Slow Burn | Matt Boldy
warnings: smut, fingering (while reader is on her period), talk of menstruation and cramps, established relationship. i actually think that’s it…
pairings: matt boldy x fem!reader
summary: when period pain gets to be too much, matt comforts you the way that only he can…
wc: 2,612
author’s note: matt boldy u stay on my mind… my writing struggles continue but i think we are trending in the right direction with this one? (my disconnect persists so if y’all have feedback or thoughts on that pls feel free to hit my line 😭)
It’s late, sometime after 3 a.m. The apartment is quiet and dark, save for the dim glow in the bathroom where you’ve been slumped in the tub for… maybe half an hour. You’re lying still, eyes half-lidded, one hand absently pressed to your stomach. The water– long gone from steaming to warm– laps gently around your hips every time you shift, your skin pruned and flushed, the ache still gnawing low in your abdomen. The cramps haven’t let up, even after all this time soaking, and you’re exhausted.
You’d been in bed earlier, a heating pad pressed to your stomach, one leg kicked out from under the duvet to keep you cool while you waited for the painkillers to do their thing– hoping, praying they’d kick in before the cramps got bad enough to spoil your chances of sleeping. Matt had gotten in late from a roadie and you’d wanted him to be able to rest. But when the pain began to pulse deeper, spreading through your pelvis and down the insides of your thighs until even the sheets felt too heavy, you found yourself tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable. Knowing how lightly Matt sleeps, you forced yourself out of bed and relocated here instead.
But now, you hear the door creak and glance over your shoulder to find Matt standing in the doorway, rubbing the heel of his palm over one eye, hair sticking up in every direction. He’s got a hoodie pulled lazily over his frame, the collar tugged crooked over the hollow of his neck.
“Hey,” he rasps, voice rough with sleep. “I didn’t hear you get up.”
You sigh, offering him a meek, apologetic smile. Your hair is bundled up in a messy bun, a few loose strands falling free and framing your face.
He’s already walking over, pushing up his sleeves and kneeling beside the tub. His eyes sweep over you, taking in the tension in your body, the way one hand is clutching your belly. His gaze is heavy with sleep but focused wholly on you, his expression soft with concern.
“How long have you been in here?” he asks, brushing his knuckles gently down your damp arm.
“A while.”
“Hurting?”
You nod.
He dips his hand below the surface of the water and finds your knee, his thumb tracing light shapes over your skin. His hand is big and warm, fingers long enough to wrap around almost the entire width of your knee. The touch makes you feel small and held without him even trying.
“Water helping?”
You shrug, sinking a little lower into the water.
Matt studies you for a beat, then presses a kiss to the crown of your head and reaches for the hem of his hoodie. “Scoot forward.”
“Matt, you don’t have to–”
“I know,” he interrupts gently, tugging the hoodie over his head and standing to kick off his boxers. “C’mon, scoot.”
You shift forward and Matt climbs in behind you, slow and careful. The water rises around you both as he settles in, guiding you back between his thighs, his arms looping around your middle, solid and familiar. You melt into him instinctively, leaning back into the warmth of his chest with a sigh. One of his hands settles over your stomach, palm broad and grounding, while the other curls over your ribs, fingertips brushing the underside of your breast. He rubs small, soothing circles, warmth radiating through his touch.
“That okay?” he murmurs.
“Mm.”
He drops a gentle kiss to your shoulder. “You already take something?”
“A while ago.”
“Not helping?”
You shake your head. “Not really.”
He hums, lips grazing the side of your neck. “I hate seeing you in pain.”
“This helps,” you reply, voice small and sleepy.
“You should’ve woken me.”
You sigh. “I came in here so that I wouldn’t wake you.”
“Mm.” His breath fans against your skin, and you can tell that he’s smiling faintly. “Because you were squirming like someone was trying to saw you in half.”
You huff a quiet laugh through your nose. “Yes. And you need the rest. You must be exhausted.”
“I don’t care,” he says easily. “You know I have the day off tomorrow anyway.”
You clutch his arm where it’s wrapped around you, squeezing lightly– a silent thanks for how unfailingly caring he always is.
You tilt your head back slightly, looking up at him to find his eyes already on you. “Did you sleep at all on the plane?”
He shakes his head, eyes still heavy but fond. “Not really.”
“You played well,” you murmur, barely above a whisper.
He gasps, flashing you a grin. “You watched?”
You roll your eyes faintly, a real smile tugging at your lips for the first time tonight. “You know I always watch you,” you mumble.
“Yeah,” he says quietly, thumb brushing along your jaw. “Got you to smile though, didn’t I?” He kisses your temple then tilts your chin just enough to press his lips to yours. “Thank you, baby,” he murmurs.
You shake your head softly, unable to stop the dopey smile spreading across your face. In typical Matt fashion, he’s somehow still managing to make you feel lighter even when you’re drained. He always makes everything better.
He hums, satisfied, and pulls you tighter against his chest, arms snug around you. “C’mere.”
You sink into him, letting your body settle fully into his warmth. For a while, there’s only the sound of the water and your shared breathing, the quiet comfort of being held. Matt’s thumbs continue tracing slow, comforting patterns into your skin. He kisses the side of your neck, then your jaw, then just behind your ear, each press of his lips leaving you exhaling a little slower, your body loosening bit by bit.
Then one of his hands drifts lower, sliding over the soft swell of your thigh. Goosebumps ripple over your skin, his touch sparking through you even beneath the warmth of the water. You shift a little, legs parting for him without thought. His fingers skim along the inside of your thigh in featherlight passes, dragging higher each time, finally pausing just below your centre.
“Can I?” he asks, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
You nod, weak but eager for any type of relief. “Yeah.”
Your thighs fall further open, knees brushing either side of the tub.
He cups you first– gentle, tentative, like he’s letting you adjust to his touch. When you don’t shy away, he begins to move his fingers with barely-there pressure, just gliding between your folds with the softest rhythm. He parts you gently, no urgency in the way he’s touching you– just patience, intention, care.
“Feels okay?” he murmurs, thumb passing over your clit experimentally.
“Mhm,” you breathe.
His lips find your neck again, leaving open-mouthed kisses as his fingers move over your clit in soft, patient circles. His mouth explores, trailing kisses over the curve of your shoulder, the soft edge of your jaw, the space just beneath your ear, until it feels like every inch of your skin is being soothed into a calm, clean slate. Every time his lips find your skin, the pain seems to slip further away.
His fingers keep moving in the same patient rhythm all the while, circling your clit with just enough pressure, occasionally dipping lower, sliding through your folds with the same reverence he always has when he touches you like this.
You whimper as he presses a little harder, his other hand splaying protectively across your stomach, holding you to him while he works his fingers over you under the water. He keeps his touch unhurried, his focus on the rhythm of your breathing and the small shivers that pass through you as you start to give in to the pleasure. The ache in your abdomen begins to blur, drowned beneath the slow, steady heat building low in your belly.
He eases a finger inside you and you gasp at the immediate, relieving stretch of it. Your walls flutter around him, and Matt sucks in a small, sharp breath of his own.
“Love how your body responds to me,” he murmurs, forehead against your temple. “Even like this.”
You moan softly, his name caught in your throat.
“You want me to keep going?”
“Please,” you whisper.
He hums softly and obliges, working you open with gentle, even thrusts while his thumb keeps that same light, steady pressure on your clit. Soft, pleasured sounds escape you as he gradually builds his rhythm– slow but intentional, no rush, no teasing. He’s not trying to get you off fast, he’s just trying to ease your pain little by little.
You tense briefly when he slips a second finger inside, then melt back into the slow stretch. A quiet moan escapes you, barely audible over the water. He begins to move both digits in deep, curling strokes, paired with the steady roll of his thumb, coaxing you towards release with the gentlest persistence. The tension in your body unravels in slow waves, pulled apart by the drag of his fingers and the steady rhythm of his breathing against your neck.
His free hand slides upward to your chest, feeling the rise and fall of your breathing. His thumb grazes your hardened peak and you keen softly, hips tilting up into his touch.
“Doing okay?” he murmurs against your skin.
You nod, breathless. “Feels good.”
It’s all so slow– the stretch, the pressure, the fullness– everything about it is meant to soothe. His thumb keeps at your clit in perfect, lazy circles while his fingers curl just right, over and over. The sound of the water lapping around you, the soft rhythm of Matt’s breathing at your ear– it all blends into a lullaby of comfort. You start to move with him, your hips rising faintly in time, body chasing the warmth spreading through you.
“You’re doing so good,” he whispers. “Just breathe.”
You arch into him when his mouth finds the sensitive spot near the base of your throat. It feels like he’s everywhere– his voice whispering praise in your ear, his strong arms holding you close, his fingers working you open, his lips ghosting over your skin. It's grounding and dizzying all at once, pulling you out of the ache that had you doubled over just minutes ago. It’s like your senses are heightened and every breath, every murmur, every press of his body against yours sparks something inside you until your thoughts blur and the pain becomes a distant hum. Matt knows your body well– knows how to draw you out of the pain and into warmth, how to make you soft beneath his touch. And right now, you’ve never been more grateful.
He keeps his pace steady, curling and scissoring and stroking until your legs begin to tremble under the water, your knees pressing into the porcelain as your whole body gives into the pressure, the care, the relief of being touched like this– like you’re being undone and put back together all at once.
“Do you wanna come?” he asks, not sure if you want the relief of release or just the distraction of something good cutting through the ache. “You don’t have to. This doesn’t have to be about that.”
The gentleness in his voice alone nearly undoes you.
“Please.”
“Okay, baby,” he whispers.
He adjusts his angle slightly, fingerings working with new purpose now, still steady and precise. His thumb draws tighter circles over your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure, as his fingertips press deep inside you, massaging your front wall.
You feel your high just within reach, the pleasure white-hot and all-consuming as Matt edges you closer to release. You catch your bottom lip between your teeth, as if a single sound from you could somehow pop this perfect, fragile bubble of pleasure Matt’s surrounded you with.
“You’re doing so good, baby,” he murmurs, tender and awed.
Your hand finds his thigh under the water, gripping. “Matt–”
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he breathes. “Let go.”
You break with a quiet, wrecked moan, body going taught in his arms as your walls flutter around him in quick, pulsing waves. The water sloshes with each twitch of your hips, every tremor met with a soothing kiss to your shoulder. He strokes you through it, slow and careful, until the last of the tension ebbs out of your spine. When he finally withdraws his hand, you’re limp against him, the ache in your belly dulled– not entirely gone, but softened, replaced by a hazy, heavy calm.
“Okay?” he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.
You nod, completely boneless. “Yeah.”
“How’s the pain?” he asks quietly, brushing hair from your cheek.
“Better,” you breathe, chest still rising and falling. “Not like before.”
“Good.” He wraps his arms fully around you again, holding you against his chest as the water stills around you.
You don’t know how long you lie there like that. The water’s gone lukewarm, but Matt’s arms are still wrapped around you, fingers splayed gently over your belly, your head tucked under his chin. The pain has dulled enough that sleep starts to creep back in around the edges.
Eventually, he drops a kiss to your shoulder. “Let’s get you rinsed off, yeah?”
You hum– not a protest, but not exactly eager to move either.
“I’ll do everything,” he promises, already reaching for the drain plug with one hand, the other still holding you to his chest.
The tub starts to empty, the water swirling away as Matt reaches for the shower head. He flips it on, waiting until the water’s warm before bringing it towards you.
“Don’t get my hair wet,” you mumble.
“I know,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek. “I won’t.”
Matt takes his time, rinsing over your arms, your thighs, between your legs, with a kind of quiet reverence that makes your throat tighten.
Once you’re both rinsed clean, Matt steps out first, grabbing a towel and holding a hand out for you, patient as ever. You rise slowly, limbs loose, skin flushed, and he wraps the towel around you the second your feet hit the mat. He dries you with the same gentleness, sweeping the towel over your arms and middle, then crouching to pat your calves and feet dry.
You mumble that you have to pee and he nods, pressing a kiss to your hip bone. “Meet you back in bed?”
You nod, and he stands, brushing a soft kiss against your lips before heading out. He slips back into the room a couple moments later, placing one of his t-shirts and a fresh pair of your period underwear on the counter without a word.
By the time you finally step into your bedroom, he’s already pulled the covers back on your side of the bed, your heating pad waiting for you and set to the highest setting. You murmur out thanks as you slip in beside him, hoping the depth of your gratitude comes through the haze of exhaustion.
His hand finds your stomach right away, rubbing slow, sleepy circles. You feel everything fading away– the warmth of his arms, the weight of the blanket, and the steady rhythm of his hand lulling you under.
“You don’t have to stay up,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut.
“I’m not tired,” he whispers.
“You’re lying.”
“I’ll stay like this as long as you need.” His tone is final, but not unkind.
His fingers keep moving, soothing shapes, gentle pressure, his breath steady against your cheek. He stays awake until your breathing slips into that deep, quiet rhythm he knows by heart.
















