I found this sweet video on Tik Tok and I want you guys to feast your eyes on this:
Credits to LilyTea!! Her design for Tamlin is 🔥🔥
And the caption is real as fuck too.
I'M HOPING FOR A HEALING ARC FOR THIS GUY! Getting info from Hybern, fighting against Hybern soldiers to help the others, reviving Rhysand and telling Feyre to be happy is redemption in my eyes. He just needs to heal. To each their own though.
Tamlin getting a mate is fine to me but I want to see him loving himself, being happy with himself even though he doesn't have a lover, rebuilding his court, finding his own found family that could be a mix of faeries and humans (the faeries can be from different courts perhaps and having reasons why they left their original home behind and came to Spring), and being at peace.
One of the few times I see a good take on Tamlin's character on Tik Tok. Here's to one day getting this man to finally heal (and his court too)! 🥂🍻
Listen, man, I've been using thinking about fictional characters and their problems to avoid thinking about The Horrors since I was single digits in age. I have no idea how to start. Nor do I know how to stop. The inside of my head is constant "what ifs". I just made them fun instead of horrifying.
Tags: Smut, Porn with Plot, Vampires, Biting, Food, P in V Sex, Flowery Writing, Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink
When you met Carmy, you first noticed his eyes - an unnatural shade of blue, bright and piercing. His blond hair was perpetually messy and too long for a chef. Upon closer inspection, you realized he was stronger than he looked. He wore all these peculiarities well. He had a sort of timeless beauty, the kind of profile you would find in a neoclassical painting, not an Instagram account. You had told him that last bit when you interviewed him - getting a frown and not much else in return.
You were an emerging food critic, not an investigative journalist, but something about Carmen Berzatto gave you pause. His backstory was fucked up, ages and achievements not lining up correctly. He looked too old at 22 but a little too boyish now at 32. He never ate his own food in public, or any food for that matter, only occasionally indulging in the odd glass of wine. He was shy, withdrawn, hard to pin down...
Which was ironic now that he had you pinned down by the wrists on your bed, his face buried deep in the crook of your neck, breathing you in.
"Delicious," he mumbled.
You hummed, arching your back in delight, trying to get your bodies closer together.
"Are you going to make me beg for it?"
"Maybe," he teased, his hands tracing your sides greedily, then squeezing your ass.
The needy way he was exhaling into your hair let you know you weren't the only one affected.
"What do I smell like?" you asked, your hands carding through his soft hair.
"Sweet," he replied. "Honey, raspberry. Something else... A hint of bitter, almonds maybe, dark chocolate."
You rewarded him with a chaste kiss. "Had some coffee with it too."
"You're spoiling me," he smiled, his teeth eerily white and sharp in the half lit room.
It was an odd arrangement you shared.
After your review, months ago, he had called, making some dumb excuse about needing a fresh palate to taste his new menu. He fed you an incredible dinner, sat in front of you, and then asked detailed questions about it, far beyond your usual feedback. He liked the way you painted pictures with words, he said. Most colleagues looked down on metaphors, describing his broth as an ethereal, pink, seaside afternoon would raise some eyebrows but Carmy seemed to love it. Weeks later, when you knew his secret, he would confide in you: he had forgotten what food tasted like. Lifetimes' worth of cooking knowledge was becoming stale as he grew older and less human.
It all came to a head when you met him for another dinner and started describing your lunch from a few hours ago.
"It was steak with carrots on the side, right? The steak was meh, you know, but the carrots were these, uh, buttery, terracota delicacies. Golden like a sunset, earthy, well rounded..." you explained, knowing by now he liked over the top similes.
You were confused to find a very intense look on his face.
"Want to come over to my apartment?" he rasped.
It was out of nowhere but you agreed, your stomach fluttering expectantly at the thought of Carmy's hands on your body. The moment the door was shut behind you, he crowded you against the nearest wall. You gasped.
"Don't be scared," he murmured. "I just want a taste."
And with that he sunk his fangs on the side of your neck. A wave of bliss hit you, rolling your eyes as he sucked on your blood. You rubbed your thighs together, shaking, feeling something akin to a very long orgasm as Carmy held you, his graceful fingers around your throat.
"What are you doi- Oh!" you moaned long and low, losing yourself in the pleasure he was giving you, getting light-headed as he kept drinking. "I have never felt so- Carmy-"
It was a pitiful and breathy sound and he stopped.
"Sorry," he exhaled, blood covering his lips. "You were right."
"About?" you could feel yourself drifting out of consciousness and him carrying you to his couch.
"The carrots," he said, like it was obvious. "Tremendous."
You giggled and passed out.
It all made sense after that: The Bear never opened before dusk, the long NDAs the staff had to sign before they were hired, the neverending list of secrets Carmy possessed.
"I could write about this, about you," you threatened the next time you saw him.
"You could. No one would believe you," he threatened right back. "I wouldn't feed you or bite you ever again either."
God help you, he was addicting. And so things stayed like that. You reviewed top tier restaurants and Carmy sampled them from you, gifting you dinners at The Bear and pleasure unlike anything you had ever experienced. Sometimes you fucked, sometimes you didn't. It was strange but it worked.
You grabbed his neck, angling his face and your body to invite him to bite you - guiding him towards that spot near your nape.
"Not yet," he murmured. "Think it would taste better if you came first. Desserts always do."
"Alright. If you must," you faked disinterest, now focusing your efforts on bringing his hips closer, grinding against his half hard cock, humming at the feeling of it through your clothes. "Mmm... Does it really make a difference?"
"Yes. Can't describe it really. You're the one that's good with words," he deflected, his hands busy getting you naked, untangling the pantyhose from your legs.
"Try," you insisted.
"Mmm," he kissed up your legs, following the line of some vein or artery, you assumed. "It makes the blood brighter, almost effervescent. And your heart beats harder - it's like it rushes to meet my tongue."
"Fuck," you hummed.
This was your version of dirty talk, and you enjoyed it immensely. If nothing else came out of this situationship, perhaps you'd write a cryptic poetry book or something.
He climbed up your body, his face level with yours, moving one strand of hair behind your ear.
"What are you thinking about?"
You shrugged. "There's so much I still don't know about you," you intertwined your fingers with his.
"Like?" he tilted his head.
"How long are these going to last?" you questioned looking at his tattoos.
"I actually don't know," he admitted. "I think they will fade but I'm not sure when."
You chuckled. "Bold choice to get them, then."
"You're inches away from my fangs," he reminded you dryly.
"I am," you arched your neck to kiss his jaw, then nip at his neck - he hissed.
His cock poked at your entrance, teasing. You opened your legs even wider, inviting him to ravage you.
"Fuck, you're warm," he exhaled as he entered you, inch by inch. Your nails scratched at his back, leaving no marks behind.
"Carmy," you whined, needy as he thrust in and out of your pussy. "Please."
"Mmm?"
You enclosed him with your legs, ankles crossed at his waist.
"Please," you begged, knowing well he wouldn't bite you until you came.
"Such a good girl for me," he praised, the tight grip of your pussy making him groan and go faster. You chased your peak, rubbing at your clit eagerly.
"You feel so perfect," you panted, the waves of your orgasm building, your hips bucking to meet his. "Fuck."
Wanton moans were falling from your lips as you became a mess underneath Carmy.
"Like that," he soothed, one hand moving to cup your breast and pinch your nipple, pushing you over the edge.
"Oh..." you sighed, feeling pleasure and electricity coursing through your veins, legs shaking around his waist.
"Fuck, that's it," he growled and bit you.
The pulsing intensity of your orgasm got mixed with a cloud of euphoria - you felt light and floaty, your pussy still fluttering around Carmy's cock as something else took over. His breath on your neck was feral and possessive as he drank from you.
"Carm..."
And there it was again, the world slowing down, tunnel vision, the only thing keeping you grounded was Carmy's hair between your fingers.
He let go, swiping his tongue over the bite mark, not letting one drop go to waste.
"You good?" he asked after a while, his thumb caressing your cheek.
"Mhmm," you nodded, opening your eyes to meet his.
He looked softer after he fed, a little warmth to his skin, he seemed more human.
"Can you stay a little while?" you asked.
His nose touched your forehead. "I'll wait until you fall asleep," he agreed. "I need to go back."
You smiled softly.
"Thanks for tonight," you said, slipping under the covers, the warmth of your bed quickly lulling you to sleep.
"Thank you," he said and kissed your forehead. "Rest."
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