#Issa Tall

[dance-world]

Andreas Giesen - photo by Issa Tall

[adoniseverywheremen]

Chris McCarthy by Issa Tall

[pastart]

Christian Hogue by Issa Tall (2022)

[issatall]

Christian Hogue by Issa Tall - for Sicky Magazine

[inspirednarcissus]

Raphaël Say by Issa Tall.

[ywpd-translations]

Ride 728: Kaburagi's buddy!!

Pag 1/2

The tickets for the Inter High are only six!! Those  fateful regular jerseys.... snatch them with your hands!!

Pag 3

1: Third lap!!

3: And it's just us!!

4: I started the third lap of the Sohoku training camp being at the top, by far the best among the first years!!

5: Me!! I, Murakami Toyoka, will never again show mercy to anyone!!

Pag 4

1: He's not coming....

2: Tch, again? Kaburagi-san

3: That day, Danchiku said “I'll come”....

5: I'll come to the training camp!!

I'll stand on the start line and we'll run together!! That's my intention!!

6: He said that, and yet....

Pag 5

1: I wanted to go to the Inter High together...

Dammit!!

2: It's alright!! It's alright, Kaburagi-san!!

Uhm, I'm sure.... it's just a delay and they're late!!

If thie guy's spirit breaks now I'm in trouble!! I have to stir him up again and make him run forward

3: If he doesn't pull me, I'm in trouble!!

He'll come soon!!

4: Earlier, at the start line, when we crossed the goal, I saw Touji-san's van

5: Huh!?

7: The fact that they're here and he still doesn't come on the course....

Danchiku's bad condition is...

Pag 6

1: It's not like this, is it!?

Pag 7

1: Do you see the course, Danchiku?

You see? They're struggling

…. yes

It's like I told you earlier in the car

2: You can't ride that bike anymore

3: You should stop

5: …. yes

7: Instead of that

Pag 8

1: Ride this!!

Pag 9

1: It took me a while to prepare this before leaving

It's the same manifacturer as the one you rode, but it's an old model

The components are old, and the wheels are an intermediate level, too

2: And the sadlle is cracked too

4: But it serves its purpose well

5: If you want to ride in this training camp with the bike you've always used, you probably

6: Wouldn't be able to run!!

7: …. huh

You're saying that.... the cause for my bad condition.... is my “bike”!?

Pag 10

1; You could say that, but not really

2: Two weeks ago, Onoda came to me

3: to get some advice regarding your situation

Ah... uhm, uh- that's what I wanted to talk about

4: I talked with Imaizumikun and Naruko-kun too, but I still.... uhm... I can't decide

5: Should I let Danchiku-kun run in the training camp? Or should I stop him? I can't decide

7: He himself said he wants to run

8: He still has next year

Pag 11

1: I also think he shouldn't push himself too hard

3: You really look like a captain now, Onoda....

Yeah

4: Miki told me about this too

5: There must be praparations to do, you focus on that

I'll take care of Danchiku

6: I'll reach out to him every day

I'll talk to him, wait and see, and then make a decision

7: Thank you, you must be busy, but thank you so much!

8: He worked very hard on Minegayama

And then

9: When I heard he was having troubles with his bike, I started worrying too

Pag 12

2: I looked after you, your attitude

4: And I found the answer!!

6: It's “moving forward”

Run in the training camp, Danchiku!!

Pag 13

1: …. ah, but I've been feeling like there's something wrong with my joints since after the Minegayama race.... I went to the hospital many times and still, even now...

2: There, it was just a coincidence that it happened right after the Minegayama race...

3: That's why it confused you

4: Confused!?

5: “You have no self-confidence”, that's the main cause of your bad condition

…..“Confidence”!?

6: Stand up and look closely around you

7: And then look at yourself!!

8: If you think about it, it's easy

Even going to the hospital, you wouldn't know

You're....

Pag 14

1: Growing

You've gotten much bigger

Pag 15

1: It's your height!!

2: Huh!?

3: Second year of high school is a growing period and you're becoming much bigger!!

Pag 16

1: Huh, but....

My height!?

2: During growth period, there'll be big growing spurts that makes you feel bad

You tried to hide your bad condition, and you blamed the victory on Minegayama

3: You were so worried you couldn't even see yourself, weren't you?

4: Yes!!

5: Pains and creaking joints are all “growing pains”

The fact that you didn't have time to adapt is your bike's fault

6: You know this too – just like shoes have a size, road bikes also have specific sizes

7: If your body doesn't match the bike's size, you won't have power nor speed

8: That why it's the “bike”!!

9: I prepared it yesterday

The frame is old, but

Pag 17

1: It's just the right size for your body now!!

Pag 18

1: What....

“Just the right size”.....!!

2: What is this

3: It adapts to my body....

It's connected to my body

4: It feels like I can move forward as I want!!

Pag 19

1: This feels so good!

I'm riding a bike and it feels just like back then!!

2: Believe in yourself

Get on the course and run with all your strength

3: It's alright

As much as you've suffered this past half a year

4: Now grow as much as you want!!

Yes!!

Pag 20

2: Sixth..... lap!!

3: Danchiku...

4: Dammit!! Our pace has been going down since earlier!!

What the hell is this guy doing!!

5: Looking at the times on the board, Kinaka and Rokudai are ressing on with all their strengths

This is bad!!

6: Dammit!! Who cares about Danchiku!!

7: At this point we won't go the Inter High this year....

It's impossible, huh....

8: The pace....

9: ….chiku....

Pag 21

1: He's not coming, Danchiku-san is not coming!!

Until when are you gonna whining like this!!

Come one, give up on that delusion and run with me please!!

3: Ah- no no no

Sorry, I didn't mean, uhm....

Dammit, I said what I really think

4: Kaburagi-san looks so dumbfounded!!

Pag 22

1: I.... I said too much, I'm sorry

Can you forgive me? Neh? Senpai

5: Ah- the buddy sticker!? Kaburagi-san!?

6: Pick it up later, Murakami

You threw it away!?

8: The way he's ducking his head, that acceleration, and that dancing

I've seen them so many times....

I can recognize him right away even from a distance....!!

Pag 23

1: You promised me, didn't you?

And now you're crying!?

2: I told you, didn't I?

3: Who....?

It's no use, it has to be you

4: W.... ah

5: Danchiku

Pag 24

1: We're the legends of team SS!!

I made you wait so long!! Issa!!

Pag 25

3: No one but me can be your buddy!!

Hahaha that's right, Danchiku!!

Pag 26

2: A while ago, also Onoda came on the course

3: And Danchiku joines us, too

From now on

4: We're finally starting for real!!

[muddyorbsblr]

ill-intentioned "compliments"

Drabbles Masterlist See my full list of works here!

Summary: Loki steps in when a man subjects you to his tasteless opinion on your outfit

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 955 (issa blurb)

Warnings: creepy men being creepy; the tiniest dose of violence (let me know if I missed anything!)

Things to be aware of: a bit of mutual pining

"I haven't the slightest idea why we have even been tasked with this," Loki muttered, walking alongside you holding a paper with a list of errands for the two of you to run this weekend. Every other week, two names from the team were picked from a hat, and this week, your names popped up.

"Well Pepper said something about it helping the team seem more approachable, 'human', if the public sees us doing 'normal people' things. So getting groceries, getting the cars cleaned and gassed up, picking up pizza…little things."

He grumbled even worse; if he wasn't such a stickler for his princely stature, he'd probably be slouching and dragging his feet right about now. "I suppose it could be worse," he said softly. "I could have been partnered with less tolerable company."

"Why Mischief, are you saying you like having me around?" you quipped, playfully batting your eyes at the god. "High praise coming from you."

"Do not make me regret saying that, little mortal." He rolled his eyes at you, failing to hold back the twitching of the corner of his mouth and hide the amusement. As he often did when he was around you.

"Well if it makes you feel any better, I like having you around, too."

Your words took him aback. "Truly?"

"Of course." You pointed at the next item on your list, before motioning toward the top shelf. "You're the most tolerable tall person I could've been partnered with. Last time I got partnered with your brother I had to push around two carts on my own."

You had to look away while he reached up for the carton of pickle jars, resisting against every urge to ogle at the way his midnight black jeans stretched over his inhumanly perfectly shaped ass. "Well for what it's worth, darling, I would never let you do any of this on your own--"

"We-he-heeeelll, Agent Y/L/N," a voice drawled out, coming from a man who was no less than two decades your senior, eyes filled with such prurient thoughts that he didn't even bother to hide as he leered at you. The way he said your name, along with the way he looked at you, felt like you were being blanketed in slime.

Made you want nothing more than to kick his ass. Or even rack up a debt to the god you were partnered with and ask for his help.

"Don't you look mighty fine today, in that cute little skirt…" The unwelcome lecherous admirer was reaching his hand out toward you, letting out a yowl of pain when Loki stormed over, grabbed the man's wrist in his significantly larger hand, and squeezed.

"I think not," he said through gritted teeth. "You're undeserving to be sharing the same breath as her and you believe yourself entitled to a touch?"

"What? I was just paying her a compliment!" the man whined. "It's a free country, you fucking alien. What? I can't tell a woman she's pretty anymore? Is that what--"

"You know damn well you were doing more than that. You were putting her in a situation to give a clear message, that despite her stature and place in society, because you have deemed it so, she is still subject to your lecherous thoughts. You were going to touch her without her consent because you wished for her to know that you can, and whatever happens in the aftermath will not nullify how she was already subjected to being groped by your grimy unworthy hands." The god squeezed a touch tighter, a near sadistic smile stretched across his face when he began to hear bones creaking and threatening to crack.

"Fucking psycho you're breaking my hand!"

"Oh I haven't even begun to get psychotic," Loki spat out, squeezing just a touch harder and hearing the first fracture finally give in. He begun to speak lower, and you were too far away to decipher what he said next. "You know not the lengths I would go for her, you impotent, tiny, inconsequential insectile excuse for a man. Anyone who sullies her mood will have me to answer to, am I being clear?"

Another squeeze. More fractures. And the once supercilious man was reduced to a whimpering mess, pleading for mercy. "P-Please I'm sorry, just let me go I won't do it again."

"See to it that you don't." The god's eyes glowed a vibrant green for a moment, casting an enchantment that would replicate the sensation of his hand fracturing whenever he would so much as feel the urge to touch another unfortunate unwitting woman moving forward. When he was certain that the spell had taken, he released the lech's hand with a derisive sneer, not even bothering to watch him scamper away, choosing instead to turn and cross the few steps back to you.

"You know I could've kicked his ass no problem."

"I have no doubts, little mortal, but that would also mean you would have given him the satisfaction of touching him." He broke out into a smile when you scrunched up your face at his response, fighting against the urge to reach for your hand. Or tuck that stray lock of hair behind your ear.

Or kiss you.

"Thank you," you said softly as you both started walking toward the register. "The guys back at the Compound got it so wrong about you. You're not so bad." Loki's heart stumbled at your words, only to start pounding in his chest as you continued. "I'm starting to wonder if you're bad at all."

For the first time in ages, the god found himself unable to form words, a warmth blooming in both his gut and his chest. "Anytime, darling."

A/N: Made this for @glitchquake because we should be allowed to wear cute workout clothes without worry about creepy fckers that 100% deserve stabbies when they try to bust out their creep factor 😤

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist

[hotreadingwitch]

Daemon x Reader - Eyes on Fire

A/N - this one is for the girlies that have always wanted Daemon to talk them through it (me)…This chapter’s a bit longer than usual so strap yourselves in for the ride! Plus I've made this one Daemon Targaryen Appreciate Week (2023) which is a week here on tumblr organized by marvelsrejects! ...And it's still Kinktober ;)

Content Warnings/Kinks: taboo relationship/incest (uncle x niece), hickeys, choking, hair pulling, breast play, edging, masturbating, oral sex + face fucking (male receiving), unprotected penetrative sex (vaginal) 

Eyes on Fire 

Daemon’s eyes prowled watchfully across the room of dancing nobility from his seat on the raised dais where he sat, perched much too comfortably in his stiff chair. Y/n glanced in his direction, cursing to herself as her foolish mind raced with unnatural thoughts. She hadn’t been able to even consider another man after her single late-night adventure with him, though it had led to nothing…Her gaze flitted to him again, in his red silks and armour, with his icy short curls, only to find him looking right back at her. 

Y/n watched Daemon excuse himself from a likely boring discussion with one of the much older party guests there to celebrate her 20th birthday and begin to move towards her, cutting the thick, dancing bustle. He moved through the crowd like a shadow, made of nothing but darkness. As he came closer, however, she could feel his gaze was pure fire, heating her cheeks with each step that he took. When Dameon reached her, it seemed that indeed, his light, sunken eyes were truly made of flame. 

“Uncle” she greeted, refusing to shift where she stood even though she was intimidated by his large presence and the effect it clearly still had on her.

“Princess” 

She jutted her chin forward, staring up at him with burning curiosity and clear animosity. 

Gaomagon daor jurnegon issa raqagon bona. “Don’t look at me like that” Daemon warned, switching to the language of their ancestors.

Raqagon skoros? “Like what?” she responded heatedly. 

Raqagon ao would raqagon naejot zālagon issa skoriot nyke nykeōragon “Like you’d like to burn me where I stand” 

“And so what if I do?” 

“Have I made so many mistakes that you’ve grown to hate me?” 

She jutted her chin forward, frustrated by his games, “My father admires you though he does not often admit it but your blatant pursuits of me are a direct threat to him and also to me…I see your actions for what they are Daemon” 

“Is that so?” He jeered, quickly grasping her by the throat, his long fingers planted securely under her jaw making her gasp and move closer to him as if compelled by some lustful force within, “I sense your desires are not quite in line with those of your father Princess…”

Tension sparked between them. 

Rhaenagon issa isse hāre hours. “Meet me in 3 hours”

She looked at him quizzically, her breath seemingly stolen right from her body at the intensity of his low command. Releasing his grip on her neck he stalked away, out of the grand room, “Enjoy the rest of your party and…Happy Birthday Princess”

~

Y/n snuck out of her chambers and made her way through the cool, dark hallways of the castle until she reached her destination. She rapped her knuckles harshly on the hardwood, continuing to knock until the tall door was ripped open. 

“You’re going to wake half the castle doing that Princess” Daemon chastised. 

“I wasn’t under the impression that you cared about me being too loud Daemon” Y/n smiled smugly, tilting her head, her gaze roving over him. 

“Huh,” Daemon let out a puff of breath as he smiled, the small joke getting the best of him. 

Daemon’s red silk shirt was unbuttoned almost down to his navel and his hair was messy as if he’d been running his fingers through it nervously. Y/n had been the one to make Daemon nervous for once…Oh how the tables have turned, she thought to herself. 

He turned away, allowing her a moment to take in the gilded room that was similar in style to hers, only slightly smaller. 

“Do you want a drink?” He interrupted her thoughts. 

“Trying to get me drunk on your wines Daemon?” She chuckled, joking with him again. 

“No” he replied, suddenly serious, “You really think I’m that kind of man Y/n?” 

“I—“ she huffed, “I don’t know what to think about you anymore Uncle. One minute you’re all over me, making me think there’s something between us finally, like I’ve wanted there to be for as long as I can remember, and then—and then you pull away…You always pull away Daemon” 

He came toward her and in an instant his hands were in her hair, “I won’t pull away Princess, ever again, you have my word” 

“Really?” her voice was a quiet whisper, she felt vulnerable softening, even slightly, with relief in his arms. 

“There is nothing that could stop me now from being by your side” 

She seemed hesitant. 

“What can I do to prove it to you? Do I need to beg for your forgiveness? Do you want me on my knees? Because if it is what you want, what you need, I will, without question” 

Y/n was shocked by his proclamation. She knew there was an unbearable tension, a heat between her and Daemon but she never knew the depth of his feelings. The fact that a man as powerful as him would beg and kneel before her was enough for her faith to be restored and for a heat to begin rising up within her. 

She stepped closer to him, forcing him backward until his back hit the cool, stone wall. She peppered light kisses down from his cheek to his jaw to his bare neck, biting slightly at some points, making him wince with the slight pain. “I believe you,” she told him finally if her kisses and bites weren’t enough confirmation.

“Princess…” he groaned as she sunk to her knees before him, “Fuck me—please” 

Y/n pulled his pants off slowly, never once breaking her eye contact with him. She spit on his tip, swirling her tongue around the now-wet surface. Teasing him even more, she ran her soft lips and tongue up and down the underside of his shaft, popping the tip into her mouth every time she reached it, again and again and again until he was desperate for more. 

“Put it in your mouth” he commanded, regaining his usual dominance, tugging her head back gently with her hair gripped tightly in his fist, “Now…” 

Y/n smiled up at him, a feral grin that told him this was exactly what she wanted, what she needed, before she swirled her tongue in more circles around him, earning her a deep groan. She then began to suck, as he desired, hollowing her mouth before slowly taking the majority of his length down her wet throat. His gaze was powerful and his eyes were cold as he looked down at her, watching each motion, releasing a low moan as her hands focused on the base of his shaft. She only sped up her pace from there, Dameon’s chambers filling with the sounds of slurping and spit. 

“You look so pretty on your knees for me love, with my—“ he groaned loudly, “with my fucking cock stuffed in your mouth like that”

She pulled up off of him, smiling at the trail of spit that connected her lips to him before opening her mouth wide, her eyes begging for him to take control. 

“Wider” he commanded, cursing when she obeyed him, “Fuck…” 

His entire length pushed itself into her mouth, spreading her reddened lips wide, causing her a bit of pain though she didn’t mind and she never would as long as the person hurting her was Daemon. With his hands gripped tightly in her hair, he fucked her wet mouth, grinding into her at a pace that threatened to make her cry. 

“Gods you’re good, so good” he grunted. 

Soon, she could feel his cock begin to throb within her mouth, spurting thick white liquid down her throat. She swallowed his cum thirstily before detaching herself from his cock with a loud “pop”. 

Once she stood back up, Daemon came towards her, his body emitting a fiercely dominant energy that she could feel even without him physically touching her. And when he finally laid his hands on her, she could feel the heat emanating from his rough, calloused palms, cutting through her thin gown down to her bare skin. He grabbed her hand in an uncharacteristically gentle motion, pulling her towards his large bed. 

Daemon rustled the sheets with his movements as he made his way to the top of the bed, sitting upright so that his back hit the sturdy headboard. With a “come hither” flick of his fingers, he gestured for Y/n to climb up to be with him. 

“You want me to ride you?” She questioned, unsure as she had never tried that before.

“No…That can come later Princess if you so desire it,” he chuckled lightly, making her gulp “No, I want you to lay back here on me” 

She obeyed, confused though about what exactly they were about to do. But all doubts in her mind were removed when she settled her back against Daemon’s front and he whispered in her ear,

“Play with yourself for me” 

She sucked in a quick, shocked breath at his command. Turning her head, she assessed him with a calculating gaze, trying to figure out why he wanted this specifically. 

“Did I say you could turn around” he growled, not an ounce of gentleness in his hard eyes. 

Y/n whipped her head to face forward so quickly she swore she almost got whiplash. 

“Good girl” he praised, his breath on her neck making her skin tingle, “Do you know why I want you to touch yourself for me?” 

“No” 

Daemon’s hands skimmed over her thighs from behind, making her sigh at the simple caress.

“I want you to touch yourself because I want to see exactly what you like, then next time I can make you even more of a mess myself” he smiled, a small evil grin that appeared when she gasped quietly in shock, “And sure it helps that watching you makes me hard too…So, can you be good and do what I say, when I say it love?”

Y/n nodded submissively, complying with his directions. When she eventually pulled her panties off he smirked, pleasing him had already completely turned her on. She dipped her fingers down to her hole before holding them up to the warm but dim light in the room. Y/n could feel Daemon grow hard again behind her at the mere sight of the wetness coating her fingers. 

“Touch yourself” he commanded. 

Y/n relaxed against the firm wall of muscle behind her, beginning to rub her slick on and around her clit, going slowly in pleasurable circles. She gasped quietly at how having Daemon watch her heightened the familiar feeling. 

“That’s it love, keep going for me” 

She continued from there, rubbing around her clit, dipping her fingers in her sticky wetness to get them slick enough every time the surface felt too dry. Each time her fingers slipped over her wet hole, curling just inside, Daemon would groan or growl as if the mere thought of sliding into her was driving him mad. 

“Faster” he ordered, his tone harsh, desperate, “Yes, Princess” 

Her legs fell open, spreading even more as she pleased her clit, Daemon planting small kisses along her neck. She tilted her head to the side with a moan, inviting him to kiss her skin rougher, to bite into her even.

“So needy my love” he chuckled deeply, the cool air chilling the wet spots on her skin. 

He jested and yet he did what he knew she wanted anyway, sucking on her sensitive neck and jaw, leaving sore marks in his wake. As his mouth pleased her skin, his hands were busy gripping her breasts, kneading them harshly. 

“I’m close” Y/n managed to shakily breathe out. 

“Stop” 

Her fingers faltered but she kept going. 

“I said stop” Daemon gripped her throat from behind, squeezing, as his other hand reached down to hold hers in place “I don’t think you want to know what’ll happen if you disobey me, Princess” 

With a whine, she stopped fighting him. 

“Daemon…please” she begged, her cheeks flushed with shame and yet, also unabashed desire, “I need—I need you to let me cum” 

“You’ll obey me?” His question hung in the air.

“Yes, yes” she agreed pliantly. 

He reached further down then, gathering some of her slick on his fingers before bringing it to his lips. She could feel his cock hard and harsh against her back. 

“Daemon…” her words were a broken sob.

“You must learn to be patient if you’re going to be Queen someday no?” He chuckled, his voice a low grumble in her ear.

“Please, Gods Daemon, please”

He smirked before repeating his earlier command, “Touch yourself” 

Her slicked fingers slid vigorously up and down the area just to the sides of her clit, quickly bringing her back to the edge after the slow-building feeling had come to a screeching halt. Rubbing and rubbing and rubbing, she bucked her hips and threw her head back onto Daemon’s hard chest.

“Daemon” she moaned. 

“Cum, yes cum for me” 

She felt herself twitch as the waves of her orgasm crashed over her at his command. “Gods” she breathed, her breath hitching as she came. Daemon’s hand never left her throat as he squeezed her air supply, making her slightly light-headed. 

“Fuckkk” she groaned, barely able to breathe. 

As the feeling lessened, just as her body was beginning to cool from the heat, Daemon flipped her over so that he was on top. 

“So beautiful Princess, so beautiful when you’re cumming for me, all for me”

She chuckled, pulling him in for a chaste kiss that quickly deepened. Daemon palmed his way down her chest, teasing each nipple with his warm tongue until she was close to moaning, desperate for him again, needing him now more than ever. Just as she thought he was about to lower himself before her, he stopped, making her release a low whine in protest. 

“Is that any way to treat your future Queen?” she huffed, peeved. 

Daemon licked up the curves of her stomach with the flat of his tongue in one long swipe. She bit down on her lip, stifling the moan that threatened to escape. 

“Are you commanding me then?” He chuckled darkly, “Cheeky Princess, for you’re not Queen yet…” 

“And when I am?” 

“The world will burn, surely” he flirted with a smirk. 

His tongue lashed at her bottom lip, begging for entrance which she quickly allowed. Moaning into his mouth, Y/n ground her desperate body up against him while pulling at the remaining clothes that he wore until they were strewn on the floor, somewhere across the room. 

“Daemon…” she murmured softly, her mind straying to the lustful things he would soon be doing to her, “Please” 

“You want it?” He questioned, a gentle hand on her cheek, “You’re sure…?” 

“Yes” she whimpered, “Gods Daemon, yes” 

That same gentle hand immediately slid down from her face to her throat, pushing down so hard that her head made an even deeper indent in the pillow beneath her. 

“Daemon—“ she grunted, barely able to breathe, then moaning loudly as he slid his tip into her.

Their eyes met and a thousand fiery, silent promises passed between them. Daemon knew he’d fuck her tonight until she came all over his cock, becoming a beautiful mess of a woman beneath him and Y/n knew he’d please her any way she liked, again and again for the rest of her days. Gods bless for that. 

Daemon pushed further into her tight hole, earning a deep grunt from him and a small whimper from her. He waited a moment, allowing her time to adjust to his size. 

“Keep going” she begged, wanting him more than ever. 

He moaned as he fit his entire length into her, gripping her ass roughly in his palms. Y/n cried out loudly, instantly slapping a hand over her mouth to muffle the loud sound. 

“No love, let me hear you” he commanded, adding with a harsh whisper when she hesitated, “I don’t care if this entire castle knows how much of a whore you are, you’re mine and what should we care if they know it” 

“Fuck” she moaned, her voice a breathy whisper, encouraging him to go faster, “Faster, harder—Daemon please”

He complied, slamming in and out of her roughly, her pussy so slick already, so wet, he glided into her with ease. She groaned onto him as her teeth sunk into the skin of his hot neck, overwhelmed by his powerful thrusts. His other hand slid down from her throat, circling pleasurable circles around her clit, just like she had done to herself earlier, knowing exactly how to please her. 

“Daemon…” she whimpered, squeezing herself around him, egging on his movements

He grunted, pleased, speeding up his thrusts. He pumped in and out of her, gripping her hips so hard that she was sure he’d leave hand-shaped bruises on them for the handmaidens to wonder about. As Daemon fucked her, Y/n ground her hips back onto him, making his cock go even deeper, hitting the perfect spot. 

“Gods” she cried out, holding onto his broad shoulders as she writhed beneath him. 

“You’re doing so good for me Princess, this cunt’s driving me fuck—fucking mad” he swore through gritted teeth.

Within minutes, both of them were shaking from exhaustion, their breathing laboured. And soon, the familiar feeling of an orgasm began to rise up through Y/n’s body. The pleasure hit her like a tidal wave, washing over her body in intense surges, leaving destruction in its wake. As she came, she bucked her hips while moaning Daemon’s name again and again, she couldn’t care less about being quiet. The feeling of her tightening around his cock caused him to cum within her, grunting aggressively as he did. 

“Perfect, you’re perfect” he groaned. 

She kissed him fiercely, her lips were puffy and swollen but she didn’t care and it seemed that Daemon didn’t either as he returned her passion. 

“I meant what I said tonight Princess…” Daemon breathed heavily as he confessed, “You mean more to me than the Seven Kingdoms, than any of the wars I’ve won, than the seas. I will never make the mistake of playing with your heart again, I promise you that” 

Her eyes flicked to his, barely believing the heart of the man who had caused her so much grief. And yet, and yet. So she kissed him, a slow, sensitive kiss that spoke the truest words that she’d ever say. 

[dance-world]

Andreas Giesen - photo by Issa Tall

[adoniseverywheremen]

Koow Douh by Issa Tall

[pastart]

Christian Hogue by Issa Tall (2022)

[issatall]

Broderick Hunter by Issa Tall For Fault Magazine

[inspirednarcissus]

Raphaël Say by Issa Tall.

[superprincesspea]

Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 13 - Issa Jorrāelagon

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

You’re not sure Aemond will be in the library so early in the day but there's a familiar face waiting by the door. 

“Lady Baratheon,” Aemond’s guard says and, though part of you is relieved, you almost turn back. 

Last night, when you’d received the invite to meet him here, you hadn’t intended to take him up on the offer. But that had been easy to say when your anger had been fresh, and your clothes were not drenched with rainwater.  

“You never told me your name, Ser,” you say, teeth chattering as the cold of the storm seeps into your bones. 

The guard looks you up and down, no doubt thinking you look more like a stray dragged in from the street than a high-born lady of house Baratheon, but he answers you just the same.  

“Ser Willis Fell, if it pleases you, My Lady,” he says, opening the door to permit your entry despite the state of your appearance.

“Thank you, Ser Willis,” you smile, and before the door shuts behind you, you’re struck by the sheer majesty of the room, and gasp, your head tilting to take it all in.  

The vaulted ceiling is so high, it's impossible to imagine how anyone could have painted the giant dragons which command its dome, and they are so striking. One black, one bronze, one silver.  

From their colouring alone you know they must be the dragons of Aegon the Conqueror and his sister wives. Which means one of them is Vhagar, the bronze one, ridden by Visenya and so fierce it was hard to imagine a small boy could ever dare to tame her. Then again, that boy had been Aemond, and he was nothing if not extraordinarily arrogant.  

You laugh softly at the thought, your gaze slipping down the dark oak walls to where the panels merge with the bookcases. There are so many, all so tall they need a ladder to reach their highest shelves, and stretching so far back you can’t even count the rows. 

It's hard to believe there could be so many books. But there must be thousands, and you can smell the comforting scent of musk and leather which seeps from all the bindings while the warmth of a fire crackles somewhere out of sight. 

Inching into the candlelight offered by the brass sconces which flank the first row, you hear distant footsteps quickening on the stone floor.

"I was wondering when you might arrive,” Aemond says, appearing five rows down, with a book in each hand. 

Sighing, you scrape your fingers across your forehead to push the wet tendrils of hair from your eyes. “Even your company cannot dissuade me from books."

“Then I shall carry them with me always,” he says solemnly, his hand reaching to push back a piece of hair which you have missed, and you’d be annoyed by the intrusion, if his fingers were not so deliriously warm compared to your skin.  

“I trust my lady did not take a dip in any bodies of water before she arrived?” he says, eyeing you with both intrigue and delight.  

Now you do push his hand away, “it's raining.” Though you cannot hear the downpour from within these sturdy walls, “ and... if you must know, I was trying to escape from Tyland Lannister.” 

“Hmm , ” his eyebrow raises with amusement instead of surprise, confirming a suspicion which had begun to fester in your mind as you walked in the rain.  

The letter to Maris and your conversation with Tyland Lannister could be no coincidence. They were both related to things you had complained of last night. But did Aemond really think he could rectify all his mistakes in a single morning? 

"You said something to him,” you say, wanting to be certain. 

A smile plays at his lips, “you are not pleased by his renewed interest?” 

“I was never pleased by his interest to begin with,” you scoff, annoyed that Aemond could hold so much sway over another man, “now I also think him weak and a little pathetic, which I'm sure you will find amusing.” 

He doesn’t hide his delight, “ good , now you see him as I do... but does that make me even more repugnant to my lady?” 

“No ,” you pause, narrowing your eyes, “the smug look on your face does that all by itself.” 

Aemond bites back his smile, and you begin to wring out your hair though the water has nowhere to go but the skirts of your dress.  

Still, it's better than nothing and Aemond watches you with some strange fascination, his books clutched in front of him with the long fingers on a single hand enough to support both volumes.  

“Did your sister get my letter?” he says after a time.  

“Yes ,” you glare at him, still annoyed, “and she thinks I’ve been hatching some ridiculous plot to win your favour!” 

His smug look returns, his eye so animated as he teases, “have you?”  

“Be sensible!” you say tartly, pushing past him towards the fire. 

“There was no mention of your name in my letter,” he calls from behind, as though it occurs to him that you might think he’s placed all the blame for his actions squarely on your shoulders. 

“I know,” you admit, standing close enough to the flames to feel the heat seeping into the fabric of your dress. “She was upset that we played Cyvasse,” you tilt your head to meet his eye, “though if she knew what a loathsome player you were, she would not be quite so jealous.” 

He moves closer, the gold buttons on his doublet glinting in the firelight. 

“I'd say Cyvasse should be the least of her worries... and I promise my lady will find me far less loathsome in our next game.” 

"Then I am lucky we are here to read,” you retort, deciding you will never play another game with him so long as you live, “though I wish I had not walked so long in the rain first.” 

“You could take off your clothes and let them dry by the fire?” he suggests, his eye gleaming wickedly. 

You glare at him yet again, but you don't find nearly as much embarrassment in his words as you would have done a few weeks ago. “And if your mother joins us, as she is so apt to do whenever we are in conversation? What will she think then?” you counter, brow raised. 

Aemond snorts out an unexpected laugh, bracing his ribs, “that I am finally submitting to giving her a grandchild?” 

You laugh too, but your laughter is made up entirely of nerves, “in that case, I shall be certain I allow my clothes to dry on.”  

He tuts, disapproving of your choice and you turn away, your cheeks flushed.  

“You seem to be feeling much better today,” you say as though it is an accusation, before you move towards the bookcase which is stacked with the thickest books you’ve ever seen.  

"It’s merely a bruise,” he replies but you know he's downplaying the truth, not that you say anything more. You're not a Maester or his mother, so he can do as he pleases as far as you’re concerned. 

Pulling one of the volumes from the middle of the shelf, the dust threatens a sneeze as you inspect its sturdy black cover without any understanding of the words printed on the front. 

“It’s High Valyrian,” Aemond says, standing beside you. “Do you read it?”  

You huff softly, “in Storms End we are lucky we learn to read at all, anything more would be considered a complete waste of time, especially for a girl.”  

“Udrizi Valyrio ȳdrā?” he says, the strange words rolling like silk from his tongue.  

Your eyes snap to meet his, surprised. Though you knew he must speak High Valyrian, you’d never really imagined what it would sound like or how it would elicit a tickle of warmth right into the centre of your chest. 

“What did you say?” you ask, curiosity peaking beyond any dislike you want to harbour for the one-eyed dragon.   

A slow smile inches into his cheeks, as though he relishes every drop of your undivided attention. “I asked if you spoke Valyrian and I’m surmising your answer should be ‘daor’ .”  

“Daor ,” you repeat, liking the way it feels on the tongue even if it doesn't spark the same sensation in your chest as when Aemond says it. “And how do I say ‘yes’?”  

“Kessa.”  

“Kessa ,” you slide the book back onto the shelf, repeating the words again, committing them to memory. “Kessa, Doar.” Yes, No.    

“I can teach you more if you like, issa jorrāelagon? ” he suggests, gesturing to the chaise by the fire. 

“Issa jorr... a-”  

“Jorrāelagon.” 

“What does that mean?” 

He considers you for a moment, his finger tapping on his book, “it means... my lady .” 

“Issa jorrāelagon,” you say, and his expression, though it had never been hard, still softens like ice in the sun. Leaving you to wonder how much more difficult he would be to hate, if he had two eyes looking at you with such devotion.  

You turn away, heart pounding as you force your attention back to the shelf, but all the books are the same. Thick, black, unreadable.  

“As much as I would enjoy learning a new language, what use have I with High Valyrian when you are the only one I know who speaks it?”  

“You know Helaena.” 

“Barely ,” you reach for a book on a different shelf, brushing your finger across the ribbed edge of its dark green spine, “but I’ve wanted to explore this library since I arrived in Kings Landing, and I may never get another chance.”  

Aemond leans in, and you don’t just smell the scent of the books, you smell the soap on his skin. Cedar and sage, so clean and masculine, as the heat of his words caress your ear with an unexpected whisper. 

“Skori ao issi issa ābrazȳrys , ao shall māzigon se jikagon hae ao kostilus, issa jorrāelagon .”  

You have no idea what he’s saying but you cannot ignore the tone, sensuous, commanding. As though he’s making you a promise, yet you dare not know it, and couldn’t ask even if you wanted to.  

Words seem to have fled your brain. Your breath hitching in your throat while your fingers grip tightly onto the shelf as though it is the only thing keeping you upright. But Aemond doesn’t seem to notice any of those things, and how could he? 

He does not feel that same spark of warmth which begins in your chest before flickering outwards, its progress licking through your veins until it lands in the pit of your stomach and a thousand butterflies spark into life. 

Instead, he turns back towards the fire as though nothing is amiss, when everything feels wrong .  

You're still holding your breath and the swirl of butterflies are beginning to make you feel as though you might burst at the seams. But the worst part is, though you have never found anyone more infuriating in your entire life, you seem to have forgotten all Aemond’s previous misdeeds and almost trail after him. 

In fact, the only thing stopping you, is how tightly you’re holding onto the shelf, as you watch him settle into the chaise with the company of his books, his eye sliding to meet yours as though he’s wondering why you’re still standing there.  

It’s a good question. Why aren't you moving?  

Cheeks flushing again, you kick your legs into action as you disappear into the safety of the giant stacks.  

What was wrong with you?  You wonder, squeezing your eyes shut and taking a deep breath, but you don’t really want to know the answer to that .  

So, you push the question away, thankful the library is large enough for you to avoid Aemond for the rest of the morning.  

Yet that doesn’t stop you feeling his presence in the room as you walk along the rows, trying to ignore him, and focusing all your attention on devouring as many first pages as possible.  

Some good, some terrible, some intriguing, but nothing singing to your soul in the way Queen Nymeria had from the first instance. You’re desperate to find a book you can love as much as that, but the choice is overwhelming, and it would take years to work through even the tiniest corner of the library. 

Still, you’re determined and you're not sure how much time passes, but it must be quite a while, before Aemond finds you sitting on the stone floor between the rows, with books by your side, books resting on your knee, and one in your hand. 

“Are you lost, or do you always do your reading on the floor?” he says, leaning against the shelves with his arms crossed and a small huff of laughter rolling from his chest. 

“I simply cannot decide what to read first, there’s too much choice,” you reply with some urgency, as though it might be the worst problem in the entire world, and he laughs again before stalking towards you and offering his hand.  

Sliding the book from your knee, you know you really shouldn’t accept his help, you can stand on your own. Yet you take it anyway, surprised by his strength as he pulls you to your feet. Then surprised again when he does not let go. 

He holds you securely, pulling you through the stacks and picking up books here and there, which you carry in the crook of your arm before he deposits you on his chaise, though there are plenty of other seats dotted around the fire. Seats which would not have his knee pressed with yours. 

“Read this first,” he says, and you look at the cover, realising it's the second volume to the book of songs you’d enjoyed so much. 

Already you know this is an excellent choice, and you’re annoyed to think you should have asked him to pick for you all along.  

“Have you a favourite in this one?” you say, flicking lightly through the pages and regretting your question the moment you said it. 

Aemond smiles when he steals the book back from your hands and returns it opened a third of the way through. 

“A Song of Storms,” you read out loud, meeting the teasing look in his eye before your gaze returns to the page.  

Then you recite the rest, and Aemond is a captive audience as much as the song is very beautiful. Too beautiful, and far too melancholy to be chosen by a dragon prince. 

In fact, his love of songs almost lulls you into thinking he might not be entirely repugnant after all. Yet he is. He must be.  

“What is the word for storm?” you say, deciding you would have been far safer with a book on history or science. Safer still if you were sitting on your own chair. 

“Jelmāzma.” 

“Jelmāzma,” you repeat atrociously enough to make him laugh, but you laugh too and then your stomach growls so loudly you both laugh again. 

Him out of amusement, you out of embarrassment.  

“If you must know, I was forced to abandon my breakfast this morning after your scroll arrived for Maris,” you say, ensuring he’s aware of the part he’s played in yet another humiliation. 

“How repugnant of me,” Aemond says with the twitch of another smile as he stands, his hand bracing against his rib. 

He moves to a cord by the fire, pulling it three times before a servant arrives at a door hidden in the panelling.  

You cannot hear the whispered list of instructions and pretend not to be watching his every movement. But you are watching.  

The way he saunters, so cocky. The way he looks back at you, half teasing smile, half breathtaking intensity. The way his leg stretches out as he sits down, so it just touches yours. 

Fresh nerves flutter in your stomach where the butterflies had lived, and you swallow, staring down at your book but finding you can only pretend to read.  

Luckily, it does not take very long before the food arrives and there’s tea, wine and delicate little pastries, but it's the fruit which catches your eye. So colourful and perfectly prepared into bitesize pieces.  

There was hardly any fruit at Storms End. Only apples at harvest time and blackberries in the summer.  

Your stomach threatens to growl again as you pick up a strawberry, careful not to let the juice drip onto the pages of the book before popping it in your mouth.  

Aemond reaches for a piece of fruit you've never seen before, telling you its name in High Valyrian before he throws it up and catches it in his mouth.  

Such an unbelievable show off, yet you can’t help but smile, because the only person he’s trying to impress is you, and though it makes you nervous, its intoxicating too.  

You both reach for more fruit and he tells you the High Valyrian for all the items on the tray. Cup, plate, wine and, though you know you’ll never remember them, you let him teach you anyway, melting a little with every word, until you’ve had your fill, and return your attention to the book. 

You recite another song, this one about a lark, then you find yourself asking him about the book he’s reading, then about his trips to Dorne, if he as ever seen The Wall, if he has ever sailed on one of the ships bobbing in the bay, and just about a thousand other things. 

Talk comes easy and Aemond is a natural storyteller. His stories all seem to contain so much excitement and vibrancy, and you consume them as though they are more delectable than the fruit on the tray. Barely noticing your clothes have long since dried, or the three times the maid arrives to add more logs to the fire. 

You certainly don’t have as many exciting stories as Aemond, since your entire life has been contained to Storms End. But the subject doesn’t seem to matter as much as the sharing. 

You’re telling him about the time when you were eleven, and had fallen from a tree, fracturing your arm. You still have a scar, its faded path hidden beneath the sleeve of your gown. But Aemond has your arm in his hand as though he can see it, and you’re laughing as you admit how pleased you were that the injury meant you didn’t have to practice embroidery for several months.  

He laughs too, and you imagine he’s thinking of those wonky cornflowers when Ser Willis walks in, his entrance masked by the laughter which has been echoing around the giant room all afternoon.  

"I’m sorry to disturb you, Prince Aemond,” he bows, “but there is a Ser Maurin Selmy at the door, looking for your lady.” 

Only now, under Ser Willis’ gaze, do you realise that, on this chaise made for two, you’ve crept close enough to Aemond to allow room for a third, a little fortress of books surrounding you, the fire ready for another log. 

You jump up, snatching your arm from his grasp, and feeling a little flustered at the way Ser Willis’ head is bowed, as though the scene is far too intimate for prying eyes.  

“Excuse me,” you say, hurrying towards the door with Aemond’s long legs catching your escape but not blocking it.  

Outside of the library, Ser Maurin gives you a shake of his head, his eyes filled with the concern of a man who’s known you all his life. Not a father, but close enough. 

"We’ve had all the men scouring the keep for you, my Lady,” he says, and you glance to a nearby window to see that the afternoon sun has faded towards dusk. 

When had that happened?  

How had you spent all day with Aemond?  

Past lunch, past tea, and well past the realms of propriety. 

You swallow hard, heart drumming in your chest in anticipation of your father's fury, while Ser Maurin looks to the prince. 

His old eyes are fierce with warning, but he doesn’t offer a word to his grace before turning on his heel, his arm held out to escort you home. 

“Your books,” Aemond says, handing you the three he had selected as though he had not a concern in the world for anyone's disapproval. 

“Thank you,” you say stiffly, careful not to meet his eye. 

“You will return tomorrow?” he asks, hopeful .  

Tightening your arms around the books, you hold them to your chest as though they are a shield, “these books shall keep me busy until I leave in three days time, and I shall return them then, your grace.” 

At that, you turn, taking Ser Maurin’s arm, your mind racing with a hundred different thoughts before it lands on one . 

“Please don’t tell them you found me with the prince.” 

“May I ask why?” his old stare fixes on the side of your face, and your cheeks begin to heat before you pause, remembering how upset Maris had been this morning. 

“They will get the wrong idea.”  

He gives you a pointed look, “and what is the right idea?” 

You turn to him, eyes wide, words like dust on your tongue. Honestly, you didn’t know. You could hardly even comprehend how you’d spent the entire day in Aemond’s company without feeling the need to kill him or run away. 

“Just tell them I was alone, ” you decide. 

Alone was easy to explain and even easier to believe than the alternative. But you knew the truth. That you’d spent an entire day with a dragon and enjoyed every moment.

~~~

Thank you for reading! Let me know if you're enjoying this story :)

[its-actually-minicika]

Imagine 03 (18+)

A shaky hand went to his aching cock. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down in quiet surrender. The heat waves of immediate pleasure sent a shiver down his lithe spine, and droplets of precum pooled at the base of his shaft, coating his veiny hands and running over his whitened knuckles.

Aemond's eye was closed in utter concentration - he focused desperately on the task at hand, on the image that was forming behind his clasped eyelid.

You.

Oh, how he throbbed for you. How he needed you.

The things he would do to feel your skin against his. The thoughts he beared for you - sinful enough to make even the least pious of Septas writhe and beg for forgiveness through tear-stained cheeks.

As his hips began moving in unison with his leisure pumps, the man let out a low growl, and he slowly arched his back off the satin of the ruined sheets.

"Fuuuck..." He sighed into the peaceful night, and soon found himself speeding up his ministrations.

He was close. Oh so close to his fourth release of the night - but no matter how much he teased his stones, or brushed his thumb over his weeping slit, the momentary relief just wouldn't heed his call.

"Hobaenka issa... hobaenka nopāzma." He cursed under a strained breath, as he slowly rose onto his forearm, to properly fuck his hand.

"Qrugh... Nyke jorrāelagon naejot māzigon sīr quba..."

A frustrated sigh parted from his swollen lips.

This simply wouldn’t do. Not anymore.

By the Gods, he needed you.

He needed you, but he wouldn't dare have you. At the very least, not yet.

You were a vision of the Maiden, a Lady pure, and good, and kind.

He would be proper and thoughtful about it. He would marry you. And fuck you. And breed you. And mark you.

He would take his time with you. Be balls deep inside of you. Fuck you gently, or make love to you roughly - in whichever way you wanted, you needed, you pleaded.

Indeed, he would be yours to command. And he would dedicate himself to learning all the intricate ways to please you. Make you come on his tongue, tens of times before he'd even think to tease you.

He would teach you how to make him happy. He would teach you how to ride and suck him.

The Targaryen Prince couldn’t tell what posessed him to get up from the comfort of his bed, and venture into the empty lanes of the Street of Silk.

Neither could he tell what sparked his interest towards the rear-end brothel - a brothel he knew his sorry brother and uncle eagerly frequented, as well.

He just prayed and hoped he wouldn't bump into neither one of the two on that cursed night.

The figure of a plump woman rested at the hilt of the oak door - the debaucherous sounds of slick and flesh that slapped against each other rang from the other end of the Pleasure House back to his tainted ears.

Tens of whores flocked to him, baited on by his silver locks of hair - the gratuitous allure to the heavy pockets they grew so accoustomed to.

A new line of girls was formed and dismissed each minute. For Aemond Targaryen had his own paculiar tastes.

The first to go were the women who failed to possess a similar hair and eye colour to yours. Swifty followed the ones who were too tall, too lean, too stubby.

None of them were good enough. None of them were you.

The owner's patience was wearing thin, as was his very own. Perhaps coming down here was a mistake. Perhaps he'd find better release with the aid of his right hand.

And just as he was ready to depart from the dismal scene, the sound of giggles flooded the entire room.

Could it be...?

But it wasn't.

And yet...

The sight of his uncle ought to have vexed him. Embarrass him to no end, given the position he'd been viciously caught in - yet long gone were the dutiful son, the responsible Prince, and the honorable man within him.

In the stead of cowering away and leaving the brothel in a hurried conflict, Aemond's eye trailed over Daemon's whore, drinking in her every feature. A rumbled moan etched its way from his tightened throat.

Her skin bared your complexion. Her eyes held in the very same shade of luring pigment. Her hair, despite being of a lighter colour, fell perfectly over her shoulders - much like your own used to when you let it down during the cold winters.

Before he knows it, Daemon's hand wraps itself around his shoulder.

He wordlessly allows it.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" The Prince's voice erupts in a low purr. "It's unbelievalbe how much she looks like her."

His uncle plays with her loose strands of hair, and sends her his nephew's way through the musings of a laugh and rough spank.

Aemond wouldn’t sheathe his cock within her. He needs not use what thousands have used before him - and his seed should take only in you.

Her mouth and warmth are enough to satisfy him. Aemond cums with your name upon his lips; shouted so hopelessly, that the whole of Westeros would hear him.

He pays her handsomely for her service - and swears to never step foot inside that wretched place again.

But it is far too late.

For the rumours spread and quicken.

He finds that your tourmenting eyes never rest over his face again. You make yourself scarce, unseen. He sees it in the way you huff your breaths out, in the way your pale cheeks redden - you know. And you are disgusted with him.

He seizes you once, in a secluded corner of the Red Keep. He tries to explain - deny - all that you might have heard from the gossips of the Court. But you purse your lips together and sway your weight from one foot to the next.

Defiantly, you avert his gaze.

Scared, you make your way around him.

And when you must find reclusion from him, it is Daemon who offers you sanctuary. It is his arms that snake around you, his hands that caress your cheeks. It is his voice that whispers inside your ear. It is the Lord of Fleabottom who poisions you against his will.

Translations of High Valyrian:

"Hobaenka issa... hobaenka nopāzma." = Fuck me... fucking hell.

"Qrugh... Nyke jorrāelagon naejot māzigon sīr quba..." = Shit... I need to cum so badly...

[michaeloliverlove]

Chiquito - Issa Tall