cryptid_valentine



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    “Terrible name, by the way,” Ilya told Svetlana. “We will need to think of new one. This is not 1970’s porn. He is pretty and innocent. Sweet.”

    “Oh,” Svetlana said, craning her neck to stare at Ilya’s laptop. “Oh. He is just your type.”

    “I don’t have a type,” Ilya lied. If Ilya did have a type—and he did, maybe a little, because if a man didn’t have a preference, he didn’t get to have an opinion—it was this. Muscular but not in an obsessive bodybuilder sort of way, a strong brow, and an ass that Ilya could practically see jiggle when spanked.

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    15 Feb 2026