delicate (tayvis one shots)

my only angel

The dimly lit club buzzed with the hum of low chatter, glasses clinking, and the heavy bass of a song that Travis Kelce couldn't name, but that pulsed through his chest. It wasn't the kind of place he usually found himself, but tonight, something had pulled him here. He sat at the bar, the cold rim of a whiskey glass pressing against his lips as he leaned back, watching. Observing.

He hadn't been in the mood for company. Not the kind of company his teammates often sought after games, anyway. The victory earlier that night should've left him elated, but all it had done was stir something restless in him—a hollow ache that even the crowd's cheers couldn't fill.

And then she walked in.

Taylor Swift. She wasn't supposed to be here, not in a place like this. Not in a black leather jacket, her hair tousled like she'd just gotten off a motorcycle or walked through a storm, looking every bit the opposite of the polished, angelic image she wore for the cameras. But then again, that was the thing about her, wasn't it? Taylor was never what she seemed. She had the whole world fooled into thinking she was one thing, but Travis knew better.

He watched her from across the room, his pulse quickening. He hadn't spoken to her in months—hadn't had the nerve, not since the last time their paths crossed at some glitzy Hollywood event where she'd looked at him like he was nothing more than another fleeting distraction in her busy life.

But now? Now she looked different. More real. More dangerous.

His mind flashed back to that one night, years ago, when everything between them shifted. It had been innocent at first—two stars crossing paths at a mutual friend's party. They had talked, laughed, danced. But it was the look in her eyes that had done him in. The way her gaze had pierced through him, as if she saw something deeper than the football player everyone else saw. That night had ended with a kiss—a kiss that was far from innocent. And then, just as quickly as she had let him in, she'd disappeared.

Now, here she was again. The devil in angel's clothing.

Travis tore his eyes away, trying to ignore the magnetic pull that tugged him toward her. He wasn't sure why he always let her do this to him. She was dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with fame or the headlines. Taylor Swift had a way of getting under his skin, of making him want things he didn't dare admit to himself.

He signaled the bartender for another drink, hoping the whiskey would help drown the thoughts racing through his mind. But as the bartender slid the glass toward him, a voice—low and familiar—cut through the noise.

"Long time no see, Kelce."

His heart stuttered. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

Taylor slid onto the barstool next to him, her perfume—something sweet, with a hint of spice—filling the space between them. He looked over at her, raising an eyebrow. She smiled, but it wasn't the soft, shy smile she gave the cameras. It was sharp, teasing. Dangerous.

"You're not supposed to be here," he said, his voice rougher than he intended.

"Neither are you," she shot back, her eyes glinting in the dim light.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Touché."

For a moment, they sat in silence, the tension between them thick enough to cut. Travis took another sip of his drink, trying to ignore the way his pulse raced just being this close to her. He hated how she could do this to him, how she could make him feel like he was seventeen again, fumbling through his first crush.

"So, what brings you here, Swift?" he finally asked, turning to face her. "Slumming it with the common folk?"

She smirked, her fingers playing with the rim of her glass. "I could ask you the same thing, Kelce. But if you must know, I'm here to forget."