#devlon

[witch-and-her-witcher]

Devlon x Rhys's Mom

Hear me out (@popjunkie42 and I have discussed this at length, bless her heart):

It's established that Rhys's mother was not in love with the High Lord. She spent most of her time in Illyria, had her wings intact, and apparently was given enough freedom to move about on her own that she could take her daughter on camping outings.

Plenty of opportunity for her to fall in love with the War Lord who seems to be allowed a lot of freedom to disrespect Rhys and the other Bat Boys in the present (but, Cee, he trained them and that's where the sentimentality comes from! No. That's not romantic and tragic enough.)

Those laws imposed to stop female wing cutting and to ensure they're trained in the battlefield are quietly (or in the case of Rhys's absence UTM not so quietly) fought because the murder of Rhys's mom and sister's justify that Devlon couldn't protect them, the dangers going against their traditions brings, and the other Illyrians rally around this tragedy.

Devlon looks at Rhys and see's the High Lord that would take his lover off to breed, filled her head with too many High Fae beliefs and values that don't apply to the reality of growing up in brutal Illyria. Devlon looks at Rhys and sees a young male who is still dreaming even though Devlon lost his dream centuries ago.

Devlon looks at Rhys and sees his mother, the daughter that was like his own, and relives the grief of those losses over.

And Rhys looks at Devlon and sees the male his mother actually loved. He knows he'll never be able to dispose of the stubborn Lord or his old-fashioned beliefs because it would mean disposing of someone his mother cherished.

So, they're both trapped in each other's orbits and Devlon tends to Rhys's mother's house whenever the IC aren't in Windhaven and Rhys continues to send Cassian to try and find a middle ground for the old and new.

[ghosts-cyphera]

hi my current inappropriate male crush rn is devlon from acotar. if you've read it you know how in the wrong I am for this but you know what? I am not ashamed. in my head he looks like theo james in this picture and no one can change my mind.

[acourtofladydeath]

TTBW Snippet #3

Alrighty, here's your last tasty morsel to get you ready for what's to come.

Devlon simply began to scour the group again, eyes narrowed as he took in the faces of the five camp lords around him. The mistrust he had was written clearly across his face as he hung around the outskirts of the group. “I don’t trust this, Cassian. When you said you’d be coming, I didn’t expect anyone else to turn up. This seems,” Devlon’s speech trailed off as his words became softer. “I don’t know what it seems like, but I don’t think this will end well.”  Cassian clapped him on the back as he spoke, voice still full of the joviality and mocking that he could find in any circumstance. “Well, if it goes poorly, that’s why you’re here. You’ve never failed to get me out of a jam before.”  Devlon let a small smirk grow on his face as he said with mock severity, “yeah, well, getting you three demons through the blood rite alive nearly killed me.”  Cassian laughed with the male for a moment before he continued, tone more serious than before. “Dev, I don’t think you’re capable of letting me down. You and I discussed the stakes. Cauldron, Nesta and I nearly debated to death over it. This is how I can make a difference. Let them know I don’t think I’m above them, that I want to work with them and not just order them around like pawns.” Cassian’s voice changed from confident and convicted to something smaller, hopeful and yet not. “I have to try. I don’t know what else to do, progress has grown stagnant. It’s just a drink. Illyria needs this.”

Stay tuned tomorrow for the title and description drop.

[mischiefmanagers]

I think I just entered my Lord Devlon era so apologies in advance 🫡

[foxcort]

acotar & asoiaf au collection || the Illyrians as the Knights of the Vale.

"We Remember." // Ser Cassian Royce of Runestone, Commander of the Knights of the Vale, Heir of House Royce, Vassal of House Arryn.

Ser Devlon Corbray of Heart’s Home, Second-In-Command of the Knights of the Vale, a member of House Corbray, Vassal of House Arryn.

Ser Emerie Belmore of Strongsong, a member of House Belmore, Vassal of House Arryn.

Ser Balthazar Waynwood of Ironoaks, a member of House Waynwood, Vassal of House Arryn.

[nightcourtreader]

I’m re-reading acowar. I’m so behind on my acotar & cc re-read it’s ridiculous.

But anyway. A thing I want to point out is what the fuck is Devlon from the Illyrian camp. Other than illryian of course.

Then he noticed nesta. “What is that,” Devlon asked. Nesta merely stared at him, one hand clamping the edges of her gray cloak together at her chest. One of the other camp-lords made some sign against evil. “That,” Cassian said too quietly, “is none of your concern.” “Is she a witch.” I opened my mouth, but nesta said flatly. “Yes.” And I watched as nine full grown, weathered Illyrian warlords flinched. “She may act like one sometimes,” Cassian clarified, “but no—she is high fae.” “She is no more high fae than we are,” Devlon countered. A pause that went on for too long. Even Rhys seemed at lost for words. Devlon had complained when we’d first met the amren and I were other. As if he possessed some sense for such things. Devlon muttered, “keep her away from the females and children.” (Page 484-485, acowar)

How is he able to sense that amren, Feyre & nesta are other? I know with amren at the time it was obvious. But you wouldn’t really know with Nesta until you look at her eyes when she’s upset. And Feyre doesn’t really show that she was made either.

[tadpolesonalgae]

gurl i–

The devlon fic sp gave me too many butterflies I swear I've never had such a reaction to a smut before, and to think it's only a sneak peek– 👀

I mean, I do love smut and it does give me butterflies, but not on every line.

I can't wait for the fic oh my god

–❣️

Ahhh!!! I really hope you enjoyed the full thing as much as you enjoyed the Sneak Peek!!!

Thank you so much for the compliment 😭🫂🧡💛

[emeriethevalkyriegirl]

Cassian and the 3 diablos (A SJM fanfic) Chapter 11

Summary: It’s time for Cassian to make his choice. But will he choose the right one?

“So Cassian? What’s it gonna be?” Devlon smirked as Cassian slightly fidgeted with his sword.

This was the hardest decision he could ever make. He loved his home. Velaris was always his home. When he was born, his mother died during child birth. He never even got to know her name. His father abandoned him when he was 7 years old. Cassian had been on his own until he met Rhysand. They hated each other at first but thanks to Rhysand’s mother, they got along just fine. Over time, they met Azriel and they became a family including Morrigan. She was the mother that Cassian couldn’t have. After she pasted away, it was hard on all of them. Especially Cass. It was like he lost her all over again. So he became a bounty hunter. Hunting for anyone who would run from the law. It was how he made money.

After his mother’s death, Rhysand made 3 rubies that were the pieces of her heart. Because Devlon already has one of them, the heart is incomplete. Morrigan would be pissed without it and Rhysand might never recover. His family needs that crystal.

But do they?

Cassian could see from the corner of his eye, how the girls were silently crying. Even if they deserve a punishment, this won’t be it. Cassian had to make his decision. “Alright, I know what I want.”

Devlon chuckled. “I knew even an idiot like you would come to your senses.” he said as he handed him the ruby. Cassian gladly accepted it, placing the ruby in his pocket. “Now then,” Devlon said, bending down to the girls’ level. “Which one will be fed to the kelpies first?” The girls were about to run off, but Devlon felt a sharp pain on his neck. He didn’t have time to yell in anger because he was out cold.

Nesta and the others stared in confusion before turning to Cassian. He was smirking up a storm as he laughed in triumph. “Now whose the idiot?” he said to no one in particular. Cassian turned to the girls. “Come on, let’s get out of here before he wake up.”

Cassian and the diablos tip toed their way out of the gorge so as not to wake Devlon. Once they were out of there, Gwyn asked him what he did. “I kicked him right on his pressure point. He should be out cold for a while.” he explained at the girls hopped onto Philip the horse. Cassian climbed up last and trotted his horse out of the gorge. “So what happens now?” Nesta asked as Cassian took a look at the ruby to make sure it was real. It was. “Well now that we got the ruby, Morrigan will hold up to her promise and the 3 of you will be let go.” he replied as he turned around to see their reactions. They were not what he expected. “You’re not gonna take us back...are you?” Gwyn asked as the girls started to cry.

Cassian stopped his horse. “Woah woah woah hey it’s okay. Don’t cry, please.” Cassian tried to calm them down. Emerie and Nesta softly cried but Gwyn was starting to wail a bit. “Gwyn, please stop. What’s wrong?” he asked as Gwyn rubbed her eyes and sniffed a bit. “I don’t have a home. My home is gone.”

“My father doesn’t want me. He’ll cut off my wings if I went back.”

“My daddy doesn’t want me either.” They all started to ramble about their past as Cassian tried to catch everything they were saying. Cassian sighed, deeply wishing he had the power to to instantly make them happy. Kneeling down to their level, Cassian slowly scooped all 3 of them in his giant arms. “It’s okay. I know none of you wanna go back to where you were. I know it’s hard. It’s okay. It’s okay to feel this way. It was hard for me when my dad didn’t want me.”

“Y-Your daddy didn’t want you either?” Emerie asked as Cassian nodded trying to control his own tears that threaten to fall. “It’s hard for me to think about him and sometimes he pops up in my head whenever it can. Just know that they’re nothing but memories now. They can’t hurt you anymore.” he said rubbing their backs soothingly. The girls stopped crying and were actually half asleep in his arms. Nesta shook a bit and without thinking, wrapped her arms around his neck. “Stay...with...you.”

“What?”

“I wanna...stay with...you.” Nesta drifted off to sleep leaving Cassian shocked.

[zaintastic]

Devlon was onto something... 😅

[jmoonjones]

Emerie week!

Bryce gets Emerie some self defense weapons for her shop

A truncated version of my Emerie Brings Democracy to Illyria AU

Emerie in the library 💜

[nattblacklupin]

Fierce protector

Pairing: Lord Devlon x fem!reader

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, illyrian soilders inappropriately touching reader (nothing too intense), fighting? (Not really, but still), kinda suggestive at the end but no smut

Summary: Lord Devlon protects his mate no matter what

Masterlist

Everyone in Windhaven was scared of Lord Devlon, one wrong move or word, and he will destroy you the next training. He was especially fierce about training the women in the camp, his mate helped him realise they could be good and useful fighters too. Now it takes one bad word about any woman in the camp, and you got it. Training or, in worst case, punishment that will surely teach everyone their place.

Today was one of these days, and Devlon wasn't letting them go easy today. They spoke too openly about his mate. They should be glad he didn't kill them. Just the thought of yesterday events was making him see red.

He was waiting for his mate to finish her shift in the pub. He told her uncountable times she didn't have to work and that he will take care of her, but she refused every time. Devlon wasn't happy about it, but if his mate wishes to work, he will have it and respect it. His mate matters to him the most and if he has to stay in her pub whole shift just to scare of drunk horny warriors then let it be like that, anything just too see her smile at the end of the day.

Today started as a normal night for both of them. Y/N made sure everyone got their drinks while he was making sure she is alright. The men can get quite handsy, which he totally won't tolerate, not with any woman and totally not with his mate.

"Hello pretty, could you please give us three shots?" One of the soilders yelled at you. He immediately turned to them. It's not something new that men compliment you. He himself does that nearly every day. But he was keeping eye on them. Young warriors often didn't know when to keep their mouth shut. Their table was close to Devlon, so no word that left they shameful mouth didn't miss him. He was still left with a cold mind. Let them fantasise. You would never even get close to them in that way.

You were used to drunk men, their words just pointless part in your night. Their order was quickly done, and you started walking to their table. On your way, you shot Devlon quick smile. You missed him - like it isn't only half an hour since you last kissed him.

Everything was going smoothly, and they didn't do anything stupid till you were leaving them to take care of other orders. One of them whistled and slapped your ass. In a second, his hand was grabbed by your mate, and the soilder was on the ground.

"You wanna try that again?" Devlon growed at him. How dares he touch his mate like that? Only he can do that. The illyrian soldier was nearly peeing his pants while begging for forgiveness. Devlon didn't see through his anger, all his instincts were screaming at him to protect mate and kill any potentional threat to her.

,,Devlon, love, let him go. You can punish him on the training tomorrow. But don't let him destroy the night today. " You knew how to calm down your husband. These little angry scenes were nearly on a daily routine. Devlon could control himself, just not when it came to you, his only weakness.

,,let's go home, love. " you said and took his hand to slowly lead him away from the soilder. He luckily did let go, and his hand went around your waist. ,,talk to my mate like that one more time, and I will literally kill you." He was dead serious when he said that ,,that goes for all of you."

You quickly nodded at your coworker so they knew you were leaving. Everyone was probably happy that you decided to leave sooner, and they didn't have to deal with their angry commander.

The moment you left the pub, you kissed him. The kiss was fast and heated. Nothing sweet about it, but at the moment, you knew that Devlon needed to calm himself somehow, with what you will gladly help him further at home. Your lips left his, and you looked up to smile at him.

,,my fierce protector."

[lordofhaterism]

Thinking abt Illyrians and their nobility btw. What is that like?

[hereathemoment]

I think I’m at the point where I simply hate cassian’s character. Even with fanon you’d have to go back and write him from the fucking studs. He is so far up rhysand’s ass… he is too fucking “close” with Feyre and Mor… he’s just gross to me at this point. You certainly can’t redeem his character after acosf, ya know? He is dead and gone to me. Next up: Devlon 😌

[abraxos-and-ataraxia]

It really is funny that emerie is explicitly described as striking and not beautiful, because I imagine her as a combo of cassian’s force of personality (where you can’t look away from her whenever she’s in the room) and azriel’s perfect face (where you don’t even want to). So basically a goddess I guess

[tadpolesonalgae]

Lord Devlon x Illyrian!reader: Give Me What I Want.[*]

A/N: I thank you so deeply for making this request and opening my eyes to this male, oml—

Warnings: slight brat taming (woah!), wing play, dom/sub dynamics (kinda)

Arms fly over his shoulders, gripping to steady yourself as you jerk your knee upward, aiming at the soft organ between his legs.

A low snarl rips from his chest, a broad, calloused palm biting into your thigh, keeping you from slamming it home. He twists your leg to the side, pulling it up over his hip, stepping into you so you’re tipping backward—forced to desperately cling to him to keep from falling to the kitchen floor.

“Let me go, brute,” you hiss, digging your nails into the muscle cording his shoulders, hanging from his strength. “I would sooner sleep outside this winter than visit your blasted brother again. He makes a pass at me every time you look away.”

“If you’d stop seducing him with those eyes of yours, there wouldn’t be a problem,” he growls, free arm wrapping around your waist, keeping you within his warmth. “I can’t take you anywhere without something happening.”

“You’re putting this on me?” You snarl, arms aching from holding him so tight, having spent the afternoon drying the various pots and pans from lunch, then immediately switching to preparing dinner, which is laying untouched atop the table. “Don’t you feel any sense of protection for your wife? Your own brother is trying to steal me out from right beneath your nose, ‘Lo. Aren’t you embarrassed? Ashamed? I’m not some common whore to be traded about, no matter how you like to say so.”

Rough fingertips splay across your ribs, skating beside your breast, possessively. “He knows what would happen to him if he so much as touched something of mine. If advances have been made, you have only yourself to blame, temptress that you are.”

“That’s your answer?” You hiss. “That it’s my fault your brother keeps trying to take liberties with me? You should train your dogs better.”

Devlon growls in warning. “He is my brother, and you will show him the respect he deserves. He is a fully fledged warrior, and you will do well to treat him as one.” He pulls you tighter to his body, your back straining with the curve, gritting your teeth against the ache. “Or do I need to remind you of your placement in this world?” You snarl your disagreement, hands raising to the thick, dark locks of his hair, nails scraping over his scalp. “I will submit to my husband, and my husband only. If you know so thoroughly that I am yours, why tolerate any other male attempting to put his hands on me. Do you have no sense of possession? As your wife, I would expect more aggression from you, but clearly this brother of yours has something over you if you’re at his mercy—”

“I will not have you sewing discord within my family, witch.” Lip curls at the title, hands lowering from his hair, trailing down his back, just grazing the great wings—

The second you do, Illyrian instinct kicks in, and he goes for the throat. Muscle tenses, then you turn soft and pliable in his arms. Calloused fingers stroke over the sensitive skin placatingly, as if calming a beast through scratching behind its ears. Heat flushes your cheeks, legs trembling, arms turning weak and limp as the stimulation settles in the pit of your belly.

“Don’t… Quit it, ‘Lo,” you pant, shooting him a scathing glare. He can’t just do this every time you have an argument. And yet it always seems to end with you flipped on your back, a larger pair of wings hiding you from the world, your fingers running through his hair while his hips grind against your own.

Hands fall away from his wings, instead pulling to your chest, attempting to squirm out of his dominating hold, feeling all of a sudden as though his hands are all over your body, touching the curve of your hip, the softness of your waist, the hollow of your throat. “We aren’t done with this argument,” you manage, heat already pounding between your legs.

“Argument?” He pulls you tighter to his chest, lips brushing the shell of your ear, “you speak of a children’s sparring match like it’s a war.”

Grit your teeth. “Stop infantilising me. You don’t give me proper attention, or the topics I bring up. A good husband listens to his wife.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says dismissively, though his hands have slowed on your wings. You’re grateful for the reprieve.

“You’re being dense,” you snap, regaining enough to control to steady yourself with the one leg that’s still planted on the floor. “I would’ve though as warlord you would understand when to pick your battles—you’re always saying that makes a good warrior.”

“You think we were battling?” He sneers, pulling your thigh tighter over his hip. “You’d be on the floor painted black and blue if we were.”

“This house is my battle ground,” you hiss sharply, anger flaring in your blood at the nonchalance he spoke about hurting you with. “As your wife, home and family are my designated areas. You don’t hear me asking what you spoke about during those meetings of yours, because I know my place. And I don’t expect your help in the kitchen other than perhaps giving me coin to buy the necessary materials, because that isn’t your place. Your brother’s actions are an attack on our family, and as a relatively dignified male, I expect you to defend it.” You finish, keeping your attention locked with his sharp hazel eyes.

Dark brows furrow as his attention pierces into you, the edges of his mouth twisted in an almost permanent frown. You fight to keep from shifting in his hold as he judges your points.

“Unnervingly sound reasoning, as usual,” he mutters, relenting at last. Lips quirk in triumph, making him shoot you a dark glance, fingers biting into your thigh. “I suppose it’s not acceptable for him to put his hands on my wife, even if provoked.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you snap, heat finally receding enough for you to be rational. “Where did that idea even come from? I’ve been nothing but loyal to you.” He snarls roughly at that, hips pressing into your abdomen. “Don’t lie to me, wife. Do you even understand the strain you put on me to resist taking you before our wedding night?”

Lips part as heat flows between you, something hard and stiff pressing into you, the shape of his arousal more prominent that it was before. “What are you talking about?” You breathe, his mouth poised to devour your own. A muscle feathers in his jaw, and you can feel the strength contained within his warrior’s body seeping into your own. “You know what I’m talking about,” he growls. “You are female. You should hold no power over me.”

You can do nothing but stare up into his hazel eyes, two siphons glittering on either shoulder, blazing storm-cloud grey. “And yet every day drove me deeper into madness. Every day I was denied you, deprived of you.” Lips brush over your own, a roughened promise whispered in secret. “I could have killed on our wedding day, with how intense that strain was.”

He had seemed ill-tempered—you’d assumed he was simply innately miserable, rather than it being out of impatience. “‘Lo…” you plead, softly, breathlessly.

“It should not be me that feels that way alone,” he growls, hand sliding up between your wings, your spine arching. “I should not be the one subject to you.”

“Yet here you are,” you manage, wishing he would shut up and put his mouth over your own already. He snarls, silencing you. “Can you even comprehend the need I have for you? Understand a fraction of the longing I feel for you? How my bones groan to have you near?”

The world around him falls away, negative space. “Show me,” you breathe, “show me.”

Hot lips press over your own, hand releasing your leg in favour of sliding beneath your ass, hauling you upward. Thighs wrap tight around his hips, your hands cupping his jaw as he groans up into the kiss, head tipped back to go deeper. Fingers thread through the thickness of his dark hair, rolling your hips against him, hands dipping lower. Skating over his shoulders, down his back.

He snarls into your mouth as your nails graze the base of his wings, the tendons shuddering beneath the feather-light touch. His hold loosens, allowing you to slide down a little, his arousal pressing flush to your centre. Hips buck as you attach your mouth to his neck, your Lord stalking from the kitchen, prowling through your house so he can bed you. Teeth scrape over a pulse point, hands squeezing your ass in response, shifting you in his arms so your centre rubs over him.

Forearm slides beneath you, hand gripping the nape of your neck, unlatching your mouth from his throat. Siphons burn the colour of thunder-clouds, hazel sharp as it pierces into you. “Hands and knees,” he grits out. “On the double.”

Neither of you dare waste a second. The moment he releases you, ties are loosened, clothes are strewn across the floor, wings flare for balance as you’re practically shoved onto the bed. Feel the heavy weight of his cock between your legs, one arm sliding down your front, calloused fingers plying you apart enough so you’ll be able to take him. “‘Lo, please…” you pant, tightening around his digits as they slide in and out, curling softly against spots he knows you like.

Pleasure weakens your muscles, lowering onto your forearms, wings twitching near their tips, shuddering as heat pulses between your legs. “I need you relaxed,” he grits out, your spine curving at the rough drag of the syllables. “I am relaxed,” you pant, “do it.”

Your Lord curses under his breath, then pulls away; you whine at the emptiness. It’s transformed into a moan when the tip of his cock presses to your entrance instead, poised to fill you up—if he would just push his hips forward. You hiss, telling him to get on with it, but he only slides in the first inch or so, nowhere near enough yet. “What are you doing?” You manage breathlessly, attempting to shift to peer at him, but he holds you still.

“Do you feel how badly you want that?” He growls, pulling out a little more. You could scream at him to slam in, but it won’t get you anywhere, so you nod your head instead, choosing compliance over disobedience. “Imagine constantly feeling that need every time someone so much as walked in the same room as you. Do you see how cruel you were?” A moan slips from your lips, his hand rising from between your legs to grip your breast, thumbing at the sensitive peak of your nipple. “I’m sorry, ‘Lo,” you pant, practically trembling beneath his hands. “I’m so sorry…”

“I bet you’re fucking sorry,” he snarls. “Not so nice being on the receiving end, is it?”

Swallow thickly, heartbeat spiking at the vulgar language. “Please, ‘Lo. Please, I need you.” Fingers pinch the sensitive skin. “Of course you do.”

Then he slides in, and you’re pressed forward, making room for him until his hips are tight against the backs of your thighs. Eyes roll with pleasure, harsh pants of relieve spilling from your lips as you clamp down on him. Words blur and fumble, a strange mesh of pleading sounds pouring into the air, the duvet doing nothing to muffle them. “That’s better,” he groans, drawing his hips back in favour of slamming in. You cry out, pleasure rocking your mind as he sets a punishing pace, hips smacking against your thighs, cock touching those previously stimulated spots, having you tighten around him.

Canines scrape over the junction of your neck and shoulder, finding the part he likes, where you’ll struggle to conceal the mark. Teeth bite down and you moan, wings fluttering in pleasure as he presses against them, pinning them to your back. Vision blurs with the stimulation, tears brimming along your lashes, bursting with the need to have him this deep inside you at all times, to be so utterly and completely full there’s hardly room for breath.

Your husband pulls away, gripping you by the hips, slamming you back against him in time with the rough pace he’s chosen. Cries spill helplessly from your chest as he puts his weight behind each thrust, grinding his hips against you so he’ll touch more of the lovely, mouth-watering places inside you. You try to cover your mouth but he’s having none of it, one hand fisting in your hair as he tugs you upright, forcing your spine to curve to his will as he pounds into you.

Waves of dizzying pleasure crest over your skin, a scream whimpering from your mouth as you flutter around his cock, sending him over the edge. He snarls as it hits him, release spurting into you, feeling the thick liquid spill deep inside, filling you up and stuffing you full. Eyes slide shut, pushing tears down your cheeks while muscles spasm from overstimulation. The last waves finish, and his grip loosens on you, allowing you to collapse down into the mattress, exhausted.

The bed dips to your left as he settles beside you, one great wing splaying across your back, tucking you beneath it. Take your time to regain your strength, before rolling closer, your own wings folding to allow you to press into the sturdy heat of his side. “What about supper?” You question quietly, eyes still shut as you bask in the aftermath. He grunts noncommittally. “We can eat later.”

As if on cue, your stomach rumbles, hunger beginning to make an appearance now your mind is unoccupied. You groan, brows narrowing into a frown before you sigh, making to push up from the bed. His wing presses you down, keeping you laying comfortably on your front. “I’ll get it,” he mutters, standing and moving to kitchen.

When he returns, you’ve burrowed under the covers, closer to his side than your own, eyes shut, breathing deep and even. He rolls his eyes, setting the plates down on the tables either side your large bed.

You’ll wake up in an hour or so, once you’re sufficiently rested.

Then it’ll be time for round two.

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