Oleg Leus

Thank you all for your submissions for your favorite Tamlin creators! In the lead up to Tamlin Week (which will be held June 18-24, click here for prompts and rules!) we wanted to take a minute to highlight the amazing artists who have made Tamlin art in the past. Image IDs are in the alt text. In no particular order, we have:

@mossytrashcan

link to art here, be sure to like and reblog!

"i love them your honor."

@ghostofadragon

link to art here, be sure to like and reblog!

"All their beast Tamlin art is AMAZING !!"

@olegleus

link to art here, be sure to like and reblog!

"They make Tamlin look so soft, highlighting his more sensitive side. He may be a beast some of the time, but in this piece in particular, you can see that this is the sort of guy who writes poetry and plays the violin."

@the-beautiful-darkness-art

link to art here, be sure to like and reblog!

25. “It upset you, didn’t it?”

The warm wind was a gentle caress against Feyre's skin, carrying the fresh scent of grass and roses. Lying against one of the willow trees in the middle of Rosehall's sprawling gardens, she could almost forget the humiliation she'd endured during her first meeting with Tamlin's cabinet.

Most of his courtiers were happy to meet and welcome the Cursebreaker to their lands, short of a male advisor who's calculating blue eyes betrayed his age much more than his ever youthful face did. His curt "hello" was, perhaps, the best warning she'd had that he didn't share the other's respect for her, but Feyre had ignored it at first. But now...

Feyre heard heavy bootsteps on the gravel paths winding through the rose gardens, but didn't bother looking away from the willow tree that sheltered her until the visitor stood before her, a frown gracing his features. "It upset you, didn't it?"

Feyre tore her eyes away from the tree just for a moment to meet her lover's sharp green eyes, swimming with the same upset she felt, before looking away again. Tamlin's advisor had been right. She was an embarrassment to him.

But her refusal to answer didn't make Tamlin leave, nor discourage him from kneeling before her and taking her face in his hands. "I'm sorry, Feyre. Bastian has been a thorn in my side for centuries, and he has always made a point of..." Tamlin shook his head. "He was one of the few courtiers of my father who remained when I became High Lord, out of some... loyalty, I suppose, to the court, hoping he could guide me into being the same kind of High Lord he was. Just as unyielding. And just cruel. So Bastian has always been quick to criticize my defects, perceived weaknesses that he felt undermined my rule."

Then Tamlin tilted Feyre's head, and kissed her forehead. "But you are not one of them, and your illiteracy is not an embarrassment. For all he complained about your performance during the second trial, Bastian seems to have forgotten that you bested Amarantha, illiteracy or not."

Suppressing an instinctive shudder at that name, Feyre traced the contours of Tamlin's face, brushing his hair away from his eyes. Tamlin's words were a balm, but... there was a hint of glaring truth to Bastian's criticisms. With a sigh, Feyre leaned into his touch. "Bastian is right. I do need to learn. Preferably before we meet again."

"He is not, and never has been, right. And I dismissed him from among my council before coming to find you. You probably won't be meeting anytime soon." At her raised brow, Tamlin added, "I've been needing to get rid of him for a while. But dismissing the last of my father's advisors would have been political suicide without good enough reason. And insulting Prythian's Cursebreaker is more than good enough a reason."

Feyre snorted. "I am no one important."

"You freed us all, Feyre. You are important to the people. And to me. If Bastian wished to retain his job he should have respected you as the rest of us do."

"Your people give me more than basic respect, Tamlin. It's... excessive. They treat me like a goddess."

Tamlin smiled. "As they should."

Feyre rolled her eyes, even as she dragged him into her lap. "You're insufferable."

"I'm not insufferable, I'm Tamlin."

That made Feyre tilt back her head and laugh for the first time that day. Then, leaning over him, she kissed his forehead, as he had done hers. "Your attempt to distract and cheer me up was very obvious. But appreciated."

Tamlin chuckled. "I love you, Feyre."

"And I love you, Tam."

4. “Would you like a hug?”

27. “You’re always safe with me, love.”

28. “Nightmares again?”

I think it could be very cute ☺️

Feyre startled awake, sweat dripping down her brow as her body reeled from yet another nightmare. It'd been her second trial, this time--except that she'd failed the riddle and the spikes had impaled her, slowly and painfully entering her stomach, giving her just long enough to look over and see Lucien's head split open before she was finished off. Or would have been, had she not awoken.

Feyre kicked off the covers and walked towards the door to Tamlin's bedroom--their bedroom--but was stopped by a voice from behind her.

"Feyre?" Tamlin said, though he only managed the 'fey' part of her name before yawning.

Feyre tried to smile, but couldn't. Not right now.

"Nightmares again?" Tamlin tried.

"Unfortunately," Feyre said, wrapping her nightgown tighter around her person. She didn't feel like talking, right now. She just wanted to be left alone.

And perhaps Tamlin understood, because after a long moment of silence, her High Lord stood up, slowly walking forward with his arms raised. "Would you like a hug?"

To her own surprise, Feyre found herself nodding and stepping into his arms, appreciating his embrace. Maybe... maybe this was preferable to roaming the manor alone, running from the nightmares that haunted her sleep.

No more words were exchanged between them, but Tamlin did end up guiding her back to bed, keeping her cradled in his arms all the while.

At long last, as they remained curled up against each other, sleep finally began to ebb into Feyre's mind again. But as consciousness began to leave her, she heard her beau speak one final time. "You're always safe with me, love."

And she believed him. And for the first night in the month since returning from Amarantha, Feyre's sleep was peaceful.

38. “You’re doing great.  I’m proud of you.”

Learning to swordfight was absolutely grueling, not least of all because Tamlin and Lucien both had centuries of experience, and Feyre herself had none.

Feyre stepped back after Tamlin bested her yet again, exhausted and fed up with being beaten. Cauldron knew she loved Tamlin, but... a tiny, teeny-tiny part of her wanted to grab her bow and shoot him. Just to make things a little more even.

Feyre threw her sword aside with a huff and sat on the ground, irritation simmering beneath her skin.

In front of her, the offending High Lord was doing a horrible job of suppressing a smile, and instead he stepped forward and kneeled before her, tucking a tuft of hair behind her ear.

"Don't be mad," he teased, still struggling to keep the laughter out of his voice.

Feyre crossed her arms. "Easy for you to say. You've had centuries to master swordfighting. It's really not fair."

"And you'll have centuries, too. You don't have to push yourself so hard, Feyre."

"I want to be prepared for anything, to fight any way I can, and not be captured so easily like I was Under the Mountain." Feyre sighed. "But I guess that's going to take much longer than I thought."

Tamlin's eyes softened, and he reached forward and kissed her forehead. “You're a fast learner, Feyre, already mastering so much more than I or Lucien would've thought. You’re doing great.  I’m proud of you. And I love you.”

Something in Feyre warmed at the sentiment, and she leaned into his kiss for a moment. But after a moment, Feyre pulled back and mumbled, "If you really loved me, you'd let me win."

And Tamlin's responding laugh was well worth every single one of the swordfights she'd lost.

this fan fiction contains mature content [ smut ] & is therefore not suitable for young readers !

I bolted upstairs, fleeing from what had previously happened in the dining room. Not feeling ready to press Lucien or Tamlin about any of the knowledge Rhysand had shared. I shuddered as I felt a phantom claw scrape against my mind. Heart jumping to a race as my knees buck beneath my weight. It takes every ounce of will to close my eyes; forcing myself to focus on my breathing as I frantically chant: it is not real. Rhysand is gone. I am safe.

Once my panic has passed I head toward my bed. I don’t bother changing clothes before creeping under the covers; pulling them all the way up over my head. Sleep. I need sleep. Every muscle and bone yearning for it. The warm covers offer me comfort, their softness coaxing me to close my eyes and let sleep pull me under.

I can sense Tamlin before hearing the door creak open. I pull the covers down, peeking up from beneath them. Finding myself in a sort of sleepy daze. I blink a few times, forcing myself to focus my gaze ahead of me. Tamlin stands in the doorway, his power oozing off him in waves.

"Is it true?" My brows furrow in response. "Is what true?" I counter. "What Rhysand said", his voice steady, gaze fixed solely on me. I am unable to suppress a snort "You seem to forget I have no knowledge of the faerie politics at play within Prythian".

"Not that part". His lips press into a straight line. I fail to realise that he carefully watches each of my reactions. A moment of silence follows. Tension building between us as I rack my brain. What does he mean by ‘not that par— A shiver shoots down my spine, heat creeps up my neck and face. Rhysand’s taunting words ring loudly inside my head: "She has the most delicious thoughts about you, Tamlin". "She's wondered about the feeling of your fingers on her thighs—between them, too". I divert my gaze, refusing to look at him.

"Is it true?" he snarls. His movements are swift, far too quick for me to react. My eyes widen. My breathing shallow and quick while I feel my heartbeat beneath my skin. His breath is on me, on my face, his fingers setting my skin aflame where he’s pinned my wrists to either side of my face. "I don't see how that has any relevance", I muster. Trying my very best to shield my feelings and reactions, although the larger part of me knows I am failing miserably. "It has all the relevance, Feyre". Gulping, I don't allow myself to question my next set of words. My lips part in speech. "It is true. I have had such thoughts about you".

A sense of boldness courses through me as I hold his gaze. The streaks of gold and amber reminiscent of flames; burning within the depths of green. My stare averts to his lips and the slight smirk which tugs the corner of his lip upward. "If only you knew how long I've been wanting to hear that, Feyre. To know you crave me, desire me, as much as I do you". Those words alone send a wave of anticipation through me. I hum in relief as his lips meet mine; glad I did not have to beg him to kiss me. His lips are soft: a stark contrast to his tongue as it ravages mine; greedily stroking against my own. Tongues crash and stroke against each other; participating in a passionate, wild, intoxicating dance.

His hands release my wrists, allowing my hands free rein to travel all across his chest; sloppily tugging at his tunic and shirt. His hands were far more skilled as he began to undress me. He tugged down my trousers alongside my undergarments. Fingers ripping my shirt in two before discarding the scraps. Hands moving delicately, teasingly, across my chest; cupping my aching breasts above the final piece of underwear. He removes it in one swift flick. And with that, he had left me me fully bare before him. His lips disconnect from mine, causing a whimper to fall from my kiss swollen lips. This was not enough; it was far too soon for him to pull away. I want more. I need more. His stare sweeps across my naked form. "If you'd allow it, I'd let my hands roam across every inch of you". My tongue semented in my mouth, a second whimper my only response as I look at him pleadingly. Please. Do it. Touch me everywhere. I want you everywhere.

He inches his face closer to mine, his lips ghosting over mine as a gentle whisper falls upon my ears: "as you wish, Feyre". Any heat or warmth left in my face travels down along my chest to my stomach. I squirm, thighs clenching together as I desperate seek a fraction of relief. His lips travel along my jaw, leaving a trail of wetness from the combination of kisses and licks places atop my skin. By now my fingers have found their way to his hair. Slender digits dancing and twirling through the softest of locks. I can’t resist tugging at it. Needing him to know I never want him him to stop.

He continues his path down along the side my neck, his grip on my waist the only thing grounding me. Every fibre of my being seems to buzz with excitement, every cell singing as electricity shoots through me. My blood mingling with lust and pleasure as it rapidly courses through me. He makes his way down between the peak of my breasts, lifting his head slightly. His lips part, tongue running across his teeth. Taunting. He was taunting me. “Do you wish for me to continue?” Tone laced with playfulness.

I bring my hand to his wrist; fingers wrapping around it securely before I guide him down along my stomach. His gaze follows the movement intently, and for a flicker of moment his cheeks seem to flush pink. I rest his hand on the inside of my thigh. The flesh supple and delicate in this area. A purr falls from my lips while I address him “Weren’t you going to grant me the pleasure of feeling your fingers here?” Leaving no room for a reply, I continue to guide his hand along the inside of my leg; leading it directly to the wetness that now resides between either leg. “Or here?” I add, voice breathy. Warmth and slickness greeting his fingers, earning me a snarl. I whimper in delight, happy with his response. The playful glimmer in his eyes become replaced by brightly burning flames. Lust and desire consuming him from within.

Our lips connect once more, his tongue slipping past my lips and into my mouth. Already I’m reaching the point of breaking. My attention drawn to two places at once; his tongue as it twirls with mine and the slow, teasing moves of his strong digits. The latter moving in gentle swirls across my sensitive bead. Another whimper spills from my lips. He’s rendered me a stuttering mess; I struggle to voice my desires. “P-please, do—don’t hold, back”.

“I could never deprive you of such requests”, he growls and I greedily swallow the low rumble of his voice. I jolt as I feel his mouth where I want it most. Lips exactly where I need them. The heat in my stomach grows. I can feel my heartbeat in the same area as Tamlin’s soft lips and tongue—that god damn tongue. It swirls and flickers across my clitoris in ways I could never predict or anticipate. The rhythm fully clouding my judgment as I pleasure bleeds through every inch of me. I bring my thighs up to his head, wrapping them around his neck, fingers burrowing into his scalp as I tug at his hair frantically.

My back arches, shivers lapping across my skin as his fingers thrust into me. I squirm at the sensation, clenching around his fingers. My moans and whimpers earn me a pleased snarl from Tamlin. The heat and pounding between my legs become near impossible to endure. My whole being shudders as I feel the build up; stomach tying into knots upon knots. My vessel and mind diminished to nothing else than the embodiment of pure, raging lust. Like the calm before a storm, I had no way of telling when it would hit me. And so, desires tall waves come crashing down on. Waves beating down quickly, furiously. In turn pulling me down beneath the surface; making me drown in a sea of pleasure.

I can’t tell how long it takes me to return to the present moment. To the soft bed that lay beneath me or the lazy grin plaster across Tamlin’s face. Tongue darting out between his lips as he laps at his fingers. “You taste delicious.“ Heat resurface in my cheeks, my words meek as I struggle to withhold his stare. “I want to pleasure you, too.” “Oh Feyre, if only you knew the amount of pleasure you’ve already granted me.”

Yet he doesn’t refuse my offer as he reaches for me. Strong hands finding my hips, the tips of his fingers pressing into my skin; I secretly hope they leave a mark. I am pulled onto his lap. “You must promise me that we talk later. . . there’s matters of business we need to discuss.” His voice stern as he tries to shield the lust flickering behind his eyes. I press my index finger to his lips. “Later. I promise we will talk about it later. But for now, I only want to think of you, know of you, drown in you”. He nips at my finger. I scowl him which earns me a chuckle before his lips capture mine. I grab onto his clothed chest, giddy butterflies fluttering inside my stomach as I realise: this will indeed be a long night.

Word count :: 327

Chapters :: 1

Rating :: T

Relationships :: Feyre/Tamlin

Characters :: Feyre, Tamlin

Language :: English

Angst: "Don't die on me. Not again."

OR

Fluff: "Where on earth did you find this?"

From this prompt list.

Let's go with angst :)

“He picks me up and walks slowly towards the bed kissing my chest, then moving up my neck until our lips meet. I want to touch every inch of his body, decipher it’s shape, as if it was an archaic artifact that’s never been seen before and this was the first and only chance I had to memorise it, to give it life. By doing this, I’m sealing our essence together in the world of ideas, the world Plato believed to be eternal. And if one day, our lives together cease to exist, I will visit that place and know that the idea of us still remains intact.”

"Forever is a long time. Are you sure you want to spend it with me?"

As Feyre looped her arm through Tamlin’s and rested her head on his shoulder, she let out a long, contented sigh.

The early afternoon sun was warm on her bare feet and shoulders. From their place on a rich purple velvet blanket, they could see the horses dozing beneath the shade trees at the edge of the meadow. A gentle breeze tickled the loose hairs at her neck, and that same breeze made the long grasses ripple like an emerald sea. Wildflowers blossomed in a rainbow around them, birds danced through the air, and somewhere in the distance, a willow nymph sang.

It was days like this that made her forget about the nightmares. She hadn’t been sleeping well lately--neither of them had--but it wasn’t until Tamlin dozed off mid-report that Lucien decided to finally intervene. He made Alis pack a picnic lunch for two and sent them away for a much-needed reprieve.

What with Tamlin’s duties as High Lord and the endless array of guests visiting the manor after being trapped Under the Mountain, the only time Feyre could truly be alone with him was in bed. But even then, their passionate lovemaking could not keep the nightmares at bay.

But here, now, beneath a cloudless sky and surrounded by a vast flowering meadow, there were no shadows. Here, there were no nightmares. It was just her and Tamlin... and a half-drunk bottle of sparkling white wine.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Tamlin set aside the bottle then brushed a kiss against her hair. His cheek came to rest on her head, and as his hand curled around hers, his thumb rubbed the back of her hand. 

The dark tattooed lines seemed to swirl with each gentle rub, and as she closed her eyes, she focused instead on the warmth of Tamlin’s skin and the steadiness of his hand in hers. The High Lord of the Night Court had no power here. The sun was shining, and, if only for an hour or two, all was right with the world.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” she murmured.

Tamlin let out a long sigh of his own. “Forever is a long time,” he replied softly. “Are you sure you want to spend it with me?”

She lifted her head from his shoulder to look into his eyes. Amber flecked and as green as spring itself. 

“I’m sure,” she said, and he smiled. Gods of this world and the next, she would go Under the Mountain a thousand times over for that smile. 

With her free hand, she reached up to trace the faint outline of where his mask used to be. He could have glamoured it away--made his golden skin look whole and perfect--but like many in the Spring Court, he chose to keep it like a badge of honor until it faded on its own.

Her fingers drifted down to the corner of his mouth. “I love you,” she said softly. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it the first time. I hope you never have to wonder if I do...” She let out a shy chuckle and traced his lower lip. “Because I do. Love you, I mean.”

He didn’t answer at first, but instead caught her hand and pressed it to his lips, then did the same with her other--marred--hand. He even let his kiss linger against her tattooed knuckles, and the warmth of it--the ardor--made tears spring to her eyes.

“I love you more than life itself,” he breathed, then lifted his head to look into her eyes. “Will you marry me?”

Her heart leapt to her throat, and time stood still. Even the breeze seemed to hold its breath. “What?”

Keeping her left hand in his, he shifted on the blanket to kneel before her. A High Lord knelt for no one, but here was her High Lord, Tamlin, kneeling for her, and her alone.

“Feyre Archeron,” he began, then his throat bobbed. “Cursebreaker and Savior of the Spring Court, will you do me the honor of... of marrying me?”

She didn’t realize she was staring until he pulled the ring out of his pocket. A perfect golden ring with a brilliant square-cut emerald. It could have been made of wood and her answer would have been the same.

She burst into tears.

“Yes,” she said, grinning even as the tears blurred her vision. She let out a quivery laugh as he slipped the warm metal band over her finger, tattoos and all, where the emerald resembled a seedling growing from the ashes. 

“Yes,” she said again as he cupped her face in his hands and brushed away the tears with his thumbs, smiling through tears of his own.

Oh, I have so many. But my top three, if I had to choose, would be

1- That scene where Feylin was lying under the willow tree when Tamlin opened Feyre's senses to the court

2- When Feyre trapped Tamlin in a snare and started petting his hair after he was caught