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eideticmemory · 4 years

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EVER SINCE NEW YORK VI | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

Description: I was messaged saying: “If you don’t write a young Matthew enemies to lovers fic featuring an obsession with sucking on boobs then what’s the point 😔.” So, here it is, folks! The ultimate College!Matthew fic.

PART 6! Read Part 5 here!

SOUNDTRACK:

Miss you - The Rolling Stones.

Like Real People Do - Hozier.

Sweet Creature - Harry Styles.

Word Count: 4,619.

Rating: M.

Warning/Includes: Sexual intercourse, drinking, recreational drug use, a bit of angst.

Summer, Before Senior Year.

Quarantine.

“You awake?”

“Yeah.”

“You were asleep, I’m sorry.”

“Matthew, it’s okay, really.”

“What time is it there?”

You pulled your phone away from your ear to glance at the screen, “Three in the morning.”

“Damn, [y/n], I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “What’s up?”

“Can we facetime?”

“I look a mess.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” he replied. “Please?”

You sighed, “Okay. Okay, call me.”

He did, and when you answered, you had the camera focused on your face, your lamp light on.

“Oh, God, Matthew!” You shouted. “I thought you were going to show your face, you pervert!”

“My face isn’t hard right now.”

“Nasty!”

“I thought you liked it?”

“You’re a disgusting little boy.”

“[y/n], please. I’m so horny right now, and I’ve been jerking off forever, but I can’t get off. Help? Please?”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at him. “Dirty boy. Filthy boy.”

“If this is your method of dirty talk, it isn’t working for me.”

You let out a dry laugh. His cock was front and center on your phone screen, his hand wrapped around it, jerking it slowly. “Tell me how to help, Matthew.”

“Show me those tits, pretty lady.”

You cackled, “Nasty!”

But you still pulled your shirt up, revealing your breasts, which were sitting pretty without the restraint of a bra. Matthew flipped the camera to his face at lightning speed, holding his screen close to his face. “When the fuck did you get your nipples pierced?” His voice was strained, high pitched, laced with shock and surprise.

“Oh,” you said. “The week I got home. Before the tattoo shops closed.”

“Do you like them?” You asked.

“Matthew?” You called.

But he was silent. Actually, he wasn’t silent, he was grunting. He was grunting, and jerking himself off, his wrist going numb from the speed and intensity that he was using. You froze the moment you realized what was happening, your camera perfectly angled at your chest. You watched Matthew’s face scrunch up, the way it always does when he’s nearing his orgasm, and your breath caught in your throat. He was so hot, geez. He stared at his phone, trembling, weak, panting quietly. He sucked in a sharp breath, and as he exhaled, the breath came out shaky and loud — louder than he intended — and he released himself all over his hand.

“You good?” You whispered.

“Ah, fuck,” he mumbled. His breathing was hard, raspy. He had to clear his throat before he spoke. “Why didn’t you tell me about the nipple piercings?”

You giggled, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he chuckled, wiping himself off before he fixed his pants. “Did they hurt?”

“Not really,” you shrugged. “It was quick, the piercer was nice.”

“Good, good,” he nodded. “Can I see them again?”

You sighed with a bit of laughter mixed in, and you did as you were asked. The two of you stayed up for another five hours, talking, laughing, helping each other come. By the time eight in the morning rolled around, you were completely shirtless, and Matthew was close to falling asleep. But he didn’t want to. He kept on bringing up different topics, pulling you into all sorts of conversations, just so you would stay on the phone.

“Matthew,” you whispered. “Go to bed.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“If you go to sleep right now, you will wake up to titty pictures.”

He paused, “Throw in some ass pics, too?”

“You got it,” you nodded.

“Okay, goodnight, [y/n].”

“Goodnight, Matthew.”

And so began a very long, very horny, dirty, nasty quarantine.

When you first arrived home, it was a constant waiting game to see who would call who first. When Matthew woke up without you that day, he held his phone in his chest for a long time, waiting for it to ring, to buzz, anything. But it never did. Because you were doing the same thing — watching, waiting, hoping. Matthew eventually got too swept up in his own move to reach out, so you sat at home for days without so much as a word. Until sunday night, when he finally called — horny and desperate.

You had to continue your online classes that Monday, after the long night of facetime sex, and he was all you could think about. All you could think about. There was radio silence for the first few hours of the day. You blindly rolled through your classes, glancing at your phone every few minutes. You finally gave in by the time you were in your last class, picked up your cell phone, and pulled up Matthew’s text messages. You didn’t know what to say, what to type, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. And just as you went to press a letter, a message came through.

M: i had a dream about you

You bit your lip to contain a smile.

Y: rly? what happened in this dream?

M: call me and i’ll tell you

You glanced at your laptop, your professor still rambling on and on. It was definitely unlike you to choose a boy over class. But, class was just about over. And Matthew wasn’t just a boy.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you said into your phone, smiling at Matthew’s voice.

“What are you doing?”

“Just finished class. What are you doing?”

“I’m in class right now, actually,” he told you. “Animation.”

“Hot,” you giggled at the noise of his lecture in the background.

“Thanks. My dream was hotter, though.”

“Oh? Was it?” You grinned, laying back in bed.

“Yeah. You were a sexy nurse.”

“Matthew!” You exclaimed, erupting in a fit of laughter.

“Okay, you weren’t a nurse. But you were there, and I was there—“

“We were both there.”

“Yes. And we were in my room, on my bed, and you were sitting on my face.”

You squeezed your thighs together, “Oh.”

“Yeah, it took some convincing, but you did it. And you were so scared to suffocate me, it was cute.”

“Cute, huh?”

“Sexy. I can visualize your body so well,” he whispered. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Matthew,” a voice called.

Your eyes went wide, you went silent. “Oh, shit!” Matthew exclaimed, noticing that his microphone had been on the whole time. He quickly left the online class, and sighed heavily.

You could hardly breathe, you were laughing so hard. You cackled, you hooted, you howled. And Matthew couldn’t help but join you. “Fuck!” He chuckled. “I’m a dumbass.”

“Well, I’ve always known that.” You replied.

“Facetime me, princess,” he requested.

You did, and he continued to tell you about his dream. How he laid under you, could taste you on his tongue, feel your skin on his hands. It made you incredibly horny, and when you thought he wasn’t listening, you started to touch yourself. Your breath got shaky, and you attempted to keep it quiet — with no success.

“You touching yourself, princess?” Matthew asked.

“No,” you whispered, but it came out rushed.

“Oh, you are. I know that voice.”

“And I...like your voice.”

“You do? Hm...you like to hear me tell you how hot you are? How much I want to be sucking on those perfect tits right now? Bury my cock inside you and fuck you until you can’t walk?”

“Fuck, Matthew,” you huffed. You’d never heard him talk quite like this before. It was steamy and overwhelming and so, so nice.

“Tell me what you’re doing right now.”

“Just, uh, um, touching my clit.”

“Good, princess. Now, slide your fingers in for me.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, and did as you were told, your fingers gliding into you. “O-okay,” you murmured.

“Does it feel good? Does it feel better than me?” Matthew purred.

“Nothing feels better than you,” you said, before you could catch yourself.

He grinned to himself, “Show me. Let me watch.”

You flipped the camera around to present yourself to him, your legs spread open, your fingers pumping in and out of your core. “Fuck...” he said under his breath, his hand slipping into his underwear. “I’ve never been this jealous of someone’s fingers.”

You chuckled, followed by a weak moan. “Don’t be shy. Show me something, too.”

He let you watch him stroke his hard cock in his palm. Your hands were somehow moving in unison with each other’s. Matthew could tell you were getting close, from the noises you were making and the way your body trembled. His own orgasm pent up in his stomach, but he continued to edge himself until you came. But when you did finished, panting his name and letting out soft moans, he allowed himself to let go. His come shot all over his stomach, and you admired the way it coated his skin.

“Look what you did,” he murmured.

You laid there, tired and blissed out beyond belief. “Don’t you dare think that we’re doing this all of quarantine, Matthew Gubler.”

“We’ll see.”

The idea of spending five months away from Matthew was grueling to say the least. You’d gotten so used to him being right down the hall that you constantly had to remind yourself that he was all the way across the country. But, when you guys really got into the groove of things, the distance didn’t seem so bad.

He always texted you goodmorning and goodnight. The two of you managed to obtain a 30 day streak on snapchat. He helped you with homework and you helped him with his. You texted each other tiktoks and funny tweets that reminded you of one another. You stayed up until all hours of the night, chatting and laughing and talking dirty to one another. You were on facetime with each other so often that your family began to ask who he was. “A friend,” you said. It wasn’t that believable, though.

Things were great, despite you missing him like crazy. And then he sent you a text. It had a few attachments, and a message saying: forgot to send you these 😘.

Intrigued, you opened the message to find a row of videos. Of you. Of Matthew. You two together. The first one you clicked was of him eating you out, and you swear, you flooded your bed. It was easy to forget, to lock away memories of him to keep yourself sane. But these videos — of you two fucking, him sucking on your boobs, you sucking on his fingers, sucking his dick — they were too much to bare.

You hand slid into your underwear, your eyes trained on your phone as you watched Matthew fuck you. Headphones in, you listened to the sound of skin on skin, him whispering dirty things to you through his moans. You bit down on your lip, touching yourself, teasing yourself, too turned on to think properly. And so eager to get off that you forgot to lock the door.

“[y/n]?” A family member called, bursting into your room.

“Shit!” You exclaimed. You quickly hid yourself under the cover and paused the video. Your heart was beating out of your chest, and you promised not to make that mistake again.

Matthew, however, didn’t get the memo.

“Nipple piercings, ma’am?” He pouted, looking at you over facetime one day. “Whip ‘em out.”

“Whip ‘em out? Is that how you ask?” You giggled.

He sighed, “Can I see your tits? Please? I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything,” he nodded.

“Moo like a cow,” you said.

He was silent for a second. “You considering it?” You asked.

“I am, yeah,” he nodded.

You cackled, and pulled your shirt up, revealing your bare chest. Just as both of your breasts graced the screen, Matthew’s mom stepped into his room to ask him a question.

“Oh, dear!” She remarked, catching a quick flash of your chest.

“Oh, no!” You shouted. You ducked out of the camera’s vision, and Matthew dropped his phone.

“Hi, [y/n],” Mrs. Gubler said.

“Hi, Mrs. Gubler!” You pipped, your face beet red.

When she left the room, Matthew and you erupted in nervous laughter. “I’m so, so sorry,” he told you.

“It’s okay! Is she mad?”

“No. She’s never gonna let me live this down, though. Anyways, show me those tits again.”

“Are you serious?” You pipped.

He gave you the eyes. His trademark ‘i’m horny and i would die for you, queen, please show me some titty’ eyes.

You sighed, “Nasty boy.”

By the time you two were halfway through quarantine, Matthew and you had each other’s routines memorized. Well enough, that he knew what time you showered every night. He called you just as you stepped out of the shower, and when you answered, he was happy to see you naked and wrapped in a towel.

“Well, well, well,” he smirked. “This is my lucky day.”

“Shut up,” you laughed, setting your phone down on the counter, upright so he could see you. You dropped your towel to reveal your naked body, and he nearly drooled at the sight. “Don’t be a perv.”

“I am a perv.”

You rolled your eyes at him and grabbed your clothes, sliding your hoodie over your body.

“Wait,” he said. “Wait, wait, wait. Is that my hoodie?”

You froze, standing there in an NYU hoodie that came down to your knees. “[y/n]? Princess? Did you steal my hoodie?” He asked.

“Borrowed!” You exclaimed, your voice squeaking. “I borrowed it.”

“I’ve been looking for that hoodie. When did you take it?”

“Borrow!”

“Okay, when did you borrow it?”

“That night...” You trailed off. “Before I left. I saw it laying there and it was a little chilly so I—“

“Stole it.”

“Borrowed!”

He giggled, “It looks good on you. Really good.”

“Yeah?” You grinned, twirling around in the hoodie, your legs exposed.

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded. “Does it smell like me?”

You nodded, “Yeah, it does.” That’s part of the reason you loved it so much.

“Stay—stay just like that for me,” he pleaded. “Just like that.”

You held yourself still, posing your entire body in front of the camera for him to take you in. His hand had snaked down into his pants and grasped his cock, now delivering slow strokes along his shaft.

“Like what you see?” You purred.

Love what I see, he thought. But he only said, “Yeah.”

His wrist sped up, along with his breathing. “Fuck,” he panted. His eyes lowered into this sensual look, his teeth were gritted together. You gave him a sly smile, and turned around, lifting up the hoodie to show him your ass.

“Oh, fuck!” He shouted. Suddenly, he hung up. While you stood there, confused, he laid in his bed and withdrew his hands from his pants. He closed his eyes tight, attempting to calm himself. Soothe the feeling in his chest. But it wouldn’t go away. He missed you. He missed you so much, it was heart stopping, soul shattering, and it even got rid of his boner. He could conceal it for a long, long time. But that hoodie...

That damn hoodie.

Embarrassed from your last phone conversation, he almost didn’t answer when you called him that night. But he couldn't stop himself. When he answered the facetime request, he saw you — stressed, your face red and sad. “What’s wrong?” He cooed.

“It’s almost midnight and I have an assignment due and I have no idea how to do it and it’s worth a lot of points and I’m gonna have a heart attack.” You rambled.

“Okay, okay,” he sat up. “[y/n], babe, calm down. What class is it for?”

“Advanced film. It’s a quiz, I just—“

“Send it to me.”

“Matthew—“

“Send it. I’ll do it.”

“You don’t have to,” you sighed.

“But I want to. I don’t want you stressed. Just send it, I’ll get it done before midnight. I promise.”

You smiled at him, blinking away the stress-induced tears in your eyes. “Thank you, Matthew. Thank you so much. If you ever need help with anything, let me know, I’ll help. If you decide to take ballet next semester, I can really help.”

He laughed, and the two of you held each other’s gaze for a long time. It was full of softness, joy, bonding. A little love.

“Anyways, uh,” Matthew said, clearing his throat. “Can I see your ass again?”

You shook your head at him, laughing under your breath.

Quarantine couldn’t be over soon enough.

[PART 7.]

#mine #college!matthew #esny #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler smut #matthew gray gubler imagine #mgg #mgg smut #mgg imagine

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assholemurphy · 6 years

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i’m so fucking close to having a breakdown tbh. like, it’s so fuckign stupid, but the student store was closed bc of construction tonight, and they didn’t tell anybody, so i get halfway there in the middle of the freezing cold only to be told (by a very sweet guy and his girlfriend) that they’re closed, which sucks bc i get breakfast there for the next morning, but i can’t do that, but it’s not too big of a deal bc i’ve got some chips i could eat tomorrow, but if they had emailed ppl, or announced it in advance somehow, then i could have gotten something at the store in the grill, but they didn’t and i’m pissed at that, but that’s not even what’s stressing me out, it’s just the thing that’s tipping me over. i’ve got like 6 sketches due before monday, one of which needs three light sources, and i live in the dorms??? i have a built in lamp and a flashlight, but that’s only two and idfk how to get a third? or even how to set it up? i’m hoping i can get two shadows if i place the mug right on my desk and then use the flashlight, but idk if that’ll work, so i could be fucked for that sketch. i don’t even want to do them to begin with bc i’m like, 7 years behind everyone else when it comes to skill level for realistic shit. anything with lots of small details, i can do, but not if they’re supposed to look real, that’s never been my focus, i’ve always hated it, and i will never fucking use it bc that’s not the kid of art i make ffs. if she had given us a chance to do it in our style, it’d be fine, cause then i could make it look like a tattoo or some shit and go from there, or at least let us use color so i could show off my skills there, but nah, so i’m gonna look like a shit artist compared to everyone else bc we have to tack them up in the motherfucking hallway of the building for everyone to see, bc i stopped sketching years ago bc i was told i’d never make it as an artist, so i gave up and never picked it back up bc of my fucking parents, without whom i could have been just as good as everyone else, but nah, that’s not gonna happen. i’m a fucking painter, i do abstracts, not fucking realism and bullshit, what the literal fuck, but i need the class for my major, and i know she’s only grading on how well you shade and shit, so i can pass, but i don’t want it to look shitty where everyone can see it.and then the fucking hands we’ve got to do, which i can’t draw without a reference, and even then i can’t use my own hand bc i can’t see the lines clearly, so they’re going to be terrible as well, and a fucking gradient that i would have had done in class but i screwed up bc she gave bullshit instructions and told us to reverse our gradients and made a big show of erasing them, but no, we aren’t supposed to erase them, wtf?? honestly, i hate this class so much bc it’s bullshit. i love the prof but not as a teacher, bc she can’t give clear instructions on basic things and it’s bullshit. i feel like a shitty artist even tho i know i’m not, this just isn’t my medium, with photography or painting, i’m great, but i’m shit at sketching and i stopped drawing when i was 5 while everyone else was getting better, and i know i need practice, but ffs, give me something that’ll help me, not make me look like a kindergartner. i love found ii bc i get to take photos, but he isn’t even looking at them, he just wants us to make an, admittedly interesting, project with other ppl, which means most of my photos are going to be bastardized instead of appreciated for the abstracts that they are, or for the editing i did, bc apparently i’m the only one in our group that knows how to edit a photo, wtf, they could have at least tried, my gods, but that doesn’t matter, he’s not even going to know which ones are ours, so all my work is for nothing, i could have just taken a few pics of bullshit lines that weren’t cool looking at all, but no, i tried to make the photos good, but in the end, it was fucking pointless and i had to crop so many of them into nothingness for the sake of the shitty project. it’s all fucking bullshit. i spent hours getting the right shots and it’s for nothing but a stupid project that turned into a fucking group activity and i hate group activities, esp regarding my fucking work, that i took, that now doesn’t matter bc there’s a fuckton other photos on the stupid thing and they all have to connect, and it would be cool, if i had been allowed to do it by myself, but now, work together, fuck that. and wtf is my found i prof doing? 6 sketches? on top of the fuckton of classes we’re already taking? i’ve got physics works to do, history work, and math to do this week, i don’t have time for 6 fucking sketches that are only going to depress me bc they suck. i know i need practice, but between 15 hours of classes and being president of the lgbt club, i don’t have time for that, not when we’ve got 3 multiple piece fucking assignments due each week for her shitty class. i don’t like sketching, i rly don’t, bc i’m not good at it, never have been. and eventually we have a self portrait to do and i hate my face so fucking much but i’ve got to spend several class periods staring at it in hopes of not making a shitty piece of art. i deal with abstract art, colors, not fucking realistic sketches, wtf is that going to do for me, it’s not my medium at all. it’s only the second week and i already want to drop the class, but i can’t bc it’s a requirement for my major. i’m not even close to as good as everyone else and i know it, but i didn’t get the support they got, nobody ever told me i should keep drawing, nobody ever said i was decent at it, and bc of that, i stopped loving it and stopped doing it. everyone there is confident in being an artist, and i’m just there like ‘waddup i tried being a doctor but had a mental breakdown so i decided to make my hobby a career’ and it fucking shows. and i’ve got so much fucking work to do as our workshop comes up that i barely have time for anything else, but oh no, got to do 6 fucking sketches, full size, realistic, and PIN THEM TO THE BOARD so everyone can see how much you suck. but i’ve got to get through this semester so i can take the classes i want to take, so i’ve got to do it. i just wish i didn’t suck as badly as i do. it seems like every artist can sketch, no matter what their medium, and it’s fucking bullshit. i’m just getting back into this after 7 fucking years of not creating anything but writing shit. of course i’m going to suck, but i’d rather not have everyone see that. nobody’s going to take me seriously in that class. and now i’m having a fucking breakdown bc i’m an idiot who gave up on what they loved bc i crave validation and nobody ever gave that to me bc art wasn’t seen as a real career in my family, and now the only thing they think i’ll be able to do with my degree is teach and i fucking hate teaching, i hate people, i’m also minoring in theatre and writing but everyone i tell that too laughs and asks if i expect to be famous and i’m just like ‘yeah bitch what of it? at least i won’t be downing my eighth glass of wine while making dinner for the kids i had but now resent and my husband who i don’t love anymore who’s fucking his secretary while i spend my days filing some other family’s taxes just bc i went with the safe choice for my major, janet. how’s it gonna feel when you’re forty and can’t remember the last time you were actually happy without the use of alcohol to drown the fact that you want to get a divorce but you know you can’t financially support the lifestyle you crave without him, so you let him fuck her in his office while you take care of the kids? oh, alice’s failing her science classes, and jermey’s smoking pot in the boys’ room? wow, i don’t know what you could have done different, but it must not be your parenting at all, how could you be to blame? but yeah, i’m the loser starving artist who won’t get work and will end up some dishwashing junkie in la dreaming o things i’ll never have bc my talents aren’t seen as ‘real’ bc they aren’t considered ‘good enough for a real career’ by society and therefore must not be good enough to support me’ fuck off janet. support me or get out. i don’t even care about being famous, not really, i just want to be happy when i’m forty and be able to look at my life and decide that it fucking mattered, but how am i supposed to do that if i can’t fucking draw a hand??

#text #long post #fucking hell #i told her i wanted to be an actor and she told me i'd never do it #so as much as i care about her #now i've got to do it to prove her wrong #but that means i have to be able to pass this class #which means i've got to deal with sucking #bc i will get better #i might never be good at realism #but i can fuckign pass this class #so i can take a couple theatre and writing classes next semester #so i can graduate and move to la #and suffer like the gay little runaway that i am #but i'm gonna do it #i'm gonna bitch and complain about it every step of the way #but i will do it #but right now i've got to pull my shit together #so i can go to class tomorrow #and do the same damn thing #for four months #fuck i hate this #i hate everything about this #i just want to instantly be good at it #or just not have to do it #but that's not how it works #fuck my to do list is longer than the great wall of china tbh #but i've got to get it done #maybe not tonight tho #tonight i'm gonna go smoke

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