warnings: nsfw, mentions of self harm scars. #pleasedonthatemeifmysmutisbad
You laid your head on Spencer's shoulder after the painful case you experienced, your eyelids closing shut as soon as the lights in the jet were turned down. Your sleep begins blank, like spots dancing in your vision when you rub your eyelids too hard. But as you sink into the now-warm seat, you also sink into the depths of your most unwanted dreams.
You open your eyes, your eyebrows scrunching in bemusement as you look around, taking in the dozens of people gathered in a ball room, all dressed in Victorian era gowns and suits. You gaze down at your own body, your gown a sage color, ruffles lining the skirt and the off-the-shoulder neckline. Your waist is synched in, the corset on your body tightened purposefully to leave you gasping for air.
You hold your hands in front of you, locking them together as you walk through the joined couples. Your eyes flick around the room, landing on a couple who seems oddly familiar. You stop in your tracks, squinting your eyes to focus on the woman, then the man. The woman has blonde hair, pulled back into a half-up, half-down hairstyle, her curls bouncing behind her.
The man--also-- rings a bell. You slowly inch forward, but a tall, muscular man steps in front of you, his teeth showing through his plump lips. It's Luke. Except, he's wearing a suit-- white button up dress shirt with a maroon vest over, accompanied with a black tailcoat and a pair of black slacks and boots.
You almost don't recognize him by the way his hair is slicked back, but his smile and dark brown eyes gives it all away. You look up at him, your frown sinking into your face. He extends his hand out to you, but you refuse. "No thank you."
"Y/N, I'd like your hand to dance," he says softly.
You've never understood the reason people enjoy dancing. Sure, exercise and the serotonin it releases, but waltzing around a ball room has never appealed to you. Unless it's with Spencer, then you'll dance however you want wherever you want.
You roll your eyes and place your hand in his, his rough hand gently pressed against yours. His fingers brush against your waist, almost not feeling anything due to the rock solid corset around it. The sound of "The Second Waltz" by André Rieu fills the tall, echoing room. You scrunch your nose up, confused by the rather newer song playing in such an archaic setting.
You push Luke backwards, wanting to see the couple he distracted you from. You tilt your head to the side, viewing the curly haired man look over at you for a split second. He glares at you, the hazel eyes you're accustomed to are now black and full of disgust. You turn away instantly, feeling nettled as you pull closer to Luke.
"So, who is that with Spencer?"
He huffs a laugh, like he thinks you're asinine for asking such a question. "Y--You don't know?"
"Know what?"
"Spencer and Maeve got engaged."
"Spencer? No you're wrong," you contradict, "Spencer? Maeve? She-- She's dead."
His face begins to fade away, the room twisting away. "Yes, Spencer." And the dream spoofs away.
"Yes? Love."
You lift your head from his shoulder, a warm tear falling down your cheeks. You wipe away the wetness under your eyes, taking in deep breaths from the disastrous dream you experienced. That was something you never want to go through ever again. Seeing the same throb of loathing in his eyes from eight months ago makes you sick to your stomach. Not only that, but he looked happy with Maeve.
The feeling of his rough hand brings you comfort, and you sigh as he rubs your back--up and down until your breaths steady. "Nightmare?" He asks, slight concern lacing his voice.
You nod, keeping your eyes downcast. You know the eyes you'll meet won't be the same ones in your dream, but the sight is still petrifying. You guide a waving piece of hair behind your ear, your sweaty fingertips wetting the strands.
"What was it about?" He continues.
You shrug your shoulders. "It was nothing, don't worry about it.
"About sixty-four point seven percent of nightmares are about falling, being chased following in at sixty-three point three percent and death at fifty-four point nine percent. Is there any way yours was about either one of those?"
You purse your lips and lean back in your seat, closing your eyes shut to see the stars dancing behind your eyelids. "It was about you and Maeve," you whisper. Your words seem to quiet him instantly, which unsettles you. "But, um, nothing happened. I just...danced."
He chuckles. "Danced? Was I dancing too?"
The corner of your lips pull into a crooked smile and you open your eyes, blinking to keep your eyes from straining. You look at him, allowing a smile to take over your lips. "Yeah, you were slow dancing. You both looked good."
His adam's apple bobs in his throat, like his brain is fighting away the memories of him and Maeve. He's told you of the dreams he used to have of them dancing, how alleviating it was to hold her in his arms. And in this moment, after you remember the conversations about her, you feel shame and embarrassment seep into your skin and bones.
"I'm sorry. That-- I shouldn't have said anything."
He laces his fingers with yours and brings your hand to his lips, kissing the back of your hand. "It's okay." He smiles forgivingly, the smile extending farther than his face. You swallow down the guilt in your throat and resume laying on his shoulder.
He rests his cheek on the top of your head while his thumb brushes over your gentle skin. Even though you aren't physically growing closer to him, you feel him pulling on you, his heat wrapping your body in a tight hug.
And as you close your eyes once again, your dream comes back, except Spencer is now holding you. His eyes are honey, his smile so large and poisoning it could kill everyone in the room if it were projected. The music is dark, previewing the self-pity you're in.
And Moonlight Sonata is a perfect fit.
+++
"God, that case was something else," you say, entering the cold apartment. You kick your shoes off by the door and drop your bag on the ginger colored couch, paying no mind to where it lands. You drag your feet to the kitchen, exhausted from the sights you had to see.
You open the refrigerator and take out a cold bottle of water, twisting the cap open and chugging down the cold liquid. You run back to the living room where Spencer is, running his fingers over the bindings of the books on his wall. You maneuver around his cluttered desk, placing your water bottle on the corner.
He taps his finger on one of the books and pulls it out, the mix of blue, pink and purple on the cover bringing you back to eighth grade year. He turns around and extends the book out to you, the old cover worn out on the sides.
You bite down on your lip, chewing away the smirk that threatens to come out of hiding. His eyebrows turn down, his jaw slacking as you fail to take the book from his hands. "Have you--?"
"Yes," you say. "I read it in eighth grade. For some reason my teacher had 'Strangers on a Train' in her library and thought I would want to read it." You finally reach for the book and turn it around, dragging your finger along the spine, collecting missed dust.
He shifts in his stance, his hands stuffing into his pockets. He huffs, ready to ramble. "You know, some of the elements from the movie weren't even in the book; like the carousel. A--And the amusement park was created on a ranch in Sothern California which pertained to the retired film director, Rowland V. Lee."
"And the book left by Guy in Bruno's compartment was switched out with a monogrammed lighter," you continue, your voice matching his speed.
"Smart girl."
You rolls your eyes lightheartedly, feeling your cheeks fill with crimson blush. "You probably know more than me," you say with a sigh, smiling intently.
He takes the book from your hands and carefully sets it on the desk, his hand running up your arm and resting on your cheek. He pushes away a framing piece of hair and tucks it behind your ear, his rough fingertips gliding over your cartilage, your jaw, then your chin. He holds your chin with his index finger and thumb, calming your trembling jaw.
"Don't doubt your intelligence," he whispers.
"I'm not."
He leans down and kisses your lips, gently sucking on your lower lip as he pulls back. "Good. Because you're the smartest girl I've ever met," he echoes, "quite literally." He gazes into your eyes, his pupils transforming into a star shape the longer you look. Bright, sparkling.
You kiss him back, syncopating your lips together. You lock your fingers together behind his neck, pulling him closer to your body as you deepen the kiss, allowing his tongue to enter your mouth. His hand cupping your cheek runs down to your waist, holding on tightly while he moves you around his desk.
He pushes you back, leading you closer and closer to his room. Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling on his curls which emits a muffled moan from him. You step back until you reach the threshold of his room, the back of your head hitting the doorframe.
"How romantic," you chuckle, the throbbing in your head dying down as his fingers run over the spot. You enter the dark room, your vision shaded like you threw on a pair of sunglasses. You reach the side of his bed and you remove yourself from the kiss, so you can take off your clothing.
He shifts over to his nightstand and switches on the lamp, lighting the room just enough. You begin with your belt, taking it out through its loops and throwing it to the side. You then unbutton your pants, gaining your ability to breathe again as you slide off your skinny jeans. Spencer follows after you, removing his belt along with his pants rather quickly.
You slide your top over your head and throw it to the only empty corner of his room, which still carries stacked books on the far right. You take in a deep breath, your lip quivering from the thought of being completely naked in front of him. You have stretch marks and you don't look entirely normal-- at least to yourself you don't look normal. Spencer won't judge you, but who says he won't change his mind last second.
Your scars have begun fading away, leaving only light lines. You run your fingers down the marks, your fingers going over the bumps, the grooves gentle on your fingertips. The sight of Spencer's hands bring you back to the moment. He brushes over your scars, slowly and carefully, like they're fresh.
He places his hands on your hips and lowers himself down, close to your core yet so far. His lips ghost over your thighs, slowly coming down and kissing them, just like he did not so long ago. He slides down your panties, pushing them away from him while he continues the path on your body. He moves his lips further up your body, pushing you onto the bed once he reaches your abdomen. You slide onto the bed, propping yourself up by your elbows.
You catch his eyes, seeing the lust pouring out of them. He reaches your chest, and you sit up , reaching behind your body and unhooking it for him. The straps slowly fall down your shoulders, revealing your bare breasts. You sling it to the side, sinking yourself into the mattress to avoid the humiliation that floods through your body.
He cups your face and tilts it to the side, his eyes warm. No words need to be exchanged for you to process what he means to say. He loves you, and he glorifies you and your body. Spencer is an angel, no words made towards you will ever be anything but sweet.
You nod, and he calmly kisses your breasts, passing your hardened nipples. As he moves higher and higher up your body, he makes sure to kiss every birthmark, every stretchmark, every scar. You aren't accustomed to this level of intimacy, which pains you to realize. Not one of your partners has ever taken care of you as much as Spencer.
Maybe it was because you weren't as delicate then, but you still deserved the kiss attacks, the cuddles under the stars and the movie dates every other day. You're a queen and Spencer has been the first to ever treat you that way.
He sucks on your neck, gentle enough to not leave a hickey. He kisses along your jaw, his hands roaming on your body as he continues his soft kisses on your skin. His fingers wander down to your wet slit and he teases you, his fingers sliding up and down.
You lean your head back, moaning from the pleasure. He continues teasing you for a moment, choosing to leave you be after a second. You whimper from the loss of contact, your body breaking after growing used to the somewhat-new feeling.
He pulls down his navy blue boxers, freeing his hardened dick from the thin confinements. You swallow the lump in your throat, your eyes bouncing throughout the room from the guilt you feel for staring at him while he's naked. It's awfully foolish, but you feel wrong for taking in Spencer's toned body and the way his happy trail leads to-- well, his dick.
He slings his boxers carelessly to the side, his ogling eyes managing to stay on your naked body. He stretches over your body with his, your hardened nipples grazing over his chest as he closes the space between you. He gently sucks your bottom lip between his, the breaths that fly past his lips shivering down your spine.
He moves away from your lips and kisses along your jaw, the scent of peppermint smashing against your skin as a moment of silence takes place. He grunts lowly, aligning himself with your pussy. Your lips part, your breaths coming out short and fast as you wait for him.
Then, he thrusts inside of you, his pace accelerating as soon as he pushes himself. You moan loudly, your arms instantly wrapping around his neck. Your mouth hangs open as he deepens his strokes, your fingernails digging into his skin while moans fly past your lips and onto his.
Spencer kisses around your open mouth, his arms on either side of your head. You're practically hugging him, your arms tightened around him and your head by his ear, your moans probably breaking through his eardrums. He seems to like it, though. Spencer's groans and moans echo in your left ear, the sounds delicate and angel-like.
He grunts, pushing deeper inside of you. You aren't sure you can go any longer, by the way the bundle of nerves grows and grows the faster he goes.
"God, you feel so good, darling," he mutters in your ear, which only pushes you closer to your orgasm.
"Mhm," you respond, distracted. You twist your fingers in his hair, the waft of mint flooding into your nose. You bite down on his shoulder, your teeth chattering as you become close to coming. "I'm-- I'm gonna c-"
You sigh, coming undone on his dick. He continues for a short moment after, pulling out and releasing his load on your stomach. You sink your head into the mattress, your eyes rolling behind your closed eyelids. He brings his lips down to yours and presses an innocent kiss on them, getting up afterwards. He throws his boxers on and heads to the bathroom, the sound of the lights flickering and the toilet paper roll spinning resounding in your ears.
He comes back in with a wad of toilet paper, cleaning your stomach and thighs up. He steps out once more and you jump out of his bed, reaching for your panties which are laid by his bedside table. You step into them and slide them up, resting them on your hips.
You cover your bare breasts and hop over to his closet, ruffling around to find a sweater. Your eyes land on a maroon sweater with brown and darker-maroon vertical stripes, on the end of the rack. You take it out of its hanger and throw it over your head, the hem resting mid-thigh.
You nip back onto Spencer's bed, laying your hands over one another on your stomach. You glance up at the ceiling, then at Spencer as he scoots in next to you. You lean your forehead against his, the sweat that sheened on his forehead was now gone, dry. You smile, your lips like a thin crescent.
"Have I told you this before?" You ask.
He responds: "Told me what?"
"That I love you."
"I love you too, Miss Magic."
+++
my smut is #terrible so I am very sorry about it being sucky. but yeah, long wait I know I know, but was it worth it? Idk you guys tell me:)) ALSO, I am not sure if you guys saw my tiktok, but I was RAGING over the fact that I could not find where the hell Reid's kitchen is. I spent forty minutes trying to find it!!! enough of that, I love you guys<33
-kai