mattlvr03

[mattlvr03]

Instagram Stories

A/n: trying something new todayyy

@mattspillowprincess 🤓

[mattlvr03]

Everytown, There's You

The gas station was the only thing glowing for miles.

You were perched on the hood of Matt’s beat-up Jeep, a half-melted slushie in your hand, looking up at the night sky that hung heavy and wide above the empty backroad. The only sound was the hum of bugs and a tinny guitar leaking from Matt’s phone speaker in the cupholder.

You always ended up like this—just outside of somewhere, just before something else. It was kind of your thing. You and Matt. Always a little in-between.

“You think this town has one?” you asked suddenly.

Matt turned to you, his brows drawn. “Has what?”

“A darling,” you said, gesturing vaguely to the empty gas station and the even emptier street. “Everytown has one, right? That’s what the song says.”

Matt leaned back against the windshield, letting out a slow breath that clouded a little in the cool night air. “If it does, they’re probably working the night shift at the Waffle House. Or driving out of here right now.”

You smiled, slow. “You always think people are leaving.”

He glanced at you sideways. “Aren’t they?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you looked up at the stars, small and trembling above you, like they were nervous to be seen.

Matt shifted beside you, the denim of his jacket brushing your arm. “What if we stayed?” he asked, so quiet it was almost to himself.

You turned to him, unsure what he meant. “In this town?”

He shook his head. “In a town. Any town. Just one. For a while.”

You stared at him, trying to figure out if this was one of those things he said when he was tired or if he meant it. His eyes were on the sky, but his hand was closer to yours now, resting between you on the warm metal of the car.

“You always talk about going somewhere new,” you said.

“Yeah. I do.” He hesitated. “But it’s starting to feel like the new part isn’t the point.”

You didn’t ask what was. You already knew.

It wasn’t the place. It was the people. It was you.

You leaned over, resting your head on his shoulder. He didn’t flinch, didn’t tense, just let out a breath like maybe he’d been waiting for that all night.

“Maybe we’re the darlings,” you said softly.

Matt smiled. “Maybe.”

For a long time, neither of you said anything. You stayed on that hood until the slushie melted to syrup and the stars faded into dawn. And when the sun rose, it looked like it could’ve been any town. But it didn’t matter.

Because he was there. And so were you.

And that was enough.

A/N: I NEEDED to write this the second I got the idea cause I’m obsessed with Finn and his music

@mattspillowprincess 🤓

[mattlvr03]

Shuttered Whispers

Warnings: suggestive content, Fbomb

You were already flushed before the first photo was even taken.

Chris stood across the room, camera in hand, lips parted slightly as he adjusted the focus. His gaze dragged over your body like a slow caress — one you could feel even from feet away.

The silky robe you wore barely clung to your shoulders, the lace trim teasing over skin you knew he’d memorized by now. You tilted your head, letting it slip just a little farther.

"That’s it," he murmured, voice low and warm. Click. "Hold it."

You smiled, soft and knowing, resting your weight on your palms behind you. The robe spread open around your thighs as you shifted.

“You’re staring more than shooting,” you teased, eyes locked on his.

“Can you blame me?” His voice had dropped — that rough, possessive edge sneaking in. “You look like a fucking sin.”

Another photo. Then another. His breathing had changed. So had yours.

You adjusted, slowly crawling toward the edge of the bed. The robe fell open just enough to reveal the bare swell of your chest beneath — no bra, just skin and anticipation.

"Come closer," you whispered. "You're too far away."

Chris exhaled through his nose, lowering the camera slightly, then stepped between your knees.

"Last few shots are gonna be handheld," he muttered, lifting the camera just enough to click a few photos with one hand while the other traced up your thigh. "God, you have no idea what you’re doing to me right now."

You leaned forward, lips brushing his jaw. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

The camera clicked again, capturing the moment your mouth brushed his. His hand slid under the robe, fingers skimming warm skin, and your breath hitched.

“Still working?” you whispered against his lips.

He growled, a soft, strained sound. “Not for long.”

The next photo came out blurred — your hand had slipped around his neck, pulling him in. The camera hit the mattress with a quiet thud as his lips crashed to yours, all heat and hunger.

The robe slid from your body entirely now, forgotten on the floor. You felt his rings press cool against your waist, grounding you even as your whole body pulsed with need.

“You sure we’re not gonna end up on the wrong side of the internet?” you teased between kisses, breathless.

Chris smirked, eyes dark and full of something molten. “These aren’t for anyone else.”

And when he kissed you again — deeper, slower — you believed it.

@mattspillowprincess 🤓

[mattlvr03]

Cramps & Comfort

Genre: Fluff, Comfort, Established Relationship

You hadn’t moved from the couch all day.

Your hoodie was three sizes too big, your heating pad had become a permanent fixture on your abdomen, and you’d cycled between wanting to cry and wanting to punch something at least five times since waking up.

So when Matt texted you that morning asking if you were still down to hang, you replied with a halfhearted: “On my period. Dying. Rain check?”

What you didn’t expect was a knock on your front door twenty minutes later.

You shuffled over and cracked it open, still wrapped in your blanket like a sad little burrito. There was your boyfriend — Matt Sturniolo — standing on the porch in sweats and a hoodie, holding a plastic bag in one hand and giving you a crooked, knowing smile.

“Doctor Sturniolo, reporting for duty.”

You blinked. “Matt, I told you I wasn’t up for—”

“I know,” he said, brushing past you gently, “but you don’t need to be up for anything. That’s what I’m here for.”

He dropped the bag on your coffee table and turned to face you fully. “Permission to cuddle the patient?”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “Granted.”

“Thought so.”

“I got: chocolate, Midol, your favorite raspberry tea, and these weird-ass heat patches I found at CVS.”

You stared at him, a little overwhelmed. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he cut in gently, toeing off his shoes. “You didn’t really think I was just gonna let you suffer in silence, did you?”

You blinked. “Yes?”

He rolled his eyes but smiled as he followed you to the couch. You flopped back down with a wince, and Matt immediately dropped the bag on the coffee table, crouching beside you.

“Where’s your pain scale at right now? Like, 1 being ‘eh, manageable’ and 10 being ‘burn it all down’?”

“Like… solid 7.5,” you muttered.

Matt nodded solemnly. “That’s high enough for emergency measures.

You watched him dig through the bag and triumphantly hold up a fluffy microwavable stuffed animal — a lavender-scented bunny.

“…Where did you even get that?”

“I was weak,” he admitted. “The packaging said ‘soothing cuddles,’ and I was like, well, I’m soothing but I can’t go in the microwave.”

You smiled despite the pain, heart swelling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously good at this,” he said smugly, vanishing into the kitchen to warm up the bunny.

He returned two minutes later, warm lavender rabbit in hand. “Presenting: Sir Bun. Use him wisely.”

You giggled as he carefully swapped out your heating pad for the bunny, tucking it gently against your stomach. Then he sat down beside you, pulling you into his side like you were meant to fit there — and honestly, you were.

“You okay?” he asked softly, one arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other hand lightly tracing circles on your leg.

You let out a breath. “Still crampy. But like... less murdery now.”

“Progress,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss the side of your head. “Pain scale?”

“Seven. But emotionally? A soft ten because of you.”

Matt beamed. “I’ll take it.”

You snuggled deeper into him, letting your eyes flutter shut. His hoodie smelled like him — clean, familiar, safe. The tea was steeping on the coffee table, the bunny was warm, and Matt was rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back.

He wasn’t trying to fix it. He wasn’t weird about it. He was just there — solid, gentle, and yours.

“You’re not grossed out?” you mumbled.

He tilted his head to meet your eyes. “Babe, you bleed once a month and still manage to function. That’s the most badass thing ever. I’m just trying to keep up.”

You laughed, quiet and breathy. “I love you.”

He smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I love you more. Even when you’re a period gremlin.”

You smacked his chest lightly and he grinned wider.

And for the rest of the afternoon, he didn’t leave your side. He fed you chocolate, made you laugh, and whispered sweet nothings every time you winced. Your cramps didn’t vanish, but with Matt holding you like that — everything hurt a little less.

A/N: surpriseeee

[mattlvr03]

Instagram Post

@.y/nsofficial

Tagged: @.matthew.sturniolo

I got a new nightstand today and Matt threw a fit on the street when i asked him to help me build it

Comments on this post are limited

@.matthew.sturniolo: i thought we agreed to not post that one??

⤷@.y/nsofficial: I lied😛

@.nicolassturniolo: I’m the one that got it btw

⤷@.y/nsofficial: I picked it out tho

@.christophersturniolo: @.matthewsturniolo smashed the old one with that hammer

⤷@.matthew.sturniolo: it was one piece???

@.matthew.sturniolo

Tagged: @.y/nsofficial

Hi, I love my fiancé

Comments on this post are limited

@.y/nsofficial: this is what we’re doing now?

⤷@.matthew.sturniolo: uh yeah??

@.nicolassturniolo: so I can tell ppl now??

@.Christophersturniolo: are those my shoes???

[mattlvr03]

Something, Somehow, Someday

Matt Sturniolo

Genre: Soft angst / slow-burn romance Final Chapter: The Speeches

An ending, and a beginning.

The lights were soft and golden as the reception buzzed around you, tucked beneath the wide white tent strung with warm fairy lights. The night air was crisp but comfortable, the kind of air that made you want to pull your jacket closer and lean in to someone familiar. You were still wrapped in your dress, cheeks pink from laughing and dancing, hand in Matt’s under the table.

It felt surreal. Not in a big way — in a quiet, humbling way. Like the kind of dream you don't want to wake up from because it’s just soft enough to be real.

Dinner plates clinked, laughter echoed, and the DJ played a mellow song in the background while guests picked at their desserts. You were so content you almost didn’t hear the tapping of the glass.

Nick stood, holding a mic, looking a little too smug for someone who’d already been caught crying three separate times.

“I’m gonna keep this short,” he started, eyes flicking between you and Matt. “Because I know Matt’s dying to get out of his tie and probably hasn’t eaten a full meal in the last five hours.”

A few chuckles rippled through the crowd.

“But honestly? This doesn’t feel like the end of something. It feels like the middle of the best part. I’ve known Matt my entire life, and I’ve never seen him like this. Like... grounded. Settled. Full. You gave that to him,” Nick said, looking at you. “You never asked him to be more than he is. You just saw what was already there.”

Matt’s hand tightened around yours.

“I don’t really know how to follow that,” Chris muttered as he took the mic from Nick. “But I’ll try.”

Everyone laughed.

“I used to think people overhyped love — like, the fairytale, movie-ending, soulmate stuff. But then I watched these two, and I realized it’s not about the fireworks. It’s about the small stuff. The way she knows when Matt���s getting overwhelmed before he even says anything. The way he looks at her like he’s still trying to believe this is real. That’s not a movie. That’s love. And we’re all lucky to witness it.”

Matt’s jaw clenched, trying to hold back emotion.

Your best friend stood next — voice a little shaky, eyes glassy — and told a story about the first time you talked about Matt like you didn’t even realize you were falling. About the playlist. The hoodie. The moment you whispered “he makes the world feel quieter.”

The guests laughed and sighed and reached for napkins at all the right moments.

And then Matt stood.

The room hushed immediately.

He didn’t use a mic — just looked out at the people gathered, then down at you.

“I’m not great at this,” he admitted. “But if there’s one thing I want you all to leave here knowing, it’s that I didn’t think I’d ever have this. I didn’t think I’d let myself.”

He looked right at you.

“But then she showed up. And she didn’t try to fix me. She just… stood there. Stayed. Loved me exactly how I am. And I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to return that.”

The tent went quiet for a beat.

Then applause — gentle, full, proud.

The night bled into dancing — slow songs and barefoot steps on the grass, jackets draped over shoulders, your shoes long forgotten under the table. You and Matt stole kisses between dances, shared a piece of cake too small to split, and snuck off for five minutes just to sit under the stars in silence.

Later, Nick found the two of you there and said with a grin, “You know you’re married now, right? You don’t have to sneak around like teenagers anymore.”

Matt just leaned closer to you, kissed the top of your head, and said quietly, “Let me have this moment.”

You sat there until your legs were cold and your eyes felt heavy.

Until the world grew quiet again.

Until all that was left was the sound of your heart, and his, and the life you’d built — slow and imperfect and beautifully real.

The End.

(And the beginning of everything that matters.)

A/N: okay bye im sobbing. I’m gonna miss them so much. Thank you for all the support, I love u guys sm😭

@mattspillowprincess 🤓

[mattlvr03]

Something, Somehow, Someday

Matt Sturniolo

Genre: Soft angst / slow-burn romance

Chapter 64: The Ceremony and Their Vows

Fall light and forever promises.

The ceremony was outside, just as the sun began its descent behind the amber trees lining the quiet edge of the Boston venue. Golden light stretched across the aisle, dappling over wooden chairs and soft petals scattered by Nick (dramatically, of course) minutes earlier.

It was cool, the kind of autumn chill that settled over your shoulders and made you feel held. Wrapped in the warmth of the moment. Of everything it meant.

You stood at the edge of the path, hidden from view for now. Your heart beat so hard you were surprised the fabric of your dress didn’t shift with it.

Music started—gentle and familiar, one of Matt’s favorite acoustic tracks from a playlist he’d made during your first summer together. The one he once sent you late at night with the message: “This feels like you.”

People stood.

And then—

You stepped out.

Matt was already there, standing beneath the arch covered in wildflowers, soft-eyed and stunned. He looked like someone who had been holding his breath for years, and just now let it go.

Chris stood on one side. Nick was across from him, eyes already suspiciously glassy.

Matt didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

You met his eyes, and everything else faded — the guests, the nerves, the rustle of leaves.

It was just him. Just you.

Everything else was background noise.

When you reached the front, Matt took your hands before the officiant could even begin. His palms were shaking.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Hi,” he mouthed back.

Then the world caught up.

The officiant welcomed everyone, but your focus stayed on the way Matt’s thumb rubbed slow circles over your skin. There was a time he never would’ve done that — not in public, not with so many eyes. But now? He didn’t care. Not about the whispers, or the stares, or how much emotion sat in his chest like a rising tide.

When it was time for vows, Matt insisted on going first.

His voice cracked immediately. He let out a soft, nervous laugh and shook his head.

“Okay,” he whispered, glancing down at the folded paper in his hand. Then back at you. “You know I’m not good at saying things the way you deserve to hear them. I mess up my words. I pull back when I mean to lean in. But somehow—somehow, you never gave up on me.”

You blinked back tears.

“You stood by me through every fear, every mistake. You made the world quieter when my head was too loud. You loved me before I knew how to love myself. And I still don’t always get it right, but I promise to keep showing up. Even when I’m scared. Even when it’s messy. Especially when it’s hard. I choose you. Every single day.”

He paused, breathing shallow.

“I’ll never be perfect. But I’ll always be yours.”

You could barely hear the officiant invite you to read yours — your heart was pounding too loud.

You held your vow card in trembling fingers.

“Matt,” you began, “from the very first night — when you stood across the kitchen looking just as lost as I felt — I knew there was something different about you. Something real.”

His eyes glistened.

“You’ve never made love easy,” you teased softly, and the guests laughed. “But you made it worth it. You taught me that the strongest love isn’t loud or flashy. It’s quiet. It’s consistent. It’s letting someone see all your mess and still choosing to stay.”

You swallowed.

“I promise to stay. To listen. To push you when you pull back, and to hold you when you feel like falling. I promise to grow with you, to trust you, to believe in you—especially when you can’t believe in yourself. I love you more than I ever thought was possible.”

Matt’s head dropped, a tear slipping down his cheek.

You reached forward and wiped it away.

“I’m yours. Always.”

The officiant gave you both a beat to just breathe. Then the words came:

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Matt didn’t wait.

He kissed you like he had something to prove — not to the guests, not even to you — but to the scared version of himself from all those years ago. The boy who thought he’d never get here. Who didn’t think he was worthy.

Now, he knew better.

You were both shaking when you pulled away.

The guests erupted. Nick wiped his eyes aggressively and yelled, “FINALLY!”

And you laughed, forehead pressed to Matt’s, both of you glowing in the last light of fall.

It was done.

It was beginning.

A/N: lowk got lazy with the titles😭 and I cried while writing their vows…

@mattspillowprincess 🤓

[mattlvr03]

Something, Somehow, Someday

Matt Sturniolo

Genre: Soft angst / slow-burn romance

Chapter 63: Morning Light & Makeup Brushes

It’s time.

The car ride to the venue felt like a dream.

Boston blurred by your window in soft, golden streaks — the kind of light that only exists on mornings that matter. You sat in the backseat, surrounded by garment bags, coffee cups, and Nick softly humming something obnoxious under his breath to keep the nerves at bay.

“Stop bouncing your knee,” he whispered, nudging you gently. “You’re gonna shake the curls out of your head.”

You hadn’t even realized you were doing it. You exhaled a slow, careful breath and nodded.

“I’m fine,” you said.

Nick raised a brow. “No, you’re vibrating.”

You both laughed — that nervous, teary, too-honest kind of laugh that only ever comes on days like this.

–––

The bridal suite at the venue was warm and bright, with arched windows and soft music playing through a little Bluetooth speaker. Everything felt hushed and sacred. Your dress hung in the corner like a secret, your shoes sat waiting by the mirror, and the makeup artist was already laying out her brushes like tools for something holy.

Nick popped the champagne with a dramatic pop that made everyone jump.

“To love, chaos, and waterproof mascara,” he said, handing you a glass. “And to you — being the hottest bitch this side of the Charles River.”

“Cheers,” you laughed, clinking your glass against his, trying not to cry at how proud his eyes looked.

Soon the room was filled with soft voices, hairspray clouds, and the gentle rhythm of pre-wedding ritual. Someone played a Frank Ocean song. Someone else tripped over the dress bag and cursed in a whisper.

You sat in the makeup chair and let yourself be quiet for a minute.

And that’s when it hit you. Really hit you.

This was happening.

You were getting married.

To Matt.

Your Matt.

The boy who once sat on the roof of his car and said “we keep almost being something.”

The one who had been scared, slow, tender, chaotic.

The one who chose you — again and again — even when he didn’t know how to say it out loud.

“Okay,” the stylist said behind you, securing the last pin in your hair. “Ready to see?”

You turned to the mirror.

And for a second, you didn’t even recognize yourself — not because of the makeup or the updo or the shimmer along your collarbones, but because of the glow in your chest. The kind that only comes from loving and being loved for real.

“She’s gonna cry,” Nick said from the couch.

“Not yet,” you whispered, blinking fast.

–––

Down the hall, in a completely different room, Matt stood in front of the mirror with his tie crooked and his heart pounding.

Chris was trying to fix the knot, but he kept grinning too wide to focus.

“Bro,” he said, pulling back. “You’re getting married in like two hours. You’re gonna actually be someone’s husband.”

Matt swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

“Are you gonna throw up or pass out first?”

“Neither.”

Chris looked at him.

“…Maybe both.”

Matt shook his head, laughing a little, eyes locking on his reflection.

And for once, he didn’t see the version of himself that flinched from love.

He saw someone who made it.

Someone who was about to walk toward everything he’d ever been afraid to want.

–––

Back in the bridal suite, you stood in your dress. Everything fit. Everything glowed.

Nick fixed your veil. You looked in the mirror one last time. And then someone knocked gently on the door.

“Ten minutes,” came the whisper from the other side.

Ten minutes until everything changed — and somehow, also stayed exactly the same.

You smiled, heart thudding.

“I’m ready.”

@mattspillowprincess 🤓

[mattlvr03]

Something, Somehow, Someday

Matt Sturniolo

Genre: Soft angst / slow-burn romance

Chapter 62: The Night Before

One sleep away.

The rehearsal dinner had ended hours ago, but your heart was still racing.

You were curled up on nicks bed at Matt’s parents’ house — not the room you usually stayed in when visiting, but the one he’d sacrificed for the bride. Your dress was hanging in the closet, carefully zipped and untouched. Shoes lined up beside it. A handwritten note from your mom sat on the nightstand, folded once, sealed with her cursive initials.

Everything was quiet.

Too quiet.

You clutched one of Matt’s hoodies to your chest, eyes fixed on the ceiling fan as it spun in lazy circles. You weren’t nervous, not exactly — but your thoughts wouldn’t settle. The guest list, the vows, the music cues, whether Nick would make an inappropriate joke in front of your grandmother. You had waited for this for so long — years of becoming, years of almosts, and finally, finally arriving.

And suddenly the weight of it all felt enormous.

A soft knock on the door pulled you out of your spiral.

You sat up fast. “Yeah?”

It cracked open just a few inches — Matt’s voice came through, low and hesitant. “You decent?”

“Always.”

The door eased open and there he was, barefoot, in sweatpants and the t-shirt he’d had on since dinner, hair still damp from his shower. He looked… different. Not nervous, not cocky — just quiet. Gentle.

“I know we’re not supposed to see each other before tomorrow,” he said, stepping inside anyway. “But you looked like you were overthinking yourself into a coma during dessert.”

You laughed, but it cracked in the middle. “A little bit, yeah.”

He shut the door behind him and crossed the room, sitting beside you on the bed. For a second, he didn’t say anything. Just reached out and rested his hand over your knee.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said finally. “Kept thinking about you in here. Wondering if you were okay. Wondering how the hell I got this lucky.”

You leaned into his shoulder. “I kept thinking about everything we went through to get here. All the versions of us. All the almosts.”

He let out a slow breath. “We really did fight for this, huh?”

You nodded. “I’m glad we did.”

Matt reached into his hoodie pocket, pulling out a small folded square of paper. “Don’t open this yet,” he said, holding it out to you. “It’s the vow draft I wrote for tomorrow. You get the final version at the altar — but I wanted you to have this one too. The raw one. Just in case your brain’s still spinning when I leave.”

You took it carefully, tucking it into your nightstand without looking. “I’ll wait.”

He kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then hovered — close, but hesitant. “Last time I kiss you unmarried,” he teased softly. “You ready for that?”

You grinned through watery eyes. “More than ready.”

Matt stood, slowly, like he didn’t want to leave. “I’ll see you at the end of the aisle, yeah?”

“Promise?”

He nodded. “Promise.”

Then he slipped out, quietly, closing the door behind him.

And for the first time that night, your heart finally slowed.

Tomorrow, you were marrying the boy who once held your pinky on a rooftop, terrified but trying.

And now? He was walking toward you with everything he had.

It was happening.

Finally.

A/N: three chapters tmrw!! I’m gonna start taking writing requests for one-shots after too😛

@mattspillowprincess 🤓

[mattlvr03]

Something, Somehow, Someday

Matt Sturniolo

Genre: Soft angst / slow-burn romance

Chapter 61: Touchdown in Boston

“Two weeks ‘til “I do”

The plane dipped low over the Boston skyline, and you reached for Matt’s hand without thinking.

He laced his fingers through yours instantly, thumb brushing over the ring on your finger — a casual comfort now, but still something that made your chest flutter every time.

“Back home,” he said softly, voice just above the hum of the cabin. “Feels different this time, huh?”

You glanced out the window at the slowly approaching city below. The last time you’d flown in together was quieter. Less weight, fewer moving parts. Now? The next several weeks would be a storm of family, vendors, fittings, and final decisions — and beneath all that, the very real, surreal truth:

You were getting married.

“It feels… big,” you admitted. “Like we’re walking into the final chapter before everything changes again.”

Matt leaned over, pressed a kiss to your temple. “We’re not changing. Just leveling up.”

You laughed under your breath. “That’s such a Matt way to say that.”

The house smelled like a strange mix of nostalgia and fresh laundry when you dropped your suitcases at the door. it took all of ten seconds before Matt was leading you upstairs, straight to his childhood room — now part shrine, part storage space, part makeshift wedding HQ.

You sat on the edge of his bed as he opened the closet, pulling out a stack of shoeboxes and a garment bag labeled “TUX – DO NOT TOUCH.”

“This week’s gonna be hell, isn’t it?” you asked, watching him from the bed.

He turned, that crooked grin pulling at his lips. “Wedding planning chaos? Yeah. But the good kind of hell.” He flopped down beside you and added, “You’re my favorite disaster.”

You rolled your eyes and kissed him anyway.

The next morning started early — too early — with your first meeting at the venue.

Nick tagged along mostly to steal pastries and crack jokes, but ended up being weirdly helpful when it came to seating layouts and music cues.

Chris joined in later, FaceTiming from Target to ask if he should buy fifty white candles or a pack of glow sticks “for the after-party vibe.”

Justin sent you a meme that said “wedding stress is my cardio” and you nearly burst into tears laughing in the car.

By noon, you were in full planning mode — appointments, tastings, florist visits, and coordinating transportation. By the time you got back to the house that night, your feet hurt, your phone was at 4%, and your brain was one text away from short-circuiting.

Matt handed you a sweatshirt that still smelled like his cologne, pulled you into bed with zero commentary, and held you so tightly it almost unraveled you.

“You okay?” he asked into your hair.

You nodded, eyes closed. “Overwhelmed. But… okay.”

“Good,” he whispered. “Because this is happening. You and me. Home or not, chaos or calm — it’s still us.”

And somehow, that made all the difference.

@mattspillowprincess 🤓

[mattlvr03]

Something, Somehow, Someday

Matt Sturniolo

Genre: Soft angst / slow-burn romance

Chapter 60: Groomsmen, Chaos, and a Little Too Much Input

You were halfway through a to-do list titled “WEDDING: BOYS EDITION” — all caps, underlined, and scribbled with mild desperation — when Matt wrangled Nick, Chris, and Justin into the living room for the talk you both had been putting off for weeks.

Nick flopped onto the couch dramatically, a pack of fruit snacks in one hand.

Chris was balancing a LaCroix can on his knee.

Justin looked mildly alarmed, like he’d just realized this was more than a group hangout.

Matt sat next to you on the rug, laptop open, fingers already on the keys. “Okay,” he said. “We’re locking in roles today. No more ‘we’ll figure it out later.’”

Nick leaned forward. “Please tell me I don’t have to wear a tux.”

You looked up from the binder, raising an eyebrow. “You absolutely have to wear a tux.”

He groaned, melting back into the couch. “At least let me wear sneakers. I’m not breaking my ankles for wedding shoes.”

Chris smirked. “You act like it’s your wedding.”

“Hey,” Nick said, pointing a fruit snack at him. “I’m the best man. It’s half my day too.”

You and Matt exchanged a look.

“Actually…” Matt started, a little too casually. “We talked about that.”

Chris perked up. Justin blinked. Nick sat up straighter.

Matt continued. “I’m not doing a ‘best man.’ I want all three of you standing next to me. Equally.”

There was a beat of silence before Nick said, “That’s actually… kind of sweet.”

Chris grinned. “It’s giving brotherhood.”

You tried not to laugh. “It’s giving please stop saying that.”

Matt scrolled through the list. “Okay. So we’ve got three groomsmen — Nick, Chris, Justin. You’ll all walk someone down the aisle. We’ll match you with bridesmaids or family.”

“Do I get to walk down with someone hot?” Nick asked.

You gave him a look. “Nick.”

“I’m just asking!”

Justin raised a hand, finally speaking. “Uh… do I have to give a speech?”

Matt nodded. “Only if you want to. We were gonna ask you to emcee the reception, though.”

Justin looked like he might pass out.

“Nick’s doing a toast,” you offered quickly. “And Chris is helping with the playlist.”

Chris lit up. “Wait — I have so many ideas.”

“Oh god,” Matt muttered.

Nick was already pulling up Spotify. “Do you want serious vibes? Or, like, post-wedding chaos?”

You rested your head on Matt’s shoulder. “Both. In that order.”

And for the next hour, the five of you spiraled — laughing, debating walk-in songs, figuring out entrances, and making fun of each other’s hypothetical dance moves.

It was chaos. It was loud. It was deeply unserious.

But beneath it all was something steady — the feeling of people showing up for you, in all their weird and beautiful ways.

Matt squeezed your hand when the boys got distracted arguing over whether the cake should have three tiers or five.

“Still wanna marry me after all this?” he whispered.

You smiled. “Especially after all this.”

@mattspillowprincess 🤓

[mattlvr03]

Something, Somehow, Someday

Matt Sturniolo

Genre: Soft angst / slow-burn romance

Chapter 59: The Guest List Conversation

You were sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, the wedding binder spread open between you, half-filled coffee mugs abandoned on the table. Matt was lounging on the couch, one hand rubbing tired circles into his temple, the other scrolling through your shared spreadsheet on his phone.

And the silence between you was heavy — not angry, but tense.

You knew this part would be hard. You just didn’t expect it to feel this personal.

“Okay,” you said slowly, tapping your pen against the armrest. “So… we need to talk about Aiden.”

Matt’s jaw twitched. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Figured we’d get there.”

You closed the binder gently. “I just don’t think I can have him there, Matt. Not after everything. Not after how he made me feel.”

Matt looked at you then — really looked — and it wasn’t defensive. It was torn.

“I get it. I do,” he said. “But uninviting someone this close to the wedding? That’s gonna cause a ripple. His family’s invited, too. I’ve known them forever.”

You swallowed. You’d rehearsed this in your head, tried to find the perfect way to say it that didn’t make you feel like the villain.

“I know that. And I’m not trying to be petty or dramatic. But this is our day. And I can’t stand the thought of walking down that aisle, looking around, and seeing someone who made me feel small. Who crossed a line. I need to feel safe, Matt.”

He set his phone down, eyes softening. “You are safe. With me. Always.”

“I know that.” You reached for his hand. “But I need to feel it in the room too.”

The silence stretched again, only this time it wasn’t filled with tension — it was thick with understanding.

Matt nodded slowly. “Okay. We’ll take him off the list.”

You blinked. “Really?”

He gave you a tired smile. “Yeah. It’s not worth you feeling uncomfortable on a day that’s supposed to be about us. I’ll talk to him. I’ll deal with whatever fallout comes.”

Relief bloomed in your chest. “Thank you.”

He tugged you off the floor and into his lap, arms looping around your waist.

“I’m not marrying everyone else,” he whispered into your shoulder. “I’m marrying you. If you don’t want someone there… they’re not there.”

You buried your face into his hoodie and nodded.

It wasn’t just a guest list.

It was a boundary. A choice. A promise.

And Matt had chosen you. Again.

@mattspillowprincess 🤓

[mattlvr03]

Something, Somehow, Someday

Matt Sturniolo

Genre: Soft angst / slow-burn romance

Chapter 58: Matt’s Baby

It wasn’t a word you expected to melt into the marrow of you.

Not really.

Not when you’d always been independent, held your own, fought for softness on your own terms. You were the girl who didn’t flinch when things got loud, who met chaos with calm, who laughed at the idea of being babied.

But then there was Matt.

Matt, who always made you sit between his legs when the house got loud, curling around you like a shield.

Matt, who peeled oranges for you even though you were perfectly capable of doing it yourself.

Matt, who tied your shoes once in a parking lot, just because you were too tired to lean down.

Matt, who called you baby like it meant mine, gently.

He only ever said it when the moment was tender — not rushed, not loud. Just quiet and careful, like the word itself was soft velvet slipped across your name.

“You’re my baby,” he’d mumble against your hair when you crawled into his lap after a long day, your hoodie swallowing your hands and your voice a little too small.

“You’ll always be my baby,” he said once, when you’d gotten sick and tried to convince everyone you were fine — until Matt showed up with soup and your favorite socks and refused to let you leave the couch.

You tried to tease him for it. At first.

“Okay, dad,” you’d joke, rolling your eyes while secretly melting inside.

But he never flinched. Never joked back.

Because to Matt, the word wasn’t condescending — it was grounding. It was his way of saying you don’t have to be the strong one all the time.

It came through in gestures more than words:

The way he’d buckle your seatbelt before pulling away from the driveway.

The way his hand would instinctively find the small of your back in crowded rooms.

The way he’d whisper, “Slow down, baby,” when your anxiety sped everything up in your chest.

Tonight, you were curled up beside him on the couch, the room dim and the TV playing some background noise you weren’t really paying attention to. You’d had a rough day — one of those days where nothing was really wrong, but everything felt heavier than it should.

Matt didn’t ask you to talk about it.

He just pulled you into his lap, tucked a blanket around your legs, and brushed his lips against your temple.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispered, like a lullaby, his fingers stroking your spine.

And for the first time in hours, your shoulders relaxed.

Because he wasn’t saying you can’t handle it.

He was saying you don’t have to handle it alone.

You buried your face in his neck and whispered, “Thanks.”

He kissed the crown of your head.

“Always, baby.”

A/N: insane fluff today cause I had a rough week

@mattspillowprincess 🤓

[mattlvr03]

Something, Somehow, Someday

Matt Sturniolo

Genre: Soft angst / slow-burn romance

Chapter 57: Close to October

The air had changed.

Not in a dramatic, movie-scene kind of way — no thunderstorm rolling in or leaves diving from trees like confetti — but in the small, almost imperceptible details.

The mornings were cooler. You’d started reaching for sweaters again. The scent of cinnamon and clove had crept into the house, mostly thanks to the candle Nick insisted on lighting every evening like it was a ritual.

And the wedding?

It was getting closer. Just a few weeks away.

You could feel it in the way Matt reached for your hand more often, absentmindedly tugging you closer on the couch or slipping his fingers through yours when you passed in the kitchen. You could feel it in your own chest too — that mix of excitement and nerves, the kind of anxious joy that only comes with knowing something big and beautiful is coming, but it still doesn’t quite feel real.

You were curled up together in bed one night, limbs tangled under the soft hum of a box fan. The window was cracked open, letting in that crisp, pre-October chill. You’d both had long days — phone calls with vendors, answering questions from family, Chris accidentally knocking over the seating chart mock-up — but in this moment, everything was still.

Matt was laying on his back, one arm behind his head, the other draped around your waist. His thumb moved in slow, thoughtless circles against your hip.

“I keep picturing it,” he murmured into the dark. “You. The dress. The aisle.”

You shifted, propping your chin on his chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, and his voice was soft in that rare, honest way he saved for the quietest hours. “I don’t care what happens that day. If it rains. If I forget my vows. If Chris makes some joke in the middle of the ceremony. As long as you’re there.”

Your throat tightened. “I’ll be there.”

He smiled, eyes still on the ceiling. “I know. I just… I can’t believe it’s actually happening. Like, we get to do this. You’re gonna be my wife.”

You let the word settle in your chest, heavy and warm and full.

“I can’t believe it either,” you whispered. “I’ve never been more sure about anything, and somehow I still feel like I’m dreaming.”

Matt turned to you then, hand moving to cradle your face. “You’re not dreaming. We made it here. Through all of it.”

You kissed the space between his eyebrows, the place that always creased when he was overthinking.

October was coming. Your favorite season.

And with it, a moment you’d both been building toward — quietly, messily, beautifully — for years.

The wedding wasn’t the start of everything.

But it was a promise.

And you were ready.

@mattspillowprincess 🤓

[mattlvr03]

Something, Somehow, Someday

Matt Sturniolo

Genre: Soft angst / slow-burn romance

Chapter 56: Dress Shopping with Nick

You weren’t sure what was more nerve-wracking — trying on wedding dresses or doing it with Nick Sturniolo sitting beside you with an iced matcha in one hand and an unfiltered opinion in the other.

“I swear, if you pick something boring,” he warned as you stepped behind the curtain, “I will throw hands. Emotionally. Respectfully.”

You laughed, nerves softening slightly. “I thought this was my dress.”

“It is. But unfortunately, you chose me to come with you, which means it’s also a little bit *my* moment.”

The stylist smiled politely and wheeled in the first few options. You felt your heartbeat pick up as you reached for the first gown — sleek, off-the-shoulder, elegant. Too elegant? You didn’t even know what you were going for, only that you wanted to feel like you.

The curtain parted.

Nick’s head snapped up. His lips parted.

“Okay, you look…” He paused. “...like you’re about to give a very moving Oscar speech.”

You blinked. “Good or bad?”

“Too structured. You look like you're about to fire someone gently.”

You cracked up, the tension bleeding out of your shoulders. “Okay, next.”

The second dress — more romantic, layers of tulle and lace — got a different reaction. Nick tilted his head, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

“Hm. You look like a princess. But like, one who would also sneak out of the castle and fight people in the woods.”

You squinted at him. “Is that… a compliment?”

He shrugged. “Absolutely. But not the dress.”

Three more gowns later, you stepped out in something softer — ivory satin, a delicate neckline, subtle detail. It flowed instead of clung. Simple, but quietly stunning.

Nick stood up.

His mouth opened slightly, and for once, no words came out.

You turned toward the mirror, watching yourself move. It felt right. Not flashy. Not overdone. Just… right.

When you looked back at him, Nick’s eyes were glassy.

“I’m gonna cry,” he whispered, half-laughing. “You look like you. Like the girl who steals Matt’s hoodies and makes fun of my playlists. But also like someone who’s about to marry the love of her life.”

Your heart thudded softly.

“I think this is the one,” you said, voice thick.

He nodded, walking over to hug you carefully, like you were made of silk and storybooks.

“You’re gonna wreck him when he sees you,” Nick murmured. “In the best way.”

And you believed him. Because in that moment, wrapped in the warmth of your best friend’s arms and the weight of the dress that felt like forever, everything made sense.

This wasn’t just dress shopping.

It was a memory — one stitched in laughter, love, and the quiet magic of knowing who you were… and who you were about to become.

@mattspillowprincess 🤓

[mattlvr03]

Something, Somehow, Someday

Matt Sturniolo

Genre: Soft angst / slow-burn romance

Chapter 55: Gentle Comfort

Planning a wedding was magical… and overwhelming.

Somewhere between the florist emails, your mom’s overenthusiastic Pinterest boards, and Nick accidentally RSVPing twice for himself to the same vendor tasting, you’d hit a wall.

You hadn’t meant to cry. You really hadn’t.

But when Matt came home from a quick Target run and found you sitting on the kitchen floor in one of his sweatshirts, scrolling through venue contracts with a blank stare and wet lashes, he knew something had cracked.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just set the bags down slowly, crossed the room, and knelt in front of you like you were something delicate he couldn’t afford to rush.

“Hey,” he murmured, brushing a piece of hair from your cheek. “Breathe.”

“I’m fine,” you whispered, too fast to sound convincing.

He didn’t call you out. He just opened his arms, and you folded into him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He smelled like soft detergent and cinnamon gum, and his hoodie swallowed you whole as he wrapped you up against his chest.

You sat there for a while. Just breathing.

Letting the hum of the house settle around you, the ticking of the clock and the birds outside the window reminding you that the world was still turning — and you were still held.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” Matt said quietly, his voice against your hair. “Not for me. Not for anyone.”

You sniffled. “I just… want to get it right. I want it to feel like us.”

He leaned back slightly to look at you. His eyes were soft, no pressure in them — just warmth. “Then it will. Not because of the flowers or the playlist or the venue. Just because it’s us. That’s already enough.”

Your chest ached in that deep, vulnerable way that only came from being truly seen. You nodded against him.

“I love you,” you whispered.

He kissed your forehead, lingering. “I love you more.”

Later, when you’d made your way to the couch — wrapped in a blanket, your head on his lap — Matt scrolled through his phone and pulled up a song you’d shared with him months ago. The one you forgot you’d sent. The one that always made you feel a little less alone.

As it played, he gently ran his fingers through your hair and whispered, “We’ll slow down. We’ll do it our way. No rush.”

And in that stillness, with the late afternoon sun warming the windows and his voice grounding you, everything felt okay again.

Not fixed. Not perfect.

But gently, quietly okay.

@mattspillowprincess 🤓

[mattlvr03]

Something, Somehow, Someday

Matt Sturniolo

Genre: Soft angst / slow-burn romance

Chapter 54: Wedding Planning Begins

A couple weeks after the surprise reveal, the house was buzzing in a way it hadn’t been before — but this time, it wasn’t just everyday chaos. It was wedding chaos.

Matt and you sat at the big kitchen table, surrounded by open laptops, scribbled notes, and half-empty coffee mugs. The boys circled around, dropping ideas like confetti.

“So,” Matt said, running a hand through his hair and trying to look calm but failing spectacularly, “we’ve got to pick a date.”

You smiled, glancing out the window at the crisp fall light filtering through the trees. “Fall. Definitely fall. Our favorite season. The colors, the air… it just feels right.”

Chris nodded emphatically. “Perfect for the ‘I do’ vibes. Bonus: no one sweats through their tux.”

Nick, ever the planner, pulled up a calendar on his phone. “What about mid-October? Leaves at peak color, not too cold yet.”

You and Matt exchanged a look — it felt perfect.

“October 14th?” you offered tentatively.

“Locked in,” Matt said, already sounding like a groom who’d been dreaming of this moment.

Then came the real challenge: venues.

“Boston has some incredible spots,” you said, scrolling through photos. “Old brick buildings, waterfront views, those cozy libraries…”

“Library wedding? That’s so us,” Nick grinned.

Chris was more practical. “Outdoor spots are amazing this time of year, but we gotta have a backup in case it rains.”

Matt reached over, squeezing your hand. “This is crazy, huh? Feels like yesterday we were just trying to figure out if we were ‘something’ at all.”

You laughed, leaning your head on his shoulder. “And now here we are, planning forever.”

The boys kept pitching ideas — a cozy barn just outside the city, a rooftop with skyline views, a hidden garden tucked between brownstones.

You made a mental note to visit every one.

It was messy, a little overwhelming, but filled with that electric energy of something brand new.

Fall was coming.

And with it, the next chapter of all your “something, somehow, someday.”

@mattspillowprincess 🤓