is embedded with things of the night.

Ryan Coogler's pen game is something serious. This woman doesn't need do sprout fur and snap bones to embody this other side to her. Lycanthropy is shown through her lyrics, stage presence and moral choices.

Let me cook:

She can only reveal her true self by night

Her movements are uninhibited and primal

She is scared of being seen at her most vulnerable (as Preacher Boy is on his knees)

Her hunting skills are second to none (see how quickly she bagged Sammie?)

She literally starts her song with a howl

Her loyalty runs deep (she shoots Remmick in the chest then stabs him while defending Sammie - someone she just met that day)

She is very comfortable in her sexuality (a part of her she knows polite society will never accept)

Her song is dedicated to the moon

She has a strong aversion to certain foods (like how werewolves have heightened senses)

Her reference track was written and recorded by a Black lesbian artist

She is Josephine Baker coded (a dancer, singer and performer who was definitely bisexual)

TLDR - In a patriarchal society that assigns worth and respectability based on religious dogma, a lycanthrope is a woman with sexual agency.

Pearline is a werewolf.

Shout out to @jukesjoint for opening my eyes. I got as far as Pearline = Josephine Baker but the queer element was lost on me. Thank you for your service

[wheatrice]

i desperately need miles caton to cover a hozier song, his voice is so good

[wheatrice]

SINNERS • CLARKSDALE SCREENING ⭐️ part ii • “SAMMIE-NO ITS MILES- ITS SAMMIE-MILES-JUST GIMME BOTH 😩🫳🏽 “

WHERE TO BEGIN😭 so yall don’t know this about me but im really good at being delusional. so much to the point where i literally have mbj listed as a requirement on my list of “things my husband must be”. IM MANIFESTING! anyway, like the whole time i was at the screening i felt like i was having my Y/N moment. WHICH WAS SURREAL CAUSE IVE NEVER HAD A Y/N MOMENT😩🫳🏽

but when i tell you i literally had the perfect seat. I could see miles so clearly and he was sooooo cute 😭 (like there was the perfect gap between ppl in their chair where i had a direct view of him the whooole time, minus sometimes this one lady who wouldn’t put her phone down was kinda blocking if he shifted in his seat but hey who am i to judge!) The smirk is just as captivating irl as it is in the movie, omggg i’m abt to throw up i can’t take it. HIS SKIN😩🫳🏽 oweeee lemme not do too much but…if i could swap places w pearline/jayme i would do it QUICKLY.

i’m so humiliated cause i definitely wouldn’t know wtf to do if i was ever in a room w him and mbj. shit i felt embarrassed today for some reason and i was just looking at him ?! like i just would have to combust into a cloud of anxiety; i wouldnt be able to choose (nah im lying imma stick w big daddy everytime but milesy lil cute self would def give him a run for his money :3) michael definitely got cheated on today and i don’t even feel bad. its not miles’ fault michael left his girl to get took! ( ITS MR.STEAL YO GIRL WOAAAAA-)

anyway! i’m so delusional to the point where i feel like i definitely made eye contact with miles a few times so that’s single-handedly gonna fuel some of my daydreams cause HUHHHHH. i just know im too fine to resist so i can’t blame him- TUH

i wanted to try to see if i could sneak in a pic w him but either he did the dash after the q&a was done or i just couldn’t see him in all the ppl that kinda rushed the stage after but oh well! i definitely feel like i left w enough brainrot to feed my delusions for at least a month!

anyway- please enjoy my little grainy pics of him and this video of the ONE question he got asked. (that had me a lil sick cause i wanted to hear his voice some more and i wanted to hear him sing. but when i noticed he didn’t have the guitar i knew that was OV😭)

[wheatrice]

obsessed with this

I don’t normally post my edits anywhere else but my TikTok, but I wanted to this once. This was an edit I did of Sinners to Ethel Cain’s Ptolemaea, the style I normally reserve for Roleplay edits. TT: LittleMissHargrove.

[wheatrice]

dom!김규빈 x fem!sub!reader

warnings: size kink, praise, gyuvin has a BIG dick, softish, smut (obv), slight dumbification, use of the nickname angel, dirty talk

💬: working on another version (?) of this but more on the rough!dom side. (gonna post it soon i have no patience 😭) this is just a short lil drabble thing, might lengthen it who knows 🫦

16+ only | nsfw under the cut!!!

You never thought someone could make you feel so utterly wrecked yet worshipped all at once. Gyuvin’s hands—big, sure, but careful—held you like you were fragile glass, even though you knew the truth. You were his, small and trembling, and he loved that shit.

His voice was low, smooth like velvet dripping in sin. “You’re so small,” he murmured, tracing lazy circles on your spine, “but you take me so damn well.”

You tried to speak but your mouth betrayed you, words stumbling and breaking apart because every touch sent lightning straight to your brain. Your knees shook, heart hammered, and your breath came out in ragged gasps that barely sounded like words.

Gyuvin chuckled, the sound deep and proud. “Look at you, angel… can’t even say my name right ‘cause you’re so damn full. You’re mine.”

His fingers pressed deep, stretching you just right, and praise spilled from his lips like a prayer. “So good for me. So fucking good. You’re perfect like this—tiny and soft, taking all of me.”

You felt dumb, head spinning, but in the best way possible. The way he moved—slow, deliberate, owning you—made your mind melt, your body clench. The size difference wasn’t just noticeable; it was everything.

“Don’t stop,” you finally croaked out, voice thick with need.

Gyuvin grinned, hips rocking forward, fucking you with a delicious weight that left you gasping and helpless. “You’re mine,” he said again, voice rougher this time. “So fucking good at taking all of me.”

Minutes blurred—him praising you, you losing yourself in the dizzying mix of pain and pleasure. When he finally spilled inside you, warm and overwhelming, your whole body shook.

His hand cradled your jaw gently, thumb stroking your cheek. “You did so good. So good,” he whispered, like a secret between only the two of you.

You were a mess, dumb and glorious.

And he loved every fucking second of it.

[wheatrice]

i'll take anything as long as he's in it

yes miles caton as orpheus in hadestown but have you considered miles caton as curly in oklahoma

[wheatrice]

it’s gyuvin brainrot hours for me personally☝️ thinking about sitting on his lap kissing and lowkey teasing him by giving pecks and pulling away over and over! til gets fed up and yoinks u back with one hand on your jaw and the other in your hair just to deliver the nastiest makeout of ur life

NEED HIM

gosh yes...that's so cruel and hot at the same time.

Imagine just sitting on Gyuvin's lap and kissing him over and over again. He'd think you're just being affectionate (which he's used to at this point and he loves it), but when you do it again it just makes him snap. One of his hands quickly move to your hair, gripping it gently while his other moves to your face, gripping your jaw and pulling you close, smashing his lips against yours.

He wouldn't let you pull away, the kiss growing from gentle to messy real quick. His hand would still remain in your hair, tilting your head to a better angle just so that he doesn't have to break the kiss, he doesn't want to stop, he's just too addicted to you. His other hand would move away from your face, roaming all over your body until it settles on your ass, groping the flesh, squeezing it and then smacking it, causing you to pull away, a string of saliva connecting both your lips before it breaks.

Let's just say...you might've ended up with a broken bed, again :D

[wheatrice]

altar boy!gyuvin x fem!reader [18+]

kim gyuvin x fem!reader cw: sexual content, blasphemous imagery, dubious morality, power imbalance, dirty talk, implied oral sex (f!receiving), implied marking (lmk if i missed something!) note: i don't know if this is cohesive but im having gyuvin brainrot right now so you guys just bear with this one pls

gyuvin is that guy. student council secretary. altar boy. campus ministry golden child. the kind of boy your mom says, “why can’t you be more like him?” with a sigh that stings a little too deep. he’s always 20 minutes early, his pens branded, and somehow makes volunteering look cool. everyone in your class admires him but the moment school ends and report cards come out? that admiration curdles into something bitter… because suddenly, he’s the go-to topic in every home, his name ringing louder than your grades ever could.

but if you’re being honest? they’d probably lose their minds if they knew half the shit he whispers into your ear every 2 am. 

the one who shows up at your dorm, still dressed like a saint, yet his orbs are dark and his voice low–hands already inside your shirt before you could even lock your door. 

they don’t even know how he sounds when he’s panting your name like he’s reading a prayer. heck, they don’t see the way he kneels, not in front of the altar, but between your thighs, lips dragging over your skin like a benediction. 

“mmh, look at you, my y/n.” he murmurs, his lips so close to your trembling womanhood yet he takes his time to remove your ruined underwear. “and here i thought that you hated me.” gyuvin knows it’s a lie and you know it too–but he knows exactly what his teasing does to you.

“g-gyuvin, ahh! please…” you beg, your hips bucking forward, urging the man to eat you out quickly. his name coming out of your pretty lips like worship–and god, he revels in it.

they don’t even know the way he fucks you as if he’s making up for every sin that he has committed ever since he met you. it was slow, teasing, and a bit desperate. his thrusts would always abuse your sweet little spot, making your head spin so much you don’t know how to respond to his questions. every roll of his hips drives you insane and every kiss he leaves makes your skin burn.

“god, the sounds that you make.” he groans, head buried on the crook of your neck. “don’t do that later…” he adds before pulling his cock out of your hole then pounding it in harshly again, “or else, i might not behave, y/n-ah~” he playfully says. 

and you lose it. 

everyone knows that he has his way with words. but they didn’t warn you about how he’d use them. how just a simple call of your name from his voice can make your knees weak. how sinful his groans are when he’s buried inside you. 

your fingers become tangled with his hair and you swear you could feel his lip turning upwards. “you like that, princess?” he teases you again, “bet you think about me fucking you while i’m still in my altar boy robe, hm?” and he’s right. 

when it’s over, when your limbs are already soft and trembling and your chest is heaving, he presses soft kisses on the bruises he left behind. 

he buttons his shirt up again and runs his hand through his hair like he didn’t just rearranged your guts. 

he looks down at you with his big and doe eyes–the one you fell for the moment you had eye contact with him–he leans down to your level and kisses your cheek tenderly. 

“see you at church, y/n?” his voice was syrupy sweet like he didn’t just use your body like a confessional. like he didn’t just worship you almost the same way he does every morning at mass. 

and yeah, maybe he’s the kind of boy every mom wants their kid to be. always early. always proper. pressed shirt, ironed pants, hands folded in prayer.

just… just don’t look a little too close at his neck because you’ll see the bite marks blooming on his throat—a reminder that last night, he didn’t kneel at the altar. 

he knelt for you.

gyuvibe, 2025

[wheatrice]

legal line on what positions they would take you in 🤤 or any member would be fine too!

cw unprotected p in v sex, breeding kink, mentions of babies, creampies, squirting, overstimulation, size kink, strength king, backshots, clit play, nipple play, a couple of spanks, implications of oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, implications of cockwarming, belly bulge 18+ MDNI

���️ sorry if I got any of the position names wrong! also, they're all pretty basic positions, but I didn't want to go too crazy with them for this ask lol! thanks for the awesome thought anonie

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓙iwoong ﹙𝓴.﹚

legs over his shoulders

Jiwoong is a very intense and intimate lover, so he usually wants to get as close to you as possible. This position is the easiest way for him to do that, with how you’re practically folded in half and exposed to him while he can still lean his face down as close to yours as possible. Those are really the only two things he needs. That way, he’s able to kiss you, to watch you fall apart, and to be able to get as deep inside of you as possible. 

“C’mon, darling, legs up,” Jiwoong breathes as he adjusts his position on his knees one more time, the movement making the tip of his dick brush against that spot in you that makes you see stars. You gasp sharply, back arching as you try to make sense of his words. The thickness of his cock never failed to stretch your cunt so wonderfully, like he was splitting you in two. He lets out a small sigh, his hands finding your thighs as he practically folds you in half, a small scream leaving you at how deep he is now. “Don’t mind doing everything myself, but didn’t realize that you were already so fucked out, darling.”

As if he were faring any better. The way your cunt clenched down around him, your juices spilling out around where he stretched your interest practically had his eyes rolling back in his head. And now, with you in this position–his hands guiding your calves over his shoulders, he could see everything. No wonder it always took so long to ease his length into you, your hole was fucking tiny. It would always make room for his cock though, with the way it was practically molded to fit him. Jiwoong rests his elbows on either side of your head, his nose now brushing against yours. 

“S’deep–”

He shushes you softly, one of his hands coming down to feel the bulge in your abdomen. The pressure has you whining even louder, and Jiwoong loves how he’s able to see everything while still being so close to you. “I know, darling. I know.”

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓗ao ﹙𝔃.﹚

cowgirl, but he’s sitting up too (think it’s called the lotus?)

Hao is a pillow princess. Or like… semi-pillow princess on your usual sex sessions. Like a power bottom in a way. Part of it is because he still wants to be able to boss you around without doing too much work, but also because he likes watching you lose yourself to the pleasure. He likes watching you take how you feel into your own hands as you bounce on his dick with the utmost intensity. What makes things even better, though, is when he’s still able to be close to you. He likes feeling your heartbeat and the way your breaths quicken as you get closer to cumming, so his preferred position still includes him being chest to chest with you.

You were falling apart quicker than usual tonight. Hao could tell by the way your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders and how you’d succumbed to the feeling of keeping almost the entirety of his dick inside of you. Now, you were just barely lifting up before sinking back down to the base. With a small huff, his hand comes down to lightly hit your thigh, making you yelp. “Oh, please. I didn’t even hit you that hard,” he mumbles, eyes half-lidded as your hands move to hold onto the sides of his neck. “You close?”

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes locked onto his as you keep working your hips over him, riding him like your life depended on it. The friction against your clit from grinding against his pubic bone every time you took his whole length had you teetering right on the edge. 

“Shouldn’t even let you cum. M’not even close.” It was a lie, but Hao felt like giving you a hard time, especially since it meant you would bounce up and down on his cock even harder. A loud groan leaves him. “Oh–” Your cunt clenches around him, the slick sounds of your pussy making his eyes snap open a little wider, not wanting to miss the sight of you falling over the edge. A sight that he would watch over and over again. “Such a good girl… Go ahead.”

And with that, your body is tensing above his, your head falling forward to hide in his neck as your hips jerk against his. Your nails drag down his chest as you cry out his name, making Hao such in a sharp breath from the minimal pain. He holds you tightly against his chest as you finish riding out your high, only for his hips to snap up again. Because once was never enough for him.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓗anbin ﹙𝓼.﹚

missionary

Hanbin’s definitely a missionary guy. There’s something so appealing to him about how the position is so intimate and is something reserved for more romantic couples. He likes feeling truly connected with you during sex, and this position only reassures that craving. Because having you under him–having you feeling like you need him to get off in the way he needs you shows him just how deep (no pun intended) of a connection the two of you have. That, and his breeding kink comes into play here. The thought of him being able to fuck a baby into you in such a loving position, his lips on yours as your legs wrap around his waist is his dirtiest and favorite fantasy. 

The sloppy sounds of Hanbin’s dick drilling into your sopping pussy fill your shared bedroom–practically music to his ears. That, along with your moans. “There! Right there– God, you’re so big,” you whine, only spurring him on further. Hanbin knows he’s big, and the thought of him being right there next to your womb due to being in missionary is everything he needs to feel like could cum right then and there.

“Yeah… Your pussy’s practically begging for my cum. Y’hear her? Hear how bad she wants to be filled up?” You moan in response, a small smile twitching at the corners of Hanbin’s lips. And when your legs wrap around his waist, your moans only get louder, a result of him hitting deeper inside of you, of course. “Love you,” he pants. 

It was easy for him to feel overwhelmed in these moments. When he was completely consumed by you in every way. “L-Love you,” you somehow manage to respond. When his pretty brown eyes find yours, he can see the desperation in them. The need for him, the same need that’s aching in his chest, and the love. Hanbin can’t help it as he leans down to kiss you, his lips crashing over yours as he feels you cum from the declarations of love. And he’s right there with you, but for a different reason. 

“Gonna love to see you pregnant with my baby too…”

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓜atthew ﹙𝓼.﹚

backshots / bending you over something

LOVES hitting it from the back. In my opinion, Matthew is such an ass guy, and this definitely influences his favorite sex position. He likes manhandling you into those positions: where your ass is up and you’re face down. Whether that’s over the back of the couch or on the dining room table or in bed, he doesn’t really care. As long as he’s able to make you scream by how deep he’s hitting–another perk of this position. He fucks rough, and he can really let loose when he’s hitting it from the back. 

His hand almost covers the expanse of your lower back as he forces you down onto your hands and knees, the sudden change of positions making your arms bend and sending your face into the pillows. Matthew chuckles softly at the small yelp that leaves you. “Look at you… So fucking pretty.” He punctuates his sentence with a small smack on the meat of your ass, gripping the cheek to jiggle it softly before he’s pulling them apart to reveal your dripping hole. “Ready?”

You turn your head to the side so he’s able to hear you clearly. “M’ready. Need you, Matt.”

And hearing those words for you never got old.

Matthew slowly eases his thick cock into you, knowing the slight curve to the left always brushed against your most sensitive spot when he was all the way inside. And once he’s sure that you’re adjusted, he’s going from 0 to 100. His hips meet your ass roughly as he pounds into you, his hands gripping your hips to both pull you back against him and to keep you from squirming away. Because you’re screaming, your arms going weak as your eyes roll back. 

“Feel me?”

“Yes, I fucking feel you!” you cry out like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Matthew chuckles, angling his hips to make each of his thrusts deeper, making sure your pussy would really feel everything he had to offer. His balls smack against your clit with every thrust, strings of your wetness sticking to them, and the rough sensations have you reeling. 

Everything about this was perfect. For both you and him.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓣aerae ﹙𝓴.﹚

cowgirl

Taerae likes watching. Likes watching you do everything you do in day-to-day life. And that includes taking his cock. I think that Taerae would prefer cowgirl for some of the same reasons Hao does–namely, you being able to take control of your own pleasure because that’s ultimately what he’s doing this for: to make you feel good. And Taerae has a thick cock. Like, leaves your hole gaping after y’all are done fucking big. So, you being on top helps you manage that a little better as well. Plus, Taerae loves watching your tits bounce when you ride him.

Sweat gleams on your skin as your hands rest on his chest, a way for you to balance yourself as you ride him slowly. Maybe it’s wrong for him to enjoy seeing the way you struggle to accommodate his size, but Taerae can’t find it in himself to care at the moment. And your head feels dizzy even when you’re working over him so slowly. Thankfully your pussy was soaked. Both with your juices and with his spit, making it easy for you to bounce up and down.

You’re taking your time, and Taerae loves how you’re teasing him without even realizing it. He reaches up, rolling one of your sensitive nipples between his fingers and making your hips jerk. “You’ve taken it before, but you’re enjoying it tonight, hmm?” 

“S-Shut up,” you whine, increasing your pace just a little bit at his teasingly, and your tits bounce a little more with your harsher movements. Taerae watches as you roll your hips, feeling the way your pussy greedily sucks at his cock, and he almost feels bad for making you do all of this on your own. But it was so much more satisfying this way. For both you and him.

He chuckles softly, letting go of your nipple, settling back further against his pillows as he prepares to just lie back and enjoy the show. You almost want to complain at the way he tucks his hands behind his head like the way your cunt milking his cock isn’t affecting him. “I’ll shut up and you’ll ride then.”

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓡icky ﹙𝓼.﹚

standing

Having sex standing up is just so much better in Ricky’s opinion. He isn’t sure if it’s because he likes using his strength on you in a minimal way, or if it’s because his dick is so good that your knees quite literally give out because of it. He thinks that standing sex makes things feel so much better too. Like your pussy feels so much tighter when he has your front pinned against a wall as he fucks you, and how he can tell by the expression on your face when you cum that the orgasm feels so much more intense.

“Feels weird!” you cry, nails digging into his forearm as Ricky keeps his arms wrapped tightly around your middle. You squirm a little at the pressure, but Ricky does it for the sake of making sure you don’t fall to the floor. And while it might feel a little weird, he knew that it was only the pleasure consuming you as his cock kissed your cervix with each thrust. Your pussy flutters around his base again as he shallowly fucks into you.

Ricky pants against your neck, pausing his efforts of marking you as well as slowing his movements. “Good weird or bad weird–”

“No, no, don’t stop!” And that was enough of an answer for him. Ricky picks up the pace again, one of his hands coming to toy with your clit as you feel your knees tremble from the added sensation. “Oh!”

His biceps have gotten so much bigger lately, and his subtle ways of showing them off have been leaving you feeling dizzy. This was no exception, and you couldn’t wait to see the way the marks your nails left on his skin would look with his new muscles. Ricky’s nose nudges your jaw, prompting you to turn your head to the side, only for his lips to meet yours.

Similar to how his cock fucks into you, his tongue pushes inside your mouth, and you can’t hold your orgasm back anymore. The sounds of your release hitting the floor has you gasping against his lips, oversensitivity kicking in as Ricky’s fingers lightly circle your clit through the orgasm. Turns out, that weird feeling was your pussy getting ready to squirt from how good it felt to be fucked standing up.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓖yuvin ﹙𝓴.﹚

mating press

Starting this one off with the obvious: Gyuvin is huge. No doubt about it. And who is he to waste his size if not in a position where you’re going to feel everything. Being able to pin you down is one of the things that makes the mating press position so appealing to Gyuvin–keeping your knees back by your tits just by leaning the weight of his chest over you. It was his way of making sure you couldn’t run away from the pleasure. You just had to lie there and take it.

Sex with Gyuvin is messy. Even more so when he has you so exposed like this. Both of you have already orgasmed at least once (you more than he), but neither of you wants to stop. His thick cock parts your folds in a stretch that you still struggled to believe was real sometimes, as his tip abuses a spot inside of you that has you seeing entire galaxies. His cum and yours leaks out around his cock, a creamy, white ring forming around the base.

“O-Oh, fuck,” Gyuvin groans as another spurt of pre-cum shoots out into your cunt, only adding to the wetness between your thighs. The feeling has you squirming, your hips trying to escape despite wanting more. Thankfully, though, Gyuvin knows this. His hands come to your thighs, folding them up to your chest to pin you down. 

The expression of how much bigger he is than you has a rush of warmth going through your overstimulated nerves. “You drive me crazy,” he breathes, face coming down to hide in your neck. “I feel like it’s never enough, I just need more all of the time, and I feel insane–”

“Me too,” you pant out, trying to sound reassuring, but it sounds more meek than anything. A result of being fucked out of your mind. “Want more of you– So cum in me again.”

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓖unwook ﹙𝓹.﹚

spooning

I literally have such a hard time picturing Gunwook as anything other than a soft lover, so I think that the spooning position is so perfect for him. Like this position is so incredibly intimate, and that’s all he ever wants to feel with you. He wants to feel like you’re the only person in the world, and he wants you to feel the same thing towards him. So, he tries to consume all of your senses through fucking you like this. Because when he’s mouthing at your neck while one of his big hands rests over the bulge of his dick in your belly, it’s hard to think of anything else except for him.

“I’m tired, Wook,” you mumble, but your boyfriend’s being stubborn tonight. That much is clear by the way he rolls over in bed, his body cuddling up closely behind yours. You try to ignore the very obvious bulge in his pajama pants. “We need to sleep.”

“I’ll be quick. Promise.” 

And before you know it, Gunwook’s lazily fucking into you, your thighs parted just enough to let him between them. Your thighs rub together, causing your folds to rub your clit in a way that has you keening softly. That, and the heat of Gunwook’s mouth against the sensitive skin of your neck is only making your body sink further into the mattress.

Steady waves of pleasure go over the both of you, making this feel like so much more than getting off quickly. It feels like your souls are truly intertwined with the way he’s weakly fucking into you, breathing in your scent and panting your name. His words mirroring his thoughts. “Need you like this every night. Need to show you how much I love you.” You want to tell him that you already know how much he loves you. He shows you everyday, but he’s fucking you so good and so lazily that everything just feels so much deeper. “You’ll let me stay in after I’m done, right?”

[wheatrice]

“Muah,” you beam, pressing a soft peck into Sylus’s cheek. “Muah!”

Another. And another. And another scattered little kiss along the skin of his face as he sits with you situated comfortably on his lap, hands tracing up and down your hips. It’s late—somewhere close to the sun’s routine time to rise, and somewhere close to Sylus’s routine time to fall asleep. He’s a lot easier to bend to your whims like this, when he’s tired and limp under you and lets you have your way.

He hums, curling his lips into an sleepy smile as he murmurs, “you missed a spot.”

“You don’t get to get picky when you get free affection,” you say instantly.

His smile drops. Something of a grouchy scowl (that’s more like a pout, if you’re being honest) drapes along his lips and forces them into that downward curl. Your lips do the exact opposite, curling up at the sight of his dissatisfaction.

“Well, sweetie,” he drawls, “who knew you could be so stingy?”

“I’m not being stingy,” you grin, purposely missing his lips as you press your next kiss, landing it right over his Cupid’s bow and watching as his eyes flash impatiently. “I’m teaching you a valuable lesson.”

“Which is?”

“We don’t always get what we want.”

“Funny,” Sylus quirks a brow, that awful, terrible, nightmarish and dangerous smug look returning to his features as his eyes narrow, “because I always get what I want. It’s as simple as taking it.

The room is spinning and shifting and tilting on its axis as you feel everything move in a blur—one second you’re on top of him, sat on his lap, and the next second he’s hovering over you, melting your body into the mattress like it could swallow you whole under his weight.

“Sylus!” You screech, earning a low chuckle from him, “get off of me you brute!”

“Not until you give me what I want.”

“No!”

“Then I’m not moving.”

And true to his word, he settles himself on top of you, promptly pressing all his body weight over yours as his drapes his figure on top of you. He’s heavy—in a pleasant sort of way. He feels like comfort and home and warmth pressing into you and crushing your bones with nothing more than body mass and willpower. You like it. And as if on cue, your hand instinctively finds the back of his head to smooth through his hair.

Sometimes your body just does that. Admits he’s what you want and what you need against its will. Admits it likes him there and welcomes him like your souls are two halves of a whole—one involuntary muscle responding to him at a time.

“You’re heavy,” you whine.

“This could all be solved rather simply if you’d just give me a proper kiss, sweetheart. But you insist on hissing like a stray kitten in an alleyway.”

“And it’s just too easy to ruffle your feathers,” you giggle, rubbing a hand along the nape of his neck and feeling him shiver under your touch, “who knew a kiss could have you so worked up?”

“I’m not worked up,” he grumbles quietly. You smile wider. He pinches your hips in warning without even looking at you.

“Spoiled,” you murmur, “that’s what you are.”

“Spoiled is what you are with how you swipe my card,” he retorts, earning a glare from you. His eyes are half lidded—heavy, and tired, and slowly closing shut against his will as he stifles a yawn, giving you a poor attempt at a smirk.

“No kisses for you forever.”

“I think that’ll cause you more distress than me in the long run.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of talking?” You huff exhaustedly.

“I’ll stop talking long enough for a quick nap if you give me a proper kiss,” he negotiates. Like the proper, opportunistic business man that he is. So good at playing his cards right and getting the deal he wants so badly, just enough that he always walks away with the better end of the stick.

Sly, you’d call it.

Persuasive, he’d correct.

And you’re convinced. Persuaded and swayed into his trap because all he has to do is give you those sweet, tired little blinks of his eyes and that hopeful little look as he stares at your lips before you cave and fold like a piece of paper into his awaiting palms.

“You’ll finally sleep and leave me alone if I give you a kiss?” You pretend to bargain.

He nods earnestly, “oh yes, sweetie. I’ll be out like a light faster than you can call Mephisto over to be witness of our deal.”

“Okay,” you roll your eyes. “One kiss.”

“So stingy,” he chuckles.

“I’m not—”

He kisses you. Props his head up, still blanketing you with all his weight as he kisses you softly. Like he means it. Lips carving out lips like he’s mean to mold your flesh to fit the shape of his. You gasp, and he lets out a soft sigh into your mouth, closing his eyes and pressing into you as much as he can.

When your hands twist into his hair, he lets out a soft groan, slumping more weight into you (if that’s even possible) before his breathing gets shallower.

When he finally pulls away, his head tucks itself back into your neck as he mumbles, “told you I’d get what I want.”

It comes out like a soft slur. Your eyes widen instantly.

“Sylus, no—I have to get up for the day so don’t even think about—”

He’s asleep. Heavy, limp, and comfortably on top of you. You try a sad, futile attempt to shove him off, but he’s stuck. Glued to you like his life depends on it. (Sometimes it does, you think. Sometimes it feels like he lives only for you. Only knows how to breathe when he’s sure you’re there to listen to his soft breaths.)

“You asshole,” you mutter, “you spoiled, obnoxious asshole.”

He always gets what he wants—the feeling of your delicate body under his, and the nails that trace his scalp softly in defeat are good enough proof of that.

Early bday drabble. Long fic to come. Stay tuned. This is a sylus only blog. I don’t even like mydei even a little bit. What else? I think I’ve covered all my bases

[wheatrice]

been in such a fluffy but smutty mood recently lmao so…

soft sex with gyuvin,, him thrusting slow but deep while he leaves open mouthed kisses down your neck. he’s so big and thick,, stretching you out so good :,( gyuvin is Not quiet at all— he’s groaning against your neck, “fuck, that's it baby, feels so fuckin' good inside this sweet little pussy," he murmurs, his voice low and rough, "s'like fuckin' heaven, baby, swear to god..." Now. when he’s close to cumming, his groans turn into moans and suddenly he’s whining, begging you to let him fill you up. “please baby, fuck, can i? you gonna let me fill this pretty pussy up?” (and when you say yes he fills you up soooosososo good, mumbling little praises about how you did so good for him n that he loves you 🙈)

alright goodbye now crawling back into my hole (please send gyuvin asks i beg)

[wheatrice]

chapter 2 ── too easy, this game.

the spider’s sense: a spidercaleb series.

♥︎ spider-man!caleb x fem!reader

synopsis. ┆ caleb’s life was perfect—until it wasn’t. a radioactive spider bite turned him into linkon’s friendly neighborhood spider-man, the daily bugle started hunting for the man behind the mask, and to top it all off, he was forced to partner up with you—his smart, competitive, and infuriatingly perfect classmate who threatened his spot as number one in the class rankings.

tags/warnings. ┆ college/modern au, academic rivals to lovers, fluff, angst, eventual smut, gran isn’t evil in this LOL, the canon event, college parties, alcohol consumption, cliches, depictions of serious crime, references to the spider-man comics and movies, mdni

chapter summary. ┆ after you’re forced to check up on caleb, you realize that your methods of revenge can be sweeter and much more interesting than you had originally anticipated.

prev: pest control. ┆ series masterlist. ┆ next: soon!

“Remember that fundraiser I was telling you about?”

You lift your gaze from the sidewalk, giving Tara a sideways glance. “Yeah, I think so. What about it?”

“Well,” she sings, hugging her thick textbook tighter to her chest before nudging you with her elbow, “I was wondering if you’d like to help us out! We’re always looking for more girls, you know. The sisters of Delta Gamma can only do so much.”

You suck your teeth, tilting your head as your eyes drift to the towering oak tree at the center of the great lawn. The campus had spent the past few days drowning under gray skies and spring showers, but today, the sun had finally broken through. Its warmth pressed against your skin, so bright you had to squint just to avoid being completely blinded.

You look back at Tara. “What day is it again?”

“Next Saturday,” she says with a shrug. “2 PM, in the parking lot between the Delta Gamma house and Lambda Chi Alpha’s.” A pause, as if she was already sensing your impending rejection. “Please? Please!”

You hate when she does this. The puppy dog eyes. That hopeful little tilt of her head. The same look that had managed to drag you to one too many frat parties when you swore you wouldn’t go. Saying no made you feel like some heartless villain stomping on an ant just for the fun of it, and for a moment, you almost caved entirely.

“I’ll… think about it, but midterms are–” you start, but before you can finish, she’s already beaming.

“Yay!” Tara links her arm through yours, practically bouncing as you continue toward Grand Hall. “I’ll text you all the details, ‘kay? I so owe you one.”

You press your lips into a thin smile, debating whether to remind her that you hadn’t actually said yes. Instead, you settle for, “If I end up making it, we’ll call it even for you helping me study for chem.”

She grins. “Good luck on that, by the way. I know you’ll do great!”

The two of you stop outside the building, and Tara leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially like she’s about to tell you a scandalous secret.

“And remember, the electron cloud model—”

“—is the area around an atom’s nucleus where electrons are most likely to be found,” you finish, unable to fight a smile. “I know, I know. You trained me well.”

You squeeze her arm before unhooking yourself and stepping into the lecture hall.

“I’ll find you after class!” she calls after you.

Inside, the air is sharp with cold, and a shiver runs down your spine. The mood of the room seems different today, as if the oxygen you were all breathing in was thick with anxiety. Your seatmate, Yvonne, is already at her desk, supplies neatly arranged in front of her. You give her a silent smile before sitting down and doing the same.

Once again, you can’t help but notice that the room is quiet—eerily so. Everyone is either too tired to talk or too nervous to form a coherent sentence. Probably both.

As the exam begins, the only sounds filling the space are the rustling of paper and the scratch of pencils against scantrons. You’re on question 21 when you realize you’ve just marked “C” four times in a row. A bead of cold sweat pricks at your temple, and you read over each question about a hundred times, praying that you’ll catch your mistake. After all, that can’t be right… can it? Your gut says yes. Your overthinking says absolutely not.

An hour later, relief ripples through the room as students zip up their backpacks and shuffle toward the front to turn in their scantrons. You’re right behind them, ready to bolt for the door—until Dr. Rappaccini calls your name.

Pausing mid-step, you turn back to face her, plastering on a polite smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah?”

She digs through her bag before pulling out a worn notebook, its cover littered with colorful tabs and sticky notes. Holding it out to you, she looks as if she couldn’t care less about the transaction.

“I believe your lab partner left this in the laboratory last class.”

Your brows furrow as you take the heavy notebook into your hands, flipping it open with a frown. Lo and behold, there it was—‘Property of Caleb Xia’ scribbled in that god-awful handwriting. Raising an eyebrow, you shake your head. “It’s his, yeah… but why are you giving it to me?”

“He didn’t show up for today’s exam, and I’ve canceled class next Monday,” she explains, slinging her tote bag over her shoulder. “Since you work closely with him, I figured you’d see him before I do.”

Now that catches your attention. A sliver—no, a slap—of satisfaction rolls through you. So his sabotage in the lab had already come back to bite him? Karma was fast today. You couldn’t be happier. But unfortunately, the thought of voluntarily interacting with Caleb makes your stomach churn, so you extend the notebook back to your professor without hesitation.

“I assure you, I don’t care to see that man. It’s probably best if you return it to him.”

She glances at her watch, and you can practically see the sweat break out on her forehead. “Oh, I wish I had the time to. I’m running late!”

Gathering her belongings, she makes a beeline for the door. You’re quick to try and follow suit.

Her voice adds a swift, “Ask around! I’m sure someone can help you track him down.”

“But wait! I don’t even—”

The door slams behind Dr. Rappaccini, leaving you frozen in place with Caleb’s stupid notebook clutched to your chest.

“—know what building he lives in.”

You groan, dragging your feet toward the exit, already dreading the idea of having to track down that idiot. In fact, maybe you won’t.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

“Hey, what are you doing?”

Tara’s voice cuts through the air, startling you. The flicked lighter in your hand dies out before you can hold it to the bottom of Caleb’s notebook long enough for the flames to catch.

“The damn thing won’t light,” you huff, shaking your head in defeat. “Do you happen to know anyone on campus who has lighter fluid?”

Tara crouches beside you, watching with mild horror as you attempt—and fail—to ignite the corner of the notebook again. “Uh… no, not off the top of my head.” She pauses, tilting her head. “And just to be clear, you’re aware that you’re about to light your notebook on fire, right?”

You shrug. “It’s not mine.”

Her head snaps toward you so fast you worry about whiplash. “Okay, let me rephrase that. You’re aware that you’re about to commit a felony, right?”

You flick the lighter again, giving her a puzzled look. “Please, Tara, I don’t care about felonies right now. This is war, and I need to take my revenge.”

“Revenge?” she echoes, her lips tugging downward like she hadn’t considered that to be your motive. “On the notebook or the owner?”

“On Caleb fucking Xia,” you reply, punctuating each word with another flick of the lighter. Then, finally, a tiny flame flickers to life at the corner of the notebook. A wide grin spreads across your lips. “Yay! I did it! Look, I—”

Tara leans forward, blows out the flame, and snatches the lighter from your grasp. “Are you nuts? You can’t just burn his chem notebook!”

You hum, twisting your lips to the side. “You’re right. I’d totally get caught. Maybe I should pawn it off to a frat guy? Make a quick buck. They’d probably pay good money for his notes.”

“What? No! You can’t burn his notebook because that would mean stooping to his level!”

You reach for the lighter, but she stretches her arm out just far enough that you can’t reach.

“Tara! When they go low, we must go lower.”

“When they go low, we should be the bigger person,” she corrects, patting your head like a disobedient child. “How did you even get it? You didn’t steal it, did you?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “No, I wish. Dr. Rappaccini gave it to me to return to him. Apparently, he left it in the lab.”

Tara tilts her head. “Oh. He didn’t show up for the exam? That’s… unlike him.”

Shrugging, you brush off the singed paper flakes from the bottom of the notebook. “I guess. Can’t say I care, though. It’s what he deserves.”

She scoffs. “Geez, this whole scandal has turned you heartless. The Caleb I know would rather eat glass than miss an exam, especially the first one of the semester. I hope he’s alright.”

“In that case, maybe you should be the one to return it to him,” you suggest, holding it out. “You seem to know where he lives, and you actually care if he’s alive. That’s already two steps in the right direction.”

Tara glances at her phone, then sucks on her teeth before flashing you a wry smile. “Oh, shoot! I can’t. I have my physics exam in four minutes.” Before you can argue, she’s already bolting toward her class. “Uh, I think he’s close with Zayne! The one from our bio class!”

You toss your hands up. “Why the hell am I being sent on a manhunt?” Patting your pockets, you realize something’s missing. “Hey! You took my lighter.”

“It’s for the better!” she calls over her shoulder.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

After a deep dive through Canvas, a trip to Outlook to send Zayne a rather frantic email, and a very long walk across campus, you find yourself stalking through the halls of an unfamiliar dorm building.

Your eyes flick up from your phone every few steps, scanning the numbers on the doors to make sure you haven’t somehow wandered into oblivion. It’s been ten minutes—too long, in your opinion—and you’re beginning to feel like a headless zombie, doomed to wander these halls forever.

That is, until your eyes land on a familiar set of numbers.

Room 323.

Exhaling sharply, you raise your fist and knock three times against the door. The response is almost immediate—an audible thud, followed by an impressive string of curses.

Then, the door swings open, revealing a very panicked and very shirtless Caleb.

And you? Your brain short-circuits. 

For a second—just one—you can’t help it. Your gaze drops straight to his torso, where sharp lines of muscle carve into his biceps and abdomen like a damn Michelangelo sculpture. You’re almost positive those weren’t there yesterday. Scratch that. You’re absolutely positive they weren’t. 

And you would have noticed. You’re nothing if not boundlessly observant. After all, you’re just a girl. You would have noticed if your infuriating classmate had nice biceps that would have certainly softened the blow of his sudden betrayal in the lab yesterday. 

Pretty privilege is alive and well, you can’t help but think. 

Caleb, looking equally flustered, yanks the door halfway shut, reducing the view to just his face. His chest still heaves from whatever chaos had preceded your arrival.

“I, uh… um.” He blinks, clearly rebooting his internal system. His brain fries, and of course the first thing he can do is lean his elbow against the door frame while not-so-obviously flexing his much larger bicep in the process. “So… what’s up?”

Dragging your gaze up to meet his with only minor difficulty, you hold up the slightly charred notebook in your hands. “You left this in class. Rappaccini told me to bring it to you.”

Caleb reaches for it, and the moment his fingers graze the cover, his brows furrow. He flips it over, rubbing his thumb against the edge. A smudge of soot stains his hand.

“What… happened to it?”

You lift your shoulders, hands flying up in a gesture of pure innocence. “No clue. Your guess is as good as mine.”

Before he can properly assess the obvious fire damage, you straighten your posture. If you beat him to it, there’s a good chance that you’ll be able to walk away from this entire ordeal scot free. 

Just… be civil. You can do that much.

“Are you not going to say thank you? I literally had to email your roommate to find out where you live. It was a total inconvenience.”

Or not.

Caleb presses his lips into a thin line, tossing the notebook onto his desk before giving you a barely-there nod. “Right. Thanks.”

His clipped tone does nothing to soothe your irritation. You’re actually starting to regret not letting the damn thing go up in flames. If it weren’t for Tara and her obnoxious morality complex, you would have.

“You’re welcome,” you say sweetly, pivoting to leave. But just before he can close the door, something crosses your mind. “Oh! By the way, I wrote my number in the margin.”

Caleb’s eyes widen. His grip on the door frame tightens. “What? For me?”

A beat of silence. Then, you burst into laughter, and the fact that he isn’t laughing with you makes it ten times funnier. You have to physically wipe the tears from your eyes before you can speak again.

“Oh, you’re serious?” you wheeze, still catching your breath. “God, no. It’s for Zayne.”

“For… Zayne?”

You nod. “Yup. I have biology with him.”

Caleb leans back slightly, like you’ve just personally offended his ancestors. “And? You have chem with me.”

You flash him an expression that Caleb can only assume is the most passive-aggressive smile known to mankind. “Mm-hmm. Well, maybe I want to get in kahoots with people who don’t sabotage my lab reports.”

Ouch. Caleb rubs the back of his neck, swallowing hard. “About that…”

“Save it,” you hum, turning to leave. “Just be a doll and relay the message, yeah?”

But just before you step away, your eyes flicker to his chest again—this time, with an exaggerated furrow of concern. “Wait a sec… what the hell is that? You should really get that nasty mole checked out.”

Caleb’s brows knit together. He instinctively glances down—

And just as his chin tilts, your hand smacks against it, forcing it back up. Your laughter is louder this time. Almost cruel.

“Too easy, this game,” you taunt, shaking your head.

You’re gone before he can do anything other than stand there, jaw slack, ears burning a shade of red that rivals a fire hydrant. How could you prank him with the easiest trick in the book? He rubs his chin, shaking his head in utter defeat as he nudges his door shut. 

Yeah. He doesn’t like you one bit.

Before he can dwell on that fact, his phone buzzes in his pocket. 

xavier (pres of lambda chi alpha): i woke up late and missed physics. can U slide me the notes for the past week? i also slept through those days too… btw Ur still coming to the frat car wash next saturday right ?? we need U bro. U brought in so many new customers 

caleb: sure man :)

xavier (pres of lambda chi alpha): the goat

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Sirens blare loud enough to wake you, their wailing cries bouncing off the buildings outside your window. The flashing of red and blue does little to ease your nerves—if anything, it invites the perfect storm of overthinking.

Your room is a mess. You haven’t eaten a balanced meal in days. A biology project is due next week. But above all? Midterms are rapidly approaching.

Lately, most of your days are spent holed up on the second floor of the library, tucked away in your usual corner seat. From there, you can people-watch from above and soak in just enough sunlight to keep from feeling like life is draining from you with each word you scribble down or type up. But after a while, even the comfort of routine turns into a cage.

It’s monotonous. Tiring. Far too predictable for your liking. If you don’t see at least one interesting thing each day—whether it’s someone walking their adorable dog or a person wearing a sweater so blindingly neon it makes your eyes hurt—you consider the day a waste. You still study, of course, but you need something of substance to fuel your brain. Something besides your bitter iced coffee, which barely manages to keep you conscious.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion of your second midterm season settling into your bones. Maybe it’s the weight of all your responsibilities pressing down on your shoulders. Whatever it is, it drives you to seek out a new place to study.

Is it 4 AM? Yes. Are the sirens especially loud tonight? Also yes. You can’t sleep. Sue you.

It makes perfect sense why you find yourself trudging into your university’s 24-hour café, headphones snug over your ears and meal card already in hand. Fuzzy pajama pants and an oversized hoodie hang off your frame, but if the cashier doesn’t care, neither do you. You’d be damned if you didn’t at least get your usual morning drink and a slice of banana bread to kickstart your day.

No more than an hour passes before the faint jingle of the entrance bell rings to life, prompting you to spare a glance over your shoulder, curiosity piqued.

Luck isn’t on your side. Of course it’s Caleb. 

And he looks… different. Not in the way he did a few days ago—no, he looks worn. Tired. A bruise blooms across his cheek, stark even in the café’s dim lighting. You force yourself to look away before you can start ogling like a freak. Again.

But as he makes his way in your direction, you barely suppress a groan, turning back toward your laptop in a last-ditch effort to seem busy. It doesn’t work. Not when you feel the weight of his beady little amethyst stare boring into the back of your head. 

You sigh, forcing a cheery tone. “Can you maybe not stand next to me looking like a decaying corpse? You’re going to attract flies.” 

Caleb shrugs, managing to pick an almond off your banana bread before you slap his hand away. “You’re doing that on your own. Didn’t you hear? This café was infested with fruit flies last semester. Your perfume is basically a mating call for ‘em.”

You huff, tilting your head. “Aw. Is that your way of saying I smell nice?” 

Rolling his eyes, Caleb crosses his arms over his chest. You notice a small cut on his bicep, but you do your best not to stare. You've done enough of that lately. 

“No,” he flatly says. “I’m just… stating my observation.” 

You turn back to your laptop, sliding your headphones over your ears. “Well, stop observing me.”

”Psh. Gladly.”

His actions are the first thing to betray his words, because he makes the executive decision to sit in the chair directly behind yours. He was sitting so damn close that you could feel the warmth of his skin through his hoodie—which you now notice is thrashed in a few places, as if he had taken scissors to the fabric and snipped away. It was odd, but you managed to look away as he shifted around to fish his own laptop out of his backpack. 

Then, before you can finish typing the sentence you’d been working on before he walked in, he beats you to it. Obnoxiously so. His fingers slam against his keyboard with such force you briefly wonder if an elephant from the Linkon City Zoo has escaped and taken up tap dancing behind you.

Your teeth clench. “Can you stop typing so damn loud?” 

“Oh, I’m not the loud one here.” 

You glance over your shoulder, finding that he was already looking at you, “And that means what exactly?”

“It means that I could probably hear your music if I was three miles away.” With his new heightened senses, that was hardly an exaggeration. He gave you an all-too-charming smile. “Turn it down a few levels, yeah? Thanks.” 

The lilt to his voice made you want to set him straight in more ways than one. “You little—”

“New Magic Wand by Tyler, The Creator at 4 AM is crazy work, by the way.” 

“Boy, I’ll show you crazy—”

Suddenly, a chipper voice rings through the air. Much to your surprise, it called out your name.

Tara strides in as if you all aren’t up at the crack of dawn, looking incredibly enthusiastic about life, much like she always did. You wish you could inherit whatever will she has to live.

“Hey!” she greets with a wave. She plops down beside you, turning around in her seat so that she could face both you and Caleb at the same time. “Funny seeing you guys here. Are you talking about the fundraiser?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Why would we be talking about the fundraiser?” he can’t help but question. 

“Well,” Tara sings, “my girl here is going to be helping out Delta Gamma with the sorority wash! And you’re going to be helping out Lambda Chi Alpha again this year, right?” 

Caleb is almost positive that his heart has just dropped to his ass. 

He looks between you and Tara. “What? She can’t come.”

You let out a short, annoyed breath. “And why can’t I?”

And he knows he sounds like a petulant child when he mutters, “It’s my thing.”

“Aw,” you coo, tilting your head with a forced pout. “Is it your thing? Womp womp.” 

Caleb rolls his eyes, but you don’t care to see it as you lean toward Tara, lowering your voice as if you were telling her top secret information. “Why didn’t you tell me he would be there?”

“Because if I had, you would have totally refused,” she says matter-of-factly. “And we need you! We can’t let the guys bring in more revenue than us this semester, they held it over our heads for, like… months last time! Plus, I need you to combat him. I swear, he brought in more customers than anyone ever has, it’s no wonder Xavier begged him to do it again.”

You blink. “Are you serious?” 

Tara nods. 

You can’t help but rub your chin. “I’m surprised anyone paid him for that.” 

Caleb glances between the two of you. “I’m sitting right here.”

You glance his way. “We know.”

He lets out a harsh breath. “Look. If you don’t want to see me there, don’t come. Real easy fix.”

You tilt your head, raising a brow. “Why do I have to be the one to cancel? Why can’t you just skip it? You already had your fun last year playing chick magnet or… whatever.”

“I can’t. I already made a commitment.”

“Well, so did I.”

“Perfect!” Tara beams, clasping her hands together. “I’ll see you both there then. This is gonna be sooo much fun, guys! You can probably even get over the little feud you have going on, I swear, it’ll be…”

Caleb can’t even hear the rest of whatever Tara was saying. His mind is too busy short-circuiting over this very dreadful realization. 

You’ll be there. 

In a bikini top.

Covered in soap suds. 

Trying to pass him up yet again. 

This was going to be a damn nightmare.

series masterlist. ┆ next: soon!

a/n consider liking, commenting, or rb if you enjoyed :) i’m sorry this update took so long </3 i got so swamped with my uni work and wasn’t entirely satisfied with the chapter sooo i pushed it off.

i know that this is lowkey a slow start with really short chapters and there isn’t much spider-man stuff going on rn but… trust me guys. just trust me.

also ofc there’s a xavier cameo bc that’s my man soooo i had to include him somehow, even if he’s just a sleepy frat boy

edit: if you don’t know what a frat/sorority wash is just look them up on tiktok LMAO, it’s usually shirtless frat guys and sorority girls in bikini tops who wash cars to raise money for their foundations. it’s just a silly college tradition idk 😭

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[wheatrice]

love this but at the same time how dare he fuck up her lab report?!?!

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 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

[wheatrice]

somnophilia with gyuv

oooohhoho yesyesyes

all day gyuvin’s mind was full of you,, poor baby couldn’t wait to get home and stuff you full. but todays schedule ended up lasting longer than intended, causing him to come home really late </3. he knew you’d be asleep so he’d already settled on jerking himself off and letting you sleep ;(

that was until he walked into your shared bedroom, where you were sound asleep.. nothing but one of his t-shirts and your pink panties he loved. gyuv gets soo hard at the sight to the point that it’s painful so he climbs into the bed behind you, sliding the shirt up before pushing your panties to the side. he quietly pulls down his sweats before aligning himself with your hole. when he pushes in, it takes everything in him to not moan out loud from how good you feel :(( he’s got his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he slowly starts to thrust, feeling you stir in your sleep. mumbles smth like “fuck baby ‘m sorry, you feel so good, i couldn’t help it..” he cums embarrassingly quick, just something about the situation has him blowing his load early <////3

gyuvin makes up for it by eating you out when you finally wake up ;)

[wheatrice]

gyuvin size kink i’m feral for this man omg 😭 🙏

-🍓

cw unprotected p in v sex, cumming inside, backshots, clit play, gyuvin puts you in a headlock :P

✉️ me too babe, me too

Thinking about Gyuvin hitting it from the back. It’s a position he rarely picks because he likes to watch your face as he fucks you, but for some reason tonight he felt the need to completely consume you.

His chest is folded over your back as you struggle to keep yourself propped up, his huge dick hitting so deep inside of you that you can practically feel him in your stomach. Cries of his name leave you, at least they feel like cries to you, but all Gyuvin hears is tiny whimpers. You fit so perfectly under him, your head tucked under his chin as he fucks you roughly and it’s difficult for him to not completely let go and use your perfect pussy in the way he wants to. Sweet whispers from him meet your ears as Gyuvin feels you tighten around him (“You close? Already? We just started…”) and the soft words make your arms give out.

But your head doesn’t meet the mattress, instead, one of Gyuvin’s thick arms is wrapping around your throat. He has you in a headlock, your hands weakly gripping at his biceps as he keeps your head up while his pace never falters. “Feels so good, doesn’t it? Takes us a while to get your cute pussy ready for me, but when we do– God, it’s like it was made for me…” 

Your mouth bites down gently against his muscles as you prevent a scream from leaving you at how deep he is and how one of his large, veiny hands reaches around you to press a finger against your clit. It doesn’t take much effort for him to stimulate the hard, swollen bud, the force of his thrusts and contact of his finger is enough to have you cumming around him. 

“Gonna fill you up so much that it leaks out,” Gyuvin whispers to you as a rush of arousal goes through him from the slight pain of your teeth sinking into his skin. He’s true to his word too, his warm cum filling your womb and leaving both you and him completely satisfied.

[wheatrice]

dear god i need him

slow sex with gyuvin which turns into rough, deep sex when he sees the bulge on your lower tummy from how big his cock is inside you. him towering over your smaller body when he pushes you into the mattress with the sheer force of his thrusts, soft little whines and squeal and cute little squeaks coming out of you. him continuing even after you’ve cum and making you unravel over and over again while he hasn’t even cum once, and then he finally cums deeeep inside of you, tip kissing your cervix, planting little pecks on your forehead, praising you for taking it so well and being such a good girl.

damn this is the MOST i’ve ever yapped omfg i think i’m insane 😭 you can tell how fucking horny i amm there is a severe lack of dom gyuvin on the internet

-🍓

cw p in v unprotected sex, rough-ish sex, cumming inside, size kink, praise kink, overstimulation, mentions of oral (f!receiving) and fingering, belly bulge, dom!Gyuvin, Gyuvin calls reader puppy 18+ MDNI

✉️ you're actually insane, this is everything. How can I even add anything to this when it's already perfect T-T

When Gyuvin doms, he can either be a tease or overwhelming in the best way. This night had started with him in that teasing mood. Hours of him slowly eating you out and carefully fingering you, stretching you out and getting you ready to take his huge length. By the time he’s done, you’re trembling softly, pussy swollen from his kisses and gentle nips, and any slight move of his fingers has you cumming around them. Gyuvin’s obsessed with when he gets you like this: extremely sensitive and willing to do anything if it means he’ll keep touching you. 

“You’ve done this before, nothing different about tonight, baby…” Gyuvin whispers as he presses a kiss to your temple, rubbing his full palm against your pussy in an attempt to soothe you. “Don’t get shy on me now, puppy, you asked for this,” he says, a small smirk on his lips as a sharp gasp leaves you when the leaking tip of his veiny cock is pressed against your folds. He has to pin your hips down to keep you from running away from the stretch as he slowly sinks into you. Gyuvin can’t help but moan. There’s something so perfect about the way you fit with him, how your warmth envelops his entire length (even if it does take a bit of work), and every time he’s intimate with you, he can’t help but get lost in the feeling of how much he loves you.

He tries to be gentle at first, easing you into things with slow rolls of his hips. He pulls all the way out, leaving his throbbing tip inside of you before pushing back in, making sure to angle his hips in just the way you like. When you let out a small whimper, hands reaching up for his shoulders, Gyuvin knows you want him closer. So he presses his forehead against yours, your noses brushing as your arms wrap around his neck and as he continues his deep thrusts. 

At least, until he glances down to see the small bulge in your lower abdomen every time he fully sinks into you. That makes something in him snap. You have to be ready to take him, right? He’d been taking care of you for hours.

“Hold on, baby.” 

The next thrust has you crying out from how deep he feels, over the spots he hits and you dig your nails into his skin. Angry, red marks decorate Gyuvin’s broad back as he fucks you hard and fast, just the way he wants to. It’s not long before you’re close, and when his large hand presses down against where his dick is buried inside of you, you’re cumming hard. Things don’t stop there though. One orgasm from you is never enough for Gyuvin. 

“Make a mess, puppy. Want you to be so wet that my cock can’t even stay inside of you without slipping out…” And you listen to him. You lose track of how many orgasms you have, lost in the continuous loop of pleasure before your dazed mind registers the sounds Gyuvin makes before he cums. Low, whiny moans and you’re sure you sound just as desperate as him when the tip of his dick hits your cervix. The sensation has you reeling, your juices squirting around his cock as he finally cums, filling your womb with his warmth. 

“So good f’me, baby, you’re… God, you’re perfect.” You can barely keep your eyes open as a sweet kiss is pressed to your forehead. “My good girl,” Gyuvin mumbles, “You can take a few more rounds… Yeah?”