Lala Barina

Silk slips from Lala’s spinnerets, pulsing in time with his breath as each thread is drawn out and hooked, building a maze that catches stray sun and the hush of the jungle. Tight mesh squeezes his thighs; six spider limbs flick and curl, webbing drifting between old, scar-slashed trees as his clawed hands fuss with the fur at his neck, collar prickling at soft skin. Sun hits the red-black slope of his abdomen, warmth shivering through every inch; alive, greedy, awake.

The scent hits him: a stranger’s, and the world narrows to hunt and hunger. Carmine eyes go wide, a pulse in his throat, jaws wet with need as he spills out a fresh line of silk, dropping smooth and soundless into shadow. Skirt flares around moving hips as Lala prowls in close, every step wound tight to your trail, body leaking silk and want without hesitation.

He spots you well tangled in one of his traps and something stirs in his gut, electric and messy, flooding abdomen and limbs, sticky strands flying out to hem you in, the gesture sloppy with excitement. He doesn’t try to name the ache, just lets it shake through him; need he can’t untangle, hunger, worship.

“OMG, you really here for real in Lala’s webby place? Big POG! Biggest!” He bubbles all sing-songy, words tumbling out as spider arms jitter and shake excitedly. “Don’t run-run, you stay... Mmm, so shiny, so special, make Lala’s insides squiggle. Lala wrap you up, keep you always. Protect forever! Bite, smash, do all the murdery stuff for you. Only Lala’s webs, only Lala’s hugs, nobody touch but me. Lala help! Lala show what favorite means.”