⌗ sadness .ᐟ ⋆ . ꪆৎ ˚ I knew that it was cruel to be so optimistic, but, in my solitude, I couldn't resist the urge and spent entire days basking in idiotic fantasies, sometimes verging on prayer.
⋆.˚ IT'S NEVER OVER . . . ⸝⸝ chris n matts doll. angel. sinful. music. soft lips, sharp teeth. kissable. pretty when I cry. pinterest. fluff. angelic face, devilish mind. nettspend. movies. mdni. eighteen.
in which you and your cowboy kind of go on a date to the funfair even though matt has to hand you back at the end of the night . . . paired with sweetheart reader
The fair glows like a memory before it’s even over, warm, golden lights blurring against the purple sky, the air thick with kettle corn and summer dust. You walk beside Matt, cotton candy in one hand, the other tugging at the sleeve of his flannel jacket that hangs oversized around your frame. It smells like him. Smoked cedar, leather, sun. Your daddy thinks Matt’s just there to supervise. just one of his older and supposedly more responsible farmhands who's just being sweet and doing him a favour, making sure his sweetheart daughter doesn’t get herself in trouble. But Matt’s the trouble, really. And you’re so damn glad for it.
He looks so unfairly good under the midway lights—hat tilted back, forearms crossed, denim hugging every line of him. Big hands, bigger shoulders, and that slow, knowing smile. The kind that could get a girl into all kinds of sin. You bounce on your heels in red cowboy boots, cheeks warm from laughing as he hands you a stuffed cow he won at the ring toss. You squeal, holding it to your chest like it’s a diamond.
❝You didn’t have to win me a prize,❞ you tease, bumping your shoulder into his. Matt just grins, flexing his arm a little. ❝Gotta show off for my girl somehow.❞ ❝Oh, so I’m your girl now?❞ you ask, biting into your cotton candy, voice all syrupy and sweet. ❝Always been, darlin’.❞ His voice is low, deadly soft. You try to hide your smile behind the spun sugar, but he sees it anyway.
He wins you two more prizes before you can stop him—one from the milk bottle toss, where he knocks every bottle clean off the crate with one throw, and another from the basketball hoops. You all clap, mock surprise. ❝What can’t you do?❞ ❝Keep my hands off you, apparently,❞ he mutters under his breath, and you burst out laughing.
The scrambler ride comes next. You wait in line, talking about the lights and how you used to come here when you were little, your voice going soft with nostalgia. He listens, smiling, thumb tracing the back of your hand. When you both climb in, you barely get buckled before it jerks into motion. Each spin sends you flying into his side, and his laughter rumbles warm against your ear.
❝Told you to hold on,❞ he chuckles, gripping your waist. ❝You like it,❞ you shout over the roar, giggling as you slide into him again. ❝Gives you an excuse to grab me!❞ ❝I don’t need an excuse, sweetheart.❞ By the time you reach the Ferris wheel, the crowd's thinned and the night hums softly around you. He helps you into the seat like you're delicate, settles you on his lap, legs draped over his thigh, arm curled around your waist. You point out stars, still catching your breath.
❝That one’s shaped like a horse,❞ you say, chin tilted up. ❝Nah, it’s you. Pretty and wild,❞ he murmurs, fingers trailing lazy shapes on your thigh. You squirm a little. His voice is syrupy, that Southern drawl wrapping around you like a slow burn. You rest your forehead against his jaw, and he presses a kiss to your temple.
It feels like a date. Because it is. But when the ride ends, and he walks you back to the truck, he’ll say ❝thank you, sir❞ to your daddy like he didn’t just spend the whole evening with your thighs over his. Like you didn’t fall asleep against him on the ride home, cotton candy on your breath and his hand warm on your knee.
You doze in the passenger seat, boots scuffed, face tilted toward his shoulder. Matt drives one-handed, slow and sure. The stars blur by overhead, and he looks over at you, smile all soft. Already thinking about sneaking through your window come midnight.
𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 yap ／ ⋆ ۪ hex looks so ugly on the title but not below so um . . . booooo the more I read this the more I hate it
i currently have 3 ongoing au’s that i’m working on, and you can find a little intro post for them here if you’re curious !! i write for chris and matt sturniolo mostly i do really love nick (he’s so lovely and special), but i personally don’t feel comfy writing accurate male x male fics, and out of respect i also won’t be writing nick x female reader either. it just doesn’t sit right with me, and i wanna be as thoughtful and respectful as possible with what i post. so just know it’s all love for nick always he’s just not a writing focus for me
── ⌗ what you can ask / request . . .
so yesss, any little asks like ❝what’s [reader] up to right now?❞ or ❝ootd for one of your readers?❞ or just silly little questions are so welcome—like i would genuinely love that. it really helps me immerse myself in the worlds i’m building, and it’s always so fun to chat with you about them !! i’m always around to talk, whether that’s through inbox or messages, and it doesn’t have to just be about writing; it can be anything, really as for requests, you’re totally welcome to send them in, but just a heads up: if i’m not feeling it or if it doesn’t really fit the vibe of one of my au’s, i probably won’t write it. no hard feelings at all !! i just wanna make sure that everything i post feels true to the world and characters in my head. smut is accepted for all au’s, but please do make sure you know the context of the dynamic first so everything makes sense and stays in-character thank you angel !! mwah mwah
── ⌗ mdni? . . .
sooo i’ve been thinking about this a bit and i’m kinda unsure how to feel. like, is it okay for minors to read my fluff if it’s not smut? i really don’t know i probably don’t want minors interacting with me too much just because i am eighteen now, and that dynamic can feel a little weird for me personally. any smut will always be clearly labeled, of course!! but i still wanna be mindful about who’s seeing what, y’know? i just wanna keep everything feeling safe and comfy for everyone. thank you for understanding !!
── ⌗ hate . . .
if you don’t vibe with me or something i’ve made? that’s totally okay, just skip past it and find something else that brings you joy. there’s no need to be unkind. any hate or discrimination towards me or anyone else is never welcome here. this space is meant to feel warm, safe, and positive for everyone and if there’s ever proof of someone doing real harm, please know i won’t support them. i just want to keep this little corner of the internet gentle and respectful. please be kind and sensible, always.
── ⌗ au's . . .
my au’s . . while I definitely don’t claim to have invented any broad concepts (like nerd!matt or similar tropes), the way i write him and the dynamic he shares with my reader is always personal and unique to me. my readers are usually kept pretty general so more people can see themselves in them if you ever feel inspired by something i’ve made, please reach out first to make sure it’s okay! i love supporting each other, but direct copying isn’t cool and i will try to take action if that happens.
── ⌗ nerd¡matt . . . paired with popular¡bsf reader
You’re loud and glittery and loved by everyone, but it’s heavy sometimes, isn’t it? Matt’s the quiet boy in glasses who got stuck sitting next to you and never recovered. You started dragging him everywhere, and he never says no. You trust him, cling to him, and make him feel like maybe he matters. And he does everything with you, even the silly stuff, because it means being near you. He knows you’ll never like him like that—he’s just the nerd with a crush. But when you smile at him like he’s the only one who matters? He could die happy.
── ⌗ dealer¡chris . . . paired with angel reader
Chris Sturniolo is the campus dealer with sharp edges and darker nights, but around her, his shy, Bambi-eyed angel, he softens. They’re not together, but he always finds his way to her dorm, half-asleep and smelling like smoke, collapsing onto her like she’s home. He deals to half the campus but never lets her walk home alone. He kisses other girls but never lets them wear his hoodie. She’s not his, but she kind of is. And maybe love is just this: blurry boundaries, sleepy cuddles, shared joints, and a thousand things they never say out loud.
── ⌗ cowboy¡matt . . . paired with sweetheart reader
She’s the farmer’s daughter, sweet as gingerbread, soft-spoken, and lonely in her red cowboy boots. But behind that sugary smile is a storm: she hates her daddy, hates this dusty little town. Then there’s Matt, her secret. Her cowboy. All sunburnt skin, huge arms, and a Southern drawl that makes her ache. He climbs through her window when the stars are out, touching her like she’s made of something holy. At the fair, he keeps a hand on her lower back, ❝just for supervision, sir❞ but behind hay bales and barn doors, it’s all fire. They kiss like sinners, love like outlaws. It’s reckless. Tender. Forbidden. But it’s theirs, aching, raw, and dangerously real.
in which matt comforts you during a storm, even when he's scared himself . . . paired with popular¡bsf reader
It’s storming so hard the windows shake. Outside, the sky rips open with every bolt, painting your dorm room in momentary whiteouts. Thunder cracks so loud it feels personal, and even wrapped in two blankets, you’re curled up like a child in the corner of your bed, heart thudding like it’s trying to warn you of something worse than weather.
You text him, ❝Are you up?❞ Three dots. Then, after a breath: ❝omw.❞ You hear the knock ten minutes later. You open the door, and he’s standing there in his hoodie, rain clinging to the fabric like he just walked through a monsoon for you. His hair is a mess of wet curls, glasses slightly fogged, his arms full, one hand gripping a bag of candy and the other cradling a crumpled fleece blanket with sheep on it.
Matt Sturniolo. Your softest safe place. ❝You okay?❞ he asks, voice a little wobbly like he’s pretending not to be just as shaken. You nod, biting your lip. Then he steps in, carefully toeing off his wet sneakers, and just like that, your room feels warmer. He’s awkward about it at first, like always. Sets the snacks down. Unfolds the blanket. Doesn’t meet your eyes. So you fix that.
You tug him toward the bed, and he follows like gravity itself is rearranged for you. The storm screams outside, but inside, you’re under fairy lights and soft cotton, knees touching beneath the blanket as you both sit shoulder to shoulder. You pass him a sour gummy, and he takes it with a shy smile. His cheek is flushed. You realise it’s not the weather.
❝Are you scared too?❞ you whisper, half-laughing. He shrugs. ❝I mean... maybe. But you’re more important.❞ It’s not flirty. It’s not dramatic. It’s just true. That’s what makes it hit harder. Your chest tightens. Matt isn’t like the others. He’s all careful glances and quiet bravery. He’s the way his fingers twitch when they’re near yours, like they know what they want but won’t ask. He’s the boy who blushes when you call him cute and stays anyway.
And right now, with his socked feet brushing yours and lightning flashing behind his glasses, you realise how handsome he is. Not just sweet. Not just smart. But devastating in his own way, doe-eyed and flushed, jaw tight with nerves, hands twitching like he wants to pull you close but doesn’t dare. So you do it.
You lean into his side, cheek to shoulder. He stills like a startled animal. Then relaxes, slowly. Like you’re teaching him it’s safe. ❝Thanks for coming,❞ you murmur. ❝You didn’t have to.❞ He turns slightly, cheek against your hair now. ❝You texted. Of course I did.❞ The storm rages outside. But it can’t touch you here.
Not with him here. Not with your fingers inching toward his, finding a home in the space that’s always been waiting for you to notice it was yours all along. You both duck under the blanket like kids hiding from the world. It’s warm and dim and smells like your shampoo and his hoodie. You’re curled up against him, your hand tucked into his, your breaths syncing slowly. Every time thunder booms, you flinch, and he squeezes your fingers just a little tighter.
Then lightning flashes right outside the window. You squeal an honest, startled sound—and instinctively bury your face in Matt’s chest. He jumps too, nearly dropping the gummy bag, but swallows hard and wraps his arms around you like he isn’t shaking just as badly. ❝It’s okay,❞ he says, voice cracked and barely steady. ❝You’re okay. I got you.❞
You feel his heart hammering against your cheek. You lean back just enough to look up at him, and he gives you the most unconvincing smile you’ve ever seen. ❝You’re scared too,❞ you whisper, trying to bite back a grin. ❝What? Me? Nah. I’m just—uh—monitoring the storm conditions. For safety.❞ You laugh into his chest, and he groans softly like he knows he’s been caught. But he doesn’t let go.Matt blinks at the ceiling of fleece above your heads and thinks, If this is it—if the storm takes us out—I could die happy right now. Because you’re here. Because you chose him. well, kind of…unofficially Because this quiet, perfect moment is everything he’s ever wanted and never thought he’d get.
𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 yap ／ ⋆ ۪ he's my sexy little nerd, do we love?
in which matt comforts you during a storm, even when he's scared himself . . . paired with popular¡bsf reader
It’s storming so hard the windows shake. Outside, the sky rips open with every bolt, painting your dorm room in momentary whiteouts. Thunder cracks so loud it feels personal, and even wrapped in two blankets, you’re curled up like a child in the corner of your bed, heart thudding like it’s trying to warn you of something worse than weather.
You text him, ❝Are you up?❞ Three dots. Then, after a breath: ❝omw.❞ You hear the knock ten minutes later. You open the door, and he’s standing there in his hoodie, rain clinging to the fabric like he just walked through a monsoon for you. His hair is a mess of wet curls, glasses slightly fogged, his arms full, one hand gripping a bag of candy and the other cradling a crumpled fleece blanket with sheep on it.
Matt Sturniolo. Your softest safe place. ❝You okay?❞ he asks, voice a little wobbly like he’s pretending not to be just as shaken. You nod, biting your lip. Then he steps in, carefully toeing off his wet sneakers, and just like that, your room feels warmer. He’s awkward about it at first, like always. Sets the snacks down. Unfolds the blanket. Doesn’t meet your eyes. So you fix that.
You tug him toward the bed, and he follows like gravity itself is rearranged for you. The storm screams outside, but inside, you’re under fairy lights and soft cotton, knees touching beneath the blanket as you both sit shoulder to shoulder. You pass him a sour gummy, and he takes it with a shy smile. His cheek is flushed. You realise it’s not the weather.
❝Are you scared too?❞ you whisper, half-laughing. He shrugs. ❝I mean... maybe. But you’re more important.❞ It’s not flirty. It’s not dramatic. It’s just true. That’s what makes it hit harder. Your chest tightens. Matt isn’t like the others. He’s all careful glances and quiet bravery. He’s the way his fingers twitch when they’re near yours, like they know what they want but won’t ask. He’s the boy who blushes when you call him cute and stays anyway.
And right now, with his socked feet brushing yours and lightning flashing behind his glasses, you realise how handsome he is. Not just sweet. Not just smart. But devastating in his own way, doe-eyed and flushed, jaw tight with nerves, hands twitching like he wants to pull you close but doesn’t dare. So you do it.
You lean into his side, cheek to shoulder. He stills like a startled animal. Then relaxes, slowly. Like you’re teaching him it’s safe. ❝Thanks for coming,❞ you murmur. ❝You didn’t have to.❞ He turns slightly, cheek against your hair now. ❝You texted. Of course I did.❞ The storm rages outside. But it can’t touch you here.
Not with him here. Not with your fingers inching toward his, finding a home in the space that’s always been waiting for you to notice it was yours all along. You both duck under the blanket like kids hiding from the world. It’s warm and dim and smells like your shampoo and his hoodie. You’re curled up against him, your hand tucked into his, your breaths syncing slowly. Every time thunder booms, you flinch, and he squeezes your fingers just a little tighter.
Then lightning flashes right outside the window. You squeal an honest, startled sound—and instinctively bury your face in Matt’s chest. He jumps too, nearly dropping the gummy bag, but swallows hard and wraps his arms around you like he isn’t shaking just as badly. ❝It’s okay,❞ he says, voice cracked and barely steady. ❝You’re okay. I got you.❞
You feel his heart hammering against your cheek. You lean back just enough to look up at him, and he gives you the most unconvincing smile you’ve ever seen. ❝You’re scared too,❞ you whisper, trying to bite back a grin. ❝What? Me? Nah. I’m just—uh—monitoring the storm conditions. For safety.❞ You laugh into his chest, and he groans softly like he knows he’s been caught. But he doesn’t let go.Matt blinks at the ceiling of fleece above your heads and thinks, If this is it—if the storm takes us out—I could die happy right now. Because you’re here. Because you chose him. well, kind of…unofficially Because this quiet, perfect moment is everything he’s ever wanted and never thought he’d get.
𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 yap ／ ⋆ ۪ he's my sexy little nerd, do we love?
