MATT STONE X READER: "AN UNEXPECTED ASSIST" PART 4!
Find the entire work on Archive Of Our Own
𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: college!matt/reader, matthew stone/reader, matthew stone/you,
𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 𝗥𝗲𝗰𝗮𝗽: Newly single, you find yourself to be exceedingly starved of touch. You look for relief in an interesting place, your cocky, near intolerably sure-of-himself Intro to Film classmate. Turns out, it’s exactly what you needed.
𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝗧𝗶𝗺𝗲: approx. 36 minutes
𝗧𝗮𝗴𝘀/𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: She/Her/Hers implied reader, Frenemies to FWB, college!matt, pleasuredom!matt, tw: fluff, tw: emotions, smut that makes you smile, smut that makes your chin tremble
𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗣𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: Well, good evening. I’m going to kiss all of you immediately. I started writing this update 10 hours ago. I hope you’re satisfied by the end of it. Thank you for showing so much love and turning this into a multi-chap. You’ve all been so sweet. If you want to see more from me, spare a follow, and find my full list of works here. Many kisses, bizous.
You lay quietly in Matthew’s bed, so quietly in fact, that the only two noises in the scape were the adjacent apartment tenants shuffling and moving about faintly in the distance, and the other was Matthews’s careful, quiet breath passing over the space behind your ear.
You didn’t lay awake in discomfort, necessarily, while this may have been some small layer of the case. You blinked, watching his ceiling, considering that long forgotten mantra of “30 minutes, one time, 30 minutes, one time.”
But, here the both of you were, on the very last day of the first semester, having fallen asleep with him still inside you. (After quite the perfect orgasm, but you expected nothing less from him at this point.) What was worse, was that, he had pulled out of you, cleaning you up, and gently pulling your shorts back up over your ankles, and up your thighs, securing them in place and sliding his hand up over your bare stomach while he collected himself beneath the covers with you.
Now that, … well. A good “weekday lay” doesn’t do that.
You peered down at said shorts this morning. furrowing your brows when you-
Worse. Those were his shorts.
You settled your gaze against his shoulder, taking a minute to watch him like this…
The domesticity of this image quietly, MOMENTARILY, washing away the well acknowledged loathe in your chest for the man who lay beside you. You loved him like this, lumbering and heavy-limbed, face half-caved against the pillow… You watched him breathe and shift in his sleep, his soft new muscles that hadn’t yet been graced with adrenaline twitching as they held against you. He breathed heavily and sparsely, this visual of him so docile and gentle, the warmth of his skin becoming an aura that reluctantly drew to yours. The masculinity of him softened here into something so palatable, so gentle and warm. The ever volatile Matthew Stone couldn’t fight with you now, not when he was grumbling and heaving softly against a pillow.
You inhaled deeply, returning your gaze to the ceiling, basking the in the air of his delectable warmth, linen and heavy limbs, scathed honey skin and bathed cedar, oh, fuck.
You rolled your eyes at this delight, the “morning Matthew” this fucking Friday. The last day of the semester. And fuck, is he warm. Fuck, he smells so good.
And fuck! He left his glasses on.
You shifted your head a bit, nagging already at yourself for what you were going to do next, bringing yourself a little closer to his careful warmth, quietly drawing his glasses from his face and folding them, setting them atop the overhead table. Careful to move at this, and promptly rolling your eyes at your necessity to not wake him.
When in his somnolence he huffed, dragging his arm tighter around your waist , you grit your teeth as he pulled you flat to his chest, burying your head in the space below his chin, promptly cursing yourself for the sickening drips of warmth and delight that collected inside your chest at this little sleepy gesture.
It didn’t startle you as much as you were anticipating, just humming back a small “Mhm.”
He hummed in response, only quietly, but enough for you to hear the baritone rumble quietly in his chest. You tilted your head up, dipping your tongue into the hollow of his throat, wanting so badly to feel the vocal cords resonate there.
He hummed again, differently this time, fingers curling a little tighter around your waist, tilting his head up.
You only understood the reasoning for this phrase when you felt his cock twitch to life against your stomach, nudging against you once as you brought your tongue out again, dragging it freely across his neck now, just below his ear.
The heavy arm that was since tucked below his pillow now drew out, coming up between your chests and meeting your throat, fingers holding gently around it as you worked your tongue against him, softly squeezing your neck in time with the gentle twitches of his livening cock.
“What is it? Want me to touch you?”
His voice was so heavy with sleep, it encouraged more saliva to collect in your mouth as you continued to lathe your tongue.
While you were suppressing your body’s thundering shouts for him to touch you, please, all you could do was bring your lips around his neck and suck gently, enough to break the capillaries though, licking over the mark once when your lips departed. Of course his hips rut into you, (he really loved when you did that.)
Finally, god, his palm drew down your chest, stopping to soothe small circles into your stomach, before sliding through the hem of your-his-shorts, leading you to let out a shuddery whimper when his fingers slid gently through your warm folds, your cheeks flushing, feeling him easily glide through your morning-untouched fresh wetness, your sex only growing in warmth when he moaned aloud at what he found there, fingers gliding so easy through your labia and over your clit.
You shuddered as all the sensitive parts tingled with buzzing pleasure at his warm fingers, working gently against your clit, while he softly chuckled against your head. “Mm. Bet that feels so nice.”
You nodded against him, moaning as he continued, your hips shifting at his too-slow-for-satisfaction pace, whining against his neck. His hands left your throat, leaning closer to you as they traced down your side again, latching one arm to bar behind your back to keep you still, the other continuing to work slowly against your clit. “Mm, don’t move, let me touch you..”
You obeyed, just relaxing your body against him as your eyes screwed shut in pleasure, your clit aching with each gentle, intentionally slow circle, while you swallowed every moan that was fighting its way to your throat.
“Fuck, you’re soaked this morning,” he started with a grunt of his own, “Need me this bad, huh?”
You could only whimper in response, your walls fluttering around nothingness while he slowly worked your clit. “Yesss you do.. You want my fingers inside, hm?”
You nodded furiously against his neck, panting into it. “Say please, honey.” You ignored the little name for now, his tone too saccharine to pass it, while you uttered out the barest “please..”
You felt him chuckle again quietly against your head. “What’s that?” He said, so softly, barely above a whisper.
“Please,” you said again, gasping in delight as he failed to deny you any further, two thick fingers plunging into you and working slowly, just how you liked them, perfectly attuned to your body after all this time. You quietly whimpered into his neck, with him letting your hips rock freely into his fingers now, the grip behind your back having loosened. Warmth glittered in your stomach while his fingers pumped, his palm rocking gently against your clit, allowing you to shift over it, throbbing an urging warmth through your abdomen and up through your chest- “Gonna cum for me already?”
Your cheeks flamed at his words, not willing to admit that he was right, just letting your hips work themselves into his fingers, chest heaving at the euphoric sensation. He always knew just how to touch you, just how good it made you feel…
Worse, he brought his hand out from behind your back, moving it between the two of you now, drawing your shirt up over your stomach and over your chest, taking a shaky palm to catch at your breast, squeezing it gently as his thumb traced over your nipple and rubbed against it just the way he knew you liked-
You whined again, walls tensing around his fingers, a warning-
He shifted, nesting his head onto your shoulder while he did both of these things, breathing pants into your ear as he worked you. He cooed, “Tell me you wanna cum..”
You did, it was a whimpery, whiny admission, your chest heaving with every thrust of his fingers inside you, only to feel him shake his head softly on your shoulder. “Mm-mm, Say my name..”
You whimpered again, feeling him place an encouraging kiss to the outside of your ear, “C’mon..”
There was a foreign, jittery feeling present at the base of your belly-
Your eyes threatened to roll as you urged it out, the inside of your thighs twitching wildly at the sound of it leaving your mouth: “Please, Matthew..”
With not another second, you came at your own words, while he let your hips jerk against his fingers, his other hand locking around your waist sharply, rubbing your back in support, as you let out a series of delighted whimpers, then a small gasp as he let out a stuttered groan of his own, his hips shifting sharply for a moment, heaving into your body while you had pushed through the final shudders of your own orgasm.
You panted through the comedown, half of your brain confused about his noises- While he always would echo your sounds of pleasure, sympathetically, gratefully, yes, but the noise he had just shared was different, one that you typically only heard when he was inside of you, or when your lips were wrapped around his length.
You blinked into him, a mix of euphoria and confusion tugging inside of you, feeling him still against you, only breathing quietly against your shoulder, the both of you laying in breathy silence.
His continued silence told you that he did NOT want to talk about it, and you weren’t going to push it, the both of you dressing quietly for the day, with you, quietly swimming through the questions in your mind of how exactly you were going to show up to class at the same exact time as him without raising any suspicion.
He hummed quietly as he kneeled to tie your shoes, with you shifting on your weight, blinking down at him, while he patted your calf once for you to lift your foot, the shoelace having been caught beneath it.
You twitched your lips when he stood, brows raised, offering a hand out for yours.
You pursed your lips now as you took it, following him out of the door to his apartment, not letting his hand free of yours as he locked the door, turning with a cock of his head to walk down the hallway with you.
The two of you turned around sharply, your eyes widening as you wrangled your hand out of his, slapping it to your side with haste, quickly throwing a scowl to him. “Uhh- don’t fucking, don’t forget your fucking. Don’t um,”
You desperately met his eyes, flitting between him and what seemed to be your other classmate from across the hallway.
“As if I’d want to see you again on purpose.” He finished confidently, letting his head shake at you, eyes wide and still, gesturing a small dismissive wave behind him while you went to turn quickly on your heels.
Looks like you’re taking the other way out this morning.
You heard him utter brief pleasantries with your other classmate as you descended the steps, heart still surging with adrenaline.
You still weren’t positive what it was you were trying to hide, and if it was more from your peers than yourself.
Your final class in Intro was quiet, satisfying, lacking any unpleasant remarks from the entirety of the class, or from your professor.
Your final project was one you had been anticipating in glee from the very first day. You were to create a feature-less short film of your own, stills and montages, whatever it was that you were drawn to creating, the only criteria being a few elements listed on a rubric from which you had learned throughout the semester.
You remember your pools of ideas about this project from the first reading of the syllabus, tapping your feet in excitement about all that you could do.
You swallowed as you approached the front of your class, having scratched all of your original ideas heretofore, for something else, still piecing together your reasoning for this change as you tentatively introduced your film to the class, training your eyes anywhere but on Matthew as you gestured for your professor to play the file.
You retreated back to your seat, chewing your lip as you watched it come up.
A stacky, vibrantly colored montage of clips from Megaforce flashed on the projector, your gaze flitting between your professor and the smoky, caliginous flashes of color in the sharp cylindrical shot from the projector to the wall, keeping your eyes strictly averse from your piece, fearing that if you would come face to face with it, you would melt in mortification about its implications, the dedication it took to get through editing the short, your hands themselves having typed out “Hal Needham” proudly, but not really, in a thick, era-fitting beveled font.
You grit your teeth when the short film closed, keeping your eyes trained on your notebook, not willing to look up to meet Matt’s gaze from across the lecture hall, only hearing his name (fuck, his name) being called out by your professor after she had praised your work with raised, unexpecting brows, moving onto his final, now.
You still didn’t bother raising your head to him, even through his brief introduction, where he had begun with what you heard as a chuckle and a low draw, introducing the piece only briefly and with little context.
Your head only raised as the audio came up, the ostensibly foul material to the untrained ear, a profound sequence of lines that were sexual, divine, introspectively filthy, that could only come from Ingmar Bergman’s Persona.
You blinked as you watched the screen, a still image with text, some digitally glowing yellow, some in white…
You gaped, blinking, stills from the film shifting in and out of frame, the Swedish dialogue echoing through the speakers as text followed, leading you to turn to look at Matt, who was tilting his head at the screen idly, a thumb coming up to his mouth, blinking while his chin rested atop his palm.
…“You know what I thought after I saw a film of yours one night? When I got home and looked in the mirror, I thought, ‘We look alike.’ Don't get me wrong. You're much more beautiful. But we're alike somehow. I think I could turn into you if I really tried…”
When the video had faded, the teacher had praised him with a furrow of her brows, “That was beautiful, Matthew.”
He nodded absentmindedly, shrugging his shoulders. “I know.”
You wanted to scoff but you could only sit blinking, shifting your feet and quelling your rising breath.
The professor had thanked your class, delivering her final departure before falling the class out, leading you to rise with heavy legs, delivering passing departs beneath your breath to your classmates, arms feeling cement-like as you gathered your things, chewing your lip when you felt that now-familiar presence behind you.
You swallowed when you felt his hand at your shoulder.
“It was. Not… bad.” You corrected, reeling your appreciation in a bit, blinking at him while your chest rose. It swelled, really.
“I’m glad you…” he started, jaw shifting in thought. “Came to your senses.”
You laughed, shaking your head, bringing a palm to the back of your head, smoothing your hair. “Right.”
It didn’t feel awkward, necessarily, just foreign, looking at him without feeling the word “hate!” rise to the front display of your neurons, letting it swathe around your forehead before it disappeared entirely, just for a moment. “I’m, look, are you going home for break?”
He nodded slowly, brows raised. “Mm. Tomorrow.”
You nodded back, swallowing. “Me too.”
He tucked his lips, looking to his feet as he shuffled with his hands. Before uttering, “Later, do you,” he started, raising his head to yours. “You could come over before I leave.”
You nodded before you realized you were making the gesture, clearing your throat before you spoke, letting the waiver in your voice fade, first. “That’s probably a good idea.”
“Okay. I’m, uh. I will see you later.”
You nodded again, letting him maintain his brevity, cocking his head with a small: “My place is open to you.” Before he departed, leaving your cheeks raw and rosed, twitching your lips before they let out a sigh, raising your backpack-which now felt so much heavier- over your shoulder..
You had packed your things, but you sat cross-legged on the floor of your apartment, looking to your bag, chocked with just enough to get you home for the brief break, this momentary departure feeling oddly permanent, just because it was in the general direction away from Matthew.
You knew you would see him again, in the next semester, but it felt so different this… some unspoken framework of understanding between the two of you. That you were going to see each other, and on purpose, and this time with a distinct lack of contempt, some appreciation for your likeness to one another.
You figured. Perhaps, the dissonance between the both of you held a rationale that went like this: he was similar to you, and you didn’t like it. Ergo, you were similar to him, and he didn’t like that. Holding a mirror to your brilliance would duplicate it, thus invalidating yours or his respectively, or so the two of you thought.
And now, when you stood face to face with him, once again, in the doorway of his apartment, meeting his gentle gaze, sensitive, you blinked again with this corresponding nuance, the final seams of your hatred for him seeming to darn into a verdict. His confidence, his arrogance, an artifact you lacked outwardly, but reflected on the inside, perhaps now letting it bubble to a palatable envy. A respect.
You swallowed as you kept his gaze, letting him blink back at you with raised brows, offering a quiet smile, and a brief, “Hi, pretty.”
You shook your head, pushing past him into his apartment, feeling him approach quietly behind you after shutting his door.
You slumped onto his bed, letting your arms follow above your head, looking down to see him plant his feet in front of you, his palms coming idly over your bare thighs. (You did not return the shorts- and you scoffed at yourself at the fact that you were even wearing them, the owner aside, the simple fact that the biting cold of December had crept goosebumps onto your legs…)
“So?” He drew, palms still working over your thighs.
“We’re going home, and shit.”
“Mhm.” He continued, inquisitively, another palm coming up to bring your hair flat on either sides of you, fingers working at the zipper of your sweater, peeling it down-
You toyed briefly with the thought before you bit the bullet, letting it urge out of you, bringing your gaze hastily to the ceiling. “Are you gonna fuck somebody else?”
He stilled, then he laughed, retreating his hands from your body. This led you to sit up on your elbows, blinking as you met his amused gaze.
You didn’t know how to respond, so you parroted. “Areee… you?”
You nodded, brusque. “‘Lot can happen in two weeks.” You tucked your lips, gesturing between the both of you.
He shook his head with pursed lips, bringing his glasses from his face to squeeze at the bridge of his nose gently. “What, are you gonna miss me, or something?”
You spat a forced laugh, shrugging your shoulders with haste. “I don’t know.”
“You like when I fuck you.” He enunciated, bringing a palm to his chest. “Me.”
“Well, I’m not gonna like. Go to your house.”
You shared an idle silence, swinging your foot over his bed with an empty beat.
“You wanna have phone sex?”
You spat another laugh, genuine this time. “What year is it?!”
He shrugged, shaking his head with a smile.
“So fuckin’ needy,” he dragged it, approaching you now with a grin, “Can’t go two weeks without fucking me?”
He dragged his hands over your torso, tugging at your sweater before you leaned up, letting him pull it off of you, right-side-out, draping it over an adjacent chair as he retreated, palms coming to push your shirt up. You used your elbows to crawl back and oblige, letting half of his body onto the bed, crawling atop you, laying his head across your neck with his two hands still beneath your shirt.
“Dunno. Maybe I’ll find a substitute.”
He lifted his head sharply, his glasses knocking into your face at the motion, brows furrowed wildly before they fell, his eyes threateningly narrowing at you. “What?”
The seethe with which this was spat made your breath catch, the letter “T” a thick, angry staccato.
“I’m just, like, kidding…” You spoke it softly, your brows faltering at his genuine concern. He looked, like, authentically hurt.
You were kidding, I mean, you hadn’t cum better in your life, certainly not by the hands of another.
“You can’t, fucking…” He lowered his head, adjusting it to peer at the adjacent wall. “Do that.”
You knew “why”, but you bit, anyway, this side of him, one you were yet to see. Matthew? Jealous? You gulped it down, headily as you watched it come over him.
You watched his jaw tense, bringing himself fully onto the bed, shifting so his back was against the wall, legs falling to bow, tucking his lips as he regarded you, head tilting. He let out a little dry chuckle, very dry, so dry that it actually stung. “You like me.” He squinted, more of a statement than a question. Perhaps a demand.
You blinked, coming to sit as well, folding your hands in your lap.
Your autonomy dissolved when he gestured for you, crawling on your knees to mount him, pulling both of your legs on either side of him, his hands skating up your back, dragging your shirt up and off of you in their wake, gritting his teeth as he lay his head across your bare chest. “You like me.”
His voice was a wavering, guileless and pitiful mantra, more to himself than to you.
You rolled your eyes, hands coming over his head, holding it there while he spoke.
He let his chin come up against your chest, looking up at you. “You fucking… like me.”
It was a prompt, perhaps, that you ignored, instead letting him divert, fingers catching at the hem of your shorts, one hand moving to tear them down your thighs, the other working your underwear as you raised to your knees, letting him withdraw them in desperation. When you went for the hem of his shorts, he clasped his palm up around your throat, squeezing a little harder than he had previously, perhaps unintentionally, bringing your face to meet close to his, his lips ghosting over yours as he spoke again. His throat was caught so deeply, he sounded inebriated with anger, maybe, urgency. “I know you like me,” he started, throat bobbing with a single swallow, “‘Cause you could cum just like this.. Huh?” You swallowed when he squeezed again. “Huh?”
You nodded your defeated reply, before he tsked, finally lifting his hips to pull his shorts down, eyes on you the entire time. He only dropped his grip on your neck to look down, lining your hips up over him.
Typically, he would spend a delicious amount of time working you up, wettening you to get ready for that familiar sting, but he failed at such a task this time, you were, wet of course, the equilibrium of arousal that pooled every time you were in his presence, but his invasion still stung, while he shushed your whimpered cry, two hands coming to sooth into your sides apologetically, keeping himself still inside of you to let you adapt to the entrance. “I know, shh, I’m sorry…”
He let your arms stagger against him with the intrusion, coming to clasp around both of his hands, holding them at your sides while you let the mix of pain and pleasure wash through you, finally moving against him slowly when the pain had eased away, with him, letting you set your own pace. You leaned your body down a bit to kiss him, meeting his lips gently as you rocked along him, brows furrowing against his forehead as your lips moved together, only departed with a quiet wet smack when you realized the both of you had stopped moving altogether. He huffed, releasing his hold on your hands and moving it around your waist instead, holding your weight as he fucked up into you himself now, the tiniest shake of his head before he leaned in this time, pressing his lips against you, introducing his tongue freely into your mouth, letting it gently lathe with yours. You moaned into his mouth as he fucked up into you, his pace slowing a bit, drawing out a different… delicate moan from him in response. Your lips departed yet again, and you startled at his cutting grunt. It was frustrating, this, enough to let you flinch, with his expression falling into sympathy, delivering two soft kisses to your cheeks in apology before he changed his pace abruptly, fucking into you with such force, it agitated your body, knocking your head back. You inhaled sharply, your hands finding his again, squeezing at his palms to please still him, and he complied with a quiet whimper, hands stilling in yours while you continued to set the pace, the two of you sharing soft pants now, increasing in speed as you slowed your rocks against him, leaning into kiss him while he squeezed your palms in a gentle urge, departing your lips as your pressed your forehead to his, nodding quietly while you kept your lips against his cheek, sharing utters of each other’s names just quietly.
You were blind-drunk on ecstasy with him inside you, sharing heaved, nearly mute admissions to one another, gently introducing them with every thrust, mixed polarized with lustful obscenities at the sensations of the other-
You shifted back while he let his head fall back against the wall, chest heaving with fatigued euphoria, while he wordlessly came, the delicate series of moans that came from him ripping you now, quickly to follow, just watching him like this, panting his moans while his lips parted, palms fighting with yours to pull you closer, with you just wanting to watch him come undone before you, cheeks wildly reddened and watered, the last of his sob-like moans being cut as your walls fluttered around him, obliging to his pulling grasp finally, falling to meet his sharply moving chest, beads of sweat from his brow flattening against your cheek as you lie there, sweaty, jittery palms still held in his.
You both adjusted your heads, one of you sharing the barest chuckle before the other responded with the same, whispered praises being shared in the same way, sympathetic and in worn-out acclamation.
You acknowledged only one simple fact in the back of your fatigued, pleasure-filled rationale: you would devote everything, anything you had- to getting Matthew to deliver this profound expression of desire, this devotion again- You would do anything to give him that honest, esoteric to no one but the two of you, sacred level of pleasure, so long as his hands never left the grasp of your own.
A/N: OKAY I DID IT WAIT NO STOP I HAVE LIKE TEN MINUTES TO SPARE IT’S DONE HOLY FUCK MY CHEEKS ARE RED HERE YOU GO
give me notes thoughts feelings concerns critiques any other pls i love you
ps the shorts in question
they keep appearing on my pinterest and they’re so canon he would wear 5inch inseams because he is a sloot
discoholicmusic
janainaart
prguitarman
2087
