[ ᴛᴀᴠʏᴠɪs ᴏɴᴇsʜᴏᴛs ]

dont you worry your pretty little mind (tw)

only slight trigger warning for vomiting, as I know some people have a fear of that. and also some mentions of eating disorders, but you wont notice it much.

in the writing mood if you cant tell.

...

Travis's POV:

I slowly awoke to Taylor cuddled in my arms, looking so peaceful. How could I wake her up and tell her I was about to vomit? I sighed and carefully let go of her, setting her head down on the pillow.

Quickly, I made my way to a bathroom down the hall, trying not to disturb her rest. After emptying my stomach there, I felt much better. It had to be something that I ate.

As I opened the door, I saw a worried-looking Taylor standing outside of it.

"Travis, you're sick. Why didn't you wake me up?" Taylor frowned, wrapping her arms around me.

"You looked too peaceful, I couldn't-" I started to explain.

"Shh. No excuses," she interrupted, holding me tighter.

"But-"

"No," she insisted firmly.

"I'll go sleep on the couch, I don't want you getting sick," I suggested, trying to be considerate.

"No. You're sleeping with me and not going across the hall if you need to vomit again," Taylor stated, her tone leaving no room for argument.

I sighed, realizing she was right. Reluctantly, I followed her back to the room, and she cuddled up with me again. I guess she knew what was best for both of us.

...

I awoke again to sunlight filtering through the curtains. Despite feeling nauseous, it wasn't unbearable. I figured I could suck it up and make breakfast for us. Slipping out of bed, I made my way downstairs and started to prepare waffles and bacon for Taylor.

"Traviiissss," I heard Taylor's familiar voice and the sound of fast footsteps descending the stairs. I was just finishing plating the waffles for her.

"Travis, you're sick, and you're making breakfast," she exclaimed, concern evident in her tone.

"So?" I replied nonchalantly.

She sighed, clearly worried.

 "Your sick and doing this will make you feel worse," she reasoned.

"But everything will be a mess and nothing will get done and" I started to protest.

"Shhh. You're overthinking this. You're sick. Go sit on the couch, and I'll make you some toast," she insisted, her voice firm but caring.

"But-"

"Don't you worry your pretty little mind. And yes, I'm quoting my song there," she interjected playfully.

I eventually gave in and trudged to the couch, realizing how terrible I felt. Taylor set down a plate of toast with butter on my lap, which I ate slowly as she bustled around cleaning the house.

"Make sure you eat!" I called out to her as she moved about.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll get to it," she replied, her voice echoing from another room.

"Don't 'yeah, yeah' me, or I'll take my sick ass over there and force you to eat!" I joked back.

"Fine, I'm coming!" she relented.

Taylor returned and curled up next to me with the waffles and bacon I had made earlier. She covered us with a blanket, and I put on an episode of Friends.

Together, we found solace in the comfort of each other's company, even amidst the challenges of sickness.

"So don't you worry your pretty, little mind
People throw rocks at things that shine
And life makes love look hard
The stakes are high, the water's rough
But this love is ours"

- Ours, taylor swift