Tayvis One Shots

Mornings

She didn’t hear him at first.

Wrapped in the oversized Chiefs hoodie that absolutely wasn’t hers (even though she wore it more than he did), Taylor leaned over the kitchen counter, spooning sugar into her coffee like it personally offended her.

He watched her from the doorway. The morning sun leaked in behind him, casting a golden halo around his six-foot-five frame.

“Tay,” he called softly, voice still a little raspy from sleep.

She turned halfway, eyes narrowed, “You’re staring.”

“You’re gorgeous. I’m allowed.”

A blush fought its way to her cheeks, but she turned back to her coffee with a smirk. “You’re disgusting. It’s too early for this.”

He chuckled, padding into the kitchen with bare feet and boxer shorts hanging low on his hips. “It’s past nine, babygirl. Not early at all.”

She turned around, holding her mug with both hands. “Some of us had a show last night.”

Travis leaned in, brushing a kiss against her forehead. “And crushed it. Like always.” He grabbed his own mug, filled it with black coffee, then bumped her hip with his. “Where’s my good morning kiss, huh?”

“You just kissed my forehead,” she said, sipping.

“That doesn’t count.”

She set the mug down. “You’re so needy today.”

“You married me like this, babe.”

She rolled her eyes, but rose on her tiptoes and kissed him properly. It was soft and slow and familiar,exactly the kind of kiss that belonged in quiet kitchens with messy hair and sleepy smiles.

When they pulled apart, he held her face in his hands for an extra second. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah.” Her voice softened. “I know.”

He kissed her nose. “Just making sure.”

She settled against his chest, and they stood there for a few seconds,just the two of them and the hum of the coffee machine.

“I’ve got to go to practice later,” he mumbled into her hair.

“I’ve got a session with Jack this afternoon.”

He groaned. “So we’re both working?”

“We’re adults,” she teased. “With jobs. And bills.”

“But I wanna stay in this kitchen with you all day.” He wrapped his arms tighter around her. “We could make pancakes. And then maybe… take a bath.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

She laughed, light and musical. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably in love with my wife, yeah.”

She pulled back to look at him. “Did you just make that up?”

“Totally.”

“It’s terrible.”

“I’d like it engraved on my gravestone.”

She shook her head and turned back to the counter. “I’m making pancakes. Sit down before you hurt yourself trying to be poetic.”

He did as he was told, but not before smacking her ass on the way.

“Travis!”

“What?” he said innocently, settling into the bar stool. “Just encouraging the chef.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Keep it up and you’ll be eating cereal.”

“Cereal made by my Grammy-winning, stadium-selling, country-to-pop-queen wife? I’ll take it.”

She tried not to smile. Failed.

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting side-by-side at the kitchen island, digging into pancakes with way too much syrup. Taylor had one leg draped over Travis’s, and he was playing with her fingers in between bites.

“I had a dream last night,” he said suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“You were wearing my jersey.”

“That’s not a dream, babe. That’s Instagram.”

He grinned. “Nah, this one was different. We were old. Like… real old. Wrinkly. I had gray in my beard.”

“You already do.”

“Rude.”

She kissed his cheek. “Go on.”

“You still looked exactly like you do now.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Good save.”

“But we were dancing. In the living room. No music playing, just... us. I woke up smiling.”

Her hand squeezed his. “You’re soft today.”

He nodded, his gaze sincere. “Can’t help it. You bring it outta me.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, her heart full. “Don’t ever stop.”

“Being soft?”

“Loving me like this.”

He turned, pressing a kiss into her hair. “Not even possible, Tay.”

672 words
( sry it's short)