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an invitation to your ex’s wedding was not something you ever expected to retrieve from your mailbox. you had ripped it open carelessly, skimming over the bold cursive font: you’re invited to the wedding of matthew healy and—you didn’t even bother to read the girl's name before sticking the flimsy cardstock back in the red envelope. it laid untouched on your kitchen counter for weeks until one night you decided to RSVP, a smirk evident on your face as you filled out your name.
the stupidly large venue had already made you roll your eyes, but today being fucking valentine’s day was the cherry on top. the matty you know would never choose this sort of extravagance, nevermind get married on holiday crafted for commercial purposes. you have to stifle a laugh during the ceremony, watching him kiss and recite his sugarcoated vows to his pretty blonde. seeing her so happy almost makes you feel bad for fucking her man on and off while they were dating. almost.
he hasn’t noticed you yet, but you know he’s aware you’re here. did he think his ex-girlfriend wouldn’t attend his little wedding out of spite?
you’re sure that matty has never gotten over you, evidenced by the several hookups you two had throughout his relationship with his now wife, as well as all the drunk calls and texts that you forbid yourself from answering. he’d deny all of it, say he loves her and not you, but you’ll be sure to prove him wrong once again. prove that he’ll never be satisfied with this prude he’s marrying. he did invite you to the fucking wedding, after all.
you don’t watch the first dance or pay attention to really anything for that matter. it’s hard not to feel a touch of sadness when you see him happy with his girl, his past words floating around in your head: it’ll always be you. dating for two years, breaking up but continuing to hookup—it all took a toll on your heart.
a young woman plays a cover of a love song you’ve never heard. you sit in the corner of the reception, nursing a glass of wine. an empty plate sits in front of you, some cake crumbs left on the white china. red velvet is the cake flavor you told him you wanted if you ever got married. you wonder if he was the one to suggest it with you in the back of his mind.
the unnecessary thought leaves quickly though, the free food and alcohol being part of the reason you decided to come anyway. but it’s also not like you have anything better to do on this love-filled holiday; stupid fucking cupid always shooting his arrows in the wrong direction. you’d love to find someone new, but it seems impossible when a certain curly-haired man clouds your brain even when he’s not the one touching you.
you bring your glass to your lips, taking another sip as you look around the room for matty. you find him standing by the bar, but he’s already got his eyes on you. finally.
you don’t even remember the last time you saw him in the flesh. the memory of you walking out of his flat, right after he told you that he can’t lie to his girlfriend anymore, stays hazy in your mind. you blame it on the fact that you didn’t even care anymore, just wanting him out of your life at that point. he wasn’t worth any more of your tears.
you give him an overly sweet smile and a little wave—overjoyed about your decision to attend. the ghost of you haunts his dreams, but now you’re in his line of sight again and you don’t seem to have good intentions.
his adam’s apple bops as he swallows a lump in his throat, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. people are talking to him but you can tell the only thing in his head is you.
you decide to take a chance, giving him an opportunity to jump your bones if he feels so inclined. you shoot him a wink over your shoulder before walking out into the empty hallway outside the reception area. your heart thumps against your chest, heels clicking against the polished tile as you start to walk toward the desolate bathroom in the back of the venue. you try to make it seem like you’re not just waiting on matty.
you hear the sound of heavy footsteps trailing behind you not even a minute later and let out a laugh.
“a valentine’s day wedding is a little cliqué don’t you think?” you say as you turn around, now face to face with the groom himself. his thick brows are knitted together, eyes dragging down your body. the red silk dress you wear hugs your curves perfectly, cleavage on display with a pretty heart locket resting on your clavicle.
“why are you even here?” he whispers, meeting your eyes again. is he implying you’re some type of classless wedding crasher? the invitation is still tucked in one of your desk drawers.
“well, why did you invite me?” you cross your arms over your chest and cock your head, unable to stop the cheshire cat-like smile spreading across your face. he’s digging his own grave right now.
he’s silent for a moment, mouth opening and closing until he finally finds words, albeit it’s only a few. “i don’t know.”
you reach out to graze your hand against the sleeve of his ironed suit that fits him perfectly. he looks fucking good, curls tamed but not slicked back, the way you love it most. “i think i know why, matty.” you take a step closer to him, your familiar perfume making him feel dizzy. his own heart is racing; he shouldn’t be fucking doing this — what is wrong with him? “you missed me, didn’t you?”
matty gets his bearings straight and a line forms between his brows, a vein nearly popping out of his forehead at your flirty behavior. “did you really just come here to be a little bitch, sweetheart?” there’s the feisty man you know. you smile.
“maybe.” the loud music from the reception is muffled by the walls, alienating you two from the wedding crowd. “but i also happen to know your wife doesn’t satisfy you like i do. thought maybe i could help you out, you know, before your big night in bed with her.”
his pupils are blown, fists clenched at his side before he gives in, tightly gripping your wrist. you’ve already won. “that’s it, you fuckin’ brat,” he spits, ushering you into the empty bathroom and locking the door behind him.
he surges forward before you get a chance to make another snotty remark, crashing his lips onto yours. you let a small moan escape you—this is so fucking sinful. he presses your back against the cold tile wall, teeth clashing against yours as he becomes acquainted with your mouth again. oh, how you’ve missed this.
“matty,” you murmur against his lips, running your hands up his suit jacket and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. his large hands hold your waist in a vice-like grip, tongue folding over yours passionate and intense as if he’s been waiting for this.
“i can’t fucking be here for long, take your panties off,” he demands, pawing at your dress. you can’t help but grow more aroused at the low pitch of his voice. there’s a reason you never could resist sleeping with him, even after you broke up. “or should i just leave you here like this, hm?”
you scoff. “if you leave, you’ll go back to everyone you know with a fucking tent in your pants.” grabbing his tie and yanking it so his body is back on yours, you connect your lips again. his hands slide down to your ass, starting to grope the soft flesh as he kisses you back with equal fervor.
suddenly, he rips you off the wall and forcefully bends you over the sink. a whine escapes you, not used to being manhandled like this. the marble countertop is cold on your skin that’s not covered by your dress. you gasp when he threads his fingers in your hair, puppeteering your head to the side so your neck is free for him to attach his lips to. he licks up to your jaw, using one hand to roll up the skirt of your dress, bunching it around your hips. these quick fucks with matty have always been your favorite—his touches are rough enough to leave bruises the next day.
after unveiling the lower half of your body, matty groans at the sight of your pretty red thong. you whine at the sensation of the cool air of the bathroom on your bare skin, already feeling fucked out. matty chuckles darkly, running a finger over your clothed slit. you feel yourself dripping through the lace, very aware that the wetness and the warmth between your thighs is only intoxicating him more. “aw, still my little fuckin’ whore. wet for me already, yeah?”
he tugs your hair a bit harder, forcing you to look at him in the reflection of the mirror. “it looks like you’re the one who missed me, baby.” you feel him press his bulge against your ass and let out an involuntary moan. his hard cock strains against his dress pants, the light stimulation making you bite your lip. maybe he’s right, but the only things you missed were his dick and his effortless dominance.
“mhm, whatever helps you sleep at night,” you taunt, earning you a harsh spank, the skin of your ass rippling from the impact. “fuck!” you squirm and whimper in his grasp—you haven’t been this turned on in ages.
“cut it out with the brat shit.” matty’s still got a hand in your hair, now using the hand that was teasing you to rip your panties down your legs. the (quite expensive) garment pools around your ankles and you’re glad he at least had the decency to refrain from tearing it to shreds. “what a slutty little pussy—shit—look at you fucking dripping down your thighs. god, fuck’s sake.”
your kiss-swollen lips part as you stare at him in the mirror. it feels forbidden to have him like this again. you wiggle your ass back against his crotch to rile him up, get him to fuck you senseless. unfortunately, his hands are off of you in an instant, causing your head to unceremoniously fall forward onto your forearm.
the clinking of his belt buckle has you clenching your cunt in anticipation, dizzy at the prospect of his thick cock filling you to the hilt. you don’t think anyone can make you cum as hard as he can. “you gonna beg for me? be a good girl now?”
you huff, trying to have some dignity. and being a good girl isn’t exactly your thing. “just fuck me already, asshole.”
his hand collides with your ass again, harder this time. you yelp, trying desperately to hold your head up so you can continue looking at him in the reflection. “pretend you’re dignified all you want, but i happen to know you’ll be fuckin’ dumb and drooling the second i stuff you with my cock.”
you curse under your breath—hating when he uses your own fucking words against you, always so patronizing. “now, beg, tell me you want this.”
his voice breaks a bit at the end and you realize this is more than just him needing validation. there’s a tight feeling in your chest. he wants to know you’re here, know that this isn’t just another goodbye. you’ve obviously thought about the feelings that would come creeping up on you when you saw him again. but that’s not what you're here for. you’re here to get off.
you decide to do as he says, sick of his teasing and burning with want to chase that toe-curling pleasure he always manages to give you. “matty, please, fuck me. ‘m so ready for you.”
a triumphant grin spreads across his face and he grunts as takes himself out of his slacks and boxers. he grips his throbbing length, the tip of his cock ever so slightly pushing into your entrance before he moves it down your wet folds, bumping your clit. “fuck, please—”
your words get caught in your throat as matty buries his cock in you without any warning. you cry out, heat climbing up your neck and cheeks when you see the smug smirk he’s still wearing; you haven’t had a good fuck in ages and he knows it.
he doesn’t give you time to adjust after he bottoms out. he’s pulling completely out before plowing back into your warm walls, making your hips slam against the side of the counter with every thrust. his hands hold your hips tightly, bruises from his fingertips a given at this point. “missed this tight pussy wrapped around me, christ,” he mumbles, not for you to hear, but you do of course.
he groans, using your needy cunt for a quick orgasm. and frankly, it doesn’t matter to you—giving you such intense pleasure in return is his way of thanking you. your eyes are rolling back into your head as he fucks you deep, still remembering your sweet spots after all this time.
his cock sure enough renders you a mindless, moaning mess, having to bite your hand in order to stifle your screams. you clench around him, feeling him twitch inside you as his hips start to sputter. he reaches one hand around to your neck, wrapping his fingers around your throat and clicking his tongue as he leans down next to your ear. “stop doing that or i’ll cum—fill up your sweet little cunt—but that’s what you wanted all along huh, my slutty girl?”
matty’s eyes are wild as he looks at your fucked out state in the reflection, adding more pressure on the sides your neck. “say this is what you fucking wanted. say it, you greedy. little. whore.” each word is punctuated by a hard thrust, a string of broken moans ripping from your chest, mind even more hazy from his grip on your throat. that familiar tension in your belly is threatening to snap, so desperately needing to be plugged up with your ex-boyfriends cum again. pathetic.
“this is what i wanted, fuck! ‘m gonna cum, shit, please,” you squeeze him again, making him hiss and double down on his efforts, the pace of his hips somehow increasing even more. his hand on your hip sneaks down to rub circles on your clit, earning a loud whine from you.
matty lets out an airy chuckle, holding your throat like you’ll somehow run away at any moment. “cum for me, come on. fucking drench my cock, darling,” he moans, immediately triggering your impending orgasm.
your jaw falls agape, eyes shutting as your whole body radiates with ecstasy. your cunt flutters around him, continuing to be fucked through your high. a deep groan rips from him as he slows his hips to spill spurts of heat into you, pushing most of his weight onto your back. “holy shit, matty...” you whimper and he removes his hand from your throat, almost reluctantly.
you both try to catch your breaths, and you know people are surely looking for matty by now. he’s very aware of that too, already gently pulling out of you and bending down to pull your panties back up—making sure his cum will leak out onto the lace during your cab ride home. matty swiftly tucks his cock away into his slacks and buckles his belt again, diligently fixing his appearance to make it look like nothing happened. making it look like he wasn’t fucking his ex-girlfriend in a bathroom during his goddamn wedding reception.
with your front still bent over the counter, he smooths your dress down from its bunched-up state around your hips. his eyes find yours in the mirror, sharing a knowing look. this is far from a goodbye.
“i’ll call you when i can, alright?” he sighs, leaning down to press a kiss to your hair. god, why are you doing this again?
“congrats on the wedding,” you add as he opens the door to walk out, a smirk plastered across your face. he shakes his head, a small smile evident on his lips as he shuts the door behind him. you wonder what kind of excuse he’ll come up with for being absent at his own wedding party.
you straighten yourself out, taking care of the mess that is your own hair and clothes before walking out of the small bathroom. distant cheers and laughs ring through your ears as you hastily make your way to the back door of the venue. leaving a wedding so soon without an excuse is quite rude, but you’ve got the groom’s cum dripping out of you—and you really need to get that cleaned up.