SuperStar!

"Ethan…" came the feminine voice again, closer now, tinged with concern.

Jason's heart hammered in his chest, panic clawing its way through his thoughts. What did I just fucking do? His mind screamed at him, every nerve in his body firing off in regret. Did I just punch Ethan Jones?

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm dead," Jason muttered under his breath, his voice trembling. His hands started shaking as the weight of what just happened hit him like a freight train.

"I need to run. I need to get out of here," he whispered frantically, his feet already moving as his fight-or-flight instincts kicked in.

He barely made it two steps before a hand grabbed him firmly from behind.

"And where do you think you're going?" a deep voice said, low and steady, with just a hint of amusement. The grip on Jason's arms tightened, immobilizing him.

"Let go of me!" Jason yelled, struggling wildly against the hold. He twisted and turned, desperate to break free, but another hand came from the side, pinning him further.

"Hey, hey, easy there," a second voice said, calmer but no less firm. "You just punched a superstar and thought you'd get away with it?"

Jason's heart sank further, his movements slowing as the reality of the situation set in. Shit, shit, shit. Why did I do this? He gritted his teeth, his mind spiraling. I should've known he'd have guards with him. I'm toast. I'm so toast.

"Ethan, are you okay?" another voice called out again, sharp with worry.

Jason tilted his head slightly, just enough to see another figure rushing over to Ethan, who was still clutching the side of his face. Blood trickled down from the corner of his lip, but the superstar didn't look as furious as Jason had feared.

In fact, Ethan seemed… oddly calm.

"I'm good, Max. Thanks," Ethan said, waving off the larger man who had been standing by. "It's just a cut."

Jason froze, his breath hitching as Ethan's piercing blue eyes locked onto his.

"But as for the little shit who punched me…" Ethan continued, his voice dripping with amusement. He crouched slightly to Jason's level, blood still glistening on his lip, and tilted his head with a wide grin.

Jason's stomach churned as he stared up at him. That grin wasn't comforting. It was almost… predatory.

"I'm dead," Jason muttered under his breath again, unable to tear his gaze away from Ethan's unnervingly calm expression.

"Oh, you're not dead," Ethan said smoothly, his grin widening. "But you're gonna wish you were."

Jason swallowed hard, his mind scrambling for an escape, but the hands holding him didn't let up. He was pinned, trapped, and completely at the mercy of the singer's mercy

Jason squirmed in the chair, his wrists bound tightly, his heart thudding as if trying to escape his chest. His lips, sealed with duct tape, twitched as muffled sounds of protest tried to escape. His wide, panicked eyes darted between the people in the room and sweat rolled down his temples as his situation became clearer by the second.

"So, let me get this straight," said a man built like a literal bear, his arms crossed as he stood in the corner. His deep voice reverberated through the room. "This kid just walked up to you and punched you?" His sharp gaze landed on Ethan, waiting for confirmation.

"Yup," Ethan said casually, leaning back against the couch with an ice pack pressed to his lip. "I was just minding my own business, sitting there, and bam! Out of nowhere, I get socked in the face. No reason at all."

Jason groaned through the tape, shaking his head wildly, trying to convey that this wasn't the full story.

"Maybe he's a Taylor Swift ultra-fan," said a younger woman standing next to Ethan, handing him another ice bag. "You know, the kind that has a grudge against you for some ridiculous reason? And with the news going around that you both were in an accident some fans would be out for you"

Ethan scoffed. "Oh, come on, Rebecca. There's no way it's that deep."

Rebecca shrugged. "You'd be surprised how intense some of these fan wars can get."

"Speaking of," an older woman chimed in, stepping forward with an apologetic expression, "if he is one of Taylor's fans, we're really sorry. Taylor's fans can be… well… passionate." She hesitated, then added nervously, "Please don't hold it against her, Ethan."

Ethan leaned back, crossing his arms and tilting his head in thought. "Wow, so this might actually be a fan thing." He turned his gaze toward the corner of the room where Taylor Swift herself stood, calm and composed, watching the scene unfold with a faint smile.

"Taylor," Ethan said, grinning despite the situation, "are your fans always this intense? You could've given me a heads-up, you know."

Taylor chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Sorry, but I highly doubt this kid is one of mine," she said, her voice calm yet amused. "And besides, my fans would never attack you physically—a hashtag war, maybe, but this?" She gestured toward Jason, who was now trembling in his chair. "Doesn't seem like their style."

Jason turned his head, his eyes meeting Taylor's. His breath hitched, and he felt his stomach drop to his knees.

Jason's eyes widened as they landed on Taylor Swift, standing casually by the corner of the room. She seemed amused, an eyebrow raised as she glanced between him and Ethan. Jason's panic doubled—no, tripled. His mind raced faster than ever.

He had punched Ethan Jones, the Ethan Jones, and he had done it while Taylor freaking Swift was standing right there. In his head, a voice screamed: I'm so dead. Not just dead. Super dead. Bury-me-ten-feet-under-and-call-it-a-day dead.

The tears threatening to spill earlier were now pooling dangerously close to overflowing. His throat felt dry, his hands—tied to the chair—were clammy. The room felt like it was closing in on him.

I want my mummy, Jason thought miserably, tears pooling in his eyes. His humiliation was complete.

As if to confirm the universe's cruelty, Taylor gave him a small, pitying smile, which only made Jason feel even smaller. He tried to wiggle free, to shake his head, to say something—anything—but the tape on his mouth rendered his protests meaningless.

"What are we going to do? Should we call the cops? I don't like how this looks—it feels like we just kidnapped him," another voice said. Jason turned his head toward the source of the voice and saw an older woman speaking. His heart sank as panic gripped him. No, not the cops, he thought, shaking his head frantically.

Ethan noticed the reaction and smirked, setting the ice bag down as he walked closer to Jason. Cracking his knuckles, he leaned in with a devious glint in his eyes. "Oh, you're afraid of the cops, huh? Don't worry—I'm not calling them."

For a moment, Jason felt a flicker of relief—until Ethan continued, his grin widening.

"You're all mine."

Jason gulped, his relief evaporating as Ethan's words hung in the air like a threat. That wicked smile made Jason's stomach churn. He knew one thing for sure: he was in serious trouble.