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[ SLATE ] // exbf!matt x partygirl!reader blurb
CAST// exbf!matt x partygirl!reader ADVISORIES// exbf!matt eats out partygirl!reader, swearing, implied infidelity, SMUT, use of y/n RUNTIME//2.4k CONTINUITY// 📀 DISCONNECTED
[ 9:02 PM // PARTYGIRL!READER'S HOUSE ]
Your hand gripped the red sheets; a bead of sweat traced down your temple—not from heat, but from effort. The room was cool, almost cold against your flushed skin, but you were working for it. Chasing something that kept slipping away.
You hadn't had sex in a while. Your body was screaming for release.
Your ring and middle fingers pressed against that spongy spot inside, the one that usually did the trick. You worked them in and out, curling on each thrust, trying to find the angle, the rhythm, the something that would tip you over. But it was no use. The sensation was there—present, insistent—but wrong. Like tickling yourself.
Frustration built in your chest, hot and tight.
Then Matt's face flashed behind your closed eyelids. Matt above you, that concentrated look he got when he was close. The memory arrived uninvited: his cock sliding into you, the stretch and fullness of it, the low groan that rumbled from his chest when you clenched around him.
No. You tried to shove the thought away. You shouldn't be thinking about your ex right now. Not when you were supposed to be moving on.
But your pussy clenched hard around your fingers, a pulse of wet heat flooding through you that made your breath catch. Your body didn't care about pride. It only knew what worked.
The shame of it stung—that after everything, after all the ways he'd hurt you, Matt’s memory was still the only thing that could get you there. That you were alone in your bed, fucking yourself to the ghost of him.
But god, you were so desperate. Your clit throbbed, neglected and aching. Your thighs trembled.
You surrendered. Let the memory sharpen and expand. Matt's hands gripping your hips, his cock driving deep, the filthy things he'd whisper against your neck. You worked your fingers faster, grinding the heel of your palm against your clit, and clung to that image like a lifeline while you chased the release your body had been denying you.
But it was still no fucking use.
A cry of frustration tore from your throat as you pulled your slick fingers out, your cunt puffy and throbbing and empty. The ache didn't fade—it only sharpened, spreading through your hips and down your thighs.
You puffed out your cheeks, breathing deep, trying to cool the fever burning under your skin. It didn't work. Your pulse hammered in your ears.
Your phone sat on the nightstand. Right there. Within reach.
Your hand moved anyway, fingers trembling as they closed around it. The screen lit up, too bright in the dim room. You scrolled to his name before you could stop yourself, and just seeing it—Matt, with that stupid contact photo where he's making a face at the camera—made your heart lurch and your clit pulse again.
You jabbed his name before you could think about it anymore.
The phone rang. Once. Twice. Your chest rose and fell too fast, breath shallow with nerves and arousal and the creeping certainty that this was a mistake.
"Hello?" His voice crackled through the speaker, low and familiar, and it hit you like a physical thing—a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your belly.
"Matt." It came out breathy. Whiny. You tried to control it. but your voice betrayed you.
Silence on the other end. Just for a beat. Then—
The pet name landed like a hand between your legs. Your thighs clenched involuntarily, and you hated him for it. Hated the way he said it, that low purr, taunting and knowing. He knew exactly what he was doing.
"What are you doing right now?" The question left your mouth before you could stop it, and you immediately winced. Stupid. Why were you making small talk?
Matt scoffed. "What d'ya need?"
Straight to it. No pretense. Your cheeks burned.
"Can you come over?" The words scraped out of you, rough and small. Each syllable cost you something.
"Why?" He had an inkling of why. He just wanted to hear you say it.
"Just come over." You snapped.
"I'm not going if you don't tell me why." His voice was casual, almost amused, and that made it worse. He was enjoying this.
"Y/N." He echoed your tone exactly, mocking.
You went silent. Your free hand twisted in the red sheets, knuckles white. Was this really worth it? Admitting out loud that you couldn't get yourself off without him? That after everything—after the breakup, after the hurt, after swearing you were done—you still needed him?
He repeated your name again, checking to see if you were still on the line.
"I can't cum without you." The words tumbled out too fast, strung together, desperate and humiliating and true.
A soft laugh on the other end. Not cruel, exactly, but satisfied. "I'll be over soon, baby."
You hung up first, Dropped the phone onto the sheets like it had burned you. Your hand was shaking. Whatever pride you'd had left, you'd just traded it for the promise of relief.
You didn't bother getting dressed. The most you managed was pulling your thong back on.
Ten minutes later, your phone chimed. Matt's text: here.
You tried not to rush to the door. Tried to hold onto whatever dignity remained. But your feet moved faster than you wanted them to.
You pulled the door open. Matt stood on the other side, an amused smirk already playing at his lips. His eyes traveled over your messy hair, down the thin tee clinging to your chest—nipples hard and visible through the fabric—then landed on the lacy red thong.
He'd clearly been gaming when you called. A backwards cap covered his brown curls, his shirt wrinkled like he'd grabbed the first thing he could find. Sweatpants hung low on his hips, showing the Calvin Klein band of his boxers. The sight of him—casual, confident, knowing exactly what he did to you—made heat pool low in your belly all over again.
"Wow, someone's eager," he said, that teasing lilt in his voice.
"Shut up." You gritted your teeth, reached out, and gripped the front of his shirt to yank him inside.
Matt let you drag him in, his smirk widening as he kicked the door shut behind him. His hand came up to cup your cheek, and then his mouth was on yours—warm, insistent, familiar. You kissed him back without hesitation, your body remembering what your mind tried to forget.
His tongue slid across your bottom lip. You parted for him immediately, and he groaned into your mouth when your tongues met.
His hand settled on your waist, gripping the soft flesh there. The heat of his palm against your bare skin made you shiver. His other hand tangled into your hair and tugged sharply at the roots, coaxing a moan from your throat.
No words. Just his hands guiding you backward to the couch, pushing your hips down against the cushions.
Your pussy ached so badly you wanted to skip everything and just have him make you cum already. You were dripping, thighs slick with it.
Matt knelt in front of you, trailing kisses from your lips down your jaw to your neck. Your scent hit him hard, and his cock twitched in response. The tiny whimpers you let out each time he used his teeth made him want to hear more.
Normally he'd take his time. Worship those perky tits, suck on your nipples until you were squirming. But you were radiating need, and he could feel it coming off you in waves. He'd give you relief. Eventually. But he'd never seen you this desperate before, and part of him wanted to drag it out. Wanted to see how far he could push you before you broke.
He gripped one of your thighs and pressed it back, opening you wider. He pulled back just enough to take you in—flushed cheeks, pouty lips parted with shallow breaths, the way your brows furrowed in frustration. You looked fucking delicious; his mouth watered.
He tugged your thong down just enough to expose the top of your pussy, then lowered his head. But instead of giving you what you wanted, he licked a slow stripe up your stomach, tasting salt and skin.
You let out a frustrated whimper, and the sound went straight to his dick. He wanted to draw more of those little noises out of you; watch the way your face contorts with pleasure.
"Oh, baby," he murmured against your skin, voice dripping with mock sympathy.
You could feel yourself unraveling. You'd been edged for an hour, every nerve ending on fire, aching for contact. You wanted to shove his face exactly where you needed him—but you also wanted to watch him eat you out with that backwards hat on. A fantasy you'd had about him so many times.
He felt the way you twitched in his hands, every muscle begging.
He trailed kisses over your belly button, pausing right above where he'd pulled your thong down.
"You want me to make you cum so bad, huh, baby?" His breath hit the wet heat between your thighs. He dragged one finger slowly down the center of your cunt, pulling your thong along with it.
The tiny touch felt so good a whimper slipped from your lips, and you hated how pathetic it made you feel.
Matt looked up at you, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Use your words, sweetheart. Tell me you want this."
The words stuck in your throat. You'd already reached your limit of sounding desperate.
"Just do something!" It came out whiny, and you hated it.
Matt retaliated immediately, pinching the flesh of your thigh hard enough to sting. "Try again. I'm doing you a favor."
You reined in your voice, though your eyes shot daggers at him. "Yes. I want this."
"Please," he added, expectant.
Your face scrunched up. Was he serious? You'd never begged him for anything.
He saw the look and read you easily. Your face always gave you away.
"It's usually what people say when someone's doing them a favor," he said, condescending.
You wanted to smack him. But if you did, he'd leave you aching.
"Please." Through gritted teeth.
The way you said it didn't satisfy him. He wanted you needy and squirming, wanted to break that control you were clinging to.
He shook his head but dove in anyway, lips latching right onto your clit and sucking hard enough to give you a taste of relief.
The moment he made contact, your thighs tensed around his head and a long gasp tore from your lungs.
He clamped both hands onto your thighs to hold you still as you squirmed. You always tasted so fucking good. Even though he wanted to drag out the teasing, wanted to hear you cry when you finally broke, he couldn't help himself—he dragged his tongue between your folds, licking up every drop, not letting anything go to waste.
His scruff scratched against the sensitive skin, adding friction that made you keen.
He parted his lips to dip his tongue into you once, swirling inside before focusing on your clit again.
He didn't question why you'd called him specifically. He knew why. Nobody else could satisfy you the way he did.
He bit down slightly on the swollen bud, and your hips jerked under him. Your hand flew to the top of his head, trying to push him off.
"What the fuck?" you scolded.
He detached his lips briefly. "Tyler couldn't make you feel this way, huh?" The name came out rough, possessive. He'd seen your Instagram stories—knew you'd been out with that guy more frequently now. The thought of someone else touching you made his jaw clench.
This time he went all in—used two fingers to spread you wider and fucked into you shallowly with his tongue while his nose nudged against your clit.
He groaned when your wetness coated his tongue. He could do this all fucking day.
Your thighs clenched around his head, the brim of his hat biting into your leg.
"Fuck, Matt." Your hips rocked against his face, chasing more friction against your clit while his tongue pressed into you.
He hummed, and the vibrations shot straight through your cunt.
He pulled his tongue out to lap at your clit over and over, the right amount of pressure to make it twitch.
He used that jealousy to fuel him, face pressing against your pussy, tongue working roughly so you could feel every groove on it.
Your back arched, you didn't even try to hold back your whimpers and moans.
The sounds of his mouth filled the quiet room, wet and obscene. He didn't let up one bit when your back arched, trying to relieve the overwhelming pleasure you were feeling. His mouth chased your pussy, staying latched onto it, skillfully licking you up.
"Matt." You mewled, the heat in your lower stomach growing more intense with each relentless lick.
He kept going, pushing you towards the edge, wanting to feel your thighs tremble around his head. His face grew slick.
The feeling in your stomach grew sharp, your orgasm crashing through before you could even grasp that you were cumming. A sharp cry ripped from your throat, making Matt groan, vibrating right against your clit. Your thighs trembled, pressing right against his head.
He loved the way it felt like you were suffocating him, forcing him to suck in air, sending new sensations through your pussy.
Your hips twitched and jerked against his face. He didn't pull away, drawing out every last shiver and noise from you.
When you finally calmed down to pants and stopped squirming, he resurfaced, leaving sweet kisses on your inner thighs.
You looked down at him, your face flushed, hair wild.
His hat was slightly askew now, face slick from your cunt. He licked his lips, not wanting the taste of you to go away just yet.
He released your thighs—red handprints blooming from how hard he was gripping you—and replaced them on your waist, hands rubbing soothingly up and down your sides.
"You still taste really fucking good." He rasped, eyes locked on your face.
You reached down and tenderly gripped his glistening chin, swiping your thumb over his bottom lip. "You got something there."
He smirked at your teasing tone.
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