mattlvr03

[mattlvr03]

Brave

The funeral felt like it dragged on for years, even though it couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours. Your head was buzzing, body moving on autopilot as people murmured their condolences, squeezing your hand, hugging you too tightly when all you wanted was to disappear. Through all of it, Matt stayed anchored at your side. He didn’t let go of your hand once.

You weren’t sure if you could have made it through without that small comfort—the quiet way he rubbed his thumb across your knuckles, the way his shoulder pressed against yours like he was silently saying I’ve got you, I’m here, don’t worry.

By the time you reached the car, your strength had run out. Your chest ached like you’d been holding your breath for days, and your throat was raw from swallowing down the tears you refused to let fall during the service. You slid into the passenger seat and tugged at the seatbelt, hands shaking just enough that you couldn’t quite click it in place.

Matt didn’t start the car. He didn’t even move for a second—he just looked at you, his brows knitting together with that soft kind of worry he always carried when it came to you. “Hey,” he said gently, leaning across the console. “You don’t have to keep it in now. It’s just me.”

That broke something in you. A shaky sob slipped out before you could stop it, and then the tears came, hot and heavy. You turned your face away, embarrassed, but Matt’s hands were already on you—sliding the seatbelt out of your grasp and unbuckling you completely.

“C’mere,” he murmured, voice steady, coaxing. He tugged you toward him, and you didn’t even resist. He pulled you right across the console, settling you in his lap like you belonged there, his arms circling tight around your waist.

Your face pressed into the soft cotton of his shirt, your tears soaking through almost immediately. He didn’t flinch. He just tucked his chin over your shoulder and rocked you slightly, one hand rubbing slow, comforting circles over your back, the other threading into your hair.

“It’s okay, sweet girl,” he whispered, his voice so gentle it made your heart squeeze. “It’s over. You don’t have to be strong anymore. I’ve got you.”

The sound of his heartbeat under your ear was steady, grounding. You clung to him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like he was the only thing holding you together.

Your sobs eventually softened into broken breaths, but Matt didn’t let go. He kept you there, safe and cocooned against him, like he’d sit in the car with you all night if that’s what you needed.

When your crying quieted, his lips brushed against your temple, featherlight. “My brave girl,” he murmured, the words reverent, almost like a promise.

You shifted slightly to look at him, your eyes red and puffy, and he cupped your face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the lingering tears. His gaze was steady, warm. “You don’t have to do this alone. Not ever. I’m right here.”

And in his lap, wrapped up in his arms, you believed him. For the first time all day, the grief didn’t feel like it was going to swallow you whole—because Matt was there, holding you together when you couldn’t.

@mattspillowprincess @leahfaith @babyt0matoes

[mattlvr03]

Something, Somehow, Someday Moodboard

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[mattlvr03]

I’m Sorry

You weren’t supposed to fall asleep.

Not in the middle of this—not when the last thing Chris had seen on your face was frustration.

The fight hadn’t been huge. Just one of those dumb spirals—words thrown too fast, misheard, misinterpreted. He’d gone to his room to cool off, swearing under his breath, pacing in circles. But after a while, the silence pressing down from upstairs got too heavy. He hated it when it was quiet like this, hated not knowing if you were still angry.

So he came up.

Chris expected to find you sitting there waiting for him, arms crossed, ready to throw the next round of words. But when he saw you curled up on the couch, head against the cushion, breathing soft and even, his chest squeezed in a way that made the argument feel so small.

“Baby…” he whispered, his voice barely a thread.

Your lashes fluttered, but you didn’t wake. You’d fallen asleep mid-fight, which only made guilt burn hotter in his chest. He crouched down beside you, brushing a piece of hair away from your cheek.

“You really fell asleep on me, huh?” he murmured, half a smile tugging at his lips. “Guess I wasn’t that fun to argue with.”

He sighed, then slipped an arm beneath your knees and another around your back. You stirred a little as he lifted you, your cheek pressing against his chest.

“I got you,” he whispered, carrying you toward the stairs with a careful steadiness. Every step down, he pressed his chin gently against the top of your head, as if reminding himself you were really there, soft and warm and trusting in his arms.

By the time he laid you down on the bed, pulling the blanket over your shoulders, his heart had already decided: the fight didn’t matter. Not compared to this.

He kissed your temple lightly, whispering against your skin:

“I’m sorry, angel. We’ll talk tomorrow. Just… don’t ever go to sleep mad at me again, okay?”

Your lips curved faintly in your sleep, and he smiled to himself, finally settling beside you. Wrapped in his arms, the quiet wasn’t heavy anymore. It was safe.

The morning sun was barely creeping through the curtains when you stirred, stretching against the sheets. For a moment, you weren’t sure how you’d gotten into bed—last you remembered, your head was heavy on the couch cushion, your chest still tight from the tension of last night’s fight.

Then you felt it: Chris’s arm draped firmly across your waist, his chest pressed against your back like he hadn’t let you go all night. His breath was slow and warm against your shoulder, his face buried in the crook of your neck as if he was afraid you’d slip away if he loosened his hold.

You blinked, memory piecing itself together in fragments. The sharp words. The silence. The weight of exhaustion pulling you under. And then—faintly—you thought you remembered being lifted, the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your ear, his voice low and soft against your hair.

“Chris?” you whispered, your voice raspy from sleep.

He groaned quietly, eyes still shut as he pulled you closer, his voice muffled. “Mm… don’t move yet.”

You turned your head just enough to catch his expression. His hair was messy, lashes long against his cheeks, his lips parted slightly. But it wasn’t just how he looked—it was the tension around his mouth, the way even in sleep he clung like he was afraid you’d vanish.

“Chris…” you said again, a little more gently this time, and he blinked awake, hazel eyes clouded with sleep. When he saw you watching him, his whole expression softened, guilt flickering through his features.

“Hey,” he whispered. His voice cracked a little, rough from the night. “You okay?”

You hesitated, biting your lip. “I fell asleep on the couch.”

“Yeah,” he said with a tiny nod, brushing his thumb over your hip beneath the blanket. “I carried you down here. Couldn’t just leave you there.”

Something in your chest pinched. He didn’t say it like it was a big deal, but the tenderness in his tone betrayed him.

For a moment, the fight from last night hovered between you both, unspoken but heavy. Chris swallowed, his gaze dropping before he finally met your eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “For being… sharp. I hate going to bed mad at you. And then when I saw you asleep like that, all curled up… I just felt like the biggest idiot in the world.”

Your throat tightened, the sting of tears threatening. You reached up to cup his cheek, his stubble rough against your palm. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I was just—”

“Exhausted,” he finished for you, leaning into your hand. “I know. And I should’ve just come down sooner instead of hiding in my room like a little kid.”

The corners of your mouth lifted in a small, tired smile. “You’re not a little kid.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered, and then kissed your forehead, lingering there like he needed you to know how much he meant it.

The quiet that followed wasn’t heavy like the night before—it was warm, slow, full of unspoken forgiveness. You tangled your fingers with his beneath the blanket, and he exhaled in relief, squeezing your hand.

“Let’s not fight like that again,” you whispered.

“Deal,” Chris said instantly, nudging his nose against your temple. “But if we do… promise me you won’t fall asleep on the couch. I want you here. Always here.”

You smiled, turning in his arms until you were facing him fully. His eyes were soft and earnest, and for the first time since the fight, the knot in your chest unraveled.

“Always here,” you promised back, and when he kissed you this time, it felt like the clean slate you both needed.

@mattspillowprincess @leahfaith @babyt0matoes

[mattlvr03]

bye i’m so chronically on c.ai that i keep putting these **** to make things italic

that don’t work on tumblr babe

@mattspillowprincess @leahfaith @babyt0matoes

[mattlvr03]

One Time Thing

Player!Chris x Sweetheart!Reader AU

The apartment was quiet, except for the TV droning softly in the background. Some late-night rerun was playing, colors flickering against the dim walls, but neither of you were really paying attention. Chris sprawled on the couch in that effortless way he always did—one arm thrown behind his head, the other lazily scrolling through his phone. He had that usual calm about him, the same unbothered look he carried everywhere, like nothing could get under his skin.

You had been sitting next to him at first, legs tucked underneath you, your head balanced on the back of the couch. But the warmth of him was magnetic. Eventually, you slid down, pressing closer until you were stretched out, your cheek pillowed against the flat of his stomach. His t-shirt was soft, the faintest smell of his cologne lingering in the fabric, and the rise and fall of his breathing was steady—too steady for your tired eyes to fight.

You hadn’t planned on falling asleep. You’d only meant to rest your head there for a second, maybe just close your eyes until you got your energy back. But Chris was comfortable in ways you hated admitting, and without even realizing it, your body relaxed completely.

Your arm draped across his thigh, hand curling just above his knee, fingers holding tight like even in sleep you were afraid he’d pull away.

Chris noticed immediately. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything—just raised his brows at the weight of your head against him. He glanced down, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth when he realized you were out cold.

“Seriously?” he muttered under his breath, voice barely above a whisper. “Couldn’t even last through the episode?”

You shifted slightly at the sound of his voice but didn’t wake. Instead, your hand clutched his leg tighter, like you were anchoring yourself to him.

That got him.

Chris tilted his head back against the cushion, letting out a short, quiet laugh. He looked so nonchalant, so unaffected, but inside his chest was doing something weird—something he wasn’t about to admit to anyone, not even himself.

He leaned forward just slightly to set his phone on the coffee table, then let his hand fall back against the couch. For a while, he just sat there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of you against him. Friends with benefits. That’s what this was. Casual. Easy. Something you both agreed on without having to put words to it.

So why did the sight of you curled up against him, trusting him enough to fall asleep, feel so… different?

His lips quirked as if trying to shake it off. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, teasing in tone but softened at the edges. “You’re dangerous when you’re like this, you know that?”

You let out a little hum in your sleep, not awake enough to answer, and nestled further against his stomach.

Chris exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. He had no business finding that cute. He had no business letting his hand wander into your hair, combing through it slowly, careful not to wake you. And he definitely had no business enjoying the way you gripped his leg like you needed him close.

His brain told him to move you, to break the moment before it got too heavy. Keep it casual. Keep it easy. But his body stayed right where it was, sinking deeper into the couch, adjusting just slightly so you’d be more comfortable.

Minutes passed. The show on TV ended and another started, and Chris didn’t even notice. He was too caught up in the sound of your breathing, in the warmth of you pressed against him. He’d never admit it, but the way you fit there—head on his stomach, hand on his leg, wrapped up in him—felt better than it should.

“Don’t get used to it,” he whispered finally, smirking to himself. “This is a one-time thing.”

But his hand stayed in your hair, thumb brushing against your temple in slow, unconscious circles, and the protective stillness of his body betrayed him.

For someone who always claimed he didn’t catch feelings, Chris was doing a really bad job of proving it.

@mattspillowprincess @leahfaith @babyt0matoes

[mattlvr03]

Player!Chris x Sweetheart!Reader Moodboard

Sweetheart!Reader: 21, Gentle, affectionate, and naturally caring. She has a warm presence that draws people in. She’s soft-spoken, thoughtful, and has a way of showing love in little gestures Despite her sweetness, she’s not naive; she knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to show vulnerability with the right person. Loves reading and laying in the grass.

Player!Chris: 22, Laid-back and effortlessly confident, Chris exudes a casual charm that makes him magnetic without even trying. He’s teasing, flirty, and always in control of his space, rarely letting anyone see what he’s really thinking. Occasionally lighthearted, reserved for moments when someone (Sweetheart) earns his trust. Hates when Sweetheart makes him go outside to smoke.

A/N: not sure i did this right

@mattspillowprincess @leahfaith @babyt0matoes

dividers by @v6que !!

[mattlvr03]

something’s coming😛

@mattspillowprincess @leahfaith @babyt0matoes

[mattlvr03]

daddy WHO SAID THAT

Yeah so this was really fucking hot.

[mattlvr03]

Soft Launch

@.matthew.sturniolo

my girlfrienddddd 😭🤍

Comments On This Post Are Limited

@.nicolassturniolo: soft lunchhhhh

⤷@.matthew.sturniolo: i think u mean soft launch

⤷@.nicolassturniolo: no i mean soft lunch, im hungry

@.christophersturniolo: daddy

⤷@matthew.sturniolo: chris.

@.larray: when can i meet her?? gatekeeper ass😒

⤷@.matthew.sturniolo: soon i promise!!

@.madisonbeer: okay but the paintings are giving

⤷ liked by @.y/nsofficial

Matt’s POV:

It started as a joke.

You were crouched on the picnic blanket, leaning over your sketchbook with the sun catching in your hair, and I thought, yeah, that would make a killer photo. I told myself it was just for me.

But then we went to the arcade. You got way too invested in the claw machine, muttering to yourself like it was some high-stakes operation. I took another picture — from behind, all safe and anonymous — but it still screamed you.

And then, walking back to the car, our shadows landed just right. I caught us holding hands, my sneakers and your sneakers like some low-budget rom-com poster. Click.

I didn’t think about it again until later, lying on my bed while you were downstairs grabbing snacks. I was scrolling through the pictures, and I swear they were begging me to post. Just a little post. Nothing crazy. No face. Just… enough.

When you came back in, I blurted out, “White heart or black heart?”

You looked suspicious immediately. “For what?”

I smirked. “Trust me.”

Fast-forward to me hitting “share” and tossing my phone across the bed like it was going to bite me. Thirty seconds later, I couldn’t resist checking.

First comment? Nick.

@.nicolassturniolo: soft lunchhhhh

I actually snorted.

@.matthew.sturniolo: i think u mean soft launch

@.nicolassturniolo: no i mean soft lunch, im hungry

Then Chris, naturally.

@.christophersturniolo: daddy

@.matthew.sturniolo: chris.

Larray came for my throat.

@.larray: when can i meet her?? gatekeeper ass 😒

@.matthew.sturniolo: soon i promise!!

And Madison? She somehow zeroed in on your painting from the picnic blanket photo.

@.madisonbeer: okay but the paintings are giving

By the time you realized what I’d done, you were sprawled across the bed next to me, looking at my phone with one eyebrow raised. “You soft launched me?”

I shrugged. “Technically, yes. But also, I made you mysterious. People love mysterious.”

You laughed, shaking your head, and leaned into me. “You’re ridiculous.”

Maybe. But when I kissed the side of your head and you didn’t pull away, I knew I was also a little bit of a genius.

@mattspillowprincess @leahfaith @babyt0matoes

[mattlvr03]

Not Anymore

Warnings: implied abuse, hurt/comfort

The dining room was suffocating—every laugh too sharp, every pause too loud. You were just counting the seconds until you could leave without starting a fight.

Then the front door opened.

Matt’s footsteps were heavy but controlled as he came down the hall. When he stepped into the kitchen, his eyes locked on you instantly—steady, unreadable, but burning underneath.

“C’mon, baby,” he said, voice low and calm, like he was just telling you it was time to go home.

You hesitated, glancing at your plate. “Matt—”

“Up,” he said quietly, already reaching for your hand. His grip was warm, steady, grounding.

Your mother’s voice cut in sharply. “She’s not leaving. We’re in the middle of dinner.”

Matt didn’t even look at her. “Yeah, she is.”

Your father’s chair scraped loudly as he stood. “Excuse me?”

Matt finally lifted his gaze, meeting your father’s eyes without a single flinch. “I’m not gonna ask twice.”

The room went still. Even the hum of the fridge seemed quieter.

You could feel your parents’ disapproval burning into your back as he pulled you to your feet. You didn’t resist.

“Matt, this is our house—” your father started, but Matt was already guiding you toward the door.

“Exactly,” Matt said without turning around. “And I’m making sure she gets out of it.”

The door shut behind you before anyone could answer. The cool night air felt like the first real breath you’d taken all evening.

Matt’s jaw was tight, his hand still holding yours like he didn’t trust the world not to take you away again. He only spoke once you were in the car, engine rumbling beneath you.

“They’re never putting you through that again.”

The glow of the dashboard lights painted the inside of the car in soft blue. Matt’s hands were tight on the steering wheel at first, jaw set, his eyes fixed on the road like if he blinked, the house might pull you back.

You sat in silence, still holding onto the warmth of his hoodie sleeve where you’d gripped it walking out. Your heart was pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat.

Halfway down the street, his grip on the wheel eased. He glanced at you, eyes softening when he saw the way you were curled in on yourself.

“You’re okay now,” he murmured. “It’s over.”

The words cracked something inside you. You pressed your hands to your face, trying to swallow the rush of tears, but your breath hitched anyway.

Matt pulled over without a word. The next thing you knew, his seatbelt clicked free and he was leaning across to unbuckle yours.

“C’mere,” he said gently.

You let him pull you across the console, settling against his chest. His arms wrapped around you tight—not crushing, but solid, like he was keeping the whole world out.

“It’s okay to let go now,” he whispered into your hair. “You don’t have to keep it together for me.”

And you didn’t. Not anymore.

He just held you, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing slow circles on your back while your tears soaked into his hoodie. No rush, no questions, just steady warmth.

When you finally pulled back, his thumb brushed your cheek, wiping the last of the tears. His voice was low but sure:

“They’re not gonna touch you again. Not while I’m around.”

The way he said it, you believed him.

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[mattlvr03]

Chris x Reader Texts

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[mattlvr03]

Not That Sick

It started with the cough.

You’d been scrolling on your phone in the living room when you heard it—low and rough, coming from down the hall. At first, you thought maybe Chris was just clearing his throat after one of his late-night snack binges. But then came the sneezing, the groaning, and the sound of someone dramatically flopping onto their bed.

"Chris?" you called, knocking lightly on his door.

A muffled, congested, “I’m fine!” came back, the kind of "I’m fine" that meant he was absolutely not fine.

You peeked in anyway, because you knew him. Sure enough, there he was—messy hair sticking in every direction, hoodie swallowed up around his face, blanket bunched awkwardly over him like he’d given up halfway through tucking himself in. His cheeks were flushed, and his nose… well, let’s just say he’d clearly been in a losing battle with a box of tissues.

"You look like death," you teased gently, walking in.

He cracked one eye open. "Thanks, that’s exactly what every sick guy wants to hear from his girlfriend."

You smiled, sitting at the edge of his bed. "Girlfriend privileges: I’m allowed to state the obvious."

Chris grumbled but didn’t resist when you pushed him back onto his pillows. His voice was raspy when he finally muttered, “I’m not that sick, y’know. Just a little cold.”

The warm heat radiating off him begged to differ. You brushed your fingers across his forehead, confirming your suspicion. "You’re burning up, Christopher."

"full name? Really? I’m on my deathbed here," he whined, eyes closing again.

"full name is for when I’m serious. Now, stay put."

Over the next few hours, you made it your mission to baby him—whether he liked it or not. You brought him tea, the good kind with honey, even though he claimed “tea tastes like leaf water.” You propped his pillows so he could sit up, tucked the blankets snugly around him, and shushed his protests when you pressed a cool washcloth to his forehead.

At one point, you caught him trying to get up to grab his phone charger. “Chris, sit down,” you said sternly, intercepting him.

"But I need—"

"You need rest. I’ll get it."

"Bossy," he murmured, but there was a tiny, grateful smile tugging at his lips when you plugged in his phone.

By the time the evening rolled around, his fever had dipped a little. He was curled up against you on the couch now, head resting in your lap, watching some random movie he’d chosen mostly for background noise. You absentmindedly ran your fingers through his hair, feeling it start to settle from its earlier messy chaos.

"You’re really good at this," he said softly, his voice still scratchy.

"At what?"

"Taking care of me. Being… y’know… all gentle and stuff." His eyes flicked up to yours, sincere in a way that made your chest ache.

You smiled, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. "You’re easy to take care of, Chris."

"Not what Nick and Matt would say," he smirked weakly.

"Well, I’m not Nick and Matt." You brushed your thumb over his temple, watching his eyelids get heavier.

As he drifted off, the weight of his head in your lap grew heavier, his breathing evening out. And maybe, just maybe, you stayed in that exact position for the next two hours—because even though Chris would insist tomorrow that he “wasn’t really that sick,” you knew how rare it was for him to let his guard down like this.

And you weren’t about to waste a second of it.

A/N: guys i’m getting LAZY💔💔

@mattspillowprincess 🤓

@leahfaith 😋

@babyt0matoes 🤫

[mattlvr03]

Birthday Texts

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@leahfaith😋

[mattlvr03]

Birthday Texts

@mattspillowprincess 🤓

@leahfaith 😋

[mattlvr03]

Midnight Mac & Cheese

You stirred awake, confused by the faint clinking sound echoing from the kitchen. The glowing numbers on your phone read 2:03 AM. You frowned, rubbing your eyes, then slid your legs out from under the blanket, wincing as the cold air hit your bare thighs. One of Chris’s hoodies hung comfortably over your torso, but you'd gone to bed without pants—regret creeping in with every step across the chilly hardwood.

You padded into the dimly lit hallway, the soft golden light spilling from the kitchen guiding you like a beacon. The scent hit you before you saw him—cheesy, buttery, nostalgic.

There he was. Chris stood at the stove, shirtless in sweats, lazily stirring a pot of mac and cheese with one hand while holding his phone in the other, TikTok audio faintly playing from it. His hair was a mess, curls pushed back in an unruly way that made him look even softer in the glow.

You leaned on the doorframe, blinking sleepily.

“Chris… what are you doing?”

He turned, startled for half a second, then smiled like he was proud of himself.

“Midnight—well, 2AM—mac attack. You want some?”

You pouted, crossing your arms, shivering a little.

“It’s cold. And I’m not wearing pants.”

Chris raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking down at your bare legs for the briefest moment before he smirked. “Not my fault you sleep like that.”

Before you could sass him back, he crossed the room in three quick steps and swooped you up effortlessly.

“Chris!” you squeaked, laughing as he lifted you off your feet.

“Shhh,” he said, grinning as he set you down gently on the counter near the stove. “You’re gonna make me spill the cheese.”

The cold countertop kissed the backs of your thighs and you immediately winced, whining through your teeth.

“Chris, it’s freezing—why would you do that?!”

He snorted, clearly amused. “You literally just said you were cold, and your solution was to come stand in the kitchen half-naked.”

You narrowed your eyes, tugging the hem of his hoodie further down over your legs. “You could’ve warned me before putting me on an ice slab.”

Chris chuckled and stirred the pot a few more times, then handed you a spoonful of the noodles straight from the pot. “Here. This’ll warm you up.”

You blew on it dramatically before taking a bite, eyes widening.

“Oh my god. That’s actually so good.”

He smirked like he’d just been crowned a culinary genius.

“I told you. I don’t mess around when it comes to late-night cravings.”

You watched him for a moment—his soft profile, the calm hush of the house around you, the way his eyes flicked back to you between stirs like he was making sure you were still warm and safe on the counter. Your legs dangled as he leaned in to steal a kiss off your cheek.

“Still cold?” he asked softly.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “A little.”

He rested his hands on your bare thighs, warm and comforting. “I could just stand here like this. Heat you up and feed you at the same time. Multi-tasking.”

You laughed, tugging him closer. “I’m okay with that.”

The spoonful of mac and cheese was cozy, buttery heaven — the kind of comfort that hit your soul. You blinked slow, your head heavy, legs still swinging gently off the counter. Chris stood between them, absently rubbing his thumb in circles on your thigh while finishing up the pot.

You rested your cheek against his shoulder for a second. Just a second. The warmth of his skin, the slow rhythm of his breathing, and the quiet clink of the spoon were a lullaby.

He looked down after a few moments and let out a soft laugh.

“Chew that up, baby,” he murmured, brushing a thumb along your jaw. “You’re fallin’ asleep with food in your mouth.”

Your eyes fluttered open, startled, and you groaned quietly around the bite still in your cheek. You chewed slowly, giving him a sheepish look while your legs instinctively squeezed around his waist for balance.

“I was resting my eyes,” you mumbled through the last bit of your bite.

Chris smirked, tilting his head. “Mhm. With your mouth full of mac and cheese and everything?”

You let your head drop against his chest, a soft whine in your throat. “I’m cozy. It’s your fault. You’re warm. The food’s warm. Everything’s too perfect.”

He chuckled again and kissed the top of your head, pulling back just enough to take the spoon from your hand and set it in the sink.

“Alright, sleepy girl,” he said gently. “Let’s get you back to bed before you pass out and choke on my late-night masterpiece.”

You sighed dramatically but didn’t protest. Chris lifted you from the counter with that same effortless ease, your legs wrapping around his waist this time as you leaned into him fully.

“You’re carrying me?” you mumbled.

“Obviously,” he said, padding back toward the dark bedroom. “Can’t trust you not to nap in the fridge next.”

You giggled faintly, your words already slurring again as you nuzzled into his neck.

“Love you.”

Chris glanced down, heart tugging at the sleepy honesty in your voice.

“Love you more, sleepyhead. No more midnight snacks for you unless I spoon-feed ‘em.”

“Deal,” you whispered.

And just like that, you were out again—warm, safe, full of mac and cheese, and completely tucked into his arms.

A/N: HAPPY 22nd BOYZZZZ

@mattspillowprincess 🤓

@leahfaith😋

[mattlvr03]

You Wanna Go Home?

Warnings: mention of a panic attack, Hurt/Comfort

The warehouse echoed with camera clicks, shuffled footsteps, and quiet instructions from the photographer. Matt sat on a beat-up couch under harsh studio lights, eyes fluttering between the camera and the corner of the room, where Nick and Chris were joking with the stylist.

It should’ve been a normal shoot—quick, painless, something they’d done a hundred times. But today, everything felt wrong. His chest had started tightening twenty minutes ago, and now it was like someone was pushing down on it with both hands.

He couldn’t breathe right.

The room didn’t feel real anymore.

The voices of his brothers, usually grounding, blurred together in a fuzzy mess. The collar of his shirt suddenly felt too tight. His hands trembled where they rested on his knees.

He grabbed his phone like a lifeline and immediately clicked your contact. You answered after two rings.

“Hey, baby. wh-“

“Can you come to the warehouse, Please? I can’t do this.”

You nod even though he can’t see it, “I’m on my way, baby. Stay on the phone with me.”

“Matt, you good?” Nick’s voice cut through the fog, but Matt shook his head and turned away, gripping the phone with both hands like it was the only thing keeping him from floating away.

You talked to him the whole drive. Calm, slow, steady. Asking little questions. Reminding him to breathe. Promising you were minutes away.

And you were.

The second you got into the warehouse, you spotted him—curled up in a corner, hoodie pulled over his head, hands over his ears like he was trying to drown out the world.

“Hey, baby.”

His head shot up the second he heard your voice. His face crumpled, and the phone fell from his hand as he reached out to you.

You didn’t waste a second. You were on the floor with him, arms around his shaking body, pulling him into your chest. He buried his face in your shoulder like he wanted to disappear there, and you held him like the whole world depended on it.

“I got you,” you whispered, one hand on the back of his head, fingers in his hair. “I’m here, baby. You’re okay. Just breathe. You’re not alone.”

He was crying so hard his whole body shook with it, sobs ripping out of his throat with no rhythm or reason.

You rocked him slowly, the way you knew he liked, your hand sliding up and down his back in comforting strokes.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “Let it out. I’ve got you.”

Time stopped existing.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that—just the two of you on the cold warehouse floor, the rest of the world blurring away.

Eventually, his breathing slowed. The crying dulled into hiccups and shaky exhales. He still clung to you, but his grip had loosened just enough for you to shift and look at him.

His cheeks were soaked. Eyes red. He looked exhausted.

“You wanna go home?” you asked gently, brushing the hair off his forehead.

He nodded immediately, almost desperately.

“Yeah?” you cooed, cupping his jaw in your hand. “You wanna get in bed and watch a show? We can do whatever you want, baby.”

He nodded again, and this time, a weak little sound came with it—something between relief and a sob.

You leaned in, pressing your lips to his temple. “I’ll tell Chris he has to drive home when they’re done, okay? You don’t have to think about anything else right now.”

He leaned against you again, resting his head on your shoulder, quieter this time.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Always.” You rubbed circles into his back. “Let’s get you outta here.”

You stood up, keeping one hand on him while he gathered himself, then wrapped your arm around his waist and guided him to the car like you were protecting something precious.

Because you were.

And if it took the rest of the day—or the whole week—you’d hold him until he was okay again.

You helped him up the stairs slowly, one hand around his waist, the other steadying his hand on the banister. Every few steps, he stopped to lean against you—more emotionally drained than physically tired, but it hit just the same.

When you reached the bedroom, he stood still for a second in the doorway, like he didn’t want to bring any of what he felt into the space you two always kept soft and safe.

“It’s okay,” you whispered from behind him, gently tugging on the hem of his hoodie. “Come on. Let’s get comfy.”

He nodded, wordless, and peeled off the hoodie and the t-shirt underneath before switching into one of his favorite sweaters, the one with the sleeves a little too long and the fabric that felt like a hug.

You’d already pulled the comforter back and fluffed his pillow the way he liked.

He climbed into bed without a word, then looked at you expectantly with glassy eyes, silently asking you to join him.

You didn’t make him wait. You got in beside him, and as soon as your back hit the pillows, he curled up against you, head resting on your chest, hand slipping around your waist like he was anchoring himself.

You draped your arm around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head.

“You wanna pick something?” you asked softly, fingers stroking along the curve of his arm.

He shook his head, his cheek brushing against your collarbone.

“Want me to?”

This time, he gave a small nod.

You reached for the remote and flipped through the streaming apps without needing to think. You already knew what he needed.

“Gravity Falls?”

Another nod—a little quicker this time.

You smiled faintly and clicked play on the first episode, volume low, the show’s quirky theme filling the room like a familiar lullaby.

The moment the intro started, Matt let out a breath he didn’t seem to know he was holding, relaxing more against you. His hand curled tighter into the fabric of your shirt.

“This okay?” you murmured.

“Yeah,” he said, voice muffled but certain. “Perfect.”

He didn’t say anything else. Didn’t need to.

You rubbed slow circles into his back, timing your breathing with his as the colors from the screen painted soft patterns across the ceiling.

Before long, you felt the tension melt out of his shoulders, and his breathing evened out.

You kept the episode playing, even when you knew he was asleep.

Because maybe he’d wake up in the middle of the night needing comfort again. Maybe he’d stir and need to hear Dipper’s voice or Mabel’s laugh.

Or maybe he just needed to know you’d stay right there, holding him, until every piece of his panic dissolved into nothing.

Whatever it was—he had it.

You kissed his hair again and whispered into the quiet:

“I’m right here, Matt. I’m not going anywhere.”

And you meant it. Every word.

A/N: surprise birthday fic😛😛😛

@mattspillowprincess 🤓

@leahfaith 😋

[mattlvr03]

this is definitely not the birthday fic i wanted but i don’t have time to do anything else so…

coming august 1st @ 8am est💔🥀