Tayvis One-Shots

#drunktaylor

Travis's POV

The music was pounding, the bass so heavy it felt like it was syncing with my heartbeat. The VIP section of the club was packed, everyone buzzed with energy and just a little too much alcohol. Taylor was laughing, her head thrown back, her curls tumbling over her shoulders as she danced with her friends.

She looked happy, carefree, and honestly, I couldn't blame her. It had been a hell of a week—interviews, rehearsals, meetings. If anyone deserved to let loose, it was her.

But as the night went on, I started to notice she wasn't just letting loose. She was gone.

"Babe, maybe slow down on the tequila," I'd said an hour ago, pulling her close as she grabbed another shot from the tray.

She'd giggled, pressing a kiss to my cheek. "You're not the boss of me, Kelce." Then she downed the shot with a flourish, her friends cheering her on.

Now, though, she was on the dance floor, moving like she didn't have a care in the world. Normally, I loved watching her dance. But tonight, there was a wobble in her step that made my stomach tighten.

I pushed through the crowd to reach her. "Taylor," I said, placing a hand on her waist to steady her.

She turned to me, her eyes glassy but bright. "Travis!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around my neck. "You're here! Did I tell you I love you? Because I do. So much."

I chuckled despite myself, holding her close so she wouldn't topple over. "Yeah, babe, you've told me. Maybe it's time we head out, huh?"

She pouted, her lower lip jutting out in a way that would've been adorable if I wasn't so worried. "But the night's still young! And I'm Taylor Swift! People expect me to party!"

"You can party all you want tomorrow," I said, trying to guide her toward the exit.

The night was buzzing as we stepped out of the club, flashes of paparazzi cameras lighting up the dark street. Taylor clung to my arm, her cheeks flushed from both the tequila and the sheer energy of the night. She was giggling, her curls bouncing with every step.

"Travis," she said, tugging on my sleeve as her eyes caught on something. "Is that a hot dog cart?"

I followed her gaze to the vendor parked on the corner. "Yeah, it is."

Her eyes widened. "I need one. Right now."

I laughed. "You sure? We're a couple drinks past 'good decision' territory."

"Positive," she said, her voice full of determination. "You can't stop a girl on a mission, Kelce."

Before I could respond, she was dragging me across the street, her heels clicking unevenly against the pavement. When we got to the cart, the vendor froze, his jaw dropping as he realized who had just shown up in front of him.

"Is that...?" he started, blinking between Taylor and me.

"It's me!" Taylor said brightly, throwing her arms out like she was making an entrance on stage. "And I need the best hot dog you've ever made."

The vendor blinked, clearly starstruck. "Uh, yeah, sure! What do you want on it?"

Taylor tilted her head, swaying slightly. "Hmm. Surprise me! Put everything on it. And make it extra special, 'cause it's my first hot dog of the night!"

I rubbed the back of my neck, giving the guy an apologetic look. "Sorry, man. She's a little drunk."

The vendor laughed nervously, starting to pile toppings onto a bun. "No problem, no problem. It's not every day Taylor Swift shows up at my cart."