clementine

Warnings: insecurity, self-comparison, kissing. Only she/her pronouns are used, so trans girls and anyone who uses these pronouns, this is for you.

A/N: I read @tenpintsof-sundrop 's post about how SO many Spencer writers love the "girlfriend wearing their boyfriend's clothes" trope, and honestly as they should, but as a mid-size girl, it's not that realistic. So I took it upon myself to write a short blurb where Spencer wears one of your sweaters. Enjoy 😙

Autumn was undoubtedly your favourite season: the crisp air biting at your skin, the crunch of browned leaves on the pavement, the feeling of a freshly-made mug of tea warming your hands, and of course, wearing sweaters. Sweater weather, is what you called it.

What made it better was the fact you enjoyed experiencing all of this with your lovely boyfriend, Spencer. You could only describe it as luck that you both shared a deep love for autumn, and Halloween naturally. You and Spencer enjoyed taking walks in the afternoon dusk of October, watching obscure foreign films that only he could translate while you were wrapped up in a blanket, and baking cinnamon goods when sleep was long forgotten on the nights he was off work.

Nothing could disrupt your joy during this time - well, except maybe one thing. Both avid sweater collectors, they were all you wore during the colder months. And as usual boyfriend-girlfriend relationships go, you often thought about borrowing a sweater or two from his wardrobe. He had a red striped one which you adored, a memory of his younger self when you had met each other at a flea market and both grabbed the same vintage book. His brown argyle one was definitely your favourite though. And you would ask him to wear it if it wasn’t for one thing.

You wore a larger size than Spencer. It was always blaringly obvious to you how different your bodily proportions were. Although the taller one, your boyfriend wore trousers that you could hardly fit a thigh through and his shirts would only reach past your neck, or at least you assumed - you had never attempted to try.

It shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. There were plenty of girls who were taller or chubbier than their romantic counterpart, but it still stung. There was nothing you wanted more during colder evenings than to steal one of his sweaters and bury yourself beneath the warm wool, enveloping yourself in his smell. So you opted for cuddling up as close to him as possible, letting him wrap his arms around you - it was as good as it could get.

However, one day during November, when you were alone at your shared apartment, a very wonderful thing occurred.

The kitchen had just been cleaned after another one of your baking fiascos. Amongst many things, you knocked the bag of flour while putting the tray of odd-looking cookies in the oven, and thus made a mess of the entire floor and counter. It took a while to clean up and it was not rewarding to open the oven door to deformed, sad-looking cookies. Whatever, you thought. It clearly wasn’t your day.

You found a place in your favourite armchair, your current read in your hands. It was the ideal way to pass the time since Spencer had texted you about his mountainous pile of reports he had to finish getting through. He could surely read faster than everyone else, but it didn’t mean they would be finished in a short period of time.

As you delved deeper and deeper into the story, you were startled when you heard the front door click open. You glanced at the clock up on the wall. Almost midnight, poor boy.

“Angel?”

“I’m in the living room!” you called out.

The shuffle of shoes and a gentle thump echoed through the corridor as Spencer took off his converse and dropped his messenger bag. The sound of soft footsteps neared you until the tall man rounded the corner and appeared in all his nerdy glory.

“Hey, finally home,” he sighed.

But you didn’t listen to what he was saying because you were too focused on something else: resting on his lanky frame was your sweater. One of your warmer ones. It was obviously a little too big on him, the material slipping off his right shoulder to reveal his white button-up underneath. The dark green sleeves were always a tad too long for your arms, and you’d assume they wouldn’t even reach Spencer’s wrists, but there they were covering his knuckles, only his fingertips poking out.

“Is everything alright? You seem distracted.” Spencer’s voice pierced your bubble of awe.

“Is that my sweater?”

He looked down and pulled on the hem of the sweater, a faint blush tainting his cheeks. “Uh yeah, it seems to be so. Does it bother you?”

Bother you was the last thing the image of your boyfriend in your clothing would do.

You cleared your throat as you tried to gather your thoughts into an intelligible sentence.

“N-Not at all! You just never asked me to wear anything of mine before … did you not have any sweaters left?”

“Oh no, I did! I um- well yesterday you wore it and left it on my desk chair, and it looked so warm and it … smelt of you.” His voice went up an octave at this last part. “And I thought I could wear it. Is that okay? Did I do something wrong?”

Wrong wasn’t the word you would use. Cute, adorable, heart-warming were adjectives that fit to describe the situation.

“Far from that, Spence. You look … you look adorable,” you said warmly.

He smiled in embarrassment and lifted his hand to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He truly was the spitting image of domesticity in this moment.

“C’mere.” You urged him to walk towards you, tucking your legs underneath your body. He shuffled closer while he picked at the stray ends of wool fraying at the sleeves.

Once he was close enough, you held his face in your hands and left a tender kiss on his plump, pink lips. He whined quietly at the sudden action, but let you do as you pleased - he couldn’t really say no, he was putty in your grasp.

After stopping the sweet kiss, your eyes traced over his outfit again - God, he was such a darling.

“Please wear my clothes more often, you look cute in them,” you said while looking into his hazel eyes.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he grinned.

The letter :

Hi to everyone reading this. I told y'all I will do a handwritten letter and here it is! Please don't judge my handwriting much or my typos, thanks in advance! I just simply wish to express my gratitude to everyone who has helped me to get this far. First of all to shawol-lisa-lee9 on Tumblr, you were my first beta reader and you helped me progress so much. Thank you ♡. Next is sreidisms on Tumblr for editing my chapters without knowing anything about AFTG. You must have been so confused, lol. Thank you ♡.

My greatest thank you to Duke. The current and if lord wills the final and only beta for this series. I love your mind. I love that you remember the tiny details of the series I sometimes overlook. I love your advice. Honestly? I love you in general. What's not to love about you after all.

I can't never be any less grateful that it is you I am swiping my ideas with and that you get ti hear my rants. I am so glad it's you. I am so glad we're friends, Duke.

I hope you know and feel how much I appreciate you being in my life despite us being on the opposite side of the world with different journeys to walk.

Shout-out to my IRL for encouraging to go forward and write that damn fix. I was so insufferable guys :/ Thank you to all my apu’s online too for telling me to just do it.

I did it !! :)

Thank you to every hut, to every kudos, to every comment and subscribe. I wait to see what people would like to say about each chapter and it's such a joy to see the ao3 email pop up telling me a new email I arrived.

And lastly, thank you to Tereza who replies back to my story in Insta, reads the chapter as fast as she can and tells me what she thinks about it. I love to text with you! You're such a fun person who share the same love for AGTG I have.

“Don’t want to.”

“You have to.”

“Not ready. I think I need my beautiful perfect angel boyfriend to cuddle me longer.”

Spencer flushes and presses his forehead to yours. 

“I hate when you do that.”

“What? When I’m nice to you?”

You reach up to cup his face. Spencer carefully grabs your wrist and kisses your palm. 

“When you’re nice to me because you want something and you know it’ll work. Because I’m weak.”

“I just want you,” you say, innocently, devilishly. 

“Just,” he scoffs. “I know you. You’re not a girl who just wants anything.”

“Sorry.”

You don’t look sorry. You’re going for pout, but you can’t hide whatever mischief inside you is pleased by his teasing. 

“Don’t be sorry,” he whispers, softened. “You don’t ever need to be sorry. I love giving you what you want. Keep asking me for things.”

You sparkle as he maps the warmed high point of your cheek with a thumb. 

“Careful. I might end up a spoiled brat.”

Instead of pointing out that it’s not a matter of might—you’ve already arrived—Spencer exhales a laugh. 

“No, no. Never. You just… have… a developed understanding of your wants and needs, and you communicate them efficiently, and to the extent that I am able, I enjoy fulfilling you. Unconditionally.”

Another wide smile, real and gorgeous. He could die happy, as you hold his face like he’s holding yours, and you speak so quietly if he were any further away, if he couldn’t feel your breath on his cheek, he might not be able to hear. 

“You make me sound so good.”

“You are,” Spencer promises, speaking through a smile that mirrors your own but is, he can only imagine, not half as radiant. “You’re perfect. You’re actually perfect.”

“No such thing.”

“But there is, because you are. I’m looking at my proof.”

Another warm giggle. 

“Well… okay. Say I’m willing to accept this. Doesn’t that mean… if I’m perfect… I don’t need to get up?”

“No. You absolutely do need to get up. But you’re gonna look so pretty doing it.”

You make a face. Spencer kisses it away. 

“C’mon. We could get you snacks while we’re up.”

“Or you could get me snacks while I remain lying down.”

“You have to let me incentivize you.”

“Maybe you just have to do it better.”

Spencer huffs. 

“Okay. You get up and go to the bathroom. I’ll get you something to eat and I’ll bring it to you once you’re done.”

“Will you read to me?”

“I will read to you.”

“Will you make me breakfast tomorrow?”

“Was it so bad you didn't get any value out of the experience? You have to take me for all that I’m worth?”

“No, no—” you laugh loudly, realizing your mistake. “No! Okay, no. Sex is not transactional. You don’t have to make me breakfast. Thank you in advance for getting me a snack and reading to me. You’re the nicest person ever and I love you so much.”

Spencer blushes and laughs to hide it and buries himself in the crook of your neck. You slip an arm under his ribs to hold him closer, and over the course of a minute or so, the laughter dissipates. A hand finds its way into his hair.