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nocasdatsgay · 18 days

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Spring Time Affairs

Day three of @polyacotarweek : Secrets

Summary: Flora likes to rile her husband up, especially if it means she gets to play with Elain in the process.

MasterPost | Poly Week Master Post| AO3 Link

Pairings: Tamlin/OC/Elain/Lucien | Rating: E🌶️| Word Count: 1890

Warnings: smut

A/N: relationships should never have to be a secret. Pretending it is for the thrill however, that is acceptable.

Tagging: @saltedcoffeescotch @ysmtttty

Flora should have been ashamed of herself. Should bring the operative word. But the way Elain’s thigh was shaking where it was draped over her shoulder, she could only focus on bringing her over the edge. How she ended up kneeling under Elain’s pale yellow skirts in the small library on the east end was irrelevant.

Elain was whimpering above her as she sucked and swirled her tongue on her clit just like she liked. Stubborn, she thought. Elain was deliberately fighting her orgasm. Flora knew it. She stopped thrusting her fingers and instead wiggled the pads of them, pressing on that spot that had Elain crying out above her. She grinned as Elain came, damn near soaking her face and hand. Flora licked it all up, pleased when Elain started to push her away because it was too much.

“I swear you stay under her skirts more than I do.”

Lucien’s voice startled her as she pulled away and moved to stand. He was grinning wickedly at his mate, who Flora was pleased to see had a flush on her face and was still catching her breath.

“I can’t help it,” Flora made a show of licking one of her fingers. “She tastes so good.”

“You’re lucky Tamlin is looking for you,” Lucien said. He did look ready to bend her over the table behind her. His gaze turned to his mate. “You are a wicked little female.”

“Whatever do you mean, Lord Lucien?” Elain straightened her skirt with her palms.

Flora’s eyebrows shot up. Elain always flirted by riling Lucien up. And the best way to do so was to address him formally. Flora learned that herself the hard way.

“Flora, lock the door,” Lucien did not look at her as he spoke. “I think I need to have a conversation with my mate about inappropriate uses of the mating bond.”

Flora did not suppress her grin. “Of course. Have fun.”

She left, shutting the door and waving her hand to lock it. She tried to not giggle at the squeal she heard Elain let out as she went down the hallway. She went to her husband’s office first. He was normally there most of the day nearing the end of the year months. Sure enough, Tamlin was at his desk, looking over papers. He looked up as she entered and shut the door.

“Lucien said you were looking for me?”

She walked past the chairs and his desk to sit on the table against the window behind him. It was a test; he knew that. She could tell he knew by the way he rose from his chair and turned to her with a predatory look. She smoothed out the skirts of her sky blue dress. He came up to her, nudging her legs open with his own, his nostrils flaring as he leaned into her.

“You smell like Elain. Gods, were you in the library again?”

“Maybe.” She grinned and watched him plant both of his hands on the table, caging her in.

“Wild flower.” Tamlin growled in her ear. “Are you trying to get caught?”

“Why would I do that?”

Tamlin took one hand and pushed up her skirts further so he could stand between her open legs, forcing them to spread further. He pulled back and stood straighter.

“Because you’re a minx,” he tilted up her chin. Green eyes blown black. “I don’t even remember why I called you in here.”

Flora hummed as he tucked a loose golden brown curl behind her ear.

“What a Lady of Spring you are, smelling like another male’s mate. What would the servants think?”

So that was the game they were playing. The ‘pretend the whole court doesn’t know’ game. Flora liked this game, if only because Tamlin could pretend to be possessive.

“Fuck the servants,” she gasped.

He gripped her hips and pulled her to the edge of the table and pressed his body against her. The bulge of his pants rubbing against her. Her underwear was already soaked from playing with Elain. She whined and pouted when he pulled back. A hand on her thigh inched up under her skirt until a claw hooked her underwear. She lifted her rear up so he could pull them off. He scowled as the blue lacy scrap of cloth came into view.

“Who bought you these? It wasn’t me.” He lifted them higher to look at them better. “They’re too slutty for my tastes.” A lie.

She bit her lip. He knew who, but he wanted her to say it. “Lucien.”

His gaze narrowed on her as he tossed the underwear aside. “You want them to know what a little whore you are.”

“No,” she shook her head.

“You do.” He tsked at you. “This is the third time this month I’ve caught you smelling like them. Do you want the court to think I can’t satisfy my wife?”

She almost snorted. Instead, she feigned shock. “No!”

“But you do. They don’t know our little secret, do they? They just see you, walking around and smelling like this. Makes you look unfaithful. Do I need to remind you who you belong to?”

She tried to not grin or seem too excited as he unlaced his trousers. He reached up and grabbed her chin forcing her to look at him.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes sir.”

He let go of her chin and his trousers fell to the floor. She looked down and watched him stroke his hard length, the core of her clenching at the thought of what was about to happen. She inhaled as he stepped close to her, wanting nothing more than for him to take her.

“What did you do with Elain?”

Flora looked up, mouth agape. “I- I was under her skirts. I used my mouth.”

Tamlin reached around and grabbed the back of her head, not undoing her braids but holding her still as he pressed his lips to hers. She let his tongue in and he growled while he probed around. He could taste Elain still on her lips and tongue. Flora did not move. He pulled back. He said nothing; only stroked himself once more before pushing into her heat.

Flora fell back on both her hands, head also falling back as she let out a moan. He gave her no time to adjust, not that she minded. She was content to let him take what he wanted from her. Tamlin had other plans.

“Look at me,” a command, laced with the authority of Spring. She lifted her head up, eyes wide open. “Who do you belong to?”

”You.” She whimpered with each thrust, his length hitting that spot inside her. “You, Tamlin.”

He growled again. “And what are our rules?”

”We, fuck, we keep- Tam,” She wrapped her leg around his waist. “We keep it secret.” Another lie.

“Exactly.” He thrusted into her harder, stroking the pleasure in her higher. “What we do in our bedroom is no one’s concern but our own.”

“Yes, Tamlin.”

“If you’re going to smell like sex during the day, you’ll smell of me.”

“Yes sir,” she cried out. “Only you.”

Tamlin sank his teeth into her neck, causing her to arch against him and yell with her eyes rolling back. He then pulled back and licked at the bite. Her legs tightened around his waist again while he continued to thrust into her, one of her hands going into his blond hair.

Then the doorknob turned and for a moment her heart stopped. She moved her hand and slapped it over her mouth, crying out as she came suddenly.

“Am I interrupting?”

It was Lucien, the bastard. He had the audacity to look innocent as he slipped into the room and shut the door. She was still pulsing around Tamlin, who stopped to look at him.

“What?” He asked, breathing heavily. As if his trousers weren’t around his ankles with his cock buried in his wife.

“The emissary from Summer is here.” Tamlin growled and Lucien grinned. “I just wanted to inform you, High Lord.”

“Get the fuck out and don’t think I won’t punish you for bothering me.”

“Maybe you should punish your wife, since she came the second she thought she was caught.” His eyes flashed at her as he grinned. “I know what you sound like when you cum, Flora.”

“Get out Lucien.” She rolled her eyes. “Weren’t you just with Elain?”

Lucien clasped his hands behind his back. “Elain is a bit tied up at the moment. I can have you join her if Tam wants.”

“Get. Out.”

Command laced Tamlin’s snarling tone. Lucien didn’t drop his grin but exited as requested. Tam threw out magic, locking the door. He turned back to her with a look in his eye. In quick movements, he pulled out of her, pulled her off the table, stood her on her feet and pushed her down across the table. Her skirts were thrown up onto her back and she gasped when he smacked his hand hard against her rear.

“Naughty girl.” He kicked her feet apart and smacked her across her wet cunt. “I didn’t tell you to cum.”

“I’m sorry Tam.” She stood on her toes, hoping he’d do that again. When he did, she moaned loudly, clenching around nothing. “Are you going to punish me?”

“I should.”

She heard him shuffle and felt him push his length back into her. He pulled her upright to be flush against him so he could whisper in her ear.

“You and Lucien both have been so bratty. But I have a meeting. So I’m going to finish fucking you and when I’m done, you’re going put those slutty little panties back on and let my seed drip out your cunt for the rest of the day so everyone knows who the Lady of Spring belongs to.”

“Please.”

He chuckled in her ear, pulling his hips back to thrust up into her. A clawed hand came around her throat while his arm wrapped around her waist as he continued. It didn’t take long for him to finish, growling in her ear as he did so. When he pulled out, she squeezed her legs together and waited. She straightened out her skirts and waited while he pulled up and fixed his trousers.

“Look at my good girl,” he chuckled, coming up beside her to hand her the panties he’d pulled off.

Flora didn’t say anything as she carefully stepped into them and pulled them up. She shivered as she felt his cum slip out of her slowly after she unclenched her legs. She turned to him, batting her eyes innocently at her husband.

“May I be dismissed, High Lord?”

“By the cauldron you make it difficult.” He came up to her, grabbing her by the hair to press his lips to hers before pulling away. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she pressed a quick kiss to his lips one last time. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

She waited by the door until he threw out his magic, unlocking it. She slipped out as if nothing happened and headed straight for Lucien and Elain’s bedroom. Lucien dropped that information for a reason when he barged in and she was about to make use of it.

#poly+acotarweek2024 #poly+acotarweek2024 d3 #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #tamlin #OC acotar #tamlin x oc #Tamlin x Flora #elucien #poly week acotar #Spring Time Affairs

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fieldofdaisiies · 3 months

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upload plan for the next weeks/months:

a court of covert desire (azris; multi chapter fic)

whispers of the forgotten (azriel x reader; 6 parts)

midnight queen pt. 2 (azriel x reader)

in the dark (nyx x reader, 1 part)

strokes of fate (feysand, 3 parts)

of birds and bees (elucien, valentine's day special)

gwynriel one shot (for gwynriel weeks)

tamlin x oc (for tamlin week, 7 parts)

hope you are as excited as me for the coming (writing) year and the stories💛 if you have questions about a story, feel free to ask!!

#azris #gwynriel #azriel x reader #feysand #elucien #tamlin x oc

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readychilledwine · 6 months

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Tamlin Masterlist

Bliss - You and Tamlin were in desperate need of a break with Amarantha looming in your lives.

Wide Awake- Tamlin's comes to a slow realization seeing you fight in the War against Hybern. Now he can only hope it's not too late

A Hint of Corruption ** - Tamlin x reader Request - Work has kept Tamlin away from home for too long, leaving you with both time to question your worth to him and plot how to get his attention.

The Fire In Spring (can be read with or without Lost Bonds) ** - Calanmai is the most important night in Spring, and how lucky for you to be mated to the night's main attraction (x reader) Tamlin Week 2024

Lost Bonds - Tamlin x Archeron!Reader - The last thing Tamlin planned to have happen was a bond snapping between him and Y/N Archeron. Now the big question becomes, is it too late to fix what has been broken?

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

The Prettiest Fuck You - After the birth of Rhysand and Feyre's 3rd child, Tamlin sends a coded message with the help of his mate (x reader) Tamlin Week 2024

Limbo - You would never be able to move on from your untimely death. Not while the two males you loved kept you trapped here.

#tamlin x yn #tamlin x you #tamlin x reader #tamlin x oc #tamlin acotar #acotar #acotar x reader

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climbthemountain2020 · 12 days

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Remains of Spring - Part 1

Part 1/? | Ao3

To begin with Hope of Spring and read sequentially, start here

Happy @tamlinweek everyone!

[This chapter fits in right after Chapter 3 of HoS]

All day long, something had stirred restlessly beneath Tamlin’s skin. It was more than the ever-constant humming of the Spring magic that he’d grown used to long ago; this was a vibration, a feeling, a sign. He’d had a similar feeling a few times before–before his father ruined his life, before Amarantha had come to continue that goal, before Rhysand and Feyre had finished the job.

He’d been rolling around in his bed, half lucid, for the better part of the night, but every time sleep began to close in, his mind would begin whirring again and shake consciousness back into him, warning him. Each time, his heart was pounding, squeezing almost painfully in his chest as it thumped like a war drum.

Be alert, be alert, be alert.

The moon had passed across the midpoint in the sky–he could see it and all the stars through the open window, the sounds and smells of Spring doing their best to lull him back into sleep again, but Tamlin couldn’t ignore instinct.

He rose from his bed, grabbing his pants from the back of the chair near his desk and sitting to pull them on and lace them. If he was going to be awake, he might as well be useful. He stretched his arms over his head, cracking his spine and reaching for his rumpled tunic. If he’d just be shifting and patrolling, it probably didn’t matter much what his clothes looked like, but he hesitated as he went to pull it on.

Tamlin worried constantly, thinking how easily he had drifted into that spiral of nothing a few years ago. It had started with a lack of caring about things like clothes, visitors, his manor, but it had turned into a complete lack of care about anything. He’d spent the better part of that first year in the woods, prowling the land in his baser form, not allowing any of his anguished thoughts to fully form, hoping he would die eventually. But Lucien and Rhysand would not let him be. He would not admit it even under pain of death, but they’d saved his life. He still resented them for their involvement, considering both had contributed to the state of things in the first place.

When he’d shifted back, he hardly felt like a person at all. Emaciated, matted, dirty, and depressed, he drifted aimlessly around the manor like a ghost, remembering to feed himself and sleep every so often. The worst part of coming back to civilization had been the fact that every single feeling came back to him. He experienced at full force every bit of shame, guilt, grief, and pain. He felt every bit the monster they believed him to be. He had almost been the ruin of Prythian, all for his own selfish needs. He’d sold them out for a female who, it turned out, hated him anyway. Perhaps Feyre had the right idea all along–maybe he deserved to suffer this way.

A few weeks in, Tamlin finally allowed his rage and anguish to melt into soft, devastating grief, and for the first time in centuries, he truly let himself cry. But once he’d begun, there was no stopping it. The emotions hit him like a blow to the chest, knocking every bit of sense and awareness from him as he lay on the floor of the ruined manor, sobs racking through him. He wished more than anything that he could apologize, for any of it, for all of it. But he’d dug himself into a grave so deep that there would be no making amends now. Sending the crowns back to Rhysand would seem like a taunt.

Did it even matter?

No one would ever forgive him anyway.

Tamlin did not truly begin to live again until he heard a soft but insistent knocking on his door one evening. It wasn’t the Night Court, they never bothered to knock. He dragged himself to the doors, opening them tentatively to peek out and see who would dare to come here. On the porch stood a Spring fae, fairly young, looking at him expectantly. He was surprised to not find disgust or pity in her eyes, but a rugged determination as she lifted her chin to speak to him.

“High Lord.” She curtseyed, then bobbed back up. “My name is Tallissa, and I come from the village of Laretta just south of here. I am here to offer my services to the manor.” Tamlin was speechless.

Someone wanted to come back to this crumbling, godsforsaken manor?

“Why?” He asked hoarsely, his voice having not been used for anything other than screaming, crying, or roaring out his pain for close to a year.

“Because you are our High Lord, and you need help. And Spring needs yours.” Her wide, navy eyes were unfaltering, the vines of ivy swinging from her head in the breeze. She seemed earnest, and it didn’t seem like she was going to back down without an argument regardless.

“Tallissa, I fear it’s quite the undertaking.” He tried one last time to avoid the hand being reached out to him, the life raft offered as he barely fought against sinking beneath the waves.

“High Lord, if you please, there is nowhere else I would rather be. And I like a challenge.” He paused, thinking, then nodded once. It was all she needed before she stomped into the manor, her orange and teal skin catching the light of the sun. Tamlin was embarrassed at the state of things now that someone was here, ashamed he’d allowed things to become so dire, but Tallissa just walked straight back to the kitchens and began shuffling around without another word to him.

It took about a week for Tallissa–Tally–to convince Tamlin to begin taking care of himself–bathing, eating regular meals, and allowing her to wash his clothes. In that time, she began the lighter aspects of cleaning the manor, though the more intensive things would require additional help. Another week after that, Tamlin tentatively began to help with the larger projects like moving rubble and repairing what he could with magic. The sun on his back felt good, and the hard work helped him to start feeling a bit more like himself again. He was working himself so hard, he simply collapsed into his bed every night and didn’t dream, a blessing in itself.

Another month in, and Tally had convinced him to allow contractors from the local villages to come begin some of the exterior repairs that Tamlin could not do alone. Slowly, the manor was coming back to life around him, and his soul with it. Since he’d been forced to reconcile with everything in his fae form, he hadn’t dared to shift back into his beast form. He didn’t trust himself not to slip back into old patterns yet, but the urge to shift and just run, the smell of the earth in his nose and the sun on his fur and the wind over his back, was becoming hard to ignore.

Finally, months in, the manor had been restored to its former glory, the gardens were regrowing, and Tally was interviewing staff for the manor. Tamlin had, at great pains, gone into the local villages to apologize, family by family, for the actions that had cost them all so much. Some were not quick to forgive, which he’d understood fully and expected, but still took like a knife to the heart each time it happened. Despite having spent so much of his life not showing any emotion but rage, it seemed once Tamlin had allowed himself to cry the one time, he couldn’t stop. Every night when he returned to his bed in the manor after a day of penance, he would sob great tears at the damage he’d wrought, the lives lost because of his actions. He knew making amends was the right thing to do, but he couldn’t imagine a heartbreak worse than knowing, face to face, exactly how horribly he’d failed the people he was supposed to protect.

But Tamlin pushed forward, the strength of real support bolstering him. He knew he owed Tally the world for this gift she’d given him. Whether people ever forgave him or not, she’d given him a second chance, coming in with unwavering determination and refusing to take no for an answer. He’d given her the nicest room he could find, with a view of the gardens that she loved so much, and she’d simply asked if her wife could come work and live in the manor, too. Tamlin had been so caught up in gratitude for them, he’d commissioned them their own house on the property, which Tallissa had fought against him to accept, but ultimately yielded to have some privacy with Mariela. So, with Tally manning the housekeeping and affairs, Mariela took charge of the men coming back to offer their services as guards and sentries.

Despite the battering that making amends was doing on his soul, he felt as though things were beginning to right themselves after so long amiss. It had been a few months, but the inquiries began to filter back in from both males and females looking for more stable work. He had absolutely no qualms about letting females become sentries, and he would never make the mistake of underestimating them again. At long last, things began to feel normal again, except this time, improvements had been made. Tamlin would never be the ruler he was before, and he didn’t want to be.

When Rhysand stuck his nose in Spring’s business, as he so often did, Tamlin would growl at him that it was under control, but he couldn’t shake the embers of pride that burned within him each time Rhysand left looking impressed. Outwardly, all he could manage to point in Rhysand’s direction was rage and fury. He hated that he still sought the male’s approval deep down–his forgiveness–but at the very least, perhaps it would keep him from sending more people to harass him.

Tamlin was shaken from his thoughts of the past as a loud crash followed by a resounding crack sounded throughout the manor.

What the fuck?

He shot to his feet, half tucking the tunic around his waist and ripping open the doors. He crept to the stairs with the preternatural quiet of a predator, approaching the open foyer in the dark. A cough and a groan rang out through the night, and Tamlin glanced up to see the hole in the roof in shock and annoyance.

We just fixed that.

As he peered down into the dusty air, he saw a figure laying on the ground of the foyer near the bottom of the stairs.

Had they fallen through the ceiling?

Tamlin didn’t see any wings, but that didn’t mean this wasn’t one of Rhysand’s followers. He could hear the figure gasping for breath and groaning in pain, but as the dust cleared, he saw her begin to sit up

“Fuck me sideways. Jesus fucking Christ.” He heard echo quietly, and he fought a laugh. It was a female, and gods she had a dirty mouth. She was looking around the foyer, grasping her arm to her body as though it was hurt. He imagined in a fall like that, it would make sense. She was looking down at her arms and hands like she’d never seen them before, and Tamlin wasn’t sure how she was standing at all after a fall from that height.

Had she been on his roof?

She looked up to where he was, scanning the walls, and he slid back behind the pillar, peeking out again after a moment. When he focused back on her, he was shocked to find she was…beautiful? Her hair was half up and a mess, but he could tell it was a dark brown. It matched her eyes, wide in the dark. Suddenly, her face shot to his and she gasped.

How had she noticed him?

Tamlin was taken entirely aback, but it was too late now. He stepped out from the shadows, and began to descend the stairs.

Say something to her, but his mouth was suddenly dry–his tongue and brain entirely unable to communicate.

He tossed his hand out, lighting the lanterns on the walls, and his breath caught. In the low light, he could see her eyes were a soft brown, the color of a fawn’s coat, and they were entirely focused on him. She struggled to stay on her feet, her arm very clearly dislocated. Even from halfway down the stairs, he could smell her fear and panic, but she met his eyes with awe. She was appraising him, too.

So, perhaps not a spy then.

She winced at the pain, but squared her shoulders and lifted her chin to him.

Brave little thing.

“Who are you?” A stab of guilt shot through him as she flinched at his voice.

“P-Penny,” she stuttered out, but he could see her rally her confidence again. “My name is Penny.”

Penny. The name rolled around in his head, the syllables stretching and her lilting voice ringing like bells. Focus.

“You’re injured. Come.” He could bring her to the kitchen; there were medical supplies in the cabinets there. She wasn’t following him. “Are you going to stand there all night?” She burst into action, limping along behind him, and the sudden urge to take her into his arms so she wouldn’t have to hurt anymore hit him so forcefully it almost knocked the wind from his chest. He shoved the impulse away and turned into the kitchen, gesturing for her to sit at the table in the center of the room while he gathered up the necessary supplies.

“Do you live here alone?” Her voice was beautiful, soft. It caressed his ears like a gentle song, and he took a deep breath.

“Uhm, yes and no. There are attendants and staff who come and go, but no one stays here anymore but me. Everyone else has left for the night, but they’ll be back in a few hours at dawn.” Tamlin tried to think of the injuries he had seen on her, grabbing a few healing tonics as well as items to clean her up. He could feel her eyes on him as he looked, could feel the way that she let her gaze roam over him.

“I am going to check you over for injuries now, if that’s okay,” he warned, not wanting to startle her. The blush that colored her cheeks made his heart race. Now that he was this close to her, he could smell her scent. It was like nothing he’d ever smelled before. Something on top– strange and not quite like flowers, perhaps a hair oil? But beneath it, she smelled of sage and spearmint, the notes twining and mingling in his nose as he fought the strange urge to lower his head to her neck and inhale more deeply.

“Where are you injured?”

“I’m not sure, entirely. When I first woke up, my ribs and chest were the most painful, but even they seem to be improving now.” She pressed gingerly on her own ribs and flinched slightly. “It’s definitely not pleasant, but at least I can take a breath.”

“May I?” She nodded, and he brushed his hands over her sides to press against her ribs. The second his hands made contact with her skin, he felt the magic pulse beneath his skin–the Spring magic sizzling with every breath between them. He did his best to steady his beating heart.

“Your ribs may be bruised, but they don’t seem broken. I am going to check your back now, if I may.” The female turned, giving her back to him in a show of trust that had him a bit shocked as he gently pressed his fingers into her spine and ribs. All intact, thankfully, though the bruising was already starting to blossom across her back in dark violets. He felt her shiver, and the action sent a thrill through him.

What is wrong with you?

“It would appear you’ve somehow escaped mostly unscathed,” Tamlin choked out, mortified by how hoarse his voice sounded. He handed her the healing tonics and instructed her to drink, then turned to get the cleaning supplies from the floor.

“Let me clean the laceration on your forehead, and then I’ll be done.” She lifted her hand up to her head as though she hadn’t been aware of an injury at all, pulling back fingers coated in blood. He dipped the rag in the small, bottled solution he’d brought over with him, and as he was about to touch it, she gasped. His eyes shot up to hers, worried something had happened, but she was just staring at him, eyes wide in awe.

“What…your ears!”

My ears? They looked like normal ears, why would they be concerning to her?

But she was now focused on his eyes, her gaze boring into his. “Where are we?” She asked abruptly.

Perhaps she had hit her head.

“The Spring Court. You fell into my home in the Spring Court.” The girl let out a cackle that bordered on hysteria.

“The Spring Court? Like A Court of Thorns and Roses?” Tears blossomed in the corners of her eyes.

Oh Cauldron, she’s lost her mind. Maybe she had been walking around on my roof before she fell.

“Yes, yes. All very funny. And I’m sure you’re Tamlin.”

Tamlin jumped back as though he’d been shocked.

How could she possibly know my name? Who is she?

Her manic laughter began to die down, and the panic in her eyes became more noticeable.

“Shut the fuck up.” She said, quiet but forcefully.

“I didn’t say anything,” the shock still had him reeling. But now, he wondered if he had been right at first. This was one of Rhysand’s spies, he was sure of it. No one else would glean such joy at pulling one over on Tamlin while he tried to just live his life and mind his own business. The rage was suddenly overwhelming.

“Who the hell are you? How do you know my name? Did someone send you here?” He was abruptly on his feet, trying to put distance between them. But the look in her eyes wasn’t amusement, it was fear, and he remembered the last time a female had looked at him that way. The thought sobered him as she began rambling.

“No! No! I don’t know how the fuck I ended up here! One minute I was sleeping in my apartment and I thought I was dreaming and then I slammed into your house. You’re telling me this is Prythian? We’re in Prythian right this second?” He could see her spinning out of control, her expression taking on the skittish fright of a small animal backed into a corner. Her breathing quickened, and he could tell she was aiming for a panic attack. He knew exactly what they looked like now. She lifted her hand and twisted the skin of her arm roughly, cursing immediately in response.

“Fuck. Ouch.” Gods, she had a filthy mouth. She began to pace like a cornered animal. “Okay. Alright. Okay. Deep breaths. You’re Tamlin.” He could only nod. “We’re in Prythian, like from the stories.” He nodded again, but was becoming more confused with the nature of her question. She seemed so lost, yet she knew where they were somehow.

“Wait, when is it?”

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“Has the second war with Hybern already happened? Do you know who Amarantha is?” He felt hot, oily nausea boil within him at the mention of her name, but nodded anyway. He’d killed her–let the image of him ripping her throat out calm him back down. She couldn’t hurt him or anyone else again. He took a deep breath.

“It’s been three years since Hybern’s armies were defeated in Prythian. The second time. Amarantha is dead.”

“...Then Feyre Archeron is in the Night Court, correct?”

What. The. Fuck.

“What the hell is this? Is this some sort of joke to you? Did Rhysand send you here? I told him I would bolster the fucking sentries and rebuild the court if he stayed the hell away from Spring. Hasn’t he done enough?”

Tamlin felt himself itching with fury.

Why could the damned Night Court not leave him alone?

“No!” She stammered out. “I swear, I have never been here before. I know about all this because where I’m from there are books! Books about you and everything that happened. I have no idea how I’m here or how this is even possible, I swear it. I have never met Rhysand or anyone from the Night Court–ANY court–in my life! I don’t know how I managed to get here, or how I might even begin to go about getting home for that matter! I swear!”

Books?

She seemed to be telling the truth, or perhaps her frantic terror was convincing him otherwise, but he was inclined to believe her.

“I’m sorry. It’s a tender subject. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He shook himself out, trying to shake the feelings of resentment. He wasn’t trying to scare her, and he was beyond losing control the way he used to. He’d worked hard, and he wasn’t about to fall back into old habits.

“I understand. This must be incredibly disorienting for you. I’m so sorry to have upset you. I wish I could tell you what happened.” She seemed so sincere. He had no fight left in him for her.

“You can stay here. There are many rooms that no longer get any usage. If you would like, that is. You don’t have to.” Was he destined to invite strange women to his house, only to have them flee?

“Where else would I go?” she asked, as though the matter was already settled. “Thank you. Perhaps, I could help? The books aren’t finished, though.”

Tamlin still had absolutely no idea what she meant by the books, but he was absolutely exhausted now, the urge to prowl the grounds almost entirely gone in favor of getting back into his bed.

“Your timeline goes beyond what I know now, but maybe I could provide information? Help Prythian. Help you.” Those final two words pitched through his heart with agony, but he ignored it, walking towards the door.

“There’s no helping me.” He despised how sad he sounded, how resigned. He thought about all his hard work over the past two years, but at the end of the day a fixed manor did not make a fixed person. “Come. Let me show you where you can sleep.” She followed after him, seeming much less tense than before, and much more curious. As they passed the small crater she’d caused with her body, he saw her grimace.

How hard had she fallen?

“You said it’s been three years. It seems like you’ve restored the manor well. And you said people come to work here. That’s an improvement, right?” It unnerved him that he knew these details about him. He hated being at a disadvantage.

How much did she know about him?

“Rhysand made it so I had no choice. We had no idea when the next threat would be coming, so he pestered me until he all but dragged me out of the woods to rebuild. I would have been fine being left there alone. I deserved to be left…I am glad it was rebuilt. I would never give him the satisfaction to say so. But…the people here deserved better–deserve better–than a crumbling court and High Lord. At least, now I get left alone.”

It then occurred to him that perhaps he should be lighter with her to put her a bit more at ease, so he turned to her, tried to put on a show of amusement, and said “Mostly.” Then he turned again to head further into the deep hallway.

“This one will be yours,” he gestured to the left. “I am across the hall, should you need anything. I, uh, unfortunately, there are no ladies clothes remaining here.” He had a mental image of him immediately after the war, shredding everything Feyre had touched here in a fit of rage and grief, then setting fire to the shreds in a show that had rivaled those of Calanmai. “There are some additional shirts and pants in the room which may fit you. But otherwise, we’ll have to go into town for some clothing items for you.”

“Thanks. I’m really more of a pants-and-shirt kind of girl, anyway.” He laughed at this, thinking that sounded like an accurate assessment. He couldn’t picture this fiery, foul-mouthed female in the ruffled dress of a proper lady. He turned to leave and enter his own room before the awkward silence of the air between them swallowed him whole.

Before he could open his own door she called out “Tamlin!”

And when he turned, she simply smiled shyly and said, “Thank you. For the help. And for letting me stay.”

Stay.

Strangely, the word caused a knot in his throat.

Would she stay?

He nodded once, paused, then turned and entered his own room, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. He all but collapsed onto his bed, the fact that a stranger was across the hall not burdening him the way he might have thought.

As he drifted into the warm embrace of sleep, he had the vague notion that the strange restless humming of magic in his veins had calmed.

The biggest thank you to the loml @cauldronblssd for her beta reading and endless support. I will kiss you on the mouth.

#acotar x oc #acotar #a court of thorns and roses au #a court of thorns and roses #hope of spring #tamlin oc #tamlin x oc #remains of spring

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thelov3lybookworm · 4 months

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Tamlin

hello! this is the masterlist to all my Tamlin works, hope you have fun reading them!

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Tamlin x reader/oc

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Plants Of Thorns Bear The Prettiest Of Flowers (ongoing)(Rhys's sister reader)

Part 1

Part 2

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Prone to Infatuation

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Pollen Alergies

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Delusional

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#tamlin x reader #tamlin x oc #tamlin x yn #tamlin

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queercontrarian · 1 year

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beauty and the beast tamlin is OUT

sleeping beauty tamlin is IN

let my man sleep for a hundred years while his mother's rose bushes rank around the manor and impale every trespasser who tries to get in. folk making up legends about what happened. maybe one day someone will come who the thorns decide is worthy of entering the manor and finally waking the beast of spring.

#a good long nap is all he needs #please sleeping beauty tamlin when #tamlin #tamlin x oc #acotar #spring court

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juulle987 · 4 months

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Where’s darkness, there's light

⋆ ✶ ★ ☾ ★ ✶ ⋆ Tamlin x Aelia (OC)

The Dawn Of A New Chapter

summary: After being in the Spring Court for some time now, Aelia finally made connections to rebuild her dear beloved Court.

words: 1.9k

TW: nothing

note: English is not my first language, so apologies for any mistakes

In the tranquil expanse of the Spring Court, amidst the delicate blooms of scarlet roses and verdant sage greenery, Aelia stood resolute, her heart pulsating with a fervent determination to resurrect Rosehall from its desolate slumber. It was a quest that demanded both tenacity and grace, a mission that had become the beacon of her purpose within these vibrant, colour-rich lands.

Having traversed the trials of uncertainty and unsteady footing, Aelia, with a steadfast resolve, had discovered her place within the tapestry of the Spring Court, where the vivid hues of the red roses danced in harmony with the gentle sage green of the surrounding foliage. No longer a stranger to its whispers and secrets, she had woven herself into its fabric, becoming an integral thread in its resurgence.

With an unwavering vision for Rosehall’s revival, Aelia had negotiated alliances and forged bonds with the remaining denizens of the court, aligning their aspirations with her own, much like the interplay of mauve-hued flowers interspersed among the verdant tapestry of the landscape. Together, they envisioned a haven reborn, a sanctuary restored to its former grandeur, adorned with a palette of rich, vibrant colours.

The dawn of a new chapter had arrived - a day suffused with promise and purpose. It was the day artisans, craftspeople, and skilled labourers assembled at the threshold of Rosehall, bearing their tools, their talents, and their dedication. Each stroke of a paintbrush, each meticulously placed brick, and every artisan’s touch promised a renaissance, an homage to the vibrant hues that adorned the Spring Court’s landscape.

As the sun ascended to its zenith, casting a golden glow upon the landscape tinged with the resplendent shades of red roses, sage greens, and mauve blooms, Rosehall stirred with anticipation. The air thrummed with a symphony of endeavour - a chorus of hammers striking, saws carving, and artisans meticulously crafting the foundations of a new beginning, blending hues and tones into a vibrant tapestry of renewal.

Amidst the whirlwind of activity, Aelia stood, a silent orchestrator, her gaze a reflection of unwavering determination and quiet pride. She observed the bustling courtyard with a mixture of anticipation and gratitude, knowing that each brick laid and each stroke of creativity was a testament to the kaleidoscope of colours that adorned the heart of the Spring Court.

The day wore on, and as dusk descended upon Rosehall, there emerged a transformation - a metamorphosis akin to a canvas awash with the myriad colours of a sunset. What once stood desolate and forlorn now radiated with newfound life—a testament to the vibrant hues and shades that intermingled, painting a portrait of resilience and rebirth in the Spring Court.

As the last rays of sunlight caressed the newly restored walls adorned with the rich red of freshly blossomed roses, the muted sage greens of restored wallpaper, and the soft mauve hues of meticulously tended flowers, Aelia’s heart swelled with a profound sense of fulfilment. Her journey, entwined with the destiny of Rosehall, had reached a crescendo - a testament not only to her unwavering resolve but also to the kaleidoscope of colours that brought life to the collective efforts of those who believed in the promise of renewal.

In the serene tranquility of the forest, where the dappled sunlight played amidst the verdant foliage, Aelia stood, enveloped by an uncanny sense of presence. Though she couldn't yet discern his figure among the shadows, the unmistakable aura of Tamlin lingered, a haunting echo amidst the rustling leaves and the subtle fragrance of earth and forest.

Her senses, finely attuned to the subtlest nuances of the natural world, detected his nearness long before her eyes could confirm his arrival. The whisper of his presence danced on the breeze, a blend of musk and the raw essence of the forest, weaving a tale of a visitor yet concealed.

Yet, there was more to this unspoken encounter than mere proximity. Aelia's instincts, honed by the essence of the land itself, hinted at a deeper truth - Tamlin remained cloaked in his beastly form. She could feel the thrum of his power, the restless energy that pervaded the air, and the lingering imprint of his transformation into the primal creature he had become.

As the moments stretched, anticipation hung heavy in the air, mingling with the subtle rustle of leaves and the symphony of the forest. Aelia's thoughts wove a tapestry of wonder, speculation veiled in curiosity. Would he, in the privacy of these enigmatic woods, cast off the guise of his beastly form before revealing himself to her, baring not only his true nature but also the vulnerabilities it entailed?

The minutes ebbed and flowed like the gentle rhythm of the forest, a silent witness to the unspoken dance of anticipation between two beings, connected by fate and tethered by the intricate threads of their shared existence within this realm.

And then, with a delicate shift in the air and a subtle alteration in the tenor of the forest's symphony, Aelia sensed the imminent change - a transformation stirring in the shadows, a metamorphosis poised to unfold. The air seemed to shimmer with the anticipation of an impending revelation, a moment of profound significance poised on the edge of existence.

A rustle among the leaves, a fleeting whisper of movement, heralded Tamlin's approach. As the shadows parted and the last rays of sunlight painted a mosaic upon the forest floor, a figure emerged—a silhouette bathed in the fading light, a form transitioning from beast to Fae.

Aelia, her heart attuned to the symphony of nature, witnessed the transformation unfold - a testament to the interplay between primal instincts and the essence of the Fae. Tamlin stood before her, his figure now adorned in the elegance and grace of his Fae being, the remnants of his earlier beastly form fading into the ether.

Their eyes met, a silent acknowledgment passing between them - an unspoken understanding that transcended the barriers of form and appearance. In this fleeting moment of transformation, amidst the hallowed embrace of the forest, a delicate equilibrium had been restored, and a profound connection forged between two entities, bound by destiny and the enigmatic dance of the natural world.

From the towering edifice of Rosehall, bathed in the fading hues of twilight, Aelia’s gaze traversed the expanse of the grounds, drawn toward the figure that emerged from the shadows - Tamlin, the enigmatic presence whose emerald green eyes held untold depths, a reflection of the intricate complexities that defined him.

Their meeting, amidst the tranquil splendour of the evening, held an air of unexpectedness—an unscripted encounter between two souls, each grappling with the weight of their own burdens. As Aelia’s scarlet locks danced in the gentle evening breeze, she locked eyes with Tamlin, a silent acknowledgment passing between them - a brief moment of connection before her attention returned to the expanse before her.

“I didn’t think you would make an appearance,” she ventured, her voice carrying a mixture of curiosity and a tinge of relief, breaking the contemplative silence that hung between them.

“Me neither,” Tamlin responded, his tone carrying an unspoken weight, a tacit understanding of the uncertainties that lingered between the realms of expectation and reality.

“The workers have gone home,” Aelia observed, her words laden with a quiet understanding. She sensed the reluctance in Tamlin, the hesitance to confront the inhabitants of his Court, a trust shattered and a bond fractured. The task ahead of rebuilding trust, of rekindling the fragile flames of allegiance between High Lord and his people, loomed like a daunting horizon - a slow, arduous journey that demanded patience, dedication, and unwavering commitment.

Aelia, her heart a wellspring of determination, knew the weight of responsibility that rested upon her shoulders - a commitment to the revitalisation of Rosehall, the resuscitation of the Spring Court’s spirit, and the restoration of trust that formed the foundation of Tamlin’s reign. Yet, intertwined with her fervent aspirations was a hopeful yearning, a silent plea that Tamlin too would share in this endeavour, that he too harboured the same steadfast commitment to mend what had been fractured.

As the evening breeze carried the whispers of the surrounding woods, a fragile pause hung between them - an interlude pregnant with unspoken hopes and lingering uncertainties. Aelia, with her fiery locks cascading in the evening wind, turned her gaze once more to Tamlin, her eyes a mirror reflecting a blend of determination, hope, and a silent plea for solidarity in the tumultuous journey that lay ahead.

In that ephemeral moment, amidst the quietude of the twilight, the unspoken pact between Aelia and Tamlin resonated—a vow unspoken yet understood, a shared commitment to navigate the labyrinthine path toward redemption, trust, and the rekindling of the Spring Court’s fading splendour.

In the gentle embrace of dusk, amidst the fading hues of twilight, Aelia took a resolute step forward, her heart resonating with the weight of responsibility, determination, and an unyielding sense of belonging. With each deliberate stride, she traversed the grounds of Rosehall - a sanctuary that had become, over the span of a year, more than just a mere abode; it had transformed into her haven, her cherished refuge within the embrace of the Spring Court's verdant embrace.

For Aelia, the Spring Court was not merely a dwelling; it was a repository of memories woven into the fabric of her being, a sanctuary that offered solace, purpose, and a sense of belonging - something the distant and elusive Night Court could never provide.

In her wake, Tamlin followed - a silent shadow amid the fading light, a figure wrought with uncertainty and hesitation. His careful steps echoed the weight of his emotions, a tapestry woven with threads of caution, insecurity, and the lingering spectres of a court ravaged by the tempestuous actions of the past.

As Tamlin trailed behind her, his conflicted emotions swirling like a tempest within, the sight that greeted him - the remnants of his once majestic court, scarred and marred by Feyre's devastating actions - stirred a maelstrom of rage, anger, and the profound ache of disappointment. The wounds inflicted upon his beloved domain were a testament to a past fraught with turmoil and shattered trust, a legacy he struggled to reconcile with the hopes of restoration.

Aelia, attuned to the tumult roiling within Tamlin's conflicted soul, sensed the tempest brewing just beneath the surface. As she felt the weight of his emotions, a torrent of unspoken turmoil threatening to engulf them both, she halted her steps, turning to face the tormented High Lord.

"I am here," she declared, her voice a steadfast beacon amid the brewing storm of emotions. With an outstretched hand, she bridged the gap between them, intertwining her fingers with his - a gesture laden with reassurance, solidarity, and a shared determination to navigate the daunting path of rebuilding what had been torn asunder.

In that poignant moment, amidst the ruins of Rosehall and the fading light of day, Aelia's gesture spoke volumes - a promise of unwavering support, an unspoken pledge to stand shoulder to shoulder with Tamlin in the endeavour to breathe life anew into their shared home.

With her hand clasped firmly in his, Aelia led the way - a silent procession towards a future forged in resilience and hope, their footsteps resonating with the unspoken promise of unity, redemption, and the indomitable spirit that sought to reclaim the faded glory of the Spring Court.

#tamlin acotar #tamlin x oc #tamlin fanfic #tamlin x aelia #pro tamlin #tamlin deserves love #tamlin deserves better #acotar #sjmass #sjm fic #anti feyre #anti inner circle #anti rhysand #anti night court #tamlin is a cinnamon roll

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rp-partnerfinder · 19 days

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ACOTAR

in search of discord rpers (18+) down for ocxcanon interactions. Down to double! Prefer a few paragraphs but I’m not a stickler for length. Been roleplaying for 17 years. When doubling I don’t mind writing any pairing/genders Like this post or shoot me a DM and we can chat!

I'm looking specifically for Lucien or Tamlin (18+) from ACOTAR (A Court of Thorns and Roses) on my end but I'm happy to double up as any of the bat boys, Lucien, Eris Etc. Haven't tried the females but would be happy to try! Like this or dm me and Ill find you (If this is duplicate in the ask box just delete!) Also making it through Throne of Glass slowly if someone from there interested someone!

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suckerpunchfemale · 2 years

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So, I wrote a really cool Tamlin Healing Arc FF (we explore the Spring Court, Tamlin gets to heal, little bit of calling Feysand out, everyone gets last names and backstories etc etc) and I've been uploading the chapters to Wattpad. But I recently noticed that Wattpad forces you to create an account to read the story.

To make it more accessible, once I've fully uploaded the story (about ten more chapters), I'll upload it to Tumblr too (daily chapters again).

It's really good and I really really want you all to read it!!

#pro tamlin healing arc #tamlin acotar #pro tamlin #tamlin #because if everyone else gets to heal from their past trauma so does he dammit #tamlin x oc #hyacinth #lameezireal

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thisblogisaboutabook · 14 days

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Spring Fever

Tamlin x Reader - Smut - Angst - Fluff

After an outburst directed toward an unwanted visitor, a resident of Tamlin’s manor prepares to face the consequences of her actions but the High Lord has something else in mind.

warnings: smut, language

Moonlight and night air filtered through the edges of the pastel velvet curtains as the beat of my racing heart overtook the silence of my bedchamber. Seated at the edge of the large four-poster bed in my now permanent room, I took steadying breaths. In. Hold. Out. Hold. Repeat.

Who was I to have shown anything less than reverence to the High Lord of the Night Court? To his credit - in his own fucked up way - he’d tried to help Tam out of the stupor he’d spent years in but the male had been through so much already. How could the face of the mate of the love of his life bring any peace to his already broken soul?

These visits always ruined what small progress Tamlin had made. I tried to remain calm but damn it - Tamlin had finally stopped curling up outside of my door at night, on alert for any hidden threats. He’d given me a genuine smile on a stroll through the gardens just this morning. He’d even cooked this evening. Yes, a simple meal of roast venison and root vegetables, but a meal nevertheless. He was making progress and as if he sensed it, Rhysand showed up to “check in” on Tamlin right after dinner.

And just like that, Tamlin’s demeanor crumpled. I couldn’t take it anymore, the irreverence toward my mate’s own trauma. My temper rose to a point of no return, pouring out as spewed vitriol very unbecoming of a lady in the manor of a High Lord.

To his credit, Rhysand only eyed me with intrigue and didn’t mist me on the spot after I suggested he take his “good intentions” and shove them up his ass and showed him the door.

Tamlin only eyed me with an unreadable expression and requested that I stay behind while he escorted the Night Court’s High Lord from the estate.

Deciding against pressing my luck further I exited the foyer and saw myself to my chambers where I now sat waiting for the inevitable lecture, hell, maybe he’d kick me out. I only lived here out of his generosity. His tolerance of me certainly spurred on by the unaccepted mating bond that snapped when the magic chose me on Calanmai.

Two lonely souls bound together by fate.

We’d spent the past ten months living in companionable silence, both healing from the wounds our souls bore. And now, I’d likely torn down the careful progress we’d built brick-by-brick in one fell swoop.

The creak of my door withdrew me from my self-loathing retrospection and the quiet thud of boots crossing the wooden floors grew louder with each step in my direction. I didn’t look up. Couldn’t face him. Didn’t need to as the tension between us laid it all out clearly.

He’d never laid an ill-intentioned hand on me, we rarely even touched. Calanmai was a one-time thing. We’d brushed hands a time or two at the dinner table, he’d caught me as I stumbled in the garden once. I almost - almost - flinched as my High Lord’s hand came into my peripheral but all I was met with was a broad, gentle palm to the nape of my neck and the soft caress of a thumb running along my jaw line. I looked to him with furrowed brows, eyes lining with silver as I awaited whatever came next, but all I was met with were deep green eyes filled with anything but rage.

I averted my gaze as he fell to a knee in front of me. “Look at me, dove.” his typically gruff voice softer than I’d ever heard.

He waited patiently before I turned my head to look upon him once more. His eyes bore into mine, searing right into the depths of my soul. I could feel my heart hammering as his breaths grew rapid.

“You-“ he spoke, one large hand remained caressing my jaw as the other covered my own hands, folded in my lap. “You defended me.”

I puzzled. Was that a shock to him?

His emerald gaze flicked back and forth while remaining locked on my face, searching for an answer to an unspoken question. Why?

Withdrawing one of my hands from his grasp and resting it delicately upon his muscled chest, I replied definitively, “Because you’re mine.”

His breathing paused, rose lips pressing into a firm line. Processing. The silence between us pressing into me like a blade.

His voice cracked with his next words. “You want me?”

“I have since your eyes found mine on fire night.”

Before I could shift, or speak further, his lips were crashing into me like the violent swell of a storm falling upon rocky shores.

My lips gaped, breath hitching at his response, the desire I’d shoved deep within me pouring out at once as I opened for him, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, dancing along mine. A small, involuntary whimper escaped me as he lifted off of his knee, leaning over me as I slid back deeper onto the bed, careful not to let my lips leave his for even a moment - eliciting a groan from Tamlin.

My finger tangled into his long, blonde hair as he braced his weight over me with one arm, his other holding my hip, thumb running over the silk of my cherry blossom dress.

“You’re mine.” I rasped out in a hushed murmur between our shared breaths, pulling away just enough to look into the eyes of my mate again.

My chest heaved, breasts rising and falling with each gasp. I managed another whisper, “You’re mine, Tam.”

With those words, he lost any semblance of control. His fingers tugged my hair, exposing the column of my neck to him. His soft lips pressed heated kisses along my jawline, down to my neck, giving little nips and licks over the corresponding hurt as he went. “You’re mine.” He growled back, possessiveness overtaking his tone.

All I could manage was an “mmhmm” as he pulled the neckline of my dress down, exposing my breasts to him, his lips latched onto a peaked nipple and gods - the mouth on this male. As he licked and sucked on my breasts, jolts of electricity shot through me, straight to my core. I needed him lower and he knew it. His claws unsheathed, shredding through my dress and undergarments. I shivered as his stubble grazed my abdomen with each kiss tracking lower and lower. So close to where I needed him. My legs fell open in invitation, displaying the dripping need he elicited from me. His pupils blew wide as he took in the sight before him, realization of just how desperately I wanted him activating the most primal facets of the mating bond.

He pulled back, eyes boring into mine once more. “Say it, Y/N.”

My heart nearly shattered at the pleading expression of his features. This was real. My desire for him so tangible that he need only run a finger up my center to remind himself. But this was deeper than that, deeper than just want, deeper than mere lust.

“Tamlin.” I whispered.

“I’m yours. All of me.”

And I could have sworn the slightest hint of silver lined my mate’s thick lashes as he let loose that final reign of restraint.

His mouth latched onto my clit. A male starved. Starved for affection, starved for intimacy, starved for understanding, for love. But I saw him, all of him - and I wasn’t afraid.

His tongue laved against my core, moving with expert precision as he teased my most sensitive nerves, swirling around my clit before lowering to my entrance. He groaned like my essence was the sweetest nectar of any flora in his court and I couldn’t hold back the moans and praises spilling from my lips.

A thick finger plunged into me, curling so deliciously as he sucked my throbbing clit. He’d send me over the edge in no time. “Please.” I begged as the imminent release had me on the edge of a precipice.

I whimpered as he pulled back, the sharp angles of his chin and plush lips shining with the coat of my arousal. I could have come just from that sight alone. His deep voice sending chills through me as he commanded, “Say it, one more time baby. One more time, and then let go for me.”

His mouth returned to my core, latching back onto that sensitive bundle of nerves as two fingers now curled inside of me, his other hand tweaking a rosey nipple, “I’m yours. I’m yours. Oh gods, Tam. I’m only yours.” I chanted as release barreled through me. My sex pulsing around his fingers. His hips bucking into the bed in time with my orgasm, desperate for friction.

And I was greedy.

“Tamlin.” I spoke through heated breaths. “I need more.”

With a flick of his wrist, his clothes were gone. My jaw dropped when he rose to his knees before me, his erect length already beading with precum.

I licked my lips, raising myself to admire as he gave a few pumps to his heavy, aching cock. My mouth watering with the need to taste him.

He splayed a hand between my breasts, pushing me back into the mattress. “Time for that later. Need my baby coming on my cock.”

“Oh gods.” I moaned at the words, my core was an inferno with them at the realization that my mate needed to be in me just as badly as I needed to be filled by him.

And fill me he did. His head easily slid through my slick folds and I knew that length, and fuck, that girth, would hurt in the most pleasurable of ways.

“All of you.” I whimpered. “I need all of you. Now.”

With that he scooped me up, spreading my legs to straddle his hips. He braced his weight on his arms behind him, his muscles flexing with the shift, and crossing his legs, spreading my legs further across him.

“Take what you want.” He commanded.

And I realized then that he wanted me to set the pace, that he’d never risk hurting me. Especially since it had been so long since we’d been together.

I aligned his length to my entrance, locking my gaze onto him, admiring the planes of his gorgeous face before meeting the sea of emerald taking in each micro-expression of my own face.

“Yours.” I spoke boldly, and sank down each thick inch of his cock until I was seated to the hilt. The pleasure quickly overtaking any semblance of pain.

Chills spread through me at the loud growl of satisfaction he let out at the sensation of my cunt gripping all of him. I remained pressed down, gently swiveling my hips to adjust to his size, and pressing a hand to the slight bulge his length created in my belly.

“Fuck.” I whimpered. “You’re so- oh - you feel so…” my brain couldn’t formulate any words beyond that as another gasp escaped my lips as I rose up slowly and sank back down again, moaning in pleasure with each stroke of his length within me.

My arms wrapped around his shoulders as he shifted up, easing the weight off his arms and taking over, lifting my hips and sheathing me back down his cock, over and over, harder and harder, my heavy breasts bouncing in time with the pace. The sounds of my wetness gushing with each thrust was obscene. Removing one hand from my hip, he slid it between us and pressed his thumb to my clit. Within seconds I fell over the edge again, my face falling to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, incoherent babbles pouring from me, muffled by his neck.

“Gods” thrust. “You’re” thrust. “Divine.” He thrust my still fluttering pussy down onto him once more and let out a loud groan as he found his release, the pulsing of his cock as he spilled into me threatened to push me over the edge once more.

Our breathing evened out as he remained sheathed within me. I kept my face buried into his neck, refusing to let this moment of bliss end. My mate had yet to loosen his grasp on me, so we stayed like that, reveling in the feel of skin on skin for some time.

Finally I rose off of him, though he was hesitant to loosen his grip. “Stay with me tonight?” I asked hesitantly. Afraid he’d once again retreat to his chambers or to the hallway outside of my door.

Tamlin laid down pulling me onto his chest, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Every night.” He spoke into my hair.

“Every night.” I hummed in agreement.

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General ACOTAR list: @lilah-asteria

@tamlinweek - tagging you for Day 3 “mates” but not sure if it counts since I posted this on Sunday. This is my first of any “weeks” I’ve participated in 🥰

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miitgaanar · 1 year

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@soartfullydone asked: You/Tamlin: a kiss after one muse has killed for the other

This turned out to be MUCH LONGER and more involved than I intended. Oops. So it gets its own post lmao

***

The halls of the Spring Court were still and quiet. Almost desolate, as they were wont to be as of late. The quiet chatter of the guards no longer echoed the halls, the brilliant birdsong muffled to distant musical notes on the breeze, the vibrant colors of spring that once sparkled in the sunlight dulled to muted shades of green and pink and blue.

Life itself seemed to have been leached from his home, leaving Tamlin bereft of the usual comforts that helped to quell the racing thoughts overtaking his mind. He was alone, isolated, even—though he knew this to not truly be the case.

Tamlin stood facing the windows of his study, the ever-present cool breeze of his court drifting gently through the curtains, making the translucent fabric dance to a song he could no longer hear. A lock of hair fell out of place, displaced by an especially strong gust. He quickly reached up to tuck it back behind his rounded, mortal ears, unable to bear the sight of the now dull, near caramel shade of his once golden hair.

It had been months since Eris had stripped him of his immortality in exchange for Cassandra’s life, and yet, above all else, it was the quiet that left him the most unsettled. He felt both blind and deaf to the world around him, vulnerable in a way he never thought possible. He knew his guards still roamed the grounds, chatting idly as they went about their rounds; he knew the birds still sang, cheerful and careless as ever; and he knew that his court remained vibrant and bright, the magic that sustained it holding fast despite his folly.

He was the one who was different, he was the one who had freely handed over his immortality—relinquished the magic that came with being the High Lord of Spring—and left his court leaderless and defenseless.

Tamlin sighed heavily, his hazel eyes staring out at the manor grounds unseeing. It was bad enough that his people were left without a High Lord, but those closest to him now had to take on the burden of ensuring the Spring Court did not suffer any more than was necessary. Lucien had stepped in to share the burden of leadership, hopeful that at least the presence of a High Fae would help to deter Eris from launching his invasion just yet, as well as quell the unease that rippled through his subjects. Elizabeth was hard at work searching through their oldest texts for a way to reverse Eris’ spell, determined in her entirely human way to unearth the secrets of the old, dark magics Eris had utilized.

And Cassandra…

A sharp pain wound through his chest, tightening like a noose around his newly human heart. He had sworn that he would protect her, that she would be safe in his lands from any and all who would seek to use her powers. He had failed her, completely and utterly, and Eris had used her to usurp his father, to draw Tamlin out of the confines of his court and into the land of eternal Fall.

And then Eris had killed her, and in his desperation and rage and grief, Tamlin had paid the ultimate price to bring her back. Just as the son of Autumn had wanted.

Another sigh escaped him, his hand flexing out of habit as the embers of his rage sought an outlet. Claws no longer lingered beneath his flesh, ready to rip into the nearest threat and rend skin from bone. Instead, his nails were now short and fragile, all in various states of broken and chipped.

He scoffed softly. Useless. Even as an immortal and powerful High Lord, he had been unable to protect the woman he loved, what could he possibly do now to protect her from the other High Lords? Rhysand remained only too quiet, sequestered in the north where Tamlin’s scouts were unable to reach. And Tamlin could not rely on the other seasonal courts to stand by him, not with Autumn’s open declaration of war.

He had failed his siren, his people. And they now stood alone against the might of whatever court decided to move against them first.

Tamlin finally moved from the window, the joints in his knees cracking from being locked in place for too long. He frowned, but tried not to dwell on it. He didn’t need another reason to despise his newly mortal existence.

The floorboards were quiet beneath his boots as he left his study, though he knew anyone nearby likely heard each step as clearly as if he stomped on the aged wood. He hated being unaware of his own presence, unable to tell what was truly inaudible and what was as loud as the crash of thunder. He was a hunter by nature, and yet he now walked through these fae lands as their chosen prey.

The halls were mercifully empty as he wandered aimlessly, his eyes downcast. He couldn’t stomach how the manor’s staff would pointedly avoid his gaze as they went about their duties, choosing instead to offer him a cursory bow before returning to the task at hand. It broke something in him each time, and a part of him knew that it was pity that left them unable to meet his eyes as they passed. He wished that they hated him, wished they cursed his name and his mortal existence. He deserved it, after all. He had failed them as surely as he had failed Cassandra.

But pity? To know they pitied him and his shortened life was a worse fate than death. Eris knew that, and had likely hoped for it.

Tamlin turned a corner, his eyes catching on the faint flutter of a cloak at the end of the hall before it disappeared around the bend. He raised a single eyebrow, a frown pulling at his lips. It could have been a shadow—his eyes played many a trick on him these days, seeing things in darkened corners that simply weren’t there—but the sun was bright today, and the shadows were few.

He followed on silent feet—or at least what he deemed silent—avoiding what floorboards he knew creaked at the faintest application of pressure. He reached the end of the hall, unsurprised to find no one there. He paused for a brief moment, listening.

Nothing.

Tamlin straightened, a frustrated scowl pulling at his lips. He was acting like a fool, prowling through his own manor like a thief in the night, intent on catching prey that did not exist. That hunter’s instinct he had prided himself on seemed to have left him utterly. What use would he be in battle if he was reduced to chasing shadows and phantoms through the halls of his home?

He was about to turn back the way he had come, despondent and dispirited, when there came the soft creak of a door being opened from somewhere behind him. He spun around, prepared to see one of the maids exiting a guest room with linens to be laundered, only to see a fae he decidedly did not know slip through the doorway and lock eyes with him.

The fae had the appearance of a bat, with a pushed in, flat nose and short snout that revealed rows of sharp, needle-like teeth, but stood tall and hulking, rivaling even that of Tamlin’s build.

With a flap of his great, black wings, the beast rushed Tamlin.

Instincts that Tamlin had feared left him kicked in, and he dropped into a roll, barely dodging the creature. The fae shrieked in frustration, pulling a long blade from a sheath at his side.

“I was sent to find the siren,” the fae hissed, “but the fallen son of Spring will do.”

The creature swung his blade, his movements almost too fast for Tamlin to follow. He managed to duck the first swing, but the fae fluidly transitioned into the second, and cut upward from the hip. Tamlin stumbled back, but the tip of the blade pierced the flesh of his stomach, cutting a long line from the center of his abdomen nearly up to his right shoulder.

A pained yell was ripped from his throat as he fell back onto the plush, forest green carpeting that lined the hall. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and he struggled to take in air as he attempted to push himself back to his feet. Searing agony ripped through him at the slightest movement and his arm collapsed beneath his weight, leaving him broken and bleeding upon the floor as he stared up at his attacker.

“Rhysand has yet to make his move,” the fae spat as he advanced, those bat-like features pulled into what Tamlin could only assume was a derisive sneer. “But Eris grows impatient, and seeks to hasten the pieces on the board. The siren behind the Night Court’s borders would do nicely.”

Horror flooded Tamlin, his blood turning to ice in his veins. No. Not again. Not now. Not after everything he had done to get her back, to bring her back.

Please, no.

The fae raised his blade, those sharp teeth glinting in the afternoon sunlight, as he made to finish off the disgraced and forgotten High Lord of Spring.

“Tamlin!”

A voice broke the heavy silence, and both Tamlin and his attacker looked to the end of the hall. Cassandra stood there, a gown of the deepest ocean blue pooling around her feet, her burgundy hair a wild halo around her pale face, her brilliant green eyes widened in horror.

The fae turned from his prey to face Cassandra, and the blood drained from Tamlin’s face.

“Run!” he cried out, his voice cracking as desperation flooded him.

The intruder twirled his blade, fully intent on his new mark, and Tamlin struggled to get to his feet once again. Pain lanced through him, his blood pooling beneath him at an alarming rate, and he fell back to the floor in a heap.

No. No, no, no, no…

Tamlin looked towards Cassandra once more. She had not moved, her eyes rapidly flickering between himself and the monstrous fae that now advanced on her. Why wouldn’t she run? Why was she still here?

“Cassandra, go!” he tried once more, but she remained rooted in place. She did not move an inch, simply holding her ground.

He thought it to be shock, the horror of the scene keeping her locked in place, but then he saw her eyes, and he realized that the horror he had seen in them had fled. In its place, a fiery anger he had seldom seen in his wild halfling had taken root.

She breathed deep, her features a mask of deceptive calm, like a sea in the moments before a raging storm.

She opened her mouth, and a voice of the most ethereal nature filled the halls of Spring.

Tamlin froze, watching, distantly noting that their attacker had also stopped in his tracks. It was difficult to focus, to keep a hold of himself, but through the haze of her song, he watched as the fae dropped his blade, seemingly in a daze.

Cassandra continued with her song, keeping the fae under her thrall. Each note seemed to echo eternally, evoking images of lone ships lost at sea, seeking safe harbor from the crashing waves. He watched as she walked forward, approaching the bat-like fae, and bent to pick up his discarded weapon. It seemed so much larger in her hands, so out of place.

And without once pausing in her continuous, haunting melody, she lifted the blade, and slit the fae’s throat.

The intruder fell to the ground with a dull, wet thud, his head only just barely still attached to his body, and the song abruptly ended.

“Tamlin!” Cassandra was suddenly at his side, her green eyes wide with panic, her skin spattered with fresh blood. “Tamlin, look at me. Hey. You’re okay. Just hang in there.” She ripped off a piece of her lovely blue gown, the fabric already bloodstained and ruined, and pressed it to his wound.

His eyes drifted to the now dead fae and the still growing pool of blood that ringed his body, before he once again met her gaze.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, his hand weakly lifting to brush the blood from her cheek. He simply succeeded in smearing it, like a macabre imitation of human cosmetics. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Cassandra’s face twisted into a look of utter befuddlement. “What? Why?”

“I should have protected you,” he said softly, each word laced with grief. “I promised to protect you.”

Her confusion morphed into a grief of her own, and she shook her head. “I’m only here because of you,” she said. She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his. It was a gentle kiss, one born of a quiet promise whispered into the dark. As she pulled away, she pressed her forehead to his own, looking into his dull, hazel eyes without hesitation. “It’s my turn to return the favor.”

#a court of thorns and roses #tamlin #acotar #tamlin x oc #soartfullydone #otp: the songs the siren sang #writings from Mandalore #writing prompts #AU: Fae Court Book

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nocasdatsgay · 13 days

Text

From the Heart: a spring time affairs fic

For @tamlinweek day 2 poet

Pairings: Tamlin/OC/Lucien/Elain (implied)

Rating: T | Word Count: 1012 | Masterlist | AO3 Link

Summary: Ez asks Tamlin about the poems he wrote for Flora during their courtship.

Warnings: implied polycule, OC/Lucien implied interruption of fun time, bad poetry, a child, crude humor

A/N: okay I swear I’m done and taking a break now 🫣😅 also Tamlin’s limericks are corny. Just be aware 😂 also if this doesn’t meet the rules I can remove the tags

Once Ez got older, every weekend Tamlin made a point to spend time with him. They were in the library that particular afternoon. Tamlin was reading and Ez had been too before he abandoned his book for coloring pens. It was silent save for the clock ticking. Until Ez looked up from his paper.

“Papa, is it true you wrote poems for mama?”

Tamlin looked up from his book. He narrowed his gaze at his son's innocent face.

“And who told you that?”

“Lu said you wrote poems for mama. Before you married. He said you didn’t know how to flirt so you put your feelings on paper.”

Tamlin was going to murder Lucien. “Yes, Ez. I wrote poems for your mother.” He ignored the flirting remark for now.

“Can I read them?” His son's eyes were wide with excitement.

“I’d have to find them.”

A lie. Tamlin panicked internally, again cursing Lucien. His poems- limericks really, were silly and crude. They also had topics his son was not old enough to be reading about. Or ever considering they were to his mother. The one Tamlin wrote about Flora’s breasts came to mind. His cheeks heated but his son didn’t seem to notice.

“Maybe mama has them!” Ez gasped. “I’ll go ask.”

“No.” Tamlin stood from his chair. His son froze in place. “I mean mama is busy. We can ask her at dinner. It’ll be. Surprise.”

That seemed to do it.

“Okay papa.” And Ez went back to coloring.

Tamlin needed to find his wife and warn her. He closed his book and stood from his chair.

“I’ll be right back. You keep drawing and you can show me your progress when I return.”

Ez nodded, not looking up from his paper. With that Tamlin left the library. He knew exactly where Flora was and hopefully he was about to kill two birds with one stone. He went through the old nursery and knocked on the door that joined their rooms. He didn’t wait for a reply, using his magic to unlock the door. Sure enough Flora was pulling the sheet up on her body and Lucien was doing the same with the duvet.

“Gods Tam, I thought you were Ez.” Flora let out a sigh of relief.

“Lucien,” Tamlin glared at him. “Why did you tell our son I wrote his mother poems?” Lucien fell back on the pillows laughing. “This is not funny. He’s asking to see them.”

“Oh no.” Flora’s eyes went wide.

“Exactly!” Tamlin put his hands on his hips. “He’s going to ask you at dinner to get them.”

“He asked me what I was doing yesterday and I told him I was writing poems,” Lucien was still laughing. “He asked what those were and I said it was what you used to court your wife with.”

Flora kicked her foot under the blanket. “I liked those poems thank you very much.”

“You’re both forgetting how inappropriate they are. And not for our son to see.” Tamlin huffed, brushing back his long hair nervously.

“Well, not all of them were inappropriate.” Flora let the sheet fall while she thought. “I can find a few clean ones and show them.”

“I would rather you didn’t.”

Lucien sat up still grinning after he finally stopped laughing. “Tam, what’s the worst that could happen?”

As it turned out, the worst that could happen was Ez having an honest tongue like Lucien. At dinner, Flora handed him two of the tamest poems. Ez looked at the first one while he ate, all of them silent while he read.

“Papa, these aren’t good.” Ez furrowed his brows. “You like this, mama?”

The whole table erupted with laughter. Even Tamlin, with his face in his hand, had to laugh. Ez did not take that well. He shrunk into his seat, trying to hide. Elain noticed first, being closest.

“Honey, we’re not laughing at you.” Ez didn’t seem to be buying it. “You said something funny just now that is all.”

“Brutal honesty is the term,” Lucien pointed his fork at Ez. “Always be honest. Cauldron knows your father needs it.”

“For what it’s worth,” Flora grabbed one of the poems, looking it over again. “I like it because it came from the heart. Even if it isn’t the best, it’s still from him. Your papa wrote it for me and I always treasure that. That’s why I kept them, my pumpkin.”

Tamlin took his wife’s hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back at him lovingly.

“Maybe tomorrow,” he turned to their son. “We can go over some poetry books. Look up the rules and both of us take turns writing. You can help me improve.”

The way Ez beamed at him melted his heart and made the mild embarrassment worth it. When Ez looked away, he still shot Lucien a look that said this wasn’t over. Then again, Tamlin realized from the way Lucien grinned back, that was probably his plan all along.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Flora was laughing so hard she was wheezing. After putting Ez to bed, Flora pulled some of the more questionable limericks out.

“Your breasts are the size of a melon. It makes me want to act like a felon,” she couldn’t read the rest from laughing so hard. “I don’t even know what a felon is!”

It was Tamlin’s turn to laugh.

“You didn’t say that when I first gave it to you.” He used his teeth to nip at her ear.

“Our boy was correct to question my judgment. How did I ever read these and think ‘gosh Tamlin is so sexy for writing that’?”

“Is that a challenge wildflower?”

The air in the room changed dramatically, both of their scents sweetening as they looked each other in the eyes.

Tamlin chuckled again. “You question my methods yet I can smell you just like the day I gave it to you.”

“That’s because it’s you, love,” she replied, tapping his nose with her index finger.

The limericks and poems were quickly abandoned to the floor shortly after.

#tamlinweek2024 #tamlinweek2024 d2 #tamlin #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #oc flora #tamlin x oc #Tamlin’s kid #Lucien stays stressing this man out #bad poetry

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fieldofdaisiies · 14 days

Text

There's blood on the side of the mountainT here's writing all over the wall Shadows of us are still dancin' In every room and every hall

The bright green has long faded, the spark has long extinguished, his eyes now empty, dull, dead. Deep, blue crescents underline them and tears glisten within them. Pits of brutal, endless cold stare back at him, and somewhere within the icy eternity there is only regret, remorse, and pain.

He grips the sink firmly, knuckles bloody from punching the wall and white from how tightly he is holding on. His whole body trembles, shaking so fiercely he is surprised he hasn’t fallen to the ground yet.

A strangled sob crashes into his ragged breaths, head tipping back, only so the sob can turn into a wail of pure agony and misery. Destruction.

He destroyed it. Her. Feyre. He broke her. Made her leave solely through his actions. She is gone and he lost her. She will never return. And he destroyed himself along with her. His own heart. His own soul. She is gone, and within him there is nothing but agony. Agony and remorse.

Tamlin pushes off the sink, wipes one bloody and wounded hand over his face, brushing back a few strands of damp hair. He leaves the bathroom to return to the place where it happened.

His knees hit the ground first, shards of glass and wood ripping into open wounds that had no chance to ever close, to ever heal.

A cold breeze, like frost and ice against his skin, creeps in through the broken windows, howling as it blows through the empty rooms and hallways. Apart from a few sentries, almost everyone is gone. He is alone. Alone, broken, around him, where there once used to be sunshine and lush, blooming flowers, nothing but endless vastness, demolition and darkness.

Just like within himself. Tamlin knows that there will never be a way back from this. He destroyed it, her and himself, and there will never be happiness within him again, nor within his court. He failed as High Lord, as lover, as male. He failed.

And the consequences…it isn’t hard for him to admit it. He deserves the consequences. For what he has done. And for what happened back then. For what happened to his mate. Reverie. He deserves it all for not stopping what happened to her. For being the reason why she lost her life. He deserves it all. All that is coming for him now, he deserves it. Losing Feyre. He deserves that he lost her. She shouldn’t have ever been bound to him.

He deserves every bad thing, Tamlin thinks, for not being able to protect the few people in his life that ever truly cared about him.

He cries out — not from the physical pain erupting in his knees where now new and old wounds meet, but from the kind of pain that hurts so much worse. The pain that lasts, stays with you, haunts you day and night. It’s emotional pain.

What happened here this day, what happened with Feyre, what he did to Feyre, it all stemmed from panic, from the panic of losing the person he loves. And it brings him right back to that fateful night centuries ago when he lost his everything. When he lost his sense of life, the sole thing that brought him comfort and happiness.

The night that changed everything. The night that made him turn his heart into stone, and the night that wrenched his soul.

“Are you happy now?” Spit drips from the High Lord’s mouth, almost like venomous poison from a viper. “Is this what you wanted?” The High Lord stalks forward, grabbing Tamlin by the collar of his shirt. “Look at me when I am talking to you.”

But Tamlin can’t. He can’t meet his father’s gaze.

The bloody wings on the ground, in the midst of the shards, are the only thing he can focus on. And the light within his chest, or rather, the absence of it. The light that has been extinguished. The light that no longer is. The feeling is dead and what is left within his soul is nothing but a deep, endless void – cold and dark. The bond is gone. Dead. And will never return.

Tamlin knew the moment his heart was shredded into pieces. When he could feel her pain through the bond. When he could hear her wail in his mind. Her sobs. Her cries. His father, knowing about their mental bridge, had made him feel everything. Made him see it all. Everything he did to her. He knew she was going to die that night. He knew she was dead by the time he arrived.

Tamlin’s vision is blurry with old and new tears, his body shaking so hard he is no longer sure he is sitting. Maybe he is floating. Falling. Landing hard, but it doesn’t matter. No pain will ever compare to what it means when your mate dies.

“You brought this upon her.” The High Lord smirks and grabs Tamlin’s chin. “Mingling with the rival court. Wasn’t your silly little friendship with Rhysand enough?” His thumb presses down on his son’s chin, adding just enough pressure to make it painful for Tamlin while their eyes stay locked. “No, you had to fuck his little sister as well. My son, the traitor. Scum.”

With a harsh shove to his shoulder, the High Lord steps away. “Clean that up. All of it.”

Tamlin doesn’t remember if he nodded. If he said something. There is only the flaring, hot pain deep within his chest, spreading like a rapid, burning fire, lava blazing through his veins.

She is gone. Reverie is dead. His mate is gone. Was killed. Was murdered by his own father.

And with her, the bond died as well, leaving him utterly empty.

tags: @thesnugglingduck @sirenpearldust the song is by Olivia Rodrigo

#tamlin x oc #tamlin acotar #acotar #acosf

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