Warnings: use of Y/N, toxic management team Word count: idk
Y/N was already exhausted before the session even started.
She had spent the entire morning in back-to-back meetings—new sponsorship deals, upcoming tour plans, and another lecture from her team about how important this collaboration was for her image.
"A crossover hit could expand your audience," they told her. "And Chris has a very loyal fanbase. If we do this right, it’ll be huge for both of you."
Translation: Play nice. Be the perfect, charming Y/N. Don’t mess this up.
So here she was, standing outside the recording booth, fixing her lip gloss in the reflection of the soundboard while the producer adjusted the levels.
Chris still wasn’t here.
She checked the time. Twenty minutes late.
Of course.
Not that she was surprised. She had heard plenty about Chris Sturniolo. The industry’s favorite bad boy. Always in some Twitter beef, showing up to interviews in sweats, saying whatever he wanted with zero filter. His fans ate it up.
Y/N? Not so much.
She liked professionalism. Structure. Respect for people’s time.
And right now, Chris wasn’t giving her any of that.
The door swung open. She turned—and there he was.
Chris strolled in like he owned the place, hood up, chain glinting under the dim studio lights. His sneakers squeaked against the floor as he dropped onto the couch without a single hello.
"Look who finally decided to show up," the producer joked.
Chris smirked. "I had to finish my burrito bro. Priorities."
Y/N raised a brow. Seriously?
She hadn’t even spoken to him yet, and he was already infuriating.
Chris finally turned to her, his blue eyes scanning her from head to toe, taking in the perfectly styled outfit, the glossy lips, the tiny bow in her hair.
"You must be princess popstar," he said, voice dripping with amusement.
Y/N folded her arms. "You must be twenty minutes late."
Chris grinned. "Damn. Didn’t know you had a mouth on you."
The producer coughed, sensing the tension. "Alright let’s get started. Y/N you’ve heard the beat, right?"
She forced herself to focus, nodding as she slid into her professional mode. "Yeah. I wrote some ideas last night."
Chris leaned back. "Let’s hear em miss perfection."
She shot him a look before grabbing the mic.
The second she started singing, the entire room changed.
Soft but powerful. A melody that wrapped around the beat effortlessly, like it had always belonged there. Every note was precise, every lyric carefully crafted.
Chris watched, arms draped over the back of the couch, actually listening now.
When she finished, she set the mic down and turned to him. "Your turn."
Chris stood, stretching before walking into the booth. He didn’t have a notebook. No pre-written lyrics. Just confidence.
Then he started rapping.
And Y/N had to admit—he was good.
Not just good. Insane.
His flow was effortless, his words sharp and unfiltered, carrying this grit that made everything feel real. He wasn’t trying to sound perfect. He was just him.
By the time he stepped out, the energy in the room had completely shifted.
Chris smirked, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "What cat got your tongue?"
Y/N snapped out of it, rolling her eyes. "It was alright."He chuckled.
"You liked it."
She didn’t answer. She actually did like it.
But she wasn’t about to let him know that.
The producer clapped his hands together, cutting through the tension. "Alright, I think we’ve got something solid here. You two actually sound insane together."
Y/N turned back toward the soundboard, listening as the track replayed. Their voices blended too well. Her smooth, delicate melodies wrapped around Chris’s rougher, effortless flow in a way that just worked. The contrast was sharp, but somehow, they fit.
She hated that she liked it.
Chris grabbed a water bottle and leaned against the wall, watching her as she studied the track.
"You always this serious?" he asked.
Y/N didn’t look at him. "I care about my work."
Chris grinned. "Damn. You act like I don’t."
"You showed up twenty minutes late and smelled like Chipotle."
He laughed, taking a sip of water. "Fair point." Then after a beat, "Alright miss perfection, what’s up? We making a hit or what?"
Y/N sighed, finally glancing at him. "The song’s good."
Chris raised a brow. "Just good?"
She shrugged. "We’ll see after the final mix."
Chris smirked, stepping a little closer. Close enough that she caught the faintest whiff of his cologne—something fresh, a little sharp, something that felt too effortless.
"You always this hard to impress?" he mused.
Y/N met his gaze, lifting her chin slightly. "You always this cocky?"
His smirk deepened. "Yes."
A challenge. A dare.
Y/N refused to rise to it. Instead, she grabbed her phone and turned toward the producer. "I’ll check my schedule for the next session."
Chris let her go, but she felt his eyes on her the entire time.As she walked out of the studio, she ignored the way her heartbeat felt just a little unsteady.
This collaboration was going to be a problem.
Tags: @pvssychicken @franticroads @sparklybtch
Warnings: use of Y/N Word count: 800
Y/N’s life looked perfect from the outside.
A platinum-selling popstar by 21, her face was plastered on billboards, magazines, and perfume ads. She had a smile people called america’s sweetheart and a wardrobe curated to match—every outfit was coordinated and perfected, delicate bows, nothing too bold, too controversial. She was the music industry’s golden girl, the dream they packaged and sold to the world.
But behind the staged interviews and perfectly scripted moments, she was exhausted.
"Sit up straight. Smile more. Don’t laugh too loudly." Her manager’s voice rang in her ears even when he wasn’t there. It had been like this since she was sixteen, when her first single blew up and the industry decided she was their next barbie doll.
She wasn’t allowed to post without approval. Her interviews were filtered. Her dating life? Nonexistent. Or rather it was all manufactured for PR—fake relationships, fake drama, all controlled to keep the fake fans invested but never too invested.
"Scandals ruin careers," they told her. "You’re not like those other artists. You have a brand to protect."
And she had listened. For years, she listened.
Even now, sitting in the back of a sleek black SUV on her way to a meeting, she could hear the same lecture coming.
"We have to talk about your image," her manager, Seth, started from the passenger seat. His clipboard sat on his lap, covered in notes she wasn’t allowed to see yet.
"Your last interview was good, but the fans are picking up on some… discrepancies."
Y/N sighed and adjusted the black satin bow in her hair. "Discrepancies?"
"Yes. You hesitated when they asked about your love life. You need to be more firm when denying rumors. The last thing we want is people thinking you’re sneaking around with someone."
She bit the inside of her cheek. "But I’m not sneaking around with anyone."
"Exactly," Seth said. "So let’s keep it that way."
Her grip tightened around her phone. It wasn’t just dating. It was everything. What she wore, what she posted, even how she spoke—all filtered through a team that saw her less as a person and more as a product.
She wanted to scream.
Instead, she smiled. Nodded. Pretended she didn’t feel the walls closing in.
Chris Sturniolo however, didn’t pretend for anyone.
If Y/N’s life was perfectly polished, Chris’s was the opposite—chaotic and unfiltered
A rapper who built his career from scratch, he was raw talent with a reckless mouth. The industry hated that they couldn’t control him, and he loved pissing them off.
He didn’t play by their rules.
He spoke without thinking, called out fake bullshit in interviews, and ignored every PR crisis his team begged him to address. The fans loved it. The brands? Not so much.
"Chris you gotta stop picking fights on X," his manager, Josh sighed as they walked into the studio.
"You’re already on thin ice with nike after that last stunt."
Chris scoffed, pushing open the door. "Bro they started it. I’m not gonna sit there and let some upper class business puppet talk shit about me."
Josh rubbed his temples. "You called him an upper class business puppet first."
"And?"
Chris didn’t care. He didn’t need sponsorships. He had music—real music. He wasn’t some label manufactured star who needed to be told what to say or how to act. He wrote his own lyrics, controlled his own sound, and if people had a problem with that, well they could go fuck themselves.
"You remember that popstar chick I told you about?" Josh cut in, changing the subject before Chris could go on another rant.
Chris raised a brow. "Which one?"
"The one your label wants you to collab with. Y/N Y/L/N."
Chris stopped walking.
Her?
The name wasn’t unfamiliar. He had seen her everywhere—perfect smile, perfect outfits, music that dominated the charts. She was the type of artist the industry loved to control.
Chris smirked. "They seriously think me and her make sense?"
Josh sighed. "It’s strategic. She’s pop’s prized posession, you’re the industry’s problem child. People eat up that contrast."
Chris chuckled, shaking his head. He knew how this game worked. Pairing them together wasn’t about making good music—it was about making headlines.
"Whatever," he said, pulling out his phone. "As long as the song’s fire, I don’t care." But deep down he was a little curious.
Chris was about to find out if there was anything real beneath that polish.
part 3 of Scarlet today
Family Dynamic HCS
-> Pairings: Dad!Chris, Dad!Matt, Uncle!Nick
-> Warnings: fluff!!
-> Summary: pretty obvious, but Chris and Matt as dads, and Nick as an uncle
-> A/N: I re-wrote my hcs into one big one, and I already love it more. Reblogs are appreciated!! borders are from @bernardsbendystraws
UNCLE!NICK
He has no kids but a dog or a cat.
He spoils his nieces and nephews to the point where Chris and Matt hate him.
He 100% taught swear words to the kids.
When he finds out one of their wives is pregnant he's happy but then realizes they fucked and gets disgusted as a joke.
His nieces copied his attitude.
He might say he doesn't like kids, but he's never talking about his nephews and nieces.
"Cousin Sleepover at Uncle Nicks" was invented by his fiancé because he loves his future nieces and nephews.
DAD!MATT
All girls, maybe one boy.
If his girls made bracelets, he'd clip them to his keychain or hang in on his rearview mirror in his car.
His tattoos are now coloring pages to them.
He cares for everyone when everyone's sick because he 'never gets sick', but when hrs sick, he's a big baby.
He learned how to braid hair solely for his daughters.
Cries every time one of his kids starts kindergarten, middle school, junior high, or high school.
"Daddy, play dress up!" 5 minutes later, he has his makeup done, nails painted, hair in little hair ties, and an Elsa dress on. There will be photos of that in everyone's camera roll, and he is NOT ashamed.
DAD!CHRIS
100% a 'boy dad' person.
He takes the boys skating when you visit his family in Boston for Christmas.
His kids are younger than Matt's by 3-4 years because of his mentioned fear of commitment.
He loves surprising his whole with big-ass gifts (like a dog).
hes more of a kid than his kids.
Dad jokes constantly, but they're funny.
At one point has let his boys play so rough that it resulted in a broken arm/wrist. Multiple. Times.
EXTRAS
Chris and Matt's kids mention to others that they are technically half-siblings due to Chris and Matt having identical DNA.
Chris's oldest boy's best friend is Nate's oldest son.
There might be cousin sleepovers at Nick's, but every Christmas in Boston, it's at Grandma Marylou's and Grandpa Jimmy's
A/N: reblogs are appreciated!
Tags: @hoeforchrizz @authoryand @bambi-slxt @nickssidewitch @flouvela @kinascum
Word count: 1.5k Content: Suggestive (a little), fluff Status: "just friends" IDEA IS MY OWN
The air backstage was a mix of expensive perfume, hairspray, and high-stakes nerves. You were seconds away from stepping onto the stage for the next segment of the Miss Universe competition, wearing a breathtaking, crystal-studded gown that had been perfectly fitted. Every detail had been perfected—except for one very, very annoying problem. Your sash had decided to betray you.
"Chris!" You hissed, gripping the oversized white and gold sash that read Italy in elegant lettering. It was supposed to lay flawlessly across your body, but instead, one of the ends had come loose from the discreet pin securing it to your dress, leaving it to dangle awkwardly against your hip.
"It’s falling off! I can’t go out there like this!"
Chris, who had absolutely no business being in the backstage area but had somehow charmed his way in (or more likely, snuck past security) was standing there looking like the only guy in a sea of hairspray and sequins.
"Alright, lemme see," he said, stepping in way too close, fingers already reaching for the delicate fabric.
"Fix it," you whispered, panic rising in your throat. "Like, now."
Chrisnever the problem solver (and by problem solver, you meant troublemaker), nodded with all the confidence of a man who had absolutely no idea what he was doing.
"Easy. I got this."
And that’s when everything went to hell.
Instead of properly adjusting the pin, Chris accidentally tugged on the sash too hard, sending the entire thing slipping further down your body. You gasped, feeling the fabric pull at the delicate fastenings of your dress.
"Oh shit—hold on," Chris muttered, catching the sash before it could fall completely. His fingers scrambled against the fabric, and in his attempt to fix it, his knuckles brushed right against the side of your thigh, then a little higher, and then...
"Chris!" you yelped, gripping his wrist. "What are you even?!"
"I'm trying to pin this damn thing! Stay still!"
But before you could get him to stop, you both heard the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat.
Your biggest competition in the pageant, Celeste, stood a few feet away, arms crossed, a slow smirk stretching across her face.
"Well, well, well," she said, her voice dripping with fake politeness. "What exactly are you two doing back here?"
Your eyes widened in horror.Chris was still standing way too close, one hand gripping your sash and the other suspiciously low on your hip. From an outside perspective—and definitely from Celeste's point of view, it looked like he was either getting handsy or trying to undress you backstage.
"This isn’t..." You started, but Celeste cut you off with a knowing laugh.
"Oh, don’t mind me. You two can continue... whatever this is," she said, waving a manicured hand at you. "Just know that the cameras are everywhere."
Chris, instead of stepping back like a normal person, only made it worse.
"Ayo that sounds kinda accusatory. We got a problem, Miss Runner-Up?"Celeste's eyes flared at the dig, and you smacked Chris on the chest.
"Shut up," you hissed. "You’re making it worse."
Celeste hummed, tapping her chin in mock thought. "I don’t know… maybe the judges would find it interesting that one of the contestants is getting a little too friendly with an audience member before walking on stage."
Chris straightened up finally backing away, but the damage was done. The smirk on Celeste's face told you everything...she wanted this rumor to spread.
You groaned, yanking Chris by the wrist and dragging him toward a less crowded corner of the backstage area.
"Fix it. Now. Before I lose my mind."Chris let out a low whistle, giving you his signature lopsided grin. "Damn, didn’t know getting caught in a scandal was part of the pageant experience. Kinda fun, though."
You smacked his arm. "Shut up and fix my sash before I strangle you with it."
Finally, after a few more disastrous attempts (which included stabbing himself with the pin, almost ripping the sash completely, and more accidental hand placements that would definitely be misinterpreted), Chris managed to get it secured.
You let out a breath of relief, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "Alright, not bad," you admitted. "Now, let’s just pray nobody makes this a thing."
Chris leaned against the wall, watching as you got ready to step onto the stage. "Oh nah this is definitely gonna be a thing."
He gestured toward the nearby crew members, who were very obviously whispering and sneaking glances at you two.
You closed your eyes, mentally preparing yourself for the onslaught of online speculation that would undoubtedly follow. "I hate you."Chris just smirked. "Uh huh. Now go win that crown, princess."
You shot him a glare before stepping onto the stage, already bracing yourself for the chaos that awaited once the internet got a hold of this.As soon as you stepped onto the stage, the flashing lights and roaring applause should have drowned out every thought in your head.
You were trained for this—poised, graceful, every step deliberate. But all you could think about was Chris’s voice in your ear minutes ago, that stupid smirk on his face, and the way Celeste had looked at you like she had just won the competition without even stepping on stage.
You kept your smile intact, but your mind raced. Is this really going to be a thing?
The answer came quicker than you expected.
The second the segment ended, and you returned backstage, one of the other contestants, Sofi, practically pounced on you.
"Oh my God," she whisper-yelled, grabbing your arm. "What is going on with you and that guy?"
Your stomach dropped. "What?"
"You and Chris Sturniolo," she clarified, eyes wide with amusement. "People are talking. Someone caught a video of you two backstage, and it looks really—" She waved her hands, searching for the word. "Intimate."
Your jaw clenched. "It wasn't intimate."
Sofia wiggled her brows. "Tell that to the internet."
Your phone buzzed in your dressing room like it had personally committed a crime. Every notification—Twitter, Instagram, TikTok—was already blowing up with mentions, tagged posts, and blurry backstage footage.
ohhhh THIS is why Chris Sturniolo is at Miss Universe?? 👀
lmao they thought they were being sneaky??? babe the cameras are literally everywhere.
nah but the way he’s all up in her space like be honest…they been a thing???
You groaned, dropping your phone onto the vanity with a loud thud. Chris had officially turned your Miss Universe experience into a full-blown tabloid scandal.
And the worst part? You had a live press conference in less than an hour.
The press room was packed—journalists from every major entertainment outlet ready to dissect every moment of the competition so far. But you could already tell they weren’t just here for the usual pageant talk. The first question, from some gossip columnist in a bright pink blazer, confirmed your worst fear.
"So, Miss Italy," she started, her voice dripping with faux innocence. "Can you tell us a little bit about the… moment you shared backstage with Chris Sturniolo earlier tonight?"
The mic in your hand suddenly felt twenty pounds heavier. You forced a polite smile. "Oh, that? It was nothing. Just a wardrobe mishap, and he happened to be helping me fix it."
Another reporter cut in before you could breathe. "A very hands-on fix, no?"
The whole room chuckled, and you wanted to disintegrate.
"It was all taken out of context," you said carefully, keeping your tone light, casual. "Chris is a friend. That’s all."
As if summoned by your very words, your phone buzzed in your lap with a text from the menace himself.
Chris: damn, ‘a friend’? just a friend?
Chris: ur breakin my heart ma
You clenched your jaw, resisting the urge to scream.
The press conference finally moved on, and you made it through without further disaster, but the damage had been done. By the time you left the venue, the internet was already on fire.
And of course Chris was waiting for you outside.
Leaning against the car like he had zero responsibility for the media frenzy he just caused.
"You have no idea how much I wanna kill you right now," you greeted, shoving past him toward the passenger seat.
Chris chuckled, following you in. "C’mon, it’s kinda funny."
"You mean career-ruining?"
"Nah," he shrugged. "This is just free promo. People are obsessed with you now. I did you a favor.
"You turned to glare at him, but the smug, self-satisfied grin on his face made it impossible to take him seriously. "I hate you," you muttered for the second time that night.
Chris just leaned back, throwing an arm over the seat, his voice dripping with amusement.
"Love...hate...same thing."
And unfortunately, judging by the way your heart betrayed you in that moment—you weren’t entirely sure he was wrong.
I'm guilty of being a slut for rapper!chris so i needed to make one myself. I want this to be a whole series so there will be a lot more🫶🫶
Rapper!Chris...who sneaks backstage at your concerts with VIP passes disguised as a fan and surprises you with a bouquet of your favorite flowers after the show just so he can see the surprised look on your face.
Rapper!Chris...who makes it his mission to feature you in one of his songs. He plays the demo on repeat all day everyday until you agree to collaborate.
Rapper!Chris...who writes lyrics that he claims "aren't about anyone," but everyone can tell they're filled with references to you from small mentions of your favorite color to a lyric from one of your own songs.
Rapper!Chris...who sends you voice memos at 2 in the morning when he’s inspired. They are filled with rough drafts of lyrics about you that are sweet, funny, and occasionally ridiculous. Occasionally theres a lot of dirty ones.
Rapper!Chris...who casually promotes your songs by “accidentally” mentioning them on live streams calling them fire and insisting his fans check the songs out immediately.
Rapper!Chris...who gets defensive if anyone criticizes you or your music, ready to go on a rant about how they don’t understand real talent.
Rapper!Chris...who casually wears your tour merch to his own shows, sparking rumors about your relationship among fans because he can’t help but support you even in (not so small) ways.
Rapper!Chris...who always reserves a VIP seat at his concerts just for you and when he spots you in the crowd, he throws a wink or a quick shoutout in his lyrics, making the audience scream.
Rapper!Chris...who memorizes all your songs, even the unreleased ones and hums them in the studio, inspiring everyone to think he has new material when he's really just admiring your work.
mood board and extras coming soon!
Inspiration came from mainly 2 accounts and others who have done this before: @chrissturnsfav, and @chrissdollie
Rapper!chris x singer!reader Content: tooth rotting fluff, thats basically it Status: established relationship
Chris had been restless all day. You could tell from the way he kept bouncing his knee at dinner, his fingers tapping out a beat on the table while you tried to tell him about your studio session earlier. He wasn’t being rude—not intentionally. You knew his mind was elsewhere. It usually was when he got stuck in his creative process.
Now it was well past midnight, and you were curled up on the couch in his apartment, your legs draped over his lap as a late-night sitcom hummed quietly in the background. Chris’s arm rested loosely on your shin, his fingers drawing patterns on your skin while he stared off into the distance.
“You’re still thinking about that verse, aren’t you?” you asked softly, breaking the quiet.Chris blinked, his gaze snapping back to you. “Huh?”
“The one you couldn’t finish earlier. You’re stuck.”
He sighed, leaning his head back against the couch. “Yeah. It’s like... I can hear what I want it to sound like, but I can’t figure out the words. It’s just frustrating, ya know?”
You nodded. You’d been there before—those days when the music felt just out of reach,it was like trying to grab water with your hands.
“You’re overthinking it,” you said gently. “You always do it when you’re tired.”
Chris groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Probably. But y'know I can’t turn my brain off. It’s like every time I close my eyes, the beat’s just there, looping over and over again.”
You shifted, sitting up a little straighter. “Maybe you just need to relax,” you suggested. “Do something to take your mind off it.”
“Will you sing to me?” he asked, his tone bordering on desperate. You hesitated and raised an eyebrow, your lips twitching into a small smirk.
“Sure,” you said with a laugh. Chris stretched out on the couch, his head resting on the armrest, and you pulled a blanket over him. His legs were long enough that they hung off the other end, and you couldn’t help but smile at how he looked—a little less like the confident tough rapper the world saw and more like the teddy bear boy you knew.
It had to be something soft, something calming, something... meaningful.
You started humming first, letting the melody settle in the quiet space between you. Then, softly, you began to sing one of your favorite songs—a gentle one that had always felt like home to you. Your voice was low and steady, the lyrics flowing like a gentle stream.
Chris’s eyes fluttered closed almost immediately, his breathing slowing as he listened. The hand rested on his chest that was tapping ruthyms, suddenly stopped.
“Damn,” he murmured after a minute, his voice barely audible. “You sound good, ma.”
You smiled, pausing for a moment to reply. “It’s not like you haven’t heard me sing before.”
“Not like this,” he said, his voice muffled against the skin of your thighs. “It’s...different.”
Your fingers brushed through his hair, the soft curls springing back into place after each pass. As the song ended, you switched to another.
“Don’t stop,” he whispered, his voice heavy with sleep.
“I wasn’t planning to,” you said quietly, the words like a promise.
You kept singing, your voice wrapping around the room like a warm blanket. And as you did, you noticed the way Chris’s body sank deeper into the couch, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
Eventually, his breathing evened out completely, and you realized he’d fallen asleep.
For a moment, you just watched him. He looked so peaceful, his features softened in a way you didn’t get to see often. The weight of his public persona—the cool, confident rapper everyone adored—was gone, leaving behind just Chris.
You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight,” you whispered.
There was something about moments like this—quiet, simple, and unglamorous—that made everything else in life feel a little easier.
Maybe tomorrow, Chris would wake up with the words he’d been looking for. But tonight, you’d given him what he really needed.
Rest.
Dividers by me, please tag if you use as inspiration🩵
SINGER!READER
Genre: pop, indie-pop
Similar artists: Madison Beer, Sabrina Carpenter, Billie Eillish
Albums and covers (coming soon)
Gained Fame: In 2021, Y/N started making music after her boyfriend cheated on her and their messy breakup, she put all of her feelings into songs and decided her new life started at that moment. She tested with sounds and one day she randomly posted them out of nowhere. Her confidence, however, skyrocketed when she only got maybe 1000 monthly listeners after about 3 months. She gave up and continued with life as if nothing happened.
In 2023, a beloved artist named Gracie Abrams, noticed her pathetic music and reached out. Y/N, much to her dismay, of course said yes when Gracie asked to do a collaboration with her. The song blew up on tik tok and other social media platforms and Y/N’s 6 songs soon started rising. Rooftops, a song about her ex, was #14 on the top 200 in the US. Gracie and her became good friends and Y/N got into song writing again.
Cute little headcanons:
Singer!y/n, who doesn't pay attention to rude or sexualising comments about her body but Chris does. When they're out in public and Chris hears someone say one thing about her, he’s practically on top of them and he’s not scared to beat the shit out of them.
Singer!y/n, who keeps a notebook full of random lyrics inspired by overheard conversations, half of which make absolutely no sense at all, but are oddly poetic
Singer!y/n, who insists on hand signing fan’s posters because it's more “personal” even if it takes hoursSinger!y/n, who will stop a concert mid way if she sees a sign or an outfit that she loves just to compliment that person.
Singer!y/n, who loves making up dumb tik tok dances to her songs just for funSinger!y/n, who’s fans are called the most ridiculous name. It started as a joke but now it's a part of her brand.
Singer!y/n, who takes a polaroid picture with her team before every show
Singer!y/n, who gets nervous before award shows, so Chris shows her his “pre game hype” which consists of terrible dancing and a not so helpful pep talk in a mirror
RAPPER!CHRIS (CHRI$)
Genre: hip hop, rap (obviously)
Similar artists: Playboi Carti, The Kid LaROI, Lil Skies
Albums and covers (coming soon)
Gained fame: Chris started his career more recently at the beginning of 2024. Because of the youtube channel, Chris didn't need to be famous for his music. About mid 2024, his music started to get recognized by more than just Sturniolo Triplets fans. Playboi Carti actually liked Chris’s music for what it was.
On Carti’s tik tok, he posted a video with one of Chris’s songs as the sound. Don't know how this made Chri$ more popular but his listens blew up hours later. 11 million monthly listeners quickly went to 30 in less than a month.
Cute little headcanons:
Chri$, who always kept his word, and has never done drugs, drank alcohol, or smoked a vape or cigarette in his life.
Chri$, who’s concerts are the most wild and fun thing ever. The energy in the sold out stadiums is exhilarating and the fans in the front row will probably not be able to hear anything else for days.
Chri$, who makes sure that you are always comfortable and happy no matter what you’re doing.
Chri$, who has your stuff scattered everywhere. He’s got hair ties on his wrist, your hairbrush in his car, and your clothes are all over the place.
Chri$, who once hung a pair of your panties on the rear view mirror in his car because the color “complimented” the vibe
Chri$, who never lets you pay for anything. This man will do everything and anything to make sure your card never sees daylight. Sometimes he steals your wallet before you even leave the car.
Fics to look forward to: (I obviously have not been busy)
Sleepytime - Chris asks Y/N to sing him to sleep one night
Model - Y/N’s manager needs to meet with her about upcoming tour outfits but Chris is not having it with her leaving
Noise Complaints - Late night studio sessions in Y/N’s apartment lead to awkward run ins with the neighbors
Pink Sweater Season - Chris borrows Y/N’s favorite oversized pink sweatshirt for a music video and the internet has questions.
Off Key Apologies - After a heated argument, Chris writes a very pathetic song as an apology but Y/N doesn't want to hear it
Mute - A mic on a live stream reveals way too much about how Chris feels about Y/N
Paper House - The power went out and the house is quiet so Chris and Y/N decide to build houses out of cards.
Stage Left - A surprise performance during Chris’ tour has the crowd cheering—and Y/N wondering where she stands with Chris
Signs - Chris finds an old playlist you made for him and realizes the feelings were there all along—he just missed the signs.
Second Verse - Chris struggles to finish a song about…love and how he hates to admit how much the second verse sounds like you.
REQUESTS!!
Chris stifled a yawn as he padded down the hallway, bleary-eyed and only half awake. The morning sun was already filtering through the blinds, casting stripes of golden light onto the hardwood floor. As he made his way into the living room, though, he stopped in his tracks.
There she was, leaning over the coffee table with a coffee mug in one hand, a pen in the other, scribbling something in her pink, sticker-covered planner.
Chris blinked a couple of times to make sure he wasn’t seeing things, but no—she was definitely wearing his favorite sweatshirt, the one with a subtle logo on the chest and a hole in the left cuff. Except now, it looked completely different.
The hem of the oversized hoodie hung just past her mid-thigh, and somehow, she’d managed to tuck the fabric at her waist so that it had a cute, cropped shape. Her hair was styled in her usual soft waves, a pastel pink bow clipped to one side, matching her cozy socks.
And, as always, she’d accessorized: a delicate bracelet on one wrist and a small chain necklace with a charm he’d given her on their last anniversary. His hoodie wasn’t just an old favorite anymore—it looked like it belonged to her.
Chris didn’t know whether to laugh, sigh, or tease her.“Morning, fashion thief,” he said, trying to keep a straight face as he leaned against the doorframe.
She looked up with a mischievous grin. “Oh, hi! You’re up early,” she replied, not missing a beat. “And what do you mean, thief? I don’t see your name on it.”
Chris raised an eyebrow and walked over, flopping onto the couch next to her.
“I don’t need my name on it—it’s mine. You’ve got an entire closet. How’d you end up in my stuff?”
She shrugged, brushing it off casually but with a little smirk tugging at her lips. “It’s comfy, plus it goes with my vibe.” She tugged at the hoodie with both hands, making it cinch at her waist in a way that made Chris’s heart flip a little. “Besides, it needed a little personality. You know—feminine touch.”
Chris chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re lucky it looks good on you,” he said, trying to sound unaffected.
“Lucky?” She leaned closer, tilting her head in mock suspicion. “Are you saying you wouldn’t wear it if it was pink and had bows on it?”
Chris rolled his eyes but couldn’t hold back a laugh. “I mean, I might. For the right person, maybe.” He pulled the hood over her head, tugging it lightly to mess up her hair.
She laughed, smoothing out her hair as she fixed him with a playful glare. “Alright, since you seem so attached to it, maybe I’ll just keep it forever.”
“Oh, really?” Chris leaned in, challenging her with a raised eyebrow. “You think you can pull off my style all the time?”
“Please,” she said, scoffing playfully. “I make your style look good. Honestly, you should be paying me for the upgrade.” She struck a dramatic pose, as if she were on a runway, making him laugh even harder.
Chris watched her for a moment, admiring how effortlessly she brought her own style to everything—even his old sweatshirt. There was something special about seeing her blend her world with his, making his things her own. And honestly, he loved it.
Chris grinned as she kept playfully twirling in his sweatshirt, striking overly dramatic poses that were so far from his usual laid-back style that he couldn’t help but laugh. She looked like a cute, rebellious version of herself, and he could see just how much fun she was having.
“Alright, Miss Fashionista,” he said, scooting closer on the couch and narrowing his eyes. “If you’re so good at making my clothes look ‘better,’ then I dare you to style a full outfit—head to toe—in my clothes.” She stopped mid-pose, an eyebrow raised. “Oh, you don’t think I’d do it?”
“Oh, I think you would,” Chris replied, a teasing spark in his eye. “I just don’t think you’d be able to pull off an entire outfit.”
“Challenge accepted.” She set down her coffee mug and folded her arms confidently, tilting her chin up. “Get ready, because I’m about to turn ‘grunge casual’ into something fabulous.” Chris leaned back, arms crossed, thoroughly entertained.
“Go for it. My closet is all yours.”A few minutes later, Chris was still lounging on the couch when he heard her rustling around in his bedroom. His closet wasn’t exactly a treasure trove of options—hoodies, oversized tees, a couple of flannels, and a few beanies—but he had a feeling she could make even the simplest pieces look good.
After some rummaging and the occasional giggle, she finally emerged.
Chris’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of her, now fully decked out in an outfit that was unmistakably his, but with a twist only she could pull off.
She’d layered one of his favorite oversized flannels over a plain white tee, which she’d tucked into a pair of shorts she’d found in his drawer (or maybe they were boxers—it was hard to tell).
She’d rolled the sleeves just slightly and even added a pair of mismatched socks to the look, one knee-high and one scrunched down to her ankle. A chain necklace he’d forgotten he even owned hung loosely around her neck, and she’d topped it all off with one of his beanies pulled snugly over her curls, though her pink bow still peeked out from underneath.
She stood in front of him, hands on her hips, giving a sassy little twirl. “What do you think? Rocking the Chris Sturniolo brand or what?”
Chris couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t even look that good in my own clothes,” he admitted, gesturing for her to do a spin. She obliged, grinning as she gave him a little twirl before flopping onto the couch beside him.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she teased, nudging him with her elbow. “But see? This,” she gestured down at the outfit, “is what happens when you add a little personality.”
Chris shrugged, trying to play it cool even though he couldn’t help but be captivated by how cute she looked. “Yeah, alright, you got me. You actually make my clothes look like they belong on someone famous.”
She feigned offense, placing a hand on her chest. “Chris! Are you saying you’re not famous?”
“Oh, come on, you know what I mean,” he laughed, trying to hide how his cheeks were probably turning red.
“But seriously, you’re killing it. I think I might just let you keep this one,” he added, tugging at the hem of the flannel she was wearing.
“Oh, that’s so generous of you,” she said sarcastically. “But you know what? I think I might just have to keep all of these,” she teased, winking.
He shook his head, though his grin stayed plastered on his face.
“Fine, take ‘em all,” he said, pretending to sigh. “But on one condition.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“You have to wear this exact outfit next time we go out,” he said, his expression suddenly serious. “Like, full on, head-to-toe Chris Sturniolo.”
She gasped dramatically, playing along. “Are you asking me to step out in public like this? I don’t know if the world is ready.”
“Oh, I’m serious. The world needs to see this masterpiece.”She rolled her eyes, leaning back into the couch with a playful grin.
“No way. That would ruin my reputation and my ego. No offense but only you can go out in public and look hot as fuck dressed like Christopher Sturniolo.”
For a few quiet moments, they sat together in comfortable silence, her head on his shoulder as they both scrolled through their phones. Chris caught himself sneaking glances at her every now and then, still not quite over how she could take anything of his and make it look amazing.
Then she sighed, looking up at him with that mischievous sparkle back in her eyes. “You know,” she said, biting back a smile, “if you’re that into my style, maybe next time you should try wearing something of mine.”
Chris’s eyebrows shot up, and he immediately started to protest, but she just laughed, already planning out what she could make him wear.
𝑺𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒆𝒕, 𝒂 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝑺𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔
Pairing: rapper!chris x popstar!reader Warnings: explicit content, manipulation, mature themes, toxic behavior, and intense emotional struggles. mentions of self-doubt, anxiety, and unhealthy relationship dynamics
"You know you've got me right?"
"I didn’t ask for this."
"Doesn’t matter. I’m still here."
I'm gonna credit the following writers and their works on rapper chris and singer reader below
@chrissturnsfav
@chrissdollie
@liiixsturniolos
@55sturn
@chrattvibe
+ anyone else who has ever written something with this dynamic or something similar.
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