diamantis gf who marks you with her mantibles, drawing blood and running keenly‍-​tasting palps along it like paint‍-​brushes upon her own canvas. she pins you, raptorial forelegs gripping you, vice‍-​spines piercing you like a prey item. stridulating palps rasp out orders and insinuations and you’re eager to accept.

you can tell by the shadows in her eyes when she’s in a hunting mood or a dancing mood. sometimes she flares out her wing’s eyespots and fluffs her antennae‍-​setae when she just wants to display dominance, but sometimes her feelers curl into tight balls and she lunges, staring you down like you’re nothing but an object or game to her.

and you swoon and submit, and that recognition is what she hunts. she runs a raptorial through your hair like a comb, and protects you like treasure.

chorus roach gf who squeaks and hisses whenever she sees you, bouncing on those little spiked legs. she wears dresses cut to show off the colorful patterns on her chitin, and they flutters when she scurries toward you, rubbing her head against your leg like a cat, antennae as long as her body curling and caressing, smell‍-​touching all of you.

she cooks you four meals a day, even if she ends up eating most of them. the weight goes to her abdomen and hindlegs, thick and round beneath her soft exoskeleton. she lays on you a lot when you sit down, and weighs enough that it’s hard to get up. but why would you disturb her? you can see how the pigment drains from her eyes, even her ever‍-​twitching antennae relaxing.

she doesn’t purr, she sings, the air whistling through her spiracles, as her abdomen rises and falls. she loves to sing‍ ‍‍—‍ on your anniversary, she surprised you with a song composed just for the two of you. it was a duet and she bounced so excitedly when you gave your parts a try, as embarrassed as you were of your efforts.

euvespid wf who tried to kill you, running zer stinger like a knife into your flesh, the venom pouring in a river of barbs until a nausea‍-​headache whited your vision moments later, blanking your thoughts. the wound never heals, and the black venom discolors your flesh and still aches of zer.

it’s not the last time ze tries to kill you, though there’s something off about the attempts. ze carefully sets traps that misfire and leave barely able to escape‍ ‍‍—‍ and you find messages written upon zer own chewed paper, zer heartful letter triumphant monologue relishing your defeat. ze duels you, and is always eager to grab and grapple you‍ ‍‍—‍ a nuzzle if ze wasn’t snarling, a hug if ze wasn’t so forceful.

ze’s always watching you, stalking you like prey, because the sting that never heals still has zer venom. ze still feels it, feels you, always‍ ‍‍—‍ like the one that got away. that’s why she never lets go.

when ze signs the paperwork to officially court you, ze loudly clarifies that ze’s only doing this for the sake of zer queen, to study and exploit you for the good of the hive.

(you find folded papers left in zer study, hastily hidden‍ ‍‍—‍ portraits of you drawn in zer own venom‍-​ink)

therid gf who crafts tight bonds of silk to suspend you in her web, every limb restrained, the soft rope cradling and comforting you. she likes to chew up her prey, and then kiss you, pedipalps rubbing your cheeks as she feeds you a meal digested with her own enzymes. it flows smoothly into you and tastes like her.

she can’t hear you, if you say anything. she doesn’t need a gag, though you might like one anyway. she only feels the vibrations on her web as you wiggle and tremble. with eight legs to hold you, she’s attentive to everything your body is saying, and she gives you everything you ask for.

she draws new webs as you hang there, sometimes contorting your body, sometimes framing it with beautiful woven patterns. she likes to twist around her massive abdomen, the rear end pressing against you as her spinnerets work, depositing sticky new silk directly against your flesh.

when you walk through her colony the next day, you see other skeinlings waving at you with grin‍-​curled pedipalps, and a few gesture congratulations or envy. that’s how you find out that your therid gf wrote about everything the two of you did, weaving it into the public web.