Rapper!Chris X Singer!reader Headcanons (sfw 1)

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

About Me!!

☾✰Luna✰☽

Brunnette, green eyes, Italian and American and i only write about the sturniolo triplets

Music: Dominic Fike, Taylor Swift, Sabrina Carpenter, Arctic Monkeys, Tyler The Creator, The Neighborhood, TV Girl, Clairo

Youtubers: Sturniolo Triplets, Kallmekris, Tara Yummy, Sam and Colby, Jake and Johnnie, etc

Shows: Stranger Things, Bluey, Bridgerton, WandaVision

Movies: 10 Things I Hate About You, Scream, Clueless

Likes: Light blue, Dr Pepper, pasta, stars

Dislikes: Slow walkers, Baby Shark, idiot drivers, etc

Prove It - Chris Sturniolo

Summary: Chris doesn't think Y/N can handle him Warnings: sexual content, smut, p in v, backshots, unprotected sex (please just no), rough!dom!chris, making out Word count: 1.3k

Chris leans back against the headboard, arms crossed over his chest, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips.

“You really think you can handle me, babygirl?” His voice is low, dripping with challenge, eyes dark as they rake over you.

Your heart pounds, but you refuse to back down. “I don’t think. I know.”

You crawl closer, hands settling on his thighs, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch. “You’re the one who doesn’t know what to do with me.”

Chris lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Oh yeah? That’s cute.” He reaches up, fingers threading into your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze. His pupils are blown, his lips slightly parted. “So prove it.”

Your breath hitches, but you don’t hesitate. You shift closer, your fingers tracing along his jawline before sliding into his hair, tugging just enough to make him suck in a sharp breath.

Chris tilts his head into your touch, his smirk faltering for a split second before returning with even more intensity.

“You always talk big, ma. But I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into.” His voice is a murmur now, his grip on your hair tightening just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You tilt your head, a smirk of your own forming. “That sounds like fear, Chris.” His brows raise, amusement flickering across his face. “Fear?”

He scoffs, pulling you even closer. “Nah, babygirl. I just don’t think you realize what happens when you play this game with me.”

“Then stop talking and show me.”

Chris watches you for a long second, his expression unreadable, before his smirk fades into something darker, something more serious. His fingers tighten in your hair, his free hand sliding down to grip your waist.

“Alright, ma,” he mutters, voice rough. “Just remember—you asked for this.”

His grip on your waist shifts, fingers pressing firmly as he guides you down onto the mattress beneath him. You let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping the sheets as he hovers over you, eyes dark with intent. The air between you crackles with tension, his gaze locked onto yours, watching every tiny movement, every breath you take.

He likes seeing you flustered, loves knowing that no matter how confident you pretend to be, you still react to him.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” he teases, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “You’re already looking a little nervous, babygirl.”

You swallow hard but refuse to back down. “You talk too much, Chris.”

His smirk returns, full of amusement, but there’s something else there too—something deeper, something hungry.

“Yeah? Then do something about it.”

You don’t give him the satisfaction of hesitating. Instead, you tug at the hem of his shirt, slipping it up over his head and tossing it aside before running your cold hands over his bare skin. His breath stutters slightly, and you catch the way his muscles twitch under your fingertips. He’s always in control, always the one teasing, but now he’s watching you like he doesn’t know what you’ll do next.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you tease, leaning in, your lips ghosting over his jaw. “Still think I can’t handle you?”

Chris exhales sharply, his hands gripping your hips. “You’re playing a dangerous game, ma.” His voice is rougher now, lower, his control slipping just a little.

“Good,” you whisper, lips brushing against his skin.

“Then stop holding back.”

Chris curses under his breath, his restraint snapping as he flips you onto your stomach, pinning you beneath him. He stares down at you, eyes burning with something intense, something all-consuming.

“Alright,” he breathes, leaning down so his lips are barely an inch from your ear. “Let’s see if you can handle me, baby.”

“Get on your knees for me.”

Your breath stutters at the command, a slow shiver rolling down your spine. You shift onto your hands and knees, the mattress dipping beneath you as you move. Chris hums in approval, his hands ghosting over the small of your back before trailing lower, squeezing just enough to make you arch into his touch.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice rough, filled with something possessive. He takes his time, his fingers teasing at the hem of your shirt before slowly dragging it up over your body. The fabric pools around your shoulders before he tugs it off entirely, leaving you in nothing but the heat of his gaze.

Chris presses a kiss to your spine, slow and deliberate, his hands exploring every inch of newly exposed skin. He loves this, loves taking his time despite how desperate he is. His lips trail upward, following the curve of your back as his fingers work at the clasp of your bra, letting it slip away just as easily.

He groans softly, hands sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing over your ribs. “You won’t be able to handle this, ma.” His breath is warm against your skin, his voice thick.

You turn your head slightly, catching his dark gaze over your shoulder. “You really underestimate me.”

Chris doesn’t hesitate this time. His hands move lower, hooking into the waistband of your shorts, dragging them down inch by inch, making sure you feel every moment of it. He wants to savor this, wants you just as desperate as he is.

His own patience snaps as he rids himself of his clothes in a frenzy, the fabric tossed carelessly aside. He presses himself against you, the heat of his body overwhelming, his breath coming quicker. He grips your hips, his lips pressing against your shoulder before trailing up to the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“You look so good like this,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked. “All mine.”

His hands roam over you, mapping every inch of your skin, his touch burning, claiming. Every movement, every whisper against your skin, pulls you deeper into him, into the intensity of the moment. He tilts your chin to the side, pressing his lips to yours in a heated kiss, fingers digging into your hips like he can’t bear to let go.

“You wanted to prove yourself, babygirl?” he rasps, dragging his lips over your jaw. “Then take me like a good girl and be completely silent.”

Chris takes his time sliding his boxers down, his movements slow, deliberate, as if he’s making sure you watch every second of it. He inches forward, slowly pushing himself in. Your forehead falls back against the pillows in front you, eyes fluttering shut. 

He begins moving his hips back and forth slow at first, until he sucks in a breath, his grip harsh as he begins slamming into you at a vigorous pace. Your eyes roll back, your jaw dropping at the incredible feeling. The headboard starts rocking into the wall, leaving loud bangs that Chris has no doubt his brothers hear. 

"Fucking take it." He groans between his teeth. Chris lifts his palm before landing a sharp smack on your ass, almost causing you to whimper. You bite your lip, trying your best to hold back your moans as his tip repeatedly hits your insides.

Chris picks up the pace again, pounding into you faster, silently hoping everyone would hear the sound of his skin slapping against your ass.

"Bet they can hear us, ma," he whispers, voice dripping with satisfaction. His grip on your hips tightens as he pulls you back to meet each thrust, the intensity making your fingers clench the sheets beneath you. The sound of his skin slapping against yours echoes through the room, shameless and unrelenting.

"Let 'em know who you belong to."You start to feel your orgasm build up, the knot in your stomach slowly tightening. Your walls tighten around Chris's dick as he moves in and out of your pussy, your moans getting harder and harder to hold back.You won't let him win.

"You still think you can take more?"

Chris growls, his grip on your hips tightening as he thrusts even deeper, testing your resolve.

"Because I'm not done with you yet."

Author's note: so ummm what do we think? I've never written smut before so this is probably ass but please let me know what you think and if I should write more

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𝑺𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

𝑺𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒆𝒕 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22

♡Scarlet - Part 2♡

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

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𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑰𝒕

𝑻𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅

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𝑺𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒚𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 (𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒓!𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒙 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓!𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓)

Personality

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♡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.