#nude male celebrities

[attraction2him]

[p0p-salvation]

Liam Payne (colorized by me)

[4grandpasonly]

Very hot Celebrities Male

[bnguys]

50 likes!

[attraction2him]

[attraction2him]

[yanderestarangel]

did u delete a fic? i swear i saw a tio!miguel fic earlier today

a/n: hi angel! thank you for asking, in fact there was an age restriction and I decided to delete it, I'll take advantage of your comment and repost it. ✧⁠*ᜊ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᜊ.

"TIO" MIGUEL O'HARA X FTM READER

𝐓𝐖: dark plot, toxic relationship, power play, non con, dub con, manipulation, age gap, step!incest (non-blood uncle), invasion of privacy, stalking, threat, dead dove, dark smut, latino ftm reader, femboy reader, jealousy, aggressive sex, recorded sex, dom!miguel, v!sex, blowjob, spanish nicknames, send nudes, degradation, objectification, AU, male x male, porn plot, long fic, brain rot, creampie, blackmail.

Family parties were normal for your family, getting together some close relatives and celebrating on any weekend, always with plenty of music and laughter filling your ears, was annoying at times, but you couldn't say 'no' to a tradition.

You felt the cold of the night breeze enter your skin, each hair left its place accompanied by a strange chill ── you were being watched, and you knew very well who it was... Tio Miguel.

Miguel O'Hara was a friend of your father, a mysterious and serious man, even though your family welcomed him as if he shared the same blood, he still had the same look of rigidity and seriousness ── no one knew much about his past, if he had some relationship or family before moving to your city years ago, but it was only said that he worked as a caretaker on some local farms ── which made him earn too much money for a simple caretaker, but that matter was not touched by no one in your family.

You obeyed the strict rule of calling him "Uncle" or "Tio", since when he arrived, when his eyes met yours, it was as if something awakened in his core ── a flame lost for years, now burning in his soul, and you it was the kerosene that made this fire worse.

Your attention returned to reality, seeing the tanned man go to the place where you were, sitting next to you; muscular legs crammed into the black jeans he always wore, with a weather-beaten dress shirt that had previously been white, now appeared to be a light vanilla shade, hugging the girth of his robust muscles. He had a cold, fresh can of beer in his right hand, while his left went towards his hair, arranging some loose strands that insisted on falling on his forehead, his lips formed a thin line, the corners turned down in disapproval ── The sight of you hiding from the celebration hurt him, a pang of possessiveness invaded his chest, soon remembering the things he had seen, however, before touching on the topic of rupture the words came out softly from his throat.

"What is wrong, carinõ?"

He asked softly, hand reaching out to take yours gently. His grip was firm but not unnecessarily tight, calloused skin warm against your own.

"You should be out there, dancing and laughing with your family... You seem thoughtful mi principito"

You sighed in response, quickly explaining that you weren't in a party mood, your hands went back to the cell phone that was previously in your pocket, making the Mexican's eyes narrow in response to such an act. O'Hara took a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs, then crushing the drink can in his hand and turning to you, he knew exactly what he wanted to know and he wanted the truth.

"Who was that boy, mi vida?”

He questioned, pulling you closer to his frame as the music swelled around you. His fingers traced idle patterns on your back, you felt the burn of heat on his body, the smell of expensive men's perfume and cheap alcoholic drink.

"You were speaking so intimately with him..."

His voice was a low purr, tinged with warning.

"This is our moment, just us... I dropped that phone." That was a threat, making you make a quick excuse ── after all, you knew exactly what he was talking about, you were going out with "Hobbie Brown", a friend from your college, but you didn't expect your uncle to have seen the two of you together (but it wasn't very difficult, you and the boy always clung to each other even if you didn't have anything officially. )

You moved away from Miguel's heat, before the sensation was still tolerable, but now it seemed like a violent flame and about to explode like a time bomb. Your mouth opened, speaking sweet lies, trying to mask the fact that you were going out with Hobbie ── you knew that the best way was to lie, even if it didn't do anything, you had already seen how your non-sanguine uncle acted like a crazy man when you were around people other than him. Miguel's eyebrows arched in disbelief, dark brows furrowing deeply. "Tell me, corazón, is there something you wish to confess to me?"

He asked, tilting his head curiously. His gauze lingered on your lips, as if he could taste the lie on them. "I see what happens around me, my heart."

He murmured, his voice low and dangerous.

"And I do not like it... Do not lie to me, mi angel, because the next lie I hear from your sweet lips, you'll regret it." The sound of his voice was a low rumble, like thunder on the horizon. He pulled you close again, his lips brushing your ear softly.

"You play with fire... Mi pequeño."

His voice was a whisper now, his breath warm against your skin.

"And one day, that fire will burn you."

He released you then, stepping back with a harsh exhale. His eyes were stormy, his features set in a hard line. Miguel stared at you for a moment, as if he could read your thoughts, as if he could feel your fear ── Finally, he sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"If I ever hear of another man touching you like that again... I will end him." He muttered, downing a large gulp of his drink before setting the bottle down on the table. You watched him leave, the loud footsteps on the raw cement floor were enough to tell you that he was angry. The rest of the party was strange, you felt tio Miguel's eyes on you, even though the atmosphere was pleasant for the other participants in your family, everything had gotten worse after the confrontation you had with the man ── you thought about telling about your uncle's strange behavior towards your father, but you knew it wouldn't help, they would just defend Miguel and say that you were exaggerating... But you felt like you weren't.

You went to your room, while you saw the tall man's shadow in the hallway, bumping into the walls because he was too drunk to think or stand on his feet ── you saw him leaning on your door frame, while you asked calmly if he needed some help. Miguel's eyes met his, his vision slightly blurred from the alcohol he had consumed. He licked his lips, his gaze roaming your body hungrily, but he didn't act, only a sob and a sad laugh left his lips, while he showed his white canines.

"You are mi ninõ. You always have been and always will be... There is no escaping your destiny."

He babbled, his words filled with drink, but he was serious, like he had never spoken before, you could see a mix of dark emotions that burned in his brown orbits, each word, no matter how slurred it was, carried a clear truth that could not be said aloud by several taboos.

His hands reached out, gripping your arms tightly. His fingers dug into your flesh, leaving small red marks.

"Don't forget this... You would never lie to your Uncle right? I will protect you... Incluso si es de ti mismo."

He leaned closer, his breathing heavy and laced with the smell of whiskey.

"But I will also punish you if you disobey me."

He let go of you then, frowning as he looked at the marks he had left on your arms.

"Go to bed now."

He mumbled, turning away from you and stumbling towards the door.

"Sleep well, my precious boy."

His voice was filled with alcohol, spite and a twisted desire ── the latter making his gaze linger on you for a moment longer, as he staggered out, ignoring everything and everyone around him, you tried to ignore the burning in your stomach, a mixture of fear and a bittersweet heat near your stomach, you were maybe just very tired... Right? You pushed away the thoughts that consumed your mind, trying to grab the fog of sleep that you tried to achieve, you hoped for a good day... But little did you know what fateful destiny had planned.

You woke up to your parents cleaning the house, it was a hot and irritating Sunday, you woke up sweaty and to the loud sounds of rooms being dragged from one place to another ── you really didn't want to be there, so your father told you to go to your uncle Miguel's house, even though you insisted on saying the opposite, that you could handle the chaos at home and help them, but your parent just repeated the phrase and sent you to keep O'Hara company at his house.

Everything would be better than facing him again.

You wore your most comfortable and cool dress for that sultry summer day ── your breasts bounced and you felt the coolness of the wind blowing beneath your legs, reaching your thighs and panties, an adorable boy, on the way to the wolf's house.

Walking under the sun until you saw Miguel's house in a rural area and away from the common neighborhood, you called his name, soon seeing the man come completely sweaty and shirtless, still wearing the same pants from yesterday, while drying his sweat of his brow, letting you into his comfort.

"Fine."

He grumbled, he turned around, taking you home without saying another word. The tension between the two of you was palpable, the air thick with unspoken words.

As you entered the house, you noticed a slight disorder. Miguel's usually immaculate house really needed some cleaning. He gestured for you to sit on the couch.

"Your father said you were coming..." He sighed with a hand on his hips as he looked at you steadily. "That's good, now we can continue our conversation from yesterday, okay? I want the truth my boy, give me your cell phone, unlocked... After all, you have nothing to hide from me right... You and Hobbie are just good friends... Right?" His voice carried that threatening and authoritarian tone again, you stuttered but when you saw your uncle's look you swallowed hard and accepted your fate, obviously you had spicy messages on your cell phone, but what could you do? Running unfortunately wasn't an option, neither was screaming, you were trapped in a spider's web, and in the possessive man's judgmental gaze.

"Now. Give it to me. Or else you know what I'm capable of."

He repeated as you handed him the electronic device ─ and it didn't take long for him to find what he was looking for... Miguel's eyes narrowed as he flipped through the messages on his phone. His grip tightened around the device, his knuckles turning white. A mixture of anger, jealousy and hurt crossed his face as he read the explicit messages and saw the intimate photos, you were really with that boy... You were doing everything behind his back.

"How dare you show your body to that piece of shit!"

His voice was laced with bitterness and disappointment. He threw the phone onto the table, the screen cracking on impact.

"Do you think you can send nudes to some random boy and get away with it?"

He took a step towards you, his expression darkening.

"Did he make you wet? Did he make you excited?" His words came out like venom, his hand shot out, grabbing your chin tightly, forcing you to look at him. Miguel's grip on his chin tightened, his fingers digging into his flesh. His angry eyes fixed on his, his expression filled with a mixture of possessiveness and pain.

"I expected everything... Except that, I'm tired, tired of just being seen as your fucking uncle... I can give you so much more than that boy ever could. I can make you scream, make you beg for more. But you need to understand that you are mine."

His voice was filled with a desperate need, a desire that was both warm and terrifying. He pressed his body against his, his erection evident through his jeans. You tried to protest again, in vain, you just felt O'Hara's thick lips on yours, it was strong, his tongue dominating his as he held you tightly. His hand guided your trembling hand to his hard, throbbing erection, pressing it against the fabric of his pants. He let out a low growl of pleasure, the sound vibrating against your lips.

"You always make me hard on boy... So fucking hard." He continued kissing you fiercely, your free hand moving to grip his waist, his fingers digging into your flesh. He pressed your body against his again, now the bulge of his pants rubbing against your thigh. The intensity of his touch and the raw desire in his eyes made your own body respond, despite the fear and confusion, it was so wrong, but it felt right at the same time.

"Do you think you can show yourself like that to anyone? Do you think there will be no consequences?"

He pushed you back, guiding you towards the couch again ─ his hands exploring your body with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

"Strip for me, baby boy. Show me that body you dared to share with someone else. Show me what only I should see."

His voice was commanding, his eyes burning of lust and anger. He watched as you hesitantly complied, removing your clothes piece by piece, revealing your naked form to him ── your dress was discarded somewhere in the room, your breasts bounced while your nipples became hard from contact with the air, your pussy was already wet, a simple kiss had done that to you.

He looks at you with admiration... All of that was for him, a banquet of the gods, he wasn't going to leave you in punishment, no matter how angelic you were, he was going to reduce you to a dumb and beautiful mess, totally broken for him.

"Look at you... So eager to please, so desperate for my touch. Did just one kiss from does your uncle get you this wet?"

A smile played at the corners of his lips as he took hold of his cell phone, opening the camera app with a sinister glint in his eyes.

"Well, since you were so willing to show yourself to that boy, I think it's only fair that I capture this moment. Don't you agree, my precious angelito?"

He positioned himself in front of you, his cock springing free from his pants. The sight of his naked arousal feels a mix of fear and excitement coursing through you. He pulled you down to your knees, his grip firm on the back of your head.

"Suck it," he commanded "Let the world see what a slut you've become."

You hesitated for a moment, the gravity of the situation sinking in. But the thought of defying him only fueled his anger further. With a mixture of trepidation and submission, you wrapped your lips around his throbbing length, your tongue swirling around his head. He groaned, his grip tightening in his hair as he began recording your submissive act.

"You look so fucking beautiful with my cock in your mouth. Such a good boy, taking it all in."

He continued to record, capturing each salacious moment as you eagerly pleasured him. The taste of his cock and the sound of his moans filled your senses, heightening your own pleasure. Your body responded, the tingling warmth between your legs growing more intense with each passing moment.

"No one else gets to taste you like this. You're my slutty boy, and I'm going to make sure everyone knows it."

He spoke as the fat and hot tip of his member hit your throat repeatedly, making you choke and connect your nose with his groin, the lack of air making you momentarily see stars as he let you breathe again.

As Miguel reached his climax, he grunted and released a hot jet of cum into your mouth. He groaned with satisfaction, feeling the pulsing sensation as he emptied himself into your mouth. The taste of his essence filled your senses, mixed with the bitter-sweet humiliation of the situation. Once he had finished, he withdrew his dick from your mouth, his grip firm on your face. He forced you to open your mouth wide, showing your dirty tongue, coated with his cum, to the camera. The sadistic glint in his eyes only intensified as he instructed you to swallow it all.

You obediently complied, gulping down his cum, heavy tears ran down your body, while his thumb pulled your cheek to show him even more of your oral cavity.

"Look at the camera....You look like a damn porn star... A filthy, little porn star."

You barely had time to react, then the man trapped you beneath him again ─ his thighs separated yours, while he looked at your cunt milking the air with so much excitement, making him laugh mockingly and dominantly ─ without prior warning, his thick cock entered your wet pussy, stretching you to your limits and causing a mixture of pain and pleasure to surge through your body. Your legs were draped over his shoulders, granting him unrestricted access to your most intimate parts.

As he thrust into you, Miguel focused the camera on your tear-streaked face, capturing every moment of your vulnerability and submission.

You were a mess of conflicting emotions, a beautiful sight to him as he reveled in his dominance over you, The desire makes you delirious, completely erasing your sense of right and wrong ── soon you find yourself thrusting your hips onto his cock, whimpering pathetically as you moan his name.

"Mmm, you're such a buen chico para mí.. such a good and beautiful pussy... You hid it from me for so long... But you showed it so easily to that bastard... You disappoint your uncle sometimes, boy."

His hand left the camera momentarily, his fingers finding your clit, caressing it in a way that made your moans intensify, he watched your reactions closely, moaning with lips parted, as he looked directly into your teary eyes.

"See, I knew you'd love this, aren't you? Oh, sí... Mierda- Eres tan apretado chico".

Then, with the peaks of moans and pounding of flesh on flesh, his grunts grew louder and more primal as he climaxed. With one final thrust, he released his hot sperm deep inside your pulsating pussy, filling you with his essence. When he pulled out, the camera captured the evidence of your intimate connection, showing the mixture of his cum and your own juices. Your pussy clenched and milked the air, aching for more even after he finished.

"You've taken all of my cum... Un buen chico para tu tio."

You couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction mixed with a tinge of shame as you watched your body respond to his touch.

He smiles at the video on his cell phone, while looking at you with a dangerous glare.

"Now you're going to be a good putito... After all, you don't want this to leak out to our family, do you?"

You had no choice, and maybe you didn't even want to... Miguel had broken you, as he always wanted, you were his now, only his.

© All rights reserved to @yanderestarangel on tumblr.

[hiyyihrts]

The more I hear Nic and Luke talk about this season and how it was filming it with one another I’m so grateful that they’re so comfortable with each other. Being close enough and reassuring enough to share practice kisses, sharing what they’ll look like during intimate scenes so neither is caught off guard or surprised, breaking furniture, filming the intimate carriage scene and not hearing the director say cut so they just keep going even tho they’re both like “this is taking forever”, staying in bed naked in between filming scenes bc they don’t care about the formalities; all the while messaging and talking about all these scenes with one another and laughing about it. So many celebrities, women especially, talk about how horrible it is to film any intimate scenes or scenes where they’re nude and how they’re treated by male costars and crew afterwards, and I’m just glad that Luke and Nic have such a wonderful friendship and were so caring and supportive during it like they’re just the best of friends and I love that for them!!

[readychilledwine]

Slow Hands

Part Two

A/N - Here's the first post for my "Here's to 100" Celebration week. 💙 I'm starting off with something I've received a few requests and messages about.

Warnings - mentions of abuse/trauma, mentions of child abuse, mentions of scars. Smut smut smut. Anal play, pet/master dom and sub dynamic play. Fingering, oral (m recving)/throat fucking. Minors DNI.

Part One

Lyria leaned closer into her mirror, examining the peachy nude lipstick she was wearing one more time before standing up straight and fixing part of her hair.

She was putting so much effort into her looks for a male. Something her brothers would frown upon since they normally praised her natural beauty. She had curled and braided her hair in places before pulling into a messy yet almost flirty, high ponytail. She had done her makeup. She put on expensive perfume.

She was even wearing a dress, something she had not done since being freed from the mountain. She brushed her hands along the baby blue fabric one more time before moving to look herself over in the full length mirror. The dress was one Rhysand had actually bought for her when he first brought her here. He loved the way the color sat on her golden skin tone, how it brought out the red in her hair. He had told her to save the little number for her first date in his court.

She didn't think he had planned on that date being with his brother. She pulled on her heels and put on the earrings she had picked for the night. A soft knock on her door made her heart beat pick up as she made her way over.

She opened the door, allowing Azriel in. "Hey, you're early." He was silent, staring at her with his mouth slightly parted. "Do I look okay? Rhys told me you had picked somewhere really nice, I can change." He grabbed her arm as she moved to go back to her room.

"You look stunning. I just didn't expect," he studied her again. The way the dress hugged her upper body, cinching at her small waist, before flaring out slightly and ending above her knees. Her long legs highlighted by the heels she was wearing. "Gods, you're beautiful."

She smiled softly at him. "You aren't so bad looking yourself." He was dressed in tighter black trousers, a black button up shirt. He had on several rings and a watch. "Let me grab my purse and we can go."

"You don't need your purse." He offered her his arm. "Let's just go get dinner."

—----------

The restaurant Azriel brought her to was an Inner Circle favorite by the Sindra. Faelights and candles adorned the patio they had opted to sit on to enjoy the beautiful summer evening.

He found himself falling into easy conversation with her. They had spoken about his upbringing, how they met Rhys, about how she got into healing.

There was a couple tense topics Azriel wanted to approach with the Heiress, like the topic of her older brothers, of her fathers, of why Rhysand had brought her here and hid her from all of them until now, but he danced around them waiting for her to make an opening. He was tired of waiting though, and needed answers before he put his plan for tonight into action.

"Do you talk to your brothers?" She looked at him a little shocked and blinked. "If you don't mind me asking." She does, a shadow whispered. Gentle.

Lyria sighed, pushing her pasta around her plate. "I speak with Eris and Lucien. I do not talk to the other males I have the unfortunate pleasure of being related to."

Azriel nodded. "What's Eris actually like? Behind that mask and bullshit self defense mechanism?"

Lyria looked at Azriel and sighed softly. "Ask me what you actually want to ask."

"What happened with Mor? Did you have part in it?"

Lyria shook her head. "I was a child when they were engaged. All I remember from that night was Eris had allowed me to ride with him on a border patrol. We found her, and he begged her to let us help. She refused. He asked if he could at least get her somewhere she'd be safer, and could be found because the Autumn forest isn't a good place for people my father deems unworthy."

Lyria sighed again. "He had me use what little knowledge I had on winnowing to get her to the clearing you found her in. He hardly slept that night. I know there were discussions between the two of them before this all happened, some hushed fighting, but Eris protected me from whatever little things he could that would lead to Beron hurting me or using me. Mor included."

Azriel nodded. Slowly processing the added information. "So he isn't lying?"

"Eris is kind, caring, funny. He would have never purposely hurt her." Lyria pushed her plate away. "And your question on Lu?"

"How much has he told you?"

Lyria shook her head again before beginning to play with her hair. "Not much honestly. He's not thrilled we are here together, but he understands I am grown enough to make my own choices."

Azriel nodded again. "Why did Rhys hide you for so long?"

She shook her head and held up her arm, a small bargain tattoo unveiling itself. "I can't tell you that. Can we go? I feel like some of this is better discussed alone."

—---------

Azriel pulled her closer to him as they sat on her couch. Talking had quickly turned into kissing, and kissing to heavy touching. Her nails were currently dragging down his bare chest, shirt long lost in some corner of her house, as he ran his own hands up her bare thighs.

Azriel lifted her, remembering he had wanted to repay a favor, and began walking her down the hallway to the room they were in last week.

It came alive the second they entered. Candles and faelights began to brighten, the sounds of nature setting in softly in the background. The soft smell of jasmine and honey hit his nose. "Why is it so… sensual smelling in here tonight?"

Lyria threw her head back with a soft moan as Azriel moved his kisses down her throat and neck. "Feyre and Rhys booked a couples massage lesson. I taught them little tips and tricks based in pleasure massage, they had champagne and chocolates, went home to try to make baby number two." Az chuckled softly against her throat. "Don't laugh. Couples in Velaris go crazy for my date night packages!"

Azriel kissed her deeply again, beginning to unlace the dress she was wearing. "And when is the last time someone took care of your body, Lyria?"

She knew it was a coded question. He was asking her two things. "It's been a while." She confessed.

"Let me take care of you, little fox. Get undressed. Lay on the table on your stomach." He kissed her gently before leaving the room to give her privacy to undress.

Lyria heated the table and blanket, sighing happily as she allowed the dress to fall and hung it. She got on the table, giggling as a shadow caressed her hair before covering her with a towel and Azriel entered.

Her approached her slowly, hand gently running her upper thigh to her ankle as he began to hold back anticipation over her newly exposed skin. He ran his hand softly back up the other leg, admiring every freckle on her shoulders before pausing to look at the scarring on her back.

She had been beaten with something, he ran a hand down one, the familiar sensation of a burn scar under his finger tips. Something that was on fire. "Who did this to you?"

Lyria sighed, turning to look at him with a brow raised. "Beron. His favorite method to put me in line with was a 9 tail whip. He liked how thin the scars were. If I was being extra defiant, he'd light the whip on fire after force feeding me faebane." She felt Azriel's grip on the table, his knuckles had turned white. Lyria pulled one of his hands to her head, laying it back down, "Start with the scalp and work down."

Azriel took a few stilling breaths, his hand instantly beginning to scratch and pull at her hair gently from the base. She let out a soft nose that brought him back to her, back to this moment. He didn't speak as he began to try to take care of her. He watched as she shivered slightly as he gripped the hair at the base of her neck. "You are beautiful," he whispered to her. "So beautiful."

Lyria moaned as his hands moved down to her neck and shoulders. He watched her shiver again, signaling to him he had found the right amount of pressure. He worked the tension out slowly before moving lower.

Lyria sighed softly as Azriel's hands ran along her back. He was being so gentle with her even if it was clear he didn't exactly know what he was doing.

She moaned as he applied more pressure to a tighter area, causing the male to grin with satisfaction. "Like that, little fox?"

"Just like that," her voice had become breathy, eyes fluttering shut. He was doing the best he could to remember her motions from the week before, copying them as closely as possible.

Azriel was almost desperate to see her fall apart the way he had. He was desperate to repay that favor. He allowed his shadows to begin exploring. Watching as they played in her hair, down her back, over the perfect ass he'd been dreaming about.

His goal was set as she moaned as he moved to another tight area. Lyria was going to cum for him tonight, and he honestly did not care how.

His methods became more focused, he began softer touches, watching as goosebumps danced across her skin. His shadows had begun to play in her hair. She was catching on to what was happening. "Whatcha doin', Az?" Her tone was playful as she lifted herself to peek over her shoulder at the blushing male.

Azriel smirked at her, a scarred hand going under the towel to touch the bare skin of her ass and squeezing it. "Repaying a favor." He started to use methods he knew worked. He began kissing her back and neck, whispering into her ear. "Do you want me to touch you, Lyria?"

"Cauldron boil me," she moaned softly as he bit her shoulder. He smirked as she arched her back slightly into him. He could smell her. The scent of their arousal mixing in the air as he moved his hand lower and closer to her core. A soft whimper left her throat. "Please."

"Please what, princess?"

"Touch me."

Azriel wasted no time, running his fingers on her already soaked core before pushing two into her. He used his other hand to tangle into her soft hair, pulling it to force her back to arch more. "Such a pretty little thing." She moaned loudly as his finger stretched her open.

"Azriel," her voice had gone completely breathy at this point. "Feels so good."

He smirked. "Just wait, princess. Your pretty cunt will feel so good wrapped around me." He pulled his fingers out of her, quickly turning her over on table and pulling her closer to the ledge. His fingers returned to her again, his thumb now joining in his assault on her by brushing against her clit. She had propped herself up on her elbows, watching as Azriel's fingers sunk in and out of her.

She was moaning his name, moaning praise, gasping softly with each delicious pull and push. "Look at me," he said. "Eyes on mine, princess." She looked into Azriel's hazel eyes. "Good girl. Such a good girl. Do you want to cum on my fingers?"

Lyria nodded, her red hair bouncing slightly at the motion. "Please."

"What do I get?" She whined as he curled his fingers into that perfect spot.

"Anything. You can have anything." Azriel hummed, and sped up his hands movements, groaning to himself as he felt her walls twitching around his fingers, tightening in excitement. Lyria was still following his orders, her beautiful eyes locked on his as her mouth fell open.

Azriel leaned forward, pushing her submission to find out exactly what he was dealing with. He grabbed her chin with his spare hand, holding her jaw open as he maintained eye contact with her, and then spit into her mouth. "Swallow." She did. "Cum, little fox." And she did. Lyria felt that coil snap in her stomach. He forced her to keep eye contact with him as she moaned out his name loudly, her toes curling. Shadows began to play along her breasts, pinching and tweaking her nipples causing more stimulation and prolonging her orgasm.

Azriel smirked as she rode his hand through her high, chest heaving. "On your knees. Take my pants off." He removed his fingers from her, pulling them to his mouth to suck them clean as he stepped back.

Lyria obeyed, getting on her knees in front of him and unlacing the tight material. She pulled them down his thighs and removed them, running her hands back up his thighs as she sat and waited. "Mouth open, hands behind your back. Tap my thigh twice if it's too much." He stroked his cock, watching as she got into position and parted her lips for him. "Gods, you are obedient, aren't you?"

"I just want to be your good girl," the soft confession almost made Azriel feel guilty as he pushed himself into her mouth, gripping the back of her head to hold her in place as the base of him.

"And you are." He began to fuck her throat slowly, watching her face as drool and tears began to form. His hands were laced tight into her hair for control as he growled above her. "Look so beautiful with my cock down your throat. Such a pretty little mess." She gagged softly around him. Play. He commanded his shadows, smirking as she moaned loudly at them beginning to trace over her clit, her nipples, dragging themselves between her folds. He picked up speed, watching as her mascara began to run, moaning as he destroyed her.

A familiar tight feeling started in his abs as his wings began to flare more. Azriel ripped her off of him and up before it could go further than he wanted and bent her over the table. "Are you on the tonic?" She nodded, unable to form words as his shadows continued their assault. "Good." Azriel lined himself up and pushed inside of her, head falling back into his shoulders as they both moaned. He grabbed both of her arms, pulling her slightly off the table and forcing her to use her abs to support herself.

He set a fast pace, filling her in a way no male ever had before. Stretching her more than any male had before. Lyria was quickly a mess, moaning his name and meeting his thrusts. "Is that the only word my beautiful little fox knows now? Have I fucked you so dumb already you can only say my name?" The drag of his cock as he teased her made her whimper and nod. "Fucking perfect. You are fucking perfect." Azriel grabbed both of her wrists in one hand. His other hand was squeezing her ass again as she laid back on the table.

"How far can I push you, Lyria? Where's the line?" Azriel began to tease her other hole. "Should we find out, princess?"

A scream of his name as he found that sensitive spot in her cunt was her only response. He could feel her wetness dripping, he could feel her tightening around his cock. He took the chance and pushed his thumb into her ass, chuckling as she moaned his name again. "Azriel, fuck! Please."

"Flithy fucking whore, aren't you?" Lyria nodded, smiling at the accusation. "Should I fuck your pretty ass next time? Gods, I'm going to fucking keep you. Can I keep you baby girl? Lock you up in my cabin in chains and just use this little body? Ill treat you like such a good little pet baby. You will be so spoiled."

Lyria was lost, pleasure building so tightly in her stomach she was going to explode soon. He felt so good inside of her and each groan and growl he released had her body fluttering in feminine pleasure. "Yes, master." Azriel groaned above her. "You can keep me."

He was smirking behind her again. He began thrusting even harder into the overly sensitive spot, growling as she got impossibly tighter around him. "Good little pet." His thumb was moving in time with his cock, he could feel it dragging, adding stimulation for both of them. Lyria was twitching around him, drooling and whispering in his name as over sensitivity set in. "Are you going to cum with my thumb in your ass, pet?"

A harsh thrust came after the question, making Lyria see stars as her toes began to curl again. "Yes, master. Can I cum? Please?"

Azriel growled again, his own orgasm right within reach. "Cum," he commanded. "Cum on my cock. I want to feel you fall apart on me."

She came with a scream of his name, Azriel roaring behind her as he also fell over the edge with that final stimulation of her walls fluttering around him. "That's it, pet. There you go." The hand holding her wrist dropped them, guiding her soft pushing against his hips to pull him further into her. "Good girl, Lyria." He pulled his other hand out of her, resting it by her waist as he ran the other up and down her back. "Took me so well, baby."

Lyria shuttered at the praise. Her eyes shut as she came down fully. "We should do this again." Azriel nodded in agreement, pulling out of her slowly and grabbing the towel on the table to clean both of them.

Lyria turned as he threw it into the hamper and froze. Azriel looked at her his brows knitted in confusion. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" Then he felt it. Azriel froze as well as he stared at her. A snap happened between the both of them causing his breath to hitch and hers to still.

The string connecting them was golden and sparkling. He pulled her to him instantly, hand holding the back of her hair as he began to cry happily into her head. "You have no clue how long I've been looking for you." He kissed the top of her head, then her forehead, then each cheek and nose. He finally kissed her lips. Lyria kissed him back, just as eager and smiled as he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. "Maybe we can do this again in a couple days, but minus the sex? Just spend time together?"

She nodded at his offer, trying to ignore her growing glowing skin. "I'd like that a lot."

"Do you always glow after sex?"

He smiled as she blushed. "No. I glow when I'm happy."

[uwmspeccoll]

Milestone Monday

On this day, November 4th in 1946, noted and often controversial American photographer Robert Mapplethorpe was born in the Floral Park neighborhood of Queens in New York City. Perhaps best-remembered for his homoerotic imagery, Mapplethorpe's subject matter focused on statuesque male and female nudes, delicate flower still lifes, and highly formal portraits of artists and celebrities, mostly in black and white.

His portraits of Patti Smith, Philip Glass, Peter Gabriel, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Louise Bourgeois, and bodybuilder Lisa Lyon, among many others, have become iconic. Perhaps the most notable controversy related to Mapplethorpe centers on his 1989 exhibition, Robert Mapplethorpe: The Perfect Moment at the Corcoran Gallery of Art in DC and the Contemporary Arts Center in Cincinnati, which sparked heated debates about obscenity and the use of public funds to display such works. The Cincinnati Contemporary Arts Center was even brought to trial on charges of obscenity, but was exonerated by a jury. Robert Mapplethorpe died in 1989 at age 42 due to complications from HIV/AIDS.

The images shown here come from several publications held in Special Collections:

Robert Mapplethorpe by Peter Weiermair, published in Frankfurt am by Frankfurter Kunstverein in 1981.

Robert Mapplethorpe by Richard Marshall, with essays by Richard Howard and Ingrid Sischy, published in New York by the Whitney Museum of American Art in 1988.

Some Women by Robert Mapplethorpe, with an introduction by Joan Didion, published in Boston by Boston : Bulfinch Press, 1989 in 1989.

Pictures: Robert Mapplethorpe edited and designed by Dimitri Levas, published by Arena Editions in 1999.

Click or tap on the Alt attribute for each image to see a description.

View another post on Robert Mapplethorpe.

View more Milestone Monday posts.

[bacusdraculacape]

My interpretation / findings regarding TLSP: Everything You’ve Come To Expect (album)

PART 1: The Album Cover

The initial interesting thing about EYCTE is it’s album cover:

The image is a photograph of Tina Turner taken from a photography session on 25 November 1969 by photographer Jack Robinson.

Jack Robinson is renowned for his work in the 1960s for his photography of fashion and celebrity portraits he shot for Vogue and Vanity Fair. In 1972, he gave up photography and found a creative outlet in the designing of stained glass windows. However, what’s most prominent and most interesting to me about him is that his work preserved valuable glimpses into the New Orleans gay subculture of the 1950s. During this time, Jack fell in love with a young man named Gabriel, whom he photographed many times - often in the nude. In 1954, Robinson and Gabriel travelled to Mexico. There, Robinson captured Mexican scenes in large and medium format photographs. He also photographed his travelling companions, including Gabriel and Betty Parsons- an American artist, art dealer, collector, and lesbian well renowned for her early promotion of Abstract Expressionism.

Aswell- the album cover for EYCTE is an image of Tina Turner- well-renowned singer/songwriter who is famously known for standing up and advocating for LGBTQIA+ community and rights in times when rarely any celebrities would because as we know they were irrational cowards then unfortunately.

Anyways ;) according to interviews, Alex Turner had the photograph hanging in his kitchen, and both our Monkey and Turtle (Miles Kane) liked the image so much that they ended up using it. When they got permission to use it, the original b/w photograph was giving a goldeny / orangey / yellowish tinge- On the LGBTQIA+ flag yellow represents sunlight. Orange represents healing. Sunlight is commonly a metaphor for: the light of truth and being. And the definition of healing is: to make well again.

Sources of info:

Tina-turner-jack-robinson-november-25-1969

Jack Robinson.html

Betty Parsons.html

Dealer-betty-parsons-pioneered-male-abstract-expressionistsbut-who-were-the-unrecognized-women-54682

images taken from pinterest :)

[oleksandrbalbyshev]

In my new painting «Hands of God Nebula,» I intended to explore the intersection of cosmic beauty and human sensuality. In this oil painting, I depict a nude man standing against an abstract, dark blue-violet background that echoes the vastness of space. His body, illuminated by vibrant bursts of color—reds, purples, oranges—creates a visual connection to the imagery of the «Hand of God» nebula. This fusion of the celestial and corporeal invites the viewer to contemplate the beauty of the male form as both erotic and universal.

The figure’s posture, with hands resting on his lower abdomen, emphasizes his vulnerability while celebrating his strength and physical presence. Through the swirling, radiant colors, I sought to express a sense of energy and fluidity, evoking both the mysterious grandeur of the cosmos and the intimate beauty of the nude male body. This painting is a personal reflection on homoeroticism, identity, and the profound connection between human and cosmic creation.

Shop link in bio

#queerart #gayartwork #gayculture #gayerotic #gayworld #gayhunk #gayportrait #artgay #beautifulman #hunkgay #maleart #homoerotic #gayart #homoart #malenude #maleportrait #malebeauty #malebody #beautifulguy #gaycontemporary #malefigure #ukrainianartist #lgbtq #lgbtart #ukrainianart #gayman #handsomegay #malenudeart #gaypainting

[incense-and-nonsense]

Finished watching Arcane last night and I have some thoughts about Ambessa Medara that I need to get out of my system.

What I find fascinating about Ambessa as a character is the fanbase's reception of her: she's a big muscle mommy with a hidden soft side. However, I don't think the show's writers want us to like her and especially don't intend to portray her as an attractive person. The reason I think this is because (aside from her gender) she's a textbook example of a toxic, hypermasculine, alpha-male power fantasy.

Let's elaborate. Only a few minutes after we're introduced to her (having invited herself into her estranged daughter's world in a display of Emotionally-Healthy Parenting TM), she announces that she's off to "sample the local cuisine," gesturing towards a male consort/companion who awaits her.

And then there's this scene:

Here we are shown Ambessa naked in a bath being massaged by the same comparatively small companion we met earlier. The power dynamic in the relationship is clearly one of domination and submission. She's indulgent in her consumption and luxury and lobs criticism after criticism at a visibly uncomfortable Jayce, all while the artwork behind the two reinforces how this exchange will play out: Ambessa holds all the power, while Jayce is on the defensive.

In short, everything about the way Ambessa talks and carries herself is meant to convey one simple message: I am powerful. She never needs to insist on her power--it's self-evident.

On the surface, this seems like an extremely well-written feminist icon. Ambessa is strong and confident, bending to no-one and self-assured. In flashbacks and in her own dialogue, she's presented as someone who is willing to take ruthless and decisive action regardless of other's feelings. She exudes confidence and charisma and never apologizes for the space she takes up in other's lives. Other people exist largely to fulfill her goals and desires. Further, later she reveals that she exiled her daughter Mel because her daughter's more merciful and diplomatic nature weakened Ambessa and her resolve.

In short, Ambessa is the textbook icon of hypermasculine power fantasies enfleshed in a woman.

Thing is though, these traits don't become less toxic when they happen to belong to a woman. Imagine the two scenes above if the character's genders were swapped. Then what we see is a confident, muscled warmonger who establishes his place in the social hierarchy through displays of sexual dominance and belittling those around him. Imagine Caitlyn attempting to discuss the situation in Piltover as a nude, muscled man insults her competence and strides naked over to her in a clear display of power. That's not a character we celebrate; it's a character who makes us feel violated by their very presence. Moreover, it's a character we've all probably seen before a hundred times.

Toxic behavior doesn't stop being toxic when done by a woman instead of a man.

Ambessa is not intended to be a likable character. She manipulates and dehumanizes others (especially sexually), refuses to show mercy, and pushes away those closest to her out of her fear of weakness. She's not an icon of female empowerment. Her character is a commentary on how easy it is to think that feminism means adopting the toxic ways in which men have often exercised power over others. Dehumanization and exploitation aren't behaviors that we should celebrate just because they make a women look strong. Rather, we should re-evaluate what we think strength looks like.

[climbthemountain2020]

Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met - Chapter 10

Part 10/18 | Ao3

Biggest, bestest thank you as always to @witch-and-her-witcher and @cauldronblssd. Love you both <3

For as far as Feyre could see across the lush Spring property of Tamlin’s manor, there were massive structures propped up and ready to be set aflame come nightfall.

There was a rich smell of freshly chopped wood in the air, overwhelming the normally floral and woodsy scents, and something about that combined with the excitement set Feyre’s blood buzzing. Her magic seemed to dance within her as she leaned against the rails of the porch, watching people scurry around to set up the massive event that was coming as soon as the sun went down.

Calanmai.

Tamlin had explained a bit of it to her, stammering his way through it as they made their way back to the library with one of the two empty shelves she had picked.

“It’s a way of replenishing the magic of Spring each year. It helps to ensure a good harvest and flourishing land. There is a large celebration on the first night with some ceremonial things, then a smaller, less formal celebration the next night.”

Feyre had thought it sounded fun. She’d gone straight back into the library to make a plan for finishing shelving the following day, then found the first book she could on Calanmai. By the time she was finished, she was well aware of why Tamlin had been stammering while trying to get through his explanation. He’d left out a rather important piece about him painting his nude body, letting some ceremonial magic overtake his senses, and then spending the night rutting some maiden senseless in a cave.

Feyre was blushing up to her ears by the time she was done, laughing a little as she shoved the book a little too forcefully into its place on the shelf and trying not to cringe while she imagined Tamlin’s inevitable “celebration”.

So, when Tamlin told Feyre and Calla over dinner that they were not to leave the manor under any circumstances during the Fire Night celebrations, Feyre was torn. Truly, it had been a long day of training, something in the vibrating magic of the incoming event thrumming along her skin and making her power and emotions go wild. She’d been holding back all day long, and she was exhausted from the effort. But that little voice in her mind that hated being told what to do whispered to go. Still, she knew this was important to Tamlin, and frankly the thought of being around any males other than Rhys during such a sexual celebration held no appeal for her.

“That’s fine. I’m looking forward to settling in with a big book and a large stack of those desserts I saw them making in the kitchen earlier. Calla, do you want to join me? You could stay in my room and help me consume a senseless amount of sugar.”

“Why can’t we come?” As always, Calla was ready on the defensive.

“It’s not safe for humans. Once the magic begins, the fae lose a bit of their sense, their control. If something were to happen–”

“It’s not like we can’t take care of ourselves,” Calla snapped back. Every time the two seemed to be making progress, it would take almost nothing to have them at each other’s throats again. She could see Tamlin fighting against the urge to grit his teeth, his talons making the smallest appearance across his knuckles. Again, some part of Feyre couldn’t help but echo the sentiment, but she knew how important it was to smooth things over between Calla and Tamlin. Seeing him wild and rutting in the hills of Spring might not be the best course of action for that.

“That may be so, but tonight you will stay inside. This is not up for negotiation.”

“It’s alright, Calla. We’ll have fun!” Feyre tried to inject excitement into her voice as Calla pushed back from the table and left with a huff of frustration. Lucien rolled his eyes and Tamlin let out a long suffering sigh, his eyes falling to Feyre.

“Please stay indoors.” Feyre lifted her hands in a placating gesture and lifted her brows.

“Hey, I'm not the one you need to worry about. I'm perfectly content inside with the apple tarts.”

“And please try to make sure she does too.”

“Now that will be another story. Have you tried to keep her from doing something?” Lucien snorted, giving a pointed look to Feyre who stuck out her tongue at him.

“Please, Feyre.”

“I'll try my best to keep her indoors.”

He’d looked mildly relieved, but Feyre was making no promises.

Now that the night was upon them, she wasn’t entirely sure how she was going to convince Calla to follow through. She owed it to Tamlin to try, but Calla was an entirely different animal. Once she set her mind to something, there was rarely any talking her out of it, consequences be damned. Feyre certainly understood how it felt to dig her heels in, and she wondered how she might appeal to that stubborn part of Calla that echoed so strongly within herself.

Especially when the inexplicable draw of Fire Night was calling to her, too.

+++

As the sun set on Spring, Calla and Feyre settled down into Feyre’s room. To Tamlin’s credit, he had specifically instructed the kitchens to set aside a massive dinner and unrealistic portions of dessert for the two of them to be brought up to Feyre’s room. It all smelled heavenly, but even from her room, Feyre’s senses were overwhelmed by the scent of the fires popping up all across the rolling hills.

It was a beautiful view as night emerged, the sparkling, tall fires dotting the horizon as far as the eye could see. She felt a small pang of jealousy at the inability to celebrate with her friends, but she was more concerned with how she would keep Calla inside and safe. Feyre tried to shove away the part of her that was irritated. Calla had done nothing but complain and be miserable since she’d come up to Feyre’s room, and Feyre was finding it hard to bite her tongue. She had been mostly okay with listening to Tamlin and staying indoors, but now she couldn’t even relax with Calla’s deep sighs and complaints nagging at her every free moment.

“I can’t believe they’re making us stay in here. What an absolute joke.” Calla had been notably irritated since breakfast, skipping her writing and reading practice in the library in favor of sulking around the gardens and biting off the heads of anyone who tried to speak with her. After years of freedom in which her parents had depended on her for survival, Feyre guessed she wasn’t used to being told what to do anymore.

“It’s for our safety, Calla. You’ve seen what fae are capable of.” Calla swallowed audibly, likely remembering the sawed off wings of the blue fae.

“It’s still stupid.” Feyre sighed as Calla folded her arms and went to work on making new arrows for her bow. Feyre went back to staring out of the open window, the faint light from the dwindling sun nearly gone now.

Come. Come see.

The feeling rang out like a voice in her ears, as it had all day. It tugged and pulled at her in the same place her magic wrapped around her ribs.

I cannot come see. I tragically have a job as a nanny.

She laughed at herself, but couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she’d been here before. Not in Spring at Calanmai, but at an event where something, someone, had called her outside.

She remembered the pull to something bigger the night of the masquerade ball, that gentle urging that had her nerve endings alight and had ended with her in Rhys’s arms beneath a willow tree. Truly, it hadn’t ended there, but instead brought her here, to this moment, with her staring out across the fires dotting the hills of Spring.

She’d ignored the voice that first night, and she’d met him anyway. Had it been fate whispering to her and trying to speed things up? Could it be doing the same now?

She shook her head. She wouldn’t risk it, and she had promised Tamlin that she would stay. Plus, she’d ignored it last time and ended up where she needed to be anyway. Perhaps it was wise to follow that pattern again.

“They’re leaving,” Calla called to her, looking out through the window on the opposite side. Surely enough, Tamlin and Lucien strolled out across the property, Tamlin half-naked and covered in dark swaths of paint. “God, what’s he wearing?”

“Something ceremonial, I would assume.” It occurred to Feyre that Calla might not know what tonight signified for Tamlin. “Did they tell you what he does?” Calla shook her head, and with great mischief and pleasure, Feyre explained.

Calla was left looking a bit flushed. “Of course. I’m sure he’d be happy with any little tart. He has his pick of the litter.” She crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall, looking surly.

“Jealous, Calla?” Feyre seized the opportunity to work absolutely any advantage she could.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“You had me fooled.”

Feyre smiled as she picked up her book. She’d just begun the large tome on Day that morning, finding that yes, their High Lord had also been a recent addition, though by the numbers he was much older. The magic of Day had been easy enough to play with, and Feyre found she had a proclivity for winding and unwinding wards once she’d figured it out. She enjoyed the repetitive and soothing nature of it, laying down and picking up the glowing strings one by one to see through them. In fact, she’d spent a good bit of her afternoon wandering the property, plucking at and investigating the wards laid by Tamlin.

“I am not jealous,” Calla growled. Feyre did not look up from her book, pretending to be absorbed in the pages.

“I think you are protesting an awful lot for someone who isn’t jealous, Calla.”

“Well, I’m not.” Feyre let the silence fill the room in hopes that Calla would continue on. She did. “It’s not that I don’t find him attractive. Certainly.”

“You’d be hard pressed to not find these males attractive.”

“Are you and Lucien…” That did make Feyre lift her eyes with a look of abject disgust.

“Lucien? Gods, no.” Calla laughed at her reaction. “Just friends. There’s someone I have already given my heart to. Lucien is like a big, annoying brother that never knows when to shut up. He’s the one we have to put away at the family functions.”

Calla laughed. “Do you miss him? The one who has your heart?”

Feyre felt that magical tug of the Fire Night magic again, a bit forlorn in her chest this time. “Every single day.”

The two ate desserts until their stomachs ached and the moon was high and bright in the sky. They could hear the wild beating of the drums outside, and Calla punctuated the silence with sporadic, deep sighs of annoyance.

Feyre could feel each drum beat pounding in her veins, her chest, her head. The call of the magic was overwhelming, and she understood why Tamlin had warned them away. It would be easy, she thought, to get caught up in it all and lose sense.

“Alright, I’m going to bed.” Feyre knew Calla was most certainly not going to bed. But Feyre was tired, and she wanted to sleep to block out the endless thrum of her magic begging to be released to play.

“Calla, I would encourage you to go to your room and nowhere else.” Calla’s eyes flashed but she nodded, grabbing her bow and new arrows off the floor.

“Of course. See you in the morning, Feyre.” She probably should have stopped her, but frankly, she was certain Tamlin had warded the house to keep them in anyway. Calla likely wouldn’t get far, and if she did, at least she had her bow.

Sleep was already overtaking Feyre as she turned out the lights and crawled into the bed, that endless tug and exhaustion pulling down, down, down on her eyelids and her consciousness.

Then Feyre’s body slammed into something so hard that she swore she felt her bones rattling.

She tried to open her bleary eyes, but all around her there was darkness, save for the light of the moon that was coming into focus. Had she fallen out of bed?

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a groaning on the ground next to her.

“Calla?” She whispered frantically, wondering if somehow she’d returned to her room once Feyre had fallen asleep.

“Feyre?” The voice whispered back, but it definitely wasn’t Calla who responded.

“Rhys?” She tried to find him in the dark, those drums of Calanmai still thrumming in her ears and that accompanying magic swelling violently in her chest while she tried to orient herself.

There were leaves beneath her hand.

A dream. She was dreaming.

Her eyes began to adjust, the shape of him next to her crouching on the ground coming into focus. He shuffled towards her on his knees, his hand coming to cup her jaw as though by memory, and her cheek turning to meet it the same.

“Hello, Rhys.” She closed her eyes and let that beautifully spiced citrus scent wash over her, inhaling greedily as his thumb stroked her face.

“Feyre, where are you?”

She was barely lucid enough to remember herself, her eyes already heavy with the draught of feelings swimming in her chest for him. Adoration, lust, and anxiety all writhed within her in an overwhelming cacophony. She placed her hands on his chest. “I’m here with you.”

She cracked her eyes open, risking a glance at his beautiful face, marble hewn in its regal nature. He was so handsome, even with his brows furrowed in concern.

Perhaps she’d been right in ignoring the call, just as she had the night of the masquerade ball. It seemed that they were always finding each other regardless. She leaned in, her lips barely ghosting across his, the barest hints of touch sending shivers down her spine and goosebumps over her skin.

“I went to your home tonight, and you were gone.”

“You went to my home?” She needed to buy time. Whether it was a dream or some other form of connection, she needed to distract him from prying. He could not come to Spring.

She averted the path of her lips to his jaw, then his neck, the pulse jumping beneath them as she let her mouth rove, his fingers finding her sides and gripping lightly.

“So you admit it then? You aren’t there.” His voice was more desperate than she’d heard it before, a barely restrained groan in the words. She unsheathed her teeth, running them along the curve of his neck and feeling an almost imperceptible shudder roll through him. “Feyre…”

“I came here for you,” she whispered before biting gently down. Not entirely a lie. He groaned, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and imprinting themselves into her very soul. She wanted to pull that sound from him again.

“Feyre, please tell me where you are.” The words were breathless now, pleading.

She tried to remember how she did it last time, the mindspeak. It had seemed as easy as breathing, but he had instigated it. Could she push her thoughts to him simply by willing it?

I want you to touch me, Rhys.

The words rang out around them in the woods, but also within her mind. He gasped at them, clearly not expecting it. Either the demand or the delivery seemed to snap some sort of tether within him, and his hands were grasping her, lightning-fast he had her pressed against the ground, his lips on hers in the most luxurious push of heat. His tongue swept across the seam of her lips, hers opening without hesitation to meet his own. It wasn’t a battle, but a dance, their mouths moving in tandem as she buried her fingers in his hair. She could feel him slotted between her thighs, each press of his body into hers thrumming in time with that ancient magic that beat through the air.

It was everything like the kiss they’d shared beneath the willow, and yet nothing like it at all. He’d clearly been holding back, then, for whatever reason. The feelings rushing through her now were pure heat, meeting each touch of his with one as equally passionate. She wanted all of him.

I’ve begged to dream of you every night. Prayed for your hands on my body, your mouth on mine.

Just on your mouth, Feyre?

Her name was sinful on his tongue, in her mind, everywhere around her. She could only close her eyes and tip her head back as he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat.

Everywhere. I want you everywhere. Every time. Mine, mine, mine.

She swore she could hear him sigh in her mind, the contented noise echoing through the chamber of her thoughts as he pulled her nightdress down her shoulders, her back tensing and arching as those strong lips took her breast into his mouth, teeth dragging softly across her nipple.

It felt more real than anything ever had. Whether it was that strange magic of Calanmai or something greater, she desperately hoped she wouldn’t wake so soon this time.

A gasp left her throat unabashedly as he pushed her nightdress from the other end, bunching it around her hips and ripping her underwear entirely off in one swift movement.

So beautiful.

She let herself whine, his breath against her bared sex. She’d never been close like this with anyone–never been so intimate, so exposed. But it felt as natural as breathing. She was on the edge of a cliff, ready to be pushed off to fly or fall.

Yes?

There was no hesitation. Yes.

And the stars exploded behind her eyes as his mouth closed around her, laving precise, lovely kisses across the part of her that only her own fingers had ever touched. He groaned into her, the vibrations nearly shattering her entirely.

“Gods, Rhys.” She had said it aloud.

Talk in my mind. Only you. Only ever you.

The sentiment was enough to have her writhing against his face again.

Only them, the two of them.

She felt his fingers below his tongue, rolling through the wetness of her and pushing inside, first one, then another as she sighed with the fullness of it all. The rightness of them joined in this way, in any way.

You’re perfect, Feyre.

His fingers moved in and out, touching some deep, sweet spot inside of her that not even she had ever found. She jolted, feeling undone at the ache inside of her and looking down at him as he consumed her, those vibrant, violet eyes staring up as he grinned against her.

He nipped at her, causing her to buck forward. It was exactly what he wanted, immediately taking her into his mouth and sucking on her, gently but firmly, and Feyre was lost.

She felt like she’d shattered into a million pieces there on the ground– like she’d erupted into shards of glass and reflected moonlight and was now dancing around the stars. Her vision was blurred and shaky around the edges, and she could distantly feel his hands on her.

Let me touch you, she begged as he came to lay beside her, his hands pushing her sweaty hair away from her forehead.

Not tonight, love. Just lay with me.

He tucked her into his side and she curled in against him, exhausted and boneless with the pleasure of it all.

Her breath evened, slowing in the cooling night air.

“Feyre, please tell me where you are.” She could feel something tugging around her, a stirring at the very edges of her awareness, and she knew their time was coming to a close. She squeezed her eyes shut, gripping his shirt in her fingers as he pulled up the straps to her nightdress, begging to hang on a bit longer.

“Is this real?” she whispered, the smell of him fading as the scents of her room re-emerged.

“As real as we are.” And when she blinked, only the rising sun of Spring through the windows was there to meet her eyes.

She closed them again, not wanting to move or break the spell that the dream had cast around her. She still felt sated, loose and boneless in her ebbing pleasure. She was sure if she reached between her legs she knew what she’d find, but she didn’t need to. The only way she could be more satisfied is if the dream itself had lasted longer.

She supposed she should be thankful; it had been longer and far more vivid than most. But that painful sense of longing–of missing– haunted her even more so for it. She gave up the fight of going back to sleep, choosing instead to take a bath before going downstairs to seek food. It was already later than she normally woke, but she was certain everyone would be sleeping in today regardless. As she rose from the bed, she noticed Calla’s form passed out on the floor in a pile of pillows and blankets. She must have come back in at some point during the night, but Feyre hadn’t heard her.

Feyre laughed to see her, splayed out, mouth wide open, and – a massive bruise on her neck. Feyre crept closer to examine her. It looked like…teeth marks?

Good lord.

She’d need to get the full story once Calla awoke.

She padded softly into the suite with the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and turning to look in the mirror.

She had to stifle the gasp that left her mouth with her hand.

Her wild golden hair was filled with leaves.

Feyre ran a bath and sat silently in it until the water grew cold.

+++

“So tell me again what happened?”

“He bit me. Like an animal.”

Feyre was cackling as they left her room, choosing to focus on the massive hickey on Calla’s neck and not her own inexplicit traveling through space she’d been possibly doing.

“He cornered me in the hall like some sort of prey.”

“Did you tell him to stop?” Calla paled.

“Well, not exactly. But I couldn’t have even if I’d wanted to!”

“Well, did you want to?”

“Feyre! How can you even–” The laughing of the males from the dining room broke through their conversation, and Feyre saw Calla stiffen her spine and put a grin on her face. “If he wants to act like a brute and a savage, perhaps seeing what he’s done will make him feel bad.” She gave a grin as she turned and walked through the dining room doors.

“Good afternoon,” she said cheerfully, aiming a wild, challenging grin at Tamlin. They both sat down to fill their plates.

“What is that bruise?” Lucien all but gasped, pointing at Calla’s neck with what appeared to be abject horror.

It did look pretty horrendous.

Calla pointed to Tamlin. “Ask him. He did it.”

Lucien looked from Tamlin to Calla to Feyre and then back again. “Why does Calla have a bruise on her neck from you?” he asked with no small amount of amusement.

“I bit her,” Tamlin said, not pausing as he cut his steak. Feyre choked a laugh into her tea at his tone. “We ran into each other in the hall after the Rite. She seems to have a death wish,” he went on, cutting his meat. Calla glared at him like she was ready to pitch him into one of those great bonfires herself.

“So, if Calla can’t be bothered to listen to orders, then I can’t be held accountable for the consequences.”

“Accountable?” Calla sputtered, slamming both hands on the table as Feyre and Lucien both watched amusedly. “You cornered me in the hall like a wolf with a rabbit!”

Lucien propped an arm on the table and covered his mouth with his hand, his russet eye bright. Feyre, too, was struggling to hide her laughter.

“While I might not have been myself, Lucien and I both told you to stay in your room. Feyre managed the whole night indoors. Why couldn’t you?”

Feyre felt a flash of worry at the thought of her jaunt in the woods, but was immediately distracted by Calla erupting.

“Faerie pig!” she yelled and Lucien howled, almost tipping back in his chair. Calla stormed out of the dining hall, not having had the conversation she’d wanted to.

Feyre pointed at Tamlin. “You’d better bring her some flowers or something later. She might burn the manor down.”

The three talked about the success of the night before while they finished breakfast, Tamlin leaving to go look into something on the western border while Lucien and Feyre walked out to train.

“Tonight’s still a celebration, right?”

“Yes, less magic involved than Fire Night, but the music will be playing and the wine will be flowing.” Feyre saw Calla starting towards them on the training fields with her bow.

“Perfect,” said Feyre. “I have a plan, starting now and extending into tonight, and I would like you to play along.” He nodded, waving to Calla as she approached.

“I hope you both don’t mind. I wanted to blow off some steam.”

“No problem at all. Lucien and I were just talking about the kitchen maid that Tamlin was flirting with before he left.” Lucien choked on the big swig of water he’d taken.

“What?” Calla gritted out, the word clipped and harsh.

“Oh yes. This happens every year. News of his...feats…on Fire Night always spread quickly. He usually has a busy few weeks afterwards.” The sly fox caught onto her game immediately.

“We’d better start a queue outside the manor for his many lady callers,” Feyre joked.

Calla muttered something about pigs while she stomped off to the targets.

“She’s jealous.” Lucien seemed startled by the realization.

“Yes, and we’re using it to our advantage tonight.”

+++

The second evening of Calanmai felt like an entirely different celebration. Though there were still bonfires lit for miles, the feeling in the air itself was less intense and more vibrant. All around the Spring manor, massive tables had been brought out to celebrate, and people both from Spring’s own kitchens and the nearby towns brought food and drink.

As dusk descended, music could be heard echoing across the soft valleys, the fae around them eating and drinking and dancing. Tonight, there was none of the violent thrumming of the magic in Feyre’s veins, no yanking pull to the powers that left her feeling lost for breath. In a way, it was a relief, but there was the smallest feeling of aching emptiness to it that she couldn’t quite place.

Calla had spent the day sulking and making herself scarce again, though she had said she wasn’t missing the celebrations tonight. Feyre just hoped that the seeds she’d been sowing would be the final push that the two needed to see past their own noses.

The celebration was already in full swing by the time Calla and Feyre approached. Though Lucien and Tamlin had both warned them not to drink the faerie wine, Calla was already grasping at a goblet when they turned up at the first table.

“Easy with that,” Feyre admonished gently, but she wondered if perhaps one drink couldn’t hurt.

Calla rolled her eyes, but slowed her drinking, looking around at the revelry around them. “Sometimes I’m a bit taken aback by how lovely things can be here.” It was like music to Feyre’s ears.

She couldn’t help but smile a bit as Calla swayed to the music.

Not long after, Tamlin and Lucien joined them, and Feyre only hoped that Lucien had had success in passing on the message of her plan to Tamlin. Though the brief flash of mischief in his eyes as they met hers told her that he had.

“My ladies.” The males both sketched dramatic bows as the women laughed, the firelight glinting brightly against their gilded masks making them look even more ethereal than normal. “Would you honor me with a dance?” Tamlin held his hand out to Feyre, much to Calla’s very obvious chagrin.

Feyre laughed. “Of course, High Lord. Your reputation on the dance floor precedes you.” She placed her hand in his and let him sweep her away to the dancing group of fae nearby.

“How does she look?” Feyre whispered as they began to dance. Tamlin chuckled.

“Mad as a wet cat.”

“Perfect. We told her this morning that you were flirting with the kitchen staff.”

Tamlin’s eyes whipped to hers. “What?”

“Just wanted to gauge how well this might work. The answer was reassuring.” They spun around and Feyre caught sight of Calla. Lucien was talking to her animatedly, as they had planned. Calla looked like she was seething, so Feyre moved one of her hands up to Tamlin’s neck.

“Don’t panic. I think we’re almost there,” she laughed, and his eyes sparkled.

“You know, Feyre, I wasn’t sure what to think of you when you arrived at my court. But you’ve turned out to be a great investment.” Her eyes whipped back to his and she had the awareness to at least pretend to look offended through a smile. “And an even better friend.”

As always, the truth bit at her insides like an angry snake, writhing and hissing to be let out. Had Lucien told him what they’d discussed on the porch? How much could Tamlin know? She wanted so badly to tell them both the entire truth, but what would she be risking? Was it selfish to continue to hide from these people that she’d begun to care so deeply for?

She was so close to getting to Rhys now; she knew that it wasn’t long. What if Tamlin felt so betrayed by her that he kicked her out? She had nowhere else to go, and she wouldn’t chance it.

“You, too, Tamlin. Thank you for giving me a place to stay. And for all the rest of it, too.”

Despite her secrets, Feyre was truly happy here. She would be sad to leave it when the time came, and all she could do was hope that, somehow, she would be able to pull through and maintain the friendships she’d made here.

Suddenly, Calla was walking towards them with purpose, a maelstrom of emotion and determination on her face. Feyre gave Tamlin two quick pats on the chest.

“It’s working. She’s coming.” She hissed as his eyebrows shot to his hairline.

“It really worked?”

“Yes, shut up. Act normal.”

The two pretended to be surprised when Calla asked if she could cut in with a little more bite to her voice than normal. Feyre acquiesced with a smile.

“He’s all yours. Enjoy the festivities!” She found her way back to Lucien with a self-satisfied smile on her face.

“Feyre, you are truly diabolical. Perhaps we need you on the court of advisors for Spring with strategies like that.”

Calla and Tamlin were mid-dance, much closer than he and Feyre had been and looking far more intimate than she’d ever seen them.

“He may not ever say it, but I will. You don’t know what this means to him. Tamlin has spent the better part of his life feeling as though he’s done everything wrong and that people don’t want to be in his corner. Having someone else who truly wants to be his friend…well, I am certain you can figure out the impact of something like that.”

Feyre nodded again. “I know his family is gone.” Lucien looked down at her sadly. “ He’s the only one left.” Lucien nodded.

“They were all killed the same night. I didn’t know him yet, but all of Prythian knows the history.”

The same night.

Feyre couldn’t imagine the heartbreak. “What happened?”

“A messy story. Tamlin’s father ordered the wife and daughter of another High Lord killed–their son was Tamlin’s closest friend, and Tamlin’s father tricked him into betraying their location. In retaliation, the High Lord and his son came to kill Tamlin’s family. He got through Tamlin’s father, the Lady of Spring, and the two eldest sons before Tamlin killed him with the powers thrust upon him as the new High Lord.”

All his family gone, a new title and powers he didn’t understand or want, and the starting point being his own unwilling betrayal. No wonder he didn’t trust easily.

“And the other High Lord’s son?” Feyre wondered if the brief moment she saw Lucien’s jaw pulse in irritation was a trick of the light.

“He became the High Lord of Night.”

Night. The only court Feyre still knew next to nothing about. That High Lord, with his powers of darkness and ability to turn others into a spray of bloody mist at the flick of his wrist. She had wondered if he might allow Rhys to bring her back to the Night Court with him if she managed to get him out from Under the Mountain, but now she wasn’t so sure. Perhaps he hated humans.

A massive log from a fire nearby cracked and exploded into a show of sparks as everyone in the crowd whooped and hollered, the festivities beginning to ramp up.

“Shall we dance, Strategizer of Spring?” Feyre laughed and took Lucien’s hand, allowing him to lead her back into the revelry and pushing out all thoughts and worries of inter-court relations.

+++

They danced and drank until nearly dawn, Tamlin and Calla quietly disappearing as the night went on. Though Feyre was exhausted, sleep wouldn’t find her, and the gray light on the horizon creeping into the room signified that she wasn’t going to.

She stepped out of the warm comfort of her bed, padding across the still-dim room to her table by the window. She used her favorite power that she’d learned from Day to illuminate herself, grinning as she became her own lamp, the soft glow washing over the reading table. It was a good way for her to practice doing magic while focusing on other things. Though she’d improved in her stamina, using too much magic still exhausted her. Lucien had told her it would be like working a muscle, and she felt proud at how much stronger she’d become.

She put the book on Day aside, instead grabbing the large, dark book on Night Court from the other side of the table. After her conversation with Lucien, she wanted to know more about the High Lord of Night and how plausible it might be for her to one day take up residence in his court. Did he hate humans? Would he even allow her there?

If she could help break everyone free from the curse, perhaps he would make an exception if Rhys could argue to his High Lord that she was a special case.

How could Rhys live in a court under such a terrifying ruler? At least he hadn’t been the one to slaughter Tamlin’s family, but if the tension was still so high between them that even Lucien felt tense discussing it, perhaps it was good she’d left Rhys’s court out of it when she’d told Lucien about him.

She flipped through the first sections: trade routes, powers, landscape. The geography of Night was interesting. Unlike the other courts, Night seemed to ruled over a vast expanse of nothing in conjunction with two smaller courts: Illyria and the Court of Nightmares. It didn’t sound particularly promising in terms of a warm welcome. Was she to break Rhys out from Under the Mountain only to have him trapped under another? Would Tamlin perhaps let him stay, too? Maybe they could lie and say he’d been from a different court originally.

Surely, Feyre could explain the situation to him–if she even made it that far.

She kept getting ahead of herself in that regard. Who was to say she’d ever even see the light of day again after going Under the Mountain? And that’s if Calla and Tamlin didn’t manage to break the curse first. They’d certainly seemed more intimate than ever tonight.

She sighed, rubbing her temple as she flipped forward onto the powers imbued in the line of High Lords. There was a strange manipulation and control of night and darkness, winnowing, and misting of enemies with a thought. There, below it all, was what appeared to be a hastily scrawled note.

Upon the installation of the most recent High Lord, the abilities of flight and daemati have been added to this list circumstantially.

Daemati.

It was the High Lord of Night that she drew that dark power from, then. On top of all the other terrifying powers he had, he could manipulate minds, too.

She turned the page and the soft glow of her light guttered out.

There, plain for all to see, was the High Lord of Night in all his glory.

Familiar violet eyes, raven’s-wing dark hair, and lips that had explored her mouth and body more intimately than anyone else ever had.

Rhys was not a subject of the High Lord of Night. There would be no convincing him to allow the two of them to live there should they survive.

Rhys was the High Lord of Night, and if he hadn’t been able to defeat Amarantha, what hope did she possibly have?

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