butterflies ઇଓ matt sturniolo imagines

𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

you were elbows deep in a mixing bowl of cinnamon roll dough when your phone started buzzing. you looked over your shoulder to see a sweet face lighting up the screen, and you rushed to wipe your sticky hands and answer.

"hellooo," you sing-songed, and a soft chuckle followed on the other end of the line.

"hi there," matt's voice floated through the receiver. "what're you up to?"

"baking," you balanced the phone on your shoulder and brought your cheek to it, freeing up your hands for more kneading. "i thought i'd bring you guys something for later."

"it's not all for me?"

"well, it could be if you wanna be stingy!" you teased, "but share with your brothers, please."

you could practically see his eyes rolling through the phone. "fine."

"not that i don't love our little chats, but what are you calling me for?"

"i just wanted to ask when you wanted me to get you."

"well these will probably take... uh, like two hours? so, give me two and a half to get the flour off my face, please!"

the sound of his chuckle made your knees weak, even when it was muffled and crunchy inside the phone. "okay, baby. i'll be over in exactly two and a half hours."

"i will be throughly impressed if you're on the dot, matt."

"well, now i really have to try, don't i?" he sighed, "i'll see you soon, love,"

"see you later, matty."

     you waited for him to hang the phone up so you could shimmy yours off your shoulder and onto the counter. then, you took your time making an absolute nightmare of your kitchen as you continued crafting a tray of homemade cinnamon buns for your boys.

     you'd been with matt for a few months now, and it was finally feeling real. for the longest time, he seemed too good to be true; like the best dream you'll would eventually wake up from. but he seems to love you more with each passing day, the same as you, and you're starting to see things for what they are. you're just lucky, and in love- so in love you're baking homemade cinnamon rolls for a boy when you notoriously burn nearly everything you attempt.

     you didn't know how little two and a half hours was until matt was at your front door and you were still wiping down your counters, covered in sugar and drowning in your pajamas. matt couldn't hold back his laughter when you opened the door.

     "wow, you look beautiful! you didn't have to get all dressed up for me!" he joked, smoothing down the frizzy baby hairs on your forehead.

    "shut up!" you groaned, "i was fighting with the cinnamon rolls. i'm not ready yet."

     "it's fine, nick and chris are napping, i think." the boy leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek and came back making a face. you found flour on his lips. "gross."

     "i'm the pillsbury dough boy, remember? god, you think you'd know who your girlfriend was!"

     matt followed you into your apartment and watched fondly as you scrubbed the counters and waited for the timer on your oven to beep. he admired the way your brows furrowed as you pushed stray strands from your eyes and shuffled the dishes about in the sink, and for a split second he saw himself sitting here fifty years from now, still watching you bake. he almost didn't hear you from how loud the blood in his ears was pumping.