Taylor Swift x Reader Imagines(GxG)

Hotelrooms (Fluff)

Iam sorry that this isn't waitress part two or prisoner 😭 Iam not in the mood for writing smut atm.
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I hate night shifts. 

The fluorescent lights in the hotel lobby flicker slightly, casting a dull glow over the marble floors. It’s almost midnight, and I’m running on nothing but a half-eaten granola bar and an iced coffee that melted hours ago.

My coworker left early, leaving me alone at the front desk, just waiting for the last stragglers to check in or out. 

That’s when she walks in. 

A woman in a hoodie and sunglasses—indoors, at night—approaches the desk. She’s wearing sweatpants and sneakers, the kind of outfit that screams "I'm trying to be invisible," which only makes her more noticeable.

She pushes her hood back slightly, revealing blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail. 

"Hi," she says, voice soft but confident. "I, uh… I forgot my key." 

I suppress a sigh. "Name and room number?" 

She hesitates. Red flag. 

"Uh… I don’t have my ID on me," she says instead. "But I swear I’m staying here. Room 1103." 

I cross my arms. "Right. And your name?" 

Again, she hesitates—longer this time. "Taylor Swift." 

I blink. Then I blink again. 

Sure, lady. 

"Okay," I say slowly, trying not to roll my eyes. "And I’m Beyoncé." 

The woman stares at me for a second before she bursts out laughing. Like, actual laughter—genuine, amused, and a little surprised. It’s a nice laugh. 

"Wow," she says, shaking her head. "That was new." 

"I mean, come on," I say, gesturing vaguely at her. "You do realize how sketchy this sounds, right? Random woman, no ID, claims to be one of the most famous people on the planet?" 

She bites her lip, like she’s trying to hold back another laugh. "Okay, fair. But I really am Taylor Swift. And I really do need to get into my room." 

"Right. And I really need a million dollars, but here we are." 

She groans dramatically, dragging a hand down her face. "Look, my security team has my ID, but I snuck out for a walk, and I didn't bring my key. I can prove it’s me." 

I raise an eyebrow, amused despite myself. "Oh yeah? How?" 

She glances around, then leans in slightly, lowering her voice like she’s about to share a state secret. "I could, like… sing for you?" 

I snort. "Tempting, but anyone can sing a Taylor Swift song." 

She grins. "Okay, but can anyone sing a new Taylor Swift song? One that hasn’t been released yet?" 

I pause. Okay, that’s actually a good point. But still… 

"Listen," I say, "even if you are Taylor Swift—which I highly doubt—I can’t just let you in without ID. Hotel policy." 

She groans again, but this time there’s a playful glint in her eye. "Okay, Beyoncé," she teases, smirking. "What would convince you?" 

I pretend to think about it. "Hmm. Maybe if you called your security team and had them confirm?" 

"Fine," she relents, pulling out her phone. As she dials, she shakes her head, still grinning. "You’re lucky I find this hilarious." 

The call is short. A few minutes later, a very real security guard shows up, confirms her identity, and hands her a spare key.