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Scarlet - Chris Sturniolo

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𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑰𝒕

𝑻𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅

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Sleepytime

Rapper!chris x singer!reader Content: tooth rotting fluff, thats basically it Status: established relationship

credit: @liiixsturniolos for inspiration

Note: this is my first time writing in 2nd person so hope you like it🩵

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🩵

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Personality 🩵

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.

i know i should be writing scarlet instead of this (i promise im cooking tho) but how much would u guys enjoy like all the stuff behind y/n and chris?? I'm thinking album covers and spotify, instagram and stuff.

♡Scarlet - Chris Sturniolo♡

𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚑𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚑𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚑𝟽𝟹𝟻 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜...

𝑺𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒆𝒕, 𝒂 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝑺𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔

"𝓢𝓸 𝓼𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓵𝓮𝓽 𝓲𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝓼...𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓸𝓸𝓷"

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."

𝑺𝑪𝑨𝑹𝑳𝑬𝑻 𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻

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.

All parts of Scarlet will be located under the ♡◇scarlet◇♡ tag

Comment on this post to be added to the Scarlet taglist

Touch Starved

Summary: Chris has been away for weeks and when he finally returns, he can't keep his hands to himself. Warnings: suggestive material, use of y/n Word count: 700

It had been two weeks since Chris had left for tour, and the separation was starting to take its toll. The messages, the calls, the video chats—they were all sweet, but nothing compared to being in the same room as him, feeling his presence, his warmth, his touch. The absence of him was starting to gnaw at you.

When Chris finally came back home, you knew it wouldn't be long before he was at your door, his scent and warmth filling the room, replacing the emptiness he'd left behind.

The moment you opened the door, he was on you, arms pulling you into his chest with a sense of urgency that sent your heart racing.

His lips pressed against yours in a kiss so desperate, so full of need that it made you dizzy.

He stepped back, his eyes searching your face, but his hands didn’t leave your body, tracing the familiar curves like he was reacquainting himself with something he had been starved for. His voice was thick with longing when he spoke, "I need you," he rasped. "I need you right now."

You swallowed hard, caught in the intensity of his gaze. "I thought you’d be tired," you whispered, though your body betrayed you, leaning into him, craving the connection as much as he did.

Chris shook his head, a soft growl escaping his lips. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. Not once.” His hands roamed down to your waist, his thumbs brushing the skin exposed by your shirt, leaving shivers in their wake. "I need to feel you."

The urgency in his voice and the way his hands tightened on you made it impossible to resist. You could feel his need, raw and undeniable. His lips found your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin, his hands pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

You let out a breath, trying to catch your bearings, but the moment he kissed you again, all coherent thoughts left your mind. Your body responded instinctively, pressing into him, hands running through his hair, pulling him closer.

"Missed you so much," he muttered between kisses, his voice was strained, as if saying the words was the only way to hold himself together.

You didn’t need words. You could feel the ache in his touch, the desperation in the way his hands gripped you. The space between you had been too wide for too long, and now he was closing it, pouring all his pent up frustration, longing, and love into every movement.

He pushed you gently against the wall, lips still capturing yours with intensity. His hands slid under your shirt, skimming over your skin, as if reacquainting himself with every inch of you.

"Let me love you Y/N," he whispered, voice trembling with need. "Let me remind you how much you mean to me."

With a soft sigh, you nodded, already moving to pull him closer, hands desprately undoing the buttons of his shirt. The moment was dizzying—like the world had fallen away, leaving just the two of you, craving the touch you had both been deprived of.

As the minutes passed, the urgency only grew. Clothes were discarded, and soon there was nothing but the heat of his body against yours, his hands everywhere, caressing, kneading, claiming.

Each touch was like a promise, each kiss a reminder of everything you had both missed.

Chris’s lips found your ear, his voice low and rough. "I'm going to make up for every second I’ve been gone," he murmured, as his hands guided you toward the bed. "I'm going to show you just how much I need you."

But now that he was back, he wasn’t going to let anything stop him.

guys im sorry I would go further but I am terrified to write smut because it would be so bad. I guess if anyone has tips you should share them🤠

♡Scarlet - Part 1♡

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.