HIII!! Can u maybe do a Auston Matthews x singer!reader idk maybe him at her shows she like Sabrina Carpenter Tate McRae vibes?? Only if u want! 
Thank you for requesting! I hope you like it!🫶🏻
Front Row to My Heart AM34
Summary: Auston Matthews keeps showing up at Y/N’s concerts, quietly supporting her from the VIP section until their chemistry finally spills into a late night dinner after her show. With teasing banter, soft confessions, and a kiss that had been building for months, they both admit they want more than friendship.
Word Count: 2.7k
Requests: OPEN
Main Masterlist TOR Masterlist
I knew I should not have checked my phone five minutes before stepping onstage. Every time I did, something chaotic happened. A rumor. A last minute change from my manager. A text from my mom reminding me to stand up straight. Something that messed with my head right as I was supposed to be thinking about breathing and hitting notes and remembering choreography instead of spiraling mentally.
But tonight? Tonight my phone lit up with something that made every thought fly straight out of my brain.
Auston: You ready to kill it tonight? I’m in my seat.
My heart immediately performed its own little choreography routine that I definitely had not rehearsed.
He was here.
Again.
At my show.
I tried not to grin like an idiot in front of the hair stylist who was still putting the finishing touches on my braids, but it was a hopeless effort. My reflection smiled back at me in the vanity mirror, cheeks pink with the kind of giddy warmth I tried and failed to hide.
“You got good news?” my makeup artist asked, smirking knowingly.
I tried to shrug casually. “Just a friend coming tonight.”
She lifted a brow at the word friend. “Is this the same friend who was secretly singing your lyrics in the VIP section last month?”
I groaned and hid my face behind my hands. “He was not secretly singing. He was… trying to be quiet.”
“Which made it more obvious,” she said with a laugh.
I shook my head, cheeks still burning. “He is just being supportive.”
She gave me that sure look that I had seen far too often. “Right. Supportive. And very handsome.”
I pretended not to hear that last part even though my stomach fluttered with embarrassing enthusiasm.
A knock came on the dressing room door. My manager poked his head in.
“Y/N, ready for standby?”
I stood up, smoothing my glittery stage outfit as my nerves hummed with excitement. But as I walked out toward the hallway, I checked my phone one more time.
Auston: I brought earplugs in case the crowd is crazy. You know. Safety first.
I snorted. Safety first coming from an NHL player was possibly the funniest thing I had ever read.
Me: I think you can handle a concert crowd
Auston: Not a crowd screaming for you. That is terrifying.
I blushed again and locked my phone before my heart could melt onto the floor.
The roar of the arena hit me like a warm wave as soon as I stepped onstage. My band started the opening notes. The lights flashed. The crowd screamed louder. It never got old. Not once. Not even on the nights when my voice was tired or my feet hurt or I had barely slept. The rush always swept everything else away.
But tonight, the rush had a little extra electricity in it. Because out of twenty thousand people, one pair of eyes felt like they were the only ones on me.
By song three, I could not help but scan the VIP section. And there he was. Auston Matthews. Star of the Toronto Maple Leafs. Six foot three of calm confidence and unfair cheekbones. Wearing a black cap and a hoodie even though literally everyone around him could obviously still tell who he was.
He saw me look his way. He lifted his hand and gave me the smallest, most secret wave. The kind meant only for me.
My heart tripped over itself so violently that I almost missed my next lyric. Almost.
I powered through the show with a little extra fire in every note. Every time I spun or danced or hit a high note, I wondered if he was smiling. If he was proud. If he liked seeing me like this, doing what I loved, lit up by the stage lights.
When I reached my acoustic set, the quieter part of the night, I sat on the edge of the stage with my guitar. The crowd softened their screams to cheers. The lights dimmed to a soft gold glow. My heart calmed just enough to let a slow smile spread across my face.
“This next one,” I said into the mic, “is about having someone in your corner. Even if they make fun of you for your warmup routine or tell you that you drink too much iced coffee.”
The crowd laughed. Auston dropped his head in his hands in the VIP section, shoulders shaking.
I pretended I did not see him.
“It is called Front Row,” I continued, fingers strumming the first chords. “For anyone who knows what it is like to have someone show up for you again and again.”
I felt his gaze on me for the entire song. Warm. Focused. Steady. When the last chord faded into the applause, I inhaled deeply, trying not to let my emotions show too clearly.
The rest of the set flew by in a whirlwind of lights and screams and energy, and by the final song, I felt like every inch of me sparkled. As the confetti rained and the arena roared, I bowed to the crowd and waved goodbye.
But my eyes drifted to the VIP section one last time.
Auston was already gone.
He always slipped out early to avoid getting swarmed. I knew that. But part of me still felt a little tug of disappointment every time.
I had no reason to feel that way. He always waited backstage.
But still.
I headed offstage, heart pounding with leftover adrenaline, only to nearly trip over my own feet when I turned the corner and found him leaning against the wall, arms crossed, cap backward now, smile bright enough to outshine the stage lights.
“There she is,” he said.
My face heated instantly. “There you are. I thought you left.”
“I did,” he said, pushing off the wall. “Left the section. To come back here. Faster. So I could see you.”
It was official. I was going to spontaneously combust.
He stepped closer, wiping a smudge of glitter from my cheek with his thumb. “You were incredible.”
“You say that every time.”
“I mean it every time.”
My breath caught. His eyes flicked down to my lips for half a second. Just enough to make the room tilt gently.
“You are sweating,” he added, teasing.
“I just did a full concert,” I shot back.
“I know. I watched.” His grin widened. “Front row from the side, technically.”
I rolled my eyes but could not stop smiling. “Did you use the earplugs?”
“Nope.”
“Then why did you bring them?”
He shrugged casually. “Because I like having an excuse to come to your dressing room and say something stupid.”
I laughed before I could stop myself. He looked ridiculously satisfied by it.
“So,” he said softly. “What now? Celebrate with your band? Go home and rest? Or…”
He paused.
I raised an eyebrow. “Or what?”
“Or…” He rubbed the back of his neck in that way he did when he was nervous, which always surprised me because this man faced giant professional hockey players for a living. “Or you could come with me. I booked us a late dinner. Well. I booked a table. You can choose whether it is us or… just you and a giant meal while I sit there quietly.”
My cheeks warmed again. “You booked a dinner?”
He nodded. “You burn like a million calories jumping around onstage. Someone has to make sure you eat.”
“You worry about me eating?” I asked, surprised.
“Every day,” he admitted without hesitation. “You forget when you are stressed.”
The warmth in my chest unfurled slowly like a flower after sunlight.
“You really are in my corner,” I whispered before I could stop the words.
He smiled a small, soft smile I had seen only a handful of times. The kind that felt private.
“I like being in your corner,” he murmured.
For a moment, the hallway felt like it had shrunk to just the two of us, breath mingling, hearts buzzing, a closeness that felt dangerously easy.
But then he cleared his throat lightly and stepped back just enough to break the spell.
“So. Dinner?”
I grinned. “Let me change first.”
I changed into a sweatshirt and leggings, threw my hair into a loose ponytail, and wiped the glitter from my cheeks. I still looked slightly sparkly, but at least I no longer looked like a disco ball that had come to life.
When I stepped out into the hallway, Auston blinked like he had not expected this version of me. Comfortable. Bare faced. Real.
His eyes softened. “You look cute.”
“Cute?” I echoed. “After all that sweating?”
He laughed. “That is when you look the cutest.”
I tried not to melt into the floor tiles.
We slipped out the back exit into a quiet parking area where his car waited. He opened the passenger door for me like a complete gentleman, and I pretended I was not blushing at that either.
“So,” he said as he started driving into the night. “Was your favorite part of the show the moment when you almost tripped on your own mic cable?”
I gasped indignantly. “I did not almost trip.”
“Oh you did. You did a little hop to cover it. Very smooth. Very noticeable.”
I groaned and covered my face. “I thought no one saw that.”
He laughed. “Y/N. Twenty thousand people saw it. Including me. I had to sit down because I was laughing so hard.”
“You are the worst.”
“Probably,” he said. “But you love it.”
I glared at him. “You can not prove that.”
He smirked. “I do not have to. Your face does it for me.”
I shoved his shoulder gently. “Focus on driving.”
“Yes singer girl.”
I rolled my eyes but could not stop smiling. This was why I liked him. Why I looked for him in every crowd. Why I wrote tiny references to him in my songs and prayed no one noticed. He made me feel like I could breathe. Like I did not have to perform offstage.
Dinner was in a quiet restaurant on the edge of downtown. Dim lights. Soft music. Privacy. The kind of place where no one would bother us. The kind of place that made my heart leap because Auston had clearly chosen it on purpose.
The host greeted him quietly and led us to a secluded booth in the back. When we sat down, the silence was easy. Warm. He looked at me over the candlelight with that hazy, affectionate gaze that made my stomach do professional-level gymnastics.
“You hungry?” he asked.
“Starving.”
“I knew it.”
We ordered pasta and salads and warm bread, and as soon as the food arrived, I finally relaxed fully into my seat. Auston watched me take my first bite with this pleased look, like feeding me was a victory he had worked toward.
“Good?” he asked.
“Perfect,” I said, cheeks full.
He grinned. “You get this look on your face when you really like something.”
“What look?”
“That one. Right now.”
I covered my face again. “Stop staring.”
“I am not staring. I am observing.”
“That is worse.”
“Sorry. Can not help it.”
I peeked at him through my fingers.
He was absolutely staring.
And smiling.
And devastatingly attractive in the dim lighting.
“So,” he said, leaning back casually. “Tell me about the new song you teased tonight.”
My heart fluttered. “You noticed that?”
“Y/N. I notice everything you do onstage. I could write a scouting report on your setlist.”
I laughed. “Okay. Fine. It is about… someone supportive. Someone who shows up for me.”
“That sounds like a good someone.”
“He is,” I said before I realized I had basically admitted it was about him.
Auston tilted his head, eyes teasing but also soft. “Is he?”
I swallowed. “Yes.”
He held my gaze in the warm candlelight.
“Then he is lucky,” he said quietly.
My breath caught.
I gathered every ounce of courage inside me. “He comes to my shows a lot.”
“He must like hearing you sing.”
“I think he likes annoying me more.”
Auston smirked. “He probably thinks you like it.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What makes him think that?”
“Because you smile every time he does it.”
My cheeks burned.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Y/N. Why do you let him get away with it?”
I knew exactly what he was asking.
And I knew exactly what answer I wanted to give.
“Because,” I said, barely above a whisper, “it is him.”
He exhaled softly, eyes darkening in a way that made my heart sprint. His hand moved across the table, slow and natural as if it knew exactly where it wanted to go. Then his fingers brushed mine, gently at first, then more surely as he intertwined them.
I stared at our hands, warmth rushing through my chest.
When I looked back up, he was watching me with something unguarded and impossibly sincere.
“Y/N,” he murmured, “you know I like you, right?”
My heart stopped.
He squeezed my hand softly. “I thought I was being obvious.”
“You were not obvious,” I whispered.
“Then I will fix that.”
He stood up, walked around to my side of the booth, and slid in beside me. My breath hitched as he settled close enough that our shoulders brushed. Close enough that I could hear the slight tremble in his exhale.
He turned toward me.
“You are my favorite part of the day,” he said quietly.
I felt something inside my chest break open in the best possible way.
“You come offstage glowing,” he went on, “and all I want is to be there. To see it. To be the first one you talk to after.”
“Auston,” I whispered. “You do not have to say all that.”
“I do,” he said, voice low. “Because if I do not, I am going to keep showing up and pretending I am just your friend.”
My breath stalled. “And you are not?”
He shook his head slowly. “I want more than that. If you do.”
The world went very still.
“I do,” I whispered.
He smiled with so much relief I thought he might melt. Then he leaned in, soft and careful, giving me every chance to stop him.
I did not.
His lips brushed mine, light as a breath at first. Then with more confidence when I kissed him back. Warm. Sweet. Gentle. Like he was terrified of hurting me and desperate to touch me all at once.
When we finally pulled away, cheeks warm, breaths unsteady, he pressed his forehead to mine.
“I have wanted to do that for months,” he whispered.
“Me too.”
He laughed softly. “Now you tell me.”
I shoved him lightly. He caught my hand and kissed it.
Dinner turned into dessert. Dessert turned into lingering in the booth, talking about everything and nothing. Eventually we ended up outside, leaning against his car under the streetlights, still too wrapped up in each other to leave.
He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear and smiled.
“So what now?” he asked.
I slid my arms around his neck and leaned into him. “Now you stop pretending you are just a friend.”
“And I get to come to more shows?”
“Yes.”
“And sit front row?”
“If you want.”
He grinned. “I always want.”
I kissed him again.
Soft.
Easy.
Certain.
And when he finally drove me home, fingers intertwined with mine over the center console, I knew this was only the beginning.
Auston Matthews was in my corner.
And I was very, very happily in his.
the cutest ever omg
