Taylor Swift one shots

Out For A Walk And Followed pt1

It was a crisp, cool afternoon when Taylor decided to go out for a walk. She loved moments like these, slipping on a hoodie and sunglasses, hoping to blend in and enjoy some rare solitude away from the spotlight. The air was fresh, and the quiet streets of the neighborhood felt like a sanctuary compared to the chaos that usually surrounded her life. She needed this—a moment to breathe, to clear her head, and to just *be* for a while.

As she wandered down the familiar sidewalks, her mind drifted, thinking about her upcoming projects and the recent changes in her life. Everything had been moving so fast lately, and these quiet walks were one of the few times she felt she could catch up with herself. She checked her phone, her fingers brushing over Travis's last message, a smile tugging at her lips. He always found a way to ground her, even when things felt overwhelming.

But then, she noticed something—a flicker of movement in her peripheral vision. At first, she brushed it off, thinking it was nothing more than a passerby or a dog walker. But the feeling of being watched grew, the air around her changing from peaceful to tense. She glanced over her shoulder and saw two men with cameras following her, their lenses pointed in her direction.

Her stomach dropped. The paparazzi.

She quickened her pace, pulling her hood tighter over her head and keeping her face down, hoping they'd lose interest. But they didn't. Instead, they sped up, calling out her name. "Taylor! Taylor, look over here!" Their voices were sharp, demanding, cutting through the quiet street. Her pulse quickened, panic beginning to bubble up in her chest.

She wasn't in the mood for this. She wasn't prepared to deal with them today.

Taylor kept walking, trying to stay calm, but the footsteps behind her grew louder, closer. She turned down a side street, hoping to lose them, but they followed, relentless. They began shouting more questions, demanding answers about her personal life, about her relationship with Travis. The cameras were flashing now, clicking wildly as they closed the distance between them.

Her heart raced, fear creeping up her spine. She felt trapped, cornered, and there was no escape in sight. She wasn't far from home, but it felt like miles with the paparazzi on her heels.

"Come on, Taylor, give us a shot!" one of them yelled.

She kept walking, but her steps faltered as one of the paparazzi suddenly lunged closer, his camera practically in her face. Taylor flinched, stumbling back, and that's when it happened—she tripped over the curb, her ankle twisting painfully beneath her. She cried out, falling to the ground as her knee scraped against the rough pavement, pain shooting up her leg.

The camera shutters didn't stop. They kept flashing, capturing her vulnerability, her fear, her pain.

Taylor's breaths came in ragged gasps as she tried to get up, but her ankle throbbed, making it hard to put weight on it. She was hurt, scared, and completely overwhelmed. The paparazzi hadn't stopped. They circled her like vultures, their cameras never ceasing.

Fumbling with her phone, she managed to unlock it, her hands shaking. She quickly dialed her head of security, John, her voice trembling as she spoke. "John, I—I need help. I'm being followed and—" Her voice broke. "I'm hurt."

"Where are you, Taylor?" John's voice was calm but urgent.

"I'm a few blocks from home," she said, her voice shaky. "They won't leave me alone. I—I fell. Please, I need you."

"Stay where you are. We're coming right now. Don't move, and don't engage with them."

Taylor nodded, even though John couldn't see her. She clutched the phone tightly, trying to focus on his voice and not the chaos surrounding her. The paparazzi were still hovering, yelling questions, their cameras flashing in her face.

Minutes felt like hours as she sat there, her ankle throbbing, the fear gnawing at her. But then, she saw them—two black SUVs pulling up, her security team jumping out with practiced efficiency. John and another guard rushed over, instantly forming a protective barrier between her and the paparazzi.

"Back off!" John barked at the photographers, his voice firm and commanding. "Get away from her!"

The paparazzi hesitated, but the sight of the security team made them back off, though not without a few more photos. Taylor felt a rush of relief as John knelt beside her, his eyes filled with concern.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his hand resting on her shoulder. "What happened?"

Taylor nodded, but her eyes were still wide with fear. "I tripped. My ankle—it hurts," she whispered, her voice shaky. "They wouldn't stop following me."

"We've got you," John reassured her, helping her to her feet while the other guard kept the paparazzi at bay. "Let's get you home."

With John's arm around her for support, Taylor limped toward the waiting SUV. Her leg throbbed with every step, but the overwhelming fear was starting to ease. Once they were inside the car, the tinted windows shielded her from the cameras, and she felt herself finally start to breathe again.

As the SUV pulled away, leaving the paparazzi behind, Taylor leaned back against the seat, closing her eyes for a moment. Her ankle still ached, but more than anything, she felt exhausted—emotionally and physically drained from the experience.

John glanced over at her from the passenger seat. "You're safe now. We'll take care of that ankle when we get home."

She nodded, her hand resting over her chest as she tried to calm her racing heart. "Thank you, John. I didn't know what to do. They were just... everywhere."

"I know," he said gently. "But we've got you. Always."

Taylor smiled weakly, her mind already racing ahead to how she'd explain all this to Travis when he got home. She knew he'd be worried, but for now, all she wanted was to get back to the safety of her house and let the chaos of the outside world disappear, if only for a little while.