sarah. 23. they/she. part-time writer, full-time 1975 stan. drive like i do enthusiast <3
i'm waaaaay more active (and annoying) on my main! come say hi over there!
this an eighteen-plus blog and will contain mature content. minors dni!
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relevant tags:
#tell me something - answered asks
#she said my references were spot on - fic recs
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you mentioned on your other blog about dlid x mean girls and now i canât decide if itâd be more appropriate to have the boys AS the plastics or for one of the boys to have a regina george-esque girlfriend⌠perhaps matty as janis (i apologise for the brain puke in your inbox)
okay first of all - jumpscare because i lowkey forget that people read my dumb little tags đ that being said, thank you for reading my dumb little tags đŤś
and i love your ideas, anon... but i have a counteroffer. bold of you to assume that matty wouldn't BE the regina george-esque girlfriend/boyfriend! give dlid!matty a little eyeshadow and i fully believe in the vision.
summary: matty gets a little too excited while making out with you at a house party.
tags: dlid!era matty. (all parties are above the age of eighteen.) 18+ SMUT. established relationship. making out. dry humping. cumming in pants. exhibitionism if you squint. weed consumption. references to alcohol consumption.
word count: 1578
Youâre at a house party, but youâre way too stoned to remember who the host is. You think it might be the brother of whatever girl Ross is shagging at the moment or something along those lines, but it hardly matters â you and Matty would have shown up regardless of who was hosting. Your boyfriendâs never needed an excuse to attend a good party, and youâve never needed an excuse to spend a Friday night getting fucked up with him.
Besides, the steady thrum of house music had faded into the background long ago, replaced by the gentle splashing sounds of a backyard pool. It was really only a matter of time before you and Matty found yourselves out here, far away from the noise and the relentless mess of bodies and heat trapped inside. Whoeverâs house this is, theyâre rich enough to have a deck and a pool, which is something that you two are taking full advantage of. The space provides much-needed privacy and, as it turns out, doubles as a perfect smoking spot.
At least, you two had come out here with the intention of smoking. But that only lasted about ten minutes â just long enough for you both to get a little spacey â before you decided that making out was a far better way to pass the time.
The spliff sits off to the side, having burned out long ago. Mattyâs sprawled across one of the poolside loungers, hands gripping your waist as you straddle him. Your own hands have found their way to his jaw, holding his face in your hands as you kiss him deeply. Everythingâs gone hazy, thanks to the weed, and sensations blend together as you lose yourself in his lips and tongue.
Mattyâs warm and pliant under your fingertips, all soft skin and eager touches. The two of you are in no rush, basking in the laziness of the moment. Matty kisses like heâs trying to melt into you, as though tasting your lips is infinitely more important to him than getting air into his lungs. Your boyfriendâs always been needy, but something about tonight has him extra hungry for you.Â
You canât help but giggle as Mattyâs large hands suddenly tug you forward, pulling your hips flush with his own. He grinds against you lazily, just enough for you to feel his growing hard-on through his jeans and the way his fingers tighten against your skin as he grinds against your clothed core.
âMatty.â You pull away from the kiss, though you donât go very far â his breath is still warm on your cheek. âWeâre at a party.â
He laughs at your words, looking at you with a lopsided smirk that tells you all you need to know.Â
âNever stopped us before,â he counters, as though heâs confused about why youâre choosing now to be worried about public decency. âSâjust us, love. Might as well feel good, yeah?âÂ
Heâs not wrong. And you would have told him as much, if it wasnât for the fact that Mattyâs lips immediately press into the spot on the side of your neck that drives you crazy, and you swear you feel his teeth drag along your earlobe as he rolls his hips against yours once more. The sensation makes your eyes flutter shut, and your head tilt back, which Matty takes as an invitation to start sucking a mark into the newly exposed skin. You whine softly, hands dropping down to hold onto his shoulders. Itâs partially to keep him in place, but itâs mostly so that you have an anchor â you feel as though you could float away at any second if youâre not careful.
The next time Matty grinds against you, you respond, rolling your hips experimentally. You gasp into the cool night air as the seam of your boyfriendâs jeans catches against your clit deliciously, making your toes curl in your shoes.
âOh fuck.â Mattyâs voice comes in the form of a broken whine against your neck. âDo that again.âÂ
So, you do, beginning to rock your hips against his in a slow, steady rhythm. Each time you move in his lap, you can feel the bulge in his jeans steadily pressing against your pussy, making your brain swim with pleasure. You donât think this really counts as making out anymore, not with the two of you basically dry humping, but it feels so good you canât bring yourself to care, and any concerns of public decency fade away into the back vault of your brain, long forgotten.Â
The weed heightens everything, making you even more sensitive. Every drag of clothing against your skin and every press of Mattyâs lips against your own makes you feel like youâre on fire in the best way. Judging by the soft little groans slipping past Mattyâs lips and the way heâs grabbing you like heâs afraid of you slipping away, heâs on a similar plane of existence and enjoying every second of it.Â
âJust like that, baby, fuckinâ hell,â Matty pants against your lips, breathless. âFeels sâgood. Wish we werenât stuck here so I could fuck you properly.âÂ
His words make you clench around nothing and quicken your movements. Youâre essentially dry-fucking him now, mimicking exactly how youâd ride him if you werenât stuck at this party.
âLater,â you promise, and Mattyâs lips curl into a tiger-like grin against your own, before whatever comeback he was going to say gets cut off by a deep throaty noise.
You feel it before you see it. Matty twitches beneath you, thigh muscles becoming taut and rigid. His fingers tighten around your ass with a bruising desperation, keeping you pressed against him and providing him with the friction heâs chasing.Â
A second later, you watch your boyfriendâs lips part, and his head falls back, hitting the hard plastic of the lounge chair with far too much force to be comfortable. Itâs a sight you know well⌠and a sight that tells you exactly what just happened.
You stare at him for a few beats, watching as his chest rises and falls almost hypnotically. Mattyâs eyes are glazed and unfocused as he basks in the high of his release. Heâs gone.
âDid you just..?â
Matty doesnât need to reply â you already know the answer. Even with the faint glow of a deck lantern serving as your only source of light, you can see that your boyfriendâs face is bright red. Curiously, you reach down between your two bodies and watch as Matty jumps when your hand brushes against his crotch. He whines again, suddenly overstimulated, and you slowly remove your hand, not wanting to make things worse for him.
Youâre flattered, honestly, though youâre not sure if youâre just that hot or if the weed is just that good⌠probably a combination of both. Either way, the result is the same â your boyfriend just came in his pants like he was back in secondary school.Â
âOh GodâŚâ Matty finally groans, embarrassed. Heâs doing everything but meeting your gaze, all that brazen teenage sexuality long gone, crushed by the weight of his own mortification. ââM sorry, I donât know what happened, mustâve been⌠fuck.âÂ
He tries to cover his face with his hands, but is quickly intercepted by you leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his nose, which, of course, only causes Matty to grow even redder.
âItâs cute.â
âSânot,â he protests. âItâs embarrassing. Havenât done that shit in ages.âÂ
âYou mean⌠Iâm not your first?â you ask, scandalized. âMatthew. I thought we had something special.â
âOh⌠shut up.âÂ
No matter how disgruntled he sounds, your boyfriend canât entirely hide the small smile that heâs trying so hard to fight off. You laugh again, reaching up to cup his cheek. His skin feels electrified beneath your touch.
âItâs okay, baby,â you say softly. âLetâs get you cleaned up, and then we can head home.â
Never mind the fact that neither of you is in any state to drive â youâre sure thereâs someone at this party who would be willing to give the two of you a ride. (Ideally, Ross, if you can pull him off of that brunette for long enough.)
But to your surprise, Matty shakes his head and timidly gestures down to the wet patch on the front of his dark jeans. Itâs small, barely noticeable unless youâre really looking for it, but itâs clearly enough for him to be worried.
âYouâre fine, baby,â you reassure him. âEveryoneâs too pissed to notice. Unless theyâre already looking down there, which theyâd better not be.â You furrow your brows in a mock display of anger, hoping it will make him grin. He does, albeit ever so slightly. ââCause otherwise theyâll have me to answer to.âÂ
âUgh, fine.â Matty rolls his eyes, throwing his head back dramatically. âAt least let me make it up to you when we get home.âÂ
âAnd what exactly does that entail?â
âMmâŚâ He pauses, as though he doesnât already know exactly what heâs going to say. âLet me tongue-fuck you âtil youâre begging fâme to stop?âÂ
âJesus Christ, Matty.â Your boyfriend has a way with words that you donât think youâll ever fully get used to, no matter how long the two of you are together. You clear your throat, now painfully aware of the warm flush spreading across your own face. âOkay, yeah. Sure. You can do that.âÂ
Mattyâs face lights up like heâs a kid on Christmas morning. âWicked.âÂ
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summary: matty gets a little too excited while making out with you at a house party.
tags: dlid!era matty. (all parties are above the age of eighteen.) 18+ SMUT. established relationship. making out. dry humping. cumming in pants. exhibitionism if you squint. weed consumption. references to alcohol consumption.
word count: 1578
Youâre at a house party, but youâre way too stoned to remember who the host is. You think it might be the brother of whatever girl Ross is shagging at the moment or something along those lines, but it hardly matters â you and Matty would have shown up regardless of who was hosting. Your boyfriendâs never needed an excuse to attend a good party, and youâve never needed an excuse to spend a Friday night getting fucked up with him.
Besides, the steady thrum of house music had faded into the background long ago, replaced by the gentle splashing sounds of a backyard pool. It was really only a matter of time before you and Matty found yourselves out here, far away from the noise and the relentless mess of bodies and heat trapped inside. Whoeverâs house this is, theyâre rich enough to have a deck and a pool, which is something that you two are taking full advantage of. The space provides much-needed privacy and, as it turns out, doubles as a perfect smoking spot.
At least, you two had come out here with the intention of smoking. But that only lasted about ten minutes â just long enough for you both to get a little spacey â before you decided that making out was a far better way to pass the time.
The spliff sits off to the side, having burned out long ago. Mattyâs sprawled across one of the poolside loungers, hands gripping your waist as you straddle him. Your own hands have found their way to his jaw, holding his face in your hands as you kiss him deeply. Everythingâs gone hazy, thanks to the weed, and sensations blend together as you lose yourself in his lips and tongue.
Mattyâs warm and pliant under your fingertips, all soft skin and eager touches. The two of you are in no rush, basking in the laziness of the moment. Matty kisses like heâs trying to melt into you, as though tasting your lips is infinitely more important to him than getting air into his lungs. Your boyfriendâs always been needy, but something about tonight has him extra hungry for you.Â
You canât help but giggle as Mattyâs large hands suddenly tug you forward, pulling your hips flush with his own. He grinds against you lazily, just enough for you to feel his growing hard-on through his jeans and the way his fingers tighten against your skin as he grinds against your clothed core.
âMatty.â You pull away from the kiss, though you donât go very far â his breath is still warm on your cheek. âWeâre at a party.â
He laughs at your words, looking at you with a lopsided smirk that tells you all you need to know.Â
âNever stopped us before,â he counters, as though heâs confused about why youâre choosing now to be worried about public decency. âSâjust us, love. Might as well feel good, yeah?âÂ
Heâs not wrong. And you would have told him as much, if it wasnât for the fact that Mattyâs lips immediately press into the spot on the side of your neck that drives you crazy, and you swear you feel his teeth drag along your earlobe as he rolls his hips against yours once more. The sensation makes your eyes flutter shut, and your head tilt back, which Matty takes as an invitation to start sucking a mark into the newly exposed skin. You whine softly, hands dropping down to hold onto his shoulders. Itâs partially to keep him in place, but itâs mostly so that you have an anchor â you feel as though you could float away at any second if youâre not careful.
The next time Matty grinds against you, you respond, rolling your hips experimentally. You gasp into the cool night air as the seam of your boyfriendâs jeans catches against your clit deliciously, making your toes curl in your shoes.
âOh fuck.â Mattyâs voice comes in the form of a broken whine against your neck. âDo that again.âÂ
So, you do, beginning to rock your hips against his in a slow, steady rhythm. Each time you move in his lap, you can feel the bulge in his jeans steadily pressing against your pussy, making your brain swim with pleasure. You donât think this really counts as making out anymore, not with the two of you basically dry humping, but it feels so good you canât bring yourself to care, and any concerns of public decency fade away into the back vault of your brain, long forgotten.Â
The weed heightens everything, making you even more sensitive. Every drag of clothing against your skin and every press of Mattyâs lips against your own makes you feel like youâre on fire in the best way. Judging by the soft little groans slipping past Mattyâs lips and the way heâs grabbing you like heâs afraid of you slipping away, heâs on a similar plane of existence and enjoying every second of it.Â
âJust like that, baby, fuckinâ hell,â Matty pants against your lips, breathless. âFeels sâgood. Wish we werenât stuck here so I could fuck you properly.âÂ
His words make you clench around nothing and quicken your movements. Youâre essentially dry-fucking him now, mimicking exactly how youâd ride him if you werenât stuck at this party.
âLater,â you promise, and Mattyâs lips curl into a tiger-like grin against your own, before whatever comeback he was going to say gets cut off by a deep throaty noise.
You feel it before you see it. Matty twitches beneath you, thigh muscles becoming taut and rigid. His fingers tighten around your ass with a bruising desperation, keeping you pressed against him and providing him with the friction heâs chasing.Â
A second later, you watch your boyfriendâs lips part, and his head falls back, hitting the hard plastic of the lounge chair with far too much force to be comfortable. Itâs a sight you know well⌠and a sight that tells you exactly what just happened.
You stare at him for a few beats, watching as his chest rises and falls almost hypnotically. Mattyâs eyes are glazed and unfocused as he basks in the high of his release. Heâs gone.
âDid you just..?â
Matty doesnât need to reply â you already know the answer. Even with the faint glow of a deck lantern serving as your only source of light, you can see that your boyfriendâs face is bright red. Curiously, you reach down between your two bodies and watch as Matty jumps when your hand brushes against his crotch. He whines again, suddenly overstimulated, and you slowly remove your hand, not wanting to make things worse for him.
Youâre flattered, honestly, though youâre not sure if youâre just that hot or if the weed is just that good⌠probably a combination of both. Either way, the result is the same â your boyfriend just came in his pants like he was back in secondary school.Â
âOh GodâŚâ Matty finally groans, embarrassed. Heâs doing everything but meeting your gaze, all that brazen teenage sexuality long gone, crushed by the weight of his own mortification. ââM sorry, I donât know what happened, mustâve been⌠fuck.âÂ
He tries to cover his face with his hands, but is quickly intercepted by you leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his nose, which, of course, only causes Matty to grow even redder.
âItâs cute.â
âSânot,â he protests. âItâs embarrassing. Havenât done that shit in ages.âÂ
âYou mean⌠Iâm not your first?â you ask, scandalized. âMatthew. I thought we had something special.â
âOh⌠shut up.âÂ
No matter how disgruntled he sounds, your boyfriend canât entirely hide the small smile that heâs trying so hard to fight off. You laugh again, reaching up to cup his cheek. His skin feels electrified beneath your touch.
âItâs okay, baby,â you say softly. âLetâs get you cleaned up, and then we can head home.â
Never mind the fact that neither of you is in any state to drive â youâre sure thereâs someone at this party who would be willing to give the two of you a ride. (Ideally, Ross, if you can pull him off of that brunette for long enough.)
But to your surprise, Matty shakes his head and timidly gestures down to the wet patch on the front of his dark jeans. Itâs small, barely noticeable unless youâre really looking for it, but itâs clearly enough for him to be worried.
âYouâre fine, baby,â you reassure him. âEveryoneâs too pissed to notice. Unless theyâre already looking down there, which theyâd better not be.â You furrow your brows in a mock display of anger, hoping it will make him grin. He does, albeit ever so slightly. ââCause otherwise theyâll have me to answer to.âÂ
âUgh, fine.â Matty rolls his eyes, throwing his head back dramatically. âAt least let me make it up to you when we get home.âÂ
âAnd what exactly does that entail?â
âMmâŚâ He pauses, as though he doesnât already know exactly what heâs going to say. âLet me tongue-fuck you âtil youâre begging fâme to stop?âÂ
âJesus Christ, Matty.â Your boyfriend has a way with words that you donât think youâll ever fully get used to, no matter how long the two of you are together. You clear your throat, now painfully aware of the warm flush spreading across your own face. âOkay, yeah. Sure. You can do that.âÂ
Mattyâs face lights up like heâs a kid on Christmas morning. âWicked.âÂ
due to the hot weather i received like three asks about if i could write about spending it with ross so here we are:
today is unbearable. itâs so hot you canât remember a day where itâs been like this.
ross has been outside since noon.
flat on one of the loungers by the pool, sunglasses low on his nose, one arm thrown over his stomach.
youâd gone inside ten minutes ago because the heat was beginning to make you feel delirious. the kitchen tiles had been cool beneath your feet while you threw together something vaguely cocktail-adjacent with whatever fruit was dying in the fridge.
when you come back outside, condensation slips down the side of the glass.
âthought youâd melted,â ross says without opening his eyes.
ânearly did.â
he hums as you press the drink into his hand. âcheers, darling.â
you grin a little to yourself and turn to head back toward your own chair, when he stops you.
âchrist.â
you glance over your shoulder.
ross has pushed his sunglasses up now, squinting at you properly.
âhowâd you manage to get burned this fast?â he asks. âcome here a second.â
âiâm not burned.â
âyour backâs gone fully red.â
âred is gonna turn into brown eventually,â you say as you try to convince yourself.
you wander over anyway. the paving stones are warm under your feet.
ross pats the space between his legs lazily. âsit down.â
you lower yourself carefully with your back against his chest, your legs stretching out between his. his skinâs hot from the sun, properly warm everywhere your arms brush his.
behind you, thereâs the crack of a bottle cap.
âgod,â he mutters, squeezing sun cream into his palm, âyouâre gonna whine tonight.â
you turn your head immediately, grinning.
ross pauses.
then he lets out a laugh under his breath, head dropping back slightly.
ânot like that.â
âdidnât say anything.â
âdidnât have to. filthy look on your face said enough.â
his hands smooth cool lotion across your shoulders before you can reply. you sigh despite yourself, leaning back into him.
âow,â you mumble dramatically. âgentle.â
âi am being gentle.â
âyouâve got bass hands.â
he laughs, âwhat does that even mean?â
âgood with your fingers but so rough with your palm,â you groan.
ross laughs again, low in his chest this time. âalright, sorry. iâll try to be even more gentle.â
you hum.
his fingers drag slowly down your back, rubbing the cream into the spots that sting worst from the sun. you rest your hands around his shins absentmindedly, thumbs brushing over warm skin.
âyour legs are so tan,â you mumble. âdonât know how you do it.â
ross shrugs behind you, âdonât know either.â
âhate you a bit for it,â you joke.
âyou tan eventually.â
âit takes ages though,â you argue, âand i think we both know itâs gonna rain again soon.â
âprobably.â his chin hooks briefly over your shoulder while he works the cream into the small of your back. you can smell chlorine and sun cream and the citrus from his drink all mixed together.
itâs stupidly nice.
the sort of afternoon that feels slow around the edges.
ross taps your side lightly. âlift your hair up.â
you gather it over one shoulder and feel his hands smooth another layer across the back of your neck.
âhonestly,â he says, âan hour outside and youâve packed it in.â
âenglish sun hits different.â
âthatâs because nobody here knows how to behave when it appears.â
you grin.
ross finishes rubbing the cream in, then rests his hands briefly on your waist.
âthere,â he murmurs, pressing a kiss into the space between your shoulder and neck. soft. absent-minded. âletâs hope this doesnât get worse.â
you tilt your head slightly at the feeling, smiling before you can stop yourself.
âthanks, nurse.â
âdonât mention it.â
âwill you carry me inside later when i inevitably succumb to heatstroke?â
he shakes his head, âabsolutely not.â
âross,â you squint your eyes at him.
âiâll drag you by the ankles, maybe.â
you laugh quietly, leaning back against him more fully.
he reaches for his drink again with one hand, the other settling lazily across your stomach.
âthis is very nice,â he hums taking a sip, âlovely day.â
ross stays exactly where he is after that, all lazy and warm behind you.
one of his hands rests low on your stomach while the other drifts up through your hair absentmindedly, combing through the strands slowly enough that it nearly puts you to sleep.
this is so cozy. bees are somewhere in the flowers. water shifting gently against the edge of the pool. ross humming under his breath to whatever song heâs been listening to.
you melt further against him.
his lips brush the top of your head once.
âyouâre very clingy today,â he murmurs.
âtoo hot to function properly.â
âah alright,â he smiles.
ross chuckles softly behind you, fingers scratching lightly against your scalp in a way that makes your eyes flutter shut for a second.
god, you could probably fall asleep right there.
instead, after another quiet minute, you mumble, âgod, i love you.â
he squeezes your waist gently.
âyeah?â
âmhm.â you tilt your head back against his shoulder. âi love how hot you are right now but itâs literally too hot. think iâm dying a bit.â
ross laughs immediately.
âbit contradictory, that.â
âyou know what i mean.â
âdo i though?â he laughs but squeezes your waist again.
you groan quietly. âross.â
his grin presses briefly against your temple.
âdramatic thing.â
you turn your face enough to kiss somewhere near his jaw before sighing dramatically again. âi need to cool off in the pool.â
âgood shout,â he says, sitting up slightly. âiâll join you.â
you untangle yourself from him slowly, already feeling the heat hit your skin again the second you stand.
ârace you,â you say.
âabsolutely not,â ross replies. âitâs thirty degrees. iâll die.â
youâre already halfway to the pool anyway.
the water hits your legs first, cool enough to make you inhale sharply, before you lower yourself all the way in with a relieved sound.
âoh my god,â you groan.
ross snorts from behind you.
âthat nice?â
âiâm never getting out.â
you splash water vaguely in his direction just as he steps down onto the ledge.
sunlight catches on the water around him. damp curls already starting at the base of his neck from the heat. stupidly unfair-looking even now.
âdonât pose,â you accuse.
âwasnât posing.â
âyou were.â
âhow?!â he raises his arms.
before you can answer, ross dives cleanly beneath the surface.
you barely have time to react before something grabs your hips underwater.
you shriek immediately as ross resurfaces with a grin, lifting you clean off your feet for a second.
âross-â
you burst out laughing while he steadies you against him.
âyou shouldâve seen your face.â
âdo not get my hair wet!â you say.
âi didnât,â he looks at your hair to check, âdonât want to get into trouble.â
water drips from his hair into his eyes while he laughs, and you brush it back automatically before he can shake it everywhere like a wet dog.
âbehave,â you mumble.
âcanât. holiday rules.â
âthatâs not a thing.â
âis now.â
eventually he settles himself on the pool ledge where the water reaches just above his waist, tugging you easily between his legs again like itâs instinctive.
you rest against him without thinking.
arms winding around his shoulders. his hands settling comfortably at your hips under the water.
the sun warms your face while the cool water laps softly around you both. somewhere beyond the fence, people are cheering over something.
ross presses a slow kiss against your mouth.
another against the corner of it.
you close your eyes afterward, forehead resting against his.
comfortable.
his thumb rubs absentminded circles against your side beneath the water.
âcould have so many days like this, darling,â he murmurs eventually. âjust us being lazy in the heat.â
you smile without opening your eyes.
âwith cocktails?â
âobviously.â
ross huffs a laugh softly through his nose.
then he kisses you again, slower this time, sun warm across both your skin while the water moves gently around you.
his arms around you. your cheek damp against his shoulder. sunlight turning everything gold behind your closed eyelids.
ross keeps drawing shapes against your hip underwater absentmindedly.
you tilt your head just enough to look at him properly.
wet hair pushed back. cheeks flushed faintly pink from the heat. stupid soft smile sitting on his mouth.
he catches you staring almost immediately.
âwhat?â
ânothing, just thinking you look fit.â
ross snorts quietly but doesnât say anything.
his grin spreads lazily before his gaze drifts somewhere past you, toward the bright blue sky above the garden fence.
for a second he goes thoughtful.
then, âi can see us moving somewhere sunny one day, definitely europe, maybe italy?â
you blink, âyes?â
âmhm.â his thumb strokes slowly along your side. âsomewhere where days like this arenât rare.â
your eyes widen immediately.
âross.â you pout.
âwhat?â
you smile so hard your cheeks ache. âthatâd be dreamy.â
he smiles back at you then, âwouldnât it?â
you shift closer automatically, your legs tangling with his beneath the water.
âlife would feel like one big holiday.â
âabsolutely,â he says easily. âat least until weâve got kids running around screaming by the pool.â
you stare at him for half a second.
then lean forward and kiss him immediately.
ross laughs softly into it, hands tightening at your waist.
when you pull back, you grin. âdonât get me excited now.â
âexcited?â
âlittle house somewhere hot?â you mumble. âyou in linen shirts? little babies with your curls? thatâs dangerous.
ross actually looks a bit flustered at that, which only makes you grin wider.
âlinen shirts?â he repeats.
âfocus on the important part, ross.â
he shakes his head, smiling against your mouth again before kissing you once.
âyouâd spoil the kids rotten.â he says.
âabsolutely.â
âtheyâd wrap you round their fingers instantly,â he says while tucking your hair behind your ear.
you beam triumphantly.
âwell weâre still in england for now,â he says. ânot to ruin anything.â
you groan and try to untangle your legs to go for a swim.
he pulls you back against him before you can, arms locking around your waist while you laugh helplessly.
âsâalright,â he murmurs against your damp temple. âweâll get there eventually.â
âpromise?â
âpromise.â
and somehow, with the sun warming your skin and ross smiling against your hair, it feels easy to believe him.
Sott! Matty WILL be at the record store when you go and he's gonna hand you an album and say "you might like this one, it was about to go in the discount bin if you want it" while he's occupied stockings shelf and barely looking at ya. He sells it to ya for a discounted price and when you go home youre gonna find out there's like only 200 pressings of it and it's not on any streaming services and you should've paid like $115 but he had a feeling this record could change your life, and it and it makes no sense to pay that much for something he wants you to take a chance on. He didn't even think about it, it wasn't even a gesture, he would've done this for anyone. It was an awkward gesture that sometimes customers don't take well to because they think he's like flexing his music knowledge or like "of course the fucking guy who runs the record store is trying to tell me what i'd like đ", but it's his genuine and clumsy attempt to make connections with people.
-Xstarkiller
he absolutely WOULD do this. also - âgenuine and clumsyâ is quite possibly the best way to describe sott!mattyâs attachment style đĽš
he just wants to share his love of music with people! and if that means accidentally selling a few dozen rare-ish records for cheap, then so be it! itâs a small sacrifice that heâs willing to make. i mean⌠come on. he just couldnât let you walk out WITHOUT buying that record. it would be an injustice!
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soundtrack: brooklyn baby by lana del rey
summary: your boyfriend, matty, is currently suffering from writer's block after a bad gig. you hate to see him struggling to write new music, so you try to provide him with some much-needed inspiration... which leads you both down a very interesting path.
tags: dlid!era matty. 18+ SMUT. lowkey sub!matty (no one is shocked). making out. oral (m. receiving). edging. unprotected p in v sex. riding. creampie. lots of references to domesticity and your boyfriend's shitty studio apartment. a little bit angsty (matty's extremely frustrated by writer's block) but mostly a whole lot of fluff and smut.
word count: 6384
Dating a boy in a band meant that your Friday and Saturday nights were long, loud, and intense. Youâd start the evenings cloaked in fur and lace and leather and end them sweaty, with smudged eyeliner and lipstick and moaning Mattyâs name with a voice that was nearly gone. To you, the weekends meant ringing in your ears ten minutes into a gig, but still staying until the end. They meant a hangover that didnât go away until the afternoon, when you finally forced yourself to untangle from your boyfriend and get out of bed. They meant living a lifestyle that your parents always warned you about, but you had wanted for as long as you could remember.Â
Your weekends always went by too fast, in dizzying flashes of pleasurable excess and overstimulation, and you loved it. But during the week, your days were much slower and simpler. When you werenât busy with your coursework or the shitty job youâd gotten to pay for university, youâd usually find yourself back at Mattyâs flat, easily drifting back into the intimate pattern of domesticity the two of you had curated ever since he moved into his new place.Â
Matty got the cheapest one-bedroom flat he could afford in the city, and even so, he could barely afford the rent. You knew his family would have been more than happy to pitch in if he asked, but his ego was way too big to ask his parents for favors, especially now that he was in his twenties and had convinced himself that he was far too mature to ask for financial support. Besides, Matty made enough snide comments about the other local bands who were bankrolled by their rich parents for you to know that heâd rather get evicted than ever have the title ânepo babyâ associated with his name. When he makes it, because you feel in your bones that he will, you know that Matty needed to be able to say that he, Ross, Adam, and George did it on their own.
Leaning into the starving-artist image meant Matty got what he paid for. The only window in his flat faced a brick wall, meaning that any direct sunlight was a rare miracle. The wallpaper â some atrocious flower pattern that hadnât been fashionable since the late sixties â was yellowing and cracking in the corners. And police and ambulance sirens were a near constant companion, no matter how loud Matty turned up his amp.
But it wasnât all bad. There werenât any mice or cockroaches (at least that you knew of), and Matty had yet to get any noise complaints from neighbors because you were fairly sure that he didnât actually have any. After all, no one in their right mind would live in this complex. The acrid smell of smoke lingered from the flatâs previous tennants but, on the bright side, that meant you and Matty could smoke whenever and wherever you wanted without causing any further damage. And, most importantly, it had become a sanctuary of sorts for the quiet days when neither of you felt any pressure to perform.
Today was one of those days. Itâs a gloomy afternoon, just like most of them are. (This is Manchester, after all.) You sit cross-legged on Mattyâs comedically uncomfortable couch â it had been free, just like most of the furniture in his flat â shifting every few minutes to avoid getting a bruised tailbone. A worn paperback sits in your lap, covered in pencilled annotations as you try your best to make sense of whatever the hell Shakespeare was on about. The faint scent of tobacco wafts through the air, Mattyâs latest cigarette stubbed out in the ashtray on his coffee table.
Matty sits across from you in silence, one leg propped up on the coffee table, the other crossed at his knee. He had the day off work, so heâs still in the clothes he slept in â a pair of plaid pajama bottoms that are just a little too large for him, and an old Radiohead tee that he snagged off of one of the guys years ago and never got around to returning. Heâs leaned over a worn Moleskine notebook, a sight that youâve grown quite familiar with at this point.
Thereâs a restlessness to your boyfriend when heâs like this. The songs heâs writing manifest themselves in short bursts of scribbles, followed by the sound of a cheap ballpoint pen scratching violently against the page as he promptly crosses out the words heâs just written. If his fingers arenât occupied with a cigarette or a spliff, they inevitably find their way to his hair, twisting a few unruly strands as his teeth worry his bottom lip. His acoustic guitar sits at his feet, taunting him, but Matty never moves to pick it up.Â
Heâs been like that for hours. Last weekâs gig didnât go the way he wanted, so your boyfriend had set his mind on creating âmusic that isnât shitâ (his words, not yours). Whenever heâs in one of these moods where he wants to get a song written, he will get the fucking song written, even if it drives him insane in the process.Â
And⌠even if it means barely acknowledging youâre there.
Youâve been dating Matty long enough to become familiar with his quirks and his bad habits. They donât make you love him any less, but you did occasionally find them frustrating, and that prickliness was beginning to swell inside of you. Watching him silently torture himself was bad enough, but having to decipher Shakespeare was really the cherry on top of the shit sundae for you.
You silently note what page youâre on and pull your eyes away from your paperback to look up at him. Matty doesnât seem to notice. His expression remains unchanged â brows furrowed, eyes slightly squinted as he stares at the page like the perfect words will materialize out of thin air at any moment.Â
You clear your throat. Matty still doesnât react.
âI think Iâm gonna make some coffee,â you say, waiting for his response. âDo you want anything?â
When he speaks, his voice is gruff from hours of silence. âMâkay.âÂ
âIs that a yes or a no?â
This time, Matty doesnât give you the courtesy of a response; he just nods, vacant. You force down a groan.
âIâm bored â I think Iâll go set a car on fire,â you say as nonchalantly as possible, trying to get a reaction â any reaction â out of him. âDo you wanna watch?â
âUh-huh,â he replies absently, and thatâs when you decide youâve had enough.Â
You dog-ear your page, close the book, and lightly toss it at him. It hits Matty square in the chest and falls to the floor. Of course, that finally gets his attention. He freezes, then looks up at you, shaggy mop of hair falling into place. A few longer pieces fall in front of his eyes, and he hurriedly moves to push them away.
âWhat was that for?â Matty asks, scandalized. He sounds more offended than you had expected. You might as well have just lobbed a massive Bible at him instead of a flimsy paperback.Â
You frown softly. âYou were doing it again.â
âDoing what?âÂ
A second later, recognition floods his features, and he lets out a low expletive. Itâs not the first time you two have had this discussion, and he knows it.
âShit,â Matty rubs at his tired eyes with the palms of his hands. âIâm sorry. I justâŚâ The excuse dies on his lips. âYou know how I get.â
âI know,â you reply plainly, and he sighs at your tone.
âIâm a shit boyfriend,â he mutters, frowning. âYou come over, and I barely even look at you. Iâm sorry.âÂ
Itâs your turn to frown, because Matty sounds like he genuinely believes that, and heâs not a shit boyfriend. Easily distracted? Maybe. Obsessive? Most definitely. But heâs not a shit boyfriend â he never has been. Matty loves you with the same kind of passion he usually saves for his music â heâs all encompassing. When heâs focused on you and not trapped in one of these writerâs block fugue states, he treats you like you are the sun that he orbits. How could someone like that ever be a shit boyfriend?Â
You rise to your feet, couch groaning lightly in protest (it really is a shit piece of furniture, and you make a mental note to buy a new one the second you two can afford it). Matty bends down to pick up your book, seemingly assuming that was what you were getting up for, only for his eyes to widen when you press your hand to his chest and force him to relax back against the couch cushions. Your fingers reach for his notebook, pausing before touching it.
âCan I?â
Matty only nods in response, signaling his approval. You carefully remove the notebook from his lap and set it on the coffee table, but not before tabbing the page he left off on. With it out of the way, you climb onto his lap, thighs bracketing his legs as you straddle him. You can hear his breathing quicken as he instinctively grabs onto you, both to keep you close and also to ensure you donât fall backwards and crack your head open on the coffee table.Â
The new position forces proximity. Matty looks up at you with an unreadable expression as your hand finds his cheek, thumb stroking his soft skin.
âBaby, listen to me,â you start. âWe both know youâre not gonna get anything done like this.â Matty replies with a low, disgruntled noise, but doesnât make any attempt to interrupt you, so you continue. âThis isnât supposed to feel like a chore. I donât know why youâre making it into one.â
Your words seem to embarrass him. A light flush rises to his cheeks as he quickly averts his gaze, staring off into space.
ââCause I need to do something,â Matty says. His fingers drum along your thighs, desperate for something to toy with, something to calm his restless mind. âI havenât written a song in weeks.â
He says it like itâs a death sentence. Maybe for musicians, it is.
âSo⌠you think forcing it is gonna work?âÂ
Matty shrugs. âMaybe.â
You stifle a sigh as your hand comes up to caress his forehead, smoothing his hair back. The warmth of your palm causes Mattyâs gaze to snap back to you. Thatâs when you notice his eyes are bloodshot, probably from a combination of lack of sleep and the strain of staring at a blank page for too long.
âMatty.â Your voice is firm, maybe a bit firmer than intended, but you need him to listen to you. âYou could write a hundred verses when youâre like this, but it doesnât matter if you donât mean them. Youâll just wake up tomorrow and copy over the two lines you like and toss out the rest.â
Thatâs the downside of writing music the way Matty does. He uses his lyrics as a journal, chords as the unspoken soundtrack of his life. Thatâs not something that can be forced or fabricated. If Matty canât find the right words, then maybe that just means he doesnât have anything to say at the moment, and thatâs okay.Â
You just wish he knew it was okay. But he doesnât, and whenever Matty is in one of these creative ruts, it frightens him. You know it does. You know that even now, with you in his lap, thereâs a little voice in the back of his brain telling him that if he stops, if he rests, heâll never be able to start again, as though heâll blink and miraculously lose the ability to create. And you know in Mattyâs mind, thatâs a fate worse than death.
âI know you, baby. I know how your brain works.â You tap your forefinger against his temple. âAnd I love it. But I also know that torturing yourself like this isnât going to get you anywhere.â
âYeah.â Matty sounds flippant at first, before letting out a sigh and continuing. âYeah. Youâre right. I just⌠I dunno. I donât know why I canât be normal about this shit.â
âI hate to break it to you,â you say with a grin, âbut artists arenât usually⌠normal.â
That comment makes the corners of Mattyâs mouth twitch, and for a moment, you hope youâre going to get one of those toothy smiles you love so much. But the moment passes, and heâs back to being frustrated.
âI just⌠I dunno why Iâm not more inspired. I love this shit, I â I need it, baby. So whyâs it so hard? Itâs justâŚâ Matty groans, throwing his head back dramatically. âI dunno. Itâs not fair. And itâs fucking annoying.â
âOkay,â you grin. âThen letâs get you inspired.â
âWhat?â
âYou heard me.â
âItâs fine,â he says dismissively. âYou donât have tâdo that.â
âI want to help, Matty,â you say insistently. âBesides, I need a break from the bard or else Iâm going to be sick. Okay?â
It takes him a beat, and you can see the cogs turning behind his eyes, but your boyfriend finally nods in agreement.
âOkay.â
âOkay!â A big smile spreads across your face. âSo⌠what inspires you, baby?â
âI dunno⌠nothing good, probably.â
âLike what?â
âLike⌠family shit. Drugs.â Matty throws his hands up in mock surrender. âUh⌠God, I guess.â
âGod?â you laugh, surprised by the last item on his list. Matty nods.
âYeah. Weird bloke.â
âOkay, wellâŚâ You hold up one hand and count your options with your fingers. âI can give Denise a ring, but we both know thatâd turn into a two-hour phone call, and I donât think either of us wants that. Weâre out of weed, and I donât know any of your plugs, so I canât help you there. Uh⌠I guess I could always find you a priest? Give you a chance to atone for your myriad of sins?â
Your over-the-top comment earns a laugh from him, and your heart skips a beat at the sound. Itâs good to see him smile.Â
Matty rolls his eyes, lightly slapping your leg. âOh God. Shakespeareâs rubbinâ off on you. And besides, you like my sins.â
âOh, believe me, I do. I really, really do.â You smirk at him conspiratorially. âDoes anything else come to mind? Really get the creative juices flowing?â
Matty cringes at your statement. âEw.â
âAnswer the question, Matthew.â
He blinks at that, not anticipating the use of his full name. But itâs one way to get his attention, and it doesnât take long for him to answer you.
âYeah. You.â Matty chuckles uncomfortably, hand coming up to rub at the bridge of his nose. âGod, Iâm a fucking cliche, arenât I?â
âYeah. But youâre my cliche. And besides⌠I like the sound of that,â you purr, slowly dragging your hand down your chest. Itâs mostly meant as a joke, a mockery of seduction, but judging by the way that Mattyâs breathing quickens, heâs not taking it as a joke. âWhat about me?â
âW-what?â he stammers, having forgotten what the two of you were talking about just moments before.Â
âWhat about me inspires you?â you ask, slower this time. Your fingers still, splayed against the soft fabric of his shirt. The pressure seems to ground him, and Matty lets out a breath before responding.
âEverything about you.â Your boyfriend isnât stammering now. Heâs confident, earnest. âYouâre so⌠youâre everything. Iâm so fuckinâ lucky to have you.âÂ
A smile erupts across your face at that â how could it not, when heâs talking about you like that?Â
âThatâs very sweet, baby,â you say before leaning forward to kiss him.
It starts gentle, exploratory, almost. Mattyâs lips press against yours, fingers digging into your thighs as he pushes himself forward, further into the kiss. Itâs sweet. Itâs needy. And then, you remember that this is technically supposed to be inspirational for him, so you tangle your fingers in his hair in a way that drags a low, wanting noise out of him, and it stops being sweet and gentle almost instantaneously. You can feel Mattyâs lips part as you make him moan, and you take the opportunity to deepen the kiss, placing a hand on his jaw to angle his head up. His fingers dig into your thighs, inching higher as you slip your tongue into his mouth.
The kiss quickly devolves into a mess of lips and tongues and heat, and before you know it, youâre panting against him as you rock into his lap, searching for friction. Matty responds to your need, grabbing fistfuls of your ass as he pulls your hips flush against his. You moan breathlessly at the sensation, and you can feel his lips curl up into a satisfied smirk. But when you feel his fingertips ghost along your stomach, heading south for the waistband of your shorts, you pull back and shake your head.
âUh uh.â
âBut I wanna ââ
âThis isnât about me, baby,â you cut him off, your own fingers interlocking with his and pressing them against the top of your thighs to keep him still.
Matty looks like youâve just shot him. A deep frown appears on his face, his brows drawn up tight with frustration.
âButâŚâ Matty trails off, words suddenly failing him, probably because youâre in his lap and you look absolutely stunning, and all he wants to do is slip his hand down your panties and make you cum, and youâre not letting him.Â
But you have a good reason for that. Of course, you have a good reason. If Matty needs inspiration, then youâre going to make sure he gets inspiration.
âLet me spoil you, baby boy,â you say, and before Matty can protest any further, you climb off his lap and sink to your knees in front of him.
(Now, most of the time, you resent the stereotype of the rockstar girlfriend. Youâre more than Mattyâs accessory. You are your own person, and you hate the assumptions that people make about you when they find out youâre dating the lead singer of a band. Contrary to popular belief, youâre not just here to be his muse or a pretty side piece who sucks him off whenever he commands it. And you know Matty would never expect that from you. But, at this given moment, Matty is far more sexy than William Shakespeare, even though that opinion would probably get you lambasted by some stuffy academics who havenât gotten laid in decades. And right now, you want nothing more than to suck your boyfriendâs cock, so thatâs exactly what you are going to do.)
Youâre immensely grateful for the rug Matty has on his living room floor as you fully lower yourself down onto your knees. The thin linen of his pajama bottoms does little to hide the fact that heâs hard, cock straining against the growing tent that youâre responsible for. Itâs never taken much to get Matty worked up, but you still feel a rush of pride at the sight. Your fingers ghost along his ribs, featherlight, before stopping at his waistband. You feel Mattyâs hips buck upward ever so slightly, instinctively searching for your touch, trying to relieve some of the pressure that has him so worked up.Â
âIs that all for me, baby?â you ask, saccharine, even though you already know the answer.
âYeah.â Matty doesnât hesitate, even though he sounds almost weak when he responds. âCourse it is⌠always yours.âÂ
Your lips curl into a grin â youâll never get sick of hearing about the claim youâve laid to this boy. (Just like you know Matty will never get sick of the way you cry his name during sex, whispering how youâre his and only his and no one elseâs between moans.)
You slide his pajamas down (and only his pajamas; Matty gave up wearing underwear to bed a long time ago, a fact that becomes very convenient in moments like these). Once theyâre low enough, his cock springs free, rosy with need and already dripping with precum. Evidently, he wasnât kidding when he said this was all for you.
Without warning, you lean forward and spit on the head of his cock in the filthy way you know he loves, eyes never leaving his as you do so. Mattyâs on edge, body tense as he watches you through darkened eyes, lips slightly parted. Youâre teasing him, watching him fall apart above you. And while you would love to see just how wrecked you can get him before you even touch him properly, you decide to take pity on him.
Your thumb swipes through the glob of spit, fingertip brushing against the sensitive slit on the head of his cock as it journeys lower, and Matty hisses at the sensation, hands digging into the couch cushions. You wrap your fingers around the base of him, squeezing softly before moving your hand back up, using your spit to lube him up and get him nice and wet. You repeat the motion a couple more times as you watch Mattyâs grip on the couch grow almost painful, knuckles whitening from the effort.
âJesus â Christ, baby, shit,â he pants, eyes still locked on yours. Itâs music to your ears.
And that gives you an idea.
Your fingers still, and Matty lets out a low, shaky breath. A coy smile spreads across your face as you stare up at him through your eyelashes.
âMatty?â
âYeah?âÂ
He sounds uncertain, almost nervous. His tone stirs something in you, and your grin morphs into a smirk.
âSing for me.â
You watch him raise an eyebrow, confused, but then youâre sealing your lips around his cock and taking him deep enough to almost gag, and the noise that you manage to rip out of Matty is something you wish you could record and listen to on loop. Itâs a low, punch-drunk keening noise, one filled with desperation and molten pleasure, and it makes you very aware of the ache between your legs.
âOh fuck.â Mattyâs voice is strained, one hand instinctively going to the back of your head as he holds your hair back in his fingers. He doesnât push you down further on his cock or try to manipulate your movements â he knows better than that. As usual, your boyfriend is more than happy to allow you to take control and enjoy the feeling of your mouth.
You get to work, hollowing out your cheeks and setting a pace that has his thighs tensing underneath your touch. Occasionally, his hips will move on their own accord, forcing his cock deeper into the back of your throat, but the way he sobs in pleasure when you swallow him down more than makes up for the brief discomfort. As you move your mouth up and down the length of him, you try your best to ignore the tears that occasionally prick at your eyes or the ever-growing slickness between your legs. Thankfully, Mattyâs a shameless babbler, and that gives you more than enough to focus on.
âOh God, âm sorry,â Matty apologizes when you gag on him, but your grip on his thighs prevents him from pulling away. âFeels sâgood, baby, your fucking mouthâŚâ
You watch as Mattyâs head falls back against the couch, and he brings one of his arms up to cover his face. You catch a glint of white as he lightly bites into his forearm, muffling the sounds of his own pleasure.Â
You canât have that.
One of the hands that youâve had perched on his thigh moves to the inside of his leg, and you lightly pinch the sensitive skin, causing Matty to let out a pained noise and jolt under your touch. You pull back, removing your mouth from him altogether, and he lets out another little sound, this one of frustration.Â
âWha⌠did you just pinch me?âÂ
You nod eagerly. âYeah. I did.â
âWhy?â
ââCause if you donât let me hear you, Iâm gonna stop.â Your eyes dart down to his cock â itâs shiny with your drool, and you swear you see it twitch with need as you drag your fingertip along the sensitive underside of his head. âI told you to sing for me, baby.â
When you look back up at Matty, heâs a mess. Confused, offended, annoyed, take your pick. But heâs also insatiably horny and looks like he might die if you donât go back to sucking his dick this instant. Heâs dramatic, your boy. Always has been. Thatâs one of the many things that you love about him, and what makes moments like these so deliciously special.
âOkay, okay.â Matty nods his head, suddenly agreeable. You like it when heâs agreeable. You like that you can get on your knees for him and somehow, heâs the one at your mercy.
âOkay⌠what?â you tease, wrapping your fingers back around the base of his cock and stroking him slowly, just enough to make him stutter.Â
âO-okay, Iâll sing for you, fuck.â
You give him a big, shameless smile in return. Thatâs all you needed to hear. And when the warmth of your mouth envelopes him once more, Matty keeps his promise to you and fucking sings.Â
âOh Jesus â s-so good at this, takinâ me so well, best ââ His grip on your hair tightens as the head of his cock hits the back of your throat. âBest fuckinâ girl I could ask for.â
Despite yourself, the sound of his praise makes you rub your thighs together, desperate for the stimulation youâve deprived yourself of so far. If you let Matty have his way, he probably wouldâve been the one on his knees, lapping at your pussy like a man starved. But as you keep reminding him, he deserves to be spoiled too.Â
And spoil him is exactly what you do. If you had any ounce of shame left, youâd probably be embarrassed by the wet noises filling his living room as you work him with your mouth. Youâd probably be humiliated by the sheer amount of spit that youâve produced, enough that you can feel it dribbling down your chin, likely staining the rug that youâre oh-so-thankful for. Youâd probably be concerned about the fact that your reading report is due tomorrow, but instead of forcing yourself to finish slogging through Henry VI, youâre too busy giving your boyfriend the most mind-boggling blowjob heâs ever received in his entire life. But luckily for you, all the shame vacated your body a long time ago, which means you donât have to worry about anything except making your boyfriend feel fucking amazing.
Matty twitches underneath you, muscles growing taut as he moans, loudly enough for you to know that heâs close. You expect to feel his grip on your hair tighten and for his eyes to flutter shut as he rides out his high, but then heâs tugging you back gently and murmuring something under his breath.
âStop.â
You donât need to be told twice â you pull away, releasing him from your mouth with a wet âpop.âÂ
âWhatâs wrong?â you ask, suddenly concerned.Â
âNothinâ, nothingâs wrong.â Matty reaches out, thumb brushing your lip, where a thin thread of drool is still attached to the base of his cock. The sweetness of the action makes your cheeks grow warm. âJust wanna cum inside you, baby.â
âSounded like you were about to do that.â You part your lips and teasingly lick the pad of his thumb, and Matty groans at the sight.
âFuck. I need to feel you. Wanna fill you up.â
His words have you pressing your thighs together again, pussy fluttering around nothing. Youâd be lying if you said you didnât want to feel him inside of you, stretching you open. And the idea of him burying himself deep, filling you up with his cumâŚ
His breathless voice pulls you back to reality.
âPlease, baby.â
And who are you to turn Matty down when he sounds so pretty begging for your pussy?
You stand up, knees aching ever so slightly from kneeling on the floor, and quickly step out of your bottom layers, letting your shorts and panties fall to the floor without much care. Mattyâs eyes immediately dart down to your exposed core, and you watch him bite back a groan at the sight.
âFuck me, darling.âÂ
Itâs only when you lower yourself down on his lap that you realize just how wet you are. The head of his cock glides through your slickness with ease, and you let out a little sigh of relief as it bumps against your clit. Itâs hardly enough, but itâs a start.Â
Mattyâs hands are on you the first chance he gets, fingers eagerly running along your hips, your thighs, your ass. You gasp into his mouth as one of his hands slips under the shirt that you hadnât bothered to take off, greedily grabbing a fistful of your tit and squeezing. You grind down on him again, hips stuttering as you feel him buck up against your core.
You could move to his bed â itâs only a few meters away. But despite how shitty the couch is, you have grown quite fond of how Mattyâs head falls back against the cushions as he stares at you with want in his eyes. So, the couch it is.Â
You reach down and drag his cockhead along your slit, teasing. Mattyâs eyes nearly roll back at the sensation.
âGod, youâre so wet,â he breathes, fingers digging even harder into your skin. âAll from gettin' on your knees fâme.â
âAll for you, baby,â you coo, echoing his previous words back at him. Matty flushes, looking up at you with a faint, fucked-out smile.Â
âYouâre so pretty.âÂ
âSo are you,â you laugh breathlessly, gaze lingering a little too long on the dark locks sticking to his forehead and the pinkness of his parted lips. Theyâre still wet from where you kissed him earlier, almost shimmery from spit.
Sure, youâre pretty. But God â Mattyâs the prettiest boy youâve ever laid eyes on.
You decide that you canât take it any longer. You drag his cock through your folds a couple more times, gasping both at the feeling and the wet, filthy noise it makes. And then youâre slowly lowering your hips down onto the length of him, inch by devastating inch. Matty lets out the same shaky groan he makes every time he slips into you, like youâre the best thing heâs ever felt in his entire life.
âLove, you feel â oh,â he slurs. âSâgood. Sâfucking good.â
Your lips part in a silent moan as you adjust to the size of him, trying to ignore the way heâs pressed up right against that spot that makes you see stars. Mattyâs mouth is on your neck in an instant, sucking a kiss into your skin. You can feel him practically trembling underneath you, desperate with need.Â
âNot gonna last long,â Matty whimpers against your neck, almost apologetic. âFeels tâgood.â
âItâs okay, baby,â you reassure him. âJust let me take care of you.â
Matty holds you tight as you begin to rock against him, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. Whenever you move just right, you feel his breath stutter against your skin, broken little moans falling freely from his lips. Your hand moves to the back of his neck and your fingers card through his hair as you begin to ride him in earnest. Within seconds, those familiar wet noises return to the space around you as every movement of your hips confirms how wet, how tight, how hungry you are for this boy.
The muscles in your thighs ache at this point, both from kneeling on the ground and from riding him, but youâre not going to stop now, not when you can feel how close he is. Still, Matty seems to notice your growing discomfort, and he presses one of his hands against your lower back. Youâre not sure if heâs doing it to alleviate some of the ache or to keep you as close to him as possible, but the pressure forces him even deeper inside of you, and your eyes flutter shut as you feel him rub up against your sweet spot.Â
Just as his body begins to tense once again, you feel a rough finger press against your clit, and your eyes shoot open. At some point, Mattyâs hand had wandered between your legs, and youâd been too distracted to notice.
âMatty.â You mean for your words to come out sharply, but then he drags his thumb along the hood of your clit and steals your breath away. âThis is â fuck â about making you feel good.â
âMaking you cum will make me feel good,â he replies, insistent, and you wish you had the willpower to argue with him, but heâs making you feel so good, and it becomes far too easy to lose yourself in that feeling. And when the hand on your back moves down to cup your ass, squeezing the sensitive flesh and spreading you open even wider for him, you canât stop a traitorous moan from sneaking past your lips.
âThatâs it.â Matty sounds just as wrecked as you, but that doesnât stop him from murmuring words of encouragement against your skin. âWanna make you feel good. Please let me make you feel good.â
It doesnât take much to convince you after that. Not when Mattyâs panting against your neck, practically whining about how good you feel around him, or when his large hands are hungrily wandering the expanse of your body, like heâs mapping it out under his touch. And, as tends to happen whenever you have sex with Matty, your orgasm creeps up on you quicker than expected. Something about the combination of his deft fingers toying with your clit and his teeth dragging against the sensitive skin of your neck proves to be too much, and your movements grow erratic, hips shaking ever so slightly as you begin to lose yourself in him fully.Â
âOh â oh God,â you groan, searing pleasure beginning to lick up your spine.Â
Matty, for once in his life, is uncharacteristically quiet, yet another sign that heâs also right on the edge and just waiting for you to reach your climax so he can allow himself to indulge in the same pleasure. The only sign that he heard you comes in the form of him nipping at your earlobe, and as stupid and minuscule as the action is, thatâs what gets you. You fall forward against the back of the couch as your pussy spasms around his cock, orgasm ripping through you.Â
Youâre so distracted by how your body is shaking as wave after wave of pleasure courses through you, you donât even realize Mattyâs reached his high until he groans against your neck, grip almost painful on your skin as he spills into you. He takes advantage of your boneless state to fuck you through his orgasm, making you claw at the back of the couch. Your boyfriend thrusts up into you one, two, three more times, filling you up just like he wanted. You shiver at the sensation, jaw going slack as you ride out the aftershocks of your own climax.
And then, thereâs silence, filthy sounds of sex replaced by heavy breathing as you both come back down. You stay like that for a while, with Mattyâs hands holding you flush against his lap, half-hard cock still buried deep inside of you as he peppers kisses along your neck and the side of your face.
Mattyâs first to break the silence.
âHuh.âÂ
You raise an eyebrow. âWhat?âÂ
âI donât feel inspired.â
Oh. Right.Â
Thatâs how this whole thing started, after all. You had promised to inspire him so heâd stop torturing himself. In your post-orgasm haze, it wasnât exactly top of mind.
âJusâ feel sticky,â Matty murmurs, pulling back so he can look at you. His eyes are a little glassy, still drunk on pleasure.
âSticky?â you ask.
âI just came in you,â he frowns. ââCourse I feel sticky.â
âMm, poor baby,â you tease, but youâre so worn out that your words lack any real edge. âMust be hard having a girlfriend who rides you so hard it nearly breaks your couch.â
(Not that breaking the couch would take any real effort. It is a really shitty couch, to be fair. But for the first time in your life, youâre actually kind of grateful for it. If it were any nicer, youâd be a lot more concerned about getting cum stains on it.)Â
âIt is hard,â Matty says, but the way he melts into your hand when you reach up to brush some of his hair out of his face says otherwise.Â
âWell, Iâm sorry I didnât inspire you.â
âSâokay,â Matty says, smile tugging at the corner of his lips. âStill worth it. And now Iâm too spent to even think about writing, so I guess it helped.â
âOh, youâre spent?â you ask, amused. âMy legs are killing me. All you had to do was sit there and look pretty.â
âAnd I did a phenomenal job of that, thank you very much,â Matty counters, and you giggle, and he giggles, and pretty soon youâre both melting back into each other, bodies and limbs going slack in the peaceful afterglow.
Mattyâs lips inevitably find their way back to your neck, his warm breath ghosting along your skin as he relaxes into your shoulder. If youâre not careful, you could almost doze off like this, safe and comfortable in the feeling of him. But unfortunately, that feeling doesnât last forever, and youâre suddenly reminded of your looming academic responsibilities.Â
âFuck,â you groan. âI still have to finish Act II.â
You make a half-hearted attempt to shift off of him, but Matty seems to be personally offended by your efforts. He tightens his grip on your waist, holding you there. He presses his lips to your cheek lovingly before nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.
âNot yet,â Matty mumbles lazily. âJusâ a little longer. Wanna feel you.â
And when he puts it like that⌠maybe Shakespeare can wait after all.
sott!matty being very stressed about the record shop :(( but heâs still soo sweet bless him
i always get this way sometimes - matty healy
summary: matty's going through a bit of a rough spot with his shop. you try your best to take his mind off things.
tags: part of the sign of the times universe (record store au.) mentions of financial stress and the physical and mental toll of it. angst with an optimistic ending.
word count: 2071
You can tell somethingâs wrong only a couple of hours into your day.Â
Thereâs something about the way your boyfriend has been texting that you canât describe, but it feels just off enough to raise alarm bells in your mind. Thatâs the curse of being in love with someone â they activate some sort of sixth sense inside of you, one that tips you off whenever theyâre not doing too well.Â
Youâre on your lunch break when you finally ask Matty the question thatâs been top of mind all day.Â
are you doing okay?
He responds quickly, quicker than heâs replied to your handful of texts so far that morning. That only makes you more suspicious.
yeah, just a headache
donât have to worry about me đ
You frown. Putting aside the fact that your boyfriend texts like a suburban father of two, his reply does little to calm your nerves. Matty, despite all his positive traits, isnât always comfortable talking about how heâs feeling, especially if he thinks that it would burden you, especially if he knows youâre at work. To be honest, you probably should have known better than expecting him to come clean over text, but thatâs never stopped you from trying.
You text him back a couple of minutes later. Itâs inconsequential what you say, though. As you finish up your lunch, your mind is made up â youâre going to swing by his shop after you get off work today, just to make sure that he really is doing okay. Besides, you didnât really have anything planned this evening, except for maybe tidying up your apartment, and that can wait.Â
It usually takes you close to an hour to get from your work to Mattyâs place, and thatâs when the MTA is working perfectly. Unfortunately, this is New York, so itâs rarely working perfectly, and on a busy weekday evening like this one, your commute is closer to 90 minutes than an hour. Itâs nearly dark when you walk up out of the subway station, and youâre half worried that Matty wonât even be at his store when you get there, having gone back up to his apartment for the night. That wouldnât be the end of the world, but having to call him to buzz you into his complex would sort of ruin the surprise.Â
But as you round the familiar corner to his shop, you discover that heâs still there. His shopâs been locked up for the night, and the neon open sign has been turned off, but you can still see him through the windows, working on something. Heâs sat at the front desk, illuminated only by a small lamp, having turned off the overhead lights a while ago. Thereâs a ballpoint pen tucked into the corner of his lip, and you see that heâs worrying the cap of it with his teeth, no doubt leaving tiny indentations in the plastic. Itâs one of his many nervous habits, and the sight confirms for you that you made the right choice to stop by.
You wait outside for a couple of seconds before rapping on the door to his shop. Matty jumps at the noise, startled, and you can see him squint through his glasses as he trains his eyes on the storefront windows. But panic quickly fades into confusion when he sees you, and you watch as he raises an eyebrow and gives you a small but nervous wave. You wave back at him, and you see a hint of a smile tug at his lips.Â
The two of you stay like that for a while, staring at each other through panes of glass, before you point to the locked door. Mattyâs eyes go wide, clearly having forgotten that you couldnât just walk in, and he scrambles to his feet, grabbing his keys off the desk and making his way over to the door in a few short strides. You hear the keys jingle in the keyhole before the door unlocks with a faint click, and he swings it open.
As Matty leans his head out through the crack in the door, you realize that he looks more frazzled than you originally realized. His face appears gaunter than usual, especially the space around his eyes, a sign that he hasnât been eating or sleeping much, or, the more likely scenario, both. You have to fight the urge to frown as you take in his appearance, forcing your fingers to stay still at your sides, no matter how badly you want to reach up and run your hands along his face.
âDid we have something planned for tonight?â he asks, seemingly unaware of how blunt the question sounds. Once more, you have to stop yourself from frowning, but for a different reason this time.Â
âNice to see you too, Matty,â you say, and you watch as his face falls.
âShit. Mâsorry, love.â He presses his lips to your forehead in a kiss, but pulls away in the blink of an eye, the feeling gone too soon. âItâs been a long day.âÂ
You can see that. Itâs written all over his features, the way he holds tension in his body. Itâs also not lost on you that Matty is still blocking the entryway to his shop, physically stopping you from stepping inside, which is also very unlike him.
âCan I come in?â you ask gently, choosing not to press him on the day heâs had â not yet at least.
Matty blinks before nodding, stepping out of the entryway, and holding the door open for you as you step through into his store. Even in this stillness, with most of the lights out and, for once, no music playing through the stereos that he keeps hidden behind the front desk, the space feels just as warm and inviting as it did the first day you stumbled upon it. Itâs impossible to feel miserable in a place like this, which is exactly why Mattyâs current demeanor has you so concerned.Â
You wait for Matty at his desk, allowing him to lock up the front door before you try asking him anything else. You take in the mess of paperwork scattered across the countertop â physical receipts, printed eBay sale confirmations, certificates of authenticity⌠and page after page of meticulous, hand-written record-keeping, tracking values that never stay the same way for long.
That sight alone answers your questions for you. You donât need him to tell you anything to know that heâs spiraling.
âWhatâs wrong, Matty?â you ask once he returns to his side of the desk. You donât miss the way he looks at the papers strewn everywhere, and then up at you, as though trying to figure out if you had looked at them or not. Still, he makes no effort to clean up the space or hide them.
ââSânothing, love,â he says dismissively, and even though you were prepared for that response, it doesnât stop your heart from sinking. âReally. Just a long day. I donât wanna bore you with the details.âÂ
âWell⌠I came here so you could bore me with the details,â you counter, leaning down and bracing yourself on the desk with your elbows. âI want to know.âÂ
âYou didnât have to do that.â He sounds exhausted. It makes your chest ache.
This time, you donât stop yourself from reaching out. One of your hands closes around his own, gently squeezing. Matty doesnât try to fight it, but he doesnât exactly relax into your touch either, just blinking at you from behind his glasses. The store's darkness makes the bags beneath his eyes seem even more pronounced.
âTalk to me, baby.â Itâs more a plea than a question, but something in your tone seems to break through to him finally, and Matty lets out a sigh.
âI havenât been making money, not really,â he admits with a frown. âNot for the past couple months, at least.â
âHas this happened before?â
Matty nods. âOh yeah, âcourse. I go through a proper bad patch once every couple years. But it still makes me nervous.âÂ
You frown. No wonder heâs been spiraling. All of the paperwork sitting on his desk suddenly makes sense.
âBut itâs always sorted itself out, right?â you ask, trying to say something to cheer him up, even though you know basically nothing about the topic at hand. This is his world, not yours. âI mean, everyone and their mom is buying records right now.âÂ
Matty laughs softly. âIf that were true, Iâd be rich by now.âÂ
You raise an eyebrow. âDo you want that?â
âNo, God, no,â Matty replies, like the very notion of what youâre suggesting offends him to his core. âI never did this for the money, you know that. I justâŚâÂ
He doesnât finish that sentence, instead letting out another tired sigh as he clumsily removes his glasses from his face. He doesnât let go of your hand as he does it, making the motions a little awkward, but he still manages to place the folded glasses on the counter without much trouble.
âYouâll figure it out, baby,â you say softly, squeezing his hand once more. âYou always do.â
âYeah.âÂ
Matty sounds distant, and it doesnât take a genius to figure out that he doesnât believe in what heâs saying. But youâre not saying this because you think it will make him feel better â youâre saying it because you wholeheartedly believe your words, believe in him.
âYou will,â you repeat, a little more forcefully this time. âLike you said, this happens sometimes. And last time I checkedâŚâ You gesture to his storefront with your free hand, eyes landing on the dimmed open sign. âYour shop is still here.â
Your words are enough to almost earn a smile from him, which means that youâre getting somewhere.
âI know,â Matty replies. âI know. Itâs just⌠everything I have, I put into this place, love. And if itâs gone, then I donâtâŚâ He swallows then, rubs at his tired eyes with the back of his palm. âGod. I donât know what Iâd do.â
âHey.â You reach out, trying to hold onto his other hand, but he lowers it before you can, shaking his head.
âMâsorry, I donât want you worryinâ about me,â Matty says, voice suddenly strained. âIâm jusâ beinâ dramatic.â He smiles at you then, but heâs forcing it â you can tell. You can always tell. âTell me about your day.â
âThat can wait,â you say, not giving him the out he so clearly wants. But youâre also not about to drag this conversation out if he doesnât want it. Youâre not cruel. âWhenâs the last time you slept?âÂ
âLast night.â
âFor how long?â
Matty doesnât have an answer for you⌠not that he needs one. The dark circles underneath his eyes speak for themselves.
âOkay,â you say, mind made up. âLetâs go upstairs to your place, and you can get a nap in while I make you dinner. And then, we can watch whatever old, nerdy sci-fi movie you want to get your mind off things, and I canât complain, no matter how cringy it is. Alright?â
Mattyâs eyes light up at your suggestion, a brief glimmer of life that you havenât seen since you stepped through his door. And even though it might be because you promised to sit down and watch a movie with him that has absolutely been made fun of on Mystery Science Theater 3000, itâs still a sight that you missed dearly.
âYou donât have to do that,â Matty repeats.
âNo,â you concede. âBut I want to. Besides, I donât like seeing you worried.â
âIâm always worried,â Matty replies, and even though technically, heâs not wrong, youâre not about to admit that to him.
âOkay, well, youâve worried enough for tonight,â you counter.Â
Matty opens his mouth, and you brace yourself for him to push back against your proposal, but to your surprise, he nods. Maybe heâs too tired, or maybe he just really wants to relax like youâre suggesting. God knows he needs it. Even on a good day, he works too hard, and today has definitely not been a good day for him. But with any luck, tonight will make up for that. Youâre certainly going to try.
âCan you at least tell me about your day after dinner?â Matty asks after a few beats, almost sheepish, and you smile.
i just know that sott!matty would be an absolute chaos demon around record store day
oh he'd be STRESSING đ
but in matty's defense, it IS a big deal! he could make as much as he makes in a few months over the course of only a couple of days if he plays his cards right. i feel like he'd be checking his stock over and over and over again during the week leading up to it just to make sure he isn't forgetting anything. and his store's social media pages would be the busiest they've ever been in the weeks leading up to it (because he lowkey forgets they exist until record store day comes along and then he uses them to promote the shit out of his shop). he'd also lose like three pairs of glasses in the week leading up to the event since he's so distracted and frazzled and keeps forgetting where he leaves them đ
the day itself would take a lot out of him, too. handling customers who are literally lined up around the block is like the most draining thing in the world for him. he'd definitely be super overstimulated by the end of the day âšď¸
it isn't all stress, though. matty always enjoys interacting with people who love records just as much as he does, and record store day brings all sorts of music lovers to his shop. and, of course, he always sets aside some time for him and girlie to pick out what they want from the inventory before it goes on sale (just one of many perks of dating the owner)
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sott!matty being very stressed about the record shop :(( but heâs still soo sweet bless him
i always get this way sometimes - matty healy
summary: matty's going through a bit of a rough spot with his shop. you try your best to take his mind off things.
tags: part of the sign of the times universe (record store au.) mentions of financial stress and the physical and mental toll of it. angst with an optimistic ending.
word count: 2071
You can tell somethingâs wrong only a couple of hours into your day.Â
Thereâs something about the way your boyfriend has been texting that you canât describe, but it feels just off enough to raise alarm bells in your mind. Thatâs the curse of being in love with someone â they activate some sort of sixth sense inside of you, one that tips you off whenever theyâre not doing too well.Â
Youâre on your lunch break when you finally ask Matty the question thatâs been top of mind all day.Â
are you doing okay?
He responds quickly, quicker than heâs replied to your handful of texts so far that morning. That only makes you more suspicious.
yeah, just a headache
donât have to worry about me đ
You frown. Putting aside the fact that your boyfriend texts like a suburban father of two, his reply does little to calm your nerves. Matty, despite all his positive traits, isnât always comfortable talking about how heâs feeling, especially if he thinks that it would burden you, especially if he knows youâre at work. To be honest, you probably should have known better than expecting him to come clean over text, but thatâs never stopped you from trying.
You text him back a couple of minutes later. Itâs inconsequential what you say, though. As you finish up your lunch, your mind is made up â youâre going to swing by his shop after you get off work today, just to make sure that he really is doing okay. Besides, you didnât really have anything planned this evening, except for maybe tidying up your apartment, and that can wait.Â
It usually takes you close to an hour to get from your work to Mattyâs place, and thatâs when the MTA is working perfectly. Unfortunately, this is New York, so itâs rarely working perfectly, and on a busy weekday evening like this one, your commute is closer to 90 minutes than an hour. Itâs nearly dark when you walk up out of the subway station, and youâre half worried that Matty wonât even be at his store when you get there, having gone back up to his apartment for the night. That wouldnât be the end of the world, but having to call him to buzz you into his complex would sort of ruin the surprise.Â
But as you round the familiar corner to his shop, you discover that heâs still there. His shopâs been locked up for the night, and the neon open sign has been turned off, but you can still see him through the windows, working on something. Heâs sat at the front desk, illuminated only by a small lamp, having turned off the overhead lights a while ago. Thereâs a ballpoint pen tucked into the corner of his lip, and you see that heâs worrying the cap of it with his teeth, no doubt leaving tiny indentations in the plastic. Itâs one of his many nervous habits, and the sight confirms for you that you made the right choice to stop by.
You wait outside for a couple of seconds before rapping on the door to his shop. Matty jumps at the noise, startled, and you can see him squint through his glasses as he trains his eyes on the storefront windows. But panic quickly fades into confusion when he sees you, and you watch as he raises an eyebrow and gives you a small but nervous wave. You wave back at him, and you see a hint of a smile tug at his lips.Â
The two of you stay like that for a while, staring at each other through panes of glass, before you point to the locked door. Mattyâs eyes go wide, clearly having forgotten that you couldnât just walk in, and he scrambles to his feet, grabbing his keys off the desk and making his way over to the door in a few short strides. You hear the keys jingle in the keyhole before the door unlocks with a faint click, and he swings it open.
As Matty leans his head out through the crack in the door, you realize that he looks more frazzled than you originally realized. His face appears gaunter than usual, especially the space around his eyes, a sign that he hasnât been eating or sleeping much, or, the more likely scenario, both. You have to fight the urge to frown as you take in his appearance, forcing your fingers to stay still at your sides, no matter how badly you want to reach up and run your hands along his face.
âDid we have something planned for tonight?â he asks, seemingly unaware of how blunt the question sounds. Once more, you have to stop yourself from frowning, but for a different reason this time.Â
âNice to see you too, Matty,â you say, and you watch as his face falls.
âShit. Mâsorry, love.â He presses his lips to your forehead in a kiss, but pulls away in the blink of an eye, the feeling gone too soon. âItâs been a long day.âÂ
You can see that. Itâs written all over his features, the way he holds tension in his body. Itâs also not lost on you that Matty is still blocking the entryway to his shop, physically stopping you from stepping inside, which is also very unlike him.
âCan I come in?â you ask gently, choosing not to press him on the day heâs had â not yet at least.
Matty blinks before nodding, stepping out of the entryway, and holding the door open for you as you step through into his store. Even in this stillness, with most of the lights out and, for once, no music playing through the stereos that he keeps hidden behind the front desk, the space feels just as warm and inviting as it did the first day you stumbled upon it. Itâs impossible to feel miserable in a place like this, which is exactly why Mattyâs current demeanor has you so concerned.Â
You wait for Matty at his desk, allowing him to lock up the front door before you try asking him anything else. You take in the mess of paperwork scattered across the countertop â physical receipts, printed eBay sale confirmations, certificates of authenticity⌠and page after page of meticulous, hand-written record-keeping, tracking values that never stay the same way for long.
That sight alone answers your questions for you. You donât need him to tell you anything to know that heâs spiraling.
âWhatâs wrong, Matty?â you ask once he returns to his side of the desk. You donât miss the way he looks at the papers strewn everywhere, and then up at you, as though trying to figure out if you had looked at them or not. Still, he makes no effort to clean up the space or hide them.
ââSânothing, love,â he says dismissively, and even though you were prepared for that response, it doesnât stop your heart from sinking. âReally. Just a long day. I donât wanna bore you with the details.âÂ
âWell⌠I came here so you could bore me with the details,â you counter, leaning down and bracing yourself on the desk with your elbows. âI want to know.âÂ
âYou didnât have to do that.â He sounds exhausted. It makes your chest ache.
This time, you donât stop yourself from reaching out. One of your hands closes around his own, gently squeezing. Matty doesnât try to fight it, but he doesnât exactly relax into your touch either, just blinking at you from behind his glasses. The store's darkness makes the bags beneath his eyes seem even more pronounced.
âTalk to me, baby.â Itâs more a plea than a question, but something in your tone seems to break through to him finally, and Matty lets out a sigh.
âI havenât been making money, not really,â he admits with a frown. âNot for the past couple months, at least.â
âHas this happened before?â
Matty nods. âOh yeah, âcourse. I go through a proper bad patch once every couple years. But it still makes me nervous.âÂ
You frown. No wonder heâs been spiraling. All of the paperwork sitting on his desk suddenly makes sense.
âBut itâs always sorted itself out, right?â you ask, trying to say something to cheer him up, even though you know basically nothing about the topic at hand. This is his world, not yours. âI mean, everyone and their mom is buying records right now.âÂ
Matty laughs softly. âIf that were true, Iâd be rich by now.âÂ
You raise an eyebrow. âDo you want that?â
âNo, God, no,â Matty replies, like the very notion of what youâre suggesting offends him to his core. âI never did this for the money, you know that. I justâŚâÂ
He doesnât finish that sentence, instead letting out another tired sigh as he clumsily removes his glasses from his face. He doesnât let go of your hand as he does it, making the motions a little awkward, but he still manages to place the folded glasses on the counter without much trouble.
âYouâll figure it out, baby,â you say softly, squeezing his hand once more. âYou always do.â
âYeah.âÂ
Matty sounds distant, and it doesnât take a genius to figure out that he doesnât believe in what heâs saying. But youâre not saying this because you think it will make him feel better â youâre saying it because you wholeheartedly believe your words, believe in him.
âYou will,â you repeat, a little more forcefully this time. âLike you said, this happens sometimes. And last time I checkedâŚâ You gesture to his storefront with your free hand, eyes landing on the dimmed open sign. âYour shop is still here.â
Your words are enough to almost earn a smile from him, which means that youâre getting somewhere.
âI know,â Matty replies. âI know. Itâs just⌠everything I have, I put into this place, love. And if itâs gone, then I donâtâŚâ He swallows then, rubs at his tired eyes with the back of his palm. âGod. I donât know what Iâd do.â
âHey.â You reach out, trying to hold onto his other hand, but he lowers it before you can, shaking his head.
âMâsorry, I donât want you worryinâ about me,â Matty says, voice suddenly strained. âIâm jusâ beinâ dramatic.â He smiles at you then, but heâs forcing it â you can tell. You can always tell. âTell me about your day.â
âThat can wait,â you say, not giving him the out he so clearly wants. But youâre also not about to drag this conversation out if he doesnât want it. Youâre not cruel. âWhenâs the last time you slept?âÂ
âLast night.â
âFor how long?â
Matty doesnât have an answer for you⌠not that he needs one. The dark circles underneath his eyes speak for themselves.
âOkay,â you say, mind made up. âLetâs go upstairs to your place, and you can get a nap in while I make you dinner. And then, we can watch whatever old, nerdy sci-fi movie you want to get your mind off things, and I canât complain, no matter how cringy it is. Alright?â
Mattyâs eyes light up at your suggestion, a brief glimmer of life that you havenât seen since you stepped through his door. And even though it might be because you promised to sit down and watch a movie with him that has absolutely been made fun of on Mystery Science Theater 3000, itâs still a sight that you missed dearly.
âYou donât have to do that,â Matty repeats.
âNo,â you concede. âBut I want to. Besides, I donât like seeing you worried.â
âIâm always worried,â Matty replies, and even though technically, heâs not wrong, youâre not about to admit that to him.
âOkay, well, youâve worried enough for tonight,â you counter.Â
Matty opens his mouth, and you brace yourself for him to push back against your proposal, but to your surprise, he nods. Maybe heâs too tired, or maybe he just really wants to relax like youâre suggesting. God knows he needs it. Even on a good day, he works too hard, and today has definitely not been a good day for him. But with any luck, tonight will make up for that. Youâre certainly going to try.
âCan you at least tell me about your day after dinner?â Matty asks after a few beats, almost sheepish, and you smile.