amélie 🍎

his fingers are delicate as they push your shirt over your tits, squeezing them with appreciative hands. kissing at your collarbones, your sternum, the dips and underneath side of your breasts as your breathing so heavily they rise and fall in front of him, and lucifer fondles them too for good measure.

"lucifer," you whine, and he laughs.  

"shh, leave the thinking to me, 'kai?" 

you make a garbled sound that makes lucifer laugh again.

he trails down from base of your chest down the expanse of your tummy. he kisses your navel reverently until lucifer parts your legs with a gentle hand.

lucifer takes a beat to admire you. he uses his thumb to draw you open, spreading your pussy open wide until everything is visible. your clit twtiches from the sudden attention, the admiration. the genuine love in his gaze as he stares down gives you grief like no other.  

"a pretty pussy from a pretty girl, hm?"

you crinkle your nose and resist the urge to close your legs. his hands sink into your hips, fingers gripping onto your skin as he sinks his face down between your legs. you tense, half out of your mind already.

"wait, ‘s embarrassing, don’t wanna..." trying to paw it off with whatever braincells you can string together but lucifer breath is hot against your sensitive pussy— and then you feel it: lucifer's split-tongue pressing against your clit.

your whole body breaks down, like one white hot flash of heat, every inch of your skin lights up. you moan so loud it makes your throat hurt from strain, bordering on a scream.

lucifer's mouth feels so fucking hot. his tongue moves through you, eager to taste. before he focuses his attention, he flattens his tongue to taste all of you, pushing it into your hole, over and over until there’s nothing else. the tip of his tongue traces around the outside of your clit, precise and angular as his free hand tries to hold your hips down, but he finds it hard to fight against the way you're bucking up against his mouth so vigorously.

lucifer thinks he could die like this, savoring the stretch. your wet hole learning to accept the warm length of his tongue as it slides into you, soft enough not to send your pelvic floor clenching shut. he sucks on your clit gently, causing your knees to push together, squeezing his head between the fat of your thighs, and he swears his cock is twitching harder than it has all night.

"lu-luci, w-wait, feels funny—!" but he doesn't stop, and you don’t know what it is, but—fuck, you want it so bad you can’t help yourself. you curl your fingers into his hair and push his head into your clit, desperately searching for whatever will fix the feeling.

"it's gonna feel good, i promise," lucifer moans in reply. the sound comes deep from his chest like he’s purring, so pleased with how you lean on him. ask for him to kiss it better. "let go, sweetheart, do it for me."

your whole body jolts when lucifer’s finds the right spot. he laps at your cunt eagerly, fingers pressed into the fat of your hips. lucifer holds you horribly still as he eats you out until you are hardly able to catch your breath as the tight coil in your lower stomach snaps viciously before you can wrap your head around it. your fingers clutch aimlessly at the bedsheets, body going slack as the first weak wave of pleasure falls over you.  

when he emerges from your thighs, he looks absolutely demolished. his hair is a mess of golden strands, some sticking up from the way you've pulled and tugged on his hair, and some plastered to his face. lucifer is quick to pull away and rests his forehead against you.

"what a good girl, i knew you could do it for me," his palm cups your face, thumb brushing away some of your tears. he coos at you sympathetically, leans down to kiss all over your face. it relaxes you, a brief respite of tenderness amidst feeling like you’re falling apart completely.

he’s grinning, delighted. you look back at him as your arms go around his neck, urging him to lean in some more.

you can feel him throb against the apex of your thigh, but even then, he doesn’t seem to pay any mind, more focused in pressing his lips to your forehead in a sweet kiss— and then you jolt when you feel his hand over your sensitive and swollen clit.

"so sensitive," he drawls, voice warm with mirth alongside your dulcet cries. "can we do one, dove? just one again?"

"uh-uhu," you don't even know if you're speaking, if your mouth is falling open and language is spilling out or if you're just panting and mewling beneath his touch. "yes, yes, want you—"

( lucifer loves that about you to. loves being wrapped around your finger or tugged by your leash— loves that you demand things of him. he finds it a privilege to give it to you. )

he hums with approval, the thrum of it filling your chest, as he delicately slots his middle finger into you. it's thicker than you expected and stretches you just a little more- but that extra millimeter makes a notable difference in your panic as you feel the muscles in your thighs begin to tense.

"shh, shh, it's okay," he consoles, as if feeling your anxiety. which, considering how you're beginning to clench around his finger, he just might. he kisses your temple  and then your cheekbone. "just breathe, sweetheart. like this."

you try and each breath flutters through you, raising your hairs to a point of overstimulation. you clench around him again, but sweetly this time. beckoningly. it's— a lot. all of it is. you like that it is.

he can tell you're ready for more when you start to wiggle your hips. when you spread you legs wider and tilt your pelvis up- presenting yourself to him like an animal in heat, so he starts moving the finger inside you gently, rocking in minute movements until you're soft and keening in his arms.

lucifer circles your clit with this thumb before pressing down on it sharply- meanly. it fills your body with electricity and you squeal as he moans and pants alongside you.

"you're being too good for me," he praises. "how about one more, hm? think you can do that for me?"

you whimper and nod your head. unfortunately, in the moment it takes him to line up his third finger your body seems to have second thoughts. the very tip of his pointer presses into you and the tiniest pinch causes all sensation in you to go cold and sharp.

lucifer notices immediately and changes course. he curls his forefinger and rests it flat on the swollen nub of your clit and presses down. despite your body's attempt to shut down, pleasure zings through you. 

"such a skittish thing," he teases, lighthearted in a way that soothes any sense of embarrassment or self consciousness from you. "don't worry, you can take all the time you need."

lucifer smiles, somewhere between sweet, adoring, and incredibly arrogant. he bends down quickly, presses a kiss to your mouth that you chase. coos at you before kissing you once more, twice more for good measure. you’re so high this feels unbelievable.  

your back arches as lucifer pushes himself deeper, middle fingers down the knuckle. it feels intrusive, in a good way. he doesn't bother with thrusting and instead gives you time to savor the stretch of him.

fuck—fuck, how much bigger would his cock feel than this? is that why he's taking his time preparing you? you try to picture it; the way he dribbles with precum, always so leaky and spilling as it presses against your hole just begging to slide inside-

"what are you thinking about, honey?" he asks, his tone teasing. he rotates his wrist just so his thumb can press against your clit. pinching it gently and making you mewl. "me? my hands? my mouth?"

he kisses your ear and licks along the curve.

"my cock?"

lucifer lets out a breathless little laugh as you squeeze around him.

"think about it as much as you want," he says and gently, so gently, crooks his fingers inside of you against a place that makes it impossible for you to think straight. "it's all yours, you know that?."

then, at the same time, lucifer tongue lolls out of his mouth just enough that one dollop of drool trickles out over the tip of it—rolls down the length—and falls down onto you until the heat of it engulfs your clit.

you spasm. it happens so quickly, so rapidly. lucifer barely has to move his fingers now. a few strokes of them against your gspot, his tongue sucking softly on your clit  - and you’re gone. your vision blurs out as an orgasm wracks through your body all at once, every muscle taut like a bowstring. you cum hard, and intense.

lucifer moves his pace steadily, unhurried, constant. Gives it to you exactly how you need without hurrying you forward. Steady and calm, but relentless. over and over, lucifer continues to fingerfuck you open. mouth and tongue in tandem wringing orgasms from you like it’s easy.

you gasp. "oh, w-wait, wai—, please, please—"

lucifer stops when you can’t find anymore words. you whine at the loss of contact, but in the same breath - you’re relieved, not sure how much more of it you could possibly handle. lucifer moves his face away from your cunt so he can reach your fumbling hand and lace fingers together, squeezing it gently.

"i’ve got you. you’re doing so well. i’m here." he says, a tinge cruel. taking satisfaction in the way you cant your hips back into him and spread your legs wider. "what do you want, sweetheart?"

"you, inside me," you babble, out of your mind. tears spring, already damp from sweat, fat tears form at your lashes before spilling down your cheeks. you need him.

"ooh, greedy girl," he murmurs. he grinds the hard shape of his cock against your thigh. you tremble, lust making your mind go blank. "you want to feel me right here?"

a desperate and whimpering sigh fills the air as lucifer goes to adjust your thigh around his hip. a warm, gooey pressure burns against your entrance, his hips jutting forward to run his cock through the length of your slit – the sensations is overwhelming and you can faintly hear him encouraging you atop it all.

"y-yeah," you whine, looking up at lucifer through tear clumped lashes. 

his tip sneakily slide in without fuss during the sharp twang of sensation, gradually filling you inch by inch until you physically feel swole just from the tip. you whine as the realization that he's pressing his girth against your ridges causes a low current of anxiety to peak.

"it doesn't hurt," he croons, and kisses your jawline again "fuck— you didn't even feel it, dove. see? it's nice isn't it— feeling a little more full inside?"

at his words, the tightness in you eases. lucifer's right. you hadn't noticed. and the stretch, it doesn't pinch even if you experience the kind of fullness that is hard to ignore, a sight to behold. you wiggle your hips to adjust to the sensation.

lucifer fucks you half way down his length all whilst caging you in– he doesn’t bottom out yet, only thrusts shallowly, letting the sweltersome head of his cock nudge your ribbed walls. he doesn't bother with thrusting either and instead gives you time to savor the stretch of him.

"you've been so brave for me, let me handle the rest, dove." he kisses your temple and go completely limp against him as you let out a heavy breath.

————————

You’re lounging on the plush couch in your bedroom, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. The thigh-high leather boot on your extended leg is sleek, black, and polished to the point where you’re sure someone could look at their own reflection in it.

Lucifer is on the floor at your feet, looking up at you with an expression that’s a chaotic mix of devotion and need. He’s the King of Hell, but right now?

Right now, he’s nothing but your desperate little plaything.

Lucifer starts slow, his hands tracing the sharp, dangerous heel of your boot. His golden eyes are wide and fixed on the leather, his lips slightly parted as he breathes heavily. He leans in, his tongue darting out to taste the cool, smooth surface right at the toe.

You watch him, a smirk playing on your lips, and give a slight, encouraging wiggle of your foot.

Lucifer lets out a choked moan, his hands tightening around your ankle as he presses his face against the leather. He rubs his cheek against it like a cat, his breathing growing more and more ragged with each passing second. You can see the growing bulge straining against the fabric of his pristine white trousers. He’s so far gone already, and you’ve barely done anything. “Please,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and cracking. He looks up at you, his eyes pleading. “Please, let me…?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Let you what, Lucifer? Use your words.”

Lucifer swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Let me… fuck your boot… please… I need it so bad… I need to get off on it… please let me use it… I’ll be so good for you, I promise…”

A dark, satisfied chuckle rumbles in your chest. “Go on, then. Show me how much you need it.”

With a grateful sob, Lucifer scrambles to obey. He shoves his pants and boxers down just enough to free his hard, leaking cock. It’s flushed a deep red and weeping pre-come, practically vibrating with need. He positions himself, straddling your booted foot, his thighs trembling with anticipation. He starts to move, a slow, deliberate rocking of his hips. The slick head of his dick slides against the slick leather of your boot, leaving a wet, shiny trail. The friction is clearly driving him insane. He’s whimpering, a constant stream of sweet little sounds escaping his mouth as he increases his pace, humping your boot with a frantic, needy energy. He’s grinding his cock against the surface, his movements becoming more erratic and sloppy as he goes on. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, his voice muffled as he buries his face against your calf. “It’s so good… it’s so fucking good... you feel so good… thank you, thank you, thank you!”

God, he’s beautiful.

Tears are now streaming down Lucifer’s face, leaving streaks on his soft pale skin. The poor man’s pupils are blown wide and his cheeks are getting more red with every second that goes by. His grip on your leg is bruising, his knuckles white. He’s rutting against your boot like an animal in heat, completely lost to the sensation. The wet, filthy sounds of his cock sliding against the leather fill the room, mixing with his broken moans and pants. The muscles in his legs are tensing, his whole body coiling like a spring. He’s close. You can see it in the way his back arches, in the high, pleading pitch of his cries. His thrusts become short, sharp jabs, his balls slapping against the boot as he fucks your it with everything he has. He looks up at you one last time before his eyes are rolling back in his head and he hits his peak. “Ah! I’m—I’m gonna—!”

And then he’s cumming.

Thick, hot ropes of Lucifer’s release spurt all over your boot, coating the black leather in pearly white streams. He shudders and convulses, his body wracked with the force of his orgasm as he rides it out, still grinding against your boot until he’s completely spent. He collapses against your leg, panting and trembling.

He’s a mess.

A shaking, groaning, satisfied mess.

You look down at your shoe. It’s now dripping with his seed. You gently nudge him with your foot. “Look what you’ve done,” you say, your voice low and commanding. “Clean it up.”

Lucifer moans, a sound of pure, contented bliss, and immediately gets to work, eagerly and thoroughly licking his own cum from your leather boot.

He’s pathetic.

Perfectly pathetic.

And perfectly yours.

————————

You’re lying on the silky sheets of the king-sized bed you share with Lucifer, the fabric cool against your heated skin. The dim lighting of your bedroom creates shadows that dance across the walls. You barely notice them. Your focus is entirely on the man between your thighs.

Lucifer’s golden eyes look up at you, his blonde hair falling slightly over his forehead. His coat has been discarded, leaving him in only his pink undershirt and white pants. His hat joins his coat on the floor as he tosses it down. “You ready, my love?” he asks, his voice a smooth rumble that vibrates through your entire body. You nod, unable to form words as anticipation builds in your stomach. Lucifer smirks, that confident yet caring expression you’ve grown to adore. He’s powerful. Of course he is. He’s the King of Hell.

But with you?

He’s tender.

Loving.

Lucifer’s hands part your thighs gently, and you shudder as his fingers trace patterns on your sensitive skin. He leans in, and you watch, mesmerized, as his tongue extends. It’s longer than any human’s, forked at the tip like a serpent’s, and you know from experience just how talented it is. The first touch is electric as his tongue slides against your folds. He starts slowly, exploring every inch of you with careful precision. “God, you taste divine,” he murmurs against you, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through your core.

You tangle your fingers in his hair as he begins to move with more purpose. Your back arches off the bed as he finds a rhythm that makes your toes curl. He feels so good. So good it’s almost indescribable.

Lucifer watches your reactions, adjusting his technique based on the sounds you make and the way your body responds. When you whimper softly, he slows down, teasing you until you’re writhing beneath him. When you moan loudly, he intensifies his movements, bringing you closer to the edge. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he says between licks, his voice husky with desire. “All mine…”

His words send a fresh wave of arousal through you. There’s something incredibly thrilling about being desired by the most powerful being in Hell—something even more thrilling about how he worships your body as if it’s the most precious thing in existence.

Which, of course, in Lucifer’s eyes, you are.

Lucifer’s tongue dives deeper, the elongated muscle reaching places no human tongue could. He curls it inside you, finding that spot that makes your vision blur with pleasure. Your grip tightens in his hair as your hips begin to move instinctively, seeking more of that incredible sensation. He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your most sensitive parts. “Eager, are we? Don’t worry, my love. I plan on giving you exactly what you want.” One of his hands slides up your stomach, his thumb circling your nipple as his tongue continues its expert ministrations.

The stimulation is overwhelming in the best way possible, and you can feel the tension building rapidly in your lower body.

Lucifer must be able to sense how close you are because he changes his technique slightly. He thrusts his snake-like tongue in and out of your pussy instead of licking, making sure to push it against your sweet spot over and over.

Over and over.

Over and over…

Your breath comes in ragged pants as your mind goes blank. You’re consumed by pleasure.

“That’s it,” Lucifer encourages, his words a bit muffled and hard to understand on account of his tongue being inside of you. “Let go for me. I want to feel you fall apart.” He gets more confident. Not in a way that scares you, but in a way that makes you feel completely safe to surrender to the sensations. You trust him implicitly, even when he’s giving you pleasure your body can’t handle.

Especially then.

Lucifer’s other hand joins the first, both palms now resting on your stomach. The contact is both reassuring and possessive, a reminder that you belong to him as much as he belongs to you.

You whine loudly as the coil in your stomach tightens. “Lucifer,” you manage to gasp out, “I’m close…”

“I know, sweetheart… I know… cum for me, darling… I’ve got you…” he murmurs between thrusts of his tongue, angling the organ perfectly every time he moves.

Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, starting deep in your core and radiating outward until your entire body is trembling. Lucifer doesn’t stop, his tongue continuing to work you through the intense pleasure, drawing out every last drop of sensation. When you finally come down, you’re panting and boneless against the sheets.

Lucifer pulls back slightly, a satisfied smile on his face as he licks his lips. His golden eyes are soft as he looks at you, all the dominance from moments ago replaced by pure adoration. “You’re breathtaking,” he says, his voice filled with love as he moves to lie beside you. He pulls you into his arms, your head resting on his chest as you catch your breath.

You snuggle closer, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. “That was… incredible…”

Lucifer chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your cheek. “Good. See? I told you I’d give you what you wanted.” His arms tighten around you.

You feel safe.

Cherished.

Completely loved in the embrace of a fallen angel.

As your breathing evens out and sleep begins to claim you, you realize that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than here, in the arms of Lucifer. He’s your husband, your lover, your everything.

He’s already given you everything you want.

Because he’s the only thing you’ll ever want.

"No! You can't do that!" trumpeted the elephant. "That is against The Rules."

"I don't care about The Rules!" barked the seal. "The tiger and I are in love and-"

"Love??" tooted the elephant incredulously. "That's not love! Seals can't fall in love, especially not with tigers. And furthermore-"

But the elephant's lecture was cut short, as the massive fangs of the angel chomped its head off.

Lucifer was slumped over his bed, an animal cracker in each hand, and the half-eaten elephant on the blanket in front of his face.

"Oh, thank goodness!" said the seal, as Lucifer sprayed crumbs out of his mouth. "That ancient old elephant is gone. Now we can live together forever, my love! And not even in some piss-covered PIT full of weirdos!"

He wiggled the tiger as she roared. "No. I'm leaving you, seal. Your barking is too loud or your tricks are too annoying or something. I don't know."

Lucifer paused, stared at the crackers in his hands, then shoved them both into his mouth. And the other half of the elephant for good measure.

His head flopped forward, face first on the bed, and he sighed deeply as he chewed. The frosting made them nice and sugary, exactly what he needed right now. And they were also handy for acting out the scenes that played on repeat in his head. That damned beautiful tiger.

He could feel the sugar buzz seeping through him, sparkling through his veins in that welcome, familiar way. Sugar made angels feel warm, floaty, fuzzy - just what he needed. It was similar to the effect he'd been told alcohol had on humans and sinners.

He rolled onto his back, and began tracing his eyes over the patterns on the ceilings for the thousandth time. Shoving another handful of animal crackers into his mouth, he thought about when this binge of his had started. And then he stopped thinking about it, because what did it matter? Who cared if he stayed here, steeped in sugar and darkness?

He was in the hotel now, at least. When Charlie had time for him, he'd be available. And when she didn't need him, he was also available. The hotel had dozens of guests now, and Charlie was very busy, so it was usually the latter. But he was fine here. The sweets needed eating and the ceiling needed someone to stare at it for hours on end.

And the tiger needed nothing from him anymore, obviously…

He wanted more sugar. Wanted to invite more sweet numbness into his brain that would carry away those thoughts. But there were only a few frosted animals left when he rifled around in the once-full jug.

Time for a refill. He snapped his fingers and magic sparked weakly at the point of impact. But he was still notably cracker-less.

"Ugh…"

This happened to him sometimes in a sugar binge. Impotency. All the more reason to stay here, in his room, where no one could see how inadequate he truly was.

He groaned and rolled onto his side, catching sight of an unknown shape in the corner of the room. His reaction was slow, probably from the buzz.

"Hwuh…?" he said aloud.

"Ehehe," was the answer, and Lucifer's eyes widened as he sat up.

All he saw was a red and white blur as something darted from under his bed and toward the closet. That "something" pulled out her needle, pinning a roach to the floor with a gleeful cackle.

"WHOA! UHHhh, what are you- …wait, ew," Lucifer responded, flipping quickly from surprised to disgusted.

"She's in here. I know it. This one's just a messenger, but I know the roach queen is in here. I'm going to skewer her and then bathe in her guts so I can take her place, eheHEHEHhhh~" the maid answered, and scuttled to the other side of the room, tackling another roach that was rifling through some garbage.

Lucifer scoffed. "There are not ROACHES in my room, I would never- oh, wow, would you look at that?" He'd really made a mess in here, hadn't he?

"Well, still. You can't just…BE in my room, you know? I have some…very important kingly business going on," he lied, brushing aside a smattering of crumbs from the bedspread. But the little maid wasn't listening.

Lucifer got to his feet, or rather he tried to. The moment he put any kind of weight on his legs, he flinched as fiery pain shot through his hoof. Oh right, that's why he'd been laying in bed in the first place.

At least he had his wings. They flared out instantly, and he took off after his intruder, not needing to touch the ground. She, however, was darting around faster than even Lucifer could keep up with in his tipsy state.

"I don't want to be mean because you're one of Char-char's guests. Uh, Swiffter was it? But I REALLY can't have anyone in here right now, ya little-"

He was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Lucifer?" you called, speaking through just the crack in the door. "Have you seen Niffty? We've all been looking for her and-"

"NIFFTY! Right, that's your name, you-," he sucked in a breath and continued through clenched teeth,"-adorable little gremlin. So Niffty, please stop tracking those guts on my, uh, on my everything? Please?"

"Oh! So she is in here?" you said, opening the door without thinking. And yes, Niffty was clearly skittering across Lucifer's curtain rod in pursuit of another big-ass roach.

Lucifer swept forward, snatching her under the arms, and flapping his wings to stay stationary in the air.

"Aha! Got you! Now would you please just go with your little friend here and get out! Of! My! Hair!" he reprimanded, and then his eyes flicked over to the door.

It was you. Oh, oh, it was you.

"Wow. Did she really do this much damage?" you asked.

Lucifer landed, still wrangling Niffty in his arms. "Oh no, that wasn't-"

He cut himself off and looked around the room, suddenly taking in the embarrassing state of his little depression nest. Discarded cotton candy cones, caramel stuck in the carpet fibers, ducks upon ducks upon unfinished ducks. And oh hell, he was still covered in cracker crumbs, hadn't brushed his feathers in days, and was just wearing his robe and boxers.

And it was all plain to see, in front of you.

"Uh, yeah…big mess," he mumbled, shrugging his robe closed in embarrassment. He could at least hide the crumbs.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Lucifer, sir," you said, and he could see the genuine sympathy on your sweet face. "Niffty, there's a rat in the kitchen, and we were looking for you to-"

"A RAT???" she howled, with genuine glee. With another enthusiastic wiggle, she broke free from Lucifer's grasp, landed on the floor, and dashed out of the room just as suddenly as she had appeared.

At her departure, your eyes slid back in his direction. Your gaze almost made him shiver.

"I'm sorry, Lucifer," you said. "Can I at least help you clean up?"

"Call me, Lu. And no need, I can just-" He snapped his fingers, already forgetting about his little problem. Every inch of the room was just as much of a mess as before.

"Oh, uh…well, you know it's fine really! I'll get to that laaaaater, so don't waste your effort on-"

"Are you sure?" you responded. "I mean it, I can help…"

You glanced around the room, taking in the state of things. He knew it didn't look the way it would if it had truly been caused by the maid on a rampage. No, this was his un-kingly mess, his disgusting build-up, his emotional carnage.

His eyes met your own sparkling pair, and the expression on your face made him worry you could tell.

He cleared his throat and slicked his hair back. "Yup, I've just been in a little bit of a mood, so you know-…no big dealie-o! I'll take care of it..."

He pumped his arm, pretending to be enthusiastic.

"…eventually!"

He began to descend to the floor to convince you everything was normal, also forgetting about his other problem. The hoof protested as soon as he applied weight to it, and he sucked in air through his teeth. He took flight again, just long enough to sweep himself over to the chair in the corner of the room.

"Wait, did you get hurt?"

His heart seized in his chest at the concern he heard in your voice, but he still tried to play it off.

"Ha! No, of course not~ Just a, just a little crack, I-"

"Oh, your hooves look overgrown…when's the last time they were trimmed?" Your head was bobbing and weaving, trying to get a glimpse of his hoof as he attempted to hide it behind the uninjured one.

"Nonsense, Lilli trimmed them just a few mo-…uh…well, a few yea-…um….well, see, Lilli always did it, and I know the tools are somewhere in her things, but I just haven't had the heart, er, had the time to dig through them, so, maybe I'm a LITTLE overgrown, but it's not actually that big a deal and-"

"That long ago? Oh, Lucifer, that must hurt," you answered. And then you paused, thinking it over. "Listen…I've been in Hell a long time, and just about half of us have hooves so-…do you…need help?"

He wasn't sure how to answer a question like that. He definitely shouldn't need help. He should be able to take care of himself. He should be the support. The father to his daughter, the husband to his wife, the king to his people. Did he need help?

…

Yes, he did. But there was no way could he ask you, of all people, to do it.

Luckily, you didn't wait for him to ask.

"You need help," you nodded, confirming your suspicions just from his silence. "Do you have her things with you, or should I go see if someone has clippers?

"I-...I, uh…" he fumbled. But then he gave in, and pointed at the closet, where he had kept her boxes of belongings (just so he'd be ready if when she came back).

"Oh good. Can I dig through the boxes and try to find them?"

He nodded, and the next words fell past his lips before he could stop them.

"I'm sorry."

Your patient smile made his heart ache, and even more so when you answered.

"No need to be. Just a moment, okay?"

Lucifer nodded again, wrestling with the kindness you were showing him as you turned to your task. He'd long ago recognized his little crush on you. It was confusing for him, but he couldn't deny the way his wings fluttered whenever your eyes met his. The way his stomach did little flips when you said something thoughtful or smiled in that gentle way. The way his eyes wanted to trace down your body right now, a sight so much more appealing than patterns on the ceiling.

More than once he'd wondered if it was a mistake, the fact that you were in Hell. Just like him, you didn't belong here. But unlike him, you didn't deserve to be here. It was the only way he could make it could make sense, the only way any old sinner could be so-…radiant.

And because you were so bright and wonderful, you shouldn't have to do this. You shouldn't have to be sullying your graceful hands by digging through his piles of trash. You shouldn't be subjected to the smell of rotten sugar that permeated his room. You shouldn't be forced to care for him when he wasn't enough to care for himself…

Okay, how could he make things look a little less dire? He smoothed back his hair again. He brushed crumbs off the front of his robe. He cinched the belt a little tighter. Then he glanced up at you and thought about your sweet face and kissable lips, and loosened it again. Just slightly.

Oh, was he trying to entice you now? With the state he was in? He tightened it again, full of embarrassment.

"Oh, here we go!" you said, turning around triumphantly with the trimming knife in hand. Pulling over the stool from his vanity, you took a seat across from him. The smile on your face was the brightest thing in his gloomy room.

He hated to think what he must look like to you.

~~~~

Fuck, he's beautiful. The hint of pale skin poking out of his robe. The golden muss of hair falling over his temple. That soft, sad curve to his lips. Eyes so intense you could only wonder how you could ever look away. How had you gotten yourself into this situation, with him holding out one leg to sit in your lap? Were you really holding that sweet, fuzzy hoof in your hand? You had long gotten over the fact that the devil slept a few rooms over from you. You had accepted that you were hopelessly crushing on him. But why did he have to look so marvelous, even like this?

~~~~

He clutched the armrests, bracing for pain as you gripped the injured hoof and appraised the damage. But your touch was gentle, and he only felt a minor twinge. He should have expected such tenderness from you.

"It doesn't look too bad. A little bit more than a hairline fracture, so if it's pressing on the wrong spot it would hurt…"

"S-see?" he breathed. "T-told you it wasn't that bad!"

"Well, it's not bad now," you argued. "But if you left it alone it would have been. Cracks like this just grow, and the more they grow, the more you have to trim to fix it. It's better to catch it early…"

He watched a gentle blush come over your face, and his wings fluttered with affection. He yearned to press his palm against those flushed cheeks and savor the warmth that would seep into his skin.

"Well, I don't need to ramble. You probably know this already after living with them for, you know, all this time. Sorry…" you apologized.

"No, no. Keep talking. I love hearing you talk."

He realized how that sounded, and now he was the one to blush. "I MEAN-! I mean, it helps! You know, distraction from the pain, as you start to-…trim."

~~~~~

That nervous expression makes you want to pinch his cheeks. Saying sweet things, telling you he "loved" something about you. And it's dark in here, but you could swear his cheeks had been dusted with a golden blush as he said it. This must be the torture Hell had created specifically for you. Maybe he was even doing it on purpose? Maybe it's all just to hurt you, because the king would never feel about you the way that you did about him.

~~~~~

You nodded, still flushed. "Oh, right. Well…"

"And call me Lu," he added, with another flutter of wings.

"R-right. Lu. Just so you know, it shouldn't hurt to be trimmed. " You readjusted to hold the knife firmly in one hand, and positioned his hoof with the other. With a gentle stroke, you carved away a thin layer of keratin, beginning to peel away at the first damaged layer.

"Maybe a little shifting of pressure. But if there's no weight on it, it should be pretty mild…if it hurts, it probably means I'm cutting too close, or it's more serious than just a crack…" Your brilliant eyes met his again. "So are you doing okay?"

He maintained eye contact, for a split second wondering how honest you were asking him to be. Clearly you were only asking if the trim was painful, but part of him wanted to tell you the truth about all of it. Perhaps you'd even be willing to listen.

"Doing fine," he said with a smile. "You really know what you're doing."

Lucifer felt a flicker of happiness as he watched you give a bashful shrug and turn back to your work. Adorable.

But he was being truthful - it didn't hurt a bit. You carved away at the crack, giving the sensitive tissue beneath it room to breathe and to heal. It only took a few moments, and he already felt the pressure inside letting up. He probably could have done this himself, but it was nice to have even a simple moment like this, with you.

You made a few small scoops with the knife, trimming up the edges. "There. I'm no expert at re-balancing the weight distribution, but that should help. Give it a try?"

His eyes kept traveling your face, slow to realize you had made a request. He only noticed when your eyebrows rose, as if expecting him to do something.

"…oh, right!" He scooted himself forward in the chair, gingerly touching his hoof to the ground.

~~~~

He was scooting closer, enough that his knee brushed yours for a split second. Your heart leaps, thinking he was about to do something ripped straight from your daydreams. But no, couldn't be. He was literally created to be stunningly beautiful, and you were just you.

The relief on his face is a victory in itself, though. At least you'd helped in some small way.

~~~~

"So much better," he sighed with relief.

"I'm glad," you responded. You stood off your stool, and it pained him to lose the closeness he had managed to steal. "Maybe I should leave these somewhere you'll find them more easily?"

"Sure," he responded. You left his line of sight, and he was forced to look again at the mess surrounding him. He still felt a bit of a buzz, but he wasn't sure if it was still from the sugar, or from the intoxicating nature of your presence.

So he gave it another try, snapping his fingers again. The debris didn't fly into the trash can the way he had wanted, but it was shambling in that general direction this time. That was progress. At least it would be slightly more presentable, for your sake.

~~~~

You could probably help, though it was a lot to clean up all by yourself. Whatever was making it difficult to use his magic, it must be returning. So the best you could do now is focus on the man himself, right?

Or maybe you just wanted to. Maybe the devil had purposely bewitched you with his messy charms and adorable neediness. Maybe you wanted to be needed, and that was your downfall. Even now, you could see the way his hair stuck out in spiky disarray. Actually, those spikes looked unique? What's that called again…"

~~~~

"Can I touch you?" came your voice from behind him. He almost shivered at the words.

"I- I- I-….yes," he answered, wishing he could believe your words were meant in a more scandalous way. He had begun to turn around when he felt your fingers at his scalp, and this time he did actually shiver.

"Pin feathers, right? I think that's what they're called…"

"Not as familiar with those as you are with hooves?" he asked. "I know there's quite a few sinners down here with w-whhhh…oh…"

Oh, that felt good. He'd questioned whether you maybe belonged up there, and this was just evidence to support that theory, because it felt divine. The way you pinched gently at the clustered feathers and rolled them between your fingers.

It lit up his nerves, and he let out an involuntary noise. He actually cooed. Your fingers froze, and then so did he.

"Was-…was that...a good noise?"

He wanted to say no, to push you away again and continue denying himself your touch - which he craved for more than one reason. But then he felt his resolve snap, and the words tumbled out without thinking again.

"Yes." And then he slumped towards you, his forehead meeting your stomach. "Will you-…do it again?"

~~~~~

Cutecutecutecutecutecutecutecutecutecute-

~~~~~

"Uh-…y-yeah…" came your voice from above his head. With his forehead pressed against you, he could feel the resonance of your words rumble through him.

You reached out again, combing softly through his hair to find another coiled feather, and crumbled away the sheath surrounding it. His response was another coo, and he instinctively nuzzled closer in supplication.

A voice in the back of his mind screamed that this was a terrible, embarrassing thing to be doing. But he was ignoring that voice.

Heavens, you smelled so good. It felt like ages since someone had been this attentive to him. Had combed through his feathers one by one. Had brushed along his scalp in that calming way. Had noticed the way he shuddered in delight and then chosen to do it again.

That same negative voice was telling him that he didn't deserve this blessing, but he was greedy and sinful enough to accept it anyway. He had no choice but to admit how much he craved this - the attention, the closeness, the tenderness, the care directed his way. Coupled with the fact that it was you…

He was only the king, and you were you. How could he ever resist this?

You chuckled softly from somewhere above him. He pulled out of his reverie enough to turn his head to hear the delightful sound more clearly.

"Hehe, well I know that one was a good noise at least. I didn't know you could chirp like that?"

"Wa-..was I?" he answered. Sure enough, when he turned his attention to his mouth, he found he had been pinching his lips together tightly to make those high-pitched bird-noises.

"Sorry…" he said without thinking.

"No, don't be! It's cute…"

Cute? That was a word you'd never before used to describe him. He surprised even himself when he smiled, but you probably wouldn't have seen from your angle standing over him.

"…you think I'm cute?" He felt your posture stiffen. Guilt trickled into his mind for a moment, but it was easily overwhelmed by his curiosity.

"What? Cute, wait did I say-…? I- I don't think I said 'cute.'"

"Mmmm, that's what I heard~" he hummed, finding the strength to pull away, only so he could look at your gorgeous face again.

"I just m-meant…" you stuttered, rewarding his teasing with more scalp massages, "…that I'm happy to see you happy. I care if you're happy."

Another genuine smile tugged at his lips. So kind. So perfect. Looking at you made something inside him sparkle, in a way the sweets scattered around him could never achieve.

~~~~

It was hard not to be lost in those buttercup-yellow eyes when he gazed at you so sweetly. Though you're a bit startled when he suddenly stirs. He pulls his hooves under him, leaping up to perch on the armrest closest to you with his wings spread to keep his balance. You instinctively take a step back, but stop when both his hands clasp one of yours, his grip firm and his expression sincere. With the added height, his face was as close to yours as it had ever been.

~~~~

"Thank you," he says, the words spoken from the depths of his soul. "I care if you're happy, too."

He wanted to say more - confessions about his infatuation, praises that he had only before sung to one particular tiger, a four letter word that started with 'L'.

But he kept quiet, and his eyes flicked down to your lips. They looked soft.

~~~~

Tempting.

~~~~

Delicious.

~~~~

Devilish.

~~~~

Perfect.

~~~~

Irresistible.

~~~~

His breath caught in his throat as you pressed your lips to his. He was certain his resolve would break first, but no, it was you. Which meant you craved it at least as much as he did.

And oh did he crave this. It was shallow, your two pairs of lips only slightly parted. Some might even call the kiss chaste.

But it was everything to him. After a split second separation, he went back for another one. His eyes remained closed, mapping mentally the curves of your lips. One hand slid up to your cheek, sliding his index finger to brush a lock of hair behind your ear. He nipped softly at your bottom lip, pulled away with a quiet chuckle, and then delicately slid his whole hand back through your scalp.

"My turn to return the favor?" he muttered, lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

"Go ahead…" you whispered back.

You might have feared the sharp digits against such a sensitive part of your body, but his touch was so careful. His other hand still held yours, and he began lacing his fingers with yours.

"I've wanted to do that for a while…" you admitted. You still had no desire to move even an inch away from him, even if the kissing had paused.

He stole a quick peck, his eyes finally opening to look at you again. He traced your hairline with his finger, and realized affectionately that it was almost heart shaped.

"Me too," he said. "Though I didn't expect I'd be dressed like this."

"Oh?" you laughed, opening your eyes as well, and making his heartbeat quick. "And what did you expect?"

"Oh, I don't know…" he tilted his head, as if in thought. "An arch full of roses, duck-shaped. Exquisite champagne. Pants."

That earned his new favorite sound, your laugh, and he continued. "Why? What did you expect?"

"Oh I don't know…" you said, squeezing his hand. "I-…I didn't think you'd taste so-… sweet."

"Oh, really?" he smirked. But then, "…oh, you mean literally! Oh, that was probably the, um…"

Lucifer looked away from you for the first time in what felt like weeks, remembering the state of things around him. He was still perched on the armrest, and the reminder threatened to make him lose his balance.

"The what?" you asked, curious

"…the animal crackers?" he admitted. "I was, aHEM, snacking before you came in~"

"Oh! Well I guess that makes sense," you laughed, making him smile again.

"Do you like them?" he asked, climbing down from his perch, but still leaning over the chair to remain face-to-face with you. It was still unbelievable to him, the way he felt right now. He suddenly felt like an entirely different person than he'd been before you stepped into his dark room in all your luminous glory.

"Oh, sure. It's been a long time since I had them obviously…" you responded. "I remember I would always dig until I found one of the seals for my first bite…"

His tail flicked sharply, and his mouth hung open in a toothy gape.

"…what?" you asked, worried you'd said something wrong.

But your only answer was a few rapid blinks and a toothy smile.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who knew he had to have you when;

“sweet guy, right?” you inquired him and he frowned.

“i’m sorry?”

you smiled brighter. “you seem like one of them. let me guess...” you talked to him as you brewed a new order. “loooots of sugar in your coffee, right?” his mouth gaped and you giggled.

god. that sound. he’d kill for that sound.

“how did… how did you know?”

you shrugged. “call it barista’s intuition.”

“well...” he red out your name from your tag. and the way it rolled off his tongue. god. “you’re right.” he smiled. a real truthful smile. one he hadn’t given anyone in what it seemed like forever.

you hummed with a smile, proud of yourself —and kind of completely and utterly smitten with this man, but that was not the case, or your job.— “and what can i get you…?” your eyebrows raised and he cleared his throat. god, reid, get it together.

“spencer. spencer reid.” he gave you his name and you wrote it down on the clear to-go cup.

“well, what can i get you, spencer?” he had to bite down a groan. fuck, a moan. ‘cause the way you said his name? jesus christ. he wanted to hear you saying it over and over again. no, better-moaning it.

“what do you recommend?”

you smiled. “let me surprise you.” and you winked at him. winked.

later, when you called his name once again and gave him his order, he couldn’t suppress the groan that left his throat in delight when the sugary drink hit his taste buds, and when he saw the little smile you had drawn next to his name? he couldn’t suppress the sick need to have you.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who found each and every one of your social media accounts within a few hours and may have not stalked them every day since, touching himself to your posts, to your stories. he couldn’t get enough. he would be shooting blanks and still couldn’t stop stroking his swollen —yet still painfully hard— cock.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who memorized your scheduled. he knew when you’d have a morning shift. when you’d have an afternoon one. time you’d clock in, and when you’d clock out. the color of your car. your designed parking spot…

dark! psychopathic! spencer who kept visiting you over and over again, asking for the same drink you’d made for him the first day he had met you.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who had learned your address by following you back to your place. he had to. to make sure you made it safe and sound. right?

dark! psychopathic! spencer who would stay near the coffee machines or sit at the bar to have a better view of you, and for a chance to chat.

dark! psychopathic! spencer whose obsession only grew when you started drawing hearts along with the smiley face on his cups —cups he never trashed and kept hidden and safe—.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who’d get jealous at anyone who approached you, that smiled at you, that talked to you…

dark! psychopathic! spencer who has been near to killing multiple men who had danced with you, touched you, tried to kiss you while you’d be out with your friends, sending them with critical wounds to the hospital without feeling any type of remorse or guilt. no one could touch you. only him could.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who’d also grow more and more scared by the passing days. with the field in which he worked in? he believed anything bad could happen to you at any given moment. he had already lost maeve. he couldn’t lose you. he had to protect you.

dark! psychopathic! spencer’s mind. who starts to scatter.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who knows he has to do this. for you.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who whispers soft ‘sorry’s into your ear when you’re closing for the night, pressing a damped-in chloroform napkin to your nose until you were passing out onto his arms.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who moans when he finally, feels your body pressed against him, who gets hard just by sniffing the coconut shampoo you used for your hair. fuck. you just smelled as sweet as you were. would you taste as sweet too? he had to take deep breaths to not bust in his pants.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who knows how to make you disappear with no trace left behind. who knows what to not do to not get caught.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who’s right there by your said when your eyes snap open once again. you’re in a bed you’ve never met. in a place you’ve never seen before. “hi angel.” he’d smile, brushing off hair from your face, helping you when you hint you want to sit up.

“spencer? what-? what’s going on? where am i?” you question and he keeps that sweet smile of his, but still frowns.

“what do you mean, honey? you’re home.” and that’s when you frown looking at your surroundings.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who had brought your furniture over to this renovated-basement wonderland he had spent all his money on and created just for you.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who had also hacked your internet search, your pinterest… and bought you your entire wishlist. that new couch you had been saving for? paid in cash. that kitchen isle you’d been dreamed of having since you were a kid? taken care of and built on your right. and that incredible brewing machine you’d been drooling over? right on the new and shiny kitchen counter, ready for you to use.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who had not only bought and built you your wished apartment —in a basement, but who cares about that?—, but had stocked your wardrobe with the pieces on that said wishlist. all brands you could only dream of having. dresses, tops, skirts, jeans, heels, shoes… hell, even the latest and most beautiful bags. and jewelry. sooo many pieces of the prettiest jewelry in the world.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who had spent his whole life living off the most basic things, saving all his money. money he wanted to spend on you. solely you. because you deserved it.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who doesn’t understand when you panic. when you try to get away from him. when you beg him to let you go.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who stays calm, ‘cause he knows you must be in shock. he can read your expressions, your body, almost your brain. he was trained to do so. so he knows just the right things to say, when to touch you. when to not touch you.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who gives you space. who waits for you to get comfortable.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who is just waiting… to finally pounce. like predator lurking on its prey.

and the moment finally comes. and spencer is a great predator.

dark! psychopathic! spencer that groans as he kisses you like you’re the last woman he’ll ever kiss. you will be. forcefully pushing his tongue into your mouth.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who moans when you harshly bite down on his lip, filling up his mouth with blood.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who only pulls you closer despite your fighting. “keep going darling, i love it when you fight me. but you know this is just a facade you’re putting up. you know you can’t keep fighting me forever.”

you shook your head as he kissed and nipped at the skin down your neck.

“you think i wouldn’t see it? that i wouldn’t notice it? the way you looked at me that first day? how your eyes kept fleeting back to my lips when i spoke? how you’ll seek to touch me? how your body posture will change while being near me? you like me.”

“no.”

“i bet you dreamed of this, didn’t you? of me getting you all to myself… keeping you hidden where no one could see you… touch you… except for me.” you shook your head. “then why are you letting me touch you, huh? why aren’t you pushing me away?”

your back arched as his fingers met your hardened nipples. what. the. fuck? why weren’t you fighting? why were you letting this happen? why were you… liking it?

he ripped off your pajama bottoms and panties, exposing your soaking folds to his hungry eyes.

spencer hummed. “look at you. poor thing. have i broken you yet? so wet and i haven’t even toyed with you yet...”

a pitiful moan got ripped out of your chest as his fingers —long, beautiful fingers you had of course not thought about before— met your core and spencer cursed. “fuck baby. you’re dripping. all this for me?” he sucked at your neck, his fingers moving up and down in between your slick lips, fingertips meeting your engorged clit. and a gasp leaves you, hips canting for more. “spencer…” you whine and he sighs right against your ear, as if he were in pain.

and he was. he had never been this fucking hard. be was sure his cock was about to rip through his slacks.

“fuck. juuust like that, baby. moan my name just like that.”

dark! psychopathic! spencer who fingers you soooo good… deep and slow, the hard and fast. until you’re a blabbering and squirting mess, begging him to stop. but you really don’t want him to, ‘cause it feels so good…

dark! psychopathic! spencer who then leaves you to take care of his raging boner, sucking and sniffing the fingers he had fucked you with and coming so hard his sight goes white.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who slowly starts to feed you more and more of that unforgettable pleasure; sucking your nipples until they’re raw and sensitive, fingering you until unconsciousness, rubbing his hard clothed cock against your naked core to leave stains of your cum on them —which he may or may not proudly wear to work, telling the team it’s just coffee that had spilled on them—.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who spends so much time in between your thighs eating you out that his jaw will hurt for days.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who, when he finally fucks you, you’re crying. ‘cause you know you should hate him, hate all of this. but he has broken you. with his pretty face, his soft touch and way of treating you —like a goddamn goddess—, with his fingers, with his tongue, with his huge fucking cock. and you can’t help but be this wet. to want this. him.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who can’t believe just how fucking tight you are, praising you, going slow at first so you could feel every vein, every ridge, and he could feel every bump, every clench of your walls around him.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who then starts really fucking you. pounding into you until your screams filled the flat, until your nails are scratching down his back so hard your drawing blood. and he’s growling “yes baby, mark me up. i’m yours. fucking yours.”

dark! psychopathic! spencer who chokes you, who pulls your hair, making you feel a new kind of pleasure you’ve never felt before. and you want more, more, more.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who —after he’s made you cum like crazy—, nears his own release and pushes your legs onto your chest, leaving you in just the perfect mating press that pushes the head of his cock against your cervix over and over again. god, how he wished he could fuck through it and fuck into your womb. pump you full of his cum. well, i guess, just one of those things he could do.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who tells you so. just how hard he’s gonna cum. how he’s gonna fill you up with his cum, and you shake your head, telling him that he can’t come inside, that you were not on the pill.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who just smirks and chuckles as your meek voice tells him you don’t want it. “you don’t want it? are you sure about that? ‘cause this pretty thing down here sure as hell does. just listen to her. so fucking wet and ready for it. to be bred. to take my babies.” and the you moan. you fucking moan.

your face flushed. your hands clamp over your mouth. and you’re mortified. ‘cause the thought of it has you so close to the edge once again…

you’re sick.

“you want it, doll? want my baby? want me to leave you dripping?” and you shake your head, begging him to not do it, but your body betrays you, your cunt getting slicker, tighter, nipples pebbling and back arching, legs falling apart for him, inviting him deeper. “shhhhh.” he hushes your little ‘no’s. “now keep your legs like that for me. gooood fucking girl. open up. take it. take it all baby. fuck. take my fucking cum.” and your eyes are rolling to the back of your head when his fingers pinch your clit and his cum fills your womb in thick heavy spurts. “fuuuuck yeah.” he groans as he feels you cumming once again, squirting all over his stomach, his thighs, his cock, drenching the sheets. “that’s it angel. milk that cock. good fucking girl.”

dark! psychopathic! spencer who that night fucks so much cum into you that you are a dripping mess for days.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who then slowly starts to starve you from the pleasure, to make you dependent of him. to make you obsessed with him. to turn his obsession reciprocate. and it works. of course it works.

Spencer spins around in his chair. Bored from doing paperwork all day. He tried doing 'physics magic' again, but Hotch had caught on immediately. So, after getting himself an early lunch, he—quite excitedly—texts his secret girlfriend. She was never supposed to be a secret. Although Spencer wanted to be selfish and keep her to himself for a couple more months. Juno doesn't mind, he thinks...Hopefully it isn't much of a problem. He nearly trips while texting her, way too excited to see her again.

The team has definitely noticed; he's been...very happy for about six months. And yes, there is an ongoing bet. Penelope and Emily have bet on him having a girlfriend, Derek bet on him getting out there, JJ bet on something positive related to his mother, and Aaron refused to bet on anything. Unbeknownst to everyone else (except Emily herself), Penelope and Emily are winning. Emily has yet to spill the beans, of course. Although she's dropped some hints to Spencer...

One time, Derek tried to make him get a girls number, Spencer adamantly refused. Emily nudged his shoulder and chuckled. "...What?" He murmurs with furrowed brows. "Oh, nothing.." She smirks as she drinks her wine. Then, during a dinner, someone had mentioned the movie 'Juno', she kicked his leg under the table. "Ow? What was that for?" He looked at her with a disgruntled expression. Although...She saw that smile. His cheeks flushing as soon as that name was mentioned...

——

Back to the lovely couple, Juno is nearly asleep, slumped over her couch. Waiting for her boyfriend, who just knocked on her door. That same silly little rhythmic knock that he always does. She sluggishly walks over to her door, opening it with a yawn. "Spence..." she stretches her arms out for him; unsurprisingly, he's already in her arms, despite being much taller. "Juno." His nose prods at the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent deeply. Juno—being oddly ticklish—whines and withers away from his hold. He chuckles and pulls her back into his arms, "Sorry, love." He gently guides them inside her apartment, which is riddled with her deer-and-apple-themed trinkets.

Locking the door behind him, they settle onto her couch for some good old-fashioned cuddling. "How long is your break?" She murmurs against his neck. "Two, maybe three hours if I'm lucky?" She hums, pulling away to look at him with furrowed brows. "Did you get yourself an early break?" Sheepishly, he smiles. "Wanted to see you. And cuddle, duh." He admits, pulling her closer by the waist. "You don't have to keep doing that, you know?" - "I want to." He reassures her. "You don't like my cuddles?" He juts his lower lip out. "No...I love your cuddles." She murmurs against his neck. "Hey..That tickles." He giggles softly, contagious, if you will. She yawns. It's not long before she's fast asleep in his arms. It's important to understand that—Juno isn't one for taking naps; it only happens when she's sick or exhausted. So... definitely the latter.

He doesn't sleep alongside her. Just...holds and admires her for...Nearly two hours. He feels bad about waking her up. But he still wants to have lunch with her. "Juno? Angel, wake up, please." He peppers kisses along her neck, knowing the slight tickling sensation will at least wake her up a bit. "Mm.." She mumbles, not opening her eyes. After a bit more useless persuading, he gives up and full on jus tickles her. "Ah! No!" She falls off the couch trying to get away from him. Panicked and worried, he looks over to her on the floor. "Woops!" He decides to just...plop down alongside her on the floor. Head on her stomach. "Ouch." She groans but doesn't move. "Lunch?" He cranes his head up to look at her. "Lunch." Spencer gets up first, pulling her up gently. "Where are we eating?" She pulls her polka-dotted scarf around her neck. "Wherever you want." He takes his coat and pulls it on. "...Am I allowed to indulge myself and go somewhere fancy? ...With mozzarella sticks?" Spencer sighs, knowing he'll have to pay, but he doesn't mind. "Fine, fine..." With a smile that warms his heart, she pulls him out of her apartment and into the coldness of the outside world.

——

Spencer orders pasta, and Juno gets her beloved mozzarella sticks and some steak. With some rice, of course. She shares with him. Kind of. Although the main point is that...tables behind them, is Derek and Penelope. At first, they were just there to get lunch. As friends do, but their attention was quickly caught by a familiar tall brunette and an oddly excited woman.

—

"Hold it, babygirl. Is that.." Derek gestures towards Spencer's table. "Oh, my gosh—!" She nearly yells, before Derek quickly covers her mouth with a smile. "Shh..Look at that. Pretty boy has a pretty girl. Thought I'd never see the day." He chuckles, watching the pair. "They're so cute..Look at the way he looks at her!" Spencer's eyes were practically sparkling as he watched her eat. "Oh, and I love her scarf! My my.. She's adorable!" She squeals. Squeezing Derek's hand tight. "Can we introduce ourselves? Please, please, please!" Penelope begs, already standing up. "...I don't have a choice, do I?" Penelope smiles. "Nope!" Then he's dragged away to Spencer and mysterious- and-adorable-girl-with-a-cute-scarf-who's-Spencer's-girlfriend's table.

—

In the middle of them eating, a voice interrupts them: "Spencer Walter Reid!" Beside them, a poofy-haired blonde and a TDH man beside her. Juno recognizes them as Penelope Garcia and Derek Morgan; Spencer talks about them. It's embarrassing to meet them in...such a state. That being some sauce on her cheek and a mouthful of mozzarella cheese.

Spencer smiles as he watches her wipe any sauce away. "Ah...Crap. Hi, guys. This is my girlfriend, Juno." He proudly gestures towards her. Juno smiles awkwardly as Penelope squeals, drawing... unnecessary attention, but nobody really minds.

"Oh, my gosh! Hi! So, I'm Penelope! And this is Derek! We're Spencer's coworkers!" Juno smiles in response. "Hi..I'm Juno. He just said it, but I'm his girlfriend, yeah.."—"Oh, you are just the most adorable little thing I've ever seen!" Penelope hugs her, really tight. It's kind of awkward cause Juno's sitting down..But it's a nice hug. She hugs her a little softer, afraid to make a bad impression. "And you must be Derek Morgan..?" Juno gestures to Derek as Penelope pulls away. "That's me. Honestly? I didn't think Reid would ever get a girlfriend. Especially someone this cute." He lightly slaps the back of Spencer's head, making Juno giggle a little. "Pray tell, who made the first move?—"

Spencer meekly interrupts. "Okay! As much as I love this...Uhm I actually wanna introduce her to the entire team, so... Please keep it quiet until then?" Derek chuckles. "Alright, alright..But it's nice to meet pretty boys pretty girl." He smiles smugly and winks at Juno, before he gestures at Penelope to leave. "Let's go, Babygirl. Let the lovebirds have their moment." Penelope bregudingly follows. "Oh, but- fine, it was so so nice meeting you!"

And with that, it was just Juno and Spencer again. "They're nice. I like them!" She smiles at Spencer. "I know." He smiles back, reaching out to hold her hand.

his brown eyes are specking with golden hues that match the bands that sit prettily on the burgundy velvet cushion that the ring beholder offers you.

the babbling of the priest sounds like gibberish to your clogged ears. your heartbeat is going so fast you believe it might escape from your rib cage. if it does…you hope you can run away along with it from this church and this fate you’re now in the hands of.

“miss?” your eyes drift from the man— from who you’d be calling husband from now on towards the priest.

“forgive me. i seem to have lost my train of thought.” he smiles kindly and repeats what he had asked.

“do you take this beast, spencer reid, king of his kind, as your husband? in health and wealth, sickness and poorness?”

you suddenly feel like swallowing a spoonful of cinnamon, and your breathing hastens.

but you have to do this. a bloody war depends entirely on the next words you’ll spew. you have no choice but to…

“i do.”

“then, hereby, with the power i behold and under the eyes of our god, i name you wife and husband. you may now bear the rings…” his hands are warm, but his eyes are cold, void of feeling. his jaw is tight the moment he steps closer. his nostrils flairs as he takes in the musk of your skin, the perfume the maids had sprayed on you, the vanilla that lingers from the oils they had lathered you on after your bath. he looks at you as if you were an insect and his next meal at the same time.

his touch is scalding and electrical as he slides the golden band, the branded signature with his name and the date of your union, onto your heart finger, the metal just a barrier of thin skin away from the blood that pumps right straight to the thumping core in your chest, which now too would belong to him, either you wanted it to or not.

your eyes zero on it, trying to take in the sigh and the idea of now being a married woman, and not an ordinary one at that, but the wife of the king of all beasts, the ones you’ve been against since the beginnings of time.

but your little bubble pops at the rasping of the priest. the ring. his ring. the ring you have to put on your now husband’s finger.

“oh, sorry.” your voice is soft, that’s something spencer has noticed, but nothing compared to your touch, your skin. he hides the way his breath hitched when you carefully and tenderly caught his hand, so you could slide the band on his finger. he can hear your rapid heartbeat, can sense the fear and nervousness coming out of your soul in waves.

good. you should fear him.

“and now… you may kiss the bride.” your body locks, muscles going rock solid. anyone could mistake you with a statue by the way you’d even stopped breathing.

a growl leaves the beast’s chest and the whole church freezes.

“is it necessary?” his dangerous glare digs daggers into the priest’s chest, who starts sweating and stuttering.

“i-i’ts tradition, my lord.” his smile is screaming ‘please, mercy!!!’.

“fine. if i must.” he drawls, and you have to swallow as his cold stare now falls upon you, just like his presence. his new step breaks your space, it’s heavy, and his proximity chokes you, crushes you.

you hold your breath as he bends down, golden and hazel eyes facing your doe ones, widened in astonishment.

the space closes, diminishes, and dissapears. your eyes tighten close, your hands clenching into fists.

please, god, don’t allow this to be my death.

and when you thought that he would tear into your skin, you feel him take a deep breath in. he was taking you in, and god did you smell biteable.

spencer’s teeth clash down onto each other, and a new growl leaves his chest. this one is deeper, dangerous. and it terrorizes you.

a squeal escapes your lips, your stomach flips. he must consider your scent disgusting compared to those of his kind. what if he couldn’t take it? what if the need to feel your flesh give in into his mouth and your blood hit his tastebuds was too strong? what if his instincts-

but then soft as cotton lips pressed against the corner of your plush and trembling ones.

it was quick, a peck, before he was pulling away to show the relieved faces of now a happy crowd and priest.

“may god gift you with a long and lovely marriage, king and queen reid.”

his castle was not what you had expected. hell, had you even expected a castle at all?

high stone towers shadow you, colorful lilies of stained glass decorating the façade of the covered in bloom vines.

you frowned at the sight. your books always talked about being the gladiolus the flower of the crown of the beasts. for its meaning as the flower of the gladiators, strength and victory. no lily was ever mentioned on the scriptures.

“my lady?” one of the servants had opened the door of the carriage for you and now gifted you his hand as support for you to descend onto the ground.

your husband, observed in the shadows of the coach as you gladly accepted with a thankful smile. fangs glinted.

if the beasts had not their recognizable sharp canines, they would pass as one of your kind. they also were taller, sturdier, stronger. with a clawed hand of theirs, your skull could easily sink in under their tight grip. you tried to not think about the fact that soon you’d be entering into their den.

that was until…

“my lady!” your eyes found those of emily prentiss’, your confidant and with who you’d grown playing through the bushes of the maze in your palace.

“emily!” having her in your arms had never brought you as closer to home as you had been since you had said your ‘i do’. “oh, i’m so glad to see you… but what are you doing here?” you questioned.

“an order from your husband, he thought you’d feel safer with some of our kind working along his servants in the castle.” your eyes then sought out the beast with who you now shared not only a united kingdom, but a last name. and there he was. aaron hotchner, the guard that had kept you alive like a guardian angel since before you could walk, shaking the hand of your husband as who you assumed —and would get to know later as derek morgan— would be his second hand, a man of great built and tanned skin.

“oh…” you muttered, your sight quickly adverting as spencer seemed to notice your staring, finding your fleeting eyes.

his hazel irises burned over your skin; your figure in your still pure white wedding gown.

“let me take you upstairs, into a much comfier dress, hm?” emily took your hand and you nodded, tagging along, but the need to turn around ate at you and tugged on your strings until you did, finding that spencer’s eyes had not yet left you, or the way emily held your hand.

(…)

after that, you didn’t catch sight of your husband until the sun had commenced to dip below the frond forest that surrounded you.

you now wore a sleeveless bedazzled and corset tight purple gown, your delicate feet in the comfiest heels you had ever worn. your long and wavy hair —a masterpiece from your stylists— danced across the hair as the clacks of your kitten heels accompanied and announced your arrival to the dinner hall.

two tall butlers opened it for you, their synced voices stating your entrance. “lady reid.”

guards stood posted at every door, maids just a feet away in case of need. across the room a feast spread before your eyes, at the head of the table your husband sat, waiting for you.

but what spencer wasn’t expecting was to see you wearing purple, the emblematic color of his kind. before he could think, he was standing, his chair scraping the rick marble of the floor. he stared at you so intensely, for a moment you thought you had somehow done something wrong, offended him… but no.

if spencer couldn’t hold himself as well as he knew how to, his mouth would have hung open in surprise. but of course, his composure was his forte. though you seemed to have a natural knack to shake it to its core.

you bowed before him. “my lord.” your voice soft, kind and elegant as you acknowledged him.

he mimicked you as soon as he pulled his train of thought together. “my lady.” both of you stared at each other. “i wasn’t aware of your knowledge on our history and emblems.”

and that. that was the longest he had talked to you for.

you smiled, softly, just a mere trace. “thought that, now as part of that history, i should start playing the part of where i belong now; the house of reid.”

his body slightly froze at your words, but he gently nodded, and with no more comment, swiftly signaled you to take a seat on the other head of the table, right across from him.

after that, the maids were quick to prepare your silverware and drape a velvet cloth over your lap in case of spills.

you thanked them, and stared at the food in front of your eyes, there were plates that you’ve only seen in drawings or read in books, tropical fruits about which’s sweetness songs strummed along.

you didn’t know where to start. but that was not just what concerned you. spencer still stared at you, calculated. like a gentleman, he awaited for you to make the first move, take the first bite. it was an inverted veneration to which you were accustomed. and you didn’t know what to take. what to eat. how much to eat. society standards were hard, you’d starve for the perfect size, the perfect figure. you now were a queen. the closest thing to perfection and god known to man… you had to be nothing less than that. you couldn’t be.

you reached for sautéed asparagus, your fork easily pinching though the softness of it before slicing it in a smaller piece once in your plate.

spencer continued to stare as you filled —more like half-filled— your plate with small portions of vegetables. cooked potatoes, carrots, tomatoes…

he stopped you just as you were to pick on some lettuce. “not a fan of meat?” his plate stood, yet, empty, the golden specks on his eyes shining under the flames of the chandelier.

“oh, not at all, my lord.” your eyes met a plate of stake nearby, and you felt your mouth water. “seems delicious.”

the beast frowned then. “feeling ill, perhaps?”

you shook your head, and once again, denied. “no, my lord.”

his eyes narrowed, once, and then took his silverware. “alright then.”

(…)

dinner had never been so long and dreadful. but nothing could compare to the hour in which the sun left you in the dark.

you had been bathed for a third time that day, and lathered in all times of oils that left your skin smelling and feeling like the most softest of petals.

a sheer white gown covered your figure, and your hair hung down to your waist in the same beautiful waves you had worn to dinner.

you were now awaiting for your husband on your chambers. white, purple and gold surrounded you, lilies filling the room, the window letting in the soft and warming breeze of the upcoming summer.

you couldn’t stop staring at your reflection on the mirror that hung from the nearest wall. were your lashes sufficiently curled? were your cheeks rosy enough? is your hair properly curled from every angle? did you look perfect? you had to. it was your wedding night.

your cheeks flushed at the thought and realization of it. your wedding night. the night in which you’ll become one with your now husband. the night in which you’ll offer yourself completely to him, body and soul, for the first time ever. you were not supposed to know what would happen. but you were curious, and sneaky, so of course you had managed to find books of anatomy and some… erotica on the forbidden section of your castle’s library.

pleasure. that’s what you’ll feel. once he rids you of your clothes, once he crawls on top of you, once he spreads open your thighs and…

a knock falls upon the wooden door, and you jump on your place. it’s him. you quickly take a last peek towards the mirror, anxiously combing through your hair one last time. you’re flushed. cheeks, neck and ears pinkish and warm as your meek voice mutters a “come in!”.

the door creaks open, and spencer’s heavy steps break the air, with his presence inside the room, it feels heavier upon your shoulders, dense.

he closes the door, and his eyes met yours, but then, he takes a deep breath in, and has to fight the urge to growl deep into his chest at the scent you give off. he hadn’t even looked at you, hadn’t even touched you yet…, and he could already smell the arousal pooling in between your plush thighs. how sweet you were. how ripe and ready and…

his lung filled in with the scent of your need. your body, soft, smaller, pliant—called for him, to be bred, to give him the heir that will officially be the union of both your kingdoms.

you’re so willing to let him take you, for him to push himself upon you and break you apart…

“why are you still awake?” his voice is ruff, dry, void of any warmth. your body shivers, freezes. your heart jumps.

“i… uh-“

“it’s late. you ought to be sleeping. a queen needs all the rest she can get.”

your cheeks pink. have you thought wrong? did they not…?

“i thought i’d wait awake for you…” his fists clench at the sliver of soft and tempting voice that leaves your plush lips —those which he had barely felt, tasted, a mere hours ago at the ceremony and which you wouldn’t stop wetting with your wicked tongue in nervousness—.

he simply ignores your words, and sits on the common tea area in the spacious room, taking out of his vest’s pocket a perfectly sized book of what? your sight could not catch.

“my lord…?” your voice calls once again for him, questioning. his eyes fall close at the sound.

after eternal seconds of still silence, he speaks once more.

“it’s our wedding night.” the declaration makes you pulse, flush, reek. and spencer growls. “i’ll stay in your quarters for exactly an hour, as it is expected of me to be here tonight, then i’ll leave.”

you frown. solely an hour? ‘your quarters’? he’ll ‘leave’?

you take a deep breath in…

“i don’t understand…”, and let it out. your hands, clammy, shaky, clasp together, your thighs tremble, tighten. “you won’t…?”

“what.” that single word is cutting. “take you?” your core floods, your body warms and he growls once again, making your flesh wear those beautiful goosebumps that call unto his most dark instincts. “stop that.” he orders. “stop with that nonsense and go to sleep, you need the rest.”

you swallow. your heart freezes over and cracks. your hopes wither.

but you nod, concede, and gently make your way into the silk, sheer, white sheets.

you turn on your side, eyes facing towards the window facing the floral and beautiful gardens of your new… home?

you let your lids fall, and with a last breath before you will yourself yo sleep you mutter out a broken.

“goodnight, my lord.”

the days are long, almost never ending. your desk if full of paperwork you thought you would never have to do. you were prepared, of course, your entire life-hood had been lesson after lesson to take the crown after your father and mother —being the only offspring of the marriage—. but it had surprised you. never in history had a queen had so much power in her hands, so many decisions to make —not on your kingdom at least—.

“the king wants your insights in the kingdom matters, for you’re the owner of it as well.” derek morgan, the second hand or your husband spoke with the kindest of smiles as he carefully placed the papyruses on the wood before you, ink and quill ready.

your eyes were wide and doe’d in surprise, but you managed to give a quick nod before he retreated and stood beside aaron on the door, guarding it. the first thing that came to your mind was the reasoning for this. aaron was a capable soldier, a golden one at that. the best in you kingdom. he could protect you just fine, so why a second one…? that’s why the possible answer of the reason for it being spencer’s need to monitor you through derek, to keep you from making mistakes… made anger boil in your gut. could it be that he thought of you as inferior? as frail and dumb just for being a human?

you straightened your back even further and gritted your teeth. aaron, non the wiser, and knowing of your mannerisms, raised slightly his eyebrows at your almost imperceptible show of fury.

your quill flew through the sheets, your scribbling was almost frantic as you also filled the margins of the documents with your strong opinions and arguments. plans were made. data updated. and contracts for upgrades were signed with your careful, floral and graceful script.

and when you were done, you sat up abruptly.

“aaron.”

the guard stepped forwards. “yes, my lady?”

“i’d very much like to wander through the gardens.” hotchner nodded under your command.

“then i shall accompany you, my lady.”

you didn’t even gave morgan a side glance as your kitten heels clacked by him, leaving the room and him behind.

and it wasn’t until you were deep into the gardens that aaron spoke once again. “are you alright, my lady?”

“please don’t call me that, aaron. i shall remain your princess even if my name has changed.” he chuckled lightly at your sweet fit and pout.

“alright then, princess. but that doesn’t answer the question.”

“just marriage matters.” you simply said. aaron was like a second father to you, he had been there even in your first steps, and helped you clean your wounds when you’d fall while playing through the maze of your castle. you were pretty sure he wouldn’t like to know about the marital distance spencer put between you two. how he left you to sleep alone every night, and barely spoke to you during the days.

you were married to a ghost in a crown.

“marriage is supposed to be hard, princess. even more if you’re different species.” he gave you an encouraging smile, the golden wedding band blinking at you. you sometimes forgot he was married, and had a beautiful kid he also had to take care of aside from you. you took a mental note to give him more vacation time and shorter shifts now that haley and jack had moved to the houses near the castle —that spencer had built specifically for the servants, guards and their families.—.

you hummed, feet dragging through the perfectly cut grass.

“i guess you’re right.” you continued your walk, under a willow and a couple of meters away from you a beautiful pond overflowing with the most crystalline water you had ever laid eyes on, pink water lilies rimming it as if it were a painting, or the most perfect natural mirror. hotchner should’ve known the moment that wicked smile of yours split your porcelain face. “how do you think my husband shall react if he found me in the pond?”

“princess.” he tried to stop you, but the word hadn’t even finished leaving his lips before your heels were off, and you were tugging at your dress, undoing the front corset and letting it drop to the ground.

aaron was quick to look away. sure, you still had your white chainse to cover you. but you were a queen, and firstly, a woman. one he deeply respected. he turned.

“princess, i believe this won’t be to the king’s liking.” he rose his voice, muttering a breathy curse when he heard your feet plunge into the water and your little squeal.

“well, i am his queen and equal. and if i desire to go into this lake, then i shall.” and with that you dived in. the water was the perfect temperature, mostly colder than warmer, but you preferred it that way.

your long hair adhered to your back as you came back to the surface, eyelashes decorated like chandeliers with the droplets of lukewarm water. your cheeks were flushed, a relaxing smile giving away on your lips as you wadded though the water, observing the little butterflies and dragonflies that would pass by. maybe you could plant more flowers for them.

but your little bubble of relaxation bursted when a needle with the low growl of your husband went through it —and the air who surrounded you— like an arrow.

“and what is my wife doing naked in front of another man who is not me?”

you froze on your place, just for a second, your muscles locking and going taut with a tension that had been growing like weeds inside of you, creeping and surrounding your heart in spines. then you smirked, but put on your best confused and innocent expression as you turned and your doe eyes met his.

“but i am not naked, my lord. i’ve still got my chainse on.” your lily-white words fell from your wet lips. “look.” and when you stood from the water, it cascading in rivers down your silhouette, which now was accentuated by the sheer white fabric glued to your skin — a fabric that left everything on sight— in that instant, derek morgan, who had tailed down the king, looked away as well, fixing his dark brown eyes in the plum and willow trees.

spencer, on the contrary, kept his eyes, which shone, for just a split of a second, with the purest golden… on you. on your pebbled and rosy nipples, that show through the sheer damp white.

“princess-“ aaron quickly took off his purple velvet cape, stepping towards you to cover you. god forbid you caught a cold and fell ill. but the deep threatening growl of the king stopped him from taking one more step.

spencer didn’t mutter a word. the stare he gave the human clearly spoke aloud his thoughts: drape that thing over her and i’ll have your head. then, he undressed. first his purple embroidered vest, then, his white flared shirt, and stepped towards you.

your eyes raked down the exposed skin. sun-kissed toned muscles greeting you, making you almost salivate. his chest was strong, the perfect size for you to hide against for warmth in a chilly night. his shoulders, wide, the muscle taught in tension, made for your hands to claw at. his stomach… lean, soft yet harsh lines showing his formed abdominals. and then… lower… peeking from his pants, the most mouth watering and sharp v-line —which you wondered if would cut your fingertips if touched— flanking soft highlighted curls that disappeared down down down…

your vision got clouded by the cloth of said shirt as he pulled it down over your head, covering you and engulfing you in his rich scent, making your heart almost beat out of your chest.

his jaw was tight, muscle about to snap as his eyes were anywhere but on you. as if he couldn’t bear the sight of you.

his grip was tight on your hip, and from his pink lips fell a simple order.

“now go change.”

and for the first time. you didn’t try to fight. not with the way he growled each word under his breath.

spencer was about to spill over the edges. his skin was tightening, and his body felt like a goddamn furnace. he knew what that meant, he could feel it in his bones. but he kept working and working and working, trying not to think about the storm of hunger that would take over him sooner than later.

“so, under my watch, the constructions wouldn’t take long, and would enrich the kingdom, for ferthey is interested in our wolfsbane as much as we are interested in their luna magra.” rossi —the treasurer and political man of the court— spoke, plans of a new harbor and corps expanded on the table.

spencer was trying to pay attention, he really was, but his mind was far far away from the room in which he stood.

“sounds good. the faerie has always been fair and generous in tradings. also our bonds would tighten.” the king hummed. “send correspondence as soon as possible.”

“yes, my lord.” david bowed, rolling the maps and saving them back carefully into his satchel.

“making decisions without your queen, gentlemen?” heads turned under the sound of your voice, eyes landing on your figure, framed by the wooden door. and if non-the wiser, you could have been mistaken for a painting, the most mouthwatering masterpiece. soft plush thighs uncovered under the same shirt spencer had covered you with the afternoon prior, which you had clung onto after the maids had showered, insisting you’d sleep on it.

you looked so small under the size of it, so fragile. hair slightly messy, cheeks rosy and lips plump. you had just woken up.

eyes widened, and then left you, bodies folding on bows. “my lady!” it was as if the church’s choir was present with the way they all chanted your name.

spencer’s chest puffed in a deep breath, almost a gasp, also an intake of your sweet scent being consumed by the musk of his. his sharp eyes wondered your exposed skin, canines gritting when the neck of his shirt slipped slightly down your shoulders, slightly unbuttoned front showing your clavicles and juncture of your neck, where he would…

“out.” the order was guttural, simple. every man in the room tensed under it.

you rose your eyebrows as you looked him straight in the eyes. “not so soon gentlemen, i have yet to see what you were planning in my absence.”

the step they were about to take towards the door became a mere feint. now, the court stood in between the words of both carrying the crown.

“everyone. out. now.” you husband’s voice filled the space once again, but this time… even your body felt the need to comply. the bellow was rough, deep, the order of a true leader.

when the bodies of his kind moved like mere puppets on strings and left the room in a hurry is when you noticed that the roar was not a simple one. but an alpha’s order. spencer had used his alpha’s voice against his own. a tone so impossibly deep and strong that no wolf could unfollow nor break, not if they weren’t as stronger as him. and there was no wolf as strong as the king.

when they left you two behind inside the room, after the soft click of the door, you scoffed. “now that was not fair.”

“i’m starting to believe my lady has a liking to undressing herself in front of other men.” he growled and you smirked with a shrug of your dainty shoulders.

“can’t a queen be comfortable in her own castle?” he clicked his tongue. you had a sharp one, your were quick.

“in my shirt.”

“in your shirt, indeed.”

yours. yours. yours.

mine. mine. mine.

you could hear his teeth clashing against each other in a tight bite.

“take it off.” he ordered. he wanted it back.

“as you wish, my lord.” and who were you to deny your king and husband?

but as your hands took the hem of your shirt, and started to pull upwards, to pair of strong burning hands encircled your wrists. in a blink, spencer has crossed the room, his brown eyes catching a mere glimpse of the sheer underwear underneath his shirt before it could go any further.

a low growl left his chest, and your body reacted to it. to it and to his touch. goosebumps rose, slick formed…

“what are you doing?” his heavy breathing hit your cheeks. deep rich coffee.

you kept your eyes on him. “exactly what you asked for, my lord. i’m taking it off.”

“here?”

“are you not my husband?” his eyes closed. spencer bit the inside of his cheek until copper hit his tastebuds, and ground himself with a deep breath before facing you once again.

he let go of your wrists, but stood a breath away, eyes dark, deep into yours. a dare was written in his irises; ‘do it. do it if you have the courage.’

and you, once again, delivered.

you didn’t look away as you continued your tugging, up, up, up, until it left the warmth of your skin behind, fell down your hand and ended on the floor.

only covered by your drawers, all but your most sensitive core, stood exposed before his eyes. at first he didn’t look, fought against the need of your eyes to wander, but your skin was so pure… and ready for the taking.

your breath got stuck in your throat as, by the mere sight of the naked skin of your neck, the mere crevice of it, his eyes turned the prettiest and brightest golden you’d seen. and before he would let his eyes travel downwards, towards the soft and supple mounds of your chest and rosy peaked nipples begging for attention… he forced them away.

“leave.” he said in a breath. his skin was itching. his lungs suffocating in the dulcet aroma of your arousal. but his face ported the poker of a card, and his eyes had returned to the chocolate you were acquaintances with once again.

you stood there, unmoving. and that’s when he called louder. “prentiss!”

through the wooden door, the voice of the brunette could be heard, before the human cracked it open. a slip dress stood in between her arms, as if she were conscious of what would happen once you stepped into the conference room.

“yes, my lord?”

“would you mind aiding the queen to dress and lead her back to her chambers?” he asked, as politely as he could with the deep growl that begged to leave his chest. emily looked at you, and you simply turned, slipped on the dress and left him behind in that empty room. the door shut and his eyes zeroed on the shirt on the floor, the shirt you had worn to sleep, the shirt that now contained not only your scent, but his, combined.

his hand took it, gripped it, if it weren’t for his composure he would have already ripped it to pieces, but instead, just followed after you and into his room, throwing it into a corner before pouring himself three fingers of bourbon.

you must be doing this on purpose.

that was spencer’s thought when you stepped foot into the dining room for breakfast that morning. you were properly dressed this time, a beautiful, flowy, summery dress clinging to your body in all the right places. it was a feast for the eyes of anyone. but the dessert. the sugared cherry, the forbidden fruit… was how you smelled.

his nose flared, his lungs filling up in pure unabashed hunger.

orgasm. you smelled like an orgasm. he could smell the residual cum in between your thighs, on your fingers. could practically smell your moans, your whines.

he was aware that you knew. you must. just as he was aware that if he could smell it, the others of his kind in the room could as well.

but how… how did you knew what an orgasm, what pleasure was supposed to be?

had you heard about it? had someone told you about it? had someone touched and taught you?

the mere thought made the golden fork in his hand almost snap in half.

“morning, my lord.” you saluted him, sitting down on the opposite head of the table, like always. “how was your sleep last night?” you inquired, and made sure to slightly part your thighs.

either you were completely oblivious or your little fits lately had been completely intentional.

‘the second.’. you’d answer with the prettiest of smiles if you could read into his mind.

“fine.” he answered gruffly. “what about yours?” but still courtesy didn’t lack.

“splendid.” you smiled softly, and he swallowed a growl. fucking tease.

truth be told? your little schemes were just a simple way to get spencer’s attention. to get his touch. but most of all, to prove that he desired you. just as you did. he must desire you, right?

but up until now, two weeks of marriage had passed, and no little stunt had worked. first, it had been the lake, next; the shirt incident. after that, you had made sure to become friendlier with his second hand, derek, in seek of his jealousy. you had pranced around the castle with shorter and shorter gowns, had basically rooted yourself to the places he most commonly frequented; like the library, where the tow of you spent hours reading each on a different side of the room. you haunted him like a ghost… and yet, he had stood impassible. to everything. every step, every word, anything you did… his façade was impeccable. you couldn’t make him react. couldn’t make him tick. and it was as heartbreaking as frustrating.

until…

it was late at night. another alone night in your chambers as you devoured page after page of a romance novel you’d found on the castle’s library. when the passion filled the pages, and neediness seeped into your undergarments, soaking the tender flesh of your thighs…

when your hand came down in seek of relief… that it hit you.

werewolves had the best sense of smell ever recorded and known. so… if you waltzed into a room where he stood unclean, dripping in release… he must notice. he must smell it.

so that night, you made sure to make a mess. it wasn’t difficult if you recalled the image of his sun-kissed skin, exposed and strong chest, marked abs, perfect happy trail that led the way to…

so now here you stood, eyes digging deep into his, acting as if nothing was wrong. but this time, you had seen the way his nose had flared, how for just a mere second, golden had taken over his irises, how his body had tensed… a crack, a way in.

and you were not gonna let it leave your grasp.

now. about to enter a state of rut, in which inhibitions lowered and a savage, hungrier side of him broke through his walls… spencer felt taunted. like a donkey to which they had offered a carrot hanging from a stick, right in front of his eyes. what you didn’t know is that he was no donkey, and you were no carrot. he was a wolf, and you were a lamb… and wolves devoured lambs.

he felt the urge to take ahold of you, sink his claws and teeth in you and ravish you.

but instead, spencer glued himself sat to his seat, and bit harshly on a bloody piece of steak.

(…)

spencer`s chambers stood at the end of the hall, a couple of doors away from yours, for a matter of protection. and you took advantage of that. nocturnal as he was, you became accustomed to his scheduled, and knew the exact moment in which he would make his way down the hallway and into his room to commence your little toying.

the first night spencer caught the sound of your dulcet moans and needs whimpers… he almost broke through your door and took you right there. he could hear the whines, the wet sounds of your arousal as your fingers pounded into your warm and velvety insides, your ragged breathing… the calling of his name.

so sweet, so needy…

he couldn’t help but stay until you finished all over your fingers and sheets with a quiet scream of his name.

his fists tightened, his jaw clenched, and he breathed out to himself: “keep walking, reid.”. even when his trousers were drenched, and he felt like dying of hunger.

(…)

the situation repeated itself each night, every passing one getting harder, every new moan and whimper becoming more and more impossible to ignore, making his desire more and more difficult to tame.

until he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

it was late. too late. you had already went through your little performance and were asleep when he softly and stealthily slipped into your room.

he bit back a groan at the unfiltered scent of you. fresh. potent. not blocked by the wooden door. it was right there. before him. under his nose.

such a deep sleeper you were that you didn’t awake at the imperceptible click of the door, or the fumbling of his clothes.

his eyes were bright in the darkness, like flames, pure gold as he stared at the silhouette of you, on your side towards the moon and away from him. you were uncovered, only piece of clothing your little nightgown. sheer. taunting. your thighs were exposed, glistening the further up his eyes went in between your legs. but nothing could be seen. it’s not as if spencer needed it. with just your scent and the sight of you spencer could come untouched. he got on his knees. venerable. under a spell. he worshipped you as he would worship a goddess. he knew he didn’t deserve to touch you. he always did.

the very first time he saw you. the very first whiff he got of you… he knew. you were made to be his. born for it. he could feel it in the way those invisible red strings connected his heart to yours. but he never touched you. didn’t properly kiss you. didn’t talk to you. firstly, because spencer was terrified of loving you —which he feared he already did— and secondly, because he was a monster. he could-no- would hurt you. he wouldn’t be able to fight the instinct and need to bite down on your neck and brand you as he would if you were of his kind, wouldn’t be able to not stretch you open on his knot and breed you like he’d been dreaming about doing since the moment you bowed your “i do.”.

he bit down on his shirt, canines tearing through the cloth, as one hand pushed the shirt you’d worn days ago —his shirt— right up against his nose and the other circled his stiff cock. it’s veins were full, about to pop. the head was already dribbling pre, leaking. and his balls were so tight and stuffed with the cum he wanted to deeply fuck into you he could cry. for fuck’s sake, his knot was almost fully formed. he was sure that it’ll merely take a few strokes to make a mess.

he was a dog. figuratively and literally as he started to stroke himself, golden eyes zeroing where your thighs met. he couldn’t even see it. couldn’t see your cunt. but he could smell it. and god if it didn’t smell as the best feast he’d ever encountered.

he was panting. basically in heat as he masturbated to the placid sleeping self you were on your bed. which should be his bed as well. both’s bed.

“god…” he begged, to whatever existed above the clouds. but deep down, he knew that his own personal god(dess) was asleep, in that bed, completely unaware of how hard and fast he jerked his cock to her.

and if spencer weren’t that needy, he might feel bad. but he couldn’t. not when it felt this good.

the thought only made him rose higher. you. naively thinking he didn’t desire you, even walking through your castle with your dried cum between your legs, practically begging him to bend you over the dining table and breed your womb full of his pups.

the imagery of it, of you plump and round and beautiful with his baby, made his knot try and lock into his palm. and just before shooting endless ropes of cum into the floor and his thighs, he took his napkin and pressed it against his sensitive tip, eyes rolling as he came, silent growl fighting his way out of his throat.

he didn’t know for how long he came. neither for how many rounds he went for as the night advanced. but in the end, his napking became useless.

spencer’s favorite moment of the night became the night. of course, being a wolf, he adored the moon. but lately something much more beautiful and bright had captured his attention. he spent the nights in your room, when you were deeply asleep and sated. you still left the scent of your release all over the room. such inhibited pleasure… he couldn’t believe you felt such sentiment for someone as impure as him.

his pre-rut state was getting worse; dizziness, hot flashes, fevers…

but deep in the night, he would softly rest his arms on your bed, and his chin on top of these. and just the mere sight of you, of your peaceful features, of your beautiful and breathtaking face… was enough to satiate his hunger, his thirst. you offered him solace. peace. oxygen as he struggled to breath during the day.

and yet, you were so unaware… of how deep his devotion for you had rooted inside his soul…

that a mere misunderstood… the right presence in the wrong moment and place… shattered you.

“spencer. stop this nonsense, you’re suffering. you cannot spend your rut alone. it’ll be unbearable.” you were on your way to the gardens to watch the sun disappear into the vast forest, aaron as always by your side, guarding you even if no threats were on sight. but a delicate cooing voice made you stop on your tracks. spencer’s office door was ajar, light coming from the inside, as well as his voice as he answered:

“i’m fine.”

“you are not. look at you, you’re running a fever again. you know i can help. i’ve done it before.” your eyes fell on a beautiful blonde. he wasn’t a royal, that was for sure, but neither a servant. maybe an acquaintance of the king’s. stunning ocean eyes. the smallest waist you had ever laid eyes on. he was a sigh for sore eyes. and a werewolf. just like spencer.

something deep inside you felt off at the sight of the two of them together. insecurity. how couldn’t you be?

spencer sighed, shaking slightly his head, brown eyes away from her. “jennifer…”

even her name was pretty.

but what you weren’t expecting was for her to take his face in between her hands and smash her lips against his.

all air left your lungs. it felt as if a dagger had gone straight through your heart. a punch to the gut. the little food you had had for breakfast —‘cause you had been watching your figure, trying to lose weight and be more appealing to your husband— made its way up your throat, and you had to swallow the nausea back down.

the sight was fleeting, for a hand came over your eyes and covered them.

“don’t look, my lady.” aaron’s voice whispered sadly onto your year, and you felt tears prickling.

not wanting him nor your husband to see you like this, you shoved him away harshly, making quick haste to run away towards your chambers.

spencer, who had quickly pushed away the blonde, caught sight of aaron’s stern face on his door, and the waving of your air in the air as your heels angrily made their way down the corridor.

he was quick to follow, pushing through your door as you tried and slam it on his face.

he muttered your name. and if you weren’t in such a heartbreak, you would have noticed it was the first time he had ever done it.

“no.” you cut him off. “that much you loathe me? despise me? enough to…, to depend on another woman at your weakest. in your rut?! to allow her to take a place i have gained by the bows i made before god and by the ring that hugs my finger?!”

spencer swallows, his eyes leaving you, falling shut. there are a million voices screaming inside his head. his insides are burning. his skin is on fire. his hands are itching to pull you close and his mouth is ready to kiss away all your worries and tears.

“look at you, you can’t even stand the sight of me! is that it? you no longer can survive seeing me every morning? fine! i’ll leave you alone. i’ll live, eat, bathe and sleep on my own. i’ll even move to the furthest isle of this goddamn castle!”

“that is not far enough!” his voice is gruff, desperate, harsh and cutting. he’s panting. eyes golden as he stares down at you. “you’re right. i can’t stand the sight of you. i can’t look at you. i can’t breathe when i’m around you. but not because i despise you. quite the contrary, because i desire you like i’ve never desired anything in my life. all the knowledge i’ve stored inside my head vanishes as you come near, all logic leaves me when you look at me. ‘cause i’ve leant that perfection is a myth. impossible. unreachable. and yet… there you stand…” your heart stops. your body freezes. your hands shake. and you fight the urge to pinch yourself. “the day you vowed before me the “i do”? the day that you let put that ring around your finger? you made me kneel with a simple stare. you ripped my heart out with the sweet dagger of your voice. you condemned me. condemned me to this hell in which i get to have you close but never close enough. you became the moon i pray to, the oxygen my lungs long for, the most beautiful breathing painting right before my eyes. you became my hell… and… my god given solace.”

both of your breathings are ragged, shaky. you’re drowning.

but in a blink, you can finally breath. after weeks of thin air filling your lungs.

his lips are soft yet harsh as he devours your mouth. the two of you moan on each others tongues. his hands don’t know where to touch. fuck, can he even touch you? should he? he shouldn’t. but his brain has already stopped working, something only you manage to do.

“spencer…” you whimper as his lips trail from your bruised lips to your neck. he inhales, deep. and his incredibly hard cock stirs in his trousers.

that’s all he needed. your scent. his name falling off of your lips while you were under his touch. it was the last push down the precipice. he growls, canines growing, bigger, sharper. you need them in your neck as much as he does. but… “god… i can’t.” he’s in rut now, his mind is foggy, his instincts are screaming at him to take you, ravage you, knot you, breed you… but most of all… make you his. mark you as his. with the ring or his bite on the juncture or your neck.

you hush him, pulling him closer. “you can. god, please spencer. you can. i want it. it’s all i’ve ever wanted.”

his sweaty forehead presses against yours, his golden eyes are as bright as the pure sun. “i’ll hurt you. i won’t… i won’t be able to control it. i’ll hurt you and i’ll hate myself for it.”

“you won’t. and even if you do… i’ll love it. just as i love you.”

after that, spencer’s head had never felt clearer. his chest lighter.

there’s a mess of hands as you desperately tug on each other clothes. but there’s no time to waste, and a gasp leaves your lips when he simply claws at your dress and rips it apart, making it mere shreds.

“spencer!” you try to tut, but he hushes you in between desperate kisses as he walks you backwards towards and onto the bed. you flop down onto the silk sheets. and jesus, aren’t you the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“god, forget about it. forget about the dress. i’ll buy you a new one. hell, i’ll buy you a thousand more of them if i get to rip them off of you every time.” you’re cheeks flush, even more when he rids himself of his vest and shirt. the sight you’ve missed so much, hits you once again, and your core floods. “fuck… you’re do damn beautiful. gorgeous. perfect.” he pants as his golden eyes ravish you. you shudder, and your cunt throbs. you instinctively press your thighs together. for relief. hell, maybe even restrain, but spencer growls.

“don’t you dare. don’t you dare hide from me. i’ve been dreaming about this sweet pussy of yours for weeks now.” you squeak when you see him kneel before you.

“my lord!” you try and make him stand but he pulls open your thighs, trying to take a glimpse of your dewy pussy lips, but when it doesn’t seem like enough, he just rips you free of your undergarments. now you’re fully exposed under his hungry gaze. and even though your virginal body is screaming in embarrassment, it’s already ready for him. to be ravished, fucked into oblivion… and you won’t leave this room without finally getting your husband to take you as it has been intended since the very first day of your marriage.

“no ‘my lords’ here. my name is spencer. your husband. you must refer to me as such.” his eyes meet yours, and you nod.

“my husband.” you repeat, and he groans as if he had just thrusted into you.

“god, you sound heavenly. but even more when you moan my name.” and he proves it by sinking in between your plushy thighs. his nose meets the dripping mess, tip against your clit. and he inhales, deeply, depraved. he growls, and your back arches when this time, it’s his tongue what meets your cunt, from entrance to mound. “beautiful… so sweet… so ready and needy for your alpha, aren’t you angel?” your eyes roll the same direction as his tongue rolls against your clit, a high pitched scream leaving you as he harshly sucks on it, letting it go with a pop just to slurp at the juices that quickly leaked out of you. “so wet… you’ve been needing this as much as me, hm baby? poor thing… so neglected by his husband. but don’t worry, there will be no more of that.” your breath hitches as his fingertips join his tongue, flicking and pinching you clit, prodding at your entrance until one finger slips inside. it goes in so easy he moans. “you won’t need to keep going with your little stunts to get my attention. to get me to fuck you until you cry. from now on… i’ll give you everything you want.” he thrusts, once. “i’ll fuck you full of me every day and night.” another finger stretches you open, and your hand tugs at his pretty and messy curls, making him groan and bite at his lower lip in pleasure. “i’ll make sure you’re dripping of me every minute of every single day.” another deep thrust. “and when it takes…” another thrust, a harsh suck on your sensitive clit. “when you’re round and glowing with my pup…” a third finger goes in, and you scream. you’d never gone this far. the fullness stings… but makes you dizzy for more. you wanted it to hurt, only if the one hurting you was spencer. “i’ll make sure you stay that way season and season again.” he fucks and laps at you. “until you beg me to stop.” and before you know it, white is taking over your vision and you’re screaming his name as you come around his pumping fingers, which fuck you through it. he groans at the sight, using his thumb to tease your clit and not miss a single second of it. “look at you. such a fucking natural, trying to milk my fingers… can’t wait to feel you try it on my cock.” he pleasures you through it, shrinks out of you and consumes every drop of your pleasure.

your vision is dizzy as he growls and pulls away. “fuck… can’t.” he basically rips away from his skin his trousers, as if the soft cloth was burning him, when in reality it was him who was.

you notice. notice how he’s still fighting against himself. how’s he’s battling against every and each one of his instincts for control.

“spencer…” his golden hues meet you, and you feel like prey about to be devoured. but it only pumps your veins of that fuzzy desire you crave. “please… stop fighting it.” one of your hands pressed against his toned abdomen, and you feel the muscles tense under your soft fingertips. “i want it. i want you.” he grits his teeth, but his jaw slacks when your hand curls around his throbbing and leaking cock. is big. massive. you fear he won’t even be able to push the tip in. and the mere thought of not being able to take him hurts you.

he moans your name as you explore him. your touch felt like pure snow against his scorching skin. relief. a relief he’d never known before. not even with one or his kind. not even with jennifer.

his mind is so filled up with you, his body is so attuned to yours and his soul craves you so much he beliefs you to be an illness, a drug. and he can’t escape it. he doesn’t want to. he’ll never let go of you now that he has tasted you, kissed you…

he almost comes the moment you find his knot, already puffy at the base of his length, flanked by perfectly groomed curly pubes. your mouth waters. your cunt pulses. this. this is what you craved.

“i want it.”

he growls, as if he were in pain. “you won’t be able to take it. it’ll hurt.”

“then hurt me.” you spew, fast, unthinking. you’re both animals starving. “please… alpha…”

a dribble of cum leaves his tip at the name. he’s cumming. he’s cumming just with your voice and mere touch. it’s not much. it’s not dense. it lacks. but you don’t waste it. you’re quick at letting your maw fall open and your tongue loll out, catching what he gives you before your lips engulf his engorged and pinkish tip. spencer moans, deep, guttural. and his fingers lace in your hair. the perfect grip. soft, careful, yet tight, as if he were scared you’d stop; leave him. not ever, you thought.

his eyes were a reflection of his uncontrollable hunger as he stared down at you. “god…” he whined when you lapped at his length, when you sucked at his tip… and he was about to fold in half when you took him deeper into your throat. and if he didn’t knew better, if he hadn’t seen the erotica books you’d sneaked into your quarters, he would have believed you had prior experience. “jesus, gorgeous…” the hold on your locks tightened as you bobbed your head and slightly choked. “you’re that desperate for me to fuck you, mh? gonna lube me up?” you nodded, teary eyes looking up at him as you gulped around his cock. he groaned. “such a good girl…” he praised you. “but i don’t think it’ll be necessary.”

in a blink you were underneath him, his narrow hips in between your soaked thighs. “this pretty little thing is already soaking wet for me.” he chuckled when you squealed at the feeling of his rudy tip teasing your slit, bumping against your clit. spencer kissed and lapped at your neck, at the juncture of it. it’s as if the glands there called for him. he nibbled at it as he thrusted against the heat of your pussy lips. “so ready… i bet i could just slip right in.” you whimpered.

“please…” his hand curled around his cock, and tentatively pressed against your twitching, dribbling entrance. a gasp left you when he barely pushed, almost breaching, just to pull back. even in this state, even when the rut was making him basically go insane before your eyes… he was tempting you, taunting you. this was payback.

“please what?” he licked at your glands, lips sucking a bruise against them, as if like that he could make your scent a beverage.

“please, alpha.” he growled.

“fuck. you make it difficult to teach you a lesson.” your breath hitched as he pressed further and your eyes fell shut, he took your cheeks with his free hand. “nuh-huh. don’t hide from me. look at me. i wanna see you take me.” and your eyes widened when, in a clean squelching swoop he thrusted inside your scorching walls. although, his knot still stood on the outside. he groaned. you moaned. it was the unleashing of a famine. “mine.” he growled and bit onto your lips, kissing you roughly as he started to move. he didn’t give you time to adjust. it wasn’t as if you needed it. you were so wet, his cock glided easily in and out of you. “say it. say you’re mine.”

“i’m you’re spencer, i’m yours.”

“my queen. my wife. my moon.” he growled against your mouth, tongue licking inside of it as his hands took ahold of your hips, so harshly you believed there would be bruises tomorrow morning. you couldn’t wait to see them marring your skin on the mirror. marking you as his. “so tight… so warm… so perfect for me.

“spencer…!” you whimpered as he sped up. he was desperate. starving. he drove into you like a man possessed, as if your pussy gave him life.

your g spot was bruised and milked over and over again with each snap of his hips. the now damp pretty curls on his base slightly tickled your clit, reminding you that there was still a part of him you hadn’t discovered, taken, made yours…

your legs surrounded his hips, talons sinking against his lower back as you pulled from him and pushed your hips against his next thrust. you felt the throb of his cock against your clenching walls when his knot breached your entrance. he gasped and trembled. “fuck. what… what are you doing?” you pulled from him closer.

“i can take it. please, spencer… make me take it.” he groaned, panting, canines digging into his lower lip until he tasted iron.

“you know it’ll hurt you, right?”

“i wouldn’t mind hurting if it’s for my husband.” you muttered against his lips, and licked the tear of blood on them.

“fuck. how can you…?” he stopped himself, his words stuck inside his chest as he gulped.

how could you be this perfect? how could he deserve you?

“please.” and how could he deny you? deny his queen? his goddess? his moon?

the stretch was almost unbearable. spencer had spat on his knot, trying to make it easier for you. but taking it, as a human, was a very tight fit and incredible feat.

he strived to distract you, of course, he peppered your face with kisses, licked at the salty tears that left your gorgeous doe eyes and swallowed your whimpers of pain as he encouraged you. his hungry eyes took in the sight of your pretty pussy lips spreading around him, slowly sucking and letting him in. they were pinkish now, puffy due to his previous lapping and sucking and now his animalistic thrusts. the sight was breathtaking.

“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry, baby. i know it must hurt but you’re taking it so well, you’re taking me so good…” when it finally popped inside, you breathed in. you felt like you could pass out in pleasure. you were so full. he was in so deep… his dribbling tip was harshly pressed against your cervix. no space existed between you. “such a good girl… taking my knot. letting me knot her and pump her full of my pups…” he growled. and when your hips rocked in need, he didn’t wait to start fucking fuck back into you. the popping of his knot in and out of that tight ring of muscles added a squelching, dirty and sick pleasure to your union… and the sight… jesus. the way your mound bulged with each new drive of his cock into your heat…

you couldn’t stop moaning. whimpering. whining. crying out his name as he battered your cervix, fucking you dumb until spit dribbled from your plushy lips. he acted like a real animal —like the animal he was— when his tongue made sure to slurp the excess.

your high was approaching, you could almost taste it. spencer could smell it.

“close, pretty? gonna cum all over my cock? milk it just like you did with my fingers?” you nodded in hiccups, nails digging on his shoulders. “go ahead, show me how much you love my cock splitting you open.”

it was as if you were under a spell, ‘cause once the order, his permission, left his lips, you were crumbling. screaming. cumming and creaming so hard you feared once your vision turned white and your hearing clogged that you’d gone blind, deaf or died. maybe all of the above.

he kept fucking you through it. his canines lengthening, knot swelling. “so beautiful… gonna look even more once i pump you full, once i get you round with my pups. gonna look so plump…” his teeth nibbled at your perky nipples, making you gasp. “so prettily soft and swollen…” he sucked on them, as if he hoped milk would already come out. he was awaiting the day he could milk your breasts with his lips, taste you and the way your body changed for his baby. all because of him. “you want that, angel? want me to fuck all my cum into this greedy pussy or yours? knot you to make sure it takes? keep you plugged with it for hours before it swells down and i’m ready to do it all over again?” you nodded, desperately, tugging at his hair.

“yes, yes, yes, oh god spencer, please… i need it. i need your knot. need you to fuck me pregnant. want to give you pups.” he growled.

“the take it.” and all breath left your lungs when you felt him thrust for one last time, deeply, knot locking in place as it swelled impossibly bigger, so big tears stung your eyes. “take my cum. make me a daddy.” and you were cumming again when not only did he fill you up with his creamy, warm and thick cum, but sunk his teeth into the juncture of your neck hard enough to leave mark. to mar you. to finally… finally… make you his in the way that mattered. you were now his. body and soul. his wife before god, and his moon before the one that stood shining brightly above you.

rope after rope, he filled your womb. so much your belly swelled, his hot wicked tongue lapping at the wound he had just inflicted on your precious and perfect skin to clean it of any blood, to help it heal.

“mine.” he muttered against your lips, and you nodded.

“yours.”

spencer had always seen you as a lamb. precious, pure and fragile. prey. but he started to believe that it had been the other way all along.

i’m planning a part two. so don’t worry! you’ll be seeing more of these two. hope you liked it.🤎