synopsis. caleb’s life was perfect—until it wasn’t. a radioactive spider bite turned him into linkon’s friendly neighborhood spider-man, the daily bugle started hunting for the man behind the mask, and to top it all off, he was forced to partner up with you—his smart, competitive, and infuriatingly perfect classmate who threatened his spot as number one in the class rankings.
tags/warnings. college/modern au, academic rivals to lovers, fluff, angst, eventual smut, gran isn’t evil in this LOL, the canon event, college parties, alcohol consumption, cliches, depictions of serious crime, references to the spider-man comics and movies, mdni
a/n. art is by 长白山小葱头 on weibo. this is my first series on this app to celebrate hitting 1K! if you want to join the taglist, comment on this post or send me an ask. from now on, please make sure your age is on your profile or i won’t add you to the list. if you don’t have it, i won’t remind you to add it.
main masterlist. ┆ moodboard. ┆ talk to me!
chapter one ── pest control.
caleb's worst fear comes true when the two of you are assigned as lab partners, especially after your first experiment together goes horribly wrong in more ways than one. (4.6k)
chapter two ── too easy, this game.
after you’re forced to check up on caleb, you realize that your methods of revenge can be much more interesting than you had originally anticipated. (3.8k)
chapter three ── pepper spray.
caleb tries to adapt to his newfound role as the web-slinging hero of linkon city, and you receive the opportunity of a lifetime. (4.8k)
chapter four ── lab partners.
after a series of unfortunate events, caleb shatters any hope of reconciliation with you. or so it seems. (5.0k)
chapter five ── party anthem. (to be released)
internships and frat parties and lizard men, oh my!
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: chapter two.
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.
𖢥
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.
𖢥
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, rhythmic and endless—until he finally exhaled.
“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 in his seat. “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 and shook 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 easily. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s just amusing, is all.” his roommate 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 was still clearly 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.
Maybe Zayne was right.
Maybe he would need all the help he could get.
𖢥
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 and waiting. Praying for a reaction of any kind.
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 is 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. An apology burned on the tip of your tongue, whether it was for the sake of seeking genuine reconciliation or your forced proximity for the semester was unclear. “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.
𖢥
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.
𖢥
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."
(It went without saying that 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: chapter two.
a/n like & reblog if you enjoyed!! this was really fun to write :) also i should’ve mentioned it rly isnt specified how old reader is, just that she’s in college and just starting her second semester at linkon university :) she can be a transfer student (which is kinda what i had in mind), a first year, etc lol it doesn’t really matter bc i’m fine with that being a “plot hole”
i could not stop laughing while writing this at 4am bc i was just imagining caleb coming up with an elaborate ass internalized beef with reader and she’s just sitting in her chem lab like
spiderman!caleb has been floating around in my mind for days… please humor me and picture it.
caleb had it all figured out. academically? he was at top of his class, the golden child of the honors program. socially? he was well known, well liked, and somehow not the total dirtbag that most college guys are.
life was simple. predictable. textbook. that was until three very inconvenient things happened.
number one: he was bit by a radioactive spider. great. suddenly, he has web-slinging powers, majorly heightened senses, and—thanks to a lingering case of static cling—his life has been turned upside down. (seriously, he’s somehow gotten stuck to his dorm room’s ceiling more times than he would like to admit.)
number two: he met you. the timing was impeccable, really. you were smart, competitive, and somehow—no matter what he did—always a step ahead. if he got a 97 in microbiology? you’d score a 98. if he grabbed a cookie from the dining hall? he’d see you with two on your plate. that was deliberate, he’s sure of it. and above all, you’re gunning for top spot in the class, just when he’s trying to juggle his new, freakish reality.
number three: the spider’s sense was created—an anonymous blog dedicated to every little thing spider-man does. caleb’s trying to lay low, but the blog is way too close for comfort.
his new mission? find out who’s behind the blog before they figure out he’s the one they’re writing about. but with you constantly one-upping him and him trying to keep up appearances, caleb might just be in way over his head.
a/n: so obviously i’ve thought about this way too much….. so hypothetically…….would anyone be interested in reading a spidercaleb fic series……. (edit: ok i’m going to post it, i can’t fight the urges.)
comment if you want to be tagged!!
also i got the concept of spidercaleb from paiya443 on x!
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: chapter one. ┆ series masterlist. ┆ next: chapter three.
“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 a mixture of 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.
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.
𖢥
“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.
𖢥
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.
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
𖢥
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: chapter three.
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 😭
(i forgot to post it with tags the first time around so i have to repost it… so sorry for spamming your notifs </3)
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 a series of unfortunate events, caleb shatters any hope of reconciliation with you… or so it seems.
prev: chapter three. ┆ series masterlist. ┆ next: soon!
Caleb didn’t remember making it to his bed last night.
That wasn’t unusual these days. Most nights ended in a whirlwind of aching limbs and crashing adrenaline, a blur of alleyways and sirens, limbs sore from swinging through Linkon’s crumbling skyline until he could scale the fire escape outside his dorm and collapse.
Sometimes he didn’t even bother removing the suit.
The only proof he was even back in one piece was the dull throb in his shoulders and the familiar, worn-in scent of his dorm—old laundry detergent and someone’s leftover chips. That, and the familiar protest of the bunk mattress digging into his back.
A groan slipped from his throat as he tossed an arm over his face, shielding his eyes from the god-awful morning light filtering through the slats of their half-broken blinds.
He could feel the grime still clinging to his skin, last night’s victories sticking to him like second skin. Three attempted robberies, a handful of purse snatchers, and one very memorable dive into a dumpster full of Caesar salad.
(He was trying not to think about that last one.)
The sound of someone clearing their throat sliced through the morning silence.
His whole body went rigid.
He cracked one eye open slowly, only to find Zayne sitting across the room in his desk chair—legs crossed, arms folded, wearing a judgmental expression that practically screamed intervention.
“…Morning, Batman,” Zayne said flatly.
Caleb groaned and rolled over, his voice muffled by the pillow. “Don’t call me that.”
“Then explain why you came in at three in the morning with a limp, croutons in your hair, and—unless I was hallucinating—a fork sticking out of your shoulder.”
Caleb blinked, slowly reaching beneath the blanket to pull the crumpled remains of his suit deeper out of sight. “I got it out. No biggie.”
Zayne gave him a look that could only be described as hardened.
“The silence is so loud,” Caleb muttered, burying his face in his mattress.
“I can wait all day.”
“Okay, okay,” he groaned, pushing himself upright and scrubbing a hand over his face. His hair stood up at odd angles, and he knew from the ache in his back that he probably looked as bad as he felt. “But you have to swear you won’t tell anyone. Not even the snowman plushie on your bed.”
Zayne raised a single brow, then solemnly held up two fingers. “The snowman takes all secrets to the grave.”
“Good.” Caleb exhaled. “Alright, I’ll just rip the bandaid off. I’m Spider-Ma—”
“Spider-Man. Yes. I know. Figured it out two weeks ago.”
Caleb’s words stuttered to a halt. “…You what?”
Zayne reached down, plucking something off the floor. It was Caleb’s mask—plain as day, just lying there like a dirty sock. “Aside from the suspicious injuries, the new muscles, and the fact that you literally crawl through the window every night, this thing hasn’t exactly been subtle.”
“Aw, man,” Caleb collapsed dramatically onto the mattress. “I’m so bad at this.”
“You are,” Zayne agreed cheerfully, tossing the mask onto Caleb’s stomach. “But, for what it’s worth, I admire your… let’s call it ‘unshakable sense of justice.’”
Caleb peeked over the edge of his pillow. “Really?”
“Sure. Very noble. Very heroic.” His roommate tilted his head. “Unless you get arrested, in which case it is just incredibly embarrassing.”
Caleb snorted, grabbing the nearest pillow and chucking it at him.
“Anyway,” he said, fluffing the pillow in his lap, “that was question one.”
“There’s a second question?”
Zayne leaned forward with a nod. “Have you seen the paper this morning?”
Caleb squinted. “The school paper? No offense, but I’m pretty sure you’re the only person who reads that before noon.”
“Unfortunately for you, today’s edition is a little more… relevant than crossword puzzles and department bulletins.”
He pulled out his phone and chucked it toward Caleb, who caught it with the sluggish reflexes of someone who had dodged bullets but not slept.
The Spider’s Sense.
And beneath it, a photo—clear, high quality, unmistakable—of him, mid-air, suit vivid against the valley of skyscrapers.
Who Is Spider-Man?
Weeks ago, witnesses reported a masked individual, clad in red and blue, moving with inhuman agility...
Caleb didn’t even register the rest at first. He was too focused on the photo. That was him. There was no doubt, and his stomach churned.
The rest of the article blurred into a wash of phrases. Masked vigilante. Real-life superhero. Enhanced human? Technology? Guardian or threat?
His hands trembled slightly as he scrolled. “Who wrote this?”
Zayne shrugged. “No clue. It’s anonymous. Might’ve been a student, or one of the permanent writers trying to make a name for themselves by building anticipation.”
Caleb’s chest tightened. The words on the screen burned themselves into his brain. His entire existence was no longer just speculation—it was documented.
“Check socials,” Zayne added. “It’s… sort of everywhere.”
With the dread of someone opening a cursed scroll, Caleb tapped the next app. Twitter. Instagram. TikTok. The internet was flooded. Hashtags. Edits. Fan accounts. A clip of him saving a cyclist from an oncoming truck looped with dramatic music.
And the comments—
victoriastoji: nah girl if he’s saving cats from trees i’d let him web me up aaaanytime
batmanstanfr: This has to be AI. No way he’s real.
coolgirl45: oh yup. I just know there's some fine shyt under that mask. BRING ME HIM.
“My Lord,” Caleb whispered.
“You’re famous,” Zayne said, chewing thoughtfully on a granola bar. “Or infamous. I suppose we’ll find out.”
Caleb dropped the phone into his lap and buried his face in his hands. “There’s no way.”
“There is a way,” Zayne echoed. “And that way is: you’ve gone viral.”
He should’ve felt proud. This was what heroes were, right? Public symbols. Masked protectors. Instead, all he found in its absence was a sinking weight.
This wasn’t just about sneaking around and stopping small-time crooks anymore. It wasn’t just about helping old ladies cross the street or making sure kids didn’t get their bikes stolen. This was bigger. His name—his face, sort of—was out there. His anonymity was already cracking.
𖢥
Tara was sprawled across your bed like a tragic heroine from a Victorian novel, one arm slung over her face as though she’d just received news of an ill-fated engagement. Her jacket had half-slipped off her shoulder, one boot still on, and one sock-covered foot twitching in dramatic protest.
“If I still smell like car wax for the rest of my life,” she whined, “at least I’ll die knowing I did something charitable.”
You snorted quietly, glancing at her from the mirror where you sat cross-legged at your desk. Lip pencil in one hand, tiny sharpener in the other, you worked through the uneven point with surgical focus. Your fingers still ached from scrubbing windshields and hoods three days ago, but the ache was a dull, familiar one. The kind that said: you did something that mattered. That helped, even if it left you sore.
“At least you raised more than your goal,” you said, turning slightly to flash her a small, knowing smile. “Enough for all your upcoming events, and then some. Plus, the extra for the community clinic next month. And, most importantly: more than Lambda Chi Alpha.”
Tara shot up like she’d been electrocuted, her eyes suddenly alive again. “Okay, so— about that,” she said, voice hushed like she was letting you in on a secret. “Because we absolutely crushed it, and because the universe is clearly in our corner for once, the boys are throwing a party this weekend.”
You blinked. “The boys?”
“The frat rats. Xavier, Raf, the entire losing side.” She twirled a hand in the air. “They’re calling it the Midterm Mixer, which is… definitely a choice… but it’ll be so fun, I promise..”
Your face already contorted into a grimace. “Mm, I don’t know. That actually sounds like my worst nightmare.”
“Come on,” Tara pleaded, flopping back into the—your— pillows. “It’s just one night of pretending we’re not slowly drowning in deadlines. A final hurrah before midterms.”
You hesitated, stomach tightening with quiet reluctance. It wasn’t just the looming tests or the pile of lab reports waiting to be written. It was the chance that he might be there..
Caleb.
You hadn’t seen him properly since the meeting prior to your lab presentation. He’d left you hanging—again—and you’d buried your irritation in your workload, trying not to dwell on it. But you had. Of course you had, no matter how much you tried to hide it.
Tara, of course, picked up on your hesitation like a bloodhound. “Wait… is this about he who shall not be named?”
You frowned. “What? No.”
“That was the most suspicious ‘what’ I’ve ever heard. It had, like… three silent subtexts.”
You tried to wave her off, but she grinned, relentless in her pursuit of the truth. “Oh my God, it is. You don’t want to go because you’re afraid of seeing your favorite academic nemesis.”
“He’s not my favorite anything,” you muttered, opening your laptop a little too forcefully.
Tara tilted her head. “Sure he isn’t. That’s why you twirl a finger in your hair every time his name gets mentioned.”
You paused, lip parting in protest, then closed it again. Your hand not-so-suspiciously fell from your hair and into your lap. There was no winning this one.
“What? There was a knot…” you grumbled.
“Right,” she said, lying through her teeth with a smile. “Just admit it. You don’t want to go because you don’t want to look like you care.”
“I don’t care.”
She looked at you, entirely unimpressed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Just know that whatever it is that you’re avoiding, it’s pretty obvious that he feels it too.”
A scoff breaches your lips. “If he did, would he have skipped out on me for the past few labs? I don’t think so.”
Even with your back turned to her, you can hear the smile in Tara’s voice. “Hmm… you certainly have a lot of bitterness in that beautiful voice of yours for someone who ‘doesn’t care.’”
You flushed, caught. You shook your head without a reply, fingers nudging your laptop open once more.
The page for the Linkon Gazette was already pulled up, cursor hovering over your article. The one about him—the masked figure who’d swung across your city like a myth in motion. The one who, for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, kept showing up. The one who’d endured your pepper spray like it was a mild inconvenience and vanished before you could ask a single question.
You knew it was just a story. A journalistic lead. But still, something about him stayed with you. You weren’t sure why.
Maybe it was the adrenaline. Or the way he’d moved—graceful and fast and human in the most impossible way. Or maybe it was the lingering suspicion you couldn’t seem to shake: that you knew him. Or had seen him. Or—
No. That was crazy.
Still, the article had gone semi-viral. Readers were hungry for updates. And you—no matter how much you told yourself it was just curiosity—kept thinking about the man in the mask.
“I’m not saying yes to the party,” you mumbled, mostly to distract yourself.
Tara smirked. “You will. You’ll pretend to hate it, then show up and make someone’s son question his entire life path.”
You rolled your eyes, though the corners of your mouth tugged upward in a way you couldn’t fight off.
She stood and stretched, looking far too pleased with herself. “I’ll circle back later. I’m gonna go ice my legs and emotionally prepare myself for Xavier’s attempts at DJing.”
“Good luck,” you said through a laugh, already clicking through the Gazette’s backend to check the article’s traction.
As she reached the door, she called over her shoulder, “By the way, if you don’t come, I’m sending you a selfie of me at the party every ten minutes until your phone explodes.”
You made a noncommittal noise in response, but something about her words lingered. You didn’t want to go, but a small, traitorous speck inside you did want to. And you weren’t sure if it was the music, the drinks, the celebration—or the possibility of running into someone whose eyes you hadn’t stopped thinking about.
𖢥
The lab room was too quiet.
Not the comforting kind of quiet that came with focus and cooperation. This was…. tense. Brittle. Like if you breathed too loudly or too harshly, the whole ceiling might come down on your heads.
You sat hunched over a spreadsheet, orange highlighter uncapped. Your eyes scanned row after row of Caleb’s recent data entries, and your stomach sank. These weren’t just lazy mistakes—these were guesses. Sloppy ones, too. Unlike him from what you knew of him, both firsthand and through the grapevine. You knew it because you’d been carrying this project on your back for weeks while he’d been… elsewhere.
He stood across the table, spinning a pen between his fingers like it was the only thing keeping his world in balance. You noticed the way his foot tapped incessantly against the tile floor.
He was spiraling.
Not just from guilt—which had been eating away at him since the day the spider sank its fangs into his skin—but from everything. The missed assignments. The long nights swinging between rooftops. The adrenaline spikes. The way his GPA was likely inching closer to ruin, and his spot as top of the class, the thing he’d clawed toward for years, was now hanging by a thread.
The worst part was that he couldn’t even explain it to you, the single person who might be owed as much.
His gaze flicked—again—to the terrarium at the edge of the bench. Three spiders inside. Only, there were supposed to be four. And the second your eyes drifted toward it, he saw the exact moment you noticed.
“Hold on,” you muttered, blinking down at the log sheet in your lap. “Where’s the fourth one?”
Caleb swallowed, heart pounding in his throat. “Huh?”
“The… the striped one,” you clarified, already cross-checking labels. “The one we dosed with the neuromodulator last week.”
He leaned in, squinting at the enclosure like it would pop back into existence if he looked hard enough. “Weeeird,” he said weakly. “Maybe it’s in the soil?”
You didn’t even dignify that with a full look. “It’s not a burrowing species.”
Your voice was clipped, like you’d had enough with his half-baked answers and his endless mistakes.
Caleb couldn’t blame you. He’d been showing up late to labs, forgetting deadlines, spacing out mid-analysis. You had every right to be pissed. Every time he left you to pick up his slack, he told himself he’d make it up to you somehow. And then something else would happen—a car chase, a mugging, a building on fire—and he'd vanish all over again.
Maybe you didn’t know why, but you felt the absence.
“Maybe it teleported,” he tried.
You whipped your head around and gave him a look sharp enough to cut steel. “Seriously?”
He raised his hands like a white flag. “Just sayin’. Science is full of surprises.”
You rolled your eyes and leaned toward the tank, muttering to yourself as you checked the corners. Caleb watched the way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the subtle furrow between your brows. Your fingers moved with purpose. Precision. You were good at this. So good. Better than him, really.
“This doesn’t make sense,” you said under your breath. “Dr. Rappaccini keeps everything airtight— she’s obsessive about it.”
Caleb shrugged, voice too casual. “Maybe one of the other labs took it?”
“Without logging it?” You looked up sharply. “That’s not protocol.”
“Well, we’ve got enough data from the other three, right?” he offered, trying to sound optimistic.
You hesitated. “Barely. It’s not as conclusive without the fourth set, but… I guess we can still present the trends.”
He nodded quickly, seizing the olive branch. “Yeah. And we’ll figure out how to make up the missing variable later. I’ll talk to Rappaccini.”
You blinked, eyebrows lifting. “Since when do you volunteer for extra lab time?”
He looked down at the pipette in his hands. “Just tryin’ to be better.”
Your gaze lingered on him a second longer, like you didn’t quite believe it. “Is this your attempt at a redemption arc or something?” you asked dryly.
Caleb coughed, recovering fast. “You wish.”
You snorted, but the tension between you didn’t ease. He watched you scribble something in your notebook, your pen tapping against the margin in steady, rhythmic bursts. It was always like this—silent patterns, little rituals you probably didn’t even realize you had. He used to think they were annoying. They now they made his chest feel tight.
He wasn’t sure if it was the spider venom mutating his bloodstream or just you.
Without a shift in your expression, you slid your notes across the table toward him. “Here. You’re presenting Part B, right?”
He blinked. “Uh… yeah.” He hesitated, frowning. “You sure you don’t wanna split it more evenly?”
“I’ve got the intro and the methodology,” you said, not meeting his gaze. “I trust you to handle the analysis.”
A pause.
“…Ish.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Ish?”
You smirked, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Well, I did hear you tried to answer a short-answer question last week with ‘vibes.’”
Caleb groaned. “That was in philosophy! C’mon, it was a joke.”
But you were already standing, packing up your notes with brisk efficiency.
Before he could say something else, Dr. Rappaccini’s assistant poked his head in. “You’re both up next.”
Chairs scraped against tile. Caleb shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, repeating his talking points in his head like a mantra.
Buzz.
His phone vibrated once.
Buzz. Buzz.
You turned to him, already scowling. “Seriously? Put it on Do Not Disturb already.”
“I— sorry,” he mumbled, pulling it out to check.
LINKON PD ALERT: Robbery in progress. 5th & Linwood. Nearby units respond immediately.
His stomach dropped. Everything in him screamed go. People were in danger. If he waited, if he chose himself—chose you—people could get hurt. But—
Your voice broke through, sharp with disbelief. “Caleb?”
He looked up. Your expression was expectant, slightly nervous. Vulnerable. You needed him here, just this once.
“I—uh,” he stammered, backing away. “I gotta go.”
Your eyes widened. “What? Caleb, we’re literally about to present!”
“I know, I just— something came up, okay?”
“Caleb!” Your voice was louder now. “I— I don’t have your parts practiced! I trusted you!”
“I’m sorry, I just— I gotta go!”
And just like that, he turned and ran.
You stood frozen in the lab, fists clenched, heart hammering. All the missed labs. All the vague excuses. All the silence. You didn’t know where he was always running off to, and maybe you didn’t care anymore.
But what hurt the most was that a small part of you did, even if it was for a reason you couldn’t name.
𖢥
It wasn’t until later that night—or more rather, early the next morning—that Caleb got around to checking his emails.
His most recent email was from you.
Subject: I HATE YOU I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU!!!!!!!!!!
we got a C+. thanks a lot.
Sent from my iPhone.
Right as he opened it, a Canvas notification pinged at the top of his screen.
Your instructor has updated: Lab Partners – Spring Semester.
His eyes scanned the page.
Lab Partner: None
Lab Partner: None
His slot and yours were both empty.
And just like that, the panic he felt in the alleyways of the city wasn’t so different from the one spreading in his chest now.
𖢥
Caleb spotted you across the dining hall like a spy on a mission, armed with a tray that held exactly one sad cookie and all the dignity of a man facing trial.
You sat at a table with Tara and Yvonne, both mid-conversation while you absently picked at your salad, two chocolate chip cookies lined up beside your bowl like trophies.
You hadn’t answered his apology emails that he’d sent incrementally over a two hour period. There were probably too many to read at this point.
He swallowed and approached anyway. “Is the second cookie taken, or…?”
You didn’t even glance up. Didn’t want to dignify Caleb and his horrifically stupid way of entering a conversation.
“It’s for my dignity,” you said flatly. “What’s left of it, anyway.”
“Ah. So… it’s symbolic.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Yvonne looked between you both and muttered something under her breath about emotional turbulence before grabbing her tray and ghosting out of there. Tara followed a moment later, tossing Caleb a brief good luck with that expression.
He sat down across from you, setting his tray down with a thud that sounded louder than it should’ve. “Okay, I get that you’re mad—”
“Oh, do you?” Your tone was clipped. “Because ditching me during our presentation with zero warning kinda gave the impression that you dropped the class entirely.”
Caleb winced. “It was an emergency.”
“Right. A life-or-death emergency?”
“Yes.”
It had been. Just not the kind he could explain.
You finally looked up, eyes sharp and cold, and for a second he forgot what language was. “Well, while you were off saving the world or whatever you’re calling it, I had to present your analysis with no prep. I looked like an idiot.”
“You never look like an idiot,” he said instantly.
You blinked. He blinked.
“…W-What I meant was—” he started, voice catching.
“Too late.”
“Okay, fair.” He shifted in his seat, suddenly aware of how warm the room was, how close you were, how he could still smell the faint citrus of your shampoo from across the table. “I’m sorry.”
You arched a brow. “For?”
He hesitated. “For… ditching you.”
“And?”
“…And making you carry the project alone.”
You tilted your head, gaze unreadable. “And?”
He exhaled slowly. “And pushing you to the point that you had me deleted from the lab spreadsheet.”
You gave a little hum of satisfaction, grabbing one of your cookies and taking an infuriatingly slow bite. “Apology not accepted.”
Caleb slumped. “C’mon. Seriously?”
“Not unless you find a way to make up the points you lost us.”
He narrowed his eyes. “So this is, what— conditional forgiveness?”
“This is consequential forgiveness,” you corrected, calm as anything. “You cost me an A. You’re lucky I haven’t broken a beaker over your head.”
He nodded slowly, a wry smile creeping in. “That… feels fair too.”
The truth was, he had screwed up. Repeatedly. Not just with the lab, but with the way he’d pulled away from everything lately—classes, responsibilities, you.
He didn’t want you to notice, he didn’t want you to care. But above all, he really didn’t want you to stop. You held him accountable, and never wavered. It was refreshing, in a way.
“I’ll figure something out,” he said. “Extra credit or… something. Just— don’t write me off yet.”
You shrugged, licking a crumb from your thumb in a move that was definitely not lethal but still managed to short-circuit his brain. “If you do that, then maybe I’ll consider reinstating you. Maybe.”
Caleb leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“You bailed on me,” you easily reminded him. “You’re lucky I didn’t file for academic abandonment.”
“Academic abandonment,” he repeated, chuckling despite himself. “That’s new.”
“I’m submitting the paperwork as we speak.”
“Ooh. Terrifying.”
You didn’t break eye contact as you reached across the table, plucked his lone cookie off his tray, and took a bite.
His eyes widened. “That was mine.”
You chewed. “Should’ve brought two. For a peace offering, y’know?”
“You’re a menace.”
“You’re a flake.”
“You’re… kinda evil.”
“And you’re lucky I haven’t poisoned your food.”
There was a pause. He looked at you and wondered when exactly the rivalry had blurred into this. This feeling in his chest that had nothing to do with the radioactive spider venom pumping through his veins.
Caleb leaned back, the smile still tugging at the edge of his mouth. “I’m gonna fix this. Mark my words.”
You narrowed your eyes, but something behind them softened. “You better,” you said, “or next time, I’ll eat everything on your tray.”
He stood, picking up his tray and muttering as he walked away, “I can only assume that betrayal would sting more.”
You didn’t answer, but you were smiling.
Just a little.
𖢥
Caleb stood outside Dr. Rappaccini office, staring at the little nameplate on the door like it might spare him. It didn’t, of course. He could never be so lucky.
He knocked three times for good measure.
“Come in,” her voice called from inside—calm, efficient, a little like she had a minimum of five other things she’d rather be doing than speaking to one of her incompetent students.
He pushed open the door and stepped inside, trying to look less like someone whose lab partner had asked this very professor to sever their lab partnership.
Rappaccini didn’t look up at first. She was grading with the speed and surgical precision of a woman who’d seen one too many poorly labeled graphs in her day. When she finally glanced up, she set her pen down slowly.
“Mr. Xia,” she said with a forced smile. “I was wondering when you’d crawl out from whatever hole you vanished into.”
Wow. No sugarcoating. Maybe he really had been missing class a bit too much lately.
“I deserve that,” he admitted with a wry grin, hoping it’d earn him brownie points.
“Mm.” She leaned back in her chair. “Let me guess. You’re here to ask for extra credit.”
“Sort of. I’m here to ask how I can fix what I broke.”
She stared at him, then gave a dry little laugh. “Well, that’s a refreshing amount of self-awareness. Most students come in blaming poor time management or divine intervention.”
Caleb smiled sheepishly once more. “No lightning strikes or mysterious illnesses. Just… just bad decisions. And poor communication.”
She gestured for him to sit. “Your partner already presented the project. I imagine she wasn’t… thrilled.”
“She left me an email with some… let’s say— flavorful language, so…” He paused. “I’d have to agree with you there.”
Rappaccini allowed herself the tiniest smirk.
“I’m just… I’m trying to make it right,” he then said. “If there’s anything—and I mean anything—I can do to make up the points for us, I’ll do it.”
There was a long pause as she folded her hands over the stack of papers in front of her.
“Funny you should say that,” she said. “Dr. Connors is running an independent experimental study this month at Oscorp. It involves cellular regeneration—specifically, lizard DNA.”
Caleb blinked. “Lizard DNA?”
“Yes,” she said. “He’s studying regenerative properties—limb re-growth, accelerated healing, that kind of thing. It’s early-stage, but it’s part of a bioengineering cross-collaboration with Oscorp’s pre-clinical research team.”
Caleb sat up a little straighter, curiosity stirring. “And he needs students?”
“Volunteers,” she corrected with a raise of her finger. “No grade boost guaranteed, but participating students will receive consideration toward incomplete assignments if the data is thorough and the effort is there. Both you and your lab partner can volunteer. It’s not easy work, though. It’ll take late nights and actual commitment.”
Caleb asked hesitantly, “Do you think my partner would even want to sign up for this?”
And once he heard that, Caleb didn’t even hesitate. “Okay. I’m in. I mean— we’re in.”
Rappaccini raised an eyebrow. “That confident?”
“I have to be,” he said. “I need to prove I’m not just… the guy who bails when it matters.”
She nodded slowly, then reached into a drawer and pulled out a small stack of forms. “Here. Fill this out, and bring it to Dr. Connors’ office by the end of the week. Orientation starts Monday.”
He took the form, feeling something like relief start to uncoil in his chest.
“Thank you, Dr. Rappaccini.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, picking her pen back up. “This is you digging yourself out of a hole you made. Don’t stop halfway.”
“I won’t.”
“Oh, and Caleb?”
He looked back over his shoulder.
“If you ditch this study the way you ditched that presentation,” she said, looking directly at him, “I will personally request your removal from the department. There is no room for slackers here.”
He raised a hand solemnly with a sheepish smile. “Message received, ma’am.”
She went back to grading, placing her glasses on her nose bridge. “Good. Now go earn back your lab partner before she finds someone smarter and… less difficult.”
“Wouldn’t blame her if she did,” Caleb muttered on his way out.
He didn’t just want to make this right for the grade.
He wanted to make it right for you.
series masterlist. ┆ next: soon!
a/n i’m an idiot and forgot to post it without tags, i’m sorry to the taglist bc i tagged you guys like four times 🙁🙁🙁
anyways….. long time no see………. the semester is officially over sooooo i can finally get back to writing. i have a few other wip that i’d like to finish before chapter 5 tho ☝️☝️ currently working on a knight!sylus fic and zayne in a pride and prejudice au :p
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, credit to @/haven__ly on x for the middle pic, mdni
chapter summary. ┆ caleb tries to adapt to his newfound role as the web-slinging hero of linkon city, and you receive the opportunity of a lifetime.
chapter warnings. ┆ slightly sexually suggestive content and a little bit of bodily harm…… but nothing too crazy i swear!
prev: chapter two. ┆ series masterlist. ┆ next: chapter four.
“Aw, come on. Again?”
Caleb feels like he’s been at this for hours. Realistically, it’s been four minutes—maybe five—but time stretches a bit slower when all you do is fail.
He straightens up, tugging at the red ski mask that clings to his face. Despite the crisp morning air, the layers he’s wearing are doing him no favors. The mask in particular is itchy, tight, and, if he’s being honest, suffocating. Maybe you were right—maybe he did have big head syndrome.
But he pushes that thought aside, rolling his shoulders back and planting his feet firmly against the rooftop. With careful precision, he flicks his wrist toward the corner of Mama Louisa’s Pastry Shop—a well-loved business by both himself and every other Linkon University student running on caffeine and sugar. Hopefully she won’t mind him using her bakery as a makeshift training ground.
He tenses his wrist again, and finally—finally—a strand of silk shoots from his pulse point… only for a gentle breeze to carry it away like it’s nothing more than stray thread from a sweater.
Caleb exhales sharply through his nose. Okay. That’s fine. Progress is progress.
He tries again. Fails again, too.
But then, on his next attempt, something changes. He can feel it. A flick of his wrist, the perfect angle with just the right amount of tension.
Thwip!
The web sticks, thick and sturdy like the ones he’d shot in his dorm room, right against the bakery’s awning.
Caleb grins so wide it could rival the Empire State Building. He doesn’t fully understand why this is happening—these heightened senses, the silk-slinging, the unnatural strength—but if his research means anything, it all traces back to the spider bite in the university lab. Probably. If he were to be honest, it’s more of an educated guess for the moment.
Without thinking twice, he sprints forward and leaps from the rooftop. In hindsight, thinking twice might’ve been a good idea, because when he goes to shoot another web at the next building, his aim is—how should he put this?—gods awful.
The silk completely misses its mark, latching onto a birch tree instead. And before Caleb can course-correct, he goes slamming into it face-first.
BAM!
Leaves rustle. Branches snap. Somewhere, a pigeon squawks in alarm, and it might be simultaneously scolding Caleb in a language he can’t understand.
He groans, peeling himself away from the tree trunk, only to find himself tangled in a mess of twigs and leaves.
“Mister!”
He blinks, his brain still rattled from the impact.
“Mister! Down here!”
It takes a second for his senses to recalibrate, but once they do, he follows the tiny voice downward until his gaze lands on a little girl standing at the tree’s base. She looks no older than five, her curly hair swallowing her small face as the wind ruffles through it. Despite her tiny stature, she stands with her hands on her hips, staring up at him with a look of determination.
She points upward. “Can you get Mr. Pickles? He’s scared of heights.”
Caleb blinks again, squinting in the direction of her tiny finger.
And there, perched precariously on a flimsy branch, is a scrawny grey cat.
“Mr. Pickles?” he mutters, already moving before he can think twice. (And this time, that was a good thing.)
His fingers stick effortlessly to the tree bark as he climbs, his static cling allowing him to crawl along the surface like he was made for this. He scales the trunk with ease, reaching the trembling feline in a matter of seconds.
“Here, kitty kitty,” he coos, slowly wrapping an arm around the cat and tucking him securely against his chest. “You’re alright. No need to be scared now.”
Once he makes his way back down, he lands gracefully on his feet, adjusting the cat in his arms before handing him off.
The little girl grins, cradling Mr. Pickles like he’s the most precious thing in the world. “Thank you, mister!”
Caleb smiles. “No problem, sweetheart.”
She beams up at him before dashing back toward a nearby apartment building. “I’ll give Mr. Pickles a hug for you!”
“Make it extra warm for me, yeah?”
“Okay!”
And just like that, she’s gone, disappearing behind the lobby doors with her newly rescued companion.
The air is cold, the streets quiet. No sirens, which was a luxury these days. The perfect time for a peaceful stroll.
Or, in Caleb’s case, the perfect time to fail at web-slinging.
That was fine, though. No one saw… except for a small child who owned a runaway cat.
Caleb walks down the sidewalk in an attempt to forget about the embarrassment of the moment, hands stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie, the ski mask still clinging uncomfortably to his face. The whole city feels half-asleep, barely stirring under the early sun, and for once, Caleb lets himself enjoy it. Well, as much as he possibly can enjoy something after a morning of throwing himself at trees and towards buildings.
“Excuse me, young man?”
Caleb halts, turning to find an elderly woman peering up at him through thick-framed glasses, her wrinkled face pulled into a look of concern. She clutches a tote bag to her side, a plaid scarf wrapped neatly around her hair.
“I just saw you help that young girl, and I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of the nearest dry cleaners,” she asks, adjusting her grip on the bag. “I swear, my memory is getting worse by the day. It’s around here somewhere, I just can’t seem to—”
“Oh, yeah, it’s just a few blocks down,” he gently interrupts, gesturing toward the street corner. “Take a left at the bakery right over there and then it’s right past the old bookstore. Can’t miss it, I promise.”
The woman sighs in relief. “Oh, you’re an angel, thank you! I was walking in the wrong direction for who knows how long.”
Caleb chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Happens to the best of us.”
“I hope you have a wonderful day, sweetheart,” she says, already turning to go in the direction he’d gestured to.
He offers a charming smile that reaches his eyes. “You too, ma’am.”
And with that, he continues down the sidewalk, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It’s funny, really. He hadn’t really thought about it before, but he actually enjoys this aspect of his new predicament more than he originally anticipated. Helping people, even if it’s just with the small stuff. Before, it seemed like those opportunities were fleeting, and now, they laid around him in abundance.
Then, just as he’s about to take a right onto the next block…
BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!
His head snaps toward the alleyway up ahead. A car alarm wails through the narrow space between buildings, the sharp noise sending a jolt of electricity straight down his spine.
And before he can think—before he can even process what was going on—his legs are already moving. Maybe that was a new impulse that the spider bite had brought upon him, too.
He sprints into the alley, heart hammering wildly in his chest, and that’s when he sees him.
A man hunched over the driver’s side door of an old blue sedan, hands fumbling with a crowbar against the handle. He’s working fast—too fast and too irresponsibly—not even sparing a glance over his shoulder as the alarm screeches on.
Caleb doesn’t hesitate. His wrist flicks.
Thwip!
The web shoots out before he even registers it happening, sticking clean onto the man’s hand… and the door handle he was prying open.
“What the—”
The guy jerks back instinctively, only to realize that his hand isn’t going anywhere.
Caleb halts to a stop a few feet away, breathing hard, adrenaline singing through his veins.
Sirens wail in the distance, he then realizes.
The thief panics, tugging at his hand with increasing desperation. “What the hell? Get this off me, man! What is this—glue?”
Caleb tilts his head, taking a slow step forward. “Tch. What glue do you know that looks like that? You’ve got the mind of a real scholar, you know. Ever thought about givin’ up grand theft auto for Harvard?”
The sirens grow louder.
The man flails now, yanking at his wrist, his feet slipping against the pavement. “C’mon, man, you gotta— you gotta help me out here.”
“Yeah, see, I don’t think I do,” Caleb muses, his heartbeat finally slowing to something steady, something that was almost calm.
“What are you? A cop?”
Caleb tilts his head. Even through the mask, his deadpan is palpable. “Really, man?” he drawls. “You think I’m a cop?”
The thief scoffs, loud and hard, shaking his head like Caleb is the idiot here. “Tch. Whatever.”
Then, his free hand vanishes into his coat. When it returns to his line of sight, a blade flashes before he even has time to blink. “Don’t make me use this, kid.”
A knife. A whole kitchen knife. Serrated edges, too. Probably stolen. Probably dirty. Probably the worst attempt at a threat that he has ever seen in his entire life.
Caleb gasps. Theatrically. He drops straight to his knees, too, his arms flying up over his head in a show of fake panic. “A kitchen knife? No! No, please spare me!”
The guy nods. “Yeah, that’s right. Just let me go, and—”
Thwip!
The thief jerks, eyes so wide they nearly bulge out of his skull.
And just like that, his mouth is gone.
Well. Not gone, gone. Just… thoroughly webbed shut.
“Mmph! Mm— mmph!”
Caleb straightens up, resting his hands on his hips as he tilts his head, a layer of faux sympathy dripping from his voice. “Sorry, what was that? Couldn’t quite catch it.”
The guy flails once more, so pathetic that it almost makes Caleb feel bad. Then? the sirens return. They’re more persistent now. Closer.
Flashing red and blue swallow the alley, bouncing off the walls like stage lights for the thief’s almost-perfect crime.
The man whips his head toward them. Caleb follows his gaze, then hums, turning back with a single gloved finger pressed over his own masked mouth.
“Sh.”
He disappears before the first cop even steps out of the car, and as he whisks into the city, slipping between alleyways, a single thought loops through his mind.
He can do something with this. Like... really do something. Not just helping lost grandmas and rescuing stranded cats.
This was something that went far beyond what the Linkon PD was capable of: stopping the bad guys before they got away.
And now, he swings with a newfound ease, a confidence that wasn’t there before, flipping between buildings, twisting through the bright glow of billboards. Caleb finally gets it. The mechanics, the rhythm, the thrill of it. The way the city unfolds before him like a playground of concrete and steel.
Beneath him, people point. People cheer. People wonder.
But one man does not wonder.
One man knows.
That man stands just outside a quiet café, his untouched tea steaming in his hands, his sharp gaze never leaving the sky. He was on his way toward the Oscorp building in the distance, his badge reading Dr. Curtis Connors — Head Biologist.
Unlike the others, he does not gape. He does not cheer.
He only watches.
His glasses slip down his nose as he tilts his head, following the figure’s trajectory with a stare so focused and precise it could slice through bone. His mind moves faster than his pulse. Not a suit. Not a rig. Not a device. No, no—it’s organic. The silk isn’t shot from him. It belongs to him.
His fingers twitch.
Click.
The photo is grainy due to the shakiness of his grip, but the silhouette is unmistakable.
Curtis Connors exhales slowly through his nose, fingers already moving, already typing, already sending. His recipients were none other than the student team who wrote for the medical journalism column in the Linkon University Chronicle.
Curtis Connors: [image attachment]
Find out as much info as you can on this figure.
He watches the message send. Then, he watches as this figure, as blissfully unaware as can be, swings off into the sky—free and untouchable.
For now.
𖢥
Your phone buzzes in your back pocket, but you don’t have half the mind to reach for it—not when a sea of sorority girls is already waving you down with welcoming smiles and outstretched arms.
“Tara!” you greet, barely getting the word out before she yanks you into a bear hug that nearly knocks the wind out of you.
“You came!” she squeals. “I totally thought you were gonna back out at the last minute.”
“How could I?” you reply, returning the hug before reaching for Cleo, who wraps her arms around you like she hasn’t seen you in years. “I made a commitment. I had to follow through, even if midterms are coming for my throat and I haven’t touched my biology flashcards in, like… two weeks.”
Tara laughs, shaking her head. “You worry too much. Just relax, have some fun. You deserve it.” Then, she leans in conspiratorially, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Plus… he who shall not be named isn’t even here. I think he bailed. You might actually be Caleb-free today.”
Your eyes widen with a gleam that could outshine a kid in a candy store. A sunny afternoon with your friends? Caleb-free? Total score.
“I love your suit!” Cleo chirps, dragging your attention back to Earth. Her fingers lightly trace the hem of your bikini top. “It suits your skin tone so well. Where’d you get it?”
You glance toward the sky like the clouds might give you your memory back. “Uh… probably Target? Like, two years ago?”
“Well, I’m definitely raiding the swimwear section before Spring Break,” she laughs, handing you a half-full bucket of water. She pauses for a moment, then adds with a grin, “I mean seriously—that top is really working for you.”
You laugh, awkwardly tucking the large bucket against your torso. “Thanks. I thought it might’ve been… too much,” you say, gesturing a hand over your chest.
“No, no!” Tara interjects immediately, hands flying into the air like she’s warding off some curse. “It’s the perfect amount of boobage.”
You eyebrows raise. “You think so?”
“I know so,” she says with full confidence.
Before you can say much at all, Cleo’s voice cuts in like a bullet. “Looks like someone else thinks so too.”
“Someone else? Who…?”
But you don’t finish. Your voice trails off the second your eyes follow her pointed gaze.
Across the lot. Lambda Chi Alpha’s side. Shirtless guys joking and slinging sudsy water at each other like they're in a beer commercial. But your gaze settles on one in particular.
Caleb.
Shirt off. Abs fully present and accounted for—all eight of them, you made sure to count. Somehow looking even better than he did a few days ago, which is rude. Biceps glistening from the sun and suds. Hair a mess in the best possible way. And those arms—Gods, those arms should be studied in a lab.
“Yoohoo?” Tara sings, tapping your forehead like she’s knocking on a front door.
You blink, snapping out of your trance. “What?”
Tara and Cleo exchange an all-knowing look.
“I thought you didn’t want to see Caleb today,” Tara says with a lopsided smile.
“I don’t.”
“And yet…” Cleo gestures broadly, “there you were. Gawking.”
You scoff. “I can dislike someone and still objectively—totally objectively—acknowledge that they might not be the most hideous person to walk the Earth.”
Cleo hums. “Uh-huh. Totally objective.”
“It is an objective observation!”
“Sure, sure,” Tara teases. “Just science. A visual data analysis of muscle definition.”
You sigh, pointing at her. “Exactly.”
𖢥
Caleb isn’t faring much better.
In fact, he’s doing worse. A lot worse.
He tries to apply logic to the situation. To rationalize the incredibly logicless mess he has found himself in.
It must be his new senses—yeah, that has to be it. His body adjusting, his nervous system overcompensating, deciding that now, of all godforsaken times, would be a great moment to send every ounce of blood in his body to a very unhelpful location.
His eyes widen, panic rising in his chest.
No. No, no, no. This is not happening.
Almost instinctively, he wrenches himself away from your general direction, physically turning his body like that alone will make his predicament less of a predicament.
It’s not his fault.
Seriously. It’s not.
No amount of superability could ever counteract the very human reality that, at the end of the day, Caleb Xia is just a man.
A man with… an appreciation for certain assets.
And today, his attention seems to have locked onto yours in particular.
Now isn’t the time for this. There would never be a time for this. He feels horrible, like a pathetic schoolboy with zero control over his own body.
Somewhere in his haze of absolute distress, his dog tag ends up wedged between his teeth, because apparently, his body has decided that biting metal is his last line of defense against catastrophic embarrassment.
Gran naked. Gran naked. Gran naked.
He squeezes his eyes shut, practically chanting the words in his head to paint a better picture like a desperate exorcism.
Gran naked. Gran naked. Gran na—
“You’re going to ruin those if you bite on them any harder.”
Caleb’s entire brain short-circuits.
His eyes snap open, locking onto yours. You’re standing there, bucket in your arms, tilting your head at him like he’s some kind of science experiment gone wrong.
He is barely keeping himself together.
Nope. Nope, nope, nope.
But then, you pout.
“Go on, boy,” you tease, voice dangerously sweet, mockingly condescending, like you’re talking to a dog. “Drop ‘em.”
His entire soul leaves his body. A muscle in his jaw ticks, and with a dramatic roll of his eyes, he finally drops the dog tag from his teeth.
You beam at him, reaching out to ruffle his hair like he actually is a well-trained mutt. “Good boy!”
Caleb scoffs, swatting your hand away. “Shut up.”
You laugh, and he hates how much he likes the sound of it.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” you grin, reaching into the bucket. “Here’s your treat.”
Before he can react, a water-soaked sponge lands smack against his chest with a loud slap.
“You’re the worst,” he grumbles, peeling the sponge off as you shut off the hose and hoist your bucket back into your arms.
“Sure I am,” you chirp. “Good luck, waterboy.”
Caleb huffs, his head snapping up as you begin to walk past him. “The newbie is callin’ me a waterboy? Who brought in the most customers last year again?”
“Blah, blah, blah,” you say through a sigh, waving him off. “Who cares about last year?”
He’s about to counter—because he cares, and his title as reigning champ of the car wash must be defended at all costs—but then, you stop right beside him.
And for the love of all things holy, the air thickens.
You turn slightly, tilting your chin, that same smug glint in your eyes. “I, for one, certainly don’t care about last year. You’ll have to work harder this time around, anyway.”
Caleb narrows his eyes. “Why’s that?”
You don’t answer verbally. With a small sway of your fingers toward the parking lot, you point his attention elsewhere. Delta Gamma’s station currently had a long, ever-growing line of cars. A parade of eager customers at your fingertips.
Caleb exhales slowly. “Ah.”
“Mm-hmm,” you hum knowingly.
And then you look him over. Blatant in a way that makes him shiver. Up. Down. Unrushed. Deliberate. Unfair.
And then, just like that, you pivot on your heel. “Gotta go.”
Before you can fully escape, his hand catches your wrist.
“Hey, hey, hey— not so fast,” he murmurs, voice dropping just slightly. Just enough. “If you’re so confident… maybe we should bet on it.”
You stop and turn back toward him. There’s a competitive glint in your eye. It’s exciting.
And unfortunately, it’s doing nothing to help with the currently unsolved issue in his shorts.
“Alright.” It takes zero hesitation. The opportunity to publicly defeat Caleb Xia is simply too good to pass up. “You’re on.”
His lips curl into an almost-there smile. “Terms?”
Your smile should be legally registered as a deadly weapon. “Loser has to wash the winner’s car… and purposely take a B- on the next lab report.”
Caleb lifts a brow. “You don’t have much to lose.”
You shrug, all casual, all effortless charm, and it’s killing him.
“Nope,” you reply smoothly. “I have everything to gain.”
Caleb should be fighting for his life against whatever spell you’ve just cast over him.
Instead, he falls for it.
(Hook. Line. Sinker.)
“Fine,” he says, sliding his hold from your wrist to your palm, giving your hand a firm shake—his fingers lingering just a little too long against yours.
“You’re on.”
𖢥
Caleb should have really thought this through.
But instead, he let you get under his skin, let your smug little grin trick him into underestimating you.
Big mistake, because not even five minutes in, the Delta Gamma girls are practically drowning in customers, and Caleb has barely started scrubbing down his first car.
Caleb squints in your direction. This is not fair.
It feels like only ten minutes pass by before he looks in your direction again, and this time, he finds himself sweating.
Partially from the sun, partially from watching you rinse off a car with zero mercy—your movements way too efficient for someone who supposedly hasn’t done this sort of thing before.
And still, he refuses to lose. He has to switch tactics.
If charm is your secret weapon, then it can be his too. It was his before it was yours, anyway.
He yawns, stretching his arms just enough to get the attention of a group of girls suspiciously and slowly passing by in a yellow slugbug.
"Hey," he greets, sending a smile their way as he leans against the car, muscles flexing just right. "Need a wash?"
And to no one’s surprise but your own, it works. Unfortunately, by the time the car wash ends, the results are as clear as day—you won.
And now, here Caleb stood—arms crossed, lips pressed into a firm line, trying to accept his defeat.
“So,” he exhales, dragging a hand down his face, “when am I washing your car?”
Your grin turns dangerously smug. “Oh, I don’t have a car.”
Caleb stares at you. “Sneaky.”
You shrug. “I prefer genius.”
"Not cool." Caleb shakes his head, his hands going to his hips. “I don’t like havin’ unpaid debts.”
“Well…” You rock back on your heels, tilting your head at him. “Maybe you can get creative. Find a new way to pay up.”
Caleb arches a brow. “Like?”
You hum, tapping your chin like you’re actually putting serious thought into it. “Hm… bring me coffee from the café every time we have a lecture.”
Caleb scoffs. “You're joking.”
“I'm not.”
He lets out a long, drawn out sigh. “Fine.”
𖢥
Caleb knew as well as anyone that crime woke up when the city went to sleep.
So tonight, he stayed up to witness it. Maybe he’d do something good for the city. Maybe he wouldn’t. But he had to try. He had to.
It felt like something was calling to him, something so instinctive and certain that he couldn’t help but listen.
That was how he found himself here, sprawled across the roof of a liquor store, killing time with a game that had no winner. He flicked a pebble toward the ledge, watching as it bounced back near his hand. Again. Again. Anything to keep himself occupied while he listened for any sounds of trouble.
The bell of the liquor store’s entrance rang, and the sudden noise jolted through him, causing his grip to slip. Instead of hitting the ledge, the pebble sailed clean over the rooftop.
“Ouch!”
Caleb froze, and then scrambled to the edge of the roof, yanking his ski mask into place. He peered over the ledge, pulse spiking.
And when he saw who he’d just pelted in the head with a rock, he really should have expected it.
You.
Of course it was you, because why wouldn’t it be?
He watched as you winced, rubbing at the spot where the pebble had struck. You glanced around but, not seeing anyone, just sighed and continued down the sidewalk, bag of groceries clenched in your hand.
And as you walked, Caleb noticed a few things.
The way your pace sped up near the alleys. The way you slowed when you passed under a streetlamp, lingering just a second longer in the light. The way your fingers curled a little tighter around the grocery bag.
You were afraid, and he could understand why.
This wasn’t the best part of the city. It was dark and lonesome, a breeding ground for all things dangerous.
So, without much thinking—without even giving himself the chance to talk himself out of it—he decided to make sure you got home safe.
For purely vigilante reasons, of course.
𖢥
You swear you’re not crazy, but someone is definitely following you.
The almost silent breathing. The faint but deliberate footsteps against pavement.
You pick up your pace, but curiosity is a terrible thing, and despite your better judgment, you glance over your shoulder.
And there he is: a shadow perched on the edge of a rooftop. Watching.
Your heart stutters in your chest.
What the hell? Was he… doing parkour? You huff, shaking your head. Not important.
Your pulse spikes, and your body reacts before your mind does. You do the only logical thing you can think of: you bolt.
Your bag slips from your grip, but you don’t have time to care. Every survival instinct you’ve ever had is screaming at you to run.
Like clockwork, the footsteps behind you quicken.
A voice speaks up. “Hey, you dropped your—“
Shrieking, you whip around mid-sprint, finger already slamming down on the trigger of your pepper spray.
The man barely has time to react. He coughs and chokes, stumbling backward like he just got decked in the face. Your groceries fly through the air as he flails, practically throwing them back at you in the process.
“What—” he wheezes, hands clutching his eyes as he coughs again. “What was that for?”
“You…” your breath is coming out in sharp gasps as you clutch the pepper spray tighter. “You were following me!”
He tries to open his eyes, then immediately winces. “I was making sure you got back to campus okay!”
You take a step back, grip still firm around the bottle. “Well… well why the hell did you start running after me when I ran, huh?”
“You dropped your groceries!”
You hesitate because he sounds genuinely frustrated. “Well… don’t do that again, you freak! Don’t you know you shouldn’t follow people home?”
“I wasn’t— I mean, I was, but not for any reason you might be thinking of,” he stammers.
There’s an awkward beat as he forces himself to stand upright again, shoulders tense. Then, as if realizing how bad this looks, he raises his hands in surrender.
“I mean no harm,” he says. And despite everything, he sounds sincere. “This is just… kinda what I do now. I’m looking out for the people of the city.”
You exhale sharply. Then, after a beat, your free hand dips into your grocery bag. You pull out a bottle of water and toss it to him.
“You should really work on your methods, Spider-Man,” you mutter, shaking your head as your gaze falls down to the spider design on his sweatshirt. As you turn away, you add, "Rinse your eyes. It’ll help."
Your heart is still hammering in your chest as you begin to walk away, but you manage to steady your breathing as you near the dorms. Your mind, however, is still racing.
Because the moment you calm down enough to think, a realization hits you.
The image. The blurry, low-resolution shot that Dr. Curtis Connors sent your group just days ago. The figure looked identical to the man you just encountered. The one he wanted to know more about.
Your stomach drops, and you whirl around, phone in hand with your camera ready. Much to your dismay, the figure is already gone. He has vanished into thin air without leaving so much as a single trace.
You curse under your breath, fingers flying over your phone screen as you open up the message thread.
You: I have a lead. I just ran into him. I think he’s a student at Linkon University.
series masterlist. ┆ next: chapter four.
a/n hi guys :P…. sorry i didn’t update for awhile buuuut here’s chapter 3!!! i wrote and edited some of this chapter with a 103 F fever so… if it’s illegible at any point that might be why. i’d love to know your thoughts so please share them !!! <3
also i just wanted to say that i love all of the comments and messages you guys send into my asks :,) this made me laugh so i really hurried to get this chapter out
hi everyone! i’ll be posting chapter five of my spiderman!caleb series soon (and i mean that seriously this time😭)
i know i’ve been very inconsistent with updates, so i want to give people the option to opt out of the taglist — no hard feelings at all, i promise! i definitely recognize that people can leave fandom spaces or simply lose interest in things!
comment if you’d like to stay on the taglist or be removed; if there’s no interaction, i’ll likely remove you to avoid bothering you :)
