The Slumber Party Queen: A y/n and Beyoncé story

YN didn't think anything of it when Beyoncé told her to meet her in the backstage wardrobe area after soundcheck. She figured maybe Bey needed help picking a final look or just wanted to sneak in a moment of peace before the show.

But when she walked in and saw a rack of her size hoodies, bombers, and even a few streetwear-meets-designer fits with "Beyoncé World Tour" tags sewn inside them, she damn near stumbled.

"What... is this?"

Beyoncé turned around with the proudest grin, arms crossed, looking every bit like a girlfriend who nailed the surprise.

"You said you were tired of feeling like a background player," she said, walking over. "So I figured... let's get you dressed like you're part of the show."

YN stared at the rack again, her hand running over a sleek, all-black bomber that had DADDY stitched in gold on the inside collar.

"Yo... is this custom?"

"From top to bottom," Beyoncé smirked.

"I don't even wear stuff this nice to court."

"Good thing you're not on trial," she teased, pulling a fitted tee off the rack. "You're just guilty of stealing my heart."

YN groaned. "You're ridiculous."

"And you love it."

⸻

What YN didn't know was that the surprises weren't over.

Halfway through the show, as the beat for "Alien Superstar" started and the lights hit that soft blue-purple hue, Beyoncé gave a signal to the crew—and before YN could blink, one of the dancers handed her a mic and motioned her to the edge of the stage.

"What the—no, no, no—"

But it was too late.

The crowd was screaming as Beyoncé strutted to the edge, reached out her hand like she'd done it a thousand times before, and pulled YN up under the spotlight.

The music paused.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Beyoncé panted, hair wild and body glistening, "this... is my peace, my headache, my favorite human. And she looks damn good in custom."

The crowd exploded.

YN could only stand there like a deer in stadium lights, mouthing, "I'm gonna kill you" while Beyoncé grinned like she just won her fifth Grammy of the night.

⸻

Backstage, as the crowd still roared in the distance, YN cornered her. "You ambushed me."

Beyoncé raised a brow. "You didn't like it?"

YN grabbed her by the waist. "I didn't say that."

And when their lips met, the music didn't matter. The lights didn't matter.

All that mattered was the soft press of Beyoncé's forehead against hers when it was over.

"You're mine, right?" she whispered.

"All yours," YN replied, smiling. "Even in front of 20,000 people."