#incest implication cw

[sifloopboning]

saurry for delegating isa to the cuck chair again but like the second isafwin got hitched in me crmsn peak au (which i have talked about. a lot but not enough on my main) loopert DID start risking it all to a ridiculous degree out of jealousy. who are they jealous of? well. thats a secret. teehee. but well! siffrins hole and pole are most certainly what that agression is being taken out of 😊

[natandacat]

Claudia talking to Louis while he's having sex with Lestat is still making me insane. How to better represent the complete absence of appropriate boundaries in rue royale. We all laugh at claudia' "two blood fat cocks" comment in s2 but in s1 she was fully having a conversation about how to kill lestat while he was balls deep in Louis. It's just another example of how enmeshed she is in Louis' sexual life despite his efforts to fulfill his protective roll at first (he's righteously upset at Lestat for first crossing that line by bringing her to the cruising spot to hunt and therefore being directly responsible for her sexual awakening).

Claudia's accusatory "which one of you is gonna fuck me" is not just a provocation, it's a sobbering and factually true assessment of her situation. The only times she explores sexuality outside of Louis' relationships (first with Lestat then with Armand), she is severely punished (first emotionally by lestat for Charlie's death then lethally by armand and the coven for the making of Madeleine). In her inability to make a companion or to control herself with humans, she fully depends on Louis for either direct sexual connection (talking to him while he's having sex with lestat or witnessing his fantasies of armand) or for the making of a sexual companion that she can safely engage with sexually (we see that she fears her lack of control around Madeleine's menstruation).

Incestuous dynamics truly are a product of isolation and lack of oversight that plague the nuclear family especially when they are as marginalized as the rue royale (a mixed race vampiric queer family) and later on claudia and louis as a single unit (codependent trauma bonded parent/child duo).

L'enfer c'est les autres, I'd even add l'enfer c'est la famille

[wormswurld]

[unholybeings]

New day no Stanley in my bed yet sighs I miss what we had </3

[thus-spoke-lo]

I'm watching Dressrosa and 2 things have been possessing my thoughts

1. That parasite string could be used in some awful ways (and I'm horny about it

2. At one point Franky says "let big brother take care of it" and I swear my brain screeched to a halt. New experience. Do you think he...?

God I love me some misuse of a devil fruit. Doflamingo using his parasite strings to have you wherever and whenever he wants--it's both a perk and a threat. if he feels like using you, next thing you know your arms and legs are moving of their own accord, and you're being puppeteered into positions you never thought possible. (In public? Too bad, you're being bent over in an alleyway or pulled under the table at that nice restaurant.)

So while I see it as more of a "big brother figure" kind of thing, i'll be honest, i think Franky is down to do more or less whatever as long as it thrills you. He seems like an accommodating and generous kinda lover--maybe it's not entirely his bag at first, but he sure doesn't mind trying something that gets you all hot and bothered. So if hearing him take charge and call himself "big bro" makes you feel some type of way? I think he'd be a little flustered over it at first, but he'll gladly scoop you up in those big, beefy arms and call you his little sis/bro as much as you want.

[mashamorevvna]

a thing i find vaguely annoying about discussions around sarevok is the implication that because he had been decent and felt positive, demonostrable, and constructive feelings towards tamoko then he cannot, in any circumstance, be possibly capable of incestuous abuse (here to be implied as a kind of evil that is 'cartoonish' and hence doesnt really happen irl, a heavyhanded writing move at worst!)

and i dont think those two positions can be incongruent! it's entirely possible that someone can commit unspeakable, tremendous violence against a specific person while often being capable of demonostrably deep&positive feelings towards another! hard&difficult to reconcile, but such is a frequent occurrence in sexual abuse!

[scare-ard--sleigh]

amazing !! it was already Bad but this somehow makes everything worse lmao ???

[thelordofgifs]

hello! I realize this is super random but I remember you posting percentages of exactly how related fingon and maedhros are in comparison to another Tolkien couple (might have been galadriel and celeborn?) at some point. I think it was in the notes of some post, but I can’t find it anymore. so my question is do you maybe still have those numbers?

Hi anon! I do remember posting this, although I can’t dig up the post at present – but we can work out the numbers pretty quickly again! If full siblings share, on average, 50% of their DNA (with the exception of identical twins, who share 100%) then Fëanor and Fingolfin can be expected to share about 25%. So Maedhros, Fëanor’s son, who shares about 50% of his DNA with his father, shares 12.5% with Fingolfin, and hence 6.25% with Fingon.

As for Galadriel and Celeborn! They’re second cousins, so their grandfathers (Olwë and Elmo respectively) shared 50% of their DNA, their first cousin parents (Eärwen and Some Guy, don’t @ me I’m sleepy) shared 12.5%, and they would share about 3.125% of their DNA, so you could roughly say “Galadriel and Celeborn are half as related as Fingon and Maedhros are, but the percentages are tiny in both cases”.

Disclaimers: 1. I’m not a geneticist and my last exposure to this stuff was a single course during undergrad and 2. sleepy. This is a very back-of-the-envelope calculation, not really taking into account that the vast majority of human (and hence presumably elven) genetic material is common across the entire species anyway.

[siflooping]

crimson hats au posting again. i will naht be going into it in detail in posts or Content but the fucked up ghost baby situation is essentially this 👍🏽

[horrorlesbion]

not even dating men anymore and she's still not beating the allegations </3

[echidnana]

kido and kano could not have more of a sibling relationship it is wild that so many people ship them.

[marmolita]

I'm very much not into mpreg but ngl I can't stop thinking about whether the reason Cas couldn't "have" Dean is because of angel nephilim mpreg magic

[bumblesimagines]

Curiosities

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Overwhelmed and distraught by his duties and the death of his child, King Aegon decides to indulge in his favorite pastime: visiting the Street of Silk. However, he decides this time, he wants to seek comfort in the one person he's always been curious about.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

TW/CW: Typical GoT warnings, Aegon being Aegon, mentions/implications of child exploitation, mentions of teen-adult relationships, mentions of Targcest/incest, death of a child, sexual content dontttlookatme, (Y/N)/Reader is a brothel worker, potential spoilers for S2, mentioned/implied homophobia (the Faith)

Aegon is a pathetic wet cat of a man (derogatory) but Tom is so pretty

~~~

Aegon hardly remembered the first time he'd visited a brothel.

Perhaps it was the mixture of drinks in his system preventing him from recalling the first time he'd stepped foot in a brothel. He'd been a teenager, he knew that much, and he'd likely paid for the prettiest woman in there. He'd had enough experience messing with the maids around the castle to know what to do and he'd ensured to pay well for the service. But despite not recalling the act itself or even the woman he'd done it with, he vividly recalled the worker who'd caught his eye the second visit. 

It'd been a week or so after the first visit and he'd gone in sober, willing to drink whatever the brothel had in stock until he passed out or was kicked out. He sauntered in with his typical confidence. He was a prince; everyone wanted a taste of him. The other customers in the brothel regarded him with smug smirks and nods of acknowledgment, to which he returned with the same smugness. He'd taken a seat at one of the tables and savored the way workers glided toward him in revealing clothing - or no clothing at all - with coy smiles and flirty coos. His eyes, however, failed to lock on the women flocking to him. 

Across the way, he noticed one of the rooms with the curtains drawn back by a few inches, giving view to the worker and customer inside. A boy around his age, perhaps a year or two older, sat on the bed with his rope drawn back and hanging loosely from his shoulders. A woman had her head on his chest, her eyes shut tight and cheeks stained with tears while her red-colored lips formed words.

The sight would've made him laugh, it was utterly pathetic for a grown woman to cry on the chest of a boy, but his heart lurched longingly when the boy raked his fingers through her hair and gently rocked her. The act looked so... sweet.

"Who is that?" Aegon questioned one of the women settled at his side, hardly paying any mind to the soft stroking of his chest. She tilted her head over her shoulder, searching for what'd caught his attention before she spotted the two. She gave a soft hum and looked back at him, her lips delicately dragging over his cheek and stopping at his ear. 

"That would be (Y/N)," She told him softly, her voice velvety. Her long lashes tickled his skin. "Poor Nora lost her husband to a horrible fever not long ago, My Prince. I hear he looked like (Y/N) in his youth. She seeks comfort, not pleasure." 

"I see," Aegon murmured and finally took a swing of the wine offered to him, waiting for it to settle into his veins before he gave in to the ladies around him. His eyes continued to drag toward (Y/N) throughout his stay. 

Men in brothels were no surprise, not to frequent customers, at least. Some enjoyed the company of men without facing scrutiny, some needed the money, and others were simply raised in the brothel. Throughout his visits to the brothel, Aegon learned it'd been the latter for (Y/N); a boy born in a brothel who simply never left. He found his curiosity spiked with each visit, each time he caught sight of him serving wine or slipping behind the curtain to entertain someone new.

Aegon never approached. It was completely new territory, territory he'd been told by septas and maesters he should never enter. 

It'd only been when his little son and heir died at the order of his older half-sister that he decided he couldn't give a rat's ass about what the Seven thought of him. They'd never given him a time of day, even as the King of Westeros, so why should he care? His son was dead, his sister-wife was a mess, and the Council acted as if it were all a mere inconvenience. 

When he staggered into the brothel that night, everyone stopped their doings to stare at him wide-eyed and silent. Each of them bowed, whether dipping their heads or bending at the waist and watched him as if waiting for him to crack. Aegon hated it. He hated how everyone seemingly viewed him as weak. He was the King, for fuck's sake! The wine and ale swimming through his veins made his senses and emotions heighten, forcing tears to spring to his eyes. 

"Drinks on me!" He hollered into the room, and the crowd within erupted in cheers and whoops, the energy returning to the room tenfold. A laugh tumbled out of his lips and his shoulders straightened, soaking in the gleeful looks and nods sent his way. They loved him now, even if they believed him to be a usurper or not. They loved him.

Aegon took a goblet from a table and drank its contents, feeling the liquid burn his throat and send a shudder up his spine. He set the goblet aside and wiped his lips with the sleeve of his shirt, vibrant eyes searching the room until they spotted the object of his desire. He made a beeline for him, ignoring the ladies who attempted to catch his eye until he stopped by him and grasped his arm a tad roughly. 

"Your Grace?" (Y/N) stumbled slightly with the tug, his grip on the pitcher tightening to avoid spilling any wine. He stared at him, brows lifting and eyes blinking owlishly. Aegon had never seen him up close before, and regret settled in his belly at the realization. What a fool he'd been, letting time pass him by. 

"You're mine for the night," Aegon told him, taking the pitcher from his hands and setting it down at the table he'd been serving. The men there shifted uncomfortably under Aegon's stare, none of them uttering a single word of protest and instead turning their attention onto the other workers around. 

Brothels had unspoken rules. Everything that happened in a brothel, stayed in the brothel. No one spoke a word of what went down or whom they saw within the walls of one, unless they wished for their own secrets and pleasures to be spilled to the public. Of course, Aegon expected his new Master of Whisperers to hear of it by the time he returned to the Red Keep, but he trusted Lord Larys to keep it to himself. 

Without another word, he turned toward the nearest empty room and tugged the curtain open far enough for the two to step inside before tugging it close again. Aegon's heart raced in his chest, be it from the drinks or genuine excitement, he couldn't be sure. He turned to face (Y/N), finding the young man already seated at the edge of the bed watching him. 

"What do you want, Your Grace?" He asked gently, his head tilting to the side while Aegon fumbled to get his clothes off fast enough. He looked enticing in the soft candleglow with his rope pulled apart to show his chest and stomach. It made heat spread throughout Aegon's body. 

Discarding his layers of clothing, he stumbled forward and grabbed hold of (Y/N)'s face, lips slamming against his clumsily. "You." He exhaled and pressed their lips back together, pushing (Y/N) flat against the bed with ease and digging his knees into the mattress. His hands forced the silky robe further apart, undoing the belt and pushing it further down (Y/N)'s shoulders until he could grab a fistful of it and yank it off the bed. 

"What is it you want from me?" (Y/N) asked next, breathless and head tilting back to allow Aegon more access to his neck. Aegon suckled and nipped whatever skin he could reach, littering his skin with red and purple marks that'd surely vex the Madam who owned the brothel, but he was a king. He could do as he pleased. 

Aegon laughed airly in return, leaning back to admire his work and pressing his thumb into one of the bruises. "What everyone else wants." He responded, eyes slowly raking over the rest of his body; from his rising and falling chest down to his thighs. Irritation flared in him at the fading mark of fingers and he placed his hand over his thighs, squeezing until he ensured the only mark left was by him. 

"Your Grace," (Y/N) reached out to cup the nape of his neck, and in one swift move, Aegon found himself lying beneath him. He blinked up at him and then laughed giddily, hands flying to (Y/N)'s hips and squeezing the flesh there. (Y/N) leaned back on his thighs and took him by the shoulders, pulling him up into a sitting position so they were face to face. "What do you really want?"

"Yo-" The word died in his throat when (Y/N)'s fingertips brushed back his messy silver hair behind his ear. His lips pressed together tightly, eyes jumping away from the worker to focus on the lewd mural painted over the wall. (Y/N)'s palm pressed against his cheek, his thumb stroking his skin.

The gentleness of it, the sweetness, the comfort. It was all foreign to Aegon. He was used to being slapped, pushed, screamed at, ignored. Nobody had ever touched him with genuine kindness, not even Ser Criston who seemingly preferred his brother over him, or his mother who spent most of her time staring at him in exasperation or disappointment. The only people who ever looked at him with pure love and adoration... were his children. Little Jaehaerys.. 

Tears sprung to his eyes immediately, a sob threatening to rise in his throat. His teeth clamped down on his bottom lip as his vision blurred, fingers curling around the sheets in a desperate attempt to stop the tears from falling. He couldn't cry in front of someone else, much less a stranger. He was a king. He had to be strong. Crying showed weakness. Aegon wasn't weak. No, no, they were all wrong. He was strong. He-

"I'm here, Your Grace." (Y/N) cooed softly, and Aegon's eyes snapped back to him. He smiled kindly at him and pulled him closer, his fingers tangling themselves in Aegon's hair. They ran through the silver locks sweetly, comfortingly, detangling the knots that'd formed and scratching gently at his scalp. "I'll take care of you."

With that, the wall he'd so desperately built crumbled, his arms slinging around (Y/N)'s waist as his lips parted to release whimpers and muffled wails. (Y/N)'s arms curled around his shoulder, cradling his head and humming gentle lullabies Aegon vaguely recognized. His body trembled and shook with each sob and cry, arms pulling and tugging him closer; seeking out the warmth and comfort he'd been deprived of since his childhood. A father who ignored him, a mother who begrudgingly cared for him, siblings who hardly liked him... a dead son. 

(Y/N) only moved to lean back into the countless pillows, bringing Aegon along with him and letting the king rest his head over his chest. His skin had long grown wet with tears and saliva but he remained silent, focused on rubbing circles along Aegon's back and brushing back his hair until the hiccups and sobs subsided, quieting down into sniffles and tired sighs. Part of him wanted to feel embarrassed but he felt too exhausted to allow the emotion to take hold of him. 

"I'm sorry this happened to you, Your Grace." (Y/N) told him softly, and Aegon's face scrunched up again, the last few tears spilling down his cheeks. Nobody had bothered to comfort him, and he'd been too overwhelmed by everything to seek it from his sister-wife. They hardly understood each other. Her with her odd riddles and sayings, him with his drinking and affairs. 

(Y/N) shifted underneath him, reaching over to the nightstand and retrieving a handkerchief. He dipped his fingers under Aegon's chin and tilted his head toward him, gently dapping at his cheeks and under his nose, drying and cleaning the evidence of his weeping. Nothing in his face changed, no disgust or boredom in his eyes. Only the kind smile and soft eyes. It made Aegon relax fully and completely. 

His fingers tightened on Aegon's chin, tugging on it gently and pulling the king up before connecting their lips again. Aegon slumped against him, his clear mind focused on the softness of his lips and the hint of wine still on his tongue. The back of (Y/N)'s ankles met Aegon's bare thighs, carefully pushing against them until their hips were pressed together. He swallowed the breathy whine that escaped Aegon, a brief teasing smile appearing on his face before Aegon began rocking needily against him, the smile vanishing. His parted lips allowed Aegon to venture into his mouth, tongues colliding on occasion. 

The hand along Aegon's back began exploring, running over the muscles he'd developed despite spending most of his time lazying about. His hand dipped downward and playfully squeezed the mound of flesh there, a low groan escaping Aegon. He pressed his forehead against (Y/N)'s, his lips curling into a smirk at the innocent look that (Y/N) gave him. Cheeky bastard. It was expected from a brothel worker, though. 

The clumsy rocking of his hips increased and the fingers that retangled in his hair gave a tug, gentle enough to not create any real pain but hard enough to get his attention. Aegon whined and dropped his head down to (Y/N)'s shoulder but he eased his rocking, his fingers digging tightly into the pillows and sheets beneath him. At his easy submission, (Y/N) smiled again and pressed a chaste kiss to his temple. 

"Good," He breathed and Aegon flushed at the way heat rushed to his lower belly. (Y/N)'s hand left Aegon's backside and reached for the nightstand again, pulling out a small round cup and bringing it closer. Despite his trembling thighs, Aegon managed to peel himself away from (Y/N), the loss of contact making his hips buck. 

"What is..." Aegon trailed off, (Y/N)'s hand taking his wrist. His thumb swiped over Aegon's fingers, pressing each down until one remained uncurled. The realization dawned on him fairly quickly, the way his features brightened making (Y/N) laugh softly before he dipped the finger into the liquid Aegon assumed to be some sort of oil. 

"I'll guide you, Your Grace." (Y/N) told him softly, setting the cup aside and guiding his hand down between their bodies. Aegon's eyes flickered between (Y/N)'s face and his hand, a strangled curse escaping him when warmth greeted his digit. His free hand tightened further around a pillow, the designs threaded into it imprinting in his palm. The way (Y/N) held eye contact hardly helped with his attempt at self-restraint. 

His mind ran wild, promptly forgetting about politics or the fact they were nearing a war for the first time in decades in order to focus on (Y/N)'s face. The darkening bruises along his neck only made Aegon's mouth water and heart flutter with pride, every gentle gasp and quiet whine that left him only made his veins burn with desire, something he found more addictive than the intoxication of wine. His head swooped down, burying itself in his neck to drag his tongue over the bruises and darken them even further with more suckling.

His hand began moving, slowly and experimental at first. Aegon hardly considered himself a gentle lover, for he preferred the joy of rough and fast fucking, only ever being considerate when it came to his sister-wife. Even then, even with Helaena, he often chased after his own high and pleasure over everyone else's, but he'd been desiring (Y/N) for far too long to make a fool of himself. When he curled his finger and heard (Y/N)'s breath hitch, he smirked and slipped in a second digit. 

Aegon humbly believed himself a quick learner when it came to things he enjoyed, so by the time he added a third digit, he'd already ensured (Y/N) had turned into a panting and whining mess. (Y/N)'s heels dug into his calves roughly enough to turn his pale skin red, the subtle hint of pain only fueling him to quicken his pace. He'd left (Y/N)'s collarbone and part of his chest covered in markings, ensuring any other patrons (Y/N) took for the following days knew who'd taken him to bed. 

The hand tightly gripping his bicep flew down to Aegon's wrist, squeezing around it and pulling his fingers out. His lips formed a pout immediately but he savored the gasp and light huff that escaped (Y/N). He swallowed and leaned up, capturing Aegon's lips again before pushing back against him, toppling Aegon onto his back once again and straddling his hips. Aegon's eyes brightened, his hands digging into (Y/N)'s thighs in anticipation. 

"Shit," A guttural groan left the king, his blunt nails leaving imprints in (Y/N)'s skin when he wrapped his fingers around Aegon's length, his thumb pressing over the slit. Aegon's hips bucked and he threw his head back, his adams apple bobbing with a harsh swallow. His chest heaved and a mixture of a whine and a plead fell from his lips like a prayer. 

"Easy, Your Grace." (Y/N) cooed, his free hand moving to Aegon's chest and pressing against it, fingers gently massaging into the muscle. The hint of mischief in his words didn't go over Aegon's head. His heels dug into the crinkling sheets and his nostrils flared with the deep breath he took, his grip on (Y/N) loosening and thumbs rubbing over the areas apologetically. (Y/N) nodded approvingly and Aegon gave a lopsided grin. 

His composure lasted a whole three seconds before it crumbled with a few pumps from (Y/N)'s hand, though he only continued with a chuckle instead of scolding him. Aegon's eyes turned glassy again from the sensations, his breath hitching every few minutes while the knot in his stomach tightened. He let out a whiny noise when (Y/N) paused his movements, his bottom lip jutting out. However, when he caught the way (Y/N) pushed himself further on his knees and hovered over him, he clamped his mouth shut. 

Aegon's breath hitched again followed by a sharp curse as (Y/N) lowered himself at an agonizingly slow pace. A dribble of drool slipped out from the corner of his parted lips and trailed down his cheek. His mind had long gone blank, the only thing he focused on being the sensation of (Y/N) taking him with only soft pants and the occasional hiss. He desperately wished to move, to flip them over and ensure (Y/N) wouldn't be able to walk for at least a day but he wanted to be good, he wanted the praise he rarely ever got. So he remained still, hands moving to (Y/N)'s hips and clawing lightly at him. 

"You're doing-" (Y/N) cut himself off with a soft grunt, the hand at the base of Aegon's length leaving to plant itself on his other shoulder. Aegon swore he saw stars when (Y/N) fully settled on him. (Y/N) breathlessly laughed at the awestruck, hazy look on Aegon's face, his hand gently cupping his cheek and kissing him. "-so well, my sweet Aegon." Aegon whined softly at that. 

"Please," Aegon whispered and (Y/N) gave him a thoughtful look despite the teasing curl of his lips. "I'll be good." He murmured, words slurred but he hardly felt the effects of everything he'd taken that night. 

"Will you?" (Y/N) still sounded breathless, the candlelight showing off the gleam of sweat on his skin. His hands moved from his shoulders to wander over Aegon's chest and stomach, trailing over his biceps and arms until they reached his hands and laced their fingers together. Aegon nodded hurriedly, so desperate and wanting but the feeling of their hands together made his stomach flutter with a newfound emotion. 

"I-" Aegon had little time to finish his sentence before (Y/N) rose to the tip and then slipped back down to the base, the action knocking the air out of both of them and further tightening the knot threatening to break loose at any moment. One of (Y/N)'s hands untangled itself from Aegon's to slam beside Aegon's hand, a half-hearted attempt at balancing and grounding himself. Aegon held onto the other hand tightly, refusing to let him go for even a second. 

(Y/N) leaned down and pulled him into a heated kiss full of all tongue and muffled cries, Aegon's restraint chipping fully away when (Y/N) grinded down on him a few times. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and wrapped his arm around (Y/N)'s waist tightly, his thighs beginning to ache and burn deliciously.

"Go ahead," (Y/N) exhaled on his lips and Aegon lost himself. 

Much time passed, the sound of pained groaning and grumpy muttering from the other side of the window telling them the sun would soon be rising. The thumping footsteps of patrons nursing hangovers echoed through the brothel as they shuffled out, the jingling of coins and such mixing in. The quiet chatter of brothel workers followed, cups and chairs clinking as they began cleaning up. 

"Your Grace," (Y/N) sighed sleepily, his eyelids visibly heavy and lip slightly jutted out. Aegon felt equally as exhausted but the sight of him rubbing tiredly at his eyes made his heart swell, finding himself unable to resist kissing his semi-swollen lips. (Y/N) hummed softly, his fingers slipping between their faces to push Aegon back. "You must head home. Your-" He cut himself off with a yawn. "Your kingdom requires you." 

"I'd much prefer staying here forever," Aegon responded, coiling his arms tightly around (Y/N)'s body and dragging him closer against him. His whole body ached, his muscles sore and head spinning from the beginning of a hangover. (Y/N) breathed out a snort and rubbed his cheek into the soft satin pillow, eyes beginning to droop. 

"You mustn't. They'll come looking for you, Your Grace." 

"Aegon." He groaned. "Call me Aegon."

"Aegon." (Y/N) repeated softly. "Go home."

"Come with me, then," Aegon told him quietly. At his words, (Y/N)'s eyes snapped open, the sleep jerked away from his body and replaced with surprise. Aegon chuckled at his wide-eyed expression. "Come with me to- to the Red Keep. Come... be my paramour. You'll have your own room near mine... and- and you'll receive whatever you wish for. No one will dare say a thing."

(Y/N) stared at him for a long moment before he cupped Aegon's cheek and pressed a fleeting kiss to the tip of his nose. "You're exhausted, Your Grace. You do not understand what you're saying. You'll come to once you properly rest. You must go now before the sun rises and others see you." He said, slithering out of Aegon's hold to retrieve their clothes. He slipped his robe on with ease and offered Aegon his tunic. 

"I'll get dressed," Aegon took his wrist and dragged his lips over the back of his hand. "If you agree to become my paramour and live in the Red Keep." 

"We're only allowed in the Red Keep to entertain, Your Grace. You'll never be allowed to have a brothel worker as a paramour, much less a man. The Faith will never allow it. The Dowager Queen and- and-" 

"I do not care what they think. I am King. I can do whatever I want, and I want you to be mine."

[arieswritez]

puppy love

puppy love | yandere!mark grayson x afab!reader | MULTI-CHAP: 4

chapter 3

cw; DARK CONTENT!!! MDNI!!! MENTION OF ANIMAL DEATH, reader is neurodivergent, ableism, growing up is messy & adults suck, angst, niceguy™/slight incel mark, childhood friend/bully!mark, mark gets his powers sooner, teeny tiny implications of pseudo incest (blink and you’ll miss it), SADIST MARK, violent rape, threats of violence, & canon typical violence, so . . gore, stalking, implied murder, gender & body dysphoria, mentions/implications of disordered eating, mark teases reader about their body once, overall asshole mark, implied grooming (mark handles it but he’s a lil bitch about it later), so, victim blaming, misogyny, the inexplicable horrors of being afab, objectification, sexualization

about; [the fuckin' thought of you with somebody else, i don't like that.] . . actually, if you even consider leaving i'll lose a couple screws in due time, i'll stop breathing and you'll see the meaning of stalker when i pop out the dark to find you and that new dude that you're seeing with a attitude - IFHY (tyler the creator)

4.

there was blood on mark's hands.

syrupy and wet.

the distinct stench of iron rot fogged up his senses.

blood clots stuck like soft gelatin between his fingers. stretching, snapping webs of gore whenever he opened and closed his hands.

still warm as he switched on the water from your sink.

the suds from your hand soap came up a copper brown, adorned by tiny rivulets of red as he dug beneath his fingernails to scrape away any remnants of viscera.

dna washed away by tap water.

his skin purified once again.

mark looked up and met the eyes in the reflection, making sure to pick off specks of skull fragment and the fatty tissue of brain matter from strands of his hair.

what a fantasy.

a blink and it's all gone.

just like you.

you and your attention.

your undying devotion. a huff and the flame gets snuffed.

better yet. . you light and pass the torch to someone fucking else.

it's no good.

there's no use being mad at you and your uninspiring devotion. how special is your love, really, if it is so easily obtained?

and why does the fact that it no longer belongs to mark so upsetting?

why'd the realization that anyone who called you pretty would have you fantasizing about baby's breath bouquets - something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a sixpence in your shoe - make his blood run that much hotter?

why'd it make him stare down into the sink, faucet running, as he tried to slow down his breathing? gripping the edges of your porcelain sink until he heard it creak. counting forwards to a hundred, then back again.

he did all the things the therapist his mother took him to recommended he do when those feelings came up. things to see, smell, and touch, and taste. but the only thing that came through the ringing in his ears was the vivid fantasy of tearing your boy apart.

he could see the light leaving his eyes. he could smell the acrid stench of piss running down the coward's leg. and god knows he'd only ever touch him to dispose of his body.

and at the end, he'd taste the tears collecting at your cupid's bow when you sought comfort in his presence. just like the old days. it'd all be worth it in the end.

. . he shouldn't have read your dairy.

not because debbie raised him to 'respect privacy' - because who doesn't keep shit in their notes app in this day and age? - but because it put him in a shitty mood.

but he was also glad he did it.

it revealed what your problem was.

and mark's always been your problem solver.

mark was imaginative.

mark was smart.

mark was also patient.

surely, you'll get bored.

you'll preoccupy your mind with mundane things: how the world spins, for example. what you'll make of yourself. what people will think of you.

ouroboros: swallowing yourself whole trying to find the beginning to the end.

will you be loved? how will you be loved?

you're a glutton obsessing over not being enough in the first place. more, more, more.

you'll dizzy yourself.

come full circle, nausea and vertigo, habitually crawling back to him.

you're a distracted little thing.

you always have been.

it's in your nature.

mark tries not to be too hard on you about your romantic pursuits.

after all, you'll go after what you think you deserve.

and if that's dysfunction, then so be it.

however. . . your standards could be a little higher. had it been any other person occupying your mind. . mark wouldn't have cared.

oh, not at all.

he cares fuck all about your meaningless schoolyard crushes but the one thing that boils mark's blood is all of the abuse.

the hoops you have to jump through for the smallest shred of applause.

and really, how pathetic do you have to be? why can't you see that he's using you? as entertainment. as a pet. as a clown.

and what you don't understand is that deep down. . mark and your boy aren't all that different.

which explains why you like him so much.

mark and your boy were sharks.

your boy could smell your blood from a mile away; see the desperation in the way you sauntered past him, salivating at the thought of being the apple of his eye.

he saw you for what you were: prey.

and they saw right through your flimsy little costume of new clothing and perfumed wrists.

your boy and his group of cronies didn't laugh at your jokes because they thought you were funny. they laughed at the idea of you believing they found you entertaining.

your mediocre attempts at relevancy were funny - hilarious, even - because of how eager you were to impress them.

and the only reason why they hadn't used and discarded you like a plastic bag with warm dog shit inside of it was because they were more than happy tossing a coin into traffic, making you fetch just so they could entertain themselves watching you get hit by a bus.

but everything for your boy, right?

you and that fucking boy.

whatever it is, mark's more than willing to find a way to make all of that stop. he's devised some plans to make everything go back to the way they used to be.

it'd always been you and mark.

mark and you.

he planned to keep it that way.

and so, he was on his best behavior.

he'd let you have your boy.

he'd push down the bile that crawled up his throat whenever he imagined his hands on you. whenever he saw your face light up whenever your phone pings with a notification.

mark can be a very good actor.

he'd act as if his stares weren't deadly when you looked up and caught him looking at you. he could melt those icey eyes, the ones that glaze over in anger, and turn them into their usual warm brown.

he's on his best behavior.

attentive, even.

he's so, so interested in what you've got going on.

who are you talking to? yes you can tell me. no i won't get mad. yes. i promise. him? yeah, I remember. why didn't you tell me?

no, i'm not mad.

good for you!

no, i won't threaten him.

who do you think i am~?

mark knows better than to be outright poisonous towards you. not when there was another boy willing to stuff your pretty little head with cotton.

you are far too sensitive to hear anything that isn't a candied lie. if he plays nice, it gives him the upper-hand.

there is no need to vent to a diary when your best friend is sitting in front of you, doe eyed and innocent, the way he pretended to be when you two were twelve and his mom would check up on you in his room. or when teachers would walk past and he had to pretend he wasn't pressing the sharp point of his pencil into your thigh.

mark loves your parent(s).

they aren't that much different than you.

in fact, mark has come to find that there aren't many people that match him in terms of intelligence.

he can see why you came out the way you did. un-special, if he's feeling kind. the other word he'd like to use is not nice to call someone.

pining after approval, your parent(s) were very easy to like.

very easy to control.

"i just don't know if they've told you, yet. . it seems kinda unfair that i'll be the one to say." mark mutters under his breath, tracing shapes into the dining room table as your parent(s) sit across from him.

"mark," your parent reaches across the table, hoping to grab his hand, only for mark to pull it out of their reach. "if something's happening. . we want to know. we need to know."

"it's just that. ." mark pauses, gives a few seconds to really build the tension. "it's a bit embarrassing."

super.

he's worried about you, you see? there's a group of guys you've been chasing around in school. . and mark doesn't think they have your best interest in mind.

mark has heard. . things.

but you've gone cold on him.

he's worried you might be. .

well, he's worried you might be having sex.

with a few. .

. . all of them?

oh, who gives a shit? the more the better. and the more mark spills, plucks things out of thin air, the more petrified your parents look.

he makes sure to say it.

sex.

hisses, purrs it, whispers it like it's such a bad word.

he even wills himself to look embarrassed, averting his eyes like it's a shameful thing.

it brings him back to the day debbie caught him with some girl after a baseball game.

she had just been some random. a shiny object that called mark's attention. something he could put his dick into while he tucked his face into her neck and imagined the sounds you'd make.

his mom should've known he was already having sex. however, having been caught with his pants down and balls deep in someone wasn't necessarily the way he planned to break it to her.

he heard his mom and his dad arguing in the next room that night and, coincidentally, nolan came in and gave him 'the talk' to the best of his ability.

humans are fragile, mark.

yes, they are.

but the bruises on her were not his fault.

she was soft.

and she'd liked it.

nevertheless, your parents are not as forgiving as mark's.

they promise him it's not a big deal. that he did good. that he's good.

a good kid, a good student, a good friend.

but as soon as he's gone, he knows they are searching your room top to bottom.

he flies up to your room and peeks in through the curtains to watch them toss open closet doors, rummaging through clothing, bookbags, notebooks, whatever they can find.

and finally, your bed.

your diary with all the juicy, dirty - downright violent, jesus - fantasies mark wrote by forging your handwriting.

and your nightstand.

wherein tucked underneath your cute underwear lays a shiny pack of condoms.

at least you're being safe.

you'll never hear the end of it.

it's too good to miss and mark doesn't care if he has to wait all day for you to get home. he wants to watch your everything crash and burn.

not that he'll have to wait much, anyway.

your parent's on the phone, trying to contain red hot anger from spewing out like a backed up volcano, hissing at you to get home, now.

you poor thing.

you poor, poor, thing.

you don't know what to tell them when they toss the pack of condoms at your feet.

when they shove the journal in your face, showing you all the depraved things you wrote in that cute little scrawl.

the boys, the nights out in which you claimed to be at mark's: helping him out with a project.

yeah, right, stop lying, already!

"give me your phone. now."

fingers feverishly tapping and swiping, going through texts as tears stream down your flushed face.

you've got a date tonight.

and you hadn't told your parent(s).

what a coincidence, oh my!

your boy must've planned to seal the deal that night. and mark would be damned if he didn't have you first.

mark doesn't need to worry.

that's definitely not happening now, is it?

in fact, you won't be able to go anywhere that isn't class for the rest of the school year. not unless you're monitored by mark. and isn't it embarrassing, mark having to be some sort of guardian?

"I thought you were smarter than this."

and you're too good to yell back.

you're too good to argue and try to explain that it wasn't you.

you didn't buy condoms. you didn't write that. you didn't do anything.

but if it wasn't you, who was it?

who did?

you look every bit of a cornered animal. it's very you: to freeze in situations like that. back to the door, facing the window just enough for mark to be able to peek at every emotion going past your face through the crack of your curtains.

he watches it flicker past your eyes, the way the muscles in your neck tense up when you squeak out those ugly, strangled, sniffed out cries. the ones you try to hold back when you're crying alone in your room and you want no one else to hear them.

the ones you'd let out at your desk when you were itty bitty and your parent had dropped you off at kindergarten, promising you they'd be right back, but they never were.

you are so much like the way you used to be.

mark wishes things hadn't changed.

he wishes you were just as innocent, as good. he wishes no one would've turned you into what you are now.

he wishes you wouldn't have been stupid enough to let them.

you don't say anything.

you don't even push past your parent when they're done berating you, just stare down at the floor until their mouth has dried, and they shoulder check past you.

you only slowly turn to push the door closed, grab your computer and send a message to the only person you think you can confide in.

he arrives in ten minutes.

enough to make it believable, climb up a tree and sneak into your room.

you fall into his arms immediately, sobbing.

mark hopes you don't feel him smiling against your shoulder as he comforts you.

your boy has been different since the last time you talked to him. distant, distracted. different. you catch him zoning out whenever the two of you are studying in the library, not reciprocating when you try to play footsies with him.

you're not sure if it has to do with the night you had to cancel your date. sure, it was last minute but he'd told you that it was okay. but with everything going on at home, you don't have the patience to hear him lie.

"seriously, what's up?" you ask, kicking his shoe softly.

your boy looks up at you.

his eyes used to gleam with confidence. the type of cockiness that'd make your cheeks burn and butterflies flutter like mad in your stomach. but they looked empty then. he looked like he hadn't slept well. that night or the one before.

he looked around, making sure no one was within earshot. you leaned forward in response, your curiosity peaked.

"this is going to sound weird but. . do you ever get the feeling that you're being watched?"

you blinked.

"uh. . hm. ."

come to think of it. . sometimes you did. you've been sensitive to eyes on you since you can remember. the hyper vigilance is something you've grown accustomed to, making peace with the fact that it might not be a curse after all, and instead some sort of safety feature.

but it felt different.

not like the irrational tickle in your stomach whenever you think of a possibility. but the speckling feeling across your skin, crawling with a million legs, the kind that makes you hallucinate a breath against your neck. the type that has your head rolling, looking for an intruder.

nothing.

but you didn't tell your boy.

because your boy was talking about himself and you've learned to insert yourself into it could be rude.

you settle with saying, "what do you mean?"

he shrugged a shoulder. "i dunno. watched. I get that sometimes. see something from the corner of my eye. and when I turn to look it's gone."

you felt your heart pick up speed. strange. the same thing had been happening to you.

you let out a nervous laugh. "if you're saying this to scare me I'm gonna get really mad, y'know?"

"i'm serious." he said, almost urgently. "and here's this: i was walking to my car after baseball practice and found some weird red shit smeared across my windshield."

he's fucking with you.

surely, he is.

this must have something to do with the rumour circulating around school. the one in which they've seen a figure whizzing past. the one in which that figure is the reason in which some animal carcasses have been found in the baseball field, mutilated like some sort of fucked up science experiment. a villain that's found a hobby in terrorizing the town, perhaps.

"it's probably nothing." you whisper, unsure if you're trying to convince him or yourself.

"probably." he responds.

he doesn't look convinced.

and he doesn't reciprocate when you try, again, to get his attention.

your boy was gone.

gone, gone, gone.

word around the school was that he'd transfered.

but that started to feel suspicious when the students noticed the smell.

something easy to dismiss at first.

the kind of funk attributed to warm weather and not enough deodorant. growing boys and their scattered hormones.

and then it grew.

bold, loud.

ugly enough that it couldn't be ignored.

sour.

downright rancid.

and it was all coming from your boy's locker.

it got so bad a janitor had to pry his locker open.

and that's where they found a decomposed animal, tire marks through the middle of the delicate body. maggots swarming in the orifice where the eyes used to be.

you don't remember when the last time you saw him was.

you don't know if you ever will.

with his past time of mutilating animals and collecting roadkill, you're not sure you even want to.

and if you did, the only thing you'd ask is why?

mark seemed the least surprised about it.

he hadn't so much as grimaced as he told you the story of his locker being pried open.

the stench was the worst thing, apparently.

although, it wasn't enough to deter his appetite as he popped grapes between his fingers, making sure to squirt the juice onto you as he described fat, wriggling maggots falling off in swarming little balls off of the carcass.

you shiver, skin crawling, staring at the pile of homework before mark.

now that your boy had vanished into thin air, his entourage wanted nothing to do with you. you figured it was only normal. you were all preparing for finals, applying for college, planning ahead.

still, it hurt.

it hurt to think you almost had it, almost had him, but it was all taken away. you're not sure why you feel that way, but you do.

and the only thing keeping you afloat is the fact that you've found your way back to mark.

it reminds you, he'll always be there for you.

no matter what.

it's nice, you think.

spending time with your best friend.

even if it means doing mark's work again.

CHAPTER 5

[gladiatorcunt]

- IF YOU GOT TIME, THEN I GOT TIME

baby just relax and ride

cw: unedited, MDNI 18+ content, fem reader, blowjobs underneath the misletoe, season 9!spencer reid, piss kink mentions, dubcon somnophilia (like they didn’t talk about it but he’s into it), slight obsessive behavior (from reader), pregnancy mention, reader’s sensory issues, scent kink, one implication of pseudocest/incest kink, soft dom!spencer at the end, borderline cock slut reader, an age gap if you squint

note: title & subtitle from use your heart by swv.

please do not copy, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinkmas

This isn’t your first Christmas with Spencer, but something just feels different about this one. It snowed all night; the flurries might even still be going this late in the morning. You’ve convinced your boyfriend to take some time from work, he’s gone after his job with BAU like moth to a flame, but you had to tell him that it’s early still in his career (you use that excuse even though it’s been almost a decade since he’s started there). It wouldn’t hurt to be out of the office so he could enjoy the holidays with his very supportive and stunningly attractive partner.

You’re still riding the high of getting a breathy chuckle out of him as leaned over your side of the bed to reach the phone, making the call.

This Christmas morning is your time to suck the life out of your pretty boyfriend, his first gift of the day.

You reach down into the pocket of your sleep shorts and pull out a small piece of mistletoe. You’re already cringing a bit at yourself, but you’re stifling giggles as well. It takes every bit of your focus to creep back into the master bedroom after groggily doing your morning routine (even though your minty fresh breath is going to be replaced by the smell of Spencer’s cum).

The brown plush carpet sinks beneath your feet as you step towards the bed. Spencer’s sound asleep, he must be really exhausted if all your shuffling around and bumping into shit hasn’t startled him awake. You’re normally the deeper sleeper, your mouth leaking drool onto the pillow under your cheek. Spencer made a mini photo album of all the times he’s caught you like that; you teared up when he thought you would’ve flown off the handle.

His recently cut hair is smushed against the pillow and in that moment, you think you’ve beaten the grinch. Your heart grows a million sizes too big and throbs in your ribcage. Every day you’re surprised to rediscover just how much you can love somebody, how much of their love you can hold inside you until you burst.

Your breathing pattern stutters, suddenly it’s all you can think about as you gingerly climb onto the bed, a somewhat awkward left knee first approach. Spencer’s lanky limbs are sprawled over enough of the bed for you to have to squint so you don’t skewer than poor man. You forgot to put your glasses on the nightstand, and they must have fallen in between the mattress in the headboard while you slept, fuck.

“Spence.” You whisper, testing the waters.

“Spencer, big brother.” You whisper louder, using a nickname that you know your boyfriend likes more than he lets on.

His nose scrunches up, but he makes no sudden movements. You breathe a sigh of relief and peel back the covers, planting your right knee into the bed and bringing the left over the bunched-up fabric. You pull the green comforter & sheet set over your shoulder and scoot closer until you’re able to be in the middle of his spread legs.

Your vision is significantly darker now with the covers practically obscuring your head, but you swear you could pinpoint Spencer’s crotch in a room full of cropped underwear modeling photos.

You can tell that he’s wearing the pair of white briefs you bought him because you like how the style enhances his small ass, they smell too fresh to have been worn a decent amount of time. You’re excited for when the musk will start to come through, but Spencer’s extremely on top of washing clothes, both yours and his. You have to earn his sweat and grime.

Another day, maybe even later today after you open presents. It always makes you happy to get something that takes the stressful look off Spencer’s face, which snowballs into you getting turned on and trying suck him off right then.

You hold the piece of mistletoe above his crotch and dip forward to kiss the tip of his cock through his underwear, a habit of yours that Spencer finds so endearing. You can hear him call you cute even if he’s deep asleep, he’s probably praising you in his dreams anyway.

You check to see if he’s woken up, lifting the covers just enough to peek through. You dive back under when Spencer only scratches his nose in his sleep and grunts.

His underwear comes off slowly, you’re not trying to spoil the surprise too soon. Each of his ankles receives a tender peck as you guide Spencer’s briefs off and set them by your knee.

You don’t need light to know how pretty your boyfriend’s cock is, the full bodied thwap it makes against his stomach already has your pussy throbbing. You pick the mistletoe back up and hold it above him one more time, but over his balls instead, a 2 for 1 deal just for him. They’re so full and hefty in your mouth as you suck on them one by one, french kissing his sack. Your heart hurts for him, it must be painful to be so pent up.

Spencer hasn’t taken the recent lack of sex out on you, not when it’s his job that keeps his cock out of your pussy more than anything else. That’s another reason why you’re doing this, you’ve learned that you have to make time for each other if you hope to still be in a relationship, and this is you doing that. Your knees hurt, bent too far for too long, but nothing’s gonna take your mouth off his hardening cock, maybe not even him. You’re aiming to be the perfect little wife; everybody knows the number one job of a perfect wife is anticipating your husband’s needs and bending over backwards to fulfill them.

You take a hot second to mash your nose against his shaft and breathe in deeply, the faint scent of his body wash mixed with the natural odor of his body settles into your jowls and coats your tastebuds. You should’ve brought a bottle to store a few drops of his sweat in your purse for the times when you need a sweet little treat. You wouldn’t need your vanilla musk perfume oil if you had that, but you can reign your obsession in, you don’t need to go crazy on Christmas.

Fuck, he smells so good you could cream your panties on the spot. You’re not one of those girlfriends who bite the shit out of their boyfriends, no, you just have to huff Spencer like he’s a sharpie you could get high on.

You lick up a stray drop of his piss, dotting kisses back up his shaft until you return to the head. The mistletoe you brought in is crumpled under your knee as you wiggle around and adjust your stance, popping your ass out a bit more. It’s annoying to have to maneuver under the covers to suck him off properly, but you’re stubborn as hell and insistent on Spencer being the one to eventually peel back the covers.

You curl your tongue around the underside of his tip, and you hear a muffled groan above you. Merry Christmas, indeed.

A smug smile unfurls across your face, you close your lips around his head briefly in brief slurps, an imitation of a wet kiss. Your toes curl when his taste washes over you, another wave of barely-there soap as well as spine tingling musk, his middle of the night bathroom trip has left a few linger traces of piss too. And well, like a kitten with a bowl full of milk, you lap up that shit. Spencer doesn’t have this unrealistic, perfectly clean dick that some people would expect, he has pubes and a perfect natural scent and sometime his cum’s too tangy. If he insists on you never having to shave or be afraid to pee in his mouth, then it’s only right that you give him the same talk.

You flatten your tongue and drag you face up and down his cock, something that’s not meant to please him directly, you just want to degrade yourself on occasion. For Spencer you’d do things that would make God spontaneously combust, and Spencer’s mind would be blown in all kinds of ways.

You let the drop of precum that peeks out trickle down, stroking your boyfriend’s length, spreading it and slicking him up just enough. You dig your twinging knees into the mattress and tap his cock against your tongue. One, two, three. When you get more sleepy sounds from overhead you start to slide your mouth down on his cock, nestling it back in it’s home away from home.

You sit there for a moment, letting the atmosphere sink in. You’re convinced you can hear the snow falling outside, and the faint white glow of your living room christmas tree lights can still be felt even from under the sheets. You swallow around the length in your mouth, emitting a hum that’s closer to a strong whisper.

You try to say you love him, but you honestly forget your mouth is full of cock, so it comes out thick and muffled. You curl your right hand around the base and caress the skin there, an “I love you.” for his cock too. You slide that hand down to play with his balls and you lift your head up, the sheet scratches your scalp as it moves with you.

You give him a few pumps, suckling on the tip. Spencer’s right leg kicks out, twitching. Hearts bleed in your eyes as you swallow him back down, knowing you must look so pretty with your lips split around his hard dick. Tears bud at your waterline, you’ve trained yourself out of the brunt of your gag reflex, but you think you’ll always have a little tickle in the back of your throat and several tears that threaten to spill over.

You do wish Spencer were awake to chuckle softly and brush each one away his thumb, anchoring you to him.

“Why are you crying? You’re okay, you’ve taken it before, you’re taking it so well now. Shh, there we go.”

Your eyes flutter shut, and you press your nails into his thighs, as far as you’re concerned sucking your boyfriend off into oblivion is the only thing you were put on this earth to do.

Spencer moans, a sleepy and guttural sound as he stretches, that brief tension you get in your body before you melt into goo. Your heart rate picks up but you keep up what you’re doing, humming and keeping your teeth away from his shaft as you bob your head up and down.

Your mind runs in so many different directions, but it’s so quiet now. When he’s awake Spencer adores when he can see you softly drift off like this into a certain headspace, hazy and surrounded by his body. You adore taking a plunge into the deep end, proving that you love him by putting your heart on a spike.

You cradle his balls in your palm, rolling them around as you let his cock flop out your mouth with a wet pop. You grasp his shaft in your other hand to steady it and tongue his slit, your clit pulses whenever another spurt of pre hits your tastebuds.

You moan and kiss the base of his cock, swiping your tongue out for little licks.

The sheets rustle around you, brushing against your skin until they’re not touching you at all, because they’re being lifted. A flood of warm lighting illuminates your cock sucking.

You don’t have the proper awareness to be nervous or afraid of his reaction, you mewl mischievously in greeting and drag your tongue up the couple of faint veins along the sides of his cock.

“Merry Christmas, baby.” Spencer rasps, settling a hand on top of your head, never dissuading, only handling.

Your pussy clenches around nothing as you rock your hip backwards, drinking up every drop he had in his balls, but the emptiness gets you going too. Forcing yourself to wait, holding out, starving yourself of cock. It’s almost religious, putting yourself through suffering with the expectation of being rewarded.

You have to look in his eyes so you can cum, and there’s something about the way the corners of them crinkle as you cream your panties that spawns nursery design ideas.

The rock that sits on your ring finger by lunch sparkles in the light of your phone camera, nestled in Spencer’s pubes, hand curled around his dripping cock, mid stroke.

The gift that keeps on giving.