Such beauty😭❤️🔥 just unmatched! 😮💨
harper's bazaar (2025)
Day 19 - Omen
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Meet your croon.
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.
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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