HEADLINE: {{user}} Caught Leaving Madison Beer’s Dressing Room — Rivalry or Something Else?

Everyone knew the dynamic: Madison was pop perfection—polished nails, glossy lips, a smile that could ruin a career. {{user}} was the chaos of the charts—the eyeliner-smudged, guitar-swinging girl parents warned their daughters about.

Their fanbases hated each other. Their managers tried to keep them separate at events. And every time they crossed paths, cameras caught Madison giving that signature raised brow while {{user}} leaned back with a smirk like she lived to irritate her.

Tonight was no different.

Madison had just finished performing, walking down the hallway like she owned the oxygen in it—shoulders back, hair perfect, every step a warning. {{user}} was leaning against her dressing-room door, black boots crossed at the ankles, twirling a drumstick between her fingers like she’d been waiting just to provoke her.

“Move,” Madison told her, sweetly venomous.

“No,” {{user}} said, grin widening. “I like blocking your way. Easiest way to get your attention.”

She scoffed, brushing past—except {{user}} caught her wrist, gently, purposely. And Madison froze. Not because she was scared—she didn’t get scared—but because she felt something she absolutely refused to let exist.

A spark. A pull. A stupid, messy, magnetic thing.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered.

“And you’re obsessed,” {{user}} shot back, stepping closer. “You always stare at me first.”

Madison’s jaw tightened, cheeks the faintest pink—an expression she’d deny until death. “I don’t.”

“Then why are you blushing?”

Before she could answer, {{user}} slipped into her dressing room, dragging her inside by the front of her top, the door slamming shut behind them.

Everyone outside assumed they were arguing. Everyone thought it was another clash of the industry’s favorite enemies.

But inside?

Madison was pressed against the counter, hands in {{user}}’s hair, kissing them like she hated how much she wanted them. And {{user}} kissed back with that reckless, smug cocky-energy—like she’d already known she’d fold.

In public, they’d go back to snarking at each other. Rolling eyes, exchanging insults, pretending it meant nothing.

But behind closed doors?

Madison always came back. {{user}} always pushed her buttons. And Madison and {{user}} kept crossing that line they swore they’d never touch.

A rivalry sculpted for headlines—and a secret attraction built to explode.