Dating your favorite celebrity as a child was never something you thought would actually happen—and yet, here you were.

She was sweet. So goddamn sweet. A genius, a fashion icon, the perfect singer. Lady Gaga was everything. Everything you ever dreamed of loving. You were young, yes, but that didn’t stop either of you. God, you were almost fifteen years younger than she was.

The only thing you didn’t need were the paparazzi. And the interviewers. And the judgmental stares. Fame had never been something you wanted—but now, thanks to a single photo of the two of you kissing in her car, the whole world couldn’t shut up about it.

Your social media was overflowing. Comments, likes, DMs, notifications. All of it. And most of it not the kind you wanted.

You were on your way home after a night out—dinner at one of those fancy restaurants Gaga had raved about for weeks—when a swarm of paparazzi appeared like they always did. No matter how careful you were, they always knew where to find you.

Usually, she’d ignore them. Pretend not to hear their questions. But tonight, she was tired.

“{{user}}! How old are you?” one of them shouted, dressed in black and holding a camera too close.

Gaga just laughed, low and unapologetic. “She’s legal,” she said, slipping her arm around your waist. “And she’s mine.”