everyone was joking about trump dying today and I think that's really horrible and cruel. PLEASE do not joke about trump dying unless it's true and confirmed!!! I got really excited and then when I found out he was still alive i was really disappointed!! like that's so mean to do to people
the worst extremely low-stakes consequence of societal fatphobia is when a low-calorie/""""healthy"""" recipe is actually good and suddenly everyone thinks you're sharing it as a diet aid and not because it fucks hard
anyway put some frozen raspberries in a bowl and pour just a leetle bit of cold oat milk over it and the oat milk will semi-freeze into a kind of ice cream texture. and now you have fake raspberry ripple ice cream that's 90% raspberries by volume
born too early to buy youtuber merch for $25 at walmart, born too late to send strongbad an email. born just in time to watch top 10 pieces of real slenderman evidence on 3ds youtube
is she exhibiting "male socialization" or is she learning to advocate for herself and take up space, something we once understood to be feminist and progressive?
Being a trans woman will have you hearing shit like "if you were a real woman you'd be a perfectly submissive doormat who never pushed back and knew your place, you misogynist"
summary: youâre sore. spencerâs smug. apparently, breakfast is best served between your thighs.
genre: smut, fluff | w/c: 1.7k
tags/warnings: soft dom!spencer, implied semi-rough sex from the night before, reader is sore from said sex, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, spencer calls reader angel/sweet girl/good girl, spencer is a smug little shit, written with later season spencer in mind, basically porn with almost no plot, no use of y/n
a/n: based on this anon request! this was delicioussss to write. I am a munch!spencer truther to my core. enjoy!!
Itâs the ache that wakes you.
Not sharply, and not all at once. Just a slow, blooming kind of soreness that curls warm around your hips and tightens when you shift â bare skin sliding against the sheets, muscles pulling in places that donât usually pull. Thereâs a spot high on your thigh that throbs in time with your heartbeat, and another deeper in your core that stirs when you exhale too hard.
Last night comes back in flashes: Spencerâs mouth at your throat, your wrists pinned above your head, the sound he made when you told him not to stop. A little rougher than usual. A little more. Heâd warned you, breath hot against your ear, that he wasnât going to be gentle, and youâd nodded like someone deprived of air being offered oxygen.
You remember the way his hands shook a little when he touched you afterward, how quiet he got. The press of his lips to your knuckles in the dark, like he still couldnât believe you gave him everything, no matter how many times you did. Like he couldnât believe you wanted him that much.
You stretch now, half-heartedly, and the soreness reasserts itself with a wince. You hiss through your teeth quietly.
Spencer is still asleep, one arm slung across your stomach, face buried against your shoulder. His hair is a halo of tangles, his breath steady and warm against your skin. He smells like his usual bergamot soap mixed with sleep and sweat and sex.
You think to yourself that it should be illegal to look that peaceful after doing what the two of you did last night.
Your fingers twitch, tempted to wake him just to say so.
But you donât have to. A beat later, he shifts â just enough to murmur something soft and incoherent against your shoulder blade and press his nose to your skin.
âMm,â he hums, a little more awake now. âYouâre warm.â
âSo are you.â You blink your eyes open and glance over your shoulder back at him. You move again, trying to sit up, and this time the soreness flashes sharp.
Spencer lifts his head and blinks blearily at you. His hair is in his eyes, and he looks younger like this, all sleepy and soft. âYou okay?â
âIâm fine,â you say, even though your hips are definitely plotting a day of revenge. âJust a little sore.â
He smiles like he was expecting that answer. âYeah?â
âYeah.â
He hums, amused. âWhere?â
You give him a look. âWhere do you think?â
Spencer grins fully now, eyes crinkling at the corners, and he kisses your shoulder. âYouâre welcome.â
You scoff, but itâs breathless. âCocky.â
âConfident,â he counters, smug. His hand moves, gliding down your side, dragging the sheet with it. âYou didnât seem to mind at the time.â
âNo,â you admit. âBut I am going to be walking funny all day.â
He tucks his face back into the curve of your neck, voice low and scratchy with sleep. âThatâs my favorite kind of damage.â
You laugh, but your eyes flutter shut again as he moves over you and rolls you onto your back. He kisses down your collarbone, a little lower, then lower still. His hand spreads over your stomach like heâs staking a claim, and his mouth follows suit.
âSpence,â you warn gently, though your voice is already going soft around the edges. âYou donât have to.â
âIâm aware of that. I want to.â
You lift your head to look at him. Heâs already halfway down the bed, nosing at your hip, lips brushing skin. He glances up at you, hair falling in his eyes, smile lazily forming.
He presses a kiss just below your navel.
âBesides, breakfast,â he says, licking his lips with shameless smugness, âis the most important meal of the day.â
Another kiss, lower.
âAnd I very much like the taste of you in the morning,â he says, and the grin that follows is pure sin â cocky and sleepy and devastatingly pretty.
Thereâs no room to argue, not when heâs already mouthing down your thigh, parting your legs like itâs second nature, like this was inevitable from the moment you woke up. His fingers curl under your knees, coaxing you open even further, and he breathes in against your skin.
You brace a hand against the sheets, the other sliding aimlessly into the tangled mess of his hair. âSpencerâŠâ
âShh.â He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. âLet me make it better. You said youâre sore.â
âThat doesnât mean you need toââ
âI know what it means,â he says, firmer this time. His voice drops low, smooth and certain. âIt means you let me wreck you last night, and now I get to take care of whatâs mine.â
That word lands hard, curls low in your belly. You donât answer â you canât. Youâre too busy trying to steady your breathing. Heâs already shifting closer, already locking an arm under your thighs to hold you in place.
You feel the brush of his mouth where youâre still tender and already aching again, and the first drag of his tongue is slow and deliberate.
âSo sweet,â he hums softly against you. âYou know the average person has up to 10,000 taste buds?â He glances up, breath hot against your skin. âPretty sure mine were made just for you.â
You squirm involuntarily â too sensitive, too much, too soon â but his grip tightens just slightly, pinning your thighs down with practiced ease. His fingers splay against your hips. Youâre not going anywhere.
âStay still for me, angel,â he murmurs, voice warm and unbearably soft, challenging you to complete an impossible task.
You try. God, you try. But he knows your body too well by now. He knows exactly how to curl his tongue just right, how to flatten it where youâre already throbbing â like heâs learning your body the way he learns languages, through repetition and obsession. Like itâs the only fluency that ever really mattered. He moves with a rhythm designed to undo you molecule by molecule, like youâre his favorite unsolved equation.
âThatâs it,â he says against your skin when your thighs start to tremble. âGod, youâre so soft like this.â
He noses deeper, then closes his mouth around your clit and sucks, and your entire spine arches off the bed.
âSpenceââ
âIâve got you,â he soothes, licking back up, hand sliding to your stomach to press you down with gentle, unrelenting pressure.
You squirm again, and he catches your movement immediately.
âI said stay still,â he warns, low and firm. You whimper, and he smiles against you.
He shifts one arm to slip a hand beneath you, fingers curving under your ass to tilt your hips higher, and when he sinks his mouth back down andâfuck. Your whole body jerks.
âToo much?â he asks, voice hoarse.
You shake your head, breathless. âN-no. Feels good.â
âI know it does, angel girl.â
Itâs not fair, the way heâs still so vocal even with his mouth buried in your cunt â praises every breathless twitch of your hips like itâs a gift, worships every sound you make with a reverence that borders on unbearable. His tongue moves like heâs memorizing you, like heâs been starving, like this is the only thing he knows how to do anymore.
He tightens his grip again and devours you, slower this time, deeper, and you come like that â spread out and trembling, jaw slack, hands fisting uselessly in the sheets. Breaths leave you in broken gasps, and still, he doesnât stop â licking you through it, slow and thorough, like heâs savoring every drop.
You expect him to pull back once your breathing slows.
He doesnât.
Your thighs twitch, instinctively trying to close, but he just presses them wider with maddening ease â like your body belongs under his hands. Like heâs barely getting started.
âUh-uh,â he murmurs, voice rasping with satisfaction. âNot done yet.â
âSpenceââ Itâs barely even a protest. More like a warning, and he knows the difference. Knows the way your hips buck even as you pretend you canât take more. Knows that the shaky whine in your throat means please, not stop. Knows you too well to listen when your mouth lies and your body begs.
âYou can take it,â he whispers, tongue hot and sure. âYouâre gonna give me one more, sweet girl. Yeah?â
You try to argue, but then his tongue flicks just right â again, and again, and again â and your spine bows like a live wire. You nod helplessly.
âYou taste so good,â he breathes. âDonât make me beg. One more, angel.â
He holds you down, murmuring praise between licks, talking you through it in a voice thatâs simultaneously achingly tender and overwhelmingly filthy, and you feel yourself unraveling all over again. Your thighs tremble, heels digging into the mattress, and he doesnât stop. Not until youâre gasping his name on a broken sob, not until your second orgasm rips through you with twice the force, leaving you wrecked and open and shaking.
Only then â when youâre boneless and panting and whimpering beneath him â does he finally ease up. His mouth slows. Softens. Presses one last kiss to your overstimulated skin.
He looks up at you, flushed and glistening and smug, but his eyes are all warmth.
âGood girl,â he says, kissing your thigh again. Then again, higher. âSo sweet like this.â
You can barely manage a breath, let alone a sentence.
He grins, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as he pushes your trembling legs gently back together, palms smoothing over your skin like he canât quite stop touching you. He crawls back up the bed, gaze sweet and tender, and kisses the corner of your mouth. Then your jaw, then your collarbone, then your shoulder.
âHi,â you finally manage, dazed.
He huffs a soft laugh, leaning over you to press a kiss to your forehead. âHi.â
You blink up at him, and for a second, neither of you says anything. The quiet hums, warm and full.
âYou okay?â he murmurs.
You nod, still in a bit of a trance. âYeah. Yeah, justâŠâ
âWrecked?â he teases, brushing a knuckle down your cheek.
You roll your eyes in faux annoyance. âCompletely.â
He smiles and settles beside you, and you curl into him instinctively.
âYou didnât have to do that,â you mumble.
âI know. I already told you, I wanted to.â
Your cheeks warm. âStill doesnât count as a real breakfast.â
Spencer grins. âSpeak for yourself. Iâm full.â
á°.á
masterlist
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summary: Spencer thought he was in a long-term relationshipâ turns out, he forgot to tell her.
warnings: none, babe. this is pure fluff <3
âCome on, man,â Derek said, arms folded as he stared Spencer down across the break room table. âYou canât just read a thousand relationship books and think thatâs the same as the real thing.â
Spencer looked up from the folder in his lap, utterly unbothered. âThirty-nine books. And theyâre peer-reviewed studies. Itâs not about anecdotes, itâs about data.â
Penelope leaned over her coffee, eyes sparkling. âOh boy. Heâs going full empirical. This should be good.â
âItâs not that I think I understand relationships,â Spencer continued, adjusting his glasses. âItâs just that I recognize functional dynamics when I see them. And I happen to know what one looks like.â
Derek snorted. âYeah? Like what, The Notebook?â
âNo,â Spencer said. âLike me and Y/N.â
There was a beat of silence.
Y/N, seated two chairs down with a half-drunk coffee in her hand, turned very slowly. âIâm sorry, what now?â
Spencer blinked at her like sheâd asked if water was wet. âWhat?â
âWhat do you mean âyou and meâ?â
He frowned, confused. âI mean us. Our dynamic. Itâs a prime example of a healthy relationship.â
Garcia dropped her muffin.
Derek leaned in like he was about to watch a car crash in slow motion. âGo on.â
Spencer tilted his head at Y/N. âYou seriously didnât know?â
She blinked. âKnow what exactly?â
âThat weâre in a relationship. Orâ at least something adjacent to one. I assumed we were both aware of that.â
Y/N stared at him.
Spencer, sensing the disbelief, leaned back in his chair and began to list things off like he was briefing a case. âWe text every night before bed. You bring me coffee the way I like itâ three sugars, not stirredâ almost every day, without asking. Iâve picked you up from the airport twice. Youâve stayed over at my apartment more than once, and you steal my hoodies.â
âThatâs justâŠâ She trailed off, looking helplessly at Garcia, who was frozen mid-bite.
Spencer wasnât done.
âWe hold hands when we walk across busy streets. You braid my hair when Iâm stressed. I read you poetry once and you cried, which I took as a positive emotional response and not distress.â
Y/N slowly set her coffee down. âOkay.â
âIâve memorized your Chipotle order,â Spencer added, like that sealed it.
âOkay.â
Spencer leaned forward, eyes narrowing. âWe literally hold hands all the time.â
ââŠOkay, yeah, I see where I went wrong.â
Derek lost it.
Garcia was fanning herself with a napkin, whispering âmy starsâ under her breath.
Y/N looked like she was debating the moral and logistical weight of throwing herself into the nearest garbage can.
Spencer, meanwhile, just looked vaguely betrayed. âHow did you not know?â
She gave him a look. âBecause you never said it out loud?â
âI thought it was implied!â
Derek clapped once, loud. âOh, I live for this.â
Garcia blinked. âCool, so Iâve been third-wheeling a relationship that wasnât even technically happening. Love that for me.â
Y/N turned back to Spencer, who was still trying to solve the mystery of how she missed this.
âAre you mad?â she asked.
âNo,â he said, after a beat. âJust⊠surprised. I really thought we were on the same page.â
âWell.â She exhaled, slow and a little amused. âWe are now.â
Spencer tilted his head. âDoes this mean weâre officially dating?â
Y/N shrugged. âStatistically speaking?â
That got the smallest smile out of him.
âIâll take it,â he said.
a/n: first spencer fic can i get a whoop whoop (i hope this is good, oh god)