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peachiejeongin · 7 months ago

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Mind-Numbing Melody | Bang Chan

Synopsis: Chan has been unmotivated lately when it comes to producing; however, he comes across a melodic idea that he just cannot resist. He just needs your help to fulfill it. Pairing: Bang Chan x fem!reader Genre: Smut, Slight Fluff Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (18+ Recommended), dom!Bang Chan, sub!reader, pet names (pretty girl, darling, good girl, etc.), biting, marking, fingering, slight edging, teasing, begging, unprotective penetrative sex (please use protection), Chan uses reader's moans in a song Notice: Hello, my darlings! I know it has been weeks since the release of SKZHOP, but Railway has been driving me absolutely bonkers, so enjoy this fiction I wrote when I discovered you could hear Chan moaning in the background of the song :,D

word count: 4.5K Smut under the cut!

The studio was steeped in a familiar glow, its dim lighting wrapping around stacks of forgotten notes, tangled cords, and empty coffee cups that lined the console like weary sentinels. Chan hunched over the keyboard, fingers tapping an irregular, impatient rhythm. It had been days, weeks even, of this same cycle—blank stares at a blank screen, fleeting sparks of inspiration that fizzled out as quickly as they arrived.

The room smelled faintly of espresso and something sharper, a sort of musk as if Chan's frustration was materializing into a smell. The scent was Chan's constant companion these days, a reminder that no matter how hard he pushed, the music would remain just out of reach.

You watched him from the warm leather couch in the corner, your legs curled beneath you as your phone rested forgotten on your lap. He was quiet, but not in the comforting way he usually was. This silence was heavy, nearly oppressive.

"You're going to burn a hole into that screen," you finally said, your voice teasing but soft, careful not to break him entirely out of whatever fragile trance he was in.

Chan glanced over his shoulder at you, a faint, tired smile curving his lips upwards in a manner that did not quite reach his eyes.

"Maybe I can burn some inspiration into it," he murmured, turning back to the keyboard. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in a way that let you know how sore it was from hours of tensing.

He absentmindedly clicked through the tabs open on his browser, hoping something would reignite his motivation. A playlist was open on his monitor, softly blaring tracks from artists he admired; most of them were songs that sparked awe and envy in an equal measure. But it was the headline of an article on trends in modern music that caught his eyes, words he had previously skimmed earlier in the day: "Personal Touch: The Rise of Intimacy in Music Production."

He had not thought much of it at the time, dismissing it as another gimmick. Now, in the late-night haze of desperation and coffee-stained reality, the concept felt like a thread to cling to. The idea of creating something raw, something undeniably intimate, grew in his mind. When he looked at you, lounging on that couch as if you were a calm in the storm, an idea began to crystalize.

You caught his gaze, brows furrowing slightly in concern as you noticed the shift in his expression—an intense focus, almost predatory, like he had just discovered something precious.

"What?" you asked, nerves and curiosity blending in your tone.

Chan stood slowly, the chair rolling back with a low creak. When he crossed the room, every step deliberate, your heart began to beat just a bit faster. He dropped to one knee in front of you, the studio's ambient light casting shadows against the defined angles of his jawline. His fingers found your thighs, resting there lightly at first, then gripping just enough to make your pulse quicken.

"I need your help," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through you.

"With what, my love?" You tilted your head, trying to read the intent behind his lustful, dark eyes.

"There's this idea I have," he began, thumb absently stroking the fabric of your sweatpants. "I read this article—something about artists using intimate sounds from their partners in songs. Breaths, moans, everything. I can't stop thinking about how you would sound in one of my songs." His gaze dropped to where his fingers rested against your thighs, almost reverent in a way.

"Your voice, the way you sound when it's just us...I think it could be the spark I'm missing."

Your breath caught in your throat. The idea was audacious, bordering on the verge of scandalous, yet it held an allure you could not deny. You imagined it— your moans hidden between beats and chords only you could notice.

"You're serious?" you questioned, voice barely reaching above a whisper. Chan nodded, his eyes meeting yours with a certain vulnerability that made your heart clench.

"I've been so stuck, but the thought of creating something with you that's so raw and real...it just feels right."

You swallowed, the weight of his request pressing down on you in the best possible way. The trust, the intimacy—it was more than you had ever imagined sharing with Chan, moreso the audience that would be tuning into the song.

"Okay," you agreed softly, the word containing every ounce of trust and anticipation you felt.

Chan's lips curved into a slow, sincere smile, and he leaned foreward to press a kiss against your forehead. It was warm, lingering, a promise as much as it was a kiss.

"You have no idea how much this means to me," he mumbled as he pulled away.

Before you could reply, he captured your lips with his, a kiss that was at first gentle, exploratory; it then deepened into something that made the studio air feel heavy, electric. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as you melted into him, a symphony in the making.

This kiss grew hungrier, if that was possible, your hands tangling roughly into Chan's hair as he remained steady on your thighs. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, and the soft gasp it elicited made him groan against your mouth.

"Just like that, pretty girl," he whispered, his voice hoarse as his lips brushed against yours.

Chan pulled away from you briefly, striding to his computer and clicking open an audio-recording tab; the faint glow of the monitor casted a faint shadow on the walls. You repositioned yourself as he opened the taper, falling back onto the cushions; he made his way back over to you, climbing over top of you on the couch, his hands tracing an agonizingly slow path up your sides.

Every movement and every touch was unhurried, deliberate as though he was tuning you, finding the exact pitch that made you hum beneath his touch. His fingers danced over your skin, like he was learning the contours of an instrument. The press of his lips ignited sparks at every point of contact.

"Channie," you whispered as you intertwined one of his warm hands with yours; he stroked your cheek gently, smiling ever so lovingly at you.

"Relax for me," he purred before nipping his teeth at your neck ever so slightly. The motion caused you to shiver, your breath hitching in your throat as his lips travel from your neck slowly to your chest. There, he sucked small markings into your skin until purple and red adorned your chest. Welts became present due to his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before Chan moved to fiddle with the hem of your top.

"Are you alright with taking this further?" Chan questioned, assuring that he had your full consent before going farther.

"Yes," you breathed out, the words nearly getting stuck in your throat; your gaze flickers to the computer screen, watching as the speakers picked up each noise, the audio receptor's lines expanding with each recipient.

With your approval, Chan stripped you of your top, agonizingly slow albeit, his fingers moving their way to the clasp of your bra. He managed to undo the latch in one, swift motion, and before giving you time to think, his lips wrapped around your nipple.

You moaned as the warmth from his mouth and the wetness of his tongue sucked, kissed, and bit at your nipple, his tongue gliding over the sensitive region. His hands caressed your hips slowly before the right one moved up to attend to the neglected breast; his fingers rolled the bud, pinching, flicking and eliciting beautiful sounds from you.

"Don't hold back" Chan breathed out. "I want to hear everything."

At this point, your body was burning, both from Chan's actions and from the awareness that this was all going to be on tape; you felt a coating of arousal pool up at your core, causing you to rub your clothed thighs together in attempts to gain some sort of friction. Chan noticed the action almost instantly, grinding his hips slightly into yours; you sighed almost out of relief as you felt his own arousal poking through the black fabric of his loose shorts.

Chan lifts off of you, his hands reaching for the bottom of his hoodie; however, you stopped him, your hands mirroring his actions. You wanted to strip him, wanted to be the one to revel in revealing his perfection. Chan sighed out of contenment as you lifted the sweatshirt over his head, messing up his hair in the process and discarding the article somewhere on the studio floor.

Ridding the hoodie revealed a toned torso, with glimmering, slightly-tanned abs sparkling in the glow of the studio. You instinctually moved your hands to lay upon his chest, just as you had done so many times before, sliding your palms down his body smoothly and causing him to shiver. He positioned his body back above you, leaning over your smaller frame.

"Let me take care of you, Love," he lightly growled out as he moved his hands down to hook under the waistband of your pants, flicking his gaze to meet yours for approval. You nodded repeatedly, causing Chan to giggle as he slid your pants and underwear down, throwing the clothing alongside his hoodie.

He relished at your arousal, his eyes looking blown out before any sexual act had been committed.

"Look at you, Darling," he whispered, sliding a fingers through your wetness and causing you to whine. "Always so pretty for me."

Before you could comprehend his words, your mind increasingly numbing at his actions, Chan inserted his pointer fingers, pumping the digit in and out of you slowly. The contact elicited a string of hearty, genuine moans from you; admittedly, you were louder than you usually were during sex. You were not sure if it was because of the arousal of being recorded or if you just felt particularly frustrated that day.

Whatever it was, the sounds escaping you were particularly tumultuous, and Chan thought the octave was perfect for what he wanted to accomplish.

Chan inserted his middle finger minutes after his first digit, his pace quickening along with the speed of your whines. He maneuvered his hands, reaching to where his thumb could brush against your clit and allowing you to feel as if you were on cloud nine. You repeatedly clenched around him, feeling your orgasm creeping up on you slowly but surely; however, Chan removed his fingers before you could reach the finish line, which earned a loud, aggravated whine from you.

"Channie!" you groaned, your pussy clenching around nothing as you bucked your hips up instinctively, attempting to receive any type of contact, even the slightest motion, that would bring you to your end.

"Why?"

"Adds an element of fun," Chan responded, his lips quirked into a smug smirk, "both to the music and to our little moments."

"I can't wait anymore, Chan," you whimpered out in response, making your boyfriend tsk at you appraisingly before he slid off his own bottoms.

He quickly lined his cock up with your entrance, rubbing through your folds teasingly; he complimented the prior action poking at the hole.

"Are you ready, Darling?" he questioned.

"Yes!" you yelped out, positioning your legs to wrap around Chan's torso.

"Beg for it, then," he commanded, causing your eyes to widen and your cheeks to flush from embarassment.

"This wasn't apart of the plan," you quietly mewled as Chan halted his teasing motions.

"Mm, maybe not, but I know what gets a reaction out of you," Chan admitted leaning down to whisper in your ear, his hot breath fanning your ears. "I gotta make sure this melody encapsulates as much of your perfection as possible. So, baby girl, if you want the same thing, I suggest you get to begging."

You let out an annoyed huff, your lips pursing into a sheepish pout as you reluctantly did as demanded of you.

"Please, Channie," you pleaded, your arms gripping his shoulders. "I need you so bad please. Please, please, please, baby." Chan chuckled lightly at your beseeching as he placed his hands on either side of your face.

"Good girl," he praised gently.

With that, he gently pushed himself inside of you. You both gasped at the feeling; Chan's length filled you completely, causing you to tingle with excitement as the familiar stretch swiftly morphed from pain into pleasure.

You gave Chan the go-ahead to move, and he held your hips tightly as he thrusted in and out of you; his lips parted, making their way to kiss and nip at your skin, the tips of his canines lightly poking you.

"You always feel so amazing, my love," he moaned out; you simply sighed in pleasure, clenching yourself around him as you melted into his stature. Rushes of pleasure shot throughout your body as Chan tighlty gripped onto your hips, his nails causing indents in your flesh.

The knot tightening in your stomach returns throughout Chan's thrusts, and you are unable to comprehend the sudden change in his demeanor from gentle to hazy. All you know is that it feels good and that you are losing yourself within his darkened gaze.

"Chan, oh my," you moan out, your voice high pitched and hoarse.

"You like that, Darling?" Chan questions as your noises pick up in pace. "Keep moaning for me. You're doing so well."

"'M close," you whimper out, holding onto Chan for dear life. Chan mandhandles your body upwards, still holding onto you in the new positions and burying his head in the crook of your neck.

"Cum for me then, Love," he commands; as soon as he gives the approval , your orgasm hits. Your brain becomes like mush, and your eyes flutter shut as the pleasure rocks through you.

You feel Chan halt in his movements and he slowly pulls out of you, allowing himself to finish on your stomach before laying beside you.

"Still with me?" he questions, pulling you into his arms.

"Mhm," you mumble, just barely able to hear his words. You feel tired all of a sudden, tangling your hands in Chan's hair, albeit much lighter this time.

"You did so good, Baby," Chan praised, holding you tightly against him. "Wait until you hear how beautiful you sound."

A week had passed since that night in the studio. You had not been allowed to hear the song yet, as Chan insisted it was, "not ready." His process was meticulous, almost obsessive, and though your curiosity burned, you let him do his thing.

Now, you were back in the studio, perched on the same couch where it had all happened. Chan stood by the mixing console, his headphones draped around his neck, a spark of nervous energy buzzing in his movements.

“It’s done,” he said, running a tired hand through his hair.

You shifted in your seat, heart thudding with anticipation.

“You’re making it sound like I should be scared,” you teased, though the slight tremble in your words told him part of you was nervous.

He shot you a lopsided grin, approaching you and sitting beside you on the couch. Strangely, there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

“You don’t have to listen if you’re not ready," he explained, his tone laced with a sense of reluctance. "It’s...intimate.” The way his voice dipped sensually on the last word made your pulse quicken and you instantly shook your head.

“No, I want to hear it,” you declined his offer, your words uttered softly. "Play it, please."

He nodded, a faint smile present as he slid his headphones over your ears and pressed play on the monitor. The room went silent, save for the faint hum of the equipment. As the first notes filled your ears, everything else slowly faded away.

The song started softly; it was a deep, pulsing rhythm that felt like a heartbeat, layered with delicate chords that swept over you like a whisper. Then, beneath the music, you heard it.

You.

It was a faint gasp, so quiet it almost blended into the background vocals, followed by the softest of moans mixed into the melody. The sounds sent a rush of heat to your cheeks as your mind flashed back to that night, to Chan’s hands, his lips, and the way he had coaxed those very sounds from you.

Your breath caught as the track built, the sensual undertones unmistakable. Every layer of the song felt personal, your breaths and your voice intertwined with the raw intensity of Chan's production. It was not overtly explicit, but the sensuality was undeniable, a secret language only the two of you could speak woven into the music.

When the track ended, you pulled the headphones off and stared at him, your mouth slightly agape.

“Chan...” You didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or throw the headphones at him. “That’s me.”

His lips twitched into a smirk, though his eyes searched yours for any sign of disapproval.

“It’s us,” he corrected. “I wanted it to feel sincere, like it replicated us to a tee.”

Your cheeks burned, contrasting the thrill that coursed through your veins. Chan scooted closer, leaning in front of you so his face was mere inches away from yours.

“You’re my muse,” he told you simply. “Every sound, every breath—it’s you. You inspire me.”

You shook your head, laughing softly.

“If people hear this-”

“They won’t know it’s you, if they even notice it's there,” he reassured, his voice gentle. “It’s subtle. Just for us.”

Your lips parted, still processing, but before you could say anything else, he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin.

"You don't hate it, do you?"

“Hate it?” you echoed, shaking your head on denial. “I could never hate anything you create. The song is absolutely beautiful. It’s just...”

“Just?”

“...Really hot,” you admitted, biting your lip.

A deep laugh rumbled from his chest, and he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because it’s the most personal thing I’ve ever made, and I want it to be for you as much as it is for me or for the fans.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

“Well,” you began, your voice dropping to a playful whisper, “if you ever need more inspiration..” Your voice trailed off as your fiddled with the chain of his necklace, your forehead still pressed gently against his. Chan grinned, his fingers tightening on your waist.

“Don’t tempt me, y/n.”

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀꜱ ʙʏ: @/anitaleina

🏷️@amararosesblog @velvetmoonlght (dm/inbox to be added!)

[ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ? ᴅʀᴏᴘ ᴀ ʟɪᴋᴇ, ᴀ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢ, ᴀɴᴅ/ᴏʀ ᴀ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ!]

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sturnioz · 5 months ago

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‘ESPRESSO’ — MATT STURNIOLO

pairing. matt sturniolo x fem!reader genre. coffee shop au, first time au, fluff, smut

word count. 11.5k

❝I'm just happy I finally know your name... we've been calling you Espresso since your first few days of coming in❞

content warnings. explicit content, porn with heavy plot, loss of virginity (female), protected sex, soft sex, light nipple sucking, oral (female receiving), fingering, lots of kissing, mentions of nerves and anxiety, mentions of big dicks, mentions of stretching out.

"...And then he told me that he's not ready for a relationship, can you believe that? He's been treating me like his girlfriend for the past three months, we cuddle in the same bed almost every night, and he takes me out to dinner. I swear, men are just—"

You tune out the rest of the customers rant, letting the noise blur into the background as you focus on the task at hand, turning the nozzle on the coffee machine and carefully guiding the milk-filled pitcher under the steam wand. Your hand rests lightly on the cool metallic surface, waiting for the milk to warm to the perfect temperature.

Maya, your co-worker, stands beside you, leaning casually against the counter as she checks her watch for the third time in the past minute, her expression filled with boredom. When she catches your gaze, she quirks a small, kind smile your way, and you return it—brief but warm—before refocusing on your task.

Days like this are all too familiar, blending in together into an endless loop: wake up at 6am, clock in at the café around 7, overhear customers sharing their personal dramas (completely oblivious to how loud they're actually being), clean up after them, lock up at closing, and head back to your apartment to do it all over again the next morning.

You can't decide if it's comforting in a way, or just another reminder that you live what feels like a really fucking boring life. But the decent pay and the co-workers—Maya especially—make it hard to complain too much.

You detach the steam wand from the pitcher and reach for a cup, pumping three shots of vanilla syrup. You're just about to pour the heated milk when a sharp snap of fingers and an irritatingly loud whistle cuts through the air.

"Excuse me," you slowly turn to face the customer, resisting the urge to react to her dog-like call as she waves a manicured hand in your direction, her freshly painted French tips pointing at the cup in your hand. "I asked for five pumps of vanilla syrup—Five. And don't forget the extra caramel drizzle this time."

It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. Instead, you force a tight-lipped smile, nodding as you turn your back, adding the extra vanilla syrup and making a show of counting to five.

You proceed to pour the steamed milk into the cup, followed by the needed espresso shots, and you finish it off with an extra drizzle of caramel sauce. Once the lid is secured and the cup sleeve is slid into place, you push the drink across the counter toward her.

She doesn't so much as glance at you as she places her card on the reader, snatches the drink, and strides out the door. You exhale sharply through your nose, shaking your head as a scowl tugs at your lips, but nonetheless, you press your tongue to the inside of your cheek and clean your station, wiping down the counter and preparing for the next customer.

Another day, another latte, another fucking difficult customer.

"If she whistled at me like a dog, I would've leaped over the counter and bitten her like one," Maya mutters beside you, and a genuine smile spreads across your face as you feel her arm wrap snugly around your middle, giving you a comforting squeeze. "I'll spit in her drink next time. Really. Just say the word, and I will do it."

You stifle a quiet laugh, amused by her threat. "As much as I would love that..." you turn your head to meet her gaze. "...I'd rather you not get fired."

Maya grins, her arms slipping away from your waist as she teases, "Who says I'd get caught? Nobody has to know."

You nudge her shoulder playfully, and she chuckles before turning her attention to the next customer. Meanwhile, you shift your focus to your own customer standing at the counter, greeting them with a warm smile as you take their order and punch the details into the tablet screen.

You're in the middle of plating up the cinnamon bun they ordered when the soft chime of the door bell catches your attention, and out of habit, you glance toward the door, your eyes landing on someone fairly new: a guy with tousled brown hair, partially hidden beneath a low baseball cap.

The brim of the cap and the hood of his oversized black jacket obscure his face, but you can still make out a few details—sharp cheekbones, and a hint of stubble along his jaw.

His outfit is simple: a white shirt and baggy denim jeans, paired with black boots that match his oversized jacket.

It's the kind of comfortable look you envy... you wish you could trade your uniform for something like that right now.

Not wanting to linger on him for too long, you finish up the order for the paying customer with a polite nod, and she thanks you kindly which prompts you into wishing her a wonderful day, earning a sweet smile in return.

As she walks away, your gaze instinctively shifts back to the guy, now standing in front of the counter. He's too preoccupied with his phone to notice he's next in line, his thumbs moving rapidly across the screen.

"Can I take your order?"

"Huh? Oh—yeah, m'sorry," he mumbles, coughing lightly to clear his throat. His eyes stay fixed on his phone as he continues typing something, his voice distracted. "Can I have three iced americanos please?"

"Coming right up." you reply quietly, turning away to start the drinks. Maya steps in beside you, having finished her previous orders to offer a lending hand, and within moments, the iced drinks are ready.

Just as you place them on the counter and prepare to give him the total, he suddenly mutters under his breath, "You've got to be fuckin' playin' with me."

The irritation in his voice makes you freeze for a second, assuming his comment was directed at you. You hesitate before asking cautiously, "What?"

He looks up, startled by your response, and once he realises his mistake, he scrambles to explain. "Wait—no, shit. I uh... I wasn't talkin' to you, I was just..."

For the first time, he raises his head fully, and you can't help but try to get a better look at him. But even now, the brim of his cap and the hood of his jacket cast shadows over most of his face.

Still, you know he's staring at you—silent, unmoving—just by the weight of his gaze.

Feeling a bit shy under his gaze, you blink and glance away, fumbling to fill the silence as you press gently, "Just...?"

He snaps out of his trance, the words tumbling out in an awkward ramble. "I uh—I lost a bet with my brothers, and now I have to buy 'em drinks. I thought they'd just want whatever, but um... they're makin' it difficult 'cos they both want different drinks..."

"Oh," you respond, blinking awkwardly as you glance down at the iced americanos you've already prepared. "Well, alright... I can just make you the new—"

"No!" he interrupts, his voice sharp enough to make you pause. "Fuck—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout—these drinks are fine. Really. I'll take them. They're just idiots, probably doin' this shit on purpose or somethin', I don't know."

His exasperation pulls a light laugh out of you before you can stop yourself, and the sound seems to catch him off guard, his lips parting slightly in surprise.

After a moment, he cracks a breathy laugh of his own, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as though he's embarrassed to have made you laugh.

When you finally give him the price, he retrieves a sleek black card from his wallet and taps it on the reader, and for a second, your professional demeanour falters. He looks you, definitely younger than you'd expect from someone carrying a black card.

A flicker of curiosity passes through your mind, but you push it aside.

It's not your business, after all.

As he adjusts his hold on the cup holders, he hesitates before looking at you again. "Thanks..." his voice trails off as his gaze drops to your nametag. He reads your name softly, so quietly you almost miss it. "I'll see you tomorrow."

And he does.

In fact, the days blur into weeks as he becomes a familiar presence at the café. Almost every day, he walks in and orders three drinks—sometimes iced americanos, sometimes a mix of different flavours.

With each visit, he greets you with a warm hello and dives into his usual ramblings about his brothers. His stories are always laced with fond adoration as he recounts whatever they all get up to, and through him, you've become a bit familiar with their personalities, even if you don't know exactly what it is they do.

Despite his frequent visits, he remains a mystery. You still haven't caught a proper glimpse of his full face, obscured by the cap and hood, nor have you learned his name yet.

On some days, after picking up his drinks, he settles at a specific table near the back of the café, close to the window. From his chosen spot, he seems to watch you, though he tries to appear nonchalant about it.

When you glance over, you occasionally catch the subtle twitch of his lips—like he’s trying not to smile but can’t quite help himself.

Normally, this type of odd behaviour from a customer might alarm you. But there's something about him that keeps you from feeling uneasy. If anything, you find yourself always looking forward to seeing him and wondering if he's watching you.

And, though you hate to admit it, you enjoy the attention from this stranger a lot.

"Espresso's late today," Maya remarks, her tone light as she wipes down the counter, frowning slightly at the coffee she spilled earlier.

Espresso—the nickname Maya came up with for the mystery guy—immediately grabs your attention, and you pause mid-swipe with your mop, glancing over your shoulder to survey the café.

It's quiet today, and only a few tables are occupied: a couple engrossed in their conversation, a college student hunched over a textbook, and an older woman savouring her coffee and cake.

"Maybe he's not coming," you suggest, turning back to the floor as you scrub the stubborn coffee stains. "He could be busy."

Maya straightens, tossing the damp cloth into the sink before crossing her arms, deep in thought. Her lips purse briefly before she turns her gaze to you. "Do you think he's famous or something?"

You raise an eyebrow at her out of nowhere assumption. "What makes you think that?"

She rolls her eyes, as if the answer is painfully obvious, and begins counting her reasons on her fingers. "He covers his face constantly, he won't tell you his name, he always pulls up in a blacked-out windowed car—"

"Wait, how do you know about the car?" Maya shrugs nonchalantly. "I'm attentive, okay? I notice these things. Anyways, he never says what he does, and he owns a black card. All these clued add up. Celebrity."

As she finishes her mini-investigation, you hum thoughtfully and set the mop aside, washing your hands at the sink before returning. "Do you actually care if he's famous?"

"Not really. I'm just nosy. Uncovering the secrets of suspicious people makes me feel like I'm in some kind of mystery film. It's fun."

Her words make you smile, and soon she’s off on a rant, proudly sharing her latest theories about some crime show she’s been currently recently. She tells you her predictions, and she even brags about guessing the culprit before the reveal, and you listen, amused.

But your attention is abruptly pulled elsewhere when the familiar chime of the doorbell echoes through the café.

Your gaze instinctively shifts to the entrance, and there he is—Espresso.

He steps inside, dressed in his usual style: a black hoodie, baggy denim jeans, and the black balenciaga cap pulled low over his face. Tufts of dark hair peek out from beneath the cap, and, as always, the brim and hood keeps his identity hidden.

A smile slides across your lips as he approaches, and you greet him warmly. "Hey, you're late today."

But your smile falters when you don't get the same warmth in return.

“Yeah, sorry.” he murmurs softly, his voice drawling with weariness. He doesn't raise his head to look at you, instead he shifts his focus to his wallet which he pulls out of his pocket. “Can I just get a hot chocolate, please?”

“Getting bored of the other drinks already?” you tease lightly, trying your best to engage him in conversation. But the attempt fails. He doesn't respond the way you had hoped, he just quietly taps his card against the machine and walks toward his usual table without another word.

You watch him go, a faint uneasy feeling settling in your chest. Maya catches your eye, and her puzzled expression mirrors your own. You shrug, unsure what to say as you turn to prepare the drink.

Once his hot chocolate is ready, you hesitate for a moment before deciding to do something small to—hopefully—brighten his day. Grabbing a plate, you carefully add a slice of cake, promising Maya with a quick whisper that you'll cover the cost later.

She raises an eyebrow at you but doesn't argue, and you can feel her gaze on your back as you make your way over to his table.

"Here you go," you say softly, setting the drink and plate down in front of him.

He reaches for the hot chocolate but pauses, his hand hovering mid-air as his eyes land on the slice of cake. "I... I didn't order—"

"I know," you interrupt, your tone gentle. "It's on me. You seem like you're having an off day, so..."

For a moment, he doesn't say anything. He just stares at the cake, as if he's trying to decide how to respond. Then, he slowly tilts his head back to look up at you, and you catch the slight parting of his lips before they curve into a sheepish smile.

"That's really sweet of you... thank you." his voice is softer than you expected, and it makes your heart do an unexpected little flip.

"No worries," you reply, shaking your head lightly to brush off his gratitude. "I hope you enjoy—"

"Do you, uh, think you can sit down with me?" his question catches you completely off guard, and your words falter mid sentence. Your mouth hangs open slightly as you process his request, and he quickly adds. "If you can, obviously. If you're busy, I get it. That's fine... but if you're not... that would be fine too."

You glance around at the café, taking in the calm and quiet atmosphere. It's not busy at all—just a handful of customers scattered at their tables. When your gaze shifts to Maya, you find her already watching you, gesturing animatedly as she encourages you to take the invitation.

She even redirects your boss, who's just emerged from the back, sending them back into the office with a distraction.

Collecting your thoughts, you respond. "I can sit with you for a couple of minutes."

His shoulders visibly relax at your answer as you grab a chair and slide into the seat across from him, tucking yourself beneath the small table. You're about to ask if he's okay, if he'd like to talk about his clearly hard day, when his next action leaves you completely speechless.

Without a word, he pulls down his hood and tugs off his cap, running his fingers through his hair. and all you can do is stare, your breath catching in your throat.

His face is... gorgeous.

Messy strands of slightly grown-out hair frame his features. Strong cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and those eyes—bright and piercing. He's even more attractive than you imagined, and the realisation sends your heart pounding rapidly in your chest, warmth spreading across your face.

"My name is Matt, by the way," he says, breaking the silence as he picks up the mug of hot chocolate and takes a small sip. Matt. The name repeats in your mind, and you can't help but think how fitting it feels for him. "M'sorry for not introducin' myself before. I wasn't trying to be, like, rude or anythin'... I just can't do that sometimes."

You blink, trying to gather your thoughts, but it's hard to form a coherent response when all you can think about is how his voice fits him as well as his name. But then, his last words replay in your head, tugging at your curiosity.

Your eyebrows knit together as confusion settles in, "You can't do that?"

Matt's expression shifts, surprise flicking around his face as his gaze meets yours. "Do... do you not know me?" You stare at him, unsure of what he means, your silence prompting him to quickly clarify. "I'm not being narcissistic, I swear. I'm a youtuber—content creator, whatever you wanna call it. I just... I get nervous about being recognised, s'all."

"Oh." you hum softly in understanding. Maya's earlier theory about him being someone famous suddenly clicks into place, and you can't help but mentally applaud her for her observational skills. Slowly, you nod before continuing, "That makes sense. But it's fine—you're fine. I'm just happy I finally know your name... we've been calling you Espresso since your first few days of coming in."

Matt's expression softens, his lips curving into a gentle smile. "You talk about me?"

The question catches you off guard, and you swallow thickly, suddenly embarrassed. "I didn't say that."

His smile grows and hums in response, staring at you over the rim of his cup as he takes another sip of his drink, the action slow and deliberate. The weight of his gaze makes your heart stutter, and you quickly avert your eyes, shifting your focus elsewhere in an attempt to push away the flustered feeling rising in your chest.

Don't act like this, you scold yourself silently. You need to stop being weird. He's just a regular guy.

But deep down, you know that's not entirely true. There's something about Matt—his easy smile, the way he seems both shy and confident at the same time—that makes you feel things you can't quite name.

Your fingers fidget against the edge of the table, and a quiet thought sneaks its way into your mind, one you try desperately to ignore.

You don't have a crush on Matt already.

Of course you don't.

There's no way.

Right?

You decide to steer the conversation in a different direction, leaning back in your chair in an attempt to appear as casual as possible. "So, what's wrong? Why do you seem so tired today?"

"Just constantly busy, and I, uh... got into an argument with my brothers. It was over something so stupid, but I think it got to me 'cos I'm so tired," Matt explains to you, and you instantly feel a pang of sympathy for him. "But it's fine. I know everything will be back to normal tomorrow."

"You should've stayed home and gotten some rest instead of coming here," you chastise lightly, your tone soft enough to show you're not actually upset with his decision.

"I like it here too much," Matt counters, shaking his head as he picks up the fork provided with the cake. He cuts a piece from the corner, bringing it to his mouth, and his next works are barely audible—almost as if he didn't mean for you to hear them. "I like seein' you."

Oh.

The quiet confession catches you by surprise, and you feel the familiar warmth of flusteredness creeping up your neck. Your hand instinctively rises to rub your jaw, a weak attempt to hide the shy smile tugging at your lips.

You can't help but feel baffled by how easily Matt seems to jump between awkwardness and boldness, leaving you unsure how to respond in moments like this. Does he have any idea what his words do to you?

You glance at him briefly, watching as he nonchalantly cuts another piece of cake. He hums softly in approval of the taste, seemingly enjoying it, and you shake your head with an airy laugh, catching his attention.

His gaze shifts toward you, gesturing to the cake. "Have you tried it before?"

"Not yet," you admit, a smile gracing your lips. "It's a homemade recipe. One of my co-workers made it," The image of the little old lady in her flour-covered apron and frosting-smeared cheeks comes to mind. "She loves to bake."

Matt nods thoughtfully, and then cuts another piece of cake. Instead of handing you the fork though, he keeps it in his grip, extending his arm toward you. "Here, try it."

Your eyes widen at the gesture, surprise and hesitance flooding through you. Time feels like it pauses for a moment as you process what's happening, and your gaze meets his across the table, noticing the way his teeth nibble on his bottom lip.

His expression is genuine though, and there's a slight vulnerability in the offer that makes your heart skip a beat.

After a moment, you decide to give in. Leaning forward, your hand gently wraps around his to steady the fork, and you feel him freeze at the contact, but he doesn't pull away. Slowly, you open your mouth to accept the bite, ready to taste the flavour.

But before you can indulge, the moment is abruptly shattered by the loud call of your name.

Startled, you pull back, breaking the connection before the two of you, and Matt lowers the fork quickly, his hand retreating as if the interruption had startled him just as much.

Standing at the counter, your boss watches with his arms folded over his chest, a look of amusement dancing across his features. Maya stands just behind him, her expression apologetic for ruining your moment.

"What're you doing?" your boss asks, one eyebrow raised. His tone is teasing, though it's firm enough to remind you you're on the clock. "Stop flirting with your boyfriend, kid. You're on work hours."

Your mouth opens and closes as you try to come up with a response, but nothing comes out. Embarrassment washes over you like a tidal wave, and you completely forget you're with Matt as you stand up abruptly, rushing over to your boss and all but shove him into the backroom.

"Hey—what—" he starts, but you cut him off with a rapid string of apologies for pushing him, laced with muttered curse words for his earlier assumption about yours and Matt's relationship.

"I wasn't flirting—and he's not my boyfriend! Why would you say that?!" you hiss under your breath, mortification burning hot. You groan, pressing your palms to your face as you spiral into a ramble. "Oh my god. That was embarrassing. I can't believe you said that. What do I do now? I can't—"

Your anxious rambling is cut off by your boss' deep, amused laugh. "He was feedin' you. What else was I supposed to think?"

From the side, Maya nods with an exaggerated agreement. "That was such a boyfriend move..."

Your boss places a hand on your shoulder, his expression softening slightly. "Look, I am sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you. But maybe next time, don't let it happen during work hours, yeah? I already let you two get away with too much—"

"Well that's a fucking lie," Maya cuts in, her brows knitting together as she glares at him. Your boss snorts but doesn't respond, walking back out to the front with a shake of his head. Once he's gone, Maya steps closer to you with an apologetic look. "I tried to distract him for as long as I could, but he caught on pretty quick. At least it seemed like you and Espresso were getting along well?"

"His name is Matt," you tell her as you lower your hands from your cheeks. Her eyebrows shoot up, but before she can say anything, you groan again, pressing your fingers to your temples and rubbing in slow circles. "I'm so embarrassed. I'm gonna have to quit and, like, move away or something."

"Hey, being dramatic is my job," Maya teases as she pinches your arm lightly. "But you got his name though, that's progress."

You hesitate for a moment before adding, "I.. saw his face too."

Maya's eyes widen, her curiosity peaked. "You did? I couldn't see—he looked away and pulled up his hood right after your name was called..." she pauses, narrowing her eyes at you with a knowing smirk. "So? Was he hot?"

You meet her gaze, dead serious. "You have no idea."

After a few minutes of calming yourself down, you finally gather the courage to return to the front of the café, but when you glance toward Matt's table, your heart sinks.

It's empty.

The sight of the vacant chair and cleared space stirs an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You assume he must've left after your boss' comment, feeling awkward and embarrassed. And really, you can't blame him. If the roles were reserved, you'd probably book it out of here as fast as you could too.

You try to shake it off, forcing yourself to focus on work. You clean up the tables, preparing the café for closing, but you deliberately leave Matt's table for last. You know it's silly—prolonging it won't change anything—but you can't help it.

When you finally approach the table, you swallow thickly, frowning as you take in the empty cup and plate. You pick them up and place them on your tray, but as you move, something catches your eye.

A napkin, crumpled slightly from hiding beneath the plate.

You set the tray down and reach for it, your heart starting to race as you unfold it. Scrawled across the napkin in slightly messy handwriting are the words that instantly bring a smile to your face:

𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 (555) 555-555 - 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍/𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗈/’𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽’

You ended up calling him when you got home from work that day. At first, you were nervous, your thumb hovering over the call button for longer than you'd like to ever admit.

And before you knew it, those phone calls became an important part of your routine. Almost every night, you'd find yourself laughing until your sides hurt, smiling until your cheeks were sore, and discovering little pieces of Matt you'd never known before.

He told you even more about his family—especially his brothers with their inside jokes—and he shared stories about his Youtube career: his struggles with burnout, and the moments that made it all worth it.

And in turn, you opened up to him too.

You told him everything.

To avoid causing any more trouble with your boss, Matt started visiting you during your breaks instead of sitting at a table on your shift, keeping you company whenever you both had a free moment in your schedules.

It didn't take long for him to become a familiar face around the café either. Your co-workers grew fond of him quite quickly, and the old lady baker immediately adored him when he kindly complimented her on her delicious recipes—and she even allowed him to taste-test her newest ones before anyone else.

You started to notice how comfortable Matt was becoming with you over time, especially when it came to physical touch.

At first, it was subtle—the way his shoulder would brush against yours when he sat close, or how his leg would press lightly to yours under the table.

Then, those small touches grew bolder.

His fingers would linger on your arm as he talked, tracing patterns on your skin, and occasionally his hand would graze yours, but neither of you would pull away.

It took you a while to get used to it, but something about Matt made it so easy to accept. His touches felt natural, like they belonged there, and a part of you started to crave them in ways you didn't fully understand.

Then, one afternoon, everything changed.

Matt had offered to drive you home after your shift, something he'd started doing more often as your 'friendship' deepened. This time though, it felt different. So different. There was tension, not uncomfortable, but charged with something unspoken.

When he pulled up in front of your house and walked you to your doorstep, he made the first move. His hands came up to cradle your cheeks as his lips pressed against yours, soft and warm.

It happened sooner than you expected, but it felt so right—so natural.

From that moment on, kisses became a regular part of your time together. Whether it was when he drove you home from work or when you sneaked away for 'fresh air' during your breaks, his lips always seemed to find yours.

Sometimes it was quick—a stolen kiss.

Other times, it was slower—lingering, like he wanted to savour the moment just as much as you did.

And you found yourself falling for him, bit by bit, with every laugh, every touch, and every kiss.

"So, he's not your boyfriend?" Maya's voice cuts through the whirring of the coffee machine, her tone filled with disbelief as she looks over at you.

"No, he's not," you shake your head as you carefully pour the espresso into a cup.

"But you kiss all the time, and he comes to visit you here almost every single day," Maya points out, her brows knitting together as she watches you add steamed milk and froth to finish the cappuccino.

It's a valid point, one that you've thought over many—many—times.

"Yeah," you hum, steadying the cup. "But he hasn't asked me out officially, y'know?"

Maya blinks, clearly perplexed. "Why can't you ask him then?"

You pause, staring at her like she's just suggested something completely outrageous. "Me?"

"Yeah, you."

The idea of taking the initiative and asking Matt to be your boyfriend sends a wave of panic rolling through you, and you shake your head quickly. "No. No way. I can't do that. I don't even know how to do that."

Maya blinks slower, processing your response. "You just... ask."

You scoff, incredulous. "Absolutely not. I've never done anything like that before, and I'm way too awkward to start now. What if it makes me look desperate? Or what if the timing is all wrong?" you spin around to face her, completely mortified as you mutter, "What if he rejects me?"

"Okay, now you're just overthinking everything," Maya sighs, grabbing a cup and lazily filling it with ice cubes. "Look, you just need to—"

"Excuse me!"

The sharp screech of an impatient customer cuts through the air, making both of you flinch. You quickly turn around, guilt already bubbling in your chest.

"I understand you have boy problems," the woman snaps, glaring at you, "but I'm in a rush. Can you hurry it up?"

Your eyes widen as the realisation starts to hit—you've turned into one of those people. The ones who talk too loudly about their personal problems, oblivious to the world around them.

Oh fuck.

You apologise profusely as you rush to finish the customers order, handing it over with a sheepish grin. She huffs, pays, and storms off, leaving you to groan and press the heel of your palm into your eyes.

"Don't worry about it too much." Maya says, trying to reassure you, and you appreciate the attempt to calm your spiralling thoughts of the day.

You sigh, nodding slowly, and a faint frown tugs at your lips as you grab a rag to clean the counter, trying to refocus.

Maya, however, isn't done. "Matt's supposed to be visiting you on break, right? Just talk to him then. See where his head's at with all this... it's clear that he likes you as much as you like him."

You nod again, this time a little more solemnly. Deep down, you know she's right, but the thought of having that conversation still makes you stomach churn with nerves.

Forcing a polite smile onto your face, you get back to serving your customers. You try to ignore the uncomfortable feeling brewing, but it lingers, making your shift stretch on longer than usual.

It doesn't help that it seems to be one of those days either—the kind where couples seem to flood the café, all smiley and giggly, holding hands and sharing kisses.

Internally, you scowl. You know it's not fair to be so bitter about their happiness, but it's hard to stop yourself from feeling like the universe is rubbing it so carelessly in your face.

You grit your teeth as another couple approaches the counter, all lovey dovey as they order matching drinks. Seriously? .... For real? You can't help but think they're all doing this on purpose.

You know they aren't though. It's not their fault you're so frustrated and insecure. It's not their fault you're stuck in this weird position with Matt, unsure of where you stand.

They're in love—and they have every right to show it off to the world.

As the day drags on and on, you try your best to push aside the negatives thoughts swirling in your mind by focussing on your job, moving from task to task, hoping to make time fly by.

The wait isn't easy—you hate it—but you keep reassuring yourself that everything will be alright.

But, as your break finally arrives, that too familiar feeling of unease settles in your chest once again.

You find yourself sitting alone in the backroom, ten minutes into your fifteen-minute break. Your phone is sandwiched between your cheek and shoulder as you listen to Matt's voice on the other end of the call.

Your thumb instinctively finds its way to your mouth, and you bite down on your nail—a habit you've been trying to get a hold on.

“There’s been a change of plans," Matt says, his words filled with regret. "I don’t think I can come visit you right now—everythin’ is, like, super crazy and…” his voice trails off as he continues explaining, but the words blend together in the background of your mind.

He's not coming.

That feeling in your chest intensifies, and the uncomfortable churning in your stomach grows worse.

“I’m really sorry.” he says, soft and sincere.

“No, it’s fine. I get it,” you whisper, your tone a little on the vulnerable side. You hear him sigh on the other end of the phone, and you quickly add. “Seriously, it’s fine. I promise. It just… sucks, I guess.”

“I know, baby,” Matt mutters quietly, his own sadness seeping through.

The unexpected affectionate name catches you off guard, but it brings you slight comfort. Warmth spreads across your face, and despite everything, you smile to yourself shyly.

There’s some rustling on his end, and you hear him adjust the phone before his voice comes through more clearly. “I can see you later, though. I can… come over to your place, if you want.”

"My place?" you repeat, your eyes widening slightly as you sit up straighter. "You want to come over to my place?"

"Well, yeah, I mean—" he clears his throat, trying to sound more casual than he feels. "I have to film a video with my brothers and we won't be done until late, and I still really want to see you. We can have a date at yours or somethin'? I'll bring food or whatever on my way there. I'd offer you to come to mine, but—"

"My place is good," you cut him off, nodding to yourself as if to confirm it. "That's great, actually."

"Yeah?" you hear the smile in his voice, and it brings one to your own face as you hum softly in agreement. "Alright... I'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay." you reply giddily.

You'd be completely lying to yourself if you said you didn't want the clock obsessively for the rest of your shift—counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds until you could finally head home.

Spoiler: it didn't magically speed up. The numbers on the clock barely moved every time you checked.

But thankfully, after spilling the details of your plans to Maya, she offered to handle the closing-up duties so you could leave early.

At first, you protested. You didn't want to leave her to do everything alone, but her reassurance—and her reminded that she owed you for covering one of her shifts last week—finally convinced you to accept.

You couldn't say no after that.

As soon as you step out of the café, your mind starts racing with thoughts about Matt's visit. You pick up the pace, practically speed walking to the nearest store to grab some last minute treats—a box of desserts and a pack of beers—and the grocery bag bumps against your leg with each hurried step.

When you finally make it home, you waste no time in kicking off your shoes and heading straight to the kitchen to stash the desserts and beers into the fridge before taking a moment to take in your apartment.

It's not messy, but it's... definitely lived in.

The couch cushions are out of place, a throw blanket is draped over an armchair. There's a few books stacked on the side table, and your empty coffee mug still sits on the corner of the counter where you left it this morning.

You sigh, rolling up your sleeves as you get to work tidying up. You fluff the cushions, fold the blanket neatly, and wash your coffee mug and place it back in the cupboard.

Once everything looks presentable, you dart off to the bathroom to shower, eager to scrub away the sweat and lingering smell of coffee from your shift. You stand beneath the spray and lather up with vanilla scented soap before giving your hair a thorough wash—you even exfoliate—mentally checking off every step as you go.

But when you're back in your room, standing in front of your closet with a towel wrapped around your body, you freeze.

What the fuck are you supposed to wear?

Your eyes scan the rows of clothes, but nothing seems right. Is this a proper date, or just a casual hangout? You've never been in this situation before, and it's impossible to guess the right vibe to match. You don't want to be overdressed and make it awkward, but you also don't want to look like you didn't try.

"I need your help," you blurt into the phone urgently and desperately, deciding to call the best person you know that can handle this type of situation. "Bad. I need your help bad."

There's a pause before Maya's laughter comes through the line, "What are you freaking out about now?"

"I—" you hesitate, gripping the phone tighter as your eyes dart back to your closet, pushing through the hangers for the tenth time. "I have no idea what to wear. I don't know if this is a date. I've never been on a date, so I don't know what people even wear to one."

You let out a frustrated sigh, slumping back onto your heels.

"I don't want it to look like I tried too hard, but I also don't want it to look like I just rolled out of bed and don't give a fuck—"

"Hey," Maya interrupts sharply, calling out your name. "Chill out."

You immediately fall silent, clutching the phone to your ear as you wait for her words of wisdom.

"Let me break it down for you," she begins, "Matt's coming over to your place after hanging out with his brothers, right?"

"Yeah..." you reply cautiously, narrowing your eyes at a skirt in your closet that suddenly feels too much.

"So," she continues. "Do you really think he's going to show up wearing, like, a suit and tie? A button-up and chinos? No. At best, he's showing up in sweatpants and a sweater. Maybe jeans."

You purse your lips, thinking that over. "So... what do I wear then?"

"God. You're hopeless." Maya teases with a loud, dramatic sigh. "Wear something comfortable. Something cute and casual. You have clothes like that, okay? I've seen them."

You nod as if she can see you. "Cute and casual," you repeat. "Okay, yeah, I can do that. That's fine. Thank yo—"

"Wait," Maya cuts in before you can hang up. "One more thing: wear matching lingerie. That red lacy set we bought last weekend? That one."

You freeze, eyebrows furrowing as her words settle in. Pulling the phone away from your ear, you glare at it for a second before returning it to your face. "Why the hell would I need to wear that?"

"Just in case," Maya responds matter-of-factly. "You know... just in case."

"Oh," you say dumbly, blinking as the realisation hits you. "I mean... doesn't have to happen right away, does it? Like—it's not expected or anything, right?"

"Of course not" Maya answers instantly to reassure you. "You don't have to do anything you're not ready for. But if the mood is right, at least you'll be prepared. Trust me."

After hanging up, you toss your phone onto the bed and take a moment to collect yourself. Maya's advice repeats in your head as you pull open your dresser drawer, digging out the red lingerie set. It's still neatly folded in the box it came in—the tags still attached.

You hesitate for a moment, then shrug to yourself. At least you'll be prepared. Once you've slipped into the lingerie, you pull on your favourite shirt and jeans—soft, well worn, and flattering in all the right ways. You take a step back to check your reflection in the mirror, smoothing out the fabric over your hips.

A touch of mascara, a swipe of lip gloss, a hint of blush and highlighter, and a quick spritz of perfume completes the look.

You're double checking your outfit and makeup when a knock beats on the front door, and your stomach flips. You abruptly move, nearly knocking over the vanity chair in your rush as you smooth out your shirt for the hundredth time, sock covered feet padding across the floorboards as you make your way to the front door.

With a deep breath, you unlock the door and swing it open, and instantly, any lingering anxiety melts away. There Matt stands, his signature black cap pulled low over messy hair, dressed in an oversized sweater and denim jeans.

He smiles at you—a soft, lopsided grin—before shuffling inside after you step aside, his sneakers scuffing lightly against the floor as he toes them off.

You open your mouth to speak, to welcome him into your home, but the words catch in the back of your throat as Matt doesn't even give you a chance. He drops the takeout bag to the floor with a soft thud, and his ringed fingers wrap gently around your wrist, tugging you closer.

A giddy smile spreads across your face as his cold palms cup the warmth of your cheeks, his gaze softening as his lips brush against yours—gentle and so sweet.

He exhales a deep sigh of contentment when you kiss him back, and your hands reach to grip the soft fabric of his sweater to pull him close. But Matt doesn't linger long on your lips, instead, he pulls back just enough to trail quick, playful kisses across your cheeks, nose, and forehead.

Each kiss lands with an over exaggerated smooch, and you can't help the laughter that bubbles up from your chest.

"Matt," you try to speak between giggles. "Stop, you're—"

"No," he murmurs, pressing another smacking kiss to your lips. "Missed you too much... sorry I couldn't come earlier."

You smile softly, your heart swelling as you pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your hands still resting on his chest. Gently, you shake your head. "You're here now, right?"

Matt's grin widens, and he bends down to pick up the takeout bag from the floor, straightening up before stepping further into your home.

His gaze sweeps over the room, taking in the details—the mismatched furniture, the framed photos on the walls, the soft glow of string lights draped across the windows, and the potted plants perched on the sills.

You shift your weight nervously, watching him take it all in with a flicker of self-consciousness, especially when his eyes linger on the shelf filled with books and little trinkets that probably look a bit chaotic to anyone but you.

"This is a nice place," he says finally, his voice warm and sincere as his eyes meet yours again. "Cosy."

"Thank you," you reply with a soft laugh, swaying lightly on the balls of your feet. "I would've invited you in sooner, but... it never seemed like the right time."

"That's okay," Matt says with a casual shrug. Then, he raises the takeout bag between you, giving it a little shake. "Hungry?"

As if on cue, your stomach growls loudly, causing you to sheepishly smile. "Starving."

It doesn't take long before the two of you settle comfortably on the couch, the food spread out on the coffee table in front of you. A movie plays on the TV—something you both agreed on watching—but as the minutes pass, it becomes background noise.

Matt's attention drifts to you, and soon he's asking about your day—showing genuine interest, listening to you talk as you recount the small details of your daily routine. He even teases you, his grin widening as he asks if you've spilled any more drinks during your shift.

You did that once—maybe twice.

He never lets you forget it. When the conversation shifts and it's your turn to ask him about his day, Matt's expression brightens. The way his eyes light up as he talks about filming with his brothers and brainstorming new ideas makes your chest ache in the best day, and you listen attentively as he rambles, soaking in the passion behind his words.

But then, his tone dips slightly, and he mentions feeling mentally drained—exhausted, even. The confession is so subtle, but it sticks with you as you remind him to take breaks and to focus more on his mental health, but he waves a hand dismissively, brushing off your worry.

You're about to push further, but before you can, Matt reaches for his phone, his energy shifting again as he tells you he wants to show you what he and his brothers have been doing and planning.

He scoots close, the warmth of his shoulder pressing against yours as he pulls up the photos and videos on his camera roll, explaining every detail behind each one. But your ears perk up when another voice cuts through in one of the videos Matt plays, a familiar one that belongs to one of his brothers.

"What are you doin'?" Chris' voice asks, and a second later, he comically slides into frame, his bright blue eyes staring directly into the camera lens, one brow raised in suspicion.

"Filmin' the sunset," Matt mumbles, the camera shaking slightly as Chris steps closer. "Dude, what're you—"

"Is this for your girlfriend?" Chris interrupts, practically shoving his face into view as he wiggles his eyebrows dramatically.

"Yeah," Matt huffs, trying to push Chris out of the shot. "Move."

"Take a video of me. I'm the view now."

"What? No," Matt snaps, scoffing. The camera lowers slightly, but not before you catch Nick in the background, fake gaggling loudly as a muttered, "You're fuckin' insane. Get away—" from Matt is the last thing you hear before the video cuts off.

As the video ends, you find yourself frozen, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. Slowly, your eyes drift from the phone to Matt's face. He's smiling at you—so softly, so fucking prettily—clearly waiting for your thoughts on the videos he just shared.

But your mind is stuck on one thing.

"Girlfriend?" The word slips out before you can stop it, your voice quiet, almost hesitant. "Do... do you call me your girlfriend in front of your brothers?"

"Yeah," he says without hesitation, his eyebrows pulling together in slight confusion. "Why wouldn't I?"

"You never asked," you whisper. You glance down, suddenly feeling embarrassed under his gaze. "I mean... it was never really talked about. We didn't put a label on anything."

Matt lets out a light laugh, scratching the back of his neck as if he's realising it for the first time.

"I kinda assumed we were together," he tells you. "I mean, I don't really see someone almost every day, kiss them, drive them home, and just call them a 'friend'," his cheeks grow a little flushed. "Like, I'd only do that with someone who's my girl."

You can't fight the smile that breaks across your face, and Matt notices it too, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin in a way that makes your heart flutter.

"Guess I should've asked though, hm?" he murmurs, his voice dropping to a softer tone as his thumb gently brushes over your bottom lip. His eyes lock with yours, tilting his head to the side. "Made it official?" he then leans in, his breath warm against your face. "Will you be my girlfriend? Or... is it too late?"

"Never too late."

Matt grins, and before you can say anything else, he closes the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that feels softer and sweeter than any before. His touch is so gentle, and you can't help but exhale deeply as you melt into him.

Kissing Matt is one thing, but kissing Matt who is your boyfriend? That was something else entirely. It feels new—exciting.

But then, as his hand dips beneath your shirt, his palm pressing lightly against the bare skin of your waist, something feels… different. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s unfamiliar, and you find yourself pulling back slightly, your breathing ragged as you meet his gaze with an embarrassed, sheepish grin.

"You alright?" Matt asks immediately, concern etched into his expression. His thumb brushes over your hip, his touch grounding and gentle.

"No—yeah, yes. Everything is fine—great," you ramble with a nervous laugh, trying to collect yourself under Matt's worried gaze. His brow furrows as you scramble to explain yourself, but you decide to surrender and tell him the truth as your shoulders slump. "This is all new to me. I've never had this."

Matt blinks, then tilts his head, raising a brow. "Had a boyfriend?"

"No—well yeah, but," you shake your head with a small laugh and a shy smile. "I'm talking about sex... I've never done that before. I've never, like... been interested, you know?"

"Oh," he mumbles softly, pulling his hand carefully out from beneath your shirt. "Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"No!" you rush to cut him off, your hands curling around his wrists to stop him. "You didn't make me uncomfortable, if that's what you're wondering," you exhale shakily, trying your best to put your feelings into words. "I've never been interested in it before, but with you... I am."

Matt’s eyes widen slightly, his expression shifting to something almost unreadable—surprised, maybe even a little emotional. His hands find their way back to your hips, his grip gentle but grounding as his thumbs brush against your sides.

"Really?" he asks softly.

You nod, your heart beating faster. You want him to understand that this is all new territory for you, but it's something that you want to share with him—to give a part of yourself to someone who truly likes you just as much as you like him.

Matt studies you for a moment, his gaze darting across your face as if he's memorising all your little details. His eyes linger on your lips, noticing how they part slightly, how your tongue nervously darts out to wet your bottom lip.

"Relax," he murmurs, his voice trying to soothe you as he inches closer. "You're tremblin'."

"I'm nervous," you admit in a whisper.

"It's alright," he reassures you as his fingers gently tilt your chin up, his touch featherlight as he strokes your bottom lip. "I got you. We'll go slow."

"Slow," you echo, nodding. "Slow is good."

A soft smile tugs at Matt's lips as he leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead first, then your nose, before finally dipping down to press his lips to yours once again. Your eyes flutter shut as you melt into his touch, feeling the way his mouth moves against yours.

When you part your lips, a soft gasp escapes you as Matt deepens the kiss, his tongue flattening against yours as it enters your mouth, and the sensation sends a shiver down your spine. You press your hand to his chest again, right over his hammering heartbeat as your fingers curl into the fabric of his sweater.

Matt breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he mumbles, "Where's your room?"

Your throat suddenly feels dry, and it takes a moment to gather yourself as you swallow hard, your voice coming out a little hoarse. "Down the hall, first door on the left."

Matt nods, kissing your lips one last time before he rises from the couch, pulling you up with him. His fingers intertwine with yours, his grip firm as the two of you move quietly down the hallway, the sound of your footsteps soft on the wooden flooring.

When you step into the room, Matt's eyes sweep over the space briefly before settling back on you. He doesn't rush you or push you, instead, he just takes a step closer, brushing his knuckles over your cheekbone as his eyes search yours, silently asking for permission.

You give him a short nod, and in an instant, his lips mould with yours in a deep, but slow kiss. You kiss him back timidly, looping your arms around his shoulders for your fingers to curl at the hairs on the nape of his neck, while he wraps his around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

He blindly walks you backwards, the backs of your knees hitting the edge of the bed and you drop down, causing Matt to follow closely behind. He straddles you, knees on each side of your hips, keeping his lips locked on yours as his hands trail down your body, his fingers lightly gripping the hem of your shirt.

The kiss breaks for him to gently pull your shirt over your head, and his eyes—blown out and wide—stare down at your chest, all prettied up in the red, lacy bra you put on earlier. He lets out a long, drawn out shaky exhale, rubbing his thumb across the material as his eyes flit up to yours.

“Beautiful,” he compliments, and you immediately grow shy and flustered, unable to properly meet his gaze as he chuckles softly, sliding his hands beneath your back to reach for the clasp.

Your brows raise in surprise at how quick and easy it is for him to unclasp your bra, and the lacy falls from your skin, baring your naked chest to his gaze. He gives you a gentle smile, giving your lips a loving kiss before moving downwards, sucking a trail of hickeys from your neck, to your collarbones, down to your breasts.

Matt cups the plumpy skin in his palms, squeezing softly while his lips wrap around your nipple. You gasp softly at the sensation, feeling the nub harden in his mouth as he licks and suckles. He gives attention to your other nipple too, and your back arches at the touch, breath stuttering as you tilt your head back against the pillows.

However, your breathing grows ragged with nerves as he starts moving south again, almost choking when he gets to your legs. The nerves start to creep back into your system as you watch him unbutton your jeans while he keeps his eyes on yours, giving you a reassuring smile as he pulls the material down your jeans, pressing open mouth kisses to the skin that he reveals.

Your first instinct is to pull away when you become aware of how extremely close he is to your damp panties—not used to someone being so up close and personal to such an intimate place—but he soothingly strokes your thighs in hopes to relax you, massaging his fingers into the plush skin.

"Matt," you murmur anxiously as you feel his nose against your panties as he inhales deeply, letting out a soft sound at the intoxicating scent of your obvious arousal.

Your face heats up in embarrassment at the sight of him between your thighs, and you fidget, hips shifting against the bed sheets as he hooks his fingers beneath the lace, pulling them down your legs to join your other clothes on the floor—leaving you naked and vulnerable.

"You still want to do this?" Matt asks you, pressing open mouth kisses to your thighs as he eyes the glistening folds of your pussy before his gaze drifts up your body, drinking you in. He meets your eyes, laying another kiss on your skin. "We can stop. It’s your choice."

You’re quiet for a moment, unable to think properly over the loud sound of your heartbeat thumping in your ears. You’re nervous, of course. You’ve never experienced something like this before—something so intimate and raw. Nobody has been this close to you, and nobody has ever touched you the way he’s been currently doing.

But you want this.

You do want this.

You want this with him.

"Please keep going." you confirm, and in that moment, you feel his warm breath caress your skin as he leans closer, his mouth pressing over your clit.

Your body tenses up at the foreign sensation, and your thighs almost close in around his head in an attempt to push him away, but the feeling of his tongue slowly wedging between your wet folds, gently lapping over your slit, makes you crumble.

You’re unable to put how you feel into words as your body slumps on the bed, lips parting with short, airy gasps as you stare up at the ceiling, your fingers twisting in your bedsheets. Matt’s mouth remains latched onto you, alternating between tender kitten licks and suckles on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

It’s difficult for you to think straight—so fucking difficult that all you can do is just lay there and take it.

Matt curls his arms around your thighs, moaning softly into your cunt and you gasp at the vibrations. You don’t know what your body is doing, but it moves as if it’s on autopilot, rolling against his face as that knot in your stomach tightens, and tightens, and tightens.

"That’s it," he murmurs between your folds. "Keep movin’. You’re gettin’ close."

"H-how can you tell?" you ask him breathlessly.

Matt smiles, peering up at you through hooded lids, "I can feel it, baby. You're leakin' so much around my tongue."

You whine pathetically at that, and your eyes roll back and your neck strains as Matt’s tongue dips inside of you—the pressure and pleasure becoming too much for your inexperienced body to handle that you can’t help but release whatever tension coils up in your stomach.

Matt hums in approval, squeezing your thighs in a reassuring manner as he laps up your essence, delicately helping you ride out your orgasm with tentative licks. Once Matt finally lets up, you feel yourself grow limp, trying your hardest to catch your breath as you watch him move up your body through hazy vision.

"Good job," he praises you lightly, stroking your cheek with a tender touch. “You did so well."

All you can muster is a tired, sheepish smile, melting against his touch for a moment until it’s moved away too quickly for your liking. You can feel a whine of protest bubbling up in your throat, but you manage to keep it at bay as you watch Matt lean back on his knees, bunching his sweater in his hands before he pulls it over his head, throwing it carelessly to the side.

You take this moment to admire him with the best of your ability: his messy hair hangs just above his eyes, his lips puffy and wet—glistening with your arousal. His body is slim, and you have the sudden urge to run your hands up his tummy and over his chest to curl your fingers around the silver necklace that dangles from his neck, but you’re caught off guard by the sound of metal clanging, and you glance down to see his hands working open his belt.

Matt rids himself of his jeans quite quickly, leaving him in just his boxers. The sight of his cock straining against the white material of his Calvin Klein's has your stomach whirling, and you begin to worry if something of that size will even fit inside of you.

You do avert your eyes when his fingers grip the waistband of his boxers to pull them off, although you can’t look away for too long. You’re curious, and curiosity definitely kills the cat because when you see his cock—big, heavy, laying against his tummy up to his belly button—you know you’re in trouble.

That’s not going to fit.

Silence consumes you, your mouth dry and nerves shot. All you can do is watch him lean off the bed to reach for his jeans on the ground, digging his hand into the pockets to retrieve a small silver packet. He tears it open with his teeth with ease, throwing the empty packet onto your nightstand before pinching the tip of the condom to roll it onto his cock, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration.

"Did—" you try to find your voice, coughing to clear your throat when it comes out a little rough. "Did you expect this to happen? You were prepared?"

"I didn’t expect it," Matt tells you, his tone filled with honesty and sincerity as he adjusts the rubber, making sure that it was fitted securely. "But it’s always good to be prepared, right?"

Maya’s words from the phone call earlier linger in your mind; ‘it’s good to be prepared, just in case’. You didn’t realise how much that actually applied, and all you can do is dumbly nod your head in response as Matt shuffles forward on his knees, prying your thighs further apart.

You twitch when you feel his fingers gently graze over your sensitive pussy, using his thumbs to pull at your folds, revealing your leaky hole to his gaze. You definitely look away now—trying to not think about how exposed you are to him, literally.

"M’gonna have to stretch you out a little," Matt tells you, and you want to question what he means by that until you wince at the stretch of his finger pushing through the tightness of your entrance, causing tears to bubble in your eyes. "Sorry, baby. It’s okay, s’okay—breathe."

You tense up when Matt adds another one of his fingers, trying your best to focus on his soothing voice when he tells you to relax, and he stills, his fingers still buried deep inside of you as his other hand massages your thigh in gentle motions.

You wriggle, finding it difficult to adjust to the stretch of his fingers as he carefully pumps in and out of your pussy, scissoring them against your gummy walls that makes your thighs twitch and close around his wrist. He continues to quietly praise you throughout, even pressing his thumb to your clit to rub, the pleasurable sensation of your clit getting attention causing you to relax just a bit.

“There we go,” he coos, nodding his head as he watches you. “Relax.”

The wet sounds filling the room is dirty, and you’re embarrassed to know that it’s coming from you. You are wet, and you’re definitely turned on despite being such a nervous wreck, but you didn’t realise you’re this wet.

Matt seems to be fine with it, which makes you feel a little bit better.

It’s normal.

It’s natural.

It’s fine.

You’re unsure on how long Matt has been fingering you for, but you assume it was enough to have you stretched out as he pulls his fingers away from your pussy, surprisingly licking them clean as he hovers above you.

You reach to grab his shoulders while he touches himself, rubbing his cock up and down your sticky folds to lather up your arousal. Matt stares at you, tilting his head to the side as he drinks in your expression.

“You ready?” He presses his tip to your entrance as he aligns himself. Anxiety and nerves courses through your veins, knowing what was about to come, but you’re more than ready—ready to have him in any way you possibly can.

“I’m ready.”

With that, he presses himself into you, slow and steady. The gentleness doesn’t stop you from crying out, your nails digging into his shoulder blades, creating indents in his skin as your cunt and thighs burn from your pressure.

The pain and discomfort is intense, and it hurts much more than you anticipated—the unfamiliar sensation being stretched out and filled making you wince. Matt pauses his hips to give you time to adjust to his size, wrapping his arms around you and kissing away the tears that pool down your cheeks.

“You’re doin’ great, sweetheart,” he attempts to soothe you, his body locked as he glances down to where you’re both barely connected. Only the tip of his cock is nestled inside your opening, and he nibbles down on his bottom lip, knowing this was going to be trickier. “You’re okay, I promise.”

The burn intensifies as Matt begins to inch deeper in, each movement jolts of hot pain through your tender flesh. You have never felt like this in your life, but you’re happy to feel the searing pain gradually give way to a dull ache, which soon turns into a strange, tingling sensation as his hips rock carefully into you.

His steady rhythm and soothing caresses help calm your nerves, and you can feel every ridge and vein of Matt’s cock rub against your tender walls. His hands roam your body, kneading the fat of your hips, stroking up your stomach and breasts, brushing his fingers across your cheeks to wipe away the tears.

Each touch relaxes you further and further, drawing you into the experience, and you’re finally able to wrap your legs around Matt’s waist loosely, feeling him roll his hips deeper against yours. The friction between you both causes you to feel a little stuffy, skin clammy with sweat, but you still refuse to loosen your grip on him—keeping him as close to you as possible.

“Look at you… you’re doin’ so well for me,” Matt continues to praise you with each thrust, his breathing laboured.

You let out a quiet moan, it echoing throughout the room, and the sound of giving in makes Matt press his lips to yours, swallowing the rest of your moans as his cock and tongue work together in motion.

You feel so dizzy, head cloudy and empty as he rocks against you, his pelvis rubbing against your poor clit, the friction making your pussy quiver around him, earning a throaty groan from him, the sound rumbling against your lips.

Breaking the kiss, Matt trails his move along the column of your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive flesh as he continues to thrust, and you arch into him a little, your nails lightly raking down his back as you tilt your head to give him better access.

His tongue darts out to lap at the pulse point in your throat before he kisses and nibbles his way back up to your ear, his voice low and strained as he murmurs, “M’gettin’ close,” his hips stuttering in their rhythm as he fights to maintain his control. “Not gonna last much longer, baby.”

Your body tenses, a whiney noise escaping as the sensations swell up inside you, the familiar feeling of the knot in your stomach forming until you can no longer contain yourself. Your inner muscles clench around Matt’s cock, rhythmically squeezing around him as your second orgasm crashes over you abruptly.

At the same moment, Matt's control shatters, and with a grunt, he buries himself to the hilt inside your cunt and trembles, spilling into the condom with long, hot spurts. His hips stutter, making you wince and mewl at the feeling, but once both of your tremors subside, Matt lays on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress.

It’s hot, and you’re still all sticky and clammy—definitely more than before—but you don’t care, not when Matt nuzzles his face into the crevice of your neck, his lips brushing against your damp skin as he catches his breath.

After a while, he carefully extracts himself from you, pulling out of your wet cunt, and you hiss at the feeling, thighs pressing together to close as Matt stands from the bed. He pulls the condom off, careful not to spill any of his cum across your carpet as he walks into your bathroom to discard it in the trash.

He comes back seconds later, climbing into the bed beside you, pulling you close to cradle you against his body. You immediately nestle into his embrace, your cheek laying on his chest and peering up at him as his hand lazily drifts across your back, alternating between rubbing and drawing random patterns.

“Was that okay?” Matt asks you, his voice soft and quiet.

You smile shyly and nod your head in response, draping your arms around his waist to pull him even closer as his head drops down to place a kiss atop of yours, squeezing you tenderly.

It was perfect.

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