The stadium was buzzing, the seats packed with eager fans, lights dimmed just enough to make the glow of the stage even more intense. The air felt electric, every beat of the opening music pulsing through your veins as Chappell prepared to make her grand entrance. You stood just offstage, in your usual spot, the one where you could see her best. The familiar proud smile you wore each night was already spreading across your face, something you couldn't have hidden if you tried.
As the first notes of her song filled the room, Chappell emerged, vibrant and beautiful. She wore her signature glitter, hair wild and bright under the stage lights, a smirk on her lips as she took her place in front of the mic. The crowd erupted, cheering louder than ever as she greeted them with her warm, confident energy, her voice filling the stadium like she was born for it. She was in her element.
And then, just as she always did, she turned to look at you. A flash of warmth spread through her eyes, softening her expression just for a second as her gaze locked on you. She winked, and you felt your heart stutter, that little gesture a secret you shared in a room full of thousands. It was something she did every show, a reminder that no matter how big the stage, she was still grounded with you by her side.
For the next hour and a half, you were captivated, watching her pour herself into each song. You mouthed every lyric, as familiar with them as you were with the sound of your own heartbeat. She sang her soul out, each word and note a piece of her she shared with the world—and with you, most of all. And as she sang one of her more heartbreaking songs, her eyes met yours again, that intensity showing you that behind every note was a piece of her love for you, hidden in plain sight.
But as much as you felt that love, not everyone saw it the same way. The fans loved her vibrant personality and the vulnerability she expressed in her songs, but the contrast between her aesthetic and yours didn't sit right with all of them. You had a more rugged look—hoodies, jeans, a few tattoos, and short hair that stood out against her glittering, ethereal style. On social media, you'd seen the comments. "Doesn't match her vibe at all," "She looks way too casual for someone like Chappell," or "I thought she'd date someone a bit more... put-together."
It stung sometimes. Even though you knew she didn't care, the idea that her fans thought you weren't "good enough" for her hit deeper than you liked to admit. Chappell noticed, too, of course—she was incredibly perceptive, and no matter how much you tried to brush it off, she always saw through it.
After the show, she pulled you into her dressing room, her arm wrapped firmly around your waist, as if she was afraid you'd drift away if she let go. She always made time for a quiet moment with you after each performance, just the two of you unwinding together, far from the noise and lights. Tonight, she seemed especially intent on having that time, tugging you down onto the couch beside her, not letting an inch of space separate you.
"Hey, babygirl," you whispered, pulling her close.
She grinned, exhaustion slipping away as she melted into your arms, her fingers playing absently with the sleeve of your hoodie. "What'd you think?" she asked, a gleam in her eyes that told you she already knew your answer.
"You were amazing, as always," you murmured, kissing her forehead. "Seriously, I don't know how you keep outdoing yourself."
She hummed contentedly, resting her head on your shoulder, letting out a long breath. "I do it for you," she said, her voice soft, almost shy. "Every time, it's for you."
You felt a swell of emotion, the kind of happiness that felt almost surreal. "You know, some of the fans might not see it that way," you admitted quietly, almost hating to break the tranquility of the moment.
Chappell straightened up a bit, her brow furrowing as she looked at you, eyes narrowing in that fiery way you loved. "You mean those comments?" She rolled her eyes, dismissing them with a casual wave. "Who cares? They don't know what they're talking about."
"It's just... sometimes I wonder if maybe they're right... I'm not that super graphic ultra modern girl you sing about," you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
Her hands cupped your face, her gaze intense as she spoke. "Don't you dare," she said firmly. "They don't see what I see. They see some version of me they made up in their heads, but you know me—the real me. That's what matters." Her thumbs traced gentle circles on your cheeks, grounding you with her touch. "I chose you, Y/N. You're everything I want and need."
Before you could respond, she leaned in, kissing you with a passion that left no room for doubt. Her lips moved softly against yours, her hands running down your arms until her fingers laced with yours, holding you tight. You felt every ounce of her love in that kiss, the way her body melted against yours, the way she held you like you were the only thing keeping her tethered.
And you knew, without a doubt, that no fan's opinion could ever come close to the love the two of you shared.
The next morning, you woke up to find a new post on Chappell's social media. It was a candid photo from last night's show, her beaming with the crowd behind her. But it wasn't just her in the picture—she had posted a second image, too, of you offstage, your proud smile visible even from a distance. And underneath, a caption that simply read:
"For the person who's been by my side every step of the way, my one and only, Y/N. Forever."
The comments poured in, fans reacting with mixed emotions, but you couldn't have cared less. Chappell's words were all that mattered, a public affirmation of her love for you, proof that she was as committed to you as you were to her. In her world of lights, fans, and fame, she had made sure you knew that you were her rock, her constant.
As she stirred beside you, you pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She opened her eyes, sleepy but smiling, and nestled against your chest with a contented sigh.
"Good morning, love," she murmured, her voice soft and husky.
"Morning, pretty girl," you replied, the nickname a gentle tease as you stroked her hair.
"Did you see the post?" she asked, her lips curving into a satisfied smile. "I wanted everyone to know just how lucky I am."
And in that moment, wrapped up in her arms, you knew that no fanbase, no comment, no judgment could touch what the two of you shared. Chappell was yours, and you were hers, truly, madly, and deeply in love.
