#mat

First Time Meeting

The library was almost empty.

It was late afternoon, the kind of time when the sun starts to filter in sideways through the windows and paint golden lines across the floor. Matt liked it then—quiet, still, safe. The way the shelves muffled everything, the way people whispered by default. He came here more than he liked to admit, always with a book or a sketchpad, always ending up in the same worn seat by the back window.

That’s where he saw you.

He noticed you before you noticed him. You were standing near the psychology shelf, one hand on your hip, head tilted like you were sizing up a row of books for a fight. He thought you were gorgeous— to put it lightly.

There was something about how still you were, how focused. Like you didn’t care who else was in the room. That alone made Matt’s stomach do something embarrassing.

He looked away. Then back again.

You pulled out a book, flipped it open, and sighed. It was almost imperceptible, but he heard it. And then, as if drawn by some invisible, stupid force, Matt stood up.

He didn’t plan on saying anything. He really didn’t. But somehow, he ended up a few feet away, pretending to look for something on the shelf beside you.

You glanced at him once, then twice.

“You need something?” you asked, not unkind, just direct.

Matt blinked, caught. “Oh—uh. No. I was just…”

He trailed off. What was he just?

You raised an eyebrow, book still half-open in your hand. “Just hovering weirdly near me?”

Matt’s face flushed instantly. “I—sorry. I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t—”

You smiled then, subtle but real. “Relax. I’m just messing with you.”

“Oh.” He blinked, shoulders tensing, then easing. “Right. Okay.”

You closed the book and tucked it under your arm, turning toward him a little more fully. “You hang out here a lot?”

He hesitated. “Yeah. Kind of my place, I guess.”

“Yeah? You seem like the library type?

That made him tilt his head. “What’s the library type?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Glasses? Button up shirts? Tote bags or some shit??”

He laughed, caught off guard. “I mean, I do have many tote bags. And glasses. And button up shirts.”

You nodded toward the sketchpad under his arm. “You draw?”

Matt looked down like he forgot he was holding it. “Oh—yeah. A bit.”

“Can I see?”

His eyes widened slightly. “Now?”

“No,” you said, mock serious. “In a couple days.”

He laughed nervously. “Right. Sorry.”

He flipped open the sketchpad without thinking, hands clumsy, suddenly hyperaware of how close you were. The pages showed a mix of quick studies—hands, faces, street scenes—done in pencil, loose and warm.

You looked for a moment, quiet.

“These are really good,” you said.

Matt blinked, startled. “Oh. Thanks.”

“No, like—actually. I don’t usually say things I don’t mean.”

“I—okay.” He tried not to grin like an idiot. “That’s... really nice of you. Um t-thank you.”

You glanced at him again, more carefully this time. “You always this twitchy, or is it just me?”

He flushed. “Just you, probably.”

You smiled again. “Cute.”

His ears turned red. “You, uh… you come here a lot?”

“Sometimes. When I want to think. Or avoid people.”

He nodded slowly. “That’s why I come too.”

You looked at him for a moment longer, like you were deciding something.

“I’m gonna go sit over there,” you said, motioning toward the window seat he always used. “You can come too, if you want.”

Matt hesitated just long enough for you to raise an eyebrow again.

“Unless you’re scared,” you added.

“I’m not scared,” he said quickly, stepping forward before his brain could stop him.

You gave a soft hum of approval and led the way. When you sat, you didn’t spread out or mark your space—just leaned back, casual, like you belonged there. Matt hovered for a beat too long before settling beside you, sketchpad in his lap, palms sweating.

“So,” you said after a moment. “What’s your name?”

“Matt.”

You repeated it under your breath, then nodded. “I’m y/n.”

Silence again. Not awkward—just expectant.

“I really wasn’t trying to be weird earlier,” Matt blurted.

You looked at him sideways. “You kinda were.”

“I know,” he groaned, covering his face.

You nudged his knee with yours. “But I didn’t mind.”

He peeked at you between his fingers. “Really?”

“Really,” you said, letting your smile grow slowly. “You’re cute when you panic.”

Matt didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He just looked at you—composed, unreadable, and yet totally disarming—and felt like someone had pulled the floor out from under him.

You nudged his knee again, gentler this time. “Cat got your tongue, sketchboy?”

He blinked like he’d just surfaced. “Sorry, I’m—this is just... a lot.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Me sitting near you is ‘a lot’?”

“No, it’s just—you’re really…” He trailed off, like the word had gotten stuck somewhere between his brain and mouth.

“I’m really…?” you prompted, leaning in slightly.

Matt swallowed. “Distracting.”

You grinned. “I’ll take it.”

He laughed under his breath, nervous again, thumb grazing the corner of his sketchpad like it was grounding him. “You make it hard to think.”

“That’s the goal,” you said casually, watching him squirm. “But if it helps, you’re doing okay.”

He tilted his head. “Okay?”

“Better than I expected.”

“Better than—wait, what were you expecting?”

You shrugged like it wasn’t important. “I don’t know. More stammering. More sweating.”

“Oh, I’m definitely sweating,” he muttered.

You smirked and leaned back against the window, eyes squinting at the slats of sunlight spilling across the floor. “You’re funny, though. Kind of sweet.”

Matt opened his mouth, then closed it again. “You’re just… saying that.”

“No,” you said, without looking at him. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

And that quiet between you returned—just long enough for the tension to shift from playful to something heavier. More real.

“I, um…” Matt started, then stopped, biting his lip.

You glanced over. “What?”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking absolutely anywhere but at you. “I’ve got a lecture that I have to head to. Would it be super weird if I asked for your number?”

You didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him for a second too long. Then:

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether you’re actually gonna use it.”

His head snapped up. “I—yes. I will. I mean, I want to.”

You pulled a pen from your tote and reached for his sketchpad. “Then I guess it’s not super weird.”

You scribbled your number in the corner, dotting the “i” in your name with a tiny star. Then handed it back like it was no big deal.

Matt looked down at it like it might vanish.

“Don’t overthink it,” you said as you stood, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Just text me.”

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

You paused, gave him one last look. “Nice meeting you, Matt.”

And then you walked away, as calm and unreadable as when you’d arrived, leaving him blinking in the gold light, sketchpad in hand, heart doing things he didn’t know hearts could do.

First Texts

Matt: hey It’s me, matt, from the library?

You: Hey matt Whats up

Matt: so hypothetically if someone wanted to see you again in a setting that wasn’t just surrounded by dusty psychology books how would you feel about that?

You: i’d feel like that person should stop hiding behind hypotheticals and just ask me out

Matt: okay uh  d’you wanna go have a picnic? I know a quiet spot. Nothing fancy. Just food and you I guess.

You:  Food and me?? Sounds fun

Matt:  Good. I’ll bring snacks and a blanket. You just bring yourself.

You:  Deal. Saturday afternoon work?

Matt:  Yeah that works! I’ll pick you up.

First Date

The park was quiet, with just enough afternoon sun slipping through the trees to make the grass glow golden. Matt spread the blanket carefully, trying not to fumble too much with the snacks he’d brought. He’d overthought everything—the perfect spot, the right food— chocolate covered strawberries, all sorts of fruits and cheeses, and chips.

You plopped down right beside him, knees touching, grinning in surprise.

“Wow,” you said, eyeing his arrangement. “Look at you, all organized and stuff. I half expected you to show up with a bag of chips and maybe a soda.”

Matt’s cheeks flushed, a little overwhelmed by your energy. “Hey, I put some thought into this. Quality counts.”

You leaned in closer, voice low and teasing. “I like a guy who tries. Those fuckin’ nochalant guys piss me off.”

He swallowed hard, blinking, sort of unable to focus. He really liked your eyelashes. You did your makeup in the way that made them clumped together in triangles and spikey, framing your eyes. “I—yeah, thank you.”

“No, thank you.” You add, picking up a strawberry from the bowl. “You seem really sweet. Kinda random, but did you bring your sketchbook by any chance?”

Matt shifted, breaking out into a cute smile. “Yeah! I did, actually Why?.”

You laughed, the sound light and infectious. “You’re so excited!”

He smiled shyly, glancing down at the blanket like it was a lifeline. 

You dug into the basket again and pulled out the sketchbook, flipping it open to a blank page. “Alright, Picasso, impress me.”

Matt’s eyes brightened, and he took the sketchbook, already grabbing a pencil from his bag. “Okay, but be warned—I’m better at drawing nature than people.”

You smirked, nudging him playfully. “Then you better start with me.”

He bit his lip, concentrating, pencil moving carefully. You watched him, fascinated by the furrow of his brow and the way his fingers trembled just a little.

“I-I don’t know if it’s going to be good.”

You reached out and brushed a stray hair from his face, smiling softly. “You’re doing just fine.”

Matt’s heart did a weird flip-flop thing. “You’re way too nice.”

“Nah, I just like making cute nerds blush.”

He coughed awkwardly, cheeks flaming. “I’m not blushing.”

“Sure you’re not.” You grinned, then changed the subject, “So, what’s next after strawberries? I’m expecting a grand tour of your snack stash.”

“Grand tour? Wow, you really know how to flatter a guy.”

You laughed again, flicking a crumb at him. “Flattery and flirting—my specialties.”

Matt tried to catch the crumb but missed, ending up with it on his shirt. You giggled, and he gave up, just grinning like a total dork, then going back to draw.

“You’re distracting,” he muttered, eyes flicking up to yours as his pencil moved in short, careful strokes.

“Am I?” you teased, voice lilting.

“Painfully,” he replied without looking up, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.

You sat back a little, giving him space, watching the way his hand moved. He was quiet for a bit, just sketching, tongue peeking out in concentration.

Finally, he stopped, blowing gently across the page like it’d smudge if he even breathed wrong. “Okay, um. It’s not perfect, but…”

He turned the sketchbook around and showed you.

It was you—your hair a little messy from the breeze, lips parted like you were mid-laugh, sitting cross-legged with a strawberry in one hand. Soft lines, but so intentional. Warm. Kind of how he saw you.

Your teasing fell away for a second.

“Holy shit, Matt,” you said, actually stunned. “That’s… that’s really good.”

He looked like he was about to short-circuit. “You think so?”

You nodded slowly, eyes still on the drawing. “It’s not even about the lines or whatever—it just… feels like me. Like how I felt sitting here. That’s kinda magical, you know?”

Matt blinked, definitely blushing now.

You leaned in, elbow nudging his. “You’re kinda magical, Matt.”

He looked away, smiling so wide he couldn’t stop it. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You leaned back on your hands, stretching your legs out across the blanket as the sun dipped a little lower, turning everything hazy and golden. The strawberry stem still sat between your fingers, forgotten.

Matt was watching you like he didn’t mean to. Like every time he looked away, he had to check again to make sure you were still real.

You caught him. “You good?”

He blinked, startled. “What? Yeah—yeah, I’m just…”

“Mesmerized by my beauty?”

“I mean…” He trailed off, but you saw the grin creeping onto his face.

You laughed, brushing your fingers lightly against his arm. “Relax, I’m just messing.”

“Kind of wish you weren’t,” he muttered under his breath, quiet but not quiet enough.

You stilled for half a second, then smiled—gentler this time. “I’m glad I came.”

He looked over at you again, blinking slowly, eyes all soft. “Me too.”

There was a pause—comfortable. The kind you don’t notice until it’s over.

Eventually, you helped him pack up, folding the blanket between you, hands brushing once, twice, until he finally just said, “Let me,” and took it from you, a little too careful, a little too flustered.

When you got to the path back toward the street, you slowed down. “Hey, Matt?”

He looked over, hair mussed from the breeze, sketchbook tucked under his arm.

You leaned in and kissed his cheek. Just barely, but definitely enough to make his ears go red.

“Thanks for today,” you said.

Matt blinked. “Uh. Yeah. No. Yeah—thank you. Too. I mean. You’re welcome. I mean—”

You grinned. “God, you’re cute.”

He laughed, finally letting out a breath. “I don’t know how you do that”

“Good,” you said, turning to go. “I don’t want you to.”

And with that, you walked off, glancing back once to see him still standing there, grinning like he couldn’t believe his life.

First Kiss

You’d been on a few dates by now—enough that Matt had stopped flinching every time your knee touched his under the table, but not enough that he’d figured out how to look at your mouth without going pink.

Tonight, it was a walk. No real plan. Just you, Matt, and the city lit up like it was showing off for you.

He kept sneaking glances. You kept pretending not to notice. Then purposely brushing your shoulder into his just to make him stumble over his words again.

“You know,” you said as you passed a quiet little streetlamp, “you’re starting to look at me like you wanna kiss me.”

Matt nearly tripped. “What—? I’m—No, I mean—yes? I mean—”

You stopped walking, turning toward him with a teasing smile. “Relax. I’m not gonna bite. Unless you’re into that.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “I, uh. I do want to kiss you. Kinda a lot.”

A sold moment passed.

“Then do it.”

His eyes widened a little, like he wasn’t expecting you to just say it. He opened his mouth then closed it like a fish, unable to get words out.

But he stepped in anyway, one slow inch at a time. Close enough to see every little shimmer in your eyes. Close enough to get nervous again.

You reached up and tugged gently at the collar of his hoodie. “C’mon, Matt. You’ve drawn me twice. You can kiss me once.”

That made him laugh, nervous and breathless. His pretty eyes behind his glasses kept flicking between your eyes and your lips as you just watched him carefully.

Then he leaned in. It was soft. Careful. Like he was afraid you might vanish if he messed it up. But your hands found the sides of his face, grounding him, and when you kissed back—just a little firmer, a little more sure—he melted into it. 

His hands came to go around your waist as he tilted his head slightly to slot his lips perfecty against yours. His glasses make contact with your nose as he kisses you a bit harder.

When you pulled away, barely, his forehead bumped gently into yours.

“You okay?” you murmured.

“Yeah,” he said, dazed. “Just—processing. That was...wow.”

You grinned. “You’re cute when your brain short-circuits.”

“You’re cute,” he said, quickly, confidence boosting his ability to compliment you.

You laughed, threading your fingers through his. “True. But you’re especially cute when you’re flustered. Which, lucky for me, is always.”

Then without hesitation, put his hands around your face and kissed you again, this time without overthinking.

Progress.

First Sleepover

You were early. Not by much. Just thirty minutes. You had your reasons: the streetcar came fast, your outfit (which was just your pajamas) had come together better than expected, and… okay, maybe you just wanted to see him a little sooner.

What you didn’t expect was for Matt to answer the door shirtless and confused, hair wet and curling at the ends. He blinked at you, eyes wide behind his glasses, water still dripping down his collarbone. 

He clearly had meant to shave you had interrupted his frantic getting ready based on the slight scruff on his jawline— he usually had it cleanly shaved, and you couldn't help but love this look.

“…You’re early.”

You smiled like you hadn’t just swallowed a breath. “Yeah. Guess I missed you.”

Matt looked panicked. “I—I just got out of the shower.”

“I can see that,” you said, gaze shameless. “And you look very clean. Very damp. Very shirtless.”

He flushed to the tips of his ears. “Oh my God.”

You leaned against the doorframe, all teeth. “Should I wait out here while you compose yourself? Or do I get a pre-movie show?”

He made a strangled noise, yanked the door open wider, and turned away too fast. “Just come in—give me two seconds—Jesus—”

You giggled and stepped inside, not bothering to hide the way your eyes trailed after him as he disappeared down the hall.

By the time he reemerged, shirt clinging slightly from rushed dressing and curls still drying, you were perched on the couch with your legs tucked under you and the popcorn he had laid out in your lap. “Much better,” you said. “I mean, I prefer the previous look, but I’ll survive.”

“y/n,” Matt muttered, sitting down beside you. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You bumped your shoulder into his. “Nah. Not yet.”

After a while when Matt had turned all the light on and gotten settled, the movie played. Sort of. You weren’t really watching it. Neither was he.

You commented too much. He laughed too easily. He kept glancing at you when he thought you wouldn’t notice, and you definitely noticed.

At some point, his arm had somehow ended around your shoulder.

Neither of you said anything. It just stayed there, warm and loose between popcorn refills. Eventually, you leaned your head onto his shoulder. His breath caught.

“I really like this,” you whispered.

“Me too,” he said, even softer.

You turned your head slightly to look at him. Your faces were closer than you realized.

He didn’t move.

So you leaned in and kissed him—slow and easy, like you’d been waiting all week to do it again.

Matt made a soft sound, almost surprised, and kissed you back. It was warmer this time, a little more sure. In his mind, all he wanted to do was launch forwards and kiss you harder. You were just so captivating that it’s all he could think of, but he tried keeping self control, and pulled away.

He pulled away with a shaky breath, eyes fluttering open like he was waking from a dream. His lips were pink, his cheeks flushed, and you could feel the restraint vibrating off him.

You tilted your head, voice teasing. “What, that’s all I get?”

Matt laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “If I didn’t stop, I wasn’t gonna stop.”

Your brows lifted, amusement flickering in your smile. “Wow. Bold of you to assume I’d mind.”

He groaned, flopping back onto the couch dramatically. “Don’t say stuff like that. I’ll combust.”

You leaned on him, gently resting a hand on his leg that laid right beside yours. “You’re so cute when you’re like this.”

He looked up at you, still flushed, eyes dark with something and caught-off-guard. “You’ve mentioned,” he says sarcastically.

With a gasp of indignation, you gave a soft slap on the leg where your hand was resting. “Don’t you build up an attitude with me, Matthew.

He just opened his mouth then shut it, clearly not knowing how to feel about you saying his full name like that. He liked it, so he decided right then.

Before he could respond, you kissed him again—this one short, smiling against his mouth, before sitting back and curling into his side like nothing had happened.

Matt took a full sixty seconds to reboot. Then quietly—carefully—he draped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in closer.

You didn’t say anything. You just rested your head back on him and let yourself melt.

After a couple moments, Matt shifted carefully, adjusting so he was lying down on the long couch. You moved with him, settling against his side, your body fitting naturally against his. The movie kept playing, the flickering light casting soft shadows across the room.

You blinked slowly, your breathing evening out as sleep started to claim you— you were a pretty early sleeper for people your age.

Matt’s eyes stayed on the screen for a moment, but his attention quietly drifted to you. The peaceful way your eyelashes fluttered, the slight rise and fall of your chest—it was like watching something fragile and beautiful.

When the movie’s credits began to roll, Matt reached out without a sound, grabbing the remote from the edge of the couch. His fingers hovered for a second, then he pressed the button to turn off the TV.

The room went dark except for the soft glow of streetlights outside.

Matt didn’t move, just held you a little tighter as you slipped fully into sleep, a small smile tugging at his lips.

First Time You Made it Official

The sun dipped just below the horizon, the sky swirling with peach and lavender as Matt pulled up outside your place. He jumped out of the car, already rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Ready?” he asked, flashing that awkward-but-sincere smile you were already hooked on.

You nodded, sliding into the passenger seat. The car smelled faintly of popcorn and something sweet — maybe.

Matt started driving, stealing glances at you from the corner of his eyes. “So, this is kind of a last-minute thing,” he muttered, voice a bit shaky. “I hope you don’t mind.”

You grinned, heart fluttering. “I love surprises.”

The city lights blurred past as you drove out of town, the orange glow of the sunset melting into the cool blues of twilight.

Finally, you reached a quiet hilltop overlooking the drive-in. Matt parked, and you both sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the soft hum of the engine.

“Okay,” he said, suddenly breaking the quiet, “close your eyes.” 

You raised an eyebrow but obeyed, heart thudding in your chest. Slowly, you heard him walk around to your side of the passenger side of the car and open the door, holding both of your hands to guide you out, then eventually leading you around the car. You were grinning so hard it hurt. Then, he let go and you hear a little click and switch.

“Alright, open ‘em,” Matt whispered.

You blinked, and the trunk was wide open, spilling out a soft golden light from twinkling string lights Matt had strung up with obvious care. Cushions and blankets were arranged in a cozy nest, and a spread of snacks — popcorn, chocolate, fruit — sat invitingly in the center.

Right there, taped to the inside of the trunk lid, was a sign written in his handwriting:

“Can I be yours?”

Your breath hitched. You looked up at Matt, who was now practically glowing with nervous hope. 

“So…?” he said, voice cracking just a little.

You didn’t hesitate. You threw yourself into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing your face into his neck.

Matt stumbled backward, laughter bubbling up as he caught you effortlessly.

“Matt!” you yelled with a squeal, leaning back and pressing a passionate kiss into his lips.

“Is that a yes,” he said, voice rough with emotion against your lips.

You pulled back just enough to smile, then leaned in once again, kissing him slow and soft, full of all the excitement and relief and warmth you’d both been holding back.

The world shrunk to just you two, the twinkle lights glowing softly, the sound of the movie starting in the background, and the feeling that this was exactly where you were supposed to be.

“Of course I’ll be your girlfriend, Matt. Of course.” 

First Time you Gave him a Nickname

You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a stack of old vinyl records you’d pulled out from her collection. The soft crackle of the music filled the room.

You smiled and handed Matt one. “You always pick the best ones, baby.”

Matt froze. His face went bright red, and before he could stop himself, he covered his face with his hands.

“Wait... did you just call me… baby?” His voice was shaky and muffled.

You laughed, watching him squirm. “Yeah. So?”

He peeked through his fingers, cheeks burning hard. “I—uh—didn’t expect that.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find words. “It’s… nice, I guess. Um. Um, sorry..”

You reached out and tucked a stray hair behind his ear, then leaned in and kissed him.

Matt’s eyes went wide. His heart was racing so fast he thought it’d jump out. He froze for a second, then kissed her back, shy and slow.

When they pulled away, his face was even redder.

“That was… really nice, baby,” he muttered, half embarrassed, half smiling.

You grinned. “See? You’re getting used to it.”

First Time You Cried in Front of him

You’d been at it for hours—highlighting, rewriting notes, flipping through textbooks—trying to force your brain to understand the material that just wouldn’t click. Your desk was a chaotic mess, pages strewn about like a storm had passed through. The clock ticked on, but all you felt was your chest tightening, breaths growing shorter, and the walls closing in.

Matt was lying on your bed nearby, earbuds in, half-asleep, his music washing over him like a soft wace. But then, even without hearing you, he noticed the subtle change—the way your fingers trembled, the catch in your breath.

Involuntarily, you gasped your vision swimming. Panic swelled fast and fierce. You couldn’t do it. You were going to fail your midterms. You couldn’t do it.

Matt was up instantly, heart pounding. He yanked the earbuds out, voice gentle but urgent. “Hey, hey, baby, what’s going on? Talk to me.”

You couldn’t answer. You were drowning in your own panic, breaths coming in sharp, uneven bursts, tears slipping down your cheeks.

Matt closed the distance, taking your shaking hands in his. “Okay. We’re gonna slow this down. Just breathe with me. In—hold it—out. Again.”

You tried, but your lungs felt tight, like air was slipping away.

Without hesitation, he guided you away from the desk. “Come sit with me. You’re not alone.”

You let yourself be pulled onto the bed, curling into him as he wrapped his arms around your trembling frame. His chest was steady beneath your head, his heartbeat a quiet anchor against your chaos.

“I’m right here,” he whispered, voice low and soft. “Nothing’s wrong with you. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

The warmth of his touch, the calm in his voice—it started to pull you back, like a lifeline.

You felt yourself start to relax, breaths becoming deeper, less frantic.

Matt’s fingers traced slow circles on your back. “You’re okay. You’re so brave for even letting me see this.”

You pressed your face against his shirt, embarrassed but too exhausted to care. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to break down like this. I’m just... so tired. And I don’t get it. I’ve been trying so hard. I feel like fucking shit, Matt.”

Matt kissed the top of your head. “You don’t have to explain. I’m not going anywhere.”

He tightened his hold, voice thick with care. “I hate that you’re hurting. But I’m proud of you for pushing through.”

A shaky breath escaped you, comfort blooming in the quiet room. “Thank you... for being here.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that makes your chest ache in the best way. “Always. Now, how about we put those books away for tonight? I’ll even let you pick the movie. Something dumb, something that makes us laugh.”

You let out a soft laugh, feeling a flicker of light through the panic haze. “Yeah... I’d like that.”

Matt brushed a stray tear from your cheek and whispered, “You’re the strongest person I know, y/n, don’t you forget it. And with that, he planted a firm kiss on your lips.

First I love you

It was a lazy Sunday. You were sitting cross-legged on Matt’s bed, eating fruit straight from the container while he lay next to you on his stomach, sketchbook open in front of him. The soft hum of music drifted from his speaker, blending with the late afternoon light that poured in through his window.

You popped a grape into your mouth and looked over at what he was drawing. “Is that supposed to be me?” you teased, leaning closer. “Why are my eyes so big?”

Matt huffed. “They’re not big, they’re expressive. It’s artistic exaggeration.”

“You just called me cartoonish.”

He glanced up, grinning. “Well, you’re my favorite cartoon character. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” you echoed, smirking.

He returned to his sketching, but you saw the smile that lingered at the corner of his mouth. You stretched out beside him, stealing one of his pencils just to annoy him. He didn’t stop you.

You were halfway doodling nonsense in the margin of his page when he muttered, casually and without looking up, “God, I love you.”

You froze.

So did he.

He blinked. Then his pencil dropped. And slowly, like his brain was catching up with his mouth, he turned to look at you. His eyes were wide.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, already flushing pink. “Wait. I didn’t— I mean, I didn’t mean it like—well I did but—” He sat up too fast and knocked the sketchbook off the bed. “I wasn’t gonna say it like that, not now, I—ugh—”

“Matt,” you said softly.

He ran a hand through his hair, now fully red in the face. “I was gonna wait for, like, a perfect moment. Maybe flowers? Or a sunset? Not while you’re bullying me over eyeballs—”

“Matt.”

He peeked at you through his fingers. “Yeah?”

You reached for him and held his face gently. “I love you too.”

He blinked again. “Wait... seriously?”

You nodded, smile growing. “Seriously.”

His whole body relaxed like he’d just exhaled a week’s worth of breath. “Oh thank god,” he said, then added in a rush, “I mean—not that I was worried. I mean, I was. But like—” He paused. “You love me?”

“I do.”

He grinned, giddy and dazed. “Sick.”

You laughed. “That’s your response?”

He shrugged, all flustered and glowing. “I panicked. But I’m really happy.”

Then he kissed you — not clumsy or rushed, but slow and sweet, like he finally knew where he stood.

And where he stood was exactly where he wanted to be.

First Makeout Sesh

It started like any other night. You were sitting cross-legged on Matt’s bed, half-watching a movie while your fingers absentmindedly toyed with the hem of your hoodie—his hoodie that you’d stolen weeks ago. He was beside you, leaning against the headboard, looking very boyfriend-coded in a black tank top and sweats, hair still slightly messy from earlier. 

His glasses were set to the side of his dresser, and he had that slight stubble that you just loved.

You weren’t really paying attention to the movie. Not when he kept tracing soft patterns on the side of your waist, not when he looked over and smiled like that—all shy and soft and so obviously in love.

At some point, you climbed into his lap.

It wasn’t planned. You were just tired, or at least that was your excuse. He blinked up at you, wide-eyed, his hands hovering near your waist like he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch.

“You okay?” he asked, voice a little breathier than usual.

You leaned in, brushing your nose against his. “More than okay.”

And then you kissed him.

It started soft, familiar. You’d kissed before—quick, sweet pecks, slow moments on quiet afternoons. But this one deepened fast. You tilted your head, one hand sliding into his hair, and Matt made the softest sound—half gasp, half sigh—against your mouth.

He kissed you back like he’d been waiting for it.

His hands settled on your hips, tentative at first. You shifted a little, straddling him properly, and his breath hitched hard.

“Y-you’re gonna kill me,” he mumbled against your lips, cheeks flushed pink.

You smiled. “You like it.”

His eyes fluttered shut when you kissed down the side of his jaw, your lips grazing the edge of his throat. His hands gripped you tighter, like he needed to hold on to something.

“God,” he whispered, “you’re unreal.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him—his lips were red and kiss-bruised, hair all messed up from your fingers. He looked completely dazed.

You let your fingers trace the line of his collarbone, just barely under the tank top strap, and he whimpered.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, voice cracking with pure embarrassment. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to—”

“—you’re so cute when you’re desperate,” you interrupt, brushing your nose against his again.

Matt looked humiliated and so turned on. “That’s so unfair.”

But he didn’t stop kissing you. Didn’t stop pulling you closer, as you both held onto each other and made out in a rhythm.

“y/n…” he said, voice a little wrecked already.

You tilted your head. “Yeah?”

“I—um.” His hands flexed on your hips again, eyes darting down to where your bodies pressed together. “You should probably stop,” he mutters with embarrassment. 

You smile and begin placing kisses down his neck. “Why?”

“B-because,” he tries to say, until you fully sit down onto his lap, making contact with his bulge. He groans, totally forgetting what he was trying to bring up.

“Fuck— this feels like a dream.”

You smirked. “Do your dreams usually include me grinding on you?”

Matt choked. Literally choked on air.

“Jesus Christ—” He threw his head back against the headboard, face flaming. “You’re evil.”

But he didn’t stop you when you rolled your hips, just barely.

He whimpered. A real, honest-to-God whimper. And it made you grin so wide you had to hide it against his neck.

“Y-you can’t just do that,” he said, his voice trembling.

“Why not?” you murmured, kissing just below his ear. “You like it.”

His hands slid up your back now, hesitant but eager. “You’re gonna make me lose my mind.”

“Good.”

You kissed him again—hotter, more open-mouthed. This time he gave in completely. He let you take control, lips parting under yours, breath stuttering as your tongues brushed. His hands were gripping the hem of your hoodie like he was afraid he might float away if he let go.

You pulled back just long enough to tug the hoodie off. Matt’s eyes widened like he’d just short-circuited.

“You’re so—” he started, then stopped, then swallowed. “I don’t even have words.”

You leaned back in, resting your forehead against his. “You don’t have to talk, baby. Just feel.”

That got a sound out of him that went straight to your stomach. He kissed you again, this time with urgency, with need. His hips shifted under yours involuntarily, and you both gasped at the friction.

You dragged your nails gently up his arms, feeling the tension there. “Tell me what you want,” you whispered.

Matt shook his head, dizzy. “I don’t—I.”

Then you heard a knock at the door.

Matt froze.

You both stared at each other, breath caught, hearts hammering. Another knock. Louder.

“Bro!” a voice called. “Open up—we brought snacks!”

Matt groaned like it physically hurt. He flopped back against the headboard, arms thrown over his eyes in pure agony. “No. No, no, no. I forgot Chris and Nick were coming.”

You laughed—quiet and breathless—as he muttered a string of hushed curses.

“They’re literally the worst,” he whispered, like he was being hunted. “Fuck m’sorry.”

You leaned down, still straddling him, brushing a kiss against his jaw. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to wait.”

He whined. You loved it.

The knock came again, followed by a chorus of his brothers’ voices arguing about who was supposed to text ahead. Matt looked at you with the most tragic expression. 

“Another day, baby,” you add. With a groan he tries to subtly tuck himself into the waistband of his sweatpants without you seeing, then begins trudging downstairs to open the door.

First Fight

It started with something small. 

Matt had been quiet all night. You’d asked if everything was okay once, twice—he just nodded and said he was tired. But when you made a joke at dinner, one you’d made a hundred times before, he barely reacted. And when he did, it was sharp.

“God, do you always have to say stuff like that?”

You blinked. “What?”

He sighed. “Just forget it.”

“No,” you said. “Say what you mean. You’ve been weird all night.”

“Maybe I’m tired of always feeling like a joke to you.”

You stared at him, mouth slightly open. “Matt, what the hell are you talking about?”

He rubbed his eyes, clearly frustrated. “You tease me all the time, y/n. And I usually don’t care. But lately it just—it feels like you don’t take me seriously. Like I’m just some soft guy who can’t handle anything.”

Your chest tightened. “That’s not true. I—I tease you because I like you. You know that.”

“I thought I did,” he said quietly.

Silence stretched. You felt it like a pressure in your ribs, heavy and awful.

“N-no, no baby,” you whisper, eyes widening. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I didn’t know you felt like that,” you said, voice smaller now. “Why didn’t you say something before?”

“Because I didn’t want to seem pathetic,” he mumbled.

That cracked something open in you. “You’re not pathetic, Matt. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

He wouldn’t look at you. Just sat there, hands clenched in his lap, trying not to crumble.

You crossed the room and knelt in front of him. “I’m sorry. If I made you feel like you’re not enough—God, I’m so sorry.”

His eyes finally met yours. “I just want to feel like I matter to you. Like… not just the flirty version. The me version.”

“You matter,” you said, pressing your hand to his chest. “This version. All of it. I see you, Matt.”

His face crumpled, just a little. And then you were hugging, both of you holding on too tightly, too long, like the space between your bodies had been unbearable.

“I’m sorry Matt,” you whisper, tears stinging your eyes. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I swear I will.”

After a long time of you laying in his arms, he says into your hair. “I forgive you, baby.”

First time you cared for him while he was sick

Matt did not look good.

The second you opened the door to his apartment—code he’d barely managed to text you—you found him lying sideways on the bathroom floor, half-conscious, sweaty, and pale like a ghost with heatstroke.

“Oh my God,” you breathed, rushing to kneel beside him. “Matt?”

He groaned in response, one hand feebly waving in the direction of the toilet. “I threw up. A lot. I think I’m dying.”

You ignored the dramatics and brushed his damp hair back. He was burning up, forehead hot under your fingers, skin clammy and gross in a way that made your heart squeeze with worry.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were this sick?”

He mumbled something unintelligible and dramatically buried his face in your lap. “Didn’t wanna bother you.”

“You’re literally on the bathroom floor,” you said. “I want to be bothered for that.”

You helped him up slowly, got him into a clean shirt, and tucked him onto the couch with a cold compress and a puke bucket beside him. The whole time, he just let you do it, too weak to argue, blinking up at you like you were a hallucination sent by some benevolent god.

“Don’t leave,” he mumbled, grabbing your hand as you went to get him water.

“I’m getting you electrolytes, drama queen,” you whispered, kissing the back of his hand. “I’ll be right back.”

You set up camp with him after that—cool cloth on his forehead, hand in his hair, rubbing his back every time he groaned or whimpered. He kept mumbling delirious things like "You're so nice to me" and "I feel gross and you still look at me like that?"

At one point, as you were carefully helping him drink tiny sips of water, he whispered hoarsely, “If I die, tell my brothers I love them, but tell you… you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

You snorted. “Shut up and sip. You’re not dying. You just had gas station sushi.”

He groaned into the pillow. “I’m never eating fish again.”

You kissed his clammy temple anyway. “You’ve got the immune system of a Victorian child. You’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

He sighed deeply, miserable but comforted, and whispered something like “Love you” before passing out halfway through. You stopped for a second, looking at his flushed, peaceful face, and tucked the blanket higher on his shoulders.

“Love you too, dummy,” you whispered. “Even when you’re disgusting.”

You stayed the whole night, checking up on him every hour and replacing his cold compress. Just in case.

First Time

It started with a kiss.

Not the rushed kind, or the one pulled between jokes and giggles—this one was different. Slower. Hungrier.

You’d been curled up beside Matt on his bed, talking about nothing. His glasses had slid slightly down the bridge of his nose, his curls soft from running his fingers through them all evening. You leaned over to fix them, and his eyes flicked to your lips instead.

“Can I…?”

You nodded before he finished, and the kiss melted into something deeper. Something needier.

His hands trembled a little when they found your waist. Yours weren’t much steadier.

You pulled away, forehead resting against his, eyes searching his face. “We don’t have to,” you whispered. “But I kind of… want to. With you.”

Matt's eyes went wide—so wide you half-thought he’d forgotten how to blink.

“I—I want to too,” he said, voice shaking, cheeks already flushed. “I’ve just never—well, I mean I have, but not like… not like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like… with someone I actually care about. Who makes me feel like I’m not gonna mess everything up.”

You leaned in and kissed him again—gently this time. “You’re not messing anything up.”

His breath caught when you shifted, pressing closer.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

He nodded too fast, then stuttered, “Yeah—I mean, yes. I just—can’t—um, function when you’re like this.”

“Like what?” you asked, already smiling.

He covered his face with his hands, groaning. “Hot. Okay? You’re so fucking hot. This is unfair.”

You giggled, reaching to tug his hands away. “Then I’ll go slow.”

And you did.

You kissed along his jaw, his neck, his collarbone—feeling the way he trembled beneath you. Every time your lips brushed his skin, a soft, surprised sound escaped him, like he couldn’t believe it was real.

You let your fingertips trail down his chest, pausing just above his waistband.

Matt looked like he might self-destruct.

“Still okay?” you asked.

He nodded, biting his lip. “Please don’t stop.”

You kissed him again. “I won’t.”

Then you eased your shirt over your head.

He made a strangled noise and squeezed his eyes shut for a second, then opened them again—like he was bracing himself for a heart attack and couldn't not look at you.

“You’re literally glowing,” he whispered. “How are you real?”

You took his hands and pressed them to your bare waist, guiding him.

He stared, completely flushed, completely in awe.

You straddled his lap slowly, carefully, watching the way his breath hitched as your bare skin met his. He was already half-hard in his boxers, twitchy with nerves, eyes flickering everywhere—your eyes, your chest, your lips, back to your eyes like he was overwhelmed but desperate to see everything.

“You okay?” you asked, brushing a hand through his hair.

He nodded, breathless. “Y-yeah. Just… you’re on top of me. And you’re, um. Naked.”

You leaned in, nipping his jaw. “And you like it?”

His laugh was breathy, nervous. “I love it. It’s just—my brain isn’t working. You’re so pretty. I don’t know where to put my hands.”

You took his wrists gently, guiding one to your hips and one over your breast. “Here’s a good place to start.”

He groaned, head tipping back against the pillows. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You kissed down his neck, lingering just below his ear. “You’ll survive.”

Your fingers slipped into the waistband of his boxers, giving him a moment. He nodded again—flushed, trembling, but sure. You helped him out of them, and when he was finally bare beneath you, he looked like he might actually pass out.

You paused just to look at him—legs spread slightly, cheeks red, chest rising fast. You let your fingers trail down his stomach, feather-light.

“You're beautiful like this, Matt.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, like he couldn’t handle hearing it. “You make me feel like I am.”

You leaned in again, kissing him slow. “I want you to feel good. You ready?”

He nodded again, a little more desperate this time. “Please. Just… tell me what to do.”

You reached for the lube and condom you'd stashed earlier, heart thudding at the way his thighs tensed under your touch. Once everything was ready, you settled over him, guiding him to your entrance.

“Go slow?” he asked, voice cracking.

“Always,” you whispered.

And when you sank down onto him, inch by inch, his hands gripped your hips like they were the only things keeping him tethered to the earth. He let out the softest, most broken moan you'd ever heard—like pleasure punched the air right out of him.

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “y/n, I—holy shit, you feel so good.”

You gave him a moment to adjust, and when he opened his eyes—dazed, overwhelmed, reverent—you started to move.

“Y’so warm,” he gasped “n’tight, oh fuck.”

It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t rough. It was messy, breathy, and achingly sweet. His hands roamed your waist like he didn’t know what to hold onto. He whined every time your hips rolled just right, whispered your name like a prayer, told you over and over how good it felt.

“I don’t wanna come yet,” he whimpered. “I wanna stay inside you forever.”

“Don’t worry baby, we’ve got forever.”

And when he finally did come—loud, gasping, eyes wide and pupils blown—you leaned down and kissed him through it, riding him slowly, comforting, grounding him as he trembled beneath you, whimpering into your ear.

After, his hands curled around yours like a lifeline.

“You okay?” you asked softly, brushing sweat-damp curls from his forehead.

He was still catching his breath, face buried in the crook of your neck, but you could feel it. The little twitch of his hips. The subtle way his fingers dragged up your back. The soft, broken whisper of your name.

You pulled back to look at him. His face was flushed, hair curling damply around his ears, pupils still wide and glassy.

“You okay?” you asked again, gentle.

He nodded, but his voice came out hoarse. “Y-Yeah. I’m just… I still want you. Like, really bad. Is that normal?”

You smiled, brushing his lips with yours. “Hmmm. Maybe.”

Matt blinked up at you. “We can keep going, right? I-I know I came already but—” His voice cracked, and he squirmed under you, breath hitching as his soft cock twitched against your thigh. “You’re still hard,” you said softly.

He covered his face with both hands. “I know, I don’t even—like—how?? Fuck you’re ruining me.”

You gently pulled his hands away. “In a good way?”

“In the best way,” he mumbled. “Please keep going.”

And you did.

You kissed your way down his chest, making him squirm and gasp, mouth trailing over sensitive skin and leaving flushed marks behind. 

When you took him into your mouth—half-hard, still twitching—he let out the most pathetic sound you'd ever heard.

“F-fuck, you don’t have to—oh my god—”

But you wanted to. And the way he bucked slightly, trying not to, hands twisting the sheets like he was afraid to touch you, made you feral.

You pulled back a bit, letting it pop out of your mouth to speak. “Matt, you’re allowed to be greedy.”

“I’m not! I swear, I just—” He whimpered again as your tongue dragged over the head. “God, I am greedy. I don’t care. I want you so bad it hurts.”

When he got hard again, fully and shamelessly, you moved slowly, sliding back on top of him, watching his face as you sank down again. This time he cried out, high and breathy, thighs trembling under your hands.

“It’s so fucking much,” he panted. “It’s—it’s too much—but don’t stop—please don’t stop—”

You rocked your hips, slower this time, just enough to make him arch into you.

“Tell me what you need.”

“You,” he gasped. “Just you. All of you.”

So you gave it to him.

You took your time, moving against him with slow, grinding rolls. His eyes fluttered, and he gripped your hips like he was trying not to float away.

He got vocal—filthy in a way that surprised even him. Whimpers, moans, broken phrases between gasps:

“Y-you feel so good inside, holy shit—” “I can’t believe this is real—” “Please, I’m gonna—gonna come again—”

And when he did, he almost cried.

His body tensed, shuddering, then collapsed into you, face buried against your chest, mumbling soft things you couldn’t quite make out. You held him through it, kissing his forehead as he shook in your arms, your own pleasure humming hot under your skin.

You were just on the brink as well, but you could tell he needed a break.

“I wanna make you feel good too,” he whispered.  “Lie back. Please. Let me try.”

You blinked. “You just came twice. You need to rest. ”

“I know,” he whispered. “But I didn’t even get to touch you properly. And I—I think I’ll explode if I don’t.”

You smiled softly. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he cut in. “You made me feel like my whole body was on fire and full of stars at the same time. I want to do that for you. Or at least try.”

Well. How could you say no to that?

You laid back slowly, watching him move between your legs—awkwardly at first, like he wasn’t sure where to put his knees. His cheeks turned scarlet when he got a full view of you, mouth parting in a silent “oh my god.”

You reached for his hair, tugging lightly. “Breathe, baby.”

“I a-am,” he said, sounding like he absolutely was not. “You’re just—you’re so—how am I supposed to—” His sentence died as he kissed your thigh, soft and reverent. “Tell me what to do.”

You guided him at first. Where to put his mouth. How to use his tongue. What kind of pressure felt good. And oh, Matt was a quick study.

Tentative at first—gentle, nervous licks, like he was afraid to go too far. But once you let out that first real moan, he got brave. Gripped your hips tighter. Groaned into you when you said his name. Got messier. Needier.

“Right there?” he gasped when your back arched. “Like that?”

You nodded breathlessly, thighs trembling around his head.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You taste so good. Why didn’t anyone tell me this would be like—like this?”

He buried his face in you after that, moaning softly, like he was the one getting off. His entire face was trying to push further and further into your sopping pussy, licking up every juice you were letting out.

His nose nudged just right, his tongue flicked faster, and when you clenched his hair and gasped out his name

He groaned loudly.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, hot and overwhelming, and Matt just held on, staying there through every aftershock, every twitch, like he refused to come up until he was sure you were completely undone.

When he finally pulled back, his face was soaked down to his chin, lips kiss-swollen, and his smile was dazed and proud.

“I did okay?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You reached down, “M-matt, that was,” dragging him up to kiss you. “Insane.”

He buried his face in your neck and let out a muffled, exhausted, “Best. Day. Ever.”

First time you got jealous

It started off fine.

You and Matt had come to a small get-together at a friend’s apartment—just a cozy group of people, some music, snacks, and low lighting. At first, you were curled up next to him on the couch, his arm draped lazily over your shoulder, the two of you in your own little bubble.

And then she showed up.

You didn’t know her name. You didn’t want to know her name. All you knew was that she laughed a little too hard at Matt’s joke’s, and she touched his arm a little too long when she complimented his hair.

Matt didn’t even notice. He was just being his usual charming self—smiley and sweet, answering her questions like she wasn’t clearly flirting with him while you sat literally two inches away.

You excused yourself to get a drink. More for emotional support than hydration.

When you came back, she was still there, still giggling, and Matt—Matt was smiling— AND blushing, and it was the smile he gave you when you made him laugh.

You plopped down next to him and not-so-subtly rested your hand on his thigh. Matt glanced down and smiled at you, oblivious.

“Hey, you good?” he asked, leaning in slightly.

“I’m great,” you replied, a little too cheerily. Then you turned to the Flirt and said, “Do you need something, or were you just raised to hover?”

Matt choked.

The girl blinked, gave you a weird look, then mumbled something about checking on a friend and walked away. You watched her go like you were manifesting a trapdoor beneath her.

Matt blinked at you, wide-eyed. “Babe…”

You turned to him. “What?”

“She was just being friendly.”

You scoffed. “Friendly? Matt, she was one compliment away from climbing into your lap.”

Matt blinked a few times, still recovering from your snark. “I really think you’re overreacting. She wasn’t flirting.”

You stared at him. “Matt. She touched your arm three times. I counted.”

“She was just... touchy,” he said, weakly. “Some people are just like that.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And you blushed.”

Matt flushed even more. “I didn’t blush.”

“You so blushed. It was your flustered blush too, not the ‘it’s hot in here’ blush. The one that means you’re shy and you liked the attention.”

He opened his mouth to argue, then hesitated.  “No-But I wasn’t trying to like it—”

“Oh my God,” you said, pulling your hand from his thigh and crossing your arms. “You did like it.”

Matt looked stricken. “No! That’s not what I—babe, no. I didn’t like her, I liked—it’s just—you weren’t there and someone was being nice and it caught me off guard, and it didn’t mean anything, I swear.”

You didn’t say anything. Just stared straight ahead, jaw tight.

Matt groaned and scooted closer. “Hey. Hey. Look at me.” When you didn’t, he gently cupped your jaw and turned your face toward his. His expression was soft, earnest. “I swear, I didn’t even realize it until you pointed it out. And if it made you feel even a little bit bad, I’m sorry. I would never want you to think anyone could even come close to you. I’m yours. Fully.”

You tried not to melt. Failed.

“…You liked the attention a little bit,” you muttered.

“I swear I didn’t. But like your jealousy? Way hotter. Honestly, if you’d actually fought her I would’ve passed out.”

You rolled your eyes, but leaned in anyway, bumping your nose against his. “Next time someone flirts with you, I’m not warning her. I’m swinging.”

Matt grinned, brushing a kiss to your lips. “Got it. I’ll start wearing a “I have a girlfriend” shirt to social events.”

“You think I won’t get you one?”

He kissed you again, and this time, there was no one else in the room. Just him, you, and the quiet satisfaction of winning.

First time he made you squirt

You were tangled up in your sheets again, the low hum of your fan spinning overhead, the room dim with only the lazy spill of golden-hour light pushing through the curtains. Matt’s fingers were fidgeting with the hem of your sleep shirt, his eyes darting from your collarbone to your lips, then away again, like the sight of you was too much all at once.

“You’re looking at me weird,” you teased, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

Matt flushed. Flushed. That deep pink that crawled from his ears to his cheeks, like you’d caught him doing something scandalous. He groaned softly and buried his face in your neck.

“I’m not,” he mumbled into your skin. “You just—look really pretty right now.”

Your fingers tightened in his hair.

“Right now?” you echoed, grinning. “Not, like, always?”

He whined, lifting his head just enough to glance at you. “Stop. You know what I mean.” He was smiling, but his voice had that hushed, almost whimpery quality it got when he was overwhelmed. You loved it. Loved the way his hands were already slipping up under your shirt like he was asking permission without saying a word.

Matt made a small, needy sound and melted against you, his fingers still trembling just slightly as they traced along your ribs, then lower. When you pulled back to look at him, his pupils were wide, his lips parted.

You were already bare-chested, sitting up and straddling Matt’s lap, but he still looked overwhelmed.

“You’re shaking,” you murmured, smiling against his jaw.

“I’m not—” His voice cracked as you shifted against him. “Okay, yeah. Maybe.”

Your hands slipped into his hair, tugging gently. “You nervous?”

You smirked. “Good.”

Eventually, you flipped them over, guiding him to kneel behind you as you braced on your elbows. You heard his breath hitch when he got the full view. He wasn’t touching you yet—just looking, frozen like you were art he was scared to ruin.

“You can touch,” you teased, voice low and warm.

That broke the spell. Matt’s hands slid over your hips, tentative at first, thumbs brushing the dip of your lower back. You could feel him trembling again, but it didn’t stop him from leaning down and pressing the softest kiss to your spine.

Then another. And another.

His fingers trailed lower, between your thighs, and you let out a quiet gasp as he explored with slow, shallow strokes.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Feels good. Keep going.”

Matt obeyed instantly, licking his lips like he was trying to stay focused. You could hear his ragged breathing as he slid his fingers inside you—so careful, so hesitant. And when he felt you clench around him, he made the softest sound: “Oh my god…”

His fingers started to curl, slow and searching. He didn’t know exactly what he was doing—he just knew he wanted you to fall apart. That he loved hearing your breath catch, loved the way your thighs trembled the more pressure he added.

He plunged his fingers in and out, leaning down to place his lips around your clit and swirl his tongue around.

You gasped at the contact.

Matt froze. “Was that okay?”

“Yes—fuck, yes—just—don’t stop—”

He didn’t even think. He kept that same pressure, same rhythm, his other hand anchoring tight on your hip as you pushed back into his touch. He was panting now too, overwhelmed, lips parted like he was barely holding it together.

“Matt,” you choked out, “you’re—holy shit—don’t stop—”

It hit fast. A wave crashing through you, intense and blinding. Your body tensed—and then gushed.

Matt jolted as wetness sprayed onto his wrist and thigh. His mouth dropped open.

“What the—” He stared at his soaked fingers. “Did I—?”

You collapsed forward, breathing hard, too stunned to even speak. You’d never—ever—done that before.

Matt sat back on his heels, still blinking like he was in shock. His boxers were damp now. His arm was soaked. He looked wrecked.

“…Did I make you… squirt?” he whispered.

You huffed out a breathless laugh. “O-oh my god.”

He looked down at you like he’d just unlocked a cheat code. Still blushing. Still dazed. And maybe—just a little—proud.

“…That was insane,” he mumbled.

You could only nod, hips still twitching from aftershocks.

Almost hesitantly, he leans forwards and licks you, slurping up the juices.

Matt reached out, brushing his fingertips along your spine. “Can I… still be inside you?”

You turned your head, eyes heavy. “You better be.”

First Anniversary

You hear a soft knock before dawn, and when you open the door, Matt’s there— holding a small, slightly wild bouquet of flowers. They’re not fancy, but perfect. “Happy anniversary,” he says, cheeks pink, eyes bright but shy.

You smile, heart already doing that stupid flutter thing. “You’re early.”

He shrugs, grinning like he’s won something. “I wanted to surprise you. Today’s all planned. No backing out.”

You grab his hand, feeling the warmth that’s not just from the flowers. With a quick motion, he sweeped you around dramatically, kissing you while you leaned back all the way.

You let out a surprised giggle, then put your hands on either side of his face.

“I love you, baby,” you whisper.

His face turns pink and crinkles with joy. “I love you more.”

_______

He lets you change out of pajamas while he waits in the kitchen, and when you come out, he’s set up a little breakfast picnic on the floor: toast, strawberries, whipped cream, and a small thermos of your favorite drink. There’s even a playlist softly playing in the background—he made it himself, and it’s all songs that remind him of you.

You raise a brow. “You made this whole playlist?”

He flushes. “It’s kind of embarrassing. One of them has your name in the lyrics.”

You press a kiss to his cheek. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He actually smiles a little when you do that, then tries to play it cool and offers you a strawberry like that will make him less flustered.

After breakfast, he hands you a tiny envelope.

“Open it when I tell you,” he says mysteriously. “No peeking.”

Then he leads you outside, clearly trying to hide how excited he is. You walk to a small park you used to visit all the time when you first got together. There, under your favorite tree, is a little setup: two foldable lawn chairs, a sketchbook, and a small box of supplies.

“I thought… maybe we could draw each other.”

You waggle your eyebrows and grin. “Like one of your French girls?”

“No—!” His face flushes. “I—I mean if you want? I—!”

“I’m messing with you, Matt.” You’re laughing as you sit across from him, and the two of you draw, occasionally glancing up at each other and bursting into giggles.

Lunch is homemade—by him. He packed it himself: sandwiches with little hearts cut into the bread (yes really), a tiny note tucked under the tupperware that says “ur hot and I love you :)”

You keep the note.

In the afternoon, he takes you to a local art exhibit—something quiet and beautiful. You walk through slowly, sometimes holding hands, sometimes just letting your pinkies brush. He leans in close during one painting and whispers, “That one reminds me of the way you look when you’re sleepy.”

You turn to find him already looking at you.

“I’m so glad I met you.” you whisper.

He ducks his head with a smile. “Me too. You have no idea.”

As the sun starts to set, he finally lets you open the envelope.

Inside is a small card and a single pressed flower from the first bouquet he ever gave you.

On the back is a list: “Reasons I’ve loved you every day this year.” There’s 365 of them.

“I was gonna just write one,” he says, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “But then… I couldn’t stop.”

You fling your arms around him and don’t let go for a while.

That night, he cuddles you in bed, forehead pressed to yours, still pink when you say he’s the sweetest boy on earth. He mumbles something into your neck you don’t quite catch.

“What was that?” you whisper.

“I said I’m gonna love you for a lot more years.”

You kiss him again.

He kisses back— entirely, completely yours.

FINALLY.

It’s just after sunset when he takes your hand.

The sky is that kind of soft—streaked with violet and gold like it’s blushing for you—and there’s a quietness in the air that feels intentional. Like even the wind knows what’s coming.

“Come with me,” he says gently, fingers warm in yours.

You follow him up a familiar path—a small hill where the two of you used to come to watch the stars back when you were still unsure of what this was. It’s quieter now. Grown. Like both of you.

At the top, there’s nothing fancy. No flowers. No decorations. Just a soft, folded blanket, and a lantern that glows like candlelight in the middle. He lights it with a flick of his thumb and sits down, patting the space next to him.

You sit. And your heart starts thudding when you see he’s nervous.

Not shy nervous.

Trembling-hands, can’t-meet-your-eyes nervous.

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Breathes in.

“I’ve been trying to plan the perfect way to tell you this,” he says, voice quieter than usual.

You tilt your head, completely obvious and confused. “Matt, are you good? You can tell me anything you know.”

He grins at that, but doesn’t look at you right away. He picks at the edge of the blanket instead, like he’s walking himself toward something.

“I know,” he says finally. “That’s kind of the problem. You make everything too easy. I had this whole dramatic thing planned. Flashy. Big. Public.” He glances at you. “You would’ve hated it.”

You snort. “Correct.”

He laughs again, but this time, his eyes flick to yours and hold. His hand slides over to yours, fingers curling between yours slow and deliberate.

“So I thought maybe I’d just take you here,” he says, “where it all started. Just us. The stars. A blanket. Like the first time you made fun of my hoodie and accidentally made me fall in love with you.”

You’re still grinning, still thinking this is just some sweet, nostalgic moment on a hill you both love. 

He shifts onto one knee.

You still don’t register it.

You’re smiling at him, waiting for the punchline, until you realize—

he’s still down.

And he’s pulling something out of his jacket.

Your heart stutters.

“Matt,” you say, a whisper.

“I didn’t want you to see it coming,” he says softly. “Because I want this to feel like how it’s always felt with you—sudden. And perfect. And exactly where I’m meant to be.”

He opens the box, and the ring inside catches the warm flicker of the lantern light.

You go still.

Completely, utterly still.

“I love you,” he says. No trembling. No hesitation. Just truth. “And I want to keep loving you. In every version of our life, every phase, every morning-after and fight and late-night grocery run I love you more than anything in this entire world, and I will spend the rest of my life for you, with you.”

A moment passes.

“Will you marry me?”

You stare at him.

Your hand is over your mouth. Your chest is a mess. There are tears in your eyes and you don’t even remember them starting.

“Are you—Matt, are you serious?”

He smiles—wide and boyish and a little cocky now. “Yeah. Been serious for a while.”

You’re grabbing his face and kissing him so hard you both fall sideways onto the blanket, the box somewhere between you, forgotten for now because—

“I love you I love you I love you,” you whisper again, voice breaking against his skin as you pepper kisses across his cheeks, his jaw, his mouth. “I can’t believe you just did that!”

He’s blinking up at you, stunned by the force of it. “Is that a yes?”

“YES!!” You shout it. “YES—of course it’s a yes—you insane, incredible, perfect man!”

He lets out a choked little laugh and finally gets the ring on your finger, both of you shaking, neither of you letting go.

“I was trying to be smooth,” he mumbles into your neck.

“You ambushed me,” you giggle back. “I didn’t see it coming at all.”

And he smiles, eyes bright, because your heart’s still racing, and your hands are still clutching his shirt, and you keep whispering—

“I love you I love you I love you,”

Like you’ll never get tired of saying it. And he’ll never, ever, ever get tired of hearing it.

a/n- if you got this far, I LOVE YOU!

i put my entire soul into this fic, and I am praying to every god that this doesnt flop and people are actually willing to read all 15,000 words.

if this does flop, i'm going to release each part as an au, bc i worked way too hard on this for people to not read it.

anyways thats day 1 of my special!!

Which was exactly why she wasn’t supposed to be his last resort.

But three weeks before his cousin’s wedding, Mat sat on his couch, scrolling through his contacts, each name sending a small wave of reluctance through him. He couldn’t bring just anyone — not to a family wedding in Kelowna where every aunt would be sizing up his date like a draft prospect.

So he tapped her name. The phone rang twice.

“Hey, Barzy. What’s up?” Her voice was casual, warm. It made his stomach tighten in the way he never admitted out loud.

“I, uh…” He scratched the back of his neck even though she couldn’t see it. “Random question. Feel free to say no.”

“Now I’m intrigued,” she said.

“My cousin’s getting married. In Kelowna. It’s kind of a big deal — outdoor vineyard, crazy guest list, you know.”

She let out a small laugh. “Sounds fancy. Where do I come in?”

“I need a date. And, well... I’m out of options.” He winced the moment the words left his mouth.

“Wow, how romantic,” she teased. “You really know how to make a girl feel wanted.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, then quieter, “I just didn’t think you'd say yes if I said you were my first choice.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

“Mat…” she said, her voice a little softer now.

“So?” he said, trying to keep his tone light, playful, like always. “Want to come crash a wedding with me?”

She laughed, and it was the kind that always hit him right in the chest. “Sure, Barzal. I’ll be your pity date.”

“I’ll have you know, it’s open bar. And I clean up well.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” she said. “Just promise me you won’t make me dance with your uncles.”

He smiled, a little too wide. “No promises.”

But the truth was, he’d only be thinking about dancing with her.

The wedding was exactly as over-the-top as Mathew had described. Rows of white chairs curved toward a flower-draped arch in the middle of the vineyard, the late afternoon sun painting everything gold. The bride was radiant. The view was unreal.

But Mat couldn’t focus on any of it.

Because she stepped out of the car wearing a dusty blue dress that made time feel like it slowed down. Her hair was half-up, curling softly around her face, and when she smiled at him — really smiled — his chest did something unfamiliar. Something dangerous.

“Wow,” he said, before he could stop himself.

She grinned. “You clean up pretty well too, Barzal.”

He offered her his arm. “Let’s go convince my family we’re not a total disaster.”

She looped her arm through his. “Too late for that, isn’t it?”

The reception buzzed with champagne and laughter. Mat’s cousins whispered and winked every time she walked past, and his mom already looked halfway convinced she was part of the family.

She laughed through speeches and toasted with his teammates who made the trip. She even danced with Uncle Rick, whose rhythm should have been illegal.

Mat tried not to stare. Failed, obviously. But watching her — head tilted back in laughter, eyes crinkling — something clicked into place.

She fit. Too well.

And that terrified him.

Later, as the sky turned navy and the fairy lights came on, soft music drifted through the speakers. The kind of slow, dreamy track that was made for swaying close on a summer night.

She was sitting at their table, heels kicked off, sipping a drink when he walked over.

“Dance with me,” he said. Not a question.

She raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you promise to protect me from this?”

He grinned. “That was before I realized how good you look under twinkle lights.”

She rolled her eyes but took his hand anyway. “Smooth.”

They stepped onto the dance floor. She rested her hands lightly on his shoulders; his went to her waist, almost too careful.

They moved slowly, in sync without trying. The buzz of the day faded into the background — just murmurs and clinking glasses, and the two of them in a bubble that felt too easy to fall into.

She looked up at him, eyes shining.

“This is surprisingly not awkward,” she murmured.

He laughed, a little breathless. “Maybe we’re just that good.”

A beat passed. The song drifted on.

Then he said it.

Quietly. So quietly she almost missed it.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

She blinked. “What?”

Mat froze. The words hung in the air like mist — soft, irreversible.

“I—” he started, then let out a shaky breath. “Shit. That wasn’t… I didn’t mean to say that now.”

She didn’t pull away.

“Mat,” she said, barely above a whisper.

He looked at her then, all the jokes stripped away, eyes searching hers. “I didn’t ask you as a last resort. I just... couldn’t think of a way to ask you without messing it up.”

Her expression shifted, softening, the weight of the moment sinking in.

“Then maybe you should’ve said that first,” she said, smile curling at the corner of her lips. “Because I might’ve said yes even sooner.”

His breath caught.

“Wait… are you saying—?”

“I’m saying you’re a dumbass,” she teased, leaning in slightly, “but you’re my dumbass.”

The music kept playing. He didn’t say anything else — he just pulled her a little closer and kept dancing.

The wedding wound down the way all good ones do — heels forgotten, ties loosened, and laughter spilling into the warm night. But Mat barely noticed. Not when she was still by his side, fingers laced with his as they walked back toward the guest cottages tucked behind the vineyard.

The stars were out in full force, quiet and infinite above them. Crickets chirped somewhere in the grass. The world felt hushed.

They stopped just outside her door.

Neither moved.

She looked up at him, the soft glow of the porch light catching the curve of her cheek. “You okay?”

Mat nodded. Then shook his head. Then gave a small, crooked smile. “No. Not really.”

She laughed under her breath. “Still spiralling about blurting it out on the dance floor?”

He groaned. “I literally had a whole plan to tell you… someday. Maybe. Eventually. Not during a slow dance in front of Uncle Rick and a bunch of shrimp cocktail.”

She stepped closer. “It was kind of perfect, actually.”

He looked at her then — really looked. “So… what now?”

She tilted her head, eyes soft. “Now you kiss me. Unless your plan was to confess and then run away?”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It was steady, sure — like all the months of unsaid things had finally found their place. Her hands slid to the back of his neck. His curled around her waist. And when they pulled apart, forehead to forehead, neither of them spoke for a moment.

They didn’t need to.

Sunlight spilled through the gauzy curtains of her room, golden and lazy. Birds chirped somewhere nearby, and the faint smell of vineyard earth and distant coffee lingered in the air.

Mat was already awake.

He sat on the edge of the bed, in his rumpled white dress shirt and black slacks, looking wholly out of place and yet somehow completely at home.

She stirred, blinking against the light. “You’re staring.”

He smiled, sheepish. “Yeah. Sorry. Just… making sure this wasn’t a dream.”

She reached for the nearest pillow and lobbed it at him. “You’re such a cliché.”

He caught it easily, laughing. “A devastatingly handsome cliché.”

She sat up, pulling the covers around her, and looked at him — really looked. There was something in his face she hadn’t noticed before. Not nerves. Not regret.

Just realness.

“How long?” she asked softly.

He didn’t pretend not to know what she meant.

“A while,” he said. “Long enough to be scared I ruined everything by saying it.”

She reached for his hand. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

He exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath for months.

“I don’t want this to be just a wedding thing,” he said. “I don’t want to go back to pretending I’m just your friend.”

“Good,” she said, scooting closer. “Because I don’t think I could un-know this now.”

Mat leaned in, brushing his lips against her forehead. “So… are we doing this?”

She smiled, warm and sure. “Yeah, Barzy. We’re doing this.”

And in that sun-drenched room, with the world soft and quiet around them, it finally felt simple.

Three Weeks Later

She’d been to plenty of Mathew’s games before. Cheered him on from the stands. Worn his number on a hoodie, shouted when he scored, even roasted him for missed passes in post-game texts.

But this time? This time, she wasn’t just his friend who watched hockey. She was his girlfriend. And somehow, that made everything feel new.

She smoothed down her Islanders jersey — Barzal’s name stitched across the back — and tried not to overthink it. But her heart pounded a little faster when she caught sight of his face on the Jumbotron during warmups. She smiled instinctively, even though he couldn’t see her. Yet.

“Alright, Ms. Barzal,” teased the friend sitting next to her — one of Mat’s teammates’ girlfriends, clearly already in on the news. “You’re glowing. It’s kind of gross.”

She laughed, cheeks warm. “Shut up. I’m not glowing.”

“You are, though. I respect it.”

The game was intense. Fast-paced. Mat was locked in, weaving across the ice like he was born on skates. He tallied two assists by the second period, and when the buzzer rang at the end of the third with the Isles taking the win, she was already on her feet, clapping so hard her palms stung.

When he glanced up at the stands before disappearing down the tunnel, his eyes found her like they always did.

Only this time, he smiled. Just for her.

She stood awkwardly near the corner, watching other girlfriends and family members mingle, sipping beer out of plastic cups and waiting for their guys to emerge. Her fingers tugged nervously at the hem of her jersey.

Then the locker room doors opened, and there he was — hair still damp, suit back on, tie loose, smile easy.

Mat’s eyes lit up the second he saw her.

“There she is,” he said, walking straight over. “You looked good in the stands.”

“I looked good?” she teased. “Did you even notice the game?”

“I mean, I noticed the win,” he said, slipping an arm around her waist. “But yeah. You were kinda distracting.”

She rolled her eyes but leaned into him. “You were amazing.”

“Two assists,” he said, smug. “Pretty solid, huh?”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she muttered, smirking up at him.

Then he kissed her.

Right there — in the middle of the lounge, surrounded by teammates and families and a million pairs of eyes.

Not shy. Not hesitant.

Just… his lips on hers, his hand steady at her back, like she belonged right there next to him.

When they pulled apart, a few of the guys nearby whooped obnoxiously.

“Get a room, Barzy!”

“Finally made it official, huh?”

Mat grinned, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “Yeah,” he said, eyes still on her. “We did.”

And she realized, in that moment, that this — the hockey games, the post-win kisses, the teasing from teammates — this was real now.