Tayvis One-Shots

red carpet

Grammys 2025

Taylor's POV

 I stood in front of the mirror, eyeing my reflection and feeling a spark of adrenaline. My team moved around me in a synchronized rhythm, perfecting the last touches: a little extra shadow smudged along my lash line, a few wayward strands of hair smoothed back, and a final adjustment to my outfit. This was routine by now, but tonight was different. It wasn't just my night; it was ours.

My outfit was bold and unapologetic. I wore a tight black sequined dress that glistened under the lights, with a low neck and daring cutouts along the sides. The fabric hugged every curve, every edge of my body. 

It had long, fitted sleeves that ended in cuffs with delicate silver studs, echoing that darker, edgier vibe I'd fallen in love with years ago. Paired with tall black heels and a choker adorned with onyx and diamonds, the whole look was giving reputation, and I knew the Swifties would go crazy over it.

Across the room, Travis was adjusting his suit in the mirror, glancing down and to the side every now and then as if still getting used to it. He wore an all-black tux, tailored to perfection, with a dark gray shirt underneath and subtle silver detailing on his lapels. A slick black tie and dark cufflinks completed the look, and there was something in the sharp, midnight tones that made us look like a matching set, partners in every sense of the word.

It was our red-carpet debut, and I knew the fans and media were going to have a field night with what I was planning to do. 

I walked over, meeting his gaze in the mirror. "You clean up nice, Kelce," I teased, taking in the sight of him.

He turned to me, taking in my outfit with a smile that turned softer at the edges. "Not half as nice as you, Swift." His hand reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear, and his touch lingered just a beat longer than usual, as though he wanted to capture this moment. "You ready for this?"

I nodded, exhaling slowly. "Ready as I'll ever be."

The funny thing was red carpets used to feel like a second home. But tonight, butterflies danced in my stomach. 

One of my assistants handed Travis his boutonniere, a single dark rose with a hint of silver dusting the petals—a quiet nod to the reputation era. He fumbled with it, finally managing to pin it to his lapel, then caught me watching him and shrugged with a playful grin. "Not really used to wearing flowers, you know?"

I laughed, stepping forward to adjust it, brushing his hand away with a smirk. "Could've fooled me."

Finally, we were both ready, standing there in the quiet for a brief moment of stillness. He slipped his hand into mine, warm and steady, and for a second, it felt like the world outside didn't exist, just us, no flashing lights, no microphones, no cameras.

"I'm here," he said softly, as if he could sense my nerves. "We're here."

I looked up at him, feeling that familiar rush of certainty. "Let's go, then."

We stepped out of the dressing room, hand in hand, and the moment our feet touched the carpet, the energy around us shifted. The flashes started immediately, cameras clicking in rapid-fire bursts, and the shouts from photographers blended into an overwhelming, buzzing wall of sound. It was familiar chaos, yet this time, I felt a little spark run through me as I glanced up at Travis, who tightened his grip on my hand, silently grounding me.

"Taylor! Taylor! Over here!" the photographers called. "Can we get one with just you two?"

Travis leaned down, close enough that only I could hear him. "This is insane," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. "How do you even focus with all of this?"