You feel the bass pounding
beneath your feet the moment you step out of the car. The massive house is
overflowing with college kids (and brave locals), stumbling around with red
cups in hand. You can see strobe lights flashing and smoke from the smoke machines
drifting out of the open door and you know that this is not the place you want
to spend your night.
“Smile, sweetheart,” one of
the brothers slurs as you wait by the door for your roommate, “you’re at a
Before you can retort, one of
the more sober brothers working the door shoves him inside. “Sorry about him.
He’s a new brother. They’re finally allowed to drink and he’s gotten a little
out of control,” he explains. “I was going to ask over or under but because
there’s vodka in your cup, I’m assuming over. Don’t tell me if I’m wrong.” He
holds his hand out for yours and scribbles a circle on the back with a grin.
“Enjoy the party.”
“Don’t dare to hate me so quickly,” he continues. “You might find yourself enjoying this situation a lot more than you anticipated. Lucky for you, I’m willing to be patient.” He grins. Leans back. “Though it certainly doesn’t hurt that you’re so alarmingly beautiful.”
I’m dripping red paint on the carpet.
He’s a liar and a horrible, horrible, horrible human beingand I don’t know if I care because he’s right, or because it’s so wrong, or because I’m so desperate for some semblance of recognition in this world. No one has ever said anything like that to me before.
Painting a room and things end up in a paint fight
Between the seven of them, the Voltron team was incredibly busy. There was always training to be done, the castle to fix and clean, information to absorb, machines to build, fights to prepare for- easily two dozen people’s worth of effort split between less than ten.
However, once in a blue moon, certain conditions struck.
Projects were on pause until proper supplies could be found. Repairs were holding for the moment. There were no local distress signals, no messages from their allies. No immediate battles to fight, nothing they knew to prepare for.
There was always something to be done, but those tasks weren’t always the most pressing.
“This whole room?” Lance asked in dismay. He held the handle of his paint roller in one hand, the other sulkily pushed into the pocket of his jacket.
It was hard to argue the room didn’t need a good layer of paint. The previous coat was cracked and faded, giving the whole area a shabby feel. While nearly all of the castle was bare-walled, relying instead on the inlayed lights for decorations, this seemed to be some sort of fancy meeting hall.
It was the sort of place that hadn’t need to be touched up when they were only fighting for their lives. As they gained allies and prestige and took part in more political battles, well..
Summary of plot: Spencer gets home from a hard day at work, but you calm him down and you realize how much he means to you, finally saying those three words you have been dying to hear.
Length: Medium, 1089 words
A/N: Hey all! I am a new Spencer/Matthew acc that does some one shots and gifs and reblogs stuff like crazy so I would LOVE if you could give this first post some affection and reblog and stuff and yeah anyway now for the reason you are all probably reading this!!
You had been waiting so long, the excruciating hours slowly counting down as you tried to fathom the length of time until Spencer was home, cutting the remaining minutes into small intervals in your head. Paint streaked your sore knees resembling a light brush stroke in one area, or harsh, mindless splatters in another, bringing your whole ensemble together to resemble what you really were both mentally and literally - a mess.
It had been a hard day in the new apartment you and Spencer had bought, yet he was nowhere to be seen because according to him, the team needs his “substantially large IQ” and his “relevant fun facts” to solve the cases the BAU comes across. In all actuality it didn’t really matter to you, you adored the fact that such an attractive man was so useful to the world, even on a small scale.
The time had continued to drone within your mind, constantly glancing at the clock as if you were a child back in high school, waiting for the big hand to reach the twelve so you could be free from all the stress and anxiety school had in store for you. It has been like this everyday - you would wait like a dog for Spencer to come home, only to work on the damn house some more. But it was okay, because the renovations were almost finished and you had fun spending time with the boy that you fell in love with.
As you finish the last coat of dark blue paint in the Office, or, Spencer’s Man Cave, (consisting of endless Edgar Allan Poe writings and a plethora of random items he thought were irreplaceable from his childhood) it’s almost as if on cue you hear that same floorboard creek - the one fault Spencer insisted on keeping because it “added rustic character”, (even though the only rustic ideal it added was the color of your skin from tripping over it so many times) - and I know he’s home.
“Y/N?” He calls, his voice clearly strained from a long day of work and talking about statistics. Surprisingly he still has a voice by the end of the day, considering he won’t shut up long enough for you to get in an “I love you” before he passes out in your bed at the end of the day. He had never said it before, but you felt as if it was something that didn’t need to be said, because it was already felt.
You call back to him, giving an indication that you are in the office, well, his “man cave”. He comes in with a sad smile on his face, the pain still in his eyes from a day of witnessing the unthinkable. You can tell it was one of the worst days for him, it was almost as if you can see the red hue and tears forming in his eyes. He had to deal with a kid today.
“What’s wrong?” You drop the dripping roller soaked in paint and run to him, your blue pigmented arms encasing his thin torso.
“We had this kid… we got to him too late Y/N.” His eyes started to water and you just hugged him tighter, trying to squeeze any pain he had out of his body. He never deserved this, and sometimes you hated that he was in the FBI, but he loved it so much you just kept that your little secret.
Spencer eventually wraps his frail hands around your waist, slowly letting his face fall into the warm crook of your neck, letting the unsettling silence speak for itself. You run your colorful fingers through his hair - as much as you could reach - and butterfly kiss his neck. That’s what you always did to make him feel better, and usually it worked. He eventually came unravelled from your waist and his hands found their place on your chin.
His sad eyes mask your own, the delicate brown iris’s showing a reflection of yourself as you look up to him. The small smile eventually prevailed, trailing from the start of his lips, to the profound dimples that adorned his soft face. You smile back, knowing that he was okay. Spencer’s calloused finger goes from your chin to your lips, tracing a map of the pink, damp skin before settling on them, eventually calming the gesture.
Spencer slowly gives another small grin, and you can both feel the intimacy of the proximity between you two. He tucks a small piece of hair behind your ear, putting it back in place where the pony tail that you were wearing should have held, but didn’t.
He slowly starts to lean in so that his creased forehead is touching yours, eyes and lips only inches away from each other. You just stare at each other for the longest time before Spencer closes his eyes and sighs, one of those sighs that made you feel like the weight had been lifted off of his broad shoulders.
Eventually Spencer’s lips meet yours, the soft skin moulding with your own. You smile so big - just like you normally would when he kissed you. Not a normal kiss, but a kiss like this - one that you knew meant a lot to him - a lot to the both of you.
Spencer’s large hands move from your chin to up further by your dimples, his thumbs brushing against the indented skin as he kissed you more passionately. His left hand fell effortlessly from your cheek to your waist, molding his hand to fit under the ruined shirt you were wearing. His fingers slowly went in circles around your skin, but never broke away from the lock your lips kept. The apartment was filled with silence, but the noise you felt from your mind was screaming volumes. You were happy. Finally happy.
As Spencer eventually pulled away from the kiss, he smiled an even bigger smile from before. You got lost in his grin, because you knew his smile, his arms, his way of being was like home to you. Some place you felt safe. Home was never about owning brand new couches and breaking in the bed, home wasn’t even a place. It was a person, and that person was and will always be Spencer.
“I love you, Y/N. So much.” He whispers, and finally, you realize with a small laugh, that he did shut up long enough to utter those three words your mind had been praying would fall from his lips since the moment you met him.
“Honestly, if they’re not
wearing cinder block shoes then they have to be running some kind of illegal
zoo up there. There’s no other explanation for the noises that they make,” you
complain as you glance up at the ceiling. You’re certain that, one of these
days, the base between the two floors is going to give and your upstairs
neighbors (along with their fucking petting zoo that you’re certain has to
exist) will come crashing down into your bedroom in the middle of the night.
“They could be fucking,”
Taehyung offers as he flips a page in his Biology textbook, “they could be into
some really weird shit. You never know about these crazy college kids.” He
glances up in time to catch the blank look you offer and shrugs. “Or they could
have a petting zoo. I don’t know. They are loud, though. Have you tried talking
You sigh as you fold another
t-shirt and place it into your suitcase. “No,” you grumble, “I wanted to avoid
problems. I knew after the first day of living here that I wouldn’t be renewing
but I didn’t think it’d be this bad for the whole year.”