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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.
General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022
Request/s: anon requested hallmark inspired Devlon x reader and I hope I delivered
A/N: Short and sweet is what I like to call this one. Hope you all enjoy!
Main Masterlist
It had been a long day. You’d been up since the crack of dawn and meetings had felt like an age. Needless to say, you needed this night out more than anything. It was only going to be a simple dinner with Mor, Amren, and Feyre.
Of course, with the way your day had gone you were running late for meeting them and weren’t really paying attention to the people around you. You turned the last corner before the cafe and wham!
You ran straight into what you thought was a solid brick wall. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. Rough hands grasped your upper arms to steady you. As you looked up into the face of the brick wall, you were met with the snarling face of Lord Devlon. The universe had it out for you today.
“Watch where you’re going,” Devlon growled.
You attempted an apology but he began yelling again.
“It’s really not hard to not run into people. Maybe if you kept your head out of your ass this wouldn’t have happened.”
That was it. The dam broke on your emotions. A sob left your lips and tears ran down your face in deep rivers, no doubt ruining your makeup. Normally, you’d be embarrassed by crying uncontrollably in the middle of the street but you couldn’t help it. The tears and sobs just kept coming.
Devlon’s face instantly softened at your sobs. He hadn’t meant to make you cry. The meetings had left him frustrated and he couldn’t stop from snapping at someone for running into him.
He remembered looking at you across the conference room two hours earlier. Your face had constantly shifted between frustration and exhaustion. I mean the meetings would drive anyone insane. He was surprised you’d kept it together this long.
“Hey,” he said as he softly took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting it gently so you could see his face. “I’m sorry. That was completely uncalled for.”
He let out a heavy sigh and brushed a tear from your cheek. “Guess the meetings got to both of us. Huh?”
You let of a small laugh through your tears that sounded more like a strangled sob than anything else. Clearing your throat you said, “honestly, I probably would have bitten your head off too if I hadn’t started crying first.”
His hand trailed down your cheek before returning to his side. The movement brought you back to reality.
“Fuck. I can’t go to this dinner. I’m a goddamn mess,” you said to yourself.
Devlon shoved his hands in his pockets. “Is it important,” he asked with a cute tilt of his head.
You sighed. “I’m just meeting friends, but I feel bad not showing up. I don’t want them to worry.”
Devlon shrugged, his wings rippling with the movement. “Prioritizing your needs is more important. And, if they are good friends they will understand that.”
“Still,” you said guiltily.
“How about this,” he said, “I walk you home and then swing by the place you were supposed to meet them and let them know you aren’t feeling well,” he offered.
You shook your head vigorously. “I couldn’t ask you to do that,” you said.
He smiled. “But you aren’t asking. I’m offering. And it’s the least I could do after screaming at you and making you cry.”
Your eyebrows knitted together as you thought it over. A night in to catch up on sleep did sound mighty tempting, and necessary.
“Ok,” you said. “Thank you.”
He turned toward the direction you’d been coming from and put out his elbow for you. Noticing your quizzical look at his arm he cheekily said, “to reduce the probability of another collision.”
You simply took his arm as you laughed at his antics. True to his word, Devlon walked you home, making you laugh the entire way. With a goodnight, he left with a promise to inform your friends of your whereabouts.
Waking up the next morning was decidedly less painful than most days. You finally felt refreshed and ready for your duties. As you padded into your kitchen, a soft knock echoed through your house. Striding to the door, you threw it open revealing none other than Devlon. You smiled and leaned against the doorframe.
He gave you a bright smile in return. “Breakfast,” he asked with a shrug of his shoulders.
You nodded vigorously before grabbing a coat and accompanying him to a nearby cafe. Who could blame you, you’d both need the big breakfast to get you through the final meetings today, at least that’s the excuse you told yourself to spend more time with Devlon.
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Any more Lord Devlon fics in the making? (Asking for a friend..) 😇
Yes I do actually! Idk if anyone will remember but I got a request a long while ago asking for Lord Devlon x an archeron sister which I actually finished writing back in November but then Winter happened so it's just been sitting in my drafts! I was going to keep it there until summer passed since it's titled Learning To Live With The Cold but maybe it would be better to get it out and into the world haha
It's not the best thing I've written (there's no smut, which I think might usually be what attracts people to my fics since I suck at writing anything else if there's no sexuality lmao) and I think there's quite a lot of exposition? Or flashback text?
Anyway I like the vibes in the beginning since it's a winter evening in Illyria but I'm unsure about the middle haha
I'd like to have another go at the Lord Devlon x archeron sister since I don't really feel I did that request justice so we'll see if I have any spare time on my hands once omegaverse week is passed!
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.
i just wanted to say i ADORE!! your lord devlon fic i think you totally got his character spot on!! and i love how u made the reader still be assertive even when shes a housewife , ugh im such a sucker for women with personality...
Oh no I went back and reread it a while ago and while I like how I wrote Devlon I don't think I succeeded in writing Reader the way I had wanted/intended to? I think originally I wanted her to be a bit more crafty which didn't translate into the fic but if you enjoy her how she is then maybe that's for the better!
I still need to write a Lord Devlon x archeron sister fic which I think could be either so chaotic or so adorable? Especially through the lens of imagining Rhys, Cass, and Az, who grew up with him taking the role of terrifying mentor, suddenly seeing him being kind of soft with his wife/mate? I think that would be so adorable!!
