hiiii!!! i wanna feel a sense of community again but unfortunately i have sort of lost interest in the triplets :( but i love all my friends and moots here so i’d love to reconnect on a blog centered around my current and long on going obsession which is of course madison beer! so please keep in touch on my new blog @d3fau1tt !!!!!
in which . . . you and matt keep breaking each other and coming back anyway—caught in a cycle of love, pain, and all the messy in-between.
warnings . . . unresolved angst , arguing , crying , making out , toxic dynamic , use of y/n
𝑺𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑹 𝙒𝙍𝙄𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙈𝘼𝙍𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙊𝙉 𝙁𝙄𝘾 #7
you told yourself last time was the last time.
you swore you were done—done crying, done chasing, done letting him back in like he never left you shattered in the first place. you said it to your friends, whispered it into your pillow, screamed it into your steering wheel. and you believed it for a minute. you even started to feel okay again.
until the text.
2:13am.
“you up?”
you shouldn’t answer. you should roll over, toss your phone under your bed, and let the silence teach him a lesson. but your fingers betray you—numb and desperate—and suddenly you’re typing back, your breath caught in your throat.
“come over.”
he’s at your door twelve minutes later.
his hair’s a mess, his shirt clings to his chest like he ran the whole way here, and his eyes look like guilt wrapped in longing. you hate how your heart skips. hate how your body reacts like it missed him more than your mind ever wanted to admit.
“you look tired,” you say flatly, stepping aside to let him in.
“haven’t slept,” he mumbles, brushing past you, eyes flicking to the couch like it’s familiar territory. it is. he’s slept there more times than you can count—after fights, after sex, after begging you to stay one more night.
you cross your arms, standing still in the doorway. “so what is this, matt? another one of your ‘i messed up’ visits? or are you just bored?”
he sighs, slow and heavy, dropping onto the couch with his hands clasped together like he’s praying. “i didn’t know who else to call.”
you roll your eyes, stepping closer despite yourself. “you mean who else would answer.”
he doesn’t deny it. he just looks up at you, glassy-eyed and broken. “you always answer.”
and you hate that he’s right.
you sit across from him, arms still wrapped around yourself like you’re trying to hold all your shattered pieces together. “i shouldn’t.”
he nods. “i know.”
“you’re not good for me—“
“i know.”
“so why are you here, matt?”
he pauses. and then he says it—the thing he always says when he’s trying to make you forget the way he hurt you. “because no one makes me feel like you do.”
your chest tightens. your throat burns. “that’s not love.”
“maybe not. but it’s real.”
he stands, slowly walking toward you, every step pulling the air from your lungs. he stops in front of you, eyes boring into yours. “i miss you.”
you shake your head. “you miss the way i make you feel. not me.”
“no, i miss you,” he insists, voice cracking. “your laugh, the way you look at me when you’re trying not to smile. the way you say my name when you’re mad. i miss all of it.”
your vision blurs with tears. “then why do you keep leaving?”
“because i’m a fuckup,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. “and you deserve better.”
you close your eyes, trying to summon strength, trying not to melt into him like you always do. “then let me go.”
he doesn’t move. doesn’t speak. his hand finds your waist instead, pulling you into him, chest to chest. your lips almost touch, and it’s pathetic how fast your body caves. you whisper, “we can’t keep doing this.”
he just nods. “then let’s not talk.”
and just like that, he kisses you.
not gentle. not careful. desperate. like he’s trying to prove something with every movement. your hands find his shirt, fists clutching the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. his tongue slides against yours and you moan into his mouth, the taste of him familiar and fucked up and intoxicating.
you stumble backward until your legs hit the edge of the couch. he guides you down, hovering over you, one knee pressing between yours. his lips leave yours only to trail down your jaw, your neck, and you let him—you always let him.
you know it won’t fix anything. you know he’ll leave again. but you let him, because you’re too tired to fight it.
you’ll clean up the mess tomorrow.
you always do.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
you wake up before he does.
his arm is draped over your waist like a claim, fingers twitching in sleep. his face is soft—peaceful, even—and for a second, it’s almost enough to make you forget.
almost.
the sun isn’t even out yet, but your mind is already racing. your body feels heavy with shame, regret pooling somewhere in your stomach like poison. his scent is all over you—on your sheets, on your skin, between your thighs—and you hate how comforting it still is.
he shifts slightly, his nose brushing your shoulder. your whole body tenses.
what the fuck are you doing?
you slide out from under his arm carefully, trying not to wake him. your breath hitches when he stirs, but he just sighs and rolls onto his back. his mouth parts slightly, and for a split second, you almost reach for him again.
but you don’t.
you get up and stand in the middle of your room, avoiding stepping on your discarded shirt on the floor, staring at him like he’s some kind of storm that snuck in through a cracked window. you adjust your bra. it’s all you have on, other than your shorts. it’s always like this.
you swear you’re done. then he shows up.
and you let him ruin you all over again.
you stare at the floor. your throat tightens. you want to scream. you want to cry. you want to go back in time and delete that fucking text.
you sit on the edge of the bed, pulling the blanket over your chest. your hands won’t stop shaking. your phone buzzes with a notification—some tiktok from your best friend—and your stomach twists because you know exactly what she’d say if she knew he was here.
“girl, i swear to—ugh. block him. be serious.”
you wish it was that simple.
there’s movement behind you. the bed creaks a little. and then his voice—low, raspy, painfully familiar.
“you okay?”
you don’t turn around. “why’d you come here, matt? really.”
he’s quiet for a second. “you said i could.”
you laugh—empty and bitter. “yeah, because i’m fucking stupid.”
he sits up behind you, but you still won’t face him. “don’t say that.”
“why not? it’s true. i let you in. again. knowing exactly how this would go.”
“it doesn’t have to go like that this time.”
you finally turn to him, eyes blazing. “don’t—don’t even start. you always say that. you show up with your sad little voice and your stupid puppy eyes and pretend like this time it’s different. like you’ve changed. but you haven’t, matt. and neither have i, apparently.”
he flinches. “i didn’t mean to fuck everything up again.”
“but you did. and you will. and the worst part is that i’ll keep fucking letting you—shit.” tears prick your eyes like hot needles.
he reaches for your hand. you pull it back.
“don’t touch me,” you snap, voice cracking.
“okay,” he says quietly, dropping his hand. “i get it.”
you step away, suddenly needing space like it’s oxygen. “do you know how pathetic i feel? letting you back in here? acting like we’re gonna wake up and make pancakes or something? like you didn’t ghost me for three weeks and ignore every call i made until you decided you missed me?”
his face falls. “i didn’t know what to say, i—i didn’t know how to fix it.”
“so you just disappeared.”
he nods.
your eyes burn. “you could’ve told me you needed space. you could’ve said you weren’t ready. you could’ve fucking said anything, matt. instead, you let me think it was all in my head. like i imagined it all. like i made us up.”
“you didn’t,” he says quickly. “i swear to god, you didn’t.”
“then why do you keep leaving?”
he runs a hand through his hair, frustration flickering across his face. “because i don’t know how to be what you need.”
you exhale shakily. “then stop pretending you can be.”
you both just stand there, breathing heavy, silence pressing down like a weight. and then, quietly, almost pleading.
“y/n, i don’t know how to let you go,” he admits.
and that’s the fucking problem.
you want to scream at him. shake him. throw something. you want him to leave so badly—but you also want him to stay.
you hate him.
but you love him.
and you hate yourself for loving him.
he walks over slowly, cautious like he’s approaching a wounded animal. “please don’t shut me out.”
“you already shut me out,” you whisper.
his hand finds your arm. this time, you don’t pull away.
“then let me back in, y/n.”
your eyes meet his. tired. glossy. breaking.
“you’ll just leave again.”
“maybe,” he says honestly. “but not right now.”
and god, you wish that was enough.
you let him kiss you again anyway—slow and aching, like he knows this might be the last time. might. his hands cradle your face, and your whole body leans into him like instinct. it hurts, the way he kisses. like he’s trying to apologize without saying the words.
you kiss him back. you shouldn’t, but you do. because your body’s still a traitor and your heart’s still a fool.
he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.
“i wish i could be better for you,” he whispers.
and you close your eyes.
because you wish that too.
and for a second, it’s like you almost believe him.
you pull away first.
just a couple inches. just enough to make him chase you without realizing he is.
“don’t,” you whisper, your voice barely hanging on. “don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”
his brows knit together, confusion written all over his face like he doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong. again.
“i do mean it.”
you almost laugh. god, that would be easier. but it’s not funny. it’s fucking sad. “no, you mean it right now. in this room. with my shirt still on the floor and your mouth still on mine. but you never mean it when it matters.”
“that’s not fair—”
“isn’t it?” you cut him off, eyes wide, wet, wild. “you don’t get to say that. you don’t get to fucking say that.”
he steps back. barely. just enough to flinch.
“i came here because i missed you,” he says quietly.
“no,” you snap, “you came here because you could.”
he opens his mouth like he’s going to argue—but nothing comes out.
“you came here because i always answer. because you knew i’d let you in. because i always do. and you took advantage of that. again.”
he swallows hard, like your words are physically painful. “i didn’t mean to.”
you shake your head. “but you did. and now i have to deal with it. again.”
your voice cracks at the end, and you hate it. hate how raw you sound. how hurt. how small.
he steps toward you. instinct. always instinct.
“don’t,” you say sharply, backing away. “stop trying to fix this like you didn’t break it.”
his jaw clenches. “i didn’t come here to hurt you.”
“then why are you here, matt? because i’m done pretending it’s because you love me.”
he flinches like you slapped him.
“you think i don’t?” he says, voice rising now. “you think this is fun for me? do you know how fucking hard it is to stay away from you?”
“you think that makes you the victim?” your voice is loud now too. furious. shaking. “you don’t get a gold star for coming back. you don’t get pity for hurting someone and then crying about it.”
“i never asked for pity,” he snaps.
“no, you just expect forgiveness.”
that shuts him up.
you wipe your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, trying to calm your breathing, trying not to fall apart. again.
he runs a hand down his face. frustrated. helpless. “i don’t know how to stop.”
“then let me stop,” you say, steady now. eerily calm. you use the only solution you think of. “get out.”
his eyes widen. “what?”
“go home, matt.”
he doesn’t move. “you don’t mean that.”
you nod. “i do.”
“but—”
“go.”
your voice is sharp, final. no space for negotiation.
he stares at you for a moment like he’s waiting for you to take it back. to fold like you always do. to reach for him and whisper please stay the way you always do.
but you don’t.
you stand there, arms crossed tight against your chest, like you’re holding the door shut with your own body.
his face falls. completely. like something breaks inside him.
he bends down slowly, picks up his hoodie from your floor, and pulls it over his head. you don’t help him. you don’t look away.
he walks to the door, then hesitates with his hand on the knob.
“you know i’ll come back,” he says softly, almost like a question.
you blink at him, silent.
he adds, “and you’ll let me in.”
you shake your head, barely.
“maybe not next time,” you whisper. “maybe next time, i won’t.”
he doesn’t say anything after that.
just walks out and closes the door behind him.
you shut the door. you don’t feel powerful. you feel empty. you don’t cry right away.
you just stand there. motionless. staring at the door like it’s supposed to do something.
and when the silence gets loud enough to hurt, when your knees finally give out, when your body curls into the corner of the couch like it always does—then you cry.
you cry like it’s the end.
like it’s really, really the end this time.
and maybe it is.
but you know better.
because although you sent matt home an hour ago, you know he’ll be back in less than a week.
i just wanted to pop in and say i’ll be taking a small break from writing & posting. kinktober isn’t cancelled. i still plan on finishing it, just a little later on. right now i really need to focus on school and taking care of my mental health. things have been kinda heavy lately and i’d rather pause than burn out completely.
thank you so much for being patient with me and for all the love & support you guys give my writing. it seriously means the world. i promise i’ll be back soon, better and with more energy (and smut lmao).
warnings — spanking duh , crying , begging ig , praise , and more.
you don’t even remember what started it. something small. stupid. the kind of thing that always seems to set chris off when he’s already had a long day.
maybe it was the way you rolled your eyes when he told you to “sit still.” maybe it was the way you muttered, “make me,” under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.
but whatever it was, it’s what got you here. bent over his lap, palms braced against the bed, his big hand rubbing slow circles into the curve of your lower back.
deceptively gentle.
“you really don’t know when to shut that mouth, do you?” chris’s voice is low, rough, the edge of amusement curling around his words.
you sniffle, already pouty, cheeks hot and eyes glassy. “you were being mean,” you mumble, your voice small, shaky.
“mean?” he repeats, clicking his tongue. “no, baby. this?” his hand slides down, tracing the hem of your shorts before tugging them down, slow. “this is me teachin’ you a lesson.”
the cool air hits your skin, and you squirm, embarrassed and already flustered. “chris…”
“nah, none of that. not when you’ve been mouthing off all day.” his palm rests heavy on you, a quiet warning before the first strike lands.
it’s sharp. enough to make you gasp, body jolting. the sting blooms fast, spreading heat across your skin.
“count,” he says simply.
you whimper. “chris, please—”
his hand tightens around your hip. “count.”
“o-one.”
the next one lands harder, the sound echoing through the room.
“two,” you breathe out, voice trembling.
“good girl,” he murmurs, almost too soft, and it just makes the ache in your chest worse. you bite your lip, trying not to cry, but the tears build anyway. slow and hot, slipping down your cheeks one by one.
he spanks you again, the smack louder this time, and you let out a broken little sound, part moan, part sob.
“that the attitude wearin’ off yet?” he asks, leaning down close to your ear. his breath is warm against your skin. “or you need a few more to remember how to talk to me?”
“n-no more,” you stammer, voice shaking. “i’m sorry, i’ll be good, i promise.”
he hums, like he’s deciding whether to believe you, thumb rubbing a lazy line over the sore skin. “you always say that,” he mutters, “and then you go runnin’ that pretty mouth again.”
“i won’t,” you plead. “i won’t, chris, please—”
the sound of his name falling from your lips that way makes something in him shift. his hand softens, caressing instead of punishing, rubbing warmth back into your skin.
“look at you,” he says quietly. “cryin’ like a baby, just ‘cause i had to remind you who’s in charge.”
you hiccup, trying to wipe at your tears, but your hands are trembling too much.
he chuckles, low and rough. “you’re lucky you’re cute when you cry,” he says, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “otherwise i’d really have to teach you what mean looks like.”
you turn your head just enough to meet his gaze, eyes wide, red-rimmed, lips parted. “i didn’t mean to make you mad,” you whisper. “just wanted your attention.”
he exhales, something softer flickering through his expression. “you always got my attention, sweetheart. don’t need to act out for it.”
he helps you sit up, pulling you into his lap, one big hand cradling the back of your head as he presses a kiss to your temple. you melt against him, small and shaky, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt.
“hurts,” you mumble against his chest.
“i know,” he says, stroking your hair. “that’s the point. maybe next time, you’ll listen when i tell you to behave.”
“mhm.” you nod, still sniffly. “sorry.”
he smirks, the edge of his usual attitude slipping back in. “yeah, you will be.”
“chris…” you look up at him, eyes watery but soft, that little pout he can never resist.
he sighs, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “fine. c’mere. i’ll make it better.”
and when he kisses you slow, deep, his hand still warm against the small of your back, you know he already has.
a/n — so sorry this is so embarrassingly pathetically late, short, and shitty!! such a busy week!!!!
caylee omg i got the ios 26 update and i HATE IT. kill me now anywaysss nate posted on his story.. he looks SO good like oh my g. like why is there not more nate girls cause fym you only post like once a year and you look fine asf every time. got me fienin for days everytime his ass posts😮💨 heres that beautiful ass picture again in case you havent seen it🥹
