Tayvis One-Shots

perfect

tw: eating disorder

Taylor's POV

The mirror wasn't my friend tonight.

After a long day of interviews and promo shoots, I found myself standing in our bathroom, staring at my reflection. The dress I'd worn earlier had felt snug—not uncomfortably so, but just enough for the self-doubt to creep in.

And now, the photos were everywhere. Taylor Swift dazzles in a form-fitting dress, the headlines read, but I couldn't see the dazzle. All I could see were the comments beneath those articles.

She's put on weight. Her arms look bigger. Not the Taylor we're used to.

Each word felt like a punch to my gut, twisting and tightening until I couldn't breathe. I scrolled further, torturing myself with comparisons to other celebrities. Their toned arms. Their impossibly flat stomachs. Their perfect lives.

The tears came fast and hot, blurring my vision as I sunk to the cold bathroom floor, my phone slipping from my hand. It wasn't the first time I'd felt this way, but it was the first time in years that the feelings had rooted so deeply, refusing to let go.

"Taylor?" Travis's voice called from the bedroom. "You okay in there?"I swallowed hard, wiping at my face. "Yeah, just getting ready for bed." My voice cracked, betraying me.

The door creaked open a moment later, and there he stood, all six-foot-five of him, his brow furrowed in concern. "What's going on?" he asked softly, crouching down to my level. His eyes darted to the phone on the floor, the screen still lit with the hateful comments.

I tried to grab it, but he was faster. His jaw tightened as he read the words, and a flash of anger crossed his face, not at me, but for me.

"Taylor," he said, setting the phone aside and taking my hands in his. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

I shrugged, tears spilling over again. "Because they're right," I whispered. "I've let myself go. I'm not the Taylor they want anymore."

"Hey," he said firmly, cupping my face in his hands. "That's not true. You're the Taylor *I* want. And more importantly, you're the Taylor who's enough, just as you are."

His words were kind, but they didn't reach the dark corners of my mind where the doubt had burrowed. Over the next few weeks, I found myself spiraling. I'd skip meals under the guise of being too busy. I'd push myself harder in the gym, running until my legs gave out. The scale became both my tormentor and my savior, dictating my mood for the day.

Travis noticed. Of course, he did. He'd always been attuned to my feelings, even when I tried to hide them.

One night, as I sat picking at my dinner, he finally broke. "Taylor, this has to stop," he said, his voice low but firm. "I've been watching you... hurting yourself. And I can't just stand by and do nothing."

I looked up at him, startled. "I'm fine," I lied. "No, you're not," he countered, his eyes filled with pain. "You think I haven't noticed you skipping meals? Or how you're always covering yourself up, like you're ashamed of how you look?"

The lump in my throat made it hard to speak. "I just... I just want to be better," I choked out. "Better?" he repeated, his voice cracking. "Taylor, you're already incredible. Do you have any idea how much I admire you? How much the world admires you?"

I shook my head, unable to meet his gaze.

He reached across the table, taking my hand in his. "I know it's hard to believe right now," he said gently. "But you don't have to punish yourself to prove your worth. You're more than what you look like. You're more than the comments from strangers who don't even know you."

His words broke something in me, and the tears I'd been holding back came flooding out. Travis was by my side in an instant, wrapping me in his arms as I sobbed into his chest.

"Talk to me, Tiger. What's going on?"

I tried to pull away, but his hands held firm, grounding me. Tears welled up in my eyes despite my efforts to hold them back. "I can't..." My voice cracked. "I can't do this anymore."

"Do what?" he asked, his voice steady but laced with worry.

"Any of it," I whispered, the weight of my confession crashing down on me. "I hate the way I look. I hate the way people talk about me. I hate myself."

The tears spilled over then, hot and uncontrollable. Travis pulled me into his arms, holding me as I broke down. He didn't say anything at first, just let me cry against his chest, his hand running soothingly up and down my back.

When my sobs began to subside, he tilted my chin up so I had to look at him. His eyes were wet too, his expression a mix of heartbreak and determination. "Taylor, you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen," he said firmly. "Not because of how you look, but because of who you are. You have the biggest heart. You make people feel seen and loved and understood. That's what matters. Not what some asshole on the internet says."

I shook my head, still unable to believe him. "You don't get it," I said. "You don't know what it's like to feel like your entire worth is based on how you look. To feel like no matter what you do, it's never enough."

"You're right," he admitted. "I'll never fully understand what you go through. But I do know that you're enough. You're more than enough. And I'm not going to let you keep hurting yourself like this."

I looked away, ashamed. "I don't know how to stop."

"Then let me help you," he said, his voice breaking. "We'll do this together. One step at a time. But you have to promise me something, okay?"

"What?" I asked, barely audible.

"Promise me you'll fight. For yourself. For us. For the life we're building together."

His words hit me like a bolt of lightning, cutting through the fog in my mind. For the first time in weeks, I felt a glimmer of hope, a tiny spark that maybe, just maybe, I could find my way out of this darkness.

I nodded, tears streaming down my face. "I promise... I'm scared," I admitted through my tears. "I know," he said, stroking my hair. "But you're not alone in this. I'm here, and I'll be here every step of the way."

And he was. Over the next few months, Travis became my rock. He encouraged me to see a therapist, someone who could help me untangle the thoughts that had taken root in my mind. He celebrated the small victories with me, eating a full meal, leaving my scale untouched for a week, finding joy in my reflection again.

There were setbacks, of course. Nights when the comments still got to me, when the mirror felt like an enemy. But Travis was always there, reminding me of my worth, reminding me that I was loved.

One evening, as we lay in bed, I turned to him and said, "Thank you."

He looked at me, confused. "For what?"

"For saving me," I said softly.

He pulled me closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "You saved yourself," he said. "I just reminded you how strong you are."

And in that moment, I believed him.

requests >>>