Discover Top Posts Tagged with #popstar!reader

arrested !

summary: jack is arrested at your show for being too hot

pairing: jack abbot x popstar!reader

warnings: mdni!, no use of y/n, VERY suggestive, cursing, fanboy whitaker, dirty jokes, not proofread

word count: 1.6k

author's note: my babies asked and they shall have pt. 2 !! lmk if u catch why it was that position :)) i wrote this after driving 3 hours just listening to short n sweet on repeat. ty so much for reading !!

part 1 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

Jack doesn't have a clue what he's doing right now.

The PPG Paints Arena in Pittsburgh is a mirage to him. A glittery, pink mirage. He could bet $1000 that he's the oldest person in the arena that came here alone.

Well, alone if you don't count Santos and Whitaker.

He thought you were joking a couple days ago when you were high on morphine and begging your manager to send him free tickets to your show the following Monday. It wasn't until he got an email from someone on your team, an email reading 'IMPORTANT: THREE (3) VIP TICKETS FOR DR. ABBOT', that he realized you were serious.

#jack abbot x reader #jack abbot x you #jack abbot fluff #jack abbot x female reader #jack abbot #shawn hatosy #the pitt x reader #the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #jack abbot fanfic #shawn hatosy x reader #dr abbot #popstar!reader

but you have no ring? (blurb - michael robinavitch x f!reader)

summary: robby can't help but show you off to one of his patients when Perlah reveals that he's engaged.

pairings: romantic!michael robinavitch x reader

word count: 1k

technically a part of this universe but can fully be read as a standalone, no knowledge of that storyline necessary here :)

listen to the playlist

join the taglist

cw: typical warnings that apply to the pitt (mention of a burn injury, hospital setting), fluff even though you aren't actually physically present for this interaction, reader has hair long enough to be clipped back in a nondescript way

!!!!!!contains spoilers for season 2 under the cut!!!!!!

superfreak ─── oscar piastri x reader

featuring . oscar piastri , popstar!reader , sabrina carpenter fc , strangers to lovers , mutual pining , humour and fluff , no real timeline , use of Y/N , reader is friends with a few celebs , just a bit of fun !

author's note . heyyyy I started this like mid last year and finally got around to finishing it. this is just silly goofy little bit of fun. hope you enjoy! xx

my masterlist ·✶·

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

yourusername • Manchild, Y/N L/N

yourusername ✓ hey men! manchild song and music video is out now! no animals were harmed in the making but some men were 😉

♥️ liked by f1 , mtv and 7,536,604 others

bachnarthur not one man in that video was prettier than her and I respect her sm for that!!!

rachelzegler ✓ ohhh im so sat babe!!!! ♥️ liked by author

sportsfreak oh my god Y/N you've out done yourself ITS SOOOO GOOD

ynfandom11 the bridge 🙃🙃 tew relatable

tatemcrae ✓ so here for the manhating movement 🫶🫶 ♥️ liked by author

selenerrrr MANCHILDDDD WHY YOU ALWAYS COME RUNNIN TO ME ⤷ lando444 FUCK MY LIFEEE WON'T YOU LET AN INNOCENT WOMAN BE???

ynswife best mv of the century

oliviarodrigo ✓ big fan of your work 💐💛 ♥️ liked by author

swiftie13 damn girl you are looking FIREEEEE

ovariandr the grainy + country vibe does you sooo many favours>>>>>

music.luva her voice is like the most heavenly thing in the world

jackantonoff ✓ so proud of this and you ♥️ liked by author

dramaqueenie her natural curls are to die for

formula1fan so obsessed with the outfits in the mv, she really does just make everything look so good.

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#ames writes ! ☽#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #op81 #op81 x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri x smau #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #reader insert #f1 fic #popstar x f1 au #popstar!reader #strangers to lovers

Just Off Stage

Pairing; Joe keery x Popstar!Reader

Summary; Joe supports his girlfriend through her first time headlining Coachella.

A/N; Pure Joe fluff, also I fear im too British to know the ins and outs of Coachella so I apologise if it's not completely accurate.

The heat hits differently at Coachella, not just warm, but dry and constant, like it’s stitched into your skin. Even backstage at the Empire Polo Club, the air hums with it. Dust clings to your ankles, your lip gloss tastes faintly like SPF, and somewhere nearby, someone’s spraying Sol de Janeiro that barely cuts through the smell of hot cables, sunscreen, and sun-baked grass. Golf carts buzz past in short bursts, radios crackle, and the bass from the Main Stage bleeds through everything, low, steady, impossible to ignore.

You’re halfway through vocal warmups when you hear the crowd shift, like a wave rolling across the field. Not louder, just different. Anticipation building between sets.

“Hey,” a familiar voice cuts through it.

You turn, already smiling.

Joe Keery leans against the trailer door like he’s been there a while, artist wristband loose around his wrist, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, a half-empty water bottle dangling from his hand. He looks out of place in the best way, too calm for somewhere this chaotic, like he wandered in from a quieter version of the day.

“You’re supposed to be on tomorrow,” you say, stepping closer, gravel crunching under your boots.

“I know,” he shrugs, easy. “Thought I’d come watch you headline my weekend early.”

You huff a small laugh, nerves easing just slightly.

“Bold of you to assume you’re the main character.”

“Wow,” he winces, pressing a hand to his chest. “Right before your set? Cold.”

But he’s smiling, that slightly crooked smile that cuts through the noise.

A stage manager calls your name, louder this time. Two minutes.

Your stomach drops, sharper now.

Joe notices immediately. “Nervous?”

You hesitate, then nod. “It’s Coachella. Everyone’s watching. It’s… a lot.”

He glances out toward the Main Stage, where the crowd stretches further than you can properly see, just a blur of moving colour, crochet, mesh, glitter catching the late afternoon sun.

“Yeah,” he says. “But they showed up for you.”

You follow his gaze. Flags waving, people on shoulders, phones already raised.

“They don’t know what you’re about to do yet,” he adds. “That’s the best part.”

You exhale slowly, dry air catching in your throat.

“Stay?” you ask, quieter.

“Barrier,” he says instantly. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

The second you step onto the Main Stage, it hits you all at once.

Light. Heat. Noise.

The LED screens flare to life behind you, gold and white washing everything out for a second. The desert sun hasn’t fully dipped yet, so it mixes with the stage lights, warm on your face, almost blinding. The bass kicks up through the platform into your legs, grounding you, familiar as your own pulse.

And then you find him.

Right at the barrier, wedged between fans and security, exactly where he said he’d be. No sunglasses now. Just watching you, steady, focused, like none of this scale fazes him.

It steadies you.

Your first note cuts clean across the field, carried by the dry air. The crowd responds instantly, louder than you expect, a wall of sound pushing back at you, but you lean into it, letting it carry you forward.

Song after song, the set blurs into movement, heat, and light. Sweat gathers at the base of your neck, sliding down your spine. Your hair sticks to your temples, glitter catching under the lights every time you move. The mic is warm in your hand, almost hot, your rings pressing into your fingers as you tighten your grip during bigger notes.

Every time you glance down, he’s still there, grinning when you switch up a run, mouthing lyrics he absolutely shouldn’t know.

During the bridge of a slower track, the crowd softens, just a little. You catch his eye mid-line, and he gives you this small, exaggerated nod, like go on. It pulls a real laugh out of you, airy and unplanned, straight into the mic.

The crowd reacts instantly, cheers lifting, energy shifting lighter.

A breeze cuts through the heat, lifting strands of your hair, cooling the sweat along your jaw. By the final song, the entire field is singing back, phones up, flashlights on, flickering like stars against the dimming sky.

The sound wraps around you.

And then it’s over.

Backstage, everything feels quieter but sharper. Your ears ring, your body still humming with leftover adrenaline. Sweat cools against your skin, leaving a faint chill as you move.

You barely make it two steps before Joe is there.

“That was- ” he starts, then shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “Yeah. That was really good.”

You’re still catching your breath. “Good insane or bad insane?”

He doesn’t answer, just pulls you into a quick, tight hug, one arm around your shoulders, the other settling at your waist. He’s warm, solid, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with dust and night air.

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs into your hair. “You know it was good.”

You smile against him, letting yourself lean in for a second longer than you probably should.

When he pulls back, his hands linger at your arms.

“Tomorrow,” you say, tilting your head. “Your turn.”

“Yeah,” he exhales, glancing back toward the stage like it suddenly feels heavier. “Might need you front row for that.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Obviously.”

He laughs, softer now.

For a moment, the chaos fades, the crews, the noise, the movement. It’s just this small pocket of quiet between you.

“Hey,” he says, like he’s deciding something.

“Yeah?”

“You were right.”

“About?”

“That spotlight thing.” He gestures vaguely toward the stage. “It’s not mine.”

You cross your arms, pretending to think. “Good. Glad we cleared that up.”

He leans in slightly, voice lower. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like standing in it with you, though.”

It’s subtle.

But it lands.

Later, once you’ve both swapped stage outfits for oversized hoodies and caps, you slip back into the crowd. The temperature has dropped just enough to feel good against your still-warm skin. The ground is cooler now, the dust softer under your trainers.

You grab iced drinks from the artist tent, cups slick with condensation, and drift toward the Sahara Tent, where a DJ is playing something low and atmospheric. The bass is softer here, more of a steady hum than a pulse.

You sit on a low barrier, shoulders brushing. Joe stretches his legs out, foot tapping lightly in time.

“Still buzzing?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you admit. “Main Stage takes a while to come down from.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “But watching you do it? Way better.” He glances at you. “That laugh during the bridge, the crowd loved that.”

You nudge his knee. “Your fault.”

“Worth it.”

Silence settles, easy. Somewhere in the distance, the headliner’s crowd roars, the sound rolling across the grounds like thunder.

Joe’s hand finds yours, fingers lacing together, his thumb brushing slow circles over your knuckles.

“Outdoor Theatre?” he asks. “Catch the end?”

You nod.

You walk over slowly, weaving through groups, sequins catching light, the smell of food stalls mixing with dust and night air. At the edge of the crowd, Joe stands behind you, one arm loose around your waist as warm guitar lines carry across the field.

You lean back into him, just slightly.

No big gestures. Just quiet.

When the set ends, fireworks crack overhead, gold and white bursting against the dark sky, echoing across the desert. You stay where you are. Joe’s arm tightens just a little.

“Next year we should line our sets up better,” he says casually. “Or not. This worked.”

You tilt your head back. “This worked.”

He hums, then presses a light kiss to your temple, quick, warm, easy.

Walking back toward the artist area, hoods up, caps low, the path is lit by soft strings of festival lights. Your footsteps fall in sync, hands still linked.

You’re mid-laugh when a flash goes off to your left.

Then another.

And another.

A small group of fans has spotted you, phones already up, excitement spilling over.

“It’s them!” someone says, snapping photos.

The flashes catch you both mid-step, your hand in his, shoulders brushing, your smile half-hidden.

Joe doesn’t let go. Just squeezes your hand and keeps walking, pace unchanged.

You glance up at him. “Guess we’re getting documented.”

“Yeah,” he says, dry. “At least it’s a good angle. You look good.”

You laugh under your breath, leaning into him slightly as the flashes fade behind you.

Further down the path, quieter now, he bumps your shoulder.

“Twitter in ten minutes.”

“Minimum,” you say. “Could be worse.”

He nods, thumb brushing your knuckles again. “Could be worse.”

Around you, Coachella keeps moving, music bleeding from every direction, lights flickering, people passing in waves, but with his hand in yours and that moment already out there, frozen somewhere online, everything feels balanced.

Loud and quiet at the same time.

Just right.

Credit for dividers:; cursed-carmine

ᴀʟʟ ᴍɪɴᴇ (ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2) ₊ ˚ex!jude bellingham x popstar!reader˚₊ read part 1 here: read part 1.5 here:

⭑in which, you and jude just can't seem to stay away from each other - and now you need to figure out if it's even worth it to try.

⭑contains, long fic (12k words woah hi guys), angst, exes getting back together, walk down memory lane, yearning, fluff, hurt/comfort, working out issues (communicating! finally! yay!), make out, happy ending

⭑a/n, the "final" part!! i love these two so much, i'm def going to keep writing little bits about them <333

the first time you and jude had fought, you were sure he was going to end things.

you two had fights before, sure, but they had simply been little spats. "why didn't you clean the dishes like i asked?" or, "babe, why did you say that in front of your parents? thats so embarrassing." never this.

it was early february, your first time seeing him since late november, and you had just arrived in madrid after a long 6 hour flight from new york. you spent the whole flight antsy, every form of distraction futile as your mind ran wild. would he be happy to see you? would things be different?

it wasn't jude who had picked you up, given he was at practice when you touched down. it was denise instead, who embraced you tight with a wide smile, rocking you back and forth. you saw a phone camera pointed your way, but you couldn't find it in you to care.

"oh darling, i'm so glad you're back," she practically cooed after the two of you got into the car, driving to her house.

you sent her a soft smile, letting out a deep breath, watching as the trees rolled into the cityscape "same, yeah. i've missed it."

JEALOUS? you don’t even exist to me!

popstar!reader x michael jackson

pairing : michael jackson x fem!reader

genre : enemies to lovers lowk? romance w/tension, one-shot ! a lil fluff in the end, mention of angst?

warning : jealousy, fear, reader’s career is her top priority so she can be the b word.., questionable actions, reader is a “bit” anxious, isn’t based of sabrina! (name) is a few fries short of a happy meal but she’s cute

the stadium almost felt silent despite the noise filling every corner, the roar of the crowd blending into white noise. or perhaps it was simply her heartbeat drowning everything else out, quickening with every positive affirmation she repeated to herself. her knees bounced nervously beneath her seat.

“I am worth it, I deserve it, I can do an-“

her attempt at a calming inner monologue was interrupted by a familiar male voice beside her. her manager, George, had taken the seat next to her.

“sweetheart, if you’re actually planning on calming those nerves, you’re going to need this.”

george held out a flask. she immediately scrunched her nose and shot him a skeptical look, but the unimpressed stare he returned made it clear he wasn’t interested in hearing any complaints.

letting out a defeated sigh, she took the flask and cautiously sipped from it. the moment the liquid hit her tongue, her face twisted in disgust at the harsh burn.

george snatched the flask back before she could say anything and took a long swig himself. a second later, he broke into a cough, grimacing as the drink went down.

“god,” he muttered between coughs, “that’s stronger than I remembered.”

“george, please, pretty please, listen to me. you have to get me out of here-“

“nah ah, not a chance”

“george!-“ “shut up”

“what am i paying you for?!”

“to be your manager, apparently. not your babysitter, cupcake”

(name) sighed in defeat. not even the gorgeous dress draped in lace and silk could help her get out of her own head. it was her first-ever grammy awards ceremony, and the nerves had been eating away at her all evening.

she silently thanked every god she could think of that she wasn’t scheduled to perform. If she had been, she probably wouldn’t have shown up at all.

as she scanned the room for any way to escape, her eyes landed on a figure, one that just ruined her night by a thousand times. bill bray. god, no, please. that could only mean one thing, he’s here too. her (one-sided) rival and sworn enemy.

she swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat, and immediately jabbed george’s shoulder with her elbow.

“ow! what the hell, girl—oh.”

the complaint died on his lips. instead, he let out a strangled noise as his eyes followed her gaze to the object of her attention.

she slowly closed her eyes and took a deep breath, silently hoping that by some miracle, she’d open them again and find both bill and him.

no such luck.

when her eyelashes finally fluttered open, she was met with a sharp grin and a wink directed her way from behind a pair of aviator sunglasses, a silent nod that told her “i see you”.

fantastic.

dang her life.

but she wasn’t completely stupid, maybe, she put on her best media-trained smile and waved with a taste of bitterness on her tongue. after the man has turned to find his seat, she turned to the man beside her in the speed of light “what category is he nominated for?”

“huh? well, i don’t know, probably best album or record or some-“

she snapped her fingers at him, signaling for him to stop talking. to his credit, he immediately fell silent.

how was she supposed to calm down now? right before her eyes, she could practically see every award slipping through her fingers. no, she couldn’t let that happen. not after everything. not after he’d humiliated her.

a determined spark flickered in her chest, slowly overpowering the panic. she hadn’t come this far just to watch someone else walk away with what she wanted.

flashback

the start of ‘83.

nothing seemed fun or interesting anymore. she wandered around her studio, searching for the perfect beat, the perfect melody, the perfect words for her album. every idea felt incomplete the moment it formed.

the memories wouldn’t leave her alone. headlines calling her music boring and bland, critics claiming her songs lacked substance, interviewers who seemed far more interested in her personal life than the work she spent countless hours creating. just thinking about it made her stomach churn.

she didn’t even have any tears left to cry. those had all been spent months ago when she’d broken down after winning best new artist at the american music awards. yet somehow, the hollow feeling remained.

nothing was ever enough.

not the awards, not the success, not the recognition. especially when she looked at artists like madonna or michael jackson and saw the admiration they attracted. the unwavering devotion of their fans. the way people spoke about them as if they were larger than life.

she wanted that too, no, needed it.

and no matter how much she achieved, it always felt just out of reach.

as she sat there with her elbows resting on her knees and her head cradled in her hands, her phone suddenly rang. she glanced at it but made no move to answer. whoever it was could wait. maybe if she ignored it long enough, they’d give up. they didn’t.

the phone rang again. with a sigh, she pushed herself to her feet and grabbed it.

“hello?”

“good evening. am i speaking with (name)?”

her eyebrows furrowed at the unfamiliar voice.

“uhh, yes. who’s this?”

“excellent. my name is Bill Bray. i’m one of Michael Jackson’s confidants.”

a lump instantly formed in her throat. for a moment, she was convinced she’d misheard him.

“um… is there anything i can do for you? or mr.jackson?” she asked.

the moment the words left her mouth, she quietly face-palmed. why did she say it like that?

“i’m glad you asked,” bill replied. “we’ve recently been discussing the filming process for michael’s upcoming single, and we were wondering whether you’d be interested in taking part.”

she nearly choked on air. think. think fast.

“oh! like a—uh—a collaboration?” she asked hopefully.

a chuckle came from the other end of the line.

“something along those lines. michael would like to work with you on the video. he’d love for you to be featured in it—the model, essentially. a few scenes, some posing here and there. He thinks you’d be a perfect fit.”

the smile on her face instantly fell.

a model?

a model.

for another singer’s music video?

not a duet. not a feature. not even a songwriting credit.

a model. for one of the biggest artists in the world.

she wasn’t sure whether to feel honored or offended. but, her being her, she chose to be offended.

she took a deep breath, trying to process what she’d just heard.

“is this some kind of sick joke?”

a brief silence followed.had michael read one too many tabloids calling her nothing more than a pretty face? was that it? he was a celebrity himself—surely he knew better than to believe everything written about people he didn’t know.

“excuse me?” bill asked, clearly caught off guard.

“you heard me. what the hell is your client thinking?”

“ma’am, we didn’t mean—”

“no, keep those excuses to yourself,” she snapped. “tell your client to spend less time reading tabloids and more time minding his own business. i’m not a damn model, for Christ’s sake.”

bill tried to interject, but she was too worked up to stop.

“what’s next? should I ask him to be a mannequin in one of my music videos? doesn’t sound like such a brilliant idea now, does it?”

“listen, we’re sorry if there was a misunderstanding—”

“good. then tell mr.jackson not to even think about featuring me again.”

before bill could respond, she hung up.

the studio fell silent.

was she harsh? absolutely.

had months of frustration, insecurity, and bottled-up resentment exploded all at once? without a doubt.

a few days passed, and she eventually found out that george had received the call as well. he spent most of that time trying to reason with her, encouraging her to call bill back and clear up the misunderstanding.

she refused. she had embarrassed herself enough during that one phone call and said far too much in the heat of the moment. backing down now would be humiliating.

instead, she threw herself into her work. as she continued working on her new album, something unexpected happened. the frustration, the disappointment, and the lingering bitterness from her failed “almost-collaboration” with a celebrity she had once admired all blended together into something useful.

inspiration.

for the first time in months, the words came easily. the melodies flowed effortlessly. every emotion she had bottled up found its way into the music. and it was good. no—not good. it was phenomenal.

she could feel it in every lyric she wrote and every note she recorded. the anger, the tears, the sleepless nights, the sweat she’d poured into each song—it was all there, woven into the album. for the first time in a long while, she felt proud of her work.

this was it. this was the album that would prove everyone wrong. thecritics. the tabloids. every person who dismissed her as a pretty face with nothing meaningful to say. and when award season came around, she wasn’t planning on merely showing up.

she was going to win a Grammy.

the end of ‘83

and with each passing day, her hopes climbed higher and higher. when the album was finally released in the middle of summer, it seemed to be everywhere. her songs poured from café speakers, echoed through supermarkets, played from taxi radios, and filled the lobbies of luxury hotels and high-end restaurants. and god, did it feel good.

for the first time in what felt like forever, people were talking about her music. during interviews, she found herself breathing easier as reporters eagerly asked about her creative process, her future plans, and the inspiration behind her songs. they wanted to know how she came up with such captivating melodies and unforgettable hooks. they wanted to discuss her artistry rather than her personal life.

it was a relief.

of course, whenever someone complimented her work, (name) being the self-loving woman she is would wave it off with an overly confident grin.

“oh, it’s nothing! Just a few little demos, really,” she’d laugh.

nobody close to her believed that for a second.

they knew how many sleepless nights she’d spent in the studio. they knew how much of herself she’d poured into every lyric and every note. most importantly, they knew how much the upcoming award season meant to her.

it wasn’t just about her career anymore. it was personal. winning would prove that all the criticism had been wrong. that she was more than a headline, more than a pretty face, more than the shallow image people had created of her.

so in her mind, there was only one acceptable outcome. she had to win.

no matter who she was up against.

flash forward to present

the relentless bouncing of her knee against the floor felt strong enough to wear a hole straight through it.

“why isn’t he answering? for fuck’s sake.”

beside her, george was glued to his phone, trying to get ahold of an old friend who worked somewhere within the grammy awards organisation. maybe he’d know something. maybe he’d be able to offer even the smallest piece of reassurance.

so far, nothing. growing increasingly restless, (name) reached into george’s pocket and pulled out the flask he’d been carrying around all evening.

“hey—” ignoring him completely, she unscrewed the cap and took a long sip.

it didn’t feel so bad now. george stared at her. she stared right back.

“i won’t back down,” she muttered, her eyes fixed on the stage. “if I have to, i’ll march up there and take that award out of their hands myself.”

george sighed. “that’s not how awards work.”

“then they should change the rules.”

unbeknownst to her, or perhaps something she simply refused to acknowledge, someone had been watching her all night. ever since they had arrived. unlike everyone else, the gaze wasn’t intrusive. it wasn’t filled with curiosity, nor was it hungry for photographs, interviews, or gossip. it didn’t carry the same calculating interest she had grown accustomed to from strangers.

no. it was softer, warmer, almost adoring.

a pair of eyes that somehow managed to stand out among an entire crowd of people.

every so often, those eyes would drift back toward the stage, but not with the anticipation of a spectator.

with the confidence of a winner.

before she could dwell on the strange feeling crawling up her spine, a booming voice echoed through the venue.

“and the winner for best male pop vocal performance is… thriller, michael jackson!”

the audience erupted instantly. cheers rang throughout the stadium. applause heard from every direction as people leaped to their feet, celebrating the announcement. cameras rushed to capture the moment while the spotlight found its target.

and amidst all the noise, all the excitement, and all the congratulatory applause— those same eyes found their way back to her.

(name) was beginning to think she had finally lost her mind. maybe she really should check herself into a mental institution after tonight. a strange laugh bubbled out of her throat.

“hahaha… lucky guy, am I right?” she nudged george’s shoulder, who, meanwhile, had practically melted into his seat. he refused to look at her, far too terrified of the expression currently plastered across his singer’s face.

her eyes were wide. her smile was stretched so tightly it bordered on disturbing. and her stare looked capable of burning holes through solid concrete.

“yep,” George said weakly. “very lucky guy.”

6th grammy..wow. was she allowed to even have any more hope? thankfully, she had made the executive decision not to look at the stage anymore. she wasn’t even glancing in the winners’ direction. one look and she’d probably spiral beyond recovery.

so instead, she stared straight ahead, fingers tapping against her leg as her heart threatened to beat its way out of her chest. fifteen minutes. maybe less. that’s all that separated her from her category. fifteen minutes until she found out whether the past year of her life had been worth it.

she swallowed hard and abruptly shot to her feet, moving so quickly she almost looked mechanical.

“i have to use the bathroom.”

“oh, lord…” he whispered weakly. “okay.” without waiting for another word, she turned and walked away. to anyone watching, she probably looked perfectly composed, years of media training carrying her through. but the moment she was out of sight, her pace quickened into something dangerously close to a run.

she slipped through the hallways surrounding the venue, desperate to put some distance between herself and the suffocating atmosphere inside.

only when she reached a quieter area near backstage did she stop. breathing heavily, she stared blankly at the wall in front of her and pressed a hand against her chest. something felt wrong. very wrong.

maybe it was paranoia. maybe it was anxiety. maybe it was the fact that she was nominated alongside a “rival” who had already won six awards. six. an awful number when it didn’t belong to you.

she squeezed her eyes shut. the sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the hallway. her head snapped up. no.

no, no, no.

a flash of reflected light caught her eye against the polished floor.

blue. gold.

her stomach dropped.

please don’t tell me—

careful but confident footsteps echoed through the hallway, drawing closer and closer until she finally looked up. and there he was. the man who had been haunting both her dreams and nightmares for the better part of a year.

a bright smile appeared on his face as he approached.

“hi,” he said softly. “what are you doing here?” she could only stare.

“could ask you the same question,” she replied after a moment.

he chuckled. “i saw you running out while I was on stage, y’know.” he gestured toward the grammy trophy in his hand. her eyes immediately landed on the gold statue. then on him.

“please leave.” his smile faltered.

“uh… sorry?” “please leave.”

“did I do something wrong? I know there was that misunderstanding—”

she let out a humorless laugh, lowering her head.

“yeah , yeah. call it whatever you want. just don’t call me again.” pushing herself off the wall, she started to walk away. “what?” he called after her, sounding more confused than offended. “what’s wrong with you?”

that was her breaking point. she spun around so quickly it startled even him.

“what’s wrong with me?” she repeated, pointing at herself. “i don’t know. since you’ve apparently read so many tabloids about me, maybe you can tell me. huh?” his expression changed about ten different times.

“i’m sorry, I really don’t—”

“listen,” she cut him off. “i need you to understand this. i worked so hard on this album, and i can’t let this opportunity slip away.” he blinked before removing his aviators, revealing cute widened eyes. a small chuckle escaped him.

“so that’s what this is all about? winning? seriously?” “what the heck do you mean seriously?” she could feel herself boiling over.

“i know what this is,” he said. “you’re upset. maybe even jealous, but seriously, how could you be? you’re a woman, I’m a man. we aren’t even competing in the same categories.”

“me? jealous?” she laughed in disbelief and pointed at him as she stepped closer.

“i forgot you even existed before i arrived tonight, so watch your tone, mr.jackson.”

his jaw dropped. “see you on the carpet.”

before he could answer, she turned around and walked away. she vaguely heard him calling after her, but she ignored it completely. oddly enough, by the time she returned to her seat, she felt much better. she regretted everything she’d just said.

and at the same time, she was incredibly satisfied with herself. she dropped back into her seat and immediately turned to george.

“we’re winning this. I promise.” he raised an amused eyebrow.

“what? did you bribe the judges on your way to the bathroom?” a laugh escaped her, but there was no real humor behind it.

“something like that.”

george eyed her suspiciously before shaking his head. she simply smiled to herself and turned her attention back to the stage, anticipation buzzing beneath her skin. any minute now. any second. she could feel her pulse quickening again as the next category approached.

what she pointedly ignored, however, was the persistent sensation of someone’s gaze resting on her. a certain someone’s. the feeling only grew stronger after he returned to his seat, but she refused to acknowledge it.

instead, she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the stage. the award was all that mattered right now.

as she made her way onto the stage and accepted the trophy into her hands, the weight of it felt unreal. she stared at it for a moment, blinking rapidly as tears gathered in her eyes while an almost hysterical laugh threatened to escape her. yeah, she definitely wasn’t okay right now.

looking out at the crowd, she saw hundreds of faces staring back at her, applauding and cheering, but only one caught her attention.

him.

sitting in the front row. clapping. smiling.

grinning, actually, as if the person standing on stage had personally hung every star in the sky. their eyes met. she swallowed. once. twice.

and yet she couldn’t look away.

god, she felt stupid.

after everything she’d said to him. after hanging up on bill. after practically biting his head off backstage. after accusing him of reading tabloids and acting like he was her personal enemy.

and there he was. looking happier about her victory than some of the people she’d known for years. his smile only widened when he noticed she was staring. she immediately looked away. great.

absolutely great. he probably thought she was a complete psychopath. with trembling hands, she adjusted her grip on the trophy and stepped closer to the microphone.

“wow.” a nervous laugh escaped her. the crowd still seemed to be amazed and cheer.

“uh… i really didn’t think i’d be standing here tonight.” the audience chuckled softly. “i had a whole speech prepared for losing, actually.”

more laughter followed. “which, in hindsight, was probably a little dramatic.” she smiled, shaking her head.

“thank you to everyone who listened to lovestruck. thank you to my fans, my team, my manager for putting up with me, and everyone who believed in me when i didn’t really believe in myself.”

her voice wavered slightly. “this album means everything to me. there were moments when i thought i wasn’t good enough, moments when i wanted to quit, moments where i thought no matter how hard i worked, people would never take me seriously.” the room had grown quieter now.

“but this…” she lifted the trophy slightly. “this makes all of it worth it.” applause erupted once more. she smiled through the tears threatening to spill over and glanced toward the front row one last time. and, of course, he was still looking at her. still smiling. for some reason, that made her chest tighten more than winning the grammy itself.

she didn’t even remember how she got off stage or when exactly george and the rest of her team attacked her with hugs and congratulations. everything felt blurry after hearing her name called.

however, she did remember one thing.

when the next category was announced and her so-called enemy’s name echoed through the venue as the winner, she felt something warm settle inside her chest. all the emotions she’d been carrying around seemed to bubble together into one confusing mess.

this time, she didn’t look away. she watched. she watched the cameras follow him to the stage. watched him accept the trophy, thank the presenter, and step up to the microphone.

and then she felt her heart drop. because his eyes found her. immediately. just like she’d stared at him from the stage a few moments ago, he stared right back. the electricity was undeniable.

he held her gaze for a second before looking down with a chuckle as the screams of his fangirls echoed throughout the stadium. then he began his speech.

he thanked everyone he was supposed to thank, earning applause and cheers from the audience. he sent a kiss toward the camera at one point, making the crowd lose their minds, before adjusting his grip on the trophy.

and then— “before i go,” he said, smiling to himself, “i’d like to mention someone who caught my eye tonight.” (name)’s stomach dropped.

his eyes wandered across the audience before landing right on her. again. pointing somewhere the crowd couldn’t quite figure out exactly where.

“a pretty young thing.” the crowd erupted instantly. she nearly choked on air. no. absolutely not. the was no way. meanwhile, george had already buried his face in his hands.

“oh no,” she whispered.

“OH YES,” he hissed back, laughing hard.

because somehow, against all odds, this night had just gotten more exciting.

“can i be the best man though?” “don’t wanna hear it.”

to be cringe is to be free. could this be considered angst..idk but ty for reading ♡ 🪽

popstar!reader goes on call her daddy popstar!reader x bodyguard!rafe

you sit down on the large brown chair directly across from alex. one leg is crossed over the other as you slightly lean back in your seat, feeling comfort wash over you.

podcasts were weirdly less daunting for you compared to interviews. you chopped it up to the fact that often interviews and late-night shows were pretty short, you always felt like you were never able to really show your actual personality, and you always worried that things you said would get taken out of context.

you knew that sitting down with alex cooper - notorious for her somewhat scandalous and sex-focussed interviews - would probably result to your name circulating the media in some way, but it wasn't exactly anything you weren't used to.

your bodyguard (and secret affair?) rafe was stood off to the side, talking with your manager, margaret, and assistant, emma. his arms were crossed over his chest as he looked down at them, nodding intently at whatever they were saying.

he felt your gaze and he turned his head, throwing you a charming smile and quick wink, before turning his head back to the conversation. you felt your heart speed up and your stomach flutter, but push it down, turning away.

alex, sat directly across from you, wore her signature unwell hoodie and sweatpants, while you wore dark wash, straight legged jeans, and a white, flowy, lacy top.

after giving your introduction to the camera, alex turns to you. "welcome to call her daddy!"

જ⁀➴ all this time

joe keery x fem!reader

a part of my childhood best friends au!

cw: suggestive content, not proofread

almost 2 decades and a billion break ups later, you indulged in a bit of… songwriting.

late nights at studio’s became a common reoccurrence for you. usually, you’d be with joe.

this time, you were with someone short n sweet.

you and sabrina had been friends for a couple of months and you were so endlessly grateful for her. having moved around quite a lot, you didn’t really have a fixed group of friends.

you never really minded because you had joe. once you befriended sabrina you forgot just how amazing it was to have a girl friend.

sure, you giggle and fangirl with joe, but he’s absolutely nothing like sabrina. she makes jokes and comments that throw you off and give you no choice but to double over in laughter.

you two were talking about your teenage days, her with her disney career, and you with… well, joe.

“i’m honestly not surprised you two have been in a 20 year situationship.”

“that is not what that was!” you denied immediately. “we just appreciated each other a lot and we didn’t know how to show it correctly.”

“appreciated.” she snorted. “sure.”

“brina!”

“okay, okay!” she giggled. “i’ll leave it be. just— tell me how you two were. i mean, joe’s a total romantic, i wouldn’t be surprised if he was the same as a 15 year old.”

“he was so cute and awkward.” you smile at the memory. “you know when you’re so smitten for someone you just wanna make them fall in love with you?”

“and you’re completely sure you aren’t balls deep in love with him?”

“do you wanna hear about it or no?”

sabrina huffed and laid back down on the couch. “yes.”

you told her about how he asked you out, your first date, how he showed up when you didn’t expect him to, and how he was always a friend first, boyfriend second.

there was one memory of you two you had tucked away in the deepest pits of your heart. it was of the day you realized you truly didn’t see a future without joe. the day you fell so hopelessly in love.

“there was this one time…” you trailed off, your smile only growing wider as you recall the memory. “remember when juno came out?”

“no.”

“oh.” you blinked.

she was 8 when it came out.

“god, i forget how young you are.” you huff sarcastically. “well, we watched it a couple weeks after it came out because he just wouldn’t budge! i ended up convincing him towards the start of 2008 and the idea of two me’s running around was very… prevalent?”

“oh my god, what then?” sabrina crossed her legs and leaned in, as if you were at a summer camp telling ghost stories.

you told her about how he said one of you is cute enough and how that made you melt internally, you told her how for a week straight he would walk around with a jacket bunched up under his shirt walking around yelling “you made me juno!”

sabrina slammed back down against the couch, “you two are just so… you need a romcom based off of you guys.”

you rolled your eyes. “how about a song?”

her eyes lit up and all previous attempts at trying to convince you to spill your undying love for joe went straight out the window.

you got the song done in a couple of days, sabrina purchasing a juno cake to celebrate. one that you had to hide from joe.

when the short n sweet tour came around, your feelings for joe bubbled up once more.

sabrina had told you her plan a week in advance. joe would be arrested for juno, but not by her. you would dress up as a backup dancer and pop up and arrest him instead.

you felt like two girls in middle school thinking of ways to get their crushes to look at them during lunch break.

“oh my goodness, who’s that!” sabrina gasped up on stage, sirens blaring to fit the whole arresting vibe.

joe’s jaw dropped in fake surprise, pointing at himself and looking around as if to say ‘who, me?’

“woah! do you see?” she turned to look at the two backup dancers standing next to her. they nodded and fanned their face.

“what’s your name?” sabrina asked, walking towards the edge of the stage to get closer to him.

joe cupped his mouth and yelled, “joe!”

“joe?” she repeated, earning a nod from him.

“where are you from, joe?” she tilted her head.

“boston!” he yelled.

“well, isn’t that crazy! my best friend is from boston! do you know her?” she put a hand on her hip and tilted her head.

joe’s eyes flickered, uncertain. “i might?” he shrugged, still completely unaware. the crowd, however, had already caught on to what sabrina was putting down and they were screaming frantically.

“no, i think you do.” she hummed. “i think you know her really well.”

a small smirk made its way on to joe’s face as he realized who sabrina was talking about.

“joe from boston!” you gasped, running over to stand next to sabrina.

you had just emerged from backstage, but the journey across the stage felt like an eternity. for one, you were wearing a dress matching sabrina’s, just in baby pink instead of lavender.

it was just barely long enough to cover the curve of your ass, but there was a little short slit on the side. it was sparkly, to say the least. it was incredibly tight, only the neckline was loose as to drape down to your midsection to reveal a matching bra.

your hair was curled to match sabrina’s whole 60s theme.

it was the least you’ve worn ever, and the millions of eyes on you didn’t ease your nerves. however, when your eyes locked with those familiar, warm brown eyes—who were looking at you as if you personally hung the moon and stars—you felt the buzzing from the crowd fade away.

“what a coincidence!” you huff, looking back at sabrina who was giving you a sly smirk that was definitely not a part of the act.

“you know, joe, we have this thing down in austin—we call it cuffing season-” the words barely left your mouth before his held his wrists up to you.

there was a glint in his eyes you last saw back in your teenage years.

“always up to try new things, huh, joe?” you hadn’t even realized the double innuendo until it left your mouth. it was far too late to take it back, and you weren’t dumb enough to react publically, so you just giggled as if it were a part of the show.

his eyes melted once he heard the symphony coming from your lips.

he nodded and shouted, “anything for you, y/n from boston!”

the sound that came from the crowd was ungodly.

you laughed and knelt down to hand him the pink handcuffs one of the backup dancers handed to you.

he took them eagerly.

that was supposed to be it.

you were supposed to walk off stage and hide from joe for the rest of your life.

but you never followed a plan, did you?

“i would make you juno, joe, but one of you is cute enough.” you sighed, hoping he remembered that night just as clearly as you did.

his eyes quite literally lit up. “two, though?” he quoted you.

your face went red and you stood up, hands on your hips. “buh-bye, now, joe. hope to see you around boston soon. say hi to your momma for me, kay?”

he blew you a kiss and waved you goodbye as you strutted off the stage.

the second you were successfully off the spotlight you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. your hand rested above your heart. what the fuck.

some crew member handed you an ice cold water bottle that you gratefully took and chugged down.

the bottle crinkled in your hands as it succumbed to pressure.

a finger tapped your shoulder and you turned around with furrowed brows. you nearly spit your water out upon seeing joe stand right in front of you.

“you wrote a song about it? thought that was supposed to be my thing.” he asked, a teasing smirk on his face.

your eyes went wide as you choked, patting your chest harshly as if to get the water back in the right tube.

“easy, y/n from boston.” he patted your back.

“you are so insufferable, you know that?” you blinked, wiping away the water that had dribbled down your chin in your coughing fit.

“i was told i make people wanna make me fall in love, but insufferable works too.” he shrugged, digging his hands deep into his pockets, something you’ve grown to learn he only does when he’s nervous.

“y’know, i didn’t think you’d remember.” you said quietly, eyes darting everywhere. you just couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eye.

“how could i not when i spent all this time loving you?”

you blinked and quite literally turned around to look for some cameras. were you being punked? was this a sick joke? oh no, were you dreaming?

he pinched your arm and you let out a hiss, instantly rubbing your skin.

“not dreaming.” he smiled.

“all this time?” you repeated.

“all this time.” he confirmed with a nod. he sealed his lips into a thin line.

“why didn’t you say anything!” you huffed, pushing his chest back slightly.

“i didn’t know if you felt the same!” he defended, eyebrows raised in shock at your reaction.

“why wouldn’t i?!”

“because you’re always like ‘oh joe we were so confused!’ ‘isn’t it so funny how we dated even though we aren’t even like romantically attracted to each other?’ ‘i can’t even believe we were on and off for so long!’-”

he was going on and on and you were realizing that this entire time you were just desperately trying to convince yourself there was nothing between you two.

he was still rambling when you decided to cut him off by pressing your lips to his.

he froze at first, and then he melted in to the kiss just like he had decades ago. your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, not knowing just how much you missed his lips.

he let out a sound that danced around desperation and pleasure, and you took that as an opportunity to slide your tongue in.

even though your eyes were completely closed, you could feel the furrow in between his eyebrows he sported whenever he was making out with someone.

he pulled away to catch his breath. “i can’t believe,” he panted. “i waited this long.”

“i technically did everything-” you countered, but you couldn’t even get your point across because his lips were already on yours again.

the show was coming to an end, meaning more personnel were walking around your once secluded area backstage.

you tugged him towards your dressing room. “joe from boston, you’re gonna show me what a good time is.”

“yes, ma’am.” he blurted, trudging behind you, face so unbelievably red.

“don’t call me that.”

you owe sabrina big time.

#joe keery run me over #joe keery #joe keery x you #joe keery x reader #joe keery fluff #childhood best friends trope #childhood best friends #fluff #popstar!reader #short n sweet tour #short n sweet #juno #junebug loves you #hearts4steve