Brienne hogties Jaime and Cersei and takes them to Tarth. Then a lot of weird sex happens.

Galen's enemies drug him, in a sexy way.

Before Lan Yi is alone with the Yin Iron, she's alone with the Yin Iron and Baoshan Sanren.

Or: being immortal means always having to say you're sorry.

Because the second that Killmonger touches him, the second that his hands are on T’Challa’s bare skin, wrapped around his throat–T’Challa can feel him, every inch of him, Killmonger’s rapid heartbeat, his too-quick breathing, the adrenaline coursing through his body, the fear and rage and confusion, all of it running through T’Challa’s mind like a spark of fire along dry grass.

“No, no, no,” and T’Challa thinks it’s his own voice speaking until he feels the puffs of air against his face, until he realizes that it’s Erik speaking, his own face inches away from T’Challa’s as he says, “Not you, not you.”

June probably shouldn't have eaten the cake she randomly found on the counter, but in her defense, most people don't leave sex cakes hanging around while they go clubbing.

Dub-con. This is just porn, basically. Set when Katherine was living with the Salvatores.

Carefully taking a pillow and placing it in his lap, Ted mumbles, “Think I outta be getting home, sleep this off.”

“Can’t do that either,” Higgins says, grimacing sympathetically. “You’ll have to, ah, burn it out.”

(In which Ted gets dosed with sex pollen, and Trent and Rebecca work together to help him through it.)