TAYVIS ONE SHOTS

cheer captain

A/N nah cause i love cheer but i'm freaking fed up of getting peoples bums in my face

the urge to put a nice catch cheer in this was real but i didn't i'm sorry in advance

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Travis's POV

I'm supposed to be focusing on practice. Supposed to be running drills, paying attention to the play calls, keeping my head in the game.

But I'm not.

Because Taylor Swift is standing on the sidelines, flipping her hair over her shoulder, and I am absolutely done for.

She's in full cheer gear—tiny skirt, fitted top with our team's colours, legs that go on forever. She's laughing at something one of the other cheerleaders said, and I swear to God, I'd give up my entire signing bonus just to know what's so funny.

"Kelce!"

I snap my head around just in time to see the ball whizzing toward me. I barely react fast enough to catch it, and even then, it's ugly. I fumble, grip slipping for a second before I finally bring it in.

Coach blows his whistle, shaking his head. "Get your damn head in the game, 87!"

I nod quickly, pretending like I totally wasn't just drooling over a girl on the sidelines. "Yeah, yeah, my bad."

I jog back to the huddle, but I can feel it—the side-eye from Patrick, the way he's already smirking before he even says anything.

"Dude," he mutters under his breath. "You're being so obvious."

"What?" I play dumb, even though I definitely know what he's talking about.

Patrick just snorts, nodding toward the sidelines. "You might as well start throwing hearts in the air every time you look at her."

I roll my eyes, but I don't argue. Because he's right. I am obvious. But can you blame me?

Taylor's been cheering for the team all season, and I swear, every time I see her, it gets worse. It's like she's got some kind of gravitational pull—my eyes just find her, no matter what I'm doing. And it's not just because she's gorgeous (which, I mean, duh). It's the way she carries herself, like she's completely untouchable but still somehow the most effortlessly cool person in the room.

And don't even get me started on the way she moves when she's actually cheering. The jumps? The flips? The way she nails every single routine without breaking a sweat?

It's a problem.

"Yo, focus," Patrick says, nudging me as we break the huddle. "Or Coach is gonna bench your lovesick ass."

I shake it off, forcing myself to lock in for the next play. But as soon as we finish the drill, I glance back at the sidelines—

And she's looking right at me.

My stomach drops.

Taylor tilts her head slightly, like she knows exactly what she's doing, then lifts her hand and gives me a little wave, her fingers barely moving.

Oh, I'm so done for.

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I'm at the gym. Doing what I'm supposed to be doing—workouts, lifting, the whole drill. But my brain? Totally not there.

It's like every single ounce of my focus is on the woman walking through the door.

I don't know why I didn't expect her to be here. It's the same gym we've been working out in for months. But the second I spot Taylor Swift walking in, wearing those tight gym shorts, and that crop top that barely covers the bottom of her ribcage, everything else just falls away.