#spiders (and some other arachnids)

[thehousepatron]

Some Spider Silk Facts

The strongest spider silk is produced by Darwin’s Bark Spider, which is twice as strong as any gossamer recorded before. It has a tensile strength of up to 520 megajoules per cubic metre.

Gossamer is stronger than steel and kevlar, and it has been suggested that a single pencil-width strand of the stuff could stop a Boeing 747 in its tracks.

The reason we can break such a strong material is because it is 20 times thinner than a human hair, usually measuring just 0.003mm across.

There are seven types of silk produced by a spider of Araneus Diadematus: dragline/major ampullate silk (which forms the basic structure of a web and also the web the spider itself dangles from), minor ampullate silk (which forms the auxiliary spiral in the centre of a web), flagelliform silk (which forms the core fibres of the ‘capture spiral’) , aggregate silk (forming the aqueous coating on a web), cylindriform silk (tough outer silk of an egg sac), aciniform silk (soft inner silk of an egg sac also used for swathing prey) and pyriform silk (which is used as a sort of cement for joining and attaching different parts of the web).

These little architects have seven different silk glands, as a result, all of which are employed by the spinnerets at the spider’s rear end.

Gossamer is made up of a blend of different proteins linked together in a chain: it consists of proteins rich in nonpolar (example; fats, oils, gasoline and petrol) and hydrophobic (example; oils, waxes and steroids) amino acids like glycine (C₂H₅NO₂ - white solid) and alanine (C3H7NO2 - white powder) but no (or very little) tryptophan (C11H12N2O2).

Glycine is a compound our bodies use to make protein. It is an antioxidant, anti-inflammatory, cryoprotective and immunomodulatory in peripheral and nervous tissues.

Alanine is an alpha amino acid also used to make proteins. It is a hydrocarbon. Hydrocarbons are divided into two classes in biochemistry: aromatic compounds and aliphatic compounds (from the Greek word ‘aleiphar’ - fat/oil). Alanine falls into the latter category. Another example of an aliphatic compound is squalene, which is found in shark livers and the stomach oil of birds.

So spidersilk seems to be mainly made up of carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen and oxygen, with more hydrogen and carbon than any other element, making it an aliphatic hydrocarbon based substance. (I think. I’m not a scientist, I’m just making an educated guess.)

So why have we not spun our own clothes / harvested spidersilk? Multiple reasons.

The main reason being that spiders can’t be farmed like silkworms due to the fact that they will cannibalise each other in close proximity. The silk is so fine that it would take harvesting from 400+ spiders to make a single yard of silk. And the silk also hardens when exposed to air which makes it difficult to work with.

This silk hardens as it passes through the spider’s spinnerets. Also, the problem with trying to genetically engineer spidersilk ourselves is that we can only partially replicate its chemical makeup.

Also here’s the heckin chungus of a spider in question, with the world’s strongest web:

He’s buff and he knows it. Proud chonky fella. He’s cute. 😭🥺

[whispering-kavka]

sorry about this deluge of spider reblogs. it will happen again

[thatonemacaronikid]

Me: sees a big spider in the backyard making its web

Me: is very careful not to disturb it

My mom: just throw a box at it it wont do anything

Me: no

[thehousepatron]

This is beautiful

It’s corny af but my wife calls me her spider (scary and muscular afab goth guy) and I call her my froggy (soft and wide-eyed sweetheart who loves to swim).

10/10 would eat a scorpion for her.

Speaking of which I’ve eaten a scorpion before and they’re actually pretty good. Crunchy. Wafer-like. A joke gift one christmas from my parents who weren’t expecting me to actually eat it and enjoy it. I’ve since also been given crickets and mealworms 🤣

What happens if tarantula no longger need the frog?

great news! that just straight-up doesn't happen.

tarantulas can live for well over a decade, and female tarantulas can expect to breed multiple times before they finally kick it! and since there's always the expectation of there going to be a new clutch of eggs in the nest every year, there's no benefit in getting rid of the frogs that will keep those eggs safe.

a female columbian lesserblack tarantula will treasure and protect her frogs until the day she dies, and then those frogs will go into the care of whichever of her daughters inherits her burrow! it's an eternal cycle. a cycle of frog.

[savage-rhi]

Some other pink variant

[hurtspideyparker]

In a timeline where Civil War didn't end in divorce and everyone lives in the compound:

Steve, walking into the living room: Don't worry Buck I think you'll really fit in around here. Everyone is super nice

Peter: Oh my god you're living here too?! Can I please look at your arm? Please please please please please-

Bucky: *turns around and leaves*

-

Clint: So... wanna test if your spider-sense defeats my perfect aim?

Peter: Oh my god do I ever

Tony & Steve: NO.

-

Peter: Hi. Big fan. Y'know we're like a spider duo. Crime fighting spiders. Arachnid pals

Natasha, staring blankly:

Peter: Web friends? SPY-ders?

Natasha:

Peter: Spinneret associates?

Natasha: Leave.

Peter: Yes okay sorry ma'am

-

During a meal:

Bucky: *glaring at Sam*

Sam: Ay Rogers come get your dog

Steve: Bucky, leave it

Bucky: *glares down at soup instead*

-

Peter: Mr. Rogers could you help me with my homework?

Tony: What the hell kid, I'm right here

Bruce: I have... so many degrees

Steve: Hey I know a thing or two myself. Sure Queens, what do you got?

Peter: Great! I'm just gonna ask some questions for my essay. What would you say the role of war propaganda was in your decision to enroll in the military? Was being poor a factor? Actually, how was the Great Depression for you?

Steve: Less depressing than this conversation.

-

Steve: Take a jacket, it's chilly

Wanda: Okay thanks dad

Steve:

Wanda:

Peter: Ha! That's so embarrassing, it's like calling your teacher dad

Wanda: Shut up Peter, you call Tony dad all the time

Peter: Yeah but I do it on purpose so it's not embarrassing. I'm very open about my daddy issues

-

Tony: I wanna punch you in your perfect teeth

Steve:

Tony: Looking at me with your angelic blue eyes, like a freak

Steve:

Tony: Stupid Dorito ass build. Making me wanna take a bite

Steve: I feel harassed but I'm not sure what kind

-

Natasha: Hey bird brain!

Clint and Sam both turn:

Natasha: Hm, that's a problem. You have thirty seconds to decide who gets bird brain. The other will be feather head

Clint and Sam: *start arguing*

Tony: I can't believe they're fighting to be called an insult

Steve: She has that effect on people

Peter: Aw man, I wish the Black Widow gave me a nickname :(

-

Peter: Hey old man

Bucky:

Peter: I'M SO SORRY SIR MR. WILSON MADE ME DO IT PLEASE DONT KILL ME

Sam: *cackling in the background*

Bucky: *stands up and turns to Sam*

Sam: Oh shit- kid you're not getting the money if you're gonna snitch!

Peter: That's okay, I'd like to think my life is worth more than twenty bucks

-

Bucky: I need your... help

Tony: Sure, what's up?

Bucky: *glances back at Steve who stands in the doorway and nods approvingly*

Bucky: Arm.

Tony: Ok... this conversation is killing you isn't it?

Bucky:

Tony: Say please

Bucky: Nope can't do it-

Steve: Do I need to get out the get-along shirt?

*Bucky and Tony share a look of alarm*

Bucky: Please fix my arm

Tony: Yep of course no problem buddy

-

Read Part 2 and Part 3

[hpmort]

There are more than two spiders in my room which I think is too many spiders? A room of mine’s size, yeah one spider is useful, and maybe 2 is good but I am concerned about population density

What do they know that i don’t

[fleshengine]

"Like, do you think people who have arachnophobia are being reactionary against bugs by not wanting to see a high-res photo of a tarantula on their dash?"

*leans into mic*

yes

TAG YOUR AI SHIT

I don't care if you do AI art, that's a whole separate conversation, but whether you are pro-AI or anti-AI, if you are reblogging or posting AI art, you need to TAG IT.

Just do #ai art or #ai generated or even #ai, but you need to tag it.

I keep seeing people going like "look at this terrible AI art" or "look at this right wing idiot thinking AI art is real" and apparently they think if they're not pro-ai-art, they don't need to tag it?

YOU ARE STILL SHOWING PEOPLE AI ART. Don't do that without tagging it, so that people who don't want to see that can preemptively block it.

This is not an anti-AI art post, and it's not a pro-AI art post: I honestly do not care if you use AI art, that is a discussion for another day: The thing I care about is that I don't get repeatedly disturbed by seeing it by supposedly well-meaning people who are only posting AI art to make fun of it. You still need to tag it, just like you should still tag a post as "gore" if it's someone you hate who got shot in the face.

(This is not an opportunity to discuss if you think AI art is ethical or if it should be legal or all that shit: do that in the comments and I'm blocking you, just like I would if you keep posting UNTAGGED AI ART)

[bogleech]

Anyway while we're on the subject of public misconception towards living things (which is completely understandable because have you SEEN living things? There's like dozens of them!) here's a fresh rundown of some common mistakes about bugs!

Arachnids aren't just spiders! They're also scorpions, mites, ticks and some real weirdos out there

Insects with wings are always finished growing! Wings are the last new thing they ever develop! There can never be a "baby bee" that's just a smaller bee flying around.

That said, not all insects have larvae! Many older insect groups do look like little versions of adults....but the wings rule still applies.

Insects do have brains! Lobes and everything!

Only the Hymenoptera (bees, ants and wasps) have stingers like that.

Not all bees and wasps live in colonies with queens

The only non-hymenoptera with queens are termites, which is convergent evolution, because termites are a type of cockroach!

There are still other insects with colonial lifestyles to various degrees which can include special reproductive castes, just not the whole "queen" setup.

Even ants still deviate from that; there are multi-queen ant species, some species where the whole colony is just females who clone themselves and other outliers

There is no "hive mind;" social insects coordinate no differently from schools of fish, flocks of birds, or for that matter crowds of humans! They're just following the same signals together and communicating to each other!

Not all mosquito species carry disease, and not all of them bite people

Mosquitoes ARE ecologically very important and nobody in science ever actually said otherwise

The bite of a black widow is so rarely deadly that the United States doesn't bother stocking antivenin despite hundreds of reported bites per year. It just feels really really bad and they give you painkillers.

Recluse venom does damage skin, but only in the tiny area surrounding the bite. More serious cases are due to this dead skin inviting bacterial infection, and in fact our hospitals don't carry recluse antivenin either; they just prescribe powerful antibiotics, which has been fully effective at treating confirmed bites.

Bed bugs are real actual specific insects

"Cooties" basically are, too; it's old slang for lice

Crane flies aren't "mosquito hawks;" they actually don't eat at all!

Hobo spiders aren't really found to have a dangerous bite, leaving only widows and recluses as North America's "medically significant" spiders

Domestic honeybees actually kill far more people than hornets, including everywhere the giant "murder" hornet naturally occurs.

Wasps are only "less efficient" pollinators in that less pollen sticks to them per wasp. They are still absolutely critical pollinators and many flowers are pollinated by wasps exclusively.

Flies are also as important or more important to pollination than bees.

For "per insect" pollination efficiency it's now believed that moths also beat bees

Honeybees are non-native to most of the world and not great for the local ecosystem, they're just essential to us and our food industry

Getting a botfly is unpleasant and can become painful, but they aren't actually dangerous and they don't eat your flesh; they essentially push the flesh out of the way to create a chamber and they feed on fluids your immune system keeps making in response to the intrusion. They also keep this chamber free of bacterial infection because that would harm them too!

Botflies also exist in most parts of the world, but only one species specializes partially in humans (and primates in general, but can make do with a few other hosts)

"Kissing bugs" are a group of a couple unusual species of assassin bug. Only the kissing bugs evolved to feed on blood; other assassin bugs just eat other insects.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

The Mantis and His Moth

Yandere FtM Mantis Hybrid Cultist x Male Moth Hybrid Reader CW: Noncon, forced oral sex, aphrodisiac pheromones, musk, scent kink, eating pussy like it's groceries, pussy eating on period, minor character death, human-hybrid sacrifice, fictional religions, indoctrination, brainwashing, cannibalism, terms like pussy and cunt used for trans male genitals, dick riding, biting, overstimulation, non-sexual bondage, drenched in pussy juice, partially suffocated by pussy, public but discrete pussy eating, praise Word Count: 3.6k (Comm for @vanberryhearts, their OC Salem Blackthorn can be viewed HERE)

You grunted as you carried the box. You weren’t very strong, and it was filled to the brim with cans of food to go to the church’s community food drive and you were carrying it around back. The back door was closer to the basement and it was easier to walk it around then go through multiple rooms in the church. Plus the building was all locked up anyway. You had meant to bring the food earlier but you had gotten caught up with other matters.

That was okay though, the fence that led to the back of the property was ajar, so you were just gonna leave the food on the back porch and it would be easy for the priest, Salem Blackthorn, to take it down when he found it there the next morning. He was a strong mantis hybrid man and could carry down much more easily than a small moth hybrid like you.

After you sat down the box you started making your way off the porch, but as you did so the door suddenly opened and Salem stepped out carrying a large object that had been well wrapped in some type of cloth.

When he saw you he seemed surprised but you were already stepping forward and helping him with what he was holding. You barely noticed that the robes he was wearing, while ornate and clearly for religious purpose, were not the typical garb of a priest. They covered most of his body. The hood hid his tan skin, pretty blond hair, and relatively short antennae from the world.

“Oh wow, this is really heavy! I don’t mind helping, where are we taking-”

You tripped on the step off the porch, unbalancing Salem and causing him to drop what he was carrying. It fell right off the porch and landed beside you. The wrapping had been damaged and peeled away and what you saw took a moment for your brain to register.

A bloody corpse with bites ripped out of it in many places.

Before you could think to move Salem was upon you, pulling you into the church and down into the basement with a hand firmly over your mouth as he whispered into your ear.

“I’m sorry dove, you really weren’t supposed to see that.”

The priest took you into the room farthest from the stairs then put a gag over your mouth and left you tied in a chair in the middle of the room before running back upstairs, presumably to take care of the fallen “package” that he had left uncovered outside. He left you alone long enough for you to get a good look at your surroundings. You had never been down here before.

And after taking note of what was around you doubted many people that had seen this place were still alive.

In front of you there was an altar. A medium sized and intricately stone sculpture of a spider lay in the center. In front of the statue was a large silver goblet filled with blood. An offering. The sculpture’s eyes were inlaid rubies and its gaze filled you with despair. It was a depiction of the arachnid goddess, Arachna. She was mostly worshiped these days by small clandestine groups huddled in small dark rooms hidden from the gaze of society.

Much like this room.

Though you certainly hadn’t expected a worshiper of the insect god, The Great Moth Regalis, to be a disciple of the foul Arachna. Though you supposed that’s exactly why it was such a perfect cover.

Not fighting wasn’t an option. You struggled with every ounce of strength that you had. Sweat dripped down your brow. You didn’t want to end up another bitten corpse with your blood in that goblet as a sacrifice to the spider goddess.

You wriggled and writhed in your binds, drawing blood from various places where the ropes chaffed your bare skin. Your wings burned with the effort of flexing and vibrating them to try and squirm free. And your throat ached with the burden of trying to scream through your gag.

The binds were too formidable. Clearly made by someone who was experienced with this sort of thing.

All your struggles amounted to was making the chair you were in lean over and fall, causing your head to smack painfully against the cold concrete floor. You almost wished it had been enough to knock you out or even kill you outright, then and there, then you wouldn’t have to be conscious for the fate that surely awaited you as soon as Salem returned. All that you could do was cry as you awaited death.

Salem was so frustrated. How could he have allowed this to happen? He had left the gate unlocked allowing you to just traipse upon him right at the exact moment that he was hauling out the body?? The timing was absurd! What were the odds?

He ran over to shut and lock the gate that allowed passage to the back of the church before returning to the body. He re-wrapped the body properly, as it was an important part of the ritual, as he pondered what to do about you.

Killing you was out of the question entirely. Aside from the fact that he never killed any permanent resident or their visiting family, to avoid arousing suspicion, he also harbored quite a strong crush on you. He had sense he first laid eyes on you during his first sermon.

Your eyes stared up at him hanging on every word that passed his lips. So devout, so diligent in your charitable works, so deliciously… innocent…

Oh, how he longed to corrupt you. And to make it even better you were a regal moth hybrid. Such hybrids were regarded as being good luck to those around them as the insect god Regalis was a regal moth himself.

Just the thought of indoctrinating you into the cult made his heart flutter and wetness flow from his crotch. It would take his defiling of the mother religion to new heights and surely make Arachna happy.

The mantis had not yet put his desires into motion. He had planned to slowly get you more and more attracted to him before working on getting you addicted to his pheromones until you were totally dependent on him. Now it appeared that he would have to rush forward without much subtlety. But that was okay, he could definitely do so.

He finished with the body, taking it to a pit he had dug earlier, and placed it in carefully before topping it with a small apple sapling. Just one of many that would match the little orchard he had growing in the field behind the church.

You flinched when you heard the door open and trembled with pure fear, your mind conjured forth innumerable horrors, all the manners in which he may torture and eventually kill you went through your terrified mind. You renewed your futile bid for freedom, floundering about as best you were able.

When Salem saw you he scoffed.

“Tsk, tsk.”

He bent down to right your chair and brushed your cheek with all the tenderness in the world after doing so before placing a gentle kiss on your tear soaked cheek.

“There, there, my little moth. No need to be so scared.”

Obviously, those words did nothing to dispel you of the terror that had so thoroughly stricken you, if you even took notice of them at all with all the adrenaline coursing through you and your heart beating faster than it ever had before.

You looked up at him with pleading eyes as sobs racked your body.

“Aww. Please don’t worry, pretty thing, you won’t be suffering too much longer.”

This made you shake and sob much harder. This was it. That was his way of telling you that he was going to snuff out your life. That you’d be joining that other body wherever it had been dragged off to. You’d be offered up like a slab of meat to the vile spider. You were getting dizzy and hyperventilating. This couldn’t be happening. You were a good man and you had so much to live for. So much good to do.

Then something unexpected happened. Salem disrobed himself of the cultist garb he had been cloaked in, revealing a drooling pussy and dizzying your mind now not with a lack of air but with his musky pheromones.

He spoke as if reading your thoughts.

“Don’t worry, I am not going to fuck then eat you. That’s actually a harmful stereotype derived from feral regular mantises, not something a mantis hybrid does!”

You really had no reason to believe him.

Though he did lure in tasty horny sacrifices in with a promise of sex before forcing them to eat him out, to dose them with his pheromones, before partially eating them alive and then killing them. But that was because it was what Arachna demanded! Not because he was a mantis hybrid!

Still, he had no intention of harming you and you did not require the extra details at this time.

The tall man undid your gag and let it fall away before replacing it with his dripping wet cunt, pushing your head into it gently but firmly. You tried to move your head but were ultimately unable to avoid the smell and taste of his sex.

The smell was just amazing, slowly making you blush and your face feel overheated. The feeling soon spread all over your entire body. It relaxed your tense muscles and caused your member to tent in your pants. You whimpered in need as you began eagerly slipping your tongue into your captor, lapping at his surprisingly sweet pussy juice.

He smiled down at you, removing his hand as he no longer needed to force your face into it after his pheromones took effect.

“Such a good boy for me~”

No one could resist the scent of his pussy when presented directly in their face. They’d feel no pain and every touch would feel amazing. It didn’t hurt that little mothies like you were naturally attracted to sweet nectar-like fluids.

Your moans and overstimulated whimpers were just precious to him. Making him wetter and wetter. He toyed with his clit as he allowed you to drink up his fluid at your own pace. Your face was already absolutely drenched.

It seemed as if there was just no end to the impossibly delicious fluid that flowed from him like a fountain.

He had to push you away so that he could untie you and remove your soaked clothes, revealing your excited cock. You weren’t even paying any attention, just trying to get back into that pussy. When you were finally released you dove right back into it, clinging to him with both of your arms as you slurped his cunt.

When he came it was a fresh torrent of pheromones even more potent than the last. You became so overstimulated that you could barely move. He guided you to another room in the basement, one that was closer to the door.

You could barely stand by the time he got you through the door so he gently picked you up and carried you to a soft bed, laying your pussy juice covered body down carefully as if he was afraid you would shatter to dust in his hands.

If you had been one of his usual victims, one of the tourists he lured in off the street, this is when he would have started devouring you to death before draining out your blood and wrapping you in spider webbing. But you were his cute little moth so he would treat you with the utmost care. And one day you would help kill tasty snacrifices for Arachna. It would be Salem’s perfect relationship.

But until then there was something more urgent that needed attending to.

He lowered himself down onto your hard cock as he placed a finger coated in his nectar for you to suck while he rid you. He took his time, savoring the delicious moment when he took his sweet little new boyfriend for the first time.

You didn’t last very long at all inside the heat of his pussy, quickly mingling his fluids with your cum. You cried as you climaxed, it was all so much. The feel of the silk beneath you, the touch of his teeth gently nibbling and sucking the flesh of your neck, his hands trailing up and down your sides. Every touch against your skin made you shiver in pleasure.

It was all okay though, Salem didn’t mind at all. His naturally drugged juices kept you hard and ready to go several times over, he didn’t stop riding you until your balls had been thoroughly emptied into him and each orgasm began to approach the borderline of pleasure into pain. He had finished while riding you a couple times as well. The sight of your pretty little face gasping and moaning with the burden of too much pleasure, your erratically twitching antenna, your sporadically fluttering wings, practically sent him into a rut. Made him feel a primal urge to fuck you over and over until you were soaked to the bone in his juices and no one could deny you were his and his alone.

You were the only moth worthy of worshiping and giving pleasure. Not that pitiful god of yours. He’d make you convert to his faith with an unyielding flood of sex and love.

And that was exactly what Salem did.

Every waking moment, barring those where he had to maintain his priestly facade, were spent in unfathomable pleasure followed by aftercare and honeyed words. Sex, pheromones, cuddling, doting, feeding (he often mixed his very own pheromone laden “sauce” into your meals). But mostly the sex. You tried to remain devout, to maintain the hold on your beliefs, and while it took longer than Salem had expected the transformation was all the stronger for having been tested so thoroughly.

There was a brief relapse in the early days of the process. One of the church’s nuns had entered the bedroom you were being kept in down in the basement. You begged her for help as hope returned to your heart, only to be dashed as she held up a spider pendant. That’s when you realized all the nuns must be members of the cult too. Later that day, in response to having asked for help, Salem was extra “attentive.”

Despite the brief setback, your mind eventually transformed. You found yourself hopelessly clingy and in need of your Salem. You no longer needed pheromones for sex and were more than eager to taste him or slip inside him and often initiated the encounters yourself. When the two of you weren’t busy making love you clung to his arm. He made you feel happy and secure.

He no longer kept you locked in the basement, instead you attended services as normal. Making up an illness as an excuse for your previous absence.

But the changes to your ways of thinking and behavior didn’t stop at being hopelessly in need of your mantis boyfriend. He had also successfully moved you to the worship of Arachna. It thrilled Salem to no end knowing he had fully converted you, a moth of all things, into being a being of sinful debauchery and Arachna worship.

But there was still one important thing left to do to officially solidify your position in his cult. Your baptism in blood. You were nervous, but eager to appease your new goddess. And of course your boyfriend. In no small part because he said that after you did this with him then you could get married in the eyes of Arachna.

All you had to do was make your first sacrifice. Salem assured you that he would lure them down and drug them, all you would need to do is kill them with him and help wrap them in the traditional way that Arachna demanded.

You were really nervous, but Salem calmed you down. He selected yet another tourist who he said deserved it. Whose greatest contribution in life would be as a sacrifice to Arachna. He assured you that he was doing a service, he only selected the scum of society. He had mystic ways of knowing the kinds of things that they did.

Though at this point your mantis had so much control over you that even if he had told you that you were killing an angel you probably could have been convinced that you were doing the right thing for Arachna.

The soon to be corpse that Salem had selected for you was an ant hybrid. He eagerly followed the handsome priest down, thinking he was getting lucky with a priest of his religion. Which Salem pointed out was further proof that he was vile. Followers of the moth were not to seek pleasure from someone of the cloth, if he was a half decent person he would not violate his own religion so readily.

Salem had him sit in one of the rooms in the basement, they both disrobed and Salem guided the ant’s head to his cunt, forcing him to get drunk in much the same way you had been your first time with Salem.

Though this hybrid’s night started similarly to yours it would end quite differently.

After he was thoroughly inebriated from the musk and pheromones produced by Salem’s sex he was led by Salem into the altar room where you were waiting anxiously.

Since you were unable to bite him to death like Salem you used a knife instead. It was a small mercy as it ended him much more quickly. Not that it would have mattered, he was so drugged that he wouldn’t have felt anything but pleasure anyway.

“A-and you promise this won’t cause him any pain?”

Salem stroked your arm comfortingly.

“Of course not my little moth, he will feel nothing but pleasure and through his death he will be cleansed in the many eyes of Arachna. We are saving his immortal soul by discarding his corrupted flesh.”

With renewed resolve you leaned him over a bucket and slit his throat allowing the warm blood to pool into the goblet before you set it before the statue. Your mantis has you at least lick the knife. It was a jarring metallic taste that made you flinch and curl your antenna in disgust. Salem chuckled and assured you that you’d get used to it.

And you did, during subsequent sacrifices the mantis hybrid would bite pieces off the victim for you since you lacked teeth sharp enough to do so. Then he’d chew the chunks and feed them to you while the two of you made out so you could enjoy the full ritual. You definitely learned to enjoy the flavor of fresh meat and blood.

When all the blood had left the ant man you wrapped the body up in your own silk as Salem guided you in how to do the wrapping then the two of you hauled him out, Salem doing the antlion’s share of the work, and buried him before planting a tree.

Many months after your first kill, on a Sunday morning, Salem was giving a sermon. Your fellow church goers thought you were absent from service but you were present, just not in view. Not in their view anyway. You were closer to the priest than any of them. Right under the pulpit. It was a grand fixture, large and imposing, wrapping around and concealing all of Salem’s sides. Perfect, as it turned out, for concealing a lover worshiping between the mantis’ legs.

You were making out with his pussy, kissing and licking it lovingly and deeply. You started letting out little whimpers and gasps as his extra potent pheromones kicked in. He was on his period and it seemed the blood you were lapping up gave his juices an extra punch. As you began to forget just exactly where you were, getting lost in his bloody cunt, you began to make soft moans and whimpers.

Salem continued his sermon unabashed, passionately railing against the sins of the flesh. Preaching about how Regalis demanded marriage before fornication, as he carefully took one of his hands and pushed you into his crotch to silence your noises before they got any louder.

You had some difficulty breathing as his sex threatened to drown you, but you continued to seek out the unique flavor and musk. Your antenna curled as you came untouched, your moan thankfully muffled by Salem.

Salem came soon after, his pussy absolutely gushing all over you. All the stimulation, all the taboo thrill of getting oral sex from his little mothy while making a mockery of the opposing religion, honoring Arachna through hedonism, the sight of his debauched darling struggling for breath and looking up at him with half lidded eyes lost in pleasure, it all culminated in the best orgasm of his life.

He didn’t let it show on his face though.

Salem wrapped up his sermon, once more reminding the church goers to resist temptation as they filed out the door. When the last one left he stopped pressing your face into him. You gasped for breath momentarily but went right back to licking him clean.

The mantis smiled at the scene below him, you were covered in his lubricant, face smeared with his blood, you looked absolutely ruined just for him.

“Such a good boy.”

He stroked your wet cheek as he allowed you to continue for a while, basking in the pleasant sensation, until finally he took you back downstairs. He’d worry about cleaning under the pulpit later. Right then it was more important he cleaned you up and rewarded you for such a good job.

[thehousepatron]

A bit about how spiders eat their meals.

Soup is back on the menu boys! In fact, it never left the menu. Soup all day, every day. Which is something us autumnal folk and our arachnid friends have in common.

I’ve talked a bit about the chemical makeup of spider silk in another post (which you can find under my ‘spiders (and some other arachnids)’ tag), but for the purpose of this post, I’ll break it down:

Spider silks, scientifically, are categorised as ‘Spidroins’, of which there are many types, making the analysis very complex. There were originally thought to be two types of one MaSp (Major Ampullate Silk Protein - or dragline silk): spidroin-1 and spidroin-2, however with progression in research, there have been revealed to be many more.

Spidroins are part of a large group of proteins called Scleroproteins, of which we have a few, too, including collagen proteins and keratins.

There are seven main kinds of spider silk used to construct webs and snare prey, however in this post I’ll be talking mainly about AcSp2 (Aciniform Spidroin - the spidroin responsible for the webs constructed to wrap prey).

First, the spider wraps their prey in the AcSp2 spidroin (the snare). Then, they begin to digest the prey externally, their digestive fluids reducing both the prey and the AcSp2 web fibres to soup.

For the most part, the exact contents of spider digestive fluid is unknown, however one study of the Uloborus Sp. (Feather legged lace weaver, North America) examined the midgut protein content (I’ll link my sources below).

Proteins found in this spider’s midgut include peptidases (both endo and exopeptidases: cisteine, serine and metallopeptidases.), carbohydrases (alpha-amylase, chitinase and alpha mannosidase) and lipases.

Peptidases are involved in the degradation of proteins. Carbohydrases break down carbohydrates - chitinase is responsible for breaking down chitin (found in the exoskeletons of insects). Lipases break down fats.

Among these digestive enzymes, toxins were also identified: enzymes thought only to be unique to venomous spiders were also found in the guts of non venomous spiders, such as Sphingomyelinase D, suggesting a common origin between digestive enzymes and those found in venoms.

From what I can gather, Sphingomyelinase D (a phospholipase - it hydrolyses phospholipids into fatty acids (liquifies shit)) is responsible for inducing dermal necrosis (which basically kills the skin tissues / causes cell death).

Anyway. Spiders regurgitate this digestive cocktail onto and into their prey in a process known as EOD - extra oral digestion (because it happens outside of the body).

Other enzymes present in spider venoms include hyaluronidases, astacins and serine peptidases.

Hyaluronidases degrade hyaluronic acids (hyaluronic acids are commonly used in skincare and are proven to help wound healing, reduce scarring and aid the skin’s elasticity).

Astacins help with the degradation of polypeptides - so again, they help break down proteins.

And that’s the bite size version of how spooders eat. Enjoy your soup.

Refs:

[arting-block]

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | vi x f!reader

❝maybe it was a good thing that she was angry at caitlyn. then she wouldn’t feel so bad, thinking about fucking you.❞

summary: you've seen vi around as a kid. always at arms length, observing from afar. now she's back, angry and bitter after her stunt with the kiramman heir. you see each other once more. this time as an opponent in the pit. or rather vi and reader fuck each other's lights out.

pairing: pitfighter!vi x pitfighter!reader

warnings: ARCANE S2 ACT 2 SPOILERS, SMUT, angst (unhappy ending whoops), porn with too much plot, depictions of violence, reader has tattoos and scars, afab!reader, mentions of alcohol consumption, unhealthy coping mechanisms, boxing being used as foreplay, switch!vi, switch!reader, slight brat taming, oral (vi receiving), biting kink, spit kink, knife kink (if you squint), light bondage, finger fucking, vi is obsessed with your tongue, you're obsessed with her fingers

words: 10.2K

a/n: i've crawled out of the trenches and spat out a smutty fic for my glorious muscle queen. there's some plot in there, but it's mostly just filler to bring out the tension teehee. if there's demand, i'll make a part two, maybe more ;). post divider credit: @cafekitsune

Your body felt cold as the nerves settled in. 

The crowd’s uproar can be heard above you, wild cheers and screaming that blends into nonsense. The thumping of shoes on the ceiling above you syncs with your wild heart. The announcer is amplifying their excitement, spewing out the bets in place. Two thousand golden hexes and five hundred silver cogs for you—Arachnid. You instinctively reached for your shoulder, where the design of your tattoo was exposed. The skin along your back rises as the cheers for you overwhelm the arena. Investors from Zaun come together for their favorite fighter. Yours keeps you on a tight leash, pushing you into each fight to get more, more, more.  

You adjust the bandages around your knuckles. You twist your body, stretching the aching muscles until you’re loosened up. Occupying your time before the gates to the tunnels lift. Your heart races, pounding against your ribs. You’ve been a pit fighter for a little over two years. Before that you were tumbling through the undercity engaging in street brawls for food. Fighting wasn’t new to you, yet you were bouncing off the walls with anxiety. 

You were in relatively good shape to fight. A few days of rest and some shimmer got you back on your feet from your last fight. Black Hog was a beast up close but you managed to put up a good show. Normally you wouldn’t be put up against someone of a different weight class, but you were desperate for money. You won the fight with a broken rib and bruised face. Your investor, Parvata, had a gleam in her eyes that soured your victory. 

“Seems as though the spider likes big game,” she drawled, taking a long drag of her cigar. “We’ll see how well you fare against Gord’s fighters. I hear he’s got a prodigy in his ranks. A girl, ex-enforcer, I hear.”

Gord was talking up a storm about his fighters, but you had a feeling the feud between Parvata and him went deeper. Your stunt with Black Hog proved to her that you had skill. A chance for her to settle the score. 

Parvata didn’t know much about Gord’s prodigy. You, on the other hand, had an inkling of who she was. 

You can’t exactly say you were friends with Vi growing up. Your parents knew Benzo and in turn knew Vander as well. Vi and her friends were often away, either in Piltover or across Zaun to gods know where. Interactions with her were rare and short-lived; cordial and surface-level. You exchanged names, glances, laughs, but you weren’t friends. You’ve heard whispers over the years. Vi getting arrested and going to Stillwater. A few years later she is barreling down Zaun with the Kiramman heir. Now the whispers are saying she’s back in Zaun permanently. Fighting in pits for low wages and shit beer. 

You crack your neck, feeling the bones pop and shift. Was she still the spitfire kid you’d see running through the slums? Does she still have her choppy hair brushed to one side? You roll your shoulders back, flexing the muscles, feeling them tighten under your damp skin. 

Will she even remember you?

More cheers erupt as the announcer lists off your opponent’s bets. One thousand golden hexes and eight hundred silver cogs. You have a feeling that more money would be added at the split second before the fight begins. You force yourself to take a few breaths. Focus. Focus. 

You hear the familiar blare of an alarm. A sharp, loud sound that cuts all noise. Your heart spikes—the start of the show. The walls start to vibrate with the noise of the crowd. 

The announcer taps his mic, bringing the attention of the people eagerly awaiting 

Metal gears whirr and the bright lights of the area spill into the tunnel. 

“Spinning webs of tangled limbs is her name!” the announcer says. “Speed and lethality is her game! Give it up for Piltover’s all-around champion—Arachnid!”

You step into the area with all the masked confidence you can muster. The sounds of the crowd are deafening. Hundreds of people crammed into their seats, pushing against one another to get a clear view of you. In their hands they wave black tickets with a red spider in the middle. The air is thick with sweat and alcohol. You pull on your bandage again, tightening the wrappings around your hand. Light patches of blood are dotted along your knuckles. 

“And now for the whirlwind that took this pit by surprise…” The crowd is at the edge of their seats, the noise is bordering on ear-splitting. “The Iron Fist of Zaun!” the announcer yells. 

The gates across from you start to lift and you see a shadow approaching the pit. Your breath catches in your throat. 

Haunting. Everything about Vi is so unlike what you imagined that your brows rise. Dark hair dye is messily applied to her usually vibrant pink hair. Smudges of black were smeared across her face like she applied it with her eyes closed. Your eyes can’t help but drift along her exposed neck, collarbone, and arms. Tattoos and bandages scattered across her skin. 

Vi’s step falters. A wave of shock passes her face before a narrow look settles into her features. 

The wide-eyed, toothy grinned girl was gone. Her dark lips curled down, her nose scrunches slightly as she takes apart the view of you. Wherever bandages don’t cover, you see an array of purple bruises and silvery scars along the canvas of her skin. The harsh lighting of the pit cuts her muscles in such a way that makes her look carved from marble. 

Your breath catches in your throat at her heavy, predatory gaze. Bright blue eyes never leave your face. 

DING!

The starting bell shocks you out of your nerves. In an instant your anxiety evaporates and an odd thrill overtakes you. Instinctively you raise your hands near your face, letting your arms and legs feel loose as you get into a fighting stance. Vi’s expression is unreadable as she leisurely walks the perimeter of the arena. Her eyes dip towards your body. She lingers on the spot near your exposed stomach, a jagged scar that disappears under your pants. 

You take the opportunity to attack. Vi mirrors your raised hands, expecting you to hit her head on. Instead, you duck at the last minute, colliding your shin to her knee. 

— — —

The bag of coins is hefty, more so than you’re used to. 

Your finger digs through the gold and silver; one thousand and fifty golden hexes; four hundred and fifty-five silver cogs. More than enough to cover rent and food for the next three months. 

You don’t bother with a jacket to shield yourself from the heavy downpour, opting to skip the festivities and head straight back home. Your usual thirty minute commute is delayed by the aches in your hip and abdomen. If you weren’t so well versed in getting hit, Vi’s punches would’ve been lethal. 

Gord had every right to brag about his fighter's prowess. Vi was by far the deadliest opponent you’d ever faced. The aim of the game is the knockout, not to kill, but you know the refs aren’t going to get between two skilled fighters with a lust for blood in their eyes. You were all teeth and nails, more animal than human in that pit. It was hard to get into Vi’s blind spots and even harder to accurately land any good punches. You were backed into defense for most of the fight. Vi probably hoped to tire you out before delivering the finishing blow. 

You can tell if someone fights because they enjoy it. There’s a crazed look in their eyes as they try to trap you into continually dodging or blocking their assault. You fight for survival, even if you have some love for the game. Fighting is what kept you alive all these years. It pays the bills, keeps a roof over your head, clothes on your back, food on the table... 

Vi is clearly using fighting as an outlet. You were just unfortunate enough to be her punching bag. 

In a maneuver that damn near pulled a muscle in your back, you used the wall for momentum to jump on top of Vi. Your legs wrapped securely over her hardened biceps and your arms locked her head. Your chest pressed against the hard planes of her traps.  You could feel the heavy thud of Vi’s heart. Choking someone out wasn’t as near of a spectacle as Parvata would’ve liked, but you won the fight without a concussion. 

The rain poured harder as your shaky hands fumble for your keys. The fight ended an hour ago. You let out a string of curses as you try to find the correct key you needed. Cold air stiffens your fingers and your exhaustion is starting to take over. Or so you tell yourself. 

Sweat, blood, and alcohol. That was what the pit smelled like. Thick and hanging on your tongue like smog. 

Your fingers finally latched onto the right key, jamming it into the lock and forcing your way inside. 

Vi was a furnace. Her back radiates warmth as if to scorch you alive. The imprint of her arms still aches between your thighs. Like the pit, she too smelled of sweat, blood, and alcohol. Bernie’s Brew, the cheap shit from the bar above the arena. But there was a sweet musk to her skin. More intoxicating than any liquor. 

The speed at which you rip your clothes off makes your already overused muscles burn more. There’s an inexplicable urge to scrub your skin raw, erasing the phantom smells of Vi off of your skin. You let the cold water fall onto your heated skin. 

You wondered if Vi could feel the burn of your core on her lower back. 

— — —

It takes one week for Parvata to start hounding your ass about returning to work. 

Pit fighting wasn’t all that you did, though it made you the most money. In between brutal takedowns you would run errands around Zaun for her. Debt collecting. In the sweaty arena, at least there was glory to be had when fighting. In the damp houses of the undercity where everyone is barely scraping enough money to even live, it sours your mood for the entire day. There’s no glory to forcing a single father to cough up his last few golden hexes. Which wouldn’t even make a dent in his debt to Parvata. The sight used to make you feel guilty. After a few years of it though, you’ve gotten used to the angry yelling, the sob stories, the begging for one more week to get more money. 

When you find yourself back into the pit, it wasn’t Vi you were up against. 

You ignore the pang of disappointment and let yourself run loose. All the tension and frustration from your day was unleashed. One of your better performances. A right hook slammed into your jaw and a knee found its way into your ribs. But you delivered a well-placed kick to the side of their neck. The lanky man with snake tattoos fell to the ground with a satisfying thud. 

DING DING DING

The ring of the bell announces you as the winner. You hear the chant of your name, the howls of laughter as Rondo is dragged off the floor still unconscious. 

Tonight’s crowd is exceptionally packed. Friday nights usually are. The harsh lights above you make the masses of people blur into a single entity. Various warbles of words blending together. You don’t know why you scanned the crowd. You don’t know why your eyes immediately drifted to your right, pulled by an unknown magnetic force. But it does. 

First you see a burly man with his arms crossed. His face is hard and his physique is like a brick; rectangular and sturdy. He’s looking at you in curiosity. 

Then you see the dark outline of Vi. Your skin burns when you realize she’s already staring at you. It’s hard to tell what she’s thinking. She doesn’t seem to be particularly impressed by you. Her hands are in her pockets as she holds your intense gaze. The man next to her leans over and whispers in her ear. Her eyes never leave yours as she replies. Their conversation is muddled by the cramped people around them. 

For a second, the smell of the pit mingles with the memory of you pressed against her. Her strong back flexing beneath you as she tries to buck you off. The wild look in her eyes when she realizes what you were doing. Your heart beats faster, and not because of the adrenaline. 

You break the spell between you, stomping into the tunnel and weaving towards the exit. 

— — —

It carries on for a few weeks. 

You can never tell if Gord is pushing Vi to fight more or if Vi willingly puts herself through hell every other day. The Iron Fist of Zaun is always in rotation, more so than any other fighter. It’s gotten to the point where people are betting how long Vi could remain undefeated. You’d assume that Parvata would try to push you to fight her again, just to win the bets against her. She doesn’t. With it, no good pay. 

You find yourself settled in the crowds instead of in the pit itself. You don’t join in on the cheers or booing. Guy after guy, match after match. A few missed punches, a nice fist to the face, and the sharp ding of Gord’s bell. Just when you think that there will be no more matches for the night, Vi comes slaughtering in view. 

You hate how you immediately perk up, watching how she goes for a punch that knocks a metal jaw off of someone. A single punch. In less than a minute the fight is over and the crowd goes crazy. Vi’s sweaty back faces you. Her entire upper back is exposed and you now have a clearer view of the beautiful tattoo that adorns her skin. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. A cruel, taunting voice whispers that you wish to trace the wet muscle along the inked skin. Smelling her, tasting her—

You were unprepared for Vi to turn around and hone in on your spot in the crowd. As if she knew you were there, watching her from the shadows. You can’t help but observe the steady rise and fall of her sweaty chest. A bead of sweat making a tantalizing trail down her cheek and dropping between the swell of her breasts. Your mouth dries, suddenly parched. 

Something hot and wanting stirs inside of you. Vi must’ve seen it on your face because her usual scorned face shifts to a teasing smirk. 

A referee motions her towards the tunnels and Vi’s gaze momentarily leaves you. The spotlight is stripped away from you and you feel like you can finally breathe. Your clothes feel too warm—too tight along your body. Her gaze alone is a fire and you want to feel its burn. 

You part the crowd, trying to find the familiar door that leads down to the gate tunnels. 

A rough hand shoots out from behind, yanking you towards the exit. 

— — —

In a strange twist of events, Parvata ends up finding use for you outside of the ring. J’kepie’s bloodied body is dragged into the stale office and Parvata drips off the badge on his jacket. She drags you by the collar and jabs the pin into your leather jacket. Her insignia; a mountain range with a star above it. Head debt collector. 

“Consider this your promotion,” she growls, blowing smoke into your face. “Do well and you’ll get double the pay. Triple if you don’t ask questions” 

You know better than to fight her on this. So you nod. 

— — —

An entire month passes before you find yourself back in the pit. 

Debt collecting—you soon realized—was a misleading title. A glorified mercenary. If that bastard were still alive you would use your mechanical webbing to string him out on the lamppost by his neck. A client paid good money for J’kepie’s services, only to fail miserably. You weren’t allowed a day of rest,  swept up in Parvata’s circle. Caught in the webs of political alliances, drug wars, and hush money payments. After weeks of slaving away, you had finally stomped out the last of the client’s enemies. 

Your reward? Thirty-thousand golden hexes and a weekend off. 

You were at your wits end. The money you earned paled in comparison to the headache of cleaning up J’Kepie’s mess. You were constantly relying on yourself to do the work of over twenty people. You didn’t know how Parvata made it this long with such incompetent drones. At least she always kept true to her word. With the money you have saved up, you were able to buy a bigger home with a working shower. Food isn’t a scarcity anymore and your clothes were brand new.

You don’t know why your mind constantly drifts to the smelly arena tucked in the slums of Zaun. It’s not like you particularly loved fighting. It’s something to keep you occupied. Zaun was a vicious cycle of violence; of dirty tricks and guerilla warfare. In the pit, the only rules were to use your fist, your brain, and nothing else. Your only chance to take control of that cycle and make something out of it. 

Between the long days with blood caking your face, your mind wanders. Not to the thrill of the fight or the satisfaction, but to the angry phantom with piercing blue eyes and a warmth that rivaled the sun. She appears in your dreams with rough hands, calloused from years of fighting. Her fingers dance along any exposed skin; tracing your tattoos with the heavy weight of her tongue. Your back would arch, chasing her touch that she would so readily give you. Hoping that she catches your skin with her teeth, marking, biting—

Morning slips into night and your worn shoes carry you from your (somewhat) cushy apartment to the graffitied building that vibrates with music. Parvata doesn’t accompany you or even mentions for you to continue fighting. Too many loose ends to burn off. With her gone, no substantial money will be placed in your favor.  

You didn’t want the money. You were angry; itching to let off steam. To gather up your frustration and let it boil over the surface until there’s nothing left of you. 

At least that’s what you’re hoping for. 

“Sorry kid, all available fights are booked up.” 

You force an inhale, keeping your voice as even as you can. “C’mon, you know I’m one of Parvata’s. One fight that’s all I ask.” 

The old lady doesn’t lift her eyes from her book. Her eyes drift from one side to the next at a snail’s pace. “I know who you are, kid. Seems like you’re without your owner too. Doesn’t budge the fact that all fights are booked. Can’t you read?” She jerks a thumb to the sign next to her. 

NO SLOTS AVAILABLE

Below the sign was a list of the available matches. Your heart spikes at the words, “Iron Fist” being scribbled in for the first match. Her opponent is none other than Rondo. 

Gears start to turn in your head. 

With a final huff, the old lady tugs a metal string, pulling a sheet of metal over her kiosk. Your nails dig into your wrapped palm, trying to keep yourself from punching the glass. If your fist doesn’t connect to someone’s face soon, you are going to end up in Stillwater by midnight. Not even Pavarta would come save your sorry ass. 

“Fifteen minutes before it’s showtime!” the speakers blare out. 

People have already started to make their way inside through the front entrance. Red tickets in their hands, waving them around excitedly. A recurring color you’d see as you pass by. The sounds of music and cheering can be heard inside, enticing you in. 

You were going to fight whether that old bitch likes it or not.

— — —

Going through the crowd of people was going to shave down the limited time you had. There were multiple entries into the building reserved for staff and VIP members. Fighters typically use the main entrance or go through one of the VIP doors if they’re accompanied by their sponsor. Parvata was away doing gods know what and you didn’t want to fumble through sweaty bodies. The shortest route would be sneaking into the kitchen. 

The lock to the kitchen easily clicked open after a few twists of your hooked pin. Fridays means more people to feed so most of the staff were preoccupied enough to not care about you sliding between them. You breeze past chefs and waiters as you make your way through. A bit far removed from the main event, but you still have ten minutes before it starts. On the other side of the kitchen was a discreet door with small red trim on the bottom. No one looked your way as you opened it. 

The air is considerably colder here. You let muscle memory carry you through the damp corridors until the familiar waiting room comes into view. The door to the room opens and a tall man with snakes coiling his neck steps out. You quickly press against the wall, out of sight. 

A gruff voice calls out to the man: “Will you be back in time? Ten minutes is gonna go by real quick.”

“Just gon’ take a piss,” Rondo grunts, flicking the end of his cigarette to the floor. The door slams shut and he retreats further down the hallway.  

You use the shadows to your advantage, following him like a ghost.

— — —

Vi downs the last half of her beer. The third one today.

Her fifth fight this week. By anyone's standards, that’s too little time to recover. A restless night between each match and shit beer won’t do her any good, but she can’t find it within herself to care. Loris does at least. That’s good enough for both of them. The burn the beer leaves behind gives her the buzz she needs to carry on. Not enough to get her shit-face (not yet at least), but just enough for her body to feel loosened up.

To ease the pain Cait had left behind. Even if it’s only temporary. In the early days, all she could see was the dark blue hair and sharp face of Cait hiding between people. Her face lingered, festering the hurt in her chest until all she could do was sob into her pillows at night. She stopped, only because something else was distracting her. Keeping her afloat in the sea of her grief. 

Another ghost of her past. A hazy memory from bygone days. Where Powder was still her sister; Claggor and Mylo were still pains in her ass; Vander would pour her favorite juice after a successful trip. Sometimes Vi would come home to see you perched up on the bar. Your legs would swing on the stool as you talked to one of her friends. She would mostly see you with Ekko, letting him rattle off your ear until he couldn’t breathe. Rarely would she interact with you, let alone talk to you. She never would’ve admitted to it then, but she was intimidated by you. A pretty, shy girl with a bright smile is enough to make anyone fumble over their words. You were her first crush, for years she was haunted by you. She realized that far too late when your parents had died. You drifted from them. From Ekko, Powder, and her (even if you didn’t know it). You kept in touch with Benzo for a while before he too died. 

Vi wasn’t close enough to know where you’d gone. 

Her fondness for you lingered. During her years in Stillwater she thought of your animated conversations. Short-lived as they were, Vi replayed those talks in her head. Your laugh would tease her in dreams. Your soft hands tracing the scars along her body with love and care. Your kisses would be as sweet as your laugh. By the time Cait had busted her out of that dingy cell, the dreams fizzled out until you were just another memory in her mind. 

Cait was different. While you were just a daydream, Cait was something real to Vi. It wasn’t just a simple crush between the two of them. Not love either, but something different. A trust in each other. Someone to count on when the world turns against them. When the end of her gun slammed into Vi’s abdomen, it felt worse than any punch to her face. Cait took the trust between them, ripped it with her teeth, and spat it out without a second thought. When Cait left Zaun, a piece of Vi went along with her. 

Pit fighting seemed like the only natural outlet for Vi. Why not take the only thing she’s good at and use it to distract herself? It seemed like a good plan at the time. Loris didn’t say much about it, but he knew that she was stubborn enough to follow through with or without him. It worked well enough. Loud music and cheers drowning out the pounding of her heart and the whispers of Cait’s voice. 

But then you appeared across from her. A ghost turned real and tangible. The shy girl who would scream at the sight of any bug had grown up to be a fighter. Outwitting her strength in a way that stole her breath—literally. You were deadly, even as Vi had you cornered with whip-fast punches. When you jumped on her back, compressing her body between your legs, her head at the mercy of your arms, Vi’s anger evaporated. In a mere five minutes you did what no other substance could: make her forget about her heartbreak completely. 

Maybe it was a good thing that she was angry at Caitlyn. Then she wouldn’t feel so bad, thinking about fucking you. 

— — —

Vi enters the pit in sync with the announcer. 

Per routine she automatically starts to rake through the crowd. A mesh of excited faces with their mouths open, screaming her name until their throat grows hoarse. Vi would see your face at every match, watching like a hawk. Your visits grew shorter and shorter. A month ago you stopped coming. Still, Vi grazed over the seats, hoping to see you lingering in the shadows. 

When her eyes fail to see you, her shoulders sag imperceptibly. 

“Get ready for the Piltover Boxing Leagues’ middleweight fighter—Rondo!”. 

Her brain short-circuits when you walk to the arena. The crowd goes wild at your appearance, shouting your name in hopes you would look their way. Instead you held Vi’s shocked gaze. Something is different about you. A look of hunger flashes in your eyes, a determination that was absent when you first fought. Vi forgets about Caitlyn’s betrayal; the feeling of her lips pressed against hers; her toned, lithe body molding against Vi’s torso. 

Vi forgets it all when you stand in front of her. It was forever ago when she had that childhood crush on you. All pure, sweet, and innocent. Something else blooms in her body. Not love, trust, or the fleeting whispers of her old crush on you. A different feeling. A steady heat that slowly overtakes her body. A curiosity that nips at her mind. The urge to pick you apart, analyzing everything that makes you tick. To back you against the wall with nowhere to run. 

Vi’s attention was solely on you. Only you. There’s a spackle of blood across your face and a fading bruise near your temple. She raises her hands near face and you do the same. A charged energy ignites between you two and with it comes a newfound passion. A desire to win. 

DING

Your muscles snap into place as you bolt forward. Vi meets you halfway, sending a hard punch straight to your face. 

— — —

The lights above you strain your eyes. A dull ringing is present in your ears and you feel your body involuntarily swaying to the bass of the music. Vi is not much better. She’s breathing considerably harder now with a fresh bruise on her chest. There’s a noticeable strain in her hip from where you’ve kicked. For the better part of five minutes the two of you were locked into a series of punches, kicks, and scratches. Vi’s body was more rock than flesh. You jabbed every sharp corner of your body into her, slowing her down enough to send your elbow to the side of her head. Vi retreats, putting distance between you two. One of Vi’s hand wrappings came undone thanks to your teeth, leaving her bruised knuckles exposed. 

You circle each other, trying to catch your breath. Vi is terrible at guarding vital parts of her body, but she makes up for it in explosive punches and a speed that rivals your own. Your body is tense, threatening to lock up from exhaustion. You keep your fighting stance, watching Vi’s every move in case she tries to pull another fast combo on you. 

You’re starting to understand why people have a passion for this—the fight. Not just showing off cool moves or delighting in beating someone up just for the sake of it. Not for survival or just as a way to let out all the pent up energy in your body. 

For the first time in your life, you’ve met an opponent who is skilled. In most circumstances you are engaged with people who utilize strength or weapons with little regard to finesse. You stood out to Parvata for your ability to out maneuver, outwit, and overcome opponents who otherwise have the bigger advantage. The thrill that came from a fight would wear off and slowly that high became less and less potent. Each fight felt the same as the last. 

Fighting became a chore, a job to do in order to get money. Pavarta signs and you show up. Dull. Repetitive. Redundant. 

Vi was your perfect antithesis. A break in a mind-numbing routine. Where you attack, she finds a way to block. When you falter she’s hot on your heels. You know she remembers you. You can feel it in the way her gaze keeps falling down your body and back up to your face. Even as you’re trying to knock her teeth in. She doesn’t let her familiarity with you cloud her judgement and you find yourself appreciating it. You’re glad to know that with each punch, she truly means it. 

A blink is all it took for Vi to come swinging once more. You twist out of the way and ram your fist into her side. Vi grunts out, elbowing you in the back. The sharp angle of her joint sends a wave of pain. You fall to the ground, barely catching yourself with weak arms. Vi doesn’t give you time to recover. Her steel-toe boot kicks your side, hard enough to make all the air leave your lungs at once. Pain shoots everywhere. 

With a huff you bring your leg out, swiping her ankle until she’s on the ground with you. It’s a struggle to try to get on top of her. Her mouth in a snarl as she tries to fight you off. 

Much of her intimidation comes with her being on two feet. On the ground, however, she’s flailing. 

You force yourself past her arms and settle your weight on her chest. Vi tries to punch your abdomen but you redirect her punch. Your nails dig into the wrapping and undo it. When her other hand tries to land a hit, you take the loose end of her wrapping and bind her wrists together; caught in a web of your doing. You slam her bound arms above her head onto the concrete. The sound is so crisp that the ringing in your ears cease. 

Vi is full-on thrashing beneath you. She jerks and writhes, desperately trying to buck you off of her. It doesn’t work, of course. You lean closer, taking in the messy makeup, the silver nose ring, the small scars across her face. She’s surprised, her mouth parts to let out frustrated huffs. Her once soft blue eyes are overtaken by her dilated pupils.

She stops shifting beneath you and it’s then that you realize that you’re fully seated on top of her breasts. Your core is settled on top of her sternum, the wild pulse no doubt could be felt by her. The heat is all consuming. A sickening shock goes down your spine and with it comes the familiar ache of arousal. Vi’s gaze is no longer surprised or panicked. Hunger is written as clear as day in her darkened eyes. 

The referee runs beside you, slamming his hand on the ground. Once. Twice. 

The final slam declares you the victor. 

DING DING DING

— — —

Vi is no stranger to being roughly handled. Seven years in prison didn’t exactly go by smoothly. Hell, these past few weeks were filled with nothing but split knuckles and a mind-numbing headache. You were all coiled muscle and snapping teeth in the ring. Vi was wholeheartedly expecting to be dragged off to an empty room and be devoured by you.

But you continue to give her more surprises. 

“Let's get you cleaned up,” you say, leading her out of the building. A soft invitation that was so unlike your behavior when fighting. It’s the first time in years since she’s heard you speak. Directly at her, no less. Vi’s brows draw into a furrow and your lips tilt to a smile. “It’s a bit of a walk, but I know your place doesn’t have good heating.” 

The adrenaline from the fight starts to dissipate, and so does the innate want in her body. She can think clearly now.

Vi stops in her tracks, glaring. “Stalkin’ me much?”

“I’ve been fighting in that pit longer than you, Vi.” Her heart flutters with the mention of her name. You continue walking, kicking rocks out of your way. “It doesn’t exactly pay you much. I had two jobs and could barely keep the water running. Plus, you don’t seem to wash out that makeup.”

“I do.” She doesn’t. You give her a smirk to let her know that you see through her bullshit. You tug on her naked wrist. Warm and tender, like she’s a piece of glass. She lets you. 

You greatly understated how much walking there was to your place. Vi doesn’t complain in the slightest, especially if it means talking to you for longer. Occasionally you would point out a new restaurant that opened or a brothel that many Piltover elites would favor. You’re easy to talk to, she concludes. Sometime during the walk, your hands joined together. Wound tightly, swaying in tandem with your steps. She doesn’t deny that you’re an entirely different person, but there’s part of the old you that remains. You’re still talkative. A trait that Vi often finds annoying, but with you it falls under the category of endearing. Your smiles light up your face, as small as they are. 

Your apartment is better than Vi had pictured in her head. Spacious with high windows and modest furniture. It’s cozy, intimate. More so than when Vi entered Caitlyn’s home. In Piltover, Vi is painfully aware that she doesn’t belong. Everything bad in her life traces back to the gilded city with gleaming white buildings and blue skies. No matter how much money you seem to make (which Vi guesses is a lot more than you make it out to be), you’re a Zaunite through and through. 

Maybe the three mile hike through the Lanes was worth it, Vi thinks wryly.  

The lock to your door clicks shut and Vi is fully aware that she’s alone with you. 

You lean against the wall, kicking off your shoes. The perpetual twilight of Zaun makes your body glow. You peel off the jacket with that shiny gold badge, revealing your bruised body. Your tank top is tight along your chest, emphasizing your body in a way that makes Vi’s face darken. Her fingers curl inside of the pockets of her jacket, itching to touch you. 

“Something the matter?” you ask. A genuine question seeing as how Vi’s face is pinched, focused on you. The darkness of the room makes her look angry. 

Before you can open your mouth again, Vi crosses the room until she’s all that you see. Her hands, rough and calloused like you imagined, find the hem of your top. Your breath is caught in your throat, your body jolting at the contact. Her thumb gently follows the skin along your hip bone—the jagged scar that caught her attention all those weeks ago. You feel her trace imprint of your scar, her thumb teasing the edge of your pants where it continues. 

“Been wonderin’ how far this goes,” she murmurs. She flickers up at your face, hesitating just a bit. Waiting for your permission. 

Your face is warm and your smile is full of teeth. “Why don’t you fuck me to find out?” you challenge. 

Vi wastes no time in slotting your bodies together. Your response is immediate. Your hands slide up her abs, trailing upwards until they knot in her dark hair. Vi groans into you, and you take the opportunity to slide your tongue into her mouth. The sound she emits makes your spine tingle. Vi’s warmth is all consuming. Her hands are everywhere—your hips, the small of your back, your ass—mapping out your body’s topography with her eyes closed. She’s eager to have you close, to feel you, claim you. 

A bit too eager with the way she’s pressing against your lips so hard that you think they’ll bruise. But with the way she’s groping your ass you don’t even have the will to care. 

The leather jacket around Vi’s shoulders is pushed away by your hands. Using Vi’s hair as a leash, you tug her head back, forcing her to reveal her neck to you. You latch onto the soft patch of skin just below her jaw. Vi keens, gripping onto your hips like a vice. 

Her skin is still tacky with sweat. The salt dissolves with your open mouth kisses. Your teeth gently nip the hollow of her throat until the vessels beneath her skin breath. A mark; ownership. Vi jolts when she feels your tongue, hot and needy, drag along the column of her neck. If it wasn’t for your tight grip onto her, Vi is certain that her knees would’ve given out right then and there. 

You jerk her back, harder this time. Vi releases her hold on you. Her eyes are glazed over, her eyes dilated once again. You hook a finger onto a loop in her pants and drag her deeper into your apartment. Vi stumbles, trying her best to get her shaky legs to move faster. You barely felt her up and already she’s been reduced to a horny mess. 

Vi is far from inexperienced. She had a rotation of girls in her prison block vying for her attention, begging for a quick fuck in a supply closet or in the showers. She’s no stranger to being touched, to have a tongue slide into her mouth, or being groped. She doesn’t understand why it feels different when it comes to you. Why is she buzzing with excitement when the door to your room squeaks open? Why does her heart skip a beat when you shove her onto your bed? Why the fuck does she let out a pathetic whine when you lift up your tank top, revealing your bare chest to her? 

You crawl on top of her to kiss her again. It’s slower, precise, but equally as firm. Vi knows she’s strong enough to tug you closer, but the way your tongue keeps sliding against her own makes her head foggy. When you pull away, an obvious trail of spit connects you two. With a single hand you pop open the button on her jeans. Cold anticipation fills her. 

“Wanna take my time with you,” you say against her swollen lips. There’s a raw edge to your voice that lets Vi know that you’re desperate for her too. 

A glint of metal catches Vi’s eyes as you pull out a small knife from your pants. With the precision of a surgeon, you slice open the bandages that cover her chest. The muscles of her abdomen flex when your knife cuts a touch too close to her skin. The layers of wrappings fall open like a flower in bloom, revealing her bare torso to you. 

You kiss along her neck once more. Your lips carve a path down to the middle of her sternum. Wet, sloppy, occasionally accompanied by the glide of your tongue. Vi’s hips involuntarily jerk upwards, trying to alleviate the ache of her core. 

“You’re such a—ah—fucking tease,” she huffs. 

You hum against the underside of her breast. “So impatient,” you chide with a gentle nip of her skin. “Not unlike your fighting style.” 

All words of protest die in Vi’s throat when you take a nipple into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the sensitive bud, watching Vi arch into you. You can’t help but grin at her disheveled state. You palm her other breast, twisting the hardening nipple with your fingers. One of Vi’s hands flies to her mouth, trying to silence the higher pitched gasps and moans. 

You pinch her nipple a little harder. “Cover your mouth again and I’ll stop.”

“It’s embarrassing,” she whines. 

You cup her clothed pussy, digging your hand harshly against the crest of her slit. The moan that escapes Vi is music to your ears. “I’m trying to be nice Vi. I want to hear every noise you make.” You punctuate your words with another roll of your hand. “Can you do that for me baby?”

A few more slides of your hand and Vi gives a weak nod of affirmation. Satisfied, you continue your trail down her torso. You’re a drug. You must be. Your lips alone are undoing her, fanning the flames of her desire in a way that no one else could. With every tender bruise, your tongue gently prods it with a cruel grin. Vi keeps her hands fisted in your sheets, trying to please your demands of hearing her. She’s not used to receiving; being at the mercy of someone during sex. It’s as foreign of a concept to her as living her life in Piltover with an ivory tower and silk clothes. She’s not used to being beaten in a game she’s good at, especially not to the same person. Not with fighting and certainly not through sex. But you managed to do it anyway. 

You’re an enigma to her. Opposite to her in such a way that leaves her aching. Oil and water, yet you find a way to compliment her. Separated by time, but equal when together. Her match in a ring, and her match in bed it seems. 

Vi lifts herself on her forearms, watching you with rapt attention when your mouth leaves her body. You move to her feet, undoing the tight laces of her boots and tossing them onto the floor. Once her other shoe hits the ground with a loud thud, you’ve finally reached the faint trail of hair under her belly button with a soft kiss. Your teeth catch the fly of her zipper and pull it down. The sharp sound made her heart pound faster. You tug onto her pants and underwear, Vi lifting her hips to help you slide them off her body. 

Cold air hits her cunt and she sucks in a breath. Your lips part in awe, seeing the proof of her desire leaking out of her entrance. You settle between her legs, placing your hand on the corded muscle of her thighs to keep her spread for you. You watch her opening clench around nothing, practically begging you to put your mouth on it. Apparently, you were staring a second too long. 

“You gonna watch or are you gonna fuck me?” Vi snaps, already fed up with your prolonged teasing. Her cheeks are flushed as her eyes challenge yours. “Don’t tell me you forgot how to eat pussy.”

Vi grins at your displeased face, happy to see your assured confidence crack just a little. 

You give her a sharp glare, but that only seems to stir a spark of rebellion against your cruel tyranny. You certainly can’t have that. 

So you press your thumb against her puffy clit and watch as her jaw goes slack. 

“Could you repeat that?” you ask with mock innocence. You let your thumb gather some of her slick and gently rub her crest. A wordless gasp leaves Vi as you continue your slow ministrations. “Something the matter, Vi? Spider got your tongue?” Your thumb is pressing against her harder, almost to the point of pain. You shake your head with faux sympathy, clicking your tongue. “Poor thing’s been neglected. I barely touched you and you’re already ruining my sheets. Maybe I should leave you here so I can prevent a mess.” 

A strained noise of protest escapes from Vi. Too caught up in pleasure to see past your obvious bluff.  “Don’t you dare…f-fuck! Don’t you dare stop—shit.”  

“You’re not in the position to be making demands,” you state, emphasized with a light pinch of her clit. Vi bucks her hips into your hand, trying to get as much friction out of you. 

“‘M sorry…won’t do it again—ah—promise!” 

As much as you want to prolong her suffering, you’re too selfish to deprive yourself of good pussy just to prove a point. Next time, you think to yourself. If there will be a next time. You push down that thought, focusing on the growing slick accumulating in your palm. Vi whines when your hand leaves, but quickly swallows any scathing words when she feels your tongue drag along her slit. Kitten licks and kisses along her pussy makes Vi more desperate. But it’s not enough to release the pressure in her core. You continue to tease her even as she’s starting to grow frustrated. You would prod her tight entrance with your tongue, only to retreat a few seconds later. You watch with a grin at Vi’s mounting frustrations, wanting to test her patience with you. 

When you latch onto her clit, sucking it gently, Vi damn near sobs in relief. 

You’re a god. That’s the only explanation. Your saliva holds a magical elixir that sends her nerves ablaze and makes her mind go blank. If this was a ploy to get her to join your cult, she’ll be attending mass every day of the damn week just to experience your mouth on her cunt, no questions asked. Your firm hold on her thighs keeps her from crushing your skull between them. In a few minutes she’s already starting to shake. 

When you add a finger to the mix, Vi is making sounds she never thought capable of. It takes a few tries to find the right spot, but when you do, you’re merciless. Your finger and mouth working in sync to bring her to the height of her pleasure. The pressure between Vi’s legs threatens to snap. Her body winding tighter, tighter, tighter—

Vi chants your name like a prayer. Broken wails that plead for your grace; to give her sweet relief to the pain you had also caused her. “Please, please, please! I can’t…fuck, I need to cum! Please—”

Who are you to deny a beautiful woman’s cries? You add in a second finger, never faltering in your brutal assault. Vi’s pussy clamps down on your fingers—the only warning of her impending descent. 

The pressure explodes outwards. Energy ripples through her body in powerful waves until she’s left shivering. Vi’s back arches off the bed as she cries out your name, her eyes rolling to the back of her skull. Her strong legs wrapping around your head, suffocating you with her body and essence. Cum gushes onto your face and fingers as you continue to fuck her through her orgasm. Only when she parts her legs and starts to jerk her hips away do you stop.

Vi is left shaky, her chest struggling to inhale deeply. Still, she hauls you from her legs and pulls you in for a kiss. She lets out a groan at the taste of her sex on your lips. 

You give her one more peck before pulling away slightly. “Forgotten how to eat pussy, huh?”

The look in Vi’s eyes tells you that she doesn’t regret it one bit. “Worth it to have you prove it to me.” 

“You’re a brat, you know that?” you say, exasperated. 

Vi grabs hold of your waist and rolls you on your back. She doesn’t bother teasing you with nips and open mouth kisses along your body. You were right to call her impatient as she fumbles with your belt. There’s a fire behind those blue eyes of hers, a look of ambition and cunning.  

Before you could question her motives, Vi grabs both of your wrists and mounts on top of you. You feel the clink of your belt as Vi wraps them around your wrists, tying them to your metal headboard. In the span of a few seconds, she manages to secure you to your bed, completely at her mercy. Her slick core rubs against your stomach as you helplessly pull against your restraints. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you ask. 

Vi’s hand travels appreciatively down your chest, stopping you giving your breasts a squeeze. “Repaying the favor.” She wears the same look as she does in the ring. Halfway between a glare and a look of curiosity. 

Vi shifts off of you, relieving your body of her weight. Instead she settles between your legs, much like how you did before. 

You tilt your chin out, glaring up at her. “You think that you’re in charge now just because you restrained me?” 

“I do, actually.”

You’d be lying if you said you don’t find it incredibly hot to be at the complete mercy of someone like Vi. Still, you hoped to have your streak of conquering Vi to be undefeated, at least for the night. Vi is too busy tracing her fingers along your body, mentally counting all the scars she could see on your body. You try to not let it show that her seeking fingers have an effect on you, however your traitorous skin erupts in goosebumps wherever her finger travels. Vi takes her time visually appreciating her body. She enjoys the feeling of warm flesh beneath her fingers, the subtle shivers whenever she finds a particularly sore spot. 

“So beautiful,” she whispers, almost to herself. “Been wanting this for so long.”

A shallow chuckle escapes you. “Since you saw me in the pit?”

You whimper softly when she kneads the soft mounds of your breasts.  Her brows furrow and her movements falter for a moment. 

“Before that,” she corrects, in a serious tone that shocks you. 

It takes a moment for the implication of her admission to hit you. You almost laughed at the ridiculous notion. You wanted nothing more than to be friends with Vi as kids. But any advance was met with hesitation. She would constantly avoid any prolonged interaction with you. You tried not to take it to heart; she always had a lot on her plate. You assumed she didn’t think you were cool and you’ve learned to make peace with that. Even if Powder constantly assured you that Vi didn't actually hate you…

Oh.

“I just…I thought that…y'know.” 

“Y’know what?” Vi asks. 

You force a steady inhale. “I thought that you didn’t want to be friends with me. I grew up thinking you secretly hated me.” Suddenly the immediate chemistry between you two in the ring starts to make sense. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner? When I saw you again I thought that you wouldn’t remember—”

Vi shuts up your rambling with a kiss. A dizzying, passionate kiss that steals what little air you have left in your lungs. You wrap your legs around Vi’s hips, bringing her closer. She lets you press your pelvises together, groaning in your mouth when you start to move. Her hips move in sync with yours, grinding against your heated core with fervor. 

Vi breaks the kiss but doesn’t stop the movement of her hips. “I thought about you every night since our first fight.” You let out sharp gasps when her hands return to your chest. “When I saw you in the stands, I wanted to drag you to the bathrooms and fuck you against the sink” Her hands finds your hips and presses you down to her pubic bone, hard enough to make you arch into her with a whine. “Let me have you. Even if it’s just for tonight.”

“Do it,” you say, your voice growing hoarse, “take me. I’ll be yours.”

There’s the unspoken meaning behind that declaration. A line that separates you two, once crossed it can have the power to destroy you from the inside out. You don’t seem to realize the weight of what you’re saying. Vi knows her mind is still conflicted on Caitlyn. She can’t bring herself to commit to hating her, but she can’t deny the toll it’s taken on her mind. Poisoning her. With you, the pain recedes, forgotten and pushed away. A distraction. A damn good one. 

When Vi kisses you again, she remembers all of the reasons why she was so drawn to you. You were more than just a pretty girl that she admired from afar. Her antithesis. Should she accept your invitation, wholeheartedly, you will have the power to be a weapon of her undoing. Vi should be scared of that. Not too long ago she poured her heart and bled for someone who ultimately discarded her. 

But then you moan out Vi’s name—breathy and desperate. A longing to rewrite your shared past between each kiss. A call to action. To finally answer one of Vi’s biggest what if? 

Vi runs past that separation between you two. Just for tonight, she promises weakly. 

In her haste to get your pants off your body, she snaps the button of your jeans and yanks the garment off along with your soaked panties. Her fingers run along your slit, teasing your entrance with the pad of her finger. 

“Please!”

Vi slides her middle finger down to the knuckle, curving ever so slightly. You jerk into her hand and Vi knows she’s found your weakest point. It’s like her fingers were made your pussy. She gives an experimental press of her finger, slowly building up a steady pace. Your tough demeanor chipping away bit by bit with each drag of her finger. 

You’re panting heavily. The squelching sound of your wet cunt fills the space between your bodies. Vi sets a moderate pace, enough to elicit moans, but not enough to satisfy. Vi must’ve seen the look on your face. 

“Let me take care of you, baby.” Her hand moves a touch faster, but you’re so wound up that any difference makes you cry out. “That’s it—that’s my girl.”

 A steady ache builds in your core at the name. You pull needlessly against the tight restraints, hoping that one more tug would be enough to free your hands. You want to touch her, to bring her closer to you bodies and fuck you properly. 

Vi laughs at your struggle. “Too much for you? Should I slow down?”

You shake your head vehemently. “More…give—fuck, give me more Vi. Need you…need more of you!”

The moment you feel her lips on yours, you also feel the addition of another finger deep in your cunt. The effect is immediate. Vi could barely kiss you with how loudly you’re moaning; jaw hung open, head thrown back, and your hips furiously meeting her fingers. She grabs your open jaw and forces you to look at her. Vi’s spit hits the back of your throat. When she sees you swallow—mouth closing and throat squeezing—she lets out a string of curses. 

A third finger makes your eyes roll to the back of your skull. Your thighs seize up and your chest tightens. You’re so, so close. You need something more. Just one more push and you’ll fall off the edge. 

As if Vi could read your mind, her hand leaves your face, pressing below your belly button, right where her fingers meet the spot inside of you that makes you see stars. The pressure from her other hand combined with her feverish fucking was enough make you cum—hard. Your body twists in on itself, trying to ride out the pulses of pure feeling. Blinding pleasure rips through your body like lightning, hitting you fast and leaving behind a burn. Your cum rushes out of you like a dam, coating Vi’s fingers. 

“That’s it baby. You’re taking me so well. My good girl,” Vi coos, slowing down in her assault against your cunt. 

It takes a minute to come down from your euphoria. Your body slowly relaxes as Vi eases her fingers out of you. You can’t help but whine at the loss. 

In an executive act of mercy, Vi tugs at the belt restraint, freeing your sore wrists. 

You feel warm. A hot, pulsating nerve that’s been rubbed raw. Never in your life had sex ever been that good. You don’t even think you’re even capable of making yourself cum that hard. Vi collapses beside you, pulling you to her chest. You breathe in the scent of her; sweat, musk, and faint traces of leather. 

“We’ll shower tomorrow,” she mumbles into the side of your head. Exhausted. 

You feel the lull of sleep start to take you too. You bury your face into her neck, letting yourself trace patterns along the muscles of her back. Her strong arms wrap around your body, caging you with her warmth. Her soft, bruised, scarred skin enveloping you. You lay like this for a while, listening to the slow staccato of her heartbeat. Vi’s breath evens out and soon she’s asleep in your arms. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep as well. 

— — —

At some point during the night, Vi twists away from you. You only notice when her voice starts to pull you awake. 

“Didn’t…didn’t mean to,” she whispers. Her face is scrunched up, pained. 

You’re unsure what the protocol is for someone having a bad dream. You want to smooth your thumb over her pinched brows, kissing her frown until her imaginary worries go away. But if Vi wakes up, would she talk about it? You’re paralyzed by the decision, you opt to simply stay on your side of the bed. If it gets too much then you’ll wake her. In the meantime, you’ll try to ignore her sleep talking. You only have the weekend off after all. Soon, Parvata will be knocking on your door, demanding for your services. The thought alone makes you exhausted. 

The bed shifts again and this time Vi’s arms find you. This time, your back is pressed against her chest, her lips ghosting over the top of your shoulder. 

“Sorry…” she murmurs into your skin. A longing spelled with each syllable. “Love…I love you.”

You’re frozen. Her arms around your waist feel like dead weight. A sour feeling is felt in your gut; the feeling that whatever comes out of her mouth will haunt you. 

Vi’s mouth moves again. Sounds pressed against your skin, trying to be let out. Then, you hear it. As clear as Piltover’s skies.

“Caitlyn.”

You felt your heart stop in its tracks. It’s the clearest word that came out of her ramblings. With it comes a shock of clarity that makes the room feel ten degrees colder. Caitlyn…why does that name seem familiar?

Kiramman. Caitlyn Kiramman. Vi’s supposed enforcer buddy before she would up in the pits. Responsible for the removal of one of the chem-barons and their followers. Not much is known about what exactly went wrong to have Vi end up back in Zaun. But one thing was clear. 

Vi was using you. To distract herself from the Kiramman heir. It wasn’t a desire to reconnect with you that led her to follow you. Seems as though sex was a better option than shitty liquor. You feel Vi nuzzle against your skin and you fight the urge to recoil from her touch. It’s not like you’ve staked your claim to her. She wasn’t your girlfriend. You didn’t establish any boundaries or attach any labels to what you were. She never accepted your invitation after all—”I’ll be yours”. 

You slowly maneuver your body until you’re facing Vi. She’s still sound asleep. The hard crease in the middle of her brows is gone, looking  more relaxed than you’ve seen her. You shouldn’t feel jealous. Vi isn’t your partner. And now you have confirmation that she most likely never will be. 

So you cling onto her. Pretending that just for tonight, she’s actually yours. 

[autonomousroboticorganism]

bug trouble (TF Prime)

featuring - Optimus Prime x F!Reader, Bumblebee x F!Reader, Smokescreen x F!Reader, Knock Out x F!Reader, Wheeljack x F!Reader, Soundwave x F!Reader, Shockwave x F!Reader

summary - you have faced some of the worse Decepticons/Autobots with them, so your fear of little organic insects mystifies them

warnings - the Bots and Cons shoot at/step on/crush the spiders, some of them by accident

a/n - i don't condone killing anything but in my opinion this is how they would solve it, as battle-hardened warriors

OPTIMUS PRIME

Optimus and the team had just come back from another dangerous and tiring mission to stop the Decepticons from getting their servos on a relic. The base was suspiciously quiet, and they were sure that you and the other humans hadn't followed them through the ground bridge this time.

So where were you?

Ratchet was at his usual station, chuckling to himself, which earned suspicious looks from Arcee, Bulkhead and Bumblebee.

"Ratchet?" Optimus called. "Where are the children?"

The medic turned to the returned team, "At this point, I don't know. (Name) screamed randomly, and they scattered."

"And you haven't even tried to find them?" Arcee crossed her arms.

"I was just doing that now," Ratchet replied.

"Then why were you giggling like a little girl?" Bulkhead asked.

Optimus walked over to check the screens, spotting you in one of the camera feeds. You were in one of the relic containment units, running around the platform holding the relic, frantically. The Prime immediately turned and walked to that room, leaving the others to bicker. When he opened the unit, you screamed and ran past him, sobbing hysterically.

A little black thing with eight legs was following behind you.

(Name)," the Prime called, "Wait."

He followed you, back to the main area where you circled around Bulkhead and ran back to him, trying to scale his leg. Optimus bent down and lifted you up.

"My love, what is that following you? And why are you afraid?"

"It's a spider!" You wailed, "And it's got eight creepy legs and six creepier eyes!" You shivered. "Stuff of nightmares, really." Tears still streamed down your face.

Optimus looked back down at the arachnid, which was hesitating to follow you up his leg. Arcee shivered as well, the sight of the spider reminding her of her worst enemy.

"I shall get rid of it," the Prime handed you to Arcee before reaching down to pick up the arachnid. It crawled onto his digit, and in his attempt to grab it with his other servo he accidentally crushed it. "Oops."

You shivered when he reached for you again, "Optimus, I love you but if you touch me with the remains of that infernal thing on your servos, I will jump out of your hands and accept my fate."

The Prime was even more confused, but complied and only reached for you when he had cleaned his servos. You happily returned to him, relaxing in his hold.

"You have faced the likes of Starscream and a zombie Skyquake," he looked at you, "Yet you fear a little earth arachnid?"

You pouted, "Did I mention the eight legs and six eyes?"

Optimus was still confused, but comforted you nonetheless. He held you and stroked your back soothingly with one digit, telling you about their mission to distract you. It worked, for the most part.

BUMBLEBEE

All Bumblebee wants to do after a long day of fighting Cons is to sit and have you curl up to him as you watch a movie. The feeling of you against him always calms him, and never fails to destress him after a mission.

Unfortunately, when the team got back there was no sign of you or Jack, Miko and Raf. Only a giggling Ratchet, which set off alarm bells in Bee's processor.

The scout beeped a few times, asking the medic where you were.

"I did not know myself," Ratchet replied, "Until I took a look at our surveillance systems." He stepped aside to show the team.

Bumblebee spotted you immediately, and he immediately grew concerned. You were on his berth in his berthroom, shaking and frantically looking around but otherwisd stuck there for the time being.

The scout beeped worriedly, rushing off to save you from whatever horror was in his berthroom. When he opened the door, he saw something black with multiple legs scuttling around the room, and you were sobbing on his berth.

"Bumblebee!" You cried out when you saw him. "Blasters out, please!"

He beeped, asking why, and when you pointed to the arachnid on the floor he asked, Why do you want me to shoot something so small? It seems harmless. When you burst into even more tears, he quickly corrected himself, I mean, you've gone up against Starscream and Knock Out! Why does this thing scare you?

"Bumblebee please!" You begged, "I'll explain after, please just get rid of it!"

The scout obliged, blasting the arachnid to bits before coming closer, picking you up. You offered him rushed, relieved thank you's, before promptly burying yourself in his neck cables.

"It's got eight creepy legs," you complained to him, still shivering. "And six even creepier eyes. I hate them so much. I won't sleep for the next few nights."

Bumblebee beeped again, I will always protect you.

"I know...but these creepy crawlies..." You shivered again. "I would rather get kidnapped by Knock Out than face one of these again."

Bumblebee whined, Don't say that!

You laughed, kissing his faceplate, "Thank you, my hero."

His chassis puffed out in pride.

KNOCK OUT

Starscream could be very annoying, this much you knew. He often got on Knock Out's nerves, more so than the doctor let on. But there were apparently no limits to heeled Decepticon's cruelty, because somehow he had found out about the human fear arachnophobia.

Because now the eight-legged abomination was scuttling around Knock Out's lab, stranding you on the tool table.

This was how the medic found you, on your hands and knees peering over the edge of the table. You were trembling, something he'd never seen you do. There was a wild, fearful look in your eyes that didn't match your usual behaviour, and Knock Out looked around.

"Am I missing something?"

You screamed and fell backwards, chest heaving, "Knock Out! Don't scare me like that!"

"You were scared long before I got here, sweetheart. What's the problem?"

"You don't see it?"

Your eyes once again landed on the floor, glued to something that was moving. He looked down, his optics narrowing in on the small, furry eight-legged creature.

"What is that?"

"A spider!" You shuffled back on the table. "Please get rid of it!"

The mad doctor looked confused, "You've come with me to battle Autobots, and have stood in the middle of our fights, but you afraid of something so tiny?"

You glared at him, "Count its legs and eyes before you judge!"

He sighed, but got rid of the arachnid by stepping on it. Then he proceeded to complain about getting his pede messed, and you face-palmed. At least you were calm now and no longer shaking, so he decided to ignore that.

"How did a spider even get on the ship?" He asked you, scooping you up and placing you on his shoulder - something he seemed to enjoy.

"Take one guess."

"Screamer?" He already knew the answer without your confirmation.

"Mhm."

Knock Out didn't take kindly to anyone messing with what belonged to him. Especially if it was his precious little human. So the next time Starscream needed repairs, you laughed when you heard his repair had malfunctioned, knowing that the mad doctor had purposely sabotaged it.

SMOKESCREEN

Every time Smokescreen thought he had found out all he needed to know about the human race, he was smacked in the helm with something new. He hadn't even considered that you had fears, since he had seen you face Decepticons and not even flinch.

Yet here you were, screaming murder and running away from a little black thing with eight furry legs. The rest of the team looked up from their positions, Miko's face paling as she took off as well.

"What's that?" Smokescreen looked at Bumblebee, confused.

Bumblebee beeped a few times, explaining that spiders were eight-legged, six-eyed arachnids that freaked you and Miko out like nothing else.

Smokescreen looked at you again, before going over and picking you up. He didn't understand your fear, but he didn't want you to feel scared when he was right there.

"It's okay, I got it!"

He tried stepping on it, but it scuttled away. He set you down on his shoulder and tried to grab it, which made you yelp and attempt to scale down his back.

"No no no!" You kept muttering, shivering and shaking like you were in some kind of horrible trance.

"It's so small!" He grit his dentae, reaching for it again. "This thing isn't as scary as some Decepticons." He meant well. He just sometimes said stupid things.

"I would rather fight Starscream again than be around that thing!" You cried, climbing as far back as possible as he finally got a hold of it. You slipped and fell off his shoulder, but Smokescreen's reflexes were great. He caught you in his other servo.

"Uh, Smokescreen? Not a good idea," Arcee watched as your whole body went rigid when the spider escaped his grip and crawled along his arm.

You screamed so loudly you might have damaged his audials, but he realised his mistake and quickly handed you to the nearest Autobot as he frantically looked all over his body, trying to locate the infernal creature. He managed to get it, but only after he sped out of the base to remove it outside, to prevent you and Miko from passing out.

When he got back, you shivered but allowed him to pick you up again, and he grinned, "I don't understand it, but if it scares you it's probably bad, right?"

You smiled.

WHEELJACK

Wheeljack is pretty fearless, so you often feel intimidated by him and insecure about your own fears. You never told him about your deathly fear of arachnids, and he never asked. He assumed you were like him, not scared of anything.

That is, until today.

When he got back from a mission with Bulkhead, he immediately sought you out. Even Miko was missing, which the green Autobot found strange.

"Where's (Name) and Miko?" Wheeljack asked Raf and Jack, who were playing a racing videogame.

Jack shrugged, "Haven't seen them since we got here after school."

That was even more odd. Usually you would be here waiting for him to get back from wherever if he wasn't here. Then, moments later, a scream rang out through the base. Wheeljack recognised that as yours and took off towards the sound.

When he found you, he stopped dead.

You were running in circles around his berth, looking over your shoulder. He tried to spot what was apparently chasing you, and only did so when the thing scuttled out from behind his berth, in the direction you were headed. You screamed again and changed directions.

"What is that?" Wheeljack asked, confused on why you were so terrified.

"Spider!" You wailed, running to him and hiding behind his massive leg. "Kill it!"

He raised a big metal eyebrow, "You're scared of that tiny thing? You've faced vehicons and Dreadwing with me and that little creature is what's shaking you?"

You groaned, "I knew you would judge! Where's Bulkhead?"

"Okay, okay, no need for that," he grumbled and picked you up, setting you carefully on his shoulder before kicking the arachnid, sending the dreaded creature flying and hitting the wall. It crumpled, laying on its back and curling inwards.

"Thanks," you sighed in relief, but still looked tense. "Now get rid of it."

"It's dead."

"Dead and no less creepy!" You protested.

"Yeah, yeah." He rolled his eyes, but got rid of the dead spider. When he got back, he watched you carefully. "You good now?"

"Much better," you confirmed, but still looking like you had seen a ghost.

"Come here."

Wheeljack wasn't a cuddler, but he figured the best thing to do as your boyfriend was get in some snuggles to soothe you. And maybe, MAYBE he enjoyed it too, but Primus forbid he ever admit that out loud.

SOUNDWAVE

Like Knock Out, Soundwave didn't understand how an earth creature got on the ship. And since you seemed so horrified, he concluded that you didn't bring it with you.

He was aware the second you're terrified, as predicted, so you didn't have to scream and cry for help. You just hid wherever you could, and waited for the silent Decepticon to find you.

He stopped his work to come check on you, and to deal with the cresture that was inspiring such fear. Once he's in his berthroom, it's not hard for him to locate the arachnid, and he got Laserbeak to carry it out and drop it off the Nemesis.

He then scanned his room for you, finding you in a little crevice under his berth. He coaxed you into coming out, tilting his helm as if asking why you were afraid of such a little thing.

You shivered, your eyes scanning the room before looking at him, "They're scary. Did you see how many eyes and legs it has??" You shivered again.

Soundwave patted the top of your head, comfortingly. Then he tilted his helm again, words appearing on his visor, You have been through far worse, encountering the Autobots and other Decepticons.

"I know but these things are the stuff of nightmares!" You complained. "I would rather fight any Cybertronian than be in a room with one of these again..."

He nodded in understanding, not quite understanding your logic there but there but nonetheless agreeing. Whatever made you less scared was preferred, after all, he didn't like seeing how terrified you had been.

Feeling better? Popped up on his visor.

You nodded, calming down, "Much. Thank you."

He displayed a red heart.

SHOCKWAVE

Shockwave was used to dark, confined spaces with rodents and other creatures scuttling around. He had been stuck on Cybertron for years, after all. So he doesn't think much of it when an earthly creature finds its way aboard the Nemesis.

Until it starts to bother you.

He walked into his lab one day to see you on your hands and knees on his tool table, peering over the side. He instantly noticed the slight tremble of your small form, and approached you cautiously.

"What is the matter?"

You screamed and jumped despite his careful approach, turning to him with wide, frightened eyes before snapping them back to whatever was on the floor.

"There's a spider!"

"I do not understand."

You turned back to him, but your eyes flickered to the ground every so often, "These earth creatures with six eyes and eight freaky legs."

Shockwave nodded in understanding, before tilting his helm, "You are around Decepticons who are much larger than you, and coukd squash you easily, yet that tiny insignificant creature frightens you? That is illogical."

You sighed, "That thing is just creepy okay! I can handle giant Decepticons, I just can't do spiders." You shivered.

Shockwave didn't argue, going over to the bug and studying it for a second before picking it up and making his way out of the lab to get rid of it. You relaxed when it was gone, and when he came back you were lying on your back, trying to overcome your shivers.

"It is gone."

"I know, thank you," you sat up. "It just feels like smaller ones are crawling all over me."

He reached out to let you climb onto his servo, keeping you close to him to comfort you while he continued his work.

[smallestapplin]

Can we please get some more con harem fluff when you have the chance???

I struggled thinking of a scenario, so this is kinda set in the Prime continuity. Mostly with Dreadwing, Arachnid, Soundwave, and implied Megatron (and the rest of the ship-)

-

-

Dreadwing looks at you with mild confusion on his features as you climb up his shoulder, settling down swiftly and cuddling close to his helm. True at first he found the decepticons having a shared human on the ship was…odd, but who was he to argue with Megatron? Though he learned why quickly with how you seemed to have charmed him.

“Little one, while I enjoy your company, what is the meaning of this?”

“What, am I not allowed to spend time with you?”

Though your voice was light and teasing, he can’t help but sigh and shake his helm.

“Stay as long as you wish, but I must get these reports done.”

You kiss his cheek trying to scoot even closer and lean into him, such warmth of your smaller body was always welcomed. Off the corner of his optic he can see you pull out your phone and scroll along it, simply just wanting to bask in his presence. His spark swells at the idea, you merely just wanting to spend time with him is making his wings twitch, trying to flutter behind him but he fights it.

The room falls into a comfortable silence, though only filled with the occasional sound of you chucking and his engine softly purring as you kiss him again and again. Such a sweet beloved he has, you know how to make the boring parts of his job entertaining.

He blinks his optics once, twice, then a few more times as he realized he feels like he’s being watched, there is another in his office and it’s not just you. You hum in confusion as Dreadwing brings a servo up and grabs you, holding you protectively to his chassis.

If he opened it his spark would be easy to attack, but if he didn’t and held you here he’d be down a servo to fight.

“You know, I know you guys don’t usually get along, but Aracnid please don’t drop.”

Dreadwing looks up, following your gaze and sure enough the purple optics of the spider femme bot stare back at him. She sighs, mockingly so.

“Oh sweetspark, must you ruin the fun? I was just coming to see how our little human was doing.”

Dreadwing glares at her, holding you even closer and covering you with his other servo.

“Our human is fine, they are content sitting with me.”

Arachnid hums not at all caring of his words, “yes yes, that’s all well and good, but Lord Megatron wishes to have his pet.”

Dreadwing makes no move as he refuses to trust her word, he does not feel safe lending you to her even if was technically also one of you ‘consorts’ as Megatron called them. Arachnid isn’t to be trusted with a human, must less one of your importance.

“Dreadwing, I would hate to traumatize the cutie in your servos, but I will if you don’t hand them over to me.” Her voice growing agitated as more of her legs move from the ceiling above, and grow pointed ready to attack him.

You sigh, this isn’t really something you can stop, but you know who can. You unlock your phone once more and make a call, and sweetly asking for a little help. And just in time too, as dozens of cables move com the walls, wrapping both Dreadwing and Arachnid up and away from each other.

And one taking you from Dreadwing’s grasp, much to his displeasure, and taking you to the black and purple con standing just at the doorway. You smile up at his screen.

“Thank you, Soundwave, but you didn’t need to do all that. Your help is appreciated though.”

The black screen of his faceplate statics for a moment before emoting a little heart. Walking away, he drops Dreadwing and tosses Arachnid out of the room, uncaring what they do now, as he has his little human. You fit so perfectly in his servos, he can’t help but hold you up and nuzzle his screen against you, another heart emoting as you place a few kisses to his face.

He cares not for the arguing around him, or the two cons yelling at him from down the hallway demanding you back.

He has his human, that’s all that matters.

Until he hears Megatron return to the ship and a sad face appears on his screen. He just got you, he doesn’t want to hand you over just yet, how cruel.

[gundamthey17]

"I doubt we're dealing with a redcap," Edwin said, scanning the bookshelf for a particular tome. "It seems far more likely to be a will-o'-the-wisp or some other -" He gasped and dropped the book he had just grabbed.

Charles immediately stopped playing with his football. "You okay? What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," Edwin replied, hating how his voice had suddenly gone thready. He did not pick up the book.

Charles walked over, looking first at Edwin, then down at the book.

A spider scuttled across its surface.

Charles crouched down and reached out to cup the arachnid in his hands. "Hey there, little guy," he said softly. "I'll just take you outside, won't I?" He started for the window, then seemed to think better of it and headed for the door instead. "If I put you on the window, I reckon you'll probably just come right back in. Back in a tick!"

Charles quickly returned to the office, sans spider. Edwin had not moved. His breathing was carefully even. Charles glanced at him, then bent down and picked up the book. "Alright?" he asked lightly.

Edwin found he could not meet his friend's eyes. He took the book and turned away. "You did not need to do that."

"What, let it out? Better than killin' it, isn't it?"

Edwin gave an exasperated sigh. "No, I mean you did not need to do anything at all. It was just a spider, for goodness' sake. I am not some frightened child."

"Never said you were."

"I could have handled it myself. It... surprised me, is all. I just needed a tick."

"I know you could." Charles came up next to Edwin and rested his arm on Edwin's shoulder. Amazingly, he sounded as if he meant it.

"Then why -"

"'Cause I was here. Did you want to take care of it?"

"No," Edwin admitted after a moment's hesitation.

"Then why shouldn't I do it?"

"Again, I am not a child," Edwin replied crisply.

Charles sighed. He stepped in front of Edwin and put his hands on his shoulders. "I know that. You don't need to prove anything. Me wanting to help out doesn't mean I think any less of you. You take care of stuff I don't like doing, so I can do the same for you. Okay? Trust me, I still know that you're one tough bastard, and you can handle anything you need to."

Edwin managed a small smile. "Very well. My ego is appeased."

Charles grinned broadly. "Great! Then my job here is done. So, you said something about a will-o'-the-wisp?"

[star-suh]

Spider-Mark

Mark Lee x Male Reader

cw: superhero top mark, sex under pheromones effects, sort of enemies to secret lovers maybe?, ripped clothes, tongue sucking, mark cums a lot, fingering, 69, belly bulge, choking, bareback, implied marathon sex, auralism, bit of feminization (just one phrase), an impregnation joke, creaming idk i made that up, cum as lube.

an: this could get nasty at the end for some idk, also there would be parts in where i would refer to mark with his name but remember that yn never found out his true identity.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE 🎃

in a world full of humans with superpowers it’s natural that some villains arise and in consequence some heroes are needed. out of everyone one of them was the most beloved, the cute and friendly spider-man. a young masked superhero with a red and blue suit adorned with spider and web motifs, he was so damn good at his job that some people couldn’t help but fall in love with him. this is the case of yn, a smart college student who got kinda obsessed with the hero. “isn’t he so good?” he tells his friends while looking at a picture he took of the aforementioned hero with his phone, he was infatuated by him. “yeah he’s so cool” a voice suddenly speaks with a small laugh at the end of the sentence. “shut up mark, you’re annoying” yn blurted out. the relationship between yn and mark was complicated, they didn’t start on good terms like they were always pit against each other because they were the clever ones in the classroom, something that gradually became a pain in the ass for both guys. “what? isn’t that what you wanna hear about your beloved spidey?” mark mocks causing yn to storm out of them to avoid more conflicts.

unbeknownst to yn he just talked with the man of his dreams, the man behind the web-decorated mask. since he was bit by a mysterious spider, mark gained abilities based on this arachnid, one of the things he liked the most was justice, so why not use his newly found powers to help other people?.

one night, yn was walking home alone, the roads were almost empty. then suddenly some masked guy showed up pointing a gun at yn, “give me everything you have” he yells. yn shakes in fear “HELP!!” he shouts “SOMEBODY HELP!!”, he cocked his gun and aimed at yn’s head when it suddenly flew through the air, landing in an known hand, “got you” he speaks through the mask and shoots some spider-webs towards the robber who got trapped against a wall, being taken by the police minutes later. spider-man took the young man into his arms and carried him towards his house, balancing in between skyscrapers with the help of his webs. it was like a dream that came true for yn, god he was so happy being carried by those strong arms, he could almost cry…

a friendship grows in between the two, obviously with his identity still hidden from yn, he doesn’t want to ruin his new friend’s dream, like what would yn think if he found out his favorite superhero is his rival. days and nights passed with them sitting on a rooftop eating while contemplating the full moon, “isn’t it pretty?” spider-man mutters, his hand resting mere centimeters away from yn’s, “it is” yn says happily, his eyes almost sparkling as if he was in an anime. something in the air shifted suddenly, an intoxicating smell invaded the area, yn started to sweat and his cheeks got flushed. the same happened to mark but of course the mask hides it, his suit starts to stick to his body thanks to the immense sweat. then realization hit him, he started to feel so comfortable that he started to secrete pheromones, one of the side effects of the bite, and they were affecting them both. mark tried to go away but an already hypnotized yn grabs him by the wrist “don’t go please”, mark looked at his pretty sweaty face, ‘he’s begging to be fucked’, mark thought but then shook his head try to erase that thought. “i-i have to go.. sorry” he tried to break away from yn’s grab but to no avail, where did that strength come from?. mark slipped and fell to the floor sitting while yn crawled his way onto him, “spider-man is itching” yn says while shaking his ass, he was completely gone, devoured by the pheromones effect. “y-yn i.. i don’t know” his bulge started to grow, the part of the suit on his crotch swelling due to he getting excited, “damn i should've learned how to control this shit” and with just a swing he grabs yn and carries him on his shoulder while looking for a place to satiate that lust. “take me to my bedroom” yn mentions, indicating to the hero where it was ubicated.

the two arrived and mark opened the window, entering the bedroom quietly, yn tried to discard mark’s mask but he didn’t allow it, he just pulled it up to his nose level, his mouth now free to litter kisses and hickeys in yn. they shared a kiss, mark’s tongue exploring inside yn’s mouth, their tongues intertwined, there would be times in which mark sticks out his tongue for yn to suck on it and vice versa, threads of saliva sticking to their chins, looking like a spider-web. “this is the messiest kiss i’ve ever had” mark confesses, “mine too, i don’t know what’s happening to me” yn replies, “but i need you right now” he adds.

the desperation for each other was so unbearable that mark wanting to not waste more time, ripped the crotch area of his suit, his dick springing free already leaking with precum, “fuck it’s so big” yn panted after seeing it, “is this all for me?” he asks, pouting. “only if you can take it all” the needy hero announced. mark also ripped yn’s pants, the fabric tore right above his hole, “jockstraps hmm?.. sexy” he murmurs.

mark grinds his wet tip on yn’s hole, soaking with precum, “look at how wet i am for you”. then he put his fingers right above his dick to put some pressure on it and started to thrust, going up and down in between yn’s bum. yn throws back his head, the friction creating heat right above his hole that started pulsating, wanting to feel that heat inside of it, he looks at mark with pouty eyes, he wants more, no, he needs more. mark caressed his cheek, his face getting closer towards yn’s, “want me to fuck you pretty boy?” he sexily whispers, his voice resonating throughout yn’s whole body making him tremble, how can such a cute hero be so smoking hot and sexy. yn nods desperately, “please fuck me, use me, just put it inside now”.

mark prepared yn’s hole to take his dick, first he grabbed yn by hugging his hips and pulled him up so his ass could be at the same level of his face and yn’s face would be in front of his hanging dick basically doing a 69 but instead of doing it the normal way they’re doing it standing up, or in this case, on their knees. yn swallowed mark’s dick while the latter starts to finger him, his fingers soaked in his saliva, mark would sometimes eat yn’s ass, burying his face on his hole and then continuing the stretching with his digits, even putting all 4 of them at once loving how when he pulls them out yn’s hole clenches onto nothing but air. meanwhile down there yn keeps on sucking the other’s shaft, occasionally the hero would do some slow paced thrust causing his balls to slap against yn’s face, they were heavy and it seems that they were full of cum also, yn cannot wait anymore to have all that spooge inside him.

mark folded yn and introduced his throbbing shaft first slowly but then accelerating the pace right away, “fuck! milk this hero cock” mark grunts, the muscles and the veins on his arms bulging because of how hard he was gripping the mattress as a way to stabilize himself. at this point mark’s whole suit was damaged, the initial rip slowly grew until what was his pants were now just pieces of clothes hanging on his forelegs, leaving his bottom half naked. his big ass recoils everytime he plows yn and thanks to the excessive precum he produces wet, gushy sounds that originated from the other’s hungry hole, “noisy pussy” mark laughs proceeding to kiss yn. they both got carried away by the pleasure, yn now in doggy style was being choked by mark’s hands, they were placed in his neck so he can go even deeper, “sooo deep…” yn’s tongue was out and drool dripping out of his face. mark’s heavy balls slammed against the other, the night being a witness of their wild sex.

“i’m gonna cum” mark groans, his voice hoarse due to how much he already said that phrase to yn. it was already morning and god knows how many times mark has already came inside yn, he attributes this new ‘ability’ to cum buckets to the bite, “that bite brought good things with it after all” the lustful man exclaimed. one can notice that he indeed cums a lot because there was a tiny bump forming on yn’s tummy, “i can’t anymore spider-man” he uttered, his fucked up face and body drenched in sweat, marks and his own cum. “look at this i knocked you up” the hero jokes pressing against it, then an idea popped up on his mind, he made yn seat on top of him with his still rock hard shaft right above yn’s used entrance, “do this for me and push it all out” mark bits gently yn’s ear who complies and started to do what he was told, slowly he starts to squirt all the cum inside him that landed on mark’s pink tip and slid all the way down his shaft then to his balls and finally dripped onto the floor. “damn i really came a lot” his perfect smile and sexy low laugh sending shivers to yn all the way down his pulsating hole. when he finally squirted all the cum, mark slicked his dick with it using his hand and put it inside yn, “sorry, i’m horny again”, let’s say yn spend the whole day and night moaning and babbling nonsense.

the next day, all the people were asking what happened to spider-man that he didn’t appear yesterday the whole day at all, luckily there weren't any villains near the city. yn went to his classes when one of his friends asked why he didn’t came yesterday to study, “i was very sick but i’m okay now” what’s the only thing they heard from him. he was walking towards his next class when accidentally bumped into mark, who embarrassed of what he did yesterday just muttered a little sorry and resumed with his walking, everyone was surprised because usually this would end up with them both throwing tantrums at each other, “woah that was weird” one of the friends uttered, “yeah” yn narrowed his eyes while looking at mark, he saw something on mark’s neck, is it a hickey? why does it look like one of the hickeys he gave to the lustful hero yesterday? “nevermind” he shook his head and entered the classroom.

a flashback popped into mark's mind, last night he was ready to leave but his suit was completely ripped into pieces so yn lent him some clothes, “can i see who’s behind the mask?” he asked while caressing the other’s cheeks and lips, “not now” he said after waving a goodbye and leaving.

yn comes home just to see the clothes he lent to spider-man clean and folded on his bed with a note that says “see you soon”, butterflies flew on yn’s stomach who cheered and danced in happiness.